PM to join A Journey into the Depths [Rayage]

[Keene Ward]

She seemed entertained by his reluctance. Keene let his suspicions drop some, unsure whether the woman's bemused smile meant he was overreacting or if he was not reacting quite enough. With a terse warning, Master Rayage began to draw on his arms. She had said it might tickle, but Keene was far more preoccupied with the woman's grip on his wrist to notice the gliding of the quill. She had started with his right arm, and he was glad for it. Sensations were numbed, giving him little information beyond the pressures exerted by both foreign objects pressing into his skin. While unpleasant, it was not unbearable. Keene's grey eyes followed the black lines of the ink as the woman's hand moved steadily. It was more of a sort of drawing than anything else, the motions organic, flowing. He found it odd that the ink stuck so well to his skin, or that the lines were so steady despite the curve of his arm. His frown was one of interest and investigation, eyes following the lugubrious path of the quill. As she drew, Master Rayage delivered another narrative, speaking of days past.

His eyes lifted from the artwork, starting at the focused green gaze that still illuminated the woman's work as she spoke. He wondered just how old she was, finding no clues in the smooth curve of her jaw or the gentle rose of her cheeks. He had never heard of "glyphing" before, though he knew the etymological meaning of the word. How it might have been similar to learning the common tongue in regards to magic, however, Keene had little idea. It did not strike him as a language so much as an art form. In a sense, Nader Canoch had a similar feel to it, however, which made Master Rayage's words not seem entirely far fetched. It was subjective, as he had come to realize most magic was. There was a form, a base, but what one did it with was only limited by innovation and creativity. That a language and art devoted to the wild and unexpected nature of magic would seem more fluid and abstract was not the most surprising thing, though Keene still had difficulty coming to terms with it. Up until recently, magic had been entirely composed of reimancy. The island had forced him to assimilate and accommodate more and more knowledge pertaining to the arcane, and it was exhausting. Revelation upon revelation made for a constantly expanding mind when it came to such things.

She spoke of magic like she might a doting mother over her child, fussing about its poor development. Keene knew little of what magic was before his time, but from the nostalgia in Master Rayage's tone, he couldn't imagine it had been anything short of grand. It was almost sad to think that it was still so unknown, so wild and that it was what he had inherited and would ever truly know. He wondered what the wizards of old were like as his stared at the woman before him as she continued to create the runes upon his skin. He doubted they could have all been as refined as the woman before him, but he had the feeling many of them would have been similar to the nuits before they sacrificed their mortality: stately and powerful. The wizards of the common era, Master Rayage had little to offer in support for. Though he knew few of them, Keene himself had thought magic a solution on may occasions before, a "hidden weapon" so to speak. It seemed the very psychology of wizards had changed with the years. He supposed it was in part due to the views of those who did not practice the arts (or once-arts, as Master Rayage seemed to view them).

She continued on in her lesson, explaining that the magic of glyphing should be as second nature to him as blinking or breathing was to life. It was a form of magic to guide djed, rather than alter and change it. If it were a guide, Keene could see the practicality of it immediately. The most difficult thing about reimancy once control was established was producing the res. He was quick enough at it, but it still required him to focus and shift his djed before he could withdraw it in the form of res. With the glyphs, their intricate workings aside, if they were able to make his djed more readily accessed, the potential for the magic was incredible. As she continued her explanation, Keene frowned at the idea of the magic being intuitive. It was hard to imagine the delicate lines as something intrinsic rather than predetermined forms. She spoke of focuses, paths, and sigils, their meanings lost on him but holding relevance none the less. He could see the distinct markings, and while he was unsure of how it worked, he could see the cohesive flow of the entire image. It held a power about it that even the unpracticed eye could see. In the way Master Rayage said the glyphs would explain their own purpose, Keene could feel them. They were marks of motion, of keys to locks and paths made clearer.

Seemingly drawing from Keene's own thoughts, she finished with an address to power. Keene's frown darkened then as she began the finishing touches. She knew better than he that change was no so easily affected. Balance was required. Balance that Keene had yet to attain. As he stared down at the inked markings on his arm, Keene wondered if it were not better to pursue the balance Master Rayage spoke of rather than raw power. It seemed logical, though how to achieve it was as murky as magic's lost era. He knew it was the better path, the "right" path if there was one, yet he had little idea how to go about it. Perhaps it was a combination of power and self-control, or a mix of wisdom and knowledge. He did not know, and in spite of everything Master Rayage had intimated, he had the feeling she too was unsure. They were not nearly as different as he might have thought at first: two souls struggling against the darkness of self. It seemed some things that plagued the living and unliving alike could not be solved with time.

As she moved to his next wrist, Keene winced. The sensation of her chilled fingers as they wrapped around his skin tightened the muscles through his entire body, his jaw clenching to keep himself from drawing back. As she began again, the path of the ink was cool and tugged at his skin. After about a chime, Keene was able to breath easier, forcing his focus from the point of contact and back onto the sweeping motions of the quill. With a slight shake to his voice as he was still regaining control, Keene spoke in his soft, cool tone a question he had been wondering. "You speak of change as if it is something you can longer guide." He drew a sharp breath as she took a moment to regrip his arm, his skin screaming out at the contact, but his mind forcing his arm to remain. The utility of the glyphs far outweighed his aversion to touch, but the struggle was evident on his face. He could control much about his features, but when it came to the sheer antipathy he felt towards skin to skin contact, it was far too difficult a thing to mask. "Power may not force change, but can wisdom not mold it?" He spoke between clenched teeth, the conversation a better distraction from his plight than anything else. His wrist burned from where the chilled fingers wrapped themselves around it, but he kept himself as steady as he could, a small shake in his frame.

