Arc 5 (Continental): Hearts, Minds, and Souls

[warl0rd13]

Silias frowned and moved up a bit "Odd, most warbands don't use corrals, take too much time to set up and they prefer to keep moving, not to mention that a boar can break through most without too much of a problem."

He took a quick look at the surrounding area "That being said, it makes thing easier for us for two reasons; the first is that it'll be much easier to get them out, we only have to make them angrier than usual. The second is that they are next to a river, we'll be able to direct the direction of out improvised stampede, mostly."

[Brihentin13]

Onirix

Onirix frowned. Berinon wasn't taking being dead very well, although, in retrospect, who could be expected to handle such a thing calmly? At this juncture, Onirix noticed the rather...famished expressions of his ghostly companions. The wizard had to do something to before a buffet started.

As if I needed another reason to kill Jalhalla.

"Alright, let's get a few things cleared up here. We have a mission here. Berinon has become one of our allies on said mission, whether he likes it or not. An attack on one of our allies constitutes an attack on the entire group. Therefore, Captain Fatso over here needs to find something else to eat!"

Onirix could barely contain his anger. The absurdity of it all was beyond him. He would preserve the team and the mission if he had to kill half of it to do so.

"What happens if we fight, big guy? Maybe the combined power of Hyrule's greatest wizards defeats you, or, maybe, you win. Now, you're weakened and alone.Then, a bunch of angry Sheikah come in and clean up the mess, stuffing your ridiculously oversized body into a comically tiny bottle. Then, you're back to square one, locked in some awful temple for all eternity, twiddling your ethereal thumbs as you keep thinking to yourself, "Man, I should have gone along with the team that wanted to help me."

Onirix sighed. He'd threatened Jalhala once and it hadn't worked. He certainly had better leverage this time, but maybe threats just weren't the way to go. Jalhalla was clearly off his rocker, much like the mad mage himself, so the usual pants-wetting fear that could usually be elicited in common scum might not be forthcoming. If force wouldn't work, Onirix needed some other form of persuasion.

Okay, think. Jalhalla is kind of like us. Fear doesn't work on crazy people, but even crazy people want things. If security from terrible violence isn't the thing, then what is?

Well, we want revenge.

And unlimited power!

Ooh, and women.

First immortality, then, the ladies!

Well, I doubt he wants ladies. He's dead, and grossly unattractive.

And fat. Don't forget fat!

Eh, I only make fun of that because I hate him. I'd be fat too, if I didn't have to survive on a ninety-percent ghoma diet. Man, I could use some ghoma right now. I love ghoma. Oh, Termina, that's it! I want ghoma, he wants souls! Wow, our life is morbid.

"Besides, even if you're fatalistic enough that your freedom isn't good enough for you, there's better nourishment for you if you don't try to devour the poor old man. Think about it. I'm letting a variety of things out, all over this temple. That means the living, Stalfos, shadow beasts, experiments that defy categorization, and, of course," Onirix smiled, "poes! Delicious, delicious poes of all shapes and sizes! You can have one measly old man now, no offense, Berinon, followed by a fight that you may win or lose, followed by certain imprisonment, or, you can be a good ghost and have an all-you-can-catch buffet. Besides, think big picture! There's a whole world out there, full of food! But you know that you can't get to that food unless you play nice! That's right! The Sheikah beat you once, and they can do it again, but, together, we can beat them!"

Onirix sincerely hoped that his negotiation skills had improved enough to keep the team together. The last thing they needed was an unnecessary fight.

[Dragus]

Lord Andromalius remained quiet as his allies conversed, but partially shifted his attention from the shadowy dungeon ahead and began to glance sideways at Jalhalla. It would be preferable if those he traveled with refrained from harming each other until their raid upon the Shadow Temple was completed. Allying with the denizens sealed within the temple had powerful advantages, but situations like these were also possible.

If things truly came to blows, Andromalius silently deduced that allying with Onirix would be of greater advantage. Though the combat value of Jalhalla was greater than that of Berinon in regards to completing their strike through the temple, Onirix was a longer-term player and his continued long-term friendship and contributions in the surface world were of greater value than a short-term alliance with the large ghost for the current task.

