The water dripping down the wall slid onto a shadow, bubbling out from the stone surface to run down the Duskwight's fingers. The dusky old treant stood with his hand against the wall, watching the water with a passive expression. This was familiar and comfortable. He could've spent months in this cave without seeing the sky and suffering the tacit agoraphobia that comes with open places like Thanalan. Deep in the earth, in the shadows and mud, he felt that Thal was given decent accommodations. Though, the man could do without the chains and the cell.
Turning and smiling, Megiddo Desfosse looked at the bars of Thal's cell from the inside, standing less than a yalm from the man in complete silence. The first sound the Duskwight made was a click as the thin metal tools in his hands snapped closed and disappeared into the folds of his shirt. As the door to the cell creaked open, Megiddo looked down at Thal, his silver eyes flickering behind his hair.
"I wonder how I wandered so far underground. Oschon does guide my feet strangely." His voice was low and rumbling, but spoke with good humor. "As long as I'm here, you might as well introduce me to your friend." His weathered hand gestured out the door, at the sentinel stationed there.
The miqo'te, who had let his posture slump progressively further against the moldy wall as the time following Qion'a's exit ticked on, made a surprised noise and jerked upward. His tail puffed out and it took him several seconds to realize the shackles tugging at his arms, which were lifted up in defense, were hanging loose and open.
Letting his arms drop to his side, feeling the metal slip off and hit the ground alongside him, Thal squinted at the shadows. He didn't have to see the Duskwight, however, to recognize the voice and the smell of the man. "... You're really gonna have to show me how you do that," he muttered and poked exploratorily at the bind around his waist, happily rewarded - if extremely confused - when it too came free as though it had never been locked shut.
The armored guard outside didn't seem to notice neither the Duskwight or the fact that his prisoner was losing his restrains.
"There is nothing to show," Megiddo responded, shrugging. "For now, I am feeling very old. Do not let me slow you down. Go and do as you will."
Blue eyes blinked. "... That's it?" He leaned forward, peering through the half-open door in an attempt to spot the guard Qion'a had left outside - unless Megiddo had taken care of that, too? He couldn't see from his spot on the floor, so he pushed himself to his feet. Lips quirked into a wry smile. "Gosh, I'm starting to wonder if I should throw myself into your arms or something. That's the right role, yeah?" As he spoke, he inched towards the door and took a hesitant step around it. He then promptly froze upon seeing Century standing silent and dutiful just outside.
Century tilted his head, presumably having seen the miqo'te. Then he lowered it, looking for the man's feet.
"Er. Hey there." Thal's ear's quirked uneasily, and he weighed his options - dark, moldy cell, potential fight with the weird armored guy, escape. Well, the first one wasn't appealing at all, and though Qion'a had said this guy was supposed to be stronger, who knew whether or not the Keeper was actually telling the truth, right?
The red-haired miqo'te flashed a quick grin at the armored guard. "Don't mind me," he said a bit sing-song-y and side-stepped through the door, angling towards one wall.
The armored thug tilted it's head violently to a side, twisting his body with the strenght of the motion. His right hand raised and fell on his back, then raised again holding a sword of what surely was a weird garlean design. Its edges were dull, more of a metal bludgeon than an actual blade.Â
Suddenly he grumbled, jumping forward and swinging his weapon towards Thal.
The would-be-escapee had been expecting fists like the earlier two, so the sword was both surprising and extremely worrying. He gave a short shout and dove to one side down the hall, listening to the crack of the weapon against the stone where he had only moments ago stood. Twisting on the ground, he scrambled to a low crouch, spared half a moment to consider the wisdom of his actions, and then just went for it. His legs launched him towards the guard in a low leap, slamming his weight into the armored man at waist height in an attempt to knock him down.
The centurion's next swing was too high, and it passed above his jump. Slamming against him didn't prove too wise, though. He had an actual combat posture and, coupled with his armor, he managed to absorb most of the hit, his metal feet dragging loudly against the stone floor. His unarmed hand moved to Thal's side, trying to grasp him and throw him away.
Colliding with the guard was a lot like colliding with a brick wall, and the miqo'te had only a moment to really regret that decision before an armored hand was grabbing at him bodily and hurling him off. He grunted as he hit another, this time actual wall, the impact jarring his limbs painfully, and only barely caught his balance to stay upright. "Any help appreciated!" he called out, certain the Megiddo remained in the cell, and spun away from the wall intending to sprint down the hall away from the guard.
Plodding out of the cell tiredly, his hands gripping a bar as he hunched forward and lifted his tired eyes to watch, Meggido muttered, "Are you sure that you wish my assistance now? I believe you can handle him."
There was a third swing that ended up clashing against the floor, where Thal had been a moment ago. It actually made a sizeable dent on it. The sentry gave a small jump forward that became a sprint, dragging the tip of his weapon loudly across the stone tiles.
"Haha! Unless you’re too--old!" The fleeing miqo'te called out between breaths. He spared a quick glance behind him, eyes widening at the sight of the charging centurion. He wondered if these things - they couldn't be human - tired. He also wondered if he could even find his way out again. That last thought, however, was secondary to just losing his pursuer, however.
