The sand shifted on its own accord beneath the miqo'te's toes, and that was all the warning Thal received (if you ignored Qion'to's, of course - which he had!) before a discolored arm burst forth, its twisted hand grabbing blindly. The man squawked and practically danced away from one, two, half a dozen and more limbs. Their fingers grasped at his feet, his calves, and he spent several seconds alternately kicking at them and jumping away before he just flat out began to run.
He got about halfway across the pit before the sand shifted beneath his step and a new arm snatched around his ankle, tripping him down to a mouthful of dirt. He kicked at it and pushed away another pair that followed before shouting in forced cheer, "Who the hell puts arms in their sand moat?!"
"Would it make you feel better if I told you those aren't just arms?" Qion'to replied.
"Would that--no, it would not!" As if on cue, the hand that clutched around his foot bore down, as though something were trying to pull its way up. The head broke the sand first - a shrunken, withered thing, like a grape left out in the sun too long, missing both eyes and, if its gaping, sand-filled mouth was testament, its tongue as well. Thal did not hesitate in slamming the sole of his free foot against that face as hard as he could and then backpedaling in the sand.
Observing from where he stood in the darkness, safe not far from Qion'to, the Duskwight muttered, "I don't think he's ever really listened to anyone. Perhaps he's too old to learn such lessons." He raised his old voice a bit. "Get out of the pit!"
Qion'to nodded. "I concur. But come back here. The creatures will go back to their slumber if they believe you were recaptured."
The carbuncle jumped down from his shoulders, its four paws hitting the ground silently. It lowered its head and started looking for Megiddo's feet in the shadows.
"Get out of the pit, they say," the miqo'te muttered, ears pressed flat back against his head. More undead had begun to claw themselves more wholly out of the sand, including a number behind him, right in the way of his escape. There was a thinner patch of them, however, which would take him back to the central platform. Hopping away from a groping hand attached to a half-submerged torso, Thal could feel his limbs tiring from the constant flight, and he let out a string of curses before scrambling forward, pushing through the bodies that tried to trap him.
As the carbuncle went in search of him,, the Duskwight kept his gaze on Thal with some interest. His hands hung out his sides, his fingers twitching restlessly.
The white robed miqo'te let out a restless sigh. "I think he needs help. Stop whatever you are doing and help him come back here." His voice was commanding and was directed at the carbuncle. The summon perked its head and ears up, looking at him for a moment, forgetting about Megiddo. A moment later, it was jumping happily across the platform and towards the pit.
"It wouldn't benefit anyone much for you to have more dead things buried in the dirt down there, would it?" Megiddo remarked with a smirk.
Thal's attention was wholly devoted to avoiding those ever increasing number of seeking arms and bodies, so he didn't notice Qion'to's helpful command. When the carbuncle crashed into one of the zombies, landing atop its head with its tail held high, the miqo'te half expected the creature to attack him again. He was gearing up for just that when the blindingly golden magic beast began to bound in circles around him, interrupting undead mid-grab. Thal could practically taste the aether in the air around the carbuncle, and he blinked at it dumbly for several seconds before shaking himself and taking advantage of the unexpected "gift".
He picked up his pace as he scrambled around the carbuncle, which was handily gaining the attention of a large number of undead like a lure to fish. It left a blessedly empty stretch of sand between him and the platform, and a moment later, Thal was practically leaping back onto the stone, where he dropped to his hands and knees and tried to catch his breath.
The carbuncle hopped erratically between the raising undead, avoiding being caught by any of them by changing the direction of the hop in ways that were too complicated for the crawling bodies to predict. It landed next to Thal a moment after him and walked smugly back to its master with the tail held high and straight up.
Qion'to smiled. "Had enough fun?"
The miqo'te groaned a bit in frustration. "Just give a guy a break and let me out," he muttered between deep breaths. He could feel his diaphragm pressing up against his lungs, feel the muscles between his ribs flexing with each expansion of his chest. When his hands curled against the ground and pushed him upright, he felt the action of joint and ligament as individual sensations and grimaced. The expression was quickly covered by a short laugh and a shrug followed by the declaration of, "I'm pooped."
"I agree." The Duskwight shifted in the shadows and leaned his head in Qion'to's direction. "It is time to leave. Lower the bridge."
"No more parley, then? Very well." he answered, and opened the hand he had over his book, releasing a blinding light and a wave of aether in all directions. The spell washed harmlessly past Megiddo and Thal, the environment around them shifting, cracking like a panel of glass and collapsing without making them fall, revealing a bright blue sky with clouds below their feet as if they were flying. Qion'a was gone, but his Carbuncle remained. His sole presence was enough to alter the illusion immediately around it, giving it a shivering aura that made it look like a disturbed pool of water.
Thal's tail stuck out comically straight for balance, and his limbs splayed as though to catch himself from a fall he intellectually knew to be impossible. He didn't relax, however, when he remained crouched over a cloud, his body's instincts having trouble accepting what his brain recognized. Ears twitching wildly, the man glared at the carbuncle - his only point of recourse. "Oh, come on!"
Megiddo, on the other hand, chuckled. His eyes slid closed, his head bowed. Even in the bright universal light, he appeared cast in incredible darkness. He spread his arms and crooked his fingers like drops of ink spread outward on a canvas. "You need not demonstrate your ability to cage my friend; it has been quite thoroughly demonstrated. Have you no countermeasures for something as simple as a Duskwight?"
Though he had not been holding them, his knives fell from his hands, trailing long, thin white cloth as they went. The words written on the cloth began to glow bright and visibly hot, wrinkling the air around him. The colors of the sky seemed to fade into an aura of gray around his body, but the outward signs of what he was doing were merely decorative. His eyes remained closed.
He sensed and muttered. "Moisture, mildew, old flesh. Cool, heavy, still." He swung one arm, the polished knife -- perfectly clean and flickering in contrast to the greasy, dark old man -- swinging like a pendulum. It cast a shadow on absent dust. "Weight. Shift. Palpitate. Groan. It's like you're screaming. But screams do echo in places such as this."
