Closed [The Dungeons] A Sahovian Field Trip

[Noven]

The begging was predictable. Perhaps disappointingly so. Watching from the sidelines, Nov could feel neither blame nor respect; if it had been him instead, with any family at all to sell out in the first place, he would have taken their secrets to his bloody, miserable grave.

Keene’s lack of hesitance before his ice cold response, though…Noven found himself watching the Initiate with newfound curiosity. And maybe just a little bit of extra caution as well.

It didn't take long for his wariness to be rewarded. With all the emotion of a slab of ice, Keene raised his hand and some strange, translucent substance began to swirl into form above it. His voice was calm and rational even in the midst of dishing out whatever torture he had in mind. The Akvatari should answer Cryptly's questions to avoid more pain, Keene had stated as his victim cowered against the wall, blubbering more useless pleas.

Nov watched the substance seep into the creature's wings, coating them until not an inch of filmy color was left untouched. The merc's eyes grew wide despite having no inkling of what this magic was. A true Sunberthian inside and out, he'd steered clear of sorcery his entire life. But, even so, he could not deny there was something captivating about the process, dark as its purpose was. Captivating, and deadly. Whether the Akvatari knew what was being done to him remained unknown; he was too busy wasting his precious time with all of his body parts still in tact pleading in vain. Break early or do everything you could to wear down your tormentor's patience. Those were the only two ways to go as far as Noven was concerned.

Without warning, Keene snapped his fingers. The whole of Blonde Boy's wings was now frozen solid.

It took a tick for the merc to realize what had happened and another for him to process how quickly and effortlessly the Initiate had commanded such a transformation. Nov's rather rusty imagination began to run ahead of him as the creature ceaselessly begged. It didn't take an artist to picture what was going to happen next, but still...

At the sound of ice shattering, Nov forced every muscle in his body not to flinch. A breath he hadn't known he'd been holding shuddered free, controlled and silent, as Cryptly practically blew a wad over Keene's stellar performance. At least the Nuit was happy. Sure, their new victim was now lying in a steadily growing pool of his blood, probably wishing he'd chosen death long before he'd ever been caught. But the Dungeon Master's displeasure was no less appealing, and the faster his sadism was fed the more likely they could all move on from this unsavory business. Temporary as that satiation would be.

Cryptly had added several more coins to his growing collection in the time it took Keene to open their interrogation with a literal bang. Whether the Initiate knew it or not, he'd given Noven a giant headstart. In order for Krysus's mark to work, the victim needed to be wounded, and Blonde Boy right now was in enough pain to make torture of greater finesse obsolete. There was no viable way to heal him, so this was where Nov would have to begin. Which also meant whatever the Nuit desired in terms of drawing things out was now null and void.

That didn't prevent the old bastard from trying, though. With infallible confidence oozing through his very gait, Cryptly strolled up to the weeping creature, careful to skirt around the blood, and reached for one of the torches. He still had a gold miza in one hand as he brandished his new tool in the other, stroking this piece of his newfound wealth with palpable greed.

"Don't want you bleedin' out just yet, laddie," he chuckled darkly. "As those in the business say, the show must go on!"

And then he brought down the flames to the Akvatari's bleeding nubs, sending a strange scent wafting through the air the creature screamed and screamed. Beyond the dingy little cell, everything had grown deathly silent. When Noven was to look back on this particular moment later on, the only thing he could really remember was thinking if burnt butterflies had a smell, this would be it.

Wounds more or less cauterized, Cryptly nestled the torch back into its proper place and returned to transfer one more coin from Blonde Boy's stash to his own. "Now normally," the Nuit grunted as he eyed his collection with a calculating squint, "I like my fun to last as long as possible. But you've got a limited amount of gold, and these gentlemen here I'm sure have better things to do than humor old Cryptly for the rest of the night. So let's make this simple, eh? Tell me where that greedy little sister of yours is hiding with the rest of your coin and you go free. Easy as pie."

Lies. All lies. Anyone with half a brain could see as much. But the now wingless creature wasn't in much of a position to analyze, his mind no doubt clouded with more pain than he'd ever felt in his entire life.

If only he knew it was going to get much, much worse.

"P-please..." Blonde Boy sobbed pitifully in between wheezes of hysteria and agony. "I c-can't...she's...she's all the f-family I h-have...I've given you all my c-coin...th-there is n-n-n-o more...."

Nov couldn't tell whether this kid was incredibly brave or horrifically stupid. Even Cryptly seemed to find his answer somewhat surprising. The old Nuit possessed enough patience, however, so long as there was still gold to be earned, and cackled at Nov next. "Well then, Krysus's precious little play thing. Looks like you're up for round two."

His mouth set in a grim line, Noven made no attempt to answer. He just walked up to the blubbering Akvatari, crouched before him, and removed his left glove. Blonde Boy didn't seem to notice the crimson veins on his hands, only that a different face and voice were now demanding he answer Cryptly's questions. "I don't know what level of stupid you're aiming to reach," Nov seethed, caustic eyes burrowing straight into those of his soon to be victim's, "but it's going to stop. And you're going to answer the Nuit's question. Right here, right now. You don't want what's coming next."

The Akvatari sniffed and narrowed his eyes at the merc, doing exactly what Nov had just told him not to do. He was aiming for new levels of stupid.

"Are you...going to use magic on me?" he managed to ask in a hoarse and reed thin voice. The sobbing had mostly stopped, but it just made Nov all the more irritated. Plain idiotic how quick most folk were to forget their suffering. Just because he was feeling better now meant nothing in terms of the future. Blonde Boy ought to know that, but he didn't. Nov suspected he was something of a well-off, sheltered boy--if something with a tail and wings could be called boy--clearly in over his head with this whole debacle involving mizas and being anywhere near Cryptly's grubby reach.

