Completed Broken Roads Lead to Home

Eren'thiel Xyrdithas

Broken Sword
Member
Messages
625
Character Biography
Link

Broken Roads Lead to Home




Over the sound of wind and rain was the rattling of hooves and wooden wheels over rocky path. A series of a dozen, large covered wagons shuddered and gently creaked as they drudged over a road less traveled. Four horses pulled each one along, all looking tired and in need of rest having been battered by the elements as they traveled farther north. The caravan was a group fleeing the devastation it Bhathkirk. They were a mixed matched group of refugees, travelers, warriors and farm folk, all displaced following the battle.

Great gusts blew up and the lead horses halted and huffed in protest. The caravan stuttered to a stop, and he grunted as be braced himself from the abrupt sway that brought. He looked to his left up to the front of the wagon with an angered stare. He sat close to the rear, with his back up against one of the sides and his arm rested upon a raised knee. He heard the men carrying on, urging the horses forward. After some bickering came a gentle shake, they had resumed their travel.

Erën looked ahead. His comrade at arms - the Ronin, Jirou – as stalwart a warrior the elf had ever known. Somehow, through some will beyond his own, he had found the swordsmen, armless and in rubble. Like Caliane, he brought him here. He dressed his wounds. He tended his dear friend, diligent to ensure his survival. And now there he sat, resting as well he could despite the pain he surely felt.

Erën only glanced to his right. There, behind a make shift curtain, with a generous layering of blanket below and around her lay Caliane – and Lazule as well he understood, somehow. It had been difficult to find materials robust enough to handle the heat, and whether they were enchanted or not he did not know. Over her he’d attempted to lay a lighter sheet to cover her, but to no avail. She had cooled some, he supposed, but not much. He did not truly know whether to have bundled her tightly with the hardier cloth or not, but he felt to let the cool reach her some instead. He kept a close watch in any case, and if she were to grow too cold, he would realize – and no one's eyes, not even his, peered past the veil. But here beneath the shelter of this wagon, though cold wind did creep through, it was relatively comfortable.

The wagon slammed hard on the rough road, and Erën let out a stifled, anguished groan. The injuries from the battle in Bhathkirk had gone largely untended. Though he'd dressed them, he did not have the means to heal himself, and any supplies he'd had before the battle were all long gone. Acquiring any replacements proved… difficult given the state of the city following the attack, and what provisions he did manage to procure he reserved for others. Though his wounds were many, he would heal well enough given the time.

But then, part of him… did not want to heal.

Part of him liked - no – part of him needed the pain. The loss of the Soul Forge afflicted him deeply - where once its comforting beacon shone brightly in his mind, now only a deep void remained which pulled and pried at him from within. In the Forge’s stead, the pain kept him from staring too deeply into the abyss which swirled at the center of his mind. But even for all his efforts, it would still find him in his sleep – sleep that for centuries he had long forgotten. Without the Forge, he found he now once again needed to sleep as other slept. To lose one’s self, largely unaware of their surround, lost in their dreams.

Dreams that since their return, were only dark. Dreams, that the longer he fought them the farther into his waking life they crept. They taunted him, peeking out at him from the shadows, and reaching with their wretched claws.

He still could not understand what had caused this…

But he stayed the rest as much as he could, and despite the fear and fatigue he fought to keep his friends safe. To ensure their survival. They had been joined, made as one. But he gathered that through the laws that governed the whole of Arethil, or perhaps nature of the Life Fire that was Lazule, or perhaps some other thing he did not or could not possibly understand - such a union could not be. They lay there, still weak from the terrible battle they'd waged. The miraculous victory they attained.

The countless losses they suffered…

So, for the sake of them both he pledged to seek out the Father - Lazule's Father - to split them apart and make them once more their own…

For he feared if he did not, then both of them would be lost...

“I can't lose anyone else…”



“Nearly there, elf.”



When they had first arrived, Erën simply collapsed. There was a time he was so still it was uncertain if he had passed.. but after several hours there was still warmth to him, and a weakened, shallow heartbeat. But while he was still, peaceful even – his mind was wracked with horror.

When he woke, he shared it not – but the void that darkened his eyes, they spoke of torment and grief…

Before long, it was nearly a week they’d been here – every day, the wounds grew fewer, the pain grew weaker, the strength in his limbs returned. But the Soul Forge… had forsaken him. His mind was clouded, and though his body mended, his heart did not. His dreams only descended further, and further into the dark…

…but there was yet a light he held in his palms… a warmth that yet guided him…a hope.

Lazule Jirou Caliane Ruinë
 
Last edited:
Perhaps if the group were not in such dire straights they could have appreciated their surroundings. They certainly did. Buried in the depths of the forests that hugged the skirts of the mountains in The Spine was one of the smaller safe houses the Monster Hunters used. Was it Lazule who had spoken of it to the others or was it their one?

No it could not be Caliane, she was in Sleep.

The cottage was situated next to a small river and had a small waterwheel attached to it. It was a modest abode, a home donated by a Hunter long dead. There were four small bedrooms upstairs and an open plan floor downstairs which consisted of a large fire, a large dining table and a series of seriously worn chairs.
It was, however, fully stocked with food and supplies; a job that fell to Monster Hunters who had sought an early retirement before death on duty had claimed them instead. For the group, it appeared to be a blessing to worry about one less thing.

The males seemed particularly concerned for Their well being. Occasionally the Other Flame - Lazule - would speak to them but she felt the tiredness of this body heavily as it healed. The Flame simply watched, listened, lurked. It would learn. It would bide its time.

They had tasted freedom and now they didn't want to relinquish it.

At least their body was healing nicely. They had worked out the true boundaries of this Flesh Cage and had retreated enough not to destroy it - if she died, they died after all. The fissures on her body were mostly gone, only a few thin ones showed here and there. But that could not be helped. They were more focused on rebuilding their wings. The bones had been the hardest to heal but had begun to get to the stage where they were no longer bent at odd angles. The Fire wanted to stretch them but it knew not how. That was a Caliane thing and this.. Other Soul that was trespassing didn't seem to know how to use them either, though she was taking control slowly of the body now it was operational.

