"Faith, Hope, and Charity"

Cast of Characters:

Alakar i'Xiia, Master of the Asylum
Ceria Inalai
Nacal Dekoven
Corrin, an Asylum patient
an Asylum doctor

Author's Note: While this work may be read as a moderately independent script
depicting the i'Xiia Asylum and its staff and inhabitants during the period
following the coming of the Taint, it was intended to serve as a subsequent work
following Jael d'Murani's 'Benevolence', that more completely retells one
version of events between the Taint and present day.

* * *

Twin pinpoints of vermilion light wink into existence, suspended in the
darkness of the stage. The motes of light flicker slightly, expanding into
guttering flames that throw the surroundings into disconcertingly warm, unsteady
illumination.

Seated at the massive desk dominating this office, Alakar i'Xiia, master of the
Asylum, writes feverishly into a thick, leather-bound omnibus.

ALAKAR. Requisitions, yes, yes. One dozen and half again in retrained
wardens...threescore patients...fourscore?

ALAKAR glances at his quill meditatively, then suddenly embeds it point-first
into the wood of his desk with an angry snarl.

ALAKAR. Requisitions indeed. We have a large number of unfortunate souls. No
one misses them, nor do they care - nor do I care.

ALAKAR jerks the quill free of its imprisonment, taking up a small silver knife
to sharpen the point before dipping it in his inkwell and resuming writing.

ALAKAR. (Muttering) Unspecified...large...number...of...test subjects...

A knock sounds at the office door.

ALAKAR. (Replacing his quill and lightly blowing on his newly-scribed entry)
Enter.

The heavy door swings open soundlessly, preceding the entrance of Ceria Inalai.
The woman offers Alakar a cold smile, shutting the door behind her.

CERIA. The newest doctor has been inoculated, Alakar.

ALAKAR. Splendid. I trust there were no complications?

CERIA. None at all. In fact, he seems to have taken rather warmly to his own
experiments.

ALAKAR. (Raising an eyebrow) Oh?

CERIA. (WIth a grim chuckle) Quite. Your own pet theory of electrocution. He,
however, is more interested in applying it in concentrated doses as opposed to a
broader use.

ALAKAR. Has it yielded any results?

Ceria shrugs noncommitally.

CERIA. Inconclusive. More trials will need to be performed.

Alakar rises, shutting his omnibus decisively.

ALAKAR. (Gesturing to the door) Let us assist him, then.

CERIA. (Raising an eyebrow) So suddenly?

ALAKAR. (Chuckling) Paperwork is only so entertaining. Regardless, practical
examinations are the foundation of reports, and thus take precedence, my dear.

Ceria chuckles, stepping neatly aside to allow Alakar to the door.

The lights fade as Alakar and Ceria exit, leaving only the two guttering candle
flames which are extinguished shortly thereafter.

Rapid bursts of incandescent blue illumination suddenly strobe maddeningly into
existence, born from the bright sparks of a cruel instrument. Silhouetted
against the light, a cackling asylum doctor brutally electrocutes a screaming
mugwump patient.

The tortured cries reach a crescendo, and the electricity is suddenly switched
off. A sickening crack of bone silences the screams abruptly.

From the darkness, Alakar i'Xiia intones, "Well done."

As the lights return, the unseen illumination from above refracts against a
large, blue-tinged prism of ice that dominates the centre of a sunken area of
the Asylum. Within the ice, clear as crystal, a large, intricate machine may be
seen.

To one side of the area, numerous sprawling tables and apparati have been
constructed and placed, and it is here that Ceria works methodically, Alakar
observing from a short distance.

CERIA. (Adjusting the feed of a churning alembic) One would think that we would
have discovered an effective treatment by now. These creatures are hardly worth
more in death than they are in their pathetic lives.

ALAKAR. (With a faint smirk) Surely, dear Ceria, you are not suggesting that
our trials have been in vain, or not in the very least entertaining.

Ceria glances over her shoulder with a light scoff.

CERIA. You know full well that I would never suggest such things. I am merely
perturbed that we cannot elicit such a simple effect after so many attempts.

