To slay a friend.

[Sulajin]

Sulajin waited. In truth he slept. But a mind warped by prolonged exposure to Arcane forces and accustomed to being split by continental distances was not one that behaved in normal manners. His body lay, resting with his wife. Preparing itself for another day of adventure and hardship.

Sulajin was more patient than often given credit for. Niethan would come, if he did not.... well then there was no Niethan to come, was there? Only a perverse imitation of his greatest ally wandering the world. Swaying to the strings of a watery lord. They had not played fair. They had not given him the chance to choose his fate until it was nearly sealed. Warping him so that he would feel their pull long before he would have to make the decision...

If Niethan did not come to be cleansed, then Sulajin would share the body of an old companion with his wife. He owed the young hunter that much.

Though all was quiet in the bedchambers, the rest of Sulajin's fortress was a buzz of activity. Various humonculi were preparing a special chamber newly dug out to be the site of Niethan's salvation. It was carved to special proportions, the corners laying at the cardinal directions.

Loa give him strength for what he must do.

[Niethan]

Niethan hadn't -needed- to sleep since early in his training, when he got caught in a fluke of fate involving a relentless sky spirit. He enjoyed it, though, and he had few memories as poor as those of his persistant insomnia. Tonight he didn't sleep. There was still too much to do and no will to do it.

He'd cleaned himself up, washing the char away from his plates and scales, trying to push away the horrible certainly that he was giving himself some odd form of last rites. Under the soot were darkened markings, shadows on the plates in the form of runes and sigils.

They weren't active yet. The elementals had given him time to think it over. But what choice was there, really? He hadn't made any deals. He hadn't chosen this. They said the deal had been made long before he'd shown up.

Niethan felt a gut-deep ache for the ocean, a wanting to retreat to any climate so long as it was saline. He wasn't sure if that was his feeling or not. He always went to water when he was hurting. It protected him. It had always been kind to him.

But it had twisted him. Warped his flesh until he couldn't recognise it. And it made him enjoy it despite himself. He'd honestly come very close to accepting the Water's offer, when they'd branded him. It was the thought of Sulajin's fierce loyalty and Sigrun's fiercer love that allowed him to say No.

Niethan took the long march to Sulajin's lair, keeping to the early hours of the morning to stave off the withering heat. He settled outside in the shadow of the door, and tried to sing his song-- the one the ocean had taught him. It wavered and was broken by a keening wail. Grief is an emotion felt by sentients, and crying is their priviledge alone.

A side effect of living in the water meant the inability to shed tears.

[Sulajin]

Sulajin could feel his approach. Time to rise.

His body shrugged back into motion as he gently got out of bed, Khissing his wife softly on her forhead before going to the front door. It slid aside with a faint rumble to reveal Niethan. There was a long moment of silence between them, before Sulajin motioned the hunter inside.

What could be said? They had exchanged their thoughts on this day long ago. Sulajin had tried to prevent it from reaching this level. In charms, in prayers, in castings subtle and not so. In warnings and pleadings, and in force and threats. Allways his friend had swayed. Allways had he returned to the path. Now it was time.

The gate shut behind them, sealing out the world beyond.

[Niethan]

He could see better in the dark, though not so well on land. Still, it had never been hard to follow Sulajin's lead. He clicked after the mage though the halls of science and magic. His footsteps echoed, and he hated the sound of them. He hated the feet that made them. He didn't understand why it should be that he was stuck in this body. Not the one that Clys had made for him, but his own. His own flesh had betrayed him to bring him to this; an aquatic beast, some servile creature when all he'd wanted was to be able to look at himself in the mirror.

Why had it gotten this way? Every problem Niethan had encountered had taken to spiralling down and out of control. And when had it started? When Zasien had asked the elements to purge the tainted blood from his viens, or sooner? He'd asked the Deeps, but the Emblem had not answered. And so, like he did whenever he had a question without an answer, he asked Sulajin. The mage and the moonstalker were the only ones who were always there, even when they were gone.

"Sul? ...why did this happen? I know I didn't listen, but... it never occured to me as a problem, and I don't know why."

[Sulajin]

Sulajin sighs. He can't hold himself like he should. He should provide the familiarly strong face to his friend. It's just too much effort at this point. His shoulders slump, his feet shuffle, and even his robes feel like a burden.

"I don't know, Niet'an. All this time... I suppose the both of us weren't trying hard enough. I let you down. I'm sorry."

