RP:The Changing Face of Evil

From HollowWiki

Part of the To Haunt A Hero Arc



Summary: Kasyr summons Lionel to assist in another bout with Corruption. Jesen, eager to prove himself alongside these fabled names, arrives at the scene and risks his life to work as decoy. But only moments into the conflict, Xersom appears, cancelling all magic with unimaginable power. A tense standoff occurs. Lionel looks upon this ancient remnant as the source of all evil; Dark Immortals and their generals as the endgame devils of Lithrydel is all he understands. Xersom, for his part, arrives at the scene alongside his young sons, and threatens that Lionel is nothing more than the villains he's slain if he would kill a father in front of his children. All-the-while, Kasyr stands as agitated mediator, bringing forward a truce nearly as tense as Lionel himself.



Vailkrin: Shattered Halls of Darkness

Jarith || Corruption screeched when the blade cut through his puppet’s body, remaining hand grabbing the nub before he glared that baleful hatred at the katana wielding Kasyr. Run? To what end, there was precious little left of his power, this being was bleeding, weaker than normal. Corruption didn’t laugh, instead he glared for sparing moments as he pondered actions. Lust, Sloth, and Greed were all that remained. Calculating what power’s remained gave him time and the demon-like being collected himself, the Kensai had said ‘don’t run’. So be it… The power rose all three of them were not much, even bolstered by the stolen artifact, Corruption escaped the body of his host in a wave of obsidian miasma. It was a fog of tendril-mass, glowing disembodied eyes that the focused solely on Kasyr. The attachment to Jarith remained, if just barely, leaving the body somewhere in the darkness that churned and twisted as the sentient cursed aimed for Kasyr as a whole. Like the stalking kills of some sea leviathan and with much the same tentacles does it aim for the former King, devouring him would be the perfect bolster, more than enough to settle and fix all of this, to exact vengeance on the female who stole pride, and upon the blond male who had likewise attacked him the night by The bloody fountain. This was his victory, at least as far as Corruption could tell.


Jesen makes haste to catch up with O'Connor, saying as he makes his way by the man's side. "A fight and you don't invite me? And here I thought we were friends."


Kasyr is doing that thing again, where he sticks his foot in his mouth and coaxes anything in his vicinity going from merely trying to kill him, to utterly losing their cool in a frenzy of murderousness. Or, at least, Kasyr somewhat -hopes that's what happens, as the possibility that Jarith could sprout more grasping tendrils leads to a sort of bleak train of thought best left to particularily masochistic devotees of the Cult Of Pleasure. Barely getting the time to gulp in a desperate breath of air, the Kensai kicking off the wall if only to dive off to the side of that churning mass of caliginous tendrils, a desperate evasive maneuver that has him rolling beneath the oncoming attack, if only for the door to promptly slam into him as help arrives- sending him rolling right back into the fray, were one of those groping appendages proceeds to wrap around Kasyr's lag and promptly start dragging him towards it. Instinctively, the man falls back on one of his oldest manuevers- the Katana briefly lanced out to an adjacent chair propped against the wall, if only so it can be hooked towards the swordsman, and then hurled straight towards Jarith. A distraction, and likely a poor one- but it's all the revenant can think to do until he feels it. That trace of him. That power- residual energies he'd scorched into Jariths armour prior to his last vanishing act. Praying that he can grasp hold of those ambient electrical energys before Corruption realizes their presence and devours them, Kasyr promptly jerks one hand to one side- every bit of concentration being exerted to use the charged metal on Jariths body and slam him head first into the desk adjacent to the bed, and then the wall, and maybe the floor if the energy hasn't exhausted itself. In any case, however- Kasyr's rather relying on those present to plausibly disentagle him. Or..something.



