The curse of caring

[Kerrigan Muldoon]

Closed to Visla Eraclaire. Sequel to Chance (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?t=18843).
“Dear stupid little diary,

Hope… a tiny sense of hope, it makes my life a nightmare. I liked it better when everything was just a bad joke. Now the joke is one me and the world is laughing at the horror I have become. It is darkness I strife in, but not if there is so much light that all I can see are shadows. Where are the merciless but predictable gods? Hah... am I that desperate that I am blaming the gods who have never had my faith?

I guess I really am a joke, a real killer.

That woman... that wreckful, demonic woman. It started with her, with her oh so innocent charade hiding the evil she harbors inside. She must have bewitched me, put a spell on me, for I yearn for her and what she stands for as well as her fake innocence and careful smiles. I did not know at that time, but it was because I did not want to loose her that I saved her from death. I carried her unconscious body to my home to extend the confusing comfort of her presence. It felt odd, almost good to take care of someone.

When she left it was not like a part of my heart died, or something similarly preposterously poetic. Yet she has giving me something: a sense of caring and love. Not an uncorrupted, never-ending love, but an as-good-as-it-gets type of caring. She gave it, though I doubt she intended to do so.

I never asked for it... and I sure as hell do not want it! I do not want this hint of human emotion, vulnerable and pointless, and always followed by an endless cycle of disappointments. She killed me not with fire – though she easily could have - but by making me care for her and not forget.

These last weeks have been a living nightmare. This morning the tavern warden thanked me for my performance last night, yet I do not even know how I ended up in this god forsaken town. Last week I awoke with my hands covered in blood which wasn’t mine, yet I have no clue from whom it was.
Why the blackouts? According to Jack (my possessed deck of cards who appears to be saner then I am right now) it is my mind revolting against this tender assault.

But the blackouts are not that bad, why would I mind skipping some days of this endless parody called life? It is not the blackouts which trouble me – or at least I can not remember being troubled by them – it is when I am awake and able to remember life that I am hurt. My body is endlessly restless; I am always moving and constantly looking for a distraction to not notice the emptiness. It does not matter how many people I hurt, how many men I sleep with or how many tricks I perform… a torturous yearning haunts me. It feels like experiencing thirst for the first time in years after having felt a drop of water.

For years I have been able to cheat, lie and steal all I wanted. It was not as if I never liked certain people, just not long enough to be hurt by them. A charming man can keep me warm for a night but I will leave him in the morning before he will do so. It is not selfish but self preservation… deep inside I am a good person (I really am!) it is just that this world is so wicked. What did she do to me that I now feel ashamed when I cheat people into giving me what I need? Why do I care for a person I barely know and – for fuck’s sake – almost killed me?!

However, there is a bright side. This curse which haunts me also draws me closer to the source and solution of it. I had almost forgotten the emotions she gave me; now it is her responsibility to make me forget them again. Bah, now I am even talking about responsibilities… like anyone in this sick, sick world knows what that is.

I will find you, Visla Eraclaire, I will hunt you down and return to you this curse of caring! I refuse to care, I refuse to give a shit and be hurt...

...if it only were not so addictive.”
***

Almost a week later…

***

For three days now, Kerrigan had been searching the massive capitol of Corone for the person responsible for her unwelcome feelings. Rain and sunshine had relieved each other every few hours, but the modern city had no trouble processing the water.

For an experienced traveler it was obvious that this city was not only of modern making, but had been a combined effort by elves, dwarves and humans. The impressive and sturdy walls and gates were clearly the work of the talented dwarves while the artistic yet efficient buildings testified of a mixed elven and human origin.

At the morning of this third day Kerrigan knew she was closing in on her prey; three people had seen an unhealthy thin looking woman with a cane wandering about. One had even seen her reading a boring looking book and drinking tea.

Right now, the trickster had nothing else to do then wait. If those people had not lied – as everybody does – then Visla would probably have a home or a room in this area. Luckily for Kerrigan, the city had been professionally designed and was divided in clearly distinguishable blocks. She had watched most parts of the district in question though she had not yet seen her, leaving only a few more streets and alloys for her to stalk.

The intersection Kerrigan was waiting at was one at the border of a calm alloy with dusty shops selling lost artifacts and long forgotten literature and the tumult of a crowded market street. Spread out randomly over the busy bazaar, traders were trying to yell as hard as possible to convince their possible customers that their goods really were the best in the world. While it was quite early in the morning, the street was filling up with people shopping for groceries or in need of a specific service.

The alloy on the other hand appeared to be still sleeping. A beggar mumbled mysterious words to an invisible audience while close to him two rats fought over a piece of rotting fish. For minutes the huntress just stood there, waiting, smoking. At one point, she smirked at the thought she could give the poor fella a smoke.

”What will I do when I will see her?” she thought, knowing that she had a solid chance of seeing her target leave her apartment soon.

”And what will she do when she sees me?”

Suddenly reminded of how open and vulnerable she was standing at the corner just a little into the small street, Kerrigan looked at the sleeping shops in the small and silent street. At least one tiny bookshop appeared to be open so she decided to pay it a visit. The shop would shelter her from sight yet she would still be able to observe what was going on outside.

”I could even buy a book for her, maybe it would relax her enough to help me. Now I think of it, she lost a drab little tomb in the fire of our first meeting… so it might be a proper present to give her, I guess.”

”Ugh, why do I care?”

[Visla Eraclaire]

The shopkeeper eyed the new customer as she walked inside. He had rented the apartment above the shop out to an unpleasant young woman who largely kept to himself, and that suited him just fine. She had even paid her rent for a few months in advance before she left on a trip, with only one request: If he were to see a woman named Kerrigan with long light brown hair, tanned skin, likely holding a deck of cards, he was to give her a note. He had seen a few people close to the description since his tenant had left, but he had a feeling this woman was the one. There were no cards visible, but she seemed to be looking for something other than books.

"Excuse me," he called to her from behind the counter. "Miss Kerrigan? I have a note for you."

He sat the note up on the counter. It was folded up and had a wax seal stamped onto it from Visla's signet ring. It was the first use she had made of it since she left all that behind. Within, the words were written in a steady, careful hand. If Kerrigan had been into the apartment, she would see piles of crumpled, rejected drafts. One was too curt, another too presumptious, several simply contained drafting errors or were difficult to read. The final one she had selected read as follows:

Kerrigan,

I promised I wouldn't forget, but all the same I couldn't stay here forever. For all I knew, you could have decided I wasn't worth the trouble. That's an unkind thing to say, since if you're reading this, it isn't true. Still, you will understand why I didn't wait but so long.

