Part 2: The meeting of paths

"Oh. Okay. Do we have to go now?" He scours Casimir's face. "Can we stay here. Just for a little while." He tries to remember how long he'd been able to stay last time before the drugs had pulled him under, but with no way to mark the passing of time it's impossible to tell. Hesitantly, he gestures toward his head before his hand falls limply to his lap.  "It's quiet with you. It's...never quiet."

In response, Casimir lays down on the roof, looking up at the dark sky surrounded by grey rock -- the absence of the city foundation above still startling to Ascian. "Sure," he says quietly. 

Lilliana stares at Timm for a long while, tears brimming in her eyes as she tries to fight back the urge to cry at his help and generosity, and after a few moments she gathers herself. "Is this what the guild does? It helps each other like this? Part of me wants to know why you're helping us and I think that's the answer, but it's been so long since I've had anyone help me like all of you have..." She looks at Sable, Thezra, and... Akiran, then back to Timm. "It's hard to remember what that felt like or why people did it..."

The desire to run and not stop running ebbs away for the first time all day as Ascian slowly lowers himself back onto the rooftop between Ember and his brother, trying and failing to make sense of the view so different than the one he's accustomed to. He doesn't breathe, but the sensation of releasing a long-held exhale still sighs through him, and muscles he'd never known to be anything other than tense slightly relax. He's silent for a long moment, staring up at the sky that shouldn't be sky, before asking, "Do you see him a lot. Faerus."

"The guild takes care of their own, when we can," Timm says. "Special circumstances, we'll call it." "It depends," he says. "Sometimes he's around, sometimes he's not. More recently, he's been around here. But he doesn't need to travel like I do. He seems to be able to be in one place one second, and another place the next second."

That momentarily takes him off guard and he frowns up at the sky. “You travel to get here? From where.” He almost says where do you live but catches it at the last second, head turning toward his mirror on the ground with a new concern dawning. “If I leave, will I not be able to find you anymore.” 

"Oh," Casimir says, a slight tone of wonder shifting into his voice. "I thought you knew. I can feel where you're going when you're there, so I follow you here. I have been. Since you left Bresselvik."

He had known Shadowfell was a mirror, but always thought it was a passive one; that The Crossroads might be its namesake in more realms than one. To hear his brother was following him by choice raises a new kind of guilt and he shifts uncomfortably against the rock. “I thought…I don’t know. That I only saw you when we were in the same place. And when we weren’t, I didn’t. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you move so much. I’m not good at staying in one place.” He hesitates again. “They want to go to Dragonvale next. The others. Or at least they did. Before today.” 

"No, no. Don't do that. Don't put that on yourself," Casimir says. "It's not as if I have a whole lot else to do. Besides, when I'm near where you are, I can...feel things from the real world. I experience some of the things you do. It's...nice."

Ascian considers that, and thinks of all the time he’d wasted sitting still. “I’ll try and do more exciting things then. Mostly I just shoot a lot. Are you good with a bow.” 

"No, that's not-" Casimir raises his head and looks directly at Ascian. "Do me a favor, Ascian. Just live your life when you're there." He falls back onto the roof and mimes firing an arrow into the air with an invisible bow. "No, a bow isn't really my thing. Hard to find well-made arrows here." He pulls a dagger from his belt, the golden hilt adorned with a glittering red ruby. "This is how I protect myself, generally. When I need to."

It's such a direct and frank request Ascian stills on the rooftop, left utterly wrong-footed. He's caught midway between wanting to tell his brother he doesn't know how and also unable to refuse him, and the conflict of that washes over him before fading at the sight of the knife.  "Wow."  His cheek presses into the ground as he turns to look at it, a shock of color in an otherwise bleached world.  "Where did you get it from. What sort of things do you have to protect yourself against here."

"It was a gift from Faerus," Casimir says, sheathing the blade. "There aren't many things that live here, but most of them aren't very friendly. I don't have to use it often."

"I'm glad you have him. Faerus. I have a wizard friend too, he's coming tomorrow."   Tomorrow.  The word renews the feeling of facing the others again and he has to force himself to swallow past it. Ascian reflexively checks to make sure Ember is still with them before looking back to the sky.  "The cleric said there's something dark about us. I want to ask Faerus about it. Maybe he can help."

