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 Vearsis Korranith

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Posts : 8
Join date : 2009-04-01
Age : 29
Location : Winnipeg, MB

PostSubject: Vearsis Korranith   Sun Apr 05, 2009 5:42 pm

This first glimpse into the history of Vearsis Korranith is entitled:

“Get them when they’re young”

The slap of leather on cobblestone reverberated between the tall wooden, and brick houses that lined the streets of Suzail. Grandiose in its infrastructure was this jewel in the heart of Cormyr; so beautiful during the day when the sun illuminated this cities rooftops.

But at night, in the shadows hidden from the patrol of the Purple Dragons – it could be a dangerous place.

This danger was no more present than this night, as three dark forms made their way down the empty street of Dragon-tongue way. The cloak of the night made sure their presence was unknown to any watchful eyes. For their destination, was about to the scene of a crime.

A crime when put lightly, could best be described as; a massacre.

The sound of their footfalls slowly became careful, and silent. Those present, stood before the door to a cozy little home that had sprouted up just a few years ago in this dreg-filled sector of Suzail.

It was some time that these murderers stood before the door in complete silence. They all took deep breaths in unison before the person in lead opened the door carefully, and without a sound.

* * * * * * *

“Vigil, come 'ere” A stern, young voice beckoned in the gray haze of an unlit house.

A tall man, with no facial expression to speak of at that moment, stepped from the blackness a corner that seemed endless in its depth. He made no noise, as he moved towards the one who had called him over. In the dim conditions of the present lighting, one could barely see, but this Vigil had no trouble finding his way to who ever requested his presence.

“What is it, Fermall?” A grating, impossibly deep voice resonated from deep within Vigil’s chest, as he whispered to the man who had just called.

“There is a babe ‘ere, in that crib over ‘there.” Fernall motioned a dirk over his shoulder, to a vertical crib. It was comprised of wooden bars that looked similar to a dungeon cell door.

Vigil shifted his weight to his left foot, leaning his body so that he may see over Fernall’s shoulder and he nodded slowly. As he did so, pale moonlight spilt over his features from a crack in the curtains that covered a window, to reveal a cratered, battered, and world weary face. His cheeks and neck covered in spattered crimson.

His eyes closed for a brief moment, and his eyes convulsed behind closed lids as he took a deep breath in what one could assume was frustration.

“I ‘ave the stomach ti’ take care o’ some foolish folk who don’t have the mind ti’ pay back their debts.” Fernall began, his lips curling up as he continued. “But killin’ babes was not part o’ the deal. Not in my deal, at least.”

Vigil nodded slowly, in grim fashion and he pointed a hefty arm with an extended index finger.

“There is little option, we must dispose of it as well” The cold unwavering voice spoke of the child as if it were a piece of meat. His expression changed not in the slightest, as he turned his back to Fernall.

“The other recourse is; we leave it here. I’m sure the Purple Dragons will stumble upon it, once someone realizes this family has been made an example of.” Vigil spoke the words, as he made for a door the previously was hidden in the shroud of night. That was until his hand turned the knob, and he swung it slowly open.

"You could also take it yourself, if you feel so badly Fernall" Vigil said in a mocking tone, over his shoulder. Almost spitting the words.

Fernall nodded to himself, before turning to the crib sheathing his dirk in a soft leather sheath at his belt. Scooping the child from within; he made sure as not to frighten it, cradling it properly within a mass of sheets and blanket. His light fingers did not disturb the babe’s sleep in the slightest.

He looked down at the peaceful child, and a grim expression fell upon his features. There was something bothering him within, but he did not speak it. He stowed it inside, and went to follow Vigil through the door.

Vigil hissed through his teeth, as they made for the stairs “Shah-red, follow in step”.

“As you wish” A thick, Calimshan accented voice replied. The source was invisible either in the darkness or in literal fashion; An onlooker would be hard pressed to decide. Either way, Vigil seemed not to care, as he and Fernall made for the exit of the home.

As they stepped out into the streets of Suzail once more, Vigil stopped briefly and perked a brow at the peculiar situation Fernall had gotten himself caught up in.

Babe in hand, Fernall returned the perked brow, and offered a sleight of his head to the side, in a silent query untowards Vigil's curiosity.

“What are you going to do with it, Fernall?” Vigil asked in a bit of sarcastic inquisition.

“I….I ain’t sure….I ain’t sure at all, sir.” Fernall seemed a bit distraught, as he realized that perhaps taking the child was brainless, and a slight bit ridiculous.

