Dark Jack

The Prophecy

The Duchy of Zerul, by a road in the southwest

“I once asked Freagon – my master – about the king,” Jaelnec commented on Angora’s apparent pleasure at vulnerability despite station. It was true, too; he barely even remembered a time before the death of Paul IV, the “last king of Rodoria”, having been just nine years old when the Withering claimed him and threw the kingdom into the civil war that still raged to this day, eleven years later. Angora could not remember it much better, by his count having been seven years old at the time, so he was honestly a little surprised at her implied bitterness towards a ruler she barely knew. “He told me that the primary purpose of a monarch is to keep the throne occupied, to make sure others aren’t tempted to take it for themselves. That kings are revered not because they are ‘special’, but because they stop people from tearing out each others’ throats the way the dukes do now.”
He sighed. “He told me that most people mistook their hatred for the throne as hatred for the king... that they didn’t really want to get of the man as much as they wanted to destroy his seat.”

Other than that he remained fairly impassive, barely even reacting to Angora’s statement that she was going to get dressed – though he inwardly thanked Laon for it – and merely raised his uniform black gaze casually to look at Domhnall and Iridiel as the priestess stirred. He sat there a moment and smiled, warmed by the sight of the two foreigners’ interaction even if he could not understand their language. That is, he did so exactly until the moment he heard the sound of heavy cloth hitting soil, much closer than made any sense to him.
He knew that he did not want to look even as he felt his head and eyes turning, felt his muscles clenching in his neck painfully as he tried desperately to stop his field of vision from shifting. Helplessly his focus moved to Angora, fully visible before him, naked as a newborn. For an instant his heart felt as though it had stopped, as though time slowed, and he stared at her with eyes that grew wider as his face turned redder. His jaw clenched so hard that his teeth hurt, sending a quiet noise of straining bone resonating through his skull, much louder to his ears than it truly was. His throat constricted so that it felt like someone was actively strangling him...
She placed her hands on her breasts, the movement irresistibly drawing his gaze. Locked it there. And then his heart started beating again, rapidly, and the expression of shocked fascination upon his face instantly turned into one of horror.
Letting out a desperate, high-pitched cry of primal regret, the squire felt his legs kick out, his boots strike the ground, and suddenly he was doing a veritable backflip off the log he had been sitting on... only, due to his seated position the rotation only took him three fourths of the way, leading him to landing face-first into the ground, body outstretched, just behind the log. There he remained, silent and motionless, as he stewed in his own self-hate.

“The fire didn’t do anything, you know?” he heard Olan comment after some commotion, probably – in Jaelnec’s mind – caused by the woman’s outrage at his base fascination with her body. He did not know what had happened, nor that the explorer extraordinaire went to the fallen Angora to offer his hand. “In any case I’m pretty sure it’d be better for you not to kick it. You know?”

Zerul City, outside I’onriyi’s estate

Nimbus felt confused and uncertain as she awaited I’onriyi’s response to her introduction, her brow furrowing in a worried expression as memories and knowledge flowed through Male’dai’s thoughts and drifted through her mind, pointing out the different interpretations and implications of the way he was looking at her. She became aware of just how seedy this scene must have looked to random passerbys on the street; a petite but attractive deigan in a ragged dress, being scrutinized by a male penin in a state that was less than fully dressed, implying immediate association with his bedchambers. Nimbus worried what rumors might be ignited by the scene and how these could impact poor I’onriyi. What if people thought she was but a pauper looking for scraps to survive another day, and the penin was a wealthy lecher looking to take advantage of her? Surely they had to ensure that such misunderstandings were avoided by explaining the situation. She could not allow this man to suffer for her mistake.
But then the penin simply turned around and went back into his house, leaving Nimbus dumbfounded and rooted to the spot, deeply uncertain of what was expected of her. He had not closed the door... was she supposed to follow?
Of course you are, Male’dai told her with an exasperated mental sigh. You worry too much.
She still hesitated for another moment, trying to determine what was expected of her, until I’onriyi himself clarified his intent. After all, she could not close the door “behind her” unless she had passed through it, could she? Breaking into a blinding smile she hurried past the threshold, gently closed the door and then eagerly but cautiously went after her host, holding her arms close to her body to avoid any risk of accidentally touching and breaking anything in the penin’s home.

