1 - 2 [Fool] Cruel Gods Give A Soap-Maker His Feast

The trio, Eiden the quick-footed, Lisa the clever, and Bert the giant, were back to their secluded section of the Undercity tunnels. An abandoned part no one cared about. And better yet: no one but them knew about.

They found it when there was only Eiden and Bert. Bert did the heavy lifting to clear most of the rocks, and they never lit candles close to the entrance. The entrance led to a large tunnel that had three smaller ones in its side that served as the trio’s respective rooms. The main tunnel continued for a few span until it reached the other side of the White Cliffs, and into the outskirts of the Drey forest.

The passage tapered off near the end where it met the world without, becoming only large enough for Eiden and Lisa to squeeze themselves out of it.

The trio had been cunning to hide the passage with rocks on the outside. They could scavenge winterberries and spring water, but they had to be careful with tracks. They didn’t want anyone else catching wind of their hideout.

The gang ate their food with glee and abandon. The hunger never actually faded, and they had long since forgotten what it is to be full. But, they had each other, and that was enough. Until stomachs growled again, they would be content.

Throughout the feast, Eiden had been nervous.

“Hey Lisa, can I talk with ya?” Eiden’s voice didn’t waver or stutter, but his darting eyes betrayed his nervousness.

“Sure,” said Lisa. “As long as my chicken doesn’t get cold,” It was, in fact, not chicken. They never called what it was by its real name. Rat was not appetizing, but no one could really tell what was what in a thick stew. They all just hoped they got more jerky and less "chicken" in their individual bowls made of seashells.

When Lisa had her back turned, Bert gave Eiden a thumbs up and a mischievous smile. The boy shook his head in response.

Eiden took Lisa to a more quiet part of their hideout to talk, nearer to the exit out into the wilds.

“I don’t reckon to know how to say this, but... “ Eiden paused for a moment. He controlled his breathing and looked into Lisa’s eyes.

“Will you mar-”

“No”

“You didn’t even let me finish!”

Lisa giggled as she shook her head.

“What’s so funny?”

“You,” Lisa said, “I like you to Eiden, but right now, we can’t be thinking about that kind of thing.” Lisa sighed. “How would we feed our kids? As much as I love the 'chicken', I can’t just put another kid into our wretched circumstances.”

Lisa had been etching closer and closer throughout her whole monologue, and she was only an arm’s length away from Eiden.

Each step she took got her closer and closer. She stepped up onto her toes and pecked Eiden on the lips. The kiss itself lasted only a moment, but sent a shiver down his spine, leaving Eiden speechless.

“Huh?” Said Eiden, his eyes wide, like saucers.

“Huh?” Yelled Lisa, “What do you mean, ‘Huh’?”

“Uhh, I… Well, you see…”

Lisa recomposed herself and let out a sigh.

“You lovable idiot,” Said Lisa in a soft, caring tone as she bumped her shoulder into his. “Sorry, I caught you off-guard. Ask me again when our house isn’t made of white marble and instead with it.”

“Only if the chicken is actual chicken.” Said Eiden with a grin, his cheeks a bright scarlet.

The Spawn of Lilithu - 1st of Mead’s Tap, Year 1125 A.E.

That godsdamned exorcist, thought the man turned prey. If it weren’t for him, I would’ve been fed, happy, and content. It’s his fault there’ll be a slaughter.

Was just a few drops o’ blood before. Now it’s gonna be a bloodbath.

The wounded prey laughed—a throaty sound emanated from the one that understood that the roles of hunter and prey were reversed. The night-stalker became the stalked, his magickal prowess no more than a mere hindrance to the experienced exorcist.

The cackling was the stuff of nightmares, too many voices overlapping and vying for supremacy. The sound like all of his devoured prey crawling their way up and out of his throat.

The beast made his way through the forest on all fours, each pumping as hard and fast as they could. He had truly been rendered into nothing more than a simple beast. He had taken some time to remove the bolts in his back and gut, making sure to scrape out as much of the silvery venom he could. Yet, it still lingered, limiting most of his magicks. The pain was… delightful. He hadn’t felt much of that in the past century.

The bolt in his heart was the hardest, but since he had three of them, the beast made do.

