[SOLO] The Devil in The Dark [COMPLETE]

[Conand]

Corruption Stage: 4

611

we must be K I L L E R S

CHILDREN OF THE WILD ONES 

"Haaagghhh!!"

A sound indistinguishable from the howl of an animal echoed in the long halls of the mysterious mansion. Pained gasps of air desperately rang out like a plea for mercy. It was the sound of death and madness married to create a cacophony of despair. Yet there was no one to hear this mangled cry. The estate was empty of all life save the owner of the suffering that played out on this stage. Conand writhed in agony, holding himself in a fetal ball as the pain wracked his body over and over again as if the devil was torturing him in hell. His eyes shot open wide and his crimson orbs searched for something in the nothing around him. His face was pale, yet his features sharpened as if to match that of a beast. It was the look of a man who had gone too far into the blackness. The Miasma swirled around him like a shroud of dark and slowly but surely consumed him.

"What... is... happening..."

The unfortunate heretic fell out of his ball as the agony pushed his body to its limit. He clawed at the ground and where his fingers touched, the ground was marred by mutated claws. His shape was changing slowly, directed by the malignant will of the Miasma. It was like an insidious infection of the body and mind. The soldier could feel his will slipping and his mind falling into dark places. Kill, massacre, ravage, claim. Words spewing negative connotation echoed in his mind like a mad stalker of sin. He wanted it, deep in his dark heart he wanted to give in. But fear drove him away, kept him grounded in place enough to resist the terrible call of evil. This was the pain of a Heretic. The curse that everyone so feared. The exposure to Miasma would eventually change the user, taking away their clarity and setting them on a path of destruction. Conand's greatest fear come to life.

"You have fallen too far, Supplicant."

A voice reached out to Conand's mind, gripping him in an iron-clad mental hold. For a brief moment, the Heretic felt the encroaching of the darkness cease but a little. The pain still pumped through his body as blood did through his veins, but he could lift himself up enough to look around. The room was empty. Nothing but the dilapidated furniture of the mansion accompanied him within this cell. Was he hearing voices again? It must have been an effect of the Miasma. Yes, that was it. He was dying after all, it was only natural for the sense to become funny at this stage. As if to answer that thought, a pulse equal to about ten migraines flared within Conand's brain and sent him bellowing in misery.

"Maketh not light of I, supplicant. I am beyond thine ken."

The Heretic could not speak but only suffering shrieks. He remained at the mercy of the voice who allowed the Miasma it's just due before stemming the tide yet again. Conand reached up towards the ceiling, now hallucinating a figure before him that owned the voice. There was of course nothing there to touch, but madness had taken the man now. He didn't care what it was at this point. All he wanted was an end to it all. The suffering now was greater than anything he had experienced in the last ten years. In part because of the Miasma's borrowed methods. Images of his family, slaughtered before him, haunted Conand as he agonized on the cold floor.

"What do you want! Leave me be! Let me die I want to die die die!!"

WHERE WE GOT LEFT TO  R U N ?

❖ NOX ❖

[Conand]

Corruption Stage: 4
Black Operon: St 4

556

we must be K I L L E R S

CHILDREN OF THE WILD ONES 

An image formed in Conand's mind. One that stood out like a rose among the thorn bushes. Home. The small hamlet that was once owned by Conand's family stood tall and brilliant, a sight that the heretic had longed for many times in the past decade. He reached outward desperately, unable to distinguish the image in his mind from reality. He wanted to go there, he needed to go there. His family was there. Everything he ever knew was there! Let me see it! Let me go home! He wailed in frustration, desperately trying to touch the wooden cabin that he had spent his childhood in. When finally the image faded into the nothing, Conand screamed in despair.

"Give it back! Give it back!" The vehement warrior howled empty curses and weak pleads at the disembodies voice, prostrating himself before the non-existent figure in an attempt at mercy.

"Is that thine desire, supplicant?" The voice echoed in his head yet again, containing neither malice nor sympathy. It was without emotion entirely. Was it safe to assume this being was even human? Perhaps it was a spirit of the miasma or the voice of god itself. Conand did not know, nor did he even care. The voice was right, the being before him was beyond his ability to understand. All he knew was that it wanted something of him, and perhaps in giving it to the creature, he could be alleviated of his suffering. "I.... I..." Conand's mouth opened shakily. He could hardly form a coherent sentence, but the voice seemed to pull the words out of his throat with its own will. "I want... to find home..."

"... Then by mine will, thou shalt be directed. Let strength be granted, and mind mended. Banish the darkness with thine own power."