He nearly missed a turn off, reaching out to grab at the wall to swing himself around. His feet skidded along the stone, nearly slipped out from under him, but then he was running again.
What he saw in front of him would perhaps give a hint at what Qion'li's subjects actually were: there were two creatures, or men, sitting with their backs on the wall, their legs extended halfway across the corridor. They were wearing rags, showing their rotten grey skin. They moved their heads when he turned and kept watching him as he ran with their whitened eyes, grumbling in some sort of confusion behind their missing lips and falling teeth.Â
The chasing centurion did not call their attention, however.
Steps faltering at the sight of what looked like rotting corpses, Thal's eyes widened when the things moved, their glassy eyes staring towards him. The noises they made sent his ears pressing against his head. Their smell, a stronger rot than even the darkest corners of the Shroud, stung his nose. He stumbled as his foot caught on one of their outstretched legs, but he didn't stop to see their reaction.
As the sentry chased after Thal, a knife flicked past its head to one side, close enough that if the thing had been an Elezen it would've lost half an ear. Trailing the silver knife was a long, thin piece of cloth on which were scrawled a long serious of names. An instant after the knife passed its head, the direction of the knife changed and whipped back the opposite way, pulling the cloth behind it and catching it across its next. In the next moment, the writing on the piece of paper began to glow bright red, radiating incredible heat and illuminating the hallway.
The cloth pulled violently back on the sentry's neck with all the force of a hangman's noose.
The sentry's spine cracked, the sudden force applied to it being enough to make him fall backwards. Even with that injury, the creature still moved on the floor, its hands grasping around his neck wildly as its head bobbed, unable to move anymore but still pushed by the violent motions of the still living body. It had problems finding the cloth, and so it remained in the floor for quite some time.
From the direction of Thal's cell more steps could be heard, though perhaps only by the Duskwight's senses, approaching quickly. Only one pair of boots, running at an even pace. They were followed closely by a fainter hum that signaled moving aether. Someone preparing a spell on the run, or perhaps one that had been cast and was travelling alongside the owner of those steps.
Hearing the clatter of the sentry's fall behind him, the miqo'te finally slowed, then turned to look behind him. His shoulders heaved with deep, even breaths as he watched the armored creature struggle on the ground and let his feet carry him backwards. Smiling suddenly, he called out a, "Thanks!" before turning back around to continue at a brisk not-quite-run down the hall.
The cloth around the sentry's neck loosened and uncoiled itself, going cool and slithering back into the shadows. It trailed wavey lines of heat in the air. The flicking knife, like a serpent's tail, seemed to pull upwards into the shadowed ceiling of the tunnel. The Duskwight himself was not immediately evident.
The guard stood up with his head fallen backwards at the worst possible angle. It tried uselessly to place it back in the correct position, but instead it fell forward. After another moment of fidgeting with it, it continued the chase, holding its own head straight with his free hand.
Not further behind, Qion'a showed up in his red robe and his conjurer branch in hand. He was not charging any spell, though. A thin red line of aetherial light hummed and followed him, extending itself with every step he gave.
The hall Thal had ventured down did not seem to be going anywhere in particular, which was an increasing worry at the back of the miqo'te's mind as his bare feet slapped across damp stone. Every so often he would pass a room, but he swore off checking any of those after glancing into one and coming face-to-face with a mobile corpse with half its skull and jaw missing. It had groaned wordlessly at him, and he'd high tailed it out of there. A few more times he dodged other seemingly animated corpses scattered in the hall. These repeated sightings were beginning to paint a very grim picture of what Qion'a and his brothers did in this supposed kingdom.
All of this came to a head when his run came to an unfortunate and abrupt end. In the shadows ahead he barely saw the subtle shifting of bodies; what informed him better was the stench and the shuffling noises of numerable feet scuffing along the ground. Eyes widening, he skidded to a stop, took a step back, remembered the sentry he'd left behind, and then froze.
The centurion, in its simple mind, figured that the prisoner would head for the exit. And so, it ran past Thal's corridor without noticing that he was there.
But while his clunky steps left, another ones, that hinted leather boots and a hurried pace, could be heard from where it had come.
Tail lashing behind him, Thal took a few steps away from the shifting horde of undead. They hadn't seemed to have noticed his presence yet, at least, so perhaps there was still time... He turned to hurry back the way he'd came, intending to find another, hopefully less disturbing and potentially dangerous, route.
The red light that had until then been only a harmless hum at Qion'a's feet passed by Thal's corridor, speeding away in an artificial hurry. But as soon as it was gone, the creatures behind him and hidden in the other rooms growled increasingly louder, raising and moving towards him. One, who until that moment had been undistinguishable from the walls, shambled to him, stared with a single eye, and then moved past him as if he was not there.
Qion'a ran past the corridor a moment later, facing it. He came back a second later, having noticed Thal. He panted and leant against the wall as soon as he was sure it was Thal and not some very vivid undead.
The miqo'te cringed at the undead, shoving it away from him roughly. The thing stumbled and looked confused, and Thal was about to set back to his escape plan when Qion'a made his timely appearance. There was a moment's pause, during which he recalled the Keeper's previous ready submission, and then Thal rushed forward, intending to simply blow past the other man.
