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 Truth creeps through darkest hearts (Invite) 
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Post Truth creeps through darkest hearts (Invite)
The village had been in complete disarray since Zelphyn and his neonates had thundered in on their lathered warhorses several hours ago, tearing doors from their hinges and forcing their way into homes searching for their quarry. The sigil of the High Church of Darden had been enough to silence what few voices had dared to raise against their actions and now that the task was nearly completed Zelphyn feels an imense swelling of pride in his heart. His neonates had performed admirably on the first part of their test for initiation into the Order and their quarry had quickly been subdued, caught off gaurd as it was by the sudden incursion into its supposed safe haven.
Zelphyn grimaces behind the silver mask that obscures his face at the thought of their quarry. The foul daemons had been holding this place in their taloned grasp for seasons now it seemed, preying on the weak townsfolk and claiming themselves bringers of Darden's message untill the Ordo had caught their trail and sent him to remove their taint from the land, and remove them was just what he had done. It had been amusing to him to see the terrible monsters reduced to whimpering babes once bound and helpless at the centre of a pyre. It had been more amusing still to hear their screams of mercy and roared curses when the fires had begun to consume their wretched flesh, leaving nothing in their wake but ash and the putrid stench of death.
Smiling slightly he walks over to the remains of the daemons pyres and kicks at the smouldering ashes with the toe of his boot for a moment before reaching down and grasping a handful of the greasy dust, raising it up to eye level and studying it as if it held the very secrets of the universe within its essence. And then suddenly he flings his arms outwards, scattering the ashes into the air and whispering softly under his breath


I'm coming for you. Know this and be afraid, for my faith shall be your undoing!

Wiping his gloved hand absently on the fabric of his cloak he walks slowly to where his neonates are gathered, his eyes cast at the horizon where the first signs of the fast approaching dawn have encroached upon the velvet black shroud of the night and he bows his head respectfully, muttering a quiet prayer to Darden that he had yet again survived the night and had come one step closer to bringing purity back to the faith.
Suddenly impatiant he hauls himself up into the saddle of his snow white charger and waves his adjutant, Kai, up from the cluster of neonates, casting the young boy a glance before turning his gaze back to the horizon as he utters orders to the boy in a clipped, harsh tone that he long ago discovered would get him the best results from his charges.


We head back to the fortress immedatiely, with good speed we will reach the mountains by first light. Inform the others that those who lag behind will be left behind.
Once we arrive back you are to seek audience for me with the militant commander, make sure he is aware that it is a matter of the highest importance as this place must be put to the torch by his troops as soon as possible!
And make sure the prisoner is escorted back safely....do you understand me Amundo? He can be beaten but I don't want him broken, not yet anyway.


Not waiting for a response Zelphyn urges his steed forward, a smile creeping once more onto his lips as his mind wanders to the prisoner they had captured during their sweep of the daemons haven. Just a poor lunatic the boy Kai had insisted but Zelphyn had ignored his words and ordered the man taken prisoner with an eye to "interrogating" him later about the nature of his consortium with the daemons. He had also made sure the odd little mans pet had been bagged purely because he was never one to leave loose ends...even a mere rat.


TBC


Sat Aug 30, 2003 12:08 am
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Kai spurred the horse toward the now visible, but still distant keep. As he rode, the orders of his master still echoed through his mind. Concentration was difficult for the boy. The stench of the dead and the dying in the fires still lingered in his nostrils. He knew he could never say anything of this to one such as Zelphyn DaAthaal, but those sorts of displays, even though the demon lord prized them, made him uneasy in ways that he could never truly describe.

He was forced to squelch that uneasiness daily.

And yet, even with his misgivings, he rose quickly in Zelphyn's service and it was not his place to question his lord's methods. No, Kai's place was to obey and obey he would, no matter whether the eyes of the beautiful young woman... a young woman whose life was so brutally snuffed out and whose screams he would hear in the depth of sleep tonight... seemed to call out to him.

Kai's mount thundered into the courtyard of the keep. Almost without pause, he swung down from the saddle and tossed the reins to a nearby stablehand. Here, unlike out there in the midst of it, his authority was unquestioned. Here, at this time and place, he was the voice of Zelphyn.

"Water, rub down, stable... for I ride out in the morning, " he commanded, attempting to instill the rough edges into his voice that seemed to come so easily for his master. And yet the best that Kai seemed to accomplish at times was a sense of cold distance.

In the keep, Kai was feared sometimes... the adjutant of Zelphyn. And very few tried to know him in a personal way. Sometimes that was the way he liked it, for if no one knew him... no one would know the blasphemy that sometimes threatened to deaden his soul in the eyes of the demon.

He walked into a nearby building. The soldiers there looked up at his approach. They were older than him... mostly. But they bowed to his authority. Kai was a neonate. That was all that mattered to the common soldier. Kai was the voice of Zelphyn.

Kai was...

"I will see the commander, " he informed the nearest one, disregarding any protocol of rank or station. "I will see him now."

The soldier rushed to obey.

(TBC)

Kai Amundo
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Sat Aug 30, 2003 5:24 pm
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It's just my luck, we spend all night riding across the plains to get to some backwater forsaken village to purge a few daemons when I could be doing something more interesting...like one of the High Priests handmaidens, they're always up for a lark, but no, I end up reciting litanies of faith around a bloody great bonfire surrounded by the sour faces of my fellow Inquisiters in training.
And then just when I think it can't get any worse that bleeding teachers pet Kai lumbers me with the task of transporting the lunatic to the interrogation room. I sigh softly and level a swift kick at the knees of our bound captive, sending him stumbling to the floor and getting a quiet laugh from the two millitia men who are flanking the prisoner, the hafts of their halberds finding their way into the mans ribs before they both help him roughly to his feet and resume dragging him down the dimly lit stone corridors.
Gordon... the lunatic utters that bloody name again for the umpteenth time since I was forced to cart him around and I finally feel something snap in my head, lashing out and tearing the heavy hood from his head and storm around to face him, reaching down to unhook the pouch from my belt, holding it up before the prisoners glazed eyes and smirking slightly, my voice a soft hiss in the tight confines of the corridors.
Oh Joshua, Joshua, do you know what this is? I grin wolsfishly at the vague look of recollection in the lunatics eyes and continue slowly, tugging open the strings holding the bag closed and reaching inside, nodding at the millitia men. Making sure they have a tight grip on both of Joshua's arms before I remove the small black rat, It's your old friend Gordon. Do you miss him Joshua? I'm sure you do, don't you? And you know what? By the time I'm done with you I'll be able to fit what's left of you in this bag right alongside him! I laugh softly as Joshua struggles vainly in the armsmens grasp, noting with amusment how they die off as I sling the disgusting vermin back into the pouch and fix it back at my belt before reaching voer to secure the hood over his head again.
Chuckling softly to myself I wave the armsmen forward and start to whistle a soft tune my father taut me a long time ago, my hands finding my belt and retrieving the heavy chain mail gloves resting their and slowly fixing them in place over my soft skin. After a few minutes of relative silence broken only by my whistling and the occasional muttering of "Gordon" escaping Joshuas lips we reach the heavy steel door to the Interrogation room that would serve as Joshua's cell until the day of initiation and I grin, motioning for the armsmen to stop as I step around in front of Joshua and level a swift punch to the side of his head followed by another and then another untill the words of that bastard Kai ring in my mind and I stop grudgingly, muttering softly to myself.
Beaten but not broken...I'll give you beaten but not broken, you and his stuck up highness Zelphyn. growling quietly I wave impatiently at the millitia men Get this bastard into the cell and out of my sight quickly, I've wasted enough time with him and I have better things to do.
I spin on my heel and storm away from the trio, tugging the mail gloves from my stinging fists and heading off to the neanotes chambers to grab what sleep I can before evening prayer in the hopes of washing the anger from my mind.


