Paying For One's Sins

Paying For One's Sins
Date of Scene:	26 June 2013
Location:	The Ame-no-Torifune
Synopsis:	Morrighan returns to Murasame's flagship for her appointed checkup. It is then that the trap is sprung. And most of all, Garland finally metes out the retribution planned for so long.
Cast of Characters:	Feige Abramson, Morrighan Alazne, Garland

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Pumpkinhead has posed:
The medical office of Feige is a touch auspicious as is, wires cross the floor leading to obscure devices, though most notably generators. Considerable reading material lines bookshelves across the way--most technical or medical in nature, the most shocking book is probably the bible--and there's at least one book in an archaic language that Morrighan can't understand, even from the cover. Two tubes, one empty, the other filled with a watery substance that just seems a touch offcolor compared to normal water.

"Oh excuse me, excuse me," A woman's voice calls from further inside. "Don't mind the mess, we're still getting situated. Yes, yes, back here--much better for a checkup."

'back here' is a more traditional medical bay like what one might expect. There's a sink, a med table, cups, needles, and even a lady--wearing a stethoscope around her neck and a labcoat around her body--busy pulling on plastic sanitary gloves.

She turns around--she wears goggles. "Name's Feige Abramson, nice to meet you, nice to meet you! May I get you anything? We'll be sure to make this as quick and painless as possible, mm?" Feige doesn't seem bothered by issues of skin color or ear pointiness

Morrighan Alazne has posed:
The 'medical bay' didn't turn out to be anything like Morrighan had expected it to be. Strange machines, wires and cables all over the floor, and shelves of strange reading material caused the elf to arch a brow slightly. Was this really where she was supposed to have her examination? It appeared far too shady for her tastes.

The sound of someone's voice further in, a woman by the sound of it roused Morrighan out of her curious staring and she decided to forget about the strangeness of the front end, heading further in until she arrived 'back there'. "Oh. Well this is much more what I expected..." She mumbled faintly to herself, nodding as she surveyed the area briefly.

The woman's greeting was met with a nod as Morrighan approached. "I suppose you must already know my name. And no, I require nothing at the moment." A pause. The way this doctor had said quick and painless caused her eyebrow to twitch slightly, but in the end, she shook it off. "I suppose we should get started then." She glanced at the woman at that, her arms loosely crossed. "Now, what exactly do you need me to do?"

Pumpkinhead has posed:
Feige Abramson says, "Ah well, the sad truth is that my labs were compromised so I had to move some inventory here. The frontal office had more space. There are those determined to engage in corporate espionage. I'm a pharmaceutical researcher, foremost, but a basic checkup is easily within my capacity." She picks up a small flashlight and asks, "Are you afraid of needles? It's to check for blood disease, Murasame has insisted I be quite thorough."

She approaches and says, "Keep eyes open please." She shines the flashlight for the eyes, squinting through inspection. "Yes, yes, no problems." She snaps the light off and makes a mark ona clipboard.

Morrighan Alazne has posed:
"I see. Well then, I suppose one must work with whatever they get now." Morrighan replied. Following Feige's request, she kept her eyes open, even as the light shined into her eyes. That was irritating. But it was done before she knew it and she blinked a couple times after to recover.

"And no, I have no fear of needles." That gave her pause though. "Blood disease? I do not recall having anything of the sort. But I suppose a checkup is a checkup..." A sigh escaped from Morrighan then. She wasn't exactly a stranger to medical practices, but being on the patient end of it was not something she usually experienced.

"In any case, I suppose you need to take blood from me now?" A rhetorical question as the elf was already removing one of her long arm gloves, exposing her skin for whatever this doctor had in mind.

Pumpkinhead has posed:
"Yeppers!" Feige says, she's very chipper. In fact, she's pretty much always smiling. Obviously, this is to put patients at ease and not a sign of mental illness. Nevertheless, she nods to Morrighan. "Yes yes." She draws out a small needle from near the sink. "Don't worry it's quite clean."

And well--she attempts to stick Morrighan with it, shortly after rubbing some alcohol and cotton on the skin. Which is all very unassuming and polite and professional.

Which may distract Morrighan long enough for Feige's other hand, holding another needle, stabbing for Morrighan's spine--this one with quick acting anasthesiac to put her to sleep, for a while. Her strength is, in fact, surprising considering her small, unassuming frame. in a way, it is unnatural.

