Prepare for the #LodanRespawn2024 Existing characters may choose to be displace from/have memories of different timelines, thereby allowing returning members the option to retcon their whole character. These changes are the result of the "Unnatural Fog" plot device that is running between now and the Respawn. The plot is simple: no matter where your character is, that place is shrouded in a thick fog that suspends time, but not thoughts or memories, so even if they're repeating the same day over and over again, they continue to remember, so each time feels like a new day. For those retconning OCs; this is where new versions of themselves have the opportunity to replace the old versions. Official lore and tree updates will be announced asap
Post by Lasair Landevier Lupen on May 11, 2016 5:33:33 GMT
He nodded to her, rocking back for a moment before standing up and offer a hand to help her stand as well. “Yeah. As much as I would love to sit out here all day, I know I can’t. At least. Not today. Another, perhaps…” he let his voice drift off as he glanced upwards at the sky. There was so much potential in a future day, but today, the path had already been lain. He tried to run from it once, but there would be no use in doing it a second time. That took much too much effort.
If it was going to be easy, Sayvahn would have made the request an hour ago, but knowing it was not, he hadn’t bother. Nor was the feline going to try now. “Suit yourself then.” The older man stated, heading out from the café, and into the alley, not waiting for the other to catch up, but not walking swiftly either. No, instead, the feline walked at a descent pace, into an alley, and further along, snaking his way to a house that lay, nestled along the cracks of the central district. After all, this had been his home, one where the crevices befriended, him, and Mala, during evenings spent tempting the night. But the night was still distant, still too far for comfort. If only it would come sooner. Even if Damien lurked in the shadows, the night was cold, was pleasant, was kind. The day, it always brought the opposite. With the rising of the sun, came the sacrifice of blood.
“Offer yourself. Offer yourself to me” Damien called, an itch, a sting, crossing Sayvahn’s inner thigh.
The house was still the same, untouched, presumed to be occupied, but the reality promised the opposite. The key was placed behind a brick, really, more then welcome for anyone to uncover. But no one had bothered to pay attention, to search amongst the bruises and the dents of the house for the piece. Unlocking the door, Sayvahn stepped inside, blood, musk, and mold filtering through to his nostrils. After all, no one had bothered to clean up— neither him, nor Corey — from that night. If Jasper peaked into the living room, he would see the, where blood and scratches lined torn open pillows and the walls, and where beer crept into the lining of rugs and wood. Even the staircase remained torn: planks, mismatched, some, still torn. He remembered each one. This is where the dagger lay. This, the necklace of bone— which he wore; his shirt, pressing it against his heart. And this, this kept the book, and the crushed petal, the white, long since faded, to yellow. Every step, he remembered, but it was only faded. At the top of the stairs, he turned to jasper, eyes, cold, voice, level. “I suppose you can’t stay down here, either, can you?” The feline inquired, hand, resting gently along the railing.
“In a closed society where everybody's guilty, the only crime is getting caught." ― Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
Post by Edelweiss Fjäril on May 11, 2016 6:09:27 GMT
Ah, the smell that prenounced home. Not scents Jasper would find in his current home, but nostalgic ones he could remember right before he first found out what a 'home' meant. The mold of forgotten, damp alleys, musk the perfumes of hinted more open streets he'd both yearned and feared back then, and a metallic red scent - blood. His own blood years ago, but not his now. Not in this strange house that seemed to have lost its way and misplaced itself among the other larger inhabitations.
Jasper merely followed as Sayvahn walked, and once he spotted the blond man pulling something sharp from the broken staircase the lad quickly removed his own gloves and stuck them in a pocket of his pants. His claws twitched, long and sharpened like a series of little knives. He wasn't certain if Sayvahn was going to attack him, so didn't take an offensive stance, continuing to just stand there with his arms close to his sides. But if attacked, he'd defend. "You're right." And if that pale dagger has another funtion than anything related to himself, the boy would just keep on watching as he had done up to this point.
