Fantasy Children of Blood and Shadows - Devil's Walkway

[Roaring_Dragon]

Vox's empty eyes followed her. He felt her searching gaze ripping apart every piece of information that she had gathered and piecing everything together like repairing a giant shattered mosaic. He could see her rolling the pieces around in her mind, seeing what jagged pieced slotted together. He had given up too much information. He didn't care. Nothing she did would move the crushing weight on his heart even an inch. She was right though, even the whip would have been preferable to his current state of mind. The pain would have at least made him feel something, and the unconsciousness that would follow would give him a respite from his self-induced hell.

Death would have been the ultimate release; what he craved. Yet he couldn't kill himself - no, that was an unacceptable cowardliness. The Bal'Narathu did not submit. The Bal'Narathu endured the world until the world ground them down. They met their enemies with steel and blood and they died with a smile on their face. Only then could they join their ancestors on The Great Desert Hunt.
So Vox had endured. He had endured the scorching heat of his desert homeland. He had endured the frozen winters of the Devil's Walkway. He had endured the blades of his enemies slicing though his skin. He had endured his blood bringing him back from the brink of death over and over.

He would endure now.

Only then could he guarantee that his death bought him a place in The Hunt, to spend eternity by his mate's side.

His amber eyes flashed open, a very different look deep within them now. He was alone in the tent. His eyes fleeted from the tent walls, to the guards, to the table. His mind raced, trying to formulate a plan of escape. His gaze went back to the metal structure around him. He pulled on the chains with all his might. It didn't budge. He pulled again, wrists straining against the cuffs as they cut into his skin. The structure flexed slightly, before springing back into place. His eyes narrowed, intent on the frame. It had moved, even if it was just a little. But it would not cave with his current strength.

The shackles were partially loose around his stretched arms. As he pulled, the cuffs only cut his flesh, his hands too wide to pass though. He would shred both skin and bone if he by some miracle managed to free them. He knew what he had to do, a necessary evil. In the triangular position that he was in, his two hands touched. He reached out with his right hand grabbing his left. With a swift motion, he dislocated his left thumb, pushing it back.

Although prepared mentally, the sheer pain flooding his mind and body was red hot. His face scrunched and his mouth opened in a silent snarl. But he wasn't done; he pulled and pulled on his left hand. Skin tore as it bunched against the cuffs, but centimeter at a time, his wrist slid out of the metal binding. Bones stretched and cracked as Vox did what would be to most irrevocable damage to his limb. Blood streaked down his arm and onto his shoulder and chest.

His hand slipped out of the cuff, finally free. He let out a gasp of pain trying to stifle a groan. He cradled his wrist on his chest, allowing him a moment to recover.

His eyes intent on the oblivious guards, it was time for the second stage of his plan.

 

[Ririn]

The water felt soothing, both to her body and mind. Legend has it, Shadow Elves were born from water and moon beams that's why they moved better under the moonlight and they were excellent swimmers. Now, in what felt like a safe womb, her mind was almost at peace. Almost, was the best she could hope for especially under the circumstances she had found herself in. With her mission failed, the road ahead didn't look good and certainly, it didn't look free.

Conor entered the baths keeping his eyes lowered on the ground, not because seeing a woman naked was forbidden but because he knew Ivorel's body had markings he wasn't supposed to see, out of respect for what they ment for her and their kind.

"Ivo?" He said softly, breaking her concentration, making her sit up.
"What is it now?"
"How are you?"
"Better than I look like." She joked and saw him smile.
"You have a message, from Lord Orthon. Would you like it for me to read it to you?" He offered kindly, taking a parched scroll out of his belt.
Ivorel closed her eyes, pressing them with her fingers. Of course he had already found out about the assassination. It didn't matter than only a day and a half had gone by, it didn't matter she had yet to inform him of her failure. Like always, the man that had raised her like she was his own daughter, was ahead of her.
"Please do." She finally answered, reaching for her whip, sinking it in the water with her, watching as the Demon's blood washed off, spreading slowly in the water around her but not staying close to her for long, as the water emptied from one side of the bath and got refiled from pipes above it.

Conor cracked the wax seal, opening up the scroll, meeting with a handwriting he too, was familiar with. He cleared his throat and went on reading.
"Dear child,
Now more than ever your gifts are significant to our people. Your mission might have failed but a much more important and noble one is opening up before you.
I have been informed that the leader of the ambush is currently your prisoner. I imagine you are already doing what you were trained to do, extracting valuable information from him.
Is he really the one our soldiers call, The Berserker? If so, what have you found out about him? What are his real abilities?
I know you my dear child, I know you would never be able to rest as long as our Lord's death goes unpunished.
I'll be waiting your personal report. Do not fail me, Ivorel of the Shadows, Lady of the Whip, Mistress of Shadows, daughter of the Moon Goddess. Daughter of mine.
Lord Orthon." Conor finished, closing the scroll again, wanting to look at Ivorel now more than ever, wanting to see her reaction to those words, craving to hug her and tell her all would be good and she shouldn't worry. Yet Conor remained pinned in his place, eyes on the ground.

Ivorel had heard all the words he had write and all those he hadn't. She knew, he kept more to himself than what she wrote and that only made her feel worse. He was disappointed at her, making it clear she wouldn't be living the army any time soon if she didn't, at least, fix her mistake. Getting answers from the Demon, now mattered even more.

"Thank you Conor, I'm coming out now." She informed him and when he had turned his back, Ivorel got out of the bath, water dripping from her body. She send the whip flying twice, getting rid of all the water on it before getting dressed again.
"Won't you answer back?" Conor asked
"Of course I will." Ivorel answered a bit too fast, though she didn't need to hide from her companion. They were working together for a long time now and he knew what Orthon ment to her and what their relationship was like.
"He is making you nervous." Conor commented and for a moment, she wasn't sure if he ment the Demon or Orthon. "The Lord I mean."
"You know he does." She agreed with a chuckle, buckling her belt, putting her boots on, returning her whip where it belonged on her hip.
"Let's go." Ivorel said, pushing Conor playfully and finally he looked at her with a smile. His face was still covered with a gauze for it's most part but at least he looked better already.

