December 2nd, early afternoon.
Mallory was not often in Old Market, which made it an ideal place for a discreet meeting with Pharlen's (in)famous other half, Jack. She picked a park halfway down a dead-end street lined with flats, rowhouses, and cottages, a tiny neighborhood-unto-itself surrounded by far busier and more interesting places. It had trees which provided shade to the benches beneath them in better weather, and a fountain with a chimera statue that had been switched off with the first frost and would likely stay that way until Beltane.
This time of year, it was virtually unused.
The witch occupied the far end of the bench furthest from the narrow cobblestone lane, dressed in a pea coat and scarf, jeans and boots that were nicer -- preppier -- than what she normally wore. She also didn't appear like herself at all -- no horns, no tattoos in the places they were always visible, her hair was wavy and dirty blonde, her nose was a little longer and wider and heavily freckled, her eyes were blue flecked with hazel, and she looked closer to an average weight than her usual skinny self.
She had a detective novel propped open in her lap, and a travel cup of coffee topped with whipped cream and red and green sprinkles clutched between her knees.
He was a tall, thin and sallow drink of water, a black boxback suit, a fedora pulled low over his eyes. He wasn’t alone, yet his companions were unseen. He carried himself with the air of someone best not met in any sort of an alley, as if he could bring his own dark with him.
And it was there, in his own shadow, the sense of eyeless waiting, watching, for any misstep or misspoken word. Yet he seemed to ignore it with a cool resolve. Green eyes as clear as glass glinted in their own shadows as he picked out the nice looking young lady who could have used some horns on her head, maybe a quick dip into some goth.
“Afternoon,” Jack noted, his gaze straying onto the book Not-Mallory read, and he approved. Pulp or action, tea and crumpets or house, all those detectives were about shoving bare fisted into the shadows and dragging the jagged hunks of facts screaming bloody into the light. He tipped his hat, and then took a sit beside the woman.
“Jack Von Tombs, at your service.”
“Dysnomia.” The Greek goddess of lawlessness, it represented what she wanted to present herself as today: the opposite of what she was, in so many ways.
He would have been heart-broken to learn how relieved she was to stop reading, and how much she struggled to read novels for any length of time.
“Are you coming here to read, Jack, or to make a new friend?” she asked with a smile, appearing gently flirtatious.
“All those old Greek broads’ll turn you around,” he remarked callously, sweeping a gaze over the college girly. “You don’t read the words you need on paper, sister. Making friends is easy enough when you’ve got the bodies and know how.” Yeah, he went there. He grinned like a coyote with a Pekingese in its teeth, amused at his own joke.
“So let a man take a read off of you. All that fresh-faced blonde hurts, don’t it?” A moment, then he pressed back to business. “If y’aint Mallory, I’ll just take my handsome face elsewhere.”
“...I guess that’s enough of a book-end for this memory,” Mallory answered in a somewhat lower and smoother voice than the one she had just used. “I read Dysnomia’s fortune at Panacea a couple years ago. Paid for three visions, none of them that interesting except to the client, as usual. Hopefully any prying tendrils will take this for a fourth vision tucked away in my head and move on.”
She did not drop her appearance, though. Biting back screams while horns burst from her head and sprayed blood across the frozen fountain did not seem like a wise thing to do in a public park, even in RhyDin.
She closed the book, folded her hands over the cover — a middle-aged man in a pork pie hat holding a woman half his age falling partway out of her dress and into his arms. “Where do we start?”
“The beginning,” maybe predictably. He flicked at his hat to give her a better look at his face. Handsome enough, like some old time movie star, with the peculiar texture of a man who’d been dead longer than he’d been alive. Though he was alive, now. Breathing, blood pumped, nerves crackled.
“What you have to understand is that you can’t beat these things, not in the nice, clean cut that you should have. They leave scars, they leave fistulas, they leave cankers, and if you ever let those get out of control, they bring it all back, only now, it knows your name, it’s gnawed on your identity and that you beat it for however long you kept it back, and it wants its own back. So consider this a point of no return: You keep going, you’re stained forever after. Just like we are. I didn’t start out insane. ...Wife might have, I’m not really sure about that, but fortunately, she’s more of the cheerful sort.” Fair warning was given. He drew back a bit to see if she was smart, or crazy.
That was debatable, as Mallory made clear with her reply: “It can’t have Michelle. I decided that when I tore open a door to R’lyeh and broke the altar where we found her... and my decision hasn’t changed.” Her words were slow and thoughtful, despite their brashness. This was a line she was crossing that she otherwise would not, but she could not, would not accept the idea that It could take whoever it wanted, whenever it wanted.
There was a list of names she would not accept that for, and her friend was on it.
“Arright. Wife said you had the crazy pretty good, I guess so,” but it was a grin Jack gave her, not humorous, more camaraderie. Welcoming in the new recruit to a war that was long past due for a truce.
“First off. Know thyself. It works on your mind, it takes away your identity piece by piece until you find yourself knee deep in bodies that no one even paid you to off, and that’s a hell of mess to clean up. You have to keep you safe and pristine. I got lucky. I was split, me from me, and the other took over. Kept them from devouring who I am and was. You need a safe spot for your identity. Not just your soul. Souls are corruptible, they’re washable, they’re killable. The person behind your eyes.” He paused, looked around, eyes narrowed. They were still in a window of time where the eyes of old ones and elders and all were elsewhere, but spies, spies happened.
“I have a place. And a method,” Mallory said as she placed her coffee cup off to one side. Her eyes rolled back for a three-count... then levelled off again. “No one’s listening,” she assured him.
“Good. Next. You don’t want anyone by your side that you can’t trust to cut your heart out and stuff into a knapsack for safe keeping along with any other organs important to you.” Jack leaned to let a beam of sunlight hit his eye and light it up. Interesting choice of words, perhaps, but his heart and brain meant a lot to him. “This is another place they’ll crawl and scratch, they’ll try and make you question your mates. And your mates will either be oblivious, or will be fully into their paranoia, too.”
He drew back and considered, looking her over once more. He nodded.
“Old fashioned gal. You know blood, and you know names have meaning, and you know the saints ‘er just rebranded gods. You know gratitude and manners will gain you more than a rock to the head would. And you know how to make the rock to the head sing. But these things are coming from an older, deeper place, where everything, every scrap of energy, every piece of knowledge, is fought and won. To them, friends are things you exploit, manners are weakness, following the rules is how to get killed fastest. Like Chicago in the ‘30s with worse fashion. So. Ask anything you need to know. I’ll do my best to answer.”
Mallory frowned as she turned this over in her mind. Rebellious as she was, rules were woven deeply into her magic. Without them, her arcane talents would be only a shadow of what they were.
She thumbed through the book and came to a blank page before the last chapter, Dying for Liars. Sketched onto the paper were carvings, statues, an altar, and eldritch symbols. “There’s a being holding the other end of her tether. Who is it?”
Jack’s smile was almost mocking before it turned easy, almost sad, pensive. Those symbols, those images, he knew them too well. He reached a fingertip out, steady, and tapped.
“The last one you want to deal with, but in fact, not the worst. No. Not the worst. I’ll send you my notes. They’ll have the sigils and words you’ll need to protect yourself. You’ll know most of those, I’m sure, but the way they get used, the old ones don’t understand. They are chaos. Don’t try to impose order. Work with the stream.”
After a moment, he gave her a sting of grin, tugging at the brim of his hat as he did.
“Now, just between you and me, my fake California Girl, a little push for you. You use your blood, but blood powers your tissues, your muscles, your fat, everything. When you need to be someone else, remember that. Flesh is malleable. Get another look at the blond elf’s neck if you need another push. Mist.”
He stood at that, but didn’t move away. The ghosts tethered to his pistols were vaguely visible at point. A middle aged man, a young woman.
Mallory apparently feared him moving away. “If It gets what it wants — or if it doesn’t — what happens to Michelle? Is there a way back?”
He exhaled. It was slow, his gaze lifted to the horizon and stayed there, steady, into the sun.
“The more she struggles, the tighter she is wound.” his voice turned soft, and his accent, faint German, returned, overcoming the harsh Los Angeles. “They always take a soul for a soul, girl. They take a heart for a heart, and then come back for whatever’s left, they’ll reach out without shame to even take the innocent babe. But we live, therefore, there is a way back. You’ll need your strength, and your weakness. I hate talking like one of those opium sodden hacks spewing out prophecy, but I don’t know all the variables. But you will need all you’ve got. All she’s got. Then she’s got to do the impossible.”
A knowing smirk.
“She’s got to forgive herself.”
“Easier said than done,” Mallory sighed, taking Jack and his knowing look at their word. “Here’s hoping she’s not knee deep yet.”
((Jack Von Tombs used with permission.))
The Eldritch Servant (Formerly Lost in Time & Space)
Moderator: Michelle Montoya
-
Michelle Montoya
- Seasoned Adventurer
- Fāris Al-Ibra
- Posts: 547
- Joined: Fri Apr 02, 2004 10:50 pm
- Location: Al-Ibra, South Cadentia OR the Real RhyDin House
Fade Away
“Tear us apart, Tear us apart, Nothing in the world can tear us apart.” - The Temper Trap
December 3rd,
Atrebla Valley
It was a crisp, chilly morning - but not so cold as to freeze off your fingers or the nose on your face. Warm enough that the snow was wet and fluffy as it fell to the ground, and you didn’t really need snow pants if you were just going for a walk. Michelle was planning to take her children downhill skiing, and was looking forward to a relaxed day with her family. Porcelain hadn’t bothered her for almost ten hours, and this morning’s nightmare had been relatively moderate. It would be a good day. She set the table for five. A seat for Derrick, the kids, her mother and herself. Bacon was sizzling - she expected Nadella to crawl out of bed any moment following the smell of food.
Ann stood at the bottom of the stairs, watching her daughter. Aside from the slime, webbed feet, and a towel wrapped around her hair, she looked almost normal. “Michelle,” she began softly.
“Good morning, Mother! And what a fabulous morning it is,” she leaned in to kiss the old woman’s cheek. “I’m surprised the children aren’t up yet, I’ll go wake them. Sleepyheads.” Ann watched helplessly as her daughter went up to the bedrooms. Derrick felt his way to the table from the sitting room and sat down. He could feel his mother-in-law’s anxiety from the way she hovered nearby.
“Ann?” He inquired. “What’s bothering you?”
“Nadella?”
She opened the door fully, allowing a swath of light to travel across the floor and up the bed. It was empty, and the pillows didn’t hold the impression of someone who had just woken up.
“She must be in Allen’s room,” Michelle murmured nervously. His door was only a few feet away, but it was quiet in there. Porcelain’s voice whispered gutturally behind her. “I don’t believe you,” she responded tersely. “He wouldn’t do that.”
Michelle hurried to the door, slightly ajar with a hand-drawn sign of two crossed blades. “Allen?! Nadella?!” Her cry was worried and anxious, and the sunlight from the east-facing window landed perfectly on a small, folded piece of parchment. With tears pouring down her face, she picked up the note - both afraid and assured that it would confirm Porcelain’s predictions.
Michelle. I do not ask forgiveness because I cannot think of any that could be given for my actions. ... The step you have taken is one too far. ... I had to take your children to safety.
“No,” she sobbed as tear-stains formed on the parchment. “No, no, no.”
Derrick followed the sound of his wife’s distress and reached to comfort her. He found her shoulder - covered in a thin coat of slime - and knelt down to wrap his distraught wife in a loving embrace. Ann had told him, just moments ago, what had happened. He felt furious and betrayed by both Mist and his mother-in-law, and heartbroken for his wife and children.
When her throaty gasps subsided, he whispered softly into her ear. “Michelle. I may be blind, b-but I know you have changed,” he reached out to stroke her slimy hair. “What M-Mist did was wrong. Ann says you d-did a great evil. P-please, please tell me what is happening to you.”
“I can’t,” she croaked. “I don’t know how. You’ll hate me. I hate me."
He stroked her hair gently, keeping his voice low and soft, “we have been t-together for so long, we have survived s-so much. If you can’t t-trust me, who else can you trust?”
“Okay,” Michelle mumbled. She turned to face him and held his face in her hands for a moment. Just once, she needed to tell someone the truth, all of it. And if anyone could still love her, even once they knew that truth, it would be Derrick. Slowly, haltingly, she told him everything that had happened - everything she had done - since being lost in time and space.
Hours later, Derrick escorted his wife to the portal that led to Twilight Isle. He kissed her softly, enjoying the simple pleasure. Once she was gone, he sank to the ground and wept bitterly.
December 3rd,
Atrebla Valley
It was a crisp, chilly morning - but not so cold as to freeze off your fingers or the nose on your face. Warm enough that the snow was wet and fluffy as it fell to the ground, and you didn’t really need snow pants if you were just going for a walk. Michelle was planning to take her children downhill skiing, and was looking forward to a relaxed day with her family. Porcelain hadn’t bothered her for almost ten hours, and this morning’s nightmare had been relatively moderate. It would be a good day. She set the table for five. A seat for Derrick, the kids, her mother and herself. Bacon was sizzling - she expected Nadella to crawl out of bed any moment following the smell of food.
Ann stood at the bottom of the stairs, watching her daughter. Aside from the slime, webbed feet, and a towel wrapped around her hair, she looked almost normal. “Michelle,” she began softly.
“Good morning, Mother! And what a fabulous morning it is,” she leaned in to kiss the old woman’s cheek. “I’m surprised the children aren’t up yet, I’ll go wake them. Sleepyheads.” Ann watched helplessly as her daughter went up to the bedrooms. Derrick felt his way to the table from the sitting room and sat down. He could feel his mother-in-law’s anxiety from the way she hovered nearby.
“Ann?” He inquired. “What’s bothering you?”
---*---
Michelle slowly opened the door to Nadella’s room, looking for the bright spot of messy blonde hair. “Nadella,” she crooned softly, “it’s time to get up.” The bed was crumpled, but it was also strangely flat. “Nadella?”
She opened the door fully, allowing a swath of light to travel across the floor and up the bed. It was empty, and the pillows didn’t hold the impression of someone who had just woken up.
“She must be in Allen’s room,” Michelle murmured nervously. His door was only a few feet away, but it was quiet in there. Porcelain’s voice whispered gutturally behind her. “I don’t believe you,” she responded tersely. “He wouldn’t do that.”
Michelle hurried to the door, slightly ajar with a hand-drawn sign of two crossed blades. “Allen?! Nadella?!” Her cry was worried and anxious, and the sunlight from the east-facing window landed perfectly on a small, folded piece of parchment. With tears pouring down her face, she picked up the note - both afraid and assured that it would confirm Porcelain’s predictions.
Michelle. I do not ask forgiveness because I cannot think of any that could be given for my actions. ... The step you have taken is one too far. ... I had to take your children to safety.
“No,” she sobbed as tear-stains formed on the parchment. “No, no, no.”
Derrick followed the sound of his wife’s distress and reached to comfort her. He found her shoulder - covered in a thin coat of slime - and knelt down to wrap his distraught wife in a loving embrace. Ann had told him, just moments ago, what had happened. He felt furious and betrayed by both Mist and his mother-in-law, and heartbroken for his wife and children.
When her throaty gasps subsided, he whispered softly into her ear. “Michelle. I may be blind, b-but I know you have changed,” he reached out to stroke her slimy hair. “What M-Mist did was wrong. Ann says you d-did a great evil. P-please, please tell me what is happening to you.”
“I can’t,” she croaked. “I don’t know how. You’ll hate me. I hate me."
He stroked her hair gently, keeping his voice low and soft, “we have been t-together for so long, we have survived s-so much. If you can’t t-trust me, who else can you trust?”
“Okay,” Michelle mumbled. She turned to face him and held his face in her hands for a moment. Just once, she needed to tell someone the truth, all of it. And if anyone could still love her, even once they knew that truth, it would be Derrick. Slowly, haltingly, she told him everything that had happened - everything she had done - since being lost in time and space.
Hours later, Derrick escorted his wife to the portal that led to Twilight Isle. He kissed her softly, enjoying the simple pleasure. Once she was gone, he sank to the ground and wept bitterly.
-
Michelle Montoya
- Seasoned Adventurer
- Fāris Al-Ibra
- Posts: 547
- Joined: Fri Apr 02, 2004 10:50 pm
- Location: Al-Ibra, South Cadentia OR the Real RhyDin House
Sistria
December 3rd, Late
Twilight Isle
Michelle was pacing. Her slime-streaked feet left webbed footprints in the sand. How did one get to the Tower of Air? She looked up, it seemed... intangible. Normally, she would turn into a bird. But given her unpredictable magic that was not her first preference. Finally she just pulled out they key, wrapped her hands around it and pulled water from the sky. Clouds were water, not air, after all. The slime-touched water fell on the Tower. A slime-storm. Maybe that would get his attention? Better than shouting at any rate.
"Theeeereeee's soooomeeeething wroooong, Maaaaster Xaaaaanth." One of the Air Elementals wafted into one of Xanth's libraries, where Xanth was busy studying an obscure tome on Illusionary magic, and in its breathy voice gave him the warning. Aw, what the hell now? Xanth growled, and looked up from his tome. "Sliiiime, Maaaaaster Xaaaanth, Sliiiime faaaalling on the Tooooweeeeer." Xanth looked up, as if he could see through the roof, then with a string of curses stormed from the library, marching through the Tower to the front door, which he opened, his black hood and ruby gaze visible as he glared around to see who was responsible for the disturbance.
"Xanth! You are a terribly difficult lich to get a hold of." Michelle marched up to the door, which was apparently more solid than anticipated. Her hair was dripping with slime - which reminded her to end the slime-storm above. "I want to trade." She didn't need an arcane tome to tell her that asking for 'help' was the wrong approach.
I am difficult to get a hold of for a reason. His ruby gaze bore imaginary holes into Michelle as he thought about what she was saying to him. A trade? You rained slime down on my Tower because you want a trade? Whatever this is, it had better be good. I am in the middle of important research right now.
"I'll knock next time, or use whatever method you prefer." She stood a few steps below him, a pool of slime collecting where she stood. Michelle matched his gaze with a fearless, black stare of her own. "Tell me, what interest do you have in the ancient Eldritch Gods?"
Something about the term "Eldritch Gods" piqued his interest. He fully appeared in the doorway, crossing his arms and looking down at Michelle. That depends. If it is them meddling in my affairs, I have no interest in that. If it is about a tome, talisman, or magical item of theirs being offered in this so-called trade . . . . I might be more receptive.
"I'm certain that can be arranged." Michelle reached for her belt, and removed the obsidian dagger, holding it out hilt first to Xanth. "This dagger came straight from R'lyeh. It holds the markings of an Eldritch God, whose name I dare not speak out loud. It has been a key element in a number of... rituals." She suspected, and hoped, that she wouldn't need the blade again. It was unique, in many ways, but especially because it was the dagger used to forge her own pact. Perhaps Porcelain would give her another.
Hmmmmm. The name R'lyeh certainly got his attention. He wiggles his fingers in the air as he scrutinizes the dagger before him. That perhaps explains your current . . . condition. You seem as slimy as R'lyeh is. But no matter. A ritual dagger. My interest is suitably sparked. What do you wish in return for it?
She ignored the jab at her condition. Others were saying much worse. "I want your best tome on pact magic, especially if you have one on ... Eldritch Pacts. And your word as a fellow Keeper that you won't mention this to anyone else. Especially Mallory." Michelle held the dagger just out of reach.
Xanth ceases his finger-wiggling and leans back, giving Michelle a steady look. Eldritch Pacts. Hmmm. A rather steep price. But one I can afford. Do not worry, I have no time for the other Keepers, I will not speak about this. Wait here. With an emphatic point of his finger towards the ground, he disappears back into the Tower. A minute goes by. Then two. Finally he returns to the doorway, holding a black leather volume with the pages seeming blood red. He hands the book out to her. We have an agreement then. The cover has evil looking letters that say "Sistria's Warlock Compendium / Volume 17 / On Eldritch Gods and their Pacts".
Michelle's fingers nearly burned with anticipation. She extended the dagger out with her left hand, hilt to him, and reached out for the heavy tome with her right. "I'll try to leave you undisturbed - " for the next century? until my Eldritch God demands your head along with everyone else's? " - for at least a few cycles."
Xanth scoffs. I sincerely doubt that, but be that as it may. His black gloved hand wraps around the hilt of the dagger, and he peruses it as she takes the book from him.
Michelle didn't wait to see what he did with it, or if he could detect her blood - her heart - on it. She took the tome and hurried away to the Tower of Water. Porcelain, her shadow and echo, could be back at any moment.
Twilight Isle
Michelle was pacing. Her slime-streaked feet left webbed footprints in the sand. How did one get to the Tower of Air? She looked up, it seemed... intangible. Normally, she would turn into a bird. But given her unpredictable magic that was not her first preference. Finally she just pulled out they key, wrapped her hands around it and pulled water from the sky. Clouds were water, not air, after all. The slime-touched water fell on the Tower. A slime-storm. Maybe that would get his attention? Better than shouting at any rate.
"Theeeereeee's soooomeeeething wroooong, Maaaaster Xaaaaanth." One of the Air Elementals wafted into one of Xanth's libraries, where Xanth was busy studying an obscure tome on Illusionary magic, and in its breathy voice gave him the warning. Aw, what the hell now? Xanth growled, and looked up from his tome. "Sliiiime, Maaaaaster Xaaaanth, Sliiiime faaaalling on the Tooooweeeeer." Xanth looked up, as if he could see through the roof, then with a string of curses stormed from the library, marching through the Tower to the front door, which he opened, his black hood and ruby gaze visible as he glared around to see who was responsible for the disturbance.
"Xanth! You are a terribly difficult lich to get a hold of." Michelle marched up to the door, which was apparently more solid than anticipated. Her hair was dripping with slime - which reminded her to end the slime-storm above. "I want to trade." She didn't need an arcane tome to tell her that asking for 'help' was the wrong approach.
I am difficult to get a hold of for a reason. His ruby gaze bore imaginary holes into Michelle as he thought about what she was saying to him. A trade? You rained slime down on my Tower because you want a trade? Whatever this is, it had better be good. I am in the middle of important research right now.
"I'll knock next time, or use whatever method you prefer." She stood a few steps below him, a pool of slime collecting where she stood. Michelle matched his gaze with a fearless, black stare of her own. "Tell me, what interest do you have in the ancient Eldritch Gods?"
Something about the term "Eldritch Gods" piqued his interest. He fully appeared in the doorway, crossing his arms and looking down at Michelle. That depends. If it is them meddling in my affairs, I have no interest in that. If it is about a tome, talisman, or magical item of theirs being offered in this so-called trade . . . . I might be more receptive.