Soon after she had reached what appeared to be the little man’s kitchen, remaining by the door and making an effort to be as small, silent and motionless as possible to avoid being in the way, I’onriyi spoke to her again, uttering words that made her eyes widen in horror.
“Uh, no, of course not,” she assured him, wondering for a moment what she had done wrong until Male’dai’s thoughts reminded her of how people perceived true deigan.
It’s unusual that trust is even a relevant topic when my kind is concerned, the deigan pointed out. We don’t trust anyone and no one trusts us. It’s no surprise that he – a penin – would be particularly suspicious of me.
“But I’m not Male’dai,” she corrected him a second later, pointing at her face. “This is Male’dai. I’m Nimbus.”
Listen to yourself, Nimbus. How much sense do you think you’re making to him?
She faltered, looking momentarily crestfallen. She had not meant to deceive him... but had her explanation been inadequate? She had to clarify things immediately!
Relax. He’s a smart guy; he’ll get it, just give him a little time. You tried to say a lot with very few words, and he’s probably still groggy from sleep. It’s fine.
Hesitantly she relaxed, though she remained almost comically wary of disturbing anything in I’onriyi’s kitchen.

She listened attentively enough next the penin spoke, staring at him blatantly, though she could not stop her gaze from shifting between I’onriyi’s face and the bread he was handling, her stomach growling at the sight of food. When he pushed a plate her way, she hesitated only a moment, looking intensely from the slices of bread to the man as if to confirm his intention, before she eagerly seized the food and showed as much of it into her mouth as she possibly could.
Nimbus still was not used to the whole with this hunger and thirst that Male’dai had to contend with, and even now she remained fascinated with how different the experience of eating and drinking was when one did so out of need rather than fancy. The urgency before, the fullness after... it was completely different.
After a moment’s frantic chewing, swallowing and choking, Nimbus paused her meal long enough to reply to her host’s questions.
“I would follow you because you are the best option near here, from what I’ve heard,” she told him, smiling at him earnestly. “And even if there are others here more widely known than you, fame is of no interest to me. I approached you because people speak fondly of you; because you do things that make things better. I want that.”
Her smile faded and her gaze fell as she idly plucked the bread in front of her to tiny pieces. “As for adventuring... Since I came here, I’ve spent nearly every bit of Male’dai’s funds on trying to help people. I’ve fed them, bought them places to spend their nights, bought them clothes... Some wanted alcoholic beverages more than anything, but Male’dai said that wasn’t the kind of need we wanted to help satisfy. I spent most of yesterday and all night tending to refugees, even ruined Male’dai’s dress to improvise bandages...”
She shook her head shamefully. “But I barely made a difference. People are still hungry, homeless, naked and hurt. I want to do more. Like you! So I thought I’d help you, since you’re already helping people. Right?”

The Prophecy

*Realization!* Oh! Urgh, I'm sorry, I only just comprehended the fact that the tiny bit of dialogue I've written for her could be misinterpreted. "Cahl’nai’sulooth’iel" isn't the one she's apprenticed to, it's the name of the city she's from. As I said before, she hasn't mentioned her master yet.

The Prophecy

Male'dai is no one I'on would have heard about, nor is her master... the name of whom hasn't even been mentioned anyway for him to recognize. Nimbus he obviously wouldn't have heard about, and her city (as is the case with most cities of the true deo'iel) isn't widely known either.

Concerning Aemoten, still not entirely sure about that. Thomas probably wouldn't, given that Aemoten is the only of them that he's been informed to keep an eye out for, and back when William left Etakar hadn't showed up yet. The guards would probably inquire as to whether the beast was safe, but make no concerted effort to stop it (or him or Thaler) from entering.

The Prophecy

I'm not entirely sure how best to introduce Yanin yet, but I feel like I've gotten a bit allergic to planning ahead too much. Seeing as it's not one of my characters (most of which are strewn across Reniam to be randomly encountered) I'd rather his encounter either be "immediately, wherever and with whoever it would make the most sense" or "whenever convenient".
As for where he could have come from, I wonder which kind of title his family has, if any? Rodorian nobles are either simply nobles, barons or counts (or dukes, but there can only ever be nine of those). The title will typically be indicative of how large/numerous their fiefs are and how much power they hold compared to other nobles. They'd probably fit in somewhat believably pretty much anywhere in almost any duchy (the only areas I've currently assigned as noble holdings are a bit of the northern coast in Wenal and the area immediately east of (and overlapping with) Zerul City), but would likely fit in best in Etlon, Seclyr, Nemhim, Wenal or Gilmah.
I also wonder what kind of knighthood Yanin belongs to... specifically whether its a local or international order.