Walking out of the baths, side by side, they made a small stop at the kitchen, as he insisted she tried the apple pie and she was thankful he had made her try it. It was sweet and sour and it smelled as good as it tasted, plus not having eaten for more than 24 hours, made everything taste even better.

"Your hair is still wet." He noticed as they walked towards the smaller tent he had set up close to her own red one. Fires here and there from group of soldiers and the torches that burnt constantly on the walls, shed their warm light around the night, as the stars and the half moon weren't enough to brake the darkness away.
"Yeah, it's what happens after a bath!" She joked, realising she was finally starting to feel a bit better.
Conor rolled his eyes. "I like your hair Captain, have I told you before?"
"About a thousand times." Ivorel teased before falling into silence. She knew Conor had feelings that were something more than the feelings she had for him, but the two of them were always joking lightly about it, acting like the good friends they were and stopping there.

Inside his tent, Conor gave her paper, a pen and ink, stepping out to give her some privacy, eyes on her own tent that stood away enough so Conor wouldn't hear the Demon's screams, when he would start to scream. Because he would eventually. Ivorel always made them scream.

 

[Roaring_Dragon]

Vox blinked back the sweat from his eyes, as his mind raced, accounting for every possible outcome to the evening. The guards; that was his next step now that his wrist was free. His whole arm throbbed with red hot pain, and he knew that there was severe nerve damage. Stretching his mangled hand back into position, he rested it on the hoop of the shackle, hiding it behind his right hand. To the casual observer, he looked chained again, as long as they didn't walk behind him.

He was about to call out to the guards to get their attention. His lips were already forming the words that would distract them when he heard soft steps approaching the tent. Alarmed, he slumped in the chains, swaying gently, pretending to be delirious with pain. The footsteps stopped at the tent entrance as the guards lowered their spears, blocking them from proceeding.
"Halt" One of the guards stated. "This is a restricted area. State your business".
"I'm here with Captain Ivorel's tools" a small voice replied. There was a pause and rustling as guards examined the young elf's belongings.
"Alright, you might enter." The spears retreated and the guards faced forward again.

A young male elf that looked only a few years past the cusp of adulthood entered the tent. His eyes widened at the scene he beheld. Blood stained the ground from the undulations of the whip and Vox knew he himself was a sorry sight. His chest was still an open wound, dried blood cracked on his torso and dripping down from his wrists. The blood outlined the scars already present on his flesh, creating a cacophony of strangely painted twisted muscle. He must have looked a strange sight to the inexperienced elf. He doubted the young man had seen much of battle or demons at all. The elf averted his eyes quickly, swallowing hard. He carried a rolled leather case with him, hefting it behind him. He lifted it, and it landed with a thump on the table, rattling cups and plates. Hastily, the elf unbuckled the ties that kept it closed and the leather unraveled like some twisted flower. Tools of torture of every kind glinted in the red tinted light. Vox ran his eyes over the instruments, impressed at the vast array. They had been scrubbed clean and shined, but one could see old bloodstains in the crevices and joints. He now knew what he had to look forward to if he didn't escape.

"Boy" Vox uttered in a deep, guttural tone. He coughed, heaving his body in pain. He didn't really have to pretend.

The elf jumped, as if bitten by a rattlesnake. His eyes were wide and afraid. He looked like he was about to bolt.

"Water" Vox murmured, swaying in his chains. The elf still stared, frozen. "Water - please" he added, nodding towards the table. The elf's eyes followed his gesture, landing on the cup on the table. He shook his head.
"I-I can't" He stuttered, shuffling backwards.
"Please" he continued, licking parched lips. "A small kindness, before those tools find themselves on my flesh" The elf paled and swallowed hard, his eyes shooting to the guards. They hadn't heard. He nodded, as small fluttering gesture as he licked his lips nervously. He palmed the cup, taking a few steps forward. He paused just out of reach, uncertain again.
"I'm in chains boy, I can't reach you" he murmured as an encouragement. The boy stepped closer, raising the cup to the demon's lips.

A pang went though Vox's mind. He felt almost sorrowful at his trickery. He would have much preferred it had been one of the guards who entered the tent. The boy's trembling hands bespoke of inexperience and innocence, and he was going to die for it. Just because he was at the wrong place in the wrong time. Vox hardened his heart.

As the cup touched his lips, Vox released his mangled hand from the cuff, dislocated finger back into place, managing to move his fingers despite the damage. With incredible speed, he reached out and clasped his hand around the elf's throat. The elf didn't have time to even scream as he snapped his neck.

Power surged around Vox as the life fled the man's eyes. Power that was trapped in the elf's blood. So Vox did the only thing he could to release it. He bit into the mans neck, tearing at flesh to release his life liquid, much like he had done to Ivorel's neck. Hot blood filled his mouth as the last beats of the elf's heart gushed the blood out of the wound. So much blood, streaming down his chin and down his neck. The power slammed into him like a wall. It filled him up, burning in his veins, seeking to be used by him. He had to hold the surge back from stitching together the wound on his chest or his hand. Instead, he directed it to flood his muscles as his heart pumped faster and faster, filling him with an intense sense of euphoria. He unhinged his jaw from the elf's neck and allowed himself a moment to bask in the elation, making him feel vividly alive. He then leaped into action.

He let the body fall on the ground, trying to make as little noise as possible as to not alert the guards. His muscles bunched, as he tore away at the cuff on his right hand like it was nothing but paper. His legs were next and he almost stumbled from the stiffness the position had caused. He had to latch onto the metal structure that had previously imprisoned him. He staggered forward to the table, catching himself on the edge. He examined the tools on the leather case, grabbing two long needle like blades that looked sturdy enough to use as a weapon.

The first guard barely got a glimpse of the weapon as he approached from behind. He was half turned towards Vox, a frown on his face when the needle was plunged in the soft spot between his neck and his shoulder blade. Vox left the needle implanted in his body as he fell to the ground. The second guard had time to yell a warning before the needle was jammed under his jaw, slamming his mouth shut. Blood spurted adding to the crimson fluid on Vox's body. Their life force added to Vox, almost painfully coursing though his veins. Skin knitted together on his chest, as if an invisible hand was stitching it together. New, shiny skin took it's place as the gash transformed itself into a scar. The bones in his hand where next. Fractures mended as bones flowed under his skin. Nerves, re-formed, allowing him full mobility. Torn skin formed a spiderweb of pale lines as it was born anew. And still Vox pulsed with maddening power, his senses sharpened, adrenaline coursing though every vessel in his body. He couldn't help it, he laughed; a berserk sound as blood lust flooded his mind. The Berserker indeed.... he thought as he allowed the body of the elf to fall to the ground.

