RP:Shards Part 3: Sand
Part of the Lies Within Us Arc
This is a Mage's Guild RP.
Summary: Where the compass leads, an end finally comes in sight. With her old tutor at her side, Karasu ventures deep into the mysterious heart of the desert, to the place where everything began.
Sea of Sand, The Nameless Desert
Karasu had a rather sleepless night. She had seen the Archmage of different realms with no explanation. She felt barely any closer to solving the mystery of how it was she was to get his soul back to the hollow shell that Ernest had described his current state as. The fact that Khitti had seen the same strange event proved that Karasu had not lost her mind quite yet, but did not provide nearly the amount of solace it should have. One overwhelmingly carbohydrate-laden breakfast and generous amounts of back and forth about whether it was safe to go into the Nameless Desert alone, Karasu and Khitti had come to an agreement that Karasu would at least allow Kasyr to accompany her in Khitti's stead. "Watch the ground for unusual dips in the sand, because they might be pitfalls to ruins." "I know, Khitti." "Don't forget your sunscreen and your hat!" "I know!" "And there's a tuna melt in your rucksack in case you get hungry!" "I KNOW! ...Thank you." The demifeline made her work of disappearing into smoke and traversing the outskirts of Cenril, the Sage Forest, then Milous Plains. Spotting a lone figure, the smoke lowers from the skies to just feet away from the figure. Karasu steps forward from the smoke, her red-rimmed eyes hidden behind a pair of black goggles to ward off the sands of the desert. "Damn, these are dark. Kasyr, that you?"
Kasyr has perhaps slept better- though, only just. There is certainly something overwhelming about being the (somewhat unwilling) leader of an independant militia, while simultaneously juggling -multiple- conspiracies (plans?) to commit deicide of varying degrees. ...-And- he was still expected to grade Student papers, though, that crux of academic heavy lifting had been shuffled to other individuals. "God. I actually miss it." Unfortunately, it didn't look like the world of academia was aiming to smile at him any time soon- given the body count associated with him and the fight in Xalious Village. And so, he'd walked to clear his hand. And walked- and at some point he'd lost track of time, and place- only really aware that he was getting further and further away from old problems, and closer to -something- new. His hand fumbles into his trenchcoat, pilfering a bent cigarette from an innerpocket- only for a swirl of smoke to dip down within his proximity and begin coalescing. "Uh?" It -feels- familiar, that much his empathy allows him to intuit, but it takes Karasu's proper materialization for the Kensai to relax. "You might want to try wiping the lenses. Goggle maintenance es important, becomes a complete bother if they get too grubby or scratched up." He's got a pair with neon-blue lenses perched on his forehead. He knows what he's talking about. Sometimes. "So, uh. ...What's the fire?" Why else would someone seek him out?
Karasu takes the googles off and blinks the harsh sunlight of the desert away. "Ah, I suppose I was faster than the carrier owl." She says a bit sheepishly, scratching at the scar tissue around her neck. "We're going on a bit of a scavenger hunt. Namely, I think you know the desert better than I do, so I just need you in case I get lost. But I won't get lost." She flips on the request for his company with a wary squint, likely in another effort to not seem weak. Breaking the gaze, Karasu reaches into her pocket and withdraws a golden disc the size of the palm of her hand. In it's center is an alexandrite stone, secured with deep violet sewing threads in a neat criss-crossing pattern over it. The spellblade opens the disc, and a red arrow manifests over the blackened interior, pointing further into the desert. Karasu starts to follow the arrow, motioning for Kasyr to follow. "I gave this to Odhranos a few years ago. It's a knick-knack the old telemancer and divination departments created for the Ahr'Nuk festivals that taps into your consciousness and points the way towards something your heart desires. I have one as well, but it points in a different direction, meaning this thing is still connected to the Archmage in a way."
Kasyr tilts his head slowly to one side, and then the other- before he finally nods his ascent towards Karasu's... well, it's really less of a request then an assertion of his upcoming agenda. "Yeah. Okay." That said, his acquiesance to her request grows a bit more genuine once she clarifies the matter. Less the 'Hey, let's venture into sandworm country', and more- her concerted efforts to locate Odhranos. With a drawn out sigh, he sets his cigarette alight with a cantrip, and takes a thoughtful puff, "So, you have a compass that leads to him- wouldn't that just...I mean. ...find our resident friendly skinwalker." There's a distinct lack of humour in the way the Kensai says it, more disdain then anything- out of recognition for the necessity of the indignity. "How familiar -are- you with the desert? Not that I'm doubting your navigation skills- just more curious about how many of the landmarks you're familiar with?" Questioning aside, the kensai does make good of following after Karasu, figuring she's at least armed herself with some rudimentary knowledge. "Er, et- how have you been? Beyond..., uh." He gestures- in reference to things as large, as well as their stilted last meeting.
