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[Limbo]

62nd of Zi’da

The teacher had forgotten how difficult is to traverse these woods. It had been far too long since he had entered them, the last time being with Marrow in his quest for revenge. The teacher’s refined manners and graceful motions, as well as the excellent suit he donned, did not make him fit in. Every twig and every rock tried to throw him off, to destroy the grace he carried and instead turn it into something more primitive, savage and crude. It did not happen, for Paplo prefered to slow down his own advance for the sake of keeping his grace intact. Swan-like motions drove him through the terrain, crystal blue eyes looking left and right every so often, scanning the landscape for danger. What they often found was either old snow that had been frozen in place, or more trees and rocks.

There was no particular reason for Paplo to be here. After taking care of some paperwork in Etzos, he had gone out of his way to visit an old friend, an old ally, and, hopefully, an old corpse by now. Mongrel had never been an individual of great interest for Paplo, truth be told. Yes, he was different, and he had grown into a creature best not described, but Paplo had never been particularly keen on digging into its psyche. In part, because Noth was too stubborn in his own selfish way, not allow his feelings to drop down onto his feathered being. On the other part, he knew what he’d find inside. Darkness and madness, all mingled and twisted together into a horrific form, one not designed to fit in this world, but rather to be shoved and pushed until the world broke its mold.

It was a huge walk, and Paplo felt watched the whole time. Even when he stopped and looked around for a few bits, he’d find nothing. He’d gape up at the trees, and also found nothing. Regardless, he kept advancing towards the cave he hadn’t visited in a long while. The terrain started to become more familiar now, and, eventually, the teacher was heading directly towards his objective. His advance was carelessly direct, no matter the possible retaliation Noth may have for him - if he still lived. Regardless, Paplo was confident in his faked charm and, physically, he was invincible. As wrinkles had started manifesting on his features, Paplo had slowly realized it wouldn’t be too long before death claimed it, and such notion had made him far more direct, more aggressive and far more careless. He was stronger, in consequence.

Suddenly, an arrow flew past him, and Paplo stopped. He didn’t flee, he didn’t scream, nor did he pant in fear. He stood, frozen in place. Was that Noth? Had their relationship turned sour, like a wine left to age for way too many years? Another arrow, now landing before his feet. The mortalborn looked down at it; a warning shot. Regardless, he had yet to twitch. The third arrow came shortly after, and this once, it landed on his chest; it pierced his cloak, his suit and his shirt, and lodged itself in his left pectoral. Blood poured greatly from the wound, and Paplo fell back from the impact, yet he did not die. He did not twitch, nor he seemed pained in any way. Regardless, he played dead, his arms flapping out and his legs spreading as he fell over, apparently killed.

Silence.

It took a few bits for the shuffle of feet to make itself heard through the vegetation, two.. No, three pairs of legs, all walking towards him. Paplo’s eyes were closed, but his ears still heard it all. The cracking of wood was heard, but not that of a tree blown by the winds. It was dry, possible a drawn bow. The three eventually approached the fake corpse, and stood right above it.
“What’s wrong with this one?” asked a male.
“Probably got lost, is all,” replied a female voice.
“What a cunt. Come on, let’s see what he’s carrying.” The third voice was also of a male. Said male now planted his foot on Paplo’s chest, and pulled the arrow from his chest.
“Wait. Let’s take the corpse to the cave. Maybe Marrow will need it when he comes back,” said the female.

At the mention of Marrow, Paplo’s eyes opened. His eyes landed on those of the first male, a human, middle-aged, with a thick stubble and a receding hairline. The second male, who still held the arrow in his hand, had a far more charming face, which compensated for his squeeky voice and low height. The female was quite masculine, thicker and stronger than the males she traveled with. All of them were wrapped in leather armors and each had a bow, as well as blades hidden in their sheaths. All their eyes met Paplo’s.
“Hello,” he said, with a friendly tone.”I’m an associate of both Marrow and Mongrel.”

A pause, and then a roar of surprise. All three of them jumped back, scared out of their minds, for they had seen the piece of flesh lodged within the arrow. They did not draw, nor began kicking the teacher whilst he was down. Instead, they stared, mouth agape, at the resurrected male. Paplo, meanwhile, had sat himself up, and with his usual calm and grace, he’d push himself to his feet. He’d offer a kind and polite smile to all three of them, individually so, before brushing his cloak from any unwanted dirt.
“May we go now? It’s cold out here.”