The Exorcist’s prey wandered the night in search of cattle, following the heartlight. His kind were so enamored with blood and all things red that it bled into their vocabulary. Heartlight was light emitted by living things, and much more. The night sky, full of stars, shifted into a black void as the creature changed his sight. The forest became a multitude of greys. Anything that had heat would now be clear as day to his beady, black eyes.

The forest cleared, becoming less dense. Giant oaks gave way to sparse shrubbery and white stone. He knew exactly where the closest city was. Dark, narrow, and so many people nobody cares about... Except me. I care a lot about them.

His kind had intimate knowledge of navigation; they were a wandering people, forced to run when their true natures became revealed. He followed one sliver of the world's guardian forces, one that protected it from the harmful sun, the celestial form of Solaria the Goddess Above.

Poetic—his kind have always hated the ball of fire. And now, the force of nature that protected the whole world from the sun was also guiding him. It was a field of invisible pressure that bent the chaotic energy in metals. That field was harnessed by many a sailor not to be lost amid the vast, empty ocean. Compasses pointed North, without ever feeling that force. Feeling that energy that permeated so much yet only the blessed and the cursed could see. It was always so comforting.

Yet, now Its presence irked him. He could no longer grasp that force—the godsdamned, silver-laced venom in his sleeve sealing away his gifts. How could only touch it, barely caressing the Plane of Berzel-Vebrekiym—The Veil of Iron and Lightning.

The man turned prey had changed so much since the Transference.

Maybe I would’ve been better off if I didn’t give in to the dreams? He let out a half grunt, half-laugh as he scurried on all fours. Perhaps so, but… I’ve had so much fun. It would be a shame to stop so early when a little fun is just around the corner. Why not just a little, tiny more bit of fun, for old time’s sake?

He lifted himself off the ground as the earth sloped upwards. The man stumbled his way through the last patch of forest, ending on top of a hill that looked out into the sea that met the White Cliffs. He shifted his sight, unattuning himself from the blood and heat, returning to the normal sight of man.

The Veil of Iron and Lightning lifted from his shoulders. He did not need neither the heat of pumping heart nor the tugging of the world’s compass any longer.

The cliff was lit with lights. Towers of opulence jutted out from the upper regions of the highlands, but other parts caught his attention. The dark, damp, tunnels wrought of marble. Their white canvas would be soon painted with black scarlet under the moonlight.

Arvenpyre, I’m back home.

The Exorcist II - 1st of Mead’s Tap, Year 1125 A.E.

The Twins hung high on the dark firmament, their forms just starting to crest the black horizon. The twain spheres of black and white had forever circled Terra in their dance of cat and mouse.

The Great Whitemoon Alba was full. Not a shadow marked Her ashen-white surface. The Middling Blackmoon Erebus was as He always was: forever present with His Blacken Gaze, perpetually watching vigil over Terra. The Erebeian sphere never left the night sky as His surface was darker than the eventide He inhabited. Even without Alba, the blackmoon was still visible.

A gaping maw in the dead of night, waiting in joy for the end of all things.

The Exorcist made his way through the moonlit forest as fast as his legs could carry him. Yet, the fervor of his prey’s escape was much greater. Like a mortal man trying to outrun an elk, the possibility of him catching up to the creature was nonexistent, even in its weakened state.

Its magick may have been nullified, but its body was still leagues above anything mundane. He could cut off its head, stab a wooden stake in place of its blackened heart, and it would still live.

The Spawn of Lilithu were like cockroaches. Pests nigh unkillable unless specialized methods were employed.

Thantium-silver coated, steel-cored blades. And Bindings by Oath. The only damnable way to kill them for good lest they just regenerate.

And it was not only his prey that had been exhausted with the chase. The Exorcist had his magicks weakened as well. How many months had he been tracking and hunting the leech? Even the spirit needed rest.

But, he would have none. He couldn’t, because for every breath he did not find and cull his quarry, innocents would die. The burden of being a protector weighed heavily upon his shoulders. Even after centuries of life, he had not accustomed himself to the grim nature of his Path. He could’ve let go of his humanity and emotions as others of the Order had, and become a truly efficient hunter. But no—the why he was an exorcist was as much vital as the how.

