The End

[Outbreak1992]

OOC: I've had a lot of fun times on Dasaria however for the time being, I shall be taking a break as I feel I've covered all that I can with my characters, I would like to thank every player who's characters have influenced and helped progress my characters. Feel free to jump in on this short story, hope you enjoy the short story and the character.

Dreams were a rare occurrence for Xarion but recently he was numerous ones, some were of happier times, other not so much. Usually he would wake up as his dreams began to turn sour, yet the outcome always the same, he would see himself as a decayed corpse. This night was different though, he dreamt about his former life in Old Varana, it seemed to show highlights of his life there, starting with happy memories he had there till eventually leading to it's grim end. Then a voice emerged from nowhere, he looked around but could see nobody, the world around him seemed to dissolve away as the voice repeatedly spoke his name, finally the world dissolved away completely and his eyes started to open, the sight of his quarter's ceiling slowly coming into focus, the voice still calling his name.

Following the direction of the voice with his eyes, he saw a man dressed in a black robe sat at his desk "I thought you were never going to wake up..." the man said, Xarion quickly studying the man as he reached for his blade, but it wasn't at the bottom of his bed like usual "Looking for this?" the man said as put the blade on the desk. The man laughed and reacted his hood, revealing his face to Xarion, grinning as he does so "Nezarian... I should of known, what are you after?" snarled Xarion, clearly displeased at the sight of his brother. Nezarian stood and paced back and forth in the quarters "I don't want anything from you dear brother... I'm afraid you are of no use to me, you've made it quite clear what side your on... Pity, we could of remained brothers till the end if you remained as the Deathspeaker." Nezarian said in a calm relaxed manner. Xarion sat up in his bed, throwing his feet onto the ground and standing up, he moved over to his little drinks cabinet and looked at the bottles of whiskey, typically he would reach for the usual cheap stuff but not this time, he went to the back of the cabinet and took out a dust bottle of whiskey from Varana. Taking out two glasses he poured one from himself then one for his brother, Nezarian sat back down at the desk though on the opposite side, leaving Xarion's chair free for him to sit, handing Nezarian his drink he put the bottle down on the desk and sat down. Xarion was still barely dress wearing only some cloth trousers, the rest of his body exposed, he looked at his sword on the desk but made no attempt to pick it up, he just sat there and drank his whiskey. He smirked after his first sip "Why now? You've had enough opportunities to do this Nezarian." grunted Xarion as he enjoyed the taste of his whiskey. Nezarian sat there quietly, leaving a pause before responding "It's apparent you're a lost cause... I thought maybe I could bring you back round but then I discovered something... Ramsay... It was to my knowledge that he was dead or so you would have me believe, you tainted the family bloodline with your little fling all them years ago Xarion... Father time in this world comes to an end and with his death, you inherit the family fortunate and estate... If you die it goes to your inferior offspring Ramsay, I believe I'm more suited for the families wealth, so tell me where Ramsay is and we can make this quick." said Nezarian as he finished his drink and refilled his glass. Xarion just smirked, chuckling lightly to himself "Things never change do they Nezarian, your eternal quest for wealth and power, they always said I'd be the one to bring our family to ruin but I can see they were wrong, I'm not saying another word on the subject" barked Xarion.

Finishing his drink Nezarian stood up in a calm manner, brush down his robe and sighed as he looked at his brother before finally smiling at him "Have it your way." he added before opening the door, leading into darkness six men stepped inside, three of them unsheathed their blades as they approached Xarion, he quickly grabbed his battle and jumped into combat, quickly putting down the first armored fighter, as clashed swords with the other two, the other three men and Nezarian watched, not interrupting the display of combat. Xarion let out a series of powerful blows, slicing the second man's head clean off and began to parry the attack of the remain swordsmen, this one was tougher... Stronger... Familiar? The last swordsmen was a huge man, the power behind his strikes felt like a ton of bricks clashing against his own blade, as their blades locked Xarion jumped up and head butted the swordsmen, his hood falling down as he gets hit... It was Gardock, a brute of fighter who Xarion just couldn't seem to kill in their previous encounters but this time he had the advantage, as Gardock stumbled back after being headbutted Xarion went for the killing blow then... Whoosh, Xarion coughed up blood as he looked down at his chest, seeing a crossbow bolt head had pierced through his rib cage, he turned round and saw the other three men pointing crossbows at him, one of them reloading, he looked back at Nezarian who was wanting with a grin of pleasure, as Xarion begins to cough and wheeze after being shot in the lung. Nezarian nods to the other two men, who as soon as commanded shot their bolts at him, the second bolt struck him in the stomach, the third in the chest again, falling to his knees he looks at his blood on the floor, he drops his blade on the ground and looks at Nezarian one more time "This isn't over Nezarian..." he manages to grunt out before Gardock picks up Xarion's blade and lunges it, as well as his own blade into either side of Xarion neck, the blade slicing down into his torso. He doesn't let out a single scream of pain, he didn't have the strength too, all he could muster was a grunt as his vision began to go blurry, the remaining men grabbed the corpses of the two swordsmen and made haste out, Nezarian and Gardock staying behind, staring into Xarion eyes as he knelt there on the ground, his lifeforce rapidly leaving his body. Nezarian saluted Xarion before walking away, Gardock following behind "You lose." he cockily says as he leaves. With his remaining strength, Xarion dips his fingers in his blood and attempts to write the letters N and E on the ground before finally falling to his injuries.

