Blind Sight [Æros]

[Khyan Nykara]

By the time Khyan reclaimed his footing, the other corpses were also standing and obstructing his path forward. He'd dropped his lantern, but it remained lit and landed upright so he could still see his immediate surroundings. With the sunlight visible up ahead, it was only behind Æros (from whence the clicking was growing louder) that remained unseen. As he turned to make sure Æros was aware of this shift in their fortunes, he would see the one reaching its spindly claw toward his calf just as the half-elf swung a strike that divorced its head and part of one arm from the rest of its body.

"Fæx!" He cried out as he unslung the khopesh from his belt, and turned back to face the five risen Vastians assuming a posture of defence. Khyan had never seen an undead creature before, unless one of his boozy black-out nights had been particularly debaucherous. His natural instinct was to use his Semblance to assess the situation. Such was a natural part of his fighting style that was so intrinsic as to be nearly anathema to forgo. The ability to assess his environment and his foe enabled him to utilise resources and anticipate actions in such a way as to grant him an incredible advantage in combat situations. But Æros indicated that magic was off-limits. If it truly brought on those visions, his Semblance could leave him vulnerable rather than give him the edge he sought to aid in dispatching these obstacles to their exeunt.

If he couldn't use his Craft, at least he could use his eyes, and the figures before him didn't seem like simple zombies. He hadn't seen it before... couldn't even be sure it was there, but their eyes and mouths were black and seemed to be dripping with some inky discharge. The creatures armed themselves, some with simple weapons that had been on their bodies when they deceased, a couple with rocks from the cave floor. They dashed toward the pair, no simple shamblers these, and Khyan danced out of a dagger's path, sweeping his khopesh up to sever the hand that had wielded it. He spun about to slice across the abdomen of the creature. The blood that spilled forth was red... at first. The creature stumbled as if about to fall forward, and suddenly black sand shot out of the ground into the wound and seemed to mend the torn muscle enough to keep the creature functioning. The arm didn't grow back at least.

"Fæx..." Khyan repeated. A quick glance to the one that had been beheaded seemed to suggest that decapitation was the way to go. His immediate assailant lunged forward, trying to claw at Khyan with its remaining hand, but he parried and swung the khopesh round with enough speed and force to slice through the neck and send the head tumbling. The black oily fluid sunk back into the sands of the cave and out of sight, giving way to the scarlet of regular, human blood.

Ducking the swing of a stone meant to crack his skull, Khyan called out:

"Behead them if you can!" He didn't know if it was the only means to kill them, but it was the only one he'd seen prove effective thus far. "Their wounds heal, but limbs don't grow back!" The surviving creatures, unconcerned with his verbal observations, continued their assault.

[Aeros]

TIMESTAMP: -
NOTES: -

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It was markedly odd for Æros, a man who'd spent much of his later teens and up until the very recent past wishing for death, to now be bound in this macabre dance fighting on the side of the living. Mentally, it put him in a strange spot, but now was certainly not the time for such introspection, and as he'd always told himself that if he were to die, he wanted to die on his own terms. And to die in some dark cavern in the middle of the desert? No, that did not suit him.

With a quick glance back at the corpse he'd struck, he was relieved to see that it was once more inert and that Khyan was able to safely rise to his feet. Æros didn't have much experience with the undead and most of his knowledge had come from what basic things he'd learned of Necromancy in the past; the black miasma that could be seen around their orifices gave him the impression that these things were perhaps more magicked than the simplest of Necromatic creations, but how would he know? It's not as if he really had a proper frame of reference on the subject.

They were quite a bit more agile than what one would expect of the undead. The remaining five were now en route towards the wayward pair, one armed with a dagger taking aim at Khyan. Æros, however, could not focus fully on that scuffle as another armed with a rock reached high to try and strike at his skull. The fallen Vastian was not quite tall enough to have made this maneuver with ease, what with the elven Færie being as large as he was. Shifting his weight onto the heel of one foot and stepping back with the other, Æros leaned back with both head and torso to dodge the blow.

The weight of the stone in the zombie's hand in combination with the way it had almost leapt to make this strike caused the thing to lose its balance when it missed. In an effort to take advantage of this, Æros adjusted his grip on the hilt and thrust his blade upwards into the bottom of the creature's jaw, throwing as much of his weight into the maneuver as he could manage. As soon as steel met skin, wilted flesh shredded like paper. The lower jaw cracked as it was crunched between the blade's curve and the rest of the skull; a sharp pop swiftly followed when the thing's spine severed and the body limply fell to the sand with heavy thud. The half-elf found himself splattered in a mix of black and red; blood and viscous oil colored like the void.