Frustration swirled. Flight was its best method of escaping these ... friends of Caliane's.

Once The Other Flame was gone.

Patience.
 
The journey on the wagons seemed without time. A mere moment in Lazule's life. A vast eternity. Both.

She at first found it easier to leave Caliane's body alone, to not attempt moving it or speaking with it, to retreat back into the dark and sense-deprived consciousness she briefly experienced once Lena's body had perished. Lazule on occasion spoke to Erën and the other man, Jirou, who was familiar with both Erën and Caliane and perturbed to a noticeable degree that Caliane was not the same. Erën, recognizably uneasy about it as well, was at least present when Lazule was extracted from Lena's body--he had done it himself. Neither man knew specifically what Caliane had done: added Lazule to her--as she said--soulfire.

And it was this soulfire that quite intrigued Lazule. Quite. Intrigued. Her. All she knew of it were two things: that it was a fire, and that it, too, had an awareness. As the wagon journey progressed, Lazule did not leave Caliane's body alone, and often moved (or attempted to move) certain limbs, and later progressed into touching with Caliane's fingers the orange fissures that yet remained across her form. This, in an effort to see how the soulfire reacted.

It was silent. If it spoke, Lazule could not hear its words. If it signaled, Lazule could not see its signs. If it emoted, Lazule could not feel its joy. This soulfire had an awareness, and that was all she knew. And she desired desperately to gain further insight.

To know that, perhaps...there was another Life Fire that existed on Arethil. That was she not alone in her kind.

Was the soulfire Caliane? Or was it another entity entirely? This was the discernment Lazule yearned to discover.

It was a terrible wanting. A terrible wanting. But Lazule, once she suspected more and more that the soulfire and Caliane were not the same being...began to wish for the soulfire to take primacy. Lazule recognized that it was coldly selfish of her to wish for this, for the Caliane whom both Erën and Jirou knew and the Caliane who had aided Lazule herself in reforging her broken way of being, yes that very same Caliane...to be smothered.

An acknowledgement of a certain irony. Caliane had helped Lazule to understand the concept of holding two conflicting emotions simultaneously. And now, here, Lazule did: she wanted Caliane to survive, and she wanted the soulfire to take control. A feeling of friendship and gratitude, and a feeling of kindred spirits and yearning curiosity, battling bitterly.

There was no easy resolution for this. Not at present.

Not until Lazule could be removed from Caliane's body.

And even then, Lazule knew of the sentient fire.

Repressed. Trapped, perhaps.

Within.

* * * * *​

The Monster Hunter safehouse. A couple hours' walk from the small dwarven village of Brendalgrim. This the village which rested in the shadow of Father's mountain Tower. It was this very safehouse which had given Father the inspiration to craft Lazule into the Slayer, a Hunter of Monsters, so he had said.

Erën, Jirou, and Caliane with Lazule inside spent days recuperating in this quiet cottage. Lazule answered questions from the elf and the one-armed man when asked about Caliane truthfully: that she did not know. What she declined to mention in addition was the soulfire. And what she did in secret was inwardly search, attempt to communicate with it. Outwardly, she tried on multiple occasions when left alone to manifest Caliane's fire magic, and she failed on each iteration. Disheartening. Perhaps the soulfire would have been...encouraged? delighted? enabled?...to do something, to reciprocate, if Lazule had been successful.

The days passed.

And, on one of them, Lazule through the use of Caliane's body asked of Jirou, "Did you know her well? Caliane?"

* * * * *​

Through these days spent in the safehouse, a crow came by on occasion. Landed on the roof or a window sill. And observed.

Caliane Ruinë Eren'thiel Xyrdithas Jirou
 


It had only been two days since his encounter in the meadow. He'd left them there, too pained to even honor them with graves. He regretted this...

Nothing but dread and grief occupied his mind. The only thing that broke his sorrow were the brief moments he spared to check on his friends. Jirou had gone, plagued by a great burden he had no choice but to act upon. Erën bid him his best, and saw him off. He never mentioned what had happened.

And then the silence...

... for days. He did not leave the property again. At times, he went outside to train with his blade... but each time the images flashed before him. Those burning, red eyes... then those broken, bloody stares. He could still not believe what had happened. After everything they'd gone through...

...he'd killed them.

Some of his dearest friends.

Their faces... he could not erase them from his mind.

And so he stood barefoot in the stream, his pants rolled around his knees. The sun slid across his skin and kissed his chest. His eyes stared downstream. His arms, hung limply at his sides. The air was chilled. The water cold. All he heard was his heartbeat.

All he could see was death.

All he could feel was pain... and, empty.

Loneliness.

He was alone.

In his hand he held his sword.​

He had almost done it there. A swift end to a miserable life. Joined once more with his family, his friends...

... but he could not. The image of her face flashed through his mind. Her lips on his... a light in this world, shown to him when all else had gone dark. He had to see this through. Though the Order may have damned him he would do this last thing. He would free Lazule from Caliane's body, and ensure they both would carry on. Until his last breath.

This was his duty now.

 
As the days whittled on it became harder for the fire to keep Caliane asleep. The second week was drawing to a close and the body was almost entirely healed now - at least on the outside. Still it felt as useful as a weak lamb.

The fire contemplated swapping Caliane for Lazule but that was... unacceptable. This Winged One was theirs, not this.. new thing. Caliane belonged to them but if only she could see what they could be together. What they had been together in that sky. Pure destruction. It tried sweet whispers in her Sleeping mind, it tried images and reminders of that wild exhilaration to let go. But the mind was resilient. It pushed back. It returned images of broken bodies, dead children, ash. Fire destroyed.

So it forced the Sleep upon her again and thought harder. There was a pang of sadness that it had to do this. It felt like drugging their own child. But it was for her own good.

Their good. She would see it when she woke.

Soon they would remove this other being from them and then perhaps they could act.
 
They were three now. Jirou had gone.

But perhaps...they were truly just two.