I've decided to go on a trip. I have no particular destination, but I get the impression from the little time we spent together that wandering is something you understand. I have very little money left, so I can't be sure how far I'll get. I just need to clear my head after all that's happened. I doubt I'll find anything out in the world but the misfortune that has dogged me since my birth, but I have to be willing to try. If I admit to myself that I've really given up, I may as well have died in that bar.

While I'm not sure where the trip ends, I know where I'm headed first. There's a collection of country villas just east of here, down an old trade road. You'll know it's the right place if you see a plot of land where a house seems to have completely vanished, leaving nothing but a hole for its foundation. I hope they have an inn where I can stay, but if not, I'll just make camp on that estate.

I'll leave another note for you there, if you still want to see me that is. I wouldn't blame you if you didn't follow this little trail. You've done enough for me already, so don't feel obligated.

Still, I hope I see you soon,

Visla Layne Eraclaire

[Kerrigan Muldoon]

As she walked into the bookstore the trickster was again reminded that the outside says little over what it is hiding, a lesson learned all too well from her pretty prey. The shop was narrow at the entrance but widened considerably as one ventured further into it. Badly made bookcases filled with tomes, books, maps and whatnot seemed to have been placed randomly through the store. You could smell the unpleasant aroma of age coming from some of the books and if one would listen carefully you might hear the nibbling rats, having a go at maybe a legendary treasure map or outdated guide. In the back appeared to be the most valuable or at least the oldest books as Kerrigan quickly noticed the connection between distance to the exit and the amount of dust, size of the tomes and the quality of the cases.

Kerrigan preferred to stay close to the entrance however. A maze filled with unreadable knowledge about how doomed the human race really is, did not appeal to her. Over the years she had learned not to be too eager for wisdom and reading a book definitely fell under that category. Besides, she needed to be able to spot her target, Visla, if and when she would actually come through this street.

Just as she reached for a book to act like a casual customer she heard someone call her name as well as mentioning a note. She could not actually see who was calling – in fact, she had not seen anyone at all in the shop – but she assumed it was the shopkeeper. Five turns and a dead-end later, she found the counter he was behind. Strategically placed, the shopkeeper could see most of his store through carefully positioned rows of cases and books.

“Thanks,” she said, after the vendor had handed over the sealed letter, “any chance the writer was a thin, pale young woman? Reads a lot?”

“Aye, that’s her all right. Some time ago she told me to give it to someone, you match the description perfectly. You are Miss Kerrigan, are you not?”

“I am.”

With a thought she relocated the sealed note from her hand instantly to a pocket on the inside of her jacket; a simple yet useful trick, especially for pick pocketing. The trickster had a vague, distressing idea what the letter might read. Without given the shop or its another any more attention she quickly back into the alloy and towards the inn she was staying at only stopping once to quickly study the letter.

’Cursed be that woman. Why does she do this to me? Cure me now or kill me already, but don’t feed me this addicting poison. ‘Don’t feel obliged’, ha!’

Within an hour Kerrigan had gathered her few belongings, scammed the innkeeper and stolen half a diner for the road, as well as getting a cheap ride with a caravan going back to Underwood. Not long after the caravan had left Radasanth she jumped off unnoticed, saving herself from having to cough up the other half of the price she agreed to pay for the ride.

From the back of the wagon she had been riding on, she had already seen the hole in the ground similar to Visla’s description. Whether Visla or a note would actually be there or not, she could no nothing but follow the trail. The country side was peaceful and relaxing, since it was close to the delta the area was rather lush as well. She was neither used to being in the countryside nor the daylight, but could enjoy it as long as it did not last too long. She was accustomed to cities like Underwood and Radasanth and while the latter was still visible on the horizon she felt awkwardly alone. There were no pockets to pick, people to fool or any other of the welcome distractions the trickster was used to fill her days with.
Still, the smell of fresh moss and the touch of long grass and somewhat calmed her. The chirping birds seemed to form a scattered but well practiced choir, paying homage to mother nature for the joy she had blessed them with. It was a fresh and nice temporarily replacement for the stinking streets of any of the godforsaken capitols and cities, though she had no doubt that while appearing all nice and dandy, this place too was in fact corrupted to the soul.

As she arrived at the strange scene of the missing house she slowed down. She figured that Visla would probably have left ages ago, but Kerrigan did not feel like stumbling into her – or anyone else – unprepared.

’Where are you Visla, or your merciless notes?”

Scanning the site from the safety of a large bush she remembered a part of a poem she had written down years ago in the trance of receiving a prophecy of the distant future; it hit the nail on the head.


”Where are you, shadow,
where are you, scam?
Where are the paths your heroes came?

Wondering out loud
as the bandage pulls away, was I,
was I only limping,
was I really lame?

Oh here, come over here,
between the windmill and the grain,
between the sundial and the chain,
between the traitor and her pain.

Once again and all over again,
love calls you by your name.”

All credits for above poem goes to Leonard Cohen.

[Visla Eraclaire]

In the center of the empty foundation, a small mound of recently disturbed earth awaited Kerrigan. Within, two torn pages from the back of Visla's journal, one folded as a makeshift envelope to protect the other.

Dear Kerrigan,

If you're reading this I can assume safely you have decided it worthwhile to follow me. It is unfortunate that I have no way of knowing this, but I promise that I will dutifully leave these notes each place I stay, and give you the best idea I can of where I am going next before I leave. If possible, I will leave them with an innkeeper, but circumstances may require that I secret some away like this. If so, I'll mark the site as best I can.

The pages I'm writing on are torn from the back of a journal I'm keeping as part of this trip. So far, there's nothing of interest I can tell you. I came here to see what became of this plot of land, but as you can see, it's still completely desolate.

The man who lived here died in front of me, eviscerated by an armored swordsman for "heresy," against what I do not know. That's the sort of misfortune that follows me around. He was trying to bring a woman he loved back to life, and he crossed a line that someone found unacceptable. That someone had will steady enough and an arm strong enough to see him dead for his transgression. The murderous zealot's companion reduced the whole estate to nothingness, a cascade of white light that left it just as you see it now.

