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I'll get a Zal post up tonight.
Chessmaster
They was pacing around their cell again, waiting. Counting the steps that hadn't changed in all the years they had been here. Not much else they could do in this black as night prison. The cell was 56 steps by 46 steps, with a ceiling 25 steps above him. They knew, because they had paced around the room for years now, even paced up and down the walls, counting as they did so. The only source of light was the glowing 'chessboard' of the world they kept conjured, colored like the world outside of their cell, down to the smallest cloud moving across the board, and covered with various chess pieces, some of them purple. They had to see what was happening in the world around them, in order to plan their escape. It even provided a meager amount of amusement, from time to time. Suddenly, they stopped, feeling something they had expected to feel, right on time.
Magic....they could sense magic being used in force above them. Right on time, every year. Magic fueled by the grotesque creation of the Gods, the foul mockery of where true power came from. They sighed in disgust. It apparently amused the Gods to stick them here, where annual magic was done. And, right on time, every year, it stirred the two he kept in a false form of life inside of Chessmaster's body, splitting their minds from one to three. He was the only one who had enough of a body and energy to keep full control, but on nights like this, when magic was thick in the air...their anger was enough to make them push for control. Rather than fight, a useless gesture when one was fighting two from within, he simply let them do their posturing.
The first to speak was his brother, rough and guttural, hurting their throat as he spoke. "Kill. We should shatter our bonds and kill the foul spawn of the Gods, bathe in their blood, burn their homes, leave nothing but ruin and carnage behind us as their legacy!" His brother had always been a violent one. Then again, he supposed, who wouldn't be given his birth. His sister spoke next, as his brother receded. Her voice was soft, demure, kind if you didn't really pay attention to her words. "No...we shouldn't kill them. That would be too kind. We should keep them alive, and slowly flense them. Keep them alive through our power, and make them experience every excruciating second a thousand times before we let them die." Both his siblings were rather...bloodthirsty and insane. Granted, they've also died and been trapped inside of him for quite a while now, and he's been trapped in here, so who could really blame them?
He turned his mind to one of his pawns, Mackendrick, located in the mage's college. Reaching down, he touched the pulsing purple pawn, connecting his mind to Mackendrick's. "You're in place?" He asked. His board may be accurate, but it was always safe to be sure. "If I was any more in place, I'd be yanking my blade out of their spines and running for dear life." Came the irritable reply, echoing from the pawn. Chessmaster took a deep breath, resisting the natural urges of his siblings to smite the insolent pawn. He needed the man, for now. "Just make sure you do your job correctly. I'd hate to have to take your benefits away at an..inopportune moment." He could feel Mackendrick paling in fear at that thought. Good. Pawns should always fear the wrath of their master.
"Arrogant human.." His brother growled. "We should make him suffer, and pay for it." His sister hissed. As per usual, they didn't quite understand the subtlety and the work he had gone through just to make everything come to this moment. He sighed. "Calm, brother and sister. Our time will come. The pieces are all in place. Soon the runes will be broken, the chains will be removed," They became one again, and they made a sweeping gesture towards the board, speaking the rest in unison.
"And the Gods will know fear."
Uicle
The Necromancer waved off Khan's apology. "I don't think any of us quite expected this." It certainly came as an unpleasant surprise to him. Regardless, he was relieved to see many of the students calming down, anger or terror sliding from their faces. For now it seemed that no one was entertaining any more ideas of trying to kill Satori. For how long that would last, it remained to be seen. He was sure the Psychomancy teacher could fend for herself, however. She wouldn't be the teacher if she couldn't, after all. Regardless, he watched Khan deal with the Forest Elf who had tried to kill Satori in a more personal fashion. The Headmaster had managed to convince her not to try and kill Satori any more, which Uicle considered a strong feat in and of itself. Standing as soon as the trees that were holding her disappeared, he said "Sorry Justine, but it appears I won't be using your Golem. Recent events have made me change my display." With that he walked in front of the teachers, a hush falling over the students as they realized the final display was about to occur.
"I am the Necromancy teacher Uicle, and yes I will be doing the Hydromancy demonstration as well, and yes that is highly unusual. But, rather than bore you all with an explanation of how I came about my unique abilities, I'll just go to my brief demo as I'm sure you all want to go back to your dorms by now. Necromancy is the magic of giving inanimate objects life of their own, pulling souls from the pit and putting them into objects bound to your will. Hydromancy is the manipulation of liquid. Any liquid. Now, I'm sure you'd all appreciate a drink.."
All the empty cups scattered about on the floor and on the table by people's thrashing or the Electromancy display suddenly lifted into the air, and the barrels of alcohol suddenly started pouring forth from the tap. Dragon Spite, Ember, Lunar, Dwarven Ale, and a host of other drinks wove in complex patterns before depositing themselves in the cups, filling them to the brim. When every cup was filled, the streams suddenly went back into their respective barrels, the taps closing. Next, the now full glasses went to everyone, most of those recieving their glasses got the drinks they had originally gotten at the beginning of the demonstrations. Throughout it all, not a single drop of liquid had been spilled. When it was done, Uicle spoke once more. "That will be the end of Demonstrations. If you would be so kind as to finish your drinks and then exit the dining hall, you will find a multitude of Golems ready to guide you to your rooms. Simply say your name, and they will lead you there. Have a good night's rest, because classes begin tomorrow."
Aramir
She had to calm down. She had to recover. In the Frozen Plains, if you don't recover fast, you die. But..what she had just gone through wasn't normal. You didn't have to deal with that everyday. It didn't matter, she needed to calm down. To shove her emotions somewhere else so she could deal with them later. Mar was asking her a question. Slowly, ever so slowly, Aramir regained control of her sobbing and picked herself up from her position as a ball against Mar's tail. "Bad memories that were best left where they lie were drawn up, and twisted into nightmares. Sorry about that. The physical wounds have healed, the emotional ones have merely scabbed over. I should be okay now." That was a lie. She was far from okay, but she couldn't stay in her ball of misery and sobbing forever, no matter how tempting that proposition might seem. For the next few minutes, Aramir fell into silence, struggling to not relieve her tribe's self destruction and sniffling every now and then. She was completely unaware of Althalus's and Auriel's attempts on Satori's life, and Khan's subsequent talking Auriel down. In fact, she didn't really react to anything in the outside world until Lucilia released the calming pollen in the air.
It affected Aramir quickly and immediately. Her entire body relaxed, her eyes lost that miserable look, and she smiled. She could still remember what Satori did to her, but she wasn't so depressed by it any more. As Uicle's Demo took place she smiled in childish wonder once more, taking her glass gratefully and downing it one go. Just because she wasn't depressed by it any more didn't mean she expected this feeling to last that long without a lot of help from alcohol. Sadly, it was the Dragon Spite she had gotten early, and it burned all the way down. As soon as she drank it all, Aramir began coughing, regretting her decision. That is, until a certain giddy lightheadedness overtook her, and she stumbled against Mar, giggling as she apologized. Everything was just so funny. The fact that most people she could only see their shins, and the fact that she was leaning against a snake persons...it was hilarious!Then came the mass exodus from the Dining Hall. Aramir stumbled and giggled her way through the crowd, eventually making to one of the Golems standing ready to lead her to her room. When she tried to speak, it took her several tries to get anything out but a hiccup or a giggle. "A-Ara-Aramir." She managed to get out through her hiccups and giggling.
