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Post by EloHim on Jun 8, 2020 13:51:51 GMT -8
[Elohim, the Crimson Salamander]
"Thank you."- he is as sincere as a man can be. He was washed over with relief. They got through to her... And that was all that he could've hoped for in this instance.
"No souls tormented."- he nods.-"But You and I...others too, those that are able... We will have to do our best to usher them away from this place, lest all will inevitably land within the Maw of the One Beneath. That's how it works: every death - an early lunch. The best we can do is deny it."- he then nods again, smile on his face, and falls silent, allowing Talea to and Lekalis to have their questions and answers. He already talked too much.
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Post by EtherealNoire on Jun 8, 2020 19:19:24 GMT -8
Twas clear in the lord’s wayward gaze that her words, her intentions, eluded him. For although an ember of intrigue still burned within his mind, Talea knew that with each verse she shared amongst them, the coals would soon crumble and burn away to naught. The knowledge left traces of fatigue in her solemn visage, and urged her eyes to shelter behind the shutters of her lashes, if for no else but to find repose within the darkness of her thoughts. She would need to speak to them as they did, with the tongues of mortals. With a slight pout to her lips from the taste of such bitter notes, she placed a hand to the thorns at her collar and spoke.
“I too share in thy apologies, for my language is not of this realm. Tis clear my words cannot be understand outside the lands I once dwelled in. For this, I shall strive to speak plainly. Thou inquired if he is my master, yet I fear he doeth not care for that appellation. Rather, he is my guardian, and I am his sibyl.”
Her voice softened, almost to a hush, as if the weight of her secrets were too heavy to utter, and she bowed closer against the marbled wood.
“Some hath claimed he was created from every sin that was enacted against the light, while other aver him a being cast from the firmaments. Yet others insist he was a mortal of great power cursed by envy. All tales hold truth, yet all tales are wrong. He is a creature steeped in questions and chained to a realm parallel to the one in which thou currently treads. The realm he resides in is the land where souls depart to when they pass on from this world of life. Yet just as the dead are bound to a realm of darkness, so too is he confined to the shadows where night cannot sully the virtue of day. Thus, as he was confined to night, so it was the Night he became.”
A darkness settled in her gaze and those closest to her could see it was the shadow of sorrow. Even the briars loosened from her figure as she leaned into the table, as if knowing the burden she carried in her thoughts.
“Know I not his true origin, nor what fiend desired his creation and eternal bondage to the realm of the dead nay more than I know the truth of my own heritage. What knowledge I do possess is that we are beings fashioned for the same purpose, to communion with the souls of those who have met with quietus. Tis my purpose to act as a guide, and shepherd the spirits lost here to the realm of the departed. I am known as a psychopomp, banshee or reaper in thine culture, whilst Night is the warden and guardian of the souls in the realm beyond. Yet it was not always so.
In years foregone, afore my ingress to the Hamlet, I was fettered to a depraved fate. My gifts were perverted and stolen. I was used in sins that defiled my very essence, and hath haunted me beyond the strands of time.”
Her shoulders trembled, lost in memories when she lifted a finger to trace the metal rings pierced through her ear.
“Twas Night alone who decimated my shackles and freed me from bondage. He sanctified me, though I came from the depths of Tophet, and granted me a portion of his might in exchange for my own essence. Thus it was, I gained the title Maiden of thorns, and so it was I became the oracle of souls.”
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Post by EloHim on Jun 22, 2020 13:44:13 GMT -8
[Elo...?]
He tries to listen to what Talea has to say. He really does...but something feels wrong. The whole speech devolves into a low buzzing. The doors seem like they shake, the shadows on the walls seem to move on their own. Every shadow - a pale white mask with three holes for eyes and mouth... The gem shivers in his eye, the pain...the very same resonance he felt at the wedding...but different.
His head turns to Talea. The gem of Red no longer Red but of Dark Amber. And the voice...his own but not of his will. Something was asking in his stead, moving his lips.
"What realm of the departed is that, Priestess? To which place you siphon the souls? Have you ever asked him that? Or was it the only answer you recieved?"
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Post by Kidney on Jun 24, 2020 18:37:27 GMT -8
-The Water Wheel-
The smell of smoke was apparent. Dwelling in the woods, surrounded by a rotting home attached to the old Water Wheel, sat a singular man before smoldering embers and a dark hunk of...meat. The thing was untouched, and burnt into a strange oblong black object, warm and forever lost to the heat and the earth. It was the only modicum of comfort the man could find. The wooden mask felt cold on his tear-stained cheeks. The bandages clung to his skin, suffocated his pores, and constricted him.
He was Roard, and his hood obscured what the mask could not.
