Killing Oscar

Video: Way Down We Go

By: Kaleo

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Description:**Alert!! : Rated TM; Drrrrrramaaaaaa! --And Murder and Gore. Not for the faint at heart.**🙃
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While the soldiers below remained at war against the elves, the commotion was loud enough to have reached the tallest tower. The room inside had been almost quiet in comparison; like the calm before a storm. It was always how Tempest dealt with those he intended to destroy--his way of letting them acknowledge that their time has come. In the dim lighting, one such a man was tied and hanging upside down from his ankles. The bindings were vines and roots that had grown into the window; preventing him from casting any spells with his hands.

He glared at the bloodmage across from him. It was almost unrealistic to how he could have possibly been out-maneuvered! He had an army to protect him, he had money, a prestige reputation, a fortified castle and armor to have kept himself safe. Yet, the man before him had nothing to his name; only of what it seemed like, the silk and satin clothing that hung loosely to his form, and a sacrificial jagged blade to his name. Somehow, his pupil surpassed him; outsmarted him! Now, he was at his mercy; though that had to be an inevitable ending for himself. He would not have been a good teacher, otherwise.

"I suppose this is where you're going to kill me." He finally tested the bloodmage. He was feeling his head throb from hanging upside down for so long anyway that anything was beginning to have become a welcomed experience just to take his mind off the ache.

The bloodmage shrugged some and lifted his blade. He cut the leather buckles that held the man's light mage-armor in place; slicing at the threads until it fell onto the floor in heaps of useless fabric and metal. "No, Oscar. This is where I torture you... for all the sh*t you've ever done."

The older man laughed. His eyes squinted from the fine lines in his face briefly until he suddenly snapped in a furious shout. "You pathetic maggot! I did not create you for things so petty as revenge, Blue Rose! You've wasted your gifts--!"

"Flattery won't get you anywhere, Your Grace." Tempest sliced him across the chest.

Oscar scowled as the blade tore into his flesh. The vines turned him around and before he could take in another breath, he felt another cut slash across him. A third, and then a fourth, over and over until he couldn't keep from shouting in pain anymore. The blood was warm and the pain was searing hot, cascading down his back in thick waves before pouring to the floor.

"You're not mad at me!" Oscar thrashed useless against the bindings. "You're mad at your mother!"

"Oh, I'd say I'm equally mad at you." Tempest quipped behind him and sliced his side; striking a new pain to be released. "Why destroy the Nomads? What was the point? You slaughtered a collection of Andrastian Monks for no reason!"

"I did no such thing!--You killed them." Oscar hollered back and arched away from the pain he was given. When he presumed that Tempest would have slowed down, his bleeding back relaxed. "You... You ran to them... earned their trust... and placed your demons right in their lap. You lead them to their deaths because you refused to come home."

The suggestion itself was ludicrous! Tempest didn't understand it at all; how the man could blatantly throw the blame on others so easily. He knew most Magisters were a bit oblivious to the pain of others, but he couldn't imagine it was this far. He was stumped from the answer that was given.

"You're saying... That it's my fault?" Tempest looked at him in a sneer of disbelief. "I was not even there when it happened--!"

"Exactly. You were gone. Off somewhere else to play. You didn't protect what you tried to keep." Oscar laughed and then started to cough weakly from his laughter. "---And the funny thing is... The funny thing, is that all your efforts are towards a goal you could already achieve; if you'd just grovel for Miriam's forgiveness."

He suddenly felt the back of his hair being pulled in a tight ball behind his head. The vines gave away in their leverage and before the old man knew it, he was being dragged towards the vanity mirror. His lower torso was smashed against the wooden drawers there and that was when he saw Tempest's anger to its strongest ferocity.

