Serenity Garden, Faldrass, Scalvoris
3rd Ymiden, 717
3rd Ymiden, 717
Things had changed in the last season, and not in a way Tio liked.
The crux of the problem ultimately led back to, unsurprisingly, Cassion’s contest. The game that had cost him his eye, half of his life, and condemned him to become another one of Delroth’s pawns. Ever since his dream-self had returned to his real body at the start of Ymiden and brought with it the memories of what he'd done Tio had to admit that he'd been feeling… shaken. He'd always known he was possessed by a strong ambition; he wore it with pride. But he'd never before realised just how deep into darkness it could drive him. Never known how ugly the face he hid behind his easy-going persona was.
He had murdered an innocent woman in his mad grab for power. That was the first person he'd ever killed, and even after all this time the thought of that final expression on her face made him want to throw up. Sometimes he'd look down at his hands and for a split second swear that he could see them stained with silver blood, but a moment later the illusion he could never be free of covered them up again. Was that biqaj’s blood still on his hands even now? Hidden from sight by his biological trick but still coating his crystalline hands? He washed them over and over again, yet he could still feel the dried blood clinging to his flesh!
He'd thought time would clean away this sin, yet all these trials later he still found his thoughts occupied by dark daydreams and his hands shaking from some imagined terror. It was frustrating how he couldn't seem to properly focus, especially when in the middle of important business! There wasn't enough time to wait any longer! He had to shake of this shaken sensation!
Ozbourne had recommended many times that Tio practice meditation, as a clear and organized mind was much better at controlling magic, but Tio had rarely headed his advice. Sitting in an uncomfortable position and getting all introspective didn't sound like his sort of thing. Yet desperate times called for desperate measures, and he couldn't think of any other method of sorting out this mess that'd tangled up inside his head. Shuffling himself into the traditional meditative pose on the whispy grass of Serenity Garden, Tio closed his eyes and lulled himself into taking deep, slow breaths.
Now then, what was it that’d thrown him off his game?
The first thing that popped into his head was, of course, the lifespan he'd sacrificed to Avacer. He'd given away his precious life believing that he'd receive power in return, but with Avacer taking his place on the throne of Gilgarod there was no way for him to collect on the fruits of his tribute. Somehow he needed to return to Gilgarod and free him, but that meant fighting his way through those golems keeping him captive. How on earth was he supposed to get the power to do that before Avacer ran out of time? The throne he sat upon was draining away the life Tio had given him by the second. He needed a plan; a quick and effective way to snatch up the strength to storm Gilgarod!
And sadly he didn’t have one. The first thing he needed to start doing then was putting out feelers for an opportunity. There was bound to be something out there he could use; an artifact he could find or a person who could help him. And if the wound Cassion had inflicted upon his eye worked the way he was beginning to suspect it did then fate would sew him together into an adventure with that special thing before too long.
The next problem then was the horrifying truth he’d learnt about the Immortals. The marks they granted didn’t just bless you with minor versions of their powers, they allowed them to jump into your body and take control of it like some kind of sick meat suit. There were so many questions he had about these marks. Were the champions of the Immortals the only ones who could be possessed? Could a curse mark like the one he had also be used to let an Immortal into your head? The only people who could tell him were the Immortals themselves, and he doubted that any of them would be willing to share.
Now as fond as he was of Syroa (and in a way Delroth, though that relationship would forever be marred by the whole choking incident) he wasn’t about to let anybody take off with his perfectly formed buttocks. So should he search for a way to remove his marks? It would mean giving up all those incredible powers, but it would be worth it if it meant keeping his body safe. The question was how did one go about removing the mark of a god? He could try asking he supposed, but somehow he couldn’t imagine that going so well. Syroa would undoubtedly be furious if he gave the impression that he didn’t want to serve her any more; furious enough to crush him into a paste. Nor could he imagine that Delroth would be willing to part with anything he considered his own, especially a follower. He’d have to look outside the box in this case, but at least he had a lot more time to solve this problem.
The third problem was the other competitors in Cassion’s game, particularly Arlo. They knew about the existence of Gilgarod, and about what he’d done to Cassion. He didn’t know if they’d been able to see his journey through the sepulchre of sacrifice or not, but even if they hadn’t it was possible for them to realise that he may have left something behind in Gilgarod. Arlo in particular knew that the golems had been coming after him; the little wanker was the one who set them on him in the first place after all, and so must have questioned how he’d been able to avoid them. If they figured out what he was up to they might interfere with his plan to set Avacer free.
Which oddly enough led on to his fourth problem; how to go about getting back into Gilgarod. The only ways in that he knew of were the four keys that’d been handed out to them, but the skeleton key he’d been in possession of hadn’t been on him when his emean-self had returned to his body. Did the key simply not exist in reality? Or had something else happened to it that’d resulted in it ending up somewhere else? Finding one of the keys was his best hope of returning to Gilgarod, and finding one before any of the other competitors were able to do the same was his best hope of stopping his secret from being revealed.