The merc gave him a flat look. "No, I don't know the first thing about magic."

A flicker of relief passed through the Akvatari's delicate features, hard as he tried not to show it. "Well then," the kid concluded, adopting more of his earlier airs, "I'm sorry, but you can do what you will with me. Kill me if you must. I won't give An--my sister away."

Blonde Boy was probably expecting that whatever followed be tragically grand. That he would go down in a glory of heroic sacrifice. That, perhaps, he'd even earn a smidgen of respect from his tormentors, as plays and fables usually ended.

Noven growled through his teeth, "You stupid, fucking cunt."

There was only enough time for the Akvatari to feel a tick's worth of doubt before Nov shot out his hand, grab the end of one, burnt nub, and flare his mark with a hair's worth of pity and not a whole lot of remorse. For him, there was a wave of clean relief that swept over his senses as his symptoms were set back to zero for the next twenty four bells. It was like a subtle weight had been lifted and Nov rolled his shoulders at the almost soothing sensation.

Blonde Boy, on the other hand, writhed and bucked beneath Noven's grip, jaws wide open in a silent scream. Neither were aware of the veins the pulsed bright red beneath the merc's skin. One was lost in the vast sea of endless, white hot agony, and the other too busy trying to remember when he ought to let go.

It lasted for about four or five ticks. Nov took longer than usual to relinquish his hold, having been enduring a throbbing headache for the past bell and too stubborn to take care of or mention it earlier. The feeling of there suddenly not being any pain was divine and he was reluctant to let go of it right away. That, and he figured giving the kid a couple extra doses might speed things up a bit.

What the Akvatari experienced ought to have felt like his wings shattering again, only infinitely worse. But Nov hadn't held on that long and the boy wasn't foaming at the mouth or unconscious yet. He still needed to give them some kind of answer, after all. By the time Nov opened his own eyes to see his handiwork, the creature's face was scrunched in immeasurable pain, tears washing like streams down his pale cheeks. A soundless howl and desperate, fruitless attempts to tear free of his grip later, Blonde Boy was face down on the ground, panting as if he'd run--swam? flew?--an entire league, not caring a fig that his cheek was stained in his own blood.

"Answer the question, kid," Noven ordered. "That was just a taste."

The wingless creature sobbed on, shoulders shaking as he curled his head against his chest. Somewhere near the cell entrance, Cryptly had nearly claimed all of the boy's gold, the clinking sounds of coins being dropped onto his pile unfailing through the passage of time. Nov would have lost all track of how long they'd been here if it hadn't been for the Nuit's uncanny ability to tie time with mizas.

With a sigh of impatience, the merc raised his hand one more time, but the Akvatari saw and scrambled to throw up his own in surrender. "She's...she's holed up in one of the ships on the Harbor," he blurted without pausing for breath, visibly hating himself as each word was spoken.

Cryptly took Noven's place, shooing the merc away, as he leered into the creature's defeated face. "Which ship?"

There was a moment of hesitance, then the boy choked out, "The W-Winged Mai...Maiden."

The Nuit's laughter seemed to reverberate around and around the tiny confines of the cell before trailing all the way down the still silent as a crypt halls. "And to think I was worried I wouldn't get every last coin out of you." He threw the empty sack at the Akvatari's lifeless expression. "Lucky for you, boy. I'm feeling mighty generous today."

Then Cryptly just sauntered out of the cell, leaving it both unlocked and still occupied by three other inhabitants. Nov wasn't ready to believe the master interrogator would just leave his prisoner free to walk as he followed after that lumpy, decrepit form once more. But when he looked back at Blonde Boy, with nothing but an empty sack and burnt stubs where his magnificent wings had once been, his surprise was quashed. The creature showed no signs of moving. He just laid there in a puddle of blood and tears, weeping at what he'd just condemned his sister to.

So that had been the final touch to Cryptly's game all along.

[Keene Ward]

Cryptly did not waste time. With a chuckle bubbling up from the rotten cavity of his lungs, he carefully stepped over the pool of blood, sending a wink at Keene as he moved that elicited an involuntary shiver from the young man. He was not much of a torturer. While he was distant enough that his actions did not dredge up self-abhorrence, he found the act of using pain to elicit information to be distasteful. As he watched, his frown only deepened when Cryptly took hold of the torches. While it had not been Keene's intent, the spilling of the Akvatari's blood had been a potential for the interrogation to come to an early end. Keene had kept from sealing the wounds with caps of ice in favor of the creature bleeding out and the game forced to a close. Cryptly, however, allowed no such subterfuge in his dungeon. He was its master, and he determined when and if the creatures within would be given the release of death. The nuit made contact with Keene's stare, the defiant, devilish spark in his eyes more than enough to show Keene the nuit was in charge. There was no anger, merely a taunting jeer poking fun at Keene's attempt to take control over the situation. His eyes gleamed as the fire ate at the bleeding flesh, filling the room with an acrid scent; from within them, the message was quite clear: Cryptly was the master, and they were merely his pawns.

