#rp!malthael

[mal-likes-biscuits]

Mals courtesy of @fishyfiash​, @macabrecabra​, and @oyeedraw​

[mal-likes-biscuits]

[Continued from here!]

@macabrecabra

“No shortage of warriors in Tristram,” Lyndon quipped, marveling silently at the weapon Tevar had fired. Crossbows had certainly changed in a few thousand years. Perhaps if he was lucky, he could acquire himself one--

Later. They had to sound the alarm, though he doubted the sudden demon swell would go unnoticed by the other Nephalem. He cast a concerned glance back towards the tunnels before resuming his sprint to Tristram. Malthael could take care of himself, particularly if Imperius was with him.

What a cockeyed thought. Need to pester the dumbarse later and find out how he caught himself up in all of this.

“Wait, I can help!” Chith had finally found his footing and was jogging alongside them, more an awkward stumble than a true sprint. Ah well, Lyndon thought; the healer wasn’t exactly known for his dexterity. “Just need a moment...”

He drew a gem from a pouch, clasped it between his palms, and pulsed a Lightwave through it. The crystal lit, then keeled; distantly, the sound of other gems resonating could be heard.

Lyndon snickered. If the others hadn’t noticed the demons yet, they would now. “That’s supposed to be for emergencies.”

“This is an emergency!”

“Eh, I’ve seen worse.”

Chith glowered at him, a mannerism clearly borrowed from Malthael.

“Long as you’re ready to sunder some demons, no harm done,” he conceded, as he fired another round into the fiends that were scuttering behind them. “Are you ready?”

————————————————————————————

Malthael’s hearing faded to a high-pitched keening as the cavern exploded, throwing him and Imperius into the dirt. He groaned and pressed his index fingers to his temples, blinking through the disorientation as sound gradually returned.

“My thanks,” he muttered, when he saw the breaks in Imperius’ armor. “And yes, I can--” He was interrupted by Imperius wrapping an arm about him. Confused, Malthael glared at him. “What are you doing--”

--whhhhhhoooooooooomp--

His boots slammed into Tristram’s cobblestones. Beside him, Imperius called forth Solarion. A ream of flames exploded across the square as the spear fell from the sky into his grip.

Malthael exhaled a long-suffering sigh; so much for keeping the Archangel hidden. On cue, panicked shouts went up from around the town. Malthael’s own warning-gem flickered and sounded; Chith, probably.

“By the Light, someone get the arcanists over here, we have a prob--”

“Stop!” He side-stepped around Imperius, raising his blades in defense at Tyrael’s panicked shout, as the Horadric leader approached with his sword drawn. “He is no threat!”

El’druin wavered in the man’s grip, though only slightly. He looked between Malthael and Imperius with enraged incredulity, and more than a touch of confusion. “Brother. What in the Hells is this?”

“Complicated,” Malthael said dryly. Though, Tyrael probably wanted more information. “Demon infestation. Be here soon. Not your brother,” he cocked his head at Imperius. “Long story.”

“And I expect to hear it all later,” Tyrael glowered; his eyes hadn’t left the Archangel, though he did temporarily lower El’druin. “What are we dealing with?”

“Filth demon. Split. Keep the halves apart. Kill everything. Except,” he added, with a trace of resignation, “Rakanoth. Also helping.”

“By Diablo’s taint, why is the Lord of Despair also here?”

“Long story,” Malthael repeated. “Must we debate it now?”

Indeed, it was not the time. He felt the demon swell pulse and writhe towards Tristram. Reaching out into the surrounding essence, he drew from the well of Death and called its chill into his blades. Frost crept along the shotels, stopping just before it reached his fingers. His forearms ached preemptively.

Oh, enough.

The demons were feral, mindless creatures, most of them. But some would recognize him, if given reason. He considered fetching his armor, before deciding there wasn’t enough time. And he had other ways to project his identity.

He snapped a shotel out, tip to the sky, and let Death flow through him. The shroud ran along his flesh and along his back, before snaking out into the form of wispy, skeletal wings. 

If Hamorath were intelligent, he would fear two Archangels.

“Keep the tail out of the way,” he muttered to Imperius, before slowly stalking towards the town’s gates. “Lest I habitually lop it off.”

[mal-likes-biscuits]

“I wish the mortals an appropriately cheerful midwinter tomorrow. If you need me, I will be in my study, under several quilts, attempting to ignore the raucous caroling coming from the Slaughtered Calf Inn. No, Tyrael, you cannot change my mind. I am certainly not wearing this ridiculous bonnet -- !!”

[mal-likes-biscuits]

The Flight of the Bumblebee

[Theme song with the only proper instrumentation it could have!]

@macabrecabra

“You’re going to doom us all,” Lyndon said, casually leaning against an oak and peering at Malthael and the contraption with resignation. “Just leave it be.”

“No,” he muttered, raising the inactive rift contraption so he could better study the runes cut into it.

“You don’t even know how to activate it.”

