Closed Are We Cursed? (Wrenmae)

[Ana Sol Starris]

Spring 47th, 513AV The Cursed Bridge The wind whistled in the silence, a dark, haunting tune mixed with the quiet howls of souls long dead, and some not having of passed. There was a tinge of both misery, and deprived anger, if only one certain soul wasn't completely oblivious to the saturated air. Pit. Pat. Went the feet against the rock walking towards the cursed bridge defiantly, tik, tak, a cane with a hidden blade tapped in rhythem to the walking next to the girl. It had been some time since Ana had last been to the Cursed Bridge, and it wasn't the bridge's personality that made her shudder in revulsion. It was the fact she had almost committed suicide here. Stepping just a foot away from where the bridge would truely begin, Ana glanced to the left, looking to the dark depths of the Aperture, and doing the same to the right. Memories of a hard time fluttered past her eyes, how she had been held over the depths so precariously close to her own death. The moment Zandelia had pointed out something was extremely wrong with her, it aggravated her. "They say this bridge is cursed.. Only the stupid, or brave cross it.." Ana muttered out, eyes coming to rest firmly on the other side of the bridge. The West Quarter. "Whats the difference?" Ana held both stupidity, and bravery in her hands, but at other times it seemed she was more insane than either of the two. Her free hand balled tightly into a fist at her side, body tense, she was about to do something extremely stupid and the funny thing was... She wasn't scared of this bridge, for all the times she froze up in fear, this just didn't seem to be one of those moments. Taking the first step onto the bridge felt like a disaster just waiting to happen, an ominous 'pat' and 'tak' accompanying the ring of chaos as she took more steps. More, and more even still, with a confident stride. It was more of a test just to see how insane she could get, without showing an ounce of emotion, she stepped. Walked until she was half way across, nothing had happened yet. The whistle of the air seemed to schriek eerily louder around her, the 'oomm' buzzing lower, stopping half way Ana looked around herself and then to the expanse of the Aperture. Staring up into the bright blue sky, black flickering in the air, darkness over taking the city, stealing the life, and warmth of its people..

[Wrenmae]

He had followed her, not knowing why at first. She seemed concentrated on other thoughts, tip-tapping with her cane across the damp cobblestone. The rain from yesterday still clung like a half-remembered dream. She may have noticed Wren a few times, he wore different faces every time she looked upon him. So when she stepped out onto a bridge no one approached, no one followed, he waited.

When she had paused, halfway across the bridge, Wren followed her. For once in what seemed like too long, he tried to remember his face, the way it was shaped. He remembered the eyes first, eyes he had sought for answer in any lake or pond that would yield him reflection. He remembered the shape of his nose, his hair, the cross scar on his cheek Trente had given him.

She was prettier than he remembered her.

In the Spires, she had lost much of her gaunt and frightened look...there was something at work within her now, a certain surety, a certain confidence. It was not complete, not perfect, but she had now what she did not have then...enough of a backbone to make her more of a person.

An instinct. Hit her.

It was the remnants of Shroud, a violent past of cruelty he had left behind. There was higher purpose in his movements now, greater work.

Below him, the Aperature opened a mouth as dark and wide as any void, a quiet invitation to the darkness beneath him. Wrenmae did not pay it heed, instead, paused a distance from Ana.

It wasn't perfect, his likeness, but enough to pull memories from her mind and lay them out like stepping stones of contact, of reintroduction.

"Ana," he said, not knowing what to do with his hands...so he crossed them behind his back, "You look well."

[Ana Sol Starris]

