Dark Jack

The Prophecy

Outside the southern gates of Zerul City

Though the suggetsion was essentially sensible, Jaelnec’s enthusiasm was somewhat dampened by Domhnall reaching the conclusion that it would be best to stay and wait for Claw to arrive, to avoid any possible misunderstandings that might arise from the Zerulics being approached by something that was undeniably difficult to tell from a large man-eating beast... which Claw might be, for all Jaelnec knew, though a relatively sapient and supposedly honorable specimen of such. It was not just that he wanted to forge ahead and progress in the completion of his quest, but also that he was eager to reunite with Aemoten and Thaler, especially with how poorly they had both been doing lately, Thaler in particular. With Angora’s description of the things that made their home in the underworld of Zerul City fresh in his mind, he was reluctant to leave his friends without his protection for long.
Domhnall’s inquiry about Djubei earned him another deeply confused look from Thomas, and even Jaelnec was somewhat taken aback until he realized that it was only natural for word about such a thing as Djubei not to spread that far, even if it was relatively common knowledge in Rodoria.
“Djubei isn’t really a... person,” the squire tried to explain, looking to Thomas for confirmation that he was not saying anything wrong. “It’s actually a matter of some debate what Djubei is, but supposedly it lives under the mountain and is the reason the area around it is always covered in mist.”
“Some people call it the ‘God of Misfits’, but we’re pretty sure it isn’t a god,” Thomas joined in, apparently catching on about what needed to be explained. “It’s hard to study it very well, though, since most of the entrances to its tunnels have collapsed over the ages. And even then people who try to find it tend to... disappear. We don’t actually know of any way down to it now, and even if you could get down there, we don’t know whether Djubei would be inclined to talk to you... or if it even can talk.”
“I read some of the deo’iel’s records about it, and though they don’t know much about it either, they think it’s most likely a very powerful monster of some kind.” Jaelnec threw his arms wide on the horse in a gesture meant to entail unspecified enormity. “Apparently it’s huge, and it has tentacles. And that’s about all they know.”

The Prophecy

Outside the southern gates of Zerul City

“Someone… what?” Thomas asked with renewed uncertainty, clearly confused by Domhnall’s description of their soon to be arriving acquaintance, but Jaelnec spoke before the boy even had time to finish those two words.
“Claw is coming after all?” he asked, equally surprised and pleased with the news. “How do you- actually, never mind that. That’s great news.” He turned to Thomas. “Claw isn’t human, in case that wasn’t clear from Domhnall’s description. He’s, uh… best way I can describe him is as a cross between a tarke and a Melenian, only instead of being catlike he’s more wolflike.”
“Uh…” Thomas seemed completely lost, struggling to keep up with the unexpected developments he had to deal with during his supposedly simple task of receiving William’s allies. “Okay, I guess I’ll… pass that description on, and let them know that this creature isn’t dangerous.”
“But the Withering?” Jaelnec asked eagerly, his enthusiasm picking up further as his hope soared at the thought of successfully ending the plague. “You said he cured it? How?”
“You can ask him yourself, he’s in the city,” Thomas suggested, immediately more comfortable once the topic changed to what he had expected to talk about. “But the short version seems to be that he went to Mount Zerul after he started showing symptoms, and for some reason his health started improving until all trace of the Withering was gone. Apparently he’s convinced that he was saved by ‘Lord Djubei’, of all things.”
“The mountain? It could have been the Ice Clan, somehow…” Jaelnec mused, but the other quickly shook his head.
“He assured us that he didn’t have any contact with anyone there, and that he stayed at the foot of the mountain. He said… he said the fog cured him, and that the fog came from Djubei.”

The Prophecy

Outside the southern gates of Zerul City

“Others...” Thomas repeated, seemingly taken aback more by Domhnall’s accent than his words, but generally confused nonetheless. “I was looking for the ghiril armor because I figured it’d be the most easily recognizable… and worn by the leader…”
“The man riding the beast Domhnall described is the leader now,” Jaelnec remarked a bit more grimly than he had meant to, especially considering that stepping down as leader had been his own decision. “The woman – a daywalker – and him went ahead of us earlier; they should have come through already.”
“Is that so?” Thomas shifted his weight from one foot to the other, eyes shifting nervously as he tried to deal with this unexpected development. “But… Oh!” He suddenly clapped his hands loudly with a victorious expression on his face, apparently remembering something. “I do remember a large creature I’ve never seen the likes of before coming through earlier! Was scared that it’d attack the refugees until I realized someone was riding it. The people riding it… I guess they might fit your description?” He winced, seemingly trying and failing to remember. “My attention was more on the beast than the rider, but there might’ve been a man and a woman on its back. I think the man spoke with some guardsmen on his way through, though I think they’ve been relieved by now.”
Jaelnec frowned. “Didn’t William mention Aemoten – the tall foreigner? He knew him, at least.”
“Probably,” Thomas shrugged apologetically, “but do you have any idea how many refugees have come through here the last day’s time? ‘Nightwalker in ghiril armor with a black coat and wide-brimmed hat’ is much more distinctive than ‘tall foreigner’… even without the coat I was sure you were Jaelnec.” His arms dropped down his sides as he let out a sigh. “Besides, you’d think William would’ve mentioned the beast he was riding; way more distinctive than anything else.”
“Etakar – the creature – only found us after William left; he didn’t know about it.”
Thomas nodded, smiling. “That makes sense, I guess. Regardless, if you ask about the creature in the city, I’m sure you’ll have no problem tracking down your leader. In the meantime I have information for you! William had some people interview the person of interest you’re here for, and something really came up! Turns out he really claimed to have contracted the Withering and been cured!”

