Except my Life

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to be except for the plot, Morrien, and the Eye of Jodgr

Pairings: Well...eventual Vaako/Morrien thing...EVENTUAL

Warning: Violence...maybe Language...some spoilers and a lot of changes to the CoR story line. You have been warned.

Category: Drama/Action/Adventure/Tragedy/Romance -- romance is eventual and also take notice that this story is now a tragedy. It MAY have a happy ending, but there will be multiple amounts of tragic events to come.

Title: Except My Life -- I'm sticking with this title because I just can't come up with anything better. If y'all can think of something better, let me know.

Status: Inprogress

A/N: Brace yourselves...it's gonna get ugly...

Chapter 4

A month has passed since his return from the fruitless mission that the Lord Marshall had so recklessly set upon him. All is well, or as well as they could be for him. Morrien has taken to whispering only the sweetest of nothingnesses in his ear. She would attempt to seduce him and take him to her bed. Most times, she succeeded, but not in the sexual sense. She would manage to tempt him into bed and lie with him for hours, doing nothing but murmur to him softly, stare at him, and gently carressing every inch of his face. She even sleeps with him now, never leaving him alone for a moment except for when the situation demanded privacy. For example, his usual decent duties as a human being attending to his cleanliness. Morrien has fallen into a habit of trailing him everywhere he so desires to go. She refused to leave his side, she rarely ever entertained herself by mocking the Lady Vaako as she had usually done before in the midst of boredom. She even turned down the Lord Marshall's requests to dine with him every so often if he was not present. Morrien has taken upon herself the loyalty of a dog, but has kept her grace as a cat.

The Head Purifier shakes his head as he recalls these thoughts. He has more certain things to admire. He resumes the heady thinking of a more steady and present state of mind. He mustn't think of Morrien now, when she has for the first time within the entire month, left his side. The Head Purifier looks straight beyond to his front with a bare frown to his features. Now that he has been relieved of her, he feels a sense of loneliness and heartfelt loss. Without Morrien about to keep him company at every moment in the day, he discovers that it is an urgent strike to his comfort. So he has become used and attached to Morrien. With a sigh, the Head Purifier trudges onward, to do his duty as head purifier. He continues to the capital center of this planet's "world", so to speak, fringed by a massive body of Necromongers, both soldiers, nobles, and other purifiers under his command.

Just a little ways ahead of him is the capital center of said planet. He begins to carefully pick a few choice words he would use to speak to these lost souls and deliver them from the hell of their unforgiving religion. His faith, the Necromonger Faith, is the only faith worth having. The only faith that could save your soul from total damnation in a blood lost pit. A sound jerks him from his next step. He comes to a complete halt, stopping all other movement around him. He is of the highest ranking here and all shall obey. The Head Purifier cocks his head to a side, just a bit, searching for the noise that had irked him just seconds ago. The soft disquiet rings in his healthy, warrior trained ears. The small sobs of a child that sounds like the awefullest wailings of a dying, desperate woman reaches his fatherly lobes.

The Head Purifier takes action, not about to allow a child to be deserted within this mass of violent taking. His parental instincts driving him on to round a corner, calling over his shoulder to the other members of his party to go ahead of him. One of the Necro Soliders that had been guarding the party breaks off to escort him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the Head Purifier wonders why only one soldier is bothered enough to come with him, but he brushes the thought to the winds. This is just a child he is searching for after all.

He finally comes to a stop at the entrance of an alley way and is met with the sight of a bloodied child. None of the mentioned red fluids belonging to her. The fact that the child is female only strikes at his paternal faculties even more. An image flashes across his mind of Morrien being in the same desperate, dirty, desolate, position in some digusting, dingy, vermin infested corner like this. The mental picture is also quickly brushed away. He kneels before the child, gently reaching out, but not quite making contact with her. He holds his hand out to her, "Oh, you poor darling child. What's happened to you?" The girl can only whimper in reply, tucking further into herself. "Where are you parents?"

Tears drip from the young girl's eyes. "T-they're g-g-gone. I d-don't k-know where they are."

"Ohh..." the Head Purifier purses his lips, expressing his dire concern to her. "Come then, child. Come with me, we'll find your family and give you a place to stay. Come along." He gently brushes her tiny streams of salty liquid.

