[ . . The Collector:  Part Four . . ]
C O E R T H A S
   A ll around her was a dark, ink-like blackness. A blackness that was almost palpable, like the very bottom of the ocean where no light hopes to penetrate. A blackness that seemed to have substance of its own, breathed into her lungs like seawater. Yet if she were truly drowning, her body did not protest. Everything was still and quiet. Only in the very back of her mind was she even aware of the odd sensation.
    "Xheja.."Â
   Was she dreaming, perhaps? It felt as if her body was floating. The feeling seemed so familiar.. Had she not just experienced it, not long ago? At least, it seemed that no great measure of time has passed, but did she truly have any way of knowing? Her head seemed unclear, her thoughts fuzzy and unfocused. But someone was calling out to her, though their voice seemed to carry on the wind from miles and miles away.
   "Xheja!"
   Was she dreaming, perhaps? It felt as if her body was floating. The feeling seemed so familiar.. Had she not just experienced it, not long ago? At least, it seemed that no great measure of time has passed, but did she truly have any way of knowing? Her head seemed unclear, her thoughts fuzzy and unfocused. But someone was calling out to her, though their voice seemed to carry on the wind from miles and miles away.
   "Xheja!"
   This time, the voice was closer, more concrete, and able to rouse her. Her eyes blinked open slowly, only to stubbornly squeeze shut again. Even the dim candlelight in the small home seemed far too bright. Inwardly, she longed to return to the comforting blackness. Yet at length, she forced her eyes open again, staring up at the ceiling in clear disorientation.
   "You're awake," the nearby voice breathed, relief evident. Her head slowly turned towards its source, eyebrows furrowing as she stared at the older Elezen. It took a moment longer for her to come to her senses enough to recognize him. Marcelloix. In the same moment that the recognition hit her, another emotion entirely struck her even harder. Hatred.Â
   Where was this emotion coming from? It didn't seem like her own. She tried her best to recall the memories, the source of it. Yet all she could recall were long nights spent poring through seemingly endless stacks of books, bouncing theories and hypotheses off of one another.. a gentle, almost fatherly hand laid upon her shoulder when the frustration and desperation had reached their peak, bringing bitter tears to her eyes.
  Yet there it was, the sting of anger burning in her chest like a wound newly made. This emotion was hers. How? Why? Her eyebrows furrowed deeply, her apparent confusion seeming to prompt the man to speak.
   "I.. was beginning to doubt the soundness of my theory," the man admitted, sounding both sheepish and exhausted in equal measure. "As soon as you were gone, your heart stopped. By all rights, you were dead." His words were slow, methodical, but his tone was strained. This wasn't the same confident, even-headed scholar that she remembered. It sounded like the entire time she had been 'out', he had been holding his breath, and had just now finally exhaled. "I kept telling myself that this was what we had expected, but I hadn't thought it to take so long. It's been hours."
   Once more, the Keeper's brows furrowed, her gaze flicking from the man in front of her to the window. It had felt like only minutes since she had been standing there, staring at the reddish-orange glow that the light cast off of the snow. Now, all she could see was blackness. It was the dead of night.
   "Do you feel alright?" Marcelloix asked, stepping away to another table nearby. When he turned back, he held a stoneware mug in his hands. Whatever the contents were, the steam rose off of it in thick tendrils in the cold air. He held it out for her to take. "Here. Drink. You're cold as a corpse."
   She hadn't noticed, truly, until she slowly and unsteadily pushed herself up into a sitting position on the cot and reached to take that cup. The sheer heat of it seemed almost scorching like a burning coal to her cold, stiff fingers. With a wince, she took it into her grasp regardless, willing it to bring the life back to her as she brought the mug upwards to sip at the liquid -- a light herbal tea, by the taste of it. Just as it had burned her fingers, it stung her throat to the point of bringing tears to her eyes. Yet there was something revitalizing about it that kept her drinking.
  The man watched her drink for a moment before he turned away again. When he returned again, it was to bring her yet more. He sat a small tray in front of her on the bed. Placed upon it were a few modest odds and ends. A couple pieces of bread that had since grown rather stale, a small bowl of what appeared to be a thick stew, and a block of hard cheese.Â
   "Eat, if you're able," He encouraged her, "It will help you regain your strength."
   Something about the attention rubbed her the wrong way, a wave of annoyance hitting her so suddenly and fiercely that she couldn't stop the glare that she leveled on him. Seeming to note it, his eyebrows rose in clear surprise, before giving a soft, apologetic laugh.
