Member
RPM
CabbageAngel
TruthHurts
Eviledd1984
DancesWMonsters
Archmage MC
Dyelli Beybi
FujiwaraPhoenix
BingellyIalu
Level 4 Demigod, 0.5 Might
Invidia, the Successor
The cruel sun was pitiless in its torment, sending its burning rays down to beat upon the backs of men and cover them in gleaming beads of sweat. Still, in this place there were crueler masters and the oppressive rays of heat were not the only thing to fell down upon the backs of the wretched.
A lone wanderer trod down a dusky dirt path through the great veldt and towards a small fortified town or outpost of some sort. As the stranger drew closer, the harsh crack of a whip and agonizing howls of pain became sharply audible. The place was a slaving camp, of course.
Clad in strange robes far too hot for travel on the savanna, this wanderer bewildered the guards at the compound's gate as he brazenly approached. There were hardly any travelers in these parts save for the marauding warbands of Horse People that brought slaves here to sell, and this stranger was certainly no Kharigit. Ruthless and bloodthirsty like all those in their profession, the guards' first reaction when confronted with the unknown was to draw their weapons and resort to violence. Of course, this came as no surprise.
Two quick bolts of telekinetic energy flew like darts towards, one for each of the guards. Each one was true to its mark and struck its target clean in the forehead. Each of the guards were decapitated by the sheer power of the magical blasts that struck them. It was an instant death, albeit far from a clean one.
So this is 'New Garakai'. Or at least a small piece of it, the stranger thought to himself as he stepped over the grotesque remains of those that he had just slain, taking in the scene before him. This little square outpost was larger than it had looked from the outside: it seemed neatly and geometrically divided into sections by the straight roads that cut through it, forming squares. Each square had a cluster of buildings, amongst them stables, barracks for the garrison and passing armies, warehouses, and holding pits for the slaves. At the center was a small clearing dominated not by the imposing gallows and whipping posts so much as by the massive trading building where the prisoners were bought and sold. Greed and sadism in their purest forms juxtaposed right next to one another, it seemed that the Garakains had not changed in the slightest.
As he approached that central square, the source of the screaming was revealed and the stranger beheld a scene so grisly that most would have retched. Lash after lash of the scourge fell upon one man's bloody back as a few dozen other slaves were forced to watch. Some could not help but avert their eyes away in futile hopes of not being scarred forever by what happened before them.
It was one of those that looked away and saw the stranger approaching. He seemd to have some sort of glow about him; she couldn't help but stare. After several moments others took notice and traced her gaze, and soon even the slavers turned to see the robed man walking calmy down the street while the corpses of the two watchmen were strewn out on the path just behind him.
The whipping stopped and a dozen of the cruel slavers charged the emotionless figure. He staggered to the ground when a two arrows and a javelin buried themselves in his thick clothes. Then they were upon his, blades in hand. One, two, three, four...he only grunted as the swords went into him. Seemingly making no attempt to fight, he kneeled there concentrating. After two long seconds, the swordsmen looked down to find their blades misshapen as if they had been driven into solid stone. The man that they stabbed at was very much alive, and not a drop of blood was on a single sword.
After the third second, a mere moment later, there was a great blast of magical energy that rended them all apart. The magic tore through all that had been in the immediate vicinity, severed their limbs, and made them burst open like plump red grapes being crushed in the winery.
While the terrified slaves gawked at him, he turned towards the raised platform where the torture had taken place. The slave tied to the whipping post was still as stone and dead, though in his last few moments he had what he had thought to be his god's retribution and smiled.
Next to his warm body were three more slavers. The stranger looked at them and with a mere thought, struck down the two archers that had fired their bows at him. As they fell lifelessly to the ground, he ripped their arrows out of his now ragged clothing and cast them aside. There was only one left, the man holding the whip. His hands shaking, he dropped the scourge to the ground, though his face still bore a defiant sneer. He knew he stood no chance, yet he refused to kneel or plead for mercy. He expected no quarter just as he had given none. A wise man.
The stranger suspected that his wanderings had brought him here for a reason; there was no such thing as mere chance, at least not for him. The Sight knew what it did and lead him as it willed, and now that Sight wreathed the last standing with a golden light. That one was more important than the others, important enough to not immediately kill. Perhaps he knew something.
As if he was a puppet forced to dance and twitch by strings, the slaver found a strange and impossibly strong force lift him off his feet, send him flying over the crowd of watching slaves, and slam to the ground before this great sorcerer. He barely contained a cry of pain as he felt bones in his legs shatter upon the impact.
For a moment there was only silence as Ialu was unsure of what to say or do, but then he suddenly knew. "Who rules this kingdom?" he asked in a voice soft as a whisper yet with all the power of a demigod.
"Viscardi...he will have your head!"
Ialu's eyes widened for a moment but then narrowed. He was taken aback, yet he knew it to be true. The man's eyes said as much and the Sight would not have led him here for no good reason.
"No. I will end his life, for the second time."
The slaver's usefulness had expired. His heart exploded and he instantly died. Before his body touched the ground, the stranger was gone. The disbelieved slaves blinked, touched the bodies of their oppressors to make sure that what they saw had been real, and then they thanked the gods. More guards soon came, but the slaves took up the arms of those that Ialu had slain and overwhelmed the slavers through sheer numbers. That outpost was razed and the mob of rebellious slaves ran to the bounds of the world to put that accursed land of New Garakai behind them. None were left to tell the tale of what had truly transpired.
