[Quest] Clinging to the Past (Paragon)

[Warden Thrice]

88th of Winter There were more warm days now. The sun was shining, gulls were screaming, and the sounds of horses and people shouting at each other covered everything in an aura of routine. Winter had almost lost its grip. Eorar was finding it easier. After the Winter Ball, he was finding it easier to walk among humans as a human, realizing that even though true form differed, he and they were not as radically different as he’d thought. Well, most of them. He was also finding it a bit easier to slide into his morph model now, as well as keep it functional for longer. It wasn’t major, but it was comforting. He kept to the sidewalk, avoiding the majority of the crowd, and once again checked the little slip of paper he carried with him. Upon it was what he assumed was supposed to be directions, but Common letters were completely different from Char and he had difficulty reading them, and the words themselves were even less clear. Once again he sighed, unable to make heads or tails of it, and tucked it back into his pocket. He had been told that his destination was right between the city and the University, and he did know where the University was, so that was where his feet were taking him. As he neared he noticed that the crowd was thinning, and through them he saw it: Marcel’s Magical Supplies. It stood on the cusp of the University’s campus, and the other buildings kept a polite distance away. He shuffled his feet, knocked on the door before remembering that it was a shop and that he didn’t have to, and walked in. In comparison to Anais’s shop, this was a large room. Shelves lined the walls, housing everything from the normal to what defied description. He simply stood there, gawking, until a cleared through caught his attention. “Oh. Sorry,” he said to the woman walking towards him. “No trouble at all,” she said, taking his hand and shaking it firmly. “How may I help you today?” “Do you having cold candles?” She nodded, unreactive to his strange rushed accent and grammar, and led him to one of the more out-of-the-way shelves that was covered completely with candles. She reached to some of the ones in the middle, then looked at him. “How many were you thinking? They’re a gold miza each.” He considered. “Oh… ten?” She retrieved them and headed to a counter at the back that he hadn’t noticed. He handed over the money with a minimal amount of fumbling, she showed him how to light them, and then he bid a polite goodbye and hurried out the door. He got to the warehouse district quickly. He knelt at the edge of a pier, made sure no one else was in sight, and dove into the water. He released his hold on his form, and the sea washed it away gently as he sank. He slipped out of his tunic at webbing sprung from his shoulder to connect his elbow and ribs, his pink skin receding to vibrant blue, and his eyes widening and changing color. He jumped as something prodded him from behind, and sighed in relief when he turned to see Tenten. The seahorse looked at his grin strangely for a moment, but his master had always been a bit odd and so the creature set about to nuzzling him, looking for the attention he felt he deserved. Only then, after a solid two minutes of petting and scratching, did he allow himself to be mounted. * * * As always, Tenten stayed near the cave’s entrance without going inside. He had never been quite at ease there. Eorar clicked as he swam, more out of ritual than actual need, keeping the cold candles close to his chest. His pace was slower than usual, but it still seemed as if the pocket of air came too quickly. He slid smoothly onto the stone ledge and to his feet, walking to the center of the pitch-black cave, looking for the stone stalactite-stalagmite pillar in the center, and found it without a problem. He ran his hands over it lovingly, reluctant to reach for the candles. Lighting the cave would dispel the sense of mystery, the magic of not knowing. It was like a riddle; you couldn’t simply look at a riddle and know the answer, you have to love the question itself, and through it the answer would present itself in its own time. Here, he wasn’t sure if the answer was quite as lovely as the question. Bah, he told himself. I’m rambling. I need light if I’m going to live here. He reached for a candle, a sadness weighing on his heart. “Goodbye,” he whispered to the darkness. The candle sparked to life.

[Paragon]

The problem with claiming a house, was that one could never be sure of its previous occupants. It was the same to a human, as it was to a Charoda. Eorar lit the cold candle with the best of intentions, spreading a pool of light into his hitherto dark domain, but it only seemed to exaggerate the shadows. Dark, lucid shapes, clawed at the walls of the cave, only adding to the uneasy feeling. The Charoda went about his business, but he couldn't help feeling nervous. It was foolish, but the shadows seemed to move. And he couldn't help feeling like he was being watched...

