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 Posted: Thu Mar 29, 2007 4:49 pm
Quest
Teen Quest, Part One
--Birth--
(( Italics means the speaker is speaking undercommon~ ))
The last thing Zasalamel remembered before he fell asleep was the initial smack of the pillow, the pressure of someone pressing against his chest, and then the unfathomable exhaustion that sent him into the utter darkness of unconsciousness. After the sudden exhaustion, the darkness was...rather welcome. Almost as though he had been freed. It had, after all, been a long time since this particular Drow considered sleep, or at least unconsciousness, to be labeled as freedom...or even labeled as welcomed.
"What are you DOING?! Bring him back!"
His beautiful, welcomed darkness and silence was shattered by the breathless, though very angry voice of a woman. Shortly after the call was given, he felt a strange pressure on his chest, a rather odd pumping motion. It was then he realized he had not been breathing. A gasp - one mirrored by another, though the other was much higher pitched - escaped his mouth, and in a panicked move, he sat bolt upright with his fingers clenching the dark shirt he wore. Breathe. He had to breathe. He had to expand his lungs. It hurt...it hurt so badly. Tears stung his eyes as he sat there, doubled over in pain with his fingers clawing at his chest in a futile effort to get his lungs working once more.
Finally, he caught the breath he had been begging for, and with as deep of an inhale as he could take, he settled into a round of breathless coughing; proof that his lungs had, finally, opened. Of course, it wasn't long after he got his own breath back when another sound came to his sensitive ears; it was a highpitched wail, and it didn't sound happy.
It was the wail of a newborn baby.
"Hn. Nice try, pathetic little male." Came the female voice once more, though she was clearly less breathless. "But you can not die just yet. We are not kind enough to let you feel the relief of death." He heard the words, and he knew they were directed at him...but he couldn't see. He couldn't tell who was talking, and why they were talking to him...what was with that baby, anyway? "However..." The woman - probably the infants mother, by the sound of it - continued on. "Don't be in such a hurry to end your miserable existance...you'll be sent to Lloth one day, just not today." She promised him, her voice sneering as if she'd just won a bet.
"What are we to name the male, Matron?" Came another voice. Zasalamel, though currently unable to see, turned his head to face the second presence. "And who shall care for the whelp?"
"Hn...I believe I shall name him 'Vice'. It is a strong male name." His attention had turned back to the woman, presumably the Mother, and realized then that the infant's wailing had subsided, if only a little; perhaps the sound of this woman's voice made him quiet. But...Vice? His gut twisted at that name. He knew that name...but how...? "I shall place him in the care of his eldest sister. It is about time she should learn how to handle a hoarde of useless male infants." The drow felt a hand on the side of his face, and he desperately sought through the darkness to see who was touching him, who was talking to him. He knew this voice, he knew the name that had been uttered, he knew this; but it was on the tip of his tongue, unwilling to release its secrets to him just yet. All he could see was cold, lightly glowing red eyes and all he could feel was the hand that touched his face.
"He best live up to his name." The woman said with a threatening growl, and the touch that he expected to be gentle pressed against his skin like nails, dragging down the side of his face just enough to sting. "Such unusual colour eyes to boot...Purple. Hm." Zasalamel's stomach twisted once more, though more violently this time around.
Yes, he knew this voice; he knew this woman, he knew the name she had uttered...and now he knew the wailing of the infant. It was his past, all of it. The voice of the woman was the voice of his birthmother, his Matron of the House Felan; the name, Vice, had once been his back when he was suffering through his first life, back when he was a cold hearted murderer...
That wailing infant was him. His entrance to the world. He had been saved from death only to die hundreds of thousands of times in life, to feel a piece of him fall away with each damnedable act, with each waking moment. He had been saved from death as an infant, and yet...
"You'll wish you had died, male scum." The Matron hissed out. "For your life will be nothing but agony and servitude..." He did. He did wish he had died back then. The little infant that had once been him, all those hundreds of years ago, let out an uncomfortable and no doubt hungry cry when he was passed off to another, taken from the warm, comforting and gentle womb to be dumped in the cold, hard, metal-clad arms of a different female.
How perfect that comparison to life that was, he thought with a shudder.
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Posted: Thu Mar 29, 2007 5:45 pm
Quest
Teen Quest, Part Two
--Being Raised a Drow--
(( Everything in italics is spoken in undercommon. =3 ))
As Zasalamel watched his past self as an infant, he realized that his vision hadn't twisted and moved like it had the last time he witnessed glimpses from his past life. Instead of seeing a scene and fast forwarding through to another, the steady stream of memories came back in one long track. It was almost like watching television, only without the commercial breaks.
After his Matron had named him and after he was passed off to his eldest sister, he was greeted with the memories of how a Drow infant was raised; and it was a sharp contrast to how his late Ilhar took care of is infant brothers. Instead of feeding the infant when it cried, the Drow would hold their child, with the bottle only just within the babe's reach; no child, especially not a male child, got their meal for free. The infant could not eat until they touched the bottle, regardless of whether or not it was an accidenal arm swing. Likewise, the amount of care they were given was entirely up to the female that raised them; and whether or not the baby would get the attention when they needed or called for it was one of the things the caregiving female decided.
Zasalamel, fortunately for him, was under the care of a woman who wanted a strong, healthy baby without attachments; so while he got the attention he needed when he wanted it, there was still no care in his surrogate caretaker's ways. At least in that respect, he knew he was lucky. He could have been one of the ones who were neglected, but kept alive.
Of course, as he got older, the amount of attention he received dwindled. He started to take care of himself in some aspects very early on. His sister would prepare his meals, but would leave it in a place where he'd have to find it and get to it before he could eat. She would take his toys, or at least the ones he was permitted to have, and similarily put them in a difficult place for him to get too, and force him to get it on his own. If he talked back or was defiant, he was punished severely for it; even as a toddler and younger kid, he had at been close to death at least four times.
Needless to say, he learned very quickly to gage a person, especially a woman's, mood before saying or doing anything.
Looks wise, Zasalamel had to chuckle. As a toddler on the surface world he'd always been energetic and scruffy haired...no amount of brushing would tame his locks for long. It seemed, oddly enough, that he had the same hair as he grew up the first time. The young Drow named Vice looked identical to Zasalamel when he was a toddler, only minus the facial markings. Vice's mentor seemed to overlook the messy hair, always seeming to take it as the result of a lot of work and training.
Still, what to-be murderer had untamable hair?
As Zasalamel watched, he felt every beating, he felt every pang of hunger, he felt every moment of despair or happiness his previous self experienced; he was watching it, but he was feeling and thinking as if it were him going through this ordeal. It was...rather unnerving to feel and think, but watch yourself do so. Of course, along with all those other feelings, he felt the accomplishment of his past self whenever he got his meal from his own work, or whenever he managed to save his toy from peril. He was proud of the things he could do on his own; and he realized quickly that once he could do something on his own, his sister was not only proud of him, but he also had the option of avoiding pain. The Drow learn quickly for many reasons; and one was avoiding embarassing their matron, sister or commanding officer, which in turn led to them avoiding the embarassment or humility of being beaten.
Yet, despite everything, he couldn't hate what he had been put through during his first round of life. His younger past self was so proud of himself and his accomplishments that the him from now was unable to resent anyone.
So, with this inability to feel anything but pride, the reborn Drow watched his past self grow older, day by day. He watched himself learned to levitate (and he was in awe over this; it was something he never new he could do!), he watched himself learn the shadow ball (he knew he could do this), and he watched himself go through basic hand-to-hand training with one of his sister's goblin minions. All of this he was learning before he was even old enough to be considered into any of the underdark schools. He was, after all, only ten. Still a small child in the world of the Drow.
Out of curiousity one day, the young Drow, then named Vice, had decided to ask his caretaker about it; and as always, he approached her cautiously.
"Honored Sister, Why am I the only male my age being trained so much?" Vice inquired. While he stood tall and proud near his sister, he didn't so much as look at her...and the blow he had been expecting never came.
"Because, runt, you will be our champion." Was all his sister had to say in reply. Giving a glare down to him, she started to walk away. However, a few steps into her walk the woman stopped, turning her torso to look over at him. Looking bored but thoughtful, she raised a hand as if beckoning him to follow, then started to walk once more. Vice, being the obediant child he was, went wandering after while staying a few paces behind her out of respect.
"Matron is pleased with your progress in your studies." His sister informed him, speaking as though she were quite proud of that fact. "Our Weapons Master was foolish and took a poisonous hit...Matron believes he won't last for another few years." The subject was changed, and it left Vice confused. With his hands clasping behind his back, he twisted his purple gaze to one of the spiderwebs that covered the ceiling. It looked like the biggest female spider caught herself a lowly male one.
"...Why doesn't Matron just kill him, then?" Vice inquired, as if it was only the right thing to do. The boy had learned quickly; if something was useless, or in the fear of becoming useless, it was removed. His sister, upon hearing these words, glanced back at him with a morbid, but pleased grin.
"Good boy." The female approved of his question, and it showed. Then, she sighed. "We would like to, but we can't give him to Lloth just yet. We are without a Weapons Master to replace him. If we had another, we would have killed him without mercy." She sounded disappointed; Vice also knew from experience that their Weapons Master and his sister didn't get along well...and the the only thing that stood between his sister killing the Master was an order from their Matron. "So, that means that today is your lucky day, child."
"It is...why?" Needless to say, her words sparked something in Vice. It was his lucky day? That, coming from his sister, was a great compliment! He was eager to find out what luck would give to him...and yet his sister said nothing. She seemed to be ignoring him now, and he dare not ask her again. Anxious and jittery, Vice trailed after her through the labrynth of their house. He recognized this path...they were going to the Matron's private quarters?
It seemed like forever had passed before his sister, the woman who raised him, spoke to him next. When she did, they were standing in front of the Matron's impressive doorway, decorations dedicated to Lloth, plus the image of the horrible Goddess, imprinted the door...it gave off an eerily morbid beauty that somehow smelt of death and destruction. Zasalamel didn't like this door one bit...but Vice was in awe of it.
"Listen to me, surface rat." His sister threatened, grabbing his chin so roughly between her sharp nails that the more tender areas of his chin began to bleed. Vice winced, but wouldn't dare draw a breath of pain; that would mean the hurt would continue. Zasalamel, on the other hand, let out a sharp hiss. It hurt! Holding his cheeks which had begun to bleed similarily, he forced himself to keep watching. "I hate to repeat myself for a lowly runt, but the Matron is pleased with the progress you've already made. Other males your age are still learning their shadow ball. She has decided to praise you by entering you in a school." Despite the fact his cheeks hurt from her nails, Vice was wide-eyed in awe and wonder. His matron...really?! There were no limits to the young Drow's joy then; he was advanced, he was getting recognition! If he kept this up, he wouldn't be useless, he could be on the level of a low-ranking preistess! It was everything any male wanted, and he had the opportunity to get it!
"REALLY?! Tha---" His glee was cut short, as the hand that had grabbed his chin retracted, instead to hit him so hard he was knocked off his feet.
"Fool! I never gave you permission to interrupt me!" His sister hissed, staring down at him. "Don't mess up your chances now; the Matron seems to think you may be a replacement for the weapons master. Do. Not. Disappoint. Her." She threatened, pulling him forcefully to his feet before entering those impressive doors of death and destruction.
Despite the fact Vice would be facing his Matron with bloody cheeks and a newly forming bruise...and despite the fact he'd been beaten by his sister again...he couldn't have been happier.
