The Crimson Hand

"I thought I was done with this this way of living.  But you... Well, you showed me that I'm not.  We all leave our mark on the world, big and small.  Thank you for reminding me of this." - Lámh na Folah

I don't really recall when it started, if I were to be honest.  This uneasy feeling of loss. A new world, a new beginning.  A fresh start.

That is what I told myself after having followed Lariadne when she had gotten lost through the portal.  That is what I told her, promised her, when we found ourselves as strangers in a strange land, reshaped and altered by the journey.  We carried the core of ourselves over from what was into what now is, keeping with us the most crucial aspects of ourselves.  And though a few things worked differently, there was still enough familiarity present to make us feel right at home.

Gone were the sins, the problems of what was. And though there were new sins, fresh trouble in this new world, they were nothing compared to what came before.

I don't think I ever fully told her what it was like, living as a creature of two world, apart from either and yet yearning to belong.  It never really came up.  To me, she was my home, my world, my guiding star.  With her, I had what I had felt missing for so many decades.

It should have been enough.  And, I suppose, it was.  But there was something missing.  Something that my other half strived to help me find.  Something that seemed to counter my morality, my sense of justice. Back then, I started as a monster pretending to be a man, finding and fighting men who pretended to be monsters.  And for a time, I was at peace with this.  But then, I found other monsters, masquerading as men.  Creatures that toyed with lives in games of their own making.  And as I tried to fight them, I began to lose the part of me that was mortal.  To fight monsters, I turned more and more to that part of me that was like them.  I needed to better understand, to get ahead of their games.

I hold little remorse for what I did.  I killed, but I always justified it. They deserved it. They were doing more harm than good. They were Evil. But... a Life is a life.  A soul a soul.  A flame that I intentionally snuffed out.  The reason didn't matter.  I should have felt guilt, and a small part of me did, but in truth, it barely impacted me.  They were prey, I was the predator.  I could sugarcoat it any which way I wanted, but at my heart of hearts, I knew the score. I killed because I could. And the realization nearly tore me apart.

And here I am again, witnessing the horrors that mortals can bring upon themselves.  Harming themselves and others.  Some for profit.  Some for the pleasure.  And others still because they just want the world to hurt like they do.  The reasons are more numerous that the stars in the sky, each a tiny pinpoint of light in an ever expansive void.  Insignificant against the growing darkness.

What can one do against this but rage? And the Gods know, I can rage.

Which, I suppose, brings us to the present moment. Slavers are nothing new to any world with sentience.  It's normally something hidden in the shadows, something you have to dig to find.  You don't expect it to stand bold and proud, and yet, this day, that is exactly what I found.  A village pillaged and burned, friends and family killed, survivors chained and shackled, spirits all but broken.  They had no hope for salvation.  No thought towards freedom or a life that was their own.  They had everything robbed from them, including their very souls.

I thought I could put it out of my mind.  I was a stranger here.  This was not my home, not my lands, not my people or interest. I was wrong.

So I returned to the market, learned what I could from the hired help, disposed of them, fed off their blackened souls.  And as much as I want to make monsters of these men, many had families.  Significant others.  Children.  And yet, they made their coin by destroying lives, in much crueler fashions than I had taken theirs.  I could feel their sense of loss, regret, shame, joys, pleasures, all of it swirling and blending as I devoured everything that made them what they were. And then, I left their lifeless bodies to rot in the gutters they peddled mortal flesh in.

I freed their captives, their empty eyes turning to fear and confusion as I gave them the means the rebuild their lives.  Some were appreciative.  Many, however, had nowhere to go and remained in their cages, lost in their own broken misery.  A few even asked that I do to them what I had done to their captors.

I devoured their misery, giving them a final peace, letting them finally find the bliss that had eluded them for so long.

I do not regret what I did. I mourn for the loss, but that is all. We all leave our mark on the world, big and small.  And if I was no exception to this, then I was going to leave a mark I could be proud of.  Something... artistic.  Something that reminded me of what was.  Something that could show others what could be.

SHADOWLANDS - Okay so, they’re about to die, no comebacks. Now what? Are they dealing okay? Are they afraid of death and the moment of transition from mortality to spirithood? 

"This one... is not one I like to think on too much.  The last time I passed beyond the veil, there was an entity that met me.  Something that was outside my realm of understanding.  Something that knew my name and the things it told me... well, I would not be okay, far as I understood things.  Don't get me wrong, I am not afraid of Death.  Death, though painful and entirely unpleasant, isn't something I'm not prepared for.  It's what comes after Death that worries me.  The Shadowlands will not be kind to one such as myself."

