[Blue Horizon] Fragments and Findings (Ulric)

[Gossamer]

Timestamp: 11th of Summer, 510 AV Meeting Place: Aboard the Blue Horizon Reason: Personal Development Status: Closed - Grandfathered due to Storyteller Inactivity. The Gasvik was stalking him. Drawn to who he was and what he was, the tiny creature had stumbled onto Ulric's presence in the docks of Syliras. It had been hanging out there for ages - seeking - hoping that among the knights it would find what it was looking for. It and all of its kind constantly sought. What they looked for, however, hadn't been found for two thousand years. So indeed it was old. It had seen generations come and go. That was why, sadly, it was what it was. Tiny. Barely formed. Never nourished. Its natural process called for more and more it could not find. So the Gasvik was stuck in a sort of limbo, unseen, unheard, unadored. It liked being adored. It dreamed of someone to talk to, someone to advise, someone to follow. It dreamed of its maker. But its maker was long dead. And so the Gasvik starved. Until it saw Ulric. To it, the man shone like a beacon in the night outlining a long lost shore to a ship lost in a storm-tossed sea. Or perhaps more accurately the light that shone from the man was a warning - rocks ahead , danger, turn back - as most lighthouses were purposed for. But oh the draw. The delicious promise of a life finally fulfilled. The Gasvik followed, stowing away on the ship, keeping the man that glowed with such promise of the Gasviks own completion in full sight always. No bigger than a mouse, the tiny humanoid creature went unseen by all else. Oh, they rest of the passengers and crew could not see it even if it drew attention to itself - though it did not - because they weren't like the man it followed. No... none of them looked as delicious as he looked. And so, once the man was alone finally - the second night of the voyage - pacing the deck on his own, the Gasvik made itself known. It scrambled up the rail, perched on a belaying pin, and waved its little hands frantically. Tiny, insignificant, and blue ... the creature spoke boldly to Ulric, assuming much and demanding everything. "Kesia ava kwleowed awe lake wa'iel elviwq veitoa!"

[Ulric]

Ships were crowded places. By day, it seemed that Ulric could scarcely walk from bow to stern without being jostled by sailors or tripping over coils of ropes, stantions, and bits of cargo. It was not so bad when he thought about it, but clamor was deafening, making him long for solitude. His first night was much the same, for as he lay in a spare hammock, eschewing the berths that were kept for passengers, he could hear every creak of timber and rat scuttling across the decks of the hold, the shouts of the night’s watch and the lap of waves against the prow. It was maddening how he could not find solitude – especially now, as he followed the priest-who-was-not-a-priest on a road he was certain would lead to his death. Ulric had difficulty sleeping that first night, as he would every night thereafter, slipping into a troubled, dreamless sleep that seemed to end as soon as it had begun. He was afraid, although he would not admit it. He was supposed to be the strong one, a bulwark that stood between his companions and earthly harm, a weapon for use against their enemies. But inside, he was weak. He was no champion of the gods. He was a fisherman, a son without a father, a murderer who sought redemption for his sins, lest they consume what remained and leave him bereft, guiding him on a path to wickedness. He was not afraid to die, but he could not stand to fail his comrades, to let his infernal rapture take hold and soak the decks with blood. On the second night, Ulric woke, shivering, from a nightmare. It must have been a bad one, for his entire body was slick with sweat, but he did not recall what had frightened him so. He lay there for a moment, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Leo and Torc slumbered across the cabin, his brothers on this quest. Grasping a ring on the ceiling, Ulric hoisted himself from the hammock and padded across the deck, giving Leo a wide berth, until he stood beside his other brother. Torc was built like a cart, but he seemed vulnerable – not just in that moment, for Ulric had sensed something when Torc had strode before the windoak. Torc forged metal, but he did not wield it in battle. He was strong in body and heart, but he was not ruthless, and Ulric wished him to remain that way. Leo, on the other hand, Ulric did not trust – not only because ships and pyromancers was a dangerous recipe, but also because he sensed instability in the man, a premonition of cruelty that seemed to mirror his own thoughts. I will burn in the fires, he’d realized, before this man lets me stand in his way. Shivering again, Ulric peered down at Torc once more, and then walked to the deck. He stared across the waves, which were dark and ethereal beneath the blanket of stars, and wondered if this was a dream. Where does the dream end and the nightmare begin? he frowned. It was then, as the stars bore witness to his doubts, that he became aware of the tiny creature on upon the rail – blue, and speaking in words that he did not comprehend. At first he made to squash it, but fear stayed his hand, only to be replaced with curiosity. “I do not understand you,” he spoke softly, so the sailors wouldn’t hear, and regarded this strange thing. It did not mean him harm, of that much he was certain. It seemed to challenge him in a way, its tone imperious and its gestures urgent. “What do you seek of me, little one?”