Meanwhile that, Edelweiss is walking with a certain ginger man back towards Lodan, just like she promised she would.
The feline wasn’t surprised. No, instead, he expected it. And when he got to the top of the stairs, he avoided the bedroom, torn apart, papers, ripped, and burnt— for the bathroom, where the scent of rust wafted into the air, and a yellow tinted the inner bowl of the white tub. “I suppose I can’t ask for privacy either. Though, can I ask for you to turn your back? More for your sake, then mine, dearie.” The older man chimed, turning on the water— one perk of having paid the water bill in advance and having a natural well, it seemed. Even if the barber had stopped paying the electricity, the water still ran, which was nice. Now, the blonde didn’t have to worry about leaving a trace— or frankly, he hadn’t had to worry, not since Corey had left for good. Reaching forward, flame licked from his fingertips, his magic, black, green— arching and lighting the wicks, and as the candles flickered, so did the image of Damien, his skin, dragging by his side, Corey’s as well, lugging across the ground, catching, bleeding, into the tiles.
“I brought you a present.” The demon sighed, and Sayvahn had to hold his breath, hand, clasping the edge of the tub. “It isnt’ real.” Sayvahn had to assure himself, but the feel, the texture of Corey’s skin was too real as Damien draped it over him, blood, dripping, crawling down the blonde’s back and Sayvahn had to hold still, had to prevent the scream, had to prevent himself from retching. “You should not have left him on the ground like that. Left him open, left him ready. I cut him down the center, you know, just like you did to me. Opened up his chest cavity, devoured the heart— don’t you remember that? You do, don’t you? When they pushed it between your teeth?” The weight was lifted from the blonde’s shoulders, and a held breath, released, yet the stench still wafted into the older man’s nose, the taste, the texture, still on his tongue. It had been tough, and everything, the blood, it kept spilling.
Glancing around, he found the boy’s ruby red eyes staring at him, and that, that made him smile. “You follow orders so precisely, my dear. I was the same, you know, when I was younger. Followed orders, to the T.” The older man laughed. Yes, he used to be such a good member. Such a good member of the community. Down the center, from chest to groin, peel back the skin, separate it, let the blood trickle, and mix, chant, then dance one two, don’t be like him, three four. And the feline had never left that place— after all, Damien had followed him, all this way. “Still haunts me to this day. Does it haunt you? Do you see him too? No, no, of course not.” Sayvahn stated, turning, removing his glasses, then, unbuttoning his shirt, each layer, peeling back, revealing the burn marks along his lower back, the ones, lingering in a pattern, the scarification of the tribe: Sayvahn‘s reminder, his greif. “You can’t see him. Of course not.” The older man repeated, stripping further down, and there, along his inner thighs, reaching along to the back, the scars could be seen, but, so many scars lined his body, from bullets, from scratches, to bruises, to ailments. All lingering, all proof of his existence. His skin— it was damaged, but maybe, maybe it would still be good enough.
The blonde waited a moment, watching the water turn, the water, still gushing out, the heat, causing steam to rise, and from that steam, Damien approached, laying his flesh into the bath, the skin, floating along the surface, tinting the water pink. No. He couldn’t tint it. It had to be the feline. Sayvahn pushed it away, burying his body, the heat, burning his skin, but the older man didn’t mind, didn’t care. Not as he took the dagger, not the ceremony dagger, but something close to it— something he could leave, something, he could use. Pushing it underneath the water, the older man sighed. “You can’t see him, but I can, so don’t mind me. I’m just letting the poison out, after all.” The blonde chuckled, the knife, ducking underneath the surface of the pool. One scratch, one deep, sent a trickle of blood, and, Sayvahn sighed as the black, as the red, mixed to coil, to tint the water. “You shouldn’t have to see this. Even if it’s obligation. After all. This isn’t relevant. He is just louder today, that's all, constantly whispering. If I want to face your master, I have to be a bit calmer.” Sayvahn couldn’t rip her open, couldn’t cut out her tongue, after all. Not like he had Damien. That wasn’t how to solve things. This wasn’t the tribe. This was civilization. But oh god, if it was, then maybe someone would finally kill him, someone would finally put him to rest, would finally shut the demon out.
