The #Broken_Dagger Forum

-This is modified from a log file of an actual RP a few nights ago. I did not want to change too much, so if it is a bit clunky in parts I do apologize.-

Treadwell chuckles and shakes his head, using his cane and a good back-squeaking "Mmph!" to get back to his feet with a wobble.

"Well! Altias! You again! I thought I told you to stay up there and rest a bit, hmm hmm? Or are you coming down to fill up that belly again?"
A gentle poke to said stomach with the head of his cane.

"Still trying to catch up to me, or have you come to your senses? You've a long, long way to go, if you haven't!"

"Oh, I've a feeling that I'll be slimming down again soon enough."

As he turned to face Treadwell a good deal of the blood drained from his face, as he casually caught his balance ont he back of a chair, as if he had meant to pull the chair out to sit in.

"No worries, old friend. I'll be fit as a fiddle in no time."

"Just don't hurt yourself getting too skinny too fast. Going on a diet always leaves me irritable and downright fussy."

He sinks into the chair beside the one Altias is leaning on. The chair gives a creeeeak under him, prompting a muttered,"Oh, dear."

"What was that about a diet, Tready?"

A soft chuckle as he carefully lowered himself into the chair, adjusting the folds of his robe carefully.

"Umm. Nothing, nothing. I can't slim down much at all, Altias. It's not in my nature."

Well, technically, it's all this darn magic keeping him the shape he is because of who he is, but, then again, he'd be this size or larger even if magic weren't a factor. That or he'd be planted underground somewhere.
"I thought you knew that by now?"

"I know, I know...I was teasing, goodness."

His face was pale, a thin sheen of sweat settling comfortably on his brow and lip.

"I think I could use a bit of water..."

"Thirsty, lad?"

Tready signals for a waitress, who soon brings over his usual ale and, on request, a mug of water for the governor. Shillings change hands, and Treadwell goes about gulping down the ale. That was easy enough!

Altias_Bromn sipped at the water, carefully.

"Thank you..."
The mug was held as tightly as he could muster between fingers slick with a cold sweat, a subtle tremble to them.

"Careful there, son. You look a little tired."

Tready pats Altias on the back, then finishes his drink.

"Tired, yes. I'm sure that is it. Maybe I should get some sleep."

Violet eyes roll back in his head as the mug slips from his frail grasp.

"Altias!"

Tready scoots his chair back and squirms over to the governor's side, looking to hold him up in his seat and shake a little life back into him.

"Mother of Mercy, Treadwell. Can't a man get a little Sleep around here?"

Aeri` was slowly making her way towards the door. She stopped however and looked to Treadwell.

"Get the Governor to the hospital if he needs such."

With that, the elf slipped outside and headed for the building just stated.

Treadwell nods to the elven girl, then gives Altias a stern, grandfatherly sort of look.

"You heard her, m'boy. Get up, slowly. You're going across the road for the night."
That said, he's offering an arm to help Altias up.

"Aye, aye...as you say mother hen."

A soft laugh which swiftly becomes a groan of pain.

Treadwell clucks a time or two, chuckling, and leads Altias Bromn out of the inn and over to the hospital, seeing him safely across the road through the still fallen snow. Once seeing Altias safely to a room, he's leaving, waddling back around in Myrken Wood and enjoying the cold and the snow.

<Blackest`Ashes> ".. Altias, Altias, Altias,"

He chided, scowling as he watched Treadwell and Altias Bromn shuffle themselves through the snow, and he was a figure of gray against the dark backdrop -- .. gray eyes, gray flesh, as if he'd ben pieced together from the cauldrons and canopers of the dead, as if urns had been overturned and shaped into his frame. .. He left streaks of dusty gray in the snow behind him as he sidled through the dunes, and from those wild spikes of his erratic hair, flakes of ash were being swept away in the wind. .. Slowly, slowly, towards the hospital where the two men promptly shuffled, he moved. Fairy Tale was coming free of its sheath, and it swept its dusts away with a flick from his wrist. .. Towards the Edificium, he strode, chin down, white eyes closed. .. Fairy Tale -- or, rather, his replica of it -- was humming.

