RP:A Cryptic Offering

Synopsis: After being shown around Gualon by Meri, Nasada returns to the Gualon Clinic to get a good night's rest. Inside she meets a dark and mysterious stranger that leaves the young necromancer with more questions than answers.

Characters: Nasada, Xersom

Location: Gualon Clinic, Gualon

Date: Jan. 28th, 2016

Xersom was not in the clinic particularly for any of his own wounds, but rather had developed a fondness for scrutinizing the myriad of different folk that passed through its threshold; it was often that Gualon had visitors, and most of the reason was for some injury along the outskirts or in the arena that ultimately brought them here for refuge. Clad in the weathered and faded robes of grey, like an old, wizened hermit might wear and completing the attire with a gnarled cane that supported a hobbled gait, the man known simply as 'X' was a stark juxtaposition of age and youth. It was his attire that resembled the old in an archaic, though not quite decadent, fashion, but it was otherwise that he seemed young; his hair was a full, rich black and frame toned in the contours of the clothing that veiled it. His eyes were a vivid, almost luminous green pair, and his face was flawless and unblemished -eerily so, in fact. Another oddity that was aloof was that, besides his face, the man's skin was absolutely covered in lines and lines of tiny words. Closer than cursory scrutiny would reveal these words not to be tattoo'd, but literally scars from being carved into his flesh, and in a language that was, at its core, something sacrilegious and heretical. Yet, the words seemed to cut off along the jawline of the 'human', which revealed, in fact, that his face that was so eerily perfect was not a face at all -it was a fleshy, realistic mask. But, it would be Nasada that would be able to naturally do and sense things that most could not -what only a very select few could. If Nasada stared long enough at that forgotten and ancient infernal litany on his flesh, the words would become readable to her; lines and lines of blasphemies against the gods and prayers in devotion to the Dark Immortals -specifically, the most powerful Dark Immortal, the Nameless King. As well, the former demon General of Arrecation exuded an aura that was so unnatural to the world -as if an affront born of a different plane, and so instinctively wicked. Both scarred hands were upon the gnarled cane before him, as he lingered along one wall of the refuge; those green, certainly faux but incredibly vivid green eyes patiently watched the milling people, unperturbed and most giving him a wide berth.

Nasada re-entered the clinic, a bright smile and wave offered to someone outside the door. "Sure. Tavern tomorrow morning! Thank you, again!" She was so relieved, even despite the odd occurrence earlier, to be going home. Rather, what would be called home for the time being. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Heeled boots made their way across the clinic's floor, back to the area in which she was afforded a place to sleep for the night. However, before she could make it fully to the location of her belongings, she stopped. Something just did not settle well deep down. A hard swallow took lead, her cloaked head slowly turning toward the source of discomfort. As those pallid-blue eyes settled upon Xersom's frame, she swore the hair on the back of her neck became erect. She stared, for some time in silence, the legible words carved into flesh examined- if only briefly. He was familiar, yet even in this familiarity, he terrified the youthful necromancer to her very core. For some reason Nasada was frozen. She could not speak. She could not move. She just stared.

Xersom knew the presence immediately; it was familiar, but it was off, disembodied, like some sound that could only be heard when straining to listen, and even then muffled and dampered. Oh, certainly, he knew the origin, and that was made apparent by the slow slide of those near-luminous eyes in a prolonged sweep from where it was that his gaze was occupied with toward this new woman, glossing over anything in between without particularly seeing it. A demon. He had commanded the legions of them and had been one himself- Sacrilus, the Face of the Damned. Slain just before his master, Arrecation, could deliver the death blow to Sven, Hind, and Lore some time before they ascended into godhood, and by the hand of a Light Immortal, Norodruin. Sacrilus, who burned nearly all of the known world, and literally nearly all of Sage with hundreds of thousands of mortals within it -Sacrilus, whose hands were stained with the blood of literally millions of lives. But in his presence, another demon. Not just any demon, however; the lesser demons would not harken this sort of attention, would not hold that dread aura of dark magic -of which 'X' had embroiled about himself, not nearly as suppressed as the reincarnated other. This was a -named- demon. Only the demons of renown held any sort of name -at least a captain in the armies. At least a baron among the planes of Hell. Those eyes, certainly not the true eyes of the being, stared for some long moments of scrutiny before the man enigmatically known as 'X' pushed forward to a slow and hobbled gait -aided by his gnarled cane- the strides in direct path toward this woman -this unknown, but named demon in the form of a woman. His gaze scrutinized her with every slow, limping step.

