WhereTheWildThingsAre[continued from What's the Story, Morning Glory?] Night had fallen by the time Cynwyd and Cole arrived at his villa. It was a small, but well appointed estate in a well-to-do portion of town. That would seem a sign of affluence, but any small villas in this portion of town were more of a putting away than a climbing of the ladders of success. Anya was on the patio as they tethered their horses. Since their agreement, Cynwyd was more apt to arrive before dawn- they didn't know that the things out at midnight had something to do with that- so she wasn't overly surprised to see him arrive. However, to do so with company in tow was unusual. To do so with male company in tow was unheard of. "Milord?" she queried gently as they dismounted. "Anya," Cynwyd returned, "this is Cole, the new captain of the fencing team. We have some business to discuss- and probably will many times in the future." "Cole, allow me to introduce you to one of my bodyguards- Anya. She and her sister, Maya, have put up with me for quite a while now." If this was a bodyguard, then indeed his security was quite subtle. Though well muscled, she had more of a models build than a guard's, though her gaze as she looked at Cole was very searching, and indeed, as though she tried him- and found him wanting. Cole smiled at Anya and bowed. "Charmed." "As you will, Milord," she replied, relaxing as she sat back with her paper. But even though she was not looking at Cole, her attention was very present as Cynwyd opened the french doors into the interior. As they entered, Cole said to Cynwyd in a low voice, "I have no doubt that she's good at her job, since I have far too much experience with dangerous females, but I must say that her body appears much more deserving of being guarded than yours. Is there a story there?" "She's very good at her job, though hopefully becoming less so over time," he said, but left it at that for her just as stunning twin walked in the room at that point from the front door. Apparently just finished exercising, she was dressed in a body suit that left little to the imagination. Towelling her face off, she looked startled to see the pair there, but Cole could readily enough see an awareness in her eyes that belied that impression. Cynwyd repeated his introductions once more. "Maya, Cole," he said briefly. "He is the new captain of the fencing team, and Kel saw fit to make me his second. We have some things to discuss, and likely will in the future." Maya's response was a brief raising of the eye at second, and a second appraisal of the other man at that admission. "As you will, milord," was her only response, though it was obvious that something else was left unsaid with that comment. Cole was slightly puzzled, but smiled and made a little bow before following his host onward. Walking down the hallway, Cynwyd led Cole to a set of sliding french doors, opening them into a room that would not be out of place in Castle Amber. It definitely did not look like the room of a college student- more of a dilettante. A picture window was opposite the door, and a half-circle king sized bed sat perfectly in front of it. The furnishings were of Venetian origins, and a large sitting room ajoined. Someone definitely desired that the occupant want for nothing. A circular stand in the corner held some truly impressive musical equipment, and another no less than 4 separate swords on display. But for all of the opulence displayed, the room was a cold place that didn't reflect even the little Cole had seen of Cynwyd. A couple of things, however, did stand out- a well worn plain black scabbard with a sword with no decorations on it and no guard, and beside it a very plain guitar, also black. Cynwyd walked in, threw his jacket carelessly on the bed, and plopped onto one of the plush chairs in the sitting area, inviting Cole to take another. "Welcome to my humble abode," he said, gesturing expansively. "My pasture if you will." "The pasture of the black sheep, I suppose you could call it," he said, with more than a hint of self mockery in his tone. "As soon as my dear brother was born, I was cast to the other end of reality, with my two 'bodyguards' to make sure that I did nothing to embarrass the family. Well, nothing other than exist, which was for sure an embarrassment." Cole smiled, but said nothing. "Thankfully, they did not try for more permanent solution to the problem," he added darkly, reaching for the stand next to him and pulling out two snifters and a small bottle of some amber liquid. Filling both of the glasses, he pointed to the sword rack. "Take your pick, mon capitan," he said, "and come imbibe a shot of courage." Cole examined the swords, taking out each blade and practicing a few cuts and thrusts as he replied. "In some ways, that sounds very familiar." He made a face at the sword he was holding. "Ugh, is this basket hilt solid gold? It really throws the balance off. Anyway, I'm the black sheep too. I was born out of