You Are Not Alone (Wrenmae)

[Balderdash]

55th of Spring, 513AV Half a bell before dawn Sunrise in Nyka. Such an event was often accompanied by the sound of running, rickshaws full of bread, and the crunch of broken bones. The broken bones were missing today though, which meant naught but good things for the inhabitants of a certain Safe Haven Hostel. The Hostel had been repaired quickly enough, and though a few odds and ends were missing every now and again, its inhabitants were enjoying a most pleasant slumber. Except for one , that is. Oh, he was sleeping soundly enough before. Soundly enough for someone with the blood of thousands on his hands. But strange events were commonplace in this city, and this man was about to fall into a series of them. "Wrenmae." A deep purple light tickled the Blighter's eyelids as a low voice seemed to seep out of the walls. "You're late, Wrenmae." It was a familiar voice. "Get up, Wrenmae. Get up. Now." If he opened his eyes, he'd see a thickly bearded face with skin of an iridescent green and burning, boiling eyes like absinthe. An unnaturally wide grin revealed unnaturally white teeth. Their noses were practically touching. A blink of an eye later, and it was gone. A loud, staccato knock at the Hostel's front door shook the final cobwebs of drowsiness from Wrenmae's mind. Below, he heard Vysia's voice. "So it's certain?" "Beyond a doubt." responded a male voice. "There's a Blighter in the city." said another. "And they're foreign?" she inquired. "Maybe. Someone could have just been marked--" "But Lord Uphis says this isn't the work of a weakling." "So we're starting here?" said Vysia. "And anyone who entered Nyka within the last week." spoke a third man. "You have a list?" "No." Vysia snorted then. "Naturally. Well, don't let me stop you. Are you going to tell the populace?" "Of course." The voices stopped. Instead, the steady pound of footsteps echoed through the halls. The monks were coming upstairs. Coming to check the rooms. Coming to check the guests.

[Wrenmae]

He slept fitfully, his dreams always a plague of nightmares and strange pleasure. Since he'd been marked, Wrenmae had always spurned the realm of dreams. Here his desires were laid bare, his conflicting natures, the deep guilt that robbed him of an ability to move, to act.

The voice that called to him...it was familiar, but hardly comforting. He'd heard many voices before in his life and the ones that most often leaped to mind as good were those he could recall by syllable alone.

He'd heard this voice once before...but where?

When he opened his eyes, the looming face above him evoked one reaction only, down he went to the side of his bed and the dagger he left there, striking up at the face...but it had already vanished.

Illusion?

Nyka?

Did they know he'd conspired against the city once before?

Hey. Wren...you up?

Yes.

Listen.

He heard the voices, the sound of steps up the wooden stairs. So, they knew. Unlike Zeltiva bathed in its own ignorance, Nyka was a far more militant place. Its existence relied on keeping a reign of control over the population. Wren sat up straight in his bed, rolling over the side and landing on all fours briefly, standing and throwing on his clothes.

His face was already shifting, melting, reforming, his body shrinking and growing black feathers that warped over him like black blankets. Zan floated above him, hardly concerned and for a moment wavered before taking Wren's shape and absently putting clothes over his unmarked body.

You know what to do.

Yeah, tell the monks I know nothing and submit to being checked. What would you do without me?

Be executed, most likely.

And where will you be?

Outside, on the roof. We'll need to give them a Blighter, or make haste from the city.

Just like in Zeltiva? That plan can't work all the time...you have no respect here, they'd never just believe you torched a blighter.

Well, then we leave the city.

We telling anyone?

They know enough already

Of course...I wonder how long I'll cover for you

As long as you want us both to live.

As you say...Blighter.

Zan opened the window, letting the raven hop to the sill and flap out into the warm air beyond. He did not go far, circling back around to land on the lip of the building. Squat and annoyed, he watched through Zan's eyes as the familiar waited patiently, straightening up the room a little before opening the door when it was knocked upon.

"Gentlemen," Zan acknowledged with a nod, "Early visit. Can I help you?"

