Distant Blood, Burning Storm ((OOC Commentary welcome!))

((The following is a log from roleplay between a friend and myself featuring our characters Distant Storm and Burning Blood. To add some context to the scene, Storm's brother had been unheard from in almost a moon when Storm discovered a clue to his fate in a rather compromising location. Warning for violence and mild gore, as well as references to cannibalism. Other than that, enjoy! OOC comments are welcome Big Grin

))

Burning Blood made his way through the halls of the home that he and his promised shared, past the bedroom -- past the guest bedroom, and right down to the door at the edge of the long, carpeted and crystal lit hallway. The Hellsguard was dressed to go out, in a pair of black leather boots and similarly colored trousers. A sleeveless vest of dark, thick leather adorned his broad and defined torso, capped with gloves on each hand. The dark grey braids were no more, replaced with a shorter, more stylish (and detestable, as he was constantly heard complaining) haircut.

His golden eyes reflected simple purpose as he turned a key in the door. Inside was the ready room -- where his armor and weapons were all stored. Several axes hung upon rungs on the wall, as well as some fist weapons, knives -- and even a lance. On a marble pedestal on the far edge of the room sat a Thaumaturge's truncheon, covered with a dome of clear glass.

Blood's chest swelled with a deep breath and collapsed on the exhale. Without ado he made his way to one of the axes and took it down to inspect. The condition seemed to satisfy him, yet -- he was a rather particular man. A low mutter was all it took for him to replace it and move on to another. The door had been left wide open with his back to it; the room was no secret. This part of it, at least.

It had been a fairly ordinary day. Storm returned from his errands quietly, as he always did- shutting the solid oaken door with a featherlight thud. Sparky the bombling -- if it could be called as such, the thing was near inert -- zoomed from the bedroom, spinning as if about to dive bomb, but he never did. The bomb bumped straight into the Roegadyn's chest, coaxing a bemused grunt from the hellsguard. "...Sparky, please."

Plodding his feet along, the casual, cotton jacket tailing behind him, the Hellsguard brought several groceries from the markets to the kitchen, popping the market-bag onto the counter. "...And this is everything that we needed to have done today." He mumbled to himself, moustache shaking between breaths. "...Guard these for me, shrill at him if he tries to steal any of the muffins.â€ Leaving Sparky to sniff and discover from the homely offering, Storm moved through the apartment.

It was still a rarity for Blood to have left any door of the house open - especially during these cold nights, where drafts would all but fell any night-time heat held within the apartment. Storm instinctively stopped the moment his eyes caught it. His chocolate-colored fingers closed around the door, ready to push it shut when the new additions to the 'armoury' (as he liked to call it) shone in the crystal light.

"..." Storm could never tell which were for his meat preparation or which was for the man's fighting skills. On his request, some of Storm's own weaponry had been stored there, as his collection of axes had long since taken up residence in the bedroom. Picking up an axe, then another, Storm looked them over with a keen interest. "...Some of these are new..." He mumbled, being careful to put things back where they belonged.

Blood turned to cast an eye onto Storm. The smile he offered was brief; deep was his focus upon his weaponry. "I may have taken a liking to collecting," He mentioned. "Plus, you never know when we may need spares -- or to outfit an army." As flat as his tone was, the last bit had certainly been in jest. He set his axe back onto the rack, then moved to an array of knives, inspecting them one by one.

A few of them were standard culinary tools -- others seemed more...weaponized, a mix of kitchen utensil and tool of war. Odd too, that they would be kept in an armory of sorts. Yet, Blood seemed unperturbed by this, regarding each piece as something sacred. When one blade did not satisfy him, he set about to sharpening it rapidly with a whetstone, ringing out a note of metallic edge in the room.

"And how was your day, my Storm?" The darker Hellsguard's tone was somewhat distracted -- his mistresses were in the room, after all, and he was but a man.

A small smile crawled across Storm's lips, eyes glancing over toward his lover, hands placing the hand-axe back onto it's respecting railing, letting it hang with the rest in a neat order. The systematic placement of the weaponry had never bothered him, instead it made him grateful there was room for his own- after the begging it took for the permissions to hang his arms alongside his partner's.

His thick arms slid around Blood's middle, careful not to jog his hands or disturb his craftsmanship. "...T'was uneventful, but peaceful. ...The old couple from Sapphire Avenue asked about you- they wanted to know if the linens they sold you for the drapery were fine enough to your tastes." Idle banter, nothing more. Words spoken through slow, thoughtful breaths."...I have brought you muffins." Came a light-toned addition, as well as a gentle prod to the other Roegadyn's stomach. "...But for after supper. You did say you were over-indulging of late."

The hands removed themselves as slyly as they had become entwined. An axe, a simple, curved blade- one of the dual-purpose arms, fell to Storm's clutches. A forefinger and a thumb slid along the flat, dragging to the blade-tip, fetching around a thin, tight string of white. "...T'would seem the spiders have found a liking to your collection... Too..."

With a small frown and a furrowing of his brows, Storm plucked the cobweb. The faint, subtle ringing of tensed string echoed through the armoury. Both his eyes and his fingers followed the fabric, fleeting to the floor where the twine fed down and around one of the larger axes next to the pair. With a tug, Storm plucked away at the string, freeing it from being caught on the blade and provoked the source of the mystery linen-

-and tilted his head in confusion at the stuffed moogle that flopped from behind the weapons stand.

"...How did Googly get in here...?â€

Time had come nigh to a stop in that moment, as Blood turned his head to regard the plushed moogle. To his credit, he maintained spectacular outward calm, though the glimmer of rapid calculation flashed within his eyes. "That would be my fault," He concocted quickly, "I was playing around with him and he must have fallen after I put him down. Truly, you have my apologies. Shall I place him back on the bed for you?"

With masterful subtlety the grip on the blade he held changed -- thick fingers slid along the flat to gain a firm grip on the handle. His other hand neatly set down the whetstone, extended on the edge of a muscular arm in the direction of the other Hellsguard and the plushie. "Tis only fair that I be the one to return him from where he was taken."

Storm held his posture, but chose not to respond for a brief few seconds. The tension that'd lifted threatened to be cut against any of the numerous sharp objects in the room. Something about this had set his beloved on edge, but he could not place what. After a calculated furrow of his 'stache, Storm collected the loose remains of string, as well as the plushie before eyeing it over. "...Poor thing has lost a lot of stitching..." He was clearly upset, even if his voice was as calm and monotone as ever.

His fingers trailed along to the toy, feeling over the bumps and groves of the needlework. "..." There was another momentary pause. Storm lifted the plushie and then brought it back down, eyeing over the various repair jobs around the moogle. His eyes were glued at the neck, where the loose stitching originally span from- it was clear that at some point the head had been completely removed, and then sewn back on. "...This is not Googly..." He concluded. He did not say anything else, instead he just peered toward Blood for an answer.

