El Festival De Muerte

[Storm Veritas]

Her logic was fair enough, but it didn’t resonate with him. When she questioned his unwillingness to believe, he couldn’t really rationalize it on his own. He had seen others with simple magics, gifts from the heavens that he equated to nothing more than natural talents, like footspeed or raw strength. Everyone had static electricity flow about them, he just knew how to harness it. Everyone was strong, but some were stronger. Ira was different; her gifts were tangible, visible, and yet abstract from that which he knew as real.

They walked, and he was quiet while they went. There wasn’t much to say. Whatever was really happening, he had no answer for it, and whatever she proferred he likely didn’t wish to hear. This dreamspace, this insane adventure – it was absurd, unbelievable. He couldn’t invest any emotion in it, nor could he allow himself to succumb to the temptation of taking this as real. To do so was to surrender his own sanity, something he wasn’t ready to part with just yet.

They reached a clearing, and within the expanse there was but one large tent that dominated the land. Several large, granite like stones were strewn about with a drunken randomness, and the mage paid them no heed. There was only the large house he was drawn to. The sun sprayed down on the leather skinned house with a golden radiance, but the skin of the house itself was not tanned as Storm would expect. Instead, the house was like new, squared yet pitched, shaped like the circus huts Veritas was entertained in as a child.

Cept whatever is in there is worse than lions and tigers and bears…

Incredibly, the illustrious Ira led him in, fearing nothing in this strange place. No; nothing was incredible here. It wasn’t real, it wasn’t genuine, he couldn’t put any stock in it. Craziness, and nothing more. Hallucination and brain tricks, like a bad night with the ground black lotus. It was no different; it couldn’t be. Going in was safe.

The room was unnaturally bright, but otherwise rather pleasantly ordinary. Furnished, yet plain, the same type of hay-filled cots and clay dinnerware he would expect on the outskirts of Corone, perhaps Concordia. The nice, soothing break was abruptly interrupted by a call from outside. It wasn’t real, it was safe. He could move.

A red-haired goddess awaited him, and he thought nothing of it. Stunning scarlet locks flowed down onto athletic yet delicate shoulders, and a nubile frame was painted perfectly with an extravagant, lace-looking dress. Her beauty held a lot of Ira’s mysticism within it, complete with deep, pooling eyes and high lofted cheekbones. Firm yet pouty lips parted, a distant and assuring voice speaking to him.

“Welcome, Storm Veritas. I am Iren.”

“Iren of Ira, of course you are. The pleasure is mine, sunshine.” He laughed a bit at his prose. She didn’t. “And I suppose you got my name from the guest list?” Looking about, he shrugged his shoulders, exasperated. A total loss for words gripped him.

“You should not have come. I apologize for this loss for you, brave Veritas. Yours was not to be a tale of tragedy. This is unfortunate.”

[Iriah Caitrak]

Ira followed Storm out of the tent. There was nothing of interest within it but what awaited the two of them outside in the desert of her soul was of great interest. She was one of the most beautiful women Ira had ever seen and her voice spoke softly, it calmed yet it seemed to have this underlying sadness Ira could not decipher within it’s depth. Iren, as she called herself, she felt so familiar to Ira, a shadow that had always been there one could not acknowledge until it was overshadowing their sun. She couldn’t really explain it. She had to be Calerian though, the hair, the eyes—they were silver and they swirled about like Ira’s did—the markings on her as well. Her skin was the tanned colour all Fallien natives had but on her body were the white markings Calerian’s had, each one different, each one unique. Hers poked out from the material of her flowing dress.

“Ira…”

Even her voice seemed so familiar to her.

“You don’t remember me do you?”

The Calerian slowly shook her head.

“I am not surprised by this…” Iren slowly stepped towards Ira, passed Storm, laying her hands on Ira shoulders and touching forehead to forehead. An old Calerian greeting they had stopped doing quite a while ago, “The last time you came here you were corrupted and nearly beyond my help.”

