To me, the Eight are quite obviously the personification, an embodiment, per se, of aspects of insanity. If one takes Jeriander's theory of the collective mythos, and views the Eight through a philosophical lens, they appear to draw their sources of power, their respective 'evils,' from a collective mindset that views these things as detrimental.
-The Necromancer's Notes, Folio 44883, Page 2, Philosophy Wing
***
It was getting worse.
Night had fallen. Lord Solstael had left his manor, along with Kyra and a few guards, on Laidu's orders. They were staying at a small, but upscale, inn. It was mostly empty, and the rooms were taken up by Laidu, Kyra, and Lord Solstael, along with two rooms for the three guards.
There was one other person with a room inside the inn, but it didn't sound like it. The voices had multiplied, metastasized, and festered. He couldn't tell where they were, who they were. He could distinguish between the Warden, Rhaem, Kasran, but there were more. All of them sounded like they were yelling, calling out.
He remembered something they said, when he first fought Kazalibad at Baton's Mill. Name me again when you know it. That might keep the madness at bay. The name Rhaedra had provoked a response from that voice, a unified voice. He had said it was the word, but not the thought.
What had he thought about? He tried to remember what had gone through his mind then. He knew several of the translations of the root of that name. Battle-fury. All-consuming rage. Limitless passion. Uncontrollable love. Unshakable courage. He had thought of battle anger before, but courage was surely a name fitting for a dragon, especially a dragon king.
I name you... he began. The voices hushed, waiting in anticipation. They wanted the name, lusted after the name. He could feel their yearning, like the yearning he had for Kyra.
...Rhaedra.
His world exploded.
Pain. All he knew was pain, and every kind of agony, every variation of suffering. It ripped through his body, tore through his mind, clawed at his soul. The inn room, lit by a few candles, was gone. Pain was real, now. Pain was the world he saw. Laidu might have thrashed, might not have. He could have hurt someone, could have hurt himself. He didn't know. He lashed out like a wild animal because it hurt it hurt it hurt it hurt it hurt it hurt make it stop make it stop make it stop make it stop-
"Laidu?" He remembered that voice, somewhere, somwhen. She was important, he knew that much. Remember her. You have to, Laidu, you have to, Rhaem. You remember her.
Kyra.
The name cut through the pain the way a knife cut through skin and flesh. He gasped, puling in air, more air, as much of that as he could, letting it fill his lungs, proof that he was alive. She was there too; he could sense her presence in the room. He felt everything, heard everything, smelled everything. It would have been overwhelming to him if he hadn't just finished experiencing the epitome of agony.
She was there, eyes wide. "Are you alright?" He didn't answer, his mind racing a thousand miles a second, as he took in the room, now that the veil of torturous pain had been lifted from his head.
The flames flickered in their candles, undisturbed. The bed was left untouched. But the table, right by a pair of upholstered chairs, was reduced to splinters. The surface of it was broken in three places, and the legs of the table were bent beyond repair.
"What happened?" she asked. Laidu stepped back, sinking into a chair, staring at his shaking hands. "Laidu?" Kyra was alarmed now.
"I don't know." Laidu's voice quivered. The other voices hadn't vanished. They'd gotten worse. It hadn't worked, it didn't dispel the voices.
He thought it over in his head. The name had to be Rhaedra. That was the only logical name. And battle-fury was a perfectly reasonable meaning for the name, a likely meaning if Laidu said so himself. But, thankfully, simply thinking about it didn't trigger another assault. He had to will it into being, put mental force behind the thoughts.
"Was it the voices?" Kyra asked. Laidu nodded, sinking back into the chair. "Oh. It's getting worse?"
"Look at the table," Laidu said, "and see for yourself. I'm not getting any better from this." He hated this, hated feeling helpless and scared. Part of the reason he protected people, part of the reason he was a Ranger (other than the fact that his friends had apparently signed him up after passing out from blood loss in that Ajandi salt mine) was that he wasn't powerless, so he helped the powerless. He wanted to prevent others from being victims, but how could he help himself from being one?
