Song to listen to: For Whom the Bell Tolls
A beggar sits on the street among filth and garbage, a crowd is gathered around a man whose arms are raised above his head. Veins pulse thickly in his neck as he screams of the wickedness in the women of this town, citing his opinion and gesturing to the poor state of their once "prosperous" and "beautiful" town. The crowd murmurs in agreement, the women unknowingly admitting to their own wickedness in earnest to not seem like bigots. A man walks out of an Inn and pauses to watch, more people gather to listen. The yelling man gestures to one of his companions, who produces one of these wicked women, her dress revealing more than what was goddess permitted, and she's shoved to the ground of the stage.
He declares she gas sullied herself by staring at another man, though she is engaged already, and pulls her towards himself by her hair, citing that it's natural color is not this brown, but a blonde and she colors it to hide amongst the good clean married women of the town.
The Boaster releases her and she falls onto her hands, clenching them in defiance, but remaining silent, knowing one word would mean being pulled to the side and beaten. This was her third stage that day, she knew there was no escape from her kidnappers, her only respite is they are only interested in publicly shaming her, no man had touched her, too afraid to condemn their souls in the next life. He pauses, collecting himself, this is his favorite part, although it wasn't always, he still thinks himself a good man, but he feels pleasure as he asks the crowd how they should punish such women?
A mind in the crowd is pricked, a thought that isn't their own but moves it's way to the forefront and before the unsuspecting woman knows it, she's proclaiming to burn the "child of ungodliness". The man who'd stopped out of mild curiosity feels the puppet strings strengthening, as more and more people, people who just moments before would've thought burning someone alive was a little extreme are starting to scream to burn her, and burn her now. The speaker is taken aback by the crowds verbosity, but shares in their enthusiasm, and calls for a torch to be brought.
He tries to speak up, but his voice catches in his throat, and he feels a familiar mind nearby. Fear, and indignation fill his mind, he struggles against the vice on his voice, his mind trying to break free as someone with ultimate control over his body refuses to allow his lungs to breath the words. The condemned woman tries to rise to her swollen legs, and breaks her silence wailing that the punishment was too severe, and begged the crown for mercy. Someone from the raving crowd produces a torch, it gets passed forward to the stage.
The watching man pushes his way through the crowd, feeling his body is slow and heavy, he pushes on, trying to reach the torch before it can be used on the innocent woman. Everything feels submerged in water, an unreal almost ethereal feeling to it, a power beyond the screaming man's imagination pulsating in the air, its tendrils wrapping around the hearts of the raving crowd, women who had sing their children to sleep the night before, men who rented gingerly to animals incapable of caring for themselves, mother's, fathers, relatives and friends screamed for the woman's blood to be spilt or burned. Her eyes search through the crowd in dismay, trying to find one friendly face to save her from this horrific death
Every step is a mental argument with his own bones and muscles, but he refuses for this to be the innocent girls end.
The yelling man pauses in his speech, and fails to hide a smirk when he crouches down to grab at the torch that is now being offered up to him, it slips from his fingers and lands on his burlap clothes. Almost as though there is an accelerant, the power pulsates in the air and he is engulfed in flames. The fire quickly catching the rest of the stage on fire, and the young woman uses that moment of shock in the audience to roll herself off the stage and run away from what would've been her final resting place.
There screaming coming from the man on stage is inhuman in nature, but doesn't last long as his thought quickly swells up from the smoke he inhales. The crowd transfixed as the magic once so thick the bystander could almost see it, subsides. He feels the yelling mans last breath, his corpse thudding to the ground, the sound of his dead body hitting the stage jerks all the would be murderers to their senses.
Most of them are disgusted and ashamed in themselves, but a few found to their great sense of guilt, that they enjoyed watching the man burn, and lesser still wondered in silent awe if they would witness another death soon enough.
Control is returned to the bystander, and he almost feels relieved, if it weren't for the claw of control that had been clutching at his mind. He puts a hand over his beating heart, a faint memory of it being in someone else's hand, the fingers reaching around towards the back, slipped in between his veins, he'd known he hadn't survived his encounter with the dragon, but here he stood, alive and breathing, his only proof, memories. There was a moment he'd almost convinced himself it was a bad dream. The knight had gone back to the lord of the land to give a short report on what he had himself told him, with words that he didn't recall saying. No one was there to remind him of his death, his heart beat, breath still filled his lungs, he felt pain when it was afflicted on him, but this silent voice constantly pricked at the back of his mind, whispering that none of what he is experiencing now is real.
