'Children of The Shroud' - A Dark Fantasy RP (Interest/Recruitment - CLOSED AND STARTED)

[The Funslinger]

Will listened to the man's speech with interest. That kind of power was a strangely tempting proposition, to say the least, and he listened in rapt attention, with a piece of crusty bread inches from his mouth.

"I don't want to be a murderer."

"S'not murder if they deserve it."

That was debatable. Still, Will had killed a few people in his time. Always in the heat of battle, though; someone who would see the inside of his guts if he didn't act. The idea of targeting someone and taking them silently in the night before they could defend themselves was a different matter. He stroked his beard as he contemplated the offer.

"I admit I've never been one to think much of the afterlife," he said after a silence. "But you take it very seriously, and... well, we've seen the legitimacy of the things you take seriously, sir." He gestured at Brutus and Minerva to highlight his point. "Surely if there is something on the other side, an eternal afterlife makes whatever we get here in mortality seem like... well, like just a passing moment. And the fact that the nature of where Mylaviss would keep half, and then the entirety of our souls, and the fact he'd use us to take the souls of others by force makes me think whatever use he'd put them to could well be malevolent."

 

[Rufio's Ghost]

"He doesn't much care who we kill. So, we freelance. People in need of the highest class of assassin will seek us out, through praying to Mylaviss. He, in turn, directs us to them. Once the target is dead, we receive rewards of coin from one hand, and advances in our magic from the other."

Chewing slowly, Langston struggled to finish his plate. The cutlet that was previously tender, was now tough and gamy. Swallowing it was becoming troublesome. He reached for the wine and drank deeply, finding that even the sweetest wine could be soured. Removing the napkin from his collar he folded it neatly, placing it next to his dish. Assassination and murder? Not exactly what one would call proper dinner conversation.

No longer finding his meal appetizing, Langston put his hands on his lap and kept his eyes downcast. When the man in gray paused between answers, Langston took a moment to reassure himself.

'It's alright. So what if they are murders? They already said you're safe and you don't have to join.'

That made him feel a little better, he continued.

'I just need to get through this meal, verify that they will take me home, and sleep. And- and then everything will be back to normal'

What were these Shroud people expecting, Langston... a killer? Morality aside, Langston was fairly certain that he would be unable to kill another person, even if he really wanted to.

But they weren't asking him to be just a killer. They wanted more than run of the mill murderers, they wanted assassins. A profession based on being cold, methodical, measured, and merciless. Sure he could be methodical, but if his nerves starting acting up in the slightest he would fall prey to fear and failure... and as far as the other traits go, well, he just didn't meet the proper criteria.

Seriously, an assassin? He really couldn't conjure a more ridiculous notion.

He already knew his answer, but he remained silent, stealing glances at his fellow initiates as he listened intently to their responses.

 

[NinjaDeathSlap]

"I don't want to be a murderer."

The Old Man's serene gaze found Selena, and looked right through her.

"I remember a similar sentiment that I felt when I first answered the call. I may have forgotten much in my life, but I will never forget that day. The concept of killing anyone, even those who I would have said were evil, was so alien to me that it sounded like madness. Since then, I may well have filled more graves than any other living being in history. Armed with that knowledge, I look back across the long years in which I have worked my blade in the name of Mylaviss, and I see how truly negligible the effect of my actions have been. I can't tell you exactly how old I am, because, truthfully, I have forgotten. However, I was here before the Chantry, and I lived through the great war between brothers Juiniss and Northos, fought on battlegrounds mortal and immortal alike, that preceded its formation. I have been here since the Old City was the New City, and have seen Kragenau sacked and rebuilt three times now. That's more than long enough a life to start seeing clearly the patterns of mortal civilization.

As I speak, dozens are dying above us. Dozens died yesterday, and tomorrow will be much the same. I have not lived a day where this has not been true. The healthy refuse to aid the sick, the gluttonous won't spare a morsel for those who starve, and the morally upright condemn the depraved and the simply desperate alike to the hangman's noose. More die in wars (and there is always one war or another) Over who's flag should fly on what hill, or which God, or which interpretation of a God, deserves worship. Every so often, a city is raised to the ground, and thousands are put to the sword in a single night, and when even that force of change has passed, the survivors pick them selves up, and continue to live much the same lives... and take much the same lives.

I recent years, things seem worse than ever. The Drowned District festers as corpses clog the wound; and the followers of Gilliajlia have now taken to butchering and burning those who they believe make the world ugly. I have killed men and women, young and old, rich and poor, and so on and so forth. The one denominator they all shared, was that tey had all been deemed unfit to live by someone, and in the strongest terms too. People do not go to the trouble of seeking us out for petty squabbles or crimes of passion. Does this mean they all deserved death? I long ago stopped asking myself that question. Perhaps the executioner should not also be the judge... but more to the point, for all that I have killed, I have never taken a life in the name of greed, or lust, nor have I ever tortured or caused undue anguish or humiliation to those I've despatched. There are many more horrible ways to die than the ends my targets met, and in my lifetime I believe I have witnessed most of them. In a world so defined by death, a fate that binds us all, what is a murderer truly, other than just another soul in time?"

