Corvus

Corvus woke to the gentle throbbing of a string quintet, playing low over the cabin sound system. The ship was drifting imperceptibly in a holding pattern, though he knew not where. Gradually, everything came back to him. He had set a course without thinking, to the Golden Link Casino. Perhaps not the best place in the galaxy to disappear, but if he was to die, he would die entertained. He checked the log as he rifled through the cabin liquor cabinet. Corvus let out a low whistle: he had slept for three days. As he opened a four decade old bottle of amasec, he reflected on how little of the past month he had spent cognizant. Perhaps I'd do well to sober up... --- The aged liquor burned pleasantly as he made his reservations and slid into dock. Those details handled, he bathed and dressed in fresh Naboo finery before exiting his ship in search of breakfast and debauchery. Planning could come later.

Corvus stumbled up the ramp of The Aristokratia, delirious with fatigue and the after-effects of adrenaline. He paused as he waved to Argyle, and became distantly aware that he might never see the man again. He mumbled something appreciative and composed himself enough to shake his hand. It was a meaningless gesture, really, but Argyle's characteristically placid features split in an avuncular grin. Good. A small kindness. A token payment on his massive Karmic debt. He chuckled as he entered the cabin, and no sooner had the ship hit lower atmosphere than was he fast asleep.

Corvus stared at his impassive companion, willing her to say something. Anything! Her silence unnerved him most of all, as if her last edict was some command that simply had to be obeyed. It was as if his actions were already woven into the tapestry of fate, and he was left no choice in the matter. Frak that! Corvus' grip loosened on the knife, as he started to let it fall. Don't just drop it where she can reach it. He suspected she had other weapons, or still more insidious means of defending herself and obliterating him, but he didn't wish to present her options. He ran, tossing the knife into a public wastebin as he passed it. With his now hands empty and loose, he sprinted, long loping strides shaking his athletic frame as he made for home. He shouldered through the crowds, and half vaulted, half scrambled through an open air market. He hadn't even looked to see if she deigned to pursued him. Clear of the more populated area, he sprinted the rest of the way home, slowing only twice to vomit. --- Manservant Argyle was attending to Lord Korden in his study when he received the page; a simple text-only message, poorly composed, but direct from Corvus' onboard wetware. argyle situation frakked have ship ready bring weapons Argyle had suspected this situation would arise sooner or later from Corvus' recent misadventures, and quickly excused himself to load the contingency provisions he'd had the foresight to prepare. By the time Corvus made the estate's front gate, the ship was 3/4 fueled, and fully loaded, with his blade and pistol in their respective cases at Argyle's side. Corvus seized the man for stability as his body attempted to vomit a third time, resulting in a dry series of furious muscle contractions, and staggered inside wordlessly. Manservant Argyle peered out the door owlishly before closing it after him.

Corvus took the knife with a raised eyebrow, his fingers closing naturally around its knurled grip as his eyes slid to the unconscious woman. A jolt from somewhere deep inside his sleeping forebrain made him jerk as if slapped. "Now, hang on..." Corvus' voice was weak for a moment, as his will struggled exerted itself over his pheromone-induced complacency, but if there was any strength within Corvus' pampered body, it was in his survival instinct. At the moment, it was the only by the grace of his latent paranoia that he detected the false dichotomy before him. Corvus took a step back, and glanced up and down the alley. "I'm not surprised to hear my... associates have drawn the attention of the authorities, though I was under the impression that my father had bought them over some time ago." Corvus looked again at the girl and the knife. "But this... This isn't the way. We kill her, it cements the chief's case and his resolve against us. We show that we can hurt him through his vulnerable family, and maybe we can encourage him to play by whatever agreement my father made with him in my stead." He looked at Jzora critically. Phrases like 'pledge yourself to my teachings' and 'shed your morality' were harder to swallow now that the pheromone illusion was broken. "If I kill her, I lose that bargaining chip and sign my death warrant... Just who the frak are you, really? And what's this truth you're peddling?" Corvus surreptitiously maneuvered the knife into a defensive grip at his side as a stab of adrenaline sharpened his senses. The tingling in his palms told him the next few moments could determine the course of the rest of his life (however short it may turn out to be).

Corvus sipped from his drink automatically, his full attention fixed upon Scorpio. It was, he marveled, as if she knew him. Not like his sycophants who passed for friends knew him, but as he knew himself, in those recesses of his mind that weren't too dulled by giggle-dust and orgies to self-reflect. He was astounded, and followed her outside without question, handing off his cup to an equally speechless Argyle as he passed.

