#anunendinggaze

With graceful hands and full hearts they had come for in the ruined room of the Rest, taking bloody hands and slumped shoulders in their strong hands. Leading her by the cold corpse of her fiancé and the stern glares of the law. Slippered feet padding gently through the pools of blackening crimson that had long since stalled around Warbright's blonde hair, the former white robes splashed and sticky from the icor of the man's throat. The sight would make any sane person's stomach twist, perhaps in disgust or maybe anger or even just shock at the disgusting display of violence.

Fayle said nothing.

Fayle did nothing.

Fayle was nothing.

"Poor lass, the shock of this will never be without," whispered one of the healers as they finally exited the room and entered the hallway. The shocking smell of briny copper fading into a dull wafting cloud about the woman that left a scrape of a footprint behind her as they ushered her along.

They didn't go far of course, Dunelle's Rest was not a large inn or even the town of Kindness being that large either. A big city crime for small town community. Mouths would chatter and tongues would wag faster than a dog with a bone.

It would get uglier before it got easier.

Fayle just stared.

Fayle just walked.

Fayle just listened.

"Let's get this off her," spoke the first healer, an older woman who had seen more graves than births than she cared for in this last decade. Her fellow healer a one eyed elf, nodding softly as he gently reached to try and pull her robe off before a housekeeper rushed in.

A swat of a hand brought scowls from both professional's as the housekeeper stood her ground with a fist held like a mace as she growled. "Tha lass has just gone through hell, an ya think a man is gonna be good to undress 'er? Go on outside. I'll help wit the cleaning, you just wait til yer ready to offer some more o' tha Light to brin 'er back."

The elven man looked perplexed at this, his mouth gaping as he looked to his older partner who just shook her head. "I'll handle it. Fetch the oils and candles, we'll set up the vigil once we're done."

After years of living in the cavern the expedition had hoped people would get wiser about the work followers of the Flame committed too, but even at the other end of the world old world views still held strong as steel. It was annoying for those trying to do what was necessary and it was ludicrous for those still hanging onto what they had left behind.

Muttering to himself the elf exited, closing the door behind him as the pair of women guides Fayle toward the bed in the room.

Fayle stood silent.

Fayle stood still.

Fayle stood as stone.

The healer and her new assistant were quick to peel the soiled robe from her body, the housekeeper with sorrow etched on her face while the older healer was grim as midnight. Their eyes were quick to survey the woman for signs of violence, but she was clear. No bruises. No cuts. No trauma to the body.

All the heart.

All to the mind.

All to the spirit.

A warm washcloth was dipped into a basin of water as they began to scrub over the new widow, each woman solemn in this wretched task as the caked blood was peeled off and wiped away. The work was steady and gentle, neither wishing to cause an episode to explode from her at the wrong time. The last thing they wanted was to add to the trauma. The housekeeper sang softly an old tune that the healer recognized as a gentle lullaby that many a mother sang to the frightened child. The healer found herself singing along as well as they finished cleaning up their charge, her heart remembering times long ago when she had calmed a babe or two from the roar of a highland storm. It made her smile despite her current work.

Fayle was cleaned.

Fayle was dressed.

Fayle was guided.

The housekeepers calloused hand would gentle stoke the hair of the broken woman, her face sad and discouraged to see her so. A romantic heart ached for the tragedy down the hall, a fallen lover turned to terrible madness wrought upon that which he cherished most. It was like the stories she had heard in the common room when a bard shuffled his way among the townships to sing and balladeer to the farmers. She always cried at the end of them, much like she was now as she turned away dabbing at her eyes with her apron.

The door to the room would creak open carefully to reveal the elven man again, his one eyed gaze switching between the pair of them before he did his best to keep his tone in check. "May I come back in?"

The older healer would nod as she waved at him to join her by the bedside as she gently laid their patient down. The elf would nod as he kept his vision ahead and away from the weepy housekeeper who passed by on her way out of the room again. She knew her place was not within this room as the hospitallers would truly get to work on healing the woman.

Candles were arranged gently about the bed, each one set with reverence and respect to the power that guided the people of Hallowfall from the time of the Beledar's return to it's inevitable retreat. The long dark was nothing to joke about, but the fierce power the Arathi felt in their hearts for the light and the Flame would never falter or fall. They were too strong, too proud, and too loyal to ever believe the Emperor's vision would stray from the righteous path of the Light. The healers were well versed in this as much as they were versed in the medicines they produced to heal the sick or injured.

This malady though was not for stitches or poultices.

This malady needed strength.

This malady needed faith.

This malady needed courage.

A small stick from the fire was used to light the candles as the flame produced lightened the room even more, the shadows retreating as much as the cold from the warmth they all produced. The click of mail would crash like a long missed ocean as they knelt beside the bed, the gentle thumps of the elf's gauntlets before each healer would place their hand on one of the widow's. Their heads would bow as they began to focus and channel the power they felt all around in as much the physical light as they felt from the fires of their heart. There would be no sound but for the gentle whipping of candlelight as each hospitaller knew what they prayed and knew each would say to stoke the flames of this long battle into healing.

