The coma had gripped Valborast had been attended most expertly by Captain Selene. No more favourable a place could have been mustered to give him the best chance to survive and wake up again than had been offered to the knight. Selene's assessment upon the man's character was correct, it had been a selfish act he had performed so vainly, one that had been driven by self importance and arrogance that the knight alone could deal with their own problems. And in the end, it had been Captain Helena and
Syr Marden's efforts to provide in such a moment of conflict that had allowed the process of Valborast banishing the three
vampire lords and his own corrupted segment of soul into the blade now known as Riven. A blade that seemed to love the sound of it's own voice as it affirmed it's own existence as a child might wail into the world it had been dragged into. But now it was Captain Selene's attendance that saved him further.
In the darkness and light of the coma situated within the waters that provided such hallucinatory affects to allow survival and recovery at all, Valborast existed in pale, shattered existence. Captain Selene gone above and beyond the call of duty to attend his frame and soul, and afforded him any opportunity to rip himself out of the hallucinatory coma he found himself dwelling within.
Thoughts did not rise at first. Only when the water had subsumed him and worked it's magic for long hours did any flicker of dream or nightmare did stir what remained of his bound soul, so recently fettered by the questionable choice Valborast had committed in spite of good reason, and good faith from his comrades and superiors.
But, the thought that did rise, seemed clean. It seemed pure, like freshly cleaned linen, a freshly polished blade, although somehow, in the dream state, it seemed pale and transient. It was bereft of the usual tinge of hate and anger, and Valborast scarcely recognised the lack of spite that existed within the eddy of his own mind as in the sphere of darkness and light that was his own stream of consciousness, a subflow within the submerged liquid of the Nymphaeum's unique waters so utalised to great affect by Valborast's superior. His thoughts twisted and writhed as a dog might do upon waking from tumultuous sleep, stretching and exploring in measure by measure the empty frame that contained his soul.
The thought that rose was this.
I am alone. I must been the one to be left alive. Alive. Given flesh to command. To wield. Unless the others were consumed leaving me, this. But, I sense great power of the loch, of light. No blood. No blood. The nature of the act I so committed...
Oblivion consumed him again as his frame rebelled against such thoughts, and rewarded his reflection with hallucinations about the events that had lead him to this point. Helena's magic seemed as wildfire, Syr Marden's stablity magic seemed as a aqueduct to be carried away by in great heaves of momentum, Selene's own eyes seemed to loom over his soul in both observation, condemnation and attendance. She after all was his Captain, and such thoughts of others, such concern for the opinions of others, seemed a fresh and bitter pill to swallow.
Valborast's mind muddled through the hallucinations and his frail hands did tremor and snatch at nothing as his mind contended with it's new condition. And bleeding through was a faint echo that Valborast heard now clearer for being so close to wakefulness of sentience, if not body. He heard himself. No. He heard Riven. Changed, yet registered in soul as similar to his own. It called out and he heard it clearly now. It had been thrumming through his bones but now his ears did pick up the intonation.
"I am Riven."
Like a ritual, an often repeated behaviour of the devout, Valborast thought instinctively on the proper refrane.
I am Valborast.
As Valborast thought such a thing, the blade now known as Riven became silent as it picked up on the life force of Valborast issuing such a response internally. It was as if a hound had been barking into the dead of night and the brightness of day for any hint of it's master's return, and in hearing footsteps beyond the door of wakefulness, became silent in anticipation. The blade known as Riven was loyal to itself, and had it's own need to affirm that it was no longer Valborast confirmed. Madness abated for the two of them at this answer and call. The blade's former self, it's original home and keeper of the four souls had answered that it was outside of this new thing known as Riven, and so had no further need to continue to call out it's own name, as if to summon itself, as if to guide itself through it's own incarceration.
The blade Riven became silent as it contented itself with it's own odious thoughts and ruminations as the knight Valborast did summon new fresh thoughts for being free of the background thrum of his own changed soul's echo of self affirmation.
There now was more light than blackness within the dream that Valborast existed within. The hallucinatory nature of the waters still marked him so, making elation and delusion a common experience, but Valborast knew that such terrain was not to be indulged in. While he commanded both light, darkness, and had skirted the very fabric of thirsting madness in his most recent casting of souls and blood, he existed now in a state of peace. A peace that could easily yield his own death should he succumb to the plateau of soothing light that tended his frame, mind and soul.
His body became still once more, his eyes looking from side to side as they remained closed. It was the appearance of one within a dream, with a faint hint that a nightmare was overcome as muscles relaxed and that almost ever present scowl and frown that was Valborast's natural expression was dissipated for virtue of his healing vat. For virtue of being free of the worse elements of himself so weaponised against the hope that his fellow knight might help him.