Blackened shadows continued to flicker, waving, and weaving with the scenery, until they dissapeared in a single instant. There were footsteps, light, but she heard them step across the echo of the bridge, coming straight to her, the noise was the only indication that possibly what was walking towards her was real. Unlike the Sinvelt incident earlier in the season, before the chaos, but after the fall out. So she swivelled her head to its direction, body tense, readying itself for a sprint away from possible monstrousities, but freezing at whom it was standing before her. The features themselves were not precise, not as exact as the.. not Wren.. had been, but similar. Ana had to wonder if this was another trick, an illusion.. She allowed her body to turn and face him, foot grazing the rock underneath with a slow movement, hand tightly clamped on her sword canes handle. At first she didn't know what to do. Be happy? Sad? Angry? Maybe a little bit of both at the same time, it probably wouldn't have mattered, she was so drained in the first place. The voice was much like Wren's, and so she could only hope it was definitely him this time. Only this time she didn't make a move to get closer, instead she remained firmly planted in her spot. Ana would wait and see. "Wrenmae.." She let a small breathy chuckle out in one breath along with his name, a smile forming at the corners of her mouth. Crooked, and unatural, as if the act of grinning had never been attempted before. "After.. What.." She stopped to count for a tick, or two, looking at her free hand's fingers as she did so "over a year now, thats all you have to say? 'You look well' ?" Waving her hand in small dismisal, twirling it in circles, with a thought to her expression "well I can't say I feel well." "But nevermind me.." her eyes flicked to the ground, just to his feet and a little to the side. I've been fooled once, I won't be fooled again.. She thought to herself as she tried to come up with something quick to test him, a rather peculiarly shaped Wrenmae "Hope you didn't catch anything while in Zeltiva, you look a wee bit peckish in the face, and of course.." she could only hope that not many people knew of the multiple-persona's he had taken, Shroud, as she had known him was the most harsh "you seem a little...Softer... Than I remember." Honeyed eyes returned to his face, staring intently for some sort of answer.

[Wrenmae]

She was testing him.

All the softness in his face vanished for a moment and he only looked tired...perhaps weary would have been a more apt word, the journeys he had taken were etched in his face. A year...had it been so long? Once he had been a broken man in Sunberth living beneath a savage and his motley crew of misfits. Now? Now he was alone, more alone than when he began.

The gulf between them was like a river, a lake, maybe an ocean. Experiences had changed her, changed him. It wasn't as though he could simply step in like things were before. She was used to the other him, the abuser, Shroud...but he wasn't anything like that anymore, Rhysol had seen to his sanity.

"What would you have me say?" He snapped at her irritably, rubbing his forehead with two fingers, "You look plumper? Less half-starved? That I can tell you're a girl now by your figure rather than your voice?" He bit off a continued response, letting it wilt in him.

She was testing him.

"Zeltiva, Sunberth, Sahova, Nyka...I have been many places...but when a god straps a gauntlet to your wrist to fix your mind, certain things change." He clacked the invisible gauntlet around his right wrist hard against the stone. It echoed between them, a note of metal where there was none.

"You don't believe it to be me, do you? I suppose I am changed...the price of overuse, overreaching...I can say it is any wonder I look a thing like I used to." His face twisted, melting in on itself and expanding, shrinking, till Ana looked upon Ana...and then the face was melting and reforming again, back to not-Wren...just wrong enough to be different, not different enough to be stranger, "When one can be anything, they forget what they were originally." He paused, looking out into the gorge. "One lesson I didn't teach you."

He sighed.

"You left with the rest, Ana...and I went my own way. If you want to blame me for my absence, then go ahead...but you left, not the other way around. I came to see if there was something left to speak to between us." He turned from her roughly, starting back over the bridge.

"But I think I may have wasted my time."

[Ana Sol Starris]

There were moments in his speech that made her flinch, and cringe, barely visible to the eye but they were there. Expecting the snap, but not the compliment to her appearence, or figure, she maintained eye contact with him with a stern gaze. There would be no give, not until she had proof, actual proof that this was Wren. Her brother had known things about her, things he shouldn't have, so she had to be cautious. There was always the possibility that the not-Wren would lash out at her much like Shroud had, move closer to strike, and be done with her, but he did not. Come on... Come on... Ana chanted internally at him, he went on to name cities. However the mention of a god stunned her, taking the form of shocked silence, her tough-act crumbled with the clang of invisible metal to stone. Leaving a harshened echo in the air making every nerve on her body tense, a small cringe from a shoulder accompanying the feeling. It was only a moment of fear. He continued on, to allow her to see her own appearence for the briefest of moments, horror, and dissapointment, a dagger seemed to wrench itself into her gut as her mood sunk low. Of course, she should have known, he had mentioned it in a letter but Ana had never understood what he meant 'to lose ones self' via the usage of morphing. Was this what happened to one who did too much? Ana watched him, saw how much of his features looked fake, and makeshift, put together to make her remember. If only. Faltering her gaze to the wall of the bridge, she could hear his sigh, and felt a twinge inside, was it pity? Or compassion for his situation? She didn't like how this was going, but could he really blame her for being suspicious? "Wren.." Ana started, scared now, it was an utterance of a whisper- for the first time in a year she had seen him and now she was going to lose him again. Wrenmae would not see the hardened look on her face soften, nor the glance up, and the fear that accompanied her eyes, easily turning into a full blown fire of fury and anger. Wren was walking away from her, he had turned his back to her. "What...The petch.." she hissed, quieter than before. It must have been total stupidity, or brazen confidence, or a pitiful desperation that drove her to jolt towards him in leaps and bounds. Reaching for his arm, gripping the cloth and yanking him to look at her, that was probably the stupidest thing she had ever done but she could care less. "I will never be a waste of your time. Ever." She gritted out, taking a step back to regain some sort of personal space "I left to proove something to you, that I could be my own person, not some vagik bitch that would allow herself to be kicked around without a fight." In some poor attempt to regather her previous composure, she straightened her jacket out. "Maybe that wasn't the right decision, but it happened, and though I had regret leaving Sunberth, and you, I would never say it was a waste of my time... Why would you say coming to Nyka, in an attempt to find me, would be a waste of your time? You learned something, didn't you?" Ana felt hurt, wounded, because then she couldn't look at him. Unsure of what she was saying, or if she was spouting nonsense.. She was uneasy. As if getting closer had been the wrong thing to do. Her expression darkened, she wanted to sigh but did not "you can't blame me for being suspicious.."

