Victor Karash's page

Congratulations on those who made it :) I'll tuck Victor away as well, maybe he'll see the light of day sometime in the future.

'Camaraderie? Seriously?' Victor look incredulously at those who offer up prayers and condolences to the Pale Elf, had they perhaps known him from a time before? It was impossible to tell as Victor had only first seen any of them in person a few hours ago. Thinking back he can't remember if any of the files he's seen suggested any, but they seemed willing to risk an awful lot of wrath for him.

Thinking of the fragmented texts about Asmodeus he's gleamed from the Mirtan archives Victor can't remember any funeral rites dedicated to him, wasn't this Pharasma's realm? Besides, the elf was a cold-blooded mass-murderer, what hope could he have for the after life?

Keeping his silence Victor just watches and waits, the first rule of prison; Keep your head down. The elf had failed at it with his intimidation tactics, Victor had no intentions of drawing the guards ire.

Victor smirks at Dr. Willken's insolence, wondering if the 'paladin' would react to it or simply ignore the fact that he was being ridiculed by a man in chains.

"This is the Kings Court, ladies. This is a monarchy, he is the monarch, his word superceeds the law and therefore the law is whatever he says it is. The bastard can do as he pleases and no one can say a word about it." he interjects into the argument of law, intentions and the meaning of words, with a sneer on his face, contempt written all over it. Suddenly he smirks as a thought strikes him, "Why do you think he and the church get along so well?" he notes, giving Sir Balin a bemused smirk.

Victor hold back for a bit when Sir Balin comes to gloat and collect the votes, waiting with his head bowed but his eyes roaming, his ire growing toward the man with every word he uttered. He claimed to stand on the high mountain, yet he partook in this stage show of cruelty, trying to strip away any dignity anyone might hold. Victor had done so time and again, but at least he had the decency to do so in private, he had never held anyone up as a spectacle, maybe he should try it sometimes if the opportunity presented itself.

Pondering his choices as others state theirs Victor shares in the group surprise when Gabriel puts his own name forward. A foolish gesture at best in Victors opinion as he ran straight into the inquisitors goading.

Ignoring his misguided notion of honor Victor puts in his own vote.

"Melphael." he says simply, quite frankly Victor would rather burn at the stake than have the notion looming over him of that barbarian tearing out his throat with his teeth, at least he might get some rest as he awaited the executioners leisure at Branderscar, there would be no rest with the Pale Elf around.

Victor sees the barristers silver tinged smile and gives a smile of his own, it was a wonder seeing her work. 'I wonder how long she would have lasted in my chair?'

"I do believe you just echoed the sentiments of all of us here; No one cares a whit about the other." he states, cracking a grin, wondering if the barrister would maintain her cool. Judging by the color of her lips, she would. "And no one wants to die either."

"But I'll vote." he adds quickly, "Don't worry, I'll vote. It seems the four of you have come to an understanding then." He says, nodding in Etna's, Paimon's and Hecate's general direction...

Interrupted by Paimon casting his vote Victor is a bit taken aback by his brashness. 'That one does not fear to die it seems, how can he be so nonchalant?'

Shrugging he looks at Tkaara with and expression that says Now what? and waits.

Meeting the drug-addicted barristers narrow eyed stare Victor replies simply. "No." and then tilts his head and asks as if genuinely curious, "Are you?"

Holding her gaze for as long as it will rest on him Victor wonders if she'll be the one to kill him.

Listening to the back and forth as Jalik acts the sycophant, Paimon acts uncaring, Erevan the only one with an opinion Victor decides to answer Tkaara's question for Erevan. "Then we would at least know where each of us stood wouldn't we? Straightforward and harsh but then what doesn't kill us makes us stronger, yes?"

"Then name one." Victor replies to Etna's insistence, "What? Were you expecting volunteers?"

Squinting at the daylight Victors first instinct is to raise his shacking hands to shield his eyes, only to come up short just over his stomach, the sunlight stung in his eyes and his headache, lessened by the food they just partook in, made itself known again, pounding in his head, making his ears feel like they were about to pop. Turning his head and blinking away the dazzling brightness Victor takes a moment to collect himself before stepping up to the railing and surveying the scene splayed out before them.