The purple-eyed Hylian continued to say nothing, but now fully turned from the corridor ahead and began to stare silently at Jalhalla from behind Onirix.

[gaiachild]

Eisenherz

His searching gaze following Kalian's guide, Eisenherz soon spotted the corral as well.
Narrowing his eyes in order to make a rough estimation on how many animals the Blins held, they widened in surprise when the Hylian discovered something else instead.

"Merciful goddesses. I think we have just found the honourable lord..."

For down there in the animal pens, away from the giant boars and instead stuck with much smaller cattle, even from the distance one could make out the shape of a human creature bound to a wooden pole, left to sit in the mud like a barnyard animal.

[Mewjora]

Jalhalla

The massive poe let out rolls of laughter from the mad mage's threats. "Do what you will little one. I do not fear the Sheikah's refuse. Oh yes, I know your past. I know what you are and what you are not." He shifted his body to float upwards so that his head would be on level with Onirix, looking him straight in the eye.

"If you insist on keeping me from your little ghost friend, I am more than happy to oblige. As long as you give me something else to eat, as I am getting rather famished after this whole ordeal with the paintings."

Jalhalla turned to the exit. "Shall we find some Shiekah souls instead?"

Legato

Legato floated over to meet Jalhalla. "Do not start the hunt yet, brother. We need to find 'Him' first."

Returning to the group, Legato addressed Onirix. "Do not listen to Jalhalla, my boy. He has been in a cage far to long and does not know of what he speaks. However, it is most definitely in our best interest that we do not linger with him hungry for long." Noticing that Jalhalla was straining to listen to his words, Legato turned and waved in a rather unsure manner. Turning back to Onirix he finished his statement. "We need to move."

[Dragus]

Andromalius continued to remain quiet, though he inwardly found the ghost's agreement to be most welcome. With any possible internal conflicts settled, he was ready to proceed just as Legato had recommended.

"With the keys in hand, we can finish our attack now." He stated, ready to move onward and assist both the mad mage and the poe, who had been both friend and foe on many an occasion.

[Nergali]

Shadow Temple

Drip… drip…

* * *

Berinon considered what they were saying. Moving on was one thing, but if they could manage to keep this obesity incarnate on a short leash, staying here would be rather tempting. He could travel the world, witness what he had missed over who knew how many countless centuries. The people to talk to, the places to see! Oh it was all so very tempting indeed - no longer would he be forced to merely witness such things in his dreams, he could experience them all in real life… er undeath, but the point remained the same nonetheless.

It was settled then. Crossing his arms as triumphantly as any old man cold, Berinon stated his intentions. Whatever trepidation and worry that had once filled his voice was now nowhere to be found, replaced now by something that could only be described as courageous.

“I’ve given it some though, and if I truly am dead, then I shall choose to stay. I have suffered enough in this accursed place, and it’s about time I released some of my pent up anger- Why am I still floating upwards?!”

Indeed, as he had been giving his little speech, Berinon had continued to slowly yet steadily float higher and higher, towards the ceiling up above.

“Wait, I said I wanted to stay!” he shouted, a tinge of fear now returning to his voice. “Let me back down! How do I stop this?!”

His upward momentum was beginning to increase, as whatever forces from the beyond were making sure he passed over. Above him, the air began to shimmer like some beam of light, perhaps some entranceway to the other side… somewhere he didn’t really want to be right now. With Majora supposedly ruling it, it certainly wouldn’t be an all too pleasant a place. But why did it want him anyway? What did he have that they would… want…?

Berinon’s mind drifted back towards his paintings. Perhaps there was a good reason he’d been kept imprisoned for so long…

* * *

Drip… drip…


* * *

The air rippled once more, though this time with a tinge of darkness, of shadow, perforating it. Blackened fingers, as big around as a man’s waist, reached forth from within its depths, towards the spirit levitating upwards. Connected to them, a hand passed through the boundary, a glimmering green eye resting in the center of its palm - the abomination from before, tainted by Legato. Still connected to the realm beyond by thick strands of darkness that dangled off it like fleshy sinews, the hand rushed forward now, performing the task it had come here to perform.

* * *

Drip... drip...


