Dark Jack

Betwixt the Eternal Light

Personally I'd think that it's not as much sights that would drive a person insane as the comprehension of what they see. Fear is a likely thing to cause insanity like that, probably, but I'd think that empathy could also faciliatate insanity like that, if one witnessed another person (or an animal, even) endure something horrible.
So a psychopath, who is incapable of empathy and has a high tolerance for stress, I'd actually imagine they're less prone to being driven insane by witnessing an event alone.

Betwixt the Eternal Light

The huge monstrous beings, at least, seemed to react to his command, though the meaning of their immediate reaction was ambiguous at best; they seemed to simply perk up abruptly, as if awakened from a trance by the sound of his voice, and stared at him in silence, but with keen focus that clearly suggested that these creatures, whatever they were, were not mindless. They did not move right away, but simply stood there, watching him. Perfect was torn between feeling annoyed and impatient at their inability to follow his orders, and a feeling he rarely admitted to himself, but which had the hairs on his arms stand on end: fear. Had he misinterpreted his own position here? He was their king, certainly, but with every kingdom there were rebellions, traitors, usurpers... If these creatures turned against him, he would not have the strength to fight them. He was thirsty, hungry and tired, and although he had killed many, he had never fought. He realized the truth in this statement only when he stood before the threat of those monsters, a threat that could very well mean certain death for him, and felt it resonate within his body as his muscles told him what his mind had forgotten. He had never fought, really... he had always picked victims weaker than himself to abduct, and he had only ever targeted those stronger than himself when he could surprise them, and he could slit their throat without resistance. He was a murderer, not a fighter. Even the armored man he had not fought, but simply executed once these beasts had rendered him helpless.
So in the face of this realization, yes, Perfect was afraid. He was strong, fast and cunning, but he had never brawled with an opponent he could not pin down with the weight of his body alone and who did not tremble in horror before him. These creatures would neither; they were powerful beyond the capability of humans, and they knew no fear. Even a psychopath knew fear, even if they were not as strongly affected by it - fear was a vital part of staying alive, after all - but these things were fearless.
When the armored man seemed to crumble into nothing but the dust that seemed to be perpetually present in this world, Perfect's attention turned momentarily to that, and he watched the phenomenon with a curiosity that chased away his fear. Not only the man, but his armor as well, seemed to disintegrate and fade into nothing, and Perfect was stricken by a profound realization. I'm in the well! He sensed a powerful truth in that statement, but also that his comprehension of the fact was not yet entirely complete. Part of me is in my well, at least, but the real me - the one I am now - is here, and this world is a well in and by itself. There is no need to find a well in which to hide away unfortunate mishaps; this world hides things on its own. This is the well. My well. I am in my well.
The ones that killed me threw me in my well!

Then the moment passed, and Perfect actually started in surprise as one of the beasts let out a cry that was familiar to him - very much so - but at the same time struck him as being deeply and disturbingly wrong. It was the sound made my his parents after he had slit their throats, the sound his sister had made after he had punctured her neck; the sound of a life ending. Perfect, an emissary of death as he was, knew this sound better than most, but also knew that no living thing should ever be able to produce a noise like that without its end being imminent. What were these monsters, exactly? What was this world? Death never ends here; in the well, everyone is dead. Even I died. It is the sound of this world.
When the creature suddenly went to seize him, Perfect's fear returned with newfound intensity as he felt suddenly certain that this monster was about to attack and slay him. Startled, he tried taking a step backwards, holding up his newly acquired halberd as if hoping to ward off the grasping claw, but he knew even before he had a chance to attempt any such that resistance would be futile. He was grabbed, pulled in and held immobile against the body of the beast. Much to his surprise it did not crush him, as he estimated that it would easily be capable of, but simply held him there so that he could not move, while it and its fellow abomination went to climb out of the valley with surprising speed and agility for creatures their size. It is carrying me somewhere, he thought, not at any point considering the idea of struggling against the grip that held him in place. They want to take me with them for some reason. I suppose anywhere is better than here, where there is no food or water to be seen anywhere... they smell disgusting, though. What a stench.
I hope I won't have to endure it for long...

