The journey did not take long. It’s amazing the distance you can cover when you don’t have to sleep, or stop. The miles melted away as he closed in on his first stop: Waterdeep. He knew this would be the most difficult of the places on his route. There were those that knew of him there, and they likely would be watching for him. He had no fear that they would stop him, but if he were to kill possible hosts in the ensuing conflicts it would be a setback.
He topped a ridge, and the rooftops of the city came into view over the trees. Even from here he could smell the ripe aroma of life, the port was infested with it. He found himself unconsciously clenching his hands as he stared at his destination. It would be good to feel blood on them again.
A short distance away was a large clearing, a pair of large bulletin boards standing there, listing wants and warrants, employment, and other news. The area looked well traveled, but was empty at the moment. The lane branched off in a few directions from there, one towards the city, and others out into the surrounding countryside. He was about to continue on the main avenue, when something caught his attention. To the north, down one of the rural lanes he sensed youth, joy, and vitality. It would be as good a place to start as any. Turning, he headed north.
* * *
The farmhouse walls were covered in blood. He had been away from the work for to long, and when prey had presented itself, he had taken to it with a wild lust. Those he had killed, the farmer and his family, were barely even recognizable as human anymore. He himself was swathed in blood and gore. It wouldn’t do to enter the city like this, they would be on him in an instant. As he set about cleaning himself, he took deep breaths, gulping in the aroma, savoring his kills.
He was nearly finished when a clatter behind him made him turn. A young boy stood at the door to a closet, frozen like a frightened rabbit. He had been so caught up in the slaughter, so entranced by it, that he hadn’t even sensed the child.
The one that had been Cirath crossed the room in an instant. The boy shook himself free of his terror and turned to run, but it was to late, he was within reach. A hand wrapped around the boy’s throat and lifted him from the ground. What was Cirath stared into the child’s eyes, and a strange thought came to him. He would have to clean himself again after this.
The child’s struggling brought him back to the moment, and he was just about to tear the boy apart, when an odd feeling came over him. He found himself lowering the boy to his feet, though not releasing him, and speaking to his prey. He could not seem to stop himself, so he listened, curious as to what was happening.
“Take a good look kid. Remember this face, and this room. Remember what happened here and when you find one of those heroic adventurers that crawl around Waterdeep, you be sure to tell them all about it. Tell them to look north, the trail won’t be hard to follow. Now go… run.”
And with that, his hand opened, and the boy instantly darted for the door in a terrified sprint.
No! This was not right! This was not his doing! It was the old self. He had dropped his guard again, and the mortal had slithered in and taken momentary control. Mustering all his will, the being within the assassin lashed out at his enemy, severing the link to the vessel and sending the mortal tumbling back into the void. But for how long? He was growing in strength each day, becoming more accustomed to his prison, and learning the ways of it. If his will was to strong, a time may come when he could not be forced back.
The creature dashed over to where the farmer had fallen, reaching for the shovel that he had tried to protect his family with. Gathering all his enormous strength, he launched the tool like a spear at the fleeing child… and missed. The projectile buried its blade deep into a tree, and the boy disappeared into the forest, headed for the city.
He could not risk chasing until he was sure that he was in full control of the vessel once more, so rather than turn down the road to the city, he plunged into the woods. He would have to sneak into the city through an old passageway that the old self remembered. It would be best to pass through as quickly as possible. He could search for hosts on the return trip.
Pushing through the underbrush, he searched his vessel’s memories, trying to learn about his foe. For the first time, the creature knew an emotion other than desire. For the first time, it knew anxiety.
The Puppet's Strings
Moderators: Shar, Auril, Eilistraee
The backlash was even more extreme than Cirath had expected. He knew the Warden, that was what he had taken to calling the creature that held him in this limbo, would strike back. He had been expecting the pain, but he wasn’t really ready for it. He wanted to scream, wanted to tear at his flesh and rail at the heavens, but he couldn’t. All he could do is weather the torment and hope it did not last.
He had spent a lot of time examining his prison recently. Learning the rules and boundaries of the place, in an effort to find his way to freedom. He had discovered that he was not entirely cut off from his body, but rather, still had some sort of a link to it. It was as if he was being towed through the space between life and death, not truly belonging to either. However, with a bit of effort and practice, he could reach into and interact with either side.
The afterlife seemed the safer choice, for there was no one watching that door, so his first forays from his dungeon were into the realm of death. The brighter areas of the afterlife were closed to him, but rather, it seemed that he had a view of all the various horrible places that might await him should he finally be released from his tenuous position. Some were places of the purest torture, others seemed as though they might be positions of some honor. There was the impression from somewhere of a game of bones being played, and the ante was his soul.
It wasn’t long before Cirath could no longer bring himself to examine that side of the curtain. That left only one other option: life. There had never been any question as to which way he would struggle towards. He was not finished living, and probably never would be, but what awaited him after death served to spur his efforts forward.