Drawing back and replacing the torch, Cryptly spoke once more, his rattling voice riddled with a sing-song taunt as he once more confronted the pitiful, blubbering mass of flesh and fur that sat shaking in a pool of its own blood. Released from his stare with the nuit, Keene gazed down upon the pitiable creature. Had he had the choice, he would have ended its life then and there. The suffering was unnecessary, and Keene had the inkling that Cryptly already had a fairly firm idea of the whereabouts he sought. It was game, yes, but more than that... It was a show and they were merely players. Again, Cryptly offered a bargain, this time the reward was significantly less but still better than the alternative. Keene gave the blonde an expectant raise of the brow. Whether Cryptly lied or not, the Akvatari had little else to lose, evident by the tears that dripped from his chin clenched in agony and frustration. Only a fool would reject the offer, and a fool the creature proved to be. Any pity Keene might have felt for the Akvatari faded with the darkening of his gaze. He was not one for empathy, nor was he a supporter of foolish heroism. He had little more to offer as the thing before him pleaded once more.

Cryptly's reply was hardly surprising, and as he backed away to leave room for Noven, Keene's interest sparked. The Akvatari was now little more than a sentient pile of flesh, Keene's focus found itself placed upon his companion's face as he knelt down, his eyes burning with some mix of emotions Keene could not discern. He spoke firmly and with command. Emotion - rage, frustration perhaps? - bubbled just beneath the low tone he employed, his demand clear and consequence clearer. He found a small flicker of excitement twitch in his stomach, Noven's physicality and intention intense and daunting. It was, regardless of the situation, an impressive display. The Akvatari, however, responded with a question that Keene had not even thought to anticipate. His brow raised, eyes flicking to the creature's face. He spotted... hope? Keene could hardly believe the blonde's foolish disposition; it was something beyond his comprehension. There things far worse than magic to destroy both mind and body. At the visible relief in the Akvatari's eyes, Keene stood straight, a small click of his tongue bouncing about the room in irritation. The sound caught Cryptly's attention and, for a brief moment, the two of them shared a shake of the head. It didn't take a genius to know the Akvatari had made a mistake.

The next words out of the creature's mouth after Noven intimated he had neither knowledge of nor capability to produce magic landed on Keene's ears like sickly sweet poetry. His mask of blankness broke to give the blonde a stare of pure incredulity. The eyes flicked to Keene's face, eliciting a small frown of confusion on the Akvatari's part before Noven lunged forward, his exposed hand gripping onto the charred nub of the Akvatari's wing. Any confidence the creature might have mustered with his last hurrah immediately melted away as his convulsions began. Keene saw no magic, no contact beyond the pulsing, dark-red veined hand that gripped tightly onto the writing mass of flesh. Silent screams mixed with the half-hearted splashes in the blood as agony beyond anything Keene had ever seen flooded its body. As the ticks continued, Noven began to glow. It was not in the same sense as Keene's res or that of the torch's flame, rather his veins pulsed a cherry red, trailing out under his exposed skin like thin spider's webs. He watched, his attention drawn from the pitiable, muted gasps of the Akvatari to trace the lines that riddled Noven's face, neck, arms and hands. It was hypnotic, in a sense, a sanguine beauty that radiated a strength far beyond anything Keene thought possible: the strength of a goddess.

It did not last long. As suddenly as the change had been brought on, the veins faded back into Noven's skin as he released the charred stub, rolling his shoulders and exhaling with what sounded like satisfaction. Whatever the effect had had on Noven, he seemed different. Keene's speculation was quickly distracted by the shaking gasps of the Akvatari as the pain faded enough to allow him air once more. His rushed breaths so close to his blood drew it up and into his mouth, causing him to splutter and cough, his hands pressed into the gore, shakily supporting him. Tears joined the blood, disappearing into the thicker liquid as fast as they fell. Noven spoke again, the tension in his voice was dissolved, Keene only able to detect it in hindsight due to the lack of it then. The gentle clink of coins played in the background, signaling the chimes it took for the Akvatari to finally respond, barely able to form his words into coherency. The tick he was broken, Cryptly was quick to swoop in to snatch up the details, his pleasure evident in grin and mirth of tone.

With a flourish and jest, Cryptly tossed the empty sack of Mizas, letting it bounce off the shivering shoulders of the Akvatari before departing, without a second glance. He made no gesture towards Keene or his companion, but Noven followed behind after a tick, realizing that the game had been won, and they the inevitable victors. Keene watched the others leave, taking a moment to remain with the soft whimpers and drip of tears into blood. He turned a harsh gaze on the thing, but found his opinion of it had softened some. What he saw before him was the epitome of brokenness, and it brushed against memories of his own fragmented past. For a tick, they locked gazes, and Keene understood the Akvatari's pain, his loss. In the next moment, Keene and brushed by, striding out into the hallway and away from the disconcerting feeling of staring into a mirror. He was stronger than the pathetic excuse for life; he was too determined to wallow in self-pity and stupidity. He clenched and unclenched his hands as he caught up with the nuit and the man, the feeling of his scars pressing against his fingertips.

Wasting no time, he spoke, his tone hard, cold, and businesslike - though not without a hint of general agitation, "We've played your game."

Cryptly gave the initiate a little chuckle. "Aye, that you have, boy." His contempt, in spite of the bounce of glee, hung heavy on his voice. "But I don't share meat with dogs." He laughed, his joke lost on the impassive frown of the chilled young man. Turning his attention to Noven, he sucked in a breath through his cracked lips and yellowed teeth. "What was it like?" The anticipation in his voice was almost sickening. Understanding the nuit had little interest in further conversation with him, Keene fell back a pace to allow the two to chat, his jaw clenched tightly to control his own agitation.

[Noven]

What was it like?

How he'd grown to despise that question.