Sun Aug 31, 2003 8:18 pm
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This is completely unacceptable D'Athaal. I don't care what authority the council have given you I won't be a part of this, I absolutely will not. There is no power on this earth that will make me slaughter innocent people just-

The commander of the chamber millitant falters in mid sentance as he meets Zelphyn's cold gaze, his pale blue eyes glittering icily behind the silver face mask betraying not even the slightest hint of emotion as he sits stiffly in one of the high backed wooden chairs in front of the commanders desk. After a heavy pause Zelphyn slowly raises to his feet, towering over the agitated man across from him and shaking his head slowly before speaking, his voice soft in contrast to the bawling of the flustered commander.

Have you forgotten that the High Church itself has seconded you to me? Within these walls my word is second only to that of Darden himself and you would do well to remember that, Javier.

The commander flinches at the use of his given name and tilts his eyes downward, breaking away from the High Lord Inquisitors gaze for only the briefest moment but knowing too well that the weakness inherent in the action will not have gone unnoticed. Another spell of charged silence grows between the two men for a few seconds untill Zelphyn turns away, nodding for Kai to open the door for him before he speaks to the commander once more,

You will mobilize a force within the next four candlemarks and the heretics dwelling in that village will be purged by nightfall or I will voice my displeasure to the Council. Do I make myself clear, Millitant Commander?

Without another word Zelphyn strides from the room with his adjutant in tow, ignoring the fading half hearted protests from the commander. Once out of earshot of the armsmen stationed outside the commanders audience chamber Zelphyn turns to Kai and points down the corridor vaguely as he speaks to his adjutant slwoly, picking his words as carefully as possible lest he reveal too much of the grand scheme to his young charge.

The chamber millitant can no longer be trusted...it saddens me to say this but I think we must look outside these walls for those with enough faith to cleanse the heretics that we are tasked with discovering among the followers of Darden.

Zelphyn sighs softly and reaches up to brush an errant strand of dirty blonde hair away from the left eye of his mask, glancing to a nearby window and following the patterns of dust particles caught in the rays of sunlight with his gaze for a moment before turning his gaze back to his adjutant, his posture suddenly betraying the tiredness that he feels more and more frequently lately.

Use whatever trusted channels we have left to send word to my comrades, it is time for us to put New Harvest into action and I need each one of them to report on the status of their own candidates. I will be putting the investigation into motion once each of them has arrived here...and may Darden forgive us for what must be done for I fear many will not.
I will retire now, the hour makes me weary and I need to be refreshed for the initiation later tonight. You should rest yourself Kai, it will not be an easy test for any of you and there are too many already who would see my own chosen fail for me to allow anything but the best into my service.


Zelphyn sighs again and waves his adjutant away, standing to watch the boy dissapear around the corner before allowing himself to slump against the wall in weariness, feeling the coldness radiating from the stone through the material of his greatcoat. After a few moments he regains his composure and straightens up, squaring his shoulders and making his way slowly down the corridor that Kai had taken, his mind whirling with the possibile consequences of the path he and his fellow Inquisitors had chosen to walk along when they had agreed upon the need for New Harvest to be conceived. And yet despite the burden of consequences his mind still returns him to the part of his mind that knows the truth about everything and he lets a smile creep onto his hidden lips as he whispers quietly to the air around him

If only they knew...if only any of them knew.



TBC


Tue Sep 02, 2003 7:39 pm
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"If only they knew...if only any of them knew."

[center]†††††[/center]

Vasili's lips curled back into a feral snarl, pearl-white teeth making a brief appearance in the chill, brittle night air before he broke the uncomfortable silence with two simple words.

"I know."

He stepped forwards from the warped doorframe, each successive step taken towards the innkeeper bringing forth louder and more vehement protests from the aged timber floorboards. The house itself screamed out against the aroma of promised violence which hung in the air like a cheap perfume, mirrored in the eyes of the advancing newcomer.

"I know all about your pathetic muggers who were kind enough to let me pass through the alley, and I know for a fact that your squalid little inn can't hope to take in a night what you attempt to charge me for a simple broth."

The innkeeper brought his hands up before his chest in a gesture of protest, silken apologies betraying him with their silence as they fell from his quivering lips. So many years of instant comebacks and silvered tongue, so many phrases so practiced as to sound almost sincere, all come to little more than quiet panicked grunting noises emerging from deep within his body, erupting from his throat like bubbles bursting from a pond. A louder panted moan of fear followed when his ankles struck the skirting board which lined the room's walls, along with his shoulders coming to rest against the cracked paint which clung to the walls of the chamber with a grim determination and grimmer colour.

One slim finger uncurled from the newcomer's fist, reaching out towards the innkeeper's palsied head. The man's face, already possessed of a thin sheen of sweat which had visited his skin as soon as the visitor made his appearance, jerked back as if struck - and he grunted once more as the back of his head struck the wall which, unlike his ragtag group of poorly paid heavies, now stood squarely behind him.

"I know all of this, and I judge you."

The digit extended, pointing squarely between the portly innkeeper's eyes.

"I judge you, and find you wanting. You subvert the worship of Darden behind false idolatry as you attempt to hide your profiteering behind hired muscle. The latter has brought you to the attention of the local barons... the former will shortly draw you to the attention of a far sterner taskmaster indeed.

"Once you've quite recovered from your little panic, I suggest taking this head start as a proverbial gift horse, and start running... though I guarantee your survival will require far more than your diseased body and mind can provide."

Vasili's finger snaked a bare inch away from the innkeeper's head, reaching behind him and selecting a large brass key from the rack on the wall.

"In the meantime, I will enjoy an uninterrupted night's rest while you pack. I would be most disappointed to see you here come sunrise."

He turned on his heels and stalked towards the nearby stairwell, smiling slightly to himself as his final words hung in the air.

If only they knew.

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Tue Sep 02, 2003 8:36 pm
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(ooc: Haven't used this char for a while so forgive any mistakes whilst I get back into his head)

IC:

He fell unceremoniously onto the cell floor and bashed his nose on the hard stone which caused a stream of blood to squirt up into the air, droplets of which spattered onto his sore face. Not that he even noticed any of the aches and pains, all he was bothered about was Gordon. The bastards had taken his best friend and wisest advisor away from him, and for all he knew they could be killing the poor little creature right now and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

With newfound vigour he pushed himself away from the floor and stood up, he then spun around and rushed at the door like a madman. The full weight of his body slammed against the door with incredible force.. and failed to even dislodge any dust. He grasped the bars that were set in the square opening near the top of the door and pushed his face through as far as it would go, which wasn't very far.

Oh you are in soooooo much trouble you rotten heathen swine! His yells echoed in the empty corridor. There isn't a word that describes the amount of trouble you're in! The sanity-challenged prisoner tried in vain to push his head through a little bit further to see if anyone was listening. Do you hear me? He wanted to know. Do you?!?

Nobody answered.

