RP:Imar & Renin Discover Leoxander
Note
This is part of the The Obsidian Pool - The First Wave story arc.
In The Dark Fortress
Imar stumbles into the cavernous room, amber eyes glittering, and dark visage drawn tightly across angular bones. He sees Renin, and standing to his full height, the tall drow barks "What are you doing here Renin?"
Renin eyes narrow and squint, the form of his rivaled drow now swimming into focus across the great room. Gloved palm falls, immediately, to rest upon twin daggers at hip, but linger there. "What business do you have here?"
Renin lets a feral growl slip from tightly clasped lips, though slowly inches his hands from the magicked brands at the ready. “This is no coincidence… why have you come Imar?”
Imar stares at Renin through eyes as hard as gem stones, and his expression is set into a forbidding mask of suppressed rage “ I will not waste time. I have to go in the pool, and try to help Tenebrae and Danielle” His shoulders lift in a self mocking shrug, and the evidence of pain ripples across his features as a trickle of fresh blood seeps from the soiled bandage “Leo and Castellian have already gone, but I think they are going to need what I possess, if they are to win out, and bring them home.”
Renin allows the faintest of smirks to meander about his visage, “And you thought you’d leave without me?” His next steps are hasty, blade holstered upon shoulder thrust from its encasement in a single, fluid tug- thus thrusting beams of shadow-piercing rays of light. The shorter of the two drow steps once more towards his counterpart, “Damn I’m ready.”
Imar 's gaze drifts back to the pool, and a shudder runs through his entire body “It’s a bad place Renin, filled with dreams and illusions, and worse, it’s alive, I can feel it breathing, and hear it thinking” Turning back to the spellblade “You can’t go in their without paying a price, and there all in there. It’s my fault Renin, I brought Tenebrae here when she was injured, and was here when she jumped in. I was, and is still am linked to her, and she blames me. So, for good or ill, I am bound to the necromancer, and I must go in after her.” Turning Imar moves steadily toward the pool.
Larewen winds her way through the corridors, barely able to recall which turns to make as she moves. After a matter of moments, she steps out into the room, gaze uneasily sliding to the remnants of the statue creatues before turning towards the two drow near the pool.
Renin nods, knowing full well what this pool may do to him, his will, and his sanity. Allowing a begrudged look to come across his face he takes steps in accordance with Imar, “I have faced a portion of this… this place’s power before, and I emerged the victor.” Zephyr is held ahead like a torch, as the two drow have now gone silent, their decent about to commence.
Imar ’s mind fills with the horror and fear of those trapped, and with the pending darkness already filling his heart, he steps toward the obsidian menace. Blood pounding in his ears, the tall drow gazes for a long moment at the limitless depths of the purist black he has ever seen, and he shakes his snow covered head, as though confused at his own recklessness. Drawing in a lung full of life giving air, he leaps forward. As booted feet touch the flat, malevolent surface, the vast room tilts on its axis, and explodes into a cascade of obsidian jewels, surrounded by millions of glittering diamonds
Renin follows suit, sandaled feet sliding forward before springing in an almighty leap. The athletic frame of Renin is twirled, sword positioned to pierce the murky waters first upon entering. Impact brings about a vile collision of good and evil, light and dark- Zephyr competing with this vile pool. In a moment it is all but over, however, and the remnant of the Telleson house is off in search of his comrades.
Larewen watches in utter silence as the two drow enter the pool also. The count, as far as she knew, was now six. Her brow furrows before her pointed ears pick up the sound of another within the chamber. As he appears in her view, her gaze drifts to his form, studying him in silence.
Imar sinks into the bottomless depths, his mind explodes with a miasma of images and voices. Thousands of minds, and their illusions, all fluid and dynamic as they span an immense timeline, flood Imar’s head, and he opens his mouth to scream in pain. Water fills his lungs, and for a moment all goes black. He blinks, and looking around, he finds himself standing in a deep underground cavern. A dank, feted odor fills the air, and a trickle of water is the only sound. Amber eyes move around the cave, and despite his awareness of the normal acuity of his night vision, he is never the less stunned by the sheer clarity of his perceptions. Shadowy corners, normally impenetrable even to his drow eyes, leap into sharp focus, and every detail of rock and lurking denizen is clearly exposed to view. A breath of memory slides across his mind, and for a moment, Imar knows exactly where he is. Then, like water from a cracked glass, 200 years of hunting the under dark, and the warmth of house and family, seep from the illusionist’s mind, and in seconds he is a stranger to the world of his birth. Confusion and fear radiate from the depths his luminous gaze, and he mutters softly to himself “I think this is the under dark, but I don’t recognize anything.” His brows draw together in a tight frown as he realizes that he doesn't remember the under dark, nor even the language he was born to. His gaze travels around the cavern, stopping to look closely at the various tunnels which lead to places only the dark ones who brought him here are aware off, and his voice, low and bitter “What have I done?”