Treadwell would have safely deposited Altias in the hospital. Normally, were things not so bleak in Myrken Wood and the governor not lying there with an unnaturally swollen belly in a bed, Tready might be out and about enjoying the weather. Now, though, he comes to rest against the hospital door, now nervously puffing at his pipe again and looking 'round.

".. we are bringing this child into the world together -- .. this .. child .. is our .. child.."

He whispered to himself, tightening his grip upon the Fairy Tale .. tattered gry cloaks fluttering behind him. .. Darian had not been around in months, he realized -- and this, he knew, was partially because of his own presence. .. One he'd split from Darian, once he'd become Ta, once he'd become his own being, this was his territory.

".. run, little boy. ruuuuuuuuunnn,"

he chuckled to himself, and then glanced down at the blade in his hands. .. This, he swung to the side .. and with a flick of his wrist, he was sending it flying. The Fairy Tale, as large as it was, was thrown as if it were a feather, end-over-end, to where it stuck into the snow far beside him. ...He wiped his hand down along his waist and murmured to himself with a laugh.

'.. I don't need you anymore,"

And he saw Treadwell, and without pause, began to stride towards the hospital.

Altias_Bromn reclined on one of the beds, despite his better judgement. This had all been too much. His body was rebeling against this most unatural of occurances. The cold sheen of sweat seemed to grow colder, violent shivers coursing through his body like waves heralding the oncoming storm.

And so it is that Treadwell sees Ashes. With a squinting of those bright blue eyes, the usually jolly gent in the bright red robe and hat straightens up, tugging down on the front of his robe and leveling his cane at the ashen figure.

"You there! What *business* have you with anyone in this town--more specifically, with its *governor*, hmm hmm?"

Despite the tremors that already shook Altias' form, a chill, like the bite of a straight razor, shot up his spine. First icy cold, then as hot as fresh blood upon the snow.
"Goddess...."

a pain erupted in his body like no other he had ever felt, still he heard Treadwell outside.

"Aloisius...no....please...."

~Continued~

".. move," Was all he would say as he strode closer towards Treadwell, pausing not -- .. and he was on the path towards the hospital, tattered garments fluttering out in his wake, bits of ash carried on the winds as he stepped. .. Strands of pepper-hued hair were dangling before his eyes, and these had opened -- and they were bright things, furious things, and though he'd thrown Fairy Tale to the ground, his hands seemed eager enough to push Treadwell aside were he to need to do so. .. They were seemingly brittle things, as if papered in parchment, wrapped in the strands of mummy-throes simply to keep ashen bones in place. .. Deteriorating, his cloaks were being eaten by the wind for the ash that they were. .. And as he came upon Treadwell, his voice bellowed in a tumult noise.

".. Move!"

He would command, and if Treadwell did not do so, gangly hands would make to push him aside. .. He wanted his Altias -- even more, he wanted his baby. His child. .. It was coming.

"Mmph! Hold, demon! If you truly *are* a fiend of living ash and soot--"

Here, Treadwell's robe begins flapping about his plump body as if caught in a heavy wind. As Ashes nears, that wind--nice and arctic and gusty strong--is sent whipping forward from the old man's still outstretched walking cane. His goal? To hurl distant or permanently disperse the already disintegrating beast.

The figure cringed and paused, even stumbled back a step or two as the wind came whipping at him -- .. and the cloaks were torn free in the gust, and they dispersed as ashes to the wind behind him, and streaks of his jagged hair were crumpling as well, tosed like petals against the winter air. .. But he strode forward against the gust, snarling, a hand whose ashen flesh was torn away extending forwards -- his fingers and hands were the old, dry bones of a corpse .. aged, rotten, wretched .. and a sliver of white revealed a cheekbone beneath that ashen flesh, and those brilliant eyes were burning like a thousand suns as he lurched for Treadwell, hissing, the ash of his face crumpled enough to reveal a permanent grin of corpsical teeth. ..

".. move aside, wretch,"

He hoarsely clicked, throat working those ragged words.

".. my final moments are .. already at hand -- and so will be those of Altias Bromn, if you do not move! .. The child, it will eat him from within!"

