Legends of Belariath

Kalciane

Night Out On The Town

The moon was clear and bright overhead, a full circle of pale whiteness that cast a dim glow upon the establishment known as the Lonely Inn. It was a cold, bitter night outside; the frost of winter was still in the air, crackling upon tree branches and hanging off of the leaves in tiny crystals. The Inn itself seemed a warm presence, as it usually did: a hearty glow emanated from the open doorway, and tiny wisps of smoke curled up from the chimney in a constant, lazy stream. It was a panoramic scene, one that seemed almost a part of an unreal, serene fantasy... the comfortable Inn nestled deep in the midst of the woods, taking in travelers from all around the lands into its arms. The illusion was only somewhat broken when a winged figure walked out of the door quickly, heading for the coldness outside.

Her name was Kalciane, a tall purple-winged Torian who only seemed to terrify

and upset those around her due to her rather cold and unfriendly demeanor. At the present, she was marching out for the area that lay beyond the Inn, having finished her nightly stint of observation inside. There was a small, rather nondescript town that she had recently taken a liking to--not so much for what it had to offer in way of services, but rather for the people that inhabited it. Ironically, while the Lonely Inn was home--or at least a hangout--for some fairly powerful mages and warriors in these parts of the lands, the town itself was populated by fairly ordinary people who had little to no idea about the kinds of things that went on behind closed doors in the establishment not two miles from their peaceful town. They lived their lives as any would, striving to make enough to put food on their table and keep a roof over their heads, blissfully unaware of the petty power wars and melodrama that went on at the Inn. They were happy, simple folk who lived in peace and passed without a whisper.

She had been changing all of that, slowly. Steadily. Inevitably.

The first time had been wholly unintentional, during a period when she had felt herself in the grip of her taint--right after she had been threatened verbally and physically by the force mage known as Story, or Tophet the Prophet as some liked to call him. Despite the fact that there was evidence (just tiny shreds of it, though) indicating he truly would not have done anything to her, Kalciane had taken his actions to heart. His sheer presence and power only served to remind her of how weak and pathetic she truly was, despite all the things she had learned in her time at the Inn and her increasing arsenal of magical spells. After that one night, she had gone into town without any true purpose in mind, only wanting to reaffirm her fragile position in the world. She had stalked around town, staying in the shadows as she felt a very familiar sense of instinct take over her mind. It was as if she had done this before... many, many times; indeed, when she fell upon the hapless farmer who had done nothing more than cross her path down a dirt path, she felt a rush of pleasure that somehow seemed both welcome and long-forgotten.

Since then, there had been many times. Sometimes she was in complete control and simply wanted to exert her own insecurities upon an unfortunate villager or three, reaffirming her own position of power--if she couldn't be stronger than those in the Inn, then she could be a goddess to these townsfolk. Those were the best of times; she could think clearly then, and plan her attack from the shadows as her magic and her hatred pulsed within. The men and women never saw her until it was too late. Other times, the mindless desire to kill simply overtook her and she charged into the village, wings spread out as if she was an angel of death come to deliver judgment upon foolish innocents. She let her magic fly as she pleased at those times, striking some as they ran and felling others as they stood. Those moments never lasted long. Another time, she would have kept going until she exhausted herself, even at the cost of forfeiting her own life, but now... now, she had the bracelets. The bracelets always glowed an angry blood-red right as she felt herself slipping on the edge of awareness, pulling her back and keeping her conscious just long enough to make a hasty retreat.

Kalciane wasn't stupid, not by a long shot; in fact, her sense of practicality and cynicism often confused and frustrated others to no end, as her thought process seemed to be completely unfathomable. The only problem was that when her taint overtook her mind, she no longer cared to think or reason. While the taint was perfectly capable of being devious and manipulative, it simply chose not to be. Instead, it went for the direct approach: descending from the skies with her hands aglow in magical excess. She knew that such actions would have consequences one day, that if she wasn't careful, they would capture her... much as she had been captured before. The last time, she had been spared by an archmage who had taken her in to experiment on her with his magic. If she was caught once more, she would most likely not survive.

But the desire to hunt was still there. The wings on her back--both a blessing and a curse, granting her beloved flight and unwanted pleasure--indicated her to be a person of prey... a raptor, in a way. She had tried to deny it long ago and found that all of her efforts ultimately failed; so instead, she had chosen instead to embrace her predatory instinct, feeding her urge to reassert her authority in her own personal world, knowing that there were already many who would prey upon her given the proper excuse. As long as she had this release, though, she could continue to convince herself that she was still meaningful in this world, that she wasn't on the bottom of the social ladder. It was catharsis in a way, a ritual that fed her power and confidence to maintain the careful mask she had constructed for herself in the Inn.

