Marth assessed Dalanesca's condition as she spoke, concluding there wasn't anything he needed to do at that moment. He stood as silent witness as she finished off the man she had maimed, not saying a word as she ended his life. Marth didn't flinch - while some idealists chose to heal critically injured enemies, Marth - and his colleuges - had always chosen to instead grant them a clean, humane ending. Still, as she came back to him, Marth put a hand on her shoulder as she mentioned not leaving loose ends. "I agree," he said, "but it should always be quick and clean. All dying men deserve some mercy."

As Dalanesca mentioned how well the plan worked, Marth looked around. "I'd say it worked as expected. I expected the mercenaries to break and rout earlier, but at least we didn't take more casualties than I projected." As he scanned the carnage, Marth saw familiar scenes. Scorch marks on the soil; a blackened corpse still burning with lingering dragonfire; a man laying on his back, having died trying to hold his intestines from spilling out; a corpse missing half the chest and several limbs. In the back of his mind, Reaver was roaring with laughter. Marth tried to shake it off, but he had a sickening sensation which Reaver was strengthened by. Then, just as Dalanesca began to speak, he realised why.

He looked at the ruins she pointed out. Of course. He then nodded, somewhat weakly. "Yeah… I sense it, too." The aura of malice eminating from the ruins was the source of Marth's discomfort. It was odd - previously, detecting dark energies had been a matter of plain fact - kind of like smelling a particular kind of food you sometimes enjoyed, but not often. Now, that self same sensation was feeding Reaver, causing him to howl. It was only thanks to the presence of his lady that Marth didn't succumb to the voice outright - and a good thing that he didn't, for Martin approached them.

"Well, that takes care of that. Borza is yours to interrogate, Coralax. However, after that, I will be leaving - I have no wish to see the shard, and I must allow my brave men home to their families, and give the dead their proper rites." While he appeared stout and resolute, it wasn't hard to see that the young knight was in a bit of pain, and it was not from wounds in battle. Most of the men-at-arms were from his county, and he had played, trained, or been tutored and guarded by all of them. Now, four were dead and four more wounded - and even though he knew the righteousness of the cause, it was plain to see Martin was suffering.

"Not to worry, Martin," Marth responded. "I can handle it from here. Let me just interrogate Borza, and you can return home." Martin nodded, and accompanied Marth to Borza.

The dark wizard's face was bloodied from a laceration on his forehead, and his hands had been cuffed. He had also been seperated from the mercenaries, and two of Martin's men had him at swordpoint. Not that it mattered - Borza's hands were cuffed in a material that caused magic to unravel and destabilize, making spells either fizzle or explode upon excecution. Marth gestured for the men to leave, and they did. When they were finally alone, Marth spoke first. "How did you come to learn about the whereabouts of the shard?" he demanded, with Borza's aptly named eyes boring back into him with fury. "Why should I tell you? I will just be excecuted when I am done." Marth took a long pause. It was true - Borza had attacked a noble of Adeluna, started a fight which killed several of said noble's retainers, and done it all in the pursuit of an unholy artifact. His life was over. After a short moment, Marth's eyes turned black, he grew fangs, and from his hands sprouted claws. Even more unsettling, his voice went up several pitches. "You should tell us, because you have the choice between a clean death… And a horrid one." The grin on Marth's face and the pure malice in his eyes left little doubt - either Reaver had forced himself out, or Marth had let Reaver come out to play. Either way, Martin wasn't watching, and the wizard grew visibly afraid when he saw the image in front of him. "You know that artifact in there? That's a part of me. I would assume you know what that entails, fleshbag." The dark wizard gulped, eyes wide with terror. Another thing was quite obvious - Borza could recognize Reaver. "My employer. My employer told me everything." Marth - or Reaver - looked disappointed. Clearly, he wanted an excuse to tear the man to ribbons. "And who is your employer?" "A wizard from Wyllmochvar. His name is senator Kavesz Vorlaverli, also knows as -" "The Dragonlord."

In an instant, Reaver had retreated and Marth's face had grown deathly pale. He staggered backwards. "That…" He took a deep breath, steadying himself. "You're toying with me, you scum. That cannot be true, the Dragonlord… The Dragonlord is my mentor. I owe almost all my skills to him, and he is not a dark wizard." Borza just looked up at Marth, dumbstruck, but then began laughing. His laughter was throaty and shrill, and he was doing a lot of it. "HE ISN'T!" Marth yelled, and with a howl of anger, breathed a gout of white-hot fire, and Borza's laughter turned to a deafening scream of pain. It quickly subsided, however, for Marth kept blowing, even well after the wizard's corpse had turned completely black. Finally, after a full minute of just breathing dragonfire, he took a deep breath, and turned around, storming off in the direction of the ruins.

