Echoes of the Past...

[Mutant_Lorenor]

(Closed to Grim)

Rarely did the mutant sleep.

On a cloudy October night, the mutant found himself alone in his apartment with only the guards to keep him company. Sweat was pouring down his skyclad flesh. Sitting up at the side of his bed, the mutant sighed. His chest moved up and down with each controlled breath. On this sleepless night, Lorenor found that something was missing. Lorenor stood up and yawned for a long moment. Walking over to a small night-stand, the mutant gathered a pitcher of cold-water and poured himself a drink of the substance into a goblet.

It was going to be a long night.

By then, Lorenor senses had expanded greatly since those nights so long ago in the caverns of Haidia. Lorenor walked over to a candle, took a match, and lit it carefully. The match was a magical device that lit blue flame instead of orange flame. It's colour added a certain ambiance to the chamber that made the shadows dance about the room. One of the guards, an elite warrior of The Forsaken, looked at Lorenor from the shadows. Sensing this, Lorenor turned towards the guard with a casual expression on his face and a rather soft tone of voice. One that was filled with respect.

"I cannot sleep Richter." Lorenor said. "Maybe its true what they say, there is no rest for the wicked."

That last statement made the mutant frown in the darkness. Am I really a wicked man for serving the dark lady? Is that really what I have become? Lorenor looked down at the flame for a moment. Its dancing form reflected the intense purple blazes that comprised the mutant's eyes. The fires burned from the depths of Lorenor's soul. The mutant stared at the blue flame for a few moments longer, the guard in his chamber saying nothing in return. After that time passed, the mutant walked over to his closet and drew a comfortable priest's robes from it. Another moment passed, and Lorenor was in his comfortable set of robes. He tied up the shoes he'd put on, and then, finally, he'd wrapped the Salvarn cloak around his shoulder.

A certain air of warmth came with that thick-hide cloak. It made the mutant smile as it warded off the cold of night. Looking towards the various guards in his chamber, the mutant nodded in their general direction. After that action, he stepped out of the bedroom and towards the main double-chamber that comprised the large apartment that he was provided. Lorenor soon found himself stepping outside of the housing complex located within The Forsaken's city. It was a sprawling maze of complicated streets and alleyways, with several layers including a few underground structure.

Blowing around his person, the wind made his cloak flap like twisted wings. The night felt good. A certain October chill was in the air, rain was already beginning to pour down from pregnant clouds. Even at the late hour, the city was alive with activity. Many jobs were performed around the clock, the undead were a stubborn lot after all. Their city was thriving where all the other capitols of Althanas simply were not. On his way out of the apartment complex, the mutant had grabbed a few key items, preparing to journey towards The Eye of Fate. Lorenor knew the journey instinctively, on that night though, he wished he could have had companionship with him.

He stood in place for a while longer, as if expecting something to happen...

[grim137]

Xanbata had enjoyed the rest. Years of his life spent bathed in blood and consumed by battle had taken their toll on his body and his mind. Even after paying with his life, on more than one occasion, there was always something, a mage, a monk or a strange twist of fate, to bring him back so that he could do it again. He’d lost his mind, his humanity, and even his original body. He’d argue now that it was all for the better. That it had, eventually, made him stronger in body, mind and soul but that didn’t change the fact that it had all taken its toll.

And so, at first, it the rest had seemed like a blessing, but it was true what they said about having too much of a good thing.

After awhile the immortal warrior had grown restless and bored. He’d once enjoyed walking among the aristocrats of Salvar, mingling with them and taking advantage of their hospitality and ignorance to the ways of creatures like him. He’d gotten close to them, eaten their food, slept in their beds, bedded their women and dined on their flesh. He’d learned about their business practices, their political views and about some of the skeletons in their closets. At first it was fun, Xanbata almost felt like a naughty little kid, but soon it all began to feel so…monotonous.

There was no challenge and thus no thrill in preying on such people. Their wealth and shelter had weakened them and made them stupid. Even with a civil war raging they simply sat from afar and let their money fight for them in the form hired soldiers and imported equipment.

Even Do’negh, the necromancer responsible for the vampire’s latest resurrection, seemed to have become quiet and slow due to his own immortality. The plan that was supposed to bring Althanas to its knees had yet to come to fruition. Not because the man lacked power but because he had all the time in the universe and he knew it. No point in doing now what you could easily do next millennia.

Xanbata had yet to grasp such a concept. He may have been immortal but he was still very much aware of how time much had passed. Soon his boredom turned into a feeling of being lost with no direction to go and it made him perpetually uneasy. He was a soldier at heart. He could only go so long without somebody telling him what to do or something trying to kill him before he started to lose his mind again.

