After a few minutes of thought, the boy takes two quick drinks of some sort of alcohol, a false determination quickly rising in him - slightly delusional from the alcohol and his meditations, Sukasa made his way out of their home, determined to find his Father like Miriella had asked him; his instincts carrying him to the Commonlands.
The further the boy travelled from Qeynos, the less false bravado he had and the more anxious fear filled him. Upon reaching Nektulos forest, the fear spiked, making him nearly turn back until he heard Miriella's plea to know who his father echoing in his ears. He had to find his father, it was what his new mother needed him to do, though he didn't quite understand why.
Several hours later, deep in the wilderness of D'lere, Kasa sat down beside a crumbling tower, resting in the shade. He sighed deeply, taking a sip of whatever odd alcohol he'd found back at home from a small flask as he leaned back against the stones. Before he could even collect his thoughts, a darker shadow drifted over his form, causing him to look upward to a familiar figure that leered down at him; the boy's mouth opened to scream, but the figure moved quickly, a heavy hand crashing into his shoulder before he could make a single sound. sprawling on his stomach, the boy closed his eyes reflexively, body tensing before the next blow hit.
This was all too familiar...
The second blow connected to the back of his other shoulder, the man knocking him into the dusty ground beneath the tower as the man screamed something the boy couldn't understand before he struck him again in the center of his back; faintly, he thought he heard the man shouting about a woman...his mother, how he looked just like her...how he'd killed her...but everything was fading away as his mind retreated beneath each heavy blow to his body.
"Yvette, stole her life, demon," the man muttered as he pummeled the little boy's backside over and over, "stole her face...took her from me..."
The landscape of the boy's mind was barren and broken, chaotic and disoriented in a sort of surreal fashion. Amid the shattered void, a boy-child collapsed to the ground, screaming in terror as his physical body was beaten, calling out for someone to save him from what was happening - as his voice ripped through the psychic plane, the barren waste around him began tho shift, changing as it always did whenever his father saw fit to beat him. Soon the shaking, crying boy lay in the green fields outside of Qeynos, the physical assault a distant memory.
The beating continued, painful and bloody yet somehow distant at the same time with an odd, almsot numb emotion accompanying the beating. One shoulder was out of place, the other hanging at on odd angle, broken; another harsh blow to his back broke his spine with a sickening snap. As Sukasa's body began to stop trembling, true unconciousness drifting over his physical form, his father panicked.
"...K-kasa?" a girl's voice said, her distant touch strengthening after flinching away from his scream.
Lifting the broken boy, the man growled, "...can't leave, Yvette...not again...not yet -".
Delirous and stricken, the man could no longer see the little boy in his hands, instead he saw the broken body of his long-dead wife. Covered in her own blood, barely clinging to life after giving birth, all he longed for was one last intimate moment with her that he had been denied for so long; he believed he was lifting her to him, holding her tenderly in his embrace one last time...despite the erratic but constant striking blows to her back with one hand...
"Sukasa.. Sukasa? Sukasa... Ilsael, Sukasa..," the voices were deafening, the distant Ilsael continued to scream his pleas for help, and as he realised the brutal beating that was being done to his lover, the spirits revealled where the young mage was...
Hanging on the edges of life, the little boy's body hung limply in his father's arms as they collapsed to the ground together. For a long moment, his father held the child close, lovingly running his fingers through the boy's hair as he whispered his goodbyes to the dead Yvette, begging for her forgiveness. As his delirium waned, the man looked down at his son in shock before violently pushing the child away from him - broken and near death, the rag doll of a body tumbled several feet before coming to rest on its stomach in a twisted position, its shoulders sticking at odd angles while the upper back was turned horrifically from its lower.
Hysterical, he began tearing away the last bits of clothing from the child's body - most of it was already bloodied and torn, the rest easily pulled from his small frame. He tried to remove anything that might make a connection back to him, and yet still could not bring himself to strike anywhere but the boy's backsides.
"Sukasa, please don't die," her frantic voice begged as she felt the flickering flame of life recceeding from him.