[Noth]

Next to violence and cruelty, perhaps the feeling that the twilight hybrid had grown most familiar with in his tenure as a living being was that unequaled sensation of abandonment. It was a feeling that was far more than a simple sadness, though it was certainly true that it contained a measure of it. To be abandoned was a far worse fate in many ways than even suffering through the death of a close friend, though the twilight hybrid supposed that even death was a form of abandonment at times.

Regardless of the connotative and denotative meanings behind the actual functioning of abandonment, the twilight hybrid was certain that he had experienced that particular sensation in several instances. When he had only just been born, he had been abandoned by his father, and had never gotten the opportunity to learn who he had been, or the personality or character that had made him up. As far as the twilight hybrid was concerned, the man had never existed, or had long since met his fate… but that didn’t make it any kinder an outcome for him. Soon afterwards, his mother had been slain, abandoning him as so many others would in the future to that terrible plane of existence that accompanies death, the endless void that he just knew must certainly exist somewhere between this world and the next.

After that, he had suffered one of the most painful acts of abandonment in his life, and whilst occasionally the thought burst into existence that he had been entirely responsible for the death of his adopted father, he realized quickly after such mental discussions that it was surely the Immortals who had mislead and mis-created him in such a fashion that he had been forced into the action without any opportunity for free will. He had believed that such abandonment would finally come to an end, but shortly after becoming the Prince of Eternal Mercies, he had suffered from an abandonment on the part of one of his closest allies, followed by the subsequent withdrawal of another, and the sudden addition of several traitors among the ranks who had required proper execution.

So, he had grown familiar with abandonment, had come to expect it to rear its ugly head in the midst of his life, and he had grown to mark off persons who disappeared from his presence or service as being absolutely deceased. Of course, some part of him recognized that there was a very real chance that they were alive, but the thought of certain persons; those who he had come to know as friends and compatriots abandoning him of their own free will seemed to be something depressing to him, and he preferred to consider them as dead than as having been so disgusted that they left him entirely.

Perhaps that was why it came as such a shock to the twilight hybrid when a trio of flustered individuals entered into the cave, and alerted him to the fact that someone was here to see him. They were promptly questioned about the characteristics of the person who they had encountered, and a short retelling of their story about the nature of the entity who had managed to survive their most valiant efforts stirred a hint of possibility within him. Could it be one of those he had thought deceased?

Some who had been in Al’Angyryl for a longer time were aware of the hybrid’s old nickname of Mongrel, the short moniker given to him by the pair of others with whom he had worked. It followed a certain motif which was meant to showcase the organizational talents of the group, and to demonstrate that they were a more united force than simply another gang of bandits. Nevertheless, sometime around when the others had left the force, and disappeared into the ether, he had resorted to referring to himself almost exclusively as the Prince of Eternal Mercies. He had been careful also of uttering his true name around the new recruits for fear that at some point in the future one of them might attempt to betray him.

The Prince of Eternal Mercies strode through the cavernous maw of the cave, crimson eyes carefully analyzing a person of familiar build and makeup before him. His hand instinctively fell to the mace at his side, a clear indicator if ever there was one that he was not altogether trusting of the man. He had often waved away those who hung around such conversations, intent on listening whilst simultaneously protecting their dark master in hopes of receiving awards and commendation for their valiant service, but now… he refrained from such pleasantries.

“Maws. It’s been quite some time.”

[Limbo]

“It has been.”

Maws stood as tall and well-mannered as usual. In fact, there was little change to his mannerisms. It was almost as if the man had been swallowed by a black hole and transported right here, the same man he had been almost an arc ago. A confident man, but in a reserved way. Assertive, but willing to listen. Polite, but firm. Were it not for the holes in his suit and cloak, and the healthy exposed flesh below it, one could’ve sworn even his suit had remained as immaculate as he had. Those blue eyes met that of the Avriel, and a polite smile stood watch from under the well maintained beard.
“I see you’ve found more allies. I’m surprised. Last I recall, it was only me and your goose.”

The tenor, smooth as silk, gentle like a Saun gust, made itself easily understood. Maws shifted his attention to the gathered goons, whom he’d address with his next words.
“You’re Al’Angyryl, correct?” There was a lot of doubt in the crowd, but someone, hypnotized by the out of place calmness of the man nodded. Maws offered a polite smile. “Mongrel and I created this organization. There was a third member, as well, but he is, sadly, no longer among us.” To Noth, “Aerlan is dead, my dear friend.”

