Fantasy RPG Forum - Standing Trials

Dreams always seemed to mean more in the land of the spirits than they did in the other places Azrael had traveled. Having spent several arcs in Melrath, a land he initially thought would disagree with him, Azrael had come to consider his dreams as signs of what he was to do next. Often, they were little more than dreams and he rarely recalled them when he awoke in the morning- beside Thorn or, interestingly a few times, beside Tali. Her father disapproved of what their relationship had become but Azrael was a passionate person. They were not a couple. They did not partake of each other on a regular basis but Thorn had kept them united long enough for mutual affection to grow. Perhaps if he was a smoother man, things might have been different. He could find things for them to talk about without end but, even the mortalborn of desire needed to keep practicing his flirting to get better.

He'd devoted a lot of his time over the arcs in Melrath to learning how to hunt and even now he only considered himself somewhat decent at it. Better than he was at the start, but not as good as those he often went hunting with. It had been almost a season since he'd seen Tollak Ra or the ever mysterious Yanish Cole. He'd begun to think he'd made an error. Perhaps he would never learn enough to finish the work the spirits gave him. Perhaps he didn't need to. Yet every time he looked in a mirror he saw the Embla on his face. The Embla that allowed him to blend in. The Embla that marked him to their service. Tali saw through it. He suspected Thorn did as well but the child still never spoke words. He only made the same pew noise every time he opened his mouth.

Perhaps Thorn would never learn to speak. It didn't matter. Azrael and Tali would protect him as they had since they found him.

Regardless of how time had transpired to try and change the mortalborn, regardless of the doubt he had along the way, Azrael never forgot what he had been promised. He could draw out desire, he could bind others to their word, but he did not know what else his heritage would offer him. He hardly knew his mother and with his patron immortal long silent he was beginning to think that the immortals had forsaken the land of Melrath long ago. The people certainly seemed to have opinions unlike the rest of the world. It didn't matter the night that the dreams came back.

He knew all at once that he was not awake. The world didn't move like it did when he walked it in the light of the trial. He knew that this, whatever it was, was something different. He was in the forest, but it was darker than usual. No light broke through the heavy leaves of the trees and the ground appeared almost black to him. Yet the sound of leaves crunching beneath his feet with each curious step forward was familiar. The trees gave way to a massive crater which could only have been created in a moment of unmatched power. He would have wished he could have seen it if not for the fact it would likely have lead to his death.

A woman with hair like snow and eyes like the stars stood in the midst of the crater, beckoning him towards her. He stepped forward without hesitation and when he did, he awoke on the floor of the forest with Thorn shaking him gently.

"I know I didn't drink that much last night." Azrael grumbled as the haze of sleep began to wear off and he got to his feet. "I know there was at least a bed. You alright, little one?"

"Pew." Thorn replied with mixed enthusiasm. Azrael just smiled and pet the small ithecal on the back as he took a glance around. It was the forest but it was not somewhere that he'd been before. Trills after his senses came back to him fully, a voice called to him on the wind. He turned and reached for his sword but found no blade at his hip, only an empty scabbard and a quiver with a handful of arrows. Arrows, but no bow. He didn't make a habit of sleeping with his weapons on. He only had the arrows because he'd been drunk the night before and forgot to remove them. For the same reason he was still wearing his gauntlet with the hidden blade inside it. The voice did not seem threatening. It felt like a friend. He peered around again and that was when he found the fox tracks leading further into the forest.

"Come along, little one." Azrael said before Thorn reached his hand up to take Azrael's and the mortalborn obliged. They followed the tracks, hand and hand, until they came upon the crater from the dream. It was so much like the dream that Azrael wondered if he had really woken up at all. Then again, he rarely had dreams that included Thorn. He saw enough of the little one while he was awake. White haired, wild women on the other hand were not that far off from some of the stranger dreams he could believe he had. "In for a nel, in for a- well... you know." Azrael said to the little Thorn as he began to make his way down into the crater to where he'd seen the woman.

He'd come this far, he was not going to stop now.