Karasu makes a face at his question of her knowledge. "I kind of died out here a few months ago, but I can reorient if we find the obsidian shrine to Vakmatharas. And no, I followed it to Cenril yesterday, and Khitti and I saw something rather unexplainable. It seems to be honing in on his consciousness instead of the walking mockery." Their disdain of Ernest's not-quite-corpse preservation seemed to be more than mutual. There is a bit of an awkward beat as she realizes she cannot quite dodge the question of how she has been. "Aside from my first foray with death, I think I will be okay as long as things stay more or less how they are now." The wind kicks up, and Karasu lowers the blackened goggles. The red arrow shines clear as day through the visor, much to her relief. "Slain any Gods or wannabe Gods lately?" Karasu asks over the roar of the desert winds.
Kasyr would question the death part, but that'd be -incredibly- hypocritical of him, even if his present company -wasn't- aware of how he'd once earned the moniker, 'Ashen'. "Uh. Hrm. I guess that's at fitting place of . . . Temporary rest?" He pauses, squints a bit in thought, takes a puff- and then remembers that he's supposed to be keeping pace with Karasu. "You aid honing in on his consciousness- according to an earlier incident. So- his, mind has gone for a long walk, more or less?" ...Whilst this was somewhat hopeful news, at least for the long term welfare of the archmage, this definitely seemed like the sort of news you -didn't- tell his wife, until more was known. And thus, that silence lingered until at last his former student felt obliged to fill the emptiness with a reply, "It's good to hear, enfin. That sort of thing sticks with people- so I'm glad you're ...adjusting." And then it's back on the subject that had led him to renewing contact after all that time. " Slain? Non. But I've got three works in progress. Four, if we count the long haul." he is -really- eerily chipper about Deicide. "...Though, on the subject of pending work- I also realize that I got jailed before I could give you a follow up exam on what you'd been learning." Jailed, and then a constant conga line of nonsense. He can't help but snort and kick up a pile of sand at the ridiculousness of the situation.
Karasu scoffs. "The world needs to stop ending every other month. And don't worry, we'll get our spar." As she replies, the wind grows harsher, until a gale nearly sends the seven-stone woman to the ground. In her stumble, the compass tumbles from her hands, the arrow beginning to spin wildly. All at once, the wind stops, and the light in the compass goes out, leaving the pair standing in the desert. The dunes seem to be shifted far more than they were a moment ago, and their footsteps have vanished in the sand. "Oh no..." Karasu whispers, turning the compass over in her hands as she tries to figure out how to make the arrow reappear.
Unbroken sand lies for miles in every direction without so much as a single landmark. The horizon wavers sickeningly with the heat radiating off the ground, casting phantom images out across the desert. A vast lake, a shining golden ruin, a shrouded figure, a field of shining glass. All gone as soon as they came, except for the dark figure, which slowly swims into view as they approach. Draped in long loose cloth, the desert leagues seem to warp to their footsteps, in one moment the figure is a thousand yards away, the next they are barely ten. Up close, the stature of the mysterious figure is unmistakable, and when the cloth hood is thrown back, all doubt will flee from Karasu and Kasyr’s mind. Sharpened by the desert’s harsh landscape, Odhranos’ golden eyes stare out fiercely, his features so often softened in expressions of joy are set in a grim scowl. His long hair is shorn tight to his scalp on both sides, in the style of the desert-men and when he speaks, his voice is the low bass growl of the saurians. “I figured you’d come sooner or later.” S’erok grumbles dourly. “Follow.” The dragon-soul turns and without so much as another word, sets out across the sands, a grim guide for a barren wasteland.