* * *

A shadow passed over Berinon, and before he had even a chance to even yelp, thick, boney fingers wrapped around his midsection. Despite his newly “acquired” spectral form, whatever this thing was had little problem holding onto him, as the fingers tightened their grip. He didn’t feel any pain - he was uncertain if he could feel such sensations now - but he could certainly feel pressure, like he was being squeezed to the point that had he still been… human?… he would have certainly have been broken in two - a sensation he knew all too well and had wished hopefully to never experience again.

“Guys! Help!” he cried out to his companions, hoping for some manner of aid. He tried to bring his own fists down upon the giant fist that held him now, thinking that if it could touch him, he could touch it. What he hadn’t realized, however, was that he had not the strength nor the capability of even harming this seemingly armored flesh.

Realizing how pitiful his own attacks were, Berinon was now at the mercy of this planar tug-of-war going on about him. And then it ended just as quickly as it began. Whatever strength the original force had yielded had seemingly passed, as this shadowy hand dragged him back through its portal.

In that brief instant, after Berinon had vanished but before the portal had as well, a glimmering green eye had flashed, staring at none other than Legato. Then it too was gone, taking with it the prisoner of the paintings.

[Mattwensley]

Caiml Corlean

The walls were being overrun. Garo were cutting down Gerudo and Ordonians as they were trying to engage the Ikanians.

After pushing the Gerudo over the parapet, Caiml calmly took a lit torch from its bracket, and turned to see a Garo watching him. He raised his guard, and it hesitated. As he heard, they were more of battlefield assassins. Capable, but preferring an easy kill to an actual duel.

"I would burn Ordona to the ground before I let you have her again." And with that, he dropped the torch into the courtyard below, into a stack of jars and wood.

There was a lot of interesting items in the armoury, when they retook the fort. Hylian Steel weapons and shields that had been stored properly, and were still in a usable condition. These were handed out to the soldiers. There were also jars of pitch and oil. Caiml wasn't sure what to do with these, so left them alone. However, since the conversation with Khalwar, when she questioned his commitment and courage, a plan had formed in his mind.

The Garo dived forwards during this distraction, impaling Caiml, but it was too late. The pitch and oil lit. The wood was already smoking. The fort walls were dry, and would burn easily. Caiml slashed at the robed warrior, but it dived away. He twisted his arm and launched his sword like a javelin. Not meant to be thrown, the sword was off target up still cut whatever passed for the creature's leg. Not hesitating, the Ordonian tackled the invader off the wall, and both fell into the fire below.

[Brihentin13]

Onirix

Onirix's attempt at intimidation was met with Jalhalla's attempt at intimidation, which was met by Onirix snickering a little. If pressed, Onirix would likely admit to at least some concern over the poe's presence, but that concern was nothing compared to the absurdity of the situation and the mad mage's unfortunate tendency to deflect complex emotions with humor. Here was Jalhalla, a creature of immense power, locked away for ages by an incredibly mysterious and mighty cult of assassin-wizards. Here was Jalhalla, the terror of Hyrule, locked away so long ago that his cell label read in the auld tongue. Here was Jalhalla, the poe with the hilarious voice. Why, why in Onigami's name did he have the ridiculous voice? How was he supposed to intimidate people with the absurd voice? And the hands! The tiny, tiny hands, coming out of a fat body! Why in Termina did a being who could shift their physical form at will decide to manifest himself with an obese body and little baby hands? Did he intend to kill his foes with humor?

Oh, goddesses, he's staring right at us.

Don't laugh. Please, don't laugh.

He's going to beat us senseless again if you laugh. Don't you dare.

Don't you dare consider the absurdity of arguing with an obese ghost over eating an old man's soul.

Nor should you consider the ridiculous disconnect between his incredible power and his hilariously high-pitched voice.

And for Din's sake, don't dare to reflect upon the might of his tiny, tiny hands, which are attached to an absurdly oversized body.

Sometimes, I think you people are actually trying to kill me. Please stop.

Onirix managed to deflect his own deflection by changing the subject to anything that didn't have to do with Jalhalla's voice or body.

"Yes, that will do nicely. I shall feed you many, many Sheikah. Would you like them fried, or raw? Don't answer that, I can't actually promise what state the corpses will be in after I kill them. You just want the souls anyway, so I suppose it's a moot point. Oh, hey, Berinon, you're floating away...oh, come on!"

