DISCLAIMER: This morbid tale that tells of the death of Mamun, Desert Sage of the Tanari, holds poignant elements of death, despair and domination. You have been warned. Note that it is also almost entirely a transcript, word for word, from IC RP! Thus, it will flow pretty much as a RP would, rather than actual narrative.
Craer has his hands clasped behind his back, his breathing rhythmic and his posture regal, waiting patiently before tossing a glance lazily in Mamun's direction at his approach.
Mamun forces himself up the hilly terrain, leaning heavily on his staff. He peers up at the lord and his prisoner with hard eyes devoid of surprise.
Craer trains his gaze upon Mamun, his own eyes seething wells of chilling fury. He parts his lips, and greetings Mamun in a soft voice, "You came far."
Bekkari whispers, "<Mamun...>" She shakes her head gently.
Mamun throws back his hood with a cold smile aimed up at Craer. "Worry not. I have travelled further, in my time."
Craer rolls his shoulders, a visible aura of energy crackling around the gems embedded upon the shoulder-plates. "Your efforts at augury is amusing, even laudable." His tone remains impassive.
Mamun 's own crystalline cloak-brooch appears to pulse with the same cyan light that radiates from his staff. He maintains his hollow smile all the while, voice equally empty. "To divine was never my calling, I confess." A pause, and he flicks the ornament of his staff absently in Bekkari's direction. Up until this point, he hasn't spared her a glance. "I would wager that the device clamped around my apprentice's neck thwarted my meager attempts all the more."
Craer muses idly in his sibilant voice, an inexplicable series of chthonic scripts running down the length of his gloves; "Maybe. Maybe not. You speak Common rather better than most of your kind." His gaze remains unwaveringly pinioned upon Mamun, naught but his eyes betraying the slightest trace of emotions. His posture remains immaculately straight, hands clasped behind his back, his broad shoulders slightly pulled back.
Mamun meanwhile looks to be struggling to stand, his shoulders limp, his knees bent, his chin dipped. Nonetheless, he speaks with even confidence. "It is no great feat on my part. Many a year I have spent amongst you Easterners." He takes a sudden, decisive step forwards, his sagging posture straightening in a sharp instant. His falsehood of a smile vanishes.
Bekkari 's arms tug against her bindings with a frustrated sigh.
Craer maintains his outward facade of imperious confidence, motionless to Mamun's abrupt motion, though he arches an eyebrow with an almost exaggerated slowness. Emanating an aura of patience, he merely continues in his casual tonality; "As to that I quite agree, for it is hardly a great feat, true."
"You are bold to call a woman your property in a 'civilised' land. Bold indeed."
Craer smirks faintly, his reply softly yet laced with an undercurrent of amusement, "Many are properties to me; those living on my lands, for one, those who owes me debts, for two. I see not your care."
"My apprentice does not live in your lands, and she owes you no debt. You would do well to release her from your . . . custody."
"The price of her freedom was four gold coins. You are welcome to repay me the debt on her behalf. Failing which, you are welcomed to leave my lands."
Bekkari narrows her eyes at Craer, still working on loosing her wrists from the bindings.
"A life cannot be measured in gold, Easterner. For all the claims of enlightenment your kind is so prone to make, that is one thing you have yet to learn." Mamun sighs wearily as he further approaches, aiming a sidelong glance at the surface of the lake beside them.
Craer raises and drops his shoulders without a touch of concern, though he utters curtly in an imperious tone, "Bekkari, ten steps to your left, sit down and don't move." His gaze remains locked upon Mamun. "The price of her freedom, I am afraid, is gold."
Mamun eyes Craer up and down. "Remain where you are, Bekkari."
Bekkari glares at Craer for a moment before she suddenly is tugged left. She reaches up to grab the collar, tugging it as she falls roughly to her knees. Her eyes are wide as she shakes her head at Mamun, "<I did not do this.>"
Mamun curls his lip abruptly, exposing a mouthful of snarling teeth. "There is nothing in your laws that pertain to the ownership of -men and women- like cattle, Easterner. And you offer her no means of repaying her debt to you, so far as I can see."
Craer arches an eyebrow, his expression unchanging, "But I -did- offer you." The subtlest of smirk creeps into his visage.
"You mean to sell her to me, -child-?"
Craer narrows his eyes marginally, as a flash of anger touches the wells of his eyes, churning and roiling anger spilling out briefly at the word. Coldly, he says, "Your people practices a subtly different form of the arcane, perhaps it might match up to mine."
Mamun tightens his grip around his staff. A shimmering wave creeps up and down the length of his robes, highlighting the intricate spellthread patterns worked into the fabric in dim, distorting light.
"Perhaps so."
"[Tanari] Be careful of him, Mamun."
"[Tanari] I am careful of all things, my student."
Craer offers a sardonic smile, splaying his fingers and clenching them again, as he murmurs sardonically; "<Yes. Do be careful, Mamun.>"
Mamun 's face twists with rage, his voice dropping to a growling whisper. Arcane power continues to play across his robes, affording his words preternatural resonance;
Bekkari 's eyes widen as he speaks in Tanari. She lowers her gaze shamefully.
"[Tanari] . . . my name is Mamun ul-Khatif Radhabba, Walker of the Winds, Keeper of the Sky's Flame, Sage of the Shifting Sands. I am the sworn protector of the desert and all its sons and daughters. I am the greatest Fire Bringer ever borne from the sands of Tanaris, and more besides. You would seek to challenge -me-, -child-? . . . how much of that did you understand?"
Craer rolls his shoulders, and contrapuntal Mamun's rage, his own previous fury fades into a chilling look. His wintery gaze meets that of Mamun's, as arcane energy crackles and permeates the air around him. Softly, he replies in his rich baritone, "And I am Craer Naharev, a pleasure to meet you."
"Then we are finally acquainted. Well met, Craer Naharev."
Craer inclines his head slightly in agreement with Mamun's words, before snapping out a curt syllabus. One of the arcane crystals on his shoulder-plates burst apart in a mazarine powder, as crackling arcane energy hurtles outwards in an arc towards Mamun.
Mamun calmly allows himself to pivot backwards with a sideways flourish of his staff and subsequently falls into nothing. The blast of thunderous power blows a crackling crater in the hillside behind where the sage once stood. He swiftly draws a pattern in the air with the pulsing ornament of his staff, marking its shape with a trail of incandescent orange. Then, he shatters it, and the air ignites into a searing spear heading for Craer's back.
Craer pivots on the spot, waving his left hand in front of him in a sweeping arc, as an iridescent shield erupts from the palm of his hand to meet with the searing spear, enveloping both in a destructive ball of energy that dissipates into nothingness. He whips out a revolver from his belt in a practiced motion, tilts its end upon Mamun and clicks it, unleashing a churning, roiling blast of arcane that hurtles towards the desert sage.
Mamun appraises the lord's spellwork calmly for the briefest of moments, his eyes snapping wide in alarm as the gun is drawn thereafter. He slams the base of his staff down into the mud before him with a hissed cant, a shimmering shield materializing from nothing before him and absorbing the incoming blast with a spray of rainbow sparks. It dissipates shortly thereafter, and Mamun is left . . . gently steaming, in spite of it all.
Bekkari exhales heavily in relief as she looks over Mamun.
Mamun thrusts his staff forward sharply like a younger man's spear into a basilisk's flank, and from the pulsing tip explodes a blanket of fire that sweeps forth, seeking to envelope Craer.
Craer steps forward as he hurriedly utters a string of incantations, encapsulating himself in a ward of arcane energy that bows and eventually dissipates under the onslaught, though it was sufficiently negated till Craer's inherent wards only left him discomforted with parts of his cloak scorched. Under the veil of flames and hidden from view, he flicks the bullet chassis of the revolver with a scowl and fires it again; this time, nothing ostensible happens, beyond a nigh invisible spear of force.
Mamun throws his left hand aside and whispers words of power, compelling what seems to be the air to rush forward to meet this unseen projectile. It meets it, certainly, but matches it? No. The bolt of force continues, weakened but unrelenting, and Mamun can only step lamely aside at the last moment. It crunches into his shoulder, and he hisses air through gritted teeth in pain. Nonetheless, he soon regains his composure well enough to throw forth a counterattack in the form of a stream of fire that shoots forth from his staff like a lashing whip for Craer's face.
