Pain

Crystal Column 3 ''The tight confines of this hollowed-out column are unfriendly to those who suffer from claustrophobia - and still provide no small amount of discomfort to those without a phobia of cramped spaces. A pale blue light glows from the base of the column.''

One moment, you're inside the crystalline coffin in the black tower of the Kamir. The next, you are standing in a stark white room with no furniture. A single rectangular door is before you. The door has a glittering gold knob.

Sourisan's head lifts, as if in sudden surprise at being disturbed. The Timonae's hair has come untied, and now the silver strands fall wildly about his shoulders. He looks this way and that before cautious approaching the door. Running a gloved hand down it, he quietly muses to himself, "...was that it? Does this mean it is over?"

"I wouldn't do that," says a voice from behind Sourisan. It appears to be Morden'kamir, a dour look on his pudgy face.

Sourisan freezes in mid-turn, looking back over his shoulder at the Kamir. "...why not? Where does it lead?"

"I wouldn't want to know," Morden'kamir answers.

Sourisan furrows his brow and frowns slightly, "I always want to know. That is what life is about, do you not think so? Opening doors, going past the horizon...it is how we learn new things. I had thought the Kamir would be the same? Have you no hunger for knowledge?"

"Knowledge? Yes," the Kamir replies. "But not all doors lead to knowledge."

"I think they do...I mean, there must be something on the other side. And since I have never walked through this door before, it must be something new to me." Sourisan cants his head, his unbound hair falling over his face. "...what else could the door lead to?"

Morden'kamir shrugs. "Pain."

Sourisan lifts his gloved fingers, running them along the scarred side of his face, "I have felt pain before. I think it taught me more...gave me more knowledge...than anything else I have ever known."

"Then, by all means, *learn* if you must," the Kamir replies. "But remember: If something appears fatal during this process, it *is* fatal. Should you open that door and die, you will have failed those you are trying to save."

"I understand." Sourisan grasps more firmly and turns, pushing forward. "...I have failed before, too."

CLUNK. Apparently, the door must be pulled toward you to open. "Indeed," the Kamir says, a sarcastic twitch on his lips.

Sourisan lowers his head with a long suffering sigh, stepping back and pulling it instead. "...hopefully -embarrassment- is not one of the fatal traps."

The Kamir offers no answer, for he is gone now. The door opens toward Sourisan, revealing the form of a sharp-clawed Nall - crouched in preparation for pouncing. It hisses and leaps, digging the claws of its left hand into Sourisan's right shoulder while the claws of the right hand plunge into the Timonae's belly as they go tumbling into the white room.

Sourisan lets out a rather undignified yelp of shock and pain, staggering back under the Nall's deadly pounce. Some old instinct from his martial training days returns despite the suddenness of the ambush, and the scarred Timonae attempts to lock his arms around the reptilian attacker, rolling backwards and trying to fling the beast down with a shoulder throw.

The Nall vanishes as Sourisan throws it. Also disappearing are the door with the gold knob and the room that contained it. Now, the critically injured Sourisan is on the dreary gray expanse of the Nocturn surface. Alone. Bleeding profusely from gut and shoulder.

Sourisan's legs give out and he hits the rocky ground, drawing long, ragged breaths as his mind processes the strange and potentially lethal string of events. Down on hands and knees, he quickly shrugs out from under his trenchcoat and starts tearing at his shirt. Under his breath, he murmurs a mantra of first aid procedures as he wraps the majority of the cloth around his abdomen as tightly as he can bear against his wound. The rest he makes into a thickly padded bandage, pressing it fiercely against his shoulder with one hand. Retrieving his tattered coat from the ground, the ex-policeman looks desperately around in all directions, attempting to use the superior range and focus of his cybernetic eye to seek some sort of shelter.

About half a mile away, the desolate surface of the planet rises into the foothills of ancient, treeless gray mountains. Sourisan's eye detects a cave roughly two hundred yards up.

Sourisan stares blankly at that nearest and best hope for survival, grimacing as he straightens up. He gives himself a shake, slapping a gloved hand against his cheek and focusing on his goal. Time is short; one foot infront of the other, and Sourisan staggers forward as quickly as his wounds will allow him.

"Wow, you really screwed the pooch this time," offers a voice from Sourisan's right. It's Aadzrian, walking along beside the wounded Timonae.

Sourisan winces as he struggles forward, "-Aadzrian-, thank your precious Lin. I never thought I'd..." Sourisan pauses as he swallows a grimace of pain, "...be happy to see you. Are you hurt? Do you have any medical supplies?"

"Yes, of course, I'm a walking-talking hospital ward," Aadzrian deadpans. Then a hearty laugh. He starts patting at his clothes. "Where *did* I leave that heal-o-tron?"