The years had not been kind to the esoteric order called the Sanguine Communion. Following the demise of its leader and the revelation that the entire cabal lay under the insidious power of a calamitous jinx, it had sunk into obscurity. No longer were the monks undying warriors beyond compare; instead, they withdrew to mountaintops and great basins, terrified of so much as a scratch, for even the slightest wound would turn the blood in them to acid. It was a curse not always fatal--many of the monks carried within them some of the caustic toxin that they'd activated long ago.
In its new isolation the Communion adopted a very different persona. Rather than loose robes and terrifying masks, they donned ornately-sleeved shirts, baggy pants, and faulds crafted of extremely intricate plant-fibers. These weaves, meshes devised with utmost care and patience, were unique armors comfortable enough for everyday life but strong enough to absorb impact and cutting force alike, bending instead of breaking. Temperature, insects, accidental cuts, and scrapes all became a relic of the past. To those familiar with it, the Sanguine Communion now represented not a necessary violence to purge the world of its evil, but a gathering dedicated to the ideals of perseverance, self-control, and self-betterment. The axes lay, gathering dust, in the cellars of their monasteries. Instead the monks studied the martial arts, working on what already existed and incorporating their own techniques. Any monk could take on armed foes, deftly avoiding damage while inflicting painful but nonlethal contusions to his enemies, but seldom did any monk seek violence. In leaving behind their old lifestyle, the Communion also left behind its old cathedrals in Arguilla's urban centers and welcomed the populace to do with them as it would, even in the changing times.
Now, the morning sun filtered through the screen windows and lay across the empty, main room of one such monastery. An atmosphere of somber and pious silence blanketed the room, falling lightly on the shoulders of the assembled monks. They were practicing the art of acuity resonance, a magical discipline that involved manipulating soundwaves themselves to increase the ability of monks to hear, not only spoken words and far-off noises, but the minute events within a body themselves. While it was true that in recent years -perhaps having decided that the Sanguine Communion was no longer a threat- the forces of darkness and evil had stopped attacking, the Sanguine Communion had not stopped a vigilant observance of the world around them. With the spy network that had served them so many years ago now withered up like an expired blossom in winter, they had to rely on other methods to avoid becoming ignorant in their isolation. Leading this exercise was a familiar face--or lack thereof. After more than an hour of honing their ability to hear, and testing it by attempting to make out the silent voices within one anothers' minds, the monks dispersed and their instructor retired to a back room.
Rebirth, thought Invidia, meant little when one was born back into a world irreversibly changed. Only two years had passed since his death before he walked among the Sanguine Communion again, but in that time it had gone into disarray. Invidia's first act upon returning and taking control, he reminisced, had been to divide leadership and change the entire outlook of the organization, beginning the slow transition to the benign and remote society that now existed today. Other monasteries had their own leaders, wise men and women who developed their own sects in different ways, and each monastery had become akin to an order of its own. There was beauty in that, Invidia thought as he slid the door open to his chamber. Not to conquer, or to gain glory by opposing the divine tyrants that styled themselves gods, but merely to exist and take pleasure in what beauty that life did offer. With Escre gone, Invidia was Liaison no more. Instead, he was merely the Successor, a stranger and inheritor to his own legacy and that of the changed Communion's.
The Successor's room was less of a sealed chamber and more a roofed balcony. It overlooked a grand and inspiring view, and through it rushed constantly a crisp and invigorating breeze. As he often did, Invidia made his way toward the railing to observe the world, to take it in without looking down. A clatter beneath his feet, however, gave him pause. When he looked down, he found what appeared to be a stick, only after a moment determining it to be a relic from the past. A torrent of old memories rushed anew through Invidia's mind, and he bowed his head in recognition. It wasn't a gift, but a sign, and one that read: I have returned. Without turning around, Invidia focused his hearing, and became aware of the breathing, heartbeat, and the hidden things inside the hidden intruder. "So," he resonated in the mountain air, turning around to regale the Warlord with a faceless head. For a long time now Invidia had worn no mask and no hood, and his fellow monks had not hated him. "You've returned, with thoughts of murder in your heart. Ialu."
Out of the shadows stepped a changed figure. No longer a colossal brute that embodied pure violence and power, Ialu had spent the past few decades plotting and thinking. He had reflected upon the words of Invictus and on his own failures, and while his nature had changed little, his methods had. Demigods had time in abundance. He now sought to play the slow game, claiming what was his through manipulation and deceit. That was a better form of strength than blood or muscle.
His new form reflected this change, looking the part of an ordinary yet wisened man with a look of experience and fire in his eyes and a sort of glow about him. Ialu hadn't even expected Invidia to recognize him, and that was why he had returned the Fulcrum. It would seem that the outsider had done more than recognize him, though. How he had managed to peer through the maelstrom of chaos and emotion that swirled through the demigod and look into the heart of that storm, Ialu's intentions and deepest thoughts, was something of a mystery.
A small grin appeared on Ialu's hooded face. A heartbeat after Invidia had finished, he answered, "You see that it is not your death that I seek, I would hope. A nemesis of mine has returned from the grave. He is the one known as Viscardi, a servant of Vestec and an anathema to what you stand for. Perhaps you know of him?"
