El Festival De Muerte

[Storm Veritas]

((Closed to Ira))

Class structure on Althanas was defined not by who held the regal names, but more simply by who was foolish enough to overpay for a pricey suit.

Storm was one of those people. Diplomats, aristocrats, the upper echelon of earners upon the land were well versed in their own inner circles, but faking your way in was easy enough. The poor in Radasanth were just that – dirt poor – and lacked the ambition nor the wherewithal to circumvent the system and lay claim to the golden cup.

Fools, ripe for the picking.

He primely picked a nice thick shrimp from a garish silver platter being ushered around by some awful old stuffed shirt with an accent. Smiling, he looked around the place – beautiful and ornate, with cherry wood floors and brilliant crystal chandeliers. Soft piano music lifted echoed in the background, with the pompous bumbling chatter in small circles all about. The intro was always awkward, so he skipped it altogether.

“And then Abigail and I will be chartering a ship sailing past Nyd in a month… Lovely place, if you stay away from the mainland.” Braggard declarations of a well kempt white-head, very proud of his ability to burn through money. “And you, Stephen, anything scribbled in your planner?”

An awkward, unnecessary and unexpected laugh. Apparently this was what passed for amusing. Stepping forward, a round-bellied blowhard in a tuxedo talked between bites of some cheese-looking morsel, his left hand filled with a near-empty chardonnay.

“Well, I’m looking for something a little tamer. Last year we got stuck going to that awful place on Fallien, the festival, and it was total madness! Complete hedonism! Undressed women, excessive drinking, drug abuse and prolific fornication.”

Hey now!

His ears perked, the tone of conversation taking a nice turn. While he was interested in his own political advancement, pulling off a ruse or two, he was also very sincerely intrigued by the prospect of bared breasts and plentiful beer. He wasn’t that old, or even that inhuman. Waiting patiently while sipping gently at the soft chardonnay of his own, he would grab Stephen around the shoulders, greet him by name, and overwhelm the diplomat with the guilt of forgetting what must have felt like a familiar face.

“Stephen, about that festival…”


~*~
Six weeks later, aboard the “Delores”, three hundred yards from the coast of Fallien.

The trip hadn’t been bad. A few coins under the table had allowed Storm to board with a few friends of that Stephen fellow, a man who actually had been tolerable in spite of his exorbitant wealth. The tall, well dressed Veritas was cordial and polite, but peacefully distant, and kept mostly to himself over what could only be described as a routine sail. Everything had fallen together quite simply, and he waved and smiled again once more before disembarking. He wouldn’t have a ride home from the shores, but in his experience a few gold coins could lubricate the rudder of even the most steadfast ship.

It would be hot today, the sun browbeating him as he landed in sand. Climate control was not his best fit avenue. This place was hot – very hot – and his armpits were quickly feeling the uncomfortable tack of perspiration. Where the hell was he? The Stephen chap had informed him the Festival was “can’t miss”, but something of this place reeked of disaster.

Aw, whore. And the good-f*cking-ship-lollipop just took off for the high seas again. Why do you do this to yourself?

There was a stone structure ahead. It would serve as some shelter. Perhaps someone there would get him a bite to eat for a few coins, and directions to this party. He needed badly to urinate, and then begin filling his system with the devil’s nectar. This wasn’t supposed to be so difficult.

[Iriah Caitrak]

(Soundtrack - Yoshitaka Hirota - Deep Meditation - Title)

The Festival of the Dead was the largest celebration in the Calerian tribe. There were other, smaller festivals scattered throughout the year on nights when the moon was full and on nights when there was no moon at all, but this was the festival that beat all others. This was the festival that brought the Calerian’s home from their meanderings throughout the world of Althanas. This was the festival when the dead were supposed to walk amongst the living and one could see long forgotten ancestors and pray for all souls still trapped on this plane of existence.

Having the dead walk amongst the living was a tricky thing to prove, unless you had a tribe where one third of the people within it could see the dead. Of course, the Calerian’s never admitted whether or not spirits did walk on these nights, they never disproved it either, however Ira had never seen a single soul during The Festival of the Dead. As far as she knew, none of the Calerian’s had. But it wasn’t about whether or not the dead actually walked with the living; it was about honouring what had come before them and what was still to come. Praying for the saved and hoping for the lost.

She’d come back early, she’d known it was getting close to that time of the year again, all Calerian’s knew it. So she’d given herself plenty of time to find a ship that would take her back to Fallien and then traverse over familiar ground to home. And what had she got for coming back early? A job assignment, Gereint had sent her off into the Oasis to help an aspiring God named Chidori beat back the minions of Mitra, the Sun God, in order to reverse what he had been doing to the Oasis. That God, she now knew, had some serious issues with Suravani and her little desert people. Ira was just glad that her tribe was so isolated they usually managed to stay off the radar when it came to any form of God. Pissed off, petty or otherwise.

But that had been a little over a week ago and now it was only two days to the first day of the celebration. She was getting excited, she knew it, already people not of their tribe had started to filter into the village. It happened every year, though isolated, the lucky few in Fallien did know of their existence and all were welcome during The Festival of the Dead. So there were people setting up their own tents and makeshift homes around the village, making Ira’s house no longer the outskirts for this brief week. Most of them were from the Oasis, however she did spot one or two of Jya’s priestess’s. There were also people from other parts of Althanas, with pale skin, people who had happened in chance of this and came along for the fun.

With the sun still high in the sky and the dry heat of Fallien sinking into her skin, there was still much that needed to be done. A hunting party was returning from the desert, their catch slung over their shoulders or tied to a pyre and carried by two, so large was the animal. Desert foul, lizards and a few of the Giaz, an animal close to the deer and gazelle that Corone sported within its forests. It was going to be a great night, with a great feast and a great performance…and she was at the centre of that performance.

Nervous, anxiety was beginning to set in. She’d taken part in the main event before, but she’d never been the focus of it. Last time she’d been told where to go and what to do and she’d done exactly that, but this year, she’d been honoured by the village Majra and asked to lead it, and now she was wondering at her capabilities of doing so.

“You look worried.”

Ira’s head snapped around as she was pulled from her daydream. Her eyes fell to the figure of Liax, one of the other Calerian’s back from her travels in Althanas. Like Ira, she too sported the unusual hair and eye colour, only her hair was silver and her eyes were red. Sometimes a Calerian’s hair and eyes changed colour when they achieved greater power, Liax’s had originally been red hair and red eyes, she didn’t know what new abilities the Calerian had now since the last time she saw her. She did notice a few new scars on the woman though, one in particular on her neck and still rather fresh looking, like it had only been done a little while ago.

“Just kind of nervous, nice hair by the way.”

Liax sat down on the rock and grasped a thick strand of the silvery hair between her fingers with a smile on her face.

“Surprised me when it happened. Gereint said my eyes will probably change to silver as well, but he’s not sure if I’ll achieve anything higher than where I’m at.”

Ira nodded her head, not really knowing what to say. She was still on the novice side of being a Calerian, she’d only been allowed to do missions by herself for a little over a year now and she’d only been away from the tribe for a few months. Liax was at least ten years older than her and much more experienced, yet The Majra had still chosen her to the run the event and not any of the more experienced Calerian’s and she really had no idea why.

“How’s your outfit coming along?”

“It’s almost finished…I think.”

Liax laughed and then smiled at her, “I already finished mine, so why don’t we get out of the sun for a while and add some last minute touches to it, hmmm?”

Ira smiled and nodded, grateful for the help.

[Storm Veritas]

He didn’t know what to make of Fallien, but his initial analysis was none too pleasant.

The land was hot, and largely barren. He wandered for several hours through sand, and the hot sands of Fallien were remorseless. The first few hours in the sun were unmerciful, and wandering headlong gave him a sense of lost hope. After merely thirty minutes, he was surrounded by nothing but sand, the horizon stretching in all directions with nothing but flat stretched yellow. The sun felt hotter here, more for the lightened weight of his canteen than the humidity, although his dark suit fast betrayed his better senses. Soon enough the majority of his suit was tucked away into his satchel, roughly lumped in while only a cotton t-shirt and sleeping-sweat pants remained.

What the f*ck!? I come here for booze and bitches, and get miles of sand. This was NOT in the god-damned brochure…

Desperation was setting in, and he was happy to find the errant cactus or patch of grass. The cacti were actually tiny oases, although cutting them was far more difficult than he imagined. Drawing water was also a whore, and he struggled to hack up a few of the prickly beasts before he managed to garnish another sip of the nectar. His compass was his lone friend now, pointing him further south, further east. He was marching to doom, and knew not what lay before him. After some considerable rambling, a patch of grass, and a nap. Night had fallen, and he needed the rest.


~*~

Eyes awoke early, fear and trepidation forcing them open. In Corone he would fear dogs or bears. In known desert, the snakes and vultures and scorpions. In this godforsaken place, he knew not what to fear, merely that fear was an ally. Fear was a weapon to keep you sharp. Fear kept a man alive.

And there’s no shortage of f*cking fear.

He was up again, on his feet and walking on tired legs with the break of dawn. It wouldn’t be much longer. After a few short hours, before his shadow crept directly beneath him, he saw that glorious break. Mountains in this distance, thank you muchly. He would walk to them, knowing that with them would come change, something new, something that he would be able to work with. Food, if nothing else, as his belly ached for some sustenance.

Thank Christ. This place sucks.

He was spoiled from years of lavish living, long since removed from the hardships of a youth that aged him prematurely. The hard edged survivalist was gone now, and the aristocratic wannabe had no tolerance for roughing it. He needed food, a shower, a shave and either a massage or some sexual gratification. Either was fine; he wasn’t feeling terrifically picky.

He was fortunate to not have to meet the mountains. Before them came a second break, one which was closer. Tents lined the outskirts of a town, makeshift lean-tos were surrounded by large carts that streamed in from the west. Apparently he had missed the large road that had been beaten by feet over time, as well as the horses rented from somewhere by the shore. Fate was laughing at him from above. Such was life for the scoundrel; few would lend him pity. Self-loathing was certainly not beneath him.

You’ve GOT to be f*cking kidding me! How did I miss the path? Why didn’t they tell me? I should best never meet those pricks that took me here again, leaving me with little short of a smile. This had better be a HELL of a party.

Within the peripheral wall of shanties stood some more solid houses. They were composed of thick wooden frames and animal skins, skins of something large and terrible. Something he was glad to not come across in his travels. He moved in towards the town, fetching a handful of gold and a smile. Civilization appeared beautiful to the civilized.

His eyes caught hold of a comely one quickly, a tall sexy woman with a face of paint and some very tantalizing eyes. Fallien took a step up. She was comfortable, speaking to a shop-owner by name. Not a tourist. Perfect.

“Hey, honey. Name’s Storm, pleased to meet you. Don’t suppose you’d know a place a guy could get himself a shower and a shave before I buy you a drink?”

The high probability that she wouldn’t understand a damned thing he was saying never crossed his mind.

[Iriah Caitrak]

The rest of the day passed into the night seamlessly. More outsiders from different areas of Fallien, and some not even from Fallien, had filtered into the tribe. Small tents, large tents, family sized tents, all of them collapsible and all of them sitting on the outskirts of the tribe. People were milling about and talking to one another in Common, Tradespeak and Fallien, it was a mixture of cultures and peoples all in one place and for one week’s celebration.

A feast was being prepared; all different kinds of meats were slowly roasting over fires, their smell permeating the air. It would begin once the main event was over, which was soon approaching.

Ira paced restlessly in her room, nervous anxiety wearing away at the frayed edges of her nerves. Sure, she could battle Fallen, sure she could send a soul to it’s rightful resting place, but get her to do this and it had her on edge and worried about screwing up. What if no one liked it? What if she screwed up and fell over, or if one of the other people fell over? What if someone got hurt? Oh, crap, oh crap, oh crap!

“Ira!”

Ira’s head snapped up and she glanced over at Uriahd, who was standing in the doorway shaking her head at her.

“Stop looking like a soul just out of its body. Nothing is going to happen, everything is going to be fine. You have to stop worrying about it and you look absolutely gorgeous in your outfit. If I wasn’t already taken I just might’ve grabbed you instead.”

Ira cracked a smile at her friend and laughed slightly. She wasn’t sure if she was serious or joking about that last part but she didn’t mind.

“Thanks, Liax…”


----------------------------------

Outside the tent the darkness was being chased away by a large bonfire in the middle of the tribe, yet no wood was within it. Fallien being a desert country did not have much in the ways of wood and as such a fire like this would be impossible, if not for the magic of a Shaman. Gereint was the one keeping it alive and keeping it dancing and twirling about as if it were a real fire.

Walking in front of it he called for the silence of the crowd and within a few moments he had it.