The trip he was going on, it turned out, was significantly longer than he would have liked it to be. The monsters were fast and covered a lot of distance very quickly, and interestingly never seemed to get exhausted even when they sustained this speed for what felt like many hours, yet they simply kept going and going, farther and farther into the distance, until the valley they came from was nothing but a memory several horizons past. Perfect saw much of the world during the journey, and what he saw only affirmed the conclusion he had reached and tried to share with the armored man in his last moments: this land was anything but empty. There were things here, beings that could have been spawned straight from some grotesque nightmare, living and thriving on their own strength and the weakness of others. Perfect admired and approved of the order of this world - it felt as though this world was much more orderly and honest than the old one, one where he could thrive as the one he was instead of being forced to pretend to be something else to survive - but despite everything he was still human enough to unnerved by how unnatural and alien it all seemed. This land was alive, yes, but the life and soul of the land had its source in death. Death was everywhere, wherever one looked, and it was enough to cause even Perfect to avert his gaze. This world was... revolting. It did not kill for pleasure, self-preservation or just satisfaction, but rather killed for the sake of killing. Perfect was a monster, but as bad as he was by human standards, this place was infinitely worse. In a place as mad as this, even he seemed normal. Another reason to like this world.
After an eternity of running, much of the latter half of which Perfect had spent with his eyes closed to try to block out the horrors of this land and preserve whatever semblance of sanity he might have left, the monsters finally stopped. Perfect opened his eyes and immediately saw the tower they had arrived beneath, which he kept staring at even as the beast placed him back onto the ground. His legs were numb from the long trip in the monster's grasp, and he stumbled, but avoided falling by trusting the butt of the halberd into the ground and using it for support. There was a jingle as he did so; only then did he realize that a small bell was tied to the weapon. Not that he cared.
The tower... the creatures wanted him to go there. They brought him all this way just for him to visit the tower. The tower. The tower. The tower.
The seat. The throne.
He headed for the tower.

The Prophecy

Olan will stay by Thaler, wherever she ends up being, and will probably dismount, whereas Jaelnec will go with Aemoten to meet them, only dismounting if Aemoten does so as well.

The Prophecy

Well, I'll have to fill in for those two during the fast-forward, of course, but I don't think either of them would engage the other group in current time.

Betwixt the Eternal Light

Perfect approves of the crickets... as long as they keep their distance.

Betwixt the Eternal Light

@NewSun: I don't suppose you could make him target Perfect first for his opening act. Let's not make it too easy for Perfect. Also a PM for you also regarding him.

Laue

I find it interesting that you would assume that things are going to be notably easier for Perfect compared to the rest of the characters. He did just pretty much make himself the enemy of all non-Empty in the land that ever find out what he's done, and thanks to the memory left to him by Turncloak - and the accompanying delusion - he's going to be much more liable to put himself in danger now than he was before. On top of that none of us, except NewSun, know what Perfect's new buddies will do once (the Turning Light ends? The Light Turns again? What would this phenomenon be described as, I wonder?) the darkness subsides; he might be left alone and vulnerable in a world that's a whole new kind of hostile to him.

Whether Perfect would at least dislike death depends whether he more wants to be Perfect, or a monster (many of which are quite mindless or insane), I suppose? There'd nevertheless be ways to make his existence rather unpleasant that I see, death being something to be avoided or not ... he better be glad my character doesn't quite have the full extent of my imagination in her current state. Or that she isn't a particularly cruel person, though the beast within may be.

Shienvien

Oh, I don't know how Perfect will react to dying, exactly... I just have my suspicions. I don't have any plans for him, either, only predictions of what will become of him depending on what happens to him. Him embracing the change and eagerly awaiting his ascension to monsterhood is one outcome (that has become less likely with his new delusion of kinghood), but I predict many others depending on how things progress, which memories he ends up losing when he dies, and which memories he will obtain when killing others. The sum of his memories will continue to define him, I can pretty much guarantee that... at least to a certain point.
I can say with relative certainty that I look forward to whatever Perfect will eventually become, and that he's a blast to write as.
As to the process of changing into a monster, I already brought that matter up with NewSun myself. And Perfect - though new in the world - does seem rather Empty-ish for someone that hasn't been there very long. The question is: will he continue to be so? Or become even more so? Oh, the possibilities...

EDIT: By the way, I updated the CS with the new equipment and memory.

