Meeting the Master

[Pharaoh]

“Meeting the Master”
60 Glade 123
The Vigilia Argenti Prætorium

“...and Her Divine Radiance is amenable to this?” Phocion arched a brow.

“Her Divine Radiance remains moot on this and all other points for the nonce, coz…” Vrædyn noted with a sigh, “And her Platinum avatar signs off on whatever the Consilium tells him to. You know you needn’t feign ignorance of Luxian affairs for my benefit, Vigil Phocion. We’re on the same side, now.”

“Force of habit.” Phocion chuckled,

“Force and Fire.” Vrædyn quipped, playing along with his kinsman’s joke. “Then we are agreed and our influence expands ever further.” Vrædryn smiled, rising to seal their compact in the traditional fashion: With an embrace. As the scribe jotted down the last of the notes, he would start at the burst of blinding light that suddenly flooded the conference chamber. Shielding his eyes with his hands he looked up to find the two princes, frozen in an embrace, were the source of the brazen beams. The light dimmed as the pair parted, Vrædyn’s glowing golden eyes gazing into Phocion’s striking silver, both of their wrists shining with the energy of their Emblems.

“Come, Soror.” Vrædryn intoned, “Let us collect our charge and hie us to Sorokyn’s Summit.” Phocion inclined his head, and both quit the room, leaving a befuddled scribe uncertain as to whether he should record that phenomenon in his notes or pretend it never transpired. (He would ultimately opt for the latter, fearing the alternative might land him in the College of Compliance.)

► Show Spoiler

Some time later
The Summit of Mount Sorokyn

The subtle tethers that bound those who worshipped Her of the Scourge would draw the devoted down from the platform that rounded the mouth of the volcano to facilitate sacrifice and other rituals. Suddenly feeling their rites could wait until another day, they descended the winding path down to the Luxium. Many would pass three figures who were heading up the way they’d come. The passersby would take no note of the two royal princes sauntering hand-in-hand nor the hooded figure who followed them up the path.

When they arrived at the platform, the heat rising from the volcanic core and wafting on the breeze warmed their faces. The two Gods in the elven bodies of Their descendents looked to the North, and called forth to the Void in unison:

“In Vacuum vocamus! Domine tenebrarum exaudi canticum nostrum!” As They chanted, the dark smoke that plumed from Sorokyn shifted even darker, swirling into a small storm of utter blackness. By and by, a figure appeared in the midst of this pitchy portal.

“Annuimus te, Shæoth Divinus, Princeps Vacuum! Nos te ad nostram imperialem thronum invitamus! Quod Pantheo decrevimus, in Solunario agetur. Profer captivum et videte ut pactum nostrum impleamus!” Shæoth dragged another figure from the Void, this one smaller… limply it hung in the air until Shæoth and it descended to alight upon the platform as the portal closed above them. As the Dark One stepped toward them, the Solunarian Founders bowed in concert.

“Princeps Vacuum,” Aværys hailed in Vrædryn’s voice, “In accordance with Our covenant We are come. If thou wouldst condescend to breathe brief life back into the lungs of this poor wretch for the term of his trial, let Us begin. When he doth stir, We may set forth the terms of Our understanding and permit him to decide whether he can countenance the cost of returning to Our realm… or whether he should be evermore banishéd to thine.” He glanced down to the lifeless form of Endymion Len’Sælyan Æros, his throat slit in the clean line of a worthy Sacrifice, though his blood had yet to be claimed.

[Aegis]

Shaeoth was silent as he looked down at the Vraedyn and Phocion, his face unwavering, no emotion visible. He did not bother to look down at he who was sacrificed. Instead, he cast his gaze to the sky above Sorokyn. The two demigods would be able to see what was happening, as would any rather unfortunate master Semblers who happened to be looking to the volcano's peak at this time.

A single point of darkness, brimming with power, stationed itself there, unbothered and unhidden by the pluming smoke. With a sound that could only be described as the shattering of a thousand gods, the single point became a crack in reality, jagged and wide. The smoke now was flowing directly into the crack, escaping this realm and going somewhere... else.

The crack, in its pure and unending darkness began to grow wider, a great maw above the chasm of fire that was so holy to these people. Deep within it, one could feel penetrating eyes gazing upon them, even though there was no such thing to be seen. Then a figure appeared, gazing out from behind the jagged teeth that formed this entry to the Void. One the Twins would recognize. And then another. And another. And so many more, filling to the edge, looking down upon them was the entirety of royal line of Vastium that had been discarded to the Void.

