Merothmos Echaya the Taiotoshi

Role

Chapter 7

Cold. That is what Merothmos feels as his mind creeps towards consciousness.
Slowly, painfully he becomes aware of his prone form on a hard stone floor
dressed only in a nightgown. That is why he is cold. Slowly his eyes open
only to find the darkness nearly as complete as when they were closed. Gazing
slowly about his surroundings he discovers he is inside a small wooden room
stacked with crates but for a door to the east and a chair in the center near
where he lays. Slowly he rises to his feet, a little unsteady though not due
to the awkwardness of adolescence a sixteen year old might suffer from.
Rather, everything feels unfamiliar, from the floor under his feet to his own
flesh and bones. His perception hazy.

The sudden sound of footsteps outside the door causes his heart to race with
panic. Everything comes into sharp focus and Merothmos hastily finds a hiding
space behind some crates but with a plain view of the center of the room and
the chair... a chair that he just now realizes has iron restraints and the
brownish red of dried blood over much of its oaken surface. Within moments
the heavy door is un-latched and thrown wide as two large men drag a smaller
man between them, his dirty feet dragging on the floor. The two man slam
their prisoner into the chair and fasten the iron restraints. The prisoner
barely makes a sound except for his ragged breathing. His face is
exceptionally pale and gaunt covered with at least three weeks of beard
growth. Merothmos sees something familiar in that face, perhaps someone he
knows from town, but he cannot see the man's eyes to be certain.

"Go easy gentlemen" says a fourth man of enormous height as he enters the
room. "You could have broken his neck throwing him into the chair that hard.
That would have denied me the pleasure of this interrogation and that would
disappoint me greatly." He says in a dark voice both sharp and calm. As the
tall man glides into the room Merothmos can see that he is dressed in a
priestly hooded robe of exquisite black silks. The robes seem to melt into
the shadows of the room then separate unwillingly as the dark priest moves
towards the prisoner in the chair to whom he next spoke.

"Well, shall we make this death slow and painful or long and agonizing? Such
choices seem quite similar at first, but for the experienced deliverer of
pain they are as nuanced and distinct from one another as red and blue on the
palette of torment." the dark priest mused as he leaned down face to face
with the prisoner. "And as the beneficiary of such agony, you will learn such
nuances all too well."

The prisoner managed to spit some blood into the face of his captor though
most of it dribbled down his chest through his torn lower lip. "Never..." he
croaked "..you will never.." but his defiance was cut short as the dark
priest seized his face with one large bone white hand.

Role

Chapter 6

"NEVER!?!?!?" He yelled at the prisoner "Never is the word to describe the
torments you are about to experience. Never describes any chance you shall
feel hope again. As you shriek in agony I shall pluck from you the secrets
you are hiding in your mind as surely as I shall pluck your still beating
heart from your chest when there is no more pleasure to be had from your
suffering!"

The prisoner groans as the dark priest produces a tiny iron dagger from his
waistband. Merothmos cannot look away as the sharpness of the blade is tested
on the prisoner's eyelids, removing each with one swift stroke. A deft flick
of the wrist takes the nose and two more remove the ears. The tormentor moves
with such grace and such precision it would be a wondrous dance to behold if
it were not accompanied by the chorus of agonizing screams that shake the
very rafters of the room. Holding his hands to his ears so hard his knuckles
turn white, Merothmos tries to shut out the torture, to avert his eyes. He is
successful at neither as if compelled to witness this monstrous exhibition.

Soon the room begins to smell of sweat, blood, and urine. Only to be followed
by that of burning flesh. The dark priest makes a sign over the dagger and
it begins to glow red hot. This he uses to burn angry troughs in the mans
skin. Finally into each eye the dagger sinks home, the sizzle of the flesh,
the fluids bubbling only to be released as pink steam into the stagnant air.

At last a calm overtakes the room and the only sound and movement comes from
the prisoner's ragged breathing intermixed with wracking sobs.

