• Solo • Out of The Shallows, Into The Deep

With the escalation of hostilities between Etzos and Rhakros, a series of small walled towns is being established as a network of early warnings and defenses against Rhakros' reprisals. Only the very bravest and most formidable of characters should risk themselves on the Witches' Wilds frontier.

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Mal
Posts: 400
Joined: Mon Sep 12, 2016 11:15 pm
Race: Naerikk
Profession: Thief
Renown: -92
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Out of The Shallows, Into The Deep

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Ymiden 44th

Wrought with ire for himself, a torn wretch slunk through the gleaming sunlight as if in a daze, staring blankly out into the world as thoughts swirled in his head. Everything had come full circle, to him, and that was a defeat unlike any he had ever known.

To live by the principles of his own freedom, and suddenly find himself following in the footsteps of the very man who made him into this.. monster, was to know the ultimate pain of his existence. Even now, thoughts swirled in his mind, the many voices inside, the separate minds clawing for attention. Ever since the Spark gave these totems a certain aspect of sentience, a constant nightmare had begun. Did Vuhl’mathi experience this? Was that why he was such a terrible man? Was it really Ellasin to blame, or was it that parasite clinging to his soul and warping it for some alien goal?

These questions drove him far from Etzos, to the West, towards these vast, empty plains filled with life. Chased, hunted, he could not do better than flee the city. His fortunes had been reversed, and it did not appear that spite he harbored in his heart would ever see its silver blades quenched with crimson.
What I have become, is not what I want to be, he told himself. Over and over, he languished over that agonizing dread.

Because he had been hunted, he sought safety in the carefully constructed form comprised of several powerful beasts by which he had collected over his existence as a Becomer. Metallic-seeming feathers coating his chimeric, cream-tan-white form, in the coloration of a Hyx. A feline face possessed of steel teeth, shrouded in the Lotharro’s remnant bone-bleached hair spiking up from his skull, the great musculature and height of the man the base for his powerfully built frame.

A burly, prehensile tail protruding from just above his rear was covered in more of those feathers, an excellent rudder for flight, something possible from the massive wings of an ardor furled behind his back. Furthermore, the fine metallic hide of a Bronze Boar lay hidden beneath his feathers like a prickly down, rendering him comfortably warm in combination. Were it not for the potent lung adaptations of the Obsidian Panther, a beast accustomed to a hot climate with little air, as well as the Ardor’s propensity for perpetual flight and the natural hardiness of the Lotharro, he would surely have succumbed to the heat of the looming Summer by now with how hot his body ran.

The first four traits were Borrowed meticulously dozens of trials ago. Four more Adaptations were added as he saw necessary, recuperating before trying his luck. He only suffered a slight, frustrating migraine and some complaint from a few of the creatures he contended with from within his mind. It was as if they sensed his will to distance himself from that part of what he was, and they were fighting back.

He wanted no more.

No society.

Nobody to hurt.

Nobody to hunt him.

And most importantly, a life to live on his own terms.

That was why he came here, to the edge of the fields West of Etzos. At first he flew, but the ease of it allowed his mind to wander, and so he landed to hike across the rolling hills of tall grass. The grass and the pounding sun above reminded him of the Sev’ryn Taarserilla from his youth, a bumbling oaf that was strangely enduring. Also, he found himself remembering Symbri, that human girl. Whatever became of her?

And of course, Nightshade Eld. I’ll miss her, he gazed down at the earth as his thick-furred feet parted the grass.
It was necessary to run again, all I ever do is put her in danger. She can handle herself without my problems following in her wake... and what of that young boy in Etzos? The one I made into a murderer?

It only reminded him of Vuhl’mathi, the man responsible for the darkness in his heart, or once again was it the Spark to blame? Could Vuhl really be blamed? No... all Wizards. Every last one, corrupted by their Spark into something truly evil and vile.
And I’m no exception, am I?

He began to yearn for an out, these past few Trials. Thoughts like these cropped up frequently, after he learned his Hyx began tearing through the citizens of Etzos. It felt as if he had no control over whether or not he could avoid being a monster. Was he doomed to embody that terror? Would he ever be forgiven for something so horrible?

It was hard to even think of it -- cutting out the Spark -- but was it possible? Could he free himself from these shackles?
Can I make you weaker?

Cresting a grassy knoll, he stood at the top to gaze over endless plains, the morning sun burning at his sensitive eyes. He breathed a sigh of malcontent, in total disbelief of what had become of his life. Then he clutched the strap to that little bag hanging over his hip, pulling it up to his core so he could put his large, clawed hand inside. Eventually he caught the feeling of one of his totems, an emotional spike running through his spine to make him shiver and feel a sense of dread at the slowly coalescing idea.

It began with an intent to free himself, and it escalated into a need. Grimacing, he ripped the totem of the Hyx from the bag and dropped it in front of him. Then he took another, and another. Trills later, he stood with a small pile of living history at his feet, the mementos of what he is and once was a mess of regret he could no longer tolerate.

And all the same, he felt a roar within his mind as he crouched down and picked one up with a shaky hand. It was the Obsidian Panther. Slowly, his claws closed around the feeble possession with a shaky grip, trying to crush it. But he couldn’t. It was as if he was suffocating the life out of a dear friend, and every time he tried to slice open that vein comprised of bone and hair, the muscles in his wrist would only go so far.