[Rayage]

”Please don’t misinterpret my words, Keene.” She said, choosing to continue to ignore the youths state of mind. He was uncomfortable, but he could bear it for a little while longer, ”It is not one thing or another that can force change. At most, one can guide it into a favorable direction, or attempt to. I told you to be the change you wish to see in the world. To change something you must understand what and why you want it to change. After that, you figure out how you can manipulate it. Power is something that is hastily jumped to, but what people fail to realize with power is that it can easily break something, and turn the change you wish into a nightmare. Wisdom can only effect change if people act on it. Wisdom can be easily ignored, and its touch is often too soft. Power, with enough of it, cannot be ignored, but its touch is often too hard.”

She dipped her quill into to ink and was silent for a moment as she concentrated on finishing up the symbols on his arm, drawing a series of squiggles, twists and turns, objects with sharp edges that ended abruptly, and some that flowed like a river down his arm. Her quill twisted and turned around the skin, pressing firmly enough to leave a nice trail of ink. However, such a firm stroke often made her have to redip the quill, however the symbols were more pronounce. She did a trail down the first line she drew, the line seeming to bisect the runes. To the undiscerning eye it seemed like she was just drawing random figures upon the boys flesh, but she was allowing herself to be guided by her heart, her mind translating the arts messages into physical symbols.

”It is not about one or another, Wisdom verses Power.” she shook her head and dipped the quill back into the ink, ”That is what people fail to understand, especially youth. It is a balancing act, like I have been saying. They should exist simultaneously, wisdom tempering power, and power giving wisdom the strength to manifest. I possess wisdom, but not sheer power. You are seeking power, but are lacking in wisdom.” she smiled slightly as she told the boy her assessment of him. ”Neither of us are suitable to enact change quite yet. We both have work to do.”

With that she put the finishing touches on the arm, going to the second line she drew, and put symbols there. A line here, a triangle there, the second line seemed to be a mass of interconnected shapes and random lines dissecting the figures. They flowed however, like a storybook, each touching the other in some way. Some even diverting from the guiding line that she drew for the path, only to splash back a few shapes later. A chain it seemed she was making, and between it was a road of skin that djed could travel down.

”Change cant be forced. That will lead to disaster, and usually one cannot see that until its too late.”

Letting go of Keenes wrist the nuit looked at the back of his hand and drew a bigger glyph upon it. The glyph looked like a stylized ‘U’, the curve of the shape facing his wrist while the ends were topped with triangles. Two lines were put through the shape, connecting both prongs and going a bit beyond outside the shape itself. She then flipped his hand over and looked at his palm. Dipping the quill back into the ink she began to trace the lines in his palm with ink, covering the deepest ones, before connecting them with a diamond shaped figure.

Satisfied with her work she nodded, ”Let it dry,” she instructed, ”In a moment I want you to tell me if you feel a difference between your right arm and your left.”

x

[Keene Ward]

It seemed he had misunderstood. Keene nodded at her reply, paying close attention to her illumination. She spoke of power, both its strength and its follies. It was a dangerous weapon, as a weapon it was, that if wielded incorrectly, it could shatter that which it was meant to protect. It was raw, untempered, but the easy solution. He associated it in a similar fashion to way she had spoken of magic in the current age: bits and pieces poorly understood and wielded by babes with no meaning. He had always thought it strength, but her words did fall lightly upon him. Deep down, he was aware of the destruction power in its purest form to wreak. He had studied storms, and he had watched them overtake her, consume her. Power was not strength, but it was a force to be reckoned with. While he chose, in that moment, not to admit it; he knew that it should not be approached without care or thought. Though he could not dissuade himself from seeking it, from grasping it and pulling for more until he satisfied the emptiness inside him; Keene took her words to heart. He had tasted power, and he couldn't draw himself from it. Still, perhaps he could guide himself in such a way that it might not consume him, rather infuse him. It was a delicate balance, something he had considered in passing but never in such detail as he did then, standing with arm extended speaking to a woman who's voice belied the short years of her face.

She drifted into silence once more, concentrating on the glyphs. His eyes traced them, their inherent strength visible in the curves and bends of the lines, but their true meaning known only by she who drew them. There was a beauty about the glyphs, but it was chaotic. Ink dotted his flesh, dying it black as the scratch of the quill ran over his deadened skin, the sensation as it caught sending a small tug, though the finer feelings were lost to the numbness. With the direction of movement and dedication of eye, Keene could hardly believe she did not act without purpose. As she continued, however, there was the inkling that she simply dashed the ink over him however she felt, as the appearance seemed to support the sentiment. Still, she continued to work, and as she approached a point where her absolute focus was not required, she spoke again.

This time, balance was brought into play, and Keene's eyes sparked with contemplation. While he could not avoid the draw that power had upon him, wisdom she spoke of seemed a practical augmentation. He wasn't sure if he could gain it quickly enough, nor if he could make use of it in a way to protect himself against the pitfalls of power. It was a start, however, that he even thought of it. Up to that point, knowledge had been power as well: understanding merely another facet of what it was to become strong. And strength, perhaps, was that balance she spoke of. It was the power to enact change with the wisdom to guide it. The duality of their own existences was clear, though Keene drew few conclusions from it other than that power was not gained through time. If that were the case, Master Rayage would not have required his help, or the help of anyone for that matter. Wisdom, however, did come with time, moving at a pace that could not be hurried. He wondered if his pursuit was doomed to failure, if there was a fate he simply could not avoid because of his mortality. As he stared at the woman's face, watching her eyes move fluidly over her work, he found a small bit of reassurance within him. Advice, as she had said, should be given to the young; how else was he to learn all the centuries worth of lessons that were invaluable to the building of strength, the balance of power and wisdom.

