R31GN — Roleplayer Guild

Riggs

As Riggs awaited the Captain's recovery, he mused over the reactions of his fellow pickers. Though Grick shied away from Riggs' "harsh tirade", he sensed little disagreement from the monolithic fishman. He took Nine's contribution for what it was -one of the first useful things that anyone had said since the Captain brought up the extinction of the humans. Though the feline figure seemed placated enough, he could feel a connection of annoyance form between the two of them. Riggs' eyes opened just a little wider in exasperation. As Cú passed, Riggs did his best to keep composure, knowing fully well that the canine's threat had very solid backing. Almost reflexively, Riggs rubbed at his upper torso when the grizzled voice confronted him in passing, but showed no other tell of fear. He had no doubt that the clone already knew he was afraid. When Cú began his... whatever it was that came out of his mouth, it was all Riggs could do to not burst with laughter. While the spirit behind his speech was admirable, the ideas presented were naive -childish at best, entirely ignorant at worst. Maybe a lesser mind would've been inspired, but Riggs saw it for what it was: a hopeless tirade playing on a thousand different tropes, reliant on a thousand more fallacies. 

Riggs smiled as Ven interjected his piece. Though he and Ven disagreed at times, it was clear that the bandaged alien was one of the few on board who's mental capabilities were even near the intellectual prowess of the Corvidaen. When Ven addressed Riggs with a rather passive insult, Riggs did little to acknowledge it but raise his metal bottle in a gesture similar to a toast. He nodded along as the Veslinian began his own philosophical investigation of the situation in an attempt to placate the feeble minded canine. When Ven conceded that Riggs had adequately addressed his concerns, the blue alien tipped an imaginary hat in a mock humble gesture. 

"Well, my friend of egregious persuasion," Riggs began, in response to Pax. "I may not be Captain, but I don't think anyone here can disagree that I am without a shadow of a doubt the most capable intellect on this ship." He bragged, knowing fully well that this would only antagonize the Traqkian more. Though he was confident in the fact that he truly was smarter than the rest, Pax had brought up a good point. In years of toppling governments and pulling off assassinations, Riggs had only ever had dealings with the 'big fish' on nomad, so to speak. Though he wasn't entirely sure of Pax's criminal history, something told him that it was mostly alcohol related, certainly nothing that had an influence on the large scheme of life. That much was clear in that he had never heard mention of her when searching out talent to assist his assassination schemes.

Riggs, as loathe as he was to admit it, saw truth in what Pax said -it may be beneficial to deal with low-level scum and arm themselves sparsely rather than deal with high level criminals and arm themselves for a war. Of course, he would never admit that. "I'm sure that this plan would blow over just fine with whatever connections you have with low level scum -a cousin perhaps? Nevertheless, I digress." Riggs said to Pax before continuing "But it appears our guardian Ukai has brought our answer. Unless Nine's contact doesn't come through for us, we won't have to fall back on any desperate low-level arms dealers. No need to bother with any schemes of mutiny either, though mutiny is far from the top of heinous crimes you'll see in the daylight of Nomad." He said simply, his final statement both addressing and ridiculing the concerns of Pax. It was clear in their excursions to Nomad, the two had lived in very different worlds. While Riggs spent his time around the worst of the worst -high level criminals who would just as soon shoot you as look at you, the red-skinned alien was clearly far more familiar with the tame side of Nomad -the weaker criminals who served under those who serve under Riggs partners. Possibly with a few more degrees of separation between their work. 

Nothing else to say, Riggs stood from his seat and casually sauntered to the counter from which he had earlier retrieved the bottle of cleaning fluid, and replaced the now empty steel cylinder. He then turned to face the crew, leaning back against the counter. Across his face was plastered the classic shit-eating grin present on the faces of all Corvidae, though the emotion was most certainly reflected internally as well in the case of Riggs. He turned his attention to the Captain as he laced his fingers together behind his skull, giving it a place to rest. Despite a laissez-faire attitude, the Corvidaen was genuinely concerned for the Captain's health. He was just also concerned about more pressing matter at the same time.

The events of this post take place several days after those of the last post.

There was a peculiar sting and a curdling within his veins; as his blood roiled, he knew that one of those demons bound to his will had been extinguished. With an irritated thought he reached out to the minds of those few individuals on this plane that had been brought into his direct service, and in a moment he had his answer: it was Khanivirre that had been extinguished and sent back to the wretched abyss from whence he had come. 'A useless fool!' Khanivirre's master thought, but then there came another tingle.