Joshua pulled his face back into the cell and kicked the door angrily, managing only to hurt his toes rather than cause any damage to the tightly fixed door. Damn it! He yelped, hopping on one foot in an effort to ease the fresh pain. Damn you! Again his shouts were directed to whoever was listening. Damn you all! I have friends in high places, you know. The madman nodded his head to accentuate the statement. Oh yes, Demons, no less, and you mark my words, they are not going to be happy about any of this. Not one bit!

Gradually the exhaustion of shouting and kicking became too much for him and he slumped against the door, sliding slowly down it until he was finally sitting on the floor with his head firmly rested between his knees. Don't you worry, Gordon; He whispered. We're going to get out of this.

_________________
Call me mad and I'll smile
Call me evil and I'll laugh
Call me a fool and I will [shadow=brown]SO[/shadow] feed you your innards


Wed Sep 03, 2003 8:08 am
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Tyralus.

That was his name.

And the name of his grandfather.

It was supposed to be an honor to share his name - his father felt it to be the gift that he had not been worthy to receive. Instead, it was a cruel joke that taunted him whenever it was spoken. He had been taught to revere Tyralus, The Martyr. But he later came to call him by different names - Tyralus, The Murderer; Tyralus, The Rapist; Tyralus, The Warmonger. When Tyralus took his men into battle, the battle did not cease until nothing was left to show that anything had once inhabited the scorched land that remained. And eventually, when the heathens finally captured Tyralus and executed him publicly, the Dardenites forgot his maliciousness and his disregard for any code of honor. They forgot his faults, and remembered some virtues that no one seemed to have noticed while he was alive.

“Tyr -,” his assistant, Jonas, stopped short as he regained his wits. “Sir, an envoy has arrived from D’Athaal. He has ‘requested’ that you meet him at the Ordo fortress. He regrets that he could not come here to seek an attendance with you, but he is ‘quite busy’ for the time being.”

Zelphyn D’Athaal was probably more dangerous than any heathen general or warrior. Religious leaders or demagogues could whip up a furor with an imaginary enemy - an invisible foe. The fact that D’Athaal had a real one in the daemons was disconcerting to say the least. His moves to take over the leadership of Darden were even more so.

“Right, so basically I have to go or I’m as good as hung?”

“That is the impression that he gave me, yes. I would request that -“

“I will go alone.”

“Thank you, sir," Jonas said. He felt ashamed for his cowardice, but he knew there was no sense in both of them risking their lives.

They both knew what this probably meant. Most that Zelphyn brought to his fortress did not leave. And Tyralus had a lot of secrets. If word got out to the public that he was not the pious man they thought he was they would hang him. Zelphyn was liable to kill him anyways. If he wanted you dead he could find an excuse. He just hoped to find some way to make his life valuable to Zelphyn.


Mon Sep 15, 2003 10:47 pm
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Quote:
So it is that the grounds of Tonin shake with the advent of one answering his true calling. That of the destruction of mere demons locked deep inside the soul, the mind, the heart.. Though can one ever just say merely demons? Perhaps those who sit safe and secure and confident behind the locked doors of their domiciles may speak such words of folly. Yet you, that are clueless, do not realize that it is in the very air of their domiciles that the demons and creatures of shadow reside. Breed and breathe. Listening and usurping all words of mistake uttered. Crowding to catch those words which will cast the speaker into the pits of damnation in order to reap their souls. Each household bears shadows. Not a place in the world of Tonin is without it. Shadows fall even in the most Holy of houses. Even the angels cannot cast back every shadow. In all light there is darkness. However, it is not given the other way. Not always. In darkness there is never a hint of light. Oh yes, light may cast it back, but it may not utterly banish it completely. It is always there, waiting for the light to gutter out so it may creep back across those surfaces and give leave for the demons of the shadows to, once again, resume their lurking and malicious intent. We are gathering now. Demons of the heart, mind, soul and physical bearing.

For some it is merely Pride, chief amid all the seven sins. For it was always about sins. No man, woman, or child was without sin. It was assured the moment they drew breath at birth that sin was wrapped about them. Pride..the root of all evil. The selfish sin to be vainglorious and to think oneself better than others. Arrogance blocks the Divine as well as others from the heart. In the name of Pride many a sun bleach skull leers up from the grave on battlefields of the past.

For some it is Avarice, this sin which spawns thieves, misers and murderers. The greedy always crave more no matter how much they have. Wretched and envious, Avarice leads to a state of infinate dissatisfaction and the sin's obsession with worldly goods leads to violence which leaves as many skulls, if not more, on battlefields as Pride does. Tonin being rife with Avarice. It was always about having more, being the King, being on top, that rules the heart of so many, of all faiths.

For some it is Lust, a sin which leads to moral terpitude. Corrupting the flesh. Making the soul unclean. Many an soul has been harvested in the act of lust, hissing words of promise or betrayal in the moment of greatest pleasure. One of my favorite mediums of corruption. Though I do not turn a blind eye to any of the sins, for they are tenants to be followed.

For some it is Envy, 'Thou shalt not covet" Is a joke in the lands of Tonin, for all Covet their nieghbors lands. All wage war to take what they have, to be bigger and better. My how it all comes in a vicious cycle.

For some it is Gluttony, the endless maw of the glutton is never satisfied and he, or she, is never satisfied. They live to eat, a state that soon escalates into forgetting gratitude, this goes on and on..leading to a specific damnation, in Hell one is forced to devour toads and sip putrid water. Tonin is, as always, rife with this sin as well. Though on a higher level, for it involves not only food but land and the joy and happiness of others. Eating these things with wild abandon and great thrill until nothing is left but sorrow and brokenbacks.

For some it is Sloth, this sin being one of the flesh. Usually meaning gaurds who fall asleep on the job. Or Lords who sit idle while their crops are left rottng in the fields.

For some it is Anger, this sin escalates to rage, obliterating all but negativity within, and results in murder and war..Murder and War.


These were the first words of the rather large scroll which had been delivered to the Temple. Sent by the Demoness upon hearing is his Holy Quest to rid the world of demons and all things which were deemed dirty and 'evil'. Oh the clueless seemed to be breaking the borders of Tonin these days. Through the night quill had been dipped into a well of blood, words scrawled across parchment. There was no expectation that this madman would even accept what she was writing to him. He was already convinced that he was right. That was no surpise. His type were a dime a dozen. Still more filled the scroll as it was unwound upon the black stained bone which it was wrapped about.

Quote:
Humankind has always regarded us demons with ambivilance. As adversaries who must be combated. We demons are supernatural spirits with limitless energy, passionate natures, shape-shifting talents and a preference for concealment and darkness. We demons are everywhere, in every part of the world and involved in every moment of recorded history. We inhabit every grain of sand, every drop of water. We lurk at crossroads, crouch in your doorways, hide in the trees, slip into your beds, wait in caves, slide down chimneys, hover at weddings and childbirths. We follow caravans, we pretend to be your friends, guildmates and your family. We slip into your mind and become yourself. We are responsible for your passions, habits and dark insights. We are chilling prophecies of death and doom. Demons are like blazings warnings, demanding to be seen.

We serve to remind you with retaliatory gestures of avalanches, sandstorms, and acts of mayhem that there are consequences for acts of greed and stupidity.

We are everything which is base inside you. In all things you do, from admiring your deeds and self congragulating pride and ego, to the justification of those acts which preceed such. You seek to destroy these things, as if that will somehow husk you out and make you pure. Your kind are incapable of purity. Your natures are as black as ours, the only difference is this: That we do not try to conceal our natures, nor justify our actions. The same cannot be said of any other race. You may point fingers and blame and condemn, yet you are a reflection of us. You always have been. Fingers that grasp a sword in battle are not innocent fingers. Nor are the excuses made to destroy another. We are of the same make, bearing different beliefs and masks and ideals.