The Golem looked down at her, distaste at the task of having to guide the drunken Snow Elf clearly showing on it's metal face. Looking up, perhaps for someone else to dump this problem on, it was greeted with a wonderful sight! "There. See the Wood Elf with the fiery hair? She's your roommate. She'll lead you too your room. Go on!" It gave Aramir a push in Auriel's direction, and the Snow Elf windmilled and stumbled straight into the Wood Elf. Recovering from bouncing off of Auriel(By unsteadily picking herself up), Aramir smiled up at her. "I'm Aramir, your roommate, and you're really pretty, you know that?" She declared, drunkenness very, very clear..
They was pacing around their cell again, waiting. Counting the steps that hadn't changed in all the years they had been here. Not much else they could do in this black as night prison. The cell was 56 steps by 46 steps, with a ceiling 25 steps above him. They knew, because they had paced around the room for years now, even paced up and down the walls, counting as they did so. The only source of light was the glowing 'chessboard' of the world they kept conjured, colored like the world outside of their cell, down to the smallest cloud moving across the board, and covered with various chess pieces, some of them purple. They had to see what was happening in the world around them, in order to plan their escape. It even provided a meager amount of amusement, from time to time. Suddenly, they stopped, feeling something they had expected to feel, right on time.
Magic....they could sense magic being used in force above them. Right on time, every year. Magic fueled by the grotesque creation of the Gods, the foul mockery of where true power came from. They sighed in disgust. It apparently amused the Gods to stick them here, where annual magic was done. And, right on time, every year, it stirred the two he kept in a false form of life inside of Chessmaster's body, splitting their minds from one to three. He was the only one who had enough of a body and energy to keep full control, but on nights like this, when magic was thick in the air...their anger was enough to make them push for control. Rather than fight, a useless gesture when one was fighting two from within, he simply let them do their posturing.
The first to speak was his brother, rough and guttural, hurting their throat as he spoke. "Kill. We should shatter our bonds and kill the foul spawn of the Gods, bathe in their blood, burn their homes, leave nothing but ruin and carnage behind us as their legacy!" His brother had always been a violent one. Then again, he supposed, who wouldn't be given his birth. His sister spoke next, as his brother receded. Her voice was soft, demure, kind if you didn't really pay attention to her words. "No...we shouldn't kill them. That would be too kind. We should keep them alive, and slowly flense them. Keep them alive through our power, and make them experience every excruciating second a thousand times before we let them die." Both his siblings were rather...bloodthirsty and insane. Granted, they've also died and been trapped inside of him for quite a while now, and he's been trapped in here, so who could really blame them?
He turned his mind to one of his pawns, Mackendrick, located in the mage's college. Reaching down, he touched the pulsing purple pawn, connecting his mind to Mackendrick's. "You're in place?" He asked. His board may be accurate, but it was always safe to be sure. "If I was any more in place, I'd be yanking my blade out of their spines and running for dear life." Came the irritable reply, echoing from the pawn. Chessmaster took a deep breath, resisting the natural urges of his siblings to smite the insolent pawn. He needed the man, for now. "Just make sure you do your job correctly. I'd hate to have to take your benefits away at an..inopportune moment." He could feel Mackendrick paling in fear at that thought. Good. Pawns should always fear the wrath of their master.
"Arrogant human.." His brother growled. "We should make him suffer, and pay for it." His sister hissed. As per usual, they didn't quite understand the subtlety and the work he had gone through just to make everything come to this moment. He sighed. "Calm, brother and sister. Our time will come. The pieces are all in place. Soon the runes will be broken, the chains will be removed," They became one again, and they made a sweeping gesture towards the board, speaking the rest in unison.
"And the Gods will know fear."
Uicle
The Necromancer waved off Khan's apology. "I don't think any of us quite expected this." It certainly came as an unpleasant surprise to him. Regardless, he was relieved to see many of the students calming down, anger or terror sliding from their faces. For now it seemed that no one was entertaining any more ideas of trying to kill Satori. For how long that would last, it remained to be seen. He was sure the Psychomancy teacher could fend for herself, however. She wouldn't be the teacher if she couldn't, after all. Regardless, he watched Khan deal with the Forest Elf who had tried to kill Satori in a more personal fashion. The Headmaster had managed to convince her not to try and kill Satori any more, which Uicle considered a strong feat in and of itself. Standing as soon as the trees that were holding her disappeared, he said "Sorry Justine, but it appears I won't be using your Golem. Recent events have made me change my display." With that he walked in front of the teachers, a hush falling over the students as they realized the final display was about to occur.
"I am the Necromancy teacher Uicle, and yes I will be doing the Hydromancy demonstration as well, and yes that is highly unusual. But, rather than bore you all with an explanation of how I came about my unique abilities, I'll just go to my brief demo as I'm sure you all want to go back to your dorms by now. Necromancy is the magic of giving inanimate objects life of their own, pulling souls from the pit and putting them into objects bound to your will. Hydromancy is the manipulation of liquid. Any liquid. Now, I'm sure you'd all appreciate a drink.."
All the empty cups scattered about on the floor and on the table by people's thrashing or the Electromancy display suddenly lifted into the air, and the barrels of alcohol suddenly started pouring forth from the tap. Dragon Spite, Ember, Lunar, Dwarven Ale, and a host of other drinks wove in complex patterns before depositing themselves in the cups, filling them to the brim. When every cup was filled, the streams suddenly went back into their respective barrels, the taps closing. Next, the now full glasses went to everyone, most of those recieving their glasses got the drinks they had originally gotten at the beginning of the demonstrations. Throughout it all, not a single drop of liquid had been spilled. When it was done, Uicle spoke once more. "That will be the end of Demonstrations. If you would be so kind as to finish your drinks and then exit the dining hall, you will find a multitude of Golems ready to guide you to your rooms. Simply say your name, and they will lead you there. Have a good night's rest, because classes begin tomorrow."
