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Revenge is a dish best served at the beach
Moirean
Chairmander Portland
Backstory: A loooong time ago, when Moi was in Enorian, she decided to crown herself queen of the Imps. She made herself a crown and was very proud of it. Omei figured out, rather quickly, how much pride was tied up into it.
Omei objects to Moi's "queendom". Moi is divinely muted, hence no talking.
Omei takes Moi's crown ( and a rather interesting glimpse of Toz as a newbie). Moi isn't muted anymore, but she doesn't want to reveal that, afraid that Omei will make good on her promise to return and make her "scream."
Moi tries to get the crown back through Lin, one of Omei's beloved:
Lin and Moi get in a fight after this and the eventual conclusion (with Omei's pushing) is Moirean leaving the Sentinels. The log of that is on old forums. They both go their own ways, and only really encounter each other again when Iosyne pushes them together (http://forums.aetolia.com/discussion/524/iosyne-lin-moirean-trask-wake-up-sleepyhead). A few months after that, Lin contacts Moirean.
Lin:
[spoiler]She is a dexterous Azudim, warped by an unkind hand into a monstrous form. She must be seven feet tall, if not more, shaped in the most symbolic sense like a human being. Arms and legs alike are entirely clad in a mismatching of chitin plates, bone and oily black fur - they emulate natural musculature, but exaggerate and weaponize it, turning her shoulders into curving spikes; her knuckles, her elbows and other joints jagged, like a woman as envisioned by demons. From thigh to collar to head, she resembles a human, one with dark kawhe skin. Small grooves of exposed bone run across her collar and follow the contour of her hips, and though her midsection is lithe and strong, the ribs are visible, and give her a slightly sunken look. Lin's face is cruel, her brows thin and arched, and her eyes, a deep amber color, do not shine but seem to glow dully, like the embers in a dying hearth. Black hair is pulled tightly back from her head, save for a pair of thick locks that hang and flank her jaw, a strange touch of prettiness in an alien visage. The rest is a chaotic burst, a mane that sprawls as far down as her rear, of the same glossy texture as the fur on her limbs. From that mass, a giant pair of horns curls in a tight spiral, emulating the ram, and shading her ears, which are long and reminiscent of a bat. Her balance is maintained by a thick, serpentine tail, one that clacks horribly as it moves, tipped with an off-white barb. She walks with the blessing of Haern.
(fused to her horns) : warped and twisted filigree horn ornamentations
(slung over her shoulders) : a jade green cloak of the Emperor
(in the center of her forehead) : a circular mark, half darkened
(slung around her hips) : a loincloth of red and gold silk
(bound around her breasts) : a binding top of red silk
(hanging from a rawhide thong at her side) : a horned, bestial mask of scorched wood
(clasped tight around her wrist) : a regal armband, clad in stone and vine[/spoiler]
Moirean:
[spoiler]She is a powerful Imp and is a slight, slender creature. Small, bat-like wings fan out from her shoulder blades, while a curling tail twists behind her to occasionally twitch in vaguely mischievous movements. A pair of petite horns frames her features, sprouting from her brow to highlight a pair of bright, amber eyes. Auburn hair tumbles around pointed ears in tangled curls, the color a lurid match for the seared brand of a thirteen-pointed star across her forehead. Her right arm is sheathed from the elbow downwards in an elaborate steel gauntlet, its surface covered with a spiderwebbed network of slender black lines. The delicate etchings twist across the metal, constantly pulsing with flares of murky, warped darkness. She walks with the blessing of Iosyne.
(jangling on a thick chain from her belt) : a brass keyring
(proudly displayed over her armor) : a tabard of the Shadow Keep
(unbuttoned, over her armor) : a Carnifex's side-buttoning black wool longcoat
(skimming her torso) : a black, silken bodice
(hanging on a chain around her neck) : an entwined starstone engagement ring wreathed in ro..
(delicately pinned to her tabard) : a jagged ylemshard pin
(holstered to her hip for easy access) : a macabre Tarot deck
(tightly covering her legs) : black leather soldier's pants
(on her neck below her right ear) : a black-inked tattoo of a pair of crossed fists
(set at a rakish cant) : a pair of Impish horns
(proudly displayed) : a patriotic Spirean sash
(melded to her left elbow) : a steel arm webbed in living soulstone
(perched on the ear) : a clinging spider earring
(proudly displaying the Northern lion) : a patriotic Spirean tunic
(worn on the feet) : a pair of boots
(hanging on a chain around her neck) : a ring engraved with the Seirath crest[/spoiler]
------------------
Lin tells you, "Your accomplice has followed me to the woods. Do you miss him?"
