Gloom (Fallon)

[Wrenmae]

Summer 47, 513 AV

The streets of Syliras were empty.

In the center of the city, shadows flickered behind buildings and lurked beneath shopfronts, but none dared to step out into the street itself. Mist stalked the city, erasing the ground in a sea of gentle white. The stones were gone, perhaps never there at all, and anything that passed into the domain of the mist seemed claimed by it, owned by it.

Perhaps with two exceptions.

The first was the marbletop bar, equipped with two guttering lanterns and a single bar stool on which to sit. Behind it toiled a young man in simple clothing, diligently cleaning pewter mugs and setting them beside each other. He only paused twice, once to check the pages of a dog-eared book called LEDGER, and the second to dip a mug into a barrel of rich honey-ale, draining it and then cleaning out the mug to sit with the others.

He hummed while he worked, some nameless tune from the streets of his home in Alvadas, but certainly alien here. He seemed oblivious to where he was, exactly, or at least enough so that he didn't comment on or explore the setting.

Which he may have, had he seen the other exception to the domain of mist.

Hundreds of free standing doors, sans doorways, littered the open area where the mist had laid claim. Each was a little different, as if taken from many different houses, perhaps different cities. All had locks in the knob and the direction they would open was a mystery...both sides held a knob and a key hole, as if the choice to swing in or out was up to the key owner.

Apart from him, there were no other living beings, although a closer examination suggested the wispy outline of tables and dark figures, communicating with concise gestures and suspicious posture...but every time one focused, they would fade back into the mist.

Egyptus wasn't concerned with the low attendance of his bar today. He was happy. Tonight he had promised to take his half sister out to a show Kit was running...a performance that promised to be spectacular.

He could hardly wait for the bells to pass and, for the first time, close his beloved bar on time to make the strict starting time.

Picking up another glass, he wiped it, admired himself in the sheen, and set it down on the bar table.

There was a customer coming...and he didn't question how he knew it.

[Fallon]

It was with low gentle steps that she glided through the mist that held the city. The streets were quiet, silent and still, devoid of their usual lease of life, grasped by something else. Ethereal perhaps? She was not sure. But she was not feeling particularly disturbed by it either. It felt natural to her, welcoming to her own chasm of thought. But now she was little more than a shadow of her normal self, the colours lacking and dulled to their normal state. They still existed however, an ebony sheen glazing over it all. Grey eyes drifted across the swirling mist, feet leading her forward through this domain and towards the dulled light in the distance and the darkening shadows that danced there within the light.

The low chink of a chain swinging from her fingers filled the mist, an old worn pendant swinging on the end. Tossed and turned silver glinted in the light, the winged emblem swinging back and forth. She passed between the doors, glancing only briefly at the strange monoliths that filled the misty void, and the dancing hum of another stringing its way around them. The light flickered, the glint of the white marble beckoning her, the foreign tune of a far off place reeling her in. Closer and closer, the white mist lapping at her feet as she walked. Behind it a young man was working, performing his task as a bar.

She wet her lips as she closed in, her features coming out of the shadow as she gave only a simple nod to the man in his desolate bar. She chain was lowered onto the bar surface, eyes drifting down to the empty glass that had been positioned there, poised and waiting for something. Or someone. The girl took up the bar stool, a pale hand rubbing at her features as she simply sat and listened.

There was no rush; she had all the time in the world. And so as fingers gently drummed against the cold surface, whilst her jaw rested upon her other hand, the girl simply waited for his attention to turn to her. She exhaled, looking back briefly over her shoulder to the wisps that hovered just beyond her vision, strange fleeting shadows that disappeared in the wind. It was quiet hear too. Perhaps for the better. She preferred it when it was quiet, less people and more time to think. She brushed the surface off, and traced the rim of the glass.

“The tune, where is it from?” she asked quietly, the eyes raising slightly to meet his own.
x

[Wrenmae]

She had more substance than his other patrons, so much so that the presence of her individuality shattered the fragile illusion he'd held over the dimensions of his bar. He wasn't in Alvadas, he was in Syliras...and the many doors that filled the misty square all taunted different things. For a moment, he stared around her, not at her, and simply absorbed the environment. Somehow, it didn't feel wrong, only different. He hadn't expected this.

