The Great Game

[Wyldwraith]

Delta Pavonis IV, a.k.a Reliquary, Old City

Crouching behind one of the crumbling sections of the ancient wall, Garth clutched the long ebony staff in a one-handed, white-knuckled death grip. The square, well-fleshed, deeply lined features of the older man's face twisted into an unpleasant expression equal parts frustration and anger, as he once again dragged the sleeve of the rumpled gray robe he wore over his sweat-covered face. Despite the dim twilight of the area Garth had found himself in since exiting the Portal, the heat and humidity of the jungle-surrounded ruins was oppressive.

Once again the bulky middle-aged sorcerer considered conjuring a northern breeze to cool the area and ease his discomfort, but again he dismissed the foolish but tempting notion as quickly as his protesting body had complained. Unpleasant and out of shape he might be, but the cagey sorcerer's mind was still almost as sharp as it'd been at his peak. Discomfort was nothing compared to the reality of the situation he found himself in the midst of.

The truth was that Garth was being Hunted. The sorcerer didn't know why exactly, but he had his suspicions. These told him that, like all the other times, there was an enemy laying in wait somewhere nearby. One that served a Patron obviously engaged in some sort of conflict with Garth's own never seen, seldom heard, and positively cryptic Patron. For now though, all that concerned the crafty magic-user were two simple facts. The first being that someone or something was at this very moment plotting to kill him. The second fact was equally grim and straightforward. If he ever wanted to leave this alien jungle and its deserted ruins, he had to kill who or what was after him first.

Despite the sun having set some time ago, every detail of the nearby terrain was clearly; albeit softly illuminated by the strange twin moons which had risen together and now dominated the alien sky above, casting everything below in hues of silver and gray. Finished surveying the immediate area, Garth quickly turned his attention to the riot of jungle growth that surrounded the ancient temple's grounds. What he saw, or rather what he couldn't see, increased the anxiety he felt considerably.

"Damnit, I can't see two feet into that cursed jungle. Worse, whoever's out there is smart enough to realize their advantage, and apparently skilled enough to capitalize on it if this sudden mist is any indication" Garth silently cursed as he watched the undoubtedly conjured mist continue to thicken and creep southward, directly towards the ruins he currently occupied. Garth knew that even such a seemingly minor weather-working like this could prove critical in this sort of battle, and recognized it for the trap it was. Countering it would mean revealing his approximate location, as well as giving his enemy an opportunity to measure his capabilities. Grudgingly, Garth was forced to recognize the cleverness of his adversary's initial gambit. Using only the tiniest bit of Power, his enemy had made the same environment the middle-aged sorcerer had considered nothing but an uncomfortable distraction serve his purpose, and forced Garth to adopt a reactive position.

Delaying his response to reassert control over the tempo of their duel, the overweight magic-user continued to wait patiently as the mist thickened into a ground-hugging fog, which continued its steady drift toward the outermost edges of the ruins. As the fog neared the inner wall, Garth began tracing long, clean-cut lines into the sandy soil with the metal-capped butt of his staff. The sorcerer completed the final stroke of the complex geometric shape as the knee-high and still thickening fog neared the inner wall which surrounded the temple proper. Kneeling beside the drawn hexagram, Garth carefully laid aside his staff for the few moments it took to withdraw a small yet very sharp knife from a pouch hanging on his belt. His motions precise, he nicked the pad of his thumb with the tip of the knife,
watching the blood well up as he put away the knife. Judging the moment correctly, Garth turned his hand over and carefully allowed three fat scarlet drops to splash precisely into the furrow of the first line he'd carved. For a moment the entire hexagram glowed with a very faint crimson radiance, but then glow and carved symbols both vanished as if they'd never been. Satisfied, Garth confidently reclaimed his staff and rose quickly to his feet. By then the fog had crept over the inner wall, as many quiet, almost furtive sounds emanated from somewhere within the low-lying fog bank.

Just then there was an ear-piercing sound, equal parts reptilian hiss and insectoid chitter. The disturbing vocalization was soon answered, first by one and then more and more of the strange creatures, which seemed to be gathering where the fog was thickest. Unconcerned, Garth turned to face the unnatural mist and strode very deliberately towards where it gathered most densely. His approach seemed to excite the creatures, which despite the circumstances seemed to possess no natural inclination for stealth, as the increase in volume and intensity of their strange calls seemed to prove. For his part, the sorcerer gave no outward sign he even heard the beasts.