Fayle said nothing.

Fayle did nothing.

But Fayle felt everything.

And she was drowning as much as she was screaming in pools of violet.

"Flames guide us from this cruel moment," Pilous whispered as he did his best to not linger on the corpse. It was unbecoming considering the circumstances.

A knight was meant to be valorous and true, not a degenerate and violent. Apparently this was lost on the former on the floor. His fiancé deserved better.

The body had cooled for some time, but the air of death was long to linger within Dunelle's Rest. Nearby the investigator, Ser Astrin Von Flambren, stood silent in the room smoothing his mustaches as he continued to assess the body before him. Ser Astrin was the closest thing Dunnelle's Kindness had to a constable and had been the first to be called upon the discovery of the attack and murder. Murder was likely to ruled out considering the scene that had been discovered by the porter a few hours ago, but there were protocols that needed to followed and questioned. Such a dishonor would bring more than a mere stain to the township, it would bring a lot more harsher question of what was going on out here and no one wanted that inquisition to be called.

Sergeant Fayle Breakwrit had been assaulted by her fiancé this afternoon resulting in a multitude of tragedies.

A betrayed romance. An appalling assault. A violent result. An ugly investigation.

The elder knight did his best to ignore other nearby guardsmen of Hallowfall who stalked with wary eyes filled with as much pity as disgust. Ser Astrin could relate, easing into a crouch near the large man to further delve into what may or may not have happened.

Disturbing was the obvious consensus at this point.

Warbright had been a man of the Flame, an Arathi fired in the crucible of their highest orders and serving without fail for the last decade since the beginning of the Emperor's vision. Steadfast, sure, and strong to the Light he had been a soldier of a pious nature who would do anything for the good of the community and it's wayward people. Though they had never met before in person, Ser Astrin was certain of the man's righteousness. Or should have been.

Now he was a dead man with a slashed neck and a steak knife rammed through his jaw out his nose.

"Messy, but thorough," muttered Ser Astrin as he shook his head.

"Ser Astrin?"

The elder knight looked up into the face of the very much younger Pilous. Where as the old leaned into their younger forefathers, the young seemed to take to the older side of their people. The contrast was common but hardly unnoticed by pointed ears and tighter brows. Ser Astrin did not mind.

"Pilous." Ser Astrin replied as he slowly stood up with a rattle of his chain shirt and swinging morningstar. "How is your patient?"

The hospitaller shook his head softly. "No change I am afraid, the trauma of the attack has left her without voice or sound mind at this moment."

Both men looked back as Pilous ended his short assessment. "It is if she is a million miles away."

Ser Astrin shook his head grimly and settled his thumbs to hang from his thick leather belt. "A tragedy is an understatement on what should be a happy occasion and union of these two. Was there no indication of a growing rift or violent nature between them?"

"Nae, as far as anyone had known or said they were of a gracious and noble coupling that brought great cheer to these parts," Pilous answered sadly. "My regret is not knowing them better so as to perhaps see the signs of this dark shadow clinging to them."

Ser Astrin raised a hand to stall the man, shaking his head to add much needed emphasis. "Do not dwell on the 'should have', we may only now deal with the 'what is'. And what we have is a man dishonored and kin broken."

"Do you think this could be related to the Night?" Pilous asked quietly. Rumors of the traitors of the Empire had been swirling within many a common room lately with whispers of a madness claiming those closest to the Light when the 'darkening' would come. The hope of the collective had been that the Order was on the out with the death of their leader Aelric Leid, but fear planted strong roots in even the most stalwart.

Ser Astrin was silent.

Pilous would finally ask the question on all minds. "What are we to do?"

The knight would begin to stroke his mustache again, an act some might construe as a nervous tick but the older man would vehemently retort as contemplative. Regardless it always lapsed into awkward and long pauses to action.

"Ser Astrin?"

A hard snort of the old man would finalize his decision, no matter his dislike in it's simplicity. "Gather up the body and get it out of here. Quietly. Gossip is the last thing we need regarding a fallen member of the Flame. Dishonored or not, the optics will not be good for the smallfolk to find one of his stature to fall like this."

"As for Brightwrit," Ser Astrin continued as he looked back to the dull witted woman in a torn robe and soaked in blood. "Let's try to get her cleaned up and comfortable. Hopefully she will come out of it as we work but for such a thing to happen is highly understood for her current condition. If the Flame deems she will come through and we will get the truth from living tongues than still knaves."

Pilous nodded softly as he looked from the body and back to Fayle. "Poor woman."

"Indeed, no bride should bear the weight of a widow in the same day," Ser Astrin murmured softly as found his head built on a swivel of disgust at the incident before them.