Onirix attempted to jump after the old timer, only to see him get pulled into an alternate dimension by some sort of hand-creature. He really had to find a way to stop that from happening to people in his vicinity.

"Bloody Termina! Why do dead people keep getting kidnapped around me? This is worse than when Caltar's corpse got stolen by that damnable Twili with the snack-cakes! At least she was dead-dead, as in, not around to worry about the body anymore. Berinon is actually still something resembling sentient, so this robbery is much more relevant! Also, the snack cake smell was much better than that of this temple, which is rather musty. They should really consider knocking out a few walls to increase the air flow."

Onirix muttered a few angry curses, then seemed to resign himself to his lot in life. He picked up the ice ring that Berinon had dropped, then placed it on his right hand, the one that he tended to punch with less. It wouldn't do to waste the object by smashing it on some poor Sheikah's skull.

"Well, bollocks. There's not a bloody thing that we can do for Berinon. Without knowing from whence that beast came, I can't teleport to him. We're just going to have to move on and hope that we come across clues as we go. Besides, if the Sheikah win, he'll just get shoved back into the painting anyway. Yes, practicality really is a wonderful virtue. Come on, let's move this party along."

Onirix frowned. He'd liked Berinon, and was rather tired of his friends getting murdered or abducted by extra-dimensional entities. Hopefully, slaughtering all of his kinsmen would mean an end to such tragedies. Then, he could have all the friends he wanted, at least until they died of old age. As a Sheikah, he'd probably outlive most folks by a few years, but that still left almost a century of time before they keeled over! Even better, if they chose to live on as poes, they could keep the friendship going indefinitely! Screw the Sacred Realm, they'd make a better one, with pancakes! Yes, everything would work out nicely! All Onirix had to do was one little act of genocide, and then the world was his oyster! Feeling better already, Onirix approached the locked door, retrieving his key piece from his pocket. With a certain spring to his step that he hadn't had since returning to the awful temple where he'd spent his youth, Onirix gleefully anticipated the grand slaughter that was to come.

"Come, comrades, genocide awaits! Oh, murder, you make everything better."

[Dragus]

Placing his hand into a pocket of his robes, Andromalius' hand rested on his key shard as well. He followed quietly alongside Onirix, heading for the locked door as well. Like Onirix, he was determined to kill their foes, though he would only feel pleasure after the task was finished rather than during. Like Onirix, he wanted to create ultimate freedom from the systems and divine machinations that be, though for his enemies it was not personal.

The two shard-holders, with a common purpose and common goals but with different motivations and different journeys to reach them, were now prepared to unlock the way forward. This of course was assuming the door wasn't simply trapped or the shards fake. They would now find out.

[TheHylianJuggalo]

***Mihkael***

He stood, gently closing the book. He peered to his side for a second, and gently jiggled the door, to ensure it was still locked.

He had to admit, while he always believed that Majora's path was truly the way, when talking to Him, Mihkael...

He shivered genty as he turned to open the door again.

...felt some sense of unease. Why? Why would he have any underlying doubt about his God, nay, one of his best friends?

Majora was there for him when his parents died.
When his factory was torched to the ground.
When his homeland was destroyed by the Three.
When he was confronted at Death Mountain.

Majora had been helping him every step of the way, more than any mortal, aside from his family and workers, ever did.

"Your will be done, Lord. Please, inform my workers to begin construction of communal facilities on the Bupherland complex, for refugees. We need to work towards building a collection of those under persecution, save them from the tyranny of the Golden ones."

At that, Mihkael pocketed the book, closing the door, and stepping away, back to the bar, where he promptly ordered another drink without a second thought.

What a life...

***Foos***

So... yeah, standing here, awkwardly waiting for something to happen. Fun times.

When, as the Cliff Lord tended to his letter, the woman came back in. So... Mihkael escaped? Well, that was better than nothing. Not his intention of course, but, fair enough, he supposed. He'd meet up with him later.

He sheathed his weapons as the others among the room stood there, when suddenly, Erika addressed him. The squeaky wooden man turned gently, his face indfferent, as he gently shrugged.

