A Night Like Any Other? [Potentially M. Keisen]

[Zombie]

((No need to mirror-post~! This thread is rated [M] as a precaution for the potential of violence/gore, profanity, mindfuckery and anything else that might occur. XD))


Lately, the most commonly spoken-of rumor in Zantaric involved strange happenings in and around the jungle. Apparently, there had been reports of parts of the jungle seeming to have been distorted and nightmare-like; of animals seemingly having gone mad and making wild, screaming dashes for the safety of... anywhere but the jungle itself; birds flying in aimless circles before crashing to the ground, dead. More concerning though had been tales of apparent human-like shrieks and screams coming from the depths of that particular place; of people venturing into the verdant landscape and not returning. Oh, that wasn't to say no one ever returned lately; in fact, the herbalist Sedania had returned from what should have been a simple trek to forage herbs and flowers, only to return as a terrified, gibbering wreck that couldn't speak a coherent sentence and jumped at things that only she could see. Faen had taken a couple of dogs and had gone off to hunt; the dogs hadn't returned, but Faen had been beaten and battered almost beyond recognition; healers had been unable to do anything to help the poor sod.

While many of those rumors could have been written off as fabricated stories told by drunkards, it sounded as though at least a few of the claims had been substantiated by more than once person. If nothing else, the confusion and fear in the faces of the people that had been questioned made it clear that something was going on. There was always the possibility that it was either a fearsome beast that had been stumbled upon, or a group of bandits had a mage in their midst; though the large amount of coin the people of Zantaric were offering to anyone who found out what was happening almost made the whole situation seem worse than what they were letting on. Almost. At any rate, it was exceptionally strange to see rogues, hardened criminals and other outlaws in the grips of a panic.

Though the tall, one-eyed warrior had only intended to stop briefly in Zantaric; to visit a few associates and have a drink or five in one of the cheap, dingy little taverns, the rumors had flowed more freely than the questionable rotgut. The reward money for what sounded like a simple investigations job was something that she would be more than willing to lay claim to, as well- and it had been extremely easy to be hired for the task. She should have counted herself lucky that her subordinates knew that she preferred to work alone- and that most of them had finally been permitted a brief vacation, for what had been intended to be a day or two in Zantaric had just become a much longer stay.

------------

Afternoon had quickly given way to dusk; the previously clear, azure sky darkening to a heavy, bruised blue-violet hue. Tendrils of rose, crimson and gold stretched across the sky, a brilliant sunset obscurred by heavy, pregnant, iron-grey clouds. The drizzling rain offered just a little reprieve from the punishing humidity; flowers curling in on themselves, animals and insects quickly fleeing for the safety of their dens and nests to while away the long hours of the encroaching night. The foolish and poetic called that time of the evening the "witching hour," claimed that in the near-silence that fell between dusk and night was when the veil between worlds was the thinnest, though those claims had never actually been substantiated. Regardless, those fools had been completely wrong about the hallowed near-silence of such an hour: the raindrops beat a soft, muted drumming rhythm against the ground, forming ankle-deep puddles. Rodents rustled through the thick, verdant undergrowth and nocturnal creatures had begun to stir, rustling through the dense grasses.

The lone traveler meandered at a rather leisurely pace through the greenery; one hand never too far from the baselard or meat skewer at her hips. Solitary, night-black eye narrowed against the rain and her own sweat, the ashen warrior might as well have been a ghost, for all the noise she made while on the move. Though twigs snapped underfoot and the occasional rock or pebble was dislodged beneath her booted heels, the sounds were not too out of place. Watchful and wary of her surroundings, she plunged ever-deeper into the expansive flora; a transient guest that did not intend to remain for overly long.


Any animals within the traveler's vicinity would have been glanced at, but otherwise ignored as the warrior plunged deeper into the awaiting mouth of madness. There was no peculiar stench in the air that would have announced the presence of an unexpected beast; no sounds of massive feet crashing through the undergrowth, nor the sound of something's tail striking against a tree trunk. And yet, even the mercenary couldn't deny that something simply felt wrong, the further she walked. It wasn't anything that could have been written off as being a simple allergy or irritataion, nor as the beginning touches of some kind of heat sickness. Instead, it was the strange sensation of having her skin crawl, the hair on the back of her neck begin to rise, despite not seeing any immediate threats. Almost like an exceptionally irritating sound; the sort that was felt in the very back of the ear, rather than being actually heard. It simply defied explanation.

There was something just ahead; had the storm-induced haze and slowly-increasing rain not muddled her vision, she probably would have been able to clearly make out what she was looking at. As it was, it seemed as though the air up ahead was vaguely shimmering, not dissimilar from a heat mirage- and even at this distance, she could tell that there was something moving. Shaking her head in confusion, the silent fighter sought to close the distance between herself and whatever it was in the vicinity; if nothing else, her own curiosity would be momentarily satisfied by figuring out just what the hell was going on over there.

[Keisen]

The weather was... usual and the atmosphere was that of painful mundanity. Even the lump of meat with what it believed to be a personality was nothing special. Nechyon didn't even pay it much attention as the body convulsed and whimpered from time to time. Judging by how long he had spent here trying to alleviate his boredom, the creatures vocal chords must have gotten pretty raw, then again, every move probably plunged the piece of flesh further into agony.

It used to be a male mage of some sort, at this point Nechyon really couldn't and didn't care enough to find out more from the jumbled mess of its memories and thoughts. It was boring, useless, pointless. Why did he even bother chasing down this rat? Oh yes, he was bored, and it was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Nechyon looked at the man and added another crack to his mind and soul. It was somewhat fun, well, it was the only real purpose this meatbag ever had.

There was a silent echo in the still air. Someone was approaching and they seemed to be more of an entertainment than this poor fool. Nechyon smiled and took a deep breath. Was it someone from Zantaric, well, he sure hoped so. He waited until the guest could see him.

"Well," Nechyon said, "what have we here?"

