RP:Embers

Part of the What You Leave Behind Arc

Summary: Following the successful completion of his assassination contracts as provided by Kahran's lieutenants, Blut is summoned to a dark and distant place deep within the Shadow Plane, where he's afforded conversation with the wicked mastermind himself. Granted a new mission with the promise of rich reward, Blut schemes to drag Lionel's allies into further disarray.

The Black Library

Blut sat within the darkened areas he scowered through book after book. The library sure lived up to its name makeing it a utter pain to find what one needed in the dimply lit halls of the library of darkness. Blut was trying to further his grasp of chronomancy stoping at nothing to achive it. Weeks of pure uninterupted conciousness would normally put a strain on ones mind but not Blut for some reason. It felt like barly a few days past. He continued his research into his new found abilities walking from darkened book case to darkened book case with only a small candle for light. The library organised but cold whilst a desk sat littered with books anything he could find about manipulateing the fabiric of time. Blut wore his assassins garbs for both warmph and for protection against the path here. Blut mutters about getting a mount remembering how easy it was to get here by wyvern. Blut opens his pocket watch as he continues to read sat in his chair with nothing but his weapons and essentials. Blut took off his wraps as he rubbed his eyes looking around and admireing the mana flowing through the temple. No matter how many times he sees it it is always awe inspireing.

Sarenoth

Lionel | Some time passes before things begin to change. The manna flow begins to swirl toward the east wing of the library, picking up speed and coalescing in eerie green hues. Green takes on yellow, surges like electric discharge in the dim of this musty, timeless place. The swirls flare toward Blut at an alarming pace, but if he is capable of discerning their intent he will not sense the will to harm his person. Rather, he will feel a calling, a summoning to a place he was promised. The swirl cannot be stopped, cannot be brokered. It rams into him but there is no pain, no blowback. The dull shades of the library fade into brightness, an all-consuming white. The white soon vanishes and a darkness returns -- but a different sort, a deeper and more exotic scenery. Above him is a starry sky, filled with strands of purple and fuchsia nebulae. It’s a beautiful panorama unlike anything in Blut’s own realm; it speaks of power and purpose. Beneath that nocturnal sky, the gnarled zigzagging dusty remains of once-mighty trees litter the ground, making travel difficult. The ground itself is cracked, harsh and scorched, despite the coolness in the air. Impossible structures line the horizon, held in defiant posture; what was once a great tower is suspended upside-down from the sky, and where there was a coliseum it is now slammed into oblivion and hanging in the air in a thousand little pieces. Yet some distance in front of him, there exists a castle: black as obsidian, with ruby red lanterns hanging from window after window, its door a great colossal thing of crimson metal, its portcullis a stronger make than anything in Lithrydel, its many-splendored guardhouses covered with silhouettes the shapes of orcs and brimming with murder holes. A yawning chasm stretches in front of the castle like a ceaseless abyss, but the bridge is extended as if inviting Blut’s approach. Without a doubt, this must be Kahran’s lair.

Blut watched as the swirl formed around him abbruptly jumping up to his feet and knocking his chair over.as it dissapared into the vortex. Blut looked around unsure it the walls of magic were safe to touch or not. But soon he was left here. In this scene that he had never seen before. Blut shielded his eyes so much time in the darkness made the light hard to bear. It took a while but he got use to the light. He looked at the world around him amazed by what he saw. He looked around completly entranced by his new surroundings before his eyes settled onto the castle and the bridge soon inviteing him in. Blut sighed as he took a shot in the dark starting to walk forward over the bridge. This had to be Kharans home. The assassin thought to himself as he walked over the abyss.

