The Warden's Domain

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Or - because of the power, and the amount of souls he’s come to possess, that may grant him the ability to hold a slightly younger look when he’s not trying to maintain his human appearance.

the   half-beast   seemed   moulded   from   a   different cast   as   he   had   a   stance   uncommon   to   those   performed   by   most   beings.   prominent   veins   and   complexion   enamelled   by   the   sun,   he   radiated   energy   and   wrath,   dominance   and   power.   it   made   him   more   like   a   king   than   the   bastard   boy   he   was   once   named   ㅡ   with   both   loyal   lieutenants   standing   close,   there   were   few   who   dared   to   come   closer   and   engross   in   a   short   interaction.   apparently,   the   newcomers   were   not   quite   the   same.   ❝   it   depends   on   whatcha   want,   in   the   end.   ❞   his   mountain   peak   cheekbones   appeared   chiselled   into   shape   by   godly   hands   albeit   his   vox   seemed   composed   by   the   most   atrocious   hellish   form.   ❝   gold?   reputation?   stress   release?   vengeance?   the   list   goes   on   and   on…   and   there   are   always   reasons   to   return.   ❞   prominent   veins   decorated   limbs   crossing   upon   his   chest,   little   heed   being   paid   to   the   figure   occupying   unwanted   personal   space.   ❝   whatever   is   your   cup   of   tea.   the   question   is…   do   y’   think   you   have   what’s   needed?   ah.   ❞

What he wanted was the whole of the assembly feeding into the monstrosity held captive beneath that human visage.  Thresh could feel the ebb and flow of the souls immersed in events within.  He could sense the depths of this half-Vastayan, and his two Lieutenants standing at his sides.  Read them in ways their bodies could not expose, or hide intricacies of flesh, bone, or personality.

He marveled in subtle expression.  Gave hint to his intrigue over the presentation of such opportunity.  Yet ultimately bends, showing feigned reluctance to get too involved.  What would be the fun in revealing it all too soon?  He could take up camp nearby, and select those that personally tasted the best upon a tongue of immense cruelty.

            HIS FIGURE SPOKE OF POWER.  Not of what kind - political, strength, magic…  It could be any, and Cat would still keep herself pulled back, not wanting to stir trouble that could ultimate end up negative for herself.  While causing CHAOS was enjoyable in a number of situations, there was still an air of caution taken in regards to who she instigated it with.  The thrill was not always worth it in the long run.

      This man felt like he w a s the chaos.

                   “Jus’ ran into someone I hate, is all.  Tends t’rile a person up doing that.”  Answer was honest without pouring into the details.  Mentioning the relation of Copper to her wasn’t necessary for either of them, and really would provide no additional information as the reasonings could be endless for the source of the matter.

         “Hate enough t’wish dead…” Or do it h e r s e l f.

Wished dead she says.  “They must have done something.. truly terrible to warrant such ire.”  He was fishing in a subtle, careful manner.  If she was not forthcoming, he may opt for more aggression.  But in truth he preferred a less.. immediately violent approach with potential long term endeavors.

The end of a well paced plan was always more satisfying than immediate gratification.  Some exceptions were made, of course.  He was not always in it for the long haul with most.

Empty.  Save for one soul occupying the bed.  Alone.  Greeted by an opportunity to find much needed recuperation.  She was granted this much for the first part of the night.  Cyan gaze rewarding her with its absence for a time, until he found his way into her room.  The chair of her desk making a subtle sound.  It’s front facing her.  Occupied then, by a shadow with a strange aura to the flare of his eyes.

Hands nestled into his lap with long fingers interwoven.  His legs; one folded over the other, knees close in with back set straight and refined.  Human features obscured by shades of gray, are middle aged.  Not a peep.  Merely the chilling look upon an expressionless face.

He waits.  Watches.  Biding his time.

                 " Yₒᵤ'ᵣₑ fₐₗₗᵢₙg ₐₚₐᵣₜ. Wₕₐₜ ₜₒ dₒ wᵢₜₕ ₜₕₑ ₚᵢₑcₑₛ? "

                       Independent | Selective | Thresh RP Blog

How then did he hunt for souls?  How then did the tales of the darkness stirring underneath the bed, come to exist?  How did Thresh become folk lore meant to scare children from misbehaving?  Or discourage people from going out at night?

Cling...Clang...Go the chains... Someones out to find you... Cling...Clang...All the chains... The Warden is right behind you... Quick now...The Seeking Chains... Approach with their shrill scrape... Don't stop, flee the chains... Your last chance to escape... Drag the chains...Drag the chains... With all the strength you may... Drag the chains...Drag the chains... Ere they drag you away... Cling...Clang...Go the chains... There's no more time to fear... Cling, Clang know the chains... The last sound that you'll hear.......

If the monster was subdued behind a wall of mists, how was it that he was able to invade upon the world and torment, torture, and consume the people he selected for his collection?

Was it a projection?  A limited extension of his own control of the mists?

The last story I read about Thresh was one where he selected a man, killed his family off one by one, his animals, his children, and everything he cherished in his life and stripped it all away over the course of many years.  And finally, as the man lay dying, Thresh came for him.  Watched his weakened state with amusement, and showed him what he had taken.  The cries of his family wailing from the depths of his lantern.

And with the man’s dying breath, he took his soul, and joined him in the suffering contained within.  To become his prisoner for eternity.