Still breathing heavily, Qion'a waved his wand, lighting it up. The aether bolt that was released afterwards hit the ground in front of him and spread, making the stone tiles shift and crack at some invisible weight. The floor became unstable.
"Stop!" he managed to shout faintly between breaths.
Letting out a laugh as the ground seemed to come to life beneath him, Thal struggled to keep his footing as he ran. The constantly shifting stone sent him against one wall, which bounced off of and, utilizing that momentum, took an ambitious leap towards Qion'a.
The red man had time to open his eyes wide and jump out of the way, to the other side, allowing Thal to harmlessly pass by him.
The miqo'te hit the ground and dove into a roll to keep from breaking any limbs. Springing up to his feet, he laughed again and declared, "Not in the plans!" to Qion'a's back and then took off running again, down the path he hadn't picked the last time.
Qion'a was too winded to actually follow up. He stayed sitting on the ground for a while. The undead walked around him and away, turning at the bend and seemingly taking the same path his prisoner had just taken.
Soon, Thal found himself at a crossroads. The corridor split in three ways. The only thing differentiating them was that the one right ahead of him had a small number of creatures walking across its lenght, heading to wherever it lead. The second corridor had the opposite problem: the things were crawling their way towards him like a living mass of rotting flesh.Â
The third corridor, though, was mostly empty. There was one man in a bright yellow jacket and a barrel-shaped hat, a Gridanian outfit, if Thal had ever seen a Twin Adder, his face rotten so far that it was basically only skull. He was simply standing next to a torch, leaning against his spear. He gazed lazily at the wall in front of him.
Ever a man of fine logic - in some things at least - Thal chose the third option - the one that wasn't covered in zombie masses. He'd taken on Qion'a's supposedly daunting guard, after all - even if he'd had to run for his life - how hard could it be to get past some mindless undead? After only a moment's hesitation, he barreled down the hall towards the former Adder.
The dead Adder twisted its head, immediately noticing Thal's approach and jumping into a fighting posture. However, unlike the previous guard, that was all it did. Even worse, it didn't seem like it actually knew where Thal was: it stood in the wrong spot, nowhere close to where he was actually heading, but still looked ready to take a charging man to the chin.
Not about to take unnecessary chances with the guard - even if he was a stupid zombie - Thal just skirted around the Adder, though he spared a cheeky wave at him on his way by.
The Adder jumped again, now placing itself where it should have been a moment ago if it wanted to intercept Thal. It remained there while Thal left his field of view, ready for an attack that never came.
Not very far away, the corridor curved. The walls changed, showing signs that at some point in the past they had pairs of windows all along them. Most were blocked with bricks and wooden planks that didn't fit the rest of the place. Then the corridor stopped, suddenly, as if nature had grown angry at the place and thrown its own wall in the middle of it. There was an open window in this place, and light and sound came from it.
Blue eyes drank in that light, though it was a bit too yellow to be natural sunlight, as though it were water and he a man dying of thirst. He flung himself towards the wall, slamming against it and immediately hauling himself up and through the window. It was a tight fight, but he managed it with some effort. A moment later, his feet hit rock on the other side, and he crouched to catch his breath.
His moment of peace was met with the sound of a shattering crystal coming from the window he had just run into. A round, bright golden ball of light emerged from it with the purpose of hitting him in the back.
It did so successfully, the panting miqo'te not having been expecting any such attack. The force of it knocked him forward flat on his stomach, and his teeth clicked together as his jaw hit the ground.
Ildur: The ball ricocheted from him, stopped mid air and fell to the ground, growing four feet and a long, wide hairy tail extending behind. It openeds its eyes, black and beady, and then extended its head forward. It growled at him.
"I shall note to my brothers..." said a known voice behind him "...that your tactical thinking is at least natural, but not particularly smart."
Qion'to showed up in the window, with his book open. He extended his arm violently towards him and opened his hand, a bolt of concussive black aether extending from the pages and firing itself at the other man's back.
There was barely enough time for Thal to lift his head at the words behind him when the force of the second spell struck. It slammed his face back down to the stone and flattened the rest of his body down to a painful degree, knocking the air out of his lungs. He lay there for a time just sucking in breaths.
The golden Carbuncle walked around him until it was in front. It lowered it's small, almost featureless head and stared at him just an ilm away.
Qion'to jumped to the window, balanced on the edge a moment and then jumped back down. His complex white and pink attire made his athletism a bit awkward to both watch and effectuate.Â
"How did you free yourself?" he asked with curiosity.
Several seconds passed as Thal struggled to recapture his breath, staring back at the strange, glowing creature at eye level. When he thought he could start to feel his limbs again, he struggled up to his hands and knees and forced a chuckle. "Guess I'm just that good."
"My brothers told me you would not be surrendering willingly. I'd like you to prove them wrong and forget this useless chase. There's only one exit, and they'll be there even if you manage to flee from me."
Setting one hand on a knee, the miqo'te straightened, grimacing at an uncomfortable crick in his neck. "Maybe I'm feeling confident enough to get past them."
"I imagined." he replied, waving his hand. At the gesture, the carbuncle jump into the air, spinning into a ball and crashing again at Thal's back.
