RP:A Mother Always Knows

Background

This is part of the Kurgan's Run story arc.

Mahri and Amadeo meet up with Cornelius and the Hanging Corpse's resident troll and janitor. Mahri is drawn into visions of her own past, cruelly manipulated by the Machiavellian mind-vampire Eldritch.

Back On The Road to the Fortress

When last we left our two wolves, they were on the road to the Fortress. Mahri more so than Amadeo she suspects. After that brief rest, Mahri starts out again, determined to make it to the Fortress not long after her overbearing sibling. It might take some time since she and her companion were on foot where Jolie and Colton were on horseback. It didn't seem fair somehow.. Tugging off a glove, Mahri swipes the back of her hand across her forehead. Was it warmer? It felt like it. Then again, it could just be those damn hormones again. Looming ahead, with its indescribable angles and unimaginable geometries, was the Fortress. Mahri won't bother to check if Amadeo was following or not. Her goal. The simple focus in her life..that single minded obsession is to get as quickly as possible to that place. Sooner than expected, she is staring at the door and for once, hesitates.

Cornelius cursed. He knew he would be late. Just knew it in his bones - had known since he found that Jolie had up and left Vailkrin overnight with that lunatic Colton Black after their 'walk'. In hindsight, spending a night watching the bareknuckle boxing matches had been a mistake, even if he had scouted some potential talent. But now, that pleasant evening was far behind him, and he could feel the traildust forming entire cities in his sinuses. No doubt his very lungs were powdered softly in saffron - certainly, he'd breathed in enough of the damn stuff for that to be the case. He'd exchanged horses twice now, and at exorbitant prices. Merchants and farmers were all the same when they could tell a man was in a hurry, blast them for their perspicacity, but he had covered a lot of ground rapidly.

Cornelius was lucky in one regard - he had no need to 'track' his prey. He knew where Jolly-girl was going: that shadowy monk Feilong had all but confirmed it when drunk. 'Leisure trip to the Fortress' his spectacular ass. If that monk was at all related to Elijah and the Pool, there was bound to be trouble in store. The mere recollection of that night in the tavern is enough to make him both glad and wary when he sees the Fortress rising in the near distance. He is quick to remove all such emotions from his face, however, when he sees two familiar figures. He reins in his horse to ease it into a gentle canter, and then a walk as he approaches Mahri and Piz. "Well, hello there Mahri M'dear. And a good day to you, Piz. Lovely day for a picnic, wot?"

Amadeo had come to a gradual halt behind Mahri, eyes drawn up the high-rising walls and spires of the fortress he had so eagerly studied in approach. Now they were paused before its doorway. It was a massive structure, and while it had cut a stark outline in the landscape before, it now blotted out his entire vision. Newly acquired bludgeon in hand, he felt prepared to find out what it offered- for her sake, anyway. The sound of an approaching horse shattered his curious musings and brought him alertly to reality. Turning to discern the rider's nature, he smirked to note the well-dressed fellow he'd seen about Vailkrin, and glanced over at Mahri, "Friend of yours, right? The..." he brought his voice up an octave, "well-dressed, charming old bean." He'd assume a more tentative demeanor as Cornelius drew near on foot, only reacting to that word, 'Piz' with which he had been regarded. "What the hell's that supposed to mean?" he demanded more with curiosity than offense. Meanwhile, he didn't fail to catch notice of his companion's name, a detail which had, much to his own mild bemusement, eluded him thus far.

Mahri turned too at the sound of hooves pounding the dry ground. Didn't it ever rain here? Probably not. The vicinity of the Fortress seemed to discourage such mundane natural occurrences. "Cornelius.." Slanting a look, with a touch of smirk, to Amadeo she'll shrug at the question. Leaving it to the dandy to answer as he saw fit. "I wouldn't exactly call this a picnic." Tapping the flask she carried against her thigh, the lycan turns back to the ominous opening that lead into the bowels of the Fortress. "I'm going in now.." Whether said to inform or warn, she'll start forward into the maw muttering, "Can't possibly be any worse than being aboard the Labyrinth.."

Cornelius grins as he alights from the grey gelding obtained from the last merchant he'd chanced across. He responds to Amadeo "But my good man, that is how you introduced yourself after I knocked you down in Vailkrin's ever-so-pleasant forest the other evening. Am I to assume your name, then, is -not- Piz?" He glances up at the Fortress then, a slight twist to his lips, perhaps of displeasure, perhaps merely a manifestation of his pensive mood. "So. Jolly-girl has already entered I take it? Then you are correct, there is no time to lose." He removes his pack from the horse, and sets it free to hunt for whatever passed for grass in this barren region. He strolls into the fortress, following Mahri, eyes flicking rapidly in all directions, wary for any signs of danger.