wedlock, and Mom won't even identify my father. But I'm glad my brother came along to take my place. Now that he's around, I'm free to be myself instead of the bastard king I would have had to be." "Ah, this one's much better. Good reach, too. I'm a little concerned about the jewels encrusted all over the thing though, they'd make sneaking around nearly impossible. I wonder if we could pry them out?" "I suppose if you're going to pry the gems out, we could probably sell it and get a much better weapon in the bargain," Cynwyd said, shrugging. "Or you can just pry them out... matters not to me." "I expect the weapon shops are closed at this hour. It will just have to do as-is for tonight." Cole fastened the gaudy sword to his belt. "I'll have that courage now, please, though not too much: I'm already inclined to foolhardiness as it is. So, what's your story? Why is your family so keen to keep you on the far side of the universe? How did your banishment result in such lovely keepers, and how do I convince my own stepfather to send me some?" He took up his own snifter and sprawled in a chair next to Cynwyd. "I suppose it's to clean up any issues with inheritance," Cynwyd began, passing a glass to Cole, "though I really don't want the responsibility, so it seems like wasted effort to me." Cole raised his glass. "To lack of responsibility!" He shrugged expressively, continuing, "As for the other, I suppose it's a combination of the weight the name carries here, as well as being a reminder of the iron hand inside of the velvet glove." Lapsing into silence, Cynwyd considered the liquid in his own glass for a moment, before draining it in one swallow. "So," he said, straightening up in his seat, "the appointed hour is soon to be upon us, so I suppose we should be on to lighter conversation." "I've noticed that there is one particular place fairly close that seems to routinely have movement- up until now I've stayed away for that reason. But it seems to me that it would be better to hunt where we know these beings seem to frequent than to go about looking aimlessly. What are your thoughts on the subject?" "There never seems to be any shortage of the damned things, but sure, anywhere is fine. I suppose we should get there in advance, see if there's anyplace we can set up to get a tactical advantage, establish lines of retreat, that sort of thing." He drained his own glass. "Of course, the terrain can change radically. Have you ever noticed anywhere that seems relatively unchanged during that hour? Holy ground, something like that? It would be nice to know there was somewhere close by we could fall back to. It'd be a long, soggy retreat to Rebma." With more libations under their belt to lubricate the way, Cole and Cynwyd made their way towards the afore-mentioned location. Arriving an ample time before midnight, the area seemed innocent enough. The location was on the edge of the shift from the estates to the row houses near flag hill, and showed this- on one side of the street, well laid cobblestones stretched down the sidewalk in front of small specialty stores whose exclusivity increased the further you walked down the street. On the opposite side of the street, the exact opposite occurred, until even the sidewalk was gone and mud from the latest rains trickled into the street, giving them the color of blood in the sparse lights from the flickering lamps. However, the one building that stood out did not appear to be a store. The frontage was plain, other than a small plaque to one side of the entrance. The doors and windows were trimmed in such a way as to imply elegance in a subtle manner, perfectly complementing the plain white stone of the walls. "Unless they're going shopping, I'd say that building was our final destination," Cynwyd remarked wryly, taking in the lettering on the plaque. "Lady Christiana's Finishing School for Young Girls," he read aloud. Then he paused and looked to Cole, and back to the plaque. "A finishing school?" "They do seem to enjoy finishing things," Cole replied. "And young girls are probably tender. Come to think of it, according to some of my friends from when I was younger, the headmistress of such a place probably isn't too different from some of the things we've encountered. Come on, let's find a place to lurk where we won't be noticed. People might get the wrong idea." He looked around for an alley, or even better, a rooftop from which they could observe. Midnight came on cat’s feet, creeping over Amber with insidious purpose. Cynwyd and Cole had found an elevated, community garden from which to observe the finishing school. As the murky chill of the Dark Hour settled into their flesh, the small trees and plants around them turned to dust and rot. The street and buildings shed their skin to reveal the corruption beneath. The finishing school, however, appeared to flourish in the sickly moonlight. The paint shimmered like passion-moist skin while several tumorous growths swelled out from its