(RP) The Endless White

Kavalkad was not prepared for it.

When Kort landed from his lunge, Kavalkad had looked in that direction. There, breaking the blue beam, was the shadow of a small girl. Funny, he had thought in that moment, that he knew it was a girl, but it wore a dress and had it's hair in pigtails, and as his eyes focused on the face, he could swear he saw a smile- not cynical, but sincere. This confused Kavalkad, his eyes darted away for a microsecond in search of his friends, but a feeling of cold air rushing at him caused his gaze to go back to the girl. However, instead of finding her, he found 4 figures, all different shapes and sizes, all reaching toward him, their faces hollow and unknown. He took one step back, his breath catching in his throat as he gripped the rag tightly, the alcohol soaking into his glove. He stopped himself from retreating and clenched his jaw, fumbling for a match with his other hand before he put the book to his mouth and ripped one out with his teeth. He held the free match in his mouth and pinched it to the striking paper on the book.

Before he pulled he closed his eyes.

It was so cold. As their arms stabbed through his body, it was a growing pit of frost colder than a winter blizzard spreading from each contact point. They all pulsed with pain, and he could imagine getting stabbed with a knife would have felt nice compared to this. He began to scream. But no sound left his mouth. His eyes searched for his friend, but he saw nothing. Svari called something out, but it sounded jarbled to Kavalkad. His vision blurred slowly, rimming with the pitch dark of unconscious, and his legs suddenly felt like stones.

He blinked again.

His vision was totally black. He could not move when he commanded himself to. He could only stare; stare at the blue light. Visions flashed through his mind. Emotions, events, people, places, so many lives lived, so many lost to times. One million voices talked at once, and the sounds of legion cried to him, all hoping for legacy, for temembrance, for light in the dark. He was all and he was none, he was but a witness, and they were tragedy unspoken, demanding to be seen. The plight of generations now ancient to him was laid bare before him. No true solid knowledge was given to him, just breaks in time- like one, sitting in a dark corner, watching the snow grow higher inch by inch outside of the window as the only fire they could manage flickered and threatened to die, knowing that it was the end of their life, and only managing to bear witness to their end.

Kavalkad let loose a feral scream as he lit the match and touched it to the rag.

The rag exploded into flames, singing hairs on his face and blinding him. The flesh of his hand instantly seared, and his glove burned with persistence. He groaned in pain as he waves his hand in from of him, the shades retreating away from him as he dropped to one knee and tried to catch his breath.

Whatever he had just witnessed had burned itself into his mind, and he feared he would never have an answer for it. Just more and more questions.

A bright flash of fire lit up the darkness for a moment, and Svari saw Kavalkad illuminated against it. He was struggling to drive back the creatures, his expression twisted in horror and pain. Svari heard his friend's animalistic yell echo in his ears.

He also caught a glimpse of a lump on the ground, partially backlit by the shaft of blue light descending from the cieling. He figured it must be Kort, struggling along the ground to reach their goal.

He knew what he had to do. Summoning his courage, he charged through the remaining horde of shadows towards Kavalkad, ignoring the life-draining chills he felt whenever one got close enough to touch him. "RAAAAAGGGHHHH!" he yelled out, shoving Kavalkad towards the blue light along with himself, landing next to it in a heap.

Kort laid there in blinding light, the wave of emotion on like laying in a snowstorm when like a campfire being extinguished the bright light just disappeared and there they were in another office, dimly lit. Kort got up from where he was laying, still contemplating if he was even alive. And he was met with the sight of Kavalkad and Svari and a skeleton? A single skeleton, sitting in a chair with a hole in his head and holding onto something. Kort however was not interested in what the skeleton was holding but rather the sheer amount of rage that was building inside of him, hatred towards what was once a man. Kort grabbed the skeleton by the shirt and started shaking it as if it were still alive. "How could you do this to me you bastard! I was your friend and you shot me! Left me to die! You killed me!" Kort yelled at the skeleton expecting a response. Korts eyes glowed the same blue light that the group fought towards before, Korts voice sounded different, not his own, someone more mature, and much angrier.

