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Amor Fati (Open) (M)

Started by Valtxr, May 22, 2017, 02:30:04 PM

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Valtxr

   Jessos Rains lay spread-eagle on her bed. Soaked in sweat. Staring up at the ceiling of her room. Wishing to fight a formless foe. Wishing to die a righteous death.

   Deep in the Niraya district of Reajh, a large textile mill. Underneath the seamstresses that worked the looms of the ground floor, a hidden facility: the Pit. A haven of drugs and illegal activity. And Jessos Rains' home.
   After arriving back in Reajh from Cerenis, she spent most of her mornings in her personal room in the Pit. A small room, lit by a white-light lantern hanging from the ceiling. The sheets on her bed a chaotic mess. A large wooden trunk in one corner by the bed, a small table in the other. Pairs of pants and cloth chestwraps were strewn about the floor. Her boots and socks, aligned neatly against the wall, were the only thing in order inside the room.
   A routine. To push herself to her physical limits. Wearing solely her underwear, she did push-ups in front of her bed. Up. Down. Up. Down. Until sweat dripped from her forehead to the floor. Until her arms quivered and burned and refused to lift her body back up. And she collapsed.
   Then to the foot of the bed, hooking her feet under it. Sit-ups. Her fingers entwined behind her head. Up. Down. Up. Down. Until her abdomen burned. Until she started up and got halfway and her body shuddered and she grit her teeth and her muscles could do no more. And she collapsed.
   She stared up at the lantern. Breathed heavy. Ignored the fire in her arms and in her stomach.
   This was not her fate.
   And yet here she was.
   Rains carefully pushed herself back up onto her feet and sat down cross-legged on her bed. She closed her eyes and rested her hands on her knees. Relaxed her aching body. Allowed her breathing to slow. Paid close attention to the pain in her muscles, to the simple sensation of air flowing in and out of her nose, in and out of her chest. Thoughts intruded, bubbling up in consciousness, as they always did. Back to the breath. The steady flow of it. The old, stuffy, humid, underground air of the Pit. The faint smell of her perfume, lingering around the table near her bed. And the thoughts came for her again.
   Rains' nameless daughter. Her bones. In that cell. In the ground.
   The dungeon. The blackness. Deegan. Coming down the stairs. Undoing his belt. Touching Rains. Smelling her. Licking her. Dominating her. Over and over.
   Deegan. The old and frail man. In bed.
   Sharon. The smoking pistol pointed at him. His death by her hands.
   Rains' meditation brought her to a simple and terrifying conclusion: she was wrong. This was her fate. This was not the life in which she would get her revenge on Deegan.
   It was the Darkening of Samsara. The worsening of each successive life, the progressive increase of suffering until the worst possible misery. Such was the fate of all who lived and died.
   And some day, in the next life, and the next, and all the others to follow, Rains would be back in that dungeon. With Deegan.
   And some day, in a life far away and yet to come, she would never escape that dungeon. Trapped there. With him.
   And in that life—that awful, awful life—Monarch's gaze would truly be upon her.
   Rains shook her head. Failing now to even notice that she was still breathing. Still living this life.
   Her thoughts. Of the dungeon. Of Deegan. Of their daughter. Of him murdering her.
   Rage flowed into her burning muscles. Tensing them. Her hands clamped down hard on her knees, seeking to strangle the life out of a foe who was already dead. Her teeth clenched, driven into each other by a fury unguided. Such a wellspring of anger, directed at naught but ghosts and apparitions in the darkness of her mind, the faceless and imagined men of Deegan's ilk. If she could not destroy Deegan in this life, then perhaps she could destroy them. Surely, they were out there. In Reajh. Haunting her thoughts as surely as they ravaged the innocent in the dead of night. Somewhere. Just out of reach. Another man, another Deegan, waited for her hands, her hatchets, to slay him.
   She allowed herself to flop back onto her bed. Lay there, spread-eagle. Soaked in sweat. Staring up at the ceiling of her room. Wishing. Wishing.

