In the Eyes of the Beholder

[The Baie]

Nearly one hundred members of The Order of the All stood in silence. They waited. The flames of the oil lamps were the only thing that moved within the cavern that served as their church. The light shuddered and swayed from a breeze that blew from the depths of the cave, though none of those gathered seemed to feel it.

Suddenly there was a sound in the bowels of the cavern, carried by the unheeded breeze. The sound increased, manifesting itself into the shuffling of feet and a precession of torchlit bodies, climbing the distance toward the congregation.

There were three forms whose snowy, hooded robes glistened in the light. Three. This was different--noticeably different--from every ceremony held prior. Normally only one person came to conduct the ritual--the former Governor of Myrken Wood, Altias Bromn, who was now known as Okulari, a scholar from Derry. Of course, before Okulari, Brother Prime and Thadius Dhrin had performed the sacrifices at times, but never together. But, the latter was dead and Prime had taken to allowing Okulari to administer the rites, so the presence of the three was a mystery. Perhaps the other two were the unknown man and woman who were simply known as the Hands of Prime. Regardless, the inconsistency made the robed onlookers shuffle slightly with discomfort, though none spoke.

The first pulled back his hood, revealing a face that the Order had grown to know well--Okulari, The Chosen One. For a moment Okulari said nothing; he merely looked upon the robed figures that made up his audience. Then, slowly, Okulari spread his arms and his expression bloomed from a smile of half-contained joy to one of almost complete rapture. He looked as though he were trying to stretch his arms beyond their length, as if hoping to embrace the entire assemblage. His was an expression of complete bliss. Again, the congregation stirred, something very different was happening.

"Brothers, Sisters. The time has come for us to begin our worship with joy beyond that which we have ever felt! He has..."

Then, without drawing back his hood, the figure next to Okulari spoke. The voice was immediately recognized--Brother Prime. The man hidden within the silver robes stepped forward, resting a hand on Okulari's shoulder.

"Brothers, Sisters. We have a great many things to celebrate this evening. First, we will rejoice in a gift. It is a gift beyond measure, bestowed upon us in appreciation for our Belief in these times when it has been so dark that at times it became difficult to See. This is a gift given from Him, Brothers and Sisters. Of His own heart, body, and soul and from under His perfect vision."

Prime gestured for the third member of the precession to step forward. As the robed figure did so, Prime raised a hand to grab the immaculate hood masking the other's identity.

"Prepare yourselves, Brothers and Sisters, for a new beginning...." Then, Prime pulled the hood of the other man's robe and as the fabric fell away, it revealed the face of the dead. It was the face of Thadius Dhrin.

Shock reverberated through those assembled, eliciting gasps of amazement and exclamations of His praise. It was all the disciples could do not to speak to each other to share in each other's reactions to this miracle. However, they maintained their anonymity as best they could by speaking and praying solely to themselves. Fortunately their neighbors were too focused upon their own awe to even pay attention to the voices of their hooded brethren.

It was Thadius's turn to smile and raise his arms as Okulari had. However, this time it was in effort to quiet them. Not surprisingly, his effort to silence them took only a moment, because the congregation was all too anxious to hear the dead man speak. When they became absolutely silent, he began...

"Brothers, Sisters! I have been touched! I have been healed! I have been saved! I have Seen...Him!"

Dhrin waited, watching. Some cheered, but not all. They clearly did not know how to respond to any of this. They did not understand. Not yet.

He continued, "I am His child. I am His servant. I am His messenger!" Again he paused, looking out upon them before continuing, "We have pleased Him, Brothers and Sisters. We have caused Him anger in the past, yes, but in His infinite wisdom, He has decided it is time for Him to reveal Himself to us!" The murmur began in the assemblage again. "The time has come, my Brothers and Sisters. The time has come for Him to rule in the flesh! The time has come for The Chosen One to fulfill the prophecy!"

