RP:The Exorcism of Korbus

Location: The Fold Compound, Prisoners Cell Block

Korbus stands in the center of his cell, staring at the wall opposite any portal that might've offered some way to freedom, were he not some evil, murderous parasite. He remains in complete silence and stillness, the light in his holding area is dimmed - either by the means of the Fold itself, or perhaps by some shred of supernatural power that he can yet muster. Any sound around him goes unrecognized, and he appears deep in thought.

It was with some coordinated effort on the druid's part that she lugged her bundle back into the Fold's compound with her. She was quiet enough, sparing a smile only to those who managed to catch her attention as she passed by. This entire expedition had her anxious, fearful even. Arms wrapped ever tighter against the silk-covered parcel. Upon entering the containment area, she inhaled sharply, dipping her head as she uttered some soft prayer. "Songbird." She frowned as she found him, careful to keep a good distance from the cell itself. Her tongue darted out to wet chapped lips and another breath was taken. "Anaximander." Whether he'd heard her or not, the druid cared little.

The prisoner does not turn his head to face the druid. Rather, he continues to face the wall, with his back turned to Keturah while he speaks, "Without me, there will continue to be war. Murder will remain a commonplace theme in the streets of your towns and villages. You've come to snuff out a light in the struggle for balance, peace, and order. You contradict your own path. I've come as a savior, and yet you stand in this dungeon, prepared to end the salvation of your friends, loved ones, allies... You damn them, instead. How does that make you feel?"

Keturah frowned, only to clasp her bottom lip between her teeth a moment later. "There isn't any need for that, you know. Singing such sweet words to me; they fall on deaf ears. My resolve is quite strong." This time around, when bars and magic separated him from her. She knew this and winced for the thought of it. Shaking her head, the woman set her bundle upon the ground. Kneeling down as well, she pulled from it, the blood-filled sphere that she had taken back from her fellow guard. Her only one, she would not let it go to waste. "We'll finish this now, yes?"

It's now that Anaximander turns to face his executioner. He shakes his head, that same sad frown tugging on his lips. "Your resolve... Your lack of accountability, you mean. You stand before me by the orders of your clan. You stand before me because all of those around you vilify me without even knowing my ambitions. You once shared with me, Keturah... You told me how you agreed with my vision. You agreed upon the evils that I've seen in this world, and you knew the want to rid the lands of them. Yet, you fall in line. Your resolve strips you of your individuality, Keturah, and you hide behind the words of your superiors and stronger-minded clan mates. Have you no stand of your own? Have you forgotten what lives and thrives -outside- these bars?"

For once, it was the lycan's turn to smile sadly, and she offered a nod. "I know very well the evils that thrive outside these walls. As well as those that thrive within them. I seek balance. That has not changed. However, this is me making a stand on my own. I don't believe that you would help the lands. I know you wouldn't. Sacrificing the lives of a few to save many? Binding others to your will? You would strip them of individuality, they would lose themselves under.. what I think would be slavery. Besides.. I hate you, absolutely for what you've done. That kind of feeling toward another in and of itself is damnable to the soul." She shook her head, finding that she was indeed talking far too much and Removed the silk to reveal her freshly prepared gourd. She would not pick it up just yet, rather the druid drew her bloodied knife that she hadn't the opportunity to use during the fight, turning back to the cell's door. "Chal.. In we go then.. Praying and the like." The door would be carefully opened, gaze steady upon the other. Nothing more than a test to see what would happen, she was armed, for what good it did her.

Anaximander remains motionless as the door is opened, his eyes fixed on Keturah every second. "It's a shame you will come to realize the error of your ways long after you've the ability to right them... Sending me away won't stop the changing of the tide, Keturah. There are others like me. We are your husbands, your wives, your children, your workers and your servants. Thoughts akin to my own riddle their minds and stir actions that you are unprepared to undertake. And perhaps not with the next one to stand, or the one after that, you will find an unstoppable force. And you will have done all this fighting... for nothing. You prolong the inevitable, girl. You are a fool if you don't see it." His tone becomes uncharacteristically harsh; the anger or frustration of his binding coming to the surface now. Even if Keturah enters the cell, he is powerless to make a move against her...

She relaxed, if only slightly so, when she found that he hadn't moved. The knife was tucked away into her sash, both hands working to open the blood filled sphere. Just as she had learned in girlhood not to waste a drop of precious water, she was equally careful to conserve the lifeblood she held. Warily, she moved about, copying the insignia she had seen in that vision onto the floor. The pattern was understandably faint in comparison to the one she had been shown; she'd lacked the proper amount of blood. It was there all the same. "Just be quiet now, yes?" she told him as she used the blood remaining to paint just a few runes upon her arms. All that she could remember from the ritual, and all that she had the media to paint covered her flesh. Somberly, she left the cell one final time to collect her gourd. "Divine water of the Eternal Tree," came her soft whisper. "Just for this purpose, and I will return Thee to your home." With a grunt, she plucked it from the ground, moving back to the cell.