ALAKAR. (With a slight frown) It is not a simple effect, and you discount your
own intelligence by referring to it as that.

CERIA. Susceptibility to suggestion, Alakar! There have been illicit
concoctions for years and years that have accomplished that - since before you
and I were born. Why won't they work for these...things?

ALAKAR. (Smoothly) Because the patients here have preexisting conditions.
Regardless of our current aims, they were brought here because they were
inherently defective. This Taint has only aggravated the situation.

Alakar curls his lip and sneers arrogantly.

ALAKAR. Another experiment to be done, at a later date. While we have been
given supreme clarity of mind, and now know what must be done, the patients
have, if anything, gotten worse.

CERIA. (Skeptically) You propose that their mental state of insanity affects
their physiological reactions to specifically prepared chemicals?

ALAKAR. (Grinning crookedly) No, dear. I propose that the source of their
insanity is something that they have in common, and that that discrete source is
causing all of this trouble with reactivity.

Ceria rolls her eyes, touching her fingertips to a blue gasflame burner and
causing the flame to flare beneath a rounded flask.

CERIA. That is the trouble. If this mass insanity was caused by external
stimuli as opposed to a mental state, we would have discovered it by now.

ALAKAR. (Blinking incredulously) By that reasoning, dear, they should have
discovered every plane of existence long ago. If you will pay attention to what
precisely it is that you are currently doing, you will recall that we have been
toiling for a remedy for months, and have devoted no further time to
ascertaining the actual source of their affliction.

Ceria snorts derisively, focused on her apparati.

An acid-green liquid bubbles up over the flame, reaching the upper portions of
its alembic and travelling down an angled glass channel to drip steadily into a
flask of a crystal-clear draught.

The green liquid turns a dark, sanguine crimson upon contact with the
transparent contents of the flask, sending curling wisps of carmine to the
flask's bottom before evening out.

Ceria gives a thin-lipped smile, cutting the feed from the alembic and drawing
the flask up to the light.

CERIA. Well, then, Alakar, you might try this. If the madness is not, in fact,
a product of their mind and from an alternate source, this little recipe might
do the trick.

ALAKAR. (Raising a patient eyebrow) You think so, do you?

CERIA. (Unshaken) I do - it's at least worth a trial. A tincture of wormwood
and pennyroyal in as mild a dilution of crotamine poison as I can manage. It
will serve as an attempt to kill the source of the disease without snuffing out
the patient's life in the bargain.

Ceria gives a girlish giggle.

CERIA. In theory, at any rate.

Ceria holds the flask out to Alakar to examine. As he extends his hand, a soft
crackling breaks the rhythmic underscore of the laboratory. Rimes of ice begin
to crawl along the side of the flask from Ceria's fingers, and she lets loose
with a startled cry, dropping it.

The flask falls and shatters into jagged pieces, yet the elixir remains, frozen
solidly into shape and wreathed in a cold mist.

Alakar eyes the fallen elixir pointedly for a moment, brow furrowing in a deep
frown.

ALAKAR. You should have been more careful in your preparation, Ceria.

CERIA. (Shaken) But...I don't understand. There should have been no thermal
reactivity!

Alakar turns with an exasperated grunt.

ALAKAR. You have the right idea, I think, but we cannot administer the elixir
if it is in the shape of a cylindrical brick. Try harder next time.

Alakar exits, an air of menace about him.

Ceria stares at the elixir for a moment, confusion written on her fair
features.

CERIA. But...that's impossible...

Ceria turns her gaze from the frozen poison to the ice-encased machine in the
center of the room, an apprehensive frown turning her mouth down as the lights
dim.

An unsteady blue flicker springs into being in the dark space near the top of
the proscenium. It gleams dully, then, with apparent effort, expands into a
crackling ball of azure energy. This brings into sharp relief the interior of a
high-security ward. The padding of the walls has been torn in places, and blood
has stained the pristine walls.

Sitting in a corner of the ward is a mugwump patient, oddly composed and merely
glancing at his surroundings with a mildly interested air.

The heavy door to the ward slides back into its housing with a loud, rumbling
complaint, giving Ceria access to enter.

CERIA. Hello, Corrin. I trust you're doing well?

