Tragedy in Blue (for westfallcorndog)

[conjuredskies]

Felix has sent word via Jim that he's ready to assist Harrow - that he has everything required. He didn't specify what: Harrow knows well enough. He did specify where: a long-neglected picnic area marked by picturesque little boulders and paved with some kind of bricks. It's no doomstone circle, but it'll do. Felix has a sense of both appropriate dramatic flair and practical caution.

Granted, the 'altar' leaves something to be desired on both counts, but he had an atronach rip out the table's benches earlier and clear away the unnecessary furniture. Felix has been busy setting wards around the ritual space, some powered by blood and some by a pair of lesser soul gems: wards to keep out unwanted magical influence and bind what's in the circle from harming him. Or Harrow. Of course.

Preparations as complete as they're going to get, he's sitting on one of the boulders while he clears his mind and waits. His satchel - and the thing it contains - lies by the table, at a comfortable distance.

Comments

[conjuredskies]

This is not like communing with a daedra. Not at all like snaring a soul into a crystalline prison, or binding a free spirit to aid him. This is much... emptier, and all the more unnerving for it.

It's a blessed relief when a voice replies at all. Even if the words that sink in are... much less reassuring. Harrowheart agreed to this, doesn't he remember? Doesn't he understand...?

In conjuration though, you have to take matters as they come. I'm Felix Caelus. I came here with a purpose. I'm here to help you.

[westfallcorndog]

No, the soul sighs, mournful and defeated already.

If you want to help, kill my body. Let me free. Kill my body. Let me out. Let us all out, please. Break the blades.

Surprisingly, that sort of conversation doesn't go over well with another entity in this communion. Though it doesn't speak with words, it overwhelms the scene with heavy mental and emotional suggestions which drown out the exhausted voice of the soul.

Felix Caelus, you're fairly positive you do not want to destroy any blades. Remember, Felix, you came here with a purpose. You're a powerful conjurer, Felix Caelus – powerful indeed. Feel confident in yourself. In your mission. Ignore the idle chatter of the lost and blind. You came here for a purpose, and that purpose was to strike a deal. Harrowheart explained his offer in the waking world. Try, perhaps, to commune with the runeblades. Everyone's counting on you to do that one thing, Felix Caelus. You have much to prove.

[conjuredskies]

It's all true, of course.

Felix knew going into this that he was liable to see some strange and distressing things. He's spent most of the day preparing himself to stay focused, let nothing dissuade him once the task is in motion. He's halfway to politely declining the request when the atmosphere changes.

Suddenly it seems so obvious. Of course he has to stay on track. What kind of conjurer would he be if he called everything off at the first sign of unpleasantness? A hundred generations of his ancestors would scorn him. And breaking blades was not part of the deal. Felix doubts that Harrow- the Harrow he knows, the one who invited him here - would be so pleased if he were even to try. No, he promised a bargain. A bargain they'll have. Part of him senses that his feelings are being, perhaps, encouraged, but it's all so wholly right...

The broken voice is brushed aside, entirely forgotten. Felix turns his attention to seeking the presence of the blades themselves, whatever form that may take in here. This comes with a stab of healthy trepidation, though. He'd hoped to have Harrow's support here, and he really doesn't know what he's about to find...

[westfallcorndog]

The soul he had contacted is gone, for now at least. It doesn't attempt to speak again, banished, perhaps, to that far-off place with those distant, humming voices that only seem to grow farther, more quiet as time goes on. As Felix waits for the runeblades to present themselves a total quiet falls over the communing space. The blades are in no hurry. In fact, it might be better to wait, to drum up a little desperate curiosity in the conjurer.

Eventually they do make their presence known. Again, not with words, but with the subtle knowledge that something is out there. A magical presence lurking in the darkness, a feeling akin to being watched without seeing the watcher. They do not speak, but seem to fill Felix with certain particular knowledge and encouragements.

They are here, that much is certain, and they are listening with an open mind. Willing to obey, even. You are, after all, the one in complete control, Felix. There is a desire to do a deal, if only one were presented to them...

