Quest [The Dungeons]Shattered (NULLIFIED BY FOUNDERS)

[Imass]

Winter 3 512

Ser Imass didn't know which was more painful, sleeping or being awake; the Akalak's body felt like a twisted knot of fire. He laid flat on the cold black floor and could not move. There was no difference between opening the eyes or closing them. The Zealot's body was shattered literally. His head was always ringing in pain, as if he got hit with a fatal blow. Feverish and in extreme agony, the Akalak didn't even have the energy to shed a tear.

Ser Imass' mere existence was reduced to fading from darkness to blackness. His mind was blank from the pain, he could think of nothing else. The Knight accepted his mortality already and was waiting for death. Twice already a dark figure entered the room and poured a liquid down his throat (which he drank readily). When the liquid was consumed he became very sleepy, but he would always awaken in pain.

After what seemed years, the Akalak was convinced his whole existence was dreamless blackness and painful darkness. He screamed sometimes when the pain was unbearable, but the extreme silence always returned. He would try to think of prayers but his mind always slipped from his fever induced delirium.

Suddenly, Ser Imass heard the sound of dice being cast; it pierced through the silence like greased lightening. The sound startled the Akalak so much his heart started to beat uncontrollably. Silence ensued for what seemed forever, then he heard someone walking down a stone corridor outside the doors. That is when Imass realized the dice roll was an omen of the future from the Gods. He was about to start playing a game of life and death, he could feel it in his bones.

And thus the shattered Zealot awaited his destiny.

[Wrenmae]

It was the dragging of metal, not the footsteps, that echoed loudest in the dungeon hall. The movement was deliberate, painful ease of passage down the dank hallway of Sahova. Imass lay, a broken man, the fight torn out of him by trial after trial, torture after torture.

The figure that stepped from the shadows dragged his longsword behind it, the origin of the scrape across stone. Cloaked, the figure gave no word of comfort or scorn, no indication of identity. The blade dropped to the stranger's feet, clanging, casting the disparate noise across the chamber like frenzied bats...flapping till they faded.

A hand rose from the cloak to the lock on the cage, a key clasped between pale fingers. Turning in the lock, the cell door sprung open, but the figure stood only on the threshold.

It had been the work of hypnotic suggestion to allow the Pulser to deliver the prisoner's food, it was the job of the mortals anyways. The sword had been simply obtained...the nuits had no need for such a useless weapon. Their power remained in their minds and will, not forged by the hands of man.

The sword spun across the ground, kicked to Imass and laying uselessly in the dust around his body.

Reaching up, the figure pulled the hood from his head. Wrenmae looked down at the once proud knight. But strangely, there was no gloat in his expression, no smile poking at the edge of his mouth. There was nothing but disdain, disgust, a revulsion for the broken thing laying before him.

"Look at you," he said quietly, his voice echoing in the chamber, "Ser Imass, proud Syliran Knight...brought so low by nuits." Stepping into the cage, he remained just out of Imass' reach, his eyes glinting in the dull light.

"Failure to Syliras, to your people, to your city...and in more ways than you know." Circling the knight, he kicked once at his body, his foot finding hard skin and muscle before withdrawing.

"What now, Ser Imass...what will you do? How will you return to your beloved Syliras a traitor?"

He leaned down for a moment, darting toward Imass' head, whispering a single message before withdrawing form his reach.

"What is the punishment for a Knight who reveals the identity of the Windoak to enemies?"

[Imass]

The key of the door turned and a flood of light entered the room. The Knight closed his eyes as he adjusted to the flames from the hallway. Intense dull pain pulsated with each heartbeat. He clenched he teeth when the sound of metal clanking on stone was heard.

"Food?" he said weakly, but his only response was the hilt of a sword spinning into his side; he was not surprised though that the Gods had brought a weapon for him. The presence of the cold steel in the room was appropriate and an obvious omen for the game he was about to play.

Opening his eyes slowly, the Zealot was greeted with the gloomy face of Murdock of the Zeltivan Waveguard. His face was grim and full of malice. In the Knight's delirium, the hypnotist looked more demonic than human. His neck began to hurt just by looking at him. In a disgusted voice, Murdock echoed quietly as he entered the chamber. The dark shadow of the man began to circle the Akalak.

