Chronicles of Murphy
Book of the Accursed
Chapter Ten
Interlude, Part 2
Romance and Running
What was it Alex told me? "If you want some good advice, the second you see him, cut Wagnard in half. Save us all a great deal of trouble."
Ashram had been taught not to lament lost opportunities. Still, it was a near thing. He could tolerate the supercilious grin, the oily demeanor. He could bring himself to bear the deranged nihilism that occurred sooner or later with any cleric of Kardis. But the patronizing?
Killing off one fool priest couldn't possibly be all that detrimental to his cause, could it?
"I must admit, seeing his majesty alive did come as something of an...amusing surprise. I would have thought you one to recognize an opportunity, my lord."
Soul Crusher cleared its sheath in less time than it takes for the eye to blink.
It was tempting. It was BEYOND tempting; every fiber of his being screamed at him to kill the priest. For the first time, he was tempted to give in to the call of the Demon within, give in to the oh-so-sweet urge to shed blood. To gorge the spirit on souls, bathe in the blood of the damned.
It was the hunger that stopped him.
He did not lower the sword; there was a certain grim satisfaction in watching the mocking smirk on Wagnard's face slowly fade into panic. A shame that he didn't soil his robes; Ashram would have laughed aloud for it. Still, it was best not to indulge the sword's appetites; he had to master it now, and any sign of weakness or slackness would only hurt him.
Genuine fear was now on Wagnard's face; best to end this before he became tempted again. Sheathing the sword, he kept his gaze on the Red Priest. "You WILL keep your comments to yourself. Else I decide to reconsider what is, and what is not, considered traitorous on this island." His gaze hardened; Wagnard actually jumped. "He is your king. Do not forget that."
"Not any more I'm not."
Both turned to Beld, seated at his campaign chair. He'd managed to survive the crossing, though he'd been delegating virtually everything to Ashram. It was odd, but he seemed to be healing faster now that he was back on Marmo, as though the island itself was sustaining him
He grinned sardonically. "Ashram, this is idiocy. The people WANT you to be the next king of Marmo; do you have any idea how fucked up that is? A Marmo who people like?" He barked a laugh that no one joined in on; then again, they WERE relatively private in his tent. "'Sides, you've got the sword now. I couldn't wield it if I wanted to, and frankly, I don't. So. Since you seem to need some kind of formality, here. I formally abdicate the throne, naming the Black Knight Ashram as the new emperor of Marmo. Now deal with it."
Shock was written on Ashram's face as he looked at his king. Despite the minor altercation they'd had regarded going back to war, Ashram still considered himself subordinate to Beld. Or had, anyway. Formally abdicating the throne though...it was unheard of. No one gave up the throne; it was either claimed in absence or taken. He'd entertained thoughts of this occurring, but he hadn't expected it.
Beld was unconcerned. "We'll make it public once we get back to Conquera and you can get a proper coronation or some such idiocy. I just have one condition; you keep me around to see the unification." He had no doubt it would be done.
"My lord would do well to remember," Wagnard managed to break in smoothly, "that any claim to the throne of Marmo must meet with the approval of the priesthood; the emperor must be ordained by both the sects of Kardis and Falaris."
The look on Beld's face was that of...amusement. It was the look you might find on the face of a dragon looking at a mouthy terrier. "The only people who'll care will be the priesthood. And if they don't like it, we can just carve 'em up. Not like they do any good to the Marmo anyway." More disturbing than the casual way he spoke of murdering the priesthood was the almost hopeful look on Ashram's face.
Wagnard calmly departed; once out of the tent, he allowed a ragged breath to release as his hand slipped towards his throat. He'd felt the cold of the blade, but it had not cut his flesh. He thanked Kardis for small mercies. The experience had been eye-opening. He'd been openly contemptuous of Ashram's blade at first; what could one sword do against the might of the Mad One? He'd felt his own newfound powers rise in challenge, ready to smite the demon.
It had been the realization that he was too weak that had prompted his fear. Ashram could have killed him right then and there, and no might of the goddess would have been enough to save him. Perhaps it was time to consider other possibilities. Other powers.
Below, Kardis smiled.
--------
"Are you sure this is a good idea?"
Alex looked up from where he'd been securing the saddle girths on Bucephalus. "Why wouldn't it be?"
