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Tha_Mystery_Man

Harmony [PK]

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Myst would stand within the Sutican clinic, hunched over a counter as he began to cough wildly. A flurry of deep, wet hacking shooting out of the man… as flakes of what seems to be congealed red blood litter the countertop of the medical building. Commotion could be heard outside in the square just adjacent. The elf sighs, moving outside only to be met with a long series of back and forth talking. Face to face with an ironclad man in front of him… though all the elf man hears is noise.

Noise… noise… noise. It echoes in and out, and frankly sometimes it doesn’t seem to even fully register. The man speaks on autopilot, as all that's in his head is the thought of what he wishes to accomplish. Avenging the long list of people he has to see through. Memories fling in and out of his mind, landing on the moments of peace and prosperity he had on the Atlasian landmass… and the power he received on the early eras of Arcas.

His family had grown, his moments of silence and solitude were fixed, he found his love, yet he still intended on assuring the last thing he wanted fixed would be seen through. Looking at the armored man in front of him, he knew that it was the Lord of Chains. He didn’t need to wait for a long winded explanation, it was evident to him. These scenarios had played out tens, no hundreds of times for the elf lad. He was very aware that he’d be walking into a trap.. Though, the mali’s feet still brought him forward. He had one plan that he knew he could see through.

Upon resting within the bottom of the Sutican lair which he had found himself in… the Lord of Chains did indeed reveal himself to the man. The elven Trade Father just laughed and snickered amid the words of the simple petty and stereotypical dark art squabble. Far too well versed in the disgusting, overinflated motivations and goals of those aligned to that morally grey side of personal fulfillment.

At one point though, he eventually tuned into the words that were being spoken to him. Just after finding himself slammed in the gut by the gauntlet of the man himself… he simply fell to the ground. Despite the relatively light tap of the Chain-man… Myst’s stomach had undergone a deep and excruciating level of pain as his innards were nearly ripped out of his gut nearly days before. He looked up and watched, his hands bound as he made a final play amid the crimson blood spewing from his mouth like baby drool…

He knew very well what these people were aligned with, and via informing those outside subtly just before his sudden appearance in the lair below… he had a one up. Not a one up that would per say ensure that he would survive, no, he was already dead.

But, he wanted to ensure that no matter what… even in death, those who had ripped his best friend from him would be brought to the earths below. By being able to escape that darkened lair, all that would be accomplished is him possibly meeting his wife before merely falling asunder to poor health moments later… and even if the idea of dying within the arms of his beloved crossed his mind multiple times, he wanted to assure that a symphony of catastrophe would rain down on those whom had wronged who he protected.

As such he had a long list of slurs and insults which he flung straight towards the Lord of Chains. A cruel and sickening flair of disgusting taunts and threats.. which Myst knew would only leave him with the option of certain death. The mali stood tall… sneering a wicked smile towards the Lord, as crimson hue dyed his jagged ivory teeth. Within his mind, he knew that even in death his plan would come to fruition… he was way too well versed in knowing that those who fight against the grains get what they deserve.

“Slit his throat, you needed only to lie to me to escape the grasp of the Lord of Chains… your unrelenting will is honorable.”

Moments after that line, one of the Lord’s lackeys simply gripped the weakened elf by his hair.. pulling him to a straightened stand. A nearly mutant and cannibalistic henchmen flung forth its teeth and bit into Myst’s throat… ripping out the esophagus of the elf in one sheer pull. Myst would stumble, blood gushing down his throat at the magnitude of the wound just thrown against him… seemingly unable to talk, yet having completed his goal.

The elf’s world seems to quickly decelerate, as everything goes suddenly in slow motion. The man’s maw gagging blood as he looks to his left. Upon doing so he notices the simple silhouette of a woman he recognizes from centuries prior.. nearly half a millennium passed since the redhead had laid his eyes upon the girl in her even remotely recognizable ethereal form. His lips curl into a smile, as the last words the usually frantic and talkative elf come out in a gurgled yet still clear tone..

“My Harmony..”

