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Thread: [M] Runes

  1. #101
    The Replicant
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    Red turned towards the group, gloved, covered, and cloaked. “If you need to get into the Risen city without dealing with the guards, I may be able to help.”

    The Wanderer raised an eyebrow and scanned over the woman before responding. “As long as it doesn’t involve any runes.” She said bluntly. “I presume that if the Risemen hate unregistered mages, they have a way of at least detecting mages if they use any runes to gain entry to their city...Am I correct?”

    “They have a song they teach children to recognise the Five Evil Signs of someone casting a rune.” the Immortal recalled, and hummed a few bars of what was presumably that song before making a face. “It would be pretty embarrassing to get found out by some snotty-nosed five year old.”

    “We do not need any more fights or any more weakness caused by using any runes. We need everyone at full health...We should just disguise ourselves better and walk in.” The Wanderer chuckled lightly at the plain and simple plan, but sometimes that was the best one.

    “We sneak again?” the Ambassador inquired, seeming enthused by the prospect.

    Solar squinted at her. “Sometimes I wonder if you’re really related to those creepy bastards we met last week.”

    The Mer kicked her feet. “A little different.” she admitted evasively.

    “When you say disguise.” the Wraith rumbled softly, folding his arms. “What exactly are you suggesting?”

    “I expect she’s suggesting that you lose the party mask.” Immortal quipped. “Unless you want the Risemen asking why such a famous vigilante has turned up at the gates.”

    Wraith’s eyes narrowed slightly behind the slits of his iron face-covering. “This is not just a mask. It is a symbol. My oath to my sacred task.”
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  2. #102
    Member Katrina's Avatar
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    “I agree with the masked one.” Red stated firmly. “And Ambie. We should sneak in under the cover of night. I can manage the guards with simple hand to hand combat. Nobody has to die if it’ll really upset you.” She said, glancing at Wanderer. “But I’m not showing my face. Hunters never show their full face. And they’ll know anyway, if we go in with disguises. They’ll know, just by looking at my face that I’m different.” She raised a single gloved hand to her scarf, as if checking that it was still there. “Besides. Where would we even GET disguises.” She crossed her arms. “I say we sneak.”

  3. #103
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    Solar crossed his arms and gave a soft huff. "Full health my ass I'm good to go! I can take all them stupid fucks on. So we can be little bitches and sneak on in or! We can just use some battle runes and just bust our own way in. I'm for busting my own way in but I guess I have to follow all of you cause if it's just me then I'm fucked." He said with a nod before motioning at The Immortal. "Except for him, cause you know.... The name says it all and he can pretty much fuck his way through anything with Immortalness and stuff...."
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  4. #104
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    “Lose the mask. Simple.” She repeated the Immortals words to the Wraith. “I know it is a symbol...But a symbol can be put to the side for one afternoon.” Her gaze flicked to Red, who of course had something else to say that added nothing to the conversation. “Death does not upset me. I’ve seen more than you’d think, pup.” She let the insult sit on her lips. This young woman was making her out to a sensitive old woman. That did not sit well with the wanderer.

    “You are going to manage every single guard in the city...by yourself.” She blinked slowly, blatantly staring at the woman who was quite literally a talking chin at this point. “You are not helping your case. We all have things that make us stand out. We hide them.” The scarf was obviously a big thing for Red. A sense of security maybe...a stupid thing for a hunter truly. Something easily dragged off in a dying attempt to stop her attack. Something to grab and blind her, even cover her mouth.

    “I say sneaking will only lead to us being found out. You seriously think that this city is going to have two or three stupid guards on watch. That they will not be used to trained fighters or those who use runes. Are you so stupidly confident that you think you can defeat anyone by yourself....” She paused and let her arms cross over her chest. Brown sun spots kissed her arms, weaving in amongst the small silver scars that littered her entire body. “What if they have another mage in there like Redmoor? You couldn’t defeat him the first time. What’s to stop someone else from throwing us against a city wall with a flick of their wrist.”

    The wanderer raised a hand towards the loaf to silence him. “If we alert the city to your presence, we all die. No matter how good you think you are, you are...too important to put a target on your obscenely large forehead in this city.” She let out a sharp breath, her forearms pressing tight against her ribs. “If we sneak. We work as a team. If we come across guards, we work together to get them out of the picture. You are not the only skilled one in this group. If you wish to lead us in the city, fine. But you are taking him with you.” She said firmly with a sharp jolt of her head towards the immortal. If Red wanted to be charge, so fucking be it. But she would carry the loaf. She would take his instructions. He was their guide in this strange city.


  5. #105
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    “Besides. Where would we even GET disguises.” She crossed her arms. “I say we sneak.”

    Illusion rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “We’ve got horses with full saddlebags. We could pass as traders. Or, yeah, we could wait until nightfall.”

    “Every hour we wait is an hour of the Leveler’s men rampaging through my home.” Solar said, his face souring as he stood up to tend to the horses who were hobbled to the nearby copse of trees.

    “Lose the mask. Simple.” Wanderer repeated the Immortal’s words to the Wraith. “I know it is a symbol...But a symbol can be put to the side for one afternoon.”

