RE: ~*The Depths Of Chaos*~ IC (Full Version)

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Krey -> RE: ~*The Depths Of Chaos*~ IC (7/20/2015 18:44:32)

He plucked idly at the strings of his lute as he observed the goings-on throughout that tavern room. Seemed nobody here really knew what was going on, if the woman, Zephyrus’ words were any indication. Solidified, even, when she claimed to have the answers they all sought but would not give them. An interesting thing to say to many who seemed so hopelessly lost; for, if it was the same voice which led them all here as led him, the others couldn’t have known their destination any better than he had. There was another in the tavern he noticed, now, a woman. Tall, lean; while she hadn’t just walked in, he’d only just taken notice of her now as she retorted Zephyrus’ statement.

A locale which gathered people with problems unto itself, and then held them there until they could sort out their issues, was it? Such was the best he could tell based on the information given. After saying her piece, the blacksmith, as she’d introduced herself, left. The large one then, who’d offered up slabs of meat just moments before, stormed up the stairs to find his room. He returned dejected, unable to find a place of rest simply because he didn’t know his own name. An unfortunate fate indeed.

Zephyrus offered them a little more information, particularly how they were to sustain themselves physically while they were here in Epsyon. How kind.

In the midst of his playing, he struck a painfully sour note on his lute, the type to stand out even to the tone-deaf (although, of course, not to the real-deaf), and rose, the slightest of smiles cracked across his features.

“Asking for names amidst such pain,
Mayhaps you should call this one, Rain.”

With that said, he swung his lute ‘round to rest once more against his back, and made for the stairs, ascending them with smooth, certain steps. His feet brought him to a room upon whose plaque was written the name ‘Roulade Rain.’

“Time you returned to the fore, Roulade my boy,
Let their suff’rings sting thee no more.”

He stood silent for a moment, staring at that door, then blinked, as if momentarily dazed. A frown swept across his features, and he opened the door and stepped inside. There he found a bed, a bench suitable for maintaining his gear, and a standing mirror. He slipped his instruments from his body and rested them on the bench as he crossed the room to the mirror, staring into it at himself, studying his own eyes.

“There was a bright soul, loved and adored
Once, only once; will never be reborn.”

His face grew cold. “And here stands her legacy!” he shouted, and then continued, his tone subdued, “drowning in self-enmity.”

Turning, he crossed the room to his bed, undressed, slid beneath the covers, drifting swiftly into restless slumber.



Afina -> RE: ~*The Depths Of Chaos*~ IC (7/27/2015 7:16:53)

In Dreams Tears May Fall

How the night brings dreams of such peace for some but in Epyson no such thing as a pleasant dream exists; for in the shadows of this altered reality it knows your sorrow and your pain. What drew you to this place, what called you here; is now your tormentor. Restless sleep my little ones, toss and turn as the hours slowly tick by. Try to wake though you may, it is but a futile attempt to break free from the demons that plague the darkest recesses of your soul. Scream though you may into the darkness, it falls on deaf ears and careless minds. Imprisoned in the torment that you yourself created, forced to face things you had perhaps forgotten.

Run, run through your dreams and see the faces of those you have wronged; beg forgiveness but it means naught in this place of despair and anguish. Epyson called and you answered and now it rules your slumber with an iron fist and cares not if their tears flow or the heart aches. In these dreams it is so real; you feel the pain, you hear the heartache. All the faces you know so well save one; Alice wanders you dreams now as well. Floating like a fog through each scene as it plays out. She says nothing but she watches. She watches you; her head tilting from one side to another. Studying you, judging you; a shake of the head, a furrowing of her brow. Was that disappointment in her eyes?

The hours go by slowly, forcing you to relive all of your trials and tribulations. Such pain and adding to it, now an audience watches you like a part in a play till dawn approaches and suddenly she is gone and you once again hear the call of Epyson. “Wake now, you may break free of your slumbers, wake,” the call cries out as all fades away to nothingness and a single door on rusted frames appears in your dreams. “You just simple have to walk through to wake,” the voice calls once again. Run, break free from the dream, seek rest and refuge in the day that had arrived. “WAKE!”


The Dreams Resurface


The fires burned as the chaos reigned over the small city that was under attack. Amara stood frozen in the center of the city near a long dried up fountain that held nothing but ash caused by the devastation of the week long assault on her home. The screams of the citizens ripping through her senses as the smell of burned sulfur and blood caused her to gag for a clean breath. To her knees she fell as she looked down and saw her father there, mortally wounded. Reaching down her fingers touched his face and tried to speak but words, pleas of salvation do fall on none for they have their own tribulations to deal with right now. Tears they do fall but not amount of tears could wash away the flames.

There she sat, holding the corpse of her beloved father as it happened, seeing the sphere of fire coming towards her and bracing herself for the impact that would occur. She did not care to move, to try to save herself. Her family was gone, the home she knew was crumbling before her eyes and the life she had loved was being turned to ash. It seemed poetic that her fate should be as the others; so she waited but Amara was not as lucky as those that death claimed that day. Her fate was far worse for it was self-accepted, might as well have set herself aflame. The sphere hit, sending her flying back against the fountain and lighting her skin on fire. She screamed, the agony was more than she had imaged If she had even bothered to think through the consequences of her inactions. Alice floated above her watching as she desperately tried to put out the flames and eventually they did fade but the damage was done and there she lay in blood and ash; burned and broken.

“WAKE!”

Amara sat up quickly in her bed and looked around frantically, feeling the pain of the burns as if they were fresh once again for a brief moment of awareness before it faded back into the daily pain she had grown accustomed to. Her brow dotted with sweat she slid out of bed and looked at herself in the mirror. There she pulled her clothing aside and looked at the scars. “I’m pathetic,” she whispered under her breath as Alice wandered into the reflection.