As far as Nov knew, he was the only Vexer within the hazy confines of Sunberth's borders. If there were others, they hid their marks well, even better than the merc himself. And while the slim chances of being identified brought him some measure of comfort, it did little in terms of sparing him that overbearing, unsettling attention when the wrong sort of people found out.

There was no sense in lying to Cryptly, but that didn't stop him from denying the Nuit as much satisfaction as possible. "It was a relief," Noven answered in his usual, taciturn fashion, "because that fool of a creature quit begging. And my head stopped pounding."

Silence followed.

In one of the more notorious brothels back home, Nov had learned the hard way not to confide in anyone the intricacies of his curse. Brega, Mistress of Happy Endings, knew what he was capable of--which was more exposure than he would ever be comfortable with--but beyond that he doubted the whore knew much more. If she did, she'd have a hold over him too terrifying to contemplate. But that, of course, didn't stop one of her more ballsy employees to hound him relentlessly.

Season after season, Big Berta would find ways to cross his path or corner him after a visit to Isme, insisting she could handle whatever magnificent pain his mark had in store for its victims. She was one of Brega's "special" whores, trained in the art of dominance and sadism, and therefore cocky enough to think she could gain any kind of pleasure from a divine magic she understood nothing about. The first dozen or so encounters, Nov had spurned her outright. Told her she was an ignorant sow and that she had no idea what she was asking for. But the whore was doggedly determined. Berta wanted to know what it felt like to be both recipient and giver; she was obsessed with the idea of augmenting pain through nothing more than a touch, and her fascination disturbed him. Nov was half-convinced she thought he could pass the mark on like some kind of sexual disease.

Over time, the man figured out how to evade most of her insufferable attempts to change his mind. Though dodging and sneaking about wasn't exactly his style, he had little choice in the matter. One simply did not tamper with Brega's property. That, and Nov wouldn't set foot inside a room with Big Berta alone if he were paid to do so.

Whatever the case was back in the Berth, however, he was sure things were different here. The merc was fairly certain Cryptly understood far more than he was willing to admit. For free, anyway. No doubt the Nuit picked up on exactly what Nov had meant by his terse statement. To another, it would sound as if the Akvatari's pleading had induced his headache. But to anyone who knew of the twofold effects Vexation imposed, it was a dry admission that Noven had indeed been running out of time, and that his task had provided a timely solution.

A look of disappointment flitted across Cryptly's decaying expression before he snorted in derision. "I'd say it was a waste, boy, but I think you already know that." The master interrogator didn't deign to speak more. Instead, he whistled some disjointed tune to himself as they made their way back to the main floor, drawn now and then by the gleaming distraction of his new stash.

Without warning, the Nuit stopped. They were back amongst the halls of regular prisoners. Nov scowled at having to halt before the rows of cells, having hoped silently to himself that they were done with the tinkering of captives' psyches. But the pointed way in which Cryptly now stared through the bars at one, specific prisoner had the merc's heart rate kicking up a notch. Could it be that he was finally going to learn who the mystery Vexer was? Had the Dungeon Master led them to a former victim who could reveal the intruder's identity?

"Well, you lads upheld your end of the bargain, as it surprises me to say," Cryptly chuckled. "So it's my turn to uphold my own."

He pointed one, rotted finger towards the immobile heap of rags and unwashed mane lying at the center of the cell. "That there used to be her partner. Before he betrayed her, 'o course."

Nov narrowed his eyes in confusion. "But if he betrayed her..."

"Then why is he rotting away in this cell and not her?" Cryptly finished for him. "Because she's a petching piece of work, that's why. Make no mistake, boy. I couldn't give less of a rat's arse whether you meet her and live to tell the tale or not. And even if I did, I wouldn't personally know who you ought to be avoiding in the first place. She's not stupid."

He slipped one hand into a coat pocket, most likely to continue fingering one of his precious gold mizas, and turned to face both Initiate and mercenary. "According to this piss stained coward, he only knew her as Carmine. Harmless enough of a name. Except he said, right before he broke for good, that he'd caught others calling her other things. Scarlet and Cerise, I think he said. Pity, I probably could've gotten more out of him. But the bitch must have planted fail-safes in his head long before I ever got to the poor sod. Lost his mind as soon as he gave me all of those names. Thought I should keep him around for a bit, see what else I could find, but now he's just taking up space..."

Noven got the distinct feeling Cryptly was rambling now. As if he had forgotten both men and sank into the familiar habit of talking to himself.

"Uh, so," Nov coughed, breaking the strange trance their host had seemingly fallen under, "what exactly did you mean by planting fail-safes? Was it some form of dark magic, or could it have been--"

"I've told you all you've earned and more!" the Nuit suddenly snapped, a small spray of spittle flying forth from his passionate outburst. Both his hands were in sight now. He had them clenched into tight fists as if he was expected to use them. "What do you take me for, a wishing well? I don't have time for questions a simpleton could answer."

His words were so bitter, so acerbic that the air fair hummed with hatred. The merc took a step back and exchanged another wordless glance with Keene. He could sense the agitation roiling beneath his guide's impassive exterior; if they stayed here any longer, Nov feared both would find their self-control tested beyond their limits. Fortunately for them, Cryptly showed no more interest than they in prolonging this visit another tick.

"I've humored you petching Pulsers long enough," he snarled, blackened teeth bared. "Now, if you two'd be so kind as to get out of my sight. I've got important business to attend to."

Not knowing how else to respond, Nov merely grit his teeth in silence and waited for Keene to take the lead once more. It didn't seem like the Nuit was going to lift another finger for them as he stared without blinking, most likely willing them to leave through sheer misanthropy alone.