The dark priest looks pleased at his work then suddenly looks straight at
Merothmos. Any sense of revulsion Merothmos held to this point evaporates
only to be replaced by absolute terror. With a cruel smile the dark priest
turns the head of the prisoner towards Merothmos revealing the mutilated face
in all its decimation and seeing Merothmos's reaction, begins to laugh
maliciously.

Merothmos screams now. His voice tearing through the small room in unbridled
terror. A sound he recognized during the entire torture and now he knows why.
Despite the damage to the prisoners face, he realizes that the mutilated face
he is now staring at is his own.

Covering his face he screams violently as hands grasp his wrists, pulling
them down. Instead of the torture room he is in his own and he is staring
into the face of his mother and his older brothers, each holding a candle.
Her face is filled with stoic care but his brothers are pale with fright and
concern. She places one had firmly on the side of his head and begins to
speak.

Role

Chapter 5

"My Son" her voice soothing but firm. "It has been weeks since your father
died and still you continue to have these nightmares. You do not eat, your
work is lacking. You cannot live life afraid of the fact that death will
eventually claim you. One day tomorrow will never come. You will have had
your last meal, seen your last sunset, experienced your last kiss. You must
make the most out of today. You cannot be afraid that your life will end, but
you can be afraid that it will never begin if you sit around and do nothing
on this farm."

"But Mother," Merothmos protests. "They are not nightmares. They are glimpses
of what will be."

Role

Chapter 4

Many years have passed since the haunting vision of his father's death had
first etched itself into the spaces between memories of happy times in his
youth. Though he had not witnessed that murder first hand he had seen what
the brigands had done to his father and his dreams made it so much worse.
Most disturbing was that at the end of the dream, when he had seen the
mutilated face, he could have sworn it was his own, more so than his fathers.
Regardless, he took the vision to be premonition and was determined to
prepare.

Such is the blessing of youth that they are so resilient to the horrors of
the world they often witness. Merothmos tried to move on since that day he
left home, like his older brothers, to escape the memories of the tragedy
that befell them all in the now boarded up wine cellar. He moved to nearby
Voralian City and sought tutelage from the master of the assassins guild
there. Being smaller and more wiry than his strapping siblings he felt that
the skills of stealth would suit him better than that of the warrior.

The training proceeded well yet as each day passed the void in his heart grew
bigger. He knew something was amiss but could not express this strange apathy
in words. His meditation seemed to do little good for when he finished, he
still felt the stabbing pain of loss punctuated by the deep gnawing fear of
his own fate. The lost hope one feels when they're wandering about aimlessly,
without truly fulfilling their purpose. Years had passed, seasons came and
went, yet he remained stagnant amongst the throng of life about him.

Role

Chapter 3

During respites from training he visited his mother quite often. Making the
day long trip back to the fields of his family farm to visit his lonely
mother. Each time she appeared older than the last. Her hair grayer, her back
more bent, her hands a touch more arthritic. He enjoyed returning to the
quiet farm for it afforded the sort of peaceful reprieve that one might find
relaxing by a tranquil stream on a warm summer evening, watching the sunset
in the reflective surface of the water; another activity which Merothmos
finds to be quite soothing to his injured soul. On the eve of his fourth year
away he returned to find his brothers home at long last.

They had found the bandits after a long search, following them back to their
home south of Hamsah Mu'tazz. The brothers had snuck into their chasm at
night and slaughtered them in their sleep, reveling in the carnage. Both of
them looked harrowed and distraught to retell the gruesome events but as they
did they appeared to relax. Speaking of the actions seemed to release a great
burden that weighed heavily upon both and neither had been able to absolve
the other. Such was the cost of such wanton bloodshed for the sake of
revenge, even if the cause were just.

Merothmos returned to Voralian City that night, unable to sleep. By the full
moon above he reflected upon the sight of his brothers and how it had
disturbed him. If two such as they so steadfast in the Light, if afflicted
with a bit more hubris than humility, should become so sick of spirit, what
would he do when his time came to shed blood for his beliefs.

