[Flashback] A bloody Prayer (Laszlo)

[Veldrys]

As Laszlo asked him to tell him what he knew, the Symenestra inclined his head and began, „People often misunderstand us and our god. They don’t trust us and think that our way of worship is strange. They call us cannibals, blood drinkers, traitors. You seem to be bothered by what I do as well even though you are one of us.“ He sighed and averted his gaze for a moment. He didn’t particularly care what the humans thought of him, but when another Symenestra looked at him like that, it was different. A Symenestra was supposed to understand!

„Some of them go as far as calling Viratas a god of murderers. They condemn us all for the difficult decisions we had to make in order to ensure our survival. But just as not all of us are murderers without a conscience, Viratas is not an evil god. He is simply the blood god. And with that I do not only mean that which flows through all our veins. Viratas is also the god of families, the one that protects our community, and he rewards those that are loyal to their own people.“

„For us blood is more than just a liquid as I might already have mentioned. It is that which connects us all. It contains our history, all the things that make us who we are, and some of us can read it like a book. There is nothing more important than the bond that we all share, and thus any crime against a creature that bleeds, any crime against the community is a crime against Viratas. Some of my people have unfortunately begun to believe that some creatures are more important than others, but that is not true. Each and every being that walks the world of Mizahar is worth the same, and the killing of another is only acceptable if it prevents the destruction of your own community.“

He paused for a moment, and then he whispered, „May this blood give greater life. We always say this blessing when we spill the blood of a sentient creature. Do the people on the surface ever say something similar when they take a life? Are they aware of what they do, of what kind of crime they commit? Are you aware that you and I are connected, that you are connected to all those that ever sacrificed their blood here, to the first Symenestra that came to this cave and even to those that once lived in the jungles of Falyndar?“

He wasn’t at all sure if that was what Laszlo wanted to hear, if he should continue right away because there was so much more that he wanted to tell him or wait for questions, but he did at least know that Laszlo had to be aware of the thing that connected him to all those that lived in Kalinor and even the lost ones on the surface.

[Laszlo]

"I said I wasn't bothered," Laszlo muttered, irked as he stared down at his own warped reflection. His violet eyes could hold such sharpness, enough so that it nearly startled him to see his own face. He softened his expression, relaxing the angular features on his pale face. Pulling a cord of hair behind his ear, he turned back to Veldrys, listening to his speech. As he spoke, the young worshiper's eyes wandered downward as he pried the words from his thoughts. Laszlo recognized that look, that level of faith. Viratas had a true follower, a man who put deep thought into his god's will. Mortals could never perfectly interpret the principles of their gods. It was the way of things: the divine and the worldly were simply too different. A deific mind was much too large, complex, and perfect for any earthly man to understand. Not even Laszlo could say he was capable of understanding divine whim more than anyone else. Veldrys spoke of the Symenestra's need to murder the women of other races to procreate, Laszlo assumed. By necessity, the Ethaefal had not much a great deal of thought into what the people of Kalinor had to do in order to survive. A wolf kills a deer to live another day. A Symenestra kills a woman to create a new life. It didn't seem unnatural, and in fact incurring only one death to see to a new one seemed so much more efficient than the wolf analogy. Kill to survive, an ancient concept programmed into every living creature. Was it so wrong? One word struck a particular chord in Laszlo. "Connected," he echoed carefully, turning back the crimson pool. His past life stared back up at him. "Connected." He repeated the word, translating it into Symenos, speaking more now to his reflection than Veldrys. In another life, Laszlo had been Symenestra, had understood what Veldrys was saying with more clarity. That word meant something. It was true. Even if Laszlo now was Syna's Fallen, unconnected by blood to anything living, his soul had once been a part of this place. He was relatively certain he once had a family, had created new life, contributed to the society of Kalinor. The face he wore now belonged here. Was connected. Slowly, Laszlo sank down to one knee, extending one long, slender hand toward the viscous pool of blood before him. His sinister, pointed nails hesitated over the surface, then gently dipped their points into the liquid. Feeling the weight of it press against his nails, he lowered his hand further, until his fingertips disappeared into the red. The blood was cool, having met the air after leaving a warm body, and thick, naturally clotting itself as it sat in the open. The fluid of life in the pool was not uniform; odd bits of coagulated bodies passed by his fingers along the easy flow, making the Ethaefal shivered. It was eerie, and it was disturbing, but it was visceral, real. The blood was life, given in sacrifice to the god Viratas. "I can nearly feel it, the connection." Laszlo retracted his hand and inspected it, three of his four fingertips coated in blood. It began to run down the side of his hand as he rubbed his fingers against his thumb. "I belonged here once. I was one of you. I… long for that. I want to be connected again. I want to feel what you feel." His violet eyes turned back toward the shimmering image of the Widow staring back at him. "I want to be Symenestra. I want it back."