The feline sighed, laying his head against the edge of the tub. “I’m not angry. Or sad. This is just me. This is my retribution. I did something very bad, when I was younger. Worse then, I assure you, all the evils you have seen. And you seen quite a bit haven’t you?” Emerald orbs met red, and again, Sayvahn smiled, digging the dagger deeper into his thigh. “I can see it from your eyes. There the same as his you know. If he still had them.” Because Damien didn’t. First was the tongue, then the eyes, then the heart. All a system to it. Evoke the pain, offer the pain, kill kill kill. That was what Leleba had wanted. Not what the feline had wanted but that was the thing, wasn’t it? Sayvahn never got what he wanted. Today was the proof of that.
“They could be in love with each other. It would work out so much better, you know.” The older man laughed, burying his head under the red tinted water as Damien laughed, the red, meshing with his body. Paint it the color, paint it her color. “Kill, kill, kill.”
Post by Edelweiss Fjäril on May 11, 2016 7:28:36 GMT
"I only follow those I choose to. And Edel is the only who can order me around." The lad replied, his face a mask like stone as he watched that bizarre display unfolding before him. This man is not sane, certainly not. No wonder Edel had asked to keep an eye on him. "Nothing haunts me. Sometimes, things try - dark alleys and such - but they're always whisked away. By the dawn and the sunset, scent of fresh fruit and sweets, and the hands that sharpen mine."
Jasper didn't particularly care, they had only met once before; Sayvahn was practically a stranger, and the boy owed no loyalty to him. But, would Edel wish him to stop harming hilself? Probably. Hence, now the was disobeying the order of only keeping company, and actually going to interfere with what Sayvahn does. "I'm the one who can judge whether anything I see is worse that I've seen." Basic Deceit magic, just the first tier, most kids who went to the lessons in the woods had got a hang of it by now. "And you suffer more while unhurt, strange as is. Give me the knife. If you need more blood, I may provide. If not, stop."
Words filtered in, but Sayvahn didn’t notice, didn’t listen. Dig the knife in deeper, Damien whispered, but then, that magic, that magic that licked at the corners of Sayvahn’s mind, trying to warp his actions. There is nothing wrong— I need to be purified, he fought back, only to realize, Deceit.
That horrible spell, let it be cursed.
Turning to the boy, the feline’s brow furrowed, and clutching the dagger, he paused. “Don’t you dare.” Sayvahn growled. If only the setting of the sun, if only the day could erase his pain. “You don’t know me. You don’t know what I see.” And he was tempted. He could use Deceit on the boy— to make him see, but that would be cruel, would be awful, even for the older man. “So don’t you dare use that spell. Don’t steep to that level.” Sayvahn growled, digging the dagger in deeper into his flesh— too deep this time, to the point where the blood came out faster, came out darker, and more and more the Demon cried, “Good.”
“In a closed society where everybody's guilty, the only crime is getting caught." ― Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
Post by Edelweiss Fjäril on May 11, 2016 7:46:45 GMT
Oh? Very well then. "Alright. No magic." Then lets see how much Unharmed Combat Sayvahn could fend off with an injured leg before the lad grabs that blade away from his fingers.