Lionel twitches comically at Jesen’s comment but flinches grimly at the miasma pooling within the Shattered Halls. Hellfire is raised in short order, a swing so fast through its dissipating phantom sheath that the stagnant air audibly swooshes in protest. From its core comes a burgeoning white illumination – this new trick of Lionel’s ever-expanding arsenal taps Khasad’s taint to marry Halycanos‘ wrath in a brilliant display of purified energy so vast it cuts through Corruption’s spreading darkness to reveal Jarith’s form. “Ou, ye,” the Catalian quickly feels compelled to add, doing his best terrible Kasyr impression to boot, “the villain eats magic. Don’t use it, ou.” He cocks a brow, lifts his shining sword skyward, and – keeping his distance to ensure the Kensai’s electrical hopes and dreams aren’t crudely interrupted – frees a wrist to extract one very deadly serrated knife from his belt, swift aim to take Jarith in the temple, dispelling the host body in one perfect stroke.



Jesen comes into this vast hall filled with various suits of armors and... a giant mass of living darkness? Bloody hell, guess it is true. Hang around this damn Catalian and you'll come across all sorts of things that go bump in the night. But this does not deter the rynvalian hero from doing as he swore he would do beside this legend of old. Punch the baddies right in the face. Seeing hellfire brought into the fray, and watching as the kensai goes towards the barely visable body of someone, or thing, in the mass, Jesen is able to deduce that the aim here is whatever lies within. With Lionel and Kasyr so hard pressed to get to that, the least Jesen can do is try to aid them. And how does an up and coming valiant champion do so? He uses himself as bait. This thing eats magic, or so O'Connor says, so the high elf decides to offer it a feast. Rushing forth to make himself easily visable, as well as somewhat away from the other two heroes, Jesen tosses out his left hand and summons forth that bound bow of his. The spectral weapon erupts forth from a charm on his wrist, and with his right hand he draws back the drawstring to form an arrow that is pure arcane energy. Taking aim, the archer unleashes the first bolt at one of the tendrils that have Kasyr, while quickly shooting another into the mass but not near the body floating within its murky depths. If this thing truly eats magic it should now view jesen as a buffet waiting to be devoured. Living on a prayer that this ploy works, and allows Kas and Lionel an opening, the highborn will rely upon his speed and reflexes to deal with whatever this vile thing tosses his way. He has no plans on becoming its meal, but he shall play the role of carrot on a string so the more experienced champions can set about their work.


Xersom was there; it wasn't as if he was not previously there and suddenly was just subsequent, but rather the ancient made an entry through the doubler-doors to the north. That the former general of Arrecation was not expecting these energies and powers flung back and forth was betrayed by his company, which was made apparent by small gasps and an excited cheer. Either scar-covered hand, adorned with the carvings of line after line of some ancient and infernal litany like the rest of his skin, were the little hands of children. His children. Leo and Liam, both little boys that sported small and green, leathery wings -his daughter absent, likely in the company of his wife. The vivid, almost luminous green gaze of the former demon narrowed by features of his eerily, hauntingly flawless fleshy mask -a faux face- to convey both his abrupt irritation as well as more clearly scrutinize the room. "Enough." The word was both sinister and soothing, like the lullaby of a madman, but it also held with it an intoxicating power -that of dark magic, taught directly by Arrecation and augmented by his being and relevance to the Nameless King. Magic would all be suppressed with an overwhelming sense of presence from the man with the gray hermit's robes and flanked by a child on either side; enough to force Corruption itself beneath Jarith's will (for the time being), enough to briefly extinguish the flame of Halycanos and Khasad's taint, enough to fizzle the lightning and electrical energy that Azakhaer employed, and warp the summoned arrows into splashes of arcane liquid. "This will not happen here, not right now."



Kasyr finds himself come to abrupt halt as all the magic in the room comes to an abrupt halt, something which leaves a briefly 'reawakened' Jarith taking the completely non magical chair that had been initially flung at his face crashing unimpeded by tentacles. Kasyr is quick enough to take advantage of that moment, one leg hooking between the fae's and sweeping his legs from beneath, him. The revenant goes up, Jarith goes down- and the Kensai slams the Dark Fae's skull against the nice carpet with enough force that the ensuing knock might be mistaken for room service. Speaking of which, “Oi. Guards. Is there a cell we can throw this guy in? ..Er. And his hand. Having ..someone. Look at that. Right. S'il te plait.” Manners. Kasyr for his part, can feel there's still something off about the man, but he can't quite place it one way or another. Which simply meant, awfully painful experiments were apt to ensue later. In the meantime, Xersom is addressed with a very casual, “I was expecting you, sooner than later, really.”