The world is brighter, more colorful, truly his senses had never been stronger, but that's just it, his senses had never been this good. All food but meat had lost it's savor, even then, the rawer the meat, the more flavor he could taste from it, and on one odd occasion, he'd found himself staring at a live piglet being fattened for the slaughter, his mouth watering, and wondering what it'd feel like to bite into it's soft fuzzy skin. He'd been able to side step a woman emptying a chamber pot out of her window, and remembers the wince of pain from the woman tending to him, whose arm he'd grabbed when he'd first woken up after the incident, her arm had bruised horribly, when he'd only meant to pause her motion, wanting to ask his own whereabouts.
Unease settles into his stumach, as his eyes search the departing crowd, he knows if he sees it, he'll recognize the dragon in human form. It's as though he can feel a pull to him, but it's in no particular direction, like a ribbon twisting pointlessly in conflicting winds. Either their too fat, a woman, or not quite the correct shade of blue veiny pale.
He glances over the blind beggar and stops in his tracks, the beggar is pale, the rag tied over his eyes is bloody, his black hair messy, and in one hand he shakes a handless cup, a single coin rattles in it almost deafening now.
The air is darker around him, what young children there are shy away from the beggar, their parents patiently pulling the doe eyed children. Other than the children, no one seems to notice the dirty "man". Feeling a little drawn, the traveler takes careful steps towards the "blind man", he knows if he can see this stranger's face, he'll have his proof. He stops in front of him, unsure how to address the "man" to get him to look up. The can stops shaking,
"Money for the blind and homeless?" the man says in a deep Welsh accent, and the Traveler is taken off guard. This isn't the light, gravely German accent that had started in his nightmare. He pauses, feeling a little foolish, and takes a step away, when the "blind man" chuckles, and his blood runs cold. "Are you really that easy to fool?" Moran asks, his gravely voice soft, the German accent returned. The traveler turns back to him, Moran's facing up at him, his smile wide.
"It, it is you-" the traveler whispers, then his anger overcomes him, and he lifts Moran by the ragged cloak he's wearing and presses him to the wall. "What have you done to me?!" He asks urgently, panic in his voice. Moran looks s little disappointed, his smile turning down a little,
"Don't jest with me, you know the words, you know what I've done."
The Traveler's hands tremble, clutching the fabric so hard his knuckles are white.
"No, but, there is no honor in that!" He exclaims, shaking the limp Moran.
Another chuckle, Moran's smile returns, and there's a hint of his right eyebrow lifting beneath the bloodied cloth.
"When was honor something I should concern myself with?" Moran states vehemently.
Some people on the street are stealing glances at the two, none of them care enough to step in and continue on with their day. The traveler's mind is rejecting the reality it finds itself in, his mentor had held honor highly, he thought it was a given with Dragonkind. But here he held in his hands the proof that they can be just as bad as humans, if not worse. Moran scoffs,
"And who is this mentor that's taught you my language? My kinds' ways?" Curiosity hides under his mocking tone, but his question takes the Traveler by surprise.
"You killed me, you should know my every thought and memory."
Moran shrugs, not feeling the need to explain that with spiritually enslaving someone, you technically don't need to have and know all those things. That he was bored and wanted the Traveler to ease it by telling him those things himself.
One person stops in the street, a little uncomfortable with how the Traveler was treating a disabled person, and debates whether or not it's worth the trouble to step in.
"You are bold," Moran smirks, "Having this conversation in the street?" His tone disinterested.
The Traveler turns to see the man staring, the man starts and walks quickly away, the Traveler looking too formidable for him and stops to whisper with a stronger looking male. Moran snickers
"The other humans, they're afraid of you." Moran's smile is genuine again, the Traveler's grip loosens on Moran's clothes, staring at the men in disbelief as they stole glances at him, their eyes full of concern for the "blind man".
"It can't be.." his grip tightens again and he whips back to glare at Moran, "But you are the monster here!" He spits, shaking Moran. Moran shrugs, a little annoyed by being shook, but willing to let it slide if it meant he could play with the human's emotions some more.
"You can hear what they're saying, can't you? Tell me I'm wrong." He scoffs.