foundations. The front door split open in an obscene parody of femininity, the fleshy corridor beyond pulsing with a crimson radiance. A tongue-like stairwell connected to this maw twitched in lurid welcome. Wrought-iron fencing became protein and reshaped into patient claws connected to the monstrous building. And then finally, They came, vomited forth from the profane interior. Toadlike and infantile, dozens of Shadows scuttled over the building’s exterior. They rooted blindly over the fleshy surface until they were lucky enough to locate one of the many swollen tumors. They’d let out triumphant squeals before clamping their sucker-shaped mouths over the mutated teats to feed. "Man," Cole said, "someone has a real talent for the repulsive." In the distance. . . the infant’s cries were answered by something far older. And much, much larger. "Looks like if we're going to do any damage here, we'd better strike fast and get away before Mama shows up," Cole told Cynwyd. He drew his sword in his right hand, and his long hunting knife in his left. "You ready?" "If I said no, would it really change anything?" Cynwyd responded grimly. He drew the hand and a half sword from its plain case- strangely enough, in the little light present, the steel of the blade looked black. Straight and single edged, it fell into no regular classification of sword, having a sharpened end, but no curve as an oriental blade of that size would. He gripped it lightly, rising onto the balls of his feet. "Don't get yourself killed, ok? I'd hate to try to explain *that* to Kel tomorrow." His teeth flashed white in the night at his dark humor as he took off at a loping run towards the closest shadow. As he moved forward, Cynwyd felt a surge of adrenaline unlike he’d ever experienced. He leapt from the second-story balcony and landed on his feet without a break in his stride. With an amazing alacrity, he covered the ground between himself and one of the vile Shadows. [Assuming Cole follows] Cole paced him easily, fueled by an amazing freedom and power. Indeed, he felt an overwhelming urge to outperform his classmate. . . competitor. . . brother. The word rang in his ears like a challenge. Cynwyd’s blade to one of the creatures unaware, slicing its nubile head from its rotund body. A stinking ichor splashed out, corroding anything it touched. Its brethren raised their heads; one barely able to vocalize its distress before Cole’s downward stroke sliced it open like an overfilled water-bag. It fell to the ground and expired. Now alerted, the remaining Shadows readied themselves for a fight. Their backs split open to release a squirming nest of suckered tendrils. Cautious, they tried to use their numbers to their advantage. Cynwyd attempted to rein in the fire inside him in order to be aware of Cole's position. He felt a strangely familiar struggle, as his instinct to wade in and become one with the pulse of the conflict warred with his reason's pull to remain above the fray and keep his mind on his comrade's back. In the end, he negotiated between the two extremes, cutting out a semi-circle of mayhem as his sword darted out to end the aberrations' existence, while keeping his back to Cole and trusting him to do the same. "Seven left, two trying to climb around behind us," Cole said, fending off tendrils with his knife as he skewered another Shadow on his sword. "Let's not get surrounded. We need a clear route out if Mama comes back before we're done." Back to back, the pair worked as one, killing their gruesome opponents with deft strokes and skillful slashes. They did so without words, without thought, only instinct and a familiarity of the other that simply could not have existed. The ground soon grew slippery with ichor and quivering body parts, affecting their stance and mobility. Even so, it was quick, brutal work, and over before it had begun. The last creature – perhaps driven mad with grief – leapt from above, impaling itself on Cole’s blade. As the thing died, it slashed at his face and neck with its tendrils, threatening to knock him over. Unmindful of his own safety, Cynwyd instinctively turned to impale the shadow. With precise control, his blade found purchase in something vital and stole the last of its strength, without passing through and injuring Cole. Even so, its sudden dead weight carried Cole backwards. Cole rolled with the thing's momentum, whipping his blade to fling the dead monstrosity away. Coming back to his feet, he said, "Eight down, pretty good for a first outing. You hurt at all?" Cynwyd merely shook his head slightly, taking appraisal of Cole's appearance, instinctively moving them away from the house to forestall any retaliation from that source. The house made a mewing sound like a mother cat crouched over its dead kittens; the foundations shuttering with helpless anguish. Despite its obvious distress, the building could not summon itself to mobility. At their feet, the bodies began to dissolve at an alarming rate, spreading