Of Plague and Sight

[Thomas Cosa]

"Not giving him room enough to use his reach to his advantage?" Thomas grinned, staying as close as Wrenmae would allow. He noted Wrenmae seemed less confident with the rapier then he had been with the dagger, still though, the storyteller's skill far outmatched his own.

The young mage moved awkwardly, hesitantly. He mirrored Wrenmae's every move as best he could, desperately trying to keep the hypnotist from gaining too much ground. Step closer, follow the steps. Each offensive strike was met with a loud clank, his own dagger never making it past Wrenmae's rapier.

Thomas frowned, only pushing harder. Each strike become more wild, the young animator determinded to break through the storyteller's defenses.

"I know greatness will come long before Dira comes to claim me," Thomas replied confidently, his tone assured.

His own strike was once again met by the cold iron of the rapier, both steel blades glinting angrily in the weak light of the lab. Thomas' brow was drench in sweat, his breathing forced. Red tinged his cheeks, his gaze determined. Sahova had weakened his body significantly, but had greatly strengthed his spirit. Could Thomas fight with will alone, he would be unstoppable.

"What do I hope to accomplish?" Thomas answered, determindly staring into his opponent's eyes, "Mastery in animation, creation of a supervisor greater then Dranira her self. Beyond that? Perhaps ruling a united Mizahar," Thomas laughed, his gaze unmoving. His voice suggested the latter as a joke, but his eyes screamed for power. "Truthfully, I see myself doing many a great things. I hope to change the world for the better, seeing an end to all I deem unworthy. The weak shall pave the path for the strong," he said, a final push against the rapier as he spoke.

Thomas would not be seen as weak. He was not weak.

"I have seen my choices, and serve my goddess faithfully in my choice to purse my destined greatness," Thomas said, speaking softly, "I will not disappoint her. I will not disappoint myself," he promised, his strikes become more concentrated. Again, the youth feigned to the right in an attempt to catch Wrenmae off guard.

Then he swung.

"And you, Wrenmae? Do you serve the gods?" Thomas asked, breathing hard.

[Wrenmae]

Catching the blade, dissuading it from piercing his chest, Wrenmae danced around the young animator. While Thomas gasped, Wrenmae only showed minor signs of exertion. Both were pulsers in Sahova but they couldn't be more different. Wrenmae was a picture of vibrancy and health while Thomas waned with the maltreatment of his nuit peers...masters...captors.

Disengaging for a moment, circling each other, Wrenmae nodded almost absently. "You serve Dira, then? I met a girl once who did the same...a woman of forest and passion, Aello was her name. Is that the goddess you serve?"

Stepping in again he harried Thomas back toward the wall. No quarter, no mercy, he forced the man as close to it as possible, cornering him with swing, jab, and thrust after thrust. Again, their blades caught and they struggled, straining to gain the advantage.

"I serve my own agenda, but I pay homage to the gods who deign to fill this world with purpose. Vayt, God of Disease and Poison...he cuts the weak from the world and rewards the strong, Sagallius, the puppeteer, a man so ambitious he dreamed of apotheosis and made it so. I pay homage to Laviku, the Sea-Father, to Zulrav, the Sky-Father, and Dira, the Death-mother. Whether I interest those beings or not is none of my concern, I simply do as I must to accomplish my means and end."

Taking a step back, he broke the lock and sheathed his blade.

"What gods and goddesses do you serve then, Thomas Cosa, would be animator? Who will help you accomplish your goals and reward your progress?"

[Thomas Cosa]

Thomas smirked, opposite Wrenmae, "Death? I admire her, but I don't serve her."

Thomas turned opposite the first strike, managing a quick dodge. The storyteller jabbed and stabbed, forcing the young animator against the wall. In desperation, Thomas struck out wildly, and by Ovek's grace, the dagger caught the rapier.

"I serve Avalis, goddess of sight," Thomas grimaced, his voice strained as he pushed against Wrenmae, fighting for control.

A tired sigh escaped him as Wrenmae sheathed his blade, Thomas slide down the wall.

"Avalis, I serve, because she marked and gifted me with Sight," Thomas grinned, removing his left glove to show Wrenmae the seer's lily. Deep purple petals bled to an almost black base, which faded to green a green stem. It shimmered, almost giving off a light of it's own. "And in her spirit, I worship any god that grants insight. Eyris for wisdom, Gnora for control. Eywaat for ingenuity," Thomas paused again, catching his breath.