"Change can't be forced." Keene let his gaze drift, staring off past her into his own thoughts. Perhaps that had been where she had failed. She, Mella, had tried to control, to command with the power she had attained, and she had failed. She had failed the moment she had succumbed to the maddening draw of her magic. Keene found little difference between the two of them, but the worry that should have been there was muted, hidden behind his desire. He needed power. He needed wisdom. He needed strength. These things were all he could aim for, all he could understand. His life had had no purpose beyond them, and with his guide gone, he was alone. The lives of those around him, they were real and true enough, but they were not his own. They were paths separate from the one he had been forced upon. He knew no other. He could watch, see those on other journeys, other twists of fate, but he could not join them. As he let his eyes once more fall on the dark haired nod of the woman before him, a small tug of sadness softened his eyes for a moment. In spite of everything she said, the darkness they both shared, she too was alone like he was. There was no kinship between them, only a mutual understanding of that fact. Yet, she seemed to fight it, to deny it; and Keene could only guess at why.

At her command, Keene kept his arm extended, taking care to keep his hand from curling and ruining the designs on his palm. He waited for a few breaths, the whispering of the spirits behind them filling the quiet with their airy voices. Then, there was a small tingle in his right arm, a feeling that itched not in the skin, but in his djed. He could feel it shift, the flow adjusted without a conscious effort, and he felt it pulse just beneath the skin. His eyes widened some, his attention flicking to his left arm, clenching and unclenching his fist, the strange sensation present only where the runes sank into his skin. Keeping his right arm straight, he shifted it slightly higher before res burst fourth in a shimmer of bluish liquid dancing from his fingers and out into the air. As quickly as it had been produced, it fled back into his hand as he carefully lowered it. "Yes. I feel a difference." He could feel the ink was still wet in places, so he took care to hold his arm slightly out from his body. "You are..." He paused, unsure what it was he wanted to say. He met her emerald gaze with his own, his grey eyes flicking in thought.

Deciding to hold his tongue, Keene moved to the bag, gingerly replaced his vambrace over his unmarked left arm, tugging the straps tight with his teeth. He pulled his cloak out from his belt, stuffing it into the backpack. Once that was done, he slide his left arm back into the steel cloth cloak, readjusting the belt for the small change in girth. He kept his right exposed for the time being as he shouldered the pack. "Shall we go?" Whatever he had had to say to her the chime before was gone, his brow raised expectantly.

[Rayage]

The nuit master watched the boy expectantly as she backed away, corking the ink and waving the quill in the air. Her companion doesn’t say much, but there is silent intelligence in his look. Contemplation, and although Rayage didn’t require a statement or argument about the things she was imparting on him, she was expecting something more. Usually humans liked to argue their points and ways of viewing the world, however this one seemed content in observing and thinking on the words. It was a great change of pace. The arrogance of humans utter astounded her sometimes, but this one was different. She enjoyed it greatly, and forgave his silence for she figured it was just his nature.

The ink was allowed to dry, and the seals set into place upon his skin. A moment later a burst of blue expanded from his arm, and she watched his expression with glee. His eyes widened. Perhaps they were beginning to see that strength was not just power, that magic was just not something to destroy. It can assist and create as well, augment other magic. Magic was just not destruction, there was another side to it… The expression on his face was priceless, and perhaps it was the first time he had seen the effects of glyphs so personally? Rayage considered this a personal victory. Throughout the time she had known the young man, he was entirely composed and observant of the world, almost in a cold, distant, and judging nature. However, the nuit knew that this was not the case. The boy, after all, was still human, and human emotions lurked within. That much she could tell for certain. No matter how well he tried to hide it from the world, she could tell that she was with a very human being.

He noticed a different and even wanted to say something to her, but he stopped himself. Rayage felt the sudden stop as awkward. Her eyes squinted a little, trying to discern the emotion behind it all, trying to guess at the psychology of the youth, but when no other words came she let it be smiling to herself. All will be clear in time, and time tells all. Nothing remains a secret forever, especially in Sahova. He had stopped himself because what he was going to say was so out of the ordinary, outside his mental construct, that the words confused him. She drew that conclusion. Her words and actions had cut him deep, and just like she assumed he was one of those meat-head wizards who thought they could achieve everything with power alone. She concluded that his speechlessness was a compliment all in itself. You cannot force change, she allowed her words echo in her own head. You can only guide it.

The human took the pack and tidied himself up, putting the robe back on and putting the one he brought with him away. ”Yes, lets go.” she said, looking at the dark doors which lead to the dungeon, ”Have you ever visited this place before?” she asked, putting a hand up, trying to stop him if he would try to take the lead. She wanted to lead, at least through the dungeons, ”This building holds the despicable filth of Sahova, wizards who have betrayed Sahova or committed otherwise heinous crimes against the Citadel, or their masters.” She warned, stopping at the door and placing a hand on it. The agony practically exuded out of the place, an aura of dread and despair and pain…

She turned her attention from the door and looked at him with a grim smile, ”Its not a place someone like you would last long. Indeed, young one, even the undead die here.” It was this place where humans and undead were finally equal… in the face of Dira, in the clutches of the Dungeon Master. ”Please, guard yourself before we enter and do not look into the holding cells. I am saying this out of concern for your very soul.” she warned, ”Walk in the middle of the hallway, prisoners are always looking for a ticket out of this place. They will try to grab you.”

”Ignore the screams.” she said, ”Ignore the begging, the pleading, and always remember…” she stepped forward, towards the youth, looking him dead in the eyes, his grey eyes, ”They belong there. No matter how innocent they look, they deserve what is coming to them. They deserve no mercy or thoughts from a creative youth like yourself.”

She backed away, out of his personal space and walked towards the door, ”Please remember, walk behind me and stay in the middle. I would prefer you walk directly behind, at least until we make it out of the dungeons.” she said, pushing open the door, which let a cry of pain escape the facility. She ignored it, or tried to, as she advanced through the portal. However, even that cry sent a shiver down the masters spine.

x

[Keene Ward]

As they moved towards the doors, Master Rayage paused, turning a gave eye upon him and pressing a question against him. He shook his head, brow furrowed in concern, his lips tilted downwards in a frown. The way she spoke about the inhabitants within the darkened stone building came as a small surprise. Her strangely warm, collected manner of speech had taken a turn towards a more icy, nostalgic tone. From both her words and her inaction, it was quickly intimated the Dungeons were no place to be taken lightly. In fact, they were a dark necessity that required caution. Nodding his understanding, Keene waited for her to press open the massive wooden portal. Instead, she moved closer, her intensity rising. As she approached, Keene instinctively drew back some, leaning behind him to add what distance he could without taking a step in retreat. While uncomfortable, he stared back into her emerald gaze with resolution. He had no intention of breaking what laws there were on the island, and while pity may have been a possibility, the release of prisoners was not even a consideration.

