Dextkiller's Test Thread — Roleplayer Guild

D E A T H  :   P A R T  1


He was being unmade.


Like so much had pulled apart before him, he now was doomed to fray. The darkness surrounding him was oppressive, pushing down on his mind like a thick blanket used to snuff a fire. He tried to reach out, grasp a thread of the magic that was destroying him, but it pushed him away. It swept the great Unraveller aside like a strong wind blows a leaf. 
 This was too intricate. Even with the seed, it would takes weeks to unmake it, and he would lose himself far before that. 

Daen crawled toward the dais, for upon it sat salvation. An aura of imperceivable colors swirled atop the dais. Simply looking upon it caused his mind to ache. No mortal could perceive what he saw there. 
Unfortunately he was mortal.
And he was dying. 
Blood trickled down his back, where poisoned barbs had implanted themselves. The poison didn't seem to be effecting him, but the pain made him weary. Cuts laced his arms and legs where dastardly razorwire traps had tried to slice him to bits. He bled freely onto the black stone floor, which seemed to eagerly consume the nectar of his life. 
He crawled closer, struggling fiercely to keep grasp of what little sanity remained to him. He reached out toward the dais. 
And brushed whatever sat atop it.
Fire blasted its way through his being. He was suddenly paper before a great fire, curling and collapsing in on himself. He felt the last fragments of his sanity being pulled apart. The colors he could not see fluttered inside his eyes, swimming in ever increasing tides until they blocked out all else. 
Daen could not decide if he preferred this unknowable sea to the darkness that had oppressed him before.

But perhaps those were the words of a madman.

If he'd had the faculties left to laugh, he would have done so. Suddenly a blinding pain lanced its way through every fiber of his being. The burning of before multiplied by a thousand. It was as if his soul were being branded. Miraculously he could then tell that that was exactly what was happening. The mark on his soul was being mimicked on his face. Drawing itself around the seed of truth that rested in the socket of his right eye. 

Pieces smashed back into place. Mind rebuilt. Numbers. That color, perceivable suddenly, yet unnamed. What was that?
Something flitted around the corners of the black room. And suddenly Daen realized that he could see the corners of the room. He could feel the darkness still, but it clawed at the edges of his sanity, unable to grasp his now unvexable mind. 

That moment of hesitation was enough for the creature that struck him next. A flash of black skin, swirling patterns beneath its surface. It took hold of his head with an iron grip and suddenly he was tired once more. Despair tried to edge it's way into his mind, panic following close in its tracks. But they were both rebuffed easily. Daen starred into the eyes of his killer, if that was what one could call them. Pits of utter blackness. He could feel it's core. Once a man, corrupted absolutely by an imperceivable darkness that at once reminded him of the wraith of Imentis.

Daen laughed.
"I do not fear you."
For you cannot fear that which you understand. 
A rage passed over the beast. Claws like needles tore into the flesh of his belly, extracting something he didn't see but he guessed was his intestines. He felt nothing but tiredness. In the corner of his darkening vision he saw streams of white light filtering into the beast, and suddenly he knew what the poison barbs had been for.

They drained his life away, strengthening this beast. The poison tried to tear at his mind, take back that which he had stolen, but it could not enter. The mark had done its work. The beast leaned close and licked blood from Daen's cheek with a long serpent-like tongue. 
"Feeeeaarrr meeeee," It whispered in his ear with a voice like ice.

Daen locked eyes with the beast once more, resolute and unfeeling in death.
"I cannot," were the last words he spoke before all went black.

D E A T H  :   P A R T  2


Death was dark. At least until he looked, if in fact one could look while dead, for he was very aware that he was dead. The mark had followed him here, at least in part. He could feel it's power still coursing through him, lingering like the image one sees after looking at a bright light. It's power allowed him the knowledge of this place. Though it would take him time immemorial to understand it. He wondered how ones without the mark existed here. 

Around him swam the color he could not name. It ebbed and flowed through the aether like great tides of energy, shaping eveything. He then felt a presence, if in fact one could feel while dead. A presence that warmed him, for it was familiar. And then, not for the first time in his life, but the first time in death, he laid eyes upon is god, Saevus. 

