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Post by All-Marshal Raum Mammon on Feb 20, 2011 13:30:50 GMT -5
Chapter 1
Part 1
5:00 PM
Dark, Cloudy, Pouring Rain
Inapace City...A crumbling environment of the weak...The ignorant.
People of all different races scurried around in the streets like mice in a maze. They had no idea...They were safe, but they didn't understand how it came to be so, or why. They didn't even care. They just...Lived. They suckled from the tit of the Force, the lifeblood of the Universe, but they never understood...As long as they were able to live they didn't care...No one did. What they should have been shown was death..Decay...Chaos. Show them the true meaning of fear, show them that things weren't always the way they were now. There were some who were older who were just glad the war was over. They had a grasp on what had been changed, but the newer generations were so blind to it all. Even members in the Force were oblivious to the efforts put into ensuring the safety of trillions.
Curling his fingers into a fist neatly folded behind his back, listening to his knuckles pop, he watched.
For too long he had been in the background, receiving medals and compliments here and there, awards and the courteous nod of a head or two. Was it enough? No...what he had done for them, they just didn't grasp the concept of his efforts. No one did. Still...He just had to bide his time for now...He would make them see soon enough. Even he wasn't entirely sure how he was going to make them see it, how to bring the truth to their eyes, remove that burlap sack of ignorance from their clouded eyes, but he would...It was just a matter of time. Slowly he held his hand over the flame of a candle and winced as steam slowly curled off of his skin, as if it were thawing. A single black droplet welled up on the tip of his finger and dropped onto the wax candle, dissolving the wax into vapor. He quickly withdrew his hand and rubbed gently where the flame had been exposed to his skin...
One had to be reminded of pain once and awhile.
But there were different forms of pain...Looking out of the window down at the streets of Inapace was one form, it made him disgusted but hurt him as well. Holding his hand over the flame, that was another. He had to remind himself that his existence here was fragile and quite finite, if he wasn't careful. It was different than it was in the Blackness. The True Realm gave him inexplicable power, too much to handle. He drank from the Well of Bonds...Tied to his home Realm by all means possible, and it gave him immeasurable hunger for that nourishment. It was different here...Things were dull, dead, plain. A chair was just that: a chair. A table was a simple table, just a forced form of dead wood...Not so in his realm, a chair could be anything, consist of anything. Perhaps it was made of bones that still pulsated with the hopes of attaining life, or a table that exuded energy of life from its every orifice. A breath here was just a gasp of unseen oxygen and particles, more or less a breath of dead matter...Not so in his realm. Each lungful consisted of clumps of what the inhabitants of this realm called "Magic", life and power swelled each fiber in a being's body in his realm. Here he felt like a statue...Forced to stay in one position for eternity and lookout at what changes in this place but unable to do anything about it. Turning to his desk he looked at the book that lay opened almost towards the end.
The Realities of Slumber and the Mind by M.A. Marcoux.
A Warden.
He had read it...The man certainly knew what he was talking about. He was a great mind, and certainly an important asset to the Force. It wasn't the first book of the man's he had read, but it was the only one that gave him the idea to meet this man. He had a lot to offer him, he had powers that could aid him in showing everyone the errors of their ways, how they waltzed around like programmed manikins, content with this...life of theirs. The only problem he could see was the man's bodyguard. A Fate...Certainly nothing he couldn't handle, but it was the name that made him wary:Zalixa. Daughter to the All-Marshal Zalixa. He and Zalixa were well acquainted, even if they didn't see eye-to-eye most of the time. He would have to see about getting this Warden Marcoux alone...Or he could bring her with and expel her energy from her...He could taste the energy flowing through All-Marshal Zalixa's body, his daughter's couldn't be much different...It would feel so exhilarating to feed upon her force...This thing they called "Ki". It was nothing compared to his Bond to his realm, but if his Bond was a banquet of satisfaction, this "Ki" of the Zalixa line was at least a delicious dessert.
Oh yes...the Demon within him writhed inside him as he wrote on the piece of parchment with an extended nail.
Soon they would all know the price they paid for feeding from the veins.
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Post by Warden Marcoux on Mar 28, 2011 20:33:27 GMT -5
Marcoux received a request directly from the office of the All-Marshalls. Not wholly unusual, he was accustomed to receiving special assignments on occasion. However, in this circumstance it certainly seemed unusual. The request came from Raum Mammon, the seemingly sinister member of the ring of All-Marshalls. Marcoux couldn't honestly recall ever speaking to the man, and he was generally quite good at keeping track of his acquaintances.