You throw back your head and utter arcane syllables into the ether.
You tell Lin, "Better?"
Lin tells you, "I do not follow."
You tell Lin, "Ah. I thought you meant my humbug was attacking you."
You tell Lin, "You mean Trask."
Lin tells you, "I mean Trask. A humbug nonetheless."
You tell Lin, "I would be more concerned if it were a humbug. Those actually are useful in battle."
Lin tells you, "Aye, I am not sure what all of his bulk is for. I can only wonder what your Spider did to make him reconsider."
You tell Lin, "The Malevolent?"
Lin tells you, "Yes, the Malevolent, Moirean Seirath."
You tell Lin, "You know little of Her if you think She really cares either way about retaining followers."
You tell Lin, "As long as there is slaughter, Her goals are being achieved."
Lin tells you, "Don't be fooled, Moirean. They are all the same - and They get lonely, no matter what they tell you."
You tell Lin, "Perhaps. I'm merely a little woman who hits things, to Her. Not privy to Her plans beyond the general "kill everything" plot."
Lin tells you, "She uses you for duty. There is honor in that. It doesn't bother you? You do not want more?"
You tell Lin, "Perhaps Her sightless spider eyes are drowning in tears as She mourns his departure. Unlikely, but perhaps."
You tell Lin, "I don't really think they can even cry. I don't think spiders work that way."
Lin tells you, "I have seen stranger. We are similar in many ways - why do you still feel hate for me, Seirath?"
You tell Lin, "Last I truly saw you, you were not worth my hate. Though you seem to have remembered how to walk, so I guess it might be worth considering renewing it."
Lin tells you, "I can walk. I can run, actually, faster than I ever did before. I lack your war experience, but I am surely a more considerable foe than, say, a sorcerer of the Xaanhal. My own dislike of you stems from petty revenge, from the memory of you beating me when I was vulnerable... and yet I feel that dwindling. I wonder what it is in you that makes you loathe me so."
Lin tells you, "Is it because I am tall? Because my loyalties seem flimsy? Surely you do not think me a prettier sight than you - I have the grimaces of many Sentaari that say otherwise."
You tell Lin, "I did not beat you without purpose. I put you somewhere for safekeeping."
Lin tells you, "More fool you, you didn't realize my body was almost finished."
You tell Lin, "...did I really hit you that hard? Or do you screw over so many, you can't keep track?"
Lin tells you, "I have a proposal, I promise it is related to the discussion."
You tell Lin, "You took from me. You took my crown. You took my dream, my Orak. You took my guild and my life in the forests. And now you want to take my time, dirty and dark and horrid as it is."
You ford your way to the northwest atop a donkey.
A rocky beach in a cove. (Eastern Wilderness.)
Snowflakes float down around you, colouring the world white. Lin is here.
You see exits leading northeast, southeast, and south.
Lin smiles faintly - she seems to have been expecting you.
"We both want revenge," Lin says, her voice grating and ravaged, even in a more natural looking face.
You have emoted: A cloaked figure frowns, her heatlit eyes glowering out from behind her deep hood. "What'd I do to YOU," she petulantly replies as she wriggles off of her donkey to land in the rocky shallows. Her stare glares up at you piercing and bright.
Lin shuts her eyes, snorts, shrugs a little. Without ceremony, she hunkers down in the sand, folding herself carefully into a cross-legged position. "The situation here is quite straightforward. I have taken much from you... caused you unrest. I may sound... calm, but I am mortified at seeing what I have made you, however indirectly." Sighing softly, she adds, "It was not my intention to birth a demon. I ask you again - is revenge your intention?"
Lin sits down.
You deftly lower the hood of a cloak of obscurity, revealing your identity.
You have emoted: Your shift to a seat puts you roughly on eye-level with Moirean - she lifts her chin and rolls onto the balls of her feet to compensate, giving herself a lofty extra inch or two of height to tower over you. "I'm not horrid," she replies, a sullen, almost sulky note in her voice. "I'm a COMMANDER and a SENATOR and I even was RESPONSIBLE and showed PATIENCE." She stresses several words heavily, eyebrows raising, as if they carry some deep significance.
Excessively benevolent, you say, "Revenge would be PETTY."
"But deserved," Lin claims. Her eyes lidded so heavily they appear closed, she draws from her kitbag a knife and, perhaps surprisingly, a very large fork. "You have already had your revenge."