As his eyes fell upon each door in turn, some rattled and thumped, as if holding back some dispirited beast or angry savage. Almost instinctively, Egyptus knew he didn't want to open them...that darkness lay behind them, darkness that could lay claim and shatter even this...a clearer but not entirely unwelcome illusion. After all, he had his bar, his happiness, his fantasy...even if a bit misplaced.

The girl placed something one the table, a wonderful wing medallion of gently blown glass and finely crafted metal.

He had one like it, didn't he? Yes, his father, Vord had handed him a medallion just like that years ago. He remembered, Philomena had always commented fondly on its design and color. It befit him, she said, seemingly delicate but strong with braced metal. It was not easily broken but vivid enough to suggest he was.

What she was doing with his medallion was beyond him.

He tapped the table, in response to her own ratatat greeting and smiled, taking the mug and ladling in some honeyed mead, placing it in front of her.

"First time customers get one on the house," the young man said with a toothy smile "Try some, straight out of Kenash...Morealis Black, I think...a popular drink with the other patrons."

He left it there, perspiring glass giving way to a rich dark content, almost black. But the fragrance was of honey and faintly cloves.

Resting the small of his back against the other side of the bar, Egyptus crossed his arms and hummed along with the tune. He couldn't remember all the words as he'd heard the song only a few times, but it was a familiar one enough that he could entertain the girl with at least a line or two.

Oh Little Child,
Lost in Alvadas
Clinging to your eyes
When your vision is gone.
Oh Little Child
Lost in Alvadas
You could never see
Through the illusions it wove

He smiled and shrugged, "An old song, from where I grew up." Both hands rose up and gestured outward, "We should be there, actually, that's where the tavern is supposed to be...my tavern, but I think this is where I'm supposed to be...Syliras, I think."

Shaking his head, he poured himself a drink and mimed toasting her, taking a sip before setting it down. "Or at least I think it is. I haven't been to Syliras since I was a child...before..."

Something wet and heavy thumped against a door out there in the mists, something that sounded like fetid corpses or ice. Shaking his head, Egyptus pushed the thought away. Why hadn't they ever returned to Syliras?

His father had, surely, but he had chosen to remain in Alvadas...at least, that's what he remembered.

"That's a fetching medallion," He said, changing the subject, "Where did you get it?"

[Fallon]

The barkeep looked almost surprised when she spoke, flinching and turning his eyes to the world behind her before finally turning his focus back upon her. He looked almost confused by her being there, as if she was indeed something usual and perhaps did not quite belong here. But just as quickly did this phase pass him, did it go once more. There was a welcoming tap, a smile and the sliding of the mug upon the table. Her thoughts had been read, the dark mead rippling, with every ridge glinting in the dulled light. She took a chime to stare deep within, her greyed eyes looking upon the mirrored reflection left there. Nostrils flared; a slow nod before she gave a small raise of the glass.

His answer was reasonable enough. An old song, nothing more, there was little more than that. She chinked her glass against his upon the toast and swirled a mouthful of the liquid. The smooth honey taste reached her lips, and quickly grew in strength a second flavour quickly rising up in the background. Pulling away she looked upon it, pondering greatly upon what made it so. Her tongue licked at her lips, eyes narrowing down as the glass was lowered.

Or at least until that sickening noise reached her.

Alarm would be the best way to describe it, she had twisted as she stood, her back pressed against the marble bar as she searched. It creaked and groaned the dull thud of ice and flesh. She had heard it once before somewhere, a long time ago. But that now seemed little more than a distant dream, a nightmare locked in the past. The bar keep shook his head

“This?” gentle fingers picked up the chain; the coils lacing between her fingers and letting the medallion just dangle there. There was a wince, and she forced herself to sit back down onto the stool. Where? Where? Where? It spun upon the end of the chain, the burnished silver reflected in the mead. The thought hovered in the back of her mind, existing but out of reach. Barely beyond her grasp. She had always had it. And that was all she knew. There was a gentle shrug, “Where? I have always had it. I could not tell you from where though.”

A gentle clunk sounded out again, less forceful that the previous noise, but still enough to grab her attention. A glance over her shoulder, the narrowing of eyes as she searched for the source. Something did not feel right, the watching eyes just hovering beyond reach. There but hidden. Her skin prickled. He did say in Syliras right? Her fingers closed in tightly around the chain as she begun to lower it, “I… I don’t remember. I’m sure you could most probably get one made like it though. Or something similar.”

