[Port of Silence] Arrival (Mirage)

[Wrenmae]

What they found within the first part of the Vault was staggering. It resonated within the very core of the young wizard. He stood in the center of it all, completely at a loss for words.

It wasn't that he was ignoring Chabiza, only that his eyes found perch on every item and bit of history in the room. He almost reached out to touch the tapestries, then drew his hands away. Instead he simply catalogued the moments captured in history.

Mages that wielded titanic forces, sprawling cities, the faces of deities he didn't recognize, names he didn't know. The statues, the level of craftsmanship, the majesty.

No wonder the nuits were so closed with their research and magic. Look at what the world had been! Sahova was one of the last bastions of pre-valterrian artifacts and if it fell...then perhaps the past would truly be lost.

But in that fear they weakened themselves, deluded themselves. This wasn't protection, this was cowardice...this was terror. They hid things like this in a volcano, protected by wards and lava. Gods...every nuit on Sahova was clinging to something that had already died. Each and every one of them was a crumbling revenant of something that had since fallen.

No...Alahea could not and would not be rebuilt...but a new civilization could rise from its ashes, a new society.

Gods be damned...this was the magnificence the Human empire had once reached.

He'd be damned if he let it remain in ruin much longer.

"Initiate," He said, walking over to Chabiza, glancing at the key once before tapping the number ten, "Come, Chabiza, I'm a mage far more capable than Initiate." He paused, realizing he had never actually told Chabiza his capabilities.

"I'm sorry," he said, shaking his head, "I realize you've shown me much of your talents and I've been hardly forthcoming with mine. When we get out of here, I'll show you what I'm capable of...and you can tell me what the nuits would think of me."

He gave Chabiza a rueful smile, placing his key near the pedestal as well as he pressed against the number ten on the dial.

[Mirage]

Chabiza laughed, "That you are kid, that you are. And with all due respect, you don't need to apologize to me. You haven't seen the half of what I can do." He winked.

As Wren hit the number the floor beneath them rumbled and began sinking downward. Chabiza looked startled for a moment, blades leaping to his hands once more, but quickly he established that they were not under attack and relaxed, if only slightly. They were passing downward through the ground, the walls of the hole perfectly smooth and obviously carved by magic. At intervals they would pass the same scene. A large room with 10 corridors arranged in a circle around the platform, stretching out into the distance. All of the stone here was pure white, like freshly fallen snow, however, along the walls at intervals strange statues could be seen. Most were humanoid in appearance, though some gargoyles and other stranger creatures could be seen as well.

Their platform slowed until they stopped on the tenth floor down. Down a corridor to the left a moan could be heard, frail and weak. A man lay on his side, red robes scattered about him as he held up his hand to fend off what could only be described as three living statues. His beard was long and tangled, his eyes showed fear as one gargoyl bared down on him, reaching to grasp him by the collar to lift him up from the ground. The other two turned their eyes to the new arrivals, one making steps toward them.

Chabiza nudged Wren with an elbow, "Well kid, nows the time to show me your stuff."

The gargoyls would each stand about 6 feet tall if they stood straight, but each one was hunched over putting them closer to 5. Each wore a menacing snarling face, gems set deep in sockets for eyes. They were also made of the same stone as the walls of the room itself.

[Wrenmae]

Guardians. Of course there were guardians. The way the huge statues had moved so flawlessly, Wren should have expected there to be other defenses within the Vault itself. As they looked out onto the old man and the gargoyles, Wren was struck by the fact that it would be a colossal coincidence if he had returned to use his key at the exact same time some other person found and used a key themselves...something coincidental on the scale of divine...and he smelled no hand of a god or goddess in this.

He wasn't sure why he thought it would work, but taking the unblessed dagger from his scabbard, he threw it with expert marksmanship into the jeweled eye of the first gargoyle. As he had expected the moment the thing left his grip, it bounced off without so much as a scratch. The gargoyles continued forward and Wren held out the key, as if presenting them a pass for his right to be here.

One, the closest, took a swipe at him and the hypnotist tucked into a defensive roll backward.

Ok. Also ineffective. He could hear Zan laughing in his head and the slow automotons moved forward again, pushing he and Chabiza back as the other pulled the old man off the ground.

"Stop!" Wren snarled at the first as its hand came down toward him. He wove the command with a strand of hypnotism, implanting the thought even as it brought its claws down on his body. For a moment or two, it paused, staring at him with an inscrutable gem expression. Wren moved back from it and then it was in motion again.