Lionel is amply impressed with Jesen’s considerable courage, but impression turns an ironic sour note when the knife he’s tossed misses Jarith’s temple only to take him bloodily in the ribs. Kasyr’s twist of the Dark Fae is enough to save his skull, but there is a great apprehension about the Catalian at the fact that it all went so beautifully – no resistance. In that self-same blink of the azure eye dawns the unsettling realization that all things black and white and electric have been vanquished. Khasad himself graced Lionel with enough Dark Immortal power to rend armies in twine at the twist of a hilt; only one being he knows of here in this realm can come anywhere close to such display. Lionel’s vision goes blank; the whole room swells blindingly bright in his dazed perspective. He stumbles but does not fall. He grips Hellfire defensively, right foot ahead of the left, muscles taut and arms outstretched. Old faded steel is all that is left of that legendary weapon as now, but it will do the trick if needs be. He will cut that general’s heart to pieces if it comes to skewering. Bright light is replaced with the vision of a window into the spiritual world. Beyond Xersom even now, Lionel can see the chains of agony, those endless rows of restless victims begging for release they shall never be granted. Lionel flinches and then freezes in place, even slow and steady breaths made rigid and nigh-undetectable. Something deep within the recesses of his existence screams to be satisfied. And then he sees them – the children. And just like that, eyes wide with fear, everything that Lionel has ever known about right and wrong in this warped perturbing universe is flung upside-down and hung to dry. He returns to a formal stance and addresses the interloper whilst battle wages on all around him. “I don’t recall you signing up to own this castle.” His words are fire and ice. “And while we’re on the subject, I don’t recall me signing off on Arrecation keeping any of his generals around after the war… ‘X.’”



Jesen is a bit more connected to the arcane that most realize, and because of such when all magic is vanquished he feels a drain that takes an incredible toll upon him. A dark oppression falls upon him like a heavy curtain of endless blackness that seeks to smother everything right in this world. It is by sheer resolve and a refusal to kneel to such a force that the archer is able to remain standing, but he does. Upon seeing, and more so hearing, Lionel's words and his body language, the archer makes his way towards the Catalian to support him should the need arise. Even in the face of such an incredible power, one capable of severing ties to power granted by dark immortals so long ago does the highborn stand by Lionel. "I think the saying goes. "Speak of the devil, and he shall show." Aye? Just when we thinkn the taint of the dark lords may be spreading, we find a wayward servant showing up in the midst of chaos being sown.." The archer's breath still comes in a bit of ragged gasps. He isn't as used to being around such powerful creatures as these two are, but his willpower and can do attitude keeps him putting on the front of absolute confidence and unwavering determination. If this was to go sour, he'd stand by O'Connor all the way to the gates of hell this thing crawled out of.


Xersom gently squeezed the hand of one of his sons as the tiny boy stared up at Jesen as the highborn moved to stand by the Catalian; the ancient slid his gaze over toward Kasyr in acknowledgement of his greeting. It was returned to the Revenant by means of a simply, "Sooner or later, inevitable nonetheless." Now both boys were staring at Jesen and Lionel, idly curious over the garb of the former and the weapon of the latter -the second trying to take a few steps toward it but held back by the clasp of his father's infernal-scarred hand. "You signed off on nothing, Lionel O'Connor, because I am not a remnant of my master's second war. Or that of his ancestors. You had yet to be born-" his vivid, almost luminous gaze swiveled toward the man, then, who could see the miles and miles of clamoring ghosts of the dead that stained the hands of the former demon general with blood. "I am a remnant of his first war. When Sven, Hind, and Lore were mortal. Do you understand now? The Dread Lords learned how to take my master's power from my teachings, I have fought Norodruin and the Light Immortals. And so long have I lived that my age is counted by eras and events, not years-" A quick glare toward his eldest son, "Don't touch what isn't yours, remember?" and he gently tugged his hand to guide him back toward his parent. Then he continued, speaking to Kasyr rather than Lionel, "Do you remember, Azakhaer, when we struck our bargain? That there are beings in this world that seek my end?"