[Warden Thrice]

Eorar shivered involuntarily as he looked around. The light… it was strange. He could see the cave, shaped just as he’d felt it, but the candle only seemed to be lighting the space of the cave. The walls were difficult to see, shadows dancing almost violently, and though he could feel the ceiling he could only see bits and pieces of it, even though he rose to candle. He shivered again, then went to one of the walls. He felt a small bit of comfort at the sight of his hoard, and a fair amount of surprise at its size. He had spent the entire season picking through the floor of the bay, at least near the Zeltivan docks, and had collected whatever struck his fancy. The pile was up to his waist, filled with things that were more than worthless but less than valuable. There was a lot of jewelry and pretty stones, though the stone was mostly dyed agate and the jewelry mostly wood. There were, however, a few prizes. The Charoda knelt and rummaged through the pile for two such prizes. It had been a long time since he’d seen them, and he— There. The opal necklace inside the complete abalone shell. He opened the shell carefully and held the cold candle close. They both sparkled like fallen stars, the opal’s inner light multiplying and being thrown back by the abalone, and Eorar smiled to himself, finding comfort in their beauty. He hadn’t noticed his confidence leave, but when it returned he stood and walked around the cave, looking closer at the walls. The shadows seemed to shrink as he approached him, but they never truly left, weaving around the light expertly without truly hiding.

[Paragon]

Eorar went about his business, glancing at the shadows, watching them rise and recede. But the darkness was not merely a trick of the light. All of a sudden, there was a gust of cool air, bubbling into the cave. The cold candle went out, the darkness filling the cave again. If Eorar listened carefully, there was a whisper that came with the gust. "Get out," it whispered, and then repeated several times, "leave now."

[Warden Thrice]

A great breeze swept through the cave, and Eorar dropped the candle when it went out. He swore softly in Char, then knelt and felt around for his fallen light source. The wind that should not have been there swirled around the Charoda’s home, holding a faint whisper. He froze as the voice rippled through him, sending chills down his spine. He rose to his feet, leaving the cold candle on the floor. He was more than a little uneasy, but he had lived in the cave for an entire season, and wasn’t about to throw it away at the first sign of trouble. “Why?” he asked the darkness.

[Paragon]

As Eorar scrambled for the fallen candle, he questioned the eerie voice that had filled the air. There was silence for a moment, and then the great whoosh of air blasted into the cave again, surprising the Charoda. "Get out of my home," the voice said this time, faintly more distinguishable than before. In the darkness, it was hard to make out anything, but if Eorar turned around, he would see the silhouette of a figure crouched near the back of the cave. And it was this figure that the voice came from. As Eorar tried to reach the candle, it suddenly came alight again, and he took hold of it, turning to face the darkness.

[Warden Thrice]

Eorar kept feeling around for the candle, and his hand closed around it just as the wind reappeared, and with it, the voice. It was stronger this time, and he turned around to see if he could pinpoint the source. There. The figure was somehow darker than the darkness, crouching on the other side of the cave. Eorar opened his mouth in dismay. “But I live here!” he exclaimed. A heartbeat passed, and he jumped when the candle suddenly flared back to life. He let out a shivering sigh, then looked to see if the figure was still visible. "Who are you?" he asked softly.

[Paragon]

"Your home?" the wispy voice asked incredulously. "No, you are wrong. It is mine." The figure slowly became more visible to Eorar. To his eyes it looked like shadows receding, peeling bag from the silhouette. It became more of a presence than a person, but Eorar could recognise the general shape as one of his own, the edges shrouded in a fine, pale mist. "Who am I? Who are you intruder? I have watched you for a while - how you come back and forth. How you treat this as your home." The voice was only just understandable. It was like sound bubbling, tone dipping constantly. The temperature in the room seemed variable too, cold one moment, warm the next. "It is not your home."

[Warden Thrice]

Eorar felt a lash of guilt at the being’s words. “I… I am being sorry,” he said, “But I am living here. I cannot being anywhere else. I—” The shadows began to fold under the candle’s light, breaking away and reforming in an erratic dance. He watched with wide eyes, but they stretched even wider when the figure cleared. “You’re… You’re a Charoda!” he said in Char. The temperature began to undulate, hot and cold weaving around Eorar in equal measures. His attention was still fully fixated on the vague figure. “I… I didn’t think there were any others here. My gods… are… are you a…” he swallowed, and his voice lowered to a bare whisper, “…ghost?”

[Paragon]

"You cannot be anywhere else," the presence asked, "you are truly an ignorant soul." Pale soulmist undulated around the form, but Eorar could still make out the usual features of a Charoda. When he exclaimed in Char, the ghost seemed to stand to attention, listening more carefully. It never moved from its original spot though. "You didn't think because you're mortal. You can never know... never truly understand." The figure's voice lowered to a whisper, as if it had calmed. The temperature in the cave stabilised, and the flame on the cold candle stopped flickering. "Very observant," the ghost said with a nod, "indeed I am. A ghost, in his own home. And yet here you are, insisting this is your cave. How can you even claim a cave as your own?" it asked almost condescendingly.