Kasyr affords Karasu a smirk at her response, before his gaze tilts off towards the shimmering desert haze. Even when you -knew- where you were going, this place was a desolate nightmare- the barely seen vestiges of familiar landmarks oftentides reduced to mirages when visited more directly. Still, that paled next to the vicious bite of the nameless deserts ceaseless winds- something which saw the Kensai drawing his scarf up around his face as an impromptu flurry of dust picks up around the pair. While Kasyr's mass prevents him from getting pushed around- it does little to prevent him from becoming mired, his feet partiially sinking beneath a fresh wave of sand- granular invaders working their way up his sleeves, padding his pockets, and essentially taking purchase in any point of egress he can find. It's only when it stops that he finally let's out a miserable sneeze and cough- shaking his feet loose so that he can stride towards Karasu's location. "Uh." The compass is peered at, before his attention is once more consumed by the barren desert. "...At least there isn't wyrms?"Ah yes, the lack of an immediate threat in the face of things like Dehydration. How reassuring. That said, whatever morbid bits of glibness are bouncing around his head are soon chased off- as a potential mirage seems to -gain- solidity, rather then lose it. That said, it's only when it properly appears before them that the Kensai ceases to doubt his eyes. "Do we get an explanation along the way, monsieur?" The Kensai will -entirely- look this gift horse in the mouth.
Karasu looks down at the toy in her hands, now devoid of function, and silently pockets it before standing. "I've heard you speak before, S'erok, but I didn't quite expect you to look so similar." She muses quietly, not really expecting the saurian to answer her comment. To Kasyr, a bony elbow to the general rib area of his duster is given. "Whatever is happening is way out of the realm of Intermediate Magical Theory." She hisses, her tail twitching in annoyance. A snort is given, and as they walk, her demeanor relaxes. "Were you the one that sent the other visions?" Karasu calls out to their guide.
S’erok snorts humourlessly. “I wouldn’t be able put it in words you’d get even if I understood, Blade-devil. Littlefang has the truth of it, this is beyond even his understanding.” The dragon trudges onwards, climbing sand dunes effortlessly, leaving no trace behind, not even a footprint. “Souls are brittle things, even the Gods handle them gingerly lest they break and shatter. You’d know, Kasyr, wouldn’t you?” A fleeting glance is thrown over the dragon’s shoulder as he crests the next dune before disappearing down the far flank. “To put Haladavar down once and for all, Odhranos had to do something many would consider heresy. That sorry mage tore his soul apart, so that elven tyrant will never feel the tender respite of the afterlife. A death no one can come back from.” S’erok’s tone is grim as he walks, he doesn’t even try to meet the spellblades gazes. “Unfortunately, this world doesn’t take kindly to those who would disrupt its natural patterns. A price had to be paid. An eye for an eye, a soul for a soul. The Shatterer to be shattered in kind.” The dragon sighs as he climbs the next dune, coming to a halt at the top. “What you’ve been encountering may be the remnants of him that remain. Echoes of the man he once was, or wanted to be. Lingering regrets haunting places that meant something to him. Places that made him who he was.” Once Karasu and Kasyr mount the final dune, a harrowing vista opens up before them. A bleached white skeleton, immense and imposing, sprawled like a cage of bone across the desert sands. Here and there, links of rusted chain dangle and sway from the pale white spine, staining the bones a dirty red where they have corroded to nothingness, giving the impression of dirty blood, marring this corpse decades after its death. “Places he could never let go.”
Kasyr let's out a sharp exhale in tandem with the elbow, something which provides a fresh reminder of what it feels to sneeze out sand. "Calice. Just because it's hard to explain doesn't mean you don't ask questions." Still- the Kensai takes that as his cue to avoid arguing further, hoping that the way forward will provide the answers that their guide is unable to relegate. Admittedly, when Se'rok dubs the Kensai blade devil- there's something about it that doesn't quite sit well with the man. A sensation that only grows more pointed as S'erok affords the Kensai a knowing comment. There were so many potential layers to that remark, and none of them were reassuring. Still, when S'erok clarifies the nature of Odhranos Transgression, the Kensai cannot refrain from offering up a faint wince. After all, when the Kensais nature had been muddied with infernal influence- had he not earned the ire of the very gods. His thoughts are briefly interrupted as they crest the last dune, the Kensai sliding after the pair so that he might take in the morbid sight before them. He resists the urge to whistle, that immediate sense of awe quickly replaced by a solemnity brought on by the sheer scale and -sense- of what he was seeing. There was something uncanny about striding through (and empathically feeling) their guides husk. ...His husk? That idea stuck in his mind for a second, along with the epithet he used. "Are you actually S'erok? Or another fractured remnant?" Would he even know, or be capable of answering, honestly. Did it matter- in the face of whatever nebulous reason they were led here?
