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"Alright, that's enough of that."
Pelderain Dornier had ranted and raved as the pair of Wailers dragged him away from the scene. Calling them fools, snarling about how they should all pay tribute to his brilliance, and so on, and so forth. No further mention of O-Rehn Fahn, though; that seed had been planted in the fertile ground of a credulous, gawking crowd.
He kept it up, right until the two men took him out of sight and earshot of the crowd. Down the open warren of tunnels that stretched between the Amphitheater and the Wailing Barracks. Then, a smirk played over his lips.
"Hearns' boys, right?"
One grunted, and the other nodded. Outwardly, they continued to walk him, restraining him. Had to, in case they were seen, though no one was around, now. Pelderain's smirk widened.
"Good work. Hah. That will fix him. O-Rehn Fahn, that little shit... bah!" His expression soured. "But Bellveil. Where did he find an alchemist of his own! Oh, I'll get him. And his little Keeper bitch, too. Show ME up, will they? Oh, no. This is only the opening act, I promise you."
One of the Wailers grunted again, presumably the same one. The other sighed.
"Shut yer yappin', Dornier. Hearns asked us to get you out, so we will, but Twelve help me if you get us caught I'll put a spear in you myself."
Pelderain bridled, lifting his chin (which, as a Duskwight, he was quite well-suited to do) and glared down at the masked man, opening his mouth to administer a proper tongue-lashing, to one who would dare speak thus-
"Why don't I spare you the trouble."
The two wailers whipped around, releasing Dornier and brandishing their spears lightning-quick. Pelderain's heart hammered as he spun-
"Gukk!"
-just in time to get sprayed with arterial blood.
What?
The Wailer who'd been talking was spinning away, his spear flying from his hand, blood everywhere. The other one just grunted again. Something long and red was extending from his back. Then it pulled back, and he fell too.
"Pathetic."
The speaker's lance was very bright, the blood on it very red. Pelderain stumbled back, falling, eyes wide, mouth working. A long, white feline tail, blue-tipped, black slacks and shirt, and a.. turban, obscuring the attacker's face, save for the lower jaw. Fine-boned, full-lipped, bronzed, and twisted with contempt.
"Drugs. Addiction. Corruption. Pathetic!" The figure stepped closer, casual, dextrous fingers twisting the lance to flick blood aside in an arc. "I came out of curiosity.. but I've no use for a thing like you." The lance lifted, aiming at Pelderain's heart.
This galvanized the duskwight, and his eyes widened with outrage and fury. Fury which boiled up in snarled words. Words that rang with void-infused hatred.
"YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO JUDGE ME! SUFFER! DIE! SMALL-MINDED WORM!"
Vicious energy thrummed in the air, the very timbre of Pelderain's voice unleashing sickness and agony. The miqo'te staggered, teeth baring before the assault. Blood trickled down from behind that mask, from nose and eyes. Pelderain continued cursing, lifting himself to his feet, snarling invective and hatred, driving his would-be murderer back one step, then another...
...the miqo'te bared teeth, and crossed arms...
...and Pelderain's eyes widened, and his mouth widened more, and more, his words becoming a scream as the corruptive agony of his assault returned upon him. His blood seemed to boil, his gums rotted, his bones creaked, wracking pain assailing him from within as his own power devoured him. He turned, and doubled over, vomiting blood. It fouled the grass, made it wither.
"So. That is the power of the Void." A brief pause.
"Distasteful. And, still, pathetic."
The lance took Pelderain Dornier through the heart.
Pelderain Dornier had ranted and raved as the pair of Wailers dragged him away from the scene. Calling them fools, snarling about how they should all pay tribute to his brilliance, and so on, and so forth. No further mention of O-Rehn Fahn, though; that seed had been planted in the fertile ground of a credulous, gawking crowd.
He kept it up, right until the two men took him out of sight and earshot of the crowd. Down the open warren of tunnels that stretched between the Amphitheater and the Wailing Barracks. Then, a smirk played over his lips.
"Hearns' boys, right?"
One grunted, and the other nodded. Outwardly, they continued to walk him, restraining him. Had to, in case they were seen, though no one was around, now. Pelderain's smirk widened.
"Good work. Hah. That will fix him. O-Rehn Fahn, that little shit... bah!" His expression soured. "But Bellveil. Where did he find an alchemist of his own! Oh, I'll get him. And his little Keeper bitch, too. Show ME up, will they? Oh, no. This is only the opening act, I promise you."
One of the Wailers grunted again, presumably the same one. The other sighed.
"Shut yer yappin', Dornier. Hearns asked us to get you out, so we will, but Twelve help me if you get us caught I'll put a spear in you myself."
Pelderain bridled, lifting his chin (which, as a Duskwight, he was quite well-suited to do) and glared down at the masked man, opening his mouth to administer a proper tongue-lashing, to one who would dare speak thus-
"Why don't I spare you the trouble."
The two wailers whipped around, releasing Dornier and brandishing their spears lightning-quick. Pelderain's heart hammered as he spun-
"Gukk!"
-just in time to get sprayed with arterial blood.
What?
The Wailer who'd been talking was spinning away, his spear flying from his hand, blood everywhere. The other one just grunted again. Something long and red was extending from his back. Then it pulled back, and he fell too.
"Pathetic."
The speaker's lance was very bright, the blood on it very red. Pelderain stumbled back, falling, eyes wide, mouth working. A long, white feline tail, blue-tipped, black slacks and shirt, and a.. turban, obscuring the attacker's face, save for the lower jaw. Fine-boned, full-lipped, bronzed, and twisted with contempt.
"Drugs. Addiction. Corruption. Pathetic!" The figure stepped closer, casual, dextrous fingers twisting the lance to flick blood aside in an arc. "I came out of curiosity.. but I've no use for a thing like you." The lance lifted, aiming at Pelderain's heart.
This galvanized the duskwight, and his eyes widened with outrage and fury. Fury which boiled up in snarled words. Words that rang with void-infused hatred.
"YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO JUDGE ME! SUFFER! DIE! SMALL-MINDED WORM!"
Vicious energy thrummed in the air, the very timbre of Pelderain's voice unleashing sickness and agony. The miqo'te staggered, teeth baring before the assault. Blood trickled down from behind that mask, from nose and eyes. Pelderain continued cursing, lifting himself to his feet, snarling invective and hatred, driving his would-be murderer back one step, then another...
...the miqo'te bared teeth, and crossed arms...
...and Pelderain's eyes widened, and his mouth widened more, and more, his words becoming a scream as the corruptive agony of his assault returned upon him. His blood seemed to boil, his gums rotted, his bones creaked, wracking pain assailing him from within as his own power devoured him. He turned, and doubled over, vomiting blood. It fouled the grass, made it wither.
"So. That is the power of the Void." A brief pause.
"Distasteful. And, still, pathetic."
The lance took Pelderain Dornier through the heart.
![[Image: MBLxxyE.gif]](http://i.imgur.com/MBLxxyE.gif)