Kasyr , in those brief moments people had stopped paying attention to him, had simply proceeded to shuffle a bit to the side, and sit down on Jariths unconscious and still bleeding form. Really, the Kensai didn't want him starting awake as Corruption, and whisking away- but cat-eared as the man is, the image is a bit...peculiar. A poke is given to the knife protruding from Jarith, the squirm of his body a healthy indicator that he was still alive. “Hrm. Oh, yes. I mean, you're all very charming, and such- but you do have this way about you. Et what you are, evidement. I imagine the super profane script on tu probably doesn't help.” ...Yeah, so Kasyr, being a former demon and likely marked by -that- whole experience, can still read that. Why hadn't he noticed before. Or had he, and just not cared? Not caring -was- pretty easy when obliterating any and all opposition before you was about as trivial as adjusting ones cuffs. “And I said I would work around it, as it occurs.” For all the power Xersom holds, and for all the revenant essentially bled out- the Revenant gives off a remarkably good facade of being at ease, even if there is a distinct sense of unease tugging at his heart and making it a touch tougher to breath. Enough so that he even manages a pleasent smile, as he reaches into one of his pockets, plucks out a cigarette, and begins to smoke. And then coughs a couple times because wow, his lungs aren't dead. "Ahem. I even remember our recent amendments, assurances that our deal still stands with the changes of power coming to Vailkrin, et provisions made to ensure that such arrangements carried on were I incapacitated. Or...lost control. As it were, over that power I held reign over. Though, as I recall, in tandem with those amendments, was an agreement of intercession. A rectification of said situation, were control to be lost." The revenant hand waves a little, "So, oui. Let's chat. But, uh. I believe per the spirit et -letter- of our agreement, we've something to discuss et work out, if this es you trying to use me as your attack hound. If you want a mediator, though? I'm all for it, sure."


Lionel tries – and fails – to swallow. His face goes blank. He doesn’t seem to register much. Xersom’s words have such an impact on the fallen hero that Kasyr’s entire lawyeristic sermon passes by to the accompaniment of an impassive Catalian. The only thing that changes now is the positioning of his blade. Hellfire is taken to a fully horizontal hold; both hands grasp the hilt inches away from his chest. Then at once it bursts its light magic to life. Cold steel is wrapped in silk-like ivory hues. Absolutely nothing in Xersom’s power will destroy this unparalleled shimmer. And yet it may not even matter. For Lionel remains in place, so still, so taut, so eternal. And silent.


Xersom , as that blade was aimed horizontally at him, brought his sons to his body by hooking his arms around their shoulders and used his hands to cover their eyes. His gaze, however, did not leave Lionel; it stared, a vivid and nearly luminous stare of green on the eerily flawless face that was, in reality, a fleshy mask. "Kasyr," he said slowly, without taking his gaze from Lionel, "What I mean is that one is standing before me and -my children- and you -will- take them from here, or you will die protecting them. That is all that matters right now." His voice was firm, commandant, sinister, soothing, and yet utterly, horribly calm, as if not to let it upset the kids -one of whom was trying to peel his father's fingers way from his eyes to catch glimpses of the gloriously shimmering man.


Lionel said to Kasyr, "Look me in the eye, damn you, and tell me that isn't the face of a man who will destroy this realm if you let him."


Xersom said to Lionel, "My true face tends to shatter minds."


Lionel said to Xersom, "You'll find I'm full of surprises."


Xersom said to Lionel, "Could you strike me down now? And my sons? What of my wife, or my daughter?"


Lionel said to Xersom, "Khasad had a concubine. She was as sinister as he was. I'll admit, the 'family man' imagery is throwing me for a real loop. But no one affiliated with the names of whom you've spoken has ever desired less than total domination or utter ruination. You're a paradox at best and a parasite other-wise."


Xersom said to Kasyr, "Azakhaer, my children..."


Xersom said to Lionel, "Khasad had many concubines, as did Elazul. Even my master had one or two. I have a wife, a farm, three children. Could you do it?"