* * * * *

   Rains got dressed and left Sergio, her second-in-command, in charge of the Pit and headed out.
   She walked out of the Niraya district and all the way to a tavern called The Tipped Hand. Not a very lively atmosphere this early in the morning. Sparsely populated, only five patrons. All quiet. All drinking to themselves. Not even the usual haze of smoke.
   The bartender's look soured when he saw her. He didn't like her, mostly because she never drank. If not for the good word of Jorge Vrouge, a regular here, he probably would have just asked her to leave.
   Rains sat down at the bar. Hunched over some. Her hands entwined and rested on the wood. Staring down at them.
   "You gonna have anything while you wait, today?" the bartender asked.
   Rains said nothing.
   "Live a little, why don't ya?"
   Rains said nothing.
   The bartender snickered. Walked away. Refilled another patron's mug with ale.
   And Rains waited for Jorge to show. He would, in due time. He had convinced her to visit the new brothel behind Market Street, the one he had told her about in Cerenis. And she needed it. The stress of leading her men and the drug operations in the Pit by herself. The stress of anticipating an eventual betrayal by Mr. Winters, of an attack and final stand in the Pit. The stress of living in a nightmare when she could have died in a dream.
   A clatter. Glass on wood. Bone on wood.
   "Hey, give me all your coin, you fuckin' cunt."
   Rains glanced over. A heavy-set man had a patron's head pinned against the bar. Her heart swelled. Finally. Finally.
   Just as she was about to stand and unholster her hatchets from her belt, the pinned man got a look at his attacker.
   And laughed.
   "Jon! You asshole! You scared the shit outta me!"
   Jon laughed as well. "Ah! Got you good, didn't I, Lonergan? How you been?"
   Lonergan stood. And the two men embraced. Clapping each other on the back as they did. Let each other go.
   Rains glared at Jon. Her muscles tensing. Her hands balling into fists. Her nostrils flaring. Her lips curling back to expose grinding teeth.
   She stood and walked toward him and pushed Lonergan out of the way.
   And punched Jon as hard as she could in the face.
   The man yelped in surprise, stumbled back, holding his nose with both hands. The entire tavern seemed to freeze. All eyes on Rains and Jon.
   "Strike this body," Rains said.
   Jon looked back to her. His eyes full of shock and fear. "W-What?"
   Rains grabbed him by the back of his head and slammed his skull down onto the bar. A glass of ale tumbled and rolled and fell and shattered on the floor. Lonergan yelled out and jumped back from Rains.
   But no one did anything. No one tried to stop her when she pounced down on Jon and straddled him and started pounding his face with furious punches. Her knuckles smashed his eyes. His nose. His mouth. Her fingers wet and warm with his blood. Her own blood as her skin broke against the bone of his skull and the enamel of his teeth.
   He wasn't Jon. He wasn't an innocent man.
   He was Deegan.
   And he was raping those little girls again. Over and over. All seventeen of them. Defiled. Used. Dominated. Murdered and discarded when they were old enough to bear children.
   And Rains beat him. She beat him for them. She beat him for herself. She beat him for her murdered daughter.
   She beat him until his entire face was red with blood.
   Rains stopped. Panting as a victorious grin spread across her face. Her bloody hands quivering with excitement.
   Jon shivered. Gagged. Coughed hard enough for his whole body to jerk. Droplets of blood erupted from his mouth. An oozing river of blood and broken teeth leaking from his lips.
   Rains slowly looked back. Over her shoulder at the other patrons and the bartender.
   They all took a cautious step away from her.

Wycliff

Humans. Sheol swore, they were all such ignorant, pitiful creatures. They'd had the gall to hinder his passage in their giant nest, tried to chase him off lands that belonged to no one, least of all them, and now, one of them was interrupting his meal. He took an aggravated bite of the steak he'd been chewing on. At least they were as easily captivated by shiny metals as his brethren. He supposed some things were consistent across various races, the attribution of value to beauty.

The young boy stood from his chair, falling a few inches to the floor. It would never occur to him how odd he looked, as he had no great knowledge nor interest in human culture, but he appeared as a child of no more than twelve years, at the oldest. A cloak covered of crystal horns that protruded from his forehead, a cloth he'd found useful in keeping the humans from gawking or bothering him, especially since he was very low on mass at the time being, so his body unnaturally small. He sauntered over to the ruckus from his chair, speaking in a higher pitched voice than he would prefer. "Could you fools take your bickering elsewhere? You're interrupting my meal." It sounded as though an innocent child had adopted the language of his loud mouthed, sailor father.