Temporary hold, but hypnotism effective at its lowest levels.

Perfect.

"You're wasting your time," Wren told the gargoyles in the hall, "Your intruders have moved and are attempting to desecrate your homes." In this he wove a more complex tapestry, this time with illusions. He and Chabiza ducked around the clumsy claws of the gargoyles, snatching the old man from the hold of the other and dashing down the hall to the far end, where Chabiza tore the door from its hinges with invisible force.

The gargoyles hesitated only for a moment, dropping the old man and charging down the corridor toward their intended prey.

But once they got there, they would most probably turn around.

X X VII

Tenth hallway, seventh door.

Wren crossed the hall to the old man in a few strides, pulling the aged creature to his feet. "You chose a poor place to be," he offered the man without much sympathy, "Come, we need to backtrack."

He pulled the old man along, not because he was that concerned about saving him...no. It wasn't. The old fool had been frail, weak. He should have been left.

But there was that kernel of compassion hiding somewhere within him that sparked at the prospect of feeling like a hero...the very prospect he now cursed, pulling the old man back onto the platform and picking the far tenth tunnel.

"Chabiza, we're looking for the seventh door, support our guest, I'll keep the guardians at bay."

He took the path forward, focusing on each statue in turn and weaving the same illusion of an empty hallway, of no trouble, of nothing wrong, wincing as he walked past.

His vision blurred, blood crept at the corners and he stumbled, sliding against the wall and holding his dizzied head.

"Gods..." he muttered to himself, "We have a brief reprieve while the sentinals work past the illusion...we need to get to the door, and maybe then we'll have some brief safety."

He glanced back at Chabiza and the old man, really taking him in. He was simple, unadorned, and seemed entirely unequipped for the Vault itself.

"Which door is yours, old man?" Wren asked back to him, "If you're here in the Vault, surely there's something that led you."

[Mirage]

Following Wren's lead Chabiza put away his daggers, grabbing hold of the old man's other side as Wren did the same. As Wren took command of the Guardians Chabiza took the old man wholly on himself, draping the man's arm over his shoulder and practically lifting him from the ground. The Groundskeeper was a skilled warrior, and so he did not ask needless questions about what Wren had done. There would be plenty of time for that later, if they survived. Chabiza was also not affected by the action of taking orders. He knew too well that if an order is given, no matter if he be of lesser or greater skill, rank or experience, to survive one should follow it without question.

Thus Wren and Chabiza, along with the old man, went traipsing down one corridor marked X, while the guardians made their way down the opposite. As they passed more of the stone creations Wren's magic kept them still, immobile, but the effects of prolonged use were beginning to get to the storyteller. Looking around Chabiza called over his shoulder, "Found it! Here boy bring your key!!" but for the moment Wren's mind was too preoccupied to hear.

The old man coughed violently, and Chabiza gently lowered him to the ground, resting his back against the wall, "Hey there old man, you're going to be alright. Don't worry we got you." Chabiza looked back at Wren, "Come on boy!" This time the words would break through Wren's quickly fogging brain enough for him to hear, and come and join them. As he made his way toward the door marked VII, his hold on his magic would wane to nearly nothing. The sounds of soft whispers began to echo in the back of his mind, and he would feel a warm trickle begin to roll down his upper lip. His nose had begun to bleed.

The old man struggled to sit up, and he whispered softly, looking up at Wren, "Th-thank you... Y-your kindness... I-I..." He coughed again, the violent spasms causing his whole body to shake. Behind the the guardians began to stir. Slowly at first, but their heads turned in the groups direction.

"We can ask questions later, get the key boy!"

The old man reached, hand trembling and weak, to touch the center of Wren's chest, "M-my door... Has long since closed."

A small shock would pass through Wren's body, and then he would feel himself pulled backwards. Beneath him lines began to appear in the floor, and four pieces of white stone swung up to entrap Wrenmae, immobilizing him up to the shoulder. A sudden curse and sounds of struggle reported that the same had happened to Chabiza as well. The old man stood slowly, all hints of his frailty vanishing. As he straightened his back a staff materialized in his hands, streaks of magic lancing from it to hit the stone guardians, stilling their movements once more. His robes shimmered and were replaced by fine robes of black and silver, cords of his office wrapping around his shoulders. Rings appeared on his fingers, all worth thousands of Mizas by the look of them, and his hair and beard became neat and well groomed. A silver circuit fitted itself upon his brown, and he looked between the now trapped Chabiza and Wrenmae, "It has been some time since intruders have dared to steal from my Vault. Who are you, and how have you come this far?"

