Unleashed (Closed to Storm Veritas)

[Storm Veritas]

"I first noticed it when he flung me into Alerar..."

You got off EASY, my friend.

While Shinsou was thrown into Alerar, Storm Veritas had been duped in a different manner, tricked into a wormhole of sorts that shuttered him off to Raiera. There he had faced and unspeakable trial, which he oft felt sure would kill him. He escaped, but his right forearm would serve as a permanent reminder. His skin was midnight black from wrist to elbow, a sharp contrast from the tanned white elsewhere. The journey out and home had lasted weeks, but it had aged him years. Years felt increasingly precious to the rapidly graying adventurer.

What it had cost Whitevale was far more dire. Without the protection of its two near-deities, the once bustling town had been entirely decimated. A great field of shrapnel and ash lay in its place. Years of work and growth of the Brotherhood had been rendered meaningless. Hundreds of lives lost; the pervasive odor of death fortunately missing with the overwhelming acrid smoky flavor in its place. While stone walls remained, the wooden structures had been nearly altogether erased, undoubtedly many still filled with the faithful followers waiting for the triumphant return of Storm and Shinsou. No building had been left upright entirely, and none looked capable of sustaining life. The fields of grass had been painted uniformly gray with drifts of ash coating them.

They believed in us, and paid with their lives. Because we were too weak, and too fucking stupid.

Standing and walking away from Shinsou, the electromancer dragged a toe through a tall heap of ash. A little glimmer caught his eye; a piece of metal not completely melted in one home's devastating blaze. Reflexively, the magician raised a hand, the little metal object doing its duty by wrestling from the wreckage and floating harmlessly up his hand. This little widget never made its way to him, as Veritas jumped back and turned away at the horror. It was a tiny spoon, still wrapped on one end by a macabre mix of charred flesh and bone. The hand size was unmistakable; he wouldn't look a second time to confirm.

His throat lurched with sour stomach acid as his heart beat rapidly and breath shortened. A few beads of sweat had formed under the tautly pulled gray hair, the new wrinkles in his forehead creating a trench that would escort the perspiration safely around his eyes. Wide-eyed and desperate, he looked up to find his closest friend sharing his horror. Shinsou had seen this abomination just as clearly. The Telgradian's golden eyes did enough talking; this was a brutality that would be avenged.

The inclination was to lash out. Swear at the faultless Shinsou, stomp off into the wilderness and start killing, an attempt to draw Mephisto's attention. Since his return from the forest, Storm had felt both older and more lethal than ever, with no patience for half measures. His own legacy and holdings were meaningless; there was but one task in the world and that was the killing of this great evil. Still, Shinsou was right; it was their impetuous natures and fury that had killed every living thing in Whitevale. Strong and stupid was a strategy which had proven terrible.

"I can raise the metal; pull out and allow us to sort and separate. You be the judge of what looks worthwhile."

The fury and sadness subsided in the face of the wizened wizard, as he raised his hands to shoulder height with a blank look of near tranquility. His eyes closed as he focused, hundreds of small objects - nails (and spoons) and belt buckles (and spoons) and keys (spoons) and knives (yes) slowly raised from under their ashy graves and danced gently in the breeze. He could hold them here as long as he needed, but within a few seconds the crunching sound of his friend walking informed him it would be a short term. When the footsteps stopped, Storm exhaled, allowing the pieces to fall as his younger friend closely examined the find. Elsewhere the metal pieces all lay atop the piles from which they were exhumed, and Veritas kept his eyes fixed upon Shinsou to avert his gaze from the image that haunted him.

"Thank you. I think you've found us a good start, although I'll need a bit of time to know for sure." Shinsou spoke with purpose and focus; he was burying emotion beneath wisdom, an admirable trick that the wizard had yet to learn. "We'll find him. We won't forget."

Storm's eyes watered as he looked down at his shoes, certain that his feet offered no answers. The stall allowed him to breathe a moment to avoid speaking in a cracked voice. Fury was for the confident; now was a moment of simple sadness. It too, would pass, but it would not be replaced with diplomacy or stoicism.

"When it's time to kill him, I'll remember the little spoon."