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 Posted: Sat Mar 26, 2011 10:57 am
 PERISHABLE VASSALAGE
Credence - Part 1 - March 15th, 1411
The death of one leads to the rebirth of another and the slow, violent destruction of the source.
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Posted: Sat Mar 26, 2011 11:07 am
EXPOSURE
Credence - MetaRP - March 16th, 1411
And just as he who, with exhausted breath, having escaped from the sea to shore, turns to the perilous waters and gazes. Uneven footsteps sounded in the medical hall of the North Base, piercing a thick silence. The Fellowship Adviser walked against the stone floor, a hand gently held out against the wall to keep herself steady. Once bright amber eyes now seemed clouded, downcast and hovered over by a worried brow. Long black hair fell carelessly in her face, some flakes of snow still lingering among the strands and resting upon her clothes.
The door to the large room was ajar, its wood and metal looking darker and less inviting than usual to the uneasy Adviser. Her pale hand pressed against its heavy frame and it groaned tiredly, though allowed itself to be pushed enough so she could pass through.
Many beds dotted the perimeter, all uniform white sheets with purple comforters filled with downy feathers for warmth. The majority of the beds were empty, save for one or two guards napping or feeling ill. As far as she could tell, the only one currently occupying a bed with a grievous injury was none other than her assistant, Jin-ho Kyon, just as her plagued knight had said.
As she approached in her slow pace, his head raised and a look of tired confusion lit across his face. His hoarse voice croaked out her last name before he rested back, a colorful speck upon his chest glancing towards her. Giving only a momentary pause at his address, Lady Estratus continued her approach and stopped at the foot of his bed, resting a hand upon its wooden frame. Her gaze moved over his form, mostly covered by blankets. There were scratches upon his face, bruises beginning to form, but his near fatal wound remained hidden. Sage's brow knit tighter when she noted a strange depression in the folds just under his arm, no visible sign that it was merely bent in a way that would hide it so.
While his voice was groggy and ragged, her own came out far weaker than she intended and she had to interrupt herself with a clearing of her throat before she continued. ”You were attacked... Sloane tells me.”
Jin-ho exhaled, sinking further into the bed. His eyes remained shut, though his face remained calm – for now, he didn't appear to be in much pain. ”...Yes,” he answered simply before adjusting his legs closer to the wall, opening a place on the bed for her to sit if she wished. Sage did not take the offer. ”The cultist died by my hand, but it was an accident.”
Lady Estratus' gaze drifted downward. The North Base had been attacked by cultist before, the previous year. Their walls, though heavily fortified, were compromised and she could not see where or how. So easily they slipped in, like smoke through a crack, but this time there was only one casualty.
”Just the one?” a rhetorical question, it seemed, as her nails lightly drug across the wooden frame and she gave a subtle nod to her own words, ”Good...” Her eyes then drew to the colorful speck resting upon his chest. It had moved, inching itself closer, and was now nestled on his stomach, looking up at her. There was something decidedly different about the paintbrush phasmas that her clouded mind did not immediately comprehend, but now as she looked closer, there were obvious signs. Three distinct black scratches marred her bright features and the wooden peg surrounding her colorful tassel was splintered and cracked. ”They attacked her as well?”
For someone so small, her injuries were just as miniature. Surely if a cultist had confronted her, she would have been squashed or taken as a prize.
Her assistant stiffened at the inquiry, wordlessly confirming her skeptical suspicions. ”N-no... She was safe when I passed out, after the attacker passed...” There was an unpleasant pause where both mage's stiffened; Jin-ho's brow furrowed and Lady Estratus' lips became thin and taut. ”Blaithe's attacker is gone.”
Sage's eyes narrowed while he continued to not look at her, nails slowly beginning a slight rhythmic tapping against the bedpost. ”Not one of our own, then?” The possibility stung her chest like an open wound. Ceases her tapping fingers and instead grips the post, clenching her eyes shut as her head swam with thoughts of just hours prior. Her heart skipped a beat as images of her young mentor flashed before her eyes; her naked form followed obediently by the personification of murder she wrought, then violently struck down by the blade of Shyregoed's queen. Disgust wormed its way across her features and she dared not look at either Blaithe nor Jin-ho. ”I trust they were dealt with... harshly.”
”N-no... Not to my knowledge...” Her fingers drew tighter against the wood, knuckles turning white. ”...But...” Jin-ho sighed uncomfortably, ”I-We were betrayed... Felicity was thrown out...”
At the word 'betrayed', Sage very nearly lost herself. Her fingers curled into a fist, teeth gritted in anger, but a small peep of a voice called her sense of reason back and kept those wretched emotions at bay.
”Sage...” Her voice was accompanied and nearly over taken by the subtle tugging of threads against her splintered leg.
Sage stiffened at the call, but her fingers relaxed and splayed out. As the little one reached her hand up, the Adviser did the same and allowed the tiny phasmas to cling upon one of her fingers.
The injured mage let out a painful grunt, adjusting himself slightly before continuing to speak. ”They were thrown out without any of their items, so I sent some soldiers to look through their things...”
To say that she recognized the name Felicity was a stretch. In fact, it did not draw any particular memories to the forefront whatsoever and that in itself was very telling. As far as she could recall, there was a new presence within the walls of the base that carried a Plague. ”The one with the flower...?” she muttered quietly to herself, eyes narrowing. ”Did she bring that cultist within our walls?”
The Imisian shook his head dubiously, his features evoking the anger she suppressed. ”So said that horrible little rose...” another grunt came as he brought his hand to his face, hiding, cowering, ”I'm so sorry, Lady Estratus...”
Her palm turned gently as the small girl crawled her way around, eventually coming to rest against her fingers comfortably. Sage carefully cupped her hand, offering safety and meager amenity with a light brushing of her hat with a finger tip.
”--And now I'm useless.” Jin-ho moved, the blankets falling away to reveal the stump of an arm that was left from the attack. His right arm. His dominant arm.
Lady Estratus' gaze remained on Blaithe while her Grimm spoke, body shaking slightly though it did not seem to alarm the phasmas, only looking to Jin-ho when his arm came into focus. She stayed silent, biting back any words that would have been too emotional, too involved, and instead continued to probe further into this strange attack. ”...How did she get inside to allow a cultist entry?”
Anger and frustration seethed out from Jin-ho's words, rendering them weapons unto himself. ”...At one time, I trusted her. I was foolish.”
It was all coming together now. Their betrayals were mirrored, and their pain so similar. It was obvious now what emotions were tied to Jin-ho's judgment of this Felicity now. Attraction. Infatuation. He let his guard down for a woman and paid the price.
”No precautions were taken,” she began, a finger still idly offering momentarily solace to Blaithe, ”They're becoming more conniving each day...”
So conniving that they could twist the Grand Magus into a monstrosity befitting their House.
There, before the injured man and weakened phasmas, Sage Estratus crumpled in on herself and the tumultuous emotions surging within forced their way to the surface briefly. Her face contorted, eyes glazing over and blurring her vision. She lowered her head, hiding her face in her mass of hair as well as masking it with her free hand. Moments tick by in silence as she attempts to collect herself, which is only a partial success before she allows herself to speak again. Her voice is weakened, shaky, and the news her words are a blow even to her.
”...The Grand Magus is dead.”
The little one in her palm glanced up with worry, though the true weight of the situation was unknown to her. Instead, her Grimm took the brunt of it and shot up in bed, only to groan and hold his side painfully. His eyes open, dread clear in them, and his lips quivered when he spoke. ”The Grand Magus...” it was but a whisper and to Sage the word itself felt ghostly now. ”The cultist that attacked mentioned--... How did she die?”
Face still covered with a hand, Lady Estratus took a deep breath and turned away from Jin-ho and Blaithe as she wiped her eyes and fixed her hair. It seemed, then, the situation was true. The House knew they had their hands in the Fellowship pot all this time, and they were getting away with it because they had its most important piece directly under their thumb.
Obscuvos was laughing at them.
”The Queen of Shyregoed, Valhalla...” her voice still held a tentative shake, but her next words were given renewed strength, ”Grand Magus Waldgrave was a traitor. She worked with those wretched bastards. Killed innocent girls to regain her youth...” and then, once more, it faltered, ”...Bathed in their blood...” Her shoulders fell, head lowering once more. All hope from the staunch Fellowship Adviser seemed to be sucked out at that precise moment. ”...The Fellowship is crumbling...”