"I'll come WITH you quietly, but I'm not one for citizen's arrest, ma'am. As far as I'm aware, both you and I have the same goals here. Besides, I didn't do nothin'."

The Deku still had plenty of adrenaline pumping through him, the pine warrior jumping around furiously now, shadowboxing in the now vacant space without a care.

"Although, we may have to scratch that 'quiet' part if we do end up actually performing work together. I'm typically the type that likes to get in, get out, and make a bit of a mess in the process."

[Athreon]

Athreon

Kesaris was alive? What wonderful news! and she made it sound as though Rail had survived as well. If only she had mentioned Sierra.... alas. He could only hope she too had escaped. But for now, it was enough to know that some of his friends had survived. He thanked the postman, and sent him on his way to return to the Lizalfos, to confirm he had received the message and was eagerly awaiting her return.

The Darknut had lowered his sword as the Hylian made her announcement. Mihkael had.... escaped? Well, that certianly did change things, didn't it.... after a moment, he turned his sword down and put the tip in the wood, still held ready, but not threatening for a moment.

"..... it is not my duty to pursue a criminal nor heathen, but rather to return to my home as quickly as possible, that we might accomplish our goal. Once we report this incident to the law, and determine what to do with this Deku, we will be travelling South for a day's march. Is everyone ready to travel?"

~~~~~~~~~~
Mariel, the scorched leaf

The Kokiri smiled and gently shook her head. "Actually, I haven't really gotten to know much about you. Other than... you heal people? With magic? How do you do that?"

[warl0rd13]

Stabber

Well, this was all unexpected. But ,outside of Mihkael being revealed as a cultist, virtually all of it was very welcome.

Seeing that all hostility had more or less ended the Ikanian sheathed his weapons and stood at ease.

"Ready to move on your order sir."

All seemed fine, but there was one thing left to see to in order to ensure things would go more smoothly. With that in mind Stabber strode towards Corcoro, who had been silent for most of the fighting.

"Hey, how are you holding up?" he asked in a emphatic tone.

[Nergali]

Shadow Temple

Drip… drip…


* * *

With murder-fueled dreams of Sheikah armageddon dancing inside their heads, our brave troupe of heroes made their way down the dingy hallways, carefully stepping over cracked bits of shattered tile and around the two statuesque monstrosities that had followed one of them out of the paintings. They had the key shards now, and with them they could finally progress onwards into the deeper, darker depths of this accursed temple, and bring themselves ever closer to accomplishing their goals. Surely more dangers would be awaiting them ahead, but working together, there could be no doubt on their success.

Shards now out and in hand, the two painting delvers stepped forth before the great stone slabs that awaited at the end of the hallway. The doorway appeared featureless, save for a thin crease down the middle that no doubt indicated where the stones would pull apart. Oddly, there was no indication of a keyhole anywhere. How were the shards supposed to open this Sheikah contraption.

The answer proved to be a most unexpected one. As soon as Onirix and Andromalius stepped before the doorway, the two shards in their hands flew forth from their grips, soaring towards the stone… and then through it? Indeed, the shards vanished without a trace, passing through the stone as if it were water, only without a ripple to be seen. A grinding sound arose then, from behind the rock, growing louder as unseen mechanisms began to shift into place. The passage before them was opening, it would seem.

And then the illusion vanished.

Gone was the stone slabs, replaced by a complex-looking contraption that was half-door, half-mechanical device. Golden trimmed stonework, in the image the Sheikah eye, made up the surface of the door, but it was not what drew the focus of those who now stood before it. A human skeleton lay embedded in the center of the door, bones carved with intricate little runes, similar to those the group had seen on other Sheikah artifacts. The skeleton was missing its head, but where it should be instead rested two small, luminous points of light - the shards, it would seem, had found their home at last. With nary a sound, they began to expand, taking shape, their glow fading until they seemingly fused together… into the missing skull.

Like the bones, the skull bore tiny, thread-thin rivulets of marking across its surface, hued red in color, and surrounding the much larger - though smaller compared to that which rested upon the door - image of the Sheikah eye that had been carved into the forehead. Whether or not these carvings had been made before or another the death of the owner was a mystery, one unlikely to be solved. However, what wasn't was rich magical energy that emanated from it, indicating it as some manner of arcane lock to those with the means to detect it.