Lokthull ambles along the path to the north, spending a bit of his time off procuring things that he just didn't come by in the Corpse. Of course, there was plenty of variety coming from the patrons of the tavern, but there were a few essential ingredients that were running in short supply. The bag on his back shakes slightly with each of his steps, emitting both the clanking sound of colliding glass and the squishing sound of...something squishy. The troll glances to the south at the ominous building that towers over head, and squints a bit before making out three figures standing outside it. Adjusting the bag on his back, the troll changes course and continues his ambling towards the group. "Ay yuh! Where yuh be goin dayuh?" he calls ahead as he sees some of them disappearing inside, still unsure of who he was addressing.

Amadeo was the last to follow inside the doorway. He'd been left rooted to the same spot, a big grin lingering on his face as he went through the mental processes of registering what he'd just heard. "You...knocked me...down." He went through the steps aloud and with no shortage of incredulity as he jogged to bring up the rear of the trio. A few long strides and he spun in front of Cornelius, walking backwards to keep up as he further badgered, "I find that difficult to believe, partner."

Mahri is quickly swallowed by that darkness. It's easy given her habit of wearing black. "Quit your damn squabbling and pay attention." Her words might echo in the apparent vastness of the entryway and she'll stop at the series of arches to stare at each one in turn. If memory served, going by Jolie's lingering scent alone won't guarantee finding her. "Which way..g'damn you. Which way?" The troll's echoing call is barely registered unfortunately.

Cornelius smiles in an easy fashion at the Lycan's statement "Didn't think I'd hit you -that- hard, old bean. Then again, you had drunk enough liquor to fill a bathtub. You didn't notice waking up with bruises on your face and a massive headache recently, my good man?" At the sound of an unfamiliar voice echoing into the gloom of the Fortress he steps to the side and whirls, sabre reflexively clearing its scabbard as he comes to guard - still careful to keep Amadeo in view as well. When he sees Lokthull, he maintains a wary distance, making no move to attack, waiting to see how things developed even as he called out to Mahri "Did we hire a Troll recently, Mahri dear?".

Mahri calls back absently, "The janitor at the Corpse is a troll."

Lokthull halts in his advance as one of the strangers turns and bears his weapon. The troll had one hand on the back pack and one on his staff, but he takes the time to grasp the staff in both hands, hunching just slightly and spreading his feet for that much more balance. He makes no more effort to advance on the strangers, but a guttural growl shows his discontent of the situation. "Wai yuh be tahkin like aye note be heeyuh, hmm? En wai be flingin dat ting about?" He points the head of his staff towards the sabre. Another careful squint reveals nothing of the one to enter the archway first, the darkness completely swallowing her up and making her indistinguishable from the surroundings. He vaguely recognizes the voice, but not enough to make the connection.

Cornelius does a double-take at Mahri, the Troll, Mahri again, then settles his gaze back on the Troll "This might be a funny question, old bean, but are you the new Janitor?"

Lokthull tilts his head to one side. "Aye been tellin dat woman in da tavern, aye dun be knowin dis...Jan E. Tor. Aye been gettin ta teek tings dat peepl be leavin in dat place em puttin dem away."

Amadeo's eyes floated upward thoughtfully, two fingers reflexively rising to touch the swollen parts of his nose and cheek. "Oh this?" he smiled cooly, seeming to follow only the tail end of whatever Cornelius said, "This happens all the time." He'd heard Mahri's biting admonishment but gave it no more reaction than the faint gleam that always alighted his eyes when she was snappy. "You mean to tell me you-" he leapt backwards suddenly, swinging the bludgeon off his shoulders and bringing it to bear defensively. Drawing a sword was no subtle move, and no less subtle was the brutish voice which had inspired Cornelius's sudden violence. Amadeo too glared down the hallway, slowly side-stepping with predatory tension. He too glanced at Mahri for any kind of signal.

Cornelius blinks at the Troll's words. This had Jolly-girl written all over it "Ah, yes, that -would- make more sense." He sheathes his sabre in a rapid and graceful movement, bows slightly to say "Cornelius Von Penzance, at your service" and then turns on his heel to follow Mahri with a rapid, loping pace.

Lokthull lessens the tight grip on his staff only slightly, still holding it in two hands. The pack on his back, with all its wears, strains at the straps. The troll now takes a few steps forward to follow the group, still keeping a bit of distance. After all, he still didn't recognize them from anywhere else yet. With the offer of a name, the troll's only vocal response is, "Lok'Thull."

Amadeo relaxed wholly as the troll continued to speak. He entirely enjoyed Lokthull's general manner, and guffawed loudly as he swung his bludgeon back over shoulder. "HA! Janitor, you idiot! It's not a woman's name! You're a janitor!" He seemed delighted, perhaps, to have found someone even less refined than he.

