Vanyusha clenched his remaining fist as he stared down at Syrathan. Insubordinate fool! Had he not made the importance of this journey clear? He needed to know why these memories plagued his mind. They gnawed at his sanity and made him question his very existence, so much so that he could no longer function without answers. But it seemed Syrathan felt sleeping in was more important than his master’s well-being. If not for his curse, he’d slit his throat for such disrespect. His rage boiling within him, he decided to meet Kaevad without Syrathan and began heading toward the cave’s entrance.
Then suddenly stopped.
His arm went limp at his side, and his glowing eyes faded into darkness. He slowly walked backwards, his movement mechanical, and pressed his back against the cave wall, then remained still. A few minutes later, he turned his head toward his arm’s stump, then Syrathan. After staring at the slumbering man, he returned to the chamber where he kept the children and sat across from their cage. The artifact he had absorbed centuries before began glowing in his torso, giving off a dim purple light. He traced his hand along his stump, then pressed it against the artifact and muttered to himself in an incomprehensible language. The artifact’s light brightened as he spoke, filling the room with magical energy.
Once he finished his incantation, the light vanished in an instant. “So, his past life is resurfacing again? You should have awoken me sooner. These thoughts run contrary to his processes. A mental rewrite is necessary, but his companions complicate the matter. No, do not return me to dormancy – I must observe his actions personally. The situation may resolve itself, but be prepared to intervene if necessary. My strength fades, terminate bodily control.”
Vanyusha slumped to the side. After a few moments his eyes began glowing again, and he stood up and brushed off his robe. He walked over to the cage and clasped one of the bars, staring at the slumbering children inside. It was strange – he remembered despising them a few seconds before, but now he didn't mind them at all. He hadn't felt so calm in ages. “Perhaps I will allow Syrathan to devour them before we leave. He served me well yesterday, so I suppose a reward is in order.” Turning, he headed back to the cave’s main room and shook his head when he saw Syrathan sleeping. “Still asleep? Well, we did have a long evening. I suppose Kaevad can wait another hour or two.”
Shadows of the Mind
Re: Shadows of the Mind
Kaevad woke sharply, snarling his rage even as the images of Vanyusha continued to dance within his vision, the chant ringing through his hears, repeating itself over and over. His hide twitched as emotions whirled throughout him, the grief of watching his beloved die again, the agony of the taunt that had been chanted, and the almost encompassing rage of having a suspicion that his dream had been altered. In all his years he had never encountered such a magic, but that did not mean he was ignorant to such practices.
But magicians that could walk among dreams are myths! Legends! The human’s voice whispered in his ear, petrified it seemed; or perhaps awed. Kaevad rumbled his agreement before standing, stretching his wings further to catch more of the sun’s rays, purring when they captured enough of the heat to warm his bones.
Aye, but so are dragons. he reminded the human quietly, feeling what humanity within him that remained, cringe. He looked to the sky, with the sun already so high in the sky, and growled his displeasure. They had a long journey ahead of them, and Vanyusha had decided to dally. Unimpressed, Kaevad climbed to rest against the cliff to further catch the suns rays. His claws anchoring him, his wings spread across the Cliffside, his tail draped down and around the entrance of the cave, Kaevad was large enough to see just over the trees and the top of the cliff. Resting his head on a large outcropping of rock, Kaevad allowed most of his body to relax as he meditated, waiting for Vanyusha.
Not that waiting would be difficult for Kaevad. He’d grown patient over the years. What had him anxious was the thought of the wraith killing innocents whilst he sat there like an oversized bat, waiting for the monster to keep his word and meet him there. The full-sized dragon shifted and rumbled in discontent at the thought. Despite knowing it to be unwise, Kaevad wanted to fly out – do a quick scan to make sure the monster wasn’t harming innocents – but there was no doubt in his mind that he would be spotted. And if someone spotted a dragon in mid flight over a small village and large city… well there would be panic to say the least, and panic was not something Kaevad enjoyed causing. Unless it was among his enemies, then it was quite alright. His tail swished back and forth, stirring the dust as he continued to contemplate risking a low flight – just a quick check.
But magicians that could walk among dreams are myths! Legends! The human’s voice whispered in his ear, petrified it seemed; or perhaps awed. Kaevad rumbled his agreement before standing, stretching his wings further to catch more of the sun’s rays, purring when they captured enough of the heat to warm his bones.
Aye, but so are dragons. he reminded the human quietly, feeling what humanity within him that remained, cringe. He looked to the sky, with the sun already so high in the sky, and growled his displeasure. They had a long journey ahead of them, and Vanyusha had decided to dally. Unimpressed, Kaevad climbed to rest against the cliff to further catch the suns rays. His claws anchoring him, his wings spread across the Cliffside, his tail draped down and around the entrance of the cave, Kaevad was large enough to see just over the trees and the top of the cliff. Resting his head on a large outcropping of rock, Kaevad allowed most of his body to relax as he meditated, waiting for Vanyusha.
Not that waiting would be difficult for Kaevad. He’d grown patient over the years. What had him anxious was the thought of the wraith killing innocents whilst he sat there like an oversized bat, waiting for the monster to keep his word and meet him there. The full-sized dragon shifted and rumbled in discontent at the thought. Despite knowing it to be unwise, Kaevad wanted to fly out – do a quick scan to make sure the monster wasn’t harming innocents – but there was no doubt in his mind that he would be spotted. And if someone spotted a dragon in mid flight over a small village and large city… well there would be panic to say the least, and panic was not something Kaevad enjoyed causing. Unless it was among his enemies, then it was quite alright. His tail swished back and forth, stirring the dust as he continued to contemplate risking a low flight – just a quick check.
Re: Shadows of the Mind
What? Father was...he felt...what was going on? His mind was screaming at him, This isn't how it goes!This isn't how it goes!This isn't how it goes!This isn't how it goes! The endless repetition of these growingly incoherent thoughts threatened to awaken him. He numbly felt his father beating at him; had he been a child like he was supposed to be the blows would have left severe bruises, but Syrathan's adult body was able to absorb the sloppy attack. Still his mind raged on, further distracting him. Like the child he was supposed to be, Syrathan curled into a ball on the cold, dew-covered grass and tried to retreat inside his own skin.
Why
Couldn't
It
Be
How
It
Was
Supposed
To
Be?