A new toy had fallen into his possession, and the bitter ashes in his mouth gave way to a delight that almost brought forth salivation. How he loved collecting new playthings. Perhaps Khanivirre was not so incompetent; after all, it seemed the minion had at least managed to find his own replacement.

Though the tether to this new servant's soul was taught and stretched thin over many days of travel, Fell Obereon's new master was not at all perturbed. He would wait. After all, it hadn't been as if he would be traveling any time soon. The refusal of those other fools to cooperate had seen to that...

--=~=--

The wind howled, almost protesting the death of the fell demon on the ground before Fell. Silken wings stretched taut along stone frames, as Fell reached deep within himself to search out the source of his new obligation. Though he felt compelled to hold to his word and repay his karmic debt, Fell was loathe to seek out this demon -the raw power he felt in their connection alone was dazing. 

Turning to his so-to-speak conscience, The Council of Father Geriane, Fell dropped to his knees as he focused on the ashen skull. Deep within the sockets of the skull, a brilliant white light flared, expelling a steady stream of ash that trickled slowly down Fell's shiny golden arm. As the eyes were lit in purity, Fell felt a tugging from deep within himself -soon the voice of his father echoed throughout his body.

Though the voices of the dead are faint and short lived, Father Geraine's message was clearly imprinted on what was left of Fell's mind. He stood straight, his mind decided. The debt would be honored, no matter the cost. Fell mentally tugged at the connection he felt to his new demonic master, but found it lacking in substance, not something he could rely on to lead him. It was clear to Fell that the demon was not lurking nearby- perhaps a blessing in the short term, but it meant that he had a long journey ahead. 

Fell looked down at the corpse of Khaniverre before him, hoping for some clue as to where his master would be hiding. Though he seemed to find naught in his fresh kill, the smoke trailing from the gaping wound lead his eyes upwards to the sky. It was there that he found what he believed to be his best lead -plumes of black smoke rose in pillars in the distance. Taking a moment to recall his location, Fell discerned that the smoke must be trailing from the mountains in which a great troupe of orcs lie. While orcs certainly had a propensity for destruction, Fell doubted that anything short of a powerful demon would cause flames of such intensity. Then, that might just be his natural bias against such creatures.

It was then, that with determination, Fell began his trek to the East -seeking out his new master. With a grunt, he sheathed his blade within a gap in his own stomach. His wings curled tight to his own back as he trudged, appearing more as a silken cape now than anything else. 

...

Fell made his way up the orcish mountains, meeting little resistance. As he neared both the fiery plumes and the orcish encampment, he felt the connection to his debtor strengthen. Calling upon the enhanced strength bestowed upon him by one of his countless pacts of the past, Fell hauled himself over the final ridge in between himself and the orcish encampment, at the same time drawing his broken blade, caked still in the gore of dozens of dead demons. Fell raised his head, lifting his steel mask. His voice rang out through the encampment, gravelly tone tainted with a demonic echo, calling out for the demon to which he is indebted.

The echo of his own voice in these mountains was all that Fell's cry received as an answer, but after a few long moments of silence there came a harsh cackle. The laughter came from no direction in particular other than from within. Its source was of course Fell's mind itself, as his new master had the noxious ability to communicate in such ways through their newfound mental link. A pact bound by soul or blood was also bound in mind.

Utterly hidden from all but the most discerning of eyes, the demon clung to the twilight veil between the plane of the living and that of the spirits, aided by that mystical cloak that shrouded his indiscreet form. In that way he was at one with the shadows and invisible. From mere feet away, in the shadows at the base of a sheer cliff, he observed Fell.

He had not known what to expect. One hardly ever did. But this? This was a surprise, for whatever sort of being that Fell Oberon was, it was by now so far from human that his subjugator did not even recognize him as such. Rather, he thought Fell to be some sort of abomination, perhaps a bastard conglomeration of a dozen different sorts of demons and other horrors. Such repulsive creatures were rare but not unheard of.

In any case, this one looked a step above what Khanivirre had been, and for that reason alone the dark stranger was pleased. Nonchalantly he remained still in the shadows, waiting to see if Fell would even be able to find him when he was a mere ten paces away.