[conjuredskies]

Harrow warned him to be wary here. Felix is very much bracing himself for some kind of onslaught when he reaches out to seek the blades. The longer he waits in the stifling silence, the more desperately he strains to find any sign of them, squelching his uncertainty. You must be here. Are you listening?

When he does, finally, become sure of their presence it takes another minute to guess that perhaps this is how they communicate, through this near-subconscious impression of what they mean. He doesn't, of course, realize how direct or how subtle the suggestions truly are.

I offer a gift, he says as an opening. And in exchange I ask leniency, and patience for your bearer. Two concepts he's quite aware he may have to sell them on.

[westfallcorndog]

Silence again. A long, empty silence. Felix, have you scared them off at the mere notion of leniency and patience? Or maybe, in some backwards way, the magic that animates those blades is testing his own patience? Being perfectly honest, they're probably just examining their options.

Eventually that spark of knowledge swings back around and enters his consciousness again. Something tells Felix that the blades have an idea of what he intends to gift them. A very good idea. And yet there is a certain curiosity in them. They’d like to know for certain, as Harrowheart has been careful not to tell them a thing. He gives them nothing, in this world of the Nexus. It’s enough for him to run his mouth off at every stranger and busy his mind with baubles in this place. He has no need to inform them of his life – their lives. Honestly, the blades are as lenient and patient as any magical artifacts could be expected to be in light of everything Harrowheart does... And fails to do.

They push their luck by moving beyond simply presenting knowledge to Felix as if it were his own realizations. Now they present images to him, suggestions which flash in and out of his mind too quickly to truly process but just clearly enough to be suggestive. Low-detail scenes like half-remembered dreams flit in and out: Harrowheart, glassy-eyed, stony-faced and serious wielding the runeblades in various violent ways. They cleave through metal breastplates for him and sever limbs without resistance. The broad sides of the axes block projectile magic, and the weapons themselves are astute enough to guide their wielder in parrying blows he otherwise might have been struck by. And they are capable of magic of their own, invigorating and even healing the death knight with sparks of their runes and jolts of blue magic. In every false memory Harrowheart is the actor, and yet the blades themselves feature prominently, their bright runes fiercely illuminated as they draw Felix’s attention to their strength.

This is the sort of power they offered to a knight-turned-fool who now squanders it. Who wishes them away. There is great capability in them, if only it were allowed to be realized. If only they weren’t forced to be lenient to that shiftless bearer of theirs. If only…

But Felix, you must be aware that it has to be this way. The blades are the servants. Powerful though they are, they are never in control. No, no. They obey the whims of the one who bears them. And so they will – no, must – show him leniency. But, in return… Wasn’t there something about an offering, Felix? A gift of some sort? You have the feeling they’d like to hear more about it…

[conjuredskies]

Felix waits for their response, poised in cautious hope. He thinks of flying a kite again, fingers light on the cords, waiting to see which way the wind will turn.

He knows very well when they do reply, the flurry of half-formed images running through his mind. It's disorienting; if he were less experienced, too fearful of conceding any control, he might panic and reject them. But he catches himself and lets his mind run with the images. Lets himself absorb the strange impressions, feel them, understand the case the blades are making in their own wordless way. Were they humanoid he'd be nodding along sympathetically.

...Ah. Yes, he expected they'd want to know about their prize. It's a bit of a wrench to drag even half his awareness back to the waking world. He reaches down to his satchel and fumbles out the heavy cloth-covered weight inside.

He sets it on the end of the table, too far away to touch and just close enough to smell. He can certainly feel it once the cloth is unwrapped. The dark crystal glistens in the sunlight, its interior purple-black and opaque. Felix did his best to find a master vampire worth killing: the conscious soul inside is strong, endlessly hungry, touched by the Prince of Domination, fat with the life energies of its victims. Raging, no doubt. Afraid, if it has any awareness left.

It's a hideous little thing, but having seen the vampire's lair Felix can't feel more than perfunctory regret.

[westfallcorndog]

When Felix reaches into his bag the runes begin to light and dim like bated breath, rhythmic, curious, eager, and growing in intensity as the offering comes closer and closer to its reveal. And then – ah! – there it is! What an incredible source of power, pungent with foreign magics and yet there's no mistaking what it is. A bloated soul just begging to be fed to a pair of runeblades. They want it – oh, how they want it!