“The main event, lead by Ira from the house of Shinkara is about to begin. This year’s dance of the dead!” Gereint said it once in Common, once in Tradespeak and once in Fallien so that everyone there could understand what was happening.

As he moved away from the crowd, the fire began to die down to nothing until only blackness remained, not even the best of sight being able to pierce though it. Seconds later is roared back to life with a vengeance and before the now blue flames stood around 10 Calerian warriors, some women, some men, each of them dressed in ceremonial clothing. Reds and blacks, fur lining the revealing clothing, their faces painted in runic symbols, their hair plaited with feathers and beads.

The steady beat of a drum soon began to echo about the darkness driving any conversation that may have been happening to silence. As the beat picked up the Calerian warriors began dancing in front of the flames. The light creating deep shadows on their faces and bodies as they twisted and turned in a dance of a story telling of life.

Out from the crowd came balls of light, floating through the air towards the large fire and the dancers therein. The dancers stopped and they too watched the bright, white balls of light come closer and stop on the other side of the fire. A blinding flash ripped through the air and where once the floating wisps had been now stood other Calerian fighters, dressed in black, their faces painted black and they held their bodies in twisted uncomfortable ways, imitating the Fallen, the dead souls corrupted in Purgatory.

The light of the fire flared red, a dark blood red as the Fallen closed in on the Calerian’s, who turned to flee in panic. Through the flames another fighter appeared. Landing smoothly on the ground in a crouching position, a hand out before her. As Ira slowly rose up, the sad and energetic cry of a beautiful voice rang out through the air. Unlike the others, though still dressed revealingly, Ira wore something akin to armour, her hair plaited with beads and feathers.

The words from the song were not important, the rise and fall of the notes and the speed with which sung were, creating an atmosphere of hope, of uplifting spirits. Two of the deformed creatures broke off from their group and attack Ira, their bodies twisting and turning in grotesque ways. With an elaborate flash the double bladed Naginata appeared in her hand. Spinning the weapon around, the warrior slashed at one Fallen and with the same momentum swung her body in a circle and took the other one in the gut. Both creatures fell to the sand and disappeared in a flash of white.

The sound of the drums increased in tempo and turned into the beat of the war drums. Turning to the others behind her, Ira raised her weapon in the air and mimicked a cry just as the sound of the singer rang out through the area. The Calerian’s behind her raised their arms in the air and in flashes of light they too formed weapons in their hands and with Ira at the head, charged into the ground of Fallen. And so began a dance of war where the Calerian’s slaughtered the Fallen, the battle lasting for a few minutes as the light of the fire, the tempo of the drums and the cries of the singer changed to match the battle going on.

In the end, the Fallen were defeated, but Ira lay on the ground, a deep wound to her stomach and chest, the red light of the fire casting around her making it look like she was actually bleeding. The drum turned to a soft sound and the singer became sorrowful, her notes stretching and crying to each other. In the arms of a fellow fighter, surrounded by the remaining Calerian’s, she died and the light of the fire faded into darkness, signifying the end.

Moments later the fire returned to its normal colour and all the Calerian’s involved in the dance stood before it, taking a bow to the applause from the audience.


----------------------------------------

Ira laughed and smiled as she moved away from the flames. She was sweaty and sore and tired and downright happy. The dance was over, no one had screwed up, everything had gone perfectly and it seemed like everyone had loved it. She was going to be feeling it in the morning though and she had to admit, jumping through that fire had been one of the most nerve wrecking things of her life. Not only was it fire and in the back of her mind was the fear it would burn her, but if she hadn’t landed right it could have looked awful.

No need to worry about it now though, it was over and done with and had turned out great. Now she could relax and get something to eat soon since she was starving. But at the moment she really needed a drink. Smiling and talking as she went, Ira made her way over to one of the large tables set up hoping she could get herself a glass of wine to take the nervous jitter out of her muscles and help her relax.

[Storm Veritas]

Fallien was much more than what he had assumed of it at face value.

Most importantly, the drinks were terrific. He loved the little red glasses, although the blue ones with the sparkle weren’t half bad either. He had wooed the lovely lady over several, but failed when he tried to close the deal with her.

F*ck it, then.

Although the woman had blown him off – either confused by his lack of chivalry or simply disgusted by his forward advances – he was very pleased with the thoroughfare. Here, in the middle of nowhere, he lay witness to some truly breathtaking festival. The convulsion and coalescence of fire and dance and sexuality was incredible, the bodies undulating with the overt sexuality of bared bellies and fast snapping hips. The women were exceptionally stunning, with tanned skins that looked even brighter beneath the glow of amber fire. One of them caught his eye. The centerpiece, a nubile young starlet that had a lithe, athletic figure and flexibility that looked all too enjoyable.

No way, asshole. Way out of your league. Girl like that chases money, or power. You’ve got a little money, and a little power. Settle to the waitress whores.

His self esteem healthy yet in check, he did scoop one tender brunette into his arms. The waitress was stunned, nearly dropping her platter, but he laid it on the table as he took her in his arms. He spun her, danced with her, and watched quickly as anger turned to mere surprise, which then in turn melted into a scintillating desire.

“I like you.” She whispered, simply enough. “This your first festival? I like a man that can dance…”

Of course you do, pig.

“And a woman needs grace like yours to handle herself, which I am quite confident you can.” He smiled a bright flash of whites, and she moved a little closer, pressing her hips to his, pulsing her sex against the fast expanding landscape beneath his belt. That would do it, and her bedroom eyes unequivocally conveyed her total surrender. Not a moment was wasted. The darkness hid them as he walked her away from the dance, a smooth stroll to a small abandoned tent. As he walked, they faded from sight, the sounds of dance and song still loud and clamoring all about them. Hidden in plain sight.

There were few words in the exchange, but plenty of passion. Flesh on flesh, a lack of inhibition, and wild rolling bodies twisting over each other in the warm summer air. He loved the taste of the sweat off her skin, and worked quickly with her to ensure they both would finish together. Not that he particularly cared about her enjoyment, but word carried fast and he had to start somewhere.

He left the tent moments later, still tucking in his shirt when he saw the prize. That lovely woman, looking better, the masterpiece. She was sitting, facing away, and relaxing with a drink. He double checked to ensure he was cleaned, and used a quick spray of cologne to mask the scent of sex that sung from him. Now was a terrible time to approach her, although he was certainly thinking with the right brain. She hadn’t seen him leave the tent, as best as he could tell, and wouldn’t know what hit her.

Or so he hoped, sitting down.

“G’evening, lovely. I was stunned by the dance there, really beautiful, really artistic… yet sexy as hell. Let me buy that drink for you.”

An eye and a smile for the pretty one. Veritas forgot entirely the name or look of whoever he had just savaged within the tent merely fifty yards away.

[Iriah Caitrak]

The alcohol was good in her blood. It took the edge off; it made that slight shake that had travelled throughout her muscles after the dance was done go away. The cool night air against her sweat slicked skin helped as well, creating goose bumps along her arms, legs and stomach, basically anything that was bare to the air, which was quite a bit of her in this outfit. She didn’t mind too much though, modesty was not high on her list of things and everyone else was still wearing their outfits. Plus, it felt great to have the night air caress skin and the shivers that went up her spine felt divine.

The bench she was sitting on suddenly dipped a bit and Ira caught someone out of the corner of her eye. Looking to her right she saw a rather handsome looking fellow. After he mumbled something she barely understood, not only because it was in common but also because he was drunk, Ira politely brushed him off by pretending she didn’t understand him. He made a very blunt show of what he wanted from her and Ira just turned her back to him, not interested at all.

Men could be gross creatures sometimes, especially those that lacked the charm of Fallien men. They knew how to treat a woman, knowing she had the pick of the litter from basically any guy around, they knew they were the ones being chosen.

Feeling the rise of the bench, Ira turned back to her normal position. Her back resting against the wooden table behind her, her arms spread out on either side resting on the table. Grabbing her drink, she downed the rest of the glass, letting the blue alcohol caress her tongue before she swallowed it. It was definitely a strong, acquired taste, but she loved this stuff. She could drink herself to the ground and not care about it, in the morning she wouldn’t have a hangover and she’d be ready to the do the next tomorrow night.

At the sound of yet another voice by her, Ira turned her eyes and watched a rather handsome figure approach her. His hair was messy and about his face making him look sexy as hell and unlike most of the Fallien males he was tall. Boy was he tall. Calerian’s as bred fighters were taller than the rest of the tribes of Fallien but the other tribes were much shorter.

He had a nice smile too, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

There was something about his eyes that was a little off setting; it was as if they tried to tell something that he tried to hide.

He spoke in common, which gave away the fact that he wasn’t from here if his pale skin hadn’t already done so.

Her eyes changed from their swirling silver to a deep forest green as a light blush graced her cheeks, “Thank you, but this isn’t a tavern. It’s a festival, you don’t pay for anything here.”

She smiled at him and poured him a drink in an extra glass she had sitting there and placed it on the table. The blue liquid glistened in the clear glass as she motioned for him to sit beside her, moving the large platter of meats, cheeses, breads and some fruits and vegetables she had behind her between them. Ira didn’t know why she elected to have this stranger sit beside her and not any of the others.

“My name is Ira of Shinkara,” She extended her hand to him. It wasn’t normal Fallien custom to greet people like this, but she knew it was so in other regions of Althanas.

He had very interesting clothes; she’d seen some people wear them when she’d been in Corone. That being said, he must have been extremely hot wearing them. At night it’s not so bad and can get downright uncomfortable, but during the day it can be brutal to someone who isn’t used to the heat and sun.

[Storm Veritas]

When she turned to him, she looked with the eyes that sparkled, beautiful things that held a faint promise and even perhaps a kindled interest. Storm smiled back, a genuine thing from the eyes that he rarely was able to enjoy. The foolish, fast-manipulated girl in the tent was ancient history now, something to be forgotten no sooner than a fleeting glance from this vixen. His eyes were on the prize now, and when she spoke to him he heard more than ordered noise. Sultry, sexy tones, something scintillating, something real.

“Ira, it’s a pleasure. I suppose that trying to disguise myself as a local would likely be a waste of time. My name is Storm, a visitor from majestic Radasanth upon Corone.”

A pause. He smiled, waiting deliberately.

Look comfortable. Don’t be intimidated by her beauty. Smile, look at those pretty eyes. Don’t rush.

Confidence was in the ability to hold attention. He resumed after merely a fleeting moment.

“I came here to see what was described as a dazzling show, but you, my dear Ira, have surpassed my wildest expectations.”

Another smile, and a good sip from one of the blue liquids. Very sweet, smooth, and only the hint of alcohol. Hopefully that was the strongest poison in the concoction. He was confident in himself, but any strange drugs that the locals enjoyed could be stronger than he was prepared for. Additionally, he tended to get a bit unpredictable amongst the harder stuff.

Can’t have that with this tight little package here… This one’s gonna be work!

He stood, smooth and tall and confident as he finished his drink. A slow deliberate few steps brought him even closer to her. God, she even smelled sexy. A little chatter whispered sweet flatteries to the lovely maiden. That was easy. The way the flames’ light licked her skin in the darkness cut deep channels to accentuate her muscularity, her athleticism. He was taking a big risk going straight for the Alpha Female here on Fallien, but he’d rather roll the dice at the high stakes than bother with the faceless pigs for days. He slowly stood back, allowing the light to work for him, painting him in his best light. This was simple enough.

The music had slowed significantly, the bang of the drum now replaced largely by the cry of a tight-strung viola. The crowd had thinned a bit, although heaps still stood by the periphery of open space surrounding the fire. An empty floor.

Perfect. Use these fleet feet for something useful.

He extended a single hand to her as he bowed a bit, the upturned palm an unmistakable invitation.

“I imagine you’re quite tired, after that spectacular show, but how about, well… maybe one more dance?”

Another smile. He was actually smitten a bit. In the background, he could feel the eyes of jealous Fallien inhabitants burning through them.

Jealous much? Don’t blame you pipsqueak freaks. Blow me.

[Iriah Caitrak]

The blush upon her cheeks easily deepened as he spoke to her. She could feel the rush of blood, the heat on her face. It was not something that happened often, but this gentleman just had something about him. His very body language, his voice; she loved his accent, whatever it was. He said he was from Corone, so perhaps this is what the locals there sounded like, she didn’t know, the only thing she knew about Corone was Concordia forest and the town of Underwood.

The one thing she loved about him was not once did he look upon her anywhere but her face and in her eyes. Oh she was sure he’d looked her body over before, heck everyone who’d been watching the dance had pretty much had a rather nice view of her every curve. But right now as he talked to her, he talked to her like a person, like he was actually interested in her and not, well, and not getting laid.

As the beat of the music changed, the drums stopped their relentless and fast paced beats to let in something slower. Something sultry and sad all at the same time and she’d barely noticed it until he offered his hand for a dance.

