Aside: Perfume & Powder
LaughingProphet
Empty Vessel
- Joined
- Jan 13, 2015
- Messages
- 58
- Likes received
- 232
Perfume and Powder
He'd learned over the years that digging a shallow grave was much like every other task; if he wanted it done right, it was best to do it himself. He had to admit it was a peaceful task in its own ways. The muted ring of the iron spade driving into the earth, the weak crackling of dried, dead roots snapping as the earth was pulled loose and tossed away. In his youth expecting a nobleman to deal with such frivolous manual labor would have been outright unthinkable. There were people for such tedious and undesirable tasks.
He had not been a good man in those days. It had been a life in pursuit of power and luxurious, hedonistic extravagance at the expense of others. He understood that now. The history of the world, tarnished by the fetid dregs of society taking cruel and unforgiving power. There was no place for people like him here.
Times were too troubling for men with aspirations of supremacy. Too scarce for fattening decadence. Too harsh for those unwilling to settle their own tasks; clawing up a hard-earned life was no easy task.
He tossed the shovel aside like a scrap once the pit was sufficient.
"Throw it in." Issuing commands was in his nature. There was no need to quell a skill in being firm and direct in his statements. He was a Hunter, now. The order was less important than the man giving it; none of the others had his eye for the unnatural. It was steady in its watch as they brought the body forward.
It had taken a number of resources to dispose of properly, this one. Several pounds of salt, good cloth that could have served as bandaging for the sick and injured now tightly woven from head to toe. Chains and a solid lock, not iron made but real, proper steel that he sorely wished could have been reforged into weapons and armor. Blood shed before it was felled. That was the most damning.
"Pitch," he grunted to the others. "Burn it. Salt the earth and burn it. Burn it until nothing remains. We are not doing this again."
He stood watch as packs of salt were mixed into the upturned earth and the body smothered in black tar. Any time for theatrics and fanciful ritual was wholly out of the question. Nightfall was fast approaching; being outside the walls would be… inconvenient, if he wished to understate the inevitable. Mortal injury and death often were, he would admit that.
He was not well versed in weaponizing the unusual and occult, per se, but he was gaining a crude sort of proficiency in it.
There was a sharp clack at his waist as the impromptu pyre ignited. Habit led his hand to the handle of the crude, curved dagger tucked into his belt. The metal was warm even considering the blistering heat of the day earlier. More than that it practically thrummed with life against his fingertips.
Something was unquestionably, inescapably wrong now. He could taste it in the air, bile and copper burning against the back of his throat. The body was burning. Dead. The plan was working. It couldn't be that. Deep breath. Focus. Not the dagger, not right now, the rifle.
"Boss? What's-"
The man was silenced with a gesture as he unslung the longarm from his back. It was worn. Weathered, some people said. He'd never owned one when he attended the courts. Unsubtle, he thought he had called them. Ostentatious and overpriced. Yet here it was, his favored weapon when his iron dagger would not serve.
There was a spark of light at the tree-line and a hideous screech as a shambling, twisted form skittered and scurried into his sight. There were shouts from his men. Panic from some. Loud demands that they finish what they started come hell or high water. They struggled to come to terms with the situation and decide.
He was a man of action now. He did not think or pointlessly deliberate. Time was vital and precious.
He advanced.
---------
Montmorency Margarita La Fère de Montmorency was certain that claiming to be merely incensed by the travesty before her would be an understatement. When she'd been paired with the Zero she'd already been prepared for the worst. Obviously the ritual would fail. The girl who incessantly ruined the classrooms and studies of everyone surrounding her would be dismissed home. Then she would be paired with someone at least respectable at some less convenient time.
The sheer degree of failure, though, that was beyond her expectations. The blast had devastated Vallière's circle- typical of the Zero trying anything- and uprooted even her own, leaving a smoking crater in the middle of the Academy courtyard. Worst of all she was covered in dirt and dust and her meticulous curls were ruined. She was a glance at a mirror away from snapping her wand in two.
The sudden hysteria that erupted, piercing the embarrassing peals of laughter from her classmates, was a small distraction.
There was a warped screech from within the smoke. She would have scoffed at the notion it could have been human if it were a more pleasant occasion. Even then she couldn't imagine what sort of creature would make such a noise. It was a thought interrupted by a twisting lurch within the cloud, a series of sharp snaps that could only be breaking bone. For a fleeting instant her blood ran cold.
It was a misshapen thing covered in blood both fresh and old alike. It was an impossible form that could only have once been a man, but wrenched and forced into an array of unnatural angles, exposed wounds and flesh overgrown with some sort of vile blackness that swam through flesh as a shark through the sea. Even then in its malformed state it moved strangely, more a marionette more than a living being.
