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Post by Briar on May 20, 2022 23:37:35 GMT -6
“I am being kind,” Noa had said, when he had handed Briar the crystals. He spoke with the slow patience of someone explaining something obvious to a child. “I could have had something arranged for you sooner, but you’ll be fused with it for the rest of your life, and so I thought you would want it to be one of your own. Less risk of contaminating the soul, or so some uneducated folk believe.” He had been smiling, as though something about this pleased him -- as if this whole affair pleased him. It was the same smile he wore when he needled Briar with questions about himself; the same smile he wore when he bid Briar do something abhorrent with the knowledge that Briar couldn’t refuse. His fingers closed around Briar’s own, which closed around the crystals. The sharp point of one bit into the flesh of Briar’s palm. “You won’t thank me, of course, but this is a blessing -- more power than you have ever had. And suited to your deficiencies, of course.”
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Post by Briar on May 20, 2022 23:39:56 GMT -6
His deficiencies. Briar wondered which Noa meant: his stunted size, his lack of strength... or perhaps the softness of his heart that had driven him into this wretched deal in the first place. It should have stung, but at least these were true things. Briar was more concerned about why Noa wanted to give him more power at all, what terrible purpose he could expect to be put to once the process was complete.
But the blood oath had been sworn, and Briar could no more refuse Noa’s request than he could cut out his own heart. A vision of a red vial glinting in Noa’s hand, lit by the sickly glow of the pods in the tower, flitted through his mind. He pushed it aside, swallowed down the half-formed emotion struggling to life in his chest without bothering to examine what it was.
Noa had already turned away.
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Post by Briar on May 20, 2022 23:41:10 GMT -6
----- The walk to the temple was quiet. He went late at night, when hardly anyone else would be there. He had never visited outside daylight hours before, but somehow he doubted they’d be closed. He didn’t even know what would have passed for ‘closed’ for that kind of place. He didn’t think the robed figures at the top were human. Sure enough, no one stopped him when he arrived; and when he ascended the stairs, the observers were there, waiting. It was May. The air was warm. Even up here, mixed in with the coppery tang of old blood, he could smell the scent of flowers. He hadn’t realized how tightly he had been holding the crystals until he set them down. There were imprints on his palms from where he had gripped them, white-knuckled, ever since he had left Gracehaven. If the berries still had a taste, long-dried as they were, he didn't register it as he ate them. Noa had said that he was being kind. It certainly didn’t feel like a kindness as Briar cut himself open.
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Post by Briar on May 20, 2022 23:42:30 GMT -6
The sight of the blood welling up from his arm called forth the ghost of that night in the tower, and for a moment he could hear Noa’s voice, soft and sickly sweet, cold anger simmering beneath the saccharine veneer. "I’ve always wondered what it felt like to experience your own blood boiling in your veins." Briar could feel his skin burning where Noa had held it, for just a brief moment, as the edge of his knife had sliced through him. The days-old wound itched, as if in sympathy for the new; or maybe the old magics here called to it, somehow.
He let the blood run over the items on the altar, then knelt. Bending the knee was easy now. He had thought it would be harder, but it wasn’t. He had almost no dignity left to lose. It was choosing the prayer that was hard. He stayed there a long time, eyes open, staring down at the cold stone before him. Then he took a deep, shaky breath and reached for the old memory, the one that he didn’t let himself think about too often for fear of tarnishing it.
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Post by Briar on May 20, 2022 23:43:05 GMT -6
Already the boy’s features were a little indistinct. Briar remembered the hair -- the color of dark fox fur -- and the sound of his voice, high and soft. Briar remembered the splint he’d made from toothpicks and twine, the careful touch of his hands. The boy had told him stories about knights and princes, fairies and dragons; of his dream of seeing the world someday. Briar remembered listening to the songs of birds, the boy patiently explaining their names, one by one. Of listening for footsteps, hiding in small tucked-away corners, as if it had been a game.
Please, he thought, though he hardly knew what he was pleading for anymore. Maybe it would be easier if that boy was dead. At least then he wouldn’t be suffering somewhere at Noa’s hand. In his heart of hearts, he knew what he wanted -- to keep his old promise, the one he had made as a young and foolish Harachiu.
But he didn’t know if he deserved it. He didn’t know if he deserved to save anyone anymore.
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Post by NPC on Jun 21, 2022 14:14:13 GMT -6
Node creation: success! Cooldown period ends on May 21, 2023
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