The Binding of the One without a home and that Who

[The Returner]

[fieldbox="Satyra, #38ACEC, solid"]

Almost mindlessly, she wandered for a moment or two. Her distant expression a proof of how far her mind was, how preoccupied she became. Eyes aimlessly brushed along the horizon ragged by the thatched rooftops. So much has happened and she never had as much as a moment to stop and think about it all. She never took the time to do so. With a heart heavier than the darkest nights buried under thunderclouds, Satyra took her own way out of the village, knowing Merrek would be waiting somewhere, but unable to seek him out yet. She was unaware of the conversation the Dealer had with the Priest; unaware that just a few moments earlier the saint one has just made it into the forest. But she needed a little longer on her own. After all, harmony was something she needed to reclaim by herself.

Passing the edge of the village, she knew that she could find temporary solace within the arms of the man who loved her. Yet, she still felt shame from her previous action and it added to her overall desperation for peace. She has already faced enough disappointment from Etos to confront even more from the Dealer who undoubtedly felt so. What happened in the Hall... It was not her. She couldn't become that...whatever it was. She never defied the Elders so openly, so harshly. As much as she thought the hurricane of unsettled mind was gone, it's remaining storms still clouded her thoughts and only when she broke the tree line, the shade of the woods cooling her skin, Satyra allowed herself to shiver, tremble to her very core with feelings that she denied herself to feel. The sensation of never really having gained control over herself, ever since her first change. Her feet carried her in the direction she desired to go, and with each step a fresh weight descended on her shoulders. Oh how she missed him. How she missed his guidance. His kind words and hands around her when she felt as lost as she was now. How she desired to just speak to him one more time...

Her legs finally gave up under her as she arrived at the lonely stone within the forest. Unmarked. Aged with weather. Scarred. But as much as it reminded her of him, he was long gone, having rejoined the flow and the essence of the mother Goddess. Long was gone the deep rumble of his voice that sounded like the growl of a bear - wild but strong and reassuring. Her eyelids closed, picturing her father on the black canvas just as she drew him from memory and hung that picture above her table. The breeze that rustled the branches above her wasn't wind anymore. Those where whispers in her mind. Whispers from him to give her strength, caress her skin, brush away the brewing tear from the corner of her eye. "I'm lost, father." She whispered to no one but the empty space around her. "I love.. but the one I love is not one of our own. I want to defend us...but I am afraid..." It was said that memories and strong feelings could leave their mark in space, seep into the ground and live on. Hence, Satyra felt the presence of the only other man that ever mattered in her life more than Merrek almost come into being next to her.

Her subconscious brought out the scent associated with her father. The woods...He was a shaman. The Woodlands were his second home, yet he fell prey to its predators and on the bending grass that air danced upon with its light feet, she knew what he would say. 'Stay strong, my sweetest. Your core will guide you.' It was not heart for it was too prone to instability by emotions. It wasn't mind for it was too logical and apt to disregarding discrepancies. It was the core where the two were united and came into balance. Satyra's lack of harmony stemmed in conflict of the two. Her heart was willing to follow the man she loved, abandoning those she cared for. Yet, her mind condemned such an action as absurd, too radical. Her mind was afraid of the consequences if she were to follow her heart. 'Close you eyes, Satyra. Feel your way through the forest.' He would tell her when they'd go on expeditions into the Woodlands when she was a child. Right now, she was lost in the forest of her own discord.

Her father would be the one to bring back stories of beasts no one has heard of, ignite the imagination of children with tales so charming they could only be found in the Sanctuary. But he was also the man of truth. Inside all his stories lied a veracity. Could she find it inside her own? She was a woman of strength and determination like her mother - the voice of reason; yet she loved her freedom and open-mindedness just like her father. She was no different to the others inside the village, but somehow she was no longer the same. "Who am I..." She whispered to the stone protruding from the soft earth. No one could expect Satyra to continue living the life of a simple life forcer. She was no longer just that. Yet, no one could either ask her to separate herself from her tribe. She was no longer herself, just like Etos said, but that did not mean she was a different person entirely. With a soft sweep of a wave of serenity that washed over the sorceress, she was brought out of this self-induced meditation, her mind becoming aware of everything. The gift from the phoenix allowing her to feel all that was living and the threads no longer felt out of reach. She could feel the distinct colourful threads that despite being alien to her world fitted right. Middle ground was hard to find, but as long as she was willing to accept this new self she still had to explore, as long as she no longer clung to the image of someone she no longer was, Satyra could hope to maintain the newly found harmony. I am sorry for having left you. She spoke on their web of connection, whichever of the aspects it might reach first, standing to her feet.​

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[Rain of the Night]

[fieldbox=Merrek, gold, solid]"It is a bad idea, Priest. It is not wise to start sniffing around like that."
"Well, it's better if he discovers quickly, no?"
The Marksman eyed the Swordsman under his the tissue that covered most of his face. "It might attract unwanted attention."
"I will be discrete."
"You cannot start this again. You need to trust her."
"Yes, so I can happen exactly like it did the last time."