Despite his busy schedule - writing up yet another book focused on the exploration of unconscious thought, this time with a heavy focus on dream interpretation, attempting to retrace his steps and put together more information about this "aengel" dream business, and of course his constant ambition to revive Mere's consciousness - Marcoux could surely not deny a request from an All-Marshall...though inwardly he hoped it was simply a curious inquisition into his trade rather than another assignment. Either way, he could not disappoint the Force. Funding was a necessity.
So he jotted the appointment down on a notepad and mentally prepared himself for a meeting with the All-Marshall he knew only by a rough visual generalization. Older man, long finger nails, creepy stare....
And a few days later he found himself right in front of Mammon. Just the sight of the man was unsettling to the puny Mylian. His dry throat searched for saliva with a cough.
"Good afternoon, All-Marshall Mammon," he offered in quiet greeting. "I understand you wanted to see me?"
Those fingernails...They were probably strong enough to slit poor Maxxie's throat with little effort. There was a lot of wisdom in those fingernails...
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Post by All-Marshal Raum Mammon on Mar 30, 2011 0:11:38 GMT -5
Raum ran his slimy tongue over jagged teeth as Marcoux entered the room.
His back was to the Warden, as he was examining the latest piece he had created. It was a self-portrait, naturally, but something was off about it...The eyes. The eyes weren't...Weren't something. He shook his head, racking his mind for the solution, but turning to address the Dream God, or so he was called. He had high hopes for this self-righteous dream walker, one who flirted with the supposed unknown and reality. His peers...Well...Fellow All-Marshals, he wouldn't dare venture as far as to call them peers in their current state of comatose ambition, all had had very satisfying results with him. He would be instrumental in his plans...For it wasn't just this realm he wanted to correct...Their dreams; those that had eroded and been perverted into a sense of what was right, what was just, and what was for the good of the people...They had to be corrected as well.
Punishment would not only go to the body...but the mind.
All amends would be made.
"Ahhhhhh...Slebris Tre'dor...I welcome you."
"We welcome you Slebris Tre'dor, welcome."
The twins, Ferfur and Philitanus, spoke absently from where flanked Raum on either side. Their blind, blank stares forward were ghostly and eerie, and seemed to dull the presence of lighting in the room. Raum knew them both too well...They had that effect on an environment. Their power was valuable, their help tremendous. No two out there were like them...He had been quite gracious in discovering them. He petted them both with a long-nailed hand each as he looked down at the rather small stature of the Slebris Tre'dor, which meant Dream Walker in his language. Each word was like the shaking of a rattlesnake's rattler, echoing off the walls as if seeking the right host to finally light upon the ears...And that host was Maximillian Marcoux.
"You...You have dreams in the palm of your hand...The slightest tense in grip could..." He rubbed his palms together and dusted them off for emphasis, "crumble what we perceive as...the safe haven of our true intents...Our dreams...Slebris Tre'dor"
"Our dreams...Slebris Tre'dor...Our dreams..."
Raum nodded as the twins concluded his introductory speech. He hadn't planned it, but the words rushed forth from his tongue like a wellspring of intuitive calling. It was as if the words had been lurking in the bowels of his endless, cavernous subconscious, as these people called it, waiting for its time....And indeed it had. The only way to know for sure if that was the truth was to ask Marcoux...but that was for another day. Today...Today he laid the foundations for what he would ask from Marcoux. Together they would shake the timbers of what the privileged stilted on. No longer would be he content with them making sick mockeries of his long, arduous work. He looked back at the painting..Suddenly the word had come to him...as if through a dream. His eyes...
They weren't...Dead enough.
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Post by Warden Marcoux on Apr 11, 2011 21:21:10 GMT -5
Raum Mammon had a way of speaking that was absolutely chilling. Marcoux was sure he must nearly be shaking in the man’s presence…though that wasn’t exactly a feat. Still, he had this lurking suspicion that if the Force ever wanted to instill true fear in the population, they should just make this man their go-to speaker. Forget the superficial charm of Anna Falkuin. The eerie hiss of Raum Mammon would instill terrified submission, especially with those seemingly half-dead hostages mumbling along and putting a horrifying emphasis on the All-Marshall’s words.
“Err –um –yes. Thank you.” He halted, stumbling to find the proper response. Marcoux generally felt like a dolt when he opened his mouth, more so when he was trying to hold a conversation with what seemed a skilled orator.
He cleared his throat and pulled against the collar of his shirt. Was it awkwardly warm in there? Perhaps he crawled into hell itself.