Lokthull shrugs, shaking his head slowly and muttering incoherent words to himself, only sparing a glance at the stranger.

Amadeo jerked his thumb in Lok'thull's direction, canting his head to grin in Mahri's direction. "Get a load of this guy, eh?" As it was, he seemed entirely oblivious to the sinister ambiance of his setting.

Mahri glances over her shoulder at the two blocking the entrance eyes gleaming preternaturally in the dark. Beyond she knew would be light. And a maze of shifting walls and floors. Still staring between the three entrances, the wolf seems to be oblivious to the exchange among the three males. Abruptly, she turns and goes left. Might as well just get to it, yeah? Whether or not the other three, aside from Cornelius, notices Mahri is too set in her task to notice immediately, and if the Fortress had its way, if ever.

Cornelius, closer to her than the others, does see Mahri take a left turn, but by the time he reaches the intersection she has vanished from sight. He curses, and hurries down the tunnel in the hopes of catching her. Even as he does, his mind scrabbles through every skerrick of information he has accumulated from the Black Library about Jolie, the Pool, the Fortress, and Jolie's past 300 years. He cross-references this with the clues and hints dropped by the woman herself, the creature Elijah, and most recently the monk Leifong. Every bit of data flurries through his mind, flitting in and out of mental shelves and sorting systems as he sought correlations between them - anything to give him the slightest glimpse of what may lie ahead. All of this activity, though, is hidden behind a mask of implacable joviality, a blithe smile which protected the world from his thoughts.

Amadeo had, of course, noticed Mahri's total inattention to him and the incidents that had just transpired. So too he noticed her disappearance into the left corridor. Not to be outdone by Cornelius, who had vehemently rushed from his side, he jolted into a full run, hellbent on reaching the lycaness before their mutual friend.

Lokthull watches as Cornelius dashes further inside. He simply shakes his head, considering the wares on his back and the ominosity of the path ahead. Letting out a deep sigh, he calls to the remaining two, "Yuh besta be wahkin lightly in dayuh, metinks." Shaking his head more, the troll turns about and retreats the way he came.

Cornelius takes a moment away from his musing to glance at the man running beside him. He ponders at the motivation behind the strange Lycan's burst of speed, considering several possibilities likely, but deciding upon none. He lets the Lycan overtake him, then maintains an even distance of a couple of metres behind him.

Deeper In The Maze

Mahri could hear the yells behind, the pounding of feet trying to catch up. She paid no attention to them. Ahead, through that oppressing blackness, the depressing weight of the fortress, was a pinpoint of light. Soon, other sounds faded and her own breathing echoed in the pitch-black corridor. She was breathing too fast and the light was getting closer. Wasn't it? No. It was fading and soon lost. As was the lycan. Why hadn't she heeded her own damn advice! Turning a slow circle, eyes wide and unseeing in the absolute absence of light, the wolf calls out, "Hello!? Is anyone there?" She. Will. Not..absolutely refuses..to let the Fortress and the ancient sucking evil inside it play with her like the Labyrinth had. Not, that is, without a fight.

Some souls are stamped with goodness, and can do nothing but shine that light into the world. Some are grey and swing like uncertain pendulums between two extremes. And some are black as sin, black as night, and can no more hold a kindly intention in their grasp than one can hope to keep a handful of water. The ancient, powerful and horribly fractured being - whose flesh was this building, whose lost and warped soul was the dark water of the Obsidian Pool - had begun life as a plump lad, with a half-kindly heart and not much of a mind of his own. It had been easy then, all too easy, even after his thousands of years of saturation in the terrible magics of pure Chaos, for the man - more properly, the thing - that boy had become to end up a monster, betrayed and murdered, lamb to the slaughter, sundered into parts and rendered into a mindless, malleable slave.

Kurgan was never evil. He was a child of the Grey, the ones without the courage to choose, and who perpetually drift between. And this is why that poor, mad creature's soul, stained black with sin even as his heart was born white, would now ease its inky, ethereal fingers into the nooks and crannies of Mahri’s mind, seeking.... goodness. She had seen light, where none belonged nor had a source. Unaware that this was her own light shone back to her, Mahri had followed it. Now it had led her to a place that became increasingly more light, where the dark stone was crumbling into the sunshine of day, into the white heads of wildflowers. Into a white apron, worn by a woman Mahri knew... And then the lycaness would hear her name called, in the voice of that woman. And what could any good daughter do, but follow?

