The foolish girl lay asleep in the middle of the field, soft sighs escaping her lips with every breath. He had feigned indifference to her actions when he walked into the cabin. In truth, he had observed her quite closely once inside. The Mind's Eye, his man-sized looking glass, had proven incalculably valuable in his machinations, and this had been no exception.
After a few hours had passed Halethiel hastened down to the red plateau where the girl lay resting, the malleable dreamscape giving itself over to his will as a dark bed took shape beneath her prone form. Waving a hand, the walls of the cottage on the hill above the bed collapsed - taking shape around them: the floor and very air changing shape and swirling coalescing into the interior.
He then worked quickly, his arachnid limbs slipping free of the robes that contained them as he placed a sleeping stone the girl's right hand and tore open the hem of Emalia's robe above her right shoulder, grabbing a quill with one chitinous limb and an inkwell in another, he began jabbing intricate runes into her flesh. He then drew the syllables of rest and cast a spell of sustaining over his subject as he reached with human hands into his robes to retrieve the vial of black makou.
Almost before he knew what he was doing, Halethiel had grabbed the scherinj and poured the ichorous contents of the vial into it. All of his limbs raised together for a moment,the pinnacle of the ritual, he eased himself down into Emalia's ear, his tongue almost flickering as he whispered to her 'We must all make sacrifices to achieve balance, my pet' and thrust the cherinj and its vile fluids deep into her body - and womb - to work its unholy magic.
* * *
He watched her over the next few months: the swelling of her belly, the grayish complexion her skin had taken since the injection darkening, and her dreamless sleep were all maintained through a complex set of spells woven about the room and into her tattoo. Occasionally, he would have to intervene and cast a spell of healing to slow the progression of the poison, but it was a small chore when weighed against the potential benefits. He was uncertain, at first, if the child would even survive. Not so now: the unborn infant now seemed to thrive in its slumbering host's womb.
Eventually the time came when the fruit was ripe and had to be plucked from the tree, and, using every weaving limb that he had, Halethiel did just that - delicately slicing the host open and extracting the child, Brin, from Emalia's uterus. Careful to safeguard his prize, he quickly placed the infant in a waiting receptacle to protect it and began tending to his guest's needs.
Taking some coarse black thread, he wove shut her belly, casting spells of healing over the wounds so that only a small scar remained. That done, he let the woman sleep and heal as he went on his first hunt in what seemed as ages, bringing home the heart of a gluttonous woman and placing it in a puppet and giving it the glamour of a dead animation. Placing the 'dead baby' in a waiting coffin, he then prepared the remainder of his lie for the woman, taking care to feed the living infant and stowing her away before resting.
When he awoke the next morning, the tattoo on Emalia's shoulder already re-woven into spells of pure healing, he wiped the sleep from her eyes and told her, chuckling inside to himself all the while at the predictability of humans, what she feared most: Her baby was dead, taken by the illness she was so certain she did not suffer from, and her husband was missing.
Multiple Personalities
It didn't take long for Sandorin to arrive and to take a look over the entangled body that lay on the floor. In light of everything, Sanria and Sandorin made little by way of pleasantries; rather, Sanria came right to the point, telling her brother everything.
As they spoke, Colin grew once more in his ire. "Don't you stand there and talk about me like I'm not even here, not LET ME UP!!"
"Something's wrong here," Sandorin said, examining the man before him. "This isn't the same man I saw a few days ago. This is more like...."
"Like?" Sanria questioned at Sandorin's long pause.
"Visha."
Sanria's small bit of focus upon her spell wavered as a blast of what felt like ice hit her. The last name she had expected to hear from Sandorin's mouth was that one. Visha - a shade that long ago had threatened to reveal her feelings for Thasmudyan at a time when she and Thasmudyan were not free to feel such things, not to mention do such things. Visha - a shade that then thought to offer power in return for use of Sanria's body by inhabiting it. No - this was unbearable in all forms. "And you married them," Sanria managed. "What in the hells is wrong with you men?"
Sandorin spent more time explaining to Sanria what had taken place, all the while, her mind turned over the fact she had Colin in her grasp. As Sandorin talked, the vines within Sanria's control tightened. 'How easy it would be to end this,' she thought. 'How easy to spare Emalia whatever pain this demon has in him. 'My wife' indeed.' Only Sandorin's hand on her arm stopped her, and the vines that were steadily squeezing the air from her victim.
