The Warren (Wrenmae)

[Ignotus Everto]

Igon didn't know what it was that caused Wren to attack him. Maybe he wasn't carrying him fast enough, or maybe he was just upset that only one of the rats were dead. He could never tell why he was being beaten when he was younger, after all. Still, judging by the question, it wasn't because he was mad. Rather, he was scared. Scared just like Igon.

The observational might have noticed that he had stopped shifting quite as often after helping Wren up, though he still turned grey and dead every few chimes or so. In response to the other boy's inquiry, Igon stuttered, "I-I don't know! You stabbed me, and we stole something?"

No, Ignotus still didn't forgive Wren for that, even if he was going to switch bodies anyways. The vagueness wasn't to be spiteful, however. Without as constant a reminder of when he was exactly, Igon's memory was starting to sync up much more accurately with Wren's. That is, everything that had happened after the age of twelve was growing hazy.

The little asthmatic's heart was thumping loudly in his chest, and his breath was coming in shallow gasps. He didn't want to die, nor did he like being thrown against a wall. He was afraid, and just wanted to curl up and hide somewhere.
Ha, hide.

Suddenly both boys were bathed in a pool of yellow light, just as the rats rounded an Alvadan corner. One of the creatures had spotted them, and it was raising a fist the size of a carriage over its head...

Before Igon knew what he was doing, he was throwing his shoulder into Wren, shoving them both away from the wall, just as the giant's hand demolished a Zeltivan apartment as easily as a toddler would collapse a house of cards. A loud crash accompanied the carnage, and bits of wood and plaster coated the duo, coloring them both bone white and raining splinters on them. Fortunately, it also covered them and obscured both spotlight and rat vision. If Wren tried to move, Igon would give him a little jolt with a frantic "Sshh!"

The rats were crawling over them. For thirty agonizing ticks, plague carriers and creatures of destruction searched for the pair, before a loud thud and an irritated squeal signaled that their trail had gone cold, and their pursuers had wandered off to search for them away from the clouds of powder and fluttering shreds of wallpaper. Igon slowly raised his head and clambered off Wrenmae, squinting to see if there were any threats left.

[Wrenmae]

They lay still, breaths hushed to the point of silence. The plague rats scuttled over them, sowing their oily black trail of black plague. It bubbled, crept along the planks, coagulated.

Holding his breath, Wrenmae compressed the silence of his heart to the quietest of murmurs. With ardent pleas he prayed to anything, anyone, to remove the vermin from them...to wake up, wake up, wake up!

This had to be a dream.

He had no concept of how long he lay beneath the brick and mortar, showered with stone dust and splintered wood. He was only aware that Igon began moving again, rising from the ruins like a drowning man breaching the surface for air.

Part of him wanted to reach out, pull him back, keep him from what he knew was out there. Disease, plague, weak and infirm bodies...no one long endured him. He wanted to pull that strange boy back into the rubble, hide from the plague till it vanished completely...left his body.

But it was a passing notion, one of a younger Wren, afraid of his powers and with no guidance at all.

He was different now. No one had helped him then. He had to learn to be strong on his own. No more time for tears and hiding.

No more time for friends.

He pushed out with Igon, staring up at the roiling sky. They were in a dream, it was coming back to him slowly. He didn't know the boy at all, but he'd proven helpful so far in helping them survive.

"Listen," He said, "We can't keep running around waiting for those giants or rats to catch us. We need to find a way to fight back or get out. This place looks a bit like Zeltiva and Alvadas combined...I know where we can find weapons in both places, and also, both places have a port."

He stepped over the ruins and brushed himself off. Somewhere in the distance, the sound of shattering supports rang through the nightmarish city.

"What will it be, Igon? Run or fight?"

[Ignotus Everto]

Igon listened to Wren grimly. While he hated to admit it, the boy was right; they would simply be devoured or crushed if they kept running away. Out sailing the giants didn't seem likely to succeed either. As such, as Wren said, there was only one option open to them...

"We'll fight." the boy said in a steely tone, his brow furrowing slightly. A furrow that vanished with a flinch as the noise of a collapsing building added to the gentle rumble of settling rubble. "The Wave Guard's headquarters shouldn't be too far away from here. Let's go."

With that decision out of the way, the two boys hastened to the armory. Past suspiciously unlocked doors, through a short network of hallways, to a small room made of the same glossy back material as the cube they first awoke in.

Inside were two nearly identical suits of armor on racks. Both were glistening white, with the insignia of the Windoak stamped in ebony across the breastplate. At the feet of one suit was a dagger and rapier, and at the feet of the other, a long spear. Evidently, the dream didn't hate them too much. It had even elected to arm them. And Igon couldn't describe it very well, but the armor made him feel... Secure. Like he was something greater than the cards he was dealt. Which, considering the odds they would be going up against, was a very, very good thing. With a faint smile, Igon turned his head to his fellow, and said, "Take your pick."

[Wrenmae]

Wrenmae considered the armor and weapons before him. Much like Igon, he felt a certain amount of security looking on them. From a young age, his boyhood, in fact...the Knights had always been a symbol of peace and stability. Born in Syliras, he had been expected to watch the Knights, to emulate them, and to study their way of honor. The law was protected by such men, and to the young boy, they had been the very pinnacle of safety. Tall men wrapped in protective armor that glittered beneath Syna's light...one by one they marched with the conviction of the city and for every man, woman, and child in the city.

Of course he knew now that they were little more than blowhards playing at soldier, but there was a certain safety in seeing this armor...and the dream had been kind enough to consider his chosen weapons. Without a word, he reached out for the armor. Rather than having to figure out what to strap, the armor leaped from where it hung and wrapped around the boy in a clatter of purpose.

Wrenmae scarcely had time to gasp, only realized where once had nothing, now two blades dangled off his hips and the rest of him was covered in glimmering armor, the burnished tree of Syliras black as soot upon his chest.

Looking down at his arms, testing the constraints of the armor, a small smile found its way to his mouth, growing larger till it was a rueful grin.

"Let's show them whose dream this is, eh Igon?"