Her mission to the Kesta ruins, a mission that had almost ruined her and a mission that had put her face to face with Metran a foe she had no hope of beating, a foe she wished she could forget about.

“I don’t understand…” Ira said, moving away from Iren’s grasp, “This is my soul, why are you here? Where did you come from and how did Storm get sucked into this whole mess?”

Iren didn’t seem surprised by these questions; instead she motioned for both of them to follow her back into the tent. There they sat around the frozen fire. It was eerie to sit across from someone with frozen, blue flames separating them, flames that cast no light. Why was her soul so much like Purgatory? There was no light here but there was no dark either, only shades of grey, stuck between the two.

“You soul is so much like Purgatory right now because you are corrupted, when you cleanse it, it shall return to its normal splendour.” Iren took a moment to gather her thoughts before she explained to Ira what was going on, “I am here because I’ve always been here, do I not seem familiar to you, does my presence not seem familiar?”

Ira nodded her head but said nothing.

“To answer the easier question first, Veritas is here by accident. When you became corrupted again I did the only thing I could, I drew you to your soul before it became too late. Veritas was too close and I acted too rashly, so his soul was accidentally pulled in as well. I am sorry, Veritas, for there may be repercussions to this…” Her eyes glanced away from Storm and back to Ira, “As for your more complicated question, I used to be a Calerian once too. Hundreds of years ago, before we harnessed the powers of crystals to help channel our abilities. Back then Calerians died easily against Fallen, our abilities unstable. Some of us sought to change that, some of us sought to get an edge over our enemy. Seren and I we…”

A faraway and sad look came over Iren’s face, her eyes on the fire as if she was seeing something within them that Ira and Storm could never perceive.

“The Irenian and Serenna Crystals…”

Iren smirked bitterly, “Yes they named them after us…” Her eyes traveled from the fire to Ira’s face, “We created the crystals to channel and increase the ability of Calerians. We’ve always been able to form weapons and armour to protect ourselves from Fallen, but it used to tax us greatly and we were always limited in what we could form. Now, when a Calerian binds themselves to a crystal their abilities are magnified and are more easily accessible, it still depends on their alignment with the crystals though. The stronger the bond with the crystals the greater your power will be.”

Some of this Ira had already known, some she did not, “That doesn’t explain how or why you’re here though. You should be in Sanctuary…not my soul.”

“Technically, though I am standing within your soul right now I am not actually here, I reside within the Irenian Crystal. For hundreds of years my soul has been inside the crystal, I am what helps give it power, unfortunately. Haven’t you ever question where the crystals come from or how they work?”

“I was always told that they channel through us, it’s our energy that gives them the ability to work.”

Iren shook her head, “They have chosen to forget or not tell you. That is only partly true. We give the crystals power as well, our souls are bound to the crystals, the very energy within them. We keep them cemented to you…”

“I don’t understand, how is it no one’s ever said anything about you before then? If you’re here communicating with me why not any other Calerian?”

“A Calerian is only as strong as their alignment with the crystals. I’ve been waiting for someone who had a strong bond to the crystals, you. In all these years you are the only one bond strongly enough to them for me to actually come through and talk to you, though you don’t remember my last visit.”

Ira leaned back for a minute, trying to take all of this in. Why hadn’t Gereint say anything about a Calerian soul being inside of the crystals? Did he even know? Did anyone even know after all of these years?

“Ira.” She looked up at the woman, “There is another function of the Irenian Crystal, one that has never been used before, one that has been waiting for someone like you to come along.” When she said nothing Iren took it as a sign to continue, “Corruption is not only something to be expelled from the soul, it is something that can be harnessed. Someone with an alignment as strong as yours can beat the corruption within them but not expel it, instead take it into themselves and use it to change into something stronger.”

“What do you mean something stronger?”

“It’s never been done before, but I know it’s possible. By taking the corruption into yourself and using it for your needs you’ll evolve into a higher Calerian. I’m not exactly sure what will happen…all I know is that it’s possible.”

