Dark Jack

The Prophecy

The Duchy of Zerul, by a road in southwest

It was a blessed relief to put some distance between himself and Angora, a refreshing sensation similar to getting into a tub with warm water after a day of hard toil in the cold. Jaelnec could feel his muscles relaxing as the world ceased moving under his feet, his thoughts started to flow more easily and the horrid paranoia that had gripped him before softened into mild anxiety. He sighed softly as his shoulders slumped, finally starting to feel properly like himself again. Being in that aura for extended periods of time, he thought, would be a nightmare.
He could not allow himself to relax all the way just yet, though; Aemoten would not have requested that they spoke privately unless it was something important, and the squire owed it to him to take the situation seriously. The first thing that occurred to Jaelnec might need to be discussed between them was Roct – the sword and the entity within it – which seemed disturbingly relevant with Olan having just revealed to the others where the previously dubbed “Mother Tigress” truly resided and with Angora’s condition having turned out to be unnervingly similar to his own. He tried to guess what the Sekalyn would say about her that would be this important, and nervously realized that there was a pretty high chance that Aemoten would demand that he got rid of Roct as he had with Black Thorn. And why would he not? Roct had proven dangerous, so why not just discard her first chance he got? It was not his responsibility that she, whatever she was, would apparently be condemned to total solitude without a wielder... was it?

Jaelnec’s brow furrowed in effort to understand when Aemoten actually started speaking, setting immediately into, of all things, an explanation of one of the core values of the Knighthood of the Will, which was also the namesake of the order and something Freagon had lectured him on at several different occasions, and which his old master had made a point to frequently test to its limit, all while goading him to defiantly push that little bit farther every time. Yes, willpower was certainly a resource that could both be depleted and trained, and Jaelnec had experienced both and thought that he probably possessed a stronger will than most... though nowhere near that Freagon had had. How could one compete with the willpower of someone who carried on his knightly duties even when inflicted with the Withering, right up until his body finally gave in to the plague?
It was the part about principles being broken and emotions listened to that made the Nightwalker realize why he was bringing it up: Jaelnec’s stated desire to kill Angora just minutes ago. The young squire shrank visibly at the thought, avoiding their leader’s gaze in shame as he – now much more clear-headed than before – recalled the thoughts and emotions that had passed through his head when he had stood over Angora, remembered the sadistic bloodlust that had consumed him in that moment, and was shaken to the core of his being by it. He trembled, thoroughly disgusted with himself, and found that it was even more shameful that his left hand kept clutching the hilt of his sword in desperate search for comfort.
“I’m sorry,” he said under his breath, still unable to meet Aemoten’s gaze. But the human was not done speaking just yet, it seemed.

Now the subject turned to Roct, as Jaelnec had suspected. The squire actually made a point of taking his hand off the sword once the topic was brought up just to be completely sure that he had severed all connection to the entity within it, and forced himself to pull himself together and face Aemoten, lest he ended up nervous enough for the compulsion to seek comfort from the sword to overpower the conscious decision not to do so.
“I only started hearing her... well, after Master Freagon died,” he explained when Aemoten inquired about him hearing Roct before. “But then again I didn’t have the sword before then, and it was a pretty emotional time for me. She was completely silent for a while after that day, when she took control of me, but...” He shook his head. “I didn’t think anything of it back then... I think she has always made it a point to speak when I’m distraught, though, or angry. To try to calm me down.”
He paused a moment to think before commenting on the rest of Aemoten’s questions. “I don’t think I’ve had any... no, that's not true. I don't think she possessed me, but she made me black out this morning, when Rilon's child form appeared. Said it was to stop me from trying to move. But...” He paused again, straining himself to remember. “When... the time I was possessed... I think I have a vague memory of... dying? I can’t remember the specifics, it was like a dream, but I remember the dread and the desperate realization that I was going to die, and that I wasn’t me. I think it was one of Roct’s memories. So... I think it does go both ways, yeah.”
He sighed. “I’ve learned to shut her out and can sever the connection between us by letting go of the sword, but I don’t think I can isolate myself from her completely unless I get rid of the sword. Maybe you should speak with her, see if she really can’t comprehend humanoids? And if she can’t...” He shrugged. “I guess I’ll have to find a new sword.”