"I'm certain that can be arranged." Michelle reached for her belt, and removed the obsidian dagger, holding it out hilt first to Xanth. "This dagger came straight from R'lyeh. It holds the markings of an Eldritch God, whose name I dare not speak out loud. It has been a key element in a number of... rituals." She suspected, and hoped, that she wouldn't need the blade again. It was unique, in many ways, but especially because it was the dagger used to forge her own pact. Perhaps Porcelain would give her another.
Hmmmmm. The name R'lyeh certainly got his attention. He wiggles his fingers in the air as he scrutinizes the dagger before him. That perhaps explains your current . . . condition. You seem as slimy as R'lyeh is. But no matter. A ritual dagger. My interest is suitably sparked. What do you wish in return for it?
She ignored the jab at her condition. Others were saying much worse. "I want your best tome on pact magic, especially if you have one on ... Eldritch Pacts. And your word as a fellow Keeper that you won't mention this to anyone else. Especially Mallory." Michelle held the dagger just out of reach.
Xanth ceases his finger-wiggling and leans back, giving Michelle a steady look. Eldritch Pacts. Hmmm. A rather steep price. But one I can afford. Do not worry, I have no time for the other Keepers, I will not speak about this. Wait here. With an emphatic point of his finger towards the ground, he disappears back into the Tower. A minute goes by. Then two. Finally he returns to the doorway, holding a black leather volume with the pages seeming blood red. He hands the book out to her. We have an agreement then. The cover has evil looking letters that say "Sistria's Warlock Compendium / Volume 17 / On Eldritch Gods and their Pacts".
Michelle's fingers nearly burned with anticipation. She extended the dagger out with her left hand, hilt to him, and reached out for the heavy tome with her right. "I'll try to leave you undisturbed - " for the next century? until my Eldritch God demands your head along with everyone else's? " - for at least a few cycles."
Xanth scoffs. I sincerely doubt that, but be that as it may. His black gloved hand wraps around the hilt of the dagger, and he peruses it as she takes the book from him.
Michelle didn't wait to see what he did with it, or if he could detect her blood - her heart - on it. She took the tome and hurried away to the Tower of Water. Porcelain, her shadow and echo, could be back at any moment.
Bunny
Dec. 3
Wingpass City perched high in the mountains, overseeing a wide desert to the south and a low roll of countryside leading to an ocean on the north. It was a walled town, crafted of dark gray granite, impervious against weapon and weather alike.
Overlooking the busy and well laid out city stood Windom Castle. Once, the holdings of powerful and grim kings, but now…
It was a large college and healing center. Mist gazed at the vast, elaborately carved doors which lead to the great hall, leading Allen and Nadella along by the hands. So far, they had been too excited and overwhelmed to ask too many questions, but that window was closing fast.
As the doors opened, Mist led the children within, to the feet of a tall, handsome man seated in the thane’s throne, reading from a large tome. The man looked up and smiled warmly.
“Kitten, I had no idea you were visiting. And who are these? I thought you had adopted a girl…?”
“Greetings, Master Hraefn, ...these are not mine. They are the children of a friend. I… I need someplace safe for them to stay,” Mist responded with a bow. Hraefn’s brows knit, and he rose to his feet, stepping down to place a kiss on Mist’s brow before looking the children over.
“I will guarantee their safety, Kitten, but I think you must make your explanations to them,” Hraefn decided, indicating a side door, “Come along. I will have the Major Domo prepare a room for them in my suites.”
Mist grimaced. Explanations were far, far over due.
Allen sat uneasily on a large and comfortable sofa, Nadella beside him. It was a lovely parlor, the sort that kids were usually banned from, but there were sweets and sandwiches and drinks on the coffee table, there were toys brought in, a smiling redhead woman named Aimee who would look after them…
And a little white cat.
The animal happily padded to the children and hopped into Nadella’s lap. Her brows wrinkled, but she petted the cat. It purred and cuddled in.
“The evil thing that took your Mother is still there with her. It is making her do bad things,” Mist explained softly as he sat across from the pair.
“Like what?” Allen demanded, he put on a brave face, the same one he imagined his Father had during the war, but inside, he was afraid. They had waited and prayed so long for their Mother to return, and Mist was saying it wasn’t over yet. But he knew his Mother. He knew the warmth and love in her arms. He knew those things. Mist couldn’t be saying those things were fake.
“She has harmed others. That slime covering her, it’s…”
“She duels, that’s not hurting!” Allen protested. Mist lowered his head slightly.
“When your Father was sinking the other night… She used a dark magic to save him.”
Allen jumped to his feet, his eyes flashing with anger and tears.
“Because YOU weren’t there! Because YOU were SLOW. She HAD to!”
Mist rocked back slightly under the boy’s fury. Hraefn gently patted Mist’s shoulder, but was silent.
“I wasn’t slow, Allen. I was there. But the evil magic kept me from helping.”
“I thought you were so powerful! Mother said you were so powerful!” Allen yelled, his hands curled into fists.
“I couldn’t hurt your Mother,” Mist responded firmly. Allen struggled to hold his composure and anger both, tears running down his face, biting his lower lip hard to keep it from stuttering over sobbing breaths.
Nadella rolled into a ball, weeping into the white kitten’s fur.
“You should have stopped her!” Allen howled, a little lost pup in a dark and strange land.
“I’m sorry,” Mist whispered, “I couldn’t have stopped her without harming her, without harming your Father…”
“Why can’t we just stay with Father?! Why isn’t he here, too?!” Allen demanded in a thick, ugly voice.
“Because of the evil magic. I don’t know if he is safe. I don’t know if the evil has infected him, too.”
“Why don’t you ask him!?” the boy yelled, almost breaking down into tears. Anger kept his spine straight.
“I will. If he is okay, I’ll bring him here. The scholars here are the ones who helped me find a treatment for…” Mist promised, but Allen shook his head, interrupting with another pained yell.
“I don’t care! I want my Mother, I want my Father! We want to go HOME!”
“When…” Mist started, but Allen cut him off once more.
“I know, I know, when all this stupid evil stuff is done. It’s never done! You guys saved Mother from it and now she’s not saved from it at all! You should have known how to fix it! Let me go talk to Mother, I’ll tell her she’s got to stop all this stupid evil stuff because it’s all stupid! She will listen to me. I know she will...” a sob escaped at the end.
Mist closed his eyes, rubbing at the bridge of his nose.
“Allen. They’re doing what they can,” Hraefn put in gently, “The thing your parents want the most is for you and your sister to be well and safe.”
“But what about what we want?!” Allen demanded, throwing himself down onto the sofa with his sister.
“I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that, Allen,” Hraefn replied with a wry smile, “But, while you are here, we will train you in the ways of the paladin.”
“What’s a paladin?” Allen asked listlessly, smearing his arm across his face. Aimee handed him a few tissues. He blew his nose loudly.
“A paladin is someone who fights for light, and good, and love. They are very powerful when their hearts are full of light. A paladin is like a knight,” Hraefn explained. Allen eyed him curiously, frowning.
“Is that real or just trying to calm things down?”
“It’s very real. My grandfather was a paladin. He still lives, he will be glad to come and teach you. But I warn you, it is not an easy path. You get hit on the head a lot,” Hraefn assured the boy with the wisp of a smile. Allen finally choked on a laugh.
“Yeah. Okay.”
“What happened to Suzy?” Nadella asked in a small voice. Mist flinched. The girl lifted her face from the kitten’s soft white fur and stared mournfully at Mist, her face wet with tears and loose fur.
“...This isn’t Suzy,” she explained, “I love her but she isn’t Suzy.”
“...Suzy… was… Suzy was killed,” Mist explained haltingly. Allen’s brows drew together. He petted the cat, realizing almost instantly that she wasn’t his pet. He looked back at Mist, narrow-eyed.
“Killed how?” Allen wanted to know. Mist closed his eyes.
“You must always tell children the truth, Mist,” Aimee reminded him, taking his hand and squeezing.
“The evil thing killed her,” Mist whispered.
“Why? She was just a little cat,” Nadella asked, her voice choking, “A little cat can’t hurt anyone. She was my little cat, she loved everyone. Mother brought her home for us, she won Suzy in the duels.”
“She was killed to make a spell. Because she was a loving and sweet little cat. That’s why I took you both. You’re both loving and sweet and innocent, and evil likes to destroy those things,” Mist told them softly.
“I don’t want her if they’re going to kill her too!” Nadella shrilled. Her brother broke down into tears, folded over his lap. Nadella weakly tried to push the kitten away.
“No, sweet girl. Keep your kitten. My vow to you is to make sure that anyone that tries to hurt this kitten or you or your brother will regret it to the ends of their lives,” Hraefn soothed. Nadella paused, shivering and hiccuping, finally squeezing the kitten to her chest. It mewed sweetly and licked her cheek.
Despite herself, Nadella giggled a little.
“That tickles.”
“How?” Allen asked, miserable. He reached over to pet the kitten, and then pulled his sister and the cat into his arms.
“Good can put a great force of good into people just as much as evil can hurt others,” Hraefn explained, “We will give a great force of good to your kitten, and she will be your defender forever after.”
“With big claws and huge teeth and lightning bolts from her eyes and everything evil gets knocked over,” Allen demanded. Hraefn chuckled, glancing to Mist.
“I like this boy, he has fire. He will make a fine paladin. Indeed, Allen. We shall give the kitten those things. What shall her name be?”
“Deathbeast. Terrorclaws. EvilEater!” Allen blurted out, “So like a cool dragon cat -- A giant dragon cat! Slashfang!”
“...Bunny,” Nadella insisted.
“Bunny? A ferocious evil eating dragon angel cat can’t be Bunny,” Allen responded to Nadella scornfully. She glowered at her brother, squeezing the cat to her chest. The kitten’s green eyes sparkled merrily.
“Bunny,” Nadella told them all with a nod. With that settled, she finally reached for a cookie. She tried to feed it to Bunny, who politely demurred it, and then ate it herself. Allen exhaled and flopped back.
“No one’s going to be afraid of Bunny the dragon angel cat,” he complained.
“Ah, but think, Allen. How embarrassed the demons will be when they have been defeated by Bunny,” Aimee put in humorously. Allen laughed once, then finally giggled, petting the cat.
“Yeah, okay.”
Hraefn saw Mist off, walking him quietly to the great hall doors. He put his hand onto the elf’s shoulder and squeezed gently.
“Be strong, Kitten. It may be that you must give her harm to save her,” the man whispered. Mist nodded, his eyes downcast.
“I fear it is so. Now. I must go and explain all this to Amaris.”
“She is welcome here, too, and she may even be distracted enough by the chance to learn magics and warcraft for her to stay. Good luck.”
“Thanks.”
Wingpass City perched high in the mountains, overseeing a wide desert to the south and a low roll of countryside leading to an ocean on the north. It was a walled town, crafted of dark gray granite, impervious against weapon and weather alike.
Overlooking the busy and well laid out city stood Windom Castle. Once, the holdings of powerful and grim kings, but now…
It was a large college and healing center. Mist gazed at the vast, elaborately carved doors which lead to the great hall, leading Allen and Nadella along by the hands. So far, they had been too excited and overwhelmed to ask too many questions, but that window was closing fast.
As the doors opened, Mist led the children within, to the feet of a tall, handsome man seated in the thane’s throne, reading from a large tome. The man looked up and smiled warmly.
“Kitten, I had no idea you were visiting. And who are these? I thought you had adopted a girl…?”
“Greetings, Master Hraefn, ...these are not mine. They are the children of a friend. I… I need someplace safe for them to stay,” Mist responded with a bow. Hraefn’s brows knit, and he rose to his feet, stepping down to place a kiss on Mist’s brow before looking the children over.
“I will guarantee their safety, Kitten, but I think you must make your explanations to them,” Hraefn decided, indicating a side door, “Come along. I will have the Major Domo prepare a room for them in my suites.”
Mist grimaced. Explanations were far, far over due.
Allen sat uneasily on a large and comfortable sofa, Nadella beside him. It was a lovely parlor, the sort that kids were usually banned from, but there were sweets and sandwiches and drinks on the coffee table, there were toys brought in, a smiling redhead woman named Aimee who would look after them…
And a little white cat.
The animal happily padded to the children and hopped into Nadella’s lap. Her brows wrinkled, but she petted the cat. It purred and cuddled in.
“The evil thing that took your Mother is still there with her. It is making her do bad things,” Mist explained softly as he sat across from the pair.
“Like what?” Allen demanded, he put on a brave face, the same one he imagined his Father had during the war, but inside, he was afraid. They had waited and prayed so long for their Mother to return, and Mist was saying it wasn’t over yet. But he knew his Mother. He knew the warmth and love in her arms. He knew those things. Mist couldn’t be saying those things were fake.
“She has harmed others. That slime covering her, it’s…”
“She duels, that’s not hurting!” Allen protested. Mist lowered his head slightly.
“When your Father was sinking the other night… She used a dark magic to save him.”
Allen jumped to his feet, his eyes flashing with anger and tears.
“Because YOU weren’t there! Because YOU were SLOW. She HAD to!”
Mist rocked back slightly under the boy’s fury. Hraefn gently patted Mist’s shoulder, but was silent.
“I wasn’t slow, Allen. I was there. But the evil magic kept me from helping.”
“I thought you were so powerful! Mother said you were so powerful!” Allen yelled, his hands curled into fists.
“I couldn’t hurt your Mother,” Mist responded firmly. Allen struggled to hold his composure and anger both, tears running down his face, biting his lower lip hard to keep it from stuttering over sobbing breaths.
Nadella rolled into a ball, weeping into the white kitten’s fur.
“You should have stopped her!” Allen howled, a little lost pup in a dark and strange land.
“I’m sorry,” Mist whispered, “I couldn’t have stopped her without harming her, without harming your Father…”
“Why can’t we just stay with Father?! Why isn’t he here, too?!” Allen demanded in a thick, ugly voice.
“Because of the evil magic. I don’t know if he is safe. I don’t know if the evil has infected him, too.”
“Why don’t you ask him!?” the boy yelled, almost breaking down into tears. Anger kept his spine straight.
“I will. If he is okay, I’ll bring him here. The scholars here are the ones who helped me find a treatment for…” Mist promised, but Allen shook his head, interrupting with another pained yell.
“I don’t care! I want my Mother, I want my Father! We want to go HOME!”
“When…” Mist started, but Allen cut him off once more.
“I know, I know, when all this stupid evil stuff is done. It’s never done! You guys saved Mother from it and now she’s not saved from it at all! You should have known how to fix it! Let me go talk to Mother, I’ll tell her she’s got to stop all this stupid evil stuff because it’s all stupid! She will listen to me. I know she will...” a sob escaped at the end.
Mist closed his eyes, rubbing at the bridge of his nose.
“Allen. They’re doing what they can,” Hraefn put in gently, “The thing your parents want the most is for you and your sister to be well and safe.”
“But what about what we want?!” Allen demanded, throwing himself down onto the sofa with his sister.
“I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that, Allen,” Hraefn replied with a wry smile, “But, while you are here, we will train you in the ways of the paladin.”
“What’s a paladin?” Allen asked listlessly, smearing his arm across his face. Aimee handed him a few tissues. He blew his nose loudly.
“A paladin is someone who fights for light, and good, and love. They are very powerful when their hearts are full of light. A paladin is like a knight,” Hraefn explained. Allen eyed him curiously, frowning.
“Is that real or just trying to calm things down?”
“It’s very real. My grandfather was a paladin. He still lives, he will be glad to come and teach you. But I warn you, it is not an easy path. You get hit on the head a lot,” Hraefn assured the boy with the wisp of a smile. Allen finally choked on a laugh.
“Yeah. Okay.”
“What happened to Suzy?” Nadella asked in a small voice. Mist flinched. The girl lifted her face from the kitten’s soft white fur and stared mournfully at Mist, her face wet with tears and loose fur.
“...This isn’t Suzy,” she explained, “I love her but she isn’t Suzy.”
“...Suzy… was… Suzy was killed,” Mist explained haltingly. Allen’s brows drew together. He petted the cat, realizing almost instantly that she wasn’t his pet. He looked back at Mist, narrow-eyed.
“Killed how?” Allen wanted to know. Mist closed his eyes.
“You must always tell children the truth, Mist,” Aimee reminded him, taking his hand and squeezing.
“The evil thing killed her,” Mist whispered.
“Why? She was just a little cat,” Nadella asked, her voice choking, “A little cat can’t hurt anyone. She was my little cat, she loved everyone. Mother brought her home for us, she won Suzy in the duels.”
“She was killed to make a spell. Because she was a loving and sweet little cat. That’s why I took you both. You’re both loving and sweet and innocent, and evil likes to destroy those things,” Mist told them softly.
“I don’t want her if they’re going to kill her too!” Nadella shrilled. Her brother broke down into tears, folded over his lap. Nadella weakly tried to push the kitten away.
“No, sweet girl. Keep your kitten. My vow to you is to make sure that anyone that tries to hurt this kitten or you or your brother will regret it to the ends of their lives,” Hraefn soothed. Nadella paused, shivering and hiccuping, finally squeezing the kitten to her chest. It mewed sweetly and licked her cheek.
Despite herself, Nadella giggled a little.
“That tickles.”
“How?” Allen asked, miserable. He reached over to pet the kitten, and then pulled his sister and the cat into his arms.
“Good can put a great force of good into people just as much as evil can hurt others,” Hraefn explained, “We will give a great force of good to your kitten, and she will be your defender forever after.”
“With big claws and huge teeth and lightning bolts from her eyes and everything evil gets knocked over,” Allen demanded. Hraefn chuckled, glancing to Mist.
“I like this boy, he has fire. He will make a fine paladin. Indeed, Allen. We shall give the kitten those things. What shall her name be?”
“Deathbeast. Terrorclaws. EvilEater!” Allen blurted out, “So like a cool dragon cat -- A giant dragon cat! Slashfang!”
“...Bunny,” Nadella insisted.
“Bunny? A ferocious evil eating dragon angel cat can’t be Bunny,” Allen responded to Nadella scornfully. She glowered at her brother, squeezing the cat to her chest. The kitten’s green eyes sparkled merrily.
“Bunny,” Nadella told them all with a nod. With that settled, she finally reached for a cookie. She tried to feed it to Bunny, who politely demurred it, and then ate it herself. Allen exhaled and flopped back.
“No one’s going to be afraid of Bunny the dragon angel cat,” he complained.
“Ah, but think, Allen. How embarrassed the demons will be when they have been defeated by Bunny,” Aimee put in humorously. Allen laughed once, then finally giggled, petting the cat.
“Yeah, okay.”
Hraefn saw Mist off, walking him quietly to the great hall doors. He put his hand onto the elf’s shoulder and squeezed gently.
“Be strong, Kitten. It may be that you must give her harm to save her,” the man whispered. Mist nodded, his eyes downcast.
“I fear it is so. Now. I must go and explain all this to Amaris.”
“She is welcome here, too, and she may even be distracted enough by the chance to learn magics and warcraft for her to stay. Good luck.”
“Thanks.”
-
Mallory
- RoH Admin
- Posts: 921
- Joined: Sun Jan 15, 2017 9:25 pm
- Location: The Lyceum or Kabuki Street, most of the time
Love Lost
December 4th - Kabuki Street.
"We're here, sir."
Derrick stepped out of the covered carriage. Without sight, exploring new places had become an altogether different experience. The sounds of young women chatting and murmuring in the corner mingled with the smell of cooked beef, sushi, and noodles. Kevin took his free arm and gently guided him in the direction of the right building. The young man stood to the side as Derrick knocked smartly on the door three times. While he waited, he placed both hands on the solid oak cane.
A young woman emerged from the heavy old wooden door, boots scuffing on the stone tiles as she stopped in front of them. The silk of her sukajan rustled gently as she leaned, and the gun settled in its holster with a subtle click.
She smelled strongly of menthol cigarettes.
"Who are you?"
"Evening," Derrick's eyes turned to 'look' at the voice, though they were focused a little too high. "I have c-come to see M-Madame Mallory Maeda. My name is Derrick B-Bidarte." Although he had only met Mallory twice, once during a dinner and again when she had come to tell them Michelle was lost to R'lyeh, he was certain she was the one to ask for help.
"Wait." The girl turned her head, calling over her shoulder in Japanese, though the words included the name he offered.
A murmur of conversation followed, and another girl thudded her way up the stairs. A minute passed in near silence, except for the clicking of phone keys and the girl at the door lighting a cigarette.
A phone buzzed. After a pause, the girl at the door asked, "How is he with stairs?" Apparently directed at Derrick's helper.
Kevin raised his eyebrows, and Derrick shifted again to try and focus on the speaker. "I can get around, just p-point me in the right direction."
"I'll be here when you come down, Sir." Kevin tipped his imaginary hat to the girl at the door, stuck his hands in his pockets, and meandered off for a wander.
The girl started to speak, but was cut off by what sounded like chiding in Japanese. She ground out her cigarette and said, "Take my arm and follow me... please."
Derrick reached out and gently took her arm, holding it like a gentleman. "May I have the n-name of my escort?"
"Akane," said Akane, who felt like she was more comfortable in the opposite role. She walked with him up a long flight of stairs, through a creaking wooden door and onto an old wooden floor.
Mallory's familiar voice called out to them in Japanese, and Akane called back as she led him into a room filled with the smells of food and the whistling of a kettle.
"Derrick, hi. Have a seat, please," Mallory offered as Akane pulled out a chair. "Do you want some tea? water?"
Derrick's hand reached out for the chair, "Thank you, Akane." The sound of the kettle was familiar, and the food smelled delicious. Although he couldn't see her, he pictured Mallory's curling horns and young face -- just as Michelle had described her months ago after festival of Beltane. He bowed elegantly before Mallory, the plum collared shirt crinkling ever so slightly with the motion. "Madame M-Mallory, thank you for the audience." Derrick seamlessly moved from the bow to sitting down in the chair. "T-tea would be lovely."
"I'm happy to have you." Mallory's smile was audible in her reply, as was her hesitation in the silence that followed before she stepped back to the counter to prepare their tea.
Whatever kind it was, it smelled wonderful, something harvested from the far northern mountains.
She set the cup and saucer down in front of him, and sat down across from him. There was another brief moment of silence, then Akane stepped out of the room, and the witch spoke once more:
"What brings you to Kabuki Street?"