Qion'to was definitely still around, preparing another spell somewhere in the room, his illusion hiding the humming of the building aether, but not the heat it was creating around him. If he was anywhere, it wasn't too far from where he had been a moment before.
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His carbuncle jumped up in the air becoming a distorted but still glowing ball of golden light that hastened towards Megiddo with all the strength the tiny creature had shown before, back when it was smashing itself against Thal's back.
Brow pulling down at Megiddo's words and actions, Thal worked his toes against the "sky" beneath him, felt the rough grain of stone instead of fluffy cloud and empty air. He could also feel the warm tingle of aether all around them, pressing in from every angle of the illusion. Though his tail refused to cooperate in any logical way - stuck straight out behind him as though he were still attempting to balance on nothing - the miqo'te pulled the rest of himself together and focused on the warmth at his feet. The sky rippled there, then faded, and he grinned a bit at the sensation like walking through a warm, summer lake.
He didn't worry too much about the carbuncle's attack at Megiddo; the old man could handle himself.
"I hope that you had the foresight to flee." Megiddo lifted his wiry arms and the knives shot out, dripping shadow from the gleaming surface like water, trailing long tapestries full of searing script. One of knives shot towards the carbuncle, digging into its aetheric body as though it were flesh. As the magical beast fell towards him, Megiddo snapped to one side, his feet and hands trailing lazily as he moved away from the Carbuncle's route. After a moment, he would twist and catch himself with an impossibly quick step.
The other knife shot off into the illusion, very close to where Qion'to had once stood, chasing not just the heat of his mana but the pressure of the air against his body, the scent of his clothes, the movement of his eyelids. The cloth trailing behind the knives billowed out and swelled against the confines of the illusion, causing it to warp like a melting oil painting.
The carbuncle hit the ground silently but painfully, if such creatures could even feel pain. It hoped back to its feet, shaking itself and expelling the knife from its body, much of its life force gone.
The knife struck on the mage's arm, ripping through the clothes into the flesh. The impact forced Qion'to to release his spell prematurely. The sky below and around Megiddo darkened, gaining a purple tint. The aetherial change collapsed the illusion around him, but not completely as Qion'to had intended. Random figments of it shifted and became disjointed from the rest as if they were broken pieces of glass. The aether forming them has taken enough physical shape as to actually make them dangerous. They stood still a moment, and then were sent flying towards him in turns.
The thin Duskwight kept his eyes closed, turning to one side and beginning to walk towards where the shadows had been in the real world. His hair swayed over his inexplicably shadowed face, his scars darkening into deep crags over his cheeks. The weaponized mana that tried to cut at him flew as certainly as any knife would, unerring and well-aimed. They seemed to be just missing him, though, cutting his clothes and crashing down in his footsteps.
Megiddo seemed to superimpose between multiple positions as he walked, though, moving side to side, back and forward, with no outer sign of momentum change and his feet just moving him forward in a normal, casual walk. He jaunted about in brief spurts, out of the path of one shard of mana and into another, then just aside of that one at the last possible moment.
The only sign that this took effort to do was the deepening frown on his face.
His knives did not return to him. They flicked away from where they had been, the cloth they had been trailing tossed into the air as though caught by the wind. Then the cloth drew back and twisted, flashed hot as fire, and shot out again. The knives were back in front of them, each one flying to one side of Qino'to to arch around behind him.
Thal had quickly lost his smile when Megiddo attacked, and when Qion'to brought his own spell to bear on the Duskwight, he tensed visibly, ready to jump in and help. And yet... Megiddo did not seem to require it. He blinked a bit dumbly at the display, forgetting his focus on the aether he'd been pulling on.
The bright golden summon, despite being basically dying, lunged once more towards the duskwight in the same way it had tried to attack him the last time.
Qion'to's next spell was purely defensive. A new wave of magic rushed out of him, forming a sphere and causing the illusion to break apart further, though its real purpose was to send the knives flying away from him.
The knives that flew towards Qion'to did not attempt to cut into him. They orbited him just outside the sphere of mana he made, drawing the cloth and its glowing words in great circles around him. They lifted towards the ceiling, spinning around him and forming the long tapestry into a spiraling shape, before the knives stuck into the ceiling. The cloth hung, surrounding Qion'to, glowing bright and hot.
Flickering past the shards of aether so that he stood on the outer threshold of the illusion, closer to the shadows of the cavern and appearing more in keeping with his surroundings. He glanced over at the man called Thal and said, "If you don't eat that carbuncle, I will, and that would be a waste."
He slipped into the shadows and became intangible. He seemed to slip into the walls, or just disappear into some trap door.
Tail flicking back and forth, Thal called out a short, "Hey!" before grunting at Megiddo's disappearance. He shifted his weight from one foot to the next, eyed the white-hot streamers of aether-charged cloth spiraling around Qion'to, and then the carbuncle that had failed to strike its target. It looked wounded, if a creature made of aether could be such. He rocked forward on the balls of his feet.
Qion'to tested whatever spell it was that Megiddo had created around him by conjuring a fast unaspected bolt at the swirling clothes. While he did that, the Carbuncle turned its head in various directions, trying to find its target and failing at it. It did not pay any attention to Thal.
The cloth would not break under Qion'to's assault, though it was not readily apparent if that was due to enchantment or just tensile strength. In the circle of runic tapestry that Megiddo had constructed, the air was getting very hot.
The Duskwight spoke from immediately behind Qion'to, on the other side of the tapestry, "I am running out of time. I suggest you reconsider my earlier proposition."
Ears shifting towards Megiddo's voice, Thal bounced in agitated indecision for a time. "Just drop the bridge, already," he groaned.