"What do we do now?" Sanria asked quietly.
"Well, something has happened with him becoming alive. What if... what if there are two... in him?"
"Well, how does one fix such a thing?" Sanria asked. She truly didn't care, and it apparently came through in her voice.
"I wouldn't even know where to start. But Sanria, I can tell you one thing. The man that I spoke with truly loves Emalia and only wants the best for her. And Emalia feels the same for him... We owe them to try and fix this."
Sandorin placed a sleep spell over Colin, and both he and Sanria continued talking about Emalia long after. Eventually, Sanria allowed the vines recede, and Sandorin levitated the hulking form from the doorway with the promise of doing what he could. In truth, Sanria would have rather taken her son-in-law's life than let Visha roam the realms again - but Sandorin had a point. Also, to kill her daughter's husband... any hope for a smooth relationship with Emalia would end there... if, that was, she was still alive to have that relationship.
As they spoke, Colin grew once more in his ire. "Don't you stand there and talk about me like I'm not even here, not LET ME UP!!"
"Something's wrong here," Sandorin said, examining the man before him. "This isn't the same man I saw a few days ago. This is more like...."
"Like?" Sanria questioned at Sandorin's long pause.
"Visha."
Sanria's small bit of focus upon her spell wavered as a blast of what felt like ice hit her. The last name she had expected to hear from Sandorin's mouth was that one. Visha - a shade that long ago had threatened to reveal her feelings for Thasmudyan at a time when she and Thasmudyan were not free to feel such things, not to mention do such things. Visha - a shade that then thought to offer power in return for use of Sanria's body by inhabiting it. No - this was unbearable in all forms. "And you married them," Sanria managed. "What in the hells is wrong with you men?"
Sandorin spent more time explaining to Sanria what had taken place, all the while, her mind turned over the fact she had Colin in her grasp. As Sandorin talked, the vines within Sanria's control tightened. 'How easy it would be to end this,' she thought. 'How easy to spare Emalia whatever pain this demon has in him. 'My wife' indeed.' Only Sandorin's hand on her arm stopped her, and the vines that were steadily squeezing the air from her victim.
"What do we do now?" Sanria asked quietly.
"Well, something has happened with him becoming alive. What if... what if there are two... in him?"
"Well, how does one fix such a thing?" Sanria asked. She truly didn't care, and it apparently came through in her voice.
"I wouldn't even know where to start. But Sanria, I can tell you one thing. The man that I spoke with truly loves Emalia and only wants the best for her. And Emalia feels the same for him... We owe them to try and fix this."
Sandorin placed a sleep spell over Colin, and both he and Sanria continued talking about Emalia long after. Eventually, Sanria allowed the vines recede, and Sandorin levitated the hulking form from the doorway with the promise of doing what he could. In truth, Sanria would have rather taken her son-in-law's life than let Visha roam the realms again - but Sandorin had a point. Also, to kill her daughter's husband... any hope for a smooth relationship with Emalia would end there... if, that was, she was still alive to have that relationship.
Amidst The Ruins (Aftermath)
Closing the large book, he let it fall ungraciously to the floor. He cast his eyes down at the black rock-like substance that was now his chest. Is that what he was now? A threat to the Planet? A virus? If there Lifestream had indeed been seperated from him, then why was he still alive? Closing his eyes he attempted in vain to work into another explaination...none came. Opening his eyes, he looked out with cold indifference at the ruined room, noting the black crystals which had formed on it's every edge. He spoke to an audience of only himself.
"What's done is done...now it's time to apply the findings I sought." Stepping past the rubble, he opened one of the heavy shutters upon his window, squinting as the morning light came streaming through. Opening his mind, to the world at large he sought out a single mind within the sea of minds which swam before him.
'Sanria...'
"What's done is done...now it's time to apply the findings I sought." Stepping past the rubble, he opened one of the heavy shutters upon his window, squinting as the morning light came streaming through. Opening his mind, to the world at large he sought out a single mind within the sea of minds which swam before him.
'Sanria...'
