Surripio - Long Awaited
Time was such a fickle thing in Daznook. Seconds seemed like hours while what might be a day felt like merely a minute. No one in that place could ever tell how long they had been there, only knowing that they were there one moment longer. That they had survived one breath more. That they were alive for seconds more.
Where perhaps before one found themselves gauging time by counting moments that signaled their life dragged on, some odd measure of time was counted between when food would be tossed to the cages or they were dragged from them for more interrogation. Faervell and Valiriel had no longer taken to this. No, they counted time in each second that they continued to elude the demons of that forsaken place. And it seemed many times that they had nearly found those seconds cut short by some misstep taken along this sudden escape.
While plans had been made, they only knew so much of what actually was on Daznook. Often times, their dragging by the demons taking them on a far too familiar route directly from the cages to the stones and never straying. What point was there for the demons to stray either? They were lost, yet continued on with the sharp determination of wild animals that would not be caged again. They would not let themselves die there.
Very little sleep had been found, just as it was in the cages. No place was safe, and any time rest was found, it was found tucked in some dark, uncomfortable place amongst the broken stones to the edges of that shattered plane. It was cold, and little could be done of it. They slept in shifts, always one eye open, scanning each stone around them for any demon that might erupt out from beneath the two and tear them from their escape.
Often times it was quiet- no demons to be seen, but every once in awhile, small packs of hounds or imps wandered. They, in some twisted manner, provided them with enough energies to live…even if the food was not there. It wasn’t the same, though, and each pang of hunger or pain of the useless action of their tongue trying to wet their lips was a torture in itself.
Faervell hated it. Every damned second of it.
It was hard to walk, to grab hold of things, to ignore the pains that caused him, at times, to shake uncontrollably with the pain. Valiriel was in no better state, often times having to rest after a while, even if she would not admit the pain her wounds were actually causing her. That was understandable to Faervell. He had expected that, even from the start of it all. But that was far from the worst thing there.
The voices- voices of a thousand whispers that spoke and echoed in his ears and around the rocks they hid in. They seemed deafening now, where before they spoke softly when he was in the cage. He never could get them out of his head, speaking of doubts that he tried to push away, of unknown endings, of assumptions that ended in the worst of ways. He tried to tell himself it was nothing, merely the sounds of his own thoughts, and that if he would ignore them well enough, that they would be gone.
They never left.
Instead, they were supplemented by false visions. Demons of various shapes and despicable appearances moving around him. Sometimes, they kept their distance, but other times they were right beside him, forcing him to hold his breath and curl in close to himself out of fear. Often times he would try and tell Valiriel of them, to warn her, or start to run from them. She would only tell him she did not see them or sharply demand an end to his panic for the sheer fact that she -knew- they weren’t real.
There was an odd understanding, though, and while it obviously would frustrate her or jar her from what little calm she might find, to insert a sharp pin of fear, she hadn’t left him there alone. Instead, she trudged on, only searching for ways out of that place.
Daznook truly was horrendous. Often times, the only ways in and out were one cluster of portals that only at rare, inconsistent times would open forth to allow demons to make their ways. On every portal, there were demons guarding it, watching over it and the towers of the prisoners; prisoners that served a better use as a source of energy to keep the portals activated or open to new places.
Several times, Valiriel and Faervell had found similar setups. Souls feeding into fel constructed machines that served only to further destruction in the world. It sent a chilling reality of the situation and of the fate of many of those who did survive the torturous grasp of the inquisitors or the cold cells they had been in. Nothing was wasted by the legion if it would further their goal to destroy all of creation.
It was a chilling truth to say that there was little chance to escape through the main portals without having themselves cut down or worse, making it to the other side only to be destroyed just as they saw their freedom, wherever that might be. Neither of them wished to speak of the distaste for the latter, a solid understanding of how much worse of a death that would be. Neither were fit to run for such a risk, and neither wished for those outcomes.
It was that fact that lead to a mutual agreement between the two: if they were to make it out, they would have to create their own door. Perhaps the fortunate thing they were offered was that both of them seemed to have a steady knowledge of portals and runes. Valiriel matched Faervell’s own understanding and helped him calculate just what they would need to get a temporary window open for their escape.
A surface to paint the runes, the material to set the runes down with, and power to fuel the spell. Power was the most necessary thing, and while plenty of fel surrounded them, it did not affix the spell to a permanent formation- at least, one long enough for them to run through without finding their bodies potentially cut off. The surface could be found, loose stones brushed away from a more flat place among the rocky crags.
In their escape, they both came to terms easily with the idea of having to sacrifice the lives of others in order to live. Still, the sentiment held true, and their decisions were simple. They would find both the liquid to paint the runes and the energies from the prisoners. Neither forgot that not so long ago, they were part of that group.
Souls were taken, sharded and collected.
Blood was drained, soaked and contained.
