Eight Months Ago

Paging doctor Aizen, paging doctor Aizen

The hospital is quiet as a tomb in the late hours. Most of the patients slumber in their beds of their own free will or with the help of this drug or that. A lone nurse sits at the desk in a cross-section that leads to each hall. When the sun is up the cross-section is a bee hive of activity with nurses checking charts. Doctors making their inspection rounds then having the nurses do their light work.

At night, there isn't such excitement. Even within a realm such as Rhydin. At least not every night. There are always exceptions. Like within the terminal care wards. The rooms for those who are unable to breath on their own or under observation. The dying without much hope. The comatose. The forgotten.

Elegant fingers take a medical chart from its magnetic strip while proceeding into the dim room of one Robert Magnus. The patient within lays propped up by pillow and pneumatic mattress. Tubs run from his nostrils to some manner of machine anchored to the wall above his head. Other tubes and sensors monitor his heart rate and vitals. The man is dying, no medical/magical chance even in Rhydin. No family, few friends. A tumor that's been slowly merging the hemispheres of his brain.

Robert's eyes open when the door clicks shut. "Back again do-" he trails off at the unfamiliar face that greets him.

"Doesn't look good here, Mr. Magnus." the doctor says in gentle tones. "Have the hallucinations started?"

"Yeah. Thought my mom was at my bedside earlier. She's been gone for twenty years." he says between coughs.

"There's a possible cure for you, Mr. Magnus. However the procedure is quite radical." A sense of true concern flows from the doctor's lips as he turns piercing blue eyes upon Robert.

"At this point, Doc. Lay it on me, I don't have a whole lot to lose." Robert lifts his hands up in a helpless gesture, but with hopeful eyes.

"I can introduce a regenerative organism into your bloodstream that will eat away at the tumor as a means to defend itself from the malign byproduct of your body." the doctor says evenly.

"What sort of organism?" Robert sits up straighter, clearly worried about some crackpot suddenly in his room.

"A black blood cell." the doctor says with little flair.

"Now I know you're blowing smoke, "Doc". There's no such thing." Robert tries to laugh, ultimately coughing up a bit of blood.

"Ah, but there is such a thing. Predominantly found within creatures such as vampires, ghouls, and in rare cases, zombies." The words are delivered dispassionately. Even clinical in tone.

"Then how come it's never been documented?" Clearly skeptical. His hand is inching towards the call button for the nurse down the hall.

"How often have these creatures actually been put under the microscope" The groups that want them dead hold little interest in the science or mysticism that allows them to exist. They kill it, burn it, and call it Christmas."

Robert's chin falls to rest against his chest in thought. The man at his bedside had a point with that one. The people who seek cures are often in a vast minority, while others prefer the easy way. Kill them all and let the gods sort them out.

"I can help you," the doctor says in a gentler way.

"At what price?"

The doctor's lips spread into a fanged smile. Pleased as punch. "You are a biochemist, correct?"

(( For those who want to encounter Cezar and Anton before their arrest, or want to share their take on this story I'd love to see where y'all take this.

Active Effects: The scale of augmentation depends on the abilities of the user. A person who can sense psychic activity, might suddenly be able to read unprotected thoughts. Someone who can only levitate a foot off the ground, can suddenly fly at velocity, etc. Someone without any powers at all, gets a physical transformation by becoming stronger, faster, even smarter, their body perhaps "perfecting" itself according to aspects the user is unhappy with in themselves.

Active side-effects: The drug conveys on the user an increase in appetites, not just for food, but for all manner of things in which they enjoy to indulge. An avorice for life itself. Adrenaline, sex, pain, etc. Nearly insatiable

Effects are temporary and only a lasts an hour or less. Those with abilities don't experience any negative effects at first, their augmented abilities merely come to an abrupt halt.

———————————————————————— Negative Short-term after effects: Those without abilities experience a physical ?crash' after the effects where off. Their body being unable to adjust to the augmentation as it pushed them past their normal threshholds. Can be anything from passing out to extreme exhaustion. After the fifth use an addiction sets in.

Negative Long-term effects. Muscular tissue damage, shrinkage of muscle growth and parts (like steroids). Each use of the pill leads to shorter duration, requiring higher doses. Loss of abilities all together (over the course of several months) ))

"Ready Sven?"