You have emoted: Moirean's doppleganger mimics her stance, its own eyes rolling rather wildly in its faintly ethereal head as some unfelt wind stirs its hair into waving corkscrews.
Lin is the picture of monastic calm, the only betrayal of feeling in the twitching tip of her tail, half-buried in the sand. She sets out a large plank of wood, easing it into the sand to make a level plane, and then without further warning, all but drops a colossal dragon steak onto it.
You have emoted: Moirean frowns, her posture sinking down a bit as she seems to deflate slightly. "I...have?" she asks, eyes narrowing to peer at you skeptically - they focus especially on the knife, and a tension creeps into her frame, one hand lowering to her weaponbelt.
"You have," Lin says, offering no further explanation. She sets the fork and knife right on top of the steak, and leaves no question as to what they are for.
You have emoted: Moirean's gaze tracks the knife, her frown deepening as you make it clear what it is intended for. "Seems like YOU mean to get revenge," she scowls, arms crossing over her chest. She lets out a sniff and declares, "I'm not STUPID, Lin. You can't just happily poison me like that." Behind her, the doppleganger mirrors the gesture, lifting its own chin so high all you can see is neck and nose.
Lin keeps her head bowed, as if awaiting execution - she will look at nothing but the sand. "I wonder what that truly means - we both know a pint of Voyria would not faze you. If you wish it, I will allow you my head... but I have offered you a gift, and it would be rude to refuse."
You have emoted: Moirean purses her lips. Sand crunches beneath her feet as she shifts her weight. "Rude would be one of the nicer things I get called," she retorts, but the response lacks much bite. It seems more reflexive than anything else - her voice is subdued and her brow furrowed at your posture. She coughs and then crouches, cautiously sinking down to sit across from you. "You first," she demands.
You sit yourself down.
"As you wish, Moirean." Lin scoots herself in closer, gently pushing the knife and fork toward you, not requiring them. She deftly jabs her middle finger into the meat, spearing it through, and with a little effort, is able to drag a gash in her direction. Doing this once more, creating a wedge shape, she extracts a slice of fat meat from the steak. Lifting her eyes to you, she chucks the entire gob into her mouth, heedless of the blood that dribbles down her lip when she chews. It takes her ages.
Tucking the remaining meat and gristle into her cheek, Lin says, "Should have peppered it..."
You have emoted: Moirean watches you in silence, her eyes trained on you until every last bit of meat is swallowed. Only then does she lean in, giving the steak a cautious sniff and a gentle poke, her hand dwarfed by the massive slab. She tentatively picks up the fork and knife, the cutlery clanking against the metallic grip of her left hand - despite being made apparently from steel and stone, the appendage adroitly handles the fork, deftly wielding it and plunging it into the meat. Her right hand shoos away her doppleganger (it blows an indignant raspberry) and begins to saw into the steak with the knife.
You sniff a colossal dragon steak, trying to decipher just what that smell emanating from it is.
A deep whiff of the steak is almost exactly like beef, a muscular and savory smell that fills the air around it.
The meat is bloody and very rare, lacking in spices, bearing the intense flavors of muscle, fat and blood.
Lin's eyes flicker from Moirean to you, focusing intently on your arm. Her eyebrows narrow together but she says little, watching you test the steak with barely-suppressed interest. "Poison may actually improve the flavor. Dragon is not the best meat to work with - it is only rarity that would drive the price higher than beef. I am all canines, though. Perhaps you will find it easier to eat."
As if you needed proof, Lin tugs back one of her lips, flashing nothing but sharp fangs, and more rows of teeth than anything humanoid should have.
You have emoted: Moirean lets out a noncommittal grunt in response, still sawing away. She finally manages to hack off a piece of meat and raises it to her mouth. She flashes you a dubious stare and her tongue flicks out to lightly lick the steak - she waits a few moments and, apparently not dead yet, begins to tentatively nibble at the forkful.
Lin's shoulders descend a full inch in relief. She passes a hand over her hair, smoothing it out but also rubbing sand and dragon juices into it. "I thought about you a lot, you should know. The meal wasn't relevant - I'd just killed a dragon, and I wanted someone to taste it, why not you--" A brief skip in her voice, the first hint of emotion she's shown today, accentuated by strange, black tears that now drift down her cheeks. Her tail curls around her crossed legs. She pets it lightly. "Consider this while you eat. History will remember your conquests. You will always be the dreadknight that stormed the abyss, that was loyal no matter which side she clung to - she did not switch lightly or often."