Nasada felt as though she should turn and run. Run as fast and as far as her weary legs could take her. Something seemed very off about this stranger and although she did not like it, something told her to stay. To embrace the feeling. Deep down inside the mortal coil, something stirred. Something that had been mostly dormant since the young woman arrived in this strange new land. Something cold. Dark. Evil. Like ink in water, a blackness cascaded over Nasada's eyes, if only for but an instant. It was not strong enough to take hold. Not yet. She blinked. As Xersom made silent approach, the woman finally found the courage to speak, words timid and of uncertainty. "H-hello? C-can I help you?"

Xersom 's 'eyes', if something so eerily luminous and yet contrastedly faux could be called such, flashed with recognition of the inky pools -be it through their demon resonance rather than any notion of who, specifically, he spoke to- which coursed over the youthful necromancer's stare for but the flicker of a moment. "There you are..." The volume was nothing more than murmur but it still held a disturbing sort of beauty; it was both sinister and soothing, like a madman's lullaby. It was bitter like wormwood, and sweet all the same, like wine. Dangerous, poisoned wine. It only became more apparent as his voice raised, though his gait waned, ebbed, and came to cease just within arm's reach of the girl. "Gheneroc works fast, doesn't he? Laying his claim -as if you couldn't kill him without steel or magic. So, it begs the question, who are you?" One hand lifted, only to briefly -just briefly- touch fingertips along the very top of that chain-like tattoo that kissed the right side of her neck, the point nearest her jaw, before it withdrew, "No, that is not the right question- you don't know who you are, if you were willing to submit to the hatchling. No. What is your -name-? That is the question." It almost seemed as if he were just musing and speaking to himself. Almost.

Nasada seemed very confused. Tired lids halved as she tried to make sense of the man's cryptic words. Was it a man? As he drew closers and his features became more apparent, she wasn't all too sure any more. A cool chill danced along her arms and shoulders, trailing soon along her spine as Xersom made contact. She tried so hard to tear away from him, but still, she remained petrified like the unfortunate victim of a basilisk. "I d-don't understand." she said at first, voice barely able to be heard. "My name.. is R-raevyn." Once more she neglected that nickname that she had originally taken. It seemed to usually go well with most; That name, the one she still did not understand its origin, seemed to cause those she came into contact with to act very peculiar. "What do you mean kill him without steel or magic?" Was this what Gheneroc was speaking of? Was this what he meant by 'Train your Will'? Something was amiss. "W-Who are you? W-What is it that you seek?" Suddenly like a lit candle, something clicked. "Wait. I know you. You were there..." This of course, she would refer to that very day the Chains of Domination would be graced upon her. It was fleeting, but she recalled that he had been there.

Xersom 'clicked' his tongue against the roof of his mouth, as if in disappointment in regards to the woman's answer -either that or her questioning, neither of which were acknowledged with answers. At least, not acknowledged immediately, as he stared upon her paler visage with those faux eyes in an intense scrutiny, perhaps more akin to the way a lord might inspect some hopeful young recruit. Then, the serpent's dance; he began a slow, methodical walk around Nasada in a distinct circle, like a predator might their prey, though despite that overwhelming darkness that seemed to incarnate the great wyrm, it was almost familiar. "That is not your name. That is a mortal name. A name adopted, just as I am called 'X'." Once more in front of the woman, his circling pace and steps stopped for both hands to lean upon his cane. Her recognition of him caused a sinister sort of smile -the kind that twitched the corner of the lips as if some dark secret were being dangled before some unwitting victim, and his smooth voice, intoxicating yet dangerous all the same, poured forth from those eerily perfect lips. "Yes. I was there. Such a pity to fall into the trap of a being far less dangerous than you, but I suppose you will understand that mistake in due time." He leaned in just a bit, bringing his face closer to her own, and it was with a tone that could only be described as cruel, as 'dark', he commanded sharply, "Your name."