“You did this to yourself,” Alice stated quietly before faded back into oblivion. Amaras eyes narrowed as she quickly dressed and nearly took the door of the hinges as she stormed through the town towards the tavern. These dreams had plagued her before but they had long faded away to nothing. Why were there fresh once again? Amara spat at the ground as she walked through the downpour of Epyson. There was a certain Bartender that she wanted answers from and this time she was not accepting a riddle to answer a question.



Sigil -> RE: ~*The Depths Of Chaos*~ IC (7/27/2015 12:28:46)

The older man wouldn't take "No" for an answer. She was a tavern regular, and by all accounts didn't say "No" very often, but it was her decision to do so. She wasn't owned by anybody, least of all this lumbering, lecherous drunk who couldn't seem to keep his hands to himself.

From near the door, the bouncer gave himself a few seconds to observe before intervening. The target (as he stopped being a protected patron moments ago) was roughly as tall as himself, and nearly as broad of shoulder. He was a fair amount older, with greying temples and scowl lines across his face, and scarring similar to his own. His physique was slightly rounder, due to excesses and age, but still formidable. A man with a fighting background, obviously. Maybe still fought, but he hadn't been seen in local pits or warehouses except as a spectator.

Yes, that's where... Almost every fight, he'd been there, watching him. Scowling, applauding, drinking, placing bets. Staring at him with familiar steel-grey eyes. He'd been around. He liked to cause trouble. He was causing quite a bit of it just now. Drunk though he was, he may still prove to be a handful. Give him a way out, and respond with superior reflexes if he doesn't take it.

Assessment complete, time to go to work.

The struggling protests of the young lady rose in pitch, met by a raised fist from the older man. Before the blow could land, heavy fingers closed around his wrist and jerked him around. Now face to face, the bouncer nodded toward the door and slammed a handful of coins on the bar to cover his drinks. The slightly frantic woman took the opportunity to flee the bar, sinking into the crowd gathering to watch the show unfold. The room quieted in anticipation. The older man lowered his eyes in submission - then slammed his free hand into the bouncer's jaw. His head tilted to the side, pain crossing his face, but grip remained firm.

The target was strong and more experienced, but quite inebriated. The bouncer controlled his target's posture with his still-gripped arm, and returned the blow to head, damaging his ego in the process. He hit the ground hard, looking up in time to see the bouncer nod toward the door again. From the ground, the older man nodded his head in defeat. Good, problem solved. The victor turned his head to look for the young woman, to see if she needed help. In that moment, he felt the searing pain of a blade entering his side.

Four inches of crudely forged steel still protruded just above his hip, attached to a scaled wooden handle. He twisted around, wrenching it from the man's hand but damaging himself further in the process. Surprised beyond pain, he flew into what could be considered a justifiable rage, and wrapped his large hands around his attacker's skull. Thumbs pressed into eyes that reflected his own in shape and color, rupturing and pushing them farther back than human anatomy allowed without catastrophic damage. He began to cry out, arms flailing, slamming into the still imbedded knife. Growling, the bouncer slammed the back of the older man's head into the edge of the bar. Again. And again. And again. Eventually, both of them stopped struggling. One slumped down from loss of blood, the other collapsed with a shell of a cranium remaining. The bouncer struggled to regain his feet, and poured himself onto a barstool. He removed the blade from his side, and stared at the blood, his and his target's, on his hands. Somehow, he heard the whisper of the older man, quietly taunting, "...I'll always be part of you now..."

He was. He knew he would be. Those familiar grey eyes, that familiar scowl, that voice, ever whispering in his thoughts, ever plaguing him with a thousand inconveniences. Ever shoving him to acts of violence, trying to make Keystone more like himself, bound to him by the uncertain guilt of his own psyche.


*****


It was still dark when he awoke, adrenaline present in his blood. No going back to sleep now, he dressed and went downstairs to the kitchen. Finding ample items and space with which to work, he fired up the ovens and set to baking fresh bread. While the dough rose, he stepped out back, removed his shirt and engaged in an aggressive maintenance workout. The exercises came unbidden to him, as more of a reflex than a deliberate thought. Scars of a hundred fights, probably more, crisscrossed his powerful physique. Somewhere in the halfway point of his workout, he stopped to feel one scar in particular. His side, where his he was wounded in his dream. That actually happened; he could even still feel it, if but an echo.

That happened. That's why I'm here, despite the fact that it happened years ago. This is obviously important. But why the same eyes? Was that actually how he looked, or was it damaged emotions substituting his own feature onto the other man? Lack of memory clouded his judgement of the situation. Keystone just had to see how it played out. Whatever game Epsyon or this barkeep felt like playing, he was committed to seeing it through now. He finished exercising and returned to the kitchen, forming fat loaves out of the dough and placing them in the ovens to bake. With a little luck, he found some bacon and honey, and made a presentable meal for his efforts.

Provided fresh honey and bacon weren't their thing, the other guests would have to suffice with Toad in the Hole, maybe a bit of milk gravy. If the others had as unpleasant a night as he did, they'd probably be glad to wake to the smells and presentation of a hot breakfast. Keystone wiped his brow with a kitchen towel, set up the meal on a large table near the bar, and poured himself a thick brown beer.




Bastet -> RE: ~*The Depths Of Chaos*~ IC (7/28/2015 17:30:25)

Two figures hurriedly moved through a forest dark as the deepest point of the ocean. Dwarven blood stained their green, ornate cloaks. Not even the moon itself dared show itself in that desperate night, leaving the pair of travelers almost blind to their surroundings. The tall trees of the woods towered menacingly above them, as if they were personally seeking their demise. Footsteps, strange noises and the constant howling of wolves kept both elves high on alert, tired as they were.