He twists away from the ghostly visage of the girl for a moment to lay his eyes upon the Lord of Chains and his lackeys… nearly all of them unmasked as his smile lays upon his face even seconds from death. His hand reaches its way up towards his throat, and while the wretched elf continues to try and stop his momentum thrown backwards as a result of his skewered center of weight… his clenched fist reels up one simple finger, to give the group before him a sneering bird before the elf loses his balance and lands upon the harsh ground behind him.

The man notices his one eyed vision beginning to swirl and turn into a blur… As he looks down at his palm he sees a simple slice of lapis, which seems to almost glitter for the man. Within his mind, he simply thinks to himself whilst twirling around the slice of blue.

“To those whom I loved, there is always someplace where we all go. Someplace where I could possibly see you all again… and even if I possibly never see you again… may I hopefully live in your memories as someone who was possibly loved.”

And in the next moment… the elf’s vision begins to turn a dark black. His mind slowly numb and his body turned limp as he kept the slice of blue held within his grasp….

.

+-.-+

.

 

For those who looked into it, the body of Terr’hi Uialben would be found just momentarily near the front door of the Uialben Manor… just before vanishing without a trace. The death of the Trade Father would be accompanied by a long series of words written on his front door in a fresh crimson red blood.

A second has been claimed by the Lord of Chains. A third in his name.
So the Order promised begins to be born. Death brings it so.
Death, of those who would claim the influences of old.
Death, of those who would defy the Fiend born onto this world.
Another follows. Order prevails.


There would be a rather newly updated will left by the mali-man, though it seems to be rather quick and to the point.

“I do not like making depressing letters, that isn’t exactly my style. I don't feel like making a series of cute, sorted letters to send out orderly to each of my multiple children so let me make this simple and brief.

If you hated me, that’s fine. I most likely deserved it.

If you loved me, you’re in the minority… but I appreciate your love nonetheless.

If I loved you, I want you to know that death does not separate that belief from my mind.

Each of you most likely knows the thoughts I wished to pass down to you… so take it and move forward in life without feeling entirely lost. Life is about fulfilling yourself, not about just mindlessly surviving.

The Head of the Uialben Bloodline is left to Mika Uialben. The Manor is to be owned by all Uialbens together as one. Goodbye, and may you all make a life for yourselves without needing my hand.”

- Myst

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At first Mia felt guilt to the situation that had happened, after all, she had played some minor part in the happening. But she heard some words the Mali had spoken about herself and another. She had a silent rage build up in herself. She knew there was only one way for him to know to make such threats, so she felt she knew what her old ‘friends’ and ‘family’ intentions with her were. But in the end, Myst was right, and she felt they’d get what they wanted. Mia was dead. Everything that made her in the past  the friends and family she surrounded herself with, the warm happiness she once held in her heart was simply gone.

 

For a time she was alone but shortly after, she found a new family and set of friends to help her through what she felt must been her path in life. They will help her through the chaos that has been stirred, help her adapt to the coming storm, so perhaps one day, she might do the same for another, like she wished. To guide them through this world.

---=0=---

Jimbo Uialben let out a scream that could be heard through Sutica, upon a minute hearing this news
“IT’S MUNTING TIME!” he’d scream as he’d begin to search
See you on Korvic Craft o7

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Amid the dark nights of Arcas, a quartet of masked compadres roamed the lands of Sutica, searching for a man, one wanted by the Lord of Chains, and a lover of one of the four compadres. It was cold, cloudy, and seemingly lifeless, all that was around the Trade Federation was an eerie feeling, left by a soul whose recently departed. It took hours to find him, to find Terr’hi Mystery Uialben, The Trade Father. After searching the sewers of Sutica, the city of Marsumar, and the depths of the forests, he was found. Lifeless, throat ripped out in front of his own home. It shocked the quartet, one started crying, the second coddled, the third watched, and the fourth laughed, muttering, Heh… Terr’hi” at the sight of the mailbox nameplate.

Minutes passed, silence occured, and the body was brought back to the homeland, a quiet journey back, though one of remembrance. A pyre was constructed, and the body burnt with a culture dated back centuries. The death that creates a star, and a memory. The fourth of the masked figures stared, and then shouted. “THE LORD HAS STRUCKETH AND TAKETH, THE LORD OF CHAINS.” “AL' BLOVAK SNA NUMENRO!” He cries, and then the forest was silent, no birds, only the embers from the birth of a new life. 