Altias_Bromn screamed. A sound of utter pain and desperation. Even over the wind, both natural and unnatural, it was shrill and haunting. It was the sound of a man dying, or perhaps hoping to die. As the sound slowly died away, moisture formed on the governor's lips. A weak hand would wipe it away to find his pale flesh wet with crimson.

The wind dies as abruptly as it had begun. With a look that can only be described as "cold," Treadwell shoves the door to the hospital open and waves Ashes inside with his empty hand.

"Go." is all he says

He leered at Treadwell for a moment, no longer tall and menacing as he'd once been -- but now, hunched, spindly, half comprised of naked, old bones -- and if his words had been not true, then they would have been a humorous lie indeed! .. He whipped past Treadwell, and into the hospital, he strode. .. He need not look for Altias' room .. knew exactly where it was, could feel the child calling him. And he, a flurry of long, spindly limbs, would storm into Altias' room, and a boned hand would grapple the governor's hair -- oh, how positively crude, to handle a man of such stature in such a way! .. With a snarl, he would attempt to pull Altias in his wake .. and if all had gone as planned, then the two would be bursting back out of the hospital, with Ash tossing Altias into the snow past Treadwell tossing Altias into the snow past Treadwell .. wetly hissing.
".. give it to me, Altias. .. now!"

Blood bubbled on his lips, as hot tears streaked his ivory cheeks. A soft sound of air being forced from his lungs as he hit the ground with a good deal of force.

"Give...you...what, Ashe? The child? Please! Take it...let this be done. I can take this no more. I ....trusted you."

The betrayal shone through the pain which was etched so clearly on his features. He seemed older, more frail then he had ever been. With that ridiculous lump in his belly, writhing, stretching. Each movement causing the breath to rush from Altias' lungs once more.

Treadwell 's eyes go wide as Altias lands in the snow! Mercifully, the snow was deep enough to be an adequate cushion. Backing off--and begrudgingly allowing this mockery of the miracle of birth, this unnatural nature, to take its course--Treadwell taps his cane against his other arm as he studies the situation with brightly shining blue eyes. There's magic afoot in the wide wintry wonder.

".. give it to me, Altias! It is mine!"

And he was boring down over Altias now, bony fist clenched, his very words deteriorating upon a wave of ash as it fluttered down upon Altias, and he was reaching forward to press his skeletal palm against the man's chest, sucking in a breath, his eyes like two twin fires set into his skull.

".. give me the sword! .. it is rightfully mine!"
And this creature, this beast, this handome figure that had once been Altias' lover .. was nothing more than a rotting old blemish, demanding the blade that lingered within. .. The blade that had once been Audmathus' -- the blade that had once been Heldenbrand's, and would, within moments, have once been that of Altias Bromn.

"Take it!"

It was as close as he could come to screaming. His energy was simply spent.

"Take it you wretched bastard. Take it and end this...I can bear no more. No more pain, no more betrayal. Just take it!"

Again the spasms took his body, blood spilling freely from his lips, staining the snow beside him the most perfect scarlet. Fingers clenched the flesh of his belly, the cloak torn aside to reveal the disturbing sight of his white flesh, stretched taunt with the child.

Ashe was stumbling backwards, then, snarling beneath his breath.

".. come to me!"

He breathed, and his arm shuddered, and ashes were falling free. .. Backwards, from Altias, he stumbled, a fleshless knee dropping down into the snow while wisps of black curled around his shaking hands. .. Remnants of gray hair were fallen before his eyes, and Ash glanced at his fingers, and glanced up at Treadwell.

"Do not fail me, Ta, "

a seductive voice cooed in his thoughts -- .. and he chuckled dryly, the tendrils of an ethereal blade curling from the edges of hs fingers until he could grip its black handle .. and his burning eyes settled upon it, and manically, he whispered.

".. Shadowdancer, Altias -- .. very .. keen edge, indeed, isn't it?"

And in that instant, the ash-covered lich was looming over Altias, the blade of the black sword pressed against the bulge in Altias' stomach. .. Ash shook free, stained the earth and the man below him. The blade was poised.

".. do not fail me, Ta. .. Do not fail us! "

Violet eyes were wide, both with pain and with rage. He screamed at the thing that had once been his lover.

"Do it! Do it now!"

Strange..for him to beg for this, but to what other end?

"Take the damnable creature!"

