Closed [The Vitrax]Selling and Stryfe[Nemesis/Crow]

[Clyde Sullins]

Until he'd picked up the mace in his careful hands, Cha had been resting comfortably in his grip. Along with being an extension of his body in terms of magic use, it was also a decent weapon. Since it was enhanced in terms of durability in its enchantment, along with having been izentor crafted, Cha was quite strong and able to easily cross with any mundane weapon without fear of being damaged in the slightest.

Powerful magic weapons might have the capability, but even then the destructive capability of the item would be tested against the Cha's defenses. It had three steps to durability just as the mace had three steps to movement speed, but unlike the mace Cha was an item infused with the power of izentor perhaps making them more even under normal circumstances in terms of offense and defense.

Of course Clyde himself had no fear of his own particular creation, the mace, being used in such a manner. Such was the effect of the reverse blood attachment he'd used on it, making it so even under normal circumstances the mace acted only as a normal mace against him. Let alone in a magic room hampering magic to some unknown effect.

In his rush to meet Silvas and to take the mace, he'd simply tied Cha loosely onto the side of his pack. It was within reach, and simple enough to get, but in a fight were moments ruled those few seconds it would take to reach her could mean death. But then, Clyde wasn't expecting a fight to the death when he placed Cha on the side of his pack.

When Clyde arrived at where he had been led or directed, he found himself facing several Druvin. Even if the dual white eyes hadn't given it away, he could feel their power in Rhysol through the connection of their familial gnosis. Both were marked as Chaon just as Clyde was, though clearly at a different level.

He followed passively along with the Druvin, not thinking to speak or say anything to them. Even with his powers as a mage the Druvin in their abilities unnerved him, and made him hesitant to openly oppose them. Their unknown powers and nature made him uncertain, and unwilling to act in such a way as to risk showing his lack of knowledge. Could a Druvin even be killed by normal means, or by magic? Clyde didn't know, and wasn't going to test a theory right then to find out.

Quickly he lost track as the weaved through a confusing series of turns and hallways. It wasn't until he came across a set of double doors with glyphs warding them that he paused for a moment. His glyphers eyes appraised and examined them in almost an instant, assessing what they did and how they worked. How they interacted and what they might be.

He quickly assessed that he could do better, that they weren't nearly as potent glyphs as he could make, not as well made, but that they were still a good piece of work by a normal glyphers standards.

However he knew better than to struggle with a pair of Druvin, and so entered the doors willingly after his momentary pause to assess the glyphs. There he met another Druvin, hiding within the darkness. At first only his eyes were visible, though Clyde could also vaguely feel his presence through their bond to Rhysol.

No sooner did he enter than the doors slammed behind him, and someone from within the room spoke. Before he could answer, before he could respond or question the claims of sickening someone, the voice continued onward. At the same time he felt an emptying within the pit of his stomach, a faraway and detached feeling as if some aspect of himself had been cast away and made unreachable. The last time he'd felt that feeling was when he'd been captured by the Rising Dawn and had his magic locked away.

Clyde stood stock still, staring back at the eyes, doing his best to keep fear and uncertainty from showing on his face. He quickly leaned on one of his meditation techniques, focusing on his breathing and the movement of air and imagining his fear leaking outward and leaving him bit by bit. It didn't work as well under his current duress, but it helped stop him from panicking completely, and perhaps kept some of his thoughts and feelings from showing on his face.

He was confused at first when the man said he was sickened, sickened not by his actions but by his inaction... As if... As if he'd known Clyde's thought, his thought of killing her, of destroying her and her taint of foolishness. Clyde assured himself that was impossible, that he couldn't know what he'd been thinking, but the thought even seemed hollow and unconvincing to himself as he thought it with the evidence so clearly before him.

He had waited, had given her time and not acted when perhaps he should have. Unfolding the note as directed he read through it, seeing what it said.

While he had managed to calm his fears for the moment by his calming techniques, they didn't work so well against the rising anger and rage swelling within his gut as he read the simple note. The filth and lies written across it, and her attempt to have him killed for her foolishness and the outcome of something he had no fault in, nearly made him shake.

Not only did she say he had begged... BEGGED! Begged to show her it... She also said he took up the weapon and killed the soldier in question with it. As if she hadn't been just as interested in its power, in possible gain for herself, in seeing the weapon and him selling it. As if. The utter lies were more filth. That she would try to scapegoat him in such a way only further fed his rage at the woman.