    The Immortal smirked approval from atop the saddlebags. “Unless your faith is so fragile that you’ll lose it if you take your mask off?”

    Wraith met the Immortal’s raised eyebrow with a challenging gaze. He shifted it to Wanderer, and held her eyes for a long moment before reaching for the band that looped behind his head.

    The others weren’t sure what they had been expecting. Perhaps the stern, thin features of a born ascetic. Perhaps a warrior’s face, careworn and etched with scars. An old man, or a deceptively young one. But when Wraith dipped his head to slide the mask off and looked back up towards them, his face was nothing but ordinary. A little paler than the Valley’s mostly olive and brown inhabitants, with a receding chin and a nose that was still peeling from the light burns his duel with the Burning had inflicted.

    Illusion, who could never truly hide an emotion, gasped in surprise. The Wraith smiled knowingly at her.

    “This is why the mask matters. My face is just the face of a man, but the Wraith’s mask is an idea - his name is fear and justice, and that doesn’t change whether I wear the mask, or my master, or his master before him.”

    “Just a man though.” the Ambassador put in as she studied Wraith’s newly-revealed features. “Better for sneak.”

    “So when do we sneak?” Illusion asked, folding her arms around her knees. “This morning through the main gate, or later tonight?”

    The wanderer let out a sharp breath, her forearms pressing tight against her ribs. “If we sneak. We work as a team. If we come across guards, we work together to get them out of the picture. You are not the only skilled one in this group. If you wish to lead us in the city, fine. But you are taking him with you.”

    The Immortal made a show of looking disappointed. “And I thought we were starting to build a beautiful friendship from inside your travel bag.”

    “If we go now we’ll need more cloaks and fewer obvious weapons.” Solar rejoined. Still the only authority on horses in the group apart from Red, he had set out fodder and was walking one of the animals around the camp by its reins in a slow warm-up. “As to where we’ll find any of that out h-”

    He broke off and halted, looking down the hill towards the river. Beyond a plot of rice paddies and a drier field of harvested wheat stubble stood a long farmhouse. Two figures - a man and a woman - had just emerged from it, to greet a quartet of children who were scrambling noisily back from the riverside with their arms full of sopping wet bundles. The woman laughingly slapped the man across the backside before taking the smallest child’s bundle, unfolding a tunic, and pegging it out on a long rope that was strung between the wings of the farmhouse. The man just cursed and took up the arms of a rusty plough, which he dragged to the stubble field and began to push haltingly through the earth.

    “Hey Wraith,” Solar called over his shoulder. “You speak Rise, don’t you?”

    “I do.” the plain-faced Wraith nodded.

    “Why don’t you run down there and ask them how many clothes they’d be willing to swap for a workhorse?”

    * * * * * *

    They had to lead their horses through the crush at the arched gate in the city walls, but the large beasts helped to forge their path. Their new, still-damp tunics were a blessing as the heat of the summer sun began to bite once more.

    Red’s signature gown and robe were folded carefully away in a saddlebag and had been replaced by a plainer, darker cloak with distinctively Riseman stitching. She had kept her red scarf, which hid her mouth and nose as she surveyed the walls, and the comings and goings of the watchmen above. It could be valuable information should they need to leave again in a hurry. The Ambassador shuffled beside her, dodging to and fro out of the way of pushing pedestrians while hiding her otherworldly features as best she could with her hooded cloak.

    Wanderer was given the chance to enjoy the first new tunic she had possessed in some time, together with a faded but perfectly serviceable cloak of wool designed to keep the sun off in the daytime and the chill away at night.

    A bearded man who wore a stuffed jacket by way of armour with some kind of sigil pinned over his chest halted them as they reached the gate, and jabbered at them in the rapid, trilled-r’s speech of the Risemen.

    “City tax.” Wraith translated.

    Solar scowled. The warden pointed at their horses’ heavy saddlebags and launched into another diatribe.

    “If we wish to sell goods within the city we need to pay.” Wraith explained.

    Solar continued to mutter, but it was better than telling the gatekeeper what they were actually carrying, and so he reluctantly handed over his purse.

    The city seemed unfriendly - from its grey stonework to the other early-morning vendors buffeting through the streets towards the marketplaces. It lacked the oppressed, furtive air of the besieged Lightman city, but its people were strange and the fat, looping squiggles of Riseman writing above the shop fronts were unfamiliar. The Risemen themselves eyed them with looks that ranged from indifference to wary suspicion, evidently able to pick out a foreigner even in Riseman clothes. Some however wouldn’t meet their eyes, and those men and women shuffled furtively from building to building, often accompanied by the shouts or cuffing blows of an impatient master. Every one of them wore a metal collar bearing more Rise script - presumably their true name. Those must be the mages.

    “I wonder,” Solar murmured, “How they’ll fare when the Leveler’s mages come here and just fucking Name everyone who’s got the runes to fight them?”

    A scruffy brown dog that had been lying with its nose on its paws in a tenament doorway suddenly sprang up to sniff around the Ambassador’s ankles. The Mer froze, uncertain how to react to the animal’s attention, but the dog just wagged its tail before bounding away towards a knot of people gathered before a temple.