CORRIN. (Offhandedly) Ain't better nor worse 'n ususal, ma'am.

Ceria raises a small booklet as the door shuts behind her, making notations
with a small quill.

CERIA. I see. You've experienced...nothing out of the ordinary, then?

CORRIN. (Shrugging) Well, ma'am, I'd say that this place is jus' about as out
o' the ordinary as a body could get.

Ceria chuckles lightly, glancing up to the scrying orb near the ceiling before
returning her gaze to Corrin.

CERIA. You do have a point, dear.

CORRIN. Er, well, ma'am...why're you makin' such a fuss over me?

CERIA. (Coolly) Well, truth be told, dear, you're the most interesting patient
on the premises.

CORRIN. (Incredulously) Me?

CERIA. Quite - if only by virtue of being supremely uninteresting.

Corrin laughs, humour punctuated by a slight wheezing.

CORRIN. Now that's more like it, ma'am!

CERIA. (Gesturing with her quill) Your wardmates are all...well, touched, shall
we say, to some extent or another. You seem to be quite normal, though, contrary
to the rest.

CERIA. (With a dangerous gleam in her eye) What have you been doing that they
have not?

Corrin adjusts his posture nervously, pressing his back to the wall.

CORRIN. Why, nothing, ma'am. I'm only in here all the time, aren't I? You an'
your guards won't even let me eat with the others.

CERIA. (Making a note) In other words, you maintain that the sole difference
between you and your brethren is that you have remained in isolation, where they
have intermingled with each other on a near-constant basis.

CORRIN. (Shrugging) 'S what I said, innit?

CERIA. (With a secretive grin) Quite. Well, then, Corrin, I'm rather sorry to
have imposed myself upon you this morning.

CORRIN. (Lifting a hand in farewell) G'bye, ma'am.

Ceria raps delicately on the door of the ward, which slides back to allow her
departure.

As the door slides back into place, Corrin settles, slumping in his corner.

CORRIN. Garn, that woman does give ol' Corrin the willies.

With an electric sizzle, the scrying orb at the apex of the ward blinks out of
existence.

CORRIN. (Coming slowly to his feet and glancing up to the ceiling) What's that?

A skittering sound is suddenly heard from within one of the padded walls. At
one side of the room, something can be seen wriggling within the fabric.

Corrin retreats against the opposite wall, eyes widening as the wriggling mass
begins to tear through the fabric with a steady, persistent ripping.

The lights fade to black, and Corrin gives an unholy scream.

The low hum of a mechanical device can be heard in the silence, and
illumination returns, bringing to light a sprawling research facility elsewhere
in the Asylum. Wires of every length and size imaginable create sprawling
entanglements across the area, linking to and from multiple man-sized storage
pods and connecting to a central control panel.

Dominating the area is a massive glass tube, spanning from floor to ceiling and
filled with a bubbling liquid. Numerous dark shapes writhe and float inside
indistinctly, and it is on these that Alakar and an asylum doctor are focused.

ALAKAR. You have had no difficulties breeding them of late, then?

DOCTOR. (Adjusting his spectacles) Actually, sir i'Xiia, it is less a question
of breeding them than it is of engineering them. They are parasites - they do
not breed in the sense that you and I are familiar with.

Alakar merely raises a curious eyebrow.

DOCTOR. (Hastily) You see, as I said, they are parasites. They can be sustained
for some measure indefinitely with the aid of this preservative, but in order to
truly thrive and gain access to the majority of their physical functions, they
require host bodies.

An asylum doctor frowns, surveying the tube with a wary eye.

DOCTOR. The creatures draw sustenance and energy from the host, and are able to
reproduce without the necessity of a second specimen.

ALAKAR. They are asexual, then?

DOCTOR. (Carefully) It is not something I have given a great deal of thought
to, sir. I fail to see how such beings could be truly asexual with the modicum
of intelligence that they possess, but it may be so.

ALAKAR. (Brow creasing in thought) But your source subjects were not so
confounding, were they?

DOCTOR. Indeed they were not, sir. Insects from beneath the mountain, parasitic
to some degree, but not to any threatening or truly effective extent.