Casimir nods, and the two lay in silence for a few long moments. A footstep on the stone roof behind them indicates the presence of someone, and grey and green eyes rotate back to see Faerus standing on the roof behind them, following their initial gaze to the grey sky above. "Good evening, Ascian," the wizard says.

The serene dams Casimir's presence had put up in his mind are broken by the new voice and Ascian sits up slowly, feeling the flood of the day begin to creep back as he's forced back to reality – or whatever this is.  "Hello."  He glances to his brother before turning to look back at the wizard reluctantly.  "I...got some people hurt today. Do you already know."

"I don't, no," Faerus says. As Ascian explains, he listens intently. When the rogue gets to the part about the dragon, Faerus's eyes widen. "Interesting. A dragon mark. Please show me." Faerus examines the mark closely. His eyes flash from their bright green to a glowing white as he peers down at Ascian's shoulder. "Fascinating," he murmurs after a time.

Ascian watches Faerus' face as he inspects the mark, scouring for hope. "Can you get rid of it. I don't...think it's good."

"You're right," Faerus says. "It's not good. Not for you." He examines the mark more with his brightly glowing eyes. Eventually, his eyes raise to meet Ascian's as the brightness fades back to green. "I don't know if I can remove it. Regardless, you would actually have to be here in order to do so. And you're not. Not physically, at least."

It had been too much to ask for, and he knows that, slowly rolling his sleeve back down as Faerus' eyes fade. Instead it's a different kind of hope that forms as he glances at Casimir and back. "Is it possible to be?" 

"You'd have to find a powerful enough spellcaster to transport you, but yes," Faerus says. "It's not a common practice, but there are those in your world that are capable."

He thinks at once of Marianne, and her world within worlds, and nods slowly. "I think I might know one. But she hasn't wanted to give me answers." He frowns at Faerus, the dull ache of Ana's words coming back, and the look of disdain on the deacon's face. "There's a cleric who wants to cut my tie to here." He glances again to Casimir and back. "She said it was...dark. Is that possible to do too. Can I make it so that it's not?"

Faerus frowns. "It's a dark plane, certainly. But there's nothing inherently evil about this place." He eyes Ascian with a curious look. "Who is this cleric? What did she say, specifically?"

The reinforcement of what he already knows to be true comes as a relief – of course it couldn't be evil. He had been a fool to ever go to the church in the first place; Barnes had been right.  "Her name is Anastasia,"  he responds.  "She said whatever has touched me is dark. And lying. And the deacon would kill me for it." He swallows thickly.  "I didn't get to ask questions. We had to run after that."  He drops Faerus' gaze and shifts his weight, trying not to think about the cathedral more than he had to. "Do you know what she means? You two are the only ones I've met. And you haven't lied."

Faerus's expression turns sour. He strokes his neatly cropped goatee with thumb and forefinger, beginning to pace a bit on the rooftop. "I haven't the slightest clue what she is on about. But people -- especially religious people -- fear what they do not understand. Their gods -" The word is said with enough scorn for it to be an insult. "-teach them to fear the 'other.' Even though these gods are simple manifestations of desire and thought from ages past. Their power comes from their followers -- desperate masses clinging to positive words and prayers in the hope that the world is not truly a random happenstance of choice and manipulation."  He pauses the tirade, glancing down at Ascian and Casimir with a somewhat bemused expression. "I'm not...a large proponent of religion, if you couldn't tell. But it sounds like you've gone to people for help. For answers. I understand the impulse. But Ascian, the ability to find those answers lies within you. You have a seed of power, borne out of random consequence and the trauma of your birth. I can teach you to use it."

For the first time, Ascian finds himself agreeing with someone wholeheartedly, and it's such a relief that for a moment he almost misses the offer. Once it's in the air between them, it feels a natural choice; he wonders if perhaps this is exactly what the Watcher had had in mind, when he had told him to stay his course. Because finally, here, after so much looking – someone not just with answers but willing to help him find them.  Actively.  Someone who won't tell him to wait or ignore it or pull him from Shadowfell now that he's learned to wish it were home. It's a promise of not just answers, but the power to find them; protect them. To stop anyone from taking from him what he now knows he was never meant to live without. Not for the first or last time, he looks to Casimir for any dissension, and back to Faerus. At the green eyes so like his brother's. "Show me how."