Other than a substantial increase in calls from somewhere deeper in the fog, nothing happened for nearly a minute after Garth reached the unnaturally delineated edge of the mist. Then, without any warning, a dozen cable-like strands of something vaguely resembling spider-silk were fired from several sides at the shocked sorcerer. Who only then recognized the frequent shifts in the number and intensity of the predators' calls for the auditory ruse they were. Despite the obvious danger, Garth couldn't help but admire the way that some of the beasts had stayed behind to continue calling while the others had silently crept into the perfect position for an ambush at the fog's leading edge. Even while on guard for some sort of attack, the silk-firing beasts had taken him completely by surprise because Garth had unconsciously equated the source of the calls with the creatures' locations.

It was an undeniably well-executed ambush by a very clever, very dangerous sort of predator. Had the sorcerer been forced to rely on his own meager physical resources to defeat their attack his doom would have been certain. Fortunately, Garth's confidence in his craft proved well-founded when, a mere moment before the spider-lizards' strands would have reached their mark, all twelve fibrous lines encountered an invisible yet unyielding obstruction directly in front of their target. The air itself seemed to shimmer as the unseen guardian blurred into motion, its movements revealing a vaguely humanoid outline as it swept away all the trap-lines in a fraction of a second. The spider-lizards were fast, but might as well have been motionless as the otherworldly entity cut them all to pieces before they could even begin to react.

The sorcerer allowed himself a brief smile of satisfaction at his Summoned minion's success. The spider-lizards had been fierce opponents true, but no flesh-and-blood beasts could overcome an extra-dimensional entity like the Astral Soldier that Garth had Summoned. Years ago, when Garth had initially been thrust into this series of life-or-death struggles after first being contacted by his ever-enigmatic patron, this was the sort of minor preliminary success that would have filled a younger and far more foolish Garth with the perilous overconfidence that nearly cost him his life more than once in those early battles. The hardened realist he'd become since then saw these first moves and counter-moves as nothing more than both sides probing their opponent's capabilities. Having to move into the open to spring this trap had given the early advantage to the adversary he'd yet to locate. A fact that gave Garth more than a little pause.

With that in mind, the sorcerer made a dash for the large rectangular building which sat at the center of the ruins. He was tired of playing hide and seek, and with four very solid walls around him Garth was confident the other man/woman/entity would be forced to enter the ruins if they wished to press their attack. Never one to squander resources, of which time was among the most precious, the sorcerer began inscribing a much more complicated design into the firm clay of the temple's floor with swift sure strokes. As before, the haggard sorcerer chose to bleed into the outermost lines of the geometric design, though this time the brief flare of light which emanated from the completed symbol alternated between a deep green and electric blue.

Not a second too soon, as the slight sound of someone treading on the loose gravel which littered the sandy soil around the once-great temple was amplified by the strange acoustics common in large rooms with high ceilings, like this temple. Carefully enunciating each whispered syllable, Garth's free hand sketched swift signs in the air to accompany each word. As the echo of the final syllable was still dying away, the ground exploded outward in five places near where the sorcerer stood, as fist-thick pallid yellow vines burst from the disturbed earth faster than the middle-aged man could react. In less than a second each of the vines' free ends had encircled the limbs and neck of their target several times before they began their inexorable constriction. Garth tried to struggle, but in moments the preternaturally powerful vines had bound him completely, even forcing him to relinquish the death-grip with which he held his ebonwood staff. It was this that finally drew a low, ragged groan of pain from the otherwise stoic mage. Only then did his opponent enter the cavernous building. Striding purposefully towards where his vines had stretched their prisoner spread-eagle on the ground.

The man was young, surprisingly so when one considered the powers he'd already amassed. An observer might've guessed him to be no more than twenty-three at the oldest. Dressed in well-made leathers dyed several shades of green and brown in patterns designed to break up and conceal the body's outline, he was tall and possessed of the wiry muscles and sun-browned skin that spoke of a life lived outdoors. Despite the odd close-cropped hair colored to match his leathers, many women might still have considered him desirable because of his well-proportioned limbs and finely-formed facial features. They might have, until they experienced the cold calculating weight of his dark gray eyes, and the perpetual sneer of contempt which pressed his lips into a thin jagged line. Then even the dimmest of maids would've known they were looking at a predator. Worse, a passionless destroyer who found no pleasure in even his most despicable deeds, yet continued to torture and kill. Much as a cat might kill a dozen songbirds in a day and leave the bodies untouched. The comparison was an apt one, since both killed for precisely the same reason, because it was in their nature to do so.