Karasu removes the blackened goggles from her head, allowing them to drop silently into the golden sand. As if accepting the new relic into its maw, the sand shifts to cover the object in a matter of seconds. The walk with S'erok may have lasted far less than a day's worth, but the anticipation of finding the man beyond every next dune followed by the disappointment of more vista made the day seem like an endless one. As they crest the final dune, Karasu stares wordlessly at the bleached white bones. Her expression is indiscernable as she steps down from the dune. Even the phalanges of the saurian, though partially buried under the sands, are each as long as the demifeline herself. She turns and looks up at S'erok. The desert sun has burnt her face save for her eyes, which are plagued with bruises from tears. Her brows furrow with frustration as she rests a hand on one of the joints of the husk's former claws, not in a form meant to convey disrespect, but condolence. "Why is Odhranos a 'sorry mage'? He stopped a plague of magical armageddon, and brought you out of the desert to see the good things that this world has to offer, even if they were only fleeting in the context of the time you have lived. Even if it was heretical to some, Xalious Himself would grant him a place amongst the Ascendi for revealing the truth of that cult! If we were to find all the shards, he could come back, right? So why are you speaking like he's already gone?!" By the time her rant is done, the demifeline is shivering despite the intense heat and scorching winds. Sand sticks to the tear-streaks running down her face. "Give me back my brother." She begs quietly, her voice nearly drowned out by the winds.
“Who knows?” S’erok’s tone is glib, almost mocking. “We were together so long the lines began blurring far before either of us realised. Where did S’erok end and Odhranos begin? Which was the dragon and which the mage? Who was shattered, who was spared?” The dragon descends slowly into the pit that houses his remains, walking in among the ribcage like some macabre colonnade. “I don’t know what I am. Maybe I’m a soul left adrift, now that Odhranos is gone. Maybe I’m an echo of an echo, a facet of whatever shards he left behind. I don’t have answers. That was always his thing anyway.” S’erok grumbles dourly. “Why is he a “sorry mage”? Because he was, Karasu, simple as. The man was a wreck, a gnarled ball of regrets and fears and unfulfilled wishes til the moment he died. He cared too much. “Old Helpful Odhranos, he’ll give you his heart on a plate if he thinks it’ll bring you a smile!”” S’erok’s tone is bitter and he kicks at the base of one of his ribs. His foot sails straight through the bone and out the far side without disturbing it. He sighs and turns his head up to the angry grey skies overhead. “He cared far too much. Dragged kicking and screaming into a desert, he’d feel sorry for his captor and swear on his life to help them? Who does that!?” The dragon’s voice is angry, with a touch of sadness mixed in. “He was a hopeless, brainless, sorry mage from the moment I met him til the moment I watched him die! And that was what made him who he was!” His voice is bitter now, wavering with barely suppressed tears as he slumps down onto his knees in the sand. “And I couldn’t help but admire his stupid sorryness, right til the end.” S’erok sighs again, now weary with emotion as he turns his golden eyes towards Karasu. “He was ready to throw everything away to make a better world. So I gave him one more regret as a parting gift. I stopped him.” Through his tears, S’erok manages to muster a grin, a sly cheeky grin that only he could manage. “We shattered and I kicked his shards far and wide where oblivion couldn’t find them.
Kasyr was running out of questions to distract himself with, especially once Karasu's voice cuts through the air- her righteous indignation at S'eroks nickname a sharp jolt to his senses. His jaw clenches, bracing as he hears rage, and how it gives way to realization, and then finally desperation. His head turns to afford the demifeline some modicum of privacy- and to give himself the time to draw down his own goggles over his eyes. S'eroks speech in response does little to allay his concerns, each new 'Was' settling in his guts like a stone. It was for Inks sake that this hurt, and yet- there was something truly uncomfortable about the bitter mockery being heaped on Odhranos legacy. He'd aspired to do something better. And he had- without muddying his ideals in the same way the Kensai had, in order to get results. "You. Can. Just-" He bites back the words, instead focusing his gaze on what remained of their bitter orator. There was something toxic about being here, an infectious aura of rage and melancholy. And yet, they were captive audience all the same- held in thrall willingly as S'eroks speech begins to wind down- and reach it's grim punchline. "Wait." The Kensai isn't quite sure what he's hearing, and he takes a moment to look hard at S'erok- to really squint and get a look at what was talking to them. Because as much as they were -surrounded- by the dragons bones, and practically steeped within it's empathic imprint- one particular thing stood out. Their guide -lacked- that same resonance. Something was there, certainly- a sense of loss both familiar & poignant, but if it had ever contained something of S'eroks, it had been hollowed out so viciously, that there was now a conspicuous absence. An annihilation, complete and brutal.
