Spirits of the Earth

((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.

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?"

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.

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."

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."

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.

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.

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.

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.

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...”

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

It seemed as though the trail had not quite grown cold yet; for the jungle did not harbor the liveliness that it should have, especially shortly after a torrential downpour. The voices of bird, beast and even insect alike had been silenced, as though they mourned for something monumental that they'd lost. Nature's spirits and the nocturnal phantoms that had surged forth from the dreamlands the night previous had returned to the otherworld. The murderous shrieking of last night's wind had become nothing more than a sigh; brittle, wistful, as though burdened by an immense sorrow; the rustling of the leaves and shaking vines seemed to be trembling not in rage, but barely-repressed fear. Even the heat and humidity seemed as a heavy, sodden blanket; listless and suffocating. The thick, squelching mud was apparently subdued, tired; while it had seemed as though all of nature had assaulted her with magnificent fury last night, this morning, it seemed to be resigned to her presence- yet rife with that peculiar, writhing, maggot-like wrongness that seethed and taunted, threatened to defile; caused the mercenary's skin to crawl with unease- a warning, perhaps, that she should not have been here, may have even been trespassing into forbidden territory, rather than simply encroaching upon an enemy's land.

Though nothing had seemed to have been amiss at first, a frustrated growl freed itself from her throat as she continued onward; for no matter how many times she tried to simply see if the trail had advanced beyond the ruin, it seemed as though she had created a rift, a time paradox: every time she took even a few steps away from the dilapidated structure, something far beyond her comprehension happened. It seemed as though the passageway beneath her feet, or perhaps reality itself, warped and roiled, forcing her return back to the structure once more- and nothing that she did could have prevented it. A soundless snarl was cast at the ruin's malicious presence, even as she found herself being tugged by forces she couldn't begin to imagine; booted feet carrying her of their own accord past the battered threshold and within the hut once more.

It was unsurprising to notice that the aged cracks remained along the walls; the filth could have been explained by being too old and deeply embedded into pourous stone to have been penetrated by the water that had battered the structure last night. The quivering shadows in the building's corners were enough cause for the hair on the back of her neck to rise uncertainly; though they did not rise to attack, there was something quite unnatural about the way they shifted amid other, more static shadows. The dirt underfoot was equally strange- to her, something seemed off about its texture, as well as its blighted hue. Kneeling, she would reach down to touch it, rub grains of that peculiar substrate between her fingers. Though she could tell there was something not quite right about it, she couldn't quite pinpoint what could have caused that vague abnormality.

However, not much time would be given to the study of the dirt; she was neither geomancer nor druid after all- when something even more aberrant drew her attention. It wasn't that solitary tile, but an ageless obelisk shaded in not dull, age-worn greys and browns, but stark, almost greasy-seeming black. As she approached it, an eyebrow arched in both curiosity and a bit of apprehension: though that uneroded, highly-polished stone seemed rather repugnant, there was something compelling about it as well; as though she needed to approach it. Sucking a breath through flaring nostrils, she slowly made her approach; a low, thoughtful noise breaking the unhallowed silence. The woman's head tilted and she took a single step back to stare at the painting that had neither faded nor peeled, but seemed to be part of the stone itself.

Who painted this? The imagery was beautiful and exceptionally detailed; all the while seeming to taunt her for being incapable of supplying the answers that it demanded; for being inadequately equipped with esoteric knowledge. There was something about the elegantly simple, yet awe-inspiring painting that made her believe that she was being judged and it had found her lacking on a celestial scale. One fist came up to slap the painting; the smack of skin against stone shattering the preternatural silence that hung like a shrowd over the hut- an ineffective attempt, a brief release of pent-up annoyance directed at nothing but herself.

The ages-old puzzle before her had to be solved; that much was abundantly clear-- but how? Reaching out to search for a hidden mechanism that may have separated the lunar crescent from the solar disc had proven to be useless- there was no hidden lever or button anywhere on the stone and the imagery had been devised in such a way that made it perfectly clear: there was no way to manipulate anything, nowhere to write out a passphrase. She'd dealt with cloak-and-dagger nonsense before, but this was something that not even the highest-ranking nobles of any country could replicate.

Cocking her head and staring at the image, eye narrowed as she pondered over its meaning, something came to her: "I know you don't give a damn about things like the passage of the stars, or the portents that can be found in them," It was the recollection of a woman's voice; feather-soft and touched by humor, lilting and venerable-- a remembered voice that she could not give a purpose, face or name to: a phantom from a lost and shrouded past, "If the moon is a goddess, then what would that make the sun?" The corner of Perendi's lips twitched into a vague hint of a smirk as that feeling of being judged began to subside; her own uncertainty being washed away and replaced by that calm assurance that she carried like a shield.

The snake's jaws parted and she couldn't have stopped herself from speaking, no matter how hard she fought to maintain restraint. "God," That single word was spoken in a raspy, heavily-graveled alto croon; a deep, commanding tone that condemned its speaker as soon as it was unleashed- the shadows swirling beneath her skin surged upward, leaving blackened imprints around her throat as though an unseen spirit were strangling her. Even as the first throat spasms and trickled blood oozing down her throat at the reminder of her curse's demand of silence; in the wake of the warning pain, she simply widened her stance and grinned, as though finally challenging fate itself.

The shadows in the corner trembled still, terrified and disgusted by the exchange they witnessed. The cracks creacked and whispered madly, as if something audacious had been committed in their presence.

The sun blinked for the briefest of moments, as if acknowledging Perendi or perhaps her thoughts, it’s light spreading throughout the stone and leaving it transparent, ghostly. A set of stairs leading down, into blind darkness, was underneath it. The darkness, however, like stubborn sea denied light entry and refused to part, leaving Perendi’s perception severely limited.

It was a promise, or a challenge, or perhaps a way of mocking. There was simply no way to know, but the gust of icy wind spoke quite clearly of the impatience of the catacombs, their glee to swallow Perendi. They would not wait for much longer, and neither, it seemed, would the moon, as its glow got brighter, making the door ever so slightly less ghostly, more present. The slippery steps were daring her to walk down, enter the dead lion’s maw and see what’s inside.

The very nature aroundw her seemed to come to an uneasy halt, as if a child caught overhearing a conversation they were never supposed to know the existance of. It was now or never, whichever choice Perendi made, would be her and her alone. The entrance was found, the door opened. Whatever was inside - waiting.

Lifting a hand to shove her hair out of her face, the intruder peered about briefly; as though expecting an unknown enemy to come barreling into the building unbidden, to challenge the one who dared trespass into its den. Instead, what met her eye caused it to widen in startlement; brief waves of disgust and terror washing over her- unknowingly accepting the emotions of the not-quite-living shadows, emotions that elicited an unexpected quiver to race along her spine, coupled by inexplicable anticipation.

It wasn't the same fear that she felt from the living; it was something less primal, yet more incomprehensible- the delicious sort of fear and repugnance that came in the wake of staring a truly nefarious, reprehensible adversary in the face- and living through the encounter. The whispering, ancient croaking voices of the cracks were voiced in a tongue she could never hope to understand; an unbreakable, ageless riddle that even language scholars would have difficulty comprehending.

The sun seemed to blink; or that could have simply been her mind playing tricks on her- Perendi simply shook her head as its light apparently grew immensely. The passageway revealed by the sun's brilliance momentarily appeared to be a spectral illusion, though one that solidified and caused her to snort in apprehension as it fully materialized. Turning her head to spit a mouthful of blood -perhaps an offering to nameless, obscure deities she wasn't sure whether she believed in or not- onto the blackened dirt as the gust of frigid air rose to meet her; laden with an almost contemptuous impatience and greed. 

The unknowable promise or challenge of the vast, unknowable darkness that spread from the new passageway would be met.

As her surroundings seemed to succumb to a cessation of movement, she would step forward. One hand reaching to draw the dagger from its sheath at her thigh as a precaution, she strode into the all-consuming, limitless darkness that almost seemed to rise and greet her; forsaking the safety of the world above-ground, she would begin the descent toward whatever awaited her. Eye narrowed to a defiantly-glittering slit as her perception warped and became exceptionally limited by that unnatural darkness, she would attempt to use her free hand as a guide.

While most people would have probably had difficulty seeing in that impenetrable gloom, her vision was almost nullified; in order to refrain from jumping at shadows, it was necessary to rely on her other senses to lead her to meet whatever awaited. Now was not the time to make a misstep or miscalculation, no matter how unearthly the gloom leading into the devil's house may have been. The call had been given- and she had answered.

The darkness grew thinner the further down Perendi went. Engraving could be seen and more becoming more frequent and more intricate with every step she took. The black stone that made the walls and the vaulted ceiling somehow was still impeccably smooth.

The scenes appeared to be arranged in neat lines that flowed with the passage, each scene beginning where the previous ended. One fabric woven from many threads. Some had humanoid figures in them, others depicted creatures grotesque and outlandish. The threads didn’t seem intent on connecting with each other, they kept going forward, separated. Every once in a while a thread of images would end and another would begin after a small blank spot. What it meant was anyone’s guess. As the corridor grew wider, new lines of images emerged. Some depicted grand structures to challenge god’s themselves, others had only alien figures doing some menial work. The details in every scenes were incredibly rich, pronounced. It was like looking at real life stuck in stone. As all things do, the corridor came to an end, all threads reached the grand doors and stopped there.

A pair of black tall and heavy doors, as polished and gleaming as the rest of the walls stood before Perendi in a brightly illuminated hall. There was a large scene carved into them as well. A pair of griffins stood above burning water, which rose in between them and slowly but surely transformed until it was all flame that hovered above the beasts’ beaks. That fire licked the sun on the very top of the doors, which actually appeared to be the source of all light in the hall.

It was silent there, drawing a breath would be already too loud. The silent griffins looked upon the flame in what could have been reverence, had their faces not been so alien. Despite the static nature of the carvings every scene seemed to come back to life in light of their sun. It appeared that Perendi, standing on the bare gleaming floor of black stone, was the flat lifeless impression of herself rather than the figures on the walls as the high vaulted ceiling emphasized just how empty the room was without that flame, without that sun.

Thankfully, there were neither grasping claws, nor gibbering nightmares hiding in wait along the darkened staircase; light manifesting to pierce the cloak of those shadows; incredibly intricate carvings becoming apparent once she was finally able to see again. Shit, this must have been for some kind of royalty, she thought idly. The woman hadn't heard anything regarding the royal families that had surely claimed the jungle as their domain in a bygone era; nor of anyone in recent times having the wealth and prestige to have such a splendorous tomb built. But then again, she was fairly certain that she didn't associate with the right social castes to hear about anything of the sort. The cleanliness of the smooth, obsidian-dark walls was a bit unusual; even that far underground, she had thought there should have been at least dust and cobwebs to be found- and the high, vaulted ceiling would have been more suited for a magnificent temple. That sense of being somewhere else than what she was accustomed to only grew more insistant the further along she proceeded.

Parezi would adore this place! If I can remember how the hell I got here, I'll have to show her! Her eyes followed the alien geometry with no small amount of appreiation for the detail and masterful craftsmanship that went into engraving those scenes; it was impossible to imagine just how long it had taken the artist or artists to prepare an endless scene of such beauty and magnitude; depicting infathomable magnificence and unimagiable horrors at the same time, disconnected and separate, yet seemingly somehow vaguely interwoven at once. It was impossible to fathom the meaning, if there was indeed one- and as the imagery shifted to incredibly bizarre grotesqueries and even stranger figures, she found herself reaching out to touch the stonework; as though trying to see if those engravings emitted the warmth of the living, or not.

The corridor had to be an outer sanctuary of some sort; or so she assumed. It did not seem right to keep her dagger drawn in a location that seemed paradoxically hallowed and unconsecrated at the same time; yet inexplicably, her fingers tightened around the hilt of that blade, as though its weight offered some small measure of reassurance. Time seemed to have lost all meaning as she meandered toward the end of that grand hall; pausing only when she reached a massive set of massive double doors that were polished to a high, burnished sheen; a low, thoughtful sound made in the back of her throat seemed blasphemously loud in a place where merely the act of breathing almost seemed to be a treasonous breach of the dreamlike silence.

The carvings that adorned those doors were simply incredible; the detail in each feather of the gryphons' wings had surely taken countless years to execute- even under the brilliant illumination, those bas reliefs seemed to hold life- had they started breathing and charged at the accursed one, she would not have been overly surprised. It was easy to envision the flames crackling and dancing; hear the illusory popping of embers and burbling of the flaming water. Above the gryphons' alien visages, far above the rest of the scene, the carved sun seemed to be the source of the illumination. Had she known much of anything about magic, she would have likely attempted to figure out just what otherworldly sorcery kept it ignited.

Such was the sumptuousness of the hall and doors that she seemed to be the falsity; paling in comparison to that which surrounded her- perhaps an unwelcome mirage of what might have been. Shaking her head and steeling her nerves, she slowed, yet did not stop, footfalls ringing out impossibly loudly as she approached the doors; reaching up sluggishly to stroke one of the gryphons' feathers as though checking that peculiar engraving for any sign of life as well. At last, she would draw a deep breath and move to shove the heavy doors open; daring to invade whatever awaited in what she assumed should have been an inner sanctum of some sort.

Perendi gave a push - and there was no movement. The impeccably smooth doors just stood there, completely unaffected by Perendi's efforts, and while the sun was glaring at her inadequacy again, the griffins merely continued guarding the flame, which in turn didn't even react to her presence. It was apparent they didn't care, or perhaps their alien nature prevented them from caring.

The fest of live in all those reliefs continued, indifferent to the empty hall, to empty space that could never house them. The reliefs all went to the doors and the flame, so what was the purpose of resisting anyway?

When the doors refused to budge at her shove, the sun's malicious judgement glaring down at her, her eye narrowed into a slit as she stared up at it. Fuck you, too, was the silent, sneering thought cast upward at the doors. They didn't seem to be locked; at least not by a conventional method. Had they been, there would have been resistance that would have revealed them to be barred from the other side- or at least the clattering of a device holding the entrance-way shut. With an irritated growl, she lifted both hands and shoved against the door one more time, to assure herself that she hadn't neglected to notice the resistance of the door being barred from the other side; hadn't overlooked the sound of a clattering chain, hadn't overlooked the resistance of a more conventional lock. Satisfied that she hadn't failed to notice any such thing, she stepped back and peered up at the door.

Fire can make steam and force water to boil... but this is fire on the ocean, not a pot over a fire, She pondered, glaring up at the alien-visaged gryphons that were guarding either the flames or the water beneath; gryphons were creatures of flight, Air? No... that isn't right, they aren't flying. I don't know if Earth has anything to do with it; if nothing else works, I'll come back to that idea. A low, thoughtful  sound rose from her throat, becoming a groan of vague annoyance. Perendi was horribly unschooled in the realm of the more esoteric arts; a woman of the blade, not sorcery- and the alien landscapes and figures that directed visitors down the hall to those doors didn't seem too willing to reveal their secrets.

Fire is the domain of the sun, but water is controlled by the moon. Does the sun need to go out for the moon to rise, or does the fire need to dry up the water? What about the gryphons, though- what are they guarding, the fire or water? Dammit... what if it's just another word game? Well... I've got water, which puts out fire, so I suppose I might as well try that first. If it doesn't work, there's other things to try. Pulling her water-skin from her belt with a shrug, she popped it open and approached the door again, Good thing it's just me, this is a damn stupid idea. Hoping that there wasn't just a disguised lever or button hidden among the engravings, she began splashing the flames that she could reach with the water in that skin; when the container was nearly empty, she'd toss it upward toward the image of the sun, trying to make sure that her aim was true enough to hopefully splatter it a little.

She would then backpedal a few steps once again, just in case it really was that simple- though she doubted it would have been.  It didn't matter to her how long it would take to get those doors to open; she didn't think it could have been close to even noon yet- or that time worked properly here.


Son of a whore, She thought, glaring up at the cryptic bas relief on the door. All she'd succeeded in doing by attempting to extinguish the flames had been to splash the door itself, as well as the brightly-polished floor. Roaming back through the hall revealed little to Perendi that she could understand-- the grotesqueries, coupled with the beauty of how the images had been engraved were a stark contrast; beauty and horror, simplicity and opulence. And yet, there were messages that could be seen there; if only she were capable of grasping the concepts behind what she was looking at. The same could be said about the duality of the engravings on the doors, though those were marginally easier to fathom.

However, that did not eliminate the desire to find something to simply bash the doors in with; there was no battering ram to utilize in order to assault the barriers. Frustration was causing her to pace like a caged animal- and at last, her feet carried her to the doors again before she'd realized that she'd changed the direction she'd been walking in. Time? No... I don't think that's quite right. Not size, either. Beasts and people, but they're not fighting; nothing is truly being destroyed. They're all looking at the door, heading toward it. Then, there's those gryphons, the flaming water... An irritated kick was aimed at the bottom of the doors, doing nothing but rousing a loud bang to reverberate through the hall. Wealth, prestige? That can't be it, either. Not nightmares, not dreams. "Peace, rest, guidance... pilgrimage," She didn't realize that she'd begun to voice her stream-of-consciousness thoughts aloud; "Immortality, strength, power." By the time she'd finished that verbal tirade, the mercenary was left gasping for breath and trembling, blood trickling from parted lips as she slouched against the doors, waiting for the dizziness to pass; ineffectively banging a fist against one of the doors. If that's not it... Something told her that she was probably grasping at shadows, though she couldn't be certain one way or another.

...Until nothing at all happened, once again. Once the dizziness finally subsided, she unhooked her liquor flask from her belt, unscrewed it and gulped several mouthfuls of the cheap rum; throat spasming in protest even as the blood was washed away; her breathing finally becoming even again as the bright, wavering swirls of light that had threatened and taunted to knock her on her ass subsided. Refastening the flask to her belt, a soundless laugh was pantomimed at her predicament- and yet, it was nothing more than a puzzle. She'd successfully survived nightmarish experiences before, had completed a few truly harrowing retrieval missions, slain truly deadly adversaries, there was no way that a riddle was going to lead to a defeat- no matter how long it took to solve.