   "I must be bothering you. I do apologize, Xheja. You're a woman grown, I know, not a child to be fussed over." He gave her a small, tired smile. "Forgive an old man his worrying. It has been many cycles since last I had a student, and it seems I've forgotten how close a teacher is wont to grow to them."
   The annoyance didn't fade, but the odd feeling of warmth and affectionate that rose along side it in stark opposition only served to confuse her once again. She stared at him for a long moment, trying to puzzle it out. How could she, at the same time, feel such a love and such a hatred for him? At length, she dropped her gaze down to the food before her, leveling her gaze on it instead.
   "Ah, yes. Utensils." The Elezen turned one final time, retrieving both a spoon and a knife to lay upon the tray. Xheja's eyes were drawn to the latter, lingering there for a long moment before his next words drew her attention upwards again. "If you're able, do tell me.. What were you able to learn?"
   The woman reached out to take up the knife, just holding it for a moment as if testing out the feel of it in her hand. Finally, she extended it, pressing it against that hard cheese. The blade wasn't especially sharp, it seemed. Yet tilting it forward towards its tip and applying enough pressure, it seemed to more readily sink into the rind and easily separate a small slice from the rest of the block.
   As she took the cheese between her fingers, she tried her best to remember. Once more, that confused, deeply thoughtful expression returned to her face. The entirety of her little excursion to the Void seemed like a dream newly awoken from. The details were there, she knew, right at the tip of her tongue. Yet the more she tried to reach out and grasp them, the further they seemed to slip away from her. However, one thing she did remember clearly.
  "Aether," she answered, her voice thin and scratchy. After clearing her throat, she tried again to expand upon her thoughts. "That is the creature's motivation. It seeks to amass aether."
   Marcelloix's expression grew a touch grim as he pulled over a chair, sinking down into it carefully. He propped his elbows on his knees, leaning forward to rest his weight against them. Xheja watched him wrestle with his own thoughts for a moment before returning her attention to her food. Once she began to nibble at it, her appetite came back all at once, and she had to consciously keep herself from greedily shoving spoonfuls of stew into her mouth.
   "When a Voidsent is intent on gathering aether, its purpose is never good. Tell me, did it speak of why?" At his question, her silver eyes cut back to him, giving him another cool, sideways glare.
   "It wants to be free," she answered, words short and clipped. The tone of the answer seemed to even take the Elezen by surprise, giving him pause for a moment.
   "Free from..?"
   "The Void." She dipped one of the pieces of bread into what remained of the stew, chewing it slowly as she gauged his reaction. When he didn't immediately answer, she finished chewing and elaborated. "It is bound there, and it wishes not to be."
   Marcelloix slowly inhaled a deep breath, holding it in before exhaling it just as slowly. The worry on his features he wore plainly, only made all the more severe by years of wrinkles, lines, and the odd scar. "This does not bode well, Xheja. If the creature has been bound to the Void, then there is like to be a very good reason for someone having done so. I had hoped that we were simply dealing with a simple, roundabout case of possession, yet it seems that this is far more complicated, still.." He frowned deeply, shaking his head. "Whatever the case is, we cannot allow this creature to be freed."
   At his last words, that seething anger from before seemed to well up in her chest anew, burning even hotter than before. She ground her jaw together, making an effort to look away from him to hide the feeling of disgust that threatened to come to her features. If he noticed the reaction, then he certainly didn't let on as if he had.
   "Were you able to get a name from the creature, at least?" he finally asked. At the prompting, another piece of information seemed to spring to mind. A name -- or as close to one as she had been given. "If we only had a name, we could have some sort of direction.. We could free you from the creature, and see that it remains firmly on its side of the Void where it belongs."
   It was the last of his words that she could possibly endure. Any feelings of affection she had still had for the man seemed buried under ten tonze of hatred that burned so hot that it felt cold within her. Her eyes dropped to that knife lying just next to her right hand, giving it a long look. At length, she answered.
   "I think I vaguely recall.. The memories are hazy. Yet I do remember that it was familiar to me. Perhaps bring me that book of yours? The one where you've documented all the named Voidsent you've came across in your research?" She looked to him, a small smile pushed onto her lips. "I feel as if one of those names will cause me to remember."
   The man nodded, slowly pushing himself up from his chair and turning towards the table by the bookcase onto which the two had books of all manner scattered about. However, he hadn't made it but a few steps before she was on him.
   The knife felt natural in her hands, and she cared little and less of the way that the tray at her feet clattered to the floor with the sudden jarring of her lunge. Clearly, an attack had been the last thing he had expected, a ragged gasp of shock tearing past his lips as she drove the tip of that dull knife blade into his doublet and between his ribs.