Qion'to huffed inside his newly created warm prison. "Fine. Lower the bridge." he said to no one, in the same tone he had used to speak normally before. Some mechanism answered with a crack to the order, and a moment later the bridge fell into position, opening a way to cross the pit.
Thal grinned in appreciation and mock bowed towards Qion'to. "Thank you kindly." Blue eyes flicked towards the carbuncle briefly, considering Megiddo's words, but he didn't exactly want to try and wrestle with that aether creature; his back still smarted mightily from where it had struck him earlier. Instead, he began to back away from the trapped Qion'to, making for the bridge.
"Good sense never warrants rudeness," Megiddo said, keeping his eyes on the back of Qion'to's head. "What precisely do you seek to gain, and to what specific end, in the case of my friend there?"
The summoner knelt down in his place, waving his hand over his wound to flood it with healing currents. The carbuncle circled around his master's prison with restless hops.
"We want to replicate his condition with others, to make the Oracle stable." he said calmly, without turning to face the old man. "The purpose is purely scholastic."
"I see. Your Oracle must be dead in order to commune with the gods. You believe that my friend has circumvented the gates of death because he uses aether to sustain himself." Megiddo spread his arms, speaking in a conversational tone. "If you had said so in the first place, we could have avoided all this. I am interested in the answers that you seek."
Qion'to raised one brow, though he still tended his wound. "Are you?"
"My friend can teach you nothing. But I can tell you where to look for the answers you seek. But before I agree with that, you must choose one of your brothers to die. You can also choose yourself."
"Then I choose you to not tell me anything at all." he replied, smirking.
Thal had made it made it about a quarter down the bridge when Megiddo's deal reached his ears. It slowed, and then halted his steps, and he swung his arms at his sides before speaking up in a somewhat uneasy but forceful tone, "Both of you should just mind your own business, I think. Leave well enough alone."
"Unfortunately, that is not an option." Megiddo stepped back, the knives broke from the cieling, and the cloth constricted violently towards Qion'to's body.
The carbuncle uselessly tried to pull from them, but its non-existant jaw and weakened state played against it. Qion'to didn't even manage to react properly before he was bound, and the sudden violence made him drop his book.
"Do as you wish."
The cloth bound and wrapped the man from neck to toe. The knives that had at one point been connected to the cloth flicked briefly between the old, thin fingers, and then were gone. "I'm believe your brothers would not have made the same choice. Perhaps they would even ahve chosen you to die. That makes this somewhat distasteful." The words on the cloth began to glow red. "A man has to eat."
The words lit up and flared with incredible heat, lighting the cave, warming it, and burning Qion'to's flesh. It was neither a fast death, nor a kind one. The man would bubble and sizzle, smoldering and smoking over nearly a minute as Megiddo stood over him and watched. It was a clean death, though. Not a drop of blood to stain anything.
From his spot on the bridge, Thal watched in some silent, transfixed disgust mixed with horror and some small amount of pity. His tail hung frozen mid-swipe.
Qion'to's carbuncle vanished as soon as his master was lit on fire, the connection that kept it in its physical form expiring long before his life did.
Qion'to's body smoldered alone. The cloth unrivaled and slid away from him as though pulled by someone a long way away, leaving words burned into his flesh. The words were the names of dead Elezen, each one ending in "Desfosse".
Megiddo stood on the opposite side of the bridge, against the wall, in the shadow thrown by a torch. The tatoos on his face seemed to have become darker, his silver eyes staring out at Thal from inside of deep crevices. "If you can find the way, you may wish to leave. I will find one of that man's brothers and extend my condolences for their ill fortune."
Some muscle in his cheek twitched, and Thal's tail suddenly reanimated itself, whipping left and right violently. "Uh... right," he muttered, grimaced at the stench of burnt flesh and forcibly tore his eyes from Qion'to's corpse. "I'll just, er, get going then." Two steps backwards, then a turn on one bare foot, and then he was hurrying away from the Duskwight and his victim.
Megiddo stood where he was, watching Thal go. He closed his fists and opened them again, swung his neck from side to side to test his joints. He would never be young again, but this was as close as it got: the aether of a person's death lubricating his muscles and bones, giving him a measure of the strength that had flown from him over years.
Once he was alone, he was no longer there. The place was empty.
***
Inside the ruins, Qion'li shifted on his tall throne, crossing his legs, tapping his fingers against the blank metal mask of his crown. After a moment, he waved the other hand, and the gate to his throne room opened loudly, resonating all across his kingdom. The undead outside dropped whatever they were doing and either remained frozen in place or moved to the sides of the corridors and rooms. They raised their arms and pointed, marking the way.
The throne room was located inside what once was a bell tower. Now it lied in ruins, dozens of niches carved into each wall going all the way up. Most of them were empty, but in the darkness of some flickered a dim light. In others, the shape of the undead in them could be seen, tied or chained in place with their face lowered to face the weakly bright crystals in their hands.
Qion'li shifted on his tall throne again. He waited.
The Duskwight eyed the niches carved into the bell tower, more interested in the light than the undead. He himself was cast in shadow, staying at the fringes of the room. He did not come through the door, or make his appearance anywhere near the door. He was in the room as though he had always been in the room, well off to one side and leaning casually against a wall. "Your brothers are not very direct," he observed.
"No. But you are." the king replied, still facing the door. "I believe you owe me some condolences."
The old man bowed his head, offered an upturned palm, "Condolences." He lifted his gaze once more, smiling. "All of this struggling to capture an avatar of Thal when what you're really looking for is the one who summoned him. Am I correct?"
"Yes. We'd like to meet him." he nodded. "The creator is always more important than his creation. No matter how impressive it is."
"You will have to search in Ul'dah." Megiddo closed his eyes, pondered a moment. "There were recently a series of deaths near the ossuary in Ul'dah. Four murders by knife, my own doing. And one vicious animal attack, except it was not an animal. Move quickly or the person you're looking for will slip away."