He tried to fall low, but had no body to lay prostrate. He tried to beg forgiveness, but had no lips to speak. The god seemed to sense his regret, his sense of failure, for the god of truth frowned. It was only then that Daen realized how very human the god of truth looked. He had a very human body, and atop that sat a very human head with very high human cheekbones and black human hair. The only sign of divinity he saw were the blindingly white iridescent eyes. Around Saevus' right eye were three faintly glowing interconnected circles.
In your failure you have succeeded.”Saevus extended an arm toward whatever Daen was here and Daen felt a pulse of energy that could only have come from the mark. He felt it burning within him, lingering on the fringes of his perception like an afterimage of bright light. 
”I sense the mark upon you. That they cannot take, for it is bound.”
Saevus paced across the eternity, and white stones formed beneath him. The reality spread outward, splashing against invisible walls, and spilling reality into the aether like paint upon a canvas.
”Do not despair, my dearest disciple . For where there is one, there is also the other.”Saevus Smiled at him, showing very white teeth.  The smile dropped quickly, and was replaced by a serious expression. ”Find my book, Truthseeker. For upon my departure it shall come unbound. “He met whatever eyes Daen possessed, and held the look”Do not search for the truth of time, nor the truth of the starless night, for you shall find neither. Search for the truth of I, who does not belong in this realm. I cannot impart the knowledge I had wished upon you, for in your disembodiment you are not unvexable.”Saevus reached out to touch Daen, but recoiled as if struck. Color began to drain from the god’s skin. His iridescent eyes dimmed, and for a moment Daen could see the darkening stones of the wall through the God of Truth.
”The Starless Night beckons.”Saevus fell to a knee and clutched his chest.
”One last gift, my dearest disciple.  The page formed of your truth.”
An unfelt wind tugged at the God of Truth, and he began to blow away.
”We part, my dear disciple. Hide.. Beyon-”
The unseen wind blasted Saevus apart, scattering the fragments of him around and through Daen.  Then suddenly it was silent.

R E T U R N

Daen looked slowly around the black stone room. Dust layered every crevice and cobwebs hung from every corner. He blinked. 
Wait. 
He’d blinked?
Daen Screamed. He screamed so long and hard his voice went out. He thrashed and flung himself about, clawing at his skin and attempting to escape from the prison of flesh he found himself in.  Dust billowed up around him, blotting out vision and forcing him into a fit of coughing, which luckily enough stopped his screaming. 
 After the fit, he flopped sideways onto the dusty bricks. Since when had existence been so exhausting? The panic slowly receded as he stared at the far wall, as black as all the rest, and in its place came a bone deep exhaustion. 
He woke what seemed like days later, he couldn’t know for sure in this lightless room. He didn’t feel as tired now as he had before. He took another look around. It wasn’t dark per-say. There was light coming from somewhere, although dim and of a very dark shade, but he couldn’t make out the source.  He reached out with his mind, seeking to grasp the magic that created the light and understand how it functioned. He found it easily, a charm, easily done. He tugged on the thread of it’s magic and felt a nip of resistance. It gave him pause. He’d not felt resistance at such paltry magic since before he’d been given the-.

Daen’s hands flew up to his face, he felt gingerly around the lid of his right eye. The socket was empty, the seed gone.  A ball of icy dread dropped into his stomach. He grasped for his pendant, but it was gone as well. They had taken everything. 

Except, as Saevus had said, the mark.  Daen traced the lines etched into the skin around his now empty right eye socket.  Three interconnected circles. It glowed a dim orange against the skin of his hand. 

Daen sighed and looked around the room once more. No doors and no windows. The room was entirely sealed. He could feel no magic keeping him here. But without his pendant there was no escape that he could see.  Then something popped into his mind. Riddles he’d never before seen. He smiled at the last gift of Saevus.

Page 25 of The Book of Truth: 

My dearest Disciple:
By black will you fall.
By white will you rise. 
Four times of four, you shall be your own guide. 

Upon your return, I shall grant you this
In order to strike, at first must you miss. 

And perhaps one more, for loyalty's sake.
To reclaim what you've found, you first must unmake.