She seemed content enough as she withdrew, words still flowing and filling the air with what Keene was quickly finding to be a natural aura about her. In spite of all her talk about his own power, the woman seemed none to taken with letting Keene move about the dungeons on his own. Taking it as a sign that the words she spoke were to be believed, Keene drew a wary breath, re-shouldering the other half of his robe and drawing the hood. He had little intention of acting against Master Rayage's warnings and wishes, and the restricted field of vision would certainly help him keep his attention focused forward. The hood fell heavy over his head, the size of it swathing most of his vision in the cool cloth-steel darkness leaving only about a foot's worth of vision out from his own feet. As the doors to the dungeons opened, the hissing whisper of the spirits of the Courtyard hushed, allowing for the weary creak of the doors to fill the following silence with its ghastly eulogy. Behind it trailed the echoes of pain and torment that rose up to wrap around them as they passed under the massive archway, the scrape of skin against stone and metal ringing out as the heady scent of filth wafted over him.

The voices rose up in a cacophony. Some were cheery, welcoming; others were hoarse from what could only have been their screams, shakily petitioning their freedoms; even more were furious, banging on the bars or hissing threats under their breath. They were sounds without faces, however, as Keene could see little beyond the sheen of the stone floor ahead of him and the edge of Master Rayage's cloak. What caused the bricks to reflect what torchlight did flicker in the oppressive stench of the hall Keene found best not to linger on. As they moved, Master Rayage kept a steady pace, her legs carrying her swiftly across the floor as the voice called out to them in a spectrum from pleading to death threats. As they moved, Keene found his curiosity rising. He knew the danger was real, that the prisoners were what they were and deserved to be where they were. The cries did not fill him with pity or fear, but they began to eat away at what little patience his spirit had as it craved for further investigation. It burned within him as each step seemed only to further spark his desires until he finally was unable to resist the urge.

They had arrived at a set of stairs, some leading up and some leading down. Master Rayage had began her descent, her hasty movements carrying her quickly deeper into the depths of the island. Before he follow, Keene glanced up, his curiosity finally winning out over his own discipline. What he saw was quick to satisfying his craving for a visual representation of what he was hearing. Cells were lined up all along both walls, hands protruded from those that were occupied, clawing and snatching at the air like strange, fleshy beasts that craved something just beyond reach. There were a myriad of different states that each of the prisoners were in, some missing limbs, rotting from the bottom up, while others appeared in relatively good condition. As his hood slipped back to allow him the moment he desired, their eyes fell upon him like wolves beholding the first spring rabbit. Immediately the clamor grew louder as the more violent prisoners shook their bars with wild, near-euphoric shouts, trying to gain what trust and help they could from the young initate.

They were truly pitiable creatures. While both Keene and Master Rayage had been confined by their own personal shortcomings, the lives before him had been trapped in the physical sense as well. Their crimes were not known to him, as as Master Rayage had said, some seemed to wear nothing but panic and fear often associated with the innocent. Yet as he stared, the juxtaposition between his own personal freedom and their imprisonment, he felt little remorse. There was a tinge of pity as he quickly redrew his hood over his face, but it was hardly enough to cause him to linger. They were no his problem, nor were they his responsibility. He had come to the island for little other reason than himself, and while he had met some who were both useful to him and engaging enough to speak with, ultimately Keene had little issue with leaving the lives of what he considered the unnecessary masses to the fates they had chosen for themselves. It was not so much he had a firm belief in the Sahovan system of justice. In fact, he had the feeling that it hardly compared to that of Zeltiva, or any other human establishment with a system in place to handle crime. Yet, he did not feel moved to help them, to save them.

As he followed behind Master Rayage, taking the steps quickly, the weight of his cloak tugging down upon his body with each jarring dip into the descent, he thought once more on the idea of the balance between power and wisdom. He had pity, he could allow himself that, but remorse or a sense of self-driven justice to right what wrongs have undoubtedly been done to the prisoners of the dungeon were both lacking. He wondered if it was merely his lack of wisdom, or if those things such as misplaced compassion was merely a weakness he inherently refused himself. It made little sense to him to worry about those already doomed. They were one way, and he was another. He doubted there would ever be a time when he would find himself in a similar position: faced with a choice between two options of equal despair. He was not the most wise, but her was certainly not the most weak individual on the island. In a way, he found those who shoved their arms through the gaps between bars to be lesser, weaker. They had been captured, thwarted, and humiliated: forced to become the sniveling, worthless hunks of flesh they now were. To sympathize with them was to become them, and Keene wanted nothing to do with that.

As they pressed onwards, Keene kept his head down for the remainder of the journey. He had seen what he had wanted to see, and now the gentle moans and sobs, the scritching of movement against stone, and the heavy scents of desperation mixed with fecal matter and sludge far past the simple ammonia wafting through the air had little effect but eliciting disgust from him. The sooner they reached the Caverns, the better. They continued on in relative silence, the only sounds they made were the tapping of their boots against stone as the prisoners called out to them in desperation, their voices all mixing together to create a near incomprehensible pulse of noise. It was the steady meter of the Dungeon's heart, the despair of those within, and their collective hopelessness seeping into stone and iron. When the stone floor began to narrow, Master Rayage slowed her pace. Ahead, her own robe slightly concealing it until his feet passed over it, glowed an arrow pointing farther down the way.

