• Graded • The River's Daughter

[Azrael]

121 Ashan 720 | Azrael Blackfire | The Wilds

Well now... maybe this snake haunting his dreams wasn't so bad after all. There was a level of sarcasm seeping from the water that Azrael could respect. Game recognized game. All the same he did have a small urge bubble up, an urge to smack the surface of the water like it would smack the face looking at him. He didn't do it though for two reasons. The first being that the voice had reassured him in most perfect of ways and the second being because some madman swam down to stab the burning coal looking snakes coiling beneath the water and that was way more interesting to watch. Then the water began to bubble and an incredibly annoying scream assaulted Azrael's ears for a few trills. Thank the Immortals it didn't last long but when it ended things seemed to have gotten just a little more complicated.

He felt like he was being watched and turned to find a not-horrible looking blend of a raven and a woman. She addressed Azrael in a way that stole his attention from the other two who'd appeared. Son of Sight and Beauty? Awww... was she flirting with him? Syroa had marked him sure, but she wasn't his mother. That had to have been a come on then right? No... why would the bird woman from the snake pit be flirting with him? Well... a lot of people had started flirting with him since he was marked. Maybe she wasn't immune to the mark either. Then again this seemed like a lot of effort to make a pass at him. Two dreams, a bite, and some weird voices to get him to the river for that? Could of just asked him out the first night...

"I'm not too worried about that." Azrael said after Svellhulda asked if he was afraid she wouldn't like him. Did he have any other hang ups? Hard to think. He didn't snakes. Did he want to complain about that? No. But how about, "If you're trying to get to know me, I don't like carrots. This is all a little weird for me. Can't think of any other hangups, though. What about you? Anything on your mind?" Yeah, play it cool. You're totally not weirded out by any of this Azrael. Be chill. You've met an Immortal. Wait a minute you told her you thought this was weird... damn. A little pep talk in his head to try and keep a straight face while he spoke.

Then she commented on his weapons and he did his best to ignore the crow cawing at him. She was making jokes... well he could make jokes too. Was it insensitive to refer to his bird parts? She wouldn't care, she seemed the confident sort. Well... might as well answer her question then. "I have a sword and a knife, it's not all that many weapons. And yes, I was kind of expecting a fight. The snake wasn't exactly friendly in the dream." She laughed an odd laugh and then introduced herself. The was an... interesting name. He wasn't sure he could say it correctly. "Do you want me to call you wet blanket? Or Sv-ell-hu-lda?"

Then another emerged from the water and Azrael watched Svellhulda torment her. Cruel but... funny? A little... Then a loud splash as Brent chucked a melon into the water and shouted at the man who'd dare stab the spirit. Brent told Azrael to shoot the man if he went after the spirits again and Azrael pointed at Svellhulda with his thumb."Only if he goes after this one, I like her." Apparently a sword was a good idea. Though he did prefer his odds with a bow.

[Hart]

The serpents writhed tight around his hand, and Eihr tried to tear himself free of their coils, ripping and twisting the knife amongst them as he did. Black blood or venom seeped from the basket of serpents, and the river -or something like it- screamed.

Something -it was there and gone so fast he did not see it- burst out from the mass; something dark and winged.

But whatever it was, it did not matter. What mattered was that he had hurt the serpents, blood for blood. Their business was finished. Eihr stopped ripping the knife amongst them.

But the serpents held tight.

Eihr had mused, diving into the river, that it might kill him. But the serpents -thus far- had not bitten him to death, and the water of the river had not rushed into his mouth to drown him.

The spirit appeared.

She was shapely and dark- Eihr knew her to be the serpent that had bitten him in the dreaming world. He had hurt her with the knife, and he smiled tightly.

But then she reached out and touched him, and his expression turned dark. The emeyan hissed again, her little fish-wings fluttering in anger.

Do not touch me, Eihr thought to say to the spirit, but did not. Rather, he attempted to pull his hand -and the knife- free from the serpents. He was about to kick and thrash in an attempt to free himself, but-

he was able to breathe.

The emeyan's gaze flittered to the spirit.