Hospitallar Pilous and Ser Astrin kept their gold tinged eyes locked on to the still woman who sat with unblinking eyes, the former handkerchief long since floated to the floor. Her hands were caked with the drying, black blood of her former betrothed as it stained her wedding dress into a shawl of mourning. Her face was flecked with the same bits of blood and gore from her short black hair to her rounded chin framing a pair of dull violet tinged eyes. There was a strangeness to her that made both men uneasy to stare to long.

The beautiful, settled peace about the grim flat of her mouth spoke volumes.

Dash lifted his head from the door and pondered the lack of reply to his calls. His blue eyes drifting up to the top of the frame as he waited, straining to see if he could get anything from the minuscule gap from where he stood to the treasure within. There was a flicker of movement and the smell of roasted meat from the midday meal but no sound of steps or words to answer his own. It was comforting to know that his fiancé was within, but also terrifying to the plethora of the wild imagination of the unknown.

His smile began to falter as he felt a familiar grim line of his lips grip his face as his hands came to brace along the sides of the door-frame as he strained further to hear. The knight knew that fear should never define him as the woman within was as capable (if not more than) to take care of herself in the event of danger.

For the last decade they had fought side by side in the expedition of a lifetime thanks to the vision of the mighty Emperor himself. Swords raised in unison to the shining light of the Flame they had left the Empire behind for distant shores to support and fulfill his vision of victory for their people. They had been a happy time as the sky was filled with light and joyful cries for the host as they boarded the Third Fleet set to the victory horns of the Old Kingdom. None had forgotten the ringing in their ears at the bellow of their might as anchors were lifted.

None had forgotten the storm that grasped the fleet either.

A cruel moment in time as those former cries of his people's hope now turned to the horrified screams of his comrades lost to the open air.

But not all were lost in life.

"Fayle," Dash's voice grew stronger now as he spoke. "Please open the door. I need to know you're alright."

Why was his heart beating faster? Hallowfell was a safe place or at least as it could in the light of Beledar and the watchful eye of his comrades within the Sacred Flame. True there were 'unsavories' among who had lost their way and outside forces from further within the depths of Khaz Algar, but they were hardly alone now. Allies from the surface had arrived and brought greater hope to the stalwart of the remaining expeditionary forces. The crash had cost so many lives but never faltered their faith in the light or each other.

With each new victory they had been brought closer to peace. And with peace could bring new beginnings that had had to wait.

"Fayle," Dashell spoke louder again as his hands grasped the handle of the door and he began to push to try and force his way in. Why was this making him so uneasy? They were knights of the Sacred Flame, they had faced all manner of beast or monster in these caverns together and apart. Apart was always worse in the uncertain years as they struggled in the dark with mere tinder and hope, but they overcame. What was the quiet on the joyous day of union to disrupt his faith? It was ridiculous. And yet he found himself pushing hard on the door to seek his beloved.

For him the door opened and what was within caused his breath to catch quickly.

Fayle stood quiet and demure before him, her white robes shining bright by the light of the crystal that kept them alive for so many years. As beautiful as she had been the first time he had seen her boarding the The Wick as they left their home, Dash felt his mouth gaping at the sight of her. Dark hair cut short as only a soldier could understand, framed her soft rounded face. How a woman with so much time spent with sword and shield in hand could remain so perfect was beyond him. Of course she would roll her eyes at such sentiment, but the smile that would grace those luscious red lips always appreciated his longing gazes.

From the stunned look he gave her, Dash prayed that would appreciate it all the more now as he filled the doorway staring at her after practically breaking to see her. The sight of her sent his fear fluttering away like embers of a campfire. White robes shining, ruby earrings glittering, and the same piece of ruby sparkling from the necklace he had presented to her with those earrings when he finally asked her to be his alone. The fire between them burned bright as she accepted them and his embrace. Now they were here in Dunelle's Rest, ready to begin the next chapter they had longed for for so long.

Uncomfortable silence filled the void between them at his barging in, causing a matching crimson to the rubies on her person to wash over Dashell's scarred face. Sputtering softly, the knight would do his best to recover his emotions and poise in her presence as he leaned forward in a deep bow. "Fayle, forgive me. When you didn't answer or come to my call, I just assumed."

Head still bowed Dash continued to babble on, surprised at his own lack of civility in the presence of his wife to be. "I had a lapse in faith and feared the worst. It was foolish and truly there's no excuse. I find myself more nervous in this time before than ever we were before, which is laughable as dying should be a much greater fear than hearing your voice say."

Fingers gently ran over his scalp, gliding through his thick blonde hair as he did his best to suppress a shudder. She had never done something like that. Their pious lives had dictated so much of their courtship over the last few years that the sheer volume of will not to sweep her away like a lovesick vagabond had driven them both near mad with boiling passion. Dash failed in swallowing that shudder now as the fire deep within burst to a rage as he gently reached out to touch the white robes before him as at least she spoke.

"I do."