These things will not go away if you slaughter demons to the last one, which I will inform you now, is rather impossible. You are as tainted as those you hunt. I take great pleasure in this knowledge, that in the very manner of a demon, you murder. You canibalize exactly what you are on the inside. Taking one step closer to being that which you loathe. I take greater amusement in that you are doing such with all eyes watching, with all minds aware of your act of patricide. Blind to the sad truth and reveling in your madness the way a hog wallows in it's own filth.

Feel free to scribe me your thoughts, or better yet, perhaps we shall meet face to face, one night while you sit beside your fire basking in the glow of your own egomaniacle self delusions I may take it upon myself to show you the folly of your ways. By all means, continue your work, there is little in this realm which brings me any amount of amusement, you have, thus far, proven the greatest sorce of such.

Eisheth


Shaking horned head as she stood before the window at the top of the Black Ivory. Darden help the one who was, at the moment, lost and blind in the grip of Despair and eagerly lifting fork and knife to further stuff himself with it. Expecting a reply, for she had challanged his ego, his vanity and his sanity. He was, afterall, so very demonlike.

_________________
<Seska>Its just that I'm so lucky to have a guild full of blood thirsty savages to work with, so everyone thinks stupid and insane and violent is good.
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Wed Oct 01, 2003 12:18 pm
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Post Once upon a time...
He sits cross-legged on the floor of the crystal walled cell, his crimson gaze flicking impassively from each of the mutilated corpses that adorn the walls in various states of decomposition. His "master-pieces" aren't really in the best of condition anymore but still he sits unmoving on the cold floor of the starkly lit chamber, searching the bodies for something unfathomable even to his mind let alone to that of the watcher who stands in the shelter of the doorway. Her eyes shielded from the light that glares off the clear crystal with one slender hand and her mouth and nose shielded from the stench of the long dead corpses by a scented handkerchief.
After several moments of silence the albino fixes his gaze on the oldest of his works, a young man whose name and origins he couldn't quite place at this moment in time...but was sure would come to him later during the dreams they always came back to him in his dreams after all, and then he speaks, his soft voice making the watcher start from her place leaning against the steel doorframe and strain to hear the words before they are swallowed up by the oppressive atmosphere of the cell.


Strange really.
I forget everything, from their names to their homes to the reason I actually killed them...heck I even forget how I kill most of them but the one thing I never, ever forget is what pitch they scream in.
It fills my head like a song, all these different voices howling and braying at different notes but all with the same lyrics....almost like everybody reads from the same song sheet when it finally comes for them to become part of my art.
Don't you think it's strange?


The watcher makes no attempts to remove the silk material from before her nose and mouth, correctly guessing the question to be more rambling rhetoric from the strange creature she has been assigned to for so long. So she merely settles back in against the cool metal and allows the lithe albino to continue, his eyes now passing from the oldest corpse to the most recent, the deep blade grooves still glistening wetly and the occasional sluggish trickle of blood working its way down the ravaged body in the wake of litres of its kin.

I know I think it's strange...and I guess that really should be all that matters but you know what they say, the whole worlds a critic when it comes to art.
Does that mean I have to kill absolutely everybody before my work can be perfect, even myself?


He draws in a redundant breath and raises a blood stained finger to his mouth, suckling lightly on the digit for a few moments before brightening visibly and scooting around in his seated position to face the watcher in the doorway, a wolfish grin splitting his thin lips and revealing his vitae spattered teeth.

Is that what it is? Should I make the entire world a canvas and daub it in carnage? Just tear through the land like a whirlwind, leaving nothing but art in my wake?

He slides into a crouch from the seated position, his hands clawed to give him a stronger base on the blood slick crystal below him and his bare feet planted wide from one another to further aide balance.

Perhaps even start right here?

From the crouch he slinks across the floor on his hands and knees leaving a bloody trail on the glittering surface in his wake, his crimson gaze locked on the eyes of his watcher hypnotically and his tongue occasionally darting out to wet his thin lips. In mere seconds he is across the distance between them both and he slowly straightens himself up, one arm snaking around the watchers waist as he runs his free hand through her hair gently. His mouth pressing closer to the skin of her hand that is holding the handkerchief loosely in a trembling grasp and his eyes mere centimetres from hers, his fiery crimson orbs providing stark contrast to hers, glazed and empty as they are.

Start with you even?

His fingers curl tightly in her hair, yanking her head back sharply to expose her neck to him, his tongue snaking out to taste the fear oozing from her every pore, dragging from bottom to top of the left side of her neck and his fangs grazing ever so gently over skin that prickles with anticipation,

Or perhaps not...now why are you here?

He spins away suddenly, allowing the easily crafted spell to be broken and standing with his arms folded acrosse his bare chest expectantly, no trace of the previous instability left in his eyes or bearing as the watcher slowly composes herself and begins to speak for the first time, her voice cracking and hoarse as she fumbles awkwardly inside the robes of her cloak for something.

It is...um...is time for you to um...complete another task for us.
The...the high priests d-d-demand it of y-you. They say this is...most important. No room for err-errors.

Finally she fishes the object she was searching for from her robes and tosses it shakily to the albino who deftly retrives it from mid air and turns it over and over in his slender hands, covering the tarnished silver surface with bloody fingerprints and smiling to himself slightly. After a few seconds of silence the watcher begins to speak once more.

It is-

He glances up sharply and hisses his displeasure at the intrusion upon the silence before shaking his head and tearing his attention away from the cracked face mask to fix the woman with his cold crimson gaze.

I know what it is you idiot...it's Zelphyn D'Athaal's death warrant!

He smiles to himself and waves his hand impatiently, sending the visibly shaken watcher scurrying away, her sigh of relief echoing back to him and causing his smile to widen as he raises the mask to his own face and gazes into the empty sockets for a few moments before whispering silently into the wind.

I see you...and I know!


Sat Oct 04, 2003 8:46 pm
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This is very important to me Kayne, I can't even begin to stress just how much it means that an example be made of the heretic Black...and since Kai hasn't been seen around the monastary since the initiation I'm giving this task to you.
Can you comprehend how important this is Kayne? We must be seen to give a fair trial to this animal no matter what. The people will be reeling from the harsh treatment of the village he was discovered in and they must see the fair hand of the Ordo at work aswell as the firm!


Zelphyn fixes the young Acolyte with a piercing stare for several moments, searching for signs of weakness in the cocky youth and taking small satisfaction when he finds non. Smiling slightly beneath the face mask he beckons the Acolyte closer and begins to speak again, his tone hushed and conspiratorial more from force of habit than anything else.

Of course what the peasants perceive and what actually is...well they don't necessarily need to go hand in hand. What I mean to say is that I cannot allow this one to go unpurged, not if what I suspect about his daemon masters is actually true. In fact if my suspicions are correct anything short of swift and violent death for Joshua will put our entire future in very grave jeapordy, I trust you understand Kayne.

Kayne nods and begins to turn towards the door before suddenly pausing and half turning back, his mouth open to voice a question before Zelphyn cuts him off sharply,

The village of course Kayne, scene of the crime as they say. After all the people don't even need to see the "trial" of Joshua Black, just hear about it and it's success. Now run along and prove to me that my faith in you isn't entirely misplaced.

