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Deminatza

Visitor
Demi found herself in a strange dark room. She had no recollection on how she got here let alone where here is. Suddenly, she was blinded as the room was flooded with a bright light, forcing her to avert her gaze as two pairs of hands grabbed her wrists forcing her to her feet and into a forward momentum.

“Who are you,” she questioned while attempting to break the hold of her custodians, “where am I?”

A stinging slap across the face was her answer. A sense of uneasiness washed over her as she began to struggle more forcefully, yet they held fast to her.

At their destination, there were two familiar men awaiting their arrival, one bound and on their knees in the center was an older man, with long grey hair, face weathered, and battle worn, the other standing nearby, bald with a black goatee.
Every muscle in Deminatza’s body seized as she processed not only what she was seeing, but also who.

“Papa,” Demi’s voice imperceptible, but enough to cause the man on his knees to turn his gaze to her. Sirrico managed a weak smile and spoke hoarsely, “Cara mia. Look away, don’t watch.”

“Silence! She is my guest, and she will watch because this is my way of showing my gratitude. This is her reward, after all, since she and her friends destroyed the orb.”

Her eyes travelled from her father to the man speaking, Scaramandine II. There was no denying it. She would recognize his voice anywhere, yet his appearance was not the same. He stood before her as the man who once led a formidable group known as Necromari. But she didn’t understand. That was so many seasons ago, he had changed.

Somewhere in the depths of her psyche, something told her that something was not right. This was not real. How could this be real? Scar is kind, gentle, tender, warm-hearted, fiercely protective man. How is this man, this Scar, standing before her now?

“Do you remember, when you asked me ‘Why’ in a moment of respite after I launched an attack on the city of Cove?” Scaramandine II’s voice snapped her to the present. “You had no right to destroy the orb. That’s why. And this is only the beginning of my rage. Reap your reward!”

The Necromari pulled Sirrico’s head back and dragged a dagger across his throat, as waves blood cascaded down his torso.

Demi broke free from her captors and caught her father as Scaramandine II pushed him forward. She cradled him in her arms as she placed a hand on the laceration in a vain attempt to staunch the bleeding. Sirrico looked to her pleadingly, “Look away, Cara Mia, look away,” he repeated weakly until his breaths stilled as his daughter watch the life in his eyes receded to only stare blankly back.

“Papa,” the woman said weakly, shaking the body gently. “Papa… papa wake up. Wake up now papa. Please, no, don’t leave me papa. Papa…” She held her father’s body close to her, rocking back and forth pleading for him to wake up. When realization hit that he was truly gone, she lifted her face to the sky and let out a gut wrenching, piercing anguish wail, yet no sound escaped her lips. She buried her face into her father shoulder and wept unconsolably. She was unsure how much time has gone by, but long enough that tears no longer came. She laid her father’s body gently supine on the granite floor. It was only then she realized she was alone. She needed to find a way out. Next to her father’s body, was the dagger Scaramandine II used to…

Demi did not finish the thought. She instead focused on needing a weapon to defend herself. She picked it up and started her trek to escape. All was quiet and along the hall, all the doors were closed, save one. She surveyed her surrounding and marked a window that displayed the wilderness, beside it a closed door. As she made her way down the corridor, she realized she needed to pass the room with door slightly ajar.

Taking a steady breath, she listened for movement, and only heard someone’s sleeping breaths. On quiet feet, she made her way to the room and chanced a glance inside, and there Scaramandine II lay fast asleep.

Once again, somewhere in the recesses of her mind, something cried out to her to leave, but her grief demanded retribution. It would be so easy just to… As if her body and mind were in sync, she found herself standing beside the sleeping bald man. I just need to drive this dagger into his heart, and it will be done.

***​

In their bedroom, Deminatza stood, in her nightdress, at the side of the bed, wisps of silver and white strands of hair reflected the moonlight, raising the dagger high above where Scar, his hair across his pillow, lay asleep.
 
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McIan

Journeyman
As badly as he would have loved to see her thrust the dagger into Scar’s exposed chest, Torak knew what would happen afterward. She would certainly go completely mad and be lost to everyone forever. Besides, such a weapon most likely would not kill him being what he was and if he awoke and saw him with her, his own life might be forfeit. Moving quickly and catlike from the shadows he grabbed her raised hand firmly with his, and reached the other around her neck to cover her mouth. Her eyes widened as if awakened from slumber but she did not resist and he pulled her easily back into the shadowy recesses of the room. “Wake up my love!” he whispered into her ear. “You had a bad dream and once more I am here to comfort you, just like I promised I would always do. Let me have the dagger; you have no need of it,” he coaxed. She relaxed her grip on the dagger, allowing him to take it, and then he withdrew his hand from her mouth…
 

Deminatza

Visitor
Befuddled, Demi was unsure of what was happening and turned to face her childhood friend, her blue hair narrowly missing his face.

“Torak? Why art thou in my bedchamber?” she inquired in a daze. “How didst thou gain entry?” Her eyes travelled to the dagger in his hand. “Why art thou armed?”

“Yes, Torak. Do enlighten us.”

The pair found Scar standing at the side of the bed as he unsheathed his kryss, the sound reverberating ominously.

Torak eyed the man and his kryss and said nonchalantly, “You must be getting old, wolf friend. Your silver and white hairs are showing. We will speak, but first let me get her back to bed. She has not yet fully awakened.”

In two strides, Scar is at Demi’s side and squares up to Torak. “I will get my wife back to bed and you will leave. And yes, we will speak. I will send word when I am ready.”

“I await your word on bated breath.” Torak bowed mockingly and departed.
 

McIan

Journeyman
Once again Torak receded into the shadows. Scar, gently coaxing Demi, led her to the bed and helped her lie down. She seemed calm, composed; apparently sleep walking. Covering her with the bedsheet and kissing her cheek gently, he turned around to face his antagonist once again. He was gone! Scar searched the room for secret panels, trap doors, ceiling doors, everything, but found nothing. Had the wards failed? Had he found another way in? Did he command some special spell over the house which had once been his, allowing him unimpeded entry and egress? That must be it, he thought… meaning, he could come and go as he pleased. He placed his blade back in its scabbard at the corner post of his side of the headboard. What was the point of telling Itannar, or his kinsman, Vospar; they would only be distraught at the failure of the wards, he mused. He got into bed and looked at his wife. She was sound asleep. He kissed her forehead and lay back down but it was hours later before he could drift back into dreamless sleep.
 
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