"I am unfamiliar with Vayt," Thomas replied, "And as for Sagallius, I know only his history before transcending with Aquiras' heart, I cannot say I've ever favored them," Thomas paused again, "But then again, I grew up in Syliras. I suppose my view is very one sided. Care to tell me more?" he asked, ever the curious one.

[Wrenmae]

Nodding, the hypnotist motioned for the wizard to join him on the great table, set aside in the center of the circle. Hoisting himself up, he took a choice few breaths to still his racing heart a bit. "Vayt, perhaps, is not a god widely known or worshipped. Most misunderstand his intent, and even more fear he stands with Rhysol as a god of chaos and evil." He remembered the first time he'd seen Vayt, juxtaposing the experience with the time he met Rhysol. There was an arrogance to both, surely, a certain haughty ambition and superiority...but Vayt stood for something more than betrayal and pandemonium...there was a strict and chilling purpose in his movements, his gifts. "Vayt is a god of poisoners, of disease, of sickness...but you wouldn't get that by seeing him. He is described as a man in finery, brilliantly handsome. Vayt brings plague and sickness to Mizahar, is a boon to those who would dabble in toxins...but he does so with purpose, with cause." Wrenmae held up his own arm and flexed it, lithe muscles pushing beneath his skin.

"Vayt represents all we need in Mizahar...what drives us onward, ever stronger. Since the Valterrian, the races of this land have had to pick themselves up, dust themselves off, and build anew. In five hundred years, we only have a handful of city states with little plans to expand. People have grown indolent in comfort, fearing the gods or perhaps fearing the ghost stories of old Suva and Alahea. We are governed, most often, by the frightened."

Sighing, he indicated the door they had entered, as if presenting all of Sahova.

"Vayt punishes weakness, cuts the ailing branch from the tree so it can grow strong and sturdy. Vayt inflicts his plagues without judgement...and those who survive deserve to live." He shrugged. "Sagallius is a story I admire not for the man, but for the mission. He wanted something impossible, something no human, to my knowledge, has had before. Reaching for it, he took it and became a God. Is there not something fiercly appealing about his level of power? He wanted to become a god and he did. It's a call to us all to rise up beyond our limitations, using those weaker than us as stepping stools to greater founts of victory."

He shrugged, "At least as I see it."

Breathing harshly from his nose, he dangled his feet off the table. "Your mark, gnosis, yes? What sort of power does the Lady of Vision grant you?" The question was loaded, unsure, even slightly suspicious...a twinge of darker curiosity there. Could he see Wren's mark? Could he make out the haze of power Vayt had put around him? If so. He would die, here, now, in this laboratory.

Hopefully, however, the young man knew nothing...and in ignorance, he would find continued life.

[Thomas Cosa]

Thomas grinned, pushing himself on the table. Leaning backwards, Thomas let out a sigh as he relaxed, his arms supporting his body, his legs dangingly carelessly.

Vayt. Death and Poison. "A winning combination," Thomas thought bitterly, listening to Wrenmae. He had grown up in Syliras, and despite being a supposed perfect society, it was chock full of stereotypes. Vayt was nothing more then an errand boy for Rhysol, the Vayt marked nothing more then foot soldiers for the Ebonstryfe. Still, he tried to listen with an open mind. After all, when would he next be speaking to someone who so openly worshipped the Plague-bringer?

"I've never heard Vayt describe so...sensibly," Thomas said, staring at the ceiling. "Growing up in Syliras, I only heard him portrayed as a coward. A tool for Rhysol," Thomas continued, turning his head towards the storyteller, "But, the way you speak about him -- he just seems so much more...more. And it makes sense, everything, y'know."

"It's funny, even ironic, when you think about it," Thomas added, turning his back to the ceiling, "Syliras is all about society, creating it, strengthing it. The way you speak of Vayt, weeding out the weak and all, you'd think the Knights would be more sympathetic."

"Sight," Thomas said, shrugging. He trusted Wrenmae, truthfully, but it would be folly to give him every detail about his gift. Stay valuable enough to keep yourself alive, but never attract more attention then you needed. "Odd visions," Thomas continued, fiddling with his thumbs, "It's precise, but the visions are random," he sighed, "Rarely ever what I'm actually looking for."