Nysha fell. It was far too dark to properly determine what had caused her to trip, but her guide didn’t waste time and immediately turned to help her. For a second, she lied down, briefly interrupting her struggle to survive. Was it worth it, when everyone else she knew was dead at the hand of murderers possessed by greed? Ray’Adel was destined to become a mysterious ruin of the past, and the knowledge that only two souls were still able to carry its legacy on filled her with despair.

A blood-curdling roar interrupted Nysha’s train of thought, just as her companion was helping her get back on her feet. The man was hit by a claw that possessed strength far superior to his, flinging him back a noticeable distance. The girl was quick to get back on her feet and run to rescue her helper, almost ignoring the beast that had attacked them. The thought of being the sole survivor was far more unbearable to her than simply fading away as the others had. If she couldn’t have the support of the elf who was attempting to save her, whether it was worth it or not to continue living would become a question with an obvious answer.

Again, they were charged. Nysha was knocked away from the only other surviving member of her kin, tears unstoppably running down her cheeks as she grabbed the knife she had holstered on her hips and attempted to rescue on him. His scream terrified her to no end, but before she could even move close to the creature his life had met its end. The being was quick to turn around and strike the surviving elf, but not before she could take revenge for making her the only one left alive to escape the wrath of the dwarves.

As the monstrous killer made its escape, distracted by a critical wound, Nysha brought her hands to her face. The tears had been replaced by the blood coming from the injury she had sustained. Almost blind, she began walking in what she thought was the direction her former guide had picked. At that point, she hoped that the beast would come back and finish what it started, but her legs carried her forward. Toward Epsyon.



The shadow dropped from its hideout in the trees, placing itself between the wayward travelers and their destination. She was quick to draw an arrow from her quiver and arm her bow, proudly carrying both as heirlooms of her long-gone home. The sun made her features harder to observe for her victims, as she had it at her shoulders. Even then, she could not stand the light, and she hoped that she could avoid being hindered by it. Words that her younger self never thought she would eventually say escaped her, directed at the small clique of adventurers she had blocked.

“Leave all the valuables you carry where you stand if you value your life. If any of you make a step towards me, it’ll be their last.”

One man stepped forward from the group. Nysha took a brief look at him before moving her weapon to target him. He was young, with short blond hair covered by a leather cap. He wore a blue cloak on his back, and simple armor on the rest of his body. It was clear to the elf that these humans weren’t particularly rich, though it was also obvious that they weren’t poor either.

The boy drew a short, slightly rusted sword, placing himself between the elf and his comrades. He dropped dead shortly after, a gargling noise being the last one he ever made. Before the arrow had even lodged itself in the young man’s throat, Nysha had immediately drawn another arrow to make sure the group wouldn’t take advantage of the fact that she had to reload her weapon. The bandit’s remaining green eye was as devoid of mercy as her dead one. The fact that even one of the group dared move out against her angered Nysha to no end, bringing her to take an even more aggressive stance. Some of them cried out, others murmured but none followed the young squire’s example.

Her voice almost sounded like a growl.

“I warned you. Do as I said, and leave.”

They did, leaving a few pouches of gold and a small gem for Nysha to take. As she lowered her bow after they had fled, she moved closer to the corpse left on the road. It was obvious that they hadn’t left the entirety of their valuable possessions, as she couldn’t move closer to shake them down. Still, the loot was enough to get by until she could catch another target. Aftering storing the valuables in her pouches, Nysha took interest in the blue cloak the boy she killed was wearing. It would spare her the expense of buying one for herself, and it even came with a hood. She wore it and began walking in the direction the travelers originally were, satisfied by the results of her hunt.

Something bothered the girl’s dream, however, as she could feel a foreign presence even in the deepest part of her sleep.



…

“WAKE!”

Nysha hurriedly woke up, briefly wondering where she was. She had fallen asleep after spending so long observing her possible prey, and apparently nobody had bothered asking her to leave. She quickly checked that nothing was taken from her while sleeping, though mostly living in the forest had made her learn to be alert even while resting.

She cringed as soon as she lowered her azure hood, underestimating the amount of lighting to be found in the inn. Quickly raising it again, she briefly moved a hand to her working eye and left the bar, planning to leave, but she was interrupted by the enticing smell coming from the kitchen that Zephyrus had made available to those who had just been ensnared by the call of Epsyon. She would probably be refused anyway, but Nysha decided it was better to try for free food instead of walking away without asking. Raising her hood to lessen the pain, she began walking towards the source of the sweet scent of a hot breakfast.

Observing the area before entering, she noted that there already was a rich meal for many people placed on the table, and that only the man that had introduced himself as “Fatty Endpiece” was to be found inside. Slowly, and silently out of habit, she walked to him and cleared her voice when she deemed she was close enough. It was almost hard for Nysha to muster a friendly tone, as she was by then used to speak only to threaten or bargain.

“Excuse me, may I join in on the meal? I understand that Zephyrus may not have counted me among those who were granted access to these services…

...and I haven’t checked if there was a room for me, either…

... but the smell is enticing, and I haven’t had a decent meal in a while. I’ll pay for it, if I have to.”

Nysha fully understood that lowering her hood would’ve made it easier to not seem suspicious, but the lighting in the area was bad enough to her eyes with it helping to conceal them. She hoped that this.. Fatty was the kind of person to would answer kindly to her plea.



Kellehendros -> RE: ~*The Depths Of Chaos*~ IC (7/28/2015 23:58:44)

“We’ll make our stand here.”

She didn’t want to be here. She knew this dream, knew how it ended. But Epsyon had her now, and she was sinking into the dream all the same.