That was right was it not? She could not remember. She chewed her lip. It had to be right, for it was the only answer she knew. Her free hand wrapped around the glass once more and she drunk from it. She needed it.
x

[Wrenmae]

Sympathetically, the bartender nodded his ascent of her difficulty to remember. Perhaps she had bought it from a passing merchant, perhaps even his own father. It was possible surely. Taking another drink of the dark mead, he held it against his cheeks for a moment, letting his tongue swim in the sweet mixture before swallowing it.

He burped into his hand, muttered an apology and reached into his shirt, pulling out a medallion exactly like the one Fallon had...albeit it was mounted differently, like the opposite to hers. They both bore the wear of years...scratches on the metal and glass. Egyptus' was mounted to a similar chain, although perhaps not the exact. The piece was what was important.

"Child, though your feet are weary and your distance great,
Hold tight the wing of eagle's grace
In far off places, mountain peak
You'll find the home of which you seek."

He recited the rhyme with a smile, twirling his medallion off his finger before returning it to his neck. Both of them seemed to glow a dull, muted sheen...as if they were communicating, speaking across distances from metal to metal, glass to glass.

"My father taught me that rhyme when he gave me the wing," he said, "My half siblings received the same. He said in mountains, where the Inartans live, a singular birth is rare. My half siblings were twins, but he said it is common for three or even four to be born at the same time. He was a merchant who left his home to see the world and he gave me this. You see my mother..."

Another door echoed the sound of a polite knock, and then a low despairing, wail. Wren winced but somehow knew that if no door was touched, their contents would remain secret. This wonderful dream could continue.

Dream?

Why did he think that?

"My mother..." he continued, looking down, "She was a woman from Sylira who was favored of my father. She bore him a child, me, and he took me after. I never met her, you see, but he gave me this wing and said it was my bond to the family, my ancestry to Inarta." Shaking his head, he grinned. "Marvelous coincidence, that. He told me it was special among his family, but perhaps other traveling Inartans did as well?"

Something like suspicion gnawed at the back of his mind, but he pushed it away gently. It wasn't his business to pry into the lives of his patrons, only advise if they opened themselves freely.

"My name is Egyptus, son of Vord and Alanza Murdock. Welcome to my establishment."

[Fallon]

There was only a brief smirk as he released a burp, before he revealed his own. Her brow creased, her eyes staring upon it with careful thought as the faded glass was caught in her gaze. The rhyme reached her ears, foreign and familiar to her. She rested her jaw in her hand, gently rocking almost in rhythm to it as it was spoken. A dreamy gaze stared out to it, the burnished metal drawing her in before once more she pulled away from it.

“It is a lovely rhyme,” there was a pause as she contemplated the words, “Much better than I could ever muster.” She weaved her own chain between her fingers, before simply slipping it over her head and letting the piece dangle there. As she did, she listened, ears twitching as she absorbed the words. She heard the knock, her head turning to meet it. It was with a gentle tilt that she looked upon the doors once more. Wrong. Something was wrong. A questioned hovered there for a moment, and turning back she barely caught the end of it.

“Other travelling Inartans? No, no… the only man I knew who was even remotely close to that race was my mentor. Though… I’m not sure if he actually was... never the less, I… this,” there was only a quick gesture to the wing, before she shook her head. She knew she had it long before she met the mentor, she was certain of it. She took another, large swig from her glass, and watched the honeyed mixture run down the inside of the glass. The knocking however turned insistent, growing louder and louder. Even as the name was spoken it grew.

She tensed, fingers wrapping tightly around the glass as that dulled rattle grew. Worry- no -, anticipation for something to come bursting out of one of them. There was a shudder, a feeling to shake off whatever had focused its attention on her and forced her mind back to the drink.

“Egyptus…” she tested the name, her eyes fixed in at the now shallower pool of liquid, “Egyptus Murdock. Pleasure to meet.” She raised her hand as if to shake, her lip curling into an uneasy smile, “People refer to me as Fallon, sometimes Fallon Skylar. But mostly just Fallon.” Her wing gave a glint, her thoughts however remained elsewhere, quietly ticking over and awaiting the right moment to emerge.