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Posted: Wed Apr 04, 2007 11:24 am
Quest
Teen Quest, Part Three
--Magic School--
(( Italics still equals undercommon~ ))
Zasalamel watched as Vice entered the room; it was a gorgeous room, even to his standards. There were torches lining the walls, but the torches were magically tinted to be there as decoration only; they held little to no use on the lumination of the place. It was useless anyway, the Drow only saw things through infrared vision. Despite the fake torches, the room looked like someone had taken an early-century strategy meeting room and set a bed in the corner, along with bookshelves holding various scrolls and books as well as two desks; one desk was spotless and the other was cluttered with used and unused parchment and stone, open books and scrolls dirtying the surface of it. Despite how simple the place may have looked, it was the decorations that made it all the more impressive. The ceiling was covered with the giant, carved out image of a spider and its great legs led to the pillars that lined the almost oval room; there were spiderwebs of varying sizes and shapes in between its impressive legs. Some of them even moved around, changing their position to any other place they saw fit. After all, spiders did reign free in the underdark.
Vice had been staring at the ceiling when his Matron called out to him. So intent was he on watching one particular spider, a younger one like himself, that he didn't even see the Matron of his house standing a few feet away from him. Of course, a backhanded smack from his sister brought him to his senses, and after a startledglance to his birthmother, he immediately dropped his gaze to the floor, mumbling his apologies to the head of his house.
"Well, at least he knows where his loyalties should lie." The Matron said as if bored. Reaching down, she trapped the young drow's chin in her hands, her fingers finding the marks his sister had already left on his face. "You are the Firstboy of House Felan." Matron Shurnel informed him in a matter-of-fact tone. "Your elder brother fell in battle thirty turns of Narbondel ago." As she spoke, she jerked the boy's head from side to side, as if looking him over. Vice knew better than to move, and focused more on avoiding eye contact while biting back hisses of pain. His cheeks hurt! "Look at me, worthless worm!" Matron growled, Vice obeyed.
Suddenly, she let his head go and walked away from him.
"He'll do." Shurnel muttered to herself, then looked over her shoulder at her eldest daughter and now eldest son. "Listen well, for I will not be repeating myself. I am impressed by your teaching of the male, Vyriaz. As for you, Firstboy Vice, your progress is satisfactory. In light of...circumstances...I've pulled strings. Vice, you will be starting Magimastre tomorrow morning. From now on you are responsible for yourself. We are not going to take care of you anymore; you are responsible for protecting your own life. For now, you will be attending a magic school, but you will practice physical training in your free time there." The Matron paused, dragging her long and slender fingers over a spider that had crawled onto her desk. "If you die, you die alone. Do you understand, Vice?"
"I understand, Matron." Vice replied quietly, with the regality that no surface child had ever possessed. After a not so discreet physical prodding by his sister, the young drow added another comment. "Uhm...Thank you for the opportunity, Matron." Zasalamel could see, but more importantly feel, how much Vice meant those words; he'd been so happy that he forgot to thank his tyrant birth mother! The kid drow stepped aside when his past self, accompanied by the woman who was once his sister, left the room. Before they left of course, the Matron spoke.
"Don't you dare embarass me."
She meant it.
Zasalamel followed Vice into his room; which on its own looked like a storage room with a bed; and watched as the younger boy ran around, gleefully grabbing anything he would need. All of his clothes, all of his items...everything he had he packed away. After all, he'd be living at the school until he was finished! He could afford to leave nothing behind. That night while Vice slept, one of the workers for the magic school took his things to the room he would be calling his for probably the next ten years. Of course, Narbondel had barely been lit when the little drow was up once more, heading towards the school with his sister to accompany him.
By noontime in the dark land of the drow, Vice had been to his room, had taken a tour around the main study areas of the school plus the library, and was already sitting down for his first lesson. After that lesson, they were ajourned to the mess hall for lunch, and then back in classes. It was late when the young drow was allowed back to his room, carting around various spell books and ingrediants. Keeping his Matron's words in mind, Vice then settled down to do part of the physical training regime he'd gained from his home life with his sister.
After that first day, Vice settled into a rather constant schedule. He was early to rise to do stretches and a little jog before a full day of class with lunch and dinner. When he got back to his room, he completed his homework and, as often as possible, would practice or train physically, as per his Matron's words. It was usually late when he went to bed. They always had one day off every other week, and the young drow never took it completely off; he would practice his magic or train his body. Vice was a driven young man, and as the years progressed, his sleep pattern grew smaller and his training grew harder. School-wise, he excelled in tactical or defensive magics; his shadowball was the most impressive of his class! He was, however, lacking in offensive magic. No matter what kind of magic he tried, he always ended up physically attacking his target after his magical attack hit.
Life for Vice progressed like this day after day, until he finally graduated from Magimastre at the age of twenty-five surface years. He was still a good five years ahead of the other male drow his age; and though he was about twenty-five in surface years, graduating from magic school was essentially like graduating from elementary school, in both age and mentality. After this basic magic school, the Matron could decide the path her child would take; they could either continue with magic or go into a battle school. Alternatively, they could also not continue schooling and go straight into grunt work. It was entirely up to the Matron.
Matron Shurnel of course, was impatient. Through Lloth's favor and a bit of luck they'd kept their Weapons Master in fair health. He was, however, still slowly waining in strength. So far though, there had been no attacks on the household and the only ones who knew of the Master's illness was a select few within the House Felan. Shurnel was impatient for good reason; if a smaller house were to catch wind of her slowly ailing champion, they might take action against her...and her oldest male child had only just completed his first round of magic school! Times in the Felan house were hard while Vice was off learning what he needed to in order to take over the position of Weapons Master.
Zasalamel, who had watched and discreetly trained alongside Vice for what seemed like forever, was now watching the Matron Shurnel pace back in forth in her impressive room, passing by Vice every few seconds. Vice by this time, looked just like Zasalamel; the only differences were the clothing styles, for Vice wore the colours of his Matron's house, which were predominately a purple so dark it may have been black, and a deep red. His clothing was soft, made for easy manuverability and stability; they were a little too big for him in any event, but the spider-printed cloak from his graduating ceremony hid the bulk of his clothing.
"Vice. You did not do as well in Magimastre as I would have liked." Shurnel growled at him, casting piercing red gazes at her oldest son. "However. The report I gathered from your teachers and sister suggest that you are, in fact, better suited towards physical fighting." At this, the woman seemed to lighten up into a thoughtful tone, her gaze less angry. "You certainly are your father's son." Though she had muttered this under her breath, it caught the ears of Vice. The weapons master...was his father? Blinking his purple eyes in surprise, he opened his mouth to inquire about the father he'd never really known; but instead he closed his mouth. The Matron was talking once more.
"Pack your things, you leave for battle school immediately." The Matron said, turning from him and waving one hand in dismissal. Shurnel sure wasn't wasting any time in getting Vice through schooling. Normally it would take at least a few weeks from one school to the next for varying reasons; usually, it was the sway from the various houses that determined how quickly their son could get into such schools...and Shurnel had a big sway, apparently. Of course, the school was quick to open an invitation to the son of the House Felan's great Weapons Master!
Vice did as he was told with great enthusiasm. It apparently never bothered him that he never had a break between such hard schooling. Zasalamel could tell, however, that Vice was exhausted. Not even Drow could bypass the exhaustion that would come with this much hard work! The growing drow had switched from one school to the next without the time to recouperate to bring his skills back up to par. Zasalamel couldn't help but be impressed with his past self's dedication to his household, and he wondered if he would ever be that loyal to Anethae; and if he still had Neveah, if he could be that loyal to her as he grew older.
Zasalamel pondered this as his spirit-body moved after Vice, once his past self was ready to get going once more.
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Posted: Sat Apr 07, 2007 12:08 pm
Quest
Teen Quest, Part Four
--Battle School and Murder--
(( Italics still equals undercommon~ ))
Vice had left for Battle school that night rather than in the morning, which was when the others would show up. It was his Matron's belief that he should get the upperhand on the place, before the other first years arrived. As loyal as Vice was, he only made a single stop to his dorm room to see what it looked like before moving on to the rest of the school; he had plenty time to search his room for any interesting or perhaps usable cracks or hidden doors, but chances were he wouldn't have as much time to search the school, just in case.
By the time the other students arrived the next morning, Vice had already discovered most of the hidden pathways and twisting corridors within the school...and judging by how quickly the new recruits were taken to their dorms or respective classes, Vice figured he had the upperhand.
The school itself was well contructed. Like in the Magimastre, the students were up early for classes; they consisted of various training regimes, hand-to-hand combat, weapons combat, first aid and strategy class. Everything one would expect from a school that was meant to teach their students to be killers. Of course, the most notable activity in the schooling was the first class of the day; it was essentially a prep talk that consisted of stories from the surface world, of how cruel and evil all of the surface creatures were, of why the Drow should spare no surface dweller, and why the Drow should kill for the glory of their house and the goddess Lloth. During the Pep talks, they were warned to assassinate silently; to either leave no trace or make it look like an accident, or alternatively, to frame someone else for the crime you committed. Vice and Zasalamel knew that the underdark was cruel, but now they were getting the entire story; its kill or be killed, and if you kill, don't make it obvious it was you. Anyone who needed to know knew who killed who, but otherwise...it was best to leave your foe in the dark, no matter who was killed and how. Being caught meant certain death.
This was a quickly learned lesson, between the talks and the training...but it was put to use during the "end exam", which was essentially a massive battle between the different levels of fighters that took place in a wide expanse of maze-like tunnels. The fight was "watched" by many older Drow. The rules were simple; It was a free-for-all battle with one winner. If you were defeated in battle, one of the watching drow would point you out and order you to fall and stay there until the battle was over.
This, not magic, was where Vice excelled.
His past self was nearly flawless with a blade by the year's final exam. He cut through his enemies with a wooden scimitar, taking most by surprise and others were fought at close range on purpose. Of course, Zasalamel understood why. There were people watching, his superiors; many of them would report back to his Matron and he wanted more than anything to make her proud of him...but even aside from that, the growing Drow wanted to test his strength. He was of course a year or two younger than everyone else.
Both Vice and Zasalamel loved this end exam; the flurry of wooden blade on wooden blade, the hunt through the tunnels to fish out his enemy, the deafening silence that would give up any secret, the cry of the watchers to announce the fall of his opponent; subsequently, the cry of his opponent over having lost to someone younger than them. Vice loved to battle, and Zasalamel, though stuck in an invisible ghost form, cheered his past self on. Vice's adrenaline from such a fight was felt by the eager kid drow; so much so that he mimicked his past self's moves, watched eagerly to learn the style of fighting no surface dweller could possibly learn. It was grand, and Zasalamel had forgotten how harsh the Drow could be; he and Vice seemed to be in it for the thrill of fighting, after all!
In all of Vice's years of participating in this exam during school. Wooden swords turned to real swords, but still no outright death from the students. Vice only ever lost once; he came in second place to a higher ranking Drow fighter about to graduate. They'd bumped him up to the next level of fighters; back home, Matron Shurnel couldn't have been happier.