Jesen said to Lionel, "What words it twists, yet it brings children into a battle and demands we listen?"


Lionel said to Xersom, "A farm? Seriously? A farm? Are you going for the gold medal in standardized liv-ing? What could a force of raw evil like you possibly want with a farm?"


Lionel clears his throat. "Yeah. What he said." He gestures to Jesen. Faux-sagely.


Kasyr stares long at hard, but not at Lionel- no. He's staring at Xersom, his first real hard look at the creature ordering him around. Even as the creature's otherworldly and handsome face contorts, with the words spoken, the orders given- the man stares and he reads. Not aloud, no, but he's reading, well trained eyes piercing together what bits of script he can from the scrawl that's visible on Xersom, tatters from memory that seem to snap together – something so very -wrong-, but that a portion of him that remains 'touched' recalls quite well. When the cigarette is next drawn up to the Kensai's lips, there's no cough- something deliberate and cold letting him steel himself so he can exhale a thing trickle before him. Lionel, at last, is given a look, something altogether mischievous in his gaze, “Not anymore than you, or I, J'pense. Perhaps less likely, even. Whatever bit of Prophecy or prayer that's scribbled across him..” The revenant shifts his gaze over towards Xersom, “It's broken, isn't it? -Shattered. Makes settling down, and having a family, and investing yourself in protecting a city to protect your kith and kin a bit more palatable...isn't it?” The revenant pauses, for a moment, and then casually glances up towards Xersom, “You are correct, in that I need to enforce my agreement- and so I will. You are both, currently, partaking of my fu- ..'Hem. “Children.” Of my hospitality. You, moreso than anyone, Xersom. And I don't give a single damn that I'm weaker than I have been in a long time- so help me, I will do my utmost to enforce that if either of you do me the disrespect of breaching that particular bit of conduct. Et I will -happily- die trying.” Lionel is given a pretty meaningful look there. “So, Monsieur S-”No, Kas. No. Whilst that near utterance seems somehow spot on for some unfathomable reason. It also feels like something damnably close to a mistake. “X. I am doing exactement what I said I would, and I am stopping him. And whilst he is -here-, et my guest, “And his only lead to Quinton, “And invoking the goddamn courtesies he so casually partook, He -won't- pursue you, or your children.” Here, the revenants voice grows cold, “Nor will you. Our word the -world- to us, isn't it?” Xersom specifically is the focal point of that statement, “And I've yet to fail in upholding mine to both the letter and spirit of our agreement.” Which left Xersom picking up the slack, asofar. ...Though, “Lionel. Why -are- you so ready to try and skewer a father in front of his children?” It could just be the gung ho slayer of all that is evil bit kicking into play, “...Especially since if he did want to burn a proper hole through the realms, he's had a long while to do so, including while I was plausibly more liable to ...you know. Uh. Not be so morally reticent.” Ahkall being close to the surface did make pre-emptive wholesale murder pretty palatable for a 'greater cause', in prior instances.


Kasyr || Jesen. Jesen, he manages to just -earn- a straight look from Kasyr, something utterly murderous - and containing the unbridled malice of someone who had quite literally been trapped in a pocket of hell. And who had formerly been host to a malignance that is apt not to find it's like anywhere in the realm save this damn room. (And wherever bears the misfortune to now be Ahkalls lair). "Do. Not. Instigate. You. By some happen chance. Are also my guest. But I like my odds with you -so- much more than these two. Et if you're the reason this erupts into violence? You're first."