The first part made sense now that he had died and appearently been resurrected. He hung on that for a moment. He had witnessed Saevus’ destruction, and therefore had no clue as to why he was back. Yet here he sat, propped up against a black stone wall, very much alive. 

The last part was obvious as well. In order to reclaim the Seed of Truth and perhaps his pendant, he would have to unmake, or unravel. That seemed too obvious and had him wondering at the riddles possibly behind it. But that wasn’t the most important part. 

In order to strike, at first you must miss. He hadn’t the slightest what this meant. He hoped it was a way out of this room, but he couldn’t be sure. 

Standing on unsteady legs. Daen pushed off into the middle of the room. 

The starless night had begun. his God was dead. There was so much to do, and he felt so very, very alone.  



M Y   F R E E D O M   F O R   A   S H I R T


The tomb was tall and empty. It seemed to reach forever into the blackness that feigned to be the ceiling. It was as if the place was almost hollow; lacking in some way. The walls were cold and crumbling, and the floor was no different. Pieces of the ancient brick would break off at the touch and turn to dust with such little effort that a determined individual could have caved themselves in without a struggle. 
Daen stood at the center of the room, unsure what to make of his current predicament. He was shocked to have been alive once more. The measure of his rapid breathing was proof of that, and his previous scream that still seemed to be echoing through the antechamber was an even greater testament to the shock of pumping blood and flickering eyes. 

Upon further investigation, it was not, thank goodness, the simple sealed off room that Daen had thought it was. It was rather a smaller tomb connected to a much larger mausoleum. His own chamber was connected via a small, very obscure passageway that was undoubtedly once showered with light from the rotted, burned out torches lining the walls. It seemed that this place had been looted years ago. All the worldly treasures that would have rested here were gone, replaced with spiderwebs and dust; there was no visible entrance to the tomb that Daen could see: no breeze rolling in through hidden doors, but there was a single shaft of blueish moonlight dissipating through the place. He could see it come down from a small circular hole upon the roof of the main chamber. Beyond the hole was simple darkness punctuated with glinting hints of the silvery moons overhead. But there were no stars to speak of in the world above. It was a sky of black and moons, nothing more. 

The main chamber was little different to the smaller one he had awoken in. It took barely a minute to walk the passageway between the two, though the walk was in nearly complete darkness save for the dim moonlight that illuminated simple turns and walls with a faint silver lining. 

There seemed to be no way out. 

The main chamber was even taller than the smaller antechamber Daen had awoken in. There was no structure to climb to reach the small moon door that let in the light from above. It was a place of the dead that none should trespass within. He waited for some time in quiet contemplation, looking around him and exploring this strange place he had awoken in. What dark purpose could have substantiated his return? What task lay ahead? Why had Saevus disappeared? Was it true that the Gods were gone? That the Starless Night was nigh? Daen had no answers, and there seemed to be nobody to provide them. Not a single soul. 

It seemed lonely there. Perhaps a mistake that he awoke in a place in which he could not escape? Was he doomed to die a second time from the pangs of mortality gone unanswered? 

The God of Truth, however, seemed not to be a liar. The truth that his chosen would once more walk the land of Ansus was indeed a truth, and not a farce. Daen could hear voices in the distance, followed by three men poking their heads over the moon door, their crania blocking the moonlight tmporarily, plunging the greater chamber in and out of darkness as they swayed and surveyed what was below. The shadow of their heads played a great spectral dance through the beam of light: every light motion translating into a mystical, arcane display of transient shadows performing pirouettes through the air. 

”Oy!” shouted one of the voices. ”I  found an entrance. Up here!” his voice echoed. There was a momentary silence before a second and third voice joined with the first, grunting as they pulled themselves up onto the outer roof. They looked down into the moon door and then retracted their heads and a rope ladder fell from above in their place. The three men climbed down slowly, lighting torches as they landed on the crumbling stone floor. 

The light would have hurt Daen’s eye at first, but in seconds he would have gotten used to unexpected brightness. With this new source of light he could make out the party before him: a trio of adventurers, one clad in a few old pieces of plate and chainmail with a dull iron sword, one in leather and wielding a bow, and the last in a simple cloak with no visible weapons. 