Regina armed sweat from her forehead, looking left and right, and then over her shoulder. The mountain trail ascended towards the pass above them, sloping away on one side into a rocky ravine though they were still in the wooded foothills. This was a creased and folded land of ravines and precipices, and they had spent as much time going down as up towards the pass. “Are you sure, Owen? If we could make it into the pass...”

The soldier shook his head. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but we won’t make the pass before they catch us.”

She licked her lips nervously, glancing among the four soldiers making up the remains of her escort. They were haggard, worn from two weeks of long days and short nights over rough, unknown terrain filled with imperial troops searching for them. Every attempt to reach the border had been met with failure or disaster. Their equipment was battered, their stomachs were empty, and their morale was worn to rags thin as their clothing. “You’re certain?”

Owen just shook his head. “Jax, Darner, get the axes and get chopping. We’re going to topple some trees, limit their angle of approach.” Jax, the youngest of the party. He had been so eager when they started out from the capital, ready to be a hero and prove himself. Regina whimpered in her sleep, curling into a ball. ”Jess, find a tree ya like and start scaling; you’ll be able to pick a few of them off if we’re lucky.”

Regina watched the others go about their tasks, turning towards Owen. “What should I do, Commander?” He wasn’t, of course, wasn’t the commander, that is. Owen was just the most senior of the escort to survive the wreck of their vessel. Regina had put him in charge of the others because of that, because it seemed to be expected of her, because she had no idea what else to do. Stranded in unfriendly territory there were so few choices, and none of them were good.

“Stay out of the way, your ladyship. Write your reports, if you like. There’s work to do.” Owen had not liked her. The feeling had been mutual, but she had never wished him ill…

She did as she was bidden, recording in her journal the trials of the past few days. Given the straits they found themselves in, it seemed a largely pointless exercise. Who would read her words after all? She was about to die. They were all about to die. Regina glanced up from the pages, blinking, and then shaking her head and starting to write again. For a second she thought she had seen… a woman with red hair. Regina twitched and shuddered, the stranger’s appearance rattling the nightmare-reality. Her lips formed a name, but it was foreign to her. “Alice…” It meant nothing, and perhaps everything, but the dream stabilized...

“Reg, they’re coming.”

She startled out of her reverie, looking up from the pages and into Jax’s earnest face. He was young, too young! He didn’t deserve this. He shouldn’t have come with them! Empty protestations for events already done. Wishing it was otherwise would never make it so. Regina closed the journal and stood, swallowing against the rising lump of fear in her throat. “We’re ready?”

“As we can be, your ladyship.” Owen stumped over to them. “Jess sighted ‘em coming through the trees. They’ll make the ridge in a few minutes.”

Just then Jess cried out, bowstring snapping as she fired. Horsemen swarmed over the ridge, mounts thundering over the packed earth of the trail. Regina scurried behind the nearest tree. Owen and the others seemed as shocked as she was. Where had the cavalry come from?

In seconds, everything had become chaos. Men and horses screamed as the two groups came together in a clash of metal and muscle. Regina saw one of the horsemen topple from his mount, a feathered shaft sprouting from his chest. Darner was bowled over by another rider, his cries lost as the warhorse stamped and bucked over him. Owen was screaming imprecations, sword flashing as he turned and slashed, sending a horse crowhopping to the side and bugling in pain, rider dumped from the saddle. It was too much. She wasn’t meant for this. She was a diplomat, a messenger! This was war, a battle. She had no place here!

Everything blurred together. Arrows hissing through the air, blood splashing, men cursing and grunting. Jess fell from her arboreal perch, feathered with half a dozen shafts. Regina stumbled over Owen’s body, the man’s arm simply missing at the shoulder. Jax was pushing her up the path, his eyes wild, a notched and broken sword in his hand as he shouted at her. “Go, go! I’ll hold them back!” In a detached part of her mind, the rest was busy gibbering insanely, she wondered that it was Jax who was left. Little Jax, green and untested, bleeding from half a dozen wounds, his left arm hanging uselessly at his side.

Something collided with them, scything her legs out from beneath her. Regina’s breath whooshed out of her as she was slammed against the ground, rocks digging into her back. A heavy, armored form landed atop her. Jax was roaring somewhere, a sound of berserk fury entirely out of proportion with his stature and quiet nature. Swords rang, but Regina had no attention for them; she was flailing at the armored man above her, trying to keep his hands from her neck. “Mercy,” she gasped, heaving against the soldier’s weight and leverage, “quarter, please!”

The imperial soldier grinned down at her, blood splashed across his face as he forced her hands up over her head, pinning them with one hand while his other closed on her throat. “No quarter for bandits and sneak-thieves.”

Regina thrashed, eyes going wide as the cold metal hand started to squeeze. She fought, twisting and jerking, trying to break the man’s leverage on her hands. For a moment she saw the red-haired woman again… Regina thrashed, moaning in her sleep, the sheets wound about her constrictingly. She flailed at her confinement, breath coming in ragged gasps. Why wouldn’t she help? Stars bloomed before her eyes, and Regina bucked, snapping her legs up and managing to rock the soldier enough to break his grip. Cool air flooded her throat like a blessing from the gods. The soldier snarled, reaching for her again, but suddenly Jax was there, slamming into the man and toppling him over. The two rolled over and over, heading for the edge of the trail, a precipitous drop into the steep ravine.

Gasping and hacking, Regina staggered towards the fighters, the world reeling around her. She had to help Jax, she had to do something. Her hand flashed to the dagger at her belt, drawing the weapon as she advanced. Jax was pinned beneath the soldier now, good arm up defensively as the armored man rained blows down on him. Something inside of her snapped, and Regina was distantly aware that she was screaming, hurling herself upon the armored man’s back, dagger descending and striking at the joint where the man’s gorget and pauldron met.

