Tainted Love

Moirean

Backstory: Toz has been crazy loyal to Moi since he was just a kid in Enorian, eventually declaring his love for her. When she left Enorian and Sentinels and joined the Carnifex, Toz followed - literally a day before he was due to be knighted as a Templar, even though the reason for her departure was her engagement to Tralendar. Moi returned the affections, to an extent, but had both men in her life as distinct roles - Toz was for emotions, and Tral was for murdering people alongside, a situation she was initially quite happy with, but one that eventually began to grow tiring as she realized Toz's life was basically defined by her.

Fast forward 3 decades and Moi returns from being gone, finds out that Akimoto has apparently disbanded knighthood in the Carnifex, and the guild has gone quiet and apathetic, with no leaders or fighters. Moi takes the reigns back, and is eager to get things going in the guild again - however, there is that issue of the clingy puppydog named Toz...

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Toz:

He is an undead resilient Grecht and is tall and well-muscled, brown fur covering his form. Long, thin ears sit atop his head, a small chunk missing from the tip of his left one. His nose is little more than a tiny bump on his face, and his mouth is likewise small, a row of sharp teeth visible whenever he smiles. His arms and legs are fairly well defined, muscles moving beneath the fur smoothly whenever he moves. He is wearing:

a grisly necklace of fanged skulls

a pair of sturdy black cotton trousers

a dashing white corsair's shirt

a shimmering suit of full plate armour

Moirean:

She is a powerful Imp and is a slight, slender creature. Small, bat-like wings fan out from her shoulderblades, while a curling tail twists behind her, twitching in a vaguely mischievous movement, as if possessed of its own mind. A pair of petite horns frames her features, sprouting from her brow to highlight a pair of bright, amber eyes. Her hair, deep auburn in colour, tumbles around her pointed ears in tangled curls, the color a lurid match for the seared brand of a thirteen-pointed star across her forehead. A murky, faint aura shrouds her form, whispers of dark magic clinging to her frame. She is wearing:

a pair of shadowy leather trousers

a long-sleeved black woolen shirt

a shimmering suit of full plate armour

a ring engraved with the Seirath crest

a pair of Impish horns

She walks with the blessing of Iosyne.

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Toz tells you, "Congratulations, Commander."

You say, in Imp, "[words]"

Placing a bone stepladder on the ground, you quickly scramble up it - upon reaching the top, a cloud of smoke erupts and you find yourself, for once, taller than everyone.

Perched above the world. (Edge of Reality.)

Riverrun through Sapience and onwards, past swerve of stone and bend of bracken, to culminate here at the world's edge, a dizzying precipice rising to scrape at the sky. Unfolding below in a dazzling series of swoops, sparkles and shimmers, the entire continent in visible in receded splendor; the vast distance paints the terrain in miniature detail, dwarfed by this remote perch. Beyond the continent, colors fade away into the hazy mist of the remote oceans, with the hues dwindling to a murky, glinting darkness in the far horizons, hinting at hidden realms and other, strange worlds lying beyond the familiar territory. Bonfires burn eternally here, fed by some unknown source to twinkle away in everglowing smoulders on the hills climbing up to this seat, while, overhead, only the sun and stars themselves soar higher than the summit you stand upon. In a jarring contrast to this breathtaking scene, radiating outwards from the peak's heart in a winding, snaking series of trails, a dense, vast forest of pikes creates a gory and shockingly handmade tableau. Serving as the brink's sole adornment, stake after stake has been thrust into the earth, each topped with a preserved, decapitated head, eyes wide and faces frozen in the rictus of death - familiar features strike you, with fighters from all cities, guilds and walks visible among the ranks of the slaughtered. Driven deep into the earth, each pike reaches to barely knee level, and it's easy to imagine an Imp striding among them, her own head raised relatively high to look down upon her vanquished foes. A glass jar containing a silvery shimmerfish sits here. A limbless Bahkatu doll lies here. There are 5 bloodroot leaves in a stack here. There are 5 goldenseal roots in a stack here. There are 2 pieces of kelp in a stack here. There are 2 pieces of irid moss in a stack here. Toz is here.

