Of Fours and Other Numbers (Open)

[Quattuor]

A dark-furred hand wrapped its bony, worn fingers around the base of a silvery rod, clutching the gift within its grasp and holding on as if the owner of the hand's life must have depended on it. The rod shimmered in the dim flickering light of the candles strewn throughout the musky, moss-laden study. A large slit of an opening spun the length of the stone room, letting in what little light could penetrate the ancient spires that reached just far enough from the roof of the tower as to shade the slit. Tomes upon torn and tired tomes filled up at least half of the room's volume, stacked in neat rows in certain places and left sprawling across the cobbled floor in others. There were books of every shape and size; red books, black books, white books, books with symbols, books with words, books with bindings ripped apart and books with bindings left in tact; there were books on creatures, books on humans, and moogle, and elves, books on magic spells and heroic warriors of times past; there were books on nearly any subject of interest that one could imagine. For it was, in undeath, that one such as Rift the Voodoo Lich would have much spare time for reading.

The owner of the dark-furred hand stood up from his slumped position on the floor, letting the candlelight shine upon his body. The low-light gave the creature, revealed to be some sort of entity akin to a moogle, a ghastly glow. His fur shone dark against the light, his eyes a pale, lifeless gray. The moogle's deadened pom-pom twitched pathetically before hanging slightly behind his head. Violet wings flapped like that of a baby sparrow's only just learning how to fly with its new barely functioning wings. But this moogle was not a child learning the ropes. He was an adult, an adult who obviously had been to hell and back according to his haggard, undead appearance.

Quattuor made his way carefully over to the scrolls and books around him, quite shaken up by a recent encounter with the resident of this tower himself, the Lich. Unsure where to go from here and unsure of if he was meant to go anywhere at all, Quattuor defaulted to searching for evidence within the texts around him. A particular scroll had stood out to him before Rift had confronted him; a less yellowed roll of parchment with fresh ink near the bottom. It appeared to be some sort of log, meant to keep track of the progress of, what Quattuor assumed, were the Lich's "experiments". The moogle recalled that he, himself, was an experiment, and also recalled that the Lich had spoken of three others similar to him.

He began with the first line, the one he had already seen not ten minutes ago. "Four moogles dead, arisal complete." Quattuor thought for a moment, piecing together all the information he had so far. And this information, by the way, was minuscule. The moogle could not conjure up a single memory from before this day. The more words he used in his thought processes, the more obscure, fuzzy images would assault his mind. It was already understood that this was not his first day of living... or unliving, according to the Lich. Quattuor was definitely not a newborn, pure common sense told him that. Yet, besides basic life processes and much of his vocabulary, Quattuor could not for the life... or unlife (he really had to start thinking differently) of him remember why he was here or where he had come from or who the other three moogles mentioned in the scroll were. Four moogles dead... arisal complete... the moogle pondered to himself. Arisal must have meant bringing him back.

But not recently... no, Quattuor remembered that Rift had specifically mentioned that he had been awake for at least a year, under the Lich's control. And apparently, he had done dreadful things during this time. To Quattuor surprise, a smile crept on his face. It was possible that these things were not dreadful at all, but quite pleasing. With no memories to remind him of his virtue, what was the moogle to think... Yes... what am I to think but what I think I know... Naturally, common sense told Quattuor what was right and wrong. But, in this very strange moment in time, the moogle did not particularly care for what was right. These dreadful activities had gotten him this far, obtained him this rod, given him a reason to hate all that had the life Quattuor so desired... To feel less weak than he did at the moment... To feel young and... what was the feeling...? Content? Satisfied? If Quattuor were to take the satisfaction and contentment away from others, maybe he could in turn acquire it for himself? Like stealing money; once one took the money, he became richer. This, the moogle remembered for sure. It was simple cause-and-effect, action-and-reaction.

If Quattuor took what he wanted... he would get what he wanted in return.

Quattuor clutched his gem-topped rod even tighter in his hands, his head spinning with all these intelligent revelations. Dead or not, I'm pretty damn smart... the moogle thought to himself, reveling in his own self-praise. Instead of reading the rest of the scroll's contents, Quattuor rolled the parchment up tucked it under his arm. Thinking better of the idea, Quattuor searched the room for a less cumbersome way to carry the scroll. Eventually, the moogle found not only a case for the scroll that would strap tightly around his upper back, but a sort of protective sling that his rod snugly fit into that would strap onto his lower back. Quattuor nodded to himself and searched the room for other supplies; he planned on leaving this tower and beginning his conquest for happiness as soon as possible.. And the scroll seemed to be the only recent document that may have clues to the whereabouts of Rift and the other three. They would all have to face Quattuor... Rift for throwing Quattuor into this hellish existence and the other three for... well... everyone deserves a guilty pleasure or two.