He sat there clenching and unclenching, brooding over that feeling of imminent destruction. He event felt sick to his stomach.
Why can’ I let you go?
I just wan’ this ‘ta die already.
Please... please let me loose... He shut his eyes, and he trembled as he tried squeezing again.

It still fought back, feeling him with pangs of guilt that had his face growing dreary with pain, a tangy burn of despair-turned-to-grief taking over.
”Fft,” he sniffled, cold chills taking over as he forced him past that barrier.

It felt cruel and amoral.
”Mew”, said the Obsidian Panther totem, to him, a chirp of distress. It was clear that it did not want to die, just as Mal did not.

He stopped, and broke down to fall into the grass, bowling over and bawling his flurry of wetworks into the comforting grass as a gentle breeze blew over him. Underneath his chest, with his wings spreading out low over the grass, he cried out and choked the life out of his totem. Those claws carved into the bone, and the echoing death cry of a dear friend reverberated through his mind. The sudden, terrifying sound made him stop, and his hand stretched open to shake, the totem rolling off of it, still intact. As quick as that part of his mind relaxed and faded, it left an emptiness that had the Becomer reeling.

And so he lay there bleeding from the heart, mentally stabbing himself over and over with the feeling of that Totem he'd scorned haunting his mind.

”No more!” he howled.
”No more will I be a slave to the Spark. I choose my OWN path!” he beat the dirt with his hands, digging them in and furrowing through the loamy earth, ripping apart the roots.

And then he brought his legs beneath him, tilting to his side and cradling himself. Eyes shut tight as the wind cradled him, he could not bear this grim fate. The Spark was still there, he could feel it weighing upon him, judging him. It made his mutant skin beneath ripple in agitation, clearly fighting back against the fact that the Becomer had forsaken what he had Become.

“I will cut you out of me, if it’s the last thing I do!” he told his Spark, as if it knew what he was saying. All it uttered back was oblivion.

But he knew he was cursed.
I don't know why I can't... I wish I could.
I don't understand it.
I wanna be free of all this. But it's a part'a me now, an' I gotta accept that?

He recalled how the Hyx seemed to embody his fury in those days where it rampaged through Etzos whilst he remained miserably unaware, thinking his Mentor had done the deed, when in reality it was that part of himself that murdered so many lives.
I've got to... control it.

Clenching the earth, he rose, sniffling and sitting back. One by one, he shuffled his totems back into his bag with a malaise on his mind. They seemed to welcome the safety, and a part of his mind relented, and his desire for freedom seemed to call to mind those majestic, massive wings of the Ardor, its great and powerful beak staring down at him. He embraced that connection wholly, though he stared at the earth in silent contempt for himself.

And so he found himself longing for the touch of something in this time of his abuse, slowly approaching a state of numbing catharsis as he cleared his mind and slipped towards that inviting personality. That was all he needed, that friendly, massive bird standing over him in the back of his mind. He could feel its concern, and while at first he worried it was the Spark playing tricks on him, he realized that the Spark was as much a part of him as anything, and rejecting that part of himself would mean an imbalance in his control.
Keep them all... my friends, he breathed, relaxing and shutting his eyes again.
But I... I can't go on like this.
Don't you understand?

The deep-seated guilt in his mind could not be overcome.
I'm nothin' but a pox on this earth.

The Ardor seemed to grow agitated, spreading out its wings. But Mal ignored that, staring out at the vast landscape before him.
I can't go there.
I can't go anywhere, it'll just mean more death...

He hissed and pounded the back of his head, finding no other solution.
Maybe tha' only way is to end it...

He threw his head up, and he felt his very skin ripple in agitation at the thought. Wrestling the power of his spark within his mind, he drew upon the form of the human, that corrupted form that was closest to his soul. Before long his body shifted and warped, becoming the information on that totem, slowly, the pain warning him of what was to come.

Pain didn't scare him. He'd lost that fear long ago. What he did desire, was oblivion. Scowling, he fought back the fresh flurry of tears starting to crawl from the corners of his eyes, puffing air from his lips as he thought about all of the people he'd caused the demise of. All those citizens of Etzos, that Lotharro, the many people he cut down in Rhakros for war, and more...
It's all 'cause of the Spark, an' I can't go on like this.
I know what I gotta do.

Focusing, he drew upon the totem of the Ardor to create long, burly grey talons where his nails would be. The result was a pair of long, grey claws by which he held them up to his own neck.
This is the only way.
Be strong... do it...
Protect them. Nightshade, Symbri, I'm sorry... I can't stop the horror that follows me. This is my escape.

And so his face contorted, and he pressed the long, dangerous blades to his neck, craning his neck back to expose his vatals. Crying out his pain, he cut into his flesh with one firm push, eyes rolling up with the embrace of pain filling up his head. He took a breath.

Then his claw went all the way through his arteries, severing them.

It was his last breath, as he stilled on his knees. That bib of crimson draped over his form, and the Becomer fought the urge to fight as the cold, dark overcame his mind.

Mal Fjorunn was no more.
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Out of The Shallows, Into The Deep

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Mal - DECEASED


Comments: Considering Mal is dead, I will not be reviewing this thread. If you have any questions, comments or concerns, please let me know.
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