Private Tales I am Thee, and Thou Art Me...

A private roleplay only for those invited by the first writer

Volker

The Man of a Thousand Souls
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Character Biography
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Cerak At’Thul was where Oor came to nurse his wounds. Chaceledon was fully capable of long and bitter verbal fights with his captor, and when push came to shove, Oor had no issue beating the dragon down. But the stinging of Chaceledon’s words lingered long after they’d faded, and put the wraith in a foul mood. Volker accompanied him to drinking and whoring involuntarily, as a bodyguard. He stood outside rooms quietly as Oor took his fill of girls and boys available for such uses, and stood at the ends of bars while he drank.

Above all, Volker aspired not to be seen. Felt as a presence, yes, but being seen caused problems. His steel face mask was there to protect and intimidate, and marked him as a member of the Volker family. He hated it, but here? In this moment? He’d never missed it more.

Oor had gotten drunk and mouthed off, and had put Volker up against another slave. The wraith held Volker’s knives in a withered fist, forcing his slave to use teeth and punches to tear his opponent to pieces. His opposition was a large, muscular slave, thirty years younger and a foot taller.

To Volker, such things didn’t make much of a difference, but the other man was taking a long time to die. Volker had easily dodged his heavy swings, and he was bleeding from several bites to the face. To his credit, he’d figured out getting anywhere near Volker’s teeth in a grapple was a bad idea.

Volker could hear money being exchanged behind him as the fight wore on. He darted in and seized the side of the other man’s neck. He was close to the jugular when the other managed to tear him away. They were both tired, bruised and bleeding. That was what both masters wanted. Bloodshed. Other slave owners had tuned in to watch, of course. Volker and his family had reputations. They wanted to see how he fared.

It was quick. Volker wove his leg around the other man’s and pulled. The other was too tired to stagger, and fell on his back. Volker seized his throat, and held. Like a pit bull, nothing could disentangle those jaws. He let the other man struggle, until he felt the veins between his teeth go still.

“Ah! Take it! Fucking useless!” The other slave master threw the money at the cackling wraith.

“Teach you to call my slave old. Listen here Rheinhard. Get me to bed. Then take the night off. I don’t give a damn. Just be breathing come morning.” Oor snickered, and held out his arm for Volker. Volker helped him up, and slowly made their way back to the rooms Oor had reserved for them. He helped the wraith into bed, and went outside. He put the face mask back on....

Oor didn’t like his dog running around without a muzzle.

Orion Spawn-Of-Man
 
"There is no place on this world for a being like me"
Wild amusement. That's what danced and trotted it's way through his mind every time that little thought shot up to his brain for a fraction of a second. Why was that something he constantly felt a need to remind what was left of himself? It wasn't as though it were anything he wasn't acutely aware of already.

No, he was Spawn-Of-Man, and Man no longer.

He was once human, and now the remnant of such a being. His power... His magic... tore at every fiber of his being constantly. He felt it like his skin was being peeled away slowly.

He was the culmination of all of Man's thoughts and sins in one mind! Eons and eons worth of dead speak in his ears and push him forward, spurring him to add to their ranks!

None would stop his righteous path, none would step between him and justice! None would--

FOCUS!
Searing pain. He brings a hand to his temple and collects his thoughts, like discarded sticks on the side of the beaten path. There it was again: The briefest moment of awareness. Where was he right now? Where had madness taken him next? His eyes hidden behind a thick mane of ebony locks, he looks up at the familiar city that lay ahead of him.

He was home. Cerak At'Thul, city of slaves. Gods above, how long had it been since he'd last set foot in this godforsaken pit of hopelessness? Ever since his father had died, he no longer had reason to visit. He despised the gluttonous lifestyle that those in power held so comfortably within those walls.

What part of his fractured spirit had led him here? What facet of what had once been his mind had deemed this trip necessary?

Did it matter?

He began to move forward, trinkets hanging from his neck delicately clinking against each other as his old, blackened cloak billows in the winds that seemed to flow from every miserable soul in the cursed place he approached.


