Quest Forsaken.

[Rayage]

There was a steady tension in the air after Keenes performance. His magical skill was amazing in the art of his choosing, but the symbolism of it all did aim to make a point. The entire act really woke her up, banished the fog of boredom from her mind. The magic, now, had her complete attention. It was entertaining to say the least, but she tried to remain impassive. She knew first hand that Kneene would make a great wizard, and who would snatch him up.

The judges seemed apprehensive at the end, some not quite knowing what to make the spectacle. Their opinions, at the last the spoken ones, varied greatly, but it was not the worst which Ray had head that night. He was not outright scorned, but there a message veiled in their words and she wondered if the apprehension was picked up by the Initiate trying to become a wizard. She found the prospect in itself amusing, and it would be interesting to help him find his own claim to fame within the citadel.

However when the time came for someone to claim Keene there was silence. No one stepped forward. Rayage frowned and considered her options. She did not want Keene to be turned away from the Citadel, she had seen today many lesser skilled wizards pass through to the Citadel. She could understand the Masters and Wizards caution, but if she could show some faith in the wizard, she could perhaps restore his image within the Citadel.

The Master stood up, and was about to speak up when the flames gathered at the entrance of the room, and in walked a rather angry looking wizard. Rayage, having little to no contact with the Wardens, did not recognize her. In the flames it was hard to see any distinction between wizard or master, but she seemed fierce enough. However, Rayage could not let his opportunity slip through her grasp. She raised her voice, ”I will vouch for and endorse Keene Ward.”

It was unexpected, especially with the symbolism of the crumbling statue, which such a supporter of Qiao would bid for Keene. She was confident in her claim and stood straighter as she went out into the isle and stepped before the judges. She had once stood up to Roknus Malestorm, and his fit of fury, she would not be intimidated by a little fire. She had her pride as a wizard, and an image to uphold. She tried hard not to seem intimidated by the display of power shown by the woman.

[Keene Ward]

The Vantha that spoke seemed amused, but that was the only thing the judges offered aside from the seething anger of the wizard Keene remembered as the one who had run maintenance over his vambrace earlier in the season. A small voice in his head suggested that his symbolism had not, perhaps, been performed correctly. After the initial comment, the room fell quiet. Keene held his ground, the shards of ice about his boots very slowly beginning to melt even in the chill of the hall. Had he fully realized the impact his performance had had on those present, he might have been a bit nervous, more for his life than his position, but instead he remained stoic and reserved, awaiting any further criticism or praise in equal expectation. Qiao had assured him he would pass, but if Qiao had lied, there was a good chance he was going to leave the island. For good. It had been a gamble, and as the silence extended extended, Keene found the odds drifting away from his favor.

When Arios spoke, Keene's eyes slid from his curious investigation of the cat at the end of the table, settling on the obvious disdain held in the child-like eyes. The gaze was short lived, however, as the hiss of a whistle filled the air. A blur of silver movement shot from the hand of the woman with the shimmering hair, and Keene reacted to it both out of reflex and self-preservation. With a twitch of his fingers, res slipped from his lips, swirling into a mess of translucent blue before him. As the dagger flew along its path, Keene snapped his fingers, the res shifting into a thick slab of ice that caught the dagger with a cracking squeak before it sank to the floor, the last of his res transmuted into a concentrated gust of wind to counter balance the force of the projectile's impact. Grey-green eyes moved to stare at the woman from whom the attack had come, a lack of hostility in his own eyes as he regarded her. Her jest went over his head, though her passing disdain was not unnoticed.

He had made a mistake, another to add to the pile, it seemed.

The bland looking, near non-entity of the wizard to the dark haired pulser's side that was not the telltale form of Amaryllis, spoke with a slight boredom. Keene waited, his confidence still resolute on his features, but mind finding the situation he found himself in far less favorable than he had been led to believe. There was much he could have done differently, deals passed up in favor of a more simplistic goal. Regret was not quite what Keene felt in that moment, but neither did he feel fulfillment. A single step had been taken, unknowingly at first, off of a cliff of change whose depths he still did not know.