The imperial soldier howled as the weapon bit into him, lashing out at Regina and sending her sprawling. He wrenched a mace from the belt at his waist, spitting invective at her as he raised the weapon overhead. Regina scrabbled backwards, but there was nowhere to run. Behind her was nothing but the sudden steep fall into the rocky vale. She lifted a hand futilely, there was a blur of movement at the edge of her vision, the world exploded in bursts of color and light, and then there was nothing but blackness, pain, and a curious weightlessness.

“No more, please…” Regina begged, shivering as though with an augue, the bedsheets soaked with sweat and twisted about her like chains. “Respite, please…” But Zephyrus was not here, and if Alice could grant asylum from the horror she seemed to have no interest in doing so.

It was the rain that woke her. Cold droplets of water plashed across her face, dragging her back to consciousness. And with consciousness came pain. Regina whimpered, pain lashing across her senses as she struggled to open her eyes. A heavy weight was pressed across her legs and torso, and Regina pushed feebly at it, finally managing to roll the weight over and away.

It was Jax. Regina’s heart stuttered in her chest. They were down at the bottom of the ravine. Had they fallen? Her head ached abominably. Everything seemed disjointed. Jax was a mess, torn and cut in a dozen places. He had to be dead, one of his legs was broken, his left arm was bent back at an unnatural angle.

But he wasn’t. Jax’s eyes cracked open, blinking distantly at her. “Reg?” She had hated that he called her that, like he was her kid brother or something, but she had given up asking him to stop within a week of their departure from the capital. There had been something endearing about it. “You okay?”

“J-Jax don’t… My head, ugh… We have to get out of here.”

“You gotta go, Reg.”

Regina shook her head, immediately regretting it. Spears of agony lanced through her skull, turning her vision into dancing swirls of colored stars. “Can’t…”

“You have to, Reg. You’ve got a job to do. That’s why we came… make sure you could do it.”

“I can’t, Jax. I can’t…” But she didn’t know what she couldn’t, what it was that she was trying to deny.

“I’m not getting out of here, Reg, not with this leg and my arm.” He swallowed, his face a mask of blood. “I need you… I’m sorry Reg, but…”

Regina stared at him, feeling like her brain was made of lead. She watched him struggle for each breath, pain throbbing through her temples, jamming the gears of her mind. It took her nearly a minute to realize what he was saying, what he was asking, and when she did she could only shake her head, wincing at each renewed bolt of agony.

“It has to be, Reg.”

She levered herself upright, her body screaming in protest, a chorus of bruised and battered muscles and bones. It was nothing compared to her head. Regina felt as though her head was made of glass, her brain rattling around in an oversized case. She just stared at Jax, panting and trying to slow the hammering of her heart, each beat sending dull throbs of agony coursing through her.

“I did the best I could…” Jax trailed off tiredly, his face obscured beneath dried filth and blood. His eyes were young, so young, as they looked up at her. “Tell them, when you get back; tell them I did the best I could.”

Regina leaned over him, sagging against the young man as she embraced him with tremulous strength. “No, no more, please. Please, stop…” Regina whimpered. Her prayer unheard, the dream uninterrupted. “You were a hero, Jax. They’ll speak your name forever.” She closed her eyes and kissed him. She could think of nothing else to do, no benediction to send him on, and so she kissed him, tasting the blood on his lips and the salt of her tears.

She kissed him, and she killed him, driving the blade of the knife at his waist up between the ribs and into his heart, into her heart.


“WAKE!”

Regina toppled out of the bed, curling into a ball, weeping and clutching her head. The pain, oh gods the pain! Every nerve ending was aflame, and there was a monster inside her head, roaring and clawing to get out. She was weeping uncontrollably, tears of pain and sorrow tracking down her cheeks as her body was racked by sobs.

She hadn’t wanted to kill him. What choice did she have? She couldn’t have carried Jax out of that ravine any more than she could have fought off their attackers, and with his broken leg and bad arm there was no way he could have gotten out himself. Staying would have meant death for both of them. Leaving him there was as good as killing him, not to mention he might have been captured, interrogated, tortured…

Regina quieted slowly, piecing herself back together one stuttering breath at a time, blocking out the horrible nightmare of the past with the present moment. She was in a room, upstairs, probably. Zephyrus must have had someone bring her up here last night after she had passed out. Regina tried to think, to put together a line of coherent logic, but her brain felt like a machine with a stripped gear, teeth clashing and missing each other, turning over haltingly.

Zephyrus. She was the key. Regina winced, pushing herself upright, whimpering as the movement and effort fair split her skull. But she had been living with pain for a long time now. Regina pulled herself up, using the bedframe to steady herself as she fought off a wave of nausea. She tottered over to the washbasin, sinking shaking hands into the cool water and rubbing at her face.

Regina straightened, moving slowly and carefully, conscientiously remaking the bed. She would have to thank Zephyrus for the kindness when she saw the woman again. After that… After that Regina would have some questions to ask. She regretted her weakness of the previous night. Whatever might have been explained, she would have to ask to hear it again.

But there was nothing for it, and nothing to do but endure, so Regina cleaned herself up as best she could, ensuring Jax’s knife was safely tucked into its place at her belt before she left. Shuffling out into the hall she closed the door behind her, frowning slightly as she saw her name etched upon the nameplate on the door. Epsyon, what further explanation was there?

None she could think of, though the pounding in her head admitted little leeway for thought just now. She moved slowly down the corridor and down the stairs, following the scent of food back to the common room. Regina hesitated, her eyes going from the woman to the rather imposing man. “Good morning,” she said, with less trepidation than she felt as she moved over to the table, “might I join you?”