“And here I thought you’d never ask.”

Placing her much smaller hand in his, Ira watched as his fingers closed gently around her hand, basically enveloping it. He had such long fingers. His palm was worn with calluses too and that was the first hint she got that he was perhaps a warrior or fighter of some kind, which just made him that much more interesting.

Following him out onto the dance floor, a rather empty space in front of the fire, Ira moved in close to Storm. Her body brushed lightly up against his every time they swayed together to the music. Her head rested just under his chin, pressed against his chest. She could hear the steady rhythm of his heart like this and if she wasn’t mistaken it was beating just a little fast. She loved dancing like this yet had never been able to do it with the shorter men around here.

“I love your name, Storm. In Fallien your name would be Saekr and would mean one who changes like the weather, which doesn’t mean much in Fallien. The weather never changes much here, but I have been to Corone for a short time.”

Breathing in deeply, Ira closed her eyes and let herself relax against him. She hadn’t realized she’d been that tense until this moment. Beneath the thin shirt he wore, Ira could feel the gentle shape of lithe muscles. Her free hand was even resting on his stomach, her fingers lightly caressing up and down the hardened muscles there. It always fascinated her how a man’s body was all hard muscles compared to a woman’s softer curves.

[Storm Veritas]

It was smooth, sexy, nice. She was magical, her body smelling salty sweet in the night air. Things had cooled down a bit, but the night was still very warm, and it felt good to be close to her. The eyes burned through them both, the outsider and the stunning beauty. The difficulty lie merely in deciding which was sweeter: his inevitable conquest or the jealousy of the natives. Both were wonderful.

The festival had been more than he had hoped for, and things were shaping up nicely. The trip had been long and yet not overwhelming, the journey through the desert incredibly hot and yet happily behind him. Despite the horribly unfortunate misgivings of his directions, all was well.

“You’re beautiful…” he whispered, sliding his mouth to her ear. Even it was delicate, nubile, beautiful. Her neck, long and swanlike, was equally tantalizing, and Storm moved slowly. He pressed his lips to her neck, gently suckling at the salty skin. Sweet, tender, wonderful, and he took her lack of resistance as acceptance.

He stopped abruptly, pulling back to smile at her. She truly was magnificent, and made him feel every bit the champion he remarked himself. It may not have been love, but it was a connection he felt strongly, perhaps more matched and challenged by this woman than any he had known.

He moved back, gazing at her, looking into those eyes. Bright, beautiful, intelligent. She forced a smile onto his face, something amazingly genuine. Not the façade smirk that he leant those that he secretly despised, but rather something real. Something largely unfamiliar.

You’re magic, beautiful. F*cking dynamite.

“Show me this place…” another whisper, leading and yet direct. She was stunning, and he was smitten. They were adults, and there was passion. His heart even fluttered when she turned, and they walked to the periphery of the dance floor, the makeshift space of dirt, hand in hand. Was this really happening? Could it be real?

Before he was allowed to pinch himself, all hell broke loose.

[Iriah Caitrak]

Show him around. Oh yes, she’d show him around in the direction it took to get back to her house from here and that was exactly what she’d planned on doing. A small walk around the tribe with only the stars and the moon to light the way and then to her place. A few rather naughty and descriptive thoughts immediately crossed her mind about what she could do to him there and what kind of person he may be in bed. Whether he was the gentle, slow kind, or the dominant, rough kind. Either way sounded extremely appealing to her but she was hoping he’d fall more towards the latter.

With the light smile on her face, Ira began to lead him away from the crowds and away from the fire towards the shadowy areas of the tribe now deserted. She didn’t get too far. She stopped dead in her tracks as what felt like icy fingers gripped her heart and squeezed it to the point of bursting. She gasped slightly, her hand flying to her chest as her body froze in place, her mind refusing to believe what she was sensing.

It couldn’t be happening, it couldn’t be real. But it was.

“Fallen! Pratihan vas!”

Ira turned her head back towards the fire, watching as the confused outsiders stood around and scared Alerian’s began racing for the protection of their homes, which couldn’t help them now. Calerian fighters looked towards the distance and Ira knew from her senses that they were coming from the west, but there was too much panic, someone needed to take charge of the situation. People were screaming and running for cover while others were looking around in confusion and not fully understanding the whole situation. This was a disaster in the making and it could only get worse unless someone did something.

“Calerian fighters to the bonfire!” Ira yelled, “Protect those who cannot fight! Alerian’s to your homes and take the outsiders with you!”

Turning back to Storm, Ira didn’t know what to say to him. This was supposed to be a day of celebration, and she had been having the time of her life. Now she was going off to battle and innocents could end up dying.

“Go somewhere, anywhere to get away from the bonfire. We’ll keep them busy there.”

Not knowing what else to say, Ira let go of his hand and raced off towards the bonfire. On the way there her half swallows materialized in her hands and she was met by a force of fifty or more Calerians who already had their weapons at the ready. It was surreal and so much like the dance they had just performed and like that moment, Ira found herself leading them here as well. Only these were not choreographed moves with a planned ending on who was going to live and who was going to die. This was real battle where anything and everything could happen and in the end of it she was not planning on being the one lying face down in the sand.

Looking to the west, Ira saw the most frightening scene of her entire life. A force of at least one hundred Fallen were descending upon the tribe and heading straight for the mass of Calerians. Their grotesque, withered and burnt forms so much like those they had just danced to a few hours ago under the light of the fire. Their weapons growing from their very bodies and large vacant holes resided in their chests where their hearts had once been. A Calerian’s true enemy, Fallen, souls that had become trapped in Purgatory and lost their humanity to the slow decay there. Souls that somehow found a way to break out into the physical plane where they could hurt anyone and anything and only a Calerian could stop them.

Ira raised her weapon into the air and gave a fierce battle cry, one that was followed and drowned out by those behind her. And then at the head of a force of fifty, Ira raced towards the army of Fallen. Adrenaline was pumped into her blood, sweat broke out on her body anew and anything besides the battle was lost in a clash of metal and the sounds of the dying and dead. After all, the true horror of being a Calerian can only be witness on a real battlefield like this one when you can see your friends die before you then listen to the cries of their very soul.

[Storm Veritas]

Gibberish. It all sounded like gibberish to him, the words from the lovely girl. He was upset, surprised, and confused. He still barely even knew her name and he was smitten, quite taken by the lovely girl and her demure look. Now, moments later, all was back up for grabs, all sanity back in question. Was there anything about her, about this place that was not extraordinary? When she spouted out something that was clearly a foreign language, he stepped back in reflexory fear. What the hell was going on?

The Fallien people appeared to come from nowhere, many running and screaming, many scrambling, many appearing now brandishing weapons. The steady drum and violin concerto of only moments ago was completely scrubbed from their memories, their faces that of sheer terror. Something was here, some danger that he didn’t understand. The commands of the gorgeous woman came to a perplexed Storm Veritas, who stopped to soak it in.

Hot chick goes crazy, starts yelling in tongues, and I’m supposed to do what she says? F*ck no… No, no, no, no, no…

…What is it? Do they see something? Hear something? What the hell is this?

He saw the people around waiting, looking timid and fearfully about them. Men wrapping hands around their wives, mothers protecting their children. From what, he did not know, but these were not capable people. This powerful, incredible woman actually seemed composed, so he gave her orders a second thought. This didn’t seem like the first experience with this bizarre event. Her words sounded even stranger.

Calerians? What are they? Alerians? Like from Alerar? I thought this was f*cking FALLIEN. What’s going on?

The people to help were easy to find. Bountifully dispersed. One girl cried as she looked up, her hands wrapped around her in a pitiful self-hug. Her face was red, and eyes puffed. Fearful wide eyes struggled through in the background. This one was outright tormented. He moved fast for her, and swooped her up. He spoke quickly, but with a gentle tact.

“It’s ok, honey. Where do you live? Where’s home?”

She looked at him, scared and confused, unsure of whom to trust. A tiny index finger extended towards a small hut some thirty yards away. He was moving fast, carrying her in his arms. She was probably eight, but he still bundled her like a child.

“Watch out!” she began, her voice quivering with tears.

“Watch out for what, honey? For what?”

“The bad people are here. The ghost people.”

He dropped her down at his feet by the sill of the house, an older woman exasperated as she grabbed at the child. There were no thanks for Storm for saving the child, not that they would be needed. He had no clue what he was saving anyone from.

Running back, he made way towards the fire again. Armed warriors appeared to be fighting an invisible enemy. Some men even fell, as though struck down by lightning. It was insanity, like a massive shadow box to the death. In the fracas, the citizens had begun to clear. With ease, Veritas spotted his lovely female companion again, the warrior who fought with avarice. He was moving again towards her.

[Iriah Caitrak]

It was insanity as it’s finest moment and something all the Calerian’s fighting in the dust and sand had been training for their whole lives and never expecting to happen. An attack on the Calerian tribe and not only that but on during the festival of the dead. In all the years, in all the stories, this had never happened before and Ira could not afford the time to be stunned into thinking that it had happened to her of all people on her night in the festival. It didn’t matter anyway, what mattered were the souls she and all the other Calerians were fighting and the inevitable release of all of them from their torment and into Sanctuary, their rightful place. What mattered were the lives that were going to be lost tonight, because they couldn’t protect everyone and the consequences that might reverberate down the lines of fate too complex for her to even grasp let alone understand.

Blocking a forward attack from one of the creatures, a snarling burnt mask of flesh glared back at her with empty eye sockets. Using brute force, Ira shoved the Fallen away from her and came in with her other half swallow, the attack precise, the metal blade at the end of the short pole arm slicing through the black hole where this souls heart and humanity used to lay. In a flash of light it disappeared leaving a red and black butterfly in its stead, which soon disappeared as well on its journey to Sanctuary.

Through the bodies and the war cries, Ira saw one thing she wished she hadn’t. Storm was moving through the mass of fighters and coming towards her. Her mind registered it but refused to accept it. Was he crazy? Was he suicidal? Or did he just not understand exactly what was going on around him!? Breaking from the battle, Ira rushed towards him, dropping one of her half swallows, which disappeared a few seconds after it left her hand. In its stead she formed a small throwing knife, which she threw in Storm’s direction. But not at him, no, at the Fallen that was coming at him from the left and behind. The blade disappeared into the darkness of the Fallen’s chest, releasing the creature.

“Are you mad!?” Ira screamed at him.

He must have been, because no one sane would jump into a battle that they could really only see one side of. Ira knew he couldn’t see the dead; it was evident in his confused face.

“I don’t have time to explain, I’ll tell you what’s going on after the battle is over. Just get away from here before you get hurt!”

Her hands were on his chest, pushing him as if the words weren’t enough. The Calerian warrior did not want him in harms way. This was a battle he could not help with; in fact, he’d only get in the way. Proving the point made within her mind, Ira saw the form of a Fallen sneaking up behind Storm. With a muttered curse, she shoved him hard out of the way of the creature’s strike and attempted to block the blade protruding from its arm with her half swallow. The only thing she succeeded in doing was throwing off its aim. Instead of piercing into the centre of her stomach the blade slid cleanly into the flesh of her side.

In the physical plane Ira had no armour to protect her against the Fallen and the shock and fact that the blade hadn’t been blocked by her enchanted armour took a second to sink into her head. By that time, the Fallen had already withdrawn the blade from her stomach, the sickening sound of blood suction filled her ears as the pain slowly registered itself, numbed by adrenaline.

Stumbling, Ira dropped one of her half swallows and placed her hand over the wound. It was clean but deep and bleeding rather profusely. Still, she couldn’t worry about it right now, there were more Fallen approaching her and Storm. She ahd to get them out of this situation, she needed to take care of them and get him someplace safe, someplace away from this.

(While the Fallen has it's blade in Ira, Storm should be able to see the creature and realize what is actually going on. In your post, you can do whatever as long as you stay close to Ira, or relatively close. I'll be corrupting her in my next post.)

[Storm Veritas]

The madness continued, wide eyes and wild glares joining him. There was nothing here, nothing he had seen before in all his days. It was lunacy. An irate and strangely focused Ira pushed him aside, thrusting him as she commanded him to leave. He didn’t resist, but rather let her push him. As she did so, things became so much more clear.

So much more horrible.

The normally despicable Veritas stooped at once to catch the newly wounded woman, but as the enemy flashed into vision he was terribly distracted. As the blade punctured her, the ghostly apparition came into view for the thusfar blissfully ignorant mage. It was like them, a bit small in stature yet powerful. At this point the comparisons died, as it was foul and blackish green with a dim haze about it. The blade was not a blade itself, but rather an extension of a bony fist, a long exoskeletal growth. A mangled face looked like sewn leather, its terrible red eyes glaring down at Storm.

Holy f*cking shit.