“And if I don’t want to?”

“I don’t think you have a choice…”

Ira narrowed her eyes on the woman, “What?”

“I think it will naturally happen once you beat the corruption.” Iren continued to look at her with those sad eyes. It was like staring into a silver ocean that was always calm with an underlying torrent of pain.

“Then I won’t beat the corruption, simple as that.”

Iren sighed, “Then you will turn into the monster you fear so much and Veritas will be destroyed in the process.”

Ira turned her head and looked at Storm, his clothing was still covered in her blood. The decision was already made for her then. She didn’t want to become a monster and on top of that she couldn’t sacrifice Storm’s life. Her job was to protect, save and release souls and right now Storm was under her protection. Everything within her power must be done to ensure his safe return to his own body and his own life.

“Then the choice has already been made for me…” Ira said to Iren while still looking at Storm.

[Storm Veritas]

He didn’t understand what was happening before all this transpired, and the words of the beautiful vision did little to settle his mind. She was stunning, and spoke with the sort of earnest expression that was common of the commonest of folk, but also held a certain regality in her diction. With her hands on the shoulders of the enthralling Ira, the two communicated directly, Storm being merely periphery at this point. Nonetheless, although not critically involved he WAS in critical danger, and his demise was well advertised during discussion.

So that’s it, then? She gives in, loses her soul, and I’m done for. Devoured, an afterthought. But what if she overcomes the corruption? What the hell happens then?

“So, hang on…” he began, his lack of tact glaring. With a furrowed brow and a chin lodged contemplatively into his hand, Veritas tried to piece it all together.

“What if she does beat this… this… corruption, as you call it? What of me then? Do I then survive, and wake up like nothing happened? Do I die anyway? Don’t let her make decisions based on unknown consequence. If I’m going to die anyway, let her have her own choice.”

It was strangely selfless, but a certain selfishness was implied. Storm was in no position to make demands, and showing this compassion could only help. His face acted the part well, his lips turned down and eyes sad and glassy. The device of the helpless man here was simply to become relevant, to become an issue, and the intention of service of his own life was the most tempting bait of all.

Cuz shit… who’s to say I’m not dead already!?

The words that they whispered back and forth were above his level of understanding. Speech of crystals and souls being captured and civilizations lost. Centuries spent, the enduring path of the immortal. Such durability sounded very appetizing to the mage, as his own fate hung delicately in the balance.

[Iriah Caitrak]

Iren gave Veritas a small smile, “You’re not dead, so stop thinking it. When Ira beats the corruption and leaves her soul there will be nothing stopping you from returning to your own body as well. The only thing is, this experience may…change you in an unforeseeable way that even I don’t know.”

So that was it then. She had to beat this corruption, not only because becoming a monster was the last thing she wanted to do but because Storm’s life depended on it as well. She didn’t know what she would become and she wasn’t sure which was scarier, the unknown monster she may turn into or the known monster she will turn into. Neither was very appealing.

“Alright, enough talk…where do I fight the corruption?”

They could sit around this frozen fire and chat forever about the tiniest detail and what would happen if the world exploded but that wasn’t going to get them anywhere. Ira had to fight this corruption if she didn’t want to turn into a monster and she had to accept the fact that she was a little different than the other Calerians and this was going to change her. She may not like it and she may not want it to happen but it was going to happen regardless. Besides, harnessing the power of corruption, though it was something utterly foreign to her mind, may prove useful. She could—as Iren said—become more powerful and that could help her in her future battles. But, what about the danger in using corruption to further ones power? Corruption in itself is regret and evil, nothing good can ever really come from it…can it? Or was there strength enough in one person to bend corruption to their own will and use it for good?

“You’re sure?”

Ira nodded her head, she was as sure as she’d ever be.

“I won’t be able to help you, you’ll be on your own.”

She smirked, “I think I can handle it.”

“You mean you think both of you will be able to handle it. Veritas will go with you.”