The bandages had done little to stifle the blood, what had truly occurred was his clotting blood created a cap around the stump where a finger once sprouted. The middle one, dark...diseased. Upon his chest he could feel his diaphragm pushing against the bronze breastplate, feeling the sting of the pointed bits of bronze where an arrow had once punched through and into his chest. He would rue the day the sickness pooled where the scar lay. The red tint to his right eye was enough to remind him that he was alone once again, in this...hell. Vesta had abandoned him.
"I did everything you asked." He said, looking to his bandaged hand. "What more must I do?"
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Post by rosallora on Jun 24, 2020 20:11:17 GMT -8
[Toustain]
She had led Andy through the beginnings of the forest, and despite the darker intentions of their seeking out the house, she couldn't help but feel happiness suffuse through her at the thought of seeing Roard again. It had been... well, she isn't sure if the Roard she saw at the abbey was an illusion or not. But it'd at least been a few long days, and Roard was a presence that she enjoyed having near.
"Roard!" She calls, seeing the water wheel. She laughs lightly, breaking into a jog and away from Andy, excited to see him. And then... there was a smell. A smell of rot, and putrid sickly-sweet decay. She slows, coming closer. She sees... bandages. A hood.
"...Roard...?" Her voice is edged with fear, the woman taking a step back.
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Post by speakeroftruths on Jun 24, 2020 21:27:56 GMT -8
Andy walks a pace behind Toast, keeping pace without overtaking, up until she runs ahead of them. Then is when they unconsciously fall into their old pattern, their old armor. The Inquisition is not to be taken lightly, and their stance starts to reflect that. They walk a bit taller and straighter, face becoming terribly neutral, their stride ever so slightly surer.
The scent though... It unsettles. Combined with the strange note in Toustain's voice, it drives their hand instinctually to the quiver on their belt.
"Is your friend well?" They ask, muscles tensed.
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Post by Kidney on Jun 24, 2020 21:46:09 GMT -8
Roard wished he could have felt something. His form barely shifted, in his past life, he would have ran to her, hid from the world against her soft form, sniff the gentle scents of her clothes and wish above all else that she brought a pie. He could not force himself to do so now. He turned enough to cast a look to her, one full of pain. The wooden mask was spattered with blood, and hid what once was so pressed forward and universally present. The human spirit constrained by self-imprisoning malignancy.
"Stay. Back." He uttered, not raspy, but wet with a half-held sob. "I am unwell." He says, looking down to his bandaged hand once more. He leaned further down, crooning into himself, groaning and moaning. "Toustain...." He muttered, "...I gave it everything I had."
He turned to Andy as they spoke, eyes widened with momentary horror. "Who...is this?" He said, standing, a man of titanic stature, fueled by desperation, and fear. Had Toustain come to put him out of his misery? Did she know? "What...are you both doing?"
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Post by rosallora on Jun 24, 2020 22:01:06 GMT -8
[Toustain]
"This is Andy," she says, and every bit of her fair spirit is gone from her. How could this have happened? And so soon? She looks at his bandaged hands. "Roard... how...?"
She doesn't know how to explain it all in words that they're going to understand, or believe. She could hardly believe it herself. Just a week ago they had laughed because of his new body. How he had cheated death. Her eyes follow his hand, realizing that he was missing one of his fingers. "It's... it's worse..." she steps backward once, then twice, taking her hood down and yanking the wrappings from her head, putting them instead around her mouth and nose. "Roard we came... I..." she doesn't know how to get the words out. Her voice is a warble. Why was it all falling apart?
"...Roard... how... how quickly...?"
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Jun 25, 2020 7:52:30 GMT -8
[The Fanuschrat Bed and Bath]
/Lekalis/ The Red Lord listened, keenly, and with a growing smile that was steeped in some shameless warmth. He cleared his throat and shifted as she spoke, furrowing his brow and then flexed the muscles on his face to try and abate the smile to something more serious, more fitting for the rather morose monologue upon the curious miracle of Dark Nightly shapes. But his smile remained after, and he settled into a silent recline in his seat, cradling a cheek in his palm so he might mask his unspoken excitement behind his nimble fingers. There was a boyish glimmer in his eye that betrayed the typically ominous bored gaze, or the intense falconic stare. He eagerly glanced to Elohim, then to Talea. Only to return to the red shade turned amber with a worrying frown and furrowed brow. Lekalis' hand moved now and rested on his falchion's hilt, glancing to Talea, "I don't think your daft, Talea, but please don't answer the good Alchemist." Lekalis' delight shifted to focus now, glimmer changed to glint as he shifted in his seat to face Elohim, "What's this new strange then, Elohim?" |
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Post by EloHim on Jun 25, 2020 10:17:15 GMT -8
[? ? ?]
Elorit's head slowly turns to Lekalis as features of its face relax into a smile.