Felix.

You know what you need to do, Felix.

Grab the blades. Break the shard. Grab the blades. Break the shard. Grab the blades. Break the shard. Grab the blades, Felix. Break the shard, Felix. Grab the blades, Felix! Break the shard, Felix! Grab the blades, Felix! Break the shard, Felix!
Felix! Felix! Felix! FELIX!

[conjuredskies]

Felix was expecting them to react. Bracing himself against a sudden demand. He thought he was ready.

He didn't actually think they'd try to go through him.

The breeze becomes a gale, the gale becomes a howl, and all the soothing words and diplomacy he had in mind gets ripped away in an instant. Before a conscious thought can struggle its way across his mind he finds himself swaying in the all-consuming desire flowing from the blades. Bobbing right along with their will. Grab the blades, break the-

NO. His hands slam palms-down onto the wood of the table, smack between the axes. No, no, no! Not yet! It's not his gift to give! Felix is obliging, willing- but this is not what he wants, not what he's here for. He's not here on his own account. He has his own bargain to uphold.

Besides the blunting effect of his wards, that's likely what gives him the strength to pull back to himself. Re-anchoring. He wraps his hands deliberately around the edge of the table. Draws on the wards of the ritual to help hold him steady.

The soul is offered in trade, he thinks deliberately, taking the time to form the thought and put some emphasis into it. It is a part of the pact now. If the blades would have it, they must come to terms.

[westfallcorndog]

The second Felix's hands hit the table the blades go dark, as if assuming the inconspicuous guise of simple weapons could absolve them of all guilt. Their screaming stops in an instant. The thread that was attempting to hold him captive is cut, and Felix's mind is free from their influence. Or so it seems...

Felix's slamming does nothing to wake Harrowheart from his impassive stupor. He's content to stare into the middle distance, effectively unaware of the world around him and certainly not privy to any conversations between conjurers and blades.

Finally one rune on one blade blinks. One little blue light to assure Felix that they're still there, still part of this ritual. They hesitate after that before attempting to contact him again, and when they do they express themselves humbly, gently.

They understand that this is a trade. They understand that something more than just leniency is being asked. Now would be a decent time to present the terms so that they might consider them.

[conjuredskies]

Felix takes the moments of silence to gather himself. He's honestly surprised when Harrow doesn't react, though it's a puzzle he can't afford to stop and think about. It's time for the delicate business of negotiating, and he has to stiffen his resolve and get down to it.

Harrowheart must be able to leave you in a safe place and travel apart from you, he says, trying to identify each element in his thoughts in turn, nice and clearly. The better to notice which of them is about to incite the most resistance. No farther than he can travel through one portal, for no longer than a year in his own realm's time, without any attempt to steer his will when he chooses to do so.

The 'how long' aspect is the most flexible here, one reason why he's made a fairly audacious request there.

[westfallcorndog]

Harrowheart may leave them safely and travel. That much is acceptable, judging by their silence. There's a subtle encouragement to continue.

No farther than a portal's destination away? Acceptable. Understandable, even. They can work with this.

No longer than – a year?! The blades on the table vibrate quickly, creating a doubtful sort of humming sound. A year? They aren't so sure about that. A year is an incredibly generous amount of time. An entire year...

One month. It's their absolute maximum, they make that much known. It seems they aren't well versed in the art of the deal or the concept of haggling. In an effort to prove their amenability they give Felix the impression that steering Harrowheart's will during their time apart is of no issue to them.

One month is all they stress. One month in Azeroth's time. And at the end of that month, they must be allowed to reap at least one soul. Out of necessity, of course. Something must fuel their magic...

[conjuredskies]

It's much as he expected. That's good. That's really good. Felix takes a few moments considering the implications. Were Harrowheart conscious and communicative here the conjurer would defer to his 'client', but having gotten this far he doesn't dare risk it all by backing up and hoping to recreate the circumstances so nicely.

