Quest Breaking Point: A Crucible Story

[Verilian]

. . Breaking Point A Crucible Story Timestamp: 25th of Summer, 513 AV Location: Near the Sullin's Residence Characters: Clyde Sullins As usual, the weather was as nice as ever. Clyde found himself next to a canal in search of a Ravosalaman to take him to the Vitrax. He was probably a bit nervous, but that was to be expected. Finally, after so long, he had been summoned. It was time for his Crucible. According to the letter from Samara, he needed to bring supplies for five days of travel in the wilderness. While it didn't give him all the details, he could discern that he would be heading out to some sort of abandoned ruin. His mission was to search for a lost artifact from pre-valterrian times rumored to be located in the ruin. He would get more details upon arrival at the Vitrax. Other than that, the letter was vague, though it did specify that he was not allowed to bring his dog, and that it would be taken care of while he was gone. The annoying thing that morning was, the Ravosalaman that supposedly was going to pick him up and transport his supplies had not arrived yet. There were purposely no bridges leading directly to the city center, even if he wanted to lug all his gear along the way, and the only way there was by water. It was actually rather strange too. Usually the canals were filled with boatmen, and he could have simply found another, but not one was about. Clyde might have grown suspicious, had he the time. Before he had a chance for anything like that to happen, however, he heard the shuffle of footsteps, which was followed up by a crack and the vague sensation that something had hit him in the back of his head before everything went black. ... Timestamp: ??? Location: ??? Clyde could feel the pain now, the aching in the back of his skull. He might recall that something hit him from behind, and that before everything had gone black he was walking along the canal headed for the Vitrax. He was hit in the head by.. something.. and now he found himself in a dimly lit room, shackled to the wall, with a pounding in his head that made him nauseous. He was alone in the room, the only sound that of birds chirping outside whatever building he was in. Clyde might think to use his magic to escape while he was still alone, and that would have been a good idea, had the moment he began to concentrate the pain in his head increased tenfold and the contents of his stomach found their way up his through and onto the floor in front of him. The putrid mix of liquid and solids splashed on the floor, covering his feet and dripping down his robes. He was shackled upright, arms and legs spread out and against the wall, so that he could not even bend over enough to avoid puking on himself. If he took the time to look around, though too much concentration on any action at all would hurt, he would eventually see through the dim light that there were a few other features in the room. The light itself came through small cracks between the wood that made up the building he found himself in. There was a table in the room with a number of items he could not make out scattered across it, and a chair. And the door was across from him, he could tell by the outline of light around it. To the left and right of the door were.. shapes that he could not quite make out. They were about half as tall as the wall, no wider than a man, and completely motionless. Clyde was alone. He could not use his magic, no matter how hard he tried. His body would react violently every time he tried. His only option was to stand there.. and hope that somehow he would think of way out.

[Clyde Sullins]