Lazule chastised herself. Made Caliane's face grimace without a concerted effort or even being initially aware of it, a notable testament to the progress her body had made. It was cruel, monstrously cruel, to be wishing for this. She valued Caliane's life. Yes. She did. She did. Caliane had aided her in the Gilded Vale, and in Bhathairk selflessly vowed to keep her safe and deliver her to Father's Tower. She was a good soul. A good soul. It was sin to kill they who retained the sanctity of personhood. It was murder. And what Lazule wished for was tantamount to it.

Yet the yearning to know the soulfire, to nurture it, to gain all the insight she could from it, all of these were overwhelming temptations.

A foreign sadness, one day. Not Lazule's own. Caliane's? Or the soulfire's? Did the soulfire wish to communicate with Lazule too? Was this sorrow on account of Lazule and the soulfire's inability to do so? Was this it? Did it feel as Lazule felt? Was it alone too?

A despair. Mild, but tangible. Lazule could not rid herself of all her curiosities of the soulfire and the associated ill-wishings concerning Caliane. This was not the path of the Slayer. This was not righteous. These thoughts...Lazule could now understand in a new way why Father's mantras were so rigid. So black-and-white. Flawed as they were, they ensured purity. A clear distillation of being, unencumbered by debilitating complexities.

She had to not lose sight on the objective, the purpose, in being here. Why she had been incorporated into Caliane to begin with. To be carried safely to Father's Tower, in which she could assuredly be installed into a new body. This the generous gift from a friend.

Focus. Focus on this. Only this. Make it your purpose so clear.

Lazule, currently, was standing in the safehouse's open plan floor of the downstairs. Flexing all Caliane's muscles in a systematic fashion. Checking their functionality. Noting pain or trouble or general errors and irregularities in their usage.

And she attempted to keep her mind on this simple task. For Father's Tower loomed, their arrival imminent now that Caliane's body had recovered, and...Lazule did not know how Father would react.

She had not seen him in ten years.

* * * * *​

A crow awaited Erën's arrival back at the Monster Hunter safehouse. It was perched on the front door's handle. Its head and eyes unerringly watching his approach.

It spoke. A female voice (Khorvayne's voice, though he would not know it), saying simply, "You are alone."

A cocking of the bird's head.

"Aren't you."

Eren'thiel Xyrdithas Caliane Ruinë
 


He still resisted sleep. Gods knew he needed it, but the cool wind and water had done well to invigorate him. Perhaps the prospect of bleeding himself dry in the river had given his heart a jolt as well. He did not fear death. It did not startle him to imagine not being - not anymore. But the realization that he was not yet ready, not yet done. That did, or rather, his willingness to let go did. He almost longed for it. The peace that he imagined it would bring.

But perhaps, he thought... they would all be better off like that. It had always been, long before the Eventide came - the whole world had always burned with the fires of malevolence, and greed. It was not just his people who suffered. It seemed no matter which corner of the world he visited, there was always need for those of his sort: who live, and die, by the sword.

Maybe everyone would be better of with, real, peace.

Better off dead.

Thoughts of his daughter, guilted this thinking. If she were here, would he still think the same? Perhaps not. As he walked back from the stream to the safehouse he found himself wondering, just what kind of life would she have lived? What kind of life had he lived, since the shadow fell?

"You are alone."

A cocking of the bird's head.

"Aren't you."

He slowed to a stop. His eyes fixed upon the dark fowl. You are alone... The words echoed in his mind, and spun for a moment. He felt a familiarity here, something recent that he could not place. Like A Shadow that followed close behind, or passed jist near.

"Who... are you?" As he spoke, his composure returned, "speak!"

 
  • Yay
Reactions: Lazule
The Fire felt and watched Lazule experiment with its body with a sense of jealousy. It wished too to be able to control the limbs but that was not how this partnership worked. Curiously it attempted to mimic the movement - after all this Lazule as the male kept calling her, was a fire. Similar to them. She should not have been able to control the body surely?

Briefly it brushed against the other ones conscious, copying the thought process it took to move a limb and very slowly it seized control of one arm. Caliane's left arm shot out, palm facing outwards towards the male elf and the bird.

Victory! A sickening smirk curled at the winged elf's lips and her green eyes vanished, replaced with the heart of a star.

The surge of triumph was quickly followed by a ball of fire. This was no tame small orb that Caliane had used to conjure. This had no abandon to the care of others around them as large almost as her own head. Caliane would survive and that was all that mattered to Them. The fireball shot towards the crow in the window.
 
The crow kept watching Erën. Little jerks and twitches of its head in that particularly avian way.

"You need not be," said the voice from the bird.

The crow adjusted itself on the front door's handle. A small flap of its wings to regain balance.

"My name is--"

And the front door of the Monster Hunter safehouse, the humble cottage, was blown open by a fireball from within and the bird vanished in the gout of the flame following.

* * * * *​

Lazule felt an anomaly in Caliane's body. Certainly an irregularity. As she was moving Caliane's left arm, it felt as if it were easier to do than previously. Akin, perhaps, to having small wires assisting in the upward movement of the arm--

It moved on its own. The arm. As did Caliane's mouth. Smiling. Another irregularity in Caliane's eyes, though she did not know what it was: merely became cognizant of some manner of change.

Caliane? Was she back?

Lazule had no sooner wondered at the question and the answer to it when a fireball, conjured by no voluntary effort on her part, formed in Caliane's outstretched palm and launched toward the door, blowing out the wood and setting the whole of the jamb in flames. Which...would be a problem.

And Lazule simply stood there. Mild surprise and brimming curiosity swirling in her mind at what just happened.

Erën. Was there. Outside. Dangerously close to the impact of the fireball.

"Oh. Hello Erën," Lazule said, somewhat sheepishly. A beat passed and she added, "That was unintentional."

* * * * *​

Elsewhere in the mountains, a murder of crows swarmed together near the ground and coalesced into an inky figure and the blackness leaked away and there stood Khorvayne.

She looked at her right hand. Or, rather, her lack of one. Perfectly missing at the wrist, small tendrils of steam rising from the injury.

