Drosil Maeneld & Cyril Serio
It was Noon in an empty courtyard within the castle grounds. Summoned shades were placed where ever people may enter, giving off presence of forgetfulness on anyone who tried to enter the area, making them turn around and walk away before they realized what just happened. In the courtyard, Cyril would be waiting, as he had for the last 3-4 hours, for Drosil to finish drawing out a series of magical circles and sigils, making a design with a rather large one surrounding two smaller ones, all of them bearing a number of sigils and mystical symbols with in their outline. At this point Drosil himself would be putting down the finishing touches to the final circle. As he got up, a slight wobble could be notice in his stance, the mage seeming to have lost a lot of his vibrance from before. The wounds from the fight had taken a lot out of him, and even with healing, he hadn't been able to do much, leaving Shadar to have done most of the traveling. The majority of the damage were the burns on his arm, which strangely enough, seemed to have spread to the rest of his body while he resided inside where it was that he stayed while Shadar took over.
The burns had, by now, faded away to nothingness(another oddity of the condition), but Drosil still looked far from well. His hair hung in a tangled mess, his skin had taken on a rather sickly palor, and his eyes were somewhat hazy. As he rose from the ground,he had to lean against his staff as a series of coughing fits took hold of his form, with each body wracking cough coming a cloud of black smoke and the smell of ashes, fire, and brimstone. He'd been doing this for a while now, and had refused to explain or address the issue until today, where he'd approached Cyril to help him in a matter that he described as being of 'grave importance to his health and the health of everyone in the castle.' Now, with his fit over, he carefully walked over to Cyril,making sure not to disturb a single particle of the circle.
"Sorry for the wait, your highness, but it's rather important to be precise with magic to avoid highly dangerous . . . consequences, especially with summoning." Drosil said with a light bow, though even that small action seemed to be rather exhausting, as it took a few seconds to rise again. "Now then, would please hand me the bag I have handed to you. I need to check it's contents, which you've probably made yourself intimately familiar with in your boredom."
Drosil was referring to a large bag which he'd given to Cyril to hold onto. Inside of it had been a myriad of incense candles, crystals and gems bearing a light luminescence, and, rather oddly . . . a crossbow, which he'd taken the liberty of 'borrowing' from the castle quartermaster. He had refused to explain why the crossbow was need for whatever he was doing, as he left it with Cyril, taking the time to place the incense and crystals and certain places in each of the circles.
"Now then, I'm sure you have questions, so please ask them now while I do this. I'll give you the straight truth to any questions you may ask, as you've been patient with me for all this time."
When the Prince's initial questions hadn't been answered by the Jasian, Cyril had settled in for the long haul. After all, thanks to the shades, it wasn't like he could simply leave, so instead he just impatiently waited as Drosil made his preparations for... whatever it was that he was going to do. Cyril only knew that it was very clearly something related to magic, but any sort of the specifics were lost on the Prince. The items within the bag did very little to help with Cyril's confusion, though the sight of the crossbow certainly set him on edge. When Drosil left the crossbow with him, that didn't help at all either.
"What the Hell is going on here, Drosil? Why are we out here, what are you setting up, and why am I supposed to be holding this and for possibly what?" The Prince asked these questions rapidly, his irritation very clear as he crossed his arms slightly. He was already regretting going along with the Jasian that day at all.
"Well, to put it simply, I've made a bit of a costly error in my preparation for my last fight." Drosil stated as he made sure everything was just right, before suddenly suffering from another coughing fit, waving the black smoke out of his face lest it start another one. "I am currently in the process of losing my soul to an Ifrit aI summoned to assist me in my last battle, and if that happens, the entirety of the peopel in this castle while be endanger of immolation. A spirit summoned into this world is bad enough, but given a host to anchor them to this plane, and a Divineborn at that . . . I shudder to think what they'd be able to accomplish."
Drosil quickly made sure that everything was completely precise and perfect, making sure that not a single crystal, symbol, of candle was out of place.
"What I'm trying to do now is what I wanted to do after the fight, which is remove the spirit, but at this point, the possibility of failure is high enough that I need to have a contingency plan, which is what you are my highness. If the outer ring turns red, that means something has gone wrong, which is very likely, but if the outer circle begins to erode, you need to kill me with that crossbow. Fast. We've only known each other for a short while so I imagine that it won't be that hard given that the alternative is the death of a great number of people in this castle, and possibly the capital." Drosil spoke with a disturbing amount of calm and composure given not only what he'd asked, but what he said was happening to him at this moment. It was almost as if he'd gone through this procedure numerous times before. "Now, if you have any more questions, make them quick. I don't have much time to waste on talk, especially since the Ifrit has begun it's takeover in earnest, having sensed what i'm preparing to do."