The traveler felt the unheard command, and listens to the males conversation against his will. Moran sighs and contemplates how he can avoid forcing the human to do what ever he wants him to against his will. This new game is no fun if he does what I say when I say it, Moran thinks reluctantly to himself.
"It-" the Traveler pauses his mouth opens without sound a few times, and he whispers, "It can't be true, it, it can't."
Moran's head tilts to the side, as if looking over the Traveler's shoulder,
"You might want to save what you are failing to say for someplace quiet, you're friends are coming over for a 'chat'."
The Traveler straightens his back, let's go of Moran's collar, and grabs one of his arms, as if to drag him. Moran's curiosity rises, and he let's the Traveler lead him from the place of exhibition. They round a corner, and walk into the back of an Inn. The Traveler nods to the Innkeep behind the podium at the front of the small foyer and pulls Moran up some small wooden stairs into a dining hall like area.
The air is hot thin, smells like sweaty feet, piss and misery. There are three patrons dispersed in the room, a hired whore rubs a tired looking man's shoulders his eyes closed and head lolling, she coos softly into his ear and occasionally rubs the back of his head with the exposed top part of her breasts. Another, younger male stares listlessly into the dead place, his eyes glazed and stinking like he swam in a latrine. Lastly a woman that exemplified the word exhaustion was counting and recounting coins in a small purse, muttering to herself, her eyes well up and she bursts into tears.
No one payed any attention to the men, and the Traveler held Moran tightly to his side while navigating through the multiple tables with their respective benches, all pushed too close for any comfortable way to pass through. The Traveler slams his shin into a bench, it bumps into a table leg loudly, both shudder. Cussing softly, he pays more attention to the upholstery than he does Moran, who finds human clumsiness an unavoidable bore. The woman hiccups, and tries to hide a whimper by clearing her throat, the sound turning up in pitch when more tears spill out of her eyes and she covers her face. A string of drool drifts out of the young mans parted lips, he sways slightly and grips at the mantle a little harder in surprise for a moment, wipes at the drool, smearing it across his cheek, his eyes drooping again as he returns to staring at nothing. The man moans and leans over the table when the whore employs her elbow to dig into and especially rigid area of muscle, she keeps up a steady stream of softly spoken compliments. The men exit the room without being noticed.
They walk up a narrower staircase, the steps so slim only the balls of their feet make contact. There's a growing sense of restlessness and they enter a hallway with 2 doors on opposite ends on their left side, another step can be seen from a doorway at the end of the hallway, a few small windows on the right let in some thin light, muddled with dust motes. The Traveler walks impatiently to the far door and riffles through his simple leather jacket, anyone not in the know would assume it's made of a tightly woven cloth, but it's hand made from materials he's "retrieved" while on the job, with a spell to strengthen it's innate qualities. Moran doesn't care that this man wears the skin of one of his people, but his impatience with the hand clenching his arm is growing, and wonders if he really wants to go through with leaving this one alive.
The door swings open to reveal a wooden room, shiplap walls, a sick bed with a night stand that had an old bowl of water with the tip of a rag sticking out, a chair faces them and the low window to their right. Moran steps in front of the Traveler with one stride and uses the hand he's holding his arm with to fling him into the chair. It slides before clashing with the opposing wall, the Traveler holds onto the arm rests in shock, his brain still processing what just happened. Moran steps into the room, his back facing the doorway, he opens his right hand towards the door behind him, and it shuts softly. He growls softly and removes the bandage from his eyes, blood still smeared over his lips and over the bridge of his nose, the Traveler is unable to move, feeling the same clutching claw in his brain.
"You could have ruined my ploy with that little show." Moran's icy blue eyes burn with checked rage. He breaths slowly, and walks carefully over to the human in the chair, holding eye contact the entire way, and leans over him, his lips straining against another growl. "Do you logically think a real blind man could follow you up those goddess forsaken stairs?"
Understanding and indignation fill the Travelers eyes, he braces himself to fight Moran. Moran smiles,
"What? You think you have a choice?" He snickers, "What if I tell you to go and drink that water," he lifts his left hand to point at the bowl that was used to wipe down the Traveler's unconscious body, "Would you be able to deny me?" A different kind of fear fills the Traveler.
"I'm the only one who would know you did it." Moran's smile changing into a smirk, "but that doesn't make it any less dishonorable, does it?". He knows it's a bad idea, but the Traveler is resolved to not do anything Moran tells him to. Moran breaths out of his nose before hanging his head in disbelief. He looks back into the Traveler's eyes, straightens up and takes a few steps back from him.