I never figured out the whole story. I guess I never will. I came here in hopes there might be some explanation waiting for me, but I suppose answers don't come that easily. Maybe you can sense something from it, but I'm not sure you'd want to. Following me around is bound to bring you unhappiness enough without unearthing the specters of dead warlocks and their lost loves.

There's a small seaside town a few days north of here. It's where I first arrived in Corone. I'll write you again there. I do hope you're reading this. Otherwise, I'm just leaving a trail of letters behind as a dread record of my insanity and pathetic loneliness.

I should re-write this because of that last bit, but if I started such a habit, I would be out of paper within a week.

Yours truly,
Visla Layne Eraclaire

[Kerrigan Muldoon]

Still observing the mysterious place from her safe hideout, Kerrigan cursed at herself for not having searched the apartment of the woman she sought. It might have given her a clue whether or not Visla was leading her into a filthy trap; at least it could have given her some more insight into who she was.

’There it is. Another note… jippy jay.’

She quickly climbed down unto the missing building’s foundation and angrily grabbed the two pages stuck in the ground. The first page was empty and apparently used to shield the other from the weather and was as such quickly returned to the ground. After a moment of concentration a tarot card named The Hanged Man magically appeared beneath the blank page and spontaneously combusted, reducing them both to ashes.

Shortly after the small fire had died out Kerrigan had studied the second note left by her friend and rival. She could or would not understand why, but somehow the letter had eased her fury. Was it because she still could not help but relate to her? She did not want to know.

’Bah, don’t you talk about misfortune tagging along with you. You do not have a corner on suffering, Eraclaire. You don’t. Nobody does.’

Contradicting her own statement, she did thought of herself as the unhappiest person alive. She wanted to be, wanted to pity herself, especially at this moment. Self pity allowed the woman to not make the decision she feared to make. The question had been there from the moment she became mature enough to think for herself. Whatever the question stood for, it was too much a painful mirror for her to be confronted with right now.

“Insane, pathetic and lonely; a true diagnosis indeed.”

Even her possessed deck of cards, Jack, did not know whether she was talking to herself or the absent note writer. Maybe both.

In need of distraction, Kerrigan took a closer look at the foundation of the mysteriously disappeared building. There had been nothing for the fire she had created to spread to, in fact, there did not appear to be anything at all at the site but blackened earth and the solid stone foundation. It was deathly quiet, though she had been able to hear numerous birds back in her hiding spot. She could not smell anything either – though she should have picked up the scent of burning paper – as if the removal of the estate had hexed the local workings of nature’s laws.

’Visla was right, this place is dread.’

She sighed and lighted her third cigarette since having arrived at the odd site. They did not taste good though; it was not her brand, but she considered it bad sport to look a stolen horse in the mouth.

’Alright, lets ride the damned tides of time. Jack, wakey wakey! We want a Reading.’

A moment later, she had the full attention of her private little devil. The familiar sensation which answered her thoughts was more a feeling then a sound, though she instinctively translated it into clear words.

’But of course, my mistress; dine in or to go? He he he. It are not just your plans and expectations of this little trip, you know, but your whole being is as frail as a house of cards. Why don’t ya just let me take over, my darling, it is your turn now to go sleepy sleepy.”

'Shut up, moron, just get this over with.'

'Your command is my wish, sugar.'

With that, Kerrigan sat down on her kneels and placed ten cards – hand picked by Jack – in front of her. She let her unwelcome but useful soul mate do most of the work, since he was the most eager and powerful of the two. She shuffled the cards, chanted the helpful incantations and did everything what was needed for a proper Reading. The prophetic trance came slower and with less intensity then she used to, but within ten minutes everything went pitch black.

She felt strangely accustomed with the omnipresent shadow, as if she could control it. Shortly after she realized that it could control her in equal manner, if not better.

A pawn, a schizoid, tomorrow’s headline or just a random girl; who and what were she? She somehow felt important, but too what extend? So much questions, but answers can only be found in death.



Some have to die
before you’ll know.

Know
what?



Don’t
know.

Don’t.
Do not! Care!
Not done.




Undone.The warlock wanted to
undo his wife’s death
but his blasphemy! undid him.
"You have to decide. Everybody has an inner demon, but you get to choose yours."


The girl is honest.

Kill with a kissss,
mount a horse.

Here's ya food and your letter.



***

An unknown amount of time later...

***

Slowly and painfully Kerrigan awoke from the depths of the Reading. Her mind gradually reconnected to a brain, which was inside a head resting on a pair of arms. The arms were attached to a vaguely familiar body, but she could not place the table they were laying on. It was only after all her senses had more or less returned to her body that she dared to lift up her head and look where the heck she had ended up this time. Apparently, she had suffered from another black out. Just before she closed her eyes again to stop the light torturing her, she noticed she was in a tavern or inn.

Right when she was ready to drift back into a state only barely resembling normal, healthy sleep, a waitress wakened the oblivious trickster.

"Here's ya food and your letter."

[Visla Eraclaire]

The Gull's Call was a small seaside inn perched on a cliff. Plain-faced fisherman's wives paced their way over creaking floorboards, biding their time as waitresses while their husbands spent lengthy trips out to sea. The open windows proudly faced the water, letting the salty breeze flow through the whole establishment.

The proprietor was a man who had gotten too old even to fish, quite a feat indeed. His time-weathered hands and murky vision relegated him to little more than a living bankroll for the inn, which received few visitors. It was kept open largely as a bit of charity and, in his view, a way of keeping the women out of trouble. He would tell their husbands that he was keeping an eye on them, though whichever eye it was, it did little good.

The note he passed Kerrigan was stained with fish sauce and grease, but still legible.

Dear Kerrigan,

I spent a few nights here and almost considered staying for good. I know it might not seem like much, but I grew up on an island, albeit one large enough that one could easily be far enough inland not to smell the sea air. I still remember trips with Alis to the white sandy beaches. Mother used to take me, even though the doctors warned against it. She thought that as much as their spells and potions might be keeping me alive, I wouldn't be truly healthy without sun and fresh air.

We never really went after she died. Bella hated the heat and the bright sun. I always told her that seemed hypocritical for a cleric of light. She'd just smile. I wish she had slapped me in the face, then there would have been proof to what a wretch she was. Ah well, that's more than you bargained on knowing, I'm sure.

