Darkening Path 1:B Torture.

Iaden, who seemed a born defender, walked some steps ahead of Seyashen and Mia'alhim- he kept saying that it was so that whatever possible trouble makers there were could meet his blade first- but Seyashen had a feeling that Mia's joy at prattling about her afterlife wanderings with her beloved brother was a bit too much for the bereft spirit to handle.

Seyashen had often been harrowed by spirits who had lost loved ones and could do nothing more than howl their loss to the winds. While he'd often longed for their silence, he'd rarely actually listened to their tales of pain- at least not since he'd been a small child. Back then, there had been little he could have done for any of them, but that did not stop tale after tale of murder, injustice, hatred, bitterness-

"Por qué me dejaste?" Mia asked suddenly, the question ripping Seyashen out of his reverie.

"I-"

"Better tell the truth," Iaden counseled. It had been more of a mumble than an actual comment, but it carried with it the weight of experience.

"-was afraid," Seyashen finished breathlessly, having changed his sentence mid-thought. "I was doing a lot of damage. I wasn't sure why."

"Nunca me hizo nada. Siempre me amaba, y te extrañaba tanto, tanto, tanto que ni siquiera quería cantar."

"That's- I'm- very sorry," Seyashen managed, winded by the thought of a tune-less Mia. "I should have explained-"

"You should have stayed," Iaden scoffed. Yet again, it seemed as though he was almost talking to himself. Seyashen would have taken deep offense, had he not been struck with the unshakable idea that Iaden had given Mi'ishaen about as much notice about his departure as he had given Mia'alhim.

"Yes, I should have stayed. I should have waited for Mother to get a hold of those wizards, sorcerers and clerics she was so frantically trying to entice across war torn borders," Seyashen replied, more for Iaden's benefit than Mia's. "A few more acid burns, a few more spontaneous combustion cases, a few more violent sicknesses-"

"A few more burned houses, a few more heads on pikes, a few more terrified children disappearing under the outspread wings of the dragons," Iaden huffed. "But the choice was made. Now, the cost."

"What else is there left to pay?" Seyashen demanded, stopping to put a confused-looking Mia down behind him. Grass sprung up the moment her feet touched the scorched land he'd left in his wake. "Not only did I lose my family, other people lost bits of theirs- fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, friends- that I poisoned. That had their flesh rotted off their bones by my touch, my glance, or just my presence. My mother was afraid- I was afraid! You don't know what that was like!"

And Iaden stopped sharply, planting his bastard sword into the ground with one hand. The ground rippled as though it were water, and the grass around him- in a perfect circle about five feet in diameter- died instantly. Mia winced, having never witnessed Iaden's temper before. Seyashen backed up a step in spite of himself.

"I don't know what fear is like? Isha was hardly five when I was forcibly taken out of the house. I constantly worried that the elite would take her away in the night. I was afraid they would hold her captive, like they did to my mother while my father was forced to be their instrument behind enemy lines. I feared that she, the trusting soul she'd been in those days, wouldn't be able to put up a proper fight for her honor when the time came. I dreaded the day that the empire would sanction my death and seize my home. Or worse, I feared that I'd live, that I'd actually survive the war that was supposed to last another ten years, only to recognize my little sister in some flimsy courtesan getup, staring at me, branding my inability to save her into my hide as though I were a bought sow. But I never, not even once, feared my own blade. Even when I probably should have- when it was as big as I was. Once I learned the pommel from the pointy end, I never kept myself up at night, horrified that I'd accidentally make someone bleed."

As he spoke, a brilliant crimson flow sprung up like summoned blood from the ground pierced by his sword. It oozed, then grew and trickled, then grew again and ran headlong into the dark river that seemed to be swelling and pushing at its banks- when one flow hit the other, a furious and acrid smelling cloud arose. Seyashen found that he had to close his eyes and cover his nose with his clothing, and when he groped around, calling with a choked voice for Mia, he was unable to find her.

"Did you forget, big brother?" a thundering voice seemed to say from all directions at once. "No matter how long you run, you can never escape your weakness. You willingly gave away what had to be ripped out of Iaden's hands by force. Mia'alhim mourned you for the rest of her life, because YOU LEFT HER."

"I was only trying to protect-" Seyashen began.