Blood's hand clenched the blade tighter than ever; his arm had directed it so that his bulk stood in the line of sight between it and Storm. Quite unusually for him, the Hellsguard's brow twitched, a significant tell of his state of conflict. The twin golds flitted to the exit, then to Storm, then to the plushie; calculating, assessing.

Warmth extinguished from him, and all semblance of emotion drained from his stare. His pupils twitched down to tiny pinpricks, and when he opened his mouth, his words were cold as ice. "Give the doll to me." The hand remained extended -- he had not made a request. It was a demand.

"...Why do you have my brother's moogle? ...Why do you have Boogly?" Storm didn't let go of the toy, his fingers clenched around it, nigh choking the stuffed plush and holding it to his chest. His typically calm and blank expression progressively washed with worry. His muscles tensed, pushing beneath the smart linens, each breath a little stronger than the last,. Storm's honey-golden gaze connected with Blood's predatory focus. Â "...Love..?"

A slow, hissing exhale swept from the darker Hellsguard's nostrils -- it was a measure of mild impatience that did not at all serve to dispel the sudden frigid air about him. Yet, within the iced stare was a flicker of mercy. "I cannot answer that." The quality of his voice had jumped just a bit above freezing. "For both our sakes, do not pry further."

The blade was still firmly clutched in his hand. However hidden from view it was, the tension along the muscular arm that held it was quite visible. Every bulky cord was tight and prominent, and the vascularity that their clan was known for in moments of stress was on full display, a single vein along the large bicep that split and spidered down the forearm.

The surprise of the blunder had robbed Blood of his chance to put on a proper mask; even the most novice of fighters would be able to recognize that what radiated from him was sheer killing intent -- tempered as it was by a mote of restraint.

Silence spread between the two like an illness of petrification- their bodies, their postures and even time itself seemed to crawl to a halt. Storm's eyes dipped and searched, flickering away from Blood's piercing stare occasionally to read his body, to note the veins pushing up along his musculature. Something in his posture screamed of repetition- as if the motioned emotions were practised somehow. Expected.

It had only been a matter of time. He'd been here before. The precipice before something fell -- and fell hard. Storm grew increasingly distant despite the closed space Â between the pair. Sound only broke the fixed tension when Sparky chirped in the distance.

"...Answer the question, and answer it true -- and I promise I won't venture further." Pet names would soften the message, affection would only serve to weaken his resolve. Storm hadn't received a letter from Heidricht in weeks, nearing a moon -- Yet his prized possession was neatly tucked away in their home. Boogly was kept firm; Storm's other hand flexed outward, fingers ready to grasp at something if need be.

Another extension of silence yawned between them; Blood was learned enough in the ways of others to understand the shift in Storm's behavior. He parsed the situation as unsalvageable by affectionate means, and so moved along that vein. "I paid him a visit," came the admission. "The moogle is a souvenir."

Vague as the answer was, the tattooed Hellsguard seemed convinced that it was satisfactory. Still, his eyes flicked to Storm's arm -- then the door -- then up to the other's amber eyes. The twin golds may as well have belonged to someone else entirely; finally the monster behind the mask stared at his lover, his possession.

It was not quite madness, but something very near the edge of it. A selfish, cruel and unfeeling aura that denoted all things to serve his own purposes, and his own vices. Calculation still flickered within it -- ever was he thinking, planning, assessing the steps he could take. "...this is unfortunate."

Storm's posture lost its strength; the resolve was there, but the need to cut through the other's presence was lost. His limbs slackened and a slow, drawn out sigh escaped his lips. Not sad, not angry -- Disappointed. An inevitability had arrived that had been hard-pressed to never come.

"...It is." the chocolate skinned hellsguard agreed, The vague nature of Blood's words were like a puzzle. A lot of their more serious talks dove into such mannerisms- the trick was to use logic, to jump at what was conveniently skipped. Boogly was in Storm's hand, knowing that if it were Googly instead, he'd have stopped breathing before letting it go.

It was the sudden change in Blood that actually gave it away though. Ironically, an affectionate approach would have staved off what was said next.

"...He's hurt." The machinations of the scholarly warrior kept turning. That was a hope, not a conclusion. Storms eyes rose to meet Blood's once more. "...He's dead."

The silence was confirmation enough, but Blood saw no use in denying what had been deduced. Whether it had been a mask or not, his methods of discussion and conversation remained the same. If the other had come to a logical conclusion that matched the truth, he would not lie. His answer came with staggering indifference. "Yes, he's dead."

The tension throughout his posture increased tenfold; he expected a reaction. The blade in his hand had not at all been forgotten, and was held more readily than ever, poorly concealed as it was. Throughout it all, it was clear that the darker Hellsguard was -measuring- the other -- perhaps holding out hope that he too, would be indifferent.

Storm nodded his head. No words were said. With a click of his joints and a roll of his shoulders, the other hellsguard loosened his grip on the limp, damaged toy and dropped his prepared hand. All tension from inside his chest slacked and the Roegadyn's overall posture became calm once again. Except his face.

His cheeks were still, his eyes were lazy- half lidded. The usually full lips had reduced to a mere sliver of a line underneath his bushy moustache. His gaze wasn't even focused on Blood anymore, it just veered off and stared at the wall, as if seeing through it.

Then, he stepped backwards, it was almost as if Sparky was announcing his brief departure from the room- the shrill was more like a cricket than a bombling. Silently, Storm ventured into the bedroom, head hung low. A finger spun the loose thread from Boogly's stitching, tugging it freely with a snap before letting him rest next to his brother, Googly; two moogles side-by-side for the first time in years.

Blood followed out, but not to the bedroom. Instead, he moved out to the main room, where he gripped the doorknob to the exit. With one wrenching motion of his hand, he broke the thing clear off. In its damaged state, the portal to the hallway would neither open nor close. He was sealing the room. The intent could not be made more clear.

"Will you resist me?" came the call. As usual, certain things remained unspoken, left to the logical mind to deduce and build upon. The blade remained in his hand, turned about in an awfully casual sinister fashion. "You mean very much to me. I can promise that you won't suffer."

Storm looked at the moogle dolls, nothing of this tension seemed to touch them. Nothing hurt them or pressured them. They were at peace. It was how things should be -- but things weren't. Like a flip of a coin, an ideal world had changed into a nightmare. A multitude of thoughts were rushing through the light-haired Hellsguard's head. "...It is better to be broken than to break." He concluded, rising with a breath, tilting his head upward to the twelve above and said a silent prayer in his head. Sparky span his way from the kitchen to the bedroom, as if sensing the seclusion from the outside world.

His shoe curled around the hilt of something most sturdy beneath their bed, pulling it out with a small, backwards shunt of his feet. It only took a momentary dive of his form to pick up the craggy, speckled weapon. Hands gripped around it's earthy edge and gave it a brief swing for the weight. Despite all of the problems he'd had with control, Storm felt it most fitting to choose this particular weapon at this time.

The aether leaked from the cracks along the axe's edge, flowing freely between Storm's body and it's own. Symbiosis at its best. Calmly, the Hellsguard turned, ready for what came next.