It's memories like those that kept me from staying here longer. I think if I could forget the sight of my mother in her sundress and wide brimmed white hat, dipping her feet in the surf while Alis splashed, waist deep in the waves, maybe then I could settle down here. I'm not sure how I would make the money, but among simple folk, an arcanist can always make a coin or two. You surely realize that.

Some day, when I'm old enough that all the memories start to run together, in the twilight of my years, I'd like to build a little cottage here that looks out toward home, across the churning blue-grey waters. The problem is, I have to live till then somehow, and I can't do it here.

I spoke to the old man that I gave this note to about the surrounding area. He says there's a small forest past the cliffs, inland from the sea. There's an old logging path that cuts through it and leads to rolling green plains on the far side. Honestly, I was prepared to go at that point, but he added that there's a small town a day or so by foot through the plains. He called it Mittergrad. I've never heard of it, but I'm afraid it may be my last stop. After paying for my lodging, I'm virtually penniless.

Perhaps I'll be seeing you there soon,
Visla Layne Eraclaire

[Kerrigan Muldoon]

Kerrigan had found a comfortable place nearby the inn, a perfect spot to smoke and dwell upon her dilemmas. How's, why's, what to do's and endless other questions stabbed her tired brain until she couldn't think straight anymore. Sitting against an old looking over the calm ocean Kerrigan had read Visla's letter over and over again, closing every word into her heart as if it was her very first love letter. The vulnerability Visla had spoken with about her origin and intentions had been strangely touching and comforting. It would have been so much easier as if she had acted as a fiend instead of a friend.

'Why... why do you not act your nature? I do. I hunt you down to hurt you. But your vulnerability disarms; I can't defeat you like that. Please... stop it.'

A single tear escaped the woman’s tyrannical control over her emotions but right before it had found its way to her trembling mouth it was swiped away. Would it have touched her lips it would have tasted more bitter then the sea salty, hinting of an ocean behind her eyes as deep as the one in front of them.

The letter had reminded Kerrigen of her own long forgotten mother and youth. The actress had loved her mother but could not say she still did; she had lost the meaning of love, having killed it with her own bare hands. Even though she had thought so at the time, her adolescence had not been all that bad. Sure, there had been numerous arguments and fights between her parents but it had been endurable at worst. Her decision to leave and ‘experience the world’ had made her feel so alive and strong and independent and whatnot, but all she had done was trade a house of hate and love for a void world.

She discovered that since there is not enough love to go around it was reserved exclusively to home-sweet-homes: confined spaces with a bouncer at the door. After having experienced a tad bit too much of the world she had tried to get back into one of those safe heavens. At first she had asked to be included but it had been made perfectly clear that her kind was not welcome. Then she turned to lying, cheating and blackmailing to get but a drop of caring, but once you're out you never get back in – not for real anyway.

’Maybe I should visit mom. After this, whatever this is. If I’ll still live, I should. If they are still alive too, that is.’

Kerrigan's final resort was sleeping with men who had a sweetheart waiting for them at home. Those men had received enough love to share and even though they were greedy and treated her as a tool it was better then a kick in the teeth. It was their wives she despised for their cruel greediness, unwilling to share what they could enjoy daily.

’I'm no more then a whore. Cheap. Dirty. A killer joke. Ha! At least I proofed one does not need the gods to doom oneself.’

The sun had left her alone with the darkening night about an hour ago and she could hear thunder in the distance coming closer every minute. It was time for her to go. On her way back to the tavern she suddenly realized that in despite of the endless pondering she had forgotten to arrange a method of transportation. Visla promised to be only one last trip away; she was too eager to wait another night for the journey to end all journeys.

Almost back at the inn she could hear the heavy panting of a tired horse. There was a small stable at the back of The Gull’s Call where she found a rider taking care of its sweating horse; he appeared to be a messenger of some kind, dressed in an unknown uniform. There was place for three horses, but they were alone in the small and dirty stable. Straw and horse crap laid everywhere, the only thing distinguishing the different containers where the weak wooden fences.

Inside her head Jack whispered suggestively: ‘Mount a horse.’

Those were some of the words she had heard at the Reading just before her latest black out. Suddenly, she remembered the phrase she had heard right after it: ‘kill with a kiss’, and a gruesome idea was born. Slowly she approached the short, brown haired men. Even Kerrigan’s untrained eyes could appreciate the quality of the damp mount and its rider’s proficiency. He took care of his expensive looking black steed with love and precision and had not seen or heard her coming in.

’How ironic, they treat animals better then most persons.’

“Hey there handsome.”

The rider quickly turned around, appearing a little startled. The horse protested against the stopped care.

“Good evening, miss. Can I help you?”

He had a harsh and low voice and was in fact quite attractive if one could ignore the sweat and dirt. He shamelessly inspected the woman from head to feet, Kerrigan’s look and smile only encouraged him.

“You just might, pretty boy. I need a ride to a place called Mittergrad. I need to be leaving right now.”

She leaned against a wall, with her left hand on her hip. Her left hand hid a small silver throwing knife behind her back.

“That’s a shame, m’lady, I just travelled through that forsaken place a few hours ago. It has all burned down to the ground. You’ll find nothing but ruins there… you knew someone who lived there?”

For a moment Kerrigan’s face darkened. She wondered whether this was good news or not. She took Visla for a fire monger so it could testify of her presence, but she might as well have died in her own flames. Becoming increasingly impatient she walked to the surprised rider until they could feel each others quickening breath on their faces.

“Listen, “ she said as womanly as she could, “I’ll pay you handsomely with gold and with… something else. You are not the kind of man who turns down a damsel in distress, are you?”

Taken by surprised but quickly recovering due to his every present male hormones, he fell quickly to her seducing powers. Within a minute he started to prepare his mount again – who was confused but glad he could ride once again. In the mean while, Kerrigan had magically placed several of her tarot cards inside his clothes waiting only for a thought to do their task. When he was finished preparing the steed the woman dragged him gently by his shirt to the far end of the stable. He could only think of the promised payment and complied happily. As she put him against a wall she tried to ignore his odor and kissed him long and passionate. Greatly distracted by her wet lips he did not feel the warmth of his clothes being set aflame by several burning cards hidden between them. When Kerrigan realized he had finally felt the flame against his sweating skin she quickly drove her small hidden knife into his throat. He frantically tried to put out the fire but he crashed to the floor gurgling and drowning in his own blood. As the stray took on fire as well he was buried with fire, until even the spastic movement stopped.

