[Port of Silence] Arrival (Mirage)

[Wrenmae]

Wrenmae hissed in pain as the bird buried its beak into his calf, swiftly descending toward the forest floor. The key in his hand pulsed ahead, but the weight of the bird made flying all but impossible, and the wound in his wing would only grow the longer he let it bleed.

So they spiraled toward the trees and as they did, Wrenmae pushed a ripple of djed into his leg and around the wound, withdrawing folds of skin and flesh till the bird tumbled out of him of its own accord. Of course, his leg still bled and he found himself catching at branches to slow his fall, finally snapping one and tumbling to the ground. He landed on both arms in the soft loam beneath the trees, bruising them before pulling his wings tight around him, withdrawing them into his skin. A wound remained on his back, small, but annoying, forcing the mage to strongly consider making his way by foot.

Zan said nothing, most likely enjoying the little jaunt they were now facing. The wound in his leg made the progress slow, proceeding at a limp.

Pausing, the mage rested against the trunk of a tree, looking down at his wounded leg as though willing it to simply repair and keep moving. He'd never taken the time to learn the finer arts of medicine and so besides not bothering to worry about infection, he could only glare at it in impotent fury before taking a few more steps through the maze of trunks and branches. As always, the key tantalizingly, mockingly, led him onward.

For a moment, Wrenmae considered the implications of a trap...if this key was only taking him to some dark pit to be deposited in, to rot for eternity beneath the ground.

No. No, that would not be him.

Snapping a branch above him, he fashioned himself a makeshift walking stick. The blood on his arms had become a glossy black, still sticky to the touch and more a reminder to any other bird the dangers of tampering with Wrenmae than it was to Wrenmae.

So. He limped forward.

Always moving.

The key called him forward.


It was another bell before his eyes shifted to accommodate the darkness. Blinking the brilliant yellow orbs, he noted the shift had been more instinctual...he barely had to think about doing it. It gave him something to think about as he morphed wings a half inch above where he had morphed them last and crawled up the trees. Devouring the last of his rations, he took to the sky again, winging low and fast over the trees. His foot was going to be a problem, and perhaps he could return to Sahova.

But what kind of medical attention could he expect from the dead? Stitched, just the same black lace stitches they used to patch up nuit bodies.

He shuddered. Best follow the key and worry about it later.

[Mirage]

The sun was starting to dip under the horizon, splashing deep reds and orange across the gloomy clouds that seemed to perpetually hover over the island. The pain in Wren's leg would not ease, and far bellow he would leave a trail of blood as the wound still bleed freely. If he were not careful he could easily bleed out before he ever got the chance to return to Sahova.

Suddenly it was obvious where the key was pulling Wren. Coming into view was a large mountain, but it was no mountain. It glowed a blazing red as streaks of lava fell down its sides, heat radiating out so that it could be felt even from a couple miles out. It might have been magical, the feeling of intense heat and danger, the foreboding, the dread that leaked from the active volcano, but then again it could have been completely natural. It was an awesome sight to behold, a work of nature that was as powerful as any magical weapon.

The key was pulling Wrenmae in the direction of the volcano, a constant and steady tug, but off to the side, perhaps a mile out of the way, there was a disturbance in the trees. No, perhaps less a disturbance and more of a catastrophe as one thick trunked tree toppled over to the side, crushing some of its fellows as it fell. The last of the light was fading behind clouds and the horizon, so nothing could be made out clearly, but there was the sound of a creature moaning... cold and longing, unnaturally deep. Then there was the sounds of shouting, and another tree toppled as the creature cried in pain.

The key pulled Wren onward, and darkness was quickly enveloping the world. Where would Wren go?

[Wrenmae]

It was the glow he saw first, as if a dozen baby suns had spun to life in the clouds above the trees. The light was quickly fading and around him, the deathly quiet of the unnatural forest only emboldened his steps forward.

He was dizzy. He could feel his blood seeping from the wound, but without the faintest idea of how to treat it, he was starting to lose his strength. The leg had already stiffened, more a dead weight than anything else and his wings were erratic.

The noise was what drew him from his tenuous concentration, enough to remind him that he was still flying blindly toward the fire-mountain, despite the warnings blaring in his head.

A tree turned and fell sideways, crushing its partners with reckless abandon. The crash faded as...something...called out in the quickening darkness. It was a low moan, a cry of pain with such poignant longing it scrabbled at Wren's emotions...but that may have been the blood loss.

Zan tried to say something, but his words were just the backdrop.

There were shouts. Shouts meant people...people may mean medical assistance.

He turned from his present path and soared low toward the disturbance, catching the lofty branches of a nearby tree as his wings shriveled and collapsed back into his back.

Looking down into the darkness, he sought the origin of the disturbance.

