Delivering the Upper Hand (Verilian)

[Wrenmae]

10th of Winter, 512 AV


Kneeling in the dark room, Wrenmae shut out the distractions around him and concentrated on his god. Vayt and Rhysol, two gods that would be considered 'evil' by the standards Sylirans enforced. Both, however, represented both natural and necessary parts of existence. Rhysol, the betrayer, taught the valuable lesson of knowing who to trust and pushed the balance of the world into the vital role of chaos. Within chaos lay the key to order, for without one...the other would never exist. True order was tyranny, and Rhysol freed Mizahar from that burden...perhaps too well.

Vayt. Well, Vayt had been a guiding principle in the Storyteller's life since he was a child. The edict of the strong overpowering the weak had always been a mantra that, while it had taken awhile to embrace, certainly continued to make itself known now.

Wrenmae's entire experience, his life, it all proved that very essence of Vayt's argument.

Now Wrenmae clasped his hands together to pray, hoping the Dark god Rhysol who had marked him but days earlier, visited him twice, would show favor on him now.

"My lord Rhysol," he began, "Your humble servant thanks you for your blessing during my triumph over the Knight Imass. I ask for your presence, now, my lord for I have more to give you in regards to my accomplishments against your enemies, the Sylirans."

His voice echoed in the empty room. He remembered what Zan had shown him, how Rhysol had taken Imass with him. The knight was dead now, or worse...but there was a haunting uncertainty within the breast of the hypnotist...he had not killed the man himself, and he had an eerie suspicion he might see the Knight again one day.

He was not adequately prepared.

"I carry information regarded as most sacred by the Syliran Knights. I spied it out and wish to deliver it to you, My lord, as a show of my willingness to by your instrument of destabilization and chaos in this world. Please honor my request for audience and I shall not disappoint you."

[Verilian]

At first there was no answer. There was no swirling shadowy chaotic mist, no sign that the god even heard him, much less any sign of a physical appearance. Perhaps Rhysol would not give him the honor of a third visit? Perhaps the god was not as pleased with him as Wrenmae thought? He had not, after all, kill the knight. He had let his actions be deterred by the words of a familiar. Rhysol might not have been so pleased with him afterall. But eventually something did happen. There was no physical manifestation, no visible sign that the god was there, but somehow Wrenmae knew Rhysol had come. Whether he was going to show himself or not, the storyteller had no way of knowing, but the god was watching, and listening. He could feel the pale white eyes upon him, even if he couldn't see them. "You disappointed me, Wrenmae." Rhysol's cold, dissatisfied voice rang out in the air around him, coming from nowhere and everywhere all at the same time. "There was so much more you could have done to destroy him. Now it is up to those who are truly faithful to me to complete the job." The voice was full of displeasure. Killing Imass wouldn't have been enough, but not killing him was not enough either. Imass was defiant still, he was not broken, nor destroyed. He was not begging to die, but sought only vengeance. Vengeance was a tool that Rhysol could use, but it was directed at the wrong person. Imass had not been defeated, his dark brother would see to that. "Imass yearns for revenge. It is all he can think of, though I would not fear. He cannot harm you now, though perhaps I should let him." Rhysol was silent for a moment. It was possible he was actually considering letting Imass have his revenge, but then if he did that he would lose Wrenmae. It all fell to whether he considered one more valuable than the other, but for now, Wrenmae was safe. Rhysol, despite his disappointment, was intrigued. "What is this most sacred information you wish to reveal to me, then?"

[Wrenmae]

The words of the dark god swirled from the shadows around him, at once everywhere and nowhere. More than five times he had stood in the presence of a god. It was getting easier, the power, the pain, the overwhelming feeling of casual and mortal danger. So this time he did not tremble as he had in the past. He did not hang for Rhysol on hooks and bleed. He did not do battle with an empowered Akalak. No, this time he was only himself.

Bowing his head low, Wrenmae spoke. “My lord, the Akalak had lost consciousness. I had not the medical skill to bring him to wake. Had you but given me the opportunity to fetch one who had, I could have easily twisted their mind into forgetting their aid and then broken the Akalak in a more controlled setting. You know, my lord, that I have the skills and ability to do so. I do not question your wisdom to move him to your own domain, as my familiar told me you had, but I must protest that your actions were premature.” He looked up into the darkness, transfixing his eyes on nothing but the inky coalesce of shadow. “I would have broken him to pieces, my lord, twisted him to serve none but you…or at the least, never be a knight again.”

