Mymyk: Ava's Birth

The wet cloth touched her sweating brow once again. The angelic figure blurred as her eyes filled with tears from the pain that swept through her in waves that came closer and closer together now. Her breath became rhythmic and forced, almost shuddering. This, in turn, caused her body to tremble each time she gasped to take in a lungful of air before forcing it out powerfully again. Groans started in her throat and trailed over chapped lips that were licked over with an even drier tongue again and again. Mymyk closed her eyes trying her best to concentrate on the task at hand. The man who finally came to her side, her angel, picked the cloth up off of her forehead in order to refresh it with a cooler water. Wringing it neatly so it was damp and not drenched, he replaced the cloth upon her forehead as fingertips lingered after the release to continue brushing over her skin dotted with sweat.

“You came...” she managed between her contractions, eyes finally fluttering closed after she well enough decided he was tangible and not a dream. He was here with her.

“I wouldn't miss this for anything in the world,” came the tender retort, a hint of a coy smile playing at the side of his lips. The straying fingers finally came to stroke over her cheek before tracing her parted lips and then away completely to rest upon her shoulder instead. “Would you be more comfortable on the bed, dear one?”

The only response to this question was a weak smile and a pat on the hand. She opened her eyes once again in order to look where she lay upon the floor before the hearth. Certainly, it wasn't the most comfortable of positions and the heat wasn't helping the warmth she felt throughout her body already. A steady glance managed to capture the rest of her picturesque cottage, a weak smile given to how dainty and well loved it looked in the soft glow of the moon that scattered its beams haphazardly across the floor. A sweet cool breeze tried to penetrate the stagnation in the room, though, shifting the curtains tenderly like a lover before dancing across her flesh with a kiss of the juniper and lavender that grew around the house. Another contraction began to tremble in her belly, threatening to cause her to scream so she grit her teeth and instead a whimper came sprawling over her lips as she squeezed the man's hand tightly.

“She will have your eyes,” she managed to push through clenched teeth and squeezed eyes.

“And your most beautiful complexion,” he returned in kind, brushing back ebony tresses from her forehead where they were plastered underneath the cool cloth which was beginning to sop with sweat. It wouldn't be long now, though, until their child came to join them in the world. His wings seemed over excited about the idea and so they shifted with anticipation before settling down and latching about his shoulders once more.

Bearing down, she screamed this time. “She's coming,” Mymyk managed in a grunt while trying to catch her breath. It was those words that had him release her shoulder and move into the proper position. Legs up, knees bent, spreading the legs and there, right there between her legs he could see the crown of the child that would soon be coming out. A miracle so beautiful that a smile came to dance upon his lips for a few moments, awestruck by what he saw.

It was then that the game began, all games began. At that precise moment, the newest pawn was about to be placed on the board. This was a well planned, a check mate, the perfect roll of the dice. He held all the trumps right now as he stood there in such a vulnerable position, the smile slowly forming into a grin before churning into his normal Cheshire smile.

“Is she beautiful?” came a forced few words as it became obvious that she was watching this transformation upon his lips. She will be, he thought to himself as he merely continued to smile. Another wave spasmed through her causing her to push again and the crown became a little more apparent. Slowly he knelt down in order to place his hands upon the head of the child, offering a small turn here and there in order to help the child be free of their warm womb. Another push caused the head to come out in a rush. He began to work the mucous out of the nose and mouth while Mymyk prepared for one last push to evacuate what was still left. She has to hear it cry. She has to hear the little miracle's voice or all would be for naught.

The silence seemed to shudder in anticipation when, suddenly, the sound of a small child's terrified and cold scream came to wail through the cottage. The small squirming likeness of Mymyk was finally lifted and placed upon her chest where arms were wrapped about the child and suddenly tears flowed freely as the cries of the mother and child mingled. He, himself, set to work on moving the afterbirth away from them both and finding a proper place to deposit it where the woodland creatures would not invade before returning to see mother feeding child using her natural gift of a breast. It was a most serene and beautiful picture, really, and he couldn't help but stand for a moment in order to watch it.

“Little Ava. My little Ava. Our little girl.” Mymyk could only speak in small and simple sentences, cooing over the suckling little child that hiccuped and whimpered now and then during her feeding.

“Ava. What a beautiful name,” he said in a voice so soft that it threatened to become a whisper. Approaching the bed, he held out his hands, his arms, readying himself for the little girl and Mymyk, seeing a father who wanted to hold his little one, complied. And she watched as he wrapped the child in a warm blanket and nuzzled his nose to hers. Then she continued to watch as he then walked to the cottage door, opened it, and disappeared into the night with her child. After that, all she could do was stare at the open door, first in quizzical wonder, but as the minutes passed and became hours, the wonder became concern and the concern became out right terror. She tried to move but the pain of child bearing came over her and she, instead, lay back down as tears of a new kind began to streak down her face.

“Ava. My little Ava.” The wailing that filled the cottage at that point did not belong to a child.

Mymyk: The Grotto

“Ah, dear brother,” came that growingly familiar voice before that Cheshire like smile came into view with its row of pearly whites that gleamed in the dimness. “You do not even begin to understand the power of love. It is no wonder you sit here unable to breathe. Even I admit that even I find the power of love...spell-binding.”

Unable to answer, all Phimires could do was sit there on the grotto's floor, watching as The Investigator finally came into full view as he stepped into the delicate light of the moon. A light so delicate that it managed to soften his features all the more. The angelic man on the floor pawed weakly at his throat, tears bubbling to life at the corners of his eyes, head shaking back and forth in disbelief. The grin of The Investigator slowly turned into a sad sort of smile as he continued to stride forward only to kneel at his brother's side.