Tonight, she was feeling more in-control than she usually was. As the weeks passed since her first incident, she had managed to gain some form of control over the taint--ironically, by accepting it and letting it ravage her instead of denying it as she had been doing all these years. Now, she felt only a new sense of power, as if her irrational hatred and anger fueled her, giving her strength and courage--or perhaps irrationality and foolhardiness. Granted, it needed release every so often... which was exactly what her excursions were for: to vent the building rage before she completely lost herself. She told no one about them, but was positive everyone knew regardless. There was never any attempt on her part to mask her intentions... she had walked into the Inn with bloodied hands and arms more than once, savoring the shocked reactions of the patrons.

She quietly walked down the dirt paths that led to the town, calmly noting the semi-clouded sky above her. Instinctively, she knew that it was best to strike when the moon was blotted out--and with the way things were looking, that would come in perhaps fifteen minutes. She had only a short time to find someone, *anyone* really, as long as the person was weak and susceptible. Her body began to tense in anticipation of the act as she smiled to herself, drawing closer towards the cluster of dimly-lit houses and wide fields in the horizon. The sight was very familiar to her by now, almost like a second home or close friend.

It was already well into the night, so Kalciane expected the streets to be empty and desolate. The entire town more or less closed down after night hours, leaving everything in sight windblown and abandoned as if it was a ghost town. Only the faint light of fires inside the houses off in the distance and the occasional villager wandering towards the homes gave any indication that there was life remaining in this part of the world. She walked through the streets quietly, her purple-reddish hair a dull shade of grey against the surrounding darkness, her skirt flapping slightly in the breeze: a silent raptor methodically searching for its next meal. The moonlight faded slightly as a few wisps of the clouds began trailing across its wan face.

And suddenly, the sounds of mournful singing came filtering across the breeze towards her, resounding in her ears as she rounded the corner of a general store. A small funeral procession seemed to be passing through the streets, consisting of two children--a boy and a girl--and a rather beautiful but wearied-looking young woman who was barely old enough to be their mother. All three of them were garbed wholly in black funeral, carrying a coffin on a rack upon their shoulders. They sang sadly, the notes and chords of their song long and soft yet powerful... Kalciane felt a strange comfort in it, as it was a song about death and loss, things she knew well. In another fashion, however, she felt some faint twinge of regret in her conscience, a tingle of familiarity that stirred a faint unease in her.

After a moment of hesitation, she approached the three from the side and bowed her head respectfully. “Excuse me,” she said, “but I was just passing by... what happened?”

The mother, really far too young to have a maternal look, glanced up at the half-Torian with tears in her sorrowful eyes. Her voice wavered unsteadily as

she spoke. “Wh-who are you?”

”Um...” Kalciane suddenly wondered if she should be prying into the affairs of these people before deciding to hell with it. “My name is Kalciane, and I just happened to be wandering by when I saw you. You look very saddened... I wish there was something I could do for you.”

That, of course, was not wholly a lie. Despite her tendencies towards extinguishing life, Kalciane also had moments of honest remorse and guilt--many of them, in fact. It was simply the fact that she had grown accustomed to dealing with them alone, as she had never had anyone else to speak to them with. Eventually, all of her emotion simply sank inside her soul in a thick mire, resurfacing only when something managed to dredge up her conscience in a new, unexpected fashion. Somehow, the funeral procession had struck her in a way that countless bloody deaths at her hands had not. It was as if the celebration of a death had attached a previously-unseen significance to her acts, making her doubt her own tendencies for a brief moment. In that small span of time, her doubt managed to drown out her rage, quelling it into a faint murmur in the background of her mind.

”Daddy got cut by a bad person!” the little girl suddenly yelled out, bursting into a fresh patch of tears as she spoke. Her hands curled into balls as she nearly dropped the coffin to wipe at her eyes. “H-he got cut!”

The mother valiantly attempted to shush her before the outburst worsened, shushing and chiding her quietly. “I-I'm sorry, Miss, but this is a rather personal time... could you pl-please leave us be?”

The boy spoke quietly, his demeanor pale and strained. Kalciane could see his cheeks were sallow; he was obviously not in good health. “I'm hungry, mother.”

”Silence--“

”I'm hungry too!” the girl wailed, sobbing as she simply stopped in place and refused to go further. “Daddy's been gone and you never give us any food any more!”

