Dreams and Change (Solo)

[Sulavik]

68th Winter 510AV Sulavik had not gone out the day before, instead pacing and plotting in his little room, trying to think of exactly who the three "K&B&T" were. So far he had a long list of nothing. He had absolutely no idea, though he was sure Solat would. He had, however, thought it safer to stay indoors for the day, so that K&B&T might think he had stayed away like they had warned him to. However, if the threat was serious enough, they would know in three minutes flat that he had seen Solat this morning. He didn't care. He had to see him. He ran outside as soon as he knew Solat would be at work, forgetting his cloak. He ran straight down the flights of stairs, after locking his door, and ran right out of the Boarding House. A loud "PETCH!" echoed the Nitrozian Plaza, and Makil was seen running back up the flights of stairs to get his cloak. It was damn cold outside. Sulavik emerged wrapped in his black cloak and descended down the stairs, letter in hand and wrapped in a thick black cloak. Much more calm now. The tall blue man made his way as inconspicuously and calmly down the familiar alley leading to the shipyards. Luck had held, and only Solat was on guard duty. Whether Solat was the only person watching was another matter. Sulavik kept quiet as he walked over to the little room, though Solat perked up and waved happily, grin all over his face. "Sulavik!" he cried, and Sulavik calmly rose a finger to his lips. The serious look on his face made Solat's enthusiasm die out, and a quizzical look replaced the joy on his face. Sulavik sidled his way up to the open window in the guard house. "Hi," he murmured. Solat returned the greeting just as quietly. "Hi. What's wrong?" Instead of answering, he silently handed over the letter. He watched with furrowed brow as Solat's face grew more and more alarmed. Solat handed it back slowly, though he kept his hand gripped with Sul's after he had returned it. "Sulavik, what? When did you get this? Did you see who gave it to you?" The worry that graced his features made further concern well up inside Sulavik. Solat was sure to know who they were, and if he was concerned, then Sulavik would be terrified. Akalak or not, these were three people threatening to break his knee caps into thousands of shards of bone. "Two nights ago it was slipped under my door. I didn't see who gave it to me, but I know it was two men." Sulavik paused, and interlaced his fingers with Solat's. "Do you know who they are, Solat?" Solat looked up, straight into Sulavik's eyes. "They're Kelon, my boss, and his two lackeys, Brigil and Tiler. I am sorry, Sulavik. I didn't mean to get you involved in this." For a moment, pure rage welled up inside of Makil. He let out a roar of anger, of hatred, and slapped Solat hard across the face. A red mark immediately appeared on Solat's cheek, and a bruise would follow in a couple of days. "YOU PETCHING CERULEST!" roared Makil. "How DARE you get me involved in your shady work! I'm here to work, SOLAT, not to play games with an impotent poofter human!" Makil pulled out his Lakan with a cry, unaware of the sheer look of terror on Solat's face at this point, and would have stabbed downwards into Solat's face if it were not for an interruption -- NO! And suddenly, a panting Sulavik was back in control, Lakan hanging limply from his wrist, and shrunken away from Solat. "I am so, sorry Solat. Makil, my second soul, took control. He is a soul of anger and rage. I am sorry." Sulavik looked up, bracing himself to see an angry Solat readied to desert him, yet all he saw was a Solat with reddened cheek and a questioning look on his face. "Second soul?" Sulavik sighed in relief, thankful he still had him. "Yes. The curse of the Akalaks. Ever torn between two souls, two parts of ourselves - the balanced and the unbalanced. Makil is my unbalanced." Sulavik, you helioc. That man has endangered your life, your work, your MISSION! Do you not want to see him dead? No, Makil. I may be descending down the path of evil to kill my uncle and my father, and I may even be okay, even pleased, with that. But I will not kill Solat. "I understand," murmured Solat, touching his cheek ruefully. "And for the record, I forgive you." Sulavik opened his arms wide, and was gratified when Solat embraced him wholeheartedly. Their first hug. He rested a cheek against Solat's head, and was slightly disappointed when Solat pulled away after a few moments. "Go. Kelon is on duty today. We do not want him to catch you." Sulavik nodded and made to turn away. Looking back once over his shoulder, he waved at Solat. And prayed fervently to any which Gods were listening that "K&B&T" did not find him.