“What?” Ira looked from Iren to Storm. There was no reason to drag him further into this; she should fight this thing on her own.

“He’s going with you. After all, you’re fighting for his life as well and I think he may be able to help you.”

Ira sighed and nodded her head, whether or not she agreed Iren was probably going to send Storm with her anyway.

Giving another one of her sad smiles, Iren stood up and as the area began to fade away around them Iren began to fade with it. The tent, the fire, everything slowly began to melt away leaving Ira and Storm sitting on a dirt path. Once again they were surrounded by a forest of the dead only this time a path was cut savagely through it twisting it’s way towards a darkened structure not too far from where they were sitting. Towers reached towards the sky and empty windows with no light shining from within smiles back at them. Who’d have ever thought that something like this existed within her soul? It was beautiful, yet at the same time it was haunting and she didn’t want to go inside yet that was obviously her destination.

“Come on, Storm…”

She gave him a small tentative smile and began leading the way towards the colossal house.


(( You can write them going into the castle/mansion thing. Describe it however you would like, it doesn't really matter as long as you don't go passed the first room and you put a large mirror that's tall and wide enough for them to walk through. ))

[Storm Veritas]

It all came together; there was a point where he was no longer wont to disagree. Whatever force brought him here, whatever logic (or lack thereof) controlled his existence in this bizarre, parallel universe, he would play along. The danger felt real enough, and though he hadn’t experienced pain, his fear was most certainly legitimate. Baseless, perhaps, but he was inclined to err on the side of caution.

What he saw brought his fears to life, as the castle they sought actually came to them. Erupting from the earth were mighty spires, reaching high and looming largely, their twisting, phallic ordinances overwhelming. The entire palace seemed to be made of sand, as the earthy residue fell softly to the ground from which it spilled. Upon closer inspection, the terrific edifice was constructed of bricks and mortar, the stones cut evenly and sharply. It seemed as though the made-to-order mansion had been created for Ira, and Storm was merely along for the ride. He was breathless, thoughtless, as he traipsed up the path towards the goal.

Storm felt a connection to Ira, and knew there was some mutual bond in all this craziness. The two of them wandered, voicelessly, a man and a woman, joined within this insane unreality. Their silhouettes seemed to fade and blur as they entered the castle, both growing closer and instinctively banding. Although they were both brave warriors, neither was interested in this journey alone.

My dear God…

The inside of the castle was absurdity – far too large to exist within the boundaries of what his eyes witnessed upon entering. With a slow, creakless hinge, the two large doors at the building’s face closed behind them, and a towering ceiling was lit with massive crystal chandeliers, hanging individual prisms down like golden raindrops. Majestic tapestries of silk and cloth hung from mahogany-clad walls, suspending a ceiling that was no less than thirty feet tall. Thick, marble pillars held the castle together, and a soft piano played somewhere above them.

His hands shot to his hips again, nervously twitching. There was no immediate danger, but he couldn’t take his eyes from the dominant sight. The mirror, or so he would go about calling it. Framed as a mirror, it looked as a standing lake, large and undulating, swirling brilliant light in many streams to and fro from some infinite source. It was stunning, it was alive, and he was taken by it, transfixed by it. Here, in the most lavish of all houses, there was only the mirror.

He turned to her. She would have an answer.

“Ira… help me out babe. What the f*ck am I looking at?”

[Iriah Caitrak]

It was beautiful. She’d never seen anything like it before. The crystal chandeliers refracted light from every surface and cast it down upon anything within reach and if you looked at it at just the right angle you could see a rainbow. It was unbelievable that some thing such as this could exist within her soul. Well, perhaps not that unbelievable, but amazing really for things to be here that she’d never experienced within her life. Absolutely amazing. The entire grandeur of it lured her mind away from the fact that she was in a battle for her very soul and life, but that didn’t last long, especially as Storm’s caustic words echoed throughout the large space. She was taken slightly aback by them; they seemed a little harsh though she had a feeling that was not directed at her. He must be getting frustrated and he had a right to be.