It was this desire for direction or excitement that had spawned his trip to Raiaera. Xanbata had come there because he desired to get reacquainted with an old friend of his. In his time away the vampire had read up on current events from books and articles found all over Salvar when he heard of the N'Jal. It was through further research that he discovered his old friend Lorenor was one of the high priest.

To Xanbata it almost seemed like fate.

He’d traveled there by horseback through the Nidath Pass and arrived in the undead city of Narenhad. The last time Xanbata had been there it was still the thriving elfin city of Valinatal.

As Xanbata rode at a slow pace through the dreary, bombed out looking city he couldn’t help but chuckle. Raiaera had been the place where he’d become a vampire. He’d been serving in the Tel Aglarim then, out of a misplaced sense of gratitude to some elves he’d met in Corone. Back then he’d been treated like an outcast or an outlaw for becoming what he was. It almost seemed poetic that now the place had apparently fallen to the undead.

Raiaera was colder than he remembered (not that that was saying much) though it was of little concern to him after having grown used to the harsh winters of Salvar. He was dressed lightly in a fine black jacket made of a cotton and silk blend, black silk pants with matching silk gloves and black leather boots. The only heavy items on his person we’re his mythril cuirass which he now wore, and his prevalida long sword which was holstered at his side. Both items freshly polished and displayed clearly and proudly. For safety purposes the vampire’s poisoned knife was kept near the back of his jacket, out of sight of anyone.

Lorenor was easy enough to find. Xanbata’s supernatural senses afforded him certain advantages in that regard. He approached the high priest slowly and respectfully, hopping off his horse and making sure his hands were nowhere near either of his weapons.

“Lorenor, my old friend” said Xanbata cheerfully with just a subtle hint of curiosity, getting a good look at the ghoul for the first time in his life “it’s been a long time. You’ve changed.”

[Mutant_Lorenor]

With rain pouring down in sheets now, the mutant looked upwards to allow the tendrils of liquid to flow down his face. Lorenor felt the cold touch of the water upon his epidermis. Soon, his robe, was damp with a layer of moisture. However, the fabrics were woven together masterfully and kept the mutant's body dry of liquids where they could. Lorenor stood there for a long moment as time passed and enjoyed the feeling of the rain. It was like electricity running up and down his spine. When the time had come, the mutant straightened his posture just as a stranger walked right up to his person.

For a moment, Lorenor struggled to identify the scent. The scent was that of a fellow undead. A certain energy flowed from the fellow before him. Able to detect a certain radiant halo from the man, Lorenor sensed something that was disturbingly familiar. Blinking thrice, Lorenor allowed his gaze to lock upon the fellow before him. Lorenor studied the man carefully before responding to his politeness. Seeing that the fellow was not an immediately perceived threat, Lorenor nodded with respect back towards Xanbata Grim.

When Lorenor came across the man's energy patterns, he felt something very disturbing. His vision shifted to the gray world of the Antifirmanent, the ghost-land. Lorenor could see the man before him but at the same time, he saw another man. The spiritual essence of Xanbata Grim belonged to a certain other individual. A key figure in Lorenor's past that was part of the reason Lorenor had become who was today. Blinking in shock, the mutant saw the bandaged eyes of the fellow, the wild hair, and the sword he wielded. Also, that trade marked black jacket was on his person as well.

How can this be!? I know you! Lorenor thought to himself. Then, the mutant clutched his temporalis. Falling down to one knee, the mutant looked up at the fellow before him. In his mind's eye, energy passed up through his cerebral cortex. The energy was the living vibration of the dark lady, N'Jal. Lorenor kept staring at the maddeningly familiar form of the zatoichi before him. He slammed one fist against the ground beneath him. At that point, Lorenor's mind cleared. He saw images of the zatoichi before fighting alongside the mutant on a distant battlefield many lifetimes ago. It seemed like aeons ago. In the back of his head, N'Jal rewarded the mutant with a sliver of knowledge. That man was Tarry Whealer, an ally of yours in a past life. Consider his words very carefully.

Seeing the images of the zatoichi before him, the mutant stood up after his momentary episode lapsed. His hand moved away from his temporalis region and he carefully looked at Xanbata Grim on The Firmanent. The man that stood before him currently was not Tarry Whealer, but another fellow all together. Lorenor couldn't believe that they were one and the same, but N'Jal had revealed the truth to him. Looking at Xanbata Grim, Lorenor moved in close to the fellow. He took a deep inhale of the man's deathly scent. He had blood on his hands and was no stranger to destruction.

"Might I have the honour of knowing your name?" Lorenor asked the blue-eyed, handsome fellow before him. "Do you know someone named Tarry Whealer?" Lorenor asked as a follow up question. As he asked the question, he extended his left hand towards Xanbata Grim so that the stranger could shake it in greeting. "If you are looking for work, you've come to the right place."