Based on everything, it makes sense he had limited freedom to do as he desired.  And for that, and the unexpected repercussions of introducing Viego to the waters of the Blessed Isles, he became spiteful.  And upon resurrecting him, was further forced to submit.

Thresh... does not.. submit..  Without damn good reason.  He will play the part of a dog, but he is surely no ones pet.  Upon gaining his freedom, and Viego bound in Camavor, he regained everything he had lost... and more...

“ We do not hunt the desperate — it is their betrayers we pursue. ” The Spear of Vengeance had been a we for the best part of many centuries, the souls of the wrong joining her one after the other each time a pledge was accepted. Lady Vengeance, some called her now, not wrong in their assumption; the Black Mist urged her on, like many others – but where some sought the agony of others, delighted in spreading terror and violence or simply hungered to consume, ‘twas her resent that had been enhanced, the rage at being wrong, righteous fury that from then on becoming the mote of her hunt for others ( an endless duty to bring retribution to each betrayer, oath-breaker or turncoat ). “ Betrayers like you. ”

But she knows him – Thresh – both before and after death. A familiar face is enough to stir her, yet it is her name that causes the shift. He speaks of home, and her mind conjures the distant, almost dream-like image of a kingdom now lost to time and forgotten by most. 

The Shadow Isles had never been her home, only her defiled grave.

Her clarity of mind comes and goes like this, recently. Kalista does not yet reign completely, not enough to remain aware of time and distance or even of self, sometimes. Any semblance of clarity, true and lasting, had begun with heart-ache as she had not experienced after death – not until Ledros claimed himself a betrayer, led her to enact revenge she not once wished for, forced her to remember through sheer shock she was Kalista, the Spear of the Argent Throne, and to see that she had killed a man who loved her enough to still try, even after they had been dead for centuries, even after she looked at him with eyes unseen and cold. Powerful though that had been, the effect had not been permanent; only through Viego’s return and quest to once again recover Isolde some semblance of control seemed to return, fleeting as it often still was.

Whatever clarity is regained, her expression is still stern and harsh, eyebrows pressed together in a frown. It is hard to be Kalista on these shores. The land is heavily populated, inhabited by a people given to war and violence. There was no lack of resent; no lack of wanting retribution. Not all of them spoke the rites to invoke Lady Vengeance, but it didn’t matter. The creature she had become was fine-tuned to cries of rage so alike the one she once felt, at the time of her demise.

And near Thresh, how could it be different? No small amount of souls wished fervently for his demise. Eerie blue of the wraith’s gaze only momentarily leaves the oddly human form of the one she knows to be anything but; he is accompanied by a true human this time, a poor fool who would pay dearly for being so trusting. We would help him have his revenge. Would like to, at very least; but there is something odd about the Chain Warden now, more powerful – it is not merely a matter of appearance. 

“ You are far from home as well, Thresh. ” True though that was, she had not come for him ( had she? ). Now, more Kalista than revenge incarnate, she had a moment of uncertainty as to what her goal was. Her eyes lose some of their harshness, replaced briefly by confusion. The warrior tries to shake it off, focusing on him rather than herself, voice no less accusing despite her disorientation. “ Tired of deceiving the usual victims? ”

Long strides brave the effort of invading upon space.  A splash in a puddle with droplets coursed free to linger within the mists about his feet. His clothing refined.  Regal.  An air of superiority dominating broader than before.  More keenly.  Rightfully instilled as was his place now among the unliving.  The lantern pulsates.  Waves of subdued murmurs lost in the anguish of the trapped.  Tiny, ghostly hands clawing their way out, pleading to be set free.

Free.

He had denied her this same quality upon the deception of her unknown beloved.  The man who longed to see her returned, vanquished by tricks.  Cards played in perfect motion to defeat.  He had lay his hand to set it in motion.  Witnessed an opportunity drowned by careful planning.  Successful in keeping her Kalista - The Spirit of Vengeance.  We is she.  How it amuses him so.  But he did not pity her.  Nor deceive in the beginning  The betrayal of Hecarim was simply another nail in the coffin.. And she, a victim of this terrible scheme put into motion by her own.. 

He was simply there to watch it unfold.  And gain entertainment from the cruelty unleashed.

A half smile.  A pull at the left side of his lips with a hint of mirth glimmering in that cold, calculating gaze.  Where steps ceased, he stood at her front.  Tall, and lean with deep brown locks and decor alike hooks woven onto the ends of hair.

“Like me..” Echoed with teeth shone briefly.  Smile reaching his eyes until it melts away leaving behind an unsettling look rested upon his visage.  “I merely assisted him, Kalista.“  One eyebrow lifted in a soft wave, then back down with humor regained in expression.  “His undoing was his failure..  As much as I may.. enjoy... taking credit for it.”

Now the smile grows.  Edges pulled up deviously with eyes partly flicked back in the direction of Bort.  The man a soul, but untouched by the cruelty of his Master.  Human looking yet certainly not human as the people hidden in their homes.

A short inhale with lips hung open; parted just enough in pause to indicate a reconsideration of words.  Fondly so, like he had to draw that extra bit of attention to the fact he would be speaking.  He was always selfish in his ways.  Enjoyed his bravado.  Ego aged by centuries of entrapment, only making his confidence stronger as he succeeded in achieving those diligently planned out events.