"So what you are saying," The Duskwight said, looking like a trick of the eyes off in the shadows of the room, too thin to be a live and yet swaying like a man, "Is that you are the only one of your brothers present in this part of your so-called Kingdom at this time?"
Thal let out a curse as the magical creature, once more a powerful projectile, knocked him forward. He flung his hands out to catch himself, winced at how the impact jarred him deep to the bones all the way up his arms, and then rolled to one side. He froze at the familiar voice, however.
To's first reaction was of alarm, opening his eyes and turning to the new voice. He squinted at the shadows, and barely managed to see anything. He quickly composed himself back. The carbuncle jumped off Thal's back, and remained prone, growling silently at the duskwight.
"That is one mystery solved." Qion'to stated, some amusement leaking into the words. He waved one hand over his book and held it above it. "I do not know who you are, but I imagine you wish this man to be released."
"Good! Young men benefit from a lively imagination." The Duskwight chuckled and leaned forward, his silver eyes shining through his ratty hair. "For now I'd be content if you stop bullying him. Leave that sort of behavior for the Wildwood."
"I'd appreciate that, too!" The miqo'te offered as he once again worked his way up and, this time, to his feet. He eyed the carbuncle warily.
The small magical creature was too busy smelling and watching Megiddo to worry about Thal. Qion'to bowed his head and said "As you wish." while still keeping one hand over the book, aether building upon it.Â
"I doubt you are just some wandering justicar. There must be something else you want." he added politely.
"Perhaps I will test if you are undead." The Duskwight said this happily.
"How ironic. Anything else?" Qion'to's voice had not even a drop of amusement this time.
Taking a moment to look between Qion'to and where Megiddo's voice came from, Thal began to back up away from both of them.
"Tell me what the point of all this is. This place."
"I need to know who you are before disclosing such information." Qion'to's aether build up reached a limit, and it did not go higher. The spell was ready, whatever it was, but he was holding onto it. The Carbuncle hopped to the side, turning in the air, facing Thal and growling at him menacingly. The white and pink robed man let air loudly out of his nose, smiling. He was amused again. "You should stay, Thal. You might learn something."
The miqo'te in question chuckled briefly but didn't stop his careful backwards steps away from the window.
"Oh, I don't think you need to know anything before disclosing anything. But if it helps, I can tell you that I need to kill someone who is alive in order to leave this place." The old man pivoted on his heel and walked further into the shadows. "If I can't decide who, I'm liable to just kill everyone."
"I see." To answered, and kept silent, only his pet's grumbling and the humming of the spell on his hand filling the air. After a moment, he added flatly, as if his answer was somehow self-explanatory: "We are creating an oracle."
At that, Thal paused and cast an odd look across to Qion'to. "A what? Sounds like something crazy people do."
"Oracles exist in the teachings of some older Duskwight clans." The old voice seems to grow impossibly distant in the shadows, as though the lanky man was walking away through the walls. "It is possible. Explain."
Qion'to's face lowered, hiding his face from all light sources, his mouth burying under the clothes wrapped around his neck.Â
"Where to start?" he pondered. "It is an old project, led by some wealthy sections of the Grand Companies and various freelance adventurers. They wished to steal Althyk's eyes and use them to see time itself, unfolded and naked, to destroy Garlemald."
Thal blinked. "... Yeah, that's crazy talk. I'm gone." He turned then and began to make his way down the narrow path he'd once been led in on, at a quicker pace.
The Duskwight lingered in the shadows. "That does not seem connected to the necromancy."
The bridge that lead out to the caves and, eventually, to the outside was not lowered. The pit below it was still low enough for anyone to jump down and walk safely, thought it was covered with sand and dirt.
"Oh, but it is." Qion'to said. He raised his head to look at Thal. "I wouldn't go into the pit if I were you." He walked a small length towards him as he continued his history lecture.
"The project did not go as they expected. Nothing was gained by...researching Althyk. He revealed nothing. Gods do that. Hydaelyn was the next obvious step, but the Mothercrystal and the Echo was not reliable. Sometimes, just as unreachable as Althyk." He stopped. Still with aether in his fingertips, he waved his hand. The carbuncle turned around with a hop and then, with another, jumped to his back, curving slightly so it could keep each pair of feet grounded on his master's shoulders, enveloping his head like just another piece of fabric.
"Mm. I should not bore you. The study was left incomplete thanks to the Calamity. What was left was that they found a way to look into the minds of anything, even of the gods, theoretically. But only using the souls of those who had died as conduits. Those whose aether still resonated within Hydaelyn."
Rolling his eyes, Thal gave Qion'to's warning about as much care as he gave to the Keeper's monologue: namely, none. Hopping off the low ledge of the central platform, he began to make his way across the pit towards the far end of the amphitheatre, already trying to recall the path he'd taken to get out of this place. As long as Megiddo could keep that guy distracted..
As Qion'to neared the bridge, the Duskwight seemed to be waiting in an adjacent shadow, as though he had been standing there the entire time. "And how does this lead to tormenting our friend here?"
Sand and dirt where thrown into the air as a decaying hand emerged from below Thal's feet and tried to grab him. Then another one next to it did the same. And a third, a fourth one. All of the pit rumbled as the creatures buried underneath moved towards the surface, more hands and arms sprouting out of it in increasing numbers.Â
"I told you not to go into the pit." Qion'to reprimanded.