Amidst The Ruins (Part I-II)
The smell of smoke and burning flesh lay heavy upon the air. Occasionally a burst of flame would accompany an earth shaking jolt bringing forth the very sounds of shifting rubble. Within the blurred world in which such chaos was unleashed, the form of a tall man with long white hair could be made out. A long slender sword at the man's side glistened in the firelight, suggesting the promise of clean destruction and the sweet release of death. The strange man turned slightly, an unpleasant smile twisting at one corner of his mouth in the manner of one assured of their own superiority. Turning away, the man began to slowy transform...growing. And with him too grew the room, keeping to scale with the monstrosity which now lorded over the chamber. Completely gone was the white haired man, leaving now the horrific view of a creature massive in size. Bittersweet was the creature's aura, terrifying in power while at the same time exuding a strange air of comfort...comfort to those who served. A voice called out weakly. A voice that Throm barely recognized to be his own.
"Mother..."
The part of his mind which still grasped at the elusive foothold of reason ventured immediatly that it must certainly not be his mother of which he spoke. His own mother had passed back into the Lifestream many many years ago, and all that aside, her name held no reason to be here of all places. Yet another voice cooed smoothly into the darkness. Throm recognized this one as well, though it was most definately not his own.
"Yes...Mother. She was with you no doubt?"
Throm blinked his eyes hard. He grew weary of these dreams...too often was he finding himself within them these days. As his eyes began to focus on his surroundings, a dull numbing pain filled every corner of his body. He groaned aloud as he slowly sat up. He was in his Lab...or what remained of it rather. The large table which had spanned the course of his room, now was completely shattered. Probably shattered from his impact upon it, Throm noted as he sat directly center of the rubble. His mind reeled as he attempted to remember exactly what it might have been that brought him to this state. As his own memory went into overdrive, he caught sight of a cloaked figure hunched beside the now broken archway at the head of the room. Instinctively, Throm's hand shot to his side only to find that his sword had been knocked from his side in whatever catastrophe had occured here. Speaking, Throm's voice came out horse, and in a near whisper.
"Seventy Seven..."
Straightening the figure slowly shambled towards him, coming to a stop only when it'd come too close for Throm's own personal comfort. The figure too spoke in a whisper, though this one forced by the raspy nature of it's voice.
"I've been called worse."
"Have you come to set fire to the rest of my home?"
Drawing back slightly, the cloaked figure crossed it's arms about it's chest. When it spoke, it's voice approached that of an odd kind of reverence. "I apologize for anything I have done to cause harm to you. Please know that I did these before I knew us to be brethren joined by our Mother."
Throm stood shakily, gasping slightly at the increased pain. He leaned heavy upon an upright leg of the broken table. Bursting into an unexpected flurry of bitter laughter he shook his head.
"You are not my brother Seventy Seven...the notion that you and I share the same blood offends me. To the Nine Hells with you...you and you're Mom."
The cloaked figure drew back slightly as if surprised by Throm's response. Slowly stepped backwards towards the broken archway, and though Throm could not see it's face, he could hear the sneer in Seventy Seven's voice.
"Blood? No. However we no doubt share the same genetic material now..."
It raised a withered hand pointing directly at Throm's chest. The figure's breath came hollow and raggedy...perhaps in rage, perhaps in the effort of speaking so much.
"You put yourself so high above us uth Bannon. However, do note that none of those within my cast have given Black Makou to innocents...nor have we attacked the Lifestream directly as you have."
The figure chuckled, it's raspy voice appearing strained. Throm looked upon his own chest where Seventy Seven was pointing and saw that his very shirt had been blasted from his torso. To his horror he surveyed the onyx tone and texture which now glistened upon his chest as if a breastplate set within his body. The onyx faded and softened into his normal skin tones the further from the core of his chest his eyes scanned. The memories of the events that occured within the Lifestream flooded back to him all at once. Throm gasped again, though this time not in physical pain, but in the grim realization of what had transpired within the Planet's very core of life. Again the voice which held it's sneering tone, spoke up.
"So come down from your pedestal Cetra...for one who hates our cause so badly you seem ever so eager to flock to it..."