The crowd began to whisper in confusion. Did this mean that Okulari, himself, was their God? But before anyone could ask for confirmation, a solitary robed figure emerged from the crowd, mounting the steps of the raised dais. His steps were slow, measured, and even. The disciples stared at the figure in shock and fear, wondering what the three men would do to this errant member who was so offensively interrupting this most atypical ceremony. However, Dhrin and Okulari only smiled. It was impossible to know what Brother Prime was doing within that hood, though all suspected he, too, must have been smiling, because he made no move to stop the approach.

The new figure stopped and turned to face the crowd. Two hands were raised; fingers wrapping themselves around the mouth of the shadowy hood. All sound ceased. None moved. None breathed. The hood fell back, revealing...

A man. An ordinary man.

He stood before them with a small, smug smile. No one recognized him, but he certainly didn't look like anyone special. He was taller than most, perhaps, and had the physique of a strong farmhand, a beard, but...what was he doing?

The congregation turned their expressions from the face of the unimpressive man to that of Thadius Dhrin. Had he been able to see their faces beneath their hoods, he would have seen nearly a hundred confused expressions in need of clarification.

But, before anyone could make any such a query, the unknown man turned and charged Okulari. The attacker was upon his prey before a single disciple could cry out in horror. Okulari fell backward upon the floor and the unknown assailant straddled his chest. Bending over Okulari's head, the man's arms moved and worked. Prime and Dhrin did nothing but step forward with their arms outstretched again, indicating that none were to come to Okulari's aid. The disciples shouted for the life of The Chosen One, for his eyes, for his salvation; for someone, anyone to help him!

Suddenly the attacker stood and turned to look at the congregation. His white robes were drenched with the blood of The Chosen One. The sanguine liquid spilled down his chest and dripped from his hands. His smug smile still sat on his face, though he looked almost excited, anticipatory, and righteous. Then he held out his hands and pinched between each of his thumbs and forefingers was a single, solitary eye. The eyes were violet and vibrant and clearly had belonged to the man known as Okulari to some, but Altias Bromn to so many more.

The attacker tilted back his head and crushed the eyes over his own, the mixture of blood and clear ocular fluid spilled into his own. The attacker shook his head as if trying to shake away unconsciousness and then he turned to look at the faithful once again. Some of the assemblage silenced, staring at him in horror, while others continued to shout at him, demanding that someone grab him or worse.

Then, all of the sudden, the man began to change.

It was subtle at first. The short brown hair on his head seemed to grow; its hue lightened and reddened. The man's square, chiseled jaw seemed to lengthen and grew pointier. His dark complexion grew fairer by the moment. Slowly but surely the changes quickened and, before they fully grasped what was happening to the man, he was completely transformed. The man that stood before them looked exactly like Altias Bromn himself, exactly like Okulari. The new Okulari pointed at his fallen counterpart and Prime and Dhrin scampered to him, scooping him up into their arms.

As the body of Okulari was raised, it became clear that the man was either unconscious or dead. The man was limp and lifeless, blood poured from empty eye sockets. Once again the congregation cried out in horror, demanding that someone come to the aid of The Chosen One.

One man did just that. His attacker.

Without warning he jammed his fingers into Okulari's empty eye sockets, inciting even more screams. But, then...then the shapeshifter did something no shapeshifter could ever do. When he removed his hand, Okulari's eyes were restored to what they always had been--violet and true. Blood no longer spilled from the open wounds. In fact, aside from the blood on his face, he looked exactly as he always had. Okulari suddenly choked and coughed, air rushing into his lungs as he clung to Dhrin's robes for support.

Okulari's attacker, then healer, turned and looked upon the congregation again. He smiled a knowing smile and then in an instant he changed again. This time he looked exactly like Thadius Dhrin. The crowd was shocked again. He then changed again and again and again, faster and faster each time; his body, face, and hair kept shifting; shifting to those of so many men and women, so fast that none could tell whether they knew the people or not.

All that the members of the Order could think to do was fall to their knees because one thing was certain in their minds...

Their God had come.

[Michael Renne]

The journey to the caverns had been taken in silence. Not a single word spoken between the two. Perhaps last evenings events had left them with little to say. Each knew their place now, one with the other, and it was safe...for a time.