Thorn became vary vocal when the glass began to crunch beneath Azrael's feet. He recognized that he might need to step more lightly but he didn't like the thought of having to sneak around on glass. Thorn seemed to want to come with him, but if he took the little one then he would have to carry him and that could become a problem. He had made the deal with the spirits, not the child. It wasn't fair for Thorn to be in danger because of Azrael. Azrael didn't really think much deeper on the topic than that.

"Stay here. You'd be in more danger if I tried to carry you on this. I might trip. You might pull my hair and I might get mad- who knows? No point in us both getting hurt. I'll be back in a moment... fine I'll carry you." Azrael crumbled after a few attempts to convince himself he was okay with leaving Thorn at the edge. He knew that far worse could happen if he wasn't with the child. He just wouldn't blame himself if it did. He lifted Thorn carefully and adjusted uncomfortably under the weight of the little one. As Azrael turned and proceed down the uncomfortable glass into the cradle of fire frozen in time, he mumbled quietly "It's not my fault if I drop you."

All signs pointed away from the center of the place that Azrael had commit himself to venturing into. Unfortunately- or maybe fortunately for him, he was not one to be so easily swayed away from the path he was on. It was foolish for certain, but the one who marked him ensured he at least looked goodEver Alluring I: The bearer has an enhanced constitution, staying strong and healthy in conditions where others would wilt and fall ill. Scars never remain, disease rarely seems to visibly touch the bearer, and he/she recovers from injuries much faster than the average member of their race. The bearer seems to age more slowly, though the effect is superficial rather than biological. In addition, everyone encountered is subconsciously attracted to the bearer, even those of incompatible sexual orientation. Those of alternate tastes may not feel compelled to flirt or pursue the marked, but the spark of incomprehensible arousal, however slight, is there all the same. in the face of harsher environments. He stood as straight as he could while the world around him seemed to grow harsher.

Thorn must have been mocking him. The child seemed to glance around at everything with undying curiosity while Azrael grew thirsty and his legs grew sore. He hadn't even gone that far? The confusion was the worst part but he masked it well. He tried to keep his back straight and his smile just wide enough. He wasn't sure it was going well but he had no mirror to check with. When the figures of the dead appeared and pointed in a direction which was nothing more than crater to Azrael at this point, the mortalborn stopped in his path and tilted his head at them. They looked odd. Present but not.

"Apart from not wanting to, I'm not sure I can." Azrael said to them. "I made a promise." He was always a little unsure how true to his word he had to be but he did not like deception, even if he was naturally inclined towards it. Either way it was not the problem for the moment. Someone had brought him here. He was too curious to turn back now. At least Thorn seemed to be doing well. Whatever these things before him were, they didn't seem all too friendly. Apart from the one who called him love. He did enjoy that a bit. Did the dead find him as alluring as the living? Did the dead have desires like the living?

"I can't go back now. Tell me, what is it that you desireAt will Azrael can compel an individual with a lower discipline skill than himself to reveal a secret desire to him once eye contact has been established. The secret- of the other players own choosing/creation- can range from a deeply embarrassing desire to a slight want depending on the other players discipline skill. At equal discipline another player would be able to resist unless otherwise impaired (intoxicated/ drugged by something that would make them suggestible.) At each level lower than Azrael in the other players discipline, the severity of the secret should increase- though the secret is still ultimately up to the other player.

Once per trial Azrael can go a step further and compel an individual of a lower discipline level to act on their secret desire. Once he has compelled an individual to act on a secret desire he will be unable to compel anyone else to reveal a secret want for twelve breaks. When Azrael reaches competent in persuasion he will no longer need to establish eye contact in order to compel an individual to reveal or act on their desire, they simply need to be looking at him.? Surely you want something more than to bother travelers in this crater?" He asked, knowing full well what his decision was already. He began for move forward, legs aching but unwilling to stop just yet. He wasn't blind to the discomfort but he knew that one way or another, he was too far to turn back now.

It didn't strike Azrael as particularly odd that these specters seemed to know about the deal he had made with the spirits. It would have been odd if it were all a coincidence that they were there where the dream had brought him. He didn't think deeply of such things and intrigues but he found it odd that the dead seemed to think that the spirits had turned against the deal that was made. The time it had taken was not the time he expected but he had learned more than his share. He was content with the terms still, or he'd have left Melrath far behind. To him, the deal was as it had been on the trial they struck it. He had a part to fulfill lest his own abilities turn against him. He had to go on, regardless of the dead in his way.