[Veldrys]

„Connected“, Veldrys repeated and nodded. He found that circumstance comforting, no matter how many aspects of his poeple’s culture he disagreed with otherwise. „Your blood and mine come from the same source. We have the same ancestors. No matter who you are, no matter where you come from, you are never alone. There will always be somebody there that shares your past – and your future.“

He knelt down next to Laszlo, but unlike the Ethaefal he did not touch the blood in the pool. He simply looked at the other man, curious as to what he was going to do. What did the blood feel like for him? Was it warm or cold? Did it find it comforting, the awareness that a part of all the Symenestra that lived in Kalinor was here, all their memories, that nothing was ever truly lost as long as the pool of blood was full?

„What do you mean?“ he asked softly as Laszlo said that he had once belonged here. He looked directly into the other man’s eyes. „You are Symenestra. You look just like one of us. How can you be anything else?“

Was he a ghost, some unnatural or supernatural creature? No, that couldn’t be. His chest rose and fell with each breath. He talked like a living being, and his words were filled with emotion. Was this face an illusion then? That didn’t seem likely either. His body looked too perfect, too much like the real thing. Maybe he didn’t mean it literally ...

Veldrys hesitated for a moment, and then he spoke, „If you truly wish to be connected to us again, if you want to have everything back, there is a way. There is a way to reforge the bond. You only need to sacrifice a drop of your blood so that it mixed with the blood of all those that have made a sacrifice here before.“

[Laszlo]

It was becoming clear to Veldrys, Laszlo observed, that there was something a bit off about older, surface-dwelling Symenestra. He pointedly ignored the white-haired man's inquiry, not yet ready to tell him the truth of it, and not having any clever words to sidestep the question without outright lying. With his fingertips still stained in the freely given blood of the Symenestra, Laszlo rose to his feet, his violet eye locked on the scarlet pool. What was ancestry, if souls were transient? Laszlo may just as likely have been human or kelvic in more lives than he was a Symenestra. Yet, here before him was the blood shed from probably dozens of the spidery race, the souls within them attached so fondly to the flesh that they praised Viratas and gave their faith liquid resonance. The Symenestra found a bond with each other, firmly rooted to their culture. All minds working together for a singular cause and a common aim. That's what mortals did. Laszlo held up the palm of his pale hand, eying the discolored trails of veins that pressed upward against the surface of his skin. The blood upon his fingertips had begun to tighten and dry, darkening to rust. "My blood," he murmured. He had blood, as did every living creature. However it had no ancestry, it was simply given to him by Syna on the day of his birth. Or was it? Perhaps his truer form was Symenestra, and Syna only borrowed his flesh to bless him with his divine countenance during the hours of her prominence. Was his blood really so divine? Or was it Symenestra? "I don't know if my blood is adequate. I have no family, no ancestry. Viratas had no hand in my conception, and I've never given any thought to the essence of life, or bond. I've only lived for myself."

[Veldrys]

Veldrys waited for Laszlo to explain what exactly he had meant when he had claimed that he had once belonged here, but of course the other man didn’t say anything. Of course not. Veldrys‘ amethyst gaze lingered on the Ethaefal’s face for a moment, and then he just looked away. He had come to the conclusion that there was probably a good reason why Laszlo hadn’t answered his question, some kind of traumatic event in his past maybe, something that made him extremely uncomfortable. But if this was the case, why had he mentioned it in the first place?