A poisonous and amused smirk tugged at Vigil’s lips. Soaking in the odd kindness that Fernall was showing by taking the babe, Vigil restrained a chuckle. After a moment Vigil shook his head and without a word, he strode off down Dragon-tongue way, going east. In tow, was Fernall – confused and with child in hand.
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PostSubject: Re: Vearsis Korranith   Wed Apr 08, 2009 3:19 pm

This is the second installment of the history of Vearsis Korranith entitled:

"An appointment with evil"

Warm breath bellowed forth from lips like a thick, miasma-like steam. Parting the cold night air surrounding it temporarily as it rose, and cooled becoming invisible once again in the shadows.

Fernall’s eyes stared down at the little face that slept so peacefully in his arms. So delicate this child seemed, unlike any other observation Fernall had ever made about an infant before. It seemed more real now.

So peaceful, its little face, little eyes, little nose. Fernall found himself disarmed by its “Cuteness”.

Shaking his head lightly, his sharp eyes flickered toward the door that Vigil had just minutes before, disappeared into. The latch of the door, and its many locks made resounding, grating sounds as the oaken door swung wide.

Vigil stooped through the doorway, him being just an inch or two too tall for the particular door frame at this location.

Vigil’s eyes fixated on Fernall, he remained silent a moment before gesturing over his shoulder with his head.

Vigil’s features were more apparent in the moon, and torchlight. Sharp, broad features of the north-men dominated his features. His hair, a shoulder length auburn with pieces of golden hair strips accenting the fact that he was not of pure blood.

His monotonous and droning logic; were just as sure a hint as his slightly pointed ears that Vigil was not of full human blood. He was half elven.

“You may enter with it, Fernall. Corrigan thinks he may have some way of dealing with the situation.” Vigil’s voice seemed calm, and resolute; perhaps a bit soothing. None of which surprised Fernall; aside from the soothing tongue Vigil had taken.

Warily, Fernall stepped toward Vigil and waited for him to proceed.

Vigil turned sharply, stooping his shoulders a bit as he stepped through the open portal.

There in the dancing lamplight awaited a pug looking fellow, with greasy hair and a pair of squinting eyes. Barely five foot tall he was dirty in all respects. Bits of wiry beard sprouted from all over his chin, cheeks, and lips. A dreadful charcoal and gray color his beard and hair; likely from all of the stresses of being a pawn of Corrigan.

Vigil walked confidently through the hallway, and toward the end of the corridor before stopping at yet another locked door. Taking a deep breath, he raised a hand and knocked four times. Pausing, he knocked six times. Pausing a bit longer, he knocked another two.

A long moment of silence ensued, before a sudden low thud of a timber bar being lifted from behind the door resonated throughout the hallway.

The door swung slowly ajar, it’s massive hinges that supported the six inch thick slab of wood creaked in protest to the stress being applied to them.

Inside the room, only a chair sat inside an empty room. Atop the chair sat a man garbed in simple black linen’s and a tunic.

“Ahhh, this must be Fernall...” Corrigan began.
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PostSubject: Re: Vearsis Korranith   Tue May 05, 2009 10:24 am


Fernall’s eyes shifted about the dimly lit room with a bit more than curiosity. His instincts told him this place was unhallowed, an evil place; beyond the evil of the brothels and taverns he so often called home. There was something veritably unsettling about this Corrigan.

Corrigan sat upon his simple wooden chair, amidst the shade of the pale torchlight that spilled from the hallway that Fernall had just come through. Fernall cast a glance over his shoulder briefly to the rotten little man that had followed them up the corridor, without a sound. His wretched features contorting in a forced grin, that seemed more sadistic than of genuine happiness.

Fernall’s eyes shifted to Vigil, as he turned his head forward to face the tall man. Vigil nodded once, in a grim fashion before pushing past Fernall into the corridor. As he did so, he whispered to Fernall.

“Do not do anything stupid, Fernall. Just give the man whatever he requests. Or you shall soon find yourself at the bottom of the Dragonmere.” Vigils voice was grim, and resolute. He was not kidding in the slightest, as he hissed through is teeth in passing.

Fernall’s eyes fell low as he said the words, before they raised back up to meet the foreboding gaze of Corrigan, cutting through the shadows..

Stepping forward with the bundled up child in hand Fernall seemed wary. Holding the child close to his chest to keep it quiet, and resting. As Fernall did so, Corrigan said in a light-hearted fashion.