"All power tends to corrupt and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Great men are almost always bad men." - John Dalberg-Acton
Touch. By a random person, combat, hands, grabbing, reaching, for knife. No, just leave me alone, don’t touch me, Sayvahn seemed to beg, turning away, but the pain, the pain in his legs, it tug, the flesh, loose, blood, tinting the water. His head hurt. But, Jasper, the boy tried to grab, to press, to pull. Please, just don’t touch me— don’t touch me, but the boy just wouldn’t stop. “Just take it.” Sayvahn growled, the knife, lifted, telepathy, sending it across, digging into the wooden walls of the bathroom as Sayvahn curled up, burying himself under the water. “Just let me be. Just leave me alone, all of you, just leave me alone. I asked you. I just needed, needed to do it. He just wouldn’t stop. I don’t want him to hurt Corey. I don’t want him to hurt Corey. I already hurt Corey.” The feline wept, curling deeper, pressing his other leg against his wounded one, as if to hide the scars, his mistake. “I didn’t want you to see. I didn’t want anyone to see. I just wanted to be alone. Is that too much to ask?” After all, everyone else had abandoned him. Leleba, Anemwei, Corey, Mala, Lasair, and Edelweiss. And this child— he was just an obligation, a stray, forced to watch over him. “I shouldn’t act like this, but I can’t. Please don’t tell. Please don’t tell.” Sayvahn’s body, shook, but then, it seemed to pause, to stop. Sayvahn’s whole body stopped, and limps that held each other, seemed to float, suspended in the water. I want to be reborn. The single thought, it carried through him, tugged at the corner of his mind, and the older man closed his eyes, mouth, rising above the water to speak. “Please. Turn around. Take the knife. I want to get dressed. With dignity. Please. Just give me that.”
“In a closed society where everybody's guilty, the only crime is getting caught." ― Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
Post by Edelweiss Fjäril on May 12, 2016 3:56:03 GMT
"I know plenty of people who could make 'him' be gone." Whoever 'him' is it that Sayvahn is hallucinating about. "But you'd probably reject it." Was there the best thing to say or do? Who knows. The teen had no idea how to deal with a not-very-sane person; Solanna was already hard to deal with back in the guild, and Sayvahn obviously had even more screws set loose than the girl did. At least it looked like Sayvahn was still aware he shouldn't act in that manner, but Jasper felt like there was a limit he was about to cross here, and as much as the idea of disappointing Edel frustrated him to no end he also definitely did not want to be responsible for this man or whatever else he does. Lasair sure had a lot on his plate with him. Telekinesis (not casted by Jasper) sent the dagger flying and it ended up stuck on the wall, and the lad grabbed it and stuck it inside his pouch just in case Sayvahn might gather will enough to fetch it back and restart cutting himself, then took out a roll of bandages from it and placed it nearby the blonde (without touching him) before turning around and heading for the door. "Take your time. I'll be on the roof till Edel is back (or you leave)."
Five minutes later, he so dearly wished they were still at the Theater District. If they were, he would have been able to get assistance rather fast, maybe call a bouncer or two and have them carry Sayvahn to the closest infirmary. Instead, here he was, atop the roof writing a report on a slightly bloody notepad (everything inside his pouch got bloody stains due to that dagger, even his other work utilities and first aid things, yeurck) and trying to locate whatever other informant of CAEsAL who might be closest. Sayvahn could beg and cry as much as he wants, but Jasper still needed to inform Edel of what he witnessed. And once the note was delivered, he spreaded himself on the roof and sighed. "I should be paid extra for this..."
The report made its way outside the Central Square, to be delivered midway to Edelweiss as the redhead woman walked back into the city towards her own district. Unfolding the note and finding a bloody blade wrapped within, her eyes skimmed over the words before holding it out to the redhead man walking next to her. "Las, you should see this."
In the note it could be read: "Start - hotel lobby. Subject would rather be left alone, but relented to being escorted. Lunch time (start) - Nearby cafe. Normal. No suspicious behavior detected. Lunch time (end) - Subject asked for a cup of coffee he didn't drink. Sudden mood swing - high annoyance, seemingly urgency to be somewhere else. We paid for our tabs and left. Walking - We wandered into a wrecked house at Central. Subject had the key, no lockpicking. Upstairs (start) - Subject took possession of a dagger and removed his own clothes before starting to slice his own flesh open. Medium damage to left tigh. Desilusional, asking if I 'see what he sees'. Talking to me, not listening to replies, mumbling to himself. Suffering from hallucinations. Multiple scars indicate similar behavior at recent previous time. Upstairs (end) - Subject continued to cut himself. I requested to be handed the blade (DI used for emphasis). Cast failed. Attempt to retreat the dagger by force; the cap of not harming him further almost made the task impossible. I exchanged the dagger for bandages and left him to get himself dressed.