Without another sound, Seventy Seven stepped into the blackened archway it's folds enveloping him as he vanished completely. In stunned silence, Throm collapsed upon the broken boards of his former table, sitting forward. What had happened down there, continued to flood back to him in multiple waves. He had felt his complete disconnect with the Planet within the Lifestream itself. And it was at this point of disconnect that Throm's life had ended completely. He could never forget the hollow feeling of a body devoid of life as his own senses began to fail. This hollowness within him was replaced in short by something else however...something he couldn't quite place, but it was not of this Planet, of that he was certain. With much effort, he stood once more. Searching about the wreckage that used to be his Lab, he finally came upon that which he had searched for. Gripping the ancient leather bound tome in his hands, he carefully pulled open it's cover, delving into knowledge he had forsaken long ago. After but a few minutes he ceased turning the pages of the book as he came to a single passage.
'A human body...it does not catch the same cold twice. Why is this? It is because a body's immune system recognizes a threat and developes a defense against this threat. Each time the same threat attempts to attack the body the immune system immediately recognizes it as a previously marked threat and knows precisely how to fend such a virus off. The Planet is much the same in nature. Within her, is an immune system of great magnitude. Were every threat allowed unrestricted access to the Lifestream, a Planet would wither and die almost immediatly upon creation. When such a threat has been established, the Lifestream has been known to mark it as a 'virus', seperating any Lifestream within such a 'virus' before expelling it.'
"Mother..."
The part of his mind which still grasped at the elusive foothold of reason ventured immediatly that it must certainly not be his mother of which he spoke. His own mother had passed back into the Lifestream many many years ago, and all that aside, her name held no reason to be here of all places. Yet another voice cooed smoothly into the darkness. Throm recognized this one as well, though it was most definately not his own.
"Yes...Mother. She was with you no doubt?"
Throm blinked his eyes hard. He grew weary of these dreams...too often was he finding himself within them these days. As his eyes began to focus on his surroundings, a dull numbing pain filled every corner of his body. He groaned aloud as he slowly sat up. He was in his Lab...or what remained of it rather. The large table which had spanned the course of his room, now was completely shattered. Probably shattered from his impact upon it, Throm noted as he sat directly center of the rubble. His mind reeled as he attempted to remember exactly what it might have been that brought him to this state. As his own memory went into overdrive, he caught sight of a cloaked figure hunched beside the now broken archway at the head of the room. Instinctively, Throm's hand shot to his side only to find that his sword had been knocked from his side in whatever catastrophe had occured here. Speaking, Throm's voice came out horse, and in a near whisper.
"Seventy Seven..."
Straightening the figure slowly shambled towards him, coming to a stop only when it'd come too close for Throm's own personal comfort. The figure too spoke in a whisper, though this one forced by the raspy nature of it's voice.
"I've been called worse."
"Have you come to set fire to the rest of my home?"
Drawing back slightly, the cloaked figure crossed it's arms about it's chest. When it spoke, it's voice approached that of an odd kind of reverence. "I apologize for anything I have done to cause harm to you. Please know that I did these before I knew us to be brethren joined by our Mother."
Throm stood shakily, gasping slightly at the increased pain. He leaned heavy upon an upright leg of the broken table. Bursting into an unexpected flurry of bitter laughter he shook his head.
"You are not my brother Seventy Seven...the notion that you and I share the same blood offends me. To the Nine Hells with you...you and you're Mom."
The cloaked figure drew back slightly as if surprised by Throm's response. Slowly stepped backwards towards the broken archway, and though Throm could not see it's face, he could hear the sneer in Seventy Seven's voice.
"Blood? No. However we no doubt share the same genetic material now..."
It raised a withered hand pointing directly at Throm's chest. The figure's breath came hollow and raggedy...perhaps in rage, perhaps in the effort of speaking so much.
"You put yourself so high above us uth Bannon. However, do note that none of those within my cast have given Black Makou to innocents...nor have we attacked the Lifestream directly as you have."
The figure chuckled, it's raspy voice appearing strained. Throm looked upon his own chest where Seventy Seven was pointing and saw that his very shirt had been blasted from his torso. To his horror he surveyed the onyx tone and texture which now glistened upon his chest as if a breastplate set within his body. The onyx faded and softened into his normal skin tones the further from the core of his chest his eyes scanned. The memories of the events that occured within the Lifestream flooded back to him all at once. Throm gasped again, though this time not in physical pain, but in the grim realization of what had transpired within the Planet's very core of life. Again the voice which held it's sneering tone, spoke up.