[Gossamer]

The creature took Ulrics attention for permission and in one swift motion, it made the jump from the belaying pin to the man's shoulder. Then, as if it were a creature possessed of a mission, it ran down the length of his arm, counting on the fact that any self respecting person would either shake it off or cup its hand giving the gasvik a place to perch. If Ulric did the former, the creature would just make the best of it and find another close vantage to chitter at the man again. If Ulric did the unexpected, it would perch on his hand. Either way, it had something to say to the man, something important. Tiny orbs stared out of its narrow face. Though small, they somehow looked huge upon the not-quite human face. They looked like mirrors and drew Ulric's gaze into them. Deeply. The man, if he chose to look, would feel like he was falling into those eyes. He would feel like he was falling, hard and fast, but in a way that was comfortable as if one was flinging themselves onto a very familiar bed at the end of a long hard day. The creature was familiar, in every way, and somehow Ulric knew it. He knew it like he knew what the sun was even before he'd first came to recognize Syna's importance over life. He knew it like he knew what darkness was, and that he should be afraid of Akjaia's world. The Gasvik reached into him and triggered something. Ulric was like a man coming awake, suddenly, as if life from there on out had only been a dream. He inhaled deeply, involuntarily, and the world tasted different after he'd stared into those tiny eyes. And in the whole of the moment, something connected between the two lives, and Ulric sensed hunger. The creature was starved. Literally. It was small and weak and virtually mindless because it had been left alone far too long. Once, countless years in the past, its race had been known and feared. Those that knew them and even those that commanded them did so with great courtesy and respect. They were advisers to kings and protectors of the innocent and the fallen. Ulric knew all this. He knew it in the instant he fell into the creatures gaze. It was something old. A living relic unlike any he'd known. And as he came into that realization, the shadowy mark on his hand began to burn. The creature, a Gasvik - he knew though he wasn't certain how he knew - hissed its displeasure and whether perched on his hand or a nearby vantage, would pounce. Its tiny hands slapped down on the mark, almost attacking it, and the thing quieted. The burning stopped and Ulric felt the darkness in him retreat just a small way. In his hand, touching him, the creatures vivid blue color grayed. It swayed and then turned to Ulric. It's eyes beseeched him. Its words, as of yet, still unclear. "Wekeia lwkeia suvia to vial uvina vnaeii." It sat down abruptly then, as if it had no more energy to spare.

[Ulric]