The ride had not, however, been silent for Michael Renne. In fact, his head had been filled with conversation from the moment the trip had begun.

~"You will not do this. You cannot. He is everything. All knowing. All Seeing. He is ALL. We are His hands, His children, Michael."

"Don't you think I know that? What need has He of us now? He has Dhrin and Okulari. Our work is done."~

The conversation continued in a similar vein for the entire journey. The words of the fragment known as Prime only growing stronger and more vehement. Michael had made his bid for salvation, Prime would make damn sure he did not succeed. He was salvation, and nothing would come between them.

At the mouth of the cave two garments were removed from the saddlebags. A robe of pristine platinum, and one of crimson. Upon the back of the crimson robe was an intricately embroidered design. A violet eye. Fawn had spent so many hours creating this lovely piece for him. To see it again made him smile, and then the longing, the pain, the fury, rose in him once more.

The wretched wench who stood at his side had killed her. Poor little Fawn who had done nothing but obey the words of her Brother. Nothing but serve her God.

The silver robe was thrust at Ariane, so he could begin donning his own. The robe of Brother Prime. Within the cave, Simon would be taking his place in the rite, as he had many times before. The volumous robes and a talent for voices had allowed Simon to become quite good at immitating the much thinner Prime.

By now, he knew, they would stand before the Brothers and Sisters, about to introduce them to their God. To HIS God.

A glance toward Ariane, a moments hesitation. He had proven last night that caught off guard, he could take her. He could kill her where she stands and be done with it. What good was this farce? Why should he even allow her inside? All was as it should be. He had come.

"No."

The spoken word cut the silence like a thunder clap. A shake of his head, as he pulled the cowl over his head.

"You will answer to no name but Lily. You will feel anger, but never fear. With fear comes your defenses, and should your defenses shred these robes, our time will be over."

These were not questions, these were demands. They would be followed.

"Come. Time grows short."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

As the two entered the chamber, all eyes were upon the dias. The men standing before the congregation had their undivided attentions.

"The time has come for The Chosen One to fulfill the prophecy!"

The words rang out across the cavern, as chaos errupted upon the stage. The overwhelming reaction among the Order was shock. As the ripples of shock washed through the crowd they became anger, outrage. Until He stepped forward and began to heal the man he had just killed.

Nearly as one the Order dropped to their knees. All doubts removed from their minds. Anger given way to the stark realization that He was among them. Their GOD lived.

As this occured, two figures remained standing, a stark and brutal contrast to the masses in reverent display.

"Come, Lily."

With those words, the true Brother Prime approached the dias, his servant in tow.

[Carnath-Emory]

A frigid dawn had seen them leaving the tavern behind them, and they'd ridden hard for the first few hours; had ridden fit to race the rising sun. The ferocity of their charge had made speech impossible then, but even later, when their mounts had calmed, silence reigned over the pair. As was inevitable, of course, for Ariane has found words treacherous, of late -- as always -- and Renne ... well, who could rightly say what he might Believe? There have been too many lies. There have been too many revelations, so that the border between the two has become blurred and uncertain. Grandmothers have sprouted wolves' heads, sirens have grown legs and walked; Renne has taken her by the throat and breathed salvation into her ear, and Helstone has educated her so thoroughly in the way of roles and masks that she'd that very night gripped the one Hjamat had gifted her, and --

"I Believe," Ariane had whispered to her pillow, with an acolyte's earnestness; with the most relief that she'd known in months.

So: this weighty silence, this tumble of thought and contemplation, of unspoken conflict, all played out to the tune of heavy hooves and whispering winds, and despite this, it was with half-held breath that she recognised their destination. The horse was dismissed with a soft word and a pat to its dusty flanks. The robe that Renne supplied was handled less gently, but he understands her capacity for vengeance, and must surely have anticipated this. That her stomach would lurch, as her hands sunk into pristine silk; that her flesh would chill, as she donned the thing.