[Zombie]

Son of a whore, the bastards weren't lying this time, Was the first rational thought to enter her mind since she'd begun noticing the disturbances; the distortions that weren't quite strong enough to be disorienting, but exceptionally irritating; grating on her nerves. Teeth clenched against the ever-strengthening, peculiar thrum that could be felt rather than heard, she increased her pace to a quick jog, heading toward the apparent source of the disturbances, rather than away. Morbid curiosity, an ingrained need to complete the mission she'd accepted and a simple lack of fear toward the unknown were the forces that pushed the soldier of misfortune forward. And what met her solitary eye when she finally devoured the distance between herself and whatever was causing the air to shimmer and writhe was enough to send her skidding to a stop perhaps a few feet away from what was swiftly unfolding.

A figure a little taller than herself, presumably human -or close enough- had apparently just finished dispatching a sorceror of some sort; it was difficult and unimportant to discern what the victim's magical expertise might have been. Though Zantaric was a place where criminality was permitted and murder wasn't usually consequential enough to warrant investigation, it seemed as though she might have stumbled upon the source of the town's rumors. If not, well, fate had carried her into the presence of a butcher, who may or may not have been the cause for the disturbances currently plaguing this particular part of the jungle. Forehead furrowing in perplexity, she encroached upon the killer's territory at last; coiled and poised to strike, if it became necessary to do so.

This particular guest was not of Zantaric origins; she didn't appear to belong anywhere on this plane of existence-- it wasn't that she was ethereal by any stretch of the imagination, but simply that, despite the studded leather armor she wore, she was an ashen serpent; a colorless being of greys, off-blacks and ivory. Her solitary eye met her quarry's questioningly, accusingly; posture rigid, head held at an impertinent, almost challenging angle. She'd expected to encounter some sort of eldritch beast wreaking havoc, perhaps at best, a fey creature that had lost control of its magic, not someone that was apparently at least somewhat human.

She didn't reach for any of the weapons she carried-- just yet, at least; nor did she activate her cloak's enchantment. Under other circumstances, she might have simply asked if he needed assistance with whatever business he had decided to conduct out here. As it was though, things still didn't set right; while part of her wanted to just claim that there was some sort of eldritch abomination elsewhere in the jungle, the way that the air almost seemed to be electrified here; the primally charged undercurrent that seemed to even make the leaves dance, only increased the overall sensation of wrongness.

Shaking her head as though refusing to answer this strange man's rather mild question, the silent warrior would pose her own inquiry, hands lifting to dance and contort in a series of quick gesticulations that would spell out: "Doesn't matter. Why are you out here?" She didn't know if he could understand sign language or not, but it was worth the risk- and she'd give him the momentary benefit of the doubt, going off the assumption that there was something else nearby creating those almost infuriating distortions.

[Keisen]

Nechyon smiled as he looked at the woman before him. The wind picked up and the sound of rusting leaves, coupled with the falling rain, consumed all the other sounds in their otherworldly dance. He twitched his fingers, and his entertainment had its neck snapped. It was a rather loud sound too, Nechyon had to wonder if the woman had heard it. If nothing else it would be entertaining, as an added benefit her reaction would reveal at least some aspects of her character. Well even if the sound didn't get to her, the sight was bound to. It was, after all, not every day that one saw a soul sapped from someone: brilliant golden stands leaving their eyes and condensing into a bleak spark, utterly dependent on whoever holds it. It was snuffed out without much effort. Yes, the meatbag had some power, but it was no more than drop in an ocean...

It was lucky, Nechyon believed, that the woman couldn't speak, her voice would have likely not reached his ears. Gestures though had an immunity to the rabid dance of nature around them. Nechyon didn't quite get the words she was obviously trying to convey - and honestly who even needed such an unreliable medium - but the general meaning did reach him.

His attention turned to the woman before him. Here she was, a creature of otherworldly grace, who like him did not entirely fit in the absurd order of reality. That had the potential to go beyond mere entertainment: this being was actually interesting enough to stand out to his eyes. The fact that she apparently knew what directing a conversation was while lacking the ability to do it was a curiosity, like a passing joke, which made Nechyon's smile a little wider. He did enjoy banter and all his previous victims were too busy either gloating or begging to have some actual conversation, nevermind an actual battle of wits.

A particularly determined drop of water smashed right into his right eye, making Nechyon suppress a small scowl. His coat was wet, his shirt was wet, his boots and his trousers were wet as well. Suddenly it got important, when a moment ago all these mundane matters didn't even deserve a passing thought. Now nature was just mocking him and it was getting annoying fast. He snapped his fingers and froze the rain in the clearing. The air wrapped until no further sounds could be heard and utter silence filled the space between Nechyon and the guest. He gave the woman another small smile, like a welcoming host. He knew he was showing off, but if a mortal was so easily impressed then they weren't worth his time.

"No, I suppose it doesn't," Nechyon replied, his voice the only presence between them. "I can see it after all. Now as to the nature of my business, I thought people in Zantaric had some manners and knew not to interfere with each other."

[Zombie]

Perendi's expression remained curious, yet calm for the most part, as she gave the man in front of her an appraising once-over; though he was a little taller, their height differences weren't so great that she would have been forced to incline her head upward to just make eye contact (that in and of itself didn't happen too frequently, which was something she was thankful for) and though she wouldn't have pegged him as being weak, he didn't strike her as being an exceptionally dangerous combatant- though she could have been wrong about that assessment. The wind's low, mournful song grew in intensity; the whisper of the leaves becoming even louder as the rain's tempo sought to drown everything else out. However, rising above even the din of the storm, was an unmistakable sound: the wet crunch and snap of bone audiably snapping. A single step would be taken in the direction of the now-dead mage, as though even now, the cursed mercenary sought to rescue him; though her arrival was far too late for anything of the sort.

Her jaws parted in bafflement and no small amount of building anger as the sight that reached her eyes defied any explanation she knew of: ethereal, bright golden threads seemed to be pulled by an unseen force from the deceased's eyes, condenscing into an even stranger-looking spark, before simply seeming to extinguish itself. A quick shake of her head was meant to quash what she'd believed to be some peculiar illusion or hallucination; neither fear nor malice graced her countenance, but rather, open confusion and disgust. The fingers of her left hand came up to hover near the onyx at her cloak's clasp; her right briefly brushing against the handle of the long, iron meat skewer at that hip. She wasn't going to foolishly charge in headlong without at least having a rough idea of what her would-be opponent might have been capable of; but the baring of one's fangs was symbolic.