They were supernatural, although he didn’t understand them. Otherworldly, unreal, yet visceral as this one stared at the defiant Veritas. He wasn’t brave so much as arrogant, the veteran traveler carrying himself as something of a god. Storm certainly wasn’t human; whatever hybrid creature he had developed into over the years would fear no man.

Nor any… whatever this thing is… well, maybe SHOULDN’T fear, anyway…

A sneer from twisted fangs that all seemed to pull towards the middle of the wretched face. The left hand swung about wildly, slow and lethargic as the right knuckle-sword lay in the fast-fading woman. A simple duck, and Storm flashed back at the beast, firing from his hands an unprecedented blast of white-hot electric energy. It was summoned almost instantly, sizzling and crackling right towards the beast. In a flash, the terrible specter winced, pulling back and disappearing from sight entirely.

Storm would have appreciated watching it die. To see it fade from existence, because it could still be here, still be alive, and still have plenty of friends.

What happened? Did I scare it?

Near him, Ira was looking hapless. As the terrible thing had been knocked back by the blast, the bone growth had left her, and her color was looking terrible, even evident in the clarity of firelight. Squatting, Storm scooped her, surprised by how delicate and light and frail she felt.

“Easy, sugar. I’m gonna take care of you. I’m gonna bring you somewhere safe. Relax, baby.”

His hands pressed around the outside of the wound, a path of electricity traveling through outstretched fingertips towards his opposite hand across the torn flesh. She winced, already in pain, and the smell of the burnt flesh was awful in his lungs. Perhaps it was savage, but the primitive cauterization would keep her from bleeding out.

Although he spoke otherwise, it was roughly the only thing he could do. No longer could he see the beasts, and he had no idea if he could harm them.

[Iriah Caitrak]

Somewhere safe. The same thing she’d wanted to do for him only seconds ago, bring him somewhere safe. And now she found herself being carried by this man, a man who could shoot lightning from his fingertips, a man who was so much more than he presented himself to be.

For once, Ira really didn’t know what to say or do. She was wounded and her stubborn mind wouldn’t let her realize just how bad it was. She’d been through worse she’d survived worse. Heck, she’d trekked for two days through the desert of Fallien beaten, bloody, with two broken ribs and completely corrupted. This was nothing, this was a flesh wound, this she would survive. But this was what was taking her out of the fight. A simple stab to the side, a tearing of flesh and that was it, once the blood started to flow she was gone and there was nothing she could do. She felt weak, she felt light headed…she felt like she should stand on her own two feet and get back there and help her people, but she knew she’d just get in the way.

Her eyes watched the Fallen who’d stabbed her disappear. She didn’t know how it was possible, but somehow Storm’s magic had been enough to release the soul from its torment. The moment the butterfly disappeared a sharp pain rang throughout her chest, but was gone before she could even think about it.

Nothing, just a nuisance.

“Away…get away from the bonfire. The Calerian’s will keep the battle contained there as much as they can. Get towards the tents.”

She was retreating form battle and there was nothing she could do about it. The Calerian warrior knew she’d be no good to anyone in the state she was in right now. Funny how one can somehow make it when their bones were broken yet the minute they started to lose blood it seemed like the end was near.

Luckily Storm quickly obeyed her, holding her gently against his chest where oddly enough she felt safe, he led the two of them out of the chaos of war and battle. It seemed like some of the Fallen had different ideas though. Two of them were beginning to gain on them following them out of battle and Ira knew Storm could not see their approach. He probably didn’t even know he’d hit the creature attacking her, but the look on his face. She couldn’t explain it, she’d seen that look before when others had first laid eyes on Fallen but how could he have seen them?

It was a question worth pondering later; right now she had two Fallen gaining on her that she had to worry about. Forming two throwing knifes in her hand, Ira took a deep breath then threw one right after the other. Injured or not her throwing arm was still good at the knives disappeared into the black hole in each Fallen’s chest, releasing both of them.

Right then, as their regrets and evils committed while Fallen were taken into Ira one of the crystals resting around her neck turned from the calm blue it was supposed to be to a menacing red.

She was corrupted.

Gasping, Ira grasped the crystal in her hand. Her fingers clutching the cool, smooth surface as if it alone could take the corruption away, could take the pain that was racking her body away. It radiating out from her heart to everywhere else in her body as if it travelled in her blood. She’d felt it before, she’d been through it before but this one was worse. She didn’t know why, the pain bit into her body and soul like nothing she’d ever felt before and it was as if she were being ripped apart.

“Ira, Ira baby, what’s wrong?”

She could hear him but he sounded so far away yet he was right there in front of her eyes. Eyes that were no longer the beautiful swirling silver they should be. Now the black of the pupil was beginning to spread, clouding the silver over.

Strong arms brought her down to solid ground.

“Ira, tell me what’s wrong?”

Her hand gripped his forearm. Fingers biting into taunt muscle, her back arching and a muffled screamed escaped through gritted teeth as the pain increased. She wasn’t going to make it, not this time.

“I’m corrupted.” The words were forced and painful even to get out, “When a Calerian becomes corrupted they turn into mindless killers.”

The pain increased, she bit down on the sides of her cheeks and tasted iron in her mouth. Her hand moved from the death grip on his forearm to his hand, a dagger forming in his palm.

“You’ll have to kill me, I don’t want to end up like that!”

The silver in her eyes was completely gone now; only the black remained, pleading with him to do it.

[Storm Veritas]

He had carried her far, and fatigued away from the flames. It was madness, chaos, but yet the further he went from the flames, the duller the ache of that otherworldly tug. It was incredible, and he considered at once that approaching those fires was the most foolish thing he had ever done. It had cost this lovely girl everything, or so it seemed.

The dying Ira lay in his arms, beautiful even as her life faded. Everything outside the couple grew quiet, went limp, seemed peripheral although potentially fatal. There was simply Storm and his lovely girl, the one he had recently met and been stricken by. The one he could not harm, the one he could not touch.

“No, easy girl. Don’t talk crazy like that, baby. Just need some rest, I think…”

Her body jilted and stopped, her dying gaze unto him becoming glassy and cold as her breathing stopped. How had this happened? The wound had not been anywhere near this terrible, unless there is some awful poison in the beasts. Just for a moment, he could not leave her. He squeezed her, pressing her face to his chest and holding her taut. She was innocent, and he had done it.

Kill them. Kill them all.

The beasts that cost the girl her life would pay. It was the only way for Storm to even the score. Gently laying the damsel down, he scooted back a bit. A bit woozy, he struggled to stand up.

What the… He was dizzied fast, barely able to make his bearings. What? His breathing was off tempo, the breaths hard to come by, his limbs and body barely responsive to his commands to move. Oh, shit!

And just like that, he collapsed, all at once passing out and falling aside his lovely new dead companion Ira.


~*~

….Ungh…

When he awoke, things were quiet. He would have to have slept long; he would have to have been out for a good spell of time. The quiet that met him was disheartening, even confusing. The earth beneath him was hard, not the same soft soil of Fallien, but this did not register as quickly as the visual shock.

What in the name of….

The brightness was blinding, the light bouncing off stone and settling into hot sands about him. It felt about right for Fallien, but the temperature was the lone element that was familiar. The skies were filled with thin, wispy clouds, the things of night which obscure the moon and shouldn’t move as fast as they appear to. About him, orange sand seemed to extend indefinitely, all about the small city on the outskirts of nowhere. A city which time had apparently forgotten, a city which seemed altogether impossible.

Stone structures, all large and ancient stood about him, seven or eight large squared buildings composed of incredibly large bricks and obscenely thick pillars. Deep, dark, and hollow, the contents of the buildings was indiscernible. About them, brickfaces faltered, statues leaned on end and in tatters, and lanterns were long-since extinguished. One particular marble archer stood poised with neither a bow nor a left arm before him to draw his harmless arrow from.

Veritas was thoughtless as he stood, unsure if he was in the afterlife or somewhere between here and the next world. The air and land was scentless, devoid of the stench of death nor the smooth aroma of flowers. It was a relief, of sorts, but also frightening. The only sound was the persistent kissing of wind against his face and the small crumbling sounds of these structures faltering at an interminably slow pace.

And then, upon the stone foundation where the next building lay, was the lifeless body of fair Ira. He was moving towards her, although he wasn’t sure why.

[Iriah Caitrak]

Consciousness was a slow thing to regain. As Ira did she mentally tallied herself. She didn’t hurt anywhere, she didn’t feel weird and there didn’t appear to be a wound in her side anymore. Just to be sure of this she slowly ran her hand across her bare stomach and felt nothing but smooth skin. Odd, she could have sworn she’d been stabbed by a Fallen; she was also pretty damn sure she’d been corrupted and was about to go crazy and kill a bunch of people. Yet here she was, lying on something rather hard and feeling perfectly fine. Not a bump or scratch on her and not a singe sign of corruption.

Rather confused, Ira slowly opened her eyes, in advertently blinded herself by how bright it was, especially with the sun reflecting off the sand.

Wait a minute…sun, sand…it was night, where did night go!?

Sitting up rather quickly and ignoring the sudden dizziness that overcame her, Ira looked around her surroundings. She was sitting on some kind of foundation wall of some ruined building that was definitely not part of her tribe. The sun was out and about and very cheerful looking and a gentle breeze was making the sand dance around. There was also a forest not too far from where she was sitting, all of the trees were dead though and it didn’t look like a single animal roamed within.

Where the Hell was she and what happened to the Calerians and all the Fallen they had been fighting?

What the Hell happened to the tribe?

Glancing behind her, Ira sighed in relief as she spotted Storm moving towards her. At least she wasn’t entire alone in this place, whatever it was. Jumping down from the crumbling foundation wall, Ira gave Storm a tentative smile as he approached her. She had no idea what to say to him or what was going on and she doubted he had much of a better idea.


-----------------------------

“How’s it coming along?”

Gereint turned from the fire that forever burned in his tent to look towards Liax, who had just come in. Though blinded years ago in a ritual, there were things one needed no physical eye to see and Gereint could see Uriahd perfectly and the sorrow and pain within her.

“Every Calerian who participated in the battle seems to have minimal injuries. However, we’ve got twelve major injuries, two dead and…two might not make it to tomorrow.” She said to him.

He nodded his head and slowly rose from his sitting position. He would need to attend the wounded now as best he could. The fighting was over, the Calerian’s had won but they had taken casualties and they had lost good people today. And there was one more whose fate was still undecided, one who lay in his tent now, beside the prone body of a stranger.

“Why…do they look like that? And why is she still alive, she’s been corrupted Gereint, we don’t know what she’ll wake up as.”

He nodded his head solemnly. It was true; she could wake up to be a monster and a plague on this tribe. There was no telling how many people she could kill before someone killed her. But he knew there was a chance she’d wake up without the corruption. Something was different in Ira from the other Calerians, he’d known it for a long time, he’d just never told her or anyone else. There was a chance she would come out of this stronger than before and changed, but hopefully in a good way. As for the stranger, he didn’t really know how or why this had happened to him. But perhaps the fates had decided he had a role to play somewhere in this mess.

“Ira was forced into her soul when she became corrupted and somehow the stranger was brought there too, that’s why they look like the dead. Their bodies have shut down to the minimum that can sustain life. And I will not kill her when there is a chance she will come out free from corruption.”

Gereint knew that Ira and Liax were good friends and he knew that it pained her even to mention the thought of killing Ira, but like all the other Calerians Liax thought Ira was going to wake up a monster. He knew there was a chance she wouldn’t, he knew that perhaps with the help of the stranger she’d make it through somehow.

“Come, Liax, let us tend to the wounded…”

He didn’t want to lose any more Calerians today.


-------------------------

Grabbing her necklace, Ira looked down at the two Irenian Crystals lying against her chest. One, which she was not bonded to, was the calm blue the crystal was supposed to be. The other was red, telling her she was still corrupted. Yet that made no sense, she felt no pain and she was not running around like a wild animal trying to kill everything in her sight. Though to be honest, the only thing in her sight she could kill was Storm, there didn’t appear to be anything else living around here.

That was when it dawned and her and everything started making perfect sense.

“Oh, fuck…” The one swear word she’d picked up during her time in Corone was now the only thing she had to express this situation.

She was in her soul. It was where a Calerian travelled to battle and eventually expel the corruption that they took in when fighting and releasing Fallen. One isn’t supposed to be able to travel here when corrupted but she’d done it the last time—though she had no memories of that—and it appeared she was doing it again. Only this time she’d brought along another person with her and she wasn’t entirely sure how that was possible. People weren’t supposed to be able to travel into other people’s soul. Perhaps because he’d been near her when it had happened, she didn’t know, she did know that he was going to have a hard time taking this.