"What she means," Deedlit bit out, "is that deciding to spend the next three months gallivanting across Lodoss might not be such a good idea when you're still recovering from someone trying to tear your soul out."
Alex shrugged as he stuffed a pack of elvish travel bread into one of his saddlebags. Contrary to what Lord of the Rings might have you believe, it wasn't all that superior to human food; you had to eat just as much. The only real advantage was that it took literally months to go stale; even then, that just meant it stopped tasting good. You could still eat it healthily for another three months. "Deed, I'm not about to die on you." Not for months on end; it still made his stomach swim every time he had to live that particular little...oversight. "Besides, I'm...well, better than I have been for a while." Another stomach swim.
She sighed, but began packing her own saddlebags. Waybread, provisions, first aid supplies, and a rather generous amount of money that had come from Fiana as a thank-you gift for saving her father's life; they'd all been happy to hear that he seemed to be healing. Still, she couldn't take her mind off the problem at hand.
Alex had been dying. Whatever Etoh had said about fighting, she'd seen it for what it was. She didn't know how he'd held on long enough to reach Tarba, or what had gone on there, but he should have died. He was supposed to have died, and he didn't. But there was no trace of that now, nothing to see. By all accounts, he was in perfect health, not even the trace of a scar (spiritually speaking).
And that simply wasn't right. Even if he HAD recovered, there should have been some sort of mark, some sign that it had happened. She could only think of one possibility.
He was hiding something from her.
She'd tried to confront him about it, but...she'd never seen pain on his face like that. Not even when she'd...when they'd had a fight in Castle Roid. It was as though someone had just gut-punched him; he'd simply hobbled off, and refused to talk about it. Worse, he'd refused to talk to her for days. When they'd finally talked, he'd simply told her that yes, he was hiding something, and begged her not to ask him about it further. "Because it hurts too much to lie to you," he'd said.
She wasn't so sure anymore if she really wanted to know anymore. Because she'd admitted something to herself shortly after he'd started his recovery.
She had fallen in love with Alex Latrans.
Oh, she knew that she liked him; she'd known that from the moment they'd first met. And she freely admitted to being attracted to him; by human standards she was scandalous. She just hadn't realized exactly how much she cared until the moment when she had known he was dead.
And she would not cause him pain; not if she could help it.
"Are you sure you're alright Alex?"
Chiffon's voice brought her back to herself; they'd reached an...understanding of sorts. So while she didn't feel precisely threatened by the half-elf, she did feel the need to keep the score even. And so, she sighed, a bit more melodramatically than necessary. "He's already decided he's not going to listen to reason. We may as well just try and keep him from killing himself...again."
Alex winced.
Karl watched with half a mind as he continued his own preparations for their journey. Only half though; he had his own little problem to deal with now. "I really think you should reconsider this, Liara."
The peasant girl from Chapter One (the one Alex rescued) shook her head, fighting the urge to blush at the sight of Karl. "Absolutely. I've always wanted to see more of Lodoss. When you told me that you'd be traveling across the continent, I knew I had to ask."
Karl managed a weak smile. She didn't really seem to realize he was trying to get her to leave; she seemed convinced that he was encouraging her no matter what. He sighed. While Alex might have gotten a lot of the credit for everything that had happened (he'd somehow managed to solicit enough favors from bards that he wasn't being hailed as the sole hero of the mess), Karl had ended up with his fair share of fame. Not as the conquering hero, the sword-swinging knight, or the wise councilor.
Karl was an archer. By all accounts, that should have pigeon-holed him into the role of a coward.
Then the Coyotes went home and started talking about the battle. They started telling stories about the Alanian villager who had stood by them, through thick and thin, personally hauling the wounded out of the front lines even as he bellowed commands to the archers who were being charged and hacked into. Who had fought not for personal honor or glory, not to protect his people, but simply because he couldn't bear the thought of not doing anything.
It wasn't all true...he hadn't been heroic or anything. He'd just noticed that some of the peltasts were getting too close, or were getting in the way of pikes, or when the occasional arrow from the Marmo made it into the barrage. And as the rest of his men were busy, and he wasn't shooting...well, who else was supposed to get them out?
He was a celebrity now, a hero. He was an average Joe who'd gone out and done his duty, and was somehow being touted as a shining example of what a person could do with just a little bit of determination.
