Inside the Fire

Chapter 7: Introspection

Song to listen to: Dark Matter

The street is busy with people once again, the charred remains of the Cryer removed. Blackened beams were all that was left of his stage. Humans pushed passed it, ignoring it's existence, focusing only on their menial tasks.
Moran watches from their edges, waiting behind the Tavern. He'd released his himan captive, for the moment. Looking at his face caused him to much frustration, and it would be better if he was away from him.
There are no openings today, none that he could 'feel', no one is currently open to persuasive thoughts. He pushes himself away from the wall, his enchantment holding, making it impossible for any human to notice him, unless he bring attention to himself.
Slipping into the crowd, he's decided on hunting today. He's not hungry, but bored. The humans have reclused themselves in their minds, their denial and guilt to strong for suggestions to murder eachother again. 'Except for one'. He muses, hearing on the second floor of a building near him, the sound of astiffled gasp as a knife gets lodged into an unlucky prostitutes throat. Moran does his best not to hear what happens next, finding human needs to be vulgar.
'At least he killed her', he shrugs, 'Similar to what I'd do, but mine are living at first...'
Some himan practices are unusual to him. The man pleasuring himself with a corpse, for example. They aren't so different as himself in that regard as well, taking what they want when their morality is compromised.
'Morality' he scoffs to himself, 'Why invent ways to cause self harm, when everything around you is already trying to kill you?'.
Maybe that is the correlation, not enough things are trying to kill humans. They could have grown bored with their lives, with the need to no longer strive to survive is gone. It could be one of the ways they've found to truly live... the thought is hypocritical to him.
'In order to live, you need morality?' He thinks, 'Then why does it feel so good to kill?'
'Then again, I am growing bored of the killing and taking of souls.' He continues, 'It could be that with in removing fighting something to the death has caused the taking of another's soul to have grown dull.'
He passes a human couple making themselves busy in an alley way, the parallels with the murderer almost comical to Moran. In this situation, it was the male fulfilling the woman's desires, gaining pleasure from her pleasure, her mind exalted in their vouristic behavior.
To give pleasure or to tske pleasure, in this situation it was one and the same. Moran considers trying it the couples way... but it seems like more trouble then it's worth.
'Pleasure is a one sided street for my kind.' He tells himself. 'If that's what you can call it.'
Moran crosses a less busy street, his destination in sight and passes between two buildings.
He rounds a corner out of an alley way and feels a sense of deja vu. Moran glances behind himself, a little unbalanced by it, losing his train of thought. He quickly shrugs the feeling off, he has no time for ghosts.
His mouth carries a strange feeling, he wipes at it, finding nothing out of the ordinary. Passing through the human's, his bordem grows. Maybe hunting for food will help ease it, maybe he should burn this town down right now, he could use the distraction. But if he does is now, to many human's still have a certain standard of living that he cannot allow to hold any sway over his mind.
'It's not worth it." Moran shakes his head, as if it could dispel the thought.
He feels the guilt of the man that had stood in the alley way, this man had acted against his friend in some way, angering him. Moran pushes the human's thoughts from his mind, but they continue to knaw at him. Dealing with this human's unresolved feelings is the last thing Moran could be bothered to attend to at the moment. Although he would enjoy a break from the monotonous guilt, he knows he can drown it out when he's able to corrupt the majority of the human's around them, consuming their souls when they become ripe.
The walls around the town are in sight, along with the gate, he pursues it, cutting a lawn, and catching the attention of the home's owner. They glance up from pulling the weeds in their field. After a brief moment of alarm, they find it uncomfortable to stare at the faded figure and refocus on their task. Moran pauses in his strides to watch the human, his interest in this one human being pricked. They care enough for their land to pierce through his evasive spell, even if it was for a moment, he is genuinely impressed. He watches the human at it's work, and decides to check up on this human later. Even the smallest amount of entertainment is a welcome distraction.
He reaches the gate without anything of significance happening, Moran can sense the Traveler has caught up to him, and watches from a distance he deems "safe". There is a lone guard at the gate, his companion is behind a lean-to, vomiting last night's attempts to forget the day before. A smile spreads onto Moran's face as an idea takes shape. He stealthily pulls a knife out from his robes, and as casually as he can manage, lodges the blade into the lone guard's chest, careful not to cause any fatal damage.