And with every step, his sense of self faded again. For when Janus Carrux was consumed by the tremendous potential that had once made him loved, he became somebody else. Just like a troubled spirit finds solace in the bottom of an ale, he would allow himself to sink into the deepest recesses of his mind.

So he who approached the gates now wore not a somber expression upon his rugged features, but a wicked smile. He was nothing but a slave to his own illusions now, a shell that was once human. Death had refused his call for help, and there were none who could cure his mind. On the contrary, those who saw him now would see him held aloft by arms that weren't truly there, rising from the ground as though the Hells themselves offered him a throne.

How was he to know that such an interesting being stood between him and his home now?

Volker
 
Volker bought some water, and a bowl of noodles that looked more like worms swimming in greasy piss. Either way, Oor wasn’t likely to supply him with better fare and it filled his belly well enough. He roamed quietly, working out the bruises and hitches in his gait from the fight. Gods he ached. He was getting too old for this. All of this blackened misery begged for something to take the edge from it.

Volker ignored the bars and opium dens. He was forbidden and they did a number on the Well besides. He hesitated by a house for pleasure slaves briefly. His vice was contact. Volker wanted to be touched and treated like a normal man. Less so sex, as he had been forbidden that, but more so connection and intimacy. What he would give to curl up in the arms of another for only a few hours. He sighed, and moved on. That, like so many other things, was forbidden.

The older brawler soon found himself near the gates. He looked at them. Freedom was right there and a more foolish creature would rush to grab it. His leash was invisible and buried in his own skull, and both he and Oor knew it. That was why he was allowed to wander while his master slept off drink.

Orion Spawn-Of-Man
 
Those who guarded the gates of the city were underpaid, and overworked, so even if the nightmarish vision of a dozen trolls storming towards their post was real, they weren't about to put up much of a fight. The sound of their weapons against the ground was quickly followed by their panicked yells as they retreated into the city to flee their impending demise.

Orion watched them leave with the warmest of smiles.

Of course the trolls weren't real. They were just another wild illusion spawned from the anomalous human, so wrapped in the magic that once made him renowned. It was trolls this time? That brought a little smile to his weathered face, he hadn't thought of trolls in a good long while.

How quaint.

He strolled through the gates with only a small limp in his step and a wild, badly tuned song in his mind, to meet the man on the other side. Well, what was left of him. The thing that he saw watching the gates was less man and more meat that drew breath. Orion could see it clear as the sun on a cloudless day, that this gagged fellow's spirit was lying somewhere in the pit of his stomach in pieces.

Like a shadow against the air, he squats low to be on level with the man, locking eyes with him. He says nothing, only silently inviting him to come closer and see what would become of him if he did.

Volker
 
Volker watched the gate. The guards were settled in boredly, and then as quick as a flash in a pan were running and screaming. But from what? Volker snorted and crouched, drawing a blade and keeping his eyes peeled on the gate...but nothing arrived except a man. A man with the stink of magic on him, but a man nonetheless.

He walked right up to Volker, who tensed and gave him a warning growl. He wasn’t looking for a scrap with a mage, especially not with his face bruised and the hitch in his breath. He was hurting, and needed a good day to recover. His warning wasn’t aggressive so much as defensive. He sure as hell wasn’t striking the first blow.

Instead of coming at him, the man stopped and squatted. They stared at one another for a while, both unmoving. Volker silently sheathed the knife and approached carefully. His blades were still in range, but this one didn’t seem liable to kill him immediately. He leaned forward, nostrils flaring behind the muzzle to get a better look at him. He tilted his head.

Feeling brave, Volker touched noses with him gingerly, then drew back.

Orion Spawn-Of-Man
 
It was barely there, the brush of contact that the older man made with Orion's nose. It was as though the wing of a butterfly had grazed him softly, before fleeing to find a tree to hide away in. It gave him a small little smirk, just barely smiling at the interaction. This smile turned larger, growing into a full grin. It inspired him, the curiosity and bravado of the act...