"So come down from your pedestal Cetra...for one who hates our cause so badly you seem ever so eager to flock to it..."
Without another sound, Seventy Seven stepped into the blackened archway it's folds enveloping him as he vanished completely. In stunned silence, Throm collapsed upon the broken boards of his former table, sitting forward. What had happened down there, continued to flood back to him in multiple waves. He had felt his complete disconnect with the Planet within the Lifestream itself. And it was at this point of disconnect that Throm's life had ended completely. He could never forget the hollow feeling of a body devoid of life as his own senses began to fail. This hollowness within him was replaced in short by something else however...something he couldn't quite place, but it was not of this Planet, of that he was certain. With much effort, he stood once more. Searching about the wreckage that used to be his Lab, he finally came upon that which he had searched for. Gripping the ancient leather bound tome in his hands, he carefully pulled open it's cover, delving into knowledge he had forsaken long ago. After but a few minutes he ceased turning the pages of the book as he came to a single passage.
'A human body...it does not catch the same cold twice. Why is this? It is because a body's immune system recognizes a threat and developes a defense against this threat. Each time the same threat attempts to attack the body the immune system immediately recognizes it as a previously marked threat and knows precisely how to fend such a virus off. The Planet is much the same in nature. Within her, is an immune system of great magnitude. Were every threat allowed unrestricted access to the Lifestream, a Planet would wither and die almost immediatly upon creation. When such a threat has been established, the Lifestream has been known to mark it as a 'virus', seperating any Lifestream within such a 'virus' before expelling it.'
Trial By Fire (Part I-II)
Energy rippled rampant across the pulsating green void. Standing upon the small balcony shaped island which floated within the Stream, Throm could feel the very hairs upon his head begin to stand on end...each and every strand energized in it's own right. Stepping forward to the island's ledge Throm nearly ignored the bolt of energy which struck near his foot silently. Reaching into his cloak, he drew forth a black vial...the second one which he had collected from his recent field trip. Immediately the pulsating of the Stream grew more rapid, it's subtle heart beat like tone now accompanied by a dull whine. Throm felt a sick feeling within his stomach as he realized the irony of what he was about to do. Closing his eyes, he blocked out this feeling, recalling his recent argument with Sanria. Her words came back to him as if she were standing beside him.
"Throm... it was a dream!"
"It was not!"
"You said so yourself! You could interact a bit more than normal, but it was still a dream!"
"It wasn't....I'm sure of it. It wasn't just a dream. Like one yes...but not one."
The nausea stemming from his stomach grew more prominent as did the droning whine of the Stream. Shaking his head to clear it, he pushed himself to focus ever the harder on his task at hand. Drawing the stopper from the vial, he clenched his eyes shut tighter, pulling forth his recent memories as if to bolster his resolve in what he was doing.
"In the vision...I was told to retrieve the Black Makou of which we spoke...the substance I found within Sephiroth's Tower. I was to place the Makou in the care of Colin until he could administer it as a cure."
Silence...
"It could kill her....You have given Emalia the antithesis of what she is."
Nearly doubling over now, Throm clasped the ledge to steady himself. He looked upward into the endless green expanse, calling out.
"I'm sorry! This will not wound...only sting. I have to know!"
The whining grew louder, the shrillness of it nearly deafening him. Flashes of bright white blazed around the island...the Planet's disapproval evident to Throm even through his haze.
"Forgive me..."
Letting the vial slip from his fingers it fell into the Lifestream, a black speck amidst a blanket of green silk. At once the whining stopped, leaving the lone sound of a rapidly beating heart to fill Throm's eardrums. The sick feeling vacated the pit of his stomach, and he was able to catch his breath in relief. Suddenly, the black speck began to grow as if feeding upon the very Lifestream itself. Clutching the ledge once again, Throm immediately regretted his actions. How could a virus cure a virus? This was not something in the way of a common cold...no. It would continue to devour Life's energy until only it would remain. Realization dawned upon him. There was no way a single mortal body would have the constitution to fend off such a parasite whether it be in the form of an actual virus, or a 'cure'. A new question gripped him, accompanying this realization. Did the Planet itself have the constitution to resist the Black Makou? Did the Planet have the ability to fend off that which he had just subjected it to?
