You have 2 weeks to complete this battle. May the best man win!
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You have 2 weeks to complete this battle. May the best man win!
“Unnn…”
Thud.
“O-ow…”
Sunlight filtered into the room slowly through dirt smeared glass of a tavern in Radasanth. It stretched to every corner to chasing away shadows and by convenient positioning of the bed and window, burned brightly into the bleary eyes of a young girl. She blinked her eyes frantically in a vain hope to chase it away. In the end, she relented and stood up off the ground to stretch the sleep out of her body.
Azza Ambrose, the young adopted daughter of Jensen Ambrose, would have normally awakened in her own bed in the Ixian Castle had the library there not run out of books. More accurately, run out of books on the subject matter she wanted. As no amount of pestering would produce more books she wanted or without clearing out all her coin, the next best thing was another library.
What better library than the Great Radasanth Archives? Granted, plenty of sections were roped off for the elite and wealthy or privileged or priests and the list just goes on and on. For someone like her? She was relegated to what the commoners had access to. Even so, the library was vast and what was available to the commoners were more than enough to satisfy Azza’s curiosity.
But first, she had to pay for her room and perhaps something to eat. Truth was she wasn’t even tired when she went to bed. She had just wanted the experience of sleeping in a tavern. It was a strange experience as activity from below didn’t stop until late at night. Then an entirely different crowd entered and the noises started all over again.
Gathering her backpack and change of clothing, she opened the door and stepped downstairs into the main bar, she found a different keeper than the night before and spoke with him a moment. The choices for food were unappetizing and so ten coins and an empty stomach later, Azza found herself out on the early morning streets of Radasanth City. Although early, shopkeepers were already up and about opening their stores while merchants and farmers were preparing their stalls for market in the main square eternally watched over by the statue of Radasanth himself.
Another block from the main market square was the Radasanth Archives. It was build much in the same style as the Citadel with massive columns flanking its entrance, only difference was that there were far fewer people in attendance here, especially early morning. That would change though, as Azza had learned her first day here. Around midday, students begin to filter in as well as the more learned elite.
Generally only the decent folk bother to come in as the brigands and beggars looking for something rare to swipe are stopped at the gate. Had Azza known much about the outside world, she might have thought it strange for a library to have its own force of guards. Of course, if she had known much of the outside world, she wouldn’t have come to the Radasanth Archives either, as what she sought was most likely somewhere she had no access to.
Being only the second day here, Azza knew her way to the sections she wanted and began pulling books related to creatures, beasts, and the different known races of Althanian lore. One of these had to have the answer of what she was. Even if they didn’t, then perhaps a clue and that was all she wanted.
Of course, even with her impressive strength, navigating from behind a small mountain of books was no easy task and once or twice, she nearly tripped on her own sandaled feet. Eventually, she arrived safely to the same corner table she had used before. Azza then set the books down carefully and took a stepped back to let out of breath of relief.
Eyeing the small mountain, Azza bit her bottom lip at the ludicrous amount of reading she planned and picked up the first book: A Beginner’s Guide to Forest Creatures.
What remained of daylight dripped through old, cracked and greasy paned-window glass that cast the cavernous depths of the archive's basement in an otherworldly glow. Hours remained before nightfall, and while the light from outside those cursed windows continued to dwindle, even the steady scuff and plod of aimless footsteps from the surface also began to die for the first time in hours. Soon the library would be closed, and those that waited below would be free to venture into the world above. In truth, the mouldering remains of Radasanth's greatest repository of knowledge and learning was in fact a glorified sub basement. To Liam Duigenan, it had been both his home and prison for the last eight days. Trapped beneath several feet of earth and concrete that separated him from the rest of the living world, the Irishman had spent the majority of his time bound and gagged to a wooden chair. He slipped in and out of fevered sleep, only waking on occasion to feel the tension of tight rope against his wrists, now slimy from both his blood and sweat. The stench of mildew and wet, neglected paper assaulted his nostrils, and on occasion had caused the old man to gag, only on the cusp of vomiting. Imprisoned in the darkness, Liam had been left alone by his captors in a room filled with books, tomes, grimoires, forgotten manuscripts and anything that had been put on the library's black list within the last three decades.
However, on occasion, he would have visitors. Whoever they were, he could never properly identify. Perhaps it had been because of whatever they put in his food or drink, or perhaps it was the delirium he was suffering from, but Liam could never quite make sense of where he actually was or who had brought him here. At least, that was how it had been for the first three days. Eventually, whatever cunning and thirst for revenge that the old man could muster caused him to seek self-preservation. At first it had been small. Tiny, minute forms of rebellion that not even the most astute of the thugs who had held him captive were able to detect. Only being ungagged long enough to be fed or questioned, Liam began to eat and drink less. He would feign sickness. Sure, they would try to force feed him, but eventually they got the message the first time Liam had made himself vomit. The sweet, nourishing water was the next to go as he would let it dribble out of his lips rather then swallow. Whatever they had dosed him with, the old man's senses eventually returned. Although he hadn't been blindfolded, many of the men who dwelled within that basement attempted to cow him by beating him every time he looked at them. Eventually they would stop when their cohorts stayed their hands, warning them of their boss's wrath if he heard they were injuring his next biggest 'cash cow'. That's what they called him, he remembered.