Those same fingers would grasp cruelly to his hair as swift pain flooded his eyes before a hard yank lifted him up to look at her. Shock hurt worse than her strong grip as he stared up into what should be pools of brown warmth but now seemed to be tainted with a strange violet tint.

The question died quickly on his lips as the sharp steak knife slashed at his throat and swept up to pierce beneath his chin into his upper palette. The soft flesh resisted little to the quick strikes as the blood that should have bubbled out his mouth now cascaded from his jugular and between his teeth in a slow drowning torrent.

Candlelight snuffed quickly from Dashell's eyes as his body began to seize in the throes of his shocking murder, as Fayle grabbed hold of his shoulder and toppled him forward into her room. Violet eyes growing duller by the moment as she stepped past the pool of blood and stiff body to shut the door with a soft click.

Peace came to the hallway.

It was true the sacred flame and the glowing pulse of Beledar could offer hope and security but it wasn't the sun. The sun high above in a blue sky with trailing wisps of white cloud or perhaps even dark rain clouds to offer the earth below some form of reprieve from it's unending heat. It had always been a fickle beast to the living far below and was hardly a new experience for anyone alive or even dead. But when it was gone, cracks had slipped into the armor that all soldiers wore. The loss of something so unconditional and uncontrollable had had a lasting impression on many within the ranks of the expedition, including herself. Flames kept the fear in check but never dissipated it from her heart. Night was always on the edge of her vision and it was hungry.

She felt she had been swallowed whole here.

But what was here? And endless sea of darkness and silence? From what she could see it was that, but what she felt was as comforting as it was shocking.

Fayle's hands would curl about the hard metal again, fingers laced about the inch wide bars that brought a physical life to that metaphysical blanket she had been living in a nightmare of. She had run into it immediately upon waking into this hell, finding that her captor had offered as much space as to barely turn in a circle than walk anywhere. The metal was cold, rough, and reeked of wet iron. Comfort had settled and faded all to quickly in at least finding she wasn't just adrift in empty space for all eternity. There was limits and there was place which meant rescue could still be a reality.

Her head would lean forward to rest upon those bars, assuming her eyes closed as she tried to rest standing up. Did she need to rest? Time was confusing in the dark. Had it been hours? Days?

Years?

As she wasn't dead from hunger, the idea of years was more of the fear creeping from her brain to send her sanity to shivers. But she was honest with herself, the idea of food or sleep felt foreign to her. Like these basics of survival were no longer needed. She'd assumed she was dead than and this was truly the eternal night that Leid had preached to the fearful and angry. What a terrible way to find out the enemy had been right the entire time and that the eternal night was real and waiting to catch them all. It was as frustrating as it was hopeless now.

But she was still thirsty. It didn't help having the dry scratch in her throat but it also told her that she wasn't dead. She couldn't be if she was so thirsty all the time. And is on cue to her need for drink, she had felt something new about her ankles.

Water.

Cold, wet, and plentiful around her bare feet. She had first discovered it upon realizing how she needed something for the parched ache of her tongue. Why had she never noticed it until now? Had the water always been there? The more she thought about it the more she needed it. There wasn't enough room to sit down or bend over but she could crouch down to touch it. Her first foray into dipping into it had proved painful as she scrapped her back against the bars of her cage, causing her voice to scream and be swallowed by the night. The pain felt real and surprisingly good, once again proving to her she was not dead. This all could be temporary. She could be rescued.

Fayle had laughed and cried at the same time at this realization, her head bouncing off the bars in soft repetition to feel the pain and know she was alive.

But Light she was thirsty.

Again reaching down, scraping her back against the bars that felt just a little tighter this time. Her hand reaching between her scrunched up knees and feet, tips brushing along for the source of the wet cold feeling on her legs.

She found nothing.

Tears would spill in frustration from her eyes as she felt the bars on her face again as she began to bounce off them. Where was the water? Why couldn't see find it? She was so thirsty. Light she needed a drink. Wine, ale, water, milk. It didn't matter. Just something to relieve this unending burn in her throat and belly. To fill her up and remind her, she was alive. She was not dead. She could be rescued.

There was hope.

Delirium was coming as much as it was going for Fayle. The woman could always feel the water, sometimes between her toes and sometimes up to her knees like a filling tank. She had relished those fleeting moments where she was so sure the water was right there for her to touch and drink. But the cage would grow tighter. Her bare flesh would scrape against the bars harder and the pain would flash all over as a razor cutting too deeply.

Over and over again she would be doing this. Squirming and scraping to touch the water, crying out from the pain with each quick movement. She would know that she was crying and would desperately lick at her lips and as far as she could reach for even just a touch of the salty tears that must be dripping from her eyes. But there was nothing. There was always nothing. Desperation was getting worse for her now as even when she would writhe against her bonds and feel her skin peel or break that perhaps there would be something from it. Something wet and warm waiting beneath the thin cloth of her life.

