5/9 Drinking is Bad For Your Health

 Artaghh says, "Ye' can have some'a mine if ye' like Don."
 Sirocco Vishkar says, "Fortunate you started with a finger."
 Donovan Invidia says, "Fun challenge, see what I can do to- Geh.."
 Artaghh says, "Sors took more than ye' e'er could wit the surgery, oof."
 Artaghh says, "Still hurts."
 Donovan Invidia says, "Resist this damn toxin. Might even be helpful with other things, too-"
 Sirocco Vishkar says, "Oh, it can be helpful."
 Donovan Invidia asks, ".. Is there any part of you that isn't mostly metal Artie?"
 Sirocco Vishkar whispers something.
 Artaghh says, "Half my torso, my thighs, arms, neck, face."
 Artaghh exclaims, "So some bits!"
 Artaghh says, "Lungs are fucked though."
 Artaghh says, "I think I los' a toe or two ta frostbite."
 Artaghh says, "Haven' checked."
 Donovan Invidia whispers something.
 Sirocco Vishkar whispers something.
 Artaghh says, "I wanna get it all back some day..."
 Donovan Invidia whispers something.
 Sirocco Vishkar whispers something.
 Artaghh exclaims, "A quest fer the white oil!"
 Donovan Invidia whispers something.
 Artaghh says, "Restore me body once more....I'd kill a lot'a things fer tha'."
 Sirocco Vishkar whispers something.
 Donovan Invidia says, "Get me things to practice on and uh."
 Donovan Invidia says, "I'll be able to use fleshcrafting to help with getting you all uh."
Donovan Invidia says, "Made out of flesh again."
Artaghh says, "Tha's the sweetes' thing I've e'er heard Don."
Artaghh says, "Ye' softie."
Donovan Invidia says, ".."
Donovan Invidia says, "I'll take your other eye in payment."
Artaghh says, "Pffffff. Tha'd be pretty cool...."
Artaghh says, "Blind swordsman."
Artaghh exclaims, "Real story like!"
Donovan Invidia says, "Yes.."
Artaghh says, "I could try the Sors route an' star' stealin' folks eyes too...real bogeyman stuff."
Donovan Invidia says, ".. Did you mean you're going to steal eyes or-"
Artaghh exclaims, "Steal eyes, yeah!"
Artaghh says, "Oooh, drakan eyes..."
Artaghh exclaims, "Tha' sounds cool!"
Donovan Invidia says, "Blind man steals eyes. Something something old saying something eye for an eye.."
Donovan Invidia says, "Sounds neat."
Artaghh exclaims, "It does!"
Artaghh says, "I'm sold."
Donovan Invidia exclaims, "Neat!"
Donovan Invidia says, ".. Now I, will take a bite out of you."
Artaghh says, "Tha's fair."
Ser Artaghh would pace up with a nod up to Donovan, leaning cozily against the stone of the tower as he raised his right arm before his person. Slowly, steadily, he'd unwrap the bandages that bound them, revealing the heavily burn scarred flesh of the swordsman's arms beneath. Even near a decade later, the alchemic, occultic burns left their mark on the knight.

Snapping his fingers as he stretched his right arm out towards Donovan, Artaghh would ignite forth in a dense, rich blue shroud of pulsating mana, harmless to the touch and yet ethereally solid, almost like ectoplasm. His arm's muscles would bulge forth and increase in size and mass as the energy was concentrated through his musculature, offering a finally appetized course of unpoisoned, energy drink human blood.

"Go for it. Nerves are dead in me arms mos'ly, haven' fel' much there in...mus' be near ten years now."
(Artaghh)
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John squints through tufts of cigarette smoke as he watches the Commander give out energy drink blood.
(John Dioguardi )
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 Tizetch wanders off.
(Tizetch Ixchelo)
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The short once-sirenian shifted her weight where she stood. She leant her back against the tower wall, now, giving herself a steadier place to stand as he approached. It also freed up one hand, so that was nice. Her mismatched gaze remained entirely focused on his movements, watching carefully now.

Suspicious, to some degree, though that might've just been due to Sors standing right on top of her. He tended to give off that sort of presence of paranoia. She pushed the thought to the back of her mind.