Ira let her vision wander from him to the mirror he was talking about though it looked like no mirror she’d ever seen. It reflected nothing, it just pulsed, it actually reminded her of quicksilver, which were the colour of her eyes oddly enough.

“I…have no idea…”

Curiosity never failed to assail her, even in this place. As she moved towards the mirror, or the free flowing lake thing, whatever a person wanted to call it, Ira watched the ripples cease and the surface harden and turn into glass. Slowly it cleared and formed a perfect picture of the room they were standing in and a perfect reflection of Ira walking towards it. She didn’t like what she saw reflected back at her, she looked exhausted and where her clothes poked through her armour she could see the stains of her own blood.

Something in the mirror didn’t seem right and she couldn’t put her finger on it. Turning her head she glanced at the images behind her and Storm, standing a few feet away, then she turned back to the mirror. It all looked the same, or did it? Was there some tiny detail that she was missing? Tentatively she reached out her hand. The mirror had looked like liquid before but when she touched it now she was glad to feel the cold, solid surface of the glass beneath her fingers. But then the reflection changed. The entire thing went blacker than anything she’d ever seen before making Ira gasp and move her hand away quickly. Slowly images came into view, grey stonewalls, a grey sandy floor and a grey flames frozen in scones along the wall that needed no light to chase away the darkness. It didn’t take her mind long to figure out what she was looking at, Purgatory and a specific time and a specific place.

The picture grew clearer and slowly Ira saw herself come in to view and then Metran and Artas. The scene was familiar to her, she knew it, she remembered it, but she didn’t want to watch it play out again. The reflection of the memory began to move and Artas and Ira began to fight. From this angle, watching herself, Ira really could see how outmatched she had been against Artas, how the odds had been stacked against her, how she should have lost. But she hadn’t, she watched herself taking hit after hit and still getting up and finally that finishing blow she’d managed to sneak in. As he attempted to cleave head from neck she’d ducked, slapped him with the flat side of her blade then stabbed him in the chest. It had seemed so easy but he was much stronger than her only not as skilled. He stuck with the same moves and the angrier she got him the easier it was to predict him.

The memory didn’t fade there; it showed the corruption that quickly overcame her and Ira cringed remembering the pain of the first time. It showed Metran viciously attacking her over and over again while she was on the ground writhing in agony. Then her last ditch effort as she kicked him in the face, grabbed one of the Irenian crystals from the three they had killed to get, before she could leave Purgatory though Metran got that last move in. The blast of magic, whatever it had been, to her back, shattering her armour. She’d Cast-Off Purgatory for the physical realm right after and had gone tumbling into a pile of sand, then broken bruised and still corrupted she’d begun the long walk back to Astaka. She hadn’t made it; Revor had eventually found her still at least half a days walk away.

It was painful to watch and as the memories faded Ira breathed a sigh of relief. She didn’t know why she was forced to witness these things again, here, in this of all places. What good would it do? She’d already played the memory back and forth in her mind over and over. The fact that she’d gotten out of that situation with Metran and Artas had more to do with luck than skill.

[Storm Veritas]

It was hypnotic and beautiful, and yet all at once he wished only to look away. The mirror, the brilliant light which danced and teased. It seemed to give off a soft hum, something low and soothing and sultry sweet. Entranced, Storm peered into it, giving himself in to the tempting gaze. He intuitively felt it foolish, but was helpless to resist.

Within the pane, an image danced and glazed and flickered back and forth. It was Storm, a young man. Gifted, yet not strong, feeble and afraid. On his own in the streets of Radasanth, a mere urchin, bitter and angry. He was dressed in fine clothes that had grown tattered, and on his face the scruff of a boy – uneven and disheveled. He remembered the day. The first time stealing. It had gone so wrong.

Don’t do it. Don’t do it. Don’t do it.