The sounds of the dungeon had stopped, almost immediately, the moment they had passed over the glowing symbol upon the ground. Pausing, Keene lifted the hood, glancing backwards at the eerie sight of the hands groping in desperation without sound to accompany them. While he hadn't noticed it, he supposed it made sense that they had passed through one of the many shields on the island, the specific one task to block sound at the very least. Turning to face Master Rayage, Keene adjusted the straps to better accommodate the shift of the backpack's weight as they had traveled. They were now in a dark hallway, carved of stone that as of a similar quality to that of the Obsidian Caverns, though decidedly more rough. The path, while more narrow that the dungeons was wide enough to comfortable accommodate two side by side with room to spare, and the ceiling was a good distance above. They had arrived, and while the way was light in a dim fashion that seemed to be the preference of the Sahovans with torches scattered down the walls at alternating intervals, there was a decidedly still aura that hung about he place, as if time itself had passed over the small pocket, leaving it behind to remain stagnant and separated from its flow. He gave Master Rayage a short nod to signal he was prepared for whatever journey was ahead of him, though to what extent he couldn't say.

[Rayage]

Rayage didn’t bother to look behind her. She knew that the boy would either follow her instructions to a T or regret it. The thought pained on her, a sticking feeling in the back of her head as she allowed it to consume her mind, that he wouldn’t follow her instructions. She imagined the horrified look on the youths face as he would see the ugly truth of the dungeons of Sahova. It was a place that she didn’t want to spend very much time in at all. The doors revealed a hallway to her. Immediately at the sight of the doors opening, the vultures began to swarm. They pegged the party with pleas, with threats, with every shade of humanity that they could muster.

Hands clawed, and raked at empty air, wishing to be just a bit longer so they could reach the two. Rayage found herself straightening, making herself look as tall as possible as she walked in a hurried pace for a nuit. Her head was held high as she lead the way through the noise, through the hate, through the sorrow, through the pleading, through the useless humanity that even the nuit took on here. Each step was accompanied by a sound, be it a plea or a scream. They all tried to talk over each other, they all tried to grasp onto what little freedom they had left, they all tried to defy their sentence. It was their last act possibly in this world, some would not go out without some fight. However, glancing over the cells with an almost appraising gaze, some spirits were broken, both literally and subjectively. They hung there in their cells, almost devoid of life, not caring to move anymore, wishing death, but the cruel mistress would not come for them yet.

All sorts of emotions hung in the air, mixing with the already present stale bitterness the place naturally possessed, giving it a gloomy and fearful atmosphere. Torch light played with the shadows and flickered in an inconsistent pace, it was something that Rayage wasn’t used to. It almost gave her a headache just looking at it. In her lab, and very much around most of the citadel she was used to traversing, the light was powered by D-wire and magic. So, in a sense, it gave a more barbaric feel to the place which the wizard found herself admiring. She caught herself thinking if she couldn’t buy some of the prisoners freedom and have them escorted to the lab of her own… That way, they could be of use to the very end.

She had such dark thoughts, looking down on the prisoners as filth, her golden masters ring catching a glint in the light, perhaps all too easily. She took pride in who she was, and what she was, and she was a Sahovan Master of the Citadel, foremost, or almost foremost, expert in Alchemy in the entire Isle. Her formulas and skills were rivaled by none, and most sought her attention and aid in experiments of their own, asking if such and such were possible or not. She liked the attention, but she knew, deep down inside, that she could be so much more. She had to be. She needed the power to match her wisdom, so she could finally be of service to change, to further and enact its cause. To enlighten the world, and bring it out of the darkness it finds itself shrouded in.

The pace was constant even when she reached the stairs. She went down them fluidly, in a way that only an undead could really muster, not gaining speed nor losing speed. The pace was clear as day, and she didn’t bother to look back to see if Keene was following her or not. She expected that he be. Another long corridor and some guiding arrows, she knew the entrance to the caverns was to be found through the Dungeons. Leading on she looked, scanning the distance, before finding the rather abrupt entrance. Following the arrows she finally verged past the walls of the dungeon and found herself in a narrow space. It was silent. A shield to block out the sounds of screams. It probably went both ways, but there was no way to tell because of the constant screams on the other side.

Although sudden the wizard found herself relaxing a little, letting her body rest in its usual more causal position. She clapped her hands together and a grin spread across her face, ”We are here, Keene.” she announced the obvious, ”Thank the Gods someone had the sense to put a shield there.” she said causally, looking at Keene trying to watch for some reaction in his face. She knew very little about shields, but what she did know is that they could block the senses. She was, as they say, a jack of all trades in personal magic, but master of none. She was watching him for a reaction, some sort of spark of recognition. She wanted to know what other magics this person knew about. Surely he did not just know Reimancy alone, that would be almost unacceptable, more than barbaric.

”The first fifteen levels should be safe.” she said, ”As they have already been explored and mapped out. What we want to do is go beyond, out into the unknown.” her smile bubbled over on her face as she watched Keene, ”Out into an adventure.” she said perhaps sounding much younger and more ignorant in that moment than she aimed to be. The thought of adventure and discovery excited her.

”Even I do not know what lies beyond floor fifteen.” She said as she began to walk into the depths of the cave, ”But that is why you are here, Keene. If its mean and nasty you can deal with it.” She said adopting a tone and style in her voice that would sound almost foreign for a being so old.

x

[Keene Ward]

The relief in Master Rayage's voice was evident, though Keene missed the shift in posture, having removed his hood as the transformation took place. Whatever the Dungeons held for her, past the barrier of silence there was little reason to dwell upon it. He had pushed his thoughts on the matter as far out of his mind as he could for the time being. His impressions gleaned from his short time there would require time to process, time he didn't have if he were to be fulfilling his duties as an escort. She stated they had arrived in the Caverns, to which Keene merely responded with a blank stare. He may have been young and new to the island, but the woman's comment seemed a bit unnecessary. Still, he supposed it wasn't entirely uncalled for. Their journey though the dungeons had been neither brief nor relaxing, and a small amount of idle socialization - however menial - was a useful transition into a more adventurous mood. Having never even heard of the caverns before, but having assumed their was more beneath the surface than simply the buildings, Keene found he was more than interested in what the Caverns had to offer. Relics, to be sure, and plenty of danger were both apparently players on the map, but Keene was curious to see if there was anything more. Sahova was a land where things were rarely quite ever exactly what they seemed, and he held the Caverns were no exception.