 

[The Funslinger]

Will listened intently to the old man's speech intently. When he was sure the man was finished, he spoke.

"I can't help but agree, to some extent," he said. "The first time I killed a man... a Corsair raiding a merchant's ship when we arrived. He charged at me, a rigging axe in his hand. My sword was still in its sheath. It was like I wasn't in control of my own body. I drew my pistol and fired, more or less point blank. His eye just... exploded, and he went sprawling."

He cleared his throat awkwardly, realizing the story had slipped out. "Well, uh... for quite a while, I was plagued with nightmares, but of course I had to kill again and again. And it just got easier. I don't know whether that's good or bad, but the nightmares stopped, and I'm glad of that. And at least I have the knowledge that the men I slew deserved it. They were all criminals, with malicious intent and their share of blood on their hands."

 

[EnigmaticSevens]

"I don't want to be a murderer."

"S'not murder if they deserve it."

"And at least I have the knowledge that the men I slew deserved it. They were all criminals, with malicious intent and their share of blood on their hands."

"What is this weepin' for the dead, the dying, and those who'll die," Ezrah belched as he finished the last of the food on his plate, his stomach full, his physical hungers sated at least. The old man's words remained fascinating, his story growing all the more twisted and glorious, but Ezrah found this seeming segue way into the 'morality' of this Shroud's activities tiresome. What was something as small and feeble as the moral opiates of the common man compared to all this that was uncommon, all this that was alive with the new and beautiful, who paired the mystic with the sundry? These others, these other children, they had not been educated, this much was painfully clear. Ezrah should have expected as much, the Marked did not share the learning they paid for in pain, but this... this was too much. Some small tutelage could be forgiven in this case, or they'd be another hour trying to ease nonsensical spiritual woes. This sense of rush, of urgency, felt queer to a boy used to taking his pleasure if it took him days. All of this magic, all of this madness, all of it felt like a desperate sliding towards some terrible precipice, the mouth of an abyss. Not fearing the abyss didn't make it any less of an abyss, and wanting nothing more than the fall... didn't make that fall any less fatal. Something in Ezrah's flesh felt this quickening and urged him to speed.

"Men eat men! They eat one another, consume each other's energy, 'cause the energy's all they care about," Something nearly manic sparked up in the normally furtive youth's manner. He plucked a grape from his closest neighbor's plate and plopped it into his mouth to demonstrate his point, "Kings 'n princes, merchants, priests, warlords, the lot of it! All silly names for the eating, cause man's ashamed he's an animal.... Ya taste a loaf a bread, and ya taste the life a the hands that baked it, the hands that threshed the wheat and the hands that sowed it. Ya eat their lives and their deaths, don't shrink from it, own it. All men are killers, whether they know it or not. Ya sleep with a man for coin, and his wife kills him for his treachery. Ya swipe an apple from a vendor, and the boy set to watch the goods tastes the merchant's rod. Ya join an army, and every time your shield wards the blow from a brother, you've killed the man on the end of his sword. Ya sleep on silk sheets and wear fine dresses, and you're to blame for every death in the shifty trade they came from. This is life, this is the eating! Because only the eating matters, only the energy, cause the energy staves of the Unmaking a little while longer."

"This one... this one stands before ya and claims nigh immortality! You've had grand magic above ya, beneath ya, and within ya all this day, don't quibble over animal things, we're beyond the animal now...," Ezrah took the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, easing his white-knuckled grip on the table and easing back into the chair he'd half risen out of. The heat in his face faded somewhat and the edge of fury in his voice bled away, "What'll your piety buy ya any way? An eternity in the court a one a the Gods that left ya in the gutters? There is no paradise, and hell is the Drowned District, there's the truth of it...."

Ezrah shifted slightly in his seat, the anxious knot in his chest no looser than before. He turned his attention back to the old man, "This power we buy with our souls as coin. Will ya leave us to our own devices, or is... this-"

Ezrah made a gesture that encompassed the hall, with a nod to the numerous watchers, "-to be the start of an education?"

 

[The Funslinger]

"-to be the start of an education?"

Will couldn't help but roll his eyes a little. "Maybe you should leave the grand speeches to him," he said, gesturing to their host. "I wouldn't call them your strong suit."

 

[NinjaDeathSlap]

The Old Man intervened before the Marked One could retort.

"That will be quite enough." he said, no hint of anger in his voice, but it carried weight all the same. "When in this Sanctuary, you will show to each-other the same hospitality that I show to you all."

He looked to the Marked Boy, not fiercely, but his smile was now more cordial than friendly.