The guard looks down in confusion at the protruding hilt, it's simplicity confusing him as he comes to the realization that he's in immense pain. Moran stifles a chuckle, when Numüir jumps in surprise when the guard falls to knees and screams out in pain. The Traveler's hero complex kicks in, and he abandons his hiding place to assist the injured guard. Pleased, Moran continues on his merry way. He listens to the Traveler who comforts and tries to reason with the other human, as they are currently trying to pull the knife out of his ribs.
Moran knew he wouldn't be able to help himself, he'd guessed something right with his human. He walks a quarter of a mile into the surrounding treas, and settles himself in to wait for Numüir to catch up. Even with the connection between them severed, his mind is still powerful enough to watch the Traveler bring the Guard to the same hostel he'd spent his time "recovering" in. A tired female human stands up when the injured human is brought in, her eyes puffy and red, she stashes a sack into her bag. She rushes to the Travelers side, and inquires about her new patient. The woman blinks in disbelief at how well the guard is doing, she listens to his breath, and finding nothing unusual. Numüir helps her get the patient into a state of undress, a small dribble of blood that is halfway dried is the only bleeding the female can find. She presses on the man's stomach, he flexs his abdominal muscles. The need to appear attractive to this woman outwaying his pain for a moment. She closes her eye lids to hide her eye roll and pushes forward with her assessment.
Numüir watches anxiously, feeling responsible for the attack on the man, surmising that he'd only been stabbed as a source of entertainment for the master he know finds himself enslaved to. It dawns on him that this could be a distraction tactic, and glances around the room for another person that could take over his roll with the patient.
Moran rubs his jaw absent-mindedly wondering how it'd feel to pull out the human woman's throat with his teeth after noticing the effect she was having on the human men in the room. He ponders on the chain reaction it would cause, how many people would miss this want-to-be doctor. A few of the men would be disheartened, but would this encourage violence in them? Would they want revenge? Vengeance is an emotion he can manipulate to his desires, maybe it would help to quell the guilt flitting in his chest...
'I cannot risk her, even though her work barely pays for her room and board, she adores helping those in need.' Moran pulls a face, imagining how her influence might make him second guess his own decisions. His carefully built personality, he was willing to risk it to learn what the Traveler knew, but this insignificant human female held nothing new in her conciousness.
Nemüir was forced to stay to care for the human guard, Moran could feel his growing unease at being able to monitor  him. At some point though, Nemüir relaxed and focused on listening to the female herbalists instructions. As she cut into the guard deeper to fix any possible tissue damage, Nemüir allowed himself a glance at her. He although he was grateful for her existence in being able to help him and the man outstretched on the table, he envied her.
Like him she was expert in her craft, swift and able to make quick decisions. Unlike him, she appeared to make no mistakes. The worst that could come of this was the man dying. His heart grew heavy at all the men he had led to death, and guilt at the realization that he himself may never feel Nefaria's sweet kiss before judging him on his life's work.
Moran found his faith interesting, he didn't know that this superstition of the Goddesses ranged further than this continent. He considered leaving it, daydreaming of the new places he would visit, wondering if the humans there would taste different die to their different diets. With mild disappointment, he remembers that the Traveler's blood had tasted much the same as the human's of this continent.
'Then again, he has lived here for a few weeks, a month at most...' Moran muses.
The herbalist is finishing up the last few stitches when Moran completes his revere and tunes back in to the minds at the Lodge. Nemüir half sits against another table, not knowing what to do with his hands, he grips the table. The female is chirping happily at the guard, talking about trivial human things like what instrument she prefers. The guard smiles at her in a friendly way that makes her heart skip a beat, and she returns the expression. Being the only one not in on the moment, Nemüir exits the room to the alleyway. Their shared feelings making him disgruntled, snd resigned to his fate.
'Eternal babysitter.' He grumbles.
Moran felt insulted by his remark, then reconsidered. The way Nemüir speaks, sounds like he wants to be around Moran. That's a sentiment he's never felt before. Not even his mother desires to be around him, she is angry that the closest she will ever get to ruling, is through a child she never wanted.