The first thing Victor notices is the sound, coming slowly into focus, a jumble of voices, shuffling feet and the clinking of armor, all melding together in one, a cacophony of sound, quiet individually but loud together.

As his eyes adjust to the light and focus on those below him he scans the area with a frown on his face, the crowd, the guards, the throne and wonders briefly if he knew the man pulling the lever as he takes in the hangman's platform, an unenviable job in Victors opinion, thankless and gruesome, but necessary all the same. The wicked had to be punished and the crowd had to appeased.

Scanning the crowd and counting the guards Victor again confirms that all precautions have been made, they might struggle, but if would be brief and futile, chained as they were and thoroughly lost in the maze of the royal palace. Perhaps he was to die here?

'Thomas?' Victor starts as his eyes lock on a familiar face, wearing the plate and insignia of a Knight of Alerion, as he scans the attending knights and a flush of anger runs through him at the sight of his cousin. What was he doing here? Had he come to gloat? To rub in his final triumph? The two had been rivals since the day they had met, always trying to best the other in various games. Victor had always been the victor, he thinks pridefully, his face hardening, until the day he had lost Admara, then Victor had lost interest in competing with him, grown recluse and eventually fallen ill.

The final insult had been the day Victor was rejected by the Knights of Alerion, the same day Thomas had been accepted. Victor had just turned his back and walked away and hadn't seen Thomas since. What was it? Two years now?

Drawn out of his absorption of days past by the voice of Sir Balin grating on his nerves.

Arching an eyebrow as the knight explains the situation Victor can't help but silently congratulate the king on his wicked innovations, and feel slightly surprised that the king would put his name on the list, probably against the churches wishes. Was there friction there? An interesting note Victor files away. Or was Victor perhaps over indulging on his own importance? Or could it be he was on the list at the churches instance? So many possibilities.

But this was to be a game then. Alright, Victor would play.

"So, echoing Aylene's question; Who want's to die? Or more accurately, who want's their deaths turned into a public spectacle?" 'We're all dead anyway..'

As the table erupts into heated voices in languages he did not understand Victors eyes shifts from speaker to speaker, Jalik, Melphael, Hecate, Ferin, all seeming to admonish one another if Victor could read the body language correctly, and he usually could, though the elf and hobgoblin seemed ready to go at each others throats. Raising an eyebrow at Tkaara's point, a point he sees as fairly accurate, not all Mitrans were of Sir Balin's ilk, not by a long shot.

It was all getting heated, and messy, everyone talking over one another, the conversations going from one thing to another and back again. At least it seemed he lo longer had any of their attentions, which was good, maybe they'd kill one another, save the king and inquisition the trouble.

Shrugging at Paimon's toast Victor stops stirring his food and, putting his fork away, raises his glass. "To the nearly departed, and the fate that lies before them."

Victor just shakes his head when asked for specifics about Branderscar, slumping back into his chair. "I've never been there, I've only sent people there and received the reports of their executions. And I've never seen a report for and escape."

His heart sinking Victor sighs, 'Who were they fooling?' his hopes had been raised for a minute there but then the reality of the situation sank back in. No one escapes Branderscar, and how were they to escape the royal palace. Glancing around and confirms his suspicion, he sees that every precaution has been taken, a dozen knights, solid doors, magics and more men behind every door.

Sighing he starts poking at his food again, listening to the conversation.

"Never killed anyone." he mutters and stabs a piece and sticks it in his mouth, his mood soured into silence.

'Amatures.' Victor scoffs at the notion of Aylene and Paimons admitions to having managed to lie to the questioners, his contempt for their conventional methods increasing, they had probably been to timid to try the methods he had been developing for the past year and a half, had they even read his reports?

Thinking it ironic that he was probably 'their best man' that they threatened to bring into Aylene's questioning, how close they had probably come to being on the opposite end of a table of tools, Victor is taken aback by her question, did he welcome death? Glancing at Felnir as he talks about his debt to the dark lord Victor can only suppose that his standing is about the same with the Prince of Hell though he'd only been practicing for that last couple of years instead of the last hundred or whatever it was.

That question struck a cord, forcing him into quiet contemplation as the chatter continues.

Snapping out of his stupor when the old lady comes to make her rounds and clean the prisoners to be presentable to the king Victor looks around the table with a new purpose, if anyone was going to be escaping Branderscar it would be this group, but who? And that was assuming anyone would make it even that far.