While she continued to try and unravel the mocking imagery that stretched out before her and to either side, her mind drifted back to a conversation that she'd had last night. A derisive snort was given as she stopped assaulting the door. Beasts -even noble ones such as gryphons- people and nightmares, deities and demons, even elements in opposition have something in common. Some people think the moon goddess is a creator, a mother.

"Destruction," That single word was more of a thick, pained, hoarse rasp of a groan; swaying on her feet for several long moments as her vision swam yet again; the fluid shadows beneath her skin swarming upward to grasp at her throat and higher- this time, rising to envelope her chin and lower jaw as well, before separating into long, thin, searching, intangible tendrils that grasped at her cheekbones- she was pushing herself toward her limitations for speech; that pressure increasing substantially, throat and vocal cords shredding themselves as she slouched heavily against the wall nearest the door, forced to breathe shallowly through clenched teeth, one arm rising to mop sweat off her forehead. All she could do once again was try and wait for the warning assault to pass; wait to see if she'd progressed at all.

When nothing happened again, she had to admit that there was something vaguely amusing about the whole situation. Apparently, this nameless deity wasn't quite nefarious enough to be known as a force of destruction; so that likely eliminated the thought of death as well- which, by proxy, made her believe it wasn't even a god of her own element, which was war. Alright... I know it's also not going to be anything such as farming, hearths, fortune, trickery. Perhaps I'm not even supposed to figure out what kind of god it is? I do know what they say gods are known for. "Wisdom," Was the single word that she rasped; grinning in defiance against her own curse, cheekily at the challenge of opening the door, even as another spasm seized her throat. If that's not it, I'm burning this place.

The sun appeared to be amused by Perendi’s efforts as its glow died down and the doors parted. The brief darkness was swiftly shoved aside by the pale light coming from what appeared to be the grand hall.

It was large and spacious. The walls rose up to ten times Perendi’s height and the vaulted ceiling was lost in the darkness. It was all smooth gleaming black stone once again, but this time even more reliefs could be seen literally everywhere, illuminated by some unknown source of light. There were grand scenes depicting battles and bizarre structures, which looked like castles, cathedrals and cities. There were once again humans and human-like creatures, but surrounding them were unknown grotesque creatures. Smaller scenes surrounded the bigger ones, depicting some inconsequential but meticulously carved motives.

Another difference was the floor. It was of course made of the same material that everything else, but when one looked at it, they could see the map of Le’raana, complete with every minor detail one could expect on a map. There were even tiny people that despite being literally carved out in the stone appeared to be moving. All the names, however, were written in a flowing language that Perendi couldn’t identify.

Each wall of the great hall had a passageway leading into the darkness. They were entirely identical, gaping jaws of blackness and shadows, tempting and taunting. Perendi literally stood at a crossroads.

At last, it seemed as though her efforts had paid off; for she could sense the preternatural amusement eminating from the sun- enough so to cause her to hold back a bark of laughter; cage it within her own throat. Silently, those doors finally parted and revealed a luxurious room that was no temple sanctum, but appeared to have been the grand hall of some forgotten lord's keep. Whoever had dwelt here in the distant past had certainly been far more wealthy than anyone she'd ever heard of; the splendor of the glistening black walls, the way that the ceiling vanished from sight, spoke of a prestige she couldn't hope to aspire to in this lifetime. That strange, hidden light source -perhaps remnants of some ageless sorcery?- cast everything in that same soft radience she was becoming accustomed to.

Here, the imagery along the walls seemed to be even more elaborately carved than even in the corridor she'd passed through; she seemed inconsequential and tiny when compared to the size of the grand hall, the magnificent detail that went into those reliefs. The scenes of battle were of immense fascination; as were the bizarre, unfathomable creatures that seemed to have surrounded the humanoid figures- while she could not identify the structures as being of Le'raana origin; at least they did not resemble anything she'd seen during her travels. There were clearly innumerable stories to have been found among those engravings- tales that she would have tried to decipher, or at least ascribe her own meanings to, had she the time to examine them more closely.

Not even the floor underfoot was bereft of stunning detail. It seemed as though she strode across a meticulously-crafted map that described all of Le'raana in exquisite detail, including the Niahi Woods, La'marri- and to the north, the mountains and even the Fell itself. Forests, rivers and lakes, even the foothills and the tiniest details -as she knelt momentarily to truly look at the map, she swore she could see the entrances to mine shafts and even the mouths of caves- laid beneath her. More impressive though, was the incredible detail that went into the stonework of the miniscule people; though they were not living, they seemed to be moving with a life of their own. The labeling, unfortunately, was in a flowing, spidery language that she'd never seen before, would proabably never be able to identify or understand.

That map, Perendi could have remained to watch for hours; just to see what the stone figures were doing, where they went. But that was a luxury she couldn't afford herself, she had not come here for simple pleasure. Finally standing again, she noticed that here were numerous passages that led from the hall; abysses of darkness that seemed to tease and invite exploration, taunt and mock. If I had my dice with me, I'd toss 'em to figure out where to go, She thought idly, rising once more and stretching before setting off into the left-most passageway, tightening her grip on her dagger as she plunged headlong once again into the expanses of the unknown.

Perendi walked through a straight wide corridor with reliefs following her like flowing lines someone wrote long ago. Each had a different motive, a different style and a different plot. Some depicted hunting, others showed prayers - all of them twisted warningly, so much unlike what she had seen in the entryway. The silence remained however, ever-present and ever-apparent. In fact, Perendi's steps were like rhythmic bangs of some ancient clock. The ethereal glow still cast light on the polished jet-black slabs of stone, making them gleam almost gleefully, as if reminding by its sheer presence about the darkness that had suddenly vanished when Perendi stepped inside.

When the corridor finally came to an end, Perendi saw a fairly large, though not to the extent of the great hall, room with no cravings this time and no pictures. Instead the walls were alsmot completely obscured by paper, sticked to them by some unknown force. They showed diagrams, pillars of flowing text and multitude of obscure symbols of unknown origin.

At the first look it wasn't obvious, but the room used to be a chapel. There was even a niche of the altar. It appeared that now in its place was some unknown diagram, a combination of circles, triangles and gods knew what else. By each side stood a number of desks, filled with books, scrolls and various unknown items, no doubt used in whatever the owner of the place was doing here.

A certain poster called for attention. It had a human body displayed in its center, surrounded by lines of unknown writing and symbols. It appeared to be some sort of documentation of a sick experiment that involved living flesh.

The almost deadly silence was interrupted by a creak of a door opening. It appeared that there was indeed a door near where the altar used to be. Now it was open. Two glowing green eyes were staring at Perendi from the gaping darkness.

"Master has returned so fast?" a voice rasped.

As she walked along the passage, an eyebrow arched at the change in the flowing artwork that seemed to chase her like the thoughts that warned one of a mistake about to be made. Unlike the cohesion that had been seen elsewhere, there were numerous different styles to be seen this time; as though more than one individual's hands and tools had graced those walls- though the message seemed fairly clear. Even those figures frozen in their hunts or supplication seemed to be trying to turn back, to warn of an inevitable disaster that might have been awaiting. Unlike the peaceful silence of the grand hall, there was a timeless, yet almost oppressive quality to the one that fell now; her footfalls somehow mimicking the rhythm of a venerable time-piece; even the soft sound of her breathing seemed impossibly loud and convoluted- as though waves were crashing against a distant shore; or perhaps a blacksmith was working their bellows.

What greeted Perendi when she finally came to the end of that passage, she paused and blinked owlishly at the peculiar room; where carvings, engravings and detailed embossing had been expected, there were none. A study? Was the unspoken question as she began looking around; peering curiously at the diagrams, text and inscriptions that adorned those pages along the walls- though she could not make sense of them, she assumed them to be some manner of alchemic formulations. The worn remnants of the altar was not expected, nor the untranslatable diagram; she'd not anticipated a chapel to be converted into a study. The mercenary, not being one who looked down on theft -especially when something useful to her mage might have been found- would move toward one of those desks and retrieve an old, beaten manuscript; carefully sliding it into one of her numerous pouches. If nothing else, she could possibly sell it to one of the professors of the Wyrmwood Academy- certainly one of the Arcanists there would be interested in it.

However, it was the larger diagram that demanded her attention; depicting a human form and unknowable, obscure symbols. Doesn't look like it would just be for organ selling, she thought, moving closer to examine the symbols and writing- again to find the text incomprehensible. It seemed to outline some sort of experiment that, while the imagery made it abundantly clear that the experimentation was gruesome and stomach-roiling in nature, did little to reveal exactly what the results might have been. If anyone's still here, I'll bring them back- if I can find them a healer, I might even be lucky enough to have a few new recruits. Though she didn't think there would be any chance of locating the survivors of any such experimentation -if there were indeed any victims at all- it was something the solider of misfortune would keep her eye out for.

When that near-fatal silence was assaulted by the door's creaking, she instinctively flinched away and twisted her wrist so she could land a pre-emptive strike against whatever intruder might have found her in that study. I need to see what's beyond, though the glowing, jade-hued eyes startled her, she couldn't discern what manner of creature they might have been attached to- if any. When it spoke, she didn't think she had the time to mull over the consequences of either option she could have been offered; Don't think- just act. "I have," the snake's gravely voice rang out; another interruption of that unnatural quietness. Had that split-second decision been the wrong choice, she would have to deal with the consequences when they came.

The scroll turned out to be a little heavier than Perendi expected, but otherwise nothing was out of the norm. The eyes looking around the room from darkness didn’t appear to either notice or care about the action. Their motives were, after all, at best unclear.

When the glowing eyes turned to Perendi and seemed to focus on her. The creature appeared to be examining her. It stepped out of the shadows into the light of the room. “You are not master,” it rasped.

In pale light of the room, the creature looked like a human, remarkably so. It had the appropriate body structure, five fingers on all her limbs, hair, eyes, face, though impossibly white skin. There was, however, something alien in the way it walked, as if not by its own will. The creature appeared to be genderless, at least one couldn’t determine whether they were male or female just by looking at them. The body was dressed in a loose black robe of some rough material.

“Cannot be here,” it rasped with black dry lips, “cannot leave...” it limped closer and closer. “Master will reward.”

She found it a bit odd that the scroll was weightier than any others she'd picked up in the past; yet was clearly relieved to note that nothing untoward happened: nothing lunged out of another unseen door to attack, no spell triggered a trap or sounded an alarm. Later, she'd try to figure out just what her newest acquisition contained before figuring out if it would be worth selling- or even handing over to her own mage. For now though, her attention was focused on the eyes that peered about the room; it was impossible to determine what they needed, or if they may have simply been the eyes of a watchful animal; perhaps feline in origin.

As those strangely brilliant eyes turned to focus on her and the being came into view, her grip on her dagger shifted slightly; a faint movement that brought the blade back to its original defensive position, knees bending as she widened and lowered her posture somewhat, just to prepare to counter in case it chose to launch an attack. "If not me, then who is your master?" She queried, voice a pained, serpent-like hiss; Perendi swaying slightly on her feet, head involuntarily tilting backward for the span of several breaths- she would have kept her mouth shut, returned to silence once more, had she thought the individual before her might have been capable of understanding the language of sign and gesticulation.

As it was, she could not tell. Once it strode forward from the awaiting darkness, she couldn't determine the newcomer's age, or even their heritage: even though they were at least of some manner of humanoid descent, the stark ivory hue of their skin, the burning green of their eyes and how they moved like a marionette on invisible strings spoke of an aberration. Though whether they were a creature of magical creation, an ancient and infathomable species, or something entirely different was indiscernable. If she didn't know better, based on that robed being's coloration and the way they moved, she would have thought it was a reanimated corpse that stood before her. That was a thought that sent an icy chill racing down her spine, even as she lifted her free hand to sign: "Do you understand? Do you need help?" Though it was impossible to determine whether they'd assume she was attempting to cast some sort of spell or not.

Slowly side-stepping as she watched the being, trying to stealthily sidle toward one of the exits while peering about for any other possible escape route, she shook her head at their next words. She couldn't be in the study, yet would not be permitted to leave-- that only left three possible options: trying to escape back the way she had come, which would have left her back and flanks unguarded and open for attack, an attempt at rushing forward to tackle the creature and plunge through that open door, or what she thought the most straight-forward plan of action would have been. "I'm going to leave," was growled; those defiant words somewhat choked, her free hand straying to grasp her baselard and pull it from its sheath as she continued to side-step, both blades catching and refracting the light as they were flicked forward in challenge. I don't care what rewards your master promised you, the set of her jaw, the brief upward thrust of her chin, even the peculiar little smile that curved her charcoal-grey lips conveyed rather clearly as the foreign being began limping toward her.

Her eye would remain fixed on her would-be possible adversary as she began to move again; the distance between herself and the passage she'd ventured through was still too great-- though just possibly, she may have been able to continue luring it away from the door it had come through. Even if the robes it wore were due to it using magic instead of being for the sake of comfort, she wasn't going to just give in and submit to its desires; it would take far more than just an emergence and vaguely cryptic warning for anything of that nature to happen.

The humanoid just blinked at the offer of help, staring with blank glowing eyes at the gesture Perendi was making. It twisted its neck with an audiable snap to look at her again and seemingly decided to dismiss her signals in favor of replying to her previous question:

“Master is master,” it rasped. “You cannot leave,” it repeated when Perendi disagreed.

The hem of its robes brushed loudly against the stone of the floor, a dreary sound in the utter silence of the lab. The shadows on the fabric of the black cloth moved and circled and spiraled toward the creature’s hands. Sharp black claws grew from the tips of the humanoid’s fingers.

“You are fleshing,” it pointed one of the clawed fingers at Perendi, its voice echoing like a broken cello against the high vaulted ceiling of the chapel “we serve master”. There was a certain sense of finality in the way it spoke.

“Master will be God, master will reward,” the creature repeated as it advanced toward Perendi slowly but steadily, its movements devoid of any sort of grace now, like a piece of meat on strings. It took a swipe at Perendi, aiming to cut off one of her hands.

The reliefs of the corridor were silent spectators of the starting fight, perhaps now they were jealous of those hidden behind layers of paper, notes and furniture. Even the pale light itself seemed repulsed by having to fall on the abomination walking those smooth polished stones. His robe itself seemed to be the embodiment of despair as it bent and shifted light, making it the color of spoilt milk.

She stared at the peculiar creature without judgement; though with a touch of concern- if it truly was a being forced to bow its head to a force it truly didn't want to be controlled by- or if it was trapped between the world of the living and the realm of the dead, she would attempt to either recruit it to join her in the pursuit of her dream- or to relieve it of its unnatural life; whichever would suit both of their purposes first. The sound of its neck snapping as it turned its head to look at her made her wonder if it might have even been a magical construct of some manner. She sighed when it ignored her signed question, though nodded in vague acceptance when it refused to reveal its master's name. "Like hell... you can't keep me here," She growled in defiance.

That circling continued as its robes echoed across the stone floor; her eye widening as she watched the transformation of the shadows that wafted around the hem of its black robe; feigning a fencer's forward lunge-and-stab technique as though to test the peculiar creature, "I serve only myself," A mocking laugh punctuated those words even as blackened-crimson blood dripped from her lips, splattering against the stone floor; an all-too-loud, ominous splattering sound in the otherwise crypt-like silence of the laboratory. Though the atonal, grating, broken quality of the creature's voice grated on her nerves, she wouldn't make it silence itself again- it had the right to speak, even if everything she said, the ideals that were deeply ingrained into the fabric of her being, were in direct defiance of what it stood for.

"No... I'll ram my hammer up your master's ass, turn him to worm food!" She snarled, gravely voice dropping to a primal, near-bestial growl; her internal shadows swirling ever-upwards, the visible darkness beneath her ash-grey skin swirling upward, their intangible touch grasping at her temples- beneath her studded leather armor, invisible to her eyes and that of the creature, those shadows extended past her collarbone, reached downward from her throat and further still; settling across her chest as she swayed viper-like and almost drunkenly on her feet, nostrils flaring as she inhaled shallowly, swiftly; knees threatening to collapse as bright pinpoints of swirling, writhing, blindingly white light threatened to strip away her consciousness. NO! Not now!

As the agony of her quickly-eroding vocal cords became an afterthought, her vision unclouding, she lurched backward; though not quickly enough to put distance between herself and the strange, robed creature that lumbered forward like a puppet in her direction. Had she managed to catch her breath in such a short time-span, she would have been able to correct her movements. Though she did pivot on her heels, it just wasn't quite swift enough. As she turned, her adversary's wickedly-sharp claws managed to hook her right hand, just  above the wrist. Shredding through studded leather armor and the cloth beneath, ripping through ash-grey flesh that was all too willing to part- and deeper still, slicing through nerve, muscle and tendon; cleaving through bone and finally removing that offending limb.

Blackened-crimson blood spraying vibrantly from the ragged remains, painting  the lackluster hues of the laboratory in that too-dark hue, her adversary would probably have been able to detect the wrongness of the scent that filled the air: the aroma of utter filth, of age-old rot and corruption; the stench of complete ruination- the putrid stink of her curse. The severed hand clattered to the floor; the too-loud sound of damnation yet to come. If her adversary bothered to look at the severed hand on the floor, or even Perendi's own ragged stump, it would probably have seen that the splintered bone itself was ink-black; the tattered muscles, tendons and ligaments as grey as granite.

