Closed Grim Harvest

[Velho]

༺༉❁ August 31 year 124 of the third age ❁༉༻
<minor edit at the top regarding buying Aetherite as I had more SP to spend than I thought when I initially wrote this post>

In the early evening, Velho began his night by trading for Alkahest– namely Aetherite– in an Æld'Norai-owned establishment. He'd spent the past few days in Græntún for work and figured that since he was out, it was more convenient to do his shopping now rather than wait until he traveled back home. His next endeavor would be to harvest additional Alkahest himself.

•════════════════════• Nightfall ❀​

In the forests some ways away from Rømskog lay an Æld'Norai ritual site. Nightfall had just arrived, leaving the area beset by deep, heavy shadows. A cloudy mist hung low to the ground and the odd animal call, crunching leaf, broken stick or footfall were the only things which betrayed what life lurked beneath this heavy cover of darkness– that is, until a man's voice broke the night's relative quietude.

"Ældrassil, blessi þetta blað," the man said, his voice soft like velvet.

Velho would be a difficult figure to make out in the darkness, thin and shrouded in black as he was. Unlike many of his kin, he dressed in robes that covered nigh all of his skin– withered and emaciated as all Scourge are, he had little motivation to do otherwise. His brief prayer caused the ornate, silver dagger in his hand to glow– a beacon of soft, green light in the darkness, however brief.

Before the spindly Ælf were four bodies, three men and one woman, strung up and bound by what appeared to be tree roots. They were all Fælniri humans, and though they looked perfectly healthy and uninjured, their heads hung on their shoulders in a fashion which betrayed their lack of consciousness.

In the proceeding moments, the Ferrier would methodically go from body to body, thrusting the blade between his victims' ribcages at such an angle that it pierced the heart. Each time he'd shift to a new body, he'd pause before them and repeat the first prayer, his blade shifting from that soft green glow for the first two and then to an ethereal greenish blue for the latter two. And every time the sacrifices were stabbed, he'd hold the blade in place and mutter incantations inaudible for several minutes each. In the aftermath of every act, his victim's wounds would glow in a color that matched the dagger prior, creating some small modicum of illumination within the ritual site by the end.

Once all four had been stabbed and whatever ritual he was performing had apparently been set in motion, he'd pause, walk a few feet back, then kneel down and place his dagger beside a chirurgeon's bag he'd left on a stone sometime prior. Velho withdrew a sleeve of metal tools, the nature of which would be difficult to discern from a distance, before returning to the first of the bodies and beginning the process of carving out his victim's heart– now hardened into a coruscant crystal of Saolite.

 

[Charity]

---

The shadows of nightfall oft held many shrouded figures bereft of detail to the common onlooker. This particular night, one of those meager figures moved gracefully over the leaves that painted the forest floor. Where one would normally expect a crunch with each movement, there was none. After having spent so long toying with humans, it seemed there had been a strong pull building in her lately to branch out. It was after this certain feline's latest hunt that she had stumbled upon a unique view on her way back to Rømskog: A gruesome ritual, performed in secret and hidden from most peering eyes.

It was clear in her apprehensive approach that a careful curiosity was what now guided Charity closer and closer to that ritual. Through the misty dark, her slitted azure gaze followed the Ælf as he moved about. The exact nature of what was being done was lost on Charity, as she had little experience with this particular set of magics. Though she had some experience around Alkahest and had witnessed some of its more... peculiar uses, her understanding of Saolite in specific was more limited. Aside from the magics that she held a natural understanding of, Charity had never had much interest in pursuing such things.

Only once the ritual had been properly set in motion did the Rakshasa decide it was time to be a problem. As she examined the area, several different ideas snapped into her mind on how to cause chaos and her eyes flitted about through those invisible scenarios. After several moments of deliberation, she finally decided on a... steadier approach. Without knowing what else the Ælf was capable of, she knew that caution would be somewhat advisable.

