Control

[Yndira]

Ashan 4, 717

It was not often that she succumbed, and when she did, it was primal. The tear of flesh between her teeth, the way her nails slid through skin like it was water; it was divine. A stark change from her usually composed feeding habits, Yndira found those moments when she could no longer endure the sweet song of wanting to rip someone apart. Her own skin was bathed in blood, coating her front as she bit into the man's arm. He was, for the most part, too stunned to react. Or maybe she had properly killed him. A stray brick to the head could do that, even if the wielder had been a petite woman. Especially if it was by surprise.

This thought did not occupy her mind for long. Not much did in this state. Each word she managed to string together was no more than a litany of menu items. Armlegcheekthroatwrist. Directives strung into nonsense that her body somehow understood and moved with. Pupils blown and nostrils flared, she paused for only a moment. Her chewing did not cease in the darkness, faintly illuminated by the dying flames of the man's lantern. She paid no attention to this, merely shuddered in the wind that blew in the alley before continuing with her meal.

Had she been of a rational mind, she would known that this was not the best idea. That she should have retreated further into the shadows. Instead, she remained hunched over her body. The man stirred once, but she silence further struggle as she dug her hand through his chest. It was between blood loss and shock that finally did him in. His murderer remained over him, dining peacefully. The faint slurp of blood through pursed lips echoed. Her body was warmed further by the crimson liquid, a hum of delight leaving her as she tore through the remainder of his shirt. The man was not one to be described as thin or stout, though a preposterous gut bugled forth from his frame. The Naer moved to straddle the corpse, licking her lips.

Her nails served as excellent tools for this task as she cut through meat and fat. Her fingers found purchase on his ribs, the smile on her face widening. It took some effort, but she soon had his rib cage torn asunder like a gift ripped open by an eager child. Her attention fell immediately to his lung, full of pooling blood. It would appear she had cut into part of it in her efforts to go through the cavity of his chest. No matter; it would only make the meat sweeter to her. She didn't bother with her hands, favoring the use of her teeth to pull forth the deflating organ. Dark strands of hair fell over her face, obscuring her features.

As she pulled back, a fresh wave of blood coated the sheer nightdress she wore. She'd worry about it later, most likely. But for now, she ate.

[Narav]

"Once, when I was younger, I pulled a great shark from the depths of the sea. It could have snapped the line at any time, but I think it wanted to get a glimpse of the fisherman arrogant enough to hunt the hunter. Black eyes. I remember how dark its eyes were, pits ever yawning, ever gnawing. It snapped the line in an instant and vanished into the waves. But I know it still lurks there, swimming unseen. Sometimes I think that shark has followed me to land, but now it hides under the skin of others, waiting to pull me down." - Narav's Journal

Ashan was a poison. On his tongue the first few days had soured and left him shaking. The wounds the Becomer had left upon him trials ago remained and healed slowly. Already he had to seal away the infection that seeped into his blood, but with his luck it would return. The ravages of the beast were extensive, enough that the healers in Andaris had warned he may be walking dead already. Bears mauled in such ways, they'd said somberly, and shook their heads in pity. Narav, the man who had been attacked by a man and a bear, one in the same. The wounds on his chest strained and ached, burning against the cool night air that slipped beneath his clothes to find his body. Chill, like dead fingers, slid across his spine and settled on his shoulders. Narav pressed the cloak tighter around himself, warding away the last chill of Cylus hidden in the night.

The alleys of Andaris offered little protection from the elements. Labyrinthine and forgotten, refuse plastered the floor like fungus and spread between the cracks in cobblestone. Narav bit back disdain and hastened his step. If he took this shortcut he could end up near the docks much sooner than he'd initially planned. The thought of his gently rocking skiff comforted the sailor. No matter how awful the outside world seemed to grow, there was shelter and a kind of solemnity in the belly of his own boat.

SNAP

He paused.

CRACK

Yes. Sounds. The visceral crunch of bones giving way beneath teeth. He'd heard the sounds many times before on hunts and when the crew tore into fresh fish. Flesh had a certain range to it, a familiar pitch of ripping that was difficult to mimic. He stopped, listening. Between the cracking of bones there was a faint gurgle, the squelch of blood, organs, the short hurried breaths between bites. Something was feeding ahead of him, a little to the left. Narav's hand strayed to the hilt of the dagger sheathed at his belt. Armed with the power of Immortals within, it had still been too little when Fridgar had hurled him across the library.

It sounded like a larger animal, probably a hound mauling the body of a cat. Narav crept closer, slipping up against the edge of the alley and peeking around the side.

Blood. Limbs. Bones.