"He'll never be a proper wizard, Imei'ishi. You know that."

Seyashen tried to look around himself, but there was nothing but darkness and the hissing of a strange wind. He blinked and tried to dispel his blindness, but slowly began to realize that he had no control over it this time.

"I'm sorry, Mei, I just can't take him on- he's nothing like you were."

He felt a shove to his right shoulder, and stumbled a few steps, only to be shoved again from another direction. Dry branches raked their way across his face, and he put his hands out to try to tell where he was going.

"A necromancer? Not in this college, sweetheart. Go back to the fields and graze."

With this, he was pushed to the ground, and began to feel stones hitting him. Without being able to see where the stones were coming from, he would turn his back to one and get caught squarely in the face or chest with another. Soon, he simply rolled up in a ball, hoping that whoever was stoning him would give up and go away.

"You need a cleric, not a sorcerer- that's a thing possessed."

"-he's practically a warlock."

"-completely out of control-"

"Where are you? Seyashen! Answer me!"

Nearly drowned out by all the other howling voices in the darkness, Iaden's sharp tenor was more felt than actually heard. It was a shock wave that pushed the breath out of Seyashen's lungs like a solid hit to the lower back.

"His spells practically cast themselves- he won't even admit why."

"Death touches some of us more deeply than others-"

"Here I am," Seyashen managed, knowing his voice was far too soft.

"Psh, they should have hung him too, solved both your problems at once."

"Okay, what little of this cursed tongue I've got left- dónde estás? Seyashen? C'mon, contésteme!"

Iaden's pronounced Common accent either spoke to the infrequency of Infernal's usage in Vor Kragal or perhaps someone's insistence that Iaden did not speak to the family with the language that was essentially a patois of Thorass- the native Human language that had long since been overtaken by newer, easier, younger languages- and Abyssal. Seyashen, still being struck from all sides, began reviewing the phrases being thrown at him in all four major languages of Bael Turath. He didn't struggle at all when he felt the burning sensation of rough rope being shoved over his head and fitted to his neck.

"-fit to be burned-"

"-awful waste of magicka-"

"-delusional-"

"-nothing anyone can do-"

"By Baator- what are you doing?"

The power of Iaden's voice grew exponentially. It pushed Seyashen out of his ball and onto his face, which he thought would have meant he fell face forward onto the ground. But instead, there was a grim awareness that there was no ground in front of him, and that the rope was tightening.

"Seyashen!"

Under Iaden's voice jagged Imei'ishi's horrified scream, and the kinetic strength was enough to put a visible crack in what apparently was a solid darkness- a thin, but hopeful sliver of light pushed its way through to Seyashen's baffled eyes.

"You're giving up?" the warrior's voice rumbled, now slicing through the darkness as though it were a solid weapon.

Seyashen took one arm away from his chest and tentatively raised it upward- sure enough, the rope was solid.

"Well, fine, do it then!"

The rope pulled taut, causing Seyashen to sputter and gag for a few moments before he realized that he could actually see Iaden, far below him, crossing his arms over his chest at the foot of a leafless tree. In the true past, Imei'ishi's scream had been enough to prompt one of his older half-siblings to come racing out of the house in time to shoot the rope with her bow. But in the Axis of Afflux, there was no one but sword-toting Iaden, who was not only clearly annoyed, but also simply much too far down to do any good.

"Go on, it's a lovely act," Iaden continued, turning around and putting his back on the tree. "You're not guilty or sorry or even remotely upset about anyone else you hurt, you're so stuck on yourself and your big, hairy problems, oh, woe-is-you. No one is going to throw you flowers, you bloody pageant prancer, now either get down, or go on and gag."

Above Seyashen's head, there was a soft sizzling sound. He'd stopped gagging and had firmly clenched the fist above him, pursing his face into a glower with the chill of the grave. He was positively furious with Iaden for insinuating that he cared more about himself than about the very people he was trying to protect from his-

But, the ungraceful descent, punctuated by a solid thump on the ground just to the left of Iaden, completely interrupted his train of thought. He blinked, shaken and confused, bringing down his hand to look at it as though he'd never seen it before. Iaden, non-plussed, easily reached over and roughly yanked the acid-eaten noose up and over Seyashen's head.

