"I don't 'thirst for violence,'" he growls back, but even as he says it he feels an itch in his hands, left hand instinctively reaching for a sword he no longer owns.
"But I'll help you chase them off. I'm out of practice." And it'll take his mind off things for awhile.
The graverobbers are hardened men - they have to be, to make digging up corpses their line of work - but the wizard has enough tricks up his sleeve to run them ragged. He's not particularly concerned for these people - but he is interested in what Avery will make of them, after so long without conflict, so he leaves one for the other man to deal with personally.
If it happens to be the leader, with the most investment and stubbornness in such a venture, then, well. It only makes things more interesting.
He had chased after the man with the intent to scare him off, some noises in the trees, the feeling of being hunted, a few feints and purposefully missed strikes to send him fleeing with his tail between his legs.
But the man hadn't been nearly as cowardly as his compatriots. He'd stood his ground and fought, catching Avery by surprise just enough to drive him back a little, enough that he had to try.
And by god, though it was nothing like his duels with the wizard, nowhere near as heartpounding and satisfying, the rush of battle was still there, his practiced movements dancing circles around the more brutish stylings of the graverobber, the exhilarating music made of the clash of sword and shield...
He'd forgotten to miss, and the sword's edge bit deep into the man's throat.
He'd released the weapon in an instant, stumbling back with his mouth agape, murmuring apology after apology as the graverobber choked on his own blood. His body twitched and spasmed on the ground and eventually fell still. Cold. Heavy with the weight of an unnecessary death.
And then something emerges from the body, a wispy sort of energy, condensed into a ball, a flame without light or heat, but certainly with presence. Avery's never seen anything like it, and yet he somehow knows exactly what it is.
His mouth waters. Something inside of him squirms and tightens, an eagerness not entirely his own overwhelming his senses. Before he can stop himself, Avery reaches for the wispy thing--the soul--and brings it to his mouth, swallowing it whole.
The flavor is indescribable, like nothing he's ever tasted, not the least because it's less of a taste than a feel. Ecstasy. Satisfaction. A rightness wrapped in wrongness that washes away his aches and pains and leaves him more alert and alive than he's felt in ages.
And with that feeling, something inside seems to take root, a presence that's been there since the wizard gave him the power to escape his cell made more present than ever before, settling in his chest and body, wearing him like a second skin, easy and content and alive in a way that finally drags Avery back to reality and into the horror of what he's just done.
"So it's souls you needed," the wizard muses, from somewhere behind him. The hunger isn't unfamiliar to him, though it's not something he knows personally; his lord's forces had some among them that consumed souls and little else, after all. "That's certainly a drastic side effect."
His tone is mild, like this is a vaguely difficult problem rather than the end results of murder.
Avery's hands ball into fists at his sides, and then he whips around and runs at the wizard, yellows eyes wild and glowing like twin stars in his skull. "What the hell did you do to me?!"
"I gave you power enough to take back your own fate," he retorts, cloak swirling as he dodges the hero's charge. "I have no say over what it grows into after that!"
"You made me a monster!" he roars, panic eating at the edges of his voice. He swings again and again, the motion more important than the possibility he might hit something. "Get it out! GET IT OUT!"
"It's too far gone to remove it without killing you," he snaps, grabbing his arm to stop him. His grip is surprisingly strong. "You'll have to live with it. Unless you really want me to return your generous favor and relieve you of life's burdens."
He's a danger to everyone. If he goes back to Vanessa, he might kill her. Everyone he knows... Everyone he loves...
He accepted aid from this man. He knew there had to be a catch, knew it couldn't end well, and still he'd done it. All because he wanted to be free.
This isn't worth it. He should take the wizard up on his offer. As a threat to the very kingdom he swore to protect, he should be destroyed. It would be the good thing to do. The right thing.
"No." His voice shakes and he goes limp in the wizard's grasp. He can't break. Not here. Not in front of him. He already feels weak enough for wanting to live.
For a moment he sees himself, and he doesn't know if it's his own mind or the creature twined around his heart. Pity stabs him like a blade, and he loosens his grip.
"I doubt it would let you die, now that it's become attached to you. Count yourself fortunate that it wants you to survive, even if you disagree with it."