Lionel | The bridge does not creak in the least; nor do the ravens soaring overhead make the slightest sound. Not even the wind can be heard, but it can surely be felt: it’s billowing without whoosh, blowing at Blut’s garb. The orc silhouettes stir in the shadows above, but no arrows come zipping down from on-high. Then, in a great boisterous clang, the massive crimson door slides open seemingly of its own volition, screeching over the bridge and over the chasm beneath it, slamming into the obsidian stones of the castle itself. Entry is permitted. The red lanterns continue inside, and a matching carpet slashed with gold will guide Blut, cross-dimensional traveler, up a spiraling staircase and then down a long -- almost unfathomably long -- hall. The walls are carved with the intricate etchings of a thousand thousand atrocities. Murder most foul, massacres in a hundred forgotten lands in a hundred more forgotten tongues. Innocent lives picked apart, mutilated, ravaged and suddenly silenced. Many red doors appear on either side of Blut’s journey if he follows this path to its end, and screams enough to mangle even the most stalwart hearts can be heard behind more than a few. A man of middling years, human and naked and cut in such a fashion that his arms are tatters and his legs are a cacophony of unnatural color, shivers in his death throes as he leans against the cold stone wall. His beard was once brown streaked with grey; now it’s streaked with blood. He doesn’t see Blut, doesn’t register him; his mind is elsewhere forevermore. Not far from that man is a final door: ornate as any king’s palace, gold and silver and marble. Its handle glistens like ice. If Blut should enter, he will see a sweeping hall of gilded statues from too many cultures to count. Chromatic strands of manna surge brilliantly, vibrantly, through the hall. A throne the color of blackest night awaits him at the edge of this place, two guards in pure white robes and helms holding masterwork pikes in front of their so-called god. Kahran, with a crown of blood diamonds on his head and clothed in a suit of midnight blue, awaits.

Blut continued walking as he looked through castle. He saw the memorials to the attrocities some in languages he understood some he didn't. Blut continued to walk his footsteps could be heard ecchoing in the hallway as he walked. Blut heared the scream in was a bloodcurdeling cream and then he saw the man. But Blut kept walking not because he was startled not because he was scared. What people don't get about him is that he no longer feels. He is not brave nor is he a coward he simply fails to feel fear. All the quirks and quips Blut manages to spit out were all stolen from the hundreds of lifes he stole. Blut truely could play anyone in anyway and people would more than likely belive that Blut was the original. Blut entered the final room as he watched the guards only stopping infront of them as he placed his hands into his pocket. "Well this is the litteral definition of modisty isn't it." Blut chuckled as he looked up at Kahran " So what have you called me for?" Blut asked in a tone that sounded almost amused.

Lionel | Kahran’s smirk is rich with zeal. With a gentle wave of his pallid, too-bony hand, he ushers the guards bid him access to his guest. In one perfect motion, the pikes are withdrawn and the guards pivot on their feet to look out through their ivory helms in opposing directions to the east and west. Kahran takes a breath of the crisp, cool air. As he rises from his throne, he snaps his fingers and many of the splendid portraits lining the golden walls shift from boldly royal paintings into the darkest mirrors of their original versions. Where once was a princess enjoying a ride on her mare through some enchanted forest, now the forest is shadows and devils, the princess a wicked woman, her mare all red-eyed with teeth like a tiger’s. Where once was a king’s court at supper, now the goblets are all half-filled with poisons, and the king and all his men -- but one -- lie mangled in their chairs, their faces reduced to mere skulls. Kahran steps down from his dais and stretches. “You are here because you passed the test you were given,” he says, in dulcet tones much unlike the raspiness he’s exhibited elsewhere since declaring himself to Lithrydel. “You now stand to become one of my top lieutenants. The rewards would be well beyond the limitations placed upon you before now. I would give you the strength to do as you like, where you like, whenever you like. But such might must be earned.” He glances at Blut with searching grey eyes, a scholar’s eyes trapped inside the chiseled body of an athlete. “Tell me why you look to chronomancy for your power. Who are you, then? Vuryal?” Kahran laughs mockingly. “A small man with a gift he did not deserve. You could be more.”