The idea of drinking her own blood had made her retch, even though as she did a dark part wondered about that. But there was nothing either when she did. What was inside even to lose? Blood was all that was left in her. She could just scrape a bit off and taste it, relieve that pain that was gnawing at her throat and tongue for just a moment or two.

Curling her arms up, she had used her teeth to begin biting at her flesh. Pain would once again would come and it would be welcomed as she could finally feel something at all. But there would be nothing to sate her. The blood had been a desperate hope and want. As much as she bit and chewed at herself, there would be nothing. There was nothing to give or make from it.

She needed water.

Cool, refreshing, and clear water. Drowning in it as it splashed over face and body. She needed but she also wanted it so much. And it was so close always sifting around her legs but so far from her hands.

"Please."

Her voice echoed in the dark and made her flinch. When was the last time she'd spoke? It didn't sound like her anymore. She'd always had a beautiful deep and husky voice, able to rise in song as much in battle. But this word had been thin, reedy, and sad. Her heart would sink again as she rested her head to the bars. Why couldn't she just die? She needed to die. Then she could be free.

There was a light behind her eyes. Had they been closed? Was she sleeping? Did she get her wish?

It was soft and pulsing like the twilight between the end of day and the coming of night. It was faint but growing more as she felt her heart swell and body shake within her cage. She could see now, her hands thin and groping at the bars in front of her face. She grasped them and held tight as she felt her face stretch in a madcap grin at finally seeing something on the edge of nothing. There was hope.

Fayle dared not look at herself anymore as a brief glimpse of her ravaged hands had dimmed all anything she felt before but pressed her face into her cage harder. The metal tore into her flesh again, but she didn't feel it. Didn't need to. There was light and it was getting stronger as it go closer. It was getting closer felt a giddy glee slip into her chest. Someone was coming. She wasn't alone. She was saved.

Words would croak out of her throat as she whispered them out into the darkness. "Hello! I'm here. Please. Help me! Please come quick!"

The light only grew brighter, magnificent in it's violet splendor. Fayle wanted to reach out from the bars to grasp at it, her former white skin now a dusky grey from however long she had been kept in her cage. She desperately tried to keep focus on the light and away from the disgusting sight of her body. Shaking and moaning she began to rattle into her cage, her walls tight still as she bounced back and forth within.

"Let me out! Let me out! Free! I must be free!" Fayle screamed now in that croaking, frail voice as tilted her head down to suddenly take in her frame below. Skinny, naked, loose flesh hanging from bones marred by the sharp and rough ridges of her iron bars. The urge to retch and scream rose much like it did so many times, but there was nothing to give. She was still so thirsty and afraid.

But the light was there. It was here. She could be free. She would be free.

Fayle tore her eyes away from her abused body and looked up through the bars at the blinding violet light before her. There was a dark shape within it. Strong, tall, and proud of shoulder. Red light sparkled from the head of the shape, bits of shining light from what she knew to ears and neck with lips to match those rubies.

Rubies. The word felt foreign and familiar to her. They had been something she kept. A gift. A present.

A promise.

"No." She felt herself croak out. "No please."

Those lips tightened into a cold smile as it nodded to her.

"No, no no no," Fayle could hear herself gasping out as she stared at the figure. "Not like this. Please! Don't! Why?!"

There would be no answer as the lips would smile and then begin to fade from view. Her smile. Her figure. Her life.

"Why?" Fayle would scream at herself again as the light began to dim just as much as the shadow of herself. "Why?"

And then the darkness returned. The silence fell. And the water dripped.

Violet eyes would blink once. Twice. And then a third time as formerly ruby painted lips smiled at another success.

Oplisca ran her hands along cool sheets and along up to her cloth covered by, feeling the soft wool between familiar and foreign fingertips. The ecstasy of birth lost to the old and lamented by the child. She relished it each time and was grateful for the lesson taught by her love. She felt a pulsing in her strong heart at thinking of the one and love in her life, a bit of vanity creeping into her spirit at what it might perceive from this form. Oplisca always had this fleeting thought at completion. It would fade of course, the base needs of the flesh far below anything that her love required. But while they were beyond thought she was still a mortal.

Her bright violet eyes would blink again as she slowly looked up into the rafters of this homely room in Arathi. She was still in the Rest. She remembered from the initial arrival and struggle. It always took a few moments to catch her breath and full take her place. They would put up a fight, but Oplisca was not one to give up easily.

Sighing softly, Oplisca would sit up from her bed to take in more of her surroundings. Melted candles sat about while the scent the old scent of burning incense mixed with a peculiar but familiar smell. Twisting her new head from the foot of the bed to the side she would blink in surprise at a very familiar sight.

A woman lay on the floor beside her bed, eyes wide upon a time ravaged face with mouth agape and tongue lolling out in the way only death could provide. Granted ones head was not meant to be on backwards.

Fear would not grab the apostle of the Old Ones, but annoyance at possibly having to start again was already settling into her. The process of breaking one of this Arathi was not easy and as patient as she was was, Oplisca was not int he mood for starting again.