Finally making the move to involve herself, Charity shifted her Frequency and traveled through the mist as a spirit. Just before the Ælf could plunge his tools into the man's chest to extract the newly formed crystal, the Rakshasa would show herself. Shedding any sense of stealth, Velho would first spot Charity lying upon the top of the victim's hung head. Sky-blue eyes stared down at him from above as the cat appeared, one of her tiny forepaws folded over the other on the human's forehead. Though she was completely still otherwise, her thin snowy tail flicked excitedly in the air behind her.

"Such a curious sight you pose in these dark woods. Your method of invoking disorder is so... systematic." Her voice was young and light in tone, betraying a song-like quality; the sort of elegance some humans oft spent their entire lives attempting to achieve. Though Common was hardly her preferred language, she always figured it gave her the best bet at being understood and she didn't very much like having to repeat herself.

---

 

[Velho]

<notes>

As a Mystic, Velho was capable of sensing the presence of souls around him. And though this did not confer exact details regarding any given soul without focusing his senses upon them, he could at least track precisely how many lingered within the vicinity. He felt Charity's presence before he saw her, but due to his confidence in his own abilities didn't react much at all until it was that she decided to show herself.

By the time the little Rakshasa made her presence known, Velho had already made his incision just below the sternum. Setting the scalpel down beside him, he had little interest in bothering with cracking the ribs, instead seeking to simply excise the crystalized heart blind by reaching in from the soft tissue below. Lavender eyes, sleepy and half-lidded, shifted to the cat the moment she appeared.

Evidently adept at what he was doing, his hands continued to act with surgical precision– Velho did not stop even though his focus appeared to now be on the mischievous feline.

"Invoking disorder…?" he repeated, a curious look brightening those tired eyes. His Common would be clear enough, albeit laden with a heavy Ælvish accent; evidently it wasn't his preferred tongue, either.

He recognized the spirit as Rakshasa, having had scattered interactions with them throughout his life. Whilst he acknowledged it was always possible that the creature before him might be a shapeshifter of a sort, that option was far less likely and consequently, he dismissed it. Besides, his Divination allowed him to perceive her as an entity teeming with Aether, the raw potential from which such curious Cambions were born.

"Be not mistaken," he continued, beginning to withdraw his hands from his first victim's chest. He'd cut the heart free from the corpse's stalled circulatory system with sharpened talons grown from his Devorare's Vicissitude, as this was more natural to him than a tool when internally navigating a body like this.

"This ritual begets order. Though I profit from it, these cadavers will linger here when I am done as a warning– one serving to keep those beneath me in line," his explanation delivered languidly, yet blunt, as he extracted the Saolite– whose glow struggled to fight through the patina of blood which covered it– with a wet squelch.

His point, too, would be illustrated by the several other corpses strewn about the area in varying states of decay, all restrained one way or another by root, vine or wood.

 

[Charity]

---

The Rakshasa's curious gaze watched the Ælf's practiced hand movements as he continued his work, listening intently to his words and considering. The plethora of other corpses had not escaped her notice upon her approach, though their presence didn't deter Charity.

"Such warnings only serve to instill fear" the feline began, tilting her head curiously at Velho. "Fear makes humans defensive, which makes them cautious and more difficult to catch off guard." It was clear that Charity's logic stemmed from a very different set of experiences in her past and also from a vastly divergent set of goals. With her usual form of chaos being secretive and furtive, making people afraid of her seemed a pointless endeavor.

"Besides..." the feline began again, rolling over atop the human's head onto her back and rubbing the top of her own head against it. With her ears now squished down against the corpse's hair, she idly, playfully pawed towards the Ælf without quite reaching him. "What use has all of this, anyway? If they're all dead, you can't play with them anymore."

Only once in Charity's past had she actually killed any humans and it had been on a massive scale. A realization had hit her back then that doing such things, while incredibly enjoyable, left her with less people to terrorize. Chaos could not be invoked in an area where no one was around to experience it. For now, though, she was not alone. There was someone she could bother and that kept her interested enough to stick around.

---

 

[Velho]

<notes>

Velho was silent, listening to the cat's response as he transitioned from one corpse now unto the next. Though before he got up, the little cat did paw at him– something he didn't directly respond to with much more than an amused expression. But once he'd settled in front of the second body, he began to repeat the same process exactly as before, using a blade to make the initial incision.