Behind her, Jin-ho forced himself up to rest his back against the wall. Each movement offered him nothing but pain, which he responded to with more grunts and yelps. Once he was at an upright position, he calmed himself and returned to as close to neutrality as he could muster. ”The cultist mentioned the Magus' alliances... I thought she was trying to get a rise out of me...” An exasperated sigh left him, and Sage felt the desire to fall to the floor, ”What do we do, Lady Estratus?”
Ah, yes... She had nearly forgotten. With the Grand Magus now dead, all responsibility fell to her. A shaky breath was drawn, her lips quivering as tears threatened to overtake her. Sage denied them, as always, and merely shook her head. ”I don't know...” Her fingers fell away from Blaithe as she finally turned back to glance at his arm, face still hidden against her curtain of hair. ”...but nothing can be done until you're healed. As of now, I can only do two things.” She gave a deep breath and the air around them seemed to tighten. ”There is no way you can work as my scribe this way. You will be relieved of duty until further notice.”
Breath caught in Jin-ho's throat for a moment at this announcement, but the look on his face told her he had expected this. ”...And the second, my Lady?”
Her gaze diverted toward the nearest brick. ”...Safety was not observed. A cultist slipped through our defenses not once, but twice, and the only one to blame for lack of precautions in this situation... is yourself.” Lady Estratus' body became ridged, her posture straightening as she prepared herself, ”You are an Augur, you are no longer my assistant, and our professional relationship is at an end.”
The news left both of them winded.
”I... I see...” Jin-ho turned away as well, not looking at her nor his concerned plague, ”I still have a place here, though, right...?” Sage's brow furrowed at the question. ”You're not throwing me out for treason...?”
Another simple head shake. ”There was no treason, only a lack of forethought. Clearly it was not your intention...” Sage's features hardened and she gained the courage to glance over her shoulder at him, her gaze serious and piercing, her words scathing and calculated, ”...Correct?”
Weakly, he refused to meet her eyes. ”I thought I had fallen in love. I meant no harm to the Fellowship and I am suffering for it.”
Blaithe glanced to her Grimm, any hint of a smile having long faded. ”Oji...”
Lady Estratus' face did not soften from the phasmas' voice this time, a frown setting upon it instead. ”Now it is known such feelings are like poison in these times...” Carefully, she flattens her hand out and rests it against the sheets at the spot Jin-ho offered her earlier, nudging the small Plague back to her Grimm. An awkward, near deafening silence overtakes them as she crawls away from Sage's pale skin and the Adviser takes her hand back, gazing down at where she had been seated. Where Sloane was once seated.
”I must go...” she muttered abruptly, turning on her heel without so much as a parting glance to either of them. Sage paused briefly at the door, resting a hand on it for just a moment. ”...I hope your injuries heal swiftly,” and the door groaned, closing behind her.
There was a knot in her throat, her eyes stung and felt heavy, her heart pounding and aching against her breast. None of what had occurred on the Ides felt any more real now than it did then. In fact, the elapsed time granted it even more phantasmic qualities. Sage was reeling, she felt ill, and the only thing she wanted to do was return to her quarters and sleep.
Maybe if she did that, this would all be over.
Once more, she navigated the halls. They all felt foreign now. Colder than before, as if the base were stripped bare and at Panyma's mercy. Truly, it was. Feathers might as well have been scattered everywhere with how easily they wormed their way into this base, into the Grand Magus' heart...
As she neared the stairs and a faint feeling of solace began creeping its way into her chest, a soft puff behind her stopped Lady Estratus in her tracks.
”Adviser Estratus,” an unfamiliar male voice spoke with practiced professionalism, but a distinct wavering anxiety clung to him like an aura.
She turned, facing him and the handful of others that followed, with one boot upon a step and a tired, blank expression on her face.
The group was garbed in traditional mage robes of various colors, members of all shapes and sizes, with the insignia emblazoned in obvious places. Its appearance was comforting to her and she allowed herself to step back from the stairwell. The man in front who spoke was an elder, greying sage and his followers all comprised of seers. His weathered skin was taut across his bony hands and cheeks, and he held both hands before himself as he bowed his head in greeting. ”Your presence is needed in Anica. If you would please come with us, we will take you there immediately.”
Sage swallowed hard.
After all of these infiltrations and betrayals, was it possible to trust these few even though they were clearly high members? Her hands slowly clasped into fists at her sides and she raised her chin, scrutinizing each of them. No matter how hard she tried or how deeply she probed, nothing about any of them felt dangerous or underhanded. All she felt radiating from them was fear and uncertainty, perhaps even a little relief at having found her.
With a soft sigh, she too bowed her head and approached the group. What else was there to be done? ”Very well,” she accepted, reaching out to clasp the old man's cloaked shoulder, the feeling of silk under her fingers a welcomed relief.
With another subtle puff, the sage, seers, and the adviser were cleared of the halls and the only hint they were there was a faint wisp of smoke that dissipated quickly on the chilled winds.
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Posted: Sat Mar 26, 2011 11:08 am
TRACE
Credence - MetaRP - March 16th, 1411
Soot covered steps lead to an ashen figure burning in the night.
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Posted: Sat Mar 26, 2011 11:12 am
UPRISING
Credence - Part 7 - March 16th, 1411
The seeds of madness take root, watered by innocent blood.
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Posted: Mon Mar 28, 2011 8:16 pm
COUNTING LIVES
Credence - Faction Challenge - March 17th, 1411
Are the lives of few as important as the lives of many?Credence The Fellowship of the Mages
Mages, Fellowship loyals, practitioners...
"Protect"
Dear Mages, the Fellowship is now facing a time of great hardship... the Grand Magus' brutal death in Queen Valhalla's own hands have resulted in the unease of many in Shyregoed and beyond. The controversy over Benedicta Waldgrave's death have left many Fellowship members into leaving their faction to go off to their own devices, and many of the people in Shyregoed have been rioting the Mage bases in search of ambiguous answers.
Protect all Fellowship sanctions across Panymium and spread the news of the Fellowship's still good name, and protect the innocent and those you can with the Magic you have been blessed with.
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Posted: Mon Mar 28, 2011 8:19 pm
ULTIMATUM
Credence - Grimm Challenge - March 17th, 1411 (night)
A great flame follows a little spark.Der Pestdoktor A crow has nestled incessantly nearby you, wherever you may be, and clutched within its beak is a frail roll of parchment wrapped around ever so carefully in black ribbon. The crow is gleaming a seeping black, as if it was tainted by the Death, and around it is the aura of careful whispers. You reach for it, though you might not know why, exactly, and you unravel the contents of the parchment and, in that instance, you hear--
"Grimm,"
In a hushed voice, the parchment, whose inked words also glow with an uneasy black, whispers to you this:
"Sage Estratus,
Ah, Lady Sage Estratus... how laughable is the title of Adviser, now! Where were you during those times of grief and sorrow that struck your Grand Magus with such power? Or did you know of her madness, Adviser, and continue to ignore it? Have you been pining for power, my Lady?
Well power you have, now, and the House will always extend its hands to you, even in the dark, as we did to your Lady Waldgrave... we're aware of the nature of your Plague, and the damage he's done to our House.
We advise that you take precautions with your Sword, lest you want us to uproot what power you do have left in your realms of Shyregoed."
After it whispers to you, the crow's brittle wings flutter as it disappears into the sky, and the parchment unravels in your hands and melts into a mess of delicate black ribbon.
Until she achieved this by asking to be shown to her room in an attempt at sleep did she realize that thinking was precisely what she did not want to do. Able to keep up the facade of stone faced Adviser while among her protectors, those still retaining loyalty, while she was alone everything went to pieces. As soon as she heard the click of the lock from the door and the two guards station themselves before it, her hands clasped over her mouth as she muffled the cry of despair and frustration having built up with each passing hour.
Lady Estratus shouted, cried, wailed, all smothered off sound either with her hands, a pillow or the bed itself as she kept her guards out of the loop. She could not show weakness, not at such a torrential time.
On the Ides of March, everything had gone wrong.