"Go, drink the water."
The Traveler's body promptly stands, his mind pulling at anything it can find, he fights to gain any sort of control over himself, his body walks swiftly to the bowl. As he lifts the bowl to his lips he can smell the stale foul water, he tries to hold his mouth closed, but it opens anyway.
"Enough, don't drink it." Moran sighs and sits down into the vacated chair, the Traveler feels control return to himself, his mind feels weary from the fight. He holds the bowl a moment, staring at the water and the cloth drifting inside, unwilling to move and face his new reality.
"You can either do things when I ask, or you'll do them when I tell you." Moran's voice is distant, he stares out of the dirty window at a few humans sharing a discussion out in the alleyway, trying to read their lips, but hearing what they say anyway.
He stretches his legs out and away from the chair and rests his head on his hand, he didn't know what he was thinking, this wasn't much more entertaining than watching these humans bicker about who was right on the correct pronunciation of goat. One of them turns away in anger, as though to walk away as if the end the discussion, Moran flicks a fleeting thought into one of his companion's mind, the man reacts and stabs his friend in the back with his sheering scissors.
Moran tsks, he didn't even try to fight the suggestion,
'I guess I underestimated how angry that man was.' Blood pours over the man's hand, he watches in surprise and quickly let's go of the handle, the uninvolved friend ran, he wasn't sure which direction, his only thought escape.
The man with the scissors still in his back twists and grabs at the scissors with shock, his body closed up around them, the blood flow has stopped, but in his confusion he yanks the shears out and his blood fills his lung cavity with every breath he takes. The betrayed man looks at his friend, offering the scissors to him in a trancelike state, his friend reaches for them without thinking and the bleeding man collapses to his knees and coughs. With his now free hands he claws at his throat, the veins swelling and his trachea deviating. After a few frenzied coughs, his friend drops the scissors and takes off, not wanting to see the end of his actions.
Moran lifts two fingers, grabbing the man's brain stem with his magic, and slid his fingers past other, the man slumps to the ground, dead. Moran breaths in the soul and he leas his head back into the chair, closing his eyes. A drop in the ocean he affirms to himself, it won't make a difference. He can feel the traveler staring at him, Moran ignores and enjoys the sensation. It is a relief to have someone know him, even if they're here against their will. He opens his eyes and inclines his head towards the Traveler.
"You never told me, what is your name? That isn't a demand, I'm barely curious." Moran waves a hand lazily at the Traveler.
The Traveler places the bowl back down on the night stand and despite the level of interest he claims, the Traveler turns from Moran's burning curiosity.
"It doesn't matter then, does it?" The Traveler doesn't want to feel any kind of way for what he just witnessed Moran do, it's been a screwed up couple weeks for him, he doesn't need the extra headache. Moran hums a little dissatisfied,
"Still, I'd like to call you something other than 'The Traveler'." He muses. The traveler raises his eyebrows, and brings them down resolutely.
"Why not Temür? Ironically enough, it is my family name."
Moran chuckles,
"Not a chance, but knowing what region your from gives me an idea, how about Nergüi?" He laughs at his own joke, The Traveler doesn't share his humor, but knowing that it could be worse nods in agreement.
"You get what you want in the end, Nergüi it is." Moran smiles, almost friendly,
"I knew you'd see it my way eventually." He stands up and pats the newly named Nergüi on his shoulder.
"Sit, you can barely stand, I don't require such luxuries." Moran jesters to the chair, and Nergüi moves dutifully to the chair. Moran huffs in frustration, his eyebrows pulling together, the dried blood cracking.
'This is going to take a lot of practice', he pushes back at his hair, walks over to the bed, turns on his heel and leans against the bed post. And folds his arms over his chest.
"I know there was someone who taught you about my kind, but do you have any questions for me?" Moran scratches at his forehead, uncomfortable with this new setting, but liking the new experience. The Traveler can't shake the image of Moran's face from a few moments ago, as hard he tried.
"Why did it upset you to kill that man, just now?" Moran shake his head and grins, laughing softly to himself,
"You won't believe me, but I don't like to kill innocent people."
Nergüi's eyes narrow,
"You're right, I don't." He replays curtly, remembering his companions in the tunnels.
Moran's tone turns sympathetic,
"That was only a bit of harmless fun."