What did it matter if he hunted all that made bump in the night if he became one himself? Save so many souls just to damn his own.

The Exorcist let the skin of his spirit ease over his surroundings, spreading his preternatural senses far. His prey was cunning as it had started to cover its physical tracks. But, with the silver in its wounds, it couldn’t do the same with the traces left behind by its spirit.

The essence of blood hung in the air, though it was not visible to mundane sight. To the Exorcist’s magickal senses, the essence was like scarlet-black vapor. All he had to do was follow the trail.

And follow he did, like a bloodhound questing for quarry.

The Exorcist crested over a hill; his blood ran cold. Though he longer possessed a mortal anatomy, the feeling was still there like a wraith in the night, forever haunting his mind.

A settlement lay in the distance. A place that promised refuge to the leech he had been chasing. Maelstrom’s bloody maw, he cursed under his breath.

How many innocents would suffer because of his folly?

How many souls would be tainted black by his ineptitude?

And yet, the Exorcist dared to hope he would make it in time.

By the Three Cruel Fates, he dared to hope.

The Slavers - 2nd of Mead’s Tap, Year 1125 A.E.

Midnight had come and with it came the Twins, Their flight at Their apex. Alba and Erebus hung smack in the middle of the black sky.

Ygrendel and his cronies had tracked their bounty relentlessly through the end of the past summer and current winter. And still, they had yet to find the urchins’ hideout. They knew that their bounty would sometimes scavenge outside of the White Cliffs near the Drey Woods. But, they had been eluded time and again.

Damn pale-skinned, gods-forgotten, guttersnipes! Cursed Ygrendel under his breath. He was frustrated, but would not let anger reveal him in the dead of night.

The slavers couldn’t risk entering Arvenpyre proper, for the guards would not admit them to the Lift that ran the totality of its sheer cliffside. And neither could they enter through the Undercity Tunnels. A gang of unknowns entering another’s territory? Such would be a declaration of war. It would also spook their bounty. No, they had to be cunning and catch their prey outside the protection of marble.

And so they met up with their contact every two Turns of the Twins, exchanging information on potential bounties for a cut of the profit.

They were as good as defenceless babes, their numbers lesser than those of the slavers. Ygrendel wrung his wrists in the manner of the Wolf Below. He could already feel the cold tang of silver on his mits. He heard the phantom of the metallic clinking as the shills bounced off each other.

The smell of copper hung heavy in his nose.

Strange. Seems I can barely wait for me pay!

The brute would be sold as a worker to toil in some Cyroshi mine. The lass would, of course, be sold as a pleasure slave. Perhaps even a temple of Elaria would be willing to buy her. Ygrendel didn’t know who he’d sell the skinny lad to. Maybe as a servant? Maybe even a pleasure slave as well.

“Oi, Yiggy, come see this.” One of the slavers—Oren—whispered, taking Ygrendel out of his thoughts.

Thank Lumenari that Alba had been full, or they wouldn’t have otherwise seen it. There was a mound of disturbed dirt on the ground. Fortuna be willing, it could be a trail for them to follow. Ygrendel’s grin widened, his blackened and missing teeth providing a wicked visage.

“Whatcha waitin’ for? Dig the damn thing up already.” Hissed Ygrendel to his crony.

The skinny fellow, Oren, plunged his hands into the cold earth. He let out a wheeze of disgust at what he found.

“It’s them’s damn chamberpot fillings.” Complained the unlucky fellow as he whipped his hands on the ground.

Ygrendel had an even bigger grin plastered on his face as he rubbed his hands together. They had struck gold. The urchins’ nest had to be close.

Oren shook his head. Just like the wolf come wringin’ his wrists. That’ll be the death o’ him, thought Oren as a shudder of disgust went through his body. Damn. It’ll take some time to get that smell off. Blind Mother’s tits.

What’s that smell of blood in the air?

The Spawn of Lilithu II - 2nd of Mead’s Tap, Year 1125 A.E.

Harrien had never thought himself so blessed. Damn Solaria and her light, Erebus and Mortus were the only ones worth any bit of worship. The darken gods were the holiest of the Seven in his opinion.