As the cackling rang throughout Fell's head, his tight posture fell into a slump. "Gigantic demons with flaming swords taller than I am? I can handle that. Demons that surround themselves in an orgy of minions for protection? I can handle that." He thought to himself, letting his metallic mask fall back into place as he slowly pivoted in a circle, eyes searching the area around. "But fuck stealthy demons." He muttered, this time aloud. Though the connection was strong and Fell could tell the demon was near, there was little he could do -perhaps a downside of holding so tightly onto his mortal eyes. 

Momentarily, a golden rune glowed on Fell's forehead, as he prepared to let out an angered outburst of holy light, but the symbol faded as quickly as it came. No, a demon as powerful as this would not be stupid enough to get so close while hiding. Fell, angered, stopped his almost frantic search of the area, and swiftly returned his broken sword to it's sheath between the stony makeshift abdominal muscles of his husk-like body.

"Demon, I pledge myself to repay my debt to you to the best of my ability, and swear unto you my word that my blade will not turn on it's master, unlike the late Khanivirre." Fell stated, monotone as he repeated the pact he had pledged time and time again. He hesitated before he continued, always hosting some animosity for the next part. "I am your tool to guide, master." He said, dropping to one knee in a cloud of dust.

With mild bemusement the shadowy figure watched this spectacle, skeptical about the worth of this one's words. Unlike the late Khanivirre indeed. How had this one even come into the debt of that fool?

There was what could only be described as a ripple as the shadows hugging the bottom of that nearby cliff began to flow and distort as if some sort of black liquid. The darkness itself writhed and parted, and out from its bowels emerged a strange demon. Two infernal eyes pierced into Fell, glowing like dying embers, but were it not for that and the unmistakable reek of sulfur, this figure may have been human. Robes and other wrapping covered every inch of the stranger, even his face, leaving only two shady gaps for those eyes to peer out from.

He stepped forward into the light now, and seemed all the more immaterial and weak for it. Illuminated clearly now, in one hand there was a twisted staff and in the other there was a strange pouch. Yet one would have a hard time staring, for the voice of this one had a way of being disconcerting.

"And who is it that finds himself bound now to Faeles?" rasped back Fell's new master. The name Faeles rang empty and Fell would know that this was a mere alias. For a demon to surrender its true name left one with far too much power over it, and this one clearly knew as much.

"Faeles..." Fell muttered, rolling the name around in his mouth like a child might a piece of candy. "Faeles has obtained the service of Fell Obereon, bastard son of countless demons before." He stated simply. Over years of service, Fell found it best to not offer a demon any information past that which is explicitly requested. 

As he stood before the demon, Fell put great effort into staring the demon down, but felt somehow small, weak, in front of the wrapped figure. Momentarily, his fighting spirit encouraged him to attack the demon, end the debt once and for all. "It'd be simple, really. Rip out my blade and throw it as a diversion, use the cut to expose an aura of pain while I tackle him, then release a burst of holy light to weaken it. Cut and dry." The thought was dismissed almost as quickly as it came. Demons were always more than they appeared, and Fell was especially wary of the pouch of unknown contents. Even worse, the demon could be in the service of an even more powerful master.

As fell pondered, he rolled back his right shoulder, much as a runner might during their morning stretches. Having a body entirely lacking flesh, blood, and muscle, the gesture was an entirely unnecessary one, though it did allow a buildup of ash from the skull of Father Geraine to fall to the ground in a clumpy black cloud. His stomach, removed many years ago, churned with anticipation as he looked at the demon, utterly out of his element. He opened his mouth and stuttered out a brief grunt, quickly snapping it shut once again. After taking a moment to regain his composure, he tried once again.

"How will this debt be repaied, Faeles?" Fell dared to ask, attempting to interject a tone of distaste on the name, and utterly failing. 

Faeles ignored that question entirely, at least for that moment. "I sense that only a sparse few of my associates and minions have found their way onto this plane, and those that have are spread few and far between, listening for whispers. Khanivirre was one, but now he is dead by your hand and so it is only right that you take his place. Fortunately for you, I have need of a task right now," Faeles mused aloud, "Your debt to me will be repaid quickly enough, if you fulfill this role and play it will..."