You see exits leading north, northeast, east, southeast, south, southwest, west, northwest, up, down, in, and out.

Toz's eyes flash a luminous red, the light lingering and unfading.

Toz gives you a respectful salute.

You have emoted: Moirean halts suddenly in surprise as she reaches the top of her stepladder, her balance wavering and teetering until, quite the commanderly image, she tumbles to the ground.

Voice muffled by the dirt, you say, "Ah. You...are here?"

A touch wryly as he nods, Toz says to you, "Indeed. Right where you left me."

You have emoted: Moirean twists about, platemail clanking, and manages to get a knee beneath her. She pauses, giving herself a shake, and gives you a regal nod, as if the past moment has not happened. "At ease, then," she states somberly.

Toz keeps a faint grin as he moves to a more relaxed stance, considering you. Shaking his head, tone affectionate, "Life is as it should be again. If I had a drink, I'd offer a toast to the guild returning to its former glory."

You have emoted: Moirean scrambles to her feet and flicks a clod of dirt out from a joint in her armour. She flashes you a wide grin, her eyes bright with enthusiasm.

You have emoted: Hands clenching into unconscious fists out of excitement, Moirean begins to speak rapidly. "There's a lot to do," she begins, starting a slow pace through the thicket of pikes. "First, a total clean up of scrolls and policy. I made headway into that, but things could be better." She turns, pausing, as she looks back at you. "Cleaner. Crisper." She accents each word with a nod.

You have emoted: Moirean's pacing continues. "Next, I want to create a council," she explains, moving on without waiting for a reply. "Did you see my post?" Her words tumble onwards, heedless of your answer. "Of course you did, you love me."

Lips pursing, you say, "The council will undermine my own absolute power, of course, but it will ensure my departure won't cripple the guild again."

Toz nods again, moving to trail after you, seeming to act out of habit as he picks his way around the pikes. "We need manpower. The guild has nearly vanished - we need recruits. I'll keep an eye out for people who are ambitious and willing-" He trails off, letting you speak before adding lightly, "The Council is a back-up, and a good idea. Satomi is a natural choice for that, she respects you."

You have emoted: Moirean's tail begins to twitch, picking up on the Imp's tense, energetic vibe. "Not just her," she counters. "All Knights who complete the paths will have a voice. The officers and the commander will head the council, but every Knight has a chance to sit on it, if they dedicate themselves."

You have emoted: Moirean's nose wrinkles, and she adds, "So stupid crap like Akimoto's hasty declaration won't just....HAPPEN."

Toz nods to you, noting, "There aren't many who have. I'm not even sure I've completed a path - I'm not even entirely sure what the paths are. And...yes, I agree, that was absurd. Moronic to let him in at all, let alone elect him Commander..."

You say, "Well, what's done is done. Can only move onwards - hence the proposal."

Belatedly, you say, "You are right about the recruits."

You say, "We need more. The Keep is too silent. Demion has returned to the Knights, though, and he is eager to advance."

You say, "Malvernus has potential, although he's still a raw recruit."

You say, "Beyond that?"

You shrug helplessly.

Toz says to you, "Given your personality, I think we will soon have more recruits...I will gladly help however I can."

You have emoted: Moirean continues her pacing with a swing of her arms. "Excellent!" she declares. "We will need it. Also, I want a forger stationed in the Keep for member needs, so keep an eye out for potential recruits."

You gag a bit as you inhale your own stink.

Nodding a bit, Toz says to you, "I was considering taking up forging. And...you smell delightful, Commander."

You have emoted: Moirean's path takes her beyond the field of stakes, and towards the very edge of the precipice. "Offal," she replies, undeterred by the comment. "Come, I want to show you my new office."

The Commander's study. (Shadow Keep.)

This office has been constructed along imposing, manipulative lines, subtly constructed with a sloping roof and slanted lines to dwarf the visitor and heighten the Commander's presence when seated at the throne-like chair behind her desk. High-set defensive windows are angled to maximize the Tarean's bleak northern light; shuttered torches have been inset in a ring around the room to enhance the dim external illumination, each sconce fashioned in the shape of a fiercely spiked gauntlet grasping a burning brand of twisted iron. A fireplace dominates the wall behind the desk, the mantle adorned with a variety of trinkets, curios and battle mementos - small paintings, carvings, a dagger, and what even looks like the phalanges of a grasping hand - while tapestries of grim battles blanket the walls, depicting a variety of the tactics Carnifex employ in slaughter. A pair of weapon racks flank the hearth, presenting a collection of wickedly forged halberds, bardiches, swords and hammers for gleaming display...and for easy access, should the Keep fall under attack.A murky darkness has settled in here.