The Grand Magus was murdered, dead and gone, and it mattered not of her personal connection with Lady Benedicta Waldgrave for the woman had been a lying, treacherous snake nesting hypocritically upon the throne for so many years. Innocent blood stained that woman's hands and Sage could only question herself, time and again, whether she was truly oblivious or if she knew and chose not to acknowledge it. Blame was not placed upon Queen Valhalla for the death of the Grand Magus, as far as she was concerned; the Grand Magus had been dead for many years prior.
It took several hours to return to the North Base, several hours of silence between she and her Knight, and upon their arrival they were immediately enlightened to chaos brimming all around. Her assistant had been attacked by a cultist whom was brought in by another who had infiltrated the base under the guise of innocence and wanting to join a Mage. A cultist Plaguemonger weaseled their way within her fold due to an oversight and lack of suspicion from from the once-more Augur, Jin-ho Kyon, and she had left him amputated, useless and with no purpose when she had been approached by Lord Yizhaq.
Round and around the events spun, mixing, mingling and making no sense in relation to one another. Murder, attempted murder, demotion, escape. That young Grimm, the Clemmings boy, had escaped his confines while they had been out and his Plague was missing as well. It was after the Lord and her own Plague left in search that the Mages of Anica contacted her, appearing within the North Base before her and bringing her into the safety of the frozen fortress.
The bodies of the girls still lingered, the stench of tainted purity diluted only by the thick scent of their blood. Until they were gone, that entire room would be a badge of dishonor upon not only the Grand Magus but the entire Fellowship.
These thoughts and memories dispersed and returned at random intervals as Lady Estratus curled into the comfort of her bed. It hardly helped. A pillow was clutched to her, held as if a companion, while the covers were bundled all around her and strewn messily across the mattress. She didn't bother to brush her hair nor put it up, long raven locks spilling across the white sheets and pillows. Every now and then her face would be blank as she stared at the wall opposite her, examining each and every crevice. It was then that her mind was blank and she was allowed momentary respite for her thoughts, but these moments did not last long and soon her face would twist and contort and once again she would be forced to smother herself into silence.
Her throat felt raw. While during the day she hardly spoke, her throat was worked double time this night and it had no time to recuperate as sleep would not come easy. In fact, for the past two nights and this one, it hadn't come at all. Her eyes burned but they refused to close. If she forced them, she felt no relief. Lady Estratus was exhausted but far too much so to rest. It was a vicious cycle, one that likely wouldn't end until she actually collapsed from the effort.
It was at this point in her insomnia that she was growing ever desperate for even an hour of rest and, again and again, she willed her eyes shut to no avail. Amidst the staring and the muted screaming she would see shapes in the darkness outside her window, shapes she gave no credence toward in her current state. At the very least she could tell the difference between something real and something conjured by a sleepless mind.
The wind was blowing hard against the panes, shaking them noisily, and Lady Estratus pressed the pillow over her head to try and drown out the sound. If she had silence, pure silence, then maybe she would be able to sleep. She wouldn't care if it were for seconds, minutes or hours, any amount of sleep would assist in her current state of mind.
Without warning, the clattering window was thrust open with a resounding slam and the black haired woman sat bolt upright in her bed. A knock came at the door, followed by a concerned voice.
”Lady Estratus, are you alright?”
She wasted no time in getting out of the bed and latching the window shut tightly, explaining ”The storm blew a window open,” and crawling right back into bed. Once more, the pillow was pulled overhead and breath escaped her.
It was unable to return to her lungs when she heard the flutter of wings behind her.
Her form twisted, jolting from her prone position as she came face to face with an inky black crow sitting atop the wooden desk adjacent from her bed. Their eyes locked, her amber ones burning with disgust and confusion while the crow's looked bleak and dead. Tucked in its beak was a dirty looking piece of rolled parchment, tied delicately with black ribbon.
”Grimm,” it whispered.
Sage's nails dug into her pillow.
For a moment, there was no movement between them, not even breath. As still as statues they remained until her hands lashed out, clawing at the bird and successfully claiming the parchment held in its beak. It didn't make a sound, save for the beat of its wings, and the bird relocated a safe distance from her. Her eyes followed the bird, glaring at it until her curiosity was too great and she unrolled the message.
It whispered aloud, keeping its voice low enough so that only she and the bird would lend an ear.
”Ah, Lady Estratus... how laughable is the title of Adviser, now!”
Her teeth gritted in response.
”Where were you during those times of grief and sorrow that struck your Grand Magus with such power? Or did you know of her madness, Adviser, and continue to ignore it? Have you been pining for power, My Lady?”
A low growl ripped through her throat as she balled the paper up in her hands, throwing it against the wall. The crow adjusted itself noisily and the paper's condescending whispers did not cease.
”Well power you have now and the House will extend its hands to you, even in the dark, as we did to your Lady Waldgrave...” Her jaw was so tense it hurt. ”We're aware of the nature of your Plague and the damage he's done to our House.” Here, however, she gave pause and scrutinized the crumpled parchment. Its voice was slimy, filled with scathing insults, but this was different. ”We advise that you take precautions with your Sword, lest you want us to uproot what power you do have left in your realms of Shyregoed.”
It was an ultimatum.
After a few seconds, the paper shuddered and began to unravel. Its browned edges fell away, disintegrating into dust until all that was left was the dark ribbon it was tied with.
Lady Estratus watched in silence, bed cover clutched tightly in her lap as her face had become stony once more. Cold, unfeeling, her gaze departed from the ribbon and returned to the bird whose attentions had left her long ago and were now stuck on the window that had previously blown open. It wasn't the wind that had opened it but the bird.
Daring not to remove her watch over the bird, Sage carefully crept out of her bed and back toward the window. Outside, the raging gusts had calmed somewhat and she undid the latch, holding it open for the tainted creature. ”Out, parasite,” she growled between her teeth and the crow obeyed. Its wings fluttered, its voice silent, and it disappeared into the white winter of the mountains.
Sleep would not come easy and now it would not come at all.
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Posted: Tue Mar 29, 2011 12:38 pm
CONFERENCE
Credence - MetaRP - March 18th, 1411
A flowing of thoughts from blood, steel and magic over a black ribbon.
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Posted: Tue Mar 29, 2011 11:57 pm
LOOMING SHADOWS
Credence - Grimm Challenge - March 19th, 1411
A fair request should be followed by the deed in silence.Credence "The Kick"
Unfortunately for you, the threat seems more than viable by now. That crow that sent you that letter is seemingly coming at you in multitudes, dropping you pieces of parchment with absolutely nothing inside, though it seems to 'melt away' in the same fashion as the one that you first got, as if it's reminding you of something.
There are also stalkers within your vicinity, where ever you are-- just how they got there you don't know, unless you pry it out of them. Beware of those keeping track of where you're going when you do. They are not attacking, but they are watching, so think before you act and act intelligently.
Why would they directly contact her as such?
Were others written in the same way? If so, why? If not, why only her?
Why did the items in question smell so startlingly similar to that of a plagued item? Not even her knight who had detected it in the first place could answer that, for surely both the feather and ribbon were not to be growing into Excitos, whether stunted or otherwise, any time soon. It was as if they were similar covered in taint but with nothing to infect and no means to grow, which left an incredibly odd feeling in the Adviser's stomach.
The morning after, she decided that a bit of rest was in order before the day could truly begin. A bit of time to clear her head in the fresh air would be perfect for it, but clearly she could not exit the castle proper without confronting a mob head on. Instead, she grabbed one of her personal chairs and began setting up a small area for herself on one of the numerous balconies high on the lofty castle walls.
A chair and small side table were placed near the entry doors, waiting to be sat in and have a meal rested on for easy access. Lady Estratus stepped out into the frigid air, sighing as it whipped across her cheeks. Large blanket in hand, she deposited it on the seat of the chair and was about to return inside to ask one of the augur's if they would be able to prepare a small meal when the flapping of wings was heard behind her. Immediately, she turned her head to spot the source, thinking it would be one of those wretched crows, but found nothing.
If she were in such a mood, it would have prompted a scoff from the woman, but instead her face softened ever so slightly and she set about to return to the task at hand. A few steps toward the door, there was a gentle crunch under foot, the sound of crumpling paper. This time, she quickly stepped back and revealed a small bit of parchment under foot. It lay open, the same sort of parchment as the previous note had been written on, but this time there were no words upon its surface and no ominous voice piercing its way into her ears. It was blank, silent, and disappeared within a second just as the other had.