[Mirage]

At first there would be no clear sign of what caused the disturbance. Just beyond the treeline a dark shape moved, and a man shouted jeers and jibes, but then the line of trees blocking them from view were toppled over, falling toward Wren and his perch as something large and heavy fell against it.

The crack of wood was defensing, and when they landed a cloud of dust filled the air. As the wind blew their dirt away the shape began to become recognizable. A large, black blob lay over the logs, ass thick as two tree trunks and nearly twice as long. As it shifted Wren would see that it was in fact coiled knots of black flesh folded over itself, and as it stretched out its worm like shape became apparent. It was long, tube like, with no eyes and a large gaping mouth with rows of sharp teeth. Long tentacles covered its length, waving frantically in agitation, lashing out at something beyond the trees in the darkness. It twisted its long body, turning its mouth to face where it had come, lunging forward with a gargled moan, and its head would suddenly jerk back, as if it were uppercutted by some unseen force. It groaned and fell back to the ground, crashing into trees and flattening brush as its heavy, yet squishy, body landed hard in the dirt.

A man leaped onto the monsters hide, dwarfed by the monster creature but with all the confidence of a man unafraid. Tentacles lashed at him from all sides, but all of them were deflected, bashed aside by the same invisible force while the man walked calmly along the beasts length, arms crossed. Auristics would revieal hundreds of astral tentacles lashing around the man, whipping out to block attacks from all sides, connected to the man's body at the shoulder as if they were a part of him.

The worm beast lifted its head, groaning and gnashing its teeth, and looked as if it were about to try one last attack. With a lazy flick of his head the beasts head was cleaved clear from its body, green blood squirting out, but not a drop landed on the man. The projection tentacles would twist and wind into one once more, shifting and retracting to return once more to fill the man's arms so that he could unfold them and rest them on his hips.

The man scratched his head, seeming to consider what needed to be done next. He wore a full set of leather armor with metal plates made into the material on his shoulders, back and around his neck. Dark black hair was tied back into a warriors braid, and his tawny skin and bright green eyes gave away his Myrian heritage. Standing at just over 6'2 his body was clearly muscled under the armor, and he showed no signs of starvation most pulsers did. Most striking of all however were the 10 knives that were belted all over his body. One on each thigh, four at his waste, one on each upper arm and two longer ones on his back.

Finally coming to a decision the man would leap down to the ground, landing gracefully to turn and walk along the creatures length, studying the beast as he decided how best to proceed.

[Wrenmae]

From his treetop perch, Wren watched. The first time he saw something invisible bat away a tentacle, his eyes gleamed with the magic of auristics, seeking out that line of subtle djed. Part of him knew what he was looking for, he'd faced fearsome presence before from this magic...in Sunberth and then again on his way in. Projection, they called it...but its specifics had always eluded him. At the time, Wren had not seen the use in training a skill that disabled an arm to push something minor.

But with this sort of mastery...

He didn't realize he had let go of the branch he was on until he was falling. The terrible truth of blood loss was in its nature, slow and deceitful. The wind kicked up at his face and as he fell he scrabbled desperately, reaching with hands that barley caught branches, slowing his fall till he fell out of the tree several feet from the dead beast with a thud.

Luckily, the height had not been so great as to break something, but a thorough weariness had pervaded his thoughts, sinking into his motions. He was slow to get to his arms and knees, and even then...only the one not temporarily paralyzed.

"Pardons," The sorcerer gasped, his naked back heaving. The rigors of his flight had caught up with him, manifold over by the already crimson wound still pulsing from his leg, "I did not mean to interrupt I..." He wobbled, barely holding himself up, "Could I trouble you for some medical attention?"

[Mirage]

The man paused and looked back. If he was surprised to see another living person this far from the Citadel he didn't show it. In fact he didn't bother to question any of the situation. Rubbing his neck he sighed, "Petching apprentices wandering where they don't belong. What did you do boy? Piss off one of the nuit bastards and they send you scavenging for parts?"

Walking closer the man knelt to examine Wren's wound, clucking his tongue, "Petch kid was it you that stirred up the Noktal? You put me in a real bind you know, killing those birds. Now I've got to figure out a way to dispose of this carcass while those pompous nuits batch me a few more." He stood and folded his arms, and Wren would feel many invisible, but light, touches over his body, tugging at him and pulling him to his feet. The projection appendages took most of his weight off of his leg, allowing him to walk beside the man as he moved into the trees. His eyes were on the creature, but he spoke to Wren as he walked, "Whats your name kid. Its good to know a man's name, both to know who to curse and what to write on a tomb stone."

