Grim Ruination, Birth of a Soul (On Hiatus)

The Execution

"So you did go on a killing spree." Svalken told Darris as they walked through the town of Vanderin.

Darris had gone back to the Rusty Cup once he'd arrived at Vanderin. Luckily, the place was barren; it having been so late at night. No one was there to notice the corpse walking through the tavern. He had wandered into the room of a sleeping Svalken. He didn't need to wait too long until the sun rose above the horizon and Svalken woke up.

Svalken had cast the same illusion as before upon Darris, once again making him look human, before going into town.

"Yeah, last night I went into the forest and killed some wolves. How can you tell?" Darris asked Svalken.

"You're stronger." He said simply. "You've consumed a lot of souls."

"How many souls do you think you've collected?" Darris asked.

"Lost count." The reaper replied.

Darris glanced down at his hands and the illusory flesh encompassed his body. It had only been a day and Darris was already annoyed that he needed to rely on Svalken for him to go out into public. "How can I do this?" Darris asked, gesturing to his illusory skin.

"Use illusions? Just spread a thin layer of souls around yourself, then configure it to look like whatever you need." He explained.

Darris still stared at his hands. He tried to focus on the souls in his body as he walked. He saw small wisps of golden mist flow from his fingertips. Slowly, the mist began to stick to his skin, flowing along the surface. Then, as Darris concentrated he thought of himself, but older. His skin turning slightly darker and wrinkly. Then the light around his hand that was shrouded in mist began to wrinkle, his skin seemingly tightening around the now soft muscle underneath.

The mist faded, as did the illusion over his hand, when he ran into Svalken's back, who had stopped suddenly in the middle of the road.
"Why did-" Darris's voice faded as he looked past Svalken. Svalken had stopped at the edge of a crowd of people near the center of the town. In the center of the crowd stood a large wooden platform on which three people stood.

One was an older man, nearly 60 or so, with a fancy gold and red coat over his shoulders. His hair was black with flicks of pale grey along it. His chin was stubbled with hair, as if it had only been a few days since he last shaved. He stood on the edge with his hands behind his back, standing at attention.

Next to him stood another person, a man with scarlet scales for skin and sharp fangs for teeth. The dragonborn was doused in dried blood and wore rags. His hands were bound in front of him at the wrists. Around his neck rested a thick rope that hung loosely from a beam above the wooden platform.

Behind him was a muscular man. He wore a simple shirt and pants that were both drenched in sweat, as if he'd been pulled from work for this particular event. His black hair was short and thick. He stood next to a wooden lever that was connected to something underneath the platform. Darris couldn't shake the feeling that he had seen the man before. Darris was snapped from his thoughts as the older man spoke.

"This creature," The man gestured a hand to the bound dragonborn next to him. "Has spread lies and false information regarding their belief upon this world." He shouted. "He has been proven guilty of sacrificial murder of three of our townspeople." He held up three fingers in front of the crowd to emphasise his point. "Now, as Reeve of this town you have committed atrocities against," He now turned to the prisoner. "I, Sigfried Grumhul, sentence you to be hung." He shouted before taking a few steps back and muttering something to the man next to the lever.

Darris's eyes narrowed at the older man. Then a very faint smile grew across his face. His family had become the reeve of the town, a position of great power within the town. Then the dragonborn shouted to the crowd.