[Wrenmae]

Again, the instinct...draw and cut her, stab and beat her. But he kept those urges from his hands, instead let her draw him back. But for a moment his face warped with malevolent intention, abiding darkness that was habit around her. He gritted his teeth, tasted blood, and snatched his arm away from her when she'd stopped speaking.

"I didn't come to Nyka for you," he said simply, the truth likely hitting her with more force than he would have intended, "My presence has been requested in Ravok, a ways from here. I was passing through and..."

But he couldn't bring himself to say coincidence. In truth, he would have gone back for her after speaking to Rhysol. Not for any romantic reason, perhaps, but because she had endured plague and hardship just to be near him. That strange half-worship was a whisper of his own warped ambition, his own diseased greatness. All the humble that Philomena had instilled within him shook, held, but cracked.

He closed his eyes for a moment, focusing.

His face shifted again, much closer to Wren, but the massive scar on his face remained, dark tissue separated with a blade.

"You ran away to prove to me you could fight? Strong words, but I have seen no proof anything has changed save for your level of health. You went to the Spires on a job...a JOB, and remained gone. The Crimson Edge was destroyed, Mok was killed, so were others. When you all didn't come back, we came under fire and I consider that a failure of each and every one of you."

He bit the words, spit them in her face. Mok was dead...a close friend gone. It could have been avoided.

With a snarl he grabbed the front of her outfit, pushing her out over the Aperture. His muscles bulged with djed, pushing them into the coiled muscles of a Dhani, easily holding her dangling over the darkness below.

"Why am I here, Ana? Why do I bother? Sunberth is dead for all I care, the Crimson Edge was annihilated. You take your cues from a goddamn dunderheaded petcher too stupid not to die and some dried up old hag, spinning lies. What ARE you Ana? What the petch ARE you anymore? Switch up one master for another? Playing 'find the purpose' again with someone else's dreams? Don't you have someone to kill in Zeltiva?"

He shook her over the drop, his eyes burning, before twisting her back onto the bridge and releasing her, forcing his arms to shift back toward human. "I'm not sure how you expected to prove you've become different...but so far, I'm not impressed."

[Ana Sol Starris]

