Let Death Be What We Seek

[Darkness Incarnate]

Let death take you… Experience it when possible, and perhaps be born anew. Lest we fall into shameful degradation of skill and instinct… Take the opportunity to die, seriously, for what it is… A chance to be caught in the moment, free of the burden to think… Let death take you, when and where you can…

They had fought, that night in the rain. He had summoned her to him, so that he could test his hand at doing her a favor… And slaying her flesh. They had seemed to be rather well matched at the time, and for a fleeting moment (in the grand scheme of things) there had been nothing else but the two of them. And then, it had grown into something less than what it had at first been. Something… Boring. And they had gone their separate ways, no winner. No lust given into. No blood spilled by either. But perhaps… Just perhaps… They had both been only going through the motions?

 Perhaps he had not truly wanted to kill her as much as he had tried to make it seem, oozing with malevolent and tangible murderous intent as he had been. But he was eager to die as well, if such were his blessing and curse. Was there not a point in trying? He thought there was.

 Cyan sighed, walking alone, kept introspective and bound within his thoughts by the events he replayed in his mind, not long ago of that night. He knew he could provoke her. A priestess. How they always tend to be sacred in their purity. He could do so again. But why? Why summon her, if they were not going to kill each other? “Atra’Lamia… Atra’Lamia…” he said rather absent mindedly and to himself.

 Walking amongst the woods, one of his favorite ways to think, atleast outside of the plane of Darkness Incarnate which he called home… Which he called himself, just as much. No, sometimes it was better to think, when walking without care or awareness of the passing things around one. Sometimes, meditation in the void that spawned him as his dimension of darkness had was more burdensome and difficult to achieve.

 What was there left? No turmoil in the world. No bloodletting. No war. All he had now was to wander alone, perhaps… “Atra’Lamia…” he mumbled again. Would it be worth the efforts to try again? Would she even respond? Perhaps, if nothing else, she might bring with her someone else for him to play and enjoy himself with? To share in a mutual spilling of blood? To engage one as elusive as she, he would pay any fee. Even die himself. The only way to grow, was to continually be reborn. Even if only metaphorically. But when possible, literal rebirth was a rare thing to achieve and reach. And thus it should be pursued doggedly.

 It was what he sought. To grow again. Stagnation and emptiness of stimulus were not good for any entity. Certainly not something the likes of which Cyan Nightbane was. To be able to grow… he had to be challenged. There was nothing else to it.

 His foot splashed water and he suddenly pulled his attentions from inward, and noticed he had stepped into a stream. He had not even noticed, as he had moved from the edge of the woods, into a brief opening where the stream ran through. The leafless trees of a desolate wintery wasteland of grays and browns surrounded him on all sides. He would issue a challenge. This was as good a place as any. “Atra’Lamia… If thou hearest, then let thee answer. And come to my call again. Your hidden mind and quintessence are often so hard to find… And I am bored of looking. I have a proposition for you.” He would say to the aethers riding the winds.

 He drew the sword from its scabbard, and gripping the blade at its base with his left hand, then slid his hand along the length of the blade while squeezing tight. The fang he carried cut deep into his flesh, and blood whetted his blade, as it ran from the wound. This was blood to use as a weapon, more then something that could be collected and learned from by any alchemist. His true vitae was kept elsewhere.

 Dozens of drops had fallen from his hand to land by his left foot and begin to make a small puddle. He began sweeping the area around and in front of him with droplets of blood as he swung his arm to and fro, casting crimson luminance about as each drop shone and sparkled in the partially overcast winter sky.

 He started thinking, as he stood there waiting for a psionic response, or an actual appearance, of the events in Tia. They had all been on the same side. They had all been in the midst of politics of a world beneath them. Of entity’s beneath them.

 Though, while certainly entertaining in ways that were different… All that had occurred upon that world had seemed to be nothing more than pissing contests.

 The inhabitants and beings of power from that world had indulged Cyan, Atra, and Malice and company with statements of superiority and displays of power they thought may be impressive, but none had engaged them. If memory served, Malice had summoned Cyan to fight alongside him, as Malice fought…someone insignificant, albeit presumably of might as measured by that world’s standards…And Cyan had not been engaged. Malice had been the only one, truly lucky that day. To fight. And even then, it had ended in nothing worth the time or effort.

 Another sigh escaped him, and he continued to wait. Hopefully this day would turn out better than that entire journey had been…