From head to booted toe, the silver cascade devoured her.

***

It was in this manner that they entered the Order's chamber: as crimson Prime, and silver apprentice Lily -- and much later, should they survive this at all, Ariane may wonder what Renne had made of this: of the knowledge that it was the murderous Wolf who lurked beneath those servant's robes; that it was she who followed so pliant, so docile, at his very back.

There's no room for such considerations now, of course. Renne has led her into the den of her enemy's legion, and she walks through their midst now with nothing but a layer of silk to keep her from their hands. She has followed him to death's own throat, and he hascommanded her to silence; to stillness, even as they stand in this lake of kneeling bodies -- and she must simply follow as led: through the silken mass of worshippers; to the very foot of that dias. With head bowed as she ascends, so that her features are obscured by shadow, and it's all gone as well as can be expected -- oh, better -- until she lifts her gaze, and catches a glimpse of just what occurs up there.

Teeth clench back a cry, then; clench so that blood and silver rise to meet them.

[Altias_Bromn]

The bodies of the faithful stood before him, as they has many times before. A sea of softly glittering robes covering the faces of the chosen. This had brought a smile to his face.

As Simon spoke for Prime, Okulari could not help but wonder why he himself was not here to witness this. Try as he might to keep his mind on the introduction of Him, of their very God to the followers, it seemed quite strange that Prime was missing from what would be their greatest moment.

As Simon, taking Prime's place, pulled back the hood of Thadius Dhrin the sounds among his people were quite strange. Some seemed quite frightened by the return of the once right hand of Prime. Okulari could only believe that this was becuase they had believed him dead for so long. Surely they would welcome him back among them, for it was what He wanted.

Had Okulari been less distracted, perhaps he would have seen it coming. Perhaps that small part of him that was still Altias Bromn would have realized what being the Chosen One would mean. Perhaps, he would have been prepared for what was about to happen.

He was on him before Okulari even had a chance to understand what was happening. In the instant it began, Okulari knew pain beyond anything he had ever known. Suddenly, it stopped, his head filled with a wash of imagery that he would not have understood under the best of circumstances. These, were not the best of circumstances.

Darkness. Nothingness. An end to the pain. And it began again, the searing heat of air rushing into his lungs. Somewhere he could hear the anguished cries of a hundred voices. Arms held him, as his fingers clutched at robes of platinum, choking gasps to bring air to his body once more.

Through blurred eyes he saw Him. Saw the bodies of the faithful fall to their knees as the man who was their God became something new...over and over again.

During this strange revelation, something else became apparent. SOmething that rapidly grew within him, taking hold of him in such a way that it was all he could do not to cry out in terror.

He was Altias Bromn. Governor of Myrken Wood. And he was at this very moment in the center of the lion's den. Silence, was his only hope, as he saw the crimson robes of Prime remain standing among the crowed.

[Thadius Dhrin]

"The time has come, my Brothers and Sisters. The time has come for Him to rule in the flesh! The time has come for The Chosen One to fulfill the prophecy!"

Those words filled him with such pride, such excitement, such love. He had come at last to His faithful. With the death of the Chosen One, all would be as it should be and their God would lead them. All those months, learning, seeing as if for the first time, all of it was a simple price to pay.

The taste of completetion, of victory, was sweet as summer honey upon his tongue. As sweet as the finest wine...turned vinegar in his mouth, as Altias Bromn once more drew breath. It took a great deal of self-control for Thadius Dhrin not to throttle the life back out of him as the wretched men clung to him for support. He had healed him, Dhrin could no more kill him than disobey his God in any other way. He held Altias up, as his eyes swung over the crowd.

The crimson robes of Prime were more than visible in the sea of kneeling followers. His presence shone like the newborn sun across the sand. Thadius had known that Prime was not with them upon the stage, he had other things to do. Loose ends. His presence now seemed a bit odd, but who was he to question the man who had brought them all to know Him?

Thadius Dhrin looked to Him and then back to Prime.

"Brother! He has come! He Lives among us! Come and rejoice with us!"