Well. She could be happier; and she made him make her happier. Shurnel sent a messenger to Vice, telling him to assassinate the only man who had ever beat him. Attached to the message was a threat; if Vice didn't kill the man who'd beat him, Shurnel would tear off his skin while he was still alive after tearing out his eyes; and after that she threatened to pull his limbs off in the worst way possible. Needless to say, failure was not an option. Vice, being the man who lived to please the females who raised him, set right on his mission. He watched the man who'd beat him, he'd studied the patterns this male moved with, and he used this to plan his attack.
Vice had never killed before; this would be his first. He was nervous, but he never allowed himself to get foggy headed from nervousness. Pretending he'd done this for years (which technically he had from the exams, there was just lack of death in those), he stalked after the other male nonchalantly; acting as though they were both going to the training room with the intent of training. Vice, of course, had other plans.
Neither male spoke as they wandered to their own side of the room, training on their own for the time being. Finally, the other man turned to face Vice.
"You. You're that brat baby that was bumped up to my league, aren't you? I heard you were unbeatable but...I beat you at the exam." The older male was taunting him, and Vice was slowly stopping his training, instead slowly turning to face the older male; Zasalamel, who was watching eagerly, could tell that Vice was playing. Vice was pretending to be ashamed of this when really...he wasn't. He came in second place to a group of males who were easily six years older than him. Nothing to be ashamed of and what shame there was in losing was about to be fixed. "Guess that makes you a loser. You'll get nowhere in life. You'll be a slave to some low ranking female. You're lower than dirt, you're the scum b*****d child of a surface dweller." The male, as he spoke and threw around underworld insults, watched the younger male approach him slowly.
Vice wasn't listening to the older male completely; part of him was listening enough to see where the conversation was going, but the rest of his attention had shifted. There was a set of spears on a rack a little ways away, but the rack was a moving one, and thus the spearheads were pointing towards the center of the room; behind the butt of the spears was a wall. Zasalamel, who was watching Vice and the older male, caught where Vice was looking and moved to look himself; if Vice got the male over there, it could look like a training accident. The male could have stumbled and hit the spears. Zasalamel found this horrifying; An unfortunate accident, but the perfect murder.
"I'm not worthless." Vice growled at the older male as if his pride was stung; it had been, but he was playing the sting as if it was worse. "I'LL PROVE IT!" He cried out in anger, his purple eyes narrowed dangerously as he lunged at the older male, his scimtar poised to strike. At first, Vice timed his hits to be seconds off, allowing the older man to parry; but while he timed his hits to be off, he moved with the force and furosity that forced the other male to step back to parry. Using this tactic, Vice had moved the older male to where he wanted him to be.
"I'm not worthless." He informed the other, his frown of anger twisting into a grin of victory, and this change in look threw his opponent for a loop. As quickly as his frown changed, Vice's strikes changed as well. This time, he attacked the older, now fairly confused male with speed and well-timed agile attacks. Finally, bending low to the ground, Vice twisted his torso and pushed his right shoulder up, at the same time pushing up from his bend to check the surprised male in the stomach.
The older male, getting the breath knocked out of him before he could shift to retaliate, stumbled backwards from the harsh check...ant then he felt the spearheads against his back. From where Zasalamel was, it seemed like slow motion; the older one stumbled back and first hit his back on the spears from the moving rack, letting out a cry of pain; the rack bounced backwards from the hit, pulling the spearheads from the male's back. The backwards momentum from the stumbling male couldn't stop because of the sudden pain in his back, and the rack bounced off of the wall, driving forwards once more.
The stumbling drow and the forwards moving spear rack collided; this time, the spears went right through the thick older drow, some of the tips poking out through his stomach and chest. After a few moments of moving with the rack, the speared drow finally stopped moving, though his fingers clawed uselessly at the spearheads that protruded from his chest and stomach. Vice stood a few feet away, calmly putting his training scimitar back on the shelf as if nothing had been moved. Humming a tune to himself, he wandered back to the older male and bent over a bit to look him in the face as a blood bubble formed at the man's mouth
"Guess that makes you a loser." With that, he walked off calmly, heading out to go back to his room.
He'd murdered his first Drow, and he wasn't phased by it. Not one bit.
Zasalamel, however, was nearly sick to his stomach with disgust; he'd grown up different from Vice; the younger, future drow was used to seeing little to no violence like that, so seeing the older drow impaled was something he wasn't used to.
Finally, his graduation day came.
Graduation from this particular academy was a lot different than any other graduation. The graduating students were honored by being allowed to participate in an orgy. This orgy consisted of high ranking females from various families and of the high ranking females fresh out of their own school; of course, the females could choose their partners as a first come, first serve basis from the higher ranking female down to the last. Vice, being the most desired male to come out of the school, was first chosen by a new priestess who was being honored by Lloth this night; this particular priestess outranked every other older female and, in the stunning favor of Lloth, had been allowed to choose first.
Zasalamel had no qualms about watching this...for the most part. He could watch up until the orgy began, and after that he felt a strange sense of modesty that had him turn away. Of course turning away failed since he was essentially standing in the middle of it all, so he crouched down, buried his face in his knees and wrapped his arms over his head to cover his ears. He didn't want to watch this mass sex party and he sure as hell didn't want to hear it any longer than it had to. It sounded silly and it made him blush...but he'd be lying if he said he was curious as to why he felt good. Vice was obviously enjoying this...but then again, hadn't Vice ran from practice to this? Maybe it was a left over of that wonderful adrenaline fighting and training gave.
Even Zasalamel recognized this was a different kind of adrenaline; he just didn't want to admit it.
This party continued late into the night, and ended sometime the next morning after. Vice and his comerades stumbled back to their homes, exhausted and spent from various partners; Vice's future ghost-self wandered after, only happy to have a change of scenery.
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Posted: Sat Apr 07, 2007 10:04 pm
Quest
Teen Quest, Part Five
--Consort and Children--
(( Italics still equals undercommon~ ))
After that...rather physical graduation ceremony, Vice was free of schooling. He was back at the House Felan, and back just in time to take over his father's position. According to the sister that raised him, the sickly Weapons Master was at the end of his rope, and Matron Shurnel couldn't wait to get rid of him. The day of the graduating ceremony, Shurnel had prepared the sacrificial table and dagger just for her previous consort. The day after, she summoned her priestess daughters, and even the newest female addition to the family, born while Vice was starting battle school, and sacrificed the Weapons Master to Lloth.
Vice didn't have a clue. He also never thought to ask.
Later that day, Matron Shurnel invited Vice back to her room. She showered him with as much praise as a female could praise a male; and then went on to inform him of his step up to Weapon's Master of the House Felan. Vice couldn't get a word in otherwise before he was dismissed and sent back to his room for more training, then out to scout the grounds of his house.
A few days had passed without incident; nobody even brought up the unfortunate death of the only male who'd ever beat him in a fight. As soon as he was announced to be Felan's Weapons Master, his sisters rarely touched him anymore with the intent to harm. He was fairly respected in his family now; so he had more say in a lot of things, though there was still a time when he couldn't open his mouth without being corrected for his behavior. It was wonderful really!
Time sped up to what must have been months. Vice had been part of a rather large raid during this time, and as the purple-eyed Drow cut through his brethern, men, women and children alike...it didn't seem to phase him. The ghost from the past never shown any remorse; he killed the squealing babe, he killed the crying child, he killed the frightened pregnant mother, he killed the men in the house; and he did it as easily as one would step on a beetle. The raid he participated in had been successful, and all because of Vice. He'd found the last child of that doomed house hiding away on the otherside of the city and disposed of said little one.
Zasalamel was glad he was a ghost; he could feel the disgust churning his stomach...being a ghost meant he couldn't throw up like he wanted too. No matter how he looked at it, all he could see was that man killing his Mother...but when it came to the children, all he could see was someone going after his infant brothers. It was horrifying to him, but Vice...Vice seemed to enjoy it.
Finally, the House Felan had a guest. A guest heavy with child.
It was Auril Bakhur, the woman who had been honored by Lloth at the graduation ceremony. The first woman he had sex with. Ever. She didn't spend much of her attention on Vice, instead she went to Matron Shurnel's quarters...and remained there for what must have been a long time. Vice didn't seem to keep track of just how long the other woman was there; in fact he was too busy with putting some of the Felan slaves in line to even care. However, he did care when his Matron Shurnel summoned him to her quarters.
"Vice, you have served the house Felan well...and you have one final act to do to honor your House and myself." Shurnel didn't waste any time once the Drow and his future ghost-self stepped through the well known doors of the Matron's quarters. As usual, she didn't give him much of a chance to reply. "From now on, you are a Bakhur. We are giving you to Matron Auril in exchange for an alliance. You seem to have caught her interest...and so we reached an agreement over you that worked out for both of us." His Matron leaned forward on her desk, her chin rested softly on her linked fingers. "You will leave here as the consort of Matron Auril. House Felan is finished with you, outside of the grounds of alliance." His birthmother informed him, waving her hand in dismissal.
Vice, who had never been a consort before, stayed in place for a moment or two, shifting his purple gaze from his birthmother to the pregnant woman he'd be leaving with. Slowly, after a moment's decision, Vice moved towards the pregnant woman and knelt before her, bowing his head like a knight would to a queen. This move seemed to please the woman, for she pressed her palm to his smooth white hair.
"Bring nothing but the clothes on your back and your weapons. The rest will be provided by your new house. You need nothing else from this house." His consort informed him, letting go of his head to allow him to leave. Leave he did. His entry into the Bakhur house wasn't anything special; he met the Priestesses in Auril's house; there were two elder females and two younger females, and the men in the house were either Consorts to the sisters or sons from the sisters; Auril was the only one who had been without consort or born child. Vice was left alone with Auril, and she took care in bringing her consort around her house, explaining how she gained Matronship of the house over her sister through being Lloth's favourite. She was also quick to inform him that the child in her belly was his, and that he'd been smart to give her a future daughter; having such a well desired male as a consort who first passed a daughter to the favourite of Lloth was good for not only allowing him to live with a stature a male rarely possesses, but in Auril's standing with her beloved Goddess. Once she was finished with him, she allowed him to wander on his own...as long as he came back by a certain point of Narbondel's light.
Months passed, and those months were spent with attending various meetings with Auril, escorting her where ever she wished, and training. Auril was heavy with her first child, and which most Matrons would have spent the birthing occassion as a driving point behind a raid, Auril focused more on bringing her first to term, to bring her future daughter into the world and into the ranks of the Bakhur priestesses. Needless to say, there was very little killing; a few renegade assassination attempts yes, but nothing special, and nothing Vice couldn't handle with only one hand.
Then, Auril went into labor. Vice wasn't allowed in the birthing room of course, so he spent his time training with the other males of the Bakhur house. It wasn't until the next morning when Vice next saw his consort; and when he did, she had an order for him.
"The child is healthy. She will grow to be a fine daughter of Lloth...my Goddess is pleased, as am I." Auril informed him, moving closer to him with movements even Zasalamel could pin as forced; this woman was in pain, and with good reason. She did just have a baby after all. "Come with me, Consort. I wish to mark you on your usefulness." Her words were confusing to Vice, but he went with her nonetheless. The pair headed towards the dark basement to the House Bakhur, and Vice's confusion only heightened when he was informed to lay on a slab of rock shaped like a wide spread legged spider. His confusion ended of course, by the searing pain that sprouted from the outer corner of his right eye.
He found out later that a white oval had been tattooed under his eye.