For a brief moment each man gazed into the eyes of the other. Having looked into those unfathomably empty gray eyes, Garth failed to suppress the apprehensive shiver caused by his understanding of his captor. Or at least as much as it was possible for a normal man to understand of the gray-eyed man's ilk. So, when his captor began the slow, almost leisurely walk to where he lay bound and spreadeagled, Garth knew his enemy wanted him to feel the terror, panic and helplessness the gray-eyed young man only vaguely understood. Empty, the young madman had been forced to rely on his meticulous; almost mechanically precise observation of emotional reactions in others to provide the intellectualized frame of reference he required to determine which emotion was appropriate in a given context. It was this chillingly alien deficit which had led to the neurotic (at the very least) compulsion to cultivate what he'd concluded was the "appropriate" emotional reaction in his victims before he killed them. Garth had seen similarly twisted "logic" employed by several of the more ancient and alien spirits he'd banished over the years.

Which was why Garth remained calm and nonchalant, even when the young sociopath withdrew a black handled, golden bladed hand sickle from a small backpack-like satchel. A puzzled look flashed briefly across the young man's face, but was quickly replaced by a wintry smile. With slow deliberation, he put the sickle away and began searching well-organized and neatly subdivided pouches hanging from his belt. Finding what he sought, the leather-wearing occultist held up five walnut-sized, crimson colored ovoids, which Garth guessed to be seeds.

Only then did the gray-eyed young man finally break the silence, saying "Your reaction puzzled me for a moment, old man. Then I realized you must have consoled yourself with the notion that your death would be a relatively quick and painless affair when I displayed my Harvester. By now even you should have figured out I have something more...elaborate in mind." There was a pause, during which the young man continued to roll the crimson seeds around in his right hand. When he continued, his voice was cold and clinical, but there was something in his eyes for the first time since Garth had seen him. It took the sorcerer a minute to identify the look, but when he did the disgust he felt was obvious judging by the expression on his weathered, haggard face. It was only through an extreme exertion of willpower that he regained his former calm.

What Garth had seen in the other man's eyes was interest. It was as if only now, when his life apparently hung by a thread, that the circumstances merited this monster's undivided attention. So Garth wasn't surprised when the younger man went to one knee beside him and made certain Garth had a clear view of the five large seeds in the palm of his right hand. The sorcerer knew that each of the seeds was blood-red, but in the darkened moonlit room they looked black as coal. When the young sociopath spoke again, his tone was offhandedly conversational.

"These little beauties are Sanguine Blossom Seeds. Normally I use them on my healthier, more physically well-developed targets. In your case I'm willing to make an exception however. Their design is actually quite elegant in its simplicity, but since I was the one who designed and created them, that should go without saying. Allow me to explain how they work and I'm positive you'll agree. First, I plant each Seed near one of your body's five Cardinal Points. Just in case you're even more ignorant of the Art than your paltry skills indicate, the human body's five Cardinal Points are: The top of the skull, the tip of each hand's middle finger and the base of each foot's heel. Five or six seconds after I plant the fifth seed they begin to germinate. Thirty seconds later the root networks have integrated, and the filaments comprehensively infiltrate your body. Finally, every iota of energy is drained from your body, then transferred and concentrated in a single delicious Fruit. The entire cycle only takes sixty to ninety seconds, but I'm positive it will seem much, MUCH longer from your perspective. Any questions?" the murderous young man asked. Garth remained silent and impassive, as if somehow removed from events.

Shrugging off his prey's unresponsiveness, Gray Eyes walked past the pinned man to turn and kneel facing the boot-covered soles of his prisoner's feet. Only after he'd dug the first tiny hole in the clay near the trapped sorcerer's left heel did Garth finally speak, his voice grim yet also somehow mournful as he said "I realize I'm wasting my breath, but I still feel I should remind you there are other less awful ways this could end for you than if you insist on planting those Seeds of yours. I won't lie to you and say you won't be just as dead one way or the other, because I AM going to kill you in the next few minutes. Still, I think that you of all people should realize there is an entire potential spectrum of ways to die. So, I'll make this very simple and just say that if you insist on planting the last of those cursed Seeds your death will be among the more awful I can imagine." Garth paused and seemed to search for the right words to convince the young killer. At length he simply said "I've said what I mean and mean what I said. You have a decision to make young man."