"uh huh"

"Andre?"

"Yeah"

"Maxi?"

"Okay"

"All right fellas, let's go."

A flash of fire precedes the sounds of bending bars and the thud of shoes on concrete as four men break from their cells. In seconds an alarm sounds off. "Crunch time gentlemen," Cezar says to them as they round a corner.

Ahead of them guards have mobilized. Three in the front with stun batons, behind them a pair with shotguns. Somewhere in the back, a sixth yelled, "On the ground!" His eyes red as the sun. A meta of some sort.

Cezar from behind the three yelled, "Attack! Andre, you're up first."

"With pleasure?" The thug moves to the front of the pack. In an instant, glistening metal covers his body from head to toe, turning his hair black as night. On a good day he's lucky to just cover his arms, which earned him the name Iron-Hand. Riding the wave of Cezar's red pills, he's a living tank.

Two wide haymakers sweep the guards armed with stun batons aside. The men crash into the walls of the hallway heavily as the shutguns roar. In close quarters the weapons are like dragons bellowing. Huddled behind the charging Andre, the others clap hands over their ears. At a gesture from Cezar they hang back, watching him engage the remaining three. Rubber bullets are flying everywhere. Especially bouncing off of Andre.

His armored hands grab the hot barrels of the shotguns, jerking both guards forward into twin clotheslines. A blast rings louder than that of the shotguns as something red, and wet splatters against Andre's face. Lost in his focus on the shotgunners, he didn't notice the leader pull a weapon. The destroyed remnants of a .357 falls to the ground along with two of the man's fingers.

The guard clutches his bloodied hand in pain and fear as he falls back against the wall, sliding to the floor. His gaze is fixated on the scorch mark in Andre's forehead. Not even a dent in the metal exterior. He tries to speak, but can't. Shock and pain are taking over as the escaped inmates rush passed him.

"Didn't see that coming, did you?" Cezar smugly asks before disappearing around the bend and up a short set of steps they erupt into the Bird Cage. Two minutes later the sound of a horn goes off. The flash of red light announcing all cells were open.

Camden Towers Hotel, week later

"We need to find the source of this Ascend." Cicil Contanto drums his fingers on the top of the table as he looks around to his associates. Taking up a white handkerchief from the pocket of his black suit and polishes the little black horns protruding from his crimson forehead.

"I dunno, Cicil, it's certainly been keeping the Watch on its toes and out of our business?" Always voicing the positive side, Roderic Vank shrugged his massive shoulders. At 7"4, Roderick dwarfed every last person at the table. His blue fingers stroke at a pitch dark goatee on his chin thoughtfully while focusing on his counterparts

"I think what Contanto is getting at, Roddy, is we need to find the source and make it ours. So far, no one knows where it came from or who's producing it. That means they're connected." His voice barely a gruff hissing squeal, Kreel Vega sits hunched over the table, nibbling at a rotting apple in his hands. From the red of his eyes, to the scrunched up features of his face, Kreel's very image screamed giant rat.

Rain cascades down the windows of their conference room. Something about the gloomy weather outside has each of them shifting in a desire to move this meeting along quickly. Like an itch between their shoulder blades.

Cecil pauses before taking his turn to speak. His fingertips neatly fold the handkerchief to place it back within his pocket. "Then we follow the trail to the fountainhead. This Cezar and Anthony."

"The boy, Anthony. He's all but fallen off of the radar since the first report. The other one, Cezar was part of that jail break. Where shall we start?" Roderic leans back in his chair pensively. Silence falls over the trio as they consider which direction to take. The simple fact that one of the original pair introducing the drug has all but vanished, stuck out like a nail to be hammered.

Minutes stretch into the longest hour any of them have spent in silence when"

"So many people looking for me?" the words ripple across the room like an icy hand.

"Who the fu -" Cicil's words are cut off by the iron grip of a hand suddenly clenching his adam's apple.

"Now, now?" the shadow shrouded intruder continues from behind Cicil's chair. "When you talk about someone behind their back, always expect for word of it to reach their ears. Especially in this town."

