[Port of Silence] Arrival (Mirage)

[Wrenmae]

He struggled to keep up with the myrian. The rough soil and torn geography shot tendrils of pain up his healing leg and for a few moments, he fell behind before pushing himself to keep at the pace. The key was out again, a warm comforting pull in the palm of his hand. Wren followed it, noting that the pull grew ever so slightly stronger as they neared the volcano.

The heat began to increase, and the mage paused to wipe sweat from his brow. How could Chabiza not feel the same? He moved with such graceful ease around the fire mountain and his tone was nonchalant, almost uninterested. Nothing could be further from the truth, Wren felt, and that if Chabiza truly didn't consider this worth his time, he would not have come at all.

But here they were, crossing around the mountain at the behest of the key.

"Some stories," The mage called up to Chabiza before the key pulled him toward a lava vein, "Are bigger than they are rumored to be...and some are smaller. Best to fear the stories that are right on mark." He remembered the Balnag now swimming free beneath the Suvan, shredding through Laviku's domain with callous disregard.

Like that time, he stood poised to perhaps unleash something new onto an unprepared world.

It seemed to be a running theme.

He paused as they approached the lava vein, holding the key out on his palm and turning to the Myrian.

"The key suggests we swim our way there," he said gravely, watching the red hot vessels of the earth pulse fire into the ground, "Perhaps the door has been destroyed?"

[Mirage]

Chabiza stepped closer to the lava flow, resting his fists on his hips as he leaned forward to examine the scene. Shrugging he looked at Wren, "Maybe it really is just a story then."

The key in Wren's hand grew warm, then scorching hot until the point when it could not be held anymore. Falling from his grip the key would bounce across the ground, landing in the lava stream. Chabiza laughed, raising up and slapping Wren between the shoulder blades, "Thats what happens when you don't hold onto whatcha got boy! Well might be for the best. Best to let some things stay mysteries, or so my father liked to say." He chuckled and turned, looking back at Wren, "Well then let me escort you back to the Citadel. No use in hanging around here where gods know what might be--"

The sounds of bubbling rock interrupted the man's words, and Chabiza turned back to watch with astonishment as the Lava, the entire stream of it all the way to the mouth of the volcano, cooled and solidified into black rock. At the place where the key fell a crack began to form, streaking across to the other side of the now solid river. With a loud CRACK the rock began to crumble into black dust, forming rough stairs that lead beneath the volcano. A soft glow could be seen in the depths, and upon the 2nd step rested the now cooled key.

Chabiza scratched his head, bewilderment written on his features, "The shyke... maybe the stories are true."

[Wrenmae]

The burn on his skin faded in the hissing of cooling lava. Wren was no stranger to magic, but there, on the rock with Chabiza, he saw the very mountain split to allow them entry.

His fingers twitched, still smarting from the burn of the key and he leaned down to pick it up...cool in his hand now, looking down at the yawning passageway that had opened up beneath them.

That's what I call a warm welcome.

And here I had hoped you were awed into silence.

Silence is for brooders like you, Wren, I am far too free to be bound by your petty notions of silence.

Then be bound by a notion of common sense. Keep your eyes open, I don't trust a place that leads us to the heart of a volcano.

You wouldn't trust it if it had led you to your own heart. But right-o captain. Zan is on lookout!

"Chabiza," Wren said standing on the second step and looking down into the darkness. "You keep mentioning a tale or legend...but that you doubt its honesty." He nodded down the passageway. "Now may be a good time to go over what you know."

[Mirage]

Chabiza shook his head and shrugged, still looking at the gap before them, "Theres not much else to tell. When I first came to Sahova I heard a rumor about this place. They called it the Vault, a place build BEFORE the Citadel itself was created. It's supposed to hold great treasures, secrets and knowledge about the past, about the Alahean and Suvan empires." He scratched his head, still looking dumbfounded that the rumors were actually true, "Its talked about like its a legend, nothing but a story. The younger nuits don't even know it exists, and the older ones never talk about it. Its like its been wiped from the record, completely separate from Sahova itself... But the fact that its hear means that everything else we heard is probably true. About the guardian, the treasure inside, and how it could cave in the entire island into the sea..."

Chabiza looked at Wrenmae, "This is as far as I go. Anyone who stumbles on this place are supposed to never be heard from again, but then there were never any confirmed rumors of there being keys to this place. The way I see it, if you got a key then you MIGHT be able to survive, but as for me it's not worth the risk."

The stairs lead down beneath the cooled Lava, and there a set of double doors would be found. They were made of gold, gems, diamonds and other precious stones were encrusted into its surface, but there was no handle, and no key hole. It did give off a soft golden light however, which intensified the closer the key was brought to it.