Tense now, the abrupt sound of a crow's call behind her nearly caused Sage to reel on the spot and she whirled around to face the dreaded bird. It stared at her blankly, beady eyes affixed to her own. Without a second thought, she rushed forward and throw her arms at the bird, waving it off in a fury of fingers and nails. It took the hint and flew off, messily dropping feathers in its wake which the mage wasted no time in brushing off the edge of the balcony.
Curses forming under her breath, she turned on her heel and quickly paced inside. It was fairly easy to tell when something was angering the Adviser, one emotion she hadn't quite reigned in as well as all her others but after the controversy of the Grand Magus was brought to light it was even more difficult to put a leash on. Glare set and amber eyes burning, the pale woman made her way to the galley on her own, everyone she passed giving her the right of way without a second glance or word to question. There her meal request was put in, a small meat dish with a fine soup and vegetable accompaniment, as well as a glass of red wine which was poured for her on the spot.
At least with the wine she could wile away the time watching the mountains in their monochromatic beauty and simplicity until her meal arrived. Perhaps a book would also be in order. Or, at least, that was the plan until she returned to her little nook and nearly dropped the glass where she stood.
On the cold stone by her chair and table lay several more unfurled blank pieces of parchment waiting for her, joined by as many crows perched all around, heads tilted in her direction. A scowl covered her face as she calmly opened the door and came outside, fur coat and hair billowing in the wind as the papers on the ground twitched and fluttered. Gently, the wine glass was sat on the table and for a moment Lady Estratus stood among the birds and papers until they began to disintegrate. Her eyes closed, nostrils flared in irritation, and a gust of wind shot out around her, knocking all of the birds away from the balcony in a confusing clamor.
They flapped and cawed in surprise and equal agitation before flying off in random directions, no doubt off to retrieve more paper or pester others. Sage's eyes found her glass of wine and so did her hand as she snatched it up, downing the alcohol in a single breath.
It barely helped.
The 'why's from before were pummeling against her brain, multiplying and becoming deafening with each new crow appearing to harass her further and, even as she stood there in the cold, they would not cease. For every one she shooed away, three more replaced it. By the time her meal arrived she told them to take it inside to the nearest dining hall instead, watching them carefully as they stared perplexed at the amount of birds circling over head, nestling themselves on the balcony and scuttling along the stone floor.
Every now and then Lady Estratus would rear back a leg, threatening to kick the birds, but they would fly off before she had the chance to complete the act.
What was happening now was not just happenstance, but a determined message not unlike the one from before. The message now was an assurance, one that spoke volumes of how dedicated they were to their previous threat and how perfectly capable of finding her they were. Even if it was just birds, the threat stood and it was undoubtedly intimidating. It meant that the House was stronger and had more knowledge, potentially crippling information, than she had previously thought.
When it became clear that the birds would not let up, Sage decided to eat outside after all, just to spite them. By that time, the entire balcony was covered with paper, feathers, and lined with crows as they watched her quietly. She would throw them scathing looks and occasionally one would begin preening, dropping more feathers in the process.
As her meal finished, there was a soft rap at the doors behind her and she waved a hand to allow entry without looking back to see who it was. Out stepped a metal clad knight, white and silver accented with red, and she could tell the identity solely from the sound of his metallic footfalls against the stone.
”Enjoying yourself?” he asked jokingly, though his tone was far from sounding amused. Laced with disgust, he stepped over to one of the crows and stared it down with his mismatched swirls, keeping it distracted before raising a hand and shoving the bird off the edge. A few others nearby fluttered uncomfortably and huddled closer together, pushing themselves away from Sloane, but did not flee.
His Grimm huffed indignantly, turning to look at him with pure malice smoldering behind her gaze. ”Having the time of my life.”
Scoffing, Sloane turned to face her, back towards one of the crows and his arms clasped behind. There was a moment of silence before he quickly back handed one of the birds and sent it flying off with an alarmed squawk, finally forcing a few others to retreat as well. ”I can see now why they're here,” he mumbled to himself, looking down at the slowly dissipating parchment reserves, each one of them as blank as the other. It might as well have been the case with the first threat, as far as he was concerned, but there was something more disconcerting about this.
Just a niggling reminder that they were there, poised and ready to react, which was precisely why he had intruded upon her solitude (if it could be called such in the presence of so many birds) to begin with. ”This is not all,” he warned, casting his attention below to the mountainside, ”It's not just the birds that are pestering you so.”
Raising the glass of refilled wine to her lips, Lady Estratus paused before she took a sip and returned the glass to the side table before getting to her feet and joining Sloane at the edge. Both of them mindlessly shooed away more of the birds so she could lean out and squint at the snow; numerous black specks were swarmed in an undulating mass, the mobs nearby, but curiously there were other such specks dotted in highly uniformed lines at the edge of the base.
”What is this?” her words slithered out between clenched teeth.
Metal claws wrapped around the stone edge and Sloane's red hair hung in his face as he craned his neck to stare at the birds, ”I saw them this morning; they're just standing there, have been for hours. Watching.”
”I can feel their eyes...”
”From here, it's impossible to tell if it's them or someone – something – else but I would bet my blood it's more House leeches.”
Lady Estratus slowly peeled herself from the wall, arms folded and brow set firmly. Her Plague turned to face her, face torn between curiosity, irritation and worry. ”What would you have us do?” a hand was waved toward the castle interior, indicating the order would be given to all inside.
It took a few seconds but finally the order was given, a grave declaration of wills until the proper time to react; ”For now? We watch back.”
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Posted: Sat Apr 02, 2011 6:21 pm
BLOOD FOR BLOOD part 1
Credence - Plague Challenge - March 22nd, 1411
Necessity brings him here, not pleasure.Credence "A Lovely Corpse"
What isn't particularly good for you Plaguefolk, Excitos included, is that while your Grimms are being stalked, you're being openly confronted. If you're not within the House of Obscuvos well, it's always better to convert later than never. The House of Obscuvos will attempt to take you, back to the consorts of the House chapels. If you don't comply, you will be taken by force. Do you fight back at all, and if you do, do you succeed or fail?
Shirtless with a single clawed gauntlet upon his right arm extending up to a spaulder on his shoulder, the Infitialis known as Estratus' Sword flexed his claws against the air, let loose a punch at nothing, and thrust a blade extending from his wrist through the quiet air. The metal sang each time it was released and sighed as it was called back into hiding. Warm breath mingled around him, each one conjuring a thick white cloud. Shyregoed's cold air did little to disturb the Plague's biology like it would a human's if they were to stand in a fireless hall half naked but it reacted accordingly to his heightened temperature and a very thin mist rose from his bare skin, drying off the sweat that was clinging to him.
Sloane kept his breathing controlled, steady, each breath deep from the exertion. His movements were practiced, deliberate, and graceful despite his hulking form. With each motion of his arms came an accompanying step; forward and back, side to side, he utilized the large space of empty floor as one might in a dance.
It was well into the night, the position of the moon and stars indicating most likely that it was early morning, and the sword hadn't slept a wink. He and his Grimm had become restless in days past. With the vigilant eye of Obscuvos looming over them, it was difficult to feel calm anywhere. A few days prior had been a testament to their increasing diligence.
With one last long exhale, the Plague Knight ceased his movements and relaxed his posture. In time, the armor stretched upon his arm contracted and began to fold in on itself. The chain mail rattled as it was pulled into nothingness, every bit of the gauntlet compressing until it was nothing but a tight silver torc upon his wrist. Running the back of his arm across his brow, Sloane approached a table at one end of the room where a white shirt lay folded. His human fingers caressed the soft fabric and he tucked it under the crook of his arm. As he turned on his heel and began his way towards the large doors, a figure passed silently by one of the glass-less windows.
Sloane only hesitated for a moment before increasing his pace and exiting the chapel as quietly as he could. Just as he exited into the hallway, his eyes caught sight of the figure disappearing around a corner.
His brows furrowed. It could have just been a guard or someone needing to use the privy but, with the recent increase of prying eyes outside their walls, was it worth the risk? Clutching his folded shirt tighter, the knight pursued. His feet were quick and quiet against the cold stone floor. Around each corner the figure seemed to gain a little more ground.
From what he could tell, the figure was definitely wearing a cloak with a hood and they were broad shouldered. It could have been a high ranking mage for all he knew but it was better to be safe and certain than risk the chance. Both of them paused when a rush of wind whistled and tore through the hell, opening a nearby window loudly. The figure hurried to it and closed it tight but the wind had already carried the scent to the Infitialis and he wasted no more time on simple observations.
