Devil's Gambit

[wangxiuming]

\\ These posts are chronological in arrangement, but may not flow from one to the other. Consider them vignettes, each from different perspectives, with no set continuity between them. For those posts that contain actual dialogue between two PCs (as opposed to internal conversations between the Host and the Fiend), I have done my best to transcribe / paraphrase conversations that took place in game.

He sought the darkest secrets of the man's intellect. Where memories filled with shame, and anger, and fear struggled against a mortal will, desperate to hide tokens of an almost-forgotten legacy, both from itself and from the world. Where lost loves lingered and betrayals offered greeting at every turn. On the very edge between consciousness and the soul, where definition lost meaning.

Here, he found his prize.

Two rivers of viridian stretched out before him into crescents, their beauty the equal of any form taken by Selune; they seemed as vast as oceans, and yet he held them both in his palms, tying them to his hands, twisting and knotting their currents to himself as though they were rope. Soon, they began to wrap themselves - of their own accord - around his arms, his shoulders, his body ... like asps, coiling themselves to a Master's will.

If she were still alive, he would have to thank her. She had left him the perfect gift, a means to bind himself to an unwilling patron. Were it not for these twin moons, he might have lost the battle already, might have been expelled from mind, body and soul. He was not ready for such a fate.

He was not done.

With the viridian currents washing over him, he pored over a tome of history not his own. The failures. The prestige. The infamies. The allies bound by pacts of loyalty. The enemies, branded by treachery on both sides. The lies, told in countless number. The masks worn against desire. Here, there had to lie key - a key to his victory.

But, as he feels it within his grasp, the tome snaps shut. The rivers recede, slipping from his grasp. Its coils bend away from him, pulled by unseen tides. The moons fade to near-nothingness, and in the distance, he sees all that is left is blackness, void ... oblivion. In his palms, only a trickle remains.

For now.

He is patient. He knows his opponent. Him and his allies will err. A single mistake, and he will seize advantage.

And if not ... he would return to the Pit with a friend in tow.

[wangxiuming]

Devil's Gambit Declined

Deep within the rebel peaks, hidden away from Whurest miners and Blackwood encampments, a single elf takes solitary respite upon the mountainside. His figure seems at peace, quiet and unmoving, but if any manage to close distance upon him, his eyes - even closed - betray a great turmoil within. Closer still, and one might see faint traces along the scars that pierce his eyelids glow the a pale shadow of crimson.

No amount of distance removed could reveal the shadow's source, a voiceless spar between soul and spirit, terrible in its ferocity, and wretched to behold.

You sought power. I gave it to you in droves. I am the source of your victories, I am the reason you survive until this day! Ungrateful fool, you now seek to bite the hand that feeds you?!"

- One that feeds me but poison. I never wanted your presence, fiend, I only wished survival. I was willing to stomach your invasion, only because I had no choice! Now, I have a Family to call my own, allies that are willing to defend me. I need you no longer. -

Naive child. You really think your so-called Family will want you without me? What were you before me, but a useless, worthless shell of a man, incapable of effecting any outcome?

- I ... -

Think, dear heart. Think who it was that defeated Neradnal. Not you.

Who engineered Phaedriel's destruction? Not you.

Who was it, that seized Tamryn from your rival, Hano? Even empowered by Mestra, it was not you.

Your beloved savior, Tifton fell under your care.

- Cease your words! You have no idea of what you speak! -

The devil ignores the man, continuing onwards with insidious glee. What have you done, without my tutelage? Your victories for your so-called Family: the swordsman, the Thayan, the dread monk ... they were my glory, proof of MY power! Name a single one that was achieved without my magic!

- ... - The man is silent for a long time. When he finally speaks, it is a whisper: a single name, but a name that nonetheless seems to renew all his conviction.

The spirit's voice fades, even as its hideous roar erupts from its fury. Soon, the man is once again alone.

The lids of his eyes part to find the dawn. A small smile, both weary and resolute, spreads across his face.

[wangxiuming]

Years ago ...

Alyrian noticed quickly that none of the other men had their hands tucked firmly into their father's palms. He tried to snake his own from out of Eliaster's grip, but met staunch resistance. Embarrassment seeped scarlet lakes into his cheeks. "Father, please."

Eliaster looked as though he wanted nothing more than to seize his son and fly, returning to their secluded home within the outskirts of the forest. Some form of reason must have penetrated his hooded head, however, for he finally did release Alyrian's hand from his own. The reluctance on his father's expression spoke volumes and Alyrian sped away before the gesture could be retracted, leaving a hesitant Eliaster far behind.