“Speechless? I would be, too. She is a beautiful woman, brother, and you are expecting your first. Such an incredible miracle. The power of love is overwhelming, though, isn't it?” Piercing gaze watched the angel intently for an answer. When none came, like a rattlesnake strike, The Investigator's hand shot out and replaced both of the weak pawing ones. Shaking the man by his throat, golden eyes flamed to life as they opened wide. “Isn't it?!” he repeated with such force that small dust and debris dislodged from the grotto's ceiling only to drift slowly downwards.

The grotto held a pregnant silence as everything seemed to hold its breath so as not to disturb the resettling of the dust. Finally, the strong hand relaxed and moved away as if there was something it just remembered it had to do. Slowly, The Investigator brought himself to stand once again, methodically brushing the dust off his shoulder and knees, keeping his attire impeccable. Casting a gaze towards Phimires, he caught the trembling of lips dotted in a bead work of sweat as a simple word was trying to escape with a lack-luster of breath: Please.

“Oh, my brother,” The Investigator began before taking in a lungful of air, allowing it to escape slowly with the vaguest of purrs pushing it forward. “Brother, nothing would please me more than to listen to you beg. I haven't the time, though, for you see, the child can not possibly wait forever. It is coming, so I must be going. I must allow you some mercy in the process.” As if answering the pleading look in the man's eyes, the Cheshire smile returned once again. “Don't worry, dear brother. I will take care of them.”

Eyes bulged in Phimires's head as if someone were trying to squeeze them right out of their sockets. “The power of love,” The Investigator muttered in thought as his fingers searched the rock wall before him. “No. Not the power of love. But you will still be a delightful addition.” Fingers plucked at something that hid in the shadows before a ringing of metal ricocheted off the walls. A thin blade was soon released from its rocky sheath and rested between the two. A swift thrust, and itt wasn't long before all that remained was a slumped form in the corner of the grotto as the night continued to darken and steal away the moon.

Mymyk: Her Love

She was a girl. She was a girl who appeared more as a woman than a girl. She sat there in her little cottage home, outlined by the fire, singing quietly to herself as her shadow danced in a glorious ballet among the rafters. Her raven locks fell about her, a blanket of night shining due to the flickering flames, as her fingers were nimbly working with two long needles and a ball of yarn. The song she sang was full of sorrow, yet so sweet and serene and full of a hope that it seemed much brighter than the tune would let on. A sound behind her caused her to start, the needles clacking together as they fell into her lap and she turned towards another form that had managed to sneak into the room only to stand behind her.

"My love! You startled me. Whatever is wrong this evening?" The softest and sweetest of smiles came to her lips as she pushed the knitting off of her lap, gaze drifting up into the golden sunset of his eyes.

"I'm not certain. Something feels off this evening. How are you feeling?" The woman that once sat upon the ground at once rose and moved to rest within his arms. Mymyk. The name swept through his skull as lashes drew his eyes closed, lips coming to rest upon the top of her head as his nose buried into her hair. She was the gentlest soul he had ever met, and yet she was so very powerful. A sorceress, many would say, a woman of nature that could take the very earth and air and create anything she so desired. They would make her out to be some form of witch that created terrible monstrosities to terrify cities and towns. That wasn't Mymyk, though. Not his Mymyk. She was a sweet and kind woman, soft in step and gentle in words. He could barely imagine her even using such magics, at least in that way. Truly, honestly, she was a healer and spent her life living deep in the woods secluded from many, communing only with nature. She studied under two of the greatest talents known in the span of their countries history. In fact, that was how he came to know her.

It was near four years ago, minus a season or two, that she came in search of of a place where her skills may be allowed to grow through learning. It was by chance, really, that Mymyk had come across the duo Juniper and Greenstar. The purest of chance. Only in those days they were no longer a duo, but still two of the most gifted in the land. The elders had parted ways and began separate lives elsewhere. It was actually Greenstar that Mymyk had come across first and he had taken her under his wing, teaching her the druidic ways of what he knew. She appeared to be apt in the skills more situated to nature. Things ended abruptly with them when he had to take off for home after hearing about the murder of his youngest daughter which was soon followed by the eldest. No one had heard from the man since. Mymyk took on a journey to find Juniper at that point and this is where he himself came into the picture. There was always something a little off, a little not right with the situation and Juniper had hired him to help protect the young woman as they continued their studies. Juniper disappeared not long after and hadn't been heard from since. As many stories tend to end, he fell in love with Mymyk and has since been living his days with her in the quaint cottage in the woods as she continued to practice what she was taught. And extraordinary woman, really.

But today, just like the day when he was hired, there was something that wasn't sitting well with him in the very core of his being. Perhaps it was just a mild fear due to the fact that they were expecting their first child in a few months, but it could also be an intuition that raised the hackles and stiffened the hairs on the back of his neck. Whichever it was, he took her into his arms and they held each other tight. His wings slowly began to wrap about them to ward off a cool breeze that tried to intrude from outside. Picking her up in both of his arms, they moved towards the bed with slow and purposeful footsteps. He placed a soft kiss upon her forehead which caused that sweetly serene smile of hers to slowly dissipate into a look of wonder upon her lips and caused her eyes to sparkle.

“I am fine, dear Phimires. You shouldn't worry so much.” He couldn't shake that smile from his mind as he placed her upon the bed. Clasping his wings behind him, he crawled into the comfort of the bed beside her to rest his head.

“I do apologize, my darling, but something just doesn't feel right. I would like you to stay inside for a little while until I can place my finger on where this feeling is coming from.” His arms wrapped about her gently while one hand began to lightly circle about her protruding belly.