[Wrenmae]

For the beginning of the deception, Wren was not fully paying attention. All the voices rang out quietly in the back of his head, mere parlor acts compared to the main stage of his own hypnotic performance. Yes, the voices whispered, you were never here, you never intruded at all. Where are you, little wizard? Where are you?

And the splintered laughter of his fractured mind echoed briefly and shatteringly in his ears.

And then he was still, hanging against the bonds that bolted him to the wall. He could move, but only mildly, and his hand spun in many shapes before his eyes for a moment before the world shifted a little back into focus. The old man was not so frail anymore, not so weak or decrepit. Of course...had he really been paying attention it would have seemed curious with the response times of the guardians. They would have heard the stone pillar lowering to the floor before they even entered the room...and given the state they found the old man in, he would have had to enter very shortly before them to still be in one piece.

But all those things hadn't crossed his mind...instead he'd been punished for playing a hero.

Oh, but the lessons from Vayt would never cease.

Pause for the weak and you become weak yourself.

The stone guardians moved towards them, but Wren had no doubt the old man could cause them to halt or continue if he decided to. There was obvious great station in the creature, but Wren did not want to risk over extending himself with any more magic. His mind already reeled.

"Stealing would imply we were taking something that denied us access," Wren answered, "As I found a key before I left Sahova last winter and the key led us here of its own accord, I'm betting that it wanted to find its lock...given that the Vault is not common knowledge, I imagine that the key so innocently coming into my hands was not by chance, but will. Someone or something wanted me to have what lies behind that door, I simply followed its instructions."

He struggled against the bonds, found it impossible, and slumped.

"Isn't this just typical, Chabiza?" He sighed to the Myrian, "Stop to help an old man and he turns out to run the whole place...sorry for dragging you into this."

Focusing back on the Vault keeper, Wren shrugged, "I'm guessing you'll want the key back, yes? My name is Wrenmae, an apprentice of neither rank nor import...but by choice rather than effort...and my talented companion is Chabiza, Groundskeeper of the Isle. At the very least, I'd consider letting him go...his job sounds rather important."

[Mirage]

The old man stroked his lengthy beard, eyeing Wrenmae with interest, "You are more honest than I expected... You say you have a key? Return it to me and prove your innocence." A small slot appeared at waist height in Wrenmae's prison, just big enough to put the key in. Taking it in his hand the man brought it close to his eye for inspection.

"Well Apprentice Wrenmae, you are a face I know nothing about. Your companion, however, I am well aware of his identity. Such measures as these should never be able to hold a man of his unique gifts."

Chabiza sighed, relaxing as well, "I told you know apologies kid. You've not seen the half of what I am capable of." Chabiza's skin began to glow, shimmering brightly as it was enveloped in white light that flowed over his skin. His eyes were enveloped, the green quickly replaced by solid blue that filled his eye sockets. His prison shuddered, and then simply melted away, falling to pieces as if thousands of tiny needles were chipping away at it all at once until only dust was left. The light then suddenly receded from his skin, flowing back and Chabiza stood free once more. However, he did not make a move to attack the old man. Instead he fell to a low bow, making the signs of respect known in his culture.

"Stand Chabiza Taru. You are recognized here."

Chabiza, or rather Taru, straightened, standing to the side and smiling apologetically at Wrenmae, [color=#FF4000]"Sorry kid, but I couldn't say a word to ya. You come in here and you either walk out alive, or you die. Depends entirely on you though. No one is allowed to interfere." He nodded to the old man, still examining the key, "This man here, he's the Vault's Keeper, Sagellus Merlus."

Merlus finally looked to Wrenmae, "Blame not your companion, for he was bound to never speak of the secrets he learned here, and should you live you as well be bound by oath as he was." Running his finger over the key the Keeper took stock of the situation, "Why have you come here? What has driven you to this place? Is it curiosity? Is it power? Do you wish to know the secrets that are held within this place?" His question was a simple one, but something in the man's eyes said that whatever Wrenmae's answer was would decide his fate.

[Wrenmae]

Of course...a ruse. The whole ordeal.

If there lives hadn't been on the lines right now, Zan would be laughing...no...wait...he was laughing. But he wouldn't chime in, not now, not in this important examination. He'd been questioned by gods before, put through extreme pain, and now held against the wall of some ancient Vault as the victim of a two part double cross, he just felt tired.