Ulric didn’t flinch as the creature leapt onto his shoulder. By all rights, he should have jumped back. He didn’t know what this creature was. He didn’t know from whence it had come, or even if it was dangerous – but he stood as still as a stone, feeling it scrabble for purchase on his faded tunic. What’s happening? Ulric frowned as he watched the creature scampered over his bicep, almost wishing that Glav was here with him. Glav would know what to make of this. After all, was the priest not the wisest man he had ever met? Ulric would have found solace in Glav’s presence, but somewhere – deep in his heart – he knew that he could not disturb this moment. It felt as if time was suspended, as if the climbing sailors had frozen on the ratlines and as if the stars had ceased to burn. He did not hear the crash of the waves or the creak of the timber. He was only aware of the rasp of his own breath, and the truth he saw in the Gasvik’s eyes. “Gasvik,” he uttered, as if the word, and the creature it represented, had been etched into the deepest recesses of his mind. Is this fate? he wondered. For a moment, as Ulric held the Gasvik’s gaze, he felt a blind panic – a whisper that urged him to break away, to flee to his cabin and bolt the door shut. It was fear that spoke, but for once, its voice did not bind him. Ulric was tired of being afraid. He was weary of running from his fate. So as he peered into the Gasvik’s eyes, he laid bare the depths of his soul. Rage and hope, anguish and regret – the emotions flooded out of him like a storm. Then they were gone, and Ulric’s eyes widened as the world began to shrink around him. He watched as the deceits were stripped away, the stern of the Blue Horizon vanishing first, then the masts and the prow, the waves, the wind, and the light. Ulric was blind, but he could see – the Gasvik showed him how. I asked him what he sought of me, Ulric realized, but I can see now that he seeks me. He could see it so clearly now. His entire life had been leading up to this moment, when at last he would embrace his fate. “We… we are one,” he gasped, and his words sundered the dream. Ulric felt the deck rolling under his feet again, but he could not avert his gaze from the Gasvik. Its hunger was palpable. He needs me, Ulric realized as a salt breeze caressed his fevered brow, and in a way, I need him, too. The Gasvik was one of the last of its kind. They had all but faded from memory, but this one had come to him. Ulric began to speak, but Krysus chose that moment to assail him with a searing agony. She doesn’t want to share me, he realized with a burgeoning terror. If I cannot be hers, then she will destroy me. “I will never be yours, he hissed, and then the Gasvik was slapping at the mark. Ulric felt the pain recede, and then leaned heavily on the rail, cupping the Gasvik in his hand. How can you be that powerful? he wondered, but then he saw what the effort had cost. The Gasvik was more gray than blue now, its words fainter and slurred. Ulric saw that it could not even keep its feet. “Take what you need from me,” he urged, his eyes wide with concern. “Please, I have so much to give. Do what you must!” He could not stand to see the Gasvik so weak or as alone as it seemed in that terrifying moment. It felt as if his heart was breaking.

[Gossamer]

The creature made a tiny sound. If it would have been human, it would have seemed as if it sobbed in relief. Dipping its head in Ulric's palm, a grey tongue streaked out and lapped at his skin. Like a tale in the darkness, one might have expected the gasvik to sink thus far unseen teeth into his skin. But it did not. Instead, Urlic's whole body suddenly lit up. It was as if the man had an aura he'd never ever seen before. It flared brightly in Ulric's gaze, a strange powerful blue green color that seemed to catch the agonized warrior on fire - though the fire did not burn. The gasvik howled in pleasure and threw itself down on Ulric's hand. It seemed to roll in the glow, devouring the flames as if they were the sweetest of honey. Ulric felt something pass through him, an awareness and awakening, one never anticipated nor expected. Suddenly it was as if an over vision fell across Ulric's gaze. Lenses inhuman and otherworldly coated his eyes and he saw possibility. It wasn't from the gasvik though. It was from his blood. There was no tapping of the chavena or tampering with the chavi themselves. Instead, it was as if an echo of a power long lost awoke in his blood and settled into his psyche. Looking around, he knew how fast the Blue Horizon could sail if those manning her had the skill and in that knowing, he also knew instinctively how to get more speed out of her. A line holding a sail in front of him caught his eye and sharply, acutely, he knew its weave was wrong and it was not as strong as it could have been. Had the rope been woven slightly different, its potential would have been greater. It would have transcended what it was then and there. The strange overview went on and on. Deck boards planed out wrong with a hand lathe hadn't reached their potential. He knew instinctively what could have been done to improve them. A sailor walked by and instantly he knew the man could never be better than he currently was because the alcohol on his breath prevented him. Remove the alcohol, increase the potential. Hundreds of examples presented themselves - how things could be better, how life and indeed the inanimate could transcend its current existence. He even saw the gasvik as something different. A baby now, a child, something long forgotten and ignored. It would grow, learn, thrive and become something fearsome. Yet the way it looked at him, with such love in its eyes as it feasted on... something that was wholly Ulric... the man felt as if it were somehow his child; his responsibility. The feeling was completely indescribable. The creature was of his blood, from his body, and somehow his legacy. He knew it as clearly as he knew all the rest he'd learned in those short breaths. And the interesting thing was, although the deck was crowded, no one gave him a second look. The gasvik writhed in pleasure, groaning and glowing with a blue fire after a full minute of exposure, and seemed to almost scream out its pleasure. But no one heard. No one saw the flames that engulfed Ulric. They didn't last though, not really, for the space of five breaths Ulric stood in his own fire burning with an unnamed power that felt godly and somehow far more than human. But the minute the gasvik stopped feeding, the glow diminished and Ulircs life snapped back to normal. The first thing he realized was the sea breeze against his face didn't whisper of its potential to become something more, something greater. It was just what it was; cool and refreshing. And something stranger still was the weight in his hand. It was no longer birdlike or mouselike, light, and without substance. It as the size of a small cat, bulkier, muscled, and purring quite contentedly. It offered him a smile that said it would never leave him, and quietly muttered at Ulric. "Skeok blekiu ki wuliwva knuvia." Then more quietly... "Ulric."