As Laszlo held up his palm, Veldrys came closer. He quietly placed the knife he had used before into the other man’s hand. His fingers brushed against the Laszlo’s skin for a moment, to find out if he was a real, if he was made of flesh and bones or just a ghost – although he knew that the idea that he was facing a ghost was completely ridiculous - and then he withdrew them. „Your blood“, he confirmed as he glanced at his own hand, as if he expected something about it to be different now. „It is the only way.“

„You may not have any parents or siblings“, he agreed, quietly wondering about Laszlo’s story, about where exactly he came from. „But you look like me, like the people all around us. As I told you before, we have the same ancestors, no matter what strange things you may believe. We are all descended from those that fled the jungles of Falyndar during the Valterrian. I’m not sure how you believe you have been born, but Viratas‘ power touches all those that bleed, no matter what they have been through.“

„Your blood is more than adequate.“

[Laszlo]

No matter what they have been through. Laszlo glared at his skin, the soft, resilient barrier that kept his blood contained inside of him. One little slice would let it through. One little drop would bring him closer to Viratas, closer to becoming a true Symenestra. Participating in this ritual seemed ingrained in them, part of their cultural identity. For Laszlo to understand the man he became at night, this was absolutely necessary. Perhaps he would tell Veldrys what he was, and why his story made no sense. He wasn't descended from the jungle dwellers of Falyndar, wasn't descended from anything. But where had this body come from? Did Syna simply materialize it to save his soul after it fell from the ukalas? Or did she retrieve his old body from the elements it had decayed into, rebuilding him to have the same physical form as before. If he visited his most recent grave, would there be a skeleton? Laszlo wasn't prepared to tell Veldrys the truth yet. He decided that he would, soon, but not until after this. "Show me," he said, holding out his arm. Laszlo wanted to see it bleed, just as Veldrys' arm had been bleeding. "Help me."

[Veldrys]

„I will help you“, Veldrys promised. Since Laszlo didn’t seem to know what he was supposed to do, the Symenestra quietly took the knife again.

„Watch“, he said to him. Some people couldn’t bear the sight of their own blood, but it was important that Laszlo didn’t pull his gaze away. „Watch as your blood becomes one with mine and the blood of everybody that has ever lived in this city.“

He raised the knife a fraction. His gaze met Laszlo’s for a moment, and then he grasped the Ethaefal‘s wrist.

Veldrys‘ touch was firm, and his skin was warm as if he were filled with some kind of inner fire.

Another moment passed, and then there was a sharp pain in Laszlo’s hand. Blood immediately began to flow from the cut on his palm.

Veldrys put the knife on the floor besides him. With his other hand, the hand that was still bleeding slightly, he guided Laszlo to the pool.

„Make a sacrifice“, he told him. „Sacrifce a part of yourself and pray to Viratas so that you become what you once were again.“

[Laszlo]

It was easier allowing Veldrys to take the lead in showing Laszlo how to properly pay respects to Viratas. The Ethaefal was nervous, even frightened at the prospect of honoring a god aside from Syna. The Sun Goddess had provided him with everything, in exchange for several lifetimes of pious servitude. However, she was not the center of the universe, and the different elements which coincided to make the world had to be attributed to the divine work of many gods, whatever their intent. It would be conceited not to pay homage to their power. Or perhaps Laszlo was merely disillusioned here in the dark. In this troubled life, it was difficult to be sure of anything. The blood of the Symenestra and the Ethaefal merged as Veldrys guided Laszlo's bleeding hand to the pool of thick crimson. Sharp pain from the bite of the blade still quivered in his palm and spiked down his forearm in rhythm with his heartbeat. Laszlo sent an unsure, amethyst glance at the nearby Veldrys, finding solace in the young Symenestra's resolve. His lips parted as he studied the other man's face, moved by the solid resolution in Veldrys' hard eyes. He turned back the pool, staring at the shallow lake of blood that had accumulated in the hollow of his palm. Swallowing, Laszlo held his breath as he turned his hand vertically, the thick red flowing to the side of his palm and running down his forearm, a few droplets escaping the adhesive pull of his skin and disturbing the slowly churning surface of the blood pool. Drinking in Veldrys' resolve, Laszlo began to close his hand into a fist. He ignored the worsening burn of pain and the disturbing way his rent flesh folded over itself as his palm wrinkled, squeezing tightly enough to purge a generous amount of his own blood into the Symenestra coffer. The Ethaefal was surprised at the stream that was birthed from his hand, however short lived it was, and watched his own divine life force be swallowed by the offerings of the other Viratas worshipers. "I belonged to you once," Laszlo murmured, staring into the viscous scarlet fluid that flowed in front of both of them. "I know it. You were in my heart a lifetime ago. I served you until my death. Please… if there's any love left for my soul, if I did right by you in my short life, please help me remember who I was. I came here to find my past, because I have nothing else." His arm spasmed as the pain of the pressed wound grew too fierce, and Laszlo's fist loosened. "I don't know what to do."