He sprang to his feet, looking down at the new friend he'd made. "I see you. Brother. You're kin of mine, yes you are."

He spins, his arms outstretched as if he could reach out and touch every building and heart and mind in this damnable city at once.

"You've been waiting for me, my good friend. I see you now, rotting away in this den of sin. Tied to a tree and left for dead, bound by rope that this existence leaves you too weak and frail to break by will alone."

His hands move to his chest, and he clutches at the black cloak he wore tightly, looking up into the sky at nothing, but addressing this poor soul before him.

"I am the knife that can cut those ropes and free you. With the love in my heart, and the power of my mind, I am going to bring this town to the ground very very soon. Only when it is a smoldering heap, will I dance on it's ashes. For all the sin that I birthed was planted in the ground and took root here. Only when it blossomed did the Gods see fit to strike me down.

He extends a hand to the crouching man. Was he insane? Did the things he said make no sense? Or did they make more sense than they should?

"You're kin of mine. I see you, Brother. Take my hand, fellow Spawn. Let's free you from this city."

Volker
 
Volker snorted and stood sharply when Orion did, hand flying to his blades again. He didn’t like quick movements, and his eyes were glued to the other man. However, his intentions weren’t hostile. Quite the opposite. He relaxed, slowly, watching the other. Usually people thought he was the strange one. Not anything close to kin. He was intrigued, and he had to admit a bit enchanted by the handsome creature throwing his arms to the sky.

He looked back at the city. Briefly. How angry would Oor be? Did he really care? His master was here to be drunk and fuck toys he could afford, not to babysit Rheinhard. He was a wraith, at the end of the day. He could take care of himself.

Volker cautiously took Orion’s hand. Did he mean it? Was it so obvious that Volker was a slave here? He had hoped for freedom for a long time. He had thought hope doused by his miserable existence. Yet, he savored the touch of someone who declared him a friend within minutes of meeting him. That small bit of contact meant the world to him.

Orion Spawn-Of-Man
 
He closed his hand tightly around the weathered, but firm grip of his new associate. The smile so haphazardly plastered upon his features would soften a bit. This poor soul was so alone here, so starved of affection. Just as everybody without a coin to their name was. It made him sick.

Volker would feel a warm comfort running through his body, seemingly flowing into him from Orion's hand. Then he would feel them, the loving hands all across his back and shoulders caressing his skin as though reassuring him. Six faceless figures seemed to silently display their adoration of his endurance, heads tilted towards his face. Should he meet their gaze, they would take the faces of those important and dear to him. Their bodies shimmering and flickering in the dim light of the town. They loved him, and they were here.

Illusions though they were, nothing but falsities born of Orion, he would feel every bit of warmth from their body.

Orion himself leaned in, looping his broad, muscular arms around Volker's neck and pressing his forehead to his own. The pallor blue behind his eyes seem to spark with the fire of a man who knew exactly where and what his purpose was. His voice came out like soft velvet, gently coaxing it's wish from Volker.

"Your so-called 'Master'. The one who stops you from leaving. Where is he now?"

Volker
 
Volker dropped Orion's hand as though he'd held a snake, drawing a blade and whipping around to search for those whose hands had been on his shoulders. He hadn't seen them coming, why hadn't he seen them? Or heard them? Or smelled them? Had this man enchanted him so quickly? He backed up swiftly, baring his teeth behind his mask and snorting loudly. This man's face was morphing into...something. What he didn't know. He couldn't identify a face. He survived with others. His family survived in his head, but they were men bound together by a united hatred, not love or affection. Most of them born of rape and unwilling couplings, slaves from birth and slaves until death.

His normally emotionless face was shaken by it. All he could see was Chaceledon's face shimmering in and out of the illusion. The only man he cared for, and cared for like a mother. The dragon and he were brothers in slavery. Volker was shaking. He hadn't experienced illusions like this and he wasn't sure whether to run the man through or just run.

