The Curse Unfolds (9/27)

And so, he arrived.

After traveling through the frigid tundra once more, the Seraphim once more arrives at the mountain settlement. He soon emerges from the cave, and makes his way through the streets. Each step causes tufts of snow to fall free from his clothing and armor, and his movements seem forced.

It seems the Seraphim were not too fond of the cold - given they literally lived within the sun.

Upon arriving at the city center, Kishar's gaze soon turns to the leader of the frigid city.

"Regent Dura." His voice calls out, stopping only a few feet away from the woman. "I've come to talk."

There is a pause.

A dreaded hesitation that would undoubtedly make the dead roll in their graves.

"In private."
(Kishar)
[01:08:41]
The question is momentarily considered, though not overmuch. It responds, bluntly, "sᴏᴍᴇ ғɪɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀᴘᴘᴇᴀʀᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴏғ ᴍʏ ғʀᴀᴍᴇ ᴅɪsᴛᴜʀʙɪɴɢ."

An automata with robotic arms coming out of its ribs with surgical tools hot-wired to them probably did disturb a few people, once or twice. But whatever expounding on that topic CXX would do - it immediately silences itself when someone approaches with business.

As it always does.
(CXX 'Corvus')
[01:12:27]
The Azulan frowns. She frowns as the Seraphim approaches with more business, and as the automata she had been engaging in conversation with, such as it was, becomes silent.

"...Right. Somewhere inside them. Come along, Guardian Kishar."

The Regent steps away unsteadily from the podium and waves him along behind her.
(Dura Levante)
[01:13:17] Dura Levante says, "The fire keeps it warmer here."
[01:13:18] Dura Levante says, "Please."
[01:13:18] Dura Levante says, "Sit."
[01:15:38]
Kishar does so.

Taking a seat at the nearby table, the Seraphim wastes no time in getting comfortable. Well, as comfortable as he can be, given he is still donned in heavy wolfram armor.

His arms rest idly upon the table, and soon his table turns towards Dura. "I must apologize for interrupting your conversation earlier, Regent Dura, but I come with important questions."

There is a brief pause as he leans back in his seat. The sound of the fireplace crackling the only thing being heard for several moments - before he finally continues.

"I've come to learn about the tower within Deliverance - and the unholy abominations that surround it."

Oh.

That was quite blunt.
(Kishar)
[01:17:27]
Dura doesn't waste time either. But she is also not comfortable. She holds herself rigid, but yet somehow gives the impression that she is pressed under a great and eroding weight.

It's in the way she carries herself, the way she speaks, even sits and looks to him with her eyes a dull, golden hue.

"Appreciate the directness. Don't know why that had to be private though."
(Dura Levante)
[01:20:44]
"Because, Regent Dura."

There is a brief pause as he leans forwards once more, his sky blue eyes peering towards Dura's own. It was an oddity - the eyes were the portal to the soul, and yet there was something odd shimmering within his own.

"Your city crawls with the likes of Nephilim and their allies. Tainted sinners who, from what I have seen, seem to ally themselves with the undead ilk of Deliverance. I wished to have a discussion without having to worry about being eavesdropped on. Surely you can appreciate such a thing, no?"
(Kishar)
[01:23:16]
The eyes are the portals to the soul. And there is something that is not quite right with hers either.

Something missing. Or something extra?

"Not all of them are allies of Deliverance. Some of them are cursed by circumstance. I'm sure you know."

"However. Anything I can tell you too is common knowledge."

"The Pillar of Soteria is their means to divert the flow of life. To make their Undead - which they call 'Risen' so it sounds less dirty than it actually is."

"They are trying to 'unify' Sarea. Through any means necessary. They love their propaganda in Deliverance."
(Dura Levante)
[01:29:09]
"There are truth in your words, Regent."

"Some of the Nephilim are merely victims of unfortunate circumstances. Forced to carry the sins of their forefathers. A tragedy, without a doubt. But do not be fooled by their sob stories. Nor their silvered tongued lies. There are many within their ranks that revel in their curse. Even more worrisome, some that may even be among the mages that imprisoned the dragons so long ago."

Perhaps Dura did not see it that way, but Kishar seen many of the Nephilim as irredeemable monsters - ticking time bombs that would soon explode.

But perhaps he might be proven wrong.