At the question, the torches sputtered, leaving behind not darkness but a shift in the light. A fiery glow emanated from the doorway, a familiar voice filled the room like the crackle of a raging flame. There had been many time Atziri's temper had flared, but never had he ever seen the woman in the state she appeared as she vouched for him. He turned, meeting her burning stare with a cold return of his own, though unlike hers, there was a softness in his eyes. He did not feel remorse, per say, in his decision. He had committed to it just as he had everything else before it. His master, however, he had neither informed nor discussed the change in his path. It was, in a sense, a betrayal, and Keene was fully aware of it. He had stumbled his way into the fields of stupidity, and it seemed the harvest of his efforts was still yet finished. He held her gaze, though it was not out of disrespect or defiance. He was in the wrong, and he did not deny. The apology in his eyes, veiled or no, was all he offer her. Even as Master Rayage's voice rose to fill the room, Keene did not waver.

He had respected Atziri, up until the point of his brash decision to accept Qiao's offer. Whether he had made the proper choice or not was yet to be see, but in that moment, Keene found he doubted himself in the most base way. Noven had been the first of his falters in self-regulated law, and it seemed he was not the last. There was nothing he could say, nor anything he had been invited to say, thus he remained silent, staring up at his master, the last time he would be called her student.

[Ink]

Arios the young-seeming wizard spoke up in almost a clerkly fashion, “Warden Atziri’s and Master Rayage’s endorsements are noted as for the claim, there is another that lays claim as well.”

Amarylis made a noise in the back of her throat making her interjection clear, “The claims are too soon I am not yet convinced. His power is clear in Reimancy but one magic does not make a wizard.”

Iceris nodded her agreement, “And again what would your agenda as a Wizard be?”

Karte extrapolated the thought, “You are initiate and so are most likely ignorant. Not that ignorance is a good excuse if anything such an acceptable excuse actually exists. Prove Mister Ward, why we should bestow the honor of being a wizard of Sahova, not with your magic but with your mind. Magic can always be taught ingenuity is born.”

The stood in a full body stretch ending in an open mawed yowl. From his breath seeped the white mist which resolved into the form of a ghost girl, much closer to maturity that Wilhelmina would ever be. The crystalline voice rang out, “Wizard Thomas wishes to note that Master Rayage’s claim holds less weight over the initiate.”

Atziri had stepped quietly after asserting her endorsement to Keene’s side. Her anger was all but palpable but held together by a frayed twine of self-control. The space was warmer for her occupation. “More stand for Keene than just I.” She barked between clenched teeth.

The golem guarding the entrance, portraying the role of more or less a passive sentinel given the peaceful nature of the proceedings, toppled. Its metal body shredded like fabric beneath the jagged fangs and serrating claws on a great dark beast. Foam bubbled out of its jaws. Lightly the wolf tapped down onto the stonework floor, nails tapping and scrapping as it made its way to the Warden and Initiate standing judgement. Silvered filigree drew from the corners of the dark eyes and back along its canine head. Stepping up beside Atziri the wolf planted its shoulders back and arched its neck forward, the roar that echoed through the chamber promised protection and violence in one horrible vibration.

Arios starred a long moment before answering, “Warden Sterder’s presence is noted. Endorsement also noted.”

[Keene Ward]

The wizard who crafted the ring and vambraces spoke up, his voice like that of the golem at the docks. The words, however, held interest in them, drawing Keene's stare away from Atziri to settle in a cold, blank stare on the nuit's lips as they closed. Another had laid claim to him beyond the two who had spoken. What that meant, Keene wasn't entirely sure. It was possible the third was Qiao himself, but the thought - as quickly as it bloomed - died away in futility. The doubt far outweighed the possibility, leaving only an empty point of information. Whoever the third was, there was no movement in the room to indicate any other of those in the audience that had fallen silent in the wake of Atziri's burning rage.

At Amaryllis' interjection, Keene simply turned his face to offer a nod in understanding. While she was no ally, she spoke logically and without passion - or perhaps passion in her apathy - which he found almost comforting. It did not show in his eyes, nor did his mind truly entertain the idea - merely a subconscious part of him was drawn to the simple fact of what she said. He considered what then made a wizard. There was the power, certainly, and the mind. Those arranged before him certainly possessed both in ample quantities, save the languid flicking tail of the cat, though Keene was loathe to believe that the animal had not earned its place upon the forum. What then did he possess?