Even though he didn't seem to completely grasp the words that she'd attempted to convey, it seemed as though he at least understood the meaning behind Perendi's gestures; she would lift the hand that still rested near her cloak's clasp to briefly cover her mouth, shaking her head once. Not a conveyance of "I'm a mute," but rather, "I will not speak." It wasn't apologetic by any stretch of the imagination; but merely an admission that the unearthly, unheavenly creature before her would (as far as she knew) have to try to infer the meaning behind what she tried to communicate-- the ground was far too wet and densely covered by plantlife for her to write or draw anything there; not to mention she had no idea if he knew how to read or not. They did seem to share some similarity; he certainly didn't seem to belong anywhere, no more than she did- which was interesting, in and of itself; perhaps, he was another afflicted by some manner of curse?

His widening smile was met by a calculatingly mild look and silent sigh; while the soldier of misfortune was someone that enjoyed intelligent conversation and battles of wit, even with the layer of her curse that carried horrible empathy, she wasn't able to "read" his intentions like she was able to unwillingly detect from so many others; rather than any clear emotion or purpose, there was a vague fog at the back of her mind- not stifling or even worrysome, but just there. Unlike her present company, though her studded leather armor and the clothing she wore beneath were drenched, she didn't mind the rain at all. However, the silence that came when he snapped his fingers and silenced both the wind and rain made it far easier for her to hear his voice; weathermancy was something that she'd heard about once before, mentioned by her mage (who was off galivanting only hell knew where, not that it was of any importance) when the other woman had been drunk and willing to discuss magic with one as inept in the art as Perendi.

An incline of her head was offered as a way of thanking the sorceror for making things a bit easier on them both; had her liquor flask been full, she would have returned the courtesy with an offering of whiskey; instead, she reached into one of her belt-pouches, the only one that had been smeared with a water-proof substance. Rifling past a few pieces of candy, her fingers closed around a cigar, along with her flint-and-tinder. Biting off one of the ends, she'd light it, briefly gesturing with the butt at the mage as though asking: "want one?" Exchanging politenesses wasn't unheard of, even with a potential adversary, even if he was trying to impress her.

"What do you see, then?" A mischievously mocking smirk accompanied those gestures; that smirk quickly becoming a shit-eating grin as she continued, countering with: "I never claimed to be from Zantaric; besides, I always thought sorcerers were careful enough not to be tracked so easily."

[Keisen]

The silence was truly welcome, now Nechyon didn't feel like he was a stray dog standing in the middle of nowhere. The air was absolutely still, unnatural, and he liked it that way. Nature was but another beast to be tamed, and tame it he would, eventually. For now, he would just enjoy the small break-ups in the natural order he caused.

The cigar was another interesting feature of this curious situation. Nechyon raised an eyebrow at it. He had never before been offered one. He, of course, tried them in the past, but they didn't quite impress him. Too bitter and grimy. If he wanted to feel excessive amounts of grime and oil, he could always open that portal to the timeless dimension and take a bath in its misleading shadowy currents. Granted, it would probably erode even more of his humanity, but it hardly mattered at that point.

"No thank you," Nechyon denied the offer. He decided not to even address that blatant attempt at getting him to talk about his observations. One really had to do better than that to trick him. Though a little amusement would be welcome. "Sorcerers," he chuckled, "yes, they do need to hide themselves - just like little children who stole a bunch of cookies... I need cover my tracks you see,"  Nechyon looked at the woman. "It would be absurd after all, for a wolf to hide from sheep."

Yes, he did notice the motions to get the blade and utilize the cloak, which gave off some magical energy, but it was rather inconsequential. What could a single woman do? Nechyon decided to entertain her a little while longer and then get it all over with. She seemed to have an inherent lack of fear judging by the rather telling fact of her simply coming so close to him - her soul would be an asset to him.

As if emphasizing Nechyon's message, all the moisture in the air vanished without a trace as soon as he finished speaking.

[Zombie]

Things were becoming more interesting by the moment: the lack of rain at the moment wasn't concerning, though the too-perfect stillness of the air made her skin crawl. She favored the movement of the storm; the war-drums of thunder and brilliant, sometimes blinding flashes of lightning; the cessation of movement could have been likened to the stillness of the grave, had she been of a poetic mind. The only things that made the preternatural stillness bearable were the simple facts that she could hear much more clearly without the storm raging on- and her armor, boots and cloak would be able to dry a little; not cling any longer. It was interesting, though perhaps not extremely remarkable, to witness just how strong this mage's control over weather truly was. Had she been a sheltered and coddled individual, she probably would have been quaking in fear before the mantis, rather than simply smirking at him.

She shrugged as he turned down her offer; it had been a simple formality and it wouldn't have surprised her at all if her host was well aware of that. The simple refusal to acknowledge her half-assed attempt at getting him to spill his observations and intentions was met with a careless shrug; it would be far more fun to try and force him to talk, anyway- if such things ended up being of any real signifigance. "You are one- and yet, you speak so lowly of your brethren," She signed, a hint of amusement gracing her heavily-scarred countenance. She was rather ignorant about the schools of magic and what its practicioners preferred to call themselves, for the most part; having absolutely no talent at all for the art left her with a lack of knowledge. His comment about not needing to cover his tracks went without comment, though she did roll her eye. "You're no wolf," She signed, her grin bold and irreverent, "You're just a damned vulture." Wolves were wise, noble creatures; she didn't think she saw either of those traits in her present company.

As far as she'd seen so far, that was as high as her esteem would go: wolves were graceful, formiddable creatures that most people feared, with reason. Vultures, on the other hand, were interesting; intelligent as they were, they still went after the dying and dead, took what they wanted from corpses and left the rest behind for another scavengers to find- they were fascinating nuisences, nothing more and nothing less. And yet, in an odd way, she had to admit that the overly-cocky man was amusing; perhaps it was just the way that he presented himself; full of bravado, yet willing to engage her in conversation, such as it was. Still, she couldn't overlook how he'd killed the hapless mage; nor those strange, glowing strands that he'd seemed to be in control of.

