The Seed of Evil

Log Info

• Title: The Seed of Evil
• GM: Ravenstongue
• Characters: Telamon, Karan'taara (NPC)
• Place: Mythwood - Ylvaliel
• Summary: While Telamon's in the Mythwood, he takes the opportunity to go home to Ylvaliel, his hometown, and check up on the necromancer that kidnapped Ravenstongue several months prior. What happens is a verbal fencing match between the two half-elves, with Karan'taara admitting to disgusting behavior and disturbing thoughts and Telamon trying to pry truths from him. Telamon eventually departs when he is summoned by Ravenstongue's Grandfather to discuss wedding plans, leaving Karan'taara and his manic laughter behind in the cells.

Content warning: Karan'taara is a creepy serial killer whose modus operandi is to turn people into corpses because he thinks they're more fun that way, and he acts and talks like it, especially when he thinks it might upset Telamon or make him uncomfortable. No on-screen acts of murder/necromancy are shown, but there are allusions and discussions that might be disturbing to some readers.

Ylvaliel, Mythwood, late afternoon.

A child of Ylvaliel has come home, and there's no shortage of people that Telamon has likely gone to see or needs to see before he departs back home to his very-soon-to-be violet-eyed bride. But there's one occupant that is... perhaps one that is not so high on the list of faces that Telamon's happy to see.

And yet there's only one way to know, one way for Telamon to receive some closure to what happened all those months ago. Lady Ainasse Son'doriel is in solitary confinement and is not receiving visitors, but a man booked in the prisons of Ylvaliel as Karan'taara is confined and only receives visitors on a case-by-case basis.

However, Telamon is the son of a diplomat and has some vested interest in the case, so he's offered a remarkable opportunity. A guard emerges from the high-security wing of the wing, and he looks stone-faced as he informs Telamon, "The prisoner has consented to this meeting. Do not breach the spot marked in front of the bars and do not accept gifts. You are permitted half an hour with the prisoner and not a second more."

Without a further word, he leads Telamon into the high-security part of the prison--a dark and winding tunnel. It's quiet, and the rooms are generally unoccupied. After all, there aren't many monsters in Ylvaliel.

But there is one, and his content humming increases in volume as he sits and waits patiently within his cell. Karan'taara wears a nondescript gray robe and strange shackles around his wrists, although they are not held back from use by a link of chains. He lounges on his plain stone-carved bed like it was a throne, and the walls are... startlingly bare. There's not a single form of enrichment in the cell with him.

Telamon is damned if he'd do this standing up, like he was some kind of student called before a teacher. He sets the simple stool down in front of the cell, making sure not to go any closer than designated. Then he sits down, and simply stares for a long moment at Karan'taara.

Tel's garments are not quite as nondescript -- a white linen tunic over breeches, and his boots. But he wears no cloak, no circlet, no ring -- all surrendered graciously to the wardens, to be returned when he leaves. Only his engagement ring remains, and Tel absently rubs his finger across it, as he regards the other man.

"So. Kar, or Karant, or Karan'taara... assuming that is your name, in truth. Here we are again. Under... slightly different circumstances."

There's a moment where Karan'taara just continues humming. He's lounging without a single care in the world on that hard stone bed, a smile pulled up on his lips.

But then, eventually, he lifts himself up from the bed. Slowly, he ambles to the bars. Even with manacles around his ankles like those around his wrists, he still moves as adroitly as he did back on that horrific night in the gore-splattered mansion all those months ago. As he moves, he begins to sing, softly.

"Here comes the bride, all dressed in white~" Karan'taara croons, smiling genially as he stops in front of the bars. There's only a few feet and what are likely magically enchanted bars that separate him and Telamon. But just as before... the smile doesn't reach those blue eyes.

And neither does the light.

"Hello, Telamon Atlon," he greets. The smile widens into a grin that still does not reach his eyes. "You came alone? Is little Cor'lana waiting outside for you? Oh, what a pity. I would have liked to have seen her again, too."

He folds his hands behind his back. "So, what brings you down here, to my dark little cave?" The question is asked like Telamon is a relative dropping in from out of town.

Telamon's expression might best be described as 'tolerantely amused'. "No, I'm afraid it's just me. I really don't think you'd like to face Lana when she's not asleep and defenseless." His starry eyes glint. "Still, I'll tell her you said hello. Maybe we'll even devote a few minutes to praying for your soul -- what there is of it, anyways."

He takes a breath. "Why am I here? Hm. Curiosity. I know, it's bad for cats, but then I'm not a cat. There's always been some odd things about your little escapade. I figured you might be in a mood to brag, one last time." He idly brushes some invisible lint off his shoulder. "After all, the Mythwood isn't going to keep you around forever. Lady Ainasse is one thing, but you? I wonder if they'll use feeblemind on you and turn you into a day laborer, or just burn you at the stake."