She'd been speaking literally when she said she wanted to mark him for his usefulness; over the span of many, many years he sired three other daughters, and after each birthing of each healthy child, Auril had taken him into the basement and he'd been marked. They were careful to plan their raids around these markings, as it always left one of his eyes momentarily out of commission from bruising and swelling...but once they healed and once his usefulness had been marked, it was business as ususal; raids, murder, blood and sex. Life with Auril seemed to make him more blood thirsty; the younger female had a taste for the bloodshed of others, and she often sent Vice just to see him come back with blood on his person; the more bloody the better. So, to please her, he became more and more morbid with his murders; anything to get the blood on him that Auril loved.
Zasalamel, though he had little concept of feelings like these, he could tell what feelings Vice had for Auril was nothing more than the desire to be acknowledged; after all, it was rare for a male to be acknowledged, and thats what he fought so hard to get; no matter what cruel murder he had to commit.
Thanks to this, House Bakhur became the First house in the underdark, having overthrown the previous first house in a swift, violent and forceful raid. It was also on that night that Vice's first son was born. After the raid and still covered in blood, Vice was brought into the basement to be marked once more...
Now, Vice's markings looked identical to the ones Zasalamel had under his eyes since birth; Vice's daughters were the perfect ovals under both corners of each eye, and Vice's only son was the only claw mark.
Vice was now in a position of absolute power in the male heirarchy. He was the consort to the Matron of the first house, he had supplied said Matron with four daughters and now another male to add to their fighting unit...not to mention he'd never been beaten in battle; the male who had died during training back in his school days had long since been forgotten. Vice had everything a male in the Underdark could ever hope to achieve...and yet...
He was starting to get dangerous thoughts.
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Posted: Sun Apr 08, 2007 9:12 am
Quest
Teen Quest, Part Six
--Dangerous Thoughts--
(( Italics still equals undercommon~ ))
Zasalamel had been watching Vice. He'd gotten to know all of the habits Vice had (which were oddly close to his own), and he was especially good at picking out the various minute differences in the other man's facial expression that hinted at what he was thinking. Of course, it did help he had a little insight into his past self's mind and thoughts. Ever since the raid in which his son was born, Zasalamel could see that Vice's thoughts were more often than not elsewhere. While his performance in other aspects of life never diminished, the young Drow could tell that his much older counterpart wasn't putting his all into what he was doing.
Vice had taken to watching his son when he had the chance. Secretly of course, as Drow men had no say in the rearing of children...in fact it was better if the male had no interaction with their offspring unless completely necessary. He'd met his daughters, who probably never knew for sure if he was their father or not, and he'd only met them because the eldest girls, Vaia and Triel, were taking part in the raid that brought them to be the first house; his youngest girls had been watching from the corner of the room. But with his son...he had no reason to be near his son, so he'd never actually seen the boy until he made a point of looking. Bharaket was the name Auril had given their only son, and Vice had been surprised at how hard it was to actually find which part of the house he was being raised in.
But once he did find the boy, Vice was impressed; Bharaket was certainly his son. The male Bakhur was growing up just like Vice had...he was strong and he was a quick learner. Vaia, who was raising Bharaket like Vice's elder sister had raised him, had already been talking to Matron Auril about sending him to battle school. Just like Vice, really...well, minus the sickly weapons master who gave him the absolute push into an early start with his life training.
Of course, now Vice wondered if his father had ever watched him grow up. He wondered if the previous weapons master stood here like he was standing here, watching his son take his first steps down the same path his father did. The way a Drow "family" was situated had never been questioned...and now he was wondering why he couldn't be involved in his son's life, why he couldn't help Vaia, especially with the training aspect of his rearing.
All these thoughts he kept to himself; he knew well enough to keep silent. He was, after all, beginning to question the very foundation of the society he was born and raised in. They were dangerous thoughts of change.
Years passed and Vice finally had a chance to meet with his son, but only as a trainer. Auril decided that learning from the Weapons Master would be good for a child who was about to start his battle school. Without being to obvious about it, Vice questioned Bharaket's knowledge of their culture, and just as he suspected, Bharaket didn't share the same train of thought that Vice was starting to get. He was, however, accidentally bringing Bharaket's thoughts around into agreeing with him.
One day, Vice had to part with Bharaket's training to take part in a surface raid. Scouts had come back into the underground city with reports of a tribe of surface elves had set up camp near the tunnel entrances to their great city. The best fighters from the various houses were the ones to participate because of the mere size of this tribe; Vice was of course the leader of the raid. Silent as shadows, he led his group to the surface world, which had been bathed in the coloured light of the harvest moon. The fighters surrounded the camp, and on Vice's signal, attacked.
The powerful Drow were met with surface elf warriors, but the element of surprise the Drow had gave them the upper hand. The warriors were disposed of quickly, and the death wave turned to the remaining tribe members; the women, the children, and the elderly. The Drow warriors were quick to take out the elderly, they left the women and children last as often as they could; it was just like a raid on a Drow house; get rid of the fighters before getting to the inner core of priestesses and offspring. As the Drow fighters targeted the remaining elves of the tribe, Vice was startled to see how quickly the women moved to protect their offspring. He'd seen it before on surface raids, but with his newly forming train of thought...this was an entirely new experience.
One woman in particular grabbed his arm before he could swing to attack a crying child who had tucked herself into a fetal position. His other hand swung around, using his seond scimitar to stab the woman through her abdomen; she let go of his arm, but she didn't stumble to get away from him. No, instead she stumbled forward, bloody and crying in pain, to fall over the cowering child, sheilding the little girl from the tall warrior. Vice...had never seen this before. No woman protected her child like this, as their style of living was kill and be killed.
Zasalamel had seen it before, and watching the woman protect her child made him sick to his stomach; right now, Vice looked like Philos, the child reminded him of...well...him as a child. The woman reminded him so much of Neveah. Neveah had gotten beaten because of him...and then she was killed because of him. As Zasalamel watched his older self snap out of his confusion and lift his scimitar, tears rose to the young Drow's eyes...and the death cries of both woman and child was accented with Zasalamel's own scream of anguish. Vice might as well have killed Zah, too; in the young drow's mind, Vice just killed Neveah and himself. Zah remembered Kishi's train of thought...they weren't supposed to be here. It was because of Vice that Zasalamel was alive, and it was because of Zasalamel that Neveah was hurt and then killed. Vice killed his Mother. Vice's actions were killing Zasalamel's heart. Vice killed them.
After the raid and after Vice was pulled to lay with his consort (which Zasalamel never noticed, he was too busy staring out through the window into the underdark and thinking to himself), both versions of the same person left to go wander the underdark. Zasalamel was staring at Vice, practically glaring at him throughout the entire walk. Zasalamel's thoughts were pushed aside as Vice's thoughts became more clear to him.
Why had that woman protected her child? Why was the surface world's idea of family so different? Sure, they tried to protect one another...but they tried to protect themselves as a whole. Drow never did that; if all else failed, they turned on their family and tried to save themself. The surface worlders faught to protect their family no matter how hopeless it was. The scene with the mother and child on the surface kept skimming through Vice's mind, and Zasalamel's glare to the older male softened. He only did it because he had to after all...and now, Vice was starting to think like Zasalamel thought...like Zasalamel had been raised to think from the hermit butterfly woman. As lonely and uncaring as she seemed to be, she still instilled some morals and family values into him. Vice had never had that, but he was starting to come around to these thoughts.
Both Drow startled when another came up from behind the Weapons Master. Vice spun around to face the one who touched his shoulder, and Zasalamel merely peeked out from behind the thicker, older version of himself. It was Bharaket.
"Weapons Master..." The boy said with a bow."The Matron summoned you to her quarters...She said she wants you there now." With another bow, the boy was quick to take his leave, melding into the shadows of the other buildings around Narbondel.
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Posted: Sun Apr 08, 2007 10:28 am
Quest
Teen Quest, Part Seven
--Escape and Death--
(( Italics still equals undercommon~ ))
"Vice...my consort. You've served me well over the years." Matron Auril purred out, dragging her soft fingers over his leathered shoulder. She had simply dressed in an open silk shirt; after all, she had no reason to be clothed in his presence. "However...I've been hearing strange things about you. About you not putting your all into your activities..." The Matron paused, pressing her body against his and curling her fingers through his partially loose hair. Suddenly, her expression twisted into that of malice, and the fingers that had once curled harmlessly through his hair pulled on his white locks. Hard. "About how you hesitated to kill a surface woman and her god damned spawn!" His consort growled out in a tone that was dripping with unspoken threats. Her fingers gripped and tugged down harder on his hair, but Vice never dared to look away or hiss in pain. "About how you've been filling your son's head with lies!" She yelled finally, letting go of his hair and pushing the him back.
Before Vice knew it, he was faced with a snake-headed whip, one that bit and scratched at any skin they could; by the time the Matron was finished with him he was on his knees, his face and hands were bloody messes...thankfully his neck that covered by a high necked leather shirt. "You've embarassed me in front of my own HOUSE. Do you have any idea how bad it would be if this got out to the other houses?! We are the FIRST HOUSE. We are not allowed to make these stupid mistakes! It will be entirely your fault of House Bakhur falls. You've been useful to me, don't make me kill you for your mistakes." Auril growled at him, grabbing his now bloody white hair to tug his face closer to hers.
Then, a light seemed to go on behind the Matron's seething red eyes. Suddenly, she let go of Vice, and turned away from him; she didn't know it, but she'd turned to face where the ghost of Zasalamel stood, gripping his head and face as if willing the pain to stop. "No, I can't get rid of you. I can however, get rid of your blood..." She mused, petting one of the bloody snakes that twisted from her whip. "Congratulations Vice, you just killed your son." Auril was smiling almost sweetly at him if it weren't for the cruelty that lingered in her eyes, pulling him to his feet. "Dismissed."
Vice left as he was told, but he didn't go straight to his quarters. No, something different was filling his head. Some strange sense of paternity that confused him to no end. He was heading towards his son's room, throwing the door open and grabbing the bewildered boy's wrist. "We're leaving." Was all he could say to the confused questions from Bharaket, and the questions regarding the condition of his face went even more unanswered. That woman on the surface tried to protect her child from certain death; Vice was compelled to do the same to his child.
He informed Bharaket of Auril's plans as they left, twisting through the underground corridors, trying to get ahead before the House Bakhur realized they were gone, and before Auril sent hunters after them. They were almost to the entrance to the surface world by the time Vice's ears caught the cries of the hunters sent out for them.
"Bharaket, if you don't want to die, fight for yourself. I'll meet you out there." Vice said, letting go of Bharaket's wrist and drawing out the scimitars he always had on him. One scimitar was passed to his son, and the other was kept to himself. Battle raged when the hunters caught up to them, and Bakhr house fighters fell left right and centre as Vice and Bharaket ran to their freedom.
Finally, slightly wounded and starting to feel tired, Vice broke out of the dark tunnels and into the blindingly bright, painfully stinging light of the surface world. It burned his obsidian skin and even worse, blinded him...but he couldn't stop moving, not yet. He put his hands infront of his face in the form of an "X" as he ran, using that as a guard should he hit something. Vice didn't stop moving until he felt his burning skin cool; he'd made it to the shadows of the forest. The same forest he'd killed that woman and child.
However, he was alone.
Blinking into the painful light, he tried in vain to see if he'd been followed; there was nobody. No Drow hunters, no priestesses...and no Bharaket. He was alone. By the time Zasalamel caught up to Vice, Vice had given up visually looking for his son; he was now calling out for him. There was no answer. Bharaket had fallen.