Whoever it was, they reeked of the House.
The shirt he was carrying fell to the floor in a heap. As Sloane's legs pumped and he closed the distance with the intruder, his armor clanked loudly as it spread out from his wrists and neck, covering his entire body from the neck down. His grieves smacked noisily against the stone, alerting the other to his presence. With just as much speed the cloaked figure whirled around and made a break for it, taking the first turn in the hall that lead away from his aggressive pursuer. Both of them careened dangerously around corners, sliding here and there on the smooth and cold floor. More than once, Sloane had to dig his claws against the stone walls in order to keep his balance and the sound carried easily, echoing with their footfalls.
Metal clanged violently to the floor past the next corner as the intruder knocked over a suit of armor. Sloane leaped over it with little issue, his landing heavy. The malefactor sped up in response. Attempting to match the speed of his target, the distance began to close between them just as they passed into an open-air hall near the bailey.
With an abrupt turn, Sloane's target grabbed onto one of the thin pillars atop the wall that lead into the courtyard and pulled themselves onto it. He wasn't going to give them the chance to flee. With a burst of desperation and a low growl, the Plague charged full force and wrapped his arms around the intruder, the force of the blow knocking them both out of the opening. The two plummeted a short distance and landed roughly, rolling slightly which knocked Sloane's grip away. Winded, they rose to their feet and faced one another while their breath returned.
Under the bright light of the full moon he could see the curve of a sleek mask beneath the hood, cracked from the fall. It only covered the man's face from the nose up and a few dark strands of hair hung in front of it, alongside a gruff beard beneath the hooked beak of what appeared to be a hawk. Craning his neck, the acolyte pulled back his hood to reveal pale skin and long bark colored hair ending in a few thick, loose braids that hung over his shoulders. Though shadowed, his eyes were a clear, piercing blue and they bore directly into Sloane's swirls. His body was tall and thick, just as Sloane's, but a few inches shorter.
”Estratus' Sword,” he grumbled deeply, ”The Monster Knight.”
Sloane's claws clenched tightly. ”You know me. Then you know you meet your end by trespassing here.”
A gravely chuckle sounded from the towering acolyte's throat as a grin parted his lips and revealed yellow teeth. ”I was not expecting this but it will do,” he adjusted his posture, holding a hand out towards the knight, ”I come extending an offer of truce – of freedom. Your Fellowship is little more than a band of old fools huddled together, watching their castle crumble around them.”
The Infitialis scoffed, ”And your House is but filthy wretches desperate for something to cling to. His eyes burned, the bright swirl upon his dark sclera almost glowing in the night.
His grin faltered, fingers drawing back as if to rescind the offer. Dropping his arm back to his side, the man shook his head but his smirked returned, larger than before. ”Are all members of the Fellowship so deluded?”
Low and quiet, the soft hum of metal slowly sliding out from the knight's gauntlet halted the Obscuvan's rant. There was a brief moment of silence that was broken when the cultist chuckled under his breath.
”Oh you haven't changed a bit, have you? Nice and big now, though.” His words held a strange level of enjoyment at the prospect, the man's smirk growing large beneath his pointed mask.
Sloane's sharp teeth grit uncomfortably. This only made the Obscuvan laugh louder.
”You've forgotten?! I suppose you would. Well I remember – oh so clearly. I bet the little princess doesn't remember either.”
The blade from Sloane's wrist extended further quickly and he pointed its tip between the Obscuvan's eyes, taking a single defiant step forward. ”Do not mock the Lady Estratus, lest you'd like me to carve her initials into your throat.”
Another chuckle as he matched Sloane's step, this one back, one hand reaching beneath his cloak and resting against his belt where a sheathed dagger lay alongside a strap that clung tightly to the hilt of a mace. No doubt there were other weapons hidden away. ”Now, now, let's play nice,” his fingers traced along the mace's handle, ”There are more of us nearby. It's embarrassingly easy to infiltrate the Fellowship under the cloak of Lord Obscuvos' wing.”
With a growl, Sloane quickly rushed forward and aimed his blade. Once more, the cultist retreated, this time wagging a finger and tutting. ”I asked you to play nice. Surely someone like you can understand my offer?”
”What could a cretin like you offer?”
”Power.”
It was the Plague's turn to sneer, laughter creeping up his throat as his face twisted into a more frightening demeanor. Once more, the Obscuvan's grin lessened. ”You must know the House welcomes Plagues with open arms? The same cannot be said for your precious Fellowship, nor anywhere else in Panymium--”
”Save your breath,” the Infitialis growled, losing any amusement that had previously been on his face, ”You'll need it when I puncture your lungs.”
tbc
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Posted: Sat Apr 02, 2011 6:23 pm
BLOOD FOR BLOOD part 2
Credence - Meta RP - March 22nd, 1411
Thrashing and writhing bodies amidst pools and spatters of blood.Credence "A Lovely Corpse"
What isn't particularly good for you Plaguefolk, Excitos included, is that while your Grimms are being stalked, you're being openly confronted. If you're not within the House of Obscuvos well, it's always better to convert later than never. The House of Obscuvos will attempt to take you, back to the consorts of the House chapels. If you don't comply, you will be taken by force. Do you fight back at all, and if you do, do you succeed or fail?
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Posted: Sat Apr 02, 2011 8:36 pm
HESITATE
Credence - Grimm Challenge - March 29th, 1411
Tainted minds with tainted thoughts don't burn as much as tainted flesh and tainted hearts.Credence "Hesitate" Those crows and letters have suddenly begun to drop like flies from the sky, leaving nothing but crow corpses. On the flip-side, there's no more parchment whatsoever that's being delivered to you. What's strange, though, is that when you try to pick up any of those crows that are laying dead in thousands of masses across the street, they're extremely heavy-- heavier than a horse, you reckon, and you have no idea why. When you do, though, it stings your hand, and even if they've only recently died, they smell a hell of a lot like months-old corpse. If you even try to touch any of these crows, you're going to feel heavily incapacitated for the next couple of days-- the more crows you're around the more sick you'll be. It'll look like you have the Black Death, in fact, each and every one of you, with black-tipped fingers and swollen buboes around your body but completely hidden from sight. How do you feel, now that you know what true sickness is? This effect will only last for a few days, maybe just a day for you, three or four at most, but that's all it takes it kill a regular person, anyway. Do you trust your instincts and rumors that your Plague will protect you from the Black Death and move on, or are you starting to have your doubts?
The one she recalled most clearly was fairly short, following after an unrelated and far less strange dream in comparison. She was younger, perhaps back when her father was still healthy and she was not closed away, walking through a dark forest with gnarled branches and thorns, no lush greenery or blooms to speak of and only the dim light of night to illuminate her path. It went on for some time, this stretch of forest, but though it was a seemingly lifeless section of forest there was nothing that made her feel uneasy, intimidated or afraid; it was a calm area, peaceful almost, and the further she stepped she easier it became to see. Each breath she took came out visibly in pale clouds despite not feeling cold, even in her thin outfit of a bright amber dress.
Before long, the young Estratus found herself in a clearing most curious; the ground was covered in white flowers, the ground, dirt and anything having color to it being turned black. Tree wood was as such but their blooms were full and as iridescent white as the flowers. Clouds billowed overhead in the monochrome sky despite there being no breeze and beneath her feet, each time she stepped, veins of color pulsed through the ground only to slowly fade. It was not long before her dream self began making a game of stepping and watching the colors; with no one around to be self conscious towards, Sage soon began to make a dance of it, smiling and laughing at the wondrous rainbows of light pouring out.
Such fun could only last so long, however, and her lighthearted frolicking was cut short by the sudden flapping of wings. It appeared even her dream self was well aware and wary of such a sound as she whirled around to spot the source with a soft gasp.
Perched atop one of the lower branches was a dark avian figure seemingly made of smoke. Its form twisting and contorting as smoke plumed from it. At first, it was difficult to discern what type of bird it was and her first thought was one of those wretched crows but it was far too big. Perhaps a raven? The black smog that formed it shifted in tone, however, and became lighter. It calmed, moving through shades of grey until it was as perfectly white as the flowers around it, and she was able to see that it was neither crow nor raven but a hawk.
