Dark Mephitis and the Unholy Covenant

[Paragon Vanguard]

https://forums.homecomingservers.com/topic/36138-but-are-you-evil-nights-eye-rp-story/

(Back Story, but not needed)

 

 

 

"She is my daughter," the witch said, ignoring the fact that Elijah had no business in her home. She hated him, more than any other, but she also knew it was dangerous to challenge him. He was a mutant, a sorcerer, and what many would call an incarnate. 

"She is your path to power," he said, a grin passing over his lips. He was enjoying this, taunting her. They did not call him Master Evil for nothing, though Eivel was his last name, or the last name he used now.

She knew why he called himself that. 

Dorcas, or Dorothy as many knew her now, eyed the creature. Creature, because he was no man. Not anymore. She contemplated attacking him despite the obvious outcome. 

"There is another way," she said, deciding it best to not provoke him. 

"You tried the well witch, and it refused you," he said, again, the smirk on his lips. 
One day she would wipe that smirk off of his face, and find a way to destroy him. 

"I did not mean the well, Elijah," she said, never calling him master as he made his lackies call him. 

Master Eivil's head tilted a bit, as he was now curious. 

"It would do you no good, now that you are an incarnate," she said, knowing what he must be thinking. This time it was her turn to smile. 

"You think you know where the Breath of Life is," he said, a frown now on his black lips. 

"I do not, but I know it exists now. And if it exists, then your desire to see me destroy my daughter for power is in vain. You went another route, sought another power, so you will never hear it, but I do. I hear it call to my magic, my mind. It wants me, like it would never want you," she said, venom on her lips. 
Elijah Eivel smiled again, irritating Dorothy. He seldom lost his temper, and remained very cool under even the hottest of circumstances. She aligned herself with him many life times ago to find the well of furies, and regretted it ever since. 

"You are mistaken, as you have been in the past. I am not your enemy Mephitis, I am not against you. I am mused by your perseverance, the strength you possess to keep going despite the problems. I wish you well in finding the Breath of Life, but I fear you may have to perform the ritual again, and this time, it calls for more and more of a sacrifice. Your slaves may keep you looking young -and I see you have very few now, so I assume you have been consuming them quite often-but they cannot grant you immortal life. It will run out, and that is not what I wish for you."

Dorothy eyed him a moment, her dark eyes trying to detect if he was lying or not. She could never really tell, not with him. His pale face only showed what he wished it to show. He was a master at deceit, and a liar.

A father of lies, she thought. 

"Your daughter, she is powerful, and has powerful life in her. Take it now, or you may not be able to. Already she has friends, already she is protected by them. I can help you," he offered.

His offers always had a price. 

"You simply wish see The Protectors destroyed," she scoffed, knowing how he hated them. 

"Of course," he said, not even attempting to hide it. 
Still, there was always more. Always. 

"Leave my sanctuary, Elijah. Go back to your cronies and your plots, I have no use for you," she said, ready to fight him if he grew angry by her words. 

"I will," he said, and he was gone.  
Always cool.

 

Dorothy conjured an image of her daughter. The image was based on her memory, and she knew every detail of her daughter's face. Despite what Elijah assumes about her, she loves her daughter. What Elijah did know is that love was not enough to keep Dark Mephitis from taking her life if need be. 

The Breath of Life would solve that problem. She knew where to start, but it was an extremely dangerous place. 

 

Oranbega.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Edited March 5 by Paragon Vanguard
pic not workinb

[Paragon Vanguard]

Writer's Note: Of course to gain more power ingame you have to become incarnate, however, even the story of it says that not all will gain the power. So what do other's do to gain that power instead? What if they were rejected? Ingame, you still have to open incarnate, but head cannon storyline......well, we will see I suppose. I never know where a story will go, but Mephitis is scratching at my brain, and being a powerful witch, well, I suppose I have to listen to her, and write. 

[American Valor]

lol Don't you hate it when your toon wants you to write their plot ibstead of yours. Its like excuse me I'm writing this not you. I like this idea of rejected or different way. Hero 1 got his abilities from when he drew forth Excalibure.  The story plotline, I'm looking foward to it. 

[Paragon Vanguard]

Fayette Durand entered the inner sanctuary, a place that one did not enter unless specifically invited. 

"Master Eivel, you wished see me," she asked, her French accent apparent. 

Elijah Eivel looked her over a moment. Her head was down, in a show of submission. It wasn't something he demanded of his people, it was something they offered.

"I did. Please, have a seat," he said, the room producing a very inky black chair, if one could call it a chair, in front of his best assassin. It was normal for her now, but he remembered when these simple acts brought wonder to her face. The seat appeared to be held up by black hands, writhing if one did not look directly at them, still as stone if one did. Even Elijah was not sure of what caused this wonder. 

On the other hand, Elijah sat well above her, in his own inky black chair, more akin to a throne. Staring skulls were it's base. Fayette could not help but feel the many skulls were looking at her, and even into her. 

"My Puison," he said, a smile on his face as he used her code name. "I need some intel, and you of course are the best at getting exactly what I wish."