The carnival was a tumultous thing. Laughter, screams of excitement, speedy discourse and brashly-made promises pierced the air, rebounding off each other into a symphony of chaos. Alyrian reveled in it. The silence was all-too deafening at home, where Eliaster had mandated a peaceful and orderly existence. Here, there was no concern for perfectly arranged furnishings or misaligned books.

Caution, finally, could be abandoned.

Alyrian stopped at the food carts first, spending his years' worth of pocket money with a reckless fervor. Candied apples, savory jerkies, and spiced wine flew down his gullet, often discarded after the first few mouthfuls in favor of new treats.

His appetite satisfied, he hurried to try his hand at assorted physical challenges. He was particularly deft at a ring-tossing game, where a stunned gamekeeper begrudgingly gifted Alyrian a gigantic plushie after he successfully landed three rings onto a single bottle without knocking any over. He promptly re-gifted the the unwieldy thing to the nearest pretty human female; a delighted smile and a few bats of the eyelash were his reward.

The day had to end. As the sun began to set, Alyrian noticed Eliaster's silhouette approaching. Not yet ready to forsake his first taste of freedom, the young elf quickly ducked into the nearest tent. Within, an upset young human woman was loudly admonishing what appeared to be another woman, cloaked and hooded, with a face so old that it was difficult to discern her race. Lit by dozens of candles, their faces seemed particularly distorted.

"You're a liar and a thief!" screeched the younger female. "You told me last year that I would find the love of my life within six months, and it's been over thirteen!"

"Madam Milly doesn't do refunds, deary," came the crotchety reply. "I only said you would meet the love of your life, I never said that you'd spend any time together."

This response seemed to infuriate the younger of the two women, who promptly exploded with renewed fury. "YOU LYING CHEAT! I'll have the constable over here and you'll spend the rest of your days telling fortunes to murderers and rapists!"

The older woman flashed a wide and largely toothless smile. "You do that, dearie. I haven't seen ol' Luther in a while ... did you know I set him up with his wifey?"

An exasperated scream of defeat was the only response before the younger woman threw herself out of the musty shelter. Madame Milly hastily turned her attentions to Alyrian, the tooth-bare smile somehow unsettling when directed squarely at him.

"So, what can old Milly do for you, sir elf? Care for a reading? Only two bits!"

Alyrian blinked. "That human came in here looking for two bits?"

The Madame laughed. "And she wonders why she hasn't found a husband." She stared at Alyrian for a second, before gesturing him forward. "You know what boy? I like you, so the reading's on me. Come on, come on, don't be shy!"

Alyrian hesitated. He wasn't sure he really wanted to have his fortune read. Unfortunately, the Madame had her own ideas and had already gotten up, seized Alyrian's hand, and dragged him to her table where she splayed out his arm so that she could examine it.

"Your life line's ... shorter than most. But, you're one of them elves, so that probably just means you'll live to be three times my age."

"Love line's ... mm. Kinda dirty. Don't you wash your hands, boy, I thought elves were supposed to be clean!"

Alyrian rolled his eyes a bit at the unsolicited predictions. Madame Milly continued to examine his arm as though she were buying a hunk of meat at market, periodically spraying nonsensical whimsies about potential future achievements. Feeling it best to just allow the old woman to complete her reading, he said nothing and let his mind wander.

The muffled sounds of the outside word seemed to imply the carnival was ending. Already, the sunset painted warm hues onto the tent's cloth barriers. Alyrian imagined a worried Eliaster, rushing through the grounds trying to find him. Just as he began to pull his arm away from the Madame, an unnaturally cold breeze - even for the onset of evening - blew through the tent.

All but one of the candles were snuffed out. Before he had time to react, Madame Milly seized Alyrian's arm in a painful grip. His eyes darted to hers, and a jolt of adrenaline shot down his spine; where pale grey eyes had once lay, only two milky white orbs remained. The woman's mouth moved, releasing sounds so distorted that he could barely make out the words. As he did so, however, fear coiled its way down to his heart, clutching it as tightly as Milly held to his hand.

- The beggar knows better but still he breaks the pact. The pactholder laughs and won't let go. Claws pierce the beggar's eyes. He strikes out but wounds only himself. The pactholder swallows the beggar within his maw. The beggar burns. His family burns. His blood sizzles and evaporates. His blood scatters and is lost. -

Wrenching his arm free, Alyrian fled the tent without a second glance.