From Downfall ReRisen

There were a lot of questions that Kay wanted to ask about Enn’s helmet, about where they came from – did his old faction make them, or did they simply have a stash of them that they obtained from somewhere? - and just why the Trenians had not fielded equivalents to them if they ended up with intact examples every time they won a battle, but she ultimately decided against it. Chances were that Enn did not know anything about it anyway, and even if he did it was not relevant to their current situation. Even so, his arguments did little to abate her desire to get her hands on his helmet, and even less to lessen her curiosity. What was it that made the helmets so advanced, she wondered? And why did the Trenians, with access to technology like automated drones and “hell-lasers”, not have the ability to make those helmets themselves, let alone simply copying designs made available to them?
In truth, it only made things worse that Enn practically turned the helmet into a challenge. “You’d have to be better than the entire Tenian faction,” he said. Well, who was to say that she was not? Granted, it was not all that likely that she was – she was not even the best from Eighfour, and not even a specialist at that – but it was possible. How exhilarating would it be to prove herself better than all the tech specialists of an entire faction combined?
She was not sure what he had in mind concerning keeping what he had but making himself look less Anderekian, either. If the helmet was indeed so unique and impossible to replicate, did that not make it the single most easily identifiable feature about him?

Enn’s apparent handicap in normal conversation did present an unfortunate problem, even ignoring how thoroughly sad the reason for that handicap was. No civilians, no parents, no relatives? She had no doubt that his old faction was big and powerful enough to go to war and actually stand a chance, and that they had a lot of fancy toys and resources… but what was the point of it all? They fought, killed and took to… be able to fight, kill and take even more? They made themselves strong just to be able to get even stronger?
It sounded as though it was normal for Enn, but also like he somehow knew that it was not how it was everywhere else. The implications of how he had any experience with the concept of civilians and such when he had never interacted with such personally was… disconcerting, at best.
“I’m… sorry about that,” she told him, wincing uncomfortably at how awkward that sentence felt in her mouth. “That sounds horrible. I’ll help you get on their good side… or, well, at least try to convince them that you can be trusted. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

And so, turning around to wave her goodbyes to the spotter-birds – presuming and hoping that they would not follow – Kay lead Enn through the forest, heading back to the faction she had actually intended to leave behind with her new acquaintance. It was a long walk, though, and even with thunder up above and the looming threat of aggressive, warlike factions potentially combing through the forest, Kay could not stop herself from chatting enthusiastically with her companion.
At first she figured she would educate him on Eighfour a little, and talked at length about just how her faction worked. Their primary defense was the forest itself, naturally, which made reaching Eighfour by land with anything larger than a small cart difficult and made it virtually impossible to spot it from the air. She confirmed his unspoken suspicion of the settlement having gates, describing the ten meter tall wall of rock and wood they had erected around the entirety of their land, on top of which their best marksmen took turns patrolling, armed with their own choice of gun for the work. She went on for some time listing the people on the list for guard duty, ranging from boys and girls barely into their teens to some of the factions more capable elders, and their favored guns, which in turn ranged from improvised pipe guns to high-powered sniper rifles, assault rifles and machine guns, though more of the former than the latter. None of their guns were likely to stop the hulking war-machines she had seen last night, but they counted on the dense forest itself to stop those. She also described their flak-turrets in greater detail, pointing out that they had not actually been used to shoot down anything in her lifetime, were manned and manually controlled, and were basically 130mm semi-automatic cannons… a far cry from the anti-air “hell-lasers” his old enemies apparently deployed, but enough to punch through the armor of anything she could imagine being capable of flight.
Then she went on to talk about the daily life in Eighfour, and how they actually lived as opposed to functioning as… whatever his old faction could be called. They had farmers, obviously, but not nearly as many as one would expect for a faction their size; out of the thousand or so people calling the settlement home, only a dozen or so were actual farmers. They mostly cared for the faction’s livestock and grew a few resilient crops that could thrive even in the shade of the forest, whereas the largest part of their population – the engineers – were those who actually kept the people fed through liberal use of hydroponics, growing their crops indoors under artificial conditions. She could not tell him for certain whether there had been hydroponics tables from the beginning or whether the founders of Eighfour had installed them, but she knew that they had at the very least expanded and improved upon the operation over time, upgrading their facilities over time to support their growing population.
Which, in turn, lead her to start talking about her own life in the faction; how her people did grow up with their parents… for most of her childhood, anyway. Her enthusiasm faltered somewhat when she told him the story of how her mother had been late from scouring and her father having gone out to find her and bring her back, only for the fog to appear and presumably swallow them both, for them never to be seen again. Remarkably her mood seemed to pick right back up again, though, as she quickly changed the topic to how Gramps and several other elders had taken her under their wings along with the other orphans of the faction – of which there were disturbingly many, with the state of the world being what it was – and had trained her to become a productive member of the community. She had started out assisting with the vital hydroponics operation and, once she was old enough, had finally been given free reign of her time and skills, to learn, recover, restore and build as much as she possibly could. She eagerly described the various projects she had embarked upon during the first years of her career, from a simple handheld grabber arm, to clocks, to refrigerators, to automated cookers and her first drone, which she remarked also “lived” in her cart: a small land-based rover affectionately named “Buddy”.
Her face fell somewhat when she reached the point when she had started tampering with weapons technology. It had gone splendidly at first, with her being able to cobble together pipe guns and the like with ease, and with ammunition being fairly simple to produce once one had the necessary molds and materials. When she had been trying to build something sturdier and more powerful, however, it turned out that she had probably gotten overconfident and careless, because the rifle she had been trying to build misfired, practically exploding in her hands and showering her face in fragments, along with the intended projectile. The accident nearly killed her, she had been told, and rendered her unconscious for quite a while… long enough, it turned out, for some of her fellows to decide that this was an opportune time to test the gate, which they claimed was what had restored enough of her cerebral functions to let her wake back up. She made no attempt to hide her distrust of the others’ intentions and her dislike of this change to her person, but did not outright accuse them of turning her into a science experiment either.
It was at this point that she felt the need to explain their faction’s possession of the gate and her artificial eye, and told him the story of where it came from. Decades ago by now one of their scourers had come upon a human carcass in a ravine, which had seemed like it had been dead for some time. Whether it was correct to even refer to the corpse as a “human” was potentially a matter of some debate, however, as what they had found had actually been more machine than flesh and bone, with all limbs and most of its organs replaced with cybernetic prosthetics. Though some of those cybernetic parts had been damaged or were outright missing, most of it had actually been in surprisingly good condition and required little to no work to restore to working order. By taking notes on how the parts had been installed on the corpse they had been able to figure out most of how they worked and how they connected to the host and each other… at least enough so that they had managed to plug the gate and an eye from the corpse into Kay while she was unconscious. Now they kept suggesting installing various other cybernetic replacements in her because they would not work without the gate, and were likely more effective than organic parts anyway, but she refused; having a toaster on her face was enough disfigurement for her.
Since then, she mused, she had been a lot less mindful about doing things for the sake of the faction and had started doing things for herself instead, like crafting the scavenger gun and going out scouring on her own, keeping whatever she found for herself to play with. She did exactly as much as was required to be considered a productive member of society, but no more than that.