"True," he'd start, gaze following the cat to see if she'd hop to the next body, too.

"...but fear is not our only method of control, and displays of power may also beget respect when used in moderation. We do understand there must be balance in all things, however– the Fælnir are manipulated with more subtle arts and even rewarded for their servitude from time to time. Most of their holidays were carefully constructed with all of that in mind," the Ælf said in a voice patient, though somewhat strained towards the end.

He didn't mind just blatantly saying these things, as even if this Rakshasa did begin to whisper to the Fælnir that they were being manipulated, they would never believe her– it would take far more than her alone to undue over ten thousand years of carefully orchestrated manipulation and subjugation, both facets reinforced with a complex web of arcana. Plenty had tried, but all had failed.

The Ferrier would then shift his head to the side, away from his work, take a deep breath and cough, expelling a cloud of bone white Ashes. He'd blink, readjust himself, and then continue: "...the purpose of this, though, is to harvest Alkahest from their souls. Renegade mages, criminals, or even individuals bred for this purpose are used, as they provide the most per body." By now, he was once again forearm deep in the second corpse's chest cavity.

"Rest assured, the Fælnir reproduce quickly like any other form of chattel– we'll never run out of them," and looking to the cat with a mischievous grin, "...and neither will you– you'll always have toys to play with wandering these woods."

 

[Charity]

---

Though she offered a slight frown at the lack of return play to her outstretched arm, she pulled it back just as quickly and righted herself atop the dead human. Her ears flitted and moved at the various sounds of the forest around them while she tracked the Ælf. Indeed, she would stand, stretch, and then hop onto the head of the next corpse as it was moved to, inattentively to the other's words.

"I've used subtle arts of my own to manipulate them. It's quite fun to watch them slowly be driven mad by their own doubts..." Charity began, her gaze moving down to track Velho's hands as he worked. "Even though you say I'll always have my toys, it still seems..." Charity rested herself down atop that second head, bringing one paw up to place her own cheek against, thoughtful. "...wasteful of their potential. Even these Fælnir here each could've been fun to play with. Perhaps..." she trailed off again, a sly smile raising her whiskers to match his grin.

"...I could play with you instead? I've never amused myself with your kind before." With likely no knowledge of the blood on her paws from her past, the question would seem innocent enough to most. There was no immediate or clear advantage that Charity had in this situation, but she knew as well as any who had been victim to her whims that she was quite talented at finding out what truly bothered people.

---

 

[Velho]

<notes>

While some might consider it folly to ever assume the behavior of a Rakshasa, the little white cat did as Velho had assumed she would and jumped onto the body he himself had transitioned to working on. He still kept most of his focus on her, rote as organ extraction had become to him. By the time Charity finished speaking, he'd pulled the blood-coated second Saolite heart out– the equivalent in volume of a sphere of Alkahest.

The Ferrier didn't spend much time mulling over her words, though he took a moment to exhale a breath of Ash before answering. "Perhaps they were amusing, in life. I wouldn't actually know– they were, ah–…a family member's playthings. She, apparently, got bored and passed them off to me to be recycled."

Once again, he pocketed the Saolite and rose to move to the next body. "You could play with me, I suppose," he said with a shrug, though his expression was more curious than uncaring. "Just be aware– I am not the frail old man I appear to be. I have limits and boundaries, but at the same time, I am not without humor." Velho was vague on purpose, but figured this would suffice well enough as a warning.

Charity would notice that this third cadaver was notably different from the first two. It was as if he had killed something that was already long dead, and if she'd encountered the undead before, she might recognize this corpse for what it was– a Draugr, or what once was a walking corpse. Perhaps this is why the glint of the Alkahest heart within was that eerie, greenish blue fog instead of the warm glow of Saol? Nevertheless, he'd make the incision below the sternum as he'd done before, reaching bloodied hands in to push past viscera and organs once more. The 'blood'-- or ichor-- of the Draugr, however, was darker and the scent of decay clung to this cadaver like a wet blanket.