Heavy steps sounded in the corridor -- and suddenly Blood's frame filled the doorway. He still held the knife, though with far less tension that he had before. Calmly he observed Storm's weapon -- familiar; deadly. "...So be it then."

"It's interesting. Do you want to know what I did to him, Storm? What -we- did to him?" The word 'we' was lilted in a fashion that denoted he meant Storm and himself, and not some other mysterious accomplice. For the first time, a hint of smugness was evidenced in his speech.

Storm's brow furrowed, eyes narrowing down. "...We..?" The axe lowered slightly, a fault if there ever was one in the scenario. His eyes dashed back to the toys on the bed, Sparky followed the roegadyn's line of sight, bobbing to hover over them protectively. "...What are you talking about, Blood?"

Blood was a firm believer that the pen was just as mighty as the sword. Perhaps not mightier, but possessed of enough power and influence to win battles without breaking a sweat. Far mightier to him however, was he tongue. With it, he had always been able to shape things to his liking; to his advantage. This time the dark Hellsguard saw things no differently.

"Hm. Dinner. A week and some days ago. Lovely roasted ground provisions with that delightful sweet sauce. The hint of rolanberry. The vegetables were plain and steamed, but it was like an oasis in a vast world of flavor. But most delightful of all, if you remember, was that leg of ham. Remember how much of it we ate, Storm? Almost gluttonous, were we, disguised only in the coat of proper table manners. Think back to how it tasted. Think back to slathering it with the sauce, savoring every bite, every swallow. Remember how satisfied you were when it had filled your belly."

As he spoke, a slow grin curled his lips; it had gone beyond smugness and into a level of cruel greed. His words before contained his usual vagaries, but with a swipe of his tongue across white teeth, things were made quite clear. "He was delicious, Storm. You and I can both agree that he was the best meat that we've had on our table since we moved in together."

The iris of Storm's eyes found new form as pinpricks, centered and locked on Blood's grinning, smug face. The man who'd picked him up from loneliness. The gentleman who had rebirthed the Hellsguard's life, given him something to look forward to and someone to finally connect with. The one person Storm had been sure, had finally been sure, actually cared. A voice told him that this was some nightmare, eventually he would wake up and be able to forget everything.

The other drowned him with heavy realism. This was happened. The person he loved had just admitted to murdering his brother, claiming his body and feeding it to him. He'd -eaten- Heidricht. Numbness flowed through his skin, the hairs of his neck standing on end. Storm's body had effectively locked itself, freezing up so that his mind could wretch and figure all of this out. Sickness churned within his stomach, His lungs progressively starved for air.

A gasp, a whisper, a whimper. The only thing he felt was his heartbeat. When the roegadyn caught up with himself and with time, it was to double over. The axe-head struck the ground, a body keeping itself upright on the haft whilst he choked out the contents of his stomach, various juices catching themselves on his smart shirt as well as his beard.

"..." He had no words. All of the hidden pieces, all of the curious inquiries to recipes and origins of meat cuts and hams. The 'foreign' dressings. The uniqueness to Blood's cooking. Everything connected. Before the cruel, grinning man was another, forty-something years grown and yet, held the stare of an innocent that'd be delivered a harsh truth of life. The desire to rebel, but anchored in understanding.

Burgenheim had been defeated. He needed no wounds.

The grin faded and simmered into something akin to reverence. To watch a man break was a sacred thing; the most holy of which was a man who had not spilled an onze of blood. His attention shifted, and with one motion he silently swept from sight. It did not take him long to return, but when he did, it was with the gemmed truncheon in hand.

"I want you to know that I did love you." The assurance was a vile lie even in gentle tones. "And I still do. It amazes me that I do not have the heart to sink a blade into you Storm. In fact, it is why I sought your brother out instead. He was a very satisfying substitute." The hellsguard paused to inspect the truncheon, then set his eyes back onto his beloved. "I will keep you in my heart, my love. For as long as I live."

With those words he swept the truncheon in a wide motion, sending a blazing, heated ball of fire in a high arc...toward Sparky.

Storm's eyes followed the blaze, head turning to follow the spell as it flew overhead. The bombling didn't quite know what to make of it, only having a split second to flare itself up and chirp angrily as a sign of defiance instead of submission before the aether blasted it straight and true. The force sent the surprised balloon-monster spiralling backwards, spinning toward the bookshelves that lined the opposing wall. With a violent shake, the bomb swelled, wobbling in the air as it bobbed against the collection of stories and fables with delirium.

The sharp, pained shrill awoke Storm to his senses. As if the metaphorical motors flexing his muscles and pulsing blood through his veins had been kickstarted, he brandished his axe again, weighting it around a wrist before slapping both of his hands around their respective grips. "Sparky!" He exclaimed with no real direction, giving his faithful pet a worried glance before looking back to Blood.

The dark Hellsguard regarded the disoriented Bombling with measurable disappointment. "...useless to the last." The sight of Storm getting to his feet seemed to intrigue him greatly -- immediately he clutched the truncheon once more. "I find it so interesting, Storm...that for yourself, you crumble, yet for others you stand. A curious existence."

Observation was key -- notably the fact that he seemed quite more talkative than usual. Perhaps it had something to do with the way he handled his casting focus. Indeed, the Hellsguard grew long-winded for no other purpose than to facilitate the time for him to cast. Another spell was nigh.

As if knowing been said,, Sparky swelled a little further, eyes bulging and volume rising. Storm stepped between the two, the earthy weapon held infront of him like a shield. "...You say you love me, yet if you are intrigued by this facet- you fail me entirely, Blood." Occasionally his eyes swapped back and forth between the brandished cudgel and the roegadyn holding it with anticipation. He'd danced this dance before -- but he still fell for the same tricks.

"...I am nothing, not by myself... I have no hopes or wants; I'm empty. Others define me- they make me who I am." The words were spoken as they were thought- they came as he had realized it himself. "...I am empty. And now? Alone."

Sparky let out a shriek, zooming past Storm's head with a violently spin toward Blood. The speed caught Storm off-guard, the Roegadyn grunting mid-heft, having to pull his axe back to avoid striking the poor creature. "Sparky, get back!" It curved around with it's teeth ready for a second bite after the first- smoke pulsing from it's flicker-tips. It was more of a flying-ram than a striking bite, but the force certainly had momentum.

Sparky had surprised Blood as well -- so much so that the sweeping movement of the truncheon meant for Storm went wide, lashing the walls with roiling fire as the large Hellsguard staggered backward from what was essentially an effective tackle. Flames leaped onto the books, burning and curling the pages in a loud roar of combustion, spreading quickly to the bed. Smoke began thickening in the room as fire set in earnest. Orange light flickered and brightened flashing against the walls.

Blood had stumbled back out the doorway and hit the hallway wall with a heavy thud, not quite incensed by the bombling's actions, but visibly displeased by them nonetheless. His hand moved in a slashing motion that set the cudgel's gem aglow, offering a scathing, razor sharp aetheric reply toward the poor creature. He showed no mercy regarding force.