[Sulavik]

69th Winter 510AV It seemed that Sulavik was never to get a good night's sleep in Ravok. Once again, he was awakened in the middle of the night by a loud banging at the door. His dreams had been disturbed this time by images of his uncle staying alive, though blood spurting from his neck on the floor, still spouting off information about the opening of the Tuvya Sasaran, so he was not particularly enjoying sleep. It still did not mean he was particularly happy to be awakened from sleep. He swung his legs over from the small cramped bed to the floor, trying to get the energy to wander over to the door. The knocking continued, louder than ever. He made to push himself up, when he was halted by an incredulous Makil. What are you doing? Don't you remember the last time someone knocked at the door in the middle of the night? You got a letter where you were threatened to have your knees broken! You're such a worry wart, Makil. It's fine. Still extremely sleeply, he got up, ignoring Makil's apprehension and slowly opened the door. "Hello?" he murmured, whereby he was completely shocked when his two arms were grabbed and he was pulled into the room, by two strong men themselves and slammed into a wall. His head ka-thunked against the back wall. "Ow," he whined, still more annoyed by this intrusion than angry. His eyes adjusting to the light, he finally saw who had grabbed him. Two thickset burly men, with dark eyes, eyebrows and hair were holding him, whilst a somewhat short but built man with red hair stood before him. An Inarta in Ravok. "Hello Brigil, Tiler and Kelon, am I right?" Sulavik greeted them pleasantly, deceptively so. He could feel Makil's outright anger boiling, though for the moment Sulavik managed to keep control. Patience, Makil. You'll have your turn soon enough. The shorter one, Kelon, grinned and clapped his hands. "Ah, our note reached him then! Excellent." Sulavik smiled sweetly at him. "Why, yes it did. I'm sure you three are absolutely outstanding kneebreakers, though at this point in time, I would certainly appreciate it if you let me go." A rumbling laugh, in sync, from Brigil and Tiler. Kelon again kept control. "I'm afraid we cannot do that, Sulavik dear. You didn't stay away from Solat. You were breaking his focus. He kept missing meetings. Now we'll have to make you. Brigil, start." He gestured to the two lackeys as if letting them know it was time to start. Time to start. He assumed Brigil was the one who let go of his arm, and Tiler moved forward to press him arms against the other of Sul's so Sul was torso to torso with Tiler. Brigil cast around the room, attempting to find something he could use to shatter Sulavik's kneecaps with. His face lit up as he found Sulavik's Lakan, resting on the lonely dresser. Picking it up and holding it by the sheathed blade, he prepared to shatter the hilt against his knee. Makil shifted his attention, a predatory smile gracing his face as he looked Tiler right in the eye. They knew Sulavik was gay, and though he was not, he might as well put on a show. He thrust his hips forward, crotch pressing on crotch with Tiler. He watched as Tiler's face contorted in disgust. "Freak," Tiler spat in his face. "Do not touch me like that." Makil licked his lips, tasting Tiler's spit. "But baby, it feels so -- GOOD!" With that last word, Makil swung his knee up with as much strength as was possible in his lithe thighs, straight into Tiler's crotch. The man doubled over, absolute pain contorting his face, going purple in the cheeks, and fell to the ground attempting to clutch them in safety. Makil smirked at the man, and turned to Brigil, who was flying towards him in a panic. Kelon stood in the background laughing. Brigil had Sulavik's Lakan, and Makil had only his fists - but Makil had the advantage of the instability and passion of a second soul. Brigil lunged forward, hand up in the air, sheath dropped in the mad dash to restrain Sulavik. Makil jumped over the prostrate Tiler and ran forward, ducking down and left to avoid the downward thrusting Lakan. With an enclosed fist, he punched Brigil in the nose with a powerful thrust of the arm forward, and dropping to the floor, sliding, he swung his leg, extended up. His heel slammed into Brigil's exposed stomach, and with the double pain of stomach and nose, Brigil too dropped to the ground, Makil'ls Lakan dropping too. Springing up on powerful legs, he grabbed up his Lakan swiftly. Holding it momentarily, savouring the joy of what he was about to do, with a cry of utter ecstasy he plunged the Lakan straight down into the writhing Brigil's neck, inserting in one side and spurting out through the other. In the stab down, he felt the blade nick the spine. Brigil was dead in seconds. Makil slowly and purposefully extracted the blade, ignoring everything that was going on around him. It was his first intended murder, not in self defence, since his uncle. He carefully licked the blood that was dripping off the blade in reverance, and moaned aloud as shivers ran down his spine. The taste was exquisite. Awoken from his ecstasy, he felt a still prostrate Tiler kick the back of his knees. Tiler was still recovering from the blow to the groin, so his strength was not entirely there, but Makil buckled, the blade nicking his tongue. As blood began to flow from Makil's own mouth, he turned slowly to Tiler. "That was foolish," he hummed, gently, almost lovingly. "If you had not had done that, I may have let you live. As it is..." Makil heaved a mock sigh as with two hands gripping the Lakan, he dropped to his knees and plunged his Lakan into multiple places - the stomach, the forehead, the lungs, the heart, the neck. Tiler was a gurgling mess and died after the first three stabs. Makil was on fire. Bending down, he placed his lips at the hole in the neck and slowly slurped from the wound. Delicious. Standing up, his arms and shirt covered in the blood of the lackeys, he turned to a shocked, wide-eyed Kelon, staring in disbelief at the self-confident, strong, carnivorous Akalak. Makil smiled and raised the Lakan, almost as if in a friendly challenge. Kelon nodded slightly. The last duel was on.