Maws moved, and everyone took their hands to the pommels of their weapons. They did not trust anyone but their ugly, feathered leader, and seemed to be waiting on confirmation, for an order. The teacher did not seem to mind, for his movement was composed of a hand digging within his suit. A golden apple was extracted from some inner pocket. It changed palms, as that hand once again began digging somewhere, but this time under the man’s sleeve. It dug and dug, and eventually, a small bone knife-like object was extracted from under that sleeve. It was like a magic trick. Someone drew a sword, and a few others followed. They ganged up, but were yet to do anything. Maws scanned the crowd, a mixture of mild surprise and mocking amusement drawn on his barely masculine features.
“Easy, gentlemen,” he’d coo. “I am on a diet, and I must keep my schedule.”

That knife dug into the apple and cut a slice. Juices escaped the fruit and leaked onto the man’s palm. Then, that knife and that slice slowly rose to the bearded mouth. Someone’s stomach rumbled. Someone’s eyes shined with envy. Someone’s greedy mind thought of murder for a mere apple. All of a sudden, everyone felt hungry. Maws’ eyes laid on Noth once more.
“You’ve become even more terrifying than when I first met you. I can see your men shivering when they look at you. That’s why they do not. Even I feel the power of your presence, and staring into your eyes is similar to staring into one’s dug grave.”

A second slice. A third one. The movements were deliberately slow, almost meant to trigger one’s patience. Maws may or may not have been enjoying this, for his features would not show a trace.
“Even so, you’ve become very lazy, my dear friend. All these men have not been enough to inspire you to complete our previously set objectives. Regardless, I feel it is time I get involved into our business venture once again; not only to stimulate you out of this cave, but also for pure profit. However, I refuse to disclose it standing here, for I’d rather be inside, near a fire. Fair, don’t you think?”

[Noth]

There was something about hearing him speak that made him substantially more real to the twilight hybrid. It had not been enough for him to simply stand before the Avriel, because in his mind, he recognized that it could be some delusion, a mirage created by a subconscious desire for companionship, and yet, could delusions not speak? It was an entirely illogical conclusion, he considered, as predatory eyes continued to gaze upon the newly found schoolteacher, observing each and every thread of his cloth, every speckle of flesh, each glint of his eyes.

He smiled, and the hybrid immediately felt a compulsion to scowl, to deride him for his pleasant attitude, but he found himself unable to bring himself to put him in his place, at least, not yet. Instead, he astutely listened as Paplo Ynush made mention of the fact that he had managed to gather together additional allies for himself. He stated that he was surprised at that, but the twilight hybrid didn’t really found it altogether so shocking that he might find others who were willing to serve him either because of greed or out of threatening compulsion. “And Marrow.” He uttered before he was able to stop himself, referencing the necromancer who had since vanished into the ether as so many others in the past. Yet, if Maws could appear out of nowhere, then it stood to reason that the sickly-skinned death-mancer could find his way home as well, couldn’t he?

He growled silently in frustration, and renewed his investigation into the nature of Ynush, watching quietly as he addressed the surrounding goons who had yet to be dismissed from their presence. There was a brief mention of how the pair had founded the organization, and another mention about a third figure who had long since vanished, one whose mere presence seldom found itself considered in the mind of the twilight hybrid. In truth, he had barely known Aerlan, and whilst the mage had been useful for the sake of the initial caravan raid that had started the group, he had never been found at all afterwards. According to Maws, he had met his fate, though the hybrid cared less for the news of such a stranger than for the words that accompanied, words that hinted at solidarity and compatriotism.

“I don’t go by that name anymore. I am the Prince of Eternal Mercies now…” He corrected firmly, before allowing an ounce of venom to creep into his final word, “…Friend.”

There was a brief shift in position as those gathered around made to withdraw their weapons from their sheathes, fully intent on defending their dark overlord from any potential threat from the man they had never met. The hybrid did not for an instant flinch, because he didn’t expect any real threat from Mammon. It was true that the being was ancient, and more than capable of defending itself, at least, supposedly, but he had admitted in the past that he was not necessarily much of a combatant, and the twilight hybrid could not remember ever seeing Mammon engage in an act of martial combat. That wasn’t to say that he wasn’t dangerous, because if he wasn’t then Noth would never have associated with him in the first place, but his was a secretive and skulking sort of danger, the sort that waited behind a doorway for a person to step through before it slid a dagger into their side, the sort that smiled, and baffled, and deceived.