Then, something snapped. Syrathan lashed back out at his father, pushing aside a fist and responding with force of his own. He lashed out with a stiffened thumb into the throat and slid it to the left, the strike becoming a one-handed stranglehold. Syrathan got his feet under him and pushed up with them, sweeping the body off its feet. Syrathan landed with a knee on the sternum, left hand retrieving the dirk and, holding it white-knuckled, the crazed half-elf stabbed the left eye and withdrew it in a swift motion, crossing his left arm over his body to rest against one side of the jaw, then pulling, ripping neck tendons and slicing muscle with counter pressure applied by his right hand.
Syrathan backed off, eyes wide and teeth clenched so tight it hurt. His chest heaved in bloodlust. He raised his trembling hand to find he had sloppily ripped open the skin on his thumb, exposing a thin glimpse of bone and leaving shredded pieces of skin hanging off the wound. No, it's dirty, it's so filthy, I can't handle it, "get it off me, get it away from me, get it off!" His thoughts had crescendoed into a hoarse scream. There was a small creek running not ten feet away; Syrathan half-sprinted, half-hobbled in his haste to clean the wound that so perturbed him. He stumbled right before reaching it and ended up on all fours scrambling to the edge of the water.
By now there was mud in the wound and on Syrathan's clothes. As severe as the trembling in his body was before, now it intensified to the point that placing his hand in the water made splashes that precluded him from being able to properly clean his thumb. The same white-knuckled grip that had held the discarded dagger now held his hand in place so it could be washed. A feeling of wild, hasty relief covered Syrathan as the blood washed off his thumb and forged a trail down the stream. Syrathan buried his face in the water, not caring about precision in his frenzy to cleanse himself. It was starting to feel better. All better.
He only resurfaced when he realized he was going to pass out if he didn't breathe. Water trickled off him and tendrils of black hair clung to his face as he brought his thumb into view once more. It was all clean now; in fact, it looked beautiful. He liked it better than before. He had to show his father what he had done. He was so happy. The smile on his face lasted only for a moment as he tore back to the body to show off his pristine wound.
Why
Couldn't
It
Be
How
It
Was
Supposed
To
Be?
Then, something snapped. Syrathan lashed back out at his father, pushing aside a fist and responding with force of his own. He lashed out with a stiffened thumb into the throat and slid it to the left, the strike becoming a one-handed stranglehold. Syrathan got his feet under him and pushed up with them, sweeping the body off its feet. Syrathan landed with a knee on the sternum, left hand retrieving the dirk and, holding it white-knuckled, the crazed half-elf stabbed the left eye and withdrew it in a swift motion, crossing his left arm over his body to rest against one side of the jaw, then pulling, ripping neck tendons and slicing muscle with counter pressure applied by his right hand.
Syrathan backed off, eyes wide and teeth clenched so tight it hurt. His chest heaved in bloodlust. He raised his trembling hand to find he had sloppily ripped open the skin on his thumb, exposing a thin glimpse of bone and leaving shredded pieces of skin hanging off the wound. No, it's dirty, it's so filthy, I can't handle it, "get it off me, get it away from me, get it off!" His thoughts had crescendoed into a hoarse scream. There was a small creek running not ten feet away; Syrathan half-sprinted, half-hobbled in his haste to clean the wound that so perturbed him. He stumbled right before reaching it and ended up on all fours scrambling to the edge of the water.
By now there was mud in the wound and on Syrathan's clothes. As severe as the trembling in his body was before, now it intensified to the point that placing his hand in the water made splashes that precluded him from being able to properly clean his thumb. The same white-knuckled grip that had held the discarded dagger now held his hand in place so it could be washed. A feeling of wild, hasty relief covered Syrathan as the blood washed off his thumb and forged a trail down the stream. Syrathan buried his face in the water, not caring about precision in his frenzy to cleanse himself. It was starting to feel better. All better.
He only resurfaced when he realized he was going to pass out if he didn't breathe. Water trickled off him and tendrils of black hair clung to his face as he brought his thumb into view once more. It was all clean now; in fact, it looked beautiful. He liked it better than before. He had to show his father what he had done. He was so happy. The smile on his face lasted only for a moment as he tore back to the body to show off his pristine wound.
Re: Shadows of the Mind
Tell watched the proceeds with enviable calm. He simply stared as the blood flowed outwards. His head tilted sideways as the half-elf began to scream. The creature’s flailing caused his blood to fly out further. Tell began to take steps forwards to hasten confrontation, but the half elf ran screaming off into the bushes instead.
The purple clad mage chose to walk up to the corpse of the half-elf’s victim, in place of the half-elf. Dreamers rarely wandered far, especially in dreams such as this. He was now fairly confident that the man was somebody important to the half-elf, likely his father. The resemblance was in their features, though his elven side did make it somewhat difficult to tell.
Tell knelt beside the corpse and closed his eyes. He had witnessed many horrors when travelling the Astral Plane. If the child (for to Tell, many men were but children) was so unsettled by the sight of the man’s blood and his own, it was time to bring those nightmares to life.
Tell’s eye’s opened. The corpse of the bastard child’s father twitched and thrashed violently, as if it were just a layer of skin filled from the inside out by swarm of rats. His limbs began to warp and change, growing many times their original size. Huge lumps of flesh began to grow across the corpse’s torso and face, stretching anatomical features such that they split into many. His clothing ripped and burst apart, leaving him fully in the nude.
The growing flesh and bone slid across the surface of the ground in a thin layer, which then blossomed like the world’s most putrid flower beneath Tell. The purple wizard rode a wave of pulsating, stretched red flesh into the sky. Pus and blood leaked from the shredded scraps of skin around him. Additional limbs sprouted from the mound of meat as the man’s head, at this point still tiny compared to the rest of the body, swelled many times in magnitude. Each new growth caused the head to fling itself in many directions.
The ungainly horror panted beneath Tell. It’s head turned up to look at him briefly. The muscles of its jaw and tongue were not capable of supporting the weight they now carried, and both flopped uselessly upon the ground. The right side of its face had stretched and sparse teeth, now great and pearly white, while the right had developed a second set of decaying teeth. Only some were behind the first layer. Others punctured the skin of its cheek.
A stray thought from the mage caused a third eye to appear above its left, taking the place that might once have been occupied by the man’s eyebrow. The original left eye, now horribly out of line with the right, twitched in wildly different directions each second. Great gashes in the skin revealed sinuous, bloody muscle beneath it.
The creature lurched forwards, its features only barely reminiscent of the man it had once been. It’s four right limbs, three great arms and the remnants of its foot, crawled awkwardly against its three left, which were comprised of one hand and two legs. One of the right legs grew from the abomination’s neck, and each joint on the limb leaked an alarming variety of bodily fluids.