He pushed on ahead, into the nearly cleared cavern, a few remaining homunculi fizzing out of existance at their approach. The room was bare. A single table rose from the floor. At it's top was a simple, shallow basin. One end of it led outwards, across a small ridge and spiralling down to the center support of the table. From there the indentation continued, spiralling outwards across the room at abrupt ninety degree angles. The rune was simple. Bar. A negation. The final door. Fortress.

On one wall was another symbol. Three parralell lines that went downwards. As the outside pair curved up and out from each other, the middle split to follow them. They arched back up to curl into a pair of simple circles. This rune's meaning was unmistakable. Death. A tusked skull. Change. The end of a journey. A parting of ways.

Opposite it was a more complicated etching. A symple idea, Tree, was entangled by a solid writhing line. It curled around the tree, reaching ever upwards until it came to the top. This tree bore no leaves. It was a sign of life. A reuniting. The crossing of paths. THe strength of allies.

It was time to begin.

[Niethan]

Already here? Had his last mile passed so quickly?

"S-sul..."

He saw the runes, and after a moment knew them. Change or die.

"Sul, I don't want this. Please. I can't take the loss of me any more, but I canna shake the feeling that we're missing something."

He couldn't let himself die, but change meant something better, or something far worse.

[Sulajin]

Sulajin placed one hand on the table, and the other on Niethan's shoulder.

"We've put this off far too long. I'm afraid if we don't do it now, we'll never have another chance. Just relax. I'll do everything I can to not hurt you..."

[Niethan]

Every one of his freinds had asked him what he could have possibly seen in Sulajin to want to be around him. He was brash, arrogant, violent and narrow-focused, they said. In some respects, they were right. But they never saw the Sulajin that was his friend. The Sul who cuddled up to the Guma, who laughed with him in the Tavern and argued with him over silly, trivial things. The Sul who was afraid of thunderstorms, because he'd thought as a child that the sky was breaking.

There wasn't any bravado in Sulajin's face now, no hint of force in the hand on his shoulder. Not even the searing heat he'd come to expect from the obsidian hand; just a warm, slightly roughened palm. Niethan stared at it for a moment, trying to memorise the slight lines in the skin around his wrist, then he nodded and slipped up onto the altar. His tail crept up into his hands and he wrung it nervously, looking from first one sigil to the other. Niether looked more appealing.

"...I trust you, Sul. Please don't change what makes me myself."

[Sulajin]

Sulajin sighs to himself, and picks up a knife. He stares at it a long moment, noticing the way Niethan tenses at it. The knife goes back down.

"Don't worry, Niet'an. I'll do everything I can to keep you who you are. That's why we're here." He pulled out a small silken pouch. Dream dust. Perhaps his friend would have pleasent dreams. Sulajin had laced the powder in advance. It should bring gentle restings. "Breathe this, before you know it this will all be over."

[Niethan]

Sleep was a pleasant escape, and Niethan surprised himself by shaking his head quickly.

"I don' want to run. I'd rather be here for this."

[Sulajin]

He put the bag down on the table.

"Well it's here if you change your mind. Do these runes cover your entire body? You're going to have to strip if they do. If not just let me get at where they are."

[Niethan]

Bloodmind tried to push a flashback of the previous day's events to the forefront of his mind, but fortunately enough tension can overwhelm even pure, sentient hedonism.

"They do. Mostly on my back, I think, but I saw a few on my stomach and such. They marked the plates first."

Niethan sat up and removed his clothes, managing to maintain a (mostly) steady hand. They were folded neatly out of habit, but lacking any chair to place them on, he sighed and let them fall gently to the floor. As soon as the distraction of domesticated habits were fulfilled, Niethan figeted in embarassment. If nothing else, maybe sheer pride would keep him from dying naked on a table.

"D-do you see any, on my front? My eyes don't really work in the air."

[Vilmah]

It was the same as last time, and yet it wasn't.

Vilmah gave Niethan a gift, a small trinket that would allow him to ask for her help whenever he needed it. Sometimes it responded to his thoughts, if he was in trouble. Sometimes she would use it to communicate with him, from far away. She had used it to sense his fear when Sulajin tried to "help" him with his runes, and it began a spiraling conflict between the two. Sometimes friends, sometimes enemies, always over the same thing. Niethan.