You see exits leading south (open pine door), southwest, and down (open pine door).

You have emoted: Moirean slides into a chair behind the large desk at the far end of the room. She straightens her back and fixes you with a stern expression. Something about the study's design - an angling of lines, the hanging of the tapestries, perhaps the lighting - twists perception and, from across the room, makes the Imp look almost larger than a Human.

Toz nods, trailing into the study after you. "Practical, and intimidating. I like it. It suits you, hmm?" he says quietly, looking around, eyes particularly drawn to the weapons lining the wall.

You have emoted: Moirean's eyes follow your gaze, and she grins broadly (with more than a little touch of malice) at the weapons. "Perhaps you can make some to add to the collection," she suggests. "...if you decide to learn forging, that is."

Toz nods and clasps his hands behind his back as he considers you across you desk. Asking with a faint twitch of his lips, as if unable to resist, "Indeed - does being tall mean so much to you? There's nothing wrong with being tactically sized."

You have emoted: Moirean considers the comment, and concedes the point with a tip of her head. "PHYSICALLY, yes, it can actually be a benefit. Tu-Tuiln taught me that," she states, faltering for a moment on the name. She quickly recovers, however, and arches an eyebrow. "But, ah, visually? Perceptually?" Her grin widens.

Firmly, you say, "Not only will enemies misgauge me and my attacks, there IS a firm need for the Keep's Commander to appear strong right now."

You have emoted: Moirean leans forwards, the motion sending a fresh waft of her gag-inducing scent towards you. Her voice lowers as she meets your eyes directly, and she speaks plainly, words quick and chopped. "We are weak right now. Pit, *I* am weak right now. As a guild, we are a joke."

Scowling, you say, "As a force of brutal knights to be feared? We are even less than a joke - we're a shadow of a wish."

Toz shrugs his broad shoulders, stepping a bit closer to the desk. "Maybe, then. Though there always was something devastatingly intimidating about someone smaller than me, and able to best me in a physical contest." With a faint smile in your direction, he adds, "And even smelling like shit, and tactically sized, I'm sure you are more than a match for most, when you get back into the swing of things - time is on our side." Lowering his voice, "Our enemies think we are worthless. They've discarded us as a threat - no need to make noise. Adapt to being tactically sized, and destroy them in one strike."

You have emoted: Moirean presses one hand on the desk and taps her fingers once, quickly, as she considers your words. Eventually, she concludes, "It is a fine line to walk - we must pretend and overreach at least a little, or we will fail to improve. Too much, though? We become the pompous, self-important Templars."

Toz shakes his head a little at that, "Challenge each other. Play the Initiates off one another - hell, play the knights off one another. Savagery within our ranks breeds respect for one another's prowess. Build strength internally, then club our enemies in the back. Leave 'fair play' to the Templars. A sword fight in shining armor is pretty, but a hammer to the spine is more effective."

Her lips drawing into a frown, you say, "That I am fine with. The Knights need to train. We are all soft." Her frown deepens, and she continues. "However, Satomi and Mastema and perhaps Demion think me more capable than I think I am. But if I strip that image down to a merely a weak little Imp, the guild will suffer - right now, I think, they need a leader to yell at them and be impressive. An example to aim for...and if I have to cheat in creating that, I really don't care."

Nodding curtly, Toz says, "I can be your hammer, Commander. I can't best the likes of Borscin, but I could hold my own before I fell dormant. With a little practice, I can get back to that."

You have emoted: At your words, Moirean's eyes narrow and her expression turns inwards for a long, silent moment. Finally, she abruptly rises from her seat, skirting the desk as she begins to advance upon you. Her body seems to diminish with each step, regaining her true proportions, but her presence looms larger as she approaches: her features, pulled tight into a cold expression; the stench of shit and blood; tendrils of dark magic and the near-unheard wails of bound souls leeching from the soul stone embedded in the breastplate of her armour to seep out around her in a wispy aura.