[Balderdash]

The duo's quick thinking meant a narrowly averted death. A trio of Uphis monks made their entrance, unceremoniously stripped Zan, and made their leave when they didn't find any marks. All the while, Wren was safe on the roof. He could see from his perch that there were several trios prowling the streets, each with a lantern between them. Little orange circles darting through thin lines of rosy marble. And then a flash of white caught his eye. It was there for a moment, passing through a distant alley. Then it was gone behind a roof a tick later. One of the orange circles rounded a corner to disappear behind the same roof. The sound of angry men, amplified in the quiet, could be heard. Suddenly, a high-pitched shriek came from the roof, and white was flushed back into the alley again. It was a woman who couldn't be much older than nineteen, with radiant blonde hair that cascaded down her back in waves, creamy white skin, and a silver dress that was torn and in disarray, leaving one of her shoulders bare. She had baby blue eyes from which tears flowed, and a trio of monks with weapons drawn bearing down on her. They would reach her in perhaps forty ticks. If Wrenmae looked closely, he'd notice what looked like a mole on her shoulder. A solid black mole in the shape of a diamond. Inexplicably, she looked up and made eye contact with him. Or was she just praying, with what looked like a raven in the way? Either way, she was begging. Pleading. The words were lost, but her face told all. "What will you do, Wrenmae?" the voice that woke him asked. On the rooftops, written in inexplicably glowing shingles, the same words. WHAT WILL YOU DO?

[Wrenmae]

The raven cocked its head at the girl, staring down at the greenlit words on the shingles.

Now...one didn't see that every day.

Hey, Wren.

Yeah?

You know who that bearded guy reminds me of?

They didn't have to say it...the name of the face that warped and shrieked at Ignotus in Sunberth came back to them.

So I'm being tested.

For once, Wren...let's not?

She's marked, Zan. Do we let her get caught?

I....

Where's your bleeding heart? Where's your moral grounds?

Why do you care?

Because...I have some questions for her.

Three monks

And we are three

I don't want to kill anyone.

Then try not to strike anything vital.

If we intervene, they'll know you exist.

Then perhaps a more covert way?

This can't end well.

Where HE is concerned? Likely not...but we saw what happened in Sunberth. He doesn't like it without a little challenge.

We're not doing this.

You're not doing this.

What is it with you and gods?

What is it with you and NOT gods?

They're no good, Wren. They cause nothing but trouble and ask nothing but servitude.

And when the time comes, I will prove I am every bit more worthwhile to them than their other servants.

Wren, poor Wren, always the servant, never the master.


Opening his wings, Wren soared down, catching the ledge of another building. The girl followed him with her eyes, knowing that the raven was marked of Vayt as well. Wren had a choice. He could let her fall to ruin, take the blame for what was likely his doing, or divert the attackers.

He angled his head at another alley, hoping she got the message to dive there and flew low over the monks' heads, cawing once. In that bray of noise he pierced their minds with a single flash, a recollection. As they neared the open area where she had turned, they'd remember that she had angled ever so slightly left in her dash, which would put her in the next alley over rather than the one across the street Wren had motioned. With luck, they'd continue that way, or at least thin their numbers down to something more reasonable.

And what about me?

Go to her, direct her the rest of the way.

Oh mighty hero...whatever will Sagallius say?

Shut up.


Sagallius had somehow set a scheme in motion, and it was likely a test. He was given the opportunity to muddy the waters and it wasn't likely he'd couriered enough favor with the god to think this was a blind boon.

No...he was meant to use that girl for something. As of now, she was already to blame for the plague. The monks should live to report her. It gave Wren the perfect opportunity to leave.

But...if he spared her as well...what sort of favor or service could she offer him in return?

Down Zan went, floating above her head and rippling.

"Hey there gold-head. Want to avoid trouble? Follow me."

And he bobbed down the alleyway.

[Balderdash]

Proving Vayt and Rhysol had good judgement in intellect, Wren's gambit succeeded easily. Perhaps too easily. As he swooped back, the Morpher thought he caught a glance of green out of the corner of his eye. Meanwhile, the mystery woman darted into a nearby alleyway with perhaps a touch more speed than she should have been capable of, and thus evaded a grisly end. She was in the midst of wiping away her tears when Zan's bubbly voice broke the silence. The poor girl squeaked in surprised and whirled around before catching sight of the little blob. "What, your master couldn't fetch me himself, Sarawanki?" she retorted, and with a huff and a quick tug of her dress, she set off after Zan. Her voice, while a little angry, carried a certain music. "He's not naturally a raven, is he?" she said after half a chime's silence, a poor attempt at humor to lighten the mood. The murals were not helping. They were nearing a corner, and splashed across the wall in front of them was what appeared to be some sort of scene. An eagle angled itself to strike down a white dove in a thunderstorm, whilst a raven dove between them. A fork of lightning behind the bird of prey branched out like an oak tree. Wrenmae too saw the exact same mural in a different place. Rounding the corner, they saw others. A rat run through by a sword, its blood wetting a field. An oak tree burning, a black horse mounted by two riders, one brown and one white. And the largest of all, a gauntlet-covered hand and one almost identical to Wrenmae's both reaching out to grasp... Something. That something was hidden currently by a man sitting against it. A beggar with a thick beard, an old grey turban, and tattered robes.

[Wrenmae]

"Oh, I'm sorry," Zan apologized with an edge of sarcasm on his otherwise otherwordly voice, "Would you prefer he not distract your attackers?" Bobbing up and down as she followed him, Zan shimmered...almost merrily, spinning in midair before the mural, "Only when he feels like the situation calls for fight or flight."

Wren circled above them, turning his head to catch the fade of green at the corner of his vision, but it was gone before he could adequately note it. The whole situation had the stink of Sagallius on it...manipulation, puppetry. He had to imagine he was facing a much more intelligent, omnipotent Ignotus.

That was not a thought that filled him with much relief.

As he fluttered into his window shifting skin to replace feathers and arms to replace flesh, throwing clothes on over his body, Zan was already relaying the images back to him.

The eagle, the dove, the raven, the lightning. So the eagle was to be struck by the wrath of a storm...perhaps, although it's target was a dove. Strength, military power, self righteousness...against purity, innocence...and the Raven interceded. Omen, darkness, carrion eater...sacrifice? Before the entirety of the next mural could be relayed, Zan caught sight of Sagallius and dropped into the hand of the girl, hardening suddenly into a small canteen.

Wren cursed under his breath, leaving the room with sword and long dagger at his side, stepping down the stairs, he quickly made his way to the door . The warm sunlight met him like a wave and he blinked in the harsh glow before stepping around into the alley.

"Your presence here has caused something of a stir, I see. The monks know what to look for." He nodded for her to follow him and paused again, gazing on the second mural.

A rat in blood...the death of vermin, plague perhaps, or even the metaphorical of a rat...an informant, a thief. The burning tree, again with the oak imagery...the Windoak? Broken vows...a fallen knight.

Imass.

The gauntleted hand and his own reaching for something made much more sense, suddenly, or at least seemed to. He and Imass would both be searching for something...but were these illusions random?

The words on the roof.

They were not.

The old man blocked the last image from being read, sitting purposefully, head bowed and white beard bobbing lightly in the wind.

Wren stood over him, reaching into his pack and retrieving two silver mizas.

Dropping them into the begger's lap, Wrenmae bent down to look the old man in the eyes.

"The price for your cooperation, old man, please...could you move for a moment so I can see the remainder of the image?"

The girl perhaps moved to speak, but Wren held up a firm hand, the other fishing out a single gold rimmed miza.

"The remainder of this puzzle seems to be meant for my eyes."

[Balderdash]

"No, no! Of course not." she said hastily. "I just... Want to know what he looks like." Zan's quip elicited a smile. "Fight or flight? Sure. Definitely. No doubt countless eyeballs have been slain by his fell talons." Shortly afterwards, Wrenmae made his own appearance. "I didn't expect the Blight to set in quite so quickly." the girl replied. "But perhaps it was for the best." the corners of her mouth curved upward, "I've always wanted to meet a bird that transform into a gorgeous man." Of course, the lad was speaking with the beggar man soon after, and she fell silent. The gold miza fell out of Wrenmae's hand, though he never quite remembered willing his hand to drop it. The beggar looked up, and the Hypnotist saw his eyes were a burning green. "Happily." said Sagallius. He moved fast. Too fast. As if his body was made of liquid instead of flesh. He was surging to his feet, and an instant later he was grasping the female Blighter by the back of her neck. As the girl cried out in pain, the God's hand withdrew to sweep across the mural. The girl fell to her knees. "Take a good look Wrenmae!" Sagallius exclaimed. It was a figure kneeling, clad in white with long blonde hair. The deity stood between the Morpher and his fellow marked, smiling at his own handiwork. "A fitting contest, no? I suppose Vayt might be a little upset, but really, your friend made things very bothersome for me seven years ago. Her plague killed one of my acolytes, you see. I had to change plans, and apologize to one of my marked." The divine being's eye turned to Wrenmae. "Do you know how embarrassing it is to have to tell a mortal you've had to change your plans?" He snorted soon afterwards, "Silly me. Of course you haven't. We can't all be perfect. But, I digress!" Sagallius clapped his hands together and took a step back. "The rules of the game are quite simple. You lose if you, or your dear paramour," the God threw a leer in the girl's direction, "Die." "You win if you evade your mystery pursuer until the watchtowers flare red." the deity chuckled softly. "Well, mostly mystery. I couldn't help but drop a few hints. Of course, you could also just kill him. But that's easy. You have higher standards than that, don't you Wrenmae?" he said with a grin that was perhaps a touch too wide for human mouths. "Not like Ignotus. He's clever, but he has no sense of showmanship. You're better than that, no?" The God shrugged and turned his back to them. "Or you could turn out to be duller than him on two counts. We will see. Oh, and I should probably mention..." Sagallius turned his head to display his profile to Wrenmae, a single eye fixed on his own. "I've decided to spice things up a little." The other Vayt-marked, who had been busying herself trying to examine the spot she was grabbed inadvertently displayed the back of her head to Wrenmae, her hair pulled taught to display a sliver of scalp. Something of a brilliant scarlet was shimmering there. "This woman bears my curse. I'm afraid she'll have a hard time convincing the monks of anything." The deity's voice dripped with pleasure. "Fortunately, she has herself a gallant guardian! One imbued with great and strange powers by a great and strange God." Finally, he faced them again. "Step forward."

[Wrenmae]

Fast. Too fast. Sagallius rose with the sort of serene grace he might have expected out of a god. It was at once too fast to understand and to react to. He was simply there, and then...not.

The woman was caught, but her own kneeling form where the god had sat was enough of a reminder to the hypnotist that the grand illusion, this game of sorts, would be juggled with human lives...and with her at its center. He did not immediately turn back to the god of puppets, examining the mural again and memorizing its shapes. The mysterious pursuer, a gauntlet...a knight? Possible, certainly there were enough allusions to that sort of thing. But there was danger in assumption. Ultimately, he'd have to keep aware and hope to catch wind of his mysterious pursuer.

Sagallius was right. Death was too easy, too simple for the capricious god. Humiliation, outsmarting, outmaneuvering, these were what he'd have to do. This girl was the first marked he had come across...in his life, and he'd be damned if he was going to let her go now.

He turned back to Sagallius, noting the shimmering red of new marks on her neck, the promise of the god that there was something additional blocking their path save for the anonymity of the pursuer.

He had to assume that the pursuer might not know of him either....how fun would that be, really?

So when he'd finished examining the clues the god had left him, noting with some wry humor the connection he'd made to Everto...certainly an event he'd have to relay to the nuit one day. He nodded his head, more a short bow than any nod of ascent and stepped forward, standing before the god.

Every now and then, his eyes fixed on the entries to the alleyways and the girl, warning her to be quiet in the presence of this new threat.