It's hard to register what's a true emotion in Karan'taara's face and what's another bit of conceit designed to serve his purposes. Indeed, with Telamon's jabbing remarks, the grin widens just a bit more on that face. A chuckle even leaves him, his shoulders shaking just a tad too much for what amounts to a chortle.

"Oh, dear Telamon," he replies, "I assure you that your bride was lovely and beautiful no matter what state she happened to be in. But you are right to a degree. She was loveliest in my eyes when she was without her faculties and resembled a halfway-corpse."

He sighs wistfully, leaning back a little on the ball of his feet for a moment before he looks back more firmly at Telamon. "But, of course, I wasn't able to turn her into a beloved companion in the end," Karan'taara elaborates. "I knew the possibility of that was nil when you and your allies arrived. The fun we could have had together. The bliss. It would have been wondrous. But yes, as you say, they'll likely sort out my fate soon enough, and I'm certain it will be drudgery upon drudgery."

The grin tapers back down to a genial smile. "So, go ahead. Ask all of your questions. All that you can manage to get out. I promise to entertain you."

There's something that flickers deep in Telamon's eyes, something hard and silent and cold, but there's no sign of it in his voice. "Of course," he replies. "But in the meantime..." He leans back a bit, though not too much -- there's no back to this stool.

"So how did you meet up with Lady Ainasse? I know some of it -- she was desperate for a child, anything she could use to advance herself. Her assignations with Glorenacil and Vaileven were a means to that end, although getting tangled up in the pact their family had, well..."

He makes a tsking sound. "Terrible idea. An object lesson in 'do your research'."

Karan'taara sighs deeply, his frown turning into a pout. "Lady Ainasse, really? They've already asked me all of the questions that one could ask about her to death, and here you come again with them? I know it is a host's obligation to entertain the guest, but surely you could have returned the favor a tad."

But the grin returns swiftly to his face. "I'm just kidding, of course," he says. "I'm sure you're just like all of the squirming little worms that fester at the bottom of the bucket when it comes to that royal house, even if your clothes are cut from a different cloth and your motivation is... hmm, more personal in motivation, rather than staring slack-jawed at Her Majesty back in Llyranost and wishing you could know that life, to taste it."

He waves his hand a little. "But perhaps I'm projecting. After all, that was my motivation to pursue my gifts. To a degree. The initial spark that set the firecracker aflame. I'm sure you can understand. There was a point where you looked at Cor'lana and realized you were totally and utterly laid low by her, weren't you? Such is the nature of love."

Karan'taara looks back into Telamon's eyes, the cold and dead blues meeting flickering starlight. "So, how did I meet the Lady," he says. "It was simple, really. I'd haunted various places in and out of Alexandria, and my name began to spread in certain circles. Lady Ainasse was desperate enough--mad enough--to consider that which people consider morally deplorable. So long as she had a child, it didn't matter. Perhaps unlife can beget life in her addled mind. Or perhaps she was content with an undead child created from homunculus-artifice--honestly, I hadn't gotten that far in my planning to figure out what to tell her. At any rate, she found me in my den in Alexandria--which the authorities have already searched, I must inform you--and there we began to plot."

Telamon actually smirks a bit. "I know this may come as a shock, and feel free to not believe it, but my interest in Ainasse was driven less by any fascination with the Son'doriels, and more due to her machinations involving Glorenacil, and Cor'lana." His eyes grow icy again, for a moment. "As I told her, all she had to do was leave us alone."

He arches an eyebrow at Karan'taara's description of her desperation. "Interesting. She must've been frantic, looking for something, anything. To listen to you -- after all, she's got the classic Llyranost attitude about half-sil." He tilts his head, studying Karan'taara carefully.

"I bet you saw it too, didn't you? It must've irked you, like a stone in your shoe... this noble woman in such need, but you'll never measure up, never be a 'proper' sildanyari." Tel rubs his chin. "I've seen it too, you know. I keep forgetting how damned lucky I was, to be born to two people who loved each other, and loved me."

GAME: Telamon rolls sense motive-5: (14)+13+-5: 22

There's something in Karan'taara's smile that Telamon can pick up on. The dead eyes and smile are an effective mask, that's for certain, but there is something in his smile that seems... a tad more genuine as Telamon hits on the remark about half-sil. After all, he is half-sil as well.

Which is common ground.

Common ground between Telamon and a monster.