“We’re in my soul…” Ira said to him. When he gave her a blank expression she continued the explanation, “A Calerian has the ability to travel to their soul. It’s how they fight off and eventually expel the corruption they take in when releasing Fallen, those nasty creatures we were battling that I somehow think you were able to see for a brief moment. Normally, one shouldn’t be able to travel to their soul corrupted; it’s unheard of, especially bringing company with them. My guess is that my soul dragged me in here trying to stave off the corruption and because you were so close to me you were accidentally pulled in as well.”

Oh, yeah… that sounded like a great explanation. Yep, she was sure he was going to believe her and not think she was crazy.

[Storm Veritas]

He had been building up a pretty good buzz, but there was no way that he was intoxicated enough to trip this stuff out.

Her soul? What the f*ck?

He stared at her as she spoke thinking, wheels spinning. The drinks he had could, in theory be hallucinatory. They may have created the gap in his consciousness that could tweak something, but not THIS. This was more, this was something greater, something stronger.

Could he really be existing in the soul of the beautiful Ira? Was it possible?

“No, no…” he began, shaking his head as he cradled temples between thumb and index. “How… what… what the hell is going on here? Dreams? So real, but…”

In this “dream state”, as he expected, there would be very little interaction with the lithe heroine before him. She spoke, but the words came softly and loosely. Something about the “Corruption” kicked, as it was one of her final fleeting words. How would she know? Did she? Was she real?

Seriously, this is some shit right here. She really trying to tell me that she has to fight corruption? I don’t see any hookers or gambling rings around here, sugar…

…No. I’ve got to just go with it. Got to run with it.

He moved his hand and offered a smile, one merely half genuine and barely one quarter sincere. This was preposterous. At the same time, it would be the only way, and it was HOT out here in the desert sun. No it isn’t, but it should be… He wanted to vacate these particular premises post-haste.

“Alright, Ira. Err… what?” Words failed him, a rare occurrence. How could any normal dialogue exist in such a case? Was this some parallel world, some odd dimension aside from his own? Was this a cruel joke?

“Say I believe you – purely hypothetical. What do WE do here? What can be done? Saddle up and box this ‘corruption’ you speak of? Maybe we just start a smoke signal to bring them in?”

A laugh, more nervous than sarcastic as he looked at his feet. He couldn’t look at the beautiful girl right now, at least not with sincerity.

After all, last he checked, she was dead. Which brought into question his own fate.

[Iriah Caitrak]

He didn’t believe her, not one word that she had spoken to him rung true in his mind. It was obvious. Not only in his speech—what little of it there was—but in his eyes and his smile. It reminded her of when he’d first approached her. His smile hadn’t been genuine then either, it hadn’t reached his eyes, some kind of façade, something to hide. And after seeing what his real smiles were like later on she’d always know the difference. Still, should she really be surprised at this? Any sane person would think she was nuts and that this was some kind of dream or hallucination, people cannot travel to their souls or other peoples souls.

Any sane person would think themselves trapped within a demented nightmare. But she knew it was reality and even though it shouldn’t bother her that he couldn’t believe the words coming out of her mouth, it did.

There was nothing to be done though. If he wanted to stand there mocking the corruption within her, something ultimately fatal to any Calerian and she doubted she was exception that was fine by her. She was going to have a look around, she had to do something otherwise she wouldn’t be here and standing around was not going to help the situation. Yet, the Calerian really had no idea where to go, the forest and whatever lay in or beyond it was a safe bet, after all there was nothing else around for what seemed like miles and miles.

Sighing, the disappointment probably clear in her eyes, Ira ran a hand through her short hair, “You can stay here and continue to delude yourself or whatever it is you’re doing. I’m going to fix this, one way or another it’ll end and I’m sorry you got dragged into it, I’ll find a way to get you out.”

Reaching out to touch him, yet stopping herself, the Calerian turned and headed towards the forest. It wasn’t too far yet the closer she got to it the more she wanted to stay away. Unlike Concordia where she’d been thrilled and amazed with every step surrounded by so much life, here there was nothing but death. None of the trees were living, dead, gnarled branches reached out from trees that never moved. Nothing was living within the forest either, there was no sound other than her own footsteps, which echoed and seemed louder than they should. There was no colour either. It was eerily like Purgatory within her own body and it was creeping her out.

“Ira…”

Pausing, Ira strained her ears to listen but heard nothing though she could swear she’d heard some female voice calling her name. She wanted to shrug it off but oddities like that never happened to Calerians. There was something within this forest but she couldn’t sense it for the life of her, she couldn’t sense anything. The thought of being attacked by Fallen entered her mind. She’d never travelled to her soul before, she didn’t know what the corruption looked like or even how one was exactly supposed to expel it other than the fact that you fought it. Still, that wasn’t going to help her. Yet there was no other choice but to continue forward, of course that didn’t mean she couldn’t prepare herself.

Closing her eyes, Ira tried to summon her armour. She’d never done it outside of Purgatory before and didn’t even know if it would work here yet it was a place of the soul so it should. Her first attempt failed but she didn’t give up, trying again she put more effort into it feeling a slight twitch of pain in her chest she ignore it. Hands clenched into fists at her side the armour finally emerged on her body, the material covering half of her face. Her left arm completely encased in metal, a forearm guard on her right, a chest plate with her crystal in the centre and shin guards.

When they finally emerged on her she opened her eyes and let out a relieved breath not even realizing that she’d been holding it in.

Feeling a little better, Ira continued into the forest.

[Storm Veritas]

The only thing that made sense was to ramble on. Ira, although bizarre, frightening, and extraordinarily unpredictable, was the only thing in this obscene dreamscape that he recognized. An obviously powerful heroine, Storm elected to accept the guidance of the possibly insane rather than simply venture forth on his own. Whatever was out there, whatever lay beyond the treeline, he would rather face it headlong than on his own.

But what the hell is this? And what of noise?

Feeling healthy but deaf, the faintest breeze registered loudly in his ears. Was it hallucination? Was it a wish? Her voice came to him clear, but here he was devoid of senses. Smell, for one, was clearly missing. The lithe Ira carried on her a sultry scent of light sweat, pheromones and some perfumed sex appeal, but here in this parallel there was nothing. Footfalls came and went without a sound, something Storm would have gladly learned in his burgling days. The wind that hit the treeline even shook the leaves without noise, their dead rustle conspicuously absent.

His eyes were wide, the light quite impressive through the thick din of the canopy-topped forest. Generally the forest held a dusky feel throughout the day, dense trees blocking out the majority of sun from ever hitting the floor. Here, it was different; there was very little fauna, yet the flora which graced the wood was staggering. Thick, lush grass on the ground was coated with a soft, snowy dew, and this place had no errant sticks or potentially ankle-devastating rocks cropped about. Even the trees seem to exist without root, and the sun seemed to dance freely through the trees unto his face, which neither burned nor felt cold.

Actually, I’d appreciate a burn, or pinch, or any type of feel. This is just… weird.

Ira’s skin erupted with a brilliant armor, something that took the veteran Veritas back. This was ungodly, something he had never witnessed before. Ornate, white, and gorgeous, it was custom fit for her slender, athletic build. A sort of noble knight, some gleaming vision, Ira was transformed. His mouth agape, he didn’t bother with words. They were a waste.

And suddenly, still clad in merely his bloodied, slightly tattered suit and knives, Storm was feeling very naked in the brush.

[Iriah Caitrak]

Looking behind her, Ira saw that Storm had elected to follow her instead of stay behind. Perhaps her words had meant something to him, or perhaps he’d just decided she seemed to know a little of what was going on and it might be a good idea to follow the crazy lady. Either way made no difference to her. He might prove useful in this place, he might prove to be a burden, she really had no idea. This was her first time here and she was beginning to question why some of the Calerian’s in the tribe even liked going to their souls. Hers did not seem like a very happy place at the moment, perhaps when the corruption was not within it was different. She wouldn’t know, not until she’d defeated the corruption in whatever form or whatever way she had to. Perhaps she’d still be able to enjoy the rest of the festival, or perhaps she’d lose and become some kind of monster, possibly destroying the trapped soul of Storm in the process and numerous people from the tribe. That did not sound appealing to her.

Slowing down, Ira allowed Storm to catch up with her. His mouth was slightly agape and he was staring at her armour as if it was the most mysterious and beautiful thing in the world. She looked down and saw the same thing she did whenever she summoned the protective metal. It was so normal to her and her people; perhaps Storm had never seen anything like it before that could be the only thing she could think of.

“I would think being able to form metal over my body would not be so surprising to someone who can shoot bolts of lightning from his fingertips.”

That was surprising, to her at least. That was magic, this was just the symbiotic relationship of the crystals she was bound to. They would grow stronger as she grew stronger and in time the armour would grow to cover more and more of her body. Some Calerians had very few armour from their Serenna Crystal, because they did not have a very strong connection with it. She was lucky, having strong connections with both of her crystals, yet that didn’t seem to be helping her. Twice she’d been corrupted now even with those connections, not to mention a small incident in Raiaera with Damon Kaosi. She didn’t know if she could count that as corruption, it had come and gone very quickly, perhaps it had been a warning that she was getting close or that something was wrong within her. She didn’t know and she might not ever know the answer to that one. It was of no consequence to what was happening now though. Looking back at that could not help her; she needed to keep herself sharply focused on her surroundings for anything really.

Picking up the pace once again with Storm by her side, Ira continued to lead the way through the forest. She had no idea where she was going and no idea what would be awaiting her there. She just wished the trip would be different. The shadows from the bare branches of the trees seemed to slowly be reaching towards her. Gnarled, bone like fingers trying to grasp and rip away at flesh that were nothing but mere replicas of the actual things that created them. Twisted, bare branches looking like disfigured arms and fingers withered and caught somewhere dying. Hollow places where solid wood should be were shadows instead giving life to the trees, a forest of screaming faces in an eternal play of agony looking for that simple relief of rotting away. Shuddering at the thought of it the Calerian tried to ignore the scenery and push forward.

Time passed, time she couldn’t keep track of. Everything looked the same and the sun never seemed to move. Eventually the forest gave way to a clearing. Like where she had awoken there were small stone structures within this clearing as well, the stones long since eroded by whatever winds blew in this place and time. Among the scattered stone work were tents, most of which had fallen into disrepair. The wood holding the material was rotting away and collapsing under the weight. Most were nothing more than a few large sticks barely holding on, any slight breeze would disturb them and finally allow the wood to give in. Nothing moved in this place though, like the forest it seemed frozen in time, brittle yet untouchable all at once.

Ira…

Eyes darted around the area as Ira tried to find the source of the voice. It was almost like the very wind was carrying it, like this very place was speaking it. She just wondered if Storm could hear it as well or if she really was starting to go crazy. As she looked around she noticed some kind of larger structure to the back of what had once been a tribe, she just hoped it wasn’t a representation of her tribe. Making her way there Ira soon saw the structure was a tent, a very large one in fact. Not at all unlike the tents in her tribe. The flaps were down and she couldn’t see inside, but pushing them open Ira quickly entered and found…nothing. There was furniture, tapestries, rugs, a fire frozen in place. It was like someone’s home but there wasn’t anyone here. Now what was she supposed to do.


(Storm will be able to hear the voice and if you can’t think of anything to do let me know and I’ll give you something.)

[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.

[Storm Veritas]

She was cool and distant, her gentle aura soothing and yet not the comfort which he sought. He longed for real interaction, some solace, some reprieve from this place, where he was suddenly insecure and scared and alone. What had given rise to this string of circumstances really gave him no sort of consolation, for he still didn’t know precisely where he was or what he was to do. This was her deal, her issue, and he could only sit idly and wait for her, to support her. He stepped back from the unflinching visage, the avatar of his lovely friend. This was hell; he could not help her here, nor did he find closure in the avenues of his own life he had seen.

Too late. You’ve made the bed to lie in. Not exactly an innocent god-damned bystander, you know?

There was no mistaking it, if he were corrupted, no string of good deeds could overcome the evils he had wrought upon Althanas. The death and despair, families torn and ruined, orphaned children and widowed wives. He could only step back from the glowing figure, and stand within the lovely, terrible mansion, waiting on those damned creaky floorboards.

Alone.

His charisma would be of no help here, nor would his fantastic abilities. He was stripped of all the garish coverings of the con-man, with quick fingers and a silver tongue. Now he was exposed, so very vulnerable, so helpless. For the first time he cared about her his own desperation little in lieu of what was going on within his friend. She was unresponsive, she was elsewhere, and he couldn’t get to her.

“Come on, honey. Hang in. Be strong. Win it.” His whisper was barely audible, more a thought than anything tangible.

Who was he rooting for here? Was this his typical foray, hoping for his own escape, self-preservation his primal instinct, and knowing that Ira was his vehicle to safety? Was this more selfless, as his genuine concern for the girl, brave and strong and beautiful and far too good to be impure? His doubts lingered; too often he had been the selfish one. Could he earnestly be hoping for what was right, and not what was easy?