Without another thought Kerrigan walked firmly back to the horse which became more anxious by the second. She was an inexperienced horseback rider but had seen thousands of well trained ones. Quickly getting on the horse she had barely enough time to grasp the reins before the black steed stampeded away from the inferno into the cold night. Even if she would be able to there was no need for her to guide the horse as it instinctively rushed back to where it came from: Mittergrad.

’Visla, here I come.’

The thunder had finally reached them and rain started pouring down from the heavens. It was not enough to extinguish the burning stable but did hide the numerous tears streaming down Kerrigan’s face.

’Please don’t make me hurt you.’

[Visla Eraclaire]

Rain cascaded down through the hole in the chapel's roof that had become a makeshift chimney. The droplets hissed and vanished as they fell into the pyre below, doing little to slow its churning flames. The pile was heaped high with bodies already partly burned, with scraps of wood and banners emblazoned with the temple's holy symbols as tinder. A pair of clawed hands tossed another body on top, stirring up a cloud of smoke and embers.

Visla and Aelva had taken up shelter in the ruins of Mittergrad's temple, the only building that the flames left mostly intact. Despite the damaged roof, the stone walls provided all the shelter the two needed for the moment. The storerooms below were still stocked with salted meat and the well outside had yet to be fouled by the death all around it.

"That's all we can do for now. It looks like this storm is just beginning. I think it best to sit and rest a while rather than go out in it," Visla called from her seat in a pew. A few torn pages sat beside her, covered in Infernal script.

"The rain is no concern to me," Aelva replied, letting her claws dissolve back into the gentle human hands of her illusory form. "The town still has plenty of firewood."

"We have plenty for now," Visla answered. She realized the demon probably meant corpses. That grim sense of humor was one of many things she found unsettling about her companion since her return. True, she had never been a pure hearted damsel, but the more Visla looked at her, the more she wondered if she had really gotten her Aelva back. Perhaps it was just a common name among succubi.

"Yes, Mistress," Aelva replied obediently.

"It's been days now and I still have to remind you not to call me that," Visla growled, still flipping through the runed pages, refusing to glance at the woman that had so changed.

"I'm sorry, Visla. The life of a succubus is ultimately about masters and slaves. We can be either, but that is always the way of things, servitude and dominance," the demon explained as she walked over to take a seat next to Visla on the pew.

"Pacta sunt servanda, right?" Visla said, parroting the words of Nerevar, and still avoiding Aelva's eyes.

"Your pronunciation is awful. Who taught you Infernal?"

"You did."

That was the worst of it. A darker manner and the insistence on servitude were bad enough, but the thorn that stuck squarely in Visla's heart was this amnesia. She had spent the first two days all but interrogating the succubus about what she remembered. Her name, yes. The Academy, yes. The moment of her death, yes. Anything about Visla, anything at all, no.

She had cried the whole night and still had to fight back tears at every reminder. Only the distraction of hoofbeats outside saved her from battling them once again.

"Someone is here, Mis-- Miss Eraclaire."

"Don't think I didn't notice. If you insist on playing servant girl, go answer the door then," Visla painted over her regret with anger and focused again on the pages. They were the instructions for her old spells, written by Aelva before she was banished. No matter how long she stared at them, they were completely beyond her. It would seem her powers were truly gone, and there was no getting them back. Quite a price for a reward that brought her only sorrow.

[Kerrigan Muldoon]

Her own sneezing awoke the snoozing woman. Due to her type of job she had learned to be able to sleep anywhere; even in the pouring rain on a horse walking through a burned out village with stinking corpses everywhere – but she was not yet aware of that last part.

’Woah, fuck!’

Horrified by the sight she pulled the reins in a reflex. The well trained but death tired steed felt its master’s tension and the pulling restrains in its mouth and reared of fright, throwing the surprised woman off. With a loud neigh he left in full gallop into the dread night, leaving Kerrigan laying flat in the mud.

Softly cursing at the horse Kerrigan stood up and appreciated the situation. The rain had made her soaking wet and now she looked like a mud monster from hell as well. The village – hopefully being Mittergrad – looked like said hell had already passed through it violently. Most of the shacks were ravaged by at least fire, only a few skeletons and buildings still stood erected. She could not see a living soul, but there were enough bodies to start your own graveyard with.

While the sun should set soon Kerrigan could still only barely see the outlines of the destroyed houses. The only large building she could distinguish appeared to be still burning at the inside, so she headed towards its promise of shelter and warmth. For a moment, she could swear she smelled sulphur, but the odor went as quickly as it had come.

She walked past a well and a rotting corpse towards what seemed to be the front of the building. A sudden creaking focused her attention on the half destroyed door opening outward. In a reflex she reached for a throwing knife conveniently placed at her hip, but she had not yet replaced it since she had killed a man with it. The well was too far to run to unnoticed and there were no other objects to hide behind. As such, she saw herself forced to reveal herself, so far she hadn’t already been sighted.

“Peace,” she shouted, hoping for a similar response, “I am looking for a lady friend of mine… and shelter.”

Kerrigan could only barely see the contour of the person at the door because he kept himself to the shadows. Slowly but firmly she continued the last forty foot to what appeared to be some sort of temple, not in the mood to wait for answer until she could finally hide from the rain.

[Visla Eraclaire]

"Come right in then," Aelva huffed as the woman walked past her without a word and into the shelter of the ruined sanctuary. Before she could complain further, Visla set eyes on the tired-looking rain-soaked figure.

"Kerrigan!" she called and dropped the scrolls immediately to the ground, stepping on one as she pulled herself to her feet and hobbled over to greet the roadweary traveler. "I'm so sorry. You really came all this way."

Visla had come back to Mittergrad for this very reason. She told herself it was a matter of practicality, a convenient and nearby place that she could shelter herself for a time while she figured out her next move. In truth, she was still holding to her promise to the woman that now stood before her. When the city burned, her note burned with it, and the trail would have gone cold if she hadn't returned.

It was sad that so soon after her reunion with Aelva, she was already happier to see a woman who she had only known a single night. The succubus's company was deeply troubling, not at all like she had hoped. It was that very reason that she desperately wanted to speak to Kerrigan, to get some perspective from outside her cloistered mind. She had given so much to see Aelva's face again, but now she couldn't even look into her eyes without feeling disgust. It was impossible to admit such disappointment to herself, but somehow she felt she could confess it to this roguish woman who she had nearly seared in a bar fight.