Alakar nods, a slight grin coming to his lips as one of the writhing parasites
lunges at him, only to be contained by the tube.

ALAKAR. Their instincts are to be admired, don't you think?

DOCTOR. (Moving to a control panel) Quite, sir. I need only introduce a scant
dozen or more of them into the pipelines, and within a single week half of the
patient population will have become hosts - knowing or not.

Alakar turns suddenly, moving swiftly to grip the doctor by his collar and
hoist him roughly off the ground.

ALAKAR. (In a seething whisper) Half of the patient population? Half, you
miserable excuse of a scientist? This was designed to be a project on -select-
individuals, not a blanket trial!

DOCTOR. (Whimpering) That's the trouble, sir! The parasites are not always able
to survive in their hosts!

Alakar lowers the other man, but does not loosen his grip.

ALAKAR. You have one minute.

DOCTOR. (Gabbling) The mental state has nothing to affect them with, regarding
this - er, er, it is the physical condition of the host in question that
determines the parasite's survivability. Some of our patients are insane beyond
reason, but in relatively sound physical condition. Others are elderly, or else
far too young, or sickly. It is this latter group that causes the dilemma - the
parasite cannot siphon enough energy to upkeep its growth and dies within the
host!

Alakar stares at the doctor for a moment, as though verifying the truth of his
words, before releasing him and stepping back calmly.

ALAKAR. And the others? Those who are not so...unfortunately infirm?

DOCTOR. (With a sigh of relief, smoothing his clothing) I would like to say
that it is inconclusive, but all evidence suggests that those parasites who do
survive only amplify the madness within the host. We had thought, sir, to siphon
the madness off by using the parasite, or at least make it bearable, but the
effect of the parasites seems to be the direct opposite.

Alakar grimaces, glancing to the ceiling, where a network of pipes expands from
the centre of the room.

ALAKAR. Damn. Release this group - all of them. If we can then treat them for
the parasitic damage, perhaps some of the original illness will be peeled away
with it.

DOCTOR. (Hesitantly) All...all of them?

ALAKAR. Every one. I must find a way to make these dratted mugwumps open to my
suggestions, and I don't give a damn if they must be completely brain-dead to do
so.

ALAKAR. Do it now.

As the lights slowly fade, the doctor enters a series of commands into the
control panel. The parasites within the tube writhe and swim about with renewed
vigor, and a horrible sucking sound may be heard as darkness overtakes the
stage.

(i'Xiia Asylum): An Asylum warden says, "Get the bleedin' things in there! Do
it! Don't let 'em run out into the facility proper!"

(i'Xiia Asylum): An Asylum warden says, "Doctor i'Xiia! Miz Inalai! Somethin's
wrong - the patients are goin' berserk!"

(i'Xiia Asylum): Alakar i'Xiia says, "Then put them down, you blunderers! We
did not employ you to turn flighty at the first sign of trouble!"

(i'Xiia Asylum): An Asylum warden says, "Yes, sir, but they're - AARGH!"

(i'Xiia Asylum): An Asylum warden says, "Oh my God, no! HEEEEEELLLLP!"

A flashing, spinning red alarm light suddenly flares with blinding brightness,
illuminating the stage in regular sweeps of red luminescence. In the chaotic
light, the halls of a public ward are revealed. The finishing on the walls has
been torn off in places, bloodstains splattered across the surroundings in
asymmetric arcs.

The hallways is clogged with mugwumps living and dead. From the corpses and
mutilated body parts that can be seen, it may be assumed that the fighting began
among the mugwumps themselves. They have, however, begun brawling with the
wardens.

A small contingent of patients has overtaken an unlucky warden, effectively
pulling him apart through sheer force of numbers. His lifeblood fountains into
the air as he is dismembered, raining in crimson atop the heads of the remaining
insurrectionists.

Above the proscenium, near the ceiling of the theatre, an electric-blue haze
manifests, clarifying rapidly into the enlarged faces of Alakar and Ceria, who
look down on the fighting with surprise, indignation, and horror.

An ephemeral image of Alakar i'Xiia says, "What the Nil has happened?"