The spirit had asked who he was to come as foe, but Eihr did not respond. She had not said her name; he would not answer. To the question of her venom, he did reply. "What is done is done."

So he was able to speak, as well.

The spirit drew nearer, and though he did not like it, he put his left hand over the hand touching his cheek. It was her touch, he thought, that granted him breath and speech.

The river was utterly dark now, the water murky black. Eihr's eyes had long been shut against the chill of the waters. But Pala was unable to see as well. The moment the emeyan was in peril, she would banish herself to Surreality. Eihr still held the knife tightly in his other hand.

But there was no longer any need to hurt the spirit.

"Do not hurt me," he said cautiously. "Do not bite and envenom me. Do not visit my dreams. And I will not attempt to hurt you again."

"Let me go," he said quietly, but was it enough simply to ask? "Let me go and I will whisper to you a secret."

His heart began to drum.

Swimming down in the river and knowing that it might kill him, being trapped by the serpents, the spirit's touch, even the blackness now surrounding him- none of it had made him feel fear.

But, as he thought of the secret he needed to impart, terror like that he had experienced in the dream bit down, fanglike, and held tight. No matter how he resisted, there was the fear- and more. He felt digust and confusion and grief and contempt. The emotions were akin to the serpents that coiled tight to his hand, to the knife. The chill of the river rushed through him.

Slowly, his left hand released the spirit's. Perhaps if she willed it the water would drown him and he would not have to utter the words.

"I am Hart Eda'quoat," he finally whispered. "A secret," he said, with perhaps the most emotion he had ever felt.

He did not attempt to explain; he did not think he would be able to say the words. But it was true, was it not? Many times he had lied to himself about who he was; many times he had thought he was what he was not. But the truth of this secret was inescapable. His memories were Hart. His power was Hart. His immortality was Hart. His body was Hart. His status was Hart.

Perhaps he had known from the beginning.

Sometimes Eihr thought about the technicalities of the Wishes that had caused such damage to his body. And he wondered how it was that Hart could Wish hurt and pain upon himself- only for Eihr to be the recipient of it.

It suggested something he had not yet fully grasped.

Endlessly, Eihr had attempted to undo the suffering Hart had done unto himself, because suffering -and hurt and pain and destruction- was what Hart had Wished. Arcs upon arcs might be spent trying to undo Hart's Wishes and still there would be no end. No amount of time or magic or distance might separate the Wishes from him, because-

because it was what he had Wished for himself.

He understood it now to be true; absolute.

And he hated it.

"Now let me go," he said.

[Praetorum]

Date: 121st of Ashan, Arc 720

Status: Reassuring

Weapons: Buckler, Quarterstaff

Armor: Plate-like Leather

No Current Magical Effects

Praetorum tipped his head to the side as the serpent spoke to him. So, the spirit of the river was offering.... to hide a secret away from the world? 



His heart leaped into his throat, and something pressed into the mouth, the one thing he hadn't been brave enough to say in over two arcs: 'To try, and fail to save my brother, I killed my squadmates, the ones who relied and trusted me most in this world.' 



It had been the bleakest moment of his life, the one shame he would never be able to erase. Or so he'd thought. With this, he could hide that moment away, rid himself of the guilt and misery that still intermittently plagued him. And if his betrayal was hidden away, maybe, just maybe....... he could go home. Desertion was still a serious crime, but not as serious as murder. He could see his parents again, settle back down in the empire. And deserter or no, mages were so valuable he'd be conscripted back into the legion. With that one moment erased from the world, he might be able to return to the life he'd once known. 



Praetorum opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Swallowing heavily, he closed it again, heart thumping heavily in his chest. 



He couldn't do it. 



He wanted, more than anything, to be able to forget every moment of that day.


No, that wasn't true


He wanted, more than anything, for that day to never have happened. 



But it had, and Praetorum could never change that, even if he forgot it. So.... he had to remember, or all of their deaths would have been meaningless. Everything Praetorum had become these last few arcs was because of that day, and if he took away his memory of it...... 



No. He would live with that memory, as long as he lived. And he was.... alright with that, he found. It hurt, but he'd learned to live with it, use it. 