“I think you are being silly, but I will do as you ask.” The cool breeze from the dusk of spring once again tried to seep in through the windows, but instead of creating cold it only brought that gentle scent of life drifting through the room. The flames in the small hearth licked at the darkness causing the shadows to dance in their own passionate reform. Growing closer together in the dimming of day, their lips met in a delicate telling of their lives together. It wasn't long before their blessings for meeting each other were spoken and the awe of night falling hit them with a trembling beauty. The moonlight soon invaded through the windows, illuminating the sleeping couple as a second pair of unnoticed golden eyes blinked back out of existence and disappeared in the dark.

Mymyk: The Meeting

"Is it finished yet?" The Investigator stood nonchalantly in the home of his comrade, Jakaal Zephyrcate. More specifically, he stood in the library where, browsing the books, he kept his back to the man lounging in an over stuffed chair behind him sipping tea.

"The design is complete," came Jakaal's hauntingly dark voice, well paced, well versed, and well educated. "You know as much as I that it is up to you to breathe the life into it." A quiet sip of tea caused a tangible pause before the soft sound of the delicate porcelain cup resettling on the saucer joined the crackle and hiss in the hearth. "You also know, I'm certain, that it is not something that I approve of." Once more the tea was taken up to the man's pale lips before his icy azure gaze like the sky before a winter storm lofted upwards, watching as The Investigator fingered his literature. Jakaal had always been an avid reader, and by the looks of his home he did more than just dabble in culture.

The library was well suited to the man's taste, a large open room with a hearth in one corner surrounded by posh chairs of various comfort levels. Each wall from floor to cathedral ceiling had finely shaped stone alcoves with hand carved shelves fitted perfectly inside. The spaces between the alcoves held either large windows with thick brocade curtains drawn closed or a myriad of tapestries and ornamental weaponry. Pillars stood strategically placed about the room, large enough that they, too, had shelves of books built in them. There were various other libraries in Jakaal's estate, but this one, by far, was the favorite of all visitors, so it doubled as a sitting room. The other rooms that housed his books were cluttered, dusty rooms; the epitome of chaos and disorganization. They really existed to be more of a study than a library. He always kept this particular room nice and tidy, though, knowing it was his favorite place to sit with company.

The man, himself, was a quiet recluse, boarding himself up in his estate surrounded by desolate miles of deadening woods. It was as if his home was eternally set in autumn, and the man liked that just fine. He sat, looking quite calm and serene, in his favorite over stuffed chair in the library, seeming to hold little worry or concern about The Investigator's presence there. Long fingers held his cup of tea as if it were a fragile butterfly that he wished not to harm. Jakaal, much like The Investigator, liked to dress in fineries, but he was not near as exact about his looks as The Investigator. Inside his own home he would never dare wear his staple wide-brimmed hat, so it was much easier to see his pale golden-spun tresses, only a shade or two darker than the pale of his complimentary flesh. His attire, though, was always a dark selection giving him the feel of the inky night sky with a wave of washed out moonbeams for his hair. Barely did emotion ever show on the man's face as, even now The Investigator turned to him with one of his precious tomes open in his arms.

"This is science, Jakaal. Science and art and the delectable taste of game play." The Investigator watched as Jakaal calmly took another sip of tea while pages of the book were fingered and turned.

"Science is not my field, Sir. You hired me to do a job and that is finished. I plan to wash my hands of this and hear no more of your tales." Jakaal stirred for the first time in the meeting as he placed the cup and saucer upon the side table next to his chair and slowly rose to standing. "Come and we will make sure this is what you want before I ask you to leave me be."

"Come now, my friend. What I am doing, what -we- are doing, is creating," but he was interrupted by a sharp clap to the wall next to him which startled neither of them.

"What you are doing I do not know nor do I wish to know. I only know you hired me to create and mold, which I did."

"As will I, given some time. We will see who's art is more useful in the near future."
The book was placed back on its shelf and The Investigator followed along through dark halls barely lit by candelabras welded to the stone walls. No, Jakaal would never be able to wash his hands of his work with The Investigator. One touch and he was marked for life. The Investigator quickly was able to cause a stain that grew and deepened over time, much to the chagrin of any cleansing waters. Jakaal, though, didn't get away with just a touch, no. He dug his arms in up to the elbows and, just like quick sand, he was stuck and would only be sucked in deeper. He wasn't just a pawn; he was The Investigator's wild card. Or, perhaps, Jakaal would help in a different way, perhaps through apprenticeship. But just who would learn what from whom was the question.

They walked in silence through a labyrinthine maze from the north wing to the west wing and down two levels before Jakaal opened the door to one of his workshops and offered for The Investigator to join him inside. Once inside the door was closed and both stood for some time in admiration of what surrounded them. Even though Jakaal had been in here many times before, even he still caught himself holding his breath each time he entered.

The lights were dim but still managed to illuminate the inner struggle of the room with the perfect amount of detail. The floor was uneven, perhaps because of the fact that they were two levels underground. It could, though, also be due to the fact that the floor was ornately carved so that it appeared as if they were standing on top of various small stone creatures. Wave after wave of mice and rats which were small enough that they felt like cobbles beneath their feet, but resembled a rodent menagerie none the less. The stone animals began to climb the walls using the marbled vines for leverage, though few managed to reach higher than a foot off the ground. That was where the room began to churn and twist with images of joy, agony, sorrow, and anger. Small detailed pictorials littered the walls and were able to be made out only by squinting beyond the blanket of vines. It was as if the thickening of the handicraft could easily be viewed, layer upon layer, looking more like each piece was placed a top the next instead of the notion that they were all carved out of the same solid block of stone. The Investigator held his breath as he approached the wall of agony where an unclothed woman appeared to wail in her cage of vines and he gently traced his fingers over her cold stony cheek.

“You continue to amaze me, Lord Zephyrcate. Behind each door you unlock, I manage to glimpse a little more of what drives you.” And a little more of what can be used to continue driving him for that matter. And, perhaps the things that drive him can be used to lock him away as well.