"Ah dear sister," came a voice now from the other side of the bed. Where once she had been unafraid, that voice did bring back that what she had hoped a lost emotion. Eyes widening still she would see the tall figure standing among melted candles. He was an elf, the looks unfamiliar to her but the cadence and voice reminding her of a past she could never escape.

"Kinowin."

The elf smiled wider. "Oh my dear sister, what have you done?"

OOC:

Welcome to the An Unending Gaze, my World of Warcraft antagonist compendium for my characters that I've been working on for some time. I made this in hopes of working on my 'villainy' and exploring the less heroic side of writing. A lot of these have been side mentions to my other groups of characters who I felt deserved their own space than just playing second fiddle to other main characters. And with the ever growing cast that hyper-fixation and likely un-diagnosed ADHD, it was honestly necessary. I do my best to explore more than just mustache twirling and vile monologuing types of villains but I can't say I'm the gold standard when it comes to doing 'bad things'. But I'm learning. And if you've got pointers, critiques, or would like to help me build my skill and these characters please let me know. I am all about collaboration and 'living to learn'.

Dramatis Personae:

Oplisca Du'mere - a servant of C'thun and disciple of the Void who has discovered a horrific means to travel to worlds beyond

The Husk - a victim of the body hopping creature of the Void

Alfred Klaudin - old dead, with dull yellow eyes and a dead heart only for the Dark Lady of his murderous dreams

Daseyd - a Dark Iron architect searching for the 'plan of plans'

Kinowin Du'mere - a malicious brother brought back by means unknown but filled by blood

Tragjaan - a Lightforged Draenei with eyes only for the Light

Voldrin - an revenant of ancient times escaped from the Shadow by the touch of the Void

The Coldbringer - an agent of Chaos, forged from bronze and touched by infinity

Oplisca was already dancing back from the whipping monstrosity that was her brother, the young and healthy body was chosen wisely as it felt barely a catch of breath at this time from the wild attacks. One would imagine the duelist's eyes to narrow and the mouth to pull back in a snarl or some taunting gesture at their opponent but she nothing like in stories of bravados in Booty Bay. She knew her place and purpose, this was not where she was meant to die. This body was another matter though as the tendrils whipped to smash into the former table between them sending splinters, cutlery, and the 'wine' flying about the his former quiet carnage of murder.

The black blood was flowing freely from Kino as was it was want to do, the vessel it had chosen in the cultist was willing but it was still just a flesh vessel. There were limits of how much it could manifest in this plane of existence at a time, but it was willing to give everything and anything to it's gate. Let them pick up the pieces later. For now it would indulge the rage that bled from his heart and revel in his agony of choice.

Flinging his blood wrapped arm about the tendrils would swat away anything that came to collide with it's host, splinters decorating and swallowed by the ink as it tasted reality. Kinowin was happy to oblige as he pointed at the husk of Oplisca and screamed again in that insane language of the astral sea. The blood responded in kind, roiling forth like a tidal wave to strike with the speed of several spears each tendril gathering into a point to stab at the body of Fayle.

Each point took to the Arathi would like a pecker's beak, driving with multiple sharp strikes to tear into the floorboards and wall with deadly tearing force. Oplisca's calm clarity was becoming harder to maintain as she danced to the side feeling the whipping needles slice closer to face then wanted and fast enough to tear into her gown as easily as her soft flesh. The point had slid through the white material with ease and tore into the left breast of the body, the pain was dull to her as most any feeling was when she had took over. A dire blessing as one could easily forget wounds as easily as take them. Her hand shooting up to grasp at the slice and staunch the bleeding as crimson began to blossom along the newly ruined rag.

It was warm beneath her fingers and palm. It felt as interesting as it felt concerning.

Oplisca knew she was no match physically for the creature before her, who's taste of first blood was now only helping to drive it madder as it's mouth widened and stretched. Already she could see the fringes of the same ink beginning to leak out of it's throat and stain the mouth as it struggled to expunge all it could as much as it drank in the air. A pool was slowly forming under the ruined frame of the one eyes elf as it gabbled on in it's monstrous tongue, the teeth munching into the flesh as it spoke so quickly.

There was no victory here. At least not alone. And they were never alone.

Violet eyes would push past the horror to focus on the twisted corpse of the healer on the floor. Arathi seemed to have a need for over-exaggerated aesthetics to match their zealous nature to the Light. The woman was no exception as she saw the red and golden trimmed mail about the robes, thankfully the heavy wrap around of her head had cut off the vomit of blood that would have followed her death. Oplisca didn't know why she thought of that as she looked back up to Kino who was now reaching up to tear at his other arm. There was a pang of something at the thought of how she might be much more like him than she thought. Was it fear?

Shame.