Perendi was willing to continue engaging him in their barbed banter; but before too much longer, she knew she'd have to put an end to the current situation. She had no reason to fear the mage at all; she'd faced down unholy creatures before and she damn sure wouldn't hesitate to kill. He would probably have been able to tell that, if anything, she was rather at ease in his presence and strangely humored; as though she found their encounter to be more comical than anything else, in spite of seeing what he'd done. She wasn't about to relinquish her soul to someone such as this strange being, though she was quite interested in seeing if he was all talk or not. "Tell me though," She signed, "If you're no sorceror, what the hell are you supposed to be, anyway?" That inquiry was more out of curiosity than anything else; asking for something more expected, such as a name or "why did you kill him, anyway?" weren't things that she was overly concerned about.

As the moisture in the air venished, her teeth clenched tightly, black eye glittering with defiance and no small measure of irritation; in that moment, it was just an annoyance, though before too long, she'd end up suffering the same way that she would have if they stood in a desert, rather than the lush, vibrant jungle. Lips curling back into a snarl, it seemed as though play-time was over: it was time to show this guy that the wasn't someone to be fucked with, knock him down a peg or two; if luck was on her side, she'd take him down and deliver his head on a silver platter to the people of Zantaric.

Dropping her cigar into a puddle, she would finally utilize the magic of her cloak's enchantment: touching the onyx at its clasp, it would seem as though the spreading shadows on the jungle's floor would writhe and twist their way along her limbs, pulling her into their embrace; once she was obscured from view (or so she thought she was; she had no idea if her opponent could see through the enchantment or not) she would not draw one of her blades: rather, she'd pull the war-hammer free from its harness on her back and begin circling, stalking around behind her opponent; if she completed her circuit unhindered, she would heft and swing her war-hammer at a diagonal, aiming its iron head between his shoulderblades in a rather playful-seeming blow.

[Keisen]

Nechyon saw the woman being consumed by shadows. So that was the purpose of the enchantment on the cloak. Adorable. He decided to humor her and let her try to land the first hit. After all, a It was funnier this way. Some small talk would help as well.

“Not a wolf you say?” he smirked. “Well,” he chuckled, “after I’m through with this world it won’t even matter.”

There was no reply. Pity.

“As for me being a sorcerer,” Nechyon outright laughed. “This,” he pointed at the corpse, “was a sorcerer, a water mage no less. He didn’t put up much of a fight, it was quite a disappointment,” he heaved an exaggerated sigh.

The stillness of the air contrasted nicely with the movement of this fight. Nechyon could almost feel his opponent shifting their weight from one leg to another, from one wet patch of land to the next. Methodically. Carefully. Like a cat circling a mouse. And yes! He felt the moment she lunged, swinging something heavy at him. It never got old seeing the weight of weapons fly for your head, moments from cutting or smashing it. It was laws of physics, of nature. Nechyon liked breaking them.

The hammer was about to hit him and then it seemingly flew by without meeting any obstacle in its way, not even reaching him.

“Did you think I was a complete pushover?” he chuckled. “It will take much more than an enchanted toy and some applied brutality to get me. Just ask him,” Nechyon gestured to the corpse on the ground. “You’ll be able to do it soon enough.”

There was a pause as he contemplated the dead body. “I suppose you could also ask him why I killed him, but he just wouldn’t know,” Nechyon grinned. “I might as well tell you... I was bored and this no-name was far too close to my location, so I decided to get some amusement - ended up draining his soul. He was mediocre at best,” he sighed. “Then again, wait a little while longer for concerning yourself with the dead, you’ll soon join them after all!”

One might wonder why Nechyon didn’t even try to retaliate, well the answer was simple. Every time he tried with other opponents, the fight would end. He wanted some real amusement, thus he would wait, give his opponent all the time in the world to reveal some more of those positively adorable tricks up her sleeve.

[Zombie]

An attempted first blow in such an encounter could have easily been likened to the courtly gesture of extending one's hand and bowing when inviting a noble to dance; whoever landed the first strike rarely ever determined who would get the last in- and in the back of her mind, the battle-loving woman could only hope that he was far more impressive a fighter than a conversationalist. There was no harm in small talk during such a confrontation though; on occasion, it could be used to either try to gauge the other's reaction- or try to piss them off immensely, make them let their guard down so a calculated hit could be landed.

Though she had yet to deactivate her cloak's enchantment, she rolled her eye and heaved a silent sigh at his words; perhaps even the thought of him being a vulture was granting the cocky bastard too much esteem; with his talk of wanting to destroy the world, he was more like a spider, or perhaps even a praying mantis. Definitely nothing as graceful and noble as the wolf he claimed to be, that much was certain. A low, indrawn breath; akin to a snake's warning hiss, was sucked between clenched teeth at his next words; his victim had indeed been a mage, though that didn't mean her opponent was not- he had yet to draw any kind of weapon, or even prepare a spell, as far as she could tell. It would have been just her luck that he could have been some sort of masochistic, lunatic heretic of a priest of some sort; she still had no idea just what the unholy creature might have been.

The stillness of the air was quite a peculiar contrast against her movement; she was far more used to feeling the wind whip her cloak and hair, offer some resistance against her hammer or a blade, while attempting to land a hit. That, coupled with the irritating dryness that remained, was a little on the strange and disconcerting side; she was unused to fighting in such conditions. Only adding to that perplexity was how, at the very last moment, her hammer seemed to jerk and twist away of its own accord, as though knocked aside by a monstrous adversary's parrying blade. She allowed that momentum to carry her forward, so that she was flanking her adversary on the left; if her hammer would not suffice, it was time to trade off for something more elegant-- sliding the hammer back into its harness on her back, she eschewed her baselard in favor of the long, straight blade of the meat skewer.