You have emoted: Moirean chews, thoughtfully at first, and then with a bit of energy, and then almost wearily as she does her best to break down the gristle. Through the mouthful, she gives you a slightly sympathetic, somewhat weak smile, tilting her head. She covers her lips with one hand to conceal her chewing, and remarks, "Iffs....goof..." Finally, she manages to swallow and clarifies, "Good. It's good." She swallows again - without the gnawing to distract her, the Imp's mouth twitches downwards into a frown, remaining silent as she thinks over your words.
You cut off and pop chunk after chunk into your mouth, going at it like a mining expedition, saturating your mouth and throat with blood and gristly meat. The plank looks like a murder scene when you are finished
Quietly, you say, "Why did you think about me?"
"Thank you..." Lin scratches faintly through her top, sucking in a deep breath as the tears increase. "I like cooking. It is a new passion of mine." She considers your question at length, flicking a sizzling tear aside as she glances skyward. "It disturbed me deeply that I could be the source of such feelings in a person - a person I'd treated as carelessly as anyone else. You have your revenge, Moirean. You are the Commander; you are victorious. I teach children to throw punches; I make food and try not to think about drinking; I tend to my daughter, who does not know I am her mother. Your revenge."
You have emoted: Moirean lowers the knife and stabs it into the steak. "Tastes about as bland as the meat," she grunts. Her expression is all tense and tight, eyes nearly crossed as she stares down at the cutlery. Her jaw clenches and fitfully pokes at the knife, propping it back upright as gravity pulls it downwards towards the plank. She sighs.
You have emoted: Moirean tears her gaze up to you and simply says, "It's not you I hate. It never was."
Lin averts her gaze, just as swiftly as your eyes. She tries to say something, but nothing comes out. With her mouth slightly ajar, she just listens.
You have emoted: Moirean shrugs once, the gesture releasing most of the tension left in her posture. She slumps downwards, knees drawing towards her chest for her to rest her chin on. "I've got a son in Duiran, you know," she indirectly replies. "He doesn't know who I am." She stares back at the meat, her eyes unfocusing. "We're alike, there. There's a...similarity. Like there was with Orak. And Omei. I was Her precious toy once. I was someone he liked once. And then they preferred you. Just like Enorian preferred Sibatti once I-"
"Take... take your time," Lin offers. Unconsciously, she mirrors your posture, pulling her legs up against her chest, pulling an arm around her shins. She hunches forward enough that she can tear at the steak again, pulling free a stringy chunk, always eating like she has no time for it.
You have emoted: Moirean breaks off and swallows. Her wings tense a bit and she shakes her head. "Sibatti, you, others - you became who I was trying to be. That's what I hate," she admits. "That you all did it better than me. Easier than me."
Lin's forelocks bob, nodding her head in understanding. Once finished eating, she cracks a painful looking smile, disrupting the flow of her lost tears. "Did we, really? Do you see Esrytesh around any longer? Do I appear to you a general, a leader, a high priestess?" She shifts her legs aside just so, and boldly leans forward, displacing the sand around her as she reaches out over the steak, tapping your tabard, right on the lion's head.
You have emoted: Moirean follows the line of your hand, staring down at her own chest. "You did me a favor, there, with Spinesreach," she says quietly. "It's easy to be remarkable when surrounded by broken things to fix. Why do you think I joined the Keep in the first place?" A bitterness creeps into her tone, and she adds, "It's not the power that matters. I've never had a problem getting that, despite what many may think. I'm scrappy. I find a way."
You have emoted: Moirean's eyes lift to stare at you and she directly asks, "How do you feel around your daughter?"
Lin retracts her hand before you can bite it off, folding her fists into her lap as she chuckles (the sound is genuine, despite her hacking voice). "Isn't that true, though? Life was always so dull around the well-oiled machines some guilds and cities present." When you asks about her daughter, her ears fold back against her head. "I thank Iosyne for killing what sensitivity I had. She is a trial. I am 'Auntie Iro' and I hear her speak disastrously of her missing mother. Kiyotan raised her rude, too..." Picking up a sort of conversational momentum, she counters with: "Who is your son?"
You have emoted: Moirean shakes her head hopelessly. "I don't know," she says, point-blank. Her voice is quiet and, somehow, those three words are crushingly bleak. Her fingers crumple a tabard of the Shadow Keep, skim down to twist a patriotic Spirean tunic, obscuring and distorting the images upon each one into wrinkled patterns of bone-white and blood-red against black. The designs could be a simple smeared image of battle, splashed across her chest, beneath her hand now. Even more quietly, she repeats, "I don't know."