Perendi herself shrieked: a truly animalistic sound that rose and seemed to swell, utterly annihilating the laboratory's near-silence; a sound that carried with it the mingled essences of rage and agony. As long as the opportunity to try and staunch the bleeding arose sometime soon, the would would throb and pulsate with almost mind-numbing agony that wouldn't end until the destroyed nerves died, but would not prove to be fatal.  She was already a demon; an iron will, coupled with wave after wave of adrenaline and fury that crashed through the fabric of her being like endless jolts of thrilling electricity forced her to move forward, even as she flashed her would-be executioner a killer "come hither" look; fighting to hold back waves of agony-and-adrenaline-induced nausea, she seemed to spring to life.

Her left hand lifted, ramming the hilt of her short-sword against the onyx of her cloak's clasp with a loud clatter; what shadows remained in the laboratory would seem to surge from their hiding-places; rousing to skitter, spider-like down from the recesses of the vaulted ceiling, jerking the soldier of misfortune into their cruel embrace as she would seem to vanish.

Breath coming in irregular pants, heart hammering against the cage of her ribs like a bird determined it escape from its captivity, nerves ignited by ceaseless electrical currents that caused her to want more,; to force her adversary to taste how delicious agony could truly be when one's flesh and bones were shredded and torn apart  by the exquisite torment  born from the intimacy of the dance of blades. Handless arm quivering and  curled protectively against her chest, all rational tactical knowledge vanishing from her mind in a dazed fog, she was but a beast: coming to stop mere steps behind the dark, unliving manifestation of despair, that bereft limb would shoot out in an attempt to catch the creature's neck in the crook of her right elbow; simultaneously, her baselard would be thrust forward savagely, seeking to eviscerate that peculiar enemy from behind; trying to thrust the blade of that short-sword between two of its vertebrae- intending to skewer it as though it were nothing more than a suckling pig to be roasted on a spit.

When the piece of flesh fell on the floor, the humanoid just stared at it for some time before limping forward toward Perendi, its feet clanking against the stone at every step. Perendi's blood mixed nicely with the black tiles under its robe.

The creature didn't appear to pay any attention to Perendi's statements. It appeared as though it didn't even comprehend the words, it's dull green eyes staring at her with all their emptiness leaking out almost to the point of filling the room. It paid no mind to the shrieks and growls of its enemy as its limbs stalked forward and its mind collapsed into a tip of a needle, incapable of comprehending anything aside from the immediate thirst for blood.

As the shadows short forward, so did the humanoid. It lunged at where Perendi was standing and thrust its clawed hand at where her left hand was supposed to be - only to be startled into a statue-like state when the claws met nothing but thin air. It looked around, its movements slow and uncertain at first but more frantic every second. The creature looked remarkably similar to a bipedal dog that lost its nose and its sight. Low growls emanated from the back of its ragged throat, hoarse low sounds of a primal beast. It was as if a dragon of ancient times, once mighty and noble, was put in shackles and mutilated until there was nothing left but a docile husk with little left from its former self, which could only come out as rabid unconscious sounds and gestures.

"Master," it rasped, as the lost green glow was frantically searching for Perendi.

As it felt a hand locking around its neck, the creature went stiff and shouted in pure agony when the dagger sliced through its flesh came between its vertebrae. Its legs gave out and its hands slumped, unmoving slices of flesh hanging uselessly at its sides, and the whole mass of its body collapsed on Perendi.

"Mas-ter," it rasped, its voice dull.

The body ceased moving when the black sticky oily liquid started pouring from its mouth and oozing from the wound on its back, coating Perendi's hands. The reliefs continued to look on. Silence reigned once again.

The simple fact that the peculiar creature had frozen in place when the mercenary had activated her cloak's enchantment was the circumstance that had probably ended up saving her. In the back of her mind, it had struck her at how the formerly seemingly-intelligent being had been reduced to almost canine behavior; a hound that had lost the trail it had been following. There had been something pitiful about that poor sod, even as she had managed to capture its neck in the crook of her elbow; in its cries as she eviscerated the unusual being. There had been no true hatred in her attack; just primal fury and the desire to survive that fateful encounter. She staggered backward under its weight as it slumped against her, supporting it with the arm around its neck and her blade, until it ceased moving and became nothing more than a lifeless shell; a peculiar, oily substance coating her baselard's blade, hand and stump. At last, she would unhook her arm from its neck, tilt her short-sword downward and shove the limp corpse to free her weapon once again; the blade of that weapon would be dragged along her armor's sleeve in an attempt to remove as much of he oddly sticky fluid as possible before it was sheathed again-- she had no idea if the liquid that served as that being's blood had any peculiar properties and didn't exacly want to take the chance of it potentially eroding or rusting that blade-- save for her meat skewer, it was the only lengthy weapon she was able to use any longer.

Breathing heavily, cold sweat dripping down her face and neck, she made her way to sit near one of the closest walls; fumbling several times before she was able to remove her liquor flask from her belt and uncork it, taking a long swallow of her rum before beginning to unfasten the upper half of her armor. Though she did not want to be without that added protection, it was the only real way she could get to her stump; growling in irritation as, more than once, she had lifted her right arm and had tried to use the phantom fingers of a hand that no longer existed to assist with undoing the buckles and clasps that held that armor in place. Trembling from annoyance, adrenaline beginning to wear off and sheer frustration, it was painfully slow-going, shrugging out of her now-useless hammer's harness, removing the upper half of that armor and shoving the remnants of that rust-colored sleeve back, so she could see the extent of the damage. Oh, fuck me. She thought with a groan; from what she could see beneath her own blood and that of the slain creature was nothing more than a gruesome, tattered mess: shredded flesh and unevenly-broken bone, not unlike what remained after snapping a joint of meat. Hefting her liquor flask once more, she would draw a deep, steadying breath as she shifted positions, hissing and groaning, drumming her heels against the stone floor as she poured the remains of her rum over that wound; an attempt to potentially halt the spread of possible infection, at least for now.

Her left hand would pull a long, thin leather strap and a roll of bandages from the pouch at her hip; twisting and contorting uncomfortably, she used her left hand and teeth to wrap the leather strap above her right elbow; not tightly enough to completely stop the bloodflow, but to slow it considerably; while cauterization would have been preferential, she was not prepared to try and strike her flint-and-tinder with one hand, or to waste the time removing those notes and diagrams from the walls in order to ignite a fire. Finally, she would yank her rust-colored sleeve back down, pulling it around the stump as much as she could, holding the tattered edges of the fabric in place with her teeth while slowly wrapping the bandages around and over that coarse material, then the ragged edges of the stump. It wasn't masterful work; in fact, it was sloppy in several places, but it would hopefully get the job done until she had the time to locate someone able to do a better patch-job than she had- and possibly replace that missing appendage, either through metalwork or magic. Closing her eye, her head lolled back and rested against the wall behind her for several painfully long moments- until the newest waves of nausea, agony and dizziness subsided.

Perendi had no way of knowing exactly how long she'd ended up resting like that; the silence surrounding her being of absolutely no assistance, nor the shadows and reliefs that seemed to be nearly alive. After what seemed like hours, days; possibly a lifetime of just resting, she finally managed to get back to her feet again. Curving her stump against her chest protectively and to hopefully further slow the blood-loss, it was time to continue. "Master, you're back?" The dead creature had inquired when she'd entered the laboratory; to her, that was an indication that he would not be found through the door the humanoid had emerged from. Instead of proceeding forward, she chose to back-track, through the long, meandering hall once again; this time though, she would turn to move down the right passageway; that would probably only leave the one heading forward and the one backtracking to the grand hall once more, if her choice ended up being incorrect again.

The great hall hasn’t changed, it seemed that Perendi was completely irrelevant to the reliefs on the walls as they observed her like a piece of flesh, insignificant on the grand scheme of things. As she passed the map, the small carved people were still going about their business, not even noticing the giant among them and the static wind was still rushing the unmoving waves to meet the illusory coast of the carved Le’raana.

The corridor to the right was in the first glance identical to the one she left behind, but there were stark differences. Where the previous one was chaotic, this one was orderly, as reliefs once again flowed in neat organized lines toward the other end, the scenes had a lot of battles in them, depicting mounted knights leading others to battle, or throne rooms, filled with nobles, all looking at their kings in deference. Dragons towered over the kneeling beasts, griffins held the sun over the castles at their mercy. It went on and on, battles of strength and wit raging in the pale light.

Eventually Perendi reached the end and entered a sort of antechamber, a relatively small circular room, lit by the same pale light. Two dragons, numerous constellations behind them, were carved on either side of her, they seemed to be fighting. Their flame collided right in front of her, where one would expect a door to be. That flame twisted and spiraled until it formed the sun’s crown, a symbol that looked like a sand clock inside it. A big naked eye towered above the scene, shining light on it. The craftsmanship was just as elegant as one would come to expect from this place. The light flickered from time to time, and made it look like the flame, the dragons,, the stars, the eye were all moving - except the symbol in the center. It stood unmovable, the only absolute among those that were relative.

Perhaps, though, the reliefs weren’t Perendi’s main concern. In front of her stood a tall woman, dressed in a set of robes that looked rather smart on her, emphasizing her tall and slim build. Her auburn hair cascaded from her shoulders to her shoulderblades, her green eyes fixed on Perendi.

“So you’re the intruder,” she said, her voice soft, like silk. Her eyes flickered to the missing limb. “And you went to the homonculi labs. I didn’t think First was capable of anything beyond drooling, I see I underestimated him. So,” she raised an eyebrow, “why are you here?”

It came as a relief that nothing in the great hall had changed; that the mercenary seemed to be as inconsequential to the reliefs as she had been during her first trek through. The map underfoot seemed to have continued moving in her absence; the miniscule carved people drifting from location to location- all was as it should have been, nothing seemed to indicate cause for alarm. The shifting in the embosings along the new corridor's walls, unfortunately, did not serve as an indicator as to whether or not she was drawing any nearer to her intended target.

Anywhere else, the orderly rows of flowing reliefs might have proven that she'd chosen correctly this time; though the imagery shifted from strange scenes of peace to even more peculiar depictions of war. While her eye roved appreciately over the mounted knights and dragons, gryphons and the figures that kowtowed to their lieges, her gaze was only apprecitive of the imagery and the deadly beauty contained there. It would have served her well to have been a scholar of history; perhaps then, she would have been able to unravel the mystery of the wars being waged, the rampaging dragons and commanding nobility. The sand-clock and massive celestial eye were certainly noteworthy and doubtlessly represented something, the same as the passage of time. A deity, watching for eternity as their creations are destroyed by time? She pondered idly, though it seemed like such things were not meant to be considered for very long.

For more noteworthy than trying to discern the stories strewn across the walls were the indiviudal that stood, as though anticipating her arrival. A statuesque woman clad in elegant robes; Perendi's eye slowly roving over her figure appraisingly What a shame. She was truly an appealing lady; even noble-looking- and as far as the fighter could tell, she didn't appear to be carrying any weapons, nor did she look like she indulged in skirmishes- though appearances could be and oftentimes were deceiving. However, it was her eyes that caused the mercenary to be watchful, wary: they were green, like the creature that she'd slain had been. Are you a slave, servant, or are you here because you want to be? Maybe someone's mistress?

The stately lady's voice was incredibly soft and smooth; though the revelation that she'd known where the warrior had gone revealed that she definitely had some hand in what was occuring here. Unfortunately, relying on non-verbal communication was out of the question; she would not be able to convey complex thoughts to the other woman at that time- she had inadvertantly been forced into speaking. "Homonculi?" Perendi queried, her rough voice a sharp contrast to the dulcet tones of the robed lady. "Hmm... is that so; must be a relief. Who are you?" She swallowed blood after voicing that demand; cocking her head and making a thoughtful sound in the back of her throat at the green-eyed woman's question, "I'm here to see your master; I have important matters to discuss with him-- and got lost."

The first and final points were honest enough; I'm just an artifact hunter; I got turned around in the hall and attacked because I went into the wrong room, was the thought she was trying to convince herself of, a spur-of-the-moment idea that she'd formulated upon seeing that she wasn't alone. Leaning against one of the walls and attempting to look like she belonged there, that she had all the time in the world and was comfortable.

The woman just looked at Perendi with amusement. A short dry chuckle escaped her. "Really," she inquired, looking at Perendi as if she were a child, "and what would my arrogant self-absorbed divinity-obsessed bastard of a master want with a simple woman who can't even handle a failed experiment?"

Her green eyes shone in the pale light of the room as they looked Perendi over once again. The woman shook her head gently, causing her hair to scatter and flow in the air before gracefully falling on her shoulders once again. Her posture was relaxed and non-chalant, as if she was making social small talk with a random noble, not standing in front of a warrior in a hall surrounded by carved ancient battle of dragons.

"No, I really don't think so," she concluded. "My arrogant master would never let a mortal anywhere near his lair, much less inside. No, he is far too haughty to speak to mere mortals if he doesn't intend to kill them. Though I do remember him speaking of some 'upstart woman', who managed to actually injure him," her eyes locked on Perendi, "just out of curiosity: was that you?"

A true study in contrasts they seemed to be; almost like physical representations of oil and water- and yet, the mercenary relaxed a bit in the green-eyed woman's presence, some of the tension carried in her back finally relenting, allowing her casual leaning against the wall to be more comfortable; ankles crossed and head resting against the wall, it probably didn't seem as though she intended on moving any time soon- unless she was attacked.

The other woman's condescending tone was overlooked, simply because of how spiteful and contemptuous the words she spoke seemed to be. Rather than a sneer or smart-ass smirk, Perendi actually laughed at the auburn-haired beauty's words; the sound rusty and strange, perhaps vaguely similar to the sound a carrion-crow might have made, but it was true laughter nevertheless. "Yes, really- and that failed experiment is dead." She rasped, that amusement still present, "It's not what your arrogant, self-righteous, pig-headed, borish prick of a master wants with me, it's what I want with the pathetic bastard," The ending statement was punctuated by a liquidous gurgle that served as her clearing her throat and swallowing thickly.

Her black eye glittered with humor and that ever-present defiance even as she flashed a grin at the lady; they might as well have simply been a pair of extremely young noblewomen, gossiping and conspiring against a suitor that one of them found truly distasteful. The green-eyed woman seemed to be just as at ease as the warrior was; perhaps even moreso- perhaps they should have both been sitting in a pretty little parlor somewhere, sipping sickeningly-sweet cordials and embroidering, rather than standing in a magnificent chamber adorned with venerable artwork depicting death and war. That situation was almost as entertaining as the other lady herself; perhaps there was some common ground they shared?

She nodded, making a "hmm"ing sound in the back of her throat, mulling over the other's words before winking conspiringly; "Ah, I think I understand what you're getting at. Yes, that would be me- I followed him this far; I don't like leaving things unfinished," There was no harm in revealing that much to her at any rate- Perendi didn't think she'd do much with that information; unless she decided to launch an attack of her own. That last statement trailed off into a choking, hissing whisper as she peered around the chamber again; as though looking for hidden doors that would have allowed another being to enter and ambush. While she wanted to believe that she might have found at least a momentary ally by sheer happenstance, there were still too many possibilities- the robed one could have been stationed there to waylay intruders, after all.

How easy it would have been to just try to offer to protect her, as long as she revealed the way to wherever her master might have been waiting; for now at least, Perendi had nothing against her. However, in that instant, everything was up to the other woman; the ashen mercenary's eye meeting hers levelly. Though "good" and "evil" were relative terms that the pale woman didn't believe in under any circumstances, she was unsure as to whether the lady was an enemy or ally. She glanced meaningfully albeit briefly at her own blades, then back up at her company once again; a silent signifier that she'd spill the other's blood only if it became necessary to do so and not a moment before.

The other woman smiled broadly, displaying all thirty-two of her chalk-white and razor-sharp teeth. "Wonderful!" she replied. "As you might have noticed by now, I am not the greatest fan of my good-for-nothing shitpile of a master. He may have created me, but I still want his blood," she said, vicious beast raring its head behind the pupils of her eyes.

"Oh and do relax, at least a little," the woman said. "You can never truly let your guard down around here. The smartass really did put a lot of work into it. My name is Fifteen by the way, but I prefer Féria. If I wanted to kill you, I could have done it easily, my owner far exceeds the meager abilities of that failed experiment you fought earlier."

She looked at Perendi's injured limb again. "I think there may be an artifact around here to fix that, but it's really not worth the risk. Then again," the woman smiled, "if you had the courage to come to his personal study..." She looked at the dragons contemplatively.

If she tried to say she wasn't quickly becoming charmed by the lady, she would have been lying through her teeth; a lopsided, shit-eating grin gracing her own countenance at the experiment's enthusiasm, "I would never have guessed," That simple statement was colored by readily-apparent dry humor as the elegant being's more vengeance-seeking side began to make itself known. It seemed as though she actually had managed to find an ally in the subterannean temple, which was more than she had hoped to accomplish by far- and she decided that if they ended up surviving the encounter with the apparent noblewoman's master, the least she could do would be try to get her to relative safety.

"Sorry. I just wasn't expecting to find someone like you here," Perendi explained, stretching as she shifted to a more comfortable position; "Things waiting everywhere, huh? It's definitely beautiful here, though- and your master clearly has exceptional taste," That last comment was intentionally loaded; that grin not yet fading- she'd let the green-eyed woman decide what it was directed at, exactly. "Féria," That name was voiced as though she was testing it; there was no need to use the number that had been given- Perendi found the name to be more pleasing-sounded; as elegant and unusual as the woman herself. Striding forward to broach the distance between them, she extended her hand, "I'm... Eski. Come with me- we'll deal with your master and I'll take you somewhere safe."

It wasn't her name, nor one that she used too frequently; the Thieves' Cant word probably sounding a bit strange with the additional harshness of the way she spoke; but very few people knew her real name, she preferred to keep it that way and would rather no one in the subterranean lair knew either of her more preferred monikers- especially since her contacts in Zantaric knew her as "Pearl." It was something of a sneaking job, after all. The promise she offered though, was one that she did intend to keep to the best of her ability.