"The Children of The Shroud never truly stop learning. Even after you wear the mark, a long, repeating cycle will commence. One by one, abilities will manifest in you, and then you must learn to master them, as you would any other martial skill. As with so much of this life, your experience of what abilities manifest in what order, and how long it may take you to wield them confidently, will be unique to you. One thing I can say for certain though, is that employing an ability you do not have complete control over, in a life or death scenario, is a great deal more dangerous than firing a pistol without knowing which end the bullet comes out of. You will have tutors, of course, to guide you in our methods both magical and mundane, and should you wish to succeed in your endeavours, you must show them the utmost respect.

There is a great lust for power in you. I will not condemn it, for we are not so strict in that regard as some other ancient orders, I will preach caution. If you remember nothing else of what I have said, remember this... Your power will never truly be your own. The energies that will come to your aid come from The Shroud, and they belong to Mylaviss. When you use it, he is loaning it to you. What is given can be taken away; and, while you are right that mortal society is rarely balanced and fair, The forces that bind our world have a way of achieving equilibrium. What goes around will, in some form, some way and sometime, come back around. I mean everything I say, but do not take my advocation of this life to mean that using your gifts with abandon will be without consequence. A fully fledged graduate of ours is a weapon sharper than any blade, harder than any hammer, and swifter than any bolt or bullet, but no-one is invulnerable. The whole reason why the prices we demand from our clients is so high, is so that no-one who does not consider their need to be truly great, will be prepared to seek us out."

 

[Fappy]

Selena listened to the exchange carefully, never drawing her gaze away from the speaker. Ezrah's sentiments made something coil and writhe deep inside her gut. Something vile. She detested his words. Condemned his pompous attitude. Was this truly the man she knew? Was this Ezrah? Or was it simply that, when promised power, all men shed their masks and feasted on the bounty?

Damn everyone else?

No, Selena couldn't accept his philosophy. It was too cold. Too self-serving.

The old man's retort was clever and well deserved. Even still, she had serious reservations about the whole affair. Oddly enough, she was far more concerned about taking the lives of others rather than the concept of her soul being given up to a not-so-friendly god. She was, after all, likely barred from the heavens as it was. Unless, of course, those priestesses had been full of shit.

"It's a tall order, but," She began speaking before she even realized it. "I'll see if I can give you an answer after one day. Completely altering the course of one's soul isn't exactly a trivial decision." She laughed, nervously. "But, we all know what it's like here. I wouldn't blame any of you if you chose the life of a killer rather than go back to... that." She gritted her teeth and looked down at her feet. "I just... I don't know if I can hurt someone like that. Maybe we are just all pieces of some greater God, but it's the meaning we give to those pieces that matters, right? Isn't it wrong to take someone's life?"

 

[Dogmatic99]

Maggie shrunk away as the others all talked their big words and moral stuff. She'd been taught to be a good person too, turn the other cheek and treat others the way you would want. That was what her ma and da used to tell her. Honor the gods and treat other folks good an' you'll be alright. Well that had gotten her real fucking far hadn't it!

It had left Maggy without a roof over her head, without friends or family, it had left her living one day to the next looking for food and water... and most of those days didn't go well. Maggy could still remember when soon after her ma had died and she'd tried to be a good person, an' she thought other people might do the same. But they didn't, her pleas fell on deaf ears and those that listened always wanted something in return. They always wanted something.

Even this lot wanted something in return, only this time it was her soul. Is that so bad?

Maybe it wasn't! Weren't like Maggy was doing anything with the thing anyway, an they'd sort her out with food like this (she'd been nibbling away at everything in arm's reach). They'd even give her some of those freaky powers like she'd seen in the sewers... the kind that had sent her over the edge. Maggy's guts flinched at the still fresh memory of the blade sinking into her flesh. They'd shown her the lowest depths she could sink to. Maggy knew for sure where she drew the line now.

The others faded away for a little while as Maggy lost herself in the rippling light as it danced soothingly across the walls. It's strange, Maggy could never tell you exactly what she was thinking when she was making a decision. She never piled up good points and bad or thought back to some inspiring point in her past (she'd never had one). Her mind seemed to coil up and burrow away into its own little world as it sorted things out in it's own wordless way.

"It's a tall order, but, I'll see if I can give you an answer after one day. Completely altering the course of one's soul isn't exactly a trivial decision."

"What if we already decided?" Maggy looked up from her lap and over to the old man. The table was kind of quiet right now and Maggy was suddenly very conscious of the people around her. "What if I know my answer?"

 

[NinjaDeathSlap]

"What if I know my answer?"

The Old Man looked pleased, but even so, he answered.

"I would still advise that you take the time I have offered. One day can make all the difference, and once this decision is made, it is made both for life, and for death. You are however, more than welcome to stay if that is what you truly desire."