The woman who had thrown her dagger nodded in agreement, offering him a question to ponder - though perhaps demand was a better term. The bland looking man fluidly slid a further explanation of what it was the woman expected him to ruminate over. Proof was required, proof that he was more than a bag of flesh and blood with some terrible, destructive power. His frown played at the corners of his lips, though emotion itself was held well in check. He had not planned what he would say; he had thought little of the entire judgment, thinking it nothing more than a farce as Qiao had said it would be. He found that his trust, whether honest or no, had been poorly placed. Passion, whether in anger or desire, clouded his judgments. It made him weak - even weaker than he knew he was already. It had been a foolish choice, one that he could still feel in the bone chilling shivers of the doll still firmly clenched in his hand.

He should have killed the Master.

The past, however, could not be changed. It was a series of events locked in the tapestry that was woven by the clumsy fingers of those it depicted. However tangled, Keene had placed the threads were they would remain for an eternity, and the thought passed as quickly as it was presented. Instead, he considered what it was the council wanted from him. He knew himself, perhaps not as well as he had once though, but well enough to know his merits and flaws. Among them, he was certain there were things that would condemn him as quickly as those that might exalt. It was, for him, a guessing game with minimal assistance.

The cat released the spectral form of a child who spoke on his behalf. Were Keene in a position to be so, it might have struck him as surprising, but instead he simply nodded once more in his tacit fashion. When Atziri spoke again, he felt her more than he heard her, the heat of her tightly controlled flames emanating from her like the furnace of rage he had always known simmered just beneath the surface. He blinked at what she said, uncertain of who else might stand for him. Risabel was but an apprentice, and there had been no sign of Thomas Cosa or Kamilla. His time on the island, while measured in seasons, had only resulted in a number of people he could count on one hand who might rise to support him in the inane twist of fate and chance he had subjected himself to with all the naivety of a new born.

When the creature leaped fourth, shredding both golem and anticipatory silence, Keene hardly twitched a muscle. The beast was startling, yes, but they were within the Gug Andjak in a room filled with wizard whom he assumed were powerful enough in their own right to be more than a match for any animal whether augmented or no. The roar was felt in the shiver of his very bones as the creature came to rest beside Atziri, and the memories and information Keene had gathered and been told over the past seasons quickly clicked into place. As Arios announced both Warden Sterder's presence and endorsement, Keene came to the realization that the creature was no creature at all - or perhaps even more a beast than she seemed. She was the Warden of the Prairie, Kinapak and Daren's master.

What had begun as a judgment had seemed to shift into that of a silent war, a war fought over something far greater than a foolish initiate fallen to the withering claws of the citadel's puppet master. He felt his body shift under the pressure of the Wardens and the Wizards, neither yielding, each carrying with it a strength that was not necessarily confrontational, but certainly insinuating challenge should any stone be cast. It was, in essence, a terrible atmosphere for him to think.

He did not speak immediately, the silence stretching as Keene's gaze grew distant in thought, casting off what shackles he could that bound him to the moment, the greatest and tightest of which the anger that he could feel in his own stomach only further augmented by Atziri's own. His idiocy was hardly overlooked by any in the room, and while he did not perhaps view it in quite the same way as the others, he was painfully aware that mistakes upon mistakes had been made. He now had a chance, though what he might do with it was up to him and him alone.

With a steady breath, Keene readied himself to speak, eyes rising to meet first the leather clad woman then the bland man, respectfully lingering on all those in between and around, the cat wizard Thomas included. "I was raised a tool, an extension of my master's magic." Whether what he said would be well received or not, Keene found it didn't matter. Something had to be said, and as he continued, he found that whatever the outcome, it would be as it would be. "My power has never been my own. My decisions made for me by those greater than I." His eyes no longer held defiance in them, for there was no reason to do so. They were blank, as empty as the words that fell from his lips in their soft, cold manner. "You say ingenuity is born." His gaze settled on the nondescript nuit, voice carrying no accusation, almost no rise or fall of tone at all. "Mine was never delivered." He did not stop, turning instead to once more gaze at the leather clad woman. "My agenda, as you have asked, is to grow. To learn. To understand." His frown lifted some, a neutral line settling into his features as he concluded. "And what might I offer you for this 'honor' is myself. Me. A living tool. Feed me and I grow, starve me, and I will die. I will do what must be done to get what it is I seek." He shook his head, resignation tinting his final words. "As it has always been."