With grace, Æros carried the remaining force of his strike to twist out of the way of another blade's edge, his former foe's head still stuck on his sword. His would-be assailant stumbled, momentarily finding itself disoriented, off balance. As he did this, he heard his lover's voice confirm the assumption he'd already made: decapitation was the optimal kill method, here. It was news to him, however, that their wounds would otherwise heal. With three now down, three thus remained– he was unsure how to count whatever it was that yet still lurked in the shadows.

The Fæ kept his movement in the direction of the cave's mouth when he could, trying to stay away from the grip of whatever their true foe was, but he did refuse to get behind his beloved. For as much as the relative power in their stations would put him above Khyan, he did not care. And though his partner certainly wasn't weak or defenseless, the Fæ saw himself as a larger body, bearing more flesh to tear and blood to bleed before a final breath could be drawn– and then there was the fact that he simply couldn't bear the idea of seeing Khyan in pain. The panicked quiver to his voice bothered him enough as it stood; he hated that he couldn't use magic at all to assuage that, too.

With a heavy downward swing, Æros managed to dislodge the skull and fling it into the sand, moving away from the undead Vastian that had just tried to stab him and closer to Khyan. While he could've chosen to strike back at that one, he found his focus reorienting to the one armed with stone nearer to his lover, swinging his khopesh back up into the abdomen of the undead. The elf could feel the blade come to a stop when it struck the spine, but while it remained lodged thoroughly in the bleeding corpse, he had felt the thing's spine break on impact. He hoped that would kill it, because for the moment, he would be a bit delayed in motion while he struggled to free his weapon from a mess of viscera.

- - -

'Thoughts'

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Vastien Tongue/Speech"

"Valasren Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

[Khyan Nykara]

Something about this situation sent a surge of utter rage through the very core of Khyan. All the pent up frustrations of his fall from grace, for which he had no outlet but sex and drink, erupted within him. "The Vastii erupt so Sorokyn needn't," it was said, and so it seemed to be as he let out a roar and tore into the nearest assailant with a deceptively stark swing of his blade. Wrathful though he was, his martial training returned to him enough that he was able to keep up his awareness of his fellow combatant, even without exploiting Semblance. He could coordinate enough to make sure they weren't tangling with the same foe at the same time, instead splitting up the survivors until there were none to speak of blocking their path to the exit.

With the undead dispatched, he glanced into the depths of the cave where he could see shadows shifting in the dim light on the outskirts of the lantern's range. He squinted, trying to glean what might be lurking there. Some of the black substance that had splashed Æros' face, absconded from his starlit skin to be drawn toward the entity.

As it entered the perimeter of light, Khyan would see a cloud of something familiar around it. It would take him a moment to process why he recognised the nebulous aura, but he'd seen it just a few seasons earlier.

"Dread mists..." He muttered with dread, as he held up his blade. "Should we run or stay and fight?" Khyan glanced sidelong to check in with Æros, but before the other man could answer a black tentacle shot forth from the chaos cloud like a spear and struck the half-fæ in the shoulder, piercing flesh and muscle and lodging itself there.

"Æros!" Instantly, the entity began to pump chaos energy into his bloodstream, and he would feel the harsh pull of its dark and unruly influence. Destroy! It commanded, Thrash, writhe and suffer! It urged.

[Aeros]

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Fleet of foot and with a mind and focus sharpened by adrenaline, by his determination to live, Æros struggled not when it came to avoiding blows. It would be clear to anyone watching that the man was more of a performer than a combatant; his movements were controlled and graceful, demonstrating mastery of his own form, but he was evasive…almost overly so. The half-elf put a lot of his weight into his strikes as if he were unsure, as if he didn’t trust in his blade’s ability to cut. He was more reactive than offensive, taking advantage of mistakes made by his opponents as opposed to being the aggressor. These things betrayed his lack of experience with weaponry, with situations like this, yet what finesse with movement he clearly did possess was carrying him…for now.

In stark contrast, something about this scenario brought out aggression in his partner. While Æros refused to step behind Khyan at any point, he dealt fewer blows than the latter; arguably, he was more or less using himself as a distraction for the other to strike. A fair strategy, that, all things considered. The Fæ was a bit shocked by this side of his lover, having never seen the boy in a state like this before– but in many ways, and for many reasons, he liked it. Khyan's skills really shined in these moments and the elf really did find that it reinforced much of his adoration for the other.