Craer hisses out in a chilling fury as he the fiery whip comes spinning towards him, causing him to hastily spit out an incantation to transpose himself across space; a little late, however, as the whip connects for a brief iota of a second against the side of his arm. Spinning around, he channels the anger and pain from the injury to an almost maniacal shriek of an incantation, discharging from his open palm a storm of arcane missiles that hurtle and spins in concentric circles towards Mamun. His revolver, meanwhile, was disintegrated by his own attack and its very arcane substance torn along to augment the strike.
Mamun 's whip breaks apart into swiftly dispersing trails of smoke and steam after that momentary impact, and he's momentarily baffled by Craer's displacement. When he hears that bellowed cant, however, he simply stops, drops and rolls down the hill in -- evasion - but he is an old man, and the hill isn't so steep an incline, so not only does he fail to avoid the full wrath of the missiles, he probably pulls a muscle in the process. Silly sage. He stops himself with effort and stabs his staff back up--
Bekkari goes to run to Mamun but, with a despairing cry, is held fast by the damn collar magic.
-- at Craer with groaning effort, hissing a spell under his breath that compels that pulsing ornament atop the stick to shatter, the energies therein coalescing into a shrieking blast of lightning.
Craer widens his eyes as a shrill bolt of lightning comes thundering towards him, and he fails miserably to react faster than light, as he was struck in the mid-motion of retrieving a rather grotesque massive object from a pouch by his belt. The lightning courses through him but was grounded by a plethora of trinkets meant to dim its effect, and Craer finds himself relatively unscathed for a potentially lethal strike, yet shaken and trembling uncontrollably. In the next moment, he violently tugs out a goblin rocket launcher, tilts it upwards towards Mamun, and fires. Red with a grinning mouth plastered at its end, a rocket hurtles in a drone towards Mamun, a drone accompanied by Craer's maniacal cackling.
Bekkari covers her mouth with her hands as she strains to see Mamun.
Mamun holds his staff horizontally with his hands two feet apart on his twisted warpwood haft, murmuring in anticipation as he watches Craer procure his weapon. As the rocket is launched, his cant reaches a roared crescendo, and he throws his arms forward, permitting his staff to fly from his grip to meet it. The two remaining crystals - and the length of wood between them - burst and splinter into nothing in a corona of light, and the rocket's package detonates midway to its target, showering either magi in shrapnel and fire. His muddy robes smouldering but shimmering no less brightly for it, Mamun struggles to his feet and hisses words, drawing the residual energies of his staff into a closed fist and throwing it out in another lightning bolt.
Craer beheld the actions of his opponent with the wary anticipation of a predator, and reacts instinctively, obviously prepared for another repeat of the attack. He tosses the discharged rocket launcher forward, and then slams into it a tremendous blast of force to send it streaking towards Mamun, catching the lightning bolt in its path and letting said bolt crackle down its metallic spine, as the now defunct and destroyed missile continues its trajectory.
Mamun sweeps a hand aside and buries it into his cloak, pulling forth a feather that vanishes just as quickly as it appeared in a shower of sparks. His free hand is flung down at the ground, and with it goes a forceful burst of fire as he steps forward. He is veritably flung into the air in a soaring arc, his reduced weight carried far upwards and forwards by the explosive force of his spell. The crackling wreckage of the rocket launcher acquaints itself with Mirror Lake. Floating higher and higher, further and further, Mamun aims a second blast of fire down at the ground - this time the ground on which Craer starts, rather than he.
Craer lapses into a series of incantation, his words tinged with a touch of maniacal delight as he kicks his feet against the ground, kicking himself off the ground in a jump that abruptly becomes slowed in motion. A cushion of arcane energy erupts beneath his feet, lowering him gradually and deflecting away the fan of flames that licked at and devastated the ground that he stood upon. At the same time, he flings his hands in Mamun's direction, and simply attempts to counterspell Mamun's spell of flight and levitation. Without waiting to see if it worked and if gravity gives Mamun a piece of its mind, Craer moves his hands...
Mamun seems to have anticipated as much, his eyes closing in mid-air as his lips move to form fluid, silent works. His brow suddenly knits in fierce concentration as he sharply starts to drop, lines of light in every conceivable colour appear in the air around him, flowing into his body and filling him with crackling power. His muttered words sharply ascend into a resounding shout, and he steals the dregs of Craer's own levitation spell to cushion his landing. Unfortunately, he still lands roughly with a thud in the dirt (and an arthritic click in his knees) - not cushioned quite enough, it seems - but wheels around nonetheless, turning Ley power into firepower as he flings forth another bolt of burning might . . .
Craer seems rather startled for a moment at Mamun's descent, though he recovers himself quickly during the time for Mamun to reach him, though he still lands unceremoniously on the ground as his own spell was stolen. Dropping to a slight crouch, he wheels around to find Mamun himself spinning around, and as Mamun discharges his bolt of fiery destruction, Craer breaks one of the rings upon his finger. Erupting from it is a thunderous roar and a crackling arc of energy that smashes towards the bolt of flames, though parts of it licks against Craer to singe at his clothings. Yet this weakened veil of flame served to mask Craer's nefarious spell, as it triggers immediately thereafter...
Craer bursts forth from the mixture of arcane and fiery veil, a lumbering, charging ogre with its meaty expression contorted in utter and unconcealed rage.
Mamun regards his now-beefy opponent with a potent mixture of shock, disgust and fear. Still wreathed in lingering ley-lights, he directs them down with a stomp of his foot and into a concentric blast wave of fire outwards from his person, hopefully to meet the charge.
Craer bellows a thunderous laughter as he charges straight through the wave of flames, parts of it seemingly deflected by a film of arcane, but a good part of it soaked and burning patches of Craer's exposed skin. Arrogance and undiluted rage smothers the pain caused by the shower of pain, and Craer merely slams directly into Mamun with his heavy bulk, swinging his arm back wildly to throw a punch towards his tenacious opponent's chest.
Mamun lets out a strangled cry of pain as ogre collides with magus, but barely makes a sound as its punishing haymaker connects with his sternum. Verbally, that is. His bones give a sickening . . .
. . . Krunch.
Mamun is meanwhile sent sailing backwards and comes to a skidding halt, panting and wheezing and moaning and groaning. A skidding halt on his -face-, one feels inclined to note.
Bekkari screams, a pained sound as if she were the one who was hit instead. She clutches the grass in front of her, nearly crying in her desperation to go to Mamun. One hand flies to her collar and yanks at it.
Craer stomps inexorably, continuing his charge without a care, his eyes gleaming with a predatorial delight and sadism, hurling himself from the ground to slam bodily down upon Mamun's lower-body.
Mamun, winded and speechless he might be, draws a somatic pattern in the air with a weakly swiping hand and then slaps the relevant palm into the mud beside him. The body slam is met with an arcane explosion, but even that's hardly enough to counter the ogre's immense weight.
Craer couldn't stop even if he wants to, his free-fall slam buoyed by his weight. As he screams out in a mixture of pain and delight, his ogre form smashes down upon Mamun's lower-body, and at that same time, his ogre form ends. A wide, grotesque grin plastered on his face, even as pain wages war with satisfaction, he pushes himself off his counterpart and staggers backwards. "Go to him, Bekkari, my good girl, go to him!" His usual baritone was laced with an almost perverse and crazed tonality of paternal approval, as the bindings around Bekkari winks from existence, "Go to your fool!"
Bekkari scrambles against the grass, her fingers digging into the dirty as she makes a mad dash for Mamun. She falls roughly against the ground as she rips her gloves off and goes to place her hands gently against Mamun's face.
Craer smiles pleasantly, his expression approving as he nods. In his sibilant and sly voice, he commands lovingly, like a father to his daughter, imperious and gentle; "Good girl, my good little Bekkari. Now, kill him." His last word was said with almost a faint tone of nonchalance, rolling his shoulders and twirling a revolver in his fingers.
Mamun 's breath comes in struggling heaves, his left hand slapping the dirt repeatedly in limp, useless protest. The old man looks up at Bekkari, eyes awash with pain and regret both.
"[Tanari] Run, child. Run! I will . . . see to him . . ."
Bekkari is running her hand gently over Mamun's hair, whispering repeatedly, "<I am so sorry.>" At Craer's words she looks up in shock, shaking her head vigorously, "NO! No. No. NO."
Craer leans slightly forward, and hisses out in an arctic tone, "Do it, my good girl, kill him." He points a finger regally at Mamun, "Do it for yourself, free yourself of your binds, free yourself of your foolish loyalties to the past..."
"...and embrace a new future."