Resolution: Subject should be taken to the nearest infirmary for medical care - both physical and mental. Personal conclusion: I never want to see a naked man ever again. -Jasper"
"All power tends to corrupt and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Great men are almost always bad men." - John Dalberg-Acton
Post by Lasair Landevier Lupen on May 13, 2016 20:35:06 GMT
Lasair raised an eyebrow as Edel was delivered the message, but he waited patiently for her to read it over. The bloody knife was a little concerning, but when she said he needed to read it, the confusion only furthered.
Delusional, hallucinating, harming ones self. A few things made sense now. Yes, it would seem that there was more going on with the older guild member than Lasair had realized. In a way he felt guilty for becoming another problem to him with that stunt he pulled. In a way he also felt relieved that he wasn’t the only person to blame for Sayvahn’s current mental state.
“Come on, it seems that I need to talk to him sooner than later,” he concluded and began walking at a brisk pace. No more soft and comforting emotions could be found within him now, only concern and a drive to get work done.
Post by Edelweiss Fjäril on May 15, 2016 0:51:28 GMT
Like in the unspoken rule of this world, all nice things must die early. Including Lasair's previously fluffy feelings, and the light mood in general. Well, now they were back to the original task of bringing the MI leader back to Sayvahn, safe and sound. It seemed it was Sayvahn who was hurt now. As they restarted rushing back into Lodan, and Edelweiss could only hope not much else bad things could happen that day - or that at least if they do, then may whatever insane god that holds their fates at its mercy know how to be fair and at least offer them all a compensation later on.
"All power tends to corrupt and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Great men are almost always bad men." - John Dalberg-Acton
Help was relative. Help could come in the form of a dagger, sliding along a person thigh—already, Sayvahn felt better. But this relief, even the feline knew it was temporary. But, even if the blonde mustered the energy to go, to visit a doctor as Jasper seemed to imply, what was the point? After all, the verdict was obvious. There was no hope. One does not see demons, one does not eat the flesh of the other, without realizing that something isn’t right. And besides. The barber had been once, to a “doctor”. Deceit, laced into his brain, in the prevention of the human option of lobotomy. And it had worked. Bu now that it was over, time was against him. After all, “you are as made as a hatter” is not a compliment in the society, as far as the feline was concerned, there was no point in seeking help. Not when he could handle himself on his own. Besides. The older man wasn’t always like this. At least, not in front of people. Sadly, though, Jasper had to pay witness, had to be witness. But, the boy would not leave him alone. It was to be expected. After all. Lasair had been able to escape. To be alone. Why couldn’t Sayvahn? Well, it seemed that he was going to get his time now.
Sayvahn nodded, shooing Jasper off, unfazed by him taking the dagger. There was more then that one, after all. Enlaced in his portal, hidden in the bathroom itself. Yet, the cutting was done. Now, was the healing process. The older man glanced at the bandages, the gauzed surface seeming to quiver in the flickering of the candles. Sighing, Sayvahn undid the drain, letting the bloodied water drip away. Pain sizzled from the cuts on his thigh, first, painful, then numb, the air, digging into the open wound. Healing magic solved the problem, if faintly. Just enough so that things wouldn’t spill, wouldn’t bleed. He didn’t need them to heal, after all, just to prevent the mess, the spillage. The bandages were to be left alone, at least, for now. Right then, Sayvahn made sure to wipe the bloodied water from his body, from his hair, to make himself, “presentable.” Jasper had mentioned Edelweiss returning, when, that was uncertain. But at least until then, the blonde could try to appear sane, or at least, saner. Not too difficult, to be honest.
