Amidst the Lonely Towers (Demin)

[Relairah]

(c) Aveilthe

She shouldn't be here. She knew that.

But... still. Somehow her paws had just lead her here. She knew there wouldn't be anything. Or maybe just part of her hoped there wouldn't be anything... anyone more like. Mascamora was somewhat surprised the Hatsuhi Towers were still standing as tall as ever. Though maybe she shouldn't be. The land of what was once the Giaku empire was old and though it had once been desolate, it had never really been easy to destroy.

The half-druiness walked casually, her pale fur tossing about her strong figure and the sun glistened off of her pink scales. She was much the image of her now deceased father, except for some minor differences.

Slowly, she stepped into the tower, bi-colored eyes gazing upward to where the libraries held an innumerable amount of readings. What was she doing here anyway? It's not like her sister would be here... She lowered her gaze, moving forward once more. She had already traveled much, and for all of that... she still found herself here. It just felt... like home.

[TehDeminz]

The political landscape of the world was completely upturned after the War. Where three packs had been, only one remained. Giaku was no more, Tartarus's empire had finally fallen, and its remnants became allies with his most hated enemies. Such were the whims of history. It made little difference in the end.

Though there was no longer an Emperor or Empress to lay claim, the blood of Tartarus would always remain in the Hatsuhi Towers. Ammunae, son of the last Empress and Emperor of Giaku, had made the vast libraries of Hatsuhi his domain. No more petty politics, no more pointless conflicts to get in the way, just the knowledge of the Ancients at his disposal.

A massive tome sat on a lectern in front of the white mixed-breed, his serpentine body coiled beneath him, red belly-scales scraping along the stone floor. His red cat-like eyes rapidly scanned over the page, taking in the runes and words of dead languages as easily as his own tongue. A clawed hand reached out and deftly turned a page, eyes growing wide for a moment as he saw the heading of the next chapter: 'On the Effects of Unwilling Spirit Merging.' As he began to read a gust of wind ruffled both the pages and his fur, followed by the sound of the heavy wooden doors of the Tower colliding with the stone walls, a frown crossing his face at the interruption.

Ammunae gently placed a thin ribbon attached to the book between the pages and closed the massive tome, clouds of dust exploding from between the pages as the book closed. His long body uncoiled and he rose to his feet, turning to walk toward the railing that guarded against falling through the massive circular hole in the center of the floor that looked down onto the lower floor of the Tower. His eyes slowly adjusted to the blinding light that came in through the door, until finally he could make out who the figure was.

"Aunt Mascamora." He said, a statement rather than a question. His voice had deepened considerably from when he was younger, though his adolescence was still obvious. "Is Lord Charon aware you are here?"

[Relairah]

(c) Aveilthe

Mascamora jumped slightly, though tried to make it as subtle as possible. She hadn't expected any other presence...

One pinkish red and one blue eye looked up, not entirely recognizing the voice that spoke. But the face, she did. Lacri's son... Ammunae. He had grown much, she thought. Though that was to be expected. Especially given the war and all that had happened. Sometimes she wondered, how it had all come to this.

She lowered her gaze and began to climb the tower. She had no intention of summoning her wings.... even if there was plenty of room. The tower itself was massive. "No, and I'd prefer it stay that way," she said stubbornly at his question. "I suppose I couldn't stay away..." she said, somewhat to herself. "I can't shake the memories of home... nor can I forget all the history here. Nowhere else in the world feels right."

Mascamora released a soft sigh, continuing her climb upward until she would be on the same level as Ammunae. She gazed over the books. There were so many. So many legends and tales and everything else that could be imagined here. Anything a wolf could want to learn about. She had never spent much time here. Though she supposed more recently, given her travels and the changes in her heart, this was a place she wanted to become more familiar with and learn from.

She glanced toward Ammunae, "Are you going to rat on me?" she asked, sitting back slightly on her haunches.

[TehDeminz]

The former prince made no reaction to his aunt's wish that their uncle remain ignorant of her presence. He watched her as she ascended the staircase, red eyes not giving away his feelings on the matter, if he even had any, though his long pointed ears pointed toward the other wolf as she spoke. A frown crossed his face for a moment when Mascamora spoke of Hatushi Towers, how no other place in the world felt right, how no other place felt like home.

"You are not the first to speak of Hatsuhi in such a way, aunt." He gestured toward a stack of tomes behind him, on the ground next to the lectern that held the much more massive book he had been reading previously. "I've read many accounts of our ancestors, before Tartarus and Apollo. Many left the Empire, only to feel compelled to return soon after." The young wolf waved his hand and the book at the top of the pile slowly floated into his outstretched hand, a subtle black glow filling his eyes until his claws clasped firmly around the text. His eyes scanned over the cover and spine for a moment, nodding in satisfaction as he confirmed it was the book he wanted. "These Towers call to the blood of Tartarus. Whether our family rules an empire or not, Hatsuhi will always be our home." Ammunae said, resting the book on a thick-legged oaken table that sat next to the stairs. "I believe that book will tell you more."