Sparky was still reeling from it's own attack. The cudgel struck true, knocking the bombling through the smoke and into the bookshelf, where flames and ash had already begun to gather. The parchments holding the books together, especially the older ones, burnt beautifully. They danced with a glow untold by a candle, something primal and raw. The bomb pulsed, expanding outwardly before 'breathing' back in. It closed it's eyes, unsure of what to make with it's growing body, rapidly balooning outward to twice it's size before deflating back. The shrieks of pain and confusion crawled faster than any fire; even as it consumed the bed. Even amidst the flames, Boogly and Googly sat together.

Blood's cudgel wasn't the only thing charged with aether. Gripping onto his axe tightly as he reeled it back above his head, he brought the heavy weapon around and down, sweeping it toward the spellweaving murderer before him. Nothing needed to be set aflame for Storm to burst into flickers and crackles of orange and red. Enough had been enough. Storm took a breath and opened a chakra gate. Â The first rammed into the Second; the second smashed into the third. By the time Storm had pulled his weapon back, hit or miss, for the second dice- he'd long lost control. Aether danced across his body like a thundercloud- his blows carrying strength, all of it infact, but none of the accuracy.

All Blood could do was roll frantically out of the way of the beserking blows -- yet even that was not enough. The size of the bedroom doorway increased fourfold as Storm simply -obliterated- the frame and the walls, aether doing as much harm as the axe itself.

For all his reflexes Blood suffered a nasty slash diagonally down his back, slicking the black material of his vest with blood. Concussive force pelted him down the corridor in the direction of the armory as a strong wind would move a leaf, sending the heavy bulk tumbling quite awkwardly.

The truncheon flung from his hand, shattered into bits my Storm's flurry. Without a focus, Blood was unable to cast -- and so scrambled to slam the armory door shut to buy a few seconds of time. The bedroom was ablaze -- but the fire was oddly contained. Simple wards designed to keep harm out were ironically keeping the fire -in-. Not so much for Storm's attacks.

Sparky bobbed from the flaming bedroom, a healthy billow of smog trailing from it's flickery head. It hovered behind the berserking behemoth, chirping at the pair in confusion; just in time to catch the armoury door slamming behind Blood's bleeding figure.

A door wouldn't hold for long. It was down in three swings. One brush ripped through the top coat of paint to the left; the second splintered the body to the right. The third clocked the frame from the wall. The axe didn't even stop- it just carried a chunk of wood on it's edge. The rage was unending.

The armory was empty. Blood had forsaken it through a dark opening that stood behind a shelf that swung open on side hinges. The axes that had been on display had all fallen to the ground messily, a testament to how much force had been used to wrench the thing open.

Streaks of blood marked the floor -- droplets, smears, even a footprint or two. Not altogether plenty, but enough to show that the fleeing Hellsguard had been damage. The smell of it wafted from the blackness of the opening -- no. This blood was fresh,. possessed of the fleshy, distinct odor of a fresh spill. What wafted from beyond the dark threshold was not the smell of fresh blood.

It was the smell of blood that had been cooled for storage. Not exactly rot, yet bearing the very slight bitterness of having been exposed to air for a while. Even so, the sound of movement echoed from the dim.

Nothing surprised the rampaging warrior, but Storm had definitely been slowed by the attack on his senses. He stepped forward without caution, the fallen axes clanged and clattered as a swift knock from the Hellsguardâ€™s own had seen them knocked to one side, continuing in the collage of collateral that the adrenaline fueled barbarian left in his path.

Sparkyâ€™s angry shrills echoed through the narrow corridor; the swollen bombling flying over Stormâ€™s head and lighting up the dark path with its newfound flare. It stopped before entering the next room, having learnt a lesson from being blasted by Bloodâ€™s magic, with a wave of Stormâ€™s hand, the pet stopped; bobbing to one side and allowing the triggered man passage.

The corridor was narrow and dark, hewn of dry, coarse brick. It led downward, and at the end stood the illumination of crystalline lamps. The temperature dropped and the smell of preserved death grew stronger with every fulm traversed -- and in a very familiar fashion. It smelled like a slaughterhouse. There was no reply to Storm's words at first -- not until the corridor opened out into a massive room.

Slaughter house it was indeed -- near freezing, the space was yalms wide and long, housing various racks of meat on hooks that were interspersed by immaculately kept cutting tables. The meat stood on the left side of the large space, while utensils, tools and miscellaneous implements were stocked on the right. Furthest from the entrance there was another door that yawned open into blackness. The only mess in that room was the smearing trail of blood the darker Roegadyn had left behind.

Two golden rings stared from the dark, curious, intrigued and...entertained. The black tattoo on Blood's skin usually had the interesting effect of erasing all traces of his face in darkness, save those striking eyes. This time was a bit different. Slowly, he emerged, laced with a few minor wounds -- not showing the larger one to his back. A large and ornate axe was clutched in his arms, and a very -familiar- mask sat upon his face.

The eyes and nose had been cut away, neatly stitched into accommodating shapes. The lips around the mouth were preserved in form, stuffed and stretched into a haunting, permanent scream. The mask was a grimace of a face; of a Roegadyn's face, made of Roegadyn skin. Chocolate brown it was, bearing the signs of having high cheekbones and what would have been a pleasant disposition if not for the twisted mockery it had been crafted into. There was no mistake; Blood had cut off Heidricht's face and crafted it into the most macabre of masquerades.

Then a fireball flew over his head, into the dark toward the golden gaze. Sparky let out an angry chirp, spinning around Storm once before charging up another. The roegadyn blinked, all of the tension draining from his mind. A breath of fresh, yet acrid and chilling air filled his lungs, having been forgotten. Grip returned to the aesthetically charged axe, the untamed fire thatâ€™d been stayed was allowed to flow again.

Storm had the axe amidst an overhead swing, eyes red with rage, in time to strike alongside Sparkyâ€™s second spell.

The fire-flung spell served as too much of a warning for the masked Hellsguard. Far too accustomed to having fire thrown his way, Blood's reflexes triggered, sending him into a bloodstained roll leftward. When the axe hit the ground the resulting concussion tossed the larger Roegadyn further to the side to skid underneath the hooks of meat.

He no longer stood between Storm and the second open door to darkness -- in addition one of the macabre cuts had caught fire, raising the smell of burning flesh in the air. Blood managed to recover quickly enough, using his axe to assist in standing as he faced Storm -- still grinning, with blood now splattered upon the horrific mask.

"All men are monsters," He exposited breathlessly. "I daresay the more men you put together, the worse of a monster you obtain." A thick, gloved finger pointed toward the darkened doorway, from which the distinct sound of someone dragging themselves along the floor emerged.

Then, from around the threshold, a chocolate brown hand gripped the frame -- the rest concealed in the seemingly impenetrable blackness. Four fingers and a thumb, gripping for what appeared to be dear life.