Eventually, a while after they had started encountering scattered tree-stumps in the ground and discernible trails through the undergrowth, Kay looked at Enn with a frown.
“We’re nearly there,” she told him, waving her hand at him in a somewhat dismissive manner. “Just a bit further ahead and we’ll be in view of the gate. Just… put away your rifle as well as you can and walk next to me, all right? It’d be a shame if they thought you’d taken me hostage and was forcing me to take you here; depending on who’s watching the gate they might hurt you, or worse. Some of the guys are a bit overenthusiastic about getting to test their guns on ‘real’ targets.”

The Prophecy

Zerul City, I’onriyi’s estate

So, Nimbus figured as she listened to I’onriyi’s explanation of his scepter – “united winds”, apparently, though the archangel had no idea why he spoke the name in the arcane language – his outrage had been about Male’dai treating enchanting as a pass-time. There was perhaps some merit to taking offense from that, considering how important the discipline was to him, but surely he could not expect everyone who dappled in a field of knowledge to hold it in as high regard as he did. There were mages who barely even cared to study magic, painters who could go months without putting brush to canvas, hobbyist archers who only picked up a bow when they felt like it. This did not mean that magic, painting or archery were not things that required time and effort to build proficiency in, but merely that not everyone partook in them for the sake of achieving mastery. To say that something was universally incapable of being a pass-time, no matter how difficult or time-consuming doing anything worthwhile would be through it, could never be true.
Perhaps their perspectives differed as well? It was undeniably a possibility that I’onriyi – a penin – would disapprove more of pursuits that served little purpose outside passing time enjoyably than they did. His kind did have a finite lifespan, after all, whereas deigan were known to never age... not to mention that Nimbus was even a true immortal, incapable of dying permanently and literally with all of eternity before her. It would be logical for him to simply place greater value in time than them, even if penin did live for centuries.
“I’m not sure if I’d be capable of enchanting in the first place,” Nimbus pointed out when their host suggested that they could make something before setting out on whatever journey he had in mind. “From what I can tell from Male’dai’s knowledge it is a discipline that builds on manipulation of matter through magic, and I am unsure whether immortal energy is suitable for it and if it is, whether Male’dai’s skills would even apply to how it behaves. In Heaven all I had to do was call the fabric of reality and it would shape itself to my will... I have never created anything in Reniam.”
She shrugged. “But I suppose I could assist nevertheless, if you wish. I imagine that my divine hand could be helpful, at least.” She would also like a proper weapon so that she was not reduced to defending herself with a dagger when danger arose, but she dared not ask any more of this man. She would make do with the dagger if the situation demanded it.

And then she was back in the kitchen, seating herself back and the table, sipping her tea and idly stuffing little torn-up pieces of bread in her mouth as she stared off into space, frowning to herself. Meeting I’onriyi had gone well... in fact it had gone much better than either of them had expected it to. Or more smoothly, at least, which was what concerned Nimbus now that the tension of trying to make a positive impression on her chosen companion had lifted. Being accepted by the penin had been much too easy.
They had expected him to be much more cautious and curious about them, particularly about their pasts and motivations, but apparently the little man had been satisfied with nothing more than a superficial summary of Male’dai’s background and current state. Specifically, Nimbus was surprised and worried that I’onriyi had showed practically no interest in her beside the fact that she was an archangel and which abilities she could contribute. He had not at all looked into her motivations, her past, her situation... the majority of his interest had been in Male’dai. How could he not question why she was willing to spend her time and effort keeping Male’dai alive in the first place? Why they were trying so hard to do good? Or why an archangel, of all things, would even be allowed to abandon her duties to pursue a fanciful adventure such as this?
Did he imagine that she was trustworthy and harmless just because she was an angel? The very thought seemed obscene to her, but they were the “good immortals”, after all, so perhaps some mortals did expect them all to be perfectly benevolent, though such expectations would imply that he had no knowledge of angels or fear or penance, to be sure... or even archangels of Rilon, Frenis or Deliph, for that matter. Since her ascension – her earliest memory – she had learned that angels were not all the same, and some were indeed as terrifying and dangerous as any demon. Even benevolent angels were ultimately soldiers, created specifically to fight in the eternal war that was bound to resume sooner or later. War was the very purpose of their existence, including hers.
If he accepted her so easily, what manner of secrets could these other companions be hiding? If she, whom he knew next to nothing of, was indeed so preferable to their company... just how bad were they?

I’onriyi was not gone for long, as it turned out, but seemed revitalized when she rejoined her, now clad in more modest and socially acceptable attire. He also seemed eager to leave and find the companions he had spoken of earlier, to “see what sort of explanation these men could possibly have for the situation he found them in just yesterday,” which made Nimbus curious and concerned as to just what kind of situation that had been. When they had met it had been a situation much like that of a beggar approaching a merchant for scraps – at least the initial impression could easily have been as such – and she struggled to imagine what situation could be more unflattering than that.
He probably found them doing something illegal, Male’dai suggested, sounding somewhat concerned herself. Or something violent, but which for some reason didn’t warrant stopping them... or bar them from being potential allies. There must have been extenuating circumstances of some kind.
She quickly threw the last crumbs from her plate in her mouth and followed up with a mouthful of tea – which was still too hot for her to comfortably drain the remainder of the cup – before she stood once more, brushing her dress nervously with her hands. She nodded solemnly and followed.

