Chereads / The Corvian Archive: Red Mist / Chapter 7 - Chapter 6. Rebirth

Chapter 7 - Chapter 6. Rebirth

VESSELS AND PATRONS

A highly magical entity may be confined to a separate plane of existence, by their own means or by virtue of lacking a physical form. A mortal may find themselves desiring or needing magical help or power. This is the condition for the creation of a warlock or a vessel.

In the case of a warlock, a pact is formed wherein a measure of the patron's power is granted to the mortal, by means of written or verbal contract. The power granted is usually limited, and spread among several warlocks.

A vessel on the other hand, receives the entirety of its patrons power, but also their personality and force of will. This manifests differently from different patrons, ranging from a voice in the vessel's head to outright possession by force. The status of a vessel can be forced on an individual by the patron or by means of forcibly sealing the entity into the vessel.

The powers of warlocks and vessels are as varied as the entities that can become patrons. Demons, angels, guardian spirits, dragons, Outer Gods and even powerful undead can all become Patrons, among many other types of magical entity. The powers they grant are intrinsically linked to their own nature and actual power, as well as the amount of warlocks they have.

The conditions of being a warlock or vessel vary from pact to pact, as do the repercussions for breaking the pact. In some cases, the warlock or vessel will lose their powers, but death, mutilation and disfigurement are all known punishments used by patrons.

If forcibly torn from their patron, a warlock will lose their powers, but survive unscathed otherwise. A vessel will nearly always be killed by this act, however, as will the patron if any kind of magical law prevents them from existing in the physical world.

Lilith leaned against the wall of her prison cell, battered, tired and in spite of it all, defiant. She nursed a black eye, swollen shut. The cell was within an antimagic circle. The runes softly glowing on the walls. Sickly moonlight shone in the slit window, illuminating the bare floor of the cell, as a rat slithered across. There was nothing she could do for the moment, but come mealtime, she could perhaps take a guard hostage, or brain them with a loose brick from the wall. She'd get out. It was a matter of when.

Dolorem found himself slipping in and out of consciousness; he was dragged to the House's prison, too broken to fight back, the guards descended the staircase, each step sending painful jolts up his spine. He could barely see anything in the twilight, except for the silhouettes of prisoners, and the soft glow of antimagic runes. Rows and rows of destroyed souls. Some deserving, many more simply desperate. They passed Lilith's cell. Lilith, seeing him, gripped the bars of the door, dazed by disbelief at the wreck of a man before her.

Dolorem met her gaze. He saw her face, bruised and grazed all over, her wrists circled by the ugly abrasion marks of cuffs. Somewhere he found strength to struggle against his captors, through burning lungs, he breathed "I'll….kill...every…" he began, "I'll fill your veins with poison, and choke the life from you all," he croaked through broken lips. His guards ignored the feeble struggle. They continued down the hall, finding a dank, vacant cell. They threw him in, and kicked him to the wall. Once satisfied, they left.

Dolorem lay on the floor, unable to move. Every inch of his body ached and burned. He could feel his blood draining away. He had been too weak. He hesitated. He had failed. Bitter tears flowed down his shattered face, mingling with the dried blood, stinging his remaining eye. Death would come for him soon. His second chance was squandered. There was nothing left to do now, but wait for the inevitable. Dolorem prayed in that cold, dank cell, not to any god, for no gods could or would reach him now, but to anything that would listen. He poured every last bit of resolve into this prayer, hoping against hope that something would take pity on him.

As he lay defeated, exhausted and utterly broken, a pale serpent glided into his cell, unnoticed. It approached him silently. Once it was close enough, it struck, sinking its fangs into his throat. Dolorem convulsed as the venom took effect, spreading corruption burning him from the inside out. White sparks flew across his vision, blinding him. In an instant, he was separated from his body. It wasn't death. He'd been summoned.

Dolorem found himself in the audience chamber of a great white serpent, a cathedral-sized hollow hewn from rock. The creature coiled within the room, as it did throughout a network of cave passages and openings that punctuated the cavern walls. The serpent didn't speak, but its voice echoed within Dolorem's skull. The voice was measured, entirely detached. "Five-Seals Dolorem '' the voice echoed, the empty eves of the snake observing him. "I offer you a contract." A realisation struck Dolorem. He was staring into the eyes of The Orochi.