"Good, well that decision's made," he sighed, getting up, tossing away the rope and rolling his shoulders. "I didn't care for the players in Kragal, either, so don't take that too hard. I even booed my own father off the stage, when I got the chance to see him. What the blazes a fairly adept juggler was doing with a bunch of terrible actors he has yet to explain to me- there's your river, damn you, want to try drowning?"

Seyashen, who took a few more moments to ponder what had just happened before he got up, failed to comment on Iaden's easy, yet heavy swing from consolation to bitterness. Fabulous communication skills clearly were the mark of this side of the family. Mia was still nowhere to be seen, and Seyashen sighed heavily, figuring he would not see her again.

The two walked in silence after that, neither one willing to break the uneasy peace between them. Iaden did actually sheathe his weapon, and walked next to Seyashen instead of in front of him, so Seyashen figured that this was as close to an actual accord as the two of them would ever get. After some time of this, the landscape began to change. The dark river, which had widened, deepened and slowed a great deal, ran out into a wasteland where every tree was stark, dark and bare, springing up from the cracked, parched ground to thrust furious, accusatory claws into the sunset painted sky. Yet, at the bases of these trees floated torn pages from various books and essays- most of which seemed familiar, from what Seyashen got a chance to read. Capricious dust-filled winds blew the pages about, easily pushing pages away from his curious fingers.

"What are you trying to do, anyway?" Iaden finally sighed when Seyashen sustained a paper cut in the effort to keep a page from being ripped away from his hands. "Feel like building a library out here?"

"Well, that was a bit of Practical Soul Artistry, and the one before that was The Definitive Collection of Blights and Diseases-" Seyashen began rather sheepishly, sticking his wounded finger into his mouth. "And before that, I think it was a piece of Wudgoff's works- Annals of the Deep or something- I never remember that title-"

"Heh, magic workers. You and your books," Iaden scoffed, moving along indifferently. "Can't fill a belly or kill a body with a book."

"If the book were heavy enough, I'm sure it could kill," Seyashen volleyed, raising an eyebrow. "I take it you don't set much store by reading."

"I don't read at all," Iaden shrugged. What sounded normal to him was like the greatest of curses for the hornless Tiefling that fell slightly behind him in response to his answer.

"What do you mean you don't read?" Seyashen asked innocently. "You must. I mean, you're in charge of the name erasing, right?"

"I don't need to be able to read the name to rip it out," Iaden chuckled, as though he'd been tickled by a good joke. "Noc'mala's enough. I dig her in, I twist her, I pull back, bang. Done. And if I don't get the heart the first time, well, I just keep digging until I do. There was one awfully fat lord-"

"You take their names with the sword? That makes no sense," Seyashen interjected.

"Look, I don't know how I got to Avernus. I don't know what god decided to put my sword back in my hands, and I don't know how they got her to tear away memory away from the soul like she does. But I tell you, she does. I've seen it. I wouldn't have been convinced that it was my sword, if I hadn't felt the heft of it. Soon as I picked her up, it was like she never left my hands- I said to myself, 'This is really Noc'mala.' But even before I swung her the first time, she said- and it's the first time I've ever been spoken to by a weapon, mind you- she said, 'Rise; defend.' Some things were strange at first, but I've gotten used to them."

"I don't think- ouch!" Seyashen exclaimed, squinting as he received another paper cut. "That one was Hoop of Darkflame, I'm sure of it."

"What is the point of-"

But the question dried up in Iaden's mouth as both he and Seyashen beheld a spiked tree that grew up from the center of the dark river. It bore silvery white leaves so brilliant that it was difficult to look at, and instead of fruit, was filled with books.

"What madness is this?" Iaden whispered, taken aback.

"Well, there's the library, since you asked so nicely," Seyashen smirked, forgetting his paper cuts. He waded out into the dark waters, and as though it knew what he was coming for, the tree bent slightly so that one particular book was within reach. "To Conquer the Divide- this one's banned, I'm told. Trying to get a hold of it in the Dragonborn camp-"

"You lived with Dragonborn?" Iaden interrupted.

"It was- not my brightest moment," Seyashen admitted. "I figured they would kill me."

"Oh, so you wouldn't have to go through the trouble of refitting the noose, eh? Lazy," Iaden commented simply, planting his sword and leaning on it. Seyashen, saving the barbed comment for later, found himself mildly worried that the ground would again respond to the memory-stealing blade, but it did not.