As his aunt reached the top of the stairs, he turned and went back to the massive tome he had been reading before, opening it back up to the spot he had left on with a flick of his hand the chapter title 'On the Effects of Unwilling Spirit Merging' proudly displayed at the top. A sigh left his muzzle as she asked if he would inform Charon of her.

"I do not plan to tell our uncle anything of your arrival. Whatever your conflicts, I am not interested in participating." He said matter-of-factly, almost devoid of emotion, as he flipped the page with a quick swipe of a claw. "I will warn you that he likely knows of your presence despite your wishes. The stone of Hatsuhi is as much a part of him as the stone growing from his spine." He paused for a moment, considering. "I do ask that your squabbles be left at the door when you are in my library, however."

[Relairah]

(c) Aveilthe

As Masca listened to Ammunae, she realized now how little she knew her nephew. Her eyes followed his gesture to the tomes and she found herself somewhat impressed. Had he read all of these? They were so large! But then... with as much time as she knew he had spent here... it made sense. Perhaps she should've spent more time reading and less time trying to better herself elsewhere.

The druiness merely continued to observe as he summoned the book to him. A true librarian, he was. When he set the book down, explaining some of its contents and the lands simultaneously, she stood, moving toward the table it now rested on. At last she stopped, reaching up to open the book and looking over the old pages.

She glanced toward Ammunae once more as he began answering her question. Masca couldn't help a faint smile. Whether he was indifferent or not, it felt good to be around someone who didn't dislike her... or at least didn't act like it or vocalize it. "Well it's not that there is a squabble. It's merely the potential for one I'd rather avoid. Either way... thank you," she murmured. She paused as he then mentioned leaving squabble outside his library. She found this statement amusing... "You're probably right that he knows. But I suppose for the sake of you, nephew, that you needn't worry."

Mascamora turned her gaze back toward the pages. She assumed Ammunae probably was the type who preferred to be left alone to read his books than to have conversation. In truth, she had probably been seeking the same in coming here. She released her breath softly. She couldn't help herself... now that she had company, she felt odd simply sitting in silence. "Ammunae..." she started slowly... "Did you remain here all this time?" Had he even left when the world around the towers had been plunged into war and chaos once more, she wondered?

[TehDeminz]

Of course Ammunae didn't hate his aunt. Then again, he didn't feel much love for her either. The former prince rarely dealt with other wolves, save for those long dead who had written something down that now sat in the library. Besides, she wasn't a huge presence in his life before the War anyway. Few could say they were close to the young wolf, and those few were likely dead. The thought of those missing few made another frown cross the mixed-breed's face. His mother and sister, both gone, with no indication of ever coming back.

He shook the thoughts clear of his head and focused back on the matter at hand.

With a nod he accepted his aunt's assurance that any personal conflicts would not enter his library. He looked back to the thick tome and with a flick of his wrist the page turned. Sketches and intricate drawings of wolves suffering from the effects that came with bonding with an unwilling spirit decorated the page; dark, glowing light emanating from the wolf's eyes, turning into jagged lines of spiritual energy burning deep crags into the fur and skin that didn't seem to ever fully heal. The author had written beneath the last picture, a wolf covered in zig-zagging lines of dark spiritual energy, in the midst of writhing on the ground, muzzle open in a silent scream and eyes clenched shut in pain, though the glow behind them was still evident. 'Enslaved spirit escapes with explosive results. Host survival observed in no cases.'

With a low, rumbling growl Ammunae again shut the book, sending more motes of dust bursting from between the pages. At the sound of his aunt's voice he quickly composed himself, falling back into the placid, almost emotionless young wolf Mascamora had found, turning to face her with long ears pointed her way. With a slight tilt of the head he pondered her question, red cat-like eyes observing her, unblinking. 

"For the most part. Lord Charon and my father largely kept the battles from Hatsuhi. The Empire and Packs dissolving and merging made little difference to me; just another event in history to be recorded." He paused for a moment, looking over the rows and rows of books that lined the shelves all around the vast tower. "Besides, I have little else to do with mother and Dirge gone." Ammunae said, some measure of sadness and longing breaking through his emotionless facade.

[Relairah]

(c) Aveilthe

Mascamora had returned her gaze to the book her nephew had presented for her to learn from. When he snapped the book shut that he was holding, she flicked an ear in his direction. It was the only indication of being startled she gave. She glanced at him slightly then returned her gaze to the tome on the large table. He was right. It probably would be recorded at some point... just like everything else, all the history that filled the walls of this tower.