A small ball of soft green light appeared, slipping out of the Void, and began to slowly float down into the volcano as the gaping scar in reality shut itself and disappeared, as the smoke began to billow normally once more. The ball of light fell upon Aeros' form, and he flashed the same color. His wounds did not heal, his pains did not cease, but he'd find that he was alive enough for what was being asked of him.

Shaeoth cast his gaze back upon the two avatars, "The Void consumes all that is given, let it be known that nothing shall be taken." And with that, he took a step back, watching as Aeros would be mobile now. His throat slit, he'd still find a voice, raspy and pained, bloodless he'd still find vitality enough to stand and suffer; his brain dead, he'd still find access to his memories and emotions and his most recent trauma. For all intents and purposes, he was very much alive, but it was clear to all present that it was an incredibly temporary state.

[Aeros]

TIMESTAMP: -
NOTES: -

- - -

- - -

Æros had walked into his choice full well knowing the likelihood he’d actually be revived was near to nil. He knew it was a fool’s gambit…

And yet, he’d gone ahead, and he’d done it with his heart blinded by the brightness of his faith.

A little over half a year ago, he’d an experience he’d found nothing short of edifying; he’d never forget it. And since that day, he’d kindled a flame in that previously dim, aimless soul of his– one of renewed religiosity, of righteous fervor, and every day since, that fire had grown ever the more ardent. He’d been quiet about it, for the most part, still carrying shame with him regarding his behavior on that first fateful encounter; he was afraid of crossing the line when it came to ‘seeking’ Their attentions. Nevertheless, that solemnity did not negate any of what he’d cultivated within.

It was…unfortunate, but perhaps perfectly calculated, wickedly cunning as the vile creatures of the void were, that his faith would be used against him in such a malicious manner. Æros had, after all, told himself that should he ever be granted the blessing of speaking with Her again, he’d put all of his faith in Her, in Her judgment. And that, well, that had been woefully naive– but for him, young and so incredibly desperate, he didn’t see any other path. Without his Semblance, he lacked the ability to see through the farce, and without a definitive ruling out of the infinitesimal chance that it truly was Her, no matter how much doubt had been cast, he truly felt that if there was any way, any chance at all that it was Her, he was wholly obligated to put his soul in the hands of his Gods.

So…he did– he’d played the game, he'd rolled the die, he’d made the leap, he’d just been…wrong.

In a fashion.

The abyssal creature who’d tricked him was certainly not either of his Gods, nefarious in her intentions, and though his conscious mind slipped when all had gone dark, he’d been plucked from the Void by the very lord thereof. Further, he’d been ferried back to Solunarium’s gilded sands at the behest of those whom that fiend had impersonated. And now, his fate hung in the balance once more.

When next the boy opened his eyes, it was…overwhelming. He certainly did not feel good, in fact, it was worse than when he’d awoken in that cursed illusory world. Still did he bear his self-inflicted injury; it was also clear to him that the body he inhabited was far from functioning at peak…and it wasn't as if he'd awoken in friendlier climes.

Mount Sorokyn. The heat and smoke of the volcano’s smoldering core sharply pulled him back to what senses of his he did possess, but nothing of his perception offered him any explanation for just what exactly was happening ‘round him. Before him, he recognized Vrædyn and Phocion; but they were not themselves; it was passing clear that they’d been made puppets to the divine. Then beside him stood a figure he’d never seen before; dark, imposing and shrouded in shadow. Æros knew not, for the moment, that the man he beheld was Shæoth.

It was, however, immediately clear to him he’d erred in his previous judgment; he wasn’t sure how much relief he ought to feel…he was, of course, grateful, boundlessly, to have been brought back, and brought back in the audience of his beloved Founders, at that, but…he knew there would be a cost. That very much unnerved him. A combination of guilt, fear and shame grew, black and heavy, taking root in the wake of the initial wave of veneration for those that stood before him.

And due to both that reverence and his ample disorientation, he did not dare speak.

- - -

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Vastien Tongue/Speech"

"Valasren Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

[Pharaoh]

Aværys-Vrædyn sneered and Phocion-Varvara glared into the Void as Cælian eyes gawked back at their quondam realm.