Jakaal didn't seem to be listening, though. Nor was he able to ascertain what The Investigator was thinking. Not that he was wondering or even cared. He was pushing his way into the room in order to take up an item of more importance than what may or may not be on The Investigator's mind; an item that had been swaddled in the finest of cloth to protect it from the dust and dampness that the room seemed to accrue. He held it for some time, just seeming to test the weight of the object under his hands, his fingers twitching now and then, obviously just making certain the item truly was still there, locked in its soft confines.

“One of my best, if you ask me. The material was so grand that the runes seemed to place themselves. Without specific size proportions, though, I...”

“Don't you worry yourself about the size,” The Investigator snapped in a rumbling voice. As cliché as it sounded, size didn't matter in this case. He had been studying for some time and he was certain that he could size it appropriately after some practice. Calmly he reached to his throat in order to straighten out his ascot, brushing off the fabric of his vest carefully before offering Jakaal a smooth and certain smile that he didn't need to force in the least. “As long as the item is whole and complete, I wouldn't worry too much about one size or the other. I am learning every day and growing stronger,” but then he paused, perhaps deciding that sharing too much information was not appropriate at this moment in time. If ever he needed to share, a scant amount would do. “You have your coin. Whether it is useful or not to me should not matter in the least to you.”

“Fine, sir.” With that he offered the package towards The Investigator who drew it close to him, as if hoarding the item. Slowly, layer by layer, he began to unfold the cloth from around the new playing piece until a twinkling of metal could be spied. It was a ringlet set into a gold toned metal with runes carved deep into the flesh at varying intervals on both the inside and outside of the thin metal ring. A finger traced around the perfect circle as his eyes closed and a slow but certain grin came available on his lips. The runes near appeared to glow at the simple touch of the man, seeming to seek his purpose for them without asking a question, reaching tentacles of need into his mind in wonder.

“Yes. Delightful. Thank you. This. This is perfect.” A mutual probing from one mind to the other, but for sure that metallic ring was not alive! No, but he did manage to read each rune silently using only his fingertips running over each line in careful observation. “I will contact you if there is anything else I need.”

“Don't.” But The Investigator had already turned upon his heels and was taking long and determined strides towards the other wing of the house where he was to show himself out.

Mymyk

It takes words to sway a woman, to persuade her.
It takes violence and physical anger to break her.
And then
It takes but mere moments to craft her and shape her
Into the image and visage one so chooses.

Krimsin: Father

“You.” Eyes narrowed on the man as lips twitched in annoyance and anger, nostrils flaring under the hood of a robe. “Why would you do all of this? What would possess you?”

“Ah, my dear friend, I gave you ample opportunity. You know that I don't like when people walk away while the game is still in progress.” His tongue slowly rolled over his upper lip as he paced in front of Greenstar, enjoying the moment. The fear was almost tangible on the man's face, even if he did try to hide it well with unbridled fury. He could almost smell the anger mingling so beautifully with the pain and suffering. Agony. “I am giving you one last opportunity, of course. I've always played fair.”

“This isn't fair!” the druid barked in return.

“Life isn't fair!” The Investigator growled as his body snapped into a rigid stance staring down the druid who appeared to hold his ground where he stood. So far neither have drawn a weapon or even lunged at the other. They continued to circle each other like two boxers in a ring. Each step caused the other to follow in turn, keeping them always at equal distance. The clearing held them in a perfectly rotund arena: walls of trees and other various flora and the only spectators being that of the animals of the forest. “I wont be sorry if I need to kill you, Greenstar. You have shown yourself to be a worthy adversary and I've been supping knowledge for a few years now. Yours will be sweet and well enjoyed, that I promise.”

“Just,” a breath, a pause, and finally resignation. The druid slumped visibly, his hands falling to his sides where he held them, palm up. “Just release her, please.” His head fell as the feeling washed over him. It was finished and his surrender wouldn't even guarantee him his final goal. For some reason, he just knew that.

“Love.” The Investigator spoke the word with such poison that he near spat. “You are the second I have seen to fall asunder because of such a disease. You truly are weak, Greenstar.” That caused an anger to rage deep in the other. An anger so strong that everything finally was set into motion, exactly as expected. He needed that anger, needed that strength. Love always caused something so strong to churn inside others that it could easily be seen and equal to a sword and even sharper in its double edges. But Greenstar didn't draw love from a scabbard hidden in his robes, and neither did he.

It became pure bloody chaotic hell within moments of the weapons being drawn. The power of love was perhaps what made him so unpredictable, but either way the battle did not begin as The Investigator had expected. It was either the power of love or the knowledge that Greenstar's life depended on his actions. The Investigator managed to dodge just in time, barely missing a blade that was being swung haphazardly in his direction. The silence of battle, at that point, was broken as the druid clenched his one sole possession closer to his form and, with a great heaving of his chest, let out a whooping war cry of anger and anguish in his foreign tongue. The Investigator knew not what the words meant, nor did he terribly care. He only knew that blood will be spilled on this day in this arena they had chosen for their meeting.

“You beast!” the druid cried, this time in a language The Investigator could understand. “You slaughtered my daughters!” Another cry came as the blade came down fast and hard to the right before a shattering sound of metal hitting metal grated through both of them, trickling from their blades and up to their arms demanding them to release the hold. Each took a step back and began to circle each other in a dance that The Investigator delighted in. It was a game he knew well and a game that he has yet to lose.

“Krimsin made me a lovely pair of boots,” he mentioned off-handedly with a trickling of a laugh sputtering past his lips. He watched the change on the druid's face. “I really was quite smitten with her. A beautiful creature, really. And I am proud to still keep her forever close to me even now.” If he weren't fighting for his life the druid would have fallen to his knees and allowed himself to collapse into a pitiful mound of weeping right then and there. It caused a delightful shiver to tremble through The Investigator to see such misery and torment running through the eyes of the druid. The feeling was pure euphoria for him as he seemed not only to enjoy watching the emotional pain, but he seemed to dine on it and the flavor was immense. His palette was perfectly matched for such refined tastes. Eyes closing, his head tilting back as a purr seemed to slip down his throat as the druid anguished over what was just revealed to him.