And Karl was now firmly convinced that Alex had been right all along. Being a hero sucked.
Sighing, he swung himself up onto his horse as he watched Chiffon and Deed continue pestering Alex; Etoh had just exited the temple with his own gear, though servants of the temple had already prepared his horse for him. Their current route had them heading for Novice to return the Holy Sword to Fahn (it still blew his mind that Alex had been wielding it, even if only briefly) and giving Etoh a chance to resume his studies, then making a beeline for Raiden in the northwest.
He wondered idly just what would screw them up first.
--------
Ariel took a deep breath. Then another.
And another.
It was patently ridiculous, all of it. Here she was, a princess of Kannon. Perhaps she was not the most worldly...but still, the crown princess of an old, proud kingdom. A crown princess had no business having anything at all to do with a thief.
So why had she been so eager to be the one to carry the envoys and letters of thanks to him...and Alex, but mostly to Woodchuck. He'd been the one who'd kept them safe, after all. He was the one who had been so careful, so nice to her...
She flushed, shaking her head. That was no way for a princess to behave. She'd just deliver her messages and leave. She shouldn't have come after all...
"Ariel?"
'Eep'ing, she turned slowly to meet Woodchuck's rough face. "It's good to see you again, Sir Woodchuck." She silently blessed all those dry, boring lessons she'd had in doing one thing and thinking another; it was the only reason she wasn't blushing furiously right now.
"I told you, just call me Wood." He wasn't sure, but he would have been willing to bet that every conversation they'd ever had had begun that way. Come to think of it, why did he keep having so many conversations with a princess? "What brings you to...oh." He wondered why it would make him so...exasperated. "Alex, right?"
She nodded, thankful for him taking the question out of her hands. "My father asked me to deliver this to Alex. From him." Flushing at her stuttering speech, she handed him a sealed, folded length of parchment. "My mother insisted that I bring this for him as well." A small wash-leather purse containing ten gold crowns of old Kastuulian minting joined the letter. "Lars wants me to let him know that as soon as he's able, he's invited to spend a month hunting in the foothills. And..." Good lord, why am I blushing so hard? "This is from..."
Wood shook his head tiredly as he accepted Ariel's personal letter. It didn't seem fair for him to attract so many women. Especially seeing as how he was about as sexually curious as Etoh. "I'll make sure he gets this one from you."
"Er...that's...well, not for...him." The last came out as a whisper.
Wood blinked owlishly. "Do you have friends here in Tarba? I don't know my way around all that well, but I can ask one of the novices..."
"It's...for you..."
For a second, it seemed like time stopped. Not quite as romantically as you might be thinking; more along the lines of the way time seems to slow down when something bad is happening. Wood simply stared at the cream-colored paper for a good minute. "Uh..." he said eloquently, "...you shouldn't have." Why in the nine hells was a princess writing him letters? "Really, you shouldn't have bothered." He blinked. Why did it suddenly seem like it had just gotten darker?
Looking up, he felt like kicking himself. Or beating his head against a wall. Managing to stifle an ostentatious cough, he instead flicked at the paper casually. Go for misunderstanding. "It's nice of you to write, I just don't know how to read." And best of all, he was being perfectly honest. "It's not the sort of thing that comes up when you're chained to a wall in some creepy, effeminate, green-haired lord's dungeon, after all. (Several miles south, a certain creepy, effeminate, green-haired lord sneezed violently. Considering that he had been leaning into the fireplace at the moment, that might not have been the best idea. The burns healed without scarring, though he refused to be seen in public for the subsequent month it took for his eyebrows to grow back.(1))
Ariel looked up, her flush receding. "Oh, I'm sorry. I...I'm sure that someone in the temple could..." read it to you. Read my personal letter... "on second thought, maybe I should just - "
With a flick of his wrist, he made it disappear up his sleeve, to a slightly startled yelp from Ariel. "Thanks, but I think I'll keep it. Words are nice, but the sentiment's enough." He watched her for a moment, in thought. Granted, she was a princess. And young enough to be...well, if he'd started a bit early, she could have been his daughter. Still, it was pretty obvious that she had no idea what she was doing outside of a palace. That wouldn't do for a potential ruler; she had no know what went on amongst her people. And a bit of familiarity with the thieves, informants, and smugglers of the world couldn't hurt, could it?