Comb ones hair, adjust one’s glasses, button up the top, overlap the vest, then a jacket. Such actions makes one look nice, presentable— normal, even. Acting after all, was Sayvahn’s specialty. Even the numb feeling along his thigh barely bothered the barber as he stood, back straight, glancing into the mirror. No. No one would notice. No one would know. But that secret, it couldn’t be trusted to be kept behind that boy’s lips. And perhaps it no longer needed to be. Especially not when Edelweiss and Lasair were to be together. “Maybe it would be better.” The older man smirked, fingers tracing over his lips. “Maybe now, people would believe me.” And at last, let him be. Because maybe that is truly what he needed— not a doctor, not encouraging words, but just to be left be. Natural would take its course, would sort things out. Taking the bandages, Sayvahn stepped out of the bathroom and headed downstairs, as the rest of the upstairs was trashed. Until Edelwiss would come, maybe he would try to make himself comfortable in the kitchen, though, that was difficult, for the room had a wonderful view of the backyard— but the stain, the burn mark from Corey burning everything still lingered, a black circle amongst uprooted tiles laying in the back.
“In a closed society where everybody's guilty, the only crime is getting caught." ― Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
Post by Lasair Landevier Lupen on May 17, 2016 6:47:49 GMT
After a quick (and rushed) walk across the districts, Lasair looked up at the familiar residence for but a moment before walking in. The last time he had come here was the night he did the terrible thing to Sayvahn, while the feline slept the general traveled out here and observed the wreckage that became of his home. And as Lasair stepped through the door, he realized very little had changed from his last time coming. It brought a sour taste to his mouth; Sayvahn’s home had been so lovely the first time he visited. But now? Now it was gone and probably forever.
“Sayvahn?” Lasair called after his eyes glanced around the room. He needed to see the other guild member; make sure he wasn’t bleeding out and dying. Then he would worry about all the other issues sitting around, waiting to strike.
Post by Edelweiss Fjäril on May 22, 2016 6:21:05 GMT
Edelweiss just followed Lasair for the remaining of the way once it seemed like the redhead man knew where he was going, since if that's the case making further stops to ask her informants for directions would be a waste of time. Jasper's report remained folded in her hand, the bloody blade once again gingerly (and by a ginger, even!) wrappen within the paper. Aforementioned lad climbed down from Sayvahn's roof once he spotted the two redhead leaders approaching the house, but other than nodding to Edelweiss and comfirming that Sayvahn had not left the building since his report he also didn't say much else.
"Sayvahn, where are you?" She called since Lasair's mono-worded question didn't seem to receive an imediate answer, and stepped into the house as well. Well, Jasper's note had mentioned upstairs as the last place he'd been observing Sayvahn, so if the blond man doesn't reply from anywhere else in the house that's where she intended to look first.
"All power tends to corrupt and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Great men are almost always bad men." - John Dalberg-Acton
Footsteps, and not Damien’s or Jaspers, plucked at Sayvahn’s senses and sighing, the feline closed his notebook. It seemed that company had at last arrived. The older feline did not boher to move, keeping to his stronghold of the kitchen, where glass littered the ground. Just a single wine glass that Corey must have smashed during his angry endeavor— that or had dropped on his way to the living room. Probably the later, as the red wine still lingered, dried partially on the tiled flooring, the grout only drinking a little bit of the nectar. Now, people called out his name. He recognized the first, ever so faintly, the image of a worried fox appearing in his mind as a smile crossed his lips. They knew where the blonde was, which meant, perhaps they also knew what he was. A lunatic. A liar. A self inflictor— all this and more if Jasper had told them the story, which, most likely, he had. What parts, the blonde could not discern. Sighing, the barber took another deep drag from his cigarette, blowing a smoke circle as he lowered his eyes. “In the kitchen.” He called, turning to face away from the burnt backyard to the door where the two had to approach from, unless they cut through the living room. Both viable options that the older man prepared for, yet, his body was relaxed, despite knowing, predicting some form of rebuking.
“In a closed society where everybody's guilty, the only crime is getting caught." ― Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
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