[Ulric]

Ulric gave, and the Gasvik took. He did not know what he was getting into. His plea was desperate, for he was a man with nothing left to lose, save his life. His father was dead, as was his mother. He had taken his betrothed’s life, and as he sat in a pool of her blood, realized that he had destroyed what remained of his dreams. If he returned to his city, it would be upon pain of death. If he sought to be with a woman again, he would only end up killing her. I will sire no children, he had sworn, and that was that. After all, what sort of life could he offer them? Ulric was still upset with his own father, who had died for a cause and left him to starve in the canals. He could not bear to do that to a child of his own. In a way, he knew the Gasvik was a kindred spirit. It was alone, bereft, ever searching for the lost pieces of a puzzle. Up until now, Ulric had few reasons for living save for his oath to Glav, but now he perceived that the Gasvik needed him even more than Glav did. Glav had Leo, Torc, and Sharn, but the Gasvik – who did the Gasvik have other than him? Not long ago, Ulric was convinced that he would die in Glav’s stead, and in so doing, obtain the redemption he sought. He did not want to die, but he could sense peril on the horizon. But now, as he stared into the Gasvik’s eyes, he realized that a single act of sacrifice would not redeem his sins. He was not a good man, but he tried to do the right thing. He just went about it the wrong way. Ulric did not resist when the Gasvik drew upon him. If the forces of destiny had brought them together, why deny it? For a moment, as he was wreathed in the blue-green flames, he wondered if he should be afraid. But then he realized that he felt no pain, that the flames did not sear his flesh as they should, but writhed with a power he did not understand. It was so familiar, but he had never felt this way before. Ulric heard the Gasvik’s rapture, and then, abruptly, he understood. It was as if all of the life’s mysteries were unraveling before his eyes. He saw each splinter of wood, strand of rope, and scrap of salt-stiffened canvas – but he did not perceive them as a man would. I am something more, Ulric realized, his brow furrowing, and met the Gasvik’s eyes. No, we are something more, he thought, stroking the creature with his thumb. It was his, completely his, and he knew in that moment that nothing could sunder their bond. “What is happening to me?” he murmured, and glanced around for the first time since he had set eyes upon the Gasvik. It was strange that none of the sailors of the night’s watch seemed to notice the flames, but in a way, he wasn’t that surprised. How could they see what they could not hope to understand? Ulric did not know if the Gasvik was concealing its presence, or if it simply could not be seen by the sailors. He did not know everything, for even though he was aware of so much, he had yet to scratch the surface of revelation. It wasn’t until the flames receded that he realized what he had lost. I was like a god, he gaped, sinking to his knees. The Gasvik was larger now, and when it spoke Ulric returned the smile. “Yes, that’s my name, he said. “I have been waiting for you, I think.”