The words are confident, strong as the grip cutting off oxygen to Cicil's lungs. "Now, I'm going to let go...and the four of us are going to have a conversation, because Manners Maketh Man. It's our ability to listen to a proposal without completely rejecting it that makes us civilised. Beasts drink from a bottle, the civilised...drink from a glass."

His grip upon Cicil eases, but his hands only move to rest upon the demon-born's shoulders. "I bid you to listen carefully to what I've been sent to tell you."

Droves of local self proclaimed aristocracy and modern wealth found their way to the Beauchamp Opera house. Some have come to it every month for years, others new and wishing to penetrate the circles that keep the wheels of the city spinning. For many, a night out to the opera was a matter of business. Only a select few came for pleasure, it's true they all enjoyed the performances. But the signatures and papers exchanged during Intermission were the real dramas.

Tonight they came out for the quintessential opera by Giacomo Puccini. La boheme.

Among them was a particular figure, weaving a path way through the throng as if he wasn't there. Bodies parting before him by unseen hands to allow him passage to the upper balcony. Each step carrying a heavy jingle of spurred boots as a number of carriages begin pulling up out front.

One of them carrying a particular patron. Alone, for a wonder, the statuesque redhead slipped from her transport, hair a mass of barely contained curls that tumbled to her shoulders. Midnight dark emerald eyes flashed over the masses with quiet contempt. Calm and confident, she'd come seeking information, although she could help being amused at the venue. The art of mixing business and pleasure was one she indulged in as often as possible. Dressed to the nines in a gown of sleek black silk and black diamonds, it was in perfect keeping with the venue, fit like a glove to curves that caused a stir in her wake. She could not help what she was, but the attention barely registered. Passing through the crowd with a ripple, she made her way up the carpeted steps and along a hallway that would lead her to her rendezvous.

The ushers and staff begin helping the audience filter to the auditorium, announcing the show will begin in fifteen minutes. As the lady seeks out her contact, two figures; a man and woman materialize at her elbows. They don't touch her, merely whisper. "This way Madame. You're expected on the North Balcony."

The air around the pair hums with an otherworldly energy that can't possibly be their own. However the woman, a short figure with impish features smiles softly to display the faint points of fings between kissable lips. The faintest of nubbed horns poke from the top of her forehead as she comes to a stop and turns to hold open a curtain.

A subtle nod, and she slipped behind the held curtain. The aura of energy had barely warranted more than a sniff - that her contact was powerful enough to enthrall others hardly surprised her. Anyone capable of doing even a hint of the whispers that had reached her ears would need to. With the certainty that only an eternity of power and command could bring, she straightened within the alcove, eyes immediately seeking the man behind the elegantly orchestrated entrance.

The lights slowly begins to dim casting her and the only other figure on the balcony into darkness. Inhumanly emaciated, he turns to offer her a single nod. Dressed down, unlike most in attendance, in spurred boots and a long green coat. He even tips the flat-brimmed flat-crown hat on his head to her. Among the wealthy, he appears to be a man out of time. "Madame?"

The single word rolls off his lips with an intimate intonation as he turns to watch the opening curtain.

Ebony flames rose against the emerald. Alone, now, she felt no further need to blend with the crowd. Returning his nod with a dip of her chin, she moved toward the balcony. She took note of his attire, how the clothes hung on his skeletal frame, and added a brief smile. "Monsieur....". Her accent was subtle, and old, speaking to another time and place. Settling into a seat, she joined him in watching the curtain rise above the stage, the opening strains floating through the air.

Elegantly tapered fingers idly lilt with the notes like one who routinely conducts a varied ensemble into a symphony. He leans on the armrest closest to her, adjusting his position to uncross and recrossed his legs for the illusion of comfort. The shift also a means to allow them to talk in comfortable privacy with the opera shielding them from most attempts at listening in.

She echoed his movements, half turning toward him, porcelain skin glowing in the reflected light of the performance below. Black silk flowed and shifted as she positioned herself with innate grace. The inquiries that had brought her here this evening hinted at delightful prospects, assuming they were true. Turning her attention to her companion, plush lips curved into a smile that hinted at both pleasure and pain. "What an inspired meeting place."

"One should always strive to inspire..." he replies casually. Once more the words come smoothly with a linguistic control leaving his voice devoid of anything to register.

"Plus, a little culture never harmed anyone." Still fingers move with the flow of tempo the notes ride on. In the shallow lighting, his features are gaunt and angular.