Waiting for the lady to finish her rounds Victor sees her drop the parcel into Tkaara's lap, curious, he say nothing 'till the lady is gone and then leans in to Melphael and the table in general and whispers urgently.

"No one wants to die and no one wants to go to Branderscar. Ignore my previous comment, s&$* on Branderscar. If anyone will escape that place it is this group, you are the most wanted people in the realm, gathered here at one table. If the opportunity presents it self I know no one will hesitate. To hells with recruiting! This is not a game. We all must work together or none will survive."

Returning the Pale Elf's study with a face devoid of facial expression Victor tilts his head and raises an eyebrow at the posturing. 'Perhaps he will be my death?' he wonders, strangely resigned to the fact that he most probably painted a huge bulls' eye on his back with the admition of having been a Mitran inquisitor, if the king didn't kill him then one of these gathered would.

"I know nothing of your family and I care little for your lineage, I only know your portfolio that lies on the inquisitions desk, I know of Brighttide and I know of goblins, I know of a hunt, a wanted poster and whispers of clues that might lead to a capture. You were never the focus of my work, though your reputation precedes you. As to the servants of Mitra..." Victor cracks a grin at the notion of holiness prevailing in the churches ranks. "..inquisitors, as well as other servants of the church, are known for many things, faith enough to manifest divinity is scarce among them. Did you know that the healers that walk the lands are not Mitran? Those that walk from town to town, offering to channel divinity to heal the sick and wounded, those who work tirelessly to ease the ails of the common men of Talingrad do not swear any allegiance to, nor follow any teachings of, the Mitrans? No, they are of The Blessed Order of St. Macarius. Surprised? You shouldn't be."

Leaning forward with a grunt at the effort it takes to raise himself from the chair, Victors feverish yellow-green eyes take on a hard stare. "Look at me! he hisses through clenched teeth, his face a mask of anger to match the Melphael's. "A celestial blooded man, a touch of divinity walking Golarion on two feet, a husk, withered, sweating and dying! Look at divinity walking Talingarde! A mockery. A lie!" Maintaining the elfs stare for a moment Victor has to break of eye contact as a fit of coughing overtakes him. The sound of liquid is in his lungs as he gasps for breath, trying to calm his heart and mind.

Leaning back into his chair he closes his eyes and gathers himself for a moment, finally steadying his breathing he opens his eyes again, his face again devoid of emotion. Looking around the table he finds Melphel again. "It has been a long while now since I grew disillusioned by the Shining Gods preaching, the church holds power, political power, but few of it's followers hold any real power. The shining shield of Talingrad is rusted under a new coat of paint, it does not hold up to inspection." taking another bite of his food and a sip of water Vicor is staring at his plate when he continues, lost in his own mind after his monologue, not really caring if he has the attentions of the others. It felt good to finally say these things out loud, right, somehow.

"As for me, I have a particular interest in anatomy that the inquisition found useful and desirable.." Victor can't help but glance at Dr. Wilken at that, he had heard the man describe his studies and couldn't help but be intrigued by the possibilities, but it was a futile discussion during their last meal. "..it gives me a particular edge in information retrieval. And thinking that the Mitran inquisition has any qualms with torture is just naive, they may not parade it in public, but there exist darker cells than this." Taking a deep Victor shudders with pleasure at the memory of the power he held in those cells. "But I wanted more power, I wanted proof of divinity in the manifestations of powers but through all my studies, nothing. Not an iota in me, or anyone that was around me. So I started praying to other gods, and funnily enough, given the present company, the Dark Prince was the one to answer."

Realizing he's monolouging Victor grimaces and a feeling of embarasment creeps into him, he had never been so up front with anyone like this since Admara. Must be the prospect of finally dying, like he should have done long ago.

Clearing his throat he stares at his plate, slumping in his chair. "Suffice to say, my colleagues didn't take to kindly to the discovery. I expected to have arrived at Branderscar yesterday actually, I never thought they'd have the nerve to publicly try and sentence one from their own ranks." Reaching out to his food, Victor picks at it listlessly.