Chabiza took a step back from the opening, looking warily at it. This was a man who faced the dangers of the island without fear or hesitation, who could kill without lifting a finger. Yet here he was, this Groundskeeper of the most dangerous part of Sahova, taking a step back from something he did not quite understand. Looking at Wrenmane he tried to give a cocky smile, "Well kid, you going to tempt fate? I will escort you back to the Citadel if you want to return. It might be a good idea to get more info on this place before jumping headfirst into the unknown.

[Wrenmae]

Heat dissipated on Wren’s face, a cold wind pushing back from beneath the mountain. It smelled of antiquity and old blood, of secrets. He held the key tight in one hand, turning back to Chabiza and lifting an eyebrow. The story of the Vault, the ramifications of the power inside…Certainly it was tempting to step away. He was already injured and there would no doubt be security measures within the Vault itself.

Chabiza had proven himself to be a formidable mage, easily strong enough to decimate Wren in a straight fight. Granted, Wren rarely indulged in the fatalistic notions of ‘fair fights’, but that said, Chabiza’s hesitance was an element worth noting.

“If knowledge has been stricken from the records,” the mage said thoughtfully, “And only the old mages know if it, would it not then be dangerous to go asking them for more information? Sahovan nuits are, for the most part, greedy creatures. If I happened to alert the wrong party that I was gathering information about a powerful secret, I would almost certainly be detained and interrogated.” He held up the key, glancing silver in the low simmer of the lava-light. “This would be taken from me and I would know no more than I know now.” He turned back to the stairs, taking another step down toward the door. “I do not expect you to condone my actions, or consider them intelligent…but you have the opportunity to see something for yourself that has long been kept from everyone here.” He looked back at the Myrian and raised an eyebrow, almost in challenge.

“Back from this challenge and you’ll back away from more. In the end, it is the myth of what could be that frightens you more than what you see in front of you.” He sighed, rubbing the space above his nose with two fingers, “Look, if I leave now I may never get another chance to see what lies below…you as well. Come with me and help me, we’ll see what the nuits thought was so wise to hide away. But if you cannot bring yourself to follow somewhere unknown,” he shrugged dismissively, “I’d ask you at least remain by the entrance so you can help me back to the Citadel when I’ve finished here.”

He strode down to the glittering doors, wheeling one more time on Chabiza, “Progress is made by the daring. Come or be left behind, but I won’t be scared by stories.”

[Mirage]

Chabiza looked a little stunned by the speech, and its implications. The man rubbed the back of his neck, grumbling under his breath before spitting to the side and growling, "Petch it boy come off that high horse. I'm coming, I'm coming." He hopped down the steps two at a time until he shoved himself beside Wren, pressing his hand against the door, looking at the boy, "Well open her up Wren, before I get my good sense back."

Neither of them would have to do anything, however, for the doors would swing open on their own, suddenly enough that Chabiza stumbled a couple of steps before getting his balance. The two found themselves in a long tunnel lined with the soft blue mage lights just like in the Caverns beneath the Citadel. The end was not in sight.

Chabiza scratched the back of his had, glancing back a moment before stepping forward into the darkness, "Myri, grant me strength..." He prayed softly under his breath. He would be silent the rest of the way, his body language speaking of his alert senses. His eyes swept the area, constantly scanning his surroundings, and his muscles were tense. However he did not fold his arms, rather kept them loosely at his sides. At times resting his palm on the hilt of one of his many daggers.

Their path soon began to curve slightly, twisting and forming a slight slope downward. At times stairs would be carved into the molten rock, leading them further and further beneath the island. Finally their path would level out after close to a bell of walking, and an opening would be seen. Through it Chabiza and Wrenmae would find themselves facing a true wonder. A lake lay before them, wide and deep. Sitting at its center would be what could only be described as a temple. Large stone pillars and dome ceilings, graceful architecture and majestic statures. True works of art, a last remnant of Alahean society. Finally above them, higher over head, molten lava flowed freely. Despite this the temperature here was mild, almost pleasant.

Chabiza stared for a full chime, alarm and clear awe written across is features as he grasped the back of his neck with both hands. Finally he shook his head, disbelief in his voice, "The Vault... Shyke boy what have we gotten ourselves into? You see that? That's ancient magic holding that lava at bay. Magic strong enough to put something like THIS in the center of a volcano!" He spread his arms to indicate the scene before them, looking at Wren, "If this is what is left of one of the greatest civilizations of history, then what must have Alahea been like at its peak?"