After a bit of confused anxiety in regards to Thaler – anxiety that Jaelnec shared, to the point where he was about to start running off back towards the road in an effort to locate her – it appeared that Aemoten decided to split their group up, at least for a while... a decision Jaelnec did not like one bit.
“Are you sure you’ll be okay without me?” he asked, afraid that something might happen to his only two friends in the world while he was not around to at least try to protect them, but undeniably also hesitant to return to the others and subject himself to the full intensity of Angora’s aura once more, probably for much longer this time. “If you want me to go to the others I will, but the three of you... none of you are at your best, right?”

The Duchy of Zerul, by a road in southwest

Olan tumbled backward onto his back once Angora’s trials seemed to be over, panting heavily with exertion as his chest ached and his arms and back hurt, and rivulets of sweat drenched his face and his tunic, both front, back and under the arms. He breathed so hard that it made him feel nauseous and light-headed – even more so than Angora’s aura did – and squeezed his eyes shut as he tried desperately to regain his composure.
It was more than just the strain from restraining the not-entirely-human woman while Iridiel did her deed, a part of him pointed out, and he knew that it was true even without investigating the matter any further. Yes, holding down Angora had been hard, but not that hard. The way his stamina felt drained and the soreness in his muscles... he had not even felt it before because it was relatively minor, but exerting himself definitely made him conscious of how magical exhaustion was weakening him. It was merely first stage of exhaustion, to be sure, and was far from his limit, but it was still unnerving to realize that speaking in true words – even without invoking power through them – could drain him that much, even if he had spoken quite a few of them. Recalling times before he had lost his memory when he had used the power of the words, there could be little doubt that he was weaker now, for some reason...
So naturally Olan was doubly relieved when Angora proved to have recovered the ability to speak and understand Rodorian; there was really no telling how long he could have kept speaking in true words before he would have started progressing along the stages of exhaustion.

“Slow down there, you know?” he chuckled between heavy breaths when Angora profusely declared how she owed them all a lot and wanted to help them to repay what they had done. “It’s great that you’re feeling better, but you just went through something pretty bad... and you don’t even know who we are, you know? Or what we’re doing.”
Seeing as Aemoten and Jaelnec were both a bit off into the distance for the moment discussing whatever they needed to discuss, Olan figured that he might as well continue speaking on behalf of his group, as he had done thus far. “My name is Olan, and my group – Aemoten, Thaler and Jaelnec – are trying to end the Withering, you know? And yeah, we’re going to the city, but I’ll warn you that we’ve had the worst luck... I mean, we’ve learned a few things about the plague, but only in-between fighting demons, monsters, cultists and gods, you know?” He chuckled again, wiping his face with his sleeve. He shot a glance at Domhnall, hoping that he would realize that the warning was meant for him and Iridiel, too. “You might not want to get involved.”

Duchy of Pelgaid, secluded pond

“I didn’t sacrifice everything I’ve ever had just so I could die for nothing.”
Gerald closed his eyes, feeling a throb of a pain he believed himself accustomed to that was strong enough to nearly break his resolve, however strong it was and however long he had held on, and make him surrender to oblivion. It was not the Withering, though that certainly inflicted both constant pain and tested his resolve... No, this was an even older agony that had lived in him since years before he contracted the plague, one that was far worse than any physical torment he had undergone before or since, and one that had worked both as the source of his determination and the force that pushed him ever closer to the abyss of hopelessness. A wound to his heart, a poet might call it, though he doubtlessly sneer at and mock anyone making such a statement.
“Sacrifice everything I’ve ever had”, Jillian said, and she most likely had; being recognized as a witch was bad enough, but if she had become a murderer since, chances were that all that awaited her in Zerul City was a potential disownment from her family and the consequent loss of whatever wealth might have been hers, the loss of her magical abilities as she was made a sniffer and a prison cell. Her name, home and wealth had certainly been sacrificed, though at least she still had her health and her magical power. He did not even envy the fact that she had those two things, though, even as both his power and health waned more with each passing day... but even if she were to lose that, she still would not feel the truth of how deep loss could cut, how cruel the world could be.
How many times had he contemplated simply ending his suffering in his darkest moments? Especially in the beginning, back when he was still an instructor at the academy and had yet to delve into necromancy, his will to live had been diminished until it was negligible and he would likely have allowed anyone with the inclination to do so to end him with little more than token resistance. But he had lived... in spite of it all he had lived, even when most thought it impossible for him to do so. Through the murk of his own sorrow, through disgrace, persecution, sickness and danger he had continued living, always moving on, always with the resolve to sacrifice anything. He had killed, tortured, exploited and stolen until he was so thoroughly permeated by evil that he barely cared anymore, and he had to live with despising what he had become.
No, however true the words might be in a practical sense, Jillian did not know what it meant to truly sacrifice everything one had. That did not invalidate her statement, though.... and he certainly did not want to die, either, least of all for nothing. Not now.