"Weak or strong, a pact with me is binding." Azrael said in a low tone when the dead implied that the spirits would betray him simply because they were powerful and he was not. It didn't matter on his end. "Besides, I don't think it is my spirit friend trying to suck the life out of me." He had little evidence to prove that but he knew that he'd never felt this sort of drain on him before. Certainly not when he was with the spirits. Whatever this unnatural feeling was, he did not think that it was the Dark Mother or any of the River's Daughters. None of the dead expressed a clear desire to hurt him, though the one seeking vengeance probably needed to be watched. The mortalborn adjusted his hold on Thorn to avoid dropping the child as he grew heavier in Azrael's arms.

Fascinating. Living or dead, he could root out the desires of others. Very fascinating indeed. Alas he often drew out the desires for a single reason, to help the individual achieve it. Everyone should get what they wanted. He did not like what they said next about being surrounded by a lake but still being thirsty. It seemed almost threatening but Azrael chose not to engage that way. "I'd need a name," He said to the Beloved, "I'd need a place," He said to the Cowled before turning to the Thirsty one, "and from you, I'd need a target- but all of you could have what you desired... so long as I make it through this crater and find what I came for. No one should be without that which they desire, until then, at least you have each other." They could feed off one another just as easily as him, probably more effectively too, but he didn't know that. He still wasn't even certain that they were feeding off of him.

Then they were gone. Whatever power they'd mustered to appear before him had either faded, they'd lost interest, or something more had removed them from play. It didn't matter. Their words lingered in his head with the dream of the wild woman. Turn back? No. No... there was no going back. Not for him. In the end it was the desire to know which drove Azrael forward towards the humming. He couldn't stop now. He couldn't ignore what he wanted. He was born of desire and did not have the capacity or urge to ignore it. Even if he hated the stench that beckoned his mind back to his trials in the wild Yaralon.

Azrael found each reply from the dead equally more interesting except for the vengeance seeker. He knew little about the woman who'd caused the incident but he was not one to pursue genocide or agree to it. At least not until he had a good personal reason not to like the species. Regardless Azrael considered the vengeful one a little bit too extreme to really care to help them. The Beloved and the Cowled one he might look to deliver their desire. How hard would it be to bring a ranger to the cradle? How hard could it be to bring part of the cradle to Fensalir? He wasn't sure that the latter would actually help the ghost but it was better than nothing. The Beloved was the only one who gave a desire it really felt like Azrael could fulfill but no true deal was struck before the dead withered.

He was not bound to help them. Even if part of him wanted to.

Tollak could get a message to the husband. It was the least he could do and it was the one thing he knew he would at least try.

He continued on his own with Thorn in his arms and his body aching. He followed the humming as far as he could and when his body gave out, he collapsed onto the floor with as much beauty as he could muster. He didn't even have the strength to warn or apologize to Thorn as they descended. He didn't have the energy to realize he'd come to the center of the great scar on Idalos. It happened so fast and he was asleep again. He thought he might be dead when he hit the ground but what came to him after the world grew blurry and black was far from the Immortals he had been told to expect. He was relieved that he wasn't dead. The world had few truly beautiful faces in it and to deprive it of his just because he walked too far would have been quite tragic. Instead it was another dream of sorts.

He was too dizzy or perhaps too confused to wonder where Thorn had gone or if the boy was alright. What came next came quickly. Knowledge and information he could not have known otherwise which lead to the founding of the place he laid now. The dreams came more as visions in that he remembered all of what transpired within them and none of them had anything to do with him. A more clever man might have taken comfort in this but Azrael was a bit more self centered. If life was going to flash before his eyes as he died, he had hoped it would at least be his life. Oh the memories he would love to see one more time. Regardless, the lives he did see were not half bad in his opinion either.