"...oh, and should I call you Charity, or do you prefer a different moniker?" he'd ask, having seen the little tag that hung off her collar.

 

[Charity]

---

Even after the third corpse was moved to, Charity stayed put on the second. Perhaps she deemed it too much energy to keep following along or maybe she just didn't see the point in it. Once the Rakshasa heard her own name, she seemed a tad surprised that he knew it until she remembered her collar and sighed. "Yes... that is the name I've chosen" she confirmed, slumping down atop her perch into a more relaxed position.

"No one has ever seen the humor that I see in my actions. It's always 'Why would you do this?' or 'You're a monster!'" Charity was sure to act out the dramatic quotes in the same way the humans had supposedly said them before returning to her lazing demeanor. Aside from a few notable twitches of her nose as she experienced the repulsive scent of the third cadaver intensify, she showed no sign of consternation at the change. "Either way, the humor of playtime is always for me, not for the subjects of my entertainment."

For the first time since showing herself, her bright blue gaze now left the Ælf and scanned their surroundings once more. Her eyes flitted to and fro around the clearing, many scenarios dancing through her mind as she looked from the chirurgeon's bag to the bodies and again to the resident surgeon. "Should I call you... What was the word in this language? 'The Pathologist'? Or do you have a moniker you would prefer? You don't exactly wear your name around your neck."

---

 

[Velho]

<notes>

Excising the third crystallized heart as he listened to the cat speak, Velho considered her words. He found her charming, as he did most Rakshasa, but he wasn't an idiot. He knew agreeing to play their games was something best avoided, but if one did agree to play along, caution must be exercised.

Still, he chuckled at her reenactment of victims past. "Must it always be that way?" He inquired, words lazy but curious. "Reserving the joys of your playtime only for yourself– the result can often be magnified with an accomplice or two," he'd suggest, though his words sounded more musing than anything else.

By the time she inquired after his name, he had pulled the Miasmite heart free. Covered in undead Ichor, he placed it in the same pouch as the other Alkahest hearts– a small bag easily mistaken as a pocket when nestled against the rest of his robes. Evidently, he didn't care that much about cleaning them off before storing them; in all likelihood, the pouch they were contained in was designed for this purpose.

Nonetheless, his answer to her question would be delivered as he moved to the final body– the second Draugr. "You can call me that." Velho had gone by numerous titles in the past and found that he tended to prefer them over his actual name. "But yes, name tags of any sort are somewhat rare outside of specific jobs, here– why do you advertise your own? To project the facade of being a domestic cat?" He was genuinely curious; the reason why any Rakshasa decided to wear anything at all was fairly unique per cat. Some of them wore absolutely nothing, some of them wore silly hats, elaborate ensembles, so on.

 

[Charity]

---

As the feline listened to The Pathologist explain himself, she seemed to take a moment to commit the name to memory. Standing up on her forepaws from her lazing position, an instinctual need to knead the rough surface she sat on came over her. Pressing down and pulling gently on the hair and scalp below her, she purred as she mulled over the Ælf's words.

"An accomplice? Hmm..." she began, her gaze now more closely looking over the other as he went about his work a bit further away. "I suppose the chaos I could bestow would increase if I wasn't working alone, but few are trustworthy enough to not mess things up. Why do you ask, are you curious about how I operate? Is this an offer?" Her words carried a tone that was a tad more considerate, though it stayed light and the syllables still jumped up and down in her voice.

Next she considered the second part of the Ælf's response. The question of why she advertised her name made her stop her kneading as she thought deeply on the answer, her eyes peering down to her chest, unable to see the collar but feeling that it was there. "It is an innocent name, I think. It makes people comfortable, as does the appearance of a 'domestic cat', as you called it. So many humans fall prey to a curiously strange captivation with my visage." Another moment of consideration passed as she resumed her kneading of the head beneath her, occasionally shaking a paw to get something off of her claws before continuing.

Looking back up to The Pathologist, she finished her cogitation with "Tell me. Do Ælf's similarly fall prey to such charms?"