He withdrew an apple, beginning to cut away at it with his knife, and there was the briefest pang of hunger that slammed against the intestines of the Avriel, though it quickly dissipated for a pair of reasons. First and foremost was that he was still quite frustrated with the sudden appearance of someone he had thought deceased, and the smug attitude of his guest didn’t help matters. Second, however, was that his physiology did not exactly desire the many fruits and vegetables grown throughout the province, but instead hungered almost solely for the fleshy meats that were torn away from the muscly carcasses of fallen beasts.

“How complimentary of you.” He uttered blankly, crimson eyes never leaving the figure of Paplo Ynush as he commented on his terrifying presence. There was a further accusation about how he had grown lazy, about how all of the gathered constituents of his underground empire had done little to motivate him towards the original goals of conquest and death.

The twilight hybrid felt his hand clench long before he became aware of it, felt himself tense in the same manner that he typically did before he slew an opponent. Slowly, gently with evident agitation, his sole wing outstretched itself from his armored carapace, its feathers ruffled in what could only be a display of extreme anger. He didn’t have to see to observe the gradual semi-circle shifting away from his position, his guards determining quickly that he might erupt into violent action.

Rightfully so. Were it anyone else, he might well have stricken them for their insulting nature. If it were a man, a woman, a beast, a creature, an Immortal, he would have thrown the blow, and yet, even in his agitated state he could see the bare flesh visible within the chest of the abomination before him.

His tone was perhaps the most vicious that he could recall using,
“If I didn’t think you’d just shrug it off, I’d break your jaw. Get. In.”
He spun upon his heel with the sharpest movement possible, immediately turning his back on the visitor, and thrusting his hand beside himself in dismissal of the soldiers who quickly fell over themselves to make a hole for their monstrous leader.

[Limbo]

There was clear anger in the Avian, and yet Maws did not seem concerned. If he did, he hid it well. Despite his obvious biological advantages, his lack of combat training and the lack of shadows from which to creep from would, undoubtedly, result in his defeat. Not even he knew what a defeat would look like for him. At any case, Maws masked his fear well, and kept slicing his apple with utmost ease and calm. His eyes would shoot here and there, meeting gazes with the strangers surrounding the feathered monster. They held no respect for him, obviously, but were extremely obedient to The Price, as he called himself. Without another word, for the time being, Maws followed after as he was directed, being so smug as to wink to the goon responsible for the hole in his suit.
“You’re paying for my suit, you know,” Maws said to him as he walked past. Once his eyes were set upon the quietly raging leader, another comment left him. “Must I choose another moniker now? Perhaps I’ll go with Duke of Deft Damnation, or Baron of Bated Breaths. Count of Contagious Conundrums? King of Kisses?”

His maws fell quiet now, unsure if he had taken the mock too far. Surely far enough to have offended, but perhaps not far enough to elicit physical violence. The cave of the Al’Angyryl felt much smaller now that it was inhabited. Clothes hung here and there, weapons were gathered in racks and barrels and sacks of all sort of provisions decorated the previously naked and damp floors. Even so, it was still as big as ever, and Mongrel would many more people to take all the space. It was worth pointing out that most of this space was unusable, mostly due to the natural build of the cavern. Both the Avriel and the growing organization he lead depended entirely on the formation of natural side-caves and caverns. No man was stupid enough to build walls and buildings inside a cave. Maws, however, was no man, and he partially wondered why Mongrel didn’t do such.
“I thought you had already moved deeper within the cave, in that… place, we found.” No more mockery was present in that firm, business-like tone. “This place is vulnerable, even if you’ve got scouts guarding your woods.”

Eventually they reached a chamber of the cave that, obviously, belonged to the Avriel. This was obvious by the amount of weapons present and the few bloodstains that crept in the rocky walls. Honoring his nickname, Maws began his chatter.
“We had agreed that taking out Vuda would be our priority. Almost an arc later, and he’s still alive and dandy. A man is not that difficult to kill, and I find myself wondering if you’d rather stay in this cave, surrounded by your simpletons, or get to actual work.” A pause. “But, given that you resemble a crow, you must really like shiny things. So, I bring you a gift; information about a town we could all lay siege to, rob of its valuables, and, hopefully, be enough payment for you to focus on the actual objective of this faction - or what it used to be, anyway.”