Aramir
She had to calm down. She had to recover. In the Frozen Plains, if you don't recover fast, you die. But..what she had just gone through wasn't normal. You didn't have to deal with that everyday. It didn't matter, she needed to calm down. To shove her emotions somewhere else so she could deal with them later. Mar was asking her a question. Slowly, ever so slowly, Aramir regained control of her sobbing and picked herself up from her position as a ball against Mar's tail. "Bad memories that were best left where they lie were drawn up, and twisted into nightmares. Sorry about that. The physical wounds have healed, the emotional ones have merely scabbed over. I should be okay now." That was a lie. She was far from okay, but she couldn't stay in her ball of misery and sobbing forever, no matter how tempting that proposition might seem. For the next few minutes, Aramir fell into silence, struggling to not relieve her tribe's self destruction and sniffling every now and then. She was completely unaware of Althalus's and Auriel's attempts on Satori's life, and Khan's subsequent talking Auriel down. In fact, she didn't really react to anything in the outside world until Lucilia released the calming pollen in the air.
It affected Aramir quickly and immediately. Her entire body relaxed, her eyes lost that miserable look, and she smiled. She could still remember what Satori did to her, but she wasn't so depressed by it any more. As Uicle's Demo took place she smiled in childish wonder once more, taking her glass gratefully and downing it one go. Just because she wasn't depressed by it any more didn't mean she expected this feeling to last that long without a lot of help from alcohol. Sadly, it was the Dragon Spite she had gotten early, and it burned all the way down. As soon as she drank it all, Aramir began coughing, regretting her decision. That is, until a certain giddy lightheadedness overtook her, and she stumbled against Mar, giggling as she apologized. Everything was just so funny. The fact that most people she could only see their shins, and the fact that she was leaning against a snake persons...it was hilarious!Then came the mass exodus from the Dining Hall. Aramir stumbled and giggled her way through the crowd, eventually making to one of the Golems standing ready to lead her to her room. When she tried to speak, it took her several tries to get anything out but a hiccup or a giggle. "A-Ara-Aramir." She managed to get out through her hiccups and giggling.
The Golem looked down at her, distaste at the task of having to guide the drunken Snow Elf clearly showing on it's metal face. Looking up, perhaps for someone else to dump this problem on, it was greeted with a wonderful sight! "There. See the Wood Elf with the fiery hair? She's your roommate. She'll lead you too your room. Go on!" It gave Aramir a push in Auriel's direction, and the Snow Elf windmilled and stumbled straight into the Wood Elf. Recovering from bouncing off of Auriel(By unsteadily picking herself up), Aramir smiled up at her. "I'm Aramir, your roommate, and you're really pretty, you know that?" She declared, drunkenness very, very clear..
Uh..pretty much everyone had their worst memory turned into an even worse nightmare, and is subsequently freaking out(to put it mildly). Althalus(from the safety of an angry crowd) tried to kill Satori with a throwing knife, but the blade was given life and stopped by Uicle. Althalus then quickly left with a crowd. Auriel went for the more direct approach, trying to stab Satori only to be stopped by Rathel's roots. She's currently tied up by the roots. A large group of students(NPCS) have left.
-- a collaboration between Dipper, Dusk, Nyxella and Rtron --
Insurgent Camp, West of Helgathe, 15 Rain's Hand
It was pleasing to hear her own views spoken aloud by another, but after sitting and watching the flames for a minute more, the Nord grew tired of the reminders of loss, and of the inaction. In a very dramatic manner, she threw her head back, tipped the seemingly endless bottle to the sky, and followed its direction upwards. “I feel like hitting something.” She pushed the bottle into Elayna’s hands and snatched the axe from her belt, twirling it with an unexpected grace. “Come!”
Taking the bottle with a bit of a jump, Elayna followed along with not so much as a complaint. It would be better for her to stick around others, and maybe the sound of metal being struck would drown out the shadows at the edge of her mind. Soon, the scents of roasted meat and burning coals welcomed them at the end of their path. It opened up into a wide clearing below a lattice of boughs and branches, where the occupants traded stories and shared meals around a central campfire. A short distance away, glowed the belly of a forge. Making sure Thyra was focused on her path, Elayna took a quick swig from the bottle, shaking the strength from her head. When she looked back up, Thyra was making a bee-line for it.
A familiar, bulky figure was hunched over the flames and bellows. Elayna squinted, the booze beginning to take a bit of her sight. As they got closer, she could make out dark skin illuminated by fire, and the distinct teeth of an Orc. "Isn't that Gorzath?" She inquired, not to anyone in particular.
It was remarkably easy to lose yourself in old, familiar motions. And that's what Gorzath did. The world around him faded away, and his past failures (or near failures at any rate) were forgotten. There wasn't the knowledge that he had nearly tossed lives away for information that was likely a lie created by the Necromancer. There was no knowledge that the remnants of the Legion hated him for both killing one of their members and using their friends' corpses as a distraction. There was just the smithy, and the ore he was shaping. He wasn't just going to take only iron weapons into a Dwemer filled city. Even if the orinsium he was using to make a dagger wasn't going to be able to do much against the Dwemer weapons and armor, it was certainly better than iron.
He was interrupted by the sound of someone, someone familiar, asking about him. Looking over his shoulder as he worked, he saw Elayna and an unknown nord holding an axe with her. There was a bottle between the two of them, a bottle that had been clearly used. Lovely. Out of all his companions, it had to be one who reminded him of the island and his near cold-blooded sacrifice to visit him. "Yes, it's Gorzath. Who is your friend?"
"This scary Nord lady? This here's Thyra. I feel like she could rip my head from my spine and...oh look, I'm rambling! Silly me!" Elayna gave a drunken chuckle, surprised that she had gotten so inebriated already. Whatever Thyra had, it was more potent than she originally believed. It served her Breton body right for trying to hold liquor so strong it would make sense only a Nord could handle it.
"Sorry, didn't mean to intrude..." The Breton said sheepishly under her breath before stepping back and placing the bottle down on the nearest surface. It was nearly empty, and Elayna figured that she'd end up making it up to Thyra. Now that she thought about it, as much thinkiing as she could do, Thyra had come to the forge with purpose, and the Breton decided to let her newfound drinking buddy take care of whatever business she had before the young Alchemist had a chance to annoy Gorzath further.
Thyra had launched herself at the tools on offer without a thought spared for the other in their company. By the time Elayna had spoken, she had already picked out what was needed. She huffed her amusement at the introduction and focused on the Orc, unsure of how her eyes - reduced to a shorter scope, but otherwise in working condition - could have missed his broad shadow.
"Yes," she spoke to Elayna then locked a blue-tinted gaze on Gorzath, "We do." Further to his side, she saw the instrument she sought and made for it with a light shove. "Outta my way." Settling her axe on a bench, she took to the grinding wheel and felt for any patches of glaze in its edge. She pushed the pedal for a few test runs, listened to its song, and watched. There were no shrill squeaks, skips in rhythm, nor any other inconsistencies that required oiling or realignment. Maintaining the spin, one hand tipped the water cup suspended just above the wheel with a tenderness that opposed her hard expression, changing the wheel's lip to a darker shade. The other hand stretched out behind her and snapped its fingers, presumably at Elayna. "Bottle!" she called.