The Orochi, he remembered, was an impossibly ancient being, who ruled the South in the days of antiquity. In the end, the great serpent was slain, cleaved apart by the Sword of Gathering Clouds, wielded by a deific warrior who was now only known as "He who helps by any means".

"You died," breathed Dolorem, stumbling over his words. "You are correct," it said, "I did indeed lose my body, but my essence, my self, is eternal. Now I am confined to my throne-world, and require a vessel to exist outside of it." Dolorem caught on quickly, and became immediately suspicious. "You mean to say you need a puppet."

"That's a rather inelegant way of describing your role" The Orochi retorted. "I have no great plans for you, simple favours, maybe, but nothing earth-shaking" The Orochi paused. "I've ruled for aeons, observed for millenia, I've seen all there is to see, every event of history. I've seen humanity at its worst, and its best. Always alone. You must understand, I don't care anymore for it. I just want to experience, I want to know what it is to exist as a human, to be connected to others, to live. There are few mortals I'd want as vessels, and you just so happen to be the one most in need of aid"

"Well, I'm not going to be alive much longer, so you've come to the wrong place, '' Dolorem growled. The Orochi brought its vast head down to Dolorem's level. "I can help you," it offered. "Your life will be saved, and I will grant you my power. You'll need it to walk the path you're on. All I ask in return is to experience a life with you, and for the occasional favour, as mentioned." A tense silence hung in the air. Dolorem weighed up the options in his head. "By favours, do you mean taking revenge on your enemies?" He asked, his tone carefully controlled. The Orochi didn't seem annoyed by the question. "No, nothing of the sort. I've long since let go of my grudges. I had my time of rulership, and it ended, when their time is up, they too will be replaced, so is the nature of our world."

Dolorem steeled himself, he had no choice, really.

"I accept."

"Very well," The Orochi declared, now hold still." The snake opened its jaws to reveal a passage into a damp abyss, and consumed Dolorem whole. As soon as its mouth closed, Dolorem's eye snapped open, he was back in his cell, with the snake that had invaded earlier nowhere to be seen. It was pitch dark outside, and the only sound to be heard was the pained groans of prisoners. His wounds were numb, and the bleeding had ceased. The Orochi's voice echoed in his head. "You're in quite the state. My essence will heal you, but it needs time to work. Rest, for now" Dolorem was in no position to argue. He fell into a deep, dreamless slumber here and then, his body numbed and exhausted.

Dawn broke, and Dolorem opened both eyes. He felt no pain. He propped himself up, seeing a newly formed arm where he had only yesterday lost his own. The replacement was ghostly white, and had no semblance of heat coming from it, indeed, the skin had a thin, leathery quality, broken by patches of smooth, enamel-like scales. It moved and behaved as his own did, however. He was able to shakingly stand, the wound in his leg having vanished without trace. Cold vigour filled his body. It was a strength unlike anything he'd ever felt. His new hand, however, lacked the Mark of Mist. No doubt it had been removed from his severed one as soon as Solomon ordered for Dolorem to be imprisoned. He couldn't recover it with a sealing blade's wound, being unable to exercise any level of control over its power. It didn't matter, he'd take it back somehow.

Heavy footfalls approached Dolorem's cell. The guard grew wide-eyed with terror upon seeing him. Pale faced, the man drew his sword, and entered a panicked fighting stance. The man let out a cry for backup, and within seconds a thunderous advance of guards could be heard. The Orochi spoke to Dolorem. "Do you wish to kill them?" It said, in a chillingly calm manner. Dolorem's pulse raced. "Every last one." He answered. The guards were no longer his people, no longer comrades and allies of his house. They were hollow objects, slaves to Solomon's cruelty, so slothful to allow it to take root. No flesh that opposed him would be spared. "Very well," The Orochi murmured, "I'll grant you use of my accumulated jutsu, the Serpent Forms. Use them as you see fit." He took hold of the bars on his cell door, and pulled them apart, his new strength making them comparable to lengths of willow. Dolorem stepped out of the cell, and stood tall, staring his enemy in the eye. "Out of the way!" He hissed, "I don't need to hurt you." The jailor gripped his sword in both hands, and charged forth with a passionate battle-cry.