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Valtxr

   The Tipped Hand was not a place of high standards. No one had paid the boy much heed when he had first entered. Questions weren't asked, and not one man in the building cared that a child was in such an environment. Even the sole and short interaction with the bartender hadn't prompted any concern. The bartender had gotten his gold for the steak, and that was all that mattered.
   Now the boy had stepped forward, where all the men had stepped back. Yet they made no motion to rush forward. To keep him back from the dangerous woman. They merely eyed him and the woman from a distance.

   Rains' gaze fell to the child. The fury fading from her eyes. A perplexed look overcoming her as she regarded him. Surely an apparition. A manifestation of an encroaching madness.
   He said something. Words lost to a clouded mind.
   Rains could only see the dungeon. Or another dungeon just like it. The boy inside. Suffering the same fate as Deegan's girls. Perhaps it was even happening right now, somewhere in Reajh, as she...as she...
   Rains blinked several times. Felt the body of a man underneath her. Looked down to his battered face.
   And he was Jon again.
   An innocent man. A bloody mess. That could die from the beating. From choking on his own blood and teeth. From his body giving out. And that meant Rains would die. For nothing. The black patch of skin surrounded by runes, peeking out from just underneath her chestwrap, would not discriminate.
   Rains slid off of the man. Kneeled next to him. Turned his head to one side.
   "Spit," she said. "Spit it out."
   Jon did as she asked, making feeble attempts to spit out all the blood that had collected in his mouth. It dribbled to the floor. Bloody strings of saliva hanging from his lips.
   Rains sat the man up once he was done, exerting herself to move his heavy frame. She reached onto the back of her belt and unhooked a regenerative potion from it. One of her last, ever since the supply chain broke down after Deegan's death. The minor wounds on her hand were already healing, but the gift would soon be lost without the potions.
   She uncorked it and presented it to him. Said, "Drink this. Now."
   Jon nodded in a pathetic way. Grabbed the potion with shaky hands. Tipped his head back and drank it, some of the green liquid running down his chin, mixing with the blood and dripping onto his stained shirt.
   Rains glanced at Lonergan. He flinched. She said, "He will be fine. Soon enough."
   Lonergan was baffled. "What are you...?"
   Rains stood. Said nothing in return. Her eyes briefly found the boy again. The apparition. She was still seeing things. Allowing her memories to haunt her. A troubling sign.
   And she left the tavern. Unbeknownst to her, following the wish of the boy. She stood by the tavern's door outside. Her left hand on her hip and her right hand cradling her forehead.
   At one point in time, she only wanted to die in battle.
   At another, she only wanted to die, killing Deegan as the curse on her chest killed her.
   Now, she only wanted to die a righteous death, in service to a cause greater than herself. To a cause that would bring justice to the deserving and salvation to the innocent. She wanted to die, slaying someone else's monster.
   But it seemed that the fate of this life was very much in question.
   A cloud covered the morning sun, casting a shadow over Rains.
   Where was Jorge?

Wycliff

Sheol returned to his meal without a word as the lesser creature obeyed his will, stopping the quarrel. As the last bite of meat slipped down his gullet, however, he felt a strange pull toward that violent creature, one he hadn't felt before: it seemed to draw him toward her.... no, toward her chest. He glimpsed a familiar blackness, and he immediately understood. That human was touched by the darkness as well. His curiosity flared, watching it save the life of the brute it had just beat to a bloody pulp. Perhaps the human knew more about the darkness than he did, and could tell him.

Sheol rose from his seat, and followed the human outside. The meal was hardly filling, but then again, nothing ever was for him. As he walked, he grew slightly, seemingly a few years older. "Human, stop. I have questions for you."