[Noth]

Even animals with their complete lack of intellectual capacity or the ability to formulate advanced plans and thoughts were fully capable of reading the intention of one another. In fact, that ability seemed to have transcended even beyond their assorted species at times, and it had been regarded many times that certain beasts were capable of sensing the emotional state of the more advanced mortals. The twilight hybrid had long regarded himself as a monster, a vicious and atrocious being, and whilst much of that self-intentioned reproach was thrown about due to the actions which he partook, another portion of it was certainly due to the predatory, nigh animalistic talents that he had perfected in his time in isolation and in hunting others.

It was that honed sense that told him that Mammon was not at all frightened by his works and his words, and whilst that was a rather evident conclusion to draw given his statements and his general methodology and movement, there were subtle differences that could be drawn upon when a person was simply faking a calm exterior, and when they genuinely felt unpossessed by the menacing force of fear. Of course, the reason for that rather strange behavior was evident immediately to the Avriel; it was because Mammon had existed long before he had ever tasted life, and perhaps he would continue to exist long after he had become little more than bones. His thoughts briefly touched upon the skull that he possessed, that unknown quantity that had somehow mystically found its way into his possession.

Fear was often regarded as something negative, and it was true that in many ways fear was something that was detrimental to normal activity. Fear made it harder to take hold of an item, made it harder to concentrate upon good and decent solutions, cemented ideas into one’s head that were neither logical, nor in many cases even possible. Yet… fear was not something that was inherently bad. Fear taught children that it was a poor choice to skip and hop whilst near the edge of a cliff, and that wandering into the dark alleys where the Black Guard would certainly not be capable of hearing was typically a poor decision.

It also taught people when to keep their mouths shut.

The mockery that was thrust upon him by the deserter tore at his sensibilities, angered him blatantly. His feathers began to direct themselves upwards in defiant frustration; a leftover trait of the avian creatures that made up at least a quarter of his bloodline. He felt his teeth grind against one another, and there was a sudden desire to rip and tear into the man like he had not possessed in quite some time. An anger that was vivid, that flirted flagrantly with all activities of violent action. There were still others within sight of them, those that patrolled the corridors of the cave, those that lurked beyond their presence in the shadows.

Without a further thought, the Avriel spun upon his heel, his talons digging fiercely into the stone, very nearly striking a spark with the intensity that they gripped upon the floor, and eliciting a shriek from the ground itself as though it had been wounded by the sudden movement. A hand covered in a heavy metallic gauntlet shot outward with practiced motion, amplified in its usual force by the intensity of his anger, and he aimed quite directly to cave in the man’s nose.

Afterwards, he would attempt to compose himself, and carry on in their walk. “Soon, we will move into the underground city. We were still attempting to keep this place hidden whilst we were few. With the recent influx of recruits, that option becomes somewhat less viable.” He agreed.

There was a brief mention of taking out Vuda, and how that had been the utmost priority of the group. In truth, he didn’t remember that having ever been the intent of the group, but perhaps that was because he had been focused entirely upon what such an action would mean for him. Doing away with Pahrn and his skulking advisor would make it far easier to steal away in Etzos, and go about his treacherous tyranny.

“I’ve been going about work, but you seem to underestimate the effort of slaying someone who we know possesses arcane abilities, and who is beyond that a very public official. Nevertheless, I will accept your offer of information.”

“And, while you’re at it, why don’t you tell me where you’ve been?” It wasn’t a suggestion.

[Limbo]

There was no lucky evade, nor any reflex that stretched out beyond the humanly comprehensible. Noth’s hit would be as perfect as the cakes sitting in a bakery’s display. Falling back like a log, Maws’ body struck the floor in a nasty manner, the back of his head striking harshly against the rock. Blood caked his face, and the suited man laid on the rock, mumbling something, as his mind was indecisive between shutting down or keeping awake. As such, Maws was reduced to nothing but a babbling victim, one of the many Mongrel had left in the wake of his uncontrolled fury. The strike’s effects began to wear off, in time, and the teacher was able to bring a hand to his face, as well as slowly began his ascent to his feet. Those feet and legs wobbled, still feeling the might of the half-avriel. Maws, however, did not try to hide just what the avriel’s fist had caused him.