Nasada tried to decipher the words that 'X' spoke. Gheneroc less dangerous than she was? That couldn't be further from the truth! ...Could it? A whirlwind of thoughts and emotions began to descend upon the girl's fractured psyche, connections beginning to fall into place like pieces of a puzzle. Her dreams. The fainting spells. Missing time. She woke up here in Gualon after falling asleep in Xalious. This meeting- was it destined? Suddenly she thought back to that event just over a year ago. Was this stranger related to that stone? Snapped out of her thought process with X's commanding tone, she said simply, "N...Nasada."

Xersom 's lips spread into a slightly wider smile from the subtle curve of one just previous, and he hissed in satisfaction the echo, "Nasada..." He pulled back his face, and both hands lifted -didn't he just have a cane a moment ago? If he did, it was nowhere to be seen at the moment. Instead, both of those scar-covered hands, each smothered with lines and lines of that infernal litany, that blasphemous script of scars carved into his flesh, twisted so that palms were upward as if to receive something. "Hold your hands over mine." He said, "and I will gift you something that will be useful in your... journeys."

Nasada took a deep breath. Keep it together. Don't fall apart. Not now. He has answers. We will just participate and all will be fine. It will. Over and over she spoke sweet comforts, trying to do everything in her power not to just run away. For someone that lived a rather boring life, this was just starting to become too much. Petrification waned; Yet that dreadful fear did not. Her jaw trembled and her eyes glossed over. Don't cry, she told herself. You can do this. Slowly the necromancer's hands lifted, shaky, unsure if this were the best of ideas. Lest she anger this eerie stranger, the youthful necromancer did as he asked, her hands coming to be held just above his own.

Xersom did not seem to care of his proximity or the associating fear -the darkness and evil, most specifically- that accompanied it. Instead, his eerily vivid and nearly luminous eyes lifted to watch the hands as they slowly lifted and hovered over the exposed palms of the former demon general. Abruptly, there was a deafening crack that ripped across the room, startling those around them and forcing furniture to slide a foot or two away from the distinct point between the hands of fledgling necromancer and ancient master. But, most importantly, it was marked by a streak of mercurial darkness that tore between them like ebony lightning, as if it was yanked through reality itself, before it began to silhouette and manifest into a distinct shape. A dagger. A specific dagger -the hilt was grooved with black bone, like glossy obsidian itself, but the blade was of an impenetrable darkness. So dark was it that it literally distorted the light directly around it, as if sucking it into its unfathomable depths. The hilt pressed against the palm of the necromancer, the blade her other palm, as if to force itself to be in her possession -even to the point of cutting open the hand against the blade, should she stall long enough for it to press harder. X's hands fell.

Xersom gave Nasada 1 Accursed Blade.

Xersom looked at Nasada.

Nasada felt like everything was happening under water. It was as if every sound were dulled, every action slowed- even her own heart beat seemed to crawl. What was going on? Like the previous evening, things seemed to move from a force unknown, and it truly made the terror worse. As the dagger formed in her hand, she nearly pulled away, but something held her in position. Her own will? Xersom's? She could only stare at the newly formed weapon, its blade something she would marvel at. What sorcery was this? A small jolt of pain hits the blade bearing palm and she swiftly pulled her hand back; A few rivulets of blood let loose upon the floor. Ignoring the superficial wound, Nasada looked upon Xersom and asked, "Why?"

Xersom did not answer at first; instead he looked upon Nasada and her awestruck stare, her marvel at the blade, like would a spider to a fly, coaxing her curiosity as well as her fear. When he did answer, it would not be one of foundation that she thought, but yet another piece to her puzzle -another lead in the mystery of her identity, of her potential. Or rather, more specifically, what lies dormant in her. "You will understand why when you understand your name. Until then, treasure it -use it. Let it help you." And just like that, the former General of Arrecation had begun to limp his 'frail' stride away, toward the door, with a hiss of satisfaction under his breath of but a single name, "Nasada..."

Nasada would not be long in concealing that newly gifted item; For inside, she could feel that this crafted weapon may not go over well with the average citizen. In fact, it looked downright evil in nature, and she wasn't sure how the people of this land would react. She already learned her lesson once. She gazed then upon Xersom as he made of toward the exit, his cryptic rhetoric only fuelling her desire for answers even more. Who was he? How was he connected to all of this? She would have to speak to Diryon as soon as she could. She had to confide in somebody. Turning then toward her original intended destination, the young woman made a path for her bed. Tomorrow would be a long day and she needed all of the sleep she could get.