To say that what the Jasian had to say was an unpleasant surprise for the Prince would have been putting it politely. To be completely honest, it was a nasty problem all around. To begin with, the Prince opened his mouth slightly, as if thinking about something, before he shook his head slightly. Not only had Drosil backed himself into a corner, but he had backed the Prince into one as well; it was his duty to make sure this didn't go wrong, for the sake of the Capitol as a whole, not just those in close proximity.
"For someone so intelligent you seem to make a lot of stupid mistakes, Drosil..." He brought the crossbow up, taking one step back as he aimed it at the man, gaze level. "Let's just get it over with, and I'll be praying over here that I don't have to kill you. Don't know what that'd to do Shadar, and it wouldn't be fair to him."
"Intelligence is not the same as wisdom, and I never claimed to have any of that. But truly, I wanted to do it earlier, where ti would've been easy, but the Ifrit damaged my body a lot more intensely than it had ever before during testing. Rather clever, almost respect him. And, if it does come to that, I can only hope that Shadar will get the chance to live out his life. Our parent owes him that much, at the very least." Drosil spoke softly as he stepped carefully over the sigils. With a snap of his fingers, the incense holders all lit at once, and as he stepped into one of the smaller circles, the sigils began to take an unnerving violet glow.
Drosil would sit cross-legged in the circle, breathing deeply before he began to let out a mystic chant in the language of magic, his voice resonating with arcane power. As he chanted, the air would soon feel as if it were vibrating, and low rumble rattling in the minds of those present, followed by the crackling heat of fire. Cyril would began to feel the heat crawl up his from as flames began to eek out of Drosil's body, dragged out by some invisible force and forced into the secondary circle, taking on a vague, humanoid form. While intense, the ritual seemed to be going well . . . at first.
The first bit of trouble came about half way through, around 30 mins, when the flame in the center, still rather indistinct in it's look, raised a hand and thrust it towards Drosil. The chanting was suddenly interrupted by violent coughing fit, and the rumbling was suddenly interrupted with the sound of a wailing screech, the inner circle surrounding Drosil shifting into a brigth orange color, then bursting into a flames. Drosil's body would controt and twost in violent and inhuman ways, flames and ashes bursting from his skin and trying to crawl over the rest of his body before dying out. It was clear from the look on Drosil's face that the pain was immense but, with an extreme force of effort, he fought the spirit back down, the flames receeding as he continued, this time pouring a lot more power into his words, speaking much faster and stronger than before. Within 15 minutes, the flames were all collected with in the secondary circle.