Elayna marvelled at how efficiently Thyra worked the grindstone, getting lost in the rotations and gentle pouring of water from the cup on top. So lost, in fact, that she jumped when Thyra demanded her bottle. The blush on Elayna's cheeks grew stronger, and as she grabbed the light bottle and handed it over, she shuffled away, wringing her hands. "Please don't murder me, please don't murder me...." She said under her breath, almost sure the few swigs left probably weren't enough to satisfy the Nord.
Gorzath watched, alternatively amused and irritated by their drunkeness. It was interesting to note that Elayna seemed much less...inclined to threaten others when she was intoxicated. Then again, she was also not getting angry over suggestions that she needed protection from either of them. When Thyra stared at him, he shrugged. Intruding would have been if he was where he thought no one would look for him, or expect him to be. Seeing as the forge was a public place, that idea was out the window. Still, it didn't help the fact that Elayna so easily reminded him of his failure as a 'Hero'. Before he could dwell on that particular screw up, he turned his attention to Thyra.
"So how did you get caught up in all of this mess?" He asked the Nord, chuckling lightly as Elayna practically flew to do Thyra's bidding.
With a flick of the wrist, the bottle surrendered its contents quicker than the Nord had anticipated, and the wheel immediately screeched to a halt. Genuinely perplexed, Thyra shook the bottle and held it upside down, all the while examining its dry lip with a puzzled look. Loudly, she wondered, "Why is the rum gone?!"
Before she could interrogate Elayna, Gorzath caught her with a question. She made a gruff noise and slammed her foot on the pedal, almost kicking over an empty bottle. The axe to her right was hastily grabbed at and held over the rolling stone. Blue sparks flew before her eyes in reaction to her rolling movements, the sound of grinding metal screeching back, like the ones that bled onto her axe's lip. The ones that blunted its edge with their bone. The ones that now lay with what remained of her.
"Got restless," she finally replied. "Took a job that was simple and tame, but instead of escape, it leads me to a mischief-Cat and new trouble." She rubbed a finger over the sharpened edge and shook her head. "I don't give a damn about the others, but the girl? She was only a child. A lippy brat of a child, who I'd 'ave put over my knee for all the t'ings she spat," she gave a short chuckle. "I'm not sayin' I owe the Cat, and he ain't why I'm here, but if he didn't have his head on, I'd be where Vurwe is right now."
As the Nord began to speak, Gorzath felt a feeling of dread enter him. There had been only one child he knew of, sent on that trip. And certainly only one child on that trip who fit the description Thyra was giving. Still, he hoped. Don't say her name. Don't say her name. He begged silently. But of course, that did nothing. Thyra said Vurwe's name, and that was quickly followed by the sharp breaking sound of a dagger blade being broken by too strong a blow from Gorzath.
He remained frozen, face blank. She was dead. Zaveed was many things, but he wouldn't have left her at the mercy of Goblins. Besides, he was supposed to be killing them. Gorzath just felt..empty. He had been the only one willing to protect her, had been the only thing keeping her alive when things turned nasty with Sash and her boss. Then again, he had also been the cause for that. She had made her decision and decided to go to the Goblins, rather than the Necromancer. He could have made the choice to go with her, to protect her. But he didn't, and she died for it. A bitter smile crossed his face. Another failure to add to the list, eh?
Softly, he asked, "Was it at least quick?"
"She was a half-starved little scarecrow, the gas would have made off with her swiftly," Thyra stated bluntly. Hopefully, he was convinced and wouldn't ask anything else of it. In all honestly, she wasn't sure if the girl suffered, and was not yet prepared to entertain a guess. The tender tone he took made her wonder about something else. "You knew her?"
"He did." Zainat said as he approached the small group, and glanced around, looking for someway he could work with his hands to keep his mind occupied. With a sigh, he placed a small bundle of sticks he had gathered while foraging in the surrounding forest onto the ground. He then glanced around, looking for the small sack of arrowheads he had left there shortly before. "Where in Mephala's name... Ah, there. Breton. By your feet, mind handing me that bag?" He asked, although judging by his tone, it was likely rhetorical.
Glancing at Thyra, he shook his head, and she leaned away from the wheel, curious to hear him. "I was the last one out of that Azura-Damned mine. I thought Vurwe was behind me when I shot that barrel, but..." He shrugged slightly, trying to appear aloof about it all, but his eyes spoke different. "She wasn't. She was slow. And judging by how those Goblins died, it was quick. Excruciatingly painful, worse than any death I've ever seen... But quick. A little girl had no place being in a Goblin filled mine anyway. Zaveed killed her by insisting she come with us, just like I killed her by being the only elf she felt comfortable being around... And like I did by releasing that gas." He laughed bitterly, his lips curling into a mockery of a smirk. "The gas was just a dagger."
Elayna had sat herself on the ground, leaning against the beam holding up the canopy over the forge. Her initial fear from Thyra's inquisition about the rum had subsided to a feeling of guilt and sadness as the Nord warioress fell into thoughts of Vurwe aloud. Elayna kept quiet, and the inebriating drink allowed her mind to fill with a disastrous train of thought. If she were there, could Elayna have used what she knew and saved the girl? Most likely not. But the smallest possibility was what grated at her.
Before she could give her input on the gas, which, given the effects, was most likely the most unpleasant way to go, a Dark Elf approached, answering Thyra's question for Gorzath. The elf asked her, or at least, the only 'Breton' there for the bag next to her feet. The young woman looked down to it with clouded eyes, before picking it up and standing to hand it to the man. "Here. And it's Elayna, not 'Breton'." She huffed, sitting back down. And it was good that she did, with the next set of comments from the new-comer.
The Alchemist buried her head into her knees as this Dunmer said that he, as well as Zaveed was at fault. It wasn't something she cared to hear, all this about death and blame. It wasn't making the drunken feeling much fun.
Gorzath nodded in minor relief. At least it was quick, and her suffering was kept to a minimum. The Spellsword opened his mouth to answer when a Dark Elf walked in, answering for him. He glanced curiously at the newcomer, struggling to remember where he had seen the Elf. A few moments later, it clicked. The meeting, where they were technically blackmailed into killing the Necromancer and the Goblin tribes. Then, of course, he had to go into greater detail of Vurwe's death rather than leaving it where it was. Apparently, he had shot the barrel, releasing the gas. Consigning Vurwe to a very, very painful but quick death.
Gorzath's hand tightened around the hammer, and for the briefest of moments he felt the easy rage the rest of his kind felt. Here was the person directly responsible for her death. For the High Elf he had promised to protect, and failed to protect, dying. For a brief moment, he actually entertained the idea of attacking the Elf, extracting a blood price. But then, reason won over rage. Even if Zainat was right, and it was both the Dark Elf's fault and Zaveed's fault, it was also his fault. He had let the girl go where she pleased, instead of following her. He couldn't just blame it on one man, no matter how tempting.