The longer he thought about it, the more that Tio came to realize that all of his problems were going to take a long time to solve. He’d need time to spend searching for opportunities, rituals, keys and whatever else he’d need in his mission to free Avacer again, but that was time Avacer himself might not have. How exactly could he speed up the process then? How exactly could he buy time?
There were no magical tricks he could pull to help him with this predicament; no cunning plans to cheat his way through the passage of time itself. The only thing he could do was be as efficient with his time as possible, and that meant he was going to have to be focused, ruthless even, when he needed to be. When it came to this project he couldn’t afford to be a nice person: he’d have to do whatever it took to make progress.
Even stain his hands with more blood if he had to.
It was around then that Tio became aware that his hands had stopped shaking. His future didn’t feel so uncertain to him now; in fact he felt strangely committed to this course of action. This was it, his road to greatness! And he’d already come too far to turn back now!
Tio opened his eyes, and reached into his jacket pocket to retrieve a thin journal. It was full of blank pages except for one, the front page, which contained a copy of the prophecy the ring of three seers had written for him. He had decided to use this book to record all of the prophecies the ring told him; a secret journal of the shadows the future held. All he had to do was write a name and the ring would provide him a glimpse of what lay in store for them. And right now there were two names that he suspected might pop up to oppose him in the future.
Arlo and Vega Creed.
Arlo would not forgive him for stabbing Cassion, and had the best chance out of everyone of figuring out what he was up to. And wherever he went he was sure his beloved Vega would be by his side. So if he gained some insight into their futures, he might find a way to fool them should the time ever come where they opposed each other. Putting his quill to the next blank page, Tio scribbled down their names. The sapphire set in the middle of the ring glowed an frosty blue, and an icy numbness overcame Tio's hand as the ring possessed it. Arlo
Crawling, creeping, slithering, snaking,
From out the dark abyss,
A puppet’s mask conceals the teeth,
And birdsong hides the hiss.
With honeyed words and silent smiles,
It leads thee to thy end.
It creeps up close behind thy ear,
And whispers “Evening, friend.” Vega
The seven-legged spider guides thy way,
To an endless, starless night.
A candle flees, flickers and fails,
But holds on to its light.
Thy path diverges, thy way back crumbles,
The ocean bleeds, the mountain shakes,
The burning doorway tears itself open,
The traveller cries, the dragon wakes.
Tio frowned at the two prophecies written out before him. What on earth were they supposed it mean? Both hinted at a danger in their futures, but did it refer to the same danger or two completely separate ones? There didn't seem to be anything relating him either, but maybe that was for the best? Maybe it meant that the two of them wouldn't stand in his way after all? Tio closed the book and pushed himself back up onto his feet. It was time to get to work, and he had a long way to go to reach his dream.[/color]
The crux of the problem ultimately led back to, unsurprisingly, Cassion’s contest. The game that had cost him his eye, half of his life, and condemned him to become another one of Delroth’s pawns. Ever since his dream-self had returned to his real body at the start of Ymiden and brought with it the memories of what he'd done Tio had to admit that he'd been feeling… shaken. He'd always known he was possessed by a strong ambition; he wore it with pride. But he'd never before realised just how deep into darkness it could drive him. Never known how ugly the face he hid behind his easy-going persona was.
He had murdered an innocent woman in his mad grab for power. That was the first person he'd ever killed, and even after all this time the thought of that final expression on her face made him want to throw up. Sometimes he'd look down at his hands and for a split second swear that he could see them stained with silver blood, but a moment later the illusion he could never be free of covered them up again. Was that biqaj’s blood still on his hands even now? Hidden from sight by his biological trick but still coating his crystalline hands? He washed them over and over again, yet he could still feel the dried blood clinging to his flesh!
He'd thought time would clean away this sin, yet all these trials later he still found his thoughts occupied by dark daydreams and his hands shaking from some imagined terror. It was frustrating how he couldn't seem to properly focus, especially when in the middle of important business! There wasn't enough time to wait any longer! He had to shake of this shaken sensation!
Ozbourne had recommended many times that Tio practice meditation, as a clear and organized mind was much better at controlling magic, but Tio had rarely headed his advice. Sitting in an uncomfortable position and getting all introspective didn't sound like his sort of thing. Yet desperate times called for desperate measures, and he couldn't think of any other method of sorting out this mess that'd tangled up inside his head. Shuffling himself into the traditional meditative pose on the whispy grass of Serenity Garden, Tio closed his eyes and lulled himself into taking deep, slow breaths.
Now then, what was it that’d thrown him off his game?
The first thing that popped into his head was, of course, the lifespan he'd sacrificed to Avacer. He'd given away his precious life believing that he'd receive power in return, but with Avacer taking his place on the throne of Gilgarod there was no way for him to collect on the fruits of his tribute. Somehow he needed to return to Gilgarod and free him, but that meant fighting his way through those golems keeping him captive. How on earth was he supposed to get the power to do that before Avacer ran out of time? The throne he sat upon was draining away the life Tio had given him by the second. He needed a plan; a quick and effective way to snatch up the strength to storm Gilgarod!