A smile and shrug were given at the meaningful glance Féria gave her injured limb; Perendi's own gaze finding fascination amid one of the engraved scenes of mounted knights charging a peculiar beast. "It might be helpful, especially if we might find it and him in the same location." It sounded like the artifact was housed exactly where she was attempting to go anyway- and even if the artifact's properties reacted strangely or poorly with her curse, at least she'd be able to say that they tried- and there was always the possibility that they'd finally catch up with her quarry. Both possibilities were reason enough to want to venture deeper.

Féria looked amused at Perendi's comment about her master's taste. She chuckled quietly. "Well, he doesn't appreciate me," she replied. "The cunt only made me the way I am to prove that he could. It all," she looked around the chamber, "doesn't matter to the fool, he only created all the decorations to pass time." There was another chuckle.

When the issue of protection was brought up, Féria actually gave a short laugh. "Oh, I hardly need protection, though I would join you, if only this once, to kill the bastard. I'll go and get enjoy my freedom then..."

"Anyway," she looked at the sun and the sand clock symbol. "This is a door to his personal study, we should get here before looking for the artifact for your hand. The bastard left for something important, I know it. He never did leave in such a hurry. We have to find our what he is searching for, going for the artifact might trigger a defense mechanism and I'd rather not get stuck in a time-loop. Not to mention the bastard's other homonculi - the bloody loyal dogs that they are."

Féria paced in front of the carving. "It's protected by a password, obviously," she huffed. "And the bastard never needs to speak it, he just... passes through," Féria almost growled, her figure shifting from toe to toe like a cat. "It has sometching to do its the carving, and I don't know him well enough to guess what goes on in that big head of his."

The dragons meanwhile continued to stare at the pair impassively, too engaged in their own battle, while the sun was glowing, the symbol basking in all the light and the eye simply observing all the rulers and beasts from the corridor and seemingly the entire universe, not even paying any special attention to Perendi or Féria.

"The stupid bich damn sure should!" Perendi countered, not understanding how someone capable of not only creating such magnificently detailed works of art, but the other homonculi and the lady who stood before her, might have been willing to let such talent go to what she perceived to be complete waste. If he was capable of producing the works of art out of boredom, he could have easily become an exceptionally famous artist; if Féria was a creation born from his strange ideals, then he could have doubtlessly become extremely sought-after in noble and possibly even royal circles as a flesh-shaper. It was a damn shame that he'd chosen to become deluded with thoughts of divinity. "How can someone with gifts like his be such a wasteful, deranged fuck?" Though it was sneered quite contemptuously, it was more of a hypothetical question than anything else; she couldn't claim to understand how he thought- and didn't think anyone else currently alive would be able to understand it, either.

Swaying on her feet, she nodded thoughtfully while catching her breath again, waiting for the spasms and lack of oxygen to release their punishing, vice-like grips before turning her attention back to Féria, "Good to know- and I welcome the company. Once we've killed the son of a whore, you might want to consider going... anywhere else- hell, even Adela and Serendipity are beautiful this time of year." She wasn't doubting the lady's ability to handle her own in a fight by any stretch of the imagination- under other circumstances, she would have extended an invitation to join her cause; but lives were not currency and Féria did not need to trade hands from master to employer. Find something that you want to fight for- and to hell with what anyone else thinks or says, was the unspoken implication.

Clearing her throat, she turned back o face the sun, sand-clock and the eye that stared impartially down at them; "That would probably be a good idea- if the ass isn't around, we might have a little time to look around. It's nothing to worry about; stopping that fuckhead's more important than anything else- everything else is just incentive. I don't think I'd like to be stuck in a time-loop either; we'll get in, look around and get out... is everyone else here one of his shit-for-brains dogs?" The remaining homonculi, Féria had already explained- but that still left the possibility of slaves, servants, innocents that might have been the victims of his experiments- no one back in Zantaric had known about the lady's situation, so they simply might not have known anything else that was noteworthy.

Listening to Féria explain that the newest door was passphrase-protected as well and closing the distance between herself and that carving gave her enough time to regain her breath and balance once more; though the trickle in her throat served as a constant reminder that she was continuing to tread on dangerous ground; as did the frequency that she had to clear her throat and fight through the gradually-increasing constriction. "Seems like all his doors are that way- I've only come up with lucky guesses so far," Where Féria seemed like a cat in motion, preparing to hiss or slap something, Perendi had stopped moving, tilting her head upward at the symbols, contemplating. Reaching forward just to see if the door was an illusion, she would begin guessing once more: "Omnipotent. Omniscient. All-seeing."

"Yes," Féria nodded. "Yes, this is something he might come up with, but it's usually a concept that serves as the key. Almost every relief here has a purpose of hiding something," she explained. "The bastard has taste, that much I can't deny, and some wits about him. It would be something simple... He doesn't hold anyone in high regard and doesn't go for complicated over-the-top nonsense."

"Well, I suppose he does go a little over-the-top with his experiments, and yes, I am the only exception. Everyone else here is a slave to his will," she growled. "I was made as a bitter damsel in distress, to amuse him by my predicament alone. A rabid deadly dog which couldn't even lay a finger on him, he used to say, the cunt."

Féria shook her head and walked to one of the dragons. Her long elegant fingers traced its outline from the tail to the eyes. Her steps were quiet, measured, augmenting he silence, not breaking it. It seemed almost surreal. "Dragons mean power," she said. "A power from one side and a power from the other side..." she paused, until the brilliant emerald of her eyes lit up in realization. She walked to where the door was supposed to be and looked it over. "Yes, they collide... It's a conflict, but the bastard wouldn't build his entire riddle on just one allegory... There must be something else."

She looked helplessly at the eye, which looked back at her, impassively, without care, dissecting her with its unwavering gaze. Meanwhile, the battle between dragons continued, indifferent to the struggles of the two mortals, as the tiles on the floor inevitably spiraled toward one center.

It was strange- everything that she'd guessed her way through up until that point had some underlying concept or personification that dealt with divinity in one way or another- and yet, this simple passphrase did not seem to be as simple as the others to decipher; of course, since the doors were supposed to be a vanguard that prevented entry to the master's personal sanctum, it was only natural that the phrase would be more difficult to discern... maybe. "You're right, up until now, there's been one unifying concept behind everything- and so far, that has always been the concept of the divine." She nodded at Féria's agreeing that he clearly had taste; unlike the handful of nobles she'd worked for in the past, his taste wasn't overdone- it was simple, yet refined, orderly and chaotic at once; paradoxical, as far as she'd seen. She snorted at the other lady's comment about the master's wit, though; "But he can't argue worth shit."

Thinking back to the "conversation" she'd had -or tried to have- about their opposing ideals with him earlier, she had to admit there had been something strangely comical about how he hadn't presented any substantial counterpoints about his perspective; it had been almost precious in a way, how it had quickly devolved into basically a child-like battle of "I'm right and you're wrong!" On both sides of that could-have-been debate. Had either stopped to think about it in the heat of the moment, he could have replaced "destruction of the world" and "wanting to become a god" with something along the lines of "I want your pastry" and her argument in favor of life, or how she thought seeking godhood was a delusion with "but you stole my toy!" and their argument would have been no different. "We sounded like gods-damned kids!" She couldn't keep from laughing at how ridiculous it had been.

"If he made you and First though, he's pretty good," Thankfully, she hadn't seen any of his other experiments- at least not yet. "It's a relief that you're the exception to that rule- makes things easier. He deserves to die for thinking he was justified in controlling you, though. The cock-for-brains pisses me off, the more I hear about him." Perendi growled, thinking about Féria's plight; no one should have ever been subjected to living as a captive dog, no matter if they were someone else's creation or not. For a moment, she regretted having to leave her hammer behind; the threat she'd spit at First in regard to his master was sounding even more appealing now than it did then- though with luck, there might have been a broom or piece of wood that would have served the same purpose, once they finally located the bastard.

Sighing, Perendi began roaming around the room; idly stroking a carved horse's flank, a knight's lance, one of the unidentifiable beasts' wings, nodding at Féria's explanation. It did make sense to her- knights were known for their chivalry and bravery, gryphons for wisdom; nobles' wealth and prestige allowed them to reign over anyone of lower social caste-- there were a few qualities that drew those images' differences together. As did the numerous battles that stretched along the walls; not the clashes themselves, but some of the underlying factors that would have enabled those figures and their regal steeds to charge into battle. Contrasting to the almost surreal brush of Féria's silence-accentuating footfalls, the mercenary's challenged the absence of sound.

"Not power," She mused aloud, making her way back to the carving of the eye; even it and the concept of stopping or controlling time itself... That has to be it! Whoever controls the battlefield controls history; whoever controls history controls the world. Son of a bitch, it's possible that we think too much alike. Swaying on her feet like a cobra preparing to spit at its intended target, her words were barely above a hissing whisper; her light-headedness made it seem as though  the floor had begun to buck and rock underfoot and it was becoming very difficult to continue forcing herself to speak for the time being; most of her visible flesh obscured by internal, punishing shadow- the hand that rested against the reliefs was holding her up, keeping her face from making a close, personal acquaintance with the decorations.

Dragons, knights, kings; strange creatures, gryphons, the sun; the flow of time, even the imagery of the fights themselves- they weren't separate reliefs, but pieces of a whole.  Similar to how the tiles underfoot were swirling together, she thought she might have at least found the right direction; prestige, power, courage and chivalry were similar, but not the same- and not always represented by the sun, dragons, or the rest of the imagery; at least not as far as she thought at that moment . "Strength." That word was little more than a sigh.

“He probably didn’t consider you an opponent until you wounded him,” Féria replied. “And even then, he is infuriatingly stubborn and arrogant. He even calls his fights pest control. I doubt he had ever taken yuor argument seriously. Well...” she chuckled at Perendi’s new name for her master, it was oddly amusing.

As Perendi spoke her answer, Féria looked at the door and when noting happened, sighed. “If only the bastard was this straightforward,” she lamented, “I’d have killed him in his sleep by now...”

She walked to the door and looked at the sun and the symbol inside. “I don’t know the language, but this definitely symbolizes time,” she spoke. “Knowing his obsession with divinity, this would be something that can never be subjective for a god. It would have something to do with this symbol, the sun itself, fire and maybe even the eye. You can never tell...”

In one sudden and graceful glide Féria stood near the corridor, observing all the reliefs on its walls. “They are fighting, but we have already established that... What are they fighting for? Castles? Riches? Power? No, the bastard cares little about all but the last and even then he wouldn’t make such an obvious password.”

She paced in front of the door, glaring at the sun and the flame which made its crown. Her movements, while graceful, were a little jerky, more desperate. “We have to get it right, I won’t give the bastard the satisfaction,” she practically hissed through her teeth. A sickening crunch resonated through the chamber as her fist impacted the wall with enough force to break stone. Only the stone was as immaculately smooth as it was before, not a dent in it. Feria’s right hand, however, did not fare so well. It’s bones were sticking out from both her wrists and her elbow, chunks of meat and torn tendons hanging loosely. Black light enveloped the broken appendage. Féria growled as the bones realligned with another painful snap and the tissue knitted itself back until her hand was as healthy and immaculate as it was before the hit.

“Bastard won’t let me finish myself off,” she explained. “Too amusing a possession,” she quoted with bitterness in her voice.

The eye was looking at the pair just as it had before, it’s dissecting gaze looking right through the very essences of their beings, while the symbol simply stated something. Was it the eye’s words’s or was it something to do with the raging battle of the two powers? It was frustratingly unclear.

"You're probably right," She stated with a snort, "Pig-headed, arrogant, unwilling to listen, he's just an asinine, cocky shit I'd want to punch in the face a few dozen times even if I didn't give a damn about what he's doing." Shaking her head not only to try and clear her swimming vision, but at the notion itself, she was again struck by how humorous it was that she and Féria still managed to sound like they were bitching about someone's ill-fated suitor, no matter how frustrated they both were. It was a conversation that she'd definitely end up remembering for at least weeks to come- of course, the fact that she was enjoying Féria's company did play into that as well. "Does he ever take anything but himself seriously?"

Perendi sighed in annoyance when the door still didn't budge; gritting her teeth and resting her forehead momentarily against it long enough to wait for the room to quit spinning. Once those damnable punishments had subsided again, she dragged her hand through her hair, lifting her head once more. "If you'd been able to kill him in his sleep, that's a favor no one would have been able to pay you back for," Though she didn't think her companion was interested in rewards or anything of that nature beyond obtaining her own freedom at last, his death would definitely have been a boon for probably everyone who had ever met him.

"I can't read it either," She admitted with an increasingly-irritated near-growl; Féria was probably correct about this password having nothing with a god- or wanting to become one. Fire is a representative of wisdom; which all things have to one degree or another. The eye watches over everything, which is what a god does- but could it also signify a ruler- an emperor or king? The time-piece though; could that represent eternity, stopping time itself, it running out, or in reverse? Stepping back a few paces, she swung a foot forward and kicked the door; though it seemed impossible to even make it rattle on its hinges. What would they be fighting for? She silently echoed Féria's question, There are countless reasons people fight- I could be here for the next few weeks, just yelling reasons... I don't know if any of them would be right, or if we're searching for a miracle at this point. But anything's worth a try.

"Some would fight for those things, yes; or even prestige, glory... some fight for the sake of simply fighting. I don't think that would be like him, though," It was true that she didn't know Féria's master well at all, but he just didn't strike her as the sort who would have fought for the simple joy of fighting. Riches and land were not correct, or else the door would have opened under Féria's questioning- and Perendi was fairly certain the story told within the reliefs wasn't one of honor or freedom, either. There are also conquerors. "Control," It made sense to her; pushing back one's enemies was to control the flow of battle- and one could try to control the masses, or perhaps even time itself. "Conquest. Subjugation. Domination? Dominion?" She queried, beginning to pace in a manner similar to a caged beast; pausing every now and again to throw a kick or punch at the doors, the walls, "Destruction?" Probably not; the conversation they'd had once again echoed in the back of her mind- simple destruction for the sake of it just seemed too simple, "Annihilation?"  He wanted to destroy the world, after all.

Féria's pacing and punching the wall, breaking her arm quite nastily, drew her from that particular line of thought. "We'll get it- and before the cunt comes back, at that rate!" That snarled statement held a promise that she intended to keep, not only for herself, but her company as well. There had to be something simple that both of them were just not catching; but it was difficult to say what that might have been. "I can see how that could be useful-- but not at his discretion; you shouldn't be forced to live if you don't want to." The eye's scrutiny revealed nothing at all; if anything, in that moment, Perendi thought it was a symbol of concealment. Then there were the flames, the unreadable inscription on the symbol itself; even the fight that raged on, captured in motion. What if it's got nothing to do with what they're fighting for at all- but the consequences? There has to be risk in order for a battle to take place; one's nobility is never secure, neither is wealth or land- even someone who wants to attain godhood surely has to risk something as well? "Sacrifice?"

"Oh, I very much like living," Feria replied with a small vicious smile, which didn't take a lot of time to morph into a grimace, "just not like a caged bird. And no, I don't think he takes anyone seriously, at least not anyone human."

She went back to contemplating the dragons, tracing their outline here and there with her fingers. The smooth walls remained just as black, just as solid and just as indifferent as they were the last time. Though she appeared to see something beyond the silhouettes. Feria suddenly stopped and walked to the door. She stood there for a moment, contemplating the flame.

"You know," she said, folding her hands over her chest, "the bastard wouldn't just be so literal as to mean a battle of actual powers... Something is fighting here, but all I know is that dragons represent power, maybe wisdom too, or perhaps knowledge. I am positive it has something to do with the battle, but I'm not even sure what battle we are even discussing here!" Feria exclaimed with irritation. "With the bastard it could be anything."

"Maybe I should have a look at the walls in the corridor," she proposed. "He has too high an opinion of himself and too low an opinion of everyone else that he couldn't have resisted leaving some clues there. Could you examine the door again?"

It was apparent that Feria didn't actually expect a reply as she soundlessly walked into the corridor and stopped at the closest scene, looking at it thoughtfully.

Meanwhile, the eye on the door kept staring at both women, looking through them, as the symbol merely looked on, indifferent to their predicament, and seemingly even its own, as if its mere presence was enough.

"That's a relief," Perendi stated with a wicked grin, "Once you're away from here, just think of how much it'll piss him off to know you're alive and he's not!" She very much believed in ghosts, ghouls and all manner of spectral beings; even if some of the creatures she believed in didn't exactly exist beyond drunken tales, the pages of books, or unsubstantiated rumors. The thought of Feria's master returning as a very pissed-off, powerless wraith of some sort, possibly even chained within a prison similar to the one he'd constructed, was amusing, in a sense.

No matter how many times the interprid pair traipsed through the chamber, scruitinizing the walls and -at least in her case- the floor, the more clear it became that there was something else; It'll probably be something simple enough that we both end up looking like gods-damned idiots. She made a thoughtful sound in the back of her throat as she stared at one of the reliefs; as though committing the gryphon's form to memory. "I wasn't sure and figured that if he doesn't take anyone else seriously, maybe his code would have been painfully easy to solve." It isn't likely, but what if it's something as gods-damned commonplace as an actual key, or shit, even a certain tile on the floor?

"Dragons do represent what you know- but so do gryphons as well. The sun, as far as I know, is a symbol for an all-knowing, all-seeing god; wisdom, power, perfection and life. I'm not a historian- if we can't figure out what battle it is, we'll be here for weeks, trying to learn just that much! Possibly forever, if we want to discuss why and how people fight- the fucking swine's great at designing shit that pisses people off."

She nodded at Feria's retreating back; slowly moving toward the door. Once she was in front of it, she would start by slowly pacing in front of it; making a point of stepping on each of the tiles in front of it. Come on, you stupid bastard- show me something before I find a way to tear you apart. Threatening an inanimate object in her mind would get her nowhere- but she couldn't help herself; she was beginning to miss  those doors that could just be kicked or shoved open without issue.