He had to admit he did quite enjoy the voice that gave coins to those who spoke their secrets. Azrael liked making people speak their secrets as well though he could rarely give them more than the motivation to pursue that secret want. Most people only ever needed that push to pursue their desire... but he never really stuck around long enough to see if indulging in desire ruined the lives of those who crossed his path. Hearing the secret of the woman who engaged with triplets and came out the other end with a child of her own made him wonder how many others had been left in the wake of his power. Desire was a fickle thing. It was not lust. It was closer to want. He always thought he was pushing people into what they wanted but... the consequence for Hilda would last as long as his choice to save Thorn had.

There was the tavern owner, but then there was also the woman of a unique beauty. She was not what Azrael thought many people would look for in a love but he found her difference uniquely attractive. She was the type he would approach in a bar. The type he would try to pull out the secret desire from. The type he might even help to fulfill that desire. It wouldn't matter by the end when he discovered what she'd done. The woman told a secret that Azrael would have hidden, even with his habit of spilling beans. She gave directions to a place he knew he should not know of. She gave too much for a coin in his opinion, but she delivered what the voice asked for. He could respect that at least. How was she to know the spirit would betray the trust? Then again, there was no part of the deal that said the spirit had to keep the secret to itself. A cruel twist to the pact that had been made between the two.

A twist Azrael never tried to weave into his own pacts... but a twist he considered now.

In the end Azrael felt it was moreso the owner of the tavern who had betrayed Alora than the spirit. It started the gossip, but Soren allowed it to spread. Knowing neither of them, Azrael didn't particularly care for much other than the danger that was implied towards the unique beauty. It was the second vision where he began to see the vice tighten and the doom clarified.

It was remarkable and terrifying to see what the woman Azrael had thought of bedding only moments before was truly capable of. Could all mages do such terrifying things? Certainly not him. He was only beset by whispers on all sides, not the elemental power this woman wielded. Still... flaying was a frightening reality for him now. He let Adrian put a parasite in his soul and now the hunger would always be there. He'd have to find a way to cleanse himself of the whispers. He did not need them. The secrets they told could be drawn out in other ways. He would not let himself become his mentor's pawn. He would not let Adrian turn Tali against him because they shared a spark. Not if a spark could cause this destruction.

One bit of information which Azrael learned and felt guilt for was the fact that the woman he thought attractive enough to bed (even short an arm) was the one who had killed the ghost seeking her beloved. He recognized the name as he heard it. Fortunately the dead were not privy to his private thoughts. The loved one was dead. Azrael could not unite them. He could not fulfill that desire for the ghost he considered most kind. She had an obsession she could never fulfill and to whatever extent a hollow heart could, Azrael's heart ached for her. If he lived to trials that would pass, he would as Tollak for the story of the two lovers that the Flayer had killed. At worst, he would gain a story that pulled at his heart. At best, he would find some small hope to reunite the two of them. Anything was better than the wave of black fire (ironic given his name) that washed over and burned out the river which once flowed through the forest.

The third vision was from a time far closer than the others. A time after he had met the daughters of the river. It was only clear to him because he recognized the land of Melrath as it was when he walked it. Scarred by the unique beauty Alora, but living still. It was not men and women who he saw, but instead the spirits of the land themselves. For whatever presence immortals had, Azrael admired the way the spirits worked. They were physical and yet not. They played their games but they did not mark so freely. Azrael had deep feelings toward Syroa who had marked him and deeper feelings towards his mother who had used him as a weapon against his father, but those feelings could not compare to what he thought of and felt for the spirits. Immortals were free to do as they pleased. Spirit were bound like the dead. A spirit of the forest could not thrive a continent away from its forest.

At the least, the visions convinced him that spirits deserved to have their far reaching desires fulfilled.

At the most, the visions had shown Azrael something he wanted to immortalize in word, verse, or art.

The third vision showed unity between the spirits. Unity borne out of a need to stop something Azrael could not fully understand but unity all the same. With the threat beaten, the vision ended and Azrael awoke to a world he recognized and a wild woman he had seen before. More specifically, he was in her arms which he didn't mind at all. She had a comforting grip. He liked to be the big spoon but he could make exceptions.