[Keene Ward]

Noven's reply was, despite Keene's controlled lack of interest, disappointing and a tad bit confusing. He wasn't sure how anything was linked to his head pounding. The creature had been approaching unbearable, but that had been less noise and more a series of unfortunate choices leading to a contemptible state. Over the coarse of Cryptly's "game", the other cell's had grown exceptionally quiet. As they passed, those who filled them hunched in corners against the walls, the party of three containing within it no saviors for them to appeal to. Having removed himself from the immediate vicinity of the other two, Keene was unable to see Noven's face as he gave his unexpected response. Having little else to judge the reply with, he simply noted the man's reluctant tones. Whether he would share later, outside of the company of the nuit, would be seen. Keene doubted there would be much clarification of anything on Noven's part until they were out of the dungeons.

As they made their way down the halls, back towards the upper level, there was a heavy silence. It wasn't the complete silence that often came in the dead of night; the safe, encompassing quiet of a world in slumber. There were muted coughs, half-sobs before they were stifled, and the scraping of nails upon flesh and stone as their boots tapped along the stoneworks. No words passed between them, but each of the three was lost in their own thoughts. Keene's eyes stared straight ahead, his position off to the side and behind Noven. His vision was clouded by his musings, picking up very little other than where to put his feet. In his mind, he replayed the scene as Noven had placed his hand upon the wound and his veins had flared with power. It certainly was no magic he had ever heard of, and he supposed Noven had had little reason to deny that he wielded it. The only other explanation outside of the divine was some sort of glyphing that he couldn't see, though that also seemed extremely unlikely.

The goddess, Krysus, had given him whatever strange ability it was that had painted the Akvatari's face white with unimaginable pain. While Keene did not desire that for himself, he wondered what Noven had done to attain it. His steps fell into rhythm with his thoughts. There was the possibly Noven was merely just an incredibly religious young priest. Keene had had little interaction with followers of deities, so he had little more than a poorly contrived template of what he considered to be a zealot. Even that, however, was a bit of a stretch for the muscular, tight-lipped individual that plodded his way up the stairs before him. If not zealous ardor of his goddess, Keene wondered if it were just whim. He knew little of the common protocol of the gods, but if they were comparable to people in the slightest, he had found that favor and disfavor often found themselves being distributed on whim more than any other reason. If that were the case, the man before him was merely the product of some all-powerful being's tentative fancy - certainly not anything Keene found to be desirable. Still, it was all only speculation, and once Cryptly made his sudden halt, Keene was brought back to the task at hand, barely stopping in time to avoid charging straight into Noven.

Avoiding the collision by maneuvering over to the other side of the now stationary nuit, Keene folded his hands behind his back to stare at the cells before them. He wasn't in the mood for another round, and a sideways glance at his companion mirrored his opinions. Cryptly spoke, denoting that the man in the cell before them - if he could be called such - was the partner of the one he'd been looking for. While Keene had little reason to actively seek out the information being shared between the two, as Cryptly seemed to make it a point by turning his back to him when he addressed Noven, he still listened, keeping his eyes on the slumped and broken body of the man while his ears absorbed what was said. Cryptly gave a name - names, to be more accurate - of the woman who had put the man in his state, but beyond that there was little information of much use. Noven picked up on the only bit of interest Cryptly offered beyond the base information. Again, it was not something Keene was aware of, though Noven's mention of "dark magic" was almost enough to draw a smile from Keene's sombre lips. The near-mirth instead presented itself with a quick dart of Keene's eyes to the ground before the nuit began his shouting.

It was sudden, and the eerie nature of the dungeons only served to make his upset all the more disturbing. They had overstayed their welcome. Keene gave Noven a look that was very thinly veiled with an intent to kill the raging nuit, and the other man seemed to understand that it was time they leave. In the short time it had taken for Cryptly to begin shouting, the cells had stared up again, tossing in their own jeers or shrieks to add to the din. Keene's djed had shivered, ready for use, and while he had produced no res, Cryptly was quick to turn his attention back to him. "And don't you even think about it, boy." Clenching his fists and controlling his face as best he could by clenching his jaw and nodding curtly, he made a short gesture that Noven follow him before heading back to the doors. He kept his mouth shut. Anger was something he had found he was slow to, but once he reached it, it was difficult to control. His motions were quick, lilted, as the cells once more began their clamor. Taking no looks back, Keene pushed open the door and waited for Noven to follow before closing it behind them and leaning against the wood with a controlled exhale of breath.

"I do not like the Dungeons." Keene shook his head. Though his face had calmed, his voice held more than enough agitation. Taking a moment to gather himself, Keene leveled his gaze with Noven's. When he spoke again, it was much more controlled and cool, as was his natural timbre. "I hope the information was useful to you?" A name, or names, were hardly much of a lead to go on. The trip had been enlightening enough for Keene: the existence of a form of god given power beyond that which magic was capable was more than enough to justify the trip a hundred times over. Still, the purpose of the trip had been for whatever it was Noven required. If they had not found it, their mission was hardly complete. He found it odd the man sought a woman more adept at the art of torture that then decrepit nuit, but it was merely a surface opinion. He knew little about the other man, and despite appearances in the cells, Keene had the feeling he enjoyed the act of inflicting pain more than he let on. Like the rest of the Scars, his duplicity - whether intended or not - made him dangerous. Even more so if it were not intended. "If not, the spirits might know." The suggestion was given with little confidence. Keene was not Mistress Wanda, and from the very brief glimpses he had caught of her, he doubted she would assist them - and his own ability to interrogate the dead was certainly lacking.