Stance widening as she readjusted her balance, she deactivated her cloak's enchantment, simply for ease of communication; one hand grasping that handle tightly as she slowly circled and feinted much like a fencer would have, one hand would swiftly sign: "So, you would fight the entire world? For what purpose?" An arched eyebrow and brief, upward thrust of her chin would likely illustrate that she was inquiring out of an odd sort of interest; she was curious about his intentions of course, but at the same time, wanted to see if she could goad him into doing something brash as she watched for an opening: "Look, kid, give up those delusions of yours, they'll never work- you're already going about everything the wrong way."

So, her opponent was just one of those bastards who killed in the name of fun? It didn't matter to her if he fancied himself a killer and a damn good one at that; she couldn't stand people who took another's life just for the fun of it, or to see if their victims would put up a struggle. Eye narrowing to a slit as she watched her opponent, her movements would speed up a bit as she quickly became accustomed to the heft of that rather new weapon; the thrust-and-retreat tactics of her feigned strikes shifting as she flipped the skewer so its blade would rest against the underside of her fore-arm; moving in toward his left side, she would come in fast and hard, whipping that skewer straight out at the last moment, she would hold it straight out like a battering ram, attempting to gore him through the calf, just below the kneecap.

[Keisen]

Nechyon smiled indulgently at the woman as she attempted to bait him. One really had to try better. Such cheap tactics wouldn’t work. Then again, answering one of her questions could add to the fun

“Fight the world?” he chuckled. “That implies the world has the ability to fight back - such a ridiculous thought. What’s a world in the grand scheme of things?” he asked. “It’s nothing but a speck of grime, and the likes of you are only protected from the misery of your own existance by the sheer ignorance of your petty little minds.”

The earth shifted as the woman lunged at Nechyon, her weight cutting through the air - an impressive display of the laws of physics in action. Nechyon decided to mess with it. Since when did he allow nature to carry out its spectacles uninterrupted after all? He would become the One True God and then everything would obey his truth.

As soon as the trained warrior prepared to land and every time she made a step, the earth under her feet would extend just a little, just a little bit of new space for every step she took. And when the attacks came, none of them reached Nechyon, all lost in the warped space, missing him by mere inches. He grinned at that, a mad glint in his eye.

“I’ve got a wonderful idea!” he exclaimed. “Let’s speed it up, shall we?” Nechyon asked, swinging his palm in the general direction of his opponent. The ground shuddered, crunched like a spring, anticipating, vibrating with energy. Then the primal forces were unleashed and the spring released with a deafening crack as the ground collapsed into a thousand smaller rocks that were blown away as if by some ungodly wind. Only a deep wide crater was left, Nechyon standing at the edge. The air still refused to move.

“I hope you’re alive yet...” he observed the devastation. “It wouldn’t be too entertaining if you simply died...”

[Zombie]

Perendi simply arched an eyebrow incredulously at his indulgent smile; though outwardly, she appeared to remain composed, perhaps even a bit bored, she was still awash with a mixture of curiosity and confusion- her adversary was becoming more interesting than anything else, even if she was finding him to be even more difficult to comprehend than she'd initially thought. "You... don't know how willing and able it is to fight back against you," She signed quickly, a hint of a frustrated glower beginning to contort her face at his laughter- was he truly delusional enough to believe what he was saying? Was there any justification behind those incomprehensible thoughts, or was he simply a madman? It was too soon to tell, either way. "What do you think you'd possibly gain by trying to destroy everything, kill everyone?" She merely didn't understand his world-views and was trying to see if there might have been a real motive; anything there beyond "I'm bored."

She shook her head when he proclaimed the world as nothing more than grime, "You're mistaken; there's far more here than filth, just open your gods-damned eyes." Her lip curled into a derisive sneer as she signed that last statement. There was clearly irony behind the position she'd been pushed into: a sword-for-hire who wasn't heroic by any stretch of the imagination, trying to offer counter-arguments to someone who apparently despised all of existence, had a strong nihilistic convicition that she would have written off as nothing more than lunacy, had he not sounded and acted so gods-damned sane.

A gasp of surprise tore itself from her throat as the ground seemed to undulate and shift even as she lunged; as though the earth was about to give back its dead. The rules of nature dictated that nothing of the sort should have been possible- and yet, it was; sending her off-balance as she lunged toward the strangely playful-seeming man. Regardless of how it seemed as though his will had taken control of the jungle itself, she wasn't going to let this machine of destruction exert his will over her, or the people of Zantaric. She would prove that his truths were nothing more than lies, no matter what immense difficulties rose up to meet her along the way.

The cracks and fissures that opened underfoot kept her stumbling and a bit off-balance as she surged forward; that staggering was probably what had kept her skewer from finding its home in his flesh; a low, animalistic growl rose in her throat as the hair along the back of her neck continued to rise, causing goosebumps as their surroundings seemed to bend and warp. Though her breath caught in her throat, his maddened grin was met by a shit-eating one of her own; skewer falling from her white-knuckled grasp as the earth truly began to buck in protest, nearly sending her to her knees. "Why not? I've never been a fan of waltzes!" Her fingers danced in sign as she winked saucily, two fingers curving in the generally-understood "come on, then!" gesture. She wanted to see what he was truly capable of; the constant deflection of her attacks was starting to become dull.

As the ground shuddered and tremored, her stance widened, knees bending as she prepared to spring forward, anticipating nothing more than yet another series of tremors and quakes, wincing at the sound of that deafening crack; lowering her head and pivoting to avoid a soaring stone to the temple; instead, one of the smaller rocks clipped her jaw with an audiable smack- its force was enough to knock her teeth together, make her bite her tongue and see momentary pinpricks of white light dance before her eye- within the next few minutes, she'd be sporting a rather nasty, aching bruise. One arm would come up to shield her face against the onslaught of earthen projectiles, even as she began backpedaling.

The ground continued to open, seemingly opening wider with every step that she took; crumbling more quickly than she could dart away. Finally, the erosion caught up to her, booted feet scrabbling ineffectively as she fell; a breathless grunt tearing itself from her throat as her arms shot upward to grasp at the lip of the crater; for a few agonizing seconds, it seemed as though she'd simply loose her grip and tumble to her death- though once she finally caught hold of the ground above, she would begin hauling herself upward, inch by inch; scrabbling and digging in to the dirt, despite her muscles' protesting. Panting, a little scraped and bruised from the skittering rocks that had bounced off her head and arms, sweat beginning to drip into her eye, she was finally able to pull herself to her knees; basalt-dark eye glittering defiantly as she glared at her opponent who was now only a few feet from where she crouched. "You don't have what it takes to kill me," She signed.

