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He Who Fights with Monsters [Closed] - Printable Version

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RE: He Who Fights with Monsters [Closed] - Melkire - 03-03-2016

“Well?”

Pierre Glaisyer glanced up from where he knelt at the side of the corpse. The downed wyvern had bled from a score of puncture wounds, ere it perished: wings, legs, abdomen, neck. Most of the blood had long since congealed, but what they’d managed to collect was now sealed within the small vial held within the Wildwood’s grasp.

“As expected,” he reported to his captain. “Physical confrontation. a trifle. No difficulties there. But we’ve no way to know with a true dragon. They are possessed of foul magicks; there is simply no telling how theirs will clash or otherwise interact with ours, not until it happens.”

Tengri Geneq snorted, but he nodded in acknowledgement of his subordinate’s conclusions. There was, after all, little point in employing another’s expertise only to blithely and foolishly dismiss their findings. At that moment, however, something brushed against his thoughts and footfalls sounded against the narrow stone path that gradually ascended the Dravanian mountainside. He turned to find Ortolf Forgehands falling to one knee. Behind him, he could hear Pierre rising to his feet. The tension that ratcheted with each passing moment as palpable.

“What is the meaning of this?”

“Ser,” said the highlander as he held aloft a rolled parchment, “a missive for you. Urgent, to the first degree.”

Everything went still. Everything went silent. Had the mountain erupted with cannon fire, the Auri warrior would not have flinched. That was the extent to which he stood stunned.

The first degree was reserved for the abomination.

He stepped forward and held out a hand. Forgehands rose and passed him the parchment, which he unfurled and perused once.


To Mister Adonis and the Slaves whom are Bound to his Service,

This one begins by wishing you all a fine day and hopes that you are all well. The purpose of this letter is a follows: this one seeks to sit down and discuss the ultimate futility of your aspirations before you exert any more effort to obtain what is nothing more than dust upon the wind. The purpose of this conversation is to attempt to save the many innocent lives your actions will cause to come to harm by opposing the inevitable reality which this one is accelerating.

Should this intrigue you, come alone to the small town of Swiftperch. Again, that is alone. Should there be cause to suspect even the slightest chance of betrayal, our ceasefire will be forfeit and you shall have only yourselves to blame for what follows.

For now, this one wishes you good fortune and hopes that you might realize that your attempts to exercise control only enslave the innocents you wish to lord yourself over. Until then, your selfish desire to rule matters more to you than the freedom of your fellow mortals.

Respectfully,
Jin'li Epinoch


The parchment crumpled and tore as he balled his hands and clenched his fists.

“Come. We are for La Noscea.”

“But captain, the child--”

“Summerfield shall have to fend for them both for a few hours, perhaps a day at the outside. This is too much.” He straightened and looked to the south, across the forelands. “It cannot wait.”




"Don't."

"I must."

"Please, captain--"

"No, Pierre."

"He cannot be trusted!"

"That is why I brought the two of you, Ortolf. Silence, please."

Tengri Geneq rounded the end of the fence and strode into Swiftperch. He wore a full suit of plate mail, sans celata, and the steel longsword at his side and the darksteel tower shield upon his back belied the nonchalance with which he walked. Two shadows, frenzied and furious, darted to and fro and about his own.

"I will not converse with you in private, as I was bid," he called out to the moonlit night, "until I have your guarantee, given face to face, of safe passage from this pathetic little settlement."

"Pathetic?" came the voice from the shadows, like a bemused purr hinting at something that might have been amusement if not for the off notes in it. Nothing moved at first. Only the stars twinkling overhead in the early morning sky.

"Of course those who desire power would find the simple dwellings of those they would seek to rule as nothing more than pathetic. But this is how the slaves you seek to control live out their lives. Not that you would care, your selfish minds care only for your personal well-being and power."

There was a pause as the form of a robed miqo'te stepped from the shadows near the back of the open space between buildings.

"Certainly words that sound like a guarantee could be uttered, and indeed, you do have such a promise. But, are words ever anything more than subjective phrases that vary from soul to soul?"

Jin'li's soulless eyes stared into the thing that was Tengri.

"I call this settlement pathetic because it neither holds nor has it been given any strategic purpose," explained the Garlean expatriate as he turned to face the abomination, "and yet those who abide here live in squalor and must eke out a meager existence for no reason other than that it is convenient for those currently in power for them to do so. Those who are kept lowly are kept cheap. For this place to flourish, investment is required. Investment of coin, of nourishment, of purpose. These people will never rise to their potential otherwise, so do not preach to me, Epinoch."

He lifted a hand and snapped his fingers. With an otherworldly screech, the two shadows departed post-haste for the horizon.

"But if currency was not a chain to bind them,” came the reply, ”perhaps their potential could be obtained."

Jin'li stood, his hands in his pockets of the robe that tugged gently on his small frame as a gentle sea breeze brought the smell of salt and brine up, off the sea.

"You still see yourself as the rightful ruler of all the world, it seems. Your attitude has not changed despite your reincarnation. One would think that a new perspective might have developed during this period of time."

Jin'li blinked slowly.

"So then, what does one call you now? One would hate to be rude and address you incorrectly during the course of our discussions."

"Your contention against currency is valid." The Auri male crossed his arms and grinned. "Your assessment of my perspective is not. Adin Adonis lives only in memory now, lost to all but those who knew him in life. Though he emerged-- though I emerged dominant from the amalgamation that was Rotunda, the man he was is not the man he became. I am not he."

He turned and paced back and forth along the dirt path that was the main thoroughfare.

"I took what principles and ideals he valued and retained those I deemed worthy. Rotunda would be a more accurate epithet... in many ways, I am still Thal's Dagger and Althyk's Axe, still the Dome that Shelters... but Rotunda is also my past, not my future."

He paused in his tracks and smirked at the short male.

"I am Tengri Geneq and Tengri Moks, he who hears and he who sees. I am the Sky, and I have a Voice, and I would step aside from my ambitions if only to cast out you and your ilk."

He bowed low.

"How interesting." Jin'li blinked slowly. A small smile began to work over his twisted lips. "In the end, Adin lacked even the willpower to remain true to himself."

The Geneq snorted at Epinoch's presumption. "How little you knew the man, after all those years spent in his service," he grumbled.

Jin'li bowed back and then stood, his face losing its hints of emotions as it became a flat mask again.

"So, Mister Tengri, you speak of ambitions. This one thinks it would be best that you cease your grabs for power. You will find that your time might be better off spent elsewhere."

Jin'li turned and motioned with a gloved hand for Tengri to follow as he began a slow stroll to the edge of the village that overlooked the sea. His fellow former Crow fell into step as the abomination made for the cliffs.

"Power comes later," he explained. "For now, I have settled for countermeasures and for weapons. My machinations heretofore have been of a singular purpose: to foil you at every turn. I consider this a worthwhile endeavour. I understand that you do not."

"Because your current endeavour is one that shall yield you no fruit in the end."

They came to the edge of the village and gazed out over the waters.

"Do you see those ships out there, Mister Tengri? There are three of them sailing together."

"I see them," he acknowledged.

Epinoch folded its hands together as his eyes watched the ships.

"You think that this one has plans that can be halted. That there is a way it can be stopped. You are wrong."

Jin'li turned his head to peer up at Tengri.

"You might as well be trying to end a virus or halt the endless decay to which the current reality is subject. You would try to make a new structure with which to house society. This one would find a way to topple it. For example..."

Jin'li turned back to the ships.

"There are three slave ships before you. Each a wonderful little self-contained society with a set of those who rule and those many trapped beneath. Everything and everyone in their place."

"But… if you add something that should not be there. Such as keys to chains, weapons for hands, and who knows what else, the entire neat little system can change in a moment. Why..."

One of the ships exploded in a ball of fire that sent flames and debris into the air. The fire illuminated the other ships and a moment later it became obvious that chaos had broken out on the other two ships. Fighting was spilling onto the decks and the figures danced in the bloody light of the flaming ship.

"You see, Mister Tengri, you are just one of the many to whom I am currently demonstrating the reality of the world. You seek to bind mortals to your will. To rule. You will find that mortals, deep down, despise being ruled over. sooner or later, everything you create will be destroyed. And this one will likely be there. Accelerating the inevitable. You cannot stop me, Mister Tengri. Even something as simple as freed slaves aboard a slaving vessel is a victory to me."

"Let us not bandy words." The Geneq grinned as he watched the proceedings. "You care not a whit for slaves, nor for free men and women. Your ambitions do not begin and end with such things."

He turned to Epinoch, his arms still crossed.

"In your arrogance, you believe yourself inevitable. You take the proofs of your own existence, in violation of all natural law, as evidence. Whether you have transcended the chaos that gave rise to you is immaterial; what matters to you is the reality you seek to impose."

He shrugged.

"If you are inevitable and your victory assured, and said reality will come, as I suspect it will, at the cost of all that these people," he waved a hand at the ships before returning it to the crook of his other elbow, "hold dear... then what, pray tell, is the purpose of this meeting? Surely you hold no lasting affections for myself... if, in fact, you hold any affections for anyone or anything at all. Why seek to spare me the effort, if in fact my exertions are futile? 'tis not for their sakes."