[Noven]

For the bulk of their dungeony journey, the Warden Initiate had remained impassive. His was a tough shell to crack. Even during their impromptu round of interrogation, his facade had remained perfectly stoic, impenetrable despite the distaste for all things Cryptly writhing beneath. Nov liked to think of himself as rather unflappable compared to the average person, but his guide had pretty much turned poker face into an art form.

Not for the first time that day, the merc wondered how well Keene would do under torture. No doubt Cryptly had wondered the same.

The expression on the Initiate's face now, though...Noven almost wanted to take a step back and avoid whatever devastation the young man was itching to release. He'd seen what Keene could do through duty alone. He didn't want to know what the guy was capable of when enraged and hell bent on killing. At least not while Nov himself was still within the radius of collateral damage.

Once again, the Dungeon Master proved far more perceptive than his decaying form suggested. He called Keene out cold. Stopped him before the Initiate could so much as summon another strange ball of mist.

Noven bounced between man and Nuit, eyes flicking at lightning speeds as he tried to judge who might be more dangerous within the next few ticks. But, to Keene's credit, his self-discipline and composure held. He merely signaled for Nov to follow before pushing the doors open. Not a second glance backwards to be spared. Trailing after his guide, the merc gave Cryptly one last, guarded look before ducking out into the much less oppressive air of the courtyard. Funny, how something that seemed so intimidating before could become such a welcome relief a couple bells later.

As soon as Noven stepped over the threshold, Keene shut the doors and leaned against them, loosing a breath with measured control. The Initiate looked calm enough, but his voice still held traces of anger.

Nov snorted at the younger man's admission. "You can say that again, mate. I'd rather sleep in the gutters tonight than spend one more chime next to those cells. And don't even get me started on the Nuit. Crazy old bastard..."

Which, against usual protocol, was as far as he was going in terms of flaunting authority. The merc was Sunberthian, but not stupid. He came here with the Scars, allowed himself to be put under a contract and everything, and had promised Bitzer he'd be on his best behavior. Granted, Nov wasn't entirely sure how Cryptly was connected to the other council Nuits. But it didn't take a genius to figure out it'd probably be a good idea not to royally piss off someone who could throw you in a cell and torture you for season or two. Besides, Wolf Girl would skin him alive and wear him for a new coat if he managed to sabotage their tentative relations here.

Krysus. How was it that a bunch of tiny women and dead folk always held the most violent of threats over his life?

It only took Keene a moment before he was himself again. All smooth surfaces with nary a flaw to be seen. Then he went right back to business, raising his cool gaze to meet Nov's and inquiring whether the information Cryptly had provided was of any use. At his mention of the ghosts, the merc balked. He broke their gaze briefly to scan the eerie mistscape of the Courtyard. A small shudder crawled up his spine. When his eyes returned, they contained a tiny sliver of apprehension that wasn't there before.

"No," he replied, thoughts trailing towards things he'd rather not remember, "no ghosts. I've seen enough dead shyke for one day."

Realizing he hadn't actually answered the Initiate's question, Noven added, "But the information was good. If I can figure out why she picked those three names, I might be able to recognize her new one when I hear it. Doesn't matter from who. Drunks, thieves, cons--someone's got to slip up eventually. And if she's half as clever as Cryptly made her out to be, I'm willing to bet she's got a whole new life made up for herself. New name, new look, new history. Might be a good thing we have no idea what she looks like."

As suddenly as the bout of talkativeness came, it vanished. It felt petching strange to be stringing together so many sentences after all of that oppressive silence. Even more so coming from a man like Nov.

The merc coughed. "Well, uh...thanks. For coming, that is. Know you didn't like it in there anymore than I did."

Which was something of an understatement, if ever there was one. Keene had just done what most of Noven's own lifelong friends would have outright refused. He'd ventured into a nightmare of a dungeon, helped torture an innocent creature until it broke, and been pushed to a razor's edge short of murder, all for a foreigner he hardly even knew. Nov wasn't sure whether he should be humbled by the Initiate's resolve or concerned over his mental well being. Either way, he felt like he owed the young man. Duty or no duty.

"Say, Keene," he asked as they made their out of the Courtyard and its eternally swirling mist. "You ever drink?"

[Keene Ward]

While Keene said nothing regarding Noven's reply to his preferences, Keene found Noven's closing drift about Cryptly to be exceedingly lacking in expletives and derogatory adjectives. Keeping them to himself, however, he merely nodded. At the mention of requesting help from the bound souls of the dead, Noven let fear trickle through his visage. It was not complete terror in the way the Akvatari's eyes had widened with tears brimming on the edges. His eyes dilated some, his muscles tensed, and his words quite clearly solidified that the man before him was not inclined towards fraternization with the fragmented relics of the past. Taking mental note of it with a small tap of his finger against his thigh, Keene waited in silence for Noven to continue. The man had not given him the impression of one who often allowed the tongue to flail without meaning, and as he elaborated, there was a strange sort of foreign feeling to it that reflected itself on both faces. When he had finished, Keene's lips turned into a small, thoughtful frown as he considered.

Noven was much more astute than Keene had given him credit for. The names, to him, had meant little, but to Noven they were actually valuable information that could be used to not only expound upon, but to actually track his target. It was a strange thing, every time, when Keene found himself having to reevaluate a previously conceived notion. It wasn't so much that he was never wrong, but rather he tended to be partially right most of the time. That partial rightness, or collection of "half-truths", often allowed him to judge both situations and people within acceptable parameters so he could better understand them. When he was undeniably wrong, however, it required a bit more processing power to both come to terms with it and accommodate the new information and remove the old to a proverbial bin in which he could remember his past mistakes. Noven - the Noven in his mind - quickly shifted from a muscled brute - though a brute with an edge and a sharp eye - into something that he didn't possess a proper label for. It was fascinating, and while Keene knew little about the reasons behind his wish to meet another marked by whatever strange, sadistic goddess had marked him, he found the man before him infinitely more appealing from a stance of that which he did not understand.