Betwixt the Eternal Light

Something is different. The thought was there the instant the warrior's body turned limp, striking Perfect as much more than just a suspicion; it was an instinctive certainty that had him reeling from the impact of it, and for an instant he was petrified as his mind worked to cope with what was happening to him. Fear and stress barely touched him, but this was neither. It was a cognitive process that momentarily overloaded his brain, taking up so much of its processing power that it felt as though he was incapable of thought or action beyond that single endeavor. He closed his eyes, and outside grew distant and insignificant as the inside enveloped him.
Imagines, sounds, smells, sensations, tastes... Impressions appeared in his mind, seemingly from nowhere, forming a scene wherein he was the main actor, playing his role by a manuscript beyond his choosing. Darkness... a woman... he spoke, his voice not his own. It was not right, this memory was not his, this was not him! But he remembered... He remembered a feeling in his chest, emotions he had never experienced before. What was it? Why did he feel the need to heed the words of this woman? Why had he devoted himself to her? What sorcery was this?!
"Do you renounce your kinghood for me?"
Somewhere within him, the very core of Perfect's being rose up in protest against the memory, rejecting it. He remembered doing, saying and feeling these things, but this was not him... was it? Surely, he would never have felt something like this. He would never have said the things he remembered having said.
But it was there, this memory; a great, powerful presence, soaking into his mind and trying to find its place. Much had been lost when he died, he knew this, and this alien memory was trying to fill the space left behind by those, like a piece of one jigsaw-puzzle trying to squeeze itself in place in another where it would not fit. Put the triangle through the triangular hole, not the square, he thought desperately, laughing inwardly at the improbability of it all. But that's not going to happen, is it? It's going to keep trying until it all becomes circles.
And just like that his eyes flew back open. Like a cog finally finding a way to mesh in existing machinery he felt the memory snap into place within him, adding fragile complexity to its workings and new compatibility to future additions.
"Do you renounce your kinghood for me?" the woman asked in the memory, her words bleeding from it, tainting the rest of his being, even as his own corrupting influence did its work on the memory, altering it; adapting. The voice he spoke with was no longer the voice of the one he had killed, but his own. What he felt was no longer loyalty, no longer this crazed devotion and willingness to sacrifice; it was ownership. This was his woman. His most precious woman. He enjoyed her. But would he renounce his kinghood for her?
Why would I do that? he thought, smiling once again, feeling an entirely new kind of power and confidence spread through his very being. I am the king, after all.
"Go! Find the crown, find your way home!" the man had said, and now Perfect understood.
My crown, my home, my woman. They would take it away from me, they would steal everything, leave me with nothing... empty. I will not let them. It is mine! The crown, the home, the woman, this world and everything in it; it is all MY KINGDOM!

The process, while intense, lasted only an instant, and when it was over Perfect had changed. Although some might have been tempted to call him a narcissist in the past, this had never been the case simply because narcissism suggested not only love for oneself, but also a desperate need for everyone else to love one as well. Perfect did love himself, and tended towards egotism, but he had never cared about anyone else before beyond their potential uses to him. He had been happily living in obscurity, the hunter prowling the darkness, preying upon his lesser to give himself enjoyment and satisfaction. He had not cared about the warrior beyond the fact that he was an obstacle, a hazard to his own person, and he did not care about the warrior's companions aside from them potentially having resources and information that would be valuable to him. His life had never had any deeper meaning to it; he lived primarily to survive, and secondarily for pleasure.
But why had he ever felt like that? These people did not submit to him, and therefore were insufferable. They would be his servants, give him everything he demanded, or they would die.
He was their king, after all. Their glorious perfect king.