Quietly, you say, "No, you cannot, Toz. You, too, are still weak."

Toz nods faintly at you, not backing down from you approach. "I am, certainly. There is much room to grow," he returns quietly, straightening up to his full height, straightening his shoulders. "But, Commander, I am Ser Toz. I who abandoned the Templars on the eve of my knighting, to find true strength. I who have discarded even life in favor of strength. I stood against a force seven times the size of mine and won victory so fiercely that they did not dare return while we stood there." Hands clasping behind his back now as he waits for your next movement, "There is little I fear. And even less I cannot overcome."

You have emoted: Without preamble, Moirean swiftly unslings her halberd, whipping it around to grasp it in both hands. Fluidly the blade slices through the air, and continues, onwards, towards the unprotected fur at your throat.

Toz tilts his head, though he does tense, as you strike at him, clearly not intending to move.

You have emoted: Moirean stiffens her muscles and jerks her arms backwards at the last moment to kill her momentum. The blade wavers in its strike, slicing only a shallow, hair-thin nick. Frowning, the Imp shakes her head, a touch of anger twisting her features. "Weak," she repeats, rotating the weapon to point the halberd's butt towards you. Shoving the staff's end in a sweep towards your legs, she grunts, "And I know why."

Toz winces faintly as the blade strikes his neck, twitching instinctively, though he forces himself to remain still. As you strikes downward at his legs, however, he tenses the muscles there, using his decidedly heavy and armored form to weigh down on the leg your staff swings at in an attempt to keep his feet though he offers little resistance besides that. He maintains his strict posture of at rest otherwise, hands clasped behind his back and a faint scowl on his lips.

You have emoted: Moirean shows no mercy this time, and the staff carries out its arc in a surprisingly forceful swing, the Imp's small strength augmented by a twist of her hips for leverage. The polearm crashes into your legs, heavily, the momentum from the sweep knocking into your armoured legs with a resounding crash.

Toz goes over at the hit, crashing to the ground with a metallic thud. He takes a three-count, simply lying there and assessing, before he starts to rise back to his feet stubbornly, expression tight with pain, annoyance, or a mix of the two.

You have emoted: Moirean gives you no reprieve and begins a savage series of blows against you, the blunt end of the halberd quickly whipping back and forth to strike at your knees, your stomach, even your face. As she swings the weapon, she grunts at you, her words clipped with the effort of the blow. "Do you hold back-" SMASH "-because I am your Commander-" SMASH "-or-" SMASH "-do you hold back-" The final strike is aborted, and the weapon flipped so the blade is angled towards you once more.

Her voice low and cold, you say, "Do you hold back, because I am me?"

Toz bears the brunt of the strikes silently, continuing to steadily push back up to his feet, though your frenzied attack drops him to his knees more than once. As the blade turns towards him, he takes the time to find his feet, bleeding from more than one wound. He takes the time to exhale slowly, a bit of blood dripping from his nose as he responds, "You made me who I am. You and Lord Slyphe are the reason I am here, and as strong as I am. I won't fight you, but I will fight for you without hesitation."

You have emoted: The blade in Moirean's grasp wavers slightly, as her hand shakes at your words. She swallows heavily, regaining her composure, and presses onwards, her tone cool and devoid of compassion: "All of your strengths, everything you cite, you did for me. You left the Templars - to follow me. You became Undead - to follow me. You fought armies - as you followed me. Even Lord Slyphe's touch was from me."

Injecting a mocking note into her voice, you say, "Who is Toz, without Moirean? Where is your strength, then?"

Toz returns simply, "Toz without Moirean ever is a loyal Templar, still following a flawed belief system." Glancing down briefly towards the blade of your halberd, he adds, "Toz without Moirean now managed to embrace Undeath, and fight an army, even while she was gone." Raising his gaze back to you, he adds cooly, "Because of you, I am strong. Without you, I stood on my own and remained strong. Don't confuse my loyalty for need. You made me, Commander, and I love you. But I don't need you."