The woman sighed wearily, as if she had been doing so for the past week--which very well may have been the case. “Melinda, please...” she began, before simply trailing off as the girl broke into another fit of wailing. She looked helplessly at her son, then at Kalciane as if in apology.

”Oh, it's all right,” Kalciane said quickly, raising her hands upwards defensively. “I don't mean to intrude... your children do look a bit hungry, and you... um...” She trailed off as she realized that everything she wanted to say would have probably come off harsher than she would've liked. “... did you need something to eat? I can buy you something, if there's any restaurants open...”

Despite the gravity of the situation, the children's faces lit up at the prospect of food. Who was this strange winged woman giving them food from the heavens? The mother glanced around the empty streets before heaving a sigh, as if resigning herself to fate. She looked back at Kalciane, her face torn between grief and hope. “I appreciate your offer, Miss--but please, allow us the time to mourn the passing of our beloved Dalron. Please...”

Kalciane nodded dully as she fell in step behind the three, following them as they passed through the streets to eventually stop at a small plot of grassy land far off from any of the stores or houses. A dingy, run-down fence surrounded the area; headstones and plaques were embedded in the ground at rough angles... a very crude and inexpensive cemetery. There was already a rectangular-cut hole in the ground perhaps seven or eight feet; the three lowered the coffin in gently as Kalciane watched impassively from the other side of the fence. A pile of dirt was on the side of the hole; they simply shoveled it over the coffin, the clods of earth striking the wood hollowly as the pit was gradually filled up. Once they were finished, they stood back to admire their work. The grave was rough and new, looking as out of place as everything else... in other words, it fit right in.

There were no tears. Somehow, Kalciane simply knew that this ceremony had been the final act of letting go; the tears had already been shed another time, during an age before harsh reality had settled into their idyllic lives. Creeping realization sank into her mind as she slowly recalled her actions a week or two ago, when she had come to this town to hunt. There had only been one man that night, but his screams had been sweet. She had taken him to a nearby lake after knocking him unconscious, and the ritual had last almost an hour before the more rational parts of her mind shouted for her to leave before she attracted attention. She had left him on the bank, barely even humanoid at that point after what she had done, and had flown back to the Inn hastily covered in his blood.

And now it seemed that her actions had caught up with her. Fate's twisted sense of humor decided to place her with the ones whose lives she had destroyed, as if deriding her with the question of what she would do now. Kalciane watched as they shuffled away from the newly-made grave, realizing that she couldn't simply kill them and not fully understanding why she felt that way. It wasn't the fact that she had no reason, for her urges often came without one, defying logic and sanity. Nor was it the fact that she was afraid of them, for they obviously were simple civilians who had no hope of defeating her in actual battle. In some small part of her being, she felt honestly sorry for what she had done and wanted to repay them for it... however she could.

But revealing herself to be the one who tore their life apart was out of the question. If she could only assuage her own guilt long enough to be satisfied...

”Excuse me!” Kalciane called out as they were leaving. The two children turned to look at her, their eyes wide and hopeful. “Please... let me get you some food. You look starved.”

The mother looked up at the half-Torian slowly in disbelief. “What?” she said blankly, as if the sudden offer of kindness was lost upon her.

”I said,” Kalciane repeated, feeling herself losing her patience and desperately struggling to reign it back in--she had come here to kill, not to treat families out to dinner. “Would you like something to eat? I have money to pay for it, and your children look terribly hungry.”

The girl began whining again as the prospect of food sent her stomach into a fit of rumbling, while the boy simply looked at the mound of dirt over his father's coffin, brushing a smear of dust from his cheek. An uncomfortable moment passed before the mother finally looked up at Kalciane, nodding slowly almost as in defeat. “Please... I--we would like that. There's a tavern still open, would that be too much for you? This is really very kind of you, Miss--“

Kalciane smiled quietly and waved the compliment aside, stepping over the fence to draw close to the three. “Let's just go. You look like you could use some food first... you can tell me whatever you feel like afterwards.”

__________

The tavern they ended up going to was still rowdy and uproarious even late at night, although it was completely tame after Kalciane's experiences at the Lonely Inn. One notable difference was that there seemed to be more humans than anything else, although the occasional halfling and troll was lounging around the shadier corners of the establishment. Kalciane was led in by the three, following after them and moving quietly in an effort to try and not draw attention to herself. Her fears were quickly settled, however, when the bartender moved over and greeted the mother warmly, consoling her on the loss of her husband and pulling out seats for the four of them at a nearby table. The half-Torian sighed in almost visible relief, rather pleased that her brilliant wings had drawn little notice for probably the first time in her life.