"Why don't you come and join me by the fire?" she stopped before approaching Kerrigan any closer and made her way to the pyre of bodies and banners. The smell was probably disgusting to the new arrival, but Visla had already become accustomed to it.

"Aelva, if the rain really isn't going to bother you, see if you can find any more dry tinder," she instructed, knowing full well that it was an all but impossible task. She just wanted to be rid of her for the moment, sad as the idea was to even conceive of.

"Yes, Mistress."

Visla simply let it go as the demon walked out the open door and shut it behind her.

[Kerrigan Muldoon]

From the moment Kerrigan could clearly see Aelva she knew she did not like the woman, not one bit. She was unaware of her nature and had not noticed the similarity between her emerald green eyes and the equally coloured gem she had seen weeks ago, but she could even feel her personal devil Jack complain about her presence. Kerrigan had no clue why she instantly disliked her, though she could know – if she wanted to – that the simple answer was jealousy.

Her attempt to not return Visla’s smile failed miserably, she was in fact thrilled to finally see her again. “Visla! I’ve found you!”

She quickly paced to her long lost stranger, almost tempted to give her a hug if Visla had not retreated back to the fire. The sight and sent of roasting flesh suddenly hit her and helped her regaining control over her emotions and facial expression.

“You-- Oh well, I was in the neighbourhood anyway.” It must have sounded ridiculous for those who knew Mittergrad was not exactly in the neighbourhood of anything and she had killed a man to come here, but Kerrigan urgently needed some emotional distance. She followed Visla to the fire, trying not to pay too much attention to the expression of a burning child’s face in the pyre nor the fact that it had no body attached to it.

The whole scene confused Kerrigan. At their first meeting Visla had appeared to her as an extremely fragile girl… well, until she turned into some kind of fiery demoness. Now she stayed in the middle of a ravaged town warming herself by a flesh fuelled fire. She wondered whether that was a good thing. Had she embraced her occult nature or had she just became tougher?

And who the heck was that cold Aelva bitch?

“Mistress?” parroted Kerrigan. “What is she, some kind of slave golem?”

Oblivious to the story behind it, the trickster could probably not have been more cruelly blunt. Greatly confused by her own emotions and questions but fuelled by her jealousy she lacked the sensibility to sense those of others. During her quest to find the woman she had tried to convince herself that it was a hunt. But here she was and what she desired most was to fall into her prey’s arms and cry herself to sleep.

Kerrigan instinctively reached for her cigarettes, but she forgot they were ruined by the rain. After unbuttoning her belt she let the drenched brown travelling robe slide from her body. Her attempt to straighten her hair with a few quick moves failed miserably, but the trickster did manage to wash most of the mud from her face with her wet hands. Sighing of exhaustion the woman sat down with her back towards the flames, her arms wrapped around her bent legs.

“Look at me, I look horrible. I’m so sorry.”

The performer had thought of thousand sentences to say and hundreds of clever remarks to make, as well as numerous threatens to make force the woman to help her, but finally having found her target Kerrigan was speechless.

“Vis, I… you…”

A sudden sneeze saved her from continuing a sentence she did not know how to say.

[Visla Eraclaire]

Kerrigan's pointed question occupied Visla's mind to the extent that she barely noticed the rambling weakness her guest was beginning to display. It was just as well, she had hoped for the woman's arrival to give her strength and seeing her in such a fragile state would only serve as another depressing point on an increasingly long list. Was Aelva just a slave? She had said as much, but Visla hardly trusted her words at this point. It was just as likely that she was the slave. After all, she had given up so much to bring her back.

"So she says," Visla sighed, staring into the fire. "It wasn't supposed to be like this. I thought we were equals, that we cared about one another. Now I'm all but certain that she doesn't care a bit for me, beyond that disturbing servile loyalty. And the feeling is swiftly becoming mutual. After all I've done to have her back, she terrifies me."

Visla pulled the gem out of her pocket. She hadn't let Aelva set eyes on it for fear that she would know precisely what to do with it. It was beyond obvious that if Aelva's memories were anywhere still, they were within the dazzling green stone. This was Visla's treasure, and she was reluctant to give it over to the demon she no longer trusted, much less loved.

"She doesn't remember me since I brought her back. She's cold and vicious, everything a demon should be, I suppose. I must sound like an idiot, complaining about getting precisely what I bargained for, but you have to understand. When I knew her, she was warm, intriguing. She was human. I didn't even know about her being a demon until she was gone," Visla stared into the fire as she heaped her problems at Kerrigan's feet.

"Was all of that a lie? I'm afraid if I give her these memories, she'll just use them to manipulate me again. Right now, I'd kill her if I could. I want nothing to do with that creature. It isn't my Aelva. But now I can't be sure if my Aelva ever existed," Visla couldn't hold back her sadness, her anger and confusion. She began to sob pathetically. Covering her face in shame, she mumbled, "I'm sorry… I'm sorry you came. This isn't your problem."

With the hallmark irrationality of a woman pushed to the brink, she jumped to her feet and looked Kerrigan straight in the eyes, with lines of tears still streaming down her face. "All the people in this town died to bring her back and now I don't even want her. I've hurt so many people, Kerrigan, but I can't let her hurt me." She clutched the gem tightly against her chest and looked at her guest with a dreadful desperation.

[Kerrigan Muldoon]

Visla’s vulnerability absorbed Kerrigan’s attention and diminished her own condition and complains to mere trivialities. It was illogical, painful and pointless, but nevertheless she could not help but care for the pale woman. She had already almost forgotten the memories of wanting to hurt Visla, though she was aware that they would probably return whenever they would separate again, but that was future’s worry.

The emerald green gem which Visla conjured from her pocket reminded her of their first meeting in a tavern in Underwood which had set this bizarre sequence of events in motion. For reasons she could not quite grasp herself, she was glad they had happened, even though her life had been nightmare ever since. If life can be a nightmare then it can just as well become a dream, but a living joke only amuses the gods.

The sight of Visla’s tears awoke a strange strength in her, almost as if she wanted to be strong so the crying girl could depend on her for support, but the thought was discarded as ridiculous. Nevertheless, Kerrigan jumped up right after the emotional woman did and the only thing stopping her for closing her poor friend in her arms was the fear that an embrace would break Visla like a fragile butterfly.