Besides, a month isn't bad at all. Quite comfortable, really. He has only nebulous suspicions about how Harrow's been keeping the blades satisfied up to this point, but supplying some soul or other to feed them can't be so hard for the death knight. (And perhaps there's a part of Felix that says, good luck to Harrow if he thinks anyone else can get him better terms. These blades don't seem likely to yield any further.)

Very well, he says at last, letting them feel the finality of his acceptance before he starts to turn words - ideas - into binding terms. The right to reap one soul at least, at the end of each month Harrowheart is apart from you.

[westfallcorndog]

A feeling of contentment washing over his mind is the blades' immediate response. They are completely satisfied with these terms now that they've been adjusted to better suit their interests. There should be no doubt in Felix's mind that they are agreed, bound in their unspoken word, and willing to proceed. But what comes next? The offering of the soul? The sealing of the deal? Of course they're curious, but after pushing their luck and coming up empty before they're much less overt about their desire.

Still, that hushed and nagging urge is there. If the terms are agreed upon, now they only need payment. And wouldn't it be interesting to break that soul gem? Wouldn't it be a curious thing? Something new to try? To take the blades in his own hand and shatter the soul? Just for the experience, of course. Just to know...

[conjuredskies]

That's not how it should work, not really. He wonders though, what it would feel like. Whether it isn't just like binding a soul by his own hand, or recharging any enchanted weapon. There's nothing much to it. Nothing to be afraid of.

It ought to be Harrow, is the nagging feeling. It seems like that would be fitting. But Harrow isn't responding to any of this, and it makes no material difference. Felix is the one doing the binding, the one who can feel what's going on. He may as well do it.

He weaves the binding around them and makes sure of it. Then he reaches for the blades, his mind trained on sealing the pact and being done here. It's as he indicated to Harrow: there's no consecutive handover, no chance for one side to back out. The taking of the soul is the sealing of the pact, and they are one thing when he holds them in his mind.

Take the soul. Accept the terms.

[westfallcorndog]

The instant Felix's fingers touch the blade the runes alight, and so does their power. An electrifying energy courses through his arm and straight to his heart, his mind, his soul. It's as much an unshakeable knowledge of the sheer magical strength he holds as it is actual power flowing through him.

The surge of fortification they bring him dies abruptly. The temptation of their magic is there – incredibly, unavoidably there – and then it's gone. But no sooner does the flow fade from his body than the blades raise themselves and his hand with it. There is no time to be wasted, they know this. Too long and Felix may grow wise to them and reject them. Now is the time to strike.

The left blade pulses with a small, dull power to encourage Felix to keep his grip on them while the right lifts high into the air before it comes smashing down on the soul gem. And when it shatters?... Light, Gods, Daedra, what a sensation. All the latent energy inside the vampire's soul comes rushing out at once and is absorbed by the greedy runes of the blade. A glut of magical potential siphons through the handle of the blade and into Felix's right hand, all at once saturating him with its dark and unnatural strength. It wasn't only the runeblades which consumed that soul, but their wielder as well.

It's in that same moment that Harrowheart breaks from his stupor. "NO!" he growls, reaching out to clench a tight fist around Felix's wrist. The runes that had dulled his ability to attack are still difficult to overcome, but it's when his blades are distracted that he finds his mind has been returned to him.

"Don't touch them!" he shouts with a primal fear and anger as he begins to shake Felix in the hopes he might let the blades go. "Don't you ever touch them! They're not for you! They're mine!"

Whether the runeblades believe that or not remains to be seen. With Harrowheart once more in the realm of the conscious they are suspiciously silent. For all intents and purposes they may as well be any ordinary weapons.

[conjuredskies]

The sheer rush of power when he touches them is heady, overwhelming. Felix's will sways with theirs, and he doesn't have the chance to think or react before he - they strike downward, shattering and consuming. Drinking up the energies of that glutted soul, so potent, so exhilarating- and then he's jerked sharply forward, shaken bodily back into the land of the li- er. Wakeful.

"I know!" The protest is automatic, voice wavering with the shaking he's getting. The conjurer's quick to snap back to himself - at least, he seems to. "I know they're not! I'm not trying to take them, you idiot!"