"Murdock? I should have known you where in league with--" His voice weak.

Ser Imass was immediately put to the test with a kick to the hip. The excruciating pain made the Knight grunt; he almost blacked out. The kick came with damming words and a whisper. Murdock instigated and called him a traitor and liar. He suggested that Imass revealed the identity of the Windoak.

Righteous anger burst out of his soul when he heard Murdock. The kick to the side and the venomous words woke up the dazed Akalak quick! All Imass could envision was himself bashing the hypnotist's head in. He had the unquenchable desire to smash him to pieces, but he was helpless. The Knight could not move.

"Lies. I am no traitor. I am no failure. I took my vows. I did my duty. You know nothing," the Knight said in a hoarse voice. Ser Imass denied his poisoned tongue and disregarded his lies. He was no traitor, but deep in his mind the word failure lingered. He could not admit it to himself, but the fact he lay broken in this cell meant failure. He had served his Gods for years and had sacrifiesed a lot in his life to achieve knighthood. The Knighthad protected the weak and defended the poor, but now he lay defeated after the greatest test in his life. Regardless, the anger beyond scope fueled him down in the dungeons.

"I don't play games Murdock. What do you want with me?" Ser Imass knew that his statements would be just as futile as before when he fought the bear. The Gods had already rolled the dice and cold steel was present in the room; Murdock would not let Imass continue his destiny without playing and paying.

[Wrenmae]

Reaching to his belt, Wren pulled out the very same flask that Nira' Lia had worn around her neck when she spoke to Imass that fateful day. To the Akalak's eyes, the flask lost its form and became a floating mass of undulating water, and then, returned to the bottle once more.

"My familiar," Wren introduced simply, "Zan. He overheard your entire conversation...the Fragment of Sylir, the Windoak...delivered to me loyally." He circled around the knight, strolling as he gazed over the scars and barely healed wounds Imass had been dealt. "You will rot here while I sell that information to anyone who can pay the right amount...the University, Sunberthian thugs..." his voice paused..."Ravok. All because you knew so little about me."

Crouching down near Imass' face, Wren sneered without mirth, "You called me dishonorable then, when we fought in Zeltiva. I admit that I did not reveal my magical talents at the time...but you...you and your precious dogma, your useless codex. I could have killed you and in a year they would laud me as the hero who broke the despot. Your entire cause, your religion, your dead god, they're all worthless. Nothing but Ravokians dressed in honor and waving flags...self righteous pricks."

Straightening, he passed to the door, stretched, and drew both his long daggers. The light reflecting off of them slanted across Imass' skin...twin messages of intent.

"Well, Imass...shall I seal your defeat? Shall I reveal more of your failure? For four days I was unable to move, a prisoner of my own mind. In those four days, I was taken with your plague camp. How many died on the journey, Imass? How many of your precious friends did you kill with your ignorance?"

A chuckle came now, cold and pitiless. Wren turned to Imass and scowled, the darkness warping his features. "I am the cause of the disease, Imass. I poisoned your friends. I rode with you, deceived you, and weakened you all the way here and you did nothing, could do nothing, was nothing to me."

Clanging the blades together once, the sound pierced the silence between them like a shrill bird shriek, grating off their ears and leaping from corner to corner of the enclosed space.

"Stand up and kill me, Imass...or I will sell the fruits of your failure to every enemy you have. Kill me or I will spread my poison to Zeltiva, to Syliras. I will do to them what I did to your men. If you cannot defeat me, here, now...all the lives I take will be on your hands...their blood is yours to bathe in."

He spit on the knight's blade.

"So," he said, "Show me your fabled strength. Show me the might of the Knights. Show me that your justice is enough to strike me down...because if you don't, I will burn your world to the ground."

[Imass]

The Knight watched silently as Murdock produced the tiny flask that belonged to the Konti healer that had traveled with them to Sahova. Starring at the floating form of water that was contained in the flask, the Zealot's' mind reeled. As explained briefly by the treacherous man, he had deceived him with this strange sorcery. Not only that, but he threatened to sell that information to all of Syliras' enemies.

Ser Imass grinded his teeth in angry frustration for he was in too weak to kill Murdock for his words, "You dishonorable scumbag! You went behind my back and spied on me! Yahal damn you!! Tyveth grant me retribution!! You have no honor!"

Murdock bent down close to Ser Imass and told him more debauchery. Although he admitted to being honor-less, he was just making excuses to dodge the issue. The villain spoke blasphemous words against the Knights, against Imass' faith, and his whole life style. The Knight was shocked beyond a doubt that he almost forgot about his pain as Murdock drew his long daggers, "You speak of your own dishonor so lightly, but you used foul magic to spy on me, rather than confront me like a man! Look at you -your a hypocrite- you call me self righteous, but your words reveal that you are just that. Look at you, Murdock of the Worm, you come to confront me now when your own life is not in danger- thats what children do. Only little kids who don't know better do such actions. You are a fool....What happened at the camp? Why didn't you come forward earlier? Your a coward that's why!!"

The Knight stared as the Worm doubled back with a response. Just when Imass thought things couldn't get worse, they did. Murdock just confessed to bringing the plague onto the camp. His words brought back memories of all the good brothers who died during the sickness. The fact that he had indadvertedly caused the plague infuriated him even more now.

Ser Imass' rage was burning white now. An anger that had not been known for millennia burst forth. He couldn't even talk. The first tear in days rolled down his check due to frustration. He had no control of the situation, he was helpless and incapacitated. He gave out a cry of anguish as his body twitched, "Blast you! Damn you! I will kill you for this Murdock! I swear it on everything I love! I will see your head mounted for your treachery! Coward!!!"

The Worm only taunted him some more and gave him an ultimatum. Ser Imass went rolling. Murdock wanted Imass to fight even though he was literally shattered and if he didn't fight then he would let down all of his comrades. The Knight summoned all the remaining strength in his body and reached for the sword the gods had brought him.

"This is my last chance to fix my wrongs," thought Imass, "I die for you my fellow brothers. Always faithful, always loyal!" The Knight knew that he wasn't strong enough to outright kill the craven, but he would sacrifice his own life to end it.

The Knight's anger fueled his body despite it's status of being broken. He had one chance. One final shot at glory, "Yahal give my body the strength to complete this one final Duty in your name! I implore you! I am not perfect and I have sinned, but I have lived my life in your honor! Never once asked you for anything, but now I come to you for one final gift before I die! Give me the strength to finish Murdock, the worm who killed the innocent, conspired against the good and just, and defiled your most sacred ideals! Yahal, help me stop Murdock!"

Ser Imass gripped the handle of the sword. It's worn leather was familiar, it was his own sword. The room had been silent for long time now. It was time to act...

[Colombina]

It did not sound like a god. There was no thunder or cracking of stone. The room did not recoil or the air tremble. He came, but the shape was insubstantial, avoiding the thick weight of flesh and bone. Only Imass saw him behind Murdock. Yahal carried a man's form but as seen through a prism. It burned white as holiness, flickering between an echo of light and the shade of a man clad in red and gold. Over the vision, like a blessing, arched massive amber and emerald wings made more of formless color than feather. Yahal was not in the rage the knight felt, but the sound of wings folding and the quiet, steady voice that now governed Imass's ears. There was power, but it was covered like a sword sheathed. "I have heard, Imass. Act in faith and a pure heart. See goodness despite evil and keep yourself from corruption. Know anger, but not hatred." The haze of Imass's mind was wiped away with the ease of breaking cobweb and the purging force of the god of purity came on in him like a flood. There was new strength in the Akalak now, running through the single gnosis mark on his hand. He was renewed, but not impervious, given faith, but not rendered an absolute. Even so, the god had come to him when called and waited for the knight to choose his path. OOCHi guys! Hope you don't mind me shaking things up a bit with a cameo. If you have any questions at all, please feel free to message me. I am happy to work with everyone. Imass has been given double his full strength and clarity of thought. For now, he will be able to fight against magic that concerns the mind (such as hypnosis).

[Imass]

Closing his eyes for but a moment, the Knight finally got adjusted to the light. Although the room was dark, his eyes were wide and his pupils small. Ser Imass spoke no words, but his face was blank with either mortal terror or extreme awe. Behind Murdock stood Yahal in all his splendor and glory. He seems to appear through a prism of majestic light that burned fiery white, but his red and gold clothing was just as bright. Amber and emerald wings unfolded.

Yahal's face was pure and solemn. Ser Imass stared. His voice spoke in his ears; it was quiet but full of loving power. ' I have heard, Imass. Act in faith and a pure heart. See goodness despite evil and keep yourself from corruption. Know anger, but not hatred. ' The Knight would remember those words until his dying breath.

The daze cleared from his mind and his sword hand began to burn. He gripped the leather so hard his hand almost went numb. Strength took over his limbs like a wave of energy. He could breath better, his mind was racing, and his body did not hurt anymore. An innocent smile same upon his face, it was full of joy. This would be the first time Murdock saw the grim Akalak smile.

Ser Imass' mind was clear beyond a doubt. He just wanted to scream and jump for Yahal, "To thee do I suffer verily oh pure Yahal!" he roared. Slowly the Knight climbed to his feet laughing, his mind was bent on the task at hand. Ser Imass had accepted death many years ago, he had no fear of dieing for his Pure Lord. Slowly and with the help of his sword, the Akalak stood to his feet then stood motionless.

"Murdock!" Ser Imass' voice boomed. It was time to follow Yahal faithfully. Justice was the only solution, "Regardless of what you say, you have committed evil crimes beyond the scope of a pure mind. Justice requires you to pay! However, none could deny that a last smidgeon of goodness remains inside you!" Ser Imass seemed to be going insane with anger but he composed himself. It was obvious now that there would be no reasoning with him at this time.

The tall Akalak was one strides length from the door,"HONOR!!!!!" he brought his sword up, "Have HONOR and tell me the truth! Renounce your ways and change your life! You will have penance, but your life can be saved. HAVE HONOR! HAVE FAITH! The inevitable outcome of your treachery is death Murdock, can't you see that? Open Your heart to goodness and love... Renounce your ways and gain the real power of pure peace."

Ser Imass stared at Murdock in the eyes in all sincerity. He meant every word he said. Imass would have faith in Yahal's word and try to find the good in Murdock. Imass showed no signs of pain and his facial expression was clear and genuine.

"Why are you doing this Murdock?!?!? Let go of your pride!!!"

[Wrenmae]

The rumble of shattered notes sawed through air and stone, assaulting Wrenmae where he stood, forcing him to take a step backward. He was but inches from Yahal but could not see him, did not know him. All he saw was the vigor infused within the knight who, only moments before, had been more dead than living on the cold dungeon floor.

Yahal...a god perhaps? He'd heard the Knights speak of him before but had never paid much attention. Strength...perhaps, or faith? Tyveth...was truth, wasn't he? The thoughts were banished from his mind as Imass stood, sword clutched in his hand, facing Wrenmae with all the poisonous self-righteous dogma of any day before Sahova. Pulling his cloak forward, over his shoulders, draping his body for a moment, he drew his long dagger and dropped the other to the floor, kicking it across the cell. He made no sound as Imass spoke, eyes tracing the contours of the knight's body for miraculous healing, marks, anything that might explain this sudden and inexplicable power.

He found none.

This wasn't faith. Knights did not simply tap into hidden reserves after extensive torture. Something was helping Imass...flux perhaps? It might explain his strength...and yet the idea of the knight using magic seemed wrong to the hypnotist, terribly wrong.

So then, Imass had overcome his bondage and agony to stand before him now...a prisoner who spoke as if he were the commanding knight in a courtroom, as if he had the right to cast judgement on Wrenmae.

A smile crossed his face, a chuckle shook his form for a moment...and it was followed by laughter, howling gales of laughter that filled the small cell and hallway with deep roaring mirth.

"Renounce?" Wrenmae gasped, pulling res from within his body, a pale green mist to seep around his other hand and around his dagger. "Renounce?" He said it again, more ragged than before, another laugh nearly laying him low.

"You speak of evil as though it had a face, had a name. Perhaps for someone like you, it does...but not for me." Brandishing his long dagger at the prisoner, Wrenmae pushed Djed into his body, his skin hardening, shifting, taking on the rough and hewn properties of Isur flesh. He needed little more than their skin, the toughness of their bones. The longer he talked, the more time he had to prepare. Imass could not leave the island alive, but he stood against Wrenmae...here...now. The mage had asked him to stand. He had. He asked him to fight. He was prepared. How else could he honor Vayt than by testing the might of this foe?

Certainly...there was power here...the power necessary to move Mizahar, to move it forward.

"Everything I do, I do for Mizahar." Wrenmae said, looking Imass directly in the eye. Unlike Murdock, the broken man Wrenmae had been before, to Imass, these eyes were convicted...there was no ounce of give in them, caution more than fear, but the stirrings of true faith...mad purpose. "Mizahar is weak, it is dying. Men like you profess your faith but are content to live within your walls and protect only those who crawl past your gates. The rest of Mizahar stagnates...where once there were empires, only shadows remain! We have lost more than we will ever gain...and all of us live a suffered life."

He hissed, stepping into the cell and keeping his long blade up, ready to intercept the broadsword. Imass' disadvantage was the confined quarters. His sword was not made for that sort of environment. From his belt, Zan slithered down his leg, inconspicuously drifting toward the dagger kicked behind the Akalak as Wren kept his gaze firmly on his opponent.

"I have pulled myself from the gutters, sacrificed as much as I could, and you have the gall to tell me I'm evil? I am more than you will EVER be! And I am not shackled by your dogma, your hypocritical doctrine, your lies, your conceit, your greed...all of Syliras can burn for all I care...what has it ever done for me?"

He leaped forward swinging his dagger toward the sword, intending to block its inevitable swing and then blast Imass against the bars with wind reimancy.

"Pride...is all I have to fight against your faith. Pride that I am reforging Mizahar...while you and yours rot it at the heart."

[Imass]

Murdock responded to Ser Imass' offer of mercy with contempt and hostility. He gathered fowl magicks around his hand in the form a misty substance. He even kicked the dagger to the other side of the room. In a roaring laughter that seemed more like insanity, the Worm began to cry heretical words meant to break Imass' spirit. As his face seemed the harden, he denied the truth and lied about his own evil actions.

The Knight stared his enemy in the eyes as usual. This next part Ser Imass knew was the truth though, he could tell just by looking into the Murdock's soul that he spoke the truth no matter how disillusioned he was. The villain sincerely claimed he was trying to help Mizahar. Looking into Murdock's eyes Imass knew his purpose was real, there was some good in his heart. 'See goodness despite evil...' Imass reminded himself quickly of Yahal's words.

"Enough!" Ser Imass yelled and coiled into the proper stance. His feet shot out at shoulder's width and his left foot was pointed at a thirty degree angle towards Wrenmae. His back foot was positioned away from his opponent for the purpose of pivoting and bringing his hips into strikes. The Akalak breathed in, then out; the Yahal gnosis mark brought his clarity of focus into the combat techniques learned his whole life. He recognized his severe handicap of mobility and magic defense, so he needed to win quickly.

' My life for Yahal! ' Imass' sword switched into a position diagonally pointed at the floor. In this basic position, the Knight would be able to attack more swiftly and with full power even in the confined cell, the down side being it reduced his mobility and reach. In the current situation however reach and mobility were not an issue.

The Knight screamed a battle cry, his whole being focused on killing Murdock, even if the outcome was his own death "HONOR!!"

The Knight brought the blade from it's thirty degree position in a backhanded attack aimed at his opponent's groin. Shifting forward, he took two hand length steps forward placing his weight balanced across his in-soles. Pivoting his foot from backwards to forty five degrees added more power into his swing.

