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" ... Father."
Who knew that one simple word could shatter him.
The sense of despair that overcame him lingered and seemed to suck the life out of his undead soul. He saw shadow everywhere. The darkness of the Barrows grew even darker. Perhaps he was going mad like him, but he felt as if there were a monster waking within him just admitting it. The hands, which he tried to ignore, were now a fixation and an obsession. They seemed darker than before, but he did not know if that was actually the case or if his eyes were playing tricks on him. Whatever it was, it did not bode well.
Out of the corners of his eyes, he swore he saw the shades of the dead hunters before him scorning him for his betrayal.
You were loyal until you learned you were his!
Disgrace!
Kill him!
But he was snapped to attention by some all-too-familiar laughter.
"Ahehehehehe, my son, my blood, how are you today?"
"Well enough...father." Silvarius remarked as Gregorovic swayed his way into the room, that ever familiar smile mocking him.
"Now that you have acknowledged the truth, it is time to discuss your benefits. Your inheritance. Your birthright." He swayed closer, kneeling down on one leg like he usually did.
"And pray tell...what is that?"
He pointed to the shadows that had been gathering around him with a claw. "The shadows. The power I gave you in your rebirth." He laughed, and there was almost a sense of...pride?...to it.
Fatherly pride.
Suddenly, it clicked into place.
"Then...these..."
"Are not your imagination, my son, my blood. I can only imagine it awoke when you accepted your heritage." Silvarius now saw a wispy miasma as he moved his hands.
With a blade unsheathing he remembered all too well from many failed battles, Gregorovic brandished his terrible glaives.
"And now, you shall learn how to use them, ahehehehehehe."
Silvarius shrunk away. Why should he accept a force that had torn his life apart?
"...I see. You are afraid of the shadow. You are afraid it will tear you apart from the inside. Indeed...you fear it already has." He cringed. Monstrous as he was, there was still an undeniable brilliance and skill his ancestor possessed. For a moment, he briefly wondered why he chose this instead of using his talents for good.
"But every human is first formed in the darkness, my son, my blood. Even if it is never remembered, it is still true. And in those first moments of developing life...the shadows are protectors, not assailants."
Silvarius listened, not so much to absorb wisdom but to try and understand the person who spoke them. Every word, every turn of phrase was a piece to the puzzle of his mind. And at the moment, none of it made sense.
"Or consider the shade on a blindingly hot day. You flee to the shadows for comfort. Consider in the night someone who would hurt you. When you want to hide, under the shadow of a protector is better than under the light of a lantern."
"You as a hunter feared the shadows because they were where your enemies came from, because they used it against you. But are they not different when they protect you instead? What you feared the most can now serve you, protect you. They cannot understand this knowledge. When they saw you had it, they tried to kill you."
"They... They were my..."
Gregorovic leaned in closer, mere inches from his face.
"How much did they really care if one change led to them turning on you?"
Silvarius was merely silent. He wasn't wrong. In fact, nothing he said was actually wrong. In some way, it made sense.
"Ahehehehe, yes, you are considering it. I know you have intelligence, my son, my blood. You could not have struck down my shadows or had a hope at injuring me if you did not." He backed away, somewhat. Silvarius's nose had scrunched up from the smell of burnt flesh in his mouth.
"It seems you need some time to ponder what I have said, ahehehehehe. Very well." In a moment, he had backed away, sheathed his weapons and sat across from him with spindly, spiky legs crossed. Still too close for comfort, Silvarius noted.
"Why? Why did you choose...this?" He responded, with curiosity and muted brashness.
"That is a story for another time." In a moment, some darkness gathered around Gregorovic and manifested itself into a shadowy duplicate that sat next to him.
"Yes, there is shadow within every soul, even the brightest ones. And, the closer one's approach to the light...the darker the shadow around it becomes. Come now, you know it. The shadow around the lamppost is darker than farther away." He folded his claws, one on top of the other. A unique quirk and not a mere puppet's flourish, Silvarius noted. When did he pick up such a practice?
What was he like...before he was like this? Tried as he might, he could not imagine a human in his place. What would he even look like? He could not recall the face of his true parents, long dead, to even try to extrapolate it. All was left what what he was now.
"Are you saying I brought my own downfall by going towards the light?" Silvarius contested. He wasn't sure what he wanted to say, only that he wanted to test and resist the philosophy his ancestral father was espousing.