A cash cow.
As it turned out, Liam had become very important in certain circles within the criminal underworld of Corone. What he had pieced from conversations he had half-heard or thought he hadn't imagined from one of his delirious dreams was that he was being held prisoner by a very prominent creditor turned loan shark. His name was Mister Roth by his cronies, but because of his extensive dealings and knowledge of the criminals that plagued Radasanth like rats, Liam knew him to be Timothy Roth. He was big. Very big. He owned several of the gambling dens that prevailed in the city and was reputed to be the most violent shylock in all of Corone for developing a report with his debtors of finding creative and savage ways as a means of collecting his debts. That much Liam knew off the cuff immediately. What he gleaned from eavesdropping had been different. The whispers and stirrings of those brutes had been negligible except that they kept repeating the same things over and over again, inevitably referring to him by less than subtle means. He was being backed as a winner in his next fight and it was against somebody he couldn't possibly bring himself to fight. Instead, they were going to sit and wait. Wait until the big day. Or night, one of them had joked.
Knowing what ill plans had been set before him, Liam had already vowed a blood debt against Roth, something he would make the creditor pay for in full if the old man survived whatever would become of him within the next few hours. However cunning he was, Liam hadn't the slightest what day it was, having last breathed free air upon the docks of the Coronian Coast after arriving from Salvar. He didn't know how long they had held him, but Liam had eventually felt something begin to stir in him within the last day or so. A panic and animalistic fear he hadn't felt in years. It had caused him to grow obsessed with time and daylight as he looked feverishly at the windows whenever the light began to dwindle. He was growing worried his time would come again and even in a place like this, without the proper precautions, Liam was certain it would happen again. The feeling of black terror that periodically filled him caused all of the color to drain from his face. To his credit, Liam tried his best never to show it to the five or so men who came down to visit him on occasion. Those burly men who greased their hair, dressed in gaudy attire, and bore pig iron arrogantly upon their hips. However, this evening out of all others was different. Even as ignorant as he was of the time, something inside Liam Duigenan could sense the coming change. It was then that Liam began to fight his way out from bondage, if only in vain.
Tugging so hard at his wrists he tore open old scabs and began to bleed anew, Liam fought with the ropes. Biting down on his gag so hard he almost bit his tongue; Liam snapped and cursed feverishly as he tried to get out from his binds. Roth's men had attempted to restrain him, but someone stopped them. A tall man with a crooked nose Liam knew only to be Hawke who preferred to speak in verse and prose rather then plainly, which only served to irritate his brethren, but as their superior they merely ignored it. Staying their hand once more, the man grinned with jagged teeth and spoke, raising his voice over the noise of the Irishman's feverish escape. "Let the trapped mouse try to scurry, boys. Look at him. Look at the caned man try in vain to break from his trappings, whether they be real or moral."
"Um. What if he gets out, Hawke? What then?" One of the men asked.
Scoffing at the question, the leader of the thugs cackled. "What is that three legged cat going to do us any who, Morris? Ill from rancid bread and dreaming for many a span from the Sweetwater we gave him, he's beyond the help of putting his shoulder to the wheel now, boys. Let him try to break his bondage. Only the Wolf can help him now."
Hawke, in his incessant poetry, had been half right. More so then he actually knew, and had he been made privy of what exactly went on with the Irishman in dire moments such as these, he wouldn't have stepped so close to prove a point.
Frothing at the mouth and feeling the familiar pain arc across his body, Liam twisted and contorted himself against the rope that bound him to the chair until he was forced to continue to smash his body against the chair. Thrusting so hard against the wood in attempt to free himself like a fox gnawing off one of its own paws, Liam scarcely even felt it as one of his fingers broke against the blow. However, even as the thugs stood back and watched with both fear and amusement as Hawke drew closer to the old man and finally put his hands on top of the chair to rest it, Liam fought and bucked against him. Hawke had attempted to say something, with a wolfish look upon his face as he stared at him with the depravity and avarice of a man who lost a part of himself in the murder and depraved acts he committed.