over the ground in stinking pools of liquefaction. Down the bloodstained street, however, something dark and bulky dragged itself into view. Bathed in darkness, its syrupy body writhed with abortive limbs. A malformed muzzle rose to the sky like a dog trying to catch a scent. The head split open to emit an enraged cry. The same sound they’d heard only moments before. The sound should have frozen Cole's blood, but his blood was afire. He was drunk with success, a joy of battle such as he'd never known, and what remained of the liquid courage imbibed earlier. So in the cry of an enraged beast about to attack, his instincts turned from fear to exploitation of a tactical advantage. "Press the advantage," he said to Cynwyd in a low voice, his eyes not straying from the beast. His sword darted out, indicating two dark spaces along the street. "Flanking ambush: you there, me there." He dashed for the second space he'd indicated. Those had not been the words on Cynwyd's lips- indeed, though he was not in the least concerned about their ability to take on the new challenge, he was more concerned with not overtaxing their first night and some slip resulting in Cole's injury. But at the whispered command, those words dropped away as in a loping run he made for the position that Cole indicated without a thought of challenge. The creature advanced down the street, keening loudly. Roughly the size of a grizzly bear, the abomination lacked discernable eyes, swinging its lumpy head from side to side blindly. As such, the two men were able to position themselves as Cole had indicated without being detected. Black strips of skin and tissue hung from its broad shoulders and moved independently of the creature. Soon enough, the lumbering shape passed by their hiding places and continued its path toward the transformed building. Cynwyd’s mind tingled with worry not his own. <Something is wrong about this creature, boy. I sense something very old. Very powerful. My brother may be making a mistake with this course of action> Cynwyd's instinct warred with his reason- as he'd come to trust the voice in his head even over his own thoughts over these past nights. But in the end, that thought is what spurred him- he was only alive because of the Voice's tutelage. He tried to signal Cole not to attack- to wait, and hoped that he'd do so. But if he didn't, he felt strangely prepared to draw the creature's attention to allow his brother to escape. And ponder the vagaries of that word later, if there was a later... Cole's heart pounded with adrenaline and victory. Images of battlefields he'd never witnessed flooded his mind, urging him toward further glories. This beast represented another triumph, another trophy. All to outshine his father and whelp of a brother. And after all, the previous battle had been all too easy, slaughtering suckling cubs. Where was the glory in that? And if he delayed, it would only be harder to take this thing down. It would be alert, wary, not distracted like it was now. There would never be a better opportunity to strike. Sword in one hand, knife in the other, Cole leapt from the shadows onto the beast's back. Although the beast weighed over a ton, the creature reacted with amazing speed. It did not turn to face him. Instead, the velvety strips of flesh draped around it struck out like snakes and parried Cole’s attack. His knife sank into the blubbery muscle of a shadowy tendril, acrid smoke and blood burbling up from the wound with volcanic heat. The blade snapped off, corroded through. Another tendril threw him back, leaving a charred mark on his armor. As Cole regained his footing, the beast’s body /flowed/ like tar, so that it reoriented the position of its head without turning around. It roared its displeasure, catching the scent of its fallen young on the tiny man standing before it. Meanwhile, Cynwyd was struck by an image of his past. Once, when he’d been very young – little more than a toddler – his mother had taken him to the Temple of the Serpent. Beyond its glittering façades and golden altars, there lurked something so alien, so unnatural that it had given the little boy nightmares for years afterwards. The Logrus. The true representation of the Serpent itself. And as he watched this creature move, he recalled the spiraling monstrosity he’d dreamt of so long ago. This thing reeked of the Logrus and Primal Cancer. Cole backed away, furiously swatting away tentacles with his sword and the hilt of his erstwhile knife, entirely on the defensive. <Okay>, he said mentally to the voice in his head, <You wanted this so bad, now what do we do?