One of the pristine tables fell to the weight of Stormâ€™s angular, archaic axe, having swung to catch the beast; the clattering of the chained hooks jingled eerily- a metallic applause welcoming the madness. Tension rose and fell in the darkened room like waves in an ocean, tinted with spilt blood. With an angered, bestial growl, Storm wretched his weapon from from the claiming, clinking chains

"Monstrosity is defined by action," Burgenheim gritted his teeth, having to pace himself, "Our decisions change man to monster."

Sparky spluttered out a crackle of surprise at the motion, the fingers reaching out from the dark, and spat out a fireball into the void - illuminating the figure it belonged to for just a moment. Enough to know if it was even safe.

The orange firelight gave brief relief to an amalgamated abomination. It was composed entirely of arms, all stuck to one central nucleus of what seemed to be densely packed flesh. Different colors, different sizes -- Roegadyn arms, Hyuran arms, Miqo'te arms -- even lalafell and elezen arms. They writhed and twitched in sudden jerking motions, given to faint cracks and the sound of dragging. Three of the arms stuck straight up, holding up masks similar to the one blood wore -- but from different faces. A preserved Miqote face was fashioned to show laughter; a Hyuran highlander crafted into rage, and a lalafell countenance made up into sadness. How it moved -- there had to be magic involved, for every arm that made up the aberration was surely dead -- including the brown one that resembled Storm's so. Heidricht had been part of it.

Blood raised his axe to defend himself, holding it horizontally to allow the haft to catch what force would come. "I made that for you, love. You've eaten from them all. It's a token of your accomplishment."

Barely a bell had passed, and Storm had gone from bringing home the groceries to destroying his home in grief. The arms of his past, unknowing sins writhed and waved in a manner most foul -- Â a legion of loss for him to loathe. There was nothing left here. Nothing left at all. The hurt didn't come from the unravelling of these hidden truths laying themselves before him and his hungry weapon- it was how he wasn't shocked anymore. The depth of depravity to which his lover had let him fall had been reached at such a velocity that his skin needn't feel the windfall- he was immune to it now. He wanted to scream, but what was the point? What if there was more?

Storm was done with it. With all of it. "Destroy it." He said calmly. No forethought. No pause The symbiotic, aetherial pulses between him and his weapon resumed with a crackled hiss.

Sparky's flames roared, shooting out a volley of smaller fireballs at the hanging meat before spiralling at the hunk of moving, muscled meat, tackling it with a ferocious headbutt. The flames took to the creature rather quickly; raw meat, even when moving, was fresh for the fire.

Slamming his foot down to form an axel, Storm spun himself, his axe on the front. The first ferocious swing smashed the hooks to one side and then, using his footing to immediately swing the other way like a pendulum, Storm plunged forward. No more words. He didn't need to scream. Shouts were replaced with savage swings, cries were covered by the curved crushes. He pushed forward, slamming one foot in front of the next, keeping the weight coming, pushing and forcing Blood to keep away whilst Sparky did as he was bid.

Blood backed up, both to avoid the fire licking up the butchered meat on hooks, and the devastating arc of Storm's axe that seemed to obliterate everything it touched. The aether alone sent him skidding backward on planted feet, smearing lines of blood in his wake.

The horrid construct of arms went up in flames easily though the magics that drove it did not immediately dispel. The immolated cluster of limbs leaped in a bid to clutch onto the bombling in its final throes, even as flesh and bone gradually reduced to ash.

Blood did not seem keen on attacking with his axe in the least -- the Hellsguard was only concerned with keeping himself alive. Even wounded as he was, he should have been able to put up a fight. Burning Blood was buying time.

A loud mechanical sound whirred from beyond the dark door, followed by several clicks. Blood's grin grew manic as he slammed against the wall near the sloping entrance to the slaughterhouse. "If actions create monsters, -love-, then my work on you is complete.â€

Sparky span around the moulding, melted pile of burning flesh, a victory dance of sorts, complete with a set of chrills and chirps whilst the linked, lurching lump of limbs lashed out; enough to knock the bombling back into the 'kitchen', as it were.

Storm didn't reply. He hounded after the other roegadyn with his weapon; the aetherically charged edge tempering whatever lay before it prior to the blade-edge sliced into what it may. The taunts were tantamout to nothing, the way Storm's eyes were locked on his prey and quivered only when Blood moved seemed to indicate that he was ignoring all else.

Only Sparky seemed to hear the malicious clicking from the darkness, cocking it's floating form inquisitively as he hovered near the entrance. Storm continued his assault, all the while. The tip of his blade dug into a cupboard that had been neatly affixed to the wall, ripping it from it's solid foundation and launching it at Blood's defensive poise with a ferocious roar, leaping after it.

The haft of Blood's axe was enough to keep the flying cupboard at bay, for the most part -- but nothing at all in the way of the leaping Hellsguard. The two bodies crashed into the wall, rupturing it radially outward from the point of impact. Blood struggled to stay standing -- then his knees buckled; stunned from the blow. He crumpled to the floor, his axe clanging onto the highly polished tiles.

A final clang echoed from beyond the dark, followed by a great sloshing rumble. The smell of it came pressing into the space before the sight of it did. Thick and dark, blood slopped out from the doorway in a mighty torrent, quickly spreading along the floor of the room. It doused what flames stood below its level and stained everything it touched.

It wasn't long before the syrupy fluid washed over Burning Blood, deluging him entirely and lapping around Storm's knees. In a matter of seconds it had all settled -- the sticky flood rose no higher.

Yet, from in the darkness, something sloshed, rippling the liquid outward.

Sparky blinked, flailing it's stubby arms in surprise before spinning back to look at Storm The Roegadyn quickly righted himself, gripping Blood by the shoulder with a vice-like grip. With a snarl he ripped the man from the ground, slapping the flat of his pulsing weapon against Blood's upper chest and forced the man against the indented, cracked plaster once more. The roegadyn kicked away the fallen axe into the rushing torrents of blood, sure to disarm the beast before he rose his axe up to take a savage, downward swipe on the other hellsguard with a primal roar.

His attention wasn't to be abated by the coming of the pooling, staining fluids. Sparky began shaking where it hovered, prepping a fireball or three for this mystery entity that approached from the dark room.

Wounded and concussed, Blood was no match for the smaller Hellsguard. With a sloppy slosh he was handled easily, dazed and devoid of significant resistance. The Roegadyn was drenched in blood, covered in the fresh stink of it. The flat of Storm's axe took what little fight he had left in him. Only his eyes met his 'lover's', glittering with madness. Too much madness.

He was still smiling when the axe split his torso, down from the right side of his neck all the way to his waist. The gore was considerable, spattered both on the wall behind him and slopped down into the knee-high blood in a series of sickening small splashes. Life did not immediately leave his eyes -- it was clear that he had experienced a great deal of pain before fading.

The gold dimmed and the cleaved body slid down, sloshing awkwardly to slowly begin sinking beneath the red murk. As that happened, the sloshing from beyond the doorway paused. From it, -Blood's- voice wafted. "Oh dear. Jak and Sun will not be pleased. Not at all."