"So be it," Dolorem said.

He surged forward, delivering a deadly punch to the jailor's solar plexus. The force of the impact caving in his breastplate, and creasing the wearer. The jailor flew back, tumbling across the floor, apparently lifeless, leaving a trail of vermillion streaks on the stone floor. More soldiers poured into the hallway, weapons drawn and bloodlust in their eyes. Dolorem wove hand seals, instinctively now, borrowing The Orochi's knowledge. His eyes became slit-pupiled, and the irises a muddy yellow. He could sense the movements of everyone in the building, placing both hands on the ground, he pinpointed their locations, preparing himself.

He'd need a weapon. He sank his teeth into the guard's throat, venom flowing into his opened artery. He turned ash-grey and collapsed in an instant. He rushed through the hall, bounding from wall to ceiling, biting and tearing a bloodied swathe through his enemies. He already knew their positions, he needed only to reach them. The last thing the advancing platoon saw was the half-white face of a man become dæmon, with cold, indifferent eyes. There was no hesitation anymore, only mercy in a swift death.

When all of the guards lay dead, Dolorem returned to Lilith's cell. Lilith herself was huddled against the opposite wall, rattled by the bloodshed that had just played out in front of her. Dolorem ripped the cell door off its hinges. He went over to her, and knelt down. Lilith was wide-eyed with shock. She barely recognised the person in front of her, Dolorem's face had been warped to the point it barely resembled its original form. One side was close to the original, albeit pale and drawn. The other, however, was translucent, pure white, and beneath the skin was burgeoning growth of fine scales. His eyes were serpentine, emotionless, but framed by a face of concern. The most shocking thing was his mouth, a crimson waterfall now dried, headed by sharpened canines. To look at this hybrid of man and monster was somewhat nauseating.

Lilith stopped herself. Dolorem was Dolorem, regardless of how he looked. His tone of voice, his comforting hand on her shoulder, he was still the person she loved. Lilith had no idea how he had changed form so drastically, nor how he was still alive, but she felt relieved nonetheless, safe.

Dolorem's breathing became shaky, and a stake of pain settled in his ribcage. He could intuit Lilith's hesitation, her fear. He couldn't think of words to comfort her, nor to explain himself. "What did they do to you?" He whispered, helping her to her feet. Lilith covered her swollen eye, startled. "Nothing serious, I'm fine. We need to leave, now." She attempted to walk but her strength failed her, she fell, but was caught by Dolorem, whose eyes were more human like again. Without a word, he put her arm around his shoulder to support her, and helped her out of the cell. Dolorem, with Lilith in tow, made his way to the prison exit. He'd need to find a safehouse, he thought, from there, Black Iron would be safest, the people were hostile to Cranswell influences.

Dolorem stepped out onto the soft, wavy grass outdoors, and breathed in the clean, dry air. From his memory, a safehouse lay buried beneath an escarpment two miles from where he was. It would be safe there for a little while, with food and medical supplies. He stopped to listen to Lilith's breathing, for signs of broken ribs. Thankfully, he found nothing concerning. Lilith raised her head, pushing away. "I can walk by myself now," she said, "where are we headed now?" Dolorem looked at her with pleading eyes. He didn't consider now the time for pride. "A safehouse, not far from here, we can hide out there." Lilith nodded. "Let's go."

The walk to the safehouse was relatively easy, the secluded nature of the facility working to their advantage. Lilith was unsteady on her feet, and Dolorem wanted to carry her, protect her, but he knew that she wouldn't like or want to be a dead weight. Her mother and father were similar, admirably self-sufficient. Once at the location, he stopped her, and surveyed the area. A patch of shortened grass signaled the location of a trapdoor, covered over with soil. He wrenched it out of place, revealing a ladder down into darkness. He gestured for Lilith to descend, as he kept watch, before following her down. Once down, he spoke a command word, and iridescent crystals illuminated around them, filling the little room with pastel-green light. Dolorem shut the trapdoor, and pulled up a stool. He left the single sleeping mat to Lilith, who didn't have the fortitude to refuse it. He set about mixing dried herbs in a flask, which he had retrieved from a footlocker in the corner. He was silent, guilty. His hands shook as he swirled the pale amber liquid.