“I could manifest minions, conjure undead or summon wraiths to support us against assorted servants under Hazzergash’s command,” Crone told Jillian, addressing the matter of what to do if the Swallower of Worlds was not alone, “but doing so would leave me less energy to sustain the circle. Furthermore, they would be destroyed or evade domination if Hazzergash were to possess me, unless the demon seized control of them instead.”
“That won’t do,” Renold admitted sadly. “As for the minute, that is the worst case. At best we might be able to hold him for several minutes, but I dare not guarantee more than one minute.”
“You won’t need a minute,” Gerald muttered sharply, sounding even more irritable than usual. “Once I get my hand on Hazzergash’s host and start moving him he won’t be able to do anything, circle or no circle. Once I’m in position you can abandon the binding circle and take care of whatever others he might have with him.”
The Green nodded, apparently pleased with this piece of news. “As for if things go wrong...” He sighed. “There is nothing we can do. Even if Crone doesn’t get possessed and still has enough energy left to teleport and get away with the crystal, Hazzergash will probably have a fresh host by then and teleport to follow her. If this fails there most likely will be no escaping him...”

The Prophecy

Duchy of Pelgaid, secluded pond

Exempt from? Gerald thought with grim amusement, still avoiding looking in the direction of any of the others and instead fixing his gaze on a point somewhere around the middle of the pond, studying the gentle stirring of the surface of the water with great intensity. Considering that he’s an elder dragon he’s the most likely target. I don’t know how his magical power compares to that of Crone, nor am I too sure that Hazzergash would even care... He has plenty of magical power himself; Renold’s brute physical strength and durability will probably be perfect for him.
“I’m not,” Renold confirmed, prompting the occurrence of a sarcastic smile on the necromancer’s lips. The dragon seemed to avert his gaze as though uncomfortable at the thought, letting out a quiet croon deep in his throat before continuing. “Actually Crone and I hope that he will pick me if he really does possess one of us.”
“Binding circles only prevent the entity they bind from leaving the circle, don’t they?” Gerald asked grimly, unconsciously rubbing the spot on his arm where the illusory tattoo symbolizing the sealed Withering was hiding under the sleeve of his robe. “With all of us inside it, Jillian is right: he would be able to kill us easily with you as his host, even with his own power bound.”
“I suppose that is true with normal binding circles, but this is a special one Crone and I spent decades designing and tracking down components and information for,” the Green assured them. “It’s a specialized circle with Hazzergash’s name woven into it; it should prevent Hazzergash from moving completely and paralyze his host. Even if he does possess me, activating the binding circle should stop me from moving.”
Gerald’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “It’s not so simple. It can’t be. Trapping a deity like that should logically be far beyond us.”
“Well, yes,” the other admitted awkwardly. “It’s going to require a tremendous amount of magical energy. Had Hazzergash had his full power he could doubtlessly have broken through it in seconds with just two or three of us sustaining the circle, but in his current weakened state...” He looked around at the assembled people, trying to appraise everyone’s strength. “We should be able to bind him for a minute or two. Will that be enough?”
As long as he doesn’t have any crusaders with him that might break the circle, sure, Gerald thought, rolling his eyes impatiently. “Once I’ve started pulling his energy into me he shouldn’t be able to do anything, circle or no circle. A minute should be plenty of time.”