As it moved, its head flopped against the ground. The leg on its neck thrashed it forwards each time, given the being an ungainly, flopping stride as it walked. Its open mouth drooled and panted with increasing intensity as it moved along.
Tell rode the beast to the half elf. Upon encountering him, the creature was made to slow and shudder. Each shake caused its arms to grow, until they fully encircled the half-elf in a wall of flesh. Tell was careful to ensure that the walls of its arms were not to constrictive; he allowed the man a good ten feet within which to move.
Tell did not correct the impossibility of its arms reaching such distances, and they collapsed uselessly upon the ground.
“Hello.” Tell said simply. The great being’s mouth mimicked the movements, but could only gasp the syllables in a grotesque mockery of speech.
“I have...” Tell began, standing up on the creature’s neck. His balance was impeccable, as it always was in dreams. The mage was about three meters from the ground on his perch, and his feet rested on the beast’s disjointed, exposed spine. He was choosing his words carefully and speaking slowly enough that the abomination’s enormous jaws to keep up, “a duty... to bestow upon you, yes... yes I do... little killer.”
The last word, “killer,” was dragged out by the mouth of the beast. The ground shook slightly, though the rumbling voice was not so loud. Its breath smelled putrid and was every bit as foul as the creature looked.
The purple clad mage chose to walk up to the corpse of the half-elf’s victim, in place of the half-elf. Dreamers rarely wandered far, especially in dreams such as this. He was now fairly confident that the man was somebody important to the half-elf, likely his father. The resemblance was in their features, though his elven side did make it somewhat difficult to tell.
Tell knelt beside the corpse and closed his eyes. He had witnessed many horrors when travelling the Astral Plane. If the child (for to Tell, many men were but children) was so unsettled by the sight of the man’s blood and his own, it was time to bring those nightmares to life.
Tell’s eye’s opened. The corpse of the bastard child’s father twitched and thrashed violently, as if it were just a layer of skin filled from the inside out by swarm of rats. His limbs began to warp and change, growing many times their original size. Huge lumps of flesh began to grow across the corpse’s torso and face, stretching anatomical features such that they split into many. His clothing ripped and burst apart, leaving him fully in the nude.
The growing flesh and bone slid across the surface of the ground in a thin layer, which then blossomed like the world’s most putrid flower beneath Tell. The purple wizard rode a wave of pulsating, stretched red flesh into the sky. Pus and blood leaked from the shredded scraps of skin around him. Additional limbs sprouted from the mound of meat as the man’s head, at this point still tiny compared to the rest of the body, swelled many times in magnitude. Each new growth caused the head to fling itself in many directions.
The ungainly horror panted beneath Tell. It’s head turned up to look at him briefly. The muscles of its jaw and tongue were not capable of supporting the weight they now carried, and both flopped uselessly upon the ground. The right side of its face had stretched and sparse teeth, now great and pearly white, while the right had developed a second set of decaying teeth. Only some were behind the first layer. Others punctured the skin of its cheek.
A stray thought from the mage caused a third eye to appear above its left, taking the place that might once have been occupied by the man’s eyebrow. The original left eye, now horribly out of line with the right, twitched in wildly different directions each second. Great gashes in the skin revealed sinuous, bloody muscle beneath it.
The creature lurched forwards, its features only barely reminiscent of the man it had once been. It’s four right limbs, three great arms and the remnants of its foot, crawled awkwardly against its three left, which were comprised of one hand and two legs. One of the right legs grew from the abomination’s neck, and each joint on the limb leaked an alarming variety of bodily fluids.
As it moved, its head flopped against the ground. The leg on its neck thrashed it forwards each time, given the being an ungainly, flopping stride as it walked. Its open mouth drooled and panted with increasing intensity as it moved along.
Tell rode the beast to the half elf. Upon encountering him, the creature was made to slow and shudder. Each shake caused its arms to grow, until they fully encircled the half-elf in a wall of flesh. Tell was careful to ensure that the walls of its arms were not to constrictive; he allowed the man a good ten feet within which to move.
Tell did not correct the impossibility of its arms reaching such distances, and they collapsed uselessly upon the ground.
“Hello.” Tell said simply. The great being’s mouth mimicked the movements, but could only gasp the syllables in a grotesque mockery of speech.
“I have...” Tell began, standing up on the creature’s neck. His balance was impeccable, as it always was in dreams. The mage was about three meters from the ground on his perch, and his feet rested on the beast’s disjointed, exposed spine. He was choosing his words carefully and speaking slowly enough that the abomination’s enormous jaws to keep up, “a duty... to bestow upon you, yes... yes I do... little killer.”
The last word, “killer,” was dragged out by the mouth of the beast. The ground shook slightly, though the rumbling voice was not so loud. Its breath smelled putrid and was every bit as foul as the creature looked.
Re: Shadows of the Mind
Demon. It's a demon. Mother said it was, she's saying it now, she's not even here and she's saying it and I can't hear it but where is dad? but i can hear her say it and it's a demon. Syrathan was hyperventilating, his head was swirling, and all the dirt he had just washed off seemed worthless, like it was still there but there was now nothing to do about it. It was that one word which the demon spoke to him. Killer. There was no escaping it. Killing was right, it wasn't even killing to him anymore. Killing wasn't killing. It just was. But now it came into hyperfocus, all the kills that seemed both a prophecy and a memory, because this was both his first and his latest kill.
Syrathan had a nosebleed. Had he not been in the mental distress he was in now, it would've sent him into another tantrum of cleansing, but it felt trivial compared to what was in front of him. It was all it. It was his greatest enemy, but it was his father but it wasn't. Nothing was certain. The only thing that made sense was to answer it. Through the nosebleed, his mind, now feeling distant from his body as a third person controlling a puppet, made the mouth to say:
"I'll do what you ask...father."
Syrathan had a nosebleed. Had he not been in the mental distress he was in now, it would've sent him into another tantrum of cleansing, but it felt trivial compared to what was in front of him. It was all it. It was his greatest enemy, but it was his father but it wasn't. Nothing was certain. The only thing that made sense was to answer it. Through the nosebleed, his mind, now feeling distant from his body as a third person controlling a puppet, made the mouth to say:
"I'll do what you ask...father."
Re: Shadows of the Mind
Tell looked down at the shaking half elf. His features were largely impassive, but betrayed some level of interest with a raised eyebrow. This had worked far more effectively than he could have hoped for.