At his last sentence, this time she faced him. She had never really known either him or Dirge, his sister... but his mother. That was different, of course. Masca had long spent days missing her sister, even before the War. Once Lacrimosa had become Empress, a large rift had somehow come in between them. Even moreso once she had resurrected Endymion and Lacri had strongly scolded her. For everything she had tried, even after her father had found redemption and moved on, truly the second time to a better place... the rift had still remained. That was why Mascamora had initially gone off on her own. Where else could she go?

Yet here she was, back again. This time, Lacri wasn't here. But deep down, Masca wished she was. Still, time couldn't be erased and it had changed much.

Masca heaved a sigh finally. "You never know. Lacri might still be around somewhere," she said softly, turning her gaze back to the tome. It was perhaps wishful thinking... but she could only hope. "Have you been the one to write anything here?" she asked, eyes moving around the tower to the lines and lines of books throughout.

[TehDeminz]

As much as he wished his mother and sister would return from whatever lands they had gone to or what fate had befallen them, he knew it was unlikely. With a non-committal grunt he turned back toward his lectern, running a claw along the spines of books in the pile as he searched through them for a new one. He sighed, looking toward a nearby wall of books when he failed to find a suitable text, mainly focusing on the relationship between mortals and spirits.

"I appreciate your assurances, aunt, but I'm under no illusion they'll return. Perhaps I did at one point, but five years of silence forces one to accept reality rather than continue to hope in vain." Had his mother heard him say this, and with such nonchalance, she surely would have been worried for how jaded her young son had become.

During the few moments of silence before Mascamora again spoke, the former prince found another suitable tome. A wave of his hand and the subtle black light returned to his eyes as the book floated to him. It was a thick, black leather-bound grimoire, its front and back covers blank and with no ornamentation or decoration. When it was in his hand he quickly opened the front cover where the book's title was revealed: 'Observations: the Symbiosis Between Spirit and Flesh.' He removed the previous tome from his lectern and replaced it with the newly summoned text, quickly flipping through the pages until he arrived at the relevant chapter. His ears twitched when again his aunt spoke, as if he had momentarily forgotten she was there. Without looking back at her he replied.

"I've kept a record of my own condition, yes. Whether it's of worth academically isn't for me to decide." He paused for a moment, glancing behind him at his aunt. "I believe I left it in my quarters on the top floor, if you're curious."

[Relairah]

(c) Aveilthe

Mascamora stared at Ammunae a moment, then simply let it go. If he wanted to draw his own conclusions, she saw no reason to try and persuade him differently. She did, however, move toward her nephew, becoming curious what he was reading about. Her long ears swiveled fully in his direction. He began to speak about his written record. She was curious... but at the moment something else had caught her attention. "You shouldn't sell yourself short," though that was all she seemed to say about that.

As Masca got closer, she managed to see what it was Ammunae was reading about. She was curious if he read for a certain purpose or simply for the sake of reading. Her pink scales glistened in what pale light found its way into the tower as she now sat back slightly, though closer to Ammunae's form. "What are you reading about?" she asked, head tilting slightly.

[TehDeminz]

Ammunae didn't respond to his aunt's attempt at reassuring him of his work's quality. It existed at the moment mainly for his own benefit, a simple aid in his current research. He flipped the page with a quick swipe of his claw, taking note of the drawings and diagrams of wolves afflicted with his particular malady. They were similar to the artwork in the previous book; jagged lines of spiritual energy tearing apart the subject, eyes clasped shut but still emitting a powerful glow as the wolf sat on the page frozen, screaming in pain. He frowned to himself and turned the page again, reading the author's descriptions of each stage of the affliction, looking for any potential methods to mitigate or avoid its end result. When she asked what he was reading he sighed, but paused for a moment to consider. With a shrug, he answered.

"Two years after the War, I discovered a method to merge with a spirit of magic without having to wait for one to choose me on its own. Whereas most wolves must wait until a spirit with a nature complementary to their own chooses to merge with them, I hunted and forced a spirit of psychic magic to merge with me." He said, again frowning to himself. "I am certainly able to tap into the spirit's abilities, but as the spirit is a prisoner, it seeks its freedom. When I make use of its abilities it grows stronger." He explained, flipping the page back to the drawings of wolves in agony as their captive spirits escaped. "The energy an unwilling spirit produces begins to tear away at the body, manifesting as long, untreatable wounds rife with the spirit's particular magic." Ammunae paused, a finger pointing out a drawing showing the later stages of a spirit's attempt at escape. "Every text I've read says when the spirit escapes it does so explosively, and the host doesn't survive. I'm doing my research in an attempt to find a way for the spirit and I to separate in a manner that doesn't end in my death." A tense silence hung in the air for a few moments. "A foolish mistake of a foolish boy."