Turning and smiling, Megiddo Desfosse looked at the bars of Thal's cell from the inside, standing less than a yalm from the man in complete silence. The first sound the Duskwight made was a click as the thin metal tools in his hands snapped closed and disappeared into the folds of his shirt. As the door to the cell creaked open, Megiddo looked down at Thal, his silver eyes flickering behind his hair.
"I wonder how I wandered so far underground. Oschon does guide my feet strangely." His voice was low and rumbling, but spoke with good humor. "As long as I'm here, you might as well introduce me to your friend." His weathered hand gestured out the door, at the sentinel stationed there.
The miqo'te, who had let his posture slump progressively further against the moldy wall as the time following Qion'a's exit ticked on, made a surprised noise and jerked upward. His tail puffed out and it took him several seconds to realize the shackles tugging at his arms, which were lifted up in defense, were hanging loose and open.
Letting his arms drop to his side, feeling the metal slip off and hit the ground alongside him, Thal squinted at the shadows. He didn't have to see the Duskwight, however, to recognize the voice and the smell of the man. "... You're really gonna have to show me how you do that," he muttered and poked exploratorily at the bind around his waist, happily rewarded - if extremely confused - when it too came free as though it had never been locked shut.
The armored guard outside didn't seem to notice neither the Duskwight or the fact that his prisoner was losing his restrains.
"There is nothing to show," Megiddo responded, shrugging. "For now, I am feeling very old. Do not let me slow you down. Go and do as you will."
Blue eyes blinked. "... That's it?" He leaned forward, peering through the half-open door in an attempt to spot the guard Qion'a had left outside - unless Megiddo had taken care of that, too? He couldn't see from his spot on the floor, so he pushed himself to his feet. Lips quirked into a wry smile. "Gosh, I'm starting to wonder if I should throw myself into your arms or something. That's the right role, yeah?" As he spoke, he inched towards the door and took a hesitant step around it. He then promptly froze upon seeing Century standing silent and dutiful just outside.
Century tilted his head, presumably having seen the miqo'te. Then he lowered it, looking for the man's feet.
"Er. Hey there." Thal's ear's quirked uneasily, and he weighed his options - dark, moldy cell, potential fight with the weird armored guy, escape. Well, the first one wasn't appealing at all, and though Qion'a had said this guy was supposed to be stronger, who knew whether or not the Keeper was actually telling the truth, right?
The red-haired miqo'te flashed a quick grin at the armored guard. "Don't mind me," he said a bit sing-song-y and side-stepped through the door, angling towards one wall.
The armored thug tilted it's head violently to a side, twisting his body with the strenght of the motion. His right hand raised and fell on his back, then raised again holding a sword of what surely was a weird garlean design. Its edges were dull, more of a metal bludgeon than an actual blade.Â
Suddenly he grumbled, jumping forward and swinging his weapon towards Thal.
The would-be-escapee had been expecting fists like the earlier two, so the sword was both surprising and extremely worrying. He gave a short shout and dove to one side down the hall, listening to the crack of the weapon against the stone where he had only moments ago stood. Twisting on the ground, he scrambled to a low crouch, spared half a moment to consider the wisdom of his actions, and then just went for it. His legs launched him towards the guard in a low leap, slamming his weight into the armored man at waist height in an attempt to knock him down.
The centurion's next swing was too high, and it passed above his jump. Slamming against him didn't prove too wise, though. He had an actual combat posture and, coupled with his armor, he managed to absorb most of the hit, his metal feet dragging loudly against the stone floor. His unarmed hand moved to Thal's side, trying to grasp him and throw him away.
Colliding with the guard was a lot like colliding with a brick wall, and the miqo'te had only a moment to really regret that decision before an armored hand was grabbing at him bodily and hurling him off. He grunted as he hit another, this time actual wall, the impact jarring his limbs painfully, and only barely caught his balance to stay upright. "Any help appreciated!" he called out, certain the Megiddo remained in the cell, and spun away from the wall intending to sprint down the hall away from the guard.
Plodding out of the cell tiredly, his hands gripping a bar as he hunched forward and lifted his tired eyes to watch, Meggido muttered, "Are you sure that you wish my assistance now? I believe you can handle him."
There was a third swing that ended up clashing against the floor, where Thal had been a moment ago. It actually made a sizeable dent on it. The sentry gave a small jump forward that became a sprint, dragging the tip of his weapon loudly across the stone tiles.
"Haha! Unless you’re too--old!" The fleeing miqo'te called out between breaths. He spared a quick glance behind him, eyes widening at the sight of the charging centurion. He wondered if these things - they couldn't be human - tired. He also wondered if he could even find his way out again. That last thought, however, was secondary to just losing his pursuer, however.
He nearly missed a turn off, reaching out to grab at the wall to swing himself around. His feet skidded along the stone, nearly slipped out from under him, but then he was running again.
What he saw in front of him would perhaps give a hint at what Qion'li's subjects actually were: there were two creatures, or men, sitting with their backs on the wall, their legs extended halfway across the corridor. They were wearing rags, showing their rotten grey skin. They moved their heads when he turned and kept watching him as he ran with their whitened eyes, grumbling in some sort of confusion behind their missing lips and falling teeth.Â
The chasing centurion did not call their attention, however.
