#Kudrege/salem-217

[pawnshopsouls]

In the House of Shards

Starter for @baronofhousespider​

Kneeling atop the Ether Garden dome, Salem-217 reloaded his rifle, the muzzle still hot from his recent thief deterrents.

“That’s pretty brutal,” Chauncey remarked, gazing down at the corpse and limbs by the Ether gate.

“Well, if they didn’t want teh get their lives or limbs docked, they shouldn’t a’ tried stealin’ ether,” the guardian said simply. “It’s part a’ the rules out here—the Kel decides who gets ether ‘n’ who doesn’t. Stealin’ from the Kel is reason enough teh get yer head docked or worse.”

Chauncey flicked his gaze to the guardian, the thin blue slit painted on his helmet, and then back to the ground below. After a pause, the ghost spoke with soft trepidation. “You know you’re not one of them, right?” he asked, turning to look at the blue-clad warlock. “One of the Fallen? I know you need ether but... you’re still a Guardian. You don’t need to be doing this.”

Salem-217 paused and lifted his head from the scope, glancing at his ghost from over his shoulder. “I’ve already given ‘em my word, Chance,” he murmured, soberly, “given’ ‘em my allegiance. Drug haze or not, what’s bindin’ if not yer word?”

The ghost gave a disappointed sigh and turned to look back into the dimness. ‘Of all the times to get hung up on loyalty and integrity...’ he thought, slowly shifting his case. ‘Well, at least he’s working on being more loyal—I just wish it wasn’t to a Fallen kel.’

[pawnshopsouls]

Kel of Shards-Bad end

//So for the angst thoughts that have been bothering me all morning? Take a seat and enjoy emptying your tissue box with an au!timeline of if Salem had been given and taken Yyventriz’s deal instead of being captured in the dome.

Yyventriz gazed at the guardian, weighing him as as he stood before her. He was tall and slight, but strong from what she’d seen. The colors of her house fit him well and his new helm almost made him seem Eliksni. Still, his stiff silence perturbed her. This was not how he had entered.

Then, he’d had an air only an ether-starved dreg would have. Hungry, tired, confused, desperate. Just from his stance she’d seen it eating away at his mind, driving him mad for it. A weakling addict if she ever saw one. But he was useful - the one whose healing Light could save her much on ether and supplies. But as he stood before her, he seemed... hardened somehow. Forlorn and tense. Yet he had his ether and seen her demonstrated assurances that she would not harm his ghost...

“You are ill at ease,” she remarked, rasping hum and folded her lower arms. “Why?”

The warlock glanced up and away again. “The ghost won’t speak teh me,” he murmured, the translator in his helmet changing his words to her native tongue.

Yyventriz quirked her head. “The ghost? Yours? Why?” The guardian hesitated and she let out a warning growl. Guardian or not it would be his only warning. One did not ignore an order from a kel.

As if sensing this, the warlock straightened again and bowed his head. “He feels... betrayed, my Kel,” he answered, though his voice crackled, likely with suppressed thoughts.

“Enlighten me,” the Eliskni said, leaning back in her seat. She watched the warlock shift, balling his fists in a way that showed nerves or possibly anger. A topic he didn’t want to discuss... as all private topics were.

“Fergive me, my Kel, yer not gonna like what I have teh say, but...” He hesitated again before looked up to meet her fearsome gaze. “I would a’ served yeh faithfully—no—more faithfully if yeh hadn’t made me a Judas a’ my own soul.”

The Kel narrowed her eyes. “I do not recognize this term,” she growled, resting her hand on the favored dagger she wore at her side. “Explain.”

There was a soft hiss of Ether as the warlock took a breath. “It’s human history,” he explained, straightening before her. “There was a great leader, a man who changed the world for millennia, after his death, and who was betrayed by one of his twelve closest followers. His name was Judas ‘n’ he traded the life a’ his lord ‘n’ savior teh their enemies fer a bag a’ glimmer—” he stopped, his breath hitching as he lowered his gaze in shame. “—Just as I traded the other half a’ my soul fer a tin a’ ether...”

“Ahhh,” the kel hummed, taking in a hiss of Ether as she laced her fingers together. “And you blame me for this? For your weakness in giving me your ghost?” The warlock was silent, clearly chewing on his thoughts as she answered for him. “I can see why it refuses you. You cannot even admit that it was your weakness that brought you here, that gave him up, that betrayed you both. Yes, I called to test your loyalty, but it is you who decided where your loyalties lied.”

The warlock’s head jerked up, the false cerulean gaze of his helmet fixing on hers. He bridled and she almost chuckled at the sight. She could see his thoughts play their way through his muscles—his indignant bridling, his fists clenching in fight to refuse his wrong, and then his slumping shoulders and dropping gaze as he succumbed to the ardent truth. 

“I apologize, my Kel,” he said in a low, defeated tone. “I shouldn’t a’ spoken teh yeh such a manner.”

��No, you shouldn’t,” she agreed and flashed a hand forward.

The warlock gave a startled yelp as the dagger and the fist that gripped it collided with his head, sending him tumbling to the ground. He landed, sprawling down the stairs the led to Yyventriz‘s chair. Dazed and shocked, he held a hand to his head, finding a horizontal score mark across his helm. Slowly his gaze went up to her and she could see his startled, fearful thoughts.

The dagger gave a metallic hiss as Yyventriz slid it back into its sheath. “And that is so you remember it. Now, Kudrege, go gather your self in your field. I want that garden well planted, or it will be your head on which I bury to feed it.”

Trembling, the warlock stumbled to his feet, holding the side of his helm. “Y-yes my Kel,” he stammered with a frightened hiss, and retreated back to the Fallen’s bio-dome. There he hid, soul crushing beneath his sins, his hand still clutching the glowing slash across his face.