 

[Rufio's Ghost]

"What if we choose to leave, but do not wish to return to the Drowned District?" Langston's face became slightly flushed as all eyes fell on him.

He cleared his throat stammering out an explanation, "What I mean to say is my family lives in another part of Kragenau, and I am eager to return to them... if at all possible..."

 

[The Funslinger]

Will looked up at this. "What I mean to say is my family lives in another part of Kragenau, and I am eager to return to them... if at all possible..."

"The same goes for me," he said eagerly. "I would like to return home."

 

[Terratina.]

"I would like to return home."

Finally, through the talk about souls, gods, powers, immortality, fragments and other otherworldly things there was something Skylar could grasp onto: the chatter about returning home. Not that the former lectures were beyond her, they just seem the stuff of legend and myth - that which the merchant class half paid attention to while using the other half of their attention span counting coins. Still, one edict reigned above all: revere the Gods and ye shall prosper. However, all that did not fit the criteria - being beautiful, hardworking, and so on - were just cast away to rot with the other vermin. Skylar knew that all too well, having been given that treatment by her parents. She also knew it was probably safer to stay with the Shroud rather than risk a brief reunion. Alas, the bond between parent and child is a strange one that transcends hate and love. There was an opportunity here to walk the blessed streets outside the Drowned District, perhaps, to be among the accepted, to see her family again...

To go back or not... Well, the answer was obvious. Skylar once again spoke, "That makes three of us, then."

 

[NinjaDeathSlap]

"I am eager to return to them... if at all possible..."

"The same goes for me,"

"That makes three of us, then."

"If that is your wish, then very well." The Old Man said, nodding his head politely. "You are not prisoners here, I will not keep you. All those who wish to leave at this point, may simply follow me."

The Old Man walked away from the table, and through one of the doors to the left of the hall. This revealed another, smaller chamber, also ringed in doors. Going straight ahead, the Old Man crossed into another chamber, and then another, each full of doors, until eventually, they came to a long, low chamber, that was empty except for a gate at the far end, made of some black metal. Beyond the gate, there appeared to be no far wall, the room simply stretching off into... nothing.

"This gate can take you anywhere you've ever been before." he explained to those that had followed him. "Simply keep walking forward, and keep a picture in your mind's eye of your destination, and that is where you will end up. I bid you farewell, and should you decide after your day in the sun that you wish to return here, do not worry about finding your way back. We shall come to you."

With that, the old Man left them alone, returning to the dining hall.

 

[Dogmatic99]

Maggy followed them through the twisting collection of little rooms, meek as a mouse. The light was a dull and tired thing down here, only affording Maggy half glimpses at strange and unknown things. Could she learn to use these strange things if she joined them, could she be a sorceress like the ones in the stories? It was nice little thought but a stupid one. Maggy didn't even know most of her letters, as if she could learn to do the dark things she saw the robed people do in the sewer chamber. The monster that tried to have her for lunch was probably smarter than she was.

So what? Maybe she could be like the lizard beast instead. These people wanted Maggy to be a killer, so they could make her a killer! They could teach her to handle a blade, show her how to break a person the way the twisted fucks that walked the streets at night did. They could make her strong. Like a beast from the depths. Then she'd never have to spend the night shivering, too scared to close her eyes. People would have to be afraid of her instead!

Maggy stood before the dark gate with the rest, looking at it with just as much caution and mistrust, like it might bite or worse. no, not anymore.

Maggy squared her shoulders, took a deep breath and held herself with the closest thing to pride she could muster. Let the others do what they would, tonight would either mark the end of Maggy's life or the start of a real one. The young girl turned on her heel and walk back, trying to swiftly catch up with the old man. She had no chance of retracing her steps in this place alone. The blind blighter wasn't going fast though and it was easy enough to trail him at a distance. Maggy wasn't too proud to admit that he unnerved her enough to keep her distance. This whole place gave her a strange feeling and it seemed to flow out of him like a river.

Thankfully he went back to the dining hall. Maggy skirted around him until she came to a far end of the table, they'd all eaten like gluttons but barely made a dent in the feast. Maggy helped herself to a turkey leg thicker than her bony arm, lifting it tentatively from the table as her eyes darted between it and the old blind man. Did he know she was here?

 

[lacktheknack]

Andra stood at the gate. She had digested all of what she heard silently, and now the way out was before her.

She had to take it. She needed out of this madness.

She boldly stepped through the gate. Sure, the man might lock them in the blackness until they died, but this was a possibility that did not bear thinking about. Not now.

As she walked, she thought of her shop. Her only refuge in the Drowned District. But as she walked, she toyed with the idea of going somewhere else. She could go anywhere she'd been! She thought of her parents' house-

No, it was best if they thought she was dead.

How about a tavern?

No, the only one she had ever been to was the one that exploded.

How about a hospital, where her burns wouldn't be out of place?