How could he do that when he was terrified?
Kyra could sense that feeling. "Move over," she said. He looked at her, confused. "You heard me. Move over." He did, and in the small space he had made on his chair, she moved int. She sat with him, half next to him, half on him, leaning against the Ranger. Kyra took his hand in hers. "Look. Whatever happens to you," she said, "I'll be right next to you."
Laidu tentatively put his arm around her. He was afraid. He was afraid that he would hurt her, afraid he'd hurt himself. He was afraid of a dozen things, really, now that this happened. Afraid he'd hurt himself if he had another episode, afraid he'd hurt someone else if he had another episode. He couldn't trust himself.
Kyra turned towards him, and gently laid her hands on his face. "Look, Laidu. I can tell you're scared. But... ugh, I don't know what to say, really. Just... I love you, and I'm not leaving." Her thumbs traced the ridges of Laidu's cheeks, and her fingers spread out, cradling his head in her soft hands.
He closed his eyes and let himself just exist there. The voices, strong as they were, calmed and quieted to a slight degree. But that was no matter. He just enjoyed the touch of her hand, the emotional, spiritual warmth of her presence.
He leaned in, and his lips met hers. There was almost no sound, only the hint of a whisper of breath. Laidu cradled her head in his hands, held her against him. He wanted more, part of him did. Give in, some of the voices would tell him, Kasran among him.
It was the animal nature inside him that wanted more, and some of the voices fed it, strengthened it. It wasn't monstrous, he knew, but it was definitely not something he wanted to feed on a regular basis, if at all. The rational, moral part of him knew that.
But there was the problem. The rational part of him was all thoughts, all faith, all reason. And faith and reason, elegant as they may be, were drowned out by the call of the flesh, by the pounding of the blood in his veins, telling him to act, to do, to be.
It hurt to resist it, but Laidu did. Against half the madness-induced voices in his mind, he pulled back, and denied the animal nature. The kiss lost the primal urge, the savage lust emptied out. Now, he wanted to hold Kyra in his arms, to marvel in the fact that she was there, with him.
He pulled away from Kyra, slowly, and gently smoothed her hair out as she leaned against his chest. "You know," she said, staring at a point far away, "I've been... having memories."
"About your abduction?" he asked gently. The fear was partially gone, thanks to the lingering feelings of warmth that Kyra had given him.
"No." She looked away, staring at some undetermined point far in the distance. "I think it's related to my condition. How I'm a thaumaturgic savant."
"Oh." Laidu kept stroking her hair.
"They're not my memories," she muttered. Then, pausing, she realized what she had just said. "Great. We're both mentally doomed."
Laidu didn't say anything. The fear was back again, flowing through his blood like poison. He simply held onto Kyra tighter. For a few minutes, a few sacred minutes, they were still. Laidu's mind was racing, though not as fast.
An idea struck him, through the constant murmur of alien thoughts. There was a technique he used to do, a technique his mother had discovered and developed for him. He held a hand out, away from Kyra. He didn't want to burn her, after all.
"What are you doing?" she asked, staring at Laidu's outstretched arm.
"A little stress relief," Laidu murmured. He had dubbed it the "band of fire." What was supposed to happen was a small ring of activated Fever Blood would expand and flow up and down his arm. He would control his power, use utmost finesse and discipline, prove to himself that he was the master of his power.
But of course, that wouldn't happen now.
The first thing he noticed was the face. It had twisted itself out of the wood paneling of the wall, and glared at him with hate-filled eyes. "That's my birthright!" the face snarled with Kasran's voice. "Give it to me!"
He tried to shut the Fever Blood off, but it resisted. It fought him, struggling as someone else drew upon the power. He fought, he willed, he pit his mind against the other, and forced the Blood to quiet.