“Come Fernall, do not be afraid. I merely wish to trade words with you, lad.” His voice was resonant, and deep. Though he looked relatively young in the shade, the tone and pitch of his voice told of an experienced, seasoned veteran of the Cormyran underground.

Shuffling forward slowly to get closer, Fernall took in the image of this feared, and revered man named Corrigan.

Corrigan sat atop his plain wooden chair is if it were a throne, his legs in a wide stance, and his back straightened so that he may look taller. His hair, was a rusty-blonde hue, one would imagine it had previously have been a bright crimson in his earlier years; the strands and braided locks were now dulled, and graying in some areas. His face was very angular around the jaw and forehead, seemingly a bit unrealistic in their sharpness. Oddly enough, his cheekbones were very round, and he had rather plump cheeks for someone with such sharp features in other areas.

Piercing through the blackness, the impossibly brilliant emerald orbs that Corrigan would have called his eyes, darted up and down, examining Fernall. A brief moment passed before he began:

“So Fernall, you have something for me, do you?” His voice was a slight bit condescending in tone. It seemed as though this conversation had already been decided in Corrigan’s mind.

“I…Well…Vigil, the Calimshite an myself had a bit of a job ti’ do today…and…It jus’ so happened that this babe ‘ere was the only one left. I figured that killin’ a babe in--” Fernall began his long drawn out explanation only to be cut off by a raised right hand of Corrigan.

“Vigil has informed me of the situation. I merely asked if you had something for me, Fernall” He motioned to the bundle - the babe - in Fernall’s hands.

“I…well…I suppose I do…” Fernall’s eyes moved down to the restful little babe in his hands, and he pondered a moment what exactly Corrigan had in mind for this infant.

“Well then Fernall, hand it here” Corrigan’s confidence was a bit eroding, and wore at Fernall’s willingness to hand a babe over to someone that was evidently, and by reputation; sadistic in nature.

“Wh-what…What are you going to do with it?” Fernall stuttered.

“It matters not, Fernall. You will be paid for your unusual choice in bringing me this child.” Corrigan beckoned with a wave toward himself, assuming Fernall would step forward.

But Fernall did not.

He stood, silently contemplating the situation before him for a long while before he finally said, in a slow, grim fashion.

“I…think… I’ll take the babe to the orphana--” Fernall began the words, that brought his end. As the words fell from his lips, so did his standing stature, to his knees. A loud crack sound resonated throughout the room as this happened.

Fernall’s eyes rolled back into his eyelids, as they fluttered uncontrollably. He gasped for air, like dying fish out of water. From his lips a bit of crimson trickled down and over his chin, as he writhed a few moments on his knees in a sickly convulsion.

Standing above the crippled form, was Vigil. In his hand, a brutal cudgel made of wood and steel, now coated with a fresh coat of blood and brain matter.

Vigil gripped Fernall’s scalp by a fistful of hair at the front, and held him aloft so that he did not fall with the babe in hand. Dropping his weapon, he bent over Fernall and grabbed the bundle-wrapped babe with one hand like a handbag.

Letting his grip of Fernall’s hair slip from his thick fingers, the writhing man fell to the ground. His skull bounced off of the cold stone floor with another audible crack, and crimson spilled forth from the gaping hole at the back of his head. His face locked in a horrifying death gaze, was made worse with the amount of blood trickling from his nose, mouth, and ears.

“Thank you Vigil.” Corrigan said with the most insidious politeness. “I do hate when they begin to argue…Bring the babe here, Vigil.” He beckoned with both hands, waving inwardly to himself. Vigil responded as quickly as Corrigan had said the words.

Handing the infant over with two hands, Vigil stepped back and observer Corrigan as his expression softened in a manner that was very disturbing.

“Whatever shall I call you child?” He said in a sarcastic tone, it was evident he had already chosen a name. “I think we’ll name you after your father…Corrigan.” The words fell from his lips in an awkward dialogue to a child that could not understand.

“Vearsis Korranith, son of Corrigan Korranith.” He said with a glee that Vigil had never seen projected from Corrigan in many, many years.

“A fine name indeed….” Vigil said in an appropriate, lacky-style agreement.
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PostSubject: Re: Vearsis Korranith   Tue May 05, 2009 1:09 pm

This next installment in Vearsis Korranith’s history is entitled:

“Not bred of hatred - but taught”

Seated at relatively small table, were two men facing each other from opposite ends. Dining, or at least they had been - for they were now finished - and now merely sitting in silence as they drew the last few draughts from each of their wine glasses.