You have emoted: Moirean's expression twists into a savage smile, surprise - and clear approval - in her eyes. Her tone remains taunting, however, as she challenges, "Yet you will not fight me."

Toz dips his head once in a nod, "I won't fight you, that is correct. Anything you can strike me with, I can endure. But I will not strike back." His tone is simple, the line delivered with utmost earnestness.

You have emoted: Moirean seems to deflate a bit, the blade dipping downwards to point at the floor - although still held tightly enough to still be a potential threat. "Why?" she asks simply, frowning.

Toz's eyes flick again to your blade before he responds: "Because I don't need to. I wouldn't get anything out of it, and because it would likely hurt me far worse than it would hurt you anyway. My goal is for the both of us to rise - if we fight, one of us falls."

Defiantly, you say, "Yet, you said I should set the Knights against one another to train."

Nodding curtly, Toz says to you, "Yes, I did. But not against you - if you let someone fight against you, and you lose, it hurts your position. You said yourself that you have to *appear* strong, even if you are not. Why encourage people to find your weakness?"

You have emoted: Moirean clenches her jaw, grip tightening on her halberd. Her cheeks color and her gaze heats until she is glaring at you and your criticism. She holds the stare in silence, though her tail lashes behind her like an angry, twisting whip. Finally, she turns on her heel, striding to the study's southwestern door. Sharply, she commands, "Come."

Moirean

A frigid balcony overlooking the Tareans. (Shadow Keep.)

Filling the firmament is a lattice of heavy grey clouds. Sheltered by the curve of the Commander's tower, this balcony is oddly, ominously silent despite the constant whip of the wind atop the mountain. The view from here is unparalleled, save by the Keep's watchtower, allowing an almost full view of the surrounding terrain: to the north is the frozen white of the tundra and to the south a distant glimpse of the darkened greenery of the Morgun, while to the west can be seen the grim devastation of what remains of Ashtan, next to an ashy, murky sea. A carved balustrade has been wrought from stone, adorned with feral, snarling hounds where gargoyles would usually be positioned, and guttering torches have been erected every few feet to keep the north's darkness at bay. The icy chill of the Tareans permeates the walk, and during the winter months the flagstones can often be slick with ice, so wrought-iron braziers are kept stoked by the Keep's denizens day and night against this cold; fashioned in the shapes of interlocked combatants, the metal frame is illuminated from within by the dancing flames of fire to cast shifting silhouettes of fighters roiling in endless battle across the walls of the Shadow Keep. A murky darkness has settled in here.

You see a single exit leading northeast.

You have emoted: As soon as you step onto the balcony, away from the fire-warmed study, you are struck by an the icy chill, hammering home just how frigid and inhospitable the Tareans are. A few steps away, Moirean stands here, staring towards the west. Her stance is rigid, halberd secured over her shoulders, and her tangled curls drift about her face in the small gusts which manage to find their way past the tower's bulky windbreak.

Most of Toz's fur shifts in the wind, save clumps along his face, arms, and knees, which are matted down with blood. Movements a little stiff, he comes to stand a few feet away from you, clasping his hands behind his back, eyes shifting over you briefly before moving to look outward over the mountains.

You have emoted: For a span, the only sound is the faint sound of the wind howling across the Keep. Moirean remains silent for a long while, before she lifts her chin to indicate the distant horizon. Her cheeks are still flushed, although, in profile, it's hard to discern if the color is from anger or merely the cold. "There is more at stake than simply pride," she finally admits.

Toz clears his throat, quiet as he considers. "There is. But my point remains - you can't afford to look weak. They need you like I needed you." He's sure to place emphasis on *needed*, moving to stand beside you at the balcony, speaking out that way without looking towards you, "Mold them. Force them to grow stronger, make them love you. When they mature, they'll be strong. And still love you, but able to stand without you."

You have emoted: "That," Moirean states, raising a hand to point towards the ruins in the far distance. "That is what happened when I lost. When Edhain and I failed, when Sibatti and Ishin and Desian and I faltered. When Enorian and Duiran and Spinesreach and Bloodloch and all of Sapience lost." Her hand drops to her side, and she lets her head tilt downwards, gaze downcast. Her voice drops. "Ashtan happened."

