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It was Clurie's persistent behest that finally convinced Hayat to leave her Lord's side for the day. He seldom saw his Lord and Hayat, but he made a point to scamper over to them, ignoring all formalities, and grin up at them, reaching with his hands wide and outstretched for Hayat, begging her to come along and play with him although he had plenty of chores and duties to do. But moments away from Chauhn were precious to Clurie at this point in time and doing anything that he possibly could to get away from his noble goody two shoes Grimm was his constant frame of focus. That's what brought him for the thousandth time to Lord Yizhaq's side, pulling on the hem of his clothes with his knotty ashen hands, peeking up at him with black-eyed mischief and glee.

"Can Hayat come and play with me? I would like it ever so much," he would say, which was about as polite as he got before he started reaching for Hayat, attempting to take her off his shoulder, and finally, that one fateful late March day, she stepped onto his hand and floated to his shoulder, bidding him onward with a firm word and nod of her head. Overwhelmed with excitement to be with the one person he considered his idol (Adal and Georgie were friends and Sloane a hero, Yizhaq a lord, and Chauhn a terrible annoying two-faced yellow-bellied pest), Clurie skipped and scuttled through the hallways, flapping his arms, which momentarily formed into ashen wings in mockery of Hayat's feathers.

"Look Hayat! I can be like you!" Clurie barked as he jumped out full speed from the back door, running with a bounce in his step and a grin on his face, "See? I can do so much more now that I'm bigger, Hayat! You can teach me all sorts of things now. What was that thing I was supposed to be learning? Control? You can keep teaching that to me too! I know the best place for it."

Still flapping with ashen feathers, making whooshing noises with the suck of air through his teeth into his cheeks, Clurie "flew" to the private hunting grounds, where he knew neither guard nor especially his Grimm would find them. He knew enough of the growing tension to stray anywhere near the commoner's turf, but danger was fast fleeting from his mind when he had Hayat holding onto his scarf. All he wanted to do at that moment was make someone proud of him, of Clurie for being Clurie, of Clurie being himself and none other. Who better than Hayat, who was along with Adal in giving him his strength to discover his true self?

"As well as I can be," Clurie said in eager response, though the silence after his words spoke nothing of his mulling sentiments over the question. He came to a stop in the hunting grounds as soon as he was sure that they were well away from sights and sounds of those that might intrude upon their private training session. The black eyed Plague hefted a heavy sigh, his held tilting to the side as the barely substantial weight of Hayat hung at his ear. He looked around the forest, his eyes tracing the dim light as it fell through the leaves, and by the time he found the breath to make another answer for Hayat he found that his face had fallen into a distinct pout. His bottom lip quivered. But with a rub of his ember fist into his ember cheeks, Clurie pulled the pout into a frown, which felt a little better to have on his face than the sad downward crescent.

"Which isn't saying much," he continued, standing almost alone in the center of a musty clearing. He threw his fists down to his sides, clenching them tight, before he threw his hands into the air, gnarled and black twigs scratching at the ether, "That Clemmings boy won't leave me alone! I thought it would be nice to have him grovelling and weak, he's pretty much like that all the time, but now it's mostly focused at me! I can't do anything without having him look at me with those swollen pathetic green eyes and it makes me feel like I owe something to him. It's annoying! I don't know what he wants, and even if I knew, I wouldn't give it to him, that pesky gutless brat of a boy! All he gets from me is grief, but he still acts like that's better than having nothing. I don't know..." His frustrated tirade came to a stop. He lowered his arms, shaking them back into their normal size after they had turned into monstrous claws and vicious many fingered weapons. The Quietus looked at them now as they were most of the time, and then he looked at Hayat as best as he could where she sat on his shoulder.

"That's all really. It's just him. It's always him," he said in conclusion. He paused, then offered her a weak smile, "I'm glad I've finally gotten some time with you, Hayat. It feels like it's been ages."