No. Never that hospital. Never again.

How about her old temple?

Andra. Stop being an idiot.

A sudden whooshing wind picked up the bottom of her skirt as a stony cold wall of air hit her. She was transporting-

NO!

GILLIAJLIA PRESERVE ME, FUCK YOU GILLIAJLIA! NO!

She desperately thought of her warm tailor shop. The table, the fireplace, the table. The table with the fabrics on it. The table with the fabrics on it beside the fireplace with the holes in it from her fabric knife. THE TABLE WITH THE FABRIC ON IT. THE TABLE!

The wind snapped from cold to warm, and the floor beneath her went form cold stone to earthy wood.

She took another step and kicked a pile of fabric before falling off a table into a dead fireplace.

She was back in her shop.

Oh thank Gilliajlia and Mylaviss.

She stood up, the cold ashes coating her face where she had fallen in.

Andra sat shaking at the work table. She was still digesting what she had learned. Her? An assassin?

Perish the thought.

No.

Do you really think you're assassin material?

Well, there's the horror aspect that I have. And my precision, and my bottled rage.

Her attempts to answer the dissenting voice sounded surprisingly bitter.

There was a knock on the door. It's still the middle of the night. It was a man, who looked horrified at the creature who had opened the door. This didn't really surprise Andra, who was aware that with her makeup melted and rehardened into streams down her face, her flustered emotions and the ash on her face, she looked like a deadly creature of myth.

"Heavens... I knew that you... Uh... I'm sorr..."

"Spit it out, man!"

"Sorry! My... my wife is in labor... and I was told..."

"Hold on, let me clean up and I'll be out in a moment."

Andra invited the man in and rushed to her basin, pouring water in from her water jug. She quickly scrubbed the ashes off her face and grabbed her cosmetics.

They were expensive, especially here, but she didn't have time to apply them right. She slathered them on in far too large of amounts, hoping to at least cover the deep crevasses on her face. Looking up into the looking glass, she was shocked. In the darkness, she actually appeared... almost normal.

It was a strange feeling.

She quickly turned to grab her midwife's bag... and it was gone. It must be down in the sewers or at the banquet table.

Dammit.

Without missing a beat, she grabbed her fabric stressing solution, which was high in alcohol, and her tailoring tools. They would have to do. "Let's go, sir".

----------------------------------------

At the tiny single room that the couple lived in, after the simplest and easiest birth that Andra had ever made, she gently placed a healthy baby into its panting mother's arms. "It's a girl." She glanced at the scissors she had cut the cord with, the only tool she had needed. They weren't even bloody.

The mother sat with the baby, cradling her and mumbling thanks to Andra. The husband reached under the bed and gave Andra double her normal charge for delivery.

"Thank you so much. You were just in time... we're escaping this horrible place tonight, our contact at the Stinking Gate arrives in two hours..."

Andra breathed a sigh of relief. The mother would be able to walk in minutes after such a smooth birth, and it was a rare thing to find out the baby she delivered wouldn't be raised in the horrible district. These were the moments she lived for.

There was a knock on the door.

The husband opened it, and his exhilarated expression changed to horror in milliseconds.

"Your rent is due."

"You- you said it was due tomorrow!"

"Tonight, tomorrow, no matter. Where is the rent?"

The man turned pale. All the spare money he had had been given to Andra. She stepped forward. "Here, here's the money."

The landlord snorted. "That's less than a fifth of the agreed amount. Don't tell me you're OUT, now..."

"No! No!" The husband seemed pathetically small in front of the burly landlord as he elbowed his way in. He pushed Andra roughly to the side as he looked around.

"Nothing of value nothing of value... well, this ought to cover it," he said, grabbing the baby from her mother's arms. She reached after him in pure shock as he turned and exited the room.

The deadest silence in the world filled the room.

Then it got deader.

The woman lay her head back onto the bed and closed her eyes.

The man slid down the wall to the ground.

The silence was beyond deafening.

Andra broke it by slamming the door open and bursting out into the street, scraping her cakey makeup off as she ran, as if removing the weight would make her go faster.

-----------------------------------

The landlord turned down the alley, the baby crying and flailing in his arms. Tonight had been a good night. This baby would be worth a lot of coin in the right market. Noisy little ***** was attracting unwanted attention, though.

He heard an angry growl behind him, and he turned.

Before him was a humanoid with no clothes. Hundreds of scars marred its body, all the way up to its face. The only unscarred part of its face were its eyes, which flickered with unholy rage and hate. The snake-woman raised something in its hand over its head, and it whispered "Mylaviss take you, bastard!"

That was the last thing the landlord ever saw.

