Pheraxis: Shadows Banished (Thomas McTavish x WitchesRayvyn)

[Thomas McTavish]

Callawyn's face hit dirt as he was thrown from the chapel, his ears ringing with pain.

"Rejoice, heathen, for we have freed your soul from it's infernal bonds! We cast you out now, for the rest of the Path to Light must be walked by you willingly. Find your footing, and go, find your way. The rest is up to you."

The heavy wood door slammed shut, leaving the Shadeshifter with mud on his face, rain on his back, and the taste of blood in his mouth. Not the usual taste, the essence of life and sustenance for shadeshifters, but a blood he had not tasted since his very own "fateful night" all those years ago. A sour blood, devoid of the satisfaction it usually brings. His own.

A hole had consumed his chest. Hollow, the career thief stumbled to his feet and away fro the Cathedral of the Gentle Touch, a sect of the Ivory Inquisition known for capturing, torturing, and "purifying" Practitioners by stripping them of their abilities by force. They had captured his after storming one of the few boltholes practitioners had in this part of the country, a job in a new city had gone south. They'd tailed a careless Sorcerer there, and stormed the place in force. Everyone there was put in chains, or put to the sword. Those who survived were brought here, and "cured" of their "affliction"; tortured for weeks and stripped of their ability to cast their magic, relieved of all supernatural abilities or properties. Cal looked to the signs on the road, the collar of burn scars stinging in the rain, and began to put one foot in front of the other, headed to the only home he had left.

It was sundown on the third day that week as Callawyn's weary fist fell heavily upon the wooden door. A familiar face greeted him. Felix, the doorman, saw the look in Callawyn's eye and simply directed him down the hall, to where the Mistress's chambers were. He faltered to the end of the hallway, dropping to his knees in from of the door as he mustered his strength to slam his fist into the door as heavy as it would fall, and called out to the occupant.

"Lorna! It's... It's Cal." His voice cracked and his parched throat stung. "Look, I... I know it's been a while but... Lorna, I need your help."

He sat on his heels and looked up as a helpless puppy to the familiar figure in the doorway. He met her gaze. The fire had left his eyes, the supernatural, light-catching yellow was gone.

"Lorna I... I'm mortal again."

 

[WitchesRayvyn]

She'd sensed his presence long before Felix had contacted her, though she hadn't known that it was Cal until she'd been informed of his entry into the Den. Looking down at him now, her golden eyes full of surprise and worry, she now knew why. It had been some months since the last time she'd seen Callawyn. Four months? Six? More? Had it really been more than half a year? She couldn't recall. It wasn't unusual for their paths to be free of each other for long stretches of time, but things were anything but usual these days and they'd made an agreement to keep each other informed of their respective whereabouts, given how aggressive the Inquisition had become in their persecution of practitioners. An agreement that had Lorna writing to Cal at least once a month, unless something important came across her desk, which she happily passed on, for a price of course. Longtime friends they may have been, but she still needed to make a living, and no matter how popular she and her Dolls were, secrets and information always paid more.


The last reply she'd received had been around 7 months ago, she was a little more sure of it now. Long enough for her to have secretly mourned for her friend. To see him now, so weak
and apparently broken nearly had Lorna forgetting herself and dropping to her knees to wrap
her arms around him. But no matter how much she wished to do this, she couldn't. Even within the walls of her home, she had to keep up appears. Had to be stone cold and practical. She wouldn't be free to express any of the things she was feeling openly until both she and Callawyn were within the walls of her quarters, away from prying eyes and strained hearing.


She motioned to Felix, who had followed behind the shade, and he bent and scooped the smaller man up as if he weighed nothing and followed his mistress into her chamber. Once the door was closed she waved him towards her bed which was to the left of the entryway, in a space separated from the main room by folded back screens, while she made her way over to the right side of the chamber where her alchemy table was situated. Her now visible ears flicked in annoyance as she set about mixing up a tonic that would heal the wounds she'd seen and any she could not, though the process would be slower than normal given Cal's current situation.


The process of making the draft was second nature to Lorna so it allowed her to think and reflect back on what Cal and confessed at her feet. Mortal. It would explain why her wards had no recognized him. They were attuned to his power, his practitioner's blood. His abilities being stripped away would have affected how the wards would have seen and sensed him. When she finished she made her way over to her bed and gave Felix's arm a pat.