Invidia regarded the man before him. Simultaneously, he was both vastly different and exactly the same. Though he could not hear the words in Ialu's head, Invidia sensed that the intruder meant him no harm. At least, not directly. If the outsider had to guess, he would think that Ialu meant to enlist his help, perhaps to wage war against this Viscardi as allies as they had once done elsewhere. That, however, was a dire prospect. "I know little of him. Word reaches us slowly nowadays. Unfortunately, you must know that things are different now. The curse laid upon the Sanguine Communion by Vestec has turned us from battle-seeking warriors to conflict-fleeing monks. Our blood has become our own undoing. Now that we have no power, we have no say. Today, the Sanguine Communion stands for nothing, and we oppose Vestec no more. Even the Anju have stopped bothering us, such is our withdrawal. I don't know if there is any help we can give you."
Disgust creeped into the demigod's voice as he answered, "I see that once was is now dead and no more; you, and by extension your entire little order, is now a rotting carcass content with withering away and feeding the worms. Vestec ruined you, and you dare not even oppose his minions. Your lack of ambition is disappointing...but perhaps it is not too late...Vestec afflicted me with a curse even more grievous than the one that befalls your kind, but with the help of a great one, it was broken. I could be that great one that is your salvation!"
What followed was a pregnant pause. Perhaps Ialu was merely emphasing the gravity of the situation and his offer, or offering the outsider a moment to reflect upon it, or thinking to himself on what to say next. In any case, he eventually continued, "Viscardi is a nemesis that I defeated long ago, though just barely. Now he rules New Garakai, and I suspect that his power has only grown. In exchange for your aid in returning him to the grave and perhaps dismantling his kingdom, I would offer you salvation: my own blood. Some of my most loyal followers have already had that gift bestowed upon them, and they have been transformed by its power.
You would find my own blood more potent than that sludge that flows through the veins of Galbar. It would burn away the poison in your veins, and with that poison would be banished mortality and all other weakness as well. It makes one's magic and strength alike grow immeasurably; the Anju would be like fleas that you could shake off or eradicate as you pleased."
The outsider crossed his arms. "Perhaps it is not the want of the Communion to swat down life anymore, but rather to find meaning and beauty in it. It is true that Vestec has destroyed us, and it was as easily done as trodding on ants. These events have taught me a valuable lesson about my place in the universe. As long as there are high ones, it is better for the lesser beings to sit back and appreciate the life they have rather than rush to end it. I can see, however, why a demigod would be so scornful of the idea, particularly one representative of greed."
"Regardless, what you propose sounds too good to be true. No being with power ever reaches down to give to something lesser without an agenda in mind, even if their rewards are intangible. What price does your blood demand?"
"As I have said before, I ask that you aid me in defeating Viscardi and ruining Vestec's little game. Beyond mere spite, I have reason to want New Garakai to crumble before it can grow too big or choke all of Orabahk with chaos and Vestec's vile influence.
But perhaps you meant to ask something else? Not what it would cost to obtain my blood, but what it would cost to wield it? A fair question, and one that I will answer honestly. The blood of demigods is meant to flow through the veins of demigods. The power and strength within it culls the weak and inflicts agony upon the strong. You would be more powerful than you ever were before, though every moment of your existence would be one filled with fire and pain. It will never truly go away, but in time it would numb and as you grew used to it. At that point it would be possible to repeat the process with a second exposure, growing your power even more and bringing the pain back as sharp and unbearable as it was on the first day."
It was a weighty price to be sure, but all iron had to suffer the furnace's fiery bowels before it could be reforged anew as steel and achieve its potential. In the demigod's voice was confidence and honesty, without a trace of nervousness. He knew that an eternity of discomfort and pain was a terrifying prospect for any mortal, yet the temptation of the blood's other powers were greater yet. It was inconceivable to Ialu that Invidia might actually refuse, but then again, the outsider could prove him wrong.
"Power." The air resonated with the flat, dry statement. There came a static noise, nearly lost in the high-elevation breeze, that might have been a sigh. "For beings not consumed by greed, it's not always about power. Why do I need to be more powerful when I already have happiness? The ever-changing and ever-fascinating intricacies of life fulfill me more than the slaying of men and monsters. And yes, I know what happiness is. Seventy-eight years is enough time to adopt human emotion. You are offering me the chance to throw away fulfillment, serenity, and understanding and replace them with power and pain forever and ever. I already have immortality, and it is more than enough. I refuse."
Rage smoldered in the demigod as the demigod as the outsider flat out refused him, and so potent was the wrath that it managed to manifest itself and immolate Ialu's robes. Wreathed in fire and with a look of uncontrolled and wild fury molded onto his visage, for a moment he appeared every bit some sort of fiery demon. But then a moment later, the fire abruptly died. Ialu was now naked in more ways than one, with half his clothes burned away and his true thoughts so obvious.
He composed himself again as quickly as he had lost his temper, and without unleashing his anger in any destructive way. There were still times when the demigod wondered if it had been wise to let Invidia purge Vestec's chaos from his blood, but times like this banished such thoughts. If he had still possessed but a fraction of that inner turmoil now, he would have killed Invidia and most likely obliterated this entire temple in some berserk rage.
His life had always been filled with such violent outbursts and swings, so much so that it caused little embarassment. Candidly, Ialu spoke again as if nothing had just happened, "You speak of eternity, but no, I cannot bind you for eternity. You have a power that I cannot overcome or match with your strange immortality. You have the power to simply raise a blade, fall upon it, and die knowing that you will rise again with all your memories intact. That reincarnation would remove my blood; the stuff is incapable of infusing itself into the essence of mortals and becoming a part of them, and that is why it causes so much suffering.
So you have nothing to lose and everything to gain by acccepting! Should you wish to return to your infernal state of bliss, I will be unable to prevent it.