"I've made peace with my heritage long ago, Telamon," Karan'taara replies coolly despite his smile. "But she did come in, desperate, all high-and-mighty, that Son'doriel woman. And I saw her, and I saw her tears, and I saw her agony--"

He makes a move like he's clutching at imaginary pearls, and he laughs. "And all I could think about was how I could tear her down before she, too, became a corpse. How low I could make her sink. How I could make her crawl before I made her more beautiful in personality than she ever was in life. It was lovely at first, but then I realized how mundane she was when I met your bride."

Telamon hates, inwardly, to admit he has anything in common with this... thing. But lying to yourself is a bad idea; face the truth, no matter if it stings, and it can't be used against you. "And yet," he spreads his arms. "It seems you've found no peace at all, Karan'taara. Dallying with dead things and mad noblewomen, sitting in probably one of the most secure cells in the region."

"I figured half of it was just the chance to spread some pain and anguish. Turning the house servants into undead... that was unnecessary. The whole tableau scored high on shock value, but pretty low on effectiveness." He pauses, thinking. "But then, it's about how much of a mark you can leave, isn't it? How many scars you can put on people. Physical and otherwise."

Karan'taara shrugs nonchalantly, like he's just been asked what he wants to eat with a full stomach. "I was hoping to at least escape from there," he admits, "but the rest was indulgence, as you've picked up. Ainasse let me do whatever I wanted so long as I could explain it away for her. Turn her beloved chef into a shuffling corpse? Why, it's so you don't get fat, dear Ainasse. Obesity can have an awful effect on mothers, you know--something I imagine you'll have to worry about with Cor'lana eventually."

But he doesn't linger on that tiny little aside. "And indulgence was my downfall, yes. I should have left her behind in that mansion with all of those undead and let them tear her apart. I should have absconded with that bride of yours to turn her into my traveling companion in another location. But I was just simply having too much fun. Scars? Marks? I'm afraid I've never thought about any of that, dear Telamon."

He leans forward, almost touching the bars. "It was never about other people. It was simply about what I wanted. But if you're admitting to me that you've lost sleep at night because of me and what I did to you both, Telamon, then I consider it a compliment of the highest register." The grin is wide on his face.

Telamon shrugs lightly. "One or two nights. You know, when you care about people, it just comes with the territory. But you see... 'Karry'... it's done. Over. And now, well... you have an interesting dilemma. I mean, aside from being imprisoned by some very annoyed elves who are probably playing cards to see who gets to light the stake on fire."

"I mean, sure, you managed to piss off me... and Lana... and a number of adventurers whose opinion on bone-fondlers is pretty low. Comes with the territory too, though, right? One step ahead of the jailor." Tel steeples his fingers, looking over Karan'taara at them. "But did you consider who else you might've angered? I had to tell the wardens and the royal inquisitor certain things. Hence why there's so much warding here, not just to keep you in, but to keep other things out."

Karan'taara turns around and waves his hand as he walks back to his bed. "I'm certain," he replies. "But you don't really get it, do you? Do I look like I'm lamenting my imprisonment, beyond the fact that I'm not allowed to turn people into corpses and then raise them into my thralls? Ainasse and your bride were not the first people that crossed my path."

He sits down on his bed. "There are plenty of people that aren't missed nor looked for in society, Telamon. People who sell their bodies, time, and company. People who sell illicit substances to chase altered states of mind. People who beg for coins to make it to their next meal, without anyone or anything to care for their plight. Travelers and wanderers on lonely roads in the middle of night. All of these and more became my undead for a time before I tired of them and discarded them. And do you know what I do now, here in this cell? With nothing here to entertain me?"

Karan'taara leans against the wall, lounging again. "I recall all of those people. I think back on all of their faces. How they pleaded, how they begged, how they bargained, how they fought--until their lives were spent. Until they were done, and gone, and couldn't move anymore. Until they went cold. And that, dear Telamon, is the greatest pleasure of them all."

Telamon doesn't stand up, not yet. "Well, there's only so much we can do about your... fond memories." His expression is hard, but not brittle. He's definitely not planning to jump up and rush the bars. "No, none of this really surprises me. I'm worldly enough to know that monsters usually come with a long list of sins prior to being caught, and there are many unmarked graves in their wake."

He sighs. "It's a shame, though. The misuse, the waste of talent. A life spent in such a contemptible fashion." Resting his arms on his knees. he looks back at Karan'taara. A dark mirror. "You might've been more than just a walking atrocity. I wonder where you went wrong. Perhaps I'll think on it, at some point. Maybe even offer a prayer up for your soul."

There's a slight upturn of the smile on Karan'taara's face. "And do what, Telamon?" he asks. "Will you turn me into a little morality tale to tell the children you have with Cor'lana? A bogeyman to haunt their nightmares, perhaps? 'Don't fondle dead bones or you'll turn out like the man who nearly turned your mother into a walking corpse'? Because I don't think that it was only the one or two nights of sleeplessness. I don't even think it was even that I took your bride from your sleepy, happy little home."