Instead he let him embrace him, and let their foreheads touch. He blinked, looking into those eyes. The hug was welcome, the touch even more so, and he was bound to that soft voice. No one had touched him with such gentleness.

"He is asleep." he said softly, leaning in to the forehead touch in spite of himself.

Orion Spawn-Of-Man
 
Slowly, with the lingering touch that one gives to a dear friend or lover, his arms slide from Volker and he stands tall before him. Spreading his arms wide again, he calls down to him in a deep, powerful bellow. "Rise. No longer will you be hobbled and hunched with the restraints of a man chained down. Today, you shed the title of 'Man'. Man has shunned you, man has twisted you into something beyond their comprehension. Man has spawned you, and so you are Spawn-Of-Man."

The figures around him raise their hands towards Orion, echoing his command. "Rise!" They repeat in unison, over and over again. A ray of light, as if sent from the heavens themselves, seems to shine down on the two of them, the reflection making Orion's eyes shine like two suns set in his face as he watches Volker.

Should he rise, one of Orion's hands reaches out and rests itself on Volker's forehead. His mouth hangs open, tongue darting out to run across his bottom lip as his gaze narrows. His touch was gentle, but there was strength behind it. While Volker's body had slowly begun to lose it's reliability over time, Orion was young. He was strong and rugged.

"We leave as soon as you're prepared, Spawn-Of-Man. What is your given name?"

Volker
 
Two thoughts ran through Volker’s head. The first, that he would have to get used to the inordinate amount of sudden shouting. Rise? Rise where? He was a war dog, and he would always be a war dog. He didn’t have any insane hope that this man had shattered Oor’s hold on him with mere words. For that, he would have to gain control of the Well inside Volker’s head. At the moment Orion thought him only one man, instead of several hundred men crammed into one body.

He felt the other man’s hand on his forehead. Nonthreatening but strong. He liked the contact. But this man was...completely insane. And that was coming from an aging homosexual with his entire gene pool in his head who regularly ate people.

Rheinhard Volker. My name is Rheinhard Volker.” He said quietly. He did want to be away from here...and this man was handsome.

Wasn’t he allowed a small bit of freedom, if only for a few days?

Orion Spawn-Of-Man
 
What Orion thought Volker was unclear, but it was obvious that he didn't see him the same way he looked at the rest of the world. What he saw was life that had suffered as he had. Life that could be given renewed purpose if allowed to blossom. This person who stood before him, whomever claimed to 'own' him, or any life, was Orion's enemy. There was no place in Orion's Arethil for slavers. Regardless of what was to happen next, Orion would be dealing with this master of Volker's in due time.

"Rheinhard Volker. You may call me Orion."

He removed his hand with a gentle pat of his palm against the man's skull. Orion was quite insane; His mind was in a constant state of flux, weaving in and out of reality, pulled at the seams by the overflowing magical energies that the man once known as Janus had built up over years of magic over-use. Magic had driven him mad.

"What if I were to tell you that my name holds weight in this city? That I could very plausibly earn your release? Have you heard of the Carrux family? Prominent slave owners here, half of those owned here were sold by them."

Volker
 
If Orion only knew the depths of pain in Volker’s heart. Of all the men in his head. He could speak truthfully to say watching his mother rot as she swung from the rafters, if only to get away from him, was the least of the sad tales in his head. Nevertheless, Volker was lonely. He appreciated Chaceledon’s companionship, but the dragon was excessively high maintenance and judgmental. Orion seemed to just accept him, though if that was a byproduct of madness Volker couldn’t say.

Orion withdrew his hand, and spoke. Volker shook his head. “There is no earning release from this. The Well must always have a master. Currently, he is the one who holds the leash.” He said. The mad thought struck him to offer the leash to Orion. It was a leap of faith. A mad leap of faith. But it would mean severing ties with Oor forever...and perhaps finding some semblance of freedom.