As if on que, the sound of a million screams split through the void. As tendrils of silky energy moved to intervene the Dark Lifestream, Throm clutched his ears in a vain attempt to block out the deafening noise which rang within his head. Such was his pain that he did not notice as the tendrils of Lifestream encompassed the Black Makou as though attempting to contain it.
Flash after flash of bright green light forced Throm back from the ledge, his hands still clasped about his ears. He did not notice as the tendrils did not manage to scale the Black Makou back down. Rather through the blinding pain which burned his mind apart he wondered how it could come to pass that his dream had been wrong. Two chips...two chips that were of the same color.
The dream...
Colin's odd behavior..
A new chip landed within the pot of events collected within Throm's now tormented mind.
Colin's dream...
The blob that was now the Dark Lifestream rose level with the small island upon which Throm staggered. Though now it moved to the will of the Planet itself, it's tendrils carefully guiding it...shaping it.
Through his ever increasing haze, Throm recalled Colin's words which had been lost in the assumption that they had meant little at the time.
"Dream... .dream....I had completely forgotten it but I had a strange dream."
"Mystra?"
"No, it was strangely vivid. A man who called himself Halethiel. I'm sorry... it's still quite hazy. I think he had something to do with the Jihad...I'm sorry... this isn't making much sense, is it?"
"Nor were dreams meant to..."
The puzzle peices had been layed upon the table long ago...yet now, they fit into place...and now Throm's vision had a name. He had been duped. The Dark Lifestream shifted and writhed before the island, still held in check by the everpresent tendrils of green. At once, as though firing it from a catapult, the tendrils launched the Dark Lifestream directly at Throm. The impact of the black energy striking him in the chest knocked him backwards off from his feet. If there was pain involved, it came long after he had lost consciousness.
"Throm... it was a dream!"
"It was not!"
"You said so yourself! You could interact a bit more than normal, but it was still a dream!"
"It wasn't....I'm sure of it. It wasn't just a dream. Like one yes...but not one."
The nausea stemming from his stomach grew more prominent as did the droning whine of the Stream. Shaking his head to clear it, he pushed himself to focus ever the harder on his task at hand. Drawing the stopper from the vial, he clenched his eyes shut tighter, pulling forth his recent memories as if to bolster his resolve in what he was doing.
"In the vision...I was told to retrieve the Black Makou of which we spoke...the substance I found within Sephiroth's Tower. I was to place the Makou in the care of Colin until he could administer it as a cure."
Silence...
"It could kill her....You have given Emalia the antithesis of what she is."
Nearly doubling over now, Throm clasped the ledge to steady himself. He looked upward into the endless green expanse, calling out.
"I'm sorry! This will not wound...only sting. I have to know!"
The whining grew louder, the shrillness of it nearly deafening him. Flashes of bright white blazed around the island...the Planet's disapproval evident to Throm even through his haze.
"Forgive me..."
Letting the vial slip from his fingers it fell into the Lifestream, a black speck amidst a blanket of green silk. At once the whining stopped, leaving the lone sound of a rapidly beating heart to fill Throm's eardrums. The sick feeling vacated the pit of his stomach, and he was able to catch his breath in relief. Suddenly, the black speck began to grow as if feeding upon the very Lifestream itself. Clutching the ledge once again, Throm immediately regretted his actions. How could a virus cure a virus? This was not something in the way of a common cold...no. It would continue to devour Life's energy until only it would remain. Realization dawned upon him. There was no way a single mortal body would have the constitution to fend off such a parasite whether it be in the form of an actual virus, or a 'cure'. A new question gripped him, accompanying this realization. Did the Planet itself have the constitution to resist the Black Makou? Did the Planet have the ability to fend off that which he had just subjected it to?
As if on que, the sound of a million screams split through the void. As tendrils of silky energy moved to intervene the Dark Lifestream, Throm clutched his ears in a vain attempt to block out the deafening noise which rang within his head. Such was his pain that he did not notice as the tendrils of Lifestream encompassed the Black Makou as though attempting to contain it.