With a sly smile, Quattuor searched for a small pack that would allow him to carry a few books. He chose an especially ancient looking tome that glimmered a deep violet, and three other books that spoke of history. He would need to know what kind of place he'd be rushing into once he left this tower. Contemplating the room one last time, Quattuor sighed. He would have to return here; there must be thousands of books for him to pore over. Ahah! the moogle thought to himself triumphantly. I liked to read! With a chuckle to himself, Quattuor spun around to the tower room's archway.

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[Echo Lexus]

This place was just as much a dump down as it had been so many years ago, stink and poison marsh everywhere. The demon wrinkled her nose, hovering above the smelly ground, happy to have her feet as far away from the stench as possible. Making her way forward the demon searched out a new place to have some fun, striking humans with lightening was only fun for so long. She wanted something new to do, humans were just too boring and predictable.

"Oh you are so pretty, we will look after you... Oh no, ahhh! You killed my whole family, away with you demon!!"

The girl snickered to herself as she hovered in place, her knees slightly bent as she stayed in her state of weightlessness. Some might even wonder if she ever used her legs with how often she hovered. Why use more energy than you need to, right? Letting her scythe fall blade down at her side the girl looked about, at first there seemed to be nothing in sight but then she saw what looked like a old stone tower. Narrowing her eyes the demon flew forward, she was certain that there would be nothing there but books and dust. What fun could that be? Spiders and cobwebs, dust and old books. Yay... wrinkling her nose again the girl silently huffed, it looked like this wasn't going to be a fun adventure after all. As she closed in on the tower the girl began poking at the ground with her scythe, making sure that the ground was solid unlike most of the sticky marsh. She wasn't about to land in a lake of bile, she looked down at her white dress and lace slippers. This wasn't not the place for a pretty little thing like her to walk, no amount of washing would get this stench out of her shoes.

It wasn't until she pushed the door to the tower open and hovered in that the girl decided to use her own two feet. Landing on the cobblestone floors silently and swinging her scythe over her shoulder carelessly. The air smelled dusty and the disgusting smell of the marsh outside wasn't as strong once she closed the door behind her. Down the hall hung various tapestries, cloth pictures telling stories of past histories. Things that must have happened while she slept through it all, tilting her head the demon took in all the colours and details. To most it might have been hard to see in the dark tower, the long halls only light by small oil lamps and candle. Bringing her finger up to her mouth as if curious about what the picture meant, the silver haired girl moved closer.

"These creatures put more detail in this wall fabric than they do their own clothes," Echo noted before turning quickly and making her way down the hall. The girl had been so distracted by the pictures on the wall, she hadn't even been paying attention to which direction she was going until she heard noise coming from a nearby room. Her head snapping up, Echo rearmed herself with her scythe, "hello? Anybody wanna play?" Her voice was chipper, calling out as if she were an innocent little girl. Padding forward on silent little feet the girl made her way in the direction of whoever, whatever, was making the noise.

[Quattuor]

Furry ears perked up from the base of the undead Moogle's scalp, twitching in the dank, stale air of the tallest tower's highest room. To think that, being the tallest and being completely open to the outside by the slit-window, this room still had stale air... Then again, the air inside of the tower was likely more healthy for the body than the boggy air of the swampland surrounding the tower. With a quick sniff of the air and a wrinkle of his nose, Quattuor confirmed that his senses were still working quite well for being a dead Moogle. As if not having much of a memory did not already put him at a serious disadvantage, knowing nothing about being undead even before his death was definitely putting a damper on things. Quattuor shook his head with exasperation, and continued his triumphant march to the archway. This would be like the start of a new journey... the beginning of a glorious conquest of reaping souls and the destruction of homes and innocen-!

A giggling in the hallway made the terrifyingly evil Moogle jump nearly out of his britches. Quattuor clumsily fell in a heap and crawled across the dirty cobblestone floor to the plot of flooring nearest the right side of the archway. His reflexes were still not spot on, as he had only been conscious (as far as he could remember) for the past thirty minutes or so. The voice that had giggled had set the undead Moogle on edge, reminding him that even though he knew he was destined for greatness, there would be others to disrupt him, or at least temporarily stand in his way, until their imminent death by the hands of Quattuor himself. The Moogle snapped out of his pondering, giving himself a mental note to stop slipping into silent monologues, no matter how well-crafted they were.

The Moogle slipped his hand behind him a bit, clutching the gem-topped rod tucked away in its sling. The rod slid inaudibly out of the leather wraps and fit nicely into Quattuor's hands. It was almost as if the rod was made for Quattuor himself, and maybe it very had been. It wasn't as if he knew where that damn Lich got his goodies. The amethyst gem on the end of the silver rod began to glow to a steady rhythm, pulsating almost like it was alive. Like it was breathing. An evil smile took over the girth of Quattuor's face as he hugged the rod too him, momentarily forgetting about the stranger in the hallway. The Moogle realized that he was in no way prepared for combat of any sort, and it did not appear that this rod was made for physical violence. So, like the truly evil mastermind he believed himself to be, Quattuor ducked and charged past the archway, ran across the room, and slid behind a hefty stack of dusty books. Before cowering with villainy and evil, the Moogle leaned his head out from behind the books.