> <We have fun and die with honor, boy> The Voice laughed, the bloodlust echoing in his mind. Cole’s hand moved almost on its own, deflecting blow after blow. But despite the Voice’s bravado and borrowed skills, the young man realized he was truly outmatched by this monstrosity. The Voice still laughing joyously, Cole’s fighting retreat came to an unfortunate end. A burning tendril roped around his waist; acid melting the armor and blistering his skin. The creature’s head split like a peeled banana into four wet strips. Teeth and suckered mouth lined this bizarre maw, ready to feed its prey into the churning blackness of its sulfurous throat. "Get away," Cynwyd shouted over the roar of the creature, even as he scooped up the fallen bodies of one of the thing's children and threw it between the creature and Cole. He quickly ran, scooping up the bodies and in a mockery of the creature's anguish tried to get its attention with those tiny corpses. Before the creature could remove Cole’s upper torso, Cynwyd’s cry distracted it. A dozen eyes surfaced on its back and widened with rage. Bellowing with motherly distress, it began to reshape itself once more; readying itself for a charge at the beastly human now defiling its young. Its grip loosened enough for Cole’s new instincts to take over. He drove his blade into the thing’s neck, the smoldering tip emerging from the other side. An instant later, the ground met his face – hard – as the howling beast tossed him aside. The Shadow paused - too enraged to determine which offender needed to die first. Still rolling with the force of the creature's throw, his own blood stinging his eyes as he clutched his only remaining weapon—his bladeless knife hilt—Cole decided it was time for a strategic withdrawal. "Retreat!" Regaining his feet once more, he scrambled down a narrow alley. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure Cynwyd didn't need what little help he had left to offer. As soon as he saw Cole away, Cynwyd didn't hesitate to turn tail and run. No simple scamper did he use, already realizing that he was hampered by not knowing the creatures maximum speed when antagonized, but he zig-zagged, trying not to give an easy aim to the creature's anger. It was good that he did, for more than once did he hear the sound of sizzling cobblestones barely hand spans away from his all too fragile flesh. He knew that he had to get off the main thoroughfare to somewhere that he could take better advantage of the terrain. Running down the street at full speed, it didn't take long for him to see what he was looking for. He almost missed it, so fast was he running and so narrow was the alley, but behind what must have been some sort of store, he saw a pile of boxes leading up to a ladder that hung over the side of the roof. Moving with impressive alacrity down the dark alley, he took two bounding steps up the boxes and pulled himself up the ladder to the roof, even as he heard a loud crashing noise beneath him. He knew he should just keep running across the roof and make his way back to the villa- but his curiosity got the best of him as he carefully peered over the roof to see what had happened below. In the street below, a dozen eyes stared upward hatefully. The Shadow’s body rippled with agitation, but made no move to pursue Cynwyd onto the rooftop. Something told him it could have done so had it wished to press the chase further. But torn between its rage and it motherly instincts, the Shadow finally surrendered to the latter. It turned is bulk and shuffled back toward its slaughtered young. A mournful mewing erupted from its many mouths, the Banshee sound resonating through the air even after it had disappeared from view. Narrow as their escape had been, the two students were free from danger. For now. Certain that the beast had followed Cynwyd rather than himself, and not hearing any further sounds of combat, Cole decided that the better part of valor lay in holing up where he was until the hour passed. He wondered how much longer that would take, and whether or not Cynwyd had escaped, and why he'd never thought to buy himself a watch. Compared to the previous events, Cole’s evening passed with relative peace. Anything that did wander his way was easily avoided. And thus, the hour passed. Cynwyd hated to leave Cole out in the wind, but at best, he'd be able to perish with him if anything came across them now, and at worst, he'd lead something to Cole with him already safe. He currently wasn't in any shape to take on anything- though the conflict took only minutes, he felt like the whole night had passed, so exhausted was he. So he took the more sensible road and headed home, going carefully and slowly enough that he should be there about the time the hour was over. But even through the haze as the adrenaline fled his system, he still had the mind for one thought to the voice in his head. <Brother? Care to elaborate?> He felt a mental shrug, accompanied by a flash of embarrassment. <If I could, my boy, I most assuredly would. But just as I appear unable to access the memory of my name, so to I lack my brother’s moniker. I know that he is as brave as he is reckless. Just as I know that he relied upon my council for many great matters. <I find this lethe most infuriating. How can I sense the taint of chaos within such a creature and yet lack my own name?