Winter 19th, 514AV
early evening
early evening
Inspection.
The wind threatened to pull his cloak away. Relentlessly it screamed through darkening alleys, frantically running amidst the few who dared to face it on their way home. It's dry touch was like a cold razor running upon his skin and for a moment he stood still, enjoying the sensation. His emerald gaze wandered on the lake's surface where ripples danced madly invoked by the wind's caress. A feeling of dread rose to engulf him; fearful he wondered what kind of horror was hidden in his own reflection.
Thankfully, he'd found relief in the form that rippled before him. Raelann's compassionate gaze, flushed cheeks and pleasantly harmonious characteristics were a soothing sight. It is as he had described in that mirror; when things were hard, he'd resort to him,and that transformation would be his shelter. In that shelter he could find solace from the horrid nightmare that molested upon his soul. He sighed and pulled his cloak to protect himself from another chilling gust of wind. As the Ravosala made a sharp turn, he was reminded of another reason why this guise suited him.
"Did you remember now ? Giving me a location would be a lot faster and helpful..." The Ravosalaman's voice interrupted his thoughts.
"I'm beginning to remember, friend, it's been a long while you see. Worry not of any tardiness though, it matters not to me." he responded, grateful to hear Raelann's assuring and mellow tone instead of his usual harsh growl. What was he supposed to say ? That they were following the Ravosala in front of them ? That he needed to know where that Ebonstryfe Soldier was living ? His gaze fell upon the gangly mage once more, remembering the events that forced him to follow this Sullins fellow in the first place.
"Let's make this a left turn, just like the one in front of us, I think we're getting close..."
----------
a couple of days ago..
"So, scum, what makes you think you can use magic like that in Ravok?" The officer's tone was cruel, just like the mailed soldier's gauntlet that grabbed on the Morpher's throat. He was pinned against the wall by this surprisingly strong young man; his breath was wheezing under the sheer force. The alley was empty and no one would dare intervene.
"You know what the punishment is for such acts ? There is a reason why magic is restricted and regulated here, outsider..."
"I am a citizen !" Daegron managed to growl before bursting into a choking fit.
"Nonsense ! These papers are either fake, or stolen from their original owner. You do not deserve those, petcher ! True Ravokians are proud of themselves and NEVER try to hide their true appearance, let alone with foul sorcery ! You disgust me, how the hell did they let you crawl in the Ferries ?"
He really had no answer to that. He didn't know what series of events had brought him in Ravok, nor could he ever imagine. What was he supposed to tell him ?
"The Black Hole would be too good for you, scum..."
The officer's iron-clad fist flew straight for Daegron's gut and connected forcefully. Another choking fit followed and the hands that held him did not falter.
The Commander's appearance was daunting to say the least. Six feet something, muscular, rugged and in his early forties, sporting a neatly trimmed moustache. His gaze was the most scary thing about him; stern, as if looking straight into one's mind. He'd seen his fair share of battle and from the way he acted, it was painfully clear that he despised magic.
"What am I to do with you now ?" The commander's question wasn't directed at him but sounded more like a frustrated outcry. "Why shouldn't I cut you where you stand ?" The all too familiar sound of a blade unsheathed echoed in the alley like a terrible shriek of doom. The touch of cold steel against his very throat, rivalled the wrathful Stryfer's gaze...
----------
And now...
So he stood on the narrow walkway, his eyes staring at the man they called Sullins, This probably was his place; a house or a laboratory, perhaps this supposed wizard's abode. He knew that there was no reason to linger around there any more, lest the man discover that he's been watched and followed. Daegron, not really the stealthy fellow, had taken every precaution he could think of, occasionally changing faces while trying to keep his target in sight. He'd done enough for today.
But a mere moment before the Morpher disengaged, he noticed a slight, unusual pause in the Stryfer's moves. And it suddenly struck him that this particular pause was repeated quite often these last few bells, as if following a certain pattern, a routine. The next though made his pulse race and his breath uneven.
"What if he's spotted me?"