There would be time for reflection enough within the still cooling waters that sustained him.
Time passed. Thoughts were had. Vows were recited. Oaths reminded. The light was present. Selene's presence was understood. He was not alone.
I was never alone.
The thought carried many meanings. For he had chosen to keep his vampiric hosts, that which he had fed and fed upon in turn in knowledge. And he had denied other knights the chance to help him until that most critical self actualising and self damaging decision. That memory remained of his comrades, his order, his domains of magic, and so too was the knowledge and power he might command of such things. For Riven and Valborast both still carried the faculties and understanding of the weave of magic and the nature of
vampires and blood. But they now carried very different positions towards on how this power might be used. The cool sense of reason and hope now was allowed to grow within Valborast's unfettered soul, at least, unfettered by his overwhelming need to assert his own pride and dominance. He still carried that nature of pride, but it seemed more assured, less hungry to lash out in self defence and bitterness. Valborast thought in these moments before visions granted themselves to him once again, that if nothing else, he was rid of the worse side of himself.
But not the consequences.
Hands tightened and biceps flexed as freedom was sought. Eyes flickered. Shoulders heaved. Not in a sudden surge, but in small measures that grew. Wakefulness was close. Another wave of hallucinations set themselves upon the Crimson Knight as he attempted to ford the river of consciousness, this time without the unudulations and
siren call of himself imprisoned. He was free to think and navigate this place of Loch through his own virtues and desire to exist once again.
He saw Captain Selene's eyes as the canopy to the endless plane of water that he trudged through, his clothes now white and pale, as he fought against the insistence of panic that he was indeed dead, and should resemble in all things an apparition, a ghost.
A sound, an echo of the stabalising and vital source of strength he had relied upon the healer Marden. It reminded him of what he had wrought through assistance of others. But now, he would have to rise alone, shattered, yet unbroken. He thought of his fellow knights. And what was possible, both alone, and with assistance.
He saw the diamond reflection of the water that stretched out forever and thought of Captain Helena's magic, and it reminded him that he had been aided in his effort to create the blade and free him of all malefactors.
Valborast did not reflect on the worthiness of the effort, or how even as he had cleansed and reduced the volume of his soul that he might be rejected by his knightly order. Such things would come if consciousness was restored, he knew.
It's time to face what I have done. I've spent long enough in this state. But how to escape this purgatory?
Valborast's will became still and contemplative. He had been given healing and reprieve. The silence from Riven allowed him to think.
Time passed and many hallucinations were endured. The features of Syr Marden's dog appeared to him in the waters he walked slowly through, and did not bite. They were afeared. Valborast thought to try and alleviate the beast's condition, but considered the madness of indulging in the hallucinations. He had command of some features of the Loch himself, and knew proper etiquette within the domain of dreams and subconsciousness as to not invite calamity against his own stabilising mind. For he was aware that this was a precarious position he found himself, and had he been completely alone in recovering he might awaken at all.
I could call to this...Riven.
Valborast shook his head and stood still within the Loch of subconcious. His physical frame became still as he gathered himself in thought.
No. I shall do this by virtue of what I know. This...Riven, that is to be attended when I am stronger. If at all. If I am even allowed near my former self. I am knight of life, loch and death. I shall summon what I need by virtue that I am good at what I do. And too good at calling out to the damned vampire, and baser instincts of myself. I shall use what magic and...
He hestitated. He thought of himself. He felt a twinge of guilt and expelled it by reciting the mantra of the soldier who embraced death and action in their moments of violence.
Do not regret what you have done.
At least, not in this place.
It's time to stop resting. It's time to face up to what I've done. If I am expelled from the Order, so be it, but I shall serve them in life. Riven, as it is known now, my former self of corruption and vampire lords as one, shall serve the Order. I shall in each deed prove myself more capable than that new existence of corruption at least. After all.
I'm the best.
Careful now as you measure pride against yourself.
Become awake and consider things.
But this was no time for humility, Valborast decided. He measured what was remaining of his soul and his own faculties. He called out first to the domain of loch. He opened the phantom of his soul's hand as it existed within the dreamstate. His physical frame rippled with a tremor of arcane power as it began the process of rousing himself and freeing himself from the containment that had saved him, and threatened to drown him in hallucinatory existence.
“
I'm ready to return to the waking world, in shame or glory I shall resound in equal turn according to the estimations of what is the result of my deeds. I am the Crimson Knight, I am Valborast Valchek,” the knight spake within his mind as he summoned the lore of Loch to guide him away from this dream through confirmation of his own confidence. No longer was it tainted by the colours of blood and arrogance, it was purer than before, although still too reliant on the idea that Valborast himself was far more worthy in his own estimations of power and respect than was actually the case. Prideful, yet tempered, he commanded the orchestra of the arcane at his disposal.