The bloodmage had a miasma that coated over his skin like a thin black fog veiled over his form. His eyes were glowing a dark crimson that reflected just a hint of purple underneath--which signified that Tempest's blue hues were still coherent to what was occurring. His hair even levitated slightly; as if the magic he struggled to maintain was threatening to unleash from every fiber of his being. The bloodmage wasn't just mad, he was royally pissed off--a matured anger that Oscar had never seen in the lad before--and Oscar trembled.

"I never--" Tempest stretched and smashed Oscar's head against the mirror in front of them- -breaking the glass. "--EVER grovel... You sniveling insects managed to create a GOD, and now you expect him to fear you?"

The broken glass pierced into Oscar's face. He coughed and spat blood from his mouth. The throbbing in his head increased and all he could do was breathe and stall for his life.

"We expect you serve as Gods do." Oscar wheezed and tilted his head slightly against what leverage that Tempest's grasp would allow. "If you're going to kill me; do it. Deliver me, Blue Rose."

Tempest's upper lip curled from the pet name. How he hated that name; a title that had no true origin in natural botany. Oscar was calling him synthetic; a false human, and it was a mockery to Tempest's own existence.

"Oh, you're going to wish that killing you was all I did, mate." He told him as his vines released from being wrapped around him.

Then he smashed the Magister's face into the dresser next. Oscar tried to brace himself for the impact but he was a split second too late. His blood smeared against the wood and his nails clawed his jagged stubs as Tempest dragged him across the surface. He threw him across the room then, landing his shredded spine against the brick wall. Another whining escaped the old man and raised his hands to release a spray of hot fire against Tempest.

Tempest turned in a dodge and raised his hands in retaliation--summoning his vines to spring forth to his attention once more. Like thrown spears from hidden traps, the vines and roots jolted upwards and impaled Oscar's limbs, dragging Oscar down flat to his back. He hollered in rage and frustration--a dying old man's bitterness with the inability to cling to his youth as he once had done. He could feel the fire from his own expense spread over the vanity dresser and burn the wood and clothes and a heap nearby.

The flames licked at Tempest's backside. The scars from underneath his clothing was burning from the heat like a memory of the injury that remained fresh. As he moved forward to the the fire slowly grew and spread. It left him with the demonic impression of the Devil, himself. A soul of pure vengeance, hatred and greed.

His raised hand turned, and in response the vines penetrated into Oscar's skin. The Magister began to shout and thrash while vines coiled around his head, producing thorns and piercing his flesh. The vines and roots continue to move within his body, twisting, tearing and forcing their way through muscle and sinew. The skin shown visible ridges from where the vines moved farther up along the man's waist and then into his ribcage. Organs were being squeezed and pierced until Oscar was drowning in his own blood.

A wicked smile spread across the bloodmage's face as he tilted his head and watched the violent spasms that his victim thrashed underneath his power. Oscar managed in a frantic fit to at least roll to his side and hug himself in the fetal position; hollering, gagging and vomiting blood in his agony. It wasn't enough for Tempest though; not for everything the Magister had done to him when Tempest was a child--it never would have been enough.

Though, when it seemed like Oscar casted Tempest a glance and muttered a gurgling rasp, Tempest believed that he was about to beg for his life. Deciding that would too have been an amusing anecdote, he flicked his wrist and the summoned the vines to cease in their twisting from within the Magister's flesh.

"Do you have something you wish to say? An apology, perhaps?" Tempest taunted in a voice that seemed to command a source of begging to speak.

"You walk the path of the Dead, Blue Rose. A path I do not wish to know." Oscar coughed and spat up more blood as he curled along the floor. He stared at the puddle that already was pooling around him. "The road is paved with the corpses of your loved ones under your feet; ...and it matters not if you... can even recognize their flesh."

Tempest frowned in disappointment. He glanced down then and started to reach back for the forgotten blade in his other hand. He marched closer; dragging the end of the blade against the floor as he walked.

"Perhaps their souls will matter." Oscar laughed in spite of himself and then turned along the floor as he looked up at Tempest. He started to smile then, and pointed at him. "Their spirits will haunt you forever. I will haunt you... for an eternity."