Words almost lost in a mumble, you say, "It's not the power that matters."
Lin frowns painfully, appearing immediately regretful of asking. "I know... but power is all I understand. It makes your victory clear in my own eyes."
You have emoted: Moirean's fingers tighten on the fabric. Still quiet, she asks you, "Why obtain power? Simply having it means nothing, if there is no goal." One eyebrow raises. "You had power before - what drove you? Why did you return to Duiran, where you would have none?"
The steak, cold by now and mostly eaten, seems unimportant. Lin nudges the dish aside with her foot, heedless of the sand it accumulates, and shifts herself closer to you, sitting not too far from your side. Matching your tone, she converses in a private, raspy murmur. "I needed to take care of my little girl. It is not important what I want or need - she is what matters."
You have emoted: "Why?" Moirean asks. "You said Kiyotan raised her. She is grown. She does not even know she is yours. Why does YOUR role matter?"
The question hits Lin hard. She reels visibly, splaying her fingers out over her face to hide it. Composure comes slowly, but when she can bear to look at you again, she says, "I... didn't want to let it happen again... even if it is diminished, even if it is fucked up - I have to be there for her. I'll tell her who I am one day, and..." Shaking her head, she shows her empty hands to you.
You have emoted: Moirean's voice is stronger now, and there is a thread of steel beneath her words. "That is how I felt about Duiran. Enorian. Orak. The Sentinels. Benedicto. Slyphe. The forests," she lists, her hand releasing its grip on the fabric. She smooths down the tunic and tabard, leaving a regal lion to glare at you from behind the stark outline of the Shadow Keep. She stares at you, and it is hard to discern if her expression hints at disdain or despair. "But they moved on. They did not need me, nor want me. They had new families."
"It hurts when someone you love goes away," Lin offers lamely, leaning away a little as you seems to regain the fervor in your voice. "But we can't mourn their loss forever. We have to pick up and move on, don't we? You could reach out to these people, Moirean. You could tell them you are still there, you still care."
You have emoted: Moirean's tone is distinctly sharp now and it is as if a veil has passed over her face. Her expression is neutral, revealing little, and she merely states, "If you beat a hound enough times when he makes a mistake, he learns to stop doing it. I would like to think I'm smarter than my dogs."
Lin shrugs lightly, trying not to look discomfited. "So you say, so it is true... but I hope you will give what I say some consideration. I reached out to you, and I do not regret it in the slightest." She plants a hand in the ground, her legs tensing, and means to get up to her feet. "I have to go - do you wish for my head, or may I keep it today?"
You have emoted: Moirean's doppleganger has remained surprisingly still and behaved throughout this exchange but, at the mention of murder, it capers forwards, dancing around you as it studies your form. Tongue stuck beneath its teeth in concentration, it finally takes a guess at a weak spot and twists towards you, trying to stroke an ethereal little hand against your kneecap.
You channel yourself through your doppleganger.
You reach out with your withered finger and stroke Lin, who screams in agony as her form withers beneath your touch.
You have emoted: Moirean rolls her eyes and lets out a hiss towards the creature.
You stare implacably at Moirean.
You have emoted: Moirean's doppleganger stares right back, grinning stupidly.
"Hrrk-" Lin clenches her teeth, clutching at her leg, delicately finishing the rise to her feet. "S- suppose... it cannot help... itself..."
You thank Moirean for its service, and bid it return to the Chaos Plane.
Moirean hurls itself into the void.
A tarot card inscribed with nothing tumbles out of a doppleganger.
You have emoted: Moirean waves one hand to banish the creature as she twists upwards to stand as well. "There's no reason to attack you," she replies in a neutral tone. "There is no ylem to be gained, no gold at stake, no divine essence to fight over."
"Appreciated," Lin says dryly, panting steadily as she rubs the feeling back into her slowly reforming knee. "And I am also glad, because I can see that you're not - how would you say it - all that bad. Is it odd that I might want to run into you again?"
You have emoted: Moirean shrugs. "People make up some very tall tales about me," she suggests, deadpan. "I would not mind speaking again although perhaps I should cook next time. Or, at least, show you how to gather saffron."
Lin lifts a hand to stay you, clicking her tongue lightly. "It was the size of the steak. I prepare buffalo in a way that I am told is second-to-none. Then again, it would be rude to pass up the chance." Despite the unfortunate gloom her facial features presents by default, she smiles with a touch of warmth at you. "I will see you then, Moirean Seirath. And a good morning to you."
9
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(The Front Line): Daskalos says, "<-- artifacts."