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So. Much. Death

..too much.

 

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The Mali’ker received the letter from him- she knew damn well he was going to be walking into his demise. She tried to reach out but there was no respond to her unrelenting birds. Marzoss went to the one place she knew that could help; despite their mutual hatred towards each other the trio that came along with her searched from the wildlands to Korovassa for any sign of the red-headed elf. Though there was no sign of him until they checked the Uialben manor one last time for the woman’s husband.

A bloodcurdling scream would erupt from the woman’s form as the Lord of Chains himself stood in the background, watching, waiting even. The grief struck elfess would cradle the body as her form shook and stygian wisps filled the air around her with dread. Two gauntletted hands reached out, dragging her off the body until she fell silent. A deep breath inhaled as the body was picked up and brought to the infamous estate. 

Once arrived at the estate- a pyre was erupted in front of the manor. The grief then took over the woman once more as she struggled to regain her composure. Her husband’s corpse tossed into the fire as she reached her hand into a leather bag at her hip. She tossed the blue lapis lazuli powder into the pyre as tears fell beneath her mask. The powder settled as she began mumbling incomprehensibly- only a single sentence being able to be made out. “There is another star amongst the sky tonight.” 

Marzoss then threw her mask and hood into the pyre and turned to those witnessing the ordeal. She finally spoke as clear as day.  “There will be retribution for this. He will not get away- I will break tenets if I must, but I will slowly rip the skin from his body and have his family watch as his throat is carved out just as he did to Mystery.” 

She then wordlessly went back into the home, going down a path to ensure others atone for their sins.

 

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HA.” A stone construct would comment once it hears about the red man’s death.

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Posted (edited)

A dead body laid over a horse, a suspicious scene passing Rhaella Ashwood-Uialben as she would walk over the bridge towards Sutica’s closed gates. Rhaella thought the unmanned gates were odd to see, until she heard the yell of the gates keep above her.

“Hey, you on the horse”  The gate keep would knock back an arrow. Demanding the Masked Mali on the horse to get out of there. “I saw you with that body.”

Rhaella would turn around to see the man behind her, turning his horse to leave the front of the city then. Her heart seemed to drop at the words that escaped his mouth as he rode away

“That was Myst, Yes”

 

And the man was gone, not stopped, nor questioned. Gone over the bridge that connected the city back to the main road. Maybe it was a growing sense of anxiety that caused her to lash out on the working gate guard, or the fear that her Mar’maln had been murdered mere moments before she arrived in the trade city. What Rhaella also didn’t prepare for was seeing Xavis cry. As she left the city, she would see him, calling out to her to tell her of her grandfather's death. There, in front of the city, Rhaella would hold her father as he cried over Mysts said passing. The Mali’ker woman’s mind would race.. Telos and Hiren, and now someone who she loved dearly. Though her last memory of her grandfather would be throwing him and Xavis off of the taverns balcony, all she could think of was the love she had for him, regardless of his smartass remarks or jabs at her character. He was family, and she would always be a proud Uialben.

The Ashwood would feel pain, but she knew her mourning and tears would have to wait. With her father in her arms, she had only hoped then that she could keep him safe from this danger, or at the very least help him fight the person who had taken so much from the people of Sutica and her family.

Edited by Phersephatta

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The Prophet observed the body of Mystery Uialben as his wife wept and cried. It was slouched against the Uialben Estate, his throat having been ripped out and his blood used to write the message sprawled against the door. Pondering for a long moment, The Prophet slowly released a low, almost inaudible mumble.

 

“This looks like the exact opposite of self defense. Someone did not do a good job at looking like they tried to avoid a conflict they didn’t want. Only one such intention could have been had with this: death. And the moment this wretched Lord of Chains had an excuse to murder once more, he murdered. This was not self defense. This was murder.”

 

 

Later that night, as he sat in his room, armor strewn out against the floor as the cold, cavernous atmosphere glazed against his tanned skin, The Prophet shut his eyes and prayed.