He paused and blinked theatrically.

"Unless... could it be... you are not inevitable?"

As if on cue, tentacles erupted from the sea. Long, thick, and sinister, they fell upon the ships. Battered them, crushed them, tore them to pieces and, in the end, dragged them one by one down into the depths.

"Reanimating a kraken was difficult, if inspired," he murmured in an amused tone of voice, "but worth the cost to deny you a cult of worshippers. You never were any good at chess."

He leaned forward, bent down until he was at eye level with the abomination. He grinned and his tail writhed with pleasure.

"So tell me," he all but purred, "do you fear me, Jin'li?"

Jin'li had observed Tengri's demonstration with a relaxed air to him, hands held clasped together. The short little Miqo'te made no effort to reply in any way, until the tall Au Ra leaned down and met him eye to eye. At first, he merely blinked..

"And what about you do I need fear?" His words were calm. "What would you do to me? Kill me? Capture me? Torture me? Cease my existence? Bring an end to my activities? You forget, I've endured anything and everything you have ever brought into being at least once. You might as well be shouting at a tempest, trying to prove how mighty you are. No, there is no fear, only displeasure. You asked why you are here. Well, the answer is simple. To let you know that I've been worming chaos into your plans. Slowly. One thread at a time. For example..."

Jin'li calmly reached into his robe and pulled out… the moonlight glistened over it. It was a mask, polished like an egg. The mask spun in the his hands as he held it up for Tengri to see.

The Mask of the Seven Horrors Hidden in Nald'Thal's Mist.

"It was chance that drew Mergrey to me in the beginning, so desperate was he for a necromancer to bring back his beloved. At the time, I had just taken the mantle from the former owner of this mask and was making use of the man’s reputation to establish connections. But then Mergrey came to me, and I saw a chance to keep an eye on him. It was simple at first. After all, what else are brothers for? But, then, lo and behold, you began seeking soulstones and, one by one, through my hands they passed. The Lady Mergrey let slip certain information, you see, and, well, the question you should ask yourself is, ‘did he sow a little madness into those stones before I received them? Is it wise to trust those who wield them?’ I was never very good at playing chess...”

Jin'li blinked.

"...but this isn't chess. And there are no rules."

The Geneq blinked back and stared in contemplative silence, brow furrowed, as if assessing damages. At last, he straightened with a laugh.

"A minor setback... and there is much that you do not know. I see no reason to bring those matters to your attention, and so...." Tengri nodded, one hand raising to pinch the tip of a horn in salute as though it were the brim of a hat. "...our palaver, I think, is at an end. There is little to be said that has not been said already."

And with that, he turned his back on the abomination and walked back up the road, exposing himself… and his rudeness.

Jin'li made no noise as he silently slipped the mask onto his face and peered at the Au Ra. Behind the mask, the little cat's face twisted into an expression of mirth. He said nothing as his hands slowly slipped around himself in a hug and he squeezed himself tightly. The abomination began to cackle wildly as he tossed his head back. The sound of the laughter echoed out and followed Tengri as the runt collapsed into a mass of centipedes and scurried away in all directions.

"Khuja'ya," murmured the Geneq once he was certain that Epinoch had departed.

His own shadow twisted and contorted. From within that shadow emerged a second which resolved into a mangy Keeper, hunched over and chortling under his breath.

"We are fortunate that your unique... talents... were not required," the Au Ra went on. "Fetch Sarangerel from the Brewer’s Beacon. We are going home."

Khuja'ya Zhwan cackled and disappeared as the two shadows from earlier raced back towards Tengri.

Rotunda Crow smiled.

RE: He Who Fights with Monsters [Closed] - Melkire - 03-13-2016

"I thought this was a world far from Thanalan."

Osric Melkire stirred where he sat, the midnight helm held in his lap. He raised his head to glance at Roen Deneith where she stood… then he joined her in considering the the campfire before them. "Would y'like it to be?"

She narrowed her eyes, the flickering flames lending a golden hue to those pale pupils. "I did. For a long time."

He nodded. "And now?"

Roen chewed on her lower lip.

"I am... unsure." She turned pensive, her gaze following a small ember that took to the air. She shook her head, then looked to the sergeant. "You need not worry about me... Osric."

He could see on her face that his name tasted odd as it left her lips.

"As I recall,” she went on, “you always have a full plate when it comes to worrying about others and trying to keep them safe."

He shrugged.

"Used to be I filled m'plate because I cared. These suns? Others fill m'plate for me, and it's usually m'own gods-damned fault. Past deeds, 'n' all that. Nahare told you as much. Warren's next on her list." Osric blinked, then corrected himself with a shake of his head. "Castille. The paladin what runs the Grindstone these suns."

Roen nodded slowly.

"I know of Ser Castille. I met him when he and Ser Crofte were…." She trailed off. "I was told he was there with you in the tunnels." She turned back to the flames. "That woman, Nahare. Are you going to help her?"

The Lominsan chewed on that for some time.

"Even if I weren't inclined to -- which I am -- others would force the matter, like as not. I'm a spider caught between a web o' my own weaving and at least two others that ain't m'own… which brings us t'why I'm here."

He hesitated... then glanced at Roen who nodded again.

"So you came to talk to me about Nahare," she murmured. She let out a quiet exhale, as if relieved. "She... seems like a good woman."

"She can be, given more time. About as rough as Askier was, when we first met her." He shook his head. "How far removed from the runt's mess would y'like to be? I've enough sway with the right folk to push the matter towards either extreme."

She, too, shook her head. "I am not certain why she sought me out in the first place… or that this maniac even uttered my name."

Osric blinked. "You don't know."

Roen tilted her head. "Know what?"

Osric moved to stand, tucking his helm beneath one arm as he went. He looked to the unlit brazier that stood a dozen fulms or so from the decrepit structure that comprised Oakum Landing..Roen stiffened as he did so, as if bracing for bad news.

"Back when he was still livin',” he said, “he collared me. Told me that my network o' contacts was too much of a threat, that he'd been forced to remove that threat by takin' off the head."

He glanced back at her.

"He knows Kanaria 'n' I won't ever allow ourselves to be collared again... so this time, he's going after those contacts directly." He rolled a shoulder. "So aye, I've too much on m'plate... but I'm responsible for the shite what comes your way."

Roen met his eyes. The woman exhaled, as if resigned. "Ah."

Osric winced. "Apologies. The last thing you're wantin' is your old life draggin' you back to it."

Roen Deneith nods, her fingers curling slowly over her chainmail armor.

"I am learning every sun, that running from your past is... a futile thing." She furrows her brow. "I know this. I -know- this. And yet..."

"You still want to." He said the words as if he knew a thing or two about running.

Roen Deneith nodded almost imperceptibly.. That stoic mask fell just a bit as she pressed her lips into a tight line.

"A part of me wants to turn around and face all that I left behind. A part of me screams for it. Then another part…." She bowed her head. "Then the other part of me remembers why I ran and then ran further."

Her shoulders sagged with a sigh. "My brother is missing. Do you know that?"

Osric nodded. "Delial 'n' I've spoken. Tried to tap what little I've got in the Shroud to help, but... nothin' on my end."

The woman flicked a look at him, and there was a shadow of guilt that flits across her face.

"I do not know if he just left or if he is in danger. But I... I refused to become involved. I… I am not the paladin you once knew, Osric." She shook her head.

"Good."

She blinked.

He shrugged as he broke out into a grin. "The paladin I knew was a mess. Couldn't choose, couldn't commit. Let others do those things for her. I don't know if it's a paladin I'm seein' now, but what's before me looks seven hells of a lot better."

Roen stared at him. Quite some time passed before she spoke again. "So, you said you used to have your plates full because you cared. Do you? Still?"

The man looked back to the beacon.

"...I care enough t'fight my way out, 'n' to take those I care for with me. The rest... I don't know. Only so many meals before you're full."

Melkire slipped his helm back on and secured it one strap at a time. Deneith nodded absently, before she looked off in the same general direction.

"That woman... Nahare... she warned me when she did not have to. She put her own safety at risk for mine. So... I owe her that much."

Melkire turned an alien gaze on the woman.

"Runnin' can only take you so far," came his distorted, metallic-sounding voice, "and you're not the dyin' sort. I'm offerin' you a chance to cheat. You want in? Or out?"

Deneith flicked him a glance. There was a slowly narrowing of her grey eyes.

"The thought of cheating... the old me would not have it. I am no longer that woman. Let me know what I can do."

Melkire tilted his head to one side.

"If 'n' when you're ready... look to your shadow, and pray aloud. Ask for a gift. From Thal."

She blinked She stared at him for a moment. She nodded.

"Take care, Light." With that, he turned and bellowed. "ANSFRID!"