It was tiring to always be here, that no matter how much power he amassed or how much influence he gained, he was always the whipping boy for something more powerful. Perhaps he was young, and that was merely it, the delusions of youth poisoning his impression of what he'd accomplished. But, to that extent, he'd grown, hadn't he? He clawed his way up from the bottom, cursed and damned, and proved that he could survive.

Why was it that everyone was bent on proving him unworthy of being strong?

Wren hung his head, not bothering to answer the keeper, sighing his frustration out.

This was pointless, this was all pointless.

It was time for the truth.

"I came because I was compelled by curiosity," He began, his voice a low growl of frustration, "I remained because I saw what Alahea had been. Now I continue to struggle because of everything the world used to be. Look at you, look at BOTH of you. You're both slaves, chosen to safeguard the stagnant progress of this crumbling edifice. Have you seen the world? You must have, Chabiza, considering where you're from. Ravok sits alone on its island of ignorance, Syliras champions a similar ignorance at the behest of a tree! Zeltiva clings to its academia, Sunberth rots in chaos, and Alvadas can't decide whether it wants to be serious or not. Nyka is a bastion of thugs...this is all so annoying, isn't it?"

He struggled against his bonds again, but was held fast to the wall, snarling, his face shifted and warped, the frustration of his uncontrolled emotions triggering subconscious morphing across his entire body.

"You're strong enough to subdue me easily, you're strong enough to walk through this entire Vault without so much as a minor trouble. The world is enveloped in a five century chaos that doesn't seem to be doing anything at all for anyone. The nuits stockpile their inventions and hoard their magic, and Alahea is STILL FALLEN!" His voice reverberated through the hall, "I am tired of seeing the same stagnant world day by day. No one moves forward, and when they do it is always against adversity and terror. Does anyone want to rebuild? Do we even want the empires we had? Gods took this from us...GODS, and we just lay down and let them stomp all over us, then remained in our broken world content with what was left. When is it enough, Chabiza? Sagellus? When have the nuits waited long enough to begin rebuilding? When has the world gotten tired of ruins long enough to rebuild empires, castles? We are the scarred, the beaten, and the remains of what was once a resounding greatness."

His eyes flashed gold, red, shifting from Zith to Symenestra to Dhani and human again.

"You want to know what I want? I want to open that Vault door and take the artifacts collecting dust, use them to remake this world into something worth being proud of. After five hundred years, Mizahar is still dying, and I can't be the only one frustrated with that fact. If I take this power, I will use it to remind humanity of what they once were, and what they could be again."

He glared at Sagellus, Chabiza, struggling again at the binds as muscles bulged and contracted against the stone, finally giving up and falling limp.

"I am not the only of my kind...and if you want to kill me for my bravery and ambition...do it."

He sighed. "I'm tired of living in a world of cowards and fools anyways."

[Mirage]

Merlus listened without speaking as Wrenmae answered, his eyes searching for some inner meaning behind everything that was said. Look at Chabiza, who merely shrugged, the Keeper stepped forward, placing his hand on the bonds that held the storyteller. They fell away into dust, refilling the space in the floor from which they were taken, once more giving Wrenmae free movement. Then the old man extended the key to Wrenmae, "Take this key then, and open your Vault. What is inside is yours to take, if you so wish."

Stepping to the side Merlus motioned to the door. The door itself was made of stone just like the corridors, however, carved into its surface were the numbers XXVII. A single slot in the middle served as the key hole. The door would slide open into the wall itself, revealing a room that was deceptively larger than what it should have been given the dimensions of the outside. Within it was a stone pillar that looked as if it had been sawed in half, and upon it rested a strange item. Rather the item 'hovered', revolving slowly in place. It had the distinct shape of a dagger, a clear blade and handle, but the entire item was made of what could only be described as quicksilver. Perfectly smooth, not etchings or designs whatsoever, it reflected the world around it.