She hated when this happened. Nothing annoyed her more than minor inconveniences.

Erën. That was the elf's name, she having heard it through her observations from afar and while formed as a murder of crows. He was so...susceptible. So primed for the right kind of invitation, the gentle beckoning to delve into the dark. He had lost so many of his fellows in Bhathairk. Killed two others more recently, as Khorvayne watched with a set of avian eyes from a tree.

Yes. He was ready. And the prickly fact that the bird she had been talking to him with was killed before she could tell him her name and then leave him with a yearning and a voluntary way in which he could pursue further contact...why, that was rather frustrating.

No matter.

There were other ways. There were always other ways.
 
"You need not be," said the voice from the bird.

Shock riddled his features, and he took a weary step forward. He examined the bird carefully, his displeasure at its being there slowly melting into intrigue.

"My name is--"

He was taken aback when the door burst into pieces, blown apart from the force of...something. He drew his arm up to shield his face and he took a step back to make himself thin to the debris that came hurling toward him. Small pieces peppered against him, the largest of the pieces flung aside to either flank - luckily. His shirt was singed and marred with burn holes, and his skin was lightly seared before the embers reduced to ash. He let out a hushed groan at the pain. Lowering his arm he inspected the threshold. There was a rolling plume of smoke for a moment which parted for his gaze to pass through.

His heart jumped at the sight of her, excitement surging through him before dwindling into a quiet recant. He loathed himself a moment, before breathing a deep breath and replying, "Lazule, I am pleased to see you about."

Over his time hunting down Zeng in their quest to put and end to the Ancient Dweller he had come to understand her mannerisms quite well. Likewise his time spent with Caliane after their encounter with a wendigo had given him a similar insight. During their time traveling to the safe house and his brief interactions with Lazule as she dwelt within Caliane's body he'd come to notice the differences - or at least he believed he had. And so far he believed, he had not spoken to Caliane since...

His eyes followed her lines, and saw her skin still scarred with the fissures of glowing red - though dimmer now. But, he offered a smile to her and the bow of his head as he approached and stepped over the wreckage of the door. They'll deal with that shortly. As he stepped through the threshold he looked back, debating whether or not to mention what had transpired just before Lazule's little, accident.

But something stayed his tongue. Something, compelled him to keep it from her - for now. It startled him. The words still resonated and swirled in his mind, snatched up and dragged into the chasm left by the Soul Forge to echo throughout that blackened pit.

"My name is..."

What? What is your name?

Who are you?

He turned back to her, doing well to mask his turmoil under the confusion of the destroyed door.

"How are you finding..." his eyes fell down to her feet, and then back up again - struggling to find the proper words, "...things...?"

 
The control it had taken for the fire to perform an action had meant that enough of its attention was focused elsewhere that Caliane could... breathe.

Whilst her body had healed the sheer exhaustion from performing such a feat had hit her in the core of her very being. If the fissures looked bad on the outside then the inside was a gaping maw of hell. Every thought was scrambled, waking painful and tiring. She got flashes every now and then from her Soulfire, coaxing her to let it do what it wanted. To go forth into the world as one. It was like a small child trying to convince its mother that ice cream was a suitable substitute for a proper dinner. It brought her sweet memories, it brought her jokes and gentle caresses. She was too tired to respond much, her whole being exhausted beyond words. But that single finger she had had on her power before she had hit the Amalgamation clung on.

Of course Cali knew the fire was not helping her to regain any sense of her body. Here in the depths of their being and her in her weakened state, It had the upper hand. It would never kill her, it loved her in its own way. But it wanted her to itself like a fiercely jealous lover.

When it moved away from her to try and work her body her mind, though groggy was able to focus for a minute. Enough to see what it was doing, what it intended to do next.

ENOUGH!

* * *
The fire was disheartened it hadn't hit its true target; the other elf. Its aim was off. It was a hard thing to be both the pilot and the firepower. It hissed and swirled, anger and frustration rising. The fissures grew as the fire attempted again to wrest control of the body. This time it managed both arms. Using Cali's memories, when their blessed angel had first began to use them. Truly use them, love them. This was the first stance she had used.

It hummed with the memory. It would remove those in her way like it had tried to do with that wretched friend of hers.

The fire began to grow again in the palms of her hands, her focus very evident on the one they called Erën. It would raise the whole cottage to the ground if need be.

Just before it had a chance to throw itself forward they felt her.

Too late.

Her will slammed down hard and the flame guttered, the glow from her skin vanishing, retreating further inside, rushing to try and smother that rebellious strength before she became too awake. The force of both the will and the fire retreating would send the body to its knees from the sudden emptiness of both.

* * *​

Too soon. She had woken and exerted her strength too soon. Her mind went black once again.
 
Last edited:
How are you finding...things...?

"My efforts and experimentation in becoming familiarized with Caliane's body have been largely successful. She--I'm sorry, her body, to clarify--has also recovered to an appreciable extent."

Even as Lazule was saying this, the fissures on Caliane's body stood in stark contrast to her words. Lazule, only vaguely aware of something new that was amiss, continued to speak as though nothing were wrong. Once she finished, a furrowing of her brow--Caliane's brow. Oh. Lazule's eyes trailed down to look at her hands, neither of these two things truly belonging to her; this, evident by the now rising fact within her body--her shared body--that a conflict was escalating.

Lazule regarded the fire forming in Caliane's palms with a kind of devoted and endeared fascination.

Then, like a door being slammed shut, every current anomaly abruptly ceased. The fissures expanding, the glowing thereof and from her skin, the flames in her hands, all of it. This along with a drastic reduction in the body's ability to maintain posture and balance--and Lazule could do nothing to avert this.

Lazule in Caliane's body dropped down to her knees, said in a calm, matter-of-fact way, "Erën, I believe that I may need your help. Erën. I think I'm...oh yes, I am certainly--"

And Lazule, as anticipated, fell forward. Flat and ungraceful was the motion.

"--going to collapse."

And she lay there almost completely helplessly on the floor, like a puppet detached from its strings. She took a moment, pondering.

"My assessment may have been premature," she said, her face having turned to the side during her fall.