Short thoughts were likely to become a quick death now as the tendrils of black loosened again from their places in the wall to draw back and thrash to gather for another concerted strike at her. Kino was already biting down hard at the flesh of his uncut arm, tearing at the weakening skin to issue out more of the substance that had been trapped within. The want was to have it ooze forth in a thought exit but all it did was splash out in a forceful rage of hunger as it splashed across wood to gather beneath what had once been a man.

Oplisca tore away her gaze and looked back to the corpse before releasing her wound to rush at the body. Fayle had been a soldier. A warrior. Though Oplisca would never tap into the brightness that blinded the sheep, she could use the muscle and toughness that had been forged into this chosen.

Diving amongst the thrashing tendrils, her arms would raise to shield her face as she skipped about in hopes of avoiding becoming impaled on some mad horror that was climbing it's way to this plane. Her drive and faith proved fruitful in her impulsive strategy as the tendrils found purchase in only minor wounds to the exterior of Fayle. There was warmth blossoming from all of them and the white had long since gone scarlet as she leapt forward to land upon the corpse of the old healer.

The wind blew out of her hard and fast as she lay on top of her, face buried in the gray hair as she felt the whips strike her back causing new splits to reopen old scars with fresh. Dull as ever was the pain but the warmth still grew. Gritting her teeth out of animal habit, Oplisca would plant the husk's feet and push forward to roll the body over atop of her. A shield of holy flesh and holy mail. Now there was only one last thing to do.

She screamed.

Loud and long was her shriek was it bounced from wall to wall in a wail of unending agony to match the insane rage of her brother. All the negative energy in the room and stored deep in the belly from the torturous taking of Fayle let loose in that banshee's tone. Glass may well have cracked at such a storm of emotion from the emotionless, perhaps even stone if the gates had truly been broken to release what had been stolen. As her throat began to chafe and rip from within she let the scream slowly grind out into a whisper of sorrow as she closed her violet eyes, waiting to see if a new process would be needed.

She could hear the whipping of the blood. She could hear the slow plodding steps of the monster. She could hear the gibbering madness of the black speech.

She could hear footsteps. She could hear cries. She heard the door open.

"By the Light," cried an old man's voice, followed by gasps of others.

"Ser Astrin what do we do!?"

There was the sound of steel being drawn.

"For the Emperor! For the Light!"

Oplisca sighed and for once in a long time, smiled.

The young Arathi tilted her head unsure of the measure of the compliment, but despite reservations she was raised in the manner of the well to do. Rudeness was unbecoming. "I would say the same if I knew the mask."

Teeth seemed to grow as the lips pulled back, the grin caught between a gnash and snarl. "Oh you are not so innocent or naive to think me not who I am."

"I am well aware of you, brother." The woman replied, her warrior hands folded before her in her lap as she stared back with calm violet eyes. She had dreamed of this day. Oplisca had sought the day she could find and reunite with her brother once more. The years of searching and aching for the familiarity of blood had lead her down many path ways. Some far less savory than she carried to admit too. But now that she was here, the danger she had always faced in those previous lives had begun to outstrip them in this new life. Doing her best to hide a hard swallow, she would continue with this new voice. "It is the how you are here as you are that is not quite clear."

"You accuse me of wearing masks?" The elf leaned forward, his green eye bright and only seeming to intensify to match his mouth.

"I accuse you of nothing. I'm only hoping to understand."

A snort was given as the elf shook his head and leaned back into his chair, armored arms clinking softly as they folded over his chest. "You are not the only chosen."

Softly the woman would nod. "This gladdens for me to hear you have found purpose, Kino."

"Stop it, don't play your little nicety farce with me. I know you. I made you," Kinowin growled again an erratic cadence beginning to take his behavior, a restlessness in the face of his prey. "I taught you all your tricks, Oplisca."

The name was given a heavy tinge of contempt as he said it, spoken as a tit for tat as they called each other who they really were.

Du'meres. Siblings by the blood of a father, spiraled by tragedy, partnered through hope, and guided by promises.

One for peace.

One for power.

Neither were exclusive to one or the other. They both knew what they wanted and both knew how to get what they needed. The bodies that piled up in the wake were expectedly stepped over.

Oplisca would nod again, her acquiesce to his anger and frustration had always been her shield in their younger days. She doubted he expected it to be as much her sword. "You did and I am in debt to you for them. Your patient guidance has been integral to both my success and survival."

Once again as so many times before she had soothed the mad beast that was her brother, Kinowin Du'mere. His formerly twitching face smoothing softly as she leaned back into his chair with is own hands in his lap, the mad anger in his one green eye softening as he breathed in deeply and let it out with sigh. "Oh sister, my silly little sparrow. Hopping mad all about with the fever of an angry magpie, what are you doing down here?"

An old cut would be split with these of a barber razor at the little pet names. Birds in a cage. Always in a cage. Her new hands would slowly flex and hold tight as she spoke softly despite the need to scream at being treated like the child he always saw her as. "The will as always. I live to learn."