She parted her lips to protest… then sighed. He glanced just the once over his shoulder as a griffin descended and landed before him. He mounted without a word. She watched his back, and for a brief moment as he turned, her stoic mask fell away completely and she regarded him in earnest.

He nodded... and then he and the griffin were gone, nothing but a wing-swept gust billowing the drifts behind them.

"Stay safe, sergeant," she murmured to the wind.

RE: He Who Fights with Monsters [Closed] - Melkire - 03-14-2016

“You are holding something back. What is it?”

Pierre Glaisyer asked his question in a quiet tone of voice, and at that inquiry Ortolf Forgehands went very, very still.

He glanced across the rooftop from which they monitored Sarangerel’s latest trip through the Ul’dahn bazaar, glanced at his erstwhile comrade in arms. A good sign, that the bastard had asked his question aloud. Had the accusation been made across the mental connection that the Crows shared, the psychic web that allowed them to share thoughts and sensations, words and sights, the others would have had cause to report Pierre’s suspicions to the captain. Then the Voice would command him, and he’d have no choice but to reveal all that he knew.

For insubordination, Rotunda Crow would sentence him to oblivion. His soul would be lost forever, never to attain Rhaglr’s presence.

The honest truth was that he cared little for the gods now. What he wanted was Mindclaw broken before him. The bairn knew where the traitor was hiding, whereas the captain did not. He had seen his own impotence in Melkire’s eyes. Beneath the desperation, there’d been a resignation… a readiness to embrace death rather than yield what leverage the whelp possessed. He could have worked the bairn over, treated the lad to every known cruelty under the sun and it would not have mattered. Melkire would not have given up Mindclaw.

Nymeia, at least, had been kind, though he still despised the bitch for her role in the downfall of his order. The captain was wont to reminisce about his past lives, even going so far as to regale his servants and subordinates with tales from his stint as a Crow of the First Murder. Such talk bored his brethren, but Ortolf listened closely to those stories. He suspected that, in this regard at least, the captain had erred, for from those tales Forgehands had learned much: how to conceal his thoughts from the Crows, how to shut them out so that they would not hear what he heard, see what he saw

The irony was not lost on him, that he hid secrets from the Voice of Now as Rotunda once hid secrets from the Voice of Then.

“Aren’t we all holding something back?” He eyed the Wildwood. “The captain owes each of us a debt, he does. That debt is a private matter between each Crow and the Voice.”

“That is true,” said Pierre as they began traversing the rooftops of Sapphire Avenue to follow Sarangerel as she moved through the Exchange below, “yet that does not account for your distance as of late. You have been far more reserved than I have come to expect from you.”

Ortolf scowled. “I stand disgraced.”

“You’ve addressed the matter. You stand in the captain’s good graces once more. Your station is restored.”

“The stain remains. I failed once. I can fail again.”

“You would have me believe that this churlish solitude you’ve imposed upon yourself is some form of penance? No man is perfect, Forgehands.”

He balled his burly hands into fists. His fingers clenched tight and his nails dug into his palms. The lack of sensation mattered little; some instincts, he’d learned, outlive the mortal coil.

“I once strove for perfection, dalcop, as did kith and kin. Leave me be.”

Glaisyer shrugged. "As you wish."

Ortolf Forgehands snorted and shouldered his way past his fellow Crow.

I should've strewn the bairn's guts across the mountainside.

RE: He Who Fights with Monsters [Closed] - Melkire - 03-14-2016

"Tis yet another monument."

Deneith flicked a glance over her shoulder, tearing her attention from the dimly lit tower on the east end of the western highlands. "A deserted one, at that. I did not expect company when I came upon this place."

There came the distinct crunch of large man’s weight upon the snow as the newcomer stepped forward with a nod, his eyes roaming up and down the tower. "There are men and women who are expected... and there are those who aren't. The latter tend towards hanger-ons... but there are some who benefit from, let us say, discretion."

She turned to get a better look upon the warrior -- an Au Ra. Another Xaela. She looked him over once, her expression and voice remaining neutral. "Should I know you?"

"No, you should not," he all but purred. "We have passed each other by on a few occasions, you and I... like strangers through a marketplace." He looked back at her and grinned. "But do you? Do you have you an inkling? Any insight at all?”

Deneith's eyes narrowed, the indifferent countenance giving way to one of wariness. "I do not. I know not many of your kind." She exhaled, her breath pluming before her nose. "But I have a feeling you are about to educate me."

She uncrossed her arms, her gauntleted hand coming to hang closer to her sword. That elicited a laugh from him.

"You were given a choice. You've not yet come to a decision. That is my purpose here. Your education... well, suffice to say that I am not inclined to spewing diatribe without cause." He crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. "A ‘yea’ or ’nay’ from you is all that I require. Then I am gone from this place."

She said nothing for a moment, but she broke her gaze as her thoughts raced through her memories. She blinked and looked back at him. "I was told to ask for a gift. From Thal." She arched a brow. "Are you here to listen to that prayer?"

He grinned at Deneith, then straightened and sauntered up to her, his eyes sliding back to the tower. He passed her by, caring not a whit for the hand near the hilt. He ascended the steps and paused.

Roen Deneith 's fingers flexed when he neared, but as he passed she made no move for the sword. She continued to stare at his back. "So you know Sergeant Melkire."

"Aaaaand now the cogs turn."

"He made no mention of you."

"As instructed." He frowned as he glanced over his shoulder. "Alas, perhaps that was a mistake."

Roen Deneith crossed her arms, her jaw set. "If you found me, and know the words exchanged between the Sergeant and I, then you have me at a disadvantage."

"Naturally." He smirked for her. There was some measure of arrogance in that expression, a chiding admonishment perhaps.

"...I would know your name at least."

The Auri man canted his head to one side in pensive thought. "Which one?"

Deneith watched him closely. "The one the sergeant considers your real name."

That elicited another smile from him, and he turned to bow. "Adin Rem Adonis, most decidedly not at your service."

"Rem," she repeated. Her eyes widened slightly.

Adonis nodded.

"I already told the Sergeant that I wished to help him. And... her." Her gaze remained sharp and wary. "So if I tell you I am ready, then what?"

"Then you join your colleagues - Melkire, Grimsong, Eglantine, and Jakkya - in training. You accept a burden, you prepare, and you wait for an opportune moment."

Deneith blinked, three times. Her lips parted just slightly as she considered those names. "He had you contact... all of them?"

"You misunderstand my relationship with the man."

"Who are you? And exactly how do you and the segeant work together?"

"I am the man who once set Askier Mergrey to task. The complete and utter ruin of the Jewel of the Desert, that was the assignment. Alas, circumstances... took me off the board, so to speak, for a time." He shrugged. "A former manservant excelled in my absence. Poisoned the city-state, as I understand it."

He waved a hand. "Old history. Suffice to say that I hold the sergeant's leash, and that I am in need of men and women, heroes all, to slay a monstrosity."

She stiffened, her arms falling to her side. "You are the one that Askier was--”

Deneith cleared her throat to loosen the tightening there. She looked him over once more, as if seeing him anew. A thousand questions raced through her mind. She forcibly set him aside for now.

"Do the others know this? Who you are? They agreed to your terms?"

"Melkire knows. Jakkya is, perhaps, about to learn. Eglantine is in the dark, and Grimsong and I have never met. As for my terms... they are aware of the task at hand, and have consented. Are you aware? Will you consent?"

"What is this task? What is it that you ask of all of them and of me? What do you want exactly?"

“The complete and utter obliteration and negation of Jin'li Epinoch."

Deneith exhaled as she broke her gaze. Her eyes flitted about the snow, before a frown bent her brows.

"I already told the sergeant I would help him however I can." She stared back up at the Au Ra. "What would you have me do?"

Adonis descended to the woman's level and held out a gauntleted hand. On the palm rested a gem... a white gem... a stone. "You take this. You resist the madness that has been sown within, as it has with Grimsong's and with Eglantine's. And when the time comes, you stand together with them and buy me the opportune moment with which to strike down a voidsent madman."

She stared at the white stone. Her hand was slow to move, but eventually it rose and plucked it from his palm, two fingers holding it gingerly as she brought it before her eyes. He watched her, intent... and curious.

"Tis artificial. An imprint of a soul, to be sure, but man-made. From one Julius Bennett, if memory serves."

Deneith did not quite grasp it in her hand fully, as if hesitant to explore what laid within. Instead, she shot the Au Ra a sharp look. "An artificial soul stone. Why Eglantine? She is no fighter."

"She has the heart for it. A caged bird longing for open skies."

"That is no reason to put a woman like that in harm's way," she shot back.

"I but gave her a means to an end. How she chooses to proceed is entirely up to her... as it is with Grimsong, as it is with Jakkya."

Deneith looked back to the white stone that she still held between her thumb and index finger. She slipped it into her belt pouch.

"Who is this Julius Bennett?" She sounded resigned.

"A paladin of minor renown, but skilled in technique and boasting a wide breadth of experience."

"And your sole purpose here is to destroy the madman, Jin'li?"

"Would I pass out artifacts of immeasurable worth for anything less?"