So he began to venture back into his own body, slowly at first. His original, violent railing at his cell had proved fruitless, like pounding his fists on a stone wall. The Warden must have expected this response, born of fear and desperation, and prepared for it. So he decided that he must return to the methods that served him so well in life. He would have to be subtle, and invisible. He would have to study his opponent, learn his flaws, and strike when the defenses were down. But most importantly, he would have to be patient.
He had managed to find an opening, with the boy in the farmhouse. He had delivered a message, had taken hold of his limbs once more, if only for a moment, and for that, he was suffering now. He hoped his plan would work, that the boy would escape and deliver his message, that whoever heard the message would react as he predicted.
He hoped…
He had spent a lot of time examining his prison recently. Learning the rules and boundaries of the place, in an effort to find his way to freedom. He had discovered that he was not entirely cut off from his body, but rather, still had some sort of a link to it. It was as if he was being towed through the space between life and death, not truly belonging to either. However, with a bit of effort and practice, he could reach into and interact with either side.
The afterlife seemed the safer choice, for there was no one watching that door, so his first forays from his dungeon were into the realm of death. The brighter areas of the afterlife were closed to him, but rather, it seemed that he had a view of all the various horrible places that might await him should he finally be released from his tenuous position. Some were places of the purest torture, others seemed as though they might be positions of some honor. There was the impression from somewhere of a game of bones being played, and the ante was his soul.
It wasn’t long before Cirath could no longer bring himself to examine that side of the curtain. That left only one other option: life. There had never been any question as to which way he would struggle towards. He was not finished living, and probably never would be, but what awaited him after death served to spur his efforts forward.
So he began to venture back into his own body, slowly at first. His original, violent railing at his cell had proved fruitless, like pounding his fists on a stone wall. The Warden must have expected this response, born of fear and desperation, and prepared for it. So he decided that he must return to the methods that served him so well in life. He would have to be subtle, and invisible. He would have to study his opponent, learn his flaws, and strike when the defenses were down. But most importantly, he would have to be patient.
He had managed to find an opening, with the boy in the farmhouse. He had delivered a message, had taken hold of his limbs once more, if only for a moment, and for that, he was suffering now. He hoped his plan would work, that the boy would escape and deliver his message, that whoever heard the message would react as he predicted.
He hoped…
I stood at the Turning Point between the road to Waterdeep, the mountains to the northeast leading to Split Shield, and the road heading to the south towards the city Scournubel. There were the normal boards with various postings, the edges of some of the notes fluttered in the tiny breeze. I stood there pondering which direction I would go. I did want to stay out of Waterdeep, but I wasn’t sure where exactly I wanted to hang my cloak for a bit.
The sound of bare feet running on a dirt road turned my attention to the north. I recognized the child, who upon spying me, flew sobbing incoherently into my arms, knocking me to the ground. I babbled nonsense in an effort to calm him down so he could tell me what was wrong. I got the feeling it was very bad.
I couldn’t get him to tell me. His eyes were wide with shock and he shook so badly his teeth chattered. I gathered him up and raced back to Waterdeep, my song speeding my steps. I reached the gates and handed the boy to the guards, advising them to find him a healer. I explained where he was from, and told them I would go check on the rest of the family.
I raced back to the Turning Point, and slipped as best I could into the shadows, heading cautiously along the road north to the farm that stood in solitude there. I reached the gate which stood open and smelled death. Silently, I moved to the doorway, holding my breath against the stench.
I took one look through the doorway, and ran for the edge of the portch, emptying my stomach of even the memory of food. I collapsed onto the rocking chair shaking. The family who had shared their home with me and many others in exchange for the occasional song or story was dead, brutally torn apart by some monster. My mind whirled, piecing together this attack with the attacks in Waterdeep. I stumbled to my feet and ran back to the Turning Point as if the Vile One himself had been chasing me, there to collapse to my hands and knees again while my mind tried to think.
The sound of bare feet running on a dirt road turned my attention to the north. I recognized the child, who upon spying me, flew sobbing incoherently into my arms, knocking me to the ground. I babbled nonsense in an effort to calm him down so he could tell me what was wrong. I got the feeling it was very bad.
I couldn’t get him to tell me. His eyes were wide with shock and he shook so badly his teeth chattered. I gathered him up and raced back to Waterdeep, my song speeding my steps. I reached the gates and handed the boy to the guards, advising them to find him a healer. I explained where he was from, and told them I would go check on the rest of the family.
I raced back to the Turning Point, and slipped as best I could into the shadows, heading cautiously along the road north to the farm that stood in solitude there. I reached the gate which stood open and smelled death. Silently, I moved to the doorway, holding my breath against the stench.
I took one look through the doorway, and ran for the edge of the portch, emptying my stomach of even the memory of food. I collapsed onto the rocking chair shaking. The family who had shared their home with me and many others in exchange for the occasional song or story was dead, brutally torn apart by some monster. My mind whirled, piecing together this attack with the attacks in Waterdeep. I stumbled to my feet and ran back to the Turning Point as if the Vile One himself had been chasing me, there to collapse to my hands and knees again while my mind tried to think.
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