She did not know what caused this sudden regression. But that sense of conflict, it seemed far greater--simply more--than the internal struggle of one being. That was to say, the soulfire may have been emotionally conflicted about something...but this explanation seemed insufficient to the other.

That it was a conflict between the soulfire and Caliane. That Caliane may have tried to come back from her torpor. And at this, a renewed conflict within Lazule herself: that joy of a friend's possible recovery and well-being, and that grief of witnessing kin suffer a misfortune.

No. Focus. Focus. The purpose of getting to Father's Tower. Of acquiring a new body, one whose spirit had already departed, and thereby was possessed of no ownership. This. Only this. Allow for that joy for Caliane's sake.

"Erën," Lazule said. "We need to go. Soon."

The ring of fire that was the jamb of the cottage's front door was beginning to spread. Unfortunate, that Lazule did not know how to utilize Caliane's command over fire.

Eren'thiel Xyrdithas Caliane Ruinë
 
Erën nodded, uncertainty marking his features as his eyes went from her and back to the door. He winced as the flames slowly spread, thinking he best tend to that. He mentioned how he was pleased to hear of her success and recovery, and then turned to make toward the door. He froze when he heard a sudden thud behind him.

"Erën, I believe that I may need your help..."

Quickly he turned around, urgency on his face and after a brief hesitation he reared himself forward to race to Calaine's -- Lazule's side. He failed to stop her fall and she hit the floor with another nasty thud. But as unceremonious as it had been, she did not express any great pain. He knelt down beside her, and began to help her onto her side and then to sitting upright. His hand rested just there beneath her wings, feeling something unlike the fissures that marred her skin here and there, but he had not the thought to dwell on it just then.

"Well, I'm sure it is a very difficult thing to assess, my friend," he said reassuringly, "now that you are at least somewhat about, I believe we can make the journey. I will aid you, however I can."

There was a certainty in his eyes. This would be done.

He turned back to the door, the flames spreading farther, "give me a moment," he said.

He rushed over near the fireplace where there was a bucket of water set nearby. He grabbed it, and hurried over to the threshold and as strategically as he could he attempted to douse the flames. Unfortunately, through either lack of tact or water it failed to do the task, and continued to spread from at least the one side of the doorframe. He grimaced, looking around for something else uttering, "go out damn you."

Then, without so much as even a gentle breeze the flame flickered and shrank before disappearing completely.

Erën watched the flame die, dumbfounded.

 
We're sorry...

The fire curled around its angel and killed the flames it had caused, hoping this might please her.

Please don't be upset.

I'm not... upset. You go too far sometimes, this is why it has to be this way.

We're sorry...

It's ok. I just need more time... to sleep.

You gave too much to help them.

Perhaps.
 
Lazule accepted Erën's help in sitting up. The weakness in Caliane's body proved fleeting, the result of the internal conflict ephemeral. She sat on the floor, systemically checking the range and ease of motion for all of Caliane's joints: fingers, elbows, neck, and so on. This, while Erën attempted to deal with the concerning fire consuming the door jamb and spreading vigorously from it.

The bucket of water he fetched proved insufficient. But his words spoken in frustration, "Go out damn you," seemed to do something. The correlation in timing did not equate to causation, but Lazule's interest was piqued by this nonetheless.

Possible. That Caliane and Erën had this in common? Control over fire? Lazule's Life Fire, the very essence of her being, warmed at this; she unequivocally adored they who held such command over flame itself. Yet, from her vantage, Erën appeared puzzled. A curious thing, that. How he lacked insight.

Lazule carefully stood up. This was an intriguing distraction, but a distraction nonetheless. Her focus, her purpose, needed to take primacy.

And, to this end, she thought it prudent to at last share with Erën what she knew. For Lazule feared that if she did not, she could perhaps be persuaded by her own wishfulness (or another's prompting) in a moment of hopeful weakness to allow for something terrible to happen to Caliane.

"Erën," Lazule said, taking a tentative step to test out the motion of walking. "I must clarify for you what is happening inside of Caliane's body. She is not alone, and I do not speak of my own presence within her." A brief consideration on how best to phrase it. "There exists another awareness. A fire, like myself. Not...I do not think of the same nature, but a fire. I cannot communicate with it. But it is indeed present."

On to the matter of primary concern.

Lazule took another step. Another. Not specifically to walk closer to Erën, but to continue testing out the functionality of Caliane's body, and it did--at present--seem capable of traversing the final portion of their journey through Brendalgrim and up to Father's Tower.

"Once I am removed from this body...I do not know whether Caliane or this soulfire will assume control. I thought it pertinent to inform you of this. There exists the possibility for..."

Lazule twitched Caliane's lip. Groaned in a mildly flustered manner. Normally, she was one to--when she did speak and decide upon telling the truth--say exactly what she meant to say. No revision of her words to soften through obscuration their true meaning for the purposes of protecting the listener's emotional state; or, colloquially, "sugarcoating."

Odd. That the urge to sugarcoat her words on Erën behalf was so strong. A symptom, perhaps, of living in the world without seeing it as stark black-and-white.

So she began her last sentence again, saying, "There exists the possibility for a difficult situation to arise."

* * * * *
Khorvayne had her left hand held out. And she waited until a bird, a normal bird of Arethil, was tempted to land and perch on it.

She let it.

And crushed the bird in her palm. Smeared its blood on her face. A necessary component for her far sight.

Eren'thiel Xyrdithas Caliane Ruinë
 
Erën stared plainly at the scortched portion of wall and the smoking jamb. He'd uttered words, but none with any weight. He had no call over fire - the only experience of any sort like that had been during their battle with the Amalgamation, when his sword erupted in brilliant blue fire. He had no sway over fire like this.

He turned back to Lazule at her beckoning, explaining to him in greater detail the situation she faced. The mention of yet another presence, startled him. At first he failed to understand, but then as though the mention of it sank in the memory came to him.