Clyde had gone out to do a bit of shopping, stopping by and purchasing some trail rations for 5 days. He would not eat to well, not as he ate in Ravok, but he could survive for 5 days on them. He was excited that his crucible was here, and also a bit unsure. He did not doubt his abilities, but all the same it would be tough. And who knew how it could go wrong? So there he stood waiting for a Ravasolamen alone, pack on his back with some of his basic Glyphing gear, along with the rations, and a steel hammer tucked inside. He had a second steel hammer tucked into his belt, under his robes, and his wooden staff in hand. It was not often used to fight, but was still a comforting presence. He was also excited to here that he would be going into a pre-valterrian ruin! What joys! What unknown things he might see, that had not been looked upon since before the great destruction century ago? Suddenly, Clyde noticed something, as he waited... And waited... It was quiet. To quiet, as cliche as it sounded even in his own head. There was no one around. Which was odd. He had never been in Ravok long without seeing a person, or a Ravasolamen coming by. He was just beginning to glance about after noting this detail, thinking it was odd, when he heard footsteps behind him. Before he could even turn all the way around before *wham* he was struck, things went black, and he passed into unconsciousness. --- The first thing Clyde felt when coming to, was pain. It felt like the back of his head had been rent open. The next thing he realized was that he was shackled to a wall, something which was an odd occurrence for Clyde. His memory was a bit fuzzy, he had been heading someone, and someone had... Hit him? Odd... He began to feel out for his djed, to exude some res, as he did so easily now. Only, it did not work, and the pain in his head grew to a tempest, like his head was being ripped open freshly. He felt sick, and his breakfast rose, spraying out down his front with chunks of partially digested food, liquid, and stomach juice. He could not move to keep from making a mess of himself, however he did note one fact, by the fact that he had puked on it. He was still dressed, and still had on his robes. At least he was still attired. Clyde glanced about, the pain in his head still there, seeing the light cast into the room, by cracks between the walls planks, which meant it was an older building, or not one in good repair. Though made out of wood as was common in Ravok. But were they in Ravok? He could hear the birds, but were they still in the city, or on the land somewhere? How long had he been out? He noticed some random object in the room, a chair, a door which might be promising... And some lumps of things he could not make out. He tried using magic once more, but met the same response as before. It appeared his magic would not work, or at least... His personal magic, he realized. He looked at his shackles, and tried to see if they were Glyphed. If they were, then it might be anti-magic, which might be what was keeping his magic in check... But if they were not, then it meant something else was stopping his magic from being used. If it was just the shackles, perhaps he could alter the Glyphs in some way, to make a loop, or to stop the effect of the anti-magic... If they were not. He doubted he could do anything about it but seek a healer... He checked his range of motion, trying to move his hands and feet as much as he could, was he attached directly to the wall with more or less no ability for motion, or was he chained to it, allowing him to move to a degree? His head hurt, his magic was gone... At least his personal magic. For a moment he wished he was a summoner, and could summon some creature to aid him. But no, none of his personal magics could really be used to fight, or to get out of this. He just wished he had his staff, he would not feel so alone without it, even if it was just a simple mundane piece of wood. Clyde would spend a few chimes trying to calm himself down, and to meditate, hoping to give himself some spark of an idea. Breathing in slowly, trying to ignore the pain, breathing out hard till all the air was gone from his lungs. Then starting over and breathing in deep and slow. Perhaps he would simply have to wait and see what these people wanted him for, whomever had taken him?

[Verilian]

Sometimes simply the waiting could break a man, and Clyde would wait. It had been morning before he had been attacked, but Clyde had no way of knowing what time it was when he awoke, save for the fact that it was daylight. But was it the same day, or the next, or many days later? And why couldn't he use his personal magic? Why couldn't he concentrate on anything for more than a few moments without his head beginning to hurt? He could think, but he could not think too hard, or that would hurt too. A bell went by, or was it two? Or five? Unless he was counting off the chimes, it would be hard to tell. Being alone in a room in the dark made it hard to tell, though it was still daylight outside, and the birds were still chirping. Finally, after some unknown amount of time, the door opened. Light poured in and for the first time Clyde could make everything out in the room.. or he would have been able to, if his eyes had time to adjust. As it was, the light hurt, and it made whatever was hurting his head hurt, and it was impossible to look about. "Do we really have to do this," a feminine voice asked, and was answered by a male voice. "It has to be done, Siriana. I know you don't like this sort of thing, which is why I'm not asking you to do it." The door shut, and then it was dark again, though when his eyes finally adjusted Clyde could make out the outline of somebody moving about in the dark. A chime later a candle was lit, much easier to adjust his eyes to that, and Clyde could finally pick up some more details in the room. The first thing he could see was the table, where the candle was lit, and the items on the table. They were items of the most unpleasant variety. Hooks, blades, and other strange things whose purpose only the most warped of minds could divine. The second thing to become clear was the chair, but that didn't matter. What mattered was the elderly man standing next to the chair. He had a wild look about him, dressed in the robes of a mage much like Clydes, but adorned in a number of strange fetishes, from fingers to skulls to the gods only knew what else. The mage moved, and if Clyde bothered to look he could now make out the shapes by the doors. They were altars, though not to Rhysol. One was of a shape he had likely seen before, though not in Ravok. It was that of a winged serpent, wrapped around a mortar and pestle. The other was a small stature of a woman built atop the altar, though Clyde would not likely be able to tell who the woman was. The mage silently picked up one of the blades from the table and walked over to Clyde, grabbing the collar of his robe, and began to roughly cut downward, slicing and tearing the robe open until Clyde's chest was exposed. No matter how much Clyde struggled or protested, the man said nothing, and simply kept working. Next he took the blade and sliced it across Clyde's chest, right below the left nipple. The mage produced a bowl, which he held against Clyde's skin beneath the wound until a bit of blood drained into it. After that the mage turned away and walked over to the table, keeping his back to Clyde and making sure he could not see what was being done.