[Wrenmae]

The sensation was unlike anything he felt before. Some of the tendrils touched his skin, but it was as though he was being pulled up by wind...no, less than wind, it was just force without form. The key in his right hand pulled him toward the mountain, but he pocketed it, resigned to approach it later. The hunter moved with a sort of easy grace that suggested Wren could stop glancing suspiciously into the growing shadows of trees. There was a blind confidence there that was almost...laudable, or at the least, comforting. So he followed the man toward his ugly kill, pausing only to glance suspiciously behind him and to the sky.

The idea that these ugly vultures...the noktal, could come careening in again filled him with no small amount of disdain.

"Wrenmae," He answered the hunter, "And if I had known simply passing in their vicinity would stir them up, I would have avoided them." He smiled, almost to himself, storing the information away for later. The nuits made them, they helped with body disposal.

Was he so gaunt as to appear to be a body?

Gods...what a wake up call that was.

"May I ask you the same?" He called up to the hunter as the neared the black-fleshy monster, "And what is this that you've killed..." His eyes wondered at it, "I've never seen its like before." The cold of the approaching evening began to eat into his wound, seeding through his skin to spread its dead numbness farther through his body. The mage shivered. Hard to keep in heat when it lived in the blood still running from your wound.

[Mirage]

"Chabiza." he said without looking, "The name's Chabiza, Groundskeeper of Sahova."

If he noticed Wren's condition Chabiza did not show it. He was focused entirely on the monster before him, "As for this brute its just some failed experiment that escaped the testing grounds. I've been chasing this bitch for two days, and finally tracked it here. Gave a good fight, but its fate was decided before it was even completed."

Taking in a sudden breath Chabiza stamped one foot hard on the ground, sliding it forward as he turned his body sidways toward the beast. The ground cracked from beneath his boot, streaking toward the creature and encircling it. Then the ground gave, shattering like glass and the beast fell into the pit which seemed to appear from no where. An intense heat flooded up from the pit, and the sound of something bubbling could be heard as lava began to fill up the hole, consuming the body completely in molten rock.

Nodding Chabiza stepped closer to the pit, looking down at his work. Looking back at Wren he said, "Well Wrenmae, you never said why you are so far from the Citadel. Only a fool comes this far into the wilderness, and worse than this beast roam this area at night." He nodded to Wren's injured leg, "And I am sure by now they have caught your scent."

[Wrenmae]

Steadying himself against one of the downed trees, Wren watched Chabiza. In the dark of the setting sun, the Groundskeeper was hardly paying attention to his facial expressions, but there was blind, undisguised hunger on the mage's face. He watched the ground spiderweb, crack and shatter beneath the Myrian's boot. The great failure pitched forward and vanished into the hole, hissing in the roiling lava below.

Limping to the hole, the mage looked down into the depths of the churning molten rock as the creature sizzled and vanished into the glow. That sort of power...alarming, incredible, and moreso...dangerous.

He had to have it.

Stepping back from the hole, he also made a note that the ground beneath the forests here were still a hotbed of lava streams. The fire-mountain's touch must run beneath the entirety of the Island...or at least, for miles beyond the point where stones began to rise toward its peak.

He took a seat against a tree, hissing as he gingerly looked over the wound in his leg. Blood pumped slowly from it, but continued to flow. At the least, he thought headily, it can't get infected.

"I was seeking...something," He said dreamily, "I'm not sure, but it's near that fire mountain..." He took a breath, his vision swam, leveled out, then swam again.

His head lolled on his shoulder, it felt stuffed with cotton, too light when he held it up, too heavy when it moved to either side of his neck. "I'm losing a lot of blood...please, can you help me?"

Shaking his head, Wren pressed down on the wound and hissed in agony, letting it go immediately.

"What...what is that magic you can do? How did you learn it? I..." He hissed again. It only hurt when he touched it...other than that, it was dead and lifeless.

"I'm not going to survive long enough for anything to eat me at this rate."

[Mirage]

Chabiza raised an eyebrow, watching Wren as he settled against the tree. One of the invisible tendrils wrapped around Wren's upper thigh, clamping down hard and slowing the blood flow. At Wren's sounds and winces the man laughed, "Quit your whining. It doesn't suit a mage, especially not one like you kid."

As the blood flow slowed a bag would float into view from behind the very tree Wren leaned against. Walking toward Wren, Chabiza would unfold his arms, digging through the bag to remove a set of bandages. Wren's pant legs ripped on their own, rolled back as Chabiza began cleaning the wound with water and what smelt like liquor, "So... Your looking for something near Mt. Merlus? What exactly are you looking for there?"

The man obviously ignored Wren's prying questions about his power, obviously more interested in why Wren was here in the first place. After the wound was clean Chabiza would bind it expertly, tying it off and then offering the wine skin to Wren, this time for drinking.