    The Risemen temples to their single Risen God were simple, compared to the imposing constructions of the Light city. The walls were plain grey stone, and in the recessed courtyard stood a small shrine with a time-blurred carving of the god, whose offerings had been stuffed into a small letterbox opening below, wrapped in twists of paper and flower stems. Behind the offering shrine was a plinth, where stood an austere woman with a coil of plaited hair. A younger man stepped gingerly up onto the plinth to face her, accompanied by an armed guard. A collared servant-mage stood back, another collar hinged open in his hands. A little crowd of locals was beginning to gather to watch the ceremony.

    The woman began to speak in a stentorian voice. Wraith, who had been born in the Risemen city, could understand her well enough, though the others had to rely on his running translation.

    “And you will give your name unto the Risen God, and to his great city?” the priestess finished, her eyes fixed on the young man in silent judgement.

    The young man nodded eagerly. “I will.”

    “Then speak your name.”

    “Connor, born of Keri.”

    The mage behind the priestess passed his hand over the collar he was holding, and a brief flare of light illuminated the gesture. When it was done, a line of looping Rise script was burned into the metal. The mage handed the collar to the priestess and then, almost fearfully, reached into a pouch at his waist and drew out a runestone that shimmered in the sunlight.

    “Accept the first of the Risen God’s blessings.” the priestess intoned.

    The young man reached out quickly to place his hand over the other mage’s. His arm jumped as he made contact, and the mage hurriedly snatched the runestone back, but the young man seemed unconcerned. He was staring at his hand, a look of wonder fixed on his youthful face as he moved his fingers, which were now glowing with a soft yellow light.

    “May you serve the God well,” the priestess said, “Connor child of Keri.”

    The young man didn’t seem to hear her; he was still mesmerised by the runecraft enveloping his hand. But the group, and everyone else around, saw what didn’t happen. His hand continued to glow. There was no flash of dissipating magic. The Naming hadn’t worked.

    “He gave a false name!” the priestess shrieked. “Seize him!”

    Wraith had stopped translating, but the others didn’t need the priestess’ words to understand what was going on as the crowd began to yell and the armed man on the plinth ripped his sword from its scabbard and hammered the pommel into the back of the young man’s skull.
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    PM me for novelised versions of any of my RPs, or ones that I have participated in. Set by the awesome Karma.


  6. #106
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    With more reluctance than she had felt towards discussion, Red agreed to stow her colorful clothes. She felt so disgustingly wrong in the new cloth, but was grateful for her scarf. She didn’t mention her biggest concern though. As she was changing, she made sure not to look anybody in the eyes. She had already told these people so much, why should she tell them her masters’ teachings?

    “The eyes are the window to the soul.”

    And hers were so unusual, she recalled, while avoiding eye contact with the group, how her parents had commanded the same for so many years. Her gaze scared them, among others over time. Her parents were discomforted by her differently colored eyes, and demanded she never make eye contact. Her mentor had demanded otherwise.

    “Life is in the eyes.”

    He’d curled the side of his finger under her chin, urging her to look up at him. For so long, looking up at him was all she could do. He’d helped her become capable of so much more.

    “Let me see those eyes.”
    She looked into his for a moment, then looked down. When he tilted her chin higher, she glanced at his face again, then away. She heard him chuckle softly as he withdrew his hand. “Beautiful. Powerful eyes. Green is such a mesmerizing color. Bright, like the hypnotic grass valleys. And Blue, like water, carving it’s way through mountains. I can see why your parents were so afraid.” As he spoke, he stood and drew his hood over his own eyes. “For the sake of blending in, you should keep those covered when we’re in public. But around me, you let me look. And I’ll do the same. Once the Hunters get used to you, they’ll do you the same courtesy.”

    Presently, standing among the crowd, watching this boy sacrifice his name, she curled her hand over her eyes and peeked through her fingers. Along their entire entrance into the city she had looked at the ground, while briefly glancing up at the walls go survey their area. In case they needed to make an escape later on. She tried to make this gesture with her hand look as though she were shielding her sight from the sun, but when the priestess realized his lie, she couldn’t stop herself. She heard some of the Risen words her mentor had taught her.

    Him, or he? And name...fake...to give.

    A guard hit him on the head, and Red burst out laughing. It was loud and obvious, turning several heads from the crowd. She gasped beneath her scarf, tilting her head so far down all she could see was the stone beneath her feet, and stifled her laughter. When she glanced up, too many eyes were on her. She reached for her hood to pull it down over her face, but....oh shit.

    No hood. Her face. Her eyes. Her soul! She breathed out shakily, ready to activate her rune to escape from the dreadful crowd, but stopped before she outstretched one hand. They were all there for a reason. They couldn’t be kicked out. Even though their reasons meant nothing to her, she still wanted to find the red mage. The Leveler already attacked the Light city, and Red would be lying to herself if she believed she wasn’t worried for her mentor. This group was eager to defeat the Leveler. If she stayed with them, she would likely achieve her goals as well. Reminding herself of this, she withheld her urge to escape using her one rune.

    Now, she was left feeling naked. She felt unsteady. Exposed and weak. She darted her gaze around the crowd, spotting a line of buildings with space between them at the edge of the gathering. She weaved her way through the crowd to reach the alleyway, leaving the group behind, but it wasn’t fast or far enough. She started a wobbling sprint, then bolted for the space, knocking over at least a few confused or angry citizens.