Even as his voice broke the stummed silence that has fallen over the followers,
He continued to change, and Altias Bromn continued to cling to him. There would be time enough to deal with him later. Now was a time for joy and celebration...God had come to them all.

[Michael Renne]

As they walked, not all eyes were upon them. Some could not bear to look away from the horrific example of their God's power. Others did follow the approach of the crimson robe, curiosity in their gaze until they saw the great amethyst eye upon the back of the robe. All became clear to most then.

Brother Prime stepped to the raised area above the crowded room, raising his hands. The billowing sleeves of his robe flowed like water with his movements as he called for quiet among the followers.

"Brothers and Sisters. What a night we have had. Our God..."

A reverent tip of his cowled head toward the Him.

"...has joined us, just as we have always dreamed he would."

With that, he is turning toward the still gasping form of Okulari. The man is almost gently taken from the grasp of Thadius and Simon, given over to the one who had come with him.

"Take him below. He needs rest. He has fulfilled his part in this."

Moving back toward the front of the stone stage, Michael faces the crowd once more.

"The time has come for the Order to know the love of Him firsthand. Who shall come forward to be blessed by our Lord?"

With this, Michael is kneeling, his head bowed, at the feet of his God.

[Carnath-Emory]

This, too, is a mask.

Does Renne understand this? That these robes are no less a mask than the crudely-worked wood that Hajmat had once pressed into her hands. That the mask is the role, adopted at need, discarded at will -- so that in some very real sense, he had created cultist Lily, when he'd thrust white silk into Ariane's hands. She had been re-made, transformed, as surely as that creature upon the stage is gripped the glee of its many faces; as surely as this newborn Lily will eventually make herself over into a murderer, when the time comes for blood.

But they've not yet reached that point, and Lily is no more than one would expect: a thin sliver of colourless silk, a quiet echo of the hundred luminous bodies that fill this cavern. In deference to Him, her head remains bowed; in this chamber, where such a God exchanges one face for another, swift as heartbeats, features are meaningless ... or so the silent creature imagines. She displays no more than a fraction of her own. Those men who wait upon the dais clearly disagree, of course. There stands Thadius Dhrin, roaring with the exultant joy of a man who has cheated death often enough to reckon himself blessed. Sagging against him is the barefaced Altias Bromn, who's neither the battered corpse that a swordswoman had once been led to, nor the arrogant Okulari, who'd paraded his scarred cheeks with such pride. Renne -- Prime -- kneels at some remove from the pair, but her concern is staggering Bromn, and --

It is almost certain that Ariane Emory could never have approached Dhrin without giving some sign of alarm, of hatred. It is sure, sure, that she could not have plucked this man from his arms without the sheer fact of her proximity alerting crazed Dhrin to the nature of her presence. But Lily is perfectly capable of managing such miracles, because for Lily, they are not miracles at all. It is second nature, that she moves with such deft quietness; that she inclines her cowled head in this silent acknowledgement, to prophet Dhrin. It is only to be expected that she winds gloved hands about his burden's shoulders, gentle fingers urging him silently to straighten, to lay his meagre weight against her side.

'Below', directs Prime, and when Lily moves to direct bloodied Bromn from the dais, it's to the crowd that she looks for guidance. They had parted way for Prime's approach once; they'll part for her departure now.

A composed thing, is this mask that is Lily, contented in the performance of her duties. Beneath it, Ariane Emory's heart pounds at her ribs as if to shatter them.

[The Baie]

"Brothers and Sisters. What a night we have had. Our God has joined us, just as we have always dreamed he would."

It was after Prime spoke these words that Baie’s shifting ceased. The Living God returning to the form of the bearded man who had first appeared to them all.

Then Prime spoke again, "Take him below. He needs rest. He has fulfilled his part in this."