Vice was left with an overwhelming sense of failure. The older Drow slumped into the grass and the sun once more hit his skin. He was physically hurt, but nothing compared to the mental hurt. He'd tried to protect Bharaket like that woman tried to protect her child; and like that woman, he'd failed. Like that woman, he'd probably end up dying, too. It never crossed his mind to go back to the underdark, to go back to Auril and his house. No amount of begging or luck could bring him back to the standing he had before. Auril would kill him without a thought.
He'd lost everything. His Son, his social standing, his life...all he had left now was a pathetic existance on a world that seemed to be spelling his doom with its burning sun. He had nothing...and that was why he never fought back when someone grabbed him from behind, smashing something against his head to plunge him into absolute darkness.
Overwhelming disappointment was just added to his list of complaints when he woke next. It was day time and he was in a clearing on his back, spread eagle and weighted down. He'd been stripped naked and the ties around his wrists and ankles were wet; but the sun was out, burning his entire body and scolding his eyes, no matter how tightly he closed them. Vice's world had collapsed into pain and Zasalamel, who was seated next to the captured Drow, could feel it all. It hurt. It hurt so badly...and he could only imagine how bad the pain truely was; he could only imagine how much worse Vice was feeling.
As the day wore on, the wet ties dried out and got tighter and tighter, cutting into his wrists painfully. The sun also got brighter and brighter, bringing no relief. Finally, nightitme came...but even then he was tormented. His captors showed themselves at night, and only to change the ties around his wrists, making them progressively tighter, and also to scratch his body, digging at his flesh with sharp daggers as they yelled and taunted him in a language he didn't understand. Zasalamel did, they were speaking common...and they were speaking things he wished he never heard. The surface dwellers that had captured Vice were family members of the tribe that Vice and his crew had taken out months ago...they had been away hunting, and they came back to the carnage the Drow left behind. Now, they had a Drow to torment, to make him suffer like they had suffered.
Their torture went on for days, each day brought Vice the burning pain of the sun and the biting deerskin tearing his wrists and ankles to the bone. Night brought the relief from the sun, but it brought salted wounds. As time wore on, the wounds were picked at by vultures and other creatures that came out during the day. Zasalamel was sick of watching and feeling this; he couldn't take it anymore. Vice never once fought back, and his mind must have died along with his metaphorical heart, for he could stare into the blinding, painful sun as often as he could; he never tried to scare the animals away from him when they picked at him.
Finally, Vice was a corpse that was barely hanging on. He had been starved, his wrists and ankles were bones underneath the deerskin, his skin was crawling with bugs, and the gaping wounds from the scratches and from the bitemarks of the animals that had taken to eating him alive during the day were heavilly infected. The once proud, strong Drow had been reduced to a sickly, practically dead creature. His captors came back only one more time. They didn't change his deerskin bonds, they didn't cut him.
Instead, they picked up his remaining scimitar, which had been sitting on top of his clothes. They peirced his heart with his won weapon, mercifully ending his painful, meaningless existance.
Vice died a dishonorable death, all alone.
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Posted: Sun Apr 08, 2007 11:39 am
Quest
Teen Quest, Part Eight
--Face to Face--
(( Italics ISN'T undercommon anymore! Well, it still kind of is, but isn't. Italics is Vice talking, non-italics is Zasalamel talking, but they're both speaking Undercommon! ))
"Not nice, is it?" Came a strong voice behind Zasalamel. The younger Drow, who had been staring in wide-eyed horror at the pathetic corpse of his past self, jumped and spun around at the sound of the voice, coming face to face with the healthy, living version of the dead man behind him. Zasalamel was gaping at the older version of himself, his wide purple eyes still dripping with tears from the reminants of the pain he could still feel. "I'm sorry you had to see that." Vice apologized to his younger, reborn self. "But, I had no choice in the matter...it was part of the unwritten contract of being reborn in this manner." He explained lamely; he never really got the whole reincarnation thing, but it seemed useful at the time.
"But I...You...Back...Uh..." Zasalamel didn't realize he'd have to face his past self. Follow him around and watch his entire life yes, but not meet him! As the young one stuttered, he pointed back at the corpse. "You...you're dead!" He finally managed to get out, as if he made any sense at all. Vice just lifted an eyebrow at the young man before him, a confused look on his face that eventually broke into a grin.
"You're not very bright, are you?" He teased, his grin widening when Zasalamel stopped gaping and stuttering to glare at him angrilly. "Are you sure you're me?" The big man made a show of walking around his reborn self, as if inspecting the body his soul was passed on to. Finally, he clamped his hand down on Zasalamel's shoulder. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding. You look just like me...Zasalamel, was it? You've done a great job of taking care of yourself." Zasalamel nodded a bit, then pushed Vice's hand off his shoulder. "Eh?" Was all Vice could say in regard to the angry, but still very sad face the young Drow had pulled at the mention of care.
"I can't take care of anyone." Zasalamel mumbled, looking up at the night sky. Vice, though confused, was eyeing his younger self quietly, reading the younger male like a book. He could tell the young drow had a life like his...at least in the department of losing someone or things that he loved. With a sigh, the dead male changed the subject.
"You're allowed to ask me three questions. I can't answer anymore than that." With that, he moved to sit down near his own corpse, giving Zasalamel a look that said he could wait until the questions were thought up. While he waited, Vice stared sadly down at his own corpse. "Pathetic, huh?" He asked absently. Zasalamel only shrugged slightly; Vice wouldn't have to wait for his questions, he had a few already.
"Maybe...but you died after trying to save someone. I...never could save anyone, either. So...my first question is..." Sighing himself, Zasalamel moved to sit on the other side of the corpse, across from the seemingly living version of said corpse. "Why...Why can't we protect anyone?" His purple eyes were staring hard at his past self, demanding an answer.
"We don't know how. We're murderers - And you can't argue that. Drow blood runs through you, you were born a murderer, even in the life you have now. You will kill, Zasalamel. You're a murderer as much as I am...that is why we can't protect anyone. We only know how to kill." Vice's answer was quick and absolute...and it was dripping with truth, as much as it stung. Zasalamel had been plotting to remove some old trash from his past. The younger Drow had gone silent; Vice was right, he couldn't think of a rebuttal to change the older man's thoughts.
"That...Thats not fair..." Zasalamel said quietly, tears forming in his eyes. "Its not fair! I have people I want to protect, I've already lost someone very important to me because I can't protect anyone! Its your fault I'm here, its your fault I have this blood that can't protect anyone!" He was yelling now, shifting onto his knees and slamming his fists into the ground at his sides. "You probably knew you'd never be able to protect anyone! Why get reborn when there's nothing you can do?!" While his words were heartless, he was actually letting his heart run his mouth. It was Vice's falt Zasalamel couldn't protect the ones he wanted to.
"I...I just wanted to be part of that life I saw before the surface raids." Vice explained disheartedly, looking over his shoulder in the direction the camp had once been. "I saw that mother do anything to protect her child, even get in my way to give her offspring a chance to run...and when that failed, I saw her throw herself on her child, hoping her body would stop my blade and save the child. You saw it as well as I did, Zasalamel. You know I started to think that life could be good. That...that there was a chance where ending life wasn't necessary to get acknowledged or accepted." He paused, moving his worn purple eyes to the angry, bright purple ones of his younger self. "I had hoped that if I was reborn, I'd be allowed to live that kind of life. I had also hoped that I would have learned from my mistakes in the past, that my failure in protecting my son would prevent me from making that same mistake again. I was hoping my reborn self could correct my mistakes." Judging by Zasalamel's words and actions, that hadn't happened.
Silence passed between both men for what seemed like ages.
"But...what if I can't protect anyone?" This question had been burning him for ages; it was all he could think of. Neveah had protected him twice with her physical body, and she'd protected him countless times before that. But when it mattered...he'd failed her. Then, he'd witnessed the escape scene with Bharaket and Vice before he was granted the form he had now...which only proved he couldn't protect someone back then. So far, hope of protecting the people he cared about seemed bleak.
Vice didn't answer right away. Instead he stood up, grabbing the hilt of the jeweled scimitar, ripping it out of the chest of his corpse. The big man slid his hands across the well used, still bloody blade with what might have been affection. Then, without cleaning it off, he pressed it into Zasalamel's hands.
"I imagine...protecting someone is something like learning how to fight. We're all clumsy at it at first, but we'll eventually learn and eventually we can get good at it. Keep trying to protect people Zasalamel, thats all you can do. Prove that you can beat your blood, and prove that you weren't put here to correct my mistakes for nothing." Vice said, giving this final piece of advice to his younger counterpart. He let go of the weapon, leaving it in Zasalamel's hands before walking away. "Make me proud, boy." The elder Drow teased, before he vanished into the darkness.
Zasalamel was left alone with these parting words...and with a scimitar that had been pulled from the corpse of his past self. Suddenly, his face twisted in almost angry confusion. His next yell was demanding.
"Hey, get back here! You didn't answer me!"
Somewhere in the distance, Vice was laughing.
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Posted: Wed May 14, 2008 7:08 pm
Yashi was torn out of unconciousness with a rough scream, nails digging into whatever flesh he could find. It was dark and spongy - Zak? The fox opened his eyes with a snap, a ragged breath leaving him. Oh s**t. Look at his hands. There were nails - long and triangular, sharp - and the fox stumbled back. He fell off of the bed, no longer tangling in the very short yukata around him but in the long, fluffy tails that were entertwined around his legs. Yashima saw the black - his hair? - flying around his face, long and thin and his skin just felt...tight. So tight. He wriggled, breathing roughly as Kumos mask fell from his yukata and clattered on the floor gently.
"Oh ******** oh ******** oh ********," He whispered, voice thick and hissed. He had no way of knowing his skin was generally two shades darker then it usually was and the marks on his cheeks were completely black. There was red lined around each eye. But he couldn't find his mirror and he was still in his childs yukata. Great.
Zasalamel's mind was too busy streaming curses in his native tongue to even register something was very different about his body. His past, his horrible, bleak, dangerous and cold past...he remembered everything, ever little tiny bit of it. Everything. His Matron, his training, the blood of his brethern on his hands, the joy he no doubt took from it....his consort, his daughters. More importantly, he knew of Bharaket now, his most precious son...and the lengths he went to, to save both his son and himself from the cold Underdark.
It was in vain. He'd tried and failed. Again. Before. Once more...whatever. His heart was twisting painfully...he'd been failing the ones he cared for from the start, hadn't he? Even back then he couldn't do anything...and he'd tried back then! What kind of---
His mental torment was broken when he heard something scream, when he felt something dig into his skin. Something sharp. Purple eyes snapped open to view the briefest glimpse of someone falling backwards...someone he thought he recognized. Instantly he moved to sit up, and it was then he noticed something was...off. That wasn't important however. What was important right off the bat was the figure seated on the floor.
"....Yashi...?" He asked, too shocked from the whole ordeal from his dreams and the sight of his drastically changed friend to notice his own voice was deeper, thicker...nor did he notice his view of the room was skewed, or that his clothes had suddenly seemed many sizes too small...hell, he didn't even notice he was holding the hilt of a very dark scimitar in his left hand. What wasn't lost however, was the relief in his voice. Yashima. He was sure the creature on the floor was Yashima. The fox was a more than welcoming sight...he was positive he was going to be trapped in the colourless Underdark once more...
