Welcome Back Aelius (Hadrian & Isikais)

[Isikais]

"What reason could The World Destroyer possibly have for noticing your actions? His tone dripped hubris and condescension, betraying again his predilection toward outright racism. "That is, I mean to say, what could you possibly have done so wrong that...rather..." The pitch of his voice went up slightly, he scrambled purposefully. "Ivak?" His tongue pressed against his cheek, triggering a rune hidden there. He willed his djed to tint his cheeks the mild pink of embarrassment he had observed earlier. He could feel the warmth of his skin as it shifted colors, a subtlety it had taken him quite some time to master, and would require a new rune to accomplish on command again. He allowed his eyes to dart around the room for a moment before again looking at Hadrian. "Really?" He added, a single eyebrow darted up curiously.

[Hadrian]

Hadrian rolled his eyes. He hadn't forgotten where Isikais and his name came from. If he remembered correctly, there was even an Eypharian opera named after an Isikais. "Yes," he said, drier than the deserts of Eyktol. "I tried to fancy up my reimancy with runes in order to change the element I can work with to fire. I tried this on the summer solstice. I even lit a candle to The World Destroyer," sarcasm, "and said a prayer, but the results of the experiment lead me to believe that if he was paying attention to me, it was just to petch with me. "Anyway, I have it on good authority that the gods aren't infallible, world destroyers or not. And he didn't destroy the world. He just... tore it up a bit." He smirked.

[Isikais]

It may have been the first time in centuries, millennia even, that Isikais felt the true tingle of discomfort that comes from a subject so sore. Not since he actually needed to breath had he spoken of gods and their failings. It was a sudden burn, not physical, but emotional, that would have set hairs on end if flesh and nerves still functioned. It was not a conscious decision, when he rose from his seat. Face contorted with the unexpected vitriol of confusion, fear, and hate, Isikais found himself nearly growling his response. "Ignorant child, what would you know of Gods and..." He paused, shocked by the echo of his fist slammed against the table. Panicked reticence shifted fury to embarrassment as he turned for his bag without stopping to equivocate. His movements came with a novel alacrity, dead limbs suddenly quickened by a pressing need to flee this too sensitive situation. "I just remembered...I...have to..." His excuse faltered, trailing to silence as he reached for the door.

[Hadrian]

If Hadrian felt fear, he didn't show it. Then again, perhaps a Nuit could sniff it out even if he wasn't aware of it himself. All he could think about was this reaction, and the excitement it elicited. Of course, Isikais might only have been putting on a show for him. He still wasn't sure if he was on the up and up, but the risks were outweighed by the possible rewards of time spent with danger. So he ate it up, this explosion, chewing carefully lest there be hidden bones. "Do what thou wilt," he said, quoting some story or another. In the meantime, he opened one of his books. It gave him something to think about, how delicately he might have to skirt certain issues on Sahova, or with ethaefal like Caelum, though the healer seemed more bent on fixing things than merely surviving them as Isikais did. It was an interesting comparison between immortals. The next few minutes would tell, perhaps, if Isikais was only bluffing. He did seem rather intent on sticking to Hadrian, which had his brain in a whirl trying to figure out what it was that so intrigued him.

[Isikais]

Dead hands grasped the door with all too much force, the brutality of it nearly ripping the shoddy fixture from its moorings as he swung the door open and exited without a glance sideways. He closed the door without slamming it, though such restraint was hard to maintain in his current state. For a human a deep breath might have calmed nerves and slowed heart-rate, cuing the brain to release chemicals that would elicit a more settled state. Dead bodies had no such internally regulated mood altering drugs. Fresh air did nothing to chill the fire burning in Isikais brain. He stilled himself, sifting through thoughts as much as the anger and buzz of the city would allow. It was a wash of dreams and deities, duty and betrayal, fear and hatred. Beneath it all was an abiding desire to flee, if only to survive another day without enduring the pain and frustration of exploring these thoughts. Where did one escape to in this place, this constant hum of life that only served to remind him of a time long past. Legs began to move of their own accord. He passed taverns and cottages, dodging the light whenever possible. On and on he walked until he came to the edge of the area surrounding the old quarter. There, vast and desolate before him lay the ruins of the city that once was, the hulking ruins of once great Zeltiva. Stone and mortar, wood and dust, covered once beautiful streets, now overgrown with weeds and plants grown wild. Practically a graveyard. He thought to himself. How fitting. And so he wandered in, another bit of rubble among the time eroded refuse of an age past.