"When will this be? When will the opportunity come?"

"Soon, but perhaps not too soon. Such things are difficult to gauge. I spoke with him recently. He seems more unhinged than ever." He shook his head. "I plan to convene you all within a fortnight. Perhaps within two."

She maintained a stoic expression, although her thumb rubbed over her closed fingers restlessly.

"I suppose you already know how to find me." She exhales with an annoyed tug to one corner of her lips. "But leave word at the Forgotten Knight."

"Should we have time to spare, I shall." He hesitated as he turned to leave. "...do not trust Grimsong. Do not trust Eglantine. Not when it comes to this task. I will send you a child, and he shall lead you."

Deneith seemed to be staring at the snow in thought when his words made her glare back at him. "A child?"

"He is small but ferocious... and filled with faith." He smiled. "You will like him."

She wore her distrust and displeasure with him plainly on her face. If she had words of protest however, she held her tongue.

“Fare you well until then, Ser Deneith. Oh, and... I do believe that if she knew of this meeting, a certain pale-haired lady would send her most insincere regards."

He laughed as she shot him another glare over her shoulder, but she said nothing as he took his leave of her.

RE: He Who Fights with Monsters [Closed] - Melkire - 03-14-2016

"Cordoned off, they said. Crawling with Alliance types, they said. Grand Companies. Bah," grumbled a tall Auri male as he ascended the steps.

Sarangerel glanced backwards over her shoulder. She gave him a brief smile and then returned her focus to the woman who stood amidst the beauty of the central garden of Wineport. Tengri stopped in his tracks and glanced between the women, crossing his arms as he did so.

Edda Eglantine drummed her fingers against stone. She glanced between the two Geneq.

"...that is something, is it not," she said quietly, as though speaking to herself. She called out a bit louder, "Then why have you come? Those that bear that name live quite some distance from here."

Sarangerel lofted a brow beneath her bangs.

"Reports that a lady was in the vicinity," called back the new arrival. "We've some business to discuss that may or may not border on impropriety. We certainly hope that it does not."

There was a sick… presence… to the Hyuran woman. Something aetherial. Off-putting. Dense. Repelling. Tengri narrowed his eyes, and the corner of his mouth twitched. Edda Eglantine looked to the man and her brow creased.

"I see. That's quite a trick." She paused and turned to face them. "What may I do for you, then?"

"We've questions, and you've answers. An item was loaned, and I for one would like to know whether it has seen any use... or whether it ever shall."

Tengri seated just beyond the grass, atop the stone of the terrace. Eglantine regarded him carefully and was silent for some time.

"...you seem harried. Is aught amiss?"

The man’s sister placed a delicate hand upon his shoulder.

“Much is amiss,” he answered. “Such is the nature of chaos, whether or not order lies beneath it."

He took a few moments to breathe.

"You are Edda Eglantine, yes? The new look suits you." Tengri snorted as he considered the long lengths of hair that made her resemble Liadan Summerfield. "Or perhaps I've grown accustomed to that mode and style."

Edda looked away for a moment with a sly look, down towards the ground. She reached to pluck a singular flower close to her feet and inspected it idly.

"What gave me away?" There was the shadow of a smirk on her face, but it was not readily apparent - as if something were holding it back.

"Besides the tail I've had on you for the past several moons?" The man shrugged. "I did mention impropriety."

She didn't seem very perturbed. "He must have done so at great distance."

Sarangerel's lips curled slightly into a knowing smirk. Tengri Geneq looked down towards the ground with a sly look of his own. His eyes darted to and fro between the various shadows... those of the trees, those of the flowers, those of the people.

"In a manner of speaking... not quite, no. But that is irrelevant." He looked back up at her. "The stone -- and the choice that accompanied it -- were yours. I've come a long way to learn whether you mean to set it aside, to dismiss it as an idle bauble... or to peruse its secrets and allow those secrets to stimulate growth. I am invested, as you recall. A favor owed. Regardless of your... personal affairs."

Edda looked up from her flower.

"Yes, I remember well." She looked straight at Tengri, her expression perfectly neutral. "Your investment I understand. But what will you do, if I have set it aside or otherwise? Kill me and reclaim it?"

"Of course not." He looked offended. "Do I seem a ruffian? I would ask that you see it returned to its original owner. Perhaps he might pass it on to another. Perhaps he might convince you that the journey will be worthwhile. Who can say? Not I."

She pursed her lips. "That is a strangely lax attitude for one so invested, as you said. It is not something that is easily replaced, should it be thrown away."

Sarangerel spoke up at last. "You are familiar with the value of such items. I'm sure you would not have tossed it aside."

"No, of course not."

"Then I do not consider the item lost, nor the investment a poor one,” said Tengri. “There are still opportunities for returns."

"I do not wish to return it just yet."

"Ah….” The Auri woman eyed Edda. “So you are still trying to make a decision."

"Reach," corrected her brother absentmindedly. "Reach a decision."

Her lips pursed into a thin line as she glanced down at Tengri. "Reach."
.
Edda twirled the stem of the flower between her fingers before discarding it casually. "I suppose so. It should have been apparent from the outset that I could not be suited for such an item, though not for lack of trying... I have learned more than I would have normally, I believe, and at the very least, it has granted me an escape."

Tengri Geneq nodded slowly.

"I know of at least one other who believes you ill-suited. I am inclined to disagree, of course, but time will tell." He narrowed his eyes. "Escape is good. Think you perhaps that there might be more, given the aforementioned time?"

Sarangerel tilted her head slightly at the woman and lofted a brow. "It sounds to me like you have 'reached' a decision. Are you not willing to return a favor for such? Escape is something you wanted, yes?"

Tengri smiled. "She has a point."

Edda Eglantine looked at Tengri in thought, and bit her lip. Her gaze moved to the small woman. "So, it is a favor you want," she said softly. "Now?"

Sarangerel smiled. "Aye, but not now, soon…."

"A fortnight,” interjected Tengri. “Perhaps a moon. Perhaps several. But surely within a cycle… friends of yours are also invested, if that matters."

"Such as?"

"Deneith was quite concerned." He grinned at the Eglantine.

Edda frowned. "About what?"

"You. The favor you owe."

She scoffed and looked away.

"I find that hard to believe," she said darkly. Her hair fell to obscure her face from them, and she went quite still.

The Geneq looked smug. "Perhaps you should speak with her yourself."

She made a face.

"Should she want to." A pause. Then, quieter, "And that will not last long."

Tengri glanced up at Sarangerel. "Life has its moments, its queer turns."

Edda Eglantine stared off into nothing and sighed.

"Then would we be correct in surmising that your answer, at present, is a tentative 'yes'? You've a use for what you've been given?"

She glanced back to the two Geneq. She seemed very far away, very.. distant.

"I do," she said quietly.

Tengri rose to his feet. "Then I am content."

She looked away again.

“Should any further contact be required,” he went on, “I believe I shall send you Sarangerel. She's far less conspicuous than I.”

Edda side-eyed the woman.

"You are both rather conspicuous. But that should suffice, yes." She paused and licked her lips. "...tell me, how many others have you involved in this?"

"Many. Five have I Gifted." The emphasis on that last word was apparent in his voice.

Edda nodded to Tengri and chose not to make chase of that subject.

"I can be rather inconspicuous when I need to be,” offered his sister into the awkward silence.

"Put a large enough hat over her head and the horns all but disappear," he muttered in agreement.

Sarangerel Geneq shifted her gaze up to Tengri with a look that could kill. He seemed oblivious.

"Oh." Edda looked to the woman. "It is not the horns. Not really."

"The tails, then?"

Edda gave Tengri a look of clear disbelief. "Don't be ridiculous. It is your--”

"Eyes," supplied his sister.

“--yes. Not a very common trait among your kind, I imagine."

Tengri shook his head. “Not common at all, no. We are quite the unique pair, we two."

Sarangerel nodded. "Aye."

"So it would seem…."

He stared at her. "Have you any further questions, Lady Eglantine, ere we depart?"

Edda shook her head.

"No. Forgive me, for making you track me down to so remote a location." She didn't look very sorry, but then, it seemed as though she'd been reduced to three expressions. She turned to Sarangerel. "I trust I shall see you again, sooner rather than later."

Tengri Geneq shrugged his shoulders, is if to dismiss the notion that these two went to any trouble at all, as his sister bowed to the woman and said, "Of course, Miss Eglantine."

"Come, Sarangerel. We've more business elsewhere. A good sun to you, miss."

Edda Eglantine looked away. She leaned against the stone once more and stared off into the distance.

RE: He Who Fights with Monsters [Closed] - Melkire - 03-22-2016

"Tengri Geneq needs no introduction. Now go on. He's waiting for you. Tengri Geneq needs no introduction. If you're not of a mind to hear him out, you may take your leave if you so wish. I have been instructed to let you pass. Tengri Geneq needs no introduction."

Those words rippled across her thoughts, an echo of mere moments ago which threatened to unhinge her. Her heart raced, as though bound to break free of her chest. She swallowed, held her grimoire tight against her side, and stepped up to the corner.