Steps faltering at the sight of what looked like rotting corpses, Thal's eyes widened when the things moved, their glassy eyes staring towards him. The noises they made sent his ears pressing against his head. Their smell, a stronger rot than even the darkest corners of the Shroud, stung his nose. He stumbled as his foot caught on one of their outstretched legs, but he didn't stop to see their reaction.
As the sentry chased after Thal, a knife flicked past its head to one side, close enough that if the thing had been an Elezen it would've lost half an ear. Trailing the silver knife was a long, thin piece of cloth on which were scrawled a long serious of names. An instant after the knife passed its head, the direction of the knife changed and whipped back the opposite way, pulling the cloth behind it and catching it across its next. In the next moment, the writing on the piece of paper began to glow bright red, radiating incredible heat and illuminating the hallway.
The cloth pulled violently back on the sentry's neck with all the force of a hangman's noose.
The sentry's spine cracked, the sudden force applied to it being enough to make him fall backwards. Even with that injury, the creature still moved on the floor, its hands grasping around his neck wildly as its head bobbed, unable to move anymore but still pushed by the violent motions of the still living body. It had problems finding the cloth, and so it remained in the floor for quite some time.
From the direction of Thal's cell more steps could be heard, though perhaps only by the Duskwight's senses, approaching quickly. Only one pair of boots, running at an even pace. They were followed closely by a fainter hum that signaled moving aether. Someone preparing a spell on the run, or perhaps one that had been cast and was travelling alongside the owner of those steps.
Hearing the clatter of the sentry's fall behind him, the miqo'te finally slowed, then turned to look behind him. His shoulders heaved with deep, even breaths as he watched the armored creature struggle on the ground and let his feet carry him backwards. Smiling suddenly, he called out a, "Thanks!" before turning back around to continue at a brisk not-quite-run down the hall.
The cloth around the sentry's neck loosened and uncoiled itself, going cool and slithering back into the shadows. It trailed wavey lines of heat in the air. The flicking knife, like a serpent's tail, seemed to pull upwards into the shadowed ceiling of the tunnel. The Duskwight himself was not immediately evident.
The guard stood up with his head fallen backwards at the worst possible angle. It tried uselessly to place it back in the correct position, but instead it fell forward. After another moment of fidgeting with it, it continued the chase, holding its own head straight with his free hand.
Not further behind, Qion'a showed up in his red robe and his conjurer branch in hand. He was not charging any spell, though. A thin red line of aetherial light hummed and followed him, extending itself with every step he gave.
The hall Thal had ventured down did not seem to be going anywhere in particular, which was an increasing worry at the back of the miqo'te's mind as his bare feet slapped across damp stone. Every so often he would pass a room, but he swore off checking any of those after glancing into one and coming face-to-face with a mobile corpse with half its skull and jaw missing. It had groaned wordlessly at him, and he'd high tailed it out of there. A few more times he dodged other seemingly animated corpses scattered in the hall. These repeated sightings were beginning to paint a very grim picture of what Qion'a and his brothers did in this supposed kingdom.
All of this came to a head when his run came to an unfortunate and abrupt end. In the shadows ahead he barely saw the subtle shifting of bodies; what informed him better was the stench and the shuffling noises of numerable feet scuffing along the ground. Eyes widening, he skidded to a stop, took a step back, remembered the sentry he'd left behind, and then froze.
The centurion, in its simple mind, figured that the prisoner would head for the exit. And so, it ran past Thal's corridor without noticing that he was there.
But while his clunky steps left, another ones, that hinted leather boots and a hurried pace, could be heard from where it had come.
Tail lashing behind him, Thal took a few steps away from the shifting horde of undead. They hadn't seemed to have noticed his presence yet, at least, so perhaps there was still time... He turned to hurry back the way he'd came, intending to find another, hopefully less disturbing and potentially dangerous, route.
The red light that had until then been only a harmless hum at Qion'a's feet passed by Thal's corridor, speeding away in an artificial hurry. But as soon as it was gone, the creatures behind him and hidden in the other rooms growled increasingly louder, raising and moving towards him. One, who until that moment had been undistinguishable from the walls, shambled to him, stared with a single eye, and then moved past him as if he was not there.
Qion'a ran past the corridor a moment later, facing it. He came back a second later, having noticed Thal. He panted and leant against the wall as soon as he was sure it was Thal and not some very vivid undead.
The miqo'te cringed at the undead, shoving it away from him roughly. The thing stumbled and looked confused, and Thal was about to set back to his escape plan when Qion'a made his timely appearance. There was a moment's pause, during which he recalled the Keeper's previous ready submission, and then Thal rushed forward, intending to simply blow past the other man.
Still breathing heavily, Qion'a waved his wand, lighting it up. The aether bolt that was released afterwards hit the ground in front of him and spread, making the stone tiles shift and crack at some invisible weight. The floor became unstable.
"Stop!" he managed to shout faintly between breaths.
Letting out a laugh as the ground seemed to come to life beneath him, Thal struggled to keep his footing as he ran. The constantly shifting stone sent him against one wall, which bounced off of and, utilizing that momentum, took an ambitious leap towards Qion'a.