"And you will die to serve, of course as always. The mantra as always," Kino muttered as he waved his hand off to the saying of the Hammer. "But why here? What as he sent you here for? I am certain that the Eye is always on you."

He. Oplisca felt her cheek twitch but kept her mouth flat. Such a pedestrian way to think. But Kinowin was always this way. Always needing labels and titles to understand the great plan that was in motion. Her brother always thought it was about him. All things wanted him and did as he needed. His vision was always so clouded.

Especially now judging by his choices before her.

"The will is always guiding me and I listen," Oplisca replied. "But this time by a personal consult. I was informed of some activities that had brokered an interest to parties much like ourselves."

Now it was Kinowin's turn to look surprised and curious as he felt the brow over this body's dead eye raise. "Personal you say? Here in the depths of Khaz Algar? Now that is interesting. You trying to do something on your own without the lead from the lord. Do tell."

A jug of wine was tilted and poured as fine Arathi glass cradled the homemade wine of the under earth.

Oplisca made no move to the drink, the red carried far more stain to the cup than grapes knew. "All I do is for the will and this will surely be thought well upon. For a house unchecked is a house untethered."

"Ah dabblers," Kinowin muttered with a very clear scent of disdain, his gauntleted hand sweeping up the cup to swirl the contents. The smell of copper in the air was clearer now that the drink had been lifted. "The Order of Night I'm to surmise."

"You are as perceptive as you are clever, dear brother," Oplisca would bow her head to the creature across from her. "I was informed to 'get my house in check' during my recent reverie."

"How long ago was that?" A tentative sip was given by the elf, licking his lips with a indeterminate sigh.

"A few weeks ago."

"Weeks? It sounds as though you are slipping in your growing age, sister." Kinowin's smile was growing again, smug and hungry. The red drink had stained his lips from the first sip and would only grow darker with his next.

A soft rocking of her head was answered. "I am careful in my travels. The path is not the safest nor the steadiest. Care must be given the greater to speed."

The elder Du'mere would snort as he shook his head. Drinking again as he licked a bit from his top lip. "Caution can be such a chain to cowardice. Your ways are mildly impressive but lacking in the speed that which is appropriate to what you have learned."

"I am grateful for what I know and eager to be guided if you can provide such insight," Oplisca fired back with her same docile tone. She could surmise what her brother could do but wasn't sure what he could not. Danger was creeping with every moment they played this dueler's farce. "Could you enlighten me to what brought you here? And thus at it's speed?"

Stemware clinked to wood as the elf would lean forward to peer at the calm Arathi husk before him. "The winding road I traveled to be here hath been fraught with blood and terror I had only ever dreamed of. I had thought fear a thing of my past until I supped from the cup of my deliverance. Such wonders to behold. To touch. To feel."

A gauntlet would clatter to the floor of the inn's room as he raised a hand, his thumb pressed hard into the mass of his index finger that began to dig and tear into the flesh. "Such exhilaration I have not felt so our first steps into the power that was the Old. Do you remember when we stepped foot together on those black sands? The songs hidden within the grains as the whipped by foot and hand to scour away the impurity that was our fragile forms? Damn those days had been something. We were unstoppable you and I. The Du'mere's a whispered caution among the blows of our hammer in the shadow of th unstoppable Empire."

Oplisca looked up into the green eye of her brother again. It was glowing again with a fever that seemed to leak into the grey dead of the other side. The mask was starting to break as he rested his elbow on the table and was rubbing his fingers together so hard. She knew well the resilience of flesh and what it took to break.

A steady madness was growing wider upon the mask of the supposed lamplighter that had been taken by Kinowin Du'mere. The chaos that was writhing beneath the skin of the facade he wore was stretching and breaking at the seems, forgoing any need for subtlety. He didn't care.

It didn't care.

"You can know it too, my pretty bird," Kinowin spoke softer, his finger working faster as he rose to his feet into the lean of a calculating predator. "There is so much power here. You know of it. It's no secret here as to what lies deeper within this island. Haranir whisper it in fear and awe. But we both know what it is."

The skin broke. A droplet oozing to the surface of what should be red only came forth as black. Black, oily, and reflecting none of the mad light cracking along the fissures of Kinowin's face.

Oplisca was curious.

"The Black Blood."

Oplisca was fascinated.

"It is for all to taste."

Oplisca was understanding.

The Arathi rose slowly to her own feet, the small woman's hands folding back behind her as she looked at the feral creature before her. Whatever clever man her bother had been, it was gone now. This was not the Kinowin Du'mere she had known, though it was probably what he had always been.

"You have tasted that which was not meant for you," Oplisca whispered softly. "We are unworthy to know these things."

The black icor had slipped down his thumb and to his wrist as the elf blinked in shock at the rising violet eyed woman before him. He had never been denied by her like this. She was his to command. Oplisca was his and always would be.

"You would dare?"

"You would."

The siblings stood silent for a brief moment, each staring with the out of body eyes of two people ready to admit what they always knew.

They hated each other.