So rather than attacking, he simply said, "Yours, his, mine. Too many opportunities to stop her from going, from it ever occurring, none of them taken. All of our faults, over all." Then he turned back to Thyra. "He's right. I knew her. I was the one who took over protecting her from both her mouth and other threats when she first came with us. Obviously, that failed."
"Not your fault... When she came with us, she insisted on following me. I kept her alive through the Goblin raid at the Oasis... That was my charge. My duty. I was supposed to keep her alive after we parted ways." He shook his head, and then opened the bag of arrowheads and began attaching them to the rough wooden shafts. "Not your fault. I doubt facing a Necromancer would have been much better." He scowled angrily as he began to fumble with the arrow, seemingly unable to attach the head to the shaft. After a few moments, it was clear that the Dunmer wouldn't be speaking much longer. He snarled, and tossed the arrow to the side, and then swore in Dunmeris before he sighed. When he spoke, his voice was filled with sadness. "I liked Vurwe... She was a good child. Snarky. Catty... But not a bad child."
Thyra gave a light-hearted scoff, "Course you'd say that. Girl was more attached to you than soot. We can argue all night about who feels more sorry for themselves than the other. In the end, Arkay decides who stays, and for how long." Thyra stood, and a loud rattle sounded as she slammed her axe on a workbench nearby. "Vurwe died in battle. Where I come from, that ain't a tragedy, that's an honour." Her eyes locked onto Zainat's for a second, and the Dark Elf nodded, agreeing with her. The Nord's focus then shifted to the Orc, her stern address led by the sharp point of her finger, "You didn't owe the child a debt, you had a duty to fulfill, and there'd be more dead if you abandoned it. Nothing would change if you came with us, the situation was out of anyone's control. We had no chance of saving Vurwe," an involuntary breath created a pause. In trying to reconcile their grief, she was ignoring her own.
Shaking the dreary thoughts of 'what if?' from her head, she hastily attached the axe to a loop in her belt and strode towards the exit. Zainat was clearly frustrated, and she was in half a mind to keep going, but something tugged at her to slow down. She sneered at her own inability to feign indifference, and stepped over the pile of sticks to stand next to him. "Imagine if she were still here," she started with a chortle. "What a pain in the arse she'd be to keep alive. Hiding a mouthy, High Elf brat in a Redguard city filled with Dwemer soldiers?" Thyra's grin opened with a sudden burst of laughter, "Better chance shaving a werewolf, if y'ask me."
"True. Although I think it would be more like shaving a werebear... As it is, you'll have an Ashlander, whose Tribe was at the forefront of Lord Nerevar's charge against the Dwemer. My ancestors will be screaming for Dwemer blood." The Ashlander said, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
Thyra nodded at his show of spirit. From where she stood, the fragments of Gorzath's work appeared to glimmer in the dull light. Although he was cut from a different cloth, the civility could not mask the rage his kind was known for. "Gorzath, our lady needs something to defend herself with." She called out to the laboring giant, tilting her head towards Elayna. "Can you help?"
"And you," she lightly tapped Zainat's leg with her leather boot. "Steady the shaft between your knees so you have both hands free to fix the arrowhead. Call yourself an Ashlander?" she teased. The Dark Elf grunted slightly, and took the Nord's advice. "I'm a Warrior of the Urshilaku, not a fletcher." He muttered, obviously embarrassed at his rather amateur mistake. "Thank you, Thyra." He said after a few seconds, glancing up at her with his blood tinged orbs. Again, she nodded, and after watching him work for a few moments, she looked around at the three of them, "We lost a life, but let's not forget there are countless more riding on what we do from now on."
Elayna looked up from her knees as Thyra spoke, strong and resolute, while the rest of them faltered. The Breton had never given thought to the fact that she could be the voice of such reason. At the mention of getting a weapon ready for her, Elayna was about to object and just use her trusty dagger. Though, it was dull and scarred from her use of it in the fields of Leyawiin. It was stained and damaged, and she didn't want to end up having to explain each ding and splash of color. No, a new blade would do her good.
Standing, she smiled Gorzath's way, a headache drumming in her brain. "Want some help? I'd hate to be lazy." Elayna offered, hoping to just get the night over with. She'd most likely try to help anyways, and get ready late into the night. Sleep would be hard to catch, at the least.
Gorzath opened his mouth, ready to contest Zainat’s point, when Thyra started speaking. The Ashlander was first, and then it was his turn. At the mention of duty, Gorzath’s lips twisted into a bitter smile. A duty? Oh yes. A duty he had nearly failed, consigning people to death for evidence that probably didn’t exist. Innocents to death, people who had probably trusted him. At her words about no chance, he muttered quietly, “Magic can make chances.” Then again, if he hadn’t gone with Wets-his-blade and Elayana, it was entirely possible that the two people they saved would have died or the mission would have failed completely. What if…what if…
Shaking himself from his reverie, he glanced down to the shattered bits of metal and then back up at Thyra. “I can make her one. As for the countless lives riding one what happens next, I won’t forget. But the Dwemer will pay. For the sacking of Imperial city. For their brutal conquests. For Vurwe. For the countless others whose lives they’ve ruined or taken. They’ll pay, and they’ll pay in blood.” Glancing over to Elayana, smiling. “Any help you can offer would be appreciated.”
Uicle
He watched the proceedings relatively calmly, even chuckling in amusement as he witnessed a student being carried to the sky by the Electromancy display. The only reason he wasn't flying himself was because of a preemptive rune being carved into his armor. Talking to teachers about what their dispaly was going to be turned out to be helpful, actually. He was pleased with himself for having stationed his Fire Golems at the ready. Otherwise several students might have become icicles rather than just chilled and impressed. For the most part, the display of the magebloods seemed to be going relatively well, even if he had to put up with Justine seemingly losing the need to breathe. He only began to be concerned when Tyrael started sprouting demons from the walls, and killing what appeared to be staff members. But, a quick glance through his Golems showed that all of the staff on duty for the event were in the kitchen, quite alive and not being torn apart by demons. Because of that, and the fact that they weren't attacking the students, he remained silent. Lucilia quickly cleaned up the mess left by the demons rampaging, and then it was Satori's turn. He should have stopped her there. Perhaps it was just a bad feeling, or maybe it was because he had become so good at spotting and causing suffering during the years he had served Aarem, but he knew something was going to happen. Something bad.
And he was proven right. Most of the student population in the Dining Hall was suddenly thrown into comas where they sobbed, screamed, cried out, or just twitched. And, these being novices whose magic is largely enslaved to their emotions, some of them began unconsciously lashing out. The teachers on duty managed to keep the damage to a minimum, thankfully. Those students that collapsed from overexerting their blood where taken out by Uicle's wind golems to the infirmary. As Satori released the students from their nightmare's, Uicle spoke. "Perhaps, we should concentrate on not alienating and harming the students, hmm? Some of them look like they might hold a grudge."