[Sulavik]

Ironically, Makil bowed down elaborately before Kelon as if to a noble or royalty. Blood ran down his forearms as he did this. "Good sir," he said silkily. "Do you not have a blade of your own?" Makil, though murderous with rage, was still a gentleman. For the final battle, he would prefer it if he won blade to blade. "Yes, I do." Kelon said, his voice shaky, as if in disbelief as to what had transpired. Makil held out his arms, bloody though they were, and walked towards Kelon as if to console him. That is what he did, though Kelon did not seem much consoled. "Kelon, Kelon. If I could beat those dear men this easily," he began, one bloody arm wrapped around his shoulders. "Then they were not very good. I did you a favour, as it were. Merely alerted you to the fact that you needed more staff." Smiling down at him, he took an arm away and moved a step from his body. There were standing face to face with very little proximity. "Shall we begin, then?" The time for chivalry was over. Without waiting for Kelon to draw his blade, or to even prepare, Makil took a quick pivotal step to the right and threw his left elbow right into the man's face. He took a few steps away, contemplating his elbow. "A pity people can't lick their elbows," he sighed. Without looking back over his shoulder, he called out to Kelon. "Your blood looks rather delicious, Kelon!" The waft of blood, for Makil smelt it keenly, reached his nose. He breathed deeply, the scent filling his nostrils and very essense, the seductive scent, the most delicious scent - and taste - on earth. Makil was quite shocked to feel the beginning stirrings of passion within him. "How strange, and yet how delicious," he muttered to himself as he turned back to Kelon. Kelon was staggering, wiping blood from his nose and yet he had managed to pull his dagger from its sheath at his belt. There was a split second of silence - then Kelon raged forward, swinging his dagger in a slicing arc from the level of Kelon's hip to Makil's neck. A quick parry, and Makil had intercepted it. "Try again," Makil taunted, and Kelon this time thrust downwards with a quick stab at the end to Makil's hip, as Makil jumped back. The dagger did not penetrate, but only cracked the skin. The scent of his own blood was now in the air, making the scene all the more seductive. A heady moan escaped from his lips and he felt his excitement grow all the more prominent. Makil had let Kelon have two tries, and now it was time to see if the sparring would end quickly or if it would be a fight worthy of him. Placing the left foot in front of the right, he thrust his Lakan forward in air towards Kelon's face, and was both disappointed and proud to see the harried Kelon meet the blade and force it to the ground. Good. "Improving, I see," Makil purred as they both attempted to break away from eachother's strengths. "Fear makes you more desperate, faster... it also makes you make mistakes..." Makil, whilst holding Kelon's dagger down on the right side of their bodies, flung his leg up to kick Kelon hard, in the hip. Kelon staggered, and the Lakan sliced against the the man's wrist deeply, though not deeply enough to kill. A cry of pleasure and further hardening accomapnied the sight of blood oozing down the man's arm. He was at full pleasure now. Time for the fight to end and for Makil to take his release. Holding onto the Lakan with one hand, Makil thrust forward into the man's nose, twice, with the heel of his palm, shattering the nose and causes blood to flow freely down his chin and neck. Kelon fell to his knees, shocked, and Makil fell with him. His Lakan was thrust twice into the chest cavity, puncturing the heart only once. He dropped the weapon and stood up hurriedly. "You have fought and you have lost, fool. Now, as you die, I want you humiliated." He fumbled with his breeches, and releasing his pleasure, degraded the dying human even further. The man eventually choked and Makil slumped forward. Pulling his pants back up, Sulavik stumbled into bed, absolutely exhausted. What on Earth was that about, Makil? I'm not sure. You angry? No. It was hot. Yeah, it was. They both fell into dreamless, exhausted sleep, still covered in the blood of the three men.