But I doubt that you would, not once you have been brought back into the light again. I strive for nothing less than to achieve divinity; it is what I was meant to do. Your ambitions might be more modest, but surely they still exist? Is it not natural to climb mountains to their very summits and look upon your golden potential, claiming it for yourself?"
The demigod's words trailed off for a short time, leaving the outsider with a chance to respond. If Invidia was not wholly distracted by the demigod's words, he might feel something in the air. It was that normal glow that shrouded Ialu, though now that aura was growing thick and slowly saturated the air. Whether consciously or not Ialu was planting the seeds of greed and ambition in the outsider's mind. It was an especially subtle form of manipulation, though if any would be able to sense or resist such things it would be this one.
If he could have, Invidia would have smirked. It wasn't an uncommon thing to say to the overly ambitious would be destroyed on the paths to their so-called destinies, but Invidia knew something Ialu didn't. Concentrating, Invidia sharpened his hearing, focusing his magical power into the act. This time, he would not be satisfied until he understood Ialu inside and out. As he listened, he spoke as well. "Though I don't care about dying,and the Astral Home and Spirit World have an incredible beauty almost worth death, I do not ever wish to die if I can help it. Eternal pain, also, is not something I can willingly take on. Perhaps you aren't fully understanding what I'm saying. Let me put it this way: when I was reincarnated, my curse was removed. Right now, I am the only Sanguine Communion member alive to be able to use Lifeblood. I choose not to. I was not made to seek divinity, and if you are wise, you will stop as well. There is a storm coming, one that will swallow up every god, and curse them to a fate worse than death." This time, Invidia was ready. If Ialu flared up again, this time with the intent to kill, he would find the outsider a formidable opponent still. Some of the things that the outsider heard within Ialu hinted that he was attempting to exert an influence over Invidia, who was now on guard.
While he was disappointed in the fool before him, he saw no need to force the outsider's hand. Better to go alone than bring a false friend or gain a resentful follower. It would seem that Invidia had taken his statement for a threat of some sort: no, the demigod had merely been pointing to death as a form of escape, a way of cleansing himself of the blood and the pain and power that accompanied it if it grew to be too much. He was preparing to say something when Invidia gave his rather ominous warning.
Ialu's eyes now narrowed. He was silent for a long time, and then he at last broke the quiet as he pried for more, "And just what might you know of that?"
Already his mind was racing as he thought of what this coming 'storm' could possibly mean. Invidia had mentioned his own god's disappearance; no doubt that was related. In any case, the demigod had no love for the gods and yet he was tempted to extract from Invidia's mind all that the outsider knew and then convey a warning to the gods. Perhaps they would be grateful and rewarding to the one that saved them from 'a fate worse than death'. Or perhaps he should allow them to fall from their high thrones so that he would be able to rise up and claim their former place. What poetic justice that would be, to have the former demigod able to torture and toy with the true gods as he pleased...
Ialu was intrigued, perhaps enough to be dangerous--this much Invidia could hear. The outsider held up his hands ominously. "It is the fate of all things to be destroyed and forgotten. Though I do not worship Vowzra, I have caught wind of his teachings. All will, sooner or later, come to an end, and even the high ones' reign is not eternal. Perhaps it will be Invictus or Fate that sends this storm, or maybe a being even further beyond our comprehension. We do not wait for doomsday, but it will come. To be forgotten is a worse fate than death, wouldn't you say?" Invidia lowered his hands and stepped back. "Our audience is nearing its end. Your newest conquest awaits, warlord, and you've no time for life-treasuring fools with no ambition like me."
So, Ialu thought, He prattles about Vowzra's teachings, dismisses his words as mere philosophy, then tries to turn me away like some sort of beggar. Lies heaped atop lies, and such insolence.
Simply being called 'warlord' was diisparaging to the one that now fancied himself a shadow and a puppet master, but he would say nothing of the sort to Invidia. Better to let the fool think him some wild brute incapable of manipulation or higher thought. "Then I part with you, and let none call this a meeting of hostility! I leave having bestowed upon you three gifts."
Without another word, the demigod melted into a vapor of gold and took joyfully to the eddies of wind that carried him afar. As in for his gifts, the first was of course the Fulcrum, that crutch remaining on the ground where it had first greeted the outsider. The second had been the choice of taking Ialu's blood, a choice that was refused of course, but even so it was a gift regardless seeing as most divine beings did not seem so keen on the freedom of choice. It was the third that was not so generous a gift: a wisp of that golden wind that was Ialu did not float freely away with the rest, choosing instead to waft closer to Invidia.
That wisp would not force its way into the outsider, but it would equally refuse to be ignored. It would be the first thing that the outsider saw in the cold mornings and the last gleam of light that he saw before long night. That manifestation of golden light, ambition and greed in its purest form, would always hover at the fringe of Invidia's vision invisible to the eyes of all save him. It would be a reminder of what the outsider could have had but refused and of the unmet potential that sit resided within. Perhaps by relentlessly following him it would drive him to hate Ialu or succumb to madness, or perhaps it would force him to see the world through the demigod's perspective. Or perhaps with meditation and focus, Invidia would in time be able to shut it out or learn to ignore its eternal temptation. Only time would tell.
A lone wanderer trod down a dusky dirt path through the great veldt and towards a small fortified town or outpost of some sort. As the stranger drew closer, the harsh crack of a whip and agonizing howls of pain became sharply audible. The place was a slaving camp, of course.