> <When you find out, be sure to let me in on the puzzle> Cynwyd thought in return. The voice was not the only one that was infuriated by the turn of events. <What else do you recall? Anything that can help me stay alive?> <I sense arcane skills I might lend you. That is how I detected the power lurking within that monstrosity. I also believe you borrowed some of my martial abilities. However, until we have come to a true ‘agreement,’ I doubt I can provide you all that I have to offer. Mostly because I do not even know the limits of my abilities> The Voice paused. <Our brother is not far from here> As the filth and rot of the darkest hour faded from the world, Cole breathed a sigh of relief, then struggled out from under the now-mundane trash and debris under which he'd hidden. Back out in the lighting of the street, he looked down at his gore-spattered uniform and said, "No way I'm subjecting Gillian and Mury to cleaning this. There goes more of my beer money." He sighed again, and walked back toward the finishing school, occasionally stumbling in exhaustion now that his adrenaline high was gone. But then, after a minute or two of waiting, Cynwyd's patience was rewarded. He heard a very slight movement, and headed in that direction. <Agreement?> he thought as he moved. <What kind of agreement?> It was hard to convey sarcasm purely by your thoughts, but Cynwyd gave it an earnest try as he continued, <And will the lack of such be taken as priority over say... if this noise is something I cannot handle without your help instead of Cole?> With the Dark Hour fading, so too did the Voice. It fought to maintain their connection. <You must name me, Cynwyd of Chaos. And then I shall recall all that I am. As will you.> It paused. <Although the arcane arts are within my capacity, they remain retarded. Much of my knowledge is inaccessible. But fear not. If this is not your companion, I will provide you with enough power to burn your enemies to cinders.> The Voice drifted into the back of Cynwyd’s mind, where he could feel something. . . squirming. Tentacles of pure blackness, eager to come out and play. At that moment, Cole turned the corner and the world reasserted itself. A carriage rumbled by, its driver ignorant to the young man watching it from above. Cole looked around. "Cynwyd?" he called, "Are you still...?" He slumped against the wall, reluctant to finish the question. Cynwyd had planned to make sure that Cole was ok, then make his way home to talk with him later. But at his question, Cynwyd stepped out of the shadows. "Are you ok?" he asked. Cole looked visibly relieved. "Yeah, thanks. Your diversion saved my ass. Several freshmen girls would have mourned it deeply. And you?" "Fine," Cynwyd said, a bit distractedly. "That last engagement was definitely a bit much for what we can do, it seems. And I'm more concerned with how Kel would have responded rather than your coterie," he added wryly, pulling himself back to the present. "I do wonder how the landscape will be changed tonight by our actions- if at all," he mused. "Let's go find out," Cole suggested. At first glance, the finishing school’s outward appear had not changed overtly. But as Cole and Cynwyd gazed upon the structure from across the street, subtle changes did become noticeable. The shadows that had once clung to the building had lightened, allowing them to see more details than before. The jaundiced sheen from the street lamps had become golden, almost glimmering in its softness. Even the trees and grass appeared healthier, matching the spring-time glow of the flora surrounding other buildings. Somehow they knew the girls within would rest easier tonight. A genuine smile touched Cynwyd's face as he observed the changes. "It's not much, but it is good to know that our efforts had an effect." "Thank you," he said, turning to Cole. "I'd not have tried that if it wasn't for you; I would have been happy merely surviving. But no longer." "Eh, survival is overrated," Cole replied, clapping him on the shoulder. "Eventually you lose, no matter what. Thriving is the thing to do." He surveyed the school, smiling every bit as much as Cynwyd. "Thanks for doing this with me, bro. See you tomorrow. I'm afraid I'll need to borrow another sword." Cynwyd looked sharply at Cole at the appellation, but let it go and instead said, "Better a sword than a body. And better yet not to have to explain to Kel what happened to her new captain." Then the rest of the statement penetrated his consciousness. "Tomorrow? Maybe we ought to see how things shake out first... though if things go bad, I do agree about the sword part..." "Good enough," Cole agreed. "See you at practice." He clapped Cynwyd on the shoulder again, and walked back toward his room, whistling, unable to muster the slightest fear of the ordinary dangers of the city at night. Cynwyd watched for a moment, then shook his head and made his own way into the dwindling night. [Cole continued in Meeting of Minds] |