Especially in Tarba; it was a great place to start an education in sleaze. (Well, if you were going to try and ease someone into it, anyway; the closest thing around here to a sleazy tavern was the inn where the innkeeper's daughter sang love songs in an off-the-shoulder blouse.) While the most famous/important location was indeed the great temple of Marfa, there were quite a few other industries here; merchants, textiles, hardwood, trading...you name it.
So while he probably wouldn't get a chance to introduce her to say, barroom brawls or harlots, he still had a reasonable chance of showing her a common room and 'the fare of the lower people,' as she had once called it.
"So...have any plans for the evening?"
--------
Chiffon looked around herself in a daze. "How did this happen again?"
Deedlit winced slightly as one of the girls surrounding them bandaged her arm. It wasn't a serious wound, and considering that elves didn't scar, it wouldn't be any concern in a few weeks. It still hurt though. She smiled immediately at the girl in question though; the poor thing was one of the handful who knew anything about healing and caring for the wounded, and had been on her feet nearly the whole night. And it didn't look like it was over yet. "We let ourselves get caught up in A...in his lunacy." She sighed as the girl finished the field-dressing; she wished, not for the first time, that Etoh had decided to come with them.
Chiffon managed a bit of a giggle at that, but it was strained; for the first time, she was regretting attaching herself to Alex. Truth be told, she was a bit miffed with him (another first).
She'd been thrilled to hear that they were going to visit Raiden; it was the oldest city in all of Lodoss, dating back to the period of Kastuul. Granted, it had been largely a penal colony for them, that didn't change the fact that it was the only place on Lodoss where surviving Kastuulian architecture and roads survived. It was also the legendary free city, a place where more wonders and bits of glory could be found than anywhere else on Lodoss; not even Alania, the oldest of the true nations could boast as much history, not even the guild of Sorcerers could lay claim to as much lore and knowledge as the Free City.
And he'd dragged them to the side for this stupid rescue mission.
If she were being fair, it wasn't JUST his fault. Karl had been the one to hear about the fleets of slavers that ran galleys along the northern coasts of Lodoss. Like the old Barbary pirates of earth, their most important spoils had been the men they forced to row their ships in brutal forced trips of raiding and plunder, both on coastal vessels and fleets. Of course, the pirates/slavers were businessmen in their own right. Successful ones, truth be told. And you don't get to be successful throwing away potential resources.
In short, if you hit and completely capture a coastal town, you don't just leave the women and children behind. They're worth something.
She glared cutely at the archer as he continued about tirelessly, gathering bandages here, handing out nearly inedible ship-board ration bread (thankfully, they didn't have to dip into their own rations), seeing to blankets and the fires, the remains of scuttled ships and driftwood piles serving as fuel. He was both officially and unofficially the hero here, that was clear.
Alex dropped to the ground besides Deedlit and Chiffon, stripped to the waist. "I don't know where he gets his energy. He's outlasting ME, for crying out loud."
Chiffon turned a glare on him too, though it was a bit softer. She'd known that he wouldn't have left them alone after hearing it, but he'd been quiet enough that she could pretend. "You were badly injured not too long ago, remember? Maybe we shouldn't keep doing this sort of thing."
Alex gave her an unreadable look. "You think we did the wrong thing?" he finally asked.
Chiffon sighed. "No. And I don't think we could have done anything else; I couldn't have lived with myself if I knew and ignored them. I just...I wish someone else had done it."
He managed a grin. "Welcome to my world."
He was hiding it, but he was worried. He'd had to work a lot harder than he'd expected. It had been a bit of a surprise when Karl took charge, but a welcome one, truth be told. Alex had done most of the work; well, sort of. Okay, Cyrus had been the one to scout out the location and figure out when the best time to strike would be, but Alex had claimed it to be him; Cyrus hated the spotlight even more than Alex did, impossible as it seemed. It had been Alex who had swam out that night with an axe, auger, and bolt cutters, drilling slow leaks into the three galleys anchored half a mile off the beach. He'd been the one to sneak aboard and start clipping off the shackles, or at least the chains where they attached to the rowing benches. And of course, he'd been the one to 'accidentally' leave a door to a weapons supply room open.
It hadn't been all that bad...no, that was retarded. In the battles against Marmo, or his fights against Ashram, he'd felt fine. Hell, he doubted there was a single moment in his life outside of fighting where he felt more alive. But this?