And like that, the voice was gone. The face vanished. It had all been a hallucination.
"Is something wrong?" Kyra asked.
"No," he lied. He didn't want to worry her. After all, she was wonderful, lovely, divine. But she couldn't prevent him from going mad.
No, that would happen whether he wanted to or not.
***
He awoke to a knock at the door.
Kyra had stayed with him for some time. He didn't tell her about the hallucination, nor about how he had nearly lost control of the Fever Blood, but she knew that there was something wrong. She had quietly helped him clear up the splinters and broken pieces of the table, and stack them in a neat pile in the corner of the room, then bade him good night with a soft kiss.
But like him, her mind had an affliction. But, unlike him, her mind's affliction was temporary. Trauma, not disease. Mostly, it manifested in nightmares. Maybe, if she was exposed to a stimulus similar to the original trauma, she might relive it, as Laidu had seen some people do. Maybe if she smelled the pungent spices of Ajandi cuisine, or was forced down by a mage circle again.
He yanked the covers off him. She was probably having a nightmare, and although inside his mind, it sounded like a crowded room full of people screaming, he wasn't having a nightmare. If the love of his life needed someone to comfort her and hold her, he would be there whether his head hurt or not. He loved her, after all. It would take more than some encroaching insanity to prevent him from being there for her.
He groggily stepped over towards the door, itching right by his ribs. He felt kind of self-conscious about how he was dressed. All he had on was his normal pajama pants. It was kind of ridiculous, really. Kyra had seen him in this outfit. Light above, she had slept next to him when he wore that. Why now was he panicking about how Kyra would see him?
He dismissed the thought as he grabbed the door handle. "Kyra, did you have another nightmare?" he asked as he opened the door and illuminated his room. He had long since extinguished the candles in his own room, and now the only light came from a warm, red stone hearth in the floor below. Seeing as the hall to Laidu's room was more of a balcony opening up on one side to the main room, it provided plenty of illumination.
It was enough illumination for him to see that the person he was talking to was definitely not Kyra.
"Marcel?" Laidu asked incredulously, "What are you doing here?" The butler was dressed impeccably, even with a powdered wig (that was slightly old, but Marcel wore it with an air of class and tradition). However, the giant, squirming burlap sack he had slung over his back was definitely clashing with the air of professionalism he projected.
"Well, good sir," Marcel said, straining slightly, "I had apprehended an intruder, a ne'er-do-well most foul who was seeking to infiltrate the young lady's bedchamber. Whether to rob her or worse, I don't know. But when I apprehended the burglar, it turns out I recognized that rascal."
Laidu knew where this was going.
Marcel grunted, then slung the squirming burlap sack over his shoulder and into the room. It landed with a dull thud and a groan of pain. "Originally, I thought this to be some sort of elaborate ruse to abduct the young lady again, but seeing as the intruder is someone close to you, and also the fact you removed the young lady from this possible peril, I doubt you had any malicious intent."
"I was testing the security," Laidu explained.
"Very well," Marcel said. He turned to leave. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've requested the innkeep to put a kettle on boil. Lord Solstael is quite fond of a certain blend of tea from the golden shores of Qin. He almost always requires a cup or two of it before he retires. It calms the nerves." He took a step away towards Lord Solstael's room. "And should the young lady find herself the victim of a distressing dream," he said, "I'll direct her to your chambers. Discretely, of course. And trusting you to not take advantage of her."
"Of course," Laidu said.
"If you do take advantage of the young lady," Marcel warned, his voice dropping to a frigid threat, "I will make sure you regret it."
"Alright," Laidu said.
"She cares for you," Marcel said. "And if you use her, and leave her to the side like so many other cretins would do, I, at least, will make sure that you will face retribution."
"Marcel," Laidu said, "I'd die before I hurt her."
"Good." With that, the butler left.
Laidu turned back to the sack, which was still squirming. With a few tugs of the drawstring, he yanked the bag off of the person inside. "Thaen?"