Though the presence of the bird was unexpected and its gaze piercing, knowing it was not an agent of the Glutton God invading her dreams allowed the young woman to relax and offer it a smile. Its head tilted curiously, smoke calmly and constantly shifting from light to dark then back again, before flying off. As it departed, flying out of sight, the petals on the trees and on the flowers all began to fall – so did her feeling of contentment. Concerned, Sage looked down at her feet and pressed upon the ground.
No color formed underfoot and so she tried again, more frantically. After another unsuccessful stop or two, she dropped to her hands and knees to try pressing upon the soil more carefully. As she dug her fingers beneath the dirt, finding no color, she drew back and held her hand as far from herself as possible. Her finger tips, once a soft and pale peach, were was white as the flowers and, slowly, the lack of color was veining itself further down her hand. Frightened, she drew her hand into her lap and began wiping at it with her skirt only gasp in horror as where ever she touched the cloth, it too began losing color. Unable to control herself, the young Sage began wiping madly at her dress, unintentionally spreading the lack of color further. With each new place of contact, it seemed to be spreading faster and faster until her entire body was as colorless as the sky.
She opened her mouth to speak, to question even though no one was there, but no sound came. Her fingers found her throat, rubbing at the pale skin that felt void of the warmth of life, but found nothing otherwise out of the ordinary. Her eyes, once bright, found the field before her once more but all of the beautiful white petals were gone, no sign of them having ever been there. It was an endless field of black dirt and twisted, ebony trees, all lifeless.
Then the stench hit her, the fetid and rotten smell of death. Her body felt so heavy, weighed down by some unseen force, and she couldn't breathe. The decaying scent was smothering her, sucking out her life and will, and soon everything turned black.
It was then that she woke, drawing a ragged breath and nearly gagging on the rancid air. She was choking and she was being held down but by what rocked all of her senses and nearly sent her reeling. Across her bed spread lay six dead crows, oily feathers strewn about as though they had been decaying for days. An abrupt glance to the window told her everything but it was a mystery to the Adviser how they managed to get in without her hearing as the wind outside blew quiet noisily.
Suppressing a nauseated gag, Lady Estratus shakily drew her hands from beneath the sheets and reached onto the nearest table for a handkerchief. Fingers wrapped, she tugged on one of the wings but was met with pounds of resistance. Flustered, queasy and frustrated, she pulled harder but the more she fought it seemed the heavier the bird's corpse became. They were like dead weights, heavy and leaded, and before long a cry of anger and distress was made as a rush of wind pulsed from around her body and the covers came flying off, along with the crows. Each one fell to the stone floor with a deafening thud, finally alerting the guards outside to a problem.
Without a word they entered, immediately repelled back by the awful stench and astonishing scene before them. Pulling their cloth shirt necks over their noses and mouths, they moved into the room and nudged at the birds with their feet and weapons before making their way over to Sage.
”More of these awful things?” one asked rhetorically, looking her over and finding no injury or cause for worry. ”We'll get these taken care o--” his consoling words were interrupted by a hefty grunt from his comrade and, looking over, was met with the sight of the other guard attempting to lift one of the birds to throw it out the window. ”Oy, what's the prolem?”
Another strained groan came from the guard as he tried with all his might to pull up the bird, grabbing it by both wings at the shoulders, then at the feet. ”It weighs a ton!” he admitted before another struggle earned him a meager step back with the bird, dragging it across the floor. A small crack in the stone was visible from where it had landed.
”Bloody hell,” the first guard noted, aghast. Turning back to Lady Estratus, he began to speak once more but could not find the words as he and her eyes both became affixed to her fingertips.
They were blackened.
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Posted: Mon Apr 04, 2011 9:15 pm
FLEETING
Credence - Plague Challenge - March 30th, 1411
O creatures foolish, how great is that ignorance that harms you.Credence "Fleeting" If you've managed to fight of the Obscuvans, and good job, it looks like many of you have-- they're not going to try again any time soon, it doesn't seem like, and the ribbon dropping has ceased as well as the stalkings from your Grimm. What's bad is that if you've come in contact with any of these cultist folk, if you were engaged in battle especially, you're going to feel a little bit strange-- bated, even. Not only are you going to lose many of your Plague characteristics if you fought with a cultist, you're going to look completely like a human and act like one, too. What does that feel like for you? ((OOC: This means that ALL Plagues who fought against Obscuvans / were stalked/acted upon them that weren't cultist Plagues were effected, even Excitos. Excitos will have a random human form and I highly recommend that they have no resemblance of what you might think their Anhelo form looks like, please!))
Things were happening so quickly it was hard to keep track but now there was one thing that couldn't get off his mind; his Grimm. It was a theory, a rumor, not a concrete fact that those who raise Plagues were immune, but until this specific point in time it had yet to be proven incorrect. Until yesterday, it had been as good as fact for the Infitialis and now his beliefs were slowly spiraling out of the realm of possibility.
Had she some how come in contact with his blood?
Was it his presence that darkened her flesh and tainted her body? Or was it truly those wretched birds that carried the scent of sentient taint?
These thoughts weighed heavily upon his conscience and it wasn't until hours of laying in bed that Sloane finally managed to worry himself to sleep. He had felt so drained the past week, emotionally and physically, and most of his worries had spilled onto the fabric of his pillow case before he drifted off into dreams. Even there, however, he couldn't escape the sense of guilt. If it hadn't directly been caused by him then surely his existence did not help matters, not when he was a monstrous sort instead of what was intended.
The Plague awoke with a start as one of his claws got caught on the fabric of the mattress. He sat up, pulling the claw as carefully from it as possible without tearing it further, and only when he rested his head back down did he realize that he hadn't gone to sleep with his gauntlets on.
”Silly buggers,” he cooed to the armor, wrapping his steel fingers around one of his wrists, ”Did I call you in my sleep?” Sighing, he closed his eyes, ready to go back to sleep as he willed the armor into a familiar shape – silver bracelets with a single embedded ruby, identical to the choker around his bare neck.
They didn't change.
Sloane opened one eye to observe as he tried again. Nothing happened. Letting out a tired groan, he sat up and removed the gauntlets entirely, pulling them away from his skin to reveal his normal, human-like fingers. He supposed it was his past form of a Servos that granted him such luck; in flesh he resembled any other human, but in place of claws he was granted vicious teeth. Carefully, he set the gauntlets on the bedside table and nestled back against the pillow.
A yawn waved over him and, sleepily, his tongue aimlessly roamed the inside of his mouth. They rubbed against the flesh of his cheeks, the roof of his mouth, along the backs of his teeth. Here and there it would slip, probing so that he would more easily fall into a relaxed lull and return to the world of dreams. It would have worked perfectly if his tongue hadn't been clumsy and slid across the tips of bottom teeth and he braced for the sting and taste of blood.
Again, he was met with surprise, as he found that his teeth were quite flat. Still groggy, it took the man a few seconds to register what precisely had just occurred and as soon as his thoughts clicked together into something discernible he snapped to attention and leaped out of bed. Immediately, he raised a hand and bit down hard on it. A dull sensation swept across the nerves, nothing like the feeling of pierced flesh and broken skin, and as he drew back he saw there was no blood, only flat indentations.
His teeth were normal.
”What?” he breathed, rushing toward one of the bureaus. His hands slammed on either side of the mirror, against the cold stone of the wall, and Sloane nearly reeled at what he saw within. His eyes widened to saucers--his brown, human eyes.
The structure of his body, his form and face, was all the same; the cut of his hair, the angle of his nose, the sharp square of his jaw, and all of the muscles toned in his body were unchanged. However, his teeth, eyes and hair color were now all decidedly human.
And so was he.
What once was as red as blood atop his head and in his eyes was now the calmer color of rust. If he had not been a Plague, or perhaps if he had been a Locos, would this be closer to how he would have appeared?
Sloane's hands clawed at the steel choker around his neck, beckoning, urging it to return to its normal form of body armor and chain mail, but it refused. There it stayed, useless around his neck, just a powerless piece of jewelry while his gauntlets now appeared to be his only means of defense. Unless...
Shoving himself away from the bureau, Sloane snatched up one of the gauntlets and took one of the fingers, holding it taut. The sharp claw gleamed menacingly in the dark and he reached a finger toward the sharp point. Lip twitching at the familiar sting, the Plague pulled his finger away and examined it. A drop of blood seeped from the wound, running slowly down his finger. There was no taint within it, just pristine red. Nearly yelping in his hopelessness, Sloane stifled the cry with his other hand and took a deep breath to calm himself.