Sigil -> RE: ~*The Depths Of Chaos*~ IC (7/30/2015 0:34:15)

The impromptu breakfast cook stifled a belch in a most unproficient manner, before addressing the Elf girl in the blue cloak.

"I caught your name last night, poppet. You're Nysha." It was more of a personal confirmation than a statement. "Best as I'm aware," he continued, setting a plate in front of his new acquaintance, "our money's supposed to be no good here. Which if tops by me, as I've'nt got a whole lot in the first." He chuckled a bit, mildly amused at himself. "Eat up, love. Today's going to sod it, may as well start out with a full belly." He then selected a plate for himself and casually dropped a large piece of freshly baked bread onto it. It was still steaming. "I believe Zephy lumped you in with the rest of us, but if anybody asks, you're on my tab for breakfast, 'right?"

As the next guest of the establishment to wake descended the stairs and requested to join their company, she was waved over with a polite grunt. Or at least, as politely as one can grunt while beckoning someone closer, but it involved bacon. Bacon, reasoned the broad man, can cover for many social indelicacies.

"My apologies in advance for my table manners. Understand, I haven't got any. So, how'd you lot sleep?"



Krey -> RE: ~*The Depths Of Chaos*~ IC (8/14/2015 19:01:11)

A tight braid of gold. The flash of a blade. The impossible brilliance of an impossibly powerful spell. Shouts, scream, explosions. These events repeated themselves, again and again, distorted and disjointed, repeating, repeating, a little clearer each time. How many times would he relive that night in disconnected flashes and broken fragments before the night was through? How many times would he be reminded of his repeated failures? As the night passed, gradually his dreams passed into brutal clarity, and he would relive the night once more. This time, in more detail than he’d ever dreamt it.

“It comes from the heart, Roulade,” She told him, a gentle smile on her features he could tell she’d not worn much before he’d entered her life. “You can’t force the song. It comes of its own volition. You simply learn to tweak it, creating your own verse over a melody which already exists.”
“An easy thing for one to say, who’s been famous for years.”
She frowned, then, “It’s never about fame. I know you know that.”
He sighed, nodding, and they continued their trek through the woods.

As they walked, he heard her singing faintly and cleared his own thoughts, listening carefully to her words and her melody. Where the words came from he simply couldn’t comprehend, and whether she was weaving magic into her song he couldn’t possibly tell.

“…In my darkness, when I’ve nothing left
    Take my nothing, grant this gift
When daylight dies, take this one away
     From pain, from death, safe to stay
One day freedom comes,
     Til then guide this one
Though the path be harsh,
     Guide true, precious one…”

It was, to him, simply incomprehensible. Not only that her words were woven with such little effort, but that he couldn’t even begin to pick a meaning out of them. Simply maddening. As they walked Krystal continued to sing, sometimes repeating the same verse, sometimes coming out with something he’d not yet heard. Still he could pick no meaning out, but he was starting to pick up an odd sense of urgency from his aunt. She’d never been nervous as long as he’d been in her care, so far as he could tell, but now there was an unfamiliar sense of… perhaps even fear? It left him quite apprehensive.

As night fell, Krystal sent him to retrieve firewood. He caught a glimpse of a young woman with crimson hair in the corner of his eye, but as he turned he couldn’t find her. Suddenly he was feeling very uneasy. Panic gripped him as he began to feel that something was very wrong. There was a quick, stifled scream, as if someone was trying to keep themselves quiet, and Roulade dropped the firewood he’d found and ran back to the camp site. “Krystal!”

As he came into view, he saw Krystal, cornered by a man and two women in white robes, their hoods down. Despite herself, Krystal threw a glance at Roulade, praying he’d run, and the men followed her eyes.

“Ah, the Rain whelp,” The man said, standing at the center of the group and, by his demeanor, most likely the boss. “Amryll, grab him; his blood will make a fine addition.”
Roulade drew his sword in a flash, his arm shaking. He’d never done particularly well even at sparring, but he wasn’t about to turn tail and run now. His eyes found Krystal, a gash in the side of her hardened jacket, the flesh scored as if with flame. “Roulade, run!” She screamed.
“No!” He yelled, and charged the man. The woman to his left muttered something, and an invisible force slammed into him from the side, sending him tumbling across the ground. He heard singing.

“This is the moment,
     Answer my plea
Fulfill this cov’nant
     I invoke thee!”

The song stopped, and Krystal screamed what sounded like a name. Roulade saw none of what happened next.
A tight braid of gold. The flash of a blade. The impossible brilliance of an impossibly powerful spell. A young woman with crimson hair.
“Wake now, you may break free of your slumbers, wake. You just simply have to walk through to wake.”

“WAKE!”

He sat up in bed with a start, sweat pouring from his body, his breaths coming in fast, shaky bursts. “Why…?” He mumbled through tears, clenching the bedsheet. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, toes brushing against the wooden floor beneath him. The stream of tears stopped and his face hardened.

“The weak will always be weak,
     Their lives bleak and broken.
Roulade my boy, you’re a feeble man,
    ‘Tis why I must always hold your hand.”

Rain stood, wandered over to the mirror and dressed. He ran fingers through his hair, then shook it out, and grabbed his lyre’s bag before heading down the stairs to begin the day. He made his way to the kitchen and along the way found that a meal was already prepared and sitting out in the common room. Preferring to fend for himself, he offered a curt nod and little else, and continued on his way into the kitchen. He found himself a couple of apples and a glass of water, and returned to the common room to eat in the company of others—albeit distantly.