 

[Ririn]

All alone in Conor's tent, sitting by the table with the feather pen in her hand, Ivorel looked at the empty scroll before her, as it waited patiently to be filled with words, but it was like she had run out of words, like she had run out of will to go on with a war that seemed it would never end.

Closing her eyes, pen lingering over the inkpot, Ivorel brought the streets of Elaluma to her mind. The images filled her heart with joy and sorrow at the same time. In a safe distance from the borders, close to the sea that had brought the first Elven settlers to this land, the most beautiful of cities was built as a praise to their Gods, a praise to their powers, a praise to their own kind. Elaluma, with it's high walls, the dozens of inner circles, filled with life and magic and beauty. The citizens lived a peaceful life there. They made families, they painted, they wrote songs of grief and love and loss and happiness. They made beautiful clothes and tall, impressive buildings like nothing seen before. Not even in the Old Kingdom. Elaluma. Where children were born without the fear of Demons, where children grew up without never smelling what death smells like. That city, was all she had ever dreamt of, not for it's structure or beauty but for what it stood for, what it ment to live there.

And when Ivorel opened her eyes again, her vision was blurry and her heart was heavy. The war would never end and someone like her would never settle down, never live without the fear or the bloodshed. She took a deep breath, thankful to be writing this report on her own. Sinking the pen in the ink, she begun to write, even those things she didn't want him to know and when she was done, she remained in her chair, as the ink dried.

Conor stood at the entrance of his tent like a guard, his heart as heavy as Ivorel's was though his, was heavy because from shame. Shame, for betraying her, the woman he loved and had loved since the first time he had seen her. So different than any other woman he had seen, Ivorel wasn't just extremely beautiful. She was smart and funny and strong. Determined and loyal and gifted. Everything Conor could dream of, she already had and by working with her, he too have become a better version of himself. And now... Now, he had betrayed her in the most harmful of ways. If only he could tell her, Conor was sure she would understand his reasons. But the time to explain the truth to her hadn't come yet.

He saw the things she had ask for arrive and watched as the guards made sure it was alright for the young elf that didn't even belong to the army, get in her tent. And after a few minutes, Conor saw the tent opening from the inside but instead of the boy, it was the Berserker that came out, bathed in blood, a crazed look on his face as he killed both guards in an instant. Conor had only taken a step towards him, a simple step when he stopped. Maybe that would be for the best, if the Demon escaped, bringing chaos in his path but as he thought of that, he realised others had heard the second guard scream and were now running towards the sound, swords and spears and arrows ready.

"Ivorel! He's running away!" He yelled, though latter than he should have.

Ivorel didn't need to hear anything else! As her mind tried to figure out how on earth had that happened, she pushed her chair back so hard it fell down, as she turned around, jumping over it and running outside, in the semi light night.
"Where?" Was all she asked Conor, wanting just to know towards where had the Demon gone to. That's all she needed and when she would get her hands on him, the Berserker would really start to wish for death!

 

[Roaring_Dragon]

A cherry pink tongue dashed out of Vox's mouth, lapping up the blood off of his lips. His breath came in gasps, not because of exertion, but because of the power searing though his veins. The night air around him seemed to almost pulse with energy. He turned slowly, almost as if he were moving in slow motion to face the onslaught of enemies. He reached down, hefting the spear of one of the fallen guards. Muscles bulging, he drew back the weapon and sent it soaring though the air. The spear found its mark, as a soldier collapsed to his knees, shock on his face as the light went out behind his eyes.

Vox still held the needle he used on the second guard in his left hand. As a soldier raced to him, sword raised above his head, he parried. He managed to change the trajectory of the weapon slightly before it snapped, as the sword came down millimeters from his cheek. Vox brought his fist up, smashing his opponent in the chin. He felt bones crack and pop as he dislocated his jaw. The elf involuntarily dropped his sword as he was knocked unconscious. Vox scooped it up with his right hand, palm slick with blood. He had just enough time to parry his third opponent before he twisted his sword sending the swing wide. In the opening, he thrust the blade deep into the elf's belly, pulling up as he tore open his chest.

The fourth opponent managed to get a hit in as he was withdrawing his sword from the man's gut. It sliced down his bare arm, almost from wrist to elbow. Vox turned to him with a laugh, and he saw the elf's eyes go wide as the skin sutured together as soon as his sword was off his skin, leaving but a small pale line. The vision shook him enough for Vox to take the opportunity to bring down his blade on his neck unhindered. Vox's body pulsed with power as he added to his reserves.

With six bodies on the ground, including the guards, the rest of the entourage were more cautious. Many fear stricken faces looked at him from the encroaching brigade. To them, he seemed a creature sent from the deepest, darkest part of their underworld, something out of dark fables used to scare children. He towered above every elf there, a giant in their midst. His horns twisted up and around his forehead and were decorated with strange metalwork that caught the torchlight eerily. But worse, was that his skin was red, showered as he was with their comrades' blood. He was everything described in the stories from the Devil's Walkway and more. More than a few elves dropped their weapons in terror and ran in the opposite direction. Vox laughed, feral eyes almost glowing cat-likein the dim light.

"Hold the line!" A voice barked over the gathered soldiers. "Do not let him though!" The remaining soldiers shook themselves as if snapping out of a haze. "Archers, fire!" the voice barked again.

A whizzing sliced through the air as half a dozen arrows shot at him. Vox saw them almost in slow motion and he knew he wouldn't be able to avoid them all with his bulky form. He sidestepped. He leaned. And he grunted with pain as two arrows embedded themselves into his bare chest, one on his shoulder and one on his hip. He snarled at the elves as his hands went to the shafts, ripping them out of his skin. Flesh flowed over the gaps like water. Yet Vox didn't risk it; he knew his limits. He grabbed a fallen shield, scrunching his body behind it as the next volley pelleted him.