[Ink]

Karte coughed, “Denied.”

Iceris shrugged at the ancient Master, “It’s enough for me. I can accept his answer. Let him pass.” She seemed all of the sudden bored as soon as the second Warden had arrived and mostly disengaged from the conversation.

Arios spoke blandly, “You have managed to answer the questions while flailing to address their subject matter. So let me be blunt, perform a second magic Keene Ward. All Wizards can perform at least two magics, whether Karte feels it's necessary for his judgement, it is necessary within the paradigm of the citadel. “

Ariel, the ghost girl who had exhumed herself from the cat wizard’s mouth, laughed like a bell chiming, “He is a spiritist.” The cat yowled and the spirit was forced to return to its Wizard’s vessel.

Atziri muttered beneath her breath, so quiet that a mouse might miss it. “Stall.” Still angry but it seemed less directed at Keene and more spread as an aura. Riyanna settled back on her haunches watching the judgment panel with feral eyes. The Wardens stood together.

[Keene Ward]

The council was not impressed.

Keene supposed it wasn't surprising. He was not Thomas Cosa, nor what he Master Rayage. His goals were both simplistic and abstract, hardly that of either the wizards he knew. The others seemed just as unimpressed as before, though further direction was given in the most blunt of manners, something he found easy enough. A second magic was required, and the ghost denoted him a spiritist before she was drawn back into the cat wizard's form. So then, he had a course of action. Had he not been so aware of Atziri's presence, her command would have gone unnoticed and the magic would have been performed.

Acutely aware of everything around him in what felt to be a stillness that rivaled death, he heard the single word uttered like the shadow of thought. For a tick, he thought it one of his own, a curious deviation from the mindset he had begun to sink into to display his far more proficient abilities as a shielder. But, as the second tick crept up, he knew it to be Atziri. It was less that he couldn't have thought the thought and more that he could feel a shift in his master's (for that was what she still was, whether by Keene's desires or no) aura. The two women, however bestial in their own respective forms, seemed to form together, a wall within a room. Walls were not meant for anything but to keep something out or to protect something within.

A small shudder ran down his spine as he weighed his options. Atziri had given him an order, which suggestion had been intended or not, and the covert nature of it gave rise to a myriad of questions that Keene didn't have the time to properly process. The wizard Arios had given him an order as well, to show a second magic. He could think of few ways to satisfy both requests, something he was certain was so by the nature of each, and instead he was faced once more with a choice. He had not been proud of his decision to betray Atziri. He regretted not killing the creature who had taken Boswell and Wilhelmina's lives from them. He even found the entire judgment undesirable, dirty even. He wanted power, certainly, but the manner in which the wizards stared down at him, little more than the hint of interest in their long since deadened gazes, Keene wasn't sure if the risk could warrant the reward he had been promised.

Stall.

Clearing his throat, Keene did the only thing he could think of to pacify the nuit for however long he could without showing a second magic. The sound that came from his throat was not the natural soft, cool tone of his words, nor was it a clearing of passages to allow those words to flow. Instead, it was a wavering, halting tenor, quite unprecedented by all means of the word. If Atziri required him to draw out the judgment, he didn't need a reason. Of course, he wasn't entirely sure what he was doing, but he did remember Mella explaining that there were a myriad of ways mages made use of their magic. Daeqat irst, dalat djed." His faltering tune moved incredibly slowly, concentration hardly a farce, though certainly not focused on the creation of any magic. "Glig-irst djas heat, glig-irst djas heat..." The lullaby, as he remembered it, was ending as he couldn't quite remember the words.