Tempest grimaced and raised the jagged blade above his head. With great force, he brought the blade crashing down into the man's chest. He raised the blade again and stabbed him a second, time, and then a third. Soon the stabbing and hollering just seemed to blend together with one another; as though the ends only pulled forth a new beginning. Tempest couldn't control his shouting or his laughter at that point--losing his mind.

It just wasn't enough! It was never enough! The man needed to bleed more; shout in agony more!
  More!

More!!

His flesh needed to be torn against the walls, splattered in beautiful patterns of death across the portraits, and roasting in clumps within the fire- -like the pig that he was!

Tempest didn't stop when he was covered in the other man's blood or when his dying screams pierced Tempest's eardrums. He couldn't. It was as if Vince--the demon--had taken full control and delight in the murder--and Tempest didn't mind one bit. He laughed out loud, and in his head; filling everything with the madness that consumed him. The bloodmage's arms were tired. The Magister's body was leaking red blood like a soaked dishtowel trying to mop up too much red wine. Tempest finally slumped in his victory, still chuckling and mocking at the dead smile that was reflecting back at him.

"Haunt me then." He spat at the dead body and with shaken hands, gripped the sword to plunge it into the man's neck for good measure.

Finally... A small voice was pulling towards him; as if it was being spoken from underwater. Tempest flinched from the sudden physical touch, and was abruptly pulled to one side. He looked, and for a moment, only saw enemies around him. But a split moment proved himself wrong. The person standing next to him was a frightened young elven woman. Of course, Tempest recognized her as Fawn, the city elf that helped him during the uprising in Orlais.

Her large brown eyes looked as if they were on the brink of tears seeing him in this state. She reached up and touched his cheeks; trying to wipe away the blood.

Tempest could only look at her and tried to still her hands. He couldn't have her worry over him when her cause was still in a great need of her. He was human. He would have only been in the way, making her look bad and dragging her down. Tempest knew this--and he didn't want to be in the way.

"They're going to call for reinforcements. You need to get your men out of here." Tempest told her quickly.

"I'm not leaving you--" Fawn started to say but the sound of foot steps came to the doorway, and she and Tempest looked towards the entrance.

"Fawn!" A city elf called and looked to Tempest in a quick accusing gaze.

After all, he was human in a war of elves against humans, and he was covered in blood. There wasn't a needed explanation for him. Before Tempest or Fawn could react the war-ridden elf readied his bow and unleashed an arrow. The arrow lodged into Tempest's neck. He stumbled in a gurgling gasp, reaching for the arrow, but it was lodged in too deep.

Fawn screamed and reached to hold Tempest up. However, the elf with the bow unleashed another arrow and this one lodged into Tempest's left thigh. Fawn screamed more; ordering for the other elf to stop. But Tempest couldn't hear the words. He couldn't even see because he was suddenly dizzy from the pain. All he could feel was the fire around him and the arrows lodged into his flesh. He crumbled, dragging himself down along Fawn's body until he hit the floor.

Then everything went dark...

He was cold. Everything was cold. The fire was gone. There was an annoying buzzing sound ringing in his ears, and something tickling his skin. Tempest didn't know how long he had been laying there, but it was finally long enough to recognize that the annoying buzzing sound was the sound of flies. The tickling sensation had been the tiny fuzzy legs of those pesky insects.

Wake up.

He remembered this stench too. Rotting flesh. Everything pulled memories back to when he was involved with the Slave Wars as a General, herding dalish elves into cages and fending off other slavers who would have stolen what his army acquired. Such a place turned into a frozen hell that focused on survival and evolved into satanic cannibalism. Tempest's stomach churned from the memories, but he didn't have the strength to hurl anything from his stomach. And that was assuming if there had been anything even in his stomach!

Wake up!

