As the Oathbinder's steps echoed distant behind her, the girl knew that she would not sleep, not that night. Rest was something her wounded body craved for, but the mind was restless, wishing otherwise. The camp and silent, the lack of sound a welcome change after the banging of battle, the thunderous beating of her heart reaching her ears. But it was not enough. There was tension on Celysiel's shoulders, unwelcome, as the very knowledge of not being in isolation, but among others, weighed heavily on her. Her gaze drifted far away, beyond the camp, into the darkness of yet another unknown world. It looked far from welcome, laced eternally with the metallic tang of blood which she could so vividly feel on her tongue. Yet solitude's hand was extended towards the maiden, an irresistible calling. The girl turned to look behind her shoulder, at the resting figures of the Oathsworn. No one would know.
One step at a time on the greying land took her farther from the encampment, deeper into the heart of the marshes of crimson plasma. If the fear of unknown in the past would, however, spark angst within the young elf, it was now dulled by the soothing realization that soon, she would be completely alone. Her gloved hand held her cloak closely to her chest as she wandered away, sinking into the dark.
It was closing around her in clouds, barely hovering above the thick pools that oozed on the ground. One could see them moving into the atmosphere, intertwined, as if obeying to the eerie tune of a forgotten orchestra, but the truth was that there was no music in that place. Not a single sound, save for the rare bubbling of the clotting, red waters. As if everything was dead, but at the same time, as if everything was alive. It almost reminded Celysiel of her vines, the overgrowth embracing the locked chamber that she called her own in her mentor's estate. Secure, away from prying eyes, even those of the building's owner. They possessed the same grey colour, fooling one to believe they were sinking into a deep state of decay, yet there was a beat within, something holding them to life. Much like these eternal fields of blood. Much like...
The lone apprentice stopped, a heavy exhale released from her pink lips. But as it found the obscure atmosphere, it sounded unworldly, wrong and perverted, as if it had no place in that area. A familiar sensation responded to the light sting of dismay which she felt only momentarily, taking it away. Instantly, the elf relaxed and sighed in relief. She brought her gloved fingers to her cheek, as if she longed to feel the caress of fleeting power on her skin, the comfort it had provided back then and when in the Dead Scar, heeding the Surveyor's teachings. But it did not come when she longed to hold it. It nearly felt as if sinking deep into the shadow, but the invisible veil standing as a wall between her and it could not let her reach out. It refused. It left her craving.
There was no telling to how far the wanderer had gone, nor did the pause eventually made spark any interest to gauge the distance. The camp was hardly visible as the black mist had enveloped her surroundings. As her hand fell down, leaving her features struggling to conceal the disappointment, so did her form, carried on her knees as they met the ground. At least, even without the power she desired to know, solitude had come. All thought could be banished. Celysiel wished to bear the weight of Uleese's return, Thaelen's condition, the Void, the expectations of all and herself no longer. Silence, that is all she wished for. Her room. Her vines. Silence.
It was not meant to last.
The sound was splashing at first, gurgling, boiling, coming from straight in front of her. Yet unlike the sound of her breath, it very much belonged in that area. Slowly, the apprentice dragged her hands on the ground, closer to herself, while raising her chin to look right in front of her. Fear. She had stopped in front of a shallow pool of that abominable liquid, though it had now forsaken its usual stillness, stirring, clotting. The mass created before her eyes was oozing of the thick plasma, formless still, slowly sculptured. But unlike that Lieutenant Adhemar had faced, it did not remain of average height. It kept growing taller and taller, slender, rather than voluminous, rising above the kneeling girl. The crimson essence was sliding down, giving shape to a humanoid being. Arms were folded in front of its chest, though any other detail could not be discerned. The figure, now black, was robed and cowled, like the statues of Death that could be found in the cemeteries of the human race.
Though no threatening note came from the intruder, Celysiel decided against waiting to offer it such a change. Her right hand rose, meaning to drown in verdant flames that would be shot towards the stranger. Oddly enough, she found herself reluctant to actually draw them. Her features altered in confusion mixed with distress, as she realised the felfire would not come, for she would not call. Beyond her hand, the obscure figure stood still patiently. She did not want to strike. Almost as if she knew, deep inside, that she was not meant to.
Eventually, her hand fell to meet the grey soil, oddly dry and cracking as ill-looking weeds protruded. At the gesture, the hooded being nodded. Each time it moved, waves of plasma shook on its surface, without reducing its volume. It approved.
"You did not want to do that." a voice came from the depths of the cowl. It was somewhat sinister, as if pulled from the depths of the Shadow Lands, walking into the wrong part of the world. Neither male, nor female; it was neutral. However, there was something familiar about it, as if it was a voice known since the beginning of time. "It would disturb the tranquility and you knew. You did not want to do that. There is no danger here. No threat. Just you."
Just you, Celysiel pondered, though she did not think to question it, taking it for a fact, even if there was another in front of her. It was only her in the macabre desolace. She lightly frowned, squinting up at the mysterious stranger. It remained the same.
"You speak Thalassian." she only uttered.
"You speak Thalassian." echoed the voice from the depths of the hood patiently. "So I must too."
"You..." The apprentice paused, for once more frowning, more deeply this time. Struggle was made clear on her innocent features as thoughts raced into her mind. Too many at the same time, too overwhelming. "You are in my mind." she eventually concluded. "You are not real."
The ominous presence only nodded to confirm her suspicions, making her gasp for air, suddenly seeing the angst return.