Chimes had passed over the course of his song, and as he came to its close, his lips closed, letting his off key notes fade into the empty air. His blank stare held the entirely unamused glower that Arios cast upon him, fully aware that magic would soon have to present itself. He had taken a huge gamble on Atziri, even going so far as to, effectively, taunt the council with an unnecessary waste of their time. The doll was clenched tighter as Keene waited, the ticks feeling like centuries. Whatever it was Atziri was going to do, she would need to do it soon.

[Ink]

As Keene stumbled through his song, two more silhouettes strode overtop the disabled golem as though it was no more than rocky terrain. One, a man of mahogany skin encased in dark, well-oiled leather. Along his back pushed into slits were a series of ten shards of blades, begging to be drawn. High features surveyed the room pausing no where for any length of time. Only a step behind his gait was a shorter, pale woman. Her eyes were piercing purple and her teeth elongated into points which gave her cold smile at malicious quality. Wrapped around her neck like a stone noose was centipede of dozens of segments, its legs constantly twitching. In her fist was a long staff, atop which sat a dull pearly orb.

Riyanna tilted her shaggy head towards the other two momentarily and then back towards the panel. Her jaw fell open and tongue lolled out in a canine grin. The tom cat judge hissed in return, tensions mounting as the Wardens took up equal numbers against the judgement panel.

Arios still nonchalant to the situation, “Chabiza, you have come to herald your own claim.”

The half-myrian man nodded, “He is a warrior, mine. No scholar stands here, but a battleborne soul. If you want steal one of my Fang, Husks, then you will prove you deserve him.” Brazen arrogance dared them to test his mettle. To see what one of the few battlemages of the island could truly do.

The Vantha woman’s face lit up anew, “Chabiza I would take your challenge were that I wanted your Initiate, but I do not.”

The reply in disinterested monotone seemed anything but invested. “He was not brought before us idly, it would be well to consider him fully before his dismissal.”

“He lacks the mind of a Wizard or the heart of a researcher. Perhaps the Chabiza has higher claim to his character after all.” Amarylis conceded, none of the the judges seemed to have a horse in this race and that left the arguments at best stale.

Karte had made his choice clear already and Thomas had failed to speak again since Ariel’s return to his corpse. That left only Amarylis, the disinterested Iceris, and Arios to discuss the prospect. Even still only one voice still spoke clearly in his defense, the ring-maker, “He could prove useful for new avenues of thought.”

Amarylis shook her head, “This is nonsense. No decent reason has been rpesented for his success.”

The cat still stared unblinking at the wolf. The mottled fur rippled around the ruff of his neck and expanded far beyond the natural size of a cat’s and the mouth shaped widened to accommodate and morphing tongue. Much closer to human the disturbing cat-hybrid spoke, “Intimidation against the Citadel is a bold move.” The voice was husky and definitively masculine , arrogance and cruelty featured prominently in his repertoire. “You would force our hands while no leader sits at this table. Cowards.”

“Come on then kitten, I will show you a cowards death.” Chabiza answered in rowdy jeer.

“No. The Initiate is rejected. But this… event is noted.” Arios sneered back at the gathering.”No ring for the human, but a vambrace instead.” From a back at the side of his chair the ring-maker withdrew a vambrace identical to Keene’s current and all of the other Warden’s armored wrists.

Iceris gave the vambrace a flippant twitch of her fingers and it began to seemingly levitate. Before a second’s continued hesitation it shot across the room like a rock pitched at a window.

Atziri leapt forward and snatched it out of the air. As she withdrew back to Keene, passing it off to him she whispered again, all that charm and congenial smile still missing. “We need to leave. Now.”

Chabiza Kormac gave a disappointed heave of his shoulders. “Yes back to our piece of Sahova.” Kierra and Chabiza headed back towards the entrance, Kierra having never spoken a single word. Atziri gave Keene a familiar shoulder twist directing him to follow the others. Riyanna and Atziri took the flanks, there was no mistaking their pattern for anything but a formation. None of them paused until they were out into the muggy air of the courtyard.
.