Later that night, home again with an angry Eliaster still seething at his son's long disappearance, Alyrian finally felt secure enough to give thought to the soothsayer's words. Could they have been for him, or were they spoken at random? Who did she speak of, this beggar and his pact?

And why ... why did his tattoos feel like they were glowing?

[wangxiuming]

[wangxiuming]

En Passant

He had been caught off guard. The desert elf bitch had unfurled a vellum scroll and loosed pathetic, weak magic upon him. And she had succeeded. The indignity ... the humiliation! To be caught unawares, so easily dismissed ... he would not stand for it.

He would see her corpse consumed by hellfire.

What the she-elf refused to see, was how close he was to realizing that goal. Their verbal sparring aside, he had learned much from her. How desperate she was, for one. How little she and hers had managed to accomplish in weeks time. How empty her words truly were.

She had caught him unawares once. A second would never happen.

He stole upon his host once again, sinking claws into viridian crescents. They clung to his form with ease, parting for him, an invitation that could not be retracted.

He would be ready. He would make her pay.

[wangxiuming]

Turning Point

He stood in the midst of a dense forest, one where pines had packed themselves so tightly that it would be difficult for even a single man to find exit. Even had Selune not been shrouded behind mist, he doubted any of her glow would have penetrated the thick canopy of his surroundings.

On his shoulder, a sparrow perched while singing sweet whispers. At his side, a jackal rested peacefully against his leg, its breath sending puffs of steam into chill air. At his back, a shadow twisted unnaturally and took a form all its own, absent the presence of any light.

Alyrian knew them to be friends; he had nothing to fear from them. When they beckoned him forward, he followed instinctively.

The trees parted for them as though alive, as though they could feel the party's presence as they passed. They must have seemed a strange sight ... an elf, a sparrow, a jackal, and a shadow. Only a few years ago, and Alyrian would never have imagined having these three for companions.

His friends wound and wove him through the forest, with such grace and deftness that he thought they must have traveled this path a dozen times over. Finally, they reached a small clearing, where a single tree stood apart from the others. It was massive; an ancient yew, unlike the pinewood that surrounded them. The base was thick and wide, spreading gnarled roots deep into the earth. Its trunk was blackened, almost as though it had survived a great fire. Not a single leaf draped its dozens of branches, all of them soaring into the sky like black, pulsating veins.

Anxiety found grip on Alyrian's heart. Why had his companions led him here? He wanted to leave, but even as he turned to retreat, he saw the passageway that had opened for them not moments earlier close itself.

The jackal prodded him forward, and the sparrow whispered words of encouragement in his ear. The shadow smiled, confident and proud.

Somehow, Alyrian knew what they wanted him to do. Burn the tree down, and purify the forest. He didn't know if he had the power to do it, but he would nevertheless try.

He placed a single palm on the ashen bark, and focused.

The yew exploded in flame. Ash and smoke filled the air and a wave of heat washed over him and his friends. Gasping for air and fighting back tears, Alyrian stumbled back, wondering if he had succeeded.

When the dust settled, he realized how far from success he had come.

The tree seemed unchanged save for the single gash along its side. Alyrian's efforts had left a gaping maw in the trunk. Slowly, the gap was filled by a milky white substance. As the last of the white covered the wound, a diabolic pupil descended; a cat-like slit that darted around randomly, as though desperate to take in a newly-discovered world.

Against his will, Alyrian found his gaze meeting the Eye's.

The sparrow screamed, desperately trying to take flight away from the beast. Too late. Fire spouted from the Eye like a fountain, catching the bird in mid-air. A terrible screech escaped the sparrow's beak before it became forever silent.

The shadow leaped forward at the Eye, hands shaped into obsidian daggers to plunge into the monster's singular pupil. Just as the lightless form was about to strike, spontaneous flame swallowed him from all sides and immediately became extinguished. No trace of the shadow remained.

Alyrian watched in horror as his companions were felled one by one. For a moment, the jackal desperately tugged at his leggings, before giving up and darting back towards the forest. Just as it reached the edge of the clearing, a wall of fire erupted in a violent explosion, catching the jackal from underneath and sending its body flying back in a charred heap. It lay unmoving.

A reverberating laugh began to sound from all sides, deafening in its revelry. Alyrian screamed.

And then he woke.