Still smiling, Perfect ignored the blood-thirsting creature whose cries echoed through the valley and withdrew his knife from his slain opponent and placed it on the ground beside himself. The movement was gentle, cautious, as if afraid that the knife would break or vanish as soon as he was no longer holding on to it. In sharp contrast to the care with which he set aside his knife his left hand traced a violent backward arc as his fingers uncurled, sending the puny sticks he had sharpened flying into the darkness, scattering in the valley. He did not care about them; they were not worthy of him anymore.
Instead he leaned over the warrior, still ignoring the scurrying creature that had appeared and seemed to assail the corpse of his downed prey, seeming intoxicated with the blood and barely aware of Perfect. He reached out, his right hand seizing the halberd of his victim, and his left taking hold of the shield. Both items were wrestled from the nerveless fingers of their old owner, and was claimed as the first regalia of the new king.
They are heavy, he noted, struggling to stand up with both pieces of new equipment, feeling their weight in his hands. Perfect was quite strong, himself - stronger than the average man, at least - but he did not think that he could use the halberd in one hand, as the warrior had. For that man to have wielded the halberd in one hand, to have wielded the shield in the other and worn such heavy armor... he must have been incredibly strong. Perfect had been right to eliminate him before he could become a threat. Before he brandished it to fight these creatures, the warrior wore the shield on his back. I can see why; I think I will do the same, and use it only in conjunction with my knife. I will need both hands to use this halberd properly, that much is certain.
About to stand, Perfect noticed one more thing of note on the warrior: a container of some sort, the kind referred to as a skin, meant for holding liquids, though it seemed regrettably empty. He retrieved it nonetheless, fit the shield onto his back as he had seen the halberdier do in reverse, picked up his knife with his newly freed left hand, and stood. The warrior had nothing else that would be of use to him. This blood-starved creature, whatever it was, could have what was left.

Perfect went back to where he had left the sheath to his knife and, after wiping blood off the blade as best he could on the sand of the valley, fit it back onto the blade. Once that was done the knife went down his left pant-leg, in lack of a better place to store it. He gripped his new halberd with both hands and turned, calmly, to face the creatures that accompanied him in the darkness. The giant monsters seemed contrastingly docile now compared to how they had been before, but not mindless; they watched him. He smiled.
"I am thirsty," he informed those present, hoping that one of them might be able to understand his words. "Help me get something to drink."

Betwixt the Eternal Light

Indeed, with the way events turned out it is a compliment that people feel so strongly about Perfect. And the hilarious part of it all is that I don't think the characters would be achieving much, even if they did kill him; once he realized that he would reawaken after every death, becoming a little closer to being a true monster with every death, chances are that he would no longer fear death at all.

...What have I done? I have created a monster!
...Excellent.

Betwixt the Eternal Light

The people over there had heard detected someone from outside their little group, it seemed, and the armor-clad one commanded the one to show itself. At no point did it occur to Perfect that he was the one they had discovered; he was confident that they would not be able to spot him from their individual locations at this time. Besides, none of them were as much as looking in his direction, and the commander's attention seemed to be directed at the side of the valley. There were someone else here; another stranger. It was excellent! This stranger could test whether these people were hostile and take the risk in Perfect's stead, allowing him to decide whether to reveal himself or not at significantly less personal hazard. He just had to watch, and -
He blinked and furrowed his brow, momentarily incapable of fully comprehending what had just happened. He had not sensed any movement over there aside from that of the people he had already identified, yet somehow... there was someone else among them, now. Or was it a 'someone', even? Perhaps it was rather a 'something'? It only took a couple of seconds to realize that this being that had spontaneously materialized in the others' midst was not entirely human... or human at all, necessarily. It was difficult to tell the details of its appearance from this distance, but even its shape and the way it moved suggested something unnatural. It seemed more as though it was made of stone than flesh and blood, and... no, his attention had not wandered, he was sure of it; the creature had really appeared where it was instantaneously. It had appeared without crossing the space between its position and destination, as if by magic. Somehow, even though he had already deduced that he himself was alive even though he had died, it had never occurred to Perfect that other supernatural phenomena could manifest.
The point that the mystical was made tangible in this world was further proven but a moment later, when the halberdier apparently decided to do away with the strange creature by burying his weapon in its face, if it had a face, anyways. Rather than simply slumping to the ground as a mundane being would have, this creature first began to implode, and then it erupted into a blast of force and sound, all while the valley was permeated with the creature's dying scream.
On one hand, this armor-clad man had just killed a stranger barely without pausing first, which did not bode well for any hospitality he could expect from the group. On the other hand, the stranger had been inhuman, and an existence beyond the scope of Perfect's understanding; chances were that this man knew more of it than the psychopath, and recognized it as a definite danger.
But more importantly, the thing had been magical! Such power! Imagine, to be able to move anywhere at a whim, skipping the distance and obstacles between oneself and one's destination. To wield enough unbound energy within oneself to literally explode once one's will could no longer contain it.