He charged, pushing though the line of soldiers with his shield, slashing at any elf in his range. Two more fell by his blade as he pushed towards the walls of the outpost. He had thought they were pitiful when he first arrived. Close up, the makeshift defenses still didn't look impressive and easily scalable from the inside. He pushed through the infantry, knocking several over as he beelined for the wall.

 

[Ririn]

Conor stood there, frozen. An unforgivable act for a man like himself that had seen terrors and had fought many, many battles! But Conor, had never seen such a sight before, even from this distance the Demon was something to behold as he had so quickly made so many Elves fall before his feet. Orders were given, people were yelling around him and for a moment, Conor felt ashamed again as he realised why this particular one was chosen for the assassination. The feeling vanished though as the Demon begun to run and Ivorel's voice came behind him. Conor turned, looking at her with eyes wide open.

"What happened?" Ivorel yelled as her heart beat faster. It was a stupid question of course, it wasn't difficult to see what had happened. The whole camp was disorganized, like they were under attack not by a single Demon but rather an army of them. Ivorel didn't even want to think what it would be like if The Berserker went towards the small town, slaughtering innocent civilians. "Conor!" She yelled, shaking the man "Where did he go?" She asked again, fingers sinking in the elf's skin enough to snap him out of whatever trance state he had weirdly fallen in.

"The walls." Conor said almost whispering. "The walls." He repeated with more certainty watching as his Captain didn't wait around for him to say anything more.

"Archers, fire!" The voice was heard yelling again and Ivorel could see the arrows flying above her, before rushing down, somewhere ahead of her. At least someone is reacting! she thought to herself, pushing a soldier to the side as she run past him.

In a few moments, Ivorel had evaluated the situation in her mind. If The Berserker was out, killing, it ment that somehow he had restored his power with blood. Who's blood, she couldn't know yet but it had been enough for him to brake free while she was away. Not being around enough flaura ment she couldn't draw enough power to manifest her magic but the Moon Goddess was still there, shining above her though not in her full form. A half moon and what rest she had managed to get would have to be enough to capture him again.

"Archers! Again!" The voice yelled behind her and as Ivorel closed in at the walls she could finally see the Demon, getting closer to the walls that would grand him his freedom but so did ten soldiers with swords already drawn.

Vox was preparing to take a leap in the air in order to gain some height, grab onto the wall and climb out to his freedom when a sword came down at him from his left side. He had just enough time to bring the shield up, the sword piercing it enough for him to push the attacker on the ground with it, without getting stabed himself. Vox laughed in his face as he slashed the man's throat, blood spraying all over him. Good, the more blood the stronger he got!

Leaving the shield with the corpse, he turned around as he heard someone approaching just in time to see more arrows coming his way. Without a shield, he was left uncovered so he darted towards the nearest elf, getting behind him fast enough for the elf to spin around to face him, forgetting all about the arrows thus getting pierced by two of them. The elf fell on his knees, losing his sword and Vox lowered on his knees too, using the still breathing man as his new shield until the last of the arrows had hit the ground. Then he tossed him away, running for the wall one last time. With so much pure elf blood rushing in his veins, Vox felt stronger than usual. He jumped, loosing the sword as he needed his hands free in order to grab onto it. A victorious smile curved his lips, canines shining as the light of the torches fell upon them. Vox begun to climb upwards, fast!

Ivorel pushed through the starstrucked soldiers that had pinned their terrified eyes on The Berserker, extending both her hands towards the wall.
"ENOUGH!" Ivorel screamed at the top of her lungs capacity making heads turn. Her grey eyes, turned darker, then all the white was devoured by a pitch black cloud that swirled around, like something alive swim inside her.

The burning torches flickered, like a strong wind had met with their flames and immediately every shadow grew bigger, even Vox's shadow, moved under her command. Ivorel moved her hands, clasping her palms together and the shadows run to obey her command, darting forward, aiming for the Demon. From the one nearest to him, which was his own, to the one further away, which was even further than her red tent, the shadows become a thick black mist that traveled through the camp, passing through everything and everyone they touched with only one goal. Fall onto the Demon and bring him down, pinning him on the ground as they would start to solidify. People around her screamed, those touched by the moving shadows also screamed feeling their stomachs turn because of the unnatural contact.
Ivorel took a step forward, still holding her palms close to each other, extended from her own body.

She could feel everything! Everyone! She was at dozen places at the same time and it made her head ache as she started to feel lost in what was to her, a trip through darkness. Her eyes started bleeding a black liquid, as she reached even further out of her zone, searching for more shadows to call near her. What light she could find, casted at least one shadow and Ivorel begun to draw them close too. The air in the camp was becoming thicker, everything seemed unnatural to the eyes of the Elves that shrugged away in terror. A constant buzzing sound could be heard, slightly resembling the sound of wind though not even a leaf was moving.

From the whole camp, Conor was the only one that had an idea of what was happening though he too had never seen something like that. When he looked towards the wall, there was nothing to see. He blinked as he felt his heart miss a beat, and looked again. Nothing. Literally, nothing. A blackness had covered everything, like the world stopped at one point and from there one, the vast emptiness of the universe started to unravel.

Those close to her, those within the thing she had created couldn't grasp the size of it, only the outsiders saw what was an endless void. Ivorel started walking towards the wall, as there was a part in her, a broken, scared, tired part of her that all it wanted was to stop the madness. Perhaps seeing the Demon, seeing the enemy, up close would silence that part, remind her why it was important, to do was she was doing. To him, to those around her, to herself.

Lord Orthon's words were all she could hear inside her mind, playing on repeat.
Do not fail me, Ivorel of the Shadows, Lady of the Whip, Mistress of Shadows, daughter of the Moon Goddess. Daughter of mine.

 

[Roaring_Dragon]

Vox was almost to the top of the wooden palisade when he felt the weight press down on him. Confusion filled him as his legs refused to obey his command. It felt like he was moving though a thick, viscus liquid. He looked down at his legs, only to be met by darkness from the knees down. He almost lost his hold on the wall from surprise. Looking around he could see the darkness gathering and flowing towards him like an all-devouring monster. Whatever it engulfed was lost from his sight, slinking into a bottomless void. Elves shied away from it, terrified , though it passed though them, unhindered. The darkness was coalescing on him. In the distance, he swore he saw a lone figure weaving though the shadows, darkness parting around them like water.

