Dying for a Soul

[Qabian]

Qabian dropped the faded half-lit shard into the warlock's skeletal fingers. He had lost it once. He was still uncertain he was willing to lose it again. But no. It had to be done. He would be whole once more.

"Do not fight back," she said.

Qabian nodded, but mage armor flickered around him nevertheless. If he could reduce what was coming to him in the slightest --

"Are you ready?"

No! Gods, no! What if it goes wrong? What if instead of a gaping wound, you're left with nothing at all? Run! Run while you can! Lock her magic, break her fingers, take back the piece, and get the hell out.

"I am."

Her spells tore at him. Curses and corruptions, fire and shadow. He stumbled backwards. It would be so easy just to -- just to -- He stared back at her. Her expression was set with determination. Pain ripped through every fiber of him, and then its caustic, scorching touch took a hold of what had been broken so long, and pulled it from him, shredded it to nothingness.

The mage glanced over at the priest, just standing there, obediently waiting Acherontia's next command.

"I can't..." Qabian snarled through gritted teeth. Then, "No!" His shout echoed through a sudden vast silence. He was standing alone in a field of ashes under a black sky, a distinctly palpable nothingness.

[Qabian]

((Lots of Malo help/words in these.))

Ashes...

Ashes...

Something Malorii often mentioned.

Why was he thinking of her at a time like this?

Acherontia...

Where am I?

Qabian took a step forward. The ash puffed up in a cloud encircling his foot as he placed it, but rather than settling again, it rippled, miniscule waves tracing outward from where he stood in ever expanding circles. The walls of the city, the only city, formed in grayscale all around him, as though the ripples in the ash washed off the layers of darkness that had hidden them.

A sudden flash of light, and the mage found himself at the center of the Silvermoon Bazaar at high noon. He lifted his arm to shade his eyes. Too... bright... He had always loved the sun. His work in the Undercity had been an attempt to hide, but when he had no need to cower, he would stand with his face to the sun. But this was not sunlight. It was white and cold and...

The sin'dorei went about their business, laughing and happy, eyes bright and green, stopping at merchants' stands, gathering in small groups and chatting together, watching colorful displays of magic and other entertainments occuring in the square. A ragtag band of children ran up to him. A little dark-haired girl in a bright red dress grabbed his hand, and tugged on it, laughing.

As Qabian scowled down at her, the girl's flushed pink cherubic face paled and sagged. The green light went out of her eyes, paling to a pasty bluish-gray before sinking into her skull. Glowing blue welts popped up across her arms, tiny pale gray hands clinging to his wrist.

As the child's vibrant health melted from her before his eyes, the prismatic white light over the city was swallowed by an immense bank of threateningly silent midnight blue storm clouds, marching like an army and blanketing the sky. The city faded back to grayscale, and all its denizens shrunk like the girl before him, becoming warped, color draining from their skin, blue lights mushrooming over their bodies, bright eyes fading into shadowed sockets.

When the last of the sky slipped into darkness, the multitude of blue lights growing on the people around him, like a constellation of rounded stars, rushed at him all at once through the black. Qabian felt dozens of hands, every size and shape, slender and strong, pushing him down, crushing him to the ground. Then they began to scratch, tear, grab and rip him apart in every direction--

No! I have nothing!

[Qabian]

He sat up in his own bed, fully clothed, robes and tabard. The room was completely dark, no light by any window or visible around the door, but he knew his room. He also knew he always kept a light. Magic... magic... refused to function as it should.

Qabian slipped out of the bed and moved to the door. He pushed it open. A skittering noise moved across the walls away from him. The house was black and silent. It was his home, the Sunbound manor, but it was not his home. He kept fires lit in every room, and he kept shifts of workers maintaining the estate at all hours, ready to fill any request no matter the time. That was not this place. This place was dead.

He moved down the long hall towards the foyer. As he reached the sweeping staircase, there was a flash as with lightning. The skittering noise again.

He made his way down the steps.

Another flash, this time lasting several seconds. The mage saw then what made the eerie noise. Felhunters, hundreds of them, perhaps thousands, like an infestation, crawling across the walls. They swarmed over the high vaulted ceiling like an insect colony. For a moment, Qabian thought the sensation of sheer panic, the deepest fear, would obliterate him, then just as suddenly, it faded to a dull apathy.

A third flash. Through the windows in the drawing room that looked out on the gardens, a massive tree was backlit ink black against the sudden light. There was no tree like that in his gardens. Like a moth to flame, he moved without hesitation to the window. The wall of glass shattered outward as he drew close, and he stepped through the empty frame out into the garden.

[Qabian]

As he drew close to the tree, the flashes became more constant, lighting the scene with a sourceless gray moonlight. He heard her voice.

"Perhaps this isn't real. Perhaps all dreamers are their own angels and devils. Their own victims and saviors. This is your dream, not mine."

Malorii leaned against the charred barbed wire trunk of the blossoming apple tree that had taken root in the garden section of Qabian's home. Felhunters yawned and lazily watched the mage and their mistress converse. Two large felhunters nuzzled the calves of her legs. One of them stopped to munch on fallen apple blossoms.