Immediately after his rearrangement of theories and development of epiphanies, Noven thanked him. It was gruff, manly sort of acknowledgement, but it stood none the less. Taken by surprise, as his brain was rushing to make sense of all the information both given and implied, Keene let out a noise somewhere between a cough and grunt before regaining composure. Whatever Noven was, Keene decided to do as he'd done with his leader. He dropped all previous ideations, allowing only what he observed. In Zeltiva, Keene had rarely interacted with others beyond Mella and Bianca, and he had spent enough with the two of them to form very solid, very accurate ideas of who and what they were. Once he had arrived on the island, his lack of exposure had led to a sort of complacency in which he had allowed himself to attempt the same sort of social "shoe-fitting" in order to keep things neat and tidy. First with Bitzer then with Noven - and perhaps even Risabel, Boswell, and Atziri - Keene had been wrong. People weren't so easily placed in categories, nor could their actions be so simply predicted and understood without a more intimate understanding of who they were. Shaking his head, Keene decided to try a new approach at understanding the people around him. It would take time, certainly more time than he had with the Scars, for him to properly come to terms with it, but that was part of the learning process. Part of something he had begun to forget, isolated as he allowed himself to be on the mountain.

Having regained most of his mental faculties - allowing a small portion of his thought to deal with the sudden, unspoken revelation and redirection - Keene replied, his tone cool but not cold. There was no camaraderie within it, but there was certainly a fair amount of curiosity. "What I like often has little bearing on what I do." He paused, offering a darker glint to his eyes as he regarded the other man. "Though you are correct in that assumption." He had served his duty, and while he had not enjoyed it, it was something he would do again without question should the need arise. He had been assigned to the Scars with very little instruction, and he did as he saw fit. Orders, in whatever form they were given, were still orders. The Scars, despite their appearances and near alien members, were intriguing, and Keene had no wish to hamper whatever machinations they had planned. He was to watch, after all, and how better to observe than to enable. With that, they started back into the swirling mists, Keene taking the lead but only by a small margin. He spoke no further on what had transpired, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to. The haunting sensation of the mirror still drifted in the back of his mind. It was something he preferred to forget.

They hadn't gone far before Noven spoke up again. Having tried to allow his mental construct of Noven to become more accommodating of change, Keene suggested to it that the man was tacit but perhaps not entirely lacking a gregarious nature - it was curious either way. The question itself, however, seemed unprecedented, and Keene raised a brow at it. He took a good couple of ticks before he answered, thinking the question over seriously before speaking. "Once. I do not 'hold it' well, so I'm told." He offered a bit of information beyond the simple reply he had initially preferred. Noven, for whatever reason, seemed to be making an attempt at what Keene had once - and still, to an extent - considered "petty socialization", however he had done the same quite recently in an attempt to calm the man's nerves. While Keene was certainly high strung, he hadn't really thought he gave such an impression as requiring the salve of socialization. There were also other possibilities: fraternization, simply curiosity, even the more macabre poisoning. Either way, Keene found Noven and his company to be worth the push to move beyond the typically comfortable boundaries of the taciturn, at least for the time being. "Why?"

[Noven]

Had he possessed an altered past, been brought up in any place that wasn't a Sunberthian slum and raised within the loving care of his true family, Noven might have grown into a very different sort of man. It wasn't the sort of thing he thought of often these days, given all the other more pressing troubles that came his way. But he'd been newly orphaned, once. And every orphan thought of such fanciful notions, no matter how numb they became later on in life.

In the City of Slums, the saying 'beggars can't be choosers' may as well have been turned into the official anthem. Because, no matter which way you looked at it, everyone living there was a beggar. The rich, the poor, the strong, the weak. Gangsters, washerwomen, prostitutes and orphans alike. It didn't matter. Every soul struggling under the Berth's oppressive conditions was at the mercy of survival. Not even Robern, fearsome ex-leader of the Daggerhand, had been exempt. Their city shaped them. Fear hardened them. Hunger bound them. And blood fed them. Never the other way around and never was there room for change.

But, every once in a while, a glimmer of defiance sparked beneath Noven's otherwise scarred, uncaring exterior. It had been one of Nona's most important lessons. To enjoy good food and good company whilst one still had the chance. And though he had little to hold onto when it came to his surrogate mother, with her careworn features and calm, unwavering hands, it wasn't for lack of trying.

Nov hoarded these nuggets of wisdom and did his best to live by them. He didn't often succeed, and there were plenty of times he felt like giving up altogether. But somehow her voice always came back as a firm reminder. Always managed to get him to return just a little after he'd gone too far.

"Why?" the merc echoed, completely unsurprised by Keene's answer. He stopped for a moment to face the Initiate and clapped a gloved hand on the young man's shoulder. It was impulsive, it was forward, and Nov couldn't give less of a fuck. "Cause I owe you one, mate. No telling what could have happened without you there today. Going together was bad enough. Don't even want to think about setting foot in that petching place on my own."

For some reason, Keene's presence brought about a willingness to talk that Nov seldom encountered. Or, maybe it had noting to do with the Warden Initiate at all. Maybe it was because of everything they'd just endured in Cryptly's hellish domain. Maybe he just wanted to talk and have a pint and feel as human as possible.