Carefully, he handed the dagger back to Wrenmae, "You're a wizard," Thomas said matter of factly, "But you learned to use a dagger -- well. Why? I mean, besides the obvious. Most wizards stick with their magic, risking their minds. But not you."

[Wrenmae]

"You're the first Syliran to hear my chosen deity's real intent and not disbelieve me on principle. The Sylirans want society, yes, but not at the cost of their own lives. Most would have it done at the cost of others, the worshippers of Rhysol, the unwashed masses, you know...anyone not Syliran. Their dogma prevents them from seeing the world with an open mind...but never underestimate the power of a god. They exist for reasons besides the petty ones posed by your knights. Although Vayt and Rhysol have been known to work together, neither works FOR the other. Rhysol is a god of betrayal, Vayt betrays no one because he treats all as equals...the tool of poison is used TO betray, but it could just as easily be refined and turned to medicine, enter the domain of Rak'Keli. The gods try to impose their own separate agendas and domains, but they're all woven together like some complicated tapestry."

He smiled, shrugged. "What sort of visions has the Lady granted you?"

Taking out his long dagger, he lay it on the table between them.

"Worship Vayt for what he brings, which is a death to the indolent and the unworthy. If Mizahar is to be built, it must be done by those who know the meaning of suffering, of loss...otherwise they won't build it strong enough."

He took up the blade, placing it in his lap.

"Once upon a time I was no mage at all, but a thief in the streets of Alvadas. I knew parlor tricks but nothing concrete...I needed a blade to keep me at the right end of a standoff. Truthfully though, I've already overgiven once...badly, and lost my mind as a result."

He tapped his head with the blade. "Split my mind in four...a problem I have since had corrected, but it is not an experience I'd like to revisit."

Frowning at Thomas, the hypnotist shook his head gravely, "All mages should push themselves to overgive at least once, a little...they need to know their limits. Without that knowledge, how can one possibly bring themselves back from the brink?"

Hopping off the table he sheathed the blade again.

"Another truth is that I cannot always rely on magic. A mage who relies on will alone might as well be as dried up and weak as the nuit, creatures who must rely on their will because their body has since failed." Holding out his arm, Wrenmae flexed it and smiled. "We hold nature vibrant life within us, the strength to rely on a means that cannot cause ourselves to overgive or to fall apart. Train your body as well as your mind, Thomas Cosa. If you seek to be different from the nuit than treat your body like the temple of energy it is...rather than the form your soul wears."

[Thomas Cosa]

"My possibility," Thomas smiled, "When I was eight, Avalis marked me as her own. I was shown the future or, the outcome of a variety of futures. I have seen myself as a great knight, unmoving in my faith. As a master salesman, richest in all of Mizahar. As a Nuit, surrounded by decay," he kept the visions of the hearthief to himself -- he had his own suspicions this had to do with Sagallius. Perhaps he would be the one to return Aquiras' heart?

"You truly think so?" Thomas asked, intrigued. No one had ever encouraged overgiving -- even the slightest amout could ruin you eternally. Literally, if you were a Nuit. "What was it like, to be split four ways?" he asked, geniune curiosity ringing from his voice. "I have never taken to much practice of the personal magics, to be honest. The ones I have, have almost no chance of overgiving."

"I plan to, it would be folly to allow my body to waste should I only worry about my mind," He plainly responded, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

A moment of silence wrapped the duo, the young animator briefly entertaing a thought, before continuing.

"The Lady also gave me a warning," Thomas continued, "I had originally assumed the vision showed me the Djed Storm, long before it occured, but from what I've heard...doesn't match what I've seen. Mountains will explode in raging fire, monstrous birds will fall from the sky. Death and disease claimed many, and towns will fall to Laviku's embrace. I saw monsters break through the ocean's surface, grabbing at everything with gross tentacles."

Thomas breathed deeply, closing his eyes in a vain attempt to remember what he had seen so many years ago, "Chaos reigned. There was no order. No hope for civilization," Thomas sighed, opening his eyes, "This future plagued me for years, and I only rested with the hope that it had already came to pass -- but I have heard of no sickness so great that it takes whole towns, no mountains have exploded to my knowledge," he paused, searching the storyteller for answers, "Have you heard of anything? Has anything I've seen matched any tale, any story, anything that would give me the peace of mind knowing that this nightmare has passed?"