"I'm sorry, for all of this", he gasped, beginning to lose his composure. "If I hadn't defied orders, given in to pride, none of this would have happened. You wouldn't have… " Lilith interrupted, "Stop it, you did what you thought was right, and I did the same, you helped people, but harmed tyrants. Nothing wrong with that. My actions are my own." Dolorem finished mixing his herbal tonic. "I know what I've become, Lilith, I'm not… a normal person anymore. I understand the sentence that is for you, as heiress to your own house. Here, drink this," he said, offering her the brew. She drank it in one draught, then was silent for a moment. "What do you mean? You've proven your integrity, loyalty and strength of arms, I doubt it matters what you are to my people, much less me." She was avoiding the subject of his physical changes. Dolorem decided to end the tense silence. "I've made a pact with The Orochi, Lilith. It's the reason I'm still here. I want you to know that."

Lilith looked over at him "A warlock?" She asked. Dolorem shook his head. "Vessel. We're one entity, in a sense. The terms of the pact are simply that I let him experience a mortal life through me, and I grant him favours, should it ask them of me." He looked at the floor, a weight lifted off his shoulders. Lilith said nothing for a time. Finally, after an agonizing few moments, she simply declared, "You did what you had to." There was uncertainty in her voice. "You never told me about The Orochi before, what is it?"

Dolorem felt somewhat relieved. "It's an old guardian spirit of this land, older than the Gods, there are shrines to him in a few places still. Its priests are quiet folk, hermits, mostly. Some say they were the first Shinobi, the Orochimaru. It has no interest in conquest or vengeance, just protecting its own domain."

"There are worse sorts of things to have pacts with, I suppose." Lilith said. "No matter, really. I'm still in charge of you, whether The Orochi likes it or not" Dolorem smiled for the first time in days. "I doubt even The Orochi would risk fighting you, dear."

That night, Dolorem kept watch as Lilith slept. He had become aware of how slow his pulse was, how he needn't breathe so quickly. It was strange. The Orochi's voice returned to him. "You're strange, Dolorem," it mused. "How is it that you worry about what people think? Did you not cheat death by making this pact, did you not become strong? Why worry about the opinions of those who are weaker than you?" Dolorem had to think hard about his answer. "Power isn't everything, people come first." He offered. The Orochi seemed unimpressed. "Opinions die with their holders, and the holders don't live that long, what's the point in letting such a thing hold you back?" It began to lecture. Dolorem became somewhat annoyed. "I don't expect you to understand." The weight of Dolorem's situation hit him. His parents were dead, and he couldn't even retrieve the bodies for a decent burial. Grief, shame, anger, they all churned and swirled within him. It felt like a frigid storm in his chest. Hours passed of repeating thoughts, should haves, could haves, all multiplying, folding in on one another. Dolorem had to take refuge in dreamless sleep eventually, before that storm consumed him.

Lilith was plagued by bizarre dreams that night, a vast tundra, under a scarlet sky. In her arms, she held a bundle of red rags, swaddling a nest of crows. On the horizon, thousands of draugr approached, pale hands clutching corroded weapons, corroded armour hanging on creaking bones. Silent in their advance, the cortege approached. Lilith couldn't move, as bitter, cutting winds swirled about her. The chicks within the nest all looked up at her with terrified, hungry faces. Hopeless terror threatened to drown her.

She jolted awake, in a cold sweat. The safehouse was silent and still, the crystals set in the wall still softly glowing. Dolorem was on the floor, curled in a ball, asleep. His breathing was silent. Lilith felt her own breaths racing, her heart pounding. Slowly, she relaxed, slowing it down. No matter how vivid, dreams were just that. Uneasiness clawed at her. So much had changed, in so little time. She dragged the sleeping mat and blanket across the floor, beside Dolorem and threw the blanket over the two of them. Dolorem didn't seem to stir. Nonetheless his body heat was comforting. The pale light accentuated his snakelike features, sickly emerald glow illuminating scales of purest white. The rest of the night passed without incident, Lilith managing to fall asleep once more.