"Harmless?!" Nergüi exclaims, "You played with us like we were toys! But you feel bad about killing one random human in the street."
Moran's voice becomes patronizing,
"Don't act innocent, you were all there to kill me! You came into my dwelling, blindly confident in your skills, unaware of what waited for you in the dark." He glares at the human, Nergüi remembered how Moran had looked in the darkness of the cave, the veiled anger in his shark like eyes.
"I still don't understand, why have a code at all?" Nergüi presses.
Moran flexes his arms, thinking, the human body is so different but also so similar to his own, he's found playing with the different muscles eases some of his own discomfort. He stretches his back against the pole, not unwilling to answer the question, but reveling in Nergüis growing impatience.
He grins cruelly again,
"You are what you eat." He states.
Nergüi blinks, Moran's nonsensical sentence not registering,
"Uh, what?"
Moran refold his arms,
"You see, everyone that I've ever killed, I've,-" he pauses, the word he's thinking isn't quite it, but it's close enough.
"- 'Eaten' their soul, they live on, inside me, fueling me. Souls are power and magic, but on the unfortunate side, they have thoughts and personalities of their own too. I enjoy eating people that are like minded to me"
he finishes, his face smug.
The Traveler's line of thinking becomes indistinct,
"They never told me it was like that" Nergüi whispers, his mind somewhere else, thoughts turned to someone else. Moran probes at his thoughts to see the face, but only the human is privy to the memories.
"Fascinating." Moran murmurs to himself, even now as he owns the human's soul, he still can't look into his deeper thoughts.
He waits with fake impatience for the human to finish his reverie, but he's been too still for too long, he can feel his eyelids drooping, there's still more work to do before he can reap the humans here. Not much longer now, Moran is impatient to take over what's rightfully his, all this waiting, as long as he's careful, he can grow more powerful than his brother could ever anticipate. Just thinking about it makes his blood boil, the heat comes off him in cascades.
Getting angry about it won't solve the issue, he takes his hand out to stare at it, clenching and clenching, watching the tendons just beneath the thin surface. It doesn't surprise him that humans are so easy to kill, with a thin sheath of skin to protect them from the elements.
"How long have you been staying on this planet for?"
Moran starts and is taken aback, caught off guard by Nergüi's question.
He pushes off of the bed frame, saunters over to the Traveler, and crouches to look him directly in the eye.
'How much does this mortal know?'
Nergüi shifts uncomfortably in the chair, unable to get up or look away from the intensity of Moran's gaze. He clears his throat in an attempt to break the charges air. Moran blinks and stands, he paces the room slowly, pausing each time he came to the opposite wall. He scratches at the back of his head,
"Who else knows." Moran demands, he looks back at the Traveler, the amount of power that surged out of him makes the air crackle with electricity, their hair stands up with it, light objects in the room float up as though they're submerged in water. Nergüi's stumach roils, his mouth opens and closes, trying its hardest to confess, but he can feel it, his mind is still his own. A terrifying snarl rips out of Moran, it shakes the room with its deep vibrato tone.
His human form melts almost back into his true form, his already tall stature increasing, he takes a few steps towards the Traveler, the floor is singed where his feet made contact, he bares his teeth in anger, "Tell me now, who else knows." he snarls from a monstrous face, more of a spoken thought than words coming out of the mouth. Nergüi's body shakes from the effort to give Moran what he want's, he knows there's only one answer he can give him.
"I will never tell you." Nergüi's eyes are indignant, his hatred for Moran obvious. Faster than his thoughts could ever process, Moran's left hand is clenched in his hair, his right hand's claws digging into the flesh covering his ribcage. The heat from Moran's body is suffocating, Moran hisses angrily, yanking the Traveler's head back into an uncomfortable position, but his eyes leave Nergüi's for a moment, and as quickly as the hostility began, it was gone. Moran sat in the corner, the bloodied rag back over his eyes, the Traveler gasped at the air, no longer thick with Moran's rage. Soaked with sweat, Nergüi shivers, but not from being cold.
"Our discussion isn't over." Nergüi glances over to Moran's huddled form, hearing the threat in his voice. "You will answer the door." Moran orders.
Nergüi regrets coming to this forsaken village. Only a month ago he'd been with brethren, hunting lesser evils. A soft knock raps on the door, and his body eagerly moves for it. Would he have come here knowing he'd come face to face with a demon?