You tell Dreadborn Pharue Xanatov in Mhaldorian, "Explain yourself, Dreadborn."

Pharue tells you in Mhaldorian, "What is there to explain? The madness inside my head? The torture I feel day after day, when flashback after flashback of my past haunts me? The pain I feel every time I think about the assignment I was given by Naga Kholm?"

You tell Dreadborn Pharue Xanatov in Mhaldorian, "What assignment did Naga Kholm give you?"

Jurixe arches a dark eyebrow.

Pharue sways back and forth.

Dreadborn Pharue Xanatov rattles: I sought him for teaching, to be my mentor.

Pharue laces his fingers together contemplatively.

You rattle: And?

Dreadborn Pharue Xanatov rattles: He asked me who I love the most.

Dreadborn Pharue Xanatov rattles: He then said he would mentor me, on one condition.

Dreadborn Pharue Xanatov rattles: ...I can't even say it.

Jurixe's grey eyes narrow a fraction as she contemplates you.

You rattle: You are contemplating giving this all up for a singular person?

Dreadborn Pharue Xanatov rattles: I'm being torn in half, Naga.

You rattle: Split asunder, like the Lords Themselves were.

Dreadborn Pharue Xanatov rattles: In one hand, I have my desire to become strong... in the other, my memories... my desire to be with this person.

Dreadborn Pharue Xanatov rattles: And almost simultaneously, she started sending me letters.

Jurixe arches a dark eyebrow.

Pharue's eyes gleam with generosity.

Pharue gives an elegant white letter to you.

You read what is written on an elegant white letter:
Remember the day you took the bandages from your wrist? How each and
every layer brought you pain and I comforted you? Your pain was mine,
and we were as one. I still have that bandage in my safe keeping and
each time I look at it I remember. Do you remember, Pharue? The warmth
of my body comforting yours, the Light engulfing us in its glory.

Jurixe glances over the letter, her expression inscrutable, before she returns it
to you.

You give an elegant white letter to Pharue.

Dreadborn Pharue Xanatov rattles: I get flashbacks every time I read them... they're driving me insane. And she refuses to stop.

You beckon to Pharue.

A ghostly figure begins to follow you.

[Walking to the common room of the Worm and Grub]

Turning to you, Jurixe's grey eyes contemplate you without emotion.

You rattle: You were with this person before, I take it.

Dreadborn Pharue Xanatov rattles: She and I were married over a century ago.

You rattle: And why did that fail?

Dreadborn Pharue Xanatov rattles: Chaos.

Jurixe arches a dark eyebrow.

You rattle: She is a Chaos practitioner?

Pharue sits down.

Dreadborn Pharue Xanatov rattles: I was having thoughts about delving into the karmic arts... one day, she felt as if I was ignoring her, and asked me to define it... My inability led her to leaving, and I got lost in Chaos for awhile... lost her in the process.

Jurixe perches atop a somewhat stuffed seat, still watching you expectantly.

Pharue collapses in a heap on the floor, unable to bear the pain any longer.

Jurixe glances down at you, but makes no move to help, unsympathetic.

You rattle: You knew the cost that greatness would demand.

You rattle: You knew what it meant to seek Strength. To cast off the Weakness that binds us.

You rattle: She, clearly, is your ultimate weakness.

You rattle: The relationship failed, because both of you were weak. She, for not providing you with Strength - you, for not reciprocating that.

You rattle: Only those who truly embrace the Truths understand what it means to seek them.

You rattle: If she truly wished for you to succeed, to find Strength, she would not hold you back.

You rattle: Yet tis exactly what she is doing. She continues to pull you back, to tie your arms, to bind you with that thread of Weakness that you allow to linger.

Dreadborn Pharue Xanatov rattles: I didn't forsee this. I didn't think my memories would haunt me so. I didn't dream I'd be so tormented... I've killed friends, family, with not so much as a wince.

Jurixe levels her gaze at you.

You rattle: You grant her far more control than she deserves, and she is manipulating that.

You rattle: You may as well be a puppet in her hands.

You rattle: Does she wait for you, Dreadborn? Does she linger in the light, just out of your reach? Does she beckon and cry and plead for you not to go?