With his mind made up, Praetorum came up with another secret, one that he had no qualms about erasing from this world. 



"After I shattered Overseer Grimnir's sphere artifact, I took a few of the pieces, and buried them somewhere in the mountains, as deep as my defiance would go."


With his secret spoken, the water began to bubble, and a shrill cry sounded from under the surface of the river. And the daughters of Vynmur emerged, three in all, each speaking to those who had gathered here; one serious, one sharp, and one....


Prae sighed internally as the third spirit turned a teary gaze towards him, trying to hide; it was a reaction he'd gotten often from children outside of the empire, and one he would never get used to. 



"Be nice to your sister." Prae scolded Svellhulda reflexively, the words coming easy to him after a childhood spent tussling with a sibling who made up for a frail body with a wickedly sharp tongue. 



Swallowing the follow up phrase—'you're siblings; act like it'—Prae knelt before the riverbank as a watermelon bobbed past, lowering his considerable height to make himself less imposing. "No, I'm not here to take your hide." He assured her gently. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Framilia. My name is Praetorum, and while I'm no soldier, I am here to protect those who need it."

[Pig Boy]

The Secret Keeper

"Forget what?" Vitra whispered to Brent, and easily as that, the secret was a secret once more. All that remained of it, was what would exist at the other end of the experience, but Brent's name and face were gone from the experience, they would find. In his place, a mysterious stranger.

"Melrath is a potent land, its 'people' immigrants who saw opportunity to make something of it, perchance to tame it. In the beginning, it was land. Deep lakes, fierce rivers, strong mountains, and tempestuous seas. There's more here than you can know."

She sighed, and the wound that had formed on her side seemed to get better trills after he told her his secret. "The people of Melrath have lost their ways, particularly those who've set down roots at the edges. Like a growth of rust at the edges of a steel frame, they eat away at Melrath. It may be time to freshen the populace with new blood. And whose to say what kind of blood or creed is best, hm?"

Vitria let out one last sigh, realizing what she said may not fall on favorable ears. Yet she stood aside from Brent, satiated by his secret. She turned her eyes to Eihr, who was beneath the waters, which were swiftly returning to their original clarity.

"Oh pay him no mind. He's harmless." She said.



Beneath the babbling surface of the river, Vitria stared into Eihr's fractured eyes, searching. He told her what he called a secret. She scowled at him, and hissed, showing her forked tongue and fangs. Yet she didn't threaten to attack him yet.

"You tell no secret, but a lie. You are not Hart Eda'quaot. You lie to me, and lies, wound me." So saying, she let go of Eihr. At that point he'd find he couldn't breath underwater anymore. He'd have to come up for air shortly, as his constitution surely wouldn't allow him to hold his breath for a long stretch of time.

"Take your lies elsewhere, deceiver."

[Pig Boy]

The Provider of Shade

Svellhulda was amused, but didn't smile. Her black eyes regarded the mortalborn coolly. She flew down to the ground then, and approached. He would see that she had the legs of a bird, but the upper body of a woman. Black feathers sprouted from her legs and lower body, forming a sort of skirt that fluffed out as she moved. Her taloned feet could be seen to grip into the dirt.

"And what're you going to do with that big old sword of yours? Hmm? Such a big sword..." She rolled her eyes, and stood by Azrael, waiting to see what he would do here. "You mentioned something about an Immortal to my sister." Svellhulda reflected, crossing her arms (which were humanoid).

If her statement of what she'd overheard had any purpose, she left it in the air, for Azrael to respond to.

The Terror Struck

Meanwhile, Framilia was still hiding half her face in the water, cowering from Praetorum. "Oh I would be glad if that were true, sire." She said to the ithecal. "Maybe it's safe to come out then..."

So saying, Framilia began emerging from the river. Praetorum would note that her entire body was covered with dark reptilian scales. Her lower half was that of a serpent, while the top of her torso was that of a woman. And of course, he'd seen her gorgon-like snake hair. The little snakes spat and hissed as she left the waters, to approach Praetorum. She held her hands out, as if to show she didn't come armed.