As the voice spoke, the hazy cloud that was cast over Conand's mind fell away slowly. It was by no means a respite from the pain. In fact the clarity only served to heighten Conand's senses and drive the pain further. His will had returned however, and was the only thing keeping him from falling back into agony. It was all he could need to release the valves as it were. Through an unspoken command, The heretic activated his only power. The Black Operon skill of the Heretic class. The stage set to four, and immediately Miasma began to flow out of Conand's body like a flood. The Heretic could feel change in his body begin to fade. He had made it just in time.

"The pain shalt subside with the flow of time. Thine soul, thou shalt retain." The voice echoed out again, still emotionless and enigmatic. With his senses returned to him, Conand could still not find the source of the voice, but he knew it was there. It was beyond him to deny the existence of such a being when it had saved him from falling into the long abyss. The Heretic stood up shakily, his legs wobbly from the pain of being almost morphed into something else. Conand had seen the mutations caused by Miasma before. It made him shudder violently to think that he had almost become one such beast. He looked around once more, hoping to see at least one sign of his savior.

"Who are you... and why help me?"

WHERE WE GOT LEFT TO R U N ?

❖ NOX ❖

[Conand]

Corruption Stage: 3
Black Operon: St 3

566

we must be K I L L E R S

CHILDREN OF THE WILD ONES 

"An impertinent question for one that hath been saved, supplicant." The voice chastised, again without emotion. In any other case, that might have been a truthful statement. In fact it still probably was, but Conand cared very little for such luxuries as social correctness at this time. He slowly carried himself over to a chair. His body was heavy, weak from the maddened fit of corruption. Even now his mind did not feel his own. Whether it would even return to him was still up in the air. Not many returned to a state of normalcy after becoming so corrupted. Often times, the Wardens would have the executed as a precautionary measure... would Conand be able to return to them, having gone so far?

"We have words for thee." The voice rang out again. Conand didn't bother to look around this time. It was a fools errand to attribute this voice to anything but the madness of the Corruption. The tired red eyes of Conand simply stared up at the ceiling in resignation. If he was to go mad, he may as well do it in the company of a disembodied voice. "Who's we?" The Heretic asked, humoring the thing in his head. He seemed apathetic now, but he was actually rather intrigued. This was the first time the voice had spoken to him openly. He had heard it before, though he could never confirm it to be anything but the wind until now. Having it reveal itself like this was possibly a rare event that he couldn't pass up.

"We? We art the Nine. I am as One, and thou... thou might be Two, if it is thine desire." It spoke again, maintaining it's neutral, genderless tone as always. What was Conand supposed to make of that? Nine, One, Two? What did numbers have to do with this? It felt like he was trying to recruit Conand into something, but he couldn't be sure. It would make sense though... Why else would this mysterious being save Conand's unfortunate hide? There was always a catch to these things, else there would be no motivation to do them. Conand could only wonder just what it could be. "Two of Nine... and the remaining seven?" That was right. He spoke of nine, one, and two. But what of three or four? Were there others connected to them? This seemed to go deeper than the Heretic first anticipated.

"Thine own to choose. They shalt be thine subordinates in coming trials." Subordinates...? It was beginning to make sense now. One's tone was archaic but it was easy to understand if you knew how to read context. Whatever this voice was, it had saved Conand because it needed him. It needed a man capable of leading. Where better to look than a former Warden Commander of Stratford? The heretic stared grimly at the ceiling, his red eyes glowing in the dark like pondering beacons. He sensed no evil coming from One, nor did he sense good. It made the Heretic uneasy. Just what was this mysterious creature looking to accomplish?

Letting out a sigh of frustration and relief, Conand set Black Operon to 3. He could feel the Corruption leaving his body steadily, and his body was beginning to return to it's former shape, although painfully. It was nothing compared to his previous fit, but shifting ones form was never pleasant. 

WHERE WE GOT LEFT TO R U N ?

❖ NOX ❖

[Conand]

Corruption Stage: 3
Black Operon: St 3

633

we must be K I L L E R S

CHILDREN OF THE WILD ONES 

"And what pray tell would we Eight and One be doing when formed?" Conand asked tiredly. His body went slack in his chair, his eyes half closed and his face considerably aged in comparison to what it was before. The mark of corruption was no easy thing to hide. Even when he was rested again, it would be a while before he could expunge enough miasma to return to normal society... not that he could ever return to Stratford again. The Wardens would never let him leave. They'd probably execute him for desertion or heresy. Probably both. What a cheery thought. There wasn't often a time where the Heretic had a nice pleasant idea in his head. Too much to worry about. He'd probably have grey in his hair by the end of all this.

