An Apple A Day (Dhalvasha, Ihnar)

by **Ihnar** on January 2nd, 2012, 4:22 pm

Ihnar looked Dhalv in his eyes rather nervously, backing a few steps away, closer to the corner he was heading towards. The pycon listened carefully to the warning the doctor gave him. This seemed so different than in books.. perhaps it was the fact he wasn't human. Pycons didn't have organs. They couldn't be poisoned or diseased. Clearly humans were more sensitive, if something as small as a miss-dose could kill them. Was this what he wanted?

A small wave of regret washed over the pycon. He tried to keep his face at the same pose. That man would throw him out, if he knew Ihnar was doubting. This was what he wanted. If someone could die.. wouldn't it at least be better to try and help them..? Ihnar looked at Eri briefly, his feelings deepening a bit. If he was to.. say find Eri dying on the streets, he would rather have the skills needed to drag him back to life.

Ihnar had to stand on his toes to reach the corner of the rag, and pull it away from Dhalvs hands. He grimly noticed a slight problem. The rag was moist. It was insanely hard to keep a hold of it with his clay hands.
Simply do not return..
Dhalvs words echoed in his mind, repeating themselves over and over again. Sometimes he could swear the tone of the words was changing. Sounding menacing.
Simply do not return..
... it was nearly a hiss now. A silent mans growl, getting louder and louder.
Simply do not return..
He could run away now. The man would never find him and Eri was going to be fine too. The images of Eri laying on the street, unconscious, bleeding came back to him. He had to know how to stop it. He didn't want to lose anyone.

Ihnar blinked his eyes, returning back to this world. He had been standing there, shaking with a feverish expression on his face.
Dully he noted the rag was long gone, just sitting there on the floor, with little smudges of clay on it.
He had to sit down, he could feel the room spinning. With a tired slump he sat down on the floor, gripping his hand around the rag.

'... I can do it..j-just give me time..' He whispered to the rag, sweeping his hand over it as if petting a small animal. Pycons couldn't cry, the thing was as mysterious to him as the stars in the sky. He had learned most races cried, dropping water from their eyes. They seemed to do it when they were sad. He wished he could do it now, so he wouldn't seem so alien to the doctor. Ihnar couldn't muster the strength to turn and face Dhalvs face. He knew he would be unsatisfied with him. He also knew he had ruined his only chance, by failing a thing as simple as this. Explaining would be useless. Lies wouldn't save anything anymore. It was over, the game has been lost. His body was still shivering, another sign of his weakness. Another thing to be used against him.

by **Eridanus** on January 16th, 2012, 12:13 pm

A man stood with his dagger. Crimson red dripped steadily, and he flicked it impatiently, splashes and blots of the same substance throughout his clothes, on his boots.

Standing atop a pile of bodies, similar in their seeming randomness, different in their lethal wounds.

All from the same weapon. Be it lacerations of stabs there was no difference. The butcher of men stood atop them all, cloak and hood dark red from the constant stain of blood.

He grinned, for his heart was jubilant. With the death of these fifteen innocents that now lay wretched below his boots he had finally hit a body count of a hundred of ten. All these years of planning, of secrecy and subterfuge.

Finally they would be at its end, and he had even specially chosen the very last victim for this vile act.

He was not insane, oh no. Neither was he slaying for the perverse pleasure of doing so, though he admitted he found joy in ending lives, of proving his superiority over them. It was just that the strong ruled the weak, and so he had seen fit that in death they would serve a greater purpose than alive.

Zoom out. Dark room, light barely filters in.

Closed Door.

A single figure atop a pile of corpses in the middle of the room.

The door opens. Light slowly filters in from the outside.

"Time to put your hunt to an end here," The Man whispered. The complete silence of the night carries his voice forward to the figure stepping in.

Renault von Vaknui. Witch Hunter. Son of Fire.

Even the darkness feared him, but The Man did not. Every move, every step, all of it had been calculated carefully culminating in this one symbolic moment.

It will come to an end today.

Both grinned.

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

With a sudden jolt, Eridanus woke, sweat streaming steadily throughout his entire body, his physical form though warm his heart was filled with chills. He had not been getting these nightmares since a little over half a century ago. He thought it had been resolved along with his other sins when saved by Hope then.

Blinking several times, the memories of the earlier proceedings came back to the vantha.

Coinsmith. The Organization. Voodoo! They had returned. He was found. It was related somehow. It could not be pure coincidence that these nightmares returned the minute they appeared.

He looked up and realized that he was in a room. He was most definitely moved. He was pretty surprised he had not yet been looted, killed or sold in slavery at his vulnerable state. Sunberth was not for the weak, and it was where the only law was the power of one's own sword.

As his eyes adjusted to the light, he tried to sit up, but winced when his body was racked with pain and aches, and he realized that though he tried to sit up his body felt weak like a feather, yet heavy enough like a block of stone.

He could not move. What other things happened?

He clenched his eyes shut again, trying to calm himself down and organize his thoughts properly. Systematic thought. Systematic thought!

The vial. Poison. So he had been poisoned, but by what he did know. It was a relief of sorts it was not an instantly lethal one, but he had no idea what to expect.

Eridanus opened his eyes again, looking around and trying to find someone. Anyone.