She’d come to the Atheneum Astrologicium in search of a certain text. Aqua Vitae and Its Common Uses. She needed that tome, no matter how much she wished to run. A recent outbreak of disease here in Ishgard had left many bedridden in its wake, and House Sauveterre was relying upon her and her friends to deliver a cure.

She glanced back at the Elezen behind her. Pierre. This had to be Pierre. He was still smiling as though he had not a care in the world. Innocent looking fellow, for someone who’d manipulated and maneuvered her with such ease to bring her to this place, to this moment.

"Ahhh,I do so happen to know of such a text,” he’d said, ”and where a copy might be found! Alas, I believe a friend of mine borrowed it from this very establishment not two nights ago!"

She took her lower lip between her teeth and held it there as she considered her options, recalled the warnings and recommendations of her husband. Jasper chirped from his perch on her shoulder. She narrowed her eyes at Pierre, steeled herself, and turned.

Kanaria Melkire peered around the corner of the Atheneum.

The first thought that struck her was how very tall he was. Then his horns registered, and then his outlandish hair. His tail swung like a pendulum, from one side to the other, as though counting the passing seconds, minutes, bells. She couldn’t help but wonder at the contrast, couldn’t help but remember the man as she’d once known him. Old. Grey. Desperate. Spiteful. There was no trace now of the man they’d once cornered, so long ago, in one of the many alleyways which branched off from Pearl Lane. In his place stood… someone else.

He stood against the stone exterior of the structure behind him, rifling through the pages of a rather small tome. Disinterest was evident on his face, as though he were quite familiar… and quite bored... with the contents.

“Ser Tengri….”

"Lady Melkire. Apologies for intruding upon your personal affairs.”

She eyed the tome. Was that it…?

"I-it's quite alright." It wasn’t, but manners and etiquette demanded the bold-faced lie. "I believe th-there was a reason for that..."

The pads of her fingers, covered though they were with her gloves, curled and pushed against her grimoire.

"I guess now it can't be helped as you've something I'm in need of...."

He eyed her back. "I would not resort to crude measures if our shared history would leave me some other recourse. Alas, mistrust is difficult to overcome."

"You did this on purpose then..." Her eyes drifted from him to the book. "Is that what I am looking for, then?"

She raised her right hand, her attention back on him, and pointed at the tome he held. She kept her distance for now. He held it up and snapped it shut. The cover clearly read ’Aqua Vitae and its Common Uses’.

"It is."

Her eyes drifted back to the book. "Dare I ask what your price is Ser Tengri…?"

"A few moments of your time, a few words between us, and an answer to a question."

"You've my ears, and an answer if I have one…."

He grinned and beckoned her closer. "Would you at least step out of plain sight? I do not care for eavesdroppers. Pierre is competent but not all-powerful."

Kanaria looked to the left, over the railing that stood but a few fulms from the Atheneum’s exterior, and moved a little closer to him. Tengri raised an eyebrow at the bluebird as he pecked his way into her flaxen mane, but the Geneq said nothing. He looked back to her with a slow nod.

"You must understand that others have negotiated on your behalf. So long as your husband cooperates, I cannot and will not touch you, nor will any of my servants. So long as Korofi upholds his end of our mutual understanding, then your friends and family will also share the aegis of my good will. Are we clear?"

She eased a little and nodded. Osric had relayed to her as much, but even so trust was hard to come by. "We are clear."

"Good. Then I must ask you for the answer to but a single question. That answer is why I am here. I require complete and brutal honesty, upon which rests our best chance of ridding ourselves of a mutual source of strife, grief, and sorrow. Is this acceptable to you? Knowing that, should you choose to not answer honestly, or should you prove incapable of doing so, you might doom us all?"

She sucked in a cold breath and let it out slowly. Her lavender hues looked across the way as her left hand settled upon on the railing. "I believe I know what you are speaking of... "

"No." The response came immediately, in a flat tone of voice. "Answer the question."

She blinked at him, somewhat startled, and he smiled for her, as though to put her at ease.

“Say rather,” he went on, “answer my first question so that I can then ask you the important question."

"...I'll answer to the best of my knowledge."

He nodded again. "Jin'li Epinoch has been obsessed with you for a long time. If not since the day I sent him to you and your friends in Drybone to relay my demands, then very nearly so. Why?"

Kanaria tilted her head and her eyes widened. The heat rose in her cheeks a little.

"Heh… that's an easy answer." She turned to face the street below. "I am...'kind,' though perhaps not in the manner he claims. I love too much and ask little... I can see good in people where others cannot…."

He grunted. "Some advice for you, then. Were I in your shoes, I would listen, and listen well.”

"Hmm?" Her lavender eyes tracked back to him as he pushed himself upright.

"It took time. It took pain. It took blood, and toil, and sweat, and more blood. He hates me all the more now for that necessity, for forcing the words out of him, but in the end, your husband told me." He looked her in the eyes as he settled the small tome into the crook of one arm.. "He told me you could not pull the trigger alone."

Her fingers curled into her palms as she tensed and looked away, averting her gaze, her guilt plain on her face.

"I could not…."

"You should know that I cannot anticipate the circumstances. I am trying... but I cannot, in truth, prepare for the worst. I can only prepare for the worst that I can expect. I cannot know to whom will fall the opportunity - a moment in time, a sliver of the Keeper's realm in which to decide. Should that chance fall to you, Lady Melkire... should Fate and Fortune choose you, I must know that you can and will pull the trigger. You must know that, if you cannot, you are a hindrance and a liability to anyone and everyone you hold dear. Should you hesitate and should you fail, you and I will lose everything."

Tengri Geneq, once Adin Adonis, narrowed his eyes at her. "You are better off deciding now... preparing now... for that moment. Hesitation is the doom I spoke of."

She licked and purse her lower lip as she crossed her arms. She listened, heard him well... perhaps a little too well. Tears were welling up in her eyes.

"I can't this time... I know what I have to do." She shook her head slowly. "I will not fail. There's too much at stake..."

Her fingers grasped her arm tighter as she spoke… an unconscious gesture which was not missed. He turned to regard the thoroughfare, as she had.

“You say you are 'kind'. That is both strength and weakness. Where Epinoch is concerned... where his dangerous, lethal, 'avatar of the void' self is concerned... kindness is no strength. Love is no strength. Compassion is no strength. These are weakness, and weakness only, and they will be exploited. I will not fail because a mere wisp of a girl has a soft heart," he sneered. "If you are truly the woman I recall... a woman of strength... then you will find the fire and steel within you to prove yourself worthy of your husband... and you will not need a suit of mail with which to do so.”

Kanaria’s hand broke free and slapped the stone railing as her eyes shot back up to him, her silent tears trailing down her cheeks.

"I know what I need to do." Her soft voice was harsh. "I've too much to lose, I am not going to let him win. I cannot!"

Tengri glared out over the empty street for a moment... and then set the tome he held down atop the railing in front of him.

"I want you to remember how you’re feeling right now. I want you to recall this moment when opportunity arrives. And I want you to fire." He tapped the cover of the tome. "This is yours now. Good day, Galanodel."

Her gaze slipped to the book and she took a step forward. "Melkire... please... I'm sure you'd dislike it if I called you by your other name."

"Assumptions are dangerous," he said. He moved to vault the railing, and as he did so a serpentine trail of smoke shot around the corner, plucked him from midair, and carried him off into the far distance. She stared after him, somewhat surprised to see a man in full plate vault anything of note, much less a waist-high railing, and somewhat astonished to witness for the first time that which she’d heard so much about for so long.

She stepped forward and claimed the tome. By the time she emerged from the shadows, Pierre… the Crow… was gone.

RE: He Who Fights with Monsters [Closed] - Melkire - 04-20-2016

"Osric."

"...Mikh'a?"

"It's done."

"It's...? Oh. Oh! It's done. Good. Aye. Definitely good."

"Yes."

A long moment of silence passed between them.

"....what's next?"

"I'm meeting with Rotunda."

"That, uh. That sounds like a change o' plans."

"He needs to stop recruiting. I'm not leaving Mor Dhona until he's gone. Have you found a place to detonate the bomb?"

"I've only been out that way once, mind, but there's a spot or two that seemed suitable. What they call the Singin' Shards, for one. That damned tower for another."

"I want to cross the threshold of the Crystal Gate. There’ll be no risk of anyone else getting hurt that way, in case something goes wrong."

"We'll need t'scout the place, then. Ain't sure there's anywhere t'hide two or more bodies. We're bein' followed, Sei isn't."

"We'll find somewhere. He's killed us for the last time."

"He…." A grunt. "Let me know what y'need, 'n' when."

"He's really dead this time." There came a sharp intake of breath. "I saw it."

“...let me know.”




"So... what's this private talk about, eh?"

Osric glanced down at Kanaria as she rested against his shoulder, and then he looked back up at the horizon. He’d brought her to this small little corner of Ishgard -- a quaint balcony, hidden away behind the manse of House Haillenarte -- for some much-deserved peace and quiet. They’d spent the past half-bell or so speaking in low, hushed tones… talking, laughing, fooling around as they watched the men and women bustling about, far below, in the Crozier.

