34. The Truth (RD) by Thayne

Thayne left the House of Valurden with a sigh of triumphant relief. The instant he was on the other side of the door, the inky drow façade that stained his skin was back in place. Even so, he felt as if a heavy cloak draped over his back. Apparently, the discussion with Vyile and Jexibell gave him much he needed to think about. He couldn’t shake his daughter’s displeasure and yet he still longed for the connection he once held with his former lover.

Deep in thought, a commotion off to his right went unnoticed as he glanced down the street to his left. “Ul-ilindithu’s Haruk,” Vyile had said. It was a good place to start. Tugging the hood of his piwafi back over his hair, he started his feet in a path that would take him back the way he came, and along some of the shadiest streets in Vvrock’uvin.

The walk was long, giving Thayne time to let his thoughts drift to inward reflection. “Keep your chin up, stay confident that we belong where we will be walking. An’ don’ let your gaze linger…. on anything.” He had said to his daughter, and yet as he wandered ever onward, he found himself doing just the opposite. It was ironic, now that he thought about it, but he had never walked these streets as a free man before. But now he could hold his head up. And as long as a female didn’t glance his way, he could study the signs and architecture.

The City of Wicked Pleasure was busy, loud and smelly. (Improve that sentence. Heh) The details fascinated him, and he found himself connecting with the foreign souls, apparently captured by the drow and then twisted to do whatever their master’s dark hearts desired. A pair of minotaur were holding up a sign to a metalworker’s shop. They were immobile as if frozen in place, and yet he could see them breathe, he could see the gentlest quiver of their muscles as they stood as live mannequins. Further down, a goblin had been hanged by his neck and some drow children were mauling him with a stick until he either bled to death or suffocated. Undoubtedly it was one of the children’s birthday; killing it was seen as a treat. Tattoo parlors, piercing dens, and whore houses became more frequent until at last he was standing in front of the massive double doors of Ul-ilindithu’s Haruk.

It was an older place, and the last decade had not been kind on the establishment. He remembered the club as it was back then: showy and out of the way, built in an old meat grinding factory. A stage was center; tables completely circumvented it so everyone had a view of whatever group of bards was playing at the moment. The stage also served as a place to show off special guests, and that included the abuse of a well trained Runic. Laughter and hatred filled his memories; they were still vibrant just like it had happened a week ago. Unwanted hands, unclean bodies, unfriendly insults – he hated it. He hated these people. He hated himself. Had he forgotten that as well? What all had Shigume done to him to make him forget, not only the past decade, but the hatred as well?

The slamming of the heavy doors broke him free from those thoughts just in time for him to see a pair of aged patrons enter. Fluty airy music drifted out of the open door then suffocated when the doors closed. The escaping air from the place smelled of mold and burned flesh.

Thayne did not tag along. She wasn’t here and he felt it in his bones. But she was near. Just like he could feel her while in Olath Xal, he could feel her now. Realizing the truth, he glanced in either direction down the dark street. Music of a much louder sort drifted to him from a side alley and he caught sight of a group of teenage drow giggling and running down toward it, their high heels clacking loudly on the stone pavement. Pulled toward them, he followed.

Turning the corner, he saw the bright lights of a large dance club. Sprawled over the top in bright pink faerie fire was the word, “TRUTH” in surface common. The letters were jagged and slanted, as if cut into the stone with blades. Underneath, in the deep red color of dried blood was “Dorn sila dos ulu dro,” or “I’ll bring you to life.” This was barely visible and written across the face of a gray mask.

Leading up to the club was a long line of wannabes and the teens Thayne had followed jogged up to the end. A large ogre bouncer guarded the door. Thayne stepped past the line of clubbers and up to the bouncer. The ogre put his huge hand on Thayne’s chest. “Where you going?” He snarled. It was at this time that Thayne noticed the ogre was wearing a gray mask that looked remarkably like the mask logo on the sign.

Thayne nodded toward the inside, “I need a drink.”

The ogre laughed, “No one gets in without a mask.” Thayne glanced back down the line of people waiting to get in, and sure enough every single one of them had a mask on. Some were simple and homemade, most were elaborate with feathers and long ribbons that must have cost a small fortune.

Feeling a sense of de ja vou, Thayne stepped back and regarded the establishment once more from the street. Music thundered from the club, ripe with drums and the wailing screams of a male vocalist. Even from his place on the street he could hear the words:

Digging in the dirt
I can feel you getting closer
Steadying my hands through the blistering pain
Anxiously awaiting for the earth to reveal you
Wondering if I will ever see you again

Wondering if I will ever see you again

I’ll take your love
I’ll take your hate
I’ll take you’re desire

I’ll take your heart
I’ll take your pain
I’ll bring you to life

It all felt very dreamlike, and once more he was reminded of his special skills in this dream world, for unquestionably that was what it was. If he could disappear his daughter, surely he could appear a mask. Reaching into his pocket, his fingers curled around something smooth and cold. Withdrawing it quickly, it indeed was exactly what he wanted. The mask was made of white porcelain with golden swirls decorating it like a second mask around just the eyes. At the crown was a pair of small white horns. Shaking his head at the ludicrous decoration, he none the less placed it upon his face. Like magic, it molded to him, fitting perfectly and staying in place without string. As it settled into place, he felt a jolt of energy fill him, an exuberance that was uncharacteristic and yet pleasurable. Looking himself over, he just knew that his clothing was inappropriate and with a thought, shadows swirled around his body and stripped away what he wore. When they were gone, what covered his body instead was low slung leather pants studded with silver studs and decorated with leather straps. His chest was bare but there was the soft shadow of a dragon tattoo on his peck. The cloak changed into a smoke gray leather duster, just dark enough to make his black skin seem all the more ebon. Its long sleeves and lapels were adorned with numerous brightly polished golden buckles. While leather, it flowed around him loosely. Contradictory to the masculinity of the rest of the coat, the lowest part that drifted around his ankles was fashioned into a beautiful lace. More leather wrapped around his wrists and forearms, but his fingers were bare save for several golden rings, three on each hand. He could feel his long white hair traveling half way down his back, and he knew that he looked magnificent.

Possessed of a new look and new confidence, he strode back up to the ogre and thumped him on the chest. “Now about that drink.”

The ogre looked down at the arrogant masked man who had returned and arched one bushy eyebrow up over the top ridge of his mask, “Look, Wruz, there’s a line, you see?”

Thayne nodded, “Xas, I see.” Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a ruby as large as a gold coin. “But I happen to have a key.”

The ogre’s beady eyes widened the size of cup saucers, “Right away, Ush’akal!” Stepping aside, he opened up the door after taking the gemstone. Hisses and boos emanated from the crowd, but Thayne didn’t pay them mind. The ogre would deal with them, and in an hour he would find that he had been tricked, the gem was only an illusion. By then, Thayne hoped he would be gone.

It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us.
~Marionne Williamson
Mon, Apr 4th – 11:32PM