They circled each other again, both with a heaving chest but for two different reasons. The game would be over soon enough, but it was the playing of the game that gave The Investigator the most joy. Rushing at him in a blind fury, the druid raced forward and managed only a light scratch across the upper arm before The Investigator stepped to the side, his eyes rolling back in his head as he sucked in air through his teeth. The feeling was heavenly, the metal slicing so cleanly through his flesh just enough to cause a wet warmth to begin to slip over his bicep soaking into his beautifully impeccable clothing.

“Yes. That's right. Let the rage take you. You were an innocent victim in all of this. An innocent. Let the chaos take you, oh sinless one. Let the rage consume you.” The dark of the inner forest was starting to try and seep in around them, pulsating as if alive. Taking a single step back, he slowly drew his sword over his upper arm not once, but twice, coating the blade in his own life fluid as well as deepening the wound. Finally their eyes locked and they both knew that this was the end. This dance has gone on long enough, and although the ballet was beautiful, it was time to come to grips with mortality.

Bending his head downward, The Investigator started a low moan that could easily be mistaken for a war cry of his own. Astounded, all Greenstar could do was watch as bulges slowly appeared on the other man's back. Bulges that began to quiver and quake and cause the moan to grow deeper in his throat, his breathing becoming ragged. Impetuously the jacket he wore tore at the seams as the sword clattered from his hands and the moan became and all out scream. There was no pain in the scream, though, but more a scream in that caused a stabbing icy fear to penetrate deep into the druid's heart. Wings exploded through The Investigator's back as his hands reached into his hair, gripping fistfuls at a time as chunks of flesh flew through the air only to find their mark upon the trees or to disappear into the mulch on the ground. Strings of blood seemed to whip through the air before they calmed and only trickled down what flesh remained, the exposed muscle underneath quivering as a shudder of pleasure poured through the man as he rose. Shreds of what remained of the perfectly kept attire fell off his shoulders, pooling about his waist and wrists as his arms dropped away from his head, an insane look deep in the golden eyes; So insane it was calming. He released the rags from his wrists and let what could fall from his form while the rest dangled about his hips. The wings, sticky with gleaming crimson, flexed slowly before a deep breath was taken in, filling his lungs, expanding his chest and being released with a lust filled purring moan.

The look of fear on the druid was, in itself, terrifying. Not to The Investigator, of course, but any average man would have been terrified to see the fear that crept into play over the face of Greenstar behind the hood that tried to keep his face shadowed from the light. He stood there, rooted to the ground, rigid and unable to move as a Cheshire smile slowly formed upon The Investigator's face. Slowly, dangerously slow like a magician daring someone to find the flaw in their trick, he reached upwards and with merely a finger and thumb, he drew his hand back downwards creating a beam of light in the singular line he drew. The light at first was so bright it hurt the druid's eyes before it grew dimmer and dimmer. Soon, it was obvious that the light was nothing more than a metal forged into a needle thin sword of some type, so light that he could hold it in such a manner. Even though he had never seen it before, he knew it instantly and the fear vanished.

“You, you used that on my daughters.” A simple nod was all he received as an answer before both rushed equally at each other. Metal pierced through flesh on both counts, but only one was fatal. Dropping to the ground with the blade buried up to the hilt in the throat, blood gurgled like a small bubbling brook from the jugular vein and frothed upon the quivering lips as the body finished its last few death throes. Placing a foot upon the druid's head, The Investigator freed his blade before twirling it lightly in the air causing it to dissipate before his very eyes. The rush of new spread through him, giving him the strength to free the blade that had been left penetrating through his viscera, threatening to disembowel him. But no, tonight was not the night. He laid his hands upon the wound of his abdomen and closed his eyes. A gentle warmth came from his fingertips and, although not healed, at least the wound was closed.

“I always play fair, druid.” With a snap of his fingers, he allowed his eyes to close. Somewhere a connection was lost and he was blind to the happenings of that area. But another connection was created, this one much more permanent. “You failed to play the game my way, but I allow you a small victory, even so.” Balance. It was all about balance. If you give, you take. If you take, you give. He believed in balance more than anyone could ever understand. He also desired to disrupt that balance in a way no one could ever comprehend.

Krimsin: Death

She was an innocent. She -was- an innocent. In fact, she was quite a many thing. So very many things. And yet, she was nothing to anyone. At least nothing important. To anyone important. At least, not anymore. She was an innocent, 'was' being the operative word here. She was no longer much of anything now. She was a cold slab, lifeless and quiet, and oddly serene in the tranquil moment of death and dying. She was nothing to anyone, and now, it was certain, she never would be. Not anything any more than a corpse, and, eventually, a rotting one. Perhaps she would make some nice carrion. Either way, to be more frank about it all, she was dead.

Dead and beautiful. So beautiful. That blissful look, the ivory lick of color that came to her flesh before the bluer tones would take over, eyes peacefully having been closed, perhaps to hide the look of horror at seeing her own death, but they were closed. Even her lips were pressed together, perhaps not into a smile, but into a relaxed state, which in itself, was odd, for the rigormortis that had set in. But she was beautiful. Beautiful, innocent, and dead.

Krimsin: The Dance

“Please, sir, come join me and sit. Mayhap we can converse for some time. You can speak more of how my beauty captured your heart,” came her mocked humble response to the sudden excitement of having another come wooing her.

