Nora
*( " I am no coward to back way .. " - WTF MY BRAIN.. LIKE HELLO?? 11 pm clearly isn't the writing time for me )*

*( Correction to: " I am no coward to run away ... " )*
Preston
"Did you *Truly* Not know what your kind is capable of?" The dark beast stared at Sylvar inquisitively, keeping his guard up. "But of course; an empire built upon centuries of deceit and abuse would be keen on covering this mistakes." Genuine hatred oozed in his words, but even then he had the conscience that attacking the high elf would be pointless. No, his targets were far more sinister than this.

"But nobody can run from their mistakes forever. What they left in the middle of nowhere and thought as another failure will come back to haunt them." His expression turned far more unhinged, an almost sadistic grin shaping on the edges or his lips. "What wretched sorcery they infused into me cannot be undone. No matter how damaged this armor gets, it will always grow back- it is no less than part of me now."

The beast admitted, ominous glimmers of crimson flowing through his aberrant carapace as if blood vessels ran through it. "There is no absolution you can offer me. Save it for those that need it. Only seek to help me if you have the resolve to strike down your own people. If not, there is nothing more you can do but sit idly by and watch."
Alan
*' Did __you__ truly not know what your kind is capable of? ' It seemed as if the beast could see straight through his impassive countenance, those emotional walls that were already breaking down, straight into the truth within. Thus, Sylvar said did nothing, said nothing, refusing to speak into existence what the beastkin was urging him to admit, and instead focused on his breathing: the too-close-for-comfort distance between them cutting off his access to air. His heart was pounding, and his throat was squeezed with resentment, a clear explanation of which he could not yet find.*

***" You don't— Surely you've— "*** *His skin blanched paler at the crazed smile that plastered upon the beast's face, but he scrambled to gather his words again.* ***" Surely you've found a c—cure? "*** *He grimaced after a pause, sighed and pulled his body back a breathable distance.* ***" So that's it? You'll accept that your cursed existence is the one you'll remain with for the rest of your life, and continue to kill my people? It makes you no better than we—than __they__ are. And I think both of us know that cannot change a regime, a society, through singular killings for the rest of your life. "***

*And then the beast's skin seemed to glow as it spoke, the words slowing the blood in Sylvar's veins. Strike down his own people? This was murder he was trying to insinuate. Sylvar chewed on his lip in anguish, panic rising like steam through a vent, and he fell back into an intense silence. Surely the end justified the means? And they were killers, weren't they? He gripped his palms upon his upper arms and finally spoke.* ***" You're not changing your mind, are you? This is what you want things to be like? "*** *He didn't really know if he wanted that question answered.* ***" You said before that you didn't come here for me. Blood will be shed tonight, correct? "*** *That question continually rolled over him, forcing an acute sense of guilt, the feeling of bile in his throat.*
Preston
"Silence, is it?" The beastkin taunted, watching Sylvar's hesitation to admit how truly rotten his kind could be. "You are simply going to remain complacent then, and believe every lie they spew?" He pressed in, disregarding the little personal space he was leaving Sylvar with. One serpentine eye of seething crimson, the other greyish and blank, yet both seemed to stare at the elf, urging him to admit the truth laid out before his very own eyes.

However, Sylvar's next question would only get a dark chuckle out of him. "Even if there *Was* A cure, I would no longer pursue it. In a way, I suppose I ought to thank them- they simply made me into the monster I always was." A smirk flickered on the edges of his lip. There was darkness at these corners, madness that lurked right beneath the surface. Or perhaps it was only a trick of the moonlight the elf had imagined in his panic. "Make no mistake though, I do not claim lives needlessly. Perhaps I am no less of a ruthless killer than your kind, but at least I do not mask it behind words and delusions of righteousness."

Finally, he took a step back, the aberrant blades on his arms withdrawing back into his armour, giving Sylvar some much-needed breathing room. "This is the only path for me to take. To live and die by the blade. Blood need only be spilled if it brings me closer to the ones I seek. Nothing more nothing less." He spoke, his tone absolute. The air between them had remained tense, even with no more weapons drawn, at the very least reassuring Sylvar was not among his target list... Yet.
Alan
*Sylvar's eyes widened as the beastkin neared closer, the blood rushing faster into a roaring panic in his ears, though sensing no attack, he refused to back down from such a challenge. The fact was, both of them knew the truth that hung right before them, no matter how much he wanted to dance around it. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he envisioned the customs he was conditioned to behave in, even from such a young age: the self-imposed righteousness, the dehumanising language used by his parents, his siblings, himself towards others deemed lower, the 'accidents' that happened to household servants who stepped out of like, stepped out of the sanctions imposed by his own people. Sylvar's grey hued irises fell upon the beastkin's mismatched, but equally haunting ones, then drank in the masses of the carapace that made up his form.* ***" I never tried to look—really look at how my people treated others. Turning a blind eye was what kept me alive, what prevented me from being deemed an outcast. "*** *Sylvar's voice fell into a shuddering whisper.* ***" Our kind rely on fear as a motive- We thrive off of the pain of others, for heaven's sake... Falling into the same sort of logic seemed reasonable, how could I not? "***

*But.*

***" But I can't make excuses for what my race did to you. They are the ones who hide behind false words. "*** *He began, a sort of fiery twinkle behind the surface of those luminescent eyes. What was he going to say next? Would he fall into the world of mutiny, rupture his form from the slate that made up his race and become 'other'? Tentatively, Sylvar brought a hand to the nape of his neck, letting his fingertips brush the surface of his skin.* ***" You and your people deserve justice, who am I to deny you that simple right? "*** *It seemed like that was the nail in the coffin.* ***" So. Where do we begin? "*** *His voice became slick with silver song. The start of a slow descent into anarchy.*