"This world has become... imbalanced. Intruders hath upset the natural order." Conand's expression darkened at those words and his eyes became sharp. He could wager a guess at who One spoke of. Adventurers. The immortal warriors who appeared not too long ago and began meddling in the affairs of the People. Their power and inability to die had given them an edge over the denizens of the Unfounded Kingdom and cause a series of troubles throughout the isles. There were a few good sorts out there, but more often than not, they had become a problem. In Stratford especially where they had ran foolishly into the miasma and returned Heretical beasts. Killing them had restored the fools to their former self but that hadn't changed what they became. It was... the same as Conand. No, not the same. At least Conand had the consideration to stay away from people. Else he wouldn't be here...

"You wish for us to fight these intruders then? Eliminate them from this world?" Conand asked seriously, leaning forward in his chair in a thinking pose. The voice did not respond, but Conand could feel a certain wrongness in the air at the mention of such actions. One spoke of the Adventurers with a certain Emnity, something unexpected from what the Heretic had though an emotionally neutral existence. Just what was it then? Some force against the existence of Adventurers? What did that entail? There were so many questions regarding One that Conand wanted to ask, but he knew that he would get no comforting answer. It was beyond frustrating.

"That would be ill advised. No, The Nine must maintain Order where the outsiders would seeketh to cause ruin. A force to counter Chaos" So that was it huh? A group formed to keep the Adventurers from causing too much of a stir. Conand could actually get behind that, surprisingly. He didn't feel any actual hate towards Adventurer's but neither did he bear them any love. They were an issue that needed addressing, and since nobody else was doing anything about it, the situation might as well fall to those willing to do something. It seemed One understood that as well. Alright then... Yeah. He could do that. 'They' could do that. One and Two. They just needed the remaining Seven. "I think I get it. So what's the first step?

Miasma continued to flow out of Conand's body slowly as he conversed with One. It was only a little painful at this point. In the relaxed position that he was in, the blue-haired Heretic could wait it all out and escape to camp soon after. He doubted he would be returning to this mansion for a long while after that. Better to get out of the Miasma, out of Avon in fact. The farther away from the Wardens and the Miasma he was, the easier it would be to acquire the assets he needed. He was going to need a lot of those.

WHERE WE GOT LEFT TO R U N ?

❖ NOX ❖

[Conand]

Corruption Stage: 3
Black Operon: St 3

462

we must be K I L L E R S

CHILDREN OF THE WILD ONES 

"Thou shalt make thine way to the Isle of Grain. There thou shalt find thine badge of office with seven others." One commanded enigmatically, the malevolence towards Adventurers from earlier fading into the undertones of its permanently neutral voice. The Isle of Grain was off the coast of Londinium, a quaint little place with a modest village. There wasn't much to be seen there aside from a few Sahuagin tribes. Why there? Conand wondered. It must have been for that very reason. Where else would you hide important items than a place nobody would care to look? That raised the question of how One managed to hide something there in the first place. He must have had a physical agent other than Conand if that were the case. Suspicious. Would Conand be able to get away with asking? Probably not. He didn't intend to just yet. Not until he had more cards to play than One.

"Grain, huh?" Conand stood up shakily from his chair, using the butt of his spear to prop himself up on the tile floor of the mansion. It was a long way from Avon to Grain. Lots of roads to avoid, people to hide from, and monsters to navigate through. He already had the adventure of leaving the Miasma infected lands before him as it was. Man, what a task One had set upon him. Nothing the former Warden couldn't handle though... It'd be an interesting adventure, and not the kind those invaders from another world always had. An actual adventure complete with a tragic hero and a mysterious guide. How sickeningly poetic it all was. At least he wouldn't be alone. Seven companions to complete his set of Nine. Men and Women who deigned to fight against the new order and set the progression of the world back on its axis. Sounded almost heroic.

Rest, supplicant. Thou hast an undeniable destiny ahead." Those words seeped into Conand's mind suddenly and invasively. A haunting and soundless lullaby echoed in his brain and sent Conand falling back into his chair with his full weight. His body was so tired. Was this One's doing? Or had the fatigue of the Miasma finally taken it's toll? Blast... Conand hated wasting time on sleep. The voice could have at least waited for him to clear out of the mansion before invoking this sleep spell on him. The heretics crimson eyes fluttered open and shut, resisting the call of the dreamworld while the rest of his body accepted it wholly. In that moment, Conand felt the absence of One for the first time since he had first felt its existence. He was alone again, drifting off into a dream only he could know. It would be some time before he woke again.

WHERE WE GOT LEFT TO R U N ?

❖ NOX ❖