Tell encouraged a dramatic wind to pass by, tossing his scarf softly sideways. He took two steps forwards until he stood on the fleshy scalp of the monster. He didn’t stagger in the slightest when its head thrashed about as the gaping jaws gargled out the word “...excellent.”
With such an unstable mind beneath him, Tell was unwilling to take chances by deviating from the patterns which had gotten him this far. The revolting face fixed its large eye on the half-elf for a moment. Tell wanted to draw out his fear and make him submit, entirely. He bade the beast to breath heavily. The putrid gases it emitted were becoming heavy enough to visibly taint the air, tinting the forested area with a sickening yellow green. The leaves of plants browned at the edges.
But then the world rippled. Tell stiffened. He had not done that. He turned his head left and looked upwards at the sky; distorted and dreamlike though it was, he could feel cracks braking through it. The dreamer was waking up.
“Your task... is thus,” the great mouth gasped, coughing putrid gas. Tell pushed his hand out to the side, holding it there. Such motions were not necessary for the wizard to change the dream, but the dreamers expected such theatrics and Tell had gotten used to employing them. The skin on the abomination’s head warped and sunk inwards. In moments the indents formed clear lines which composed Tell’s circle of runes.
“Remember this circle...” Tell was allowing the abomination to speak more clearly now, as time was increasingly becoming an issue. He felt the sky vanish into a white haze, though he struggled to maintain it. “Create it, with chalk... or carving. Fill it with...” The abomination drew in breath, sucking some of the gas back to its home. It drew out its last word as the world collapsed, sending the earth rumbling once more, “Flesh... from whatever source.”
“Do this!” Tell and the beast cried out in unison, their voices mingling in an unholy chorus. A pure white void, preceded by sterile cracks in the dream’s reality, was rapidly overtaking all that was visible. “Do this... and... obey!”
Tell encouraged a dramatic wind to pass by, tossing his scarf softly sideways. He took two steps forwards until he stood on the fleshy scalp of the monster. He didn’t stagger in the slightest when its head thrashed about as the gaping jaws gargled out the word “...excellent.”
With such an unstable mind beneath him, Tell was unwilling to take chances by deviating from the patterns which had gotten him this far. The revolting face fixed its large eye on the half-elf for a moment. Tell wanted to draw out his fear and make him submit, entirely. He bade the beast to breath heavily. The putrid gases it emitted were becoming heavy enough to visibly taint the air, tinting the forested area with a sickening yellow green. The leaves of plants browned at the edges.
But then the world rippled. Tell stiffened. He had not done that. He turned his head left and looked upwards at the sky; distorted and dreamlike though it was, he could feel cracks braking through it. The dreamer was waking up.
“Your task... is thus,” the great mouth gasped, coughing putrid gas. Tell pushed his hand out to the side, holding it there. Such motions were not necessary for the wizard to change the dream, but the dreamers expected such theatrics and Tell had gotten used to employing them. The skin on the abomination’s head warped and sunk inwards. In moments the indents formed clear lines which composed Tell’s circle of runes.
“Remember this circle...” Tell was allowing the abomination to speak more clearly now, as time was increasingly becoming an issue. He felt the sky vanish into a white haze, though he struggled to maintain it. “Create it, with chalk... or carving. Fill it with...” The abomination drew in breath, sucking some of the gas back to its home. It drew out its last word as the world collapsed, sending the earth rumbling once more, “Flesh... from whatever source.”
“Do this!” Tell and the beast cried out in unison, their voices mingling in an unholy chorus. A pure white void, preceded by sterile cracks in the dream’s reality, was rapidly overtaking all that was visible. “Do this... and... obey!”
Re: Shadows of the Mind
Syrathan woke with the heels of his palms shoved deep into his temples, mouth open in a mock scream. Normally, this would be the time when dreams would begin to fade into vague echoes that left his mind grasping for content to fill, but this one seared into every part of his mind like a brand. Have to make the circle but where to find the chalk but do I do it? because if I do then it might be a trick but it's Father he wouldn't trick me but why would he have me do this where is that chalk I swear I had some maybe that was the dream- He got it. Father had said carve. That was something he could do. But where? This cave was all stone. Suddenly another flash of the dream rocked him and as he stumbled, he saw the meadow once more, with a stump that he caught in the corner of his mind's eye. There. I can use a tree.
Syrathan had started for the mouth of the cave when he remembered another part of the instruction. Flesh. Another thing he was accustomed to. The first instinct was Vanyusha, but that impulse was quashed almost before it fully formed. In his panicky state, he found running back to grab one of the pair of children harder than it should have been. The male was closer, so he wrested it by the neck and half-carried, half-drug him behind as he left the cave. Had Syrathan thought it out he would have found the female to be more advantageous, as he could eat the male later and he felt whatever was going into that circle wasn't going to come out and the female was dead weight as it was and Vanyusha might be more interested in the male and...but now wasn't the time for thinking, and it wasn't Syrathan's strong suit in any case.
The nearest tree was a large, round stump, plenty large enough to carve the runes on. Syrathan unceremoniously dropped the child and began work with his dirk, making precise cuts. Every carve he made felt cathartic, as a troubled adolescent making cuts in a forearm. It was done soon enough, and he brought the male child up onto the stump. It was now half-cognizant if that, but recent events had made it so there wasn't much more consciousness to gain. Had Syrathan been a different kind of person, he would have almost felt like it was mercy on the child for it to meet its fate.
Is there anything else? I don't think there is I can remember the dream perfectly but I can't but obviously I can I made the circle but what if there's something else no there isn't what now?
Syrathan had started for the mouth of the cave when he remembered another part of the instruction. Flesh. Another thing he was accustomed to. The first instinct was Vanyusha, but that impulse was quashed almost before it fully formed. In his panicky state, he found running back to grab one of the pair of children harder than it should have been. The male was closer, so he wrested it by the neck and half-carried, half-drug him behind as he left the cave. Had Syrathan thought it out he would have found the female to be more advantageous, as he could eat the male later and he felt whatever was going into that circle wasn't going to come out and the female was dead weight as it was and Vanyusha might be more interested in the male and...but now wasn't the time for thinking, and it wasn't Syrathan's strong suit in any case.