Stepping forth to lean against the table, Maws would bring a hand to his nose, covering the mess his partner had left. His eyes looked up, but they lacked a gleam of either rage or fear. No fire burned within them, no ocean moved in the blue depths. Not even ice manifested in those blue spheres. They were eyes proper of a fresh corpse, lacking in emotion and, thus, lacking in an opinion about the recent strike.
“I’ve been around,” he replied, voice as wobbly as his legs. “I’ve been devoting my time to more important things, for I had assumed you could handle one man. It seems that, as the saying goes, it must be I who has to do it if I want it done right.”

By the time the hand removed itself from his features, Maws was as good as new. The nose was straight and unbroken, and the blood that had poured out of it wasn’t there. One could doubt it had ever existed, except for the fact it still adorned parts of his shirt and jacket. A hand tried to sweep off the dirt from the fabric, in vain, for the cave floor was not only extremely filthy, but also wet. There was little hope in salvaging the whole outfit - except the shoes, perhaps.
“I’ll see that the relocation begins. Have your men - or are they ours? - scout the place in search of valuables, and search for other entrances or exits. Wouldn’t be much of improvement if this cave is the only way in or out.

“As for the information, it’s very simple. I’ve come across a certain town called Bolstrum. It is south of here, approximately five or six days away for a proper caravan. What is interesting about this town is that it has a lot of buildings and yet not what many inhabitants. Caravans arrive, and usually leave empty.” Maws’ eyes were locked on the frame of the avriel. “I’ve had the occasion to walk within its walls, see the outlay, briefly inspect its manpower, and, of course, to draw a clear conclusion; it is a good target. If I’m right, all the stock inside could prove enough payment for you and these… friends, of yours, to stop assaulting old ladies and, instead, focus on Vuda.”

Maws waited a moment for a reaction, then followed his claim with a question.
“How’s the organization? What are your plans or doings, given that you seem so offended to be branded a lazy bandit?”

[Noth]

It was the nature of men to ascribe traits to things as they understood them, even if they weren’t necessarily accurate or correct in their assumptions. The entire idea of stereotyping depended on that concept, the idea that people would associate certain behaviors which had been detected by individuals in the past as being the general behavior of an entire group of persons. It was, therefore, not so strange that the hybrid expected for Paplo Ynush to supernaturally dodge out of the way of his thrown blow, or for him to suddenly and inexplicably manage to deflect or otherwise evade the damage coming towards him. After all, Noth’s insight and understanding of such otherworldly beings as Ynush were that they possessed otherworldly and powerful abilities, and whilst he wasn’t certain to what extent that was accurate in regards to a man who had lived far beyond his lifespan, it would certainly not come as a shock to the Avriel to learn that he possessed a great many unknowable talents.

The murderous bird allowed the man to arise in his own time, not bothering with jostling him upon the floor or attempting to make him recover at a faster pace than what was natural for him. In fact, he took the time to observe carefully the slight movements and nature of a downed Mammon, attempting to discern exactly how he reacted to pain and damage, or whether he actually felt them at all. Eventually, he was able to arise, and they continued onward into the drab and rather barren room that the hybrid often referred to as his ‘office’. There within lay a table and a pair of chairs where he could hold meetings with his assorted lieutenants if necessary.

Ynush spoke of how he had been around, and the hybrid’s imagination immediately ran rampant with the thought, imagining that he might have been only a few feet away from him during his many travels. Had he been present in Scalvoris whilst he was there? No, that was impossible, the travel distance was far too lengthy… but he might have been in Rharne whilst he had been making his visit there in order to establish smuggling operations. It wasn’t so beyond the realm of possibility to think that he would travel to somewhere like the party city, where he could sate his desires upon the innocent population without fear.

There, there was the sort of unnatural feature that the hybrid had been expecting the entire time from the man before him. He had covered up his nose after he had been bludgeoned in the face by the Avriel, which was a completely natural reaction, and one that he might have attempted as well if affected by similar circumstances. After he had removed the appendage from concealing the tissue, however, it was revealed that it had already corrected itself, that it had been healed entirely. The only thing that told Noth that the blow had ever happened at all were the dim feeling in his hand, and the specks of blood that dotted the garments of Ynush.