   The knife felt natural in her hands, and she cared little and less of the way that the tray at her feet clattered to the floor with the sudden jarring of her lunge. Clearly, an attack had been the last thing he had expected, a ragged gasp of shock tearing past his lips as she drove the tip of that dull knife blade into his doublet and between his ribs.
   Xheja threw her weight into the man. As modest as it was and even despite the man having such a size advantage over her, the shock and pain of the initial attack made it easy for her to topple him. Instinctively, he made to twist as he fell, landing on his back. Before his arms could even rise to defend himself, the miqo'te was upon him once more. This time, the blow was direct -- right to the heart.
   An odd amalgam of emotion hit her as her eyes landed upon his face, her head tilting to watch him with an almost animalistic sort of scrutiny. The pain and fear on his face was obvious, but there was something else there, as well. Hurt. Betrayal. So very vaguely, in the back of her mind, it caught her offguard. Yet it was just as quickly pushed away by the overwhelming sense of satisfaction that washed over her.
   That knife remained firmly planted in the man's chest, yet as his life ebbed, she could feel it -- his aether -- being pulled from him, and into herself. It seemed to coil up her arm like a serpent, wrapping around her tightly and sinking into her skin. It was thrilling, to put it simply, to have such a rush of power. By the time the last of it drained from him, Xheja felt as if she was positively set alight. Gleeful, even.
   Slowly, she pushed off of his chest, making her way to her feet. Warm blood coated her hands and her clothing, but she didn't seem to mind. Her plush lips had pulled into a wickedly amused smirk, and her eyes were practically shining with a morbid sense of mirth.
   Things were taken care of here, and this meddling Elezen man would no longer pose any threat to her. She should quit the village before morning came, when the other residents might stop by for some reason or another, this she knew. Xheja started towards the door, only to stop with a sudden recollection. She turned her eyes back to the hearth. Specifically, her attention focused on what laid above it -- Marcelloix's beloved weapon. The Stardust Rod that had been gifted to him by his Lord, to denote his service to the house.Â
   Such a precious weapon would go to waste in anyone else's hands, would it not?
   Stepping over the man's body, Xheja drew closer to the fireplace, reaching up to gently tug the staff down from where it was mounted. Her smirk widened as she wrapped her fingers around it firmly, looking it over. Such a weapon was powerful, there was no arguing that. With this in her hands and practically glowing with the mage's stolen aether, she felt unstoppable.Â
   Curious, she held it out, concentrating as she began channeling the aether through the weapon. The large gemstone seemed to come alive in response, the first part of the staff to react to its new master. The taint in its sheen was obvious, a dark purple-black deep set within the gem's soft yellow glow.Â
   She continued pouring aether into the staff until she willed it to take form, the flame slowly growing until she finally flung it forward. The fireball crashed into the nearest bookshelf with enough force that it sent books flying in all directions, pages and covers alight. Immediately, the flames began lapping up the wooden shelf, spreading unhindered and out of control. Her eyes were wide as she watched them, the flickering flame reflected in her nigh luminescent eyes, amazed at how the flames seemed to have have life and a will of their own as they spread.
   This was the Collector's power, she knew. The power that was hers, as long as she kept her end of this bargain. It was intoxicating, addicting.. Little wonder that people strike deals with the devil for this sort of ability, she mused silently to herself. I've never felt so strong.
   Xheja once again turned from the door, smirking. She needed to return to Ul'dah, and soon. She had been gone for far too long now, and who knew what sort of mess her retainers had left her business in. Whatever had happened, though, she had little doubt that she could fix it. A little cunning, a little charm, a little manipulation.. These were her tools, and whatever did not yield to those methods would certainly yield to her power. This power.
   But first, there was one last issue to attend to:  Drakesbane's terrible cold. Now she had the most perfect remedy for it. In the dead of night, she would set the town ablaze while its darling, ice-cold inhabitants slept snugly in their beds. It wouldn't take but minutes for their largely wooden-and-stone houses to turn to ash, along with those inside, before they even had a chance to regret the way they had so disrespected her.
   She would watch as the flames rose higher and higher against the blackness of the night sky, her head lolling back lazily and eyes closing as she felt the heat radiate from the fires she had set. And for the first time in months, after enduring the cutting winds and the biting remarks, she finally felt warm.
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|| . . . OOC Notes . . . ||
Finally done. @_@ It only took months, nbd. But with a relevant storyline starting up, I figured I should finally do some minor revisions and finish it off. Ta dah!