Jurixe's gaze turns mocking.

Pharue sways back and forth.

You rattle: Does she profess her undying love for you? Will you take her hand in marriage and raise a family?

You rattle: Or...does she already belong to someone?

Jurixe's eyes sharpen as they watch your reaction.

Pharue blinks.

Jurixe's grey eyes turn knowing.

Pharue shakily attempts to stand, failing horribly as his knees buckle under his weight.

You rattle: She does, does she not? Her heart already belongs to another man.

You rattle: She would have you give up all this for her.

Jurixe gestures expansively to the room.

Throwing back his head, Pharue screams agonisingly.

You rattle: This month alone you saw the truth that is Oppression, and Suffering.

The sibilant rattling continues as Jurixe hisses unrelentingly, the sound filling
the room.

You rattle: You saw our Strength. Our power. Our complete domination.

You rattle: This is what you came to our city to seek!

You rattle: This is what you desire. To become more than the weakling you are, Dreadborn!

You rattle: And what would she have from you? She urges you to turn away, to leave the path that would bring you glory.

Dreadborn Pharue Xanatov rattles: She tries to show me glory in the Light that blinded me so long ago...

Dreadborn Pharue Xanatov rattles: ...the very same Light we crushed moments ago.

Jurixe's lips curl upwards in a sardonic smirk, almost half a snarl.

You rattle: If that demonstration did not show you how utterly weak the fallacy of Light is, still, Dreadborn.

Dreadborn Pharue Xanatov rattles: ...I've tried for a century to be with her once more, and she's denied me.

Pharue growls menacingly.

Pharue stands up and stretches his arms out wide.

Jurixe snorts slightly, derision flaring black in her eyes.

Dreadborn Pharue Xanatov rattles: Why should I be denied what I want, to make others happy? Just for her to go right back to living the life she has been?!

Jurixe tilts her chin slightly, the beginnings of approval glimmering within her
eyes.

You rattle: Go on, Dreadborn. Speak what you know to be the truth in your heart.

Dreadborn Pharue Xanatov rattles: ...why do I feel so weak when I think of drawing my dirk against her, still?

Pharue collapses in a heap on the floor, unable to bear the pain any longer.

Jurixe shakes her dark head in faint disappointment as she glances down at you.

You rattle: Because you dwell on weakness.

You rattle: You give her this power yourself, Dreadborn.

You rattle: You conjure up old memories from a life that you swore to leave behind.

Slipping off her perch, Jurixe kneels beside you, roughly tilting your chin up to
meet her steel grey eyes.

You rattle: She is -nothing-. She is a weakness, a festering weakness within yourself that will forever halt your pursuit of Strength.

You rattle: A plague that has haunted you for centuries.

Pharue's shaking completely stops as he is paralyzed with fear.

You rattle: You came here, seeking Strength. Seeking Power. Seeking - a way out.

The rattling echoes in the chamber, bouncing off the walls as Jurixe continues to
stare down at you, your chin in her grip.

You rattle: Cast her off, Dreadborn. See her - see her for what she is.

You rattle: She is a manipulative, lying, selfish heathen that wants nothing more than to drag you down into the abyss that is complacence and weakness along with her.

You rattle: You said it yourself. What would she - has she - sacrificed for -you-? What has -she- done for you?

You rattle: Do you think she pines for you as you do her, when she lies next to her husband?

You rattle: Do you, Dreadborn?

Pharue twitches spasmodically.

Jurixe raises her chin again, abruptly releasing her grip and pushing your head
away.

You rattle: You know, Dreadborn.

You rattle: You know it to be true.

You rattle: Accept it, accept it as you have embraced the Truths.

You rattle: She does not want what you had - have - to offer.

You rattle: She wants you to be -just- -like- -her-.

Jurixe straightens, and looks down at you contemptuously.

Pharue clambers to his feet again, swaying unsteadily.

Jurixe's grey gaze follows you, molten steel and ash.

Dreadborn Pharue Xanatov rattles: The voices continue to drone...

You rattle: Then you must shut them out.

You rattle: You must find the Strength inside yourself that you seek.