'Never wanted,' Moran thinks, 'But desperately attempted to concieve...'
These are not things he wishes to think about, especially not since he's so close.
'I will make them respect me, they all will look at me with awe and fear.' He clenches his human like fist, disgusted, but entertained by how similar and fundamentally different it is from his own. In all the forms he can take, this one may be his favorite. It could be that that is only because it's the one creature he's killed the most, or perhapse this is the only form where he's even the slightest accepted in.
Children of the species is one thing, they are still intact with their instincts, and the odd adult. But the majority of human's ignored his presence on purpose, which gave him a slight sense of community. It's unfortunate, for them, that their chosen ignorance would be what kills them in the end.
His eyes feel strange, almost prickly. Moran blinks at the sensation, trying to dislodge what must surely be something in his eye. Yet except for it being uncomfortable, he could sense nothing amiss with his eyesight. He reasons with himself that it must be the twilight, although the sun is setting behind him and the tree he sits beneath.
The Traveler exits the town, avoiding the relief guard as he wasn't in the mood for small talk. Moran is surprised by how similar they feel, and an annoying sense of kinship blossoms in his gut. He berries it as best he can before Nemüir is able to track his sloppy tracks to where he lounges.
"Did you have fun?" Nemüir jumps at the sound of Moran's voice from the dark.
He stands, gesturing to Nemüir's hands and with mock jealousy continues, "Why wasn't I invited?"
Nemüir grits his teeth, he doesn't have the energy for Moran's teasing.
"You caused it, why didn't you invite yourself?" He glances at his hands, seeing that they are still covered in the guards gore.
Moran is smirking, his mood improving through Nemüir's musery.
"I'm shocked you would assume it was me!" He places a hand over heart, "You would accuse an innocent man?" This infuriates Nemüir,
"You are not a man!" His eyes wide with rage, thumping a bloodied hand to his chest, "I am not a man!" He laments, and turns away from Moran.
Morans upper lip twitches, his smirk turning into a scowl.
"How is being human a goal to strive for?" Moran sneers, "Human's are as just as cruel and," Moran scoffs, "Evil as I am."
His upper lip curls into a snarl, Moran is angry, but his blood remains cool.
"You twist them to be that way!" Nemüir accuses, he blinks at an uncomfortable feeling in his eyes.
Morans sneer curls up, not into a smile, but a creepy show of his teeth.
"They already had it in them, I only make it easier for them to act on their desires." He hisses.
Nemüir shake his head in disbelief, he wipes at his eyes, expecting them to be moist with disappointment, but his hand comes away dry.
"No, no I've felt your influence. You make them feel like they have no choice but to do evil." He stares at his hand, his anger growing with a pain in his forhead as he try to cry. "You make it like a dream, where acting on whatever thought you have will have no consequences." Nemüir rubs his fingers together dryly.
Moran shrugs,
"It's all the same to me, it's better to act on your urges, healthier I believe as well," he states matter-of-factly, "The real sin is to ignore your true nature, in favor of societal normals." Morans anger is fades and Nemüir's despair grows, he grows engrossed in the small changes to Nemüir's emotions and it gives a name to what he was feeling earlier. Grief. Nemüir grieves for his lost humanity, but had he grieved for?
"What is this?" Nemüir turns to Moran, his face distorted, the mask he'd held in the company of other humans gone, he reaches his hand out to Moran, distraught. Moran blinks slowly, a sensation tugs at his chest, he ignores it as it holds no importance.
"You need to be more clear with your question." Moran tilts his head to the side, his eyebrows lowering over his eyes quizzically.
"Don't play dumb!" Nemüir laments, "Why am I not crying?!"
Moran huffs with a smirk,
"Why do you want to cry?"
Nemüir's face losens slightly, bewilderment flashes in his eyes. Moran waits for Nemüir to speak, Nemüir waits for his answer. Moran is at a loss for words, an issue he's unaccustomed to having. "Maybe..." He contemplates,
"It is because I cannot cry?" Moran's voice is steady, his face unreadable. Nemüir bursts out laughing,
"You don't know? You damned me and you don't know?" Nemüir's face is still twisted in grief as he laughs, he falls to his knees and runs his hands through his hair, pulling at it.