"Anyway, it's very difficult to acquire. It's filled with all sorts of necromantic study, and according to most scholars, it's also complete balderdash. Put together by Sul Byn-Aarak, who's rumored to be a lich-"

"Well, if he's a lich, then the book's not complete balderdash," Iaden laughed. "The part about becoming undead by accident is probably right."

"It wouldn't have been by accident," Seyashen smiled, flipping through a few pages. "He's brilliant. I've studied a great deal of his writing. Most mages are scared to touch the covers, but there's nothing inherently evil about the man. I wonder where he got all his subjects from- probably not in very nice ways, but-"

"My trapping methods are in the appendix, of course," an ethreal voice replied from the book. Iaden wasted no time in picking the book out of Seyashen's hands and tossing it into the water, and from it sprung the image of Sul Byn-Aarak- who did look rather lich-like. "A fine hello," the image commented to the unmoved warrior.

"I'm even better at goodbyes," Iaden immediately quipped, pulling his sword out of the dirt.

"Fascinating how mundane creatures, even departed ones, think that they can be rid of the magical by brute strength alone," the image sighed with a note of weariness. "Begone, simpleton; your betters are speaking."

"Just because he hasn't read-" Seyashen began calmly.

"He can't read," Sul cut in sharply. "Nor can he write, nor cipher; it's amazing he can stand upright, as far as I'm concerned."

"Be thou prepared for still more amazement, m'lord, because the monkey's about the make the magician disappear," Iaden hissed.

"And this is why I advocate the unquestioned command of the dead," Sul continued as though he'd been having a genuine conversation with Seyashen. With a wave of his hand, he compelled Iaden to plant his sword back in the ground and kneel behind it with his head bowed. "Now, that's better, isn't it?"

"But that's just inviting him to attack, once the spell wears off," Seyashen suggested. "Even the best calm spell can only work for so long, and unless your turning abilities are a match for him-"

"Why just calm when you can enthrall?" Sul smiled easily. When he moved from the river toward Iaden, Seyashen realized that he was floating like a ghost. "Give me time, and this angry little creature can be yet another useful tool."

"Spirits aren't to be played with," Seyashen retorted, now worried about his cousin. "They have wants and needs, just like they did when they were still in a body. In fact, without their flesh, their wants even become sharper- they become reasons to continue to exist, and should be addressed properly. It's unwise to force them to ignore that which is compelling them to forsake what should be their blessed rest."

"How sweet- a necromancer who thinks like a cleric. Did you want to set up a little chapel? Perform some absolution for the poor departed souls with which the art-less priests can no longer communicate? I'm sure they would all enjoy talking over their colorful pasts with you- in fact, I believe they did. I believe you begged them to shut up, actually," Sul teased, yanking at the stubs of Iaden's horns. "Was that 'properly addressing' them? Is that the example that I'm supposed to follow? Behold." With a grand spread of his bony arms, Sul resurrected hundreds of moldering remains- all people Seyashen could recognize. "Here's just a fraction, about a fourth, of the people that you put in the grave all by your little self. All of these poor sops have spirits, every single one. What do you think they'd say, if you listened to them? Do you think they'd 'properly address' the necromancer who stopped the air in their throat or forced them to vomit themselves to death, hmm?"

"I would hear them, if they spoke to me, but they haven't." Seyashen looked across the faces and sighed deeply. "I wish they would. I sat on the graves of some of these people daily. I waited for them to condemn me, to do me some harm, but they never did. The few that did speak just kept describing other planes to me, asking me about their families, or trying to counsel me on various problems. After a while, I started carrying messages and taking notes."

Sul's face, which really was little more than a skull with skin stretched taut over it, creaked uneasily into a grin. "No, no, no, my boy. These things don't talk any sense; why would you pay them that much attention?"

"You don't talk to all those spirits you call back into life?" Seyashen wanted to close his eyes, but frowned and decided to look Sul dead in his glowing red eyes. "What would you say if I told you that death knights actually warn people about impending danger?"

"Death knights warning people?" Sul echoed incredulously. "Certainly not; they're mindless. Every death knight I've ever seen has been someone's thrall- isn't this one yours?"