Eh... and yeah, go ahead with Aemoten, I guess. Still don't know what to do about them.

The Prophecy

Zerul City, outside I’onriyi’s estate

The deigan woman had almost given up hope that anyone was going to answer her knocking by the time she heard someone shouting inside, but ultimately just waited patiently until I’onriyi appeared, idly brushing off part-real and part-imagined dirt from her once-regal dress. When the penin finally appeared he did so in a state that suggested that she had indeed disturbed his sleep, which was confirmed by his words but a moment later. She did not flinch in the slightest at realizing that she was bothering him, nor did she react to him hurrying her on. She did, however, shoot a quizzical look to either side, up and down the street, as she confirmed her earlier observation that there were indeed people out and about already. She had presumed that people would be more synchronized in their daily schedules here, considering that they had a common means of telling the time in the sky, but apparently she had been mistaken.
Her impression of I’onriyi was also immediately positive in many ways, although she had no doubt that making a good impression had been the last thing on his mind just now. His bluntness and rudeness was refreshingly different from what she was used to; the true deigan of her city were almost perpetually polite, displaying nothing but smiles and cordiality to one another even when everyone knew they were in the middle of bitter rivalry. Many of their kind would keep a smile on their face and in their voice, right up until one swallowed their poison or felt their dagger between one’s shoulders. I’onriyi’s behavior also meant that his good standing in the city did not come from him being likable or personable, which meant that it had been earned through his actions.
Another, more superficial reason that she liked I’onriyi was simply that he was smaller than her. With her stature of 5’1” and ninety-seven pounds she was considered small even among her own people, and in the time since she had come here she had realized that she was almost pathetically so compared to most humans. It was nice to encounter someone she did not have to look up at or generally seem intimidatingly big.

“My apologies,” she offered, placing her left hand on the small of her back and her right on her stomach as she bowed stiffly to the penin, an inelegant but humble gesture. She wondered what to say, now that she had actually met the man. Which approach was most likely to garner his attention before he slammed the door shut in her face? To explain the purpose of her visit, or to reveal her identity and her... situation? Deceiving the little guy somehow never even registered as an option.
Both. First purpose, then identity. Just keep it brief.
“I am here seeking I’onriyi Stonehand, adventurer in good standing,” she told him, trying to express as much information in as few words as possible so that he would not feel that he was wasting his time. “I want to accompany you on your next quest, that I may possibly do something good with my life.”
All right, now hit him with the really interesting part. I’m sure that’ll make him curious.
She placed her right hand on her chest, between her humble breasts, and smiled at him ruefully. “This is Male’dai, apprentice arcanist of Cahl’nai’sulooth’iel, which was recently raided and nearly completely destroyed. I -” she made a vaguer gesture at herself “- was given the honor of bearing the name Nimbus by my Lord. Nimbus of Laon’s archangels.”

The Prophecy

The Duchy of Zerul, by a road in the southwest

Interestingly, continuing to listen to Angora made the rage her words had previously awakened in him flow out of Jaelnec, draining from his body as though it had been an actual physical liquid occupying the shell of his body. He felt calm now, yes, and ceased to feel a desire to punch the immoral woman, but it was far from a pleasant calm that was left in the wake of his anger. It left him cold inside, feeling empty and indifferent toward her. He did not want to punch her, no, but he was also filled with an awareness that he could punch her, or worse, and would feel no remorse for doing so. That he could choose to ignore her if she needed his help.
It was a highly disturbing feeling, completely new to the young nightwalker and evoked memories in him of how Freagon expressed his displeasure; coldly, calmly and cruelly. He had never been able to understand how someone could face the things the one-eyed knight had without ever succumbing to one’s emotions, but feeling this... he felt like he understood a tiny bit better. It was not self-control, courage or strength. It was simply coldness.