The temperature in the room began dropping rapidly; so much so that frost began covering the walls and disturbing the fluid that filled the area. "Your little pet is more impressive than I thought he would be, My Storm. I think however, it is time you parted ways."

A brief flash of blue emerged from beyond the dark, illuminating a tall, broad and robed figure for just a moment -- not enough to discern any more than a silhouette. From underneath the bombling, the blood surged and froze solid, brandished in the form of a harsh spike Â aimed to impale.

At Storm's feet, the air around the cleaved corpse distorted as glamour dispelled. Howling Moon, one of Bloodâ€™s twin retainers bobbed, his last smile frozen in death.

The sight of the body dropping; the flesh splitting, the blood leaking and the resounding splash that finalized the act acted as an exclamation mark to the anger. Storm took a breath, the first he'd consciously taken since picking up the pulsing, vibrating axe in his palms. Calm began cooling his heated muscles and the sudden cold crawled his awareness to something other than himself and his dead love.

He opened his lips to take another breath before the frozen, calculated voice broke the silence as well as Storm's collected calm. "...How..?" He mouthed, pulling his frosting legs from the still blood with a slippery slosh, feeling it's increasingly dense body move and swirl around his ankles. Storm's own dimmer, but very-much-alive gold eyes scanned the room, catching the details he'd missed, trying his best to ignore the blood and gore.

When he looked back to Blood's corpse and found Moon smiling back - whatever was left of the happy Roegadyn who entered the apartment that day died.

Nothing was right anymore.

The world was different now.

"...Sparky..?" He called out before finally remembering where his faithful pet had traversed to. -- And where the slushied blood was gathering toward. The bombling bobbed back and forth, rising a little as it peered at the moving frost beneath it curiously. Then the icicle hit him.

"Spar--!â€ The piercing needle may as well have pierced the roegadyn's vocal cords. He was cut off mid-cry as the solidified ice slipped beneath Sparky's spherical body and burst through the top. A stuttered chirp fell from the bombling's spiked mouth; small arms flexing their digits one last time before falling. It's eyes met with Storm's.

The explosion was swift. What bloodied ice hadn't impaled the bomb broke from the pressure, fracturing into sharp, jagged pieces and flew off in all directions from the sheer force it all. What remained of the hanging chains jangled and the overturned wood thudded as the projectile particles smashed into their damaged forms.

What was left of the bomb dispersed into the aether. Small, orange-red speckles that floated upward until they disappeared.

Storm fought to push himself to his feet. The blast had the small, sturdy roegadyn on his back, his weapon having been thrown back toward the entrance of the hidden kitchen.

There was a significant amount of -splashing- as the concussion and debris of Sparky's demise shot through the doorway into the dark room -- but not in vain. Flaming bits that the blood had not extinguished illuminated the figure within.

He appeared in an unholy red tint, half from the firelight, and half from what he donned. With different presentation it could have well been a robe of splendid furs, trailing all the way down from Blood's broad shoulders to his feet. As it was; the robe was crafted from hair -- the hair of his victims, no doubt -- that seemed to have the strange effect of constantly leaking fresh blood. There was so much of it that the hair was matted, and a quiet Â dripping came from the sleeves.

Unlike Moon's manic performance, Blood was serene, emotionless and cold. Hardly had he seemed to blink an eye at the ends of both his own retainer and Storm's firey companion. This was the true monstrosity. In his hand he clutched a staff of bloodsoaked bone that tipped off with an elaborately posed and crystallized Roegadyn hand.

Briefly he turned to look at the ripples where the axe had fallen, and treated it with solid disregard. Those golden eyes returned to Storm -- predatory, yet aloof; a completely different presence from the axe wielding distraction from before. Without a word he lifted the staff again, raising frozen blood to block the other exit and throw the area into darkness. Only Sparky's legacy kept the from total blackness with flickering embers of light.

As he casted, a distinctive scent of rot emerged from around him -- the blood in his immediate radial vicinity died and browned, sapped of all essence by the black magicks he wielded. "I will give you a choice," Came the cold words. "You can die here -- and yes, you -will- die, Storm. I am not without my own skill. Or...you can go, and hope that Jak and Sun do not find you when I tell them that you've murdered Moon and made an attempt at my own life. Just another adventurer gone berserk. Attacking his esteemed lover and his friends. Wreaking havoc in Ul'Dah, turning lives upside down. -Monster-."

The world was different now.

Smoke wafted from the direction of the building in which Burning Blood and his companions lived. The building itself had been evacuated and surrounded with Bladesmen who denied any and all entry. From the ground level it seemed like an explosion had taken place a few floors up...right where Burning Blood and Distant Storm's apartment was. Whether Jak's, Sun's and Moon's place had been destroyed too was difficult to tell. In front of the throng of Bladesmen a particularly large one stood -- a Highlander by all rights, dark-skinned and stubbled by the jawline visible beneath his fly-mask. By the way he roared orders to the others and warned off curious approachers, he was definitely the one in charge.

"Nono! It we-went fine, promise! But I gotta go, Bloodâ€™s expectinâ€™ me I th-think!" A nod and wave and Jak was bolting out of the Quicksand, the Lalafellin woman behind the counter that also ran the adventurers guild shook her head with a smile, muttering something about 'that boy'.

It didn't take him long to reach the deeper parts of the city, where the apartments and other housing areas laid. Though something was clearly off, people walking quickly away and some running there with various equipment. "Wh---...What?" It became clear what was happening the closer he got.

Burning Bloodâ€™s apartment was ablaze.

"HEY! HEY!" Jak ran to the man barking orders and directing people away. "Th-the hells is that? WHAT HAPPENED!? IS MY DA OKAY?! WHAT THE HELLS HA-HAPPENED?!" Panic had set in rather fast, Jak daring to bolt past him and rush in, even giving the man a shove for not answering him in the point five seconds since he asked the questions.

The Highlander in charge turned on his waist and made a grab for the lad -- whatever he could get his hands on, if he was looking. "Oi, you stupid kid, stay out of there!" He roared. "We've only got one dead and one injured. I dunno if either of them is your da but if you go in there you're only gonna join them."

His words were interrupted as a gladiator in bronze armor ran up to him. "We got the injured one stable, but -- we're having a problem with...rgh. The other guy won't let us touch the dead one. I can understand, but it's going to be a problem when the group from the Ossuary gets here."

"Ngh, no lemme see wh---" One dead. One dead. Dead. One. That seemed to be the only thing going through his mind when those words escaped the other Highlander. Jak himself stepped back even, eyes wide and mouth hanging open as if he was going to protest that statement but nothing came out.

Other guy? Jak snapped back to the here and now. "Oth-other? Which one got the Moon tattoo on 'em and which one got the Sun and which one got the he-heavy black one on his face?!" More a demand to know than general inquiry, eyes still wide and pleading with the ones gathered to let him know.

Both the midlander and highlander looked at the teen at the same time, then exchanged dire glances. After a moment, the highlander blade nodded. "Take him. He can help identify."