Storm was helpless, of course, to dissuade his past from making mistakes. His younger self was hungry, and the baker’s stand was so inviting. Just a quick hand would be all it took. Stealing out of need, he then thought, was more hunter-gatherer than thief, and a boy could find little work on the streets of Radasanth, where so many good men were unemployed themselves.

It unfolded as he knew. The merchant saw the boy, and grabbed the shoulder. Fear and frustration exploded from the boy, and he struck back at the merchant. The right hand shot to the face, and a trembling shot of electricity rocketed through the face of the fat older man. Stunned, Storm had no idea how he had so terribly hurt the man, or why the man urinated as he lay twitching on the ground. The commotion was grand, and people began to gather. At that point, young Storm Veritas did what he did best – he ran away.

The image faded, and the elder mage was left hanging his head. It was a domino effect from that day, when an innocent spoiled rich outcast had become a thief and a criminal. He would become good at burgling, better at killing, and neither would bother him much by the time he was twenty. Now, several years later, the blood on his hands would never wash away.

The corruption, is that it? Can it be cleansed, or removed? Am I forced to relive it? To endure?

He didn’t have any answers at the time, and looked to Ira as his guide. If the die was already cast for Storm’s life and existence, perhaps there was some purity in the girl left to salvage.

[Iriah Caitrak]

The images may have been familiar to Storm but they were new to Ira. She understood them and yet she didn’t. There was more to it than she was witnessing and she could tell by the way Storm hung his head as the memory faded from the mirror. He must not have had an easy life, one she could barely comprehend considering she’d always been surrounding by a loving tribe—up until her corruption that is, then people started looking at her differently. But it wasn’t the same, from a young age Storm had stolen to get by and she was no naïve little girl, he’d probably done worse than that, but just how much worse she didn’t know and wasn’t sure if she wanted to.

Ira didn’t know why they were being forced to relive these times. If there was a reason or not she could find no explanation. Was it to show the beginning of corruption? Was Storm corrupted in some way too or perhaps—no she didn’t want to go into that train of thought. All she’d ever seen from Storm was kindness and compassion, to think he was something other than that…

The silence that fell between the two of them was not broken. Ira didn’t say a word and neither did Storm and both seemed content to keep it that way for now. Sighing, Ira turned back to the mirror seeing the normal reflection of the room behind them. Something about it still pulled at her mind. Glancing behind her and then back to the mirror she finally figured out why. The tapestries behind her were flat against the wall, in the mirror they kept moving as if a light breeze was brushing up against them. Tilting her head to the side, the Calerian reached out to the mirror and ran her fingers across the cold surface. She turned her gaze back to Storm, her lips parting for speech when a hand reached through the solid pane glass and grabbed onto her arm, gripping it in a cold, hard embrace. She would have screamed if she could, or tried to fight the thing off her, but before she even fully comprehended what was going on she was pulled into the mirror, meeting cold and darkness.

Ira slowly opened her eyes and looked around her, immediately wishing she had kept her them shut as tightly as possible. The room she stood in was a mirror reflection of the other yet different in so many ways. The walls, which had been so bright in the other room, now stood in disrepair. Large cracks radiated along their surface, deep gouges were carved into them and stains covered what could have been bright colour at one point in time. The tapestries, which had hung so proudly in the other room, were torn and threadbare. Their bright colours diminished and most of the images faded away. The chandelier that had hung brilliantly in the other room now lay on the floor in a heap of twisted metal and broken crystal that was too grimy to ever shine again. Everything in here appeared to be decaying and even as Ira stood stock still, her muscles and joints frozen in place, a small piece of the ceiling fell to the floor.