Mamun 's defiance dissolves into dry, wheezing coughs, and he curls up in pain, hugging his chest. Particles and pulses of dimmest light start to streak into his body once more from the air, however, as the gems on his cloak shatter one by one.
Craer spits out a curt incantation abruptly, tossing a counterspell to Mamun's machination, the look on his face one of grasping triumph, a fervent denial of Mamun any escape. Chains of arcane whips into existance, in an attempt to bind his counterpart.
Bekkari hisses at Craer as she gently rests Mamun's head on her lap, "I refuse."
"[Tanari] Stop! Stop hurting him!"
Craer narrows his gaze, pinioning his eyes upon Bekkari as he intones deliberately, sharply, "Kill. Him....-Strike-!"
Mamun 's attempts to replenish his magical might are cut short as the colourful light around him shatters like a pane of stained glass, fading into nothing. "<I . . . am ssss-ssorry, my child,>" comes a desperate croak.
Mamun puts up no struggle against the ropes of violet power now binding him. Nor does he direct any towards the apprentice that might yet be compelled to kill him.
Bekkari cries out as her right hand slowly goes to grab the dagger and raise it above her head. It pauses, and it seems she is struggling very hard against the magic, crying with desperation. "NO! NO, please!"
Craer steps forward, his visage contorting in nothing more than a look of pure, undiluted malice with a crazed, maniacal light brimming in the wells of his eyes. "DO IT! KILL HIM! FOR YOURSELF, AND FOR ME!" It was almost a shout in his resonant baritone.
Bekkari brings the dagger down in a savage arc, but she shoves it with the other arm and it sinks into the earth beside Mamun's head. She gasps for air at the effort.
Mamun 's breathing is slow, now - calm, even, or as calm as a man in his state of injury can be. His closed eyes snap open at the impact beside him, and then they drift up to meet Bekkari's. In spite of it all, he smiles a bloody-mouthed smile.
Bekkari lowers her veil and leans down to kiss Mamun's forehead lightly. She whispers more apologies against his skin before looking up at Craer with a pleading expression.
Craer spits out an incantation, pinning the other arm with another tendril of arcane, as his anger positively -reeks- from his posture. Lowering his voice, he hisses out in an almost nauseating tone laced with sucrose sweetness, "Do it, Bekkari, now."
"I -will- you to. I -command- you to. And you will do it, or you will be made to do it!"
"[Tanari] Please! Please do not make me do this!"
Craer merely overwhelms her protest with another repeat of his chilling command.
Bekkari 's fingers wrap around the dagger and yanks it from the ground.
"[Tanari] Please, anything but this. Anything but Mamun."
"Yes...Yes, do it, my dear, do it, it is your destiny! It is your purpose! Obey me, and forsake your past!"
Bekkari screams as the dagger presses into Mamun's shoulder. Not a fatal wound, but it may as well have been for the distress it is causing Bekkari.
Craer allows a wicked grin to creep into his face as he hisses out an encouragement; "Yes, yes...it is sharp, yes? Pull it up towards his heart, slowly..." He claps his hand in delight as he comments;
Mamun suddenly rears up, his bindings be damned, and struggles against them for a time. Those same glinting ley-lights can be glimpsed beneath the tears in his robes and-- he screams.
"You sure do like drawing out his pain! I am pleased, I approve, I am glad!"
Craer takes another step forward, arcane energy still crackling around him, as he looms over the duo, his silhouette briefly stark against a blanket of white as lightning sliced the night behind him.
Bekkari furrows her brow with concentration as she rips the dagger from Mamun. With every last bit of her will she throws the dagger towards the lake.
Craer blinks his eyelids, his smile wiped immediately from his face. His expression contorts in undiluted fury for a moment, before it fades into a pleasant mask again. "Ah, I understand, you are still not used to this, you just need some guidance, I understand, of course, my dear Bekkari." He punctuates his words with a wave his hand, as the same arcane tendrils binding Mamun are expounded and proceeds to attempt to curl around Bekkari's wrists and limbs as well.
Mamun struggles in mud and blood, his breath now coming in sharp, pained gasps. He stares bale up at Craer nonetheless, his face setting rigid full of steely venom.
Bekkari screams angrily as the tendrils begin to wrap around her and she thrashes her arms to prevent their secure locking but eventually the magic wins out.
"Let him go. Let him live. Please!"
"Try as you might, Craer Naharev, you will -not- break this child. She is no slave."
Craer takes a step forward and kneels down beside Bekkari, patting her gently on the crown of her head first. He takes Bekkari's hand tenderly in his, before pressing the revolver he had been holding into her hands, but keeping it steady and pointed at Mamun, supported by both his arcane chains and hands.
"Break her? No, no, my friend, I have no intentions of -breaking- her! She will be freed, and embrace a new future, becoming something more!"
Bekkari keeps her fingers securely from the trigger. She suddenly jerks her head to the side to bite at Craer's cheek -- not unlike a desert snake.
Craer winces at the bite, and merely reciprocates by constricting the collar with a softly muttered; "Bad girl, but it's okay, I understand." Thereafter, he takes advantage of her plight to guide her finger to the trigger, hold it steadily there, and turning revolver to aim at Mamun's kneecap.
Bekkari releases a choked cry of outrage as the collar constricts around her throat.
Mamun meanwhile seizes his opportunity to cease to exist for a fleeting instant, reentering reality some twenty yards away - still face-down in the mud, but free of bonds.
Bekkari 's finger unwillingly presses the trigger and hits... THE NOTHINGNESS WHERE MAMUN ONCE WAS!
Craer spits out an incantation suddenly, whipping Bekkari's arm up towards Mamun in that exact instance Craer unleashes, along with the incantation, whether the revolver goes off successfully or not, a tremendous blast of arcane energy towards Mamun.
Bekkari fights against Craer's hold, gasping for breath against the tightened collar.
Mamun is struggling his futile way to his feet as the blast is sent hurtling towards him, and can only drop limply to the other side in evasion. It catches his legs - the ones he was standing on again a moment ago - and knocks him aside nonetheless. Crunch.
Craer snarls out angrily as he violently pulls Bekkari to her feet, still binding her and holding her arm in his, forcefully jerking her arm to point at Mamun with the revolver. He presses painfully down on Bekkari's finger in a series of quick succession, firing one, then another, then another shot in Mamun's direction while a cackle bursts forth from the depth of his throat.
Mamun manages to establish a shimmering barrier between he and the source of his present woes in the intervening period, but it doesn't hold up nearly long enough. How many shots does that thing have?
Six.
Son. Of a b***h.
Bekkari struggles against the arcane tendrils and Craer's hands and goes to drop the gun with a strangled cry. Her quivering form a deadly combination of shock, fear, sadness and anger! as she looks to Mamun in disbelief.
Craer keeps his hands wrapped around hers and the revolver, preventing it from loosening in grip, as he roughly jerks Bekkari forward as he strides towards Mamun. Click. Click. Click. Another three thunderous clap and violent recoils send three more bullets.
Bekkari stumbles beside Craer as he drags her, a constant stream of pleas for Mamun's life --in both Tanari and broken Common-- escape her.
Mamun is shocked and blasted and flung back into the tree, his body smoking and bloody once more. He slumps against it, air struggling down his windpipe in hollow wheezes. He mutters stray bit of gibberish between his choking gasps, lifting up a limp hand.
Craer takes another step forward, another brutal laughter erupting from his throat, as he exclaims in a genuine tone of approval, "Well done, Bekkari, well done! It's not that hard!" He strides further forward, reloading the revolver with a practiced ease.
Bekkari, discovering extracting her hands are useless, goes to kick Craer savagely in the leg. "Leave him! Leave him!"
Mamun eventually manages to string together an incantation, drawing his trembling hand into a fiery fist. He punches it forwards and nothing particularly interesting happens. Anticlimax. Yet even thus, he doesn't stop muttering as best as he can amidst bloody coughs and his desperate battle to breathe.
Craer takes the kick in the leg from the flailing woman, dismissing it entirely as it smacks against his warded robes, the perpetual smile still plastered on his visage. Reload complete. He continues to walk towards, keeping Bekkari's finger on the trigger, as he begins to command in a sing-song, whimsical voice, "Press the trigger, press the trigger, and press the trigger!"
Craer slyly shifts his grip to make sure that any struggling on Bekkari's part would probably press the trigger anyway. His smile remains unfaltering.
Mamun allows his eyes to flutter shut and his chin to dip, his white hair matted over his face with mud and blood, but the words fight their way out of his throat nonetheless.