Those little nagging thoughts were immediately outweighed by curiosity. An urge and desire to taste this something new. This strange and different flesh. She'd tasted mana before. She'd drawn on lifeforce and replenished herself with it. But being able to physically put her teeth on it?

Both hands grasped his arm greedily, her nostrils flared as she brought his arm close to her face. Translucent lips pulled back, a moment's hesitation, then- It would've been painful, if his nerves worked properly. Razor sharp teeth sank in deep. Beneath his skin his blood writhed due to her proximity.

And she drank, drawing as much as he would allow from his veins. Drinking it down swiftly, yet still taking enough time to savor the taste. To ponder just how different it was. Oh how she adored new and different flavors.
(Donovan Invidia)
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 Ser Artaghh gazed impassively as Donovan went along her business, puffing away steadily at his corn cob pipe with a minute grimace as he felt the etchings of dull pain against his scorched nerves. Blowing a cloud of minty smoke into the distance of the field, he would give Donovan a thumbs up with his free arm as he flashed the vampiric sirenian a missing toothed grin.

"Mysticy energy, all ghosty. Sorta dense. Go' lotsa it, perks'a bein' an energy magi. I'm crippled as is, so yer hardly like'ta damage me much more than I expec'. Have yer fill Don', jus' dunnae drain me dry if ye' could. Go' alive things'ta do!"

The knight's tone was jovial and unphased. He was an earth magi and swordsman alike, stout in vitality in spite of his injuries. He would not spoil Donovan's fun, that would be quite rude.

The energy pulsating about Ser Artaghh was as open season as the blood that would be siphoned from the burned man, a persistent flow of rich, dense mana cotton candy for someone such as the vampire.
(Artaghh)
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It was certainly different. She could still feel the faint tingle of occult upon her tongue, and the texture of burnt flesh wasn't unfamiliar to her. There might've been more, but Donovan's attention wasn't quite so much on the flesh itself. It was on blood.

Powerful blood at that. There was always a difference in taste.

Her eyes fell shut after a few moments, and though she listened she made no active response. Almost as though she didn't hear him, so focused was she instead upon savoring the new sensations. The tingle of blood filled to the brim with energy. The strange density to it.

Quicksilver flashed through her veins. A similar light glinted in her eyes, though dulled slightly by those translucent eyelids. Another few moments passed.. And after that time he might note a similar light creeping through his veins, too. Like a poison the influence of her sin spread through his arm, drawing far more heavily upon the energy he'd flooded his system with.

For all the more he poured through, quicksilver light was quick to consume and draw it in. Directing such back toward her. There were no physical sensations to draw upon, after all. This would do instead.

.. She kept on drinking, still..
(Donovan Invidia)
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 Ser Artaghh would watch the quicksilver dance across Donovan's skin like stars in the night sky, fascinated by the dance of light upon the vampiric Sirenian's exterior. It was a beautiful sight, the knight thought, ethereal in its glint as the same tone of light entered Donovan's eye. The pain was present, certainly, but the swordsman had lived a life of painful circumstance. His eye cut out by a Dryad, shot through the stomach by a Chaos magi, burnt alive by Alastor's Vishkars occultic napalm, lungs rotted by the Swuisarme King.

The peasant knight really just couldn't catch a break.

The swordsman was attentive, of course. He'd gauged that the vampire had entered a sort of trance in their consumption, as made sense of a sin of gluttony. The commander could gauge with certainty that their drawing of blood was intensifying, the occultic tingle in his blackened veins as noticiable as the spreading of quicksilver across his own circuitry in his arm.

Yet, Ser Artaghh's smile never left his face, if perhaps a bit weaker in this case. He'd move his left hand to the grip of his blade upon his back, prepared to lop off his arm just in case Donovan went a bit too far.

Otherwise? He wouldn't interrupt. After all, she'd said but a bit earlier that such a thing brought her pleasure, and the knight was loathe to displease a lady if he could help it.
(Artaghh)
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Kazuma Ten-Tsao says, "Master."
 Artaghh says, "Bit busy Kaz."
 Kazuma Ten-Tsao says, "Ah alright, i'll come by later."
The question, then- What was too far?