"As for these so called 'risen', no matter what name they slap onto it, it is all the same. Abominations. Rotting undead. They are perversions of the cycle at its most base form. Souls entrapped within dead flesh, unable to be reborn or learn in their next life. They stand opposite of everything we Seraphim stand for. Hence why I wish to learn more about them."

"If only to learn how to better release them from their immortal, rotting frames."

How he intended to go about that was left unsaid - but given the gravity of his words and his earlier remarks regarding them, it was unlikely to be anything particularly pleasant.
(Kishar)
[01:34:41]
"There is one thing we can agree on then," she grunts, folding her arms. "No matter what they name them, they are a thing that needs to go. The spin or propaganda are coverings for what's under it."

"Always has been."

But there is something that increases the crushing weight on her shoulders. That erodes away at her all the worse. She looks visibly less and less...

Well.

"You can always ask them about it. They are proud of it. And if they take Providence, they intend to use our works to fuel their Pillar. They've made it no secret."

"The best way to return them? Destroy that Pillar."
(Dura Levante)
[01:34:44] Dura Levante says, "(brb relogging"
[01:35:41] Dura Levante has equipped Magma Leggings.
[01:35:41] Dura Levante has equipped Black Jacket.
[01:35:41] Dura Levante has equipped Half Cape.
[01:35:41] Dura Levante has equipped Magma Chestplate.
[01:35:41] Dura Levante has equipped Ring Of Potency.
[01:35:41] Dura Levante has equipped Ring Of Potency.
[01:35:41] Dura Levante has equipped Unstable Living Foci.
[01:35:41] Dura Levante has equipped Leather Pants.
[01:35:41] Dura Levante has equipped Lotus of Wrath.
[01:42:45]
"What they name themselves is irrelevant. That, we can agree on to be sure."

There is a brief pause as Kishar seems to stare at Dura in silence. It was subtle - barely perceptible. But something was off. Different, even. An invisible weight upon the Regents shoulders that he couldn't quite place.

"I would rather avoid stepping foot in that cesspit of undeath and hypocrisy as long as I can, Regent Dura. I've already had one unfortunate encounter with their so called 'Pillars', and I am in no rush to repeat such a thing. What a petulant child..."

The final words are muttered - yet loud enough for the Regent to hear.

Eventually he sits back in his seat, but his gaze does not change. "But I must change the topic, Regent. You seem tired - unsurprising, given the stress of ruling the city - but something is odd. Different. Are you feeling alright? Are you ill, perhaps?"
(Kishar)
[01:46:56]
The weight is not a physical one, but it might as well be with the way her shoulder's sag and she lists forward over the table and stays propped up on her forearms.

There are no chemicals to keep her going. No alcohol to curb that sensation she's come to loath and that has only intensified.

"For the best. I've never been there myself - for all my curiosity. I avoid it."

He is not the first to ask. Every time she's faltered the question's been the same.

"I don't...I don't know. I wish I did."
(Dura Levante)
[01:54:32]
"Then allow me to assist."

It wasn't so much a request, as it was a statement.

The Seraphim stands up from his seat, and a bright light begins to shimmer around his golden halo. His eyes seem to take on a shimmering hue of swirling colors. A gaze that looks past the physical body, and peers into her very soul.

The warm light of evocation washes over her - and yet it was different. A light akin to evocation, yet not quite. But despite that, it was warm - welcoming - and even seemed to ease some of the pain she might've experienced.

"You have faced many trials and tribulations." Kishar's voice calls out, as his magic revealed the issues buried deep within her soul. While it was not perfect - not by any means - if there was any affliction targeting her soul, then it would be seen.

But only if she allowed the Seraphim to do so.