~Continued~

Locking his gaze on what remained of Ashes, Altias waited for the blow that would most likely end his life.

"This .. this is precious -- .. defiant .. imperfect, chaotic! .. Let me see the stars, Ta! Let me see the moon! ... "

She was crying in his mind .. and Ash was hacking, and in one swift measure, the tip of Shadowdancer was sinking into Altias' stomach -- a streak of vivid red sliced like a cruel smile across his bulging midsection .. and Ash was laughing, cackling madly -- .. and in the instant the wound was created, the sword was disintegrating .. its smoky pieces falling into the very wound it had cut, as if whatever odd creature lingered in Altias' stomach had sucked the essence of Shadowdancer within it. .. The snow was stained red -- and backwards, Ashes was stumbling, knees scarcely able to hold his weight anymore .. quivering, bone-made hands shaking up towards the skies as he half-sobbed, half-cackled.

".. we shall name it Avel, Altias! We shall name it Avel! .."

The sound which escaped Altias could not be considered a scream, but the sound of shock and pain came from within him. He watched his once lover drive the sowrd into his belly, and felt the creature within him draw the power of the blade into it.

"You...you shall name it Avel...for I will have nothing to do with this. No more...no more..."

His blood flowed freely from the wound as the creature within struggled to free itself.

Altias drew breath more raggedly as the moments ticked away. It seemed his life was flowing from him even faster than his blood. Weakness over taking him in a wave so powerful it seemed to dull the pain. Is this what death felt like? No...he would not die. Not now, not after all of this.

"Come on AShe....finish it."

it was a birth, it was a cruel one -- .. he was thrusting a bony hand into Altias' stomach, and bringing forth the unnaturally-born child -- .. a delicate thing, of naked, black flesh and sprouts of silverish hair .. and oh, so little care for Altias when the baby had been freed! .. Ash's knees crumpled below him for the final time, the snapping bone of weakened limbs dropping him to the snow .. and in his cradling, emaciated arms, he was cradling the black-fleshed infant .. head hanging low over it, bits of ash caught in the blood that slathered the baby's face .. and his shoulderblades were visible, ash blowing away further in the snow .. and whispering, chuckling, wheezing, he would moan ..

".. this is ours, Altias. .. she is ours!"

Treadwell has waited. By this time, the portly fellow is by no means pleased with the situation, and, truth be known, his full five and a half feet of flab are quivering steadily with his own immense, focused magic. Once the monstrosity of an infant frees itself from his friend's abused middle, Treadwell moves to take care of the cause of all this, setting forth another, more massive windy gust at Ashes.

Altias felt a good portion of his energy being drawn from him with the child. The bleeding seems to have slowed some, but a good deal of damage has been done. Part of him wants to see the child, to comfort Ashe, despite everything, the sane part of him just wanted to live.

".. Avel is ours, Altias! .. she .. is .. ours.. "

He would coo .. and Treadwell would find that the last gust was all that would ever have been needed -- .. for in bounds were the ashes being taken to the wind, and the hands were crumpling from beneath the child, and the face of the ash-made creature .. it was being eaten away, too, as were the bones, as were the last vestiges of hair, and body, and voice. .. All that would have been left would be a bloodied, naked, writhing infant of ebon flesh and white hair settled in a puddle of warm blood in the snow .. and Ash was no more -- .. except for a stain of gray across the boot-packed dunes, or a dark powder soon swallowed within that of the freshly falling snow.

"Ashe..."

Shaking hands tried to gather the bloody cloak, pressing it to the gaping hole in his belly.

"Treadwell...the baby..."

A cough, more tears would flow

"Kill it...."

The wind stops again. . . . Treadwell's already on his way to Altias. He can't bring himself to harm a hair on that infant, even *if* it is a monster. Every blubbery cell in his fat being screams out against the simple thought of such, and it's a saddened, wearied Treadwell who carefully scoops up the governor in his plump arms and, pipe still smoking, fades away into the snow with Altias.

As they began to fade, Altias would grasp the child in his arms, holding it close to him, even as his blood seeped away. The child cried, struggled in his arms, as the wintery figure and the near dead governor disappeared into the darkness and snow, a crimson trail behind them.