Giving no warning, she would propel herself upward and forward from that crouch, once again trying to swallow the distance between herself and her opponent. Though she hadn't re-armed herself just yet, she would lower her head and charge; attempting a simple grapple; an attempt to take him off his feet; simultaneously, she would attempt a vicious bull-like headbutt; seeking to ram her head into his sternum- anything that would buy her the few minutes it would take to come up with a new plan of attack and re-arm herself.

[Keisen]

Nechyon stood, surveying destruction, it was just beyond the edge, this silent abyss left in the wake of his power. It was somewhat exhilarating - standing just out of reach of death, an inch from assured annihilation. There was a grunt and Nechyon turned to its source. The woman was alive and climbing onto the stable ground. The sound of her suffering was so satisfying. It made his grin even wider.

"Open my eyes you say?" he practically cackled. "Oh my eyes are open! Do you think this has a meaning?" Nechyon waved his hand around the jungle and the sky that wouldn't stop raining. "Do you think it even matters? It's a delusion that there is anything of importance in any world, no matter where you look. All that matters is power. So come at me little fighter, let's put yours to the test.

When the woman actually charged at him, Nechyon wanted to laugh. He decided not to shield himself just yet and instead create some additional space between them, so that the girl would miss him only by an inch and land in the mud right at his feet. Yes, it would be so satisfying. There was just one joke the nature decided to play to apparently get back at him. His foot slipped, and while Nechyon did regain his footing, the additional inch between him and the woman's fist was no more.

There was flash of white before his eyes, as his nose bore the whole force of impact. The woman's momentum was enough to make him stumble again, this time straight into the abyss of his own creation. A brief sensation of weightlessness came to a sudden and bitter end as his body fell hard on the sharp rocks, pain flaring across his back and erupting like a volcano in his side.

Nechyon gasped for breath as he opened his eyes. The lifeless grey sky was blindly staring back at him. It took a moment to turn his head to the source of the incredible pain in his gut. His right side was impaled by the woman's sword she apparently dropped when he started this earthquake. He cursed, it was humiliating. He was supposed to be the conqueror, not the defeated. Nechyon gasped again as he levitated the sword out of his body and away to the side. He tried to breath deeply, to relax and halt the bleeding.

[Zombie]

It would seem as though they weren't quite as dissimilar as they'd seemed to be; though the combatants decidedly weren't cut from the same cloth, the warrior only truly sprang to life when she was cheating death or staring it in its face- and her foe apparently liked to challenge things that he'd be better off not pushing. Perhaps it was that single similarity, or perhaps the even simpler fact that her opponent appeared to be somewhat younger than her, that made her realize that she didn't hate him. She was amused by the mage, certainly; irritated and confused by, there was no question about it- and there was still the fact that something had to do about what she'd witnessed. The peculiar situation was enough that she wasn't about to relent- and she'd match his grin with one of her own; as though they were engaged in nothing more than an exceptionally fun and challenging game of cards.

"You're blind, then," She signed, shaking her head and clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth as though in reprimand; "There are more important things than power or money," Though she was after both, there was a purpose behind her acquisition of wealth and power; a reason that woud be reaching fruition soon enough. Existence, even that of the rain-sodden jungle, did indeed have meaning, even if her opponent was either too cynical or arrogant to see that simple truth. She wasn't stupid or poetic enough to claim that there was some underlying, unifying force that ascribed meaning to anything- it was up to each creature and individual to find their own meaning. And she would make that much known: "What's important to anyone else might not be important to you, but there's value to be found in everything."

She grinned quite broadly as her opponent lef his guard down; though it seemed as though he intended to prolong their little dance, the world had apparently decided to play an entirely comical joke: the smug, arrogant bastard apparently stumbled on a rock- and rather than grappling him as she'd intended, the splintering, cracking sensation of his nasal cartilege protesting beneath the force of her fist was more than enough to make her teasing grin grow all the wider. As he tumbled into the yawning expanse of the crater, her momentum continued to carry her forward; until she'd stumbled a few paces away from the lip of the chasm, pivoting on her heels to see if he'd managed to survive the fall or not. Picking up one of the many rocks, she'd hurl it into the chasm; an attempt to try and discern how deep the pit truly was- and to hear if it struck anything other than hard, earthen walls- or perhaps the bottom of the fissure. If she'd wanted to experience the agony of her curse, she would have screamed something like:"I hope you're not dead yet" at him. As it was, the rock would have to serve as her messenger, if her aim was remotely true.

Someone else might have simply assumed their adversary to be defeated and would have taken the time to retreat to collect their pay and claim victory. Perendi, though she was drenched to the point that it would have taken a few hours to dry off, was bruised, sore, a bit tired and had probably ended up pulling a muscle in one of her arms when she'd hauled herself back out of the chasm, would remain where she was for a few minutes; see if there were any signs of life coming from the chasm. With any luck, their little confrontation hadn't ended so abruptly- she'd been enjoying herself, after all.

[Keisen]

Nechyon heaved a heavy sigh, followed by a lot of blood. The woman didn't understand a word he said. It was frustrating since the similarities were there, she just chose to ignore the truth when confronted by it, to seek some arbitrary rights instead of acknowledging the only truth... No, he would never siccumb to that lunacy. He would rise above it all, learn and grow more powerful until he was no longer bound by the order of the universe, of realities and consequences. Even the indifferent endless abyss will have to bow to him.

There was no time to fight any longer though. Nechyon could feel his body giving up, letting blackness creep in, and preparing to go into a regenerative coma. He was rather lucky that the timeless dimension transformed him, else he might have already been dead. He smiled. That woman's soul was existing on borrowed time.

Nechyon's body became a distorted, oily silhouette, shadowy tentacles stretched from it and pulled his form from the chasm, propelling it into the depth of the forest, only dead trees in its wake.

