| "Why hasn't he stopped yet?" The words fell, hollow, into the gathering chamber; the voice that spoke them was devoid of any passion. Felanya sat with her feet tucked beneath her, remaining still where she had fallen over an hour ago. The site of Corridan, laughing madly had broken all of the walls she had built to keep herself safe from the memories of failure. The clear, liquid tears that began falling from her eyes once Corridan was dragged away - Sylvae had suggested he would be too much of a distraction - had ceased, and were drying. "Does it matter?" Acharya stood behind a stone podium, resting his hands on the sides as he studied reports of conflict from outside Shivralliah. This room, the gathering chamber, had been built specifically for the Kevahrin ceremonies. New Magi usually needed room to thrash once they had been "blessed," brought into the service of Torankhayel - and convinced that they were serving a greater good, ridding this world of all its darkness. Acharya had brought Corridan here, calling the other two Magi to have a lesson in cause and effect. Sylvae had just managed to show up, as usual. Corridan's mind would take some time to recover from the sudden destruction of the mental walls separating the different beings residing in his mind. Acharya blinked, trying to shake the far away screaming that dissolved his thoughts. "How can you say that?" Felanya hugged herself, staring at the stone floor. The world wasn't as she - or the part of her that was now in control - remembered it, and it hurt. Corridan's harsh, desperate laughter rang through the halls of Bantaehl. Her eyes wouldn't focus on the faces that were now unfamiliar, so instead they slid around the bare, stone room. It was cold, and gray, like so much else in the world. "You're inhuman," the words held no real conviction. "Well, yes." Acharya laughed, writing out deployment orders for a few higher-ranking Magi. "And so are you, or is that part of your memory still… failing you?" He grinned another small grin before letting it go. Felanya closed her eyes. The emphasis on that small word pulled visions of dark things and the smell of blood to the surface of her mind. "So Corridan… snapped." Sylvae's musing broke the silence. He leaned against a wall behind the Acharya, listening as Lyahr offered occasional suggestions regarding which Magi were ready to be sent to Shivralliah. "Then so did she," he sneered at Felanya. The woman had always been weak, in his opinion, but previously she had commanded his respect. She refused to take the bait, instead staring at the bird that Acharya refused to let out of his sight for long. Peering into the gilt cage, beyond the thick bars and into the eyes of the great bird, something tugged at her memory. The phoenix returned her gaze, but not quite so blankly. Beneath the mask of animal alienness pooled around those fiery irises, an intelligence played. The intellect buried in Tahdisha's eyes could not be labeled human; it was not nearly so base. Something in those eyes, the way they had tilted sadly when Corridan was dragged away, the way they watched all the tears falling down Felanya's face... The bird made people uneasy, brought the dead back to this realm, and brushed against pieces of a shattered memory. "She's weak now," Sylvae stepped forward to whisper into Acharya's ear. "Useless." "That's my concern, not yours." Acharya paid little attention to the man, still rearranging the groups of Magi. "She's been of more use to me than you have, and while now she may seem little more than wretched, it will pass. I wonder," Acharya's sapphire eyes flickered coldly. The disdain in his gaze forced Sylvae to step back. "Would your mind survive the same? Lying in stasis for centuries, awakened to believe a lie." He smiled thinly, closing the small distance between Sylvae and himself. Clasping his hands behind his back, he raised an eyebrow as he scrutinized the man in front of him. "Do not underestimate these two..."weak"... Magi." Acharya's eyes fell to the woman sitting silent and still on the floor. "All the old Magi have simply blinked in the face of visions that would destroy you." Sylvae's eyelids fluttered in confusion. "I'd never known you would defend weakness so adamantly, great Leader." The world blurred for an instant, then the Mage was staring up at the Acharya from the floor, putting pressure on a deep gash on his face. The Acharya placed a small blade back in its place, in the black sheath on his wrist. "Poisoned. A slow contagion. You question much, and remind me too closely of Varesh. In your next life, perhaps you'll know better than to question your master." He sneered disgustedly as Sylvae began convulsing on the floor. "Lyahr, take him somewhere to die quietly. It's going to take a few days." He reclaimed his place behind the stone podium, making the final adjustments. Only two Magi, and three Trackers would be needed in Shivralliah. Felanya watched Lyahr grab one of Sylvae's wrists, and begin dragging him away. "Good riddance, backstabbing motherless..." She got to her feet, gently brushing her robes of dirt that wasn't there. "I miss my swords." With that, she left the gathering room, her eyes glued to the floor. The only sound in the room was the occasional chirpish lament from the phoenix. Acharya gave little thought to the offhanded comment. Before facing the Rift, the woman had practiced obsessively with blades. Upon coming out of the long sleep, she had forgotten all the essential curiosities that composed her personality, becoming a perfect puppet for the nameless forces that wanted to see this world suffer and wither. It was only natural that, remembering who she'd been, she tried to reclaim the lost "personality." Logically, she would also try to find a way to fight the evil, and something would have to be done about that… "Acharya, master," a novice Mage bowed, breathless in the massive doorway. Acharya acknowledged him with only the barest nod. "There is a shadow hound at the gate, and it looks hungry." The novice - tall, pole-thin and ghastly pale - was confused by Acharya's laughter. "Master," the novice bowed again. "The hound has been… chewing through the gates. Two Trackers have lost limbs to accelerated gangrene, what are we to do?" Acharya laughed once more, the short spurts of amusement falling almost in time with the echoes of Corridan's laughter. "Then let it in, whelp. Obviously it has something to tell its master." The novice nodded, leaving the chamber at a dead run. Acharya continued laughing, leaving the podium to tell Lyahr that one of his pets had come home. |