(Of course.) Manservant Argyle rapped upon the chamber door with unusual insistency. "Yes, Argyle?" Corvus had emerged from the shower refreshed, but no closer to understanding what had befallen him or his quarters. He shrugged a shirt on and hopped one leg at a time into a pair of trousers before opening the door. "Lady Lyria Anthati has come to see you, Master Corvus. She awaits in the entry hall." Corvus raised an eyebrow as he straightened his cuffs and collar; the excitement Argyle's voice implied that he should recognize this caller, but the name rang no bells. "Thank you, Argyle. Meet us in the hall with some recaf, would you?" Corvus retreated back inside briefly to recover a housecoat as Argyle trotted off dutifully to the Kitchen to brew his master's preferred refreshment. He returned to the entry hall at the same time as his master, whose vanity had necessitated a few wardrobe adjustments prior to engaging company. "Good..." Corvus glanced quickly to the high vaulted windows to check himself, "...Afternoon, Lady Anthati. Forgive my tardiness; business call, you know. What can I do for you?" Corvus registered his guest for the first time, and his formal smile was quickly replaced by one of genuine interest. His guest was fascinating, and her apparent beauty only seemed to grow has he drew closer. Argyle placed the tray of beverages on the table beside Jzora's couch and withdrew respectfully. Corvus took a cup of recaf in hand without looking, his gaze fixed intently on "Lady Lyria Anthati."

Corvus woke, clear headed for the first time in several weeks, and was immediately overtaken by the stench of his own vomit and body odor. He got to his feet and glanced around, recoiling as he saw the unabashed madness that was scrawled across every visible surface in the room. "Sweet Frak, what happened in here?" He crouched again, examining a portion of the writing on the floor. It was thinly carved, in a spidery hand that seemed eerily familiar. He glanced around the room for something capable of such intricate engravings, his eyes soon resting on his own vibrorapier. "...Odd..." He threw his soiled clothes and bed silks in the laundry chute and queued the maintenance drones to attend to the mess and odor. After another pause to survey the disaster that had befallen his chambers, he shrugged and stumbled into the shower. --- Under normal circumstances, Argyle would only pretend to listen attentively; his master's affairs were really none of his concern. In this instance, however, he found a certain unfamiliar pleasure in her attention, and when the request came, he jumped at the opportunity to be of service. "Of course, m'lady." He turned from the foyer to the entry hall and announced: "The Lady Lyria Anthati, to see young master Corvus!" He beckoned her into the entry hall where a variety of trophies, artwork, and overstuffed couches awaited her. "I'll fetch him for you in short order, m'lady." As Argyle rushed off for Corvus' chambers, Lord Korden appeared on the balcony overlooking the hall from his study. He eyed her severely, decided she was a vast improvement on his son's prior female companionship, and nodded cordially before returning to his study with a chuckle.

Gradually, Corvus became aware that he was speaking, but couldn't recall what about, much less to whom. As he tried to take stock of his surroundings, a chorus of voices, shrill, but not unlike his own, drowned out the ringing in his ears: The heel of Dagon is upon our threshold; the hand of Dagon is upon our throats! Corvus knew nothing, and slept like the dead. --- The doorman of House Korden, Manservant Argyle, promptly answered the door with a warm greeting. "Good day, m'lady, and welcome to House Korden. We weren't expecting company, but this is a pleasure." He ushered her into the foyer with a grandiose sweep of his hand. "And who may I say is waiting, m'lady?" Argyle smiled cordially as he tapped the pager on his belt to send for refreshments (and alert his masters in advance).

House Korden Estate, Theed: There was a constant, terrible presence in his mind, which grew stronger in the long watches of the night. There were voices, just beyond his hearing, and glimpses of foul deeds half-remembered. Corvus Korden had begun to think, privately, that he was most likely going insane. As his days and nights passed without proper sleep, he grew paranoid that his parents and servants might notice something amiss, so he grew even more distant from them, venturing out only at night. And he was careful. Oh, so careful. Sometimes he would travel to parties in disguise, or double back on his routes. He purchased a slugthrower, and carried it and his sword at all times. The locks to his chambers he recoded regularly. Soon, it became apparent to him that he was not taking these precautions against his family or servants, or even his friends. He had grown convinced that the presence in his mind was personified somewhere out in the void, and as that presence grew stronger, he became terrified that the man it represented was drawing nearer. Soon, he stopped going to parties at all. His friends may wonder, but outside the sanctuary of his chambers, they were probably soon dead anyway. The petty crimes that filled his younger nights were forgotten; it simply was not safe outside. At length, he fancied that mere locks and bars alone wouldn't hold out any man powerful enough to so stain his subconscious, and, frantic with terror, he poured his waking hours into the holonet, dredging up myriad sigils and runes with which to ward his room. Soon they were etched upon every surface, starting with the thresholds and windowsills and spiraling wildly out across the ceilings and floors. Most were nonsense, but he prayed that among them was one that could hold back the dreams awhile, if not the man. Eventually the catatonia and the coma were indistinguishable, and Corvus lay in the center of a collage of madness, glaring with unseeing eyes at the curtains drawn across his window and mumbling a single word unceasingly: Dagon.

Name: Corvus Korden Nickname: Corvus Concept: Bored Nobility Age: 23 Species: Human Height: 5'11”