Nothing but his emotions that he was careful to keep from showing publicly(easy when you're just a suit of armor), and the studied calm in his tone, betrayed his anger. He may have been the prime source of much suffering for many years, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed it. He only barely noticed the flash of silver as a knife was thrown at Satori. With a look, he gave it life and stopped it a foot from Satori's chest. Whoever had thrown it was lost in the crowd leaving the hall. Uicle somehow doubted the person who had thrown the knife was sticking around after an act like that. As the knife came to his hand and landed in it, hilt first, Uicle said mildly, "I believe this makes my point rather well, don't you?" To Khan, he said, "After they've calmed down and I've done my, now assuredly brief, demonstration, I'd suggest sending them to their dorms immediately afterwards." Alcohol, terror, and anger never mix well.
Glancing over at the sound of wood splintering and being manipulated, he saw the Forest Elf who had helped Xeric with her display being restrained from murdering Satori. "Satori? Lucilia? Could one of you make the students calm, at least? Happy would be best, but calm would do just as well." He asked. While they could doubtlessly control any more violence that sprouted up from the students, he was far more concerned with them hurting themselves or others. Riots were usually nasty. Magical riots were worse.
He watched the proceedings relatively calmly, even chuckling in amusement as he witnessed a student being carried to the sky by the Electromancy display. The only reason he wasn't flying himself was because of a preemptive rune being carved into his armor. Talking to teachers about what their dispaly was going to be turned out to be helpful, actually. He was pleased with himself for having stationed his Fire Golems at the ready. Otherwise several students might have become icicles rather than just chilled and impressed. For the most part, the display of the magebloods seemed to be going relatively well, even if he had to put up with Justine seemingly losing the need to breathe. He only began to be concerned when Tyrael started sprouting demons from the walls, and killing what appeared to be staff members. But, a quick glance through his Golems showed that all of the staff on duty for the event were in the kitchen, quite alive and not being torn apart by demons. Because of that, and the fact that they weren't attacking the students, he remained silent. Lucilia quickly cleaned up the mess left by the demons rampaging, and then it was Satori's turn. He should have stopped her there. Perhaps it was just a bad feeling, or maybe it was because he had become so good at spotting and causing suffering during the years he had served Aarem, but he knew something was going to happen. Something bad.
And he was proven right. Most of the student population in the Dining Hall was suddenly thrown into comas where they sobbed, screamed, cried out, or just twitched. And, these being novices whose magic is largely enslaved to their emotions, some of them began unconsciously lashing out. The teachers on duty managed to keep the damage to a minimum, thankfully. Those students that collapsed from overexerting their blood where taken out by Uicle's wind golems to the infirmary. As Satori released the students from their nightmare's, Uicle spoke. "Perhaps, we should concentrate on not alienating and harming the students, hmm? Some of them look like they might hold a grudge."
Nothing but his emotions that he was careful to keep from showing publicly(easy when you're just a suit of armor), and the studied calm in his tone, betrayed his anger. He may have been the prime source of much suffering for many years, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed it. He only barely noticed the flash of silver as a knife was thrown at Satori. With a look, he gave it life and stopped it a foot from Satori's chest. Whoever had thrown it was lost in the crowd leaving the hall. Uicle somehow doubted the person who had thrown the knife was sticking around after an act like that. As the knife came to his hand and landed in it, hilt first, Uicle said mildly, "I believe this makes my point rather well, don't you?" To Khan, he said, "After they've calmed down and I've done my, now assuredly brief, demonstration, I'd suggest sending them to their dorms immediately afterwards." Alcohol, terror, and anger never mix well.
Glancing over at the sound of wood splintering and being manipulated, he saw the Forest Elf who had helped Xeric with her display being restrained from murdering Satori. "Satori? Lucilia? Could one of you make the students calm, at least? Happy would be best, but calm would do just as well." He asked. While they could doubtlessly control any more violence that sprouted up from the students, he was far more concerned with them hurting themselves or others. Riots were usually nasty. Magical riots were worse.
Sundered Echo said
I think Satori has just made (another?) enemy for life.Auriel lives up to at elast one stereotype in that her temper is as fierce as the colour of hair.....Fallen we'll need a little collabing to finish off that scene.Cant wait to see Satori's reaction to the attempts on her life XD
Yep. This makes two.
Althalus
Althalus had been picking himself up from the ground after laying there for a few moments after his little flying venture. Flying was a novel and enjoyable experience. Landing, or in his case, falling, was far less pleasant. He would certainly be bruised and in pain tomorrow. Picking himself up, muttering curses at his luck to have decided to room with the only student in the school who didn’t have her room ready for something to be stored in, he began looking for alcohol. That was a perfectly respectable solution for pains from falling from the sky, wasn’t it? Althalus thought so, and began heading to the barrels that apparently held the liquor. He only became aware of something coming towards him by the voices of the people around him rising in minor panic, and the rapidly rising heat.
Turning around, he saw a flaming bird heading towards his face! Recoiling, he threw his arms up to protect against what he thought surely meant burns. Much to his surprise, however, the bird flew away at the last second, missing him. Well, that was a pleasant surprise, wasn’t it? Looking towards the teacher’s table for the perpetrator of his ‘attack’, he saw none other than Auriel’s smiling self dropping down from the stage. He grinned to himself, and muttered “Very clever.” With that, he continued on his way towards the barrels. Despite himself, he smiled in childish wonder as it began to snow inside of the building. It was a marvel that he appreciated. It even proved advantageous to him, as he passed a dwarf who had been boasting rather loudly of his ‘never ending flask’ that he had Rune Crafted himself. Apparently, whatever liquid was poured into it would last far longer than the size of the flask hinted at.
The dwarf was too busy staring upwards at the forming icicles to notice that his prized (and thank fully empty) flask was being slipped from his loose grip. Chuckling, Althalus pocketed it in his armor, fully intending upon using it.
As he drew ever closer to the barrels, the Aeromancy teacher did his display. Specifically, he flew and landed far more easily and willingly than Althalus himself had. Such as shame I’m not an Aeromancer. The assassin thought sarcastically, weaving through the crowd to get closer to his goal. At least there hadn’t been any more magnetic tricks. That would have been uncomfortable, to put it mildly. The Geomancy teacher was efficient, if simple. His journey towards the barrels was halted as the Noxomancy professor stepped up. This was his blood after all. Much to the assassin’s disappointment, the man was aligned with Pestilence, but at least he was going to demonstrate decay!
An impressed, low, whistle escaped Althalus as he watched the man turn daggers into dust. And he did it all with only a simple touch. If that was the kind of power that awaited him, Althalus couldn’t wait for the teaching to begin. What? It would make getting to his targets all that easier, rather than going through the arduous process of picking locks or hiring someone to pick the locks for him, or leave door opens, etc. The Chantment butterflies were pretty and interesting, but otherwise didn’t hold his interest as he continued through the crowd. The weaving bit nearly dripped him as the ground beneath his feet suddenly cracked open, and Althalus reminded himself to make sure that if he had to kill a Weaving master, make sure the target died within the first shot. The Runemaster was amusing, but he could always hire runecrafters rather than learn the skill himself, no matter how useful it seemed.