Anaximander's eyes darted about hastily along the bloody rune on the floor, his posture tense and his jaw clenched. He says nothing, for nothing more can be said. No more can be done. His time is at an end, and he knows it. Silently, he watches, as the druid performs the same ritual that had banished him so very long ago...

Keturah was sure to keep a watchful eye on the other, but there was no hesitance in her movements. Anxiety, fear, hate, those emotions swirled inside her, yet they would not reach her face. Moving back to the cell walls, the gourd would be placed alongside her and the druid would begin. "I am here to banish the spirit. I commune with nature and all of its laws to vanquish the disorder within." An odd prayer, it rolled strangely off her tongue, tasted foreign, ancient. Sooty lashes closed over the moss green of her eyes. All of her magics were focused into her words, speech growing stronger as she continued. "I call upon the spirit of the earth to banish the demon Anaximander." She knelt, as she had seen done, lifting the gourd from its place. "I call on the fierce seas, the towering forests, the strong mountains, and the quiet earth.. I pray for the help of all spirits to banish this demon." Keturah paused then, eyes opening as she took the steps closer toward the other. Magics had colored the irises a lighter green, made pale in the dimness of the room. "You have no place in this world, demon.."

Anaximander stands motionless as she chants her chant. As if it were a song, each note - every word - lent to the melody. With each syllable, there was a crescendo; with every phrase, a climax. At first, the demon grins, feeling no ill effects of the incantation. "You don't have the stones to get rid of me... You can't eve-" Suddenly, the former rogue chokes and gags, and with a single lurch, a plume of smoke and ash is expelled forth onto the ground, covering his front in blackness, and leaving his teeth and lips a horrid shade of gray. "You'll all die! With or without me, someone will come!" He gags again, dropping to his knees in the center of the large rune. More soot and smoke is cast out, and the shadow of the dark cloud slowly fills the cell. "I'll come back for you... I'll drag myself out of the pit just so I can feel your heart stop bea-" Korbus' body arches backward, his chest lifted upward and his arms outstretched as he releases a pillar of flame from his mouth, searing the stone ceiling of the cell. There's a terrible cry of agony - the sound of Anaximander as the flame mushrooms outward, then into itself, sucking the smoke out of the room into a single point of bright light. And in a rush of wind and rumbling of the building, the fire is gone... And with it, the demon. Korbus' body falls limp to the floor.

Keturah was afraid to step away from the sight, afraid to step closer. She winced, ducking her head as the scream and flame poured forth. Hand moved to cover her face, knees buckling as she at last cried out. With the sound of Korbus' body falling to the floor as well, she allowed her hands to drop. Dully, the druidess looked over him. "Fool.. infant, you are." It had cost her more magic than she had expected, more energy lost than she had thought her body would surrender. She hadn't much longer before she would need to succumb to sleep, and wearily, she drew the dagger from her sash. The blade was still covered in high-elven blood, after all. A test to see if the demon had been purged, or at least, that would be the woman's justification. Her aim was not to blind him as she attempted the draw the blade's edge over his left eye. No. The druid was with some compassion, despite her hate for him and the Songbird. With an exhausted sigh, she would try to leave the scar.

As Keturah would suspect, the demon is gone. The blade does little more than cut into Korbus' skin, leaving a claret line down his left eye. He neither winces, nor cries out - the only sign of life evident is the rise and fall of his soot-covered chest. It would be a long while before he wakes up. And if he's not secured, he will do everything to escape...

The druid hadn't the magic to mend the wound she left; though she'd so hoped to finish the scar. The knife was slipped away as the lycan wet her lips. "Keep the scar," she muttered lowly. Only when she began pondering how she would make it out of the cell did her frown deepen. "Guards!" She called at last, shakily forcing herself into a standing position. "Hoo… I need someone down here, please!" The gourd was cradled in her arms by the time another officer arrived. "Oi.." Taking note of the man's obvious puzzled horror as he looked over the scene, the woman slowly made her way over to him. "Listen.. Secure the cell. Make sure he does not leave.. I want a standing guard. Two, even. This man is still a high-security prisoner." She required aid as she was escorted from the cell, leaving behind the bloodied mess as the doorway was closed.