"Fuck" He swore and gripped the wooden wall for dear life. He pulled his weight up, his legs useless. Yet he couldn't escape the thick shadows that encompassed him. Instead of pulling himself out of the darkness, it seemed to move with him, devouring him bit by bit. Any part it encompassed was immediately immobilized and no amount of power infused strength could shift them.

Vox pulled himself onto the battlements in his last attempt to flee. The torches around him flickered and sputtered, dwindling in the immense shadows. No light penetrated the misty void.
There, in the distance, over the wall and beyond the small settlement, Vox could see a tentative line of trees. It tantalized him; a carrot on a string. He pulled himself along, as the shadows engulfed his chest, plunging his bare skin in icy coldness. He could just touch the end of the battlement when the shadows fell over his eyes. Then, blackness.

The darkness was an absolute inky black. No light penetrated the void. He strained his muscles, but strength didn't matter. You couldn't fight what was not there. You couldn't tear away at something ethereal. No sound reached his ears apart from the blood pounding in his veins, his mouth frozen in an eternal snarl.

 

[Ririn]

Those that stood behind her, saw only the massive black wall that she had created, that seemed to eat everything it touched. Those that stood near her, could hardly see the shapes of things. But Ivorel, much like Vox, couldn't see anything at all. This was an experience only the two of them really shared.

Her world had become an endless, cold darkness that stood completely still. Time wasn't relevant. No sounds could be heard, no smells reached her. But when she took a few more steps, scared but knowing well that this was her own world and it wouldn't hurt her, Ivorel spotted what she was looking for. Who, she was looking for. Vox was just a less black spot but his existence gave her a direction. She walked towards him, like she wasn't even touching the ground and when she physically reached the wall, the other elves couldn't see her anymore either.

Ivorel floated, like the darkness was lifting her upwards, strong secure hands that lovingly held their mistress, on the battlements, where Vox layed, immobilised. Her white hair ,and various shades of blue, clothes, were standing out so much it was like the elf was burning from the inside. But her face, though pale, was a grotesque mask painted in black. The liquid had painted her cheeks and had stained her neck too, like a path tears would have left behind.

Ivorel shook her head to the left and the darkness slipped away from Vox's face. Now he was also radiating.
Ivorel knelt, passing one leg over him, like she was riding her lover though her fingers were still entwined with each other, resting where his heart was.

"You shouldn't have left." Ivorel said without moving her lips. In fact, her voice was coming from all sides at the same time, loud and strong but clearly broken. "Why did you left?" She asked, as the black liquid run on her cheeks again.

 

[Roaring_Dragon]

Vox was enveloped in darkness for what felt like eons. Alive, yet paralyzed. Cognizant yet vulnerable. His face frozen in time in an eternal snarl. Time passed slowly as the inky blackness pulsed and swirled around him, as if it had a mind of its own. He couldn't see it moving, but he felt it, like one feels the creeping chill of frostbite in the dead of winter.

A figure appeared in the void. Slender and fair, yet otherworldly. The darkness curled around her, making her appear like a beacon in the darkest part of night. Her face was gaunt and stained with pitch tears and it took Vox a moment to recognize the ghastly apparition as Ivorel.

And all of a sudden, he could move and breathe freely, until he realized that only his head had been freed from the iron grip of shadows. Time returned to him bit by bit, and he grasped that it had only been minutes since the shadows had engulfed him. The phantom Ivorel approached and she looked different to Vox. Not just her appearance, no; her persona had changed. Gone was the smirking elf that taunted him. Gone was the furious wraith that had whipped him half to death. Instead, a fragile creature appeared before him, almost ready to crumple. Her voice was shaky as black tears streamed down her face.

Vox didn't understand. She had so much power. What had happened to cause this change? Surely not because of his escape. What had triggered it? Her voice was that of a wounded animal as she asked the reason of him leaving. He stared up at her, mystified.

"Why are you crying?" he asked, voice almost a whisper in the endless night

 

[Ririn]

Ivorel was ten years old, almost eleven. Her birthday was coming up and her mother had already given her the greatest gift she could ask for. A sibling. Mommy was pregnant, a life was growing inside her and finally mommy wore something else other than her uniform. Daddy was still wearing his though. Soldiers that lived in Barlakon military camp, were never seen without their uniforms unless there was a special reason behind it. Barlakon was the only world Ivorel knew back then. She was born between it's walls and she was raised between it's walls. Outside the walls, not very far away, the war was raging in the Devil's walkway as it always did. There came nights, when the wind blew on the wrong side that they could smell the bodies burning and the wind carried the screams of the wounded.
Her mother had woken her up shaking her violently, just before dawn. The thing they all thought was impossible, wasn't.
A group of Demon assasins had infeltrated the camp and Ivorel needed to hide. She couldn't understand what was happening exactly but she did as she was told and had stayed behind her mother. Soon, the door of their little home had busted open, as three of the Demons walked in, dragging her father's body with them. He was still breathing but he wouldn't be breathing for long.
The rest was a fuzzy memory to her. Her mother had charged at them, her father had tried to stand up and when her father's head got separated from his body, Ivorel begun to scream.
And that was the first time Ivorel traveled to the void or rather, created it. She was safe there, nobody could touch her, nobody could hurt her. She didn't have to see her parents die, she didn't have to listen to her mother beg for her life, for her unborn child's life.
Ivorel was safe in the black nothingness that had wrapped around her body.
She was safe, but they had died all the same.

That was the first time she had experienced this place that existed almost outside space and time. And since then, Ivorel had returned to it whenever she was scared, whenever her life was threatened, whenever the world was a darker place than this one, like a royal lover returned to seek protection in the hands of his loved one.

And now Ivorel had brought him here with her. Him! A demon, a murderer, someone she had tortured, someone she had almost killed. She didn't want to answer his question...
No, no she did want to answer it, but she shouldn't. Her logical part, her military grown up part knew she shouldn't have let him in, every information he would get now he would later use against her. But the wounded part of her, that screaming child that ruled this cold, black void wanted to answer his question. The child craved to be heard!