He had to think, had to clear his mind like before. Think only of the blood, the flow, and all it meant for life. When he opened his eyes, the blood had run down the length of his finger and it remained unchanged, unable to be manipulated.
He was powerless, completely and utterly.
Bringing the finger to his lips, Sloane sucked on the minor injury while he placed the gauntlet back down. He had no powers, he had no taint, and the strangest thing about the situation was that he couldn't stop smiling. Once the blood stopped flowing, he wiped his finger off on his trousers and searched for a spare pair of boots. Without his armor, he would need to find a different manner of dress but it would not be so difficult; he had dressed the part of a civilian before.
A shirt was procured, low cut at the chest with string ties and far longer and larger than it needed to be, even for his height and width, and he pulled the comfortingly familiar gauntlets back onto his bare arms. They still moved right, and though he was unable to form blades or alter the make up of his armor, he at least felt at ease with these as some form of protection.
Finished preparing, Sloane fell back into a forced habit of the previous weeks and looked out the window. A few dead crows dotted the castle's stone towers and the snow below but there were no cloaked figures amongst them. It seemed the Obscuvans had taken the hint he had given them with Lady Sanguine's assistance and he gave the mountains a triumphant smirk.
Strangely mirthful, Sloane exited his temporary dwelling and passed the guards and caused them to double take. No words of greeting were exchanged, nor was he addressed in question. He looked enough like himself that there could be absolutely no mistake but the change was shocking. Though he knew not what could have possibly caused it, what strange powers were at work, he found little interest in attempting to analyze all possibilities. For better or for worse, he wanted to enjoy this while it lasted, for surely it was temporary.
And in her time of sickness, her time of need, what better news would there be to give his Grimm that he was no longer a creature of taint and disease? Surely, if nothing else, it would bring a smile to her face as it had to him.
Sloane approached the hall leading toward her room, sealed off by several guards standing post. Some were Mages, practitioners of Aether, but others were simple and loyal soldiers. The two stationed in front of the door were both. Their eyes narrowed as he drew closer, hands tightening on their weapons. It wasn't until he spoke that they recognized him and their jaws dropped.
”How is she fairing?” he kept his voice low, not wanting it to penetrate the door and ruin the surprise.
One of the guards glanced toward it, face regaining its professional look but traced with the slightest bit of concern, ”She's been coughing all night, Sir...”
”Told us not to come in when we tried to check on her,” the other said, looking more dejected than curious.
Sloane's brow furrowed at the guards as the first one spoke up again, sounding awfully confused, ”Pardon me, Sir, but... what has happened to you?”
A slight scoff left the once-Plague as the grin widened, no longer intimidating due to the contents of his jaws, ”I haven't the foggiest.” With that, he stepped past them and pressed his ear against the door. Sure enough, there was a faint and strained cough and his smile left completely. Gently, he rapped his metal clad knuckles against the ornate door and was given the same response as the guards.
”Do not enter!”
Her voice was raspy, throat undoubtedly sore, and strained. Where the guards probably backed away and stopped listening, however, Sloane did not and kept his ears open. Amidst another cough, he heard it, her voice just barely a whisper riddled with sobs.
”Please don't...”
At that, it was impossible for him to follow her previous command and, ignoring the quiet urging against doing so given by the guards, Sloane pulled the door open and slipped inside, keeping his back turned toward his Lady. From her pleading, the desire to surprise her was ultimately lost and replaced with only a hope of being able to assure her everything would be alright. Before he even had a chance to turn around, however, she began to shout but was interrupted by another fit of coughs. Once done, she did not continue and instead drew in a horrified gasp.
Sloane turned, wasting no time. His thoughts were nowhere near his own appearance now, only his Grimm's well being. Her hands and mouth were coated in spatters of blood and she stared down at them, aghast, until he began his approach. There, she whipped around to stare at him and nearly toppled off the bed.
”Get out of here!” her ragged voice shook, bloodied hands reaching for anything disposable and holding it aloft. When he did not comply, she took aim and threw a hairbrush, letting out a cry of agony when he ducked its trajectory.
”Milady--” he started, having to stop as another item was thrown his way.
”Leave me be!”
Each step he took, a new item was flung in his direction and only narrowly did he avoid any of them. ”My Lady, please!” This behavior was abnormal but he could see, clear as day, that she was still herself. Beneath the harsh exterior, she was still the young lady of Fort Estratus who was merely scared for her life, but even more afraid to wear that fear in the open.
”I told you not to come in!” the louder she screamed, the more her voice broke and became more of a whisper than a yell.
Another brush was thrown and, this time, he stood his ground. Face hardening, fists clenched, Sloane bellowed ”SAGE!” as the item knocked against his chest and clattered harmlessly to the floor.
Finally, as she was groping around for something else to throw, his Grimm froze. Slowly, agonizingly, she turned and stared at him, their eyes locked and gazes unwavering. ”...What?” she choked out quietly and Sloane's brows knit in response.
”I'm--” he started, much quieter than before, and drew his eyes to his claws. His breathing was becoming labored now that he was before her in this form, torn somewhere between ecstasy and horror. ”I'm human,” Sloane offered, stepping forward, his eyes hopeful.
The reaction he was expecting was something along the lines of a smile, some form of positive acknowledgment, absolutely anything other than what happened next. Lady Estratus grunted, attempting to push herself further back along the floor but only succeeded in knocking painfully against the dresser which she then used to regain her footing and begin her retreat anew.
”Keep away,” she warned, holding a hand out to emphasize the distance she desired.
Sloane's face twisted into despair.
”Wh--.. i-is this an illusion? Is that it?” A quick shake of his head changed her look from one of bewilderment to disgust. ”What is this, then?”
His Lady was hysterical. ”I--” he took one more step forward.
”Stay – back!”
A pathetic sound followed from the man, his armored hands reaching up and tugging his hair. This wasn't right, not right at all, and there was nothing he could do about it with her mental state in such shambles. ”I don't know. I awoke to this – this form. It's... it's better... isn't it?” his own eyes were wet as he looked to hers, attempting to smile and show off his new, safe teeth.
A terrible cry ripped through Lady Estratus, all sense lost, and as she grabbed a nearby letter opener and began to charge, her consciousness began to fade. Sloane's arms reached her limp body in time, holding her fainted body against his chest, and carried her to the bed. The not-Plague took care, tucking the covers around her before stepping back.
Only then did he allow himself to fall to his knees and lose all his senses as well, clutching at his head; the sound of hurried knocking before the guards burst in was the only thing that drowned out his quiet sobs.
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Posted: Mon Apr 04, 2011 9:16 pm
SHACKLES
Credence - Plague Challenge - March 31st, 1411
Amor, ch'a nullo amato amar perdona.
But now let us descend to greater woe.
After the incident, the guards had escorted him out of the room and more had taken post before her door, with one lingering inside to make sure she did not injure herself. They told him they would keep vigilant watch, rotating the personal watch on Lady Estratus as she slept.
Gauntlets removed, Sloane lay sprawled on his back across the bed, sleeves tucked back and forearm over his eyes. He wanted to go back to sleep, wake up and pretend yesterday hadn't happened, or even the day before. If she wasn't driven to hysterics by that wretched disease, perhaps she would have seen the good in the situation. Because of her current affliction, it merely confounded her and the startling difference in appearance – nay, species – sent her into a blind and frightened rage.
He didn't blame her. If she had suddenly become a Plague, would he have acted similarly? There was no way for him to tell, and with her sanity teetering on the brink thanks to the symptoms of death washing over her, he could only hope that he would not be a burden. After all, if these were her last days, she deserved to enjoy them.
His fingers shakily dug into the pillow as he choked quietly at the thought, teeth clenched and legs slowly sliding against the bed as though in pain.
Dawn peaked out from behind Shyregoed's towering peaks and for the first time in hours Sloane dared to open his eyes. They stung, not only from the light of the sun but the near constant torrent of tears. He let out a haughty sigh despite himself and wiped roughly at his eyes until they were dry, merely reddened and irritated, circled with bags similar to those his Lady was slowly gaining with her lack of sleep.