Qion'li tilted his head and raised one hand to tap at his mask. "You have our thanks. But what do you want in exchange?"
"I will be observing your results. You will not be able to keep me from doing so. If I decide that I require something more, then I will take that as well." He stood from the wall, the flash of a knife between his fingers, but in the next instant he presented empty palms. "I will try to resist killing any more of your brothers."
"Excellent. You make my brother's death almost worth it." He leaned back on his throne and gestured to the open gate. The undead that had been pointing the whole time finally let their arms drop. "Unless there's anything else, I believe we both have things to do at the moment."
"A parting word," Megiddo raised one finger, smiling. "There never has been and never shall be any kingdom underground, any king, that is not either a Kobold, or a Duskwight. Everything else is just a puppet show." He dropped his hand, and his tone turned almost bitter. "Good day."
The fake king chuckled, throwing his head back and, after a moment, decided to let a long laugh come out of him. When he was done, he leaned forward with his arms over his knees, looking around at the walls. He spoke up raising both arms, though by then it was probably only to his also fake subjects.
"That is true!"
***
The Duskwight stood in Thanalan, in the shadow cast by the stones piled up around the cave entrance. He gave the sky an unhappy look, the horizon a frown. The shadows here were so much more shallow, so much brighter, than those underground. The air was hot, moving against his skin, shining on his hair and making him sweat.
The Acolyte of Oschon grimaced towards the sky, "Surely there must be something very interesting in underground that you could lead me to, that would hold me for more than a few hours? I do miss home." There was no god in the sky, though. At least, none that replied.
With a sigh, Megiddo dropped his gaze and eyed the exit of the puppet kingdom, waiting for the man called Thal to exit.
He wasn't entirely sure how he found his way out this time, especially considering his questionable success the last attempt. Perhaps he had a better subconscious memory than he gave himself credit for, or the air was different and carried scents better that day. Or something. Regardless, Thal managed to shake the disturbing cloud of Qion'to's death long enough to feel proud of himself when he caught sight of the hole of light marking the end of the cavern and the beginning of sweet, sweet open sky. Picking up his pace a bit, he gave a satisfied shake of his tail when he passed beneath the mouth of the cave.
The sun felt like the coziest blanket ever over his skin, and he turned his face upward, stretching his back and tail.
Megiddo blinked at the man. "Enjoying Thanalan?"
He was far too used to these things to be surprised anymore. Instead, the miqo'te cracked open one blue eye. His brow pulled down, though. "Not most of the time, that's for sure."
Waving one dusky hand at the cave entrance, the old man stepped out of his shadow. "The underground doesn't count. Everywhere has its loons."
"Guess so," the miqo'te hummed low, turned towards the Duskwight's voice. He winced briefly, recalling the gruesome way the old man had smoked Qion'to dry, then shook his head and offered a small shrug. "What can I say - I like the sun."
"Not as many living things to feed off of, but on the upside, no Woodwailers. No reason to hide your face." Megiddo pointed at Thal's blue eyes, the first time he'd seen them in years, and then dropped his hand. "If you have not seen Ul'dah, I would recommend it. I haunt there frequently these days. It is a sight."
"Do they really grow pumpkins there?" He chuckled once, then his mouth twisted. "Look, uh, back there. Was that really necessary? He was gonna let us go, and you could've just... eaten that pet thing."
"It was necessary for what I wanted to accomplish. The carbuncle would have been no use to me, for it had no spirit to snuff out." The Duskwight shrugged. "Those who are not prepared to die should not dabble in death. I will lose no sleep over it."
The Seeker grimaced. "I guess. They were into some really... messed up stuff." Scratching behind one ear, Thal cast a look back into the cavern before facing himself out towards the thinly wooded borderland. "Wish you would stop poking at the past, though. There's no point in digging that up."
"I'm not trying to discern your past. It just so happens that the person who put you in the ground is of interest to a lot of people. The sooner they go looking for her, the sooner they leave you alone." He put his smirk on again. "That's better, isn't it? They are now her problem, not yours. And you don't care about her at all."
Clasping his hands behind his head, Thal rotated on one foot to peer sideways and at a tilted angle at Megiddo. He was silent for a moment and then let out a breath. "Man. You're... right. Of course! Is there ever a time you aren't? Heh."
"I try not to be wrong about things." The man blinked. "You've lost your mask?"
"Uh..." He turned one way, then the other, then held his hands in front of him and shrugged. "... Yeah, dropped it when... y'know, things. Oops."
"If you attempt to go back into the Shroud without a properly crafted mask you may run into trouble... Ah, well." The Duskwight took a step back and turned on the balls of his feet. "I'll be heading back to Ul'dah, then. I think I'm in the mood for pumpkin."
"I'll figure it out when it comes up, I guess. Maybe it's still around here somewhere." Blue eyes peered around him, not that he really expected to see the mask from where he stood. Shaking out his tail, Thal shifted subjects rapidly, "Where's Ul'dah? Heck better yet, where am I? Not that it really matters, I guess."
Megiddo paused, looked at Thal and pointed, "The Shroud is that direction. Ul'dah is that direction, past Highbridge and Drybone. You are equidistant between Ul'dah and Gridania. Where do you wish to go?"
The man turned his head to look north, imagined he could see where the swamp began even from here - not that he really could. "The Shroud's all I really know," he muttered. Though it had been as strange to him as any other place when he'd woken, five years had established it in his mind as at least a place familiar. He'd never settled there, was never completely comfortable under the shadow of the canopy, but at least he knew it. Understood it even. The same could not be said for the rest of the world, or even himself. The Shroud and Gridania were everything Thal knew about himself.
Rocking onto the balls of his feet, he let out a low hum. "But, I don't have my mask. And I'm all the way out here already." He wasn't used to weighing such a heavy thought and so, in true fashion to his character, he chose not to weigh it at all. "So I guess that's that. I never did get that pumpkin."