Baie watched Prime as he knelt and bowed his head, but it was the movement of Lily that really drew Baie’s attention. He knew who walked within those silk robes. He knew that it was Ariane Carnath-Emory and not Lily who came to Bromn's side. He knew who many of the robed figures were in the cave. He had spent a long time wandering amongst the people of Myrkentown and he recognized their individual scents; she was no exception. The pheromonal mixture of rage and fear that oozed from her pores was most likely lost on all of those gathered within the cave, but to Baie it was as clear as looking at her face. The robes were not masks--not to him--because he did not always need his eyes to see.

He watched her for a moment and then turned his gaze back to Prime. Baie reached out and placed his hand on Prime’s crimson hood. Baie’s palm and fingers rested gently on the skull beneath as a sign of blessing and recognition.

A line began to form behind Prime as the faithful waited to be blessed by their God and Baie was more than willing to indulge them.

[Carnath-Emory]

The Living God. The Baie, the god who can be touched, so that an atheist might wish to linger a moment, to look --

Lily has no such curiosity. Lily is engaged by no interests whatsoever, save for the vacating of Altias Bromn from this rough-hewn dais. Lily, should Baie care to linger on the matter -- and surely there'll be other affairs to hold his inhuman attention -- is half-drowned in her own rage, is nurturing that hatred so that it eclipses the fear with each passing moment; so that it swallows it whole. Renne had been quite clear on this matter, after all, and she has learned a certain trust of the man -- even monster that he is.

And here, in this cavern, there is so much to hate.

This is what has taken Bromn by one arm, a second hand flattened against his spine: careful Lily, who guides him so gently before her, for the crowd's begun to move at the Baie's invitation, and she's spied a trajectory that will afford the pair some distance from the stream of worshippers. Seized by the glory of their god's touch, perhaps they will not notice that 'below' is not where Lily leads her charge, for 'below' would surely be their deaths. Better to fight their way free than that, she'd determined, upon hearing Prime's direction. Better the swift death.

It's a gentle arc of travel that takes them past the rear of the dais instead, a slow circuit of the interior that brings them gradually nearer the cavern's entrance. She cannot retreat directly down the path by which Renne had brought her here; even in the grip of religious ecstasy, Baie's worshippers would have noticed that. But there are other ways, and the parting of the crowd reveals one to her now: a narrow corridor with contours that hint at shallowness, and which is --

Well. The best of three increasingly bad choices.

It is their destination, and this is what she'd meant to teach Phlynn long, long ago: that in the fairy tales, in the epic poems of chivalry and romance, she'd have looked back, at this last possible moment. She would have fixed upon Michael Renne a gaze as grey as his own, and quite as haunted; might even have offered the man a glimpse of features that were a halfway mirror for his.

[INDENT]Villain, she'd have whispered. Soulmate, she'd have breathed without breath. And perhaps even: forgive me, for that is what lies at the soul of any such farewell. Angry, yearning tears would have stung at her eyes. Her gaze would have lingered upon him until it grew wavering and imprecise -- [/INDENT]
But this is Ariane Emory, who has never had much time for such fancies as these, understanding very well that today's winsome maiden is tomorrow's corpse. Ariane, who has made her farewells already, if not her peace with them, and who will not murder the three of them with any such foolishness. And who only now, when they near the corridor's mouth, dares whisper by the shoulder of he man she leads:

"Solnyshko moyo ... do not fear."

[Thadius Dhrin]

Thadius watched as the one who had accompanied Prime removed Okulari from the dias. A slow smile spread across his face as he looked to Simon, and nodded sharply. Not a word need be spoken, for Simon was obidient. Simon, was loyal. Simon...was no traitor.

The large ox of a man lubered slowly from the group into the shadows. As far as anyone else was concerned, he had simply finished here. Thadius knew differently.

With a strange grace, Thadius then approached the Baie. He did not seem to have the same sense of awe about him, as the others did. Though he did bow his head as he spoke to their God.

"Father. I have need of knowledge that only you can provide. In these dire times when our number is hunted by those still unknowing of your Grace, I wonder what should be done with those of our number who are not truly faithful. How should we deal with those who bring disgrace and danger to us? What shall be done with traitors?"