He saw Caliane's face, leaning into him. Her kiss, and the eruption of strength that had come with it. The feeling that sprang forth, dancing across his skin and splitting it into fire scars. They burned, but they did not pain. There was warmth, and it was only a soothing warmth. But behind it all, beyond a veil so shrouded he could not hope to see he had felt, something. Briefly. And then she'd withdrawn...

"There exists the possibility for a difficult situation to arise."

A situation.

Well, with everything that had transpired throughout the previous week, he supposed he could handle one more... situation.

"I understand," he said. It was certainly an overstatement, as he truthfylly did not fully understand. But he did know that they could not be left as they were, and if he had any hope of speaking to Caliane again then this task must be done. He only hoped that whatever it was Lazule spoke of, it would not hinder Caliane's return to normal once their seperation was complete.

He had made that wish, after all.

Quickly, he gathered what things of his he still possessed. It as little more than his cloth, some mail, the plate for his arm and his sword. He also had the addition of the sword he decided to take with him, rather than leave to waste in the presence of his fallen comrades, just downstream. He garbed himself, and made way to depart.

"Let us then make haste," he started, and then stopped before turning back to look to Lazule. But, he only saw Caliane.

"Let me know, if you need anything," he softly said, before turning to depart the cabin.

T'hell with the door.

Lazule Caliane Ruinë

 
Why do you hate us?

I do not hate you. I am... scared.

We would never hurt you.

But you would hurt the people I love.


Silence.

Because you are ours. We do not share.

If you want more freedom you must learn to.
 
Good. It was good that he understood. Violence was an ancient fold, drawing in both the willing and unwilling alike, often swiftly and without warning. If the difficult situation in question did in fact occur, Erën--and Lazule herself--could not afford to hesitate. Within the domain of Violence, two simple tenets took primacy over those more nuanced: Harm, or be harmed; Kill, or be killed.

They might not need to kill Caliane (and the soulfire), but they might need to harm the body sufficiently to subdue it.

A preparedness, a readiness--however grim--would be required prior. Reluctance would predetermine the outcome.

Erën went to gather this possessions. Caliane did not have much to speak of. It had to be noted that she, since the fiery slaying of the Amalgamation in Bhathairk, maintained an appreciable difficulty in remaining clothed. It was one of Father's many words of guidance that clothing was essential to one's decency and dignity. Lazule heeded his words out of love and respect, banished her own doubts and misgivings about clothes from conscious thought thereafter--until her Breaking. But even before then, she was not perturbed about her own nakedness, should it be seen, as opposed to the average man or woman. Her calmness and abiding in Rebecca's presence the proof.

But, going to Father's Tower now, Lazule acknowledged the logic and the clear benefit to being clothed; best not to further aggravate the uncertainties of seeing him again after so long a time apart.

Hence, the heavy cloak now wrapped around her body. With readily visible difficulty, Lazule folded Caliane's wings such that the cloak could cover them and as well cover the rest of her body. She did not know which Hunter had left the cloak in the cottage, but his or her generosity would by necessity have to be "paid forward," as some people said.

Erën awaited her.

Let me know, if you need anything.

Lazule nodded with Caliane's head. "I will."

And they were off.

* * * * *​

Brendalgrim.

A small dwarven village built on a relatively small patch of flat ground in the mountains. A village of about five hundred or so inhabitants. Quiet, secluded, full of dwarves making a hard and honest living in the nearby mines. Once, like all the lands of the Spine, Brendalgrim had been plagued by sporadic monster attacks, even simple incidents of territorial aggression from said monsters but also beasts.

Not in more recent years. Not since the Archmage Benjamin "Father" Murtry had established his Tower in the steep mountains to the village's western periphery and not since Benjamin lost his daughter, Lena, to a werewolf prowling the Spine. Not since Benjamin created the Life Fire known as Lazule through the willing sacrifices of his wife and his four sons--Lena's brothers--in a righteous and vengeful effort to unleash a Slayer, a Hunter of Monsters, on the creatures so terrorizing Arethil and of which that werewolf had been a part. And not since Benjamin had continued to make such Slayers, creations of various magical and eldritch and alchemical and conjuring means, within the arcane laboratories of his Tower, now staffed with devoted acolytes from the College of Elbion and the schools of Alliria and even escapees from Vel Anir's Dreadlord initiative.

Brendalgrim enjoyed a wonderful peace living in Father's benevolent shadow. They supplied him and his staff with food and essentials, and Father in turn provided security and labor assistance for the working dwarves and their families. Many of the dwarves of Brendalgrim, similar to Lazule, had taken to calling him "Father Benji" or just "Benji." There were indeed a few sons roaming around Brendalgrim having been named the very same in Benjamin's honor. Not one word of ill would be spoken of him by Brendalgrim's villagers. Not one.

As Erën and Lazule approached Brendalgrim's periphery, two stone gargoyles flanked the dusty path on either side, standing sentry just outside the perimeter of the village.

"Those are..." Lazule said, eyeing the gargoyles as they drew closer, "...unprecedented."

Lazule herself, having been gone from the Tower for ten years and not having returned until now, was entirely unaware of Father's endeavors in the interim.

The gargoyles watched them both with extreme precision. Exacting turns of their stone heads to watch their arrival. They did not react to Caliane's body in any noticeable way.

Within Brendalgrim, the paths were paved with meticulously carved stones in that uniquely dwarven fashion. Most of the dwarves were out working in the mine, such was the hour of the day, but there were a few--mostly women and children--who walked the village's path and took genial notice of the newcomers. Cordial waves and hails of "'Ow you doin," from a few. Lazule smiled and waved back, but did not speak to them.

"To the west, at the mountain's base. The footpath begins there," she said.

High above the village, the Tower stood clearly in view several hundred feet up the mountain. That watchful monolith, that stalwart protector, maintaining vigil.

Eren'thiel Xyrdithas Caliane Ruinë
 
His eyes dwelt upon the tower. There was his mark - and with it carefully honed into his scope, he would have it. This was his focus. This was his duty. But not to storm the keep of some dreary malevolence - he presumed (he hoped) - but to go in search of much needed aid. To beg for it if need be. To kill for it. To die for it. It would be done. But, Lazule had seemed benevolent enough, surely the same could be said for her Father.