She blinked at Marth for a moment when he mentioned dying men deserving mercy.  The concept itself was not lost on her, but a part of her no longer agreed with it.  Rather than starting a debate with Marth, she chose to nod solemnly in acknowledgement instead, as though she understood.  It seemed that her divinity came with some great changes to her personality and her thought process, and that just happened to be one of them.  For a brief moment, she lay her hand over his own on her shoulder - a moment of warmth in the cold reality of the battlefield they stood upon.  

She followed his gaze around the battlefield, seeing what he saw - and she could tell that it was unsettling to him in some form.  It did not seem to be due to his lack of stomach for the scene laid out before them - she suspected that it had something to do with Reaver, and the fact that they were perhaps in close range of the shard they were hunting.  She frowned, unsure of what to do for her companion on this moment other than to keep close to him.

As she spoke of the ruins nearby and Marth informed her that he was aware of it as well, she reached her hand out to his own for a brief moment, squeezing gently.  She could nearly taste Marth’s discomfort, and could sense his proverbial scales tipping to the darker side. In normal circumstances, she assumed that physical contact with Marth would help keep him balanced, but it was apparent that the closer to the shard they got, the less influence she had over him. 

Upon Martin’s approach, she quickly pulled her hand from Marth’s and gave Martin a polite nod in acknowledgement, standing by quietly while he and Marth conversed.  As the two walked to Borza, she fell into step behind them, not wanting to distance herself from Marth too much.  When they arrived, she felt a sick satisfaction seeing Borza in the position he was in.  She stood a ways back from them, her arms folded across her chest, listening carefully.   She fell into defensive mode when she could see as well as hear that Reaver had made an appearance, but relaxed a bit as it became apparent that Marth was at least partially in control.  

She listened intently to the conversation, becoming worried when Marth began to speak of his mentor.   No, no, no, she thought to herself, taking a step towards Marth, though she froze in alarm as he screamed in rage and let loose a bout of dragonfire towards Borza.  The light caused her to squint, though even with her eyes partially closed she could still hear Borza’s shrill screams of anguish.  When Marth finally stopped, she opened her eyes again, taking the sight in.  Borza’s charred corpse lay motionless where he had been only moments before.

When Marth stormed off towards the ruins, Dalanesca threw only a brief glance at Martin.  “I need to go after him,” she said, without further explanation, and ran off after him.  “Marth, wait!” she called out, knowing full well that he was not going to stop and she would just have to keep up with him.  She knew that she would not fully be able to control him from unhinging, but at least she could make sure he did not completely lose it.  It was becoming painfully obvious that the closer they came to the shard, the more unstable Marth was going to become.

Luckily, Martin hadn't seen how Marth had let Reaver out.

This was not, however, something he cared about.

In his mind, Marth was caught in a storm on the high seas. Thoughts and ideas from the past and present were crashing into one another ceaselessly, an influential person in his life apparently something completely different from what he'd thought up to that point. Or was it a lie? It had to be. Marth couldn't begin to fathom how his beloved mentor and CO had become so corrupted as to deal with dark magick. The Dragonlord didn't lack for power, nor did he lack for wisdom. For a soldier, he was also more compassionate than others. Always kind and understanding…

Marth barely even registered Dalanesca's words. His eyes were fixed upon the ruins in front of him, which reeked so terribly with evil energies. Even though his mind was in complete turmoil; doubt, love, and hate raging interchangably; Reaver was silent. Marth was dominant. Even more so, in fact, than normal. It was all Marth - his hatred of the demon, his desire to see that demon and anyone linked to it purged, the stoic belief that such a threat could only be feasibly removed through strength of arms.

He barely even registered Dalanesca's presence, for his fury had all but consumed him. And still, there were a few flickers of light that the godess might sense: Marth wanted first and foremost to rid the world of an evil, he didn't want to believe that his beloved mentor had tried to unleash it, and deep within, Marth knew that his thoughts and actions were influenced by his proximity to the shard. But Marth couldn't feel happy that he was about to reach one of his objectives; he was too preoccupied with thoughts of redeeming himself through the destruction of the shard. He didn't speak, didn't look at Dalanesca - for he knew that if he did, emotions might get the better of him. Logic will be my saving grace now. And logic demands I rid Revaliir of this demon influence!

And then, just like that, Marth stood in front of it. The shard.

It glimmered bright green and red, its otherworldy shape and power attracting all attention in the room - sitting as it did on a pedestal, a vile and repulsive artifact which would surely keep all but the most twisted of minds away with fear and disgust. The room was filled with an unnatural silence and darkness, a void so suffocating that normal people would have trouble breathing. Yet, when Dalanesca entered, something changed. The shadows paled, the silence gave way to the distant chirping of birds. The artifact no longer exerted pressure on the room and its surroundings - breathing came easier, and the place somehow felt a little less repulsive.