Those final words seemed to ring with an acidic accusation, even as Thadius roughly drew back the cowl which covered Michael's face. Fingers curled into the silken mass of black hair, wrenching him upward to face his GOD.

"How shall the guilty be punished, my Lord?"

[Brother Prime]

Simon was not fleet footed. One could not even say he was terribly graceful. What he was, was effecient. With one sign from Thadius Dhrin, the only man Simon truly trusted since Prime had gone astray, Simon found himself slowly wandering from the dias outward toward the exit to the caverns. He knew they had come this way, he could smell them. You see, Simon had a gift. Some might find it of little use, but to a man like Simon, the ability to smell one's prey was a boon beyond wonder.

In the dark tunnels that ran through the cavern Simon needed almost no light, for his nose would find them as sure as a bloodhound. The platinum robe was shed, roughspun breeches and shirt of earthen brown and mossy green almost melded with the sahdows. Smooth soled leather boots were near silent upon the stone. A nearly miraculous feat considering the man's size.

None of the others came after Ariane and Altias. To them it would seem as if they had made their escape without being discovered. They had...to some degree. Simon was never satisfied by a simple kill. Simon...was a hunter. They had cleared the mouth of the cave some minutes before he approached it, and he was certain they had no idea that their steps had fairly been counted by the great beast of a man. They idled above, he could smell them still, and something else. Perhaps they had left horses behind for their escape, though the scent was something mroe metallic. Something less...organic. Perhaps they had left a newly forged sword, or the like. Still, it gave him pause, but not for very long.

[Nightshade]

A darkened shape detatched itself from the ebon vault of the night sky above to soundlessly alight upon the ground before the entrance of the cavern. The vague, almost batlike form crouched there for but a moment before rising; unfolding smoothly, fluidly into a slim and towering figure shrouded in black. Nightshade stood before the cave's maw with not a flicker of motion but for the edges of his coat ruffling slowly in the wind, waiting for the one who pursued Altias Bromn and Ariane Carnath-Emory. This one who believed himself a hunter, believed that he was the one stalking prey. Simon. The Order of the All's chosen killer, sent to extinguish those who opposed them, those whose continued existance was an insult and an affront to both the Order and their mad god. Nightshade became a tall, angular barricade between Altias and Ariane and the brute who just now emerged into the open air behind them.

One arm rose, a gloved hand pointed at the hulking and now somewhat startled man; a voice clear and cold as the night around them spoke.

"You. Simon, murderer for of the Order of the All. Unrepentant killer, stalker of the innocent, scion of bloody madness. All that you know is done. All that you are is ended. Now your hunt is over. Now you are prey."

[Brother Prime]

Fingers, large and thick, wrapped tightly around the haft of a large hammer which hung beside his massive leg. Visions of pale faces blossoming into rivers of crimson brought a smile to his ugly features. Moonlight caught him a bit by surprise as he edged through the small opening in the cliff face. Eyes of a dull dirty brown narrowed slightly, seeing a shadow before him.

Tall and thin it stood before him, it could have been either Ariane or Altias in that first breath. By scent alone he realized it was neither...and then it spoke.

"...Now your hunt is over. Now you are prey."

The voice brought a chill...and a smile to the massive lug's face. The hammer was wrenched free from its strap without a second of hesitation. It was a hunt then was it? This man did not know what it was he had invited himself to.

"Prey. No."

The voice which escaped him was broken, mangled. It would be painfully obvious why the man rarely spoke. Some horrible accident, one that brought with it the scars that criss crossed his flat face, that pocked his hairless head, had taken most of whatever voice he had once possessed.

Over the thin shoulder of his opponent he could see the faces of both Okulari and Ariane. Would they be foolish enough to remain? The smart man would take this momentary distraction as his chance to run...as fast and as far as he could. Once Simon took care of this interloper, he would track them again, until it was their time to fall beneath his hammer.