For the most part, the tavern was almost like a friendly family restaurant as waiters came by to take their orders and serve drinks (Kalciane noted dryly that none of them were half-naked and wearing nipple rings, something she had also grown accustomed to). The children ordered heaps after heaps of food, while the mother made a vague attempt at masking her hunger before giving up, digging into the slabs of meat and loaves of bread with relish. Kalciane simply sat back and watched idly, producing the necessary mehrial as the servers brought each dish of food over, not really worrying how much she was spending. She watched the grubby faces of the children and the grateful eyes of the mother, who kept stealing furtive glances back up at her every so often before lowering her eyes towards her food again.

After perhaps eight or nine minutes of nonstop eating, the girl finally looked up. “Miss you can have some too!” she said, holding up a slab of beef merrily as if they were the ones buying a feast for her.

Kalciane just shook her head slowly. “I'm not hungry. Besides, you need it far more than I do.”

The mother took a swig of her ale before tossing her daughter a stern look. “Melinda, where are your manners?!” she demanded. “This lady is paying for everything you see here! Show her some respect!”

”My name is Kalciane,” Kalciane said slowly, her voice low. “And it's all right. If I'd wanted to eat I would have joined in.”

”This is very nice of you, Miss Kalciane,” the boy said, smiling palely. His complexion seemed less sallow now, most likely due to the fact that he was actually eating and drinking now (as politely as he could without simply wolfing everything down). She had noticed that the boy seemed to be the more mature one, although they both looked to be about the same age-wise. “Where did you come from?”

Kalciane briefly considered the wisdom of telling them the truth before quickly deciding against it. “I'm not from these parts, as you can probably tell,” she said, shrugging her wings slightly. Much to her amusement, the three watched almost awestruck, as if it was the most captivating sight they had ever seen. “I'm a traveler, actually, and I was just passing by looking for an Inn to stay in for the night when I noticed the three of you.”

She was only mildly disgusted with how sincere her words sounded, having grown accustomed to lying when it suited her long ago. The truth was far less innocent, of course, but they seemed satisfied with her answer as they turned back to their food. Another minute or two of pure devouring commenced before the boy's curiousity got the better of him. He looked up, pointing with a half-gnawed drumstick at her wings. “What are those for?”

”Um, they're wings. They let me fly,” Kalciane said, feeling a bit stupid. What the hell kind of a question was that? She left out the other little fact as to what they did, figuring that the boy could at least be of age to understand such things before he was enlightened.

”Is it fun flying?” the girl asked around a mouthful of bread, her words barely comprehensible around the food.

The half-Torian looked somewhat bewildered at this, the sheer ignorance--or was it innocence?--of the question striking her. “Flying? I suppose so. It just gets me where I need to go.”

”I wish I had wings,” the boy said sagely, looking over her purple feathers wistfully.

Kalciane wasn't really sure what to say to that, so she employed a tactic she knew well: she remained perfectly silent. The meal passed by uneventfully as the three finally sated themselves (later, she would discover that she had spent almost ten mehrial when all was said and done). People milled about the room, entering and exiting; there was a brief barfight that was quickly put down when the local bouncer, a rather intelligent troll carrying a big club in one paw, politely asked the two men to leave. All in all, Kalciane quickly found herself getting bored and restless, her urges welling up again as she saw the happy faces of the three sitting around her. She had come here to kill, not to help... there wasn't even anything interesting to observe in the tavern. Everything was far too civilized.

Time passed by. She couldn't simply leave them as they were; they insisted that she stay so they could properly thank her for her time--by occupying even more of it with their talking. Questions popped up all over the place: where was she *really* from? What was her familial surname? What did she do? And why were her wings purple? Could they touch them just for a moment? Kalciane smiled faintly and simply hid her mounting irritation beneath her face, answering as evasively as she could and politely folding her wings back when the enthusiastic children tried to grab them. More people milled around the tavern, most of them exiting for the night; unlike the Lonely Inn, this tavern had a closing hour.

They were finally escorted out of the establishment by the troll bouncer sometime around midnight. The moon was already fully obscured by this point, and it was almost completely dark outside as there were no lights of any sort around. The mother murmured a few arcane words, quickly illuminating the area with a light spell emnating from her hand and shooing her children off in the direction of their home. She turned around, looking at Kalciane with something akin to pure joy on her face that was only somewhat marred by traces of lingering grief.