---

 

[Velho]

<notes>

Moving onto the fourth and final body, he started the process of extracting the second of the murky, more insidious looking Alkahest hearts. "I am curious, yes– and depending on the nuances thereof, that curiosity might become an offer," he'd reply.

The common feline habit of kneading was always a charming sight, even now, here, out in the middle of nowhere in the dark whilst the subject of the cat's kneading was a corpse. Indeed, somehow the macabre reality of even those circumstances did little to shift the disarming nature of such an act. Velho often found himself wondering just how much of a connection there was between cats as animals and Rakshasa as Cambion, similar as many of their behaviors could be.

"Ah…as I had assumed. A cunning enough ruse, I think," the withered Ælf responded with a short breath of laughter.

And to her question, "...I suppose it wouldn't be impossible. We do try to educate our youth to be wary of Cambion, and that does include learning about how to tell the difference between common animals and Rakshasa. Still, not everyone follows what they are taught to the letter." The Ferrier would pause, extracting the final heart now and then exhaling another breath of Ash before continuing. "But what protects us more than mere wariness is that, usually, we are both more than capable of defending ourselves and also tend to never be alone– even if we appear to be. Any who meddle and are deemed harmful to us tend not to last long here." This explanation spoken more as a warning as opposed to a threat.

 

[Charity]

---

"I shiver" said the feline in regards to the warning, sarcasm clear in her voice. After a couple of final kneads on the corpse, Charity finally stood and peered down to the ground. Calculating the distance for a brief moment, she leapt, landing first on her forepaws and then her hinds before padding over closer to the Ælf. Stopping only a foot or so away as she looked up at his final extraction, she continued.

"You know what they say about curiosity" she said, followed by a light giggle. "I care little for your capability in protecting yourself. I am far more interested in your using those strengths to further chaos. If I wanted to cause you trouble, I would've bothered a human rather than you. Their reactions are much more fun to watch and they are much less... problematic." The Rakshasa's gaze turned from watching the extraction to looking up directly to The Pathologist.

"Let us satiate that curiosity" she added, an unnerving smile clear on her otherwise cute features. "So, Pathologist. I will keep you company for a time, and in return we shall bring about disorder." It wasn't an offer so much as a statement. When Charity set her mind on something, as perhaps was in her nature as a Rakshasa, she wouldn't easily give it up.

---

 

[Velho]

<notes>

The Æld'Norai were oft considered both defensive and largely reactive as a people– realistically, this meant that Charity had little to worry about provided she didn't provoke anyone actually important. Still, Velho thought it fair enough to convey the warning; many who wandered within these woods did so under a veil of ignorance thick enough that they got themselves killed, and he wasn't sure how much time she'd spent here.

The Ferrier– or perhaps Charity's sobriquet, Pathologist– did not appear to be bothered by the approaching Rakshasa; he did have the slight desire to pet her, cute as she was, though he had enough self control to decide against that. Rakshasa could be…unpredictable, unlike regular cats. He exhaled a breath of a laugh to her comment about curiosity, and he'd nod about the reactions of Fælnir. "The Fælnir can be exceptionally histrionic at points, indeed," his response given musingly.

"Have you a preference regarding what flavor of chaos? Though I am curious simply about how you operate– I was going to ask to play the part of observer to your antics at first, though perhaps adding my own input as I saw fit," these words given as his languid movements shifted to collecting his tools, putting them away, and gathering his bag.

 

[Vicissitude]

꧁══════════•༺༉ { Reviewed/Canonized } ༉༻•══════════꧂​

❀ Rewards ❀

Velho

+24 XP (2372 wc)
+2 Spheres of Saolite (Sundered)
+2 Spheres of Miasmite (Sundered)
+1 Crystal, 2 Shards of Aetherite (Purchased at market)

Charity

+17 XP (1727)

❀ Comments ❀

I am ending this here so that we may start anew when your life quiets down a bit, but this thread was really lovely to write! Charity is such a charming little character and the way you write her is a delight to read.

꧁══════════•༺༉ ❁ ❀ ❁ ༉༻•══════════꧂​