the dawn of darkness | t riddle [incomplete]

Chapter 30: Opposing Objectives

Chapter 30: Opposing Objectives

The tavern was a bustling disarray of sounds. Glasses clinking, chairs scraping and music playing atop hundreds of conversations in a language he couldn't understand – some discussions being told in hushed tones in the shadowed corners of the room, others in loud declarations that resonated throughout the entire area.

Riddle watchfully glanced around the space from where he sat, adjusting his hood once more so as to hide his features from anyone who looked his way. He raised a glass of dark coloured alcohol to his lips and resisted the urge to grimace as it burned its way down his throat. As he placed the glass back onto the table with a bit too much force, however, he slowed as someone sat down opposite him.

The person's form was hunched over, their entire face and body covered in multiple layers of brown shedding cloaks and rags, making her more similar to a sack of potatoes than a human being. And as they sat, they became very still for a moment, before they spoke.

"Bună seara," the stranger greeted. A woman's voice – raspy and worn – older in age, that was for sure. Without warning she reached over across the table towards Tom who stiffened at the sight of her approaching hand, and simply watched as she grabbed his glass and swallowed the remainder of its black contents entirely without pausing for breath nor flinching at the burn.

"You must be Ioana," Tom questioned smoothly, trying his best to get a glance at the face beneath the cloak to no avail.

He saw her nod briefly, though it was difficult to catch beneath all those layers. "You have what I asked for?"

"I do," he replied. "It's yours as long as you give me what I was promised in return."

He heard the woman's tongue cluck sympathetically beneath her hood. "Won't you reconsider? As much as I want what you offer, it would be a shame for someone as handsome as you to tarnish such beauty."

Riddle shifted, pulling his hood lower down onto his face to prevent the woman from seeing too much of him.

"Tell me what you know." He demanded, dismissing her warning.

The woman sighed heavily, leaning back in her chair with a loud creak. "First you must tell me how much you already know - how far you've gone."

"I know as much as the books reveal. And I've gone further than any wizard ever documented."

The lady laughed mockingly. "Arrogant." She branded. "There are those who have gone further than you on the path towards immortality, boy. How many have you created?"

Riddle's blood began to boil, and beneath the crooked table his fists were clenched hard to quell his anger. "Three."

Tom could tell by Ioana's tone that she was smiling. Mockingly. Condescendingly. He ground his teeth.

"There are men whose souls are more fragile than yours, believe it or not. Men whose names are too feared to be mentioned in those books you've been reading. But be warned, there is a limit. Four has been the tipping point for men with the same goal as you, young Lord. Even three has been enough to tear body from soul completely – to the point of no return."

"I'm better than them. I'm stronger." Riddle snarled. "I won't let my ambitions defeat me."

"You're just a boy. These are grown wizards I speak of -"

"I've defeated wizards twice my age on countless occasions with ease. I've outsmarted wizards wise beyond their years when I was nothing but a child. Age, experience, wisdom – it doesn't matter to me, because I outplay them all." He spat, his hushed tones accounting flares of fury as he spoke.