It took the amount of time necessary to fight with himself to eat despite his lack of appetite, make his way through Anica's absurdly numerous halls to the galley, and then force himself not to gag as he downed what little food he could before he decided, most determinedly, that he would check on his Lady again. His steps were light, wary, and caution was held in place when he came upon the hall once more. This time, he kept his distance, addressing one of the nearest guards of her well being.
”Lady Estratus is awake,” he nodded, looking down the hall, ”Has been for an hour now.” Relief soared over Sloane and he nearly fell to the floor because of it, keeping himself aloft at the last minute by holding a hand out against the wall. The guard chuckled after Sloane smirked at himself, giving the new human a friendly pat on the shoulder, ”She was asking for you.”
Sloane's breath caught in his throat.
”We sent someone to your room but they couldn't find you. Excellent timing you have, Sir.”
That was all he needed to rip himself away from the wall and start running, but stopping mid-dash and doubling back to give the man a reassuring pat of the arm and a ”Thank you!” before making his way down the hall. As before, he stopped at the guards before the doors, this time bowing his head.
”Sir,” they addressed in time, stiffening in his presence. Before he could open his mouth to speak anymore, the two stepped away from the door to allow him proper entry and he smiled gratefully to them both. Only when he took the handle did apprehension fully set in and he paused, listening.
Silence.
"Enter.”
His eyes shut, breath releasing as he realized he had been holding it in, and he opened the door. It wasn't until he stepped inside, door closed behind him, that he realized her voice had sounded blank, listless. While it was normal for her tone to carry a rigid sense of professionalism, it was never typically apathetic.
Looking about him, the room appeared to be in order once more. All of the objects that were thrown stood neatly arranged atop her bureau, blood on her body, the sheets, her clothes and the floor was cleaned and everything appeared pristine. It was as if yesterday hadn't happened.
Lady Estratus sat upon the bed, legs dangling and toes just barely touching the polished tile of the large master bedroom. She was turned away, only one side of her face visible to him, appearing to be gazing at absolutely nothing though her eyes were pointed toward one of the few windows. A long, plain white gown trailed from her shoulders to just below her knees, the sleeves ending past her elbows but seeming far too wide and large for her frame. It was difficult for Sloane to ignore the neck of the gown hung low, the soft pale flesh of her shoulders exposed because of it.
Forcing himself to look away, Sloane took to one knee and lowered his head, ”Milady. You sent for me?”
”Yes,” she responded lifelessly, ”Would you brush my hair?”
His head lifted, one brow lifted in confusion. ”...Milady?”
”The brush is there,” Lady Estratus sighed, raising a finger to indicate more clearly.
It took Sloane a few moments but before long he nodded, stood, and made his way to the brush, ”Of course.”
Brush in hand, Sloane crossed the room and came to the other side of the large bed, climbing atop and sitting cross legged behind his Grimm. Before even daring to touch her, his eyes roamed her lengthy mass of raven hair, spotting a few knots and general disarray but nothing too serious that should cause her harm or send her into a relapse of the previous morn. Even during his pause, Lady Estratus did not budge, her hands held together upon her lap and head held straight, if only a little lazily.
Sloane scooped her hair into one hand and brought the bristles to her head, combing down the length. It snagged briefly in a few places but she neither gasped nor twitched in response, and so he readied his hand for another stroke. As he continued on as instructed, his eyes could not help but wander; one hand pulling her hair back, her fair neck was exposed and his gaze traced along the curve from it to her shoulders and down, the rest hidden by the large amount of fabric.
Each stroke of the brush made it more difficult to draw breath, Sloane's respiration growing gradually deeper the longer he kept this proximity to her, and for every one he felt thankful that she was far too vacant to notice.
With the amount of hair his Lady had, brushing it fully took a good few minutes, all spent in silence. Finally, he was able to draw back as her hair became like threads of silk, neat and tidy.
”Thank you.” Her tone hadn't changed.
That was all she said, however, and Sloane obediently waited a minute or two for a new order that never came. Shakily, he lowered the brush onto the bed and released it, hesitantly taking her hair in his hands once more and running his fingers through it.
She voiced no objection, no subtle body language against the act.
Taking his time, Sloane's hands drew through her hair and eventually pulled it around one of her shoulders to hang across her front. Once more he paused, waiting for some sort of rejection, but none came. It took a great amount of restraint not to wrap his arms around her then and, instead, he delicately pressed his finger tips against her shoulder. His eyes were wide, darting back and forth from the place he was touching to the back of her head, like a misbehaving child fearful of punishment. He could feel his heart beating in his throat and every few seconds he tried to gulp it down.
She was so soft.
Breath shaky, his other hand reached up for the opposite shoulder to gently caress her skin. He didn't dare to use more than just the very tips of his fingers but anywhere they moved and touched upon her flesh sent a joyous tingling sensation down every nerve of his fingers. Every ounce of grey matter in his skull was screaming for him not to continue, not to tread any further, for it knew the repercussions of such action were his Lady in the proper state of mind. Even worse, with her out of sorts, it felt as though he were taking advantage of her but his hands, his body, refused to listen.
This is wrong, he reminded himself, She's ill! but it blocked out what logic he had. Perhaps it was the Servos in him, while he was a Plague, that allowed him to step back, push his chaotic urges at bay, but now that part of him didn't truly exist and he was finding it more difficult than ever to heed his own advice.
Unable to stop the motion before it began, his hands gently pressed upon and held her shoulders while his face brushed softly against her neck. ”Sage,” he whispered, unable to even fathom a higher volume, ”...Is this alright?” Gingerly, his chest pressed against her back and he held his breath as he felt the rise and fall of her own. Once more, there was no response, and he slowly opened his eyes to peer at her face.
Blank.
Absent.
Sloane's head fell, resting atop one shoulder while his thumbs slowly circled the skin of her arms. ”I'm sorry...” it came out silently, giving her no warning for what was to come. Even if she had heard, it was doubtful she would have reacted in this soulless state. His hands held her arms, giving support as he pulled his Grimm back against him. Her head turned limply, resting against his chest as she continued to stare at nothing; the only thing that really said she was alive was her breathing and occasional blink of her eyes.
One arm kept her propped while the other reached forward, adjusting the position of her head so it would be more comfortable for the both of them. His index finger drew across one of her cheeks a few times, savoring the feeling of her skin and the blooming tingle it still caused. Before long, his hand began to explore, running along the side of her face, forehead, chin, down her neck, and then back up; his fingers curled beneath her chin, tenderly lifting as his thumb touched her lower lip.
”Please smile...” he whispered, closing his eyes as he leaned down, ”Please...”
Their lips met and for a few moments he couldn't breathe; it felt as though time and his heart had stopped, but he felt no movement of her lips in return. Just as he began to draw back, there it was, but then something more.
His Lady's hands reached up, slowly making their way across his chest to his neck, then slammed hard against the stone of his metal choker. Breath caught in his throat and suddenly imprisoned by pain, Sloane's hands fell away and he nearly tumbled off the bed as he stumbled back, clutching his throat. Sharp inhales were the only response he could give to the action as he stared at his Grimm who had risen to her feet and resumed coughing.
”Don't – ever,” she barely choked out between coughs, both of them gasping for breath, ”Touch – me.” One hand reached up to cover her mouth as her eyes burned, the amber looking volcanic.
”I'm so--” he inhaled, unable to get the full word out until his lungs were properly full of air.
He watched helplessly as his Grimm strode across the room and pulled the door open, glaring at him all the way, ”Get out,” she ordered, pointing out the door, ”Get out of my sight.”
One hand lingered at his throat as it burned, fingers attempting fruitlessly to remove the stinging pain of the hit. His lungs felt compressed, smaller than they really were, and he still only took in half of the air that was normal for a breath as he wordlessly obeyed his Lady and stepped carefully around her, not even gambling with accidentally brushing against her. As he was out in the hall with the guards, he turned back to look at her only to recoil at the harsh leer the woman had.
”Put him away,” was the command given to all of the surrounding men before her door was shut and locked.
Without question, they surrounded Sloane and seemed prepared for a battle but he merely lowered his arms in defeat. They took him, leading him down the many winding halls until they were in the frigid lower levels home only to dungeons. He gave them no struggle and none of them spoke for the duration of the trip.
A cell was picked, opened, and Sloane entered. When he didn't move to face them, the one locking the door sighed, ”I'm sorry, Sir.”
”...Don't be.”
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