    Alleyways. Red loved alleyways. Shortcuts. Hiding spots. Ambush potential. Alleyways were wonderful. The rooftops on either side of the alley casted shadows alongside her boots. At the end of the narrow space, when the shock and chatter of the crowd felt farther away, Red dropped to her knee’s. She heard her mentors voice.

    “Never let them see. Child, your eyes are as obvious to a stranger as your blood lust is to my trained eyes.”

    The scarf around her neck drooped, so she pulled it securely around her nose and mouth. She paused though, thinking back to when her mentor had first taken her to meet the Hunters. He’d covered her eyes, so she wouldn’t know all their secret pathways.

    She pulled the scarf off her neck to immediately wrap it once over her eyes and the bridge of her nose. She knotted it behind her head and let the ends hang down her back. Her long black hair was warm under the sun, though she had tucked half of it beneath the shitty Rise cloak. She reached behind her, her exposed fingers still tingling with discomfort, and tucked the ends of the scarf beneath the cloak. She opened her eyes beneath the scarf, barely able to see past the tightly knitted fabric. Red closed her eyes, and did as she had been taught.

    “HA! Child, do you think I can see from under this thing?” Her mentor pulled down on his hood. “No no no, we Hunters do not rely on our eyes. We use them, but we do not rely on them. We feel the wind, hear the sounds. There’s a whole other world up here,” he tapped the side of his head. “An open plain, constantly changing. Always growing. We do not need shapes and colors to know what is around us. We use the space inside our minds to hold onto everything we need, and toss away everything we don’t. Do not worry. You will learn. I will teach you.”
    Last edited by Katrina; 04-02-2019 at 07:48 AM. Reason: Details

  7. #107
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    Cracked fingertips dragged over the wool again. A faint smile lay on her lips as she looked down on the soft material. It had seen a fair few summers but it was new to her. It was better than the scraps she had been wearing previously. No longer did she appear as a rag tag follower of the group… Instead she was a member who belonged. The wanderer let a small sliver of the material stay in her fingertips as she let her hand drop to her side. A gruff man by the gate spoke in a language that sounded like a bird squawking. Having the Wraith with them was vital to getting in swiftly. For a brief moment, the Wanderers hand twitched. Not in the need to protect herself from the watchful eye of the warden, but to whack Solar round the top of his head when he started to grumble to himself.

    Grey. The city felt like a layer of dust had latched itself to every surface. The writing looked like it was dancing across the stone work and the people were odd. They did not look like anyone she had seen before, there was a different air to them. She was keeping up a good pace, not allowing anyone to hold her gaze for long. Not until she spotted them. A thick metal collar rested against their skin. There posture was that of a beaten dog. The wanderer felt her stomach drop to her ankles. Mages were so powerful in her home city. They were feared and runes were kept away from anyone lesser. This was different. These people around...had power coursing through their veins. But they allowed themselves to be lesser than those who knew nothing of true power...only false power that came from owning gold, land and people.

    “They will all die.” She replied softly to Solar. This city had enacted its own demise before the Leveller had even reached its border. They had destroyed their only defence, reduced them to snivelling pups that followed their masters looking for scraps.


    The scene that unfolded before them was like nothing she had ever seen before. A man willingly standing before a collar, expecting it to be placed upon his skin. Slaves were not gifted such splendor. The collar was thrust upon you, forced to your knees as the torc was made too twisted to remove yourself. The fabric drifted from her fingertips as her hands curled into fists. The man looked so young, so full of hope and glee at the rune before him. His name was given. Something that everyone in their group cringed at. To give your name so freely was so very strange.

    Sharp broken fingernails dug deep into her palm. Her teeth ground into her tongue as she stopped herself from getting involved. The sharp laughter from her right had pain piercing through her palms. Red was laughing. Now. It was obnoxiously loud. Eyes snapped to them, glueing to their flesh, fixating on those who did not know this tradition. Fuck. The harsh shaky breath of Red had the wanderer unclenching her fist. If this woman decided to flee using her rune, the rest of them left would be sitting ducks...in a city filled with angry citizens and restrained yet dangerous mages.

    And she was gone. What began as a shuffle morphed into a sprint, knocking into random people. A flurry of Ash swear words burned on her lips as she watched the woman hide in an alleyway. A grunt to her right dragged her attention back to a small burlap sack that hung from Red’s horse. The wanderer waited and then it sounded again. They had stopped. Why had they stopped….why had they not informed him that they had stopped? She waited a moment before taking the horses reins in her hand and walking the beast away from the chaos. The crowd had mostly returned their attention to the young man being dragged from the platform. The priestess was burned into the wanderers mind. The woman who stood without a collar and screeched bloody murder...she reminded her of the Blue lady.