"Stood brave in the face of abominations and the like. You have suffered much, but it is time to be eased of that suffering. Allow me to help you, Regent Dura. So you may brave the trials of tomorrow."
(Kishar)
[01:59:47] OOC - Nevanerro Gaming: looks in urosil for housing
[01:59:53] OOC - Nevanerro Gaming: decide to check out the medical tent
[01:59:55] OOC - Nevanerro Gaming: unrented
[02:00:03] OOC - RamblingGiovanni: MOTHERFUCKER
[02:00:15] OOC - RamblingGiovanni: And I play a medic
[02:00:29] OOC - Nevanerro Gaming: with a donation of just one coin today you can give the medics a place to stay
[02:00:35] OOC - Nevanerro Gaming: they're sad and cold in the rain they have to work in
[02:00:39] OOC - Curtisimo5: Honestly medical tents should have some sort of healspeed bonus if you RP inside them.
[02:00:46] OOC - RamblingGiovanni: I have a place to stay.
[02:01:00] OOC - RamblingGiovanni: It's just not a medical tent
[02:01:05] OOC - Roast: what a cool update that would be. Completely agree.
[02:01:08] OOC - lolman360: as a person who owns a medical tent
[02:01:09] OOC - lolman360: yes
[02:01:11] OOC - lolman360: let me lock it
[02:01:17] OOC - RamblingGiovanni: ( :O
[02:01:18] OOC - lolman360: so that people have to go elsewhere
[02:01:29] OOC - Nevanerro Gaming: people buy the medical tent and use it as private property
[02:01:34] OOC - Nevanerro Gaming: they proceed to erp their injury away
[02:01:58] OOC - RamblingGiovanni: h
[02:01:59] OOC - RamblingGiovanni: how
[02:02:00] OOC - Roast: lmao.. and then the mods look at the chat logs. Gotta grab some popcorn
[02:02:09] OOC - Nevanerro Gaming: rp gives focus doesn't it
[02:02:18] OOC - Roast: It does.
[02:02:19] OOC - Nevanerro Gaming: and you can spend quite some time writing a post
[02:02:27] OOC - Nevanerro Gaming: and if the medic tents gave you healspeed buff for posting in them
[02:02:28]
"Nothing's worked. I don't. I don't know what it is. It just feels like it's..."

"Waiting."

And that wasn't wrong. It was all too accurate.

"...There's still more to do. It's not over. I just. I have to keep going."

There is, in fact, an affliction on her soul. The source of that weight still chewing and gnawing and wearing down her will. There is no mistaking it.

Faha'nadir's Wrath made manifest. Waiting. Whittling her down. Bit by curse'd bit.
(Dura Levante)
[02:02:49] OOC - Nevanerro Gaming: then if you did the do with a medic then you get the healspeed buff, they get the focus regen to suture and lay on hands you
[02:03:08] OOC - Curtisimo5: now make sure it's a seraph or a nephil, they give you passive focus regen...
[02:03:34] OOC - Nevanerro Gaming: well honestly
[02:03:48] OOC - Nevanerro Gaming: it'd have to be a seraph cause neph's ability only extends to sorc users
[02:03:56] OOC - Nevanerro Gaming: you can't have lay on hands as a sorc user
[02:15:31]
While Kishar was by no means a master at the art of Astromancy, he had a knack for it.

His gaze peers deep into Dura's soul, laying bare the affliction that bothered him. At first, it was difficult to see - the blazing light of her soul making it difficult to make out the details. But soon, it became clearer. The blazing light, however, soon begins to darken.

The weight upon her soul becoming all too overbearing - a weight that was not from just leadership. No, it was different than exhaustion. It was an affliction he had seen before - yet this was the first time he seen it in process.

The curse of Faha'nadir.

"N-No..." His words muttered, causing his eyes to go wide at the sight unfolding before him. "No, I will not allow it-..."

His hands clasp together, causing that bright light to fill the room. Kishar's mana flares up, a golden shimmering aura erupting out from his body, as a pair of translucent wings can faintly be seen behind him.

It is at this point time itself begins to slow, and not just metaphorically.

Astral magic is called forth, creating a bubble of time around the duo. Time itself grinds to a halt, a bubble in which even air itself ceases movement - a desperate bid from the Seraphim to prevent the curse taking hold.

But he was but a simple low ranking Seraphim, trying to stop a curse from the Dragons themselves.

Would it truly be able to prevent what was to come?
(Kishar)
[02:24:01]
There's no way for her to grasp what's going on. Dura has no way to peer into the condition of her own soul. She only knows that she is tired, that she has not been well, and that that weight has only gotten worse on her soul as the rest of her body's healed.

It is even more confusing when she can barely catch his muttered words. To see surprise from one of the Wardens was not something that sat well with her.

"..No what? What aren't you allowing? Guardian Ki-"

She gets out about as many words before she tries to rise up and get clear of his casting.

Instead she's frozen, temporarily locked in a single moment in time. Dura struggles and strains like a panicked animal. What else is she right now but that very thing?