Clad in strange robes far too hot for travel on the savanna, this wanderer bewildered the guards at the compound's gate as he brazenly approached. There were hardly any travelers in these parts save for the marauding warbands of Horse People that brought slaves here to sell, and this stranger was certainly no Kharigit. Ruthless and bloodthirsty like all those in their profession, the guards' first reaction when confronted with the unknown was to draw their weapons and resort to violence. Of course, this came as no surprise.
Two quick bolts of telekinetic energy flew like darts towards, one for each of the guards. Each one was true to its mark and struck its target clean in the forehead. Each of the guards were decapitated by the sheer power of the magical blasts that struck them. It was an instant death, albeit far from a clean one.
So this is 'New Garakai'. Or at least a small piece of it, the stranger thought to himself as he stepped over the grotesque remains of those that he had just slain, taking in the scene before him. This little square outpost was larger than it had looked from the outside: it seemed neatly and geometrically divided into sections by the straight roads that cut through it, forming squares. Each square had a cluster of buildings, amongst them stables, barracks for the garrison and passing armies, warehouses, and holding pits for the slaves. At the center was a small clearing dominated not by the imposing gallows and whipping posts so much as by the massive trading building where the prisoners were bought and sold. Greed and sadism in their purest forms juxtaposed right next to one another, it seemed that the Garakains had not changed in the slightest.
As he approached that central square, the source of the screaming was revealed and the stranger beheld a scene so grisly that most would have retched. Lash after lash of the scourge fell upon one man's bloody back as a few dozen other slaves were forced to watch. Some could not help but avert their eyes away in futile hopes of not being scarred forever by what happened before them.
It was one of those that looked away and saw the stranger approaching. He seemd to have some sort of glow about him; she couldn't help but stare. After several moments others took notice and traced her gaze, and soon even the slavers turned to see the robed man walking calmy down the street while the corpses of the two watchmen were strewn out on the path just behind him.
The whipping stopped and a dozen of the cruel slavers charged the emotionless figure. He staggered to the ground when a two arrows and a javelin buried themselves in his thick clothes. Then they were upon his, blades in hand. One, two, three, four...he only grunted as the swords went into him. Seemingly making no attempt to fight, he kneeled there concentrating. After two long seconds, the swordsmen looked down to find their blades misshapen as if they had been driven into solid stone. The man that they stabbed at was very much alive, and not a drop of blood was on a single sword.
After the third second, a mere moment later, there was a great blast of magical energy that rended them all apart. The magic tore through all that had been in the immediate vicinity, severed their limbs, and made them burst open like plump red grapes being crushed in the winery.
While the terrified slaves gawked at him, he turned towards the raised platform where the torture had taken place. The slave tied to the whipping post was still as stone and dead, though in his last few moments he had what he had thought to be his god's retribution and smiled.
Next to his warm body were three more slavers. The stranger looked at them and with a mere thought, struck down the two archers that had fired their bows at him. As they fell lifelessly to the ground, he ripped their arrows out of his now ragged clothing and cast them aside. There was only one left, the man holding the whip. His hands shaking, he dropped the scourge to the ground, though his face still bore a defiant sneer. He knew he stood no chance, yet he refused to kneel or plead for mercy. He expected no quarter just as he had given none. A wise man.
The stranger suspected that his wanderings had brought him here for a reason; there was no such thing as mere chance, at least not for him. The Sight knew what it did and lead him as it willed, and now that Sight wreathed the last standing with a golden light. That one was more important than the others, important enough to not immediately kill. Perhaps he knew something.
As if he was a puppet forced to dance and twitch by strings, the slaver found a strange and impossibly strong force lift him off his feet, send him flying over the crowd of watching slaves, and slam to the ground before this great sorcerer. He barely contained a cry of pain as he felt bones in his legs shatter upon the impact.
For a moment there was only silence as Ialu was unsure of what to say or do, but then he suddenly knew. "Who rules this kingdom?" he asked in a voice soft as a whisper yet with all the power of a demigod.
"Viscardi...he will have your head!"
Ialu's eyes widened for a moment but then narrowed. He was taken aback, yet he knew it to be true. The man's eyes said as much and the Sight would not have led him here for no good reason.
"No. I will end his life, for the second time."
The slaver's usefulness had expired. His heart exploded and he instantly died. Before his body touched the ground, the stranger was gone. The disbelieved slaves blinked, touched the bodies of their oppressors to make sure that what they saw had been real, and then they thanked the gods. More guards soon came, but the slaves took up the arms of those that Ialu had slain and overwhelmed the slavers through sheer numbers. That outpost was razed and the mob of rebellious slaves ran to the bounds of the world to put that accursed land of New Garakai behind them. None were left to tell the tale of what had truly transpired.
~==--==--==~
The years had not been kind to the esoteric order called the Sanguine Communion. Following the demise of its leader and the revelation that the entire cabal lay under the insidious power of a calamitous jinx, it had sunk into obscurity. No longer were the monks undying warriors beyond compare; instead, they withdrew to mountaintops and great basins, terrified of so much as a scratch, for even the slightest wound would turn the blood in them to acid. It was a curse not always fatal--many of the monks carried within them some of the caustic toxin that they'd activated long ago.