Zelphyn watches Kayne swagger out of the office, closing the large oak door with more force than is strictly necessary and shakes his head slightly. He would have to watch that one very closely, there was no blind faith in him and more than a little arrogance to contend with, but all that could wait until after more pressing concerns have been dealt with.
Giving a soft sigh Zelphyn rests his hands against the cold silver of his face mask for a few moments before straightening up in his seat and casting his gaze once more to the two documents that have so recently brought to light fresh problems. Nothing could ever go without complications, he had accepted that a very long time but he had at least hoped for a brief spell of smootheness to his plans before all hell began to break loose and improvisation became necessary...however it seemed such a thing would be impossible.
Silently he reaches out to run a slender finger over the large scroll that still carried with it the stink of daemonkin, the scroll that it had taken everything for him to not burn the instance it had been brought before him, the scroll that was filled with the typical lies and deceit that are all the dark ones know...and the scroll that he had contained everything he had expected, and perhaps even then some if truth be told, but no revelations as he was sure the wretched monster who had penned the document believed. No it was impossible for their kind to reveal anything to him, but perhaps their predictable attempts would prove useful to him in the future, but for now it is the least of his worries and he can hardly allow the distraction of reacting to thei daemonesses shameless goading, at least not yet anyway.
Shaking his head he sweeps the tainted scroll to one side and taps his index finger gently on the other document, the one that held but one word upon its crisp parchment, a name to be precise, a name that holds as many consequences as any Zelphyn had ever encountered since the first time,


Tyralus...

The sound of his own voice startles him somewhat and he shakes his head again, trying to clear his mind of the spiraling memories that threaten to overwhelm him. not for the first time since he had recieved the parchment from one of his operatives in the camp of a fellow Inquisitor he curses himself for not acting sooner, for not embracing his first instinct and putting a stop to this threat before it could be anything more than a fantasy i nteh head of his rival...but alas he had been preoccupied with the initiation and countless other tasks and by the time he had been able to devote his full attention to the issue the only course of action left for him was to handle it personally, and so he had sent for the new Tyralus...partly to meet him and asses the potential threat for himself and partly in hope that a summons to the infamous fortress monastary of the Ordo would scare the man into hiding. however that hope had been dashed and now he was left with no options at all and this knowledge does not sit well with him.

Very well "Tyralus". Come to me and play pawn for my rival...one way or another I will deal with you myself...which leaves only her.

He reaches for the scroll, gripping it tightly in his hands and raising up quickly from his seat, making his way slowly over to the ornate fireplace set in the far wall, his cold eyes meeting the roaring fire as though he were trying to stare the heat itself from the flames for a moment untill he casually tosses the scroll into the hungry flames and then crouches down beside the fire and whispers into the crackling voice of the fire as though by sheer strength of will and the desecration of the scroll he can make his words heard by the daemoness.

You don't know...just like all the others you don't know, but if only you did. What would you do if you could possibly see the truth about my quest I wonder?

He chuckles softly to himself and straightens up quickly, dusting off his hands casually on a nearby wall hanging and spinning on his heel to make his way over to the large windows of his office gazing out into the night sky carefully before pulling open the windows, allowing the cold air to caress him and drag away the worries he has just confronted untill finalyl his mind is clear and focused on the most important task at hand once again



TBC

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Sat Oct 04, 2003 9:55 pm
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(ooc: My party has come from HERE)

She tugged at a lock of her golden hair and bit her lip, a thoughtful expression on her face. This was not good. Not good at all. She vaguely remember Maledict's right hand man- Joshua Black- had been in this general area, last she'd heard of him. For all she knew, he had been in this very village. She'd felt a certain bond to the man. He'd been delightfully insane, although she would have never told him such. She frowned and stirred in the ash some more.

No. These weren't human remains. She'd burned enough villages in her time to be able to tell what was human and what was not. These remains were daemon. Glancing over at Dementia she shrugged her shoulders slightly, truly baffled by what she saw.

It makes no sense. If it was a heathen that did this- then how could news of them being so far into Darden's territory, escape both of us? If it was a heathen, I would have expected more looting. Nothing of value has been removed from this village- all that has occurred is the murder of daemon kin.

Her frown deepened. What being could possibly kill this many deamons without a struggle? There couldn't have been much of a struggle or the village would have been totally destroyed instead of just in disarray and deserted.

It had to have been someone that they would not have suspected of ill will towards them- another Darden. But who would...?

She shook her head.

I think perhaps we should find out all we can about this place, then hurry directly to the desert. Maledict will need to know about this. And there is someone that I need to locate....

Turning, she handed the young girl her bag- then drew her dagger and walked toward one of the buildings that was next to the remains of one of the unfortunate victims.

You keep hold of my bag for me. Don't lose it. It has something very important inside.

Then she stepped into the building and began her search for clues.

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Mon Oct 06, 2003 12:25 pm
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Dementia shuddered and her serpent hair feel silent, their tongues rapidly flickering in and out of their mouths without a sound. There was something in the air here that made her feel very uncomfortable, something she was most unaccustomed to. Her golden eyes surveyed the surrounding buildings and smouldering ashes. Never before had she seen the destruction of so many of her kind.

You're right child. Thisss had to have been done by sssomeone who claimed to follow Darden. But what follower of the Demon God would kill demonkind? She watched in silence as the woman-child crept into one of the deserted buildings. The demoness would never admit it, but in this place at this time, she would have rather that Demetria stay close and within her sight. If this many demons could be killed without warning in the heart of Darden's lands, then she certainly wasn't safe standing with a young girl in the open. Maledict, if only you could sssee what hasss happened here... She didn't dare actually send the thought over the mental connection she shared with the Torturer, no matter how much she thought he needed to see or know about this town. The people responsible for this destruction could still be nearby.

Yesss, Maledict should know, and who on earth could you possssibly be looking for here? It'sss unlikely anyone sssurvived the masssacre. She tapped her bare foot impatiently on the ground, her eyes continuously darting around in search of even the slightest signs of life.

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Fri Oct 10, 2003 2:01 am
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The final daemon unceremoniously slumped to the ground, defeated and dying. Dorian stared into the dying creatures eyes, watching the life slip from the pathetic monster, as he had countless times before. Always upon final victory over a daemon foe, Dorian watched the life leave them. It was something of a tradition, and he believed, his ultimate reward. Nothing filled him with such elation as seeing one of these unnatural beasts realize it's own death. To see it comeing and know there is nothing to stop death's cold hand. As the light of life left the daemon, Dorian tugged his sword free of the corpse and turned slowly to face the rising sun. Dorian very rarely missed a sunrise. He regarded it as a reminder that not only had he lived another night, but of what he was protecting. Dorian had been fighting fiends for most of his life, in one capacity or another. He had assisted his father and brothers as a youth, and he had watched them dispatch hundreds of daemons. Unfortunatly, it only takes one lapse. One moment caught off guard. And it had all come crashing down...Shaking his head vigorously, Dorian strode into the morning sun, a relieved smile on his lips. He began walking out the gates of a huge fortress which had fallen to ruin long ago. Daemons seemed to enjoy that kind of thing. As he neared the final arching exit, a huge portculis fell with amazing speed, blocking his path. Acting quickly, Dorian surveys the area, searching for whatever closed the gate. Turning around, he easily sees an old man, sitting cross-legged directly upon the path Dorian had just walked. The old man began cackling, a laughter which sent shivers up Dorians spine.

"Who are you, old man? How did you come to be in this vile place? Are you in league with the daemons, that I must dispatch you as well? I don't particularly enjoying killing the elderly."