It was Yashi alright and he was having a bitchfit in his own happy head. He was rememberng being torn apart by his littermates, the ones he was raised with, the ones who had turned n him when he was older - ugly. The room he was crouched in was familier, dark and with reds and blues everywhere. Dolls were on the shelves and there was a giant, dark skinned man with pale hair on the bed. His bed.
Drow. Zasalamel. His Zah? His mind was reeling; Zah was a child. Zah was supposed to be smaller and not looking as if he has just gotten his own heart torn out. Yashis lips parted and his words were shaking as he spoke, knowing the other wouldn't get his words.
"I...I don't even know if he's alive." Yashima hiccuped and, with that emotional surge, his face shifted into that of Zah. The whole of his skin changed color and his hair, as well, although the fox ears stayed. It faded as soon as it happened and then Yashima turned into Kumo - small, dark, masculine features and harshly tanned skin - and then back into his form again. Into Sakura, tall and thin, pale and shockingly beautiful and then back into Zah before settling into his own body. Yashima didn't even know what he was doing until it was over and then he was even crying.
"Z-Zah! I don't know what's going on," He hiccuped, "You're huge. Why are you huge? You're a child. Shrink. Now. What's going on?!"
Not...alive...? Zasalamel tensed, starting wide-eyed at his friend...or what he assumed was his friend. Bharaket had bene hurt. Bharakey had died. He had hurt, he had died. Neveah had been hurt. Neveah had died. Yashima -or what he assumed was Yashima- was clearly hurt...and now this talk of not knowing if he's alive? Something kicked in within the Drow, and the tall man was quick, though awkward, to move onto his knees in front of the many tailed fox, strong hands gripping the arms of the dark haired one.
"Not alive? Who is "not alive"?!" He asked in a panic. He'd lost Bharaket, He'd lost Neveah...he was NOT going to lose Yashima, too! "Dark fox tell where Yashi is...must be live!" He demanded, shortly after making a face over the fox's shifting; it was unnerving...! When the shifting stopped, his hands found their grip again, and with that grip came another demand, fresh on his lips.
The words never fell once Yashima started talking. He knew it was Yashima, that response was more like something Yashima would say. Instead, he sighed heavilly in relief. "Yashi change...must be dreaming self big....er." He said quickly, using a term he'd originally heard from Kishi. "Do not much caring for going-ons. Yashi is living, am much happy." He partially ignored the comment about him behind huge, instead opting to wrap both his arms around the fox in a tight hug. Thank god. Thank god nothing had happened. "Do not be scaring like that!" He scolded through a voice that was dry from the threat of tears.
"Sakura." The name was repeated to all of Zasalamels demands, hands moving to shove at the drow in return for the harsh words and the hands on his arms, so roughly. "Sakura, Sakura. I -died- for him and Kumo - me? - K-Kumo couldn't tell me if he lived or not. I don't...I just..."
Oh, then the hug. Yashi went frigid before melting, using his feet to push himself against the Drow, arms wrapping tightly around him, nails rough against his skin. His face was nuzzled against Zahs neck and his body pressed as close as possible. Replies were possible but they weren't a priority as he was trying to mesh himself with the atoms of Zahs frame.
"Sorry," He finally whispered, breathing out roughly against his neck, "Just..panicking. I'm sorry."
The frantic, panicked motions faded away quickly. Instead, that horrible feeling of simply knowing rose up to take its place. Yashima experienced it too, knowing what happened before...well, before the life they had now. Still, he couldn't say anything in regards to this Sakura person...he didn't know, he didn't want to sugar coat something....he didn't think he could if he tried, anyway.
Instead, he held the fox close, more than willing to allow his friend to get as close as possible. The big teen nodded a bit, resting his cheek against the other's mass of dark hair. "Is okay...was much panicking too. Much sorry..." He mumbled. "Son is dead." The voice that spoke these words were caught awkwardly between sad and angry. "Consort killed Bharaket. Killed son...was Weapons Master, could do much nothing!" He growled out, bitterly; bitter with himself, bitter with the life he'd been forced to live back then...bitter from having to relive it.. "Me next...Vice next...dead by elf kind." This was spoken quickly, much faster than anything else he had said. "In life now...Ilhar...Ilhar dead...still do much nothing...." Trailing off, he took in a deep, shuddering breath before burying his face into the fox's shoulder. "Do not...Do not want Yashi dead, too...wording you gave scare...."
Again, the Drow cut himself off with a shuddering breath, still clinging to Yashima like a man who had lost almost everything that he ever held dear.
Sugarcoating wouldn't work with the poor drow, Yashi suspected. He leaned in, pushing himself even closer instead. He wanted to be closer, letting Zahs arms almost squish his ribcage into oblivious, nuzzling into the others neck. When his friend mentioned a son, those little dark ears flickered a bit. A child? Zah had had a child. Named Bharaket, apparently. Vice? And him? And... oh.
His head tilts, pressing a kiss to whatever skin he can find on the others face. Cheek, temple, the base of his ears, anything to give his friend the comfort that he WAS alive. Him. Yashima and Zah were both alive.
"Yashima is NOT dead," He whispered, voice rough, hugging him tighter to his chest. "You are here with me, Yashi, Zah. I'm sorry. I'll be better with my words, Zah. Promise."
A sigh of relief left the tall teenager. Yashima's cling, his comforting kisses...it made him feel better. His best friend hadn't died, he'd just...gotten bigger, and changed his appearance a little, thats all. The rest was still Yashima, and that was really all that mattered, right? Right. With a small but forced laugh, the Drow let go of his deathgrip on his friend, instead holding him out as arms length to look at him.
"Yashi looking much different." He commented, clearly wishing to change the subject. It wasn't good to dwell, especially when he might crush his best friend in the process. "Much different, much...bigger? Yes. Hair change, too." He prattled on, desperate to push away the last of the fears he had over losing Yashima, or losing anyone...it was the past, and the only way to face the past was to deal with it. Later, of course. "Still much pretty, though." A thin smile pulled on his lips, and he let his friend go to pat his own, dark body.
"Feeling like dreamed self big, too." Even though his voice was quiet and almost joking, his eyes looked as though his real thoughts were elsewhere.
The fox laughed at the observations, head tilting to the side to let the black hair tumble with him. "Am I? Is the gold at least there?" He asked curiously. He smiled briefly, reaching up to stroke this hands through his thinner, much longer haair in amusement. The gold was there. That was a good thing. He was rather fond of it. Odd thing was, this time the compliment on his looks made the slightly darker complexion flush darker with a blush.
"Well." Yashi said mildly, hands moving to pet at Zahs hair, "You're not so bad yourself. I was the same height as a kid as I am now, though, which is kind of funny. I was short and dark then." The fox nodded, hesitating at the expression in his friends eyes. His fingers moved up, fingertips tracing the outside of Zahs eyes. His voice lowered to something secret, something gentle.
"Everything will be alright, Zah."
"Siyo, gold is there." He eyed his friend, chuckling softly at the blush. When the fox pet at his ruffled hair, the Drow startled a bit, his first reaction to jerk his head away. Of course, the reaction was short lived, especially once he deicded that it felt nice. "Mmm...thanking you?" He keened out, though he didn't entirely understand what Yashima was saying. "Am feeling much taller. Room is seeming much small." This was decided after he lifted his purple eyes to look around the room.
"...Siyo." The Drow agreed, flinching a bit when Yashima traced his eyes. His markings hurt a little bit, especially now that he knew what they meant. "Will be alright..." Though he was parroting Yashima, he sounded distant and cold. Then, a dark smile lit his features, and he sat back with his knees raised, his arms balanced on them. "Will fix it on own."
His fingers went back to the hair after his friends flinch and when Zah pulled back, Yashi leaned with him. Who cared if his stomach was resting on the others arms AND knees, his face pressed almost against Zasalamels. "You basically live at my house, Zah. I think you'll be working out a little of it with me too."
He liked to think that, anyway. Yashi sighed, leaning back to crouch on his heels.... It was then that he realized he was just wearing his childrens yukata and modesty kicked its happy way in. The silver(?) fox yelped, scrambling back and he darted for his closet. "I'm almost NAKED!" He wailed, pushing through his clothing. There was NOTH--"Oh, thank the gods."
An outfit his tousan had bought him, for when he grew. It was too short on the sleeves and the pants, but the little 'Chinese-esque', as Patrick had said, was cute on the fox. He winced once he had tugged that on. "Do you need clothes, Zah?"
Zasalamel shook his head. "Nau, will be having to fix alone." He informed the other, watching in amusement as his friend figured out just how little he was wearing...and of course over the reaction said lack of clothing received. It wasn't like he'd never seen his friend naked. Hell...he'd even seen his friend naked in a female body! Of course it was forced and he didn't have a choice but...that wasn't the point.
"Siyo, current clothings is much tight." He flinched, getting to his feet awkwardly. Now that clothing had been brought up...yeah, his clothes were too tight to be comfortable. "May being able to fit into sweats..." He mused, moving to dig through his bag. His first attempt to get his bag failed, his depth perception will wonky from his change. So, after a moment or two of being awkward with moving in general, he pulled a pair of sweatpants from the bag. They'd always been big on him...they might fit much better now.
Oh but it still embaressed the poor kitsune to high hell and back. He didn'tlike being naked in front of people, not at all. It wasn't a 'thing' of his to be doing that. His face was still red by the time he had spun around and Zah was getting his pants out of his bag. "We can probably steal something from Iamel... or...or...Well. Iamel. He's the only one of us tall enough for..us." His face flushes a bit again, reaching up to scritch at the hair behind his ears.
"Or we could go buy some new ones when we're not flashing the entire world." His voice was softer, chewing at his lower lip. "Are you hungry, Zah?"
While Yashima blushed and fumbled over clothes, Zasalamel proved he had no shame. He didn't bother to say anything or turn away from his friend; he just changed out of one pair of clothing and straight into the other sweats. The sweats fit...but barely. They weren't baggy at all, which he supposed would be alright in the end. "Think Iamel would be liking us take his clothings?" He asked, folding his other clothes to put them back into his poor bag.
Still, he was very distracted. Something his past self had said, something his Matron told him as parting words...it bothered him. He was sure to avoid looking at his friend when he went deep into thought like this; he was plotting something, and he didn't want Yashima to be...well...Yashima. His consort had pointed out to him that everyone he dared to love or cherish died. She was right, and he cherished Yashima; he wasn't going to lose another creature he adored. When the fox spoke up about food, the Drow quickly put one of his masks on, one poker face that every fighter had.
"Naaah, is okay." He said cheerfully, giving his friend a carefully placed, eyeless smile. "Am not hungry. Must be get going! Have things to be doing now..." The sudden change of his mind didn't seem odd to him; technically, he already did sleep over at Yashima's tonight. He just...wasn't going home, thats all.
Gold eyes narrowed slowly at the others words, his smile. All of it. He had seen Sakura smile those fake smiles before; he had seen himself smile like that before, back when he was not himself. Zah was lying to him, even if it was by sheer omission. There was something in Zahs expression...something different.
His facial expression spread into a cold, rather assured expression, and he was shy no more as he moved over towards Zah. "Things to be doing?" The fox asked, his now-deep voice lower then normal, one hand reaching to grab at Zahs wrists tightly. His friend was going no where. Not a budge. "I know you aren't going home, Zah. What is it you have to be doing? Where are you going?"
He didn't even on his mask on yet and while Zah was trying to be peaceful and cheerful, Yashima turned cool, collected and icy when he was trying to be big and buff.