"You call a name this one did not tell you. Perhaps you aren't as unknowledgable as you claim, Fanuschrat. Or perhaps that stone around your neck has started whispering its sweet song, as soon as it smelled something going wrong? I don't know. Suffice to say that this one will not hear any secrets from his own in the future. Unless things go horribly wrong, which is always a possibility."- he stayed perfectly comfortable in his chair, ignoring Lord's movements that were supposed to incite worry. Or carefulness in choice of words. He seemed fine with whatever it was that was happening. Otherwise he was completely still, not moving any muscles besides those of head and neck.
He again turns his head to Talea.
"There are no realms of the dead free of any influence. Every realm claiming' to be such is just a masquerading funnel aimed straight at some god's maw. One way or another they all float there. Whilst I would assume we're all for not giving the corruption beneath us any quarter, I would like to know... where You send them on, Talea. So as to not accidentally, you know, welcome a new snake into the world by killing the old one.”- a chuckle escaped his lips but was quickly suppressed, as he continued talking.
“Logical claim, one would assume? We know where Red is. We know where the Kite hides, we know some of his methods and preferences in appetizers. We know how Light works, he's been amassing his choir for centuries. But when You send them on...do you know where? If so - great!"- he claps his hands,-"I would be content knowing that you know, and aware of the consequences. And if you don't know... then a good question to ask would be: who benefits? Because someone always does and I don't mean the dead."
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Post by EtherealNoire on Jun 25, 2020 16:58:31 GMT -8
Though his queries fell as easy from the Executant's tongue as rain from the heavens, it did not draw answers with such ease from Talea's mind. Nay, what words could she utter? Twas a query oft mused when shadows stalked her through the quiet yards of stones where she made her rest, and echoed in the depths of Night's gelid eyes when he pulled himself free for but a breath to share with her. To whom did the shadows belongs? And to whom where she and Night bound, that forced their souls to merge as one in need to elude their depraved fates?
Her tresses tumbled forth across the sharp ridge of her nose as her gaze lifted towards the distant shrouded sky. How long had she been shielded? How long had she recoiled from the horrors wrought upon her master amidst his own quests for enlightenment? For a beat of her heart, she wondered also how many ages had past since she had first drawn breath.
"Thou seekth knowledge I can not grant thee. Their realm is neither one of life nor death, but that of the twilights between. Though I free them from the anguish that binds them to this mortal land, where they depart to after the Caliginous realm, I do not know. Few are granted egress. And where they evanesce to when they hath made their peace, Night cannot follow."
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Post by Bloodtrailkiller on Jun 26, 2020 6:27:12 GMT -8
/Lekalis/
Lekalis was disquieted by the Alchemist's sudden shift of tone and manner, though Talea's willful reply surprised him some and stole his attentions for a moment as she elaborated upon this talk of realms and after life's.
He was nonplussed, however, and returned his gaze to the Alchemist with a furrowed brow;
"I'll rephrase my question then; what the hell is up with you? Your eye changes hue, and you speak like you're possessed." He shook his head and looked to Talea with an exasperated sigh, when would a visit and conversation upon the matter of souls and the occult not devolve to mad and possessed ramblings,
"Has he done this often..?"
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Post by EtherealNoire on Jun 26, 2020 7:44:48 GMT -8
Her head tilted again towards the tacit-lord, called from her musings by his disfavor, yet her sight was sheltered once more in shadows and revealed nay more of her thoughts.
"My communion with the Executant hast been brief, verily as dusk before nightfall. Tis thine own being, lord of crimson, that hath conversed with him far longer than I."
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Post by Kidney on Jun 26, 2020 17:13:41 GMT -8
The question reminded him of the days he didn't know how long he had. An outstretched hand, cloaked in leather, stained with bile and forbidden blood. Nuns and Monks, content to let him starve, force him from his binds, expose his skin to the air. To rot, forever. He would do so again now, but he could feel its spread, like his skin was too small, and his bloating body pushed and tore against it until the disease would burst out into a yellow-green pool.
"Not long." He said, eyes turned back to Toustain, savoring her face, for he would not be able to see it for much longer. "Days." He continued, looking to Andy. Watching their face ripped his drive from him, and he turned and sat back down on the log near the fire. His head fell into his hands, "Go on." He said, shaking his head, curling into a grosser pose. "Do what you must."
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Post by speakeroftruths on Jun 26, 2020 17:46:18 GMT -8
If there is one thing that Andy knows, it is the unnatural. Indeed, were it merely disease, they might have a roundabout idea of what it was, but context provides clues that speak to something else, something malignant and intentionally so. And just like that, the whole vile scene took on a very different tone.
"Quid sacri profanique?" The inquisitor slings the crossbow around to load a bolt, eyes darting around at the surroundings. "Toustain, get back! Whatever malign infliction is upon him reeks of dark magics."
They lift their weapon, turning slowly about the trees as though expecting something to leap out and attack while they cared for the fallen knight.
"What did this to you, warrior? Is it still here?" Their voice softens ever so slightly, one part compassion and two parts caution.
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