The Duskwight nodded in the direction of Ul'dah. "Walk with me. It is rare that I have a companion."
"Ahah, in that, we're alike!" Thal grinned and gestured with a flourish towards Megiddo before turning south.
He got about halfway across the pit before the sand shifted beneath his step and a new arm snatched around his ankle, tripping him down to a mouthful of dirt. He kicked at it and pushed away another pair that followed before shouting in forced cheer, "Who the hell puts arms in their sand moat?!"
"Would it make you feel better if I told you those aren't just arms?" Qion'to replied.
"Would that--no, it would not!" As if on cue, the hand that clutched around his foot bore down, as though something were trying to pull its way up. The head broke the sand first - a shrunken, withered thing, like a grape left out in the sun too long, missing both eyes and, if its gaping, sand-filled mouth was testament, its tongue as well. Thal did not hesitate in slamming the sole of his free foot against that face as hard as he could and then backpedaling in the sand.
Observing from where he stood in the darkness, safe not far from Qion'to, the Duskwight muttered, "I don't think he's ever really listened to anyone. Perhaps he's too old to learn such lessons." He raised his old voice a bit. "Get out of the pit!"
Qion'to nodded. "I concur. But come back here. The creatures will go back to their slumber if they believe you were recaptured."
The carbuncle jumped down from his shoulders, its four paws hitting the ground silently. It lowered its head and started looking for Megiddo's feet in the shadows.
"Get out of the pit, they say," the miqo'te muttered, ears pressed flat back against his head. More undead had begun to claw themselves more wholly out of the sand, including a number behind him, right in the way of his escape. There was a thinner patch of them, however, which would take him back to the central platform. Hopping away from a groping hand attached to a half-submerged torso, Thal could feel his limbs tiring from the constant flight, and he let out a string of curses before scrambling forward, pushing through the bodies that tried to trap him.
As the carbuncle went in search of him,, the Duskwight kept his gaze on Thal with some interest. His hands hung out his sides, his fingers twitching restlessly.
The white robed miqo'te let out a restless sigh. "I think he needs help. Stop whatever you are doing and help him come back here." His voice was commanding and was directed at the carbuncle. The summon perked its head and ears up, looking at him for a moment, forgetting about Megiddo. A moment later, it was jumping happily across the platform and towards the pit.
"It wouldn't benefit anyone much for you to have more dead things buried in the dirt down there, would it?" Megiddo remarked with a smirk.
Thal's attention was wholly devoted to avoiding those ever increasing number of seeking arms and bodies, so he didn't notice Qion'to's helpful command. When the carbuncle crashed into one of the zombies, landing atop its head with its tail held high, the miqo'te half expected the creature to attack him again. He was gearing up for just that when the blindingly golden magic beast began to bound in circles around him, interrupting undead mid-grab. Thal could practically taste the aether in the air around the carbuncle, and he blinked at it dumbly for several seconds before shaking himself and taking advantage of the unexpected "gift".
He picked up his pace as he scrambled around the carbuncle, which was handily gaining the attention of a large number of undead like a lure to fish. It left a blessedly empty stretch of sand between him and the platform, and a moment later, Thal was practically leaping back onto the stone, where he dropped to his hands and knees and tried to catch his breath.
The carbuncle hopped erratically between the raising undead, avoiding being caught by any of them by changing the direction of the hop in ways that were too complicated for the crawling bodies to predict. It landed next to Thal a moment after him and walked smugly back to its master with the tail held high and straight up.
Qion'to smiled. "Had enough fun?"
The miqo'te groaned a bit in frustration. "Just give a guy a break and let me out," he muttered between deep breaths. He could feel his diaphragm pressing up against his lungs, feel the muscles between his ribs flexing with each expansion of his chest. When his hands curled against the ground and pushed him upright, he felt the action of joint and ligament as individual sensations and grimaced. The expression was quickly covered by a short laugh and a shrug followed by the declaration of, "I'm pooped."
"I agree." The Duskwight shifted in the shadows and leaned his head in Qion'to's direction. "It is time to leave. Lower the bridge."
"No more parley, then? Very well." he answered, and opened the hand he had over his book, releasing a blinding light and a wave of aether in all directions. The spell washed harmlessly past Megiddo and Thal, the environment around them shifting, cracking like a panel of glass and collapsing without making them fall, revealing a bright blue sky with clouds below their feet as if they were flying. Qion'a was gone, but his Carbuncle remained. His sole presence was enough to alter the illusion immediately around it, giving it a shivering aura that made it look like a disturbed pool of water.
Thal's tail stuck out comically straight for balance, and his limbs splayed as though to catch himself from a fall he intellectually knew to be impossible. He didn't relax, however, when he remained crouched over a cloud, his body's instincts having trouble accepting what his brain recognized. Ears twitching wildly, the man glared at the carbuncle - his only point of recourse. "Oh, come on!"
Megiddo, on the other hand, chuckled. His eyes slid closed, his head bowed. Even in the bright universal light, he appeared cast in incredible darkness. He spread his arms and crooked his fingers like drops of ink spread outward on a canvas. "You need not demonstrate your ability to cage my friend; it has been quite thoroughly demonstrated. Have you no countermeasures for something as simple as a Duskwight?"
Though he had not been holding them, his knives fell from his hands, trailing long, thin white cloth as they went. The words written on the cloth began to glow bright and visibly hot, wrinkling the air around him. The colors of the sky seemed to fade into an aura of gray around his body, but the outward signs of what he was doing were merely decorative. His eyes remained closed.
He sensed and muttered. "Moisture, mildew, old flesh. Cool, heavy, still." He swung one arm, the polished knife -- perfectly clean and flickering in contrast to the greasy, dark old man -- swinging like a pendulum. It cast a shadow on absent dust. "Weight. Shift. Palpitate. Groan. It's like you're screaming. But screams do echo in places such as this."