Blut crossed his arms as he looked at the man. "Why are you asking this?" Blut asked curious as to why he was giving out these questions. Blut gazed at the man trying to read him before sighing looking back at the wizard king or whatever he likes to call himself. "Chronomancy is a school of magic open to me by the demise of my father. Regardless if I wanted this power or not It's here to stay. So I might as well get use to these abilities. Besides I'm a man who values ambition so who would I be to claim that if I didn't have ambitions of my own." Blut answered as he looked over the tables observing and inspecting the table from a distance..

Lionel | Kahran studies Blut carefully for the duration of his reply. It is as if he is awaiting something, some choice of words to steer the appropriate course. At first those words do not come, and Kahran is stoic. Perhaps a touch of disappointment mars his grey eyes -- it’s difficult to tell with the man so poised and motionless. But then, at the end, the man is satisfied. The word ‘ambition’ is uttered, and Kahran is moving again, breathing again, nodding slowly. His assessment of the assassin has proven correct. This is someone who will do much and more to fulfill his life’s thirsts. Yet Mulgrew, that strange woman who appeared before Blut on the road to Venturil, asked him a somewhat similar question. Kahran would not demonstrate even the remotest uncertainty as to whether ambition marks Blut’s life if Mulgrew had been in communication with him, would he? Whoever she was, they do not appear to be allies. Kahran’s smile returns. “Good. All well and good. You shall have what you seek. Piece by piece I shall give it to you. You were given gold for the lives you recently took. Gold to spend on gear, and trinkets and baubles, and whatever fleshly desires you seek. But I will give you true power. I have a mission for you, assassin. Will you hear it?”

Blut chuckled as he turned to face the man. Blut took out a notebook and a inked quill "I don't belive you'd bring be here if you were willing to take no for a answer." Blut answered with a small smirk "So what is it you want me to do?. And what have I got to gain" asked softly tilting his head slightly to the right,

Lionel | Kahran shares Blut’s mirth. For a fleeting moment, the two men appear to understand one-another immaculately. “The world is a ladder. Only the few will rise; all others will be cast down to rot. As it happens,” he says with a snarl, “I determine the few. I inherited the wreckage of wonder, the surviving embers of an empire. Now it stands rebuilt, my war camps strewn across the surface world. Where my legions walk, death awaits. I have divined this. But I was not alone in that wreckage. There were others, few but glorious, from the bygone era of my predecessors, when Lithrydel stood on the brink of our greatness. One by one they fell in line with my will. Yet I now learn that one of them plots betrayal.” He chuckles dryly. “I do not resent him. The world -is- a ladder. But that ladder shall be climbed on order of -my- vaulting ambition. None shall rise without my command. I have given order to my generals to begin the preparations for a rather special celebration of my enemies’ futility. I could call one back, but instead I have selected you for this task. I want you to find this betrayer and destroy him.”

Blut tapped his notebook with his pen. Blut had heard these speaching a dime a thousand times before. People who don't share the same view will tend to want one or the other out of the way. "Then I will need a few details I assume you will introduce me to these people who you have suspicions on but a little information about them before I actually meet them can go a long way." Blut raised his head to look at the man "Also your a powerful sorcerer why not just extract the infromation from their minds." Blut asked tilting his head to the left in a ploy to get Kharan to reveal if he can or can't read minds. "And I have something to report about the resistance against you." Blut followed up with not to wayn doubt.

