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

[Daystar Clarion]

"Fair warning, I do not have the power to summon Mylaviss at will. I am his servant, after all, not the other way around. I can entreat him, but whether or not he answers my call, is entirely up to him."

Sparrow frowned, a worried look in her eyes. "If we don' burst into flames as soon as 'e appears." The girl muttered under her breath.

How was it this easy? It couldn't be this easy, you didn't just meet a god.

'Oh, 'ello your Lor-er...Godship? Nice ta meetcha, 'am Sparrow, please don' consume me soul.'

 

[NinjaDeathSlap]

The response from those gathered in the chamber was muted, whether in awe or simply in anticipation. Without further ado, The Old Man raised his arms towards the centre, and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they had gone from milky white, to bottomless black.

"Mylaviss," The old Man's voice echoed through the chamber. "father of orphans, your children seek counsel."

The pools of light in the eyes of the stone faces glowed a little brighter, as if the faces themselves were stirring from sleep.

"Mylaviss, orator of silence, here my words."

Tendrils of light began to snake from the faces, creeping toward a meeting point at the centre of the room.

"Mylaviss, guide of the lost, these newcomers wait for direction."

The tendrils touched each-other and there glow intensified, expanding into an orb that hung in mid-air.

"Mylaviss, lord of the-"

"Say the magic word!"

The disembodied voice, projected out of the orb of light, was childlike and precocious. The Old Man sighed.

"I've been doing this for centuries, and never once has he let me finish."

"I'm not hearing any magic words out there, you blind old prune!"

The Old Man rubbed his forehead in frustration, before replying in a monotonous drone. "Zapatos has wanker's cramp in all six wrists."

"HA!" The voice exclaimed in delight. "It's funny because it's true!"

At once, the orb of light exploded into an inky black cloud, which filled the room. The darkness began to swirl, converging back on the centre and reforming, taking the shape of a torso, limbs and head, before solidifying into detail.

Mylaviss stood before them, or rather hovered, at the same point the orb of light had been. His basic shape was humanoid, slim, pale and crisp, dressed in a black, pin-stripe suit, with a blood red tie and shined shoes. However, he possessed an impossibly elongated neck, hands, and feet. The most striking thing about him though, was his head. Bald, his crown was covered in black, shining domes. It took a second for those in the room to register that they were eyes, eyes like those of a spider, stretching all around and over the top of his head. Two wide slits below flared when he looked at th newcomers, as if her were smelling then, before his grin stretched, quite literally, from ear to ear, flashing rows of pointed teeth.

"Bow before me, mortals!" Mylaviss exclaimed in a now booming voice, puffing up his chest ad frowning. "You dare enter my doma-pfft! I'm sorry, I can never say that with a straight face. Anyhow, whadda you want? I take it this old half-wit." he jerked a thumb over his shoulder to The Old Man "hasn't managed to bore you to death yet."

 

[Daystar Clarion]

Sparrow squeaked slightly as she locked eyes on the... thing.

'Spider eyes?!'

Sparrow cringed slightly as she refused to turn her gaze away from Mylaviss. "It had t' be fuckin' spider eyes." She muttered under her breath.

Was... Was he playing?

"Zapatos has wanker's cramp in all six wrists."

"Hah!" Sparrow gasped as she covered her mouth, a bashful look on her face as she glanced at the others. As the god continued, Sparrow was stuck between being absolutely terrified, and completely enthralled.

This wasn't what she expected.

And she liked it.

"Anyhow, whadda you want? I take it this old half-wit hasn't managed to bore you to death yet."

Sparrow rang her hands between her fingers, her gaze on the ground, her cheeks reddening as she chuckled nervously.

"'Wanker's cramp in all six wrists.' Tha's a good 'un."

 

[EnigmaticSevens]

Something akin to defeat of a sorts seemed to linger in Selena's voice, as though the girl were slowly but surely succumbing to some sort of internal pressure. The righteous fire from earlier seemed to be burning awfully low... A pity that, Ezrah didn't particularly agree with the sentiments that stoked that flame, but to see the passion waning from the girl was no less unsettling. Not a surprising end result, though. As the day wore on, Ezrah was becoming more and more sure of a thing. A heirophant was not always an accurate representation of his god, the old man could preach compassion and choice all he wanted, but Ezrah doubted his God was really so... forgiving. No, if this Mylaviss had really gone through the trouble of calling those he'd desired to him, he'd no doubt expect to get his fill of flesh, one way or the other. Even now, after so many had walked through the empty door to 'home', Ezrah suspected he'd be seeing their faces again soon enough. No... this dark deity sank his barbs in deep and would only tear them free with grievous injury. Ezrah might've mocked Selena, reminded her of his warning, but it was hard to laugh at someone for falling into a pit trap when you were looking up at them from the bottom of it, already bent and broken.

"I heard a little saying a long time ago, 'There are two kinds of people in this world: the hunters and the hunted'. I'm tired of being the latter. I'm tired of being weak."

Hmm... that statement was not an unfamiliar one, the sentiments very nearly reminiscent of some of Sandovaal's earlier writings, before he'd realized the whole truth of it, a truth that had been sounded down deep into Ezrah and contested by no better philosophy. Every one was the hunter... and everyone was the prey, running each other down in one endless circle, a terrible truth, but an honest one. Ezrah kept the thought to himself. He'd bandy about words on philosophy if it was asked of him, or if it furthered some goal, but he'd found most didn't quite care for the flavor of it in conversation. He tried to wean it from his words more often than not, but he wasn't always successful. He suspected he had a rather bad habit of spouting opinion and belief as though they were fact, a holdover from an education filled with cultish games. Could he be blamed though? He'd yet to find someone capable of offering a worthy retort, folk just got angry and shut down or cursed him out. Folk didn't appreciate honesty, not when it was bitter, but unless there was some profit to be had in games of deceit, honesty was bound up in the core of Ezrah's nature, honesty and egocentrism....