A woman that unexpected appeared in the room, dragged by a pair of Druvin. He couldn't tell if they were the same as the two before, or two new ones.

The two quickly left, shutting the doors again. Silvas quiickly stated that they were more or less to have a duel, a duel to the death. And that his magic wouldn't work. That was of more concern to him than the duel. He felt weak and exposed separated from his magic.

Begged.

As soon as Silvas finished stating what was to happen, Fell charged across the room at him, pulling out an oddly shining dagger and coming at him with an attempt to kill him.

Begged.

Clyde reacted more by instinct, survival instinct not any traditional training or combat skill, his instinct willing him to act and live. He ignored the Druvin, pulling the full extent of his powers of observation onto the woman and himself. Nothing else mattered. How he won didn't matter, only that he did.

With a rage matched by his desire to live, Clyde tossed the mace right at Fell, the paper pulled from his hands and falling as he did so. Whether its magic worked or not, whether it hit her or not, whether it went on a barreling rampage and tore through the room with all of its might, Clyde didn't care. He knew he had no skill in using it, and as such having it with him would only prove a liability. Even if it didn't hit her it would he assumed give him a few precious moments of time, time as Fell dodged or avoided the mace. Or if he was lucky as it tore right through her.

However Clyde didn't give it time to settle. Instead as soon as his hands were empty he turned about, pulling his pack off one arm and onto his front. With both hands he frantically tore Cha from the pack in its loose tie, feeling the familiar wood of its touch once more as the weapon he was much better trained in using was once more in his hand.

He was no master of staff fighting, but he was at least decent in fighting with it, and could make a decent presentation of himself. Plus Cha was a full sized weapon, a 5 foot long length of blue wood. That had much more range than a small dagger. If he used it well he could keep her at bay and out of range, so that she couldn't close and use that dagger to murder him.

His hands full once more he emptied them in the same manner as he had the dagger, throwing his pack now freed of Cha at Fell, aiming the toss at her legs in a hope to tangle up her footing.

Assuming that Fell hadn't closed the distance and attacked yet, had been suitably distracted by Clyde pelting her with random things in a rather dirty and undignified series of attacks, Clyde would come at her, pulling up Cha across him in a two handed grip defensively. He'd move forward at her, making sure to keep her out of range while he made a strike aimed at her torso and arms.

[Crow]

Madness met rage and it was just the thing that Kelsie wanted. To this point she had crafted almost the perfect plan, aside from getting caught of course. She wanted Clyde angry. She wanted him to take the full blame of everything that happened. She wanted to be the one that killed him before he even reached Silvas by throwing him into a rage where he couldn't think properly. Her intention was for Clyde to read the letter before he arrived to visit Silvas, but her plan was flawed in more ways than one. Now her only result was to attack head on.

As she charged forward with stride after stride in the darkness Kelsie had her second thoughts. “What if I get hurt. What if I die?” The thoughts trickled out through her actions, and showed her own fear in combat. Clyde. Druvin. Silvas. “No one will know. No one must know!” she yelled out before haphazardly dodging the mace thrown at her. It was simple enough for her to dodge an object that was moving through the air like a heavy brick.

The mace hit the ground emanating a loud echo of metal on metal. The only notable aspect of the environment thus far. The mace was very close behind her now, and she continued forward. It was only in a matter of ticks before her madness was straight in the face of Clyde. He took a defensive stance with Cha and just as soon as he might strike she disappeared into the darkness, fully using it to her advantage.

Despite her state, she was particularly cunning in battle as one would expect of a Marshall of Ebonstryfe, but she was nothing on par with others in a similar status. She was sloppy in her movements leaving a trail of sound with every step, until finally it stopped completely. She wasn’t fully in her right mind, or was she?

Laying down on the ground now, Kelsie lured Clyde in for an assault that he most likely wouldn’t notice. “Who would expect an attack from below?” As she laid there in the darkness, Silvas observed and couldn’t help but to smile at the tactics that were being employed. He knew that she was in no means sneaky, but she also used that fault as an advantage. Clyde didn’t fully know of what she was capable of, and she wanted to keep it that way.

Readying her dagger and stilling her breath she waited patiently, and then it occurred to her. He has a staff. “What if he uses it to poke around and meets me with it?” Getting up fairly slowly Kelsie listened for anything that would direct her to where Clyde was. She wasn’t even sure where she was, and it was completely and utterly frustrating. Her patience turned to impatience as she spoke maniacally through the veil of shadows in the room. “You are going to die!”