At the risk of being shackled to a man utterly and completely insane. “But the leash can be given to another.” He looked at Orion, the implication clear. This could be worse than Oor. No, nothing was worse than Oor. This one at the least had a disdain for slavers. There was a chance he could find a more suitable master later if this one didn’t suit. It would hurt, tearing the bond away, but was it worth it?

Orion Spawn-Of-Man
 
How curious. Every time the madness touched Orion thought that he had a grasp of what this curious creature was, he said something else to make him take great pause. Well. A well is a collection or storage unit, and this 'master' that Volker Spawn answered to was this well's master in addition? No, it was more likely that the well was Volker Spawn himself. Yes, he'd heard of basic concepts relating to such possibilities in his studies of the soul, while searching endlessly to find a remedy for his own downfall.

"There is so much more to you than meets mine eye, Volker Spawn. You're even more unique than I initially believed. So fascinating, that word you use...'Well'. I wonder if that could mean one of the possibilities that come to my mind..."

In Orion's shambling mind, he had thought an obvious solution would have been to pay this master of his a visit. Orion had no qualms prying open the eyes of the blind to make them see his truth. Sometimes, if you loved something, you needed to hurt it. Hurting is the only way that you can watch it heal correctly.

He already enjoyed Volker Spawn's company, but he sadly would not be altering his ways to suit the man. Orion sat for nobody. Hopefully, it couldn't come to that.

"Who you give the keys to your kingdom to is not my concern. That choice is yours to make, and no matter your decision, I'm leaving soon. I just came back to this putrid place for a sermon. I came to collect on some old debts and settle some grudges."

Volker
 
Volker tilted his head. The other found him fascinating in the same way that he did Orion. Orion was mad, and that was clear, but mad in a way that recalled his own. Could he really throw stones when he’d had his share of raving lunatics in the family? His great grandfather was an obsessive killer. His own father, a lunatic of elephantine proportions.

No, he had no space to judge Orion even if he was iffy on that nickname. He nodded at the idea of collecting on old debts and grudges. That at least he could understand. “I will come with you, then.” He offered, standing, and waiting patiently. “Then we will leave this place.”

Oor would be livid.

Good.

Orion Spawn-Of-Man
 
Orion would tilt his head back at the man, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. So, he would have an accomplice in his activities. That was all the more fun to him, for in numbers lie strength. "You rightfully think me mad. It's true, I've left much of what was once in my head behind. I only pray you do not take that to mean I know exactly what I'm doing." He closed his eyes, feeling himself drift away in his own madness once more. "Hundreds of voices that aren't mine, that don't exist. They come from my own creation, my own ambition to push the limits of reality until I saw it bend."

"My desire to unlock life's mysteries instead stole life from me. My spirit is dead, and now I wonder how much damage I must cause before somebody graciously allows my body to follow suit. When I die, will I no longer feel these invisible claws tugging at my skin, threatening to peel me apart? The thought is so invigorating and I.."



FOCUS.
He again snaps out of his stupor, and turns to Volker with an apologetic bow. "Yes. I have a bit of an affliction. My apologies for rambling." Without a word, he turns and begins to walk deeper into the city, beckoning him with a hand. They were moving towards a spot Volker was likely all to familiar with; He'd just had a rather nasty fight earlier tonight there, hadn't he?

He only hoped that the intriguing man wouldn't think less of him when his true intentions came to light.


Volker
 
Volker watched him for a moment. Hundreds of voices that weren’t his? He might be the one man who understood Orion’s condition better than he thought. “I know what you mean, but death is not the easiest of sleeps. Take it from men who have felt it a hundred times over and will do so again.” Volker told him, and followed him without a word. He strayed closer to Orion, bumping with his shoulder a bit just for the contact and closeness.

He frowned at the area they went to. He could still see spittle and blood on the floor from the earlier fight. A bit of his own, but mostly the opposing champion’s. He could still smell the metallic tang of blood in the air. “I fought here.” He told him. “Just last night.”