In its new isolation the Communion adopted a very different persona. Rather than loose robes and terrifying masks, they donned ornately-sleeved shirts, baggy pants, and faulds crafted of extremely intricate plant-fibers. These weaves, meshes devised with utmost care and patience, were unique armors comfortable enough for everyday life but strong enough to absorb impact and cutting force alike, bending instead of breaking. Temperature, insects, accidental cuts, and scrapes all became a relic of the past. To those familiar with it, the Sanguine Communion now represented not a necessary violence to purge the world of its evil, but a gathering dedicated to the ideals of perseverance, self-control, and self-betterment. The axes lay, gathering dust, in the cellars of their monasteries. Instead the monks studied the martial arts, working on what already existed and incorporating their own techniques. Any monk could take on armed foes, deftly avoiding damage while inflicting painful but nonlethal contusions to his enemies, but seldom did any monk seek violence. In leaving behind their old lifestyle, the Communion also left behind its old cathedrals in Arguilla's urban centers and welcomed the populace to do with them as it would, even in the changing times.
Now, the morning sun filtered through the screen windows and lay across the empty, main room of one such monastery. An atmosphere of somber and pious silence blanketed the room, falling lightly on the shoulders of the assembled monks. They were practicing the art of acuity resonance, a magical discipline that involved manipulating soundwaves themselves to increase the ability of monks to hear, not only spoken words and far-off noises, but the minute events within a body themselves. While it was true that in recent years -perhaps having decided that the Sanguine Communion was no longer a threat- the forces of darkness and evil had stopped attacking, the Sanguine Communion had not stopped a vigilant observance of the world around them. With the spy network that had served them so many years ago now withered up like an expired blossom in winter, they had to rely on other methods to avoid becoming ignorant in their isolation. Leading this exercise was a familiar face--or lack thereof. After more than an hour of honing their ability to hear, and testing it by attempting to make out the silent voices within one anothers' minds, the monks dispersed and their instructor retired to a back room.
Rebirth, thought Invidia, meant little when one was born back into a world irreversibly changed. Only two years had passed since his death before he walked among the Sanguine Communion again, but in that time it had gone into disarray. Invidia's first act upon returning and taking control, he reminisced, had been to divide leadership and change the entire outlook of the organization, beginning the slow transition to the benign and remote society that now existed today. Other monasteries had their own leaders, wise men and women who developed their own sects in different ways, and each monastery had become akin to an order of its own. There was beauty in that, Invidia thought as he slid the door open to his chamber. Not to conquer, or to gain glory by opposing the divine tyrants that styled themselves gods, but merely to exist and take pleasure in what beauty that life did offer. With Escre gone, Invidia was Liaison no more. Instead, he was merely the Successor, a stranger and inheritor to his own legacy and that of the changed Communion's.
The Successor's room was less of a sealed chamber and more a roofed balcony. It overlooked a grand and inspiring view, and through it rushed constantly a crisp and invigorating breeze. As he often did, Invidia made his way toward the railing to observe the world, to take it in without looking down. A clatter beneath his feet, however, gave him pause. When he looked down, he found what appeared to be a stick, only after a moment determining it to be a relic from the past. A torrent of old memories rushed anew through Invidia's mind, and he bowed his head in recognition. It wasn't a gift, but a sign, and one that read: I have returned. Without turning around, Invidia focused his hearing, and became aware of the breathing, heartbeat, and the hidden things inside the hidden intruder. "So," he resonated in the mountain air, turning around to regale the Warlord with a faceless head. For a long time now Invidia had worn no mask and no hood, and his fellow monks had not hated him. "You've returned, with thoughts of murder in your heart. Ialu."
Out of the shadows stepped a changed figure. No longer a colossal brute that embodied pure violence and power, Ialu had spent the past few decades plotting and thinking. He had reflected upon the words of Invictus and on his own failures, and while his nature had changed little, his methods had. Demigods had time in abundance. He now sought to play the slow game, claiming what was his through manipulation and deceit. That was a better form of strength than blood or muscle.
His new form reflected this change, looking the part of an ordinary yet wisened man with a look of experience and fire in his eyes and a sort of glow about him. Ialu hadn't even expected Invidia to recognize him, and that was why he had returned the Fulcrum. It would seem that the outsider had done more than recognize him, though. How he had managed to peer through the maelstrom of chaos and emotion that swirled through the demigod and look into the heart of that storm, Ialu's intentions and deepest thoughts, was something of a mystery.
A small grin appeared on Ialu's hooded face. A heartbeat after Invidia had finished, he answered, "You see that it is not your death that I seek, I would hope. A nemesis of mine has returned from the grave. He is the one known as Viscardi, a servant of Vestec and an anathema to what you stand for. Perhaps you know of him?"
Invidia regarded the man before him. Simultaneously, he was both vastly different and exactly the same. Though he could not hear the words in Ialu's head, Invidia sensed that the intruder meant him no harm. At least, not directly. If the outsider had to guess, he would think that Ialu meant to enlist his help, perhaps to wage war against this Viscardi as allies as they had once done elsewhere. That, however, was a dire prospect. "I know little of him. Word reaches us slowly nowadays. Unfortunately, you must know that things are different now. The curse laid upon the Sanguine Communion by Vestec has turned us from battle-seeking warriors to conflict-fleeing monks. Our blood has become our own undoing. Now that we have no power, we have no say. Today, the Sanguine Communion stands for nothing, and we oppose Vestec no more. Even the Anju have stopped bothering us, such is our withdrawal. I don't know if there is any help we can give you."