Soon after they arrived at an establishment going by the name “the Drunken Dove” – a name that was quite perplexing to angel and deigan alike – which looked to be quite empty for the time being and look like a battlefield on the inside. Something had clearly happened here, and Nimbus had a grim suspicion that she could guess at least part of it. The inn only looked empty, after all; they could hear faint, agitated voices from somewhere else in the building, sufficiently muffled to be unintelligible, though at least one of them did sound recognizably feminine. Nimbus also immediately registered a demonic taint lingering in the air that made her feathers bristle.
“Demonspawn,” she warned I’onriyi as she glared past what appeared to be a magically erected stone pillar in the far side of the room, behind which a hallway lead to the rest of the building. Her hand was on her dagger instantly. A thought suddenly occurred to her. “I hope those are not the companions you spoke of?”

The Prophecy

and
The ride was uncomfortable in the extreme. Angora's adrenaline had by now worn off in its entirety, and by the gods her body ached. Her head was fuzzy still from Iridiel's heavy blow, and her muscles were sore and tired from overexertion. Added to her misery was the seemingly-constant, incessant rain. She was sodden to the skin, and what made it worse was the squire she was riding with, sitting in front. Part of her wanted to cling onto him to make sure she didn't fall off, and part of her realised if she did so... he might jump off. Again. Such a difficult one to anticipate...
Well. She had just stripped off in the middle of the camp. Perhaps she needed to apologise for that. And for her actions. It was probably the best first step in trying to soothe flared tempers in the group. And yet she felt as though her speaking might aggravate things. The squire was not an easy one to judge, although he had most certainly judged her already. But judges can and should change their minds, given new evidence.
It had over ten minutes, with nothing but the clopping of hooves on earth.
"Hey... Jaelnec, right?" Her voice was quiet, though it retained its ethereal quality and tone. "I uh... just want to say sorry. For first off... attacking you guys. Might seem pointless to say sorry for something you couldn't really control, but I want to apologise. And I'm not just saying that because it's the right thing to do. I mean it."

Jaelnec, meanwhile, was probably just as uncomfortable with the situation as Angora. Having a girl he had pretty much just seen naked sitting within touching distance, so close that all it really took for him to feel her against his back was a small dent in the road, was having a rather observable effect on the nightwalker. Or it would have observable, had he not arranged himself the way he had specifically to hide said effects. He kept himself as rigid as humanly possible, trying to keep as much distance as he could between himself and his passenger, and his gaze fixed on the path ahead.
It was horrible. Not only did he really not want to think of the murderess as a girl after what she had told them back at the camp, but now that he was, all manner of different chivalrous concerns came to mind. How he thought he should really offer to wrap her in his cloak, how it would be safer and more comfortable if she was hold on to him as they rode. Only, one of those things would remove one of the last physical barriers between him and her, and the other would make it extremely difficult for him to take his mind off what he had seen recently.
When she spoke his first reaction was to be grateful to have something to be angry about, immediately distracting himself from her femaleness by fixating on the fact that she did not seem confident in remembering his name. She continued before he could vent his not-entirely-justified anger, however, and he found himself somewhat unwillingly placated by her words.
“It wasn’t you,” he told her, reiterating what she had already been told. “And nobody got seriously hurt. Not... really. So it’s okay.” He wanted to say more, commenting grimly on how unusual it must be for her to feel responsible for her actions – particularly when those actions were not even hers – and that she had been hurt worse than any of them, but he decided against it. Besides, she had said “first off”.

Angora listened intently to Jaelnec's speech. The cold and the rain made her shiver, and she fought hard to keep her teeth from chattering - how she wished that the spirit's warmth still protected her! She readied herself for the condemnation - only for Jaelnec to take the exact opposite stance. He seemed to understand, seemed to acknowledge that it wasn't truly her, but something else entirely, using her body. "That's... good to hear. I know it wasn't truly me that did this, but... it still feels wrong to simply accept that. It was my body, my form. But... Thank you, Jaelnec." The squire's words comforted her. Though he no doubt was still very angry at her, his declaration that he at least gave the image of forgiveness and understanding was a great burden off her shoulders. The first step on the road to reconciliation. Now to take the long jump into the unknown.
"I also want to apologise for my actions at the campfire." She let her words sink in slightly, and cleared her throat, trying to shift slightly on the horse as she did so, also trying to keep away from the squire - to respect his own personal space. She noted that he was as stiff and rigid as a wall - why? Was he injured? Was this how he rode a horse? If it was, it was a most intriguing style. Or was he hiding something? Oh... he might well be. And so, her thoughts moved to him. A striking figure for sure, with those deep black eyes... veritable pools of inky darkness. Like the darkness she used during her work, as black as the night sky. She snapped herself back to reality. "I, erm... didn't know you'd have such a reaction. I guess in hindsight it should have been obvious right?" She gave a nervous giggle, unsure what reaction that sentence would garner, but she pressed on regardless. "Sorry. If I'd known that would happen I would have changed over at the river. I guess I was, uh, only thinking about the practical matters at the time. Kind of a holdover from the spirit, I suppose."

He did not realize what she meant by her “actions at the campfire” until she mentioned his reaction to them, which to him removed all need for clarification. Had he not been wearing a cloak and armor she might have noticed the muscles in his back going taut at the thought of those events. She might have noticed his biceps and neck-muscles growing tense regardless; all he knew was that her mention of those events, the thought of what he had seen and the fact that he felt her shuffling about behind him made him very keen not to move from the spot.
Even so he found himself a little indignant over her words. “Why would it have been obvious?” he asked, so distracted by what that assumption implied that he forgot to address her apology.