"Indeed. Shame the young seem to forget the niceties." Her words rose and fell, a subtle purr serving to carry them through the dancing notes. Another evening, she might have allowed herself to let the passion of Puccini's composition wash over her. Tonight, however, she was here for a purpose beyond pure pleasure. "Do you prefer to discuss business entre-acte" Or shall we begin?" Where he was lines and angles, she was sensuous curves, shadows and light serving to hint and hide as she took a breath.

"It's the need for immediate gratification..." he comments to her observation on the young. "The powerful have socially bred them to be impatient and dismissive of culture. A long term killing stroke."

A smile tugs at his features, approving of the subversive tactic before turning to look upon her directly. "The opening is slow enough, m'dear. We can start our preliminary salvos. See what turns up by the end of the first act."

"They have become much easier prey, I'll grant. But then - most were never a challenge." Settling flame-accented eyes to his, she let out a throaty chuckle. "As you will then. Perhaps, if we can come to an agreement, there will be time for...other amusements. I understand you have taken on a rather...extensive project. Somewhere for those with...darker desires - to indulge themselves?"

His smiles turns predatory, only briefly as he responds. "THis is Rhydin m'dear. Anyone can indulge their darker desire...and just call el Verdugo afterwards to take care of the mess. If they don't own a pig farm."

He's teasing her of course, but does not. "Word certainly seems to be spreading about it, this is true."

"I have staff of my own, I assure you. And exquisitely trained to deal with such trivialities. But the Watch can get so - difficult - about certain things. Even here. And I have a feeling they would be less understanding than usual with me." With a dismissive shrug, she shifted in the seat like a coiled snake. "Well, you can hardly construct what sounds like a city beneath a city without some attention, although I will congratulate you. It took a decent amount of charm to get me here. More than usual."

"I'm sure your staff is well proportioned to see to your needs." He repostes cheekily. "However, your other statement is true too. On the surface, the lack of any cohesive law or judicial force sounds appealing at first. A disorganized policing force outside of a handful of districts and units means less need to hide one's work. A gilded cage that hems in more primal urges due to the necessity of survival. So many souls crammed into one small plot of land. Surveillance orbs, decrepit witches scrying on their neighbors for gossip. Privacy is a short supply commodity..."

He pauses there, before becoming truly verbose and returns his attention back to La boheme. "Patience is the last virtue I possess...possibly. What are you seeking in regard to my endeavor?" Going straight for the throat of the matter.

Not a flicker betrays her thoughts, a vague smile tugging at vermillion lips while he spoke, and lingering a moment longer while she considered her response. "Virtue is not something I cultivate, as a rule. But I can restrain myself so long as the reward proves worth it. And while, at the moment, I find ample opportunities elsewhere - why travel, when release might be found so much closer to home?" Turning to face him, she arched just enough to give him a lovely view of pale skin against inky silk. "Privacy I have, security I have - what I seek, is an escape. Somewhere I can indulge without concern for either. And others who are so inclined."

His head inclines to her statement while watching the performance below. "Despite the visceral nature in our hearts...we mustn't forget what separates us from the beasts who've yet to evolve into something greater."

A heartbeat long pause before going on to say, "I think you can find accommodations available, Miss DuWinter." Finally saying her name. "A place to gorge yourself on succulent variety..."

"Semantics, then. A predator can stalk its prey, waiting until the opportune moment to strike. One does not call it virtue, but wiles. The intelligence and forethought required to survive undetected, as we have all done for centuries, millenia..."

A bright, sharp laugh broke from her lips, eyes sparkling as she regarded him with amusement. "You've done your homework. And what will such - accommodations, cost me..." I am afraid you have me at a disadvantage, all my wiles were not quite enough to gain a name..."

His dark gaze lingers on her, following the line of her jaw to the curve of her lips and then plunging lower. At some point the music long stopped. It's at this juncture that her host pushes to his feet. "I'm Cain....Cain Romulus. As to what your accommodations will cost you? That can be discussed at another meeting. Perhaps over a digestif."