Its maw opened inhumanly wide as it awkwardly shambled from the smoke and out of the crater. She could hear the gasps of her fellow students at the sheer number of teeth it had. It looked more like its ribcage had been shattered and driven upward through its throat to give it more of them than it looked it had simply grown more.
This- this had been summoned. It was a brief consolation that the spell had at least functioned in some manner, overshadowed by the terror of seeing the thing that had seemingly answered the call. Such a hideous thing could hardly be what she would consider a viable familiar! It- It must have been what the Zero had summoned, so hideous and misshapen that only her stunted magical abilities would consider it a match!
Colbert had already brought his staff to bear when a flash of fire and a booming crack split the momentary silence. There were no Musketeers at the Academy as far as she had heard, but there couldn't have been one in the crater. The shriek of pain from the beast was nigh deafening. She'd lost track of when she'd lost her balance, of when she had begun her instinctive retreat and tumbled to the ground.
Another crack of flame and lead from the pit revealed the second shadow approaching, followed by a sharp metal clack and a third shot still as the barrel of the curious firearm extended from the cloud and its wielder followed. He was wounded in some clearly superficial manner, else he would not be standing, but surely he bled into the dark clothing he wore.
No doubt Professor Colbert would have rendered the horror wheeling to face its aggressor into an ashen dust were it not interposed with the gentleman. She felt a hand on her arm as her darling Guiche burst forward to withdraw her to safety with the assistance of his own hulking, thick-skinned familiar. It was a welcome beacon of safety as panicked students scrambled for their own around them.
Even Colbert was measuring the battle with a sharp eye and a set jaw from a safer distance. She had never seen any of the instructors in such a state, much less Jean Colbert. She had never seen a man battle a monster like this without the aid of magic before either.
In fact, as her brain caught up to her now that her horror found itself had been delayed, she'd never heard of a monster of this sort at all.
There was a brief click from the dark-haired man's weapon and a sudden frown as the beast lunged. The butt of his firearm sent chips of bone, teeth, and black ichor across the blast-flattened grass and upturned stone. As large and imposing as the creature was it fell lifelessly to the floor much like any beast shocked by sudden and substantial injury. Its time spent writhing on the ground, snapping wildly at the air with its too-many teeth, gave ample time for the man to reach into the small pouch at his belt and withdraw a number of brass-colored cylinders.
He was in the middle of feeding the handful of them into the side of his rifle when the creature thrashed, twisted, and hurtled into a standing position again by flexing its form within its own skin. She blanched at the sight of skin tearing and dark blood oozing from the fresh, self-inflicted wounds. Based on the sound of disgust and the startled squeeze from her favorite fop felt much the same about the sight.
While clearly a powerful weapon, the odd multi-shot rifle's continued use was untenable now that the beast had closed its distance. It was a show of remarkable caution that there was no misfire as the dark-clad man attempted to gather the distance to retarget, only to have the barrel shoved seemingly every which direction but toward the shambling horror scrabbling and clawing at him. The length and weight of the thing seemed to be objectively hampering his self defense.
It would explain why he seemed to let go as soon as the creature had a firm grasp on it. Wood splintered as it was wrenched it from his hands and flung across the courtyard. It struck Guiche's familiar, an affront that garnered little more than a disdainful huff from the hardy creature. If the Flame Snake had been ready for the opening, perhaps he would have been able to step forward in time.
With his stance staggered from the loss of his rifle, the creature pitched itself into the man and buried a sharp, jagged spike of bone extending from its forearm into his chest. Already it was howling and baying at its victory. Its warped animal mind failed to think he would reach for his knife anyways. Crude, dark iron, hammered into shape by an individual that would never deign to call themselves a smith in any form of the world.
A weapon for a desperate man who cared more to kill monsters than his own physical integrity.
He stood upright, suddenly, hand grasping the horror's arm firmly in place as he plunged the wicked, curved blade into its stomach- she thought that was where its stomach would be- in retaliation. In comparison to his own response of pain, hardly a wheezing grunt of a lung being suddenly and wholly punctured, the shambling thing was veritably screaming as red-hued firelight poured from its festering flesh.
It was panicking. She hadn't been sure of it at first; how could you read fear out of something so grotesque?
For having an ostensibly fatal wound he was still astonishingly swift. She hardly had time to register the withdrawal of the blade before it hacked into the spike of bone like a cleaver. There was a sharp snap as bone and sinew alike split apart. A quick tug of the skeletal lance withdrew it from his chest; a quick jab struck it through the beast's eye and staked it to the ground.
She wasn't sure if it was shrieking or if it was screaming. It flailed against the dirt wildly, screeching like some tainted swine fit for slaughter.