Murdock was quick and extremely deft with a blade, but no one was more disciplined than a Syliran Knight on mental steroids. His whole life was sword fighting and combat training, his mind was built for combat. His opponent swung his long knife towards the broadsword arching forward. Instead aiming his block at Imass' body and hands he aimed it at his sword, a fatal mistake that any competent swordsman would know immediately. The Knight's sword smashed into the knife was double the force a full grown Akalak could achieve. He heard a nasty splintering sound from the impact, but Imass never saw if he actually broke the weapon.

The Knight did not stop there, using the momentum of his swing, the Knight circled the blade over and pivoted his feet again so he was square with Murdock. The counterattack was simple, but Wren's leaping block failed. Just before his blade found it's mark across Wren's body, a blast of air knocked Imass backwards, slamming him into the gates.

Grunting loudly at Murdock's cheap trick, the Knight popped up from the cage and rolled to his right to escape any follow up attack. Now, Imass was facing Murdock again, but his back was to the cage wall (I.e now the dagger is on the floor to his left instead of behind him. The door is to Imass' right. Vis versa for Wren). Getting back into his original stance, the Knight screamed again and attacked.

Pivoting his hips and bringing power into the strike, Imass shifted forward by taking in toed steps to preserve balance. He brought the blade the opposite side of Wren's body (I.e his reimancy hand) and tried the same maneuver of backhanding his groin and cu tearing with sweeping hack, with all his power and speed. Ser Imass was confident his opponent could not withstand his strength, speed, and power. It was impossible to gage how Wren would deal with a reversed attack, but Imass would not get surprised by the wind reimancy again; his focused mind remembered the old heavy mountain stances of his youth...

"DUTY!!!"

[Wrenmae]

The sword blow knocked the dagger from Wrenmae’s hand in a shower of sparks. The weapon sailed across the cell, clanging against the bars and falling prone. Not only had Imass regained his strength, he’d surpassed it. The two of them had always been unmatched opponents before. Wrenmae was nimble and agile while Imass was more of a muscled hulk. Now that difference had been further polarized. In terms of skill, he could weave around Imass as if he were a child. The Broadsword had limited ranges of movements in the cell which made predicting its path easier. However, Wrenmae was unarmed now and his entire method of dealing damage with the dagger was his proximity. Imass seemed to take that boost of strength farther and had even included his reaction time and his base speed. This was more than flux, certainly, but Wrenmae could hazard no guess as to the origin of his sudden vitality and deadly efficiency.

As Imass flew across the cell against the bars, Wrenmae pulled more res from his body, into his mouth and once more to soak his other hand. The res he’d pulled before on his dagger hand remained and he used both hands to expel the res at Imass as the warrior charged him again, blasting him with twin gales of air while simultaneously leaping into a sidelong roll that put him near his other dagger. Zan, meanwhile, grew. From the small size of palm-held globe to one encompassing the size of a full grown man, the familiar cornered Imass as he rose, rushing toward him on jets of Djed. The small size of the cell gave Zan the advantage in that Imass would not be able to leap over him. Even a desperate roll to pass around him would put him in only one place. That was where Wrenmae aimed his last bit of res, ready to convert it to flames at a moment’s notice. His body continued its slow morphing transformation, borrowing the best qualities of Isur skin and bones.

As Zan approached the warrior, he launched two volleys of boiling water from his core, diminishing his size a small bit, but almost certainly leaving the sword wielder in an awkward situation.

There was no longer any words between them, only the desperation of combat. The mage and the knight, at each other’s throats and ready to deliver final blows. Somewhere, though, deep within the mage, the fight for survival fanned a devotion to Vayt he had not yet served. By engaging in this life or death brawl, he had tested his own accumulated might against that of Imass. Were he to win, he would prove himself a capable servant of Vayt…worthy to carry his marks and mission. Were he to die, well, he would simply perish and that would be the end of it.

Now all he could do is triumph over the knight…but death would not find the Syliran, at least not by his hand.

Imass had proven his will to live.

Whether he knew it or not, he proved himself to Vayt.