His hand extends to her, palm up and expectantly in the stretching silence that finds her rising, allowing herself a miniscule smirk. "A pleasure - or at least I am assuming it will be. Please, call me Ravyn." She slid a perfectly manicured hand into his, although it was simply a formality, and excuse for contact, as it were. Standing before him, she looked up, chest rising and falling beneath her gown. "May I call you Cain" And I assure you, I shan't ask after your family at all..."

Chill to the touch, his fingers entwine with hers to pull her towards the balcony edge. "M'dear Ravyn...consider this an offering of what you can expect to come."

Cain slides his hands along her shoulders, tracing the silken lines of pale skin along her back finding clasps and ties while lifting up the back of her dress brazenly. Far below, all eyes were turned to their balcony. Vacant, expressionless. Every being in attendance stood enthralled. "My offering to you. Indulge yourself..."

His breath slithers along her neck as he whispers..."Command them, and they will obey you."

Onyx flames rose against her eyes, plush lips parting as he brought her to the edge of the balcony, the bracing cold of his touch leaving a line of goosebumps along satin skin. Gazing down upon the enraptured crowd, she spared a glance over her shoulder at her cadaverous host. "Anything I command?"

She felt the kiss of chill flesh, the caress of air as he lifted her skirts, and her back arched, the unbroken expanse of pale, heated skin exposed to his gaze. Fingers wrapping along the railing, she braced herself, breath catching as she considered her first command. Her voice carried throughout the hall, strident and sure, with just a hint of the otherworldly behind it.

"Strip."

The sea of silence breaks before her eyes as the multitudes cast off their garments, eager to do her bidding. Young, old, firm and supple, the sea of flesh ebbs for her next order. At her back, Cain undoes the last tether to loosen the anchoring strings of Ravyn's dress.

Watching, she could not resist a delighted laugh. She had bedded and killed more than even stood before her, in every variety, but the novelty was enough. Silk slithered over her skin to the floor, leaving her in heels and jewels, and not a stitch besides. Pausing, she rested her chin on her shoulder, winking at him. "Been waiting a bit to do that, have you?"

"That' No. This? Yes..." as he hurls her over the balcony edge into the waiting arms of her living buffet below. "Be gluttonous, Ravyn. Feed until they're not but husks." From a pocket, he takes a small resealable plastic baggie and drops it after her. The pouch contains five small red Ascend pills.

A booth at the Brazen Wench

Cezar sets his Not Your Father's Rootbeer down on the table and looks over a few boring headlines of the newspaper in front of him. "Well, looks like the Fire Nation stopped attacking"

"No, they were just bumped to page five by dueling drama and the Terran Shopping Season." Svetlana murmurs in his ear as she toys with a locket of hair.

"Either way, means business can pick up again. Got kind of hard to sell things when parts of the city were a raging inferno." Cezar nods idly while looking around him.

"It's been several months since Ascend was on the headlines. Think there needs to be a comeback?" Svetlana's question snares Cezar's attention like an arrow finding it's target.

"I suppose, we increased production'then the fires started springing up. So we pulled back, and now things have been relatively quiet into the new year. New year, new clients." Cezar extracts himself from Svetlana and starts for the door. "Get the tab would you? Then get back upstairs to entrance some new customers."

"What about the tab you run for my time?" She calls after him with a grin.

"Check is in the mail.?

Rhydin Undercity

"Beautiful, isn't it Robert?" Cain asks his conspirator. From the barred window of the room he sees the bio-luminescent waters of an old underground lake cast the shadows of workers into exaggerated proportions. Each person trudges along hauling mortar, stone, and other materials. Every task done sees a capsule of Ascend dropped into a waiting palm. Their payment for services rendered. Services that have been months in the making.

Robert Magnus doesn't answer his sire's question. Entombed in a steel box with needles and tubes piercing the blue veins under his ghastly white flesh. The once brilliant biochemist stares blankly at the ceiling, his blood being siphoned out where it's dispersed into several vials. Thralls take the vials and transfer them into centrifuges to isolate the black bloodcells from the red. "Oh, I'm sorry...I forgot you can't talk anymore. Not after helping that punk Anton. Though, I should thank you. With these fools hooked on the Ascend made from my own blood, I can keep them in servitude using yours. A fair trade. You're alive, your cancer is long cured."