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Valtxr

   Rains hadn't moved. Still by the tavern's door. Still with a hand on her hip and the other to her forehead.
   A voice. Beside her.
   She allowed the hand on her forehead to slowly slide down her face. Opened her eyes as the hand dropped to her side. Glanced to her side with the slightest motion of her head.
   A teenager. Remarkably similar to the imagined boy.
   Another apparition? Another hallucination as her mind continued to fracture under the gravity of this new fate, this life she never wanted to live.
   Perhaps. Perhaps not. Jorge could say for sure when he arrived.
   For now, Rains merely looked down at the teenage boy. Said curtly, "What?"

Wycliff

The human responded with a condescending tone, but it was to be expected. After all, humans were prideful beings. Still, that didn't stop Sheol from becoming annoyed at the lack of respect. He crossed his arms angrily. "Do not talk down to me, human. Tell me what you know about the darkness." He pointed to her chest, where the black circle of flesh pulsated abnormally at Sheol's presence. "Comply, or I will be made to force you." Unbeknownst to Sheol, his high pitched voice made the threat all but dull, perhaps even a bit humorous.


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Valtxr

   Rains heard his words, not his tone. A threat had graced her ears. Real or not, flesh and blood boy or hallucination, the words he had spoken were all that mattered. They bound his fate with hers. Outside this ratty tavern. On an increasingly cloudy and ugly day. In a poor and rundown neighborhood of Reajh. A circumstance lacking higher purpose. All sense of honor.
   So be it.
   Love your fate.
   Rains narrowed her eyes. The boy had pointed at her chest, but she didn't realize the connection between "the darkness" and the curse staining her skin. Her frayed mind focusing only on the threat.
   She reached for a hatchet on her belt. Unholstered it. Brought it back down to her side slowly. Her muscles tensing.
   "Rejoice," she said. "For all is as it was always meant to be. There is but one path to walk, and it is yours, and yours alone. Tread upon this hallowed ground, and love your fate."
   Rains lunged at him. Swinging the hatchet in a quick arc.

Wycliff

Sheol scoffed at the human, who'd turned hostile all of a sudden. What was she talking about, of course his path with his to walk. But he was a member of the proud dragon race, he was bound by no greater power: he forged his own fate. He'd give her credit, though, the human was very fast, and Sheol could not dodge the blades, even with advance warning.

It made no difference.

The hatchet cleaved cleanly through the thin cloak, but stopped abruptly at the skin of his neck, as if it had hit the side of a building. Sheol did not move an inch from place, though the cloak over his head fell back, ruined. He scowled, reaching up and ripping the then tattered cloak from his person, causing a cascade of void black, bushy hair to be revealed, reaching down to his knees in a mane-like fashion. His bright, golden eyes swirling with dark particles stared up at the human, not amused by her antics, and a small ringing sound was audible from the pure diamond horns curving up out of his head and a few inches along with the mane. "You presume too much, human. Those blades of yours cannot cut my skin. I will only ask once more, my patience is not endless. What do you know of the darkness that resides in your chest?"


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Valtxr

   Gasps and murmurs around them. The few passersby outside The Tipped Hand, some six to eight civilians, all stopped and turned and stared. Confused and frightened that a young boy had just been attacked, and even more so when the hatchet made a dull sound against his skin and failed to penetrate. They eyed the two fearfully.
   One man sprinted down the street, away from the scene.
   An older woman grabbed the shoulders of her son and started shuffling away with him.
   Another man, a sweaty blacksmith, just coming down the street noticed the two and froze.
   Some pointed to the boy with the horns and the mane. Others pointed to the tattooed woman with the hatchet.
   They all gawked. Kept their distance.

   A low growl from Rains' throat as her hatchet smacked into the boy's impervious skin and a shockwave of tingling pain rippled up her arm and coursed down her body. She stumbled back, caught completely by surprise. Held her right arm with her left. The hatchet slipped from her grasp as her already sore and aching hand just couldn't hold it through the numbing pain. It clattered on the street.
   Rains looked down at her hand. Her fingers, curled and quivering. The growl continued as her lips parted and revealed clenched teeth. And she became aware of the attention from the people on the street. Her eyes darted to each of them quickly, glaring out from under her brow.
   And then back to the boy.
   The boy with the horns. The black hair. The darkness in his eyes.
   A manifestation. Of madness or death. Come at last to set her back on her path. The path that Sharon had stolen from her. The path that Sharon would steal again, perhaps, in the next life.
   Rains looked at the boy.
   The insurmountable foe. The sign that she had lived too long.
   And her growl morphed into a laugh. The snarl on her face twisting into a grin as she did so. She stared right into his eyes.
   "Do what you must do."
   It mattered not what death looked like. In the end.