"Oh my, look at that, there's no one in this room in the tower, kupo! MIGHT AS WELL TURN AROUND, WHOEVER IS THERE!"

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[Echo Lexus]

Echo's sweet little smile turned into a grin that was anything but sweet looking, someone had called back and their voice was full of fright. The demon giggled to herself before hovering up the stairs toward where the voice had come from. Dragging her scythe along the ground as she quickly made her way to the top, "if there is no one here then who is talking?" Landing on her feet at the top of the staircase Echo peeked her head into the archway, dust and books. She wrinkled her nose and walked in, she couldn't see anyone but she knew that she had heard a voice. Lifting up her scythe the girl brought it down on a table, wedging the blade in place and leaving it there so she didn't have to carry it. Picking up a book the demon flipped through it quickly before tossing it on the ground, "are you really so scared of a little girl that you have to remain in hiding?"

Dragging her finger along the dusty table the girl made her way toward the pile of books the moogle was hidden behind. Leaning over the girl tilted her head to get a better look, there huddled up in all his pathetic fear was a moogle. The girl let out a little giggle before bending down and putting on her best innocent face and poking at the creature. "I'm not all that scary, am I?" tilting her head Echo looked the creature over, taking in every detail. It looked dead but how it was shaking showed that it was very much alive. Wrinkling her nose the demon straightened up and dusted off her dress, "it's no fun if they are shaking before I can even try and scare them." The girl turned and started away from the pathetic creature, kicking a candlestick that lay on the ground.

[Quattuor]

The moogle felt the presence of the owner of the voice as she waltzed into the tower room, pulling his body as close as possible to the towering wall of books in front of him. Quattuor listened to each footstep as the person, whom the moogle now recognized to be a female, trying to decide what he might do to defend himself if he were discovered. The sound of a sharp object sinking into the wooden table at the center of the room was enough to make Quattuor hop a little bit from his crouched position. His breathing increased and his shaking became more frequent. He would surely be revealed soon, not just as a victim, but as a useless, powerless, pathetic moogle of a victim. Why should he succumb to the will of others simply because of his newfound lack of experience? No, I will simply have to show her who's boss, kupo!

Quattuor felt a shadow loom over him as the girl leaned over the pile of books muttering a few words. To his surprise, she did not do any more harm to the moogle than poke him a few times. The shaking subsided as the girl strode away from the towering pile of books, and Quattuor decided that he could stop being so pathetic now. He rose up from the wall of books, clutched his rod tight, and stepped to the side to get a good look at this stranger. Flowing white hair encased a pale face with a pair of innocent, but still suspicious-looking red eyes. The girl wore a dress that flowed much like her hair, the same shade of white as well. Not knowing exactly how to react to someone who looked so unlike him, and so young in comparison to the only other person he could remember encountering, Quattuor slumped a bit with his rod falling to his side. What could he do? She looked to be nothing more than a child to Quattuor? Did people who wanted power hurt children? Maybe if he wanted something from her...

Frantically, Quattuor attempted to conjure up the image of something a young lady could possess that he would want, in order to justify the bloodshed he so wanted to commit. Quattuor raised his rod again, not really sure of anything he could do with it besides bashing someone with it. And he already knew he was fairly week from being undead. So... even if there was something he did want from the girl... Well, she had a scythe. But maybe that was more of a reason to leave her alone, actually... The moogle flashed a nervous smile at the girl. "Well hello there, kupo! Do you have anything I might wish to steal, kupo!"

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[Echo Lexus]

Echo made her way back to the scythe she had stuck in the table, she grabbed hold of its handle ready to pull it out as she heard the moogle come out from hiding. The girl lifted her leg and placed her foot on the table as if to hold it in place as she tugged on her weapon, uprooting it from its wooden resting place. Turning her head Echo looked back at the creature with a bored expression, it wanted to steal from her? Was it not just huddled up in a corner hiding from her just a moment ago?

"You could try and steal my scythe, it is rather pretty... Probably prettier when it cuts you in half." Twist the weapon around Echo looked over the crystal blade as if inspecting it for flaws, "it is quite sharp you see." In a quick movement the girl slashed downward and then back up, the air seemed to sing as the crystal cut through it. A grin spread across the demon's face, her eyes sparkling a brighter red, she was done her innocent act for now. It didn't seem to fool the moogle to begin with so why keep it up? Resting the scythes handle on her shoulder the girl turned her eyes back to the corpse, it really was cute for something undead. The fact that it was speaking clearly was strange, most undead were mindless. Eating flesh or killing without reason, could this creature actually think on its own? Tilting her head, Echo narrowed her eyes as if she were trying to figure him out. "What do you call yourself, moogle?" her voice was stern, not one that you would often her from a child.

