True Understanding

[Ioder]

The angle moved with the stoic brilliance befitting the regal warlord he had become. He held his chin up and eyes forward as he levitate across the cold padded snow of salvar. His long coat tails dragged along the snow leaving only the slightest impression behind. Fortunately he found himself without any tag along help today, they would simply complicate things.

Ioder, the White Winged General of the Risen, was here on business. Though in his mind it was more pleasure than anything else. The rumors of a hermit scientist imbued with the fragmented soul of the Forgotten Pode circulated through the ranks of his army. But when the words we spat that she was a Briarheart, a plant based abomination of nature, Ioder had to meet her. He felt compelled to at least understand who or what this woman was. Be this a good experience or bad he had to see what she could do. Under the shroud of night Ioder left without a word toward this frozen region.

The bone chilling winds of this northern country chapped Ioder's face. He hated the cold so he made sure to wear his heaviest jacket under his trademark orange cloak. Though it kept him from freezing in this bitter waist he still felt the breeze's unrelenting assault. A warm cloud left his lips each time he let out a breath. Through the snowfall he could see the outline of a small building looming just over the hilltop.

Must be the place, he thought as he approached the shack-like building. It was surrounded by dead and withering trees, presumably due to the never ending snowfall this region was known for. Ioder felt a pit forming in the base of his stomach, it was true he was nervous to see what awaited him. I hope this goes well. I don't want a repeat of my encounter with Tobias. he gripped his shoulder where he let Tobias slip a blade in.

He let his hand fall to the hilt of his blade hidden under his cloak. This was now a force of habit for the angle; nowadays danger was a regulate thing he faced. His blade Halure now proved to be his only reassurance in times like these. No matter what was to come Ioder had to be ready to face this retired evil. The men he commanded referred to this witch as extremely dangerous and primordial in regards to her power. His goal here merely to see what the worst of what this world could throw at him. Gauging his resistance or allies for the indignation that was to come by his hand. This world would soon be purged of all impurities and re-paved by glorious revolution. The war was coming, would this witch prove an obstacle or vantage point.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

It was my favorite bottle: Three-Headed Hydra black label, from 1780. It was a gift from an old associate in the assassins guild in Corone, marking the tenth anniversary of the night we eliminated several high-ranking government officials in the riskiest contract I was ever a part of. The old man was sentimental about those long three days, but I could not refuse the gift. It had been in my possession for about two years now, but I had only peeled the crimson wax seal off about two weeks ago.

The first sip always kicked your teeth in with its overpowering aroma and the bitter taste of leather and cigar tobacco. If you could stomach it, those sensations soon gave way to the far more delightful sensations of caramel and spice that had a light, woody flavor to it that lasted for several minutes. The amber liquid served its purpose well, soothing your body and warming your soul while softly washing away your worries and cares.

May as well have been a glass of water I brought into my reading room with me, for how fast my body can process the stuff. Ever since I became a Briarheart in the snowy foothills of Eiskalt, I found that I was unable to get drunk anymore. The whole breathing poison, growing vines, and spitting acid stuff is really handy and all; but boy, do I miss the days of throwing back half a bottle in the halls of the Seventh Sanctum and waking up not remembering what had pushed me to get blackout drunk in the first place.

Three ice cubes clanked together in the glass tumbler full of black label as I carried it to the beaten-up old leather chair I ended most of my nights in. A hearty blaze roared and crackled within the brick fireplace, warming the space while the cold winds of Salvar howled just beyond the walls.

A strong gust picked up, howling between the trees and rattling their branches outside. Man, I really miss the warmer nights of Corone, I mused to myself as I set the glass down on the table next to the chair. I really should pack everything up and relocate. Probably find a nice, secluded ruin to fix up in Concordia and continue my work there.

I thought of the cages and the test subjects held within in the lab below my feet. Moving them across the sea would be a pain in the ass, that's for sure. And that's not taking into account the awkward questions that Imperial customs agents would ask me about importing sick animals. It would be best if I just wrapped up everything here and started the next phase of experiments in Corone, where I would be able to find fresh subjects and plenty of empty space where I wouldn't have curious neighbors asking dangerous questions.