[Gossamer]

The words - the acceptance - echoed through Ulric and touched something within him. The Gasvik's eyes widened and became pools that reflected the past to Ulric. He felt drawn in, taken, captured by them. Their whirling orbs expanded like an explosion and Ulric found himself falling, tumbling head over heals through time and space with no sense of where or who he was. Eventually he landed, sprawled, on a warm stone floor that shone with a high polish. It was black marble, shot through with veins of gold and white and tiny flashes of other colors. It was beautiful, pristine even, and it was marred now with his own fingerprints. It was a hall of sorts, lovely and expansive. Columns held up a lighter version of the marble on the floor rising some two stories into the ceiling that was painted with a sky motif. Large urns burned periodically around the perimeter of the hall at the end of which rose a dais. A man stood upon it, flanked by what Ulric would at first think were statues - giant winged forms almost humanoid but made of a power so intense Ulric himself who was devoid of magic could even sense. The creatures were real however, because one shifted slightly, then another twitched. Their eyes moved, turning to stare at him where he lay upon the floor though the man on the dais paid them no mind. Their skin reminded him of the gasvik and those eyes were identical. They saw so much, and were in fact created to see as they did. Eventually, one made a soft noise. The man jerked his head up, glanced around, and caught sight of Ulric. He moved into full view then, stepping out of the shadows of the dais and into the light of one of the burning urns. He was no man at all, but a God. And he smiled slowly, almost a welcome, though it was a suspicious one at that. He stepped down off the dais, taking the steps two at a time, wearing his power like most men would wear a cloak. The two creatures on the dais came with him, flanking him almost like a pair of hounds. His face was unfamiliar and though Ulric was no stranger to the deities of Mizahar, this one was completely unrecognizable. "You've come a long way... a great deal further than most men would. Back I would guess, or my forward... why? Why are you here and not where you should be?" The man who was no man asked, now stepping fully into the light. He wore Ulric's face, from the brow ridge to the cheekbones, to the same shadow of a beard. They could have been twins, one older, one younger by mere moments. But Ulric sensed they were not. He was staring at his own face worn by that of a god. And that god was questioning him, curious, as to why he was there. The gasvik beside the man spoke and Ulric understood it perfectly. "He was sent. Even I see the possibilities. That he is here can mean only one thing." The other one said, both frowning simultaneously. The god nodded, strangely unsurprised. "Yes, we saw the possibility of betrayal and fall but it seems it has become a reality somewhere in the future." He said, shaking his head. Suddenly something fierce tumbled out from behind Ulric. It growled, scampered around him and put itself between him and the trio before him. The two gasvik's looked shocked while the God himself merely smiled. "Emaciated isn't he? You should feed him more." The god said, walking up to the little creature and thumping it lightly on the head. "Settle down, little one. We aren't going to hurt him. I..." The god stopped, stared, and then shook his head. He scooped up the gasvik and gasped. He turned to the others, as if to show them as well. "This is 4912, Desank. Yesterday. I created him yesterday. Tell me, child..." Ulric felt his name ripped right from his head. "Tell me Ulric, where are you from. What year is it?" He demanded almost immediately, a glow filling his hand and draining into the tiny gasvik in his grasp.

[Ulric]