Disgust creeped into the demigod's voice as he answered, "I see that once was is now dead and no more; you, and by extension your entire little order, is now a rotting carcass content with withering away and feeding the worms. Vestec ruined you, and you dare not even oppose his minions. Your lack of ambition is disappointing...but perhaps it is not too late...Vestec afflicted me with a curse even more grievous than the one that befalls your kind, but with the help of a great one, it was broken. I could be that great one that is your salvation!"
What followed was a pregnant pause. Perhaps Ialu was merely emphasing the gravity of the situation and his offer, or offering the outsider a moment to reflect upon it, or thinking to himself on what to say next. In any case, he eventually continued, "Viscardi is a nemesis that I defeated long ago, though just barely. Now he rules New Garakai, and I suspect that his power has only grown. In exchange for your aid in returning him to the grave and perhaps dismantling his kingdom, I would offer you salvation: my own blood. Some of my most loyal followers have already had that gift bestowed upon them, and they have been transformed by its power.
You would find my own blood more potent than that sludge that flows through the veins of Galbar. It would burn away the poison in your veins, and with that poison would be banished mortality and all other weakness as well. It makes one's magic and strength alike grow immeasurably; the Anju would be like fleas that you could shake off or eradicate as you pleased."
The outsider crossed his arms. "Perhaps it is not the want of the Communion to swat down life anymore, but rather to find meaning and beauty in it. It is true that Vestec has destroyed us, and it was as easily done as trodding on ants. These events have taught me a valuable lesson about my place in the universe. As long as there are high ones, it is better for the lesser beings to sit back and appreciate the life they have rather than rush to end it. I can see, however, why a demigod would be so scornful of the idea, particularly one representative of greed."
"Regardless, what you propose sounds too good to be true. No being with power ever reaches down to give to something lesser without an agenda in mind, even if their rewards are intangible. What price does your blood demand?"
"As I have said before, I ask that you aid me in defeating Viscardi and ruining Vestec's little game. Beyond mere spite, I have reason to want New Garakai to crumble before it can grow too big or choke all of Orabahk with chaos and Vestec's vile influence.
But perhaps you meant to ask something else? Not what it would cost to obtain my blood, but what it would cost to wield it? A fair question, and one that I will answer honestly. The blood of demigods is meant to flow through the veins of demigods. The power and strength within it culls the weak and inflicts agony upon the strong. You would be more powerful than you ever were before, though every moment of your existence would be one filled with fire and pain. It will never truly go away, but in time it would numb and as you grew used to it. At that point it would be possible to repeat the process with a second exposure, growing your power even more and bringing the pain back as sharp and unbearable as it was on the first day."
It was a weighty price to be sure, but all iron had to suffer the furnace's fiery bowels before it could be reforged anew as steel and achieve its potential. In the demigod's voice was confidence and honesty, without a trace of nervousness. He knew that an eternity of discomfort and pain was a terrifying prospect for any mortal, yet the temptation of the blood's other powers were greater yet. It was inconceivable to Ialu that Invidia might actually refuse, but then again, the outsider could prove him wrong.
"Power." The air resonated with the flat, dry statement. There came a static noise, nearly lost in the high-elevation breeze, that might have been a sigh. "For beings not consumed by greed, it's not always about power. Why do I need to be more powerful when I already have happiness? The ever-changing and ever-fascinating intricacies of life fulfill me more than the slaying of men and monsters. And yes, I know what happiness is. Seventy-eight years is enough time to adopt human emotion. You are offering me the chance to throw away fulfillment, serenity, and understanding and replace them with power and pain forever and ever. I already have immortality, and it is more than enough. I refuse."
Rage smoldered in the demigod as the demigod as the outsider flat out refused him, and so potent was the wrath that it managed to manifest itself and immolate Ialu's robes. Wreathed in fire and with a look of uncontrolled and wild fury molded onto his visage, for a moment he appeared every bit some sort of fiery demon. But then a moment later, the fire abruptly died. Ialu was now naked in more ways than one, with half his clothes burned away and his true thoughts so obvious.
He composed himself again as quickly as he had lost his temper, and without unleashing his anger in any destructive way. There were still times when the demigod wondered if it had been wise to let Invidia purge Vestec's chaos from his blood, but times like this banished such thoughts. If he had still possessed but a fraction of that inner turmoil now, he would have killed Invidia and most likely obliterated this entire temple in some berserk rage.
His life had always been filled with such violent outbursts and swings, so much so that it caused little embarassment. Candidly, Ialu spoke again as if nothing had just happened, "You speak of eternity, but no, I cannot bind you for eternity. You have a power that I cannot overcome or match with your strange immortality. You have the power to simply raise a blade, fall upon it, and die knowing that you will rise again with all your memories intact. That reincarnation would remove my blood; the stuff is incapable of infusing itself into the essence of mortals and becoming a part of them, and that is why it causes so much suffering.
So you have nothing to lose and everything to gain by acccepting! Should you wish to return to your infernal state of bliss, I will be unable to prevent it.
But I doubt that you would, not once you have been brought back into the light again. I strive for nothing less than to achieve divinity; it is what I was meant to do. Your ambitions might be more modest, but surely they still exist? Is it not natural to climb mountains to their very summits and look upon your golden potential, claiming it for yourself?"
The demigod's words trailed off for a short time, leaving the outsider with a chance to respond. If Invidia was not wholly distracted by the demigod's words, he might feel something in the air. It was that normal glow that shrouded Ialu, though now that aura was growing thick and slowly saturated the air. Whether consciously or not Ialu was planting the seeds of greed and ambition in the outsider's mind. It was an especially subtle form of manipulation, though if any would be able to sense or resist such things it would be this one.