“Ego sum Aværys, Rex Regnum. Look Upon My Works, Ye Mighty…” Quoth Aværys, “And Despair.” As the ill-starred dynasty faded back to their oblivion the Founders, via their progeny’s eyes, regarded the reanimated corpse of the starlit half-Fæ as he stirred. Varvara got straight to business, knowing how abhorred undead things were by the dragons who dwelt below. They were not like to brook the presence of such a creature for very long.

“Val’Sælyan Æros, thou hast miscalculated. Deceived wert thou by a creature of the Void masquerading as Our disciplus. This simulacrum of thy servus was tasked with seducing thee into suicide and did, with alacrity, succeed. Thy misadventure was his boon." Phocion's gloved hand rose to gesture mildly at the blackness above and behind Shæoth. "The Void is a depository for that which the Dei do discard. We have cast thee aside… dismissed thee in the past, and might have left thy soul to tarry thither…”

“However.” Aværys smirked, “Thy devotion did move Us. Though the premise was false the promise was true. E’en through the Void’s vaunted veil did We sense Thine intent…”

“And thy Sacrifice. Thou art changéd. No more the aimless rake whose paltry life he would blithely forfeit. In thy spirit dwelleth Pow’r We would not fain abandon to the Dark.”

“And so We did travel unto the Hall of the Hallowed, where We did treat with He of the Void. His is an hungry realm and loath to release that which it doth gripe. This compact We have drawn with Him is no simple thing. A worthy toll must be exacted to sate Him. To save thy soul from exile in Darkness, another must be substituted.”

At a gesture from Phocion the hooded figure who travelled with these avatars stepped forth to join them.

“We have rendered this covenant to accord thee another and a final chance. This much We have freely done for thee: Our investiture. However, We will not countenance the burden of the price thou, Our servant, hast incurred. That is for thee to pay. As We defer the toll to Our servant, so mayest thou defer it to thine.”

At a nod from Vrædyn, the figure between them doffed his hood. Khyan seemed to be entranced. His gaze was blank and his face slack. Phocion’s hand rose, revealing a glowing, silver chain protruding from his wrist and extending to connect with the collar at Khyan’s throat.

“This servus is thy property… possessing of a beautiful body. Claim it for thine and live again. Cast his spirit into the Void and commandeer his corpus for thine own to serve as vessel to thy salient Sælyan soul.”

“This is no deception. This is the path back to the living world that We have paved for thee. Whether you tread Atraxian sands with the soles of this Vastian youth or your own soul returns to banishment in th’abyssal embrace of the Princeps Vacuum? This is a matter which doth lie betwixt thee and He of the Void. We have no further boon for thee than this chance to live.” With that, Phocion flicked his wrist to the side and the ætherial chainlink that bound his wrist to Khyan’s throat dissipated.

Khyan’s eyes blinked rapidly and his breath caught in his throat, as he regarded a very different vista than that which he’d just been looking at in the comfort of Æros’s domus. His wide eyes regarded the scene before him: Two Sol’Aværys Princes, each wearing a Divine Nimbus, another celestial figure, dark and foreboding, and Æros… his galaxy pale from exsanguination, his throat open with blood drenching his front. But somehow he was alert and looking back at him. Unsure of what to do, Khyan froze where he stood.

“What fresh hell is this?”

[Aeros]

TIMESTAMP: -
NOTES: -

- - -

- - -

Perception was a tricky thing, and, Æros’ was anything except clear in these moments. His mind was slowed, his body aching and fatigued, everything felt so languid; the lethargy of death taxed him greatly. He came to consciousness after the tear in reality holding the ill-fated Vastian dynasty had snapped shut, missing the implications thereof as he stirred into this painful unlife.

Not one to waste any time, as soon as this unfortunate soul’s clouded eyes set on his Gods before him, Varvara set forth to speak. Her words filled him with a strange sorrow, clawing at him from within– then as Aværys chimed in, and as both continued, small blooms of hope grew in the desolate wake of grandiose devastation, the likes of which he’d never dreamt possible. He was given a choice– one that would be agonizing to make, but…the cards as they were, what other way forward was there?

His gaze, hazy and slow, shifted between Vrædyn and Phocion, then down to Khyan. Dead as his body was, it did not emote, as any movement took monumental effort. But that did not assuage any of the pain Æros felt; for he felt everything, unable to flex his aether as he was, unable to guide his own emotions as he had become so dependent on doing.