Rather than simply trying to guess what word or phrase might have caused the door to swing open, she would closely examine the symbols and engravings there; looking for anything that might have seemed amiss, or like it might have signified... anything that had been overlooked. While contemplating the imagery, she would reach up; fingers trailing along the edges of the doorframe and across the etchings themselves- trying to feel for any sort of indentation, sharp edge, raised area or anything that might have been manipulated in any way. Doesn't seem to be just a latch, at least.

Attempts to turn the sand-clock upside-down, to reach the ever-staring eye, would be made even as the snake glared at the peculiar lettering. Though her frustration was continuing to build immensely, a hissing breath exhaled between tightly-clenched teeth, she would continue examining that door; rising to her toes when necessary to reach as high as she could in that pursuit. All the while, muttering "Death, despair, majesty; terror, eternal," under her breath, as though giving voice to her increasingly-perplexed thoughts would force the door to bend to her will.

The door she was looking for didn't have any indentations, in fact, there was no evidence to suggest that there was anything besides one smooth, immaculately polished circular wall. All the cravings, while being indeed carving, could not be touched really - they appeared to be a part of the stone for some bizarre reason. Whatever technique the mage used to create this relief, it clearly was messing with space. It was disorienting, but not really different from all the other carvings Perendi had seen in this place so far.

"I have found something!" Feria announced her return. She looked rather annoyed, but otherwise composed and focused. "I remembered that symbol on the door," she pointed at the sand clock symbol, "it's not a language I remember, but the bastard uses it when he refers to something timeless," she sighed. "Though beyond that I am well and truly lost. What do you think the fire could represent here?"

Feria walked closer to the carving and examined it. "I have access to some books in his library, but the bastard keeps all the meaningful information away from me. And the carving there is even more ridiculously convoluted than here. We have to figure out what this flame means," she said resolutely.

"Or god dammit I will punch that stupid eye," she practically snarled at the large eye in the upper part of the door. "The bastard manages to infuriate me while being somewhere far away..."

It was strange that there was nothing out of place in regard to the door; the most remarkable thing about it was that it seemed to have been carved from a single slab of obsidian-dark stone. The carvings weren't quite possible to touch; which made them impossible to manipulate in any fashion- the way that space had been subtly manipulated wasn't much cause for alarm, though that wasn't much different than any of the others that she'd seen or reached for.  The language in which the  symbol bore inscription was still without meaning- and neither the floor, sun, or eye had revealed anything exceptionally meaningful.

"Nothing..." She snarled, more to herself and at the antechamber, than anything else.

She briefly turned when Feria arrived again; that irritated scowl growing deeper as she glowered at the unyielding door- though the redhead's announcement might have been something new, something of meaningful significance. "The only thing I've uncovered about the door is that the bastard used no tricks to get past it," which was nothing but a shame. As asinine as he was, he was far from stupid. "Timeless, huh?... That does make things more difficult," The mercenary mused, rising to her toes and drawing her baselard so she could quite childishly and maliciously try to jab the very tip of the blade against the bottom half of the carved eye; even though it was far from living, it was irrationally pissing her off because of how it seemed to just observe, taunt.

"Erm... fire. We already know what it should represent, but doesn't. There's an old woman who tried to teach me about shit like that a long time ago- she said fire was definitely representative of life and destruction which don't fit here..." She trailed off for a moment, her words degenerating into a groan, "I've heard a few other things associated with it as well. Passion? Creativity? Enlightenment? The soul? Immortality." Her fist hit the door to emphasis each of the concepts that she knew of- and immortality was one concept that could have been thought to be synonymous with timelessness..

Perendi grumbled a series of choked, colorful profanities as she studied the carvings alongside Feria; starting to become truly confounded- there weren't many other properties associated with fire that she knew about, that would have suited the symbolism of the carvings. The library would definitely have been a good place to search for information, if Feria hadn't already mentioned it being under even more stalwart guard by the carvings there. "Well, son of a chamberpot-licking, pox-ridden, oozing old whore, if you need a hand up so you can punch the gods-damned thing, climb on up; it'd be better if you were knocking the bitch's teeth down his throat, though!" Offering to act as a stool so Feria might be able to  assault a carving in a door seemed to be one of the least strange things that was happening.

Féria stopped as it struck when Perendi mentioned enlightenment. “Yes!” she exclaimed into the silence of the chamber. “Enlightenment,” she explained. “The bastard could never stop talking about how he had seen the real order of the universe, how everything really is. It is a door to his personal chamber, it makes sense for the password to have some connection to him. Iam sure it has something to do with enlightenment”.

She looked at the door again and traced the flame, her skin like chalk against the blackness of the wall. When Féria eventually reached the sun and the mysterious symbol, she paused.

“The flames, see,” she pointed out, “they spiral. It’s as if...” she searched for the appropriate word. “As if something is created out of them. Of course,” she exclaimed, “something is created as a result of a conflict. But is it enlightenment or do two ideas clash and create something? Why do flames morph into a sun? And why on Le’raana is the eye even here in this case? How does it fit into all of this nonsense?” Féria huffed. “Why can’t the bastard be more straight-forward?”

In the midst of her tirade Féria appeared to not have noticed Perendi’s offer, in either case, it was clear now that the woman was far more absorbed by the swirling mob of ideas in her mind, which seemed intent to solve the puzzle of the solar crown.

Perendi's pacing came to a halt at Feria's exclamation; it didn't make much sense to her- but puzzles were supposed to be difficult to piece together, especially when being largely unacquainted with the object of their collective anger. Certainly, she'd argued and fought with him, but that didn't account for much of anything in the grand scheme of things. "If it is enlightenment and the ass thinks he's seen the nature of reality, I think he's more insane than we thought!" Despite that snarl, a relieved grin punctuated those words: it meant the riddle might have had an actual answer that, when it had almost seemed to be unsolvable when they'd first started.

Her head cocked as she peered upward at the eye. While the spiraling flames and solar crown might have been tied together- even if just by the most obscure possible concepts- she didn't immediately see how the eye could have fit into the equation. Feria's mention of the flames' morphing into that solar disc, though, struck a chord; as did the thought of some manner of creation. At the same time, the fire seemed to be rising. Rising to power or glory; a king is either born into power, or he's chosen-- and an heir rises to claim that crown; in a fight, you rise to face your challenge- Gods, if it means what I'm thinking, we're just fucking idiots!  "It could be some kind of creation- andif it is, I'm not sure what, yet; but we'll figure it out. There's something else here to think about... look at how the fire and sun are connected, in how the crown is formed- and how the fire rises up. Could it be something as easy as maybe transcendence... hmm...transformation seems likely to me in a way, too- or possibly even ascention. Does any of that make sense?"

As Feria had mentioned and they kept floundering over, there was also that damnable eye. That seemed to be a stumbling point more than anything else, as far as she could figure out, though she didn't think it would have been included as some measure of misdirection. "The eye's here to be a bitch," There was a hint of confounded laughter in that statement. The eye... it could be all-seeing, but that doesn't make much sense to me. It could be saying that something has been hidden right in front of us, or it could have something to do with perception. It's open, so could that mean an awakening? Or... the door leads to his personal chambers, which are sealed to us until we figure out what everything means. We might be able to find something useful there, but no one is permitted to enter... I wonder if that writing might bring it all together? Shit, I don't know if it's possible at all!

Drumming her fingers against her thigh as she made a querying sound in the back of her throat, she just wasn't certain how to tie everything together, whether she was correct or not. The conclusion she reached while trying to mull everything over sounded extremely pretentious to her, but the worst that the mercenary thought could happen was that all of her most recent attempts at rationilizing the symbology could be wrong and they'd have to approach everything from a different angle. "Eyes mean a lot of things, though... what if it represents forbidden knowledge?"

It probably didn't matter one way or another if Feria had acknowledged Perendi's offer. The warrior was trying to work out exactly what they were facing; trying to figure out how it could have all fit together- while, not for the first time, wishing Feria's master was easier to figure out-- or that there was an empty weapons' crate nearby to climb onto, so she could have stabbed that infuriating eye.

"I dnt' think we should focus on the eye all that much, it's likely something the bastard created to prove some sort of point about himself. We'll get to it when we actually figure out what the flame is creating..." Féria paced in front of the door.

The sun watched on as the women tried to figure out its riddle, unmoving, unchanging, absolute. The gaze of its non-existent eyes was dissecting them like a pair of lab experiments. The dragons went on and on, clashing relentlessly, their flames burning and twisting, morphing into the unmoving solar crow. The tiles on the floor spiraled toward the center and the eye observed it all. Everything here bar the dragons, it seemed, was set on becoming one. But what was it?

The answer seemed to be there, but eluded Féria. It made her growl from time to time in irritation. She had read a couple of books from the bastard's library, but nothing to suggest the answer. It seemed like the bastard really did invest some effort in defending his sanctum.

"I'm reserving an especially hard punch to his..." Féria said suddenly, "just for making us go through this shit."

"That's probably exactly what it is," Perendi growled in annoyance, displaying a considerable amount of restraint in how she kept reaching as though to draw one of her weapons, then jerked her hand back just before drawing the skewer. She was neither a magic-user, scholar, nor alchemist; while some puzzles and riddles could be a fun diversion, especially if the answer wasn't layered under things she couldn't understand no matter how hard she tried to uncover what was disguised. But now, she was quickly running out of patience- and there was always the possibility that they were running out of time.

The mercenary knew there was an answer to be uncovered somewhere- but just what that answer might have been would have been as easily discovered as the true formula to make gold from sand or lead. Poised and coiled, it was likely that she would end up lashing out at something quite soon; the thought of trying to demolish the artwork and simply bash the door open was becoming more appealing the longer she and Féria remained there. Glaring at the door; sneering at the dragons, flames and swirling tiles underfoot, she sneered: "I'm starting to think everything we're looking at is a gods-damned lie." It made sense, in a way. Both women had discussed ideas about what the answer had been, yelled and even begged what they'd each thought the passphrase might have been- and for their efforts, as far as Perendi could tell, it seemed like they were only met with mockery.

A foot connected solidly with one of the carved horse's asses, the echo of the impact once again interrupting the silence that was starting to seem deafening. "You punch him all you want- I'll ram my skewer so far up his ass that it'll come out through his mouth- we won't need a spit." Even if she didn't have a reason to want to stop Féria's master, she definitely would have wanted to do by now. Groaning and circling the chamber again, slowly returning to stand in front of the door again, she was no longer paying attention to the carvings, the indecipherable imagery that stretched in front of her- taunting.

Her hand lifted to thump ineffectively against the door again, the rattling sound of flesh smacking against stone punctuating each word; words that she spat as though they tasted foul: "Son of a bitch, open! Fuck the games and nonsense. To hell with the lies all the carvings show. All we want is to know the truth." That- and she was growing extremely infuriated by the thought of a simple door keeping her and Féria trapped; it wasn't something that should have been possible, even if it was magic that kept the door sealed. That's it, I'm going to find a way to break this gods-damned thing down!

As soon as Perendi finished speaking the sun flashed golden for just a moment and the door became transparent, inventing both women into the shadow of the enemy’s inner sanctum. It appeared, though, as if the dragons were dissatisfied, they seemed to know the answer was earned unfairly and their unmoving eyes promised retribution with a gaze that was neither pleasant nor speaking of compassion.

Féria looked around nervously, a frown marring her face. “We should hurry,” she said. “I don’t like how those dragons are looking at us... Knowing the bastard, it could be an alarm. I have never been inside and I’d rather not find out the full extent of his paranoia.”

Not waiting for a reply, she proceeded to enter through the gaping doorway, under the watchful gaze of the now transparent cosmic eye.

It appeared as though the first room of the sanctum was indeed a study. A large one at that. It was a circular room, dominated by a large table in its center, while the walls were as usual occupied by numerous carvings. Though there were smaller desks here and there. The entire chamber was illuminated by a series of floating blue candles, which painted the whole room the color of ice.

Looking up, Féria stiffened for a second. She saw a large carving of an eye, which dominated the entire ceiling, rays of its gaze spreading like the sinks halo. The sense of being watched, having someone look straight through your insides, through your skull and mind permeated the dusty and frankly quite foul air

The owner clearly left in a hurry, papers, scrolls and books were thrown around haphazardly, some even lying open on the floor. All in all, the two walked into an encyclopedia example of chaos.

“We’re lucky,” Féria said, “the bastard left without getting everything in order. I bet there are clues as to his destination somewhere in this mess. Just let’s be quick...”

It seemed as though the soldier of misfortune's self-directed bitching had somehow served as the key; she didn't know exactly what part of her complaints had forced the enchantment on the door to operate- and probably never would. The transparency of the door was a promising invitation to venture deeper into the unknown; though the dragons seemed to be quite displeased. Their apparently glowering expressions were met with a thoroughly cocky little knife-edged smile; Perendi didn't always play fair and was damn sure not a hero- if the supernatural powers at work wanted to seek their revenge against her, then so be it. "It'd be great if there was a way to blind them, but if there is, I wouldn't know how to do it," She admitted, nodding at Feria's request that they hurry. As long as they were quick and treated it like an infiltration job, she thought everything would be alright.

Stalking through the doorway, she glanced around as though expecting something to be waiting for them; though no manner of beast nor spirit seemed to serve as a guard there- and yet, she couldn't shake the eerie feeling of being under constant surveilance. The carvings along the walls more than likely served as another riddle that would allow them to proceed into the next room; there was probably something interesting on the table or desks- but the study was a ramshackle mess- as though some manner of storm had torn through the entire room and they were left to wade through its aftermath. The blue candles cast the study in an eerie, icy illumination; there was just something vaguely disquieting about the gellid light.

Finally glancing upward, she sucked a breath through clenched teeth, seeing the object of Féria's alarm at last. The massive carving of the eye on the ceiling was enough to cause her hair to stand on end- it was as though something was peering directly at the fabric of her being- it wouldn't have been surprising if it didn't like what it saw, either.

Not good. Sidling up to Féria, she whispered: "If you want to see what's on those tables, I'll look at these- and if I find anything, I'll let you know; if you notice anything, do the same- you shouldn't be able to see me, so just... walk into me if you find something? Hurry." Lifting her stump, she would lightly thump the other woman on the shoulder to let her know how she'd recognize the wardog's approach, her hand lifting to touch the onyx at her cloak's clasp, activating its enchantment. She could only hope that her idea would somehow take Féria out of the eye's direct scrutiny.

Once she was concealed within the shadows of the room (it was probably too late to worry about it, but being within the shadows had always given her a sense of peace and safety, like it was where she was meant to be)she crept over to where the books, notes and scrolls were; she would start by glancing over the notes and open books, looking for a phrase or diagram, perhaps even a scribble of a map, that might have indicated anything of importance, no matter how strange or cryptic.

If it wasn't for the watchful gaze of that foreboding eye, or the manner in which the dragons had seemed to openly challenge the pair, she would have liked to have taken a few of those manuscripts';  but didn't think they had the time for something even that simple- not that it was anything of importance, or given more than a fleeting thought to.

Finally, she would make her way back over to Féria with a sheaf of notes that she thought seemed to reveal a vague hint about an obscure artifact; though she had no way of knowing if it was in regard to something the master had already located and was studying, or had departed to find. She would again thump the woman on the shoulder to let her know of her presence before deactivating her cloak's enchantment again, "What do you think of this?" She inquired, offering her those notes.

Féria was initially startled when Perendi just disappeared, but fairly quickly adjusted and nodded with a brief "yes". With her bastard of a master always around, she had had sufficient time to get used to magical tricks and artifacts. In fact, the most surprising fact was that it was Perendi who used magic - the other woman didn't strike her as one reliant on arcane arts. She did, however, examine the description of the artifact Perendi brought. It brought a great deal of disappointment though.

The scrolls and notes were all written in some unknown language, and when Féria looked at the bunch Perendi brought to her, she sighed. "Trust the bastard to write in some obscure language I am not even sure is even spoken today," she grumbled, glaring at the web of symbols which were arranged like a circular net with circular diagrams, or at least those looked like diagrams, thrown into the mix. "It's the same here," she pointed at the main table. "Paranoid lunatic..."

"I think it's useless to try and analyze them," Féria concluded after looking through yet another scroll, which she threw at the floor in frustration. "What's the point of getting in here, if everything is so damn useless?" she hissed at the eye on the ceiling. "I think we need some more maps. With any luck we might find what we are looking for."

"It used to belong to my mentor," Perendi offered as explanation for her cloak, noticing how Féria had seemed momentarily taken off-guard by the mercenary's disappearing, "So I suppose you could call it a memory... I don't use any other magic." Had the raven-feather cloak belonged to anyone else, or even a respected enemy, she would have just left it behind- as it was, with how the feathers were losing their iridescent luster (and had been doing so for some time,) the tattered hem and the ragged hole that revealed it had been pinned to the ground at least once; not to mention how scratched and chipped the onyx in its clasp was, it probably made little sense for her to keep it, even after that explanation. But she wasn't able to let go of it, or what it still represented to her.

It was nothing but a damn disappointment to hear that the notes and scrolls were useless to them. "I know a few languages, but I've never even seen this one until today," She sighed, glowering at the diagrams, charts and symbols; "Gods dammit, I didn't think the bastard was this insane!" Maps would have definitely been helpful, or even a scrap of vellum with the name of a country, or even something relating to a mountain range, or perhaps even a village. Though the disaster made it easier to rifle through Féria's master's belongings, locating anything useful seemed to be questionable at best.