There was a long silence in which the demon's burning stare never once faltered or budged. Instead, his seeking eyes seemed to trace every detail and contour of Fell: the skull upon his shoulder, his wings, his various limbs. At last, as if having judged him capable, Faeles continued in his conspiratory rasp, "First, you will take this," the demon commanded, offering the staff that he held in one hand.

Fell hesitated for a moment, mind urging him to move, but body loathe to follow the offer. Finally gaining control of his faculties, Fell leaned forward, taking a hold of the gnarled staff in his stone left hand. He nodded, confirming his understanding of the order.

Impatiently Faeles had observed the trepidation present in Fell, but at the last moment he had reached for the staff. Good. Faeles had nearly snapped right then and there; he was not one for hesitation. The demon made a mental note to omit the finer details and implications of just what Fell's mission would involve; whilst it might have been amusing to torture or twist some by sharing with them the extent of his devious plans, this one had been stoic thus far. It irritated Faeles but was probably for the best; no doubt Fell had learned that maintaining a placid manner staved off the worst of a demon's sadism.

"And now you must climb that mountain yonder, right there..." Faeles stated in a matter-of-fact tone, a bony finger reaching out to point towards what was coincidentally the highest mount of the entire range, but fortunately the one that was also closest. "...but take care that you are not seen by those below. Perhaps it will be best to make the ascent under the cover of darkness, if you trust in your hand to not slip. Your debt will go unpaid if you tumble to the bottom and are shattered, and I think you know what that would mean!" he continued, cackling toward the end. The thought of Fell being forced to serve a near eternity in death to repay that one little debt was one that was amusing.

Finally, Faeles finished, "Once near the summit, you will find a great opening in the mountain where a dragon rests even now. He will slumber for some days yet, so you must move quickly. Within his lair are many artifacts, but only one is worthy of falling into my hands: it has the appearance of a small, inelegant thing: a mirror. You will procure this mirror for me without waking the dragon, and in its place you will leave behind that staff. Then you must tarry not and make your way straight back to me. Perhaps then you shall be freed of my service!"

As the demon carried on his ranting speech, Fell took on a lugubrious demeanor. "Climb the tallest mountain in sight without being seen, sneak by a dragon, and steal its treasure without waking it? And here I was thinking you were going to go easy on me." Fell grimaced, looking up to the mountain. His entire body flexed in anticipation, wings spreading wide. "Oh what I'd give to have these damn things work..." Fell thought to himself as the wind rippled uselessly through the silken drapes.

With an air of scorn, for he had always been without that sort of humor, Faeles retorted, "It is a paltry task that you are given, and one that I would easily carry out myself were if not for my very particular smell. But you, for reasons I do not fathom, walk without the reek of the nether clinging to you...So you would be able to do this." Faeles was glad that his command had gone more or less without question; perhaps this one truly was foolish enough to understand the magnitude of what he was about to accomplish. Or perhaps Fell simply didn't care much for consequences; that seemed just as likely true. Only time would tell!

Fell considered making a crack regarding the comments involving scent, but thought better of it for his own safety. Fell, deciding to cut off the discussion with the demon rather suddenly, turned away swiftly, resting the staff over his shoulder. As he slowly paced away from the demon, Fell stopped before an orcish corpse, looking back over his shoulder at Faeles. "And this is where I'll find you once my task is complete?" He inquired, as he proceeded to hack at the corpse with his broken sword.

Another one of those cackles reverberated through Fell's mind as Faeles turned and began to meld into the shadows once more. "Have no fear, little one; I will find you afterwards," came that rasping voice from the deepest depths of Fell's mind, and then Faeles was out of sight. He knew not what that one was doing to the mangled corpse of the orc but cared little to stay and see; he had other important things to attend to.

Fell's head dropped as he continued lacerating the dead orc. "Bastard." He said, taking no care to lower his voice. Rather quickly, he finished his work on the body. Soon enough, the torso was almost entirely dismembered, arms legs and head all strewn across the rocky ground. Stowing the staff safely in a manner similar to his broken blade, Fell began his trek to the mountain, what was left of the mangled body in hand. As he walked, he tore meat off of the bones with his bare hands, leaving a trail of gore as he walked.

As the trek carried on, soon Fell had nothing in his hands but a bloody ribcage and spine held tight in his hands. He lazily tossed it over his shoulder, much like one might carry an unconscious body. The journey ahead was going to be a long and arduous one, and it appeared that it would not end at the summit. 