The looming darkness beneath her seemed to buzz, placing a high pitched ring on the inside of her ears. Words rang along side the already high pitched frequency, and the beat of her heart pulsed in her ears, she was ready to die at any given moment. To be dropped to her death, and meet the earth of the Aperture.. Would this finally be the day she died? No. Like Zandelia, Wrenmae pulled her back over to the bridge and dropped her to the bridges ground. Never had stone looked so inviting to kiss. But she didn't kiss it, she remained knelt on the ground, shaking, arms locked with palms flat on the cobble, trying to breath, and calm herself. Becoming calm was prooving to be difficult, she had heard his words.. The doubt. Ana didn't have to proove anything to him, but she was.. she needed to calm down.. For a moment she wouldn't acknowledge him, pressing a hand to her chest in an effort to calm the organ that flung itself wildly at her chest. There was a whisper of power there.. a promise of silence, and peace, blank of any light, devoid of any corruption. Just power. Inhaling through her nostrils, she felt the pull, and exhaled, with the expulsion of air she held onto that tug. Except, this power needed direction, she guided it to her hair and the strands of white-blonde became a lofty black. Dark, like the calm of sleep, the shadow of ones eyelids in the pitch dark, it could have rivalled even the Apertures black depths. Not for any reason in particular, hair just seemed the logical thing to choose.. and it was better than becoming something grotesque. The whole process itself might have taken a chime, or two at most. Erecting herself into a standing position, Ana would finally acknowledge Wren with a look, she wasn't going to proove herself for she had nothing to proove currently. "If Zeltiva is as you say it is, having of been hit by a plague.." No.. She paused her sentence, and the thought, a dawning realization bringing a grim smile. Fate wouldn't have been that kind. "No.. you're exactly right Wrenmae, I have someones throat to cut back in Zeltiva.. he murdered my brother, sister, and now I'm starting to have a sneaking suspicion he had a hand in my mother's death as well.." "and I bet the bastards still living, despite the plague...Just because fate is cruel like that, taunting me with his ever lingering presence." There was a glint to her eyes, the orbs seemed to waver, but remained strong, she wouldn't break eye contact with Wrenmae unless he did so. "What am I?" She was a joke, just like the rest of everything "I am a thief, with too many dreams, too many sob stories, and not good enough for you.." Ana absentmindedly went to pick the canesword up, flicking the lock and pulling the blade out by the handle before turning back to Wrenmae and kneeling just a few feet away. Laying the sword in front, along with the wooden sheathe, next was the dagger she had filched and layed next to the first blade. Thirdly she took out Zandelia's Dagger, leaving it in the sheathe, and setting it beside the other two blades. Fourthly, she unwound the bright red scarf around her neck, and folded it to lay neatly on the ground, revealing the brands on both her chest, and neck for him to see. Marks of a thief that had gotten caught, but was still living.. Why did she continue to live? "I swore in a letter that I would follow, and serve you... not Ximal, not Zandelia... Not even to the bloody Edge itself.. If I have to, I will swear it again, that I am your follower, and pawn, and I do not break my promises.. Unless you have broken promises to me." She paused a moment, knowing the implications between thieves and vows, they had no honor. "True thieves lie, cheat and steal.. But I am not like other thieves, and perhaps it is because of that I am still alive today.." Placing a hand over her heart, close to her opposite shoulder "you have use of my skills, abilities, and my ever growing potential.. If that is not enough, strike me down and be done with my sorry carcass.. Why I've continued to live despite circumstances.. Is beyond me." There was a deep breath, she could feel the black in her hair drifting away she clung to what power there was, confidence, if any of it was still there. Just as Ana would finish speaking, the black in her strands of hair would fade back to their former white-blonde "all I ask from you is that you allow me to travel to Zeltiva and be done with my father once and for all. Promise me this chance, and I pledge my life to you." What was she hoping for? Miracles? If those truely existed..

[Wrenmae]

He stared down at her, much in the way he had when they had first met. That time too...he looked down at her from the edge of his blade. Now she lay her things before her...precious things, weapons, her talent and potential. The girl was a shattered thing, barley held together by the people around her. Wren...Shroud...no, Wren had taken that girl and twisted her. He was responsible for what she had become, what she would end up being now.

But his gaze did not break from her...the furrowed lines that made his face softened briefly, given a calmer acceptance by her words. Sighing, he stepped away from her and looked out over the bridge, over the Aperature and its gut wrenching drop. The darkness there, the infinity represented in the void of its bottom was much of what he felt.

There was a void of possibility ahead of him...a journey fraught with peril and bloodshed. He had things to do, people to manipulate, corruption to spread. And here he could begin.

But why wouldn't he?

"Stop being melodramatic," He muttered, not turning to look at her, "Pick yourself up and take your weapons, you've proven your loyalty."

He waited till she had, turning back to her and holding out his hands.

"When you kill that bastard, make sure Dira herself will have trouble sorting him out. You only get to kill him once, so make sure it counts." He smiled, mirthlessly and shrugged his shoulders, "Go then, to Zeltiva I mean. There is a certain man there named Ricky. Tell him you were a friend of the Waveguard Murdock and that you seek lessons in blades and coin. He is a man who will help you. Whatever you do, stay wary of the one known as Ignotus Everto....he is a nuit who has grand ambitions for the place. I count him as comrade and a powerful magician, but seek him out only when you need instruction and tell him I sent you and finally..." He took a deep breath, "If you find a certain women named Philomena Lefting. Ask her to teach you...she is as dear a friend of mine as I have ever had and she will give you the care you need."

"That said..." He approached her, pulling a dagger from his belt and holding it out, "I have another gift to give you, my student. Come, cut your fingers for me and grind your teeth together...keep them strong. What I offer does not come without agony, as it was not granted to me without it."