Bekkari is quite useless at not pulling the trigger! She tries to misdirect the aim of the gun. The bark beside Mamun's drooping head explodes into a shower of splinters.
Craer takes another step forward, firmly and unyieldingly guiding the revolver in Bekkari's hand to point at Mamun's chest, as he murmurs the final condemnation, his sibilant voice a loving hiss; "Press it."
Bekkari resists the urge to close her eyes as she keeps them trained on Mamun's face. Unwilling, but unable to stop it, her finger presses down on the trigger.
A thunderous crack rends the air, followed but an instant later by the sound of six ribs and a sternum shattering in synchrony.
Bekkari begins to shake, nigh uncontrollably.
The flame on Mamun's outstretched hand sputters out into weak embers clinging to his fist. His arm slowly drops. He lifts his head, eyes forcing themselves open for a minute, wild and bulging. He stares at Bekkari, his mouth falling open, but only a strange, strangled whistling noise escapes as he tries to draw in breath.
Craer hisses out another of his dark commands, his eyes glimmering with a maniacal light, as his lips contort into a cruel grin of sadistic malice. "Presss it, again! Kill him, for me, for yourself, embrace your new future. DO IT!" The string of gibberish was almost rambled out in a rolling, undulating baritone the stretched order.
Bekkari hisses, "<He is a breath from being dead.>" She fights against his grip, "Let me go! Let me go to him!"
Craer shrieks out, displeasure at her disobedience saturating his words; "DO IT! NOW!"
Mamun 's head drops back against the smouldering bark behind him with a hollow thud. His eyes roll up to the clearing afternoon sky and remain there, staring all glassy and empty up at the clouds.
Bekkari fires the gun again, into the tree trunk, as she glares at Craer. "He is dying. Let me go to him now."
Mamun 's broken jaw crooks itself lopsided, one corner of his mouth twitching up into a fragmentary smile, of all things. His gaze doesn't leave the sky above.
Craer releases the gun, and with benediction, plucks it from her grasp. He stares at the dead desert sage for a moment, and shrugs, "Leave it, the wolves will get him. You killed him, anyway, and I think you do enjoy it. It is time to go." Violently, still with her bound, he attempts to tear her away from Mamun, almost dragging her away.
Bekkari screams, desperately fighting against him and the bindings, as she tries to reach for Mamun. "-NO-! Stop! STOP!"
Craer does indeed stop! He ponders for a moment, and nods cheerfully, "You are right! Thank you, Bekkari! Why the heck would I leave him for dead?" Chuckling to himself, he plucks a wooden box from his pockets and tosses it at Mamun casually. "Feed, my pet, feed! Feed and grow, yes!" From within the ornate, wooden box, a mechanical scarab bursts forth and drives towards Mamun. Its claws seek to plow into the corpse...
Mamun 's struggle for breath has finally ceased. The sage of the desert dies in a soggy, temperate forest, staring skywards and smiling.
Bekkari 's knees buckle under her and she falls to the ground as she lifts a hand to her mouth, barely able to comprehend the imminent desecration.
...unopposed, the mechanical scarab buries into its prey, and begins to tear an inexorable path through flesh and blood, scything its way through like hot knife cutting butter.
Craer pats Bekkari gently on the head, murmuring softly in his rich baritone, his voice pleasant and his expression affable, "Well done, my good girl, my dear Bekkari. Thank you for being a good girl, I am truly and genuinely pleased today."
One of the remaining spellthread patterns in Mamun's torn and tattered robes begins to glimmer with the dullest of lights.
Bekkari is fervently whispering Tanari 'Rites of the Dead'. She recoils from his touch and glares at him, hissing, "<I do nothing for your pleasure.>"
Craer peers at the faint light, shrugs and blows it up with an uttered incantation anyway. Scarab continues to gobble.
Dead the magus might be, lines of light in all kinds of . . . Wait, no, nevermind.
Craer frowns disapprovingly at Bekkari, strengthening the bindings on her and casually reaching over to try to tear her hood away from her in a rather violent motion.
Bekkari doesn't even have to protest! Her -beautiful Tanari hair- tumbles down her shoulders in its glorious waves! She growls and tries to grab the hood from him.
Craer tosses it towards Mamun, holding her down with the bindings as he says in an arctic tone, "Your past dies with you today, girl. It is time to get out of this quagmire of pathetic folly and embrace the light of a new future. You have already taken the first step in pressing the trigger; I will guide you the rest of the way, do not worry." Craer smiles approvingly in Bekkari's direction, his tone becoming almost paternally warm near the end of his speech.
Doggedly insistent, that pattern of thread struggles to glow once more as the man wearing it is thoroughly devoured. Yet Craer ignores the pattern this time, waving dismissively at it, almost in a gesture of so long, and thanks for all the fish.
Bekkari says slowly, "<If you were to die a thousand deaths, it would not be enough.>"
Lines of light in all colours begin to ebb and flow around Mamun's half-eaten person, slowly weaving into a coccoon around him from head to toe.
Craer leans towards Bekkari, pressing his lips against the crown of her head, coo-ing tenderly; "But I only need to live -once-, and all is enough, for I shall never die." He punctuates his words with a sonorous laughter, emanating from deep down his throat.
Bekkari shudders from revulsion as his lips touch her hair. She struggles to her feet and takes a step away from him, closer to Mamun.
Craer grabs her roughly, pulling her back towards himself as he wraps her arms forcefully around her, pulling her into his embrace.
That pulsing, shimmering coccoon begins to constrict snugly around Mamun, brightening all the while while the man underneath seems to darken.
"He's -gone-, you shot him, my dear girl. Well done."
Bekkari shakes in anger and despair, "[Low] <You did this, You did this. You did this.>"
The coccoon silently fades away into nothing, taking its fallen occupant with it. A scattering of shining particles are carried off on the wind like dust. The corpse, and the mechanical scarab, are gone.
Craer glances at the cocoon, and breathes out softly, his words curled and tasted upon the tip of his tongue; "...enjoy your gift, my friends. Enjoy."
"[Low] Let go of me."
Craer smirks faintly as he runs a hand down the length of her hair, snaking out a metallic vial from the depth of his pocket and uncorking it deftly; his hand around her hair tightens abruptly, as he roughly pulls her head back.
Craer commands softly in a tone saturated with cold malice; "Open your mouth."
Bekkari shudders as he touches her hair, glaring at him before she gasps as her head is yanked back. "[Tanari] No!"
Craer lifts the uncorked vial, twirls it about and shoves the black liquid hued with red down her throat.
Bekkari 's eyes widen angrily as she shoves her hands back against his chest, trying to spit the OMINOUS! liquid upon the ground.
Craer drops the vial and clamps his hand over her mouth, waiting patiently as he forces her to swallow the vile contents. It seems absolutely saturated with sucrose, sweet on the tongue.
Bekkari grabs desperately at his hand, trying to pry it away. Despite her best intentions, she swallows the ridiculously sweet contents. Should Craer let go of her, she would stumble and fall to the ground, hugging her arms to herself as she gasps.
Craer releases her, taking a step back as he rolls his shoulders, humming a merry tone under his breath.
Bekkari presses her hands to her face, covering her mouth. It seems she does not know whether to laugh or scream, so she does her best to do neither...sometimes succeeding, sometimes not.
Craer smiles pleasantly, stepping forward while Bekkari enjoys the drug-induced bliss to pat her one more time on the head, before turning towards where Mamun was. He eyes the puddle of blood.
"[Tanari] May you find water." He then breaks into an uproarious and hearty chuckle.
Bekkari gasps and runs her hands through her hair. This motion stops her in her blissed-state and she seems in a panic. "[Tanari] No... nonono..."
Craer takes a step backwards, examining his handiwork, his gaze flickering between the spot where Mamun had died to Bekkari, as he stifles his chuckling and says in a cold, wintery voice, his tone laced with a dark finality; "And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover; to entertain these fair well-spoken days, I am determined to prove a villain; and stay the idle pleasures at bay." He steps forward, punctuating his words by pressing his hand down upon Bekkari's head, as a spell of teleportation begins to whisk the duo from this Light-forsaken place...
Mamun 's living, breathing presence here but an hour ago is denoted by nothing more than puddles of blood and the shattered residue of mana gems.
In quiet contemplation, Bekkari mourns the death of Mamun.
The Passing of A Sage
Craer has his hands clasped behind his back, his breathing rhythmic and his posture regal, waiting patiently before tossing a glance lazily in Mamun's direction at his approach.