    A small click from the side of the wanderers mouth altered the horse to move forward. “Come on. Nothing to see here.” She informed the others with a soft voice. Forcing them to follow her towards the alleyway where Red had bolted towards. What they found was not what the wanderer was expecting. Red crouched close to the beaten dirt path...with her scarf wrapped tightly around the top part of her head. The horse beside her let out a harsh puff of air and the wanderer sighed alongside the creature. “That will not help with blending in.” She said with a rather disgruntled look upon her face. “Do me a favour. Take off the fucking blindfold, walk like a normal person and don’t laugh when people are beaten.”

    Her words trailed behind her as the wanderer passed the woman to head down the alleyway. “Just try to be normal for once.” Her biting words left dangling in the air as the wanderer reached into the sack and lifted the loaf half from the bag. His pout spoke volumes. “What did I miss?”


  8. #108
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    His pout spoke volumes. “What did I miss?”

    “Nothing important.” said Illusion, who was still glancing warily between Red and Wanderer.

    The Immortal let out a hmph. His dark eyes roamed the alleyway, where effluvia formed a thick paste in the gutters that lay against the windowless rearsides of two tenement blocks. “Where are we then?”

    The Wraith looked around, but aside from some lewd graffiti scratched by the local Risemen the alley seemed too unimportant to merit a sign or name. “We just came off Tanner Street.” he said, gesturing back towards the end of the alley where the bustle of the city could still be faintly heard.

    “Oh.” said the Immortal, looking unexpectedly pleased. “We’re practically there, then. The Teacher used to live in a hovel on Steel Street, but since then one of the patrons showed a little mercy and moved him to a hospice.” His eyes roamed past Wanderer to another multi-level building that stood at the other end of the alleyway, looming above a row of workshops and stalls. “That one, in fact.”

    They filed out of the evil-smelling alleyway into the adjoining street, onto a road worn into ruts by wagon traffic. A vendor was sizzling skewers of meat on a grimy brazier, and an ironmonger called speculatively out to them when he saw their horses. The beasts whickered and folded their ears back, unhappy with all the noise, but no-one bothered the group as they crossed the road.

    “There’s space for the horses round the other side.” the Immortal advised from back inside Red’s saddlebag, raising his voice as high as he dared so that he could be heard. The information proved to be accurate, as threading between the great grey building and its adjoining shop brought them to an open square with a bustling market. Opposite the grey block some kind of administrative building spread its granite wings, with a knot of visibly armed men in padded jackets standing outside.

    The hospice had a rotted portico with wooden pillars sufficient to hobble the horses. Solar looked warily at the guards on the other side of the market, and decided that they would be enough to deter any thieves as he set about tying up their mounts and lifting down their saddlebags. They entered with their possessions slung over their shoulders, and Red found herself carrying the Immortal, who had demanded to be let out again and held properly.

    It was cold inside despite the heat of the day, the sun struggling to permeate the thick grey stone. The hospice was dim and musty, with old straw covering the floor and worm-eaten doors leading off in rows to either side. The group could hear coughing coming from one of the rooms. Further along was a stone stairway, from which appeared a Risewoman wearing an apron over her loose kalasiris dress.

    “We’re looking for the Teacher.” the Wraith demanded without preamble, speaking in Rise.

    The woman looked at the huge man suspiciously, and wiped her hands on her apron. “The Teacher cannot be disturbed right now.” she answered in the same language.

    “Oh we’ll just come back later then.” the Immortal broke in sarcastically. “Tell him the Immortal is here for him.”

    The woman looked past Wraith to see who had spoken, and jumped back when she saw the bodyless head cradled in Red’s hands.

    “Oh...oh Risen God.” she blurted, making some kind of religious warding gesture with her left hand. “You’re the…?”

    The Immortal groaned and rolled his eyes. “Just do as I say.”

    The woman hovered for a moment, plainly too terrified to disobey. “Oh Risen God...” she murmured again. “I’ll...go and wake him. Please, make yourselves comfortable, there are some free rooms on the second floor.”

    She practically ran back up the stairs, her barefoot steps receding as the group trudged up into another shabby corridor of crumbling mortar and musty straw, though a few of the doors in this row stood open. Illusion looked at Wanderer and shrugged before pushing aside one of the creaking doors to lay down her saddlebag. The Ambassador hovered by the stairs, seemingly unsure what to do. Solar passed down the row of doors and looked in through each before selecting the last one on the left. Each room was as dingy and threadbare as the rest of the building, but this one had a shuttered window to complement its small bed and table. Solar dropped his bag on the bed, causing the rickety slats to creak, and was just opening the window when he heard Wraith step into the room behind him. The wandering Riseman had discarded his bags, though he had taken out his mask and was now cradling the simple iron face in his hands.

    “Get out.” he said simply. “I must pray.”

    Solar blinked at him. “It’s my fucking room.”

    The bigger man’s face was stony. “Out.”

    The young Lightman’s fingers twitched as he thought about summoning a rune, but after a moment he clamped down on the impulse. If they drew attention here, they’d be on the run again, and he’d be even further from knowing if his family was still alive or dead.

    “Fine.” he said sourly. “I’ll go to your room and steal all your shit.”

    Wraith stood aside to let him go. Then he quietly closed the door, hooked his mask back over his face, and lowered himself to his knees in the mouldering straw. He looked towards the window, which faced west towards the mountains leading to the Beyond, and prayed.

