Crazier by the dozen

[Altias_Bromn]

Upon his awakening, uncertainty filled his mind, a metallic flavor in his mouth, copper in the air. Had he killed the girl? He really could not be sure. The blood was on his hands, his trousers, that much was certain.

Avel seemed to be sleeping peacefully, sated by the blood perhaps? Currently no voices filled his head, no fire tore through his body. Everything about these last weeks seemed…broken.

Ariane was out to kill him. Well, to be fair, she wanted to torture him thoroughly, first. Then kill him. She’d certainly made her intentions completely clear over the last few nights. His broken jaw and the puncture wound that threatened to separate his arm from his body at the shoulder were testament enough to that.

What was it she had been babbling? Killed someone. He had killed someone. A special someone it seemed. No…he hadn’t. Had he? Ash said they had done it together. He didn’t remember, honestly, not a bit of it.

Even if he had killed someone, her lover perhaps, he certainly wouldn’t have left the corpse in her bed. Would he? A strange smile surfaced, unbidden, on his ragged lips, the action allowing the skin of his chin to split wide once more, crimson flowing forth eagerly.

Lamai. She hadn’t come to see him today. She’d come every day since Luke died. –He didn’t die; he was murdered.- A blink, short shake of the head as he began to rise from his bed.

Yes, Lamai, strange that he hadn’t seen her. Maybe he had finally run her off with his venom. He’d tried to kill her a week ago. In fact, her odd blood still splashed across his bedcover. It mingled there with his own, and perhaps that of someone else. Over it, all, giving it an unreal matte finish, was a fine layer of ash.

Ash…

Ash…

Momentarily violet eyes swept the room. No sign of the bizarre creature, though the room was virtually one large shadow. Altias hadn’t heard his voice since awakening. He seemed to be alone. Alone for the first time, in quite awhile. Odd that, very odd indeed.

Treadwell. Poor Aloisius. Old man was nearly mad with terror and still he was trying to “help” Altias. Hoping to find a way to make him “well” again.

- What if I don’t want to be well? Hmmm? I think I am just fine. -

It wasn’t Avel’s voice, nor was it Ash’s; it was not even the soul stealer. It seemed to be his own voice, but he just could not be sure.

Quincy. So quiet. He’d heard nothing from her since the warrants went out. Strange. Maybe everything was fine. Maybe.

The looking glass threw what must have been a distorted reflection. High cheekbones cast deep shadows over sunken cheeks. Silken autumn tresses, unkempt, surrounded his form in a tarnished halo. Blood ran from the wound under his chin, collecting in his small goatee, only to drip down, splash, against bare ivory flesh, like rivers of crimson on snow. Stark, harsh.

Luke.

Blood.

The knife.

The note.

Mental pictures spun in a cacophony of blood and pain. Screams and sobs. Reality became a perfectly round stone, perched just so atop the lip of a bottomless void.

Vision cleared, shaking hands tried to wipe the scarlet fluid from his flesh. Another careful, timid, look into the mirror…and he was laughing. Only Altias wasn’t laughing…his reflection was.

~ Have you lost something, fop? Your mind, perhaps? ~

This time it was Avel, returned so soon.

Heldenbrand, he had to find Heldenbrand. He’d said he knew all about Avel. He could help!

Two steps, before the burning in his veins brought him to his knees. A howl of pain let free from him, as he clutched at his skin.

~ Oh no, I don’t think so, little man. Where ever did you get the ridiculous notion that I would let you go anywhere that wasn’t in my best interest? ~

Altias was determined. Hand over hand, crawling toward the chamber door, despite the pain that threatened repeatedly to leave him unconscious. A short thrust of his leg, kicked the door open. Shadows loomed in the hall. As the pain took hold again, and the blackness closed over him, he was fairly certain that it had strange white eyes.

[Rance]

White eyes indeed.

The whitest of eyes. Softest of hands. Trails of ash that lingered upon Altias' flesh where gray fingertips would touch. In that blackness, there came a kiss against Altias' unconscious lips ... a tug of tight teeth.

"... ah, poor little Altias," the creature that had once been Ta mused in a tone almost seductive. ".. We'll make wonders, you and I."

A hand was touched to Altias' gentle stomach. "Nine months from this day, we'll have created a legend." He sealed the promise with a lash of his tongue.

That night, they would consumate.

[Altias_Bromn]

It had been days since Altias had left the meeting house. Bran was constantly pestering him about eating, but he really wasn't terribly hungry. It was fortunate that none of the other councilors had been by to see him, he truly was...unwell. Treadwell had stopped coming, Altias believed he had determined his family was more important. Smart thinking.

Lamai...he had remained closed off to her, despite her efforts. Was it because he truly did not wish to see her, or was it some bizzarre effort to try and keep her safe? It would be hard to know either way, and Altias certainly wasn't telling.

Things had been oddly quiet in his head, of late. Ashes seemed to be resting, as did Avel. It was all very eerie, really. Such was the manner of quiet that Altias thought he might slip off to the Inn for something to eat this morning. Perhaps he would find Treadwell. There were such things he could learn from him.

One gloved hand tucked in his coat pocket, the other resting oddly at his waist, the governor headed for the Inn.