Cause and Effect Rated: M

[Mari]

Closed to Tobias Stalt
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Quiet days.

They were few and far between. Amari adored her Master. How could she not? The man-child had her wrapped around his finger. He was her world, literally and figuratively. What little freedoms she had been given were all false illusions, only granted to further root his clawed grasp into her psyche.

Still.

Even she needed a break from his tantrums and cold stares.


Amari struggled to keep up with him, and his orders. Some as inane as ‘make me breakfast’ others far more startling like ‘kill that child’ despite what they were, she found herself complying. Each and every damn time. Some of the orders hurt her. Not physically...not even emotionally or mentally. It reminded her of the day she first ‘let loose’ killing each and every man who defiled her. Those actions...it felt like they tore apart her very being.

What helped that feeling, funnily enough - was nature. The forest. The trees.

It’s why she sat there now. Amidst the forest that surrounded the sanctum. She rested against the trunk of a particularly large, old tree. She sat atop a pile of furs, wearing knee high fur-lined suede boots. Black cotton pants tucked neatly into her footware. Her top, or what little lace that composed her top - was nothing more than black, thin intricate lace in a weaving, creeping vine pattern. Clinging to the more delicate areas of her form. Most of this was covered by a large, deep emerald green crushed velvet cloak.

She lifted a lithe arm free of the cloak and stared at her skin. Once pristine, pale skin was marred by thin black cracks. She ran a thumb over them. They didn’t hurt, and there was no signs of any internal injuries. So why were these cracks appearing on her skin? They were becoming more and more prominent as time went on.

Then there was her eyes...Amari didn’t have access to a mirror often, but recently she caught sight of her reflection - and it unnerved her. How red shards pierced the golden filaments of her eyes, how they seeped into her whites.

“What is happening to me…?” She questioned herself as she leaned her head against the bark of the tree. Closing her eyes she focused on the gentle thrum of the tree. It’s life. It’s mana. It bought her comfort.

[Tobias Stalt]

What is happening to me?

The words reverberated in his thoughts and spiraled through the word around him. Familiar darkness gave way to resplendent daylight across the snowy trail. Morning had come earlier than he expected, though in the far north of Salvar time was relative. Days bled into night as people trod across the uncharted land, and people lost their way in the unforgiving wastes. Tobias was among the few who knew the way, one of those given the secret of safe passage by Ulroke.

His fingers moved across rigid bark, and blood welled up at the point of contact as the acrid, metallic scent wafted across his nostrils. "Gnarlbark," he mused. "The wildwood is not far now, and Berevar beyond." He recalled lessons in Althanian geography from his youth, back when his father tried to groom him for the life of a merchant.

"The spirits of the Old Gods echo through the trees," he recited the Lore, "tired, ancient, and angry. They seek to separate the old world from the new." Tobias touched the overgrowth with a tenderness that betrayed his fascination. "I want to know," he whispered, "what is happening to me."

Only the howling wind gave answer. Tobias frowned and clenched his fist round the frozen thorns. Visceral juices seeped through the cracks in his flesh and crimson splashed in the snow, so cold that even blood froze instantly. His breath turned to steam before his eyes. "The gods don't know any better than I do. About any of this."

When his hand opened, the husk of a vine flowed away on the wind. Tobias let out a sigh, then strode along the path through the Godsgrove. Just beyond, the Sanctum awaited. He paused for only as moment as he heard a voice, quiet, unintelligible. The woman appeared through the thick, snowy veil; sat against a tree, a woman cold as the world around her looked lost in thought.

Tobias felt his fingers reflexively touch the hilt of one of his many blades. Out this far, she could only be a Crimson Hand. He had never seen her before.

"Hello."

[Mari]

Amari slowly rose her eyes at the uneasy greeting.

A man stood several metres away. His golden eyes focused on her relaxed form. Hand on the hilt of his weapon. Her nose wrinkled as her own eyes travelled down his form. He wore thick, black leathers. Nothing out of the ordinary for Salvar’s wastelands. Tiny droplets of blood stained the snow where he stood.

Injured?

No.

He didn’t seem like he was wounded. It may have just been a scratch. Unsurprising really. It seemed the very trees themselves hated the presence of all who entered the forest. Amari absently stroked a protruding root from the tree she leaned against. The root, just like the tree ebbed with a positive reaction to her touch. Unseen by the naked eye, and unfelt by any around her. Even Amari had been oblivious to it for quite some time. It was only recently she started taking note of such shifts and things.

“Hello.” Amari responded in turn.

The woman pushed herself off the ground and took a few steps forward. Clearly unafraid of the man. She extended her hand in form of greeting. Anyone this far out was either stupid, insane, lost, or a part of the Crimson Hand. Either way, Amari was in an amicable mood. “Amari.”

The man before her stared blankly at her hand before raising his eyes to meet hers. His demeanour oozed suspicion. Amari shrugged, crossing her arms.

“Are you lost?”