“I am so sorry for you Vis.” It was nothing more then a whisper, but she meant it. Carefully she reached out and wiped a single tear from her wet check. It was like trying to stop a flood one cup at a time, but the gesture was merely meant to bring a message across.

“Those people are in a better place now, you needn’t worry about them.” She paused for a moment, wondering why exactly there was no need to be bothered by the responsibilities of an entire village’s extermination.
“I mean, if she truly is a demon from hell then their must be a heaven with angels, I guess. And if she ain’t, well, then there’s still hope she’ll change… right?”

Kerrigan managed to ignore the over the top absurdness and irrationality of her reasoning, in fact, she actually meant and believed parts of it. For some reason - possibly because her mother was a believer - Kerrigan’s frequent attempts to doubt or disregard the existence of divinity had never been fruitful. According to her logic there couldn’t be a hell without a heaven, because if one didn’t somehow balance the other Althanas would long ago have been assimilated into either one’s reign. But then again, the logic behind was not really relevant, for all she wanted was to comfort the troubled young woman.

“It’s oke Vis, I’m here now. I will not let her hurt you.”

Regardless of the how utterly inappropriate it was, Kerrigan wanted the woman to cry and be needful. The addictive thrill of being able to comfort and help was overwhelming, even more: it gave some sort of meaning to the satire of life. Never before had she attempted to find such an external source, she had always egocentrically consummated to satisfy her needs but it had rarely not ended in disappointment.

She wondered if it could be true, could one gain by giving and sharing?

[Visla Eraclaire]

Visla was unaccustomed to comfort. It was an awkward, unsettling experience, being so vulnerable in front of someone. Weakness and fragility were nothing new for a young woman who had been sickly her whole life, but since she had escaped the constant care of doctors and clerics in her youth, she had guarded her independence fiercely. Her mother had originally been the only one she'd let in, talk to, and be honest with. After her death, it was Alis, but even they had begun to drift apart with time. By the time Visla met Aelva, she was ready to care about someone, desperate even.

As the tears continued to fall off her cheeks and Kerrigan tried to comfort her, she pondered not only the woman's words, but the compassion they evidenced. She had been unwilling to admit that Aelva's return was a failure, a dreadful experience even worse than her banishing had been. If she had given everything for it and gotten nothing, she would be empty and alone. But now, with Kerrigan standing next to her, she could accept it. The demon outside may share Aelva's name and her eyes, but she was not the one that Visla loved.

The gem in her hand began to pulse. It had remained dormant for months, since the night Visla first met Kerrigan. And yet now, whatever lay under its crystalline surface was stirring. Pain jolted through Visla's arm and dug deep into her bones. At the entrance of the temple's hall, the great door swung open and slammed against the wall. Aelva stood in her full demonic glory, silhouetted by sheets rain and flashes of distant lightning. Her claws dripped with blood diluted by rivulets of water, flowing down from rain-drenched hair. The two curled horns protruded from the her damp and matted black mane. Even in the distant light of the pyre, her eyes glinted with a fearsome brilliance.

"I could find no more tinder, Mistress," the demoness said. Her hooves floated on a cloud of darkness, a few inches above the floor and she drifted toward Visla, her gaze firmly locked forward.

"Then busy yourself with whatever you like, but be gone. My guest and I have things to attend to," Visla wiped her face and tried to fill her faltering voice with domina's strength.

"The Mistress finally seems to be accepting her position. A shame you will be vacating it so soon," Aelva said with a sly smile as she crept ever closer, almost within claw's reach of Visla's trembling chest.

"Leave! I will not say it again!" Visla commanded, stamping her cane against the ground. She wanted desperately to ready herself, but there was nothing to prepare. All her powers were gone, and if Aelva really did intend what she seemed to, there was nothing the frail young woman could do.

"I decline. I am no pact-bound devil. But I will be taking my leave of you," she crowed and lunged forward with her razor sharp claws, digging them into Visla's flesh. The nails buried themselves bone-deep into the young woman's chest.

Visla screamed and could do nothing more than stare as the beast's talons retracted from her body. To her shock, for all the wracking pain, there was no gory wound. Even as she realized this, the full force of agony threw her to her knees. Looking up at her attacker, she saw the wound she expected to see on her own chest, a gaping rake mark across the succubus' breast.

The gem in Visla's hand redoubled the pain she felt as it erupted with peals of emerald lightning. It arced through Visla's arm and coursed through her veins, calling a strange voice to her lips.

"Kerrigan, grab her!" she cried. The voice was not her own, but Aelva's. Not the dread creature which had attacked her, but her Aelva. The tone had a calm sweetness, even in the midst of its urgent command.

The demoness stared down at the bleeding hollow that had formed in her chest. She grinned knowingly even as she heard the strange echo and turned toward Kerrigan. "It would seem I cannot kill her now, but I can make her wish I had."

[Kerrigan Muldoon]

Not entirely at her best already, Kerrigan had been too shocked and passive to be able to react properly at the demon’s assault on her friend. The exhausting hunt for Visla, her murder on the messenger, the gruesome scenery of the village, her new found friend’s tears… it had been so much already. When the fiend’s claws found their way in the poor woman’s chest she just stood there, horrified and paralyzed.

Instinctively she looked at the alluring exit, she could continue her habit of running and forgetting but she knew she would not do so this time. When she saw the mysterious lack of grave wounds Kerrigan could only classify it as divine intervention. A true deus ex machine in the face of evil. Intuitively she send a quick prayer of thanks upwards to whomever was responsible and might be listening.

The authoritative voice coming out of Visla’s mouth was not hers yet was strangely familiar. Again she was reminded of the unworldly crystal she had seen in the tavern. As the foul beast turned towards Kerrigan she saw that her eyes had the same colour as the gem had, just like the voices sounded similar; she found that to be an unforgivable blasphemy.

The sweet voice cured her of her paralyzed state and fuelled her will. She could feel the anger flowing through her veins as her start started to pump again. Kerrigan had finally found a proper target for all the pain and agony she had experienced the last weeks. Every tear, every stab, every lie, every night; she blamed the demon for everything she had endured and caused.