What had been just a raging inferno was now a rather large humanoid figure, with firey red skin, large black horns curing over it's head like a ram, it frame holding a great deal of muscle and mass to it as two flamming pits looming down at the two humans before it with contempt. It's lower half was that equivalent to a goat, with cloven hooves and furred loins keeping the spirits modesty, not that it would've minded in all honest.
W̾̆ͫͨ̃ͨ҉e͛ͪ͆̇̅͗ll̡̔ͫ, ̸̉ͯ̌w̏ͨͪͮ̌̀ͧĕ̷͊̋̑͆̌̌l̿l̂ͩ̅̎̚,ͫ͠ ̔ͦ̓̔̈̔̿Tͯ̎̆̎ͮ̉wͫͭi̇̽ͯnͪ-̐͗̏̒ͦͫ́͟s̍ó̆űͭ͑̅̈́̈͞l̓͜,̂̓͝ ̅̎͊̊͆I̧̔͒ͨ̚ ̂̋͊͝mͧ͌̓u̔̅s̅t̶̆ ̿̃ͭͬͭͥ̎aͯ͘d̴̋ͨ̾̃̃m̋ͧ̿͒͛iͨ̈͠t̐ͬ̏̐̊̊ ̢̉tͫ͡hͯả̸͂̇ͧ̊ͤt̒ͬ̇ ̌̚Î̇ͣ͠'̐ͯ͝m̀͌̌ͨ͊ͮ̽ ́̌i͡m̂ͮͮ͛̄̈͋͞p̷̐̓r̡͗̂̓̉͆̌e͛s͑͑ͣ̋́sͩ̿̓̑̕e͑̀ͤdͦ͗̆̃ͤͥ͜.̌̑ͭ̀ ̸Y͊͊͛̀o͏ûͮͦͤ͊ͫ͞ ͩ̊ͬ̚wͪ͊ͦ̈́̑̂̚e̴͒r̡e͗͂̈ͩ ̧͒̅̎͛aͤb̸ļ́̽ͫͣ̉eͪ̓́ ͛ͥ͌́t̶̀̍ͨ͛̓́oͤ̌ ̄p͜u̎ͭ͋͢s̃͗ͣ͑͏h ̢͊̊̆͆̋m̓̉̓̐ͧeͫͯ̓̒ ̄̃́ͮ̉ͪ̈́b̿̉̅̔̉̉́a̾́̀c̿́kͣ͗͌͑ͣͣ̽͏ ͐̌҉a̅͒ͬ̄f̌̄͂ͤ͒̅ͨ͝t̂ͯ̌̆̇̂͡é̌̚r̸̃ ͥ̋͂͐͐̓̾I̓ ̸̂͛̊ͣ̓ͬh͜a̾ͧ͒dͫ̄͒̌̔̌͆ ̉̉t͗ͤͯͮ̌̆͜ȧ̷̐̎ͬ̆̆ͣk͡e̎̽̾͝ņ ̵̾̃͛ͣ̓͛s̽̔̃̕űͫ̉ͩc̛͂́̄h̸̋̌ͭͤͮ̋ ͩͮͪͨ̆̿a͐̀ ͩfiͮr͆̋͑̋̅̚ṁ̔̈ͧ͞ ̐̅́ğ̀ři̍̑̃̒̕ṗ͛̏̍̐ͪͬ͠ ̵͊ͮ͛͊oͧ̈͒̔ͬ͂f͂̌ ̈́̓̿̐y̐̆ǒ̶̆ͣͧ̉ư̓ͬ̄ͣ̄r̷̅͗́ͤ̿͆ ̶͒ṡ͌͒̀ͪ̌̚o̿́̋͒̉͐͝uͥͨͮ͂̅͑͞l͋ͬ̊̍̇. ̐Y̔͑̔oͦ̾̈͛̅u̅͐ͯ̐ͨ͌̅̕r̆̿͂͊ ̊ͤ̔̏r̊e̾s̡̆̾íͥ͗̀l̽̂ͣͯiͬ̒̍ͦ̌̋̚ȩͨͯ́n͊ċ̂̆̄e͒̆͗̊ ̡i͐̌́̾́̅̚͡s͑͐́͛̎ ̛͋̍ͩ̊iͤͦ͑͒ͪm̉̿͑̔̿̽̈́pͣŗ͂e͌ssi͞v̓̅̓̾́ͥ̂͝e͒̏̑̎ͧͯ͘ ̈ͧͦ̆̕.̷̋̈̏̉̿͐ͬ ̎͋̋ͤ̉ͭ.̄ ̷.̶̽͑ͬͣ̏̔̂ ̾̀e̒͌̅̂ͦͤ́s͊̊̈́pͦͣê͌̚c̐̽͗̋̔ͬͨi̕aͭͤ͊̂͐̚͘l̀ly̧̓ ̶̿̿c̉͊̈̍ͩ̊ỏ̸̔̐ͨͤ́n̉͗ͬ̿s͢iͥ́d̅̅̆ͬ̔e͗̐ͬr͏iͤ̕n̋̒̀͛ͯg ̨̋͊͂͊͛ͯ̐hͯ͗̃ͧ͟òwͨͭ̄ ̓y̡͆̑o͛͒ͣuͨ҉ ̏҉oͩ͌́̇̆ͨͥn̡͑̀̎̊͆ͮͨlͦ̄́̈́̏ȳ̴ ȍ̊͒ẁͭ͝n̴̓̂̔ ̷ͮ́h̃͌͆̉̎̀a̛ͣ̅̚lͪͯ̊̃̎f̒̒̑ ̛̊o͒̈ͤ̃f̛̍̓̋͒̈ ̋́͐̄ͫy̵oͪ͛̍̌̚ŭ̶ͭ̊̂͛̃r̓̽̌̋̐͌͌ ̒͌̋ac̶̑̍̑t̅ua͂ͪ̇l̆ͬ̆̍̇̈͐ ̃̐̇ͧ̀s͢ò͊̃̐̂́̚uͨͥͪ͆̓ļ͐̐̽.ͫ͊̄̚͠
The spirt's voice was like that of a roaring flame, but its words, warped as they were, could be barely understood by Cyril, if he strained to understand what it was trying to say. Drosil, however, understood the beast perfectly, and gave only a wane, humorless smile at the spirit's words.
"A little less than half now, if we're to be completely honest."
At that, the spirit only raised a hand to show off a tiny glimmer of light for a second, before Drosil waved his hand over a spot on the magic circle,uttering a single word to dismiss the spirit before promptly falling to his knees, just barely being able to retain consciousness, he felt so drained.
When it looked like things might have gone incredibly wrong very quickly, the Prince had tensed, bringing up the crossbow fully as he aimed it towards Drosil's chest. He kept this position as the minutes kept ticking by, even if the crossbow was a heavy weapon he was unfamiliar with. There was too much at risk to simply slack off, even as being near the heat continued to slowly sap at his energy.
When things were all said and done, though, the tension left Cyril's body just as quickly as the light disappeared. Placing the crossbow to the side as he barely kept himself from tossing it, the Prince quickly went forwards, hand going down to at least keep Drosil upright by keeping a grip on the Jasian's shoulder. Briefly, Cyril glanced to the second circle, thinking back to what little he had understood from the spirit before he looked back to Drosil again, frowning slightly.