The man stumbled away, taking the shreds of clothing and the boy's small pack and flasks with him , leaving the unconcious child alone to die beneath the fading sun. His breath slowed with each passing moment, his body barely moving as his blood slipped down his sides into the parched ground, each drop, each trickle taking him further from life.
"Sukasa! Don't leave me!"
"Apathy! Don't leave me!"
Their voices called him back, the broken child's hands clawing desperately into the grass beneath him, eyes closing against death's awaiting visage but he was so tired...so weak...
Griffons just didn’t seem fast enough for Corbin. Freeport was still far, and time was precious.
Ilsael, Sukasa’s beloved, had drawn enough alarm from Corbin. Somewhere down the line, Corbin might laugh at the fact his small visits to Sukasa’s home often involved running to find his younger brother, first. That was not this day, however.
The edge of Nektulos was in view now, through the treetops. Corbin grimaced and dug his spurred boot heels into the griffon’s side, urging him faster through the forest. The griffon bucked and protested, nearly throwing its passenger. The rogue gripped the beast’s back, patting it in apology as the large creature dove faster for the tower.
The swashbuckler shifted, crouching on the griffon’s back, poised to jump. The griffon wasn’t slowing. Corbin leapt, skidding across the wooden planks as he hit the tower’s platform, a blur of chain, limbs, and skin as he scrambled to his feet only to dive off the side of the tower.
Protests from the tamer only made him laugh as he landed easily on his feet, sprinting towards the final bridge.
‘Hold on, little brother… I am almost there…’
The Commonlands were as he remembered them—a stretch of mostly barren land and rock, with the occasional drinking pool and patch of green. The sun always seemed to shine red here.
Corbin rocked on his heels, biting his lip as he surveyed the land. He had many enemies here now, and was unsure of what he would be facing. A guise would help, if only a little.
Assuming the guise of an Ayr’dal, he continued through Lucan’s lands. Sukasa’s tracks were easy to follow, despite the traffic of footprints, paw prints, claw prints and snake windings. The orcs paid little attention to the passing black-clad Ayr’dal. For all purposes, he could have easily been a highwayman.
Corbin stopped as suddenly as the tracks did, his dark eyes scanning the area. Broken stone, tower, the occasional wandering undead sentry…and Sukasa.
The younger Feir’dal was face down, stripped of possessions and dignity. Corbin’s stomach lurched as he saw the blood and the strange twisting of the frail and broken form.
The rogue knelt, lifting the bloodied form into his arms, a small scream wrenching from the mage, causing his brother to wince. Carefully balancing the boy, Corbin rummaged through his pack, drawing out a traveling blanket. He wrapped the pale-haired boy in it carefully. The blanket soon stained with the motionless boy’s own blood.
Sukasa’s shallow breathing only furthered Corbin’s panic. His brother needed help. If they started for Qeynos, they might arrive too late. A distress flare was fired into the air, Corbin finally finding some usefulness in the gnomish fireworks.
The elder brother drew his hand across Sukasa’s face brushing a bit of hair away from his eyes as he waited, in hope. He struggled to speak, his voice grating and forced from the wounds Volcanus had inflicted on him.
“Brother… forgive me.”
Corbin watched the group of Bloodthorn as they approached. He was uneasy, but masked his true feelings behind an illusion of calm. The guise was still needed.
He stood, lifting his younger brother upwards in him. Avarice stepped forward, demanding. “You! Put him down at once!”
Corbin made no move to comply. The entourage, he noticed, composed of the human in red armor (aptly called Red), the defilers Chath and Caen, a blindfolded Teir’dal woman, and another male Teir’dal Corbin could not identify.
Red stepped forward, placing himself between Corbin and Avarice. The motion was surprisingly without malice. Corbin set his jaw, looking over the group once more. As much as he loathed trusting them at the moment, his brother needed help.
The false Ayr’dal held Sukasa out to them, in offering. He spoke quietly, his voice still forced and gravelly. “He…needs help.”