Instead of trying to listen to him and ponder that reviling look, Liam chose instead to seize the opportunity. Thrusting his feet up and forward, Liam wrapped his legs around the degenerate who wished him ill and pulled him into him, using their combined weight to tip the chair. Luck had been in his favor, as Liam fell upon the meaty part of his left arm and didn't break anything as the wood beneath him gave way. Hawke yelped in surprise and attempted to claw his way off of him, but it was far too late for him or his men to do anything, even as they reached for their pistols. Finally freed and unable to feel his hands that were purple, bruised and stained with blood, Liam tore the gag from his mouth and revealed the distended jaw full of yellow, jagged fangs that belonged to the monster within him. Before Hawke could react, whatever Liam had become flipped the leader of Roth's cronies on his back and tore into his jugular. Painted red with gore and the dying cacophony of screams bating him on, Liam gnashed his teeth and ripped the man's throat open. Standing by, helpless at such an awful sight, many of the men found themselves unable to do anything. Others who possessed the strength, instead of raising their pistols at the devil, instead turned to flee, racing up the stairwells and to the surface as they screamed hysterically. The meager few who were unable to summon the courage to look away simply watched on as Liam continued to eat the man. One of them, a man named James, had fouled himself as he shook violently with fear, looking on in horror at what their cash cow was becoming.
The savage that busily ate and gorged itself upon its latest victim began to grow. Getting bigger as muscles snapped, bones broke and parts of the creature began to rearrange itself. James could only watch and was unable to describe in his last moments what he witnessed as a grown man grew several feet taller and several hundred pounds heavier in a matter of moments. In the shadows it grew hair, fangs and claw. And eventually, when the last of Liam's humanity had slipped away, the hulking monster looked up from the bloody remains of its latest kill and leveled its pensive gaze with those cruel, pale green eyes upon those poor men nobody would pity. With hot, fetid breath upon their faces, no where to run and the monster Roth had warned them about growing tense as it prepared to lunge at them, the few remaining captors who found their feet to be like lead could only sink back against the cool stone walls and brace themselves as the werewolf lunged forward and ate them too.
As night fell upon the city, a savage, otherworldly howl emanated from Radasanth's Greatest Archive. A monster was loose, and surely even as the screams were heard from those who were locked within, no one dared to imagine what lie within those stone walls that had quickly become entirely too thin.
(Liam has become a werewolf. To clarify, as of this post the creature he has become is no longer Liam Duigenan. It cannot rationalize, there is no humanity in it and all it desires is to kill. Rather then try to find a common ground or pin your hopes in me playing on some angle of finding some last remnants of humanity within the creature, I advise you to look at my profile and read my Lycanthropy ability entirely and gird yourself. Because you are responsible for deciding whether or not to adhere to at least one part of it. What else? Oh yes, run far, run fast.)
An hour before the closing of the library, Azza began to return the books she had pulled. It was a slow process to do so a few at a time, but she wanted to make sure she remembered all the titles that she had read and those that she would have to read tomorrow. The head librarian had even been kind enough to allow her a book to borrow because, after all, it was a library.
Dark Creatures and Other Ilk of the Night had been the title she was currently reading. It would have made a poor bedtime book, and so, she declined. She was almost finished anyways and had just gotten to the section titled, “Zombies.”
The very idea of a shambling dead person was enough to put the small girl on edge. That and werewolves, gargoyles, ghouls, grimlocks, nightshades, and wraiths. Even creatures simply called “shadows” where mentioned. Needless to say, the sight of her own silhouette was enough to make Azza jump when the heavy door to the archives closed behind her.
The night had gotten cold, boarding on the cusp of winter and fall. Normally, Azza would have relished the cold breeze winding through her clothing, but tonight, it was different. It wasn’t the comforting embrace she had expected. Instead, it felt sickly and bit through her flesh to the bone.
Azza shivered and looked back at the library once more.
Her search had been fruitless as of so far. In its place Azza had acquired a vast wealth of information on various creatures she was sure to never meet. She lived a sheltered life deep within civilization. Even when she ventured into the woods, she knew well enough where to avoid and where was safe, as the Concordia Woods mirrored a second home for her.
There were still inhabitants of Radasanth going to and fro in the streets as the night would always bring a different crowd out. Most were less than honest while what remained were usually storekeepers closing for the night and weary travelers coming into the city.
Another gust billowed past Azza and whipped her white hair into a frenzy, blinding her momentarily. When it passed, the young girl found herself staring up into the clear night sky populated with an uncountable number of stars.
However, something was wrong.
The moon had always been a favorite for Azza to watch during nights when she couldn’t sleep. She knew it well as a dear friend, but tonight, it gave a sinister feel as if playing a menacing trick upon the world it watched over.
She blinked her eyes quickly to look at the glowing orb that hung in the sky. A red tint? There was no mistaking it as she blinked her eyes once more to make sure. The usual white glow was gone and was replaced with a haze of red while the moon itself remained pure.
A sudden howl from the direction of the library froze her blood. Even while those around her paused in a moment of confusion, Azza urged herself to keep moving. Something was very wrong and she needed to go. Where? She didn’t know, but anywhere except where she was would be a preferable choice.
Her feet picked up the pace to put distance between herself and the library. It was most likely nothing, but an active imagination was a horrible thing to have sometimes.
I really enjoyed my introduction to this and want to continue, but regretfully I have to withdraw. Silver lining? I will definitely be using Roth and this line of thought again somewhere down the line.
Good luck, Orphans.
Orphans Advances to the Quarter Finals!