His voice is quiet. There's a tinge of bitter pain to it, the flash of an old wound.
Avery shakes his head. "That's impossible. She's never acted like this before." He glares up at the wizard. "The Vanessa I know would never have done this. You have to have done something to her!"
It should make anger rise in him all over again. Instead, there's nothing but a hollow sense of emptiness.
Couldn't he have gloated? Smirked and made him believe that, yes, that was exactly what happened? Dragged him further and further down? The wizard had already destroyed his life by saving it, had transformed him into some soul stealing monster with a parasite in his guts, but this...
Somehow, this hurts the most of all.
"I'm going to bed," Avery mutters, and pushes himself to his feet. Every step feels weighted, dragged behind him. The beautiful green of the forest just looks grey.
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"But I'll help you chase them off. I'm out of practice." And it'll take his mind off things for awhile.
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If it happens to be the leader, with the most investment and stubbornness in such a venture, then, well. It only makes things more interesting.
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He had chased after the man with the intent to scare him off, some noises in the trees, the feeling of being hunted, a few feints and purposefully missed strikes to send him fleeing with his tail between his legs.
But the man hadn't been nearly as cowardly as his compatriots. He'd stood his ground and fought, catching Avery by surprise just enough to drive him back a little, enough that he had to try.
And by god, though it was nothing like his duels with the wizard, nowhere near as heartpounding and satisfying, the rush of battle was still there, his practiced movements dancing circles around the more brutish stylings of the graverobber, the exhilarating music made of the clash of sword and shield...
He'd forgotten to miss, and the sword's edge bit deep into the man's throat.
He'd released the weapon in an instant, stumbling back with his mouth agape, murmuring apology after apology as the graverobber choked on his own blood. His body twitched and spasmed on the ground and eventually fell still. Cold. Heavy with the weight of an unnecessary death.
And then something emerges from the body, a wispy sort of energy, condensed into a ball, a flame without light or heat, but certainly with presence. Avery's never seen anything like it, and yet he somehow knows exactly what it is.
His mouth waters. Something inside of him squirms and tightens, an eagerness not entirely his own overwhelming his senses. Before he can stop himself, Avery reaches for the wispy thing--the soul--and brings it to his mouth, swallowing it whole.
The flavor is indescribable, like nothing he's ever tasted, not the least because it's less of a taste than a feel. Ecstasy. Satisfaction. A rightness wrapped in wrongness that washes away his aches and pains and leaves him more alert and alive than he's felt in ages.
And with that feeling, something inside seems to take root, a presence that's been there since the wizard gave him the power to escape his cell made more present than ever before, settling in his chest and body, wearing him like a second skin, easy and content and alive in a way that finally drags Avery back to reality and into the horror of what he's just done.
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His tone is mild, like this is a vaguely difficult problem rather than the end results of murder.
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Avery's hands ball into fists at his sides, and then he whips around and runs at the wizard, yellows eyes wild and glowing like twin stars in his skull. "What the hell did you do to me?!"
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He accepted aid from this man. He knew there had to be a catch, knew it couldn't end well, and still he'd done it. All because he wanted to be free.
This isn't worth it. He should take the wizard up on his offer. As a threat to the very kingdom he swore to protect, he should be destroyed. It would be the good thing to do. The right thing.
"No." His voice shakes and he goes limp in the wizard's grasp. He can't break. Not here. Not in front of him. He already feels weak enough for wanting to live.
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"I doubt it would let you die, now that it's become attached to you. Count yourself fortunate that it wants you to survive, even if you disagree with it."
His voice is quiet. There's a tinge of bitter pain to it, the flash of an old wound.
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Still, even as he sinks to the ground, a thought gnaws at him. He has to know. "Did you do this to her too?"
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"To her? I did nothing at all. She has more than enough power of her own." He would have thought the ice would be proof enough.
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Couldn't he have gloated? Smirked and made him believe that, yes, that was exactly what happened? Dragged him further and further down? The wizard had already destroyed his life by saving it, had transformed him into some soul stealing monster with a parasite in his guts, but this...
Somehow, this hurts the most of all.
"I'm going to bed," Avery mutters, and pushes himself to his feet. Every step feels weighted, dragged behind him. The beautiful green of the forest just looks grey.