[Clyde Sullins]

Clyde tried to meditate, but though he found his breathing exercise a bit comforting, it was far to hard to clear his mind. He kept getting distracted by stray thoughts, the pain, the sound of birds... What the petch? He thought to himself, before dry heaving as pain racked his skull. He lost track of time, simply trying to calm himself by breathing slowly and evenly, focusing on that, occasionally trying to clear his mind, to minimal results. How could he get out of this? How? How the petch should he know? One thing was for certain, he should start boobytrapping his body, in case this ever occured again. A stream of his new water cutter to the gut of anywhere really, would be enough to take care of at least one attacker. But he found that as he began to wander into thinking of Glyphing, to focus and think up how he would do it which would normally be easy, instead he was met by more pain, and another dry heave. He soon lost track of time, but of course he had never been one to be good with it. He tried a few things to break up the boredom, but each invariably ended in another bout of pain. Finally, after what seemed like days to him, he could hear voices, just after a blinding flash of light. He squinted, trying to see who it was, but all he could see was some blurry blobs as tears welled up in his eyes. Unfortunately he could not rub them away, as he could not reach his face. "Who are you people? And what am I doing here?" After saying this, he saw those objects he could not earlier make out, as his eyes adjusted to new light that was less harsh. Blades not to different to the ones the Stryfe used to torture people... A bit different, with some tools lacking, others new and not used by the Stryfe, but all to familiar in their intent. It seemed he was to be tortured, that much was certain. And it appeared his torturer was to be an old man, wearing robes, and covered in various trinkets made of bone. Odd wardrobe choice, or perhaps some magic was involved? Clyde began to mutter quietly to himself, though loud enough for the others to hear him. If anything, it would make it sound like he was crazy, which if they knew he was a mage would not seem to odd. In truth, Clyde was just bored, and since they did not seem keen on talking to him, he would just talk to himself. "Now those look a bit familiar. I know the one, the snakey thingy with the wings? Were did I see it? Last time I was on Mura... I think a konti mentioned it. She was nice enough. And who is that other lady? I am not sure if I know her. She someone important? Bah, I can never keep track of all these dieties, and objects of worship. " Clyde watched as the man began to tear into his robes. He could not do anything to stop him, so he settled on continuing to talk. "Hey, those are my favorite pair of robes! I liked those! Thats not very nice. You could have just asked me to take them off. I have had them since I left home... Or something like that... Have I? Do you recall when I got them? Maybe they just look like the ones I left home with?" The man took up a blade, and sliced across Clyde chest. Which told him they did intend to torture him, and not just kill him outright. Perhaps they wanted something? Though didn't it make more sense to question the person before you began to chop them up? Clyde let out a hiss of pain as the blade dug across his chest, clenching his jaw to keep from saying anything or yelling. But the wound stung, and added another pain to the already bad one in his head. He continued talking, though his voice was a bit more strained than before. "Ow... Well that was uncalled for. Do you really need my blood? I mean really, what are you going to do some magic with it? Bleh, I never got into any of those blood magics, why have to kill people and stuff just to get magic to work? Seems a bit brutish to me. And most of the mages who do those magics seem of the unsavory sort. Besides, I try not to go around wantonly killing people, its a bad path for a mage to go down and all that stuff. Plus who knows what person dead today, won't rise as a ghost to haunt you the next, eh?

[Verilian]

"Kill you? Oh, I wasn't planning on killing you. Well.. maybe, but not right away, certainly. The snake creature is Rak'keli, and the woman is Priskil. Supposedly, if you are aligned with them, the altar's can give you their blessing, but I don't think either goddess is particularly fond of me, even though I have been helping in their quest. Oh, but I suppose you don't know what I'm talking about then, do you. We are the Rising Dawn. My name is Ervis.. and you, I believe, are Clyde Sullins. You tried to read the aura of my bird, did you not? Well, you found me, if that's what you were trying to do. But again, that is not why you're here." After finishing whatever it was he was working on with Clyde's blood, Ervis turned back around to face Clyde, holding up a scroll scribbled in some language Clyde could not understand, even if there had been enough light to read it properly. What he could tell was that it was written in a thick, red ink, and that there were symbols which might be glyphs scattered across the paper, but he could not see well enough to tell for sure. He did not have enough time to study the parchment, either, as Ervis quickly removed it from his view and placed it back on the table. "So what they want from me is to break you.. make you turn against Rhysol, tell us anything you know, and ultimately, help us destroy him. Or at least his temple.. honestly, I don't care if you level the entire city, as long as I can get my hands on Rhysol or his Voice. Unfortunately.. I don't know the first thing about torturing, I'm just the only one who had the stomach for it, so I can't promise this is going to be easy. So.. I suppose I should ask you before we begin. Will you agree to do everything in your power to destroy the temple of the Black Sun, and kill Rhysol and the Voice? I have a grand oath written up for you, if you are ready to sign it. If not.. well, I guess we'll have to try out this torture thing." Ervis did not really expect Clyde to turn against his god. In truth, he had not even bothered to write the grand oath. It was his hope that Clyde would refuse, and die from the torture. After that, Ervis could use the young mage's bones to make himself more powerful. In preparation for Clyde's refusal, Ervis picked up the nearest tool to him, a wickedly curved hook-like instrument that was probably for disemboweling or some such unsavory act. The mage did not seem too worried about what it did, though, and waited for Clyde's answer.