Cain watches the blood be mixed with powdered chemicals then poured into molds where it's frozen for later dispersal. "Everything has its price after all. These mortal fools blinded by their own shortcomings sought a quick route to greater ability. Now they answer my call in their dreams, my blood in their veins..pushing them. Each gains a measure of my strength..and myself?"

He glances over his shoulder at the oblivious Magnus. "I never have to hunt again. With my blood in their veins, I can suckle of their life essence from anywhere. A vampire that never has to feed in the physical manner. Who'd have ever thought of such a thing" Oh...right, I did."

Far below, a worker slips and falls to her hands and knees, the stones she carried are scattered haphazardly. She rejects all help from others that come to aid getting her back to her feet. With shaking hands, she takes a pill from her pocket. The last one in the clear baggie. The others step back as she shakes and convulses before standing back up, gathering her dropped materials.

"That one has spirit, I think she'll make a fine addition to the family." Cain licks his lips with a predatory grin. "I think tonight I'll eat out."

He reaches out with his mind to the guards watching over the workers. A lone bearded Devil advances to relay his orders. "Half rations until the bridge is finished. Faster you work, the faster you get your payment! Make your pills count!"

At the announcement, it's like someone turned on a light in a room full of roaches. The workers scurried every which way, their work tempo escalated to a frenzy. "You see, Robert. Fear is an outmoded motivator. The fearful mind make mistakes, nearly as many as the angry mind. But the mind of an addict has one thought...how quickly can they get their next taste" A motivated addict always finds a way to reach its goal. No matter the cost, like a wolf that will chew off its own leg to escape the hunter's trap. I think they'll have the bridge finished by nightfall..."

A knock upon the chamber door came between whimpering sobs of Cain's test subject. If not for the momentary lull, he very well might have missed it. Putting the mask back over her face, he turns off the electrocauterizer with a light shake of his head. "Seems you've been granted a moments reprieve, m'dear."

"Come in!" he calls out while adjusting his coat.

The door is pushed open by a single Devil carrying a bronze trident. Its infernal armor polished to a pristine shine. "You've a visitor."

The vampire blinks and looks to the time on his pocketwatch. "Early...huh. Well, show them in."

The Devil nods but once and steps aside to let the visitor enter before closing the door behind them and taking a guard position just outside.

The aberration stepped in through the open door past the fiend, flanked by two especially muscular umber hulks. The tentacles surrounding the being's lamprey mouth gesticulate randomly while its eyes sweep the macabre chamber. Thin fingers slide down its silk robes before clasping together while a disembodied voice speaks inside Cain's mind.

~Am I interrupting"~

While not a stranger to telepathy, it's not a form of communication Cain has used too often. He rubs the side of his temple gently as a partial side effect. "No, no you're not."

The words verbally spoken while bracing himself for the coming encounter. "Just a little experiment. Would you care for any sort of refreshment?" The vampire hasn't forgotten completely how to be a good host it seems.

Issendine eyes the torture victim thoughtfully, like it was considering the poor girl as the refreshment, but it didn't want to be presumptive, so it would let Cain read into the glance and decide. However, there were more refreshments than just brains to be had, even though it wouldn't receive much nourishment from things other species craved.

~Mmm....if you have some delightful Underdark vintages, that would be nice.~

The passing glance doesn't go unnoticed, the notion of letting the flayer have it's whim with the girl actually intrigues him. Given she still has Ascend running through her system, what would that do to the abberation' Truly, an experiment worth seeing through. Though, perhaps not just yet.

"I'm not overly familiar with the particulars of your kind. Does it need to be attached to the host or more free range?" It's the politest way he could think to phrase such a question.

Curiously, without any sign or movement from the illithid, its two umber hulk guards suddenly stepped back to flank the door, standing at a rest. Its eyes returned to Cain, appearing amused by the question while it moved further in to find a place to sit.

~I would prefer from the bottle in a glass. Alcohol has a tendency to dampen the potency of the nourishment we receive from sentient brains. I like to feast on sober prey while "kicking back" with a drink as it were.~

"I, see." Cain states after a moment's pause. "Since you expressed interest. My subject here is under the influence of a substance known as Ascend that enhances natural abilities. She has not experienced some of the negative reactions to the drug, so I was running a few tests. Which I've long since concluded." Something tells him it would not do to be less than upfront with the flayer in this regard. Plus. Umberhulks by the door.