Kort shook the skeleton until it basically either fell apart or turned to dust. And Kort stood over the remains starring, waiting for a response. But was met with nothing, soon the glow in his eyes faded and so did his demeanor, Kort fell onto the desk where the skeleton was sitting and had to catch his breath. He was panting, as if he was being choked but by what he was unsure. He looked around the dimly lit room and noticed several other bodies laying in different places on the floor, beyond the point of rotting and we're nothing but bone and cloth. Kort stayed there in silence and realized how eerily silent it was, especially with the awkward silence and staring his friends gave him like they had seen a ghost.

Kavalkad was lost in his thoughts. He could do nothing but stare at his hands. His right hand looked sickly; it would take away for these burns to heal. He let out a chuckle, but only one belt of laughter left his lips, sounding like a scoff. Of all the foolish things, and I was going to sacrifice myself to ghosts? He shook his head as he brought himself up to one knee and took off his bag, patiently digging for his medical supplies. He moved almost in a trance, not noticing the commotion around him until Svari's words met his ear. He finished tying off a bandage and slipped a thick glove over it to keep the frost away. Only one spare glove left, but at least what he lost was replaceable. It was then that he looked at his friends. Kort looked nearly inconsolable (understandable, whatever the shadows had shown him must have been much on his mind, that much was true for Kavalkad at least) and Svari was... confused. He couldn't bring himself to joke, but just to speak. "They held no malice in their hearts," he said quietly as his eyes drifted to the skeletons along the wall. He stopped at one, shorter than the rest, the dress in tatters, dirtied beyond recognition... "They were just... scared... lost in their last moments. Maybe... they thought we were here to save them..." The invasive memories flashed behind his eyes again, and he gritted his teeth. He stood up. The dim light only serving to outline him as he clasped Kort's shoulder, trying to empathize with him, "My friend, please... steel your heart... or I feel we will become as lost as they are." He stepped back over to his bag and retrieved the jar of alcohol, still at 2/3 its original capacity. He thought for a moment before simply shakin his head and handing it over to the shaken man, "It's not much, but it will take the edge off. Make sure to share some with Meat, as well." 

It was then that a glint caught his eye and his breath caught in his through. He shuddered a bit as he reached down and picked it up. His father had owned one. He had found it when he had first become a scout. Every night he would clean and maintain it. His mother had joked once that he had cared for it than he did his family, which had prompted a few laughs at the time. A shame that it was the last night he had been able to speak with his Father... to see his mother so happy... and when his team had returned, it was left behind with him. He looked at the skull of the skeleton Kort had assaulted, and it suddenly made sense. A tap of a lever on the side of it made the cylinder pop out, and the divit in the back of the shell casing was enough for him to confirm it. "The man that left you for dead apparently already punished himself. Let him suffer in peace, at least," he stopped for a moment, a solemn weight on his shoulders, "Besides... is that not what we did with the priest?"

He removed the empty casings and counted the ones that were still unused. 3 shots, from the looks of it. The metal was ridiculously cold, but the mechanisms of the firearm still worked: the hammer was a bit sticky, the lever to release the cylinder took a bit more pressure than he had assumed, but still, it was what he thought it was.

Kavalkad had found a revolver.

Svari shook his head in commiseration with Kort's words. "Yes, we did all we could. He...would not have made it if we made him walk on with us. All we can do is pray for him to stay safe until we return," he said. "For all we know, that crazed 'prophet' may have wandered off by the time we come back. I do not think he was...right in the head."

He followed Kort's gaze up the endless stairway, leading them to who knew where. "We have an important mission ahead of this. We'll never make it if we let an outsider drag us down. We three left together as brothers, because we all knew we could trust each other," he said. He let his hand rest on Kort's shoulder. "I'll follow the two of you anywhere."