Their dance with the dead slowed and drew itself to an unceremonious close when all the corpses lay still on the floor, when both mortal combatants found themselves to be the only creatures still standing. Breathing heavy, Æros turned to look at, to check on, Khyan. He was unable to rest or even get a word out in response to the boy’s posed query before an eldritch blast of pain shocked into him; the tear of his flesh was felt with great acuity, but while he could not yet parse the extent to which he was damaged, he could feel that blood ran hot down his back, staining his clothing sanguine quite quickly. Having been hit from behind and with whatever it was now imbedded in his right shoulder, he reeled in both agony and confusion– he only knew that it was a creature of the mists and that he had to act, to do something.

There was, again, no time to react with poise, to think, to even so much as let himself feel anything concrete about that moment before the sands of time blew forward and the chaos of the mists overwhelmed him. With all of the adrenaline he’d already had, the starlit elf was wide eyed, alert, but panicked; his senses were being bombarded with things he struggled to parse as truly real or not. He was injured, he was in pain– but what does one do?

In a bid to make whatever was gripping him easier to strike, Æros drew his shoulders inward, curved his thoracic and cervical spine forward and then reached across his chest with his left arm, his sword arm, to extend the blade over and strike at that which had impaled him. Though the movement itself might have been fairly smooth all things considered, he moved a bit like a terrified cat; his strike was desperate and he lunged forward despite the damage that pulling away from the mists might cause. He could not coherently respond to anything his lover had said; the only sounds from his lips being cries of pain and sounds of struggle.

- - -

'Thoughts'

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Vastien Tongue/Speech"

"Valasren Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

[Khyan Nykara]

The entity's potent influence was a confluence of disparate emotional eruptions, heavily leaning toward the negative. There were, however, bursts of the positive interspersed amongst the misery, agony and abjection. There were notes of relief and even moments of euphoria, but they actually made the entire experience worse because they were ephemeral reprieves that wouldn't allow him to acclimate or numb himself to the more pervasive negative surges.

Khyan gaped helplessly for a half a moment that felt like an hour to Æros. He started to move to strike the spear-like pseudopod with his khopesh, but before his blade made contact another black javelin shot forth from the Mists and he had to parry out of the way to avoid being pierced. Losing his footing, he loosed a guttural expletive as he dropped to one knee in an attempt to balance himself from tumbling completely prone.

In that time, Æros gathered the wherewithal to lash out at the tie that bound him to the chaos creature. The blow may not have been artful, but it slashed through the black tentacle without much effort. The part that had been struck seemed to crumble like stone... or perhaps like sand and stone cobbled together. The pointy end that had stuck Æros' shoulder seemed unable to sustain its shape without being attached to the greater whole, and lost its form. The wound that remained looked black and slick like the wounds of the corpses had been. The fell urges that had afflicted him were not wholly absent, but they were very greatly reduced- Like the come-down from a potent drug high to which the half-elf was not ill-acquainted.

The enraged entity surged forth quickly enough that one could see through the Mist enough to glean its features. It was an amorphous mass of flesh with grotesque humanoid faces and limbs protruding at odd angles. It seemed to hover within the Mists of its own volition, with its moaning mouths and writhing limbs all hewn together as if connected by the black substance that had formed the pseudopod that struck Æros and that which attempted to pierce Khyan as well. It sent forth similar appendages to gather up the pieces of the dead warriors who had just been dispatched by the intrepid Solunarians, swallowing their remains into its greater macabre mass. The lipless mouths of multiple faces began to chatter their teeth... It was the clicking sound they'd heard. Multiple sets of bloodshot eyes were glaring at the two intruders, as the entity dragged its quarry back toward the cover of the Mists.

[Aeros]

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In these moments, Æros was little more than a wounded animal, lashing out at that which had him tethered. A masterful Mesmer and one who had perhaps one too many hallucinogens in his young life, he was not one that was, per se, inexperienced in dealing with impaired cognition and emotions that were not wholly his own. However, the man was a hedonistic fellow and he did not, ever, seek abject terror or anything similar to the flickering horror show that was playing out both in reality before him and in his mind. And, in most cases, a Mesmer of any modicum of skill could actually reroute a bad trip into a good one; in truth, what was altogether eldritch, what made him feel the very most helpless, was not the infiltration of chaos magic bombarding his system, but rather how truly useless he felt cut from his æther.

And yet, the wounded animal found success: his bid to free himself from what fettered him worked, causing the tentacle to crumble into dust. Though the particular injuries he now possessed were ones most unpleasant insofar as pain when he moved, adrenaline and endorphins are powerful things; he felt surprisingly little– for now.