The demon was aged far beyond her appearance, normally speaking childishly as an act, playing with humans. It was fun to see them squirm as the cute innocently looking girl slaughtered them but this moogle was different. The more than Echo thought about it the more she wanted to know who it was that created him. The dead didn't just raise on their own, was it a necromancer that brought this moogle to life? Perhaps a witch of some sort? Maybe even another demon. One thing the girl was certain of, she needed to know what it was that made this thing live. What brought back its mind? It must be able to think if it knew well enough to hide, undead didn't do that. Who was pulling the strings of this puppet?

[Quattuor]

Quattuor examined this new stranger very closely, not wanting to miss a second of time he could be using to stare at her; this was the second person he could ever recall seeing personally, and the Moogle was simply in awe at how diverse creatures of this world could be. Yes, the Moogle very faintly remembered a stray claw here on this critter and a pair of wings on another, but clothing such as the girl was wearing was... strange and impractical, yet beautiful. The Moogle did not remember much of his past life, but he did have the nagging sensation that the people he was once involved with did not wear clothing so extravagant and white. It occured to Quattuor that white was probably not the best color for clothing attire, when adventuring out in the wilderness. It was sure to be ruined by dirt and muck. How silly of her...

The girl made a few witty, yet quite frightening comments about the weapon she had dug into the wooden table, the scythe he had considered stealing not a few moments ago. Quattuor noticed a dramatic change in the atmosphere as the girl forcefully asked him what he called himself. No more was the innocent young lady with the flowing white dress and the shiny scythe one would have though she could never bring herself to make us of. No more was the little girl from before who talked of games and playing and looked at the moogle as if he were no more than one of her stuffed animals. No, this was definitely a malevolent spirit Quattuor was dealing with, much older, at least in the mind, than her delicate body suggested. This time, she meant business. Quattuor was actually so intimidated that he frantically searched for an answer almost immediately, in order to appease this demonic entity.

"I don't call myself anything, kupo, I've only been awake for a little while... Kupo, the man who lived here... Well kupo, he called me Quattuor kupo, but I'm not sure why, kupo!" Quattuor grasped one hand with the other in front of him, giving him the appearance of someone harmless and weak. And, if truth be told, that was exactly what he was. He knew nothing of combat, or skill, or doing things properly (to an extent). He only knew that he was no much for anyone who had been living longer than he could remember, which seemed to be both of the people he had met so far. The Lich had definitely acquired years of experience and consumed much of his life toiling away at accomplishing his goals, which apparently involved the moogle himself. And this person, no matter how young she looked and acted, was obviously of a greater maturity than Quattuor had reached. Of course, he was probably a competent, mature moogle in his past life, but how in the world was he supposed to know for sure?

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[Echo Lexus]

The demon tossed the scythe, at first it looked like she was throwing it at the moogle. The weapon quickly erupted into into crackling electricity and disappeared from sight and a smirk spread across the girl's lips. The creature was so scared of her, stammering, trying to answer her at once. Echo couldn't help but fill with pride, she knew she was a powerful demon, people should be scared of her. The demon pondered over if she should try to scare the little critter some more.

"Quattuor?" Echo wrinkled her nose. Who would name someone something so stupid sounding? "What kind of name is that? Might as well call you Tutu." The demon turned toward the desk that once held her scythe in place, conjuring some wind Echo blew papers and dust off the old piece of furniture. Hovering for a moment the girl sat herself on it and faced the moogle again, "this man that lived here, where did he go?" She couldn't help but be curious about the man that Quattuor spoke of, perhaps she could manipulate this man into giving her more power. Raising the dead wasn't something any weak human could do, Echo was very sure that whoever this person was had enough power to be useful. Like any demon, Echo was hungry for more power, more power meant more fun. What was life on this plain without fun? The demon began to comb her fingers through her hair, thinking to herself what possible powers she might steal from the unsuspecting man.

"Are you this man's pet or something?" the demon put extra emphasis on the word, her tone sounded a strange cross between amused and disgusted. Not only was it funny that the creature could be made into a pet but if he was so easily made loyal to a weak conjurer than Echo though it to be even easier to take the creature away for her own. "Yes, a moogle would make an adorable pet," the demon mused to herself. Even if the critter was decaying and ugly it still seemed like something cute to the demon, "what is a demon without minions?" Echo turned her attention back to the moogle, her eyes scanning over him as if she were trying to decide how useful the cowardly creature could be.