Role

Chapter 2

As Merothmos returned to Voralian City from the unexpected reunion from his
brothers his mind wandered whilst he mused upon what had transpired. He found
himself straying from the main road towards a path that would take him to the
river. As he neared he could hear the ever flowing waters burbling to him in
the strong moonlight, luring him with the promise of cool relief for his
travel weary feet. As he enjoyed the soothing rush of chill water and the
play of the bright silvery moonlight upon the tumbling river he could hear
the approach of two locals a bit further down the river.

They were in heated debate over the effectiveness of the Blood Tribunal and
the current leader at the time, the undead Provost Adeglifch. During his time
in power darkness had swarmed through the Spire like a cancer. If it was not
cut away soon the Magistrates would be little more than the enforcers of
Imperial rule. The other felt the cities more safe but agreed he would rather
see the Fortress take charge of Voralia's defenses. Merothmos listened
intently and realized his own sense of unease at the slow rise of evil in his
beloved city.

He had not understood how seeing the encroachment of dark magistrates, more
imperials, even an Imperial Recruiter in the city known to be the very
bastion of goodness had been tearing at his sense of what was just and pure.
Drying his feet Merothmos assumed the lotus position and began to meditate.
He was well aware of the Fortress and its crusaders for the Light yet had not
until that moment contemplated seeking them out. As he woke from his trance
he could hear song birds calling out for morning to breech the mountains of
the east. He felt a pull and a surge of purpose that pulled him to his feet.
He crossed west through Voralian City and north into the mountains. Therein
the Fortress of the Light stood gleaming and proud in the golden morning
light.

A warm glow emanated from the figure of Lornkanamas when Merothmos approached
the Fortress. As they spoke of serving the Light and the duties expected of
both Maran and Acolyte the two became fast friends. It was Lornkanamas who
first told Merothmos of Lady Padwei. By allowing the Light to shine brightly
not only for himself but to keep it safe for others he could find deep and
lasting joy by fulfilling the purpose of his being. Merothmos had always
relied on his mother and father to guide him through life, but for the last
few years he had been on his own. Perhaps Padwei might help him in this
regard. Ensuring that he remains on course, never losing sight of what there
is to truly enjoy from life.

Role

Chapter 1

Just over a decade has passed since Merothmos had joined his new brethren at
the Fortress, pledging his blade in service to the Light. Not once has he
lost himself in his duty, taking time out for himself to simply be. From
snogging with the ladies at the Inn, snogging with the ladies in his travels,
to simply sending the occasional scroll back home to see how his mother was
doing. It has been some time since Merothmos had received a scroll from his
mother though, and eventually he grew worried. Nevertheless he let another
week to pass with no word before he decided to again visit what was once
home.

Upon arriving however, the house that was once a home was now completely
boarded up, though there seemed to be no sign of age. One of the neighboring
villagers who seemed to recognize Merothmos from his younger years approached
him...

"Merothmos? Merothmos Echaya? I can't believe it, it IS you!" said Alicea , a
beautiful young woman that had been fond of Merothmos in his youth, though he
never knew.

"Yes, yes, it is I, but wha... what has happened here?" Merothmos let out
with a bit of a stutter, partly from shock of seeing an old friend and partly
from the haunting memories of his father's violent demise and the terrifying
visions he had had as an adolescent. However, those visions had not visited
him in over a decade, not since his joining the Fortress. Panic set in as
Alicea's next words caused fear to grip his heart like winter's frigid grasp.


"She died but a fortnight ago and brothers buried her on the third eve after.
I'm surprised they did not write to you, your mother had been sick for quite
some time." Alicea said in the softest voice, trying to ease the pain that
was now apparent on Merothmos' face; a few tears streamed down his cheeks.

"Where are my brothers now?" Merothmos asked weakly.

"Gone to serve a year or two aboard one of the merchant ships ported in
Hamsah Mu'tazz" she responded. "They did not have the heart to remain here
with her passing."

"Nor do I." he thought to himself but refrained from saying it aloud. Rather
he thanked Alicea and gratefully accepted her invitation to stay with her
parents for the night before heading back to the Fortress the next morning.
Mourning indeed.

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