Stumbling forward from the momentum he'd gained attempting to pull away, the half-Fæ still reeled with emotions hard to ignore, desperately trying to hone in on and cling to his simple, primordial instinct to survive. After a quick glance to determine that Khyan was, for the circumstance, fine, he turned to face that which assailed them. It was a grotesque amalgamation of flesh; as if bodies were magicked into clay and then crushed together and granted unholy animation. With little grace or apparent deliberation, heads, limbs, appendages of all types jutted out of the thing's lumpy, organic surface– the unfortunate part of this being that Æros could not discern whereabouts this thing it would be optimal to strike. Unlike a proper beast, it had no standard weak points, no real…anatomy in the traditional sense; it was just a mass; was it even alive in a traditional sense? Doubtful, but he was no expert on Dread Mists; a pity.

Injured and ill-prepared, it might have been the best idea for the two of them to run, but the starlit one had no desire to turn his back to it again. Though the Vastians healed when struck, would this beast? They were puppets; this was the origin point– so would the same rules apply?

The sound of dragging bodies pulled the attention of pointed ears; while it was attempting to add yet more to this fetid fusion, he had some time to act, he thought. There was yet still some envenomed oil remaining– perhaps this would aid against the actual main body itself? No way to know, but there was also no reason not to try, and so he would reapply it.

“Kill it,” he said, cold determination in a voice fraught with bewilderment, heavy with tension.

Much as Æros did not desire to be on the aggressive in this scenario, he wasn’t sure what else this monstrosity was capable of, full of chattering bone, convulsing flesh and sparking with magic as it was. Swift and nimble, the elfin Fæ dashed forward to impale his blade into the floating pseudopod, taking advantage of his khopesh’s length to avoid stepping into the mist as much as he could; though if this was required in order for the hit to connect, so be it. Provided this thing was not reinforced with bone or otherwise, the force of Æros’ strike combined with the weight of his body would make it penetrate deep through the hobbled together bits of the beast, and when his blade did stick, he would drag downwards to extend the wound.

- - -

'Thoughts'

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Vastien Tongue/Speech"

"Valasren Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

[Khyan Nykara]

"Fæx..." Khyan whispered through his teeth upon hearing the fell command from Æros. Had it been his decision to make, he'd decidedly have fled apace. But there was something freeing, ironically, in the choice being out of his hands. And there was a part of him that had been awoken in the midst of the fight moments earlier that longed to stay astir.

Besides, that thing had hurt Æros, and Khyan was Solunarian. Eye for an eye was not sufficient to a Varværyn devout, and this thing had a lot of fucking eyes bulging and ready to be gouged. One benefit the humanoid combatants had over the amorphous was that the creature's impulses seemed to be as chaotic as those it projected into the minds of others. For all the brains that must have inhabited that mass of bodies, each one seemed to have its own agenda. Some were likely blind, others probably controlled limbs on the wrong side of the creature for them to see at what they were lashing. The tendrils seemed to shoot forth in random directions, except for a few that were more focused.

With the half-fæ bounding forth, Khyan stayed alert as he danced around the side of the creature, giving it a wide breath and remaining attentive to potential strikes in his direction. He may have been instructed to withhold his Sembling, but he could still be observant with his mundane senses. As some parts of the creature seemed enraged and keen to attack, others seemed terrified and longing for the obscuring protection of the Mists, which were slowly moving forward to enshroud it more wholly.

When Æros dipped into the Dread to deliver his blow, he would feel the mists seeping into that blackened wound and echoing the pain dealt to the creature back into him. At least, in this, he would know that his blow struck home. The mists receded from Æros, and flooded into the wound, drawing up more of that black substance in an attempt to close it. As the mists withdrew, Khyan lunched forth to strike from another angle. A chorus of screams sang of rage and anguish as the creature sank to the ground, no longer held aloft in the air by the Mists.

[Aeros]

TIMESTAMP: -
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Agony and ecstasy were both partners and polar opposites; two halves of a whole, like moon and sun, in syzygy. There was much to be learned from pain– physical, emotional, whether it be a dull ache or acute trauma, he'd learned this well from lessons both self imposed and brought on by varying superiors. So when it came to accepting pain in exchange for the death of his foe, the decision was a simple one, really.

Even so, it's hard to anticipate precisely what one will experience when engaging with anything borne of the Dread Mists. Further, the cut of his own blade was felt with white hot intensity, yet once his khopesh was buried within the creature, his instinct was still to rip downwards over pull back. This endeavor worked, at least, to an extent– the hulking mass of flesh fell from the air and the mists receded, giving him respite from what suffering he'd just inflicted upon himself. Luckily, though, it was an illusion; the injury was not truly mirrored.

Pulling his khopesh free from the wounded anatomical amalgamation, his instinct was to play defensive, keeping his footing light and ready to move should the thing lash out, yet at the same time, he knew he would be better served taking advantage of its present predicament and going on offense. Utilizing the mists that fueled it, the thing was now trying to regenerate.