Mamun forces himself up the hilly terrain, leaning heavily on his staff. He peers up at the lord and his prisoner with hard eyes devoid of surprise.
Craer trains his gaze upon Mamun, his own eyes seething wells of chilling fury. He parts his lips, and greetings Mamun in a soft voice, "You came far."
Bekkari whispers, "<Mamun...>" She shakes her head gently.
Mamun throws back his hood with a cold smile aimed up at Craer. "Worry not. I have travelled further, in my time."
Craer rolls his shoulders, a visible aura of energy crackling around the gems embedded upon the shoulder-plates. "Your efforts at augury is amusing, even laudable." His tone remains impassive.
Mamun 's own crystalline cloak-brooch appears to pulse with the same cyan light that radiates from his staff. He maintains his hollow smile all the while, voice equally empty. "To divine was never my calling, I confess." A pause, and he flicks the ornament of his staff absently in Bekkari's direction. Up until this point, he hasn't spared her a glance. "I would wager that the device clamped around my apprentice's neck thwarted my meager attempts all the more."
Craer muses idly in his sibilant voice, an inexplicable series of chthonic scripts running down the length of his gloves; "Maybe. Maybe not. You speak Common rather better than most of your kind." His gaze remains unwaveringly pinioned upon Mamun, naught but his eyes betraying the slightest trace of emotions. His posture remains immaculately straight, hands clasped behind his back, his broad shoulders slightly pulled back.
Mamun meanwhile looks to be struggling to stand, his shoulders limp, his knees bent, his chin dipped. Nonetheless, he speaks with even confidence. "It is no great feat on my part. Many a year I have spent amongst you Easterners." He takes a sudden, decisive step forwards, his sagging posture straightening in a sharp instant. His falsehood of a smile vanishes.
Bekkari 's arms tug against her bindings with a frustrated sigh.
Craer maintains his outward facade of imperious confidence, motionless to Mamun's abrupt motion, though he arches an eyebrow with an almost exaggerated slowness. Emanating an aura of patience, he merely continues in his casual tonality; "As to that I quite agree, for it is hardly a great feat, true."
"You are bold to call a woman your property in a 'civilised' land. Bold indeed."
Craer smirks faintly, his reply softly yet laced with an undercurrent of amusement, "Many are properties to me; those living on my lands, for one, those who owes me debts, for two. I see not your care."
"My apprentice does not live in your lands, and she owes you no debt. You would do well to release her from your . . . custody."
"The price of her freedom was four gold coins. You are welcome to repay me the debt on her behalf. Failing which, you are welcomed to leave my lands."
Bekkari narrows her eyes at Craer, still working on loosing her wrists from the bindings.
"A life cannot be measured in gold, Easterner. For all the claims of enlightenment your kind is so prone to make, that is one thing you have yet to learn." Mamun sighs wearily as he further approaches, aiming a sidelong glance at the surface of the lake beside them.
Craer raises and drops his shoulders without a touch of concern, though he utters curtly in an imperious tone, "Bekkari, ten steps to your left, sit down and don't move." His gaze remains locked upon Mamun. "The price of her freedom, I am afraid, is gold."
Mamun eyes Craer up and down. "Remain where you are, Bekkari."
Bekkari glares at Craer for a moment before she suddenly is tugged left. She reaches up to grab the collar, tugging it as she falls roughly to her knees. Her eyes are wide as she shakes her head at Mamun, "<I did not do this.>"
Mamun curls his lip abruptly, exposing a mouthful of snarling teeth. "There is nothing in your laws that pertain to the ownership of -men and women- like cattle, Easterner. And you offer her no means of repaying her debt to you, so far as I can see."
Craer arches an eyebrow, his expression unchanging, "But I -did- offer you." The subtlest of smirk creeps into his visage.
"You mean to sell her to me, -child-?"
Craer narrows his eyes marginally, as a flash of anger touches the wells of his eyes, churning and roiling anger spilling out briefly at the word. Coldly, he says, "Your people practices a subtly different form of the arcane, perhaps it might match up to mine."
Mamun tightens his grip around his staff. A shimmering wave creeps up and down the length of his robes, highlighting the intricate spellthread patterns worked into the fabric in dim, distorting light.
"Perhaps so."
"[Tanari] Be careful of him, Mamun."
"[Tanari] I am careful of all things, my student."
Craer offers a sardonic smile, splaying his fingers and clenching them again, as he murmurs sardonically; "<Yes. Do be careful, Mamun.>"
Mamun 's face twists with rage, his voice dropping to a growling whisper. Arcane power continues to play across his robes, affording his words preternatural resonance;
Bekkari 's eyes widen as he speaks in Tanari. She lowers her gaze shamefully.
"[Tanari] . . . my name is Mamun ul-Khatif Radhabba, Walker of the Winds, Keeper of the Sky's Flame, Sage of the Shifting Sands. I am the sworn protector of the desert and all its sons and daughters. I am the greatest Fire Bringer ever borne from the sands of Tanaris, and more besides. You would seek to challenge -me-, -child-? . . . how much of that did you understand?"
Craer rolls his shoulders, and contrapuntal Mamun's rage, his own previous fury fades into a chilling look. His wintery gaze meets that of Mamun's, as arcane energy crackles and permeates the air around him. Softly, he replies in his rich baritone, "And I am Craer Naharev, a pleasure to meet you."
"Then we are finally acquainted. Well met, Craer Naharev."
Craer inclines his head slightly in agreement with Mamun's words, before snapping out a curt syllabus. One of the arcane crystals on his shoulder-plates burst apart in a mazarine powder, as crackling arcane energy hurtles outwards in an arc towards Mamun.
Mamun calmly allows himself to pivot backwards with a sideways flourish of his staff and subsequently falls into nothing. The blast of thunderous power blows a crackling crater in the hillside behind where the sage once stood. He swiftly draws a pattern in the air with the pulsing ornament of his staff, marking its shape with a trail of incandescent orange. Then, he shatters it, and the air ignites into a searing spear heading for Craer's back.
Craer pivots on the spot, waving his left hand in front of him in a sweeping arc, as an iridescent shield erupts from the palm of his hand to meet with the searing spear, enveloping both in a destructive ball of energy that dissipates into nothingness. He whips out a revolver from his belt in a practiced motion, tilts its end upon Mamun and clicks it, unleashing a churning, roiling blast of arcane that hurtles towards the desert sage.
Mamun appraises the lord's spellwork calmly for the briefest of moments, his eyes snapping wide in alarm as the gun is drawn thereafter. He slams the base of his staff down into the mud before him with a hissed cant, a shimmering shield materializing from nothing before him and absorbing the incoming blast with a spray of rainbow sparks. It dissipates shortly thereafter, and Mamun is left . . . gently steaming, in spite of it all.
Bekkari exhales heavily in relief as she looks over Mamun.
Mamun thrusts his staff forward sharply like a younger man's spear into a basilisk's flank, and from the pulsing tip explodes a blanket of fire that sweeps forth, seeking to envelope Craer.
Craer steps forward as he hurriedly utters a string of incantations, encapsulating himself in a ward of arcane energy that bows and eventually dissipates under the onslaught, though it was sufficiently negated till Craer's inherent wards only left him discomforted with parts of his cloak scorched. Under the veil of flames and hidden from view, he flicks the bullet chassis of the revolver with a scowl and fires it again; this time, nothing ostensible happens, beyond a nigh invisible spear of force.
Mamun throws his left hand aside and whispers words of power, compelling what seems to be the air to rush forward to meet this unseen projectile. It meets it, certainly, but matches it? No. The bolt of force continues, weakened but unrelenting, and Mamun can only step lamely aside at the last moment. It crunches into his shoulder, and he hisses air through gritted teeth in pain. Nonetheless, he soon regains his composure well enough to throw forth a counterattack in the form of a stream of fire that shoots forth from his staff like a lashing whip for Craer's face.
Craer hisses out in a chilling fury as he the fiery whip comes spinning towards him, causing him to hastily spit out an incantation to transpose himself across space; a little late, however, as the whip connects for a brief iota of a second against the side of his arm. Spinning around, he channels the anger and pain from the injury to an almost maniacal shriek of an incantation, discharging from his open palm a storm of arcane missiles that hurtle and spins in concentric circles towards Mamun. His revolver, meanwhile, was disintegrated by his own attack and its very arcane substance torn along to augment the strike.