Orion Spawn-Of-Man
 
Orion didn't seem to respond to the contact Volker went out of his way to seek, his eyes set forward as though they could not be moved from his goal. There was a drumbeat in his ears, louder and louder as he approached what was now an arena. It was nothing more than a glorified depravity display for the rich, and as they entered, he walked briskly to the center and lowered to a knee. His fingers traced through the bloodstains on the ground, remnants of life itself splattered beyond the lines of reason.

He spent at least half an hour in the arena. At first it was difficult to tell what he was doing, but it became clear soon that he was drawing something on the ground with a ball of chalk. Every line was exact, each corner sharp and precise as though he'd drawn it a thousand times.

"I will imbue this rune with my energy. The next time combatants are forced into this place, all hell will break loose in the minds of all in this arena. It will be the last time they dare tread here for some time. My reality will tear this place down render it a memory..."

As he spoke, his fingers traced the shape he'd drawn, and the chalk began to glow a dim blue light. The exact nature of what he intended for the rune to do was unclear, but it sounded as though they wouldn't want to be here for it.

"Come, Volker Spawn. I wish to make a detour, there's something I want you to see."

Volker
 
Volker stood quietly, and waited. After a good ten minutes it became obvious that Orion wished to spend some time here. He closed his eyes, and sank into the Well. it was a dark swirling hole, with several doors sitting on the periphery. Above his head millions of mirror shards swirled lazily like fish in a pond, forever circling.

“What the hell are you doing?” Nestor marched up to him, snapping a book shut. “You’re following this man you know nothing about! Practically drooling! Ergh! Do you think he gives a single damn? Or even knows what’s happening?”

Volker glared at Nestor. “I am not trusting him openly yet.” He said quietly. “But he is beautiful.”

Nestor gave him a disgusted look. “Pull yourself together.” He snapped, looking down his aquiline nose at his descendant. They both had the same blazing blue eyes, though Nestor was taller and more slightly built. An academic rather than a bruiser, but no less deadly. “Pay attention. We’ll see you tonight when you sleep. Aluid is already giggling about you sleeping with him.”

Volker withdrew from the Well with a sigh, opening his eyes and watching Orion stand from drawing his rune. He approved of his plan...but Nestor was right. He needed to be careful. In spite of himself, he leaned in and touched noses with Orion.

“Show me.”

Orion Spawn-Of-Man
 
Orion wiped his hands of the remaining chalk that had collected on them, bits of it falling like snow to the ground beneath him. His trap was set, and this arena's fate sealed. His head turns towards Volker Spawn, who almost seemed to be in his own world, interestingly enough, his eyes closed and breathing slowed.

Orion had every intention of taking him from this place, and he was not oblivious to Volker Spawn's physical attraction to him. Orion admitted there was chemistry between them, if not only due to their somewhat similar afflictions. Orion hadn't felt love in a romantic sense in a long time however, and it would take more than his fellow "Spawn-Of-Man" or so he considered him, to change that.

No, Orion's love was twisted, tainted with darkness. He loved a world, Arethil, that had condemned him and left him behind. He loved this world so much that he wanted to watch it suffer and feel his pain. That, or end his own pain. If somebody would silence his haunted head, he'd be ever so grateful. He'd lost count of all the thoughts and emotions that kept him awake, never quite fitting.

Volker approaches him as he awakes from his meditative state, and presses his nose to Orion's. He smiles, placing a hand on Volker's shoulder before leading him from the arena. They were headed for the center of the city, where those who worried not about living another day lived. The further in they walked, the less dirty and broken everything seemed. Dilapidation and disrepair slowly turned to organization and cleanliness, and Orion pointed to a particularly tall building, that seemed to reach to the sky like a giant black set of talons.

"There. I grew up there, the Carrux estate. Not many people know about the secrets that building holds..."

Volker
 
Volker quietly followed him toward the city center. He had been here before, and as he gazed up at the black tower, he nodded. “I know who lives there. You were a slave then...you were bred to serve, the same as I.” He said softly. A powerful and evil thing, as oppressive as a stormy sky. He hated that black building. “Both of our tormentors chose black granite.” He noted. Witherhold, deep underground, had a similar forbidding feel to it.