The Prophecy

Duchy of Pelgaid, secluded pond

“That would be ideal, wouldn’t it?” Gerald commented on the possibility of Hazzergash possessing him, shrugging at the notion of it being an issue. “I will need to draw Hazzergash into myself before I can put him in the crystal anyway, so him trying to possess me would just skip a step and make imprisoning him that much easier.”
“Not necessarily,” Renold pointed out, raising a cautioning talon. “The reason people recovered from the Withering near the Anaxim Forest, you might recall, was due to the Withering being choked and extinguished by Hazzergash’s taint that saturated the area.” He thoughtfully scratched the scales on his chest with a noise like blades on a grindstone, his gaze growing distant for a moment. “The trees around there were so ugly... corrupted...”
“Focus, please,” the warlock grumbled at the dragon, who seemed surprised to be reminded where he was and what he was doing.
“Right! Well, it stands to reason that if Hazzergash’s taint alone can quell the Withering, then Hazzergash himself might do the same.”
Gerald pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling suddenly very tired. “So you’re saying that Hazzergash’s possessing me might cure the Withering? That is what you’re afraid of?”
“It is a valid concern,” Crone agreed with her reptilian companion. “Lacking the plague will remove your ability to manipulate others’ energy and possibly prevent you from incarcerating our adversary. If that occurs, victory will be much more difficult to accomplish.”
“But I’d be cured,” Gerald hissed, glaring at the ancient dragon and sorceress with murderous intensity.
“And subsequently slaughtered when Hazzergash regained his full power,” the Green reminded him. “Please, we know that you are desperate, but there is much more at stake here.”

“Fine,” the necromancer sullenly agreed, averting his eyes from the dragon in disgust. He paused for a second, then sighed. “Hazzergash will know exactly where the crystal is, but he will need to physically touch it to undo the seal, yes? And he will be able to sense all of us, as well?”
“Presumably, yes,” Renold confirmed, hanging his head sadly.
“Then it’s simple: we will put the crystal in the middle of the binding circle so that it isn’t in my possession, but I can still get to it quickly; that way he won’t target me because I’m the one with the crystal.” He sighed again. “Without the crystal, he will merely perceive me as the weakest and most fragile of us, and thus as the least suitable host. That way the odds of him trying to possess me would be... pretty low. How does that sound?”

The Prophecy

@Legion X51? @Ashgan? Really?

The Prophecy

The Duchy of Zerul, by a road in southwest

Listening to Aemoten and Olan talking about Angora, Usha and finally Mother Tigress, Jaelnec felt the last remnants of the rage that had been awakened in him drain away and be replaced by a sudden sense of fatigue and lethargy, making him want to heave a sigh, close his eyes and just hope that whatever happened next was not going to be as uncomfortable as he suspected it would be. Aemoten had said that he wanted to wait before dealing with Mother Tigress, though, and Jaelnec had offered that they could have done it earlier... it was not like it was his fault.
Are you one? he directed his thoughts at his disembodied supposed ally while at the same time trying to listen to what the others were talking about.
“Am I a what?” the female voice replied quickly, sounding genuinely clueless.
A lich.
“A lich? Oh, I see; I did think it felt like you’d noticed me being in your sword. But I honestly don’t know... my first true wielder and maker of the sword, Telagon Flamecleaver, never managed to figure out just what I am, and his son never cared to investigate.”
Jaelnec frowned. He knew that Telagon was the name of Freagon’s father, but the title of Flamecleaver was news to him. Besides... I had noticed, but the others are discussing it right now.
“Someone else noticed?” Again she both felt and sounded genuine, as though she really was surprised at this. “It was probably Olan, I think... so they want you to get rid of me?”
The Nightwalker ignored her question. You can’t hear them? They’re right next to us.
“Do you see any ears or eyes on your sword? I have no idea what’s going on unless you tell me about it or I feel it. For better or for worse I am stuck in this sword, unable to leave or interact with the world outside it unless it’s through a wielder that lets me flow through it. You’re a very emotionally insecure person, do you know that? Every time you’ve gotten upset ever since you got me, you’ve instinctively reached out to me for comfort, inviting me in.”