Falling, ever falling. He did not know where he was going, whether it was through space, time, or distant memories. He was just falling. There was nothing he could do. Icy tendrils of panic crept up his spine. They encircled his neck, stole the breath from his lungs. He was empty. Those eyes, those dark, captivating eyes, had swept away his misgivings, his rage, the paltry reticence of the living. He was falling. That was the world and the stars. That was moistness of soil on his palm. That was the reek of the canals, and the slimy scales clinging to his fingers. Falling was all he knew now. Falling was the only thing that mattered. His fears receded slowly, though not entirely, leaving him with a newborn’s sense of wonder. What is this place? What is falling? He perceived the faint silhouette of shapes around him, their edges grotesque, seeming to blur as though assailed by writhing shadows. He could make no sense of this. He was falling. He did not understand why he was falling. He only knew that he must. And then it ended. A swift, brutal exhalation; the sting of cold marble on his cheek. Again, he was seized by panic. He was supposed to be falling. What is this place? Dark eyes regarded the dark, vaulted chamber, with its pillars of gold-streaked marble, its urns and dais, the absurd facsimile of the sky, when the only glow came from wreaths of flame. This was not real, nor was it illusion. He did not belong. He stood on shaky legs, not remembering from whence he’d come. Only the fall. There were others in this chamber. The winged creatures, like carvings of gargoyles. They swarmed with an alien power, yet the eyes were familiar. There was also the man. The god, who offered the shadow of a smile. And suddenly, Ulric knew who he was. He remembered the warm, spurting blood on his hands, his desperate flight, the shadowy legions of trees crowding him, the sight of smoke wisping above ponderous granite, and the rough, swaying planks of the ship beneath his bare feet. The god stepped from his dais, and the fear grew more intense. There was power here, a coruscating energy that was greater than anything he might have dreamed, enveloping him. And the god spoke, his tone questioning, perhaps confused. There words were cryptic. Ulric remained silent, clinging to his identity like a bulwark, trying to resist the tongues of divine power that lapped at his mortal flesh. He did not have any answers. He had questions, so many questions, but now was not his time to speak. And then he saw the god’s face, a face of trickery, a reflection of himself. It staggered him. It was like staring into a mirror, yet not knowing what was real. He was as nothing before this man, and yet they shared the same face. Where am I? Where am I supposed to be? His lips were frozen, nearly incapable of speech, so the gasviks answered for him. Who sent me? Why? What is this place? What is this possibility you speak of? And then he knew. It was the gasvik, the creature that swarmed in front of him, growling. The god smiled, and then gasped, shaken by something he saw, or perhaps felt in the tiny creature. Desank. “Ravok,” Ulric rasped, the words seemingly ripped from his throat. “Ravok was my home, but no longer. It is the eleventh, or perhaps the twelfth day of summer, in the year 510. After the Valterrian. Yesterday, I stood with Glav and Torc on the ship’s bow, and I was happy.” He smiled faintly at the memory, yet suddenly all he pictured were ashes. Desank…

[Gossamer]

The man, no God, shook his head. The time and place Ulric spit out meant nothing to him. He lifted the Gasvik, stroked it's head, and continued to feed it the light that glowed from him. They held a close quiet conversation as if the language the creature spoke was familiar with the God. Certain things the small creature said the other larger ones reacted too. They looked, all three of them, confused, angry, then shocked. "The world ended? And was born again? This is your Valterrian? And you live five hundred ten years into the future past that?" The God shook his head, turned to study Ulric with new eyes, and frowned. "That's in the future for me, for all of us, more than two thousand years. It is a wonder Desank looks as he does, being distant from myself and my kin. Until you." The man shook his head and then turned to listen to the little creature who began rambling off more words. Words turned to sentences and then to a speech that was complicated and intelligent. "Ah. He's right. From the beginning. I am Xhyvas. In this place, I am considered old. In the future, I am considered dead it seems. But that's the interesting thing about trying to slay the God of possibilities and transcendence. We always see the potential and rise above it." He walked closer to Ulric, tossing the gasvik up on his shoulder where it perched happily and crooned in contentment. He gently seized Ulrics jaw in his hand and turned his face up, so he could stare into his eyes. "Clever. You're oozing in the potential of my power. Latent. Bloodline I'd say, but better carried and enhanced. I dodged death, it seems, just a little. I wonder who's responsible if anyone?" He said, looking thoughtful. Then he frowned, as if sensing something, and dropped Ulric's jaw to grasp his hand and twist it up where he could see. The mark that Krysus left on him was clearly visible. The God.. Xhyvas frowned over it. "Nasty piece of work, that. Already the godlings hunt you don't they? I wonder how this one rose, though she's a vile creature... born of death and pain. She's greedy and wants what you don't even know you have. Some of us - our kind, boy - are true vultures and leaches. Especially the young. She has no idea what shes dealing with though. She has no idea what you are." He reached down and just as simple as that wiped away the mark. He smirked. "And a fool too. Had she granted you a gnosis, a true gnosis, rather than just a tracking sign I couldn't have done that. She'll know though, probably already does, because you've suddenly disappeared off her radar without dying. Death usually excites them, the poor bitches." He said, stepping back and releasing Ulric. "That mark tells me two things. I am gone in your time and so too is Sylir. Both of these things are troublesome. She has hints of his power and hints of other power shes consumed, even mine. She'll want yours. Be certain of that. And she'll get it too unless you are clever about your doings." He added. His shock his head again. "So much time, young man. So much time. There are no real words to describe what your presence here means. Tell me, truthfully and the whole of it as you understand it, who you are and why you are here. Obviously Desank picked up a few tricks in his time alone, but he can't seem to explain you - not at all." Xhyvas said.