A long moment passed before the man at the head of the table, near a now dwindling fireplace, spoke. Pushing his rusty locks from his eyes with his left hand he began.

“Vigil, I need you to tend to Vearsis’ meal tonight. Ensure that he is only fed what Ithdrael has specified” Corrigan’s words were a bit drab, and drawn out. He was evidently tired from whatever had gone on that day.

The man at the foot of the table inclined his head slowly, and stood up from his seat. Pushing the chair back with the pits of his knees the chairs legs groaned as they rubbed along stone. “I will see to it, Corrigan.” Vigil said in a devout manner, turning away from the table and moving for the door that was directly to his right.

“I do wish the boy would grow up so I may see what a wondrous tool Ithdrael has made him…” Corrigan said, in a slightly childish manner. His chin buried in the palm of his hand, as his elbow and forearm supported the weight of his head.

“The day will come soon, sir.” Vigil said in a blunt, but reassuring way.

Vigil’s hand drifted to the knob of the door, and he turned it with a bit of a creak as he made his way through the archway. Closing it behind him, he decided it best to not call the servants just yet. He would let Corrigan drift into his daydreams and thoughts for a while, before disturbing him with the wretched presence of the Bedine slave-girls.

Moving his way down the long hallway, passing a few doors - two on his left, and one to his right - he came to the end of the hall. A large steel door hung from equally massive hinges - four in number - that were set into the stone of the architecture. Reaching for the key-ring at his belt, Vigil searched through the multitudes of brass and steel rods until he produced an almost comically large, double-skeleton key.

Grabbing hold of the key, he pulled the key ring away from the slipknot tied to his belt, and slid it into the padlock. The chain-link tether that was welded to the loop kept key ring permanently at his side. The links rattled and rang audibly as it trailed along, as if in protest to the movement.

Turning the massive key within the padlock’s mechanism, he grunted a little as the lock gave a little bit of resistance. Tugging on it heavily, it turned the lever with a loud thud. The padlock’s “U” shaped bar popped up, and he slid it from the lock’s loop, and the door’s latch, that hung waist high on the door.

As Vigil pushed the door inward, the hinges groaned their own protest as the weight of the door completed it’s arc. The effort likely eroding a bit of the hinges, even though they were greased.

Taking a moment to look behind him, and ensure no one had followed, he stepped through the archway and closed the door behind him. On the other side of the door, was another padlock loop. Vigil slid the “U” bar of the padlock through it‘s loop and latch but did not close it yet. Placing his keys into a pouch at his side, he did not want to retie the slipknot just yet. Using both hands, he then closed the padlock. Turning to face the blackness a set of stairs awaited, just a few feet away.

A torch hung from the wall on his right, unlit. Vigil pulled the torch from it’s bracket on the stone stairwell, and he uttered a minor arcane spell in draconic. The pitch-soaked torch sprung to life with flame, and he nodded absently to himself.

Making for the stairs, he took each step carefully, swaying left and right between stairs, and occasionally not at all. There was a method to such odd stepping, for there were pressure plates lining the steps of this staircase. Should someone who did not know the stepping pattern dare to wander down this path; they would be met with a swift demise.

Nearing the bottom of the stairs, Vigil sniffed lightly and raises his left hand to rub his nose. There was always an all too familiar smell in this dungeon that was Vearsis’ home. It always smelled like death.

“Ahhh, Vigil! How good of you to join us!” a refined, educated voice called from within the depths of the dungeon, before Vigil had even gotten to the bottom of the stairs.

“Aye, Ithdrael. Corrigan says it is feeding time.” Vigil called out in his bellowing voice, as his final footfall brought him to the foot of the stairs.

His eyes moved about for a brief moment, amongst the relatively plain foyer that preceded the fetid chambers beyond. It was a small chamber. Only about eight feet, by eight.

Taking a brief moment, he moved for the torch bracket that was bolted to the wall directly on the right side of the corridor that stretched further ahead. Sliding the lit torch into the bracket, he walked away without any other considerations and walked down the hall.

It stretched for a good fifteen feet, took a left turn, stretched for another twelve, and turned right. There, amid the luminance of the many torches along the wall on to his back, was Ithdrael. He was hunched over a table that was covered in various contraptions, and books.

The gaunt elven man was working furiously on something within a tome, he scribbled with his quill pen with a ferocity generally not becoming of someone who was able to scribe. Dipping that quill at various intervals between his scribbling, Ithdrael raised his left hand simultaneously and waved.