Derrick reached out for the tea, his hands hovered momentarily, sensing the warmth and looking for the cup. Once he found it, he brought his hands back to the oak cane waiting for the tea to cool. "My wife, and m-my children." Derrick's jaw tensed, the only betrayal of the deeply felt emotions. "Th-they are gone. M-Mist took the children. I d-didn't agree at first, but then my wife told me m-many things. Things that m-make me afraid." Despite being blind, his eyes darted around the room, as if trying to look or sense his surroundings. "I am n-not easily f-feared."
After a sip, Mallory set her cup back down on the saucer. "You're safe here. No one has ever intruded into our home."
Her fingers settled on the edge of the saucer. "What did she tell you?"
Derrick smile was broad, in contrast to his wife's soft one. "I am n-not afraid of being here." He reached for the cup, the smile fading. "I am afraid f-for my wife. M-more than I was in the war." He sighed heavily, took a sip of the brew, then set it back down on the saucer. "It is t-too much to recount. I will t-try and d-distill the most important facts." He proceeded to tell Mallory of Michelle's nightmares, her self-sacrifice on the altar in R'lyeh, of her experience with farmer Bilden's sheep, and of the ritual she performed with their kitten Suzy to save his life. His account was factual, to the point, and specific.
"I d-do not know how much is in her d-dreams, or in her c-control. My life, I think, is f-forfeit. I suspect Mist f-feels the same. My children should not have to lose two p-parents."
A retort, a brash defiance of Fate, started and promptly died in Mallory's throat. She was quiet for a time, then started again.
"May I read your Fate?"
Derrick titled his head to the side, and considered. "What is the p-price and the purpose?"
"The price is three drops of my blood... The purpose is to know the way forward."
He set the oak staff aside to lean on the chair. "What do you need f-from me?"
"Your hand." She laughed softly as she clarified, "To hold, not to keep."
Derrick smiled broadly, the edges of his eyes crinkling. He held out his right hand in the direction of her voice.
Mallory held Derrick's right hand in her right, as her left dripped three drops of blood onto the edge of her saucer.
The air grew as cold as the grave, and then warmer, as if they were both being clutched to someone's breast, feeling their body heat. The witch was silent for a long moment. Her hand trembled, then went still, and she released him.
"There's a balance, and the balance right now is... off. Try as she might to save you and herself... only one of you can survive."
Her voice was as gentle as it could have been, almost whisper-soft.
Derrick nodded, his face a mixture of sadness and surety. "My heart already knew that." He returned to sipping the tea, his posture stoic and assured. "M-Mallory. I will n-not trade her s-soul for my life. I do not know how to s-save her. But I think you can help f-find a way."
Mallory rubbed a napkin over her fingers. "It won't be easy. Do you know what I mean? Not in the way that everyone says... I really mean that I'm going to be making choices that neither of you will like. Neither will her friends."
He raised a hand to his temples, rubbing them slightly in distress. "The objectives are s-simple. S-save my wife, keep my children healthy and alive, and p-prevent loss of life - aside f-from my own. F-for mine is lost already."
"I can save Michelle, and we can rely on Mist for your children's safety... but I can't promise that It won't take a blood price from this city before this is over." The cup rattled, and Mallory raised it for another sip.
"Very well," he replied softly. "T-tell me what you need me to d-do."
There was a long sigh, a breath that the heartless witch no longer needed to take, except in moments like these. "...Be with her for as long as you can, Derrick."
((Adapted from play with Derrick's player, with thanks!))
"We're here, sir."
Derrick stepped out of the covered carriage. Without sight, exploring new places had become an altogether different experience. The sounds of young women chatting and murmuring in the corner mingled with the smell of cooked beef, sushi, and noodles. Kevin took his free arm and gently guided him in the direction of the right building. The young man stood to the side as Derrick knocked smartly on the door three times. While he waited, he placed both hands on the solid oak cane.
A young woman emerged from the heavy old wooden door, boots scuffing on the stone tiles as she stopped in front of them. The silk of her sukajan rustled gently as she leaned, and the gun settled in its holster with a subtle click.
She smelled strongly of menthol cigarettes.
"Who are you?"
"Evening," Derrick's eyes turned to 'look' at the voice, though they were focused a little too high. "I have c-come to see M-Madame Mallory Maeda. My name is Derrick B-Bidarte." Although he had only met Mallory twice, once during a dinner and again when she had come to tell them Michelle was lost to R'lyeh, he was certain she was the one to ask for help.
"Wait." The girl turned her head, calling over her shoulder in Japanese, though the words included the name he offered.
A murmur of conversation followed, and another girl thudded her way up the stairs. A minute passed in near silence, except for the clicking of phone keys and the girl at the door lighting a cigarette.
A phone buzzed. After a pause, the girl at the door asked, "How is he with stairs?" Apparently directed at Derrick's helper.
Kevin raised his eyebrows, and Derrick shifted again to try and focus on the speaker. "I can get around, just p-point me in the right direction."
"I'll be here when you come down, Sir." Kevin tipped his imaginary hat to the girl at the door, stuck his hands in his pockets, and meandered off for a wander.
The girl started to speak, but was cut off by what sounded like chiding in Japanese. She ground out her cigarette and said, "Take my arm and follow me... please."
Derrick reached out and gently took her arm, holding it like a gentleman. "May I have the n-name of my escort?"
"Akane," said Akane, who felt like she was more comfortable in the opposite role. She walked with him up a long flight of stairs, through a creaking wooden door and onto an old wooden floor.
Mallory's familiar voice called out to them in Japanese, and Akane called back as she led him into a room filled with the smells of food and the whistling of a kettle.
"Derrick, hi. Have a seat, please," Mallory offered as Akane pulled out a chair. "Do you want some tea? water?"
Derrick's hand reached out for the chair, "Thank you, Akane." The sound of the kettle was familiar, and the food smelled delicious. Although he couldn't see her, he pictured Mallory's curling horns and young face -- just as Michelle had described her months ago after festival of Beltane. He bowed elegantly before Mallory, the plum collared shirt crinkling ever so slightly with the motion. "Madame M-Mallory, thank you for the audience." Derrick seamlessly moved from the bow to sitting down in the chair. "T-tea would be lovely."
"I'm happy to have you." Mallory's smile was audible in her reply, as was her hesitation in the silence that followed before she stepped back to the counter to prepare their tea.
Whatever kind it was, it smelled wonderful, something harvested from the far northern mountains.
She set the cup and saucer down in front of him, and sat down across from him. There was another brief moment of silence, then Akane stepped out of the room, and the witch spoke once more:
"What brings you to Kabuki Street?"
Derrick reached out for the tea, his hands hovered momentarily, sensing the warmth and looking for the cup. Once he found it, he brought his hands back to the oak cane waiting for the tea to cool. "My wife, and m-my children." Derrick's jaw tensed, the only betrayal of the deeply felt emotions. "Th-they are gone. M-Mist took the children. I d-didn't agree at first, but then my wife told me m-many things. Things that m-make me afraid." Despite being blind, his eyes darted around the room, as if trying to look or sense his surroundings. "I am n-not easily f-feared."
After a sip, Mallory set her cup back down on the saucer. "You're safe here. No one has ever intruded into our home."
Her fingers settled on the edge of the saucer. "What did she tell you?"
Derrick smile was broad, in contrast to his wife's soft one. "I am n-not afraid of being here." He reached for the cup, the smile fading. "I am afraid f-for my wife. M-more than I was in the war." He sighed heavily, took a sip of the brew, then set it back down on the saucer. "It is t-too much to recount. I will t-try and d-distill the most important facts." He proceeded to tell Mallory of Michelle's nightmares, her self-sacrifice on the altar in R'lyeh, of her experience with farmer Bilden's sheep, and of the ritual she performed with their kitten Suzy to save his life. His account was factual, to the point, and specific.
"I d-do not know how much is in her d-dreams, or in her c-control. My life, I think, is f-forfeit. I suspect Mist f-feels the same. My children should not have to lose two p-parents."
A retort, a brash defiance of Fate, started and promptly died in Mallory's throat. She was quiet for a time, then started again.
"May I read your Fate?"
Derrick titled his head to the side, and considered. "What is the p-price and the purpose?"
"The price is three drops of my blood... The purpose is to know the way forward."
He set the oak staff aside to lean on the chair. "What do you need f-from me?"
"Your hand." She laughed softly as she clarified, "To hold, not to keep."
Derrick smiled broadly, the edges of his eyes crinkling. He held out his right hand in the direction of her voice.
Mallory held Derrick's right hand in her right, as her left dripped three drops of blood onto the edge of her saucer.
The air grew as cold as the grave, and then warmer, as if they were both being clutched to someone's breast, feeling their body heat. The witch was silent for a long moment. Her hand trembled, then went still, and she released him.
"There's a balance, and the balance right now is... off. Try as she might to save you and herself... only one of you can survive."
Her voice was as gentle as it could have been, almost whisper-soft.
Derrick nodded, his face a mixture of sadness and surety. "My heart already knew that." He returned to sipping the tea, his posture stoic and assured. "M-Mallory. I will n-not trade her s-soul for my life. I do not know how to s-save her. But I think you can help f-find a way."
Mallory rubbed a napkin over her fingers. "It won't be easy. Do you know what I mean? Not in the way that everyone says... I really mean that I'm going to be making choices that neither of you will like. Neither will her friends."
He raised a hand to his temples, rubbing them slightly in distress. "The objectives are s-simple. S-save my wife, keep my children healthy and alive, and p-prevent loss of life - aside f-from my own. F-for mine is lost already."
"I can save Michelle, and we can rely on Mist for your children's safety... but I can't promise that It won't take a blood price from this city before this is over." The cup rattled, and Mallory raised it for another sip.
"Very well," he replied softly. "T-tell me what you need me to d-do."
There was a long sigh, a breath that the heartless witch no longer needed to take, except in moments like these. "...Be with her for as long as you can, Derrick."
((Adapted from play with Derrick's player, with thanks!))
Bad Boys
Dec. 5th, Temple District.
Though the carefully lain false trails remained, Mist found himself returning again to the Temple district. He stepped up behind the low and homely temple of Gaia, gazing up at its main dome. He could feel the power, the touch of the goddess lay warmly over her consecrated grounds.
Yet, Mist hadn't stepped onto the grounds. He leaned to the back wall of some Christian book store, near to the dumpster, and simply gazed at the temple. He'd walked all the night, half in shock, chilled and confused.
Still cowled and cloaked, he was just another mysterious figure wandering through the town. It was quiet that time of day, few people walking along the sidewalks, let alone in the alleyways. A few nuns from the Cult of Love and Ecstacy giggled and flirted their way by, but gave little interest in the tall elf. Which is what he wanted. He exhaled softly. As if he was waiting for Cane to bring Michelle into this rather nasty trap.
So it came as something of a surprise when the Cajun appeared in the mouth of the alley without Michelle in his company. Even more surprising was that he was entirely alone. Cane flicked a cigarette into the street, though Mist couldn't see where it landed or if it even had at all. He'd paused only a moment, then moved further into the alley, walking calmly toward Mist, adjusting the collar of his jacket to cover the back of his neck and ward off the chill.
Mist could feel him. Hear him. And other than a sense of resignation, and the lowering of his cowl, he was still and silent. His gaze was oddly vacant, though his runes were once more gleaming brightly as ever. Simple and passive, waiting.
Cane said nothing as he approached, moving sedately into the elf's orbit with nary a hint of animosity until he was within arm's reach. Then his inscrutable expression morphed into plain, unadulterated fury. Mist felt a wave of heat as it sloughed away from Cane's imposing form. In the span of an instant he'd lifted both hands, fixing one around the elf's throat with a violent grip, grinding him abruptly into the cold, weathered brick of the wall at the same time the other was plowed mercilessly into face.
Mist scarcely made a sound, and didn't lift either hand. Definitely this was not normal. But, he didn't raise a shield, either. His breath rasped, the skin under Cane's hand was curiously gnarled near the jugular vein. His nose and lip bled after the punch to his face, and his gaze returned somberly to Cane's.
The lack of a response did not deter him. Cane used his grip on his throat to drag him away from the wall with a threatening growl of noise, flinging him at the ground where he landed with all the likeness of a ragdoll, making no sound, even as Cane followed up with a vicious kick to the side.
Mist’s eyes widened as the blow knocked the wind out of him. Pain splintered through his side as he felt a rib crack. Cane followed him down, jean clad knees straddling the elf’s narrow hips as he forced him onto his back in preparation for another mind-numbing blow to the face.
"I've decided something," Cane drawled in a low basso that rolled like distant thunder. "I don't really think I like your brand of magic. It's a danger, in my opinion, people who fuck with the balance of life like you do. An' ya know what else I think?" He closed his hand over the elf's throat again and squeezed with just enough pressure to make breathing difficult.
Mist’s breath caught and choked, but there was a strangeness to it, as if he knew exactly how long he could remain conscious if he didn't strain against the strangulation. His eyes finally closed and his head shook.
Leaning down so they were nose to nose, the Cajun wound his free hand tightly into Mist's hair to hold him perfectly still. "I think you'd cross lines if your own daughter were ever in danger, and to prevent that? I think I'll just take her so I can keep her safe from you; put her somewhere you'll never find her."
He tipped his chin, angling his mouth close to the elf's pointed ear. "How about that, Mist?"
"You don't understand," Mist rasped. Cane loosened his grip to allow the elf to speak. "Haven't you seen it? Michelle has been taken by evil. It is forcing her to act against herself. When we brought her back from R'lyeh. It hooked into her. It may not be the best thing but they had to be protected. She is desperate enough to use innocence to save herself and her husband."
"I'm not an idiot," he hissed through clenched teeth. "But ya don't kidnap children an' hide them from their family." Cane raised himself up and released the tangle of blond hair to provide another compelling blow to Mist's face. "I know I'd do damn near anything ta save someone I loved. Who the fuck 're you ta decide what's too costly a price for her?"
"You know I'm right," Mist responded, letting blood run from his lips, "I am doing damn near anything to save one I love." His eyes closed. He hated, so much, to be hurt. And yet, he allowed Cane to whale on him like a red headed step child.
"I could paste you against the wall, I could turn you inside out, with just a word, a gesture. But I won't. Because you are doing what you believe is right, because no matter what else, you are a good man. You want to be angry with me for knowing more about you than you think I should, but I'm not blind. I've seen you for years. I've watched you for years. Just because I was of no notice to you does not mean you were of no notice to me. So tell me. What will you do, if you bring them back to her, and she sacrifices them?"
The Cajun's eerily haunting laugh started quietly, the atmosphere growing hot and heavy, and as the noise rose to crescendo echoing raucously off the walls of the narrow alley, an oppressive, dark weight pressed in as the mantle of the bloody mace settled neatly on the Cajun's broad shoulders.
He was Rage. He was Brutality.
"Izh ichai nev'ahr ensh ozh." The sound was rock grating on rock; a turbulent, dark tongue.
Canaan released his grip, but not before smearing his thumb through the flow of blood that had painted one side of Mist's jaw crimson. He turned his hand palm up to study the elf's life blood, his gaze cool and calculative. "You'll regret this," he said in common, sliding the pads of his fingers through the blood on his thumb.
He got up without another word and strode away from the broken elf. Mist lay there in a heap; doing nothing, trying, as he always did, to keep from reacting. Don’t react, you’ll be beaten again.
The Words. Should not have been spoken. Reality warped. The alleyway turned upon itself, fluid, flexing around the Cajun and turning him to face... Ten foot tall, wings of purest argent unfurled, salt and pepper hair in heavy waves around a starkly handsome face.
The Nephilim drew an irreverent smirk from the Cajun while his visage still resembled that of a man’s. But his features twisted, his body hulking and growing in stature to match that of the angelic’s as a pair of twisted horns pushed free from his skull. He warped and pulled, a violent fire burning in his stretching chest.
Heavenly blue eyes focused upon Cane, and the Nephilim drew in a slow breath. "The step too far should never be taken, young one, as you should have been taught the first time you learned that your powers were not inviolate." A bassy thrum of voice echoed from the man. "And it does seem that the lesson today is of the step too far."
Cane raked a clawed hand through the remaining distortion as the alleyway returned to itself, an inhuman laugh pouring from his gaping, firelit mouth. Twisting at the waist, he fixed his blazing, molten gaze on Mist’s supine form and narrowed his eyes. “Ichai izh not voth izh'domosh tak voth?”
The man folded his arms over his chest, broad and powerful. Such lordly clothing he wore, fine fabrics and elegant details, blue velvets and linen. His head tilted as he attended the flow of Abyssal pouring from Cane's lips, then held up his hand for peace. He seemed vaguely disappointed, yet, he still had his geis to fulfill.
"He belongs to me. Your hands do not belong upon him except at his request. I do hope we are clear." A thin smile and a slight bow, "I am Hraefn."
There were giants in the days of old, sons of angels and mortals...
"I am here because of him, but what brings you, young man, to such a spot, when you have no loved ones in this game?" his smile again was thin, as if accusing Cane of protesting too much, because he really didn't leave room for an answer. He did pause for a heart's beat.
"The deal is simple: Here are the children. Take them." He held out a small, silvery ball. If Cane looked, he'd see two kids playing around a coffee table with a little white cat.
“Those children do not belong to you, Nephilim,” Cane rasped, claws twitching. His keeled chest expanded, the fire growing hotter inside him. “I don’t make deals with pompous shits.” He made no move for the orb while there remained unspoken qualifications. “Return the stolen.”
"They are here. Take them." he encouraged once more. His hand was open, and he was kind enough to encapsulate the children so that Cane wouldn't get Kid Goo all over him, but also, so that Cane wouldn't terrorize the little ones.
“‘The deal is simple’,” Cane repeated. “Define the deal, Nephilim, or leave and I will retrieve them by force.”
Hraefn regarded Cane for a long moment, seeming to search through the fury of the man's eyes.
"Do I look like a fae? I am not. Though, I rather wonder at your true motives. However. You have refused any dealings, therefore, here are the children, take them."
"We may be bound by our Word," Cane reminded the Nephilim coolly, but Hraefn's rejection of the notion freed him from all obligation. A tilt of the wrist lifted the silver ball out of the Nephilim's hand and across the short distance between them -- probing its authentication throughout the process -- to hover within the circle of the Cajun's clawed fingers.
"This is so. How else would the son of an angel agree to such evil, and the son of a demon work for such good?" Hraefn responded with a bow of his head, perhaps even the echo of a smile. The sphere, the kids, were legitimate. They did not notice the hand off. Allen was assailing a suit of armor with a wooden sword, Nandella was coloring at the table.
"Now. Heed my words. For we are brothers, though separated by long years and the press of belief, and I will you no ill. You will not be dealing with anything like us, if you continue this course. The elder sleeping gods are not like us. If were you, I would drop those kids off as soon as you can and walk away, preferably tossing a bomb over your shoulder. Our powers remain considerable in their face, but they don't work as we do, and will as gladly despoil you as I."
The Cajun's maw stretched and yawned into something resembling derision. "In this I fulfill my troth and nothing more, Brother." He said the word with such contempt that it would never be mistaken for anything but mockery. "Take what is yours and get out of my fucking sight before I decide the return of stolen chattel is not enough."
He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Do you know how the sphere works?" Anger was a luxury, and Hraefn was a thrifty man. Also, he hadn't noticed Mist had straight up vanished somewhere along the line. He noticed then, with a glance to where the elf had been and back again to Cane, faintly perplexed. "Did you feel him casting?"
Cane had not, in fact, realized Mist had gone until it was pointed out. His gaze flickered away from Hraefn to where he'd last seen the elf, a low growl of dislike vibrating in his throat. He shuffled two steps away from the Nephilim, closing his fingers around the sphere. He didn't trust that Mist was not making a move he couldn't see. Cane's eyes found Hraefn once more as a third step back had him slipping through the veil into the In-Between.
"You need to set that..." Hraefn started to explained then exhaled, rolling his eyes. "Jesus Christ. Why do they always act like I'm coming for their balls?" he muttered.
"Maybe come back and find out how to open the sphere instead of risking the kid's lives that you've gone to so much trouble to save." He called. A wing folded down, then the other. His stature diminished, his clothing altered to a simple, clean black suit. His hair was short, business style. He brushed off a few bits of imaginary lint and then looked around keenly.
“Where the hell did you get to, Kitten?” he murmured, starting to walk.
Though the carefully lain false trails remained, Mist found himself returning again to the Temple district. He stepped up behind the low and homely temple of Gaia, gazing up at its main dome. He could feel the power, the touch of the goddess lay warmly over her consecrated grounds.
Yet, Mist hadn't stepped onto the grounds. He leaned to the back wall of some Christian book store, near to the dumpster, and simply gazed at the temple. He'd walked all the night, half in shock, chilled and confused.
Still cowled and cloaked, he was just another mysterious figure wandering through the town. It was quiet that time of day, few people walking along the sidewalks, let alone in the alleyways. A few nuns from the Cult of Love and Ecstacy giggled and flirted their way by, but gave little interest in the tall elf. Which is what he wanted. He exhaled softly. As if he was waiting for Cane to bring Michelle into this rather nasty trap.
So it came as something of a surprise when the Cajun appeared in the mouth of the alley without Michelle in his company. Even more surprising was that he was entirely alone. Cane flicked a cigarette into the street, though Mist couldn't see where it landed or if it even had at all. He'd paused only a moment, then moved further into the alley, walking calmly toward Mist, adjusting the collar of his jacket to cover the back of his neck and ward off the chill.
Mist could feel him. Hear him. And other than a sense of resignation, and the lowering of his cowl, he was still and silent. His gaze was oddly vacant, though his runes were once more gleaming brightly as ever. Simple and passive, waiting.
Cane said nothing as he approached, moving sedately into the elf's orbit with nary a hint of animosity until he was within arm's reach. Then his inscrutable expression morphed into plain, unadulterated fury. Mist felt a wave of heat as it sloughed away from Cane's imposing form. In the span of an instant he'd lifted both hands, fixing one around the elf's throat with a violent grip, grinding him abruptly into the cold, weathered brick of the wall at the same time the other was plowed mercilessly into face.
Mist scarcely made a sound, and didn't lift either hand. Definitely this was not normal. But, he didn't raise a shield, either. His breath rasped, the skin under Cane's hand was curiously gnarled near the jugular vein. His nose and lip bled after the punch to his face, and his gaze returned somberly to Cane's.
The lack of a response did not deter him. Cane used his grip on his throat to drag him away from the wall with a threatening growl of noise, flinging him at the ground where he landed with all the likeness of a ragdoll, making no sound, even as Cane followed up with a vicious kick to the side.
Mist’s eyes widened as the blow knocked the wind out of him. Pain splintered through his side as he felt a rib crack. Cane followed him down, jean clad knees straddling the elf’s narrow hips as he forced him onto his back in preparation for another mind-numbing blow to the face.