Puison held back her own smile, his flattering words moving her from within. The intellectual side of her knew this was a side effect of him enhancing her powers. All of her team, all that he strengthened, desired his approval. She knew this, but she still enjoyed the good attention. 

"Ask what you need," she simply said, though a part of her wanted to thank him for such flattery.

 

That however was beneath her. She feared his staring skulls could sense her conceit. 

 

"The witch, Dorcas Goode, thinks she has a method of finding a unique item of great power. The Breath of Life. I have searched for it in the past, but never found any real leads to it. If it has indeed resurfaced, I would wish to know where," he said, the smile no longer on his lips. His own eyes, along with the black skulls that based his throne, were staring into Puison's soul now. 

Puison was silent a moment. Master Eivel was civil, a gentleman even, on most occasions. He never seemed urgent. Even now he did not convey urgency, yet there was something that made her feel it. She was not sure why. 

"My master, whatever you wish of course," she finally said. 

Master Eivel looked her over a moment, as if reading her. As far as she knew he was not psychic, he was not truly able to read minds, yet, he was able to read people in other ways. She was his, fully. 

"This is why you are my favored. My first reborn. First in my heart," he finally said, the smile once again returning to his black lips. Once again, his approval moving her within. It brought her, what? Joy? She was not sure. 

That feeling remained even as he went into detail of what he wished of her. 

 

Master Eivel watched his assassin leave his inner sanctum, the door that was there to allow her in simply no longer there after she left. 
She thought herself first in his heart, but Elijah Eivel no longer had such a thing. She was his first success in enhancing mutant abilities, through magic, but also through science. It wasn't until he found the Well of Furies, or at least a part of it, that he was able to actually perfect the process. 

"She will do what I wish of her," he said to no one. Puison seldom let him down, and when she did, it was under circumstances that she could hardly be blamed for. Truth be told, she accomplished many things that even he did not think she could. Yet she was a means to an end. If anyone knew he was interested in the Breath of Life, it would become even more difficult for him to find. The general public did not know who he was, or more importantly, what he was. 

Elijah's black throne turned to a screen that was not there before, the video bright in comparison to the inky black background. Elijah was a mutant, but he was so much more. He was well studied in the arcane, and utilized science and technology as needed. His sanctuary was no different, in fact it was a part of him. He created this pocket dimension, using a great part of his soul, and that of many others he sacrificed to it. Here he was god. No, not the big "g", if that being even existed. Not omnipotent, but practically omniscient here. Everything was his, or more-so, everything was him. 

"Out there, though," he said aloud, looking at live video of Paragon City.

He had many methods of seeing about. News of course, but also security cameras, and anything his system was able to tap into. He even found he could see through the eyes of some kind of bot, but these things were an unknown and thus dangerous. He knew of Nemesis, and knew it was possibly his creations. He also knew he did not wish draw Nemesis' attention. It was not out of fear, but he did not wish create enemies needlessly. It was not how he worked. With that in mind, he seldom tapped into those creations. 

Elijah Eivel closed his eyes. He had no real need to look at the screen to see what was on it. Not here, not in his sanctuary. Not in his dimension. It was all him. 

 

[Paragon Vanguard]

"I don't need this trouble," she said, sitting now on her own chair, though it was not quite the throne that Master Eivel was sitting on. The man, if he was even human anymore, was quite unsettling to say the least. 

 There was no one there, not really, aside from the voices in her head, speaking to her in silence. They were left overs. Left over from demons she entrapped througout the years. Left over from the people she sacraficed to keep her youth. Left over from the witches who's power, and perhaps very souls, she stole to become the powerful witch she was now. 

Dorcas walked over to the mirror, and stared only for a moment. It reminded her of the children's rhyme.

Mirror mirror on the wall, who's the fairest of them all. 

Was she the bad person that the witch was in these fairy tales? The antagonist or the protagonist? 

Maybe it would have mattered at one time to her, but not now. She was far past thoughts of good and evil. There was no real right and wrong. If there were a higher power it would have stopped her long ago from doing the things she did. It would have destroyed Elijah Eivel, and many of the godlike creatures that challenged it's throne. 

There was no god, no good or evil, there was only need, she had decided. Desire was one motive, but need seemed to be the thing that motivated even the weakest of humanity. 

Laughter echoed in her mind, some demon long destroyed mocking her from within. 

Elijah Eivel had come to her, knowing what she was looking for before she told him. It was impossible to know how he knew, but he did. Even though the Breath of Life would do him no good, he would want it, whatever it is, for himself. First to see if he could corrupt it like he did everything else and use it for his own power. Then, if that was not possible, use it to force Dorcas into some kind of pact with him to destroy The Protectors, and any other that he felt was a challenge to him. 

He as an incarnate, she as possibly the most powerful witch. The two together could reap fields that he had long sewn. 

No, she would not assist him. She would not give him what he wanted. She would not give into him no matter the situation she found herself in. 

Dorcas walked back over to the mirror, and this time she said the rhyme aloud. 