The woman viciously tearing into the body of the man would have been beautiful in any other light. The glisten of blood along her sensuous frame might have been compelling in any other situation. Now she was some sort of horrifying apparition. Soaked tar-black with blood, she tore through an open chest cavity to bury her face in steaming organs. Narav could see wisps of the steam now, confirming how fresh the kill had been, vanishing into the night. Horror choked his words and not even a short bark of surprise found its way past his lips. It was all slaughtered in his throat, no sound appropriate to mark the horror he was witnessing.

His legs were weak, shaking under the weight of his body as if they were suddenly unaccustomed. She drove her face into the man again, and again, and again. Each time she rose, crowned in blood, a trophy grasped between her teeth and quickly swallowed.

Bile rose unexpectedly and Narav stumbled, pushing away from the wall he had been perched around and stumbling forward down the alley, away from her. He spit and coughed, knowing the sound would be enough to draw her attention and tore the dagger free of its sheath. There was no one out here tonight, no witnesses to stream in and save him like the guards had last time. Monsters. How was it that he could only find monsters?

He held the blade in a practiced grip and kept it angled at the mouth of the alley. His legs shook, but his stomach knotted around the trenches Fridgar had left in his skin and the pain kept him bold, kept him strong.

She'd come around the corner any moment now, a gaunt demon intent to tear the flesh from his exposed throat. But when she did, he would be waiting, blade drawn. An unexpected rush of primal pleasure wrapped a finger around his fear. But what power she had! What marvelous form! What appetite. Narav pushed them down, forcing the sadistic glee out of his head. Lisirra would not make a victim of him here.

Monster hunting monsters. That's what the Immortal had said to him.

Fine then. Let him be a monster. Let them test his fangs.

[Yndira]

The glee of feasting ended, and with it her sanity returned. Towards the end of the alley, she could faintly hear spitting. She froze, waiting with narrowed eyes. Caution had been her guiding principle and yet she had thrown it to the wind. The Naer could attribute the interruption to any number of things. Perhaps an animal called forth by the copper stench that lingered in the alleyway. It would be best if it were an animal, but the poor creature would not last long after its approach. But, a silent dread sinking into her, it could have been a person. They could be at the lip of the alley, ready to enter to return home. Or they could have already seen.

They couldn't be left alone.

Yndira snuffed out the dying flames of the light, the wet smack of blood drenched flesh echoing. If ever there was a better use for a alcohol soaked liver, then it was there. With the light gone, the alley was plunged into darkness and she was free to roam. The cloudy nights of Cylus continued into Ashan, leaving snow as a reminder that it would return once more. But this was her helper in the moment. No light to be had, save the street lamps far removed from where they were. Her shadow form was not one she allowed herself the pleasure of often. The men she stayed with shied in the darkness and that she could not have. But, now she could.

Her steps were slow and careful, gaze steady on where she assumed the sound had come from. It would feel like breaks for whatever waited for her, anticipation a weight to crush them with. At last, her hands--claws, really. Long nails that curved and clacked against brick--slid over the wall, bringing her forward. Who sat waiting for her? A grown man, armed with a dagger. If the situation were any less dire, she might have considered eating him. If there was a vice that one could assign her, it would easily be gluttony. Her stomach rumbled, demanded further sustenance despite having just been fed. But this was neither the time nor the place for her to gorge herself.

Rather than attack, the woman of shadows stepped fully out of the alley. One hand lingered on the wall beside her, an anchor of sorts. If need be, she would force herself back the way she came to avoid injury. With her other hand, she placed a finger at the tip of his blade. Carefully, slowly, she directed it down and away from her, gaze never leaving his face. A step closer, a step away; it was hard to decide. But she made her choice and took that step forward.

"Go back," she demanded. An act of violence now could call more attention, disrupt the stillness of the night further. She had ample reason to want to tear through his limbs. He had seen her where no one else had. The matter of strength remained the problem. There was no telling what he could muster up despite the wounds to his face and possibly elsewhere. If he turned and ran, she could easily let him go or follow behind and dispatch him while his back was turned.

"Go back." Her voice was softer as she awaited his response.

[Narav]

Twice Narav had been in the company of Immortals. Both times they came to him wrapped in the disguise of banality, simple mortals containing the depths of madness behind their eyes. Never before had Narav spoken to a shadow, especially one with a glowing gaze. What he had been sure was a dark-skinned woman savaging that corpse before was now a silhouette carved of the same darkness he had sought to hide himself within. His own eyes, in the pitch black, glowed fierce and pale in the lightless alley, Lisirra's mark revealed only in the absence of day. Go back, she commanded, then...softer, again. One opaque finger gently tapped the end of his blade and pushed it downward. He could smell the blood on her, the stink of struggle and savage, sudden, death but could no longer see its trail upon her. Without resistance he let her push it away.