“Yes. Do sit, sir, for you appear pale from the sudden rush of blood,” sneered the young companion who sat across the table from the woman. He seemed displeased with losing his conversation for the night, but it couldn't be so with so many other women in the room that would certainly take him into their arms. Perhaps he was more displeased at Krimsin's stubbornness to join him upstairs. It appeared, by the way he suddenly rose so the new comer may take his seat, that the later was true. But the perfectionist already knew that she wouldn't and it was part of his plan that she didn't. No further affirmation from her former company was needed.

“A pleasure, Milady. An absolute pleasure.” She offered her hand, gloved in silk, which he took up with both of his own. Bowing neatly at the waist in order to press his pale lips gently upon her middle knuckle, his gaze happened to see the dulled area that didn't shine quite as brilliantly as the rest of his boot. He tried to occupy his mind with the task at hand, but the scuff sat back there, festering and waiting, taunting and teasing him.

“Tell me, kind sir, what you name is?” Her fingers fluttered to touch a curl lightly, brushing by it just enough to cause it to spring into a gentle bounce that his eyes couldn't help but follow. This, in turn, caused a smile to stretch over her lips, not quite forced but not quite natural either. He, himself, was flustered.

“Oh, dear lady. I-I could not possibly ruin this moment with such harsh and unneeded words.” The springing curl seemed to have caused him unneeded stress as he was beginning to stutter. His words were spoken slowly, purposefully, as if each word had been thought out and rehearsed one hundred times in his head before he would dare speak them to her. “I-I have been watching you secretly for a month, now. Each time you come here,” a pause, a breath, “I am taken by you all over again and I, I can not keep my heart still in my chest. I am smitten with you, dear woman, and I have just, this evening, had the courage to approach you to tell you what your beauty does to me. I have never...” another pause. This one lasted longer as he reached his silken gloved hand out in order to take up her hand within his own once again. “Never seen such beauty in my years.”

Her lips barely moved due to the soft blush that managed to creep like ivy over her cheeks and even brighten the very tips of her rounded ears. “Krimsin,” she breathed, seeming as taken with him as he just spoke of being with her. “My name is Krimsin, sir.” He hadn't asked. He didn't need to. He had known her name for a month. He knew her quirks, knew her father, her sister. He knew her voice, her scent, and the very sound of her footfalls. He knew she was already tainted with the erotic joys of society and hence could not be useful to him in all the ways he needed. He needed a woman who was simple and sweet, but didn't only act in that manner during the day because of the eyes that were spying on her. She was, though, a beautiful creature that he was quite smitten with and needed to have.

“Krimsin.” It rolled off his tongue like so many marbles, smooth and fluid. Perhaps this, too, he had been practicing over and over again while he stood in the shadows mesmerized by the entity such as she was. “Krimsin,” he repeated, softer this time and with a thickening fondness in his voice. “Krimsin, you are as enchanting as the very stars in the sky and twice as bewitching.” The music was changing from the lone piper to that of a viola player who appeared haunted and his music seemed to fall in line with the appearance. Soft, gentle, but holding a certain mystery of sadness behind each note that hung thick in the stale air. Everyone seemed spell-bound by this new musician who, by the looks on the faces of the patrons, was not a regular of this establishment.

A chord was struck. Everything seemed to be in place. The man at the viola stared with a never ending icy gaze of azure towards the two seated at the table. No words had to be spoken as both rose as if on cue. A silken gloved hand took that of the delicate woman's hand. They took three small and slow steps towards an area that was always cleared to allow those who desired an area to dance. The man at the viola continued to stare, following them as if he were their puppeteer, a deadly spider, and he was dancing his marionette prey closer to his grasp. The woman's arms moved around the neck of the unknown man and, in silence, they began to move. Slowly at first, but soon the sweeping arpeggio of the viola caused them to drift into a world where only they existed.

"Mm, such a lovely creature you are." His hand slowly reached upwards to her face in order to caress her cheek as they danced. When his fingers finally found the silken softness of her flesh, even under the material of his gloves, it caused a shiver of pleasure to tremble down his spine. If he had not shaken the tremor off when it hit his shoulders the woman certainly would have felt it. Krimsin smiled instead, drinking in his charms and being hypnotized by the beauty he allowed to be seen after hours of struggle and preparation.

"Sir, you are too kind." Her lips curled as steam would, smiling seductively as it climbed from the waters of her fragrant oiled baths. Her blond tresses fell in curls over her shoulders, cascading its beauty to her mid-back like a rippling vibrant waterfall, illuminating the paleness of her face. It was a delicate but balanced beauty, natural and yet ethereal in its own way. Perhaps this was why he found his heart pounding strongly in his chest, ever faster, as she inched herself closer to him, her head near ready to fall upon the trembling upheaval of his bosom.

"You flatter me, my dear. But I am truly nothing more than a simple investigator needing to know more about your beauty. I must discover, once and for all, if you truly are real." His tone soothed her soul. He made her desire to collapse to her knees while his words kept her walking on cloud nine. He watched as her eyes fell closed, her lips parting ever so slightly to the magic of his soothing voice. The beauty of the viola had her caught in this beautiful moment that she could not shake free of. She didn't desire to be free of it either, as became apparent by the look on her face. It was then that he knew, finally, she was wrapped around his finger.

She was the newest piece of the game, his latest pawn, and he couldn't help but continue to hold her and know that his feast was not far off. Leaning down, his eyes closed to the scent of her bath oils slamming into his nostrils at full force. He placed his lips delicately upon hers, kissing her lightly and making sure he lingered there just long enough, a calculated measure of time. When he drew back, his attention was drawn to the fragrance upon her neck and he felt the need to place his lips there as well. Reluctantly, he drew away from her succulent, sweet, aromatic flesh so that his gaze might sweep over her countenance once again. As if being directed by some outside force, her lashes fluttered open and she could view the longing in his most exotic golden gaze. Her own eyes, full of a sense of formidable desire, became lost within his as he could feel her beginning to fall. She was losing her sense of self, falling within his soul and melting under the soft touches and caresses that he offered. She was now completely under his control, ready to follow even his most outlandish of whims.