“Exactly my concern. If I did, I would ensure it remained unused. As it is...” He glanced at the scoundrel briefly, before returning to silently mouthing out the words of power. “There is a chance even a dullard like you could trigger it.”

“Oh, that would be unfortunate, wouldn’t it. It would mean you could also use it.”

Malthael was only half-listening to Lyndon at that point; the quipping was instinctive and didn’t distract from the other half of his brain that was quickly dissembling the arcane script. He remembered some of what had been on the instructions Tevar had been working from, though it seemed the device was also in a more dormant state now than it had been that time.

“The energy reservoir is depleted.” He frowned.

“Try directing some of your wit its direction. Should get a rise out of it. Also, please, friend. Put it down. I really wasn’t joking. You’re going to accidentally whisk the two of us away someplace.”

“Wouldn’t that be a shame. Perhaps I could leave you there.”

“You’re a stubborn arse, you know that?”

“Oh, verily. That is how I came to be here.”

Ah, there. He couldn’t quite parse all of the runes, different as they were in that other realm of the future, but it seemed there was a spot where the device would absorb additional energy. Only one way to check. He unclasped a pouch he’d set on the dirt beside him and fetched out a narrow, opalescent crystal.

“Dumbarse,” Lyndon repeated, looking as though he wanted to try and sink right into the tree to avoid things. “That’s not what those are for.”

That was exactly what they were for at this point, Malthael thought, as he carefully raised the Archshard to the device. It wasn’t as though one that small could do much of anything other than accidentally give arcane shocks to someone who wasn’t expecting it.

The moment they touched, a surge of power ran through his arm as the crystal sang out to the device, bringing with it the familiar flow of an arcane conduit.

“See? It only responds when--” he began to say, before he realized he couldn’t remove the shard from the device. In fact, he couldn’t move his arm at all. He was locked in the magic and at the mercy of whatever was going to happen.

Oh, impshit.

He hated it when Lyndon was right. He managed to give the scoundrel an irritated glare before the device flashed, and reality melted around him. He was going somewhere, whether he wanted to or not.

[mal-likes-biscuits]

[Continued from here]

@oyeedraw

--------------------------------------------------------------------

--nononononononoyouidiot--

The full reality of the situation came tumbling down on Malthael, then.  Messōrēs or not, Raamiel was still a Reaper in some fashion, and he had no idea what to do with one who was half-turned into a feral monstrosity. Everything had spiraled dangerously out of his control.

“Too much sound...”

Oh, but he knew that feeling. Knew it all too well, uncomfortably, maddeningly so.

“Coursing?” He hissed at Tobias, annoyed at wasting valuable moments clarifying something that seemed critical. “What is that? How do we do it?”

“Return… where?” The Maiden’s soul rang like a bell, washing over him and raising the hairs on his arms and neck. The ache it carried with it nearly doubled him over the way she had.

--yourfaultyourfaultallyourfault--

Focus. He had to focus. He could solve this. He hadn’t known. But, he could know. 

“We should lure her back to the portal. Maybe--maybe if you give her a destination, she’ll follow without much--”

“Toobiaass?”

“Yes, aunt Raami? I’m here… don’t worry…!”

“Prisca’s little morselll…”

Bad tone. Not good. Portal -- very good. People with knowledge, there. Tire her out. Make her chase. Get her away from Tristram, and all the other little morsels she would try and find and rip their souls out--

--likeyourlittlelibrarianpi’rawouldn’tshelikethat--

“Aquincum!” Malthael growled furiously, as he sprinted past the Maiden in the direction Tobias had come from. “Return to Aquincum! This way!”

Every step jarred his shoulder, causing the already forming crust on it to break open and bleed anew. As he ran, he intentionally flicked some of the blood from it, spattering it against tree trunks and bushes -- leaving behind detectable fragments of his essence. 

If she wanted something to chew on, she could damn well try and catch him. With some luck, she would follow the trail.

[mal-likes-biscuits]

[Continued from here!]

@fluffy-angels

“Honestly, that is how he does things,” Lyndon replied, before Malthael could get a word in. “He’s only cantankerous because you did it and not him.”

“Lyndon,” Malthael hissed, turning his discomfort into a pointed glare at the scoundrel. It gave him an excuse to break Rathma’s gaze. The ur-Nephalem’s ebony eyes were more than a bit disquieting.

“Merely helping you uphold your status as the paragon of truth.”

The remaining quips Malthael had prepared evaporated as soon as Rathma’s still unidentified companion mentioned Chith. Of course it was the healer’s doing. That explained a great many things.

“And I am sure Chith would be enthusiastic about meeting you. Very enthusiastic.” He resisted the urge to massage his forehead.

If the strange bird-Nephalem was Rathma, however improbable that was, then there was a high chance his companion was Kalan. Though Malthael was not exactly a Priest of Rathma, he had familiarized himself with their lore and history enough to be able to hold a proper conversation with their adherents. 