Unsurprisingly his young captor's reply was as arrogant and cold-blooded as Garth had imagined it would be. "I've seen this sort of behavior once or twice before. The certainty of your imminent hideously painful death, coupled with the mental and emotional stresses caused by my having completely thwarted your natural instinct for self-preservation has unhinged your sanity. Odd, I hadn't expected you to be one of the weak minds who seek refuge in self-delusion. Disappointing, as I find these very basic conversations so stimulating. No matter though, as it would have been over in a few more seconds anyways" Gray Eyes concluded with a dismissive shrug as he moved to plant the fifth and last seed.

No sooner had the fifth seed touched the earth than Garth barked two Words that hung in the air and continued to resound painfully and unnaturally in the enclosed space, like rolling claps of thunder. Instantly the first of the two spells he'd cast before the vines had bound him roared to furious life. Those same conjured vines, that only a moment before had been as taut and unyielding as any steel shackles now unwound from the neck and limbs of the man they'd held fast. As Garth rolled to his left the vines began to writhe like maddened serpents. Without warning, the pale yellow vines burst from the earth once again, reaching directly for their stunned creator. The young occultist thought to flee, but found himself engulfed by his own conjuring before he could even begin to move. Swiftly, inexorably, the vines pulled him back until he occupied precisely the same spreadeagled position as his former prisoner and would-be victim, in exactly the same spot. Only then did the horrifying realization of what was about to happen to him come to the young serial killer. As he felt the slight vibration in the ground beneath him caused by what he knew to be the maturing root-networks of the five Seeds he'd planted, he looked up, right into Garth's hard blue-eyed stare.

Before his young would-be murderer could say or do anything, Garth spoke the Word that activated the second spell he'd prepared. A simple Paralysis-spell, the sorcerer watched with satisfaction as his magic left his bound opponent as still as a statue, yet awake and aware of everything happening around him. Only then did the furious, disgusted, incredibly tired and uncomfortable forty-nine-year-old sorcerer ready himself to speak. Garth's robe was filthy and dampened by his heavy perspiration, his entire body ached because of his many bruises and fatigue, and the way he leaned so heavily on his just-recovered staff spoke volumes about his wish for this conflict to be over and his longing to leave this place forever. Yet none of that diminished the tightly controlled fury which filled his voice and only increased as he finally began to talk.

"I warned you, but the time for warnings is past. I explained the consequences you'd face if you chose to plant those Seeds, but like warnings, the time for explanations is over. It's time for me to write your epitaph by telling you where you went wrong. Then I'm going to watch you die the same awful death you've subjected all your victims to." Garth stated in a tone cold enough to freeze the blood of any sane listener. When he continued, it was clear his anger had only just begun to build.

"Your first mistake was underestimating me. It never occurred to you that since I'm still serving my Patron at my age, it's obvious that I've survived hundreds if not thousands of these duels, and even more obvious that every man, woman, and entity who tried to kill me died in the attempt. Then, you compounded one enormous mistake with another by forgetting or ignoring the fact that any magic-user who can still speak, gesture, or draw can kill you. Finally..." Garth trailed off, his eyes never leaving the young monster stretched spreadeagled at his feet. Those dark blue eyes continued their unblinking appraisal of his enemy's body as it grew more and more gaunt and dessicated by the second. He sensed his Paralysis spell about to lapse, but knew it to be a moot point when the slender but unbent pale red stem of the macabre plant pushed its way through the dried out abdomen of the man it had drained of all moisture and life. As the stem continued the inexorably upward climb that marked its unnaturally rapid growth cycle, Garth considered the poetic justice inherent to the grisly scene before him. As far as the old sorcerer was concerned, the irony inherent in the Sanguine Blossom's creator becoming its final victim WAS justice.

By an odd quirk of fate, Garth's Paralysis spell ended at the very moment of his fallen adversary's death. Blue eyes still unblinking, his attention was drawn slightly upward and away from the all-but-mummified corpse at his feet to the scene of dark beauty literally unfolding right before his eyes. Intrigued in spite of its grisly origin, the older sorcerer examined the plant at length, from its base to its crowning growth.

A single stem as thick and straight as an arrow shaft, its newly unfurled leaves flawless four-edged diamonds set in seven perfect pairs, divided so one leaf of each pair faced outwards from either side of the stem. Most striking was the deep crimson color which suffused every portion of the plant equally. It seemed a simple thing, but the longer Garth looked, the more he came to admire the perfect simplicity of color which didn't vary in any portion of the plant. He might have continued to stare at the plant's stem and leaves for some time if not for the hint of movement that caught his eye and drew it onward to the blossom's apex.