Morrighan Alazne has posed:
Feige's upbeat attitude was just annoying to Morrighan. But it's not like she would make a fuss about it. Especially not during a medical checkup. Besides, it would be over eventually, right? Moving over to a nearby counter, she winced slightly once the needle pierced her arm.

Ugh, even if one didn't fear needles, they were still bothersome. But then was another piercing feeling. This one at her spine? The elf's eyes widened on shock at this and she immediately glared at Feige.

"W-What is the meaning of this!?" She demanded, raising her other arm as magic began to take form, but then a wave of fatigue suddenly washed over her. "What...have you...." She didn't get to finish her question before she crumpled to the floor, the medicine having forced her into an unconscious state...

Pumpkinhead has posed:
Feige is very chipper. "Don't worry, don't worry. You won't be out for long. Couple of days, tops! Dream of something nice, would you? It might be the last time you can."

Time passes. There are dreams, and whispers, but they don't seem to be Morrighan's own dreams. An inky blackness, darker than the darkness of closed eyes, flits across the edges of conciousness. Someone, or something, is trying to communicate. Most of the words are incomprehensible, but one phrase sticks out: 'To die, to sleep, to sleep perchance, to dream'. Visions of a universe of light, tragically speckled with black blots of darkness. It wants to crawl inside you. And rest. And hibernate. Tendrils reach out--but before they can reach--

You wake up!

Unfortunately you're also strapped to a medtable, in a hospital gown. Arms and legs are secured by clasps. Magic doesn't seem to work just yet. Not even the time magc. In fact, especially not the time magic.

Feige is nearby, washing blood off her gloves. She is humming to herself. A few used needles are nearby the sink. There's pain in your back and abdomen, the stronger pain hits the former. A breathing mask, attached to an oxygen bag, is on your face.

Your head kind of hurts too.

"Awake yet?" Feige asks.

Morrighan Alazne has posed:
Everything went black.

And then it felt an eternity, staring into the darkness as words passed her by. The majority were incomprehensible, but...there was one statement that she could understand. 'What is this supposed to...' And then several black tendrils appear, aiming to grab at her and-

"AH!"

Morrighan's eyes open with a start. She would have sat up as well, but she seemed to have been restrained. Well that was weird, but not a problem if she could just conjure up....no, nevermind. Her magic wasn't responding. "Where...am I?" She asked groggily, eyes haf lidded to avoid the light. The fact that her usual dress was absent escaped her notice for now.

Hearing Feige's irritatingly cheerful voice nearby caused her to remember though. "You! What have you--argh!" Her speech was muffled by the oxygen mask and there were pains echoing all throughout her body. Unable to keeping yelling through the pain, Morrighan wound up squeezing her eyes shut to try and make it go away. What was going on here!?

Pumpkinhead has posed:
Feige speaks, as if talking to herself, or maybe delivering a lecture. "You know, I must admit I thought I would never even meet you. I think I'm glad I signed on with Murasame." She washes her hands. "In my original world, they didn't know how to use me. They didn't know how to. You know why?" She slams her hands against the counter, denting it shockingly with her power. "Because they were fools! They thought they knew everything because they saw a glimpse of the true universe, but you know what they say about when you assume." She turns around. "When you assume you make an 'ass' out of 'u' and 'me'. Now don't get me wrong, don't get me wrong at all." She snaps the gloves off. "I was very impressed. You should be proud, actually. It isn't very easy to piss off certain individuals. It takes a bit more than mere insolence. After all, there's a fine, fine line between contempt and anger and for these sorts of people--ahem--beings--it takes a certain level of...Alexandrian creativity, I mean the Conquerer not the academy, to pull off. You are an inspiration to your people, Morrighan, I was thinking about that the whole day. I /was/ going to call up Sevarius--we play Cards Against Humanity every saturday--and maybe turn you into an elfbearpig? But wisely, yes, wisely I knew you were precious! I could not do that to such a fine specimen...with such a wonderful experimental mind. Yes, everyone is an experiment. Me, you, the universe--but anybody can become an elfbearpig, Morrighan."

"Not you!" She declares. "You are destined for grander things."

She adjusts her goggles, but doesn't remove them.

"Now as for what I've done to you. First, and perhaps most importantly, is the tracking chip I've implanted in your spine."

She pauses, and then with what would seem like honest concern from anybody else adds, "And as your medical doctor, I must strongly, /strongly/ urge you to not remove it."

She looks down at Morrighan and adds, "But that of course is just the preventative measure, hardly the science! Any fool with a scalpel can implant a tracking chip slash bomb!" She laughs maniacally for 5 seconds.