[Wrenmae]

When Wren was a boy in the streets of Alvadas, he often entertained himself listening to the tales of tired travelers at some of the many taverns that sometimes shifted around the city. He was enraptured in their recollections of ancient magic, gods, and dangerous adventure. Life, he had decided then, was only as good as the experiences that filled it. He would be an adventurer to, he decided then, and carve his journey through a thousand experiences like the ones he was being told.

Now he stood in the heart of a Volcano, in Ivak's belly, staring up at the cascading lava that fell over the bubble around where they stood. He gripped the key in one hand, imprinting its design against his skin with the intensity of his pressure.

Chabiza muttered, equally amazed, and Wren knew that this would not be a day the Myrian would ever forget. The phantom pain by the birds of before had faded to almost nothing, and now as he looked across the placid lake to the Vault itself, his heart began to quicken.

"Marvelous," he said, holding out his hands as if presenting it all to his companion, "Absolutely marvelous. Does this not inspire, Chabiza? Does this not amaze? Once, humans built this...which means that latent talent is within us all. The nuits create their masterpieces to hide, rather than share...imagine if Sahova opened its doors and took Sunberth as its new city? Imagine if we once again began to rebuild all that was lost?"

He shook his head and the key seemed to tug him toward the vault.

"Let's get going....the key wants to show us something in the Vault. It was given to me for a reason...I think perhaps it is time to let something out that the nuits would have shut away."

He walked toward the entrance, grinning.

Here...here was the stuff of legend. Here was Life.

Here was an existence worth living.

[Mirage]

Chabiza snorted as he followed Wrenmae, "Yeah, as if the deadies would ever open their doors to the world again. Their tight lipped bunch who love their secrets, and hording their magic." The sound of cold steel unsheathing would sound behind Wrenmae, and when he looked he would see the Myrian with his two longest knives in hand. At Wren's look Chabiza would shrug, "I've not lived this long by sheathing my blades when I meet something I've never seen before."

They walled across a stone bridge wide enough for five men to walk abreast.
The waters of the lake were still and calm. Not a single ripple broke the surface, and like a mirror it reflected the red glow of the lava above. Before them lay the entrance to the vault, and on either side stood a large statue, nearly 20 feet tall, of a warrior in long robes, hooded head carrying large double bladed battle axes. The held these weapons in their gauntlet covered hands, resting the butt of the Axe on the ground so that the blade rested next to their shoulders. Chabiza eyed these two statures warily, tensing visibly the closer they got, and soon they both would see why. The statues suddenly moved, the sounds of stone grinding on stone as the lifted their mighty weapons, flipping them around and slamming their blades down so that they blocked the entrance.

In the blink of an eye Chabiza was already pulling Wren back with an invisible hand as he moved forward, two more blades floating from their scabbards to slowly spin on either side as he gripped the two in his hands tighter. However, when the statures did not make any more movements he looked back at Wrenmae, "What do you think? Maybe show them your key?"

[Wrenmae]

"You know," Wren said, brushing his robe off and stepping toward the statues again, "We make it out of here, you really need to teach me those tricks...damn handy."

He was right though, Chabiza, the nuits were a closed conclave of hoarders. Let the word fall to their knees in need, let the entirety of Mizahar burn and those of Sahova would hold tight to their secrets and treasures with cold, dead, hands. To think of the progress that could be achieved in a short decade if the secrets of this island were revealed? War would froth across Mizahar for power and when the dust cleared, only the strong would be left to carry on the legacy of a new Alahea...or Suvan.

In that moment, Wren decided on his course of action, stepping forward and holding his key up to the axe-heads.

"Let's see what centuries of silence holds," Wren called back to his companion, "Let's make a little history."

[Mirage]

The sound of stone grinding on stone sounded once more as the axes slowly lifted, just enough to allow the two to pass on through the entrance. The two floating blades sheathed themselves as Chabiza chuckled, "Kid if we live through this I will make you my initiate, how about that?"

Stepping across the threshold was like stepping backwards in time. They were lead into a large circular room with a domed ceiling high over head. Pillars lined the round walls, between these were statures of what could only be great mean from the Alahean empire. A wizard holding high a mighty staff, a king dressed in crown and robes with kind eyes and a firm jaw, knights with large swords and holding spell tomes. Tapestries and paintings also filled this space, depicting great moments in Alahean history. Upon the dome ceiling itself was a grand mural depicting some grand battle long since fought. At the center of the room there was a raised platform that had a pedestal of some kind, made of what appeared to be glass. On it were faintly glowing numbers, 1-25.

Chabiza slowly sheathed his blades, looking around the space curiously. He examined some of the art, eyes locking on the battle overhead more often than not before going to look at the pedestal, waving Wren over, "What do you think? What do we do now?"