The skeleton now complete, the grinding noise came to an end. A slight tremor shook the hallway, and then the doorway began to open. Splitting down the middle it did, skeleton included, both halves pulling apart and vanishing into recesses in the walls. Darkness waited beyond them, but it was not total, for a single torch, lit in blue flame, awaited on torch on the wall opposite the doorway. It illuminated the only thing to exist in the room, a circular hole which descended into a black abyss, wide enough in diameter for several people to leap into, should they be mad enough to do so.

The path to the prison below had been opened.

[Mister Scarecrow]

Rayleigh

"Well, lead the way. I do have to remind you folks that two gigantic mass of stone are following us. Soundlessly, if I may add."

He'd tasked himself to keep an eye on the statues. It moved an alarming distance whenever he blinked, but he got used to alternating the task. Hopefully the door close behind them after they passed.

An unfamiliar weight hung in his chest. It was the runed sabre that everyone else ignored, haphazardly wrapped with cloth and tied to one of his empty knife slot since he's only the third most qualified person present to resist whatever nasty stuff that may or may not be hidden within - undoubtedly though, no one would make use of it better than himself. If, of course, he's willing to risk direct contact with it.

[Mewjora]

Legato

The statues were of little consequence to Legato. Being simple statue spirits, Legato could at any moment rip their tie to the mortal world. However, the fact that they bared no Sheikah wards meant they were of just as much danger to the Sheikah as to his party. Perhaps even more so. This stayed Legato's hand, as long as they stayed in line.

"The spirits are restless in this place, they whisper in the walls. 'Tread lightly in the dark.'" This redundant and almost oximoronic phase, vexed Legato. Not being one to heed lesser spirit's tales of woe, he never had much patience with them.

Confidently he floated forward. "Follow my lead." He said igniting his lantern.

Jalhalla

The rotund poe had trouble fitting through the door, before simply realizing he could phase through. Seeing Onirix gazing upon his foolishness and stifling a snicker, the Poe addressed the mad mage. "It is quite difficult to laugh when one has their insides on their outsides. Then who's body would look foolish?" In truth Jalhalla was rather unashamed of what the Sheikah made him to look like, and he often used his brutish physic to brutalize the living and dead alike.

[VictorAYorke]

----Lord Captain Kalian Benton Galhansen----

"The honourable lord?"

Kalian scanned the camp once again. What would a Hylian lord be doing this far south, except on official duties? Had someone beaten him to the Ordonain commanders? He had to know.
"My apologies. I was not aware of any lordly rank residing deep in Ordona."


Lieutenant Erika Homewood
"So long as there's a free trial," Erika muttered to Athreon. As much as she felt there was no way out of any repercussions for Foos, she always hated the idea of stringing someone up for preconceived crimes. It was messy, and stank of the enemy's tactics.

Of Mihkael's tactics, she supposed. But there wasn't any of that hate left in him, she was sure of it.

Back to Foos, who was now cavorting in the enclosed space. She barked his name.
"Foos? You kind of left a mess already." She made a point of toeing one of the Darknut who had tried to take Mihkael away, inert and gradually cooling in his armour. "Three dead watchmen. Either you stand trial for them, or..."

She glanced at Corcoro. What did the Legion do with its non-honourable criminals, anyway?
"...Or you and Mike get hunted clean out of the desert."

[Brihentin13]

Onirix

Now, Jalhalla is threatening to rip my insides out. That sort of pointless brutality sounds like something that I would threaten to do.

"You know, big guy, we're more alike than I thought! I give you points for creativity. Have you ever strangled a guy with his own intestinal tract? I have! The key is to immediately burn the wound to close it up, or else the victim will die of shock before you have a chance to suffocate him. Oh, man, good times."

Onirix fell in behind Legato, occasionally scanning the darkened walls for signs of movement. He didn't see anything, but he felt plenty. The movement of so many restless spirits rippled through the ether like a tidal wave. It would be disturbing to most, but, to Onirix, it felt as familiar as his own heartbeat.

"Ah, the Shadow Temple. Nowhere else like it in Hyrule. I may move back in, after we kill everyone,"

[Nergali]

Shadow Temple