Morrighan Alazne has posed:
Morrighan just blinked slowly as she got used to the light again and opened her eyes fully. Most of this crazy woman's ranting was lost on her. Or rather, she wasn't in the right mind to actually listen to it all. Something about assumptions, and angering certain individuals...wait a moment. "What...what are you...talking about...?"

She asked wearily, struggling to move again despite the fact that she was quite thoroughly restrained. "Is this...about that bounty...? What do you mean grander things? I do not understand one bit..." Her question was left by the wayside however as she learned just what had been done to her. "Tracking...chip? You did WHAT?"

The elf's voice grew indignant then. "A bomb? Who gave you permission to plant a BOMB in my spine? Have you lost your mind!? Remove it right this instant! NOW!" Yelling angrily, Morrighan struggled against her bonds again, a futile effort of course. "And what do you mean first? You did something else!?"

Pumpkinhead has posed:
Feige seems like someone who has had to restrain people to a table against their will. She had an excellent teacher too. And most of her friends are, well, people who /understand/. Feige has few redeeming characteristics, but she is not a jealous mad scientist. She cares little for credit so long as she can work and she is happy to work with other mad scientists. Because in the end, are you doing mad science to show those fools who never understood? Or are you doing science because you love to understand and learn? For Feige it is the latter. Okay maybe a little of column A too.

"Permission?" Feige is shocked. "I was given permission the moment you came inside and I had received no specific instructions to the contrary. I could have put your mind in a dog, or turned you into--wait, we covered elfbearpig already." Feige waggles a hand uncaringly. "But I felt modding out your body would not just be a waste, but also way too temporary. Oh I don't know the ultimate plans for you, otherwise--believe me--I would tell you, but I would not be especially attached to that thing. After all this effort, I can't imagine you will be killed, that would--again--be such a waste."

Morrighan sort of asks for more details. This makes Feige immeasurably happy. "I'm glad you asked!"

"First..." Feige holds up an index finger. "Er second..." She holds up her middle finger too. "I have gone to the liberty of performing a neural scan. With that, along with the genetic sample you actually, heh, consented to provide--I do believe I can make you a backup body, you know, just in case. If not, well, I am certain we could use your knowledge on magic, maybe a brain-based-computer? I do worry some knowledge will be lost in the modification process but ahh--I am getting ahead of myself."

Feige beams brightly, "And of course I've taken the liberty of removing some of your, ah, eggs. Not enough time for as many as I would have liked but I assure you, they will be well used."

She drums her index finger across her cheek. "Say... while on the subject, do you prefer boys or girls? And--what exactly are you looking for in a backup body. You want a precise copy? I don't know, that's kind of boring, do you have any input? Your gazongas are rather large, would you prefer smaller?"

Morrighan Alazne has posed:
".........." Morrighan's eyes just narrowed at all this this nonsense escaping Feige's mouth. "A BACK UP body? Are you serious? Why would need one? I do not want a back up body! And I especially would not...." She trailed off then as the obviously mad scientist went on to say that she had...aha, removed some eggs. That was new.

"W-WHAT!?" Morrighan sputtered indignantly, struggling against the bonds keeping her still again. Oh why wasn't her magic working now? "You took some of my...EGGS? How in the world did you even, no, no! I don't care about HOW. What gives you the right to even- Argh!" Apparently she was too angry to even form a coherent sentence now.

"What do you mean if I prefer..." She was going to ask, but then decided she wouldn't entertain this ridiculousness. "I am fine just the way I am! And leave the size of my--forget it! Just forget it!" Oh boy, that headache was getting worse with all this angry yelling. "I want you to /destroy/ whatever genetic material you took from me and LET ME GO!" Yeah, like /that/ was going to happen.

Pumpkinhead has posed:
"Oh it actually was the easiest procedure." Feige says. "Honestly where I'm from it's not an uncommon practice. You know, I WAS thinking boys, I feel I am giving off the wrong impression by having largely dealt with cloning girls at this point. You've actually, aheh, met some of my projects before. Frankly the situation has left me with some limits--that's the other good thing about this solution, don't you see? With time--other roads may open themselves up--but if nothing else I'd rather make sure the dark elf people don't stop existing." She frowns a bit. "...You know, if I even knew one elf--light skinned variety--that was a guy I would totally try the half-breed route just to screw with people. I'm not very fond of prejudice, Morrighan. My people too have suffered from it." She smiles faintly. "Honestly, Nazis, what can you do?"