[Sulavik]

71st Winter 510AV Sulavik had expected to feel guilty. He had expected to feel horror at what his unbalanced self had done, expected to be disgusted the next morning by the stinking corpses in his room. He hadn't. What had confused him the most was that he felt proud of Makil and proud of what he'd done. The killings were seductive, and though brutal, they were tastefully - or, rather, stylistically - done. Instead of chastising the darker soul, he found himself already looking forward to the next killing. He had heaved each of the three dead weights in his room out the window into the alley below, hoping no one nearby heard the crunch of falling bodies. He had scrubbed and scrubbed at the floorboards, not really willing to pay extra for a sullied room. And lastly, he had sat down to clean his Lakan. He had tried licking the blood off it, but the taste disgusted him. Looks like a blood fetish was more something for Makil than it was for Sulavik. All that remained was to tell Solat. He wasn't sure if he could do it. Although Solat had proclaimed not to like the three he worked under, he had essentially taken away his livelihood, his essence - his work. And he felt guilty for doing so. But the guilt could not be assuaged any further, and he was seeing Solat today. He stoically, slowly, walked out of the Boarding House and down the alley way, out into the Shipyards. His steps dragged with every step he took. Solat was just leaving the shipyards, it seemed, as he walked away from the establishment and down toward the alleyway where Sulavik was exiting. A quick look of glee crossed the younger man's face, then worry for his safety quickly overrode it. Looking side to side, he jogged over to the mouth of the passage way and grabbed Sulavik's forearm, absentmindedly tracing a finger up and down the scar that lived there. "Sulavik!" he hissed. "What are you doing here? No one has seen K&B&T for days, but it doesn't mean they're not watching!" Solat attempted to push him back down the alleyway, back into the Plaza and back into safety, but Sulavik put a hand on the man's chest, causing him to stop. "No one has seen them because..." he hesitated. He didn't want to lose Solat because he had made a mistake in a rage. You'll have to tell him. He deserves to know. Taking a deep breath, he began again. "Solat, they're not here because they're dead." He stated it quickly and confidently, eyes shut, not able to look at the man. "I am sorry," he said, more gently this time. "They came to my room in the middle of the night, and in a fit of rage, Makil killed them." Solat was struck dumb. Sulavik put a reassuring hand on his face. His heart nearly snapped when Solat batted the hand away. "Please. Don't touch me," he spat, glaring at Sulavik. Throwing a nasty look over his shoulder, he ran down the alleyway and disappeared from sight. In one sentence, Sulavik had lost the only person he had known who liked him for what he was. He had lost any chance at romantic happiness in the one hate filled sentence Solat had thrown at him. Sulavik could not move, he could only stare at the place that Solat had been. Sulavik. I am sorry for you. Sulavik could not respond. He would not respond. Slowly, he turned, and trudged back to Tarsin's Boarding House, alone. END

[Seth]

Sulavik: +3 Intimidation XP +3 Unarmed Combat XP +3 Lakan XP +1 Seduction XP Lores: Memories are Forever, Memories are Haunting, Dreams can be so Real, My Mind Speaks Louder than My Voice, Ravok can Sometimes Care, Ravok can Sometimes be Mean, Gay Men Deserve Love Too, Solat is HOT, The Sight of Blood is Intoxicating, Special Technique: Elbow Smash!, Goring someone with a Lakan, How Love can be so Cruel, How One can find Pleasure from a Fight. The Method behind my Madness : I awarded you the Intimidation XP for being a scary creeper. You get the Lakan and the Unarmed Combat XP for describing an excellent fight. The point in Seduction was given because you were so darn cute when flirting with your short-time lover. I enjoy this character. The dynamic of having a gay soul and a straight soul is rather interesting, and provides for some hilarious dialog between the two. I definitely enjoy the clashing personalities as well, and you play them off very well. I especially like how they manage to coexist in minor ways, such as the gentle soul still taking some pleasure from the sadism that the angry soul loves so much. I could gush on and on about this thread. I tried to be generous with your XP, just because I loved the detail, and the story kept me enthralled. Writing a good story deserves some bonuses, in my books. Good job, and way to be tasteful with your writing, even with the distasteful things you did. <33333