“It’s a lovely establishment. Shame it’s so… quiet. Excluding-” a tap sounded out ,”-that noise. What is it?”
x

[Wrenmae]

The doors in the mist shifted, quivering as if barely holding their tenuous shape. As he looked at them, sounds echoed from behind them. Sometimes it was knocking, thumping, scratching, moaning...he knew what they were, somehow at least.

"Fallon," he tested the name and it felt right, "Thank you for your compliment. I think...I wanted a place like this once and in my dreams, I get it." He paused, trying to think...and the world shook around him.

"The doors are memories, parts of ourselves, I think...or just parts of me." Her amulet gleamed and his leaped from his neck, drawing them close for a moment as his made up the right and hers the left of a wingspan.

They were identical, expertly made, and both broke from their chains, flying our and away from them into the mists of the doors.

Somewhere among the doors, another lengthened and then shuffled in with the rest.

A memory...an answer.

"I'm...I'm sorry," Egyptus said quickly, catching his worn chain and pulling it back. It was broken now and as he held it, the links dissolved into dust.

"I don't understand this place...just enough, I guess, to know what comes next." He looked out at the doors and walked around from behind the bar, that shimmered and vanished behind him.

The doors were around them now, creaking, the memories behind them pushing at the barriers.

"We choose doors now," He said, "And we find our amulets."

[Fallon]

Skin prickled, her mind turning as her own wing, her own pendant burst into animation. It glinted briefly in the light, the rounded tips touching and forming up as a pair, the chains that once bound them having been shattered. With their bindings free the pair hovered there, a low hum as the two adjusted almost to each other’s presence, before with a single twist and a flap the pair shot off. The chain slid from around her neck and landed upon her lap, her eyes wide with surprise.

The one thing she associated as a life line to who she was, the thing that had always been there since before she could remember, had disappeared in an instant. She gave wince, forcing down a look of distress that came over her even when the apology echoed out. Her fist clenched, her lip trembled.

Sorry? Sorry!?

Egyptus moved, the bar disappearing as he stepped way from it. The doors themselves however begun to shuffle and groan, surrounding them in a maze of entrances. A grave yard of memories. Eyes turned around, the fog thickening and swirling. Strange shadows and shapes existed in the distance, forming and warping in the white mist. As her quiet feet made after him, fingers reaching out almost instinctively to hold onto something. Anything. For the world that once before her had turned dark indeed. Nostrils flared, her fingers reaching out and grabbing the sleeve of his shirt for a tick, only to snap away once more.

“You… we better find them,” her voice rung with a distinct under growl. Her eyes darted about, looking about the closing in doors, their different knobs of iron and brass, the rough and carved textures beckoning them in. There was too be a door to be chosen, a path to pick. But there was one, distinctive one that called out the most. A hand raised and pointed towards it, her sight unable to be snatched away.

Solid wood existed at the end of her finger, a blacked wrought iron handle existing on its right side all worn well with time. The large panel within its centre lead up the middle of it, strange shapes and images carved within its very being, chipped and worn down with weathering, the finer detail having all but faded. The top of the door curved into an arch, an ashen rock framing it with a mighty keystone resting at its pinnacle. The hand lowered, her shoulders hunching in slightly as she took a careful step towards it, and then looked immediately back to Egyptus.

Fallon swallowed and gestured to it, “This one? Or another?”
x

[Wrenmae]

The doorway loomed before them, dominating their vision with its imposing and unsaid threat. Egyptus chose not to comment how he'd had no control over the actions of the necklace...and let her have her snarling half-threat. After all, it was important to always be observing. Fallon had proven herself to have a temper, which was a note to consider in dealing with her. It came easily to him, the categorizing, training he didn't remember having but must have learned while managing the bar.

He didn't answer her when she asked, only pushed the base of his hand against the old wood and moved it aside. Inside was a memory, they looked out onto a large bearded man with fiery hair and piercing green eyes. He held up both Fallon and Egyptus' necklaces in his hands. Both leaned in to hear the words of the man who loomed above them, looking out with the eyes of the child Egyptus had been.

"I want you to have this, Egyptus," the old merchant said with a smile, handing him the amulet, "Keep it close to you, it's a sigil of your lineage."

"What's...linny-age?" a small voice piped back and the old man smiled, reaching out a shovel hand to tousle hair neither he nor Fallon could see or feel.