His head throbbed from the demon's voice shouting at him. His eyes opened and Tempest focused on an ugly sight of Oscar's grotesquely pale and bloated expression of twisted horror staring back him. Tempest couldn't even scream from the fright. He was so shocked and so weak that when he rolled, he fell and gravity pulled him down. He didn't know where he was rolling to until he landed onto solid ground, staring at the dirt and gravel.

That was Oscar. Tempest killed him. He was dead. Oscar was dead and Tempest lived.

"Son of a bitch..." A voice grumbled and the sound of the cart stopped.

Tempest slowly lifted his head, but not too much because of the sudden soreness from moving his. neck. He looked up to see a cart filled with dead bodies--both elven and human--being pulled by one donkey and an ass of a man with a bulbous snout. The man seemed equally shocked as Tempest.

"Maker's Balls! A necromancer!" The man exclaimed.

"No..." Tempest rasped, feeling his voice scratch like sandpaper. "Just a soldier."

The bloodmage cautiously reached up towards his soreness and traced something foreign, long and protruding, and he realized slowly that he was shot. He had an arrow in the side of his neck, that dipped low towards his collarbone--not an easily healed wound. More than likely it was infected. He looked down and saw he also had an arrow in his right hip, and an arrow in his left thigh. The memory of that elf with the bow must have shot him three times instead of two! Tempest wasn't really all that clear as to how he was still alive! Maybe it was the padding if his clothing, or the pressure against those said injuries, or maybe the cold climate around here slowing down the flow of blood. Maybe even magic. Tempest honestly didn't know. Whatever the reason, he was alive and he looked like the dead.

"Animated corpse then? Wait. Corpses don't talk." The man fumbled and started to mutter in fear while Tempest slowly moved on wobbly legs to stand up. "Oh, please! Maker--please--don't hurt me!"

"I'm not going to hurt you." Tempest reassured him as calmly as could, for someone still in a lot of pain.

The bloodmage reached for the feathered tip of the arrow in his neck and grunted in a quick shout as he tried to break off the feathered end. He failed and fell towards the cart. The driver in turn, wailed in fright and rushed to his driver's seat. Tempest had to climb over the piles of bodies to reach the man; gasping onto his shirt and pulling him down.

"Calm down! Calm down... I'm not going to hurt you, I said." Tempest repeated and winced as the pain from such abrupt movements was catching up to him. "I need you to take me to Skyhold."

"Okay... Okay, Okay. Just don't hut me." The man begged.

It was the last thing Tempest had even thought of doing. He didn't know where he was, and the man did nothing to him. He just wanted to reach a place that was familiar; to see people he recognized and knew who would have welcomed him.

Though, when he did eventually reach Skyhold, Leliana had been the first to rush from the castle and stared at him in shock. Naturally, Tempest couldn't get the arrows out, so of course she would have been frightened. How so much, Tempest hated that expression on her face right then.

Mixed emotions stretched across Leliana's face as she ran to him; almost as if she would have embraced him. However, she stopped short of a foot away and slapped Tempest hard across the face.

"Where the hell have you been?" Leliana demanded him and fisted her hands at her sides.

"Out for a stroll--" Tempest started to say until he was slapped hard across the opposite cheek next. He winced and opened one eye to look at her fuming anger still.

"No one goes 'out for a stroll' and comes back with arrows in them!" Leliana mocked him a little and folded her arms bitterly.

"The Herald does." Tempest glanced towards the castle briefly and soon winced away before another strike could connect to his face.

This time Leliana's hand struck his shoulder instead--which wasn't as bad, but still, Tempest winced and tried to plead for peace all the same.

"Lass," he pleaded, "I don't mean to complain, but I do have arrows in me, as you've kindly pointed out. Please, stop hitting me?"

"Come on. We're getting you a healer so I can pulverized you more." Leliana grumbled and yanked on Tempest's ear as she turned and walked around the courtyard towards the medical area of the place. All the while, Tempest wincing and pouting pathetically behind her.
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