"Mirror mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?"

 

While every devil in her head was screaming different answers, the mirror remained silent. 

[Paragon Vanguard]

 

 

 

Oranbega is no lost city. No empty sepulcher of abandoned stone. Every hall, every chamber is filled with us. We have floated through uncountable eons, here in the city we built before history, before we lost our own humanity. Oranbega is no ruin. Oranbega is a living city. A living city of the dead.

- Akarist, Circle of Thorns Mage

 

She had no idea who he was, but he wore the garbs of the Circle of Thorns.

This section of deep underground tunnels was in disrepair, but she could see where it once lead to somewhere else, the large hall now completely collapsed and impassable. 

This large room could be called nothing else but a dungeon, and it appeared the Circle of Thorns mage was performing some really sick rituals in it. Chains hung on the walls ending in bindings that had all sorts of runes etched in to them. Skeletons of long passed explorers littered the ground. Across the room the mage looked back at her, taking only a moment from the torture of some woman to acknowledge her presence. 

Of course none of this concerned the witch. She was here for answers. 

"I am looking for Oranbega," she announced. That brought a smile to the mage. 

"And you have found it," he said, motioning around him. He set down the ritual dagger, the skinned woman hanging from shackles on the wall writhing in pain, but could no longer scream. 

"I don't want riddles, you can ask your guards about my patience. Of course you will have to summon their spirits to do that," she said, already a dark spell forming in her mind. Still, he made no move nor showed any sign of concern. 

"I am aware of what you have done, and I thank you for that. Apparently they held little worth if they could not keep a witch from entering my little room of heaven," he smirked, looking back at the dying woman, who was no longer moving now. 

"Oranbega," Dark Mephetis demanded, insuring he understood she meant business. 

"Or you will kill me, and raise my soul and ask it? Or you will enter my mind and dig around for secrets, as she tried," he said, motioning to the skinned woman. "Which threat do I face today?"

Dorcas' hands began to turn dark as she tapped into her blackest of spells. 

"I cannot be raised by you, my soul belongs to others," the mage said with a sigh, almost seeming bored with what was coming. "You may kill me, and sensing how powerful you are, I believe you probably will. Killing me gets you no answers, and in the end, very little satisfaction. I was once called Huven, and you may call me that if you please. You have intrigued me, Dorcas, coming here for me. May I ask how you found my sanctuary?"

Dorcas let the spell slip away, as the mage made no move to protect himself. Nor was he working on a spell, nothing that she could detect anyway. She knew he may be trying to buy time, but she had no idea to what end. He was alone in this little section of what use to be connected to a huge city. She made sure they were alone. 

"You know who I am," she asked, said. 

"Of course, you are one of the most powerful witches, though some have tapped into that secret well making us both seem like novices in the arts. I wonder, why are you looking for Oranbega? What do you expect to find there? There is no furies, there are no shards of power. You will find death, and it will find you, and you will join the dead city and become one of it's protectors. Yet, you think you are beyond the denizens there, don't you? Demons, spirits, devils, they are all beneath you," he went on, his tone was soothing and smooth. It was as if he was reading a book aloud on her. 

She knew then he was not casting a spell, he had already cast one before she entered. He was reading her. Understanding her. She felt nothing in her own mind to even warn her that he may be reading it. 

"The Breath of Life," he finally said, in the same soothing tones. 

Tendrils climbed from beneath Huven. Like fingers caressing a lover they rose to his shoulders. The pain broke his connection with her, or at least she assumed it did, as he grunted, almost seeming surprised that they formed so quickly. 

This was a novice spell to Dark Mephetis. 

"Stay out of my head," she said, a frown forming on her face. The anger was rising, but she knew she had to keep it down. She was not here to fight, she was here for answers. 

"Your demons betray you," he said with pain, a smile still on his face. 

Huven spoke a spell, and the tendrils turned to smoke, before dissipating, freeing the mage. Dorcas did not strengthen it, or cast again. She was not there to kill him, or even fight. She was there for answers. Torture or the threat of death was not going to move this mage. She knew that. 

"How did you find me," he asked again, this time the smile began to fade. 

"Members of your people are not as strong willed as you," she said, purposefully adding the flattery. "Do not fear, I culled them for you."

"Thank you, it is sad that so many cannot be strong. Weak. I despise weakness," Huven said, looking about at the dead around him. "Despise it so deeply."

"Oranbega," Dark Mephetis said, looking the mage in the eye, daring him to try and read her again. He would find that not all devils in her head were willing to give up secrets. 

"So intriguing," he said, the smile returning to his face, his voice still soothing though not mixed with any spells this time. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

[Paragon Vanguard]

 

 

Dr. Wylde enjoyed sitting in the computer room, with multiple screens up. He could watch the news, watch security cameras, monitor police band radios, and entertain himself with old Western movies from the 50s. All at the same time in fact. The only thing he enjoyed more was his lab, but he had grown weary of tests and mixtures and hypothesis and failures. He was a genius, though he didn't feel like one right then. He was also an oversized, over-strengthed hairy mutant. It really was just chance that his name was Dr. Wylde, and so looking like some wild hairy creature, he went by Dr. Wild. It was at first a joke, as he never hid who he was, not that he could. Joke or not, it stuck with the media whenever they mentioned anything he did, as a scientist, or as a mutant. 