[Zombie]

Perendi shook her head and thumped the ground in frustration. It had been clear that she wasn't getting through to the man and he was apparently either incapable or unwilling to accept that he was wrong! Even though she could have been considered a killer herself, that was where the differences began: she fought for herself and because she was needed, whereas he seemed to engage in the same just because he apparently thought it was fun. She sought to control the battlefield, not to destroy the world. Neither were willing to even try and understand the other's perspectives- and that was all it really was, a difference of perspective. But one that was strong enough for fate to draw them together in a clash of both blades and wills; a pair of juggernauts on opposite sides of the killing field.

It seemed that their game had come to a stalemate, however: Perendi saw no movement emerging from the pit, at least not at that moment. However, her waiting was not in vain- for the moment that she'd thought she'd give up her vigilance and head back to Zantaric for the evening, something emerged from that chasm: the image of pure, unknowable distortion; oily and shadow-shrouded, betentacled. The fuck is it? She thought, lurching to her feet as it flowed deeper into the dense jungle. Retrieving her skewer and sliding it through her belt yet again, any thoughts of grabbing something potent at one of the alehouses quickly fled her mind: the hunt had just begun.

Accompanied only by the relentlessly-pouring rain and the irregular drumroll of thunder, she sat off through the thick undergrowth once more, following the path she'd watched those tentacles depart along; baselard drawn so she could slice through stubborn vines and thick, tough grasses along the way. If she hadn't hallucinated that... thing, which she had no name for, there was no way that she could let him escape now. He was living on borrowed time- and she was determined that she would end it, no matter what it might take; she'd let him see first-hand what it was like to be chased down by a hunting dog- one that didn't know what it meant to give up once her sights were set on something.

Perhaps she should have been fearful of the abomination that she chased; perhaps her utter lack of real terror was something that would end up spelling her undoing, either now or in the future- but she had no reason to give consderation to such things. Instead, she was determined that she wasn't going to let her quarry escape- there was too much riding on her taking the otherworldly bastard down; far too much at stake. Had the reward offered not been as substantial as it was, had she not become invested in the job at hand, things would have been different. Tracking the peculiar beast was difficult; there wasn't much of a trail to follow, but it was there. Having no idea whether the monstrosity was already on its way to the opposite end of the jungle or not, all she could do was increase her pace from a jog to an outright run; hopping over fallen log and upturned root alike, swerving to avoid large holes along the way and simply reaching out to shove off of one tree trunk or another when she drew too near to them, rather than veering completely off the trail.

With luck, she'd manage to catch up with the abomination.

[Keisen]

Twilight was over and darkness reigned supreme as the last rays of sunlight were snuffed out. Trees and rain slashed at Perendi with ferocity unseen before as if angered and offended by her mere presence. Heavy wet leaves trembled like oily shadows in the winding bleak light of the moon, flashing as whispering faces and rattling tongues.

The trail was becoming more pronounced the further into the jungle Perendi went until she was confronted with a clearing. Though even with the absence of trees not much could be seen. A small stone structure was utterly alone, a battered soldier in the surrounding tempest of the trembling forest. It was unmoving, unflinching, silent. Its walls were pitch-black, even the night sky, filled with clouds and something that attempted to be the moon, was brighter than this material. Yet there was no roof and the rain gleefully poured inside, all over the small destroyed hut.

It was obvious why the ruin was here. It used to be a house of a woodcutter, or perhaps a hunter in times long forgotten. It stood as a memory, a testament and an offer. An unasked question glared at everyone who came near its grimy decrepit walls.

[Zombie]

There was something undeniably eerie about the way that particular nightfall descended; something inexplicably not quite right about how the last tenacious sun-rays flickered and were finally snuffed out like candle-flame. The ponderous, bruised violet-grey of tempestuous twilight was swiftly overcome by the heavy, ponderous blanket of celestial darkness; the bleak, wan moon may as well have been the single eye of some long-forgotten, forsaken deity staring callously from its unhallowed throne. Nothing now but music of the night accompanied the warrior: the wet, sobbing whispers of trembling leaves, barely discernible above the erratic splintering crash of lightning that seemed to split the sky into two; the ferocious, pounding war-drums of thunder's pealing, the viciously-shrieking voices of the howling wind. Battered leaves and barren branches clutched desperately at the snake's armor as she made her way through the heavy undergrowth that seemed intent on wrapping around her legs; nocturnal-blooming flowers dripping with foul nectar even as the intangible blades of the storm shredded them; shifting, oily shadows stretching and writhing across the obscured passageway she traveled along.

Wind-whipped tree branches struck her armored sides and limbs, swaying vines snapping against her face and back, scourge-like in their rage. The torrential rain had saturated her cloak, penetrating past overly-drenched studded armor and the clothing beneath; plastered her hair flat to her head and flooded her boots, forced her to narrow her eye to a mere slit. Phantasmal figures and faces darted in and out of her peripheral vision; taunting in incomprehensible, slimy-sounding, rattling tongues of bygone eras, of madness. It seemed as though the very spirits of nature itself were forcing their way through the gossamer-thin veil that separated the living from the dead; unknowable, restless ghosts surging forth from half-formed dreamlands and unformed nightmares, to protest her arrival, even as the rain itself seemed determined to drown her as she slogged through thick, squelching mud and the occasional calf-deep puddles.

The old, worn trail began to widen as the ashen warrior's pace slowed again from a run to a jog -so that she could maintain her balance amid the sodden, slippery foliage and mosses, occasionally upward-jutting tree root, occasional barely-visible large rock and the treachery of misstepping in ever-deepening water. Breathing heavily through clenched teeth, spine rigid as she plunged deeper into the jungle, knuckles growing white around the hilt of her baselard as she hacked her way through the assault of the flora, Perendi may have been unsettled and concerned-- not only about losing her prey's trail, but the unfavorable conditions of that night itself as well, but she wasn't going to let herself fall victim to the fear that sought to bite at her ankles. She'd never been apprehensive of the dark before- and despite the sorrowful spectres that apparently wanted to close in around her, they had yet to do anything but wail and lament the lives they'd lost; they weren't anything to be overly concerned about (at least not yet, as far as she could tell.)