Whatever the reason, the merc found himself not really concerned either way. It was sodding bleak out here on the island. And he wasn't very well going to ask a Nuit for company. Some days, Nov missed the ease with which he could sit down somewhere in Pig's Foot, order food and ale, and act like a complete nob with Seng and the others. He'd taken that for granted all his life...it wasn't until now that he realized it had been something of value.

The contact was brief, thoughtless. But also genuine in its camaraderie. What they both had witnessed--and committed--down in those endless rows of miserable cells remained strictly between them, the broken Akvatari, and Cryptly. No one else was privy.

Nov removed his hand and stuffed both into his coat pockets. Then he gave a casual, disarming shrug before returning to regard Keene.

"Just wanted to say thanks, is all. A bit of tradition where I'm from. Plus, it never hurts to get in a bit of practice." The merc offered a small grin. "Promise I'll look after ya, in case you toss your cookies. Wudya say?"

[Keene Ward]

Noven seemed to be preparing a thought out answer to Keene's question, even taking the time to stop. Turning round to check on him, Keene was immediately met with a hand to his shoulder. Prior to the earlier days of the season, it would have been a bearable gesture. Typically, skin to skin was the most difficult for him to cope with, but his recent encounters with forced physicality had left him overly wary of such things. The moment the hand was on this shoulder, Keene drew away, a few shivers and shakes rose to break the surface of his solemnity before he shoved them back down to nod at what the other man was saying. He had a difficult time listening, truly understanding what was being said, as the rush of tastes and scents crept up on him involuntarily, a re-visitation with the man in the wilds. Clenching his jaw, Keene set his gaze on Noven's lips, watching them move as he spoke, trying to make sense of what he said. In summary, Noven was thankful for his presence. It was something Keene didn't really understand, even had he not been flustered by the sudden contact.

While Keene agreed the Dungeons were not the sort of place an individual might find to be a the optimal place to spent time alone, he felt he had made it quite clear he was at the Scars' disposal. He had accompanied Noven not out of some unspoken bond of brotherhood, but rather because it was his job, his assignment. For him to express genuine thanks was uncomfortable, and Keene wasn't sure what to do with it. He was much better practiced to handle criticism, critique, even unadulterated insult. Compliments, praise, and congenialities were things he was unaccustomed to, and as such was unsure how to deal with them. Noven was, as he was slowly beginning to understand, just another example of how little he knew of the world around him and the people who inhabited it. For the first time, he wondered if he had missed an integral part in his education regarding the sentient races of Mizahar. Where others found camaraderie, pleasure, or excitement, Keene saw duty and frivolities. If there was something Noven could teach him that couldn't be explained through conventional means, Keene supposed it wouldn't hurt to take him up on his offer. He let the touch slide, as Noven - despite his inconsistencies according to Keene's model - did not seem the "touchy-feely" sort.

"Why..." Keene gave Noven a small frown, crossing his arms in a stance that was somewhere between as open as he ever was and closed off enough that the man wouldn't feel urged to touch him again. "Why would I toss cookies?" He shook his head, the meaning behind the idiom not incredibly important, "If it is tradition and you would like the practice, I will oblige you." He raised a brow, as close to sarcasm as he ever got, though the message was intended at face value. "And I will try not to be a burden." Alcohol and Keene mixed very quickly and very poorly. It had been a short, powerful outlet for his despair, but it had been only a moment. The aftereffects of alcohol had far outweighed the brief relief he had felt, though he had consumed quite a bit in a short amount of time. He wasn't sure what the proper protocols were for sociable drinking, but he had the feeling it was a bit more paced. "Sahova is-" He stopped, giving the other man a hard stare. His grey eyes firm but curious as they stared into the other man's. He was not an expert at reading others, in fact he was quite the novice. But there was something there, a spark of life, that was nearly universal to all living creatures. It was, in a sense, the expression of determination in its most base form: easily formed into determination, love, hate, desire, and a plethora of other things that made one truly alive in the philosophical sense. Keene sighed, turning back to the path to guide Noven to the Quarters. "If you require me for anything else," His voice was cool, calm, collected, and tinted with a hint of warmth that was the equivalent of a smile for him. "Don't hesitate."

[Ink]

Fate has dictated the conclusion to your journey...

...And now, only Fortune awaits you.

I am Ink, Mistress of Sahova; and it is my pleasure to award you with this bounty of XP and Lore. If you have any questions regarding this Grade, please do not hesitate to send me a PM. Fret not, I tend not to smite...often.

 

Noven

XP

• Observation 3
• Tactics 1
• Socialization 2
• Negotiation 2
• Investigation 2
• Intimidation 1
• Interrogation 1
• Torture 1

LORES

• Krysus: A Problem for Another Day
• Sleeping Easy Outside of Sunberth
• A Deal With the Dungeon Master
• Scarlet, Cherise, Carmine… Someone
• Initiate Keene: An Open Ended Offer

MISCELLANEOUS

• Congratulations! Noven's Vexation mark does not kill him while on Sahova! Wooo!

 

Keene

XP

• Socialization 2
• Intelligence 1
• Observation 3
• Reimancy 1
• Torture 1
• Interrogation 1
• Philosophy 1

LORES

• Noven: Associated With Krysus
• Cryptly isn't the Worst Nuit Ever
• Krysus: A Goddess
• A Deal With the Dungeon Master
• Almost Empathy
• Why Would Someone ‘Toss Cookies’?

With Regards,
Ink