"I've decided something," Cane drawled in a low basso that rolled like distant thunder. "I don't really think I like your brand of magic. It's a danger, in my opinion, people who fuck with the balance of life like you do. An' ya know what else I think?" He closed his hand over the elf's throat again and squeezed with just enough pressure to make breathing difficult.
Mist’s breath caught and choked, but there was a strangeness to it, as if he knew exactly how long he could remain conscious if he didn't strain against the strangulation. His eyes finally closed and his head shook.
Leaning down so they were nose to nose, the Cajun wound his free hand tightly into Mist's hair to hold him perfectly still. "I think you'd cross lines if your own daughter were ever in danger, and to prevent that? I think I'll just take her so I can keep her safe from you; put her somewhere you'll never find her."
He tipped his chin, angling his mouth close to the elf's pointed ear. "How about that, Mist?"
"You don't understand," Mist rasped. Cane loosened his grip to allow the elf to speak. "Haven't you seen it? Michelle has been taken by evil. It is forcing her to act against herself. When we brought her back from R'lyeh. It hooked into her. It may not be the best thing but they had to be protected. She is desperate enough to use innocence to save herself and her husband."
"I'm not an idiot," he hissed through clenched teeth. "But ya don't kidnap children an' hide them from their family." Cane raised himself up and released the tangle of blond hair to provide another compelling blow to Mist's face. "I know I'd do damn near anything ta save someone I loved. Who the fuck 're you ta decide what's too costly a price for her?"
"You know I'm right," Mist responded, letting blood run from his lips, "I am doing damn near anything to save one I love." His eyes closed. He hated, so much, to be hurt. And yet, he allowed Cane to whale on him like a red headed step child.
"I could paste you against the wall, I could turn you inside out, with just a word, a gesture. But I won't. Because you are doing what you believe is right, because no matter what else, you are a good man. You want to be angry with me for knowing more about you than you think I should, but I'm not blind. I've seen you for years. I've watched you for years. Just because I was of no notice to you does not mean you were of no notice to me. So tell me. What will you do, if you bring them back to her, and she sacrifices them?"
The Cajun's eerily haunting laugh started quietly, the atmosphere growing hot and heavy, and as the noise rose to crescendo echoing raucously off the walls of the narrow alley, an oppressive, dark weight pressed in as the mantle of the bloody mace settled neatly on the Cajun's broad shoulders.
He was Rage. He was Brutality.
"Izh ichai nev'ahr ensh ozh." The sound was rock grating on rock; a turbulent, dark tongue.
Canaan released his grip, but not before smearing his thumb through the flow of blood that had painted one side of Mist's jaw crimson. He turned his hand palm up to study the elf's life blood, his gaze cool and calculative. "You'll regret this," he said in common, sliding the pads of his fingers through the blood on his thumb.
He got up without another word and strode away from the broken elf. Mist lay there in a heap; doing nothing, trying, as he always did, to keep from reacting. Don’t react, you’ll be beaten again.
The Words. Should not have been spoken. Reality warped. The alleyway turned upon itself, fluid, flexing around the Cajun and turning him to face... Ten foot tall, wings of purest argent unfurled, salt and pepper hair in heavy waves around a starkly handsome face.
The Nephilim drew an irreverent smirk from the Cajun while his visage still resembled that of a man’s. But his features twisted, his body hulking and growing in stature to match that of the angelic’s as a pair of twisted horns pushed free from his skull. He warped and pulled, a violent fire burning in his stretching chest.
Heavenly blue eyes focused upon Cane, and the Nephilim drew in a slow breath. "The step too far should never be taken, young one, as you should have been taught the first time you learned that your powers were not inviolate." A bassy thrum of voice echoed from the man. "And it does seem that the lesson today is of the step too far."
Cane raked a clawed hand through the remaining distortion as the alleyway returned to itself, an inhuman laugh pouring from his gaping, firelit mouth. Twisting at the waist, he fixed his blazing, molten gaze on Mist’s supine form and narrowed his eyes. “Ichai izh not voth izh'domosh tak voth?”
The man folded his arms over his chest, broad and powerful. Such lordly clothing he wore, fine fabrics and elegant details, blue velvets and linen. His head tilted as he attended the flow of Abyssal pouring from Cane's lips, then held up his hand for peace. He seemed vaguely disappointed, yet, he still had his geis to fulfill.
"He belongs to me. Your hands do not belong upon him except at his request. I do hope we are clear." A thin smile and a slight bow, "I am Hraefn."
There were giants in the days of old, sons of angels and mortals...
"I am here because of him, but what brings you, young man, to such a spot, when you have no loved ones in this game?" his smile again was thin, as if accusing Cane of protesting too much, because he really didn't leave room for an answer. He did pause for a heart's beat.
"The deal is simple: Here are the children. Take them." He held out a small, silvery ball. If Cane looked, he'd see two kids playing around a coffee table with a little white cat.
“Those children do not belong to you, Nephilim,” Cane rasped, claws twitching. His keeled chest expanded, the fire growing hotter inside him. “I don’t make deals with pompous shits.” He made no move for the orb while there remained unspoken qualifications. “Return the stolen.”
"They are here. Take them." he encouraged once more. His hand was open, and he was kind enough to encapsulate the children so that Cane wouldn't get Kid Goo all over him, but also, so that Cane wouldn't terrorize the little ones.
“‘The deal is simple’,” Cane repeated. “Define the deal, Nephilim, or leave and I will retrieve them by force.”
Hraefn regarded Cane for a long moment, seeming to search through the fury of the man's eyes.
"Do I look like a fae? I am not. Though, I rather wonder at your true motives. However. You have refused any dealings, therefore, here are the children, take them."
"We may be bound by our Word," Cane reminded the Nephilim coolly, but Hraefn's rejection of the notion freed him from all obligation. A tilt of the wrist lifted the silver ball out of the Nephilim's hand and across the short distance between them -- probing its authentication throughout the process -- to hover within the circle of the Cajun's clawed fingers.
"This is so. How else would the son of an angel agree to such evil, and the son of a demon work for such good?" Hraefn responded with a bow of his head, perhaps even the echo of a smile. The sphere, the kids, were legitimate. They did not notice the hand off. Allen was assailing a suit of armor with a wooden sword, Nandella was coloring at the table.
"Now. Heed my words. For we are brothers, though separated by long years and the press of belief, and I will you no ill. You will not be dealing with anything like us, if you continue this course. The elder sleeping gods are not like us. If were you, I would drop those kids off as soon as you can and walk away, preferably tossing a bomb over your shoulder. Our powers remain considerable in their face, but they don't work as we do, and will as gladly despoil you as I."
The Cajun's maw stretched and yawned into something resembling derision. "In this I fulfill my troth and nothing more, Brother." He said the word with such contempt that it would never be mistaken for anything but mockery. "Take what is yours and get out of my fucking sight before I decide the return of stolen chattel is not enough."
He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Do you know how the sphere works?" Anger was a luxury, and Hraefn was a thrifty man. Also, he hadn't noticed Mist had straight up vanished somewhere along the line. He noticed then, with a glance to where the elf had been and back again to Cane, faintly perplexed. "Did you feel him casting?"
Cane had not, in fact, realized Mist had gone until it was pointed out. His gaze flickered away from Hraefn to where he'd last seen the elf, a low growl of dislike vibrating in his throat. He shuffled two steps away from the Nephilim, closing his fingers around the sphere. He didn't trust that Mist was not making a move he couldn't see. Cane's eyes found Hraefn once more as a third step back had him slipping through the veil into the In-Between.
"You need to set that..." Hraefn started to explained then exhaled, rolling his eyes. "Jesus Christ. Why do they always act like I'm coming for their balls?" he muttered.
"Maybe come back and find out how to open the sphere instead of risking the kid's lives that you've gone to so much trouble to save." He called. A wing folded down, then the other. His stature diminished, his clothing altered to a simple, clean black suit. His hair was short, business style. He brushed off a few bits of imaginary lint and then looked around keenly.
“Where the hell did you get to, Kitten?” he murmured, starting to walk.
-
PrlUnicorn
- Expert Adventurer
- Posts: 1194
- Joined: Thu Jun 15, 2006 4:48 pm
- Location: Navarra
Re: Lost in Time and Space
6 Dec 2019 - Late Morning- Kabuki Street
Kabuki Street’s busy hypermarket still bore the old brand of JUSCO, a decorative red cube crowning one corner of the multi-level building and decorated with the name in stylized white letters on each side. There was little room for parking in RhyDin, much less this cramped section of Dockside, and a variety of cars, motorbikes, and cargo vans were parallel parked all around the block as tight as they could fit -- even this early in the morning, only an hour after sunrise.
Mallory squeezed her way between bumpers, several bags clutched in each hand and raised high to keep from scraping the paint. Her clothes were simple, comfortable jeans and trainers and an army green parka, her hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail, and her makeup was too light to be an effective disguise for the dark circles under her eyes. She wore a faded blue backpack on her back, and shifted it to one shoulder to fish out her phone once she reached the sidewalk across the way from the market, where she could get a brief respite from the foot traffic before forging ahead onto Kabuki Street itself.
Midwifing duties at the Dockside Women’s Center had taken priority, but she had to find Mallory. Somewhere, someplace, on the woman’s day off, but where to look. Maybe it was a good thing as the students at the Kabuki Street Community School didn’t need to hear what Colleen had to say. She muttered, speech devoid of her accent, “Pharlen, so help me, I don’t know all of what you’ve gotten me into, but what I can do, I need to do.” Fish market, trinket shops, and there was Mallory sitting in the midst of them. She looked like she hadn’t slept in days or was it weeks? Normally, Colleen had an air of lightness about her, but this wasn’t a time for that. Between the tussles with her kinfolk going on in the Grecian Quarter of Old Temple and whatever the hell had enthralled Michelle, the season was darker and not what it should have been at all. Her words to the witch were simple, but with a tone of gravity in them, “We need to talk, Mallory.”
The witch looked up from her phone, slow pace coming to a stop when she heard her name. She clicked the device and palmed it into her back pocket, shifting the plastic bags down to her hand from the crook of her arm. “Hi, Collie.” No breaths had been rising from her while she walked, oddly enough, but now her words came out foggy in the cold morning air.
Her expression was inscrutable, beyond exhausted. She glanced over at her as she hoisted her bags onto a small, unused bench to give her hands a break. “What’s up?”
“Last night and Mist is what’s up,” she spoke softly. “Is there someplace a bit more private where we can talk without half the population listening?”
Mallory glanced around, searching the mass of people around them for anything familiar. As usual on Kabuki Street, it wasn’t hard to find a half dozen girls in silk sukajans adorned with tigers and dragons, and a few faces covered by surgical masks. Then she looked back at Collie. “I’m on my way home... Na-rae and Izumi are dropping off little Lisa so we can babysit. I can do a spell,” she offered; “it’ll give us our privacy as long as we maintain eye contact.”
“Can it fool any local security cameras into believing we’re chatting about business at the school or over at the medical center?” She waited for Mallory to literally work her magic before going on.
Mallory nodded. “Conversational equivalent of white noise.” She lowered her left hand to her side, curling into a fist that shook for a moment as she dug a lengthening nail through her own palm. Her eyes flared, and the blood that sought to escape through her fingers evaporated into gray smoke that suddenly swirled around them, casting the world around them into muted tones under a blood red sky. The people bustling past them suddenly appeared indistinct, literally faceless.
Her jaw seemed only a little tightened at the pain. She tipped her horned head for Collie to continue.
“The first thing you need to know is that I have mixed feelings about Mist taking Michelle’s children. He saw something that horrified him, he might not put it that way, but that’s the feeling he was giving off. He’s not easily scared, this much I know. He was brought to my home for healing after something that happened on, what was that ghost ship called, the Amore Belle? Tangling with angry or lost dead folk is not the easiest of things. The kids found him, Maggie, Desdenova, and Amaris. Not the wisest of acts on their part, but they did what was needed and saved his life. Had he not been on medical leave, he might not have gotten tangled in this.” She turned one hand, palm upward. “At this point, it is what it is and, for good or ill, he’s in the thick of things.” She found herself studying Mallory carefully. “It is possible that because of that recent experience, he sees something that the rest of us can’t or won’t.” Collie let go of a breath that she seemed to have been holding for hours. “There are other things, like a descendant of Poseidon being wary of water on the Isle. That’s not normal behavior; I’m fairly sure you already know that.” She tucked a stray lock of hair behind a gently pointed ear. “I won’t lie and say that I avoid getting involved in things, because that’s not quite the truth.” Her lips pursed as she considered her words carefully. “However, when someone I have known as long as I have Pharlen comes to me for help, I am involved, like it or not. One does not and should not refuse to help in those cases.” She waited a bit to let Mallory absorb what she had already said.
“It’s hard to define normal in a place like this.” Mallory’s gaze was as steady as her expression, fist tightening a fraction to keep blood flowing from the wound she had created. “I believe Mist saw something outside of his experience of normal... far enough that it unsettled him... and that, in the moment, he thought taking her children was the right thing to do. But we’re not in the moment anymore. He’s Derrick’s caregiver, and when he saw a desperate spouse turn to magic she didn’t fully understand to help him, he panicked. That’s okay... but it’s not okay that he isn’t backing down now. It’s past time for him to stop this and return those children to their family.”
She brushed her fingers over the emerald gem she wore at her throat. “No, we aren’t, but we are in a moment where two self-professed child haters are likely to do more harm than good. Sal and Cane mean well much as Mist did, but they, too, are probably in over their heads.” She remember the eye contact stipulation and studied Mallory again. “Whatever creature has enthralled Michelle is likely out of my reach at this point. Her children, however, are another matter. If it hasn’t tried to infect them in some way as it did with Pharl, there are ways of safeguarding them from it.” A wry smile appeared. “I’m old, older than this lifetime, and I know old things when I feel them around me. I know what it’s like to have my children taken and I also know what it’s like to find out that someone had kept two of my other children safe. Until there’s something in motion to ensure the safety of those children, they are better off in hiding.” She tugged the black cloak around herself to ward off a chill. “Just so you know, I know when someone is using a version of fey speak on me.”
“Then I’ll speak plainly.” Mallory narrowed her eyes as she held Collie’s gaze. “I don’t hate children. I’d love, someday, to have children. I care about Michelle and her family, and that is why I offered to help her find them. If you don’t trust Cane and Sal in this... I get it... but I am involved in this, too, and I’ll make sure her children are safe.” She lifted her chin defiantly. “Thrall is a strong word. I prefer warlock — someone who bargains with a deathless being for power. I believe Michelle struck a bargain for the power to survive, before I fought and bled to pluck her from that place. I have five warlocks bound to me by oath, each of them marked in their own way — and I do not think a new form of magic, and the marks of a pact, are enough to justify keeping a mother away from her children.”
She held up her hand in a hold up a minute fashion. “Enthralled not thrall, she’s under the influence of some being that’s up to no good. No matter what name one gives that creature, its intentions of harming Michelle or those close to her are pretty clear. Even from the sidelines last night, I could see that. Harris has always had a mouth on him, but he doesn’t deserve to die for it.” A humorless chuckle escaped. “Reminds me of someone prodding one of my young ones and getting told they have seen scarier things before breakfast than most non-Rhydians have even dreamed about. I do my best to shield them, but each is gifted or cursed with things they didn’t ask for. Over my lifetimes, I’ve encountered things that would send some to insane asylums, but here I am, surviving and mostly sane.” She dropped her guard for a moment and allowed Mallory to see the tiredness on her face that was hidden from most people. “Leaving the Boys out of the equation for now, who will keep you safe, Mallory?” Collie became quiet as the Westminster chime sounded from the timepiece on her wrist. “If I had been in the position of needing to choose a safe place where those children would feel loved and Michelle might not lose what sense and sanity she is holding onto, I would have chosen to put them in Gloria’s care. The reason, an excuse, perhaps? Allowing Michelle to concentrate more on her husband’s well-being and knowing her children were safe in the hands of her longtime friend and mentor. Michelle might have accepted that compromise without difficulty. I remember those things that many never knew or have just learned. Much like the child that suddenly speaks up, it’s often a case of no one asking the right questions and or assuming that I am just a foolish and meddling old woman. We crones are a force to be reckoned with, but the younger folk often ignore and dismiss us.” She looked at Mallory with an expression of fondness like a parent might give to their child. “I hope you never know what that’s like,” she spoke quietly, the weariness reflected in her tone.
Mallory’s hand twitched. The nail had dug in a little deeper. Blood magic could be tricky over a long duration. “...But Mist didn’t compromise, and he didn’t back down last night. It is what it is. Did Michelle ask to merely know where her children were? For them to be given to someone else? Or did she ask for them back?”
“I don’t know, Mallory. I avoid prying in people’s heads. Dangerous places, minds.” She cleared her throat. “As for Mist not backing down, put yourself in his shoes a moment. He’d just been threatened by Cane and Sal then he was faced with the force that is you. He doesn’t who he can trust other than himself. Who knows if anyone else has been … tainted by what’s got a hold on Michelle.” She made a give over motion with her fingers to allow Mallory to use some of her blood. “You’re a teacher, would you give a child over to someone if you had proof that their life was threatened?”
“If there was proof of that, Mist did a hell of a job presenting it.” There was a faint shake of her horned head. “I heard my magic mentioned last night... twice. It can’t work like that. It has to be my own life... my own blood. Everything in magic has a price, and I always pay for it myself.” After a beat, she added, with a touch of a smile curving her lips and a nod of acknowledgment, “I appreciate the offer all the same.”
“I know that lesson all too well which is why I came to offer help. Not everyone has creatures in their care that willingly give blood and bone to them.” Hooves and horns were bones of a sort. “Unicorn hoof powder, it healed Pharl’s wound. Given the right mixture, it can protect—”
“It sounds like you have this well in hand,” Mallory cut in abruptly. Her expression once again slipped back towards careful inscrutability that could be taken for coolness. “And I’ll be supporting Michelle how I’m able,” she added with a tone of finality.
She turned to look at Mallory, almost as though she was searching deep into the witch’s soul. Something hardened in her countenance. “I came looking for you to offer help. I didn’t want to play the game of ‘Where do we go from here,’ I came with what I can do ready. It’s foolish to enter a battle without a plan.” She held up her index finger as if to punctuate her point. “Remember, I knew Michelle’s late father long before I ever met you and before you ever knew her. He was a good man, died too soon. I have to wonder what he would have done to help her. Wondering about it doesn’t change what is.”
The witch finally spoke what amounted to a bold-faced lie, her gaze still locked with Collie’s to sustain the spell: “I don’t have or need a plan... and I wish you the best of luck with yours, whatever it is. These groceries have to get back to Riverwatch before they thaw,” she added, the only truth in that string of words.
“The funny thing is, Mist is the one that said you were in need of help.” She eyed Mallory. “The worst lies are the ones we tell ourselves. You’ve now placed me in a position of having to choose a side and that’s not what I wanted to do.” She frowned and shook her head. “I guess we are done here unless you have anything else to say?” As she was talking, she took something from an inside pocket, it looked like a gris gris bag. This one contained a mixture of magic that could give respite from dark magic if not hold it at bay indefinitely. She set the bag in her upturned palm and offered it to Mallory. “You will need this.” The bag held powdered unicorn hoof and horn mixed with a few other things that might never be identified. Mallory might be better off not knowing. “And you will need a plan. Use this and come to see me at my home. The odds of anyone treading there unwelcome is … rare.”
It was as Mallory closed her right hand around the bag, and the shift in her stance caused the wound in her left hand to deepen, that the idea she needed finally reached her sleep-deprived mind. The claw-like fingernail scraped audibly against bone as it finally pierced all the way through her palm, and through the anguish she kept her expression stoic and her gaze steady... but the eyes Collie stared into were changing.
Vibrant green turned a solid, bloody red, the dark pupils widened until they nearly swallowed her gaze in a lightless void, and then the irises knit and twisted themselves into letters, and with each change, a drop of blood fell from her tear ducts and evaporated in the air.
MICHELLE MUST TRUST ME AT HER DARKEST IF I AM TO SAVE HER. HER PATRON WILL TEAR THROUGH MY MIND WHEN I GET THAT CLOSE. I KNOW HIS NAME. HE MUST FIND NOTHING. THIS WILL HELP, BUT I SHOULD NOT KNOW YOUR PLANS. PROTECT HER CHILDREN. PLEASE.
It was as much as she could manage. With a pained gasp, she broke her gaze, and the world returned to its normal shade around them, the morning crowd bustling by, having ignored their seemingly uninteresting buzz of conversation. “Sorry... yeah, thanks, this’ll be perfect for stew this weekend,” the witch managed, smiling as she palmed the bag she’d been given.
There was no sign of the wound in her left hand, nor of the blood that had been flowing from her eyes, now vibrant and green and as whole as they had appeared before.
She smiled thoughtfully and followed Mallory’s lead. “I do share cooking secrets from time to time, but not often.”
“I appreciate it,” Mallory tipped her horned head as she tucked it into one of her grocery bags, and hoisted the lot off of the bench. “Nothing so fancy tonight... We’re babysitting Mini Lisa, and I’m 90% sure we’ll break down and get her King Burger chicken nuggets to make her happy.” She shook the bags to settle them and get a feel for the weight again.
“I’m heading back to the medical center. New arrivals all the time.” She grinned.
“Sounds like you’ll have your hands full. Good luck with that,” the witch smiled warmly, “and thanks again, Collie.” With that, she turned and headed for the main thoroughfare of Kabuki Street, sealing up all of the doom and darkness behind the careful facade of a cheerful expression.
Kabuki Street’s busy hypermarket still bore the old brand of JUSCO, a decorative red cube crowning one corner of the multi-level building and decorated with the name in stylized white letters on each side. There was little room for parking in RhyDin, much less this cramped section of Dockside, and a variety of cars, motorbikes, and cargo vans were parallel parked all around the block as tight as they could fit -- even this early in the morning, only an hour after sunrise.
Mallory squeezed her way between bumpers, several bags clutched in each hand and raised high to keep from scraping the paint. Her clothes were simple, comfortable jeans and trainers and an army green parka, her hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail, and her makeup was too light to be an effective disguise for the dark circles under her eyes. She wore a faded blue backpack on her back, and shifted it to one shoulder to fish out her phone once she reached the sidewalk across the way from the market, where she could get a brief respite from the foot traffic before forging ahead onto Kabuki Street itself.