Qion'to was definitely still around, preparing another spell somewhere in the room, his illusion hiding the humming of the building aether, but not the heat it was creating around him. If he was anywhere, it wasn't too far from where he had been a moment before.
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His carbuncle jumped up in the air becoming a distorted but still glowing ball of golden light that hastened towards Megiddo with all the strength the tiny creature had shown before, back when it was smashing itself against Thal's back.
Brow pulling down at Megiddo's words and actions, Thal worked his toes against the "sky" beneath him, felt the rough grain of stone instead of fluffy cloud and empty air. He could also feel the warm tingle of aether all around them, pressing in from every angle of the illusion. Though his tail refused to cooperate in any logical way - stuck straight out behind him as though he were still attempting to balance on nothing - the miqo'te pulled the rest of himself together and focused on the warmth at his feet. The sky rippled there, then faded, and he grinned a bit at the sensation like walking through a warm, summer lake.
He didn't worry too much about the carbuncle's attack at Megiddo; the old man could handle himself.
"I hope that you had the foresight to flee." Megiddo lifted his wiry arms and the knives shot out, dripping shadow from the gleaming surface like water, trailing long tapestries full of searing script. One of knives shot towards the carbuncle, digging into its aetheric body as though it were flesh. As the magical beast fell towards him, Megiddo snapped to one side, his feet and hands trailing lazily as he moved away from the Carbuncle's route. After a moment, he would twist and catch himself with an impossibly quick step.
The other knife shot off into the illusion, very close to where Qion'to had once stood, chasing not just the heat of his mana but the pressure of the air against his body, the scent of his clothes, the movement of his eyelids. The cloth trailing behind the knives billowed out and swelled against the confines of the illusion, causing it to warp like a melting oil painting.
The carbuncle hit the ground silently but painfully, if such creatures could even feel pain. It hoped back to its feet, shaking itself and expelling the knife from its body, much of its life force gone.
The knife struck on the mage's arm, ripping through the clothes into the flesh. The impact forced Qion'to to release his spell prematurely. The sky below and around Megiddo darkened, gaining a purple tint. The aetherial change collapsed the illusion around him, but not completely as Qion'to had intended. Random figments of it shifted and became disjointed from the rest as if they were broken pieces of glass. The aether forming them has taken enough physical shape as to actually make them dangerous. They stood still a moment, and then were sent flying towards him in turns.
The thin Duskwight kept his eyes closed, turning to one side and beginning to walk towards where the shadows had been in the real world. His hair swayed over his inexplicably shadowed face, his scars darkening into deep crags over his cheeks. The weaponized mana that tried to cut at him flew as certainly as any knife would, unerring and well-aimed. They seemed to be just missing him, though, cutting his clothes and crashing down in his footsteps.
Megiddo seemed to superimpose between multiple positions as he walked, though, moving side to side, back and forward, with no outer sign of momentum change and his feet just moving him forward in a normal, casual walk. He jaunted about in brief spurts, out of the path of one shard of mana and into another, then just aside of that one at the last possible moment.
The only sign that this took effort to do was the deepening frown on his face.
His knives did not return to him. They flicked away from where they had been, the cloth they had been trailing tossed into the air as though caught by the wind. Then the cloth drew back and twisted, flashed hot as fire, and shot out again. The knives were back in front of them, each one flying to one side of Qino'to to arch around behind him.
Thal had quickly lost his smile when Megiddo attacked, and when Qion'to brought his own spell to bear on the Duskwight, he tensed visibly, ready to jump in and help. And yet... Megiddo did not seem to require it. He blinked a bit dumbly at the display, forgetting his focus on the aether he'd been pulling on.
The bright golden summon, despite being basically dying, lunged once more towards the duskwight in the same way it had tried to attack him the last time.
Qion'to's next spell was purely defensive. A new wave of magic rushed out of him, forming a sphere and causing the illusion to break apart further, though its real purpose was to send the knives flying away from him.
The knives that flew towards Qion'to did not attempt to cut into him. They orbited him just outside the sphere of mana he made, drawing the cloth and its glowing words in great circles around him. They lifted towards the ceiling, spinning around him and forming the long tapestry into a spiraling shape, before the knives stuck into the ceiling. The cloth hung, surrounding Qion'to, glowing bright and hot.
Flickering past the shards of aether so that he stood on the outer threshold of the illusion, closer to the shadows of the cavern and appearing more in keeping with his surroundings. He glanced over at the man called Thal and said, "If you don't eat that carbuncle, I will, and that would be a waste."
He slipped into the shadows and became intangible. He seemed to slip into the walls, or just disappear into some trap door.
Tail flicking back and forth, Thal called out a short, "Hey!" before grunting at Megiddo's disappearance. He shifted his weight from one foot to the next, eyed the white-hot streamers of aether-charged cloth spiraling around Qion'to, and then the carbuncle that had failed to strike its target. It looked wounded, if a creature made of aether could be such. He rocked forward on the balls of his feet.
Qion'to tested whatever spell it was that Megiddo had created around him by conjuring a fast unaspected bolt at the swirling clothes. While he did that, the Carbuncle turned its head in various directions, trying to find its target and failing at it. It did not pay any attention to Thal.
The cloth would not break under Qion'to's assault, though it was not readily apparent if that was due to enchantment or just tensile strength. In the circle of runic tapestry that Megiddo had constructed, the air was getting very hot.
The Duskwight spoke from immediately behind Qion'to, on the other side of the tapestry, "I am running out of time. I suggest you reconsider my earlier proposition."
Ears shifting towards Megiddo's voice, Thal bounced in agitated indecision for a time. "Just drop the bridge, already," he groaned.
Qion'to huffed inside his newly created warm prison. "Fine. Lower the bridge." he said to no one, in the same tone he had used to speak normally before. Some mechanism answered with a crack to the order, and a moment later the bridge fell into position, opening a way to cross the pit.