He tensed even more - in anger? Angora panicked, stammering out a sentence before she was able to compose herself. "No, no no, I meant... I, uh..." Angora sighed, wiping away the rain from her face to hide her embarrassment. Pull yourself together, girl. "Damn it... I meant that I should have known not to do that, to be mindful of other people, right? I haven't had to deal with actual people in... however long it's been. I forgot that you can't just do things like that. People in the city don't go about in naught but their skin, right? I mean, unless things have really changed over the last few months, hehe..." Another nervous giggle. "I didn't mean anything negative by it. Just that in hindsight I guess I should have known better."
Shame. It was a new feeling to her. She had acted worse than a back-alley slut, a whore, and now she was feeling the consequences of it. She had been so blunt, so overt with herself, she felt... dirty. Women of the dockyards were better than that, by the gods...

Jaelnec slumped a little – just the tiniest bit – at that, and if she was paying attention she might notice the flush of crawling up his neck. Of course that was what she had meant, it was, itself, obvious. He had to stop himself from groaning in regret and shame for having immediately jumped to the conclusion that she had meant it as belittlement of him; that he was a prude, innocent, naive or some combination thereof... that he was a child. Suddenly he wished that he had taken the chance when he had it to escape this life and found the worm-people.
“Oh,” he mumbled awkwardly, too embarrassed with himself to be very eloquent. “Uh, right. Well, I guess that’s... fine. No harm done.” No physical harm, anyway.

For Angora, noticing even the smallest things around her was vital when she was in the city, and even more so when she was alone in the wilds of Rodoria. Suffice to say, it therefore should not come as a surprise to know that she noticed Jaelnec's abrupt change in attitude, as well as his change of posture. He seemed... deflated, almost defeated? Had she said something to upset him unknowingly once more? "A-are you sure? I mean, not to intrude... If you say so." Mutual awkwardness was abound in great quantities, the air so thick with it that Angora felt as if she was drowning, unable to breathe properly. Her chest tightened, her breathing quickening to an uncomfortable pace. She, too, began to freeze in place on the saddle, though her grip on the saddle itself tightened to such an extent that her knuckles were screaming in outrage. Yet she held on, hoping to find something to calm herself down with. Or at least, to ground herself in reality, to prevent anything untoward happening. Meanwhile, the Black Sword had begun to glow seemingly white-hot in her makeshift scabbard at her belt - the raindrops almost instantly vaporised into minuscule clouds of steam as they impacted on the flawless obsidite blade, rising into the air. The warmth was welcoming to Angora, who until that time was convinced she was at least suffering the beginnings of frostbite - how ironic, she thought, to get frostbite in the rain.

“Yeah...” the squire exhaled, unsure what more to say. “I mean...” Yes? What did he mean? He was not even sure that he knew where his own thoughts were going.
He shook his head, chuckling quietly to himself. “I’ve been raised to be a knight for half my life, and though my master was a shameless womanizer, I always resolved to be better. That even if I couldn’t fight as well as him or be as smart as him, at least I’d be... I don’t know, a better person? And I try to be good, but...” He sighed. “I don’t know where I’m going with this. Forget I said anything. It doesn’t matter to you anyway.”

"I... I see." Angora nodded slightly, perhaps understanding more about this man than he truly wanted to let on. That's why he had judged her so... harshly? That he wanted to hold people to account to keep people from falling into the depths of depravity, as his own 'master' had done. And that he did so because he held himself to such high standards, and couldn't afford to have those standards compromised in any way? Perhaps - it made sense to her. Knights to her were tyrants, men who ruthlessly exploited their power to benefit themselves, just like all the other lords and ladies, a hierarchy that she, as a burgher, was shielded from. The cities kept to themselves, paid their taxes and made sure the monarch didn't infringe on their old rights... right?
"...You try to be good in a world where good is almost overrun." She ignored his last sentences. It did matter, by the gods, they were going to be working together, of course it mattered! Angora relaxed, slouching slightly in her saddle seat, though still careful not to make contact and reinforce the squire's sense of unease. He was but a couple of inches taller than her, though he was more well-built as of course men tended to be. He had quite the attractive frame, actually... Stop it.
"I sort of know what you mean. Of course, I didn't have, like, knightly training or anything, but I grew up in a family, as you know, built on crime. Mama the chatelaine, Papa the goldsmith, bought and sold with blood money. You know... I didn't choose to be a Cleaner. I know it probably sounds, like, really outlandish and like I'm covering up for myself, but... I didn't."
Angora sighed and shook her head. "I... I shouldn't be saying this. But I will, because if you and I have to work together, you need to know things about me. My father is Erik Kelenwyn, captain-junior of the Dramburgh crime family. The Dramburghs specialise in Cleaners - which meant that I was practically trained to be one from when I could first hold a sword and bat my eyelashes. I do what I do because I'm told to do it. The money... yeah, sure, whatever, it's nice and all, but you have no idea what happens if I say no, Jaelnec." Angora shuddered, memories of the one and only time she said 'no' coming dangerously close to the fore. "They break you, Jaelnec. They break you in ways you never thought possible. I can't say no. I said it once. I say it again, I die." She lowered her head, her sodden hair falling about her face. "They said they'd hand me over to the government. A good execution to prove that the city's government were tackling the problems. Or just a good way of getting the people's minds off things."