The nearest tree was a large, round stump, plenty large enough to carve the runes on. Syrathan unceremoniously dropped the child and began work with his dirk, making precise cuts. Every carve he made felt cathartic, as a troubled adolescent making cuts in a forearm. It was done soon enough, and he brought the male child up onto the stump. It was now half-cognizant if that, but recent events had made it so there wasn't much more consciousness to gain. Had Syrathan been a different kind of person, he would have almost felt like it was mercy on the child for it to meet its fate.
Is there anything else? I don't think there is I can remember the dream perfectly but I can't but obviously I can I made the circle but what if there's something else no there isn't what now?
Re: Shadows of the Mind
Vanyusha cocked his head when he saw Syrathan's eyes suddenly jolt open. He had been willing to give his assistant more time to rest, but since he was awake there was no use procrastinating. But before Vanyusha could say a word Syrathan headed for the entrance, then turned around and dragged one of the children outside with him. Once Syrathan left, Vanyusha headed to the cave's mouth and quietly watched as he dragged the boy into the wilderness.
Such inexplicable behavior.
Curious, he followed after Syrathan and observed as he started carving a stump. The carvings were clearly runes, but their nature eluded him. Interesting: Syrathan never struck him as the type to have knowledge of the arcane. Perhaps he gave him too little credit.
After a few moments he moved to Syrathan's side to watch him work.
"You're behaving strangely. What you do is your own business, but bear in mind that we must meet with Kaevad soon. I will give you an hour - finish by then or I shall depart without you."
He decided to head back to the cave and finish his preparations while Syrathan completed his task. But strangely his body refused to move, and his eyes remained fixed on the runes. Why was he so fascinated by Syrathan's work? Once again he tried to leave but his body wouldn't budge. A soothing sensation flowed through his torso, reminding him of basking in a bonfire's warmth on a cold night. But how could he know that feeling? The elements no longer affected him. Before he could dwell on it any further, the thought vanished from his mind and he fell into a blissful trance.
The lights of his eyes went out.
"Child, this magic is beyond your comprehension. What do you intend?"
Such inexplicable behavior.
Curious, he followed after Syrathan and observed as he started carving a stump. The carvings were clearly runes, but their nature eluded him. Interesting: Syrathan never struck him as the type to have knowledge of the arcane. Perhaps he gave him too little credit.
After a few moments he moved to Syrathan's side to watch him work.
"You're behaving strangely. What you do is your own business, but bear in mind that we must meet with Kaevad soon. I will give you an hour - finish by then or I shall depart without you."
He decided to head back to the cave and finish his preparations while Syrathan completed his task. But strangely his body refused to move, and his eyes remained fixed on the runes. Why was he so fascinated by Syrathan's work? Once again he tried to leave but his body wouldn't budge. A soothing sensation flowed through his torso, reminding him of basking in a bonfire's warmth on a cold night. But how could he know that feeling? The elements no longer affected him. Before he could dwell on it any further, the thought vanished from his mind and he fell into a blissful trance.
The lights of his eyes went out.
"Child, this magic is beyond your comprehension. What do you intend?"
Re: Shadows of the Mind
Vanyusha was talking but he shouldn't be because he wasn't supposed to be a part of this because he was supposed to be with Father but was Vanyusha Father? no he wasn't. Syrathan didn't know what else to do. He had done what he was told, but nothing was happening. Maybe he needed something more substantial than the whelp. But who there's nobody else here except- Vanyusha was helpless against the physical alacrity and force of Syrathan, even without crazed adrenaline fueling him as it did. He didn't fit perfectly in the circle, but what was perfect? Perfect is- Coherent thought stopped there. It wasn't a concept Syrathan could muster consciously; it was too abstract, but he knew what it was, and it mattered but it was worthless but it was everything.
"Father?" Syrathan called to nothing, eyes unfocused in the general direction of the stump. He called again, weaker and no less confused. This was supposed to be working but it wasn't. Syrathan's first instinct was to cut Vanyusha into shapes that would fit in the circle, but he got the instinctual impression that may not be the best idea. How would he even know where to cut what was it made out of it certainly wasn't human was it a thing or was it alive in all its parts or just some it doesn't have a face but it does but it talks so it's a thing but not a person-thing...
All thought ceased as something significant changed on the stump.
"Father?" Syrathan called to nothing, eyes unfocused in the general direction of the stump. He called again, weaker and no less confused. This was supposed to be working but it wasn't. Syrathan's first instinct was to cut Vanyusha into shapes that would fit in the circle, but he got the instinctual impression that may not be the best idea. How would he even know where to cut what was it made out of it certainly wasn't human was it a thing or was it alive in all its parts or just some it doesn't have a face but it does but it talks so it's a thing but not a person-thing...
All thought ceased as something significant changed on the stump.
Re: Shadows of the Mind
The beginning of sensation was bestowed upon him as Tell’s skin wove itself about a twisted amalgamation of flesh. Some sort of sludge coated every inch of his naked form, coated everything, though Tell could not see it, for his eyes had not yet grown in. When they did, little new information was attained, for it was pitch black.
Tell attempted to move his limbs. It was like attempting to push through soft clay, and took great, weighty effort on his part. The sludge felt heavy and thick, like it was trying to pull him down and smother him. He didn’t care to chance opening his mouth, but whenever he breathed through his nose it felt like the sludge was trying to smother him, and stifle his breath.
His puppet had formed inside of something, perhaps. The wretched assassin must have placed it here. Perhaps he had underestimated the murderous half breed’s cognition.
Tell attempted to reach down and feel for the carvings or chalk which had denoted the circle, but his questing fingers only found more of the thick tarlike substance. This was unanticipated, and Tell’s fingers recoiled. It felt as if something had just moved, and he caught a brief glimpse of a golden light.
Tell would have hissed at the sight if he thought he could afford the breath, which vanished as abruptly as it came. Some of the sludge dripped in between his snarling lips. He had to get out before he was stifled.
With a thought, Tell summoned up his green crystal ball, holding it aloft with his left hand. He risked opening his eyes, and attempted to shake the dark sludge from his face. Wasting little time, he also summoned a long silver lance with his right, which was drawn back behind him.
Tell’s eye twitched, partly in frustration and partly due to the sludge which rolled slowly down his eyelid. Soon he would be coated completely. Nothing new had been revealed; there were bits of flesh dangling in the sludge about him, but it coated everything and seemed to be secreted from everywhere. To Tell’s side and back, he could feel things, pressed against him, stirring to life. A faint, growling noise repeated itself from various sources and locations, some distant and some alarmingly close. It was time to leave.
Though it was heavy, and difficult to move within the muck, Tell thrust the arcane lance forward. He would leave this hell, even if he was forced to use the brute methods of beasts.