Master Rayage verified that his suspicions about the shield over the entryway to the caverns elicited a raise of his brow. He wondered if there was any magic she didn't know about, the thought finding a tentative answer in the realm of negatives as he considered the ambiguity of her age in the land of ancient. She had spoken of the old magics as if she had lived with them; and he had the feeling that she had. If she were a nuit, which he was still uncertain of, it would have made sense she was alive during that time so long ago and perhaps knew more magic than even currently existed. If she were something else, the possibilities were nearly endless. He noticed she waited for a few ticks after speaking, eying him with something between expectancy and curiosity. Unsure what she wanted of him, Keene merely nodded before checking the glyphs on his arm by drawing up his sleeve. The markings were still intact, despite the small about of rubbing his arms had done against the soft chill of the strange fabric-metal hybrid material. The chill of the Caverns was setting in, and beneath the steel-cloth cloak, Keene was comfortably warm, though the tips of his fingers were paler with the cold.

When she began again, there was an excitement in her voice. Her face lifted with anticipation as she explained the extent of her knowledge on the Caverns to him. The several sentences were hardly reassuring, but her sudden adaptation of what seemed to be youthful exuberance was what really concerned him. He half wondered if the whole point of the trip was just for her to feel young again; these thoughts were quickly abolished as a slew of her words from the past bells drifted through his mind. No, she was no musty ancient looking for a few ticks of youthful bliss. Whatever it was that sparked such brightness in her eyes, it was something deeper, something he wasn't sure he would ever understand. He was a mortal creature bound to the laws of time. There were some things temporal beasts simply weren't meant to know, and as he watched her with his cool, calm stare, he came to the conclusion that she was one of those things. He would learn what he could from both her instruction and her display, but he would never understand her. They had been similar, once, in a time long before he was even a thought. Now, however, that similarity was the only thing that gave her even the semblance of the humanity he held.

As they began, Master Rayage took the lead. Keene made a point to stay no more than half a step behind her as he drew up alongside her left. She seemed to be enjoying herself, even going so far as to attempt what might have been a joke, though Keene merely considered the words a strange choice of what was otherwise a rather refined vocabulary. Nodding in understanding, he replied with a steady, soft question. "Do we capture or kill?" It was presented in a calm manner, similar to how one might ask another if they preferred one lump of sugar or two with their tea. Keene was not the most combat ready wizard on the island, but he was far from incompetence. His trials with the Gibbat dogs had taught him there were alternatives to simply destruction. Master Rayage too had spoken on the balance between power and wisdom; destruction and guidance. If he had the ability to destroy and she the ability to guide, he thought it similar to a bow and arrow and and archer. She would point and he would fire.

[Rayage]

Capture or kill. The words echoed in the nuits mind as she walked further into the caverns, following the hallway of stone. It was very much a rough walk, and one had to be sure of where they were putting their foot, else they might get tripped up by the terrain. This place felt dark and empty and isolated from the rest of the island. From the torchlight it was like they were not even on Sahova anymore. The shadows danced across their forms as Rayage considered the options given to her, she walked on in silence for a moment before stopping promptly after reaching the nearest torch, ”That depends.” she said, glancing over her shoulder at Keened, ”That depends on what it is.” She said with a smile, ”How about this?” she paused to make a proposition, ”If I cannot make a call on the creature that aims to hurt either of us, then you are free to kill it. If I do see it, we are able to observe it, and I can make the call on whether I’d like it or not, you wait.” She said, turning it into something of a game for her and him.

”Or,” she said, continuing her walking, ”you can kill whatever comes our way. We are not here for the creatures, remember?” she said, ”We are here for the treasure.” she reaffirmed her commitment to the trip.

”So kill to your little hearts content, Keene. Let out your anger, let out your frustration, let out all those bad emotions you bottle up inside, pretending like they don’t exist. Let this be your outlet.” she urged him, and with a devious smile she conjured up her djed. She focused on what she wanted to impart onto Keene, and built that thought in her head, repeating the phrase over and over like a mantra. She let it build within her, mixing the intent with her djed before she looked back and tried to capture his grey eyes with her green ones, ”It is OK to kill.” she said simply, mixing her message with the charismatic djed that pulsed from her very being. The message, the Suggestion, was imparted with a more serious tone, and she was just testing the waters. She needed to know how the boy would respond to the concept of death. On the outside, it seemed that he was perfectly OK with it, but he was only human and so young. It was at times like this that youth, especially confident ones, would need the extra push or reassurance that their actions are morally in the green, that they can do it, that they can take the life of another thing or creature.

”It is far easier to kill creatures, monsters…” she said, as she continued walking, following the path down, down, down, further descending into the caverns, ”Than it is to kill people.” she said. ”But,” there was a sense of urgency in her voice, ”you have to realize, Keene, that sometimes people are the biggest monsters.” She nodded so sure of herself. Her lectors seemed to be taking a darker turn the further into the caverns they went, ”It is OK to kill here.” she repeated herself. ”These caverns are a part of Sahova, but they are also dangerous. Im sure there is a reason why the floors beyond the fifteenth haven’t been explored properly.” She said, each of her words having a darker and detached undertone to them. She wondered if Keene was understanding what she was expressing to him, but for now she would focus on the game she would entertain herself with as they descended deeper into the dark depths... What will the ripples show?

x

[Keene Ward]

Master Rayage's initial reply was not unreasonable. She had take a short while before responding, though Keene was entirely uncertain whether it was to think over what it was he had asked and how best to answer it or merely to add a dramatic effect. Master Rayage was confusing to him, and while he mostly supported the prior, the latter was not all together improbable either. Thus, when she stopped to answer, his own footsteps came to quiet halt just shy of her own, grey eyes regarding her with comprehensive steel. At first, she made perfect sense. That which was usable to them and not an immediate threat should be captured. Keene found the pragmatism of her words to sit well upon him. He had little qualms with dispatching that which was immediately dangerous. That which was not nearly such was more of a waste than anything else. Keene had not been raised to waste that which he could help (and some of what he couldn't help), and while the primary enforcer of the habit was long gone from the world, he still maintained the ideology that needless disposal was uncalled for.