He’d been given a second chance. To deny this gift felt nothing short of sacrilegious, but yet…

In a slow, strained rasp, he spoke, his eyes looking back to his Founders, “...I’ve come this far, put all of my faith in You both, and You…answered me." Æros' dead gaze shifted between the two of them. "Deus Aværys, Mother Midnight, you still answered me, despite my mistakes, despite my foolishness. My gratitude is infinite, I was…at peace with the possibility I’d never wake again, so thank you, endlessly, for heeding my call.” And though his visage remained blank, eyes hollow, struggling to move his mouth to even speak, he wept.

After a painful pause, “..to deny this blessing, I cannot; for I am Yours, body and soul; even if I am to die, I…want, need…to be at Your disposal and Yours alone...and there is so much left I desperately want to accomplish.” Of this, he was resolute.

“... but yet...must he go to the void? Can he not be Yours still, body and soul? I…” he glanced in Shaeoth’s direction. Æros held some understanding that this was futile. The price to be paid was to Shæoth– the payment to him, and yet, he felt utterly compelled to at least try.

“I’ll take him…I’ll take his place, but can't he go to Them, and…and I find any number of others to go to the void? I…I know I am in no place to make requests, so I’ll…accept the fate I’m handed by the two of You, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t at least…offer the suggestion.” He was drained. Exhausted. Physically and mentally, he was withered, withering, decaying before those in front of him.

“...he is…so special, such a heavy…price to pay, I accept...I understand the necessity of sacrifice, I only...I wish not for his suffering,” a mournful tone rang in words woven with desperation.

He wanted to explain, to express more, to speak to Khyan, but he was dead, and this state of unlife dazzled his thoughts. It was hard to be rational. It was hard to think at all. It was hard to be anything. He deeply did not want this, but he held no power here.

- - -

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Vastien Tongue/Speech"

"Valasren Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

[Khyan Nykara]

Khyan felt like he was in a dream. He must have been. There was just way too much going on and the sights before him were too fantastical not to beggar belief. The sights of gods, or avatars thereof, were awe-inspiring to say the least, but the figure that kept drawing his attention was that of Æros. He was in so gruesome a state... It truly felt like the stuff of nightmares. The man who'd infatuated and later come to love and rely upon. A saviour from his lot and a succour to his sorrows upon whom he'd grown to rely greatly.

As this heart-wrenching representation of his amatus began to rasp out words, he strained to listen. He knitted his brow and squinted as he acclimated to this perversion of Æros' voice. He was addressing their Gods... apologising. His heart raced as understanding that this was reality truly began to set in. Something had gone wrong... Æros and Hilana had gone North, and something went awry. Something so abject that the Founders themselves had gotten involved. Æros was verbally prostrating himself before Them.

Lacking context, he had only sympathy. Clearly he was pleading for his life and it seemed like he may get it, except... whose place was he talking about taking? Who was this 'him' for whom he was pleading?

"Wait, what?"

He glanced about the platform, and it dawned on him. His brown eyes glazed over with grey as he took in the scene through the æther-tinged lenses of his Semblance.

He froze in terror, eyes snapping to Æros. His reflexes took over. Even before his very Gods this lowly slave would be heard. "So... you've brought me to Sorokyn's mouth to fulfill the fears you helped get me over." He let out a single, loud guffaw and twin tears burst forth- one from each eye, as he turned to face the heat of the volcanic core.

"I can't-..." He gritted his teeth and, terrified, started to strain toward a shift. His bones began to crackle and shrink, as fledgling feathers began to burst from his skin.

"Pax." Aværys-Vrædryn extended a hand to halt Khyan's transition. He grunted in pain as the Deus Imperator undid his work and returned him to his human form. "The avalanche hath already begun, boy. 'Tis too late for the pebbles to vote."

Khyan fell to his knees, weeping and hugging himself.

"What say thee, O Tenebrous Highness?" Varvara looked from Æros to Shæoth. It was not for the Founders to answer this last-ditch entreaty, but for the Lord of the Void. Only He could say what sated Him.