What could this be, if not another Immortal?

When Narav was a child, shut into dusty libraries with Danielle and a group of other children, their teacher had told them the Immortals were reflections in extremes. The kindest among them forced compassion on a level that most mortals would find crippling, while the most depraved found lengths that mortal minds had never dreamed of. They could wear any form they desired, and appear from nothing. The mysterious beings had ambitions, plans, and power beyond the ken of any mortal. For that, they were gods, but the mortals called them Immortals. The disconnect was a real one, simply suggesting they were eternal rather than all powerful, but the old scholar had told them to look closer. Immortal.

They were not mortal. Impregnible, indiscernible, the inclusion of two simple letters had divided them neatly from those they rule. The Immortals, were trapped as sure as any mortal was in the cycle of death and ressurection. How lonely must it be, the teacher surmised, to be beyond anything else and forced to remain without end?

Endings, after all, were what made stories worth listening to.

Narav laughed, short and choked, more a growl than anything else and let his dagger tip be dragged away. He looked at the shadow with his own glowing eyes and laughed again. "Another one of you? Tell me, what is it that you all find so fascinating about me? Is it the loss? The tragedy? I'm no great warrior, no scholar of secrets, I'm not even..." he trailed off as another burst of laughter bubbled up from within, "I'm not even the greatest at what I do profess to know! If this is boredom or some bet you've settled with your kin, leave me out of it. I'm through playing your endless games and bending to your mighty but cursed gifts. So whichever of the Immortals you claim to be, do what you're going to do and be away with you." He drew up his knife sharply, holding it quivering beneath his throat.

"I won't dance for you."

[Yndira]

The laughter only somewhat surprised her. Men had laughed before their deaths in her presence on some occasions. Maybe it was because they did not believe the situation they had found themselves in. Maybe they had thought her playing out a harmless prank. She never bothered to ask, and she wouldn't now. She let him laugh, featureless face indifferent. What really struck her, however, were his own eyes. Bright like her own, but not. Something different.

And then he spoke. In an instant, words spilled from his lips and she wondered if he had rehearsed this for whomever he might have expected to meet. Another one? Had he stumbled upon another Naerikk before her? What misfortune. Maybe that was what had left him scarred. Her own nails might have cut a similar path down his face if she were feeling playful, but not now. She regarded him silently, let him go on and on. It was all pointless, insignificant drivel to her. One word stuck out to her, though.

The man thought her to be an Immortal. An Immortal. Was that who had chanced upon before? And now he thought the same of her. Yndira had heard the word thrown about to say she might have been blessed with beauty, but never to say that she was one. An unseen brow rose at this. She could only imagine what it would be like to be an Immortal, with all that power. A giddy thought, it was, and it passed as he lifted the blade to his own throat.

"Then don't." She shrugged, unimpressed by his supposed show of defiance. If she truly were an Immortal, he'd already be dead. He'd interrupted a meal, now left to go cold. An inexcusable act. She stalked closer, a smile hidden in her formless features. "Kill yourself. End it."

[Narav]

For a moment, he considered it. Featureless shadow before him, menacing him in this alley. When he died, what then? Would she feast on his bones and leave his body for the watch to find? Danielle, Edward...they'd certainly be dead. Without his participation it was only a matter of time till Lisirra found and did away with them, or did whatever she was going to do. Was it worth it? Simply to deny the Immortals the pleasure of deciding his actions? He held the pen clutched in one hand, a dangling punctuation mark on his adventure. It had taken some dark turns but...had it not started out alright? He was not perfect, none could claim that, but he was happy. Happy till the TideMaul and Whore's Kiss had stolen his father. Happy till the sea had stolen his sister. Happy till chance had stolen Edalene. Happy till Lisirra had stolen his freedom. Happy till Mastes had stolen his purpose. Most of his life, at least of late, had been a series of events with no punctuation. There was no ending in what he did, no finality in the cold challenge of the Immortals. Fridgar had stolen his health and left scars across his body. He was gone now, whisked away by magic atop more magic.

The wondrous made banal for all to see.

The wondrous made banal...

Something flashes in Narav's eyes, the old fury hurling the yoke of powerlessness from its shoulders and racing through his body. His heart thrummed to life a vicious, wrathful thud and his blood sang. The egg no doubt whispered its siren song of viciousness but Narav was in no place to deny it. The tip of the blade touched his throat as the Naer stepped closer, gloating in her victory, the majesty of her terror. She had been close enough to put his blade down before, now she loomed over him.