Marth looked at the shard for a long time without moving. He then let out a deep sigh. "I've finally reached the first shard - probably the easiest shard, and it took me half a year to accomplish. I should be extatic." He looked at Dalanesca, far from elated - in fact, he looked outright morose. "But all I can think of is how I just burned a beaten captive to death, and how it seems that one of my oldest friends is now among my enemies. Even on my hunt for redemption, this cursed demon…" His sad meekness was intantly replaced with tense anger, and he smashed the blade of the Dragon Lance into the shard, sending it flying across the room. "Causes me nothing but pain!" The shard hit a wall and rolled onto the floor, cracked and leaking. Marth looked at the shard with impunity. "That's right, demon. Bleed." He strode over to the shard, activating the Guardian enchantment on the Dragon Lance, promptly stabbing and striking at it repeadeatly. Each time, the shard hissed, but the lance, it seemed, was not strong enough to break the shard entirely.

Marth paced over to a corner in the opposite end of the room, and sat down with his head bowed. "… Fuck it. Come all this way, and the Dragon Lance can't even destroy it." He shook his head, chuckling weakly. "Never got around to planning this far ahead." It was almost as if he had given up, and as far as Marth was concerned, he had - at least, he didn't expect to be able to destroy the shard right then and there.

As she swiftly followed Marth toward the ruins, she continued attempting to call out towards him.  “Marth, slow down!” she called, though she knew that her words were spoken in vain.  She was becoming mildly frustrated - and for how small his steps generally tended to be, she realized he was moving fast.  Eventually, he stopped and she caught up to him.  She could sense disturbance in his mind - but it didn’t feel the same as the times she had felt Reaver’s presence.  There were flashes of good mixed in with the violence and anger, and it was this that gave her the peace of mind that Marth was still in control, at least for now.

She stepped into the room that the shard’s pedestal rest in, and for a moment she felt a very intense feeling of dread, a feeling which immediately retreated back within her.  She glanced at the shard, and although she could tell that it was a wretched object and felt an extreme desire to destroy it - but she knew that it was not hers to destroy.  So she stood back, waiting to see what Marth would do… although it began to seem that it was going to be a little more difficult than expected.

She stayed back, watching him closely, not saying anything.  As she could see her companion beginning to fail at his task, she began to think on whether or not she should intervene.  His anger was once again tangible to Dalanesca, the pain in his voice in turn causing her pain.  The shard was unlike anything she had ever seen before, and it seemed that even the magic in his Dragon Lance was not enough to destroy it.  

When he slumped to the floor, cursing, she slowly walked over to the shard, staring at it silently for a few moment.  Eventually, she turned to Marth when he had finished speaking, and spoke softly.  “No,” she said, quietly.  “You are not going to give up,” she said, sternly.  She walked over to him, and knelt in front of him, raising a hand to lay on his cheek.  “We came all the way.  We came to destroy this shard.  We will destroy it.  You will destroy it,” she said, her voice full of confidence.  “Just draw on my power,” she said, confidently.  She briefly leaned forward and brushed her lips against his, in a gesture of encouragement.  

Pulling her hand away from his face, she stood and walked to stand in front of the shard.  “Come on,” she said, turning to Marth and holding her hand out towards him.  “Get over here and do what we came here to do.”  She knew if he focused enough, he would be able to draw on her divine energy and concentrate it enough to destroy the shard.

Marth looked half-heartedly at Dalanesca as she tried to urge him not to give up. "I'm not, I'm just so fucking frustrated," he began, but let her finish her pep talk. If nothing else, he figured, it might help Dalanesca to urge him on, and so he pretended to listen while she talked. She sounded confident, and despite himself, Marth got a little encouraged - but it wasn't until she kissed him that his heart lept, and he decided to give it a serious second go.

He stood up, nodding firmly, and walked over to the shard. He was still furious, but his anger was now more tempered, its fire burning in a more controlled fashion. He felt like simply roaring and stabbing the thing repedeately, but something tugged at him - with all the energy contained in the shard, it might not be entirely safe. The last thing Marth wanted was to get posessed again. So, as he paced around the damned thing, he decided to give himself a little pep talk.

"You're but a fragment of something I have encountered before. And I am not only wizened by experience, but empowered by a new calling. I am Redeemer and Destroyer, agent of the Justiciar. Mine is the right to wield light and dark in equal measure. Mine is the duty to maintain order and balance. I am not a mere soldier, I am a scholar, a veteran of as many books as I am battles." While he was pacing, Marth was clearly thinking - reflecting, even. With each word, his voice became more steely, as he recalled all the events leading up to his current predicament. "Not only am I a man of magick, I am a man of philosophy. Not only am I a man of this world, but also a man of…" He halted, and his stern expression turned into one of curiosity. Then of enlightenment.

"But also a man of another world. A world with different rules." He squatted down next to the crystal, and put on some gloves he'd kept for a while - gloves of magickal insulation, which protected the wearer from touch-triggered magick, particularly curses and posession. He then gingerly picked up the shard, looking up at Dalanesca. "A world it would cost me nothing at all to simply go to. So. Shall we, my lady?" he asked, with a smirk. He then closed his eyes. "Blinded Scales, take me home." And at the command of its priest, the realm obeyed.