Then another stranger arrived, this one human and moving by setting one foot in front of the other rather than hurtling through space and time with complete disregard to the laws of reality. The armor-clad one had warned one of his companions not to strike... which meant that the companion was likely to have intended to do so? Perfect did not know whether to feel encouraged to approach them at the fact that they allowed this other stranger to approach, or discouraged by the fact that their initial mode of action was to ambush him. Then the halberdier rushed to this newcomer, seizing him and thundering nonsense into his face; something about how he had found them, whether he was followed or whether he had met an old man with a stick. The last question in particular made Perfect decide that it was too dangerous to approach these people, after all. That man is insane, he thought, and his opinion did not change even when the newcomer was released. The rest of them don't seem to think or do much about anything, and the only one that seems like he's all there is clearly mad. He'd be as likely to run me through with his halberd as to offer me a drink. And what is this nonsense he sprouts? Old men with sticks, lights turning... none of it makes sense.
Or so he thought. The odd one with the bells, at least, seemed to react to the statement of the light turning, if nothing else. Perfect slightly raised his head from the ground, frowning as he tilted his head right, watching the man confusedly. Was this also madness? One would assume that this guy was not right in the head just by his attire, but his reaction did not seem quite as though it was caused by delusions alone. And when he yelled, there was something in his voice that Perfect recognized better than most, even with his innate lack of empathy: the prey's fear of the predator. The light is turning? he thought, only then starting to notice the shadows that crept along the floor of the valley beside him, slithered over his body, crawling across the land and shrouding it in unnatural darkness.
And the gloom growled, a sound that had no place in the world he had come from, one that did not belong in the throat of any mundane creature. The blackness was alive, full of life... or imitation of life, at least. The landscape, which had been full of so much nothing since he had gotten here, was now contrastingly full of something.

Ah, he thought, breaking into a grin as he started raising himself onto his elbows, staring at the dim forms that lurked the shadows. So the Light is Turning, eh? This is what that means. The world is changing; night has come, and the monsters are coming out to hunt. The prey scurries away, fleeing for imagined safety, as the predators emerge to give chase. That is the Turning of the Light!
The armor-clad man took up position to face the fiends that prowled in obscurity, shouting more nonsense to his companions while urging them to flee. It appeared that they, after some stupid hesitation, complied.
"Tell me, creatures of the Empty Land..." he boomed, even as Perfect pushed himself back so that he rested on his knees, clutching his knife and bundle of sharpened sticks so hard that his knuckles turned white. His grin was wide an manic as he beheld the creatures that moved around him, hearing their heavy footfalls and feeling the ground tremble at their approach. The predators were around him, yes, but they were not hunting him; they were passing him by in pursuit of the others.
What are you talking about, you madman? he thought at the other gleefully. I have never seen this land more full and alive!
"Which King do you serve?"
"Me," he answered in a quiet growl, unsheathing his knife. "I serve no other king than myself, little man. I am my own king."

The halberdier fought bravely, and it even seemed that he vanquished one of the beasts, only to be maimed from behind by another. And then... he looked directly at Perfect. His face could not be distinguished behind the visor of his helmet, but he did not need to see the armor-clad man's face to know; he felt the attention that came to center on him as much as he saw it. The euphoria of the moment was lost by then, and instead of a manic grin, Perfect now donned but a small, crooked smile instead, showing just a little teeth in the right side. His eyes were sharp, narrow, intelligent; his expression betrayed a calm and confident mindset as he finally rose to his feet, standing tall over the defeated giant, staring at him from between the legs of an animate hulk of flesh.
He kills the monsters, he thought, moving forward composedly, his stride even and unhesitating. He is strong, and he is mad. He is dangerous; much too dangerous to suffer the risks he pose.
Without taking his eyes off the halberdier, Perfect walked around the creature that stood between himself and the man. He knew that this beast, whatever it was, would not harm him; it recognized a fellow predator, a fellow monster. They would know, even though they had no way to do so, that he was a beast as well. He did not need to flee, just as he felt no instinctive fear towards this situation, or this world. Why would he?
Now he knew why he had come to this world: he belonged here. This was his world, more than the old one had ever been.
Perfect.
He stood over the fallen warrior, still smiling calmly, happily. He kneeled beside him, and muttered in his ear: "We all serve perfection, warrior. That you see this land as empty proves that you are the empty one."
The blade of Perfect's knife found the gap rent in the halberdier's armor by the monster, and easily slid into the naked flesh within.
"And I am Perfect."

Betwixt the Eternal Light

Perfect.