Thal grinned in appreciation and mock bowed towards Qion'to. "Thank you kindly." Blue eyes flicked towards the carbuncle briefly, considering Megiddo's words, but he didn't exactly want to try and wrestle with that aether creature; his back still smarted mightily from where it had struck him earlier. Instead, he began to back away from the trapped Qion'to, making for the bridge.
"Good sense never warrants rudeness," Megiddo said, keeping his eyes on the back of Qion'to's head. "What precisely do you seek to gain, and to what specific end, in the case of my friend there?"
The summoner knelt down in his place, waving his hand over his wound to flood it with healing currents. The carbuncle circled around his master's prison with restless hops.
"We want to replicate his condition with others, to make the Oracle stable." he said calmly, without turning to face the old man. "The purpose is purely scholastic."
"I see. Your Oracle must be dead in order to commune with the gods. You believe that my friend has circumvented the gates of death because he uses aether to sustain himself." Megiddo spread his arms, speaking in a conversational tone. "If you had said so in the first place, we could have avoided all this. I am interested in the answers that you seek."
Qion'to raised one brow, though he still tended his wound. "Are you?"
"My friend can teach you nothing. But I can tell you where to look for the answers you seek. But before I agree with that, you must choose one of your brothers to die. You can also choose yourself."
"Then I choose you to not tell me anything at all." he replied, smirking.
Thal had made it made it about a quarter down the bridge when Megiddo's deal reached his ears. It slowed, and then halted his steps, and he swung his arms at his sides before speaking up in a somewhat uneasy but forceful tone, "Both of you should just mind your own business, I think. Leave well enough alone."
"Unfortunately, that is not an option." Megiddo stepped back, the knives broke from the cieling, and the cloth constricted violently towards Qion'to's body.
The carbuncle uselessly tried to pull from them, but its non-existant jaw and weakened state played against it. Qion'to didn't even manage to react properly before he was bound, and the sudden violence made him drop his book.
"Do as you wish."
The cloth bound and wrapped the man from neck to toe. The knives that had at one point been connected to the cloth flicked briefly between the old, thin fingers, and then were gone. "I'm believe your brothers would not have made the same choice. Perhaps they would even ahve chosen you to die. That makes this somewhat distasteful." The words on the cloth began to glow red. "A man has to eat."
The words lit up and flared with incredible heat, lighting the cave, warming it, and burning Qion'to's flesh. It was neither a fast death, nor a kind one. The man would bubble and sizzle, smoldering and smoking over nearly a minute as Megiddo stood over him and watched. It was a clean death, though. Not a drop of blood to stain anything.
From his spot on the bridge, Thal watched in some silent, transfixed disgust mixed with horror and some small amount of pity. His tail hung frozen mid-swipe.
Qion'to's carbuncle vanished as soon as his master was lit on fire, the connection that kept it in its physical form expiring long before his life did.
Qion'to's body smoldered alone. The cloth unrivaled and slid away from him as though pulled by someone a long way away, leaving words burned into his flesh. The words were the names of dead Elezen, each one ending in "Desfosse".
Megiddo stood on the opposite side of the bridge, against the wall, in the shadow thrown by a torch. The tatoos on his face seemed to have become darker, his silver eyes staring out at Thal from inside of deep crevices. "If you can find the way, you may wish to leave. I will find one of that man's brothers and extend my condolences for their ill fortune."
Some muscle in his cheek twitched, and Thal's tail suddenly reanimated itself, whipping left and right violently. "Uh... right," he muttered, grimaced at the stench of burnt flesh and forcibly tore his eyes from Qion'to's corpse. "I'll just, er, get going then." Two steps backwards, then a turn on one bare foot, and then he was hurrying away from the Duskwight and his victim.
Megiddo stood where he was, watching Thal go. He closed his fists and opened them again, swung his neck from side to side to test his joints. He would never be young again, but this was as close as it got: the aether of a person's death lubricating his muscles and bones, giving him a measure of the strength that had flown from him over years.
Once he was alone, he was no longer there. The place was empty.
***
Inside the ruins, Qion'li shifted on his tall throne, crossing his legs, tapping his fingers against the blank metal mask of his crown. After a moment, he waved the other hand, and the gate to his throne room opened loudly, resonating all across his kingdom. The undead outside dropped whatever they were doing and either remained frozen in place or moved to the sides of the corridors and rooms. They raised their arms and pointed, marking the way.
The throne room was located inside what once was a bell tower. Now it lied in ruins, dozens of niches carved into each wall going all the way up. Most of them were empty, but in the darkness of some flickered a dim light. In others, the shape of the undead in them could be seen, tied or chained in place with their face lowered to face the weakly bright crystals in their hands.
Qion'li shifted on his tall throne again. He waited.
The Duskwight eyed the niches carved into the bell tower, more interested in the light than the undead. He himself was cast in shadow, staying at the fringes of the room. He did not come through the door, or make his appearance anywhere near the door. He was in the room as though he had always been in the room, well off to one side and leaning casually against a wall. "Your brothers are not very direct," he observed.
"No. But you are." the king replied, still facing the door. "I believe you owe me some condolences."
The old man bowed his head, offered an upturned palm, "Condolences." He lifted his gaze once more, smiling. "All of this struggling to capture an avatar of Thal when what you're really looking for is the one who summoned him. Am I correct?"
"Yes. We'd like to meet him." he nodded. "The creator is always more important than his creation. No matter how impressive it is."
"You will have to search in Ul'dah." Megiddo closed his eyes, pondered a moment. "There were recently a series of deaths near the ossuary in Ul'dah. Four murders by knife, my own doing. And one vicious animal attack, except it was not an animal. Move quickly or the person you're looking for will slip away."
Qion'li tilted his head and raised one hand to tap at his mask. "You have our thanks. But what do you want in exchange?"
