A Taste of Joy
2nd Ymiden, 723
Liara and Duvrin sat side by side outside their home, enjoying the warmer weather after the rebirth cycle had passed. Saun would still be some time away but this was closer to the perfect temperature. Hot enough to rest and relax without being too much to handle. They wore light summer clothes and talked among themselves while Irkall sat inside their home, hidden from sight. There were some perks to being a ghost. Being left alone to sit and think.
Yet it also left him a prisoner.
His options were the Beneath, a place where other ghosts would want to hunt and kill him, assuming the vast boredom didn't kill him first. Or to sit in the home of this strange couple, all because they owned his necklace, watching the living go about their day while he was trapped in undeath. It was pitiful. How had he fallen so far? From summoning undead to do his bidding, turning men to corpses and corpses into warriors for his own cause - to being an empty spirit with no vessel to call his own.
Sat in the corner of the living room, far enough away from their voices that he could think, Irkall had manifested two tendrils and let them sway at his side. Controlling multiple tendrils was a strange thing, as if sprouting new limbs from a body. But with time he knew he'd get used to it. Besides, watching the tendrils sway was far better than being stuck watching the couple talk. The last thing he wanted was to be around them, their joy and happiness. That was a feeling for the living. Not for him. Not for a man robbed of his love. All he had now was his focus. His determination to bring her back. What was a world without love, after all?
"I will find you, my love" he spoke quietly into the nothingness. It was better than the silence. Even if nobody replied, if Lizbeth could not hear him now, she would be waiting for him somewhere. She had to know he was coming. Irkall was never the kind to give up, after all. Never the kind to walk away when things got difficult. Wherever she was, whatever she was doing, she would be surviving too. As a ghost in some place, waiting for her love to save her. "Death can not keep us apart forever, Lizbeth."
As he hung his head low the Mortalborn let out a deep sigh. His life could have been so much more. A son of Vri, living with the love of his life. Born to nobility in Rynmere, learning to become a capable fighter and travelling across the world with his love. He could have helped save Rynmere from the blight that called themselves the Mantis, he could have defended his home. Lizbeth would have been given a good life, full of riches to do whatever she pleased. Perhaps they would have started a family.
Instead, he sat on some floor, his lover dying before his very eyes and his own people executing him. Left to walk Idalos as a ghost in some vague hopes of returning to life. But he would. No matter what it cost he would bring himself back. Those people had taken his love away and tied him to a pole to burn him to death, before stabbing him in the gut. They had cheered as they robbed him of justice, celebrated his execution because they decided he had no right to live. It was the way mortals worked. They cheered death while taking advantage of their pitiful lives, living as weaklings that never moved to anything great. Comfortable in their incompetence.
Madness overwhelmed Irkall through his time as a ghost, the trials crawling slowly by. Each moment he spent thinking of his return to life was a moment his mind slowly broke apart. How much longer would have to suffer through this torment? "Patience, Irkall" he spoke to himself, looking up at the ceiling as his ghostly fists clenched. "You will have what you desire. If time doesn't take the people that did this, our hatred will."
With those words spoken the Mortalborn knew he had to do something. Anything to fight off the emotions that threatened to erupt at any moment. The pain, the rage. There was only one way he knew to fight off such feelings now. Perhaps he had been wrong. Perhaps he deserved joy after all.
Just not his own.
The ghostly body of Irkall, remaining hidden from sight, moved to the open door of the household. As he approached he heard the laughter and chatter of the couple that owned his necklace, talking amongst themselves and enjoying the warmth and the company of one another. Perhaps their relationship was the reason Irkall tolerated them. Or perhaps he simply needed a place to stay and couldn't risk being hunted. Even he didn't know anymore.
"Perhaps we should go to the city tomorrow, spend some time together in the warmth" Liara smiled as she looked over to Duvrin. "It's been a long time since we went together. Who knows what wonders we might find?" she smiled, Duvrin nodding his head as his eyes remained closed, enjoying the warmth of the sun. "So long as it's not this Trial. I don't think I'll move until the sun has set" he replied, causing Liara to laugh aloud, slowly standing and making her way closer to his side.
Once she was beside him she lay down with him on the blades of grass as beaming sunlight shone down on them, resting her head on his chest while Irkall watched from the shadows. Pain and anger became hard to differentiate in times like this. Could this have been him had they fled the country? If somebody had not poisoned her or someone else had taken her drink would the pair be here, lying in the warm sun and planning their trip to the market together?
Perhaps he'd never know.
While they lay there and talked Irkall began to Syphon them, draining their emotional energy. A rush of happiness filled him like a warm meal as the pair went about their time unnoticed, a creeping apathy starting to effect them. His Syphon was weaker, enough that they had plenty of joy left for a brief while. But the wave Irkall got of happiness was another thing altogether. It was twisted.
Syphon, for many, was a chance at temporary freedom from their madness. But Irkall's seemed to meld together. Perhaps it was because he hadn't perfected the technique yet, or perhaps he was simply too unravelled to feel that kind of true joy anymore. It didn't matter which was true. All he knew was the joy that came over him did little to stop his desire to see the world punished for what they did it. Instead, that desire was fuelled. Joy mixed with malicious intent to form something much more sinister.
"Maybe we should go back inside" Duvrin spoke, the apathy starting to take hold. Neither of the two thought anything weird of it, boredom was a natural part of human emotions. Perhaps lying in the sun could only be relaxing for so long. Such was the benefit of draining emotional energy as opposed to anything else. Hard for people to notice and gave a rush like nothing the Mortalborn had ever felt before. As the two agreed to go inside with less of a smile on their face, though still keeping some positivity as they held one anothers hand, Irkall felt a grin spread across his face.
The pair left as Irkall remained in the sun, looking out to the woods and filled with a new life. Sinister joy laced his features as his resolve grew, filled with a new energy. There was much he could do beyond sitting here. Browsing books, searching the Beneath, exploring Melrath - at least as far as his anchor would let him. Anything. Whatever it would take to get him out of this hellhole and free him from the constant, creeping boredom that threatened to break his mind with each passing trial.
He raised his head to the sky and placed his hand on his shoulder, closing his eyes. "First Melrath. Then, the rest" he muttered to himself, a threat he intended on acting upon. What that would entail was yet to be seen. The people of Melrath had done nothing to wrong him. Yet here he was, trapped in this place. He wouldn't; go out of his way to harm the people that had done nothing to him, what was the point in that? But if they happened to be in the way of an item he needed, if they tried to stop him on his mission to save his love? They would die like the rest, screaming for a mercy that would not come.
He lowered his hand again and started to walk. Soon he would return to the Beneath and set off on his quest, wherever it would take him. Even if he had to drain the life of every ghost in the Beneath. It didn't matter much to Irkall. None of them were as important as his love. With a manic smile on his face he continued, muttering one final phrase before beginning to Traverse, knowing it would drain some of his ectoplasm to do so.
"Soon, Lizbeth. Soon."
Mortalborn of Ghosts, Fog, Domination