BASTION - According to your muse, are justice and vengeance similar? When do they overlap, and when are they different? 

"Ah, now this is an interesting question.  It's more a matter of perspective, really.  Justice and Vengeance... the only real difference that I'm aware of is the reasoning behind the action.  Justice is a balancing of right and wrong without an emotional investment.  What's done is done because it's the right thing to do.  It rights a wrong done to the world or to someone else.  Vengeance, however, is personal.  And because it's personal, it can be something petty.  It can be detrimental to the world.  Both of which are things Justice is never meant to be.  At least, in my eyes, that is."

BWONSAMDI - What ceremonies would they want to be performed before and/or after their death?

TIFFIN - Who’s someone in their life they wish they had -or- could have more time with?

"To be quite honest... that's be my first fiancé, Moirande.  Our time together was, well, tragically cut short.  We had tried to take a trip to Uldum but due to a series of unexpected incidents landed us in Silithus instead.  We fought to make it to some sort of sanctuary, but we got separated and... last I saw her, she had fallen beneath the earth amidst a horde of Silithids.  I didn't find out until years later that she had survived and tried sending me letters, but they never got through.  We had both presumed the other to be dead.  But when I had gone out to see her... we'd both moved on.  Too much had changed, neither of us were the same.  And so though I am fond of her, our time together had passed.  And a part of me still wishes that we had had more time than what we were given."

BANSHEE - Can they describe the scariest moment of their life?

"Huh... scariest moment of my life?  This is actually something that had happened in my early youth.  My first love, Ahfeivh Se'tanu.  That’s not her actual name, but it’s the name I’ll give you.  I didn't quite fully understand what I was back then, or what I was capable of.  And so, while we were alone, doing the things very young adults do in their awkward and hormonal phases... an instinct that I wasn't aware I possessed took over me and I ended up... well, it's doesn't matter, really.  Those who know me know what I am, what I do, and what I am capable of.  But without understanding what was happening, it was terrifying to look into the eyes of the one I loved, who I thought loved me, only to see the life fading from them before going dark.  To this day, this memory still haunts me the most."

SCOURGE - How would they feel if they knew someone was going to raise them as undead once their mortal life expired?

Caer Darrow. It wasn’t a place he was intimately familiar with, but he knew the area well enough.  There was a power to the place, as old as the land itself.  A power that thrummed with slumbering potential.  A latent leyline rarely tapped into, yet more than that.  There was a tragic history there which had embedded itself into the very earth, trapped on all sides by water.  Lámh na Folah could taste it in the air as he peered across the waters to the fortified isle, once a stronghold held by Kel’thuzad and the Scourge.  He ashed his cigarillo to his left, peering at the Sayaadi to his right.