The girl sniffles. Her eyes dart pass him to glance at the Necro Soldier behind him and even farther beyond. She sniffles again and whimpers. She presses her lips together tightly into a thin line and drags herself farther back into her dirty corner.

The Head Purifier furrows his brows in confusion at the indication. He turns to glance back at the Necro Solider only for his eyes to widen at the sight. A metal pipe coming down hard onto the soldier's helmet, knocking him to the ground. The Necro Soldier makes to stand upright quickly, however he is knocked down again and beaten as swarms of miscellaneous rebellious men of the planet rain down upon him. The Head Purifier glances back to the girl, not surprised to find her gone. He turns back in time to see a metal pipe coming for his own head. Though not quite as strong and well trained as the average man of his species, he is still strong and does have some trainning.

The holy man of the Necromonger faith growls with a feral underlining, he grabs hold of the oncoming pipe easily, pushing the offender back with his own weapon. The father of Morrien yanks the pipe from the rebel's hands with a strength that she would have been proud of. With it, he fights back, knocking down and ending the lives of as many men as he possibly can. This animals dared to ambush him with such underhanded effects, he would give them their animal punishment. The Head Purifier attacks with great fevor, never getting tired and never flinching, fighting as a true warrior of his kind, a Furyan. 'Morrien would be proud,' he mentally notes as the long rod in his right hand makes contact with a rebel's skull, shattering it and the knife in his left hand slicing through the tender flesh of another rebel's throat, spilling forth the crimson poison from the jugluar. Spinning to the side, his legs fly with practiced ease, unbalancing every body he can. Though his uniform may seem most definitely difficult to move about in, there is not real truth to the sight. He moves deftly like any man would in his own skin. The many metallic ornaments decorating his fingers, knuckles, toes and heels of his boots make good weapons within the fury of this melee.

He defends and attacks with a great pride and ferocity. He returns each blow a hundred fold with the true heart of a warrior, the spirit of a Furyan. However, his countered attacks prove futile. Though he managed to cut down a good half of the rebels, their numbers still over power him. He is brought down hard and unforgiving, both for his faith and his very nature. He in turn is flogged without mercy.

Pain errupts at all points in his body. Harsh jabs to his back and stomach. Blunt force to his face and limbs. There is no pause. Just torrents of ever lasting and unforgiving pain sweeps over his mind. Burning him to the depths of his soul. He can feel his blood running cold, spilling from every wound, slicking his face, blinding him. The liquid, though thicker than water, is not much more. It colors the street, causing a dark evil effect. His lips and mouth bleeds in multiple places, causing him to nearly drown in the very essense that sustains his life on a daily basis. He loses the ability to move his limbs and the utter smashed feeling indicates that they've been broken. The clothes on his body is torn and soggy, wet from the nectar of his heart and veins. It is hard to breathe, a clamping on his chest and throat. He cannot speak nor cry out to express his dreaded agony, not that he would. His Necromonger and Furyan pride would not allow it. He takes each crack with a grim silence, his countenance displaying a carnal snarl. The bones meant to protect his inner organs smashed and broken. A miracle that these bones have not yet pierced his lungs or he would drown, not that he is not already drowning with the metallic wine spilling down his sore, abused throat. He sputters and coughs, the fluid running down his trachea causing a massive burning within the depth of his chest. His entire being is up in flames, torn, broken, abraded, discolored, and slashed flesh, he no longer feels. It is only a dull ache at the back of his mind. No, all he feels is a horrid, hot, white, vicious, screaming pain stricken of every nerve in his body.

His eyes can barely open. Bruised and swollen, they almost refuse to, but they heed his command in the end. They crack open as slits, presenting him with a red foggy haze. There is no clarity other than dark moving blotches. His breathing is labored as he lie broken. A last, sharp, cracking pain to his lacerated face and traumatized head pushes him over the edge...sending him into an infinant black abyss. His last thoughts, 'How bleak this end to me seems. A more fitting cease of my life would be at the hands of my renegade daughter, myself. Now that is worth a storm of dramatic tears.' With that, his eyes roll back into this head, stiff body finally becoming stuff as he gives up. He welcomes the embrace of the merciful onyx unconciousness. "No pain..." it whispers to him. End.

A/N: Feedback...now...please...