Topic: A debt of nature

Oriax

Date: 2015-12-01 00:47 EST
He was but another shadow gathered in the night. The cast of pale moonlight did nothing to illuminate his presence, just as Oriax wanted it. He had left the world of light and bright things a long time ago, answering a calling that had ached so much it made his soul shiver up until the moment he had taken his own life. It was what was necessary for the elf to cross from this life to the next, an everlasting life full of devotion to Death. A ritual cast, a plunge of a knife, and then all he knew was transformed.

The inn was well known. He had known it, just as he knew this city was a place full of life that would not miss a few stolen here and there. Sacrificed to entropy. Extending his own existence. Amidst the fires that had burned some weeks ago and the bodies strewn throughout the city no one had noticed an extra here and there. Everyone pointed fingers at cloaked figures and firebugs, not at the pale shadow of nothingness. Just as Oriax wanted it.

A pull of purpose had drawn him away from the bustle of life. So wasteful they were, the living. They fought, ripped at each, tore away pieces of heart, soul, even flesh without being mindful of the consequences. Scratches and rifts, rents and holes that could not, would never heal. So much damage, so much havoc, would death not be better? He could not remember if in his first life understanding the burning toil of relationships, the endless give and take and conflict. In his second it made no sense. He had watched such a scene of strife unfold between two lovers who parted ways forever. So tempting it was to follow the girl and offer her a knife. Inspire her devotion to the darkness rather than take her. A broken soul was poor fodder and poorer servant. He let her be.

His steps made no noise as he stalked his prey. He needed to catch up to the rough man but that was no problem. His stride is long and quick as it needs to be. Shadows are always there pressing against the light. Bearing down. Cast even when light is at its brightest and seemingly most complete.

Oriax did not falter when the man ahead looked backwards over his shoulder. The elf was just another spot in the night with no desire to be seen. The human's eyes were weak, inferior, and just could not See. A shrug and he focused again on his journey. He was close to his goal, never knowing he would never make it.

The elf moved faster, closing the distance between himself and the other in the time it took a neuron to fire. A thought didn't even have time to form in the human's head before he found himself caught in the tangle of long arms and immobilized by a sudden press of darkness. His mouth opened to scream which only made it easier for the tendrils of shadow to enter. To cut off the air. Shadow filled and filled as he struggled, there was no mercy. Just the way Oriax did it.

"You," hissed his cold voice in the man's ear. "You who have dealt pain to innocence, death to those not yet called to the dark embrace, in ugly, unjust fashion." He spoke quickly. The life force was fading, the struggle with it. "You have been judged and found unworthy of this world." Pale fingers pressed into the bulging flesh of the man's neck, nails scraped harshly and dug until welts formed.

The body in his arms shuddered then stilled. Slumped. It was over too fast. Oriax let him fall into the heap and strode away to leave him in that undignified position. Eyes staring unseeing towards the sky.

He would be found come morning, the death ruled the fault of a glob of chewing tobacco—a vice the man was well-known for—lodged in his windpipe. It would be determined the scratches on his throat were the desperate act of a man who knew his number was up to cheat Death. No investigation would be launched, no one would cry over his passing. His body would turn the flames of his cremation an odd blue-black.

And Oriax would go back to wandering the night waiting for the next soul to be cleansed from the world.

Oriax

Date: 2015-12-04 19:37 EST
The sweet smell of rot came from the ichor dripping from a slash in his hand. The black blood oozed rather than flowed like his veins were reticent to let go.

He stared dispassionately down at the creature who had cut him. It was not as if he had attacked the being, some bastard mutt of humanoid races he couldn't full divine from merely looking. No, he was well aware that in this city too much unneeded death would draw more attention that he had wanted. There was no reason to kill this creature. He was young, weak, and his soul was a poor gift to Death.

Oriax yearned to kill with every breath. To drag others kicking and screaming into the Abyss to face eternity serving his master. But he also hated needless violence. He hadn't thought twice about snapping the neck of one who was willing to kill him for no more than money—something he did not even carry.

Still. He strode away from the scene displeased by the event.

Even in death he knew life was not to be wasted.

Oriax

Date: 2016-01-06 22:10 EST
The price he had paid for this book had been steep. Oriax had not questioned why he had gone to such lengths until after he finally held the black tome in hand. Bound in black dragonhide, carved with flame and spells. Filled with a delicate yet jagged script he had been able to read in his first life. His death had wiped a great deal of knowledge from his mind and his allegiance to Death made the divine language oh so dangerous for him to possess. Something so holy was not meant for him.

To get it he starved and he suffered. Thrice he ignored the pangs of hunger and the call for death. For his insolence he was punished by his master. But it earned him trust in the eyes of one who had knowledge and access to things and places he could not go. One who remembered another time and place. When Oriax had another name.

"Will you feed before you give it to her?" The supplier had asked when they handed over the book.

"No." Oriax had replied. "I almost remember what it was like to be alive."

"Do you regret your choice" To die and live as naught but a shadow?"

It was an interesting question. He had never pondered it until recently. It was odd enough that he could pinpoint when 'recent' was instead of existing without time.

"I never have."

"But do you now" Knowing it cannot be undone."

His answer was walking away in silence.