And sadly he didn’t have one. The first thing he needed to start doing then was putting out feelers for an opportunity. There was bound to be something out there he could use; an artifact he could find or a person who could help him. And if the wound Cassion had inflicted upon his eye worked the way he was beginning to suspect it did then fate would sew him together into an adventure with that special thing before too long.
The next problem then was the horrifying truth he’d learnt about the Immortals. The marks they granted didn’t just bless you with minor versions of their powers, they allowed them to jump into your body and take control of it like some kind of sick meat suit. There were so many questions he had about these marks. Were the champions of the Immortals the only ones who could be possessed? Could a curse mark like the one he had also be used to let an Immortal into your head? The only people who could tell him were the Immortals themselves, and he doubted that any of them would be willing to share.
Now as fond as he was of Syroa (and in a way Delroth, though that relationship would forever be marred by the whole choking incident) he wasn’t about to let anybody take off with his perfectly formed buttocks. So should he search for a way to remove his marks? It would mean giving up all those incredible powers, but it would be worth it if it meant keeping his body safe. The question was how did one go about removing the mark of a god? He could try asking he supposed, but somehow he couldn’t imagine that going so well. Syroa would undoubtedly be furious if he gave the impression that he didn’t want to serve her any more; furious enough to crush him into a paste. Nor could he imagine that Delroth would be willing to part with anything he considered his own, especially a follower. He’d have to look outside the box in this case, but at least he had a lot more time to solve this problem.
The third problem was the other competitors in Cassion’s game, particularly Arlo. They knew about the existence of Gilgarod, and about what he’d done to Cassion. He didn’t know if they’d been able to see his journey through the sepulchre of sacrifice or not, but even if they hadn’t it was possible for them to realise that he may have left something behind in Gilgarod. Arlo in particular knew that the golems had been coming after him; the little wanker was the one who set them on him in the first place after all, and so must have questioned how he’d been able to avoid them. If they figured out what he was up to they might interfere with his plan to set Avacer free.
Which oddly enough led on to his fourth problem; how to go about getting back into Gilgarod. The only ways in that he knew of were the four keys that’d been handed out to them, but the skeleton key he’d been in possession of hadn’t been on him when his emean-self had returned to his body. Did the key simply not exist in reality? Or had something else happened to it that’d resulted in it ending up somewhere else? Finding one of the keys was his best hope of returning to Gilgarod, and finding one before any of the other competitors were able to do the same was his best hope of stopping his secret from being revealed.
The longer he thought about it, the more that Tio came to realize that all of his problems were going to take a long time to solve. He’d need time to spend searching for opportunities, rituals, keys and whatever else he’d need in his mission to free Avacer again, but that was time Avacer himself might not have. How exactly could he speed up the process then? How exactly could he buy time?
There were no magical tricks he could pull to help him with this predicament; no cunning plans to cheat his way through the passage of time itself. The only thing he could do was be as efficient with his time as possible, and that meant he was going to have to be focused, ruthless even, when he needed to be. When it came to this project he couldn’t afford to be a nice person: he’d have to do whatever it took to make progress.
Even stain his hands with more blood if he had to.
It was around then that Tio became aware that his hands had stopped shaking. His future didn’t feel so uncertain to him now; in fact he felt strangely committed to this course of action. This was it, his road to greatness! And he’d already come too far to turn back now!
Tio opened his eyes, and reached into his jacket pocket to retrieve a thin journal. It was full of blank pages except for one, the front page, which contained a copy of the prophecy the ring of three seers had written for him. He had decided to use this book to record all of the prophecies the ring told him; a secret journal of the shadows the future held. All he had to do was write a name and the ring would provide him a glimpse of what lay in store for them. And right now there were two names that he suspected might pop up to oppose him in the future.
Arlo and Vega Creed.
Arlo would not forgive him for stabbing Cassion, and had the best chance out of everyone of figuring out what he was up to. And wherever he went he was sure his beloved Vega would be by his side. So if he gained some insight into their futures, he might find a way to fool them should the time ever come where they opposed each other. Putting his quill to the next blank page, Tio scribbled down their names. The sapphire set in the middle of the ring glowed an frosty blue, and an icy numbness overcame Tio's hand as the ring possessed it. Arlo
Crawling, creeping, slithering, snaking,
From out the dark abyss,
A puppet’s mask conceals the teeth,
And birdsong hides the hiss.
With honeyed words and silent smiles,
It leads thee to thy end.
It creeps up close behind thy ear,
And whispers “Evening, friend.” Vega
The seven-legged spider guides thy way,
To an endless, starless night.
A candle flees, flickers and fails,
But holds on to its light.
Thy path diverges, thy way back crumbles,
The ocean bleeds, the mountain shakes,
The burning doorway tears itself open,
The traveller cries, the dragon wakes.
Tio frowned at the two prophecies written out before him. What on earth were they supposed it mean? Both hinted at a danger in their futures, but did it refer to the same danger or two completely separate ones? There didn't seem to be anything relating him either, but maybe that was for the best? Maybe it meant that the two of them wouldn't stand in his way after all? Tio closed the book and pushed himself back up onto his feet. It was time to get to work, and he had a long way to go to reach his dream.[/color]
