Plotting in the Dark

Within the dark confines of a deeply forgotten palace, a portal ripped open. A tear in reality swung open in the air, appearing out of nothingness. Within it's dark billowing form was only dark miasma, that looked oddly like a palpable, inky liquid. It was solid for a moment before it rippled, disturbed by a presence emerging from the other side. And indeed, a haunting figure stepped out from the heart of the portal. Serethar emerged out from the core, his hands tight against his sides as he broke through the surface. He stepped onto the hard stone ground and tangled his hands together behind his back.

Right behind him was the masked woman known as Vriko, walking seamlessly out of the rift and walking past the man. While he seemed calm and collected, she walked with a determined purpose. She seemed intent on leaving him until he sighed, causing her to screech to a halt.

“Something to say, Serethar?” she asked, her head cocking slightly to look back at him over her shoulder. There was a dark smolder that seemed to burn behind the dark eye slots of her mask.

“Merely wondering if the conclusion to that particular meeting was in our… best interest,” he said, gazing to the side idly.

“How about you say what you're thinking rather than passively being aggressive?” The masked woman snapped back, now turning a full ninety degrees so she was partially facing him.

He sighed again but offered a shrug. “We're looking for information and leads that get us closer to your target. Best way to get said information is by… actually taking the informant alive.”

“All of them have said they aren't talking or they don't know where the bastard is. The hell is taking them alive going to do?”

“My dear Vriko, humans have a tendency to lie. They will do anything to protect their own. Sometimes they need a little… push to open up a bit,” Serethar explained, not bothering to hide the condescension in his voice; like a parent scolding a child.

She made a noise behind her mask that sounded like a growl but it was garbled. But she stalked back over to the man, walking right up until her mask was mere inches from his chin. Despite his size and intimidating ambivalence, she had no problem getting in his face. “Midian monks are put through some of the most aggressive and intense training regimens in all of the world. They suffer through physical, mental and emotional abuse. They are taught to store pain in their mind so they can push through without hindrance. We could cut off their limbs one by one and they would never break. Easier to cut the chaff and move on.” Despite her rage, she spoke evenly and thoughtfully, without pause or flicker of emotion. There was obvious calculated thought going into her words as she explained it to him, countering his knowledge with her own. She had clearly thought this through.

Serethar was quiet for a moment before a wry smile hugged at his mouth. “Impressive,” he commended her words, even bringing his hands forward to give her a soft applause. She scoffed and turned, walking away from him again. “Your studies have come along better than expected.”

“Yeah well when my only options are to study tactical tomes and train with these things, you tend to try and balance it out,” she snapped back, slapping a flat palm against the metal case. She stopped after a moment, halting her aggressive warpath. “Do you… think that these will be enough?” She asked, not turning back to him.

Serethar clocked his head slightly, looking slightly confused by her question. “Each one of those Blades have been blessed with a different God Slaying element, my dear. Faera used all of her influence and power to allocate and acquire each one of those weapons for your use. It is her gift to you, to help you gain your rightful place as her Sword. As long as you keep training yourself to use it, you will rise above your brother.”

“He is not my brother!” She snapped, her voice rising quickly. Her voice echoed down the dark corridor, carrying off into the heart of the fortress until it fell off. There was several long moments of silence before she finally spoke up again, quieter but still as sharp. “He is a target. Nothing else.”

Serethar held up his hands, showing he meant nothing by it. “My apologies, Vriko. I forgot that was a point of contention.” It was a half apology, still rooted in passive-aggressiveness. But she didn't snap at him again, which he took as an invitation to continue. “Anyways, I believe Jihl will be looking for you shortly. It may be in your best interest to head to the meeting hall.”

“What? Why would she…?” She stopped mid sentence. “Do you mean…?”

“Yes,” he answered unremarkably. “It seems your father has returned.”