"And I would not enjoy being killed, Dorian, son of Cedric. Especially not by one so young. Yet, there is little to stop you from that course of action, should you chose to pursue it. However, I encourage you to hear me out. An old man's request, if you will."

"Very well, what would you say, Old One?"

"There is a man to the North, One 'D'Athaal', whom would aid your duty greatly. He seeks to destroy those Daemons within his faith whom would destroy it. I believe that is your goal, as well?"

"Aye..though I've not heard of this man. Why should he wish to help me?"

"By helping you, he helps himself. A 'fair' trade, I think."

"An interesting proposition, sir. My path lies to the north, anyhow. Perhaps...perhaps I will search out this man, as you suggest."


Fri Oct 10, 2003 10:51 am
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The road north was long and uneventful. The skies remained a perpetual light blue, with nary a cloud in the sky, and Dorian was untroubled. His nights were spent restless, however. Dreams of daemons torturing his father and brother, sometimes even himself, filled his mind. As the days turned to weeks, Dorian's dreams grew. Now, a man stood in the background, a black cloak wrapped around his mysterious face, obscuring his features. Somehow, Dorian knew this to be Zelphyn D'Athaal. Dorian knew Zelphyn had nothing to do with his past, yet the man certainly seemed to be a part of his future. As the days grew on, Dorian began to seriously worry about what capacity Zelphyn would serve in his future.


Tue Oct 14, 2003 12:46 pm
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Lumbered with another filthy assignment...and to think I'd gotten rid of you after the initiation, heretic! I punctuate my statement with a punch to the kidney area of the disheveled Joshua Black, wiping my mailed fist on my britches in disgust as the blood from his wounds sticks to the metal before hitting him once more just to hear him whimper in pain.
At first it had been amusing to hear the broken wretch yelp and whimper without uttering a word but now it was just irritating. How could anybody be so broken up over the demise of a bloody rat? I didn't understand it but then I wasn't crazy, which probably helped to make it even more unfathomable for me so for the duration of the journey form the monastary back to this forsaken village I had amused myself with tormenting Joshua with the carcass of Gordon that I had placed back into the black pouch at my belt. Smiling to myself I reach for the pouch and retrieve the carcass, holding it by the tail and examining it gently.
Definately dead...no patching it back up I would say, not in the slightest. I chuckle and hold the rat up to get a better look at the puncture wounds that had caused its death, turning it this way and that to get a better look in the dawn light before a voice interrupts my examination.
How long are you going keep that filthy thing for exactly? I place the rat back in its pouch and glance over at Greydon, my fellow Acolyte, and shrug my shoulders nonchalontly before pointing ahead of us at a row of buildings to indicate that we were nearing the centre of town, the spot where we had burnt the daemons initially found here and soon to be the site of Joshua Black's "trial" and execution. The stroll through the village had been longer than I had anticipated and more than once I had questioned my decision to leave the horses on the outskirts, but then again once the burning started I would most likely be proven sound in my judgment as the last time the horses had reacted most badly to the uproar from the dying daemons and had only been controlled by the presence of the grand high Inquisitor himself. Something about that man seemed to exude control over everything and everybody, he was a most interesting individual with a knack for leading men that I would have to study very closely in the future but while he wasn't here the most purdent cours eof action had seemed to be that of leaving the horses and walking to the centre of the village. Progress had been slowed considerably by Joshua's shambling pace, I had considered having him dressed for the trip but had dismissed the notion on the grounds that not only would he have no need of clothes while he was being burnt alive but the site of his body with the litanies of faith carved so brutally into his flesh would serve as a reminder to all and sundry of the price of consorting with daemonkind.
I let my hand drop to the hilt of my rapier as we near our destination, an odd sense of foreboding gripping me and refusing to be shaken off despite my efforts. Quickly I raise my hand and wave the three armsmen accompanying Greyson and I forwards, watching them move with swift precision to for a shield ahead of us and the heretic prisoner as we slow our advance somewhat. I raise my hand again to silence Greyson before he can question my actions and just shoot him a wry smirk in an effort to reassure him as I draw my blade partway from its hilt. I'm not sure what it is in the air but I'm certainly glad for the presence of three of Zelphyn's personal armsmen as that sense of foreboding creeps slowly down my spine, if anything bad does happen I'm almost confident that the armsmen will provide enough of a distraction for me to escape intact, and at the end of the day does anything matter more than that?


Tue Oct 14, 2003 8:51 pm
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Each fresh blow awoke the pain that wracked his body and caused him to cry out or whimper in protest but the pain was quickly swallowed by a numbness that he'd felt since he watched the leader of this band of horrors slaughter his best friend, Gordon. Yes, Gordon may have only been a rat to the man who now taunted him by waving Gordon's corpse in front of his face. To them he was nothing but a dead rat, to Joshua he was a friend, a confidante, and now he was dead.

The insane human silently cursed himself for being so careless as to get caught by these murderous swine. The mocking words of the Acolyte dance across the air and slip into his ears. "No patching it up, I would say." Joshua looked at him through defiant eyes and forced his lips into a grin, even though fresh pain shot across his face as the dried blood around his mouth cracked and tugged at his skin. I wonder.. His voice was nothing more than a low murmur and was quickly followed by a cough that threw fresh blood up into his mouth. He spat the blood out, aiming for the ground but managing only to dribble down his chin. I wonder who will.. Another cough interrupted his words and he looked around, recognising the place where he had been captured by these bastards. Why had they brought him back here? Were they going to let him go? There you go, no hard feelings. No. This must be where they intended to finish him off.

Thoughts of death weren't exactly unpleasant to him, after all, they had already killed the best part of him, what more did he really have to live for? Joshua then remembered he had been saying something, what was it?
Oh yes, that was it.
I wonder who will patch you up when my friends get their hands on you.
There it was, the sum total of the defiance that he could muster. Everything else had been beaten out of him over the days that he had spent in their dungeon. Was it days, or was it longer? He had lost track of time, strange how time didn't really mean anything when all you could feel mentally, spiritually and physically was pain.

With the very last remnants of his strength he reached out with bound hands and tried unsuccesfully to snatch the black pouch away from the Acolyte. Give him to me! In his mind he shouted the words but in reality they were nothing more than the croak of a dying man. Kill me if you must but let me die with him beside me.

Tears of anger and torment fill his eyes and blur his vision, yet through the blur he can see the dead bodies that lay scattered on the ground. These demons and men had been his to command. So he had been right, this was the place where they had captured him. Looking up to the skies, Joshua moved his lips in a silent prayer for survivors that could aid him.

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Wed Oct 15, 2003 5:41 am
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She'd already checked two of the abandoned huts without finding anything, other than a dark blue cape, which she had filched and handed to the girl to carry. Dementia was anxious. She could tell, though the demoness tried to hide it. Every time she had exited one of the huts empty handed and devoid of any news, the female had insisted they leave right away to give Maledict the news. Demetria wasn't ready to leave yet.

It was disturbing. Finding the piles of demon ash had filled her with a sense of forboding that she hadn't felt in a very long time. The truth was, the first thing she'd wanted to do when she'd discovered the grisly remains was to turn and leave as quickly as possible and get to the Red desert where the Torturer was. Unfortunately, she couldn't do that.

The bear had spoken. It had told her to come here and it had told her not to leave until blood was shed. She'd learned at a young age that if the bear gave a direction, she was much better off obeying that direction than ignoring it. Bad things happened when she ignored the bear. A certain bonfire where she was the main source of kindling came to mind.