Neither Ascian or Casimir note the smile that touches Faerus's mouth, nor the look that washes over his green eyes. The man directs Ascian to stand and move to the edge of the roof. From within his blue-fringed robes, he pulls a small green crystalline orb. "I used this when I was first learning to channel my power." He holds it out to Ascian. "Take it. It's yours now. It will be there when you wake."  Once Ascian has taken the orb, Faerus directs the rogue to turn his gaze into the open cave. "Think of something you've seen or heard before. Center it in your mind's eye. Then realize it in the air in front of us. Manifest it. Channel your will through the crystal, and make it real."

Ascian's hand closes around the small orb, staring hesitantly into the nearby cave. The entire concept feels foreign; magic a faraway concept meant for chosen people like Thrandimir and Katrin. It has always confounded him as much as it has impressed him, and to think he might be capable of it himself feels disconcerting. Reflexively he looks down at his hand, searching for the ring there that had for years been the proof to him that he was awake – and it stays in his mind as he looks up into the air again, trying to think of nothing but it.  One by one, his fingers close around the crystal, and he thinks of the day; of Shadowfell and the cave and severed limbs. Of mushrooms and dragons and Casimir. The guilt rises in a wave as if summoned, as thick and cold as it has always been – and for the first time rather than succumb to it, he tries to direct it elsewhere, willing it out of his throat and instead into his arm, his wrist, his fingers; pushing and swallowing it to force it to his palm. And little by little, it seems to ebb there; retreating like the tide to lap instead at where the orb meets his fingers. Eventually the crystal grows cold, from effect or his grip he doesn't know; just that when he opens his eyes again there's a ring suspended in the air in front of him, plain and silver, a twin for a twin. He stares at it in abject wonder, the shocked look of someone who has been drowning for so long they'd forgotten they could swim. "That..." He looks to the one on his finger and back, reaching hesitantly toward the band with his free hand and unable to deter his disappointment when it closes around empty air and his attention swings back toward Faerus. "I didn't know I could do that."

"You are capable of so much more than that, Ascian," Faerus says quietly. "You have power, Ascian, the only real currency in the world. The only thing truly worthy of respect." The wizard takes a step back from the edge of the roof. "Use it. Find your own answers. And if you have questions, return here, and I can help you claim what is yours."

Ascian's fingers fold tightly around the crystal as he looks back at Faerus, his look of wonder lingering before it disappears slowly into a wary frown. Marianne had dismissed him. Ana had sent him and his friends to their doom twiceover. The second shoe had to fall.  "Thank you. I don't...what do you want in return."

Zachary H. said: "The guild takes care of their own, when we can," Timm says. "Special circumstances, we'll call it." Lilliana nods her understanding. "Well, I thank you."  She lay back, quietly and let her thoughts focus into a narrow path of everything that happened in the tunnel. She tries to bifurcate the experience into two paths; emotional and experience. She was hopeful that she could split the two apart and be able to examine what happened to her in the cave without all the suffocating emotional baggage; to look at it with cold, clear logic and clarity, but she just did not know if that was even possible right now. Perhaps Timm might know somewhere she could look for answer though. "Timm? Do you know somewhere I could do some research in the city? Or even a good place outside the city?"

Faerus nods. "Nothing is ever free, right? For the most part, I assure you that I want nothing but you to find your true potential." His hand returns to his goatee. "There may be a way for you to help me in the future. But for now, seek your answers." Timm frowns at Lilliana's question. "Not a lot of good options, I'm afraid. The king has a library here in the city, but you would need a writ from him, and that's quite hard to come by. There are extensive libraries in Karnopolis and at the Lyceum Arcanum in Idrius, but those also require special access."

There's a promise there that Ascian can feel himself making, but one look at his brother and the crystal in his palm and it's easy to know it's worth it. He nods. "Okay. I will. Thank you." Momentarily shifting the orb in his hand, he pulls the simple silver band from his finger and crosses the distance to Casimir. "Keep it. I used to use it to tell where I was. And when I was you. I don't need it anymore." He holds the ring out for his twin to take. "I don't want to know the difference."

Casimir reaches out to take the ring and raises an eyebrow as his fingers pass through it. Faerus interjects. "You're not really here, remember? I can give things to you as an extension of my power, but you're not quite that far along." Casimir gives a half-grin. "It's the thought that counts, I guess. Thanks."

Ascian frowns, the orb in his hand feeling so real it's difficult to parse out the difference. Ultimately his fingers curl back around the ring and rather than put it back on he slides it into his pocket. "I'll give it to you when I can, then. And I will. Once I figure this out."