Kellehendros -> RE: ~*The Depths Of Chaos*~ IC (8/22/2015 20:55:15)

Regina spared another glance at the woman. Nysha, her mind informed her. She must have heard the name at some point last night, during the period of blankness after her initial fainting spell. There was a faint knowledge of someone else, another woman. No, two other women. Alice, a name that sent a shiver down her spine; a woman with red hair and cool, judgemental eyes. The other was... an elf, but for some reason Regina could not call her name or aspect to mind. That brought the slightest of frowns to her face. A diplomat’s mind was her first and best tool, both weapon and armor in the field of combat that was political negotiation. Her inability to recall more than a vague notion of the elf was troubling. It spoke of the degradation of her mind, the subjugation of cognition by pain.

She shifted slightly, settling herself in a seat at the table with a small wince, pain threading through her skull. The large man had no name either, at least not that she could place. Was that a second failing of her memory, or was it that she had not been given his name in the first place? Regina’s eyes narrowed at his question, offered up with what seemed to her to be a casual insolence. He was certainly correct; he had no manners, so far as the diplomat could tell.

But if the brutish man had no manners, then Regina had them in abundance. She swallowed a venomous answer with only the slightest shift in her posture. Anger had its place, or more accurately, the venting and display of anger had its place, even in negotiations. But this was a new place, a yet unknown situation, and at this juncture it was needful that she not offend or alienate these people. Thus, the diplomat helped herself to the breakfast offered, and let the quiet, friendly mask slip onto her face. “In truth, good sir, I slept poorly. I was somewhat troubled by my dreams.” Her eyes scanned those present, head inclining slightly for a moment to a second man as he entered the room and took a distant seat from the main table. “I would guess, by the look of you, that you fared the same as I.”

To call the man sir was perhaps to overstate his social standing, but flattery was often best in these cases. “I apologize, but I fear I have not learned all of your names as yet. I am Regina Donovan, might I know with whom I have the honor of dining?”



Sigil -> RE: ~*The Depths Of Chaos*~ IC (8/28/2015 22:02:58)

"At least this one's trying to be personable...", the unbidden thought flashed cynically, but thankfully unspoken. He blotted up a dallop of milk gravy with a torn chunk of soft roll, and empathized with the latest arrival verbally: "Yeah, my dreams had a way of stabbing it in and snapping it off, too. Now all I've got to do is suss out what any of it's supposed to mean."

He popped the morsel into his mouth, realizing somewhat too late that he had failed to address his point of identity, A seemingly innocuous question, but one he would not have been able to answer a few hours prior. Partway through a full mouth, he began, "Pardon, Miss Regina. My..." a hard swallow served to break the sentence, before continuing in decidedly underclass pronunciation, "...name was a mystery to m'self just last night, when I was going about as Fatty Endpiece. Door says my name's something different, but raises some interesting points of inquiry."

He extended a large hand with obvious multiple scarring toward his new acquaintance, and proclaimed with a small nod, "Johnathon Keystone, Pugilist, at your service ma'am. It hardly means a Tinker's damn to me which one you use, Endpiece or Keystone; they both feel ingenuine. I am given to believe I was most referred to by my last name, however."

He had a feeling that he was not much for small talk nor pleasantries. Yet, here he sat, attempting both. Maybe it was his tactical need to feel out a situation, and to seem less threatening to do so. Equally possible was a concealed feeling of vulnerability, and the dependence to the strangers in this Inn forced upon him. Whatever the case, in order to get answers that game must be played; it was merely a matter of who had their finger on the checker. Going with that analogy, no one gets to yell "King me!" until everyone does, so making nice and being open seemed, along with whatever other motivation, the best course of action. Getting to know these people might help save everyone.

"More bacon, Miss?"




Afina -> RE: ~*The Depths Of Chaos*~ IC (9/2/2015 8:27:18)

~*Things Come To A Head*~


Amara stormed into the tavern, the heavy wooden wood flinging inward and hitting the wall as she pushed it open, fury written on her features as her lips thinned. She was tired of these games, these dreams and nightmares that would come and go like the rolling tide. She had spent so many years loosing herself and finding it again only to have to stolen from her mind and soul each time she drew close to finding that ever elusive exit from this real of rain and sorrow. She had given up so very long ago on ever leaving but now that the dreams and nightmares and memories were returning she knew the process had just begun all over again for her and it would be sometime before it left. She was tired of reliving it each time their host got a bee in her bonnet to mess with the minds of those that were trapped there or to bring new members into the fold of her dark garments. In the beginning Amara had not seen what a game this was but each year that dredged by it became more and more clear to her and she was sick of it.

"Is there a problem?" Zepherus asked as she materialized behind the bar, her hands resting at her sides; her tone was like always, soothing and comforting.

"Don't play games with me," Amara snapped as she stormed over to the bar, slamming her fists into the bar top as her clothing dripped droplets of water to the floor that puddled around her.

"Calm yourself," Zepherus said as she poured a cup of coffee for Amara and slid it over to her. Amara backhanded the cup and it went flying across the room, shattering against the wall.

"You can take your calm and shove it," Amara spat. "I am sick and tired of your games. I am tired of the dreams, the nightmares, the memories. I am sick of seeing you bring more and more people into this place, this prison that no one escapes from only to loose what little of themselves they have left. Let us go!" Amara demanded.

"You know that is not how this works," Zepherus stated in a calm voice, full of warmth and caring.

"I know you have complete control here and you could release us when ever you chose to but you don't. Why? Aren't we punishing ourselves enough? Or do you just enjoy the entertainment of this existence? You seem to revel in our pain, our sorrow. What if we were to turn the tables?" Amara growled. "What if we found why you are locked here? What if we used it to flood your mind and your soul with each waking moment, with each tick of the clock as time passed by. What if we fought back?" Amara said in a cold voice, the volume of which increased with each word that slipped passed her lips.