Perhaps. Although it made things much more succinct when the two events coincided.

[Iriah Caitrak]

The second floor was no different than the one beneath her. It was only darker up here and harder to make out details. Ira gave herself a moment to adjust but after a minute or two had passed and her perception of the place had barely changed she realized she would have to deal with it. She could pick out some things, walls, rotting furniture, but with no detail. Were the walls falling apart, she didn’t know. If the furniture was rotting away or in pristine condition she couldn’t tell, though judging by the rest of this place she surmised that it was most likely the former. Still, it would have been nice to see where she was going a little better.

Moving made things worse, twice she tripped over some unseen thing on the ground before she realized she had to walk slower. She also ran into a wall once and if she let her imagination get the better of her she kept seeing things move out of the corner of her eye. The only problem was, she didn’t know if it was her imagination or not. She couldn’t sense anything in here and that was scaring her the most. Were the flickering shadows just tricks of her mind or was there actually something in the room with her?

The more she thought about it the quicker her heart began to beat, drowning out all other noise through the rush of blood in her ears. Shallow breaths drawn in through quivering lips, she needed to stop thinking about it.

Taking a few deep breaths, Ira found calm, somehow, she wasn’t too sure how but she did, she found calm. She couldn’t remember ever being so scared before in her life and really had no idea why she was so terrified. She was a warrior, she’d faced life and death many times before this and never had this much debilitating fear creep into her mind before. Why now? What was so different?

Standing around would find her no answers and would not help the situation either. With a shaky breath Ira began moving once again, pausing momentarily whenever her foot impacted on a creaking floorboard. Nearly walking into the corner of two walls, Ira found what appeared to be a hallway branching off from the room she was in, not that she could see it properly. The tips of her fingers she kept lightly pressed against the wall, feeling every crack and every chip in the paint that they came across, some falling away from her light touch.

Her fingers dipped into a break in the wall and there was also a small soft light emanating from within. She could easily see that it was a doorway with the loss of the door. Stepping into the room she could see that the tiny light was coming from a single candle perched atop a table set off in the corner. The room was mostly empty, debris from the ceiling and walls covered the floor. There wasn’t even any furniture save the one table with that lone candle. Moving towards, Ira reached out to grab the source of light when she heard something from behind her. Turning around sharply she saw the figure of a Fallen standing in the doorway blacker than the darkness she had just walked through. His skin looked burnt and was peeling back and falling off in some places.

Is that part of the corruption?

Ira moved to form her weapons only to feel something cold and bony grasp both of her arms in a grip so tight she couldn’t move. Shock ran through her and her heart began to thunder in her chest as she looked to either side of her and saw the skeletal creatures that were clasping and clawing into her flesh holding her in place. Struggling against them proved futile and only pushed their sharp, bony fingers further into her flesh.

Cringing at the pain yet not carrying Ira continued to try and force her way from their grasp. The Fallen creature before her moving closer. He had no eyes, in fact, the creature itself had no face, a trait she’d never seen in a Fallen before and no weapons appeared anywhere on his body. Once he was standing right before her Ira choked on the rancid, acrid smell of death that was permeating off his body. It clogged her lungs and threatened her conscious mind with the strength of its stench. Without warning, the creature plunged his hand through the armour meant to protect her and straight into Ira’s heart. She froze as the pain washed through her and then the feel of ice began to travel through her veins. It was not numbing, it was sharp and cold and it felt like it was piercing through her body from the inside out.

Crying out, Ira felt her knees give way under the pain, but the creatures holding on to her kept her from falling to the floor. She couldn’t struggle against it, she could barely move and it just kept spreading through her and the tears began to pool in her eyes and spill down her face. This was it, wasn’t it? She was losing against the corruption and there was nothing she could do about it. And her last thought as Ira was shoved into subconscious parts of her mind she didn’t know existed was an apology to Storm he would never hear.

[Storm Veritas]

He clasped her, but it was something that wasn’t there. Something intangible, and his body fell forward with a drunken stumble. It was her image, her avatar, but not her, and nothing he would do would help her. What lingered around the wary traveler was harder for him to help; it was his own darkness, his own battle to fight.

His hair whipped back over the top of his head as he snapped it up from a knee, trying to find some answer. Looking up, the room had changed, mahogany walls now looking crude oil-coated and black, a thick film of the stuff covering all but the mirror and the visage of his friend. Ira was reddened now, a crimson color, the lively aura diminished severely.

“What is this!?” he screamed, hands outstretched as he stood, voice harmlessly shuttling towards the mirror. “What do you want from me!? What the hell do you want me to do!?”

There were, of course, no clear cut answers. Nothing came down and presented itself as the evident course of action. No swath of purity was paved inside the darkness, only an ever lingering cloud of darkness that seemed to creep in on him from all sides. In the mirror now, a series of flashes. Kills. All the people he had taken, lives ruined, an endless slideshow cycling over and over in impossibly rapid succession. He couldn’t take his eyes away.

A man falls before his children. A family killed. Officers trying to uphold the law murdered. The hunting of borderline criminals for the simple extension of salary. Death and despair, coming at your hand. Over and over. Will it end? Can it end?

Again, there were no answers for him. His corruption had become nearly total, and save the sympathy and care he had to help Ira, the girl who didn’t deserve the same fate, he would have happily resigned himself to judgment. The punishment for his deeds would make for a long ride on the Styx, but surely the boatman had heard all the tales before.

Then why am I here if I can’t help her, and can’t help myself?

The mirror only shook in his face, taunting him. The ceaseless oscillation of colors, the images which burned his eyes. Actions once justified as necessary to survival were clearly inhuman, an inundation or brainwashing of horrible misdeeds.

“Enough!” he cried, his pleas falling on deaf ears. “Enough! Stop it! Stop it!”

Yet there would be no reprieve from the footage, the slideshow continued. Again and again, the undulations of pornographic murder dancing before him. He would beg for it to stop before anything happened, and he would never have the stream of carnage end in the glass before him.

His hands were at his side, and fingers began to glow again. It was the only answer. He had been left without option, and now, here, he was forced to end this. Reconciliation was apparently gone, his corruption too total, too complete. There would be no going back. The wafting smell of ozone was a nice relief from the oil that burned his lungs, but it was a forecast of one more hurricane coming through. As through possessed, he blasted a massive bolt at the mirror, watching it absorb the energy, continuing the powerful pulse. Light arced from his hand in a thunderous rage, twisting blue and white cackling wildly from fast-firing hands. The image grew brighter, lighter, whiter and more disturbing. He continued on. The mirror continued to absorb until all was white, the entire image before him just a panel of blinding light.

No more…

His energy completely sapped, Storm Veritas fell to the ground, his head knocking hard and being covered in the thick, viscous oil. Above him, the damage was done.

Above the mage, the mirror’s pristine image cracked along the top edge, the single break fast propagating to the center. At the central point, the break spiderwebbed to all the edges, several twisting fingers of cracks extending the length of the massive mirror. There was no explosion, only the chime-like tinkle of glass falling lifelessly from the frame.

Below, Veritas would be covered with the hard-edged mirror shards, a rainshower of superficial pain that he could not feel. The stream of images was now gone.

[Iriah Caitrak]

(Remember, we were going to have Ira corrupted and you save her from the corruption, most likely by kicking her ass in but if you want to do something more romantic you can do that too. ^_~ Oh and, touching Ira in this state she’ll immediately attack you, but she’s not very strong right now so it wouldn’t take much to kick her ass.)


Long tapered fingers the colour of the darkest night sky reached out from within the broken mirror and wrapped around the frame. Bits of glass that had not fallen free from the framing dug into the soft flesh and split it open letting small rivulets of blood to form. No heed or attention was paid to them and pain was ignored, an after thought, something that was barely there. A leg clad in armour followed through the same doorway that the broken mirror had created, connecting the uncorrupted soul from the corrupted portion. The hard rubber sole of the bottom of the boot stepped around the figure of one Storm Veritas and crushed down on the glass beside him.

The sound was sharp in the silence that reigned and echoed throughout the room in.

As contact was made with the floor the corruption immediately began to spread. Blackness, it seeped into everything that was close and began to slowly rot the material away. Once beautiful hardwood now lost its colour turning grey with age and becoming brittle, unstable and barely able to support the weight that was put upon it.

Slowly, the figure of what could once have been called Ira Shinkara emerged from within the corruption beyond the mirror. The Irenian crystal embedded in the centre of her beautiful white armour was glowing red, her skin was pitch black and her eyes were matching the same colour as her crystal and staring sightlessly forward not even noting the figure of Veritas. An aura of utter power reigned around her, a facade to hide the weakened state of whatever had control over the body.

She walked right by him and everywhere she stepped the rot followed. Tapestries on the walls began to fade and become threadbare within seconds. The images playing upon them forever lost. Furniture fell apart and as the corruption spread up the walls and to the ceiling the chandelier crashed to the floor below, splintering through pieces of wood leaving half of it embedded within the floor boards as the other half stuck out. Once beautiful shimmering crystals were slowly being covered over in grime appearing from nowhere. Light could no longer filter through their many facets.

The figure slowly moved through the room until it looked nothing like its former self. The corruption within Ira was using her to further corrupt her own soul until it had complete control and then she truly would become the monster she always feared so much. She headed towards the door at the back of the room, ignoring the small bits of debris that fell from the rotting ceiling; even the cracks that were beginning to form in the walls were of no concern to her.

[Storm Veritas]

Continue. Get up. Don’t give into your temper tantrum. She needs you.

Some driving force within was motivating him, and he forced himself to move. The crinkle-crack of crystalline glass around him sang softly as he pushed up, small shards digging tiny holes in his hands. The rest mostly fell around him, jingling harmlessly to the floor. A few tiny pinpricks remained within him, aberrant pain that he figured should have felt much, much worse than they did. Why he hadn’t been badly wounded by the falling glass was a mystery, until he looked up to the glass again.

The mirror remained, taunting him. A giant, sturdy structure, immune from scratches or nicks.

But no… how…?

Behind the mirror lay another image still, one that was disturbing, terrible. Ira walked, upright and cognizant, yet very different. She was overtaken by a shadowy visage, not smiling or grinning but stoic and frightening. She was darkness in a human-like form, a crimson red glow emanating from her chest. The life in her, the radiant beauty which she seemed to carry as easily as a child’s toy was stripped away.

And you have to help her. You know damned well that’s why you’re here.

He stepped forward, the glass yielding like water, looking into the glass and seeing his own truth lie beside him. Ira was with him. It wasn't the same Ira he knew, but the being was by his side, silent and terrible. The logic in this place was not bound to normal Althanian constructs. It seemed apparent that here he was a god as much as a slave. His lack of pain told him as much. The other side was cold, even more quiet (if that were possible), devoid of life, even as Ira marched around, casting a veil of darkness across the room. She was walking death, everything beside her wilting and dying. He had to reach out.

“Ira” he began, simply and calmly. “Ira, honey, you there? Wake up, sugar, you don’t look good. I’ve come to get you out of here.”

He knew it wouldn’t be that easy. It was never easy. Yet to not at least try to placate her simply would be foolish; leaving here quickly would be a dream.

[Iriah Caitrak]

His presence continued to go unnoticed.

His words fell on deaf ears.

And as he moved closer to her, she simply continued to walk forward without even turning to glance at him. Here, he was nothing. He was not the invincible mage he claimed himself to be and here he had no power. The corrupted leaking off her person and into the surroundings continued to decay the room to the point where a beam from the ceiling fell down and crashed through the floor. The sound was deafening. A million shards of wood flew threw the air to no intended destination until finally being slammed down on what was left of the rotting floor.

Within her mind was a battle raging between the soul of Ira and the darkness within her and she was losing with every step the corruption took further into the realm of her soul. She battled relentlessly, hoping to force it out, hoping to find a way to break through and reach the surface. But she was trapped within a cage in a place within her mind and soul she could not understand or even hope to break free of on her own.

The feeling of hopelessness was something that quickly overcame her. She fought a losing battle against it, knowing it was the corruption giving her the feeling, robbing her of the will to fight, but in the end she was only human.

The figure reached out towards the door and watched as the wood and crumbled and decayed before her, turning into dust and leaving an open doorway. Beyond a long hallway gently lit with candles placed along the walls. The light of the flames shimmering off the colourful glass they had been placed inside and creating a rainbow of colour against the white walls. But as she moved forward the candles went out and the glass began to cloud over, it’s translucent surface slowly turning opaque. The two closest to her fell off the wall, smashing into tiny fragments that scattered across the floor.

[Storm Veritas]

What he saw in Ira was simply inhuman; some sort of combination of demon and death that lacked the very fabric of what he had come to recognize as human, as life. She was death and decay, rotting and destroying all that lay in her path. It was destructive, complete, and savage. Ira was gone, he realized, and it burned to taste that sour defeat.