Mamun 's whip breaks apart into swiftly dispersing trails of smoke and steam after that momentary impact, and he's momentarily baffled by Craer's displacement. When he hears that bellowed cant, however, he simply stops, drops and rolls down the hill in -- evasion - but he is an old man, and the hill isn't so steep an incline, so not only does he fail to avoid the full wrath of the missiles, he probably pulls a muscle in the process. Silly sage. He stops himself with effort and stabs his staff back up--
Bekkari goes to run to Mamun but, with a despairing cry, is held fast by the damn collar magic.
-- at Craer with groaning effort, hissing a spell under his breath that compels that pulsing ornament atop the stick to shatter, the energies therein coalescing into a shrieking blast of lightning.
Craer widens his eyes as a shrill bolt of lightning comes thundering towards him, and he fails miserably to react faster than light, as he was struck in the mid-motion of retrieving a rather grotesque massive object from a pouch by his belt. The lightning courses through him but was grounded by a plethora of trinkets meant to dim its effect, and Craer finds himself relatively unscathed for a potentially lethal strike, yet shaken and trembling uncontrollably. In the next moment, he violently tugs out a goblin rocket launcher, tilts it upwards towards Mamun, and fires. Red with a grinning mouth plastered at its end, a rocket hurtles in a drone towards Mamun, a drone accompanied by Craer's maniacal cackling.
Bekkari covers her mouth with her hands as she strains to see Mamun.
Mamun holds his staff horizontally with his hands two feet apart on his twisted warpwood haft, murmuring in anticipation as he watches Craer procure his weapon. As the rocket is launched, his cant reaches a roared crescendo, and he throws his arms forward, permitting his staff to fly from his grip to meet it. The two remaining crystals - and the length of wood between them - burst and splinter into nothing in a corona of light, and the rocket's package detonates midway to its target, showering either magi in shrapnel and fire. His muddy robes smouldering but shimmering no less brightly for it, Mamun struggles to his feet and hisses words, drawing the residual energies of his staff into a closed fist and throwing it out in another lightning bolt.
Craer beheld the actions of his opponent with the wary anticipation of a predator, and reacts instinctively, obviously prepared for another repeat of the attack. He tosses the discharged rocket launcher forward, and then slams into it a tremendous blast of force to send it streaking towards Mamun, catching the lightning bolt in its path and letting said bolt crackle down its metallic spine, as the now defunct and destroyed missile continues its trajectory.
Mamun sweeps a hand aside and buries it into his cloak, pulling forth a feather that vanishes just as quickly as it appeared in a shower of sparks. His free hand is flung down at the ground, and with it goes a forceful burst of fire as he steps forward. He is veritably flung into the air in a soaring arc, his reduced weight carried far upwards and forwards by the explosive force of his spell. The crackling wreckage of the rocket launcher acquaints itself with Mirror Lake. Floating higher and higher, further and further, Mamun aims a second blast of fire down at the ground - this time the ground on which Craer starts, rather than he.
Craer lapses into a series of incantation, his words tinged with a touch of maniacal delight as he kicks his feet against the ground, kicking himself off the ground in a jump that abruptly becomes slowed in motion. A cushion of arcane energy erupts beneath his feet, lowering him gradually and deflecting away the fan of flames that licked at and devastated the ground that he stood upon. At the same time, he flings his hands in Mamun's direction, and simply attempts to counterspell Mamun's spell of flight and levitation. Without waiting to see if it worked and if gravity gives Mamun a piece of its mind, Craer moves his hands...
Mamun seems to have anticipated as much, his eyes closing in mid-air as his lips move to form fluid, silent works. His brow suddenly knits in fierce concentration as he sharply starts to drop, lines of light in every conceivable colour appear in the air around him, flowing into his body and filling him with crackling power. His muttered words sharply ascend into a resounding shout, and he steals the dregs of Craer's own levitation spell to cushion his landing. Unfortunately, he still lands roughly with a thud in the dirt (and an arthritic click in his knees) - not cushioned quite enough, it seems - but wheels around nonetheless, turning Ley power into firepower as he flings forth another bolt of burning might . . .
Craer seems rather startled for a moment at Mamun's descent, though he recovers himself quickly during the time for Mamun to reach him, though he still lands unceremoniously on the ground as his own spell was stolen. Dropping to a slight crouch, he wheels around to find Mamun himself spinning around, and as Mamun discharges his bolt of fiery destruction, Craer breaks one of the rings upon his finger. Erupting from it is a thunderous roar and a crackling arc of energy that smashes towards the bolt of flames, though parts of it licks against Craer to singe at his clothings. Yet this weakened veil of flame served to mask Craer's nefarious spell, as it triggers immediately thereafter...
Craer bursts forth from the mixture of arcane and fiery veil, a lumbering, charging ogre with its meaty expression contorted in utter and unconcealed rage.
Mamun regards his now-beefy opponent with a potent mixture of shock, disgust and fear. Still wreathed in lingering ley-lights, he directs them down with a stomp of his foot and into a concentric blast wave of fire outwards from his person, hopefully to meet the charge.
Craer bellows a thunderous laughter as he charges straight through the wave of flames, parts of it seemingly deflected by a film of arcane, but a good part of it soaked and burning patches of Craer's exposed skin. Arrogance and undiluted rage smothers the pain caused by the shower of pain, and Craer merely slams directly into Mamun with his heavy bulk, swinging his arm back wildly to throw a punch towards his tenacious opponent's chest.
Mamun lets out a strangled cry of pain as ogre collides with magus, but barely makes a sound as its punishing haymaker connects with his sternum. Verbally, that is. His bones give a sickening . . .
. . . Krunch.
Mamun is meanwhile sent sailing backwards and comes to a skidding halt, panting and wheezing and moaning and groaning. A skidding halt on his -face-, one feels inclined to note.
Bekkari screams, a pained sound as if she were the one who was hit instead. She clutches the grass in front of her, nearly crying in her desperation to go to Mamun. One hand flies to her collar and yanks at it.
Craer stomps inexorably, continuing his charge without a care, his eyes gleaming with a predatorial delight and sadism, hurling himself from the ground to slam bodily down upon Mamun's lower-body.
Mamun, winded and speechless he might be, draws a somatic pattern in the air with a weakly swiping hand and then slaps the relevant palm into the mud beside him. The body slam is met with an arcane explosion, but even that's hardly enough to counter the ogre's immense weight.
Craer couldn't stop even if he wants to, his free-fall slam buoyed by his weight. As he screams out in a mixture of pain and delight, his ogre form smashes down upon Mamun's lower-body, and at that same time, his ogre form ends. A wide, grotesque grin plastered on his face, even as pain wages war with satisfaction, he pushes himself off his counterpart and staggers backwards. "Go to him, Bekkari, my good girl, go to him!" His usual baritone was laced with an almost perverse and crazed tonality of paternal approval, as the bindings around Bekkari winks from existence, "Go to your fool!"
Bekkari scrambles against the grass, her fingers digging into the dirty as she makes a mad dash for Mamun. She falls roughly against the ground as she rips her gloves off and goes to place her hands gently against Mamun's face.
Craer smiles pleasantly, his expression approving as he nods. In his sibilant and sly voice, he commands lovingly, like a father to his daughter, imperious and gentle; "Good girl, my good little Bekkari. Now, kill him." His last word was said with almost a faint tone of nonchalance, rolling his shoulders and twirling a revolver in his fingers.
Mamun 's breath comes in struggling heaves, his left hand slapping the dirt repeatedly in limp, useless protest. The old man looks up at Bekkari, eyes awash with pain and regret both.
"[Tanari] Run, child. Run! I will . . . see to him . . ."
Bekkari is running her hand gently over Mamun's hair, whispering repeatedly, "<I am so sorry.>" At Craer's words she looks up in shock, shaking her head vigorously, "NO! No. No. NO."
Craer leans slightly forward, and hisses out in an arctic tone, "Do it, my good girl, kill him." He points a finger regally at Mamun, "Do it for yourself, free yourself of your binds, free yourself of your foolish loyalties to the past..."
"...and embrace a new future."
Mamun 's defiance dissolves into dry, wheezing coughs, and he curls up in pain, hugging his chest. Particles and pulses of dimmest light start to streak into his body once more from the air, however, as the gems on his cloak shatter one by one.
Craer spits out a curt incantation abruptly, tossing a counterspell to Mamun's machination, the look on his face one of grasping triumph, a fervent denial of Mamun any escape. Chains of arcane whips into existance, in an attempt to bind his counterpart.