[grim137]

Lorenor’s reaction was a curious, if not overly dramatic looking, one indeed. First there was the uncomfortable silence as the two just stood there in the rain staring at each other, neither really moving or saying much. While the two looked at one another for the first time in years, each analyzing the other with their own special senses Lorenor suddenly seemed to collapse under some unseen force for a moment, slamming his fist into the muddy ground. Xanbata moved forward as if to help Lorenor but before he could whatever ailed the ghoul subsided and he was able to make it back to his feet.

At the mention of Tarry Whealer, Xanbata simply smiled a half smile.

Now there’s a name I haven’t heard in awhile. Forgot it used to belong to me.

“My name’s Xanbata Grim” said the vampire as he shook the extended hand of the priest “and yes I knew Tarry. Quite well in fact,” he said in a calm yet still friendly manner.

It was at about that moment that the crack of lightning lit of the cloudy sky followed quickly by the subsequent loud boom of thunder made Xanbata suddenly become self conscious of the storm and aware of the fact that the heavy rain was soaking his clothes and making them stick uncomfortably to his skin.

“I’ll be happy to explain it,” he said, opting to ignore his new found discomfort for the moment “but it’s a long story and I don’t particularly like this rain, if you have some place dry to discuss things that would be preferable.”

[Mutant_Lorenor]

"Right this way, Xanbata."

Lorenor smiled as he looked upon the handsome fellow. There were similarities between him and the zatoichi he remembered. However, the similarities were vague at best. Xanbata was clearly a different person with the soul of someone who was a dear friend many ages prior. Lorenor walked towards The Meeting Hall of the city. The building looked just as twisted as the other buildings, misshapen and outfitted with bizarre angles. A threshold surrounded the main front gates of the building and this threshold was constructed at an eerie forty-five degree angle that slightly resembled a broken limb. Rain poured down in sheets during that cold night.

However, the cold in Raiaera was nothing compared to the cold in Salvar. Lorenor had ties in Salvar and traveled between the two great nations often. In Salvar, he was a ranking-member of The Church of Ethereal Sway, and in Raiaera, he was a ranking-member of the dark-clergy. As one of The High-Priests of N'Jal, Lorenor had considerable pull with the state of affairs in the city. Certain members of the dark-clergy were ranking higher on the food chain than he, but Lorenor was comfortable where he was. He had a certain special place with The Forsaken. He knew he was one of the first that made the pilgrimage to The Eye of Fate and discovered The N'Jal Protocol.

Lorenor thought fondly back to that escapade, and remembered that his partner, MetalDrago Scorpio, had assisted him in the discovery of The Eye of Fate. Lorenor smiled softly as he thought about The Captain of the guards. Currently, he was off in an adventure in Salvar that Lorenor was aware of.

Walking into the building known as The Meeting Hall, the structure had a certain corrupted air about it. Lorenor moved forward briskly knowing that Xanbata could keep up. "There." Lorenor pointed to an empty table and moved towards it. He offered Xanbata Grim a seat. All around them, they were in a cafeteria of sorts, Forsaken were in a state of relaxation. Food was being consumed and conversation had over ale. This was a central source of information gathering. When Lorenor pulled the chair out for Xanbata Grim, the mutant took the chair opposite his position and sat down in it casually. His expression was a neutral one.

A moment or two later, a waitress walked over to their position and put a menu on their table. Lorenor thanked the girl, and moved to examine the menu. All though, truth be told, he knew the contents by heart. It was a simple formality to act like he was being social. Lorenor looked at Xanbata Grim after scanning the pages of the menu.

"I'll treat you to whatever you like." Lorenor said. "Monster dishes come from the depths of Lindequalme, and all over Raiaera. The Elves that cook here work diligently to create the best meals around." He said proudly of his fellow members. "Now, Xanbata, if you want ale or something stronger, I recommend Salvarn Whiskey." He said casually, with a grin on his face. "We can wash our dinner down with that. Or perhaps you prefer the Vodka of the Dwarves." Lorenor was casually breaking the ice, a trained talent that came with his subterfuge training in Salvar. Lorenor waited to see how Xanbata Grim would react.

[grim137]

“Of course,” responded Xanbata returning Lorenor's smile with that of his own.

The cold, aristocratic killer mounted his horse and proceeded to follow the priest at a slow trot. Like himself, Lorenor had also changed, though by how much, Xanbata could not yet be certain. The vampire had been blind the last time he'd been in the company of the ghoul and his memory of those days was a bit hazy in places (a permanent side effect of his last resurrection).