The midlander nodded and beckoned toward Jak. "Come on, we set up an emergency tent for them until it's safe to move. Follow me." At that, he turned swiftly and made for a red tent nearby, where two medical officers stood outside the flap -- two lalafell in white coats. Wordlessly they let the pair in.

The first thing was the evident stench of gore; something the disinfected chemical smell in the enclosure could not entirely conceal. Upon one bed laid Burning Blood; sleeping, bandaged and covered to the waist-- bruised and ragged, but alive. Beyond him was the broad back of one of the twins, sitting quietly before a covered body. He clutched at something -- the hand that poked from under the white covering.

The hand identical to his.

"WELL?!" Spoken before the two said anything, whatever Jak had been holding onto was long since dropped, crumpled under his step backs from before. "...Al-alright." Finally an answer, Jak calming himself down just a bit at getting some progress in finding out what had happened. Following the Midlander was not easy, the youth having to force some of his steps the closer they got to the tent.

"Ech," The stench made him stop, stop right in front of the door and cover his mouth before giving a quick nod to the two Lalafells before stepping in. "DA?!" Not two seconds of looking around and Jak was making his way to Burning Blood's side, grabbing at his hand and staring at his face.

Tears instantly formed in his eyes, a hand to the Hellsguard's chest and sighing when he felt the man breathing. If it wasn't Burning Blood it had to be... "Sun?" If anyone could tell the twins apart just by looking at them, Jak was one of them. "...Oh." Then it rang like a thousand bells. It was Moon.

"Sun?" Anyone else in the room were nothing but white noise, lost in what Jak was seeing and more so when he went to the mans side, looking down at the covered body. He couldn't speak, couldn't do anything but touch at Sun's arm and stare at the lost one of the twins.

If there was a noise to escape him, it was a loud wailing that was muffled when he wrapped both his arms around Sun's and pulled it close to his face, burying it against it and cried. And cried. And cried. And cried.

Sun didn't look at him, transfixed with hollow eyes upon the covered body of his brother. He did however, tug his arm to bring the young highlander closer. The other arm wound around to keep him tight, comforting and seeking comfort at the same time. "Stupid kid," He grunted hoarsely. As harsh as he tried to make it sound, it trembled with grief. "Why you cryin' like that, huh? Man up."

Jak's initial wail caused Blood to stir with a pained grunt. "Jak," He managed. "Thank the heavens you're safe. I feared he may have gone after you too."

Not that that stopped his sobbing, wrapping arms around the man that dragged him close and had arms around him as well. It wasn't until Burning Blood spoke that he stopped his sobbing, wiping at his eyes and looking up at Sun. "Wh-why can' I cry, mean lo---He? Who was gonna come after me t-too?" Jak blinked, looking past Sun and to Burning Blood.

"Da? What happened here?"

Blood went quiet and looked up at the tent's covering. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again as tears flowed from his eyes. In shame, he raised a hand to cover them, grimacing and shaking with quiet sobs. It elicited a grunt of strongest disdain from the other grieving Hellsguard.

"Pussies, the both o'ya," He snarled -- despite the way he held onto Jak. "Gotta gird yer pair and ride this out. Life is shite sometimes an' lettin' it break ya down ain't good." Yet, he drew a breath to explain. "Storm went Ballistic. Got beatin' on Blood, pounded 'im real bad. Blood almost got the axe, but -- Moon--"

There was a distinct pause as he collected himself to say the words. "Moon took it for 'im. Storm was crazy. Torched the place with us in there. Only barely got out. Threatened to off ya if we told anyone it was him who caused all that."

The lie was perfectly executed, the performance flawless.

Tears formed in Jak's eyes as well when Blood did his sob, that act hitting the Highlander rather hard in the chest. He'd never seen Burning Blood react in such a way before, much less in a public environment. Though with Sun speaking, holding onto him, Jak couldn't help but feel even more sorry for Sun than he had ever before.

"That do-doesn't make any sense though? Why would Uncle Storm go...and...do this?" Eyes looked up to the Hellsguard for answers, clear confusion over his face and a need for understanding of why Moon had to die. "Like, no, th-that doesn't make any sense at all!"

"Course it don't make sense, that's why he's so broken up about it, can't ya see that? He don't understand anythin' same as me. Same as you. I figure Storm was playin' us all along. Blood won't tell me what Storm wanted, neither. " The way Sun gritted his teeth at that made it rather obvious that he was displeased.

"We'll figure it out,l but right now best leave 'im Â let 'im grieve."

"Righ'...r-righ', just ..." Words failed the Highlander, turning himself around and leaning against Blazing Sun as he stared at the covered body of Moon. A hand reached out and tapped at the edge of the cover, wanting to tear it away and get one last look but he couldn't bring himself to do it. It retracted and clenched, Jak gritting his own teeth and shoving back against Sun.

"SO WHA-WHA!?" Jak gave a hard huff, shoving back against Sun. "Just sit n-n'just stare? This is stupid! I didn' e-even get..." He stopped, wipping at his eyes to try and stop them from spilling over once more. "Just why?"

"I dunno. But if that bastard thinks I'm gonna leave this alone he's got another thing comin'." Sun's body trembled, and he gripped the pale hand of his dead twin tightly. "I'll kill 'im if it's the last thing I do."

"Jak," Blood called hoarsely, "I know it is not yet your nameday, but I need you to be the head of the household this day. I will write a missive to grant you access to my assets. You are to find us suitable accommodation for when we are released from the custody of the protective and restorative services. Purchase the basics for living, and some sturdy armor and weapons, just in case. Can you do that for me?"

"Why..." It repeated itself silently over his lips for a time, a hand now going to cover Sun's and grip at it tightly, it being the best he could do to console himself at the moment. "Hm?" Head turning slightly, focusing in on Blood's voice. Him? Be the man of the house? Why not Sun? Mourning needed to be done, of course. Jak ran that through his head and simply nodded.

"Yeah, I ca-can do that, I'll do m-my best to get that going, swear dad." Jak couldnt help but look back up to Sun, looking at his grief stricken face and the pain that was being kept inside. "An-anything I should get in par-particular?"

"Just anything you think we may need. I'm counting on you," Blood concluded. "And Sun--"

"Don't," Sun growled.

"Please, my friend, I --"

"Don't, Blood. The only reason I'm still here is for Jak. You brought that monster along an' he killed half o'me. Half o'who I was. I hate you jus' as much as I hate that bastard. I won't forgive ya, not ever. Don't try ta even think there's anythin' you can do ta fix this." The words were laced with pain and filled with anger; tears streamed down Sun's face without slowing.

Blood was crying too -- silently for a time. "I understand," Said simply. "Fetch me a quill and some parchment, Jak. Let's get the arrangements made."

He backed off at the growl, hanging his head and giving a rough sigh. The spat between the two didn't seem right, it wasn't the time or the place, the Highlander shutting his eyes and giving a hard squeeze to the Hellsguardâ€™s hand. "I'll g-get on it Blood, doncha worry." The most of his attention turned to Sun, turning around and giving the man the best hug he could muster at the moment.