Hours later, the hike up the mountain proved to be almost entirely uneventful. Having a stone body came with it's benefits -no fatigue allowed him to walk up the mountainside in half the time a mortal man would take. Upon reaching the summit, Fell was faced with a dank scent of smog intermingling with well cooked meat. Fell grimaced, lowering to a crouch as he entered the massive chasm on the mountain face that clearly marked a dragon's lair.

Fell trudged through the blasting hot air of the cavern, eyes focused forward as he crawled deeper and deeper, approaching a horde of treasure. The trove was smaller than Fell had expected -the dragon appeared to take up most of the cave in it's tightly curled ball. Creeping slowly, Fell quickly spotted his target, standing seemingly alone among a trove of gold far less valuable in comparison. Wasting no time, Fell removed Faeles' staff from it's sheath within his body, placing it where the mirror once laid.  A shudder erupted from the dragon, prompting Fell to hasten his exit, mirror clutched close to his chest.

On his exit from the cavern, Fell stood tall upon the mountain. He had put minimal effort into the ordeal, but something about surviving an encounter with a dragon was very good for the spirits. He let his wings spread wide, catching the heated wind in the flowing red cloth. Taking in a moment to survey the area, and drinking in the view, Fell walked to the edge of the steepest area of the mountain he could find. Drawing in a deep breath, he dove from the cliff, wings spreading even wider to control his descent. He had no destination in mind, his only thought was to get as far away from the dragon as he could before it inevitably awoke. 

Fell crashed to the ground rather inelegantly, attempting to tuck into a roll as he hit a large flat strip of ground beneath the mountain. He rose to his feet, largely unharmed thanks to his slow glide down. Once his feet were under him, he considered calling out to Faeles, but decided instead to take the demon's word to heart. "Come and get it, fucker." he thought to himself, examining the mirror that he had been tasked to find. Largely ordinary, and luckily undamaged in the descent. Fell took care to not stare into the mirror too long -focusing on his mangled body of demonic prosthetics would only enforce his mental lack of humanity, not something he desired.

To pass the time waiting for Faeles, Fell took to working on the ribcage and spine he had earlier harvested. On the plateau on which he had landed, Fell was lucky enough to spy a sparse growth of flora, most importantly a group of small trees. Sheltered beneath the mountain, these trees had grown to surprising size considering the harsh conditions of the orcish mountains. 

There was a grimace on fells face as he began his 'renovations', so to speak. Taking a firm grip of his broken blade, he turned the blade on himself, using the rough edge to carve out the large areas of his body currently comprised of wood. Though he lost the ability to feel pain in the literal sense of the word long ago, Fell still felt something deep inside at the loss of so much mass. He quickly continued the process, breaking ribs off of what was once an orc, and maneuvering them to lie within the cavities he had opened up. Once satisfied with the positioning, he began ripping branches from the trees, and placing them similarly to the bones.

He felt a warmth radiate from deep within, and the branches sprung to life, twisting and weaving themselves to replace the broken sections. Fell paused for a minute to mentally thank Halarin, one of the more agreeable demons he had dealt with, for this gift of regeneration. Fell continued this process, rebuilding his wooden body with a support of orcish bone. He was also thankful for the rather lucky find of orcish bones. He usually didn't bother using bone as a reinforcement in his body, but orc bones were durable enough to be worth the headache of harvesting and implanting them.

Dusk soon came as it inevitably does, and Faeles too came as he inevitably would. If there were any tricks of shadowy magic or invisibility they weren't apparent; Faeles simply stalked through the gloom with so much unnatural ease and silence that he may as well have been a wraith. If Fell had not kept an especially careful vigil, he wouldn't even sense his Master's presence until the demon spoke, "Your descent was made in haste. I hope, for your sake, that you have brought the mirror..."

Had Fell any fear left in his rather frail mind, the sudden voice rasping from behind him would've caused a startle. Possibly fortunately, Fell was no longer burdened with such faults. Instead, he simply turned to face the cloaked demon, mirror clasped tight within his golden hand. As he lifted the mirror, Fell took care to keep it from the steady stream of blood that trickled from his newly added bones. "The deed is done, Faeles. Our business is concluded." Fell stated, putting a sense of finality in his voice, though he knew that it was very unlikely that his statement had any truth to it. 