Wycliff

Sheol took a few steps forward, ignoring the shock of the crowd around them. When faced with superior beings, humans would obviously cower. He reached out and touched her chest, the mere action causing a throb from the area as the runic circle desperately tried to contain the spread of Dark Matter. Sheol raised an eyebrow. "I don't need to do anything, human. That's the difference between you and I." His eyes narrowed as he caught hint of the mania in the human's gaze. She'd lost her purpose, he was sure of it: she may have been human, but that look was universal, the visage of one who had nothing to live for. "Or so I would say, but it seems we are more alike than I originally thought. Your eyes are empty, just like mine."

Sheol retracted his hand, crossing his arms once again. "I sensed a trace of magic containing that darkness, human. I take it you are not consumed yet, then. Did you create this barrier?" He grinned. "I've been looking for someone to release me from this wrecked form, and a barrier like that could be just what I need."


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Valtxr

   No more open hostilities. Yet. And the strange boy, with the unnatural hair and horns and eyes and who used the word 'human' as a pejorative, seemed to be aggressive, if only in words for the moment. None of the bystanders knew exactly what to make of the situation. Fear bid them to run, curiosity bid them to stay, and most were trapped in this limbo until something outright dangerous occurred.
   But the woman and her son hurried down the street, in the same direction as the man who had sprinted away earlier. The boy asked her something. She responded. Her words hushed and faded with distance, but a few words stood out.
   Hurry.
   Guards.
   Quickly.

   Rains spread her arms wide when the boy touched her chest, just as the Shadow Mage had months ago. Let it come. She had many more lives to live. Countless lives to be back in Deegan's dungeon. Countless lives to see her daughter murdered again. Countless lives until Samsara darkened to its blackest point.
   And then, only then, could she find some peace in the Dawn. Before it all started over again.
   She closed her eyes. Took in a joyous breath through her nose. Waited for some spell or power to end her. This was the life in which she failed to do any good in the world, save only rescuing Maria, Alesia, and Kaylin from that dungeon. And in the next life, she would fail them too.
   She waited for it.
   But the boy only spoke. And retracted his hand.
   A manifestation of madness or death. Or merely a strange creature of this world. Either way, a disappointment.
   Rains lowered her arms back down to her sides. Opened her eyes. She listened to the rest of what he had to say after he pulled back his hand. Understood half of it. Nothing of concern to her.
   She looked down on the boy. Recited more verses, "That which is grasped for will slip from your hands. That which is longed for will flee from your eyes. The day and the hour and the moment, never to be known. But rejoice, rejoice, for it is said: Fear shall find no home in the heart that embraces what is to come. The loss of all things."
   A pause.
   "Do. What. You. Must. Do."

Wycliff

Sheol scowled once more. The human still refused to tell him what she knew. Disgraceful creature... but if that's how she was going to play it, he had no use for her. "Is that an invitation, human? Fine then, I'll leave you in the hands of this 'fate' you speak of." He reaches out once more, stabbing his pointer finger into the middle of her chest, straight into the edge of the runes, breaking the circle. The magic flashed white, and dissipated, unable to stem the advance of Dark Matter any longer. Sheol retracted his finger, and retreated several steps, a callous look on his face. "Whether you survive or perish, the pain will be excruciating. Perhaps you should have complied, human, but it is far too late for that now."