[Wrenmae]

Silence caught the moment between them after Thomas stopped speaking. His companion was caught in the eddy of those darker times before. His face fell, and his body shrugged as if trying to remove some great burden its shoulders.

"There were time when weeks would go by," Wrenmae said quietly, clasping his hands, "I would remember a fall evening with the leaves like skeletal skin on the trees and then reawaken with snow on the ground. If you can imagine the horror of waking up without any recollection of how long you've been gone, what you've done, and whose blood is on your hands...you have an idea of what it's like to lose your mind."

Wrenmae shuddered.

"Those are not days I will return to, at any cost."

Slipping off the table, he re-examined the metal wolf they had built together. Would the master of this lab be grateful or suspicious? In any case, it was unlikely he would remember either of them...the nuit were so arrogantly apart from the pulsers that they might as well be gods in their own minds.

"I have not heard the things you mention...and certainly I'm of mixed feelings in wanting to experience them. The taleweaver in me wants to see them come to pass, to live through a second Valterrian...to see the devestation caused and remember it to retell...but the rest of me wants to see this world move forward, at last, and away from its sheltered hypocrisy and overwhelming fear."

He turned back to Thomas, shrugging his shoulders sadly. Both men were beat, and Thomas would wrestle with illness later no doubt, exacerbated by his near starving state.

"This is no place to live, Thomas...and you do not belong here. The Sylirans come to wrest some artifact from this place, but when they leave in the Winter, I advise you do the same. Travel to Zeltiva, to the University by the sea. There you will find human teachers, understanding folk who live and breathe. There will always be a Sahova, so take what knowledge you can from this place and leave before the Winter locks you here."

From far away, Zan had uncovered a book of his own choosing, and already awaited his master's arrival back at the library.

"We have tarried too long, I think...let us return before the nuit thinks to test his automation on us. I expect to receive an Animation lesson from you soon...and I hope you will consider my words, the god Vayt, and leaving this place in early Winter...as I will."

He paused at the door, opening it to usher both he and Thomas out into the hall. "I can help you there, certainly...I would hate to see a man of such talent as yourself waste away under the shades of the once-living."

With a grim smile, he stepped outside, waited for his companion, and headed back toward the library.

[Thomas Cosa]

"I had planned on staying till late Spring, but I agree," Thomas nodded, grim in his disposition. "It would not be wise, or safe, for me to continue here, but I doubt I will return with the Sylirans. I doubt they would make a stop for me, and I have no plans to return to Sylira," Thomas replied, taking a last look at the laboratory.

"I will -- I can be found in Lab 15 should you wish for a lesson before you leave Sahova. Perhaps, should time permit, I could try again at the knife," Thomas smiled, glancing at the cold metal -- it might be wise to see if he could get one magecrafted before leaving the undead isle.

Thomas quickly followed Wrenmae towards the library, and said his goodbyes before heading back to Lab 15.

[Mirage]

Thomas

Experience

Skill	XP Earned
Auristics	1
Dagger	5
Rhetoric	4
Storytelling	4

Lores

•	Lore Earned
•	Auristics: Wrenmae’s Aura
•	Wrenmae: A Hypnotist
•	Wrenmae: A talent for dramatics
•	Combat: Dagger Tactics
•	Lore of Religion: Vayt God of Disease

Wrenmae

Experience

Skill	XP Earned
Acting	1
Auristics	1
Dagger	1
Familiary	1
Persuasion	1
Rapier	1
Rhetoric	4
Storytelling	2
Teaching	3

Lores

•	Lore Earned
•	Thomas: An Animator
•	The Tale of Animations Beginning
•	Thomas: Marked with Sight

It's Not What You Think...

All I can say is Bravo… Well done the two of you. I have not been so wound up in a story in a very long time. Loved it for all its twists and everything it had to offer, and as you can see you all got some decent points as well! Sorry Wren you knew you would not get much in those weapons fighting a poor sickly boy like Thoas . For Thomas, extra point for being epic! Congrats to you boath and PM me with any concerns. Also, I would hate to see Thomas leave. I might have to do something about that now