Moving toward another one of the many haphazard stacks of manuscripts, tomes and scrolls, she called over her shoulder: "What about the map on the floor? Would you be able to recognize your master with all the other tiny people there?" As with everything else in this place, the mercenary didn't think it would be quite that easy -didn't even know if he had a carved likeness on the map- but it was an idea. Several books with incomprehensible runes as titles, a weathered tome depiciting gruesome methods for either torture or human experimentation and one in that same, impossible tongue were flung across the room. They were soon joined by a few diagrams, an extremely detailed drawing that had something to do with membranous wings and several sheafs of notes that seemed to be in an arcane dialect. The third and fourth piles seemed to reveal much of the same.

The fifth pile, however, might have been something useful-- or it could have been completely misdirecting. Buried beneath more books, scrolls and a discarded quill was what looked like a map-case and a few crumpled sheets of vellum. Uncrumpling them revealed that some of the written words had either been underlined, circled, or otherwise had attenntion drawn to them: elegant illustrations, a smudge. Unfortunately, either the master's writing was too ornate for Perendi to read, or those notes might even have been in yet another language she'd never learned. Reaching into the map-case did reveal a map though; there were concentric circles that seemed to narrow in on one central location-- but like the map on the floor in one of the other halls, she couldn't make out what the labeling was. As far as she knew, it might have been a depiction of the master's birthplace, some rare herbs, or nothing that was of importance any longer and the ink was long-dried.

"I don't know if these matter at all either- but there is a map here, too. Does it mean anything to you?" She inquired with a grimace as she carried the map-case and crumpled notes over to Féria to mull over, before heading toward the sixth pile. She arched an eyebrow, thinking she might have seen something moving; but given the peculiarities with the candles and that massive eye overhead, it might have been just a trick of the light- or her own mind and probably was. "We might even have to go deeper in..." The war-hound mused, raking her hand back through her hair as she knocked a few books that seemed to depict some manner of arcane ritual aside. "Most of this shit's pointless."

While Perendi was examining piles by the walls, Féria occupied herself by rifling through the papers on the main table. There were all sorts of scrolls and notes, filled with circular webs of flowing intertwined symbols. This sea of nonsense was occasionally interrupted by an unclear circular diagram or two, which also yielded no useful information. In the end, she just huffed and took a seat in the nearby chair. It was apparent that the bastard didn't keep maps on his table.

Perendi's offering, on the other hand, was a welcome surprise. She peered at it and carefully examine the maps. Although her comapnion's idea had merit, it would not work - this much was obvious to her.

"Those aren't real people," Féria shook her head. "They are just carvings... I'm not sure how the bats are made it look as if they were moving, but they don't actually represent anyone."

At a closer look, it appeared as if indeed, the circles did cross at some point, clearly marking a location, though the nature of the mage's interest in it was unclear. Were circles a form of language, a code perhaps? It seemed unlikely that her bastard of a master would resort to such simplicity. No, he would most likely go for symbolism.

"Perendi," Féria called, "do you have any idea what circles might mean? Beyond symbolizing connectedness of course..."

She suddenly got the feeling of anxiety, as if something was about to go monumentally wrong. Perhaps it was the circular iris of the cosmic eye above or perhaps it was the chilly foul air of the room. Either way, Féria wanted out and as fast as possible.

The mercenary was disappointed that Féria hadn't uncovered anything else that might have been telling; though at that point, it was only expected. It seemed as though the other lady's master preferred to keep things just as closely guarded as a dragon lording over its treasure hord, after all. There were still countless scrolls, books and other manuscripts, notes, diagrams and torn sheets of vellum to look at on the floor- and it seemed as though the main table and the others were just as heavily-laden. "I wasn't sure if he might have enchanted some of those carvings to represent anyone of interest or not," She grumbled; it would have made things easier if those stone figures had actually been designed to track movement of certain individuals, but that theory was quickly blown apart. "But it makes things both easier and more difficult."

Though there were countless circular diagrams on the floor, tables and elsewhere, she was not equipped to make sense out of those. Though she was probably horribly mistaken though, the circles on the map were extremely clear to her, even if what the mage was interested in- or why- had yet to be discovered. Moving closer to Féria, the snake became quite animated and seemed more alive; reaching out to trace the wider circles with a finger, she would begin explaining what she thought they were looking at quite enthusiastically. "What we're looking at here is a tracking pattern. His search would have started here," The wider circles were again traced; as she spoke, she moved her finger to follow the intersection point, "You see how the circles are smaller here- and they cross? When you're looking for something and marking it on a map, the interesections would mean those two locations were very close- or that someone or something had information in one or both of those places." Finally, she would touch the smallest of the circles, "This would be where... Fuck, I don't know what he's looking for, but it would be where he thinks it can be found." Leaning against the table, she turned her head and spat blood on the floor; swallowing hard as her curse began to restrict her airways once again, swaying on her feet for a few moments.

While that made perfect sense to her, something about the tracking method seemed to be horribly wrong. It was a technique used -as far as she knew- widely by mercenaries, rangers, bounty and treasure-hunters. Had the circles been drawn around a city, castle, or even along the outer edges of an island or country, that would typically been an illustration on a war-map, designating where armed and armored groups would have been situated as attack points. It made no gods-damned sense for the mage to be using a very common tracking method, or looking at a war-map. But the symbolism behind circles? Connectedness was definitely a given.

"Other than connectedness?...Mmm... they can represent the sun, I think- but that makes no sense. Timelessness, magic and immortality are things they can represent, too. I've heard once or twice, that they could even be a symbol for movement, formlessness, potential... and eyes." The last word was little more than a hiss as she tilted her head upward briefly, glaring challengingly up at the cosmic eye.

Perendi... Her mind repeated Féria's use of the name that the wardog rarely ever used. She'd sworn she introduced herself as Eski; the thought of the other woman knowing what her real name was without being told was enough to cause the mercenary's hair to stand on end; a chill that only continued to course along her spine the longer they remained in that study. She'd never been claustrophobic before- there should have been no reason for that to set in now, she didn't think. The light was extremely peculiar, the study was on the cool side; with stagnant, foul air-- but black markets and stagnant water smelled worse. What a mess we've made, She thought wryly; though that thought had nothing to do with the state of the study.

It might have simply been because her curse was forcing her to pick on the other woman's nervousness and anxiety, but she was of the mind that something was horribly amiss; something that she couldn't quite put word to- it might have been how that celestial eye seemed to have them in its sight no matter where they went in that room; or simple nervousness at the thought that they might have been wasting far too much of their stolen time. There were no boxes or crates to hide in; not that she knew why she was overcome with the desire to hide. They needed to figure out exactly what Féria's master was looking for-- but at the same time, continuing to search seemed to be an exceptionally bad idea. If we stay where we are, something's going to happen. If we go back the way we came, we might be walking into a trap. "Féria, get that map!" It was ground out as an order through gritted teeth, though she was trying to keep her voice as level as she could. Moving toward the pile that had housed the map, she began shoving smaller cases and containers, a few tightly-rolled scrolls and a book into her pouches- she didn't think they could dally much longer, she'd show her companion what she'd just picked up when and if they were able to relax next. "You know him better than I do, think we'll find what we're looking for if we go deeper? Be ready to run." From what, though, she couldn't say yet either way.

"The sun!" Féria exclaimed. "Of course, how could I have forgotten!" she put a map on the table and looked closer at the circles. "The sun means power, potential, but that's not the circle... See, I can't believe I forgot about this. The bastard has been using circles in his rituals to contain power within certain areas. I bet it's the same here."

The map now was almost the sole focus of Feria's attention, the eye and the ominous reliefs forgotten, though the lighting did still leave this disturbing feeling. The map was pale blue under those strange candles the paper seemed to be hiding something, a private joke shared between it and its real owner at the expense of those present.

"There are a lot of intersections," Féria commented. "But you can see them centered around this one place, a spot where all those powers collide. I bet he came there, in fact, I'm almost certain," she said. "This map is too imprecise to determine the exact location, we'll need to go to the main hall, I'll be able to project these circles there."

"It doesn't make much sense to me," Perendi admitted begrudgingly, dragging a hand through her hair in disbelief at her own misunderstandings. Perhaps if she'd paid closer attention when others had attempted (in vain) to explain the workings of magic to her instead of letting her mind go blank and inquiring "how's it taste?" in regard to certain spell components, she would have been able to understand that they weren't looking at a simple tracking pattern. "Rituals? Do you know what kind of rituals?" She wasn't sure if Féria was privy to that kind of information- but given that her master seemed to be rather formiddable in his own right, it would have probably been helpful if she might have been able to hazard a guess.

The mercenary leaned closer as Féria's focus returned to the map; her own skin still crawling under the insistance that some sort of fatal mistake was probably going to be made; compounded by the uneasiness of remaining beneath the eye's almost hostile, constantly scrutinizing gaze. Under that ice-hued light, the pale azure hue given to the map made even it seem to be incorrect; almost as though it were daring the women to do anything, while sharing a nasty joke at their expense.

Dammit, we still don't know just what he was looking for, either! Digging through her pouches for the scrolls and books she'd taken just a short time ago from that somewhat-useful pile, she began rifling through them, giving cursory glances toward passages that might have possibly mentioned anything of relevance. None of her findings seemed to be particularly useful; they mainly discussed lost cities, ancient and forbidden magic, esoteric theories and descriptions of even stranger experimental procedures. The tome about lost civilizations and the few pages about forbidden magic, she offered to Féria with a shrug: "I don't know if either of these are useful in any way- the names of the places listed mean nothing to me- I've never heard of them- and the other one doesn't even make a little sense."

At last, she nodded; conceeding that there were numerous interesctions- and that they did surround a single location. "Alright- let's see where this bastard went. With luck, we'll be able to find him still." She didn't question what Féria meant by being able to project those rings onto the map in the great hall; it wouldn't have surprised her at all if it involved complicated arcane arts, or a strange ritual, to do anything of the sort. It seemed as good a real starting point as any, though- and as much as she had appreciated the strange, confusing beauty of the catacombs, the task they'd undertaken was still a rather urgent one.

Féria took the map and walked out of the room, a sigh of relief not daring to escape her lips. It was definitely good to finally get out of the eye's penetrating gaze, to at last leave the judging dragons behind. The pale light of the dangerous seemed almost like the summer sun in comparison to the cold shine of the floating candles.

As the reliefs stared at the pair with their lifeless eyes, they almost seemed like dolls, a mere parody of the beauty the seemed to be when Perendi and Féria were approaching the study. The cold darkness flowed around them, almost tangible. The silence was tense, like a strained cord, waiting to go off and plunge all those caught in its web into primordial chaos and turmoil.

When Féria and Perendi did reach the main hall, they were alerted to rather loud breathing. It seemed whoever was in the chamber, was not afraid of them, or so no reason to hide their presence. It was good that Perendi was still under her cloak. At least whichever slave of the bastard's that was 5here, wouldn't see the mercenary.

The darkness of the corridor subsided, revealing the great hall in all its glory, a giant map of Le'raana still on the floor. There was however, someone else in the hall. A tall broad shouldered dark-skinned man with short black hair and black eyes. He was clad in a suit of chainmail which on his impressive build looked like a silk shirt. One of his hands held a longsword, another - a shield with some unknown emblem on it.

"Fifteen, I should have known," he said. "First an intruder comes, then you get here with a map from the master's office. Where is the intruder then? Pillaging the sanctum of the one who brought us into existence?"

"It's none of your business, Fourteen," Féria spat. "Provided I even knew what you were talking about."

The man just chuckled. "You have always been a terrible liar," he shook his head. "I know she is somewhere around here," his black eyes locked onto Féria again. "I know you want to find the master - for whatever misguided reason... Do you think you can actually touch master Nechyon without him allowing it? Are you that deluded?"

"What do you want, guard dog?" Féria cur the man off. She was in no mood to deal with this particular homunculus.

"You pronounce my title as if it were an insult," Fourteen chuckled, casually twirling the sword in his hand. "I am merely fulfilling the purpose master created me for. Now then, little intruder, will you show yourself, or should I slaughter Fifteen?"

"As if you could," Féria scoffed. Fourteen only smiled broadly, his black eyes flashing dark-green.

Drawing her cloak closer about her shoulders as though to ward off the chill caused by an unseen winter wind, her trepidation only increased; though she remained shrouded within the shadows' embrace, her jaw clenched as she ground her teeth, eye darting about as though expecting something to come barreling out of the heavy shadows to attack them. It was the same anger-tinged uneasiness that she felt when dealing with a double-dealing employer.

While it was excellent to escape from the penetrating stare of that celestial eye and the ever-watchful dragons, she was wary and uncomfortable- now was not the time to relax, let alone dare to let her guard down. Drawing a deep breath, her left hand jerked her baselard from its sheath; her right arm drifted toward her meat skewer of its own accord- and as she tried to close phantom fingers around the handle of that weapon, that arm was drawn back swiftly, as though she'd been bitten by a rather vicious dog.

The reliefs, which had been simply gorgeous when she and Féria had approached Nechyon's study now seemed all-but-devoid of life; the oozing darkness that seemed to stretch in every direction was so thick that it almost seemed to be solid; Perendi was again taken by how absolutely wrong everything seemed to be. Walking just a pace behind Féria, serving as her cover in case anything tried to flank the pair or attack from behind, the delicious strain in the air -taut, dangerous, as tightly-strung as a harp-string about to snap- the all-encompassing silence of the corridor as thick and suffocating as an ether-drenched blanket, was enough to make the snake want to reach out and grab Féria; tell her to turn back, even if nothing  but discomfort and uncertainty awaited back in the study.

It was too late to turn back, anyhow. As the corridor's devouring darkness finally gave way to the great hall and its map of Le'raana again, her footsteps became lighter; more deliberate- for they were not alone. And again, the bastard just has to prove that he's got damn good taste. Féria's smart, beautiful and has a great ass. This guy's damn pretty too- and I wouldn't be surprised if the son of a bitch's pretty good with that sword, she thought as she critically eyed the swordsman; she and Féria seemed to be at something of a disadvantage. I wish I still had my hammer; chain's not the easiest thing to cut- he's got a gods-damned shield and his sword's longer than mine. Things are going to get interesting.

Chainmail was wonderful at deterring the blade of a slashing weapon. A wicked little smile curved Perendi's lips as she sheathed her baselard; fingers closing around the handle of her meat skewer instead-- its blade's length was comparable to that of her baselard, but the difference lied in the fact that it was a thrusting and impaling weapon.

Leaning forward, she would bump her shoulder against Féria's, leaning in close to whisper: "I'm going around." She wasn't leaving the robed woman to face the swordsman on her own; rather, she began sidling, the whisper-soft slide of her deliberate footsteps augmenting the sounds of the great hall rather than countering them as she made a circuit of the hall. You're not doing shit to her, she silently argued against the man's claim that he'd kill Féria.

Once she positioned herself behind him and slightly to the right, she would come launch her first attack; a simple test to see how skilled their opponent was. Darting close, she would begin to harass and harry him; flicking her skewer as though it were a fencing blade so that it might have prodded at his back and side; feinting, testing to see if he left an opening as she deliberately tried to maintain his attention and piss him off as she lunged forward and danced back. If Fourteen presented her with the opportunity to do so, she would lift her skewer and attempt to drive it deep into his side.

Perendi’s first hit got Fourteen by surprise which cost him a nasty wound in the back. He staggered forward, but swiftly recovered and sidestepped the rest of the blows with ease a man with barely working back should not have.

“That’s cheap,” he said, turning to the source of the blows. “Here I thought someone opposing our master would have some honor. Regardless,” green light flared under chainmail, closing the wound and mending the mail, “those fighting with tricks won’t see a true victory.”

Fourteen was distracted, Féria saw an opportunity. She snapped her fingers and unleashed a roaring inferno at her opponent, which raced at him like a mad dragon, spewing flames everywhere. It was a twisted sort of luck that Perendi was right behind Fourteen, when he turned around and brought his shield up. It flashed blue, and when the fire impacted it, there was a furious bang as the inferno was met with its equal.

The people on the map seems to pause and observe the battle of giants, the ultimate contest of wills as unstoppable flame was met with unmovable wall. Blue clashed with red, illuminating the entire hall, filling it with muffled growls of beasts long gone.

“You might be Nechyon’s final masterpiece,” Fourteen said, his cheek burnt by a stray spark of fire, when the last of the flames died down, “but you cannot even hope to defeat me.”

“I don’p’t need to defeat an obedient doll,” Féria spat, “I’ll just break you.”

She swiped her hand, unleashing yet another torrent of unrelenting fire, as Fourteen brought his shield up again.

It seemed as though luck might have favored the bold, after all; for the rather vicious stab to his spine seemed to sink home; through chainmail and the skin beneath- at least that stab was enough to send their opponent off-balance; even if through means that the mercenary didn't immediately comprehend, the man moved as though he'd barely even sustained an injury. A low growl escaped her throat as a brillant green glow healed his wound and repaired his armor; that was what she would have called a dirty little trick.

It seemed to her as though Nechyon had created his homonculi to serve as bipedal living weapons meant to surpass all others; artificial, albeit sentient beings armed with dangerous intellect and even more deadly ability. But Perendi wasn't one to back down in a fight; she was determined that she and Féria were going to bring this bastard down through any means possible.

"Who are you to question another's honor?" She growled; though there was an almost philosophical query to that question- to her, honor was subjective: what one person saw as a detestable, underhanded tactic; another would see as a means for insuring their own survival. It seemed as though she'd bought Féria the time she needed- at least for the time being.

Perhaps Lady Luck was an actual deity, rather than a simple concept that gamblers called out to when placing a fool's wager; for when Féria unleashed that immense, almost draconic torrent of flames, the sapphire light that Fourteen's light emitted was enough to protect both of them- a truly ironic twist of fate, if there ever was one. Crimson and azure surged together; though rather than creating violet, they remained separate, distinct forces of ageless magic; the wills of two enraged juggernauts primally raging against one another.