”You're truly a kind person, Miss Kalciane,” she said, almost tripping over her words. “I-I don't know what I would've done if I'd gone another day without food... please accept my deepest gratitude. I'll try my best to repay you... how much was the tab?”

Kalciane smiled faintly, shaking her head. “Don't worry about it. Let me walk you home.”

”Oh, there's no need for that!” she replied. “We'll be fine, Miss... our home is close by; we won't let that killer get to us as well.”

”Let me come along,” Kalciane insisted, shaking her head. The gnawing was back, spurring her to burn the three as they fell asleep in their home. “I know magic... I can protect you.”

Instead of protesting further, the mother simply nodded gratefully as she scurried after her children, the promise of magic security enough. Kalciane moved after her, calmly fingering one of the knives in her brace as she the gnawing ballooned outwards into a burning lust within her chest. It was much like when she wanted to fuck her beloved--yes, fuck, in those very same terms, for it denoted a certain violence and aggression to the act, belying her usual affection and tenderness for her--except now all she could envision was a beautiful cascade of blood sheeting from the open throats of those three helpless ones within a wall of fire as she stood over them, howling laughter as the house burned. After all, she had already destroyed a part of their lives... it was only appropriate that she finish the task.

She clutched her head tightly the instant she drew up to the house, opening her mouth to scream and having enough presence of mind to stifle it. The mother paused, looking back in concern before drawing up to her side and slipping her arm around her to prop her back up.

”Are you all right?” she asked worriedly, one hand reaching to her shoulder comfortingly. “We still have some medicine left, if you have a headache...”

”I'm fine,” Kalciane growled, grabbing a handful of her own hair and pulling slightly, trying to get at the nagging portion of her brain where the taint was mocking her inability to silence it. The jeering thoughts continued as her heartbeat quickened with the close proximity of the woman, her mind suddenly filling with images of rape and murder. She could take her. She could take her now, as she stood, tasting her essence and making her scream in orgasm before shoving a volley of ice into her chest, ending and silencing her forever... and it would all be so, so easy, for she was powerful. She was Kalciane, the angel of death, and she was a goddess to these mere villagers.

The thoughts left as quickly as they came, and Kalciane could only faintly notice the dull ochre glow of her bracelets in the perfectly dark night. She gently pried the woman away from her arm and smiled, knowing that there was little chance of her noticing it, and none whatsoever of her understanding.

”Go back inside,” she said, waving at her. “I'll remain out here and make sure nothing happens. If the killer comes along, I'll deal with him.”

”B-but...” the mother said, distraught. After all she had done, she could have at least come in for tea, or a quiet talk...

”I'll deal with it,” Kalciane said firmly, feeling a wave of resolution wash over her. “*Go.*”

The woman hesitated only for a moment before running hastily inside, not looking back. Kalciane slumped slightly before collapsing to sit on the dirt, digging her fingers into the earth as if seeking for some form of an answer buried underneath. She did not cry; there was no remorse in her heart for what she had felt or thought. There was only anger and hatred, both directed at her own being, for being so weak as to contemplate the murder of such innocents. She was weak... she was no goddess... she was an angel of suffering...

Kalciane slowly stood back up to her feet, her fingers dusty. She turned to look at the home that the three lived in, finding it to be a perfectly normal residence that was only faintly visible in the tiny amount of moonlight that was seeping through the thinning clouds overhead. She raised one hand and brushed the dust off of her dress as a circular insignia of fiery red magical energy began to weave in the air in front of her, tracing itself in complex curves and letterings as it came to life. The spell completed itself quickly, leaving one final trigger to activate before it would release itself into the home. With the materials it was made out of, it would set ablaze quickly, leaving the three with little chance to escape.

The thought was delicious to her, and the longer she stood there, her mental finger upon that magical trigger, the less reason she saw not to. But then the bracelets flared to life once more, the metal glowing an angry crimson as she felt the all-too-familiar clamping sensation of its magic squeezing painfully into her mind, forcing the taint back and leaving her breathless in racking pain. She slowly glanced upwards to see the windows of the house light up one at a time; undoubtedly the mother was now telling them a bedtime story as her children fell asleep into a comfortable slumber, full and content knowing that good existed in the world after all. After all, the mysterious winged woman had helped them in a time of need without any gain to herself. Wasn't that proof enough?

She knew she couldn't do it... but then again, she didn't know for sure.

Kalciane closed her eyes, the insignia casting a bright red glow on her face. She lowered her hand up away from the house, murmuring a soft, unheard goodnight to the inhabitants before letting her impulse decide their fate.

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