Mahri blinks. There it was again. That light. And with it a much beloved and missed voice. No. No she was dead. It came again, the call of her name in that sweet voice. "Mama?.." Walking towards the edge of the field, Mahri pauses and shakes her head as though trying to clear it of some fog. "Mahri, come here child! Quit dawdling and get me those herbs I asked for!" Looking down, she can see her feet covered by the swaying heads of wildflowers. Hadn't she not been able to see them before? A basket slung over her arm is filled with fresh wild herbs. Some will be used to flavor meals and others for healing. Like the Smith's gout. "Coming Mama!" Pushing a hand, an uncovered hand, through hair as wild and untamed as the teenager, she hurries through the meadow giving one last glance back to the edge of the forest she'd just emerged from. In that white apron, silvery eyes smile at the wilful teen a lovely child had grown in to. Somewhere, her father and the boy, Tavish, worked in a field to prepare the harvest. Late summer was always a busy time of gathering, drying and selling. This would be no different. At least this single day for in the near future is when the girl finds herself the subject of a rogue hunter. Now though, the sun was bright and warm on her skin and the hem of her oft-patched dress swung with lazy abandon about bare ankles. Sixteen. What a magical age to be.

"Come, sit by me," said her mother, patting the porch stair. On her lap was a bowl of unshelled peas, and this would plopped on Mahri's own knees once was she was seated. "We must have a little talk, you and I." There might be a very peculiar moment then, in which silvery eyes would bleed over with an inky pall of darkness, like a black cloud passing by, blotting out the silver light in a sky of pale grey. Mahri might feel a little queasy, for no reason she could discern, but like the darkness that would quickly pass, too.

Mahri , always the dutiful daughter, strolls to the porch. Setting the basket down and tossing the fall of her ebony hair out of her eyes, the teenager settles near her mother. Automatically she begins to shell the peas and when she looks up to inquire as to the nature of this discussion, Mahri blinks and swallows against a tide of nausea. Already forgotten is the shift in eye color and queasiness. "Have I done something wrong again?" Alright, so maybe she wasn't always the most dutiful of daughters. Splitting open the pods and running her thumb along the spine, she listens to the rhythmic dropping of green pearls into the bowl.

"No." The tone was kindly, as were her eyes. "No you haven't." The timbre of her mother's voice shifted, then, to a deeper pitch. "At least, not yet. In a few days, you will be lost to us, dear. You'll become a foul monster, and eat the flesh of the innocent. In time, you'll not only murder, but steal, betray many trusts, and commit an act of adultery that will result in the birth of my illegitimate grandson." The woman smiled, a kind and motherly smile, though her eyes had grown dark again. "I'm so proud of you, child. What a woman you'll grow to be."

Mahri's mother idly plucked a pea-pod from the bowl and split it open.

The bowl slides from her lap. It seemed like the classical slow-motion thing to happen. Peas spilled everywhere and the bowl bounced once or twice before rolling off the porch and into the yard. The words rang with truth for all they were spoken with that motherly indulgence she'd come to expect of the woman sitting next to her. "No. No, Tavish and I are going to be married and we'll live here with you and Papa and take over the farm when you're too old to do it." That was the plan, had been the plan for a year at least. And yet.. Staring at her mother so casually splitting a saved pod, Mahri stood abruptly. "I would never..." She can't lie to herself, even here and now. She will and has. Somehow she knows this. Turning on the heel of a bare foot, the sixteen year old leaps from the porch and races once more across the meadow, towards the far off woods. Her sanctuary.

Branches tore at her arms, her hair, as she ran, as thought the forest itself was a great tangled hand of fingers, clutching to catch her, stop her running. Roots seemed to rise against her feet, to trip her. The shushing of fallen leaves underfoot only covered puddles of deep, sucking mud. "You can't run from what you are, you know," said a nearby oak, its maw a rotten hollow its trunk. "You'll only run in circles and come back to yourself. May as well stop. May as sit down, and let yourself catch up, eh?" A silver birch shivered its leaves and giggled, a silvery sound, over which could be heard the horrendous baying of a wolf, in the distance.

Mahri is finally tripped up by a rising root and stays. Filthy, in this reality, with mud caked hands, knees and feet. Leaves cling with jagged edges in her hair and the voices of the forest, having always been a comfort to the girl, ring in her head and ears. She'd have shaken her head in denial if the howl hadn't cut through the metallic laughter. An answering howl rose up in her throat. The very pregnant woman left staring blindly while her mind latched on and rode out the implied, tips back her head to let it loose from vocal chords never designed to make such a beastly sound. The Fortress shifts and rolls beneath her feet, sending Mahri sprawling on the ground while in her vision the teenager struggles to her feet only to find her footing unsteady, the ground crumbling away with each attempted toe-hold sought.

In the forest, a white wolf and a black ran in mad circles around each other until it seemed they melted into a single, grey blur... Mahri would find herself in a cold passage of stone, and the only sound a clatter of bootheels, somewhere behind.