[Ulric]

Xhyvas, yesterday a god, today scarcely a memory. Ulric gaped, not certain how to react. He was a messenger. He had fallen back for centuries, to a world that was still unspoiled by cataclysm. And by the sound of it, Xhyvas was shaken – if only for a moment. The god of possibilities and transcendence, as ancient as he professed to be, was again confronting the specter of this own death. However, this time he knew for certain. “Betrayal,.b] Ulric clenched his teeth, trying to conceal his seething outrage. Xhyvas had been murdered. By whom, he did not know. But as he listened to the god, he began to realize that he was a single thread woven into a cunning tapestry, that he belonged to spirit of Xhyvas. Even now, the god rearranging the pieces on a vast game board, pondering how he would snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. He did not resist when Xhyvas grabbed his jaw, peering deeply into his eyes, and then grabbed at his wrist. None of this made any sense to him, but at the same time, it did. He gasped at the mention of power, the same power he’d tasted so briefly aboard the ship. Does this mean that I am Xhyvas… reincarnate? No, that was impossible. Xhyvas was dead. Ulric frowned, recalling his audience with the Windoak. Sylir was also gone, yet as he’d later learned, a fragment of the dead god was contained in the tree. Xhyvas must have dissolved into fragments as well, some captured, others contained in wandering souls. Like me. This was the last thing he’d expected. Ulric grimaced as Xhyvas studied the mark on his hand. He was intensely ashamed of it, for it was a manifestation of the taint of his soul. And yet, Xhyvas didn’t seem to care; he simply brushed it away. Ulric stared at his hand, scarcely believing what had just happened. He’d lived with the mark for over a season, cursing Krysus with every passing day, and now it was gone. Just like that. He tentatively stroked the back of his hand, knowing that while he was freed of the curse, nothing could erase the blemish upon his soul. [b]“She has no idea what you are,” Xhyvas’ words echoed in his head. Ulric didn’t know what to make of that. He didn’t understand much, but it was clear that being what he was, he was in great danger. Well, let the godlings come and get me, he resolved, even though he was still terrified of Krysus. “Desank,” Ulric murmured again, patting the gasvik. Then he stared deep into Xhyvas’ eyes. “Those are difficult questions, after what you have just confided in me. But I will answer them as best I can. My name you know already. I am Ulric, only son of a whore and a murdered father. Canal rat, foundling, fisherman, mercenary, murderer… penitent. I have been many things over the course of my tawdry existence, but until now, I didn’t know whom I was.” He paused, his face grave. “There is something inside of me, a dark, terrible something that lusts for its release, that has escaped once and forced me to flee my city. My life, you might say, is a series of contradictions. Not long ago I prayed to Rhysol, yet now I sail with Glav Navik, a priest of Syliras, as his sworn protector.” Ulric shrugged, uncomfortable with this grandiose moniker. He decided to try again. “Xhyvas, I am just a man, who eats and sleeps like every other. I have no influence, nor talents, nor even family. I do not consider myself to be a good man, yet neither do I rank among the worst. I have reaped souls to protect my own, yet the lives wrung out by the darkness… they haunt me.” “To be honest, I don’t understand much of anything. I’ve chosen sides in a great struggle, but I don’t belong in the same way that my comrades do. I am the dark brother. I thought I was empty, but then Desank found me, helped me realize the power in my blood.” He looked up, his face twisting with the burden of his past. “The world is recovering, Xhyvas, but slowly. There may be more players, or fewer. Ivak has been chained. Aquiras is slain, or close to death. I know so very little of these things, but I do know that when the gods fight amongst themselves, mortals pay the price.” Ulric peered at Xhyvas, his eyes wide with hope, and desperation. “What must I do, Xhyvas? What can I do?”