At first Jaelnec had no idea what Angora was talking about, but it did not take long to realize that she had taken his words even more heavily than he had meant them. He had thought simply to justify why he had reacted the way he had to seeing her in the nude, his conviction that it was his duty not to look, which he had failed at... and she thought he had spoken of so much more. Furthermore it seemed that she took the time to open up some more about herself, which Jaelnec instinctively dreaded, given what she had revealed about herself previously.
But then that one sentence – “I didn’t choose to be a Cleaner” – made him listen to her explanation with a new frame of mind. From the moment she uttered those words, though she likely could not see it from behind him, he frowned deeply, and when he felt her shudder at the thought of her past that frown turned to a scowl. By the time she finished her tale he was holding on to the reins so tightly that it hurt, biting down on his rage and just trying to stop himself from urging the horse into a gallop to get to Zerul City as soon as possible, to find the people responsible.
“They can try,” he told her, a dark edge to his voice that rendered it akin to a low growl. “People like that... the world is better off without them. I’ll die before I turn a blind eye to something like that!”
Then he sighed deeply, and this time he seemed to deflate all the way rather than just a little, falling into a more natural pose as he relaxed more than he had since seeing her naked. He let his fury drain into that sigh, and it, in turn, had made him forget about his reservations about her closeness. He felt tired, suddenly... but he knew the anger was still there, just under the surface. Only now it was not directed at Angora.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I thought...” He shook his head. “It’s their fault. They’re worse than... they’re the worst. They need to be stopped.”

"It's okay. I wouldn't have expected you to know, I should have made it clearer earlier. I don't enjoy what I do, even though it might have seemed that way earlier. I know of people who tried to leave the Firm, Jaelnec. One of them... well... pieces of them showed up much later. I dread to think what they did to him - probably tortured him within an inch of his life and then hacked him apart. They sent pieces of his body to all the Cleaners - at least that's what they said. Part of me thinks it was a Cleaner that did it. It was meant as a warning to us all... nobody leaves the Firm." Angora drew her new cloak about her body, shrinking into herself in an almost-defensive posture. "This... this is why I do what I do. Not really for money. To survive."
Slowly, tentatively, she reached out and took hold of his back. "Y-you don't mind, do you? Not feeling stable..."

“I don’t mind,” he assured her, his voice much firmer than it had been since before the two of them met. He was too preoccupied with the Firm now to even think about what he had seen, or about Angora’s femaleness at all, beyond feeling grimly responsible for her now that he knew she was a victim. For some reason he felt stronger and more confident than he had for a long time, filled with certainty that he would hunt down those who used people the way she had been used.

"Th-thanks..." Angora took hold of Jaelnec's back with the fullness of her hands, steadying herself on the saddle as she did so. Instinctively, she shuffled closer, so her legs touched his. She felt safer, more secure... and more reassured. No longer was she the object of everyone's scrutiny, no longer was she the villain. And no longer did she have to hide the crimes of the Firm. True, she was complicit in many of them. But they had taken control of her, they had enslaved her, chained her to the Cleaners, robbed her of her freedom. Jaelnec had made this all so... clear to her. She thought it was better than it was. They had locked her in a dungeon, tortured her, abused her. Memories she thought lost were re-surfacing, and she began to seethe. Now she remembered why she had taken the mission to claim the Black Sword. She had meant to use it to carve her bloody way through the Firm - such naivete was not unlike her - and cut her way to freedom. And now, she had found the most unlikely allies. The squire had gone from the judge to the enforcer, the defender... the protector.
Her knight in a shining cuirass of metal she had never seen before and a muddied face. How noble.

“Things like this...” Jaelnec mused quietly after a while of contemplative silence. “This is one of the things I never understood about my master. Freagon was powerful, the best fighter I’ve ever seen, and he was a Knight of the Will. Yet he knew things like this happened – this and so much more – but never did anything about it. He could have, I have no doubt, but he chose not to. I can’t forgive something like that. Who is going to stop evil if good people are content doing nothing?”
He looked skyward, letting the rain cool his face. “I’ll do something. Everything I can, alone and with my bare hands if I have to.” He looked over his shoulder. “I swear it.”

Angora nodded in agreement with Jaelnec. It was odd, truly. Barely an hour ago, they had been at each throats, and now, here they were, finding more common ground than either of them had perhaps even thought possible. She remembered something she heard from her education. "A philosopher once said... All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing. And it is easier to stand by and do nothing, than to intervene and place oneself in harm's way. I guess your knightly master thought the same... and realised that he wanted to take the easy way out." Angora shook her head. "And if everyone does that, then evil will simply walk over them. I guess my own actions helped that to happen... I have much to atone for."
She looked up, and met his gaze. "I think we have some cleaning of our own to do when we get to Zerul, huh?"

Jaelnec nodded grimly, then realized the hastiness of his fervor. “After the Withering,” he conceded reluctantly, knowing that his quest was not one that allowed time-consuming distractions. Every day more people died to it, their souls swallowed by the plague. People like the Firm were horrible, but not even they could compare to the Withering. “Once that quest is at its end, we’ll make sure no one suffers at their hands again.”

"...We might not get that luxury, should some in the Firm want to kill me." Angora swallowed nervously, still looking at Jaelnec. "My family still has many enemies, in and out of the Firm. But, on a more positive note!" She said with another nervous laugh. "Do you have, uh... accommodation in Zerul and the like? I guessed you might have some pre-arrangements in place and such, but it never hurts to check, right?"

Even though he wanted to assure her that no one from the Firm would be allowed anywhere near her, he decided to respect her wish to change the subject. “I’m not sure, actually. One of our companions who apparently has some influence in Zerul went ahead of us and said he’d arrange for our arrival, but Aemoten and I are pretty much all that is left of the group he knew when he left. Maybe, maybe not... though if there aren’t, that’ll complicate matters a bit. Then we’ll have to find our next clue ourselves.”

"Hmm... mhm. Okay." Angora nodded and frowned in contemplation. She thought about matters for a moment - true, the Firm most likely would treat her with suspicion and subterfuge, but she could at least count on a few allies - and her family. An idea struck her. Her family! Of course. Erik might not be the most trustworthy, despite being her father (something that vexed Angora something terrible), but her dear mama, her brothers... they could be trusted! And they could be used to build a base of operations, at least one that could operate with the outward protection of the Firm. She could use her father's position as a shield. For now.
"You could always stay at my family's villa. We have plenty of room, stables for horses, a smithy if you need repairs or want to forge weapons and armour, et cetera..."