The weight of that displeasure sat squarely on his shoulders. So. It would be foolish to attempt and bargain for more of Rhysol’s favor. The mark had not given him an edge in battle as he had hoped, and accruing more of Rhysol’s favor might entitle him to abilities better than he was able to bring to bear against his opponent, Imass. No doubt they would cross paths again, and he would need to prepare for such an eventuality. For now, however, there was something he could do for Rhysol. If he did not know the secret of the Windoak, this information would be a prize five hundred years had not delivered to him. Certainly it would need to count for something…certainly. The mage had pride himself, pride cultivated by watching many wither to ashes beside him, by interfering in the minds of those who defied him, by becoming whatever he dreamed. His prowess was growing, and it was Sahova that taught him his abilities were monumental for such a young man to accomplish. Whatever that meant, whatever that entailed…it made him valuable to Rhysol, incredibly valuable. Anything he aided the dark god with at this point only added to that value.

Taking a breath, Wrenmae fought the mental insistence from Zan to remain silent. Since the intervention of Rhysol, since his fight with the familiar, Wrenmae had been secretly plotting against his once loyal and devout partner. He would find a way to seal Zan away if necessary, especially if he was like to interfere again.

“My lord,” he began, “On the journey to Sahova, I discovered a secret the Knights have tried to keep silent for the entirety of their existence. The oak emblem on their shields, that branching tree…they call it the Windoak, and it directs them.” He looked up again into the darkness, trying to spy out his god. Nothing made any indication it was Rhysol, but then and again, nothing ever would if the god so willed it. “The Windoak is a fragment of Sylir, the slain god, and it rests within Syliras where it fills the knights with zeal and righteous mission. I assume it to be similar to the fragment that was on Sahova, but this one has long since been established. The Knights are fiercely loyal to it, and it was only by chance I stumbled on the information. Whether this is known to you or not, my lord, I do not know. I felt it necessary to report regardless…as my first act in redeeming your disappointment in me.”

He let the words requesting reward die in his mouth, wither and turn to ash. He would not tempt the volatile deity with impudence.

Quietly, he awaited Rhysol’s answer.

[Verilian]

For a long time Rhysol said nothing. As the god mulled over the information, Wrenmae was left alone to wonder. Would Rhysol be pleased, or would he react in some unexpected fashion? He was the god of chaos, afterall, and could be unpredictable. But no, Rhysol was pleased. Over five centuries, and his Ebonstryfe had never discovered that the tree was more than a tree, and then Wrenmae comes along and finds it out by accident? Was Lhex playing games, or was he really that lucky? "You more than redeem yourself with this information, Wrenmae," the god finally answered. "You need not fear my wrath. I reward those who are loyal, and useful, and you have proven yourself both today." It was odd that Rhysol placed such value on loyalty, when he himself was the god of betrayal. Perhaps it was not that he valued it, but that he saw it for the useful tool that it was, whether it was loyalty out of fear, or something else. Whatever Wrenmae's motivations were, he seemed inclined to stay on Rhysol's side, though perhaps he had no choice? It did not really matter. "Vayt has asked you to sow the seeds of destruction.. and you have done that well, so far. The mark I gave you will aid in that, and everything you have done for Vayt, has helped me as well. You spread chaos with you everywhere you go.. yet you are lonely. I know you have doubts, but you also have no choice. Survive Vayt's task, Wrenmae. Succeed in spreading both our influence, and if you do that, I can give you what your heart desires. That is my promise, in exchange for this information. Survive, succeed, and once you have done so, come see me in Ravok. I will be waiting for you there." Rhysol fell silent then, though Wrenmae could still feel his presence. He was waiting for something, perhaps just a simple reaction, or perhaps to see if Wrenmae would ask for more. It was impossible to know for sure, but Rhysol did not leave yet. He still expected something. OOCOie.. god posts are so hard.

[Wrenmae]

Rhysol fell silent, his approval almost as burdening as his disappointment. There was little to the psychology of the god that Wrenmae understood. To that extent, what god did he understand? He could not think of a time when he had settled on an answer to that psychological question. Rhysol had congratulated him for his work, had promised a reward if he traveled to Ravok. There were thing to accomplish for Vayt first, of course, but the promise of a reward from the God of Chaos in his own territory was more than a little daunting. First he’d have to find out where exactly Ravok was…and then the traveling.