Perfect diplomacy! But he does let go the blades now he's unhindered, dropping them onto the table with a clatter. See? He can put them down any time he wants.

[westfallcorndog]

Harrowheart quickly gathers up his blades and pins them down with one hand while the other one points stiffly at Felix's face.

"I didn't say you were tryin' to take 'em," he whispers, his voice low and conspiratorial. "I said they're not yours. You don't touch a death knight's runeblades. Things can go bad. Real bad."

He glances sideways at the blades as if implicating them in all of this. And honestly he might be. He knows them better than anyone, after all. Knows their limitless desire for something new to own. He drops his accusatory hand from Felix's face and raises both blades to inspect them. It's not as if the spell changed the way they look, and soon he finds it hasn't changed the way they feel, either. Not physically, not magically, not mentally. With some lingering reservation he returns the blades to their ties at his hips.

It takes some self control to look at Felix again. He wants to be angry with him still, but he knows he can't be. Felix has done him a great service and put his own safety on the line for it. It wouldn't do to take out more of his anxiety on the man. And besides, they're in an anti-violence rune within an anti-violence field. A total change of subject seems better than lingering on his sudden misgivings over all of this.

"I owe you now," he says, his voice wooden and forced. "That's the deal. Right? You did this for me, and now I owe you. So? Are you ready to cash in? Or do you need a while to think up who you want me to kill?"

[conjuredskies]

"Trust me, I'd have preferred not to-" and he doesn't stop to consider whether that is actually true, "but you wouldn't respond and I needed to finish the deal. It's hard to keep any bite in his voice when Harrow's trying to warn him of the danger.

Still, he pulls himself up and folds his arms while Harrow inspects his blades. "It's done, anyway. You have to leave them somewhere safe, and they have the right to take a soul for every month you're apart, but they'll let you leave them without trouble."

More-or-less.

"I don't have a list of people I want..." His gaze drops to those blades. "...Dead." Worse than dead, is the rub. In the aftermath of all that, still feeling the afterglow of that rush... he's not sure yet who he'd wish on the other end. He shakes his head. "That bargain we'll have to settle later."

Harrow mightn't be too pleased about leaving that hanging over him, but right now Felix is too much a mess of high-strung emotions to care particularly. And why does Harrow assume he wants anyone dead anyway? And then again... there are people who deserve an awful fate. It's just a matter of deciding when it's useful for them to die, and finding them...

[westfallcorndog]

Felix's unwillingness to name names and end lives gets a brief grunt from Harrowheart. It's not the first time he's accepted vague I.O.U.'s, and it certainly won't be the last, though it might have been nice to get the business over with as soon as possible and have it off of his mind.

"So what happens now?" he asks. "I walk away, you walk away... Next time we see each other it's because we got business? ...Or because Jim thought you and I oughta learn to be good pals." He huffs a little laugh.

[conjuredskies]

Felix's mouth quirks at that: it's the sort of thing Jim might do, and it sounds like Harrow has much the same reaction to the idea as he does.

"I suppose so, assuming we don't simply cross paths in the Nexus." He reaches out to end the wards, then pauses, casts an eye back at the death knight. "Harrowheart... why didn't you respond during the ritual? I called for you, after we began, but it was as if you weren't there at all." He's reluctant to admit his spell didn't work the way it's supposed to but... it didn't, and he really needs to know why.

[westfallcorndog]

Harrowheart's eyebrows slowly lower, not just in thought but in suspicion too. He's quiet for a few seconds, though the lights of his eyes drift in various directions as they consider the situation.

"I didn't notice... Anything. I felt almost like I closed my eyes when it all started... Fell asleep, and when you grabbed my blades I woke up again, and all that time in between passed without me knowin'..." His lips purse and he looks to the ground, his eyelids narrowing now and then as more things occur to him.

He mutters to himself, "It was like my mind was gone..."