Tell attempted to move his limbs. It was like attempting to push through soft clay, and took great, weighty effort on his part. The sludge felt heavy and thick, like it was trying to pull him down and smother him. He didn’t care to chance opening his mouth, but whenever he breathed through his nose it felt like the sludge was trying to smother him, and stifle his breath.
His puppet had formed inside of something, perhaps. The wretched assassin must have placed it here. Perhaps he had underestimated the murderous half breed’s cognition.
Tell attempted to reach down and feel for the carvings or chalk which had denoted the circle, but his questing fingers only found more of the thick tarlike substance. This was unanticipated, and Tell’s fingers recoiled. It felt as if something had just moved, and he caught a brief glimpse of a golden light.
Tell would have hissed at the sight if he thought he could afford the breath, which vanished as abruptly as it came. Some of the sludge dripped in between his snarling lips. He had to get out before he was stifled.
With a thought, Tell summoned up his green crystal ball, holding it aloft with his left hand. He risked opening his eyes, and attempted to shake the dark sludge from his face. Wasting little time, he also summoned a long silver lance with his right, which was drawn back behind him.
Tell’s eye twitched, partly in frustration and partly due to the sludge which rolled slowly down his eyelid. Soon he would be coated completely. Nothing new had been revealed; there were bits of flesh dangling in the sludge about him, but it coated everything and seemed to be secreted from everywhere. To Tell’s side and back, he could feel things, pressed against him, stirring to life. A faint, growling noise repeated itself from various sources and locations, some distant and some alarmingly close. It was time to leave.
Though it was heavy, and difficult to move within the muck, Tell thrust the arcane lance forward. He would leave this hell, even if he was forced to use the brute methods of beasts.
Re: Shadows of the Mind
The Parasite chose a wise time to assume control – this child was a threat to his plan.
There was not enough time for him to avoid the push. Landing on the circle, his body went still and the artifact within his torso glowed bright purple. Golden veins shone within his dark ooze, pulsating with malevolent magic. The arcane light revealed the shreds of rotten flesh that remained from Vanyusha's original body, suspended and preserved in the ooze. The Parasite struggled to resist the spell with the full extent of Vanyusha's strength, but it could not move from the circle.
Suddenly, he felt another presence within Vanyusha's body – a being of powerful magic, no doubt the source of the child's intricate arcane knowledge.
Their minds touched one another, and the two souls he had placed under Vanyusha's control began slipping away.
Images rapidly flooded into Tell's mind: Vanyusha sprawled out on a grassy hill, drenched in rain, as a distraught young woman and crying child looked on. The woman drew a dagger and raised it over Vanyusha's torso, her eyes filled with regret. Vanyusha's mask hid his expression, his feelings flowed through Tell – he was grateful to be put out of his misery.
Gratitude turned to horror.
Screams. Blood. Entrails. Darkness.
Vanyusha's sight became one with Tell's. The corpses of the woman and child lay before him, mutilated beyond recognition. Their minds separated from Vanyusha and fell under his control. As they passed over to Tell their strongest memories flashed before his eyes: sitting in a cave with Vanyusha, talking with him well into the night; bringing a Puradyne priest to meet with him. Holy magic crippling Vanyusha at his request.
Vanyusha kneeling over their corpses, clutching his chest, golden eyes wide with horror. The gold gave way to darkness, and Tell could feel Vanyusha's mind slipping away. Magic dominated Vanyusha's mind, malicious instructions surged through it – torture, study, kill. The words grew louder, drowning out the screaming of the woman and child, Vanyusha's own screaming.
Everything went dark. The Parasite drifted out from the shadows, a white silhouette of Vanyusha, slowly approaching Tell. Inhuman whispers grew louder as the silhouette grew nearer, turning into a chorus of demonic wails and grows. The creature began transforming, its robes lengthening, its horns twisting into antlers. Vanyusha's body began falling away, no longer needed.
Then nothing.
“Vanyusha” forced the intruder out of his body, latching onto a nearby tree as a puddle of ooze. He separated from the tree and reformed his body with ease, then turned to face Syrathan. “Your presence is detrimental, child. Leave me – I have no further use for you,” he said, then turned to Tell and looked down at him. “Explain.”
There was not enough time for him to avoid the push. Landing on the circle, his body went still and the artifact within his torso glowed bright purple. Golden veins shone within his dark ooze, pulsating with malevolent magic. The arcane light revealed the shreds of rotten flesh that remained from Vanyusha's original body, suspended and preserved in the ooze. The Parasite struggled to resist the spell with the full extent of Vanyusha's strength, but it could not move from the circle.
Suddenly, he felt another presence within Vanyusha's body – a being of powerful magic, no doubt the source of the child's intricate arcane knowledge.
Their minds touched one another, and the two souls he had placed under Vanyusha's control began slipping away.
Images rapidly flooded into Tell's mind: Vanyusha sprawled out on a grassy hill, drenched in rain, as a distraught young woman and crying child looked on. The woman drew a dagger and raised it over Vanyusha's torso, her eyes filled with regret. Vanyusha's mask hid his expression, his feelings flowed through Tell – he was grateful to be put out of his misery.
Gratitude turned to horror.
Screams. Blood. Entrails. Darkness.
Vanyusha's sight became one with Tell's. The corpses of the woman and child lay before him, mutilated beyond recognition. Their minds separated from Vanyusha and fell under his control. As they passed over to Tell their strongest memories flashed before his eyes: sitting in a cave with Vanyusha, talking with him well into the night; bringing a Puradyne priest to meet with him. Holy magic crippling Vanyusha at his request.
Vanyusha kneeling over their corpses, clutching his chest, golden eyes wide with horror. The gold gave way to darkness, and Tell could feel Vanyusha's mind slipping away. Magic dominated Vanyusha's mind, malicious instructions surged through it – torture, study, kill. The words grew louder, drowning out the screaming of the woman and child, Vanyusha's own screaming.
Everything went dark. The Parasite drifted out from the shadows, a white silhouette of Vanyusha, slowly approaching Tell. Inhuman whispers grew louder as the silhouette grew nearer, turning into a chorus of demonic wails and grows. The creature began transforming, its robes lengthening, its horns twisting into antlers. Vanyusha's body began falling away, no longer needed.
Then nothing.
“Vanyusha” forced the intruder out of his body, latching onto a nearby tree as a puddle of ooze. He separated from the tree and reformed his body with ease, then turned to face Syrathan. “Your presence is detrimental, child. Leave me – I have no further use for you,” he said, then turned to Tell and looked down at him. “Explain.”