Walking forward she heard something and instinctually ran towards it. The Well of Madness. Silvas wouldn’t have his precious artifact touched by any else than himself, but watched carefully the closer she got. She moved about the room like crazed lunatic until finally she was sure of it, and slashed through the air in a flurry of movements, upon which the dagger gleamed once more.

It was a strange occurrence that she observed. The mace seemed normal in the room, but the dagger seemed to hold a little bit of its power, but nothing like what it normally was. The dagger worked off the coldness of one’s heart, and the colder the individual, the more powerful the dagger was. In her hands that meant that the dagger was capable of almost freezing things it touched. In here though it wasn’t any more than a light show that gave off her position.

~Thanks to Aladari Coolwater for the template

[Clyde Sullins]

If Clyde had been uncertain about the Druvin's words before, he wasn't now. He'd expected the mace to fly off at great speed and force. Instead it had flown like the lump of metal it was. It appeared he hadn't been lying, and magic truly wouldn't work in this room... Whatever the room was that he was in. Clyde had no idea, besides knowing it was dark.

He was afraid to use his magic, due to the odd nature of the room hindering it. How it did so he didn't understand. It wasn't glyphing, as glyphing alone wouldn't stop world magic from working, wouldn't hinder the operation of a Magecrafted artifact. Which meant something else, something he didn't know of, was at play.

Instead of attacking after he tossed things at her, she vanished, moving backward and out of sight, using the darkness to obscure her position.

Unable to see far, and unsure where she was hiding, Clyde went to the simplest tactic he could think of, feeling about like a blind man using his staff. Cha was a long staff as far as such things went, and placing it out carefully ahead of him while gripping her in two hands, he felt about, hoping to feel a sudden weight against the end as he bumped into whomever.

He turned as he heard the woman yell, saying he would die, which only enraged him further. He knew where she was, the one that said he'd beg. Knew where to find her, for a moment. And then Clyde grew calm.

He had grown so angry, as he did at times, that his rage had cooled into a peaceful rage. It was one not embodied by lashing out and acting without thinking, but going much further in the opposite direction. His breathing slowed as he focused within his mind, meditating on the idea of a single candle with its flame burning but not casting any light in the darkness it was swamped in. It was a image he'd been using for a very long time, and the odd flickering of the mental flame that nevertheless never pierced the darkness was calming.

Instead of letting his emotions take him, he cast them away, attempting to severe himself from such things, focusing instead on the logic of the situation, and the task at hand. Surviving. Killing.

He was going to kill her. He was going to live. About both of these things, he willed himself to feel nothing.

When he did speak it was with a dead even voice without inflection, tone, or emotion.

Off to the side in the direction from which the woman's voice had come he heard shuffling of feet, as someone ran. He could only assume this was her.

Soon after he saw some odd flickers of light, like something reflecting off of metal. He could only assume this was the woman also, perhaps the blade he had seen earlier.

Clyde slowly walked towards the source of the light, not rushing or hurrying, not wanting to make himself vulnerable. Rushing, he knew logically, wouldn't help him. It would only hurt him by making him open to whatever the woman planned. Instead he would slowly head about, keeping his staff out low and sweeping across the ground, watching for the woman.

He knew he had to make her come to him, and so he finally spoke as he moved in her direction, keeping his staff out low and ready. Should he get close enough he'd smash and strike out with his full strength, aiming for the blade and her hands and arms, hoping to disarm her and to hurt her.

If that worked he'd aim for her head.

His words would perhaps be a bit odd, if not unnerving, by being spoken in such a dead and even state.

“I might die, but you are already dead. You only fool yourself into thinking otherwise. Silvas has seen. He knows. He has seen our thoughts. I hesitated with you, a mistake I won't make again. I will remedy my mistake by killing you now, and by not making my mistake again. You however have made mistakes that have nothing to do with me, and that won't be fixed by killing me. No matter what happens here, Silvas knows. The worst type of liar is one that lies to themselves. Know yourself for your weakness, don't hide it from yourself. Maybe if you'd learned that lesson before know, as I have learned, you'd be of use.”

[Crow]

Clyde was a dirty fighter. With a dirty mouth hidden behind elegance. Kelsie knew that. Clenching her dagger as Clyde began to speak she instantly stop swiping at the air. Her eyes grew wide and her body twitched as her head nestled against her right shoulder. A brief spasm where madness met with the insatiable thirst for murdering Clyde Sullins. Pulling herself together was almost as crazy and demeaning as Clyde’s silver tongue. Her head rose slightly and her eyes rose in her eyelids towards Clyde.