Quicksilver light lashed out around her form. It sparkled and shifted and shuddered, drawing upon anything it could reach. Withering the grass beneath their feet, causing bugs and small animals in the immediate vicinity to flee or drop dead. Perhaps that should've been a particularly bad sign, seeing as how the same light had filtered into his veins..

And yet, no rot nor withering came to him. Those thin lines of light stretched ever further, spreading up along his arm and toward his neck via way of the heart. She made no explanation. She did not pause in her drinking. As he thought, she'd fallen into a trance.. For she'd done this before so many times.

Through the magic of her sin she drew more. She numbed the pain by stealing away sensation, devouring it herself. Experiencing it. And as was her wont she sought memories as well. Were he to allow those silver lines to reach his skull he'd start to feel the pressure. That insistent urge at the back of his mind.

All the more he might sense from it was hunger. Ravenous hunger.
(Donovan Invidia)
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 Perhaps it was the fact that an occult blob of synthetic flesh was all that bound his organs to his spinal cord and the metal plating that formed his torso, or maybe it was just that Ser Artaghh had grown somewhat numb to oddities after living so long in Dawn. But despite the clear danger that allowing a sin's corruption to flow through his veins manifested, or the fact that nearby life was ceasing from the sheer radiation of such power, the knight did not stop Donovan in her consumption.

He was not a very happy man himself, he understood that one must take their pleasures in life where they can. If he could provide such a thing for Donovan this evening, he was willing to take duress upon himself as must be tolerated. He'd been poisoned by all manner of occultic and biological threats, but Donovan at least had a pretty face upon which his remaining eye could rest.

The lines would spread up the knight's neck, a glint of silver amongst the vibrant blue ina starlight shimmer of energy as Ser Artaghh smiled lightly. Perhaps it was not Donovan's intention, but in numbing the pain of her own siphoning, so too did she take the burden of the ever present agony his burns elicited upon him, the lingering rot in his lungs that still caused him to cough up bloody clumps each day. Pain Artaghh had grown far too used to, and to which in this rare moment he had finally been allieved.

The commander of Dawn's legion was going to see this experience through for better or worse. The pressure built in his mind as he felt the quicksilver finally flow through, and with it the steady munch upon memories themselves.


(Artaghh)
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Each little sensation. Every pain he felt was hers for a time, she felt the lingering rot in his lungs, the searing burns upon his arm, and each point where feeling disconnected into mithril prosthetics. And despite it being painful, she reveled in it. She drew it in and cherished each sensation, as it was yet one more thing she'd taken from another.

One more thing she'd stolen for herself to consume.

But that was not the real prize. No that was just the beginning, the sprinkles on a pastry that added a small impact overall, yet still made the entire thing more pleasant. Her real prize still lay locked away in that brain of his, and the pressure of her sin only grew ever more persistent. A constant weight, the longer he allowed her to draw from him.

The more blood she took, the stronger that pressure became, until at last that hollow rush of emotion broke through. Tendrils of quicksilver clouded his thoughts, searching first for what he thought just then, before prodding a bit deeper. Seeking any information that was readily available to take and store away.

Not that she would be able to understand it all. THings passed before her eyes in flashes, memories and sensations relived in an instant. Absolutely anything was sought and stolen, lacking rhyme nor reason. She couldn't seek specific memories just yet.
(Donovan Invidia)
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The pressure built and built in Artaghh's head as he winced, remaining eye flickering open and closed as he allowed the sin to draw upon him. There was the given lightheadedness that came with getting thoroughly sucked upon, but the knight was far from exsanguinated. He'd live, if slurped thoroughly. Yet the quicksilver siphon that delved into his mind certainly bore fruit, a swift, disorganized real of Artaghh's life becoming Donovan's own to view.

A destitute farm in the distant outskirt of nowhere, hunger, poverty, filth. Painstaking farmwork, cold nights, sweltering days in the fields. Death, brother, mother, father in time. Twenty one years of boredom, apathy, and desire for something more.