“My lord Rhysol,” he said into the darkness, feeling the presence of the god ever linger, “You are generous. Make of me great among your servants and I will show you that this information is not the only service I can grant you.” He knelt, feeling the pressure of those ever present eyes, those searing orbs that broke through his soul and stared into every secret he possessed, into his past, present, and future. There was power here, especially in service…but Wrenmae had served as the cur of Vayt for ten years before the god had felt him able to bare another mark of his power. Was he not a powerful mage? Did he not deliver a great truth unto the god? Should not more trust be put into such a capable servant?

Arrogance, momentarily, clouded his thoughts, and he bit back reproach before reordering it with his tongue, and speaking again. “I do not mean to ask for more than I am due, my lord, but I will serve your cause at far greater capacity if you trusted me as more than a once marked foot soldier. I assure you, my talents are not arrogantly spoken of but tried and tested. If you will but…” He trailed off, bit his tongue, fell silent.
“My Lord, forgive me my impertinence…” he sighed, “It is not my place to ask more of you when you granted me much already. I ask only that you consider me for advancement in your cause. Vayt chose to wait years before elevating me at all, although I have proven nothing but a capable servant in that time. Please judge me by my merits, my Lord, and I will not disappoint the good faith you choose to place in me.”

Bowing his head, he waited. Half of him expected the chaotic god to erupt and incinerate him on the spot, another half thought he might just get what he asked for. It was always hard to tell with Rhysol and Wren was fairly sure the god realized and lauded that unpredictable aspect in himself. All Wren could do was wait.

[Verilian]

The silence that followed was short lived. Rhysol had other things to do, Wrenmae was not the only mortal he had to toy with that day. The god quickly considered Wrenmae's words, before offering up a response. His voice filled the room, as well as the mage's mind. "You have served Vayt all these years, but his goals are not mine. Your actions may have served me from time to time, but not always. You might be skilled, as you say, but do not think that I do not have others who are just as skilled." Rhysol was not an easy god to impress. In his eyes, Wrenmae was nothing special. He had seen a thousand Wrenmae's over the centuries. But even so, he must have seen something in the mage to have marked him. Even if Wrenmae had not done exactly as Rhysol had asked, he still favored the man enough not to kill him. And the information he brought was most enticing. "You will advance yourself only through your own actions. Prove yourself, and you will see that advancement sooner than later. Spread my influence into the world, and the rewards you recieve will be greater than anything Vayt has to offer." Rhysol was gone after that, leaving Wrenmae completely alone once more. As to what exactly the god wanted the mage to do, that much was uncertain. What exactly did spreading Rhysol's influence even mean? Perhaps it was up to Wrenmae to decide that. Either way, he was left alone to figure things out once more. OOCBleh.. I really couldn't think of what else to make Rhysol say. I believe this thread was supposed to just be a short one anyway. As to advancement.. you will of course have to be patient with that, since I can't be awarding Wrenmae too many gnosis all at once, lol. Feel free to respond, then I will grade. Oh.. and if I'm forgetting something that was supposed to happen, feel free to remind me.

[Wrenmae]

In the silence that followed, Wren felt the god retreat. Much as it was with Vayt, he could sense the presence of the Chaos shift away from Sahova...out and beyond. He stayed knelt there for a few moments longer, reflecting on the words of the god and the chances he'd been offered.

After a small while he stood and left the chamber, closing the door behind him and stepping smartly down the hall. Rhysol had spoken his piece and Wrenmae had dared to ask him for something else.

It was enough that he wasn't ashes now, that he had been treated with uncharacteristic tenderness for a god who had tortured him a year or so back. Well...times changed and the spared tortured had become something useful.

He said to seek him in Ravok...a name Wrenmae was not familiar with. He'd need to research the place as soon as possible and make preparations to travel. Rhysol had work for him and Vayt's work was done wherever he went.

It was time to see which god truly offered the greater rewards.

At least...now...he felt as though he were something useful, rather than experimental.

[Verilian]

. . Thread Award . . Wrenmae +1 Rhetoric You Question My Logic? : Well, there wasn't a whole lot I could award here. But if you feel I missed something, feel free to PM me. Lores: Praying to Rhysol, Disappointing Rhysol, Revealing the Windoak's Secret, A Promise of Reward.. from the God of Betrayal Notes: Well, not much happened in this thread, but it did set Wrenmae on a new path. Hope you enjoyed it, and hope you enjoy what comes of it. Until then, keep up the good work, and keep writing! Notice As per the request of the Founders, threads cannot be graded unless your CS is up to date. This means you need to add threads to your thread list when you make new threads, keep your skills up to date, ledger, living expenses, ect. If you aren't up to date, you'll get a PM from me before i grade your thread. If you are up to date, disregard this notice.