-----------------------------------

Andra plunged the scissors into the man's eyes. As he dropped the baby to bring his hands to his face, Andra released the scissors and grabbed the baby, quickly lowering the crying infant to the ground beside her tailoring supplies and taking up the stressing agent. With her free hand, she grabbed the scissors and squeezed them closed as she kicked the thug to the ground. A gurgling cry rose from his mouth, which she ended with a blow to his throat. She smashed the bottle of alcohol over his head, pouring smashed glass and fluid into his mutilated eyes. He attempted to scream, but nothing came out.

Andra said nothing, but she was caught up in a horrible flashback of when she witnessed the first drowning. The baby had a cleft pallet, and the priestesses had brought tied her to a chair for the drowning. "It's always hard the first few times," said one of the priestesses. "It's for your own good."

Andra had sat, dead-eyed, as the baby had gurgled until it stopped moving, but inside her was a pure fury, a barely-contained scream that needed to come out. She wanted nothing more at that exact moment that to plunge the lead priestess's head into the basin and drown her, but she hadn't. Internally, she had screamed, but no one heard her.

Now, she was too caught up in her actions to scream, but she howled inside anyhow.

YOU WILL NOT DROWN THIS CHILD!

She stabbed him in the face again.

YOU WILL NOT DROWN THIS CHILD!

She stabbed him several times in the chest.

YOU WILL NOT DROWN THIS CHILD!

She scraped the scissors through his ribcage, flaying parts of him.

YOU WILL NOT DROWN THIS CHILD!

Over and over she stabbed, her rage slowly ebbing away as the man's corpse looked less and less human. Her arms burned with exhaustion as she finally stopped her attack.

You will not drown this child.

Still livid, Andra took the scissors again and carved words into the dead man's arm:

OVERCHARGED

Andra began to feel her senses come back to her, and she began to realize what she had done.

You idiot.

Andra retrieved her clothing and pulled them over her blood-slicked form. They didn't hide the blood as she hoped they would.

Carving the reason into the dead body doesn't make things better, it makes them WORSE.

Andra began to panic. She quickly pulled out the lighter she used to burn lint and lit the alcohol covering the dead man's head.

You murdered a man in a spectacular shower of blood in front of a BABY.

The baby was gurgling confusedly, utterly oblivious to the events around her. What Andra wouldn't do to be in her position right now.

Do you really think that your insane self is going to get away with this?

Andra scooped up the baby and fled away from the burning corpse. The murder, as brutal as it was, had been surprisingly quiet. She very well could escape.

-----------------------------------

The bereaved mother and father were still in their positions of shocked grief. Tears streamed down the mother's face, oblivious to Andra's re-entry. The father looked up and stared, his mouth hanging.

Andra gave him the slightly bloodied baby. "Get to the Stinking Gate. Now."

He still stared as she fled the room.

-----------------------------------

Andra lay in bed, her scissors burning in the fireplace. Her normal twitches were now entirely out of control.

As she lay shivering, bloody and praying to all the Gods that no one would knock on her door, she knew deep down what she was going to say to the agent of Myalviss when he came to ask if she'd join them.

 

[Daystar Clarion]

Sparrow remained seated as the blind man showed the others to their exit. Shrugging her shoulders slightly, she grabbed a handful of grapes, slowly popping them in her mouth, one by one. The girl couldn't blame the others, some of them had homes outside the District, it only makes sense that they'd want to return there. Some of them weren't so lucky, for some of them the Drowned District was all there was, all there would ever be. To get a chance to escape that life? Why, it was the best thing any of them could hope for.

After a few moments, the girl furrowed her brow as the blind one, and the dirty skinny one returned from the neighbouring chamber. The sewer girl knew that too, she had said as much, there was nothing for her, and Sparrow was inclined to agree.

'Better to be a useful tool, than nothing'

If the souls didn't matter to the obscure god, then it really didn't matter who she killed, as long as they deserved it. She could count several deserving of such right off the top of her head. Of course, she could never hope to touch them now. Not yet. But with power the likes of which was on offer...

Sparrow had made her decision, there was only one loose end that would need addressing.

Stifling a burp, she attempted to get the blind man's attention. As he approached, she looked up at him, her curious blue eyes locking onto his.

"If I stay, what would 'appen to me mum?" She averted her gaze slightly. "I don' wan' 'er doing what she does anymore, I don' care 'bout anything else, if I choose to stay 'ere, then she 'as to be somewhere safe, and not 'ave to..." Her eyes found the man's once more. "I s'pose you lot already know everythin' 'bout me living situation." She bit her bottom lip as her hand's fidgeted with one another. "No more whorin'." She shook her head. "She deserves better than that, I don' care if I have to pay for it, she doesn' do that anymore." She had made her demands, that was the easy part.

The hard part would be convincing her mother about her new career prospects.

 

[The Funslinger]

"She deserves better than that, I don' care if I have to pay for it, she doesn' do that anymore."