“Your private life is yours, and mine is mine,” she said, arguing that he had no right to meddle in her affairs, but the argument made little sense to him. His private life was his, she said? In essence this was probably correct; it was his choice to forego most of what people referred to as “private life” and instead dedicate himself to things greater than himself, to serve, protect and champion the weak and innocent. But her? Her “private life” had a very real and observable negative effect on others in that she stole, hurt and killed. The squire had killed and would kill again, yes, but those who had fallen to his blade were people like Angora; people who set themselves above others and were willing to sacrifice things that did not belong to them for the sake of their own fortune. People who were selfish, sadistic, greedy... evil.
He helped, she hurt. They were on different sides of alignment, whether that be referred to as “good and evil” or “selflessness and selfishness”, but he could not accept her feeble attempts at justifying her actions.
But he would not kill someone who was not hostile to him or his friends, and they could not simply let her go and possibly revert back to the state they had found her in, so she had to come with them. Once they got to Zerul City... well, what then? Hand her over to the Ducal Guard and tell them... what? “This woman is guilty of many heinous crimes, but there’s an entity in her that has and may again drive her into an insane murder-spree. She’s your problem now.” What would they even do with her? Prison? Who knew if the anti-magic seals in place on the Zerulic special-built cells even worked against the powers of the entity inhabiting her? No. Would they sentence her to death? Even more unlikely; Zerul was a duchy built around the pursuit of magic and knowledge, and the likelihood of them simply disposing of such an unusual magical phenomenon as this was practically nonexistent. But then again, maybe the Zerulic mages could find a way to remove the entity. Cure her.
But the Black Sword – or whatever its true name was – had almost certainly been forged and enchanted by Klorr, possibly the most skilled artisan and enchanter in Reniam and an immensely skilled magus. Judging by the way Angora described the Black Sword affecting the penin transporting it, odds were overwhelmingly in favor of Klorr having condemned the artifact to oblivion because even he had been unable to contain the entity, let alone remove it. Could they really place their hopes in the Zerulic mages succeeding where even Klorr had failed?
No. He could not in good conscience hand her over to Zerul and leave her to a life as a magical test-subject, especially with such low chances of them being able to help her. He wished Aemoten was here to make the decision for him... but hopefully he would decide when he rejoined their group. Jaelnec only had to shoulder the burden of responsibility until then.

He sighed, shaking his head in quiet indecision and indifference. Angora had outright refused to comply with any of the things he had asked of her, but he could simply not produce the investment to grow annoyed with this. He did, however, still feel the craving to touch Roct and let her soothing influence wash over him, and that craving was only made stronger by looking at Angora affectionately handling the dark blade that seemed almost like a counterpart to his own white one.
Blinking in surprise, he abruptly realized that he wanted the Black Sword, that he was fantasizing about taking it from Angora and claiming it for himself. And he doubted that he, if he got his hands on it, would want to part with it either. He also recalled how Roct had reacted to touching the blade, and privately decided that it was probably for the best if the sword stayed in Angora’s possession.
“Fine,” he said, responding to everything that had passed with just one word. What else was he supposed to do? The alternative to simply complying with Angora was to either let her go, which was out of the question, capture and tie her up, or kill her. She would be in the way and dangerous as a captive, and they would have no way to get rid of her, and if they killed her... well, obsidite was practically indestructible, so it was not like they could just destroy the Black Sword. They could just hide it somewhere, but would they be able to leave it like that? Would he be able to resist the temptation of taking it for himself?
It was not worth the risk.
“I suppose it isn’t important in the end, you know?” Olan supplied after a brief silence. “The Withering doesn’t care who you are or what you do. And that’s our objective, right? Getting rid of the Withering?”
Jaelnec looked up, surprised once again. There was some truth to the old man’s words... maybe the day would come when Angora could redeem herself, if by no other means then by saving countless more than she had killed simply by helping them end the Withering. Or maybe she would die trying, and gain forgiveness through her sacrifice.
He nodded his head. “Yes. We all have a common enemy in the Withering.”