Bekkari hisses at Craer as she gently rests Mamun's head on her lap, "I refuse."
"[Tanari] Stop! Stop hurting him!"
Craer narrows his gaze, pinioning his eyes upon Bekkari as he intones deliberately, sharply, "Kill. Him....-Strike-!"
Mamun 's attempts to replenish his magical might are cut short as the colourful light around him shatters like a pane of stained glass, fading into nothing. "<I . . . am ssss-ssorry, my child,>" comes a desperate croak.
Mamun puts up no struggle against the ropes of violet power now binding him. Nor does he direct any towards the apprentice that might yet be compelled to kill him.
Bekkari cries out as her right hand slowly goes to grab the dagger and raise it above her head. It pauses, and it seems she is struggling very hard against the magic, crying with desperation. "NO! NO, please!"
Craer steps forward, his visage contorting in nothing more than a look of pure, undiluted malice with a crazed, maniacal light brimming in the wells of his eyes. "DO IT! KILL HIM! FOR YOURSELF, AND FOR ME!" It was almost a shout in his resonant baritone.
Bekkari brings the dagger down in a savage arc, but she shoves it with the other arm and it sinks into the earth beside Mamun's head. She gasps for air at the effort.
Mamun 's breathing is slow, now - calm, even, or as calm as a man in his state of injury can be. His closed eyes snap open at the impact beside him, and then they drift up to meet Bekkari's. In spite of it all, he smiles a bloody-mouthed smile.
Bekkari lowers her veil and leans down to kiss Mamun's forehead lightly. She whispers more apologies against his skin before looking up at Craer with a pleading expression.
Craer spits out an incantation, pinning the other arm with another tendril of arcane, as his anger positively -reeks- from his posture. Lowering his voice, he hisses out in an almost nauseating tone laced with sucrose sweetness, "Do it, Bekkari, now."
"I -will- you to. I -command- you to. And you will do it, or you will be made to do it!"
"[Tanari] Please! Please do not make me do this!"
Craer merely overwhelms her protest with another repeat of his chilling command.
Bekkari 's fingers wrap around the dagger and yanks it from the ground.
"[Tanari] Please, anything but this. Anything but Mamun."
"Yes...Yes, do it, my dear, do it, it is your destiny! It is your purpose! Obey me, and forsake your past!"
Bekkari screams as the dagger presses into Mamun's shoulder. Not a fatal wound, but it may as well have been for the distress it is causing Bekkari.
Craer allows a wicked grin to creep into his face as he hisses out an encouragement; "Yes, yes...it is sharp, yes? Pull it up towards his heart, slowly..." He claps his hand in delight as he comments;
Mamun suddenly rears up, his bindings be damned, and struggles against them for a time. Those same glinting ley-lights can be glimpsed beneath the tears in his robes and-- he screams.
"You sure do like drawing out his pain! I am pleased, I approve, I am glad!"
Craer takes another step forward, arcane energy still crackling around him, as he looms over the duo, his silhouette briefly stark against a blanket of white as lightning sliced the night behind him.
Bekkari furrows her brow with concentration as she rips the dagger from Mamun. With every last bit of her will she throws the dagger towards the lake.
Craer blinks his eyelids, his smile wiped immediately from his face. His expression contorts in undiluted fury for a moment, before it fades into a pleasant mask again. "Ah, I understand, you are still not used to this, you just need some guidance, I understand, of course, my dear Bekkari." He punctuates his words with a wave his hand, as the same arcane tendrils binding Mamun are expounded and proceeds to attempt to curl around Bekkari's wrists and limbs as well.
Mamun struggles in mud and blood, his breath now coming in sharp, pained gasps. He stares bale up at Craer nonetheless, his face setting rigid full of steely venom.
Bekkari screams angrily as the tendrils begin to wrap around her and she thrashes her arms to prevent their secure locking but eventually the magic wins out.
"Let him go. Let him live. Please!"
"Try as you might, Craer Naharev, you will -not- break this child. She is no slave."
Craer takes a step forward and kneels down beside Bekkari, patting her gently on the crown of her head first. He takes Bekkari's hand tenderly in his, before pressing the revolver he had been holding into her hands, but keeping it steady and pointed at Mamun, supported by both his arcane chains and hands.
"Break her? No, no, my friend, I have no intentions of -breaking- her! She will be freed, and embrace a new future, becoming something more!"
Bekkari keeps her fingers securely from the trigger. She suddenly jerks her head to the side to bite at Craer's cheek -- not unlike a desert snake.
Craer winces at the bite, and merely reciprocates by constricting the collar with a softly muttered; "Bad girl, but it's okay, I understand." Thereafter, he takes advantage of her plight to guide her finger to the trigger, hold it steadily there, and turning revolver to aim at Mamun's kneecap.
Bekkari releases a choked cry of outrage as the collar constricts around her throat.
Mamun meanwhile seizes his opportunity to cease to exist for a fleeting instant, reentering reality some twenty yards away - still face-down in the mud, but free of bonds.
Bekkari 's finger unwillingly presses the trigger and hits... THE NOTHINGNESS WHERE MAMUN ONCE WAS!
Craer spits out an incantation suddenly, whipping Bekkari's arm up towards Mamun in that exact instance Craer unleashes, along with the incantation, whether the revolver goes off successfully or not, a tremendous blast of arcane energy towards Mamun.
Bekkari fights against Craer's hold, gasping for breath against the tightened collar.
Mamun is struggling his futile way to his feet as the blast is sent hurtling towards him, and can only drop limply to the other side in evasion. It catches his legs - the ones he was standing on again a moment ago - and knocks him aside nonetheless. Crunch.
Craer snarls out angrily as he violently pulls Bekkari to her feet, still binding her and holding her arm in his, forcefully jerking her arm to point at Mamun with the revolver. He presses painfully down on Bekkari's finger in a series of quick succession, firing one, then another, then another shot in Mamun's direction while a cackle bursts forth from the depth of his throat.
Mamun manages to establish a shimmering barrier between he and the source of his present woes in the intervening period, but it doesn't hold up nearly long enough. How many shots does that thing have?
Six.
Son. Of a b***h.
Bekkari struggles against the arcane tendrils and Craer's hands and goes to drop the gun with a strangled cry. Her quivering form a deadly combination of shock, fear, sadness and anger! as she looks to Mamun in disbelief.
Craer keeps his hands wrapped around hers and the revolver, preventing it from loosening in grip, as he roughly jerks Bekkari forward as he strides towards Mamun. Click. Click. Click. Another three thunderous clap and violent recoils send three more bullets.
Bekkari stumbles beside Craer as he drags her, a constant stream of pleas for Mamun's life --in both Tanari and broken Common-- escape her.
Mamun is shocked and blasted and flung back into the tree, his body smoking and bloody once more. He slumps against it, air struggling down his windpipe in hollow wheezes. He mutters stray bit of gibberish between his choking gasps, lifting up a limp hand.
Craer takes another step forward, another brutal laughter erupting from his throat, as he exclaims in a genuine tone of approval, "Well done, Bekkari, well done! It's not that hard!" He strides further forward, reloading the revolver with a practiced ease.
Bekkari, discovering extracting her hands are useless, goes to kick Craer savagely in the leg. "Leave him! Leave him!"
Mamun eventually manages to string together an incantation, drawing his trembling hand into a fiery fist. He punches it forwards and nothing particularly interesting happens. Anticlimax. Yet even thus, he doesn't stop muttering as best as he can amidst bloody coughs and his desperate battle to breathe.
Craer takes the kick in the leg from the flailing woman, dismissing it entirely as it smacks against his warded robes, the perpetual smile still plastered on his visage. Reload complete. He continues to walk towards, keeping Bekkari's finger on the trigger, as he begins to command in a sing-song, whimsical voice, "Press the trigger, press the trigger, and press the trigger!"
Craer slyly shifts his grip to make sure that any struggling on Bekkari's part would probably press the trigger anyway. His smile remains unfaltering.
Mamun allows his eyes to flutter shut and his chin to dip, his white hair matted over his face with mud and blood, but the words fight their way out of his throat nonetheless.
Bekkari is quite useless at not pulling the trigger! She tries to misdirect the aim of the gun. The bark beside Mamun's drooping head explodes into a shower of splinters.
Craer takes another step forward, firmly and unyieldingly guiding the revolver in Bekkari's hand to point at Mamun's chest, as he murmurs the final condemnation, his sibilant voice a loving hiss; "Press it."
