The first time the soul was released from its ectoplasmic prison, upon noticing her familiar face once more, the creature immediately shrieked and began to hurl everything, every bit of its latent power at her and the constraints of the ectoplasmic prison she had created for it. As long as it could not materialise, it could not burn through the restraints she had made for it and kill her, and that seemed to be its first and only desire. Like before, it exerted itself until its abilities began to tear even its own form apart, and it vanished back into the stone until she called it forth again. Those moments were crucial however. Her Insight saw that the creature was not acting on the primal instinct others might have thought, but with simple cold, calculating strategy. It wanted to either damage her, or itself, beyond repair using its abilities, yet the cage she had formed and the abilities used to draw it from the stone would not allow either, so it could only delay for as long as possible, like a criminal under interrogation. Despite the horribly twisted appearance of the charred soul, its mental faculties were quite intact - and they were honed far more than that of even a simple zealot or fanatic, or a slave held against their own will. Her Meticulous Analysis and Like A Book reading of his psyche at just a glance was enough to tell the extremely high levels of Discipline that it must have taken for the creature to stare death in the eye and refuse to flinch, even sacrificing itself for the cause.
She had found no ordinary soldier. Whatever he had once been, had been an elite squad commander of some kind, or a seasoned veteran of a higher cream than the rest of the crop, chosen for a duty - perhaps he might have even volunteered into it, since such a thing would not be unheard of - that he'd likely known would lead to this. He'd gone through with it regardless. And now, face-to-face with his enemy, his thoughts revolved around nothing more than thwarting her advances, guarding the information he knew, escaping his prison, and likely killing as many people as possible, even if it would cost him his life, his sanity, or both to do so.
Despite knowing all of this, the truth of the matter was - she had all the tools at her disposal to make him talk, and the simple and most effective strategy was simply to let him exhaust himself. Everyone cracked eventually - the only difference between the weak-kneed and the strong-willed was how long it took for them to tire. It could take trials, or weeks, or more, who knew, but for Faith the only limit was how much time she was willing to invest in uncovering the truth. An endurance test between two of the most stubborn people in the world.
An untold amount of time passed before she was able to summon the soul without it bursting into flame and evaporating. Even longer before it began to answer any of her questions, with truths or otherwise - though since she could read these falsehoods as they came and understand the ticks in its behaviour, one way or another, she would get the answers that she desired. One by one, every single one. If its bull-headed methods had not already ticked her off, communicating with it showed that it held quite poor deception skills - a thing rarely needed for soldiers of his calibre.
He was a soldier, that much was obvious and yet he clarified it nonetheless. He refused to say for whom, but scoffed at notions of mercenaries... and sneered at the concept of fighting for any nation that she listed, including Sirothelle, despite being an Aukari when he had been alive. He also reluctantly admitted to being religious, devoted to a higher cause... this much he said truthfully, and with some sincere passion in his voice, and yet once again prodding him to state which Immortal held his allegiance, even listing them one by one, elicited no reaction, once again including Faldrun, and especially vehement towards Ilaren. Her use of Know The Master upon his very soul created an image of a man she had not seen before, a studious man with round glasses perched on a high nose, well-defined cheekbones and a smoothly-rounded jaw. Handsome, in a bookish way, with well-cropped red hair. Unassuming. Simple. Mortal.
The creature he had been nestled inside, he called it evolution. How he became a gemstone trapped within it, he smiled and uttered two words in such a simple, clear voice that one could honestly believe he was talking as if speaking of a beautiful moment, like the birth of a child or the consummation of a marriage; "Divine Transcendence."
Looking into his memories found fragments. Though his psyche was intact, like his body, his mind had suffered during the transformation. Clear snippets remained however, enough to piece together the facts, the obvious. Conversations with the man that she had seen from Know The Master, in a small and neat study where he discussed strategy and tactics over a map of the Stormwastes, markers and sketches mapping out the current forces at their disposal and the supply lines for Storm's Edge, the villages of the Stormlands, and Rharne proper. Dots regularly spaced down the entire length of the Stormwastes marked positions they could ambush from; faded lines and highlighted areas marked the existing tunnels ready to be expanded upon. They needed more Magnim to control the Inferno Worms, however. Without Magnim to assign orders, the creatures were little more than unfettered horses. Simple enough, but still unable to carry the workloads required until they were drawn back into place. Such an honour could not be bestowed to the lesser slaves, they would quickly prove unruly and reluctant. Previous attempts had resulted in rejection, or suicide, or the same descension into ferality that had befallen all the previous experiments before. He had offered himself, happily.