[Clyde Sullins]

Clyde was a bit surprised by the mans candor, openly admitting that he planned to kill Clyde. Which just seemed silly to him, how could you torture someone who had no hope? He almost opened his mouth, and pointed the torturers faulty logic out, but decided against it. No use in helping him get what he wanted. Instead, Clyde continued to talk. "Rak something? Sounds vaguely familiar... So does Pris whatever, though I can't nail it down. I can't concentrate to well it would seem... What are they for again?" He was also a bit surprised to hear him say he was a member of the Rising Dawn. He supposed some might argue he had been doing something right, if they were coming after him... Of course, they were not stuck to a wall right now so... "Ah, Rising Dawn. Hello Ervis. Your one of those people trying to free slaves that don't want to be freed, and such things, right? You know I honestly never really understood what you were all aiming for. I mean, it seemed like all the things you did made little sense... For someone fighting Rhysol, you sure created a decent bit of chaos, and fought using it. Perhaps they are not as against him as they might appear... Or perhaps I just missed your aim at some point. Or do you have a goal? Or the Dawn's goal... Or..." For a moment a piece of parchment with writing was held up before him, but many factors combined to make reading it impossible. Being chained to a wall, the lighting, and the pain from the cut. And of course his muddled brain. Clyde's eyes lit up at the mention of the Grand Oath, it sparking a memory in his head which caused a dull aching throbbing. "Oh really? Can I see it? I would like to see your wording, I have made one myself, and find the wording can be rather tricky. I would be interested to see how you constructed it. Something to do with... Something... Sorry, I seem to have lost my train of thought. But I assure you the thing I was thinking of was amazingly magical and whatnot, quite insightful into the magics deeper workings. At least I am fairly certain so... I can't recall what it was though. Trying makes my head ache." Clyde shrugged, as his dulled mind finally noted something Ervis had said a moment ago. "You know, it occurs to me that does not seem like a very good deal for me. I mean, I agree, and I have to help do whatever with whatever, which I don't really want to do. I don't help, and I die... I mean, were is the upside for me? I honestly fail to see it. Besides, what makes your side so good and just, that I should break off and follow you. Or I guess... The Dawn. Or would following you mean following... Wait... Almost had it... Whatever, why should I follow them, what makes them any better than... Whomever you are fighting... I am afraid you have done little to convince me of... What you were convincing me of."

[Verilian]

Ervis smiled a cruel smile, leaning in and taking Clyde's chin with his free hand, forcing the mage to look him directly in the eye, or at least, forcing his face in that direction. It was easier to focus, actually, when the rest of the room was blotted out by the man's face, disturbing though it was with the bone earrings and nose ring covered in tiny markings. But it did allow him to focus a little.. if he wanted, he might even try his hand at some magic. But Ervis spoke instead. "Young man, I couldn't give a petch about the Rising Dawn or their goals. I am here for my own reasons." The mage moved away, or rather he moved his face away, and then drove the wicked blade into Clydes ribs, the curved metal slicing in and under the bone, curling around it. Ervis glanced down at the wound, not blanching in the slightest at the sight of the blood. In his particular profession one had to get used to the sight of such things quickly if they hoped to get very far. "That probably hurts.. but I wonder what it will feel like if I pull this up?" Ervis pulled on the bone, applying upwards pressure to the rib, and sending pain throughout Clyde's body. Unlike the pain Clyde felt before, however.. this pain actually brought clarity to his mind. Clyde could think clearly, he knew what was happening, and again, he might even be able to try his hand at magic if he was quick enough. Almost as quickly as the clarity came it would be gone again, his body adapting to the pain. It still hurt, of course, but it was his brain finding a way to take the pain rather than feel it full force. Whatever magic Clyde produced, if he tried at all, it could be nothing great. There was no time for that, but it might be enough to at least wipe the smug look off the wizards face, and maybe even hurt him.