Larewen bites her lower lip and slips back out the way she came. Six were in, and that was six too many.
Renin's form pierces the pitch-black waters. The following incidents flash before the drow’s eyes in naught but a few seconds, though they seem to span a good minute. His form slowly slips to a rocky ledge of the pool, the jagged edge of some stone catching amidst his swirling attire through his plummet. Flesh is torn and blood is given in abundance to the waters. In a gurgle the drow’s breath is rapidly sought, but a moment’s concentration proves that such a thing is no longer needed in this warped zone. Still to anxious to talk he ‘glides’ through the waters towards Imar, blade held before his traversing body like a beacon- should sight be hindered any more.
In The Obsidian Pool
Imar turns to face Renin, and for what seems to him an age, but was in fact merely seconds, his perception of reality slips, and control shifts to another, darker Imar. Nostrils flare wide as he smells the man’s salty sweat, strong even after the swim, and he draws in the man’s individual pheromones. Instantly infuriated, a deep growl issues from between taut lips, and in a blur of movement, the tall drow is in front of Renin. Fingers curled into claws, grasp his shirt with immense strength and pulls him out of the water. With effortless ease, he picks Renin up of the ground, and stares at him. The sweet metallic taint of his blood, thick and hot, fills his mind and body with a visceral deep hunger. He feels the drow’s breath, warm and shallow, caressing his face, and he revels in the sound of his heart, crashing with ever greater force against their prison of bone. Pulling him close, a flood of crimson stains the amber depths of his cold, hard eyes, and a rictus grin of anger spreads across his visage as he snarls“Renin! Who are you?”
Renin blinks back the natural tears that come with a lack of oxygen. For the first time since he can remember- Renin is scared- not fearing for his life as he would in battle or at war, but fearing for his soul, his spirit, even his rapture should he die. In the midst of this living hell something kicks through the swirling pools to encircle his neck, screaming some inaudible taunt. In a whir of crimson the object wisps into view. Ren gasps, arms flail and struggle to push the drow backward from his assailant. His mind struggles for some explanation, any, but there is none- and yet this demonified form of Ren stands before him in his narrowed field of vision. Despite his worries he manages to speak, “I thought… I killed you.” With that he slashes Zephyr forth, intent on severing the replica’s arm, but due to the horrendous magiks slices instead into the meat of his opposite arm, screams echo and blood flows… this truly is hell.
Imar stares at Renin, confused by the drow’s actions and distracted by the blood spilling the other man’s arm. Clarity of thought begins to filter into his mind, and recognition flares in his gaze. A deep rumble shakes the floor and walls of the cavern, and high above the two forms a series of sharp cracks are the only warning of imminent danger. Stalactites of all sizes begin raining down from the shadowy roof to smash or bury themselves into the rock floor. Imar’s fingers release their hold on Renin’s shirt and he allows him to land on his own two feet again The tall drow stares with hard eyes at the falling rocks, and with barked word to Renin “Move!”.he seems to glide through falling debris, not allowing a single rock to touch him as he makes his way to an exit tunnel.
Leoxander couldn't see well at all. Here was all darkness, but the human was naturally nocturnal, used to the night. Though this perpetual void of nothing exceeded the blackness a moonless evening could bring, he wasn't panicking. He found a few objects, something that felt like cold stone, to lean on when he needed to recollect his composure and strength. For a time, he heard his own breathing, his own cursing whispers.. and sometimes... hissing of syllables behind him, chasing him forward a little at a time. Finally, he heard another sound, the sound of argument, voices... familiar voices. The call of his name in Imar's voice echoed in his mind. A hand raised to the back of his neck to touch the wound matted in the back of his hair, above the top of his spine. His silent boots did scuff a bit as he moved at a slow pace toward the yelling, head down, pitched forward onto a path he could barely see. Once, he nearly tripped over roots that seemed to purposefully lift in his way, and with a grunt of frustration the human stumbled stomach first into a conveniently placed jagged mound of stone, cutting his fingers and arms when he tried to catch himself to protect his masked face. It didn't matter where they were, indoors or out. It was Hades, or another form of. Leo hated it.
Renin is lost amidst the escalating chaos. Sharpened stones plummet from unseen places, digging with vehemence into his skin. This illusionary pit swirls about even more now, reality only a faint reminder of the old life. A rather large pyramid of stone comes crashing down, now, splitting the clones apart, and ‘ironically’ entrenching itself in the false Ren’s body. In horror the Telleson brother watches from afar as his impaled counterpart slips down into murky depths, his thought racing – that easily could have been him. Razor edged stones continue to pepper his body, though shrinking in stature as the assault wears on. It is now that Ren first sheathes Zephyr, for fear of losing it to this infernal place, “Now what in the name of Sven am I supposed to do.”