Issendine stepped toward the girl after taking note of a comfortable looking seat to use in a few moments, and slid its long, thin finger along her forehead. It stood there a few moments, looking into her eyes before looking back to Cain and heading over to the seat it chose.

~Interesting thoughts that one has. What were the conclusions of the experiment' You've piqued my curiosity.~

"Prolonged use tends to cause degenerative atrophy of the muscles among those without innate abilities. In this girl's case, she had more latent abilities similar to an inner resiliency to physical harm. Which reduced the prolonged damage of her addiction." Cain really didn't care about keeping such information a secret, it is all a means to an end.

From a shelf, he removes a black glass bottle. A wine blend of blackberries and honey. The only such item he has within this particular room. Pouring a glass, Cain offers it to Issendine. "Her and others built the bridge you came across upon your entrance to the citadel."

It accepted the glass with a gentle grasp as it sat down, sipping the drink, tentacles instinctively sitting around the glass. It nodded then, leaning back in the chair.

~Marvelous craftmanship. Good heavy lbor with such skill can sometimes be difficult to come by. And that brings us to another thing difficult to come by and part of the reason for this meeting.....Fresh, sentient brains.~

So it begins. Cain makes sure not to let the thought take a tangible form to be read as he nods and finds a seat of his own across from the ilithid.

Ryker Opera House just after sundown The vision came with such speed that Thea rose from her couch with a start, dressed in a thin gown of white silk, her hair unbound and flowing around her shoulders. The weather was warming, finally, even here in her stone sanctuary. Padding barefoot with rapid steps, one hand found the canvas, the other the pots of paint she kept to the side. She did not bother with brushes, not for this, pale blue eyes wide and unblinking as her fingers sought and found, dragging a crimson slash down the pale expanse. Stroke by stroke, a yawning mouth of angry red appeared, her fingers quickly stained to match. Back and forth, pot to canvas, until the bottom of the scene oozed scarlet, narrowing as it swirled higher until it was a thin thread of color.

Absently, she rubbed the last streaks of color against the silk, caught in the vise of her vision. Another pot, and the canvas was covered in shades of earth and rotting leaves, filling the space on either side as a mountain grew beneath her hands, torn asunder by the bloody maw. Rocky, and raw, it seemed both mountain and pyramid, some slopes more smooth and staggered, while others were left as nature designed.

A swift dip into shadowy paint, and figures appeared to either side, tearing the split wider - but for what? She dragged her hands across her dress, adding sable stains to bloody marks of earlier. Dipping the tip of her pinky into the first pot, she added a spot of vermillion to each member of the stygian army she'd created. Some emerged from the scarlet ooze, others wedged themselves between the two halves, or worked in pairs, pushing and pulling at the rock - none yet near the summit, but a single figure seemed to be considering it - above the others, but in no easy reach of the peak.

With a sharp cry, Thea clutched at the canvas, shaking her head as pain stabbed through her, nearly sending her to her knees. Her visions rarely came with such agony, and she shook as she wiped her hands along the silk, cleaning them as best she could. Even this was an anomaly...she was meticulous in keeping the paint from her clothes and hair, her daily visions leaving her plenty of time to prepare. This one had come with such excruciating speed she had had no choice but to obey - to transfer it from mind to fingers lest it destroy her.

Trembling fingers filled the sky with fire, serving as a backdrop to frame a single figure. Orange and yellow, even a hint of purple, radiating from the silhouette standing, seemingly unaware, balanced with one foot on either side of the violently rising tide. An aura of green surrounded him like a poison cloud, striking sapphire eyes blazing from where his face would be. Stepping back, she clamped a hand over her mouth, heedless of the streaks of blue and green it left behind like a bruise. Her dress and hair bore streaks of every hue, her hands were blotched and covered - this was danger, this was chaos, and not the kind her sire wrought, but directed against him. Stomach roiling - had she eaten recently, she would have lost whatever remained in a rush of pain and nerves - her mind raced to think of any course save leaving her sanctuary and braving the overwhelming world outside. There was none.

Without further pause, she took the canvas, and fled - this painting could not wait. He needed to be warned.

(awesome piece of writing by Thea's player. Posting with permission. ))