No, not now. Now was not the right time for her to fall so deeply for him that she lost all sense of who she was. He had to wait until they were alone before he could continue. This is not the way the game is supposed to be played. He needed to keep her talking, keep her conscious of where they were or all this would have been for naught. He cast a sharp look towards the man still lost in the simple hum and thrum of his strings and quickly the viola stopped. The guests gasped at the abrupt departure as the musician left without a word in the same manner he came. He was quickly replaced by a piper who brought the room back to their normal murmured din of quiet speaking.

"This light, it doesn't do you justice. If I don't appear too presumptuous, might I walk with you in the night for a short while? The gentle brush of moonlight would hold you in its glow more lovingly than the harsh firelight in here." Her breath! Even holding her, he could tell that she she was holding it, perhaps in anticipation of what was to come. What kind of sick animal did she take him for? Has he not been a perfect gentleman? Has he not shown her more respect than most of the men who spoke with her only in hopes of bringing her up to one of the rented rooms for an hour or two? Again, it was not part of the game. Although smitten and taken by her beauty, the last thought in his mind was the idea of having his way with her.

"Oh please, kind sir. Away from all spying eyes? I know not even your name, sir.” His features took on a look of disappointment which caused the woman to reconsider her options. “I suppose the night is waning and I should consider the walk home. I will allow you to accompany me." He could hear in her voice a small quiver of joy, though she tried so hard to sound placid and bored with the idea that she would soon be alone with his very self. He found the simple clash of the two emotions to create a small pleasurable shiver of his own anticipation that rippled over his shoulders, trailing halfway down his spine before vanishing. She was delicious in her determination to not seem like the person that she truly was inside. Society did so well at teaching her to be proper that such a small morsel of indignity coming from her was almost more than he could sample all at once. His golden gaze once more found her emerald eyes. Quickly he found himself lost within her, searching her mind and soul, everything that she was offering by having her barriers of suspicion disappear.

"Ah, yes Miss Krimsin. We shall go out for a moment, just so I can see your beauty in the moonlight. Then I will prepare to take you on your journey. As a gentleman, I will make certain nothing happens to you that isn't already planned." He has seen her in the moonlight many times before over the course of the month, but this would be the first time he would be so close as to touch the waterfall of light that cascaded down her back. The first time he would be able to smell the sweet aroma released by her tresses each time she took a step and the curls bounced. One hand moved into place upon the small of her back as his other free hand took up one of her own, guiding her to the door, seeking exit from the establishment. This was the first time ever she would be seen leaving the building with another person. He would be watching it not from the shadows, but from that eyes of the very person walking with her. He watched her, studying her quietly as her eyes closed. She appeared to truly believe that she was being led into her childhood dream.

The two of them glided outside as if they had been dancing upon a silver cloud of angelic dust that was only now beginning to settle around them like the gentle waking from a dream. Once they were enveloped in the surrounding night's shadows, pouring in around them from every angle, he carefully picked her up, embracing her gently within his arms. She was, to him, a delicate fruit he desired not to bruise and she took it as if this was the most ordinary thing that happened to her every day. There was no surprise in his feelings towards her. It was as if she had known him most of her life. It was a comfortable feeling. Holding her close to his chest, she could easily feel the thumping of his heart within and it caused her breathing to become soft and slow. It was as if the pounding caused a spell to place her into a light and serene slumber.

“Ah, Krimsin. A thing of beauty, you are. As if from a dream. The night is destined for us and plans are pending. Come, I will take you to an enchanting place where you will have the seat of honor and be worshiped by all who are there.” He would be the only one at this enchanted place, though, and certainly she would be worshiped to some aspect. He shifted her weight in his arms gently before placing a single finger to her forehead, this time his lips curling, seductive smoke from a fire that had been burning for decades. “Sleep, little one. This will be over soon enough.”

Krimsin

The research had taken him years. Figuring how to use each tool once they were in his possession created difficulties all its own. It was, though, about time to finally put all of this knowledge to use. He had chosen his victim, having watched the lovely creature for weeks now. She was the daughter of a well known druid. In fact, she was the youngest of his children and had but one other sibling: a sister named Isabella. Isabella was a few good years ahead of her sister and acted as both mother and father to her sister. There was no known mother and their father was often gone with his druidic tasks and woman wooing. This made the girls depend strongly upon one another as they grew.

The target of his plans, the druid's youngest daughter, was named Krimsin. She had a delicate figure but a wild mind, taking after her father in many ways. She often would sneak from her house on feather-light feet and flew into the night in order to show up at the most daring of parties in the more shabby of districts. Her father nor her sister knew of her debauchery. Outside of her nightly adventures, she was the perfect, sweet and gentle woman whom feared men like any woman should. Never did her family suspect her nightly escapades. This, alone, spoke volumes about the woman and her capricious desires. She had strange tastes and had yet to spend a single overnight with a man. Not once had a single person seen her leave one of her exotic fancies with one.

He was a master of perfection. Everything always needed to be in place, including the pawns in his game. The woman had entered not long ago, and his eyes only followed her within the building from the looming shadow cast by the building. The night was clear and the stars twinkled. The moon, silver coated as it sat in the inky blackness, cast just enough of a gentle light for the man to prepare. Watching the man, many might consider him an obsessive compulsive perfectionist.