The Guardian probably already knows. Fah'ndadir's Affliction cares not for the spell of a single angel. It marches on, it chews away, even more rapidly now with its subject backed into a corner.

And how long can he hold that stoppage of time?
(Dura Levante)
[02:32:17]
Time.

A potent magic that few can truly master - to stop time itself was a hallmark of those who had truly delved into its deepest mysteries. Even the smallest of bubbles of halted time was an exhausting endeavor.

And even though Kishar had talent in the art, even he had his limits.

Even his control was not perfect.

Despite the Seraphim's best attempts, he is unable to truly delay the encroachment of Dura's soul. The curse - while momentarily delayed - begins to continues its process of burying deep within her soul. Even as time itself stood still within that orb.

It could not stop the power of the Eidolons.

The curse accelerated.

His attempts to halt its advance was about as effective as slapping a band-aid on a gushing wound. It did nothing but cause matters to get worse, and soon his magic would begin to falter.

The bubble of frozen time flickers - causing time around them to start and stop repeatedly, before Kishar's spell finally falls. Unable to prevent the transformation, he could only watch in horror as the curse would soon take hold.
(Kishar)
[02:41:24]
If there had ever been any means to truly stop it, it was far too late. The time magic lapses and she feels that crushing, oppressive weight finally collapse on her all at once.

Dura crumples as soon as the bubble bursts, arms wrapping over her head as it feels like her soul is ripped asunder and her skull threatening to split.

What last bits of Evocation magic she had to her name, that blessing she'd planned so much for, is forcibly expelled from her in a single, radiant burst. Never to return.

Nature abhors a vacuum. Rhyst is no exception to that general rule, and where that vacancy is left something else floods in to take its place. Its polar opposite and anathema swirls and seethes into her in its place.

The Regent howls in agony as the vengeful curse takes hold.

As if that were the least of her worries. The skull-splitting pain eases only after a pair of horns juts from her scalp. From the base of her spine splits a spaded tail, thrashing like a whip.

The Kal Azulan - or once Kal Azulan, more accurately - lies still and shivering in a curled heap on the floor of the keep.
(Dura Levante)
[02:50:00]
He was too late.

Despite his efforts from preventing the curse from taking hold, he couldn't stop it. He could only watch in horror as the curse finally breaks its way into her soul, and is firmly rooted for the rest of time.

He failed.

As the Seraphim's time magic finally blinks away, the explosion of evocation magic is finally released. Even being a wielder of the magic himself, he is unable to resist it as it explodes outwards - and with it, sending the young Seraphim crashing across the room. His body, under the immense power expelled from Dura's body, is little more than a rag doll that is carried and sent crashing through the nearby chests, sending wood splinters and debris flying through the air.

His body crumples within that debris, and his vision begins to fade. His hand reaches meekly towards the transformed Kal Zulan, a trembling futile attempt to prevent something that had already occurred.

"N-No... Im-...Possible..."

Fading words, before the Seraphim collapses within that pile, his consciousness blinking out as those final words leave his lips. He had failed to prevent Dura from becoming a Nephlim. He was sent here to protect the people of Rhyst from such corruptive influences, and even when he stood before the unfortunate victim, he failed in protecting them.

And thus, his last sight was seeing those horns erupt from Dura's head. That whip-like tail cracking against the floor.

A final sight that was a testament to his failure, before he finally falls unconscious.
(Kishar)
[02:51:08] Dura Levante has unequipped Lotus of Wrath.
[03:02:11]
It's not the first time this alcove of the keep has been torn to bits. It's also not the first time it's been torn to bits at least partly because of her.

There's several moments of strange relief. There is no longer that looming sensation of dread over her head, the waiting Dragon's Curse waxing until she can stand it no more. The pressure releases.

Then she feels that keen absence of the familiar. So much more than a missing limb, the magic that had been such a great part of her? Now gone.

The new features that have settled in aren't lost on her, but take a longer time to register than everything else. One hand reaches behind her, feeling the base of the whip-tail. Another goes up, feeling the hard keratin surface of a horn.

"...No. No. No no no nonononon," she babbles incoherently.

Finally, last in the order, is the still form of the angel. Dura reaches out, her first instinct to try to ease the pain of his wounds.

The magic won't come. The soothing, healing light refuses her call. Instead she has to haul him up in her arms, limp as they feel.
(Dura Levante)