[Keene Ward]

As the song ended, Atziri made no indication that she had any further plan of action. A small part of him felt incredibly heavy as he considered whether or not he had made his final mistake, djed shivering under the force of his consciousness as he prepared to extrude it into a shield in some vain attempt to go through the motions he had refused the nuit who watched so impassively. The tick Arios' gaze moved to the door, however, Keene's followed, beholding two more individuals, both of whom carried about them the same wild, unexplainable aura of strength and power that both Atziri and the Warden of Prairie had already filled the room with prior. Wardens. The change in atmosphere from tense to near suffocating was heralded by the cat wizard's hiss and the purple-eye woman's sneer. Never before had Keene felt so insignificant, surrounded by powers so great that it seemed to seep from them like some invisible wave of tacit understanding. While it was suffocating, it was awesome as well, and he was taken by the posturing of both pulsar and nuit, a fascinating display of force without so much as a finger lifted by either the undead or living.

Arios was the first to speak, his voice surprising unaffected by the tensions that had set all mouths in the room who were not those of sizable strength or influence to the graves where most of their bodies belonged. The title, Chabiza, was directed towards the tanned man who- Keene's features stuttered, a flash of recognition twisted with a hint of pain. While far from the exact features and build, the Chabiza, the leader of the Wardens, held about him a familiarity that Keene instantly placed. Noven. He spoke with confidence, a sneering challenge that was often associated with those who knew the outcome would be in his favor. Keene regained his composure, releasing the near vice his fingers had clenched into at the unprecedented pairing of Noven's face with the Warden's.

The woman in leather replied, for the first time showing something more than passing disinterest, while the others who spoke did so with about as much enthusiasm as they had done before. Keene watched their discussion in silence, eyes calculating, flicking between those who spoke and the reactions of those who listened. While it seemed the conversation was headed in a direction, Keene still had little idea where it would actually end up. It didn't take much to understand that what was happening was far greater than his own foolish blunders; he was used as a catalyst for their tensions, and he had no qualms with it. The Wardens had come to claim him, he the tool who had fallen from its proper shelf and been taken up in the disinterested hands of a passerby.

The cat wizard's words' weight was not lost on Keene. Those assembled all felt the hissing promise of retribution yet to come. He had cost the Wardens something greater than he understood, and he was certain there would be his own price to pay for it. That price, however, he had not stopped to consider might present itself in the form it chose. A second vambrace, the mark of Warden, was given to him, though "given" was perhaps incorrect. He watched with crystalline gaze as the the leather clad woman flicked her fingers, Lorelei's magic evident in the manner in which the vambrace flew towards him at a speed far greater than the dagger had moved before. His master - or prior master then for certain - caught the projectile, handing to him in a manner not unlike how Mella had handed him his books. There was no warmth, no grinning levity. The gravity of the situation was only further felt by her command.

Keene nodded, not once turning to give the panel another look nor to vary his gaze to the faces of those gathered, not even to Master Rayage. As he moved under the leadership of the fiery Warden of Mt. Merlus, the creature shifted to glide beside his left, almost brushing up against him with her powerful, rolling shoulder of muscle and fur. He had failed his judgment to become a wizard, and though his Warden's vambrace joined the straw doll in his hands, it did not feel a gain. He had lost more than he had even though he might have bargained with. He had never thought his decisions to affect anyone beyond himself, having never had the chance, nor privilege, nor even desire to lead where he could follow. Yet, in his rage and hatred that had been tempered by vanity and foolishness, he had made his decisions. He had chosen a path that had led straight through the heart of the citadel's greatest tensions, and he had tugged upon the strings like some mindless child.

They moved quickly and efficiently, their footsteps echoing throughout the stone halls as one, their passing met with stares and silence. When they finally broke out into the swirling mists and heat of the courtyard and had moved away from the building's entrance behind them, Keene stopped. He did not do so out of disobedience nor defiance, he simply stopped because he could not walk any farther. His knuckles were white where the strength of his grip strained them, the doll's body crushed beneath the force. When he spoke, he did not look to any other face but that of Atziri's, and his eyes burned with an icy glare of self-loathing that even he could not control. "Warden Atziri." It was all he could say. To apologize would have been paramount to spitting in her face. He knew, they knew, exactly what he had done. His voice wavered as he said the words, eyes boring into hers in some vain attempt to convey what he could not even understand.

