OOC: This thread is closed to Letho and all bunnying has been approved by both parties.
Quote:
"Beautiful, isn't it?" she asked, while the bitter gray snow fell.
"I don't know," Victor sighed, "she always looked kind of sad to me."
"We're all sad from time to time, but this is a time for truth, and not even the moon can save you."
Victor Valentine never felt so cold. Not in the winters of Salvar, nor the fronts of the 'War of Flesh.' He hadn't even felt this cold when Alla had saved him from starvation and frostbite. A volcano burst, somewhere nearby. On the planes of Tular, many possibilities blurred the lines of expectation. Nothing could save you here. No armor could guarantee your life. No sword could assure a victory. Not even traveling with Letho Ravenheart could promise you safe passage. Or even a return trip.
Chaos. Chaos raged; it swirled like a maelstrom. Kill or be killed. Live or die.
'Just like Archen,' Victor thought.
It was nothing like Archen. There was plenty for which the red-eyed man was ill-prepared. So much had happened that Victor did not see coming. Murder. Betrayal. Adultery. Even a music festival that would spell disaster for everyone. So many pieces. So many players to account for and lose track of. A man could only do so much. At some point, you just have to enjoy the view.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" she said again, "No noise, no people. This high up. . . It's just us and the moon. Maybe now you can tell me why you let her die. We both know you had a choice. No point in taking secrets where you're going. Trust me," her eyes looked like the last time Victor looked into them. Her expression had been unreadable to him then, too. Victor's deepest fear had always been that Rose hated him. She saved him, and he could not save her. He couldn't keep Eliza safe either. Eliza would always hate him, he thought. How could she not? After all, she was sacrificed to a demon because his friend wanted power. And he was helpless. He couldn't save her.; didn't save her. He didn't save any of them.
'It all started with him,' Victor thought. But the start was elusive. And at the end of the day, the start is relative. For Eliza Day, the thirteen-year-old girl with orange eyes, the start was when she left her guild of assassins for a life of freedom and adventure. She met her fate at the torturous hands of a demon called Diadeus. For Rose, the woman who started a home for orphaned children and adopted the 'demon who ate flesh,' called Victor Valentine, age 4; her start was secret to all but the Gods. But Victor, he knew where his start was. Our 'starts' always connected to massive failures or successes. And Victor's began with a man on a boat and a carelessly tossed book.
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“Why even write the damn thing if all you’re going to do is ask questions!?” Victor yelled. He feverishly flipped the pages of a small leather book. Beside his dark boot lay a small bag, filled to the brim with obscure books and texts. Victor brushed the end of his long dark brown coat aside with a swift hand motion. He lifted the bag over his head and tossed it at an opening in the deck.
Annoyed, he turned to face the sea. The sun sat in the sky, waiting to torment the passengers. Victor thanked everyone he could think of that there had been enough clouds for shade. He sighed, but the sound was drowned by the relentless passage of the ship through the sea. The Jack-of-all-trades let the rocking of the ship soothe him. He thanked everyone he could think of that he did not suffer from sea sickness.
The trip to the Tular Plains across the Raiaeran Sea did not fill Victor with the thrilling sense of adventure. Boat trips, in general, were slow and tedious. Victor found a silver lining in that he would have time to read through all the reading materials he had found. It had been months since Eliza's resurrection. Victor and Artemis Eburi had faced off against a demon with the ability to manipulate souls. Somewhere in the bowels of the Citadel, on the spot where the demon had been magically trapped, centuries before its construction. The spirits of the heroes who sealed the demon sacrificed themselves to give Eliza's soul a body to which it could return.
It was only in confronting the devil that Victor realized Diadeus had been the one that possessed Alder Whitemane. So many people in his life suffered at the hands of the demon, and it was still out there. But the Jack-of-all-trades was ill-equipped to deal with Diadeus. So he did his research. Victor collected every book on the subject, old and new. But the information, or lack thereof, was the same in all of them. No one knew anything. A few words, however, did repeat.
Tular Plains.
Vla’torros.
Certain doom.
“What do you think you’re doing?!” a voice shouted at Victor. The man turned, lifting a hand over his eyes for shade. A man was climbing out of the opening where Victor had thrown the books. Victor stared, squinting. His red irises were like little droplets of blood. And the Jack-of-all-trades had lost all reason with his patience.
“Does this look like a dump heap?!” the man demanded.
“Use them for kindling,” Victor said coldly.
“How about I use you for kindling!” the crewman yelled.
“How about I shove those books down your throat!?” Victor yelled back.
The two men argued like children at the bow of the ship. Finally, the crewman elected to go back to work, deciding that his threat to withhold meals and water had found its mark. When he turned his back, Victor saw an opportunity.
’You forgot one,’ Victor thought, scowling. He readied his throw, taking careful aim. Victor unleashed his pitch, and the last, small book he held shot across the ship like a bullet. But the mark’s luck had been good, and the book sailed over the crewman’s head as he leaped below deck. Victor winced as the book flew for destinations unknown. A man with brown hair, turning to gray stepped out from the captain’s cabin. Victor shut his eyes as the collision approached.