[Kell]

Yvalee looked at her husband and smiled. She appreciated his thoughtful suggestion that she should ask Rhathir for help. But she shook her head in response and continued donning a thick and heavy mantle, to suit the weather outside. The displeased look on her face illustrated her annoyance at any attempts to pat down the creases; the attempts were in vain. The amount of time they had had to change face of what used to be one of her finest possessions had been entirely too long. The mantle had been stored away for the next Cearian cold patch and of course she hadn't mustered the brilliance to unpack and let the mantle ease out before it was too late. More precisely; before today.

"Yvee dear, you should consider. I wouldn't want my beloved wife to walk into situations she could not possibly have foreseen." Ishmarle insisted as he walked closer to her. The shade that came to add to her already dark eyes had him reeling a moment but the Academus Graduate knew his wife. "I do not question your better judgement. I simply urge precaution," he added smirkingly. "My queen should be safe." From under lavish, soot drenched lashes her emerald green eyes shone up to him and he saw his flattery hitting home. The soft kiss to his cheek that followed was genuine and true.

The wizardess pulled up her collar, apparently heeding the horrid creasing of her mantle for no longer, and fished a radiantly polished key from a hook near the heavily warded wooden door frame. She sighed and looked back to him in the realisation that he would not budge. Time to propose her prior calculated compromise.

"Isha..," she whispered with a sweetness she knew would have his attention. Her lips curved into a smile to accessorise. "My exotic beauty..?" he inquired whimsically, and in deliciously dark timbre. She broke. How often had they not been in a similar position, had she stood at their door and had he quite effectively ruined her plans for departure by once again revealing to her the imp that was his soul. So easily did he conjure away her reasons to rebel or grouch with his handsome, smart charms.

"But what about the preparations for our arrival to Ravenswatch. And the sampling. What about the schedule; Rhathir is needed in your laboratory. If you so desire for control over my continuous well being, then why won't you be my escort?" As she continued her plea, she ushered her lithe, elven frame into the his arms. "Where else," she continued, "Will I be safer than in your arms and under your watchful eyes, my lover?"

This time the spoils of war were to her. He complied and nodded, after which he kissed her forehead. He then proceeded to also fit himself for the rainy mists that lingered over Empress Court.

Moments later the rather well off looking, eccentric pair hurried themselves over the wet cobblestones. They had intent to pay an unexpected visit; it had been a while since the last of specimens had arrived and new ones were required most prudently as the entire old batch had nearly either been spent or withered away. Usually the supplier quietly made his deliveries after dark, to an inconspicuous looking little shack in the shadow of Serius Manor. No words needed exchanging and there was no use in quaint merry making for the agreements were made and understood long ago. Easy enough; freshly deceased bodies were delivered and gratitude in shape of crowns were to be retrieved from a hollow tree. None needed be aware of the silent exchange. Not even the magus residents; it was just the supplier. But the supplier had stopped making his deliveries. And the gold lay untouched since weeks.

To Ishmarle it were merely the deliveries that had gone awry. But Yvalee's worries were colored by the sentiment that the supplier had been a good, reliable ally and sometimes even a friend. The possibility of losing such carefully honed relation had her on edge. She had always known that the day could come that her supplier would fall from her cultivated web of souls but fiercely she hoped that, despite her suspicions, today was not that day.

On their arrival Ishmarle took Yvalee's hand and draped it over his arm. He valued greatly the weight of proper behaviour and etiquette, antique as his groomed formality could come across to others. Yvalee understood his cue for attention. She took a stern moment to consider their appearances. He looked impeccable, as per usual, yet still she quickly dusted his mantle to sooth his slight neuroticism. As she inspected her own self her hands secured her blonde updo. Blessed the scarf she had worn for it didn't seem too horridly frizzed. Then her hands slid down the silver embroidery on her mocha coloured dress and she decided it would have to do. Ishmarle perceived and he knocked on the door to announce their arrival. But his knocking invoked no response and the interior of the home remained shrouded in darkness.