Avarice looked from Caen to the pair. “Caen, can you help him?”
At that moment, Sukasa’s body released a rattling breath, no further movement following. Fear gripped the rogue as he felt the death, his eyes pleading as he looked to the others once more. Avarice looked to rush to the boy, but stopped herself.
“Apathy, don’t die!”
Caen’s eyes were upon the boy then as the defiler stepped forward, his hand outstretched. He mumbled, grasping for some invisible thing in the air. “Oh no you don’t,” he said, taking hold of something only he could see, forcing it back towards Sukasa’s body—it was his spirit.
Avarice moved forward once more, stopping when Red laid a hand upon her shoulder. Sukasa’s body convulsed in his brother’s arms, the rogue sickened inside as he reflected on what had been done to the boy. What monster could have done this? The pacifist within him retreated, as thoughts of vengeance passed through his mind.
‘Justice,’ he reminded himself quietly. Sukasa shuddered again, whimpering, as Caen began to mend the broken bones and flesh with his skill. Sukasa screamed, causing Avarice to cover her ears.
Corbin set his jaw again, closing his eyes briefly at the sound. ‘No.
The question was posed. “What happened here?” Avarice asked. “You, Ayr’dal, were you here when this happened?”
Chath still looked on, impassively. “Don’ know,” the guttural voice replied. “Found ‘em.” It was no lie.
The healing, the physical healing, was nearing completion. One more thing was needed, to see to it that Sukasa never hurt so bad as this again. Corbin realized he did not wish his brother to see what he was about to do. Again, he offered the boy to Caen. “Take him.”
The defiler lifted an eyebrow, and Corbin offered forth his brother again. “Take ‘im. Ya know ‘im.”
An approaching stranger had drawn the attention of Avarice, Red, and Chath, but Corbin’s eyes remained focused on the defiler. Reluctantly, Caen lifted the boy into his own arms, as he began to stir.
“Wait,” Corbin murmured, yanking a carved bone pendant on a rope from around his neck, putting it into his brother’s hand. Sukasa offered only a confused look as he held onto Caen, and the pendant.
Slowly, Corbin stepped backwards, putting distance between himself and the others. Sukasa reached out to him with wide eyes, but Corbin offered only an apologetic smile in return.
“Trust me… little brother.”
The boy screamed as Corbin turned and ran, his guise melting away. These new tracks were even easier to follow.
His mind had time to seethe as he followed the set of tracks leading out towards the maze. These steps were heavier, an older male, he guessed. They weaved and darted, ever so often. The man was drunk, wounded, or maddened. Any which way, it would make this all the easier.
Corbin had seen a reflection of himself in Sukasa, when he had first met him. He recognized something in him that would make him prey to certain predators—predators that would gladly take advantage of the smaller, fairer, elves.
Corbin had fought against his attackers. Sukasa had not been able to. And so, Corbin would do what the younger had not, for him. A debt would be paid—life for broken life.
The man Corbin found was pacing, and raving, his fingers running through his white hair. The rogue approached him slowly, his blades drawn openly; his intentions clear on his face.
“Little demon… looked just like her… took her from me,” he could hear the man mumbling. Corbin set his jaw, eyes narrowed at the Feir’dal as he turned.
“My son… evil boy…. Looked just like her.”
Corbin stopped suddenly as the words, and the face before him, registered. He was, in many ways, an older more masculine portrait of Sukasa. The resemblance, even if slight, chilled the rogue.
“Your… son,” he spat. The older man jumped, eyeing Corbin hesitantly. This new feeling in him burned his blood, sweeping over him like fire. Sukasa’s own father… he was responsible.
Corbin approached, his dark hair blowing lightly in the slight air of the maze. His muscles tensed beneath the black chain mail, rapier and dagger gripped tightly. Emerging from the shadow, towards the man, Corbin’s stature was menacing. The shroud marking his face and bare arms appeared as if the shadows themselves had marked him.