Jaelnec arched an eyebrow at that, puzzled by just how Angora thought staying with her family would be a good idea. “Didn’t you say your family were the ones who decided you’d be a Cleaner?” he asked, wondering whether he had misunderstood something yet again. The way he remembered it, though, it had sounded very much like her family were part of the Firm. “Aren’t they allied with the Firm? Do you really...” want to be around people who corrupted you like that? “...trust them?”

"I don't trust my father, it was he who... predetermined my future, he who is the member of the Firm. But I do trust my brothers - Reikard is a sergeant-at-arms, whilst Yvann serves with the City Guard... I can trust them. As for my father... I will simply hope to the gods that his love for me transcends his desire to grow in stature in the Firm. If he doesn't, then... it'll be five on one." Angora's grip tightened involuntarily. "Mama I can trust utterly."

The squire frowned at Angora’s explanation. “It only takes one person to report to the rest of the organization, and odds could quickly end up much worse than one against five. I want to deal with the Firm, but I don’t want to take the risk of your father summoning assassins to kill my companions in their sleep unless I absolutely have to.”

"I swear that I will do all in my power to stop that from happening. Just as you swore to do something. An oath for an oath, right?" Angora gave a warm smile, despite the rain. "I'm still a member of the Firm... and no member of the Firm can harm another without inviting some serious consequences, right? You're allies of mine. Any strike against you is a strike against me... even if it's from father. Word gets out, his standing plummets quicker than a lead weight, right?"

He was not entirely sure how much he believed that being around Angora’s father was advisable, regardless of the girl’s assurances. After all, she had just told him that they might have no choice but to face off against the Firm in the near future due to the likelihood of someone from the organization wanting to kill her. Just how was Angora’s membership in the Firm going to protect them if the Firm itself wanted her dead?
Besides, one oath was not worth the same as the other, just as not every man’s word had was equally valuable. The oath of someone who made their living and name on honor, like a knight, was generally considered much more trustworthy than that of a thieving murderess. He wanted to trust her, but... there were limits to how far he was willing to go on blind faith in the goodness of another alone. He had believed that the good in Annabelle would triumph over the evil haunting her, and his belief had nearly gotten all of them killed. His faith in the good in people was exactly the reason he had stepped down as leader back then and asked Aemoten to take his place.
“I think it’d be for the best if we stayed away from anyone affiliated with the Firm,” he told her after pondering the matter for a moment. “From what you’ve told me it just sounds much too dangerous, especially considering that you’re carrying an artifact that we know the Firm wants. If they come for you I’ll stop them, but I think it would be better not to taunt them until we’re fully ready to face them.”
Pausing, he finally shook his head. “Of course, Aemoten might think otherwise. We’ll see what he says when he rejoins the group.”

"If he rejoins." was all Angora could mumble in response. "I don't know if your other comrades will be as willing to hear me out as you have been. Well... I mean... you probably weren't willing. You know what, forget I said anything, let's just get to Zerul, yeah?"

The Prophecy

It was not long before things were packed and preparations were complete, and the time came for the new companions to undertake the next stretch of their journey. Unfortunately the number of animals available to them meant that each of the horses had to carry two riders, and Jaelnec in particular ended up spending some time obsessing over what this meant. Part of the arrangement come naturally, with Iridiel and Domhnall sharing one horse, which left only Angora and the two nightwalkers to share one horse and the donkey. Were it up to the squire either himself or Angora would ride the donkey so that Olan would be sharing the horse with whoever was left over, but as it turned out the donkey was rather adamant about not letting anyone but the explorer extraordinaire mount it. Jaelnec even contemplated going on foot just to avoid being bundled up with the scantily covered murderess, but ultimately found that he could not justify doing so; not only would it slow them down even more if he did that, but he was not entirely confident that his legs would carry him all the way to Zerul City without aggravating the strain he knew persisted – though less noticeably now – from when he had used the slayer-stance.
So it was that they rode northward, Domhnall and Iridiel on Usha’s white beast with their tame wolf in tow, Olan on the donkey and Angora and Jaelnec on Aemoten’s horse. They moved alongside the foreigners’ acquaintance, Claw, for a while, though the creature split from their group along the way. The rain, though heavy, proved true to Domhnall’s expectations and stilled not long after they had set out, leaving them wet and cold, but at least having served to wash away the mud.

Not much happened worth noting on the way aside from passing another several farmsteads which, remarkably, all seemed to still be populated and functional. This close to one of the great cities of Rodoria it seemed that not even the Withering could keep places vacant from the sheer number of people eager to ply their trade or find property to call their own. They passed a handful of farmhands at one point, apparently tending to a field of rye that seemed nearly ready for harvest, but those people seemed to scurry away and hide when they noticed the companions. Apparently the resilience to hardship evident in the farms themselves was not present in the people, who had grown wary of strangers, especially the armed kind. Indeed, had their group been of a malevolent sort, these people could probably have done little to stop even the five of them from looting every place they came across. But even if they did, would these places even have anything of value left?

It was not until they arrived at their destination that something noteworthy happened next, though their arrival in itself was a quite remarkable experience. To see first the spires of Castle Zerul appear in the distance, rising high above the grounded city, and then witness as the wall surrounding the city came into sight, spanning miles and miles to the east and west, encircling a city whose citizens numbered hundreds of thousand. The closer they came to the city, the more tightly spaced were the lesser settlements they came across, to the point where some groupings may even have qualified as villages... though it also became more and more evident that something bad had happened. Even before reaching the city proper groups of refugees could be seen at the more prosperous farmsteads, either taken in by the charitable or squatting in vacant shacks and hovels. It was the worst by the gate, where – though most had filtered into the city by now – crowds were still gathered, waiting their turn for admittance into the city or simply camping at its outskirts.
At the gate, however, someone finally interfered with their journey. A young man – almost a boy, really, likely in his middle-teens – with short hazel hair and a huge runesword on his back seemed to lock his eyes on them as they approached, seeming confused at first, but then more and more excited. Soon he was jogging toward them, his attention apparently primarily being on Jaelnec... specifically, the nightwalker realized once he got closer, on his chest. On the ghiril cuirass.