The ritual had been performed on a stone table, involving a man with a face veil and practiced, surgical hands. Where the gems had originated from, what process had gone into making them, he did not know. The Purveyor handled such things, and did not care for sharing his methods "in case one of His spawn should search your memories." He had to hold his breath around the man to avoid gagging at the stench of rotting meat, and when he rolled back the billowing sleeves of his ceremonial outfit, he exposed glowing green lines that tangled both forearms extensively, before both bare hands rested upon his body, and the sweet burning pain of having his soul flayed from his body contrasted clearly with the cold touch of the heavy gem resting on his chest.
Then a second pair of hands touched the stone and his body in turn, belonging to his commander. The memory finally managed to put a name to the face - Rhaum. When they'd first met, he'd been Rhaum Fa'aldr. He'd since discarded the family name after falling out with his family and chosen the name Rhaum Naudel Iures. Rhaum Sunless. As the Purveyor excised his soul, Rhaum's hands ignited with flame, beginning the twisted injection of his Engulfment abilities, those passed down from his father that granted him such renown for his brutality, setting fire so deep that it could even reach the souls of those he excised... and at the same time, the glow deep within his belly signalled that the Progenitor had awoken, changing those flames from hot red to tingling green.
The Progenitor. An artefact of Syroa's, of almost limitless transformative potential, in the hands of one who knew how to use it. An artefact she still searched for, that Rhaum had hidden by swallowing. When his powers merged with it, they had allowed him to create the first Flameborn... with time, practice and dedication, even entirely new beings. He'd strayed so close to higher powers, he'd earned even the ire of his own father, under the belief that he sought to replace him.
When Faith finally saw all there was to see, the charred soul smiled quietly, finally realising from the gaps in his mind what she had done. "Now you see." Unfortunate that it would be the last things she saw.
Perhaps if she'd only known earlier, if only she'd have anticipated that her enemies knew her, knew her abilities, knew her involvement. If only she'd paid more attention as Padraig rattled off details about the events he'd seen, the fact that the Purveyor had shrouded his face from view, even within a memory. If only, if only, if only. As soon as the stolen memories finished playing through her head, reeling off into the ether, Faith felt a sudden stab deep within her frontal lobe, pulsing hard enough that she might have sworn her eyeballs would pop from their sockets. The sickening feeling spread as she felt it move - she felt it
crawl - through her skull, sending sharp and stabbing pains all over her head as if her mind was being stabbed by several insect-like legs. At least, it felt like that at first, before each stabbing point began to radiate outwards. Spreading, sinking.
Eating. Like thought locusts.
Infected memories. She'd stolen infected memories.
Thoughts on how, or why, or who, or what soon vanished. Thoughts on anything at all became difficult, then impossible. The soul was screaming again, but it wasn't angry anymore - it was scared, terrified, as the same thing ate away at it. Thought locusts worming away through memories, awoken by something she'd done, lying in wait... a trap, set and prepared knowing that someone, somewhere, would seek the ultimate taboo of reaching into their psyche and simply taking what they wished. Like poison injected directly into the heart, it spread everywhere faster than she could erect mental barriers to hold them at bay. If she'd been in an ordinary room with nothing but friends and family, even they might not have noticed what was happening unless they looked deep into her eyes and saw the light, the intelligence, the spark that made her who she was beginning to fade.
She should be thankful that she was in Zuudaria. No sooner had the attack begun than the wisps frantically pushed to action and called for Famula. Energy swirled around her, picking away the infestation and ridding scores of etheric insects from her mind to be crushed as they deserved. In Zuudaria, she needn't breathe if she did not wish, and Famula's will would not allow her Champion to perish so easily - else she surely would have. She was alive. Just. For now.
However, even with Famula's domain twisting seasons into seconds, Faith would need time for her thoughts to recover, for her mind to repair... from what would would have almost certainly spelled a death perhaps unlike any other she'd felt or seen before. As seen in her charge. An empty, mindless husk, a soul in form and nothing else.
| ! | Message from: Squirrel |
| Faith has suffered a mental attack by Thought Locusts, buried dormant within the mind of the soul she interrogated. Her psyche has been fractured and will take a full cycle to recover from the damage (meaning all the remainder of Vhalar and Zi'da will be spent in a coma). However, even when fully restored, the memories that she gained from the Magnim Soul have been severely fragmented, and she will struggle to piece together any details about Rhaum, the Purveyor, or any of the methods used to create Flameborn. Furthermore, the Magnim Soul's memories have been completely devoured. They cannot be recovered. The Thought Locusts that attacked her were destroyed by Famula and her Domain and cannot be studied. |