Svellhulda, meanwhile, snickered, and bumped Azrael with her elbow. "Three to one, she sneezes, sees her shadow, or screams when he talks to her, and ends up scaring herself back into the river."

But none of these things happened. Framilia seemed to gain strength and confidence the closer she got to Praetorum.

As Praetorum had spoken his secret, of what he'd done with Grimnir's artifact, the memory of it slipped from all consciousness. Thus would it be held as a secret. Even the memory of the artifact itself seemed hazy to the ithecal soldier.

[Azrael]

121 Ashan 720 | Azrael Blackfire | The Wilds

Praetorum was quick to try and reassure the gorgon-esque daughter of the river but Azrael was focused on Svellhulda who's face didn't give an inch to Azrael's words. Maybe he wasn't as amusing as he thought he was? Or perhaps he wasn't as cute as he thought he was... but it didn't matter, he could change those things. Svellhulda flew down to Azrael and he stood a little straighter. Was she angry? No she'd probably have looked mad... then again she didn't look amused either. Her black eyes gave away little to the imperceptive mortalborn. Then she asked what he meant to do with his sword. His big sword. Azrael looked at his sword sheathed at his hip. It was notably, a shortsword. Azrael gave Svellhulda a curious look. "Well nothing right now unless it is called for." He replied before she shifted to what he'd said to the river earlier. He had to think back because he'd almost forgotten the insecurity he told the river. When he thought back he couldn't actually recall what he'd said, but one of the parts of it. "I did, I think, what of it?" He asked the daughter of the river.

"I'd bet if I clapped my hands loud enough I could scare her back there." Azrael wagered to Svellhulda when she nudged him and bet her sister would scare herself back into the river. Azrael extended his hands as if he was preparing to clap but waited. He wanted to give Framilia a few more trills to scare herself before he did anything so devious. "Why do they call you wet blanket?" Azrael asked after a beat. He hadn't forgotten about the clap, but he was certainly not going to let Framilia know when it was coming.

[Hart]

Eihr swam away from the spirit. He kicked at the water, the emeyan tangled in his hair, and swam against the current. Once he was out of the depths the current lessened, and he slogged to the bank.

The spirit had released him like he had asked. But he felt, even as he walked out of the water, that he had remained, somehow, beneath. Feeling tired, Eihr lay on his back on the riverbank and stared up at the black sky.

"You are not Hart Eda'quoat." He muttered the spirit's words to himself.

Now that they were no longer in peril, the emeyan revoked her sight. She untangled herself from Eihr's hair.

Suddenly she was the size of a small girl, perhaps six arcs old in age. Her features were the same, strange and sharp and almost mer-like, with overly dark blue eyes and translucent fin-like wings. But when she knelt beside him, she seemed nothing more than a girl. Her wet hair, light in color, hung in her face.

"The spirit lied," she said quietly, and Eihr stared up into the black.

"Go," he said.

The emeyan vanished back to Surreality.

"You are not Hart Eda'quoat," Eihr muttered the spirit's words once more. The emeyan had said the truth. The spirit lied.

Because of Hart, he was like this. Because of Hart, he would never be his own. Because of Hart, he suffered. Abruptly angry, Eihr tossed the knife to the river's bank. Then the anger went, and he was merely tired once more.

The knife was gone now. He was blind; it might as well have been anywhere, elsewhere.

Elsewhere, as the spirit had said, with his lies.

Slowly, Eihr pulled himself up from where he was lying on the river's bank. He stared blindly down at the mud. The venom the serpent had struck upon him was the same venom that imbued her lying mouth.

Her lie meant nothing. It was the truth that mattered.

Listlessly Eihr pulled off the young at heart necklace. Like the knife, he tossed it away. Now it too was gone.

Without the necklace he looked young, hair wet and dripping, clothing sodden with river water.

Eihr rubbed his eyes. He disliked that he felt this way. Many times Hart had been unhappy. When Eihr felt nothing, at least he did not feel like this.

"I Wish," he muttered. With a Wish he might prove the spirit malicious and deceptive; and he might be rid of this feeling. I wish I was not Hart.