Right now he was trying his best to just enjoy a day off he had taken to relax, watch the news and a John Wayne movie. Of course his friend wanted to talk. Something Charles, aka Iron Hand, seldom wanted to do. 

"She is looking for something," Charles said, and Dr. Wylde could only nod to that. It was obvious the dark witch Dorcas wanted something. It was not so obvious exactly what she wanted. The very large scientist looked over his spectacles at his friend, who seemed to become obsessed when it came to things of magic. He understood why. Charles and Dorcas were an item back in the 20's, and he always felt that it was magic that destroyed her. He may well be right, in the sense that her obsession with it turned her from a seemingly care free person, to a power obsessed witch. 

Or, as Dr. Wylde always suspected, it didn't change her at all. 

"Well, if she steps over the line, we will deal with it. I think these Council fascists are a bit more of a headache for the city than she is," Dr. Wylde offered, as well as a shrug. 

Charles smiled a bit, something he seldom did. Life, war, and loss had made him a bit grizzled, but he was still a good man. He was still someone that wanted what was best for the average person. 

"You know, you think I worry too much, and I think you don't worry enough. I am not concerned with Dorcas, not as much you are considering right now. I am however concerned with Marshal and Hana, and you know whatever she does effects Hana."

"I know," the doctor said. 

"And Marshal, what was done to him. I never really cared for the young man, but he is now enthralled by Hana, something Dorcas pushed Hana to do. Both are being tortured by this," Charles said, sitting down on a chair near the doctor. 
Wild almost sighed out loud, but caught himself before he did so. He really did not wish to have this conversation again, but he and Charles were best friends. Both had known each other for near a century. Neither aged very fast, and both had a healing factor that made them almost immortal. Charles' healing was even more potent than his. It created a bond between the two. They had seen friends come and go, age and war taking them, and yet they remained. Always picking up the pieces, always pushing on. 

"You raised Hana, she is like a daughter to you, and you want what is best for her. She is a grown woman though, and you need to let her live, and make her own mistakes," Wild said, feeling like a broken record that repeated itself over and over again when it came to this subject. 

'Maybe," Charles said, and that brought the lift of an eyebrow from Wild. He never even remotely said anything near agreeing to this. 

"What? I can learn," the old warrior chuckled. It was true, Charles was hard headed, but he always meant well. He did want what was best for Hana. 

"I wonder sometimes," Wild said with a smile forming on his own lips. He was now pleased that he did not dismiss his old friend to watch John Wayne. 

"The boy is enthralled though. I know she did not do this on purpose, but she loves him, and he cannot help but love her due to her bringing him back from death. Her love is real, his love is magic educed."

That was a fair assumption, Wild thought, and nodded as his friend said it. 

"Still, they were together long before this happened. They were very close friends, and I believe he loved her even then," Wild said after a brief moment of thought. "I suspect they may have been lovers in college."

Charles' eyes darted to his friend a moment. That was not something he wished think about when it came to Hana. His face softened though, his friend being the only person that could be so blunt with him without worrying about some kind of retaliation. 

"Let them be," Wild finally said, and hoped this time it would stick. For a moment he saw the cogs turning in Charles' mind, but his eyes finally looked over to the John Wayne movie. 

"Which one is this," he asked, and like that, the conversation was over. 

Edited March 5 by Paragon Vanguard

[Paragon Vanguard]

He tried to first to capture her mind, but it was too slippery, and in fact he found himself with an immediate headache from the attempt. The thorns shot at him were no doubt poisoned, as he knew well who he was facing. She was darting in and out of shadows, avoiding his fire magic by inches, before testing his guard. He knew that she was not expending much energy, testing him only, but still he wanted her gone. 
Thank the old gods for his magic that deflected the darts, even as she deflected his fire and attempt to shut her mind down. 

"We can do this all day, hedge mage," she said. It was an attempt at an insult. Indeed it was, as Uhvan was a member of the Circle of Thorns, and that was a play of words on their group name. Hedge mages were unattached, unwanted, low powered nothings. He was a member of an ancient group that was well known and feared. 

The woman kept taunting him none the less. 

Uhvan pushed the continued insults out of his mind as he prepared a conjuration spell. She wanted to fight, then let her fight one of the warrior spirits that served the Circle for what seemed an eternity. She would be begging him to finish her when he was done. He had driven his own thorn deep into his chest, and committed himself to the masters of Oranbega many years ago. It was the best thing he felt he had ever done. 

This was on his mind when the one dart of many that was flung at him pierced his magical war, then pierced his skin. It only caught his his arm, the one he was using to motion as he cast the spell, bringing it just out of the strongest area of his protection, but it was enough. The poison quickly entered his blood, seizing his motion, and causing great pain. The proud mage doubled over, and fell to his knees, his body no longer listening to his mind's commands. 