Then the faces shifted. Alastor Vishkar as a paladin with his young, raven haired sister, bringing a two eyed, younger Artaghh into the legion, chewing on a corn cob pipe that was still new back then. Countless days of struggle on the sparring fields with Fethi and Sirocco, the raid to free Sors from Huang where Artaghh’s eye was carved away by a Dryad samurai, the day he’d first put on his trusty eyepatch and smiled wide at a small, raven haired Oscuri girl. A girl who’s safety motivated him to slay the Swuisarme King, that Dawn’s coasts might be safe for her.

Memories would shift as the girl slowly became a woman, tall and strong, a smug grin perpetually on her face. The day he’d given her a necklace, then poetry. When he’d confessed his feelings to her, when they’d first kissed against the lamppost. When she’d dragged him into her room and committed Oscuri atrocities upon him for three, long hours.

A small boy with green reika lines and Artaghh’s eyes. A rare, warm smile upon her face as she looked up at him. One of the last times he saw her. A promotion to Paladin, an engagement that was never fulfilled, a sense of void and loss. A dark meeting of the paladins and Cho, the end of Alastor and Franciska’s lives.The rise of Adjudicator Sors, and Artaghh’s own appointment to the head of the Legion. A mansion that was empty without her. Excessive amounts of liquor, meditation alone in the mountains, regret. Emptiness, ethereal and willful, a need to forget a love lost, a failure to do so.

Loneliness, and a war on the horizon. And the pair of them standing here this morning.




(Artaghh)
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 It all went by in seconds. Everything flowed through, and she did not resist that flow. She listened, she watched, she learned- Yet at certain points there was curiosity. At points he could feel from the other end of the connection a thought or memory of her own. A reaction. Response to what she saw.

To the first, naught but dim light. A pressure unbearable for any human, but to her it was home. Bleached bones raised from the sand as pillars to support the sirenian abode, two small jellyfish-like entities chased one another back and forth just in front of it. She turned away and-

Moving on. Drifting past. She caught the faces of some she recognized, and those of some she did not. There was a sense of adrenaline from her as the memory of that raid passed through, and a faint jolt of pain with his failure. Yet there was overall success, and Sors- Her dear friend Sors- was freed.

Yet more still. A battle with the swuisarme king, to protect thatoscuri girl. The passage of time- A stab of pain came through loud and clear, as a love such as that was presented. One so pleasant for a time, lost to whatever circumstances might've come.

Another, when that warm, proud smile flickered past.

That was a particular joy Donovan hadn't had the chance to truly feel before. For a few moments she lingered in that memory, holding on with every bit of focus that she could. Delving into the moment, the sensations, the emotions. Yet like water soon it slipped through her fingers, and she found a darker path.

From her end of the connection a sole name was to be heard as the meeting flickered through her mind. He could hear it loud and clear, alongside whispers of the story told. A party, an offered poisoned wine, the removal of a prior baron, to place a new one in his stead.

Tepesh.

Yet that flashed by as well. And before she knew it she had taken all the more she could without overloading her own mind. Sure she could try to delve into another memory- Yet last time she had barely managed to restrain herself. She could've killed the one she drank from.

No.. She could practice that another time.

Finally, her jaw relaxed, sharp teeth escaping his skin.

And one hand lifted, clotting his blood so no more would spill.
(Donovan Invidia)
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The knight's mind shifted in the fugue, the memories shared between them in idle flickers a vague sense of brief, waning solidity as the process of Donovan's feeding delved into his mind. Confusion, uncertainty, and yet a surreal connection with Donovan far less parasitic than one might expect from a vampire. It seemed almost like an exchange, pieces of him for pieces of her in saw mad, jig saw puzzle mindscape.

Yet, as swift as the flashing images and memories appeared, they were gone, his foggy mind barely capable of focus in the aftermath of the quicksilver onslaught upon his memories. His shroud of mana dissipating, Ser Artaghh would groggily lean against the wall of the tower with a stumble, collapsing to a sitting position as his was mercifully clotted by the Sirenian.

He seemed in a bit of a daze, skin pale and eyes lightly glazed as the grogginess and heaviness within his skull remained long after the consumptive pressure was gone. Confusion overtook the night as he tried, with difficulty, to hold focus upon the distant sparring fields, failing to manifest a concrete sense before turning his head slowly to Donovan, his one eye trailing up to her as he blinked idly in a daze. She, at least, he could focus on to some degree.