If he could have, Invidia would have smirked. It wasn't an uncommon thing to say to the overly ambitious would be destroyed on the paths to their so-called destinies, but Invidia knew something Ialu didn't. Concentrating, Invidia sharpened his hearing, focusing his magical power into the act. This time, he would not be satisfied until he understood Ialu inside and out. As he listened, he spoke as well. "Though I don't care about dying,and the Astral Home and Spirit World have an incredible beauty almost worth death, I do not ever wish to die if I can help it. Eternal pain, also, is not something I can willingly take on. Perhaps you aren't fully understanding what I'm saying. Let me put it this way: when I was reincarnated, my curse was removed. Right now, I am the only Sanguine Communion member alive to be able to use Lifeblood. I choose not to. I was not made to seek divinity, and if you are wise, you will stop as well. There is a storm coming, one that will swallow up every god, and curse them to a fate worse than death." This time, Invidia was ready. If Ialu flared up again, this time with the intent to kill, he would find the outsider a formidable opponent still. Some of the things that the outsider heard within Ialu hinted that he was attempting to exert an influence over Invidia, who was now on guard.
While he was disappointed in the fool before him, he saw no need to force the outsider's hand. Better to go alone than bring a false friend or gain a resentful follower. It would seem that Invidia had taken his statement for a threat of some sort: no, the demigod had merely been pointing to death as a form of escape, a way of cleansing himself of the blood and the pain and power that accompanied it if it grew to be too much. He was preparing to say something when Invidia gave his rather ominous warning.
Ialu's eyes now narrowed. He was silent for a long time, and then he at last broke the quiet as he pried for more, "And just what might you know of that?"
Already his mind was racing as he thought of what this coming 'storm' could possibly mean. Invidia had mentioned his own god's disappearance; no doubt that was related. In any case, the demigod had no love for the gods and yet he was tempted to extract from Invidia's mind all that the outsider knew and then convey a warning to the gods. Perhaps they would be grateful and rewarding to the one that saved them from 'a fate worse than death'. Or perhaps he should allow them to fall from their high thrones so that he would be able to rise up and claim their former place. What poetic justice that would be, to have the former demigod able to torture and toy with the true gods as he pleased...
Ialu was intrigued, perhaps enough to be dangerous--this much Invidia could hear. The outsider held up his hands ominously. "It is the fate of all things to be destroyed and forgotten. Though I do not worship Vowzra, I have caught wind of his teachings. All will, sooner or later, come to an end, and even the high ones' reign is not eternal. Perhaps it will be Invictus or Fate that sends this storm, or maybe a being even further beyond our comprehension. We do not wait for doomsday, but it will come. To be forgotten is a worse fate than death, wouldn't you say?" Invidia lowered his hands and stepped back. "Our audience is nearing its end. Your newest conquest awaits, warlord, and you've no time for life-treasuring fools with no ambition like me."
So, Ialu thought, He prattles about Vowzra's teachings, dismisses his words as mere philosophy, then tries to turn me away like some sort of beggar. Lies heaped atop lies, and such insolence.
Simply being called 'warlord' was diisparaging to the one that now fancied himself a shadow and a puppet master, but he would say nothing of the sort to Invidia. Better to let the fool think him some wild brute incapable of manipulation or higher thought. "Then I part with you, and let none call this a meeting of hostility! I leave having bestowed upon you three gifts."
Without another word, the demigod melted into a vapor of gold and took joyfully to the eddies of wind that carried him afar. As in for his gifts, the first was of course the Fulcrum, that crutch remaining on the ground where it had first greeted the outsider. The second had been the choice of taking Ialu's blood, a choice that was refused of course, but even so it was a gift regardless seeing as most divine beings did not seem so keen on the freedom of choice. It was the third that was not so generous a gift: a wisp of that golden wind that was Ialu did not float freely away with the rest, choosing instead to waft closer to Invidia.
That wisp would not force its way into the outsider, but it would equally refuse to be ignored. It would be the first thing that the outsider saw in the cold mornings and the last gleam of light that he saw before long night. That manifestation of golden light, ambition and greed in its purest form, would always hover at the fringe of Invidia's vision invisible to the eyes of all save him. It would be a reminder of what the outsider could have had but refused and of the unmet potential that sit resided within. Perhaps by relentlessly following him it would drive him to hate Ialu or succumb to madness, or perhaps it would force him to see the world through the demigod's perspective. Or perhaps with meditation and focus, Invidia would in time be able to shut it out or learn to ignore its eternal temptation. Only time would tell.
Escre, the Great Spirit
It disturbed Escre to see that apparently Vestec could teleport himself to the Great Spirit's position instantaneously and at will, totally heedless of the immeasurable distance that lay between it and Galbar. Having had to travel those vast and empty realms manually, Escre did not like the fact that other gods could merely manifest where they pleased. Moreover, the devil evidently wanted Escre's help to orchestrate his latest entertainment. To this, Escre could not dredge up much to say. "No."
It resonated a message into the ears its demigod companions, provided they were still around to hear it. (Accept his offer and your journey is over.)
Ialu meets Invidia, and discovers that the Sanguine Communion has reformed into a more benevolent, monastic society, that can neither present the forces of evil a challenge in anything except self-defense nor wish to, and who cannot help him.
Ialu leaves a Greed Presence to haunt Invidia in retaliation.
Ialu leaves a Greed Presence to haunt Invidia in retaliation.