But it was not only Daen who saw them. Almost immediately after lighting their torches they saw him and turned immediately to face him, drawing their various weapons as they went.
’Who the ‘ell are you?” the Swordsman demanded, shaking his blade angrily at Daen.
”He’s missin’ an eye. What the ‘eck?” the bowman exclaimed rather heartily; though he was visibly shocked by the physical abnormality of the man that stood before them. 

Daen stared at the men before him. They were ill equipped, but without his pendant he would be helpless against a sword-wielding opponent. He'd learned basic sword forms in his youth, as well as basic disarming maneuvers, but he doubted he could pull any of them off with two other opponents standing so near. Perhaps one, but certainly not while the others had weapons as well. He'd be cut down before he could so much as swing the newly acquired weapon. All he had was the mark, and his brain. He looked tattered, trapped, they'd underestimate him for sure. He may not be the best swordsman, or the best fighter. But he was fast, and he'd have to use that if he wanted to survive.

Words were still falling out of the swordsman's mouth. Time slowed to a crawl as Daen began the strategic inspection of his opponents. 

The Swordsman
Dented iron plate, rusted mail, doesn't take care of his equipment. Watch as he moves his arm..there, the joint of his pauldron catches on the hauberk underneath, restraining his motion. Can't swing well to the left. Watch out for the other more mobile arm with a torch.

The Archer
Keen eyes, taken away if I put that torch out. Slightly frayed bowstring and eight arrows in his quiver. Drawing one arrow now as the swordsman still speaks. Chewing..something, red lips, some sort of drug.

The Robed one
 A mage for certain, I can see the strings spinning around him as he readies himself for battle. No sorcerer, a simple conjurer that throws lackluster sparkbombs and other paltry spells. Fidgety, ready to spread some flame, looks prone to accidents from the singed edges of his apparently flammable sleeves and hood. He's holding the other torch in his hand, presumably to draw easy fire from it for pyromancy.

Time wound back to normal as Daen formulated his plan. First the helpless. 

"-o the ‘ell are you?” the Swordsman demanded, shaking his blade angrily at Daen.

Daen Put his hands up at his sides, looking terrified and slightly relieved. 

"Oh thank the gods,"A knot formed in his stomach. the gods. "I've been down here for days! I thought nobody would ever come." Daen feigned a shake and tried to look more sallow than he was. He turned his face down slightly to make his cheeks look drawn in the torchlight. 

”He’s missin’ an eye. What the ‘eck?”The archer took a small step forward, seeming less threatened than before, but still wary. Daen supposed he would be wary as well if he'd found a strange man with a missing eye and a glowing mark on his face.

”How much do ya’ reckon we can get for his clothes?”Said the mage quietly.”Plus, we can’t have anyone knowin’ we were ‘ere, eh boys?”Daen could hear the anticipation in the Mage's voice, and watched his foot tap as adrenaline kicked in. These were men used to killing the unarmed and helpless to get what they wanted. 

Daen widened his eye in fake surprise, fake fear."What? No, please! Take whatever you want, just get me out of here!" 

The Swordsman in front laughed, his pity as fake as Daen's fear. Bloodlust hid behind those greedy eyes."oh-ho boys. Looks like we's got us a begga'." The other two men laughed dryly. The archer stepped forward and knocked an arrow but kept the bow down. Rookie mistake. "'Ows about you give us 'at fancy shirt o' yoh's then? Show us some compassion fo' savin' yeh."The archer and the mage laughed more at this, their nostrils flaring with uncontained laughter. 

"Wh-what?" Daen stammered, "oh, yes of course.. I suppose I could-"Daen pulled the shirt over his head, and took his opening. He tossed the shirt onto the archer's head. Who in a panic, dropped his arrow onto the floor. The Swordsman turned back in surprise, unsure what had just happened. Daen jumped onto the surprised swordsman, knocking the torch from his left hand to the floor and hopping around the swordsman's left to avoid the sword-wielding right arm. The Swordsman grunted and swung without hesitation. Not a rookie then, just careless. 

The Swordsman's right pauldron caught on the mail hauberk, a stray piece of plate hooking through one of the mail's loops and hiking the hauberk upward, interfering with his swing. Daen used the hesitation and darted out with his right hand. He grabbed the swordsman's wrist and turned it up, forcing him to drop the sword into Daen's hand. The Archer had unraveled himself from the shirt and made another rookie mistake of going to pick the arrow up off the floor instead of pulling a new one from his quiver. He was feeling around the floor in the murky torchlight behind the now advancing mage. 