An ephemeral image of Ceria Inalai says, "This is beyond insanity - this is
bloodlust!"

Whips begin to crack among the cacophony, causing the closest mugwumps to reel
back. The remaining wardens rally into a shield wall of sorts, slowly advancing
through the flood of patients.

An ephemeral image of Alakar i'Xiia says, "I did not believe that they could
become any more mad."

An enraged mugwump yells, "We are not mad, Alakar! For the first time, we are
free of your damned insanity and we shall take our revenge!"

The mugwumps of a sudden press back, overtaking the tightly-packed group of
wardens and setting upon them with a motley collection of improvised weapons,
stabbing pointed shards of glass and ragged-edged pipes deep into the wardens
repeatedly.

A furious mugwump yells, "Ceria Inalai, your reckoning comes! You will pay for
your crimes against Celest!"

An ephemeral image of Ceria Inalai blanches, turning to gaze with fear at
Alakar.

An ephemeral image of Alakar i'Xiia snarls, "We shall see about that, vermin.
Lock the wards down!"

Reinforced steel plates slam across the doors of the wards almost as though in
response to the Asylum Master's words, falling from above and held in place
solely by gravity and their own considerable weight.

A revving generator is heard in the distance, causing the cycling red light and
the projections above to flicker, then reform.

An ephemeral image of Ceria Inalai says, "What was that?"

An ephemeral image of Alakar i'Xiia says, "...the second floor laboratory. My
dear, I believe we have a guest."

An ephemeral image of Alakar i'Xiia growls, "Let us share our hospitality."

The images disperse into a fine mist that hovers near the ceiling before
fading. The curtains slip shut for a few moments, then part again to reveal the
second floor laboratory. Unlike the past, the generator in the center of the
room has been freed of its icy prison and is crackling with power. Corrin, an
Asylum patient, is huddled in one corner, curled into a fetal position and
gibbering insanely.

From a central tunnel, the figures of Alakar and Ceria run in, clothing
flapping about them.

Ceria moves directly to the generator, stabbing at the exposed control panel
angrily.

Alakar spies Corrin, and moves immediately to him, curling his fingers around
the mugwump's throat in a vicelike grip and hoisting him several inches off of
the floor.

ALAKAR. (In a guttural snarl) Where is he?

CORRIN. (Choking) The Light...the Light...

Alakar tightens his grip, murder in his eyes.

ALAKAR. I will not ask again, vermin. Where is he?

Corrin gasps for breath, a little insane giggle escaping his lungs as he feebly
gestures to a side tunnel.

Alakar drops Corrin with a thump and whirls, pacing to the indicated tunnel.

Ceria curses as the control panel sparks, jerking back.

CERIA. I can't stop it!

ALAKAR. (Shouting down the tunnel) Nacal! Dearest Nacal, our security
specialist. It has been too long, truly - surely you're not going to leave
without saying goodbye?

A mellifluous voice states clearly, "Goodbye."

A torrent of water and ice engulfs Alakar, driving him across the room.

ALAKAR. You...!

Corrin lowers a coral staff, canting his head to the side and smiling gently.

CORRIN. (Quietly) You always were laughably short-sighted where it mattered,
Alakar.

Corrin passes a hand over his face and his features shift. The mugwump visage
shatters, shards of light falling to evaporate into miniscule motes, revealing
the noble merian features of Nacal Dekoven.

NACAL. I loathe violence, Alakar, but it seems that you will not see reason
beyond anything other than that.

ALAKAR. (Coming to his feet) You are a fool, Dekoven. You, who know only how to
cower behind corners, hiding beneath the faces of others.

Ceria backpedals, edging against the room's perimeter as the two men square
off.

NACAL. (Smiling faintly) And you, who know only how to demean others with your
words.

Nacal raises his hands above his head, causing crystal-clear water to bubble
forth from the ground, covering the floor in a shallow pool of water.

NACAL. Shall we see how you fare when I've stilled your lying tongue for good?

Nacal gestures, and dark clouds form overhead, sending a boiling, needlelike
rain onto Alakar.