Suddenly her stance became more controlled and focused and her voice became smooth and charming. His name alone generated a welter of emotions in Kelsie. Drawing and releasing a slow breath to clear her head of the previous state, she forced her mind back to situation at hand.

The previous deranged madness was stilled with the embodying voice of another personality within. “Oh, with the men I have killed. I see them in my dreams. I forget sometimes that you are still but a child, Clyde. You have no idea of whaant it takes. It’s not as easy as you think.”

Kelsie silently walked forward. What once was a clumsy step, now a stealthy and lighter one. She kept her eyes focused through the veil of shadows, and her whole demeanor changed. “Magic aside, I realized there is something more important that you need to learn.” She said with a soft and cold tone that could make children shiver in fear.

Shuddering a breath once more, her hands dropped to her sides as she twirled the dagger to be held against the side of her wrist. She maneuvered slowly, tactically even. This is how she rose to power. This is how she passed the trials of the crucible. This is why she had gone unnoticed for so long. “I can’t blame you Clyde. Everyone makes mistakes. You haven’t even realized yet have you?”

A grim smile encroached her lips as she flicked her jet black hair away from her face.

As both of them wander the darkness of the room, both Clyde and Kelsie by now would have had their eyes adjusted to the darkness. With a stilled dagger, the shine of the blade was no more. Clyde would notice the stance of Kelsie and would instantly pick up that she was acting like he had never seen her. She was methodical and even walked differently. In fact, he would notice that instead of charging after Clyde that she was actually slowly circling around him in the room. Where the slight change of direction every few ticks in the darkness wouldn’t even be noticed until now when he had walked in almost a half-circle.

With their senses of sight dulled other senses would be noticed. A slight wind throughout the room all while heading towards the center. A draining feeling that exhausted both of them only slightly. Sounds which seemed to echo causing it hard to tell direction. Clyde was testing the floor by using his staff, Cha. A reinforcement to Kelsie’s thoughts that he wanted to play full game on his advantage of range. This didn’t matter to Kelsie, and she proved the rightfully so by finally smirking and walking towards Clyde.

Her dagger at the ready, hidden behind her wrist. Her smile intoxicatingly confident. As she grew closer she put both hands up into a fist where Clyde would slightly be unable to see which hand the dagger was held. Then she walked slowly within the reach of Cha. She instinctively kept her stance up, her fists at the ready. Each strike he made at this moment would be carefully blocked by one wrist or deflected in the other, and then the kick. Long legs reached for the back of his knees, edging closely in a turn at the hips. Her body entwined closer to his with a sidestep, and almost predicted him to be hit.

The desire. The thirst. The freedom to kill struck at him in the form of punch towards his throat. If he didn’t dodge out of the way considerably a blade would extend the range outward with the flick of a wrist. Clyde was dirty. So was Kelsie.

~Thanks to Aladari Coolwater for the template

[Clyde Sullins]

Within this woman Clyde could see madness and rage burning.

His words however had an unexpected result in seeming to calm that madness and rage. She grew more akin to the calm person he'd first met such a short time ago.

Clyde responded in his same deadpan tone, willing himself not to be unnerved, not to feel, not to react other than was needed.

“You have no idea of the things I've done, nor what I've seen or been. I may not be as old in years as some, but I've lived through more things than many do in their entire lives.”

“Quality, not quantity of years and experiences.”

It was clear from the sights and sounds of the room that the woman had grown calmer in her movements, which made it harder to sense her by sound alone.

His mind focused on the task, calming himself and blocking emotion, he didn't note the tone of her voice nor sense the implied danger in it, let alone be capable of fearing it.

He opened his eyes, opened his senses, trying to pull in every dreg of sensing his body could. Sensing with his eyes and ears and nose and even the touch of his feet to the ground and the passage of air across his skin. He pondered for a moment on were the passage of air was coming from, and kept his senses open to its importance, but was more focused at the moment on the fight than anything of the room that didn't seem an immediate threat.

Finally he was aware of her, mostly by sensing with his eyes, and noticed once more her return to a persona and tactic more akin to the person he'd first met. A calmer more tactical person instead of the charging person.