They who held dominion over the Black provided the blessed shade.

He spotted a group of cattle wandering the forests behind the White Cliffs. Drein? Dren? Or was it Drey that they called this piece of woods? No matter. They’ll soon be calling this place cursed. If only they knew how blessed this place truly was for me. A smile broke out on his leathery-white face, his head splitting in twain. His mouth extended from ear to ear, pointy and sharp teeth were layered in rows upon rows. His was an anatomy made for killing. And not the quiet kind.

The screaming kind as he eviscerated flesh into ribbons of muscle and skin. As he made organs into mincemeat with his sharp claws.

He would enjoy the feasting on their tender morsels and slick appetizing bones. Oh gods, haven’t had a good bit of carnage in a while.

First came the coughing and wheezing laughs, the sound like a mockery of the act itself. Then came the screams. The blood-curdling screams that heralded death of the worst kind.

The cattle never got full glimpses of what dragged them into the darkness and away from the light of Alba and into the Black of Erebus. They only heard the screams and laughter, their blood turning frigid and glassy in their veins. Like Winter-froth mead, Harrien thought with a tendril of splayed flesh stuck in between his teeth.

The Slavers II - 2nd of Mead’s Tap, Year 1125 A.E.

Claws wrought of coal from the depths of the Nine Hells Themselves dragged his cronies into the black. One by one, man by man, they were each taken. Ygrendel rocked himself back and forth in his sodden clothes, his body not holding onto anything, be it piss, tears, or shit. His legs had failed him, trembling like a newborn calf—they were too weak to be of any use. Despair had already killed him. He was a dead man that had forgotten to stop drawing breath.

Finally, the beast made its full visage present under the light of the great whitemoon Alba. Ygrendel had expected it to be painted scarlet with blood, and yet the thing was as white as snow and as clean as marble. He dared to look up at its face. A long, sinewy tongue slithered over its head and in between its teeth, cleaning off the blood like a leech. It was a horrifying thing like the cross between a serpent and an umbilical cord. The Dragon Below. This is the stuff of demons and devils.

The thing cracked Ygrendel a smile, its sickly, yellowed teeth glistening in the moonlight. The Wolf had come wringin’ His wrists proper. A shudder went through his body as the beast rushed at him. Its gaping maw wrapped around his head like an oily linen bag lined with rusted nails.

He knew no more.

The Thief II - 2nd of Mead’s Tap, Year 1125 A.E.

Eiden woke up in fright. He held a hand to his forehead, and it came back drenched in sweat. His heart was still pounding from the phantom fear. He tried to remember the nightmare, but it was for naught. The more he tried to remember, the harder it became to recall. All he could recall was a color—red. It was a deep, vibrant red. A scarlet he swore he had seen before yet he knew he hadn’t. It was a rich dye and hue. Where would one such as himself even get to witness that? Him and his ilk were barred from Arvenpyre proper, being condemned to scurry the tunnels of the Undercity below.

That's when he felt it—a presence. The air around him was thick with a copper tang and something else—something that could only be called hunger permeated through the air. Eiden felt his skin crawl and another peculiar sort of feeling. It was a shifting in his being, but not at the physical level. It was as if a second body, something that dwelled inside himself, became still—scared of the presence that hung in the air. His "second" body burrowed inside himself to hide.

It was like a stone had been thrown down into a placid pond. Fish jumped up and out from the disturbance, frightened and looking for escape.

Eiden dismissed his nervous feeling. It was just a nightmare. I always wake up craven after those. A memory of two Turns back came unbidden into his thoughts..

Bert laughed at me last time when a rat scared me. It wasn't my fault. I had just woken from a nightmare.

Eiden sat up on a cot—a pile of straw and soft sand with a layer of hide and linen atop. Thankfully, the tunnels were always warm, so he hadn’t much need for blankets.

Eiden heard a slurping and crunching sound coming from outside his room. Bert’s having a sneaky bite of something. Eiden got up from the cot and let out a groan as he stretched his back, sending a few pops through the air. Guess I'm awake now. Can't go back to sleep after that nightmare. That weird feeling still hasn't gone away. Guess some food might help.