She spins on her heel and walks away from the table for a moment, seeming to hear the protests for the first time.

"Yes, yes." She says. "I think actually a mix would be best. Boys and girls, just to be on the safe side."

She looks over her shoulder towards Morrighan. "And yet all these protests. I'm doing you a favor, honestly, just allowing you to be the mother of these experiments. I'll even let you name them, if you promise not to be too snarky."

She smiles, walking closer, slowly lowering her head to look into Morrighan's eyes.

"You have burnt every bridge." She whispers. "I won't stop, I won't be letting you go, I won't be destroying the future. I had hoped you would understand what I was doing, but I don't need you to. Oh, you're so cute, so alluring...no wonder so many fell under your sway, mm?" She runs an index finger across Morrighan's cheek.

Morrighan Alazne has posed:
"...Met some of them? That is..." She would have asked /who/, but frankly, there were more pressing matters to deal with right now. Namely, the predicament she was very much still in. "What do you mean make sure the dark elves do not stop existing? I was not aware that they were disappearing!"

...Actually, Valos and Rosemarie were the only other ones she knew. And now Valos was dead. Whoops. Pushing that aside for now, it seemed like her protests were falling on deaf ears. Or rathers, ears that certainly couldn't care less anyway. Still, this was hardly a favor! "How is taking my eggs and, what I presume will be inseminating them, ANY sort of favor to me!? I have no desire to be a mother! You cannot do this!"

As Feige drew closer, Morrighan tried to lean her head away, which only did so much. But it was true. She had burned just about every bridge open to her. "How am I to understand your ravings? Why are you doing this to me!? What have I done to you!?" She was fighting back tears now. She hardly deserved to cry after the things she's done though.

She knew that, and squeezed her eyes shut, feeling a finger run across her cheek. "Just....Just get it over with! I no longer care! Just have your fun and then leave me!"

Garland has posed:
"Fascinating," the horrible, terrible dark voice echoes. Morrighan would recognize it almost immediately; when last it had spoken to her, it had hurled curses and threats upon her name, vowing to pay back unto her a hundred fold what she had done to its owner. It had been filled with a rage beyond mortal propensity, the sort of rage that has sat and stirred for ten thousand years, just waiting for the right moment to be unleashed.

Now that terrible voice is filled with amusement - it delights in the suffering of others, and the one who suffers now, who cries out with tears barely restrained, is one the voice's owner takes a special delight in watching suffer.

The Ironclad Nightmare strides out of the shadows calmly, silently, like a ghost carried on the fluttering of night; no noise heralds him but the low, black laughter, the grim amusement; no light illuminates him, the shadows simply retreating in the presence of a greater, fouler darkness than mere light can produce. He pauses in front of Morrighan, his great clawed gauntlets disappearing under his cape.

"On the field of battle, you spoke to me. You declared yourself my superior - my /better/. You stole power from me; you cut into my soul, ripped it open, and dragged forth my demons for all to see, in the misguided belief that /my/ Fiends might give you power." Garland's voice remains low; Garland does not need to shout to get his point across, not here, not now, not with Morrighan helpless under Feige's control. The slow tap-tapping of his iron claws begins, the rhythmic beat of a heart that may not exist anywhere beneath that iron body; it fills the room, drowning out the sounds of machinery and science in favor of the simple beat. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

"No one is permitted to steal that which is Garland's. None are permitted to reach into my soul, my Heart, and play with it as though it were a toy. In my infinite mercy, I offered you salvation. I offered you the chance to back away, you and your would-be philosophical knight. I gave to you what many would consider *too much* kindness - and like a child, you abused it. You believed that my words were empty and hollow - that you could seek protection from Garland, that you could run and hide and skitter to the winds and that I would never find you."

Garland leans in close to her ear. He does not breathe, but his presence, his proximity, the cold of his iron...oh, she would feel that in an instant. "I am patient, girl. You are a child compared to me; all your history, all your age, all your life, is but a speck in the eyes of Garland."

He straightens, giving her a momentary relief from both his proximity and the endless tap-tap, thump-thump, clang-clang. Garland walks away from her for a moment; his back faces her, his helmet tilted downwards in thought. "And yet, speck, you have done something that few in history have managed."

"Your burning ambition has etched your name into my memory. In ten thousand years, when your family line is dead and gone and all those you have ever felt even a spark of caring for are dust in the Earth, your name will ring in Garland's ears for eternity as one whose arrogance managed to reach into the realm of a god."