But, the sight of the stone gargoyles was enough to agitate his instincts, and though his hand reached for his sword, he did not draw it free. The first move was there to take - and there was no small relief when they did not choose to capitalize on it. But he watched them from the corner of his eyes, even long after they had passed.

Unprecedented...

Even trapped in the body of another, Lazule had a way with words. Of this he could say with certainty. He usually enjoyed her observations, but sometimes they unsettled him.

Just how much had this man changed since Lazule had last seen him?

The demeanour of the villagers was a small comfort, but a fleeting one. Erën was no fool. There were many tricks to be played on the minds of Men and Dwarves - yea even Elves. To him, at least - it was all far too joyous. Perhaps he was simply far too jaded, and biased from a life of grief and hardship.

He hoped that was the case.

"To the west, at the mountain's base. The footpath begins there," she said.

He nodded, examining their surround for followers. He nodded to passersby cordially, but offered no words.

"I will take point," he said, pledging to take the brunt of any unforseen attack. But, there was a hint to his tone...

Over the course of their journey, though he did his best to hide it, he'd become increasingly agitated. Thoughts flooded his mind from each angle, each one pulling at different strings. Thoughts of the battle; the brutal Amalgamation, Lazule's terrible injuries and subsequent merging with Caliane.

He felt that if he had not been so weak, so powerless, that he could have defended Lazule. Or that he, instead of Caliane could have taken on the beast.

That he, not her, would suffer from such terrible plights.

The sword, now hung at his hip - a mistake. Even just its present weight served to do nothing other than taunt him with images of the battle he'd fought. The friends he was forced to slay.

After all of this, he needed to make sure it had all been worth it...


"My name is..."

What?

...what is your name?

...who are you?

Caliane Ruinë Lazule

 
Last edited:
Caliane had given Them a lot to think about. This was the most conversation they had had since the days before the Great Fire. They put her back into Sleep and instead resolved to watch these people she claimed to love. Could They love them too? They seemed too weak to be deserving of Her love. Only They were deserving of that.

These... friends had failed to protect her.

They had let her fall.

Yet... she still loved them. Perhaps, she could love Them again too.

A small tendril of hope sparked in the back of their mind.
 
I will take point.

"Yes, that would be ideal," Lazule said. If there was some encounter unforeseen up the footpath, it would be best with Erën in the lead, given the capacity for an episode of irregularities and general unreliability of Lazule's own handling of Caliane's body. She was only just becoming accustomed to the wings, as evidence of the aforementioned unreliability; if a situation arose in which flight was required, both Lazule and Erën would by desperate necessity discover just how high the latter could jump with a winged woman on his back.

The walk through Brendalgrim was not long, for the village of some five hundred was appropriately small in scale. A group of dwarven children hung around the outer edges of Lazule and Erën's proximity, following after them briefly, giggling and remarking things in a hushed tone like, "Visitors! Travelers!" and "Wow! Look how tall!" and "My pa says that axes are better than swords."

Then Lazule and Erën passed the last two homes at Brendalgrim's western periphery, and the footpath was there, immediately slanting up into a steep grade up the mountain, with many switchbacks causing it to curve and wind back and forth all the way to the Tower at the top.

The path was narrow, allowing only for Erën and Lazule to walk in single file. Brendalgrim below them quickly became smaller and smaller as they ascended higher and higher. A mostly dusty and rocky ground became ever more so covered in lasting snow and the chill of the air increased with the altitude.

And, on a few separate occasions, whether ahead of them when the path was straight or just around the turn of a switchback, gargoyles stood sentry. Watching them with exacting gaze, as had those positioned down in Brendalgrim. None of the gargoyles made any aggressive movements. But they observed with sharp, glowing arcane eyes.

* * * * *​

During the hike up the footpath, a crow cawed from somewhere high above.

A caw which, curiously, only Erën could hear.

For the sound was not truly real.

This happened once. And then no more.

As of yet.

* * * * *​

After some twenty or thirty minutes up the steep footpath, the trail evened out and became flat. A veritable shelf of sorts carved into the mountain upon which the Tower had been constructed. The mountain's snow-capped peak rose even high off to Erën and Lazule's left, but they were high enough that the air was thin and retained a ceaseless frigidity. Brendalgrim below but a small and distinct dotting of buildings among the undulating foothills of the greater Spine range.

Father's Tower was thicker at its base, tapering into a thinner spire toward its upper heights. And the large, ten-foot double doors at the Tower's front awaited them.

As did a Granite Gargoyle, much larger and more physically imposing than the others in Brendalgrim and along the footpath, this behemoth standing guard in front of the doors. Like the others, it watched them approach, the sculpted stone of its body creaking ever so slightly as its head moved to regard them.

Lazule touched Erën's arm with a light, reassuring touch. However, she did not specifically know for whom the reassurance was meant.

"STATE YOUR BUSINESS," said the Granite Gargoyle as they came within a few paces of it. Its voice an imposing product of purely arcane means; no outright hostility in it, but no humanity either.

Lazule faltered for a moment, hesitating. Then she spoke with a renewed resolve, saying, "I am Lazule. Father's first creation. And I have come to see him."

The Granite Gargoyle did not respond favorably nor unfavorably to this. It was unclear whether her words were even acknowledged or not, given the gargoyles solid and unmoving expression.

The Gargoyle's head turned slightly. From Lazule to Erën.

And it said to him, "STATE YOUR BUSINESS."

Eren'thiel Xyrdithas Caliane Ruinë
 
Stepping up the narrow path, from time to time his eyes sank low to assure him of his footing. From side to side, ahead and behind. Diligently maintaining a concrete awareness of the surround. A twig snap grabbed his attention, likely a rabbit or a fox. A scurrying sound there - definitely something of the sort.

Then a crow's call, and his head turned up. He humed, suspicious of it's presence, unaware of where it came.