Flash after flash of bright green light forced Throm back from the ledge, his hands still clasped about his ears. He did not notice as the tendrils did not manage to scale the Black Makou back down. Rather through the blinding pain which burned his mind apart he wondered how it could come to pass that his dream had been wrong. Two chips...two chips that were of the same color.
The dream...
Colin's odd behavior..
A new chip landed within the pot of events collected within Throm's now tormented mind.
Colin's dream...
The blob that was now the Dark Lifestream rose level with the small island upon which Throm staggered. Though now it moved to the will of the Planet itself, it's tendrils carefully guiding it...shaping it.
Through his ever increasing haze, Throm recalled Colin's words which had been lost in the assumption that they had meant little at the time.
"Dream... .dream....I had completely forgotten it but I had a strange dream."
"Mystra?"
"No, it was strangely vivid. A man who called himself Halethiel. I'm sorry... it's still quite hazy. I think he had something to do with the Jihad...I'm sorry... this isn't making much sense, is it?"
"Nor were dreams meant to..."
The puzzle peices had been layed upon the table long ago...yet now, they fit into place...and now Throm's vision had a name. He had been duped. The Dark Lifestream shifted and writhed before the island, still held in check by the everpresent tendrils of green. At once, as though firing it from a catapult, the tendrils launched the Dark Lifestream directly at Throm. The impact of the black energy striking him in the chest knocked him backwards off from his feet. If there was pain involved, it came long after he had lost consciousness.
Into The Ocean
Slowly materializing within the large room, Throm sighed in the form of a well released exhale. As if sensing his presence, a large fireplace on the far end of the chamber burst to life. Illuminating the large table amid room, it cast the table's strange shadows to all corners of the room, emulating the visage of dancing wraiths upon the walls.
He had in fact, gained little from his 'discussion' with Grobnak. Throm's own frustrations gave way to the strange feeling he had gotten that the Rok demon actually cared for the wellbeing of Emalia. Grobnak's actions and apparent defensiveness on the issue had summoned suspicions which Throm could not ignore however. Sighing wearily once again, Throm slowly paced to a large empty arch at the head of the room. There were too many odd events as of late to be mere chance. Such events were becoming stacked as chips within Casino Nights.
The stolen Jenova Cells... The appearance of the Old Foe... The dream... Finding Black Makou within Jihad hands... Emalia sick and then disappearing along with the Black Makou... Colin's odd behavior...
Standing before the arch, Throm closed his eyes, willing the Planet's doorway open. After a moment the darkened archway burst into life, lit by an energy of bright green. Standing before the gate he cast a glance back to the room which offered safety and simplicity. Were one standing near him, they would have heard the whispered words which left his mouth before he plunged himself into the green lit gateway. His words however, fell upon no ears.
"I must give in to intuition once more if I am to set events right. I don't know how this will end...only the direction in which to tread. I know I gave my word, Sanria...and I'm sorry."
He had in fact, gained little from his 'discussion' with Grobnak. Throm's own frustrations gave way to the strange feeling he had gotten that the Rok demon actually cared for the wellbeing of Emalia. Grobnak's actions and apparent defensiveness on the issue had summoned suspicions which Throm could not ignore however. Sighing wearily once again, Throm slowly paced to a large empty arch at the head of the room. There were too many odd events as of late to be mere chance. Such events were becoming stacked as chips within Casino Nights.
The stolen Jenova Cells... The appearance of the Old Foe... The dream... Finding Black Makou within Jihad hands... Emalia sick and then disappearing along with the Black Makou... Colin's odd behavior...
Standing before the arch, Throm closed his eyes, willing the Planet's doorway open. After a moment the darkened archway burst into life, lit by an energy of bright green. Standing before the gate he cast a glance back to the room which offered safety and simplicity. Were one standing near him, they would have heard the whispered words which left his mouth before he plunged himself into the green lit gateway. His words however, fell upon no ears.
"I must give in to intuition once more if I am to set events right. I don't know how this will end...only the direction in which to tread. I know I gave my word, Sanria...and I'm sorry."
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