"I guess we can't do this all day, connard," Puison said in her thick French accent. 

 

Puison let the mage suffer a bit, as the poison did it's work. It was nasty, but it wouldn't kill him. It did however make it impossible for him to even consider casting a spell at the time. She looked about the room, large but in a dilapidated state. One hall apparently leading down was completely collapsed, and the Power Graver leader assumed this once lead to the main halls of Oranbega. There were bookcases, shelves, and tables filled with old tomes and magical herbs. Puison thumbed through some of the books, before patting her hands together to release any dust that may have collected. She looked over to a rotting corpse hanging on the wall, obviously a woman at one time, but no longer had much of her skin left. 

"You are Huven," she asked, finally looking the mage over, who was now collecting himself better. He would be retching soon, as the poison effected his stomach. 

"No, I am not," the mage said, angry and embarrassed at being bested by an assassin. 

"Do not lie to me, several sources have told me you are him," she said, walking over to the mage now.  

Uhvan winced back, and was ashamed at his own cowardly response. If this poison that did not kill him instantly hurt this bad, how bad would she torture him before actually allowing him to die? It was quite concerning. 

"I am Uhvan, and I believe I am here for similar reasons. My people wish Huven found as well. He came here without," he began, but Puison waved that off, ultimately uninterested in why the Circle of Thorns wished the man found. 

"Uhvan, Huven, do you all have such ...." Puison began, but sighed the thought away. 

Uhven did not catch where she was going with that, and simply waited for her next question. This was the bigger insult, that he was so coward down now he did not even wish to fight. 

"I want Huven," the assassin demanded, dripping spikes only inches from his cheek now. 

"Please, I am not a fighter, obviously. I am a researcher, this is why I am here. They did not wish to send a tracker or a hunter, they wanted Huven alive. They wanted him to come in on his own. The abominations he was committing of course could all be forgiven if he simply did his research for the Circle. I am here to find him as well!"

"Abominations? How bad must it be for the Circle of Thorns to consider what he does an abomination," Puison huffed, and looked about the place again. She had committed far worse in torture chambers than what she saw here. 

"Where would he have gone," she asked, her open hand now on his jaw, forcing him to look at her. 

"I don't know. He was not here when I got here so I was...." he began, but it ended in gurgling sounds as sharp spikes entered his chest. The poison on them would not have time to cause much pain before he fell dead. 

"I can do the rest," she said, and fully believed he was not the one called Huven. 

 

[Paragon Vanguard]

"The answer to your question is yes, I can possibly locate Dorcas through divination, it would be a simple spell with the question truly being is she warded specifically to not be located. The difficulties would be determining the warding, and is it something that I can dispel with my own unique qualities," the mage said, his eyes scanning Hana, then washing over her male companion, Marshal. 

Hana looked at the mage, waiting for him to continue. His face was young enough, but his eyes and his white hair made him appear to be more elderly. His suit was tailored made, with blacks and purples precisely placed to give off power. Not in the magic sense, but power none the less. The home was large, but not a mansion like her mother's. Still, she sensed there was so much more to it. 

Hughe sighed. 

"You are not asking the proper question," he finally said, sitting in a very expensive soft leather chair. She was told he was arrogant, but she was told he also had reasons to be. 

"Will you," she finally asked, offering her own sigh now. It had been months since she had seen her mother, and there were whispers that she was up to something. Truth be told, Hana knew her mother was always up to something. Dark Mephitis was never not up to something, or at least that was how it seemed. 

"Now there is the right question," Hughe of the Purple Robes said, a smile now piercing his thin lips. 

"Will you," Hana asked again. 

"She is a unique danger, and could be a powerful enemy. You have not told me what it was you were offering for me to find her. You have not told me why you wish find your mother, nor why she is suddenly out of sight. That is unlike her. I have always considered her quite the attention monger. That is not to say I am judging her. Long lived high society types usually are. It is to say she does not wish to be found, in my estimate, and finding her may well bring her wrath to my little sanctuary."

Hana looked over to Marshal who was sitting in an oak wood polished chair near the door leading to the hallway.  He just shook his head with a shrug. 

"You are scared of my mother then," Hana asked, or said, however the mage wished to accept it. 

Surprisingly it strengthened the smile that had appeared, and his eyes sparkled slightly with the thought. 

"Should I not be," Hughe asked, his face feigning fright. 

"You should be," Hana said quickly, and the mage dropped his expression to one of thoughtfulness. 

 

 

Dorcas and Huven were staying in the penthouse of the expensive hotel they were in. Truth be told she did not even remember which one it was as she looked out at the city. She didn't care. Her own home was far better and housed the enmities she most desired, yet she needed Huven with her, and she did not wish bring the Circle of Thorns mage to her sanctuary. 

"You should not stand so close to the window," Huven said, never looking up from the desk he sat at nor the tome he was reading. It was an old book he had taken from the Circle long ago. It did not have the information on where the Breath of Life was to be located, but it had information on where to possibly find information on where the Breath of Life was located.