He suddenly screeched to a stop as the Demon from before…summoned more Demons. Not only that, he let them rampage after declaring something about his power and that they must become stronger than the Demons or be killed by the Demons. Althalus himself was too busy eyeing said Demons warily as they tore apart staff, and leaving the students alone, interestingly enough. His knives couldn’t do much to save the poor bastard’s lives, but they might be able to distract the Demons to save his own, should they start attacking. “What a nice fellow you are.” Althalus murmured amidst the screams from the staff and the students.
And then, the Demons were subdued and killed. By trees, no less. Althalus couldn’t keep the smirk from his face as he watched Tree giants and roots kill the Demons, and the damage caused by the Demonomancy Teacher Tyrael was fixed. By this time, he had reached the barrels of Alcohol and was filling the flask with a lovely little whiskey from Port Slaughter, simply known as Lunar. The flask was filled, and he was about to seal it, when the Psychomancy teacher stood and called for a toast. Call it paranoia, but Althalus decided against doing as she wished. While he knew that Psychomancers couldn’t poison anything, except your mind, he didn’t trust what she was going to do.
Of course, in the end, it made no difference.
He first became aware of the fact that she had done something when he felt himself wearing his mask. Still, it wasn’t anything to be worried about. He seemed to be going about business as usual, for him at least, this time in Port Slaughter. Just him, alone, going to kill a target. It was when he walked into an inn that he began to get uneasy. It looked oddly familiar…and then he drew the sword. Even if he hadn’t recognized that fucking blade, alarm bells would have gone off in his head. He didn’t use a sword. As it was, queasiness began to rise up in him. Queasiness that immediately turned to horror as his little sister appeared before him, and without a second thought he plunged the blade into her body. He tried to fight. In his mind he shouted, he struggled, he tried to make it stop. It didn’t. The blade flashed once, twice. Thud. Thud. His parent’s bodies hit the floor, one after the other. Killed by him.
He was howling in helplessness now. Grief and horror and a stomach churning disgust roiled throughout him. Then came his part in this horrific replay of his parent’s murders. Only, rather than it being himself, it was his brother. The blade swung once more and blood sprayed outwards, and his brother’s body collapsed to the ground and darkness devoured the image. And all Althalus could hear was clapping and that bastard who tried to kill him congratulating him.
When he finally came back to the real world, he was on his knees, breathing raggedly. The flask was held in a tight grip, so much so that it turned his knuckles white. At least it still had Lunar in it. He had a feeling he was going to need it. All around him, he heard sobbing, screaming, retching. Sounds of terror and horror, of pain and despair. Then he heard the bitch’s voice, wishing that they’d all live long and prosper. Snarling a curse, he got unsteadily to his feet, hand going to one of his throwing knives. All around him he could hear people slowly recovering, terror turning to anger. Good. Psychomancers could detect thoughts and emotions, and the multitude of hate and possibly even death wishes around him would cover him nicely.
People were already beginning to leave, either permanently or just to their rooms remained to be seen. Althalus didn’t need to wind up for throwing his knife, not at this distance. And besides, it’d be too much of a physical indicator of what he planned. Subtly, using the crowd around him to hide most of his motions, Althalus threw his knife at Satori. As soon as the blade left his hand, he turned around, leaving with a crowd of other students. He didn’t see the knife stop a good foot his target, and then fly towards the outstretched hand of Uicle like a loyal little dog. He didn’t see the teacher’s reactions, and didn’t notice that he was passing right by Mar, almost crashing shoulders with her. He just kept seeing the nightmare replay in his mind, warring with the actual memory.
He left the Dining Hall, sat down with his back against a wall, and put his head in his hands. It was better than letting the shaking show.
Althalus had been picking himself up from the ground after laying there for a few moments after his little flying venture. Flying was a novel and enjoyable experience. Landing, or in his case, falling, was far less pleasant. He would certainly be bruised and in pain tomorrow. Picking himself up, muttering curses at his luck to have decided to room with the only student in the school who didn’t have her room ready for something to be stored in, he began looking for alcohol. That was a perfectly respectable solution for pains from falling from the sky, wasn’t it? Althalus thought so, and began heading to the barrels that apparently held the liquor. He only became aware of something coming towards him by the voices of the people around him rising in minor panic, and the rapidly rising heat.
Turning around, he saw a flaming bird heading towards his face! Recoiling, he threw his arms up to protect against what he thought surely meant burns. Much to his surprise, however, the bird flew away at the last second, missing him. Well, that was a pleasant surprise, wasn’t it? Looking towards the teacher’s table for the perpetrator of his ‘attack’, he saw none other than Auriel’s smiling self dropping down from the stage. He grinned to himself, and muttered “Very clever.” With that, he continued on his way towards the barrels. Despite himself, he smiled in childish wonder as it began to snow inside of the building. It was a marvel that he appreciated. It even proved advantageous to him, as he passed a dwarf who had been boasting rather loudly of his ‘never ending flask’ that he had Rune Crafted himself. Apparently, whatever liquid was poured into it would last far longer than the size of the flask hinted at.
The dwarf was too busy staring upwards at the forming icicles to notice that his prized (and thank fully empty) flask was being slipped from his loose grip. Chuckling, Althalus pocketed it in his armor, fully intending upon using it.
As he drew ever closer to the barrels, the Aeromancy teacher did his display. Specifically, he flew and landed far more easily and willingly than Althalus himself had. Such as shame I’m not an Aeromancer. The assassin thought sarcastically, weaving through the crowd to get closer to his goal. At least there hadn’t been any more magnetic tricks. That would have been uncomfortable, to put it mildly. The Geomancy teacher was efficient, if simple. His journey towards the barrels was halted as the Noxomancy professor stepped up. This was his blood after all. Much to the assassin’s disappointment, the man was aligned with Pestilence, but at least he was going to demonstrate decay!
An impressed, low, whistle escaped Althalus as he watched the man turn daggers into dust. And he did it all with only a simple touch. If that was the kind of power that awaited him, Althalus couldn’t wait for the teaching to begin. What? It would make getting to his targets all that easier, rather than going through the arduous process of picking locks or hiring someone to pick the locks for him, or leave door opens, etc. The Chantment butterflies were pretty and interesting, but otherwise didn’t hold his interest as he continued through the crowd. The weaving bit nearly dripped him as the ground beneath his feet suddenly cracked open, and Althalus reminded himself to make sure that if he had to kill a Weaving master, make sure the target died within the first shot. The Runemaster was amusing, but he could always hire runecrafters rather than learn the skill himself, no matter how useful it seemed.