Bekkari resists the urge to close her eyes as she keeps them trained on Mamun's face. Unwilling, but unable to stop it, her finger presses down on the trigger.
A thunderous crack rends the air, followed but an instant later by the sound of six ribs and a sternum shattering in synchrony.
Bekkari begins to shake, nigh uncontrollably.
The flame on Mamun's outstretched hand sputters out into weak embers clinging to his fist. His arm slowly drops. He lifts his head, eyes forcing themselves open for a minute, wild and bulging. He stares at Bekkari, his mouth falling open, but only a strange, strangled whistling noise escapes as he tries to draw in breath.
Craer hisses out another of his dark commands, his eyes glimmering with a maniacal light, as his lips contort into a cruel grin of sadistic malice. "Presss it, again! Kill him, for me, for yourself, embrace your new future. DO IT!" The string of gibberish was almost rambled out in a rolling, undulating baritone the stretched order.
Bekkari hisses, "<He is a breath from being dead.>" She fights against his grip, "Let me go! Let me go to him!"
Craer shrieks out, displeasure at her disobedience saturating his words; "DO IT! NOW!"
Mamun 's head drops back against the smouldering bark behind him with a hollow thud. His eyes roll up to the clearing afternoon sky and remain there, staring all glassy and empty up at the clouds.
Bekkari fires the gun again, into the tree trunk, as she glares at Craer. "He is dying. Let me go to him now."
Mamun 's broken jaw crooks itself lopsided, one corner of his mouth twitching up into a fragmentary smile, of all things. His gaze doesn't leave the sky above.
Craer releases the gun, and with benediction, plucks it from her grasp. He stares at the dead desert sage for a moment, and shrugs, "Leave it, the wolves will get him. You killed him, anyway, and I think you do enjoy it. It is time to go." Violently, still with her bound, he attempts to tear her away from Mamun, almost dragging her away.
Bekkari screams, desperately fighting against him and the bindings, as she tries to reach for Mamun. "-NO-! Stop! STOP!"
Craer does indeed stop! He ponders for a moment, and nods cheerfully, "You are right! Thank you, Bekkari! Why the heck would I leave him for dead?" Chuckling to himself, he plucks a wooden box from his pockets and tosses it at Mamun casually. "Feed, my pet, feed! Feed and grow, yes!" From within the ornate, wooden box, a mechanical scarab bursts forth and drives towards Mamun. Its claws seek to plow into the corpse...
Mamun 's struggle for breath has finally ceased. The sage of the desert dies in a soggy, temperate forest, staring skywards and smiling.
Bekkari 's knees buckle under her and she falls to the ground as she lifts a hand to her mouth, barely able to comprehend the imminent desecration.
...unopposed, the mechanical scarab buries into its prey, and begins to tear an inexorable path through flesh and blood, scything its way through like hot knife cutting butter.
Craer pats Bekkari gently on the head, murmuring softly in his rich baritone, his voice pleasant and his expression affable, "Well done, my good girl, my dear Bekkari. Thank you for being a good girl, I am truly and genuinely pleased today."
One of the remaining spellthread patterns in Mamun's torn and tattered robes begins to glimmer with the dullest of lights.
Bekkari is fervently whispering Tanari 'Rites of the Dead'. She recoils from his touch and glares at him, hissing, "<I do nothing for your pleasure.>"
Craer peers at the faint light, shrugs and blows it up with an uttered incantation anyway. Scarab continues to gobble.
Dead the magus might be, lines of light in all kinds of . . . Wait, no, nevermind.
Craer frowns disapprovingly at Bekkari, strengthening the bindings on her and casually reaching over to try to tear her hood away from her in a rather violent motion.
Bekkari doesn't even have to protest! Her -beautiful Tanari hair- tumbles down her shoulders in its glorious waves! She growls and tries to grab the hood from him.
Craer tosses it towards Mamun, holding her down with the bindings as he says in an arctic tone, "Your past dies with you today, girl. It is time to get out of this quagmire of pathetic folly and embrace the light of a new future. You have already taken the first step in pressing the trigger; I will guide you the rest of the way, do not worry." Craer smiles approvingly in Bekkari's direction, his tone becoming almost paternally warm near the end of his speech.
Doggedly insistent, that pattern of thread struggles to glow once more as the man wearing it is thoroughly devoured. Yet Craer ignores the pattern this time, waving dismissively at it, almost in a gesture of so long, and thanks for all the fish.
Bekkari says slowly, "<If you were to die a thousand deaths, it would not be enough.>"
Lines of light in all colours begin to ebb and flow around Mamun's half-eaten person, slowly weaving into a coccoon around him from head to toe.
Craer leans towards Bekkari, pressing his lips against the crown of her head, coo-ing tenderly; "But I only need to live -once-, and all is enough, for I shall never die." He punctuates his words with a sonorous laughter, emanating from deep down his throat.
Bekkari shudders from revulsion as his lips touch her hair. She struggles to her feet and takes a step away from him, closer to Mamun.
Craer grabs her roughly, pulling her back towards himself as he wraps her arms forcefully around her, pulling her into his embrace.
That pulsing, shimmering coccoon begins to constrict snugly around Mamun, brightening all the while while the man underneath seems to darken.
"He's -gone-, you shot him, my dear girl. Well done."
Bekkari shakes in anger and despair, "[Low] <You did this, You did this. You did this.>"
The coccoon silently fades away into nothing, taking its fallen occupant with it. A scattering of shining particles are carried off on the wind like dust. The corpse, and the mechanical scarab, are gone.
Craer glances at the cocoon, and breathes out softly, his words curled and tasted upon the tip of his tongue; "...enjoy your gift, my friends. Enjoy."
"[Low] Let go of me."
Craer smirks faintly as he runs a hand down the length of her hair, snaking out a metallic vial from the depth of his pocket and uncorking it deftly; his hand around her hair tightens abruptly, as he roughly pulls her head back.
Craer commands softly in a tone saturated with cold malice; "Open your mouth."
Bekkari shudders as he touches her hair, glaring at him before she gasps as her head is yanked back. "[Tanari] No!"
Craer lifts the uncorked vial, twirls it about and shoves the black liquid hued with red down her throat.
Bekkari 's eyes widen angrily as she shoves her hands back against his chest, trying to spit the OMINOUS! liquid upon the ground.
Craer drops the vial and clamps his hand over her mouth, waiting patiently as he forces her to swallow the vile contents. It seems absolutely saturated with sucrose, sweet on the tongue.
Bekkari grabs desperately at his hand, trying to pry it away. Despite her best intentions, she swallows the ridiculously sweet contents. Should Craer let go of her, she would stumble and fall to the ground, hugging her arms to herself as she gasps.
Craer releases her, taking a step back as he rolls his shoulders, humming a merry tone under his breath.
Bekkari presses her hands to her face, covering her mouth. It seems she does not know whether to laugh or scream, so she does her best to do neither...sometimes succeeding, sometimes not.
Craer smiles pleasantly, stepping forward while Bekkari enjoys the drug-induced bliss to pat her one more time on the head, before turning towards where Mamun was. He eyes the puddle of blood.
"[Tanari] May you find water." He then breaks into an uproarious and hearty chuckle.
Bekkari gasps and runs her hands through her hair. This motion stops her in her blissed-state and she seems in a panic. "[Tanari] No... nonono..."
Craer takes a step backwards, examining his handiwork, his gaze flickering between the spot where Mamun had died to Bekkari, as he stifles his chuckling and says in a cold, wintery voice, his tone laced with a dark finality; "And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover; to entertain these fair well-spoken days, I am determined to prove a villain; and stay the idle pleasures at bay." He steps forward, punctuating his words by pressing his hand down upon Bekkari's head, as a spell of teleportation begins to whisk the duo from this Light-forsaken place...
Mamun 's living, breathing presence here but an hour ago is denoted by nothing more than puddles of blood and the shattered residue of mana gems.
In quiet contemplation, Bekkari mourns the death of Mamun.
He's just a hero
In a long line of heroes
Looking for something
Attractive to save
- Soup Star Joe
Ongoing Personal Projects:
NIL
In a long line of heroes
Looking for something
Attractive to save
- Soup Star Joe
Ongoing Personal Projects:
NIL
![[Image: 0f084241-4e8f-4ebc-9f46-e942e4c544a8_zps7e42bd8f.jpg]](http://i663.photobucket.com/albums/uu360/Brisalis/0f084241-4e8f-4ebc-9f46-e942e4c544a8_zps7e42bd8f.jpg)