[Hadrian]

Hadrian, freed from the demands of company, gaped at the door for a while. It only occurred to him after a minute that he might want to follow Isikais and see what a Nuit got up to in a living city when he was upset. Leaving his house, he scanned the streets and thought he recognized the no-man. He hurried after, figuring if this was the wrong person, he would just go have a beer and then head home. He did hope as he jogged along that Isikais might tell him personal stories from the ancient -- to Hadrian, anyway -- past. It was one thing to know the general history, but it was quite another to have a first person account. It might be a term paper for Professor Rochlas' anthropology class, the class of one. Yes, it was definitely Isikais he trailed. When he realized where they were, though, he rolled his eyes. The ruins? How trite. As if the old, broken stones could resurrect a past long dead. He sighed, though. Hadrian had never been good with emotions, his own or others, and somehow he had managed to enrage a Nuit, for the gods' sake. Perhaps traveling to dangerous locales was not a good idea for him. At least, if he wanted to survive into old age.

[Isikais]

Deeper into the debris of the old city he wandered, adeptly climbing the occasional massive sheet of stone that may have been a wall or a floor. Through the charred and rotten husks of buildings ceilings now gone, Isikais wandered, the further he went, the more distant the sounds of life that buzzed in the city. It must have been a massive structure in old Alahea, this now shattered behemoth. The stone facade missing in many places, revealing parts of the entrance, the second, and third floors. Along the top several half standing arches and stairways suggested the building was once much taller. Isikais stared for a moment before walking in, hoping the remaining shell would buffer the last of the noises from without. Inside, the large foyer was only dimly lit by the moon peaking in through time worn fractures in the walls. Isikais stood in the darkness, again searching for the one thing that was to him as a breath of fresh air to a human. Silence. But it lasted only for a moment before he again heard that irritating wheeze of air from lungs. It was an infuriating reminder of what he would never have...and it came from the stairs. Through the corner of his eye he scanned the shadows, not wanting to startle what could easily have been a predator in this untamed waste. Laws and civilization tended to extend only to the edge of ordered space. Here the rules were different. Here he was more monster than man, a product of centuries of wild wanderings. "Well don't you look a little too scrumptious to be wanderin alone in the dark." The grating female voice echoed from the darkness, ineptly attempting a seductive lilt. "Show yourself or begone woman." Isikais spat, disgusted by the relentless presence of the living. "All business then, eh?" The woman shuffled out of the shadows, all breasts and hips, ruddy round cheeks, and painted lips. Her clothes were adorned with spatters of the same grey smears as every other bit of filth in these ruins, time ground dust of once beautiful stones, now only a sooty blemish on everything it touched. "What'll it be, then, you come to have a bit of fun, m'lord." She bowed mockingly as she addressed him, a poor play at refinement in the presence of nobility. Pudgy fingers traced along his vest, leaving a smear of the same dusty grit that covered her hands. Isikais looked down with a silent scowl and cold narrow eyes. He had no interest in the services the woman offered, but disgust and rekindled anger threatened to erupt if he uttered a sound. A sudden thrust mashed an all too full bodice against his chest, breasts gyrating like the back ends of two obese hairless cats desperately seeking an escape. Isikais stifled the urge to throw her from him immediately, fearful she might not fare so well as the table and door had earlier. "Or maybe you'd rather I just show you what I like to do?" Short arms slid around behind him, the glint of a small metallic dagger catching the moon only slightly as she freed it from her sleeve and quickly shoved it in and up through his torso. Isikais felt fabric tear, flesh rip, and finally, the unmistakable crunch of osseous tissue cracking. His lowest rib split entirely under the force of the metal edge slid between rib and spine. A fatal blow, for sure, if he were human.

[Hadrian]

The old ruin felt like a tomb in the darkness, and Hadrian dared not create light for fear of tipping Isikais off to his presence and further upsetting him. This was a field trip, a chance to observe the Nuit in his... well, not his native habitat per se, but one always learned something about people when they didn't realize they were being observed. At first the scene amused him, but it occurred to him that a whore squatting in the pre-Valterrian ruins might try to roll him. Granted, he wasn't too, too worries about Isikais getting rolled. Killing a Nuit, from what he understood, required a bit of doing, and he had agreed not to let on that Isikais was just that--the walking dead. He nearly cried out at the telltale crunch, but he bit his tongue. Isikais could handle himself; he was sure of it. What remained was to see in what manner he chose to do so.

