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He Who Fights with Monsters [Closed]

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Melkire Melkire Find all posts by this user Gruff Gutterborn Murder Hobo Posts:2,470 Joined:Mar 2014 Character:Osric Melkire Server:Balmung Reputation: 505 Timezone:UTC+4 RE: He Who Fights with Monsters [Closed] | #23 09-18-2016, 07:42 PM (( 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.”

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He Who Fights with Monsters [Closed] - by Melkire - 07-24-2015, 08:27 PM RE: He Who Fights with Monsters [Closed] - by Melkire - 07-25-2015, 05:41 PM RE: He Who Fights with Monsters [Closed] - by Melkire - 08-03-2015, 05:52 PM RE: He Who Fights with Monsters [Closed] - by Melkire - 08-08-2015, 07:04 PM RE: He Who Fights with Monsters [Closed] - by Melkire - 08-23-2015, 06:55 PM RE: He Who Fights with Monsters [Closed] - by Melkire - 09-06-2015, 04:47 PM RE: He Who Fights with Monsters [Closed] - by Melkire - 09-08-2015, 04:59 AM RE: He Who Fights with Monsters [Closed] - by Melkire - 09-15-2015, 12:02 AM RE: He Who Fights with Monsters [Closed] - by Melkire - 09-19-2015, 12:24 PM RE: He Who Fights with Monsters [Closed] - by Melkire - 10-07-2015, 08:40 PM RE: He Who Fights with Monsters [Closed] - by Melkire - 12-20-2015, 11:10 AM RE: He Who Fights with Monsters [Closed] - by Melkire - 01-24-2016, 02:15 AM RE: He Who Fights with Monsters [Closed] - by Melkire - 01-24-2016, 05:00 AM RE: He Who Fights with Monsters [Closed] - by Melkire - 02-14-2016, 09:29 PM RE: He Who Fights with Monsters [Closed] - by Melkire - 02-14-2016, 09:50 PM RE: He Who Fights with Monsters [Closed] - by Melkire - 03-03-2016, 05:34 AM RE: He Who Fights with Monsters [Closed] - by Melkire - 03-13-2016, 11:48 AM RE: He Who Fights with Monsters [Closed] - by Melkire - 03-14-2016, 06:37 PM RE: He Who Fights with Monsters [Closed] - by Melkire - 03-14-2016, 08:52 PM RE: He Who Fights with Monsters [Closed] - by Melkire - 03-14-2016, 10:19 PM RE: He Who Fights with Monsters [Closed] - by Melkire - 03-22-2016, 04:45 PM RE: He Who Fights with Monsters [Closed] - by Melkire - 04-20-2016, 09:08 PM RE: He Who Fights with Monsters [Closed] - by Melkire - 09-18-2016, 07:42 PM

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