The meeting room was a large, rounded room forged from the same dark stone that made the rest of the palace. There was an oval table in the center of the room, with thirteen obsidian chairs encircling it completely. There table itself was made of a black stone not unlike the chairs but it was far more polished and smooth, almost like it was made of a pure black glass. Seated in one of the seats was a woman of absolutely stunning beauty. By the look of her, she was probably in her early thirties, with long raven-black hair that hung down to the small of her back. Several shorter strands fell over her shoulders and and rested against her impressive bosom, kept modest by the one-piece tunic she wore. It was an overly black outfit, with strands of gold set over her chest and stomach and a single white marking that ran down the middle. Two different straps ran down from her neck and underneath her legs, displaying an odd upside-down cross made of white linen. She had bands of cloth that covered parts of her arms, covering most of her biceps, her elbows and part of her forearms before they ended with colorful, black sleeves. She had leggings that were skin colored up on her thighs and then turned into frilly white cloth as they ran from her lower thigh down to her calves. There they hid under black boots, that had large, pointed heels.

She was focusing on a clear, green ball that was shimmering lightly on the table before her. Whatever she was seeing within it, it was not clear from anyone else that may have bothered to look. Her gaze narrowed slightly as she saw something she didn't particularly feel good about or was simply surprised by it. Whatever the case, she let out a small breath and the orb's light diminished, returning it back to a mere crystal orb.

Her gaze lingered on the ball for a moment longer, even as she began to speak. "Archimedes. You've come home," she said, her voice as smooth as silk. She raised the crimson orbs of her eyes up to see the man standing in the doorway, a man that Mythal would recognize. His long, flowing hair was still slicked back and hanging over his neck. The charming smile he loved to flash, though in its allure was certainly something dangerous.

“Aye, that I have, lass," the newly named Archimedes answered to the name, opening his arms out. “How 'bout a hug for good ol' daddy dearest?"

"Always the charmer," the woman purred, a naughty smirk tugging at her lips. Yet she didn't rise up to give him what he asked. She merely reached out and pressed her finger against the top of the orb in front of her, circling the pad of it along its smooth surface. "How's it look out there, my love?"

“Ah well, you know these humans. They relish in the chaos that is their lives. Pitiful creatures they are but amusin'," he said as he walked around the table slowly towards her. In his hand appeared a staff, which he spun in a perfect circle between his fingers. “How's our dear Vriko doin'? It feels like an age since we spent some real family time together."

"She continues to progress. Soon she'll be ready to hunt down our son and bring him to a swift end," the woman mused as she pulled her hand up, the orb seemingly sticking to her finger and following the track of her movement. She balanced it on the flat of her index digit, the act taking no effort at all. "Have you seen him?"

“As a matta 'o fact, I have," the man said as he came to stop behind the seat just next to her. “Good lookin' fella he is. Really moody from the looks of t'ings. He actually wandered into one of Faera's traps."

The woman's eyes widened a bit, excitement glimmering in the orbs. "Did Our Lady manage to ensnare him?"

“Not at all. He managed to slay our Key Guardian and even made off with one of the door keys. Our Majesty is not pleased ta' say the least," he said with the same even smile.

"And yet you look quite pleased," Jihl responded, cocking her head slightly.

“Well in light of Mythal gettin' all uppity, Our Majestic Ruler has decided to push ahead with certain... other plans. It seems the False Slayer has ruffled her feathers enough that she wishes to avoid playin' around any longer. It's time to act and that means... I get to play," the man revealed gleefully, stopping the spinning of his staff and planting the blunt end of it into the ground.

"Does this mean... Vriko will get her chance at him?" The woman asked, her voice cool and collected.

“Aye, with a wee bit of help from me. Don't worry -- we'll work out the hard details in time. But I do have a bit of news I'm sure you've been waitin' with tremblin' breath to hear about." His grin seemed to turn just a tad bit more wicked, as if to mock her.

Jihl inhaled slowly, doing her best not to show her trepidation over his words. Archimedes loved to toy with her, despite their connection via two spawn and the epitome of an unholy union. If the news he was teasing her with was what she thought it was, it would certainly define their unholy matrimony with a bit more firmness. "I'm ready," she said softly, keeping her gaze steady on him.

He hummed gently and then chuckled. “No need for such intensity, lass. Faera has seen it fit to grant you the honor of becoming one of her Immortal Thirteen. I'll admit I argued a wee bit in you case -- after all, no other human has brought forth two bodies that Our Majesty can inhabit. Addin' in your specialty in precognition magic and time magic and you'll prove a vital asset in the world to come." His smile took on a more earnest form and he reached out to lay a hand on her shoulder. “No way I'm lettin' my darlin' wife be used and dismissed so easily."