Casimir nods. "I know you will," he says.  Faerus stands a respectful distance from the two brothers, his hands folded in front of him. When the moment passes, he says, "Any more questions before you go?"

"Just one. For now." He turns away from Casimir back to Faerus, hesitant. "The deacon. Do you know why he'd want to kill me. Would he really kill my friends." He pauses. "I guess that's two."

"The ignorance of religion is vile," Faerus says, as if the phrase was a fact that Ascian should have known. "I don't know his specific reasons, but perhaps he thinks your connection to this place is worthy of death."

Zachary H. said: Timm frowns at Lilliana's question. "Not a lot of good options, I'm afraid. The king has a library here in the city, but you would need a writ from him, and that's quite hard to come by. There are extensive libraries in Karnopolis and at the Lyceum Arcanum in Idrius, but those also require special access." Lilliana's optimistic look drops at this revelation. "Oh. How does one get special access?"

Timm shrugs. "A writ from a nobleman, admission to the Arcanum, being in the right place at the right time...there are many ways. None of them are particularly reliable."

Lilliana scowls. "Seems to be designed to keep those of low stations away from knowledge! Thank you, Timm. Perhaps I can find another way to find what I seek."

"That's the way of the world, I'm afraid," Timm says, spreading his arms. "The keepers of the Halcyon Citadels also have repositories of knowledge, but you'd actually have to become a keeper to gain access to those."

As the group breaks off and goes their own way to lick their wounds after the hellish day. Akiran finds himself pacing the guild, pulling his  shimmering cloak close around him as he wanders the halls. The events of the day, the burning fear of being forced from yet another place he considered home, & the certainty of his usual nightly torment. Kept the Dragonborn on his feet wandering aimlessly. Though in the end, he finds himself where he usually does, standing outside of a bustling tavern. Looking in he sees all of the usual vices he uses to run from his problems, the roar of the crowd cheering on patron's tall tales, the clatter of dice echoing from the corner, the metallic clank as gold changes hands, and many simply sitting at the bar quietly drowning out the world. Any other night he would have joined the crowds & drank, diced and talked the night away. But today Akiran simply throws a few coins on the counter and wordlessly points at a bottle of whiskey. Grabbing the bottle, the Dragonborn takes long and frequent swigs as he finally begins to make his way back to his room. Reaching his guild bunk his eyes fixate on the corner where his armor typically lays. But remembering for the hundredth time today that his armor, his pride & second skin was gone with the Orc. His mind racing for any distraction, he notices a bloody stain on his silk tunic. Taking the tunic off he grabs a cloth and starts to buff it out until he catches a glimpse of his reflection. Seeing his rippling silver scales, now marred twice. With the brand of Tempus on his chest and the Dragon's mark desecrating his arm. He'd found a way to live with being dishonored, enduring as his family named him a coward and banished the Dragonborn from the clan. But being a thrall of a Chromatic monster is a burden the warrior is not sure he can bear. Despair gripping him, Akiran downs the rest of the whiskey, and roughly draws his hand axe. Placing the blade at the edge of the dragon's mark he quickly drags the blade across the bottom half of the mark. Blood staining his scales, Akiran falls to his knees. His left hand clutching the cut in his arm. After a moment he moves his bloody hand to the mark of Tempus on his chest.  Taking a deep breath he hangs his head and prays  "Ya told me to do good. Didn't tell me what the hell good was but ya told me to do it.  Don't know what ya want from me and while you and yours may be a bunch of holier than thou  bastards.... I'd still rather serve you." Smearing his bloody hand over the mark of Tempus he vows " I Don't know how ta do good, but I know that dragon is evil. I Akiran of cl...the clan less vow to kill the beast & you can decide if that's fucking good enough for you."

Ever so slightly, the weight of the brand -- the weight that Akrian has carried since his dishonor; the weight that has always been there since -- lessens. An easing of the tightness in the dragonborn's chest. The burden is still there, but lessened -- a beginning, the dragonborn feels certain. The distant sound of a peal of thunder reaches Akiran's hearing -- strong enough to be heard this far underground. There is no voice this time, no sodden, bloody battlefield -- but the thunder sounds like an affirmation to Akiran. The night passes swiftly -- too swiftly, for some. The tragedy of the previous day still hangs heavy over the Fireblades as they begin to awake. Ascian's grey eyes blink open, and he finds a small green crystalline orb clutched in his left hand.