"I've a lot to tell you. Been waitin' on a good time for it... didn't want you worryin' any more than you already were, what with expectin' and everythin' else we've got on our plates."

"I understand, but I still need to be let in now and again, love."

"I know. First thing's first, then, and I think you might already know this bit: I want you t'meet Thomys. Properly, I mean, not in passin'. Mirke's gettin' close. Should be able t'return to Limsa soon, the two of us together."

Kanaria bit down into her lower lip.

"You mean...." She smiled and wrapped her arms around him. "I hope she can do it! I wouldn't have to rule out a beach house for us, then."

He laughed. "I thought you wanted somethin' in the Beds?"

Kanaria shrugged. "Maybe... but think... the beach…."

"Heh. Aye, not a bad thought. I'd like that." His eyes gleamed as he smiled and nodded. "Second item o' concern: might have found someone who can help us with shippin' and receivin' out of and back into the Goblet."

She lofted an eyebrow, and Osric waved a hand.

"You know, for the less legal shite."

Kanaria leaned in and pressed a loving kiss to his cheek. Her lavender eyes shifted to the side and back. "Do we really want to get into things like that?"

“We're sort of already into things like that. I'd like t'keep us out o' trouble, at the least." Osric tossed his head this way and that. "Would you like to meet the man handlin' the details for us? I need t'speak with him within the next sennight or so."

She chuckled. "I know... still. And yes, I'd love to."

She took his hand and pulled it closer to rest over her stomach. He grinned… then eyed her warily.

"That's the good news,” he went on to say. “The rest is bad. Bad, 'n' worse, but we can pull through. Just need you to trust me, alright?"

"Always love... I know what you are speaking of... and I doubt I have to tell you that I had a run-in with your Master."

"...you did?"

He blinked and stared at her.

"Yes.." Her hand squeezed his gently. "It's alright... nothing bad happened, and nothing will."

“....alright." He shook his head and let that topic pass. "What's next has t'do mostly with the runt... and partly with you. With what you've got up here."

He reached up and tapped her temple with a finger. She looked down at her lap.

"I've had a feeling about that…."

"Mm. Let me finish?"

She nodded.

"Might recall, moons back, I told you I had t'go with Nahare 'n' Mikh'a. Askier was missin', and word was the runt had him. This ringin' any bells, or...? Was a bit rushed at the time, I might not've gotten all the words out right."

"Yes, I remember…."

"We lucked out. Had the... ain't goin' t'call him good... had the sane one on our hands. We spoke. At length. About his other half, the half that's posin' as some sort o' avatar o' the void hellsbent on destroying everyone and everything." Osric shrugged. "He had a very interestin' theory about his other half that terrifies me even now."

Kanaria licked over her lips. "You know that darkness I mentioned in my letter to you…?"

"Aye, that'd be what he was tellin' us about." He sighed. "Said that the reason Epinoch seems t'defy all sense 'n' rules is because he's half here 'n' half not. Caught between our world 'n' the void. That there's a piece of him that's tetherin' him to our reality."

She looked away, went pale. He reached up, his hand leaving her stomach to cradle her chin.

"Listen. We're going t'deal with this. We'll handle it. And I'll tell you how, right now."

She closed her eyes. "By being strong."

Osric smiled.

"That, for starters. But you're goin' t'need to trust me 'n' the rest of the company for a short while. Not long. A sennight or two. Because, as far as we can guess, we don't know what he can and can't know if you're the one who knows it first." He lifted her chin, turned her eyes back to his. "Can you do that for us? Just for a little while?"

Kanaria looked up at him. "I understand, and I trust you, all of you…."

He kissed her, soft and swift, his hand running through her hair. She shivered and, after what seemed like an eternity, he pulled back a touch, caught his breath, and whispered.

"One sun soon, one of us'll come to you. Might be me. Might be Mikh'a. Might even be Adin, damn him. That's when you'll have to act. That's when you'll need to end him. Bait him, flush him out, throw him out the doors, make him leave you in peace. Understand? Not yet. But soon. When we come t'you."

Osric looked into her eyes. There was a brief moment in which he thought he could make out his emerald eyes in her lavender… and then the moment passed as she set her jaw and nodded to him.

"Of course... but for now... will you stay with me tonight?"

"Aye. I'm plannin' on stayin' for a few suns, at least. Spriggan missed her mother… hells, I missed her mother.".

"I've missed all of you." She hugged him close. "Mind if we go now? I'd love to cuddle up with the both of you… fall asleep in a warm, comfy bed…."

He barked a laugh as he offered her a hand. "Course! Up you go, then."

"Mm. Thank you love."

He rose to his own feet after her, and there came that familiar brush of warmth, that voice inside his head….

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

A dull ache, intruding upon his thoughts. The stones slipped out from beneath his feet as the world twisted and turned over onto itself. Sharp pain. Red… then black.




An image… a scene, unbidden… Mikh'a, atop a table in a dim-lit room. Osric's voice drifting in from just out of sight....

"You're askin' me to hide this from Kanaria, if I even can. She might forgive me for tryin' t'keep her safe... but she'll rip into you for this."

He fell silent. Of course he fell silent. This was Korofi’s turn to speak.

Mikh'a's expression.... sour. Mikh’a’s voice… serious.

"If the price to pay to protect all of us from Jin'li is her hating me, then so be it. But this is just as much for her as it is everyone else. There is too much at stake. If this works, then it will be worth any anger anyone might theoretically have. The benefits of this going off without any issue far outweigh what should be a brief bout of anger over secret keeping.”

The calico’s eyes… narrowed.

“He. Lives. In. Her. Head.”

Forceful enunciation… frustrated tone.

"We cannot risk this!"




The hard press of solid stonework against his back… he clutched at his forehead, at his temples, teeth grinding against one another until the red receded. When he could see again….

What he saw took his breath away, though not in the usual way. This was less the vision of strength and beauty he’d grown accustomed to, and more a vision of fear, pain, and loss.

Kanaria stood before him, her hands holding him steady. Confusion was in her eyes… as were tears, welled up, yet to be shed. Her lips were somewhat parted, and whatever question had been weighing her down and gracing the tip of her tongue vanished into thin air, and what came out instead was--

“Ossy…?”

He experienced a moment of panic… then he drove out each and every thought. A new slate. Fresh. Warm. Blank.

“I’m fine, I’m fine… I think… what…?” He blinked. “...to the Knight, right? Don’t know why I just lost m’footing there.”

He smiled for her, and she returned the gesture, stepping to his side to take him by the arm.

“N-no….” Damnation. She still sounded concerned. “Em has a room for us at his place.”

“Oh… oh, right! Thought I was goin’ to have t’fetch Spriggan. Alright, then. Onward!”

He tried to look as jovial and confident and carefree as he ought to have been. Difficult. He tried to think of anything but his half-hearted deception. Impossible.

He knew… for certain, he knew… that she hadn’t intended to look. That what may or may not have passed between them just now had been an accident, a mishap. That didn’t keep him from wondering whether or not the Spinner might have had a hand in tonight’s affairs. That was a minor concern, though.

The thought that ran through his head over and over and over again was....

I hate this.

RE: He Who Fights with Monsters [Closed] - Melkire - 09-18-2016

(( Given a Martin-worthy delay that owes itself to a writing block stemming from converting a text log into a post, the remainder of this thread is several months behind. As such, please be mindful that the following events took place quite a while ago in-character, as well. ))



"Ain't as pretty a sight as the sun on La Noscean waters, but I like the fragrance better."

"It has a way of growing on you, to be certain. It all seems shades of green to me now."

Ironic, that this particular woman was possessed of that particular sentiment. Wasn’t so long ago, truth be told, that the sight of her dark skin and the sound of her rich voice would have set him on edge. Now, though… now, he was surprised to find himself at ease.

Growin’, aye. Shades, aye.

“...I’d like t’wait ‘til she’s joined us before we get started, if you don’t mind. The means I’ve got for keepin’ this talk private… well, it’ll wear on me.”

She nodded. “As you say. I have time.”

Beggin’ your pardon, Lady Kinslayer, but time’s the one thing we don’t have.

So much for being at ease. He did his best to rub a sudden knot of tension out of his neck; when it refused to relent, he settled for placing his back to a post and sitting down tailer-fashion against the fence.

“...how’s Gharen?”

Silence. He spared her a glance; taut, she was. Taut… and perhaps fraying, as might an old bowstring.

“He speaks. Walks once more. Well enough.”

“And yourself?”

“I heard about Askier.”

He sobered, dropped his gaze to the grass. That wound was still fresh, and while the whole of him rebelled against the idea--

no corpse you ain’t seen a corpse don’t ever count a dodo’s get ‘fore the basket’s full besides this is Askier we’re discussin’ you ain’t seen no corpse

--there was little left for him to do but to hope… to hope, and to brace himself for the possibility that this time was for keeps.