Ivorel dropped her head, more black tears falling on her cheeks down her neck, some getting lost as they touched Vox on the face, like they couldn't survive away from their maker. Her heart felt torn in half, her stomach was heavy,her whole body shook violently because of the inner battle she was facing. It was like she was at three places at once.
Ten years old, screaming in terror before her parents' murder.
All grown up, wearing the uniform of the Captain.
Right now, on top of The Berserker.

"It hurts." Ivorel's voice echoed, just as broken as before. "It hurts to be here, you shouldn't be here, they were supposed to come with me! Not you!" Ivorel was like she was yelling but her lips were still not moving and her body was only slightly shaking now, like she was exposed to a cold wind without a coat. Her breathing had become visibly faster giving the impression she was sobbing.

The grown up part tried to stop it, but the wounded child was so much stronger. It had always been so much stronger than her.

 

[Roaring_Dragon]

Vox stared at the elf above him as emotion after emotion flitted across her face. For a moment, it was like he didn't even exist as she was in a world of her own. Anguish and torment predominated her features, her eyes glazed with it.

When whatever trauma she was reliving faded, her stormy eyes fell on him. She spoke then, her voice filled with desolation as tears streaked down her gaunt cheeks.
Vox could have laughed at her words. He could have toyed with her emotions like a cat with a fluttering sparrow, poking where it hurt. He could have added this emotional display to his arsenal to torment her later. He could have spat on her face to see the shock of her reaction.

But he didn't. The raw emotion she displayed and the vulnerability that came with it was so at odds with the strong confident woman she had presented to him for the last two days. He knew how to deal with aggression and violence, it was a second nature to him. So he had responded to her jabs with vicious fervor, responding like with like. However, this exposed and sincere creature was one he didn't know how to deal with. He was almost at loss of words.

"Who was supposed to come with you?" he muttered, unable to resist probing further.

 

[Ririn]

No! No! She couldn't answer that! He couldn't know. Knowledge was power and a prisoner wasn't supposed to have power, especially of that kind, over his captor. Ivorel realised she needed to end this. She needed to pull out, pull him out with her and shut the door to this place behind her but this was the child's territory. Ivorel had never managed to get complete power, she knew that, but now as her body went stiff, muscles tensing before she started shaking on top of him violently, she realised she never had any sort of power in there. She only got what the child allowed.

Her long hair touched Vox's face as she leaned further down like something was weighting her shoulders suddenly.

"Mother and father!" She answered with a voice so loud that it made the empty space around the two vibrate. "And my brother... Or sister. They were supposed to come!" She cried out and the shadows that had cover Vox moved a bit lower, exposing his neck and shoulder still keeping him roughly pinned on his place though.

 

[Roaring_Dragon]

Feathery hair brushed his face as she crumpled over him, her face almost touching his. She fought with some dark emotion deep inside her, making her shake and tremor above him.

His eyes surveyed her as if from afar. Uncertain. All he could do was lay prone under her until she subdued whatever beast that plagued her. The shadowy void still pressed on him, allowing him little maneuverability.

He spoke, as if trying to soothe a frenzied animal. Keep her talking, he told himself. See what this is about.

"What happened to your parents?"

 

[Ririn]

Don't answer that! Ivorel screamed inside her own head only to receive another muscle tensing. It was like her own body was trying to reject her thoughts. She was starting to feel desperate but at the same time... Something felt more quiet inside her and she was stunned to release, Vox was to blame! Not only was he remaining astonishingly calm he was also asking small, caring questions or at least that's how the child received the Demon's attitude.

Don't answer that! Ivorel repeated louder. Her head moved to the left then to the right, like she was trying to shake the voice inside her mind away, hair still brushing against Vox's face as she was still leaning over him. Innocent, stupid child! Ivorel thought starting to seriously worry about the situation.

"They killed them before dawn. They came in the camp in the house in the room!" She answered almost without pausing between the words, like she was under pressure and whatever she had to say needed to be said fast. "First dad. Then mom. Mom told me to stand behind her." Ivorel said and suddenly the flow of black tears seemed to grow heavier, her face a mask of pain that almost distorted her features.

 

[Roaring_Dragon]

Vox lay very still, nonthreatening underneath her. Her breath was hot on his face as the tormented lament shook her slender form. He had noticed his shoulders freed from the shadows, but it was still not enough. He couldn't move. He couldn't escape. This would have been a perfect opportunity for her to torment him, torture him. Yet she simply rent open her soul for him to see.

'Who killed them?' he continued in a low voice, although he thought he knew the answer.

 

[Ririn]

Ivorel saw the shadows retrieve lower from his body, enough so she could also see the wounds her whip had left behind. The desperation she felt grew stronger but as he asked yet another question, clearly pushing to found out more about her, Ivorel had an idea. Would it work? Maybe...

"Demons." Ivorel answered her voice mimicking his tone. But then Ivorel titled her head to the side, like she was listening to something and indeed, she was. "Why are you here?" She suddenly asked pinning her misty dark eyes on his. "What did you do?"

Ivorel smiled inside her. Now he would either answer the questions, which would finally make the child realise who she was talking to or he would avoid it, and make the child suspicious. Ivorel got ready to reclaim her muscles so she could separate her palms and put an end to this whole nightmare.

 

[Roaring_Dragon]

Confusion filled Vox's gaze at her question. He had suspected that Demons had hurt her. The hate towards his kind didn't run so deep without cause, just as he found himself hating the elves. Every strike of the whip, every vicious verbal jab had spoken of something deeper. Yet that last question was so disjointed from her previous emotional outburst that he was taken by surprised as those scalding eyes fell back on him.

"What do you mean? You brought me here." He said, a slight frown on his face.

 

[Ririn]

Ivorel titled her head to the other side. The child was confused and Ivorel was mad. He wasn't supposed to answer the question with another question! Now the child felt suspicious of her! Wonderful! Trapped in the cold darkness with her own enemy without having control of what was happening. To either him or herself.

Ivorel leaned closer, too close, placing her lips next to his ear even though she didn't need to be closed to him to be heard.