"You were never weak, Selena," The words rolled off Ezrah's tongue before he had a care or thought to bridle them. He wasn't quite sure where the urge to speak came from, but words bubbled out nonetheless, half rebuke and half commendation. He slumped in his chair slightly, head thrown back, eyes pressed shut, the rest of the words thrown at the ceiling. He was tired, and the words sounded out from that weary place. Ezrah wasn't one for idle flattery, but his world view had come under enough of an assault for the day, and he'd set at least a small portion of it straight, Mylaviss and his fucking candy-coated church be damned," If you were weak, you'd 've died under Gilliajila's knife when the ***** and her lackeys tried to cut the life from ya, or the Drowned would've eaten you alive. Ain't neither happened.... No, ya've got strength a plenty... you, Risa... s'why I linger with ya in my business, you're worth the lingerin'."

"I figure there's power... and then there's strength," Ezrah stopped idly twirling the chicken bone in his fingers and snapped it cleanly in two between quick, calloused fingers, tossing it back onto the plate," I'd take strength any day, can't no fucker take it from ya, its yours, ya own it. Power... power's fickle fuckin' currency, one day you're king, the next day you're dog shit. Maybe that's what's got me sweatin' about all... all of this. Mylaviss offers power... that's what the old man said, at his whim, on his terms. One day, perhaps in a billion billion years, even the gods will end, in distant, deafening, perfect silence, perfect stillness, and even this 'power' won't mean a damn thing.... And what's he askin' for in return? Your soul, what's that? What is it really?"

Ezrah sat upright once more, dark eyes blazing at this girl, suddenly stoked back to full intensity, gaze full of something like fury, and something like pain, as though even Ezrah couldn't quite believe the full import of the words coming out of his mouth," Cuz if it's your strength, he wants. What kept you alive under the knife, what kept me alive, beaten and bleedin,' in a half dozen gutters, if it's the very last fuckin' inch of ya, the only thing ya really own, the only thing that matters... I ain't sure that's a good trade...."

 

[Dogmatic99]

Maggy had to wonder, that if she did join up with this bunch, would she ever get used to the sight of all this strange magical business? The lights seemed to grow from nothing, not shining like beams from a street lamp but crawling like worms and snakes, as if they had life of their own. While still fresh enough to shock her, she'd seen enough of it tonight so quickly that the surprise was at least wearing off enough to let her take in some of the details. There was something beautiful about the little slithers of light, almost cute in the way they bobbed across the air.

Though that little piece of wonder was killed quickly as voice without a mouth rang through the hollow chamber, sending a cold shiver down Maggy's spine, telling the most basic part of her brain to run and hide. As if she were a rabbit in the presence of some great beast.

"Zapatos has wanker's cramp in all six wrists."

"HA! It's funny because it's true!"

And then that happened.

Mylaviss couldn't have been further from what Maggy had expected. Acting (and looking) like some devilish imp instead of some kind of grand old dark god. Yet, apparently, here he was laughing and poking fun like one of the drunks Maggy tried to avoid come nightfall on a festival day.

The girl couldn't tell if this was a huge disappointment or a perfect revelation. If he was really like this then... then maybe the gods weren't so different to people after all (A terrifying thought in its own way). 'Or maybe its an act, something he puts on to people to try and draw them in. If this even is Mylaviss? Or the old man could have conjured a goblin or a shady sprite to try and trick.' No doubt he could do something like that.

"Anyhow, whadda you want? I take it this old half-wit hasn't managed to bore you to death yet."

That's right, he'd taken them here because of her question. Well maybe she should ask it anyway, it could be like a test to see if this was the real thing. Maggy thought away to herself in what she thought was a pretty cunning way.

"Ummm...well..." Doing it, on the other hand, was more nerve wracking. The thing did still look like it would eat her face if she made a wrong move after all. "I was just wonderin'...m'lord...was: why did y'uh pick me to try an, do yer work? - yer bidding I mean." Maggy corrected herself as she struggled to find the right words.

 

[Fappy]

"Cuz if it's your strength, he wants. What kept you alive under the knife, what kept me alive, beaten and bleedin,' in a half dozen gutters, if it's the very last fuckin' inch of ya, the only thing ya really own, the only thing that matters... I ain't sure that's a good trade...."

Selena furrowed her brow and watched as Ezrah fought to make sense of everything that had been thrown at them since they've arrived. What was their god really asking of them? Was her supposed strength even a quantifiable thing that could be weighed and valued? To a god, perhaps.

Selena crossed her arms and stared down at her knees, "What use do I have for strength if I go back to my old way of living? Sure, it will keep me alive, but I'll still be miserable. Simple survival may make a flee content, but I know what life can be like. I've experienced... blissful ignorance. The loving embrace of a mother and father. No, I cannot go back to that. It's too late, especially now. Not with what I have learned. With what I am still struggling to understand."

She locked eyes with Ezrah, "We've come this far. We've overcome obstacles that have killed lesser men. I may not know what a soul really is, or if mine is of any value whatsoever, but I know it has already been damned by those I once worshiped. They turned their backs on me. Why not turn my back on them?" She grabbed a steak knife off the table and held it in her palms. "Killing isn't in my nature, but neither is decaying in this disease-ridden gutter I call a life. If there's one thing I have learned since my exile it's that I'm a fighter, Ezrah. I turned to booze because it helps ease the pain, but if not for this so-called strength you say I have, I doubt I'd have lasted this long."

