[Flashback] Folly of the Faithful and Faithless (Dhalvasha)

[Venidus Larkspur]

Spring 04, 505 AV If one were to describe Kalinor to an outsider, they would get the impression that it was a very dark place. This would be a false notion however. Dim would be a more appropriate term, but the Symenestras’ eyes make that trivial as well. Torches and opalgloams cast sickly light throughout the caverns behind Venidus, who was making his way through one of the many empty sections of a city larger than the meager population could fill. The walks through these parts of Kalinor were growing more frequent for the third Larkspur child. Life was not grand for Venidus. In fact, it was quite the opposite. The world seemed to be caving in on him from every direction. The surrogate he had befriended was now dead, his sister’s overgiving had crushed her sanity, and the world’s surface seemed to be calling him. Every call from the surface seemed to be supplemented with a push from some awful event in Kalinor. Pain filled the depths of Venidus’s mind. The fringe Viratas groups have been growing in number... I could use my influence along with other spiritual advisors to try to quash the movement, but I honestly don’t know whom I can trust anymore... The topics in his mind switched and flowed without much reason or consistency. Nothing positive or optimistic really found its way into the mind of Venidus, but he continued to walk peacefully through empty structure after structure. The reason for the walks remained unknown even to him. Perhaps it was the hope that his troubled mind would imitate the buildings and become peaceful, even empty! Maybe the home he grew up in had become more of a caustic pit than a place of comfort. The wayward Symenestra decided to take a break when he found a spot quite suitable for rest. After heaving the large crossbow off his shoulder, he sat down. Few things in Kalinor presented much of a threat, but Venidus tended to be paranoid and overcautious in all situations. After moments of listening to his surroundings, the preacher pulled up the red crossbow his sister had given him and loaded it. The string on the weapon was heavy and the Venidus’s lanky arms quivered as he pulled it back. With one deliberate motion, he aimed and fired the crossbow at a discarded bag. The shot was true and direct. Venidus went over to retrieve the bolt and check the bag. It was full of useless scraps and bits of items now useless. The arrow was placed back into its quiver and the bag was thrown off into a dark corner. After a moment of looking out into the darkness, exclaimed, “Priskil’s breath! It seems I may have stayed out later than expected. I should probably head back to ‘civilization.’” The Symenestra of course had no knowledge of the time and merely was going off of the pain in his limbs.

[Dhalvasha]

Eight eyes beheld him in their blackened brilliance, tiny obsidian chips set in a fragile body. Eight legs rocked and settled with the motion of the surface it was on, transfixed by powers beyond its comprehension. Its pale bulbous body shuddered and with ginger ferocity, it bit into the thin paper it sat upon. Although it injected its poison, convinced this creature would feed its tiny stomach, the drop was barely large enough to conceive with the naked eye.

Drained and defeated, released from influence, it let itself drop, a thin strand dangling it toward the cave floor.

Dhalvasha smiled, coaxing the next spider to the jar by piercing its little aura with his own mind. The trick was not to crush the poor creature, as the simplicity of its thoughts and its own diminutive size would crumple under even the meager power the Symenestra possessed. He had been here for hours, but may as well have simply hung for moments. Beginning on the ground, he had called to the clutches of pale spiders and brought them to his side. Harvesting venom might have been easier if he simply crushed them together, but in doing so he would dilute the purity of the venom itself. His purpose here was not to hunt for death to dress his arrowheads, but more a study in the effect of the venom itself. Slowly, he'd accumulated a fine pale liquid at the bottom of the jar, barely enough to fill a thimble but more than enough for his own purposes.

It was the spiders, not the footsteps, that first alerted Dhalvasha to a break in solitude. The pale creatures scuttled toward corners and between cracks in the rock, wise to the vibrations of even a light Symenestra treading in their home. Dhalvasha remained where he was, a shadow along the edge of the cave ceiling. He would have hoped the interloper would continue on, perhaps giving him a little more time to gather extra venom.