While frustrating, and possibly a trick by the mage himself, Dark Mephitis knew enough about the Circle to know they had levels of secrecy to wade through before you even began to scratch at the surface of information you wanted.  

"It is warded," she simply said, but moved away from the window none the less.

"So was my cave," Huven said, knowing he could never again use that little piece of Oranbega again. At least he was able to salvage his books and his research. Sadly he could not perform any experiments without drawing attention. 

"Not by me," the dark witch said, her eyes settling hard on Huven, who still never looked up. He was no longer in his Circle of Thorn's uniform, robes, or whatever they considered their garbs. He was now in a plain white button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and black slacks. Everything he wore was fairly cheap, and it gave Dorcas a knew perspective of who the man was. 

"Not by you," the mage said, this time his eyes did turn to her. He looked younger in plain clothes, maybe in his 40's, whereas she thought 60s before. That was a big difference in age, but truth be told he was probably far older than that, and the body he was now housed in had nothing to do with who he was. His brown hair was streaked gray, or was his gray hair streaked brown? 

"I am getting somewhere with this, but you have to come to terms with no matter what I find, there will be many who wish to stop us."
"Us," Dorcas asked, sitting on the king size bed. "We are an us?"

"The moment you let me live we were an us," he said, rather simply, and looked back to his books and notes. 

 

[Paragon Vanguard]

 

Huven drank coffee as he looked over some of his notes. Looked them over as if they would suddenly jump from the page, swirl about, and form an answer to the question Dorcas asked him. 

Dorcas? Are we that familiar now, he thought as he looked to her on the bed. Her chest rose and fell, and he knew she was in a deep sleep. The night had worn them both out. He feared they would have brought the hotel staff knocking on their door, though it seemed the penthouse suite garnered some privacy. 

Huven no longer desired nor required sexual contact, yet he was capable still. Magic had many advantages, especially when it came to fleshly inclinations. Still, it was not his desire he had fulfilled. It was not even her desire, though he suspected she still took true pleasure from the act. No, she was using it to draw him closer to her, making him more familiar with her. He knew this. He did not live as long as he had lived, from body to body, mind to mind, to not understand the workings of even the most devious. Witches used everything to control. He gave in, even acted as if it was what he wanted, to keep her under his own control. 

You don't have many options to get out of this alive, Huven told himself.

She would kill him when she was done with him, and she was most capable of doing such. Still, he was not without his own defenses and abilities. He was indeed more than capable of killing her. At least he wanted to believe that. Years, decades, maybe centuries of mere studies and little combat made him, perhaps, less capable than he wished. 

Huven's eyes moved over to the dark witch, and he studied her a bit, contemplating if this was his best chance now to be free of her. Her eyes opened wide and strangely looking straight at him. The Circle of Thorn's mage gasped and pulled away, though he was across the small room from her, and there was only a wall there to push against. 

"Did you find anything in your books," she asked, as if she had been awake the whole time. Her eyes, her suspicion, everything was as if she had not been asleep, though Huven knew she was before. 

 

"Did you find anything," Master Eivel asked, looking his assassin over. 
They were standing in his courtyard, the gray lands in the distance belching toxic gasses into the air. Puison could not imagine why he desired such a view, though it must please him considering he stood so often there, and stared out at his macabre creation. 

"Qui, master, I did," she said, a smile on her face now. 

Master Eivel returned the smile, though only his lips made the effort. The rest of his face remained as unreadable as always. 

 

Edited March 27 by Paragon Vanguard

[Paragon Vanguard]

Quote

That night in 1933 was the end of the Circle of Thorn's existence as a public organization. Baron Zoria and his followers literally fled into the underground allegedly taking up quarters in the dank and dangerous ruins of Oranbega. Their first order of business was taking vengeance.......

 

It was like a tomb. It was a large but very real grave. It was dark, dank, with the only sounds being dripping water and scampering of unseen things. The air was heavy, and only lightly oxygenated, or at least just enough to be considered breathable.  

"We are deep," Huven said, his torch hardly breaking the shadows.

Dorcas looked about, unable to break the darkness that was out of the reach of the torch.

It wasn't natural. 

"You have to watch your step. Though we are deep underground, these caverns sink even deeper, making us on something of a cliff at times."

"Why can't my spells break this darkness," she asked, and hated herself for having to ask. She was a dark witch. To many, she was THE dark witch, and yet this darkness denied her. 

"It isn't natural dear," Huven said, and whispered once again to the torch he had whispered to many times before. It flared a bit brighter, causing unknown things to scamper away from it's light. 

"You don't say," Dorcas sounded very agitated. Her agitation was not lost on Huven.  

"Keep your voice down," he said, this time sounding almost as agitated as her, though in more of a whisper. "You are right to wonder, but the answer is terrible and dangerous."

Dorcas stopped, grabbing the mage by his robed sleeve. He was going to answer. 