Thezra stirs from a restless sleep in the early hours of the morning, slipping from her bed with greater unease than she was accustomed to. The images of the last day still hung in her mind, though she knew not why. Lilliana's shorn-off leg. The deacon's righteous bloodthirst. Krutaelis.  It all seemed like a nightmare she couldn't be sure she was actually waking up from, or if the days ahead were simply to be a continuation of it. More than that though she couldn't shake a stranger question - Why was it affecting her so much. Her mind instantly cut to the shadowy being that seeped from Ascian's form. The indignation and betrayal on the dragonborn's face of all people.  Right. Akiran. It was a feeling she'd had for some time now - something she knew she had to do - and there was no better time than with the rest of the party likely still asleep. After all that had happened, especially in the last couple of days alone, if it was ever going to happen, it'd have to be now. Sword slung over her shoulder and armored gauntlet pulled up over tender flesh, she closed the door behind her, slipping quickly across the common room to the mercenary's room. Pulling the door open quietly, she pauses to take a deep breath in, then enters. He's asleep still when she reaches the bed. Could still turn around . The thought flashes by, but she dismisses it quickly enough. There could be no way forward if things continued as they were. It'd been obvious for a while, right? The weight of her blade weighs against her back as she stands over him a moment longer, and she found it strange. Perhaps it was only his current lack of armor, but the solemnity of sleep made him undoubtedly more bearable. Nonetheless, she took a deep breath and reached out... "Akiran of Dragons. Wake and listen." Her hand jostles his shoulder as she takes a seat beside him. She waits until she sees his eyes open in recognition, then nods to him. "You don't like me. That is obvious. And I don't care much for you. Or trust in your motives. For weeks we have been at snapping at each other's heels. And that would continue, but the previous couple of days have shown it can't be allowed to."  Standing back to her full height, she folds her arms across her chest. "So grab a blade and follow me. We're going to settle this like two warriors should - sparring until the blood and bruises show what really lies beneath the armor."

Katrin's eyes are sluggish as she wakes the following morning. She sits up, her long, tangled hair falling around her face like a wild lion's mane. She pulls her fingers through the tangles, wincing as the knots pull lightly on her scalp when she tugs them free of each other. She expects the old wound in her shoulder to ache, like it does most mornings, but she's vaguely surprised by the dull throb on her upper arm, and she pulls up her sleeve, staring at the brand for a long moment. The previous day comes flooding back, and her stomach turns sour. Throwing the blankets off, she walks across the room to the wash basin, beginning the process of cleaning up for the day.  Out of habit, she glances over her shoulder as she properly brushes out her hair. She hadn't heard the girl come in last night, she'd been too tired herself. Sighing, she sets the brush down, splashing water over her face and wiping it dry with a towel. She looks at herself in the mirror. She lightly taps the holy symbol around her neck, searching desperately for the strength she needs from Tempus. And her thoughts take her back to Rose. Katrin's heart aches fiercely, and she tightens her grip around the symbol. She can feel...power within her. Stronger than it was the day before. She closes her eyes.  "Rose, I miss you. If I could tell you everything that's happened since we last saw each other...but there's too much. I love you."  The brief spurt of power fades, and she knows, intuitively, that her love had heard her.

A moment passes before Rose's voice flows into Katrin's mind.  Kit-Kat...  There's a pause in the stream of thought, a wistful sigh on Rose's part. ...I'm glad you're alive. Whatever you're going through, you'll get through it. I love you. Be safe. Rose's voice fades, the warmth of it still resting softly in Katrin's heart.

With her eyes still closed, Katrin smiles, holding tightly to the warmth enveloping her. A single tear falls down her cheek, splashing onto the dark wood of the vanity. And even though she knows that Rose can't hear her, she still whispers, "I will."

Lilliana stirs in her bed, shifting uncomfortably and awkwardly as she tries to push herself into a seated position. Every muscle in her body ached and cries in protest and she bumps the remnants of her leg into wall, drawing out a gasp of pain. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Katrin. I was awake, I didn’t mean to overhear you, but I did not sleep much at all last night.” She hesitates a moment, staring at the blanket. “Can I ask you something personal?”

Katrin wipes her cheek before looking back over her shoulder again. This time, she turns around, leaning her back on the edge of the vanity. The girl looked...if Katrin was going to be honest....she looked terrible. And after the day they'd all had yesterday.... "What do you want to know?"