He suddenly screeched to a stop as the Demon from before…summoned more Demons. Not only that, he let them rampage after declaring something about his power and that they must become stronger than the Demons or be killed by the Demons. Althalus himself was too busy eyeing said Demons warily as they tore apart staff, and leaving the students alone, interestingly enough. His knives couldn’t do much to save the poor bastard’s lives, but they might be able to distract the Demons to save his own, should they start attacking. “What a nice fellow you are.” Althalus murmured amidst the screams from the staff and the students.
And then, the Demons were subdued and killed. By trees, no less. Althalus couldn’t keep the smirk from his face as he watched Tree giants and roots kill the Demons, and the damage caused by the Demonomancy Teacher Tyrael was fixed. By this time, he had reached the barrels of Alcohol and was filling the flask with a lovely little whiskey from Port Slaughter, simply known as Lunar. The flask was filled, and he was about to seal it, when the Psychomancy teacher stood and called for a toast. Call it paranoia, but Althalus decided against doing as she wished. While he knew that Psychomancers couldn’t poison anything, except your mind, he didn’t trust what she was going to do.
Of course, in the end, it made no difference.
He first became aware of the fact that she had done something when he felt himself wearing his mask. Still, it wasn’t anything to be worried about. He seemed to be going about business as usual, for him at least, this time in Port Slaughter. Just him, alone, going to kill a target. It was when he walked into an inn that he began to get uneasy. It looked oddly familiar…and then he drew the sword. Even if he hadn’t recognized that fucking blade, alarm bells would have gone off in his head. He didn’t use a sword. As it was, queasiness began to rise up in him. Queasiness that immediately turned to horror as his little sister appeared before him, and without a second thought he plunged the blade into her body. He tried to fight. In his mind he shouted, he struggled, he tried to make it stop. It didn’t. The blade flashed once, twice. Thud. Thud. His parent’s bodies hit the floor, one after the other. Killed by him.
He was howling in helplessness now. Grief and horror and a stomach churning disgust roiled throughout him. Then came his part in this horrific replay of his parent’s murders. Only, rather than it being himself, it was his brother. The blade swung once more and blood sprayed outwards, and his brother’s body collapsed to the ground and darkness devoured the image. And all Althalus could hear was clapping and that bastard who tried to kill him congratulating him.
When he finally came back to the real world, he was on his knees, breathing raggedly. The flask was held in a tight grip, so much so that it turned his knuckles white. At least it still had Lunar in it. He had a feeling he was going to need it. All around him, he heard sobbing, screaming, retching. Sounds of terror and horror, of pain and despair. Then he heard the bitch’s voice, wishing that they’d all live long and prosper. Snarling a curse, he got unsteadily to his feet, hand going to one of his throwing knives. All around him he could hear people slowly recovering, terror turning to anger. Good. Psychomancers could detect thoughts and emotions, and the multitude of hate and possibly even death wishes around him would cover him nicely.
People were already beginning to leave, either permanently or just to their rooms remained to be seen. Althalus didn’t need to wind up for throwing his knife, not at this distance. And besides, it’d be too much of a physical indicator of what he planned. Subtly, using the crowd around him to hide most of his motions, Althalus threw his knife at Satori. As soon as the blade left his hand, he turned around, leaving with a crowd of other students. He didn’t see the knife stop a good foot his target, and then fly towards the outstretched hand of Uicle like a loyal little dog. He didn’t see the teacher’s reactions, and didn’t notice that he was passing right by Mar, almost crashing shoulders with her. He just kept seeing the nightmare replay in his mind, warring with the actual memory.
He left the Dining Hall, sat down with his back against a wall, and put his head in his hands. It was better than letting the shaking show.
Good idea.
So, I have no idea exactly what just happened, but yeah.
Saint, your characters are screwed
Saint, your characters are screwed
Mary
She didn't react to the demon shattering through the window, preoccupied as she was with trying to block out the deaths the Abyss was consuming. As far as she was concerned, if whatever had broken the glass was something that would try to kill her, death would be a blessing, a blissful silence. She wouldn't have to hear the howls from the Demons, the cries of the Angels, all sounding completely of terror and despair abruptly silenced before another took their place in an unending cycle. What she did react to, however, was the feeling someone feminine hugging her. Mary stiffened in surprise, the hug bringing memories of her, now dead,mother. How long had ago had it been since she last hugged and was hugged by her mother? Weeks, certainly. If not months. For a moment, Mary remained tense. Then she relaxed into the familiar feeling, before abruptly tightening herself into a ball again as a fresh wave of deaths hit her, from the war zone that had once been her city. A large swath of Demons had all died at once, and their howling was lasting far longer than the rest before the Abyss silenced them. She was only dimly aware of Julian demanding that they be taken to Scotland, that she would be safe there.
The next thing she was aware of was the same woman(presumably) that had hugged her, guiding her somewhere, whispering in her ear that she would be alright. The sounds of terror, panic, and then death disagreed. And then, suddenly, silence. There was no sounds of creatures lives being extinguished in her skull, no sounds of chaos and anarchy outside of a ruined apartment in Loom. Just the gentle sounds of the sea upon the beach. Warily, she opened her eyes to confirm what her ears told her. Nothing but a quiet, empty, beach. Mary sank to the ground, sobbing in relief. It was over, for now at least. When she finally regained control of herself, she took a ragged deep breath, and then let it out. Questions would come later. Right now, she just wanted to sleep.
She didn't react to the demon shattering through the window, preoccupied as she was with trying to block out the deaths the Abyss was consuming. As far as she was concerned, if whatever had broken the glass was something that would try to kill her, death would be a blessing, a blissful silence. She wouldn't have to hear the howls from the Demons, the cries of the Angels, all sounding completely of terror and despair abruptly silenced before another took their place in an unending cycle. What she did react to, however, was the feeling someone feminine hugging her. Mary stiffened in surprise, the hug bringing memories of her, now dead,mother. How long had ago had it been since she last hugged and was hugged by her mother? Weeks, certainly. If not months. For a moment, Mary remained tense. Then she relaxed into the familiar feeling, before abruptly tightening herself into a ball again as a fresh wave of deaths hit her, from the war zone that had once been her city. A large swath of Demons had all died at once, and their howling was lasting far longer than the rest before the Abyss silenced them. She was only dimly aware of Julian demanding that they be taken to Scotland, that she would be safe there.
The next thing she was aware of was the same woman(presumably) that had hugged her, guiding her somewhere, whispering in her ear that she would be alright. The sounds of terror, panic, and then death disagreed. And then, suddenly, silence. There was no sounds of creatures lives being extinguished in her skull, no sounds of chaos and anarchy outside of a ruined apartment in Loom. Just the gentle sounds of the sea upon the beach. Warily, she opened her eyes to confirm what her ears told her. Nothing but a quiet, empty, beach. Mary sank to the ground, sobbing in relief. It was over, for now at least. When she finally regained control of herself, she took a ragged deep breath, and then let it out. Questions would come later. Right now, she just wanted to sleep.
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