The entity before him was emotionless, vacant. The falling support piece nearly killed him, and she didn’t turn back or flinch at the thunderous crash. Wood splintered and crumbled, dust flew and the house shook, an athletic mage rolling hard across a ravaged body to escape incomprehensible damage. The floor opened wide, the beam falling through and crashing somewhere deep below.

What happened to you? How are you doing this? Why?

She took down a hallway, a delineated shroud of decay following everywhere she went. Her aura was a black brush of death, touching and withering by proximity. He had to stop her, before she took down the house, and everything in it, including Storm and her own human form, should it still somehow exist here.

He was puzzled, but lifted himself and ran to her, sprinting past and turning about. He faced her in the hallway, some twenty feet before the black visage, scowling and staring and trying to make sense of it all.

“No more, Ira. Shut it down. Don’t make me stop you baby, I don’t want to hurt you.”

His words hurt him, trembling a bit. His fingertips began to hum and sizzle, the crackle-crack familiar of times enraged. His fury here was frustration, tempted and teased by the woman he thought he could grow to love. The one he would hope to save. The one he couldn’t help.

Don’t do it. It will hurt her. It will kill her. Think about someone else for a change.

“Stop! Ira, STOP! I know you can hear me. Don’t make me do this.” She kept walking in spite of his words.

You have to. To save yourself, this place, and her soul. This is the corruption. This is the evil. Do it.

Don’t do it…

He raised his hands as she closed in on him, fingertips flickering white hot and dangerous. He didn’t want to, but might have had to do it. Indecision wavered as she came in, and he tried to discern if the one he loved was wrapped inside.

He would have to pull the trigger.

[Iriah Caitrak]

There was nothing she could do. No matter how hard she struggled against the darkness taking her over she lost. It never budged against her efforts and never even gave an inch. It just pushed her farther and farther into depths of her own psyche, slowing destroying her and she couldn’t even find the strength to scream in defiance at it. Somewhere she swore she heard Storm’s voice calling out to her, but she knew it was only her imagination. If only she had enough strength within her to beat this thing back, if only she’d been strong enough in the first place not to let it take her over, if only…

The darkness within her suddenly weakened its grip on Ira’s soul and she pushed with all the waning strength she had left within her, she pushed. Feeling it gave way under her, Ira received an extra boost of energy and confidence and pushed against the corruption again and again until finally she could feel it receding.

The corruption cried out as the electricity flowed through the body it inhabited. Pain erupted from everywhere and the force of the magic sent the being stumbling backwards, slamming up against the wall. It fell down to one knee as the aftershocks of the lightning made every muscle feel like jelly. Electrical signals inside the body were being screwed up and a pounding headache was beginning form. Muscles kept spasming and no matter how hard it tried it couldn’t stop fingers from twitching. The being was having a hard time just kneeling there without falling over.

Focus was lost on keeping the soul of Ira locked inside itself, under control, and the corruption could feel it pushing to overcome it, to regain control once again of it’s own body. The pain made it hard to fight back against the soul and red irises slowly began to fade and change back to Ira’s natural swirling silver.

A shaking hand reached up and clawed at the crystal embedded in her armour, though the red still remained, the glow from around it faded, “again…hit it again…”

The irises suddenly changed back to the red as the corruption snarled at Storm. Shaking its head it slowly stood up on wobbling knees. It struggled to hold back the soul of Ira, still pushing to get through, still trying to beat it back. Seconds passed as the corruption clutched as its head, finally forcing Ira back, though in order to keep her from coming to the surface much of the corruption’s concentration was being diverted to her.

Forming two short swords in its hands, the corruption smirked as it lunged for Storm. One of the blackened blades going for his a slash across his stomach and the other one for his neck, attempting to quickly cleave his head from his shoulders. He was the only thing that could oppose it now, he was the only thing that stood in its way and it wanted him gone.

[Storm Veritas]

The strike was fast and decisive, a lightning burst that shook the beast that had taken over the form of his lovely new friend. A quake, a shiver, and the pulled punch of a bolt did little to slow the monstrosity. Rather, its turbulent wake was a coil, a growth, a terrible swirl. The flash of Ira came from behind the mask of the beast, calling to Storm in a gentle voice. Confused, he hesitated, and then arose the demon once more.

With a snap of its wrists, two thin blades were created as weapons, and it struck with such speed and ferocity that even the agile Veritas barely stood a chance. He instinctively leapt back, pulling back his head and watching the right arm pull hard before his face, the soft sound of the whooshing blade singing by crisply. The pain took a second to register.

Oh no…

He fell to a knee as soon as he realized that he had been struck, the second blade cleaving cleanly through his abdomen. The cut was deep – dangerously so – and it pulled breath from his lungs as he tried to gain composure. He fell backwards, creating some distance, buying a second or two. The blood poured freely, its horrible smell filling his nose and dizzying him, sickening him.

It won’t wait. Hit it. Hard.

This time, he couldn’t let up. His hands lifted once more, that same familiar tingle. His strength wouldn’t leave him just yet. Focusing hard, he heard the sizzle-crack for a second or two, the same buzz that had come to be known as his go-to punch. Violence, the solution to everything. Violence, the only recourse. Violence, the only way to save Ira.

”I’m sorry.”

And so, as breath came shorter and the visage of lovely death loomed ever closer, his hands exploded in an incredible, savage blast of white. It was the last he would remember before the lights went out on him, and he prayed that he wouldn’t raze the life of fair Ira.

[Iriah Caitrak]

((I'll be solo'ing it for the next few posts))

Ira gasped, resisting the sudden urge to cry out. She had control of her body again but with the control came the pain and she was still suffering from the effects of Storm’s magic. Electricity coursed through her entire body, muscles twitched and spasmed uncontrollably making it nearly impossible to stay on her feet. She landed on her knees, the impact jarring throughout her whole body, then braced herself with her hands to keep from face planting into the rotting wood before her. It felt good to feel the rough texture of the wood against her skin, it felt good to feel the frantic beats of her heart, even the pain she didn’t mind, as long as she was back in control of her body, as long as the corruption was gone.

The glow around her Irenian crystal faded, but the colour remained instead of returning to its natural state of blue. Her eyes changed back to their swirling silver and the blackness that had become her skin melted off and fell to the grey floorboards beneath her. She watched wide-eyed as it absorbed into the wood, disappearing into cracks as if it had never been there to begin with, as if it had never been inside of her. The whole process took less than a minute and left Ira feeling sick and shaking lightly. Her head couldn’t decide if it wanted to shut down or continue its throbbing regime of pain.

“S-Storm?”

Her voice even sounded shaky and uncertain.

Where was he? Not that she expected him to be rushing to her side, but she hadn’t heard a thing from him, not even him asking if she were all right.

By Suravani, she felt like she was going to spill her stomach and then pass out.

Swallowing the bile that rose in her throat, Ira raised her head and looked around, all worry for herself forgotten the moment her eyes locked on the figure of Storm crumpled on the ground. Her breath caught somewhere in the restricting passages of her throat, choking her, but she didn’t care. Quickly, she crawled over to him. Blood was pooling from a large gash in his stomach, soaking his shit and mixing his blood with the previous stain of hers.

“Storm!”

He didn’t respond to her. Reaching out, Ira touched his cold skin, shaking him slightly as tears began to pool in her eyes, “Storm?”

Her vision blurred as the tears clouded over her eyes, then cleared as she blinked and sent them cascading down her cheeks. She had to stop and calm herself. This wasn’t the real world, this was a soul and the rules that affected the real world did not operate the same way things did in here. She knew that but he didn’t. A wound like this cannot kill a person’s soul, it can hurt and it can wound the soul yes, but he was not dying and he was certainly not dead. His soul was merely reacting the way his mind thought things should happen to him with a wound like this. Once they got out of here, he would be fine…

Ira paused as she let that sink in, once they got out of here? Storm had already banished the corruption from within her, they should have left by now. He should be back in his own body, but he wasn’t, he was still here and so was she. Confusion blanketed her mind as she looked around her, the area she was in was still corrupted, the wood still grey with time and crumbling into nothing but dust with the lightest brush from her fingers. Iren said that when they won things would go back to normal but everything looked the same. Nothing had changed!

Hearing something behind her, Ira turned around. Pain exploded across her cheek and jaw and then her shoulder as it slammed onto the floor. Shaking her head, Ira slowly got up on her hands and knees and looked behind her, her eyes widening in fear, surprise and horror.

“Did you really think you won that easily?”

Before her was an exact copy of herself with some major differences. Her skin was grey as if in death, her hair was silver and her eyes with red, the same colour as her Irenian crystal at the moment. The copy of herself also wore Ira’s armour only there was an intricate design of feathers over the breast plate and instead of carrying the weapons Ira liked using this woman’s armour extended over her fingers and turned into claws.

[Iriah Caitrak]

Ira swallowed as the metallic taste of blood permeated her mouth. She wasn’t going to let this creature get any kind of satisfaction from seeing that she’d caused her to bleed.

“What’s wrong little Calerian, did that hurt?”

Her eyes narrowed as the being before her mocked her plight. This was her corruption, this was the creature she had to face and she had to face her alone. No Storm to help her anymore, he’d already done his part. From here on out the fate of both of them rested in her hands and with those two hands she had to tear this bitch to pieces.

Slowing coming to her feet, Ira formed her two Half Swallows in her hands, Uriahd and one blank one, one with no name.

The corruption smirked, twisting Ira’s own face into something grotesque and disfigured, something so evil and demented she knew she would never look like this.

She crossed the small distance between them in seconds, holding her weapons in front of her she made for a quick jab at the beings stomach. But as she extended one clawed hand to knock the attack away, Ira faked out of it, shifting her weight and stopping her forward momentum, she spun off to the side and sliced open the creature’s arm and then attempted to stick her like the animal she was.

Clang!

The blade of Uriahd bounced harmlessly off of the creatures armour.
Stunned by the fact that her attack hadn’t worked, Ira almost missed the attack that the corruption had coming her way. Noticing it just in time she raised Uriahd and blocked the sharpened claw only to have another one come in at her unprotected stomach. But the beings claw bounced harmlessly off of Ira’s armour as well. It seemed that neither of their weapons could damage each other’s armour.

“Calerian whore, I’m going to rip you to pieces!”

I didn’t know virgins could be whores…

Ira dodged the sloppy attack, five sharp and glistening metallic claws descending towards her face. The second one she didn’t notice and four of the digits sliced through cloth and easily cut through the tender flesh of her thigh. Pain exploded and Ira jumped back, nearly falling to one knee as she looked down to see the bright red liquid pooling out of the wounds and soaking into her clothing. It was at that moment she noticed the wound on her copy’s arm, it was bleeding yes, but it was bleeding black and the substance seemed too thick to be blood as if the corruption itself was seeping out of her.

The copy didn’t give her long to think about it though; she quickly leapt at Ira, claws at the ready. Ira brought up her half swallows and the creature’s claws landed on the rods, inches from her face and chest. But the force of her attack knocked Ira flat onto her back with the corruption on top of her. Reacting quickly, Ira wrapped one of her legs around the creature’s and then rolled the two of them over, Ira coming to rest on top. With a hand covered entirely in armour, Ira reared back her arm and punched her copy right in the face, then attempted to stab her through the throat.

Uriahd missed by centimetres and instead plunged into the soft wood by the woman’s head and Ira was thrown off the creature by a powerful kick to her stomach.

Landing on her back once again, Ira quickly scrambled onto her feet and formed Uriahd once more in her hand, the one buried in the wood having already disappeared. This was futile, in order to banish the corruption Ira would have to strike at her heart, but she couldn’t do that because the armour protected the creature. Her attacks bounced right off. And likewise that was probably the same area this creature needed to strike her at to overcome her soul and take full control of her physical body.

This seemed like a battle already lost and won at the same time, the corruption couldn’t win, but neither could Ira. Not unless she had armour piercing weaponry.

Ira froze for a brief second, a weapon that could pass through armour and directly attack the soul.

The blades of her Half Swallows began to glow a soft blue.

The corruption cocked her head slightly to the side as if wondering what she was up to, “What are you doing?”

Ira smirked and ignored her, instead of answering her with words she leapt at the creature. One blade passing horizontally in a swipe meant to behead. The creature ducked down below it and when she made to kick Ira’s legs out, she simply jumped over the attack, landed and kicked the creature in the face with her armoured foot. Rearing Uriahd back, Ira plunged the weapon towards the creature’s heart, who didn’t seem too worried about the blade until it passed through the very armour meant to protect her as if it wasn’t there.