Midwifing duties at the Dockside Women’s Center had taken priority, but she had to find Mallory. Somewhere, someplace, on the woman’s day off, but where to look. Maybe it was a good thing as the students at the Kabuki Street Community School didn’t need to hear what Colleen had to say. She muttered, speech devoid of her accent, “Pharlen, so help me, I don’t know all of what you’ve gotten me into, but what I can do, I need to do.” Fish market, trinket shops, and there was Mallory sitting in the midst of them. She looked like she hadn’t slept in days or was it weeks? Normally, Colleen had an air of lightness about her, but this wasn’t a time for that. Between the tussles with her kinfolk going on in the Grecian Quarter of Old Temple and whatever the hell had enthralled Michelle, the season was darker and not what it should have been at all. Her words to the witch were simple, but with a tone of gravity in them, “We need to talk, Mallory.”
The witch looked up from her phone, slow pace coming to a stop when she heard her name. She clicked the device and palmed it into her back pocket, shifting the plastic bags down to her hand from the crook of her arm. “Hi, Collie.” No breaths had been rising from her while she walked, oddly enough, but now her words came out foggy in the cold morning air.
Her expression was inscrutable, beyond exhausted. She glanced over at her as she hoisted her bags onto a small, unused bench to give her hands a break. “What’s up?”
“Last night and Mist is what’s up,” she spoke softly. “Is there someplace a bit more private where we can talk without half the population listening?”
Mallory glanced around, searching the mass of people around them for anything familiar. As usual on Kabuki Street, it wasn’t hard to find a half dozen girls in silk sukajans adorned with tigers and dragons, and a few faces covered by surgical masks. Then she looked back at Collie. “I’m on my way home... Na-rae and Izumi are dropping off little Lisa so we can babysit. I can do a spell,” she offered; “it’ll give us our privacy as long as we maintain eye contact.”
“Can it fool any local security cameras into believing we’re chatting about business at the school or over at the medical center?” She waited for Mallory to literally work her magic before going on.
Mallory nodded. “Conversational equivalent of white noise.” She lowered her left hand to her side, curling into a fist that shook for a moment as she dug a lengthening nail through her own palm. Her eyes flared, and the blood that sought to escape through her fingers evaporated into gray smoke that suddenly swirled around them, casting the world around them into muted tones under a blood red sky. The people bustling past them suddenly appeared indistinct, literally faceless.
Her jaw seemed only a little tightened at the pain. She tipped her horned head for Collie to continue.
“The first thing you need to know is that I have mixed feelings about Mist taking Michelle’s children. He saw something that horrified him, he might not put it that way, but that’s the feeling he was giving off. He’s not easily scared, this much I know. He was brought to my home for healing after something that happened on, what was that ghost ship called, the Amore Belle? Tangling with angry or lost dead folk is not the easiest of things. The kids found him, Maggie, Desdenova, and Amaris. Not the wisest of acts on their part, but they did what was needed and saved his life. Had he not been on medical leave, he might not have gotten tangled in this.” She turned one hand, palm upward. “At this point, it is what it is and, for good or ill, he’s in the thick of things.” She found herself studying Mallory carefully. “It is possible that because of that recent experience, he sees something that the rest of us can’t or won’t.” Collie let go of a breath that she seemed to have been holding for hours. “There are other things, like a descendant of Poseidon being wary of water on the Isle. That’s not normal behavior; I’m fairly sure you already know that.” She tucked a stray lock of hair behind a gently pointed ear. “I won’t lie and say that I avoid getting involved in things, because that’s not quite the truth.” Her lips pursed as she considered her words carefully. “However, when someone I have known as long as I have Pharlen comes to me for help, I am involved, like it or not. One does not and should not refuse to help in those cases.” She waited a bit to let Mallory absorb what she had already said.
“It’s hard to define normal in a place like this.” Mallory’s gaze was as steady as her expression, fist tightening a fraction to keep blood flowing from the wound she had created. “I believe Mist saw something outside of his experience of normal... far enough that it unsettled him... and that, in the moment, he thought taking her children was the right thing to do. But we’re not in the moment anymore. He’s Derrick’s caregiver, and when he saw a desperate spouse turn to magic she didn’t fully understand to help him, he panicked. That’s okay... but it’s not okay that he isn’t backing down now. It’s past time for him to stop this and return those children to their family.”
She brushed her fingers over the emerald gem she wore at her throat. “No, we aren’t, but we are in a moment where two self-professed child haters are likely to do more harm than good. Sal and Cane mean well much as Mist did, but they, too, are probably in over their heads.” She remember the eye contact stipulation and studied Mallory again. “Whatever creature has enthralled Michelle is likely out of my reach at this point. Her children, however, are another matter. If it hasn’t tried to infect them in some way as it did with Pharl, there are ways of safeguarding them from it.” A wry smile appeared. “I’m old, older than this lifetime, and I know old things when I feel them around me. I know what it’s like to have my children taken and I also know what it’s like to find out that someone had kept two of my other children safe. Until there’s something in motion to ensure the safety of those children, they are better off in hiding.” She tugged the black cloak around herself to ward off a chill. “Just so you know, I know when someone is using a version of fey speak on me.”
“Then I’ll speak plainly.” Mallory narrowed her eyes as she held Collie’s gaze. “I don’t hate children. I’d love, someday, to have children. I care about Michelle and her family, and that is why I offered to help her find them. If you don’t trust Cane and Sal in this... I get it... but I am involved in this, too, and I’ll make sure her children are safe.” She lifted her chin defiantly. “Thrall is a strong word. I prefer warlock — someone who bargains with a deathless being for power. I believe Michelle struck a bargain for the power to survive, before I fought and bled to pluck her from that place. I have five warlocks bound to me by oath, each of them marked in their own way — and I do not think a new form of magic, and the marks of a pact, are enough to justify keeping a mother away from her children.”
She held up her hand in a hold up a minute fashion. “Enthralled not thrall, she’s under the influence of some being that’s up to no good. No matter what name one gives that creature, its intentions of harming Michelle or those close to her are pretty clear. Even from the sidelines last night, I could see that. Harris has always had a mouth on him, but he doesn’t deserve to die for it.” A humorless chuckle escaped. “Reminds me of someone prodding one of my young ones and getting told they have seen scarier things before breakfast than most non-Rhydians have even dreamed about. I do my best to shield them, but each is gifted or cursed with things they didn’t ask for. Over my lifetimes, I’ve encountered things that would send some to insane asylums, but here I am, surviving and mostly sane.” She dropped her guard for a moment and allowed Mallory to see the tiredness on her face that was hidden from most people. “Leaving the Boys out of the equation for now, who will keep you safe, Mallory?” Collie became quiet as the Westminster chime sounded from the timepiece on her wrist. “If I had been in the position of needing to choose a safe place where those children would feel loved and Michelle might not lose what sense and sanity she is holding onto, I would have chosen to put them in Gloria’s care. The reason, an excuse, perhaps? Allowing Michelle to concentrate more on her husband’s well-being and knowing her children were safe in the hands of her longtime friend and mentor. Michelle might have accepted that compromise without difficulty. I remember those things that many never knew or have just learned. Much like the child that suddenly speaks up, it’s often a case of no one asking the right questions and or assuming that I am just a foolish and meddling old woman. We crones are a force to be reckoned with, but the younger folk often ignore and dismiss us.” She looked at Mallory with an expression of fondness like a parent might give to their child. “I hope you never know what that’s like,” she spoke quietly, the weariness reflected in her tone.
Mallory’s hand twitched. The nail had dug in a little deeper. Blood magic could be tricky over a long duration. “...But Mist didn’t compromise, and he didn’t back down last night. It is what it is. Did Michelle ask to merely know where her children were? For them to be given to someone else? Or did she ask for them back?”
“I don’t know, Mallory. I avoid prying in people’s heads. Dangerous places, minds.” She cleared her throat. “As for Mist not backing down, put yourself in his shoes a moment. He’d just been threatened by Cane and Sal then he was faced with the force that is you. He doesn’t who he can trust other than himself. Who knows if anyone else has been … tainted by what’s got a hold on Michelle.” She made a give over motion with her fingers to allow Mallory to use some of her blood. “You’re a teacher, would you give a child over to someone if you had proof that their life was threatened?”
“If there was proof of that, Mist did a hell of a job presenting it.” There was a faint shake of her horned head. “I heard my magic mentioned last night... twice. It can’t work like that. It has to be my own life... my own blood. Everything in magic has a price, and I always pay for it myself.” After a beat, she added, with a touch of a smile curving her lips and a nod of acknowledgment, “I appreciate the offer all the same.”
“I know that lesson all too well which is why I came to offer help. Not everyone has creatures in their care that willingly give blood and bone to them.” Hooves and horns were bones of a sort. “Unicorn hoof powder, it healed Pharl’s wound. Given the right mixture, it can protect—”
“It sounds like you have this well in hand,” Mallory cut in abruptly. Her expression once again slipped back towards careful inscrutability that could be taken for coolness. “And I’ll be supporting Michelle how I’m able,” she added with a tone of finality.
She turned to look at Mallory, almost as though she was searching deep into the witch’s soul. Something hardened in her countenance. “I came looking for you to offer help. I didn’t want to play the game of ‘Where do we go from here,’ I came with what I can do ready. It’s foolish to enter a battle without a plan.” She held up her index finger as if to punctuate her point. “Remember, I knew Michelle’s late father long before I ever met you and before you ever knew her. He was a good man, died too soon. I have to wonder what he would have done to help her. Wondering about it doesn’t change what is.”
The witch finally spoke what amounted to a bold-faced lie, her gaze still locked with Collie’s to sustain the spell: “I don’t have or need a plan... and I wish you the best of luck with yours, whatever it is. These groceries have to get back to Riverwatch before they thaw,” she added, the only truth in that string of words.
“The funny thing is, Mist is the one that said you were in need of help.” She eyed Mallory. “The worst lies are the ones we tell ourselves. You’ve now placed me in a position of having to choose a side and that’s not what I wanted to do.” She frowned and shook her head. “I guess we are done here unless you have anything else to say?” As she was talking, she took something from an inside pocket, it looked like a gris gris bag. This one contained a mixture of magic that could give respite from dark magic if not hold it at bay indefinitely. She set the bag in her upturned palm and offered it to Mallory. “You will need this.” The bag held powdered unicorn hoof and horn mixed with a few other things that might never be identified. Mallory might be better off not knowing. “And you will need a plan. Use this and come to see me at my home. The odds of anyone treading there unwelcome is … rare.”
It was as Mallory closed her right hand around the bag, and the shift in her stance caused the wound in her left hand to deepen, that the idea she needed finally reached her sleep-deprived mind. The claw-like fingernail scraped audibly against bone as it finally pierced all the way through her palm, and through the anguish she kept her expression stoic and her gaze steady... but the eyes Collie stared into were changing.
Vibrant green turned a solid, bloody red, the dark pupils widened until they nearly swallowed her gaze in a lightless void, and then the irises knit and twisted themselves into letters, and with each change, a drop of blood fell from her tear ducts and evaporated in the air.
MICHELLE MUST TRUST ME AT HER DARKEST IF I AM TO SAVE HER. HER PATRON WILL TEAR THROUGH MY MIND WHEN I GET THAT CLOSE. I KNOW HIS NAME. HE MUST FIND NOTHING. THIS WILL HELP, BUT I SHOULD NOT KNOW YOUR PLANS. PROTECT HER CHILDREN. PLEASE.
It was as much as she could manage. With a pained gasp, she broke her gaze, and the world returned to its normal shade around them, the morning crowd bustling by, having ignored their seemingly uninteresting buzz of conversation. “Sorry... yeah, thanks, this’ll be perfect for stew this weekend,” the witch managed, smiling as she palmed the bag she’d been given.
There was no sign of the wound in her left hand, nor of the blood that had been flowing from her eyes, now vibrant and green and as whole as they had appeared before.
She smiled thoughtfully and followed Mallory’s lead. “I do share cooking secrets from time to time, but not often.”
“I appreciate it,” Mallory tipped her horned head as she tucked it into one of her grocery bags, and hoisted the lot off of the bench. “Nothing so fancy tonight... We’re babysitting Mini Lisa, and I’m 90% sure we’ll break down and get her King Burger chicken nuggets to make her happy.” She shook the bags to settle them and get a feel for the weight again.
“I’m heading back to the medical center. New arrivals all the time.” She grinned.
“Sounds like you’ll have your hands full. Good luck with that,” the witch smiled warmly, “and thanks again, Collie.” With that, she turned and headed for the main thoroughfare of Kabuki Street, sealing up all of the doom and darkness behind the careful facade of a cheerful expression.
Re: Lost in Time and Space
Glancing around curiously biting her lip she shifted her backpack and started to walk towards the tower of water. Black and purple glitter kicks on her feet, a black pair of jeans, a black t-shirt with a wolf howling at the moon and an open hoody with the phases of the moon on it didn’t allow for her to be seen too easily in the night. This was a good thing, as she listened to the cheers and jeers coming from the rings, she had just left there hoping none followed her and the dark helped with that. Carefully she’d pick her way around the steep stones, jagged rocks and eventually step up to a sign that told when the sandbar would allow access to the door. Lucky for her as she looked out towards the sandbar it looked as if the tide was pulling back. Carefully she walked towards and over the sandbar feet sinking a bit into the wet sand as she traveled to the doors. Those eyes took in the craggy rocks and she tilted her head
Huh, those weren’t there before
Careful steps around some of the jagged stones she’d come up to the door, pulling her backpack from her back and letting it hang from one shoulder she’d unzip it and start to rummage around till she found the slip of paper, then a small case was pulled out with a bunch of black and purple glitter thumbtacks. Gee, you'd think it was her favorite colors and the glitter gods enough to annoy anyone. She reached up trying to get it higher than she was, onto the door, she was nervous, eyes darting left and right she placed the paper up against the door smoothing it out.
As Amaris tried to find somewhere to pin the note, the rough, black stone double doors opened wide to reveal their Keeper, known in some circles as Miz Swamp Lady.
“Hello. Amaris.”
She stumbled forward with a yelp since she was leaning up to find a place to put the paper. Composing herself after bumping right into her she backed up
Oh, dad is not gonna be happy, here comes another bath… hmm, maybe I could go swimming before I go home.
“Hi”
She scrambled for the title she wanted to use. She wanted the title she gave her; auntie, even over lady the other title she preferred but she just looked up at her.
Michelle leaned against one of the large doors, her slime wasn’t as pervasive or as drippy but her visage was paler and her hair more like seaweed. She reached out a hand, “you can just give me the letter, Amaris.”
She thought for a few moments and dug around in her bag again till she found what she was looking for and pulled out a tin of cookies she baked and offered them up to her
“Do you have time for me anymore? Will you make time for me?”
She didn’t know if she still cared about her after everything that went down but she had a lot of questions and she wanted to talk. That sinking feeling in her stomach as she stood there looking up at her with the tin offered up made her feel like she’d be denied at any minute and maybe it would be fair but she had to try.
Michelle’s face softened, “of course I have time for you.” She took the tin of cookies and motioned inside the Tower. “Do you want to come in?”
She hesitated a moment looking behind her then took a deep breath, and nodded. “Yeah I do”
She would step inside and look up at Michelle
The doors closed behind them, but not so ominously as one might expect. The Tower’s layout had shifted, there were more winding staircases and hidden alcoves. In the center was a circular table with a series of chairs and couches formed from the rock itself. Black sand covered the ground. Michelle sat on a couch which appeared to be formed from the same rocks that peppered the shore. “This isn’t our usual training time, so something must be on your mind. Have a seat.”
She carefully sat down her backpack from her shoulder, then sat herself down across from Michelle. She sat there shifting trying to get comfortable and trying to figure out how to start her questions. Slowly she moved to her side and unzipped her backpack picking through it again she pulled out a sketchbook, flipping to a page that displayed one of her very detailed sketches the kid was getting very good at her art. On the page was the wilds, trees surrounding the area were carved with Eldritch symbols a stone table held the corpse of a young teen with the symbols carved into the stones and also the flesh of the boy with a dagger in the heart, scattered about was blood the only color she’d gotten to on the sketch. She watched Michelle closely as she showed it to her, watching her reaction before she pointed to it
“I saw this last night. It smelt horrible there: death, rot and seaweed.”
She didn’t show fear but her heart was racing and she wanted desperately for her to take the same reactions that others had taken with the art. Yeah she didn’t pull her punches she went right for the heart of the concerns and doubts she’d been feeling
“Did you do this?”
Michelle looked at the drawing, her expression inscrutable. “No. I was not there.” She didn’t show any horror or repulsion at the image, but she also didn’t show any pleasure in it. “Do you really think me capable of such horrendous acts Amaris?”
She kept quiet a few moments pulling back and flipping back a few pages and held up the picture of Michelle plunging a dagger into Harris’ heart
“I don’t want to believe you are capable of such things but you were saying you would do something like that to him and then the next night this.”
After she got a look of the drawing she placed it into her back and sighed
“You have changed, my heart hurts and I’m worried, everyone is. I don’t know how to help and I want to.”
Michelle carefully considered the picture of Harris being stabbed. “This,” she traced the picture, “is more complicated. I suspected that Harris was immortal. No one asks to be stabbed, and jokes about being sacrificed on an altar at Overlord Isle with such flippancy.” She sighed, a bit of the hardness in her eyes receding to create a soft look of familiar kindness. “Amaris, we all have a bit of darkness inside of us. Sometimes it comes out, uncontrollably. I am who I am, and that has changed because of my experiences. As I told the other Barons, you can accept me for who I am or not. I cannot change what I have become. But that doesn’t make me evil.”
Amaris listened to her carefully thoughts racing inside her till that comment came out of Michelle’s mouth, she straightened head held high
“You’re right about sometimes it comes out but you are wrong about not being able to change what you have become. If you were right I would have been a killer werewolf long ago and kept killing after they tortured me. Yes I have slipped but I fight hard to be a better person”
She stopped licked her lips with a shrug
“Or werewolf whatever. The question is are you just giving up trying to be better? To change to be a better you”
Michelle opened the tin, biting into one of the cookies. Her eyes lit up in the simple, pleasurable taste. “A New Age is coming…” she murmured. “Who knows what that New Age will hold? The question here, Amaris, is do you believe in me? Mist doesn’t, and I don’t think Rachael does either. They are afraid of what they do not know. I don’t know what I will become at the end of this, but I believe that the path to progress sometimes leads through a dark valley. You are right, I can continue to change, but I cannot change the path that has brought me here. To this point. Do you trust in me? In my heart? Or do you fear that I am lost? Only you can decide that.”
The Keeper stood, then, and looked around the Tower. “Darkness has its own beauty. Darkness is not always evil. And light is not always good.”
Once again the girl sat thoughtfully watching Michelle stand listening to her words
“Why do you keep calling it a new age that is coming? Darkness is beautiful but darkness and light are not the same thing as good and evil.”
Gods Mist was rubbing off on her a little.
“I do not know if I trust you, I have never seen you stab someone. Do you know that I've never seen you hurt anyone outside of dueling. Do you know how scary that is? Wouldn't you be unsure if you saw someone you love who never attacked out of anger go and stab someone just because you think he might live through it? Would you have freaked out if you'd been wrong?"
Her lavender eyes glowed a little
"I'm scared, sad and I want to trust you."
There was a sense of struggle about Michelle, if only for a brief intense moment. "It's okay if you don't trust me anymore Amaris. That's for you to decide. Just be honest about it."
She shifted again thinking she stood up and looked around the tower sniffing and looked at Michelle
"Dad said something came back with you that shouldn't be here…"
She watched her, took a step to her backpack picked it up and looked at Michelle she rushed to her and hugged her
"I am loyal to you, I'll trust you but I won't do bad things and if I see you hurt someone again like you did to that windbag, I will walk away."
She pulled back and looked up at Michelle, who returned the embrace.
"My dad was only trying to help, just thought you should know, he got punished."
She zipped up her hoodie and turned
“I better get home dad’s probably freaking out trying to figure out where I went. See you later auntie Michelle.”
She bounced to the double doors, which closed on their own, heading off into the night she went heading home.
Huh, those weren’t there before
Careful steps around some of the jagged stones she’d come up to the door, pulling her backpack from her back and letting it hang from one shoulder she’d unzip it and start to rummage around till she found the slip of paper, then a small case was pulled out with a bunch of black and purple glitter thumbtacks. Gee, you'd think it was her favorite colors and the glitter gods enough to annoy anyone. She reached up trying to get it higher than she was, onto the door, she was nervous, eyes darting left and right she placed the paper up against the door smoothing it out.
As Amaris tried to find somewhere to pin the note, the rough, black stone double doors opened wide to reveal their Keeper, known in some circles as Miz Swamp Lady.
“Hello. Amaris.”
She stumbled forward with a yelp since she was leaning up to find a place to put the paper. Composing herself after bumping right into her she backed up
Oh, dad is not gonna be happy, here comes another bath… hmm, maybe I could go swimming before I go home.
“Hi”
She scrambled for the title she wanted to use. She wanted the title she gave her; auntie, even over lady the other title she preferred but she just looked up at her.
Michelle leaned against one of the large doors, her slime wasn’t as pervasive or as drippy but her visage was paler and her hair more like seaweed. She reached out a hand, “you can just give me the letter, Amaris.”
She thought for a few moments and dug around in her bag again till she found what she was looking for and pulled out a tin of cookies she baked and offered them up to her
“Do you have time for me anymore? Will you make time for me?”
She didn’t know if she still cared about her after everything that went down but she had a lot of questions and she wanted to talk. That sinking feeling in her stomach as she stood there looking up at her with the tin offered up made her feel like she’d be denied at any minute and maybe it would be fair but she had to try.
Michelle’s face softened, “of course I have time for you.” She took the tin of cookies and motioned inside the Tower. “Do you want to come in?”
She hesitated a moment looking behind her then took a deep breath, and nodded. “Yeah I do”
She would step inside and look up at Michelle
The doors closed behind them, but not so ominously as one might expect. The Tower’s layout had shifted, there were more winding staircases and hidden alcoves. In the center was a circular table with a series of chairs and couches formed from the rock itself. Black sand covered the ground. Michelle sat on a couch which appeared to be formed from the same rocks that peppered the shore. “This isn’t our usual training time, so something must be on your mind. Have a seat.”
She carefully sat down her backpack from her shoulder, then sat herself down across from Michelle. She sat there shifting trying to get comfortable and trying to figure out how to start her questions. Slowly she moved to her side and unzipped her backpack picking through it again she pulled out a sketchbook, flipping to a page that displayed one of her very detailed sketches the kid was getting very good at her art. On the page was the wilds, trees surrounding the area were carved with Eldritch symbols a stone table held the corpse of a young teen with the symbols carved into the stones and also the flesh of the boy with a dagger in the heart, scattered about was blood the only color she’d gotten to on the sketch. She watched Michelle closely as she showed it to her, watching her reaction before she pointed to it
“I saw this last night. It smelt horrible there: death, rot and seaweed.”