Will didn't know the girl at all, and hadn't really spoken to her at all, but he felt his respect for her rise. He thought he might do the same in her situation, but all the same, she seemed so young. It occurred to him she was young enough to comprehend the enormity of what she was doing. That she might harbor some childish delusion that this would be some grand adventure, traveling the world and setting evil to right. Still, he thought by the look of her she knew exactly what she was getting into. He nodded to her approvingly.

"Well," he said, turning to face the old man. "I'm honoured that I apparently make the cut for this, but I'm sure you know all I want is to go back to my family. Most likely I'll take another commission in the Privateers once I've recuperated." Turning, he headed towards the strange portal.

Before stepping in, Will glanced back. "I suppose I'll expect your emissaries tomorrow to get my answer. It'll likely be no, I'm telling you now, but I'll expect them anyway." With that, he stepped through. For a moment, he felt nothing. His vision was merely distorted, and things around him seemed to darken.

The Hunt estate... the Hunt estate...

There was a feeling that Will likened to being plunged underwater, perhaps minus the coldness, and then he felt memories and images being pulled to the fore. He saw his family's estate in the height of summer, the lush green gardens framing the elegant white-washed walls of Hunt Hall. It was as though this foreign presence were plucking the pictures from his mind. Then the image dissolved and faded.

Will's feet hit solid ground. He was on the gravel path traveling dead center up the Estate to the house itself. The only difference from the picture was that the sky was dark. The only illumination came from the moon overhead, and the lights still on in the house itself.

Hesitantly, Will walked up the path, to the porch outside the front door. Taking hold of the large wrought iron knocker, he brought it down three times. There was a silence, and then Will heard a voice through the door and a couple of walls. "Who the bloody hell could that be at this time of night?" That was unmistakably Tygard, his father. There was an inaudible murmuring conversation, in which Will heard his mother's voice.

After a while, Will heard footsteps, and the shaft of light coming from the door's peephole disappeared. "Whoever you are," came his father's voice. "Leave before I have you shot, sir! This is private property, and you have no business intruding at this time of night!"

"Are you sure you won't let me in?" responded Will sardonically.

"Of course I'm--" there was a spluttering. "William?!" There was a rattling as the bolt was slid back, and the clunk of a key turning in the lock, and the large oak door swung back to reveal a man slightly shorter than Will, but more stockily built. His dirty blonde hair was now primarily grey, except for the thick walrus moustache. He was wearing a red nightgown.

"William! I--TABITHA, COME QUICKLY! IT'S WILLIAM!" At this call, there was the sound of yet more footsteps. Tygard turned back to him. "Denissa's tits, lad! What happened? Where have you been?"

"Well, it's--" Will began, but he was interrupted by the arrival of his mother. His sister Freya was hot on her heels.

"Oh Gods, Will!" exclaimed his mother. "It's you, it's you! Oh... you look positively dreadful! What happened? And where did that you get that nasty scar?" speeding past his father, his mother rushed forward to embrace him in an iron grip. Despite the fact he was considerably taller than her, she pulled him down, holding her head against his chest as though he were a boy again. His hat went flying across the floor.

"Oh, my precious boy! Your poor, handsome face, oh..."

And so it was that Will was coaxed into the parlor and sat down in the chair nearest the fire, normally reserved for his father. When his father and mother had sat in armchairs of their own, and Freya was stood leaning jauntily against the arm of her father's, with Will's hat perched on her head, Will had no choice but to finally tell the story.

The battle against the pirates, and the proceeding mutiny he left relatively intact, although he left out the gory details ever burned into his mind. When his mother inquired faintly as to his rafting to safety on a corpse, he deflected her. He also neglected to mention actually drowning.

"So where did you end up?" asked Freya.

"Kragenau."

"Oh," said Tygard. "There are worse places to wash up, I think!"

"In the Drowned District."

"Oh, Gods... how did you get out?"

And so Will explained about The Shroud. He left out, however, their connection to Mylaviss, and while he didn't cut out their work as assassins exactly, he described it more as how the Privateers worked in their combating of criminals on the seas. Needless to say, he left out entirely their apparent magical abilities.

"And they just brought you back here out of the kindness of their hearts?" asked his sister, scornfully.

"They have no use for reluctant participants," Will replied. "They've given me a day to decide, and where better to do it than home? In any case, I don't imagine I'll accept. Privateering is one thing. This is entirely another."

"Yes, well, perhaps you should take some time before you sign your next commission at sea, Will," said his father. "Properly recuperate. Not to mention, we need to make sure the Naval committee understands the mutiny was not your fault. If anything, you should be commended for surviving it! A medal, or a promotion! You're a good man, Will. You'd make a fine Captain, I say! But besides all that, perhaps you should attend to the other aspects of your life before you go dathering off to sea again."

"What do you mean?" Will asked, taking a sip from the glass of brandy his father's man servant Freidric had poured him.