An apt description, for the movement he had noticed was the moment the single bud had begun to open. In a remarkably short amount of time the bud had opened fully, revealing a blood red lotus blossom-like flower that was perfect in every detail. In full flower, the Sanguine Blossom was a vision of beauty a surprised Garth found completely enthralling. While his eyes feasted, he thoughtfully considered what he'd found so surprising. The answer was a simple one. He just hadn't expected someone who created a plant to drain the life from someone in a single minute of absolute torment to consider it worth his time to make that plant so exquisitely beautiful.

As it turned out, the Sanguine Blossom still had a few surprises in store. Suddenly flaring with a blinding crimson light that forced Garth to shield his eyes and quickly look away, by the time his vision cleared and he was able to look back the flower had been replaced by a cherry-like fruit the size of a large strawberry, which was still glowing with a faint red light.

The time to make certain decisions had come. Unable to put it off any longer, the weary old sorcerer understood he had to make a choice concerning the Fruit of the Sanguine Blossom. Easier said than done Garth soon realized. Every criteria for judgment he'd normally use didn't seem to apply. "Hell, I'm not even sure why I'm having such a hard time just making a decision, any decision, and getting on with this. Gray Eyes is certainly past caring what I do with or about his life-energy, but even if he wasn't the bastard did his best to ensure he'd be the one standing here and staring arrogantly down at my dried out and all-but-mummified corpse while he savored in a very literal way the very literal fruit of stealing my life" Garth mused darkly.

Perhaps it was thinking about the recently deceased sociopath's intentions regarding him, or perhaps it was how old and worn down he felt when he considered the sure and certain fact that he wouldn't be feeling much better than this the next time a Portal opened to carry him to his Patron's next duel-by-proxy. Whatever reasoning he used to dress up his rationalizing, in the end it was simple enough. Garth was fed up with being old and worn out, and equally sick of seeing one young fool after another take the youth and vitality they possessed for granted. The old sorcerer didn't often admit it, but there had been a time when he'd lived for the thrill of these battles. A time when he himself had still been young and strong. Standing at what could be the final crossroads of his life, Garth decided he wasn't ready to give all that up. Not when circumstances had conspired to present him with such a golden opportunity to reclaim that lost vitality.

It wasn't a very noble decision, but Garth knew there were times when nobility was overrated. It was enough for the sorcerer that his choice was an honest one. Moral ambivalence he could live with, just so long as he could still be honest with himself.

Decision made, Garth plucked the warm, smooth-skinned crimson fruit from its stem-bed and popped it into his mouth with only the slightest shiver of trepidation. As his teeth met in the middle of the hot-as-blood fruit, Garth could feel the energy being released inside him as he chewed and then swallowed decisively. Much like slamming back a glass of strong liquor, the heat concentrated in his belly for a few moments, before quickly spreading in warm comfortable ripples throughout his entire body. That comfortable warmth quickly became scorching waves of fire that seemed to sear every inch of the hapless sorcerer from the inside out. Several seconds of that and the blackness of unconsciousness that rose up to claim him was welcome when it came. Not that Garth was even remotely coherent by then.

When Garth came to sometime later, he was instantly aware of the profound changes to his body in the same way a person is automatically aware of any differences between how they felt when they went to sleep and how they feel after waking up. In a way though, it would have been kinder and maybe even easier to have become aware of the changes in a more gradual manner. Still, it said something about him that he focused first on the positive nature of the changes, and only then on just how profound the changes were and how they'd happened.

From what the sorcerer could see of himself, physically he'd become a healthier and more vital version of his mid-twenties self. Everything from his fully regrown head of healthy dark brown hair to the regained elasticity of his smooth, lightly tanned skin and his slim but fit physique added up to the body of a man at or near his physical peak. What Garth couldn't explain was how Gray Eyes body could've contained enough energy to do all this.

The answer to that question frustrated and eluded Garth for a few minutes, until suddenly he slapped his forehead to chastise himself for missing the obvious. Namely, that Gray Eyes had been draining the life of each and every individual he'd defeated at his Patron's behest, and that Garth had no real idea just how much energy Gray Eyes might've stored up, because he had no idea how many individuals Gray Eyes had drained or how long he'd been doing this to people before Garth stopped him. "Hell, I don't even have the vaguest notion how old he was. Not really" the sorcerer mused.

Satisfied with his explanation of what had happened to him for now, Garth turned his attention outward as he looked for something he'd seen many, many times. It didn't take long for him to find it. The crimson-colored crystal was the size of his fist and hovering at chest height directly in front of the ancient temple's doorway. As he had so many times before, Garth touched the tip of his black staff to the crystal, waited for the glow to die completely away, and then stepped forward and through the Portal that had just opened.