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Valtxr

   Today was gonna be a great day.
   Jorge made his way with a confident stride toward The Tipped Hand. He had a small bouquet of flowers in his hands. He thought it'd be funny to surprise Jessos. Be all dramatic and put on a show. Maybe she'd like it and laugh. Maybe she'd hate it and punch him in the face. Again. He never knew with her, and that was what made it all so fun.
   What a gal. Never met one like her before. Best brothel buddy ever. Charles was a married man, Sharon was always too wound up, and Gabe preferred drinking and gambling. And boy, did Jessos have an appetite. In the two months since they got back from Cerenis, Jorge had blown nearly half of his payout on brothel trips alone. Having a good ol' tumble under the sheets was all well and good, but swapping stories afterward, the shared experience, was even better. Jessos had a big thing for feet. A lot of the times she wouldn't even have sex with the girl, just give her a nice, long foot massage and talk about sweet nothings or whatever. Hell, sounded like the girl shoulda paid Jessos for that. So Jorge said on one trip, 'Ah, what the hell?' and decided to give the feet thing a go. Asked the beautiful, buxom working girl for just a little rub on the aching feetsies. And. Ho. Lee. Hell. Was it ever worth it. He had no idea his feet had been screaming at him for years for little lovin', and he had just never listened. And when he told Jessos about it after they met up back in the lounge, her eyes lit up with that excited spark and that big grin crossed her face and she clapped him hard on the back and she bellowed out a hearty laugh and he just knew that he'd brightened up her day. The shared experience was a powerful thing. A strong bond. Nothin' like it.
   But today. Oh today. He had convinced her to try out the new brothel on Market Street. Man, did she ever need it. She was even more tense than normal. Looked like she hadn't slept in days. But that was the world for ya. Always kicking you when you're already down.
   And he felt good. Anything he could do to help a friend in need out.
   Screams.
   Just around the bend in the street.
   A handful of people running toward him, away from where he was going.
   Militaristic shouts behind him. The clatter of armor and weapons.
   Jorge broke into an all-out sprint. Ran past the fleeing citizens. Toward The Tipped Hand.
   He ran.
   And ran.
   And stopped.
   And he saw it.
   And the flowers fell from his hand.

   Rains staggered. That familiar pain in her chest.
   She could see it for just a moment. The blackness consuming her body. Her clothes dropping to the ground.
   She looked up toward the sky.
   No sun.
   Closed her eyes.
   It was coming again. The dungeon. Deegan.
   The chance to hold her daughter once more.
   Once more.
   Fear not.
   Mother's coming home.

   And she was gone.

Wycliff

Sheol watched the human dissipate into blackness. It seemed she'd been consumed, unlike him. Perhaps humans could not take the strain of the darkness as dragons could. That made sense to him, questions were not necessary. However, something was odd about the way she'd dissipated: there were no particles....

On a different plane...

Darkness surrounded Jessos Rains, no familiar sight of rebirth. Inside her mind, a deep voice spoke. "This is unexpected... but welcome, young one, to my realm, the end of Fate."


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Valtxr

   Shock.
   Jorge stood there, in the street, some distance away from the tavern and the kid and...what remained. He had seen it. A good friend of his. Murdered right in front of him. Disappeared into some black magic that crawled over her skin and left nothing. Nothing but the clothes that were once on her body.
   And for the first time in Jorge's life, he didn't know what to do.
   So he stood.
   Paralyzed by the horror and sorrow.
   Frozen as a small squad of five Connlaothian guardsmen pushed past him. Armed with drawn swords and raised guns. Cautiously approaching the kid who matched the description from the panicked civilians. Yelling commands at him.
   Petrified as another two guards came up from the opposite end of the street. Kneeled and aimed their rifles at the kid.
   Sickness rose from his stomach. Made him dizzy. Light-headed. He lost his balance. Stumbled and fell down on his ass. And he sat there in the street.
   He wasn't Charles. He wasn't Sharon. And he wasn't Jessos. He wasn't a man who did what was right, who did what was necessary, or who avenged those who had been wronged.
   He was a coward.
   A coward who took refuge in the booze. In the drugs. In the brothels. In the gambling. In all the vices he could find.
   A coward who would simply allow the cold-blooded murder of one of his closest friends to happen and do nothing.
   A coward who hid from the true pain of life.
   He did it before. And he would do it again.
   As the squad of guards closed in on the kid, Jorge did nothing.
   Sat there.
   His voice a trembling whisper behind his mask, filled with shame. Hollow words.
   "Fuckin' hell, love..."

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