"It's your blood, boy. You're Inartan on my side, a strong people that live far away in the mountains. They ride eagles, boy, eagles..."

Two hands shot out sideways, eclipsing their view as the young Egyptus put both arms out wide and ran in circles, shrieking his babble-tongue in what he hoped the eagles sounded like. Beside Fallon, Egyptus put a hand on his other arm, trying to remember.

It was gone from him...an old thing, better played here than in any memory he had.

"If you were with your people, you'd never know your father...your mother," he paused a the word mother, as if trying to swallow it, "You'd be raised by the whole village, as is custom. But we're all the way out here and I say, damn traditions. You're my son and I want to give you this."

Thin hands reached up to grab the necklace, clasping it boyishly before inspecting it in the afternoon light. Both Fallon and Wren could see the intricate details of the amulet, and the second was being withdrawn already, put into the merchant's pocket.

"What's that one for?" little Egyptus asked, pointing at it as the amulet vanished.

The old merchant smiled and tousled Egyptus' hair again. It was getting late, soon the boy would be to sleep.

"Wings come in pairs," he said to Egyptus, "In Inarta, twins are a common occurrence. Maybe one day you'll have another brother...or sister, and they'll get the other one. Kin knows kin, little Egyptus. If you ever find one of these, you'll know them as blood."

The door slammed shut, the two necklaces discarded from the uncaring wood, laying together before breaking apart...one before Egyptus and the other before Fallon.

Neither spoke, simply stared down at the amulets.

Gingerly, Wren picked his up, slipping it into his pocket. He was thoughtful, thinking.

"That man was my father," he offered to Fallon with a shrug, "A merchant." It was all he could say, his mind grappling with the implications of the vision. There was silence in the hall of doors. All memories stopped their slamming, clawing, yammering...everything held its breath in the moment after revelation...as if it was held in some sacred solemnity.

[Fallon]

The creaking of groaning wood reached her ears, the mechanical movement from Egyptus as he moved to the door and brushed it open. Eyes looked upon the scene, the flickering in and out of colours and existence whilst the old inarta spoke to his son. The polished metal caught her gaze the most, the gentle spin of silver glinting in the light. The necklace was passed down to his son, or one of them was at least. There was the speaking of words, an explanation of history behind it all. Not that the boy seemed to truly comprehend what was being said, too far distracted with the thoughts of mighty eagles roaming the sky.

But Fallon listened, wincing almost to the words of a loving father to his son and the brushing away of traditions. Or at least until the question came from a young, curious mind.

Wings come in pairs? she sheepishly turned her eyes to him, a hard lump having formed in her throat, No, no… no! A bitter sense of self denial, to disregard the words that had been spoken before her. No they had to be wrong, had to be false. Right?

The crashing door snapped her musing shut, the ring of the wing as it hit the floor. The rattling and the moaning fell shut, even the low hissing whine that escape from one was snuffed out. Silence ruled the air and lasted. A brief reprise from what was before them both. A truth or a mere coincidence? Fingers rubbed at her brow, the other gingerly reaching down to the pendant. There was the tightening of the chest, a distinct swallowing noise as she forced out a faint string of words.

“He seems like a good man,” she straightened, and wrapped her fingers tightly around the pendant, “Very good man. Good head, good heart.” The head tilted slightly, the trembling of a fist as that unnerving silence continued. No, it was just coincidence, nothing more or less. Had to be. She was the lone child, the witch, the one who belonged to none. There was no ties of blood, was there now?

“I never knew my father, or my mother for that matter,” she begun and then promptly stopped and shook her head. No? Yes? Well, she did not remember them would be the more correct statement, “No, you don’t want to hear about my tale. Far too dull… and perhaps predictable.” There was a flick of the hand, and she forced herself to move away from her previous point of observation to the world around her. The doors loomed in the fog, silently guarding their memories wrapped deep within.

“So, what now? You going to be chasing memories and dreams, hoping to find answers?”

Yes. Answers. Perhaps more to make sense of what exactly was going on. Or better yet, a confirmation. That holding hand of reassurance that everything was fine and would work out. That there was a reason for this all. This illusive dream of hints. And that perhaps, deep down the knowledge that she was not without blood. To no longer be alone.
x