He had a feeling that he finally understood why Cyrus had been so hesitant to teach him the Flowing Soul. It felt wrong. Bone-deep, impossibly WRONG.
He hadn't noticed it at first, not just doing gym exercises, but with the fight against the slavers, it had clicked.
He hadn't felt cold.
He'd swum half a mile through oceanic water weighed down with steel tools and weapons, and he hadn't noticed any cold. What he HAD noticed when he got on board though, was that his hands were shaking, his skin covered in gooseflesh. He HAD gotten cold, he just didn't notice it. Oh, it had started to penetrate a few seconds later, but it didn't change the fact that for one panicky instant, it hadn't felt like his body, it had felt like ill-fitting clothes.
Was that what he had to look forward to? Four months of phantom-limb, the sensation of his soul dragging his flesh along for the ride with every motion?
He banished the thoughts. He'd deal with it when the time came. Besides, it looked like something was going on.
Karl coughed nervously as he staggered over. He hadn't expected fatigue to just...crash over him like that. Nor had he expected scantily-clad pleasure slaves to rush to his side; he wasn't positive, but he thought that Liara was lecturing them. He groaned painfully as he sank to the sands beside them. "Remind me not to do something like this again."
Deedlit managed a light chuckle. "We elves try as hard as we can to stay out of human affairs, or any affairs, for that matter. Starting to see elvish wisdom?"
"Maybe," Karl admitted. "I mean, four warriors and a peasant girl against THAT many pirates? I think my common sense has abandoned me."
"It happens," Alex said idly. Looking over the milling people, he frowned. "Something just occurred to me. Where exactly would they have gone? I don't exactly recall seeing slaves in Valis, or Alania."
Karl grimaced. "...Alex, the thing you have to understand is that most of Lodoss is still undeveloped. At least as far as humans are concerned," he amended with an apologetic glance to Deed. "Valis, Kannon, Alania, Moss, Flaim...they're powerful, and great nations sure, but they only cover about half of the landmass of Lodoss. There's a LOT of places out here where there isn't a ruler or king to enforce laws."
Alex digested that in silence. "So in other words, slavery exists in the backwoods."
Karl sighed. "It's not widespread, but there are communities, cults, enclaves...most people don't like to talk about it. Most of them tribes in the Storm and Fire desert; they started enslaving their own people, the slaves got free, and started enslaving different people. It caught on." He shook his head. "Flaim has laws against total slavery, but there are indentured servants and lifetime servants who may as well be slaves. They're treated well, and they COULD leave if they wanted, but to what? For them, it's better to be slaves." This time, a grimace came across his face. "And then at the other end of the spectrum, we have dear old Alania. Where slavery is illegal, and has been for centuries. Though it doesn't keep some of our less scrupulous lords from buying a few on the sly." He turned a dark look on Alex. "I'm sure you can imagine what they're used for."
Alex ground his teeth audibly. "...yeah. I can imagine."
Karl looked over the people. "Truth be told, I think I like the desert tribe way of doing it better. If they catch you, and Kashue doesn't get wind of it and make them set you free, they work you hard for the rest of your life, like cattle or oxen. Still, they leave you with a shred of dignity, a modicum of respect. And they do make sure to keep you alive."
Alex was quiet. "It's like drugs, or any other vice. If it's out in the open, they can regulate it. And if it's not taboo, there's less chance of someone perverting it further." He turned to mirror Karl's look over the throng. "At least they're honest in their sin. Doesn't make it right, but I prefer people who have the integrity to be honest in their evil."
"Is that why you hated Karla so much?" Chiffon asked.
"...maybe that's part of it."
--------
There are certain circumstances that we never expect to find ourselves in. It's usually a safe bet to assume that we won't, for no apparent reason, be possessed by demons. Just for example. Most of us won't be taken hostage, or be involved in a terrorist attack. Very few of us will find ourselves in random, dimension-hopping knick-knack shops that catapult us into our favorite anime series in which we discover that it's not really all fun-and-games and end up with our souls leaking from the flesh...ahem. Anyway, some things just aren't likely to happen.
Case in point: If you had told Woodchuck that he would spend his evening trying to drag crown princess Ariel of Kannon back to a room at the temple of Marfa in Tarba, fending off kisses from a (drunk) amorous seventeen-year-old, he would have bopped you in the head.