“Apologies.” He meant it, too. They’d been given a miraculous gift, in the form of Ki Grimsong; ‘twas a gift and a secret that they’d hidden away from the world as best they could. Delial had, somehow, brought him back to his family of friends… and they had lost him again. So he meant it.

"It has become quite a tiresome thing," she muttered. She took a deep breath. "I know not how you intend to do it, but I pray you make it end."

Osric Melkire fidgeted at that. "That'd be part o' what we're here t'discuss."

Delial did glance his way, then, but before she could inquire further--

Footsteps. Light, too light for a… he looked up and was not entirely surprised to find himself staring at Roen Deneith. There was a set to her jaw as she approached that told him she wasn’t planning on being left out. He hadn’t invited her, precisely, but given her recent and rather startling appearance at the Dauntless residence….

“Why have you made a deal with someone like him?! Why are you working for him?!”

“Every sun, I have t'live with the thought o' comin' home to all m'friends and family dead. Every sun."

"I know you helped the likes of Jin'li for the sake of your family. I thought... that was an exception."

"My family is my weakness. I own that."

...no, he wasn’t entirely surprised that she’d answered his call.

“Well,” he said, “this makes matters easier.”

Delial turned and froze for a moment. “Ah.”

The paladin crossed her arms as she came to a stop a few fulms away. “I should have answered. I was… indisposed.”

He shrugged. “Ain’t as though you’re obligated t’answer.”

She shrugged back. “I know.”

“We’re waitin’ on Kiht. Been savin’ m’strength for this conversation, and I want to be sure it lasts. We’ve got quite a bit t’discuss.”

Roen Deneith glanced from Osric to Delial. She pursed her lips, as if contemplating what to say.

"No new... news... I trust?"

"No new news," Delial agreed. The tension between the two women was palpable, and it wasn’t long before the younger tore her gaze away to look out over the waters.

Osric shifted uncomfortably, and eyed Delial. "There are a few things I'd like t'ask, mind, that ought t'be safe askin' after for now."

She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Who came t'you with your stone?"

"A girl. Auri, with an odd name."

"Dark horns? Green hair?"

She half-sat against a post further down the fence, and shrugged. "Possibly. I do not recall, now. Certainly small, though I am not certain if that is normal for her kind."

The former sergeant sighed and shook his head. "Well, shite. That'll take some more explainin'."

"Forgive me. I have had much on my mind since. More important things than some small, horned girl."

"Your brother and his fiance happened t'procure the stone that the demon gave you,” he spat in a dry tone, “so all things considered I'd say this might be a priority worth keepin' an eye on."

Roen glanced between them, and then took up a spot next to the wooden railing.

“I think I shall hold my own counsel on what I find to be important,” Delial spat back. “Their… happenings, their mistakes, whatever they are… ‘tis not my concern.”

"I'd say he became your concern when you more or less adopted him, but that's your call 'n' your judgment to make, not mine."

"Whose brother?” Roen asked. “Whose fiance?"

"Askier Mergrey,” answered Osric, “known lately as Ki Grimsong."

"Adopted," Delial hissed. "T'was his idea, his silly ruse. As though no one would see through it!"

But he’d said….

Typical. One more layer to hide the truth behind. Osric looked up.

"....then I hold you blameless."

Strange, how little the admission seemed to matter. Seven hells, if he hadn’t known better, he’d have sworn that Grimsong was trying to burn down the forest by glaring at it. Then again… perhaps he didn’t, and perhaps she was. He opened his fool mouth once more only for Roen to cut him off.

“So is he..truly dead? Or….?”

He glanced askance at her. "Mikh'a says this'd be for real. Knowin' the man himself, I'm inclined to doubt... but there are only so many times you can elude the end, no?"

Before either of them could answer, a voice sounded out over the linkshell he’d been keeping an ear to. Osric reached up and tapped at the pearl in his ear to answer.




He couldn’t keep from shaking his head in wonder at the irony of it all. “Out of all the places y’could have picked, it had to be here….”

“Isolated,” Kiht Jakkya explained. He supposed that he must have looked stricken, because she paused to ask, “What is wrong with here?”

How t’explain this to her?

They’d been waiting on Kiht, of course; though he’d been surprised to learn of her involvement, Osric knew better than most how observant, resourceful, and competent the huntress was… and he was relying on those virtues now. Her testimony -- whatever she’d been told, whatever she’d seen or smelled or sussed out, he was sure that there was bound to be something -- would prove invaluable in persuading Roen and Delial.

Upon her arrival, though, she’d led them through the Beds in search of a quiet and remote corner for their little palaver. To better distance themselves from prying eyes and curious ears, she’d explained. He’d approved her course, and they’d followed her… followed her here.

How t’explain that this was once meant to be where Kanaria ‘n’ I would’ve wed, back before the Sanctum was opened once more to the public? That we chose this spot for how vibrant ‘n’ colorful ‘n’ full o’ life it is? For the approach o’er the bridge, for the flowers, for how that singular tree throws just enough shade for a couple standin’ before an official, for just enough space t’seat the right number o’ folk? How t’explain how sacred this spot is to us, though we never saw it through? How t’explain that this is where we see each other in our dreams?

"Nothin',” he said out loud at last, “it's wonderful." He waved a hand in dismissal… a dismissal so casual that it wounded him to the heart. "Story for another time."

Kiht’s reply was lost to him, though, for as soon as he’d addressed her concern, he shut his eyes against the little meadow of moonlit fantasies and shut his mind against everything else.

Breathe. In. Out. From the reservoir… little by little. Slowly. Channel the flow. In. Out.

No theory to which he’d ever lent an ear advocated such a measure. No technique he’d ever been taught supported such madness. What he was attempting now was the dread of thaumaturgy which had, long ago, resulted in the injunction against wholly divesting oneself of one’s own aether.

‘Twas said that aether was but those selfsame energies which fuel life, and how could he doubt it, knowing what he knew, having felt what he’d felt? Time and time again, he had drained the Sacral to the dregs until he could no longer so much as stand. Time and time again, he had been compelled to rest and recover, to eat and drink, until such time as health and vigor returned to him, that empty glass filled to the brim once more. The Sacral was surplus. To part with more was to invite mortal peril.

All the same, here he was preparing to do just that.

From one to the next. In. Out. Again and again, so that it builds. In. Out. Builds until there is no holding it. In. Out. Leak, it must leak.

There. That dull ache, which had been his sole and tiresome companion over the past sennight as he’d refined this insane method. He could feel aether leaving him with each exhalation. As he’d devised, of course; he needed the freedom of mind to think and to speak, which meant this process had to be, for the most part, instinctual. Slow. He had to take this slow. He had to make this last.

He opened his eyes, and the women were staring at him. Piqued curiosities… mounting concerns….

Suppose they feel that. Course they do. Wave after wave. A pulse, more like. Wind brushin’ past their shoulders.

“There,” he said aloud. “Damned difficult t’keep up. Advanced application.”

“What exactly did you do?”

Kiht Jakkya. Faithful to her friends, feral to her foes; of the women before him, most reliable.

“Indeed, what was that?”

Roen Deneith. Self-imposed exile, for a choice he could never have made and would never envy her for.

He glanced between them. He glanced at their shadows in turn. He glanced about the immediate vicinity. Shade everywhere. Pain in the arse. He supposed he couldn’t blame Kiht. The meadow was a quiet one, and well-removed from the rest of Lavender Beds. To her thinking, the odds were against eavesdroppers. He would have to explain, then, from the beginning.

"Crows. Undead aberrations, souls dragged back through the void from the aetherial sea ‘n' bound to a corpse. Walkin’, not-quite-breathin’ folk when they choose to be. Clouds o' smoke otherwise, like motes of ash. Means they’re apt t’keep to the shadows and listen in." He shrugged. "I'm leakin' aether from m'reserves like a madman. Keeps them at bay. Enough distance between us ‘n’ them that they won’t hear a word."

“The undead.”

Delial Grimsong. Wit incarnate, and of a bent to flay him alive should he ever find himself standing cross-purposes with her.

“That is….” Kiht blinked a few times, and then glanced about. “I have few words.”

“There are folks I can direct you to, if y’don’t believe,” he went on, as even Roen regarded her shadow with suspicion. “Which is fine, I’m not here t’convince you they exist.”

“I know they exist,” clarified Delial. “I did not think you would have anything to do with them.”

“Not by choice, but I inherited Ser Filiangeri’s reports ‘n’ papers when he left the Red Wings a moon or so ‘fore I did. On top o’ that, a few of ‘em share a personal vendetta against me ‘n’ mine.”

A few? Moreso jus’ the one. Damn you, Rotunda. Damn you to the seventh hell.

“I have seen plenty of crazy things,” interjected Kiht. “I will not act like I understand all that there is in this world.”

He turned to her and bowed, his acknowledge of and his thanks for her support. He was pleased to see, out of the corner of his eye, Roen nodding in agreement.