Daen Quickly smashed the swordsman over the back of the head with the pommel of his newly acquired sword and jumped forward just in time to avoid a fireball that streaked past where his head had been before. he hit the ground gracelessly just as the unconscious body of the swordsman slammed into the ground next to him. 

The archer had found his arrow and was knocking it again. Daen scrambled to his feet and broke into a sprint forward. He dived forward as an arrow streaked past where he'd be if he'd been standing. The archer cursed and began to pull another arrow from his quiver as Daen turned to face the two of them. His dive had been intentional, but not for the purpose of avoiding the arrow, which he'd not anticipated the archer could draw so quickly. The real reason had been to position the archer nearly between himself and the mage, who was readying another fireball to chuck at him. As the archer pawed for another arrow, the mage let fly the fireball. Daen widened his eye and the mark pulsed slightly as he reached out to the magic entwined in the fire streaking toward him. He found the string easily and tugged on it. 

The fireball popped, showering the archer in flecks of flame, one of which caught fire to his hair. The archer flinched and loosed his arrow slightly to the right. The arrow skimmed Daen's shoulder and smacked into the stone wall behind him, turing it into kindling. The archer yelped as the magefire began to engulf his hair. He dropped his bow and began furiously patting out the fire upon his head. Daen stood frantically and made a dash for the ladder at the other end of the room. He'd made it two rungs up when he turned and had to unravel another fireball, which again popped into directionless flecks of flame that sputtered out into the air. He took a few more rungs and then  waited as the mage roared in anger and consumed the last of the fire from his torch for a massive fireball. It was obvious from his widened, enraged eyes, that the mage was having trouble controlling that much flame. Daen barely had to touch the string and the magic fell apart. 

The large fireball exploded in the mage's hand with a concussive whoosh that drenched his robes in fire. He screamed and tumbled sideways, rolling along the stone floor with panic that seemed practiced, presumaly from lighting himself up before. Daen climbed the remaining rungs and pulled the rope ladder up after him. Pausing to duck quickly as the archer, whose head was now only smoking but with far less hair than before, loosed another arrow far to Daen's right. As the arrow whizzed out into the night, Daen pulled up the rest of the ladder and tossed it onto the stone roof beside him. Then he fell backwards onto the roof and panted momentarily before catching his breath. He could hear the moans of the swordsman as he awoke from unconsciousness, and the lessening screams from the mage as he managed to put out the flames that had consumed a good portion of his robes. 

Daen smiled up at the starless, moonlit sky. Feeling not quite as defenseless as before. The feeling of success was somewhat dampened by the fact that it was freezing cold, which wasn't helped by the fact that he was now missing his shirt.


P I T Y   I N   A   F R O Z E N   W O R L D


 It really was very cold. Daen shivered as he sat up and turned back around to peek down at the stranded graverobbers. The archer had thrown his bow and was stalking around, looking aggravated. The mage was finally picking himself up off the ground. given a very sinister look by the tendrils of smoke rising up around him. And the Swordsman was sitting on his arse, rubbing his head and trying to figure out what had just happened. Daen shivered again, the cold settling into his bones. He'd never been one to pity the pitiless. Truth had always been his master, and the truth of it was that these men certainly did not deserve to live. They'd tried to rob him, and most definitely would have killed him had he not acted so quickly. And for what? The clothes off his back and perhaps a scrap of gold somewhere in the humungous mausoleum that had been Daen's place of rest for who knew how long? Well, at least they would have the time to find the latter. Although looking at the barren walls and plentiful cobwebs, he doubted they'd find anything. 

He watched as the swordsman sat up and did a cursory inspection of his companions. He furrowed his brow at the archer, who was still stalking back and forth and spewing profanities, most of which were directed at Daen. The Mage sat dumbstruck, still trying to puzzle out why his magic had failed him so spectacularly. Then the swordsman pushed off the floor and reclaimed his dented iron blade from nearby. He walked over to the archer and placed a hand on the brooding man's shoulder. The archer stopped immediately, his adrenaline filtering out at the hint of companionship. When the swordsman spoke his words echoed off the high walls, making him sound ethereal. 