Lionel | Kahran runs the fingers of his left hand across his shoulder. The guards behind him remain motionless but for the slight unison tilt of their pikes. Kahran pulls his fingers from his shoulder and waves them slightly, causing the guards to return their pikes to their original position. Blut’s inquiry must have caused this, but Kahran’s smirk has not faded, signifying that it is amusement he harbors, not offense. “My machinations will be revealed to you when I choose to reveal them. That is the nature of our relations. -That- will not change. As for your task, there is but one man, a necromancer responsible for certain experiments in the Southern Sage. He flits from camp to camp, testing captured elves to determine whether they are malleable to the transformations I have inflicted upon certain human stock. His name is Qyvek. An interloper called Beldur recently brought an end to one of those camps -- Qyvek’s own negligence is to blame. He was not even present for the skirmish. It matters not.” He runs his hand across his milky white jaw. “You will go to the Southern Sage. You will seek out one of the camps. There, you will a squadron of my orcs. Perhaps a few trolls. And you will find Qyvek himself. Since his embarrassment, he has returned to keep careful watch. Whether you slaughter his forces or head straight for your objective is to be handled at your discretion. I do not care how many you kill so long as you kill the man I order dead. Now tell me your report.”

Blut closed his book and crossed his arms before chuckleing. "Actually Kahran a better idea if I may." Blut asked before pauseing for a moment. "Why don't I lead those heros to the location of the worm. It will serve to weaken their forces and moral whilst your forces will stay healthy. Let them spread their forces thin and let me erase them one at a time." Blut offered with his smirk growing larger "They owe me alot. Lets add some more to those debts that they owe me. Also you will want to send reinforcements to your giants in frostmaw. They are planing to attack and devistate them in a stealth mission running within a few days from now. If they succeed they will be able to arm themselves better and loosen your grip over the area. But crush them under foot and the whole city will yeild." Blut explained as he looked up at the celling reciteing his plan.

Lionel | Kahran cants his head. “Frostmaw remains a distant target. You must mean the Ouroboros tribe, a group of giants with no affiliation to that weak festering place that mocks itself with terms like ‘City of War’. Yes, I suspected they would try something. Ouroboros extended its hand overmuch; they should never have begun rolling out their crafted arms and armor until enough was manufactured for the whole of my domain.” He paces two steps to the left, tapping the tips of his fingers gently on his hip. Those scholarly grey eyes are searching for something in the grotesque topaz-studded statue of a woman’s death throes. “I propose something else. If the Catalian’s little fly colony wishes to buzz upon Ouroboros, let them buzz. Go with them -- and share in the spoils if they do indeed strike. Coat your blades in widow’s breath, the deep sedation which will render your victims so thoroughly unconscious they will seem as dead to any who check, even magically. If the loathsome resistance succeeds, the survivors you ensure will answer to me… and the work will continue. If they falter, all the better, but I will not waste a breath protecting a tribe of failures. Their cover is blown; let them die in obscurity, the fools.” Kahran swivels on his feet in a swift motion, returning his direct attention to Blut. “Now as for your mission to kill Qyvek, handle it as you will. Your suggestion is neither heeded nor denied. If your clever gambit pays off in spades, your rewards will be all the richer. If your -own- cover is blown -- if -you- extend your hand overmuch -- do not show your face here again.” The smile returns. “Now go. You have work to do.”

Blut turned to leave before stoping abruptly before looking at the man and opening his book showing Kharan a book of the Sage forest how about telling me about these camps and where they are. It will be harder for me to find your fool withing a idea of where he could be or even what he looks like. And perhaps you could give me a means to traval between realms it would be a pain if I had to wait for you or your comanders to warp me every time." Blut suggested each point being genuine to the success to his mission but at the same time leaves potential for more.

Lionel | Kahran shakes his head sternly. “That power is earned, not freely given. A few trite assassinations does not a trusted general make. You will be summoned precisely when I demand your presence. Content yourself with the prospect that your climb up my ladder will not stop unless you fail me.” He sucks in the cold air, lets it out with a throaty laugh. “So, it’s simple: do not fail me.” A moment passes before Kahran bothers answering the former, easier request. “You’ll find the camps two kilometers to the north of the long-forgotten temple of the heretic, Arkhen. They’re nestled within a network of caves deep within the forest. Sentries lie in wait at numerous wooden constructs. The caverns’ southernmost entrance is its lightest-guarded.”