Paplo Ynush or Mammon was quick to offer his services once more to the faction that he had so carelessly abandoned previously, stating that he would be willing to ensure that the relocation from the cave to the underground city took place. Noth simply nodded at that, though he paused as he considered whether or not to cede some measure of control back to Mammon. If he denied him, then there would be little that he could do to demonstrate power among the masses. He had been absent during their recruitment, after all, and there was not a doubt in his mind that they would sooner answer to their feathered fiend than some unknown quantity. That said, it was true that Mammon likely possessed a breadth of experience beyond his own in certain areas, and granting him some measure of power was likely to assure his loyalty, at least for a time being.

“For the time being, I’ll grant you the authority of a lieutenant. Any greater than that and the men might become frustrated.”

The conversation shifted to the ‘information’ that the man had brought for him to peruse. It seemed that he had stumbled upon what sounded like a stockpile in the guise of a city, likely meant to allow for any campaigns into hostile territory. That was a fascinating development to the hybrid, though he did question whether such information was truly secretive, or whether he had simply been unaware of the city until that point. It seemed far more likely that the latter was true than the former.

“An interesting idea. We would need to plan an attack of course. We’ve never stricken at something as fortified as a city, though I’m not opposed.”

Finally, the conversation turned to Maws attempting to catch up on what had occurred, though with his slimey tongue being possessed as it was, he made every attempt available to insult his superior whilst doing so by questioning why he’d be offended at being referred to as a lazy bandit.

“It has grown. We have nearly fifty bodies now serving under me. Beyond that, the Underground is all but ours at this point. Beyond that, there are plans in the works for a great many things, but I believe that Cylus will be a far more productive season with its darkness than this one with its light.”

[Limbo]

“Plans,” Maws repeated. Something as simple as a repeated words could so easily change context in the wrong tongue. Mongrel having used it as just a plain claim, Maws seemed to have taken the word and twisted into plain mockery, even if said tone was missing. His eyes were blank, just as before, and they offered no insight on the matter. “I regret to inform you that ‘plans’, as you call them, hold little to no meaning when associated with you. Were you trying to salvage my respect with such claim?”

The mockery was axiomatic. The avriel’s strike hadn’t managed to quench the insuburdinance. In fact, after the punch, one would expect either a violent encounter or a partial or complete destruction of whatever aspect had warranted a physical advance. Maws, unlike most mortals, did neither. Twisting the psychoanalysis even further, instead of walking up to the Prince or buckling down, Maws drew a chair and sat himself down.
“Oh, what am I saying. Of course you don’t. You’d rather throw another fist at me than admit how poor a job you’re performing.” Crossing one leg over the other, and placing his palms atop his knee, head slightly tilted to the side, Maws once again seemed out of place. It wasn’t only the etiquette he flashed wherever he went, but also that refusal to speak his mind. “After all, you planned on moving the base further into the cavern. You planned on going after Vuda’s men, or Vuda himself. So far, all those plans are as real as,” he flicked a hand in the nothingness, “your plans of starting your own career as a bard.”

The mannermonger averted his gaze at last, looking off somewhere, eventually shaking his head.
“I appreciate your efforts for recruiting more members. I really do. I’ll admit that I lack the mannerisms necessary to attract such a number of footsoldiers. However, that is where my praise ends. I find you lack either direction or motivation, and proper objectives. Tell me; what have you done with all this new manpower? What have you accomplished?” A pause was left for reflection, but no answer was truly sought. “Your mind and your plans are inchoate. Take offense in it, if you wish, but let me confess that I knew this about you from the moment we met. That is where we differ, Mongrel, but that also the reason why I am here in the first place. Handle the men, offer tactical advice, kill a handful or a hundred and brood on it with your goose, and I’ll take the work you’re not suited to do.”

Maws leaned down for a moment, and from the floor he’d scoop up the filthy apple, another victim of the despot’s puny pride and violent nature. With a gentle spittle and some posterior rubbing of the apple’s flesh against a handkerchief extracted from the depths of Maws’ jacket, another puny knife manifested itself in the Mortalborn’s hands, seemingly out of nowhere, and the ivory began slicing the apple once again.