    * * * * * *

    The group had perhaps fifteen minutes to their own devices before the nurse reappeared. She looked fearfully at the Immortal, still barely comprehending the talking head that the group had carried into her hospice. “The Teacher will see you now.”

    “Good.” the Immortal answered brusquely. “I assume you’ve already figured this out, but if you tell anyone we’re here I’ll kill you and solder my head onto your decapitated body. Okay?”

    Since he was speaking Rise, only the Wraith understood him as the nurse paled, nodded emphatically and began to stumble up the stairs once more. Immortal met the masked man’s glance with a no, of course not grimace, and was silent as the others carried him up the stairs after the Risewoman. They climbed past a third floor, and then a fourth which formed a single large space instead of a corridor of rooms. Birds nesting in the eaves scratched and fluttered about the roof. A set of sooty-black roof shutters had been hinged back to make a smoke hole, and a bronze brazier was placed below it. The coals in the corroded bowl were giving off more smoke than heat, but they were sufficient to drive some of the building’s persistent chill from the room. A lone figure was hunched in front of the brazier, shapeless beneath a woollen blanket. All they could see was the hair at the back of his head; lank, brittle and mousy-brown, threaded through with strands of grey. The nurse hovered uncertainly for a moment, then slipped past the group to flee back down the stairs.

    “That’s him.” the Immortal murmured, looking at the bundled figure.

    “So you were right.” Illusion breathed in relief.

    “I usually am. Did one of you bring the Book?”

    The hump of blankets shifted slightly, as the man within raised his head in response to the Light tongue being spoken by the door. His hands still hovered before the fire; tan, leathery and gnarled. Red and Wanderer could see them trembling with palsy.

    A cracked voice speaking Rise emanated thinly from within the blanket. “Is...is that...D-”

    “The Immortal.” the Immortal interrupted sternly, and Wanderer and Red felt the air around them prickle. Their bodyless companion continued to speak Light, and the man by the fire shifted to follow suit.

    “I heard you were up north, Immortal.” he replied faintly. He spoke the group’s common tongue raspily, but with fluency. “Breaking into our warded troves and killing their Seeker guardians.”

    “Actually,” the Immortal corrected pedantically, “Half the time I was killing the Leveler’s men who had gotten there first.”

    “Are you here to kill me?” the Teacher asked, without turning round. There was resignation in his voice. “I have nothing left to give you.”

    The Immortal narrowed his eyes slightly. “No, I’m not here to kill you. I just want to talk.”

    “Forgive me for not rising to meet you. A lifetime of rune use takes its toll.”

    “Nothing fucks you harder than time, eh?”

    The Teacher shifted slightly beneath his cloak. “You too are...less than you were, Immortal. I can sense it.”

    The Immortal pressed his lips into a thin line. “I’ll give you five seconds to change that irritating tone of pity to one of awe and respect.”

    The Teacher drew one crooked hand away from the fire to pull the blanket closer around his chest. “There are other mages with you. Who are they?”

    “Well there’s Wanderer, she’s the cynical one...Wraith is the overly serious one...Red is the slightly unstable one...Illusion is the bleeding heart. And Solar is the idiot.”

    Solar bristled. “My friends call me-”

    “Idiot.” the Immortal said flatly.

    “And I can feel a different kind of magic too…” The blanket rose and fell as the man within took a breath. “No, it can’t be...a Mer?”

    Most of the group glanced at the Ambassador, who was fidgeting against the wall.

    “Yep.” the Immortal confirmed. “That’s Ambie.”

    The shrunken figure was silent for a moment, struck by evident awe. “They haven’t been seen above water since the Lightmen finished their hideous purge. Describe her for me?”

    “She's a mermaid with a human maid's arse.” the Immortal answered bluntly, clearly irritated by the strange question.

    The Teacher’s gnarled hand re-emerged from beneath the blanket. “May I feel her?”

    This time the Immortal checked. “Feel?” he repeated, narrowing his eyes.

    Slowly, and with evident pain, the Teacher shuffled around on his pile of frayed cushions. He shrugged the blanket off his shoulders to reveal a thin, fragile body clothed in roughspun brown. An iron collar was twisted around his neck, seeming to bear him down with the weight. Wraith could read the script flowing around his throat as Riley child of Tigan.

    The Teacher’s hair straggled in curtains to either side of his face, falling aside as he raised his head. It was a broad face that had once been strong-jawed and handsome, but now his skin was stretched parchment thin around his hollow cheeks.

    His eyes were milky white.

    “Oh.” the Immortal said gravely. “Well, add our plan to the list of things that are fucked, then.”

    Above the smoke hole, a black bird fluttered up into the air, cawing harshly.

    * * * * * *

    The Apprentice’s eyes were crow-black, sheened with the magic that Hole had stolen from the Raven. He blinked, and when his eyes reopened they had cleared back to soft brown.

    “They’re in the Risen city.” he said, reaching under the shawl that hid his brand-scar to massage his burning neck. They had ridden for six days beyond the walls of their newly conquered city, and used the farsight rune as often as they could stand as they hunted the elusive Lightmen. His lady had commanded it, and so the Apprentice had obeyed, even though he worried at the new order’s figurehead leaving her city so soon after her conquest.