"Be a dear love and have some food fetched from the kitchen for my guest and me. Something light. Then go back to the door. If he's in this bad of shape there is no telling if he was followed." she sighed softly. "I may need to close up early tonight…."


Felix gave a small nod and bow before turning to go do as he was told. Once they were alone, Lorna moved closer to the bed and gazed down at her old friend, her amber eyes shining slightly with tears she refused to let fall. She would have looked different to him since the last time they'd seen each other, though her eyes were always the same wise all knowing color of aged whiskey. Her long black hair fell well past her waist, held up and back by a variety of combs and other ornaments, the darker color bringing out the red strips painted across the high cheekbones of a beautiful but angular face, almost live whiskers. She bent over him, careful not to agitate his injuries and ran long, red-tinted nails through the hair at his forehead.


"Cal, what foolishness has left you thus, newly dead at my door?'

 

[Thomas McTavish]

Callawyn normally would have protested being carried as a child to bed, but he knew he didn't have the strength to walk anymore. The stop at her door was the last he could manage. He winced as he downed the familiar concoction, memories of the deliciously coppery concoction tainted by a tongue no longer accustomed to the flavor. He lay there, simply breathing as his old friend stared down at him. He forced his usual cocky smirk on his face as he stared up at Lorna from the bed, desperately trying to hide exactly how wrecked he was. He hated her to see him like this probably as much as she hated seeing it.

His smile faded for a moment as horrid memory crossed his face, before snapping back. He forced an ironic chuckle.

"A Gentle Touch."

He shot to sit up as a coughing fit wracked him, flopping back down as it passed. "Ivories out east, near Kladas. Figured out how to strip Practitioners of power and blood, making mere men of the denizens of the night. Job of mine went south, I ducked into a bolthole there. Secret tavern. Guess they tracked some schmuck in, 'cause they stormed the place a day after I and some others got there. Captured those they could, put the others down like animals, burned it to the ground with the dead inside. Threw us... threw us into cages, carted us off to their cathedral in the middle of nowhere. Corralled us into dungeons. Then they... they..."

His eyed tear back and he choked on his words. He breathed deep, settling back down.

"Lorna, these guys aren't the average Inquisition mooks. They don't seek to kill us all, they want to 'cure' us, make us human. They force the magics from your very bones. Worst part is, it's an option. Those members of our kind of people who aren't happy with their situation, cursed ones, those born with magic they never wanted, who never accepted their gifts, will go to them now. They've been expanding, and the more Practitioners they can convert the more likely it is the Inquisition will get a hold on some very important information. Like other boltholes. Guilds." He met Lorna's gaze for the first time in a while, worry in his eyes. "Individuals."

 

[WitchesRayvyn]

Cal's words made her blood run cold and she had to suppress the shiver that threatened to make its way up her spine. She'd heard whispers, rumors, of such people, men, and woman who spurned their natural gifts of magic turning to a sect of the Inquisition to rid themselves of their powers, to become fully human. She would never understand people who felt that
way. Those who were cursed by magic she could understand, but even after all the
hardships she'd faced, she still treasured her powers. Her magic was part of who she was.
She wouldn't have survived half what she had if she hadn't been so gifted.


"I had heard rumors of some goings on, but I suppose I had hoped they would be just that. Rumors." she signed softly and reached out to take his hand, squeezing it gently. "I 'm sorry they have done this to you, my friend. Were there a way to help you regain what you have lost you know I would do all in my power to make it so." the warning and concern in his voice was touching and she smiled softly. "I thank you for the warning. I had hoped that my usefulness to the Inquisitors would protect me somewhat, and perhaps had this new group not gained so much power, I would not have to worry." she stood, allowing his hand to fall from hers as she stoked to pace back and forth beside the bed.


This new development was most disturbing. She wasn't sure what would happen to he should her magic be stripped from her. She'd never been human. Would taking her magic outright kill her? Were there steps she could take to prevent anything from happening to her or her Dolls. To Felix and his family. It wasn't only her life she was accountable for.


Her tails whipped around her wildly, giving her growing agitation physical form. Her ears laying flat against her skull as her mind raced "This will require more thought..." she trailed off at a knock at her door. "Enter." two servants rushed into the room, the smell from the trays of the food they carried quickly spreading through her chamber. Lorna directed them to place the food on a nearby table. Once that was done they left at a gesture from her fingers. "But first I think we should eat. As you are now, it is important that you eat and drink properly. Hopefully, food will make you feel a little more like yourself and it will give me time to think."