Swallowing his bite with a sigh Victor turns his gaze as he is addressed by the elf and eyes him for a moment before answering, taking in his features, his hair and complexion. "Well, 'the day is the darkest just before the dawn'. Victor replies, sarcasm dripping from his voice as he quotes Mitran scripture. "I am Victor, of house Karash, Pale Elf. An inquisitor in the 'service' of Mitra." he replies, nodding his head with a thin smile and a 'how-do-you-do', sarcasm evident as he utters the name of Mitra.

"Every Talingard man, woman and child knows of Branderscar, Windwalker, it is were the irredeemable, the forsaken, go to toil a lifetime in the salt mines of await the executioners tender ministrations. Or to burn at the stake, as I, for 'heresy'."

Victor endured his torture in silence, if in pain, the days in his cell, the same cell he himself had often come to retrieve prisoners for question, dirty and smelling of feces, enduring the confused stares and silent treatment from his former subordinates, the jailers and practicals, as he waited away the time, wondering when they'd come and end his miserable existence. Always wracked with pain, the last few days had been especially grueling, Victor seemed to have contracted some illness as he was bathed in sweat, had more dizzy spells than usual, had difficulty staying awake and his breath came more ragged than ever, but knowing this waiting game was just another form of torture he endured it in silence.

When the day had come that they would present him with the charges and evidence Victor could do nothing but sign his own confession, he knew they had more evidence than they needed and he knew how they would get more if he resisted. The evidence was clear, the holy symbol he had on his person, the texts in his room and they even brought in one of the rare few that could manifest any form of divine power to confirm his taint of 'evil'. Victor endured it all with a silent sneer, the muttered curses and the high pitched speeches of his 'betrayal to the faith'. He was supposed to be dead anyway, might as well die with some grace.

The signed confession earned Victor a hasty trial and he fully expected to on his way to Branderscar for his branding and burning so when he found himself in the Royal Court he was somewhat taken by surprise. He had thought that the authorities that be wouldn't want a disgrace to their faith displayed in public, after all, they had trained him themselves.

Luckily his inquisitor coat had been removed before he was transported to the Court, wearing only black boots and trousers with suspenders over a white shirt likely saved him from the attentions various fiends he found himself locked up with and he was silently grateful to change out of his dirty rags to something that was at least clean.

He knew most of their cases, listening carefully he connected the dots to many an ongoing investigation that had passed through the inquisition desks. The Black Circus was an interesting one, he had looked forward reviewing the reports as they were said to be particularly interesting, and Dr. Wilken's testimony explained a lot of the disappearances, it had been a lucky brake the tip they had gotten on him. Ms. Agnes had been under investigation for longer than she probably realized but she was right, her mother was just as devious as she painted her to be. Victor had been certain that given the opportunity, he could have made her talk.

The rest, the various bandits and con-artists, murderers and heretics like himself, with their myriad of reasons and motives, all were equally guilty as he was himself.

With every movement an effort, lifting his arms, turning his head, opening his eyes, the blood pounding in his ears and his head splitting from a headache and the light of day forcing him to squint, Victor had opted to stay as still as he could, not that it helped, he still sweated and his joints still ached.

Sitting now at the table, the shackles rattling as he shakes and wearing prisoner grey, the sweat already making it's way through the borrowed garments, over his gaunt form, his auburn hair, cut short, is dirty and frayed, mat with sweat, and his sickly coppery complexion glistens as he shakily reaches for his fork, stabs a piece of meat and, with an effort, manages to jam it into his mouth. Rolling his eyes at the taste of the meat Victor can't help a moan rumbling in his throat as he savors it.

Taking his time in chewing the meat he opens his eyes to see that his noise has attracted some attentions from the table, 'Damn.' Looking dispassionately over the faces of the gathered he turns his attention back to the food. "The last meal. A rare grace such a bounty. The king must be feeling mercyful" he says to no one in particular, staring at his meal. "Savor it, and hope you never make it to Brandenscar. There will be no such luxuries, only four, windowless, grey stone walls as you wait the executioners leisure with no light to mark the passing of time. There is no escape from Branderscar." he mumbles.

Waiting for a moment as the piece of meat works it's way down his throat Victor slowly reaches out with a shacking hand to stab another piece and repeat the process.

Hello all, just trolling through the IC :) Look forward to getting involved.