No. This was not an Immortal. There was a different power to them, a shaking Narav could feel in his bones. Another mage, another magic user had spun its gifts on the unwary and now he was to be another victim.

No. Not tonight.

"Fuck. You." he hissed.

White-knuckled, Narav whipped the blade from his throat, a flash of brilliant color in the night. Snake-quick he took a step forward, almost close enough to step through the shadow and drove the blade down toward her breast. Had she the alacrity to dodge he'd follow the step through and slash the blade up, across her chest toward her neck, only a moment to readjust the blade.

Thundering heartbeats blasted in his ears, his teeth tasted blood.

He was no prey. He was no puppet.

OOC: I'm comfortable with however you want this to go. Dodge em both or take a blow. He's gonna keep coming.

[Yndira]

She had been emboldened by his ignorance. Just as she had been blinded by hunger before, feeding so openly. She had watched the spark of his anger ignite from the heavy decision he might have made. Her arrogance had been her mistake. She could think of only man that might have attacked her as well, a quick thought that dispersed soon after it had been thought up.

For all the Common she did not know, those two words were enough. A snarl was cut short as the blade danced from his neck towards her chest. It had been long since Yndira had actively fought someone. Her recall of the appropriate action was sluggish, blurry. The memory of her time in Augiery was too distant to grasp at. The blade slid over her skin as the man lunged forward, momentum adding more force to his attacked. She pivoted in time to miss this first attack, but he was prepared for this. The blade kissed the night of her form, drawing a mixture of a hiss and a gasp from its unwilling partner.

It felt like a shallow wound, but maybe that was just the anger numbing the pain. The man had dared to attempt harm on her. She had given him his chance to flee. Her eyes widened, a fully formed snarl cutting through the air as she swung the only weapons she had available to her. Her fingers arched towards his already scarred face, intent on his eyes. Rob him of his sight and leave him to stumble in the darkness. She would prolong this, enjoy it as she had her feast before it had been interrupted.

A thrill ran through her, vengeful and euphoric. A sensation known to her only when they put up a fight. The predator bred within her sang its praises to the night and misfortune, the rational mind acquiescing to the primal beast once more. Again, the smile returned to her face. Had Narav been able to see it, it would be a frightening sight, the visage of a maddened and ravenous creature.

[Narav]

She was quick enough to avoid the first strike, but not the second. He could feel the way the blade sliced into the shadow. It wasn't like air, or slicing any other particular shadow in the night, there was a little bit of give there, tangible corpus his blade kissed. Her fury was immediate, claws black in the night pushing forwards toward his face. Narav couldn't see them, only the shapes of them, darting spiders leaping towards his eyes. Growling he drew his dagger back and threw up his arms, letting her claws rake through the skin and fabric, biting deep into his flesh.

He yelled his agony, lowering his shoulder and charging into her, his dagger up and jabbing down competently at any part of her writhing mass. He kept his other arm up near his face, guarding his eyes and catching only frenzied glimmers of her shape as the fought wildly in the alley.

His dagger-play was a bit swifter than her claws, but the advantage of having both claws was not lost on the sailor. Rather than take ground, he began to give it, stepping back and slashing toward any claw that ventured near him. Behind him, around another bend in the alley was the open street and the flare of lamplight. Guards may be out, or at least someone to see him thrashing with this monster.

Her long claws found their way round his guard and scored another long vicious mark along his cheek, prompting Narav to step toward the beast and drive his dagger toward her throat. She stepped out of the way, raking both claws at his face...always at his eyes, as if the beast would steal all light from him and Narav roughly threw himself into a wall to avoid them. Pivoting, he brought the blade up again in a series of offensive slashes, wide and at her torso and face, then back to defensive as he resumed backing out of the alley.

Another turn to go and he'd be in wider area...which was good because his wounds were already bad to begin with and he couldn't keep this effort up forever. It was hard to see her in this gloom, harder that her body was part of it. Instead he focused on slashing whenever she approached, aiming to sever her long, clawed fingers if possible.

"Is this it?" He growled, slashing again, pushed back and almost hemmed from the alley entrance, "Is this all you are?!" He swung again, keeping the dagger close rather than pushing his attacks, "Just some shadow preying on the defenseless, huh? Real difference when they fight back!"

He bit at her, slashed, snarled.

Part of him wanted to escape, the other wanted to drive his blade into those twinkling eyes till they were gone...like a candle extinguished. Martialing his control, Narav tried to focus on the blood loss, the wounds, the agony. If he continued like this, he would end up like the poor man she'd begun on.