"Grimm...Grimm..." Clurie muttered unhappily, "Sometimes, I wish he was drowning in a river somewhere" The Quietus folded his arms around his chest, shifting his stance as he stood near the center of the clearing, meandering just a few steps to the side, as if he had any place really to go. He looked down at his legs, burnt and charred cinders of limbs that lead down to his feet where he contented himself with wiggling his toes in his leather shoes. With the outward throw of his arms, he used his heels to kick off his shoes and he stepped free, stretching his toes...No, talons...Stretching his talons with relief.

It was then that Clurie heard Hayat's quiet command, and his cheeks lit up with joy. He turned to her, his face no longer a sad and twisted mess, made so by the mention of his Grimm, but a pinched up glow of eagerness. This was his chance to prove himself to Hayat! This was what he wanted, a precious moment of time to have her all to himself and to make her proud of him and him alone! Clurie's chest expanded with a puff of pride, and he gave her his arm to let her sink down onto the makeshift seat of his shoes, which made the base to catch his hat, which he also set down into a folded makeshift seat. He wanted her to see him at his best.

"Sit here, Hayat!" he said brightly, gently setting her down before he hopped away to give her a safe breadth. He knew that he wasn't entirely fantastic at controlling his new powers, but damn, he was good at making them flare! It would be exciting, surely something to impress her with! Clurie sailed about in a little ring, his arms outstretched like he were a ring master introducing the best show on earth. His hair floated about his head like ash peeling away from a corpse.

"I'll show you everything I can do now!" he boasted proudly. He paused, and came to a stop, dropping his chin to his chest before he pressed his hands to his face, as if in grieving. A few moments he stayed like that, gathering his strength, before he ripped his claws down his face, wrenching his head up with the spark that caught fire to his cheeks and fingers. He waved about his hands, seemingly dousing them of their flame, before he held them still and gave a snap of his fingers, allowing them to ignite again in flame. It was this flame, that he urged into a consuming fire, a splutter of hungry orange that crawled up his arms until they were veritable weapons of flame. But with a quick arc of his arms and a backwards step, the flames were extinguished with a snap of his shoulders as he brought them before him in a loud slap of his palms. Ash exploded forth, ash which he controlled through the air into the ghostly shape of a bird, which, to Clurie's disappointment, collapsed only a few seconds after he summoned it. But he had to make it seem like he did it on purpose. Stepping back, Clurie clapped his hands again, and this time, exploded into a cloud of ash. The ash glowed with ember, seemingly winking at Hayat, while, behind the ash, a figure stood in the shadows. With a cough, Clurie willed himself back together, forming again the thin shape of a boy, and he held his chest as he coughed. He had pushed himself too hard. So with the steadying of his fist into his chest, and the clasp of his hand upon his mouth, Clurie looked down with an apologetic grin at Hayat, while behind them, the shadowy figure remained, and sent a short sword's blade through his thin chest.

Clurie looked down to where he began to bleed fire and ash and stared. "That's new," he said.

There was never a time that Clurie felt so...so much physical hurt. Sure, the betrayal from his Grimm was more pain than he would care to admit, but the angst created from his bitter breakup with his once called "brother" was nothing compared to the kind of pain that raked his chest at the very moment the sword was ripped free from his back with a kick to his shoulders. Choking and stumbling forward, clutching at his chest where the fire bled into ash, Clurie spun around as he fell onto his knee, looking up at his assailant.