[Ana Sol Starris]

There were all sorts of things that flew through Ana's head, doubts, hopes, and wishes, as she would stare up at him with every fiber of her being pleading for him to believe her. To accept her. With the step backwards, and the look to the Aperture, Ana felt her heart stop. Was he contemplating what she said? Would he really strike her down? If so.. She had been worthless from the start, a waste of time, energy, and resources- her life was just a toy, a speck in the grande scheme of things. Everything was tense, her face hardened and her eyes seemed to dry out, begging her to blink them, she readyed herself for the most iviteable outcome and was.. Surprised. It took her a moment, a mere tick to understand what he had said, but said tick seemed to be a millenia. Instead of her heart sinking in despair, it jumped, kicked her to react and do as he had said; with a sort of joy, and relief, she had never felt before. Quickly gathering her items up, the scarf held in her right hand dangling, and swaying with the light wind streams as she would stand. Tightly she gripped the scarf, listening, eyes brightening, though she did not return the smile, instead she grimaced. How old was her father? Would he be weak? Or sickly? Good condition.. Bad.. Zeltiva did not take very good care of its useless old folk. So there was always the possibility. "Ricky" she echoed in a whisper, committing the name to memory, "Murdock" following after, as well as "Ignotus" and "Phil.." that was when her thoughts made a beeline into confusion. Did they know the same person? It had been a very long time since she had made contact with the quirky old woman, a past babysitter, and one she had kept contact with her first few years in Sunberth via letters. Those letters stopped when she took the name Ana.. She must have paled slightly at the name, how long had it been since she last sent a letter? Ana couldn't remember.. Nodding her head very slowly in understanding, she would press the matter no more; Ricky could teach her with blades, the Wrenwitch would care for her, if it was actually the Philomena they both knew or a different Philomena, and Ignotus.. Ana wasn't sure if she wanted to meet him. She would do her very best to avoid this Ignotus Everto. Wrenwitch.. Wrenmae.. The connection there just seemed to slap her in the face. Looking down at the blade Wrenmae had pulled, Ana eyed it with some distaste before finally switching the scarf to her left hand and wrapping her right hand around the blades edges "compared to hot metal.. this doesn't look like it would hurt.." she muttered, all too sure of herself as she squeezed tightly on the blade. Why he would want her to slice her fingers, was beyond her. Applying pressure and then pulling back to reveal ruby red blood, it was very sharp, indeed. Actually, it stung higher than the sky, and did make her wince, and grind her teeth trying not display any sign of weakness. It was enough to make her temporarily forget about the connection between Philomena and Wrenmae. Taking the wounded hand away, she could feel it burn and sting, the blood that flowed out made her very cautious, and worried. Ana never liked seeing her own blood.. It made her more squeemish than being in water, but never the less, she had done it- and without a second thought. Probably for the best "what did you mean by agony.. by the way? Sure the blade hurt.. but..?" Now feeling the closeness of Wren's proximity very accutely, it made her wary, but she did not draw away.

[Wrenmae]

They were moments apart, as if time could be consummate with distance. Wrenmae was looking down at her and she could not help but avert her own eyes, drawing her hands back behind her.

But he was swift, grabbing both of her wrists and drawing them in front of him. A strange green mist lifted off his arms like dawn breath, reaching out around both of them, shifting and slithering as though alive.

"In my travels, I have chosen no other student besides you. So far, in the year I have taught you the first lessons on morphing, you have made some modest progress...but hardly befitting the student I want you to become. Embrace your abilities and be studious in your progress. The woman I have need of in the future will have at least developed her skills to a level of competency I can use. I give you this new magic, this new gift, in hopes you will take it as an investment in your drive to serve and to improve."

The green mists swirled up around them both, twin heads without faces and their serpentine bodies traced around Ana's head and then down to her hands, surrounding them in the slightly luminescent green.

"Agony is the price of the gift. Give in, and you'll die. Be stronger than it, or else it will swallow you."

And the mist entered the cuts of her fingers, pushing into her body like tiny invaders. Wrenmae remembered the agony he'd felt when Sable had first initiated him into reimancy. Then she'd used the cuts on his head to introduce the res. Since then, he'd learned that the scars on the fingers were the most direct method. Her djed would learn to recognize his djed, the form it took...this res.

And she would live or die.

He clamped his hands around her wrists to keep her from falling away from him, pushing all the res into her, directing it within her body and then finally expelling it through her fingers again, gathering it back into a translucent green ball in his hands.

He let her go then, let her writhe.

She would grow or die...but he had no room in his plans for failures.