Jihl quite literally could have burst at the seams with excitement. She was jumping for joy within her mind and soul but she managed to keep a stoic, cool facade -- though her smile widened just a tad. "How lucky am I to have the Trumpet of Despair as my husband?" She said softly, reaching up to touch his hand.

“Mother," Vriko's voice cut through the tender moment. She had entered the room only a moment ago, early enough to hear only his mother's words but not Archimedes'.

“Well if it isn't my lovely daughter," Archimedes announced, throwing his hands up. Though his words were meant to sound excited, his tone had shifted slightly into... almost condescension. He paused as he turned to look at her, his smile morphing a bit into a frown. “How many times have I told you to take that ugly thing off in my presence?"

Vriko's head shifted slightly to look at the man and then she let out a small sigh out from inside the mask. She reached up and tugged the bone-like covering off of her head, lifting it up and over until her face was revealed. The similarities between her and Mythal were remarkable once her face was revealed -- she easily could have been his twin, though prettier. Her deep crimson eyes, much like her mother's, were a tad bit sharper than her brother's though; with a fire beneath that seemed boiled in resentment and even pain. Now that the mask was off of her head, one could make out the red ribbon she had tied into her hair to keep it semi-coordinated. “Happy?" she asked, tucking the helmet under her arm.

“I'm sorry," the man said, his smile twisting into something more manic. Within an instant he had crossed the distance between them and appeared before her, standing mere inches apart. Before she could speak, his hand thrust out and slammed into her chest, sending her flying backwards through the doorway and into the wall of the hallway. She hit the stone hard but she didn't slide down -- in fact, she seemed to be pressing against the hard surface from an unseen force. She grunted and groaned as her body was punished by the magical unseen force. “You wanna try that again, lass?" Archimedes said, his voice menacingly low.

She let out a sound between clenched teeth that seemed like a gurgle at first. She managed to summon up her willpower and force words through the wall of teeth. “Sorry... sir..."

Archimedes cocked his head slightly and let the pressure build for a moment longer before he released her, letting her body drop to the ground. Vriko hit the ground hard, landing on her side at first and grunting in pain. “All these years and you still can't treat your old man with respect," Archimedes said with a menacing chuckle as he walked forward and stood over her. The woman got herself to her knees and hands, panting gently as the pain began to subside. “Jihl, I'm going to refill my stomach. I trust I'll see you shortly?"

"Of course, my love," the woman responded, slowly getting up from her seat and placing the orb back on the table.

The man glanced back down at Vriko and chuckled before he wandered off, swinging his staff about once more and whistling an unknown tune.

Jihl walked out into the hallway, watching the man go until he finally turned the corner. Then her gaze settled on the woman on the ground, her features darkening as she looked upon her daughter. "Disgraceful," she spat, her words enough to raise the younger woman's head. Jihl's hand came in from the side and slapped her daughter across the face hard, jerking her head to the side. She brought it back in a backhanded slap, knocking her head back the other way. Then she reached down and grabbed Vriko by the chin, pressing her fingers into the woman's cheeks. "You will learn to respect my husband. Faera has seen it fit to bless me with a bond with one of her Archangels and I will not let your insolent manners sour his mood. Do you understand me?!" she hissed at her daughter.

Vriko glared back at her mother, her eyes trembling gently. “Sorry mother..." she muttered, the sound perverted by her forcibly pursed lips. That was enough to get her face freed, the older woman letting her go and dropping her down.

"Clean yourself up and get back to your studies. Archimedes spoke of great plans for you. I believe I will soon be rid of my useless daughter and be gifted with our Dark Savior as my progeny," Jihl said, almost dreamily. With one last look at the younger woman, she turned and followed after Archimedes, looking to spend some time with her mate.

Meanwhile Vriko was left there to lick her emotional and physical wounds, the younger woman fighting back angry tears as best she could. She wouldn't let them see her cry -- she refused. She would bottle up all this rage and use it on Mythal when she finally tracked him down and buried her sword through his heart.