The darkness was cold, it was deep, and yet in the end it was calm, accepting even. It surrounded the group, broken up by the occasional faint torch - engulfed in dull blue flame - here and there, as they descended ever deeper into the bowels of the world, untold countless tons of earth and stone dangling just above their heads. All it would take was one small cave-in and... Such a constant threat of death as this, and those both natural and the supernatural, no doubt left their mark upon the psyches of the Sheikah, shaped them into the secretive order to assassins and order-keepers that they were. Young and old, man and woman, all of them were destined to be killers in some way, perhaps repressing some twisted vision of the temple that for untold centuries had serve as their home. Perhaps it was a mercy to complete this task, to free the one that waited below. It would free the Sheikah of their endless tasks, allow them finally rest, and save the lives of countless future generations who might have targeted by them in the future.

Certainly this was the right thing to do... right?

Surely, it must be, yet how much different was Onirix from them? He bore their blood, "tainted" as some of them might claim by that of the other races of men who walked this world, yet nonetheless bound to inheriting their legacy. How many times had he nearly been killed, or had killed another? Were the trials that shaped him any different than the ones that shaped his kin here? Only time would tell, and self-reflection, though this task was ultimately left up to whose mind was barely held together, a fractured sense of self built out of multiple personalities.

And what of old Legato, oh Voice of Death, was he all that different from the Sheikah? Was he something worse even? He had been reborn in pain, in betrayal, all by one who had once trusted, perhaps even viewed as a father figure of sorts. Zeron, his mentor. Upon his death he returned in anger, enacting cold-blooded revenge, and went on to become a powerful Arbiter of Death, leading the armies of undeath upon their never-ending scourge of the living. He'd been stopped, of course, then cast into the dark abyss of this very place, left to rot here for all time. Or so the Sheikah had hoped. None other than Onirix himself wound up rescuing him, freeing him from what would have been his eternal prison. How had such chaos as this shape him into the person he was today? Did his old life even matter anymore at this point? Would he even recognize his old self now?

Andromalius should not be forgotten either. How many secrets did he keep now? How many lies? The crimes of his past still lingered, an agent of chaos who carved his way through the dark underbelly, gifted by keen mind and a great intellect. He was a lord now, why should he risk it all for... risk it all.... these thoughts were not his own. These thoughts did not belong to any of them.

Something was wrong here. Why were questions bubbling up within their minds? Why were these doubts taking shape? Was it some magic or spirits at work here, or was it merely their sins shouting out within the silence of the absolute darkness, a natural property of it forgotten in the comforting light of day? Whatever it was, it needed to be banished, less it drown them all and then swallow them whole.

* * *

Silence hung in the air, the sound of dripping within the confines of the painting gallery having finally come to a stop. And why not, Andromalius had left this place just now, hadn't he? With him went all his companions... and his blood-stained clothes, still caked along the bottom of his robes in the filth-ridden vitae of the first undead he had encountered, who had lunged upon him with head exploded. Such a deep, thick blood it had spilt, yet only now, outside of the painting, had it finally begun to drip. Perhaps more peculiar, it had finally dried upon his form the moment he had descended into the dark. Such a simple thing, really, so easily overlooked when stone guardians followed you and ghosts were ripped from this plane of existence.

The blood stained the floor, droplets to be seen everywhere the lord had been. They glistened in the pale light of the candles as the paintings above them, no longer bound by shadow, slipped back into deep slumber, knowingly having failed their task to defend this place. Within the droplets bubbles rose up, breaking their black surfaces, growing more furious with time. As they appeared to be almost boiling, they began to move in their entirety, slithering along the tile-less floor, as if some unheard signal had been sent, beckoning them.

Within the shadows, they converged. A puddle was beginning to form.

[Dragus]

As they moved onward from the painting gallery, Andromalius would take care to scan the area around his feet as well as the walls and ceiling for any other unwelcome phenomenon that could try to surprise them. Now getting closer to the prison and the completion of their mission, mistakes could not be afforded if avoidable. The sorcerer would also keep an occasional wary eye behind them in case any of their previous assailants (such as the guardians) should return to close proximity.