How my work hadn't been uncovered by the Church yet astounded me. Of course, it helped to have a friend in their ranks.

...I wonder how Stalt is doing nowadays, anyway.

I flopped down into the battered seat, a disgusting humanoid pile of vines and bone and disease. I was alone, so I saw no need to keep up the literal illusion of my former humanity. I missed it sorely, though. I picked up a leather-bound tome that sat on the arm of the chair, and opened it to a particular passage I had marked.

The book was a treatise on diseases, one of many that I collected over the past couple years, ever since the campaign that saw me murder half a country and get a bounty so big put on my head that I was eventually out-smarted and burned at the stake--twice. Which was ultimately why I'm all vines and stuff now. The Briarheart was a blessing and a curse, at the same time.

--Where was I? Oh, yes. The passage in particular I decided to read tonight was a chapter full of rambling about the discovery of a virus that would not attack its victim's muscles and organs, but rather it consumed its victim's memories by going after the connections between certain neurons in their brain. I found this finding to be of particular interest, and thought that it warranted further exploration and experimentation.

Would it be possible to engineer a strain that could go after a certain kind of memory? Perhaps someone wanted to forget a loved one that they are unable to move on from. Could a couple pills take care of those problems, without having to consult a memory mage that might snoop around in places where they shouldn't be? Or perhaps a little something the old guild could use to neutralize a threat while keeping them alive? Say, a political enemy who just needs their memory absolutely shredded to the point where they are declared an amnesiac and unfit for office? The possibilities were endless.

All I needed were a few samples and a string of sleepless nights.

[Ioder]

An icy wind swept through the frosted waste that was Salvar. Yet the grounds that this little shop of horrors stood seemed especially desolate and lackluster. As if there was a fog of death seeping through its' wooden walls plaguing the land. The seraphim wasn't ready for this, a mission of revelation, the first of many to come as the unseen hand of the Monarchy.

As the gust blew his tattered hood from his head he reached for his side. Fishing for the tender hand full that was his sacred relics, the Tarot Hierarchy's Deck of Fate. He held onto these powerful tools of divination as a token of his former life. One that he wishes to forget, yet is compelled to keep close to his heart. But that was long ago and Ioder was a new man.

More than once did the cards bring me visions of Madison of Blight. It has brought me the past and future of the plagueslinger, both equally tainted by evil incarnate. She was a devil wearing the skin of a mortal, someone not be fooled with. Despite these truths Ioder needed to see this with his own eyes.

In the recent months of isolation cooped up in his castle Ioder has begun to slip. They began small as just minor lapses of time and awakening up with a head ache. But now they come more frequently and to greater extremes often ending in the unexplained deaths of many of his friends and comrades. His time was short for this world leaving him only a brief time to gather forces.

He stood eyes wide taking in the birch wood door. Inscribed above the it was something written in hastened fashion. Though the corrosion of this weather has caused the line to fade though it looked to read, "no trespassing." With a lump in his throat and a pit paining his stomach he left three knocks on the door.

Knock... Knock... knock...

"Excuse me," he uttered as confidently as he could manage. "If my words can reach you please open up. I'm in need of shelter from this storm." He caught himself impersonating the voice of a young girl by this point, and with a radiating light quickly altered his form to accommodate this ruse.

Sandy blond hair hiding under a now black attire with piercing green eyes. He appeared to be no older than fourteen with a rather small frame. It was best to always hide your identity dealing with gods among mortals.

She banged at the door a second time before yelling more loudly. "Please I've been wandering for days and I haven't any food or water!"

Hidden under her trans-modified outfit was both his relics and sacred blade. With one hand pleading on the door and the other on her hilt Ioder, Yodel rather was ready to test the witch of her vision. It didn't matter the outcome of the fight, either side could win but the opportunity to gauge the blight was to important to ignore. Indignation was to be soon upon us.