“Excuse me,” he called out, sounding cautiously hopeful as he moved up to the companions, “but you’re Jaelnec, right? Ghiril is too rare for you not to be... especially with that hat, and those eyes!”
“I am,” the squire confirmed hesitantly, uncertain what exactly was going on. “Do I know you?”
“No, but I’ve been waiting for you all day,” the boy laughed, seeming boundlessly relieved. Then he seemed to catch himself and let his gaze sweep over the rest of the group. “Well, you and your companions, though this doesn’t seem to be the people William said were coming or who the memory sphere said you were with.”
Ah, so this was part of something William had arranged. “A lot has happened since then.”
The other nodded, then quickly turned to face the entire group and offered them as courteous a bow as he could manage with the cumbersome weapon strapped to his back. “My name is Thomas Remdal, and I’m supposed to receive you. Welcome to Zerul City.”

The Prophecy

Oh? But in Ion's CS in the description of the staff, it says

The incredible thing about these runes is that they are usually fueled by the magical power stored in the two full Crystal prisons stored in the weapon.

yoshua171

It's not enchanted, nor did Nimbus think it was enchanted, but if crystal prisons are "full", there's magical energy in them...

The Prophecy

Eh, it probably wouldn't hurt anymore by then, but it'd probably still be bit sore in the area. And even though Angora wasn't in a position to put her entire body behind the kick, Jaelnec was advancing toward her at the time, putting his entire weight into meeting the kick. It still wouldn't be downright painful to ride a horse after a couple of hours, but it wouldn't exactly be pleasant either.

I struggle to imagine Jaelnec being willing to accept sharing a horse with Angora, but... hmm... We'll see.

The Prophecy

Zerul City, I’onriyi’s estate

Nimbus had to catch herself to avoid physically recoiling in surprise at the displeasure he managed to convey, apparently over the simple use of the word “pastime”. She stared at him with wide-eyed confusion, nervously drumming her fingers on the sides of the cup in her hands. What had she said? From what she knew of the penin, both through her own knowledge and that of Male’dai, they should not be adverse to do things just for their own amusement. Was he somehow judgmental towards alchemy or enchanting? She could not see what she could possibly have done to anger Ion’riyi...
I have no idea, Male’dai contributed her own insight, or lack of the same. For once I’m just as stumped as you are.
Her puzzlement was in no way diminished when the little man made to leave and asked – no, ordered – her to follow. Fearing that she may have unwittingly crossed some kind of line and was now being thrown out of his house or otherwise punished, Nimbus quickly crammed as much bread into her mouth as she could fit, desperate to sate her hunger as much as possible before returning to the street. She chewed as she went, bringing her tea with her, and hurriedly followed the master of the estate as cautiously as she could without falling behind.

But rather than head for the exit, Ion’riyi lead her to another room that appeared to serve as a workshop of sorts, presumably for some kind of metalwork if the presence of a forge was any indication. It was clearly a place precious to the penin, though; not only did he take a moment to glance at the contents of the room in appreciation, but the fact that he had used magic to open the door had not escaped her attention, though whether he did so out of convenience – as he had with cooling his tea – or necessity was uncertain. Probably a necessity, given the lack of a handle on the door. A fairly secure room, then, at least to anyone not versed in the arcane.
Apparently the room itself was not his destination, however, as Ion’riyi quickly went to retrieve some kind of artifact mounted on a wall, which he examined before handing it to her, asking whether it was “something made purely as a pastime”, and subsequently urging her to be honest in her appraisal of the item in question.
She accepted the artifact after depositing her beverage on a table, frowning uncertainly as she looked from it to its likely creator, still unsure why he had reacted the way he had and what exactly he was trying to do. Soon enough her attention focused on the item, though, and she let her hands – all three of them, though the penin would only perceive the visible two – roam over it just as her gaze scanned it in search of any comprehension she could possibly gain through it.
The first thing that caught her attention about the artifact was the sensation of magical energy within it, which immediately drew her eyes to the crystals adorning it. Some of the – staff? Scepter? – was composed of magically conductive crystal, but some of those crystals had been further altered into crystal prisons, two of which had been filled. Male’dai silently voiced her wonder at whether he had grown the magical crystals himself or had managed to find them in the right shapes somewhere, and she remarked that making crystal grow so smoothly was rare and extraordinarily difficult. Even more puzzlingly, they noticed that there was a metal core through some of the crystals when Male’dai wondered how durable it was... which probably meant that the crystal would have had to be grown around the core, since magical crystal typically lost its conductive properties when it was severely damaged.
Nimbus obviously also noticed the arcane runes on the object, which momentarily caused her frown to deepen. “United winds, bind the symbol”? The sentence carved there did not make any sense to her before Male’dai pointed out that they were probably made to be used independently of each other rather than as a sequence, as simple rune magic. So “unity”, “wind”, “restrain” and “seal”... The three first were fairly self-explanatory and had well-known magical properties on their own, but “seal”? Neither of the two beings inhabiting the true deigan’s body knew of any magical effects stemming from that arcane word. Maybe it was supposed to be used in conjunction with the others? That would make sense.

“It’s certainly an unusual piece of craftsmanship,” Nimbus commented after a minute or so, inwardly wondering whether the magical energy trapped in the crystal prisons was loosely enough bound for her to siphon it into her second soul. “It must have taken a lot of work and planning to get this to come together. The crystals alone must have taken a very long time and many attempts to get just right.”
She offered the staff back to its owner, looking at him uncertainly. “It isn’t lacking in quality, but... honestly, I’m not sure what you expect me to say. Was it made as a pastime? Did you have a reason for making it or did you make it for your own enjoyment?” She shook her head hopelessly. “How would I be able to tell? All I can say is that if it is the product of a pastime, you seem to dedicate a lot of time and resources to those.”