The way Nemüir stated his last statement sounded made it obvious he was questioning Moran's intellect. Even so, Moran plans on keeping this human around, already he had been able to learn from him. Moran walks toward the Traveler without thinking. His hand reaches to the Traveler's shoulder, feeling it necessary although he is unable to find a reason why.
Nemüir pudhes his hand away before it can touch him, frustration snapping when his body doesn't allow him to act as violently as he'd intended.
"Don't touch me." He states firmly. Nemüir avoids looking at Moran, Moran suppresses a shrug and restarts his stroll into the underbrush.
How had he thought this relationship could be anything but contemptuous. The way it had started, it was downright nieve to think that there would be a different outcome. He stiffles a growl of frustration, and digs his fingers into a tree he passes, smelling the pheromones of it's pain. Using the smell to ground himself, Moran fights his own disappointment and the stinging in his eyes, bringing himself back to the moment. Moran sighs and discontinued mutilating the trees he passes.
The Traveler follows him silently, his sense of duty compelling him to keep Moran from enacting anything immoral. Moran understands old habits die hard, but it was merely five hours ago when he'd proved his point to the Traveler.
'He can't stop me from doing what ever it is that I might want to do.' He thinks snidely. Even still, he appreciates the company.
A few minutes after the sun has set, Moran halts his march, and drinks in the nights smells. It's finally dark enough, that if anyone was close enough to see, or far enough out but still able to witness his change, the cover of darkness should cover him. Moran closes his human eyes, appreciating the feel of the chill in the late spring breeze. Only in lesser forms is he able to really feel the cold, his natural body heat would normally cancel it out. When heat comes off you naturally in waves, being cold has never been an issue.
He straps down, Nemüir makes a sound and quickly turns away, giving Moran privacy. Moran smirks, but leaves him alone, Nemüir is still sore from their conversation. It's difficult to get that level of grim to build up, especially since he's unable to sweat. Moran tosses the clothes away from himself to hang in the branches of a nearby bush.
He breathes rapidly, speeding up his heart rate, making his blood hot. Only when he can feel the heat coursing through his veins does he release his human form. He's found out, rather painfully, that it's easiest to change when his blood is warm, the hotter the better. He explodes into his real form, and beats down the exhilaration at stretching out his muscles again. Moran is sore after holding the human form for the day, he stretches out his neck and flares out his wings, flapping them to ensure he'd gotten the shape right.
Nemüir had ran back into the brush, away from the heat of Moran's change, and holds his burned hand to his similarly burned face.
'Going from me to human us safe for him to be around,' Moran takes note, 'But not the other way around...'
Nemüir's skin rapidly heals, the burned flesh dying and flaking away, leaving only fresh, baby soft skin, before his sparse beard hair grows back in.
"That's useful." He mutters to himself.
Miran has taken a seat, and watched everything Nemüir had gone through. He'd felt it, not the healing, but his own powers being behind it. It appears he was right when he'd decided to keep Nemüir, his doubts gone like the flesh that turns to dust as it floats to the ground.
"Useful," Moran thinks outloud, "Perhapse." Nemüir rounds the tree, tracing it's bark with the new skin on his hand.
"What do you plan to do?" Nemüir questions, cleaning his head to look up into Moran's eyes. His inhuman face makes it difficult for him to read. Though his eyes seem introspective.
"I had planned on eating, then returning to sleep..." Moran trails off, his eyes leaving Nemüir's to look over the trees at the town, barely a mile away. "As you are aware, I was interrupted the last time I tried to sleep." His eyes returning to Nemüir, his eyes heavy.
"We couldn't have woken you up, you were waiting for us." Nemüir rebukes.
Moran shakes his head, using the human gesture to help him convey his meaning.
"All you human's are so loud, from your breathing to your footseps." Moran takes a few steps in a circle to prove his point. There's a slight sound of dirt being misplaced, but not enough to convey the enormity of the being misplacing it. "Your approach woke me, the labyrinth I'd created to protect myself slowed you down enough to give me time to counter attack."
Nemüir huffs in disbelief,
"Counter attack? Non-"
Moran gently taps a tree with his tale tip, a resounding snap rings out as it cracks where he'd made contact, cutting off Nemüir.