The revelation that his dream had ended offered only momentarily relief. As his eyes found focus, Alyrian realized he had not woken in the familiarity of the ruined Cartel lair, nor his camp at Schild, nor any of the inns he had taken refuge in. Alyrian found himself in a place he would never have willingly traveled: the Abaddon of Shar.

It was only then that he realized the terrible laughter from his dream had survived his awakening, and that it was only a part of a whole ... one completed by laughter pouring from his mouth and yet not his own.

[wangxiuming]

Castling

In the still of night, perhaps when most the world might offer themselves to the dreamer's embrace, Words carried themselves upon the wind. None heard them, desperate though they might strain to do, for these Words carried messages that could not be heard, only understood. Even then, only the Speaker and the Listener - each of them both and both of them the same - could comprehend their nature.

Back and forth the words fly, carried by the wind, carried by will.

... And here I hoped we could strike bargain. Have you lost interest in purging yourself of your own demons?

An arduous stretch of time pads the response, but it comes nonetheless. What do you mean? Morv is of no threat quite like you are; therefore he is of no concern.

That is what your beloved believed of me as well ... and you see the predicament where he now finds himself.

The silence hangs longer this time, though for what reason, only one can say. There is no creature occupying my skin. This is in no way related.

Your hesitance betrays you. You do wish to see Morv banished ... how could you not? You are not even a willing participant in this union, not as your beloved once was with me.

I know that Morv plagues your dreams. Prevents you from rest. Steals from you respite.

If you have something to say, be candid about it. I have never been one for toying around in circles, least of all when it refers to me.

Derisive laughter echoes within minds.

... why not turn to one whose expertise lies with possession? Why should we be enemies when we can be so useful to each other?

The response is quick this time.

We are enemies because you are using my aleirin for your own selfish pursuits, not because we are of no use to one-another.

All are selfish in their own way. Love itself is a selfish thing. It demands you place another above all else. Why listen, when you could soon fall to ... similar fate?

Silence again, one that brings knowledge of an arrow's flight made true. Morv poses no threat to me beyond the haunt of my dreams, fiend. You give me empty promises with no relief.

Have you any other to turn to? Do any even believe you? Even your beloved doubted ... did you know that?

Words are returned no longer. In the still of night, the winds carry but one last message.

Think on what I have offered. I will be here when you change your mind.

[wangxiuming]

Desperado

Under the glare of day, the City teemed with life. The common folk poured from their hovels and homes, eager to complete the day's work. Merchants hollered advertisements and prices to attract the attention of nearby strollers. Legionnaires marched along their patrol routes, metal boots clanking against paved roads.

Against this cacophonous orchestra, most discourse would have been difficult. Even so, there were two that exchanged words ... and they did so without speaking a single one. Perhaps it was better - for some - that no word was uttered. If such speakers could have been heard, one might have questioned the motives of the first, against a second clearly in distress.

How long has it been, my good host? How long have your friends and allies allowed your body to remain in my possession? How long has it been since your beloved has forgotten you?

I ... I ...

That's right ... time is such a slippery thing when you don't have eyes to see the sunrise, or ears to hear the rooster's call. Would it surprise you if I told you it has been months? Years?

You lie ... everything you say ... is deception.

They fought for a time, yes. Struggled against my will ... but they and theirs could not touch me while I remain out in the open ... shielded from their shadows by Legion. By Triumvirate.

I must remember to thank them. They have been ... invaluable. And with their unwitting assistance, I'm afraid your Family has given up on you.

Words quake. No ... they wouldn't just ... she wouldn't ....

They have forsaken you. She has forsaken you. Surely, that must be clear now. Perhaps it was the words I spoke to her, the hurt done to psyche that now forever stains your image in her mind.

Words quiver. You bastard. I ... I won't let you ...

Won't let me what? Reveal the deceptions with which you fooled even yourself? You were never good enough for her, dear Host. I have only brought light to truth.

She seemed upset about it, when I last left her. Close to tears, even.

Words find footing. Don't you hurt her, don't you speak to her! Everything you spew is poison in her ears, blades to flesh!

Fret not, Host ... I left her in the care of another, an elven wizard. She seems to rely a great deal on him, and it is easy to see why. His power is all his own; he needs no one to bolster his magic or strengthen his resolve. His power is all his to command ... and he does so quite masterfully.

Words crumble. Another ... she ... she has found another?

Yes ... another joins her at her side. See how her affections turn. Just like the other.

I ... I know that I did not deserve her ...