"Siyo." The Drow said calmly in response to Yashima's first question. Afterwords, he didn't move. He didn't even glance down at his ropeburn scarred wrists; instead, he just stared down at the fox, his purple eyes locking with the narrowed golden ones. Though his staredown continued, he wet his lips to speak.
"Am going home...." He lied, though pathetically. After a moment or two, he sighed. "Used to be home." Leaving his end of the conversation at that, he tried to twist his wrists out of the foxes grasp. Still, like the fighter he was, his gaze never left the accusing golden one; his accented, dark voice remaining calm and flat. "Having to go alone." He said quietly.
Well, what was he going to say to THAT? No, don't go do s**t you need to? Yashi grumbled audibly, fingers tightening around Zasalamels wrists at the twisting. "Well." He started, pausing, those narrowed eyes still on the fighter. "You are going to eat first. It's not like we were just passed out for an hour or anything, Zawsaw. Go to the kitchen."
"But...!" The Drow tried to argue; but it seemed he failed with conversation, or at least defending himself in conversation. Well, his night was off to a wonderful start! Then, Yashima brought up eating. Eat? Just glancing down at his wrists made him sick, he could see the glistening white bone of Vice's wrist underneath the deerskin, he could see the mutilated, still living corpse in the clearing...how could he eat with those images in mind? But...it was Yashima who was asking, and even he knew he should at least try.
Sighing in defeat, the tall man nodded. "Okay, will try to eat." He agreed as he tried to twist his wrists from the fox's grasp without being violent or sudden about it...that was the last thing he needed. "Yashi needs to be eating, too." Zah decided, figuring it was only fair.
"As long as it isn't meat. Or red." He shuddered a little, fingers releasing the others wrists gently. One of the two hands moved around to touch at his shoulder gently, leading Zah into the kitchen. Almost as if he could sense Zahs thoughts, his next words came softly. "Just push the past out of your head for a little while, Zah, or we're never going to eat again. Hai?"
His teasing was soft and while Zah was a bit taller and much stronger then the thin fox, he pushed them both into the kitchen. Iamel was sitting at the table, a heaping plate of speghetti and meatballs in front of him. They had slept about 36 hours and no one had seen fit to wake them up. Or move them. Or alert Zahs gaurdian. This was Patricks house, not a hotel. Yashimas brother glanced up when they walked in and...well, he started to laugh. His nasal voice was almost annoying as he laughed so hard he just fell off the chair.
Patrick was making himself a salad, weilding a large butcher knife as he chopped through a tomato, juice squirting over his little white apron. His eyes shifted to them as Iamel started to lagh and the short mans eyebrows moved up slowly. "....so. Sleep well? Yashi, why are you wearing a mask?"
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Posted: Wed May 14, 2008 7:13 pm
"I much agree with that." Zasalamel cringed, lifting one of his now free hands to cover his mouth, as if he was about to be sick. Slowly, he lowered his hand in favor of patting the hand of his friend that had found its way to his shoulder. "Thanking you, Yashi." He said softly, sighing a bit before closing his eyes, trying to push the thoughts of Vice's last few days out of his mind. So far, it was starting to work...as long as he didn't think anything paast the butterflies that used to dance around his house and his two best friends.
Of course, the second he stepped into the kitchen and saw was Iamel was having to eat, the Drow started to feel sick. Ignoring the heaping plate of what might've been tumorous brains and the annoying high pitched laugh of the overgrown birdman, he quickly turned his attention towards Patrick; someone he knew to be a vegetarian, one who didn't eat meat. Nothing to fear from looking as Patrick, right?
Wrong.
His stomach twisted painfully, between the large knife and the tomato juice stains on that white apron. Saying nothing in response to the man, the recently made teenager gave a strange, gutteral noise and turned away, clasping one hand over his mouth. Oh god, he felt like he was going to throw up...
Yashimas stomach rolled. He twisted around as well, one hand grabbing at Zahs elbow in order to keep his balance. "...oh ********." He whispered, his words a bit garbled by the absolute disgust at seeing at what he just saw. It looked as if his friend was having the same reaction and his hand tightened a bit. "Let's get out of here."
"Hey. You guys?" This was his tousans voice and the footsteps of his converse told Yashima he was approaching. There had been no noise of a knife being put down. Oh god. "Are you two alright? What happened to make you bigger?"
"At least they're old enough to make you worry about sex, Shiniee."
"Nothing, tousan." He said, sharply, leaning heavily on his much stronger friend. "We're just... just going to go outside now."
Zasalamel was having a hard time keeping himself up, nevermind Yashima. But somehow...he managed. His purple eyes had closed tightly as if trying to squeeze the image out of his mind, muttering the undercommon counterpart to Yashima's curse. "Siyo, lets."
Of course he continued to ignore Iamel; he had much more important things to think about than what Iamel was saying. Not throwing up what little, if anything, he had in his stomach was most important right now. "Aah...Nothing...leaving for now is good plan." He managed to get out, his deeper voice straining. Allowing Yashima to lean on him, the big man took the initiative to start moving...and was quick to lead the fox outside. Once outside Zah heaved a deep breath, one hand on his own chest and the other over his mouth. "Am...never eating again."
The fox swallowed tightly once they were outside, pushing some of his dark hair out of his way. Ugh. "I think that was quite possibly the worst sight to walk in on, Zah." His breath was a bit faster then normal, hand twisting to curve in the hem of Zahs pants. "Place to sit over there."
A brief nod and then he was leading the Drow towards the small garden Patrick had over-paid someone to put in. Luckily, there was a bench. Yashi just wanted to sit down. Sit he did, collapsing on it and sinking down, one hand moving to rest over his stomach. "Ugh."
"Mm, agreed." The Drow muttered, running his fingers through his own scruffy hair as he moved to stand up; it was something to take his mind away from the food at least, or the food that they'd had the displeasure of walking in on. There were probably very few things worse than that to wander into. His gaze moved to the bench as it was pointed out, and after a startled little jump when he felt Yashi's hand, he more than happily followed Yashima over towards it, sitting down beside his friend the moment they reached it.
"Ugh doubled." Zasalamel sighed out, leaning forward to rest his knees on his elbows, his feet spaced apart just incase he did lose the nothing he had in his stomach. "Maybe having to go on empty stomach..." He muttered outloud, tugging at a bit of his shorter hair, the rattails still unbraided.
"You aren't going anywhere." Yashimas voice was a grumpy noise, one hand moving down to touch at the mask on his hip. He hadn't put it on yet and he wasn't sure if he wanted to. It had belonged to too many people so far, all of them dead or miserable. Bah. His head shook; he didn't want to be alone or miserable. And Zah wasn't running off on his own. "At least not alone, anyway. You'll die if you're alone. Cause you only act like this if you're about to do something stupid or dangerous."
The fox paused, lips twisting into an amused sort of smirk. "Or both, really." Golden eyes slid to the drow and he leaned, shoulder pressing against Zasalamels own. One hand was dabbing at his mouth almost delicately, eyes sliding shut. Bah to this.
"Bah to all of this. Stupid s**t."
Zasalamlel startled a bit upon hearing Yashima's words. Was the fox...telepathic? He hadn't said anything and yet Yashima knew he was up to somethi---oh. Well, that explained it. The fox has been his friend his entire life, of course he'd know when he was up to something. Sighing, he shook his head a bit. "Will not be dying, Yashima." He murmured, trying to defend himself, though pathetically. He was still feeling sick from the kitchen area.
"...And its not stupid." He muttered again under his breath about a moment or two later. It was important! But...he had to admit he was going to go something dangerous. Sitting up straight, he moved his purple eyes down towards the golden ones before they closed. "I am having to go alone, Yashi."
Then, after a moment of silence. "...Stupid s**t?"
"Of course you won't be dying. That's because I'll be going with you." Zah needed him, whether he liked it or not. Yashima had learned, through his past life and speaking to Kumo (depsite what little advice the stupid fox COULD give him), that he was going to try and go after his friend either way. To protect him, to keep him from harm, to kep him from being stupid... All of those things. While Zah wasn't stupid, some of his actions... He was rash.
His hand waved vaguely at the others defense that it wasn't stupid, one eye slanting open to peer at him. "And no. No, no and no. You are not going alone. I'm not letting you go alone. I'm going with you and yes. Stupid s**t. Stupid s**t like my dumb brother not giving a ******** and stupid s**t like us being hammered with these damn past lives all at once and who the hell thinks that the three questions should be the ONLY three things that end with question marks? Stupid s**t. Things that are stupid. s**t that can be classified as Inane."
A pause. "And you are NOT going alone."
Well, it was kind of pointless to try and hide where he was going now. Yashima knew he was up to something, and there was very little he could do to escape it, once the fox knew. Absently, the drow clasped his hands together, fidgeting with his thumbs. "I see." He commented absently to the s**t part of Yashima's words, though he wasn't really listening. He cared about the past only up to the point of correcting Vice's mistakes, which was what the elder Drow asked him to do; or at least thats what he thought his past self wanted.
"Nau, Yashi. Am going alone, you stay here." He said firmly, slowly shifting to detach his shoulder from his friend's. "Am not letting you go, is my mistake to fix!" If Yashi went with him, e might lose the fox...he couldn't let that happen, the fox had to stay alive no matter what. "Will be fine, if Yashi stay here."
"If you died in the first place it's because the mistake you made was BIG, Zah!" So they really weren't getting off on the right foot on how to be prudent with one anothers feelings. Pretty hands went up to Zahs hair, grabbing the untied rattail and he kept a firm grip on the others locks, a fierce frown forming on his face. "Or maybe it means you shouldn't fix a mistake you're trying to get away from now! I'm not sure exactly where you're from and what happens there, Zasalamel, but I know that it isn't a very happy place. Not if how you look when you talk about it is right."
Hell, Yashi didn't even know what he was saying. He was angry an that was that. His face was changing as well, taking on Zahs features, skin color contorting, the tattooed bits appearing...but it was just for a secon. A brief thing.
"You are my only real friend." It had taken him a moment to regain his cool and his voice hardly shook when he spoke. The fox was rather proud of himself. "If you go and die, I'll go after you. I'll find out where it is. And then I'll probably die too. So it's either go with you, where I have a better chance of living, or go alone later, and die right off the bat."
He winced, but not at the hair tugging, but at the words he was being bombarded with. "Was a BIG mistake...tried to have a family" He stressed, a low growl on his lips. Yes, that was a huge mistake on his part. "Tried to protect my child and failed!" The big man's hands then moved, grasping Yashima's upper arms, though not very tightly. Though he looked like he was about to say something, he stopped when he realized that, even for a moment, it looked as though he was looking in a mirror; the words died on his lips, and it left him with an uncomfortable squirm. Looking as Yashima for that brief moment reminded him of Vice, and the way his past self looked before he died. When the shifting faded, the drow shook his head.
"Couldn't protect Bharaket, Couldn't protect Ilhar, twice...please, stay here!" He pleaded, tightening his grip on his friend's arms as if desperate. It was as though the brief illusion never happened. "I care for you, you are the greatest friend I've ever had...! Don't...Don't give choices like those..." He sounded positively miserable now, his head bowing forward to rest his forehead on the top of Yashima's head. "Lost son, Lost Ilhar...don't make me lose you too, please stay here~" He pleaded, trying his hardest to be civil about it.
