Basou Marou had to admit it. It wasn’t one of the best fights of his career, nor one of his best laid plans. The cursed ghost had done well enough to sap his essence, that at least made Basou Marou feel weak and faint. At least he didn’t have to fake that part of it at all. It was setting Sambar up to give him a wicked shiner and make it look good. That, oddly enough was the easy part. Unfortunately, not telling Sambar of his plan probably turned out to be a major oversight. Laughing quietly through the sore ache in his… everywhere, Basou Marou tried to go over the details of the fight in his mind.
No hooded looming figures in the audience or offers of Malachite as the prize didn’t help. There just weren’t many leads and the fancy party involving every single Death Knight in the city was soon. He could still hear his master’s lessons on “seeing the unseen” playing over and over again in his head, like an annoying song that you just can’t forget.
Forgetting… the shear act of trying to forget one memory led others flooding into his mind. Mieyo was here in the underworld, a Death Knight of all things. Not only did he fail her but he lost her irrevocably. This whole journey into the underworld just seemed one tragedy after another. Maybe it was because they didn’t have Saurel any more. Maybe they needed a down to earth spear chucking mortal ton help keep everyone balanced. Basou Marou thought of the Dragon Blooded Pirate King but figured he didn’t know him well enough to try and come up with a funny name for him. Everything hurt as Basou Marou winced in his unconscious stupor.
Losing his noble herd felt like the last straw as Basou Marou unconsciously gripped Edge Crusher in a death grip and fought to regain his mind. He spiraled in fever dreams where he was helpless to help anyone. Beyond being out of his element, the Underworld seemed out to claim him.
Every thought of sadness and regret seemed amplified in this grey place. He knew he missed the glory of the sun. His memory of Mieyo’s stubborn pouty face was replaced with the dead sightless eyes of the Death Knight she had become. Every pleasant memory was washed over in sadness and viewed through eyes that saw only in black and white. Basou Marou struggled to pull his energies together to help focus himself. He was lost in a prison of his own making and even Taki couldn’t offer up the sage advice that always kept him from doing something stupid.
Even trying to remember his master’s words, the sound came on as rushing waves, distorted and chaotic. The essence just wan’t flowing here as it did in Creation, he was still getting used to it. The slow ambient trickle was not the same as the warming waves of first dawn. He struggled to remember.
He wanted to take the dive, but he was struggling to remember why…
The welt that was his right eye throbbed with nerve racking pain and his master’s words of “seeing the unseen” played itself again, like a broken record. His pain wracked body brushed up against his belt sash, no, not his belt sash, but the spirit sash his master had given him! That was it, a good crack on the head always gave Basou Marou the good idea he needed. He had the tool he needed to find his friend, his Simata, Malachite.
Now it was just a matter of waking up and remembering…