"Gun," he wheezed. His hand had drifted to his chest, blood pooling and spattering the ground beneath him with every breath. It was a mortal wound, she had no doubts of that. Even with alchemical assistance the finest healers in Tristain would find little to do but ease the pain. But…
"Gun. Gun! Bring it to me. Now."
He was still standing. She had been watching the fight with such rapt attention she hadn't seen the Professor rotate towards her and Guiche, as the closest students to the immediate conflict. She also hadn't seen him grab hold of the rifle to return to the wounded fighter. He did not hesitate. He hardly looked to Colbert at all as his weapon was returned. He dropped his sadistic dagger, shoved the barrel deep into the beast's chest and pulled the trigger.
There was a final, terrible squeal before the gunshot ruptured its torso and it fell limp with nary a dying twitch.
The silence was not refreshing but it certainly seemed that the battle had concluded. It was an opportune time for the man to throw aside his weapon, stagger aside, and double over with a fit of hacking, blood-saturated coughing. Eventually the exertion of the affair sent the man falling to his knees. Then, one hand numbly fumbling at his chest while the other mustered what little effort it could to keep him upright.
"Call a healer!" It was fortunate that Colbert had managed to keep his head on straight in the ensuing madness. The higher-year students too, even if their particular standard of focused and ready was to be slightly less shocked and alarmed than the rest of them. She could see one- Kirche's friend Tabitha?- rapidly departing as the first to regain their wits. On the opposite side Vallière quietly ushered yet a third figure from the crater, a seemingly shocked and disoriented red-clad peasant of all things.
Were it another time she would no doubt be volleying insults towards the Zero. She could already think of one about summoning some terrible monster and catching some peculiar nobleman and his servant in the process. She simply couldn't muster the effort this time though. She had been the one closest to the beast when it first revealed itself. Now that the shock of it had faded she still felt numb.
"Sir, you-"
"burn it, burn the body before it gets up-"
"Sir, it is dead, and you are dying. We have a healer-"
"you don't understand." The man's bloody hand fumbled weakly, reaching up and grabbing Colbert by the collar to forcibly drag him down to face him. His dark hair was wild from the rush, drops of blood spattered over his face and the dense but neatly-groomed beard. Everything about him seemed to be dark, really. His hair, his clothes, his eyes. Except for one, as he scanned his surroundings. She only met his gaze for an instant
"can't you feel it?"
One eye, iris circled by a piercingly bright silver light. Each breath cast a cold fog as though he bore winter itself in the height of spring.
"it's here, too."
---------
His recovery was nothing less than impossible. She'd heard more than enough from the faculty at the Academy- her own family, even- to know that men did not simply recover from mortal wounds. She and Vallière had even mutually appealed to Headmaster Osmond directly for a second attempt at the summoning ritual only to be struck down with his definitive proof that they had, in fact, succeeded.
Montmorency was well versed in a number of subjects; history, alchemy, and various applications of Water magic to name only a few. Even with her own extensive comprehension of the world she was wildly uncertain about the entire affair. She could have gotten a normal familiar. One that hadn't come dragging a fight with it- something that should have been impossible in the first place- or even just a base animal familiar from an independent summoning ritual. A frog, even! She would have even been fine with just a frog!
… Maybe a poisonous one.
Still, it had been a week. Vallière's familiar- Saito of something or another- had already gained whatever measure of approval the Zero had to offer. As sobering as the idea was, Montmorency still found the whole scenario frustrating. She hadn't even gotten to talk to her apparent familiar. It was still a foreign concept to her, a man that at least seemed human despite his unnatural constitution and rate of recovery as a familiar. She'd wanted a true familiar, not some gruff mercenary bodyguard or combat-ready butler.
If anything she'd spend enough time deliberating over the matter in front of the infirmary door. She was Montmorency Margarita La Fère de Montmorency! How could she possibly hesitate at a time like this? The man may have outright saved her life, and even that was surely understating the matter! She could walk in there, offer him her thanks, and… well, she hadn't quite thought far enough to decide if he would find being a familiar agreeable or not. She wasn't going to find out standing here either.
She hadn't quite mustered the courage to actually knock on the door when he opened it. It was a shock in a variety of ways. Seeing him standing, genuinely of his own volition and without extensive bandaging and a healer at his side… She'd been informed of his rapid recovery but scarcely believed it wasn't exaggerated until now. Even believing that he had recovered at all had been difficult.
Some things hadn't changed. His eye, for one, nor the subtle wisps of fog with each breath he took. But he was alive, perhaps even well, and most certainly not bleeding everywhere. All the factors combined gave him a far more imposing air than she'd readied herself for.