When the woman finally did draw in close, he knew her tactic would be the opposite of his. While he wanted to keep her out of range and at bay, she in turn wanted to get within his range and within Cha's reach so as to avoid its threat. His job therefore was to not let her do that.

His first few strikes were ineffectual, blocked by hands and arms. While Cha was almost as long as a person at five feet, and could act as a good barricade, if avoided or bypassed it was of less use.

When she finally moved in, coming at him with her feet and legs trying to tangle and fell him, Clyde pulled back, moved away, attempting to draw the end of Cha within reach of her instead of letting her bypass the end of the staff.

At the same time he tried to slam Cha sideways, to smack into her side and shoulders. If he couldn't reach her with the tip of the weapon in his hands, then the side or middle would work just as well.

If that didn't work and she stayed within range of his staff, making him unable to bring it to bear, he'd respond with a kick of his own as hard as he could, kicking for her shins and ankles.

He could only hope that his superior size and weight and assumed strength would lend him an advantage in that department, and make his kicks more effective than hers.

He'd kick out before drawing back once more, trying to put their range more at his advantage and to keep her from falling within his range and thus ruining his one advantage of superior range, and to keep her far enough away to be unable to use the blade.

[Crow]

Focusing in the room would be fairly difficult. It wasn’t recognizable at first, but now it would be fairly apparent. Both Clyde and Kelsie would feel their Djed being slowly drained. For therein lied the well of madness. It was a game played by Silvas to see who could withstand it’s draw the longest.

Insanity hit Kelsie as it felt like her very life was being torn away from her. Her movements became slow and her skin sulked into her bones. Her skin started to dry and as she fought with Clyde her vision started to blur. As she deflected each hit of the staff and was unsuccessful in slicing Clyde’s neck she quickly felt the effect of the drain.

Her vitality began to slip away just as Clyde struck at her with the end of his staff. As he aimed for her side she attempted to duck out of the way, causing the staff to strike her straight in her head. Her movement was slowed. An intense ringing noise drummed through her ears before her eyes turned bloodshot on the impact. Her neck rolled with the force of the staff, nearly snapping in half as her lifeless body hit the floor and blood seeped from her nose, eyes, and ears.

Silvas walked forward to Clyde upon her slaughter and stomped on her head. The stomping resulting in a large cracking noise upon which brain-matter and dark crimson blood oozed out onto the metal floor. Kneeling down he placed two fingers in the blood and stood over Clyde, not saying a word. Cautiously and slowly he took his two fingers and wiped them off from the top of Clyde’s forehead down to the bridge of his nose.

“Can’t say I am not surprised.” He said in a malevolent voice.

“The voice is not here currently, but I have yet another trial for you.” He said as lighting a torch upon which the entire room lit up. Clyde would be amazed by the aspects of the room. It looked more like a dungeon than anything else. Metal floors and walls which were surrounded in various glyphs and a strange well in the centre of the room. Chains hung from the ceiling with large hooks used to flay bodies, a few skeletons remained as the dangled from up above.

“As you may have noticed your Djed has been slowly being draining, and it will continue to do so. You are to remain in the room for five days to meditate reflecting on your path, all while praising Rhysol. If you survive the experience I will come back for you.”

Silvas walked over to a table from the far reaches of the room and brought back some cuffs and handed them to Clyde. “You don’t have to put these on, but should you have the urge of scratching out your eyes… Well nevermind.” He dropped the cuffs and left the room, where Clyde would remain slowly having his Djed drained as he would attempt to meditate on the path he has chosen.

~Thanks to Aladari Coolwater for the template

[Clyde Sullins]

As Clyde fought on he felt himself growing tired. More tired, he felt, than he should be so soon after fighting. He wasn't the strongest person nor the best fighter, but even so he felt he was weakening and tiring much more quickly than he should.

For moment his mind slipped back to that horned person with the magic that drained his djed, but clearly that wasn't at work.

All he could do was fight on, pressing such thoughts away and calming himself in meditation as he focused on survival and the fight at hand.

Clyde, being a mage, had djed not quite the same as a normal person or non-mage. Mages after all could alter djed, could do magic. He was more used to expending his djed, and so perhaps because of that was slightly less affected or perhaps more slowly affected as compared to the non-mage he fought.

Or perhaps he was simply more used to fighting on and keeping going when his djed was expended in such a way not so easily done by mundane exertion. Perhaps his soul was just used to filling in the blank bits, and in compensating.

Or perhaps something else entirely. All Clyde knew was that the woman he fought seemed to be draining faster than he, and in so doing made the first mistake which led to her death.

He felt the reverberation of the staff strike up his arms as he struck the woman in the skull. He saw the redness, saw the blood, and saw as she fell her wounded nature. He wasn't sure if she was dead or not, if he'd killed her or not, but he didn't think she'd be getting back up.

Even his meditatively enforced calm and non-emotion however couldn't stand up under Silvas mashing her head like an overripe melon. The cracking of her skull, bits of brain sloshing about- he'd never seen brain before and couldn't help noting what they looked like and their nature, and blood flowing.

As Silvas slowly dragged a finger through the blood and trailed it down Clyde's face he simply froze, unable to act more out of fear than any true inability to move.

He might be a mighty mage, might be able to take on even a Druvin in proper combat if he had use of it, but now he didn't have use of it. That weakness made him cautious, and in that moment of uncertainty he simply froze and let Silvas do as he would. Without his magic he didn't doubt the Druvin could easily kill him if he wished...

He was glad when the Druvin stopped at smearing some blood over him. A smear of blood, and another trial. He knew better than to complain or to say no, even in his weakened state. Especially in his weakened state.

When he saw the room he understood its purpose and true use. Or at least, its most clear use.

He still didn't understand the draining nature, nor what that... Thing... In the middle of the room was.

Fear struck him once more at hearing that Silvas wanted him to stay here in this room for another five days, in this room that so sapped and weakened him. He understood it wasn't a request, but a demand. One he'd have to survive, or die trying.

He wasn't sure if he could do so, as the room weakened him, but he'd put his full effort into it.

Staring at the cuffs Silvas dropped, his reference to scratching out his own eyes... He knew there was something more to the room, something more than just draining ones djed. What that was, what Silvas expected the room to do to him, he wasn't sure.

Once Silvas left the room, Clyde attempted to meditate once more. Sitting on the ground and setting Cha across his lap, Clyde closed his eyes. Inside of his mind he focused on the image of a candle, its flaming burning without piercing the darkness.

He inhaled, feeding the air to the flame in his mind. The flame expanded, pressing back the darkness, making it more stark, and then receding as he exhaled. Inhale, expand. Exhale, recede. Inhale. Exhale.

As he focused on the process in his mind Clyde began to chant an incantation and prayer, losing himself in the words and the mental action, letting his periphery fade as he focused on nothing else.

“Rhysol guide me. Rhysol give me purpose. Rhysol show me the way. Rhysol give me strength. Rhysol guide me...”

[Crow]

Trials of the Soul



Clyde was right in assuming that there was more about the room than what had originally made itself apparent. He would feel an overwhelming urge in the deep of his throat. To restore that which has been continuously lost. The light taste of iron would play across his tongue, tingling, scratching, and making him thirsty. Then the hunger would set in. It wasn’t like much time had passed, but for one used to regular intervals of meals and a person living in such good living conditions it would be distracting to say the least.

As more time would pass and Clydes meditation techniques continued he would start to feel his head sway back and forth, despite not moving. His vision would be snuffed out like the candle that it was. Upon opening his eyes he would begin to hallucinate.

The first hallucination upon opening his eyes he would feel himself falling, his skin melting into a wax, his legs absorbing into a floor covered in blood, until finally… he would awaken from the hallucination only to be in one another.

Back to when he first started. Back to when he first decided to take on magical arts. Back to the Citadel with his parents in Syliras. The walls would start to take shape of the dirty city walls that surrounded the citadel. The floor, in its fallacy would be covered in filth. The smell intoxicating.

As he would absorb all the information of this hallucination he would see others. The others he used to isolate himself from. Their faces would appear demonic. Their bodies enormous and with a certain fluidity to their movement that more resembled melting wax than actual human movement. In their horror they would be pointing at him, laughing at him in the most malicious way that one could imagine. Far more callous than just an idle teasing. If he were to turn away he would see his parents. His father’s voice would echo through his mind, penetrating the hallucination, telling him to kill them. To strike them down. Upon closer inspection his eyes would then turn to a milky white resembling that of a Druvin and laugh horribly.

Only after killing them in his mental image, however he chose to do so… would he awaken from the hallucination. It was the way he chose to kill them that would determine his fate, if he chose to kill them at all.

~A Ferrin Template, Thanks!

[Clyde Sullins]

Hunger. Thirst. Need. Aching feelings across his body and tongue. Mainly he wanted to eat, and the thought occurred to him that several items within the room might be edible... Including his shoes.