The red man had time to open his eyes wide and jump out of the way, to the other side, allowing Thal to harmlessly pass by him.
The miqo'te hit the ground and dove into a roll to keep from breaking any limbs. Springing up to his feet, he laughed again and declared, "Not in the plans!" to Qion'a's back and then took off running again, down the path he hadn't picked the last time.
Qion'a was too winded to actually follow up. He stayed sitting on the ground for a while. The undead walked around him and away, turning at the bend and seemingly taking the same path his prisoner had just taken.
Soon, Thal found himself at a crossroads. The corridor split in three ways. The only thing differentiating them was that the one right ahead of him had a small number of creatures walking across its lenght, heading to wherever it lead. The second corridor had the opposite problem: the things were crawling their way towards him like a living mass of rotting flesh.Â
The third corridor, though, was mostly empty. There was one man in a bright yellow jacket and a barrel-shaped hat, a Gridanian outfit, if Thal had ever seen a Twin Adder, his face rotten so far that it was basically only skull. He was simply standing next to a torch, leaning against his spear. He gazed lazily at the wall in front of him.
Ever a man of fine logic - in some things at least - Thal chose the third option - the one that wasn't covered in zombie masses. He'd taken on Qion'a's supposedly daunting guard, after all - even if he'd had to run for his life - how hard could it be to get past some mindless undead? After only a moment's hesitation, he barreled down the hall towards the former Adder.
The dead Adder twisted its head, immediately noticing Thal's approach and jumping into a fighting posture. However, unlike the previous guard, that was all it did. Even worse, it didn't seem like it actually knew where Thal was: it stood in the wrong spot, nowhere close to where he was actually heading, but still looked ready to take a charging man to the chin.
Not about to take unnecessary chances with the guard - even if he was a stupid zombie - Thal just skirted around the Adder, though he spared a cheeky wave at him on his way by.
The Adder jumped again, now placing itself where it should have been a moment ago if it wanted to intercept Thal. It remained there while Thal left his field of view, ready for an attack that never came.
Not very far away, the corridor curved. The walls changed, showing signs that at some point in the past they had pairs of windows all along them. Most were blocked with bricks and wooden planks that didn't fit the rest of the place. Then the corridor stopped, suddenly, as if nature had grown angry at the place and thrown its own wall in the middle of it. There was an open window in this place, and light and sound came from it.
Blue eyes drank in that light, though it was a bit too yellow to be natural sunlight, as though it were water and he a man dying of thirst. He flung himself towards the wall, slamming against it and immediately hauling himself up and through the window. It was a tight fight, but he managed it with some effort. A moment later, his feet hit rock on the other side, and he crouched to catch his breath.
His moment of peace was met with the sound of a shattering crystal coming from the window he had just run into. A round, bright golden ball of light emerged from it with the purpose of hitting him in the back.
It did so successfully, the panting miqo'te not having been expecting any such attack. The force of it knocked him forward flat on his stomach, and his teeth clicked together as his jaw hit the ground.
Ildur: The ball ricocheted from him, stopped mid air and fell to the ground, growing four feet and a long, wide hairy tail extending behind. It openeds its eyes, black and beady, and then extended its head forward. It growled at him.
"I shall note to my brothers..." said a known voice behind him "...that your tactical thinking is at least natural, but not particularly smart."
Qion'to showed up in the window, with his book open. He extended his arm violently towards him and opened his hand, a bolt of concussive black aether extending from the pages and firing itself at the other man's back.
There was barely enough time for Thal to lift his head at the words behind him when the force of the second spell struck. It slammed his face back down to the stone and flattened the rest of his body down to a painful degree, knocking the air out of his lungs. He lay there for a time just sucking in breaths.
The golden Carbuncle walked around him until it was in front. It lowered it's small, almost featureless head and stared at him just an ilm away.
Qion'to jumped to the window, balanced on the edge a moment and then jumped back down. His complex white and pink attire made his athletism a bit awkward to both watch and effectuate.Â
"How did you free yourself?" he asked with curiosity.
Several seconds passed as Thal struggled to recapture his breath, staring back at the strange, glowing creature at eye level. When he thought he could start to feel his limbs again, he struggled up to his hands and knees and forced a chuckle. "Guess I'm just that good."
"My brothers told me you would not be surrendering willingly. I'd like you to prove them wrong and forget this useless chase. There's only one exit, and they'll be there even if you manage to flee from me."
Setting one hand on a knee, the miqo'te straightened, grimacing at an uncomfortable crick in his neck. "Maybe I'm feeling confident enough to get past them."
"I imagined." he replied, waving his hand. At the gesture, the carbuncle jump into the air, spinning into a ball and crashing again at Thal's back.
"So what you are saying," The Duskwight said, looking like a trick of the eyes off in the shadows of the room, too thin to be a live and yet swaying like a man, "Is that you are the only one of your brothers present in this part of your so-called Kingdom at this time?"
Thal let out a curse as the magical creature, once more a powerful projectile, knocked him forward. He flung his hands out to catch himself, winced at how the impact jarred him deep to the bones all the way up his arms, and then rolled to one side. He froze at the familiar voice, however.