"When -will- you learn there is a time and a place for levity, and -this is most certainly neither-," Sourisan gripes, pushing forward through the pain in his stomach and shoulder. "In case you had not noticed...which would not surprise me...I am in considerable danger here. Can you help me or not?"

"Hey, don't get snippy with *me*," Aadzrian says, chuckling. "*I'm* not the one who opened the damned door. Morden'kamir warned you." He tilts his head, considering Sourisan's injuries. "How in Lin's bag of dice are you going to make it to the base of the mountains, let alone the cave, without your guts spilling out?"

"He -was- right about the pain part," Sourisan concedes, "But...maybe I was still supposed to open the door. Sitting in a white room is not much of a test..." He lifts his head, tossing back his wild silver mane to look up at the mountain and his frighteningly far-off goal, "...how does not matter. It is my only option, short of laying down here and dying. Better to try...better to have some hope of making it to safety."

"Safety?" That gets a laugh from Aadzrian. "I bet that cave is some bear's home. You'll crawl all that way, get inside, and it'll rip your damned fool head off."

Sourisan lets out a low, pained grunt, pressing his other hand to his midsection now. "I doubt it. Look around you, Aadzrian- Even you should notice there is nothing to support even a small herbivore here...much less a large predator. Unless it has been feeding off Kamir- which I think we can agree is unlikely."

The wounded Timonae seems to do better the more he talks, especially in argument. During his long, somewhat verbose sentences, he seems distracted from the pain and severity of his situation.

"Right," Aadzrian replies, "because this place totally obeys the rules of reality. Like a white room with a door and a gold knob holding a bloodthirsty Nall that magically vanishes after ripping your guts open, leaving you *here* to find a cave so you can give in to curiosity ONE MORE STUPID TIME. Everything's not going to be all right. Everything's going to be very, very bad."

Sourisan pauses a moment, his head slowly turning to look at Aadzrian, "...for being in a different chamber, you certainly know a great deal about what occured in mine. And I know you...or rather I should say, I know Aadzrian Axbovi...and Aadzrian Axbovi would be half way up that mountain already, curious as I and -hoping- to find a bear lurking within." He moves forward, trying to increase his pace. His chest heaves with faster, more agonized breaths.

The Timonae walking beside Sourisan becomes the Nall, its claws caked with Sourisan's blood. "Yessss, well, your friend issss equally sssstupid, perhapssss," the Nall hisses, following along as the Timonae reaches the first rise of the foothills.

Sourisan turns to face his previous assailant, backing up against the bottom of a hill and feebly lifting his hands into a ready position, "...going to try and finish what you started, then?"

"I'm sssure the cave will take care of that," the Nall says, snickering, tail lashing back and forth as it continues uphill.

Sourisan swallows with difficulty, gazing up at the long, steep ascent that awaits him. Planting one booted foot and surging upwards with the other, he begins his climb. The increased exertion and strain on his wounds sends shivers through the Timonae's body, and tears well in his eyes...but upwards he goes.

The Nall fades from view. Time and space seem to distort, bringing Sourisan to stand before the cave. The mist-shrouded maw that serves as an entrance is fringed by fang-like stalactites.

Sourisan doubles over for a moment, coughing blood into an outstretched hand. He does not spare the effort to wipe away the magenta trail on his chin, rather stumbling forward to carefully negotiate his way through the mouth of the cave. A moment's hesitation as he lifts a fingertip to activate the night vision on his lifeless metal eye, and then he continues on.

Within the cave, Sourisan finds a burbling pool of liquid that *might* be water. Standing next to the pool is the figure of Morden'kamir. "You aren't dead yet," the Kamir says, apparently amused. "But there's still time."

Sourisan hits the ground next to the hopefully life-saving waters of the pool, lying on his side and drawing ragged breaths. "Morden..." He gasps,

"...please, is that safe to drink? Can you help me? I'm all but spent..."

"I wouldn't drink it," Morden'kamir replies, shrugging. And then he vanishes, leaving the wounded Sourisan alone with the cave and the pool.

Sourisan crawls to the edge, looking down into its depths. Cautious at first, his nostrils flare as he attempts to detect some tell-tale scent, some sign of what the liquid is.

The liquid has no discernable odor.

Sourisan sweats visibly, groaning half from pain and half from frustration over the choice he has to make. Fastening his teeth around the leather of his glove, he tugs one hand free...and slowly touches its fingertips to the liquid's surface.

The liquid is cold, but causes no discomfort. Nor does it melt off the flesh.

Sourisan closes his natural eye, screwing up his face as he forces himself to edge closer. His hand dips into the fluid, cupping some and lifting it towards the Timonae's mouth. A last moment's hesitatation...Sourisan's entire body trembling...and then he puts it to his lips and drinks.

The water trickles down Sourisan's throat. Warmth courses through his body. The pain eases as his wounds are instantly healed. He finds himself back in the crystalline coffin, uninjured. For now.