 

“They murder with the only reason being to make themselves look menacing. They wish to be feared. They wish to be notarized and they wish to bathe in infamy. This is not our way, Your way, dearest Mother. There is no art in senseless murder. There is no skill required, no practice, nothing to **** up and try again to make yourself better. It is lazy, sloppy, and disgraceful to your name.

 

Not only do they spit on you by thinking this makes them worthy of the gifts they possess, but they sodomize and mock you by targeting worthless nobodies who leave no impact on anything or anyone other than the families and friends who weep for their loss. You need no parasite to kill, you need no brains, you need no cunning or flair. You simply need a sword, and the mere thought that this Lord of Chains believes his sword is all that it takes for him to be worthy of being feared is laughable. And worst still? He believes this to be all that it takes for him to gain your favor.

 

They could target kings, lords, politicians, anyone whose death would make the impact you wish to see upon the world, but instead they attack peasants, civilians, and their Sister’s husband. It’s utterly disgusting, shameful, and depressing.

 

I cannot hear you, Mother, but I know you must be vomiting at such displays of carelessness. I will make things right again, and if I cannot teach them to be better, then they are lost. Those who refuse guidance are lost. If they will not let me show them the way, then so be it. I’m willing to do what must be done, and I will weep as roughly as you shall, my Mother.

 

Every death in the name of the Lord of Chains marks a failure. A failure on myself for being so arrogant and trustful when I should have paid closer attention. Every death made in his name is a death made in my name, and will put a stop to this maddening carelessness at once.

 

You have my word, Arun’Asna. Your name will not be soiled by the paws of a greedy pawn any longer.”

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Mika Uialben-Goldhand would upon receiving the letter in his mailbox, shed a single tear before opening it up with a sigh as he quitely whispers into the letter ”Do not let this be what i think it is” as he starts walking into his manor and sheds another tear, starting his read over the letter while he quietly tells himself ”This can’t be ******* true” as he’d slam the letter into the desk with a frustrated tone to it, his tears seeming to flow by now, rubbing his eyes as he could not believe what he had just read, letting out a loud and pained cry of sorts which could be heard throughout the entire manor.

”no no no no” he’d say in a rather panicked way as he would depart from his manor to the more collective Uialben manor, spotting the bloodied words on the wall with an angered tone ”I swear on the iron mask of Dungrimm, They shall pay, everyone does in the end, for I shall not rest my soul until I either see this man dead in my burnt and blood stained grabby little ******* hands or dead on the street by my doing” the elf would be seething, starting to depart back to his own manor with a deep thought on who it could have been and who must pay for this, constantly repeating an angered and grumbly mumble of “Kraviil oz Thrumm’ur’Kotha” to himself along his trip along the roads for many to hear, going on with his life in vein of his newfound grudge while partially ignoring he is now the head of the Uialben bloodline.

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An elderly human woman reads of the news in an abandoned Sutican home, she takes one last leisurely sip of her honey tea before pushing herself up to stand, grabbing her walking stick and beginning off as she mutters to herself ”Another one I have outlived, another friend, another family, I suppose I should get back to work for one grand finale.” She murmurs with a wheeze and a cackle.

 

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A particular, Krugmar-hardened man by the name Vanrael Uialben inevitably caught wind of his father’s passing. Despite holding the man with relative distaste, he found himself lost in his thoughts, staring fiercely at a wall. His gauntleted fist crumpled into a tight ball at his side as Van’s heritage-based, unbridled anger surfaced for the first time in years. He bit down hard on his lip, crimson liquid beginning to drip from it as the elf absolutely seethed with fury at the news off his father’s death.

“Who did this to you, father. . . ?”

 

A marching elf would gasp as Mystery’s soul drifted toward his own. If he could, he’d lift a hand to wave, or call out to him in order to halt the deceased entity in its tracks; though, despite what the desperate, hell-damned soul attempted, the soul of Terr’hi Uialben drifted onward. He would be finding himself landing in a much more suitable place in the afterlife, one belonging only to the kings. Even when he no longer knew it to bee possible, the deceased spirit of Hiren Taliame crumpled to his knees and wept in a place that only the cosmos and other tainted souls could see. The desert was little when it came to shattering the elf’s spirits, but seeing the passing of his closest friend was a trauma.

“H-He took you too. . . What is going on up there?!”