“Mnesti, you didn’t need to come yourself.” The Sayaadi smiled at Lámh broadly, eyes as dark as his peering at the cambion. “Oh, my dear cousin, when the Matriarch called for a favor, how could I not?” He grumble, peering back towards Caer Darrow. “I’ve asked to not be called that here.  However… thank you.” Mnesti bowed her head, following his gaze. “Katari, are you sure about this?  We are not yet entirely sure of this heathen’s heritage.  And this is a mortal life you’re endangering yours for.” He held his cigarillo out, holding it like it was a wand. “Our family, by and large, have always misunderstood their true value.  They’re much more than just food, cousin.  There’s much they can teach us that we miss in our centuries of life.  Besides, I made her a promise.  I am the only one who can take her life.  And you know that once I give my word, I keep to it no matter the cost.” She sighed, reaching into a pouch at her side and withdrew a long, thin hollow bone, a gem embedded at it’s end.  She peered at it for a moment before handing it over to Lámh. “This is what you’ll need to complete the ritual… I pray you find your mortal alive and well, dear cousin.” He raised his eyebrow, taking the wand in his right hand, inspecting it a moment before stowing it beneath his tabard. “Stick around for the finale.  I can introduce you to her.” She shook her head slowly, looking back to Lámh. “I’m sorry, but you know I must return home as soon as you either die or complete your mission.  I am only here to preserve your memory should you fall.” He chuckled softly, smirking. “Well then, best to get this started… Dalektharu il dask daku, dalektharu il dask daku... Azhir aghtu ethanul.” As he spoke, tendrils of energy coiled down his arm, swirling into circular patterns, shimmering as if in flux as they wove in and out of one another, creating grander, more intricate patterns.  The cherry at the end of his cigarillo suddenly erupted in flames, red, green, and purple dancing through one another before the cigarillo burnt to his prosthetic finger-tips.  The flames engulfed his hand, coalescing into his palm as he turned his hand over, closing his fist over it.  The flames vanished, the patterns freezing in place before fading into his arm.  He inspected the prosthetic for a moment before lowering it back to his side. “Wish me luck, Mnesti.” He didn’t wait for her response before diving into the waters, his ruined wing unfurling out behind him.  They were mostly useless for flight but still worked amazingly in the water, propelling him swiftly and silently through the waters towards Caer Darrow.  He slowed his pace as he neared the isle’s shore, enveloping himself in his camouflage illusion before breaking the water’s surface, slowly moving onto the land itself.  He took in a slow, deep breath, taking in the sight and scents of the isle.  He could see magic woven through the air and lands, spellwork as arrogant as the caster met his sight.  He knelt down, slowly shoving his prosthetic hand into the soil, focusing on the magic, shifting the spellwork without altering it.  He pulled his hand back, taking a handful of soil and smearing it over his face, muttering more words of power to infuse the spell with intent and will before rising to stand.  He moved slowly, carefully, through the barrier before him, a tingling sensation washing through him as he cleared the ward without activating it.  Rayes had planned for him to follow Lariadne, but he clearly hadn’t actually investigated the history of Hatal Aka’sin, Lámh na Folah, or Hakka’rin.  Lámh doubted the creature even knew his true name, otherwise this gambit would have failed from the start. He made his way closer to the main stronghold, dilapidated yet still standing firm against weather and time.  He looked for signs of recent movement, finding shocking little.  He had expected guards, or at the least, disposable minions.  But all he found was a single pathway that had most likely been Lariadne’s.  He carefully followed in her footsteps before pausing, a small light in his eyes forming as he peered ahead.  There was definitely a trap that had been sprung not far off, magical in nature, that seemed to have been haphazardly reset.  He frowned, looking around himself for a few moments, seeing something similar further up, meant to trap him he assumed if he had come from above or tried to scale walls. “Well, it seems he did anticipate company…” Lámh said, the glow of his eyes growing as he gathered more power from within himself, drawing up his camouflage illusion once more, moving closer to and then reaching out towards the trap before him.  As his prosthetic hand reached it, he felt the thrum of power keeping its shape and form, but it was just a simple trap without any additional layers to it.  He manipulated the flow of energy through it, forming a hole through which he easily passed before returning it to its original form.  There were no wards or alarms attached, showing further the arrogance of the caster. As soon as he had passed through, however, something made Lámh pause, a ghostly sensation of shackles wrapping around his limbs and neck.  He reached up towards his throat with his left hand, checking himself but it was phantasmal.  He wasn’t actually experiencing this, no, it was an echo left behind by someone recently that he was experiencing after the fact. “Lariadne…” he said softly, the glow of his eyes dimming as he shook the sensations from himself.  As soon as he had shaken loose of the echo, his ears began to pick of the faint echoes of inaudible conversation, though it seemed entirely one-sided.  Of course, a monologue. ‘Why, oh why, do they always monolgue?’ he thought to himself as he made his way towards the voice, finding a pathway down into the depths of Caer Darrow. He made his way in silence, his presence as thoroughly masked as he could manage, keeping an eye out for more traps or spellwork and finding very little aside from lighting and climate enchantments to make the place semi-livable.  It seemed this Rayes really didn’t think anyone could slip past the first set of traps.  As he drew nearer, the voice began to become clearer. “You see without you I’ve been very hungry, I can’t just go into the cities and grab victims myself can I?”