"Thank you," Seyashen nodded. "I appreciate your time. I believe I'll pass on reading this last book of yours."

Sul spread his arms again, but Seyashen stood absolutely still, knowing that not a single one of them would move to strike him.

"Iaden?"

And as though he were breaking out of a shell, the warrior twisted his body away from Sul and stood up, breathing deeply.

"Just making conversation, Iaden," Seyashen said quietly. "What were you really thinking of doing with that book you tossed in the water?"

And with a short, sharp nod, Iaden walked right into the dark water, took his bastard sword in his left hand and drove it through the center of the discarded book. Sul crumpled instantly. "I don't got the class for conversation, so I figured I'd just show you," Iaden spat.

"A lich is only as strong as his phylactery- which is just a planned focus. The fact that you prepared your focus before you died, as opposed to being chained to unfinished business like other spirits, just makes you one step more advanced- and mildly masochistic, according to most happily departed spirits. You did, however, teach me something I didn't know about the undead, and I appreciate that." Seyashen walked over to Iaden's side and held out his hand, and Iaden promptly picked up his sword, whose tip was still buried in the book. "You're going to want to become better friends with all of them, Sul. It's not that they were people with wants, needs, likes and dislikes- they still are. And no one likes being insulted."

Seyashen put a single finger onto the book, which instantly began to hiss and dissolve into a foul smelling putty. Predictably, Sul wailed in agony. Iaden turned toward him, sword again in just one hand, and Seyashen stood in awe as the hilt of the sword sprouted metal roots that sunk deeply into his cousin's arm, pushing a metalic sheen over his skin and through his veins. Iaden's naturally dark brown and red eyes slowly gained silver streaks, and by the time the warrior sliced Sul's head clean from his shoulders with a bladed backhand, Seyashen had regained his composure and held a new respect for his illiterate relative.

"I don't think it was your sword who spoke to you, Iaden," he said quietly, turning slightly to watch the undead that Sul had raised burst into clouds of dust that quickly blew away in the dry, but playful wind. "May I have a look at it?"

"Noc'mala," Iaden corrected, turning toward Seyashen and extending his arm. As he did, the metal pulled out of him, leaving no trace of damage behind. "My father brought her back for me when he visited Vor Kragal for the first time. He knew what I'd be when I grew older, just didn't like that it happened so soon."

"This is enchanted," Seyashen noted, looking at the broad base. "This symbol sliced in Gutteral- it means Lethe-"

"Wasn't on there before. I never would have carved anything into her base like that- would have seemed painful to me," Iaden smirked. "I kind of had a thing for her- loved her better than any female."

"Where did you find her again?" Seyashen asked, turning to follow the river again. Behind him, Iaden returned Noc'mala to her place on his back.

"She was growing out of the ground, like a tree, through this pool of blood," Iaden replied simply. "It was beautiful.  When I put my hand to her, something knocked me back. Then she said what she did- rise and defend. And when I turned, I got up, pulled her out- that's when I knew it was her- and just did work. This is the quietest she's been in a while now."

"What if she wasn't the one who spoke to you?" Seyashen asked off handedly. "What if it was a powerful, but non-aggressive, servant of Asmodeus?"

"It's you with the book learning, not me," Iaden shrugged. "I have Noc'mala back in my hands and I'm not mouldering, cold in a grave with no purpose left. I take what's given to me, and it's enough. Start going all analytical on things, this place is what happens because of it. I wouldn't create a place like this for myself."

"I didn't create this place either," Seyashen argued. "It's the Axis of Afflux, it was here before."

"You don't get it," Iaden groaned. "How can you read and write and study so much and still not get it? This place, this Axis of Afflux, is nothing more than the crossing point of everything that hurts you."

"So you're saying Afflux made this place up to torture me?" Seyashen shot back. "I should hope a god would have better things to do with its time."

"He didn't make this place up. You made this place up, and he's put you in it to watch you make yourself suffer. Haven't you ever heard 'No blade cuts deeper-' "

" '-than your own.' " Seyashen huffed for a few moments, looking back at his paper cuts, which were still bleeding as though they had just been received. "The Axis of Afflux, nothing but me hurting myself, is that it? Then why are you here? I've never even met you before."

And in a weary tone worthy of an old veteran, Iaden replied, "You're not the only one being tortured."