[Clyde Sullins]

Clyde waited on an answer from the man, or a look at his scroll. But instead of words, he responding by grabbing his face and forcing him to face him. He blanched at the mans odd ornaments, especially the nose one... Why would someone do that? It made little sense... When he did spoke, it confused Clyde further... If he did not then follow the Rising Dawn, then why was he here or working with them, why were they... Before he could think of a response though, he was cut off by pain as the man stabbed hm in the chest. Instead of speaking, he let out a scream of pain, a long and loud one, not to happy about having the chunk of steel inserted into his body... He had just gotten it healed, and now he was getting hacked up again! "Aaahhhh!!! Petch!" As he began to pull on the blade, which in turn yanked on his bone, he let out another scream of pain, unable to move but for his mouth. The pain cut through him like a lancing knife, but also cutting through his muddled mind to bring a sudden bought of clarity. It was clear this man was not here to interrogate him, he simply wanted to kill him, and to mess with him. He doubted the man even cared about getting any answers, and did not truly follow the Dawn, but was simply using them. Along with the pain and the clarity, Clyde was struck with a bout of anger and conviction. He would not just be a weak person to toy with, he would do whatever he could, do something, if it meant fighting this man. Even if he was stuck to a wall and trapped and useless. He let out another scream, but this one was as much a scream of rage as it was pain, as his eyes all but burned a hole through Ervis skull with his glare. But this scream did not just carry sound, it also carried along res... His gaseous res... Bright and silvery and glowing in the air between them. Clyde exuded as much as he could, whether it was a drop or a bucketful or a boatload or any amount in between, and willed it at Ervis face. Using the primal scream as a non-traditional incantation, weaving it with his will and force and rage to attack the man. He could hear a echo of the scream reverberating out of the res, as if a twin of him was screaming, and the res was as angry as he was, though he was uncertain if it was in his head or real. Either way, he would force the res at the mans face, and as soon as it got close to him, and was clear of Clyde's own skin by enough inches to not singe off his own face, he would transmute the res into fire, launching it at Ervis.

[Verilian]

The scream of pain seemed to please the elderly mage, but the fireball that manifested in front of him most certainly did not. It was not as large as Clyde likely would have wished, but it was enough to burn him. The mage cried out in pain and staggered back, his eyes flaring with anger. The burn was not as bad as it should have been, truly, though he was indeed burned. Perhaps one of the strange charms had protected him? "How did you.. petch it, petch all of this!" The mage raised a hand and res of his own lanced out, flying at Clyde and surrounding his head. Ervis took a menacing step forward, the cruel smile returning to his face. He almost ignited the res, but the door flew open and the woman was there once more. "Ervis, what are you doing!? Leave him be!" "We're not going to get anything out of him, Siriana. You'd might as well let me kill him now, before the poison wears off completely and he burns this whole place to the ground." "No! We need him a alive!" "He's not going to give us anything, or do anything we want." "You haven't even tried. If you kill him, I will kill you." The mage frowned, his eyes returning to Clyde. He could incinerate them both.. but Siriana had the entire Rising Dawn behind her. If he killed her, they would turn against him. His plans would be ruined. Finally, he lowered his hand, calling the res back into him. "I suppose you're right. Every man has a breaking point.." Seemingly satisfied, Siriana left the room, leaving Clyde alone with Ervis again. This time the mage went to retrieve something else from a part of the room that Clyde could not see. When he returned, he was carrying a human sized skull, covered in strange sigils, attached to a leather cord. "The poison in you is going to wear off, eventually, and then you'll be able to use your magic. I could poison you again.. but I have a better idea. This skull belonged to a reimancer who lived a long time ago. When I acquired it.. I did not know that he had gone mad before his death. My information on him, which I had spent quite a few mizas on, was apparently incorrect. The skull was supposed to enhance my own magic.. luckily I had someone test it out before I used it. As soon as they tried to use their magic, it drove them mad, caused the to overgive, and then die." The old mage tied the cord around Clyde's neck, letting it rest against his chest. Clyde would feel nothing out of the ordinary, but the moment he cast his magic.. well, only time would tell in regards to that. "Now.. I want you to help us fight against Rhysol. Funny thing about you followers of the lord of betrayal is you are all strangely loyal to him.. so, first I have to break you. That's a technique I hear you Ebonstryfe are pretty good at, breaking people and rebuilding them from scratch. I'm not saying I'm as good as you guys, but I'll try my best. It's going to hurt, but I'll try not to kill you. The bitch will get pissy if I do. In the end, you're going to break, and you'll beg me to let you help us." For the next several bells, Clyde would endure a lot of pain. Ervis was careful not to do anything that would kill him. There was no more rib stabbing, and that wound was bandaged so that he wouldn't bleed out, but there were a lot of other painful things. Some involved bamboo and fingernails, other involved other unpleasant things.. the pain did bring clarity, and eventually, Clyde would come to his senses. But would he break?