As they continued down the path once more, however, Master Rayage seemed to draw out her thoughts, letting them drift about the rocky halls as they began to descend once again. As he followed her lead, the weight of the steel-cloth cloak had become a bit more familiar, and while his boot drew sound with each impact, the force of the impact itself was not nearly as great as it had been back in the Gug Andjak. His brow knit as her voice began to adopted a darker, heady tone. It was not flirtatious or seductive, though it had similar qualities of both as her musing passed through her lips as gradually as the torches on the walls. Her previous philosophy abandoned for their end goal. Keene's frown increased, and as his face fell, it seemed the weight of the cloth on his shoulders bore down upon him with more and more force. He could not disagree that the purpose of their trip to the Caverns was to retrieve whatever relics they could find within the bowels of the citadel. He was also uncertain just how useful any of the creatures they might encounter might be. It was entirely likely the denizens of the shadowy realm beneath the crust of the earth above were comprised of failed experiments, similar to those in the Testing Grounds. There was also the chance, however, that there were things of far greater value that were comprised of flesh and blood over scraps from ages past. He found her logic confusing, and as they continued, he found the word "kill" to become a more and more appealing sort of word.

His confusion, however, began to subside as what the woman said seemed to make more and more sense. There was quite a few things Keene pushed down, anger and frustration only two in a vast universe of emotions. As they continued, moving ever deeper into the Caverns at a steady pace, Keene found himself nodding. He was a bit uncertain why exactly he was doing so, but when he thought about it, a single phrase returned. "It's OK to kill." Keene mulled the statement over and over in his mind with each passing step as the master continued. His initial thought was, "Why wouldn't it be okay?" What followed, however, was merely a repeat of the growing maxim. It was an aberration of thought that Keene was having a difficult time coming to terms with. He rarely ever focused on a specific thing; often he had to mull over the various consequences of actions and inaction. Yet, despite the quite certainly alien feeling of his mind merely repeating itself, he felt gradually more confident that he must has simply forgotten the process that had led up to the answer he already had. At the end of Master Rayage's word "outlet", Keene whispered a small, "Of course it is." His voice was soft, barely more than a thought, but with it came a small amount of quiet as his mind died back down, the seed of suggestion accepted and assimilated into his processes.

Master Rayage's advice had grown darker, taking on a shade of humanity that Keene had often dwelled upon without really considering much beyond the more abstract philosophical cause and effect sort of situations. She seemed to speak with authority on the matter of slaughter and murder, though her words used were much more delicate and enticing than his running monologue. She spoke of a morality, a qualification, that Keene found difficult to come to terms with. As the torchlight began to fade in favor of fewer and fewer mounts the more levels they passed, Keene's eyes flicked with thought on the subject at hand. Master Rayage spoke of animals as lesser beings, something Keene had little trouble empathizing with. Animals were animals, and they did not speak or create civilizations with centuries of culture for a reason. They were beneath the sentient races; their deaths were hardly the be evaluated as anything short of waste or usefulness. People, however, were a different matter. She spoke of people who were monsters, and by the association of the term used prior, they were animals. Keene had lived only a short time, and in that time he had yet to experience the full depth of depravity that people could fall into. He was blind to it, to an extent, as it had been so close and constant for the majority of his life. To him, people were people. There were those, like the prisoners who were now above them, tucked away in the cells of the Dungeons, that were scum, little more than word vomiting flesh. Yet, even they were above animals, for they possessed thought, intention, and a will - however oppressed.

While he had his reservations on whether or not people were, as she said, "the biggest monsters", Keene nodded at the reiteration that death within the Caverns was quite acceptable. It was short and reflexive, and though he had not intended it, the motion seemed as natural as any other to him. As his head raised, his eyes flashed for a moment in the dim, flickering lighting of the fifteenth floor. There was a hint of what was buried within him as it peeked out from within the swirling darkness. It retreated, concealing itself behind the icy gaze as Keene unlatched the lantern from the backpack and handed to Master Rayage. The lights had all but disappeared. The glowing arrows upon the floor that served as some form of direction had also seemed to grow fewer and fewer in frequency until they were no longer present. As they two of the stared off into the inky blackness, Keene had little issue adding to Master Rayage's final statement. The Caverns were as foreboding as the swirling black billows of a storm front. Whatever was contained within them had the aura and feeling of a force that was best left unchallenged.

Drawing a torch from the bag, he took his place in front then. While he was hardly more of an imposing figure than Master Rayage, he had been requested as protection, and while it was tactically more efficient for her to act as bait while he prepared spells, there was an unspoken expectation that he be the one in immediate danger. Though he wouldn't have been surprised if Master Rayage explicitly stated it, he was expendable to Sahova. She was not. Whatever the case, Keene had little way of lighting the torch in his hand, and while he was prepared to forge ahead as the lead, he was not quite ready to do so in the inky blackness. There were not flint or steel in the bag, and he had yet to gain mastery over the element of fire. Thus, he turned to Master Rayage with torch in hand, and waited to see if she her knowledge of his own magic extended into the realm of practice as well.