    They have the Book.

    The Apprentice couldn’t imagine anything truly scaring the Leveler, but he had thrown himself into the search all the same. And now his spine was a twisted wire of pain running up his back, but the hunters had finally flushed their quarry.

    “The Risen city…” the Leveler breathed. She rode without armour, but she was still war-painted beneath her riding cloak - a vivid blue slash across her narrowed eyes. “What are they thinking?”

    The Burning chuckled low in his throat. “I don’t know. Let’s split their heads open and read their thoughts.”

    The Apprentice heard hoofbeats cantering up behind, followed by the sound of metal against oiled leather as the Blademaiden automatically drew her sabre and wheeled her horse round. Apprentice turned his own mount, just in time to see an armoured figure crest the rise behind them and come thundering down the dirt road. His small, dark-coated mare was blowing hard, her flanks lathered with sweat. The newcomer had clearly ridden long and hard. As he drew closer, the Apprentice recognised his plumed bronze helmet.

    “Davin.” he greeted neutrally. It was the Apprentice’s nature to see the good in most people, but even he could never quite shake his distrust of the turncoat Lightman.

    Davin slowed his panting horse, and clapped her neck as he drew level with the Leveler.

    “My lady,” he hailed her as she regarded him questioningly. “I’ve ridden from the Enlightened city, with a message from your Arbiter. He said to tell you the Lightmen are restive.”

    He spoke the name as if he no longer counted himself among them, the Apprentice noted. He looked to the Leveler, whose mouth hardened at the unwelcome news.

    “If the Blue Lady can’t keep them in line.” she responded, “We will find someone who can.”

    The Apprentice rubbed at the leather binding around his wrist. The anxieties that had been twisting and gnawing around his mind throughout the hunt scratched their way to the surface once again.

    “My lady.” he spoke up. “It’s not the Blue Lady, it’s us - we’re the foreign invaders. We’re on their streets with weapons, we’re eating rice that should be feeding their own people, and that’s hard enough to come by at the height of the dry season.”

    The Leveler never dismissed his words, but her eyes were unswayed as she turned to look at him. “I care somewhat less about what the Lightmen think.”

    “What about our men?” the Apprentice argued. “They know the Lightmen hate them, and ever since we arrested the Hunters’ leader, our men have been getting ambushed in the streets. It’s corrosive to their morale. They fought to be safe, not to subjugate another city.”

    He knew he was overstepping now, and he could tell it by the way the skin around Leveler’s eyes tightened slightly. But her tone remained conciliatory as she regarded him. He had earned her trust in the gruelling year before they took back the City of Ash, and she had always urged him to say what he believed rather than what he thought she wanted to hear.

    That alone sets her apart from the Old Masters and the Enlightened...if she listens.

    “How long do they think they’ll remain safe if the Lightmen are a credible threat?” the Leveler reasoned. “They fought for freedom.”

    The Apprentice hesitated, torn between what he wanted to say and the instinctive awe that urged him to back down. I am but an Apprentice, and she is the Leveler. Was he arrogant enough to think that he really knew better than she? But he was committed now. And there was one thing about his lady, especially since they had taken the Ash city. A coldness - a relentless, remorseless drive that saw the grand design before the pieces on the board. But those pieces were human; flesh and blood, hope and fear, and though the Leveler now had to carry the weight of ruling thousands, the Apprentice was yet close enough to the humble earth to remind her of it. Because she needed to remember.

    I was a slave, less than nothing, and you raised me up. The others you freed reach for your hand too.

    “They fought for you.” he said at last, earnestly. “And they need you now.”

    The Leveler’s eyes flickered, as if she were about to glance down at her hands holding her stallion’s reins. But she was too strong for that. She held his gaze, unblinking.

    “Do you know what these five vagabonds have with them? Do you know what will happen if we let them go free long enough to learn how to use it?” The Apprentice saw her knuckles blanch as she squeezed the reins. “How long will my men stand by me if I’m just another powerless human?”

    Apprentice looked back at her - his lady, the one who shouldered the burden that no-one else could, the one who had both the vision and the willpower to force it into being. That took more than rune-strength.

    “They don’t think you’re a god.” he said. “You don’t need to pretend to be one.”

    For a long moment the Leveler was silent. Then she reached for the pouch hanging from her belt, unbuttoned the flap with a twist of finger and thumb, and drew out a dark runestone shot through with pale swirls. The Scorpion’s rune - another prize, torn from the cold dead hands of another man who refused to bend to the Leveler’s implacable will.

    “Here.” She held it out to the group, and seemed to consider for a moment, before pushing it towards Davin. “You too, Lightman. Let’s finish this.”

    * * * * * *

    A smile creased the Teacher’s worn, withered face.

    “I disappoint you?” he asked in response to the group’s brief silence.

    “Well,” Illusion admitted, “We were kind of hoping that you could translate a book for us…”

    The Teacher sighed, slumping his skeletal shoulders. “I’m afraid I can’t read now, any more than I can cast runes.”

    There was a dull thud behind them, and the group turned to see that the Ambassador was still fidgeting, hopping from foot to bare foot among the straw.

    “What’s up with you?” Solar asked.