Always he began from the ground upwards. Slowly, he folded over at the waist with a slight bend in his knees as his fingertips moved over a scuff mark on his boots, a frown forming upon his lips. With his fingertips buffing the area of his boot to a shine once again, ridding it of the blemish, his gaze quickly surveyed the rest of the perfectly shined leather as it reflected the delicate glow of the moon. Satisfied, he slowly worked his way upwards, straightening and evening out the cuffs to his boots. Fingers worked the fabric of his knickers to make certain that only an inch of hemming was trapped within the cuff of each boot about his upper calves and every seam was straightened. He then began to perform the deft maneuver that would remove even the most microscopic of motes from the rich fabric he chose for this evening, picking and plucking towards his waist. The belt was inspected for the most clever of creases in the leather. The ascot about his neck was fluffed and fretted with. Working blindly over the criss-crossed pattern of the laces that held his vest taut, he counted each three times to make certain they were straight. A shrug repositioned his jacket upon his shoulders as he swept his hands along the sleeves, straightened the gores, and flatten any creases. Working on his gloves he lined each seam up perfectly along the length of his fingers and tugged at their hem three times to make certain they were on. Lastly, he swept a hand over the top of his brow to check for straying strands of hair and readjusted his glasses that were perfectly balanced upon the bridge of his nose. The entire ordeal cost him a dear half an hour worth of his time. It was quite acceptable, and would still be even if it had taken him longer. To the man, appearance was key in particular situations, and this happened to be one of those times.

His gaze managed to lift from his arduous task long enough to once more search the window and beyond. It wasn't long before he was able to seize the lovely blond locks of the young woman in his sight once again. Not far from the window where he stood he could make out her profile as her head bobbled up and down in discussion, speaking vividly to someone across from her. He set himself into a lazy meander he finished straightening the last of his attire, wandering towards the door of the establishment.

It wasn't a large place in any direction but up, for the building had at least two floors besides the main that were dedicated to renting by the hour, day, week, or month. It was normal for the patrons to take up the rooms for only an hour or two. Sometimes a poor vagabond would arrive who wasn't able to afford the finer inns that could be found in the higher end merchant district, so they came where they were able to pay a lower fare and stay for a few days. The place was clean enough, though, and that gave them a hand up on some of the more raunchy institutions. Folk came from around town for a decent meal and to know they could be free and open towards the opposite sex without ending up under the sheets with an empty wallet an hour later. No, this place was meant only to escape the barriers put in place by society and to embrace the taboos without worry.

There couldn't have been more than a dozen people inside the main room. On the second floor, however, with the ability to enjoying a more private conversation, the numbers were unknown. The man drew no attention to himself as he entered the room, seeming more to glide than actually raise and lower each leg, which would have caused his body to bounce up and down with each step. He was graceful, for a man. This was a rare gift as most men seemed to enjoy strutting around. Most men took pride in their roles of hunters and warriors, roles given to them by the great unknown above.

Krimsin was not far away now. He took a moment to allow his lingering gaze to disappear behind closing lids so that he might, instead, enjoy the sweet floral fragrance the woman had drifting from her person. Certainly she must bathe in oils nightly before her adventures, he decided. With lashes drawing open once again, he began the slow approach to her table. From the corner a lone piper sat on a stool playing a hauntingly enchanting tune. Few found it desirable enough to dance to which cleared the way nicely for the man.

"Ah, Milady. I couldn't help but become entranced with you from just across the way here. Although I do hope I am not interrupting anything, I felt as though I would be remiss in myself had I not approached you to let you know how I felt of your stunning beauty.” If sweeter words could ever be hung in the sky like the moon, casting that same eerie yet gentle light, he did not know them. Each word, each small breath and drawn out syllable, caused her to turn her most amazing gaze of green towards him. He could feel the flutter in his chest as her eyes met his for the first time since he began watching her long ago. As if to calm the sudden pit-patterings of his heart, one hand lifted to rest upon his chest, soothing the beast within. According to his plan, this caused the woman's lips to curl at the corners, a rose hue starting to push into the satiny cream of her cheeks.

The Beginning

The most difficult part to deal with was the fact that he always spoke the truth; or, at least, he spoke what he considered to be the truth. His voice always seemed to hold a gentleman-like quality, even if it was also littered with poison that dripped so sickeningly thick and sweet from his tongue that it was likened to honey. The man was never to be trusted, and yet his reasoning was perfectly logical and trustworthy. He answered, quite readily, to three names and three names alone: Sir, Master, and, as many knew him:

The Investigator.

It was hard to consider The Investigator as a mere man for the idea that man is governed by mortality, morality, and even a conscience. The Investigator, though, followed none of these laws of man nor the laws man has created. He was easily everything and nothing, having neither been born nor created. The Investigator merely was, or perhaps that was only another part of the legend.

Legend spoke of the barriers and the equality between good and evil, how both meant to create stability even though they only usually helped to tip the balance. The world had always contained a balance between good and evil, for without a balance then chaos would rule. Chaos needn't be either weighed by good or by evil, but certainly all the barriers would slide out of place and confusion would rain down upon the world in thickening waters that would threaten to drown all of human kind. Of course, this is all according to a legend who no one claimed to have written. It merely always existed, just as The Investigator. Although ageless in its creation and existence, man still held the legend to heart and believe in all it speaks of.

So, of course, the ideas of losing mankind to chaos and confusion brought a worry upon the world as the ambiguity of the words themselves left much up for interpretation. There were clans that believed that their homes would slowly collapse into some unknown void if they did not continue to uphold the barriers. Other areas on the map believed that a war so terrible would be created with legions of the un-dead marching against the living. Needless to say, each story that was told to illuminate and further illustrate the words of the legend created a havoc all their own.

All anyone could say for certain was that there was a belief in a living barrier which could keep the peace or destroy the world as it so desired with a simple snap of its fingers. Some might call this living thing a God. Others, the devil itself. Either way, everyone agreed the being existed, even The Investigator.