“Well, I can tell you’re familiar with my, err…talents. I can in fact enter and manipulate dreams. I’m currently working on a few projects for the Force, so I will admit my time is quite limited at the moment. My abilities are…rare.” Rare meaning he was in fact the one and only possessor of such abilities, but he wasn’t all too boastful when his eyelids were open. “However, I’d be willing to take on another assignment, of course. I’d be honored to help you, sir. I just can’t guarantee speedy progression…heh…”
Extreme discomfort, embarrassment, feelings of inadequacy – These accompanied Marcoux on a day-to-day basis, but they were definitely amplified at this moment in time, having to admit to the All-Marshall that he would not be able to properly serve his needs. Agh! The horror. But he couldn’t promise what he couldn’t deliver!
Damage repair. “Though your assignment would be of great importance, sir, given your position as an All-Marshall. It would definitely be right up there…you know…near the top…of my list, I mean…My to do list, that is…” As opposed to his grocery list. Idiot.
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Post by All-Marshal Raum Mammon on Apr 20, 2011 12:36:56 GMT -5
To do lists...What had this place come to?
Two centuries ago this wouldn't have happened. The man would have simply complied, that was the way the old ways were. There weren't more important things to do, you either made things your way or you let someone else do it theirs, but you never set those agendas aside for something thought to be more important. The All-Marshal shrugged off the insult...He wasn't going to let the Dream God get to him just yet. He was too valuable to have his corpse decorating his wall as a rotting piece of art. No...He'd have to put up with this...ignorance, at least for awhile. He rested a single talon-like nail on his desk, tracing an ancient symbol on it, finding solace in its form. Slebris Tre'dor would comply in haste...He would make him.
"Slebris Tre'dor..." He shook his head absently, "I feel you don't quite grasp the current situation."
"Grasp it...Slebris Tre'dor...Grasp the situation..."
He removed himself from the proximity of his desk and now stood face to face with the dream walker. He tried to search the man's cowering gaze, which was now almost directed towards the floor. Timid. That's what the man was. What was he so afraid of? Did he not realize how valuable he was to him? He feared for his physical body...But Raum would keep it safe, even if he had to lock the dreamer away in his tower, safe from the rest of the Force. These days, although days of peace, things were beginning to crumble from within and out...Marcoux would be his weapon...His "ace in the hole" as a man had once referred to such a tool.
"Ace in the hole...Slebris Tre'dor...Ace in the ho-" Raum held up his hand to cut the twins off. Such a nuisance sometimes.
"Slebris Tre'dor...Here you are weak, nothing like when you are on your terms...No..." He put his icy cold hands on either shoulder of the man, "Here...You are on my terms."
"His terms...De'mordus Mah...His terms.."
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Post by Warden Marcoux on Apr 24, 2011 22:42:06 GMT -5
An eerie shadow crossed the All-Marshall’s brow. Marcoux instantly cast his eyes further downward. He was staring at the All-Marshall’s shins now. Soon enough he’d be down to the floor. But once he got to the floor, there wasn’t anything further down to gaze at…that would be when he reached the lowest of the low.
Just stare at the shins. Don’t upset the All-Marshall any more than you already have, Maxxie. Keep your eyes on his shins and everything will be just fine…Oh hell...
Raum Mammon closed in on the sad little dreamer. Marcoux felt as though the All-Marshall might as well be holding a blade to his throat. He understood well enough already, if the Dreamer didn’t comply with the All-Marshall’s wishes and give this task the proper attention...He would be much worse for the wear.
Marcoux jumped back as Mammon put up his hand to cut of his creepy demon-chorus. Eyes darted nervously to his left and right as taloned hands made contact with his shoulders. The Dream God nodded his head. Yes, he was definitely on Mammon’s terms here, and he wasn’t about to contend with that.
He swallowed hard. It felt heavy, like sand traveling down his esophagus. Not pleasant.
”Why don’t yo-…” Rephrase. ”What is it you want me to help you with exactly, sir?” That was generally a good place to start…actually knowing what it was he had been called to do in the first place.
Eyes fell upon the All-Marshall’s ankles now. That was the last stop before the floor. Soon enough it would be floor-gazing for the duration of the meeting. Infinite floor-gazing.
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Post by All-Marshal Raum Mammon on Apr 25, 2011 20:09:52 GMT -5
"You see...I wonder..." He said, watching the rain barrage the window in torrents.
The storm outside was not natural. It increased in its tempest, never slowing, only growing and growing, the zephyrs turned to gusts, the sprinkles turned to downpours. The ball was only a day away, and things were worsening...Whoever was causing this storm was sending a signal...What was it? He felt it in his bones, something was going to happen...He pulled his attention from the window and gave a quick fan of the tail of his robe as he made his way back to his decadent chair which loomed over his hand-engraved Maokem Oldface Wood, rarer than rare. He signaled for the Dream God to stand, although he wasn't sure if the man could see him, his gaze buried in the floor. He knew it was a nice rug, also rarer than rare, but he expected the man's attention to be on him, not his carpet...