"You have seen the spirits of our ancestors, and you have the seen the demons they have made pacts with. Down here though, down here....." he did as he did many times over, letting the sentence finish without finishing. His mind, old and filled, getting lost in some story he knew but had no words to use. 

"Finish," Dorcas said, this time not letting him off the hook. He would have to remember, whether he wanted to or not. 

Huven looked to her, the strange torch fire lighting his face, the shadows fighting it's light in some kind of macabre dance. He nodded, apparently knowing this was something she had to hear. 

 

"When I was younger, though not really considered young even then, some companions and I dared to venture lower into Oranbega, lower than we should. There were no real rules, not ones written or taught, but there were unspoken rules. Dangers everyone knew of, though it never seemed anyone knew of them personally. We were old in spirit, but there are spirits far older than us. Things down here in the depths. Unnamable. Unmentionable. Unknown. Far beneath the city of Oranbega proper. 

We thought we were brave. We were actually stupid. 

We fended off devils and spirits that protected the lower caverns from intruders. That is until we came to a portal. You have seen them before, down in Oranbega. It was similar to them, but slightly different. We assumed it would bring us even deeper, and we could only fathom what wonders it would unlock. We stepped through, with hardly a thought or discussion. 

Sydia was the first to be taken. It came on us with darkness that seemed impossible. It was ethereal, and quite solid, all at once. Tendrils wrapped around her, and drug her over the ledge we were on. She screamed, and screamed, and her cries did not stop for a very long time. It didn't matter how far we went, no matter what turn we took, no matter a hallway nor large chamber we entered, her screams continued as if she was just a room away. We fled at first, but we garnered our courage after the first shock and tried to find her. We walked for miles. We walked for two or three days it seems, though time down here has little meaning. We walked, we searched, we chased, and we could not find her. We were lost. And still she screamed."

Huven again went into the deep thought that he did so often. His features at times looked to be early 50s, but at other times looked ancient. Huven looked ancient. 

"I am sorry. I will continue. We thought we were chasing it, as if we stood a chance to save our friend. I know what you must think, I was a member of the Circle of Thorns, and of course we are all just selfish. That isn't so. Not for me then. We were friends. 

I am sure she was already destroyed by this thing that had her. It was mimicking her, mocking us. I know that now, but then we had hope. If we could just catch it. We could free her, and find our way out of, well, wherever we were. I know now it was not Oranbega anymore. That portal brought us to somewhere else. To here........"

[Paragon Vanguard]

His visor helped him to form the beam into whatever he needed, and while this helped him to cut through things, it also helped him not to kill. The three mages lay still, but they were still alive, just unconscious. The sharp energy that gave him the name of Fire Eye had been formed into a wide concussive beam. Marshall checked them over and was sure they would wake up with nothing more than a bad headache and a few bruises. After insuring their safety, he looked over to Hana.

They were Fire Eye and Night's Eye, and they had ventured together since they were teenagers. The Circle of Thorn members around them did not stand a chance. They were not elite, and were the fodder that the group threw at powerful enemies while the real threats prepared their spells. Luckily something else had their attention, and these four had no back up coming. 

"You will talk to me," Hanah said, and Marshal knew Night's Eye was casting a spell to force the mage to do just that. 

Darkness began to surround the mage before it entered through his mouth, nose and ears. His eyes turned completely black, and he was completely hers. 

"What do you need from me," he asked. The tone of his voice was almost robotic, with no emotion. 

"Two have come down here, a man and a woman, that do not belong in Oranbega. We are looking for them. Where are they?"

"They are probably dead," he said, matter-of-factly, looking at Hanah, hardly even blinking. This power that Hanah had over others always made Marshal feel uncomfortable. 

Rightly so, he thought. Marshal was enthralled by her, or so they said. He did not doubt it, though it only felt like love and devotion to him. It was not a spell, not one directly, that was cast on him. She had brought him from the brink of death, and it was a side effect of the resurrection. Still, he was not enslaved like this mage was. 

"I didn't ask your opinion of this, I want to know where they are."

Hanah did not believe her mother was dead. She was Dark Mephetis. Dark Mephetis survived many things, including the witch trials from long ago. She was powerful, more powerful than Hanah, and always looking for more power. 

"Word got around that they entered the caverns of the deep. The darkness there would not like visitors so we stay away from it. No one that goes there ever returns, not whole anyway," he said, his tone still unchanged. 

"How do we get there," she asked. 

Fire Eye had walked over to the two, and turned his head toward Night's Eye as she asked. He wasn't sure he wanted to know how to get to the caverns below, but he would follow Hanah wherever she went. They protected one another. They loved one another. 

Marshal shook his head as he did many times when those thoughts entered. He could not trust how he felt about her. 

"They say there is a portal, it looks..." the mage began to struggle against the spell, the darkness was starting to fade. 

"Tell me," Hanah commanded. 

"It looks different, but I only know of it, I dont know how to ......get......." the magic wore off, and the mage had a look of defiance once again. He began to speak a spell, but before he could finish it Night's Eye flung him across the room, where he struck the stone wall hard enough to knock him out. 

Maybe hard enough to kill him, Marshal thought as he headed to check on the mage. 

"Leave him," Hanah said, and Marshal did just that. 

 

 

The two heroes left the room, and Puison left the shadows. The four mages that were only moments ago unconscious began to stir. She sent poison darts at them, and they died in agony, probably wishing the witch and the man in the visor had killed them quickly. 
Puison walked over to the mage that the witch had questioned. He was out cold, and would be for some time. His head was bleeding, and his leg looked to be at an odd angle. 

A long spike emerged from her glove, dripping the same poison that was on the darts. She drove it into the mage's brain at the base of his skull. He died quickly. She didn't want anyone knowing about the others, it would only complicate matters.

She hated complications. 

[Paragon Vanguard]

"I think we are getting close," Huven said, shining the strange torch about. 

Mephetis became very grateful for the torch, as she understood that no common torch would work very well down here. No, this torch was not common, and while it only provided light, it was able to cut through the unnatural darkness down here. 

 

They had walked down some stairs that lead them for what seemed miles, maybe days if there were days, deeper and deeper into the earth. Maybe the earth. She wasn't sure that they weren't in some other place.

That wasn't true. She was sure they were in somewhere else. 

They would pass through caverns, then tunnels that lead to large rooms, then back into caverns, and into rooms made by hands with stone tables and stone chairs and dead torches hanging on dead walls. Things skittered away at times, other times they would go for hours with nothing but rock and darkness around them. 

 

"Let's rest a bit," Huven said, putting the torch into a holder in the middle of a table. It strangely seemed to shine brighter when he did so, illuminating the room in it's entirety. Intricate patterns lined the walls, and old rugs hung from the ceiling, the patterns barely visible in their worn state. 

"So you and your friends came down here, this deep," Dorcas asked, sitting on one of the cleaner stone chairs, as Huven sat across from her. 

"We did," he said, looking around. "If we passed through this room exactly, I do not know. How could I? How could anyone? The darkness hardly allows one to get a full view of everything around, even with my torch."

"So how do you know the Breath of Life is down here?"

"I don't know how I know, I just know," Huven said, looking directly into Dorcas' eyes this time. 

"Finish your story, what happened down here with you and your friends?"

It wasn't a request, and Huven knew he had to finish the story now. Even in this room, with it's dancing shadows and strange noises and sounds of flying things higher up than the light could reach, he had to finish the tale. 

He had to finish the story. 

[Paragon Vanguard]

(warning: Rather graphic horror. It isn't done for horror sake, simply to get the feel of what the character experienced)

 

"There was no chance to save our friend. It called to us. It mocked us. Worse than all of that, it tempted us. It entered our minds, and our dreams and kept calling to us. It offered power, and strength, and even now I believe it meant to give it to us. It meant for us to be a physical representative force on our own plane. 

I won't kid you now Mephitis, it wants us. It will want you. It has power."

"Finish your story," Mephitis said again, now suspicious of the mage. 

"Of course. We found it, not far from here. It's darkness was immense, and tried to enter us. We had guards, but they barely held. We demanded our friend, but by then the demand itself  was weak. It was only a half desire now to save her. We had magical guards, but it was already within us, well past our protections. In little time my friends turned on each other. They smiled, and danced and laughed, and enjoyed it."

"Enjoyed what, Huven?"

Huven's eyes were now far off, and even though Mephitis knew this man had seen far more than most, she saw fear of even the memory. 

"The carnage Dorcas. They cut themselves. They cut each other, using our Circle blades. Blood splattered from deep wounds. Nim fell first. He bled out from a deep cut Agna dealt him. Both were smiling at one another. She soon succumbed to her own wounds. Until eventually I stood alone. I was not wounded, and I watched most of it with horror and fear. I watched them murder each other, murder themselves. They did it with such pleasure. And I watched. I just watched, most of it."

"Most of it?" Mephitis asked. 

Huven didn't answer at first, instead he just looked around the dark room they were in. 

"I killed Lillin, as she was the last standing. For some reason I did not participate until then. I don't know why. It seemed to leave me alone, as I did not cut myself, I did not cut others. Not until the end. Lillin stood there and offered her throat to me, with a smile and with deep pleasure. She was naked, and her wounds were many. Blood splattered her face. Gore dripped from her hands and blade. She turned her neck up to me, held her had back and looked up in deep pleasure. I hesitated Dorcas. It wasn't that I had not killed before. Even by then I had made many sacrifices. It was the entirety of it all. If someone would be telling me this tale, it would not effect me in the least, yet you had to have been there. It wasn't complete control of them, that was the unnerving part. These were people I knew, and these were their deepest demons coming out. She did not move nor make a sound. She just stood there, waiting. I waited, I hesitated, but she just stood there waiting, so I cut. A mercy cut as we call it, across the neck. She made no sound, and when enough of her life had drained, she fell, and never again rose. That was still not the worst of it. A black door I had not seen before opened, and something looked out at me."

 

 

Edited April 18 by Paragon Vanguard