Though a combination of niggling frustration in the back of her mind about possibly losing her prey's trail to the ever-rising potential floodwaters and the sensation of going forward in reverse -of drowning in time- gripped at the soldier of misfortune, it seemed as though lady luck had decided to grace her, if just momentarily. For she had finally plunged into a clearing. A clearing that, though it was bereft of life, housed a single structure: a lone sentinel that stood bravely in the face of entropy, stood against the violent assault of the storm and the quivering jungle itself. A tar-dark, dilapidated and roofless, ramshackle ruin of a hut, both inviting and seemingly demanding at the same time; as though daring anyone to enter.

Drawing a deep breath and reversing the grip on her baselard in case any living creature lurked in waiting, Perendi shoved her waterlogged hair out of her face and took the plunge, striding into the awaiting maw of the stone-and-wood structure.

[Keisen]

The hut was a refuge some long time ago for some long dead inhabitants, yet now it provided no shelter from the elements or the night as rain fell with indifferent triumph. The only creatures it housed were imaginary monsters that parents used to scare disobedient children into compliance. They hid in the dark corners, sleeping, waiting, as the walls vibrated with their soft snores and the suddenly all too big clearing resonated with a silent meek echo, warning the trees and bushes to mind their distance.

The ground was even more muddy inside than on the outside, squanching loudly enough to be heard over the rain with every step Perendi took. There was nothing overtly strange here, eerie maybe, but nothing to suggest that an otherworldly abomination lived in this place. Perhaps the air was a little colder and not a single plant grew there... But that could easily be explained by lack of sunlight and too frequent rains.

Each wall was decrepit and dirty, some of the stains might have been older than Adela. Each crack cast an ominous trembling shadow on the stone around it, like creases and wrinkles on an unbelievably ancient face. They each observed Perendi like they observed everything - impassively, without much care or consideration, whispering between themselves in the quiet gusts of wind a normal human could in any other circumstances never hope to hear. The rain was the devil in this case. Its relentless drum coincided with the silent exchange and turned it into an ever-louder crescendo, a tidal wave of silent shouts and mad howls.

A flash of lightning wove through the fabric of the sky and just for a second illuminated the hut. Perendi had just enough time to make out an unusually smooth surface, contrasting greatly with the muddled ground beneath her feet, yet fading into the dirt seemlessly, as if it was supposed to be there. It stood silently, but promised to withstand an apocalypse if needed and was certainly not set on letting anyone discover its secrets.

[Zombie]

Though she was accustomed to traveling and even sleeping in unfavorable conditions, the hut wouldn't supply even the most meager shelter against the onslaught of the raging storm; nor the creatures that would have found favor with the torrential downpour. Though the shadows flickered and wavered, housing something infathomable that may have been real or imaginary, those nightmares would remain the structure's only inhabitants. The chill in the air, the echoes of time that resonated through the ruins, even the lack of plantlife, suggested that something may have been once there before, but no longer. Besides, the lack of life in the building was easy enough to understand; its location had been poorly planned and it probably rested in shade, even during the heat of the day- poor judgement may have simply been the hut and its long-since-departed master's undoing.

When the brilliant flash of lightning shattered the greasy darkness of the night and cast the hut into stark relief, she was just barely able to make out a symmetrical and age-worn smooth area beneath her feet; though the stone was worn and buried enough in the muck that it was of little consequence. This was clearly the wrong place to be in; nothing of any value, no true information to be gleaned. Unfortunately, it was far too dark to continue onward; even if she'd had a torch, the fire would have been gutted hours ago-- the only option was to make a hasty retreat back to Zantaric, spend a night at one of the inns and wait for daylight to finally break.

Thankfully, the lodgings that had been procured were cheap- and it was far easier for a single drenched, armored woman to negotiate a fair rate on a room, some whiskey and a meal. Though the whiskey had been watered, the stew had been badly burnt and the bed she'd slept in hadn't exactly been comfortable, it was better than spending the night in a stable. And for thirty copper, she couldn't have exactly complained.

----

Well-rested, dry and in a somewhat better mood than she had been last night, Perendi decided to continue the hunt. Her company wasn't due to be in Zantaric for a few more days- and though she would have liked to have had some means to contact Parezi and the others to let them know what was going on, it wasn't anything monumental, as far as she was concerned. So, with the new day's light rising to greet her, it was time to head out once again; this time, tackling the humidity of the nearly-flooded jungle as she wasted no time heading for the hut once again; entering it long enough to find that the smooth surface she'd seen last night had been naught but a single floor-stone; a thin, cracked and grey slab that (as far as she knew) wasn't of any importance. Nevertheless, she would spend some time trying to unseat that stone from its muddy throne and see if there was anything hidden beneath.

If those efforts proved to be unfruitful, it was time to continue onward, deeper into the jungle; with the hopes that the trail had not yet gone cold.

[Keisen]

As Perendi pressed onward, she was surrounded not by a forest fresh from the rain, lively and lush. Indeed, it was depressing, the silent sounds, quiet gusts of wind that rustled fickle leaves here and there. This quite whisper was her only companion as no bird could have been heard singing. The ground was still somewhat muddy and squelched with her every step.

It was strange, but despite everything being in order and nothing irregular happening, Perendi soon found herself standing in the exact same clearing, the exact same ruin standing silently, glaring at her. It was inevitable that she got closer and investigated the insides.

The cracks and grime were still there, untouched by the currents of water poured over them from the sky yesterday. The corners still housed the trembling shadows and dirt still lacked any plant life. The difference was the color: it was black, just as the walls of the hut. As if spilt oil the fabric of the ground washed over a single monolithic stone to her left. It lay there, not showing any signs of erosion or damage, its polished surface taunting nature and bragging to the surrounding stones and trees about its perceived immortality.

Upon closer inspection it became obvious that there was something beneath the smooth surface. It was a painting, though the paint appeared to be a part of the stone. A sun, shining its black light for the world to see, an a crescent inside its brilliant sphere. The image challenged her, mocked her for being inadequate. As if it was the depicted stellar bodies looking down on Perendi and not the other way around, as if time and space were nothing but funny jokes to them.