You say, "Losing a fight or two means NOTHING if we are not prepared for the larger battle." She lets out a sharp, irritated sigh, and snaps her head up to look at you. "Sometimes - often - I think our true enemies are forgotten in our scrabbles for ylem and power and fame."

Toz follows your gesture, considering the ruins. After a time, he shifts his gaze inward more, looking at the Keep, going so far as to look over his shoulder. "That's the nature of people. Deal with the problems of now, forget about the past and ignore the future." Turning again to consider you, tone almost challenging, "How are you going to lead us in a large battle, though, if you don't first build us up?"

You have emoted: Moirean takes time to think over your words. Her tail absently curls upwards to wrap around her waist and her hands clench into fists. Her voice is frustrated when she eventually speaks: "Damn you."

Toz glances to you with the ghost of a smile. "If you look at it from the perspective of where I started, you already have." Turning a bit more to face you, growing a bit more serious now, he asks, "So. Why damn me? You wanted my thoughts on the matter, I gave them."

You have emoted: The curse is swiftly followed by a finger jabbed to your chest, as Moirean faces you straight on, raised to her full, Impish height, her weight balanced on her toes to add an impressive few inches. "I was going to break you, teach you to be strong," she growls. "I was going to show you that you can exist without me-"

You have emoted: Moirean's hand drops, and she sinks back down to stand flat-footed. "But-" she frowns, and stops, at a loss for words.

Toz counters, pretty simply, not bothering even with titles, "You did that already, Moirean. You left. I don't know why, or where, nor do I care. I had to learn very abruptly how to endure without you - and I used everything you taught me to do so." Reaching up to grab at the finger jabbed towards his chest, he says quietly, "I'm not the little Templar apsirant you used to tease. Nor am I the dog who followed you around. I will always stay with you, but I don't need you any more. You leaving taught me that final lesson."

You have emoted: Moirean gives you a sudden, fierce kiss, her lips crushing against yours for a swift moment. Her hand tightens in your grasp, nails gripping your fingers, and she confesses in a low whisper, "...I don't think I've ever truly loved you until now." She inhales sharply, eyes closing, and adds, "...But gods, do I love you."

You break off your proposal of Unity to Tralendar.

Toz returns the kiss after managing to collect himself, one arm winding around you, automatically adjusting for the height difference. Wryly smiling at your admission, he keeps quiet, studying you for a long moment. Picking his words with obvious care, he replies, "That hurt, a bit. But, if you mean it, I'm content with the end result."

You have emoted: Moirean lets the embrace last for only a heartbeat before she wriggles free, pushing away from you. "Of course I do," she retorts, and the brief, tender moment has faded. Her expression is already hardening and her tone becomes businesslike as she crosses her arms over her chest. "This - you - entirely changes things," she states.

You have emoted: Moirean flatly admits, "I was wrong. You ARE strong."

Toz steps back as well, expression flicking to neutral. Clasping his hands behind his back, he nods down at you, "Of course I am strong. As I told you when you asked me about Undeath - I Changed." Eyes flicking towards the mountains again, he remarks quietly, "You and the others can believe of Lord Slyphe what you like. My faith in Him remains unchanged - I am not afraid to Change however I have to."

You have emoted: Lifting her chin, Moirean says, "Well, prepare for more." With more than a trace of amusement, she declares, "Since you won't fight me, however, we'll have to find you a more suitable target. I want to see what you can do." Her gaze slides sideways towards the dancing shadows cast by the brazier on the walls of the Keep, and it's instantly clear who she intends for you to spar against.

A sudden breeze buffets the flames in the braziers, causing the shadows of the fighters to dance upwards, as if preparing for action.

Toz nods his head to you, "I'll fight whoever I have to. Without hesitation." Turning, he follows your gaze towards the wall, looking over the figures carefully. Perhaps instinctively, he draws free his hammer, keeping it over one shoulder in a position of readiness.

One of the shadows detaches from the crowd, looming forwards - a halberd is clearly grasped in its hands, and it makes a slicing gesture through the air, the silhouette growing larger as it appears to advance.