Meanwhile, Olan was trying to answer Aemoten’s questions, it seemed. “I guess? I mean there are similarities, at least, but I can’t say for sure whether she’s exactly the same as a lich... I’m not that good.” He shrugged. “And it’s not like something is missing from her soul, not like that; to be honest I’m not even sure that I’d be able to tell if her soul had been split. It’s more like, eh... normally a soul kind of looks like its body, right? Because it identifies itself with how it looks physically. But this one, it’s like it isn’t sure what it is. Does that make sense? It has a vague idea of it, but it doesn’t have a fully fledged identity.”
“The being in Angora...” he shook his head. “No, not malevolent. It doesn’t really feel like anything out of the ordinary, really, just... a blank canvas projecting raw emotion. If it wasn’t latched onto Angora I doubt I’d be able to see it at all.”
“I could ask her, yes...” He turned and addressed Angora in true words. “Do you remember how this happened?”

When Aemoten made to leave and for Jaelnec to follow, the squire complied without question.
I hope you can speak well for yourself, Mother Tigress, he thought at her as they went, or chances are that you’re ending up at the bottom of a lake somewhere.
“I won’t be able to tell the difference as long as I don’t have a wielder,” she remarked, and Jaelnec could have sworn that he felt her shrug inside of him. “And ‘Mother Tigress’ was just the easiest name to use, since the others already knew me as that. Please, go back to calling me Roct; the sword is named after me, after all.”

The Prophecy

Status report?

The Prophecy

Well... it feels like a fairly major decision has been left up to me, which is also why I delayed so long before replying, but it occurs to me that it's obviously more important to comment on the personal things brought up here than figuring out what to do with Claw. So I will thank you for being honest and for informing us of your situation; it is obviously regrettable that you aren't able to participate in the RP right now, but I respect the fact that you decided to be realistic about it and make an effort not to slow the RP down any further. Take the time you need, however long that may be, and the RP will (hopefully) still be here by the time you feel confident enough that you are ready to return.
As for Claw, I've been pondering over his fate pretty much ever since I read your post, trying to decide what to do with him... though honestly I probably knew from the very start. Attaching him to the companions as a NPC, while it would probably be a more worthy use of the effort you put into making him, is regrettably something I have to decline. I simply do not feel confident that I understand Claw well enough in regards to personality, abilities and limitations to do him justice. Who he is as a person is important for me to understand what Claw would do, and - shaky meta-decisions for the other characters to counter-intuitively and unnaturally ignore him notwithstanding - what he would say, think and feel. Even if a meta was established to render him about as much of the background as (most of) the horses are right now, my lack of intuitive understanding of his limits would inevitably become an issue once fighting (real fighting) starts happening again... and of course he would suffer the fate of background characters and either turn out so capable that he will personally be able to protect himself from pretty much anything, or (more likely) he would be liable to get killed. Once the process of how a result was achieved is pushed into the background and only the results matter, those results tend to get pretty unreliable.
So after some consideration, out of the options you've presented me with, I feel that I'm simply more comfortable having him return to his homeland.

Also, @Shienvien? @Legion X51? Post? (And @Ashgan, too, for that matter... it's been a while once again.)

The Prophecy

The Duchy of Zerul, by a road in southwest

“Not like Usha, no,” Olan confirmed with a shake of his head. “The woman seems to be completely human, as far as I can tell, with something else latched on to her soul.”
“Mother Tigress...” He shot a glance in Jaelnec’s direction. “She’s mortal, I can tell you that much. Beyond that...” He shrugged apologetically. “It’s like her soul isn’t fully formed, if that makes any sense. And she isn’t actually in Jaelnec; she’s in his sword.”