You rattle: Recognise them for what they are. They are whispers of weakness, of old memories, of regrets.

Dreadborn Pharue Xanatov rattles: The memories of repelling the Truths as one that defended the Light... the memories of fighting alongside her against our kind...

You rattle: Wraiths of the past that bear no meaning on the present other than what we give them.

Jurixe steps close to you, grey eyes blazing as she pulls your chin down and forces
you to look into her eyes.

You rattle: Dreadborn, listen to me.

Pharue's body stiffens up with paralysis, his eyes wide open.

You rattle: You are -not- -that- -person-.

You rattle: No longer.

You rattle: You are Pharue, Dreadborn of the mighty House of Naga.

You rattle: Proud soldier of the military of the great city of Mhaldor, home of Evil.

You rattle: An eternal servant of Suffering and Oppression.

You rattle: Herald of the Seven Truths.

You rattle: You are destined for greatness.

You rattle: Perched on the very cusp of it.

A paradise bird swoops in gracefully, dropping a letter into Pharue's hands before flying off in a flurry of colour.

Pharue peers about himself unscrupulously.

You rattle: And now, now you falter? You listen to voices and memories of the life you chose to-.

Jurixe's gaze sharpens.

You rattle: Do not read it.

You rattle: Hand it to me.

Throwing back his head, Pharue screams agonisingly.

You rattle: -Now-, Dreadborn. Do as I say.

Pharue gives an elegant white letter to you.

You read what is written on an elegant white letter:
I remember the day you and I and Jaiz went to that hill. We made a
pledge that day that we would never again take our own lives. Do you
remember why we did that? It was because each time I died it tore your
heart in two. I still feel the same, and each time I see you perish my
heart breaks all over again. Please come back Pharue. The darkness can
be pushed away if you fight it. I miss you.

Jurixe takes the letter, and promptly sets it alight.

You light your letter on fire, let it burn briefly, and then gently pat the fire out. The result is a fairly charred letter.

Dreadborn Pharue Xanatov rattles: I already read it, Naga.

Jurixe glances back to you, the parchment falling into ash next to her.

You rattle: She says her heart breaks for you, Dreadborn. Oh, every time you die.

Jurixe's tone turns mocking.

Pharue sways back and forth.

You rattle: Did her heart break as well when she took his hand in marriage?

Dreadborn Pharue Xanatov rattles: I was lost in Chaos.

You rattle: Did her heart break when you sought to return to her arms?

Dreadborn Pharue Xanatov rattles: ...why would it?

You rattle: Indeed, why would it? As evidently it did not, for she rejected you, no?

Dreadborn Pharue Xanatov rattles: She did.

You rattle: A century, Dreadborn, you tried. And the outcome is obviously no different.

You rattle: How much more time do you intend to waste on this woman?

You rattle: How much longer do you intend to pine for what you clearly cannot have?

You rattle: How long are you going to waste away, chained by ghosts and manipulated by dreams?

You rattle: She is not who you remember.

Jurixe's gaze sharpens as she looks at you intently.

You rattle: And you are not that person any more.

Dreadborn Pharue Xanatov rattles: The enemies of strength are those who trumpet the effeminate values of forgiveness, tolerance, and laxity of discipline.

Jurixe nods her head slightly, approval gleaming in her eyes.

You rattle: Say it again.

Dreadborn Pharue Xanatov rattles: The enemies of strength are those who trumpet the effeminate values of forgiveness, tolerance, and laxity of discipline...

You rattle: Again.

Dreadborn Pharue Xanatov rattles: The enemies of Strength are those who trumpet the effeminate values of forgiveness, tolerance, and laxity of discipline...

You rattle: Louder, Dreadborn.

Pharue sways back and forth.

Jurixe's gaze sharpens.

You rattle: Do not falter now. Louder, Dreadborn!

Pharue says in Mhaldorian in a slow, calculating voice, "The enemies of Strength are those who trumpet the effeminate values of forgiveness, tolerance, and laxity of discipline!"

You say harshly in Mhaldorian in a low, silken voice, "Are you weak, Dreadborn? Do you forgive wrongs that are wrought against you, brushing them off as if they do not slice you up inside?"