The look of shock and pain was almost too much for Ira to watch. Even though this wasn’t a living person it was hard to see a look so reminiscent to what a human would do when stabbed. With the blade still stuck in the creature, black liquid began to slowly climb up Ira’s blade and slither over her hand. It felt like liquid ice and numbed every part of her flesh it touched. Her heart beat tripled as she tried to let go of the weapon only to find she couldn’t move and the black liquid finally crawled up her arm and then across her armour, where it buried through the Irenian crystal and into her chest.

And then darkness…

[Iriah Caitrak]

She felt sick.

Her stomach was an ocean during a swelling storm. Bile rose from within and threatened to choke the air from her throat. Ira was forced to roll over onto her side and pass whatever contents had decided to resurface onto the ground then choke and cough as she attempted to breathe air into her lungs once again.

Her fingers flexed around the material beneath her, soft to the touch and warm as well. Slowly, she cracked her eyes open and blinked and squinted a few times. They felt sore; her whole body felt sore and cold, ice cold for some reason. She couldn’t remember ever being this cold and her body began to reflect it, small goosebumps trailing up her arms and shivers wracking her entire form. She felt like curling up into a little ball until she could feel warm again.

Realizing that what her eyes had focused on was in fact a tan coloured wall, Ira slowly eased herself up with her hands and felt the weakness in her muscles. Light was coming from somewhere near her and she could feel warmth as well but her entire body felt so weak she wasn’t sure if she could move. But colour…if there was colour she couldn’t still be within her soul could she? She had to be out, she had to have defeated the corruption but the last thing she remembered was the corruption digging into her body.

Feeling the muscles in her arms give out, Ira fell back onto the floor and rolled onto her back. Her eyes staring up at the ceiling, the same tan, but it looked so familiar to her…

“Ira?”

Even that disembodied voice sounded familiar.

“Ira…?”

Yes, that was her name.

“Ira?”

Why was it being so persistent?

Something warm touched her bare arm and Ira looked down to see Gereint kneeling beside her, his blind eyes staring at her face and searching for her there and the relief that washed over him almost made her cry with the realization that she had done it. She was out of her soul; she’d actually defeated the corruption.

“Gereint…”

The old and withered shaman smiled, creating more wrinkles on his face but Ira didn’t care, she loved each and every one of them.

He reached for something out of her peripheral view and when his hand returned he was holding a cup. Moving closer to her, he carefully helped her up into a sitting position.

“Here, drink this, it will help bring your strength back up.”

Ira nodded her head even though she was unsure if she could keep the liquid down. It didn’t taste that great but she didn’t care if it was going to help her. Unfortunately, drinking it reminded her that there were some other bodily functions that needed to be taken care of as well but a more urgent issue popped into the forefront of her mind.

“Storm…”


((Alright, you're up Storm. You should wake up a few moments after Ira does and if you remember from way at the beginning of the quest, you were placed beside Ira, so beside her you shall wake up.))

[Storm Veritas]

He awoke to fear.

The earth around him looked scorched, and he coughed hard with what felt like a lungful of ash behind it. The world felt scorched, and his skin was covered with a light gray dust. He also felt something prop him up, something hold him. A tender-tough, as it were, with long, slender fingers and slate, steely eyes. That smooth, perfect narrow nose, those Nordic cheekbones… Ira was alive.

Get away.

His instinct pulled him back. It didn’t feel right, not with her wrapping her arms about him, treating him as a child in mother’s arms. He had seen everything, fought most, and barely lived to tell about it. No, whatever festered in this lovely woman’s soul was impure, he decided. He didn’t know what to make of it. Had he saved her? Had she saved him?

Kicking his feet, his body contorting in agony as he pulled away. Wide eyed and scared, he felt like an animal as he looked at her, unsure of what he was seeing. She was at once beautiful and whole and terrifying, and for once the wily Veritas was at a complete loss for words.

For a few seconds, anyway.

“You… you’re… You’re alive! Oh, Ira… I’m so sorry.”

His lips trembled, and stomach turned. It pained him to admit it, even to himself. He couldn’t do this. Not now, not after what he had experienced.

“Ira, honey.” His eyes were low and weak. “This, this place is awful. I can’t stay here. I can’t be here. Something in me was taken here. Some part of me is f*cking gone.”

A part of him really was torn, aside from physical pain he could not localize. Something had gone terribly wrong here. Something was awry within him. The festival, the girl, the other place, the corruptions… He couldn’t place anything on this feeling that was positive. His feelings for Ira bordered love, but his fear of her was even more powerful.

[Iriah Caitrak]

Her face fell the moment he tore away from her, the moment she saw the look in his eyes. Her whole body slumped, whatever energy, whatever happiness had been evident upon her features was now gone, wiped away in the few simple words that he said to her. He couldn’t stay here, he didn’t understand what had happened within her soul, she barely understood what had happened within her soul but most importantly he now thought there was something wrong with her, she could tell, there was fear in his eyes, fear that hadn’t been there before.

She wanted to reach out to hold and comfort him in some way, but even as her hand rose to do this she stopped herself and the limb fell lifelessly to her side.

“I…”

She started but stopped; she didn’t know what to say to him, words could not comfort him now. If she could take it all back she would, but she couldn’t and her actions were going to force him to live with some kind of consequence.

The Calerian sighed, straightened herself out and then steeled her face, leaving it void of emotion even while underneath a storm was brewing.

“Gereint, take care of him…”

The old shaman nodded his head, his lips parting as if he were going to say something then closing when he thought better of it.

Taking one last look at Storm, Ira slowly stood up, still a little wobbly and then marched out of Gereint’s tent. The bright light of the sun blinded her the moment she took a step outside. She closed her eyes and pressed a head to her forehead, which was throbbing. Heat hit her body like a hard slap to the face and it felt so nice. It was cool inside of Gereint’s tent and within her soul there had not been a feeling of temperature, but now that she could feel it she never wanted to go without it again.

“Ira?”

She opened her eyes just enough to peer out and see the concerned face of Messia as her friend approached her. Her ice blue eyes searching her as if looking for there to be something wrong or different, Ira didn’t know which, but she didn’t like the look. It made her feel as if her friend had not been expecting her to return from the darkness she’d fallen into.

“Not right now, Mess…please just leave me alone.”

Her friend stopped in her tracks, a pained look coming over her face, but she didn’t come any closer, she didn’t ask any questions, she just watched as Ira stumbled towards her tent.

Once in her home, Ira breathed a sigh of relief and quickly took care of those nagging things her body needed her to. Then she ate, after her stomach settled down and the world stopped spinning she realized she was famished. While she was eating, she put a few pots of water over the fire and poured them into a large tub once they were hot enough. Soaking in the water brought all her muscles back to life at the same time as relaxing them. Not to mention she didn’t feel so disgusting now that she was actually clean and not still covered in the paint from the dance. She should have asked Gereint how long she’d been soul searching before she left, but the look on Storm’s face, she couldn’t have stayed another second and endure that look even if she wanted to.

Taking a deep breath, Ira leaned against the back of the tub and closed her eyes. No matter how much she tried to clear her thoughts she couldn’t get the image of Storm out of her head.

What did you expect from him, for him to be happy once the two of you were out of there and embrace you and think nothing of it?

As stupid as it was, in a way, she had expected that him.

How different things were in the light of day.


((Spoils:

Katasi (The Graveyard): Ira now has the ability to travel to her soul whenever she wants or needs to. Travelling to her soul allows Ira to talk to Irenia and also battle and overcome the corruption she takes within herself at any time. Irenia still has the ability to force Ira into her soul at any point in time and when this happens Ira will be forced into a state of unconsciousness reminiscent to a deep sleep and cannot be awakened. One of the many areas within the Graveyard is in fact a graveyard that is littered with many of tombstones, of which have names carved into their surface. These tombstones hold the power of Ira’s fusions and she must challenge the fusion and win in order to obtain its powers.

Samdham (Fusion): Ira has a special ability that allows her to use the corruption that a Calerian accumulates from releasing souls, instead of just expelling it from her body. Ira uses the accumulated corruption and fuses with it, turning herself into a more evolved Calerian with completely different abilities depending on the form she picks. Fusions are also the only form Ira can use magic in. Abilities from one form cannot be used in another form and though abilities Ira has in her normal state can be used in Fusions, Fusion abilities cannot be used without Fusing. ))

[Storm Veritas]

He knew as he backed away that he had crushed her. It was a horrible thing, but the only way. There could be no trust in her without understanding, and the time to understand could draw him back into peril. She was a sweet girl, a mystifying woman, someone who had swept him off his feet and make him question things he had never questioned before. With her, he was more selfless, more kind, more fair. With her, he was a better person, and he knew it.

So why leave? Why not stay? Why not try?

It was a question that would follow him for years, even though his supposition made sense. She was too dangerous, too unknown.

“You should follow her. I see it in your eyes. I see it in hers.” The words of the old man were kind and true, and behind his sun ravaged skin Storm saw an intelligence in the eyes of Gereint. The man was a kind healer with a soft touch and knowing, soothing voice. He was smart.

“Maybe I should, old man, but life isn’t that simple.” Storm winced as a treated cloth was applied to his hip, where a deep cut ran along the hipbone line under the abdomen. He couldn’t remember where the wound had come from, what he had done to procure such a thing. Wounds came too commonly here. Too dangerous, indeed.

“You fear her love, boy, not her power.” Gereint sighted as he stepped back, resting gingerly on a soft stretch of cloth upon the floor of the tent. The rug was ornate and beautiful, like so many idiosyncracies of the strange place.

Storm stood slowly, nodding to the old man in slight reverence. “If love were the only thing I had to fear on this crazy place, it’d be a new home, old man.” He sighed, grabbing at wounds that were bandaged and tightly wrapped. He would heal well. “Now I thank you, my friend, but I must bid you leave.”

The words hurt. Not only were they the same cookie cutter pieces of diplomacy he had used so often in Radasanth, but they were a lie. He did love the girl, and was afraid to lose her again. He couldn’t stand to kill her, or build up that love and watch her die. He had seen love die in his arms before, and it did a terrible thing to him. It made him hard, detached. To lose another…

No, don’t think about it. Keep moving.

He left the tent, the sun high and bright over the beautiful, secluded little town. It was a lovely place, with more community than all of Radasanth. It would be a good place for a family, for that lovely bride and child to call his own. A good place to stop and settle.

Don’t think about it.

He had to make Ira a memory. He had to beat feet and make it back to the boatline, hitch a ride, put this place behind him. Had to forget about his love. He was doing it for her, or so he would tell himself, and there was nothing worse that he could do. He was leaving the opportunity for the change in his life, leaving something pure and true. A wonderful woman, alluring and stunning and gorgeous.

He was doing it for her, or so he would tell himself. Making the mighty sacrifice so she would not be with such a terrible man as himself. He didn’t want to be harmed, and it wasn’t just his fear that drove him from town.

Lies of convenience, it seemed, had fast become convenient. He left Salvar alone, with no one to blame for the isolation but himself.

[INDK]

Great work guys. I’m going to recommend this for a Judges’ Choice!

And the total is 82

Storyline

Continuity: 8. I felt that I wasn’t well introduced to the things about Storm that I needed to be in the introduction. Yeah, I know who the character is, but I can’t judge these threads based on the fact I’ve read previous ones.

Setting: 9. Storm’s thoughts really make the setting come to life.

Pacing: 9. This was almost complete marks, the only thing that stopped it in my mind was that the conclusion fell a little flat, especially from Storm. It was still fairly good, if conclusion was still a category I’d have given you a six or seven. However, it was just not good enough in my mind to merit perfect marks for a pacing category. Finish stronger next time. See the conclusion as a way of selling the importance of the adventure one last time.

Character

Dialogue: 9. This was a very strong area, in particular for Storm. One thing I really like about the way you use dialogue is that it isn’t just used to further plot along, but as a device to bring so much more to the table.

Action: 7. I can’t say I could get behind everything Storm did. Nothing was really implausible, but especially towards the beginning, a lot of his decisions really didn’t seem to me to be the ones he would make.

Persona: 6. I felt there was a bit of a disconnect between the persona of Storm before and after the trouble breaks out.

Writing Style

Mechanics: 9. A few copy editing things that wouldn’t have been caught on Word were what stopped this from being a 10.

Techniques: 8. Ira, when you are listing two rationales, make sure you present them in a way that doesn’t overemphasize the one that would seem to be more petty. Storm, I really liked the way that you used terms that made the experience more Fallien-esque with your metaphors.

Clarity: 9. No real comments.

Wild Card: 8. I really liked how much you guys managed to do here with a plot that was really quite simplistic.

Spoils
Ira Shinkara receives 3460 EXP and 600 GP
Storm Veritas receives 5700 EXP and 600 GP

[Cyrus the virus]

EXP added!

Stormy levels up to 8. Ira ALMOST levels!

Good job dudes.