“Kalan, yes?” He tilted his head. “Chith is not hard to find. And if you,” he glanced at Rathma, “are so inclined to take a bath, then there is a sizable river near Tristram, as well as several meadow ponds. Try not to frighten the locals. I would rather this not become my business again.”

He barely managed to not snicker at Rathma’s blunt declaration. Of all the things the necromancer had said, his expression of hunger was certainly the most relatable. A proper plate of baking and a warm cup of tea were on Malthael’s mind, as well. Relaxing. And nothing to do with strange Nephalem and stolen pants.

[mal-likes-biscuits]

[Continued from here!]

@macabrecabra

“Aye, as certainly as a fish is wet,” Malthael replied, echoing a phrase Lyndon oft said. “Still, violence begets violence. Though I am inclined to agree with you in theory, practice has shown me Magtherius’ decision is...nuanced.”

Light knew, he had tried to brusquely intervene and had subsequently reaped the consequences. Whatever darkness brewed in his counterpart (and he firmly believed it was a different shadow than the one that haunted him), it did not respond positively to force. It met aggression with equal fervor, regardless of the damage it did to everything else.

What Magtherius seemed to be doing was teaching his charge control, and patience: tempering instincts to counter the raw frustration that bubbled within the reaper. When Malthael imagined the fledgling applying those behaviours, he pictured a being closely resembling the immortal he had been, once.

Perfectly in charge. Cunning. Even more dangerous than the half-feral creature Tyranius made him out to be.

He wondered if history was doomed to repeat itself for that reason. If he was meant to suffer the same pitfalls in every incarnation. Or, if Magtherius’ efforts would be enough to alter the flow of fate.

Only time would tell.

“So where do you live anyways and how about did you come from there to here?”

He did not like Tyranius’ suspicious tone much, nor the way she was eyeing up his gear. Truthfully, he was surprised the others had not yet commented on his physical similarity to the reaper. Granted, the fledglings did not seem to be very observant, and he had not encountered any adult angels until this point. Auriel had nearly made the connection, until she had overlooked the obvious in favour of assessing his character.

But, as Lyndon also said -- if it looked like a duck, and it quacked like a duck...

Tyranius was no idiot. If she hadn’t figured things out already, she would. Soon.

“Elsewhere,” he replied, his tone calmly evasive. “And against my better judgement.”

[mal-likes-biscuits]

[Continued from here!]

@fluffy-angels

“I am very happy to hear that,” Chith managed, running a hand through his hair again anxiously. “And I do appreciate the offer of protection and all of that. Though, I should probably clarify, that ah...I am probably my worst critic.”

“That you are,” Lyndon chuckled. “Don’t let him fool you. We’re quite fond of him. Malthael included.”

Malthael replied by grunting and folding his arms. It wasn’t his preference to show affection so outwardly, but neither was he about to deny it and risk receiving Rathma’s wrath again. 

“He is a far better healer than a necromancer,” he said. “An appreciated and apt career change.”

“Mal actually helped me discover that! He figured it out before I did and helped me see the Light. I mean, quite literally see the Light. And then he was very patient helping me research things, and learn where else I could go for study, and--”

While Chith rambled, Malthael turned to Kalan and very slowly raised a brow, as if to say: Do you see how immensely patient I can be?

_________________________________

Zaira stared at Rathma for a moment, before bursting into uncontrollable, sharp-toned laughter. “My Lord, as much as it amuses me to consider stealing away with his breeches, I think I would rather leave them in your care. That woman would be after me with a book if she thought I was bothering her cherished friend.”

That she loathed the librarian as much as she did was an ongoing point of contention in her soul. There was nothing threatening about her, nor a violent bone in the woman’s entire body, from what Zaira could tell. She was the sort of person Zaira should have and usually did ignore completely in favor of focusing on those who impacted her work.

Except, this soft, frustratingly jolly librarian had somehow earned both the trust and admiration of Malthael, and this fact was utterly irreconcilable in Zaira’s mind. It made no sense. She couldn’t imagine the woman related to him at all. How then was it that Zaira was on the receiving end of Malthael’s ire, when in fact she understood his situation more than anyone else alive?

All of this Zaira considered while outwardly showing her displeasure with a slight tightening of her jaw. It would do her no good to fume about Malthael when someone who did appreciate her was standing in front of her. Someone powerful. An old idol, one she had disregarded before as the product of myth, but who was, surprisingly, exactly as she had imagined.

As if sensing her frustration, Rathma unexpectedly released to her a memory:  The Dragon, framed in complete darkness, but pin-pricked with minuscule bits of light. There was inviting heat. There was an aching chill.

“Even Trag’Oul was as much a being of dark as he was of light. We’re blind in the night’s darkness without stars to light our path. But we wouldn’t see the stars without the night sky to frame them.”

“Blessed be the Balance,” she rasped, raising a shaking hand to her face as the image of Trag’Oul faded from her mind. “You honour me with such a gift, my Lord. And with your words of wisdom.”