"I will be observing your results. You will not be able to keep me from doing so. If I decide that I require something more, then I will take that as well." He stood from the wall, the flash of a knife between his fingers, but in the next instant he presented empty palms. "I will try to resist killing any more of your brothers."
"Excellent. You make my brother's death almost worth it." He leaned back on his throne and gestured to the open gate. The undead that had been pointing the whole time finally let their arms drop. "Unless there's anything else, I believe we both have things to do at the moment."
"A parting word," Megiddo raised one finger, smiling. "There never has been and never shall be any kingdom underground, any king, that is not either a Kobold, or a Duskwight. Everything else is just a puppet show." He dropped his hand, and his tone turned almost bitter. "Good day."
The fake king chuckled, throwing his head back and, after a moment, decided to let a long laugh come out of him. When he was done, he leaned forward with his arms over his knees, looking around at the walls. He spoke up raising both arms, though by then it was probably only to his also fake subjects.
"That is true!"
***
The Duskwight stood in Thanalan, in the shadow cast by the stones piled up around the cave entrance. He gave the sky an unhappy look, the horizon a frown. The shadows here were so much more shallow, so much brighter, than those underground. The air was hot, moving against his skin, shining on his hair and making him sweat.
The Acolyte of Oschon grimaced towards the sky, "Surely there must be something very interesting in underground that you could lead me to, that would hold me for more than a few hours? I do miss home." There was no god in the sky, though. At least, none that replied.
With a sigh, Megiddo dropped his gaze and eyed the exit of the puppet kingdom, waiting for the man called Thal to exit.
He wasn't entirely sure how he found his way out this time, especially considering his questionable success the last attempt. Perhaps he had a better subconscious memory than he gave himself credit for, or the air was different and carried scents better that day. Or something. Regardless, Thal managed to shake the disturbing cloud of Qion'to's death long enough to feel proud of himself when he caught sight of the hole of light marking the end of the cavern and the beginning of sweet, sweet open sky. Picking up his pace a bit, he gave a satisfied shake of his tail when he passed beneath the mouth of the cave.
The sun felt like the coziest blanket ever over his skin, and he turned his face upward, stretching his back and tail.
Megiddo blinked at the man. "Enjoying Thanalan?"
He was far too used to these things to be surprised anymore. Instead, the miqo'te cracked open one blue eye. His brow pulled down, though. "Not most of the time, that's for sure."
Waving one dusky hand at the cave entrance, the old man stepped out of his shadow. "The underground doesn't count. Everywhere has its loons."
"Guess so," the miqo'te hummed low, turned towards the Duskwight's voice. He winced briefly, recalling the gruesome way the old man had smoked Qion'to dry, then shook his head and offered a small shrug. "What can I say - I like the sun."
"Not as many living things to feed off of, but on the upside, no Woodwailers. No reason to hide your face." Megiddo pointed at Thal's blue eyes, the first time he'd seen them in years, and then dropped his hand. "If you have not seen Ul'dah, I would recommend it. I haunt there frequently these days. It is a sight."
"Do they really grow pumpkins there?" He chuckled once, then his mouth twisted. "Look, uh, back there. Was that really necessary? He was gonna let us go, and you could've just... eaten that pet thing."
"It was necessary for what I wanted to accomplish. The carbuncle would have been no use to me, for it had no spirit to snuff out." The Duskwight shrugged. "Those who are not prepared to die should not dabble in death. I will lose no sleep over it."
The Seeker grimaced. "I guess. They were into some really... messed up stuff." Scratching behind one ear, Thal cast a look back into the cavern before facing himself out towards the thinly wooded borderland. "Wish you would stop poking at the past, though. There's no point in digging that up."
"I'm not trying to discern your past. It just so happens that the person who put you in the ground is of interest to a lot of people. The sooner they go looking for her, the sooner they leave you alone." He put his smirk on again. "That's better, isn't it? They are now her problem, not yours. And you don't care about her at all."
Clasping his hands behind his head, Thal rotated on one foot to peer sideways and at a tilted angle at Megiddo. He was silent for a moment and then let out a breath. "Man. You're... right. Of course! Is there ever a time you aren't? Heh."
"I try not to be wrong about things." The man blinked. "You've lost your mask?"
"Uh..." He turned one way, then the other, then held his hands in front of him and shrugged. "... Yeah, dropped it when... y'know, things. Oops."
"If you attempt to go back into the Shroud without a properly crafted mask you may run into trouble... Ah, well." The Duskwight took a step back and turned on the balls of his feet. "I'll be heading back to Ul'dah, then. I think I'm in the mood for pumpkin."
"I'll figure it out when it comes up, I guess. Maybe it's still around here somewhere." Blue eyes peered around him, not that he really expected to see the mask from where he stood. Shaking out his tail, Thal shifted subjects rapidly, "Where's Ul'dah? Heck better yet, where am I? Not that it really matters, I guess."
Megiddo paused, looked at Thal and pointed, "The Shroud is that direction. Ul'dah is that direction, past Highbridge and Drybone. You are equidistant between Ul'dah and Gridania. Where do you wish to go?"
The man turned his head to look north, imagined he could see where the swamp began even from here - not that he really could. "The Shroud's all I really know," he muttered. Though it had been as strange to him as any other place when he'd woken, five years had established it in his mind as at least a place familiar. He'd never settled there, was never completely comfortable under the shadow of the canopy, but at least he knew it. Understood it even. The same could not be said for the rest of the world, or even himself. The Shroud and Gridania were everything Thal knew about himself.
Rocking onto the balls of his feet, he let out a low hum. "But, I don't have my mask. And I'm all the way out here already." He wasn't used to weighing such a heavy thought and so, in true fashion to his character, he chose not to weigh it at all. "So I guess that's that. I never did get that pumpkin."
The Duskwight nodded in the direction of Ul'dah. "Walk with me. It is rare that I have a companion."
"Ahah, in that, we're alike!" Thal grinned and gestured with a flourish towards Megiddo before turning south.
![[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
