Dak'kon's Story - Handout 9

The Ka-Tet returned, with Annah, to The Mortuary, entering with the excuse that we needed to speak to Dhall. What I really wanted to do was use my new ability to reach the spirit that once inhabited a corpse, and see if there were any of the walking dead who remembered anything about me. I might even encounter a previous companion who had gotten penned into the dead book.
Unfortunately, most of the walking dead were so old their spirits were beyond my reach, while the recent dead from The Hive could be expected to know no more than the living I had questioned in the streets.

I found something of interest when I approached a male corpse with the number “331” chiseled into his skull. His eyes and lips were stitched closed, and there was a gaping hole torn in his throat. He smelled foul. I used the ‘Stories Bones Tell’ ability on the corpse.
“Wh-wh...” The zombie was awkwardly getting his voice back, and he sounded alarmed. “Who’s there?! Answer me!”
“Can you not see me?” I asked.
“Blind I am, in death as I was in life... now answer me. Who are you?”
“Who are you?” I repeated the question back to him.
“I...” The zombie became silent. “...my name... has fled me. I... can no longer remember who I am.”
I turned away in frustration, only to surprise a look of concern on Dak'kon’s face. He quickly resumed his impassive expression as I glanced at Morte, but I could detect nothing unusual about the skull. Still, I had my suspicions, and devised a plan to test them.
A trip was made back to Fell's tattoo parlour (Return to Fell's Tattoo parlour - Handout 9), then we again returned to the Mortuary.
Finding a place away from the rest of the party, TNO challenged Dak'kon about what had occured during their conversation with Fell.
“When Fell was describing the tattoo on my arm, you said you knew the symbols, they spoke of four who travelled with me in the past. What can you tell me of the four?”
“The woman was young. She worshipped time, for in her blood, she knew of things to come. The archer was a blind man, and he could see things that no other one could see. The path of his arrows always led to the heart of an enemy. The familiar and the slave I know little of.”
“See things to come? The woman’s name wasn’t Deionarra, was it?”
“Know that Deionarra was the name she carried.”
“What do you know of the archer?”
“I know little of him. I know he was a soldier. I know that alcohol had taken a portion of his life. In blindness, he had come to know a different sight. In knowing this, he had become strong. Yet he did not know his own strength.”
I asked Dak'kon what his name was, but before Dak'kon could respond, I suddenly knew the answer. There was a crawling sensation in the back of my skull, and I felt the name surfacing, as if from beneath a great muddy ocean. I said, softly to myself, “His name was Xachariah... he was blind, but in blindness, he had gained a second sight that allowed him to see things hidden to others. He was an archer, and where his arrows flew, they found the hearts of their targets.”
Dak'kon, meanwhile, replied to my question.“Know that Xachariah was the name he carried. And know that his name pierced the heart of many enemies.”
“Do you know why I was travelling with these four?”
“The tattoo speaks nothing of their path, only the symbol that bound them. Know that the path may have been known to only you.”
I thought back to the two of the four he had not mentioned, the familiar and the slave. I guessed Morte must be the familiar. “And which of them was you, Dak'kon? Were you the slave?”
Dak'kon was silent for a moment, and the surface of his blade swam, as if in turmoil. “Know that this one owed you a service. In owing this to you, it became as slavery.”
“How did this come to be?”
“Know the tale is long. The matter is between me and the other that was once you. Know that if you hear it, know it shall be a long tale.”
“Upon the rolling Plane of Limbo, the People shape cities from the chaos with their thoughts. Know that there is no place for a divided mind.” Dak'kon raised the blade from his shoulder and held it before him. As he stared at it, it sharpened until it was almost as thin as a piece of paper.
“A divided mind is an unfocused mind. A divided mind fractures walls and weakens stone.” As Dak'kon spoke, the edges of the blade corroded slightly, the metal misting and melting along the edges. “Many divided minds may destroy a city.”
“Long have I known the words of Zerthimon. Through my voice, many have come to know the words of Zerthimon. The zerth protect the community from all threats, whether to the body or the mind. They are the guiding stones in the chaos. So it came to pass that I spoke the words of Zerthimon without knowing the words of Zerthimon. It came to pass that I no longer knew myself.”
“So... you doubted the words?”
“No.”
Dak'kon’s voice was edged, and his blade sharpened in response. “I knew the words. Yet it came into my heart that perhaps others did not know the words as Zerthimon knew them. And so division formed. As my mind became as two, as my mind became divided, those that looked to me as a guiding stone became divided. Many scores of Githzerai, many hundreds of scores of githzerai... doubted. Shra'kt'lor died that day.”
“The enemies of Zerthimon came. Know that their hatred of his words and the People lent their blades strength. Know that they sensed the weakened city, and they brought war with them. Many githzerai drowned in the chaos and beneath the blades of our enemies.” Small beads of metal appeared on the surface of the blade, as if it was blistering. “Know this happened long ago.”
“As I fell from the walls of Shra'kt'lor, know that my self was broken. My blade was mist, my mind divided. I was adrift upon Limbo’s seas, and I wished to drown. I died for days, my mind awash in division, when death finally came to me. It wore your skin, and it had your voice.”
“Me?” I asked, wondering how I had been there.