Dizziness. Motion. Sitting still. He couldn't help but sway, but he wasn't moving. The room was moving, and he sat still, or he sat still while he moved. Either or, both or neither.

Light and darkness. A blink that enveloped the word, and opened upon the dark light of a new one. A blink that didn't belong in his eyes, and a word that wasn't a world.

He wasn't sure if he was imagining things, going crazy, had been drugged, or if it involved the magic of the room in some way.

He was falling, like a bird fallen from a tree. Like a rock thrown down a hole. His flesh was like melted iron, going soft and runny as mud flooded with water. Except he had been sitting, so that couldn't be right...

Blood, losing himself, seeping, melting and seeping and soaking into the ground like rain into a thirsty ground.

Memories. Memories of learning magic. Of his initiation. He'd not chosen, but been forced. he'd chosen, had wanted it. He'd been convinced. He'd been coerced. His memories of events so long ago were naturally confusing enough even without something affecting his mind.

He'd long since forgotten if he'd chosen to be a mage, or if it had been forced upon him. He felt... He felt that at one time he'd believed he hadn't, but he couldn't recall any more. Now all that mattered was that he was a mage, and he would stay one.

He recalled others. Other mages. Other non-mages. Others. Other people. Other things. Other places. All looking at him. Driving him out. Driving him onward. Driving him upward. Driving him to master the things hew knew that they didn't want him to. Driving him to become the thing that his father hated, a mage, even if he wanted him to become a blacksmith like him.

The small man who hated and feared magic, with Clyde towering over him with his rightness and his might.

Now they all appeared off, but true, hating but false. Larger than life.

When his father ordered him to kill them, he knew it was wrong. Not the killing, but that his father would say as such. His father, though a blacksmith who made weapons, was a peaceful man. He hated and feared magic, but he could see the lie in his father ordering him to kill. Knew the truth of that man. Not his father. Not real. Not a person, but a Druvin, with twin milky eyes.

The flame swamped in darkness stretching out from his hands, appeared as a single point above his open palm. Fire, his first element, his first friend in secret and lies which he'd hidden from all those around him. His first magic, and his first step to becoming a powerful mage. Willing the point of flame cloaked in blackness to ignite, he sent out a line of fire and he struck down his father, burning him away. The fire spread, still not piercing the darkness, but swamping over things, spreading and burning away those who accosted him, sparing only himself as he willed it and guided it. He could feel himself in the heat of the tempest as his fire burned only just in his control. He could feel his throat moving, his voice chanting an incantation, but he couldn't hear the words.

When the fire passed the charred remains of his accosters were left behind. He felt no remorse as he looked at their ash, even their bones melted and burnt away to dust in the heat of his power. Once the fire faded and passed beyond them they faded out of sight, as the flames while omnipresent about him in the swirling tempest was dark, not casting any light beyond its borders.

[Crow]

TRIALS OF THE SOUL!



Flames. Heat. Sweat. It was all so convoluted in the room. Black flames from the distant darkness swelled and expanded. It spun like a vortex and Clyde was in the eye of the storm. The storm which consumed him. A long lost passion fell from above into his arms. Encroaching upon his territory of memories. Perhaps the only one that Clyde had passion about, perhaps the only one he had truly cared for. A reminder of loss. Dead bodies surrounded him; a familiar kelvic, a pair of slaves, mage apprentices, his sidekick… All people whom he had acquainted himself with.

The trials were meant to test his very soul, but none has been this harsh to anyone before him, even from Rhysol’s chaos. Just when surprisingly overwhelming feelings would hit Clyde across the face the body in his arms would move her head. She, though a ghost would utter the simple word “Why?” Pouring the question down his throat. Leaving him to wonder what she meant.

After a few moments of silence all of the bodies around him would do the same. Over and over again. It would feel like months as time had no bounds here. When he would answer they would simply cry. Weep an ear wrenching sadness that would deafen and screech at his very soul.

If he didn’t do something… something to quiet them… he would be forever doomed to hear the screeches. Though, that wasn’t the only factor to consider. His hunger now apparent. His flesh starting to go transparent just as the ghost he held. His entire existence would feel like it was slipping away. He would hear distant mutterings of Elaine. He would hear the names of all those that had been kept at bay. Been forgotten or ill-respected in their absence.

He would hear the cries of those he lost.

~A Ferrin Template, Thanks!