Don't be so hard on yourself, my Host. It's just ... there are so many others who can better care for her. Protect her. Love her.

She ... she is with another ...

The words end then, though the silence hidden by a city's chaos continues uninterrupted. An elf walks the Aspirations, a smile on his face. It is filled with delight and satisfaction ... and somehow, with equal parts cruelty and despair.

[wangxiuming]

Check

\\ Warning! Potential Squick factor to follow!

So, the elf bitch would not give up. He would have to reinforce his message then ... again, and again ... as many times as necessary, until the desert avariel finally understood the consequences of proffering empty challenge.

A lone elf raised a small cutting knife in hand, tilting it forward and back. Had any been watching, it might have seemed to them a curious interest to place upon such an ordinary utensil, not finely crafted, nor even particularly sharp. Still, the elf marveled at it as though the knife held secret to some ancient mystery, of which only prolonged examination could reveal.

... no one was watching. He was alone.

Calmly and with the deft familiarly of a gesture well-practiced, the elf slid the blade into his right eyesocket. With a quick jerk, he severed the optic nerve and ejected the sphere from its sanctuary, careful not to damage the pupil or viridian iris. The eye slid into waiting fingers that still held the knife. There was surprisingly little blood.

No sound escaped the elf's lips. Instead, a slow smile spread across from his face, calm and yet twisted.

The perfect gift ...

The taste of salt tinged his senses; tears had begun to well at the corners of his remaining eye. The elf didn't bother to wipe them away; he was too eager to begin work packaging and wrapping his latest gift.

All the while, he smiled.

[wangxiuming]

Reverse Check

"An interesting place to take shelter," said a Shadow, appearing almost as if from nowhere, next to the Elf's shoulder as he lounged within the gardens of the City's Aspirations. "A tough defensive position, that's for certain."

The Elf smiled slowly, not at all surprised by the Shadow's sudden presence. "Isn't it? I'm glad you approve. After all, here, the City is my shield." He waved the Shadow forward with his left hand, ignoring the dull ache that still lingered in his arm.

"Come, sit. Enjoy the day with me."

As the Shadow obliged, settling down onto the same bench, the Elf's eyes latched onto the creature with a predatory gaze. The Shadow was lean, but carried himself with strength and calculated grace. He dressed in plain leathers, but the Elf had no doubt they hid countless weapons of death. Even so, the Elf felt no fear. His smile yet remained, as bold, as confident as ever.

"So, have you given thought to my offer?"

"Well," the Shadow responded, lighting a cigarette and setting it on his lips as he leaned back against the bench, "To explain that, I'd have to start with what any good conversation starts with: a question."

The elf's eyebrows quirk as his smile fills with amusement.

"Why do people make deals with beings like you?"

"Allow me to respond to your question with one of my own then," said the Elf. "Why do you think your Brother bound himself to bargain with me?"

"I have a theory," responded the Shadow. " ... if you don't mind me sharing it, that is."

The Elf made known his acquiescence with a slight nod.

"People make deals with devils because they fear them." The shadow took a long drag of his cigarette, smoke pouring from his nostrils. "Of course, they couch it behind ambitions of power, wealth, prestige, vengeance ... the list goes on."

"But ultimately," the Shadow continued, "they enact the help of the fiendish because they fear the strength that the devil holds. Else, they'd just take whatever it was they wanted from you and yours."

The Elf's amusement did not waver as it crossed its legs, arms stretched lazily across top of the bench. " ... are you so certain of that? I can tell you your Brother held no fear for me when we first made pact."

A pointed pause broke his words, only to emphasize that which followed. "Perhaps if he held more fear ... he would not be in his current predicament."

"Of course ... now it's an entirely different story," the Elf added as afterthought.

The Shadow shook his head. "No. He was afraid. Just not of you, exactly. He was afraid of himself, of his own weakness." Flicking his cigarette away, he added " ... And his own strength."

The Elf's derisive snort was the first reply. "If that is what you choose to believe, I have no interest in arguing the particulars. Though, I am beginning to think you are wasting my time."

"Is he listening, devil?" The Shadow turned to him, his piercing gray eyes locked onto the Elf's own, like razors, and for the first time the Elf began to sense that he was not the only predator in the gardens. " ... because I need him to hear this part."

Immediately, the Elf's tone distorted. Amused contempt left his voice, to be replaced by barely contained disgust ... and the first flickers of trepidation. " ... and what is that, exactly?"