Suddenly, she stabbed the knife into the table and watched as it wobbled in place, "The thing about strength, Ezrah, is that it too is fleeting. I'm sure you've seen it. You've seen a man's resolve wash away over the years. Or even, in some cases, instantly. The human heart is fickle." She balled her hand into a fist. Her eyes were glued to it. "If I have the strength you say I do, I should use it while I still can. While I still have it. Am I wrong?"

 

[NinjaDeathSlap]

"'Wanker's cramp in all six wrists.' Tha's a good 'un."

Mylaviss looked very pleased with himself.

"You should hear the one I tell about Northos polishing his sword." he said, before registering her wide I'd take on his appearance. "Is it the ears? It's the ears, isn't it? Not to fret..."

His form once more exploded into inky smoke, and reformed into a more humanoid face, with a single tuft of hair sprouting from it's crown, and an enormous handlebar moustache. All appeared relatively normal, until he raised his arms and inspected the two giant lobster claws where his hands should have been, clicking them together rhythmically as if he were playing a set of castanets.

"There's always got to be a bit of me that's invertebrate. Oh, no real reason of course, it's just that looking normal is boring."

"why did y'uh pick me to try an, do yer work? - yer bidding I mean."

"Oh-ho!" Mylaviss exclaimed, twisting upside down in mid-air and turning to face the new speaker, legs and arms folded. "Now, that is a question, isn't it! Why, didn't you know? You're very special. Oh yes, inside you is all sorts of untapped potential you never knew you had. Who in their right mind could possibly pass up the chance to take under their wing the great and powerful-wait, what was your name again?"

He let the silence hang in the air for a second, before he burst out another loud "HA!", and transformed into a giant centipede, it's body looping over and under itself as it hung in the space, row after row of legs scuttling against empty air, it's mandibles clicking together with each syllable.

"I'd rather keep you guessing, little one. Never good for mortals to be too sure of themselves."

 

[Dogmatic99]

"I'd rather keep you guessing, little one. Never good for mortals to be too sure of themselves."

Maggy felt her cheeks reddening much more than she would have liked and she quickly cringed away in some little attempt to make herself small so that the others couldn't see her embarrassment. Mylaviss was having himself a merry old time, twirling and shifting in the air and making himself into all kinds of the sickly creatures that lurked in the dirt and dark places.

The display reeked of the magic his shroud people had used, only it was... more. Stronger, flowing with a sort of effortless power.

"But you gave this lot their magic, right?"

She didn't mean to say it, but the temptation was being shoved down her throat every second of being in the presence of Mylaviss and his acolytes. If she could just have a piece of that, her nights would be her own for the rest of her life.

 

[EnigmaticSevens]

Ezrah considered the anger that seemed to boil just beneath the surface of Selena's skin, venting in sharp outbursts and sharper gestures, like great gouts of hissing steam. He could understand some of her frustration, could sympathize with it even, but something else, something beyond that, was foreign to him. He'd always been taught that a man or woman shaped his own situation, through his own force of will, prejudices and predispositions be damned. Nothing was truer than the path a man carved out for himself, that was why so much honor lay in choosing ones own death, ones own Ending. The teachings seemed right enough, but more than that, Ezrah had witnessed such strength, seen it in the Crone's eyes when he wrapped her body in quick tender and explosives. There was a power in a man's choices, in a man's will, if Ezrah wasn't content with his place in life, he scrape and claw and gouge and curse until he pulled himself somewhere new, somewhere worthwhile, he certainly wouldn't go bowing and scraping before any God. But was that really what Selena and these Children of the Shroud proposed? Was that why it stirred so much confusion in him, because it felt so much like surrender, like something cheapened? Perhaps his thinking was flawed. After all, the Marked would well admit that no man was an island, no man existed within in a vacuum, shared strength was nothing to scoff at, nothing to mock and label weakness. Was that what his Mylaviss offered? The strength in this life to match any ambition, with the understanding that one must return the favor in the next? That made for as pretty enough a rationalization as Ezrah had ever heard.

Selena was right, of course. Some men's hearts were fickle, but Ezrah had no truck with such ones. If a man's strength vanished in a half a heartbeat, then truth be told, he'd never had any to start with. Ezrah equated strength with integrity, with sense of self, anyone who could abandon something so intrinsic on a trifle, was not a real person in Ezrah's estimation, they were prey. Woe on Mylaviss and his cult if they thought him some lamb fresh for the slaughter. They'd probably devour him sure enough, but he'd make sure the meat sat bitterly in their bellies. Ezrah offered the young harlot's parting question a tight smile, "In some ways yes, in more ways no. Guess in the end, we'll do as we will, no more, no less...."

"So tell me, Selena, just what will ya do with the might of a half-god in your right hand? By the way you tell it, your first life, your old life, is dead to ya," Ezrah's posture relaxed noticeably as he leaned on the oldest trick in his arsenal, one of his earliest survival mechanisms. He took the blackness in his gut, bottled it, and tucked it away in a corner. Frustrations, fury, pain, sorrow, confusion, that was was the way to handle such things. Keep them, but tuck them away, hold them for a safe moment in a safe place, where then they could be laid out, felt and dealt with. The business of living was pressing and near at hand, and that must always take first priority. The boy took a long drink from a goblet brimming with a cordial dark as ink and sweet as any good vice," Yet somehow... I don't see you taking the tricks this dark god offers only to keep toiling away under Demeter's lash. What's the tinder of your desires then, eh?"

 

[Ruedyn]

"I'd rather keep you guessing, little one. Never good for mortals to be too sure of themselves."