Toz shrugs his hammer off of his shoulder, hefting it as he considers the approaching shadow. "Fight a shadow?" he asks, looking towards you as if for confirmation.

You have emoted: Moirean inclines her head, her gaze drifting past you to watch the shadow's movements - without waiting for a reply from you, the shadow has already begun an attack, whirling its halberd over its head in a wide swing typical of an attempt at dismemberment.

Toz considers the approaching shadow for a moment longer before he lowers his shoulder and steps forward at the shadow, eyes watching the halberd spin carefully, shifting his warhammer down to cover the limb he guesses it will strike for.

You have emoted: As the blade descends, a wailing fills your ears and the winds around the tower increase in strength, building to a howling frenzy. The chill on the balcony deepens, plummeting to an icy cold, and wisps of snow blow past Moirean and around you in skirling streaks - no, not snow, you realize as they begin to twist around the shadow, but something colder, and far less intangible: souls. The shadow pulses, taking on a misty umbra, and the blade that meets your own hammer is no shadow, but now icy, darkened steel.

Steepling his fingers against his chest, Toz holds them there a moment before drawing his hand back slowly. Thin tendrils of an oily, silvery black substance trail after the fingertips and begin to coalesce within his hand, gradually flowing into the ephemeral shape of a soul cleaver.

Toz ceases to wield a warhammer of bronzed gears, securing it to his weaponbelt.

Toz starts to wield an ethereal soul cleaver in his hands.

Toz clashes his hammer against the blade to halt its momentum then twists away, using the distance gained from his move to slip away his warhammer. Holding a hand to his chest, teeth grit, he forms a fist and /pulls/, silvery substance drawing away. Eying the figure, he continues to pull the substance until it is entirely free from his form, both hands shifting to wield it even as it shapes itself into a bardiche, lowering it at the figure with a visible degree of smugness.

You have emoted: The shadow drinks in the flow of souls and its form grows, swelling larger as it takes on a darker, inky hue. A murky miasma begins to radiate outwards from the empowered wraith, and it starts to slash violently through the air again. As you summon the soul cleaver, however, Moirean's eyebrows rise in approval, and the shadow twists its halberd back into a defensive parry. A gaping maw rips open where a mortal's mouth would be, opening a window to darkness and hell as it begins to scream in anger.

A swarm of souls begin to pour forth from the shadow's maw, screaming in torment.

Toz doesn't bother with attempting to out-play the figure's guard, grip tightening around his cleaver as he steps forward to strike heavily, the air around his weapon crackling as he empowers the blade, his attack aimed straight at the figure's gaping maw, eyes taking on a distinctly hungry look as they glint dully.

You have emoted: Quick as an eyeblink, the shadow twists away, blinking out of existence to leave only a chilly echo of its presence shimmering in its place. In the same instant, though, the air behind you turns icy and you can sense the presence of SOMETHING suddenly there, cold, heavy, breathing. Moirean's gaze shifts, following the movement, her own form darkened as the torch light from the balcony is obscured.

Toz staggers heavily as his swing fails to meet any resistance at all, and he takes a few steps forward quickly to compensate. Turning around, pressing his back to the wall, he gestures upwards with his hand, ethereal chains snaking forth from the floor to lash out at the feet of those nearby, ensnaring whoever - or whatever - they can. Grimly, he lowers his cleaver and flicks his eyes about the room.

You have emoted: The wall may have been a mistake - as you press your back to it, more shadows leap forth, animated by the swarms of souls circling the balcony. Arms, rapidly shifting from ethereal into deadly tangible, grasp at you, attempting to pin you down as the wraith approaches. Struggling through the chains dragging at its legs, the behemoth inexorably advances, letting out another wailing roar of cacophonous screams. Moirean winces briefly at the shriek, but keeps her attention trained on you, watching intently.

Toz twists and turns in the grip of the shadows, his cleaver brushing against one of the arm attempting to restrain him. As it does, Toz's grin returns and he stands a little straighter, the phantom limb fading from tangible back to shadows once more. A discerning eye would note a soul, freshly plucked from the limb, being drawn down his cleaver and into the soulstone that pulses in the middle of his plated armor. Continuing to turn, he attempts to touch his cleaver against as many arms as possible while fighting for his freedom from their grasp.