Dak'kon replied, “You asked that I hear you.” As Dak'kon said the words, my vision bled outwards, and a crawling sensation began to worm its way up through the back of my skull... I felt nauseous for a moment, and my vision was suddenly as chaos, smeared, twisted, and I was someplace else, someplace in the past... I surrendered to the memory.
Everything around me was in turmoil — my vision was hazy, swirling, dizzying, all at ONCE... there was mist, pockets of fire, islands of mud, stone, and ice-covered rocks swimming through the Plane like fish, impacting and dissolving, droplets of water arcing through the howling air, and lashing my skin like teeth — I choked back my nausea, and I steadied myself; this was the Plane of Limbo, all was chaos, nothing was stable...
I focused on the dying man that lay before me. It was why I had come to this place. I examined the zerth, saw if he still lived. The ‘man’ was a githzerai, his body embedded in an earthen pocket that swirled around him — unconsciously, he had formed a grave from the elements, and though bits of fire and water licked at his face, he did not respond. His hands were ashen, his coal-black eyes focusing on nothing —his emaciated frame spoke of starvation, but I knew it was the least of his wounds. It was faith that dealt him the mortal blow.
I looked for the blade he carried. In his limp left hand was a twisted mass of metal, its surface having melted around his hand like a gauntlet. As I watched, it steamed and hissed, like a diseased snake. The githzerai did not seem to be aware of it... but it was that weapon that had brought me here.
“Dak'kon, zerth of Shra'kt'lor-Drowning, last wielder of the Karach blade, know that I have come to you with the words of Zerthimon, carved not in chaos, but in stone, carved by the will in an Unbroken Circle.”
At the word ‘Zerthimon,’ Dak'kon’s eyes rolled in their sockets, and they attempted to focus upon me. With effort, he cracked his mouth to speak, but only a dry hiss emerged.
I brought forth the stone from my pack and held it before him so he could see. “Know that the words of Zerthimon inscribed upon this stone are true, and know that your divided mind need be divided no longer. All you must do is take the stone and you shall know yourself again.”
Dak'kon’s eyes flickered over the Unbroken Circle of Zerthimon, and for a moment, I thought he might be too close to death to recognize it. Then the right hand twitched, and he pulled it slowly from its earthen prison, the clumps of earth streaming off it becoming water in Limbo’s chaotic winds. His skeletal hands clutched the stone, like a drowning man, and his eyes flashed.
“Know that I have saved your life, Dak'kon, zerth of Shra'kt'lor.”
Dak'kon’s eyes turned from the stone and flickered over me, and he hissed again, too dry for a moment to muster the words. He blinked, slowly, then spoke, his voice barely above a whisper, but the words were what I wanted to hear. “My... life is yours... until yours is no more...”
I closed my eyes, and returned to the present. “So you got the Circle from me?”
“Yes. In knowing its words, I knew myself.”
“Tell me about that other ‘me'... the incarnation you knew. What was he like?”
Dak'kon’s gaze travelled through me, and he fell silent.
“Dak'kon?” I prompted.
“Know that he was different. Know that the differences were not marked on the skin, nor in the Way of the weapon, nor in the attire that cloaked him. Know that he was different in the way of thought and the means he acted upon his thoughts. His WILL became substance. Know that he saw others and did NOTsee them. He knew only how they could serve him. His heart was treacherous, and it was cold, and never did its coldness burn him.”
“Did it ever touch you, Dak'kon? Did he betray you?”
Dak'kon’s blade began bleeding into a dull, flat black, and I watched as edges, like teeth, began sprouting from the edge of the blade. His face clenched, and he spoke through his teeth. “It is not my will you know of this.”
“Tellme, Dak'kon. Did he ever betray you?”
“I surrendered my WORD to him. I surrendered my SELF.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The People do not allow themselves to be enslaved to another in deed or chains. If we find ourselves in such a cage, we ACT to free ourselves, even if it means we must endure another cage for a time. You performed a great service for me. In so doing, you enslaved me. I acted to free myself. Know that I surrendered my word and my self to act in your name until your death.”
I felt a sense of horror.
“But... I can’t die.”
“That was not known to this one. I surrendered my word to him. I surrendered my self. Know that there is now nothing left that I may surrender except my life. Know now that I follow you only so I might die.”
Now I knew why he had been so reluctant to speak of this. I felt compassion for the tormented one in front of me, searched for some way to ease his pain. “Dak'kon, it doesn’t have to be that way... I can release you. I no longer wish you to be a slave —consider the debt paid.”
“No...” Dak'kon’s forehead creased in pain, and his eyes stared through me.
“It is not your word that carries the weight, and your word will not free me. The word that chains me is mine. The torment is mine. I know in my heart that the chains remain. Words will not free them.”
“Is there any way you can be freed?”
“You must die a final death. Yet your path is not death’s path. There is no resolution to this matter.”
I couldn’t accept that. “I swear I will find one, Dak'kon. I will find one that sets you free.”
Dak'kon’s voice became ragged, as if he had suddenly become sick. “Know you have added other words to my words.” His expression was pained, and his gaze met mine. “Now you have chained us both.”
I was sorry to have caused him more pain, but I still meant to find a way to set him free.