Giles continued to look on, in shock. His mind was racing with explanations, diving towards anything maybe vaguely scientific that could even begin to explain what the fuck he was looking at. Some sort of- no, wasn't a trick of the light. Nothing just CHANGED it's shape, no way light did that. But it was something, magic wasn't real and the gods were false. These were truths he'd seen for years, this... suddenly a centipede bastard had a logical explanation behind it. Noticing his jaw was literally hanging open, he forced it shut, trying to think up something to say.

"But you gave this lot their magic, right?"

'What magic, you stupid git, it has never existed, it will never exist-'

"Magic isn't real." Giles finished his thought out loud, giving an annoyed look to the homeless girl who ruined his flowers. "And I know sure as Northos priests fuck little kiddies, there is NO 7th god, Myalviss, Melkor, Morgunthaal or fucking otherwise!" Giles looked back to the strange, disgusting, repulsive spider eyed man with a sneer, spitting next to him.

"So what are you, where's the curtain to pull back on this one, and who dressed you in those stupid fucking clothes?!"

 

[Fappy]

"Yet somehow... I don't see you taking the tricks this dark god offers only to keep toiling away under Demeter's lash. What's the tinder of your desires then, eh?"

Selena shrugged, a look of defeat setting in. She was just so... tired. Getting up from the table, she turned away from Ezrah and stretched her arms above her head, "If I took this power... no, I wouldn't return to Demeter. I'd put that part of my life behind me. Forever. Start a new chapter." She turned to face Ezrah now. After they looked at one another for a short time, she approached him. "It took me a long time to do it, but I eventually learned how to appreciate my job. It's only now, after I've been given a clear way out, that I realize how fucking stupid I've been."

I am way too sober right now.

She sat next to Ezrah, hanging her head as her eyes settled on her knees, "That was no way to live, Ezrah. I tricked myself into thinking I had freedom. That I had a choice. I've been a slave ever since I stepped into the Drowned District all those years ago. And maybe... maybe, you're right and I am trading one bid of slavery for another, but at least in this case..." She sighed before meeting his gaze. "At least now I have a choice."

 

[NinjaDeathSlap]

"But you gave this lot their magic, right?"

"Well, if you don't want to split hairs, then-" Mylaviss' reply was cut short by an outburst from Giles.

"So what are you, where's the curtain to pull back on this one, and who dressed you in those stupid fucking clothes?!"

Rounding on Giles, slowly, Mylaviss' form began to shift again, dissolving into black smoke, and reforming with the head and torso of a human, but with gigantic bat's wings that, when outstretched seemed to envelop half the chamber, and with a snake's rear end below the waist, coiling over itself.

"Sorry." he replied, "I just had to change back to something with a mouth so I can yawn at you." which he then preceded to do, lengthy and exaggerated. "Denial is so boring! However, you raise an interesting point." he continued, scratching his chin with a long, black finger. "What is a God, really, other than a word used to describe a level of existence beyond your comprehension? Is a God still a God if no-one worships Him? Perhaps being a God is a state of mind as much as anything, and I was certainly never so enamoured with the vanity of seeing mortals on their knees as my brothers and sisters, so perhaps you are right."

Quick as a flash, Mylaviss lunged forward, leaning over Giles with wings outstretched, so that for him all light in the room was blocked out. Their faces only inches apart, Mylaviss lips parted into a fanged leer.

"I don't care what you call me, so long as you accept that which is true. I have power that you can scarcely imagine. I know your deepest, darkest secrets, the desires that you are afraid even to whisper to yourself. In the midst of the quagmire of debauchery with which you surround yourself, I could show you the way to what it is you truly want, or I could torment you with every shadow that passes across your path. Think about it."

 

[Daystar Clarion]

Sparrow frowned as the drunk called out the supposed god.

If magic wasn't real, then what the hell were they seeing? An elaborate array of smoke and mirrors with maybe a pulley or two?

As Mylaviss confronted the man, Sparrow took a step back as anxiety clawed at her spine. Every instinct she had was telling her that this creature was something to fear, something to be absolutely and utterly terrified of.

So why couldn't she look away? Was this also another one of the god's tricks?

'Gods have better things to do then toy with children.'

Sparrow crossed her arms over her chest.

"I don't care what you call me, so long as you accept that which is true. I have power that you can scarcely imagine. I know your deepest, darkest secrets, the desires that you are afraid even to whisper to yourself. In the midst of the quagmire of debauchery with which you surround yourself, I could show you the way to what it is you truly want, or I could torment you with every shadow that passes across your path. Think about it."

"Is... is truth important?" The girl stuttered.

 

[EnigmaticSevens]

"At least now I have a choice."

Ezrah cocked an eyebrow as the young woman sank into a seat beside him. He chuckled slightly and took another long drink of the black cordial in his cup. He topped off his glass from a nearby flagon, and filled another goblet, plopping it down in front of Selena in a flourish that managed to see only a quarter of it slosh out onto the table. Ezrah didn't typically have much truck with alcohol, or anything that dampened his senses or his ability to reason for that matter. Too easy for that kind of weakness got a man killed in the Drowned District, or robbed blind. But here? Here where even his very soul was demanded of him, what more could be taken? No, a bit of a buzz was probably the least lethal thing in this strange, mad cult's menagerie. Besides, Ezrah had rather taken a shine to the black cordial, it was cool, sweet, and spoke to some tiny kernel of truth deep in his heart, a place that said, 'Fuck it.' Ezrah suspected that 'Fuck it' was probably some sort of alchemical additive, a good one at that, he'd isolate it and suchlike... just later, when he wasn't quite so high on it.