"I'm s-sorry Sun, I'm so sorry, we gonna avenge him, bloody swear."

Sun snorted gruffly, but he didn't refuse the contact. His free arm roughly wound around the highlander and tugged him into a tighter hug. "'Preciate it," He grunted. "Now go do what yer da says. What's 'tween me an' him shouldn't stop you from doin' as he tells ya."

"Righ'...righ'" Jak leaned himself back, shaking his head and wiping at his eyes once more. Off he peeled himself from Sun, giving the distraught man one last look before making his way to Burning Blood.

He didn't look much better, at least not to the youth. "Just g-got this lil piece of paper, can go n'get some but dunno where right now I guess." A crumpled ball was taken from his pockets, left out for Blood to take if he wished or to tell him to find a better suited one!

Blood pushed himself up on an elbow -- he appeared to be in considerable pain, even though he tried to mask it. "This will do." Wordlessly, he pulled a bit of a broken quill from his shirt, which was set nearby. In a move of macabre innovation, the Roegadyn peeled one of the bandages off his midsection to dip it into his own blood before smoothing the parchment as best as he could. When he did, he began writing feverishly.

All the while, Sun clutched his brother's hand and leaned forward.

"Da..." Jak saw those signs of hidden pain, growing up making those same faces left a good impression on what it looked like. He cringed though, watching Blood peel the bandage apart and start writing.

Looks were made to Sun, curious to his lean forward as a certain memory came through his mind. No, Sun would never do that.

"Wa-whatcha writinâ€™ there then?"

Blood continued to scribble in the macabre red, frowning in agony every other quillstroke. "I am writing instructions to the overseer of my estate, to transfer control from me to you. You will be the executor of my estate, and claim ownership of all within it. Only appropriate, I think. With that power you can move my gil, and my possessions as you like. It will make carrying out my instructions convenient." Slowly, he managed a smile at Jak. "I expect it to be temporary, however. When it is done, we shall conduct a transaction to return the estate to me. I trust you with this, Jak -- as I would with my life."

Sun remained where he was, hunched in apparent grief. No matter what, he would not let Moon's cold hand go.

Sun glanced back and cracked a hard-fought smile at Jak. "I know they will, with you at the helm, bossman." Slowly, he shifted from where he stood, and laid down Moon's uncovered hand reverently. "Y'can say goodbye if y'want. Jus'...don't lift the sheet up. Don't think he'd wanna let ya see 'im like that."

Burning Blood finished writing, signing his distinct signature in his own blood.

Any look of Jak pulling himself to feel better melted away when Sun spoke. Nothing about any of this could be masked or covered up, the wounds ran far too deep for now. "Alrigh'." Jak swallowed the frog in his throat, taking slow and cautious steps over to the covered body.

Kneeling down, he took the cold hand in his own and spoke rather soft. "Hey, uh...know I did-didn' seem to show ya much love as did Sun, but ya meant the wor-world to me too ya know." He squeezed, leaning against Sun as he did so. "But ya do-don' gotta worry, I-I look after him f-for ya, alrigh'? Don' gotta worry bou...bout..." Jak couldn't finish, eyes squeezing shit as he trembled, tears pouring down his face once more.

Sun's arm provided heavy arm of support around Jak's shoulder. "I think he'd be happy ta hear that. He was alright with ya, and never thought ya saw him any less. Y'did good. M'honored, an' I'm sure he would be too."

Moon's body, naturally remained unresponsive. It did not hear the sentiment, howmuchever of it Sun tried to draw out and communicate. "Now go on along. Yer Da's waitin."

"Ri-righ', yeah." Jak kept himself close to Sun, giving Moon's hand one last squeeze and turned to give Sun's the same. Standing, the lad stretched back and gave a soft sigh and rub at his neck. His whole body was aching by now, mentally exhausted and then some in such a short time.

"Wh-wha ya want me to do first then?" The question directed to Burning Blood, Jak himself going back to the mans side and setting a hand onhis leg with a gentle smile pressed over his lips.

Sun managed to sweep a hand out to ruffle the long hair, but then returned to his brother's side in silence.

Blood smiled slightly at Jak, then indicated to the paper. "Take this to the retainer vocate at the Sapphire exchange and ask for Thirsty Shark. He will take you to his office and execute the transfer. From there, you can withdraw gil from my account in the Ul'Dahn depository to use for our accommodations. After that, come back here -- or if we are not here, the Ossuary. We'll all head to where you've acquired for us."

"Thirst Sh-Shark? O...kay?" A little more than confusion etched over his face, at the name and what Blood was saying. As he tried to make heads or tails of what he could do with all that gil, more questions bubbled to the surface but promptly shut back down with a shake of his head and a nod and grab at the paper.

"I c-can do all th-that, promise. Just there anythin specific that ya wan' me t-to get or?"

"That's quite all for now," Blood assured, "Though, you must heed this. If you see Storm at any time during your dealings -- you are to run, do you understand? Run, and do not allow him to give successful chase."

Sun turned his head back, "Come an' find me so I can--"

"Just run," Blood interrupted firmly. "We are not in any sort of position to face him right now, and I will not abide by the possibility of losing either of you. There's been enough death this day. So -- if you see him, run away. Can you do that for me, Jak?"

"Alrigh' I---" He stopped once Blood kept speaking, expression falling flat at the mention of Storm, a storm of his own brewing in his thoughts. Jak snapped out of it when asked if he could keep that promise.

A look to Sun, a look to Blood, a long look to the body of Moon. "...Ye-yeah, I'll try alrigh'? Make it quick n'send for ya. Got m'word!" Without much warning or though, the youth had his arms around Blood and hugging at him tight. "Promise, da, I love ya."

Blood could only manage one hand around the lad, but he managed it well, holding him close ever so briefly. "I love you too, my boy. Now hurry! I wish to be able to make you both a lovely dinner by tomorrow."

"Take care out there, Jak," Sun encouraged, "But hurry yer arse up, alright?"

Pulling himself off Blood, the Highlander youth wiped at his eyes once more, nodding and making quick glance to Sun.

"I help ya fix everythin', alrigh'? Ya and Moon meant everything t'me but Sun, whatever ya ne-need, I do, okay?" Jak pressed his forehead to the otherâ€™s and made a break for it and to where Blood told him, not stopping for a breath until then.

Once the young Highlander had departed, Blood took a sweeping glance about the tent. No one but the two guarding outside, for the moment. Golden eyes slipped onto Sun. "How romantic," He drawled.

"Shut up," Growled the sun-tattoed Hellsguard.

Blood looked down at the body with a placid lack of emotion. "I'm sorry for Moon."

"No y'aren't. You don't feel a thing."

"Hungry," Sun grunted. The look he gave towards Moon's hand was anything but mourning. "When I tell those boys from the Â ossuary to shove off, I'll take 'im out to the desert an' have my fill. Want me to save you some?"