[Rayage]

Master Rayage watched as the magic worked itself into the mind of the youth. Part of the reasons she liked young people was for the fact that their opinions and knowledge of the world hadn’t fully matured into individual fact. They were much more easily swayed into acceptance of the more abstract concepts, especially if one could explain why it would work in such and such a situation. As long as the wizard could make it somewhat adhere to the preexisting beliefs that the other had, then the concept could attach itself into the psyche. A small concept, but profound nonetheless, and from there create a foothold in which an entire web of ideas could be placed, and accepted.

The nuit watched, looking for signs of acceptance, for signs of integration. Keene did not seem disturbed, but he seemed to be mulling over the concept, or perhaps that is how he always look. It was harder to tell what such stern introverts were thinking anyways. In the maze of the mind searching one would have to step carefully, placing small footprints, leaving not a trace of direct manipulation, but steering, leading the thoughts of the other like a Sheppard with his sheep. The prods of the cane will eventually lead the sheep in the right direction, but Rayage tried to not think about Keene like such. He was so much more, and so deserved just a little bit more respect. He could be so much more than what he was now.

The boy seemed to hesitantly accept the philosophies told to him, nodding, whispering to himself words that the master could not hear. Though it was enough to satisfy her own curiosity. She was, after all, just testing the waters. Pushing ahead with the concept too soon would force the concept down the youths throat. She did not want to do that, as it would reverse the small seed which she had planted. A seed was all she wanted, a foothold, however small, something to build on…

Light got scarcer and scarcer as they traveled down, down, down, the space between torches increased. Soon they were like guiding lights, off in the distance, telling them where to go next between patches of darkness. They still were in safe ground, but the shadows were slightly unnerving as they stepped between the portals of light. The beacons called to them, beckoning them to come this way, until all which was before them was darkness. Such blackness, absolute in its power and territory, marked the way to paths uncharted, to the unknown.

A lantern was handed to her, and she accepted it with a small smile of thanks. Here is where the real adventure began, and the safety of the citadel gone, behind them. They stood at the edge of the gateway into the unknown and unexplored, and the wizard couldn’t help but feel just a bit of excitement. In all her life she has seen darkness, perfectly dark darkness, but now she was confronted with this eternal sea of black. It reminded her of her earlier explorations to ruins, and she couldn’t help but to look at Keene as he motioned with the torch, and how he reminded her of Evalin. Though the two were not alike now, earlier the girl used to worship the ground Ray stood on. It felt nice to be appreciated and loved so. She wondered if she couldn’t achieve the same thing with Keene.

Her mind spun around the problem as she stared at the torch. Although the man knew reimancy the torches were not lit. She looked at him expectantly for a moment, before she noticed the same gleam in his eye that she was giving him. Could he not conjure fire? She found that fact to be out of place. She thought fire was the first element any reimancer learned. Fire was the element that her own apprentice, Evalin, wielded for her so long ago. Fire was the first element she had learned. Fire had come so naturally for her, wanting to be the light of the new world, but perhaps, as with all magic, it is subjective to the user.

She raised a brow, silently judging him as she took ahold of the torch, ”A Reimancer who cannot control fire?” she asked, ”It is so strange.” She said, taking the torch from his hand.

”Although I am no personal wizard, I can at least light a torch.” she said falling quiet.

She took some time to relax and focus. Chimes passed as she stared at the torch, centering her mind on the object in her hand. She needed to focus on herself and her target. Her stare focused on the oil soaked tip of the torch, the rag wrapped around it, her target, where she wanted her magic to go. Once established she drew herself inward, focusing on her very soul. She felt it within, the swirling pool of power, of djed that she could call upon. She focused on that, feeling it tingle within her being. At first it was faint, but she tugged on it anyways drawing at what she could. She willed it upward, and the pool bubbled, reacting to her will.

If she were human she would have exhaled, but instead she further focused on the bubbling feeling of djed within her. She could feel it reacting to her will. She could feel it following the path she designated it for it, she could feel it traveling through her body, a big bubble of will-powered energy. It flowed up, up, up her chest and through her arm concentrating on the hand. Her hand grew warm with her concentration, her djed, her will, but the act itself was not done yet.

Slowly she willed the bubble of energy up, and ordered it to manifest into the physical world. It bubbled up out of her hand forming into a red blood-like translucent vapor around the shaft of wood. She moved the res up the torch, the res inched along slowly, sluggishly being manipulated into following the will of the wizard. It was much like a hesitant child, being told do something that they did not particularly want to do, but still, the job got done. Just not as quick as the wizard hoped it would be.

Once the res surrounded the torches top completely the wizard willed it to change, to transform itself into fire. She felt a heat within her as she did so, her mind so focused on the concept of fire that she felt it within her and within the res. The res ignited with a spark of fire, which caught the torch.

Now blazing, she admired her handiwork and nodded with approval at the torch, ”There.” she said, her voice sounded a bit weary, as she forgot to mask the mental strain she had gone through to even do that. Although she had chastised the pulser for not being able to manipulate flame, she could barely do it herself without some sort of struggle. But she wasn’t done yet. She still needed her lantern lit after all.

Her hand tingled with djed still as she returned her concentration to that limb. She made no motion to hand the torch Keene yet, and if he would grab ahold of the instrument she would not relinquish her grasp on it. From that tingle of energy at her hand she brought forth more res. The blood red substance swirled up from her hand, and in a slow waltz up the torch the res finally reached the top. It grasped at the flickering flame, capturing some of the sparks puffed from the edges of the fire. It held those, as it slowly conformed itself in front of the wizard. The small sparks were nurtured by the res that surrounded it, allowing it to live just a bit longer.

Waving the torch at Keene, ”Take it.” she said as she needed a free hand. She would hold the ball of res and fire in front of her as she waiting, and when the torch was taken from her grasp she would open the lantern and guide the res into the well. It quickly lit and provided light for her.

”The shadows await.” She said, taking the first tentative steps forward…

x