"Where you not there to kill me?" Sound hisses out from the slatted holes on the bridge of his nose. "Your indignation offends me, human."
Nemüir's eyes squint at the word, Moran's argument against humanity playing over in his head.
"We weren't the first to try, were we?" Nemüir pries.
"No," Moran's face contort in what Nemüir concludes is the dragon form of a smirk, "There are many that want me dead, least of all humans." His eyes grow distant, his thoughts no longer in the moment.
Nemüir watches him, he looks almost... sad, to him. He feels no pity for the creature that stole his soul from him, but he does understand him a little better now. His motivations are still alien to him, but if he's an outcast, maybe that caused him to turn cruel. Moran's eyes are back on Nemüir, he can feel them burrowing into his skin.
"I am not an outcast!" Moran's lips curl free from his fangs, his eyes alight. "I am here because I choose to be, they decide nothing for me!"
He chitters his teeth together, a symphony like sounds erupting from his throat. Nemüir pales in response, his body chilling from the horrifying growl. There are layers to the noise, a high keening, a guttural rumbling, and a harsh clicking from deeper in. Morsn closes his mouth, he hadn't meant to get upset at the human again, the human couldn't possibly understand what he'd had to deal with on his own planet.
Of course they didn't make his choices for him, his half brother, conniving mother and counsel all have plans for him. But after he vompletes his plan here, in the human world, he will be able to force his will at home. No more will he need to listen to them and their ideas for the future they want. He doesn't know what he wants for his future, for now. But that is a decision he desires to make, free of their influence.
The human has sucken in on himself, the weight of Moran's anger quite literally making him buckle from the inside. Moran doesn't want yo apologize, and why should he? His own behavior has been quite bizarre lately.
'This is why we have difficulty using magic,' he thinks to himself, '- I'm too emotional.' Then outloud,
"I'm going to leave now, do whatever you want. Except getting in my way." Nemüir's mouth opens but before he can speak his request, Moran interupts.
"I'm not going to hunt humans," he rolls his eyes, "You all taste disgusting to me and I don't have enough of an appetite as it is." Moran clarifies.
Nemüir nods, both in relief and miffed understanding. The image of a man's chewed ip corpse as it dlops to the ground in slobber flashes in his mind.
"Notice he was merely chewed on, not eaten." Moran turns away, the feeling of boredom encroaching back into his thoughts.
"Is it not the same thing?" Nemüir asks.
Moran hisses through the slots again,
"Not remotely similar. There is devouring and then there's... separating the pieces of a plaything"
Nemüir takes offense at being referred to as a plaything, but takes comfort in knowing that he wasn't going to need to stop Moran from eating people.
'That's one less thing to worry about.' Nemüir affirms to himself.
"Don't you have someone else to pass time with?" Moran shoves an image of the human herbalist into Nemüir's thoughts. Nemüir winces from the sudden intrusion and sets the image aside.
"No, I've no interest in her or anyone here." Nemüir pauses, "That would be irresponsible, considering..."
'Considering that you have to babysit someone?' Moran blinks slowly, his eyes sharp.
"No," Nemüir shakes his head, lost in thought, "It used to be that I could die during any job, but now..." he frowns.
"Now I don't think I can stay in any one place before people notice that I don't change." Nemüir murmers.
Moran squints,
'Perhapse, but you don't need to concern yourself with whether or not any of THESE humans will remember you, I'd have my way with any of them before they're removed.' Moran's shoulder blades lift, his wings dip, Moran's bodies equivalent of a shrug.
Nemüir ignores Moran's comment, and resolves to find some way to stop Moran from destroying an entire town.
The Dragon huffs in exasperation, he turns to where he can hear larger animals in the underbrush. He trots at a comfortable pace for him, and quickly leaves Nemüir behind. Moran tries to enjoy hunting the lesser species, but finds the joy in taking their life being dulled slightly with pity.
'Pitying lower life forms' he grumbles, 'What's next, mercy?'.
After the hunt he settles in his cave to sleep, he can sense the Traveler continues to search for him in the forest. He yawns out of boredom,
'How tiresome having s companion is.' Moran mutters.
He vaguely wonders what he had been thinking to cause him to create such an annoying creature.