[Veldrys]

„Once?“ Veldrys wondered. The things that Laszlo said to him didn’t make any more sense to him than they had in the beginning. „Why do you say that you belonged to us once? Are you not Symenestra? Aren’t you as venomous as we are? Do you not breathe the same air that we do? You are here, you have sacrificed your blood, you look just like the hundreds of people that live all around us. You still belong to us. You belong to us again.“

It was only then that the young healer realized what Laszlo had said. „Death? How … how is this possible?“ He looked directly at Laszlo, completely confused. Did he mean it literally or did ‚death‘ stand for something else? He was a doctor. He knew that people that died usually stayed dead. Maybe a champion of Rak’keli or Rak’keli herself could bring people back, but Laszlo hadn’t mentioned any divine encounters. What was the matter with him? What could make a man think that he had died? Was it a form of madness? No, Laszlo seemed comparatively sane, even though he was filled with sorrow.

„I’ll do what I can to help you remember“, Veldrys promised even though he wasn’t sure if Laszlo had spoken to him. Maybe he had been talking to Viratas or to nobody in particular. Still, it didn’t seem right to stand there quietly when the other man was so desperate.

The healer sounded sincere. His amethyst eyes were filled with worry for the one next to him. He hesitated for a moment, and then he put a hand on Laszlo’s shoulder. His touch was very gentle. „I can help you find your past. If I were already a priest of Viratas, I could see everything in your blood … but still, I’ll try my best. must be traces of the man you used to be somewhere.“

[Laszlo]

Sunrise. Kalinor was blind to it, but Laszlo could feel it. Every day his form shifted, so he became accustomed to his times of change. The city moved without a thought for the sky, never in tandem with the eternal chase of Leth and Syna. All the Symenestra in Kalinor simply slept when they slept, worked when they worked, lived when they lived. Whether it was day or night made no difference at all. Still, Laszlo knew when the days passed. The Ethaefal had already lingered here too long, and now it was too late. "Your sincerity is touching, friend." Laszlo withdrew his bleeding hand, rising to his feet as he inspected the splash of crimson across his palm. The mouth of his severed flesh was raw and angry, but it had been a portal for his blood to escape through. That which was inside had left his body and joined the macabre river of liquid devotion. "I appreciate the offer, but perhaps another time." Whether Viratas had heard him or not, Laszlo had said his peace. Feeling cathartic, he next desire was to leave the temple and return home to find rest. But that wouldn't be so easy. He couldn't leave the same way he came. As his amethyst eyes studied his stained hand, the unblemished gray skin beneath began to emit a soft, warm glow. In another instant the light strengthened, shining so brightly that it engulfed his entire form with blinding radiance. It was at first golden white, but became shadowed by rays of red and orange as it faded a few seconds later. The being that remained as the glow left was not a Symenestra. The golden-brown haired man turned to regard Veldrys with molten amber eyes, a handsome face, and healthy tan skin. Twin horns curled from his temples, reaching out from his curling tresses, the color of ivory. When he spoke, his voice was noticeably an octave lower. "I should return to my room. It's been a pleasure meeting you. My name is Laszlo." He lowered his bloodied and casually looked toward the exit. "I don't suppose I could trouble you for assistance in finding my way back to the Public House?"