"Why did I brought you here? You weren't supposed to be here! So what happened? What hurted you? Were in you danger?" The child asked, trying to find a reason behind a stranger being in what she believed was her kingdom. She was basing her questions based on the only reasons that had driven her own self in the void.

 

[Roaring_Dragon]

Vox's frown deepened, struggling to understand the phantom-like woman on top of him. Her mind seemed twisted, warped into some semblance of a creature devoid of the logic she possessed before. He felt like the wraith above him didn't even recognize him any more, projecting her own version of reality onto the world around her.

"You brought me here" he repeated again, more forceful this time "You brought me into the void. You are controlling the shadows of this plain. What more do you want of me?"

 

[Ririn]

Ivorel threw her head back, laughing. Really laughing, as if she had heard something funny, not mocking him this time. Her tone was different, more melodic and genuine. Then she got serious again, looking down at him, frowning herself, almost like she was trying to replicate his own facial expression.

"I know I control the shadows. I control this emptiness too." She agreed with him, a bit too serious. "I am the one who hurted you, right? I ... Did this." She said, slowly laying a finger on his right shoulder, tracing the visible part of his scar. And as the black tears started falling again, she shook her head, touching his cheek with her palm. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for hurting you."

 

[Roaring_Dragon]

The tender fingertips traced the imperfections on his skin, running over old scars and intricate tribal markings. Vox stared into her eyes as they pulsed with emotion, tears streaking down her fair skin. He finally realized that he was seeing a part of her that had remained hidden, perhaps a part that she hid from herself. Something had brought out this hidden aspect, this frightened child damaged from her past, out in the open. He wondered if anybody had seen her like this before. Something struck a chord inside of him, a deep hidden place and it made him very uncomfortable. He didn't want to feel like this for an enemy. He averted his eyes, avoiding her searing stare.

'Ark orv grogrth kiro ma'kjaka hrt'orvkrom' he muttered to himself, almost a whisper, his voice husky and guttural in his home language of the Bal'Narathu.

 

[Ririn]

The motion of her fingertips stopped abruptly when he broke the eye contact between them, speaking words she had never heard off before though her hands still rested on his wounded skin, palms still holding each other, only fingers extending out to reach him a weird position, even for this weird silent world. The child felt disoriented suddenly and Ivorel's body shifted above him.

"What does it mean?" She asked and for the first time her voice in the void was soft and low, black tears stopped falling out of her eyes though the stains remained ever persistent on her pale skin.

 

[Roaring_Dragon]

Vox remained silent for a while longer, contemplating her. To Ivorel, he almost appeared as if he wasn't going to answer her question at all.

"I said, 'We are both products of this war'". He shrugged with the little available mobility he had gained.

"You apologize for the pain you have inflicted on me, but you will take me back to the camp and continue your interrogation. You will rip my flesh and break my bones and you will enjoy it, no matter how much it tears you up inside.' His golden eyes returned to her own.

"Just like me, you will continue doing what you were forged to do from the experiences that have shaped us. I kill and bathe in the blood of elves because of the atrocities your kind have committed against me; and you kill because of what my race did to your family. And neither of us will stop doing so, because we don't know any different.' He closed his eyes, resting his head on the ground.

"And that is why you will not let me go, that is why despite your apologies and your blackened tears, you will do what your nature bids you to do"

 

[Ririn]

She waited for his answer, searching to find his eyes but he kept on looking away from her. She could force him if she wanted to but the child didn't do that. The child was a broken sacred part of her and when he finally spoke, the child backed away so fast and clumsy, she literally just fell on her ass before standing up! She didn't want to hear this! Neither of her two sides wanted to hear this! Vox's words cut through her like a hot knife and as pain settled in her heart and mind again, the darkness around them vibrated in what felt like a small earthquake to those in, and out, of the void.

She wanted nothing more but to close her ears but it was too late now, wasn't it? His words had been spoken and they had been heard and the most dreadful part of it all was, how absolutely right he was. The innocence and the guilt would get buried again, making space for pure hate because of what his kind had done to her family and sadism, because that was the seed that had been planted inside her after their deaths. So he was right. He would return to his chains and she would return to her whip.
You will do what your nature bids you to.

That was what hurted her the most. Because out of all the truths that had escaped his mouth, that one, was the worst one.

"Sleep now." Ivorel said, turning to look at him one last time through those ghostly set of eyes, sadness creeping deep inside them, written in every curve and line of her face, before the shadows wrapped around him again, blocking his vision and cutting off most of his oxygen.

Ivorel took one last breath of the air around her and finally managed to untangle her fingers, shuttering the world she had created, returning violently to the real one that was filled with loud voices, piercing her ears, images too full of colour even at night and faces. The real world was full of faces all looking up at her either in awe or pure terror, some with both. Conor was there too. At the bottom of the wall, waiting for her.

She extended her hand towards him, like she could touch him besides the distance and her body fell over.
Conor moved fast, catching her in his arms a few moments before hitting the ground, looking at her stained with what seemed like black paint face, worried. Behind Ivorel but with much more grace, came the shadowy cocoon Conor knew so well. So she wasn't completely passed out yet!

"Hold on Ivorel! Hold on a bit longer!" He whispered in her ear as he picked her up again, carrying her tenderly, ignoring the eyes of others that knew nothing about her, yet they judged her. Knowing she wouldn't want to wake up anywhere else, Conor made five soldiers follow them, sending one ahead to check the condition of her tent.

Things weren't looking good in there and there was no way she would last long enough for them to clean everything and then get her inside so Conor ordered for more chains to be brought over immediately, called for someone to come pick up the bodies of the fallen guards and the unlucky boy who had seemingly, fallen first to the Demon's hands.
"I've got you alright? You can rest now!" Conor said as he lowered her on the ground, pulling some hair out of her face.
"He can't run again." She whispered
"He won't, I'll take care of everything." Conor assured her and when she eventually passed out and the shadows disappeared from the body of the, also, passed out Demon, Conor yelled for everyone to work faster!

In the next five minutes, the Demon was already chained up again but it took them about two hours, to sufficiently clean the inside of the tent and bring a soft mattress for Ivorel along with two blankets, clean water and fresh fruits.
When all was ready and with the whole camp still buzzing about the events that had unfolded before their eyes, Conor washed the dark marks from her face with a wet rug before tucking her under the blankets, having striped her off her boots and weapons.