Yvalee looked to her husband as she guessed his thoughts. He seemed cautious by the eerie silence yet he didn't hesitate to try the door. Surprisingly it was unfastened and creaked open. The sudden horrid odour which fled out towards them sprang tears to their eyes and clogged up their nostrils. The iron scent of old blood and other indescribable gruesome smells had even the seasoned Ishmarle wafting at the air as he opened the door further. Yvalee groaned. Though usually these ghastly scents raised an anxious anticipation in her, this time they had her hope waning.

Sensing the weak desperation that fell over the dark elf, Ishmarle took lead and guided her into the home. How thankful she was for his nerves of steel and insatiable curiosity. Meekly she followed, towards the source of her discourse. Shortly after, a dreadful, moonlit scene appeared and it revealed the terrible truth of what happened to their supplier. Constable Xarion Black was dead.

"How long?" Yvalee inquired. Her voice sounded as dry as the blood in the veins of the corpse that once was. "A few weeks." Ishmarle's cold, flat response had her skin crawling. She didn't turn to look at him but she didn't need to, to be able to tell the morbid curiosity which presumably lighted his eyes. "What do you desire, my dear Yvee?" His fascination was locked properly on the perfect imagery of violent death before them. "I desire him." she said quietly. "I desire you." he said as he turned his head to look at her. She sided with him and slid her arms around him as she looked up amused. A soft chuckle accompanied the tantalising look that followed. "My love, " she purred, "Let's not waste the opportunity then.., but promise to me that I shall have him. I wish to take care of him. Remember the room I would have seen decorated to honour my father and grandfather. I think that our friend would make a fine attribute."

With a mind clouded over by the sickening, impossible romance that he shared with only his bride, Ishmarle gently lifted her into his arms. A soft whisper fell against her ear. "Yes... you shall have your prize. I will request Rhathir's assistance. But first, I believe there is yet some time to spend. Spending a few more moments will not further damage this specimen and it would look suspicious if we were to leave this scene so readily." A sinister smile appeared as he sat her on the desk against which Constable Black rested. Their mouths met in a mutual need, aroused by an unholy hunger; a prelude to what would happen next.

Hours later lights were flickering behind the glass at Black's former homestead. To the outside world it looked like life had finally returned. As if the Constable had returned home, which ironically wasn't far from the truth. However what really went on inside was far more terrible than what any passerby could suspect. The fleetsman was prepared with meticulous precision, his organs removed and his remaining flesh embalmed. Though decay had taken much, the working threesome was focused. Through combined efforts they were immensely powerful in their craft. Faultless their work was executed with utmost precision. Before long Xarion Black was transported to take up residence in Serius Manor, with a room of his own and the attention he would need to survive the test of ages. Yvalee vowed to take care and nurture, like a new mother would to her child. Until the time would come to animate and once more see him walk the lands. Ishmarle simply reveled in the notion that his wife had received what she had secretly begun longing for as their marriage progressed; the one thing he had consistently denied her. This seemed to be a correct solution. It wasn't a child born from their union but the fruit of their labour. Xarion Black now embodied all Ishmarle and Yvalee had ever prided themselves in and why they had married to begin with; for the merits of their combined brilliance and the realisation of their dreams. Everything was right in the world, House Serius was in delight and Xarion Black? Well, he probably appreciated the gestures too. The stitched smile gave no reason to believe otherwise.

[Kell]

Yvalee wiggled her fingers in childish glee as she took a step back to look over her splendid, utmost festive creation. She dipped the tips of her fingers into a little glass jar and leaned forward to blow dust off from fingers into the face of the man before her. “Wakey, wakey, Xarion Black.. It’s Halloween, and you’re assigned to the garden.” she grinned with a crooked smile as she patted the dust down. Then she skipped around him to stick some more straw into his suit, to smear some more grime over his skin and add some more white paint to his face. “Not a soul in this world will question your existence tonight,” the little grey elf chirped excitedly as she stuffed a basket filled with candy in his big, cold hands. Then she rang for Rhathir. “Xarion will grace our porch tonight as our resident scarecrow, so if you would… Remember; this is our night. And we’re not going to waste it, despite my husbands’ silent rebellion. I want candles, bats, rats, dead things on our lawn and prepare for guests tonight because we will-..” Her singsong voice faded and disappeared as her quick, hasted footsteps carried her off into other chambers. Away from dead Constable Black. Poor Constable Black, one could pity his fate. But oh how the children would love him tonight.

[Kell]

Hang Drum - Hang in There

"It's nearly time, my dearest.."

We're in Serius Manor, in one of the darkest rooms. The air is thick with incense and the scent of balms, lotions and oils. Soft bells chime an eerie but peaceful song, the melody being kept aflow by quiet magical energies. Yvalee stands before a perfectly preserved husk of a man she once called a friend. Melancholy and admiration give her smile a wistful glow as she carefully raises both her hands to touch the cold, dead skin. Still beautiful as he always was and perfected through the touch of death.

"There are a few more tasks that need completion, so just wait a while longer.. Have faith."