It answered in small measure, for the fact remained that his soul had been torn in two, and the wellspring of authority had been reduced. But the environment served him, and Captains Selene's presence, both in the physical world and hallucinatory one, reminded him that he had not been abandoned completely. There was a chance of ripping oneself out of this state.
Valborast commanded the sphere of life to draw energy to his frame and mind, to remove the dullness of sensation. He commanded the sphere of loch and life so that he might, in traditional fashion of his own specialty, command his blood to race, for adrenaline to pump, for his reactions to quicken, for his body temperature to rise.
At first, nothing came. But Valborast did not lose hope. He remained as persistant as Riven had been in intoning it's own name. For while frustration and anger had been his fuel before, calm confidence and faith that he had done the best thing, flawed indeed, but the best thing to continue his existence as a knight. The power ebbed from what remained of his soul into his spirit, mind and body. The final sphere, death, was not commanded, except in one small measure. He gave out a pulse to check for his own death, and heard the call of Riven respond curtly.
“
You are not dead. Changed instead, as are the others, subsumed. I am Riven,” the blade intoned, that could be heard by Selene in such a response in the waking world as it grew contented with it's former vessel's progress in rousing. It was a reminder of the waking world's presence and distance, and Valborast was given some small reminder of the proximity of things in the real world, as opposed to the world of dreams and loch.
The blade became silent and obedient, and loaned no further strength or co-ordination. For none had been asked further by Valborast, and Riven was brooding over what master it should serve from the Order. For loyality remained within Riven to the ideals that Valborast had in wholeness, but tempered by vampiric inclination and power. But Riven remained silent and kept it's thought and intent now to itself. It would wait for questions from another to state it's piece. It knew it's own existence to be solid and that it had been recognised by it's former self. That was enough for the both of them for now to communicate no further to each other. They understood each other's need to be singular creatures of pride, although they were shaded and illuminated different by what nature of soul lingered and animated ambition.
Valborast's frame shuddered. Motion was enacted.
Valborast, inch by inch, as the domain of Loch and Life did aid him, rose from the vat of healing water. He shuddered, and through a monumental force of will, opened his eyes.
Light and darkness swirled around his vision, and no magic did leap and spring from his own command of it. It ebbed away from him in this moment. It was a faint summation of arcane strength, more an affirmation that he could control his own blood and power, reduced as it was, as was his virality of his mortal frame. He grasped the edges of the vat, and was unsure as to what he saw. Hallucinatory visions still pervaded him, but he felt himself breathing, gasping and choking, as if this was his first true breath in some time. His lungs ached, his body ached, not from exertion, but from being so inert for so long.
Valborast breathed between chokes, calling out for outside stimulus beyond himself...that wasn't Riven.
“
Captain? Captain Selene?” Valborast called out weakly as he was under threat of being subsumed by the pervasive hallucinations that danced before him, visions of black blood, of fire and water, of Selene's eyes above him that burned with the power of moonlight, of the echoes of what was said before. In this moment of wakefulness, he saw the exact lines from his book racing up as they assaulted him. As his complete self wrote in scornful tones of the vampire, and threatened his confidence with the despair that he had, for all his purposes, ignored his own advice. The words scrolled up in flashed that marked everything he saw in this moment, and he snatched upon one phrase in particular that repeated continually.
The words that Valborast saw and marked the waking world were in glowing crimson upon the surface of all things, even any figure that might approach to his dulled eyes that were dilated and hungry for any other source of true light.
'To know of something foul is not to invite corruption into one's heart, it is does not tarnish; it is an act of education that broadens one's horizons, a resource to be utilised to prevent said warping of vocation and integrity to the soul. '
Valborast refused to turn away from them, to fall back into the tank for fear of the truth.
Another hallucination consumed him now, a memory of the past engagement with the one known as Petra. Knives assailed him, lightning crackled from a blow that seemed impending to his sternum, all echos of his combat with Petra. But the Crimson Knight did not try to defend himself, for he was tempered by both the knowledge that this was but the domain of the loch, of dreams, hallucinations and his own memories betraying him. His body sought to fling and fight, but he kept his grip and tried to hurl himself out of the vat.
“Captain,” he said more imploringly, although the words to ask for help were denied to him as he contended with the hallucinations. He felt himself at the edge of consciousness, and was torn between both world by proximity of the water. His hands firmed about the edge of the tank, determination without anger, grit without hate.
The eyes of Selene, both hallucinatory and imaginary, were entirely consumed by Valborast's own words, and Valborast's strained frown returned as his own eyes tried to blink away the hallucinations which threatened to drag him back down into the waters forever, where he might never have the strength to return to the land of the living, the land where Riven waited, watching, curious, silent.
Selene