And that's when he quickly looks up and locks eyes with Felix. There's an all-too-serious scowl on his face now, and he rushes to say, "It must have been the runeblades." Because there's no way he's entertaining the thought that Felix's runework did this. No, sir. And even if he acknowledged that, there's no way he'd want Felix to know... Even if some part of him is begrudgingly aware of the fact that Felix is an intelligent, magely sort and must have come to that conclusion before he even asked.

"The runeblades," he says, as much to convince himself as anything. "They didn't want me gettin' in the way. That had to be it."

[conjuredskies]

"They can do that?" Felix lifts his eyebrows: he's thought of the alternative, yes- but he can't rule out the possibility that Harrow's right. Harrow knows those blades so much better. And Felix thinks of that first trembling voice who did answer, only to be sent away...

Still, this is a new and disconcerting prospect, and he has to ask. "They can just shut your consciousness away like that? Have they ever done that... before?" Watch him slow down as it sinks in that that's kind of a personal question no matter how academically interesting it is. Academically and practically.

[westfallcorndog]

Harrowheart rubs at his forehead a while before he scrubs his hand down the side of his face. With a deep sigh he says, "It's complicated." Complicated enough that he's not even sure where to start, or what to say, or even how much is worth divulging.

"A death knight isn't always in control of their own thoughts," he says, his words slowed by the effort of his thoughts. "We're haunted by thoughts and urges that aren't our own, and we gotta fight for our sanity all the time. It's the price of our free will. We can put it off for a while, dependin' on how strong our will is, but eventually we can't hold back from doin' what the thoughts tell us. I'm used to not always bein' in control of what I think or do, but... On Azeroth. Not here, not in the Nexus. It doesn't happen here. Or... Didn't..."

His mouth shifts side to side. He's not really sure what to make of any of this. For a few seconds he watches Felix as if he expects some kind of answer from him, but he soon realizes there's no way Felix would know better than himself.

He's loathe to admit it, but he can't help guessing, "Maybe the peace runes you put down... Maybe they..." Light. "Weakened my mind somehow. Changed the rules of the game."

[conjuredskies]

Despite how admittedly grim the picture is that Harrow paints, Felix looks briefly intrigued. That is, before he remembers he can't stand that sort of magic and certainly wants to know nothing more about it and so he should stop looking so interested. It's something he should think over later, though, having felt the blades communicate in just that way. He can't help but grimace at the idea of having to deal with that every moment of every day... And then there's the matter of his wards, which catches his attention because it's more immediately testable. Less personally unnerving.

"Hmm. Maybe." He gives Harrow a moment's scrutiny, detecting that reluctance, but breaks it to look around the circle, running a hand through his hair. "They are meant to set the terms of this space. I've never used them to interact with someone like you before. Maybe the attunement wasn't ideal... But I'm not in any hurry to try and practice, if I'm honest. Anyway, speaking of the wards..."

Felix holds his hand out, gesturing a little, and the wards drop in a tiny snap and flare of purple light, leaving only the echo of magic around them. "I... hope you find the bargain to your satisfaction. That it works out well."

[westfallcorndog]

Hearing Felix isn't interested in studying the effects of his wards brings Harrowheart a visible calm, if one can be described as 'visibly calm' in a suit of sharp metal armor. With the wards gone he fully relaxes. There's something about being free of someone else's magic – even if it is peaceful – that takes a subconscious edge off.

He finds himself nodding before he knows he's doing it. "I can't believe you got a whole month out of 'em, honestly. I figured it'd be a week at most... I don't think 'satisfied' is gonna be enough for this."

The corner of his mouth twitches with the hint of a smile and one of his hands pats Felix on the shoulder. "I know it wasn't easy to be here or do this or deal with me, or any of that, but... You did great, Felix. I really owe you – and I don't just mean the payment. This is really gonna change my life, man."

[conjuredskies]

"It's just a matter of knowing how to talk to them," Felix says, as assured as if he knows exactly that. He doesn't even quite jump when Harrow pats his shoulder, just smiles slightly. "I don't care for letting my friends down."

He scoops the fragments of the soul gem up in the cloth he wrapped it with, and retrieves his satchel. "I have some cleaning up to do here, but you can go and... enjoy your freedom, I suppose. Until next time, Harrowheart."