A mere moment after she reached out with both her empty hands they were filled with tens of cards; the instruments of her wrath. She did not even consciously have to order them to alight but they did so nevertheless, burning her hands slightly but painfully. A small storm of smouldering tarot cards swooped through the air towards the demon. Most of them missed and those who didn’t would barely hurt the beast if at all, but the flaming paper twister provided Kerrigan with a valuable moment of opportunity.

In the midst of the now dwindling cards Kerrigan stormed forwards, ready to face hell on earth. She jumped and grabbed the demon so tight as if she would never let go. Kerrigan had never been so intimate with death before. Together they crashed to the floor, tumbling over sharp rocks and pools of almost dry blood, away from the fire and into the luring shadows…

[Visla Eraclaire]

As viridian energy poured out from the gem in a dozen sizzling discharges, Visla struggled to her feet and lumbered toward the pinned succubus. The voice that spoke through her had erased all doubt. No matter the consequences, regardless of her fears, this was the only way they would ever be reunited. Let this vile creature try to devour the memories contained in the crystal, and let it choke on them, she thought.

And with that, she plunged the shard into the open wound on the demon's chest. Its raging tempest of energy bolts subsided as it dug deep into the creature's flesh. The calm was but a temporary respite as it began to pulse with a renewed fury. The succubus clinched her fanged teeth and winced as a pillar of emerald energy enveloped her. It spread through her limbs, her claws, her hooves, her horns until she was nothing but a beacon of surging green light. Kerrigan's grip fell loose as the form she grabbed dissolved into pure Essence.

As Visla stared at the spectacle and drew back her hand, her confidence began to waver. She glanced down at the crystal, now clear as glass, emptied of its mystical impetus. The figure before her still roiled with currents of conflict. She wondered helplessly if her Aelva would emerge or whether she had just plunged her back into the Abyss that she had given so much to drag her up from. Silent, worrisome, and increasingly anxious, Visla watched the brilliant eddies of Essence twist and turn within themselves.

Then, all at once, darkness. The fire's faltering light could not reach them as the incandescent being was snuffed out. Visla held back a scream with the bare hope that whatever ritual she had unleashed was not yet over. Tears battered against the tattered remnants of her will as she stared longingly into the shadows for some sign of her lost one.

"I'm sorry."

The voice was not Kerrigan's, nor Visla's, nor the twisted creature that attacked them both. Aelva's face came forth from the dark corner into the flickering red light of the pyre. There were tears on her cheeks and as she stood, the wound in her chest was still bleeding. Visla jumped forward and clutched her tightly, heedless of the warm sensation of blood pressed against her. Aelva's clawed hands wrapped around her summoner in turn and held her gently. As Visla regained a measure of composure in the face of her overwhelming joy, she glanced back into the shadows and looked to see if Kerrigan was alright.

[Visla Eraclaire]

After that, no words were spoken between the women for the remainder of the night. Aelva helped Kerrigan from the floor with a sheepish hand. Visla bound Aelva's wound with linens from the temple's basement. The three ate from the storehouse of salted meat. All of this was in silence.

From time to time, Aelva would look at Visla and purse her lips to speak, but the warlock's eyes made a sharp refusal. There would be time for explanation as summer gave way to fall and ultimately winter. The harsh truth of the matter would reach Visla's ears in due time. There was no flaw in her ritual. She had not called forth some other creature that merely played at being Aelva. What she had witnessed was the succubus herself before she had met Visla. They both knew that the coldness and depravity still lingered somewhere within her heart.

It was not something Visla could fault her for. The wanton acts she had committed to be reunited were worse still. The guilt would linger for both of them, but for the moment they were together. Whatever had been done, whatever phantoms haunted the corners of their respective pasts were banished for that night. By the firelight, there were only reserved smiles and clasped hands.

Neither remembered going to sleep when the morning ultimately came. The silent evening seemed to fall seamlessly into a quiet morning. In the distance, beyond the ruined town and burnt timber, birds called out the dawn. Visla and Aelva arose from the heap they had fallen into when exhaustion finally took them.

"Kerrigan, I know that you didn't come all this way to help me. I'm not sure what you came for," Visla smiled, her voice rasped from disuse. "But thank you. I'd be dead twice over without you. I wish I had something to give you, but all I have are ashes and gratitude."

Aelva put her hand on Visla's shoulder and interrupted. Cloaked once again in human trappings, she spoke with poise and candor, "I know you from my time in the crystal. I know what's happened all this time. I owe Visla for my body, but I owe you for my soul. Please," she extended her hand with the crystal that once housed her memories. It was clear and brilliant like a diamond, no longer the emerald hue of her eyes.

"I'm sure a soul gem could be put to terrible use, but it is more likely to fall into such use in our hands than yours," Visla added. "Sell it, use it, or… keep it to remember us. Just take it."

Visla could no longer hold back her tears and she rushed forward to embrace Kerrigan before she left. Chance had brought them together, and a terrible curse had nearly claimed both of their lives, but somehow the unluckiest pair of women had brought about an ending that was merely bittersweet.

[Taskmienster]

Story 5.4

A good bit of continuity, expressed through means other than just simply explanatory narrative. I especially liked the personality and dialogue (both internal and spoken word), that influenced not only the thread as a whole, but all the other little aspects that drive a thread. The setting wasn’t exactly too present, and could have been worked out more thoroughly, but it wasn’t bad either. There was enough most of the time to know what was going on, but it seemed that sometimes things were forgotten and left out. The pacing was uniquely done; it was quick and flowed well. There were a few points when the pacing died, like when Kerrigan had that strange outburst of… whatever it was. The reading or whatnot, was strange and cluttered, and made little sense.


Character 6

I said it in the beginning; the persona and dialogue for the thread were very well done. They followed the characters well, and were given to the reader in an interesting way that added to the general story that was being told. I’d suggest giving a little more, though it would be difficult to do so when the majority of a post is being displayed as a means of leaving a note.


Mechanics 5.3

A few mechanical issues here and there, spelling mistakes or just word slips that happen sometimes. Other than that, there was just the occasional comma usage errors. Technique was interesting, playing the cat and mouse game through notes left behind was unique and intriguing, and when the two of you finally got together it made everything come together well. Other than those errors, nothing was terribly unclear in the end either.

Score: 16.7 ~ 56/100


Rewards:

Visla :: 1515 exp | 150 gold

Kerrigan :: 480 exp | 130 gold

[Taskmienster]

Exp and GP added.