She didn’t want to move; if she stood still whatever was in this place wouldn’t be able to see her. If she didn’t move it wouldn’t know she was here. She just had to stay as still as possible and not make any noise. But if only that were true. Even as the fear began to take a solid grip on her, her rational mind began to kick in trying to fight it back. Whether or not she stood here frozen like a coward would not help, nor would it stop anything that was lurking within this realm from finding her. Slowly, Ira calmed herself and turned around. The mirror was still there behind her and it reflected the images before her. Part of her was hoping to see the other room, the place she’d just been in reflected back, but it appeared luck was not on her side today. Running her fingers along the surface she felt nothing but cool glass and even pushing against it did little. She wanted to pound her fists against the thing hoping for it to let her back through but the distinct feeling that she was stuck here began to wash over her mind.

Leaning her forehead against the cool surface, Ira saw the reflection of a man standing behind her. His skin was grey as if in death and covered in tattered clothing that even fell from his body as she watched. His eyes were white and sightless staring at her and yet at nothing. Her heart stopped for a moment of fear and then jump started twice as fast and she spun around only to see nothing but the decaying room behind her. Turning back to the mirror slowly, afraid to see what was in it, Ira was relieved to see nothing. Whatever it had been was gone.

[Storm Veritas]

The mirror wasn’t done with him. The flicker returned, and he was entranced, just as before. This time the image was more vague, something he had done, transpiring more quickly. Storm found himself far more disconnected. This was his second crime, a mugging in an alley. It came and went with little accord, and was over before he felt it begin. A certain coldness grabbed at him, wrapping icy fingers around his chest as he felt compelled to stare. Another image came, and another.

More striking, they were getting worse.

The events ushered forth smoothly after the first one. Images flushed in and out of his consciousness, each with more speed, less direct inclusion, and far more harrowing, darkening themes than the one before. He witnessed crimes go from things of passion to crimes of convenience. Near the end, he was sickened with the realization of the progression. His own corruption had grown and overtaken him. By the most recent set of events, his despicable demeanor had led him to kill in an urge to merely feel the rush, because he had grown to like the feeling of life falling through his clasp.

Theft. Rape. Murder. He had done them all, and watched the house of cards tumble as his avatar committed the same heinous deeds. The theft of Radasanthian elite’s documents. The murder of the Thurgood family. The rape of mostly-innocent poor whores who made the mistake of joining him. They all came quickly, as if insignificant in the grand scope of his own deviant freefall. The final act, a mass murder outside a bar in Radasanth, was the last image.

Beyond this image, the sight of a skilled and overpowered maniac slickly slicing through well-intended constables and patrons, Storm saw himself leap away into the night. Into the darkness.

In this darkness, he was finally alone. He was left to fester, and the background of stone, brick, and stagnant standing water faded, leaving him immersed in a pool of impossible black. He was there alone, once and for all. There was nothing for him; this is the path he had chosen; the decision to engage in hedonism with his own magnificent power.

Then, majestically enough, emerged a light. In all the darkness, even the faintest light glowed brilliantly. A soft, lovely yellow, which he walked to in an echoless stroll. Each clack of his heel brought him closer, and the entire surreal encounter seemed to move so fast that he could not process it. When he arrived to it, he had long since identified the source of the light.

Ira.

She was luminescent, yet tranquil and lifeless. Standing with her arms by her side, she appeared to be elsewhere, her eyes open yet blank, looking back at him with not love nor hate, yet shallow, cold indifference. She was clad in robes now, not the crystal armor or the sexy tribal garb. He moved closer instinctively, drawn to such a pure thing. Her beauty was spellbinding, and it was all he had to cling to. He embraced her image, knowing not what role he would play.

Am I the accused, or the judge himself? Is she the bringer of light, or am I the Reaper?

He would find out soon enough.

[Iriah Caitrak]

Ira took a deep and calming breath before she turned back around to the decaying scene behind her. She was separated from Storm and she didn’t know how to get back at him. He was probably in a worse position than she. He didn’t know the rules of a place like this, he didn’t know how everything worked, then again she barely understood what was going on within her own soul but at least she grasped more of it than he did. Storm was just floating out there, lost and now she wasn’t around to help him.

He’ll be alright, he can take care of himself, focus on your own situation.