Now?
Straining away from the giggling little girl, he was...ambivalent, about the whole thing. Okay, granted it was kind of creepy to have a girl coming on to you who was literally young enough to be your daughter. Granted, he would have had to start trying right around age sixteen, but the point remained. Granted, relationships and even marriages with that kind of an age gap weren't unheard of, particularly where royalty was concerned. Though having an attentive, attractive female of the species showing an interest under ANY circumstances was nice.
Ariel sighed as she nestled into Wood's arms. She'd been nervous at first; she'd never been in a tavern before. It had been something of a surprise that so many people knew him, surprising and a bit intimidating. The rather friendly (and decidedly attractive) barmaids certainly didn't help either. Though there had been that rather kind young man who'd insisted on her having wine. She'd never even had to ask for a refill. Or when she decided that she needed to try an ale...or five...
She still didn't understand why Woodchuck had felt the need to take the man aside.
For his part, he simply chanted under his breath, "She's too young, she's too young, she's too young..." and prayed that nobody would find him before he could come up with a decent explanation.
"...I certainly hope your intentions are honorable."
He nearly tripped, the voice was so sudden. Turning his head, he managed a weak, sort of sickly grin at the clearly-amused Neese. "Someone needs to teach this girl when to stop."
The priestess shook her head as she took over, leading the way. "We assumed the princess might want to stay a bit. Her room is this way. A bit spartan, but nothing uncomfortable." Glancing back, she couldn't help but add, "I take it you two had a good time?"
Wood chuckled. "You could say that." The strange part was, he HAD enjoyed himself. She was fun to be around, if a bit reticent. And there was something that was so damned...refreshing about being in the presence of an innocent. "To be honest, I wouldn't mind doing it again." He nearly lost it as Neese stumbled. "Though I doubt she'd agree; not after the hang-over she's going to have in the morning."
Neese silently opened the door, watching as he gently laid her down.
Ariel looked up through half-lidded eyes at the thief. Who would have thought such a rough-looking character could be so kind? On impulse, she leaned upward, and seizing a handful of hair, kissed him firmly on the lips.
Wood froze. Neese froze. Hell, even the crickets seemed to have lapsed into shocked silence.
Ariel sighed as she released the thief. " 'Night."
Wood slowly rose. He turned to Neese; her jaw swaying in the breeze as she stared at him.
"..."
"..."
"...You know...she might be too drunk to remember that tomorrow."
"..."
"...We can always hope, I suppose."
"...This never happened."
"Agreed."
And thus, the night passed on.
--------
Lightning flickered, almost delicately across the gray of the skies above Castle Conquera. There was no scientific reason for so much activity; Marmo was just that sort of a place. If the sky wasn't gray, it was black, or faintly green, the color of a cyclone's prelude. If the sun wasn't obscured it was only because it was in the process of baking the life out of anyone or anything unlucky enough to be out in it. And if it was not cold and wet and miserable, it was just cold and miserable, cold and wet, or hot and miserable.
With conditions like these, it was no surprise that the average man, woman, or child was a good deal tougher than those from the Lodoss mainland. It was likewise little surprise that most activity took place at night or in the cover of subterranean darkness.
You must understand; Marmo was blessed by the night, and cursed by the day. Or rather, Night and Day. While the sun ruled the sky, it did everything it could to make life a living hell for the unfortunates there, but by night...
It was heaven.
Pirotess watched fitfully as the sun began to set. Despite Beld's advice, suggestions, orders, and outright haranguing, Ashram refused to wield the sword during the daylight hours. At least not in practice. When asked, he'd simply said, "I intend to try and keep her happy for now."
It might interest you to know that no, Pirotess was not the sort of woman (dark elf or human) to be jealous of another female. Regardless of whether or not the female in question was just a possessed chunk of inanimate steel.
The sun was near the horizon; she'd heard that on Lodoss proper, sunsets were considered beautiful. She doubted that anyone who'd ever seen this...parody would have thought so again. Imagine if you will, a human heart, torn from its chest. Imagine that it is being dragged over the top of a hill, or mound of some sort, gushes of red trailing in its wake. That would be the most apt description of the Marmo sunset.
All of that fled in an instant however; night had come, and with it, a display that set her shivering.