    “Too many days.” the Mer mumbled, pushing past him towards the door. “Need water.”

    Without further explanation, she exited the room and began to patter down the stairs.
    Last edited by Azazeal849; 04-04-2019 at 10:30 PM.
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  9. #109
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    Beneath her blindfold, Red was far more interested in Ambie than whatever this weak man had to offer. She pushed through the group from the back of the room and followed Ambie down the the stairs. She called out to the woman she’d heard address the group earlier. “Woman! Water NOW!”

  10. #110
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    This place feels like death. The thought clung to her skull as they ventured up a set of stairs. It held a dull aching energy and the wanderer wanted to limit her time within the grey walls. Free rooms...the idea flew across her head. Nothing was free. Illusion gave her a look before venturing into an empty room. The wanderer did not find her own room. She hovered like a bad smell by the door. Dull green eyes snapped over every surface. The bed was thin and the table was a few scraps of wood knocked together, the room was furnished on a budget...a tight budget.

    Her teeth raked her bottom lip as the Illusion got herself comfortable. Placing her bag down on the floor and heading to the window. Opening the curtain a twitch to peer outside. The loaf was still trying to order people around. He was failing in his demands to get Red to take him to a window or take him here. The wanderer shook her head softly and let her gaze drift down the corridor. Most of the other rooms were closed off. The dark wooden doors felt like a hand in her face, barring her from entry. Her time as a “free” woman had filled her with courage. She prided herself on her ability to not back down or feel fear over small things anymore. But the closed door hit a new fear bubbling in her stomach.

    One small step towards the door and she tasted blood. Tearing at her bottom lip had caused her to bleed. It was a door. That was she kept repeating silently. It was just a door. It was only two steps away. It would take seconds. She could push the door and rest for a short while. Sleep in a bed and not on wooden floorboards or dirt. Another step and she could feel her fear creeping up her spine. Slowly winding around her chest, tightening its grip on her lungs. The others continued their conversations but they were in the background. Merely muffled voices as she felt her gaze would burn through the wood. One last step. Her limbs felt frozen, a single movement and she would snap the ice holding her muscles rigid.

    One last step…

    “The Teacher will see you now.”

    The sudden intrusion made her twitch. The ice shattered and she let her head turn towards the terrified woman. The wanderer knew that the Immortal had power but what could he had done to cause such terror in a hospice nurse. Whatever he said made the woman turn two shades paler as she stumble away. Even an idiot could tell that the Immortal had threatened her to keep her mouth shut. If the house stank of death, the fourth floor was it’s smoky death ridden centre. The thing before them did not look human. Trembling fingers cast strange shadows on the floorboards. A cracked voice spoke...D. That was noted for later, only because of the stern response of the Immortal.

    The conversation batted back and forth like a cat playing with a ball of string. “One of awe and respect” had her attention return to the conversation as she let a small snort leave her lips. The immortal’s ego was really something to write home about. Cynical one. She would take that as a compliment. One does not go through a life like hers without being cynical of everything and everyone you encounter. Of course, Ambie would warrant attention. She was something few had ever seen let alone be in the same room as. Feel her. That had her axe slowly drifting down to her side. Hanging loosely in her grip. She did not know the Rise customs, she did not want to find out the hard way that they thought something strange about Mer’s skin.

    The axe nearly slipped from her grip when the man revealed himself. The others concentrated on his pale eyes, a symbol of hopelessness for their cause. All she could focus on was the heavy iron collar twisted around his neck. She could see the raw skin underneath it from where she stood. She could vaguely see a twirled writing atop the hard metal. Obviously it was his name. He couldn’t see, he could barely cast runes...why was the collar still burning into his skin then.

    “Need water.” Oh for fucks sake. The wanderer glanced behind her as the Mer vaulted down the stairs, followed swiftly by her puppy dog companion of Red. The harsh demand that burst from the hooded woman’s lips had the wanderer muttering curses underneath her breath.

    The axe slumped to the floor and was gently laid down. “I am coming closer.” She announced to the room as she moved slowly towards the huddled mass of blankets. “My name is the Wanderer.” She said, using her words as a way to highlight how close she was to the man. “I cannot help with your lack of sight.” When close enough, she reached a hand out and let her weathered palm brush his shoulder. “But I can help with the other burden pressing down on your skin.”

    The milky pale colour of his eyes was staggering up close. The wanderer slowly dropped to her knees to rest beside the man. Her fingertips moved to the collar around his neck. “I can remove it...please let me remove it.” Her words more a plea than a question. “I don’t think you can help with our quest any more. But I can help your days be more comfortable here.” The wanderer placed her hand over the older mans as she glanced back to the group. With a simple nod of her head, she beckoned the illusion over. The one who held the book in her bag. An idea had formed in her mind when she saw the extent of his blindness. “Can you feel me holding your hand?” She asked the man was the Illusion joined her on the floor.

    “Can you feel the little scars that litter my skin?” She waited a moment before breathing her suggestion. “Could you read letters if I raised them up like the scars on my hand?” It was a pitiful attempt at helping their cause but it was all she could do. None of them had healing magic enough to cure blindness (this she knew from the exasperated groan of the immortal). But she had to try.


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