Just to be sure, Conor pulled up a chair close to the Berserker and sat there, guarding his Captain. He couldn't help but wonder, who fast those news would travel to the King and Lord Orthon.

 

[Roaring_Dragon]

As he spoke, he saw how his words tore her up inside, revealing to herself parts that she had refused to look at and acknowledge. She looked at him with hate and desperation, begging him to stop with silent screaming eyes.

And then he was back in the darkness, plunging into unconsciousness. Yet it was not a restful slumber, as images teased and tormented him yet again. He didn't dream of his own history however, but fabricated phantoms of Ivorel's past instead. He imagined her as a young girl, small, huddled into a tight ball under a bed, scared of the monsters in the night. He imagined her screaming as blood pooled around her, the blood of her parents. He imagined her with wrists in chains, hanging from an unseen ceiling, her bare back a crimson mosaic of crisscrossing wounds. He imagined her wrapped in shadows, darkness pulsing around her, the only place she had felt safe.

And then she changed, aging in front of him in seconds. The young child dissolved into a teenager, weapon in hand as she struck a training dummy over and over, conviction in her gaze. He saw her in a private's uniform, a young soldier, standing to attention at her commanders orders. She aged again, and a woman stood in front of him, jaw set in a determined line as she gazed out onto the front lines of an imminent battle. The vision swam and shifted, and he saw a frozen scene of battle. Ivorel's face was a vicious snarl, a splatter of blood adorning her cheek. Her whip was extended in front of her, weapon frozen in mid strike. A demon stared back at her, his face a twisted mass of blood lust. His crimson sword was raised, an elf's body broken at his feet as he stepped over his felled enemy.

The demon then transformed, warping. The whip was still frozen, a snapshot of a scene that could have been. A different demon took his place. He stood tall, broad shoulders rippling with bulging muscles covered in earthly colours of moss greens and mud browns. His clothing was speckled with his opponent's blood. The demon's face was hidden by a overhanging hood. Golden eyes gleamed in the darkness and the edge of large twisting horns peaked from under the fabric. Vox recognized himself as he circled the scene, studying the two paralyzed figures. The figures came to life, as they exchanged blow after blow, each pushing for an advantage. Yet from his vantage, Vox could see the truth. He could see the mirroring expressions of rage and hate, so similar that it brought him goosebumps. All the experiences that had brought them to this point reflected in their eyes and he knew that their reasoning was the same.

The scene shifted again, and the phantom Vox hang in chains from a triangular metal frame. He was on his knees as a wrathful Ivorel bought a bloody whip down on his bare chest. Over and over, the scene repeated in front of him as his other self spoke of profanities and tried to hurt his captor back. In a flash, the vision dissolved and Ivorel straddled him, pitch tears streaming over her face, her soul rent open for him to see. He yearned to reach out, to wipe those tears away, those tears that reminded him of his own bitter pain. Yet his arms were trapped under a void of shadows, pinning him down and making him helpless.

Ivorel's face swam in his vision. A different face replaced hers, blackened tears transformed into dried rivulets of blood. The desert heat thrummed around him as the pungent smell of over-ripe bodies permeated the air. He was no longer a spectator, feeling every ache and pain as he relived the memory again. He fell to his knees, head in his palms as he stared at the decapitated head of the love of his life. An anguished cry escaped his chapped lips, voice echoing with distress and agony as he slumped forward. How had this happened? Why was he not dead? He remembered the blade of his opponent gutting him as he was swarmed by enemies. He remembered falling to the ground as the cries of battle filled the air. Yet he had woken in a pool of blood, surrounded by his fallen tribes-people, the sole survivor of the massacre. He was filled with shame. Shame at the fact that he had failed them. What good was a leader if he had no people to lead?

So Vox did the only thing he could think to do. The only thing one who had disgraced his people could do. His body raised, as if controlled by strings and he plodded into the blistering heat of the desert, plunging himself into self-exile. The custom of the besmirched, to wander the wastes in search of the Sacred Ruins looking for death. If one returned, he would have been cleansed of the taint of their humiliation. Yet Vox did not intend to return. There would be nobody waiting anxiously by the boarders of the settlement. Nobody to share his hearth with if he survived. He was utterly alone. So he intended to prowl the desert until either heat, thirst of beast felled him.

But they didn't. For weeks he prowled the sand dunes, wandering from water hole to water hole, surviving off the skills that had been drilled into him since childhood. Mighty Sand Wyrms and swift Desert Wolves fell under his axe as weeks turned into months; which turned into years. In those scorching wastes, he forgot himself. He forgot who he was, and where he came from, leaving behind emptiness and a faint echo of pain. He lived like the animal the elves believed him to be, surviving day to day for his next meal and upcoming scuffle. Until, one day, two years after his self-exile, he stumbled back into his old settlement. The devouring sand storms had reclaimed the vast majority of it, half-burring the shattered buildings in the soft earth. Yet the place was unmistakable and brought every memory Vox had fought to forget rushing back.

He realized then that the spirits of his ancestors had rejected the offering of his life. They had barred him from joining The Great Desert Hunt, spurning him of his desire. So why was he still here? A lone warrior, tribe-less and forlorn. He hated himself for his all-consuming self pity. So if the ancestors had forsaken him, he would seek his vengeance beyond his homeland. Yes, that's what he would do. He would cross the desert, with its sweltering days and sub-zero nights. He would enter lands unknown to his tribe for generations. He would seek the elves that took everything from him and rain down blood upon them. And when the ancestors deemed him worthy, they would call him back to their embrace, so that he could see his mate again.

***

Vox regained consciousness slowly, sense and thought returning fragment at a time. Chains weighed down on his wrists as the familiar inside of the tent painted the world a dull red. His eyes fell upon Ivorel, a small fragile form under a pile of blankets. He looked at her, mind a confused jumble of emotions as he beheld his enemy that was so like himself. A rustle in the room brought his attention to the male elf from the carriage battle. He sat in a chair to the side, eyes boring holes into his flesh.

"The ever present guard dog, protecting his mistress." Vox muttered the provocation. Yet his voice was empty of the spark that he had used earlier to jab at Ivorel.