She didn’t show fear but her heart was racing and she wanted desperately for her to take the same reactions that others had taken with the art. Yeah she didn’t pull her punches she went right for the heart of the concerns and doubts she’d been feeling
“Did you do this?”
Michelle looked at the drawing, her expression inscrutable. “No. I was not there.” She didn’t show any horror or repulsion at the image, but she also didn’t show any pleasure in it. “Do you really think me capable of such horrendous acts Amaris?”
She kept quiet a few moments pulling back and flipping back a few pages and held up the picture of Michelle plunging a dagger into Harris’ heart
“I don’t want to believe you are capable of such things but you were saying you would do something like that to him and then the next night this.”
After she got a look of the drawing she placed it into her back and sighed
“You have changed, my heart hurts and I’m worried, everyone is. I don’t know how to help and I want to.”
Michelle carefully considered the picture of Harris being stabbed. “This,” she traced the picture, “is more complicated. I suspected that Harris was immortal. No one asks to be stabbed, and jokes about being sacrificed on an altar at Overlord Isle with such flippancy.” She sighed, a bit of the hardness in her eyes receding to create a soft look of familiar kindness. “Amaris, we all have a bit of darkness inside of us. Sometimes it comes out, uncontrollably. I am who I am, and that has changed because of my experiences. As I told the other Barons, you can accept me for who I am or not. I cannot change what I have become. But that doesn’t make me evil.”
Amaris listened to her carefully thoughts racing inside her till that comment came out of Michelle’s mouth, she straightened head held high
“You’re right about sometimes it comes out but you are wrong about not being able to change what you have become. If you were right I would have been a killer werewolf long ago and kept killing after they tortured me. Yes I have slipped but I fight hard to be a better person”
She stopped licked her lips with a shrug
“Or werewolf whatever. The question is are you just giving up trying to be better? To change to be a better you”
Michelle opened the tin, biting into one of the cookies. Her eyes lit up in the simple, pleasurable taste. “A New Age is coming…” she murmured. “Who knows what that New Age will hold? The question here, Amaris, is do you believe in me? Mist doesn’t, and I don’t think Rachael does either. They are afraid of what they do not know. I don’t know what I will become at the end of this, but I believe that the path to progress sometimes leads through a dark valley. You are right, I can continue to change, but I cannot change the path that has brought me here. To this point. Do you trust in me? In my heart? Or do you fear that I am lost? Only you can decide that.”
The Keeper stood, then, and looked around the Tower. “Darkness has its own beauty. Darkness is not always evil. And light is not always good.”
Once again the girl sat thoughtfully watching Michelle stand listening to her words
“Why do you keep calling it a new age that is coming? Darkness is beautiful but darkness and light are not the same thing as good and evil.”
Gods Mist was rubbing off on her a little.
“I do not know if I trust you, I have never seen you stab someone. Do you know that I've never seen you hurt anyone outside of dueling. Do you know how scary that is? Wouldn't you be unsure if you saw someone you love who never attacked out of anger go and stab someone just because you think he might live through it? Would you have freaked out if you'd been wrong?"
Her lavender eyes glowed a little
"I'm scared, sad and I want to trust you."
There was a sense of struggle about Michelle, if only for a brief intense moment. "It's okay if you don't trust me anymore Amaris. That's for you to decide. Just be honest about it."
She shifted again thinking she stood up and looked around the tower sniffing and looked at Michelle
"Dad said something came back with you that shouldn't be here…"
She watched her, took a step to her backpack picked it up and looked at Michelle she rushed to her and hugged her
"I am loyal to you, I'll trust you but I won't do bad things and if I see you hurt someone again like you did to that windbag, I will walk away."
She pulled back and looked up at Michelle, who returned the embrace.
"My dad was only trying to help, just thought you should know, he got punished."
She zipped up her hoodie and turned
“I better get home dad’s probably freaking out trying to figure out where I went. See you later auntie Michelle.”
She bounced to the double doors, which closed on their own, heading off into the night she went heading home.
-
Michelle Montoya
- Seasoned Adventurer
- Fāris Al-Ibra
- Posts: 547
- Joined: Fri Apr 02, 2004 10:50 pm
- Location: Al-Ibra, South Cadentia OR the Real RhyDin House
Blood & Water
December 9th, 10:30 PM ET
The Tower of Water
The voice in Michelle’s head was becoming unbearable. Guttural whispers mixed with instructions in the common tongue, interspersed with dark abyssal speech. Was it just one voice? Maybe it was many. She shook her head, trying to clear the nonsense. Sistria’s Warlock Compendium / Volume 17 / On Eldritch Gods and their Pacts was flipped open to the second chapter, but her eyes had skimmed the pages four or five times without taking anything in. With a heavy sigh, she stood up - massaging her temples and trying to reduce the confusion. The past week was a blur, and it was hard to tell what was her doing and what was… not. Michelle glanced at the tall mirror. The image flickered, first it was her in the reflection, then it was Porcelain, and then back to her.
“I hope Mallory comes soon,” she whispered.
The voice(s) rose in a grand crescendo, like a wave peaking in the ocean. “Inglui hagwahn tagnaui! Inglui hagwahn tagnaui! Inglui hagwahn tagnaui!”
Michelle covered her ears, pressing her forehead to the mirror. “Stop, please stop!”
Mallory had come to the Tower of Water alone, stepping into the heart of the domain of its Keeper — a woman who had either buried her own heart in R’lyeh, or lost it to corruption forever.
She would find out soon enough.
“Michelle?” the witch called from the entrance to her Tower. She had no bag of tricks, no weapon on her, and none of her own elementals with her — only two of Michelle’s, looming behind her as their dark and viscous waters rippled and glopped.
The double doors opened to reveal a weathered triton, his face drawn in concern. “Keeper Mallory. Please, follow me.” His steps in the black sand were quick. The inner dimensions of the Tower had changed substantially since Mallory’s last visit, with winding staircases and dark shafts dropping into the depths of the vast waters below. As he led her down into the innermost recesses of the Tower, Kohloss murmured quietly to the blood-witch. “She is not herself. Her unwanted guest, her shadow, takes control. Nestor said she is losing the battle, and he is right. The Keeper fights for her mind and soul, but fear grips her heart.” From the chamber below, an anguished scream was followed by the sound of shattered glass.
Mallory’s expression was carefully schooled until she appeared cold and impassive, not rushing to help her friend at the sound of distress. She merely observed, sensed, and Saw as her eyes rolled back and turned bloody red. “This is a pivotal moment, Kohloss. You were right to bring me to her. Thank you,” she said, and from the entrance to her chamber, cast a slight smile at the triton: a dismissal.
With a brief bow, the old triton left Mallory at the entrance to Xanth’s former study. Inside, behind the door, things had gone quiet.
The witch paused to listen, but not for an invitation. She pressed her arms to the door and pushed her way into the chamber, ignoring the creeping tendrils of madness that lashed through the air that her Sight revealed. “Michelle,” she stated imperiously.
At the opposite end of the circular room stood a robed figure, who flipped casually through a massive tome on the table. It turned, a white porcelain mask covering the hooded face. “Mallory,” the voice was that of the Keeper and Overlord, but with a watery echo. “I assume Kohloss has let you in?”
“My presence was requested.” Mallory opened her hands, blood glistening like tears around her eyes. “And I can see why. You are changing.”
“Tch,” Michelle replied. “That is not why I ca--” the voice choked momentarily. There was a brief moment as the Keeper cleared her throat. “That is not why I called you here. I wish to inquire about your loyalty.”
Mallory raised her eyebrows. “Have I... not made that clear?” she asked as she took three slow steps forward. “My friend is Changing; I am Changed. I want to stand at your side, walk with you through the final steps, as my friends did.”
A soft whisper, fast and hurried, came from behind the mask. “No. Don’t.” It was quickly covered with a cough, the robed and masked Michelle held up a hand before Mallory could step any further. “You took me from R’lyeh,” the watery voice began, “and I was at first afraid and confused. Since that time, I have decided to take the power granted me and help usher in a New Age. Will you fight the Eldritch Gods? Or will you truly walk beside me?”
“I will not just walk...” Mallory frowned, shaking her head. “I will fight for you. You... were lost to me in R’lyeh. I was afraid for your fate... but I should have known that you would see the opportunity before you, and begin to master the power in that place. But you aren’t done,” she added, and took another step, her left hand held out to her, palm up. “Trust me... I’d know.”
The robed figure immediately stretched out a hand to take it, then there was a pause - hesitant and considering. “It is hard to know who to trust these days. So many false platitudes of faith.” Behind the robed figure, a small shadow, an echo of an echo, hung in the background.
Mallory let her hand stretch out between them, within Michelle’s reach should she choose to take it; then she curled her fingers, drawing one lengthening nail across her palm. Blood blossomed from the wound, full of sweet promise. “Would a faithless friend open her immortal heart to you?”
“A generous gift indeed,” Michelle reached for the hand while the shadow seemed to flicker in and out of Sight.
Mallory closed her bloody hand around Michelle’s — her eyes narrowed — and in a coppery crimson flash, the witch and the shadow, all that remained of the friend she had known, vanished.
* * * * *
The pair of them hurtled through the hot river of blood that surrounded the witch’s domain — a horned queen with her naked flesh covered in symbols, the mark of forty trials and triumphs; and a warm soul nestled in the palm of her hand, green and earthy yet more vibrant with the promise of life than far brighter stars. Hooves thundered alongside them as they forded the river, pearl-coated unicorns with golden manes tossing their heads as their horns pierced and obliterated the amorphous shadows that sought to follow them through.
The hoofbeats faded, the deafening drumbeat of an immortal heart sounded around them—
—and then they were through, standing in the midst of a humble, cozy library, its bone-white shelves piled high with a thousand tomes on life and nature. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting long shadows from the plush red armchairs and illuminating the elaborate traces of a protective circle in the floor, forty layers deep.
The witch appeared now as she ever had, clad in the same clothes she had worn to the Tower, her throat marred by the scars of Charon; while Michelle was somewhat changed.
It took a few moments for the soul to solidify in this realm of blood and life. It rippled as if she were a body of water, and something was dripping droplets from high above. There was a thinness to her, not of ill health but of being incomplete. Michelle looked around in a puzzled manner, lost and confused. “Mallory.” Her eyes focused on the witch before here. “Mallory! How could you bring me here? It’s not safe! No, no, no… it will find me! And you! And your heart… oh, no!” Michelle’s panic rolled out like a shockwave.
Mallory stepped up to hold her by the shoulders. “Focus — the shadow isn’t with you anymore. What it couldn’t corrupt, you, your beautiful soul, is here. Safe. Do you trust me?” she whispered.
“Trust? You… you said the same thing to… It. Or to me. To… the darker part of me. How do I know this isn’t some ploy to give it -her what she wanted?” Michelle stepped back away from Mallory, confusion and terror playing over her facial features.
“Because you’re here. Not It. And It will not come here, unless we both allow it.” The witch lifted her chin. “I will do anything to save my friends... including walking into that Tower and telling It every evil thing it hoped it would hear from me.”
The broken soul that was Michelle paced the library in Mallory’s sanctum. “If you are willing to do anything, you must kill me - her - whatever you have left behind.” She turned to face her friend. “You have to do it, Mallory. You must destroy me, all of me, with absolute finality.”
“Anything to save you,” Mallory smiled as she emphasized that part, though the expression was not unkind. It was almost overflowing with warmth, and she opened an arm to her. “We can do it... but I need your help, Michelle. Desperately. I don’t know what we’re facing... and I don’t know what It did to drive you to this point... but only you can tell me... and then we’ll find a way through this, together.”
Michelle stepped in for a hug, and embracing her friend tightly. “I will try and remember as much as I can, and I’ll tell you everything I know. But I fear it won’t do any good. The tethers are too strong, Mallory. And now… now you’ve given it free rein. I won’t be able to hold it back from here. There will be so much death, and suffering.”
“Sacrifices must be made... but the sacrifices we choose for ourselves, not the ones so-called gods choose for us,” Mallory asserted with grim defiance as she took a step back. “From here... you can see things so much more clearly, and we can use that and everything you’ve learned to fight back,” and she produced a crystal ball to offer to her friend. There was a crimson fire that sparked in its depths, but threads of vibrant green ran through the glass.
Michelle took the orb and handled it gently. “Alright,” her voice was grim. “I can’t promise that the answer still isn’t to kill whatever is left of me. But maybe an outside perspective will help.”
“We’ll figure it out.” Mallory let her hands slip away, then looked at the blood-colored horizon outside, at something unseen... “I have to go back to the Tower. But I’ll be back soon. Call for Malleus, my avatar, if you need anything at all.”
The flickering soul of Michelle nodded, holding the crystal ball close. “Mallory?” She called out before the witch could leave. “Thank you. For trying to help.”
It was the same simple answer that Mallory had given Michelle when she had wondered why someone would go into R’lyeh for her: “You’re my friend.” Then she stepped through the doorway of the small archive, and vanished from the realm.
* * * * *
As soon as the witch reappeared in Xanth’s study, Michelle -- the dark part of her that she had left here -- was ready. Tendrils of chaotic, green energy erupted from space surrounding Mallory, wrapping the witch in tight, sturdy cords. The porcelain masked, robed figure extended the rod speckled with flecks of green and gold attempt to sap the every-living well of life from blood mage.
The witch let out a terrible scream of anguish as the dark wave washed over her, tearing her skin where the tendrils gripped the tightest, blood hissing out in great streams across the chamber. She clenched her teeth over the sound, working through the pain to steady herself so she could stare at the terrible thing that possessed her friend.
“I have... something I must tell you...”
With the rod held out in one hand, Porcelain used the other to lift off the mask. The face was Michelle’s in every way, not a single feature differed. It tightened the hold of R’lyeh on Mallory, squeezing out every possible drop of blood. “Oh?”
Something hissed through Mallory’s teeth, a single word: “Break.”
The stone floor erupted with deep fractures, spraying debris high into the air; cracks ran up the walls with sounds like thunder, dark water spraying in jets across the chamber; and boulder-sized chunks of the ceiling came crashing down, as the destructive hex severed the eldritch tendrils and dropped the bloody witch to the floor.
Porcelain, or Michelle as she would soon be known, staggered at the impact. Gracefully she righted herself as water began to fill the chamber.
Mallory wiped an arm across her bloody lips, and found that her tattered flesh had only made it worse. Then she bared her teeth at Porcelain: “Consider this my change in alignment... Overbitch.” The moment she lowered her arm, she disappeared from the flooding study in a crimson flash, leaving no trace of her blood, only vanishing mist.
((Co-written with Mallory))
The Tower of Water
The voice in Michelle’s head was becoming unbearable. Guttural whispers mixed with instructions in the common tongue, interspersed with dark abyssal speech. Was it just one voice? Maybe it was many. She shook her head, trying to clear the nonsense. Sistria’s Warlock Compendium / Volume 17 / On Eldritch Gods and their Pacts was flipped open to the second chapter, but her eyes had skimmed the pages four or five times without taking anything in. With a heavy sigh, she stood up - massaging her temples and trying to reduce the confusion. The past week was a blur, and it was hard to tell what was her doing and what was… not. Michelle glanced at the tall mirror. The image flickered, first it was her in the reflection, then it was Porcelain, and then back to her.
“I hope Mallory comes soon,” she whispered.
The voice(s) rose in a grand crescendo, like a wave peaking in the ocean. “Inglui hagwahn tagnaui! Inglui hagwahn tagnaui! Inglui hagwahn tagnaui!”
Michelle covered her ears, pressing her forehead to the mirror. “Stop, please stop!”
Mallory had come to the Tower of Water alone, stepping into the heart of the domain of its Keeper — a woman who had either buried her own heart in R’lyeh, or lost it to corruption forever.
She would find out soon enough.
“Michelle?” the witch called from the entrance to her Tower. She had no bag of tricks, no weapon on her, and none of her own elementals with her — only two of Michelle’s, looming behind her as their dark and viscous waters rippled and glopped.
The double doors opened to reveal a weathered triton, his face drawn in concern. “Keeper Mallory. Please, follow me.” His steps in the black sand were quick. The inner dimensions of the Tower had changed substantially since Mallory’s last visit, with winding staircases and dark shafts dropping into the depths of the vast waters below. As he led her down into the innermost recesses of the Tower, Kohloss murmured quietly to the blood-witch. “She is not herself. Her unwanted guest, her shadow, takes control. Nestor said she is losing the battle, and he is right. The Keeper fights for her mind and soul, but fear grips her heart.” From the chamber below, an anguished scream was followed by the sound of shattered glass.
Mallory’s expression was carefully schooled until she appeared cold and impassive, not rushing to help her friend at the sound of distress. She merely observed, sensed, and Saw as her eyes rolled back and turned bloody red. “This is a pivotal moment, Kohloss. You were right to bring me to her. Thank you,” she said, and from the entrance to her chamber, cast a slight smile at the triton: a dismissal.
With a brief bow, the old triton left Mallory at the entrance to Xanth’s former study. Inside, behind the door, things had gone quiet.
The witch paused to listen, but not for an invitation. She pressed her arms to the door and pushed her way into the chamber, ignoring the creeping tendrils of madness that lashed through the air that her Sight revealed. “Michelle,” she stated imperiously.
At the opposite end of the circular room stood a robed figure, who flipped casually through a massive tome on the table. It turned, a white porcelain mask covering the hooded face. “Mallory,” the voice was that of the Keeper and Overlord, but with a watery echo. “I assume Kohloss has let you in?”
“My presence was requested.” Mallory opened her hands, blood glistening like tears around her eyes. “And I can see why. You are changing.”
“Tch,” Michelle replied. “That is not why I ca--” the voice choked momentarily. There was a brief moment as the Keeper cleared her throat. “That is not why I called you here. I wish to inquire about your loyalty.”
Mallory raised her eyebrows. “Have I... not made that clear?” she asked as she took three slow steps forward. “My friend is Changing; I am Changed. I want to stand at your side, walk with you through the final steps, as my friends did.”
A soft whisper, fast and hurried, came from behind the mask. “No. Don’t.” It was quickly covered with a cough, the robed and masked Michelle held up a hand before Mallory could step any further. “You took me from R’lyeh,” the watery voice began, “and I was at first afraid and confused. Since that time, I have decided to take the power granted me and help usher in a New Age. Will you fight the Eldritch Gods? Or will you truly walk beside me?”
“I will not just walk...” Mallory frowned, shaking her head. “I will fight for you. You... were lost to me in R’lyeh. I was afraid for your fate... but I should have known that you would see the opportunity before you, and begin to master the power in that place. But you aren’t done,” she added, and took another step, her left hand held out to her, palm up. “Trust me... I’d know.”
The robed figure immediately stretched out a hand to take it, then there was a pause - hesitant and considering. “It is hard to know who to trust these days. So many false platitudes of faith.” Behind the robed figure, a small shadow, an echo of an echo, hung in the background.
Mallory let her hand stretch out between them, within Michelle’s reach should she choose to take it; then she curled her fingers, drawing one lengthening nail across her palm. Blood blossomed from the wound, full of sweet promise. “Would a faithless friend open her immortal heart to you?”
“A generous gift indeed,” Michelle reached for the hand while the shadow seemed to flicker in and out of Sight.
Mallory closed her bloody hand around Michelle’s — her eyes narrowed — and in a coppery crimson flash, the witch and the shadow, all that remained of the friend she had known, vanished.
* * * * *
The pair of them hurtled through the hot river of blood that surrounded the witch’s domain — a horned queen with her naked flesh covered in symbols, the mark of forty trials and triumphs; and a warm soul nestled in the palm of her hand, green and earthy yet more vibrant with the promise of life than far brighter stars. Hooves thundered alongside them as they forded the river, pearl-coated unicorns with golden manes tossing their heads as their horns pierced and obliterated the amorphous shadows that sought to follow them through.
The hoofbeats faded, the deafening drumbeat of an immortal heart sounded around them—
—and then they were through, standing in the midst of a humble, cozy library, its bone-white shelves piled high with a thousand tomes on life and nature. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting long shadows from the plush red armchairs and illuminating the elaborate traces of a protective circle in the floor, forty layers deep.
The witch appeared now as she ever had, clad in the same clothes she had worn to the Tower, her throat marred by the scars of Charon; while Michelle was somewhat changed.
It took a few moments for the soul to solidify in this realm of blood and life. It rippled as if she were a body of water, and something was dripping droplets from high above. There was a thinness to her, not of ill health but of being incomplete. Michelle looked around in a puzzled manner, lost and confused. “Mallory.” Her eyes focused on the witch before here. “Mallory! How could you bring me here? It’s not safe! No, no, no… it will find me! And you! And your heart… oh, no!” Michelle’s panic rolled out like a shockwave.
Mallory stepped up to hold her by the shoulders. “Focus — the shadow isn’t with you anymore. What it couldn’t corrupt, you, your beautiful soul, is here. Safe. Do you trust me?” she whispered.
“Trust? You… you said the same thing to… It. Or to me. To… the darker part of me. How do I know this isn’t some ploy to give it -her what she wanted?” Michelle stepped back away from Mallory, confusion and terror playing over her facial features.
“Because you’re here. Not It. And It will not come here, unless we both allow it.” The witch lifted her chin. “I will do anything to save my friends... including walking into that Tower and telling It every evil thing it hoped it would hear from me.”
The broken soul that was Michelle paced the library in Mallory’s sanctum. “If you are willing to do anything, you must kill me - her - whatever you have left behind.” She turned to face her friend. “You have to do it, Mallory. You must destroy me, all of me, with absolute finality.”
“Anything to save you,” Mallory smiled as she emphasized that part, though the expression was not unkind. It was almost overflowing with warmth, and she opened an arm to her. “We can do it... but I need your help, Michelle. Desperately. I don’t know what we’re facing... and I don’t know what It did to drive you to this point... but only you can tell me... and then we’ll find a way through this, together.”
Michelle stepped in for a hug, and embracing her friend tightly. “I will try and remember as much as I can, and I’ll tell you everything I know. But I fear it won’t do any good. The tethers are too strong, Mallory. And now… now you’ve given it free rein. I won’t be able to hold it back from here. There will be so much death, and suffering.”
“Sacrifices must be made... but the sacrifices we choose for ourselves, not the ones so-called gods choose for us,” Mallory asserted with grim defiance as she took a step back. “From here... you can see things so much more clearly, and we can use that and everything you’ve learned to fight back,” and she produced a crystal ball to offer to her friend. There was a crimson fire that sparked in its depths, but threads of vibrant green ran through the glass.