Karasu stares at S'erok, mouth agape at his confession. Her chest rises and falls rapidly. Even as Kasyr tells her to wait, she reacts quickly, "No, I won't wait!!" The Kensai's ability was lost on Karasu in the throes of her grief for what she was hearing. She snaps and moves to swing an open palm at the remnant of the terramancer. Her hand swings through his face, seeming to have no effect on the saurian. "You don't get to decide what he wants! Humans aren't like dragons at all!" Karasu shouts at him, her features twisted in despair as tears flow freely now. "I saw the remnants he left behind, and who he wanted to be!" Another empty swing. "He wanted to grow old with Iintahquohae! He was going to learn how to sew because he knew how happy it made her!" And another swing. "He wanted to make sure no one had to endure the same fate he had to, to show that magic wasn't something that had to be feared!" A last swing makes the spellblade stumble and fall to her knees in the sand, still within reach of S'erok. She lets out a gasp as the bone fragments in the sand tear at her exposed skin. There are no further moves to attack, though. The demifeline is still as despair overwhelms her. "If being bitter in your last moments is what you think you want, what Odhranos would want for you, then..." Karasu removes Odhranos' compass from her pocket and slams it into the soft sand between her, S'erok, and Kasyr. "Then scatter these shards again." Karasu looks up at Kasyr as he examines S'erok closely. Shaking her head, Karasu lowers her head in defeat.
S’erok accepts Karasu’s rage with a sad frown, even as her hands swipe through his face, only catching air. As her anger is spent on the air and the sand, he can only lower his eyes to the ground. When the compass clatters to the ground softly, S’erok’s eyes flick to it, as it sinks slowly into the sand, half burying the glimmering alexandrite gem. He sighs and crouches to reach out for it. His fingers pass through the sand and lift the compass out of the ground, resting it on his open palm. He flicks open the lid and examines the interior, as if looking for some kind of answer within. The corner of his mouth quirks upwards at what he finds there. “I said he was a man full of regrets and worries, and I meant what I said. Odhranos regretted many things when he died. He regretted leaving his friends and loved ones, worried to leave them alone without a place they could call home, a place with a warm hearth and a bowl of soup to greet them.” S’erok smiles and rubs the heel of his hand against his cheeks. “He regretted tarnishing magic, worrying that it would come to be viewed as something twisted and dangerous, a bad thing to be locked away, rather than something wondrous to be celebrated, something that can bring healing and joy.” S’erok drops his hand and lets the tears flow freely down his cheeks. “And he regretted leaving his promise to me unfulfilled. Worried that I might grow bitter and angry, that he couldn’t make good on his oath to set me free after all this time.” S’erok laughs, a quiet weeping laugh, as he reaches out and places the compass down in front of Karasu. “But despite all that, he never lost faith. He knew that there was someone who could take those regrets and scatter them to the wind” The compass now bears a single glinting arrow which points straight at Karasu. “So you tell him, Littlefang, once you stitch him up and bring him back, that I’m done being bitter and angry. He can’t have regrets anymore, because he’s not a dragon and he doesn’t have enough time to regret. Tell that sorry mage that he’s to live a damn long life and to enjoy every second of it, you hear?” Beginning at his fingertips, S’erok begins to fade, slowly, then all at once. “Tell my little brother, will you?”
Karasu raises her head, understanding dawning on her face. Kasyr seems to kneel between them, his expression full of sorrow for the remnant of the dragon. "We will." He answers solemnly. Karasu reaches out, latching an arm around the remnant's neck. This time, her touch lands just moments before S'erok disappears. Then there is silence again, punctuated only by the hiccups of the demifeline as she regains her composure. By the time the tears have stopped, the Kensai has put the compass back into Karasu's hands and helped her to her feet. Seeming to be dazed from the fatigue of crying, Karasu admits, "I think I got lost. Can we go home now?" Kasyr puts an arm around her and nods, leading the pair away from S'erok's resting place for the last time.