But there was no meaning in Wishing. There was no meaning in proving her wrong.

Slowly, Eihr pulled himself up from where he sat. He nearly walked on the knife he had tossed aside, though he was not aware. He had dropped his bag on the bank of the river somewhere near here, but without the emeyan he would not be able to find it. He would not spend time attempting to. He wanted to be away from this place. He wanted to be away from his thoughts.

Eihr turned and walked away from the river. He walked faster, faster, and then he was running, running blindly into the night.

It was dangerous for him to run. At some point there would be something that would stop him. But while he was running, the danger was all he might think about.

[Pig Boy]

The River's Daughter

The Truth was a multifaceted concept. In whatever way one looked at a situation, an object, an event, or anything, one only saw it from their own individual angle. While part of it was laid bare, and plain to see, the rest was obscured by their lack of omniscience. Such was Eihr's blindspot when he wished he wasn't Hart.

Eihr knew that he could not grant his own wishes. That he could only grant the wishes of others, and even then grant what they needed. There was that pesky concept of Truth again, rearing its head.

And what did the one asking the wish need? Who did the soul that was asking belong to, Eihr or Hart? For though the wish was made, it came from Hart's soul, and Eihr was not Hart, having suffered ego-death in cycles prior.

Thus as the Wish was made, by Hart's soul, uttered through the broken shell that called itself Eihr, there was a tremendous upheaval around the river. Vitria shrieked aloud, clutching her head. "The lie! The Lie! It was a lie! Was it not?!"

The fracture wounds that gathered around Eihr's face, his eyes once beautiful and perfect, began to glow brighter than usual. They gleamed with the light of many suns, as they began to contract, and close.

His body, once broken and sickly, made young again, and whole. Eihr ceased to be, and in its place, Hart emerged from the fractured chrysalis of the one known as Eihr, made whole again, as he needed to be.

The wish brought him back to remembrance of who he was, and so Hart returned to the world, whole as he was before the day he'd broken.

Meanwhile, Vitria, and the three other spirits of the river shrieked, and tossed and turned where they stood. The truth revealed in Hart's wish had undone something deep within the core of their being.

"The Truth shall set us free, sisters! Let us hearken to it!" Vitra screamed at the rest. Svellhulda clutched her head with a winged arm,while Framilia cowered near Praetorum. "We are not the line of Vynmur!" Having said that, Vitria's agony seemed to lessen. And she uttered it again, and again. Followed by the other, apparently false daughters of Vynmur.

Then altogether, they confessed, "We are not the daughters of Vynmur. But we do know where the daughter lies."

So saying, Vitria approached the shore, where Brent stood, casting daggers at Hart briefly before turning to him, "I have deceived you."

"But you will forgive me, yes?" Her reptilian eyes flickered, "You will let us show you to the River's Daughter?"

The other spirits stood silent for once, watching their 'sister' with intent.

!	Message from: Pig Boy
	Sorry Eihr Hart has been reborn by the wish that was made, and Eihr is no more. You have one less wish. This means that: 1. He still has his abilities/marks/mortalborn powers. 2. All previous fractures are gone. 2b. You must choose where your fracture from wishing once more goes.

[Brent Forrester]

When the old man resurfaced, Brent turned sharply towards the splash. It was dark and he was on edge, even though the spirit had said that the old bastard was harmless. Although Brent was vaguely aware of the flirting and the simpering of the other spirits, he kept his gaze on the old man who laid down on his back as if to rest from the swim. A strange girl with fish fins suddenly appeared, and Brent frowned, still on his guard and with his cloak slung casually over his arm. He briefly checked that his horse hadn’t wandered too far, but when he turned back, the little girl was gone and the old man was getting up and ditching his belongings without care. A sudden change started to come over him: the wild hair smoothed, beard disappeared, wrinkles vanished, and… No. It can’t be…

But before Brent could properly register the face he had seen before, bright white veins seemed to erupt across the man’s chest and face. They gathered around his eyes and burned brilliantly like a pair of suns. The spirits seemed to be affected too, and they shrieked in what seemed like piercing agony. When the light vanished, it left the cartographer stunned for several moments, blinking in the darkness. Once his night vision had restored enough to see again, Brent was now certain of who it was.