In the morning, Dolorem woke up first. He decided it best to let Lilith sleep longer, and so gently turned her over, before leaving through the trapdoor, looking for a body of water to wash the grime and dirt off in. Luckily, a stream wound its way about the area, not two hundred feet from the trapdoor. Dolorem went to the bank, and knelt. In the undulating glass of the river-water, he saw his new reflection for the first time. It was so alien to see this warped version of himself that at first he didn't believe it was him. "I sense your unease," said the voice of The Orochi. "Understand that my repair of your body was done for survival, and with limited time. There's a healed layer beneath your current skin now, it looks more…. normal." Dolorem looked at his scaled arm. "I shed this one, I presume?"

He picked at the scales, searching for a weak point. They were like leather, lacking any kind of elasticity. "Stones, Dolorem, sharp ones," said The Orochi. It was somewhat impatient in its tone. Dolorem searched the riverbank, finding a reasonably angular candidate. He found a sort of seam along the inner side of his arm, where the thicker scales of his upper arm met the finer ones of his forearm. Pinching the skin, he made a little incision. It was painless, like dead skin being removed. The sight of his own skin being removed sent a cold chill through Dolorem. Once a breach point was established, the rest tore off with relative ease. The skin beneath the scales was a humanlike pink. Raw, and stinging in the cold air, but undamaged, clean. The pain soon subsided, his skin taking on a more natural tone.

Once the skin of his arm and face were shed, the rest was thin, and came off in vast swathes. Dolorem stripped off, and got into the river. The cold of the river water knocking the breath from him, the frigid water almost burning his pristine skin, feeling somewhat nauseous. He saw his reflection, now human. It made him more uncomfortable than what now lay in shreds on the surface of the water. The cold seeped into his bones, and Dolorem felt deeply miserable suddenly. He had made a deal with an entity he didn't understand, and an enemy of the most powerful family in the continent. The weight of the future was almost too much to bear.

Once satisfied he was clean, Dolorem got out of the river and dried himself off with his shirt. It was in rags anyway. Safehouses usually had clothes stashed in them. Lilith poked her head out from the trapdoor as he returned. She smiled when he came into view. "I was worried you'd done a runner!" she joked. "No such luck!" shouted Dolorem, "Just needed to wash off" Lilith hauled herself out of the subterranean room. "Of course, fugitive and apparent vessel of some ancient deity, Dolorem decides a bath is his first priority!" she said, laughingly. "Your complexion looks…"

"Human?" Dolorem cut in. "Yes, I can now shed my skin, as it happens." Lilith looked up into the empty sky for a moment, speechless. "Of course, why not, as if this whole… thing wasn't strange enough!" Dolorem couldn't tell if Lilith was joking or serious. Lilith didn't really either. She had adopted a philosophy of "it is what it is" to cope with the situation. Still, this tested her limit.

"So, is that choice of attire for my benefit, or do you need something more to go with it?" she said. Dolorem suddenly turned brick red. "Oh, uhh, yes?" He stuttered, his signature composure disintegrated in an instant. Dolorem never liked to feel exposed in any sense, especially literally, despite his well defined, lithe frame. He darted down in the direction of the trapdoor, his cheeks burning. Lilith decided it best to leave him for a while. There was only so far you could go with this sort of thing before it became malicious.

Dolorem returned a few minutes later wearing a beige open-collar robe, the sort hunters often wore, and a brown sash. His obi was coiled in a knapsack. A longsword in a plain black scabbard hung at his left hip, and a belt pouch at his right. In his arms he held a bundle of clothes meant for Lilith. He held them up sheepishly. Lilith took them, holding them up with a mix of curiosity and disgust. "These are… " she began. "I'm aware", finished Dolorem "but they will help us avoid trouble, you know, blend in." He said. "No, no I understand that much," Lilith cut in, "but I'd be better off in a man's outfit, a monk or something. Lawmen will be looking for a man and a woman, but a holy man and his bodyguard, who'd bother stopping them?"

"Open infiltration," mused Dolorem, "good idea, actually, I'll see what I can do!"

Minutes later, Lilith stood in the attire of a monk, grinning out from under the wide brim of a woven bamboo hat. "How do I look?" she asked. Dolorem took a moment to consider his answer. "Holy…?" He offered. "It'll do", Lilith said "Now, where to? This thing smells like a someone died in it"

"Black Iron", Dolorem replied.