Blut nodes his head as he marks the areas on his map. "I'll be sure too keep that in mind. Well then I will be off Kharan." Blut explained as he stood and put his book and quill away. He waited for Kharan to teleport him back if he takes too long he will start tapping his foot even longer than than he will cough agressively as a hint to the very obvious fact he was stuck here unless he was sent off by Kahran or by some other means. Lionel | No coughing is needed, nor even the tapping of feet. Blut loses sight of the great hall and the man behind it all, green swirls of manna swallowing him up into a blanket of pure white light before depositing him back precisely from whence he came. The darkness of the library, the must of its scent and of books older than anyone alive, comes back to Blut all at once.

The Whalers' Bar

Blut enters the bar in Cenril. He was just here to talk to his gang and to get some jobs underway but by utter coincidence he found the hero of frostmaw. Blut walked over to the man dressed in his assassins garbs as he took out his book. "Lionel you might want to see this." Blut explained takeing out a book which showed the map to villans camp. "I found where they are takeing the slaves." Blut mentioned swiftly placeing the book on the table.

Lionel cranes his neck to catch sight of Blut’s approach. A strain flares up in several of his muscles, causing him to grimace briefly before concealing the pain with a quick grin. Whatever ails him, he’s starting to feel it more and more as this war marches on. “Hey, man.” The words are warm. He climbs up out of his chair and takes this much-needed opportunity to stretch. The particulars of that stretch are not unlike the exact motions Kahran took when he rose from his throne; a circumstantial parallel, but a darkly amusing one. “The slaves…?” There could be so many meanings therein. The exact workings of Kahran’s forward camps and sudden strikes have seemed to vary from place to place. Could Blut have somehow discovered the location of Kahran’s main base of operations here? What’s more -- truly a fool’s errand -- could he have unearthed Kahran’s location within the Shadow Plane? No. Lionel has no time for such flights of fancy; he cannot let his hopes get the best of him. There is no way this assassin, however gifted, could unlock such secrets. He sighs slightly, but his blue eyes go wide at the map. “-Those- slaves. Beldur told me about this, but there hasn’t been time to investigate. A few scattered elves were brought to some cave and experimented-upon. Grisly business, and business I intended to settle. How did you…?” He doesn’t finish the question, but it ought to be obvious that he wants to know how Blut acquired such vital intelligence.

Blut looked at lionel before speaking softly "I'm a killer for hire don't ask questions you don't want answers too." Blut explained pointing at the wraps "and try to remember why I lost these." Blut explained tearing out the page and handing it to lionel. "Sign me up for the attack on those giants and keep this you'll need this one day." Blut told him quickly as he placed a vial of dragon blood. If Lionel turned the page around he would find a page with a map of the sage forest with all the underground camps with a message. Do not persue without my say so!

Lionel snorts. He watches Blut curiously, more to admire the assassin’s raw verbal edge than out of any lingering irritation. There is a hint of irritation present, though; frankly, Lionel’s accustomed to being the one with the barbed remarks, not standing on the receiving end. Briefly, he considers the ramifications of having allied so closely with a man who, by his own declaration, is a murderer. What has Lionel become? What has he allowed this conflict, and the previous conflict with Kahran’s own former masters, to turn him into? “A realist,” he says, both in response to Blut and to himself. “Fair enough. Thank you for this.” He examines the vial, lofting a brow. “Don’t suppose you’ll tell me -why- I need this, though?”

Blut got up and put his hand on Lionels shoulder whispering "Dragon Blood" before walking off no more being said. Anyone worth their salt should know what dragon Blood does.

Lionel watches Blut's departure carefully. An amused look lights up his face -- at least, until the literal pain in his neck sprouts again. He glances at the vial, then back to his glass of wine. Times like these, either one seems a decent chug. "Dragon blood," he repeats quietly, then shakes his head and returns to his studies.