Helen
And there he stood, on the precipice of a cliff by the ocean, his mismatched eyes gazing into the seemingly endless tapestry of water below. His cloak flower in the midnight breeze, the light of a countless distant stats above shimmering upon his blackened fur. A lone jackal, forlorn and forsaken by the whims of fate, unable to find reprieve at the grandiose view. And worse yet, he knew he would never find reprieve as long as his tormentors still drew breath and still tread on the same soil as him. Only when he stained that soil red with them, did he believe he could find absolution, only then would he knew peace.

Yet as the starlit embers flickered in the sky, so did the looming shadow of a New Moon, the absence of its pale glow weighing on his spirit. He could sense that void in the most feral recesses of his mind, recall the tribal teachings of a life long past. *A deathly night, to mourn those lost*, as the elders always said. 

Could he still bring himself to mourn for them, though? And if so, *Who* Would he mourn? His tribesmen, whose fate remains unknown to him? His enslaved kin, who still suffered every passing moment in chains? Or should he mourn for himself, who had been severed from the never-ending cycle of life and death, and became a crude, bloodthirsty mockery of it?

In truth, he did not know. But all the same, he would *Try*. Three hours of that evening he had spent carving a hand-sized effigy of his kin from ashen wood and laurel leaves. Kneeling and placing it before the precipice, he poured red wine from his flask. He stood stool for a moment, the clenched one fist, his claws plunging underneath his palm. Blackened ichor seeped from it before turning into blackened flame that he spread into the effigy, setting it alight. He drank deep from the scent of burning leaves and stood back on his feet, preparing for the final offering. Head arched upwards, he howled, a mystical and haunting melody echoing across the Silnarian countryside.
Iris
She had wandered far and wandered quickly since her liaison with the other pale Oni. She had watched the farming family come home with little coin in their pockets and ruined vegetables, witnessed what it was doing to their lives and how little else they had left to give. Then she had left the farm, traveling out from there and towards the coast. She needed time away and time to herself. She may get precious little to herself around that boy.

The Pale Oni exhales as she walks and finds the cliff edge, walking along it calmly. The sound of the water is almost soothing and the lack of others? Calming. Like having room to breathe in a tight, airless room. She pauses seeing a shape upon the cliff's precipice, walking that way. She walks slowly, steadily in the direction of the burning leaves, the scent of ichor and then hears the melody, head tilted. Oddities persist. 

She stood some ways away, but did not look dissuaded from watching. Not dissuaded from observing. She stood watching with pale round eyes.
Helen
Once, twice, thrice the beast howled, his harrowing voice resonating in the dead of night. Even the leaves in surrounding flore seemed like they rustled to his tune, like his melody carried a chorus of spirits with it. A somber sigh brought it to end as his triangular ears perked, sensing the oni's presence. What would break the fleeting moments of silence that followed, however, has no melody in it, only an audacious growl. 

"Have *They* Sent you to haunt me as well?" The jackal demanded, his back still turned to the woman. The bristling fur on his head stood on end, and a scorpion-like tail made its presence known underneath his cloak. Ever so slightly, his head arched sideways to regard her with a pallid glare, his right eye a silvery-grey hue bereft of a pupil. A scar etched in either side of his eye broke the monotony of ebony fur. Lips ever so slightly pulled back on his angular, well-defined features to flash his canines like an array of daggers within his muzzle. 

His expression eased on a moment later, seemingly sniffing deeply of the effigy, now burnt into cinders before speaking once. This time, his voice was an eerie calm, gaze unfocused into the distance. "Tell me... Do we hunt monsters because they hurt us and those we care about... Or do we hunt them because we see part of ourselves in them?"
Iris
Tilts her head as she hears the howls. One tap, one howl. Two taps, two howl. Three taps, three howls. Her ears ring and she listens for responses. Her eyes focus on Ashnard, head tilting, expressionless. Her pale eyes glow in the low light. Then he speaks and she tilts her head the other way as she processes the words.

"Sent me? No. I'm doing it on my own," She says as he exposes the scorpion-like tail and bristles. She doesn't change her expression. Her tone is missing from her voice. She looks thin, pale and with darkly shadowed eyes. Probably homeless. No one, in fact, would probably miss her if she up and vanished. She begins walking slowly closer as his voice calms, unconcerned, looking at the effigy as she does so.

"Why? Perhaps it is both. You are them and they are you. So why do they attack you then? Why do they hurt you?" She asks simply as she stops, eyes on him. "And if they are you then the question becomes, why would you do this to yourself?"