"Archer. Don't be afraid any longer. That which blocks your ears is worthless fear. Retreat, and you will age. Hesitate, and you will die. I know the fear of your own strength is something you haven't been able to see. But it's there. Let it go, and you will be free of anything that binds you."

"I am waiting. She is waiting. Your Family is waiting."

And suddenly, the Elf - no, the Fiend - was no longer, no more, the flame flickering from the darkness behind his eyes snuffed out. Archer returned. Alyrian returned.

He was weak from effort, panting heavily as sweat broke across his forehead and desperation filled eyes and voice. But he had returned.

"E-end this ... Brother ... do not let ... do not ... let him hurt ... the F-family ..."

Already, Alyrian fell under renewed assault. The Fiend clawed at viridian anchors, desperate to break from momentary prison to re-assume dominance of his host. Piercing screams drowned Alyrian's mind, stole the air from his lungs, echoed against his soul.

You think you can do this to me?! You think I will allow it?!

But it was too late. The last thing both Alyrian and Fiend heard: "You made offer of bargain to me, Fiend. It seems mortals are not the only ones who try and deal. They are not the only ones who fear."

With that, the Shadow seized the elf's body and struck nerves in his neck, sending both elf and fiend to the sweet and terrifying release of Sehanine's embrace.

[wangxiuming]

Endgame, Part One

Deep beneath Aquor, collapsed under Cartel mountains, the Host lay within a crudely constructed prison. Both his hands and feet had been bound, and a gag stuffed into his mouth to bar speech. These impediments might have proved challenge the Host alone, but they were not what the Fiend found troubling. There were other things that drew cause for concern ...

Runic inscriptions encircled his poor-man's jail. A binding circle ... the Interloper's work! He would see him, the Shadow, the Jackal - all of them! All of them would pay heavy price for this indignity.

"Twelve be good," came an inflection that abruptly echoed off the cavernous walls, announcing the avariel's veiled intrusion. "I am glad to see things went as effectively as I'd hoped for Nobody."

Still bound, the Host was helpless to respond. But he had no such limitations.

Did you miss me, love? That's sweet.

"Did the ex-Elite Magus do this to you with Nobody's help?" came the honest inquiry in response.

Why ask questions you know the answer to?

"Because I get satisfaction from hearing you utter the affirmative," she parried.

I would be glad to be source to your pleasure, beloved. It is as you say. I underestimated he with no name ... and found myself here. Bound. Alone.

"I hope you are far more eager to please in coming days," the maiden purred, her mockery of affection given edge by unbridled disgust. "I among many would be overjoyed to hear you sent screaming back down to the pit you crawled out of."

"Wonder I what crosses your mind now that you've been left here to rot out your remaining days?"

The corners of the Elf's mouth twitched against its gag, a smile struggling to take form. Why, you, of course. He aches for you so, it renews wonder at what it is about you that he finds so fascinating?

He craves your touch, you know. Just the fleeting memory of it haunts him ...

Why not offer it now? Tender mercy to a bound and helpless being, and the poor fiend perched on his shoulder?

"The mercy he receives now will be the mercy of getting rid of you," the avariel snapped, the fiend's subservience seeming to inspire irritation.

Shall I allow you to speak to him? Would that offer more convincing argument? Tear the cloth from his mouth, love ... and he can speak to you all you desire.

"As much as I long to hear his voice, I remember well when you tried to hold me in his arms while wearing of his skin," she said. "You are cunning, much like the rest of your kind. Much like any being that preys on us pitiable and incomplete mortals."

Laughter poured from his thoughts. Was that not enjoyable for you? The feel of his skin, the smell of his sweat, the taste of his --?

"I would stay that blade of yours before you convince me to do something reckless," she immediately balked.

Gleeful condescension resonated from his words. So ... fiery. Perhaps this is what he enjoys about you.

"Your compliments are no better than poison."

The fiend ignored her. ... and yet, I can not but think how strangely cold you are this night. Not even bothering to tend to wounds suffered in your name.

"He suffered by your will and doing!" the avariel snapped back with enough leverage to send her voice careening through the ruins. "How dare you try to pin it on me ... I am no false saint for you to use against him, you disgusting wretch of a creature!!"

I lay blame at your feet because it is yours to accept. You could have ended his torment ... but you chose not to. That is simple truth, avariel.

"What could I have done?" she demanded, desperation and fury betraying her voice. "I help him as I am wont to do and then I get a sword in return for all my effort? If I had bent to your horrible gifts, I would have played right into your coercion. I would have become your tool!"