That’s right. Storm seemed like an accomplished warrior, or fighter, whatever he would classify himself as, and he seemed to be in the safer part of her soul. He should be able to take care of himself. Ira was beginning to surmise that she now found herself trapped within the corrupted portion of her soul where everything was falling apart around her. Was this where the final battle was supposed to take place or did she need to get out of here before the corruption eventually overcame her as well? Where were the answers when she needed them?

Standing around like a statue was not going to solve anything. The mirror wasn’t going to let her through to the other side, Storm was on his own and she gave a silent prayer for his safety. Taking a tentative step forward, Ira heard the groan of the decaying floorboards beneath her feet, but hadn’t the floor been a solid stone in the other room? She didn’t know and she really needed to stop worrying and thinking about things like that. It would do her no good so she pushed it to the back of her mind. Reaching out with her senses, Ira felt nothing. She didn’t have the ability to sense energy she could only sense souls. Wherever she now was she could no longer sense Storm’s soul and she felt no others here with her. If she really was in the corrupted part of her soul she was in a lot of danger and she couldn’t even sense it approaching her.

She had to ignore that small fact though. She wasn’t going to be able to find a way out of here if she worried about every small detail to the point where it kept her riveted to the very spot frozen in fear. She was a warrior and she’d fought the dead and the undead, she could handle this, she had to.

Taking another deep breath, one of many she’d lost count of now, Ira nervously shook her hands and then continued forward. The same doors that her and Storm had walked through were here as well, only the wood was grey and decaying right in front of her. Walking over to them, Ira wrapped her fingers around the cold metal handle, feeling the rust flake off against her skin. She twisted and pulled on the handle but the door wouldn’t budge. Pushing against it did nothing either and trying the other door proved fruitless. They wouldn’t open. Turning around, she walked to the only other door in the room, kicking up dust and debris in her wake.

Turning the handle, Ira pushed against the door, cringing slightly as the squeal of rusted hinges and the grating of wood on wood echoed throughout the silence. She remained still a moment, straining to listen for something, anything really, but she heard nothing. It was relieving and worrying at the same time and she released the air clogged in her throat.

The hallway ahead of her was almost pitch black. It was startling considering her soul was so much like Purgatory at the moment. Purgatory had no darkness within it, only shades of grey. Apparently that didn’t apply to her soul because she had to give her eyes a moment to adjust to see anything beyond two feet ahead of her. More rot. Pieces of the walls had caved in revealing nothing but the darkness beyond them. Tapestries hung on the wall and as Ira walked by them a wind blew from unseen windows making the material almost appear to be reaching out towards her. She kept to the middle of the hallway, avoiding their touch.

The hollow sound of footsteps echoed from behind her. Ira froze and turned around, looking back towards the room she’d just left as nothing approached and the heavy sound continued to beat against the worn out wood. It stopped abruptly and then continued again, only this time it came from above her. Watching the ceiling and hearing the steps growing father and father away from her, Ira continued down the hallway. A few feet ahead of her and it branched off into a set of crumbling stairs. The steps disappeared into the darkness before she could see what was at the top of them. If only she had a light, something to chase away the darkness in this place that she could cling to. But there was nothing and the shadows grew longer, hiding corners from her eyes and whatever her imagination could think of to be hiding in them.

Grabbing the stair rail, Ira began to head upstairs. Each step was slow and followed by the groan of wood under her weight. On the fourth step, the wood gave way and her leg fell through, her hand wrenched from the rail she was holding on to as her shoulder, arm and side slammed against the hard corners of the stairs ahead of her. Carefully, Ira put all her weight on her other foot, a step below and hoisted herself up and out of the hole. Her right hand had numerous wooden splinters, some of them embedded rather deeply into her flesh. Blood was pooling under the skin and slowly dripping out. She ripped a few of them out but it hurt more than getting them and only made them bleed worse. The deeper ones she left alone, hoping she could come to ignore the pain and discomfort. The shoulder and arm hurt more at the moment anyway, that blunt annoying pain.