"I have been informed this nation is called Tristain," he began, "is that correct?" He certainly wasn't local; the hint of the accent she didn't recognize said that much. Try not to be offended that this simpleton is bypassing the fundamentals of noble courtesy, he did rescue you from whatever fate that gruesome thing had in mind for you… She nodded her affirmation. There was momentary glimmer of something in his eye as he pursed his lips in quiet contemplation. "Do come in, then. I understand we have matters to discuss." Finally she was invited in. He even held the door politely, befitting a woman of her station.
"Also, I have made tea."
She would admit she had spent a moment questioning what some sort of violent, bizarrely well-groomed vagabond's taste in tea would be. He certainly seemed full of surprises. Recovering from what should have been fatal injuries with nary a sign he was worse for wear. Well-spoken even if the fur cloak and black leather gambeson gave him a threatening, striking appearance. A taste for smooth, hand-prepared tea with a subtle sweetness that left her in a state of significant and extensive contemplation.
"The healer was… pleasant," he stated after taking pause to enjoy the moment. He seemed curiously fond of looking to the window and idling in the breeze. "I have never heard of a nation called Tristain, you know. Nor have I heard of Romalia, or Germania… Perhaps an Albion, once, though undoubtedly not yours." For a moment he looked across to her, before his attention drifted towards the daylight again. "The only Albion I have knowledge of sank into the heart of the world centuries before I was born, and history would have taken register of the surrounding nations of the time. Therefore, I cannot be in the past of my own world."
It was never a statement intended for her to have an answer to. It went beyond a number of basic, polite protocols for a stranger to prattle on as he did without so much as a proper introduction. Still, she held her tongue, in part because of how genuinely delightful the tea was and in another because of the knowledge she was gleaning of his origins. It was information offered freely. Her parents had always spoken highly of those willing to divulge such things without provocation.
"A curious place your world must be, to pull a man from another." He sipped at his tea before a moment's observation led him to add another lump of sugar to his cup. "Even at the height of Kelicho's arcane might there were no mages capable of so much as shifting to another state of reality, much less another entirely. You have something rather impressive here, though I was informed these events are thoroughly unheard of." If nothing else there was a cleverness to match his fighting talents. Even his time recovering had given him opportunity to study his surroundings. "And an academy full of Noble children and heirs, no less. That was a pleasant surprise."
A moment's silence followed. It was a welcome peace after the events of the summoning and the week that had followed. The whole endeavor seemed positively unreal. First being paired with the Zero, to nearly getting killed by what had come out of the ritual, and now having tea with a man who objectively should have been dead. There was no continuation until a sideways glance revealed a thought that had slipped by.
"Ah. Yes, I am very sorry. I have made a careless blunder, I would be greatly obliged if you forgave me. It has been… some time since nobility has been involved with my affairs. We have not even been properly introduced, have we?" It was as though a wave of tension unraveled through her form. Thank the Founder, he was civilized. He'd even recognized the social faux pas without so much as a subtle sound of admonishment or disapproval.
"Indeed, we have not!" She wasn't certain why she was feeling so chipper suddenly. Perhaps it was that damnably wonderful tea. She would have to ask him to make more of that if he was to be her familiar… "As your summoner, I feel obliged to inform you that I am Montmorency Margarita La Fère de Montmorency! It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sir..."
There was a far-off look in his eyes as his ostensibly calm features faltered for the briefest of instants. He nodded to himself after a moment, just in time for her to refrain from a gentle ahem to move him along in his thought process. Contrary to the routine beliefs she had propagated amongst her peers she was not particularly patient. Guiche was difficult enough to feign an indifference towards at the best of times. She could feel the twitch in her cheek under her eye at this alleged gentleman's measured pace.
"Meridin," he finally stated. Her brow had furrowed before the thought occurred to her that it would be a gesture best suppressed. A singular name? No family name, no formal title? She was beginning to question his claim to have interacted with noble families when he rose to his feet. "I was called Meridin Alasdair Sen Keir von Karne once. I was the fourth-born son of a tyrant, and a victim of my own frivolous aspirations. It may be that you never grasp the magnitude of what you have done by calling me…"
There was an unusually intense moment as he stood there metering his words carefully. She met his moment of consideration with one of her own. She had to admit it sounded preposterous to think that she had wronged him, but still she braced for an undeserved admonishment.
"… but you have my gratitude for offering me freedom from a broken home. I would be pleased to discuss the terms of our… agreement immediately with you and whichever adviser you deem trustworthy in such a matter."
She felt a grin play across her face. Perhaps being assigned to summon alongside Vallière was looking up after all.
Last edited:
