[Port of Silence] Arrival (Mirage)

[Wrenmae]

Spring 15th, 512 AV


The boat surged forward, sloughing wave after wave as it bounced along the surf. Below, predators that had followed Wrenmae since he'd set off port in Zeltiva skimmed the surface and faded into the dark of the depths. They were a constant reminder of what waited the hypnotist if he entered Laviku's domain.

With weary eyes he watched a shark rise, skim the surface, and then duck beneath the placid blue of the sea. He was restless, had kept odd hours on his journey here with Evalin. The sorceress was not without her tricks, and sometimes Wren had an inclination to distrust her. It was that reason he found himself so tired now. Too many evenings sleeping with an eye open or with Zan at watch.

They had slowly taken their toll, and so he arrived to the bastion of death with one foot in the grave himself.

He felt the key in his pocket, the one he had taken on his way from the citadel a season or so earlier. It weighed heavy now, anchored with whatever power his curiosity had over it.

As the boat came into port, Wrenmae hung back a moment to speak to Evalin.

"We go our way alone now," he said to her shortly, "The process is done one by one, so I'll see you behind the walls soon enough."

She nodded, more interested in the decrepit landscape and the wheeling golems than the human. As always, he would not go far without her eyes upon his back...and Sahova was a delicate place for the living, perhaps even the perfect place to fashion a grave.

Taking his supplies and stepping down the gangplank, Wrenmae prepared for the approach of a servitor golem, hefting his supplies and frowning.

It had not been long enough...and hopefully Rayage would be here...else he be submitted somewhere else as a pulser, and the mage did not relish that though...not at all.

[Mirage]

The golems of Sahova would pose no problem for Wren. They were familiar with his presence on the isle of the dead, and they knew of his association with Rayage. Thus, he would have very little trouble passing through the docks and on toward where the carriage awaited new arrivals.

As soon as his foot stepped upon the gravel of Sahova, there would be a small tug in his pocket. Nearly unnoticeable, and could be easily written off as a stray gust of wind. There was no wind however. The key in Wrenmae's pocket would feel as if it were being pulled toward something, almost like it was being attracted by a magnet. The pull would be in an North West.

The carriage awaited Wrenmae if he wished to go on to the Citadel, or he could choose to follow the pull of the key. Which would it be. Would he try and investigate where the key came from at the Citadel, or plunge head first into the unknown?

OOCLets get this party started! And I provided a map for you to see your journey. Its about 15 miles from where Wren is to the Vault ^.^

[Wrenmae]

Do you feel it?

In a roundabout way. You're holding the key, dumbass.

The golem wants us to enter the citadel

Since when do we listen to talking toys?

Since they practically run an army of expertly forged weapon-toys.

Pfft. For not going in the front door? Testy toys.

It's their masters that worry me.

But not me, so let's go!

Any adventure will do...hmm, Zan?

I just remember Sahova. You spent all day reading. I was bored. Let's not do that thing.

You could always go somewhere else.

Then who would keep you out of trouble?

You put me IN trouble.

I can see we have a divide on the definition of 'trouble'.

Very well, Zan. Let's see where the key wants to go.


Much in the way the manacle had led him slowly, but eventually, to Vayt, Wrenmae deviated off course from where the little golem would have him go and followed the pull Northwest. Gripping the tiny item in one clenched palm, he let it direct him around the edge of the quiet beach. Truly, had any spit of land spun a silence that stank MORE of death? The wheeling of fulls was replaced with the dull flap of crow wings and their desolate, heedless warnings.

Echo.

Echo.

He walked on, and let the key bid where that might be.

[Mirage]

The key's pull was subtle, nearly unnoticeable unless one paid attention to it, and it was easy to forget. However, it never deviated in its direction, and the strength did not change no matter how long Wrenmae walked, and he would walk for some time. The constant overcast skies might hide Syna's light, but still her slow rise, and beginning decent could still be noticed despite the dreary weather. Two hours past into three, until finally Wrenmae met his first obstacle in the form of a large hill. No, it was more than a hill more like a small mountain. It was nearly a mile high, and four times as wide, stretching on either side with sparse trees beginning to grow at the base. It was a long extinct volcano, silent and cold, and stood as a barrier, as if it meant to halt Wrenmae's progress onward to his destination.

The key's pull directed Wrenmae to continue on in a straight line, and to go around would certainly prove to add in at least another 5 hours to the journey, if not the rest of the day for the trees grew thicker and thicker as they went around the mountains base.

OOCBack and raring to go!

[Wrenmae]

The pull continued to coach the mage onward, but when the mountain rose to thwart his path, he stared at it...almost as if a withering look could coax it to move. He stood that way for a moment longer than perhaps he should have, before realizing he was not, indeed, a god of such power. Shaking his head, the mage dismissed the thought and sighed.

So...we go around?

No, Dear Zan, not when magic has presented us another option.

....hypnotize the mountain?

no.

Void the mountain?

no.

...Blow it up with wind?

No, Zan.

Oh! Oh! I know! Kill it and Maledict its bones!

NO!

Alchemy cross the mountain with a pillow?

sigh...

Wait, wait, I got this...IDENTIFY THE MOUNTAIN TO DEATH!

Wrenmae was already changing, taking his shirt off and wrapping it around his waist. Wings bucked and kicked from his back, as midnight blue as the Zith he'd stolen them from. His body shifted, changed, harrier and darker, lighter till he could successfully kick from the ground with his Zith form and wing low over the slumbering volcano. Key in one hand, he followed the resonance ever farther...wondering what it was that had so enticed this once cold metal.

[Mirage]

As Wrenmae flew over the obstacle, a large stretching expanse would come into view. Trees grew and spread into a forest for many miles in the direction that the key was pulling. To the northwest the looming structure of the Citadel could be seen about three miles away, somehow it seemed less menacing from such a distance. The key was pulling toward the northeast, however, and the expanse of forest seemed to go on and on, far longer than one might have thought could be on an isolated island such as Sahova.

The forest was dense, and would be difficult to navigate by foot, and it seemed that, at the moment, the skies would be the quickest way to their destination. This illusion, though, would be quickly banished within a few minutes of passing over mountain directly above the dense trees. Four dark shadows would detach themselves from the foliage below and begin to make a spiraling ascend around Wrenmae. The closer they got the more their features stood out. Black and grey feathers, a bald head with red eyes and cruel hooked beak, and their wings stretched to nearly twelve feet across. As they rose they widened their circle so that they were each several feet from Wrenmae as they came to his level. Now the sharp talons on their feet could be seen, though he would have little time to inspect them before the first dove in to attack, swiping at Wrenmae with claws and beak, flapping wings and flying feathers as the other three rose higher to circle overhead.

OOCTheir description can be found in the Creatures of Sahova section of the Sahova Atlas

[Wrenmae]

Oh good! A flightfight! I've always wanted to have a battle where I could rhyme!

Now is not the time for that. We need to focus on dealing with the problem.

We could...fry them with fire?

A novel choice, but we are not as adept in one art as in another. Let's say we send these predators looking for different prey?

Wren dropped, folding his wings to escape the scything claws of the vulture swooping above him. Catching the wind again, the Zith beat its wings to return to its height, circled as it was by the creatures. Opening his mouth, Wrenmae shrieked at them, a single noise pierced with the panic and raw terror that hypnotism afforded him. A brief emotional blast to the creatures should be sufficient to send them scattering. He'd done it before with wolves...this should be no different.

Life is always less interesting with you around...Zan muttered to himself.

[Mirage]

It seemed to work. The birds screeched, flinching all of a sudden and flapping back and up, seeming to retreat from what they obviously found terrifying. All would have been perfect if these had been normal birds, but there were two things that Wrenmae did not take into account. 1) These were Sahova creations, and 2) they were starving.

The birds flapped out of range, not attacking but they kept up with Wrenmae in his flight, slowly weaving back and forth, sometimes over him, sometimes just below or flowing behind or to his side. Yet they always kept their eyes on him, tiny glittering points of red that burned with hunger and desperation. They would do nothing for a full 10 chimes, but as they passed over a small clearing with what appeared to be a man-made lake there was a sudden flurry of feathers.

The bird above Wrenmae suddenly fell into a dive-bomb, streaking toward Wrenmae beak first. If he tried to dodge around it it would spread its wings fully, blocking any motions directly past it with its body. Two more came in at his sides, following a similar tactic though they came straight on, with talons outstretched, hooked nails looking deadly in the quickly darkening light. The third circled just beneath the others, looking up at Wrenmae as if it were waiting for his next move.

[Wrenmae]

The birds did not depart him, only winged a ways away from him. As they followed, so thus did Wren prepare for an eventual confrontation. Res leaked from his fingers and arms, building up in his mouth. Winging low over the mountain, he tried to shake them. But the birds were desperate, taking stupid risks with the updrafts and winging in behind him.

So as they flew over the clearing and the first bird dived down, Wrenmae reacted. Twisting in midair, his own wings furled out to halt his progress. The bird opened its wings to prevent an escape and Wrenmae blew the res from his mouth out into the face of the creature. Now, he chose not to transmute fire, as he'd only create a burning opponent to bowl him from the air. Instead he aimed the rest into one of its outstretched wings, knocking it askew from its trajectory as the feathers caught the unexpected blast of wind and sent it tumbling away from him.

He strained, wings flapping up as he launched the res away from his arms, invisible clouds for the birds following him to fly into.

Those he converted into fire, assuming the creatures wouldn't long fight burning agony to follow his climb up in altitude. The bird beneath him neatly dodged its tumbling kin and followed, cawing out low into the night. Wren hissed, drawing his rapier, and diving the bird, sword outstretched to pierce the creature.

Aerial combat wasn't his forte, but he couldn't risk it calling more of its kin to flank it. He'd need to end them all now and continue on the path of the key.

He only hoped the creatures didn't have some sort of magical resistance...as they seemed to have shaken off his hypnotism.

[Mirage]

Fires erupted in the sky as the birds alighted, cawing out screeching cries of pain as the fought to stay airborne, even as one tumbled down into the trees, a smoking ball of chard feathers. The other two managed to avoid the worst, but even so they flapped away with smoking feathers and empty bellies. The last was not so lucky, being run through with the blade as brackish blood splattered over Wren's clothing and arms. The blood smelled of decay and death, poison to most but for Wren would be little more than an annoyance to wash off. In one final effort the bird extended its neck, turning its body to snap at Wren's wings, tearing a hole in the left before burying its beak deep into Wren's calf.

Finally the bird would die, becoming dead weight as its wings ceased to flap, dragging Wrenmae down to the trees below. Its beak was buried deep into muscle, and backward facing 'barbs' along its length would make it painful to tear free. The punctured wing was not serious, with very small amounts of blood, but the more he flapped the wider the hole got. The forest awaited, seeming eager to swallow him up.