 

[Thomas McTavish]

The servants entered the room, and the smell of the food hit Callawyn instantly. Memories awakened- cold nights, fire roaring in it's place, a fresh meal after long hours working his fields. Things he had not though about since the last time he was human. Roasted meat and crisp veggies, his mouth began to water. He ate food like this as a Shadeshifter, sure, but never had it been so appealing. It wasn't until then that Cal realized he was starving. Even after stripping him of his power, his gift, they still had only fed him blood. Thick, congealing, copper-tinged blood, to force his tongue - his mortal, human tongue- to learn to reject what had been his sustenance for so long. And then days of travel on an empty stomach.

He practically leaped out of the bed, hunching over the table and scarfing down food like a feral beast. After half of it was already down his gullet, his body caught up with itself and he slowed down. The floor swayed under him, the room darkened, gravity didn't exist. He heard a thud in the other room and felt pressure on his knees. When he came back to his senses, he was lifting his face from the floor.

"Got up too fast," he joked, half smiling despite the burning in his muscles and the churning in his stomach. Legs quaking, hand on the table he managed to stand for all of three seconds before falling back to a knee. "Think I'm gonna be out of commission for a few days." With a grunt of grim determination, Callawyn forced himself to his knees, just long enough to prove he could before taking a seat in a chair.

"Lorna," he called, waving her over so he didn't have to strain his voice, "What's the state of the Syndicate? Can a fighting force of any kind be assembled?"

 

[WitchesRayvyn]

He had always been fast, Lorna one of the few who was able to follow him with the naked eye, but the loss of his powers had slowed him to what would have seemed like a crawl to anyone who had seen him more before. He was up and out of the bed and already at the table before she could stop him, though a part of her wished to see just how far he could push himself before his currently state caught up with him again. She took her place across from him, her movements calm and graceful, as was her way. She watched with barely contained mirth as Cal depowered half of the food laid before him before he ever seemed to realize it. As she took a delicate bite of meat she reflected on the fact that it had been a very long time since her friend had HAD to eat regular food, and wondered what he had been fed while captured, if anything.

So busy was she on her own thoughts, that she didn't realize Cal had stood until he was already falling towards the floor. Could she have prevented him from hitting the hard ground, his cheek smacking against the carpeted wood with a dull thud? Of a certainty. But Callawyn was no longer what he used to be, and he needed to learn that, the hard way if necessary. If she had thought he'd been in any real danger of injuring himself, she would, of course, have stepped in and prevented it. But the carpet was plush enough to save his skull from any major injuries, and a couple of new bruises would serve to remind him of the state he currently found himself in; that of once again being human. She did, however, watch him carefully as he got to his knees and pulled himself back up into the chair.

Small lines appeared at the corners of sky blue eyes as Lorna narrowed her eyes slightly when Cal spoke. Heavily shadowed lids fluttered down over iris' the color of the sea and long lashes dusted against pale cheeks. She looked much different now since their last meeting; tall, lithe and willowy with eyes the color of bright sapphires and hair as black as ebony, her magic and shapeshifting abilities having played a major role in her survival over the years. Her ear and tail, when visible, were white now instead of a light fawn color. She opened her eyes slowly to look at him across the table.

"As you know, the Syndicate was never a large group to begin with, not when compared to the Inquisitions numbers, which were and still are growing." Lorna wrapped slim, delicate fingers around the stem of a crystal wine glass and leaned back in her chair. "The Syndicate's numbers have grown as well, though they are not what most would like them to be." She studied him, wondering if he'd asked her because it was common knowledge that she was a keeper of secrets for both the Syndicate and the Inquisition, or was it that he knew her other title among the organization; the one that only a handful of Practitioners knew. Callawyn was nearly as good as she was at finding things out, so it was possible he knew, but as she studied him, she wondered if he did. She was supposed to be a third party, a neutral source that both the Inquisition and Syndicate used for various things. She wasn't supported to pick a side, but what the Inquisition didn't know wouldn't hurt her or her Dolls. "I would say the Syndicate now has members that number in the low hundreds, maybe 300 at most."