They would need to survive until the Watchtower flared red...some more than forty days from now. Or did he mean the next year's flare?

"My Lord," Wrenmae said, bowing his head, "You've proposed a most interesting challenge, but may I suggest the scales are a bit unbalanced?" He indicated the wall and then to the girl, "We have hints as to who pursues her, but the pursuer almost certainly knows where to find us now, else we would have no chase. In addition to that imbalance of knowledge, my charge is marked in such a way as to make escape from here...problematic. May I suggest a way to increase the scale of this challenge and perhaps...wager?"

No!

Yes.

"I propose a friendly bet. Suppose we win this challenge? It would hardly be interesting without something else riding on it, hmm? I propose this. You mark me with your blessing to even the odds a bit...consider it a trial to see if I'm the sort of man you want in your service. If I lose and still hold my life, I will promise the next twenty years of my life to you in any way you choose fit for me to lead it. I will Blight where you want me to Blight, kill who you'd like me to kill, and do your bidding without complaint...certainly a talented servant would could come to good use, and I do not speak highly of my talents without good reason...reason you know well. But, if we win, remove the mark from the girl and trouble her no more."

What?

She's the first marked I've seen, Zan. I feel...inclined to help her.

Kill a city, save a plague girl. It's like I'm talking to a person without a brain.

"I also request one reward from you," he held up a finger, "Just one...to be given or refused at your wish. But that reward I ask is another task, to be rewarded with further favor and tasks."

He allowed himself to smile, firming the shaking of his legs into the ground. "You see, Lord Sagallius...I rather like these sorts of games."

[Balderdash]

Sagallius chuckled at that, and beckoned Wrenmae forward. The former Wave Guard soon found himself moving towards the deity, though he couldn't quite recall making the decision to walk. "I'm really quite hurt, Wrenmae. Like I wouldn't make it exciting..." The God of puppetry reached up, and lazily plucked a hair from his beard. "Tie this around your finger," he said to Wrenmae, "and you will be able to sense the suspicion of others. No doubt it will help you hide from those that hunt you. Of course, it only works if they're suspicious of you, but let's not split hairs, shall we?" The pun may have been unintentional. It may not have been. The former arch mage gave no indication as he handed it off... and laid his hand on Wrenmae's inner forearm. He soon felt an... Interesting sensation. Akin to a cold breeze, but one that penetrated much farther than skin. If he pulled his sleeve up, he would see it was an electric blue spiral that seemed to tunnel into his skin. "Good luck, Wrenmae Sek. And... Have fun." With that, Sagallius stepped backwards into- and through- the wall, and was gone. But his mark was left. There was now a third hand over the kneeling girl, brown and gnarled. Thin green strings extended from its fingers, but vanished after a few inches. What they were attached to was a mystery. And of course, there was the mark on Wrenmae's arm. He never did receive an answer regarding his offer of servitude. But then, perhaps an answer was not necessary. Wrenmae's Cordas mark :

[Wrenmae]

He was gone, the mural remaining on the wall where he had left. Wrenmae took the beard hair and tucked it into a pocket. He said nothing to the girl behind him at first, only staring at the mural and what was painted there. He had till the watchtower blazed red...did Sagallius mean this summer, or the summer after, or even after that?

The easier solution would be to deal with her pursuer.

Lifting up his sleeve, he noted the spiral there that had been left on him. Like Ignotus, he was marked by that dark god of puppetry and manipulation. Like Ignotus he'd been chosen as a test run of Sagallius' agenda. Zan said nothing, and perhaps he needn't have. The implications of the the notice were strong enough without saying anything about them.

Wren had been chosen, perhaps because of his skill, but more likely because of his enemies...his value as a player on a grand stage of entertainment. Sagallius would always remain beyond the realm of pure comprehension, and that's the way the god demanded it. Reaching out, Wrenmae traced a finger along the picture and sighed, rubbing the paint over his fingers.

Turning back to the girl, he shrugged and gave a helpless sort of smile.

"I think it's time we left the city," he said to her, "Let's see if we can get you somewhere safe."