[Clyde Sullins]

Clyde let out a triumphant huff of air, which was about the limit of his abilities in his current state of pain.Attempting a grin would likely have ended up in a grimace, which would have defeated the purpose. So he did not even bother trying it. Still though, it showed that he was not totally useless, even if he had to be pushed and in great pain for the small showing of magic. He had made the burst of flame, which had managed to strike the mage, though only burning him a bit. He was still alive and angrier than ever. He attempted to kill Clyde, that was clear, was going to finish him off, and there was nothing Clyde could do about it as he exuded his res and surrounded him in it... He once more ttied to break away, but to no avail. Only to be saved by the woman from before. He was unable to speak, simply panting, trying to catch his breath after the screaming and magic and nearly being killed. All of those together really added up, and took ones breath away. A small grimace/smile crossed Clyde's lips, as he heard the woman's words... "If you kill him, I will kill you..." Which meant he could not kill him... Though considering his prior actions, just because he was not supposed to, did not mean a "accident" would not occur killing him. The bone mage then decided to add an item around Clyde's neck, a skull, which he said was enchanted, and would drive him crazy and kill him and make him overgive to death if he tried to use his magic. But then, it seemed more of an insurance device than anything else... For if he did that, all of them would surely die. He would then burn down the entire place, killing all inside, and would be unable to stop it. One thing was for sure, if he was forced to do such, he would make sure this mage died. Clyde listened to his speech, and then had to endure his torture, pain, pain, pain... Various and intense, but none fatal. For apparently he was still adhering to the woman's words. And through it all, there was nothing Clyde could do, but take it, often letting out screams of pain, though none like the one that had carried his res on it. That seemed to have been a one off. Besides, he could not risk trying to cast his djed, in case the bone mage spoke true, and it was not a bluff... But he could not help dwelling on the mans words, and finally responding to him, after the bells of torture. Clyde after all was a logical fellow, by need because he was a mage. He had to reason things out, and decide on the best path that way, not by urgings and intuition. He could not trust those. But at the same time, he was being backed into a corner. A corner of pain. "Yes... Yes I have realized something... I have realized... You are all petching hypocrites feeding Rhysol! Don't petching try to petch with me! I can see it!" In Clyde's fragile state, he had gone down quite a odd path of logic, taking in what he could see, bringing back a few memories, muddling them together, and coming to a conclusion that made a sort of sense, and made complete sense to Clyde... But would likely be confusing to another, if not for the fact that it was true in a way. "You lie! Lie about who you are, lie to the people of Ravok, people around you. People people people! Petchers! Gobble's it up, Rhysol gobbles it up, you say you fight him, but your every action feeds him. You betray! You are betraying these peoples trust, lying about your motives, letting them think you are for them. And they are no better, they betray every citizen of Ravok simply by existing, simply by betraying those around you all, by fighting him. Ha! Chaos! You spread dissent and chaos! Breaking laws, destruction, stealing, chaos to the order of Ravok! You are all feeding him, worshipping Rhysol in all but name!" Suddenly Clyde would grow quiet, and a distant look would come over his face, before a slightly manic gleam would come to his eyes, his face, his mouth, as he grinned. A knowing grin, of a secret he would soon divulge. "I actually get it. I finally get it. The reason Rhysol lets you all live! I get it! He lets you all live, because by your every action of fighting him, of betraying him and his city and its people, lying, doing foul things just as foul as the people you profess to fight, you give him worship and strength! Ha! Why should he kill you all, when you have all joined him and don't even know it?" Clyde would pause again after this rant, and finally mutter one final phrase. "And they think they do "good"... At least Rhysols followers are honest about who they follow, you guys are all just in denial. Better a honest liar, than a liar that lies to himself. "