Imar stops moving as the rumbling recedes into the distant background, and his gaze sweeps the tunnel for sign of Renin. Only now does it register that the tormenting voice of Tenebrae has faded into the background of his mind, and once again his thoughts ring clear as cut crystal. He closes his eyes, as a familiar mental signature breathes past his awareness, and with a light tentative touch of his own mind he calls "Leo! is that you?"
Leoxander lifted his eyes slowly, focusing on the dark skinned visage of the drow, blending into the atmosphere as though born to it - which he likely was. His hand slid from the nape of his neck, toward his belt, touching the hilt of knives he hadn't lost. The armor on his body seemed heavier than before, but he still carried his bow, strapped loosely to his back. "...Where's Castellian?" Those were the first words grated in hoarse vocals, croaked out with a few cautious steps toward Imar. His blurred vision roamed, behind the drow, toward... Rennion, or... perhaps many of him. "...What's going on?!" With a growl of words, the thief clutched into leather bound hilts and jerked twin blades into view. An ambush?
Tenebrae was still lost, deep in the labyrinthine recesses of the pool or ... was it her mind? In either case, the necromancer was smiling as she turned from the man beside her. Laethalion, her love... and now they ruled the world, as he'd promised her. Wine, he'd wanted, and she would not allow the servants to fetch it for him. These little gestures, were they not the marks of a true and abiding love? The doorway was dark as she passed it, the hall seeming longer than she recalled. And had she taken a wrong turn, back there somewhere? Tene placed whitened knuckles to her lips, confused. What had she been doing? Fetching ... something for ... someone. Slender hands stretched down to cup the swelling of her belly. The child was kicking hard, today, the weight of it bearing down uneasily on her body. Sighing deeply, the vampiress thought to try another passage, one she thought familiar...
Renin is stiff within the idling currents of this sea. Normally keen drowic vision starting to fail him as he catches the first glimpse of Imar since he entered the pool. Always one to be strong of mind Renin does not allow another illusion to overtake him, not yet. Swift strides carrying the ‘water-borne’ drow through the liquid towards the opposite drow, his mind reeling with possibilities. Advancement is slowed to a grueling halt, however, time slows and what appears to be a light-strewn city swims into view before Rennion, “Oh shi…” His voice trails off, as the building that once housed the Da’Telleson family wavers into being- right before his very eyes. It’s different now, though, Renin is at home… it was right about now, so many years ago, that fire was lit. In what could be described a watery prison or an underdark architectural masterpiece Renin fights to stay alive, illusions so real bringing back what may well be the worst day of his life, the slaughter of the Telleson house.
Imar stares hard at the tunnel ahead for a long silent moment, though he isn't really seeing it. He ignores the threatening posture of the human, his thoughts caught in the complex matrix of spells, and such illusions as he could only dream off. Finally, the master of illusion refocuses his gaze onto Leoxander, and shakes his head "I feel his mind, but Castellian is far from us. The illusions are tidal, they are dynamic, never sitting still, and it is difficult to follow sometimes. When he comes closer, I will be able to find him, as I did you" He frowns at the weapons and a glint of crimson enters his gaze.
Leoxander glared toward Renin, breathing hard. Drow, two of them.. but he couldn't ignore the fact that both men were familiar. If only they were at the drow refuge camp, Leo knew the way out of there, though the house it led into, filled with spiders, was never pleasant. Reeling through those memories and thoughts, he breathed hard and aggressively while looking at the exposed back of the man standing at a distance, then finally he began to relax, and loosened his grip on his weapons with a suspicious look at Imar. The illusionist had once caused a scene, a cave of darkness, much like this. Was he in Leo's mind now? Betraying his fears to reality? "...Castellian's our way out. He's got the damned chain." Growling those vicious words, he sheathed his blades to their hilts, clenching his fists until knuckles popped. The man was losing something, alright. Payment for his entry.
Renin stands atop the flaming ramparts of the Da’Telleson Main House. The scene was truly dramatic, rivaling drow of other bloodline scale the wale, daggers clenched between their teeth as the climb. Bloodied slaves, brothers, and even his father lay dead at Ren’s feet, the enemy having slain them all. Rage had overtaken Renin his body spun in fitful rotations, daggers flung from clenched fists only to claw hilt-deep into an opposing drow’s cranium. One after another they fell before his prowess, twin blades wrought through the bloody ordeal proving deadly allies to Renin, as rapid rotations work dual longswords in vicious arcs high and low, right and left, decapitating, skewering, and maiming. This dance is one of beauty to those watching, but it is an odd one as well, for the drow holds no weapon and the castle he fights atop… is not there.