"Ahehehehe, my son, my blood, you know what the playwright, the storyteller, and the poets say: 'Those who fight monsters become like them.'" He framed his own face with those claws for a moment before folding them again as before.
"Greggie dear!" A far more pleasant voice interrupted the conversation as the undead woman who was his ancestral mother skipped into the room.
"Caroline, my love, my heart..." Another mystery as the woman, much easier to imagine as a human, was drawn to the monster. What did her eyes see? Did she see how he once was or did she accept him as he was now? What had drawn her to this man of all the men of the world? This he pondered as Gregorovic ran his claws through his wife's hopelessly messy hair while both laughed.
"Were you giving Silvy a lesson? Oh, what were you teaching him?" She cooed a bit, giggling with a purplish blush on her undead complexion.
"Yes indeed, about the shadows." In the next moment, a shadowed claw was now ruffling Silvarius's hair. The shadow that had moved to do so smiled at him once he had noticed.
"But there is no better way to do understand this but through practice," the shrill voice spoke, and suddenly, the shadow laughed and transformed.
The mask became a human face under a hood with tousled, curly hair. The collar became less pronounced and transformed into a cloak. The glaives became a familiar bow...but with more spikes, and bearing Sliskean masks. In a moment, he realized...this shadow was...himself?
"What in the-?"
"Ahehehehe, he is what you could be, my son, my blood. Consider him a role model. Come, my love, my heart, let us step away." In a moment, both of the wights had retreated to the sidelines.
"Now...show me how you understand the shadows."
It was...his own voice?
He drew his bow and nocked an arrow. However, his shadow pulled back his own bow and an arrow manifested out of the shadow. Silvarius barely avoided the shot, using the moment to fire the arrow he had drawn into his double. It merely grazed it - it had vanished and reappeared nearby, taking another shot that hit Silvarius in the arm.
"SARADOMIN!" He yelled, out of habit. He drew another arrow, hoping to strike, but the shadow had moved again. With the movement another shadowy arrow hit him.
If I have to use my holy fire now, I'll all but have admitted my incompetence...
He would wait. He would be vigilant. The shadows were all around him. All around him. He had little chance of simply guessing where he would show up next.
I simply have to hit everywhere.
But how? Even my holy fire is simply one blast...
However, as he hesitated, it felt like a small hail of arrows hit him. He fell to the ground.
"If I hadn't...hesitated..."
The shadow walked over to him and crouched down.
"Only by understanding the shadows can you defeat me."
A cold, resigned voice. Nothing more than a puppet on strings, he thought. Then, the darkness seemed to envelop him.
He did not know how much time passed until he awoke again. But, as he did, he felt pain. A repeated poking under his skin, and what felt like something being drawn through it. He cringed.
"Administer the sleeping agent, Caroline. He is waking, ahehehe." It was Gregorovic's voice.
"Hee hee hee, just like old times!" Carol's voice then followed. Then he inhaled some kind of a strange substance, and the darkness returned.
Eventually, he awoke again, and fully. He was in some kind of bed. He was wearing some simple robes and no longer his armor. The brief memory returned to him.
And they were beside the bed.
"Ahehehehe, you have recovered, my son, my blood." That smiling mask...even years later it would still haunt him.
"What did you do...father?" He lazily inclined his head towards the mannequin.
"I, with the help of dear Caroline, sutured your wounds. It was a rather simple procedure, ahehehe." That claw folding again. It seemed almost as if he were attempting a bedside manner.
"Where did you learn to do that?" He questioned, as curiosity and confusion alike rose in his mind.
"In my former profession. Believe me or not, Silvarius, I was a doctor, a surgeon, a scientist. I still am, you might say. Ahehehe." He now rested a hand on the side of the bed, tapping his claws on it in a rhythmic manner.
"A...doctor...?" Silvarius echoed, trying to ponder the information. He fiddled with his hair with one of his own claws as he thought. "Then...why? Why choose this? Why not save lives rather than...this?!"
"Yes, I hear your contempt of me well enough, my son, my blood. But there were...circumstances that led to this. An attack, if you will," he elaborated, then resting the other hand under his chin. "We were pinned, your mother and I. Then...the Mahjarrat who would become my master came. He offered us escape, salvation if only we would serve him. We accepted."
The former hunter's eyes went wide.
"Saved...you?" He said, trying to assemble the pieces in his mind.