Garland's voice suddenly lightens up. Just a bit. It's perhaps even more sinister, the sudden dark cheer that overtakes his words. The words themselves may be even more sinister.

"I feel...that you deserve a /reward/ for such ambition."

Pumpkinhead has posed:
"Done to me?" Feige asks. "--Oh, you think this is out of malice? No no no! It's nothing to do with that." Feige promises. "I'm doing this because I /like/ you." For a moment, she almost seems distraught. "Well," She admits. "I must admit it's impossible to do an exhaustive study, but I only know of a small handful that exist. It is entirely within the margin of error of you dying out, provided there is no hidden populace. You see? It is a favor. Especially since you may be dead or worse soon. I don't bear you any ill will, of course, but I'm not a rabbi. Could work on my bedside manner." She leans in further, her lips lightly press against Morrighan's cheek, leaving a faint salivic impression before pulling back. "As you wish. I'll put you back out now. How I wish I could keep you forever, but nothing lasts forever. Well, almost nothing." She steps back and, if nothing else, it seems like Morrighan might get that relief, but then--well-- Garland.

Feige is surprised to see him. Her eyes widen faintly and she steps back to allow Garland to speak.

And /do/.

The surprise fades quickly, she steps back a bit so Morrighan can't see her. For now.

Morrighan Alazne has posed:
Well.

This was entirely unexpected. In fact, Morrighan would have taken Feige's scientific insanity over anything /but/ this. But it was far too late now. Garland is here. She didn't need to look to be able to tell. His voice made himself perfectly recognizable. His words were calm and cold, only exacerbating her growing fear.

Was this Souji's whole plan? Fool her into dropping her guard, and then hand her off to Garland? Part of her could appreciate how evil this plan was, and another part of her cursed him for it. The elf's thoughts were dashed away the moment she could hear his voice a little too close for comfort. And here she was, unable to move in any sort of way. ".....!"

No words. There was nothing she could find to say. Instead, all she could do was listen. Feige's own ravings were nearly forgotten in the face of this. But he soon backed off, contemplating to himself and speaking of her ambition. Nothing this /entity/ was saying was offering her comfort. As well it shouldn't. Considering just what she had done to him...

A reward? ...She didn't want a reward. Not at all. "What...what are you talking about? I don't..." want a reward. But the words wouldn't leave her mouth. She was paralyzed with fear. First Feige, now this. Was her life over? It certainly felt that way now.

Garland has posed:
"You do not what? Do npt want a reward? Do not desire compensation, recognition of your valorous efforts?" One can almost hear the sneer in Garland's voice as he turns, the twin pinpricks of crimson light that are his eyes focusing onto hers, burning with that same intensity that he speaks. Garland does not need to glower and glare to make his point, after all, not with eyes like those. "Dr. Abramson certainly desired a reward. Why else do you think she would contact me? *She* will be rewarded well for her efforts."

He paces back over to her, the clang of his boots against the floor very well /certain/. He's allowing them to make noise for dramatics' sake; ten thousand years of common sense, and the man(?) still obeys all the rules of drama. His metal fist clangs against the table, and he leans in nice and close so that the poor Dark Elf gets just a glimpse, just a momentary, fleeting, ever-so-swift glimpse of the terrible thing underneath the armor. "Are you rejecting my generosity a second time?"

And then Garland leans back, again offering her respite. The cruelest of cruelties is not a torture inflicted for hours without end; it is a torture inflicted for five minutes, allowing the mind to fill the respite with misery and terror at the prospect of its continuation. Garland has had a long time to master such techniques, after all.

"I thought, perhaps, that since you desired Fiends of your own to command, that I might /give/ you Fiends of your own to command." Garland taps his gauntlet against his armored chin, as though he were deep in thought. "But, of course...you understand how Fiends are made, don't you? You couldn't have done all that research without learning a /hint/, a /touch/, of what the Fiends truly are...?"

"Oh...or perhaps you did no research at all...you simply found a book with a magic spell that told you it would grant you power, and like the ignorant little girl you are, you grabbed at it, grasped at it, and read from the Book at the right place, waiting to see what sprang forth?"

Garland lets out a low 'tsk'. "Which is it, then, my dear? Have you any idea what it is that Fiends are made from?"

Garland turns away from her, looking back at Feige. "As for you, Doctor, your efforts will be well-rewarded. Garland never forgets those who do him well...or ill. You have but to name your price and it shall be yours."