"Bit more 'en we bargain'd for, 'ey boys?" The swordsman chuckled, but the archer didn't approve of his dark humor. 
"Bit more eh? My fookin' hair's gone! Burnt off. Always tol'ya that fookin' mage'd be trouble!"the archer shook his fist at the still smoking mage, who shot him a dangerous look. 
"Wa'nt my fault. That damn one eye'd freak was doin sumt'n crazy! Poppin' my fire like brine bubbles."He gestured back at the archer. "Never hit one of you boys before 'ave I?" The mage turned and spat blood onto the dark stone floor."Nah, sumt'n odd with that'un. I mean, this place is spose'd be forbidden. What was he even doin way out 'ere?"
"Probly the same thing we're doin way out 'ere,"the swordsman replied."Probly has a family o' his own to look afta. Freezin' like the rest 'o us."The archer turned and spat gunky red spit onto the floor as well, but it wasn't blood, it was from whatever he was chewing. 
"Spit that shite out Mulik, is Anne fine's out you's was chewin again she'll 'ave my head."The archer, Mulik, grunted and pulled the glob of whatever-it-was out of his mouth and threw it into the darkness. 
Suddenly Daen felt something he'd not felt in a very long time. A pang of doubt. He couldn't recall the last time he'd misjudged an individual. That had been a quality that Saevus had so highly admired in him, his ability to see the truth in others. So how had he not known? He could only think that the lack of his lord was the cause. He'd been so in-tuned with Saevus that often times he didn't need to look to see. He furrowed his brow and looked over at the rope ladder that he'd pulled up. Then he looked back down at the graverobbers. He stood up and didnt have to look long before he found a bit of rubble nearby. He slowly inched the ladder back down into the moon door about a third of the way, then placed the cut stone rubble between two of the rungs that were laying flat on the stone roof. The men, who were bickering about something now, didn't seem to notice until Daen whistled to get their attention. At once, all three of them wheeled to look up at the moon door. The furious archer Mulik immediately went to grab an arrow from his quiver, screaming obscenities at Daen, but the Swordsman stopped him. He leaned over and whispered something that Daen didn't hear in Mulik's ear. Mulik then slid the arrow back into his quiver and lowered his bow. 

"Look," Daen said, "I don't usually do this, especially to men who have threatened me. But here's your out. I intend to take one of your horses. And since you must've had a way to get out here, I also intend to take your boat. But I won't leave you to die down there."Daen stood and gestured to the precariously balanced ladder. "Of course that's assuming you can get yourselves out. Excuse my caution, but setting fire to people tends to make them slightly vengeful. Good luck lads."Daen turned to leave when he heard the swordsman call out. He turned to look back down at the men. 
"Who are ya', one eye? Not many that can take down three arm'd men with only a shirt."
Daen smirked, trying not to seem as flabbergasted as the swordsman was by the fact that he had managed that.
"I'm Daen. The truthseeker. And if you'd excuse me, It's freezing out and i'd really like to get somewhere warmer."

As daen climbed down a pile of rubble from the stone roof, he heard the swordsman's dry laughter. He barely made out the words from this far. 
"Warm? Ain't nowhere warm."

Luckily enough, he found a coat in the saddlebag of the speckled horse he chose to take. It didn't keep out the entirety of the bone-deep chill, but it was leagues better than being shirtless, so he couldn't complain. He rode out of the thicket of snow-laden trees that surrounded the mausoleum and rode down to the beach. The sea was covered in a thick white fog. But as Daen rode closer, he noticed that it wasn't a fog. Horse tracks stretched across a frozen strait of ocean, imprinted into the snow that laid atop the ice. Daen could remember when he'd come here to die, so long ago. It had been so hot he'd left most his clothing on the far shore before taking the crossing in his dinghy. Now it was as if ice had pumped through the veins of Ansus and frozen the skin of the world. Fog puffed after Daen's every breath and he begun his long trek across the frozen sea.
The words of the swordsman haunted him as he rode into what became a blizzard.

Warm? Ain't nowhere warm.