Shivering slightly, though it wasn't cold, she continued to look through the tiny hut for any type of clue. Since she had to stay here, she could at least try and do something productive with the time. Besides, she wasn't about to admit to Dementia that the reason she was staying in an abandoned village where demons had been slaughtered was because of a stuffed bear. Most people didn't understand such logic so she doubted a demoness would.

The third hut gave no clue either. Sighing she straightened up and carefully walked out of the hut, stopping short her eyes going wide.

What the....

It was the only thing she could utter.

Just as she had exited the hut, a band of men had come around the bend in the road leading to the village and stopped not more than 3 feet away from her. 6 men total it appeared to be, 3 very muscular soldiers and 2 not so very muscular leaders and one very naked, obviously wounded, prisoner in the middle. The soldiers were of average height- none over 5'9" and they wore silver grey plate armour and carried runeblades. She couldn't tell what type of weapons the "rulers" had. The prisoner in the middle...

Joshua!

The whole exchange had taken only seconds. She was pulling her blade from its sheath, just as the soldiers went into attack mode and rushed at her- and past her- towards Dementia who was several yards behind her and to her left. She blinked as they totally ignored her and ran toward the demoness. She didn't see the girl anywhere; she'd probably run and hidden the moment she saw the soldiers. Frowning that she had been underestimated as a threat, she turned and faced the two men flanking the one she had been worried about.

You're going to be very sorry about this, you realize?

Without another word she attacked Greyson, knife slashing at his throat.

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Wed Oct 15, 2003 11:32 am
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After the initiation ceremony all new Acolytes are escorted back to the quarters that are to be our new homes for the duration of our time with the Ordo Hereticus. The rooms can be no more that eight feet wide by eight feet long at the very most but I really cannot tell the measurements for sure as the only light available to me is cast by a solitary guttering candle, it's pale flame barely casting enough illumination to allow me to see my own hands much less the edges of my room. It's not untill after I wash the dried blood from my shaking hands that I truly begin to understand just what I have done, all those fears and worries from during the ceremony slowly begin to bleed back into my mind as I sit on the edge of my small sleeping cot and a dark tide of remorse spills over me as the memories of the tortured heretic whirl through my mind again.As quickly as it begins the sense of remorse is replaced by elation as I consider just what my actions, however bloody and distasteful, have earned me in the grand scheme of things. Finally I have become a true member of the Ordo, all my hard work and sacrifice has paid dividends, everything is made worthwhile from the smallest pain to the largest agony because now I am part of something important, something that will change the world for the better.

Smiling slightly I rise up from the bed and slowly pick my way around the room,standing above the small wooden table beside my sleeping cot and running my fingers over the words carved into the rough surface trying to make out the unfamiliar text that shares form with the words scrawled onto the walls untill finally I give up on the text obviously left by a previous inhabitant of the chamber and move my attention to the scribe left upon the table for the purpose of allowing me to record my thoughts and dreams while I stay here. Gently I tap the hide bound book with my index finger as my gaze wanders around the room for a few moments untill finally coming to rest on the large bookcase that dominates the furthest wall of my room, its outline barely visible in the meagre light untill I close the distance between it and myself, stopping just in front of it and letting my gaze trail from volume to volume of the dusty tomes that weigh down the old shelves causing them to creak occasionally in protest. I cannot make out any of the titles as the words are far too diminished by time to be legible so I retrieve one of the books at random, a large black volume with strange scrawling letters that I'm sure I would be unable to understand even if they had been more prominent on the bidnings of the tome.

With curiousity now holding me firmly in its grip I flip carefully through the pages of the old book, blinking at the almost serpentine text written in an unfamiliar tongue that seems to dance and weave in front of my eyes in a seductively hypnotic way. Then the spell of the words is broken by the first illustration within the book, a depiction of a slavering monstrousity standing obviously heads taller than a man with multiple limbs, a snarling visage andbaleful eyes that threaten to swallow my soul as my mind reels end over end into aflashback of a deeply repressed memory.


Thu Oct 16, 2003 8:38 pm
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Jonas Demontfre went to his quarters immediately following the conversation with his master. The night had not gone well. When he had heard the messenger speak Zelphyn’s request his first instinct had been entirely irrational. Cut him down, dispose of his body, and act as if it had never happened… that would solve all of his problems. For a few days – that is, until the next messenger came. And the next one after that. And the next one after that; and so on, until Zelphyn finally came in person or sent an army in his stead. Yes, it would solve nothing. But it might have made him feel better. Instead, he gave what amounted to a death sentence to the person who least deserved it.

And that had not been all.

He could still feel the sting of Tyralus’s words as he spoke coldly “I will go alone.” I didn’t even need to finish my sentence… he took one look at my eyes and knew I was a coward. And I am a coward… it can’t be denied now. I should be happy to know for sure now. Most people have to go through some kind of traumatic experience to learn that much about themselves. He should have done the honorable thing and offered to accompany Tyralus. He should have died with him. And he didn’t even know that was what Zelphyn had in mind, did he? No… the whole meeting could all be perfectly cordial. Yes! And the war could be over tomorrow… He tried to chase those kinds of thoughts out of his head and not allow despair get the best of him. Perhaps he was worrying for no reason. But he knew that that didn’t matter. Either way, it was his place to be there to accompany Tyralus. He owed him everything.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Several seasons ago Jonas had been nothing more than a clown. He entertained passersby in a merchant’s camp in the Mythriyar Forest with his sorcery. Although impressively powerful for his age, his control of his fire sorcery was seriously lacking, and that was part of why the show was so entertaining. For some reason people found a child singing his eyebrows and accidentally setting fire to his own feet amusing. What they did not find nearly as amusing was the coins missing from their purses. Indeed, Jonas provided just the distraction that a gentleman moving about the crowd needed to pull off his thievery. They then shared in the spoils. Not equally, of course, but Jonas was happy enough with eating.

As you would expect, this all ended when Tyralus came with a caravan through the forest. Jonas’s skills did not amuse him like they did the others. Indeed, Tyralus could see the potential in him and became convinced that this boy deserved more than the life of a jester. He spoke to Jonas’s ‘guardian’, who agreed that his skills indeed warranted an adept hand to nurture what had come naturally. Of course, Jonas was nothing more than a source of income to him, and he demanded payment equal to what he perceived to be his potential earnings. He, of course, saw himself as giving up his child to ensure a better life for him. Nevertheless, Tyralus paid him.

Over the years, Tyralus taught Jonas many things about discipline, society, and history, but sorcery was something beyond his abilities. He had brought in a tutor, one of his own high priests to teach Jonas. It was all kept very secret, because Tyralus had little desire to make public that he had a sorcerer in his employ and he wished to keep Jonas protected from a number of people. It was well known that there were some powerful hardliners in the Darden leadership viewed sorcery as evil and its use to be a sin against Darden. They had not stressed this because without the use of sorcery the war against the Isonians and Foretians would have long ago been lost. Tyralus was not one to take risks, especially with the swiftly changing political winds of the Darden faith.

This was not all, however, that Tyralus had given Jonas. There was still one barrier to his acceptance in high society. And Tyralus had no hesitation in tearing it down; he had no heir, and no potential for one - and the truth was: he had grown to love Jonas like a son. He adopted Jonas and gave him his name – made him a Demontfre. Jonas had nearly broke down into tears. Tyralus had acted very nonchalant about it all; “I wouldn’t be so pleased about it – I despise the damn thing.”