Saved them...to serve him?
Something still feels...off...That can't be all...can it?
"Hee hee hee, your father and I met doing our work!" Carol now piped up, making herself more visible to Silvarius's vision. A huge smile graced her face and she clasped her hands. "We then worked together more and one day he proposed we work together forever!"
Silvarius's face contorted in further thought, accidentally ripping out some of his hair in the process. He wanted to say 'I don't believe any of this'. But, that might keep them from telling him any more. So, he continued listening intently.
"Ahehehehe...you listen, but yet you still are not ready. Meditate on the shadow, my son, my blood. I will give you some space to do so. My master requests our presence." With that, Gregorovic and Carol departed, finally leaving the young wight alone.
Finally...He thought to himself. Quiet.
While his new senses made him more keen to the dank smell of the Barrows, at the same time it also somehow made him less physically nauseous about it. Curiosity poked at him. He lifted up part of the robe to see the finely-stitched needlework that held his wounds shut. He gasped as, seemingly before his very eyes, the wound mended itself and the thread holding it together dissolved. He felt the newly healed flesh carefully with his claws. It was like it had never been injured.
It was a dark form, wasn't it? Wasn't it? Was it even possible for the shadows to heal?
He shook his head, staring at the ceiling. The shadows shifted again, forming tendrils that crept up the wall. Those were his shadows, no doubt. But part of his mind still wanted to believe that they were simply delusions.
No...that wasn't an escape. The path of madness might lead him exactly where he wanted to escape from. The path of Saradomin lay in truth, he knew. But...what if the truth was too terrible to swallow?
He simply stared at the ceiling, motionless for hours.
At least, for now, there was a respite. Silence save for the crackling torches.
"There is no better time...no better time to call on the light."
He knelt down. He inclined his head away from the shadows, recalling the light in his mind. The light of the heavens. The light of the great kingdoms Saradomin held over history. New Domina from afar. Hallowvale. Avarrocka.
"Oh, one true god of order, lord of light, hear my prayers as you always have..." He spoke, tremulously. He was only partly aware of how different it felt clasping together claws rather than fingers of flesh. It did not matter what he looked like. His heart was that of the faithful.
But, there was an odd silence. Usually the choir of voices from beyond filled his ears with their song. The song he had known all his life, strengthening his arm and his aim. The faithful that carried Saradomin's support on their psalms.
Silence. More silence.
"You who were faithful, hear the plea of a righteous hunter. Come swiftly to my aid on the wings of order..." What was a posture of trusting faith fell. The clasping claws dug into the ground and made ridges in the dirt.
"Show yourself in your servant's time of need..."
"I am here, dear Silvarius." For a moment, Silvarius looked up with light of hope, only to be met by two points of sulfuric yellow light set in a face. The face of his new master. He leered down at him, a ceramic teacup with a smiling mask emblazoned on it in hand.
Following her were...him, and her...also with mask-branded teacups.
"You'll have all the time to adjust to your family that you need."
Shadows. Darkness. Not just literal. Metaphorical. As far as he knew, his god had abandoned him and left him with this. His claws tightened. His brow furrowed and his teeth clenched. Unbeknownst to him, the shadow around them had intensified. Sliske merely smiled at him.
"There...there will never be enough time...I am ruined! Destroyed!" he mourned.
"Didn't you hear what dear old Gregorovic said? You're not destroyed. You've simply gone down a different path!" the Mahjarrat held out his arms and laughed, and the mannequin echoed his laughter with some of his own.
He screamed, throwing back his hands, and suddenly the shadows on the floor coalesced around the feet of Sliske, rising up like tendrils of smoke. He looked only mildly surprised, but not harmed. In fact, he easily gathered up a small bit of the outburst and observed it in his hands, laughing to himself and glancing at Gregorovic as he did so.
"My old friend. This is quite excellent. You've proven yourself up to the task of gathering talent perfectly well. The power of despair? What a nice touch!" Then the eyes swiveled back to the former hunter as he folded his hands "As for you, Silvarius...I would advise not attacking me again. After all...I've secured a future for you and those like you. A price your dear ancestors paid. Unlike most...you'll live forever. How about that, hmm?"
"I would rather die than be here," Silvarius muttered, mournfully.
Once again, the Mahjarrat laughed.
"Oh, I'm well aware. But it was never your choice in the first place, Silvy my boy."