Kort took a cigarette from Kavalkad and put it in his mouth but didn't light it. He never was big into the actual smoke of it but holding it did something for him, even if it was all in his head. As Kort tossed the carton to Svari he answered him. "I thank you Svari, but there was something different with the priest. Maybe he would have had a guiding light or something in that room, Sherpas know we could have used one." Kort said as he played with the cigarette more. "I agree as well you two are my brothers and I would do anything for you. But you have to admit, we only know so much about it up here. Perhaps someone with better knowledge of what it's actually like away from home wouldn't be a bad tag along no?" Kort asked as he tucked the cigarette into a pocket. He leaned back and stared further up the stairs.

So close and yet so far away, what could even be up there? A giant light? More haunted souls? A fire? The thoughts swam around his head like ice fish, it almost drove him to actually light a cigarette. He was spilled out of it by Kavalkads remarks, Kort giggled a little. "Fool, have you ever had the pleasure of meeting a person of the IBM? I have once when they were trading some crops with my father. They are strange, strange people, blank stares, emotionless, stuff movements. They talk to us like we aren't even equals. They don't do a thing out of what their leader tells them too, hell you wouldn't even know what to do with a woman from the IBM… then again you wouldn't know what the hell to do with a woman anyways." Kort said as he giggled to himself as he stared back up the stairs.

Kavalkad had a near-permanent frown on his face for once as he quietly worked on his hand. Well... as much as he could with a backpack of emergency supplies and basic medical tools. each bend of his finger was beginning to swell with pus, and the general look of his hand looked reminiscent of a the inside of a toilet after a family birth bonfire. That is to say, browns and blacks with streaks of puss awkwardly veining their way around the hand. The faint smell of cooked meat was also a bit unsettling, but compared to everything else, it was simply marked up as a minor inconvenience. When he had finally finished doing what was within his current abilities, he completed his work by pulling out one of his spare gloves and slipping it on. He couldn't help but sigh a bit as his eyes settled on the darkness of the stairwell leading downward. He threw a look at Kort for his comments, but it went unseen as the leader of their little expedition zoned out on the looming goal of their current task. At least approaching Svari's talk wasn't as dangerous to his dignity. "Outsiders, hm," If anyone was an outsider, it was the man that was shoved off onto someone else's family when his died off, but he kept his comment to himself, "The priest was an Ikean. Before we leave, we should at least take his tome, or something that brings remembrance. The Elders would like to know that we found another Ikean out here. Those slavers are another subject entirely. Will they look for him? Did they let him go of their own will? Perhaps they assumed his death was quick to fall upon him, leaving in the night as he did. Whatever the case, It matters not for the boy now. Perhaps... perhaps his passing was a warning from the sherpas... that we're as fragile as ash to a slight breeze. This world- outside of our little ice cavern, is perilous, indeed."

His unusual dry bluntness felt... un-natural to him, but he said what was on his mind, and for once, he felt a bit better about it. What good would laughs do them, now? As much as the jokes would, he imagined. Regardless, He felt like a different person now. The boy that slept in a different hovel every night, feeling more like a stranger than he felt like an Ikean in general. At least here in the endless white, he could be his own man. How much would his own faults and shortcomings weigh him down, though? How long before it was him they left bleeding? How long before he followed his father and met his end in these wastes? He felt a chill up his spine at the thought, but he didn't shudder. His expression hardened, instead. The answers to his questions would never come, no matter how long he waited. So, instead, he slipped his shoddy revolver into a pocket inside his jacket and stood. Checking that everything was in order before putting his pack back on, He slipped one more cigarette out of the pack and lit it. 8 matches, and about 12 cigarettes left. Perhaps, if he ever made it back, he would try to talk Alseda into giving him info on where to find more, if not just giving him some of the lower quality ones they used for trading. It wasnt until his train of thought was broken that he realized he was halfway up the next flight of stairs. He looked back, his eyebrow raised. "Well, gentlemen, shall we?"