“But yes, Cylus is the perfect occasion to do work outside of this cavern. First, it will be the season in which we’ll move, if the underground city turns out to be acceptable. Secondly, the darkness will offer cover not only for our violent activities, but also for our diplomatic ones. And lastly, it will be the season in which we’ll ransack an entire town, not city,, and let Vuda turn desperate”

A pause. Maws looked up.

“Have you considered making an alliance with the Rhakrosi?”

[Noth]

The way that Maws spoke was utterly frustrating, thought the hybrid as he glared at the… being; he refused to think of him solely as a man, because he was far much more than that. The way that he could so calmly repeat a word back to him, as though it were an accusation without ever having changed his tone was infuriating. The twilight hybrid was a darkling being, and he would never allow such disrespect to creep into his ranks. Certainly, one could accuse that it was because he was a proud being, much like the Avriel that made up half of his bloodline, and that the simple truth was that he could not stand to have another entity propel itself above him in importance. Perhaps there would even be a hint of merit to such an idea, but greater than that self-important claim, there was the fact that the instant that the men began to refuse his orders, was the instant that he would need to deal with what effectively amounted to a mutiny.

Certainly, Maws was not entirely incorrect in his conclusion that little had been accomplished by the fledgling group beyond their having built up substantial forces, but all that had been done had been done with discipline and order. To invite such chaotic elements into the organization had taken time and molding, pruning out the traits that made them liable to rebel, and at times even pruning out traitorous individuals as a sign to the others of what their betrayal would warrant them. The fact that Maws seemed to understand this to such a little extent was upsetting to the Avriel, but he had been useful in the past, and Noth considered that he might well be useful in the future, and so he stayed whatever wrath might have possessed him.

The being continued in his scrutiny, stating that the Avriel would rather throw a fist than deal with the acknowledgement that he had performed little work. He continued in his pronouncements of judgement and condescension, highlighting the fact that the feathered fiend had planned a great many things, and yet that few had actually come to any sort of realistic fruition. After he had concluded his listing, he went on to praise the hybrid for his gathering of more members to their fledgling faction, but Noth could feel the double-edged blade in his words even before they struck. He was questioned as to what he had done with the manpower, where it had been attributed, and whilst the Avriel could have answered truthfully and spoken of how it had been re-directed towards assimilating other gangs and procuring funds, he knew that the ancient being before him would neither accept nor believe it.

The final statement given by the entity was a question directed towards the hybrid, one on whether or not he would attempt to side with the Rhakrosii. Noth glared directly ahead, his mind flickering through assorted thoughts and schemes and plans as he tried to discern whether or not something of that was at all possible. It could be useful, of course, but he despised the idea of tying his rebellion with a rival city, especially when the possibility for being blackmailed and turned into a puppet of Lissirra afterwards was so high. After all, they could provide much needed resources, manpower, and presumably even tactical advice, but if ever the people of Etzos learned about that, what he hoped would be a relatively public rebellion would turn into a war of subjugation against his own people, and that would only serve to weaken them in pursuing their greater goals.

He considered stating that for the benefit of Maws, but decided instead that there was something of grander importance to defend: his pride.

“You’re a hypocrite. You can talk about how I’ve done so poorly, or how I’ve accomplished so little, but at least I’ve gotten something done instead of abandoning a cause in its infancy, skulking around like a pathetic shadow in some foreign place, and hunting down every other scarlet lettered harlot you can find.” His voice was steady, his statements delivered in condescension much like that which had been thrust at him. “You want to accomplish something? Maybe don’t abandon us all again. You think its’ easy work killing Vuda? Then go do it yourself. After all, there’s clearly nothing preventing you from trying, or else you wouldn’t be here, lashing out all my shortcomings like you’re a judge.”

“I’m all for the idea of alliances and allies and assistance, but I refuse to ally with the Rhakrosii in any official capacity. The risk of becoming their puppet heightens the more that they associate with us. If they want to send us supplies, teach a few of our soldiers how to fight, that’s their prerogative, but I won’t call upon them.” He pushed himself away from the table slightly, his stance relaxing considerably. “No. I’d sooner seek allies among those factions near here. The Seekers faced a good deal of persecution whilst you were gone. A promise of support for their craft and freedom for their practices would go a long way towards allying with them, and I’m certain they could offer much. Even The Fence would be a useful ally with their global connections to mercenaries and scum the world over. A statement that we won’t interfere with their business before or after we’ve taken over might well secure their assistance.”