"What I mean, lad, is you're a fine young man with prospects. It's high time you found yourself a wife! A Lieutenant in the King's Navy at your age, you'll do wonderfully."

============================================================

At last, the discussion ended, and Will was allowed to leave for the steaming bath Freidric had drawn for him. For a long time, he sat soaking, staring at the ceiling as steam coiled up from the water. When he got out and had dried himself with a towel, feeling lighter for all the dirt that had come off, Will stood before a mirror, thinking. The beard had grown in surprisingly well. The permanent split even made it look rather rakish, he thought. He decided he'd keep it. He'd trim it, most likely, but that was something for tomorrow.

Pulling on a fresh linen shirt, he headed for his room. But he found Freya standing outside.

"Goodnight, sister," he said, walking past her and through his door. She put out a hand and held it open, however. "I still can't believe it," she said.

"Believe what?"

"That you're alive!"

"Well, I am, Freya."

She stepped through the door now, walking past him to sit on his bed. "Mother and father might be content to pretend like nothing has happened, but... you know, we had a funeral for you."

"I thought you might have," he admitted.

"You have a gravestone in the garden," she said. "It all just feels so stupid! We gave up on you, Will!"

"Well, to be fair I--" I did die. I drowned and I died, I saw the light and I saw the dark I saw Him and his skeletal face as he took me on and then I was pulled back BUT I STILL SEE IT-- he shook himself. "To be fair, it was a close thing. I'd have thought me dead too if I got the news you did." Will sat down on the bed with his sister and put his arm around her. "I'm not angry that you mourned me or anything. That would be insane."

"I know," said Freya in a small voice. "I'm still angry at myself though. I gave up." She started to weep softly. "I really really missed you..." she buried her face in his chest.

When Freya left, Will lay down on his bed. He felt drained. Now he was home and safe, he really felt the effects of his ordeal. Sleep hit him like a brick to the head.

Will slept. And he dreamed.

Spoiler: Mewzicks

The ship's lights were ahead, bobbing as the current swayed the ship gently. Will saw. And it made him angry. He stepped off the dock, and onto the water, walking on it like a marble floor.

When he reached the wooden hull, he drifted straight up. Men on deck, drinking and laughing, reminiscing about the mutiny. Throwing the crusty, dead Captain over with that mouthy kid, Twil. Will drew his sword. The blade, black as night, rasped against the metal lip of the sheath, and they turned at the noise. Will stepped onto the deck and walked forward. One man, rooted to the spot, failed to move and Will bumped past him. Pausing, Will dusted off his jacket as the man behind him trembled and fell to his knees, clutching his chest.

Will swung his sword. These men, impossibly slow, fell with rent throats and punctured hearts. One aimed a blunderbuss at him, his face a snarl of rage. Will cast out a hand. He could see the shadowy tendrils of the man's deepest nightmares pulled from his head, fading into reality. A huge, slick tentacle burst from the water, snared the man about the waist and pulled him down into the crushing depths. Other mutineers were going insane, jumping overboard, only to fall limply into the water, drifting down as their eyes flicked in wakeful fear.

At last, only Tenorman remained. The man Will thought... no, knew was the main conspirator of the mutiny. He scooted backwards away from Will in fear, his scrabbling hand finding a knife. He brought it up, but Will caught his forearm.

Sheathing his sword, Will set a hand to the man's temple. Tenorman twitched and bucked as blood began streaming from his nose, eyes, ears and mouth. Then he keeled over.

Will's eyes opened to find sunlight pouring into them through the window, and he sat bolt upright, shivering. When the initial strange chill subsided, he got out of bed and looked at himself in the mirror.

He had made his choice.

 

[NinjaDeathSlap]

"I don' care if I have to pay for it, she doesn' do that anymore."

The Old Man nodded sagely.

"Of course, you can spend your payment however you like, and there's no need to talk like you'll never be seeing her again if you choose to join us. This place is meant as a safe haven, not a gaol. When not needed, you can go back to the surface and spend as much time with your mother as you like." his blank, hollow gaze looked right at her, as if he was trying to convey something reassuring, but wasn't quite able. "I offer only one point of caution, in that you be careful in how much of the truth you choose to tell her. Mylaviss gives us the power we need to defend ourselves from our enemies, it is those who have knowledge of our order, but are not protected by it, who are most vulnerable. Also..." The Old Man paused, awkward. "For all the talk of unconditional love, relatives do not always prove to be the most understanding creatures."

 

[Daystar Clarion]

"For all the talk of unconditional love, relatives do not always prove to be the most understanding creatures."

Sparrow looked down at the ground. Would her mother judge her? Wringing her hands, she nodded her head slightly. Of course she'd understand, why wouldn't she? She was her mother.

Looking back up at the old man, she furrowed her brow. "Me mum will understand." She paused for a second before a rare nervous smile curled her lips. "I might not tell 'er the details though."