Eiden, not wanting to admit he was scared and just wanting to sleep in the same room as someone else, got up to see what Bert was eating. Candles lit up the tunnels in warm firelight. Past memories threatened to break free, pressure mounting in his head.

What's that smell? Bert can't be eating raw rats, can he? As Eiden exited his tunnel and neared Bert's, the coppery smell became stronger and stronger. And the horrible slurping sound became more and more intense.

Blood.

Blood.

Blood.

Blood everywhere. It coated Bert's room like macabre paint. And a thing stood over Bert's mangled form. The creature looked human, but it was sinewy and dried like a corpse. Slurping and crunching came from the monster in human flesh; it didn't seem to notice Eiden, what with its soap-maker’s feast and all.

Eiden slowly backed away from the tunnel, his heart pounding in his ears. His hands became clammy and his mouth dry like it had been stuffed with sand and cotton. It took all his wits to not run away after the sight. He needed to warn Lisa. Each step Eiden took towards her tunnel was excruciating. At any point, he could become that thing's second meal. It seemed like Bert didn't even put up much of a fight, and he was the strongest of the group. Eiden himself had lived for sixten winters, but the years of hunger and improper fasting made him look like a child. His limbs were thin and his face sunken around the cheeks.

He would be no more than a toothpick if he tried to put up a fight.

Three more steps now.

No.

No.

No.

This time, there was no blood in Lisa's room. None at all. It didn't coat the walls of the room. Nor the walls of her veins. Her corpse was a dried husk with a nasty gash over the front of her neck. No. No. No. This can't be happening. This is a dream? A nightmare. It has to be…

Eiden shook her, trying and failing to wake her from her final sleep. Her glassy and sightless eyes held no spark.

She’s not dead. She’s not dead. She’s not dead.

An eerie voice startled Eiden from his disbelief. The voice was masculine yet soothing.

"It was so much fun. The big one had blood to spare, so I made myself comfy and painted the walls. I was already so full with her." The thing said in a tone that did not match its visage.

Slowly turning, Eiden’s heart skipped a beat.

The creature blocked the way out of Lisa's room. Its skin was a pale-moon white. Not grey like a corpse. White, its skin was white like snow. It had no hair whatsoever. Its body was slick and sinewy. The only different shade of color was its thin claws and stomach. The claws looked like thin daggers, pitch-black needles wrought of coal from the Nine Hells. Its stomach was warm red. The tone of scarlet made Eiden sick to the core.

It pointed at Lisa’s limp and lifeless body. Its hand hung casually, relaxed and proper like a noble’s mannerisms. Abyssian-black claws heralded imminent death.

The feeling of sadistic voracity hung thick in the air. It was a monstrous presence that sought the ones who could not fight back or resist its fun. The despair filled Eiden’s mind like morning fog. An odd sense of calm washed over him. He knew he would die, but it felt like there was no care in the world. Nothing could take him out of that peaceful stupor, his heart settling into a calm lull, and his eyelids becoming heavy as lead. His legs became weak, making it hard for him to stay upright. A leaf swaying in the wind.

Eiden heard a slicing sound and looked down at his stomach.

Nothing.

No blood.

No claws pierced his frail flesh.

Did I not die? I swore I heard it. Disbelieving of still being among the living, Eiden cracked open the lids of his sight and then looked up to the doorway.

The thing's face was split in half by a gargantuan maw. Its mouth extended from ear to ear, anatomy bordering human, but still leagues far away. Rows upon rows of yellow daggers lined its pink gums. It was creepy, having no hair on its head or body and leathery skin like a lizard. Its eyes were pitch-black, the sclera painted the same color as its claws. The iris was vibrant red with a blackened slit for a pupil.

A new color entered the snow-white canvas that murdered his friends. A silvery line that ran from one side of its neck to the other.

Its head fell to the ground. Still smiling, like it knew a jest nobody else did. Pitch-black and vibrant red eyes stared at Eiden. Its body collapsed onto the floor, the sight etching itself onto Eiden's memories…

And soul.

Eiden followed the lead of the creature, collapsing to the ground.

The darkness took him in its insidious embrace.