Time was such a fickle thing, but the seconds could not seem to drag on longer than when it was time to prepare the portal. Each detail -had- to be right, and Faervell would not make the same mistake that landed him in that situation. He was meticulous, and not once had Valiriel pushed for a faster completion. There was no reason to rush that final step- they would not waste their one chance for a wish to rush it.
The moment that Faervell realized that the portal was open was paired with a large sigh of relief. They had managed it. It had been dangerous- especially with going to the prisons were they collected the souls for their portal. Demons had been wandering out further to find any sign of some of the warlocks that had escaped, but they had managed even still. Valiriel reminded him to waste no more time looking at the circle, her voice cutting through the whispers that still hissed in his ear of all the ways the plan would fail and how death would be the only thing that met him. It was time.
It was time to open the portal.
He remembered the first time he had seen this woman, crazed just as he was with the rush of being deposited in such a place, quick to try and think of some way out. Somehow, along the way, he had taken comfort in her presence, looking to keep close if only for the sanity and companionship she offered. They had created a plan together, managing to stay true to it and not grow greedy for the freedom they’d surely not claim were they to try such a thing alone.
And now he sat there, once more taking her hand and feeling the tether of energies connect them. It was a familiar sensation, one he had done countless times before, and it always gave him such a rush. His grip tightened, and with sharp syllables, Valiriel and Faervell tore open a portal through the nether. It was small, but it was enough, and without hesitation the pair went through the brief door.
Sound was lost, and any feeling of a firm foothold was gone. Faervell felt helpless, his grip on Valiriel’s hand slipping as he tossed and turned. There were arcs of lighting around the pair, and clouds that were filled with freezing winds, with sharp dusts, suddenly took over them. Breath was taken from their lungs and slowly, Faervell had to close his eyes to ignore the sickness that was rising up in his throat. It felt jarring to be so helpless through that place, yet they were lead through it all by some thin string, drawn towards whatever small opening they might find on the other side.
It was suffocating at first, suddenly being dropped into something that felt warmer than the sharp cold of the nether. It was so abrupt a change, that at first, Faervell thought perhaps he had lost himself halfway through the journey. After all, it felt as though he was so weightless…yet he felt something below him.
Pushing up suddenly, the man realized he was in shallow waters that moved slowly towards something more to his left. He opened his eyes to this crystalline sight, seeing the dirt and grime wash away from his body and a bright sunlight reflecting off the surface of the water around him. It was near blinding, and he sucked in a breath- a breath of fresh, untainted air. It still felt as though it burned, but it did not make him want to cough, and as he lifted his head, looking around, all he saw was green.
Foliage was thick, draping vines falling almost perfectly to form some scenic glade. The water that he had landed in was cool, yet not freezing. The air was fresh and smelled like soft flowers and warm dirt. The sun could be seen, could be felt. It was late in the day, the warmth surrounding them in a pleasant way without burning and biting at their flesh. The sounds of nature and life surrounded him, and felt as if it might deafen him.
With such an overwhelming sight, he had all but forgotten the pains throughout his body, the hand that he had used to brace himself the worst off, as it twisted the broken bones under the clear waters.
A sudden fear.
“Valiriel? Val-” He stopped short. She was there, everything was fine. He felt some heavy weight fall from him, seeing that fact. Seeing that she was there.
“Faervell- Yes. I’m here. Where are we? What is this place?”
As if he would know. He quickly spoke out, “I have no idea. But we are…we’re alive. We made it.” Yet water was around, and suddenly it made him painfully aware of how thirsty he was. He didn’t care of there was still dirt that was washing from his hands, he cupped up some of it and brought it straight to his mouth.
It was cool, yet nearly painful for how it felt against his dried lips and parched throat. He hadn’t felt such a thing for so long, and now that he was given it, and so suddenly, he was reminded of how sick he felt. He didn’t manage to drink any. He merely let it dampen his mouth enough so that it would not hurt as bad when he needed to talk. He did not even care if Valiriel had given him a look or not.
Faervell was so glad, even if this was some dream- something that came after his death. Even if it meant that, he was still glad to be gone from Daznook.
To be away from the dark prisons with unforgiving living metal.
To be away from the cold void that he so often had to look out upon.
To be away from the smell of piss and blood and death.
To be away from the jailors that dragged them. To be away from sharp rocks that made his skin raw.
Away from the Inquisitors. Away from their fingers digging into his mind and stealing his thoughts and memories. Twisting them before his eyes and bringing forth only tortured cries that would last till his throat was too raw to allow him to scream.
Away from the whispers that filled his head, that tried to steal away any hope that might be there, that made him want for nothing but death.
Away from the torture.
Away from the fear.
Faervell could hear Valiriel start to say something, but before he could register what she was saying, there was another voice. Someone who seemed to have a lilt of some seductive and coy tone to her, and who sounded far too close to a certain demon for Faervell’s tastes.
“It appears we’ve found our prey.”
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