He caught sight of the creature, a poor parody of himself, a terrible joke that was more pitiable than anything.  Or a reminder of what could have been his fate if things had gone different.  However, all those thoughts were cast aside when he saw Lariadne.  He froze, shocked and not quite processing everything he was seeing.  He felt himself grow cold, his heart almost stopping from the sight before him.  And then she spoke, his name coming from her in the barest of whispers. Rayes arched an eyebrow, his grin broadening as he picked up the glass of wine, swirling it with some satisfaction.  “Oh pet, your precious cambion can’t hear you from here.  Call his name all you like, it’ll do you little good.” Something seemed to snap in Lámh.  He’d been angry before, but the rage he felt roiling within him from the depths of his soul was something entirely new to him.  Anger didn’t begin to cover the sensation that washed through his entire being.  He didn’t want this creature dead, no, that was too clean.  Too easy.  No, he had something far different in mind now. Lámh moved in closer, his camouflage illusion still shrouding him and his presence as he drew closer, moving behind Rayes. Rayes flicked his cigarette at Lariadne, his smirking grin turning into a malicious snarl. “Keep your hope for as long as you dare.  It’ll make breaking you again all the more satis-” His words were cut off as a prosthetic hand seemed to materialize around his throat, squeezing tightly.  Before he could register what was happening, a myriad of arcane symbols flew off the arm behind the hand, swirling through the air before latching onto the creature, the prepared spellwork activating and causing Rayes to pass out.  Lámh released his grip, letting the prone creature drop back into his chair.  Kneeling down, Lámh began to tie the creature to with rope he had brought with him, rope that was interwoven with threads of Ghost Iron and True Gold, both of which had been enchanted to absorb kinetic energy when activated so that if and when Rayes awoke, the more he struggled, the tighter the binds would hold. Once he had firmly secured Rayes, Lámh moved over to Lariadne, carefully inspecting the bonds that held her before disarming the enchantments and then releasing her from the physical bonds, holding her carefully so that she didn’t just fall to the ground.  He pulled off his tabard, wrapping it around her before settling her onto the ground.  She had passed out and he could not rouse her, not that he wanted to with her in this state.  Once more, he drew out the energy within himself, focusing and refining it with intent and will, kneeling over to press his lips to hers, forcefully pouring his energy into her.  He straightened up and immediately began to direct that energy through her body, focused intently on physically mending as much as he could.  There was a lot of damage that had been done and magic, though handy, was not a cure-all.  She would be left with more scars, painful reminders of this encounter that would not entirely fade with time alone. When he was sure that she would be physically fine, he got up and stood there, peering over her, committing to memory every single new scar that she had acquired. He had failed her and this was part of his penance.  He had made sure that she had never seen him work, nor had he ever given her the barest glimpse of what he was capable of.  He had been worried that if she had seen that side of him that she would have feared him and that was something he could never recover from.  But that… that was a mistake, it seemed. He turned now to face the prone Rayes, studying the mockery of a cambion before striding over and striking him in the face with his right hand, waking the poor excuse of a man. “Hu-wha?” the creature sputtered, pain slowly registering before he caught sight of Lámh, the sneering smirk returning.  “Oh, how qua-” but Lámh cut off his words with another strike, this time with his left hand, a very audible and wet crack echoing through the room, leaving Rayes’s jaw hanging at an off angle, unable to do more than hang limply.  A gargled sound of distress came from him before Lamh drew out the bonewand that had been stowed into a pocket at his vest. “You see, I had intended to just banish you with this little trinket and let bygones be bygones.  But I feel as if you would just worm your way back, thinking that since I took it easy on you that I was weak.  Someone you could just plot against and eventually win.” Lámh snapped the wand in half and plunged both halves into Rayes’s stomach, a gurgled scream coming from the manthing. “So… instead, before I take your soul, or whatever excuse for a soul you possess, I’m going to etch into your very being every ounce of rage you have inspired from me.  An Homage, from one artist to another.” He twisted the broken halves before letting go, letting the fragments of bone tear and rend flesh that was desperately trying to mend. “You see, I never fully understood the need to monologue.  But I suppose there is something cathartic about it.  Just… letting ideas flow, or maybe just helping your prey realize how utterly and entirely fucked they are.  But, I know, I know, you don’t want them to know right away.  They need to keep that little bit of defiant hope.  Yes, much like what I see now in you, stashed away in that burning light of anger, resentment, and hate within your eyes.” Rayes struggled against his bonds, the ropes tightening around his body as what may have been a gurgled ‘fuck you’ tried to escape his throat.

"Well now, a curious little thing you are...  though, it should be no surprise that I do not shy from showing my affections, I do try to take note of what my partner likes or dislikes.  I have my own preferences, naturally.  A kiss to the forehead or the top of their head, a promise to protect and to be mindful.  Though, in the case of Lariadne, well... I like to surprise her, from time to time, however I can.  Watching her eyes light up with her own constellation of stars is something I'll always treasure.  Though, that's not all I do.  I provided her a safe space in my own home, though I've also offered her her own space, if she chooses to accept it.  I've given back to her her freedom of choice.  Even in something as simple as a meal... breakfast is the best example.  If there's something she wishes for, I'll cook it, but if she doesn't specify, well..." He chuckled lightly, giving a short shrug. "I tend to cook a banquet for her, everything she could possibly want.  And things she may not even have ever had before."