She knew that Sulajin would try to help him. She knew he'd use the same means he tried last time, before she stopped him. Vilmah wondered if she should stop him again, but knew it was futile. Why try? He trusted the mage. This was his decision, and she wouldn't stand in the way of destiny if it was so obviously spelled out. Niethan said he didn't take back what he said to her, and neither did she. However, she tried to bury the pain of the love she still felt, and hoped that someday it would dissapear. She hoped beyond hope that his face would be erased from her memory, his happy peaceful sleeping face that brought calm and joy to cold nights.

And somewhere in Sanctuary's guildhall, Vilmah wondered what she would do with all of the shark teeth she'd gathered. They, like her love for Niethan, had been a waste.

"You said I would have his remians," she muttered quietly. "Sulajin, I trust you to keep your word. ..but I do hope he survives."

[Sulajin]

Sulajin looked over his friends body. Niethan was in luck.

"Not so many. The old Rune seems to be keeping them at bay, but they wrap all around your arms and legs. I think I can use lambent energies in the main rune to strengthen this. To brace you and keep you from falling back... So that means less cutting.

Now. Lay down, and try to relax."

[Niethan]

Niethan nodded, then tried to do as his friend directed. He refused to look at the rune of death, and instead found himself watching the wall with the sign of change inscribed upon it. There was a rising tide of nervousness, and he fought to quell it. He wasn't sure it belonged to him. He focused on keeping it at bay while Sulajin worked.

After a while he shut his eyes instead, unable to look at the wall any longer. The lines on it reminded him of rivers.

[Sulajin]

Sulajin's work was quiet, and efficient. His skill with a knife were fine tuned to delicate carvings, not the slashings of a rogue. And the basin began to fill with blood, it trickled in a rivulet down the side of the table, along the path carved into the stone and onto the floor. It did not run along the path lying therein. It crawled, moving with the solid determination of an elder along a well trodden path. And as he worked, Sulajin spoke of the elements.

"Long ago, there was nothing. It was not darkness, it was not light. It was nothing. The Loa looked at this and knew it would not be appropriate. They had many ideas, and needed a place to put them in.

First came Fire, to light the way. It brought light, but also shadow. This angered the Loa. They had no desire for shadow yet. So mighty Shan took upon himself as much fire as he could find. He became the Sun, and set about to hunt the darkness. Dambala saw this, and was dismayed. He saw that the darkness would be a great gift in time. A place to strike from and retreat to. He empowered the darkness, that it would not fall to the light of Shan's Fire. And thus was day and night.

After that, the Loa created Earth. They could see, now they needed to work. So they lay down stone and the world, that they could have a workbench to operate on. They made it strong, stronger than Fire. It brought nothing with it. It viewed the war of night and day, and knew that such a struggle would never touch it. The earth grew vain. And to this day it quakes, trying to shake the other elements off of it. As Bethek saw it's tremors, he tought it patience. Now the earth lays quiet, waiting for signs unknown.

There was Fire and Earth. Night and day, and a place to build. But what to build? First they would need something to soften the clay. And so was made water. Water was calm and placid, softening. Fire saw this, and knew that if Water's calm nature were to affect it, then Night would surely prevail over day. So Shan struck out with his heat, and began to boil Water away. But when Water was touched by Fire, it stole the secrets of rage from it. Now water brings reflection and peace, but also typhoons and death.

All was still. The Loa would not put their wonderous creations on a still rock. So they created Wind, that it may move them and lift them on high. Air brought with it a joy of exploration, it sang to the other elements of the places they could not see. And they were angry. Hurt, Wind began to dream up tails. Through these stories was born Legba, who had learned from all of winds travels, and was wise.

And so the stage was set for the Loa to begin their works."

[Niethan]

Niethan focused as best he could to listen, enjoying the story while his life slipped out of him. Really, the cuts didn't hurt too much. Scales were thicker than skin.

Niethan flicked his ears slightly, homing in on the quiet rumble being shaped into words. Sulajin had always been good at stories, and it had been too long since he'd told one. Too long, too, since he'd told one in trollish. The cadence and timbre of the native tongue turned what would have been a rough, gesticulated tale into a work of art.

His tail flicked up drowsily, and wound itself around Niethan's feet, trying to get him to curl up on the table. He shook his head to deny the want of rest, and tried to ask Sulajin what the Loa created. He was getting too tired to shape the words clearly past the Aman'i accent he carried.