You have emoted: At the cleaver's touch, the phantom limbs melt into obscurity, melding back into shadows once more with hissing shrieks. Enraged, the wraith shambles onwards, finally breaking free of the chains as its weapon fluidly reshapes itself into a hammer wrought from blackened shadow and ice. Moirean bites back an exclamation of surprise as the wraith barrels towards you, its weapon pulled back for a pulverizing strike against your entangled, exposed chest.

Toz's struggles grow faster and stronger with every contact against the phantom limbs as his soulstone feeds on their energy, and he wrests himself free of the few remaining hands that seek to restrict him. Sweeping his cleaver low, he aims a strike for the figure's leg, attempting to cut it from beneath the creature with a single, savage hook of his weapon.

You have emoted: Unable to stop its momentum, the shadow is swept to the ground by the strike. Shards of ice scatter outwards, chipping off the creature as it crashes against the flagstones with a heavy thud. Behind the wraith, Moirean winces and exhales sharply; the sudden fall reveals her fully and, for the first time, you can perceive a murky, slender tendril linking her own soulstone to the creature.

Toz calmly steps forward and slams his cleaver into the creature's belly, skewering it to the ground, his own soulstone pulsing a few times as it starts to feed on the creature. Looking up towards you, he smirks as he sees the link between you and the creature. Inclining his head towards you, his soulstone's pulsing halting abruptly, he asks, "Sufficient, Commander?"

You have emoted: The link between Moirean and the wraith weakens with each pulse of your soulstone, fading dimly, while the creature slowly begins to shrink and warp, melting away as it is absorbed into your own stone. Finally, with a sharp gesture, the Imp summons her stone back to her and closes her fingers around the small gem. She allows you a small smile of approval, and nods. "Sufficient," she agrees.

Amending her statement, you say, "More than sufficent."

You appoint Toz to the position of guild secretary.

Toz will now be known as Defiler Toz.

Toz carefully straightens up and slides his cleaver away, glancing down to the floor where the phantom melted away, sneering a bit. Composing himself and straightening up to his fullest to give you a sharp salute, he says, "Thank you, Commander. I will serve however I am needed."

You have emoted: Moirean returns the salute and replies firmly, "I know."

Moirean

I was absolutely floored by Toz's changes in the time I was gone. His character has become something pretty badass, and I spent a long time going "Whoa, that was not what I expected" during this entire encounter.

Toz returns simply, "Toz without Moirean ever is a loyal Templar, still following a flawed belief system." Glancing down briefly towards the blade of your halberd, he adds, "Toz without Moirean now managed to embrace Undeath, and fight an army, even while she was gone." Raising his gaze back to you, he adds cooly, "Because of you, I am strong. Without you, I stood on my own and remained strong. Don't confuse my loyalty for need. You made me, Commander, and I love you. But I don't need you."

Toz is a freaking cowboy.

Aldric

This whole interaction was fantastic, particularly the battling of the souls/wraith at the end. Carnifex lore is really neat, and the skill messages (when they work) offer so much potential that just begs to be utilized exactly the way you did. Kudos!

Teani

Fabulous, as always, Moirean. I've always liked your emoting. I'm sorry I wasn't quite up to par when you met up with me in the Grand Aetolian Library. Hope I get a new chance some day!

Also, Toz did a fantastic job too. Was awesome to read.

And I agree with Aldric. The way the skills are used at the end, that's something that should be done more often!

Illikaal

A loyal Templar huh. What an INTERESTING choice of words. 

Edhain

I seriously love the dynamic between Toz and Moi. The beginning of the log especially, so serious but kind of funny too. Toz really rose up and proved himself impressively. Carnifex have a pretty cool path ahead of them, it looks like. Nice to see you back, Moirean, you make the game interesting for a lot of people.

Moirean

Illidan said:

A loyal Templar huh. What an INTERESTING choice of words. 

I don't get it...

Illikaal

A Carnifex. That is a loyal Templar. Think about it.

Moirean

He said that without meeting Moi, he'd still be a loyal Templar. But he did, hence him being a Carnifex.