"What do you mean by less than half?"
Drosil gave a grateful nod towards Cyril for his assistance, as the ritual had taken a great deal out of him, but a small frown held over his features as he asked for clarification on what Drosil had meant by his statement. A sigh escaped his lips as he motioned for Cyril to allow him to take a seat at one of the many courtyard benches. Once he was seated and had taken a moment to gather his thoughts, he finally spoke up again.
"It's as it sounds. My soul, try as I might've to prevent it, no longer completely belongs to me. I'm now bonded to that Ifrit, for better or for worse, and will be such until I'm able, if ever, to recover the fragment it had taken from me. Luckily, i was rather small, so i should be fine, though I must admit that this is a rather vexing issue." Drosil couldn't help but let out another sigh, which was soon followed by a hiss of pain as he felt a sharp pain stab him in his side. he curled over, taking in quick, sharp breaths before he felt the pain fade away, his eyes seeming a bit hazy as he wiped his brow clean of the sweat that had begun to culminate upon it. "As to what that means specifically, I must say that I'm not sure. The magic that I have been researching is one most of my colleagues view as 'mad', 'suicidal', and only for those who don't value their own lives. Not much research has been done in the subject, at least that the universities of Jasi are concerned, so I'm on my own on what the consequences of this would be. That being said, I've managed well enough on half a soul for around 3 years, so hopefully going around with a bit less won't cause any major harm to my well being."
Drosil continued to recline on the bench, just allowing his body to rest as his mind flutter into the distant fog that was his memory, thinking back to a much, much darker time in his life. Dark, seductive laughter could be heard fluttering through his mind, bringing with it feelings of exstacy, desire, shame, and self-hatred that used to clutter his heart to the brim in past times.
"So . . . is there anything else you would like to know? I'm in no hurry or anything, but after that endeavor, I'd much rather have a good rest. After which, I think I'll be pestering Christopher about his peculiar ability to heal from such a fatal wound. Such an interesting opportunity for study can't be missed, no matter how tired I may feel."
Sitting next to Drosil, Cyril listened with slight horror as Drosil almost casually explained his situation. The Jasian seemed... almost aloof by the entire issue, despite the pain it was causing him. Perhaps he was more worried than Cyril realized, but the Prince couldn't help but feel like any person who was completely insane would be more disturbed about their soul not entirely belonging to him. A sane person would probably also realize that people avoided these fields of research for a reason, but the Prince already had a feeling about how the Jasian might answer if he brought that up. Still, it was interesting to note that there were apparently some things that not even the nation of Jasi as a whole would do.
He almost caught himself asking what had the other half of Drosil's soul, but the Prince stopped himself before he did. He probably didn't want to know.
"Go get some rest, Drosil." As Cyril stood, he gave the Jasian a pat on his shoulder, turning and beginning to walk. "Er, be careful with how much you pester Christopher though. He seems like the type to throw a punch earlier than most, if we're going to be completely honest."
"Heh, that he does," Drosil agreed, noting the subtleties of Cyril's reaction, but choosing not to comment on them, as he was to tired to explain why he was so accepting of his fate. After a few seconds, he felt well enough to rise, stretching out his arms, looking at his arms with a pleased expression as he saw all signs of his possession seemed to have disappeared. "But believe me when I say I've faced things much worse than a boy with a bit of anger issues, so I'm sure I can manage him. Oh, and while I've nothing to hold you to this, I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't discuss this with anyone, besides the Queen if you feel that you must."
"I'll keep it as close to my vest as I can, you should know that by now Drosil." Coming to a stop, Cyril gave a nod over his shoulder, but didn't quite take his next step yet. "Anything else you need from me? Any other reason I should be holding a crossbow towards you right now?"
"No, believe it or not, this is an rare occurrence. I'm usually quite good at keeping myself from coming into these positions. But I guess mistakes can always be made. I'll have to work on setting up better counter-measures in case another spirit pulls a similar trick." Drosil gave a light chuckle at Cyril's joke, dark as it may be, before walking off towards his chambers. The shades were dismissed the moment he left the area, and when he reached his room, he'd fall into bed, falling asleep to a terrible, restless night of haunting nightmares, visions of darkness, torture, and helplessness. And again, that same dark laughter, enticing him into the darkness of his own desires, seeking to twist him to it's captivating will. Such nightmares would continue in his mind while his body was paralyzed, the days events leaving him open to a presence he'd rather never come into contact again. In his mind, pounding at his sanity with the intent of breaking it, was one name, over and over again.
Lilith
Member
Lemons
Neziul
Ariamis
Obscene Symphony
Scrawl Banditta
Pirouette
Ohm
ChronicleMan
Simply Not Real