He laughs. It's an awful, ugly sound that reverberates in the cell, bouncing off the walls to create an infernal chorus of echoing laughs around him that dances down the halls behind Telamon. "You didn't come here for a reason at all, just like you said, beyond 'curiosity'--or so you say. But I was told once that men come to gawk at monsters because at the heart of every single man, there is a capacity to become a monster. It could happen to you, and judging by your words, maybe you even worry that we're so alike. Why, all we have between us are a few feet and these bars!"

The laughter renews again, ringing out in horrid peals. He thinks it's so funny that tears even begin to stream down his face. "Go home, Telamon! Hold your bride so tight and tell her that it'll be all right, and then wonder how it would feel if you pressed your fingers down into her throat! Wonder how it would feel if you tore her apart! Wonder how it would feel if you destroyed her heart and then your own! The seed of evil need only be planted for it to grow!"

Telamon stares coldly at Karan'taara, rising to his feet. The look on his face is blank, chilling -- the expression that a mountain might have as it falls on someone. For a second it looks like he's about to do something. The air takes on a strange coolness, like the temperature just dropped suddenly.

Then Telamon claps. Slow, mocking sounds, as he regards his dark reflection with a faint sneer. "Well played, Karan'taara. I'll give you credit, for trying to sow your 'seeds' and claw your way into my head. Better than you have tried, though." He takes a deep breath. "Ah, me. Know me? Understand me? I suppose you do, to a limited degree. But you overestimate your importance. When the tale of my family is written... you will be a footnote. The record will speak of your defeat, and it will be encouragement for all my children that evil can be broken and destroyed."

He smiles. "And for that, I really must thank you. It's quite the contribution to the tale."

Karan'taara just continues to laugh and laugh, his hands with shackled wrists hugging his sides. He appears to have nothing more to say, just laughter.

There's footsteps that come down the hall. A brunette half-elf with blue eyes walks down the hall, wearing robes and armor that indicate her to be an inquisitor of Daeus. She looks to Telamon and just crosses her arms, looking at him with a sympathetic look. "The man is half-mad," she informs Telamon in a hushed tone. "I've been informed to let you know that a.... Alud'rigan? has sent a messenger raven to coordinate matters of the wedding while you're here in Ylvaliel, and that man in there's due for his next meal."

Telamon gives Karan'taara a chilly look, but nods to the inquisitor. "Redeemer," he says politely. He scoops up the stool, carrying it with him as he walks away from the laughing villain. Only when they are out of earshot does he respond. "Don't let your guard down around him. A good chunk of that is an act. He's not half-mad... he's just a monster. And he'll happily take any advantage he can."

At the mention of Alud'rigan, he winces slightly. "Yes, I expect he's interested in talking to me. Make sure the wards hold, Redeemer. There's a number of people who would be happy to dispose of that man posthaste, without the niceties of a trial."

"I'll make a note to the security team to increase patrols and evaluate the wards," the inquisitor responds as she walks with him out of the ward. "I'm a recent assignment here--I was transferred from Marniar'nir, so I'm working on getting up-to-speed with the particulars. Please inform anyone in attendance at your wedding that justice must be done through the proper protocols. He will see his day soon."

Once they emerge from the high-security hall, Karan'taara's laughter stops when the door is shut behind them and locked. The inquisitor nods to Telamon. "Do you require anything before you leave?" she asks. "I cannot make any copies of our investigation findings, unfortunately, and what I can tell you is limited until he is brought before justice."

Telamon sighs. "There are more dangerous fiends in terms of power, but he is... depraved, in ways that I don't think either of us can really grasp. My advice is to treat him like a goblin-crafted explosive device, and assume the worst in any given situation."

He nods at the mention of the wedding and the need for justice. "I understand and will communicate it as needed. I know the presence of Lady Ainasse... complicates matters. But I can't help but wish this had been resolved already." He squares his shoulders. "Alright. I can't blame you for what's transpired thus far. Just... be careful. Let me go collect my haversack and belongings, and I'll be out of your hair."

The inquisitor nods firmly, her brunette bun bobbing a little with the motion on the back of her head. "Eli's justice will be swift for him," she informs him, although there's a wry sort of smile on her face that suggests that Karan'taara's justice will come somewhat soon. She departs down another hallway, presumably to fetch dinner for the monster in the cell.

OOC

Grandfather's Snacks:

<OOC> Telamon says, "I have this image of Alud'rigan, standing outside the prison, cracking his knuckles."

<OOC> Ravenstongue says, "Grandfather would, in fact, eat that man with fava beans and a nice chianti."