A deadly stare was placed firmly upon his features. As the Tower came into full view, and they stepped onto the plateau, it was as though a blanket had descended upon all that was before them. He drank it all in, forming an intimate understanding of where, when, how he should react given a various assortment of potential situations. Emotion was swapped for logic, and all matters of chaos quieted under a dutiful order.

As they came before the Gargoyle, his demeanour hardened like the stone of the figure before them - but he took a passive stance with Lazule's reassuring touch. His right hand rested lazily over the hilt of the sword on that same hip, with the other hung freely at his side. His eyes narrowed at the sound of its voice, measuring its intent - it seemed empty. Like a message, set to repeat.

It regarded him now, "I am her escort, to ensure both her willing entry, and departure."

If looks could kill, then the stone creature would have crumbled to dust. It was nothing more than a delay to his eyes - one that despite the focus he'd invoked... stirred a distant ebbing at his frustration, from deep within that hollowed pit.

 
  • Bless
Reactions: Caliane Ruinë
They fed her a memory as they watched her Sleep, one eye on the proceedings outside.

She was so lost. All she could think about was how her father was going to be cross that she had gone too far beyond the boundaries he had clearly set for this reason. But she had just wanted to see a little more, a little more beyond the meadow. Now she was alone and the dark was creeping in. Her mother had told her all manner of stories of what lurked in these woods but she hadn't listened. She had thought herself brave enough to handle them. The young winged elf sat down on a rock and began to cry. They were the sobs of a child truly anguished. Horrible, heaving things that ruined the young girls pretty little face and turned it red with distress and pale with fright at the same time.

Alone.

The thought had been crippling.
How could she had forgotten how crippling that feeling was? But then, in the darkness, she had sensed it. It was a small thing. A tiny little flame in her very soul but it had spoken to her and burnt away the tears on her cheeks. It had given her courage and a promise, that no matter what darkness she found herself in or monster she faced, she would never have to face the horror of being alone again.
 
The Granite Gargoyle guarding the front door of the Archmage Benjamin Murtry's Tower stood its ground. For an agonizingly long moment, it stood, seemingly heedless of the words it had demanded Lazule and Erën to speak.

Then, the Granite Gargoyle spoke, "THE MASTER WILL RECEIVE YOU."

And the animated creature stepped aside, beside the front doors, appearing as a stone statue once more when its brief movement came to a halt.

* * * * *​

Lazule knew that Father was not a God. She knew that. He was a mortal man. A human man very much like all the others she had encountered during her long travels and her short life.

And it was easy to think this while not in his presence. For to be in his presence was to be in the presence of he who had created her. Lena, Adela, Zachariah, Ulric, Liam, Elijah, all who had died were necessities in Lazule's creation, but it was Father who ultimately made it so. By his hand she was brought into being from nothing. And for this she harbored a unique and eternal gratitude, and this elevated him beyond the common flesh and blood of other human men into something greater.

Father was not a God. He was a mortal man.

But he was the mortal man who had given her everything. And this sheer fact was terrifying and awe-inspiring and the nexus of a love that was utterly irreplaceable. A love that had been challenged in the time since her Breaking, but love nonetheless.

And now she was on the precipice of seeing him, Father, this Man among men. Again. After so long.

So she trembled.

Trembled under the anticipatory coalescing of emotions, those familiar and those unfamiliar, and thought it possible she might cause Caliane's body to vomit or faint from the gathering stress.

* * * * *​

The front door of the Tower did not open for a long while.

Then a sound. An unlocking. And the doors opened of their own accord. Slow and exact, the ninety-degree turning of each door.

And he stepped out from the Tower and into the chill of the high mountain shelf with his hands folded behind his back and with a hard and stern regarding of Caliane's body and Erën.

Benjamin "Father" Murtry.

proxy.php

He walked right up to the two of them. Shifting his gaze squarely onto Lazule, a focus so intense that he seemed to have made Erën vanish from his perception by willpower alone. A precise scrutinization of Lazule, of Caliane's cloaked body, from her red hair down the length of the heavy cloak wrapped about her form and to her bare feet--which produced a brief expression of disdain from him. Then back up.

His first words to Lazule, level but tinged with a certain accusatory coldness, "What happened to my daughter's body."

"It--"

Lazule with Caliane's hand gripped at her chest, her heart, as though she were struck by a sudden pain. Father had, with a minor twitch of his finger, encapsulated Lazule's Life Fire within his command of pyromancy, applying an arcane form of undeniable pressure on her very being. A reminder. Of the unflinching discipline he expected of her. Of what he could do in an instant. Of how Lazule was to address his daughter Lena, even in death.

"She..." Lazule in Caliane's body appeared to recover (as Father released his magical hold on her). And she, with a great and strained effort stemming from the overwhelming emotions boiling within her, finished with, "she was destroyed. In Bhathairk. By a great monster called the Amalgamation."

"Has this monster been slain."

"Yes, Father."

Father nodded. Turned his gaze and the whole of his attention onto Erën then, as if he had winked Lazule out of existence completely. Said to him, "So you aided Lazule by installing it into another body. Well done. It is a valuable asset in the righteous purging of wicked monstrosities from Arethil."

He studied Erën for a moment.

Then asked, "But why have you brought it back to me? Is this current body deficient?"

Eren'thiel Xyrdithas Caliane Ruinë
 
It had taken every ounce of will for him to keep from loosing his sword. The sight of Lazule's discomfort, as well as Caliane's he could only assume, angered him greatly. But, he stayed the impulse - knowing full well of its folly. Had the Father persisted beyond what he had, then the elf might have reacted a bit more, rashly. At least his stare had already long been twisted into a frown, likely betraying little of his compulsion.

...do not test me...

Then asked, "But why have you brought it back to me? Is this current body deficient?"

Deficient...?

"Hardly," he snapped, "it is the one whose body Lazule now resides who slew the great beast. It was her, not I who preserved Lazule - for which I am grateful."

And he meant that. He continued, his tone easing as he recalled the memories.

"It was I who withdrew her from your daughter's body, but, I was injured... and the case was damaged... Caliane, she took Lazule and through some means I do not know, protected her.

"But Caliane... is still alive.

It is not the same as it had been before."