"I am not dreaming. At least, I am not asleep," he said, frowning. "She killed me."

"So you're dead then, and you come for a visit?" She yawned, and black saliva trickled down her chin.

"Perhaps. Following your Master got you killed then? The dream was a simple haunting?"

"Hmm, I don't think I'm dead. But you're right. You are."

"They took my soul. I'm better off without it, don't you think?"

"Are you?"

"If I do not have it, I do not have to feel when it tears. Without a soul, I can free myself from any vestiges of morality. I already act for myself and no one else. If I have at last rid myself of this single element that chains me to others, I can truly reach my potential."

She scratched behind the tentacles of a felhunter who growled lowly at Qabian. "They don't like you much, do they? I like them. I should have been a warlock."

Qabian expression continued to be one of disapproval. "Warlocks have no minds of their own. They spend so much time feeding on the power of others that they forget themselves. You could never have been a warlock. You had too much mind."

Malorii reached out to him, her hands coming within a few inches of touch, but the chains prevented further movement. "I think I want to make a deal that will be beneficial to us both."

"I don't know that you have anything I want."

"Oh, I think we can come up with--" She seizured and the felhunters screamed. Darkness spilled from her mouth, cascading down from sealed eyelids. She leaned back, shaking unstably before spitting the dark liquid at Qabian. "There.. now we've both been touched.."

"What is this?" he asked, touching the liquid and staring at it on his fingers.

A grin in black soot, the felhunters growled. Snarling wildly, they left their mistress' side to circle Qabian.

"Go home, Qabian.. Someone's at the door."

"No, wait! I haven't--" he shouted, but a golden light fell around him, erasing Malorii, her tree, her chains, and her pets from his sight.

No! I don't want it!

[Qabian]

Qabian blinked open his eyes to see Alphaeus and Acherontia standing over him. The discomfort that he had braved this encounter to remove was gone. And Acherontia would know that the soul that returned to him was indeed his own. All had gone according to plan. The mage stood. There was no soot or ash or darkness to be found, other than the familiar black of his tabard. He thanked his fellow Grim for their aid. Fixing what had been broken had been a long time coming, and he appreciated the sacrifices that had been made for him, especially on the part of the Inquisitor.

But for all that the procedure seemed to have been a success, something was different. What held him at his essence seemed... loose somehow, shaken, detached. It was his, and it was whole, and it was within again, where it should be, but it was not quite right. While outwardly he expressed only calm appreciation, inwardly, he felt a wicked grin. This could become interesting.

[Alphaeus]

The mage fell before him, but all he could do was hold his breath in anticipation, his eyes darting quickly to the shard that had formed upon his death. Give it a moment, his instincts cautioned, and though Acherontia was calling his name, once, twice, he adapted a sedate pace as he moved closer to Qabian's body.

Don't you botch this, he warned himself firmly, silently. His attentions now turned fully inward, upon himself and his knowledge of the Holy. It took a moment to seek it out, grasp and draw the power almost coaxingly. The Shadow had dulled his senses to it over time. His mastery of the Holy was a sluggish thing; he needed to take it slow to get it right. A silent prayer beseeched gods and spirits alike: Please, let this work.

Bright light glowed around his hands; the priest abruptly raised them above his head, hands gesturing complexly, as if he were weaving the light with his fingertips. The soul he sought was not lost in the Nether. He knew exactly where it was. Alphaeus held his breath again in silence as he reached out to it. A faint smile touched his lips as he sensed it within the soulshard. If he could sense it... could he take it?

Come back, Qabian, he urged the soul, directing the light to wrap around it, infuse it if he could, so he could begin to gently draw it out of the shard. He feared what forcing the issue could do to an already once-fractured soul. But draw it out, he did, cradling the essence within the light. The priest scrupulously checked to be sure no fragments had been left behind. Only when he was sure he'd extracted all of the mage's essence did he move on, placing the soul within the body. A pillar of light engulfed the fallen mage, Al's eyes remaining tightly shut, arms stretched above his head as he waited for the moment he felt the soul return to its vessel. Only then did he lower his arms and move closer to Qabian. After the mage awoke and gave confirmation that the task had not failed, the priest finally relaxed. Even Al couldn't stop the prideful smirk from curling his lip for a moment.

[Qabian]

Even Al couldn't stop the prideful smirk from curling his lip for a moment.

((Yes, join us on the dark side!))

[Alphaeus]

((Yes, join us on the dark side!))

((Thought you'd like that line. =P))

[Tillna]

He had no tact, nothing even similar to the grace she had used to withdraw his soul from that pathetic shell. She could feel the reverb from out here. Feel the split, feel the joining of the shards. She wondered, quietly, if he still felt that tear, if he still felt that hatred for her.

Her taint, her darkness imbued in that shard... She twitched, her arm falling off at her shoulder, splashing to the ground. The blood and flesh puddled until a small six legged mutnt appeared. She snapped, as her arm regrew, watching it travel off to find her favorite mage, to keep an eye on him