He had failed her, all of them. Whether he fully understood the repercussions of what he had done or not, he had betrayed his mater, betrayed her trust. It was a breaking of his own ethics, something he had held onto for so long, formed into something so sturdy he had not thought to check for places where it might falter. Noven had been the first, and he should have been the point at which he realized he was hardly infallible, hardly as strong as he had allowed himself to come to belief. Instead, he had sunk further and further. The result?

He could not hold her gaze. He could not meet with any gaze but that of the sullen earth beneath him. He stood, head bowed, and teeth grit, a fire searing him from within. He hated what he had done even more than he had hated the master, than he had hated the death that had taken Mella from him, than he had hated anything. What he hated, most of all, was that had he been given the opportunity to do things again, he knew he would not have changed a thing.

[Ink]

As the group became enclosed by the heavy mist unnaturally blanketing the courtyard at nearly all times, the tension snapped. What had once been a protective formation broke, the wolf lunged passed Keene shoving him to the ground and went directly for Kierra’s throat. Leather creaked and steel flew. The Wardens reacted as the battle hardened did, in between heartbeats passivity became tenacious violence.

Chabiza pulled Kierra out of the way in a moment, the Blood Queen already glowing with elemental intensity as the res exuded in defense. Atziri had wrapped her arms around the Wolf’s torso, taking the beast to the ground. Already layers of shields were snapping into place to protect mortal flesh.

Chabiza growled, “Take her away, Atziri. Warden Keene, come with us.”

Kierra gave no second glance to the struggling wolf who had once been a friend. There was nothing there, just deadened threads of what once was. The res settled back into her core. The two Wardens largely considered the strongest of their kind turned towards the main gate. Several yards deep into the graveyard they stopped.

Kierra regarded Keene without any indicated of her attitude towards him and offered out the staff to him. The long smooth shaft appeared as a dark wood but was polished into a complete black. The top flourished into head piece adorned with modest woven engravings played the role of facet for a fist sized orb. It was perfectly spherical but was remarkable only in its dullness. Nothing of the milky opaque rock seemed especially valuable or remarkable, it may indeed had been poorly blown glass. “It is your weapon.”

Chabiza added, “It was not made by Master Silverheart and so its name has been lost.”

The familiar voice like crackle autumn leaves slithered out from the gravestones, “Lost only to infants.” Wanda hobbled forth, “It has been an interesting day, hasn’t it Boy?” She nodded at Keene. Her form bent forward over her own unremarkable walking stick. A half-hearted cackle slipped out of her rotting lips before she turned again and left.

A shake of long braided hair banished the awkward interlude, Chabiza continued. “We need to leave. Atziri needs time to calm Riyanna.” he led them back out through the vestibule and made the sharp turn down towards the testing grounds. His pace was unhurried but could only be matched by the athletic Wardens. Any Nuit would have been long last in the dust.

“You will be Warden of the domain known as the Dendrik Ravine. I am going to be your mentor now, Keene, you will be in contact with the Heartlands and that has specific rules for you. Do not enter the domain, ever, without being in my presence or you will die.” Doma explained with blatant disregard for the gravity of her rule. “The Ravine is abnormal-”

Chabiza shrugged, “He will survive the trials or he will not, warning him will only cause his own weakness. Let him learn the way nature sees fit.”
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[Keene Ward]

There were no more words to be had for anyone as the beast made a thrashing leap for the woman with the staff, ramming into Keene on her path for blood, sending him to ground as if he were nothing more than any of the other twisted, frail plants that peeked their way through the mists. As he fell, Atziri's training took hold, his reflexes allowing him to cushion the fall and clumsily roll back to his knees, vambrace and doll instinctively drawn to his chest to keep both the items in his possession. Both Atziri and the Chabiza moved with a martial efficiency, each taking charge of their respective companions; one a display of speed and precision, the other a familiar explosion of strength. He hesitated as he rose to stand back on his own two feet, eyes shifting from the Chabiza's command to Atziri's wrestling form that twisted and bucked with the growling protests of the feral Warden. Though beckoned, his feet took a few ticks to follow, eyes lingering on his master as she kept her focus. The retreating figures grew to a point where, had he lingered any longer, they might have been lost to his sight, and reluctantly he followed them, forcing himself to keep his eyes forward rather than to check back with each muffled roar.