It was a Cultist. Broad shouldered and lanky, the Cultist that moved forward looked like a man who might have once been a simple farm worker driven from the despairing state of his rotting fields in search of a more fulfilling role. What better than the role as a soldier of Obscuvos? Yes, indeed, what better? To slink through the countryside, doing away with Excitos and Anhelos alike, monsters all of them. He would do away with them all. It was this Cultist's duty to take as many as he could from the Grimms of Lord Yizhaq's estate, hoping that one of them might be the Lord's Plague. Such a blow would cripple the Lord's importance in the House of the Fellowship, it would perhaps even sever his ties. Such a blow would surely rock one of the pillars of strength supporting the Mages and in this troubled time there was much chaos to be had! The Cultists could gain the upper hand against the Mages if only they took advantage of the strange events unfolding and take out the power of the Plagues. It was just his luck that he happened upon, not only some lowly boy's Plague, but the Plague of the Lord of the Estate. Lurching forward, swinging his white hot sword above his head, he carved a cruel grin upon his face before swinging back down upon Clurie.

Now that Clurie was aware of the situation, his chest heaving with pain and glowing ember, he could defend himself. It happened even without his wanting. As soon as the sword swung towards him, aiming to cleave him in two, Clurie burst again into ashes. The Cultist stumbled forward, his sword cutting into nothing, and it was with a startled growl that he kicked at the ground in an effort to free his weapon. Behind him, the cloud of ash pulled together and Clurie leaped upon the Cultist' back, coughing as he strained to pull himself together back into a physical shape but with his new wound it was hard. Luckily, he was able to wrap his hands over the Cultist's face, granting himself a grip, and with a boyish yell he summoned ember into his claws, raking the Cultist's visage with coals. The Cultist screamed.

Clurie, in all this chaos, did not forget about his little companion. Straining to keep his knees pinned to the Cultist's side, leaning with all his strength onto the man's back to keep himself in place, Clurie shouted at Hayat. "Run! Get out of here! Go! Find help!" Whether or not Hayat listened to him was anyone's guess, but Clurie had very little time to see as to whether or not the Plague listened to him because he found himself suddenly flipped up and over the Cultist's back and onto the forest floor. The air was blasted from Clurie's lungs and he writhed weakly, gaping like a fish, his black eyes wide and tearing up at the edges. Behind him, the Cultist shook the ashes and embers from his face, finding it hard to see past the blisters swelling on his face, but he didn't need to see the details on Clurie's face in order to know that he had just garnered himself precious time to attack. Indeed, he had.

"Stupid...I'll singe your eyes out...Try again..." the Ash Plague spat. But he was talking to himself more than to the Cultist with that last statement, "Try again."

Straining to roll himself onto his side, to simply push himself up onto his knees, Clurie moved as fast as possible despite the sluggishness caused by the rend in his chest. He was having a hard time breathing. Embers were spitting from his mouth, lining his lips with glowing speckles. He had to get up. He had just managed to look up in time to see the man lifting his sword again, arcing it over his hip, and Clurie responded as fast as his body would allow. His claws came before him, slapping together in a loud crack and plume of flame which he threw at the man, but the Cultist's heavy cloak swallowed the fire. His arms outstretched, Clurie watched in widening horror as the Cultist's sword swung through its intended arc. He had only so much time to throw himself to the side, try to duck the incoming blow, but not all of him made it. The sword lodged into his right arm, just above his elbow, with a sick crunching sound. Clurie wailed.

The Cultist, on the other hand, grinned. Squinting through the pain on his face, the man dragged Clurie to the ground by the sword lodged into his flesh and slammed his heel into Clurie's twitching claws, grinding them into the dirt. Clurie easily fell along, crying out with pain and horror as the man trapped his arm beneath his feet and sloppily began hacking away at the boy's arm, breaking through bone and charred flesh to finally cleave it free.

Now it would be nigh on impossible for the boy to clap his hands again, press embers into his eyes. He was gaining the upper hand.

Clurie, on the other hand, the hand that was still attached, was doing quite poorly, struggling just to drag himself away from the man and from the limp appendage that used to belong to him. He tried flexing his fingers, but found that they only twitched in response, convulsing with their dying throes. Wetness found its way to Clurie's eyes and the boy wept freely onto his ember bright cheeks, creating whiffs of steam to blink through as he stared at the man swathed in black.