Lionel tilts Hellfire downward until it is held in one hand at his side. Nothing in his face has shifted. When he speaks, it is of a practiced, princely tone. It is the unyielding tone of a champion. “If the script is broken, the father lives.” A tilt to Kasyr. “Your hospitality is obliged, ser. I pray this castle isn’t all that’s left of Lithrydel to mark the occasion.” A single step is taken toward Xersom. It is all Lionel needs. In a blink, he wills the miles of tethered spirits out of his vision, but to his detriment, psychological instability replaces them with Catalian corpses. Bodies of the hundreds and thousands he could not save against Elazul’s lieutenants. In that pile of bitter pills is the strewn, strangled Alexia Isis herself, she who Elazul had compelled Lionel to murder coldly. Lionel blinks again. His breathing is heavy, his heart liable to burst. Sweat drips, sudden and snaking. More corpses. Everyone he ever lost against Khasad. His chest throbs at the taint within him. One more forceful step. He dares to look up. The fervor, the fever, it’s all just barely enough to dispel the specters of his mental anguish. He sees only Xersom – and these children he calls sons. “Live on your farm with your wife and your children and your three square meals and your picket fence and your early retirement. Get up in the morning and feed the pigs, pet the horses. Go to sleep whenever you want and invite friends and loved ones to your ten thousandth birthday extravaganza. But make one move to bring forth a Third War,” he adds, thick with unrivaled malice, “and I will tear that mask off and rip you to shreds. On both planes.”


Jesen looks about. One is a famed war hero turned living legends, who has a sword empowered by forces far beyond most mortal understanding. The second, a revenant soul eater that has taken down things that make most grown men wet themselves. And now we have a supposed demon general, spouting off about ages past and his ultimate power lurking beneath, as his name apparently melts faces. And, well, after Kasyr's rather dark warning, Jesen tosses his hands up. " Ya know, this pissing contest is one I'll skip. I've business to attend to." Shaking his head, he dares at least toss on rebuttal back at Kasyr. "Pardon the comment, I just like pointing out obvious hipocrites. But this is your city, Lionel's age old quest and not my business. And, I've business to attend to anyways." A nod to Lionel is given. "Let him boast. We've other mattersto attend to, and you need not be laying up recovering for too long. Aye?" With that, the archer is the first to bow out of this pissing contest, but only due to his common sense and the knowledge that if he dies now his pact with Hildegarde and the possible allience with Frostmaw is ruined, and thus Rynvale suffers. " I've a tourny to win anyways." And with that, the archer is gone.



Xersom refrained; in fact, he looked somewhat cowed by this meeting, whereas such antics in a different setting would've resulted in the death of at least Jesen if not Lionel as well. It was the simple fact that those little boys, with their small, leathery green wings and bright, wide eyes, were present and watching that kept him from retaliating. But in a manner, he did; his lips spread into a cruel smile at the words of the fallen hero, and he replied with ease, "We all succumb at the end, O'Connor. The only way this world will burn by my hand is if my family is harmed; in such a case, there will be nothing that could stop me. -Without such a day, I will sleep, I will eat, I will live, and I will love. I suggest you do the same." He was growing irritated now. "...Dick." A look toward Kasyr in thanks to his mediation. Lionel would not stop, he knew. The former demon general of Arrecation watched him leave,hands firm on the shoulders of his sons protectively.



Kasyr 's reaction to this entire back and forth is far more muted, some faint degree of amusement having been found both in Jesen's antics, as well as the assumption it was still his city. (Perhaps, in some ways, they'd always be tied. Damnably unfortunate). Following that particular back and forth, the Kensai can't help but add, “So long as you hold true to your word, I will do my utmost. But I feel I would...be apt to grow as impassioned as him in my efforts, were you to actually undertake such a thing. Just as there are those you protect, I have mine.” The swordsman snuffs his cigarette out on the floor, rising up off Jariths body as a pair of guards finally arrive into the room, the apparent dimming down of angry voices and departing of individuals serving as an invitation to drag the Dark Fae and his severed limb somewhere. Safe-keeping, all that good stuff. “Regardless, Till that day, or the lack of it's arrival, I will do exactly as I said I would. You have a home here, et my hospitality. The same can be said of your children.” Ears briefly wiggle, the boys given a particular look, “Be sure to stay with your father, d'accord? This city is known to be pretty troublesome.” Xersom is given a rather particular glance, "Especially with goings on of late. Was your arrival happenstance, or did you have further business here?" And a glance towards Lionel, "Or was that it. Pre-emptive measures?"


Lionel ignores Xersom's words, but for the last. The most imperceptibly brief smirk in history plays at his lips. Hellfire is sheathed. The fallen hero descends. "No, Kasyr," he replies in his departure. "This was just business as usual."