[Aegis]

Shaeoth was silent for a long time as he stared down at Aeros. He didn't need to hear more of the mortal's words, but the perhaps They did. As he was silent, the shadows of all around, including those belonging to the Avatars quaked and shivered and grew smaller despite the light above not changing. The shadow of Sorokyn grew long, and deep, and dark, and still, Shaeoth's face was impassive, unwavering, not an emotion to be found in the corner of his lips or the lack of light in his bottomless eyes.

Aeros was lifted from his prostrating, by the clawed hand that came when the Void was to be fed, only seen by the twins, and Khyan, for that's who he allowed to see it. The claws were beneath Aeros' skin, dangling him by the very wound he'd carved open in himself. Shaeoth had no need to see his face, instead forcing him to turn to look the Twins in the eyes. And when he spoke, the very tone of his voice threatened to sunder apart this reality for having the audacity to waste his time. His affairs as of late were far beyond those of mortals, of the custodians such as these Two that served them.

His gaze upon the gods of this domain was scathing. To have his patience tested and time wasted by a mortal who seemed to have been a devoted follower was now backtracking, placating, begging. He was disappointed in Them both. His handling of Aeros was promise, of their domain favorite, if this was not to be resolved properly and soon. As Shaeoth opened his mortal mouth, his voice, a twisted serpent of the billion voices lost within the Void spoke, the claws sinking deeper in the flapping skin, piercing into the very soul that was barely hanging onto this broken and bloodless body.

"Choose."

He of the Void had no need to elaborate. But for each passing second that he stared at Them, the shadows grew longer, grew darker, the air growing heavier, the aether around them all screaming. But through it all, a whisper slipped through Aeros' ears, one that would not be heard by Them. "Forsake them. Give up everything you hold dear and you will find power unimaginable. Return and claim the vengeance for those that killed you, for those that wronged you, and for those that put your love here before Me."

[Aeros]

TIMESTAMP: -
NOTES: -

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Upon seeing the despair in Khyan’s reaction, Æros’ heart ached. He wanted nothing more than to grant the other the succor he desired, nay, that which he deserved– but from where stood, with his faculties being as they were, he could not.

All he could do was muster the energy to speak one more time, dead gaze in Khyan’s direction. “All I asked for was to be saved; I was dying…I left the circumstances open, asked for anything, and this is where…the chips fell.” The show that played out before them both was writ by those divine that stood ‘round them.

But before he could say or do anything more, Æros felt what little control he had left be yanked away from him again as he was lifted into the air. Bizarrely, and to his infinite horror, he was suspended by the cut flesh of his throat; given his weight, he felt as if his head might part from his body, and yet…it did not, though he felt every bit of the agony caused by being suspended like this.

Shæoth was a grandiose being; an entity far more ancient than even his beloved Gods, all of the Void’s power embodied, He was. And from His tone. Æros could tell that the old God was nonplussed by the fact that He was even called forth in this manner. He looked down upon the Twins in the same fashion that They looked down upon Æros, though with even less regard.

When He did deign to speak, His voice was composed of many, some sibilant, others discordant, anguished, sharp, silken, deep, strained, smooth– myriad voices woven into one; altogether dreadful, the sound, and yet at the same time, magnificent.

Æros’ heart sank. To try and bargain with a being so eldritch, so divorced from mortality would be…delusional. He was given a new offer, but this one? More impossible than the last. This was nothing short of a waking nightmare, and all paths gave way to immense loss.

He’d thrown himself headlong into the pursuit of power, so the promise of it unbridled? Admittedly tempting, but when one considered the cost, what, then, would his purpose be? Where would he go? What was the point? Vengeance?

He only held malice towards the being that had tricked him, not his Gods. Having been born and bred beneath Solunarian tenants, he was no stranger to sacrifice. A soul for a soul; it made sense, he just wished it could be anyone else, not…not this.

Somehow, despite the way he hung in the air, he was still able to find his voice.

“Life…I choose life,” he rasped.

“I’ll…brook the cost, but...the only being I wish for vengeance upon is the one who tricked me into dying,” his voice rang with the depths of his sorrow, and though his eyes continued to weep, his features remained cold, placid.

It was a shame to deny the power the Shæoth had offered, ancient and imposing as it would be, as He was. Because while taking that offer would also briefly save Khyan, they both would still be damned, in a fashion, enemies of Solunarium as they would be. What life would that be? It certainly did not bode to be a long one.