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Once more the man sat within the confines of his homes. A third time contemplating. This time, no armor was had. Only the shuddering, soaked from the rain, terrified looking man beneath. He stares at the fire for a few long moments. A single comment left his lips, perhaps some failed attempt at humor to himself.

 

“I wanted to be a druid...”

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A dwarf would sit, deep underground in a keep he basically owned; tapping his finger on his desk in deep thought. He had known this day were coming, he had planned for it, he knew the price of power, yet it all felt so wrong. Mystery was as much an agent of chaos as he was, as the others. Perhaps it was for the best, but all the dwarf could do was ponder the thought. These thoughts would quickly fade, however, as the voices would return. Almost like a second conscience at this point, the voices called to him, telling him he was weak, that he needed more power. He would nod, he knew the voices were right, this power vacuum would make way for much more power then he could only imagine, all he had to do was see it through.

 

Aegrothond would be filled with rumors of the murder, but it would only reach the ears of Xuag as he headed to market to pick up some drinks for his family. He would overhear a few elves speaking of the death, stopping in his tracks and walking over to them ”Lat blahz mizteri iz vlat? Wub happened?” he would ask, before being handed a paper with the news, a sigh escaping him ”Miz zhould never hav blah’d tu myzteri” he would say, continuing on his path as he would quietly think to himself ”This is nub order, mi nub grukz wub deze zpookz tink day are acomplizin, butd all dey hav done iz ralli all ov arcuz, even oder zpookz, tu hunt dem. Itd iz tik, miz will vind dem, and avenge all whu hav died vor dere zelvizh reazonz. Dey will veel da wrath ov Xan” he would collect the drinks and breakfast, headed back to the paladin fort, the news of Mystery’s death still fresh on his mind.

 

A frog would be sitting in halfling land, wondering if that strange elf he licked a few times had ever gotten that crime gang together. That sounded like a grand old time.

Somewhere in the void, the dissolved consciousness of Sigil the former arcanism atronach would exist, free of his former bonds, he would continue to float aimlessly within the void; that is, until he feels the connection of his former master break. He had given his energy to his master when he had cast his spells from the void, hoping to aid him as much as he could from the origin plane. Sigil would sigh, as he remembered all the memories he would have with Mystery, and if he could feel sadness, he would, for a single moment, be overwhelmed by it. 

 

 

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Within the confines of her basement, Daerine sat upon her bed, staring into the wall as she thought. Her infant daughter stirred in the next room, though her father quickly tended to her.

Daerine held a simple white mask with a bejeweled crown molded into it within her grasp. She thought about how she had turned to Terr'hi Uialben in her time of need. He had likely saved her life by taking another, then he had allowed her to pose as her illegitimate child for a time. He had helped her raise her son, make a home, and even gain a job within the city of Sutica. He was not allowed to be dead, after everything he'd been through! No Lord of Chains or insane aunt could bring him down, because he had faced far worse.

Her thoughts shifted from her deceased father to her unfortunate aunt. Daerine had found out only mere months before the trip to Athera that Mia Asclepius was her mother's sister, making her Daerine's blood relative. Then, on that fateful trip, Mia showed her true colors. She refused their help so many times, and now Daerine's cousin would pay for it. Did she even think about Anya or the effect this could have on her? Or perhaps the children in her care? Or Rhaelanthur? The Mia she knew died the day she took Hiren's daughter, Evelyn. When the girl was found, she was starving. How could the caring Mia who had taught Dae how to properly clip herbs when she was a girl have allowed an innocent malii to starve?

 

Maybe Dimaethor wasn't always incorrect.
 

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Xavis Ashwood would have received news about this death from a man in Aegrothond. His knees grew weak and sweat started to pour down his forehead. The elf was far too weak to be able to stand or breath correctly as hyperventilating was soon to arrive. Tears flooded his empty sockets, staining his blindfold and his face equally. A shout of anguish rolled off his tongue. ”I’LL NEVER FORGIVE YOU! DAMNED LORD OF CHAINS!” Xavis started to let off violent coughs as he fell on the ground, eventually coming to find his daughter Rhaella where he would tell her of the news and then pass out in her arms.

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