“Come in, Vigil. I’m merely working on some notes.” Ithdrael said, still writing at the same time.

Nodding to Ithdrael, he stepped into the “workshop” that Ithdrael was in the midst of. Tables scattered about the place, all of them covered with various mechanical atrocities and torture tools. Some of the tabletops were adorned with beakers, and bottles filled with alchemical wonders.

The room was about twenty feet, by thirty feet. Ithdrael, hunched over his table, was at the end of the room across from Vigil. Directly on the right, past a few tables, was yet another heavy steel door. This one had a visor slot on it - the heavy sliding plate was situated on the side of the door facing inside the room the two stood in.

His eyes drifting yet again to Ithdrael, he moved towards Ithdrael’s writing table.

“What am I too feed Vearsis today?” Vigil said, as his thighs touched the edge of Ithdrael wide table, opposite Ithdrael but still facing him. Vigil stood well over a couple feet over the elven man, who was writing with a passion so voracious you would think his life depended on it.

“His….his food is over there” Ithdrael said, raising his left hand above his head, he extended his index finger to point to his right. There, against the wall on yet another table, was a large steel platter with various meats, fruits, and vegetables on it. The meats were cooked, though barely; as they wept a little with juices and crimson. The fruits and vegetables were both raw, though likely warm from sitting out.

Nodding to Ithdrael a brief moment before moving over to the table, Vigil picked up the large steel platter from the handles situated on either end of the rectangular object. He turned to face the door on the opposite side of the room, and strode through the mess of papers, books, and tables. As Vigil neared it, he placed the platter directly beside the doorway on it’s left.

Standing tall again, he grabbed hold of the visor plate on the door pulling the bolt up, and to the right. It slid open with a slight creak, and he peered inside a moment. Uttering something in draconic under his breath, the room within exploded with illumination. The darkness giving way to arcane luminescence.

A shriek of pain rose from within the room, the shriek of a young boy. Against the wall opposite the door in the tiny room, a small boy in haggard clothing sat huddled with his back to the door. His face buried in his lap, he shielded his eyes from the light. Whimpering lightly and shivering with fear, it was a rather pitiful sight.

Nodding to himself absently, Vigil grabbed for his key-ring that lay in a pouch at his belt, and slid the appropriate double-skeleton key into the massive padlock. Sliding the padlock from the loop that kept the door secure, he dropped it to the stone floor on his right. Stooping down, Vigil picked up the tray of food, and pushed the massive steel door ajar with his foot.

Stepping through the archway he stepped into the centre of the room and placed the tray on the floor. Observing the boy - who’s hair Vigil remembered once being a bright blonde - was fading to some sort of platinum blonde. It would seem that the boys hair would be white before he was twenty.

The boy was large for his age of twelve. His shoulders - visible through the tatters in his clothing - were unnaturally massive, and corded for someone that young.

The boys development was coming along smoothly, Vigil thought.

Turning away from the boy, he stepped through the archway to return to Ithdrael’s workshop and closed the door behind him. Stooping to retrieve the padlock, he then stood and slid the bar of the lock through it’s appropriate loop and door-latch. Closing it with both hands, he tugged on it to ensure it had properly latched, and nodded to himself.

Peering within the visor slot once more, he shook his head in a slight bit of pity, before sliding the plate closed and turning the bolt so it locked within it’s notch.

Vigil turned to Ithdrael who still worked with passion on his notes within the tome he apparently wished to fill. Uttering another word in draconic under his breath, Vigil dispelled his light cantrip. The whimpering from within Vearsis’ “chamber” had immediately ceased.

Vigil’s eye’s drifted around the various unused contraptions on the table tops and he asked out of curiosity.

“What is the next step, Ithdrael?” he inquired, as he stepped toward Ithdrael and his precious text that was being mercilessly written upon the tabletop.

A few long moments passed as Ithdrael continued to write, allowing Vigil to move directly beside him and peer into his notes over his shoulder.

Sketched on the page, was some sort of vile wracking system, with a detailed depiction of a young man strapped into it. Various things were written in Elven all over the page surrounding the diagram.

Vigil could not help but perk a brow at the sadistic prospect of what was being scrawled across the pages.

Ithdrael stopped suddenly, his gaze looking up at all of the tables present. Among the tables were blades and devices the likes of which Vigil had never seen. Ithdrael raises his right hand dramatically, and he waved across the entire room in an attempt to include everything in his statement.

“Desensitization” He said with the most sadist of tones.
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