The Vesperati stared up at him with wide eyes. He probably was shouting, but the thick gag stuffed in his mouth and what looked like a few hundred feet of rope wrapped around his hands and feet, he was in no position to do anything but struggle ineffectively. Laidu rolled his eyes and got to freeing his friend.
Finally, when Laidu ripped the gag off, Thaen began to do his favorite thing; talk. "About time I got out of that filthy sack," he sputtered.
Laidu sighed. "Alright," he said, sinking down onto the floor next to Thaen. "How in the world did you end up here?"
"I don't know," Thaen said.
"You were using your senses, right?" Laidu asked.
"Burning blood pretty intensely," Thaen said. Probably wasn't, knowing Thaen, but then again, he hadn't seen Thaen in a while. Maybe the furball had changed. Actually, that was probably quite likely, seeing as he hadn't seen the Vesperati for many years.
"So... how did he get close enough to whack you on the head?" Laidu asked.
"Um... I can't tell you," Thaen said. He did have a lump on his head. "I just woke up bound and gagged in the sack. Then I heard Marcel tell me that he caught me, and was taking me to you, and I better not move at all, or I get dunked into the river."
A thought struck Laidu. "Well, whatever. You know what, I need to ask Marcel a few things. Stay here for the night, just toss down a pillow for me." He tried to push down the voices in his head, leveraging his will against them. Fear flared up, ever so slightly, when they gave more resistance.
"You're going to sleep on the floor?" Thaen asked.
Laidu shrugged. "Might as well. The carpet looks soft enough."
"It's freezing!" Thaen said.
"Yeah, I've never had a problem with that," Laidu said. "Think about what you said for a moment, Thaen. You know what my name means," he said, "right?"
"Oh, yeah," Thaen said. "Fever Blood."
Laidu nodded. "Hold on, I need to check something." He rose and stepped out of the room.
The common room of the inn was quiet, the only sounds the crackling of the hearth below. Laidu walked over to the next door and knocked. There was a shuffling sound inside, then the footsteps as someone walked over to the door, before Kyra opened it and stared up at him. "Is something wrong?" she asked. Drat, that wasn't who Laidu wanted.
"No." Of course, at that moment, the voices were telling him to barge into her room and either seduce her or rip her to shreds. "Sorry, wrong room." He hadn't actually needed to see Kyra, but Marcel.
"Oh. Good night," she said. I love you, she mouthed, before closing the door. She couldn't actually say the words, not when her father might be able to hear her. Lord Solstael would not like her expressing love towards a degenerate.
He moved over to the next door and knocked. This time, the door opened immediately. "Ah, Master Sung," Marcel said. "How may I be of assistance?" Laidu looked past him, watching Lord Solstael for a moment. The Caeldari nobleman sat upright in his bed, sipping a cup of tea and perusing a few documents. But he wasn't who Laidu needed to see.
"Marcel, when you incapacitated Thaen," Laidu said, "did anyone see him?"
"No," Marcel said. "I knocked him out, placed him in a guest chamber he was near, and then fetched the burlap sack and restraints."
"Alright," Laidu said, turning away. Good. That meant Thaen could repeat his attempt to break in, sans Marcel, and not have the experiment tainted with foreknowledge. "Though, I do have one question," he said. "How did you sneak up on him?"
Marcel shrugged. "Simple. I did what any butler worth their salt did. I tended to the needs of the household."
"But how did you sneak up on him?" Laidu asked.
Marcel shrugged. "I simply did my job. That's all I can say. Can I help you with anything else?"
"You're fine," Laidu said. Marcel nodded and closed the door. There was something strange about that butler. When he walked back into the room and flopped down on the carpet, tucking the pillow under the neck, he was still trying to understand what the butler had said. Thaen was snoring by now, but Laidu was still awake.
Soon enough, however, he was fast asleep.