“I’m here t’speak to you all about the stones that the Geneq have given us. We’re just missin’ Edda, but otherwise we’re all here.”

Edda Eglantine, he’d been told, had been offered a stone. The “why” of it eluded him. Had he known which stone, he might have sifted through the sands for the answer… but alas, there had been so many stones. So many deliveries… though he couldn’t blame Askier and Nahare for falling into the bastard’s trappings, he found that he was still rather bitter over the whole blasted affair. Now there was a woman whose desires and motives were unknown to him, and she’d been gifted with power.

Deneith exhaled sharply. “I meant to find her… and I still do. She and I have not been in touch for sometime.”

“Try La Noscea. If she’s not been dragged back to that infamous family o’ hers, she’ll be in the vicinity.”

“...’twas not long ago that I happened upon her, on my way back here.” Grimsong looked between them. “She has been given a stone as well?”

Roen narrowed her eyes at Osric, but nodded to Delial. “I still mean to keep her out of this if at all possible. She of all people does not belong in anything like this.”

“I have been practicing with the stone,” Kiht told Osric. “Difficult to do in secret.”

“Aye, that’s why the bastards have been draggin’ me out to the Coerthan wastes--”

--mounds, they looked like white mounds upon the white snows, white hair, white fur, only by their black tusks was it possible to pick out their corpses from the landscape--

“--once a fortnight.”

No one seemed to have noticed the stutter step as he’d tripped over that memory in passing from one word to the next. He lowered himself to the grass and sat tailor-fashion as Delial spoke up.

“Forgive my ignorance, but I am still not entirely certain what these stones are. Roen offered me a warning, which was only marginally more informative than what that girl gave me.”

“That girl,” explained Osric as Kiht leaned back against a tree, “is Sarangerel Geneq, once Rema Mordhelm, right hand of Adin Rem Adonis, once known as Rotunda Crow, now known as Tengri Geneq.”

“Oh my gods.” Kiht shook her head. “These people and their aliases….”

“As I understand it, their Crow names weren’t their choice. Cult o’ Nald’thal, and all that.” Osric turned to Roen. “They call us the the Gifted. For the stones we’ve been given and meant t’use. We’re the distraction that’s supposed to buy them the opportunity to do away with Jin’li Epinoch.”

Roen shifted on her feet. She nodded. “He did not quite explain just how we are to distract the mad cat…. or exactly how these stones will affect us.”

“Kiht,” Osric prompted as he turned to the Keeper. “I don’t know the answer to the former, but….”

The huntress took a deep breath. “He told me the stones were to give us the power to bring down this voidsent-possessed Jin'li, which he compared to the power of something else that recently plagued this forest."

"Aye. Not sure how they'll do so, but tappin' into one is like reachin' through someone else's memories. Feeling their movements. Hearing what they heard, seeing...."

"... their power,” interjected Grimsong. “The girl mentioned power. And -- Roen -- knowledge."

Kiht Jakkya glanced between them. "He tried to caution me. He said two were likely going to be corrupted by the stones. For some reason, he thought Edda and Delial would be the ones."

“He told me the same,” said Roen.

Kiht looked to Delial. "Have you tried to use your stone yet?"

"I have not. I have kept it, but... not used it. Truth be told, I was not certain how to use such a thing, though I suppose I have an idea now." She shrugged at the Keeper woman.

"Did you ask our... benefactor,” asked Deneith, “about possible corruption within these stones?"

"As for asking my... benefactor,” said Osric, “he's not made contact since I reached out. Thrice, mind you. But I think we've lucked out. Mikh'a' got a hold o' him before he could convene us."

Step carefully, Korofi. Gods help you, step carefully.

Kiht sighed. "If he thinks the stones will corrupt Edda and Delial, why give them to those two? Or mayhaps he doubts their minds? Mayhaps he wanted us to doubt their minds."

Delial huffed, as if to assure them that her mind was perfectly fine and quite made up.

"He seemed earnest in armin' us,” Osric explained. “I'll have t'ask Nahare why the change in plans. Might be things didn't go his way?" He shakes his head. "Not sure it matters now. Mikh'a Korofi has a plan for dealin' with Epinoch, but it'll leave Adin's plans in the lurch... and I don't think he means t'let us go."

The huntress nodded slowly. "I have reason to trust you and Mikh'a more than he."

Osric looked about. "Mikh'a's bringin' this to a head within a sennight. Adin might go off the wheel, so t'speak. Questions?"

Delial Grimsong folded her arms and went quiet again, seemingly mulling it all over. Roen Deneith, on the other hand, turned to Osric and asked… with a straight face, her tone unwavering….

"Is your wife... involved in this?"

There it was: the question he’d been dreading ever since Roen had arrived, the question that he didn’t want to answer. The question was why he hadn’t invited Deneith to this gathering. She’d seen through to the heart of him--

"In your attempts to save your wife, you would jeopardize everyone else?! You would risk everyone else... for her. You and yours above the rest."

--and now she knew which sort of man he was. He’d given her his answer, and his answer had drained the color from her face ‘til she’d been as white and pale as a fresh sheet. Here and now, this question threatened to undo everything, and cast them all to the wolves.

An answer. She needs an answer. Or else she’ll walk, and the other two’ll follow in her footsteps.

"Directly?” he asked. “No, not the way y'might think. Ultimately? She's drawn the worst lot. I can't explain how, not now. Too much at stake."

Roen Deneith stared at him rather squarely. "And you are going to let her go through with it?"

Tell her. Tell her, damn it.

Osric Melkire sighed and stood. He stepped up close to Roen and whispered into her ear, even as he caught a glimpse of Kiht lofting an eyebrow.

"Something went wrong, when we killed him the first time on Highbridge,” he whispered. “His mind... a duplicate, a remnant, I don't rightly know... he's in her head. Dormant... but not always."

Roen had leaned in to hear him better. Now, she leaned back, her eyes wide as she stared at him. He stepped back.

"Try livin' with someone that close t'you, knowin' that the wrong word at the wrong time can doom everyone."

She stood there in silence, her lips parted. Some vindictive part of him was pleased to note that she looked positively stricken. Out of the corner of his eye, he could just barely make out Kiht and Delial exchanging a glance…. Roen, however, frowned and looked away, shaking her head as she did so.

“I cannot imagine,” she murmured.

Make them believe.

"This is all hard t'believe, I know. It's a stretch, I know. I'm askin' more than I can ever repay out of all of you, I know. But there was a time I didn't ask, and I paid for it. Kiht remembers."

She’d damned well better. Ours weren’t the only necks that were collared, back then.

Jakkya’s ears wilted as she slowly nodded. "Many paid for it. "

Osric nodded back. "I don't want another poisonin'... or worse. And I, for one, am done with shackles 'n' leashes."

He looked Delial’s way as he said that last. She, at least, would understand. Surely, she would. Hadn’t she labored tirelessly under Banurein for as long as she had? Looking at her now, though… whatever her train of thought, it didn’t show on her face, and that worried him.

Kiht, meanwhile, shook her head. "Agreed. But you needn't ask a second time. I am in this."

The Kinslayer sighed, and rather loudly at that. "I know not of the rest of you, but I have plenty enough upon my hands without these undead to concern myself with."

The former sergeant turned to her. "We know."

"Good. Then you understand why I decline."

Stunned. Stunned and speechless, that’s what he was. He could almost feel the bottom dropping out of his stomach, and there was a hint of bile towards the back of his throat as he slowly processed her decision and what it meant for the rest of them.

Fuck.

He had a damned good idea which of the stones had been passed on to her. Nahare and Mikh’a had been quite clear as to which had been delivered and when. He knew well enough the talents of those who stood here with him....

Edda. Edda was the unknown factor, and without knowing which stone she’d received, he could not be sure which stone Delial now held. He could only hope and pray that it wasn’t one he dreaded. He took a deep breath and sat back down atop the grass.

"Do we even need to use these stones?” asked Roen, as though Grimsong had not scattered what plans he’d made to the winds. “If what Mikha has planned is successful... then we ... and the stones… are not even needed. Aye?"

"Aye, I suppose.” Mikh’a’s plan is a long shot, ‘n’ like to get most of us killed if it fails. “That'd depend on a lot--"

Cold. Hungry. A sudden wave of exhaustion coursed through him, and for a moment he faltered: that constant stream of aether lapsed, and he grimaced against the pain. He forced more up through his torso and out, but the sensation was now beyond unpleasant; he felt as though someone was slowly carving him to pieces, sliver by sliver. The stream, however… the stream was flowing again, and for now, that was what mattered.

Roen looked first to Kiht… then to Delial… and, at last, to Osric.

“Askier was my friend once. He tried to save me.” Her voice had grown quiet. “And his wife chose to warn me than attack me. I..." She paused, then exhaled. "I said I would do this. What do you need, Osric?”

They have to believe. They have to. Convince them. Convince them, damn you.

He shook his head ruefully. “You’re going t’laugh when I tell you.”

Kiht all but snorted. “Tell us anydusk.”

“...I need Tengri and Sarangerel murdered. Simultaneously.”