The boy raised his glass to Selena a slight and wry sort of grin plucking at the corners of his mouth, his toast a somewhat flippant, rather wobbly one, "To our choices! A man has his choices, and these are what make him great, a ladder to the Heavens... or the deepest Hells, seein' how this bit is playin' out...."

Ezrah knocked back his goblet, managing to drain it dry in one mighty, prolonged gulp. He slammed the now empty chalice back down on the table, something like triumph brightening his features for a brief flickering instant, before his face screwed up in a look of mild confusion. A long moment passed in profound silence, before a terrific belch tore itself free from Ezrah's throat, leaving him slightly dazed, blinking in something akin to shock. He squinted at the goblet, poking it slightly and peering cautiously over the rim at the traces of cordial that remained," Well... that's... new. Heavy ethers n' suchlike, could probably burn a torch in it...."

With further investigative urges suppressed by the quickly building 'fuck it' deposits lingering in his bloodstream, Ezrah merrily poured himself another glass. He chuckled once more and offered Selena a rather conspiratorial smirk and wink," S'probably fer the best that ya get out now anyways, Demeter ain't gonna be pimpin' much longer. Crusty fucker's got the Scud, I'm almost sure, he'd been bedridden a year ago iffin it weren't for the Crone's brew, and mine's not half as good. He's got... what? Six months on the outside? 'N that's only if one a you girls don't tickle 'is ribs with the pointy end of a dagger soon enough. Can't say the bastard doesn't 'ave it comin' six different kinda ways...."

 

[NinjaDeathSlap]

"Is... is truth important?"

Mylaviss turned back to the little girl, and winked.

"Only to liars." he said.

"I'm bored now, fogey!" He announced loudly "I believe I shall return to my tea party. Well, I say 'tea'... and whether or not it's a party really depends on who you ask, but you'll just have to trust me when I tell you it's jolly good fun and you're making me miss it. Until next time!"

Without any of the ceremony that precluded his arrival, the form of Mylaviss dissolved and vanished, laving the chamber darkened.

"He takes some getting used to." The Old Man conceded, smiling. "Now, I do believe it's time you all got some rest. Tomorrow will likely be the most important day of your life thus far, whatever you decide at the end of it. Our hospitality is still open to you all for the night, though of course I will understand if you wish to be transported straight back to the surface."

 

[Fappy]

"To our choices! A man has his choices, and these are what make him great, a ladder to the Heavens... or the deepest Hells, seein' how this bit is playin' out...."

Selena held up a cup to humor him, if nothing else. After he'd knocked back his drink she couldn't help but chuckle at his reaction. It had been awhile since a drink had fucked her up as bad as Ezrah was now. He was still reeling from the burn when he spoke again.

"Well... that's... new. Heavy ethers n' suchlike, could probably burn a torch in it...."

Selena cocked an eyebrow, "What was that?" He was slurring his words already. Maybe he was a lightweight.

When he poured himself another drink Selena simply rolled her eyes and grinned. Now she wanted some.

," S'probably fer the best that ya get out now anyways, Demeter ain't gonna be pimpin' much longer. Crusty fucker's got the Scud, I'm almost sure, he'd been bedridden a year ago iffin it weren't for the Crone's brew, and mine's not half as good. He's got... what? Six months on the outside? 'N that's only if one a you girls don't tickle 'is ribs with the pointy end of a dagger soon enough. Can't say the bastard doesn't 'ave it comin' six different kinda ways...."

"What?" Selena's grin faded halfway through his drunken confession. Before he had even finished she was already staring daggers into his eyes. "He's... going to die? I-I-"

What was this? Why was she so... mad about this news? Demeter was a terrible, awful person. He deserved this... didn't he?

Ezrah, you son of a *****! Why did you keep this from me!?

She was livid and she couldn't understand why. Sure, it would have been nice for him to mention it earlier... and while sober, but he still told her in the end. No, that wasn't it. She was mad about something else. Or... 'something' about something else.

Fuck... get it together.

Rising from the table, she looked down upon his slumped form and whispered, "We will see each other again." Leaving him alone with his drink, she scurried down into the dark chamber she had found earlier. The one that held the darkness. The door that could send you wherever you wanted.

Where did she want to go? Why did she want to leave?

Tearing up, she clenched her hands into fists and bit down on her lip.

I need to set the record straight.

If she was going to leave her past life behind she was going to have to tie up her loose ends. Leaving Demeter to die alone in some diseased gutter just wouldn't do. Despite what he had done to her and so many others, he was the only person who had her back in the Drowned District. That had to be worth something.

After all, she had so little to begin with.

Closing her eyes, she pictured the brothel clearly in her mind and stepped through the threshold.

 

[Daystar Clarion]

Spoiler: Toonage

Lizzie sighed heavily as she looked at the few measly coins in her palm. Business had been slow for a few weeks now, but not for lack of trying. Typically when finances were this strained, Lizzie could count on her regulars to supplement her income, but even they were visiting less frequently.

Sitting on the edge of her rickety old bed, the woman's eyes rested on the small vanity mirror across from her on the chest of drawers, her reflection shimmering as the low glow of the stove created long shadows on the walls.

New girls were starting all the time, younger, smoother, more eager. As much as her experienced charm was welcomed by some of the older clientèle, apparently it wasn't enough to win over the prospect of a tighter ****.

The woman smiled sadly, her blue eyes softening. A few hungry nights lay ahead of her, nothing compared to the dull ache in her heart. Faye was late home again, no doubt thieving, or worse! The woman had tried her best to talk the girl out of such pursuits, of course she was adamant that she did no such things, but Lizzie knew better.

A thirteen year old girl didn't make that kind of coin working at the mill.