Xanbata decided not to dwell on this too much, he'd learn more later. Instead he decided to get a better look at the city he'd once had such a strange love hate relationship with. Raiaera had truly changed. Now instead of bright sky's, and ornate architecture the city looked like a war zone. Buildings we're destroyed, the land coated with soot, dust and blood and the once finely paved roads now cracked and destroyed to the point one could hardly tell the difference between them and the ground.

In many ways Xanbata was sad that the journey to Lorenor's new place of residence had been so short, he would have loved to get a better look at the city. However a quick glance upward at the menacing yet regal looking structure shifted the occasionally fickle minded vampire's interest away from exploring the rest of Raiaera (for the moment) and back towards his original goal.

“Impressive,” he muttered under his breath as he and Lorenor passed through the front gate.

Upon the arrival Xanbata hopped off his horse. A guard, clad in chainmail and armed with a dangerous looking pike grabbed the reigns of the vampire's steed and informed the vampire that it would be fed, groomed and kept in the stable until he was ready for it again. Xanbata simply nodded his acknowledgment and continued to follow his old friend.

Lorenor led him down a grand hallway. The place resonated with a sort of dark energy that seemed to wrap itself around him. It was surprisingly comforting. Lorenor led the vampire down to a elegantly crafted table that looked as though it was meant for large dinner parties, where upon pulling out his chair, a corrupted elf girl seemed to appear and offer to take Xanbata's rain soaked coat and armor. He allowed the woman to take his coat, but decided to keep his armor on. He was then told by the woman that his coat would be dried.

Once the elf woman left, Xanbata took his seat.

“Whiskey mixed lightly with water will be fine for me,” he said looking over the menu “as for food I'll have the seasoned boar stake, cooked rare,” Xanbata laid the menu down on the table in front of him on the table and looked Lorenor in the eyes “I assume that by now you've realized I didn't just come here for dinner,” added the bloodsucker with a smile, lest Lorenor mistake his serious tone for an unfriendly one.

[Mutant_Lorenor]

Once seated, the mutant had a better chance to observe his newly found companion. There were questions that needed asking. Answers that needed to be spoken. Lorenor ordered his meal, the flank of a Kraeschen War Beast, brown Raiaeran rice, and lots of hot sauce. Monster meat had become the primary diet of the mutant. Monster meat was rich in nutrients and plentiful, nobody cared if you killed a monster. Lorenor had learned that valuable survival lesson ages ago. Thinking back to his early nights in Haidia, the mutant tried to recall the initial encounter with Tarry Whealer with justifiably so seemed like lifetimes ago.

Lorenor tapped his chin as the drinks were served. He'd ordered Blue Vodka of Dwarven make and good vintage. The drink was chilled to perfection, two pitchers placed on either side of the table. One was for Xanbata, the other was for Lorenor. When their meals arrived, the mutant nodded to the waitress and found himself relaxed. Xanbata clearly appeared to be good company and the mutant was enjoying himself. He clearly thought of The Captain, MetalDrago Scorpio. For some reason, he found himself thinking about The Captain, who was his dark Brother in arms. Lorenor hoped to establish such a relationship with Xanbata.

So when Xanbata spoke, Lorenor nodded casually.

"I guessed that would be the case." Lorenor began. "I am wondering, why do you choose now to resurface? I have not heard from Tarry Whealer in a long time. He was a close ally and a dear friend." The mutant thought fondly of the zatoichi named Tarry Whealer. He smiled at that as he drank the vodka, it left a burning sensation in his throat and made the mutant sigh with pleasure. Burning, the pain was considerable but no match for his threshold. Lorenor ate from the dish he ordered as he talked to Xanbata. He considered the situation ahead. "If you are looking for work, you have come to the right place."

Suddenly, someone rushed past the defenses of the meeting hall. A dark intent radiated from that certain someone. Dinner was literally cut short as an unknown male ran directly towards Lorenor. The man yelled gibberish in a foreign tongue. Lorenor did not understand the words that the assailant was speaking, but he knew the intent behind the man's actions. A prevalida dagger was pulled free from the man's clothing as he moved to slash at Lorenor's person. Reacting quickly, the world slowed down for the mutant as the assailant attacked. Already, several forsaken guards were moving against the attacker.

Taking a defensive action, the mutant moved against the assailant's attack. Lorenor reached in an attempt to grab the dagger from out of the trained assassin's hand. Noticing that the fellow wore a mask, the mutant cursed. However, he continued to concentrate on disabling the threat.

"Xanbata!" Lorenor called out quickly for the man to react. For the moment, the mutant was concerned with keeping his head on his neck. The man slashed outward elegantly with tremendous skill. But Lorenor, with his enhanced senses was capable of reacting with that much more of an edge. Unable to draw a weapon, the mutant blocked the prevalida strike with his Aegis Bracer, and the battle began.