And you would have spared him ... all of this.

With that, the bindings at the elf's hands and feet explode into brilliant flame. Soon, all that remained was ash. The elf rose to his feet, tearing the gag from his mouth and then stretching out arms eager for embrace. He wore naught but rags. Even against the warmth of nearby torches, it was clear the man's form was pale, pallid. Countless scars lined his arms and torso, deep cuts from a bladed weapon that were allowed to heal and then broken again and again. A single red line marked the point of severance between new and old flesh upon his left arm. The flesh of his right eyelid was twisted, distorted, though the eye itself seemed to have been restored.

He watched, as the avariel's breath stilled itself for as long as she could hold at the sight, before audibly devolving into a fit of hyperpnea.

"No ... no, I cannot help him like this. This is ... "

From the elf's mouth, a familiar voice returned, slow and weak and dreadful. "This is you, love. This is what you did to me."

"I suffered ... everything he did. For you. I did it willingly."

"I knew you would come for me."

"I knew you would save me."

"All I need is your touch. Your warmth. I need to know, that this isn't a dream, that I am alive."

"Please ... please, my love."

The avariel clamored for attempted reply, the rate of her breath still rushed to sustain her, but words escape her. "I ... it ... "

The elf made no move, only waiting, eyes filled with longing, filled with desire.

" ... I'm sorry," was all that she could offer, before devolving to tears.

The elf's eyes flashed a brilliant scarlet for just a second. Then, his body slumped to the floor once again. What a cruel mistress you are, love. All that he has endured ... and not a moment's relief to be earned?

"Please, stop," she begged, the desperation in her tone enough to make clear her pain, her helplessness. "Nobody forbade it. I have to listen."

As I said ... I only shed light to truths. Do not blame me if they sting.

"I cannot do anything for him until you are gone, much as I ... hate it. Yet, you try to ... urge me so much that I might as well should have a blade to my neck."

It is but simple touch. I cannot leave this circle, and you can. I am unarmed and you are powerful. What fear have you of me?

But it soon became clear that the she-elf's reason would not be swayed. The fiend could be patient. Another chance, another opportunity ... he had only time. He watched as the avariel fled to the dark recesses of the cavernous ruins, his heart briefly relieved of its anxiety by contemptuous delight at the sight.

No matter, love... I will be here, waiting. Come again, any time. Your beloved will appreciate it, I'm sure.

[wangxiuming]

Endgame, Part Two

In his dream - and he was not sure it was in fact a dream - often now, his dreams were indistinguishable from the surreal flashes of imagery that now passed for his reality …

In his dream, or perhaps as he stood waking, he found himself upon a vast desert oasis.

A deep, aching thirst took root in him, the kind of thirst that demands immediate attention and suffers not the appeals of any other need. Parched and eager to appease his unwelcome guest, he collapsed to his knees, sinking both his palms into the nearest pool of crystal-clear water; the liquid was cool and brisk even under the unrelenting sun. He could already imagine the bountiful ambrosia passing through his lips and into his mouth, could savor the water dancing upon his tongue and fill his desire, could feel the refreshment wash away the bitter taste of ash and sand and dust.

But, as he lifted his cupped hands to his mouth ... his left hand turned brittle and then black. A gust of hot desert wind fell upon him in a vicious assault, and soon the charred appendage that held his precious relief found itself weathered away. As his hand melted into the wind, so did his water pour free from its prison, escaping his thirst, fleeing his desire.

He still had one good hand. But as he dipped his right palm into the waters once again, the desert wind returned, furious and unforgiving. A flurry of biting sands came in a torrent. He abandoned his thirst a second time, flinging arm and hand to shield himself from merciless attack. Too late! When the whirlwind ceased and he lowered his good hand, he could no longer see out of his right eye. It withered against the wind, and was gone.

His thirst surged again, and he could deny its calling no longer. Abandoning caution, he dunked his head face-first into the pool, lapping at the water like a dog, swallowing it in desperate gulps. But as soon as the water touched his lips, it thickened, congealed. He tasted iron. It caught in his throat going down and he choked. Pulling himself free from the waters, a spray of crimson exploded from his mouth. It spattered the sand, his flesh, the still-clear pool. Blood.

It was so hot. He clawed at his throat, his thirst a siren song that he could not deny and yet he could not sate. The sun blazed overhead, evaporating the waters, sapping the oasis of life. The trees dessicated and died, leaving empty husks to tower over him, casting terrible shadows over the area. They twisted in the wind, shuddering, shivering.