Still, she couldn't say no to the money, and the girl did insist that she take all of it. Apparently the threat of starvation was enough to quell the woman's moral high ground.

They could certainly do with such coin now.

Running a brush through her long hair, Lizzie paused as she heard movement outside the door of the shack, her hand quickly moving to the knife she kept under her pillow.



Sparrow pulled down her hood as she entered her home, her mother's eyes greeting her as she moved across the small room to warm her hands over the stove.

"Ya 'ome late tonight, darlin'" The woman cooed at the girl's back as she got to her feet.

"I know, 'am sorry." Sparrow muttered, her brow furrowed as she struggled to remove the cold from her fingers. Cold. The girl had felt cold ever since she left that dark place, like a chill that pierced her very being.

"Ya home now, s'all that matters." Lizzie spoke softly as she wrapped her arms gently around the girl's neck. "Oh sweetheart, ya freezing!" The woman squeaked with concern as she turned the girl around, cupping her daughter's cheeks. "Where have ya been to get this froz'n"

Sparrow was taken aback as the woman leaned in to embrace her. "Mum, I'm a'reet, really, jus'-HMPH!" Her protests were muffled as her face was buried in her mother's buxom.

"Faye-Faye, ya gonna catch ya death!" Pushing the girl away slightly, she grabbed hold of the girl's chin, raising her face. "Come, sit with mummy." Grabbing her daughter's hand, she led the girl to their bed. "Ya look knackered gal, what you been doin?"

Sparrow shrugged her shoulders lazily as her mother began to undress her. "Eh, not much, some bloke were payin' me an' some of t'others to chase down some rats in the ware'ouse near t'river." She looked out the corners of her eyes. "Big 'uns."

"Oh?" Lizzie chuckled as she motioned for the girl to lift her arms. The girl obliged, with less fidgeting than was typical. "Get 'em all, did ya?" The woman enquired as she lifted the girl's shirt over her head.

"Almost." The girl nodded, her arms still held in the air as her mother draped her nightie over her shoulders. "Was a huge 'un we only managed ta blind before it got away.".

"Sounds scary." The woman muttered as she turned the girl around, grabbing the brush from the bed, she began to gently brush out the lugs in Sparrow's hair.

"Eh, not really." The girl lied a she sat on her mother's lap. Silently wincing as her mother worked out the more stubborn knots.


"My brave girl." Lizzie cooed as she finished brushing the girl's hair. "Ya hungry?"

Sparrow shook her head, a slight look of guilt in her eyes. "They gave us some bread an' spud soup just before we left."

"That was nice of 'em" Lizzie smiled, running her hands over the crinkles in the girl's nightie.

"I s'pose" The girl muttered. After a few silent moments, Sparrow turned. "Hey mum?"

"Hmmm?" Lizzie hummed, as she adjusted her own sleeping attire.

The girl opened her mouth as if to say something, but the words failed her. Silently, she wrapped her arms around her mother's waist, resting her head against her chest. "You okay sweetheart? What's wrong?" The mother exclaimed softly, caught off guard but the girl's affection.

"Nothin'." Sparrow muttered, gripping her mother tighter.

Resting her hands on the girl's back, the woman kissed her daughter's crown. "I love you, Faye-Faye."

"I love you too mummy."

 

[The Funslinger]

"So you're already signed back on with the Navy?" his father asked over breakfast. Will was shoveling blueberries, bread and bacon into his mouth with gusto. He was still acclimated to being half starved, after all. "Not exactly."

"Some other branch, then?"

"More or less."

"Can you tell me anything?" his father asked, refilling both their drinks. The servants had juiced a fresh load of apples earlier that morning.

"Not exactly," replied Will, half emptying his cup in one go.

"So it's like that, is it?"

"Yes."

"Well," said the elder Hunt, stroking his moustache. "I can't say your mother will be pleased. She'll want more information than she can have, I suppose. Women, eh?"

Will forced a laugh.

"Still," his father drawled. "Sounds dangerous."

"Probably."

"Ah well. There's things in the world I'm ignorant of, I'll admit that openly. It's good work you're doing though, right?"

"I..." Will started with the barest hesitation. Barely more than a heartbeat. "Yes, of course."

There was a silence.

"Good, good..."

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

Some time later...

"Why do you need your old sword?" asked Syrio, frowning. "Would this mysterious employer not supply you with some basic equipment?"

"I'm not really sure," Will admitted, fiddling with the brim of his freshly washed and weather treated tricorne hat in embarrassment. "But it's best to be prepared, either way."

"Sounds dubious to me."

"Are you going to give me the sword or not?"

"Yes, of course," said Syrio, stretching up on the tips of his toes to reach the high shelf. "I'd not deny a man the things he owns, William. It's just academic curiosity, of course." After some rooting, he produced a long, deeply varnished wooden box and placed it reverently in Will's arms.

"Thank you, old friend."

Syrio bowed. "May your old blade serve you as faithfully as the lessons I imparted on you long ago, my boy."

"You gave it to me, so I'm only a little worried it might be a cheap piece of shit," Will replied. There was a brief pause before both men burst out laughing. Mastering himself after a few seconds, Will turned the box around and flipped the clasp on the front, lifting the lid. The sword inside was nowhere near as luxuriant as the officer's blade he'd been issued as a Privateer. This one's hilt and guard were simple iron, with the grip bound in old, sun bleached leather, much like the sheath it was paired with. The blade was shorter than the officer's sword had been, but it was good steel, and Will felt more confident just looking at it than he had felt in months.

Unfurling the baldric, he strapped it tight and slid the sheath through it before bowing. "Thank you, Syrio."

"Be careful, William."

"Of course."