He looked just a bit whoozy, who'da thunk.
(Artaghh)
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It was an unintentional side effect. No one had told her yet, that her own feelings and memories could be felt on the other side of things. But then, for a whole life story, one or two memories was a decent trade in her favor. For now, it truly didn't matter. And perhaps it never would.

All that had mattered was what she felt. What she got to experience. It was something she had missed for so long, when Torham's blood had ceased offering visions to her. To live the lives of others, to know what they knew and hold their memories as hers- That was what she called eternity. Theoretically infinite knowledge could be at her fingertips, so long as she consumed more.

And so she had. More and more, every chance she got. To fulfil a desire which remained, no matter how many she consumed, insatiable. There was no such thing as satisfaction. No such thing as enough..

Mismatched eyes focused on the present. She peered down, noting the fact he'd slumped down against the side of the tower. Dizzy, it seemed. That was a common side-effect of near being drunk dry. And her pulling upon such memories brought them to flash past his own eyes as well- Perhaps that, too, disoriented the man.

She was used to it, for the most part. The once-siren offered a smile, knowing that he certainly wouldn't be. It'd been so long since she'd had people willingly feed her..

"Ought sleep it off. Need help getting home?"
(Donovan Invidia)
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 Ser Artaghh would slowly push himself up the wall of the tower, taking a few steadying breathes before making the valiant effort of attempting to stand on his own. He made a very respectable attempt at it, but the sheer amount of blood drained was more than enough to make a noodle of any man, even a grizzled energy magi.

The knight would offer a shaky smile as he nodded to Donovan, giving them a thumbs up as he moved to lean upon the shorter, but inarguably stronger Sirenian's shoulder. He was not quite sure how far he would have made it down the stone pathway before collapsing in a daze, but he frankly wasn't interested in the answer anyway.

"Mmm....yeah, think so...real sweet'a ye' Don, know how'ta….take a fella righ' off his feet."



(Artaghh)
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 For the first few moments she just watched. Amused, it seemed, by just how unsteady he was. It was almost as though he were drunk off his ass. In truth he might just be a tad delirious, so it wouldn't be far off. Still, she could applaud the effort made. Not literally, but figuratively, obviously.

When he finally gave in and leaned up against her, she immediately stopped breathing. The scent might be a bit too tempting. One arm slipped under his, wrapping around his back to offer him further support- Though her gaze shifted up to meet his when he said that particular set of words. Her head tilted to one side.

Then in a fluid motion she quite literally swept him off his feet, one arm remaining in place while the other hooked under his thighs to carry him bridal style. A snicker escaped, then, her grin stretched a tad further.

"Seems so, hm? Do point me in the right direction. I'll get you home safe and sound~"
(Donovan Invidia)
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 Ser Artaghh would give a vague direction with his finger as he was quite literally swooped off his feet by the Sirenian, a display that was nothing less than entirely worthy of a swooning. Well, it would be if he wasn't mostly blood drained and still quite foggy of mind. Yet, in spite of the pale pallor upon his face from being so thoroughly drunk, a redness and warmth still spread across his face.

In time, and with a terrible sense of direction, Ser Artaghh and Donovan would end up at the door to the Vishkar manor, locked shut and imposing against intruders as ever. Good thing they weren't those, that would be bad! Yet, it seemed the knight had grown quite comfortable in the Sirenian's arms, he'd merely poke aimlessly at the keyhole with the brass key around his neck before fumbling to open the door, pushing it open to allow himself to be quite literally carried into his own living room.

"Awwww..shame...already home. I was jus' gettin' cozy..."
(Artaghh)
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 It didn't bother her much that he had a less-than-stellar sense of direction as of that moment. Really she was rather forgiving, where she might've been irritable, simply because she knew what sort of toll losing a large amount of blood could have on people. She had seen it plenty before. Besides, it was funny to see the shift of color in his face.

Yet eventually they arrived at the manor, after several long moments drifting upon thin air. She floated along with ease to the door, and remained rather patient as he struggled with the lock. Once it was unlatched, where he might've pushed gently, she snap-kicked the door wide open. It might've splintered if it weren't already heading away from the impact when she hit it.