Michelle took the orb and handled it gently. “Alright,” her voice was grim. “I can’t promise that the answer still isn’t to kill whatever is left of me. But maybe an outside perspective will help.”
“We’ll figure it out.” Mallory let her hands slip away, then looked at the blood-colored horizon outside, at something unseen... “I have to go back to the Tower. But I’ll be back soon. Call for Malleus, my avatar, if you need anything at all.”
The flickering soul of Michelle nodded, holding the crystal ball close. “Mallory?” She called out before the witch could leave. “Thank you. For trying to help.”
It was the same simple answer that Mallory had given Michelle when she had wondered why someone would go into R’lyeh for her: “You’re my friend.” Then she stepped through the doorway of the small archive, and vanished from the realm.
* * * * *
As soon as the witch reappeared in Xanth’s study, Michelle -- the dark part of her that she had left here -- was ready. Tendrils of chaotic, green energy erupted from space surrounding Mallory, wrapping the witch in tight, sturdy cords. The porcelain masked, robed figure extended the rod speckled with flecks of green and gold attempt to sap the every-living well of life from blood mage.
The witch let out a terrible scream of anguish as the dark wave washed over her, tearing her skin where the tendrils gripped the tightest, blood hissing out in great streams across the chamber. She clenched her teeth over the sound, working through the pain to steady herself so she could stare at the terrible thing that possessed her friend.
“I have... something I must tell you...”
With the rod held out in one hand, Porcelain used the other to lift off the mask. The face was Michelle’s in every way, not a single feature differed. It tightened the hold of R’lyeh on Mallory, squeezing out every possible drop of blood. “Oh?”
Something hissed through Mallory’s teeth, a single word: “Break.”
The stone floor erupted with deep fractures, spraying debris high into the air; cracks ran up the walls with sounds like thunder, dark water spraying in jets across the chamber; and boulder-sized chunks of the ceiling came crashing down, as the destructive hex severed the eldritch tendrils and dropped the bloody witch to the floor.
Porcelain, or Michelle as she would soon be known, staggered at the impact. Gracefully she righted herself as water began to fill the chamber.
Mallory wiped an arm across her bloody lips, and found that her tattered flesh had only made it worse. Then she bared her teeth at Porcelain: “Consider this my change in alignment... Overbitch.” The moment she lowered her arm, she disappeared from the flooding study in a crimson flash, leaving no trace of her blood, only vanishing mist.
((Co-written with Mallory))
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Michelle Montoya
- Seasoned Adventurer
- Fāris Al-Ibra
- Posts: 547
- Joined: Fri Apr 02, 2004 10:50 pm
- Location: Al-Ibra, South Cadentia OR the Real RhyDin House
Children of Darkness
December 9th
Atrebla Valley
Derrick gave Nadella a hug, holding her close. “I love you Naddie.” The little girl curled over and hugged her stuffed bunny - while Bunny the cat slept on her feet - “Love you too Father.”
Using the sturdy oak cane for balance Derrick left the room and closed the door. He didn’t need a guide, his natural intuition and years of living here helped him navigate the manor blind. Ann still took his arm and they walked down the stairs together.
“I’m so glad that nice man, Canaan was it? Cane. Came and brought the children home.”
“Yes, and he devoured your cooking Ann.” Derrick patted her arm as they sat down, waiting for Michelle to come home. They sat in silence, Derrick with his thoughts and Ann with her embroidery. Late in the evening, a feeling of fetid anxiety swelled within Derrick’s chest. “Something is wrong, Ann.” He stood up and hastily, almost clumsily, checked on the children. They were fine. He could hear their breathing - and the breathing of the new kitten. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that something terrible had just happened to his wife - more terrible than he had imagined. Mallory said that there would be things he did not like. Was he about to find out just what, exactly, she was talking about?
Anne looked up at the clock, nine in the evening - which meant it was eleven in RhyDin. “I thought her match was at nine, Derrick. Shouldn’t she be home by now?”
Derrick stood at the top of the stairs, a frown creasing his brow. “Ann, take the kids to Tatyana’s.”
“You think she’s gone, don’t you.” Ann didn’t question further but quickly selected a large bag to gather the children’s things. Within half an hour, Kevin had the horses ready and Ann took the sleepy-eyed kids across the mountain ridge to their Aunt and Uncles home. Derrick waited, alone.
**********
The feeling of an old and ancient power preceded his wife’s arrival. He waited, on Allen’s bed. She came silently, then opened the door. He heard her footsteps and the swish of cloth around her.
“Michelle.” It was a statement, a surety of a man who knows his wife.
“Derrick? Where are the children? I need to protect them, send them to a safe place.” She moved closer and he could feel her presence growing - not just in proximity but in power.
“Michelle,” he paused, standing with the cane in hand. The bond to his heart, the love of his life, was not there. Not really.
“You’ve taken them! Where are they?!” Her tone turned dark and watery, with an edge of desperate frustration.
“The real question, love, is where have you gone?” He reached up, to try and hold her face. He never saw the blade.
Atrebla Valley
Derrick gave Nadella a hug, holding her close. “I love you Naddie.” The little girl curled over and hugged her stuffed bunny - while Bunny the cat slept on her feet - “Love you too Father.”
Using the sturdy oak cane for balance Derrick left the room and closed the door. He didn’t need a guide, his natural intuition and years of living here helped him navigate the manor blind. Ann still took his arm and they walked down the stairs together.
“I’m so glad that nice man, Canaan was it? Cane. Came and brought the children home.”
“Yes, and he devoured your cooking Ann.” Derrick patted her arm as they sat down, waiting for Michelle to come home. They sat in silence, Derrick with his thoughts and Ann with her embroidery. Late in the evening, a feeling of fetid anxiety swelled within Derrick’s chest. “Something is wrong, Ann.” He stood up and hastily, almost clumsily, checked on the children. They were fine. He could hear their breathing - and the breathing of the new kitten. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that something terrible had just happened to his wife - more terrible than he had imagined. Mallory said that there would be things he did not like. Was he about to find out just what, exactly, she was talking about?
Anne looked up at the clock, nine in the evening - which meant it was eleven in RhyDin. “I thought her match was at nine, Derrick. Shouldn’t she be home by now?”
Derrick stood at the top of the stairs, a frown creasing his brow. “Ann, take the kids to Tatyana’s.”
“You think she’s gone, don’t you.” Ann didn’t question further but quickly selected a large bag to gather the children’s things. Within half an hour, Kevin had the horses ready and Ann took the sleepy-eyed kids across the mountain ridge to their Aunt and Uncles home. Derrick waited, alone.
**********
The feeling of an old and ancient power preceded his wife’s arrival. He waited, on Allen’s bed. She came silently, then opened the door. He heard her footsteps and the swish of cloth around her.
“Michelle.” It was a statement, a surety of a man who knows his wife.
“Derrick? Where are the children? I need to protect them, send them to a safe place.” She moved closer and he could feel her presence growing - not just in proximity but in power.
“Michelle,” he paused, standing with the cane in hand. The bond to his heart, the love of his life, was not there. Not really.
“You’ve taken them! Where are they?!” Her tone turned dark and watery, with an edge of desperate frustration.
“The real question, love, is where have you gone?” He reached up, to try and hold her face. He never saw the blade.
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Ebon Ilnaren
- Seasoned Adventurer
- Black Knight
- Posts: 446
- Joined: Mon May 09, 2011 10:08 pm
- Location: Stardreamer Manor, RhyDin
Re: Lost in Time and Space
December 9th
Atrebla Valley
This was Ebon's first visit to Atrebla Valley, and he lamented the circumstances that led to it. He gave silent thanks to Canaan for confirming that he had taken the children to their family, and to Mallory for acting swiftly on that information. Following the directions the witch had hurriedly given him, he made haste for the Manor. It felt... empty. Hollow. There should be children here, he told himself, and there will be. By all that's holy, let them be safe!
Arriving at the Manor itself, Ebon found the doors ajar, and immediately he froze, reaching out with his mind for any sign of danger, any trace of malignancy. There were sleeping minds--staff, most likely--but only one waking. Waking, and in pain. No children, and no... Michelle. The bracers he wore shifted and flowed, reshaping into a fighting staff, and he prodded the door open. There was the one he'd sensed, the mind in pain, and it was clear why. There was a ragged gash across his face, the mark of a blade slicing wild, perhaps with rage. Rushing to the man's side, Ebon dropped to one knee beside him, setting down his staff. "Sir? What happened? Did Michelle-?"
"N-n-not Michelle," came the strained reply, and the man opened his eyes, turning his face towards Ebon's voice. "My wife, but... not her. I saw it in... eyes..."
Ebon realized that this must be Derrick, and then his face fell in dismay. If Michelle--or rather, the thing that possessed her--was already here, and had done this, then... "Did she take your children?"
Derrick shook his head. "Sent them... to s-s-safety. I sent Glo-Gloria to them, to Tatyana." He managed a smile. "She said that... there would be s-someone else coming to help. I waited here f-for Michelle, I did not t-tell her... where." His voice grew dark and sorrowful once more.
A sigh of relief escaped Ebon's lips. Gloria was more than capable of protecting the children and those with them. "Let me tend to that," and he gestured to Derrick's wound. "I'm sorry I can't magick it away, but I can clean it and bandage it at least." He withdrew a package from his belt pouch that really should not have fit inside it, and opened it to reveal a medical kit, whereupon he set to work. "Why didn't you go with them, to safety?"
A look came into Derrick's face at that question, somber, almost melancholy. "I had to s-see her. I had to know."
"I can understand that. I would have felt the same, were it my wife, under the circumstances. Hold still now." As he worked, Ebon continued to speak in comforting tones. "I have it on reliable authority that all the purity in Michelle's soul has been drawn away, free of the corruptor's influence. We'll find a way to restore her to her body, free of that vile presence. You will have your wife, and your children will have their mother again, if we have anything to say about it."
Atrebla Valley
This was Ebon's first visit to Atrebla Valley, and he lamented the circumstances that led to it. He gave silent thanks to Canaan for confirming that he had taken the children to their family, and to Mallory for acting swiftly on that information. Following the directions the witch had hurriedly given him, he made haste for the Manor. It felt... empty. Hollow. There should be children here, he told himself, and there will be. By all that's holy, let them be safe!
Arriving at the Manor itself, Ebon found the doors ajar, and immediately he froze, reaching out with his mind for any sign of danger, any trace of malignancy. There were sleeping minds--staff, most likely--but only one waking. Waking, and in pain. No children, and no... Michelle. The bracers he wore shifted and flowed, reshaping into a fighting staff, and he prodded the door open. There was the one he'd sensed, the mind in pain, and it was clear why. There was a ragged gash across his face, the mark of a blade slicing wild, perhaps with rage. Rushing to the man's side, Ebon dropped to one knee beside him, setting down his staff. "Sir? What happened? Did Michelle-?"
"N-n-not Michelle," came the strained reply, and the man opened his eyes, turning his face towards Ebon's voice. "My wife, but... not her. I saw it in... eyes..."
Ebon realized that this must be Derrick, and then his face fell in dismay. If Michelle--or rather, the thing that possessed her--was already here, and had done this, then... "Did she take your children?"
Derrick shook his head. "Sent them... to s-s-safety. I sent Glo-Gloria to them, to Tatyana." He managed a smile. "She said that... there would be s-someone else coming to help. I waited here f-for Michelle, I did not t-tell her... where." His voice grew dark and sorrowful once more.
A sigh of relief escaped Ebon's lips. Gloria was more than capable of protecting the children and those with them. "Let me tend to that," and he gestured to Derrick's wound. "I'm sorry I can't magick it away, but I can clean it and bandage it at least." He withdrew a package from his belt pouch that really should not have fit inside it, and opened it to reveal a medical kit, whereupon he set to work. "Why didn't you go with them, to safety?"
A look came into Derrick's face at that question, somber, almost melancholy. "I had to s-see her. I had to know."
"I can understand that. I would have felt the same, were it my wife, under the circumstances. Hold still now." As he worked, Ebon continued to speak in comforting tones. "I have it on reliable authority that all the purity in Michelle's soul has been drawn away, free of the corruptor's influence. We'll find a way to restore her to her body, free of that vile presence. You will have your wife, and your children will have their mother again, if we have anything to say about it."
Reprise
December 9th, Late
Atrebla Manor
Mist had noticed when the piece of bluestone that represented Derrick had called for assistance, but, as before, he was too late. Ebon had found the man and helped him back to his room.
For a long while, Mist contemplated the bluestone, the cozy manor belonging to Derrick and Michelle and their kids. What was he really doing? He’d found all he could to help them, now he was just a weird hanger-on. A potentially dangerous stalker.
Already a dangerous stalker, he reminded himself wryly.
But there were things he still had to do. He quietly walked to the house. Frowning, he paused at the threshold. Things were unravelling…
Derrick simply turned his wounded face away on hearing Mist, his lips in a thin line, his chin lifted. On the one hand, the elf had worked hard to try and find cures for his malady, and had done much to bring him back, and had assured that their children would not fall to the curse. But on the other hand…
“I’m offering no apology because I don’t think that there could be forgiveness,” Mist murmured, going about his usual tasks with a quiet dispatch.
“Your kids told me you were a soldier. I was not exactly a soldier, I was a conscript, forced to fight. There was no noble cause for me. So. On the rare occasions I could clear the field of non-combatants, I would. Not elegant, not thoughtful, just… clear the field. I had no way of knowing anything that happened that night, and I feared if I asked, things would be worse. I was wrong. I can’t change that.”
The sturdy oak cane tapped on the floor as Derrick paced the room —an old habit from when he could see. “You d-drove her deeper in-into despair. I don’t know what, exactly, she-she did while searching for our ch-children. All I know is that the rumours c-coming from the valley d-disturb me. You allowed the d-darkness to t-take hold, and so-so Mallory had to hide what remained of my wife’s g-good soul. And now, all that is left, is the w-worst parts of her.” His voice was hard as steel and bitter with agony.
Mist exhaled softly.
“I always was meant to be a monster,” he murmured, almost as if trying it on for size. He nodded however, and lifted his gaze back to Derrick. “What rumors of the valley?” he asked.
“It s-started small. Sheep that were d-diseased. Livestock went missing. D-dream sensitive children woke up s-speaking an incomprehensible t-tongue. I don’t know how-how much of that was her, or just the p-power that worked inside her. More recently, the lake has d-darkened. An altar was found in the woods, bl-bloodstains and d-disturbing imagery adorned its stones. A young man ran onto the partially f-frozen lake and d-drowned. In his room, they f-found parchment d-drawings of a creature I can’t even b-begin to d-describe.”
Derrick sighed and sat down on the wooden chair by the bed. He reached out, feeling for a small frame on the side table. Gently, he caressed the image of him and his wife on their tenth anniversary. “I don’t know where sh-she is now. But I f-fear what she will d-do next, and I am afraid that she is lost to me f-forever.” He choked out the last phrase.
“I will look for her near this altar. I believe she will return. I believe she can return. If no one cared, if no one could feel her strength, then… much would be lost. But. I will look for her. Return what is left of her to Mallory,” Mist responded, rubbing at his brow.
What was he trying to do at this point? Trying to make up for what was done? Trying to clear his name? With Derrick’s words, he knew he couldn’t take any further comfort in not knowing what may be best. With those words was a cascade of self-doubt that opened doors long since sealed and forgotten. All those old days of pain and solitude, agony under an all-seeing orb, those heavy memories crept back to his consciousness, and he could give them no more than an annoyed shooing.
“I trust M-Mallory,” is all Derrick said.
“As do I,” Mist responded, turning away. He lifted a hand to catch his staff in hand, it appeared as he opened his hand, simple oak with a blue stone shining brightly at its head. He stepped to the yard and looked around, quietly, and once more, started to walk.
Maybe he’d realize it was another bad idea. Maybe he’d manage to reel in the creature that had taken over Michelle. Or maybe she’d take him out and he wouldn’t have to worry about it. With a flicker of annoyance, Mist pushed it all from his thoughts, and walked. Following the road, while listening to the things that Derrick spoke of. Feeling for them.
He’d already seen all of those things, after all. Amaris had the drawings.
Atrebla Manor
Mist had noticed when the piece of bluestone that represented Derrick had called for assistance, but, as before, he was too late. Ebon had found the man and helped him back to his room.
For a long while, Mist contemplated the bluestone, the cozy manor belonging to Derrick and Michelle and their kids. What was he really doing? He’d found all he could to help them, now he was just a weird hanger-on. A potentially dangerous stalker.
Already a dangerous stalker, he reminded himself wryly.
But there were things he still had to do. He quietly walked to the house. Frowning, he paused at the threshold. Things were unravelling…
Derrick simply turned his wounded face away on hearing Mist, his lips in a thin line, his chin lifted. On the one hand, the elf had worked hard to try and find cures for his malady, and had done much to bring him back, and had assured that their children would not fall to the curse. But on the other hand…
“I’m offering no apology because I don’t think that there could be forgiveness,” Mist murmured, going about his usual tasks with a quiet dispatch.
“Your kids told me you were a soldier. I was not exactly a soldier, I was a conscript, forced to fight. There was no noble cause for me. So. On the rare occasions I could clear the field of non-combatants, I would. Not elegant, not thoughtful, just… clear the field. I had no way of knowing anything that happened that night, and I feared if I asked, things would be worse. I was wrong. I can’t change that.”
The sturdy oak cane tapped on the floor as Derrick paced the room —an old habit from when he could see. “You d-drove her deeper in-into despair. I don’t know what, exactly, she-she did while searching for our ch-children. All I know is that the rumours c-coming from the valley d-disturb me. You allowed the d-darkness to t-take hold, and so-so Mallory had to hide what remained of my wife’s g-good soul. And now, all that is left, is the w-worst parts of her.” His voice was hard as steel and bitter with agony.
Mist exhaled softly.
“I always was meant to be a monster,” he murmured, almost as if trying it on for size. He nodded however, and lifted his gaze back to Derrick. “What rumors of the valley?” he asked.
“It s-started small. Sheep that were d-diseased. Livestock went missing. D-dream sensitive children woke up s-speaking an incomprehensible t-tongue. I don’t know how-how much of that was her, or just the p-power that worked inside her. More recently, the lake has d-darkened. An altar was found in the woods, bl-bloodstains and d-disturbing imagery adorned its stones. A young man ran onto the partially f-frozen lake and d-drowned. In his room, they f-found parchment d-drawings of a creature I can’t even b-begin to d-describe.”
Derrick sighed and sat down on the wooden chair by the bed. He reached out, feeling for a small frame on the side table. Gently, he caressed the image of him and his wife on their tenth anniversary. “I don’t know where sh-she is now. But I f-fear what she will d-do next, and I am afraid that she is lost to me f-forever.” He choked out the last phrase.
“I will look for her near this altar. I believe she will return. I believe she can return. If no one cared, if no one could feel her strength, then… much would be lost. But. I will look for her. Return what is left of her to Mallory,” Mist responded, rubbing at his brow.
What was he trying to do at this point? Trying to make up for what was done? Trying to clear his name? With Derrick’s words, he knew he couldn’t take any further comfort in not knowing what may be best. With those words was a cascade of self-doubt that opened doors long since sealed and forgotten. All those old days of pain and solitude, agony under an all-seeing orb, those heavy memories crept back to his consciousness, and he could give them no more than an annoyed shooing.
“I trust M-Mallory,” is all Derrick said.
“As do I,” Mist responded, turning away. He lifted a hand to catch his staff in hand, it appeared as he opened his hand, simple oak with a blue stone shining brightly at its head. He stepped to the yard and looked around, quietly, and once more, started to walk.
Maybe he’d realize it was another bad idea. Maybe he’d manage to reel in the creature that had taken over Michelle. Or maybe she’d take him out and he wouldn’t have to worry about it. With a flicker of annoyance, Mist pushed it all from his thoughts, and walked. Following the road, while listening to the things that Derrick spoke of. Feeling for them.
He’d already seen all of those things, after all. Amaris had the drawings.
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Michelle Montoya
- Seasoned Adventurer
- Fāris Al-Ibra
- Posts: 547
- Joined: Fri Apr 02, 2004 10:50 pm
- Location: Al-Ibra, South Cadentia OR the Real RhyDin House
Distraction
December 15th, 2019
RhyDin
A series of pamphlets have spread around RhyDin, Atrebla and possibly even Adenna. It was all done in secret, but soon they were everywhere. Who had spread them and why? The pamphlets are titled the Rise of R'lyeh: The Dawn of a New Age. The words are written in an archaic and dangerous tongue.
And at nine-thirty pm, during the Overlord Match, the City Watch came across evidence of over a dozen horrific sacrificial rituals all done in semi-public places around Rhy'Din. Eldritch symbols were inscribed on wooden altars where bodies of people from all walks of life lay, obsidian knives stabbed through their hearts.
Furthermore, activity has been spotted in the original building that sheltered the Temple of the Divine Mother.
RhyDin
A series of pamphlets have spread around RhyDin, Atrebla and possibly even Adenna. It was all done in secret, but soon they were everywhere. Who had spread them and why? The pamphlets are titled the Rise of R'lyeh: The Dawn of a New Age. The words are written in an archaic and dangerous tongue.
And at nine-thirty pm, during the Overlord Match, the City Watch came across evidence of over a dozen horrific sacrificial rituals all done in semi-public places around Rhy'Din. Eldritch symbols were inscribed on wooden altars where bodies of people from all walks of life lay, obsidian knives stabbed through their hearts.
Furthermore, activity has been spotted in the original building that sheltered the Temple of the Divine Mother.
-
Michelle Montoya
- Seasoned Adventurer
- Fāris Al-Ibra
- Posts: 547
- Joined: Fri Apr 02, 2004 10:50 pm
- Location: Al-Ibra, South Cadentia OR the Real RhyDin House
Heart to Heart
December 16th,
Home of Hearts
The warm, crackle of the fire did nothing to comfort Michelle’s heart. She had spent time scrying with the glass ball from Mallory, but found it only deepened her depression. At first, she had tried to find herself, but something clouded the orb and kept her other half hidden. Then she had turned to look for Derrick and the children. She saw them playing with Gloria, her husband with bandages over his face. At first, she sobbed in relief, and then she cried in agony at being separated from them.