A Little Bird approached him. He recognized it, perched upon a husk. He felt its eyes watching him, studying him. He wanted to call out to it, to ask for its help, but the words fell dead in his mouth. Apathy overtook him, sudden and terrible. He turned away from the Little Bird; it took flight and was gone.

A Shadow approached him. He recognized it, at his side, at his back. He felt the Shadow fall upon him, shielding him from the sun’s heat. He wanted to reach out to it, to thank it, but his arm fell dead in its track. A fury overtook him, inexplicable and without reason. He struck out at the Shadow; it dissipated and was gone.

A Jackal approached him. He recognized it, holding a pipe in its mouth. He felt the Jackal nuzzle his remaining hand, tender and merciful. He wanted to embrace it, hold it close to his chest, but the love fell dead in his heart. Contemptuous hatred overtook him, against his will, against his desire. He struck out at the Jackal; it fled and was gone.

He did not know why he did these things. He only knew that once again he was alone, trapped within a dream - or perhaps within reality. A sob escaped his lips, but no tears fell. He had none left to offer.

[wangxiuming]

Endgame, Part Three

The Shadow had kept to its word. The Jackal had not broached his mystic prison since their last encounter. Neither had the Shadow, nor the Interloper, nor even the Little Bird. None of import, none that held power to free him. Even the peons dispatched to offer food and water to his mortal Host's body had been deafened before approaching; they made poor conversationalists as a result.

The greatest indignity placed upon the Fiend was not the fact that he had been captured. It was the sheer boredom of his captivity.

The Circle was strong; he would afford this praise to the Interloper. None of his magicks could penetrate the invisible barrier: not eldritch, not vitriol, not hellfire. For all his power, there was nothing he could do to break free of his cage. Victory seemed to elude him with every passing moment.

All that remained to occupy his time was his Host, and the Fiend knew the elf to be but steps away from a precipice perched over dreaded abyss. He tasted it on his tongue, knew it in his heart. Even were the Host's allies successful in banishing him from mortal body, their victory would come at the cost of the elf's sanity. He would leave the body for a time, an empty meatsuit just waiting to be seized. That, or the Host's allies would have to slay the very thing they endeavored to save.

Victory would elude them as well. He would ensure it.

This was his endgame then. If he could not seize freedom, he would return to them a mindless shell, shadow of former self, pale imitation of once-great power. One final offering.

One last gift.

[wangxiuming]

The Corruption of Alyrian Eldeas

[wangxiuming]

In his dream - if it was a dream - he stood upon a plain of ice and snow. Snow fell all around him without pause, piling layer upon layer of white frost atop both him and his surroundings. Tall mountains soared upwards all around him, against a backdrop of stormclouds. For a second, he thought he saw the mountains move. It took a moment to realize they were not mountains at all; they were glaciers, massive and unrelenting.

Two of the icebergs collided against each other, sending a snowy spray in all directions as chunks of ice broke off to assault other masses. The earth quivered beneath his feet, and he struggled to maintain his balance. There was nothing here, nobody. He was alone in this mindless battle, danger at all sides. Nothing felt familiar, no sight, no sound, no touch.

Was this his dream? Or was it someone else’s memory, a figment of imagination, a remembrance not his own?

He had to get out.

He ran, but the ground beneath him lacked proper purchase for him to gain much speed. Every step he took sank him deeper into the snow, every breath he took sent a chill deep into his lungs. He struggled, clawing through the sleet with his bare hands even as the cold penetrated his nerves, seeping into his bones, even as his fingers were worn down, raw and bloody.

He was drowning. Suffocating. Buried alive by the cold. As the sheet of white closed all around him, flashes of both familiar and unfamiliar imagery crossed his mind:

... a Dark Citadel

… the Grove of Viridale.

… a prison of stone and magicks.

… Avanthyr's sea-touched skies.

… a cavern hidden by snow.

The last image lingered with him for a moment, as if it held some unknown significance. No - rather, he somehow knew that it did. With all his strength, he focused on the image, burning it into his mind, its details, its contours and colors.

He felt simultaneously empowered by the knowledge of its existence, and yet terribly afraid, a realization he could not comprehend. The cavern vanished as quickly as it had appeared, but it was too late. He remembered it now. He knew it. No amount of bleeding, of freezing or burning, of fear, or pain, or madness ...

Nothing would tear it away.