In his first display on any emotion save sadistic humor or irritation, Faeles stepped forward both visibly gingerly and excitably. He clutched the mirror like a drowning man might hold a rope thrown to him, and the glow of his eyes reflecting softly in the mirror as he peered at its every facet. Whereas anyone else might have met the thing with the mild curiosity that they gave any antique or with utter indifference, his trained and astute eye saw the artifact for what it truly was. Avarice shone in his eyes, and quickly he procured from within his robes that same pouch that he had held when Fell first saw him.

As if he were afraid that the moonlight itself might bear witness to this theft, he unceremoniously forced the mirror into the pouch. Despite the thing visibly falling in, the sides of that seemingly mundane pouch didn't bulge or even ripple; far from mundane, it was in the void of twisted space inside that bottomless pouch that he stowed away a hundred such treasures and magical artifacts.

"That deed is indeed done, and you have carried out your end exceptionally well! So well, I think, that I should not set you free. No, you are far too useful....this will be only the beginning of a long and fruitful partnership!"

Though Fell expected nothing less from the demon, he had been holding onto a slight glimmer of hope that there would be freedom to be found from this demon. No, demons of honor were, by definition, few and far between. Again a primal force within him urged him to rip out his blade, and bury it deep within the demon. Common sense told him that it would only end in tragedy. Big red demons with horns were simple to deal with -just be stronger than them, and you get what you want. The frail old demons that surrounded themselves in minions were simple to deal with -just wade through the fodder until you can stab something more substantial.

But this dark figure in front of him, rippling with power was a completely different burden. In years of hunting and dealing with demons, the sly cunning demons were the absolute worst. No way to outhink, no way to overpower them. The only thing one could do is hope to reason with them, and not come out with less than they went in with. Of course, that required clever wordsmithing, or at the very least a sound mind. Neither of which fell under the skill set of Fell Obereon.

"Of couse." Fell said, offering a curt expression. "I'm sure the two of us will do great things." He said, taking the flattery for what exactly it was. As he spoke, he began to wonder if a 'partnership' under Faeles would be so bad. Though the demon clearly had plans to subjugate him, Fell did consider the power he could obtain from working under a demon like this. Perhaps his association with the sly being would give him the skills he needed to later deal with such infernal creatures. The trick would be to first make sure their 'alliance' would not end in Fell walking out with less than he walked in with. 

"I'll join you demon, but my debt is repaid. If we're to work together, I will be expecting some compensation for my... how did you put it? 'Exceptional' services?" Fell asked, paraphrasing the demon's earlier praise.

That cackle resounded again, cutting through the night's deathly quiet. "The debt is only repaid when I say so; I am sure that you understand how these things work. Yet while I may force your continued service, I will indeed offer you reward where such is earned; let none say that Faeles is not generous to those that serve well.

Set aside petulant hubris, and make of me one request. I shall grant you one boom of any sort, should it be within reason."

In his time dealing with demons, Fell often found that demons could be very creative at times. As such, he had a tendency to leave requests open-ended, hoping to take advantage of their lawful nature and tendency to keep to the letter of their word. He sincerely hoped that Faeles was one such demon he could rely on for this. "If I'm to continue in your service, I'll need some way to move around in the shadow undetected like you, Faeles. Grant me some way to move through the shadows swiftly and unimpeded." He stated, hand idly resting on the hilt of his blade. 

Faeles found that strange pouch of his once more, and his hand plunged into its depths up to the elbow. Deceptively large, he grasped for several moments as if looking for something before he at last pulled out a small jar of a dark grey powder. "The ashen remains of a shadowbeast that dwelt in the rift between worlds," he explained. "it will be a poor subsitute for true shadow magic, but infused into your flesh, it would give you some dominion over darkness."

With the flick of a wrist the demon conjured a ball of writhing, demonic flames in his palm. The hellish fire burned blood red and with a vengeance, yet left his robes untouched; instead, if leapt at Fell and spread voraciously. As what small scraps of flesh Fell Obereon had were nearly melted to tallow, Faeles grabbed a fistful of the powder and threw it onto Fell's tortured form, letting the fine grains find their way onto his body and seep into it.

After a few minutes of what might have seemed like endless agony, it was over. Almost as quickly as it had come, the flame vanished and with it retreated too the pain and much of the injury that it had inflicted. "It is done."

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