Leaving Syrio's house, Will returned to the carriage waiting outside and bid the driver to take him back home. There was one more thing he needed. When they arrived, he thanked the driver and flipped him a silver piece before heading towards the house.

Instead of going through the door, Will instead went around the back, walking along the cobbled path that split their back garden in two. Eventually, he came to a small but lavishly maintained hut. Stepping inside, Will left the door open so he could see by the light of day. It was his father's gun hut. Various rifles, some ancient, some as young as a year adorned the walls. The Hunts were, unsurprisingly, a family of avid hunters. The various muskets and blunderbuss Will ignored, instead making his way to a cabinet at the back. Opening it, Will leafed through the various boxes of ammunition until he found the box he was looking for.

When he popped the lid, what light there was glinted off of the silver fittings of his father's dueling pistols. The senior Hunt did not know Will was taking them. He would have asked, but it would have brought on questions he didn't want to answer. Stowing the guns inside his coat, Will added a pouch of gunpowder and wadding, as well as a bag of shot to his collection, and left.

He wondered how the Shroud would contact him. And how he would return to a location so far away in time. He didn't doubt for one moment, however, that all was well in hand.

 

[Ruedyn]

Giles groaned as his brain kicked back in, his right eye opening slowly to take in where he was. Of course, home. Where else? Stone underground fortress of a murder cult, no way in hell was that gonna happen. If that happened, he had to remind himself. Too crazy to be taken seriously, too real to be dismissed in the Junkies brain. Why did gods always fuck with HIM?!

Giles pulled himself up, looking around. He managed to stave a bunch of others away from a dilapidated shack with promises of "Harmful Magics!" Giles used to think they were fuckin idiots for believing him. Now he was starting to think they were on to something. He convinced a few pals of his to renovate the place, a shelf, a chest, and an airtight roof. Never mind the hole in the side, it was a wonderful window regardless. A bunch of his tricks lied around, it was big enough for him to lie down with his head and toes touching the sides of the place. It was a bit longer the other way, at least. He fit a bunch of grimy, stolen pillows down to make his mattress, his hands hovering over a dark splotch he didn't quite recognize.

"Yuck, the fuck?!" Giles pulled back, a bit more awake now and a lot less sentimental. Fucking whores, terrible with laundry. Granted, he stole this... 2 years ago? Maybe not the Whore's fault. He sighed, rubbing his head. Too early. Too fuckin early, the sun was barely even poking out over the horizon. He got up, pulling his blanket/coat off the bed and shrugging it on. His head was pounding, and he was due for a long day. A slightly pleasant one, though, he realized as his pockets felt heavier. Pocketed some food from the night before.

He smiled, heading out for a bargain. Later. He wanted to see what more he could squeeze out the masses.
________________________________________________________________________________________________

Despite getting lectured by a deity he didn't know existed, and waking up with a monster hangover, there was a certain pep in Giles' step. Even odder, considering his foot, but it didn't even sting anymore. Was practically normal. He usually healed fast, but it had been awhile since he'd truly been hurt by... anything. Weird, for a Drowner, but there it was. He'd been living pretty good, all things considered.

But good can always get better.

He packed all his tricks and goodies today, as he stepped up to the corner. He had a fanclub, a rather recent one and ever changing, but he was entertainment. Not like he was rotting the mind or anything, and he was more legal than an animal fighting ring. Or a normal fighting ring. Poor people were violent. He coughed, and noticed his fan club jolt up suddenly. Almost like they weren't his fan club at all.

Almost like they were a bunch of strangers with knives.

"Aaah, shit." Giles smiled, shrugging as they rose to their feet a drew their weapons. They started yelling at him, Giles couldn't tell what with the slurring and lack of teeth among them, but the word "food" came through a few times. 'Dealer sold me out.' Giles cursed under his breath, never trust a dealer they told him, but he liked to believe in honor! He took a step back, and the group took a step forward.

Giles took a step to the side, they followed. Giles grinned,

"Now Simon says- Fuck!" He dodged a knife flying at him, immediately dashing off through the alleys. And, of course, a hoard of 5 angry, hungry men followed. A knife less.

Spoiler: Optional Music

'Shit, shit, shit, shit!' Giles mind played the word over and over as if it'd fix anything, weaving and ducking through ally's and the trash that fucking filled them. He was glad he was better fed than his pursuers, as he grabbed a hold of a gutter and started climbing upwards. He laughed at his sickly crowd, until the creaking shut him up. It quickly started dropping, Giles slid down a bit without thinking and twisted his body around, kicking out a window as he fell in.

"Ah, ow, fuck, why me?!" He shrieked as he rolled on the dirty floor, through some of the broken glass. After a quick thank you to every deity he knew of he had sandals, he remembered where he was. A 3 story, shitty building with one entrance. Which he heard the mob running towards.

"Ha ha, fuck me with a knife and some butter." Giles looked at the scared, bearded man glaring at him. "Not literally." A handful of coins came flying at his face, Giles caught a few, rushing out the door with a nod of appreciation. Fuckers were fast, though, he could already hear them wheezing a floor below him. Giles noticed a patch of ground that seemed a bit weak. He rushed over jumping on the patch of softer wood, falling through the floor with a crash. The dust surrounded him a bit, forcing a few coughs out of him and the others. He felt his way to another window, opening it and sitting on the sill.