Even if she couldn't hope to match their magical assaults, at least the mercenary could try to keep Fourteen distracted; offer Féria some measure of cover so the mage could continue her barrage. "Cockiness has no place in a fight," She snarled at Fourteen as she ducked behind his shield-arm again as Féria unleashed another barrage of intensely-brilliant flame. Thinking she might have seen an opening, a possibility to buy her another opportunity, Perendi would move closer to their opponent still; close enough that another three or four steps would have likely put her flush against his back; then side-stepping a couple of paces.

Readjusting her weight so she could propel herself off of her left foot, she would raise her skewer again; this time attempting to drive that implement into his shield-arm, trying to disable it by thrusting that straight blade either directly above his elbow, or into the joint itself- if that maneuver was successful, she would begin wrenching her skewer viciously from side to side, like a hunting hound shaking its prey; while simultaneously trying to slam her hip into his, intending to upset his balance at least a little with that maneuver.

An unwinnable fight does not exist. Though in the back of her mind, she had to wonder why all their opponent appeared to have been doing thus far was trying to defend himself; it was still unclear whether he was as skiled a swordsman as he appeared to be, or if that blade was simply meant to be wielded for the sake of intimidation purposes- if his shield was enchanted as it appeared to be, could it have been that Fourteen was a mage, like Féria? She couldn't say for certain either way, at least not yet

It was almost a success, but in the last minute Fourteen brought his shield hand a little lower, sot age Peendi's sword passed millimeters above it. This action did cost him a burnt brow and another burnt cheek, which were now smoking. It was pure luck that Feria's flames had stopped by then.

Féria herself seemed to have realized that she could have burnt her new friend to a crisp and took a small step back, her fists shaking.

It was one fluid motion in which Fourteen spring into action, withdrew his shield and swiped his sword to where he thought Perendi's hand to be. It, to the man's visible irritation did not meet any resistance, so he stepped away to stand opposed to both Perendi and Féria. "This trick won't help you forever, little trickster," he warned Perendi, even if he was looking in the wrong direction at the time.

"Why do you remain loyal to the bastard?" she asked the other homunculus, staring at him with almost tangible anger. The air between them seemed to shake as they once again went to battle, even if this time it was one of words. "You don't mean anything to him!"

"You have always been selfish. Fifteen," the man replied. "Selfish and stupid. Do you think any aspect of you came to exist independently? We were all designed by the master, he gave us life, and unlike you I will defend him for bringing me into this world? Is this not why children defend their parents?" Fourteen asked, his face set in a vicious scowl. "You are the pinnacle of master's art, yet you don't even appreciate being given life!"

"You pitiful guard dog," Féria snarled. She took a step forward and snapped her fingers, releasing three brilliant griffins which flew at Fourteen, screeching through the emptiness of the room for his death. "Do you think he considers you to be anything more than a piece of flesh for his personal amusement? I will not be caged anymore!"

A frustrated growl and shake of her head were given as Fourteen's shield-arm lowered a bit; just out of the range of the mercenary's attack. She had understood the risk of potentially being scorched by Féria's flames after attempting such a risky tactic, but there were times that sacrifices needed to be made in order to fell an opponent- and most wounds could be taken care of once an enemy was dispatched. However, it was nothing short of luck that had prevented her companion's flames from reaching her; while scorching the other warrior's face and leaving his skin smoking in the aftermath. She would probably have been quite horrifically burnt, had that burst of searing flames had managed to ingulf her; the thought of which revealed that though her cloak's enchantment was beneficial, in this bout, it was also something of a liability.

Despite the man's warning, it seemed as though he was still at least momentarily unable to discern her location; his sword swung in the exact opposite direction of where her skewer-hand was currently positioned, his head turned to face the wrong direction as well. When Fourteen tried to discern her location, Perendi would again launch herself into motion again; lifting her right arm and briefly pressing her forearm against the onyx in her cloak's clasp, deactivating the enchantment. Once her position was now made apparent as the shadows seemed to simply flow downward, not dissimilar to how rainwater poured during a torrential storm and slither back up the walls again, she would dart toward the left, feinting with her skewer.

"Your ideals are misguided and foolish," She snarled at Fourteen as she lunged forward, simply trying to drive him closer to Féria and keep him off-guard so her newfound friend might possibly be able to land a blow; acting as little more than a royal harrier trying to flush a fox out of its den- skewer thrusting forward and dancing back as though she were simply waiting for the right opportunity to arise again before striking.

"Do you not understand that you and Féria don't owe your bastard of a master shit? Children do not blindly pledge loyalty to their parents, any more than a knight will swear fealty to a senselessly cruel liege! You are a slave, a fucking toy that your precious cunt of a master will shatter once he gets bored of you!" The mercenary snarled, blood dripping from her lips as she refused to relent to the light-headedness that came in the wake of those words; "You have no purpose as you are now, nothing to call your own and no reason to fight! Come, join us and find something to fight for, something to believe in!" Her breathing came in short, ragged gasps at the end of that snarled argument; knees threatening to give out as she strained to catch her breath and ride out the pinpoints of white light that danced within her vision. There is no such thing as a timeless enemy.

There was no malice or contempt in her voice; instead, it was as though she was simply attempting to drive a hard bargain against a particularly hard-headed merchant. The snake couldn't have claimed that she hated Fourteen; no, she found it regrettable that he seemed so willing to blindly offer loyalty to a master who did not seem to understand that neither Féria nor Fourteen's lives were at his disposal.

Once Féria summoned three magnificent, radiant and deadly gryphons toward Fourteen, their voices rising and calling for his death, Perendi would give Fourteen a choice: pivoting so that she was positioned behind him once again, she would raise her left leg and attempt to aim a side-kick to his lower back; intending to send him stumbling toward those beautiful beasts' waiting beaks or jaws-- "Come with us, or die. Either way... this ends... now!"

It all happened so fast. One moment Fourteen was raising his shield, and next one griffin was banished by the glowing surface, while the other another one was dodged and instead impacted the wall, not leaving a mark on the polished stone. Number three turned out to indeeed be lucky as the third griffin pounced on the man and tore his chainmail to shreds, setting his entire body on fire.

Horrific scream tore through the room, bouncing off the walls and colliding into a massive crescendo, which continued to increase in volume as the griffin tore through flesh and bone. When the flame finally subsided, there was nothing but a burnt husk. The screams died down - to hard wet pants. Green light flashed and bone, muscles, tendons and tissue mended themselves, even the chainmail rearranged into its previous pattern. Fourteen gut up with a growl and jumped at Féria, slashing his sword at her. It tore through flesh like hot knife through butter.

To Feria’s credit she stood up quickly after falling, her hand clutching her chest, where green glow was already doing its work. She was quick to stagger away from her opponent and closer to Perendi.

When Fourteen eventually turned to face both women, they were treated to a bizarre sight, disgusting even. While his body was apparently fully healed, his head was not. Skin peeled off and now burnt chunks of it hung loosely, in other places skin was absent altogether. The entirety of his hair was burnt to ash. Round eyes and barely present lips were staring back at Perendi and Féria.

“You are a mercenary,” Fourteen said, looking at Perendi. “You sell your loyalty to the highest bidder, it’s not for you to lecture me about commitment. I wasn’t created to be a guard, but wasn’t fit for the intended purpose. It’s the path I chose, I made my promise and it’s entirely irrelevant what the master thinks of it. I swore to protect his domain, I will not betray my oath, and if I have to die for it - so be it.”

He brought his shield up and charged at Perendi and Féria.

The small measure of relief when the third gryphon managed to ignite Fourteen was not long-lasting enough to savor; let alone acknowledge for the brief span of time that it took to draw a breath. Though his shield was still nullifying most of Feria's attacks, it seemed as though the third time was indeed the charm- as he shrieked and wailed in agony, Perendi simply stood impassively, taking that moment to regain her breath and shake off the light-headedness while their opponent was shredded and torched by that final gryphon. A low growl of rage tore itself from her throat; though the mercenary had moved in an attempt to knock Feria away from Fourteen, it seemed as though the man had speed on his side as well as that strange, regenerative magic- and though rage began rising from the pit of her stomach, her companion managed to rise almost immediately after falling; that same green glow causing the mercenary to shake her head and exhale a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

Not knowing exactly how difficult Feria's wound would be to mend, or whether she'd need assistance beyond her own innate healing ability, she closed the distance between Feria and herself, flanking the other woman, trying to communicate: Don't let this fuckwit have his way, with a quick, concerned glance.Though she had faced many different opponents -some of them being quite inhuman- she would never have expected to see the aberration that stood before them; Fourteen had apparently been reduced to a ruinous state; the sickening, acrid, oily scent of charred flesh assaulting the warrior's nostrils.

"I've never fought for anyone but myself," Perendi sneered- and it was nothing but honest: she didn't know where her birthplace might have been, but that didn't matter to her, as she swore fealty to no kingdom, barony, or even dutchy. She sold her services -not her loyalty- to organizations, smaller groups and the occasional individual that needed them. Fourteen was starting to piss her off immensely; she'd mistakenly assumed that there might have been a way to get through his thick skull and force him to see that his misguided claims of loyalty didn't seem to be anything more than a slave refusing to acknowledge that they weren't doing themselves or anyone else a favor by adhering to those peculiar ideals. There was nothing else that could be said to make the battered, burnt fool understand any of it; it would have been nothing more than a waste of breath.

"Fuck!" Was the only warning she had the time to snarl at Feria as Fourteen began his charge, she would pivot to face Feria, trying to hook her right arm around her companion's waist and jerk her close, probably quite roughly. If she was successful, she would throw herself forward in an attempt to curl around her presumably still-wounded companion and use the momentum to try and roll out of the way of the monstrosity's path; even if only by a very short distance. (If she hand't managed to grab Feria, she would have simply thrown herself and rolled out of the way regardless.)

Rising to her knees after a rather rough landing, she would regain her footing again and ram her baselard back into its sheath. Looks like there might be a couple of openings. Though she would have preferred to be able to wield her dagger in her off-hand, breathing through tightly-clenched teeth, eye narrowed to little more than a glittering slit, Perendi would move to close in on Fourteen- what would begin as a slow, deliberate stalking pace would increase to a near-run; devouring the distance between them so she could raise her left hand, attempting to grasp hold of one of his bulging eyes, trying to crush and tear it from its socket; simultaneously attempting to ram a knee into his chainmail-armored stomach.

((If there are any stupid typos or anything of that nature, I apologize. I broke my elbow a few days back (it's just a stupid little crack; not a major break) and I'm still adjusting to one hand being mostly immobilized.))

Visible frustration became apparent on Fourteen’s face when Féria and Perendi escaped his attack, but he didn’t allow himself to hesitate. Since Feria’s healing was taking its sweet time, green light flaring from time to time followed by sighs of relief or hisses of pain, he lunged forward, cutting the woman again, leaving a deep wound in her stomach. His skill though could only do so much until the sheer power of circumstances ignited into a violent torrent of flame, which flew from Féria’s fingers and onto his head. The fire was, of course, deflected, but it did its job - Fourteen staggered back.

Perendi’s assault on his eye earned a scream from Fourteen, but even as she crushed it, he managed to step away panting heavily - screams of pain swallowed down his damaged throat.

“You think I’m a slave,” he rasped, glaring at Perendi with one eye. “I know master Nechyon cares not for me or my loyalty. I know I will never amount to anything close to an equal in his eyes. It doesn’t matter,” Fourteen spat blood at the floor, it seemed to blend so well with the stone. “I wasn’t created a warrior, I became one. I wasn’t given my freedom, I made one. I wasn’t given my pride or honor - I created them myself. It will take much more than a whining spoilt girl and a damaged mercenary to change me. I will not abandon everything I made.”

Fourteen brought up his shield and sword, the latter of which was quivering ever so slightly, and charged at Perendi.

When Fourteen's speed proved to be superior again as he closed on Feria, slicing deeply into the poor woman's stomach, Perendi could only manage to cast a worried look over her shoulder at her companion-- trying to rush to her aid while there was still the resilient guard dog to deal with would probably have ended up quite poorly. All she could do at the moment in regard to the other woman's plight was hope that her healing magic was enough to at least keep her alive and coherent until the other warrior was brought down- and that her wounds weren't fatal. The flames that again ingulfed Fourteen's head was enough to make her believe that, at least for the moment, Feria's injuries weren't grevious enough, nor her strength drained too much, for her to pull through for now. Concern and sympathy had to be swallowed for the time being; she had to allow herself to trust her friend- and try to take out the son of a bitch in any way she possibly could.

Though the bestial warrior deflected Feria's flames, that attack had bought the mercenary the time she'd needed to crush Fourteen's eye; a cruel grin twisting her countenance as his eye became little more than a smashed grape in her fist; sticky, slimy and oozing clear fluids between her fingers. His scream made her grin grow even wider; something far more malicious as her own eye glittered in defiance as he continued to plead his case, explain why he adhered to his ideals. That grin became a contemptuous sneer as she simply growled: "What a shame. I don't give a shit about some stupid bastard's misguided sense of 'honor' or 'pride'" It was nothing more than a difference of perspective and the likelihood of them ever managing to see things the same way would probably always been nonexistant.

Her own blackened-crimson blood spilled past charcoal-grey lips and dripped down her chin; nothing more than the price she paid for continuing to speak at length. Breath coming in shallow, sharp pants through flared nostrils; swaying slightly on her feet as the floor began to undulate beneath her booted feet, she nevertheless attempted to pivot on her heel to present her enemy with a narrower target; though she wasn't able to move quite swiftly enough. His vaguely-quivering swordblade tore through the nonprotective cloth of her shirt; slashing straight across her collarbone, releasing more of that too-dark blood to stain her shirt. It wasn't a fatal wound, though it was deep enough to bleed freely, burn and ache enough to cause the mercenary to release a low, pained grunt and stagger backward a step.

The shield-blow that she took to the side, though; that caused her to voice a muffled, pained scream through tightly-clenched teeth and breathe shallowly from the impact, almost dropping to her knees as she heard the tale-tell pop of a lower rib or two cracking; white-hot agony blooming along her side as she momentarily doubled over; eye rolling to the back of her head as she heaved; liquor that she'd drank much earlier and blood from her own curse-ravaged throat splattering the floor. Though it was extremely painful, there would be extensive bruising compounding that pain and she'd have to be extremely careful not to sustain another blow to her left side -or to avoid landing on that side if she had to resort to evasive maneuvering again- she handn't felt anything snap or splinter and couldn't recall a single moment in which a pair of cracked ribs had been the sole cause of anyone's death.

The electrical currents of adrenaline, coupled with the euphoric thrill of the fight drove her onward relentlessly; lurching upright once more, swaying and staggering a bit on her feet, the enraged warrior allowed the flames of fury that ignited in the pit of her stomach to drive her forward toward Fourteen again; once she managed to close the distance between them, she would attempt to seize his slightly quivering sword-arm in her left hand and savagely twist that limb backward- trying to either break it or yank it from its socket. Simultaneously, she would maneuver her right arm in an attempt to ram the stump into his throat, just beneath his jaw.

There was a spark of satisfaction in Fourteen’s eyes as Perendi spewed blood on the floor. The momentum gained, he straightened and took position of a waiting panther. With a nonexistent breath of wind he lunged, sword pointed at the woman, its tip crimson from all the bloodletting. Under Perendi’s counterattack Fourteen twisted and turned, parrying her strikes with his sword or meeting them head on with his shield.

It was like watching a pair of leaves twisting in a wind, floating between dense trees and meeting again. Clashing and retreating, carried by momentum, living in the moment. Two masters of their art moving with innate grace of nature, dancing to the tune of death and euphoria, the rest of the world speechless, forgotten in favor of the for now ultimate opponent.

It happened so fast. Just a spark from Féria who was still lying on the floor made Fourteen lose his balance for just a fraction of a second - and it cost him. The dance came to an end, grace freezing, opponents utterly motionless, as if statues made by gods themselves. Tow marble giants standing in perfect stillness for just a flicker of time... Until Fourteen’s body slacked and fell on Perendi under the overwhelming force of gravity, her sword coming through his skull dictating his demise. His chainmail did not break the deaf silence as the remnants of the graceful flight was still ringing in both their ears. The hot crimson blood from the mortal wound - a mark for the victor.

A glower twisted Perendi's countenance at the smug satisfacion in Fourteen's eye; a sneer curving her lip as again the opponents resumed their positions; serpent and panther caught again by an age-old, hypnotic rhythm. The sound of their footfalls, of steel ringing against steel, the grunts, groans and snarled profanities as one blade slashed into another's flesh carried a melody far more primal than any bard's instrument could have sounded. Nothing in the great hall mattered any longer; in fact, even the watchful eyes of the reliefs might as well have ceased to exist; even time itself may very well have ceased to exist- for all that mattered to the mercenary was her opponent. They did not meet as mercenary and warrior-homunculus, nor even as adversaries- but as war machines; beasts that reveled in the thrill of the fight, as equals.

Their grand performance ended far too swiftly; a misstep caused by a sorcerous spark that seemed to tear through the fabric of both time and reality; causing the river of time to cease flowing for the span of a blink of an eye. Just long enough to manipulate the hand of fate in a miniscule way; causing Perendi's opponent to stumble and fall toward her- unfortunately for him, it wasn't her arm that managed to break his fall, but rather, her blade; penetrating through one side of Fourteen's skull and emerging through the other; for a moment, it probably looked as though a blood-slick horn adorned with miniscule bone fragments and scraps of gelatinous, glistening grey matter had jutted from the back of his head. Blood and the echoes of their fight roaring in her ears, the mercenary did not even hear the scrape of boots, the clatter and jingle of chainmail; didn't immediately notice the blood that she was showered in.

Bracing her legs to keep from bucking beneath Fourteen's dead weight, she twisted and wrenched her blade free from his skull; right arm coming to catch her opponent around the shoulders as she lowered his corpse to the floor, then dragged her baselard's blade along her right sleeve as she sheathed it again. Wincing, trembling a bit from exhaustion and the pain of her own wounds, she made her way back over to Féria and dropped gracelessly to her knees beside her; that sound only briefly interrupting the return of the silence, rather than breaking it. Though her head swam and she was panting quite loudly, she wasn't going to allow herself to collapse even for a little while; there was still too much at stake, too much that had to be accomplished.