"I tried to protect the guy I was in love with. He's probably still alive. Probably miserable." Yashi allowed himself a sigh at the others pleas, captured arm shifting up to akwardly wrap his arms around Zasalamels upper torso. "Neveah was NOT your you fault, for the last damn time." Thankfully, his shapeshifting had subsided with his anger. Not only was he feminine looking, but he was prone to mood swings every so often as well. Goody.
"Please, Zah? I can make myself look Drow. I know I can. I won't die." His voice lowered, to become soothing, something soft and gentle to reassure the other. "I promise I won't die. And I might even help save your life. I want to go with you."
He said nothing; regardless of what Yashima told him, he was still convinced that he could have done something to stop that man from killing Neveah. He was, after all, standing right there. If he'd been a little faster, if he hadn't hesitated or frozen...but that was in the past, it was over now and there was nothing he could do about it outside of regretting. Well, there was one thing but...baby steps. Baby steps that started with the underdark.
"Am not wanting you to." He muttered, resting his head against Yashima's, his grip relaxing on the fox's arms. No matter what he said, he knew that the other wouldn't budge. That fox friend of his was stubborn, very very stubborn. "Am not seeing much choice though..." Secretly, he entertained the thought of tying Yashima somewhere until he came back. That seemed like a good idea, ir really did. "You would follow anyway." He grumbled, his miserable tone making way for an almost annoyed one.
Baby steps, baby steps. All of it began in the dangers of the Underdark. When the other relaxed, his grip grew tighter, dragging the dark thing closer to him, cradling against him with a murmur. "Nope," He agreed finally, grinning almost in triumph as the other gave into his desire to be a part f the trip into the underdark. "I try and protect people I care about, Zah. I'll be able t fight my way through too. You won't have to watch my back."
He didn't want to fall behind, to become a burden nto the other one. He was stubborn. Very stubborn. But if you fell behind...
Sighing, he allowed the fox to drag him closer, his arms wrapping lamely around his stubborn as hell friend. "Nindyn vel'uss kyorl nind ratha thalra ehyhinn dal lil alust." He hummed out the Drowish proverb, still grumbly over having to make the choice and cave into Yashima's demands.
"Underdark is bad place Yashi, much bad place. Females rule, and more than likely will be remembering me." Well, remembering Vice...but he looked identical to Vice so it was essentially the same thing. "If they figure you to be close to me..." He paused, wrinkling up his face as if hating having to say this. "...Will kill you to get towards me, or will kill you so I see..." He was speaking slower, and although his undercommon accent was as thick as it usually was, his voice rarely slurred since he'd grown so speaking slow wasn't really necessary. He was only speaking slow now because he hated what he was saying, and he was trying to sink the words into his friend, as if to try and deter him one last time. "Please...don't let that be happening."
"I have no idea what you just said in that little Drow language, tomadachi." Yashimas voice was a murmur, thin frame leaning into the more muscular one that was his friends. Yashima didn't see the point on dwelling on things...or on Zah telling him how dangerous things were. His mind was made up.
But he might as well try to reassure the other. The fox sighed, head tilting to nuzzle against the shorter locks that the drow possesed, his voice a little murmur in return. Zah could understand him just fine, so he didn't bother with it so much. "That won't be happening, Zah. I won't get hurt or killed. I won't let anyone hurt or kill you. Leaving me here won't help me."
"Mmm...Those who be watching backs meet death from front." He translated as best as he could, shaking his head a little bit. After nuzzling his head against the foxes for a moment, he slowly sat up on his own, absently smoothing out his pants. He wasn't going to win this argument, but he supposed he could always use it to do what Vice said...to keep protecting people. Either way, Yashima was going and Zah knew it.
"...We should be getting much ready then. Food....clothings. Should maybe be training small bit." He sure as hell wasn't going into the underdark hungry, in his pajamas and unused to this new body. Even simply moving felt awkward to him, with the new height and all. The big Drow moved to stand up, stretching his arms out.
Yashi remained seated, watching how the tall man stood up, stretched out and the like. His head tilted back, silent until the other was done contemplating, and finally his lips curled into a mild smile. "...would you like to go shopping then?" He asked, standing fluidly, wincing as his own clothing tugged at a few of the more grown areas on his body.
"Let's get clothes. Then food in a place in public. Yeah?"
The Drow's purple eyes twisted towards Yashi when the other moved to stand, his arms falling limply at his sides. Shopping? He considered it for a moment. It was a good idea really, but...there was something wrong with that. "No money." He commented, patting his hips in a moneyless gesture he'd picked up from his surface life. "Well, do having some but not much to be buying all clothings and food for me." Which meant he'd have to go home to Thae before he left...
He could just hear her, and really...he didn't want to go back there, not yet.
That's where yashi grinned. The movement was quick and probably offsetting; his fangs now caught a glimpse of light as he expressed his asmusement. "No money," The fox agreed, his arms folding over his chest. "But my tousan has some. He gives Iamel stuff all the time as long as it makes the bird shut up and wear something more covering then a thong."
The fox paused, lips twisting into a frown momentarily. "He told us it's because we're his science projects. So it's like a paycheck." But his eyes snapped up, taking the others wrist to tug gently, lips curling into a smile. "Come on. Usually I'd offer to let you wait out here but you're the type to BOLT. I want to go shopping."
"Thong?" Zasalamel questioned, almost hesitantly curious. While he tended to like Iamel, he also knew that the bird sometimes went and did very stange things. He just assumed that a thong was one of them; he was lucky enough to have never had to deal with one of those yet.
The Drow was staring at Yashima, trying to look like he understood all of what was being said; which wasn't far from the truth, he understoof most of it just...not all of it. "Ah, is kind of like I being Ilhar's study." He remembered...but he never really got anything like money out of that, he got a home and misery, really.
At the mention of bolting, Zasalamel pulled an almost offended face. "Would not be bolting!" He argued but it was a lame argument. So he had thought about bolting if he was left alone right now. "Thinking your Ilharn would give up money?" Again, a lame topic change. "Am coming, am coming~" He sighed out a moment later, following after the fox like a wounded puppy being tugged from his wrist rather than a leash.
"Thong. Underwear that really isn't there I guess." He shuddered, almost dramatically. "It was a traumatic experiance for me." Then again, seeing ones older brother dressed in such a manner, or lack thereof, would usually send a small child into a screaming panic, now wouldn't it? He rather thought so, as did his tousan, who had shared in the screaming.
The mention of Neveah and her study just made him smile, briefly. "I guess? It's why he doesn't go to work anywhere. It started with Lahela but they got interested in all of us. They're not happy with how Iamel turned out but tousan told them to do something rude to themselves." Another smile, closed-mouth, but he just tugged Zah with him.
There was no arguing with the other; he let him whine and come along with him, peeking inside. "Tousan!"
"What?" Grouchy. Mouth probably full. Yashi snickered vaguely.
"We need new clothes!" Still, Yashi was yelling this out as he moved towards the kitchen, towards his father. "So we need money. You give Iamel money--"
"And the bike!" Nasal. Iamel. Mouth definately full.
"So I was wondering if we could have some?"
"Card's on the hall table."
Yashima paused, turning around to peer at the table they had just passed while trekking to the kitchen. "...oh. Thanks." And it was plucked up, golden eyes going up to meet Zahs. His hand was still on the other. "I guess we're good to go."
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Posted: Thu May 15, 2008 8:43 pm
Narrative
Pondering in the Morning
--So much has happened--
Zasalamel sat awake in bed, his fingers slowly and methodically twisting a dagger in his left hand. Yashima had long since fell asleep at his side, and occassionally the Drow would turn his gaze from staring blankly infront of him to staring at his softly breathing mate. Their lives had been caught up in a whirlwind from the get go, but the past year or so had been difficult for the both of them...but they'd managed to pull through, together. The dark teenager's gaze went down to the dagger, watching the blade gleam as it was twisted around his fingers.
When they had first grown, he'd been so preoccupied by his wish to get even on those who took Vice's son from him that he risked both their lives to go down into the old Drowish city. Of course he was all set to go alone, but Yashima had gone along anyway; but not without laying down quite a few threats. Together they'd beaten back the Drow that were sent to take him down, and once word got around that Vice had returned, his old Consort showed up; and then, if Yashima hadn't been there, he would have died. Yashima had taken down Vice's Consort, but had left it up to him to cut off her head. They had escaped, but barely.
He and Yashima shared their first kiss together while on their way home after fleeing the underdark. He was hurt, hurt so very bad. Zasalamel recalled the pain from his wounds, his free hand moving up to touch the scarily perfect scar that ran from his shoulder to his stomach. Yashima had stayed with him while he healed, and was even so kind as to yell at him and threaten to beat him when he had tried to get up and walk around after four days of being "bedridden".
Then there was Neveah's funeral, where Yashima had stood by him the entire time.
The Dojo came under his tutilage, after the Master of the Dojo realized he was getting old, and none of his own children wanted to take it over; he became a sensei, teaching small children self defence. It was strange to teach children how to protect. As Vice, he had taught children to kill. Both he and Yashima were working then, and Zasalamel officially moved into Yashima's room at that point. Prior to that he just happened to be over almost every night since Neveah died in the Inbetween.
Yashima's family was getting sick of listening to them having sex, but to be fair they were also getting sick of being quiet about it; so then talks of moving out came into play. They had looked and looked and looked when they had the time but it was difficult, given they both had jobs that sometimes had one off while the other worked and vice versa. Eventually they found something, a two bedroom apartment...and they took it instantly.
Of course there had been a time where Zasalamel was convinced that Yashima didn't want or love him anymore; naturally it turned out he had been overthinking and spinning things in the wrong direction...but the jealousy was there, and Zasalamel had realized then, more than ever, that Yashima was his entire world. If he lost Yashima...he lost it all.
And about a week ago, Yashi brought home a down-on-her-luck Kay, who was now occupying their second room.
Somewhere in that time frame, he and Yashima had met up with Rakha, the older male Drow that he had met when he was just an awkward kid. Rakha had reminded him about the mission he had vowed to as a kid; the murder of Philos, his Ilhar's boss. Of course that had made him very angry, and so he had come home and destroyed Kian's punching bag. Rahka still had the scimitar they had purchased together, the one Rakha promised to give him when he was old enough...he still had to go and claim it. Life had become too hectic to go over but now...he had to make a point and do it.
Which brought him to his present state, wide awake in the ungodly hours of the morning, twirling a dagger in one hand with his mate sleeping at his side. He wanted to kill Philos, and he knew the right time to do so was coming. The problem was, oddly enough, the two people currently living with him. Despite being on neutral grounds with Kay, he didn't want the possibility of scaring her by coming home splattered with the blood of Philos and whatever man stood between him and the old man. Yashi...well, he didn't know if Yashima would let him do this on his own, or if the kitsune would demand to go like he always demanded to go when he was going dangerous things, on the grounds of 'You like doing stupid and dangerous things and I don't want you to die'.
The fox beside him began to stir, probably realizing that Zasalamel was awake and staring into the darkness of their room. He took that as a cue, stopping the dagger's swift movements and placing it slowly and silently down on his nighttable. Shifting slowly, he moved back under the covers, rolling close to Yashima and slipping his arm over the side of the sleep-groaning kitsune. It took a little bit, but the fox stopped moving and Zasalamel, figuring he should follow suit, closed his eyes and waited for sleep to overcome him.
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Posted: Thu May 15, 2008 8:44 pm
For meeting with Rakha and getting his second scimitar.
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