Another step toward the mouth of the alley. Mages. Rotten mages.

He'd kill them all.

[Yndira]

Her nails tore through flesh like eager children unwrapping a present. It was small consolation for not having reached his ears. But it was one that did not last long. He drove his shoulder into her chest, pushing out a guttural sound and forcing her back at once. His defense was adequate for the feral creature charging him. Her objective was a mental chant that guided her movements, intentions obvious. So driven, so determined she hardly noticed how close they were moving to the light. She saw only prey evading her.

His guard slipped and her nails carved through his cheek. This, still, was not enough. She needed to feel his flesh part beneath her fingers, to have his screams feed the night, to watch the light fade from his eyes and plunge him into eternal darkness. But she wanted him to fear first. It was desire as strong as her need to eat, appetite renewed. It was all this fighting, this work. She did not mind it, though. The baser workings of her mind found enjoyment in this violence. Tear or be torn. Bite or be bitten. The simple principles of life that did not require careful disguise and control.

The man's swings were wide and just easy enough to evade. It was more a dance than a true scene of combat. She'd evade one swing, then another, before he finally found purchase for his blade. And then the cycle would repeat, all the while he moved them backwards. But as this simple choreography continued, her limbs began their protest. They were equipped for such elongated combat, her lifestyle thus far proving little need for it. Her attacks slowed and her approaches became sluggish. Of all the times, it had be now. A scream--closer to a shriek--of rage left her as she backed away.

A bad decision to follow a slew of them. Her lungs raged back, clenching too tightly as the air left them. Her snarls and growls were colored with distress, steps faltered. How unfair, how cruel. The wrongness--him wronging her, her own body turning against her--settled beneath her form and tainted her movements. His taunts were no better. All that she had? She would show him what he had left. With the little strength she had left, she threw herself at him with enough force to knock the wind out of both of them. They would border between the light and the dark, Yndira's illusions returning where the light hit her form.

[Narav]

Exhaustion. It was a poison as sure as any dram of Lisirra's. He could feel the hot burn of his muscles failing as he flailed, swung, stabbed, retreated, slashed again. It had become a dull incessant beat, a sort of mundane death-dance that they were both playing out to its natural end. She would strike and he would defend, he would strike and she would defend. The only part that seemed to be going his way was the slow but steady progress toward the open street. Light lay behind him, casting a lantern glow on the ground and forcing their shadows into a flurry of warping shapes. Narav switched hands with his dagger, fending off the creature as he taunted.

Those words had cost him precious breaths which he paid for as the shadowy monster collected herself and lunged for him. Her strength and force was too much and too sudden, bowling Narav over at the edge of shadow and light. The dagger was, thankfully, between them, but her slavering mouth and claws were on his chest and seeking any place to slip into his body and tear away his life. Narav screamed, a short, barking shout and felt his strength begin to leave him. Perhaps...this was the end then, slaughtered by this mage, denizen of darkness with so much of his life left unlived behind him.

A flash of color, light that fell across her shadow banished the pitch armor she'd called around herself and revealed the dark skin and tattoos beneath. Light. It was Light.

Down came her claws, tearing into his chest along the same lines that Fridgar had carved, threatening to slip past his ribcage and into his lungs. The pain was unimaginable but Narav refused to give in. Instead he brought his dagger behind them and drove it through where her flesh had touched the light, into the curve of her side, and twisted violently, rolling her and him out of the alley and fully into the light. He was straddling her now, dagger buried in her side while the sailor grappled with her throat. The darkness was gone, the long scything claws were gone. Her face, so human and yet so predatory and wrong, twisted in a snarl. Her eyes were dark points in the lamplight, seeming to devour the light around her. Narav's hands found her throat and began to squeeze. His muscles locked, and he twisted his head back and forth to avoid her raking nails, fighting against the force he pushed down on her. But between the two, she was the better grappler and her knee found its way to his groin, forcing Narav off her with a swift blow. Narav's world tightened and then widened, everything dizzy and unfocused. He fell as she rolled, reaching out and snatching the dagger handle, tearing it from her side in a bloody spurt. Both lay feet from each other in the light, cut and bleeding.

Narav fought for every last moment of consciousness, desperately forcing himself onto his knees, glaring over at the Naer who was doing the same. He staggered to a knee, brandishing the dagger at her, trying to force his other leg to obey his command to stand so he could cross and plunge the blade through her skull. "Who..." he gasped, spitting blood and phlegm, "Is the hunter....and...who..." He struggled, almost standing and steadying himself, "Is the prey?"