Pharue exclaims in Mhaldorian in a slow, calculating voice, "No!"

Pharue growls menacingly.

You say harshly in Mhaldorian in a low, silken voice, "Are you tolerant of failure, tolerant of weakness, having to prop up those who do not strive for their own Strength but use you instead?"

Pharue's posture straightens up, his eyes flashing red with rage.

Pharue exclaims in Mhaldorian in a slow, calculating voice, "No!"

(Dodecahedron of Insane-ness): Pharue says, "Sorry Bea, Jurixe won."

You say harshly in Mhaldorian in a low, silken voice, "Are you lax, Dreadborn? Are you complacent? Are you satisfied with what you have? Are you happy with who you are, content to wallow in your little pool of weakness?"

Pharue says in Mhaldorian in a slow, calculating voice, "No, no, and no!"

Approval flashes silver across Jurixe's gaze, a split second warning before she
backhands you sharply across the face.

You say harshly in Mhaldorian in a low, silken voice, "Then wake up."

Pharue blinks.

You say harshly in Mhaldorian in a low, silken voice, "Wake up, and see her for what she is."

You say harshly in Mhaldorian in a low, silken voice, "Wake up and embrace the Truths that you seek."

You say harshly in Mhaldorian in a low, silken voice, "Allow her room to fester in your soul no longer."

You say firmly in Mhaldorian in a low, silken voice, "She will not control you."

You say firmly in Mhaldorian in a low, silken voice, "You decide your own destiny, your own path, and you have chosen Strength."

Pharue says quietly in Mhaldorian in a slow, calculating voice, "I have."

Jurixe nods her dark head imperceptibly, stepping back just a fraction.

You say quietly in Mhaldorian in a low, silken voice, "Weakness must be eliminated in all its forms: Physical, Mental, and Spiritual."

You say in Mhaldorian in a low, silken voice, "Eliminate your weakness, Dreadborn."

You say in Mhaldorian in a low, silken voice, "Purge it from yourself."

You say in Mhaldorian in a low, silken voice, "And in the hole that she leaves...embrace Evil."

Pharue lowers his head, visibly becoming less tense.

Dreadborn Pharue Xanatov rattles: Weakness must be eliminated in all its forms: Physical, Mental, and Spiritual.

Dreadborn Pharue Xanatov rattles: Physical, Mental, and Spiritual... Physical, Mental, and Spiritual...

Jurixe nods her head again in approval as the chant resonates around the room.

You say in Mhaldorian in a low, silken voice, "Let weakness plague you no more."

Pharue laces his fingers together contemplatively.

Dreadborn Pharue Xanatov rattles: Subterfuge, the art of deceit... The art of trickery...

You say quietly in Mhaldorian in a low, silken voice, "The art of manipulation."

Dreadborn Pharue Xanatov rattles: Truth Six: The mind may be made stronger through the elimination of conscience. One does this by inflicting pain on others.

Jurixe's grey eyes gleam faintly.

You rattle: Cruelty - the application of pain - is the method by which one weeds out the weak and feeble-minded from the population.

You rattle: You say you are not weak.

You rattle: Then prove it by eliminating it in all its forms.

Dreadborn Pharue Xanatov rattles: Physical, Mental, and Spiritual... Understood, Naga Jurixe.

Jurixe looks down at the pile of ash next to her, and grinds the heel of her boot
into it.

You say simply in Mhaldorian in a low, silken voice, "Good."

[Walking to the gatehouse]

Jurixe glances at you briefly.

Pharue lowers his head respectfully before you.

You rattle: Confronting Weakness will bring Strength.

You rattle: Tis never an easy journey, but then, tis why we Suffer.

You rattle: Do not fear the pain, Dreadborn.

You rattle: It will bring you Strength, as it has already begun to do.

Dreadborn Pharue Xanatov rattles: Only by understanding pain can one truly inflict it.

Jurixe nods her head in slight satisfaction.

You rattle: Walk in Evil, and may Strength guide you.

You rattle: Tis the only things we need.

Jurixe turns on her heel, melting into the darkness.