His tail flicked breifly into his view, the thick dark lines on the plates blurred by the air. He wondered idly how Sulajin was going to remove the markings over them-- you couldn't cut bones as easily as scales, and these marks covered far more of him-- but he let the worry slip into the basin filling near his feet. When there was no other hope to be found Sulajin had always been there for him, so he settled back with the story and the knife and the brush of warm, dry hands doing their best to reshape him.

[Sulajin]

The air was thrumming with unstated power. A quiet melody pulsing to the rythms of the stories.

"First there was the forests and the beasts, a cycle of life spanning as far as the eye can see, and farther still. But there was no order to it. The beasts and trees coated everything.

As the clay grew short they began to need materials softened by impurities. The clay was weak. The newest creature could not stay supported, the body sagging down until the hind legs hung far below the for. It had slipped out of the rear harness and now dangled by it's head. It was lumpy, and awkward, but lithe and with a fluid grace to it.

Before the Loa could mend it, however, the supports that held it's head snapped and the creature fell to the world below. With the remainder of the supports jutting out from their faces they immediately took to the shadows. Skulking and stalking the jungled coasts. They were clever, and had soon learned to wield a weapon in defense and search of food. The Loa were pleased.

But the young Trolls were not pleased with their places. They were ill finished, and the supports caused them great pain. They pleaded to the Loa for forgiveness, though they knew not their crime. Great Lukou looked upon the young Trolls and smiled. She knew their joys. She saw the great dances and celebrations they held for their life, and the world around them. She saw their high spirits, and they brought her joy. Still, she saw the pain the remains of the ill made support had brought them, and was saddened.

So she blessed them. No more would those supports be a crutch to the Troll's might. It smoothed, the tips growing hard, and their necks strong. Where once a sign of shame had lain on the Troll now lay a gleaming set of tusks, that they may gut their enemies with. But her touch had other effects as well, their flesh not as strong or as shielded as other creatures grew a pelt to ward off the weather and to help claw and sword slide off without taking a purchase. When sword or fang did pierce Troll hide, they would know they had the blessings of Lukou, and would not fear the wounds of flesh, for they would heal faster than any others, and would not scar.

The Troll knew these blessings and were indeed mighty. Swift and cunning they cut down those who stood in their way and rose to dominate the new earth.

So were born the great Troll."

[Sulajin]

((Updated))

[Niethan]

Forgetting his earlier decision not to move, Niethan curled slightly onto his side, edging towards the constant warmth the mage gave off. He felt like it was getting very cold, but the best he could do to stave it was to flex his bloodless toes.

He vaugely remembered Sulajin speaking of the harness and the hangers... that the humans had removed thier broken pieces, and were cursed for denying the work of the gods. Niethan's own tusks were sea glass, and his pelt had been taken by scales and plates. He wasn't even sure if moss would grow on him anymore... he missed it, even for all the trouble that it tended to bring to him. It had at least kept him warm. He was tired of being cold all the time.

Niethan edged a little closer to the Flame and perked his ears to listen to the story.

[Sulajin]

After a while Sulajin set down his tools, and began to apply a foul smelling paste to his friends freshly carved runes.

"Now, this will help keep them from getting infected, and aid the scarring along. You should be fine. Everything went well."

Sulajin helped his friend to his feat. Niethan looked distinctly off balance from the blood loss. Beneath them the rune on the floor had filled with a deep red blood, far more than should have possibly been held in Niethan's body. It seemed to absorb the heat from the air around it, filling the room with a strange mist.

The two runes on the walls glowed brightly, shining an extra pattern over the other. Each one subdued by the opposite. Death the beginning. Change has ended.

[Niethan]

Niethan nodded, blinking the black out of his eyes. He had to lean heavily on the larger mage, knowing that his bloodless limbs would not support him.

"M'okay? I feel cold." His plates made a hissing sound against each other when he shivered. There was a definte feeling other than cold, as well. He tried to grasp the name for it. Helpless? No. Homesick?

No, homeless. He had denied the succor of the ocean. He had no home to return to.

[Sulajin]

"Of course you'll feel cold for a while. You lost a lot of blood today, and this room is freezing. Come along, you need some meat to help replace the blood you lost."

Sulajin helped his friend out of the room, leaving a pair of bloodied footprints behind. As they walked around the corner and out of site the blood began to crystalize. The two runes shown on in the darkness. And the gateway collapsed, burying the table where his friend had been purged forever.

Still the blood fills the room with a redish haze, and those sigyls burn into each other, long after the two companions bones have withered to dust.