If Wren picked it up its surface would ripple, spreading from its tip all the way down to the hilt as it began to reshape itself. The blade would lengthen into an elegant curve until it became more of a hand and a half sword, while the hilt would mold and shape to perfectly fit Wren's grip. The butt of the hilt would form the shape of a woman with the wings of a dove, her face forming the butt, and her wings flowing gracefully down into the grip itself. Her hands were folded over her chest, as if she were in prayer. The dagger had only a single blade, but runes began to etch themselves upon its surface. Designs like vines began to creep along the blade, wrapping around and forming blooms down to the hilt. The end product was a beautiful hand and a half sword, flawless in every way, beautiful to the point of being breathtaking... but this was not to last. A crack appeared in the blade, marring the designs and streaking down to the hilt. Chips began to fall off creating jagged edges in the blade itself. The beautiful silver became tarnished and green, and what looked like mold started to grow along the grip. The face of the woman split into several parts, each taking on a slightly different expression, each ghastly and horrible to look upon as the feathers of her wings cracked and fell to reveal bone beneath. A dagger appeared in the woman's hands, stabbing through her chest as green mold served to represent blood that would be spilled were she real, living and breathing.

Merlus stepped into the room as well, grasping his staff in both hands, "The item you hold in your hands is known as The Mirror of Akash. It reflects its owner's true heart and soul." He stroked his beard, "You speak strong words, words filled with the hope of change, but what I see is a soul that is too weak to carry out the changes the mouth so preaches. Thus I give you a task, Wrenmae. You have one year, and one year alone, to cause a change in this world no matter how big or how small. If you succeed I will grant you a single request, whatever your heart desires... however, if you fail I will take from you your very life. Then, perhaps, you might try again come your next rebirth in the cycle." He nodded to the item, "Should you accept you make take The Mirror of Akash as your prize, but if you refuse it shall be returned to its place in the Vault and your memory of this entire adventure will be wiped from your mind. The choice is yours."

[Wrenmae]

Taking the blade in his hand, admiring the sheen of its strange luminescence, he almost dropped it when it began to shift and crack, snapping in its bizarre and terrible transformation. But although part of him wanted to hurl the artifact away, purge himself of this strange and bloody sight, he could not. He was spellbound by the process and when the blade had finished its transformation, Wren turned to Sagellus.

The blade in his hand felt right, easily contoured to his grip. Although ghastly in all ways, it chose him as its master...at least in the shape it was.

So...that was his soul? He gazed on the dagger, deranged, manic, crippled, and jagged. It made sense, at least, it seemed to. He had struggled with his mission, his curse, for a long time. Even marked twice by his god, sometimes he struggled with issues of faith. Had he not accepted Vayt's touch? Had he not pledged his allegiance?

But the dagger told truths he dared not speak aloud. Much of him wished it was someone else, that he heard tales of terror and disease from a sea away in Alvadas. The dreamer still lived in his blood, fighting and at odds with the killer and the prophet.

So long as this dissonance existed within him, he would be nothing...a mess as well.

"As if you needed to give me the choice," Wren murmured, holding the blade up toward Sagellus, "One year's time to make change in the world. You make it too easy. In three seasons I will return to this place and show you change. I will warp the dagger, I will conquer these weaknesses within me. You do not think I have the strength to see this through? I was chosen for my strength and I will die before I allow myself to be weak. Mizahar has perpetuated its condition on the backs of those who maintain the status quo."

He gripped the handle of the blade, hard, and grinned,

"I swear on my life that I will change this world" He looked from Sagellus to Chabiza, grinning wider, his eyes burning with the multi-hued passion of his shifting djed, "It is a life not worth living if I fail."

[Mirage]

"Indeed..." Merlus said slowly, eyeing Wrenmae with interest, "Then go forth and make this change you speak of. Then I shall be the judge of your works when you return." The Keeper stepped forward, placing a hand on Wrenmae's shoulder. Behind him Chabiza smiled, nodding to Wrenmae, "Well spoken kid. I hope you don't die before you get back. Ill save a spot for ya as my Initiate." He winked.

[color=white]The old man would seek Wrenmae's eye once more, "Speak to no one of this place, or of where you obtained the Mirror of Akash. If you utter even a single word of the Vault, or its contents, then all knowledge of it and the item you now carry will be lost to you forever." His grip tightened on Wrenmae's shoulder, and sparkling light began to fill Wren's vision, "Till when next we meet. May your mind be free and forever focused upon your goal. Alahea guide you."

The lights would envelope Wren, completely blocking out the room and the two men that stood with him. The grip on his should would vanish, and then all at once the light show would subside and he would find himself at the foot of the volcano once more. It was well past noon now, and there would be no sign of either Chabiza or Merlus anywhere.

OOCAnd end! Lol feel free to post one more time, and then I will grade and finalize the end of your epic quest ^.^