But it was no hunter to pass beneath him, a bow toting fool with minute aspirations. Venidus Larkspur, the preacher son of the Larkspur web, had carved a meandering path through the quiet path with his footfalls heavy. Dhalvasha was no pariah, he had heard the spirited sermons the boy had given and certainly applauded his manipulative potential. Using Viratas, a universal truth among the Symenestra, he had single handedly saved his entire web from the shame of their daughter, a gibbering husk drunk off of Hypnotism.

For such a logical race, forced to think by virtue of their fragile forms, many turned an almost reckless obedience over to Viratas. Blood God of shadows, truth through vital flow...it had a haunting Symenestra quality to it...and seemed to be one of the few Gods that actually liked the Widows. Strange wonder, that.

The young Venidus lined up a shot with his heavy crossbow, taking care to load and hoist it. In his hands, the bow almost dwarfed him, seemed ridiculous. No matter however, as the boy proved a direct shot.

Much to Dhalvasha's chargin.

The bag he'd packed, other glass jars and vials, the necessary tools of his minor excursion, buckled with the force of the bolt. He heard the glass crack, the items inside shattering, some of his samples lost.

For a moment, fury passed through Dhalvasha's body with all the ferocity of an inferno. It darkened his eyes, twisted his face, and filled his blood with boiling tar. Just like a preacher of Varitas to eschew the courtesy of checking a bag before firing.

Taking a deep breath, Dhalvasha tried to force such thoughts from his mind. His anger was temporary, and the items could be replaced. Certainly he should have tied the bag to his waist before ascending, and holding such murderous thoughts would be foolhardy if not simply suicidal.

The boy had an advantage with his crossbow and any hostilities could be met with swift action.

Instead, Dhalvasha stored the jar in his shirt and crawled along the ceiling to the wall, slipping down behind Venidus with the silent grace of a dancer.

"So far from home," he greeted, crossing his arms across his narrow chest, "Practicing a new conversion method perhaps?"

[Venidus Larkspur]

The words floated through the air and landed on his ears gently yet unpleasantly, like a wasp or fly. The youngest son of Web Larkspur had to keep himself from jumping due to the surprise. It wasn’t often that his path crossed with another Symenestra’s on his walks through the empty sections of Kalinor. There weren’t many reasons to loiter in the deserted areas of the city and those who had reasons preferred to be unbothered. Venidus turned slowly in order to appear unsurprised. He lightly chewed his lip in anticipation of which of his peers lurked in the shadows. In a cool and uninterested tone, Venidus addressed his fellow Symenestra, “Dhalvasha...” Venidus wasn’t particularly displeased with Dhalvasha’s appearance, but the two Symenestra hadn’t really been well acquainted. Kalinor’s size meant that pretty much everyone knows of everyone, but that doesn’t mean that everyone truly knows everyone else. Sometimes names and faces with some vocational information marked the limitation of one’s knowledge, and this was one such case. Dhalvasha’s arms were crossed and the expression on his face didn’t exactly convey pleasure. He isn’t looking for a fight... or at least he isn’t looking to start one yet. Few in Kalinor would have any reason to kill me... Venidus decided the encounter was purely chance, but that didn’t change the need for caution. Venidus was fairly certain his sister had identified Dhalvasha as a hypnotist and it was known that the hypnotist was a practitioner of poison. Distrust, while in the preacher’s nature, seemed an appropriate course of action when dealing with such unsavory practices. Venidus continued, “Far from home... Yes... Relatively.” His mind wandered to thoughts of the surface. The sky, sun, and moon filled his mind momentarily. The sights and smells that could only be experienced through memories intensified the call to the surface. The promises the surface whispered in his mind were too much to bear at times. Kalinor could not contain his ambitions and hopes. For a moment, he saw the same feeling in Dhalvasha’s eyes, but it was just a flash. “And no, I am not ‘practicing a new conversion method’. In this world, there aren’t people to convert. Everyone follows a god... or two. Those who don’t just haven’t realized that they do. It’s a beautifully cruel reality.” The preacher straightened his back and stretched out his arms. It was a new and awkward experience talking to someone on his walks. Venidus’s brain was still in a very self-reflective state and everything he said seemed to somehow relate to his life and its conflicts. Venidus laughed quietly, “The only question is which you follow...”