Alakar snarls under his breath, throwing his hand out toward Nacal. A
malevolent demon materialises from the space before Alakar's hand, lunging at
Nacal with fangs bared.

Nacal batters the creature away with his staff, sending an icy torrent after it
even as Alakar circles behind him.

With a quick flick of his wrist, Nacal causes the water to churn with currents,
sweeping Alakar's feet from under him and sending him splashing to the floor.

The demon rebounds from the wall, conjuring an orb of darkness and throwing it
at Nacal, where it impacts with his chest and bursts into many tendrils.

Nacal jerks, the nimbus about his staff faltering at the magical blow. He turns
to f ace Alakar instead, pointing his staff at the prostrate man's head.

A scream of untold agony pierces the air, and a luminous archangel launches
herself at the aquamancer, burning him with her light. He recoils, gaping at the
abomination.

NACAL. What...how!?

A luminous archangel sobs brokenly, tears running down her face, but readies
herself for another attack, her limbs moving as though controlled by some unseen
puppeteer.

CERIA. Mine, dear sir.

Ceria stands next to a recovered Alakar, a shining symbol of justice held ready
in her hand. A bloody symbol of pain flickers into existence in Alakar's palm,
and they fire at Nacal. Antithetic surges of light and dark burst forth,
slamming into Nacal's chest. Sizzling flesh may be heard and smelled, and he
collapses under the continued onslaught.

CERIA. (Smiling cruelly) They rejected me, dear. I never once rejected them.
Beside that, the Light loves me no matter what I've done, I'm told. Why not use
it to my advantage?

Nacal gives a wracking cough, on hands and knees in the shallow water.

NACAL. You two...you are abominations, and you will die.

Alakar smirks, and defers to Ceria.

CERIA. You first, dear.

A luminous archangel looms suddenly behind Nacal, placing one hand at the top
of his head and one beneath his chin. With an effortless wrench she breaks his
neck, sobbing all the while.

Nacal's corpse falls into the water, which does not recede. Instead, a blue
aura surrounds his body, liquefying it and soon rendering it indistinguishable
from the remainder of the water.

The Asylum leaders dismiss their thralls with negligent waves, turning to
regard the generator.

ALAKAR. This damned thing...

Alakar raises a bloody symbol of pain, striking the center of the machine with
a burst of dark fire. The machine sparks fitfully, fighting the corruption, but
soon fails, falling silent with an almighty bang and a plume of dark smoke.

Ceria shuts her eyes, concentrating.

(i'Xiia Asylum): Ceria Inalai says, "Report."

(i'Xiia Asylum): An Asylum warden says, "It's been taken care of, ma'am. We
were able to put them back down, though there were significant casualties on
both sides."

The lights begin to slowly fade on the grim tableau.

(i'Xiia Asylum): Alakar i'Xiia says, "We'll need to go recruit more candidates
from the city, then. How bothersome."

(i'Xiia Asylum): An Asylum doctor says, "Er, sir, there's a problem. The
lockdown placed magical wards over the Asylum entrance that I hadn't known
existed. I can't seem to break through them, even with the overrides."

The stage falls dark.

(i'Xiia Asylum): Alakar i'Xiia says, "Nacal Dekoven, a nuisance even in death.
Well, then, at least there will be no more interruptions."

(i'Xiia Asylum): Ceria Inalai says, "We can, at any rate, recycle the staff
that we already have."

The aether falls silent on Alakar's responding chuckle.

The scent of blood and gore suddenly hangs in the air, thick and metallic and
cloying. As the odour permeates the theatre, disembodied voices seem to echo
from around the audience itself.

A woman's voice says, "There, there, dear - I told you it wouldn't hurt."

A man's voice chuckles, "There we are, good as new."

A child's voice quivers, "Mama! There you are! Mama...mama, what's wrong with
you? Don't you remember me?"

A child's voice cries, "Can't you speak? What's wrong, Mama?"

Alakar i'Xiia's voice echoes, "Welcome to the i'Xiia asylum. Welcome to your
afterlife."

A strobe flares onstage, illuminating the figures of Alakar, Ceria, and the
Asylum wardens and doctors arranged in formation for a few scant seconds before
falling dark.