The Prophecy

The Duchy of Zerul, by a road in southwest

Although it admittedly still hurt where Angora had kicked him just a moment ago, the pain was nowhere near as intense as it had been immediately after the kick. As vulnerable as that particular spot was and as all-consuming the agony he had felt had been – enough so that there had been passing seconds in which he had been convinced that he was about to faint – cheap shots like that mercifully did not remain debilitatingly effective for long, and the pain dulled much more quickly than that of a more lasting injury. At least he hoped that this was not a lasting injury...
But regardless, any pain he was currently in or had previously been in were not the primary factors that made Jaelnec declare his desire to kill the woman, highly uncharacteristic as such an utterance was for him. It helped alleviate any hesitation he had towards being hostile to a woman, certainly, but the aura did much more to lower his tolerance and increase his aggression than the pain did. He was confused, inexplicably frightened, felt like he was starting to get a headache, and the consequence of it all was that he simply did not have enough mental constitution in reserve to calm his rage. This woman had attacked them, had kicked him in a region that was rather precious to him, had admitted her intention to kill him and his friends, and – worst of all – she had hurt Thaler.
He did not exaggerate when he stated that he wanted to kill her; he was absolutely seething and had no patience left for her whatsoever. Had Iridiel and Domhnall not gotten in the way he would have impaled the frothing savage on his sword the second he felt that he had recovered enough to move without collapsing or throwing up.
Better than her? he grimly repeated Thaler’s words in his thoughts, staring at Angora and trying to resist the (somewhat disturbing and alien-feeling) urge to rip her throat out with his teeth. She is a fiend, only better than Usha because she is at least honest about her intent to kill us. I want to kill her so bad, it’s like a fire in my blood... in my...
Slowly he turned his head to look at his right hand, which still clutched the ornate hilt of Roct with desperate tightness. The sword felt painfully hot to the touch.

At least Aemoten seemed to be back on his feet, if only out of necessity rather than because he had recovered enough to feel well. Somehow the outlander’s being there helped calm Jaelnec’s fury some and cooled his blood, allowing him enough clarity to at least take some deep breaths to try to keep himself under control. Aemoten was there to take over, be the leader, make the necessary decisions... and he was there to watch and see what Jaelnec did, and would witness anything the squire did to personally judge his actions.
With his aura-muddled mind he could not help but to wonder what would happen if he really did ignore Olan and potentially defy their leader, if he just stepped up and murdered Angora in cold blood right there on the ground; not even using his sword, he would draw his dagger and jump on top of her, cut her throat, pause for a moment to let what happened sink in for her, then jab the weapon into the temple of her skull. He would probably cry out in primal anger as he did it, shrugging off anyone trying to stop him... he was the strongest one there at the moment and he could kill her in an instant, none of them would be able to stop him. And what then? He would probably start crying once he realized what he had done and remorse overwhelmed him. Then Thaler would come over and hug him, showing her sympathy, telling him that it was all right...
He blinked his eyes and swallowed a mouthful of bile, feeling the last of his wrath evaporate at the simple realization that he would, indeed, regret it after having killed the woman. He would be more than a killer, less than a squire; indeed, he would be no more than a cold-blooded murderer.
Better than her, he thought again, smiling softly this time. Right now I don’t think I am, but I usually am and I want to be again. You’re right, Thaler.

“It’s hard to describe,” Jaelnec replied when Aemoten asked about the aura, lowering his voice the same as the foreigner did his. “I feel disoriented and imbalanced, like the ground his moving under my feet... and I keep expecting to get attacked from random directions.” He shook his head, hesitating a moment before admitting to the most shameful part of what the aura made him feel. “And I’m scared. It’s like a fear that I can’t entirely ignore, but I’m not sure what I’m afraid of.” He shrugged. “Something like that.”

“I don’t know,” was Olan’s answer when Aemoten inquired as to whether Angora was possessed, throwing his arms wide in bewilderment. “It’s not a demon or an angel, I can tell that much, but... it’s weird. I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s like it is her, but it’s also in her. Like... a parasite, maybe.”
Olan then turned to Iridiel, listened to her instructions and turned to Angora, switching to true words as he addressed her. “This woman is going to try to make you better,” he told her, indicating Iridiel, “but she says it might hurt. You need to stay still and try to keep calm... we are going to hold you down, too, so you don’t hurt yourself. Do you understand?”

The Prophecy

Not entirely sure who will be posting next, to be honest... thoughts?