Re: Shadows of the Mind
Vanyusha told him to leave but he didn't want to leave he wanted to see his father who had finally appeared kind of. He wasn't about to be casually dismissed like an apple core, either. Syrathan strode up to the frail wraith and shoved him aside, facing Father for the first time. "Father, do you see me? Do you know me?" Father looked strange. He had come from the Vanyusha, so he was covered in filth. It made Syrathan's stomach churn, but there was nothing he could do about it. Father hated it when Syr tried to clean him. It did make him hyperventilate and collapse cross-legged like a child, almost unbalancing himself on the hilt of his dirk, which was oddly in the hip sheath instead of the usual torso sheath.
Syrathan loved Father. It was weird; what was love? He told himself that's what it was. It was fear, that was sure. But it was an odd kind of fear, ecstatic, like sex but he was afraid and anxiety but endearing. It was so blinding. He realized he had fazed out of the world in his inner reverie about emotions; he felt content now. He tried too hard to think about it and the high was gone. But Father was here. Here.
Syrathan loved Father. It was weird; what was love? He told himself that's what it was. It was fear, that was sure. But it was an odd kind of fear, ecstatic, like sex but he was afraid and anxiety but endearing. It was so blinding. He realized he had fazed out of the world in his inner reverie about emotions; he felt content now. He tried too hard to think about it and the high was gone. But Father was here. Here.
Re: Shadows of the Mind
The lance came first, its long and narrow point erupting from Vanyusha’s chest. The silver was dulled, but soon followed by his slick hands grasping frantically to the handle.
Tell’s naked form rocketed forwards out of Vanyusha’s bleak form, violently expelled by forces within. He landed on his shoulder before his momentum sent him into a roll. He tumbled across the matt of forest grasses, tracking that revolting black fluid behind him as he went. He eventually came to a slow stop, the liquid coalescing beneath him. His arms were before him, holding him stable on all fours. His crystal ball thrashed wildly about his head and the silver lance, now blackened by bile, lay discarded on the ground beside him.
He coughed and gasped for breath, desperately excising the sludge from his lips and throat. He gritted his teeth together, emitting a soft, cringing “Nnn” sound which gradually raised in volume and pitch. Tell’s body rocked upwards, his hands flying for his face and covering his eyes. He screamed at the top of his lungs, a howl of such might that wolves might cower in awe.
“Get out!” He shouted, refusing to lift his hands from his features as he raised out of his crouch, stumbling backwards. “Get out of my head! You’re not me! Get out! Get out! Get out!” This was followed by another prolonged, tortured scream. His red and blue crystal balls appeared beside him, and spun rapidly about his form as Tell released his powers wildly, without heed for his surroundings. When his breath ran out, Tell collapsed back down, this time landing upon his knees. The crystal balls slowed to a halt, their trichromatic colors painting his black coated features like an inverted, sickening canvas.
After moments of panting, he howled and thrashed a gain, the crystal balls swirling about him ever faster. One glanced into a tree just behind Tell and shredded bark from its trunk, tossing needle like fragments off to Tell’s right. “No!” He shouted at the top of his lungs, throwing his arms to the side. Each crystal ball soared outwards “I am... I am in control! I will not be broken! I am Matvei and I. Am. In. Control!”
A shudder rocked his body, and his hands flew to his gut as if he might hurl. No further noise escaped his lips, but his eyes were still wide with fear. “What have you done to me.” His left eye twitched closed. He stood, his bare foot pressing into the dirt with a renewed confidence born of madness. He took several purposeful strides forwards; all his memories agreed on one thing. This was not Vanyusha.
He found his progress blocked as Vanyusha was abruptly shoved aside. Tell stared for many a long moment at the interloper. It was the half breed assassin who had done this to him, who had in ignorance and idiocy forced him to deal with these memories not his own, though the distinction between the Tell’s and those from Vanyusha’s demons had blurred considerably.
Tell drew his hand back, the crystal balls responding by swinging in the direction of his limb. He flung his arm outwards in a sweeping motion, and the three responded by swerving forwards toward their target. Only the green orb connected, but it was enough to stagger Syrathan. “Ignorant whelp!” Tell screamed, his voice full of fury, “You do not know what you have done!” The crystal balls drew back to Tell, swirling menacingly as if prepared to strike again. Something in the memories that tormented him stayed his hand, and that alone infuriated Tell. For all his anger, he could not bring the crystal balls forwards. His hand trembled as he stared down at Syrathan, poised to send the crystals forwards. They did not move, though they vibrated with a violent and alarming eagerness.
“Tsk” Tell voiced, turning his attention away from the half-breed. The wizard’s arms fell to his sides and the orbs calmed down considerably. There was only one true target here, and it was not the boy. The puppet’s eyes fixed on Vanyusha and narrowed menacingly. “You. You are not...” Tell struggled with the memories within him, trying to find the proper title “You are not... Vanyusha.” A snarl broke through his features, his eyes turning downwards. These wretched thoughts held too much influence.
He took a stride forwards and grabbed the edge of the parasite’s robe at his neck. Tell brough his eyes, now the golden eyes of a puppet, close to the blank holes of the skull. The crystal balls formed a wide triangle above his head, poised to crash downwards. “Bring him back. Bring him back now. It is he who I have come to collect, not you.”
Tell’s naked form rocketed forwards out of Vanyusha’s bleak form, violently expelled by forces within. He landed on his shoulder before his momentum sent him into a roll. He tumbled across the matt of forest grasses, tracking that revolting black fluid behind him as he went. He eventually came to a slow stop, the liquid coalescing beneath him. His arms were before him, holding him stable on all fours. His crystal ball thrashed wildly about his head and the silver lance, now blackened by bile, lay discarded on the ground beside him.
He coughed and gasped for breath, desperately excising the sludge from his lips and throat. He gritted his teeth together, emitting a soft, cringing “Nnn” sound which gradually raised in volume and pitch. Tell’s body rocked upwards, his hands flying for his face and covering his eyes. He screamed at the top of his lungs, a howl of such might that wolves might cower in awe.
“Get out!” He shouted, refusing to lift his hands from his features as he raised out of his crouch, stumbling backwards. “Get out of my head! You’re not me! Get out! Get out! Get out!” This was followed by another prolonged, tortured scream. His red and blue crystal balls appeared beside him, and spun rapidly about his form as Tell released his powers wildly, without heed for his surroundings. When his breath ran out, Tell collapsed back down, this time landing upon his knees. The crystal balls slowed to a halt, their trichromatic colors painting his black coated features like an inverted, sickening canvas.