The Prophecy

Zerul City, somewhere near I’onriyi’s estate

The bustling noises of the city rousing from its night of rest filled the air as she found herself rooted to the spot, finding herself overwhelmed by the sheer number of alien impressions and allowing herself a moment to simply take it all in. Look at the people, living lives that must seem ordinary to themselves, going about to perform tasks that were so extraordinarily mundane that she could barely even imagine what they were. Listen to the voices, the clatter and rustle of the city, so full of life, so fragile yet so determined to persevere. Feel the breeze on her skin, cold but gentle, occasionally alleviated somewhat by a still-pale ray from the rising sun peaking through the patchy clouds above.
She closed her pale red eyes and breathed in, marveling – not for the first time – in how different a world this was compared to what she was used to. She knew that people looked at her, pointed, whispered among themselves and kept their distance, but she was far past the point of caring about their attention. Even if she resolved to behave as normally as possible, the midnight-black feathers on her head down er spine were liable to make people notice her anyway, bringing their attention to her eyes of cool flame, slight frame and to them unusually shaped ears. Behaving oddly or not, humans seemed cautious of true deigan as a matter of course. Not that she blamed them; her head was filled with memories of just how grim life in one of their subterranean cities could be, and how that life could mold or break people. The dagger by her hip, given to her by her parents on her fortieth birthday, was physical evidence of just how cruelly true deigan lived their lives; a tool to carve out her place in the world and defend herself from those who wished to take it from her.
And then... everything else, the things people around her could not see or know. Light and darkness. Above and below. It was all so... confusing. But she had decided to live, and to use her life for something greater than herself. To find adventure where the ordinary and extraordinary joined, and to hopefully understand.

She opened her eyes, a soft smile creasing her pale lips, she walked down the street in search for her destiny. Her soft shoes made little noise against the cobblestone, not because she tried to be quiet but simply due to natural grace and the lightness of her body. Her velvet, faded-red dress flowed loosely around her legs even more so now that it had gotten frayed and tattered, and felt somewhat insufficient in the face of the autumn chill. At least it had sleeves, she figured, though she would have preferred trousers.
She was getting close to the address she had been given for one I’onriyi Stonehand, a supposed adventurer in good standing with the townspeople. According to what she had heard he was a mage, a craftsman and a penin, and had just returned from his last adventure somewhere. Beyond that, however, she knew next to nothing about him... but he was her best bet at the moment. What she could do on her own felt so painfully inadequate – particularly compared to what she could once have done – that she had no doubts that she needed allies. She had done good already, helping the refugees from Nemhim, but... she had helped so few compared to how many there were. She could give all she had and most would still be hungry, and she could rip bandages from her clothes until she was naked and undressed wounds would remain. She wanted to do more. To be more.

She stood before his door, raising her fist to knock.
He could still be sleeping.
She froze in mid-motion; she had not even considered that. Was that an actual concern? She had not slept, herself, but I’onriyi might be sleeping this moment. Was it unacceptable to disturb him if that was the case? The sun was up... surely that meant that it was time to be awake. Was that not how this world worked?
He might not even be home. I’m sure he has business elsewhere in the city during the day.
Blinking, she found herself stunned by a whole new kind of alien circumstance. What was she supposed to do? Should she check through the windows if he was at home, or sleeping, before knocking?
No! I’m pretty sure that downright illegal, spying on people like that. Just knock.
Nodding to herself, wearing a frown of concern, she raised her fist anew and knocked.

The Prophecy

Oh. Heh. Funny story, appears I misread one of your posts. I guess I am up on that scene, then; I'll try to get to work this weekend.
Hmm... Planning ahead here, but would it be all right for me to just presume that I'on would simply answer the door when someone knocks? Otherwise I figure my post would be pretty short, too, having to end it after knocking... And what would he be wearing?

Not sure what the plan is with the rest, honestly. The decision to jump-start the RP was a pretty sudden one, and I haven't really filled the void created by discarded plans with new ones yet. I have no problems with Yanin as of yet, though, so go ahead and share what you have; more information would probably help let me determine where he could feasibly have come from anyways. I presume that the possibility of him being a native Rodorian is precluded? You may have mentioned as much already, but if so I don't remember, and I don't have Skype just this moment to check. Will find out soon if you did.
And yeah, I realize it's my turn on the road. As with the other scene, I'll hopefully get to it this weekend.

The Prophecy

That saddens me to hear, Ashgan, though I suppose there's nothing that can be done about it. If this is how it must be, I will wish you the best until next time.
It also brings up the question of what is going to happen with the Jillian/Gerald storyline... specifically, what will happen with Hazzergash and his demon prison. Where things have gotten there are only two outcomes, really; either they successfully seal away Hazzergash, or Hazzergash regains his full power and is set loose upon Reniam. Not sure what I'm going to do just yet... We'll see.

Yoshua, I presume you'd be the first to post in the Zerul City-branch? What do you reckon the plan is?

The Prophecy

I see. I suppose an apology is in order, then. I'm sorry.