"One step ahead of you, fuckwads." He made a smug wave of his hand as he fell back, twisting around again to land hard with a roll. He felt sore. Fucking everywhere. Mostly the head, he limped off as he heard more yelling and commotion from inside, rising barely above the din of the streets. Still, he couldn't help but smile, and whistle a nice tune. It was revenge time.
________________________________________________________________________________________________

"My friend, MY FRIEND, how are-" Giles grabbed him by the collar, smashing his forehead against the Dealer's nose. He reeled back, Giles letting him as he circled around. He made some shocked, pained noise as he doubled over, bleeding slightly. Giles quickly kicked out at his butt, knocking him to the floor flat on his face. The Junkie had known the dealer long enough to know where he ALWAYS kept his shitty, rusty knife. At least half rusted, he noted as he slid it out, undeniably dirty but one half was kept nice and sharp. A one sided blade, the tip sharp as well with an extra bit of rust. Survive the stab, get an infection it looked.

"Right, normally I'd give you some last words or some shit, buuuut..." Spence tried to open his mouth, probably a simple what the fuck, but Giles was riding to high, too much adrenaline, he thrust it into his back. He shrieked in terror, pain, betrayal? Fuck it. Still alive, though. Giles stabbed again, a bit higher, but on the right side of his body. Another shriek, tears and blood streaming down his face.

Was this what Giles was always missing out on? One last stab. Giles struck the neck, cutting off the noise, or just shortening it to a terrible choking sound. Giles stumbled back, his smile fading.

"Oh right, that was my dealer..." Giles looked around the room, everywhere but the body. But the corner of his eye caught the pool around it, and he felt the liquid on his arm. Still, quick, violent, a good enough first time he felt. 'First time, first fucking time, what the hell?' Giles closed his eyes, rubbing them on the back of his clean sleeve. He sighed deeply, cleaning the knife off on the (empty) pack Spence usually kept with him, it was lying on the ground, probably just got done with a sale. That would mean some money or something else on him.

Morality instantly left Giles head as he spun on his heel, immediately rifling through the corpses things. Something, anything for his troubles. A sack, he found in the pocket opposite the knife. Inside... a few coins. Dirty, pointless beggar coins. Giles smiled a tight smile, bringing it to his forehead. What to spend it on now that he cut himself off from drugs?

'Whores, booze?' Giles left the alley, coming into a more open street as he looked around. He had food, for a few more nights. And now he even had a weapon. Clothing? Giles pulled his hat back, scratching his hair, looking at his other sleeve. Clean that up, get a new coat he told himself. Or some fabric to replace the bloodied bits. Not like anyone else would do it for him.

He sighed, another day in the life of a magician.

 

[Dogmatic99]

They said the gate could take her anywhere. All she had to do was think of the place and she'd be there. Everything else the shroud folk had said had come true, there was no reason for this to be any different. So where could Maggy think of? Nowhere. It wasn't that she was spoiled for choice either. The simple fact was that she'd never seen anything of the world beyond Kragenau and even then her world didn't go far beyond the drowned district.

The chance to flee from this poison city and all the harm it had done her and start afresh in somewhere warm and beautiful was looking her right in the face, and laughing as it stood just out of reach. With nowhere to go and no one waiting for her Maggy thought as big as her wilted imagination could manage. She went to the docks.

Not the docks proper mind you. No this was a short walk off of the quiet streets on the outskirts of the docks where the merchants and traders lived and set up shops. The houses weren't rich ones but not poor either. They were small and cosy things. The kind of home Maggy's might have been one day if things had been different. The warm orange glow behind each window called out to her like a siren song, despite each and every locked door standing firm and vigilant. But they weren't why she was here.

A day beyond the drowned district should be something to be enjoyed but everything that'd happened over the past day had dampened Maggy's sodden spirit even further. So many things had been shown to her that she couldn't even begin to understand. The world had opened up to reveal an even darker and rotten core underneath the viscous surface it had been so eager to share with Maggy each day and night. Even the gods seemed to be shaping up to be lies. If they were suddenly simpler or more complicated than she thought before Maggy wasn't sure.

At least for a little while she could lose her thoughts in the sound of distant waves and the smell of fresh sea air, unfowled by bloated corpses shit. It was like being in another world, one where even the air itself was kinder. Maggy carried on her way up the wide, cobbled, street and up the slowly steepening hill. No one was out at this time of night to give Maggy any trouble. This was a respectable neighborhood after all. It wasn't long until Maggy found what she was looking for. A little patch of dirt road that lead away from the peaceful urban sprawl and off onto the closest thing Maggy had ever seen to a countryside walk. Soon enough it lead to a tiny, half forgotten, shrine to Denissa.

It was the simplest little scrap of religious worship you could find out in this faith riddled city. Just a little stone statuette balanced haphazardly on the largest rock available. Almost no one ever came to see it it seemed, the old spot didn't look like it had been tended to since the last time Maggy had visited it with her Pa so long ago. He'd taken her here one warm summer day after they'd gotten in after having had one of their best hauls yet. It was nicely tucked away and sheltered from the wind, giving you the best view of the harbor and letting you see all the way out to sea.

Maggy gathered her meager rags close and huddled up as tight as she could manage between the shrine and the cliff wall. The waves rolled below her in the dark, making it look as if the night itself was thrashing about in some fitful sleep as The Isle of Blessings shone proudly though it all.

To be a lighthouse keeper, Maggy thought. That would be a nice life. To have your own little spot, nestled away in strong stone fortress, with the sound of waves always there to keep you company and no cruel intruders to bother you though the night. To carve out your own little slice in one of the roughest parts of the world. That'd be a nice life, she thought. but it wouldn't be one she could ever have would it? That was the only lesson life had ever seen fit to teach her. That however happy you might try and make yourself there was always a thousand things waiting to drag you down.

Tomorrow she'd have to give them her choice. And a bloody sham of a choice it was too. But for tonight, she could sleep just a little... and think of happier things.