When they stopped, it still took Keene several ticks to come to rest across from them, his distance out of respect as well as a fair amount of caution. The violence that had erupted had been entirely unprecedented to them, the histories of those involved unknown to him. If either the Chabiza or the woman wished him harm, he doubted he would last long, but a tick of preparation was still more than no tick at all. Fortunately, though the term only applied loosely to the situation, the woman extended her hand, voice as lacking as his own as the staff was offered. Realizing that both vambrace and doll were still clenched firmly in his hands, Keene slipped the child's toy into his pocket, freeing a hand to receive the offered weapon with all the grandeur of a child receiving his evening meal. The wood was polish, smooth beneath the aching grip of his delicate fingers that had grown far more marred and worn than he had ever realized before. There was a simplicity to the staff, a linear artistry that struck him as familiar, like looking into a mirror. The fogged glass of the orb even seemed to echo the blank expression that Keene's face had once more fallen into.

His weapon.

He looked up at the Chabiza as he offered further explanation, the name not bringing with it any immediate understanding but internalized nonetheless. Again, he felt his heart twist in response the all too familiar shade of the man's skin and manner of his being. With a nod, he dropped his eyes, though they did not settle onto the misty ground for long. A voice, one that he remembered well, shuddered through the humid air of the courtyard, frail and powerful all the same. She addressed him, the spiritist Wanda, with a knowing glimmer in her sunken eyes. There was intrigue in what she said, but no indication that her words held any hidden meaning of affection. Lost only to infants. Keene frowned as he watched her disappear in her marked hobble, wondering whether the name of the staff that fit so smooth within his grip was something worth pursuing the old woman for or not.

Keene did not have the chance to make that choice, and perhaps it was for the better. Instead, he nodded at the man's words, falling easily into step behind, never beside, the other Wardens. As they walked, their pace steady and constant, Keene slipped his wrist into the second vambrace, completing the set with an air that would have been loathe to be seen outside of a funeral. The woman spoke then, as they walked, her voice carrying clear and efficient as they turned to head down the path that Keene had walked many a time when the Scars had been under his watch. A Warden. He hardly felt like one, and while he nodded in understanding to the woman's rules, it was a blank gesture. The rules, like everything that had transpired that day were heard and internalized, their meaning to be mulled over at a time when he had the will and faculties to do so.

At the man's interruption, Keene simply nodded once more, eyes staring ahead in tacit silence as the three of them moved over the prairie, a deceptively powerful trio in the objective expanse that spread out before them. He had not heard of the Dendrik Ravine before, but his knowledge of the Testing Grounds was limited by what Risabel had explained to him. There were places he knew to exist without knowing their names and vice versa. Whatever the Ravine was, it was his new domain, his new home. He shook his head in a slight twitch, his mind expanding to his body in a brief moment of heat that flashed from his chest to his face. No, the Ravine was not to be his new home. That had been forfeited along with so much else already. Though comfortable with silence, Keene spoke, voice steady once more, cool tone drifting through the Prairie's heat like a single drop of water. "I will survive."

It was, by far, the most conviction he had placed behind any of the words he had spoken thus far. He did not say it for the Chabiza's benefit nor to assure either of them that was he fit for the job. He knew full well he was unfit, something that had taken the overwhelming disastrous chain of events to remind him, but once reminded it settled back into its proper place. He would conquer the Ravine, not because he was worthy or deserving, but because it was expected of him, demanded even. There was no confidence in his voice, no boast or brag. It was simply fact; cold, hard, familiar fact. He had faltered, but his balance had been regained. He was a Warden, for better or for worse, and he had every intention to perform as was expected of him. The tool had simply switched hands, and whether he wished for things to be different or not, they were as they were. It was time he woke from the dream of autonomy.

ooc