Ashram had stood motionless as he waited for the night. With the twilight, his eyes snapped open. With a sound glorious as the muted choir of the righteous, Anima Messor, Soul Crusher, cleared its sheath. For a moment, it lay quiescent...for a moment, nothing but oddly filigreed metal.
Then, it awoke.
Perhaps the demon that Beld had slain was different here than the one in the canon. Perhaps it was Ashram who was different, perhaps the demon had merely changed with time. Whatever the reason, there were no great power struggles, no months of agony trying to beat the weapon into lending its power into even the most mundane of combat.
In this world, Ashram didn't struggle with the sword, he danced with it.
In this world, Soul Crusher loved him.
There was nothing sickly in the lavender glow, nothing of demons or hell fires or black arcane magics. This was a deep, rich violet glow that embraced him, that swept itself along with his motions as though he led it into a dance as deadly as it was awe-inspiring.
It was a royal color.
Pirotess looked on, mesmerized as Ashram continued his fencing. He had at one point ordered those convicted of crimes to be brought before him as targets (yes, even Marmo has crimes), but he had stopped that when it became quickly apparent that there was nothing in particular to be gained from it. Contrary to what you may believe, Soul Crusher didn't eat just any souls; she chose only those who she felt worthy.
Convicts were not up to par.
Now, he satisfied himself with using her arcane might to summon fiends and ghosts, to test his blade on them, to test the power of his will, the power to BEND them to his will.
Beld had been a soldier; he had used Soul Crusher merely as an impressive weapon of personalized mass destruction. Ashram chose to use it as a rallying point.
There was no real sense of time for him; Soul Crusher crooned to Ashram. The power was ever present on Marmo; it was no real challenge to wield it. Figure-eights of flashing steel gave way to vicious scything strikes that could have leveled a castle wall, arcs of destruction shifting back to the graceful blocks parries and ripostes, shifting back to destruction and then to the pinpoint violence of thrust and stab. Unaided strikes and empowered, pauses as the summoned fiends rose in answer to his will, wraiths doing battle against him, for him, aiding him, shielding him, attacking him, sacrificing themselves for him...it was the dance of the battlefield on a battlefield that was his own making.
He ended at the last with his strangest unaided technique; the sheathing strike. While there exist many schools that teach the iaijutsu method, the technique of sheathing and striking in the same instant and motion, he was alone in having developed a method of striking with a motion intended to guide his sword back to where it belonged. He was the only one audacious to attempt to strike and turn it into a thrust towards his hip in mid-swing.
The sword sheathed, he let the warm tiredness soak into his muscles. He had to discharge most of his Imperial duties during the day; the night was his to do with as he would. It was also one of the few times he didn't have to deal with the priests nagging and sneaking; the fool might well be insane enough to think that Ashram couldn't see him maneuvering to put a knife in his back. Quite literally, in a few cases.
Pirotess bowed slightly as he passed. "The bath has been already prepared."
Ashram paused, turning slightly to regard the elf woman. He was no stranger to attractive women; he'd lost count of the women he'd had, women who often did the choosing rather than him. And he was...tempted, to say the least. It was odd finding a woman who didn't immediately bend to his will. He found the defiance a bit...refreshing, of all things.
It was also the first time she hadn't bothered to add a 'my lord,' to her speech. Why not? There are many ways to exercise. Besides which, I need to see how she'll react. She being Soul Crusher. Just because the dark elf didn't seem the jealous type didn't mean that the sword wouldn't. "You will attend me."
Pirotess actually flushed. It wasn't as though she hadn't made her intentions clear. Granted, it might not have been the best idea to turn up in his room in black leather with a bull whip, but that was just how it was done with dark elves.
Though she hadn't minded it all THAT much when he'd taken the whip for himself.
Still, she watched him appraisingly as she trailed him into the depths of the castle. Perhaps things were looking up for her after all.
To be continued...
Author's Notes: Not anywhere near as much of an update as I'd hoped for, but it sets the stage for a few things I wanted to do, a few changes and explanations I wanted to make. There'll be one more chapter like this, then it's back (more or less) to the original storyline with a few relatively significant tweaks. Though hopefully the next chapter will be nice, long, and have a degree of actual continuity.
1 – Hopefully, anyone who's ever seen Meiking will get the reference.