For almost a week she had tried to find hope in the pages of a book or the letters of a tome, but the bone-white library only held sterile facts. Mallory tried to lift her spirits when she came to visit, but Michelle only reminded the witch that killing her was the sole solution. They may have saved her from the total corruption of R’lyeh, but along with her goodness came her fear. In many ways, Michelle considered the half left behind to be the better part. That half was confident, assured, meticulous, proud and powerful. It didn’t see problems, only a path to a ‘New Age’.
As much as her friends and family wanted to save her, Michelle had discovered a few unalterable and damning facts. First, the longer she was separated from her body, the more this spirit would wither. The soul and the body weren’t meant to be apart, especially for a mortal like her. Even now, her solid form in Mallory’s demi-plane wavered. Second, she was tethered by a pact more powerful than any other. She hadn’t just bargained for some knowledge, but for her freedom —and she sold her life to get it. And she had made that pact twice. Those cords of entrapment were inextricably linked to her heart. The Key to the Tower of Water was also bound, but she suspected that was more temporary —once a new Keeper took hold the Key would reform and break the shackles. If only she could do the same thing.
So she sat, defeated, in front of the hearth.
Mallory’s knuckles rapped against the white stone doorway, half-filling the passage with her skinny frame. It was not clear how long she had been watching Michelle, but her expression was kind and warm and worried for her friend all at once.
“Can I come in?” It was her demiplane, but she had given this part of it to Michelle, so she still asked. She gave the faded blue backpack a toss, clattering with items hidden within — the fabric was bleach-spotted where she’d scrubbed blood out of it, and had a few blade slashes and claw marks sewn up and patched over, but damaged as it was, she still kept it. “I brought toys... after a fashion.”
Michelle looked up at Mallory’s voice and smiled gently back at her friend. “Coming from you, that could mean anything.”
“Plants, for starters.” The witch paced closer to the hearth and set the bag down on the floor, grunting with the effort. At this distance, it was easier to see that her skin was still pale, though more colorful than it had been when she had dragged Jewell through this place last night. But her eyes were more active and clever than weary, ticking over the items she unpacked that had been considered and organized as meticulously as the thoughts in her head.
A bonsai ficus came out first, its earthenware pot painted with rabbits both light and dark, symbols of Tsukuyomi. Second was an old wooden wand, not unlike the one Michelle had selected for herself, currently wreathed in belladonna vines that clung to it like a trellis. Third was an old pickle jar containing fresh spring water from the roots of the mountain that contained the Tower of Earth, and three smooth stones from the same place.
Among them, she set down a few smaller books about druidcraft and something called “magiculture,” as she explained to Michelle: “I’ve tried to get other life to thrive here, and I thought I could — my heart’s a font of life, right? — but I can never get it to take root, flourish and grow... it only just survives. I thought you might want to take a crack at it, in between other things. Two heads, and all that,” she added with a touch of a grin.
The plants lit a hopeful spark in Michelle’s eyes, and she quickly joined Mallory on the floor to examine the greenery. “Well, for starters, you need some sunlight.” There was a twinkle of wit in her eyes as she looked between Mallory and the ficus. She picked up one of the smaller books and started leafing through it, examining the notes from the chapter My Demi-Plane Garden. “The other piece is adversity. People think that sheltering a plant is the best way to help it grow, but sometimes a little struggle goes a long way.” She closed the book and held it in her lap.
“I can’t stay here forever Mallory.”
“No.” Mallory did not even attempt to disagree. “You can’t. And I’ve been working based on that assumption... and so is Jewell, now.” As they talked, Mallory sat on the floor and spun the book around, making a few pencil notes in the margins based on what Michelle had pointed out. Lyceum- Skylight Crystal. Crimson hawk moths- larvae. “Ask Malleus about these,” a murmured aside as she set the pencil down and spun the book back.
“I asked Jewell to kill me during the Overlord match. I may not have the best sense of time here, but I suspect it’s already over. And I’m still talking, so that means she either failed or didn’t try.” Michelle took the book back and examined the notes, “which tells me that you two are still holding out for another solution.” Eventually, she just set the book down, folded her hands in her lap, and locked eyes with the witch.
Mallory unconsciously mimicked her gesture as the conversation left gardening behind. “It means she didn’t try. We talked... and she trusts me.” She tapped her fingers on her pale throat, which made the three angry claw-scars there stand out all the more. “I don’t think I told you how I got these.”
Michelle shook her head, “No, you haven’t.”
“Charon... on the banks of the Styx. Someone very close to me had been pushed to the brink and left near death, their soul banished to let one of the tenders of the dead claim them for Hades. I went to the Styx to get them back, to strike a bargain and trick Charon... but I couldn’t do it alone. I needed them to trust me, to step out of the ferry and onto Charon’s oar the moment I said so, to hold on tight and never look back.”
The witch held up three fingers: “Three times I’ve run up to the gates of the underworld after people I love, when everything seemed hopeless for them, and brought them back... but I never did it alone. I had help from my friends... and I had help from the people I rescued. Jewell was one of them. She was fated to die — I had foretold, she and I both knew the moment that her heart would beat for the last time, and she nearly gave in to despair... but together we found another way.”
“Together,” she sighed softly through her nose. Unbidden the memory of Beltane surfaced in her mind. Clear as the day, nearly seven months ago, she saw the vision shared between her and Derrick. Michelle paraphrased his words softly, “It isn't as bad as I sometimes think it is. It all works out in the end. I need to move forward with faith and confidence in the future.” She reached out to hold Mallory’s hand.
“I don’t like the idea of trying to cheat death. A price will be paid, one way or another. And I don’t think it’s possible to undo what has been done. Perhaps instead of trying to… erase the past, or hide from an uncertain future, I need to find a way to move forward with what I have.” Michelle’s brow crinkled as she thought back to R’lyeh, trying to look at her experiences from another point of view. “I thought I had been possessed by some external force, but the more I think of it the less I want to believe that. It means I have no control, and I don’t want to be a pawn in someone else’s game.”
“That’s... very wise,” was the only way Mallory could think to put it, realizing the words with a soft laugh, and patted the hand she held. “There will be a price, I have no doubt... but let’s figure this out one piece at a time. Tell me what you have.”
“Well,” Michelle thought back to the first deal with It. “I don’t think there’s any way to escape the pact, aside from death itself. My life belongs to It. Which is different than my soul, so that means I don’t have to do what It commands. This first part of the pact was made when I was trapped in R’lyeh, or at least while my mind was trapped there. It’s not as straightforward as my freedom for my life, but that’s the closest analogy I can come up with.
“The second part, was when Derrick had a turn for the worse and I was desperate to save him. The appeal, the promise, was that all my fear, worry, and anxiety would be gone if I relied on my patron. That is what I —or the other half of me is doing. It’s an enticing promise. Every time I did, or do, what my patron asks I receive more power and knowledge and less despair.” The physical manifestation of her spirit or soul flickered, another reminder of how she was separated from her material form.
“Fear is useful. It keeps us alive. And in the ring with Jewell, she — you — didn’t have any, especially not of It. But she should.” Mallory frowned thoughtfully. “I was once marked for death by a powerful old fiend, for a ritual sacrifice... and I would be very surprised if this was not the case here. Bile was convinced that It could never cross over... which makes me think that can be Its only purpose, Its plan here.” She paused, curious to see what Michelle’s thoughts were.
Michelle nodded once, slowly. “Yes, it is going to try and come to RhyDin. Certain laws keep it bound in R’lyeh, but RhyDin being what it is, on a Nexus, well… the laws don’t apply in the same way. Which is appealing for a creature of such chaos. I’m not sure if I am part of that ritual, or if I am just supposed to gather people for sacrifice, or if there is something else. That part of the plan hadn’t been fully revealed, yet. Maybe my other part knows it by now.” If she was to die to bring It here, then that would certainly complicate things.
“There have been sacrifices.” Rather than slice her own flesh, Mallory simply made a gesture and whispered an Infernal word that gathered blood from the air around them; she curled her pinky and moved her index finger in slow circles, manifesting images of the symbols that had been inscribed. “But I don’t know if these kinds of sacrifices are enough on their own... One thing we can try to figure out is if they’re trying to find You. I think that will be telling.”
Michelle snapped her fingers, with a sudden revelation. “That’s it! I’ve got an idea…”
((Co-written with Mallory the Magnificent))
Home of Hearts
The warm, crackle of the fire did nothing to comfort Michelle’s heart. She had spent time scrying with the glass ball from Mallory, but found it only deepened her depression. At first, she had tried to find herself, but something clouded the orb and kept her other half hidden. Then she had turned to look for Derrick and the children. She saw them playing with Gloria, her husband with bandages over his face. At first, she sobbed in relief, and then she cried in agony at being separated from them.
For almost a week she had tried to find hope in the pages of a book or the letters of a tome, but the bone-white library only held sterile facts. Mallory tried to lift her spirits when she came to visit, but Michelle only reminded the witch that killing her was the sole solution. They may have saved her from the total corruption of R’lyeh, but along with her goodness came her fear. In many ways, Michelle considered the half left behind to be the better part. That half was confident, assured, meticulous, proud and powerful. It didn’t see problems, only a path to a ‘New Age’.
As much as her friends and family wanted to save her, Michelle had discovered a few unalterable and damning facts. First, the longer she was separated from her body, the more this spirit would wither. The soul and the body weren’t meant to be apart, especially for a mortal like her. Even now, her solid form in Mallory’s demi-plane wavered. Second, she was tethered by a pact more powerful than any other. She hadn’t just bargained for some knowledge, but for her freedom —and she sold her life to get it. And she had made that pact twice. Those cords of entrapment were inextricably linked to her heart. The Key to the Tower of Water was also bound, but she suspected that was more temporary —once a new Keeper took hold the Key would reform and break the shackles. If only she could do the same thing.
So she sat, defeated, in front of the hearth.
Mallory’s knuckles rapped against the white stone doorway, half-filling the passage with her skinny frame. It was not clear how long she had been watching Michelle, but her expression was kind and warm and worried for her friend all at once.
“Can I come in?” It was her demiplane, but she had given this part of it to Michelle, so she still asked. She gave the faded blue backpack a toss, clattering with items hidden within — the fabric was bleach-spotted where she’d scrubbed blood out of it, and had a few blade slashes and claw marks sewn up and patched over, but damaged as it was, she still kept it. “I brought toys... after a fashion.”
Michelle looked up at Mallory’s voice and smiled gently back at her friend. “Coming from you, that could mean anything.”
“Plants, for starters.” The witch paced closer to the hearth and set the bag down on the floor, grunting with the effort. At this distance, it was easier to see that her skin was still pale, though more colorful than it had been when she had dragged Jewell through this place last night. But her eyes were more active and clever than weary, ticking over the items she unpacked that had been considered and organized as meticulously as the thoughts in her head.
A bonsai ficus came out first, its earthenware pot painted with rabbits both light and dark, symbols of Tsukuyomi. Second was an old wooden wand, not unlike the one Michelle had selected for herself, currently wreathed in belladonna vines that clung to it like a trellis. Third was an old pickle jar containing fresh spring water from the roots of the mountain that contained the Tower of Earth, and three smooth stones from the same place.
Among them, she set down a few smaller books about druidcraft and something called “magiculture,” as she explained to Michelle: “I’ve tried to get other life to thrive here, and I thought I could — my heart’s a font of life, right? — but I can never get it to take root, flourish and grow... it only just survives. I thought you might want to take a crack at it, in between other things. Two heads, and all that,” she added with a touch of a grin.
The plants lit a hopeful spark in Michelle’s eyes, and she quickly joined Mallory on the floor to examine the greenery. “Well, for starters, you need some sunlight.” There was a twinkle of wit in her eyes as she looked between Mallory and the ficus. She picked up one of the smaller books and started leafing through it, examining the notes from the chapter My Demi-Plane Garden. “The other piece is adversity. People think that sheltering a plant is the best way to help it grow, but sometimes a little struggle goes a long way.” She closed the book and held it in her lap.
“I can’t stay here forever Mallory.”
“No.” Mallory did not even attempt to disagree. “You can’t. And I’ve been working based on that assumption... and so is Jewell, now.” As they talked, Mallory sat on the floor and spun the book around, making a few pencil notes in the margins based on what Michelle had pointed out. Lyceum- Skylight Crystal. Crimson hawk moths- larvae. “Ask Malleus about these,” a murmured aside as she set the pencil down and spun the book back.
“I asked Jewell to kill me during the Overlord match. I may not have the best sense of time here, but I suspect it’s already over. And I’m still talking, so that means she either failed or didn’t try.” Michelle took the book back and examined the notes, “which tells me that you two are still holding out for another solution.” Eventually, she just set the book down, folded her hands in her lap, and locked eyes with the witch.
Mallory unconsciously mimicked her gesture as the conversation left gardening behind. “It means she didn’t try. We talked... and she trusts me.” She tapped her fingers on her pale throat, which made the three angry claw-scars there stand out all the more. “I don’t think I told you how I got these.”
Michelle shook her head, “No, you haven’t.”
“Charon... on the banks of the Styx. Someone very close to me had been pushed to the brink and left near death, their soul banished to let one of the tenders of the dead claim them for Hades. I went to the Styx to get them back, to strike a bargain and trick Charon... but I couldn’t do it alone. I needed them to trust me, to step out of the ferry and onto Charon’s oar the moment I said so, to hold on tight and never look back.”
The witch held up three fingers: “Three times I’ve run up to the gates of the underworld after people I love, when everything seemed hopeless for them, and brought them back... but I never did it alone. I had help from my friends... and I had help from the people I rescued. Jewell was one of them. She was fated to die — I had foretold, she and I both knew the moment that her heart would beat for the last time, and she nearly gave in to despair... but together we found another way.”
“Together,” she sighed softly through her nose. Unbidden the memory of Beltane surfaced in her mind. Clear as the day, nearly seven months ago, she saw the vision shared between her and Derrick. Michelle paraphrased his words softly, “It isn't as bad as I sometimes think it is. It all works out in the end. I need to move forward with faith and confidence in the future.” She reached out to hold Mallory’s hand.
“I don’t like the idea of trying to cheat death. A price will be paid, one way or another. And I don’t think it’s possible to undo what has been done. Perhaps instead of trying to… erase the past, or hide from an uncertain future, I need to find a way to move forward with what I have.” Michelle’s brow crinkled as she thought back to R’lyeh, trying to look at her experiences from another point of view. “I thought I had been possessed by some external force, but the more I think of it the less I want to believe that. It means I have no control, and I don’t want to be a pawn in someone else’s game.”
“That’s... very wise,” was the only way Mallory could think to put it, realizing the words with a soft laugh, and patted the hand she held. “There will be a price, I have no doubt... but let’s figure this out one piece at a time. Tell me what you have.”
“Well,” Michelle thought back to the first deal with It. “I don’t think there’s any way to escape the pact, aside from death itself. My life belongs to It. Which is different than my soul, so that means I don’t have to do what It commands. This first part of the pact was made when I was trapped in R’lyeh, or at least while my mind was trapped there. It’s not as straightforward as my freedom for my life, but that’s the closest analogy I can come up with.
“The second part, was when Derrick had a turn for the worse and I was desperate to save him. The appeal, the promise, was that all my fear, worry, and anxiety would be gone if I relied on my patron. That is what I —or the other half of me is doing. It’s an enticing promise. Every time I did, or do, what my patron asks I receive more power and knowledge and less despair.” The physical manifestation of her spirit or soul flickered, another reminder of how she was separated from her material form.
“Fear is useful. It keeps us alive. And in the ring with Jewell, she — you — didn’t have any, especially not of It. But she should.” Mallory frowned thoughtfully. “I was once marked for death by a powerful old fiend, for a ritual sacrifice... and I would be very surprised if this was not the case here. Bile was convinced that It could never cross over... which makes me think that can be Its only purpose, Its plan here.” She paused, curious to see what Michelle’s thoughts were.
Michelle nodded once, slowly. “Yes, it is going to try and come to RhyDin. Certain laws keep it bound in R’lyeh, but RhyDin being what it is, on a Nexus, well… the laws don’t apply in the same way. Which is appealing for a creature of such chaos. I’m not sure if I am part of that ritual, or if I am just supposed to gather people for sacrifice, or if there is something else. That part of the plan hadn’t been fully revealed, yet. Maybe my other part knows it by now.” If she was to die to bring It here, then that would certainly complicate things.
“There have been sacrifices.” Rather than slice her own flesh, Mallory simply made a gesture and whispered an Infernal word that gathered blood from the air around them; she curled her pinky and moved her index finger in slow circles, manifesting images of the symbols that had been inscribed. “But I don’t know if these kinds of sacrifices are enough on their own... One thing we can try to figure out is if they’re trying to find You. I think that will be telling.”
Michelle snapped her fingers, with a sudden revelation. “That’s it! I’ve got an idea…”
((Co-written with Mallory the Magnificent))
-
Bailey Raptis
- Seasoned Adventurer
- The Stolen Child
- Posts: 481
- Joined: Fri Apr 17, 2015 9:25 pm
- Location: Can be found many places, but resides in Old Temple
Hedging Their Bets, Part 1
December 18, 2019
The Wilds
The wood elves stood in a large circle surrounding two massive stumps that had once been redwood trees. Carefully laid across those stumps was the mangled corpse of one Atiyai Hevea, one of many victims of cultist sacrifice days earlier. The City Guard found her on top of a makeshift altar in one of the back alleys near Little Elfhame, a clear attempt at further intimidating the Queen of the Wayward Court. After identification, Atiyai’s clan of wood elves took her body north of the city, north of Battlefield Park, in order to commemorate her life in their culture’s traditional funeral services.
A few feet away from where the elves gathered, Bailey stood vigil, stone-still and expressionless. Standing guard for the clan, he could not fully watch the ceremony, but in all honesty, there was not that much to watch. They were coming up on two hours since the rites started, and in that time, none of them had moved a single inch, with more than half that time spent in silence as well. They paid no attention to the bitter wind blowing through the branches, or the fat snowflakes drifting lazily through the sky and forest canopy to fall upon their ears and noses. Every so often, one of the elves would speak up, and though Bailey could not fully understand them, he could tell by the tone of their voice they were sharing remembrances, spinning stories, telling jokes that left them laughing through the pain they must be feeling. After each tale concluded, each joke found its punchline, each well-wish followed by murmurs, they fell silent again. One minute, two minutes, five minutes would pass, with only the sounds of nature and the beating of Bailey’s heart audible.
In between one fond recollection and the next, Mallory stepped up beside the Wayward Knight. She was not so indifferent to the cold as the mourners appeared to be, arms folded tightly, head ducking into the warm comfort of her plush scarf and coat collar. The snowy wind bit at her ears and nose, turning them pink and red, and she curled her toes into her wool socks to keep herself from bouncing on her feet.
The silence broke, and another story was spun among the group, ending in a warm rumble of laughter that turned to sighs. Then the witch spoke, quietly, only to Bailey.
“The last few years in Little Elfhame have been hard.”
Bailey’s attention shifted from the gathering to Mallory as she arrived. Perhaps it was his literal stony nature, or perhaps he was just being stoic, but he showed no signs of chill, even with his head and hands exposed. He wore a black wool double-breasted overcoat over a suit of similar hue, and a familiar rusted scabbard was draped across his back with the help of a leather strap.
“And I have only seen a fraction of the pain, and the reverberations of events past.” Bailey huffed out a breath, white with condensation. “At the risk of sounding arrogant or hubristic, I cannot help but feel that if I had been around sooner, if I had not let past conflicts and prejudices stand in my way…”
“...that it would have been better?” The witch shook her head slowly. “Those are questions without good answers... but you’re here now, and that’s what matters,” she added, resting her right hand on the crook of his arm, and looking up at him hopefully. Her left hand tensed and curled, hiding the little wellspring of blood that opened a magical channel between them...
“We’ve made a breakthrough. With her. She can come back. But we need your gift to get it done.”
Bailey answered without hesitation. “What do you need me to do?”
The Wilds
The wood elves stood in a large circle surrounding two massive stumps that had once been redwood trees. Carefully laid across those stumps was the mangled corpse of one Atiyai Hevea, one of many victims of cultist sacrifice days earlier. The City Guard found her on top of a makeshift altar in one of the back alleys near Little Elfhame, a clear attempt at further intimidating the Queen of the Wayward Court. After identification, Atiyai’s clan of wood elves took her body north of the city, north of Battlefield Park, in order to commemorate her life in their culture’s traditional funeral services.
A few feet away from where the elves gathered, Bailey stood vigil, stone-still and expressionless. Standing guard for the clan, he could not fully watch the ceremony, but in all honesty, there was not that much to watch. They were coming up on two hours since the rites started, and in that time, none of them had moved a single inch, with more than half that time spent in silence as well. They paid no attention to the bitter wind blowing through the branches, or the fat snowflakes drifting lazily through the sky and forest canopy to fall upon their ears and noses. Every so often, one of the elves would speak up, and though Bailey could not fully understand them, he could tell by the tone of their voice they were sharing remembrances, spinning stories, telling jokes that left them laughing through the pain they must be feeling. After each tale concluded, each joke found its punchline, each well-wish followed by murmurs, they fell silent again. One minute, two minutes, five minutes would pass, with only the sounds of nature and the beating of Bailey’s heart audible.
In between one fond recollection and the next, Mallory stepped up beside the Wayward Knight. She was not so indifferent to the cold as the mourners appeared to be, arms folded tightly, head ducking into the warm comfort of her plush scarf and coat collar. The snowy wind bit at her ears and nose, turning them pink and red, and she curled her toes into her wool socks to keep herself from bouncing on her feet.
The silence broke, and another story was spun among the group, ending in a warm rumble of laughter that turned to sighs. Then the witch spoke, quietly, only to Bailey.
“The last few years in Little Elfhame have been hard.”
Bailey’s attention shifted from the gathering to Mallory as she arrived. Perhaps it was his literal stony nature, or perhaps he was just being stoic, but he showed no signs of chill, even with his head and hands exposed. He wore a black wool double-breasted overcoat over a suit of similar hue, and a familiar rusted scabbard was draped across his back with the help of a leather strap.
“And I have only seen a fraction of the pain, and the reverberations of events past.” Bailey huffed out a breath, white with condensation. “At the risk of sounding arrogant or hubristic, I cannot help but feel that if I had been around sooner, if I had not let past conflicts and prejudices stand in my way…”
“...that it would have been better?” The witch shook her head slowly. “Those are questions without good answers... but you’re here now, and that’s what matters,” she added, resting her right hand on the crook of his arm, and looking up at him hopefully. Her left hand tensed and curled, hiding the little wellspring of blood that opened a magical channel between them...
“We’ve made a breakthrough. With her. She can come back. But we need your gift to get it done.”
Bailey answered without hesitation. “What do you need me to do?”
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