To's first reaction was of alarm, opening his eyes and turning to the new voice. He squinted at the shadows, and barely managed to see anything. He quickly composed himself back. The carbuncle jumped off Thal's back, and remained prone, growling silently at the duskwight.
"That is one mystery solved." Qion'to stated, some amusement leaking into the words. He waved one hand over his book and held it above it. "I do not know who you are, but I imagine you wish this man to be released."
"Good! Young men benefit from a lively imagination." The Duskwight chuckled and leaned forward, his silver eyes shining through his ratty hair. "For now I'd be content if you stop bullying him. Leave that sort of behavior for the Wildwood."
"I'd appreciate that, too!" The miqo'te offered as he once again worked his way up and, this time, to his feet. He eyed the carbuncle warily.
The small magical creature was too busy smelling and watching Megiddo to worry about Thal. Qion'to bowed his head and said "As you wish." while still keeping one hand over the book, aether building upon it.Â
"I doubt you are just some wandering justicar. There must be something else you want." he added politely.
"Perhaps I will test if you are undead." The Duskwight said this happily.
"How ironic. Anything else?" Qion'to's voice had not even a drop of amusement this time.
Taking a moment to look between Qion'to and where Megiddo's voice came from, Thal began to back up away from both of them.
"Tell me what the point of all this is. This place."
"I need to know who you are before disclosing such information." Qion'to's aether build up reached a limit, and it did not go higher. The spell was ready, whatever it was, but he was holding onto it. The Carbuncle hopped to the side, turning in the air, facing Thal and growling at him menacingly. The white and pink robed man let air loudly out of his nose, smiling. He was amused again. "You should stay, Thal. You might learn something."
The miqo'te in question chuckled briefly but didn't stop his careful backwards steps away from the window.
"Oh, I don't think you need to know anything before disclosing anything. But if it helps, I can tell you that I need to kill someone who is alive in order to leave this place." The old man pivoted on his heel and walked further into the shadows. "If I can't decide who, I'm liable to just kill everyone."
"I see." To answered, and kept silent, only his pet's grumbling and the humming of the spell on his hand filling the air. After a moment, he added flatly, as if his answer was somehow self-explanatory: "We are creating an oracle."
At that, Thal paused and cast an odd look across to Qion'to. "A what? Sounds like something crazy people do."
"Oracles exist in the teachings of some older Duskwight clans." The old voice seems to grow impossibly distant in the shadows, as though the lanky man was walking away through the walls. "It is possible. Explain."
Qion'to's face lowered, hiding his face from all light sources, his mouth burying under the clothes wrapped around his neck.Â
"Where to start?" he pondered. "It is an old project, led by some wealthy sections of the Grand Companies and various freelance adventurers. They wished to steal Althyk's eyes and use them to see time itself, unfolded and naked, to destroy Garlemald."
Thal blinked. "... Yeah, that's crazy talk. I'm gone." He turned then and began to make his way down the narrow path he'd once been led in on, at a quicker pace.
The Duskwight lingered in the shadows. "That does not seem connected to the necromancy."
The bridge that lead out to the caves and, eventually, to the outside was not lowered. The pit below it was still low enough for anyone to jump down and walk safely, thought it was covered with sand and dirt.
"Oh, but it is." Qion'to said. He raised his head to look at Thal. "I wouldn't go into the pit if I were you." He walked a small length towards him as he continued his history lecture.
"The project did not go as they expected. Nothing was gained by...researching Althyk. He revealed nothing. Gods do that. Hydaelyn was the next obvious step, but the Mothercrystal and the Echo was not reliable. Sometimes, just as unreachable as Althyk." He stopped. Still with aether in his fingertips, he waved his hand. The carbuncle turned around with a hop and then, with another, jumped to his back, curving slightly so it could keep each pair of feet grounded on his master's shoulders, enveloping his head like just another piece of fabric.
"Mm. I should not bore you. The study was left incomplete thanks to the Calamity. What was left was that they found a way to look into the minds of anything, even of the gods, theoretically. But only using the souls of those who had died as conduits. Those whose aether still resonated within Hydaelyn."
Rolling his eyes, Thal gave Qion'to's warning about as much care as he gave to the Keeper's monologue: namely, none. Hopping off the low ledge of the central platform, he began to make his way across the pit towards the far end of the amphitheatre, already trying to recall the path he'd taken to get out of this place. As long as Megiddo could keep that guy distracted..
As Qion'to neared the bridge, the Duskwight seemed to be waiting in an adjacent shadow, as though he had been standing there the entire time. "And how does this lead to tormenting our friend here?"
Sand and dirt where thrown into the air as a decaying hand emerged from below Thal's feet and tried to grab him. Then another one next to it did the same. And a third, a fourth one. All of the pit rumbled as the creatures buried underneath moved towards the surface, more hands and arms sprouting out of it in increasing numbers.Â
"I told you not to go into the pit." Qion'to reprimanded.
![[Image: AntiThalSig.png]](https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/u/179079766/AntiThalSig.png)
"Song dogs barking at the break of dawn, lightning pushes the edges of a thunderstorm; and these streets, quiet as a sleeping army, send their battered dreams to heaven."
Hipparion Tribe (Sagolii)Â - Â Antimony Jhanhi's Wiki
