[Jesnoria] Justice for the Hopeless Ones

[Mandaz]

“This is an old book. The writer makes mention of my absence in the underworld. The last entry marked the child as being under their care for…” the thumbed through the pages, looking for dates closer to the end of the book. “Two hundred years. Twenty decades. It describes the boy being buried in the scolding sands of the plains as the writer and his horde watched him struggle out. This is sick.”

She let the book drop to the ground as her fist shot into the stone beside it, completely obliterating the rock into fine fragments. “I’ve been away from the underworld for longer than two hundred years. That’s not even a fraction of how long it’s been since I’ve seen the abyss. By everything written in this book, it would be a miracle if the child was alive…”

Her fist slammed into the mountain space before her, thrusting into the dirt and rubble. She left it buried for a few moments, feeling the sting in her knuckles. “No. Not a miracle. It’s a goddamn fact this child’s still alive. They wanted to get back at me, so they took the next best thing, something with my blood. If he truly is my son than they could have beat him for millennia and he would still breathe. Goddamnit all.”

Mann pulled her fist from the ground and shook the dirt from her hand. A crack in the earth beneath them started to spread and threaten their stable area. She backed away quickly yet calmly to keep clear of the falling floor she had one been sitting on. A frozen expression of anger plastered on her face. “I’ll have to go back. Find this boy the book speaks of.”

[Nayt]

Mann's rage was perhaps expected by Ven--but that wasn't a particularly bad thing. To feel the need to knock some skulls because of something like this . . . you didn't have to be a boy's mother to want an end to hundreds of years of abuse. That just meant you had a heart. Mann may or may not have been related to the child of these beasts' fancy. They seemed to think she was. They seemed to think it was a grand idea to torture and torment the boy in revenge against an even stronger monster they didn't understand.

Revenge? Ven knew the concept all too well. Vengeance begat vengeance. It was a vicious cycle. Sometimes, though, something good could come of it.

Sometimes, one could find a purpose from it.

Ven held out his right hand, palm lazily open, fingers lethargically outstretched. There was a brief light; a soft hue that formed itself in a lazy dance upon his palm. The soft light faded just as quick as it came once Ven shut his hand about the small cylindrical object-- just moments before tossing it to Mann as if it'd little value to his person.

"Key to Greoul's gate," said Ven.

Ven so nonchalantly provided the device, a small red key-- a simple little thing, devoid of engravings or detail. It was small, it was red, and it was nothing more. Truth be told, excessive detail on such an important thing just screamed for it to be lusted after and stolen. Who wanted a shabby old red key, especially one that looked so brittle?

Mann did.

With his eyes upon the sunset again, Ven remarked with a knowing grin: "Just in case."