"Is there something wrong with this place? Is it toying with my mind?"
"No." it calmly answered. "Nor is it that." the figure added as it noted Celysiel going for her locket, about to pass the blame there. "It is merely yourself. The product of weariness and a vivid imagination."
Silence fell between the two, bringing with it the illusion of an era's end, as if everything had frozen, as if they were standing in a timeless fragment lost into the depths of the Great Dark Beyond. Wide eyes, the glow of which meant nothing in the dark mist of this forgotten world, kept staring at the grim phantasm, neither appalled, nor disgusted. It could keep going on for the eternity. At that moment, Celysiel was convinced it is that which they had for themselves.
"What is this place?" she eventually asked, trying to look away, at the grey marsh. It was with fear she did so, thinking that the spectre would no longer be there when she would look back. The black figure, however, was still there.
"I do not know." came its unworldly answer. "I only know what you know. I am no all-knowing fragment of the cosmos, just a part of you."
The girl nodded, slowly. "What about your name, perhaps?"
"I have no name." came the calm response.
"Thus it is up to me." the apprentice uttered.
For once more, the stranger confirmed wordlessly.
"Keeper." she decided, looking towards a more manly figure under the robes, though it truly remained the same as before. "I will call you Keeper."
"Then Keeper shall be my name."
"Why are you here?" Celysiel next asked, her eyes wide and willing, like every time she focused on Eraevin as he spoke of the Void, on the Overseer as he answered her questions.
The wraith very lightly stirred, causing the surface of the robe that covered every inch of him to ripple. "You called." he verily replied.
"I did not call." the maiden softly replied. "I wished to stay alone."
"No one truly wishes to stay alone." he tonelessly stated.
"But I do." Celysiel argued. "I came here to stay alone. Away from people, away from thought, away from-"
"No one truly wishes to stay alone." Keeper interjected, his voice like before. "You wanted to be away from all, so you may be with me. With thought. All desire thought, none can run from it. You called. I was summoned."
"I..." Celysiel's lips remained opened as she struggled, lost into confusion. There was nothing normal about the situation, no matter how familiar she appeared to be with it. But that familiarity had an awful sting. The knowledge that this was nothing new. That this had been done before. "You are but a voice..."
"An echo of your mind. One of the many."
"But there is another..." the apprentice uttered, suddenly feeling the temperature of the bloodied desert drop significantly. Yes, there was another. Less calm, less sensible. Demanding and overwhelming.
"One that you fear." The wraith's voice made her shiver. She nodded.
"You must be the voice of reason." she mumbled, raising her eyes to look back at Keeper.
A low grunt was emitted from the depths of the cowl. Keeper's dark form shook, oozing with the vile plasma that was spreading across the misty fields. "If I am the voice of reason, why is it the other to which you wish to succumb?"
His words bore another sting, one that hurt more than the others. No, he was wrong. The other was a voice most foul, one that she would never give into. Her right hand quickly moved to her locket, suddenly feeling the need to see that it was there. Gloved digits united happily with the cold metal, offering great relief at the realization of her beloved item's security. Keeper silently only stood and watched. He did not speak unless spoken to.
"Do you know what I hold?" she asked him.
The phantasm nodded, his head moving with disgusting flexibility. "I do."
"Do you have one too?"
"I do not."
"What if I give you one?"
"You will not." he calmly replied.
"I..." For once more, his words disarmed her. Celysiel squinted in confusion as her fingers caressed the locket. "I thought you can be anything I desire you to be. What if I desire you to have one as well?"
"You do not." Keeper spoke. "You cannot stand the thought. Jealousy. Hatred. Envy. No one else must have it."
No one else must have it. Something hissed inside her, the echo of another voice which spoke to her heart, subtle as ever. It gave birth to fire in the apprentice's chest, a peculiar warmth.
Oddly enough, Keeper seemed to sense it. His figure stirred for once more, this time not slowly, but restlessly, like the dead who lingered in the Dead Scar when denied the sweet comfort of ultimate demise.
"You would destroy those who seek to take it from you. Even those you hold dear." he noted, his voice dragged, as if it only suddenly became clear. But it was a fact long known.
"I would not." Celysiel argued. Yet her body spoke otherwise. Like an iron clutch, her digits hugged the locket protectively. "I would never. I would not."
"You would." the ghostly figure stated. "You already know. You have already decided."
"Then I am not so dear to them as they are to me if they wish to take it!" Celysiel suddenly spat out, her features deformed from rage. "Those who wish to take it from me I shall not hold dear! No one else must have it, no one!"
"No one else must have it." the still form of Keeper agreed.
Something broke within her as silence followed the spectre's words. There was sweetness in knowing that she could drop a guard, in finding an ally, even if that was one of the echoes, the very voices produced by her mind. "No one else understands..." she uttered in despair, her tone low. Her memory fled to the rage of those dear and all they would make her deny. To the parents unaware of their daughters' passions, the powers she wielded, where she would leave her bones if Xorvaros achieved a successful strike. There was great lack of trust, but suddenly, it mattered little. The locket was safe. The heart within was safe. It was hers. It would always be.
"Never leave me, Keeper." she begged, her eyes closing above the ground.
"I will not." came the reply, always calm, like death's caress.
But once Celysiel opened her eyes and looked up, there was no one into the pool of crimson plasma that bubbled, most somewhere in the grey mist.
Just her.
Comments