[Isikais]

A glance to his injured side and then gaze sharply cut back to the whore still pressed against him clutching the dagger in his ribs. An icy hand lashed to her throat, fingers forced past folds of flesh and gripping firmly around spine and larynx. The fleetness of his movements, and the apparent ineffectiveness of her blow shocked the woman into a state of panicked stillness. Cold fingers pressed firmly, Isikais could feel her draw breath to scream out, and squelched the noise before it escaped, only a choked squeal slipping out as his grip tightened. Whether by reflex or choice, nostrils flared and brow curled in a vicious glare. "Stupid, filthy, beast." He growled low. His cruel tone sent celluloid bouncing as the woman flailed to escape his grip. Her fear tensed muscles still clung to the dagger, as though the weapon might help, and her desperate grappling slid the blade out of his side. Hateful and slow Isikais lifted the creature from the ground, gelatinous stumpy legs wobbling wildly in search of the receding ground. In a fit of terror at the sudden unexpected strength of the monster, the woman slashed the dagger wildly in the direction of any bit she could reach. With a swipe of his free hand, Isikais grabbed the flailing wrist,the crunch crack of bones echoing through the room, followed by the gurgled shriek of the woman. "I worked very hard on this body." The words hissed out, venom and wrath as they did. Dropping the now limp arm of the woman, Isikais raised his hand to eye level, holding it there for a moment before forcing his will into the dead flesh. Smooth flesh began to roil, bone to bend and churn, and nails slowly elongated until what remained looked to be the misplaced talons of a Zith. From scalp to shoulder the serrated edges dragged, the wet tearing of flesh and gargled screams of pain echoed through the room. There was a sinister methodology to the cuts, one after another, but careful to pause long enough between strokes to keep her mind present. First the head and neck, then across her back and arms, and finally her chest and stomach. It was nearly ten minutes before he finally stopped tracing red ribbon trails through cloth and flesh. He held her there, a ragged mess of cloth and dirt, tears and hair, dripping a slow stream of blood, and only when he finished did he set her down again, just enough to loosen his grip and allow full throated sobs and cries. "Beg for your death, filth." Still hate propelled the words, a promise and a gift after such horrors. "K...ki...me. P...l.." Was all she could manage through sob-swollen lips, still gasping for air. It was not compassion, though, that Isikais gave in delivering the death blow. One long finger extended, he rammed it into her side, thrust clean across the same path her dagger had etched into him. He held it there a moment, keeping her eyes locked onto his as her breath slowed, blood choking into punctured lungs and bubbling from parted lips. Just before it was over he slowly pulled the talon from her side, a last ripping cut as the world went dark. Dropping the body to the ground, Isikais' hand shifted back to its normal form, blood still layered on his flesh. He looked at the corpse, thoughts only on the waste of flesh this human represented. And then he finally heard it. Silence.

[Hadrian]

Hadrian wasn't breathing. After the woman had stabbed Isikais, the young wizard figured that whatever revenge the Nuit meted out would be street justice at work, but then he began to change. That lying bastard, he might have thought if he wasn't rapt by the display, his vision shifting from the normal spectrum to include the aura as the undead shell was morphed from beauty to monster. It was monstrous. An animal might shred an aggressor to pieces, but it would be quick and to the point. Isikais clearly enjoyed what he was doing. Too much. His gorge rose at the mortal torture, but he swallowed it down. It occurred to him that he might also have lied about some skill at healing just so he might patch the woman up to prolong the flares of pain along her etheric body. Hadrian was not without chivalry, but the idea of interrupting this -- no, he would only be killed or named by the authorities as an accessory to murder. This wasn't Sunberth where might made right; or perhaps it was, with just an added veneer of civilization. And the woman would die soon. Ah, there. Her aura finally began to fade with his final riposte. As it lay on the ground, the spiritual remains glowed like embers that would remain, as he understood it, for a few days until it followed the rest of her soul into the well of reincarnation. Or it would dissipate, as some claimed, becoming djed. We were born of the Djed, there where Djed is born of Djed, he intoned within himself. A gong reverberating funereally for the deceased. Was it terrible that in one compartment of his mind, he mused that the 'dregs of society' might be kept to a minimum by a properly applied force of Symenestrae? Quite probably. How would one control them, after all? But, more importantly, how was he going to get out of here without alerting Isikais to his presence? Unmoving, he would have to breathe eventually or he would die and Isikais would inhabit him. That suddenly seemed an eventuality to be avoided, moreso than it already was. Perhaps Isikais merely viewed bodies as garments, and perhaps he was right, but the only soul Hadrian wanted indwelt was his own. He began to breathe, controlling it as he did in meditation practice, to keep it silent. Compassionate Dira, he prayed, if only to focus his mind, take this, your daughter, into your arms...