- - -

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Vastien Tongue/Speech"

"Valasren Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

[Khyan Nykara]

Memento mori... The phrase was a whisper at the back of Khyan's mind. It did not calm him, but it did alter him. Sadness gave way to rage. Varvara turned her eyes to the regard the servus..

Khyan gritted his teeth, lifting his tear-laden, scrying eyes to regard his betrayer. The one he'd taken grave risks to be with... the one who had promised him salvation for himself and all his family- Instead delivering damnation. Khyan had nothing of his own- not even his soul. And this pampered wastrel... this deceiver was to be accorded a boon for his folly at Khyan's cost?

"You have turned to hate a love that had no equal..." He hissed, his spittle peppering the sand before his bent knees.

Khyan could not hear what Shæoth uttered into Æros’ mind, but like everyone on that mount he could perceive the spinning of the half-Fæ's narcissistic mind, through his newly unimpeded Aura, as he pondered his response thereto. Khyan didn't need to hear the offer posed to know the content, for it was plain as day when Æros simpered out his reply.

"Princeps Vaccum..." Slowly, quakingly Khyan rose, stepping forward. "If Your Tenebrous Highness would treat in vengeance? Pray ponder a graver grievance. I, who have nothing, am still being drained of more, and for what? For whom?" He bared his teeth and, unbidden, the serpentine fangs that lingered after adopting his first totem extended. He turned his gaze, full of ire to rival Sorokyn's churning core below, toward Æros.

"A dissembler who promised me liberty and delayed its execution until such time as he could steal my very body to extend the life he lost by his own folly. If anyone is aggrieved here, Highness, it is I. He had much to lose and threw it away of his own volition. I had... I have nothing. Not even my soul is mine to give to the Void, but I accept this fate freely. Take me into your embrace, but pray let me exemplify the tenet of Vengeance that You represent and our Founders abet in this realm. Let me inhabit the Vacuum as a Spirit of Revenge to torment this deceiver until his suffering peaks higher than this mount. Or else, if you reject my soul, then let it cleave to this fleshly form long enough to desecrate this simpering corpse you granted enough breath to betray me. Take me to Your realm or let me die avenged and I will fall into the pit of Sorokyn to die as Aværys did before his rebirth. Before His Sister called into Your Void for the might to avenge the wrongs dealt the Children of Re'ha." He bowed his head, lowering himself to one knee in supplication. "And you answered."

[Aegis]

The silence hung heavy in the air for a long time. Shaeoth's dark and empty eyes seemed to be staring at all parties at once with an intensity that would muzzle the loudest of dragons.

"Accepted."

The Void Tamer continued to be impassive in the face these mortals. But the world around them all began to shift and change. Shaeoth continued to hold Aeros aloft, as the reality before him was eaten away, a hole of pure emptiness, with no light, no aether, no life or matter or energy or anything that indicated a world at all like the one known, appeared. Air raced past Aeros, attempting to fill the Void in a fruitless effort.

Then they raced by him faster and faster.

And even though the winds ripped the clothes from his form, his body was held perfectly still by Shaeoth's dark touch. Naked here before his gods in Sorokyn, the winds began stripping the flesh from him, sending it into the Void, piece by tiny piece and he was spared no pain. Blood and fat and veins and muscle were slowly shredded away into the ravenous plane. Soon, there was nothing but the yellowed bones and the nervous system they protected. And then those were shredded as well leaving nothing behind for Khyan to see.

But for the demigods to see, still held aloft and locked in place, was Aeros' spiritual body. "Your path to Life is tied to your devotion of Vengeance. When the One responsible for your death is given to the Void, your life will be returned to you in exchange." He let go of Aeros who was sucked into the Void as well, where he would travel. He could no feel anything, see anything, experience anything, but traveled he did, on his way to where Shaeoth was sending him.

The Vicar of Vengeance now looked over to Khyan, then he looked down into Sorokyn's fiery depths, "Take what all have desired from you, and I will give that which you require." He looked over at the Twins now, sending a divine pact toward them both. Shaeoth could feel the vengeance radiating in Khyan's heart so the choice, he knew, wasn't one at all. The pact was not a question or an offer, it was a demand from he they answered toward.

'Wield this weapon mine rightly.'

With that, his eyes settled finally back onto Khyan, and he waited.

!	Message from: Aegis
	Aeros may do one more post in this thread. I will give you the next thread Aeros will arrive in shortly, as well as more information for such therein. Khyan may post once more as well.