After moments of panting, he howled and thrashed a gain, the crystal balls swirling about him ever faster. One glanced into a tree just behind Tell and shredded bark from its trunk, tossing needle like fragments off to Tell’s right. “No!” He shouted at the top of his lungs, throwing his arms to the side. Each crystal ball soared outwards “I am... I am in control! I will not be broken! I am Matvei and I. Am. In. Control!”
A shudder rocked his body, and his hands flew to his gut as if he might hurl. No further noise escaped his lips, but his eyes were still wide with fear. “What have you done to me.” His left eye twitched closed. He stood, his bare foot pressing into the dirt with a renewed confidence born of madness. He took several purposeful strides forwards; all his memories agreed on one thing. This was not Vanyusha.
He found his progress blocked as Vanyusha was abruptly shoved aside. Tell stared for many a long moment at the interloper. It was the half breed assassin who had done this to him, who had in ignorance and idiocy forced him to deal with these memories not his own, though the distinction between the Tell’s and those from Vanyusha’s demons had blurred considerably.
Tell drew his hand back, the crystal balls responding by swinging in the direction of his limb. He flung his arm outwards in a sweeping motion, and the three responded by swerving forwards toward their target. Only the green orb connected, but it was enough to stagger Syrathan. “Ignorant whelp!” Tell screamed, his voice full of fury, “You do not know what you have done!” The crystal balls drew back to Tell, swirling menacingly as if prepared to strike again. Something in the memories that tormented him stayed his hand, and that alone infuriated Tell. For all his anger, he could not bring the crystal balls forwards. His hand trembled as he stared down at Syrathan, poised to send the crystals forwards. They did not move, though they vibrated with a violent and alarming eagerness.
“Tsk” Tell voiced, turning his attention away from the half-breed. The wizard’s arms fell to his sides and the orbs calmed down considerably. There was only one true target here, and it was not the boy. The puppet’s eyes fixed on Vanyusha and narrowed menacingly. “You. You are not...” Tell struggled with the memories within him, trying to find the proper title “You are not... Vanyusha.” A snarl broke through his features, his eyes turning downwards. These wretched thoughts held too much influence.
He took a stride forwards and grabbed the edge of the parasite’s robe at his neck. Tell brough his eyes, now the golden eyes of a puppet, close to the blank holes of the skull. The crystal balls formed a wide triangle above his head, poised to crash downwards. “Bring him back. Bring him back now. It is he who I have come to collect, not you.”
Re: Shadows of the Mind
The Parasite ignored the shove from Syrathan and stepped back, watching Tell's episode with interest. Despite all the boy's power, even he could not handle direct contact with the artifact's aura. A vain creature, overconfident in his own abilities. But their minds still touched as a result of the spell, so it was a certainty that Tell uncovered his existence. He couldn't kill him thanks to Vanyusha's curse, but at least he had an opportunity to slink away before the inevitable confrontation.
Turning, he started toward the forest, but came to a stop when he heard Tell's next words.
Matvei.
“Nikolai, you understand that you must leave your old life behind. I need you to fall into the part if we're going to pull this off – they would only distract you.”
He faced Tell.
“I know. Radimir and Matvei can handle themselves, and I know Yasha's wanted out of this lifestyle for a while.”
The child was approaching him, fury on his face. A moment later Tell lifted him up by the collar and demanded that he relinquish control over Vanyusha's body. This was not a chance encounter. A sorcerer seeking Vanyusha's power would have been one matter, but this... he couldn't have anticipated it. Kaevad's planned journey was a moot point now. He was now desperately short on time no matter how this turned out, but perhaps he could buy a little more.
“Surrendering Vanyusha would not be in my best interest... or his. He is an extension of my will, a means to an end. So it has been for hundreds of years,” he explained in a whispery voice. “I have use for him yet. Attacking me will only harm him. Release me and I will leave him for you after he serves his purpose.”
Turning, he started toward the forest, but came to a stop when he heard Tell's next words.
Matvei.
“Nikolai, you understand that you must leave your old life behind. I need you to fall into the part if we're going to pull this off – they would only distract you.”
He faced Tell.
“I know. Radimir and Matvei can handle themselves, and I know Yasha's wanted out of this lifestyle for a while.”
The child was approaching him, fury on his face. A moment later Tell lifted him up by the collar and demanded that he relinquish control over Vanyusha's body. This was not a chance encounter. A sorcerer seeking Vanyusha's power would have been one matter, but this... he couldn't have anticipated it. Kaevad's planned journey was a moot point now. He was now desperately short on time no matter how this turned out, but perhaps he could buy a little more.
“Surrendering Vanyusha would not be in my best interest... or his. He is an extension of my will, a means to an end. So it has been for hundreds of years,” he explained in a whispery voice. “I have use for him yet. Attacking me will only harm him. Release me and I will leave him for you after he serves his purpose.”
Re: Shadows of the Mind
Father and the demon were fighting. Maybe Mother was here, too. Father didn't seem to mind demons on the whole, but Mother disliked them immensely, which Syrathan found silly. They could be stabbed or sliced as well as any. But Father would stick up for her. He wouldn't let anything hurt Mother. Yet Father had just tried to hurt Syrathan...
Father...hurt...he wanted to hurt me but not in a fun way in a pain way, almost in a kill way but I don't receive it, I give it, that's how it goes. "That's how it goes, Father," he managed to spit out under his breath with a growing slur; the last word was almost incomprehensible. Syrathan was shutting down. It was too much to handle: Father, he's back, he found him and lost him and got told to bring him here so he did and then I got punished for it. There was no thinking straight, or thinking at all. Here, let's curl up, the world will fade away, said a surprisingly calm voice in his head. Syrathan complied with a pitiful whimper.
Father...hurt...he wanted to hurt me but not in a fun way in a pain way, almost in a kill way but I don't receive it, I give it, that's how it goes. "That's how it goes, Father," he managed to spit out under his breath with a growing slur; the last word was almost incomprehensible. Syrathan was shutting down. It was too much to handle: Father, he's back, he found him and lost him and got told to bring him here so he did and then I got punished for it. There was no thinking straight, or thinking at all. Here, let's curl up, the world will fade away, said a surprisingly calm voice in his head. Syrathan complied with a pitiful whimper.