Fri Oct 17, 2003 12:12 am
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He hadn't been expecting a direct attack. That had been in her favor at least partly. She'd reached him and cut him. Unfortunately, he had raised his arm at the last second, and so it was his arm she had cut instead of his throat. He'd quickly gone on the offensive, drawing his sword and attacking back.

As they fought, she did her best to stay in close proximity to him. It wasn't as difficult as he would have wanted. She could see in his eyes, the worry develop as he realized she would not be an easy kill. Her small size and nimble quickness enabled her to duck and dodge blows that would have felled a larger person. Her size also enabled her to get in close jabs at him with her knife, while he had a difficult time connecting his sword to her body. He couldn't get far enough away from her for the weapon to do its damage.

Luck would not be completely on her side, however. Once Greyson realized he would not harm her while she was so close to him- yet she could continually stab and cut him, when he wasn't able to block the blows- he stopped trying to use his sword on her and instead used his size against her. One well placed fist to her face and she'd staggered back, stunned from the impact and partly blinded as one eye quickly swelled shut. In that moment of disorientation, he was able to raise his sword against her- the blade slashing down across her abdomen and cutting her deeply.

The pain and blood never registered. She would not- could not- focus on her own wounds until she'd disposed of the one in front of her. Only one of them would live this day and if she allowed the wound to distract her- it would not be her that lived. She moved back in close where his sword could not touch her and slashed with her own knife. Severed muscles loosened and the sword dropped to the ground as his hand became useless to him amidst his bellows of rage.

She shook her head, trying to stay focused on him through her blurred vision. It was the opening he needed. quickly moving around behind her, his arm coming up around her neck to choke her while his one remaining good hand twisted her arm painfully, the loud pop indicating that it was displaced. She dropped her knife. She clawed desperately at his arm, attempting to get air.

She was dying. Again. Only this time Maledict and Silus were nowhere to be found. Did fate really intend for her to end this way? Unlike the other two times, she wasn't ready to give up and die. She struggled harder, clawing and scratching, kicking and twisting. Trying vainly to get air to her screaming lungs.

_________________
It's not paranoia if they really are out to get you.
Desire is hunger is the fire I breathe...
...the night belongs to us.


Mon Oct 20, 2003 9:00 am
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Joined: Wed Sep 25, 2002 5:00 pm
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Location: Not all there
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Opportunities didn't arise very often when placed in the situation that Joshua was now in, so when they did, it was wise to snatch at them with both hands. While the soldier strangled Demetria, all eyes were on her, for the first time since they had set out from the dungeon none of them were watching him, his vision was blurred and his legs felt as though they would give up on him at any moment but this was an opportunity he couldn't afford to miss. She had come to help him and now the roles had been reversed, it was his turn to help her.

He circled around the struggling pair as quickly as he could and raised both his bound hands high in the air, clenchin them both into fists which he then smashed into the back of the soldier's head.

Greyson.. yes that was his name. Joshua liked knowing the name of the person he was about to kill. Greyson released his grip on Joshua's saviour and turned to face the insane and rather disgruntled captive. Joshua wasted no time in swinging his fists into the soldier's face, the blow was so powerful that it knocked both of them onto the ground, clouds of dust billowed out around them from the force of their respective falls. His body screamed at him, begging him to stop, to stay there and rest but he knew that if he gave in to such demands then the price would be his own life and that of Demetria.

It was a price he wouldn't.. couldn't pay and so he scrabbled across the ground on hands and knees while Greyson struggle to his knees. Joshua came at him from behind, bound hands reaching over the soldiers head until his throat was in the crook of the insane man's arm. The not-so- captive-now-am-I human exerted as much pressure as he could and twisted Greyson's head around until their gazes locked. Joshua offered a grim smile and gave another sudden twist which resulted in a satisfying snap of bone that filled the air around them. Greyson's eyes glazed over as death claimed him.

Joshua pulled his arms back over the soldiers head and watched the body fall in an awkward heap onto the ground. He then turned to face Demetria, to see if she was okay, she was probably one of the only members of the Officium that accepted him for what he was.. the others tended to keep a safe distance between themselves and the insane general and so he hoped that she had survived the ordeal.

Demetria... are you...

Before he could finish the sentence a cloud of darkness invaded his mind, filling it with promises of rest, of peace. He couldn't help but submit to it and so he passed out.

_________________
Call me mad and I'll smile
Call me evil and I'll laugh
Call me a fool and I will [shadow=brown]SO[/shadow] feed you your innards


Wed Oct 22, 2003 8:54 am
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Joined: Wed Sep 25, 2002 5:00 pm
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Location: Your nightmares.
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((ooc: Dementia has given me permission to do actions for her.))

"Demetria... are you..."

She blinked the haziness from her vision, drawing in several gulping breaths. The oxygen reached her aching lungs, burning as she drew in air deeply before looking toward the man who lay dead not more than two feet from her. She noted the broken neck with some satisfaction, although she hadn't been the one to deliver the killing twist. No. That honor went to Joshua- who had somehow gathered the strength necessary to save both of their lives....

Joshua. She wiped the blood from her face with the hand that was still able to move and looked toward where the man had collapsed in an unconscious heap. He was wounded and needed help. She coughed roughly, then winced, her hand first going to the dislocated arm that hung limply at her side, then to the wound at her belly that had soaked her shift through. If the silk hadn't already been a crimson color- it would be dyed that way by her blood by now. It was of no import to her except that it meant she would not be able to carry him. Not easily at any rate, and definately not if she meant to protect him from the other man that had been....

Blinking again, she turned around facing where the other man had been. He had disappeared- whether to retreat and bring more soldiers to fight, or to wait until she was unawares and attack her again, she did not know. He had dropped a cloth bag though. Walking to it, she picked the bag up and looked inside, wrinkling her nose at what met her gaze. No wonder Joshua had seemed so despondent. She walked back over to her comotose friend and attempted to pick him up, but didn't have the strength to do so.

At that moment, both the young girl she'd handed her own bag to and Dementia moved over to stand by her. Wordlessly, she handed the girl the bag with Gordon's remains in it. The girl took it just as wordlessly and put it with Demetria's bag, then handed back the blue cape.
Demetria carefully wrapped the cape around Joshua, then glanced up at Dementia.

The demonness was covered with blood and gore. Behind her, in the distance, could be made out three piles of what used to be ghoul. One of them appeared to have exploded outward somehow. Demetria didn't ask questions though. She just looked back at Dementia- noting how the female was licking blood from her lips and fingers, the snakes hissing happily. She giggled softly, then winced, before making her request.

We must reach the red desert quickly. Joshua needs his wounds taken care of- plus one of them escaped. I do not wish to stay here and wait for 50 more soldiers and ghouls to come find us....

She waited only long enough for Dementia's nod of agreement before continuing.

I need you to carry him. I am not strong enough.

She left it at that. The demonness was not blind and could easily see that she was wounded as badly as the man, there was no need for her to tell her that and admit more weakness than she needed to. She was happy when Dementia did not question her, but picked Joshua up effortlessly. She didn't hear the woman's exasperated hiss of "humans...." or the sideways glance the demonness gave her as she passed by, leading them away from the village.

Grabbing the girls hand, she ran to keep up.

_________________
It's not paranoia if they really are out to get you.
Desire is hunger is the fire I breathe...
...the night belongs to us.


Sat Nov 15, 2003 5:53 pm
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