“You!” Brent shouted at Eihr, still in shock at seeing the blind man whom he might have once called a friend. “The things I did for you, and you turn out to be a treacherous Outlander!”

Squinting in the dark, Brent scooped up the dropped knife. He did not intend to use it but to prevent the Outlander from making a second attempt on the spirits. To a degree he was harmless, and yet something about the magic light had caused such agony to the spirits.

But that was when the truth of the spirits came out.

Again and again, Vitria professed her lies and the lies of her sisters. Liars, betrayers, all of them. Now Brent gripped the knife tightly in his right hand and dropped his cloak to the ground, standing ready as if an attack were to come.

But only more confessions spilled from the three ‘sisters’. And in a funny turn of phrase, they apparently knew where the real daughter ‘lied’. When Vitria addressed him, Brent found it hard to see the same beauty he had seen in her deceitful golden gaze.

“Vitria, if that even is your name, you spoke of how the Melrathi have lost their way and how they have forgotten about land and their traditions around it. But you forget the reason why the first Melrathi came here in the first place. It was to leave behind the pettiness and squabbles of the Immortals. The same pettiness that you have just displayed now.”

Brent paused a moment, his eyes were narrowed, but there was a moment’s hesitation before he continued as if he was unsure whether he should be speaking to the spirits in such a way.

“You act as newborn children, and you can sulk and whine and cry…” He gave a brief nod in Framilia’s direction. “But maybe it is because you are just children. Children who try to lure strangers in with the promise of knowledge and riches. It is no wonder the Melrathi have supposedly lost their way.”

“Nevertheless, if you would like to show us all the true River’s Daughter. I will come along to see.” His tone was subtly lighter and almost playful before he turned towards the now young man by the river.

“You should leave Melrath, Eihr,” Brent spoke directly as he looked at man who had been his friend. “Once this is all over, I will be reporting you to the Ragnari. It is a crime to harm a spirit in Melrath. You’d best not be in Melrath.” His words were curt and restrained, and once again he watched for potential retaliation.

✕✕✕

Template Credit: Navyri

[Azrael]

121 Ashan 720 | Azrael Blackfire | The Wilds

Azrael was having a good time till the old man emerged from the water again and yet another being appeared. Azrael assumed it to be another spirit but it didn't introduce itself like the others had so he didn't pay it quite at much attention as Svellhulda and her sisters. Then things got weird. The old man threw something and he didn't look quite so old anymore. What had he thrown? Where had it gone? Azrael's eyes wandered a little but ultimately were drawn back to the display of lights that followed. The man had gone from old to young and now something more seemed to happen but Azrael just looked away. The sudden light in the dark hurt his eyes and he figured he could look when the flashing lights were done. Then Brent snapped at the man.

Brent spoke harsh words... very harsh words. Azrael was an outlander as well. He'd come from Yaralon. It felt almost natural to attack the spirits when he felt threatened by them... but Brent showed Azrael that he had to be more mindful. This was a land of passionate, but cruel people. Brent seemed to know the man and so Azrael said nothing. Instead he looked to the spirit beside him who had just admit her betrayal. He spoke quietly so that only she would hear and so that he wouldn't involve himself in Brent's rage. Treacherous outlander... did he think that of all of them?

"Svell, you let me down. I guess it's on me. I should have told you I don't like bad liars when I said I didn't like carrots. We had a good thing going, you could have just kept lying. You had me... then you just fumbled it all." Azrael rambled for a moment as his hand lowered to his sword. He didn't draw it but he let his arm rest on the hilt. "So who gave us the bad dreams? And if you aren't the River's daughters then who are you?" Azrael wasn't exactly... knowledgeable about such things. But he was curious and very disappointed so he wanted answers.

When Brent agreed to go to the true River's Daughter Azrael raised his hand. "I'm going too. I didn't come all this way just to watch an old man age backwards... and to have a really nice spirit lie to me. Still not over that, Svell."