Pumpkinhead has posed:
Garland's involvement would certainly explain why Feige didn't do anything too radical to Morrighan herself. Feige's expression cannot be seen by Morrighan but Garland might see a quirked eyebrow at his words. Well truly, Feige does love rewards. That, at least, is certainly true. She nods slowly at Garland's offer. It's a strange one, but she elects to take it at face value. Garland knows her general desire. This time, she writes down something on a piece of paper--the very notepad, in fact, she was taking Morrighan's 'information' when she first showed up in the office. She doesn't want Morrighan to know it or she doesn't want to disrupt Garland's work via speaking on it beyond a 'Of course, Lord Garland'.

Morrighan Alazne has posed:
Morrighan grit her teeth, averting her eyes to look left and right, anywhere but at Garland, and now his supposed accomplice. Wonderful. This was a trap, and she fell into it gloriously. As Garland leaned closer again, she could feel her skin crawl. Being this close, she could almost /see/ what was under that armor, but dared not to try and comprehend it.

"I..." She shut her eyes and then finally responded clearly. "Do not insult me! I know full well what they are!" Finding a backbone for that moment, the dark elf spoke onwards. "A Fiend is....a Fiend is created from host soul! They exist and draw power from that soul!" Starting a shake under the pressure, she went on with her explanation, almost tripping over her words in the process. "Which would explain why that thing that came from you was so obscenely powerful!"

Having finished, Morrighan paused to think about what was previously said just a few moments before. "Wait...my own fiends? You don't mean that you plan to...no! No!" Struggling against the bonds and restrain her again, she tried to break free, to no avail. She tried to conjure up some manner of spell, light swords, dark fire, none of it was responding. She was stuck and there was no way out.

"Let me go! LET ME GO!" She cried, as if they would do such a thing just because she demanded it. Of course not.

Garland has posed:
Garland puts his hand on Morrighan's shoulder. If one looked beneath his helmet, they /might/ perhaps find a smile, should it be so that Garland had a mouth capable of such things - let alone a mouth at all. However, if one looks beneath Garland's helmet, they would likely not be in shape to talk about what they saw.

"Do not fear, child. Your bravery is being *rewarded*. You would not insult my generosity a third time, would you, young lady?" Garland's horrible metal claws brush against the side of her head, some horrible parody of gentility; the iron is almost cold enough to burn. Not quite...but it is certainly very, very cold.

"I consider this a mercy beyond what you deserve, little elf. Above and beyond what you deserve. Were I in a fouler mood, I would flay the skin from your bones; I would chain you up in a dungeon so far from the light that even your vaunted dark elf eyes would dim and die the instant the sun touched your face again; I would take all that you are proud of - your beauty, your intellect, your magic - and turn it upon you until you cursed the day you were given those gifts only for Garland to rip them away. I would rip out your heart and feed it to the hungry children in the darkness, and you would become nothing but a shadow of your former self."

"You knew the consequences when you betrayed the Shadow Lords. When you betrayed *me*. Do not pretend as if you are innocent, some suffering victim who deserves none of what is about to happen to you; given the circumstances of this arrangement, even the torture I am about to inflict on you is a mild one. In your heart of hearts, you and I both know that an eternity of loneliness and pain as the demons in your soul are ripped forth to drive away any who dare touch your heart is a /kindness/ and /mercy/ you do not deserve. I know it. Doctor Abramson knew it. You know it, though your pride protects you from admitting it. Even those who stood by you to save you from me were discarded without a second thought. Anyone who has ever shown you a touch of kindness has been cast aside and discarded like so much trash, ignored, or exploited, haven't they?"

Garland's fingers flare with arcane light as he crushes magic into his palm with raw physical force, muscles forcing Mist to bend to his whim. "No one will come to your rescue this time. Your time is up. You have escaped your suffering long enough."

"Now I will carve up your soul."

"Your wish...is granted."

Pumpkinhead has posed:
Feige is watching intently!

....and takes notes! This is very fascinating! She doesn't even cackle.

Morrighan Alazne has posed:
Garland's hand upon her shoulder did little to allay her fears. In fact, all it did was make it worse. All the better, no? At least she stopped thrashing about for now. Yet, for all of her cries for this not to happen, Morrighan knew deep down that this was far more merciful than she deserved.

But that didn't stop her from wishing nothing would happen at all. A fool's desire. "No! No! Stop it! Let me go! Someone, anyone!" But no one would come. Who in their right mind to come to her aid even if her cries /could/ be heard?

Certainly no one she knew. And thus, Garland's plans to continue on, unhindered.