A cacophony of noise– chattering teeth, screams and moans from its many mouths, the writhing of flesh– played seemingly without end. Maddening as this song was, Æros' desperation to end it won over and he moved forth intent on cutting the thing into as many pieces as he could manage whilst still keeping his wits about him, poised to evade if necessary. A bit like a large, scared cat, Æros could avoid hits with nimble, graceful ease, yet his strikes were heavy, haphazard and almost clumsy by comparison, relying more on force than technique.

In some ways, Æros hoped that the creature's focus would remain on him, injured as he already was. He didn't want Khyan hurt. And, on top of that, should the elf maintain the thing's primary aggression, his lover would have an easier time cutting it apart himself.

- - -

'Thoughts'

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Vastien Tongue/Speech"

"Valasren Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

[Khyan Nykara]

As Æros focused his energies on the body of the beast, Khyan's attention was upon the appendages. As tentacles lashed, he slashed at those that posed a threat to Æros or himself. The fleshy limbs sliced and fell like flesh, whereas those made of the black substance crumbled into dust and scattered upon the stony floor.

By and by the writhing ceased, and after a few attentive moments making sure no further strikes would be dealt by the thing, Khyan stood down. Æros, for his part, seemed a bit more thorough, slashing into the consummately dead creature again and again, loosing more and more of its black blood to sink into the stone. Khyan could hardly blame him.

"Well, that was a fucking nightmare." The servus observed, with a much needed guffaw as he wiped at the sweat on his face with the one spot on the back of his forearm that wasn't covered with dirt or onyx oil. Although they weren't necessarily in the clear, not having delved all the way into the depths of the cave from whence the creature had come, Khyan exploited his Rune of Semblance to gauge whether further chaotic energy lurked beyond.

Coming up empty, he turned his Sembling attentions to the immediate scene to attempt to glean what had transpired, and he came up with a strange amalgam of Dread Mists, mortal flesh and a certain type of dragonshard, which seemed to be in some abundance here.

"The mists were drawn to the voidrillium deposits in this cavern..." He posited, knitting his brow and focusing greater energy and thought on the matter. It seemed those two chaotic forces of Dread Mist and Voidrillium remained here inert after the Mistfall of middle Searing. Only the introduction of consciousness, in the form of the interloping Vastian nomads, had the energies conjoined into the malevolent monster that lay in tattered strips of flesh and viscera at their feet. He assumed Æros was picking up the same, and so he didn't exposit further.

"If there are truly ruins, they must be deeper in the cave and I can't sense them... Could be these damnable Voidrillium deposits. Did you want to delve farther, or pack it in?" Khyan knitted his brow and looked to Æros' wound. "We should at least pause to tend to that."

[Aeros]

TIMESTAMP: -
NOTES: -

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Æros slashed away at the beast, cut after cut, with great ferocity and fervor greater still. He had not been in a situation like this in his life and the desperation alone had pushed him into quite the frenzied state. It took several additional moments after all parts of the thing had ceased movement for him to even realize it was dead. Finally, he stopped, staggering back, breathing heavy, body wracked with tension. The mass of flesh before him no longer writhed, and, pile of gore as it was, this sight brought him immense relief.

He did not bother to look around, only focusing on keeping himself standing and that he was alive. Khyan's voice pulled him out of this odd trance at the mention of what remained of their surroundings. "I…we came all the way here, we emerge from that triumphant…we cannot leave empty handed. If nothing else…we gather voidrilliun as grand as we can, but…I…want to see if there's much further." He sounded as unwell as he felt, and much as that might conflict with what he wanted, he at least wanted to try and not leave without spoils for his efforts.

At the mention of his wound, Æros shifted the affected arm and then the shoulder itself, wincing at the pain it caused. Almost without thinking, he pushed æther through his Mesmer rune, tricking his brain into feeling as if it were necessary to release further endorphins. Much as Mesmer could not directly mess with one's endocrine system, what it could do was play on the emotions that would trigger it since such things are so intimately interconnected. Beyond that, he pushed a shaking hand into a pocket of his garb and pulled out a vial, consuming its contents without much comment.

"Suppose we should…bleeding out wouldn't be ideal would it…? Much as I want to pretend I'm fine…I don't want to die. There's…probably medical supplies in the camp outside…? But I'm not that familiar with wound care. Are you?" His voice was shaky by now, and the effects of blood loss were causing him to feel a bit light headed, much as he wanted to ignore such things.

- - -

'Thoughts'

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Vastien Tongue/Speech"

"Valasren Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"