[Relairah]

(c) Aveilthe

She was close enough to see the images sketched into the book he was reading. They were gruesome and terrifying... at least to anyone who had never seen such harshness and cruelty. She had, so it hardly bothered her. These were merely images on a page. Still, it did look quite terrible. Especially thinking of Ammunae going through it. She may not have been a figure in his life, but he was still family. And part of what little family she had left, she thought. It was only now that she truly observed his appearance. She could see the similarities he had inherited from Lacrimosa's side... to herself, and to Endymion. There were many differences as well... she pushed it aside.

Somehow, his tale of forcing a spirit to bond with him did not surprise her. Druins often took what they wanted, believing it was theirs for the taking in the first place. Or at least, it was common amongst many in the race. She respected the fact that Ammunae seemed to recognize his mistake. If it even had been a mistake. A thought suddenly struck her, however, concerning his... problem. "Couldn't you release it willingly?" she asked. "Perhaps it was a mistake. Or perhaps not. It is not your fault if the spirit is so uncooperative and you certainly shouldn't pay the price. Besides, I wouldn't call your actions entirely foolish. It's somewhat rare for a wolf not to have a spirit, and I can understand why you would want one as well." She paused, raising her head and looking around at the endless circles of books. "Aren't there any books on spirits and wolven separating without force like that?"

She hadn't really heard of it... but certainly, if the bond was possible... the separation should be as well... right?

Mascamora stepped back slightly. "Perhaps it was merely that particular spirit you shouldn't have bonded with. But if the power you have now is what you seek.. there might be other ways to get it. There are many spirits that carry the same power and abilities... perhaps with minor differences."

She had learned much in her travels, she suddenly realized. And, as a member of the Empire now, Ammunae would have direct access to the spirit lake in the mainland. Granted... she shouldn't be here. And granted... he didn't want to leave the tower. But the option was there. Perhaps a converser might even communicate with the spirits and help him... At the very least, she thought he had an option besides suffering some excruciating death from an unruly spirit tearing its way out of his body from his very soul.

[TehDeminz]

One of his long ears twitched as his aunt spoke, head tilting toward her slightly as some small instinctive tic. He idly flipped a page with a quick swipe of a claw, half-listening and half-reading. He hadn't been hoping for much of a solution from his aunt, and he was not disappointed in that at all. The young wolf bit back some caustic retort and took a breath before he spoke.

"Ending the bond willingly was the first method I attempted." He paused, flipping back several chapters in his current book and pointing to a particular passage. "Unfortunately, when forced into a bond, something in the spirit... breaks." Another brief pause and he flipped back through the book to his previous spot. "Many things influence a spirit's very being; my father's latent anger and hatred for those who maimed and dismembered him as a child corrupted his fire spirit to its core, blackening it and giving its flames new properties, as well as influencing his behavior and dreams. Enslaving a spirit as I have seems to do something similar and removes its ability to separate from its host's soul without fatal consequences." He said, still not so much as looking at his aunt.

His head tilted to the side slightly, ear twitching again as he thought for a moment. "Perhaps this is nature's method of insuring the balance of things. Enslaving any spirit you wish rather than waiting for the spirit best attuned to you would drastically alter the world for the worse, I think."

[Relairah]

(c) Aveilthe

As her nephew explained why her offer was pointless, she sat back once more, releasing her breath in a sigh. She just couldn't understand why it would alter the world so much. Although, now that he mentioned it... perhaps it went back to the spirit lake in the center of the lands. It was ancient, and seemed to have an enormous effect on the world around it. The world that had almost been sent into eternal chaos when it had been disrupted by the demonic presence of the druin so many years before, and had to be corrected by the wolves of all the lands uniting, banishing the druin to the outlying lands of Giaku and remaining in the lands to purify it. She knew the history well... even if she hadn't experienced any of it.

Perhaps that was why.

But she refused to believe that meant nothing but doom for her nephew. Mascamora wondered what Lacri would think if she were here. Or perhaps, she should merely face it. If it was reality. She found her gaze wondering around the tower once more. Tomes upon tomes lined the walls... and Ammunae had probably read more than enough to know what he was talking about. At last her gaze settled on him once more.

"Perhaps you're right. Perhaps the only method you could try would be suicide." She rolled her eyes. "Or perhaps, these towers have only the information that those who have lived here know." She hardly meant to say that there wasn't an eternity of knowledge here. "I don't suppose you'd ever leave to find out if another solution may, in fact, exist?" she asked. She just couldn't help wondering... if he already knew so much about the spirits bond and his certain death... why did he continue reading? Continue searching? On some level... she wondered if he had hope. Or was only trying to wallow in his certain doom.