He looked at Orion. “Yet you are free now and stand before this tower without fear. How is that?” He asked. “Did they free you or did you free yourself?”

Orion Spawn-Of-Man
 
Orion looks over at Volker, his expression changing to one more somber than anything else. Perhaps he wouldn't feel so bad if he truly had been a slave. Alas... that was not exactly the case.

"I'm afraid you are mistaken, Volker Spawn. I was raised not as a slave, but as a Carrux myself. The son of a powerful slaver. I was always free, but I chose to leave this place because it repulses me."

Again, he places a hand on Volker's back, leading them closer to the ominous structure. They did not enter though, instead he guided him around the back of the structure, walking with him around the length of the building until they reached a small hatch built into the rear wall.

He reaches into his coat and procures an old looking key, lowering to a knee as he slid it into the hatch, and it popped open after a brief struggle with a loud 'pop'. Lifting it open, a narrow passageway upwards with a ladder bolted to the wall was revealed.

"Come with me, I'll show you something beautiful."

Volker
 
Volker looked at Orion, hiding his surprise. He was a member of this family? He’d always compared the large slavers to his own master; people who kept their families in line no matter the cost. People who kept power and wielded it like a club on their cowering family members and slaves. Had one of them finally cracked?

He resisted for a few seconds. He didn’t want to get near this tower. His back was tense and he eyed it, deciding to carefully follow Orion. The key seemed to back up his story, how would a slave get a key like that? How would anyone not affiliated with the family get a key like that?

He peered into the narrow entrance, whuffing heavy, bull-like breaths through his muzzle. He wasn’t sure about the scents here. “What do you want to show me?” He asked, hesitantly climbing inside.

Orion Spawn-Of-Man
 
It was no shock to Orion that Volker held trepidation about approaching Orion's old homestead. Even Orion, through the foggy cloud of madness that obscured his mind, held some reservations about being so close to what was once the place he called his home. He considered himself a Carrux no longer, after all. He'd discarded that life and name, for the person they called Janus had passed into the afterlife with the rest of who he had once been.

Showing a bit of compassion, he steps climbs in behind Volker, stepping in front of him once they were in the narrow space. They were pressed rather tightly, but there was room to climb onto the ladder ahead of him. To abate his fears, he would go first. It was the least he could do in return for Volker humoring him with his company.

The tall, narrow chamber that they climbed was silent save for the sound of their feet on each the ladder. Orion's boots were heavy, and went up to his knees, landing against each rung with a solid thud. About halfway up, he began to speak much more normally than he had before.

"I grew up here in this tower, pampered and homeschooled. Life was so easy, and everybody my family owned was struggling so hard. I grew to resent our lifestyle, and I left this city to become a mage. Where we're going now... it was the place I used to go to think when I was having doubts, or second thoughts."

Eventually they reached the top, signified by a second hatch in the roof, which Orion pulled open and climbed up out of, before spinning around to extend a hand down to Volker.

"It's beautiful."

Indeed, the sight they were greeted with was one you would not expect to see out of a slaver city. It was a small outcropping; railed like a balcony so that one could look out over the city from a birds eye view. For a city with so much evil in it, the view from high up upon the tower was breathtaking.

Volker
 
Volker froze when Orion stepped around him. It was intimate in the narrow space, and the feeling of Orion’s body sliding around his to take the higher position gave him pause. He looked up, in an admittedly much better view than the one he had before. He cleared his throat; did this man know how he was taunting him? Or had Volker been alone too long?

He climbed up behind him, and took his hand. He stepped out onto the roof, and looked back at Orion. “I know another much like you, tired of his privileged position.” He mentioned and stepped toward the edge of the tower, looking down. It would be so easy to just...lift his leg and step off of it. No one would know but Orion. Oor would just feel the bond break...then whatever magic consequences came from his death.

He sighed and leaned against the railing, resting his chin on it. “There are times I regret this life.” He said quietly.

Orion Spawn-Of-Man