A man came from a small side room as he continued his piece.
"What do the All-Marshals envision in their secure slumber? What do they dream about most? You will find these secrets for me...Devour their dreams, and regurgitate them before me, trace the patterns of their plans at my feet...You, Slebris Tre'dor, will decide who lives and who dies."
"Devour their dreams! Trace the patterns! Live and Die! Live and Die De'Mordus Mah!"
The twins were in a frenzy now, feeding off the negative energy in the room. The fear. Raum expected this from Marcoux, not many were placid in the chambers of the All-Marshal, in fact only a handful...One of those now entering. The man wore a black jacket, its coattails trailing down to his knees, the collar popped up to cover half of his face. Only the dark eyes could barely be seen, but what the collar did not cover from the side, the light fabric wrapped around his face and head like a veil made up for. Raum was satisfied with how things were turning out...His pawns were lined up, his...Ducks in a row, that's what they said in this realm. Soon those ducks would go for a swim...And they would find a shark in the water there. He scratched something on a piece of paper with his nail and handed it to the mysterious man.
"Find him."
"Find him, Find him, FIND HIM!
Raum turned back to Marcoux...The meeting was already coming to a conclusion. He wanted to get the Dream God out of the office and on his mission as soon as possible, and the Twins were gorging themselves on his fear as it came off him in waves. He stuck one of his long nails in his mouth for a moment, and scratched a message into the small silver orb that he then rolled off of his desk, making its way towards Marcoux slowly. His saliva etched its way into the metal as it rolled towards its destination.
It read: Fail not, De'Mordus Mah
"It means Dead Man, in my tongue."
"De'Mordus Mah...De'Mordus Mah"
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Post by Warden Marcoux on Nov 12, 2011 11:31:23 GMT -5
D-d-d-decide who lives and who…d-dies?
Marcoux felt like he was going to be sick.
Option 1: Do the All-Marshall’s bidding, be killed by the Force.
Option 2: Don’t do the All-Marshall’s bidding, be killed by the Force.
This really was a lose-lose situation, wasn’t it? A classic catch-22.
Maybe he should just give up and give in now. Hopefully it would be relatively painless, right? Get the torment over sooner rather than later…
And then there was the exchange. Find him? Find who? Were they enlisting the help of someone special to put Marcoux out of his misery? That wasn’t necessary, really. Most anyone could accomplish that task. No need to call in special favors on his account…
Oh hell, his heart. His fucking heart was going to give in, he could swear it. And his lungs were locked up, wheezing. He was going to pass out, he was sure of it. He was going to pass out. The Dream God clutched his chest. Breathing exercises. In…and out…In….and o-FUCK THAT!
A sense of sheer dread overcame poor Maxxie as Raum’s silver orb came near. “Dead Man? …Oh fu-…” His ears buzzed, head top-heavy, mind drifting toward unconsciousness.
No. No. Breathe. Oh fuck, oh hell….
Marcoux attempted to compose himself, one hand gripped tightly to the sphere, the other fumbling at his chest. “I-I’ll try my best, All-Marshall.”
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Post by All-Marshal Raum Mammon on Nov 14, 2011 15:07:58 GMT -5
Raum stood.
He made his way over to where the Warden shook in his boots. This man was completely his now. He could almost taste the fear coming off of his body in waves. The Twins were frothing at the mouth, feasting on the negative energy as if there was a banquet laid out before them. They feasted, and it gave him power. Already he could feel his body a little more…anchored…to this realm. No longer did the call of the Abyss tug at his entity as it had the day before. He had the Warden Marcoux to thank for that.
He put his pale hands on the Warden’s shoulders and turned him towards the door.
He leaned forward, his icy lips grazing the tip of Marcoux’s ear.
“Of course you will, Slebris Tre’dor…De’Mordus Mah…Because…”
He left the man’s shoulders and moved slowly towards the windows where he usually watched out over the city. His hands folded neatly behind his back as he stared out into the tempest that was raging outside. He licked his icy lips, although it gave him no sensation. He was numb to this world…Without the intricate and delicate magics to provide feeling, it was hard to absorb what these mortals called…Taste, Touch, Smell…They were abstract to him, despite his centuries of attempting to acclimate.
“If you don’t…Do your best, if you don’t succeed…Your dreams will become my nightmares.
“Nightmares, Slebris Tre’dor, Nightmares.”
“You are dismissed.”
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