"Are you okay?" It might have been a pointless question, but she had no idea what the extent of Féria's healing magic was- or if that magic took any sort of toll on her. It was better to see if her companion might have been in need of some manner of assistance or rest, than to assume that everything was fine and immediately expect her to work on the map projection- if it was necessary, that could wait until the mage had at least somewhat recouperated, regained some lost strength.

Fourteen’s body fell on the floor with a deaf thud, and warm blood flowed in all directions, making a dark pool around him, crimson blending into black. His hands still clutched the longsword and the enchanted shield, though unmoving.

Féria looked on, her expression blank. She managed to sit up and even if she was a little weak, it was nothing she couldn’t handle. “I’m mostly alright, thank you, yourself?” she asked Perendi. “Nechyon is a bastard, but at least he got the regeneration right on fifteenth try.” She stood up and almost collapsed, but managed to steady herself at the last moment.

“You should take his shield,” she said, “for when your arm is replaced. It’s enchanted to stop most branches magic...” Féria paused and looked at other corridors, “I don’t think we have much time left, everyone would have heard the fight by now. Let me just...”

She took the map from her pocket and held it over the image of Le’raana on the floor. There was a vague motion of her hand and the stone ignited with circles, all in locations corresponding to the map they took from Nechyon’s office. The morbid green light shone above the carved mountains and forests, twisting and turning, going around Fourteen’s dead body and Perendi. The extrapolation was finally complete.

“Here,” Féria pointed at one of the crests of the Terrin mountains. “Whatever the bastard’s searching for, it is in this mountain - or on it, doens’t matter. We should go there, but for now, let’s just get out before more of his dogs come.”

It was in dry silence that the pair left the base, the reliefs looking at their retreating backs of the unlikely allies with unclear expressions. Their steps echoing against the polished stone in ominous silence.

There wasn't enough time to entomb Fourteen in one of the numerous chambers, unfortunately- though he had been unwilling to give up the ideals he'd clung to until the last breath, he had been a worthy adversary and as such, would have deserved a better final resting place than the hall's floor. But dragging him to one of those other chambers and locking his corpse away would likely only serve to make the situation even more precarious than it was. Drawing a deep, steadying breath, Perendi nodded at Féria's self-assessment and even managed a short, harsh bark of a laugh at her rather dry-seeming almost-pun. "That he is, very much- but it's damn good that he finally figured that magic out!" She agreed, clambering back to her feet as well, "I'm fine," She stated with a careless shrug; it would take more than a laceration, heavy bruising and a few cracked bones to do her in, after all- and once they were out of the catacombs, she'd stop long enough to at least wrap the worst of her injuries.

"It'll definitely be useful," Perendi agreed; crossing back to Fourteen's corpse and wrenching the buckler out of his hand, sliding the straps over her right shoulder. A quick glance was given to his longsword as well; though she couldn't tell whether or not it was ensorcelled as well, but it looked like a well-used, elegant blade, though nothing that wouldn't have been obtainable from any very skilled blacksmith. It didn't seem to her that he had been carrying anything else of use, either; which wasn't too surprising. "I don't think we do, either; the more we wait, the further away he could be moving, as well."

Awe shone on her face when the map on the floor lit up with eerie green light; Féria's magic projecting not only the circles, but a clear path as well. Coming to stand closer to the image of Le'raana, she made a thoughtful sound in the back of her throat; though the path and specific mountain that Féria had revealed were unknown to the mercenary, the mountain range itself was very familiar- she'd traveled through the Draconi Forest and into the easternmost foothills of those mountains a while back; thankfully, it didn't look like their current destination was anywhere near the Night Mother's territory. "The Terrins. I haven't been very far into them, but as long as we avoid the eastern hills, we'll be fine." Well, that was what she assumed, at any rate.

Perhaps if they found whatever Nechyon was after before he was able to reach the destination, they'd have an advantage; after all, it didn't seem likely that a powerful -if arrogant- magic-user would be venturing into the mountains to look for plants or rocks; even if there might have been gems to mine. Leaving the catacombs sounded like an extremely good plan before they ended up face-to-face with a threat that they might possibly have been unable to handle. The silence that fell between them as they vacated the base was paradoxically easy and uncertain; much like the expressions of the reliefs as they finally made their way out of the stunning subterranean hell.

There wasn't enough time to entomb Fourteen in one of the numerous chambers, unfortunately- though he had been unwilling to give up the ideals he'd clung to until the last breath, he had been a worthy adversary and as such, would have deserved a better final resting place than the hall's floor. But dragging him to one of those other chambers and locking his corpse away would likely only serve to make the situation even more precarious than it was. Drawing a deep, steadying breath, Perendi nodded at Féria's self-assessment and even managed a short, harsh bark of a laugh at her rather dry-seeming almost-pun. "That he is, very much- but it's damn good that he finally figured that magic out!" She agreed, clambering back to her feet as well, "I'm fine," She stated with a careless shrug; it would take more than a laceration, heavy bruising and a few cracked bones to do her in, after all- and once they were out of the catacombs, she'd stop long enough to at least wrap the worst of her injuries.

"It'll definitely be useful," Perendi agreed; crossing back to Fourteen's corpse and wrenching the buckler out of his hand, sliding the straps over her right shoulder. A quick glance was given to his longsword as well; though she couldn't tell whether or not it was ensorcelled as well, but it looked like a well-used, elegant blade, though nothing that wouldn't have been obtainable from any very skilled blacksmith. It didn't seem to her that he had been carrying anything else of use, either; which wasn't too surprising. "I don't think we do, either; the more we wait, the further away he could be moving, as well."

Awe shone on her face when the map on the floor lit up with eerie green light; Féria's magic projecting not only the circles, but a clear path as well. Coming to stand closer to the image of Le'raana, she made a thoughtful sound in the back of her throat; though the path and specific mountain that Féria had revealed were unknown to the mercenary, the mountain range itself was very familiar- she'd traveled through the Draconi Forest and into the easternmost foothills of those mountains a while back; thankfully, it didn't look like their current destination was anywhere near the Night Mother's territory. "The Terrins. I haven't been very far into them, but as long as we avoid the eastern hills, we'll be fine." Well, that was what she assumed, at any rate.

Perhaps if they found whatever Nechyon was after before he was able to reach the destination, they'd have an advantage; after all, it didn't seem likely that a powerful -if arrogant- magic-user would be venturing into the mountains to look for plants or rocks; even if there might have been gems to mine. Leaving the catacombs sounded like an extremely good plan before they ended up face-to-face with a threat that they might possibly have been unable to handle. The silence that fell between them as they vacated the base was paradoxically easy and uncertain; much like the expressions of the reliefs as they finally made their way out of the stunning subterranean hell.

The trek back to Zantaric had been largely calm; the thunderstorm had passed a few hours ago and the midday sun shone brightly on the jungle's verdant flora. Though the sense of urgency and unease remained heavy in the air and it seemed as though no matter how quickly they walked, Perendi and Feria were both slowed by and drowning in time. That peculiar sense of things not being quite right remained as a steady undercurrent; a force that drove the unlikely companions to only stop briefly in Zantaric proper. Just long enough to fill their water and liquor-skins, pick up necessary provisions for the journey and stop at the tavern to see if Perendi's company had arrived yet or not.

It would seem as though fate had not favored the pair at first; for most people claimed that they had not seen a group of four traveling through the town. Of course, with Zantaric being Zantaric, a queen could have wandered naked through their streets and no one would have ever claimed to notice her, including the hypothetical slaver that would have captured her. However, at last, the bartender had relented and admitted that a group that fit the mercenary's description had been seen heading to catch a ship, bitching and griping about their horrible luck.


"Fuck me, how much longer are we waitin'?" A soft, lyrical voice demanded; the words at odds with the voice itself.

"If you ask that one more time, Dinae, I'll tear your gods-damned tongue out of your mouth!" Came the harsh, clipped reply.

"You're bein' an ass, Hein! B'sides, She'd have your chamberpot-suckin' head if you tried anythin' like that!" The first speaker, Dinae, challenged.

"Is this the way you act when she's not around? I didn't know I was supposed to mind bird-brained, shit-nosed little children!" A third voice spoke up; low-pitched and velvety, yet simply oozing irritation.

The trio stood a few feet from each other, bickering and moaning about being bored, not understanding how it could take another fifteen minutes for the ship to be ready and how many bones the next person was going to break, if the others didn't shut their mouths and be patient. A fourth individual stood further away than the nitpickers, sighing and trying to ignore the other three. That fourth individual stood a bit taller, blue robes rustling softly against the ground and moving further from the ragtag group, noticing two women walking in their direction: a grey-skinned, one-eyed warrior that was immediately recognizable and an auburn-haired, green-eyed lady in elegant robes. The other three would be informed about her return soon enough.

Perendi and the dark-skinned, champagne-blonde, blue-robed elf talked at length for a few moments; the ashen warrior explaining most of the details about what had happened, while letting Féria fill the other mage, Tvastri, in as well. Once the situation had been explained, the small group agreed that they'd accompany Féria and their leader to the Terrin Mountains; they'd been trying to meet back up with her anyway, but until now, had been unsuccessful. Finally, they had been able to pay for passage and board the vessel; heading for the continent of Adela.

The ship had docked in Ketra; allowing the peculiar band to find food and lodging in one of the city's numerous inns for the night. The pale, blue-eyed, bald swordswoman named Dinae and the chain-scythe wielding, golden-eyed Eladrin called Hein were sent to finish the last-minute preparations for tomorrow morning's excursion. A petite, pale, violet-eyed and extensively tattooed elven assassin who called herself Seloua would attempt to converse with Féria and try convince her to play cards while Perendi and Tvastri departed upstairs, toward the rooms that had been procured for the night.



"You should have realized by now that I don't really like magic," Perendi signed clumsily with her left hand as she sat on Tvastri's bed, watching the mage warily; like the other three, he was a relatively new recruit- after disbanding the Hounds a while back, she had decided to start over, with a new band of subordinates. Hopefully they would be the last new company she founded, until she was finally able to purchase an island. Because she'd only known the mage for the past few months, she was still fairly uncertain about how much trust she was going to put in him; even if he had proven to be rather useful on more than one occasion.

"I know. You should be thankful that I can even do anything like this. I'm not a cleric," The mage muttered distractedly.

"I'm not going to end up with a second fucking head, am I?"[/b] Those slow, fumbling, one-handed gestures were accompanied by a somewhat teasing smirk.

"Of course not. It's too late to reattach your old hand, so this is going to hurt."

With that, Tvastri began chanting in an ancient, slimy-sounding arcane tongue; gutteral, harsh and snarling, filled with long pauses during which the silence seemed to ooze and slither; followed by festering, feathery, singsong intonations. A low thrumming sound seemed to fill the room; a noise that was more felt than precisely heard, as barely-visible, golden threads shimmered in the air, growing thicker and darkening substantially, seemingly tarnishing, as they came to rest on Perendi's right arm; burrowing into her flesh as they began meticulously reviving dead nerves, piecing together tattered muscle and bone, knitting destroyed ligaments, tendons, muscle and veins back together again. A scream tore itself free of Perendi's throat, her frame trembling, one foot tapping out a staccato rhythm as those quickly-blackening threads dove ever-deeper; the tainted stench of her curse filling the room as dead skin was peeled away, swiftly replaced by raw, new skin that quickly darkened and thickened: from the elbow down, the new limb was a dull off-black; a subdued shade that contrasted sharply against her pale grey coloration.


The following morning, they set off into the Terrin Mountains, following Féria's trail. Though they'd ended up beset every now and again by bandits and orcs; minor skirmishes that had been more irritating than anything else, they had found their destination by mid-day, when the sun was reaching its zenith.

Féria had to admit that she found Perendi's group with their occasional banter very amusing. She couldn't however deny the dissonance she felt, the ambivalence. This new atmosphere was so different from what she was used to that sometimes Féria felt her head spin from just trying to cpmprehend the full scope of the change. It was refreshing to be in a company which doesn't just tolerate her existance, but welcomes her. After Nehcyon's "too cool to care" and Fourteen's iron fist style of Perendi's guidance of this ragtag group of mercenaries seemed so alien. Féria knew she liked it, she also knew she would need time to feel comfortable around it.

For better or worse they met no resistance when getting to the mountains and along the numerous winding paths that led to the temple. The grey palette brought with it some sense of familiarity, it wasn't much different from the black walls with carvings if one allows their imagination to run wild. One crack looked like a dragon, another like a snake. There was a jagged sun and perhaps even some flame of ridiculous shape. The howling wind gave them a semblance of voice, filling the mountains with barely contained whispers, which ran away from the scorching rays of the midday sun.

The air was heavy when Féria took a deep breath. The further they went, the heavier and more static it got as whispers died down and even the sun seemed to divert its gaze from the crack, which was the entrance to an ancient and long-forgotten temple. Whether it was out of repulsion or fear remained unknown though. One thing was, however, very clear - the pale green light coming from the crack could not have been natural. Silence like slime oozed from the opening, daring the group to enter.

"Well, here it is," she said after consulting with the map again, though that was hardly necessary. "Let's go?"

Perendi had been relieved to see that, to some extent, Féria had seemed to be at least curious about and amused by the dynamics of the too-small group; even though Tvastri had asked what had probably been far too many questions, Hein had been more interested in making dirty jokes at the expense of everyone gathered, Dinae wahted to regale the poor woman with mostly-fabricated tales of ridiculous adventure and Seloua had remained mostly -though not entirely- quiet. They were an interesting little group to say the least; while they weren't anything like Perendi's former company, the Hounds, had been, they were definitely livelier- and it was fairly evident that they worked decently together. Perendi herself had encouraged Féria to try and get to know the other four; though it had been a subtle suggestion, even she didn't know the full extent of whatever hell Féria had been put through during her time with Nechyon and didn't want to push her too much on the others. She'd only needed to intervene a couple of times: Tvastri and Hein had engaged in a "debate" that had become far too loud and obnoxious for anyone gathered, Dinae had argued very loudly that she could drink both Seloua and Hein under the table when they were finished -which had become a laughing clash of egos.

Though she led them quite sternly and put them in their places when it became necessary to do so, Perendi's leadership style was stern, but hands-on: she guided and gave advice, listened to the others' concerns and gave reasons about why or why not those concerns were valid- and doled out the rare punishment or reprimand when it became necessary to do so; yet wasn't above bantering and teasing with the others.

"There's somethin' wrong wit' this shit," Dinae had remarked once or twice, when she and Hein had returned to the group after scouting ahead. There had been something completely wrong with how still and quiet the mountain passes had been; the Terrin Mountains were known for orcs and dragons-- but both had been eerily quiet. Neither the assassin nor fighter had noticed much in the way of wildlife, either: birds, rabbits, deer and other fauna had been quite scarce, which had left them a bit apprehensive.

"Not even a bandit and those bastards are everywhere," Hein had commented uneasily, the normally unflappable Eladrin beginning to spook and jump at shadows like a nervous colt, reaching for his chain-scythes every time the grass rustled or a twig snapped under someone's foot.

"Old," Was Tvastri's strangely soft-spoken comment, "Everything is old here- more ancient than the dragons; yet younger than our cities. You can't expect to find bandits in a place like this."

Selousa had ignored their worried remarks and strange speculations, dropping back to walk beside Féria and attempt to converse with her on occasion.

Though she'd been to the Terrin mountains more than once, there was something undeniably different about the foothills they were ascending through. The hair on the back of Perendi's neck began to rise when she noticed how damnably familiar these foothills and the passes they traveled through seemed to be. The lush greenery gave way to numerous shades of grey; great stone spires soon flanking their path-- those mountains were only a few shades lighter in hue than Nechyon's catacombs had been; some of the crags and cracks could have almost been mistaken for carvings: dragons and gryphons, eyes, flames and citadels, if one looked at them for too long. The wind's howling, screaming voice only served to enhance the uneasiness that seemed an oppressive blanket as they continued onward.

Soon, even the air itself seemed to be heavy and still; sound slowly dying into nothingness as the sun seemed to avert its gaze, shadows unwilling to stretch their fingers toward that large crack. "Sounds like an excellent plan," Perendi stated; more for the benefit of everyone gathered rather than an unwillingness to let that slimy, greasy silence reign over everything, "Tvastri, Dinae, follow us. Selousa, Hein, follow them." It was an order to follow a very basic formation, intended to keep Féria and Tvastri covered in case anything decided to charge the group as they began to file through that ancient entrance and into the sickly, green light beyond.

"Nothing good would pick the bastard's interest," Féria replied. "If he decided to come here in person instead of sending a homunculus, you can bet we'll find something rotten... And powerful," she added after a short pause as the group entered the tunnel.

Grey winding walls lead them through the veil of greenish light, which hung in the air like some kind of gas. The further the group went, the wider it became until at the end they were faced with a monumental silence of a cavern that dwarfed the very definition of large. Green light here was much more pronounced here, even if no source was visible. Dead trees were scattered across the opening, but none of them were an obstacle to the spectacle of architecture that was being played in front of their eyes.

Rows of columns towered on the other side of the cavern like colossal guardians. A closer inspection revealed reliefs chiseled on the smooth surface, depicting events long gone and themes long since rendered irrelevant, which it seemed only moved out of whatever inertia carried them through time. By contrast, the stairs and floors around those columns were perfectly smooth and monolithic, as if the stone used to be liquid sometime ago. Undoubtedly, the group was facing a grand entrance of some kind, though where it led was a mystery.

"This isn't going to end well," Féria said as she walked the stairs and inbetween the monumental pillars and through an impressive, albeit bland, archway. Right into the heart of the green glow.