“Death… death has come?” The man fidgeted, standing still to watch the approaching dark-skinned elf with a mix of hatred and curiosity in his eyes.
“Death…” Corbin growled. Corbin drew his dagger upwards, hurling it with precision towards the man’s throat. It stuck deep, drawing a cry of surprise from the older man as he yanked at it, trying to free the blade as his life poured forth from the wound.
“Death… is far too good fer ye…”
The man had died in writhing agony. Corbin had seen to that. The gore and blood surrounding the man’s body was only a fraction of what the man had felt. His body had suffered, even in death.
The mutilated carcass Corbin stood over was barely recognizable. The blood and bits of the man that covered the rogue was only a fraction of the damage… and he was not yet done. He yanked the man’s head, mostly severed from the torso, upward by the hair, cutting at the scalp until it was free.
“Souvenir,” he told the corpse, tying the hair and scalp to his belt. A grim smile crossed his features behind the blood as he studying the carnage. Pieces of the man littered the area-- a finger here, a chunk of flesh there, his arm dangling by threads.
"Ah. I was sent here to offer aid, though... I believe it has been taken care of," the voice caused Corbin to turn, noticing the blindfolded woman from before.
"It's been 'andled," he confirmed.
"Either way, I have been asked to retrieve the body. Even in the state it's in..." she explained and shifted, feeling the slickness of the sand beneath her footwear.
"Fine. I'll help."
Together, they gathered the pieces, placing them into the sack the woman carried. "Min' if I go wit ye?"
"By all means..."
"And.. kin ye do me a favor?"
The sightless woman turned in Corbin's direction. "Hm?"
"When we git there... I need ter talk ter Avarice. Jus' fer a minute, by her lonesome."
"That's fine. Follow me."
As they reached the still gathered few, Corbin stood and waited some ways back. After waiting moments, Avarice drew closer, covering her mouth and nose with a handkerchief at the sight of Corbin. The rogue didn't seem to notice the gore, himself.
"How did he come to this?" she asked, quietly. Corbin only shrugged in response, his voice sounding almost hollow with the response. "Parents is funny."
"That... was no parent. That was a monster," she said with a scowl. Corbin raised the scalp from his belt lightly, nodding. Avarice studied it briefly, looking back to Corbin.
"Apa... Kasa will be safe."
"I know."
The Ayr'dal girl touched her throat lightly, some small concern discernable behind the green eyes. "Are you okay?"
Corbin shifted his weight from one foot to the other in response. "It'll.. git easier."
Avarice nodded, with a small pause, and continued. "Sukasa has suffered more than, perhaps, you know. I do not intend on letting him go... at least, not until I am certain that whatever damage was done to his mind is repaired as well as I can."
Corbin paused, studying the smaller girl. "I was... rather.. goin' ter ask ye ter take care o' him.. fer me," he coughed, rubbing his throat, smearing the blood on it. Avarice covered her mouth again, continuing after a moment.
"Me? Cory, you trust me?"
"Kasa did. An' he'd be dead if it weren' fer ye." Avarice smiled a little at the words. Corbin lowered his gaze, speaking roughly. "Don' tellim wot I did. Please. Don' tell no one," he murmured, the realization of what he had done finally hitting him.
"I sent one of my soldiers to take care of the problem. The problem was taken care of." Corbin stepped closer, eyeing Avarice. The girl startled, with some alarm. "Cory..."
"Ye'll take care o' him, right?"
Avarice looked away, and the rogue looked down at himself, finally noticing the mess. He backed away quickly, appearing almost ill.
"I need to go... Corbin, are you going to be all right?" For a fleeting moment, she was Shelly again.
"I.. I have ter go... have ter go..."
Shelly sighed. "Please, don't blame yourself for this...ok? Promise me that!"
Corbin forced a crooked smile. "I don' make promises I cain' keep." He laughed, nervously, running his hand over his hair... blood and all.
"Cory.. write me again. It can help. I will help."
"I'll... ye'll hear from me. Go. Help m' brother..."
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