The sirenian drifted in, and placed her feet upon solid ground. A glance was spared around the interior of the home- It was a similar layout to her family's manor, before the place had burnt down. Only, this place seemed atad more sparse.

Her gaze met his when he spoke.

"Oh- I wouldn't mind holding you longer, it's no trouble at all. But see, if I do that, Envy might just live up to his name in regards to you. You really don't want Envy to be envious of you.. It never ends well."
(Donovan Invidia)
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 Ser Artaghh would smile weakly as he returned Donovan's gaze, flashing his missing toothed grin as he shrugged his shoulders idly. Arguably more nonchalant than anyone should be about the threat of violent death and maiming by a sin of envy, but then, perhaps living in Dawn so long had long since banished the fear of such from the knight. These things happened.

"Oh, I'd believe it. I'm guessin' violen' fuck torture by Nethradin, severin' my limbs wit' rifts, creative, lastin' ways'ta murder me in agony. Still, seein' tha' beautiful smile'a yers Donovan, daresay it'd near be wort' it." The commander would shut his remaining eye as he smiled wide at Donovan, a warm thing.

"S'pose I oughta be gettin'ta sleep then...'fore I pass ou' in a pile'a me own saliva on'ta floor. It was a real nice night Don, haven' had such a good time wit' a lady in a long while." Yet, the swordsman was somewhat loathe to leave the Sirenian. Perhaps he was a bit fond of her.
(Artaghh)
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 To that, the small vampire wasn't quite sure what to say. Her head listed to one side, amethyst locks splayed out across her shoulders. That icy crown upon her head was set off-kilter due to the tilt, though it remained in place upon her head. It was strange, to find someone almost willing to face Envy's wrath just for her.

That was a rare thing indeed.

"I'm sure there's worse still unmentioned.. But I suppose I should be flattered, that you're either brave or mad enough to claim me worth that much. It is a rather pleasant thought.

.. But, yes, you ought get to bed. Remember to drink a decent amount of orange juice, water, things of the sort- You need to get your blood back, might be a tad delirious. Rest first, however..

..

Tonight was quite pleasant indeed. It's been a while since I've had company that did not mind my trying to bite them so much."

With that, however, she had to let him rest. For his sake and for her own, for she had new memories to pour over now. New sensations to work through, a whole new history to explore.
(Donovan Invidia)

Ser Artaghh would wave the vampire siren out of his manor before shutting the door and locking it, scratching the back of his head groggily as he stumbled weakly towards the master bedroom. He felt foggy, empty, a bit detached from things at the moment. Perhaps a sin sucking your memory juice had the effect, but all of the knight's reserves were entirely shot. Holding himself up at the doorway, he'd light up a dusty bag of herbs from the confines of his cloak, a fine reserve of Briar Thornbush's premium mint. It charred the lungs, but that minty smoke had offered the knight a clean breath after any affair.

Steadying himself within the bedroom, the bald swordsman would steady himself upon the bed frame, sitting flat up against the dresser as he began to unarmor his person one piece of black plate at a time. When Amelie had still lived here, she'd often aid him with such things, but of course she'd been gone for years now. Manifesting scraps of his own physical reserves, Ser Artaghh would levitate upwards and cross his legs as he shut his remaining eye, using what remained of his consciousness to induce a meditative trance. If he was out of normal energy, he'd just have to fill in the blanks with the spirit realm.

The dense, rich blue mana of the spirit realm manifested in droplets as the weakened knight reached out with his inhibited faculties. It was slow at first, siphoning was a reasonably intensive effort on its own, made all the more difficult by the fog over his mind. But like a snowball rolling down a mountain and assembling mass, the more energy Artaghh gathered from the spirit realm, the faster it began to flow as the knights emptied reserves were reinforced entirely by mystic mana, his body flickering lightly with translucence as the empty state of his mind allowed him to fully accept ethereal qualities of the mana. He could not yet invoke purposeful phasing between the spirit realm and the mortal plane, but the energies, those he could familiarize himself with quite well.

The commander would cancel his morning plans, there was a long night of meditating on ghost energy to do.
(Artaghh)