Imar concentrates his will, and the image of Leoxander and Renin solidifie. buildings come into focus, superimposed over rock walls, and battling warriors. The tall drow frowns darkly, and his lips thin confused anger"This place is very strange, illusions within illusions. Do not underestimate them, for us, many of them are real, and they will kill us." He stares at Renin, and a cleansing breath of thought washes through the spell blades frantic mind *come Renin, look and you will see that what you see is not there. Tis a memory made almost real, but not quite* Turning to Leoxander "Chain! what chain?"
Leoxander silently took in the Illusionist's words about the matter he was most knowledgeable, before glaring impatiently toward Renin, who seemed to stand there, staring into darkness. Leo could not see but flickers of movement and silhouette beyond that. As Imar beckons the man to join them, his eyes stray over his shoulder again, hearing the slither of whispers from nearby, yet so far. The chant is broken as harshly as shattered glass when Imar's voice tears through his mind, recapturing his attention for an answer in the same guttural tones. "The chain he secured in the hall. I didn't bother to ask about Plan B." After snapping irritably at the dark skinned elf, he turned, stalking off. Whether Imar and Renin followed to stay with the human was up to them, but there only seemed to be one way out... shadows swallowed him at a short distance affectionately.
Renin blinks upon hearing Imar’s words, the house of Telleson fading from view just as it had come. Slowly he rises from the disappearing battlefield, all-to-real scars blistering up amidst his form as he pulls himself afull. Vitae drips from many wounds, seen and unseen, and through a combination of skips and lurching steps does Ren follow the departing thief, no words spoken, yet eyes clenched tight the majority of the time- hopefully rendering any further illusions unreal. Renin walks, arm of the right crossed across his chest and the reopened wound from Majere earlier this week, but for now, pain isn’t real… nothing is real.
Imar watches Leoxander leave, and a hard smile ripples across his dark visage. He turns to Renin, and nods his head silently as the drow passes him "I will find you soon"
One step after another. That was his focus point. His human eyes were useless; mismatched irises seemed pale, and his features were squinted in pain where they were not masked. Yet, the bite he suffered from wasn't poison. He'd come to an abrupt awareness on that stone floor, managed to walk into the other two drow, and the agony he experienced then wasn't physical. The inside of his skull burned and itched with irritation, a nuisance that no amount of scratching into ashen blonde hair would relieve. But as he walked... he kept reaching up, dirty fingers exposed from the roguish cut of black leather gloves. Leo trudged on into a night like no other, and he kept clawing at his scalp as though plagued with lice, his cloth-covered jaw tucking to his chest with groans of frustration muffled hoarse, now and then. Something was wrong.
If anyone was following his blind lead through those caverns, he wasn't looking back to check their status. His only reason for searching around at all was rather baffling. Sometimes he'd stop, his lean body tensing into a defensive stance, only to remain thus motionless and silent for a good minute on end. He went so far as to hold his breath at those moments, straining to listen to, or perhaps through the obsidian walls and the shadows that draped them. The pirate heard them; whispers, loud enough to be distinguished but too quiet to hear what it was they were saying. It was nearly mile into this walk that he began to lose his calm, to the point he sporadically spasmed with annoyance; twitching, ...losing control.
For those night-seeing elves that might have accompanied him, for it was best to stay together in such conditions, they might see the fear in the mortal's eyes. Confusion, more or less... Leoxander couldn't comprehend what was going on. One goal remained centered within a mind that shuddered on it's mental foundation. He had to find Castellian, and Tenebrae.
He appeared almost feral, gaze darting while tracking down a non-existent trail, his shoulders slightly hunched to try to ward out the hissing that drove him on. It was like the warning rattle of a striking snake's tail, echoing horribly off jagged rock walls, but the further he ran, the more threatening and loud it became. Though he showed no signs of fatigue or spent energy, Leo breathed as though he'd been running for days, the pattern a bit erratic from his own fright. If only they had some form of light - he'd never felt so unwelcome in the dark. The man who'd wandered for a living couldn't recall a moment he'd ever felt so lost.
Lost.
Leo stopped, after awhile of moving and traveling. He didn't speak a word.
Instead, he reached a hand into one of the many pockets concealed in his belt and armor, and slowly removed a compass. The side of calloused thumb skimmed gently over the lid, engraved with an 'L'. He didn't need to see it to feel the reassuring design engraved into the front.
Sinking into a crouch, height of six foot two dropped to three foot eight. The thief gazed through a fog of wheat color at the magnetic spindle centered in it's ring. His nose, sunburned from a long walk across the near desert with Schalk, nearly touched the clear surface in effort to see the small letters symbolized beneath..
At least something of his wits remained intact.