Straightening to his dizzying height, Simon realized he was no taller than the man who stood before him. He looked directly into the eyes of the other man. Or, more acurately, he would have, if they were indeed eyes. No matter...these amber gleams of light in the skull of his newest prey were proof enough that he did not deserve to live. He had nothing to offer Him. his eyes were a mockery of God.

In the few seconds it had taken for the great hulk of a man to process all of this, his hammer had swung upward, now hurtling through the air with a thick sound of the space between them being broken by its massive weight.

A smile, twisted and mangled as it was, broke over the mutilated features of Simon as the hammer hit home with a sickening thud. The sound of bone breaking shattered the silence, as the entire side of Nightshade's head caved in upon itself. The wraith-like man crumpled before him, wilting to the ground like a fallen tree.

"No prey."

A sound that might have been laughter, had it come from any other lips, gurgled forth as massive steps meant to cross the distance between himself and Okulari.

[Carnath-Emory]

[INDENT]They had sat by the hearth's fire, she and the young lord, for the night was cruel, and the pain he endured was worse, and the warmth of those flames were all that might soothe either complaint. To occupy his mind, and illuminate her own, they'd spoken of many things -- amongst them such matters as religion; as Belief.

"A religion," he'd suggested, at some point during the wandering of their conversation, "can offer a path, a ... release from suffering."

She had nodded her agreement, this acolyte at his knees; had, for the first time, confessed to an understanding...[/INDENT]


These are not things a woman should think upon, while fleeing madmen and villains. When ushering a ward down blind tunnelways, a guard should have mind for nothing but the ground before her feet, and the meagre space ahead -- and for the most part, this is true of Ariane. Once they'd cleared the mouth of that tunnel, escaped from easy view of the gathered worshippers, there'd been some change in their positioning: Bromn had been thrust forward, so that he must swiftly lead this unlikely little procession.

"First is safest," she'd whispered by his ear. "First breaks through before they realise what's come upon them."

And so it had continued, through a passageway that gradually widened, past holding-cells that stood empty and unguarded -- for who amongst the faithful would deny themselves an opportunity to gaze upon Him? Duquesne had made this quite clear, however inadvertantly. It had become her belief, much like the thin blades strapped beneath her sleeves, much like the narrow satchels of powder that clung to the skin of her wrists; exactly like the fine glaze of silver that had begun gradually to line her features.

This was a manifestation that weakened not at all, when finally they broke through to clean air and open skies; the woman's pessimism did not allow such easy relief. And given the sight that greeted them in the moments following their escape, this was not unwarranted. The simple bulk of fanatic Simon was a clear threat; the amber gleam of the Nightshade's vision was not a beacon towards which she would willingly flee.

On the contrary, she'd already begun to urge Bromn to her side as she backed away from this confrontation -- only to shove her ward roughly in the horses' direction, as tall Nightshade fell before the madman's brutal hammer.

"Run," hissed low and sharp and urgent into his ear; it permits no argument. "Ride, should I fall, to General Sleipner; trust none other." And there is a hand to grip his shoulder, and to thrust it away the moment after, for the iron is already forcing itself free of her flesh -- so that what must face Simon now is smaller by far, but gleaming fit to rival the moon.

[Nightshade]

Nightshade's body arced towards the ground, lifted from his feet by the terrible force of Simon's strike, head smashed out of shape, hat twirling slowly to the ground like a crushed raven. The earth recieved him with a muffled thump and there he lay, broken and unmoving as Simon lumbered towards his intended targets.

Behind Simon, out of his sight and out of his thoughts, the prone figure of Nightshade sat up sharply. The apparently mortal wound to his head filled itself out, the deep depression made by the hammer vanishing as he quietly rose to his feet, showing in his motions no sign that he'd suffered such a grave injury. Nightshade took a few steps forwards, bent down, picked up his hat, brushed a few bits of dirt from it, smoothed out the brim, pushed the crown back out and reseated it upon his head. His lambent yellow-amber gaze flared for a second as it lit upon the plodding Simon's back. Again he spoke, this time only a single word, cleaving through the still night air. Perhaps a statement, perhaps a suggestion.

"Prey."