"Hello, sorry I was napping." Azrael said immediately, trying to maintain the wit and charm he was accustom to presenting. No point in denying the wild woman the wit he gave the rest of the women. His body still ached but with each passing trill he could feel his energy returning to him. Each moment that passed, Azrael could feel his strength returning to him. She spoke of the black key and the pact that they had made but Azrael found himself a little lost in her eyes. "I came to fulfill my word. The reward is nothing but meeting you... it has been worth it." Was he trying to charm her? Certainly. He had cared about the reward exactly up to the moment until he fell to the ground in exhaustion. After the visions, his perspective has shifted.

The beauty helped him to his feet and took Thorn into her arms while they spoke. There was something about her nurturing nature that Azrael found incredibly attractive, but perhaps it was just more desire poking and prodding at the man who had been born to embody it. As Thorn began to punch at the lovely spirit, Azrael gave him a stern look. "Stop that, little one. We don't damage art in this family." He said to the little ithecal with a brawling habit. The spirit spoke of an option that Azrael had and expressed that neither choice would effect the deal they had made but Azrael, admittedly, was a little distracted by her eyes. He'd seen a small furry fellow with blue eyes before and wondered if he could replicate them but his spirit had an appearance he knew he could walk comfortably in. Wild as she was, he was into it.

The spirit of the forest explained the situation to the mortalborn and given what he had seen, he understood. It changed nothing. His mind was set when he decided to walk past the dead who had warned him to walk away. He had an option in front of him but it meant nothing to him. He got the rest of what Edasha had bestowed on him either way. All that mattered was fulfilling what he was. He was borne of three domains. Desire, Pacts, and Guilt. He might feel guilt in the trials to pass but for now he had a pact to fulfill and desire that he wanted to pursue. He knew of no other who had done as he had. He didn't really care if others had done what he wanted to do. It was a large world with many pleasures, but who could compare to the Dark Mother? His mind set, he did what he felt he wanted to do.

"You have given me a path- or perhaps it was the daughters. I do miss them, tell them to visit. I miss some more than others but we could all benefit from a reunion." Azrael said with a weak smile and a gesture towards the Embla on his face. "But as I was saying, this is a path spirits set me on. As much as it is my choice, it is also yours. I want to help you get what you want. If you wish it, if you desire it, I will join with this spirit. I will make it thrive as best I can but I can not promise I will remain is this land forever." He felt it fair to take the spirit from here after they joined and help it thrive wherever they landed but that was not the point. He would, at the least, fulfill his end of the bargain he was making now.

"So tell me, do you wish to see this spirit thrive? Do you want this land restored? I have been in your service for two arcs now, there is no reason to stop where we are." Azrael, realizing the words he had to say, smiled in an awkward manner. "I will do as you ask, and in return I ask only the one thing no man or woman of Melrath has done before- as far as I know. Bed me tonight, or as many nights as you please, and I will fulfill your desire, whatever it might be." Azrael said with a wit that only returned along with his strength. "This is not a pact, by my standard, but know that I am not lying to you. If you want this spirit fulfilled, this is just the fastest way... and I'm not too ugly am I? Things can be adjusted.Transformer's Toolbox [Minor]: The bearer is able to make superficial changes to his or her form. Facial skin, hair, eyes, nails, voice - through Syroa's blessing, the bearer becomes a minor shapeshifter, a faint echo of the winged goddess of transformation. Minor alterations are instant - the bearer could be a brunette with a pixie cut and brown eyes one moment, a long-haired, blue-eyed blonde the next. Minor alterations can be held effortlessly for trials at a time, while major alterations will start showing signs of reversion within a few breaks. While users of Makeover can attempt to mimic another, at this level the resemblance will always be a little off. Either way, I know my choice."

Regardless of the spirit's answer, he knew what he would do. He would help the small and weak spirit grow. He'd become too accustom to them to let one wither now. If only one who could make the pacts that he could would be able to restore the spirit to what it was, he would be the man to do it. However that did not change the desire he'd felt since he met the daughters. To be with a spirit for a night was something he did not imagine many could say they'd done before. Oddly enough, his desire was not borne from the feat itself. It was born from the affection he had developed toward the many spirits he had met. He had heard story after story about the Dark Mother but none of them mattered in the moment. She was the one who had saved him from what he felt before. She was the one he wanted to give a night that no other spirit had likely felt.