"You wouldn't dare," Zepherus said as her eyes narrowed and for the first time showed an emotion other than this seemingly endless pleasantness.




Kellehendros -> RE: ~*The Depths Of Chaos*~ IC (9/7/2015 16:19:57)

Regina ate delicately, wielding fork and knife with a careful deliberation that bespoke a cultured background, or at least a well-tutored one. Her manners made a stark contrast to those of her dining companion, one of them at least. Jonathan Keystone, an interesting moniker, to say the least. The diplomat filed the information away, a slight wince crossing her face as a spike of pain lanced into her skull.

Well, if the man was uncouth, and his appearance and mannerisms most certainly were; he was at the very least an accomplished chef. The meal was worthy of some of the great halls she had attended upon back home. Regina extended her hand somewhat reluctantly, watching as her hand was simply engulfed by the big man’s massive paw. For a second the diplomat had a vision of her hand being crushed in a vice-like grip, but was relieved to find that her hand was given a firm shake and then released without lasting harm. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, good sir Keystone.” Regina had no intention of referring to anyone, ever, by a name so ridiculous as ‘Endpiece.’

She was about to accede to his query regarding breakfast, if only for the sake of politeness, when their conversation was interrupted by the heavy crash of the door being slammed open. The loud noise sent a burst of pain through Regina’s mind, and she wavered for a moment as she rose.

Amara marched through the door looking for a fight. Regina saw it in the cast of her features. It was in the way the woman’s eyes narrowed, skin tightening at the corners; it was in the woman’s lips, compressed into a thin slash; it was in her voice, shedding anger in the same way her clothes shed excess water onto the floor of the bar. The blacksmith was furious, outraged beyond reason or explanation.

The diplomat watched the exchange between Amara and Zephyrus, hazel eyes flickering back and forth between the two. Amara, strident and angry. Zephyrus, calm and understanding. The meaning of Amara’s accusation did not escape Regina, though it seemed ludicrous in the extreme. How could someone possibly be controlling the myriad drifters and lost souls who had washed up in the tavern the previous night? Only the gods had that sort of power.

But whether the diplomat gave the accusation credence or not, it was clear that Amara was in such a state that she would brook no contradiction. She backhanded Zephyrus’ peace offering off the bar, ceramic shattering on wood with a sound that was like an icepick scraping the inside of Regina’s head. A diplomat’s duty is to convey her lord’s will. Doing that means diffusing tension and putting others at ease. Regina did not know the blacksmith well enough to say something comforting, but that did not leave her without recourse. Simply reminding the woman that her argument was taking place in a very public venue might be enough to diffuse the situation. Taking several careful steps away from Keystone, Nysha, and the table, Regina interjected a bland, polite, and utterly ridiculous question. “Your pardon, my ladies, but is there a problem?”



Sigil -> RE: ~*The Depths Of Chaos*~ IC (9/13/2015 22:13:58)

He was having the beginnings of a lovely, if slightly forced, conversation with an educated lady he assumed was of noble background, AND a lady of sylvan descent that made him slightly uncomfortable. He couldn't remember the last time he had taken breakfast with such interesting company. Then again, he didn't actually remember having another breakfast before, ever. Nevertheless, this seemed to be quite the event.

Naturally, he was quite put out when it was interrupted with screaming and shattering porcelain. It seemed a little early for yelling, especially when he wasn't directly the cause. Judging by his first clear memory, the last meal he attempted to have was interrupted, too. It was such a lovely pork roast. Pity. Why did this crap always have to happen when he was eating? He closed his eyes briefly and swallowed, then slowly took in a breath.

The exchange between Amara and Zepherus seemed like it was about to spill some interesting information about their present situation, so there was a good possibility that keeping quiet and listening would bear fruit fairly soon. Try not to chew loudly, take in what they're saying, piece things together later. Just wait.

Then the highborn lady what uses "forks" had to go and get involved.

Glancing to make sure that Nysha's attention was focused on the argument, and likewise Regina, Keystone began gathering items from the table he'd need when he made his move. Slowly, as not to attract attention, he stood. There was a time for diplomacy, and there was a time for action. He intended to act this morning. This was a tavern, attached to an Inn proper. There was a disturbance. Property of the establishment had been broken. This could become physical, and quickly. Decisive action must be taken, he was sure of it.

His mind flashed through many alehouses, many such common rooms. Fights, situations that were almost fights, thievery, stabbings, assaults... his duty was to stop it before it started, and respond directly when it did. The mild gnawing of several scars, reminders of time he misplaced a block or failed to properly control a patron's knife, reacted at the memories, almost causing him to drop the balanced weight behind him.

Keeping his hands (and the burden they carried) behind his back, Keystone advanced upon the scene with authority and confidence. Within striking distance, he stopped and impressively cracked his thick neck, eyeballing the pair all the while. His low voice rolled out in frank, business tones as he began, "Seems to be a disagreement."

Keystone brought his left foot back and bent his knees ever so slightly, preparing for the possibility of fast, initiated movement. He continued, "Mayhap you'd prefer it if I got involved." He tensed his arms, readying the surprise behind his back. "I know how we can solve this right bloody now."

A streak of movement unexpected from a man of his bulk brought around a plate, heaping with seared and smoky portions of thinly sliced, pan-seared fatback. Two forks protruded from the top of the heap of porcine goodness, metal handles jutting skyward at angles ergonomic in nature, inviting those nearby to pluck them from their nigh Arthurian resting places and indulge in the awesomeness of their breakfasty refuge.

"Bacon, ladies?"

Bacon, reasoned Keystone (for the second time this morning), can cover for many social indelicacies.



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