Three of the Aspects had gathered within the woods, two of which were called by the Priest. The messengers had been little critters of the Abyss who had found them with no difficulty whatsoever. These little beasts were accustomed to seeking life threads and since the Aspects all shared the same one, their scent was not hard to trace down. Their little meeting had come to a sour note; the Marksman was displeased with what the Priest wished to do, while the Swordsman thought it was a good idea to research deeper into this world. Little would come out of this conversation, but the Priest needed to let them know what was happening. The Marksman himself was about to interject himself again, but there came that sudden call within their minds, spawned from that of which was tied to his soul. The three of them immediately came to look into a specific direction that seemingly had nothing going on there… But they had felt it.

The Priest was beginning to step towards that direction, but the hand of the Marksman came to stop him in his tracks. The both of them exchanged a look that spoke very little of what was going through their minds. The Swordsman, for his part, just resumed his patrol, knowing it was best to stay out of all of this. He leaped forth onto one of the tree branches higher up, and then vanished into the canopy of leaves. The two left continued on with a few exchanges of words.

"Go to the Hall if you so desire, Priest. I will go to her. Last thing I want is you prodding the dead in her presence." The marksman seemed firm in what he said; already beginning to make his way towards the soul he had come to love. The Priest stared at him with mysterious intent, but did as he was asked, going into another direction to study the flows of this world. "As you wish, Marksman." The Marksman soon came to meld into his environment, becoming completely invisible to the naked eye, and even beyond… It was as if his thread wasn't even present. It would allow him for a more silent approach to her, maybe study her form and expressions to know what he would be faced with.

It would take mere seconds for him to arrive at his destination, using a very basic spell that would allow him to teleport himself within the same kind of area with little effort. He would arrive a little bit before the tree line broke for the little mound that held the grave of a being he knew not of, yet. His eyes immediately set upon the one that had captured his love, seeing that she was here for little time. He remained invisible for the time as he approached, not even leaving any tracks as he stepped onto the soil. He red what he could from her, even tapping into their threads to maybe understand what might possibly be happening… Though he could not feel these threads as well as the Dealer or Karim, he could pull off hints of emotions and memories. What surfaced was confusion, doubt, uncertainty, before it led to relief and partial recovery of the mind. This would be the best he could do, and maybe it would be best he spoke to her…

And so, as he walked up the mound, the camouflage would fall from him as if flame burnt away the nothingness. In his last footstep, a few feet away from the Sorceress, he came to completely show himself. His attired certainly was a strange one; it belonged to a being that could only live in a heated environment, like the desert or maybe the jungle. He was bond in light clothing, along with a veil to hide the lower half of his face. Even thought, his distinguishable bronze hues would show, making it obvious whom the man was. His gaze did linger away from Satyra; he looked at the grave of a fallen being. Whoever this person may be, it was some important. Why? A single grave, on a mound, where there is no other. It was either a sign of admiration for being someone great, or someone had simply been rejected from being buried with the others. Regardless, his eyes didn't linger too long, returning to the young sorceress. "Am I disturbing anything, Miss Satyra?" He asked in a lightly concerned voice.[/fieldbox]

 

[The Returner]

[fieldbox="Satyra, #38ACEC, solid"]

As his camouflage has fallen, she could sense him near. But even without that, somehow the connection they shared felt stronger when he was closer. Or maybe it was just her mind acting on the receding high of the meditation she has brought herself out of. Either way, as she turned around seeing a man she would normally consider a stranger, the bronze of his eyes and the way he addressed her only confirmed her initial feelings. Unknowingly assuming that she has never seen this side of Merrek before, Satyra failed to recognize the Marksman, but that didn't prevent her from giving him a soft smile. It was partially apologetic as she knew that this aspect was part of the others and she owed an apology to the Dealer. But at the same time, he was different. Even after trying for so long, she still saw them as individual men. Perhaps, that made her even richer in love. Unable to not notice where his eyes were looking just a fraction of a moment ago, Satyra shook her head in response to his question, wondering why he still addressed her as miss. Either way, she was long done recalling her father, bringing back memories and scents that made her feel at home once again. Yet, at the same time, she knew that there were rather belated introductions to follow.

Coming to stand by the Marksman's side her hands held one another in front of her as she looked at the lone stone. Sadness and sentimentality coming to claim her for but a moment. "It's my father's remembrance stone," Satyra started the love she still harboured for the deceased man reflected in her voice. "It only seemed fitting to honour him with one as he was a shaman and he loved the forest." Satyra explained quietly, the breeze gently pushing through the branches and playing around with their robes and her hair. Merrek said he wanted to know the reasons for her eagerness to learn the dark arts. He wanted to be told the truth of the origin of the urge and it was the least she owed him. After all, this was the moment and place to do it. She now felt ready and stable to share a piece of her past that still hurt her to this day. But... "Say, if I share my reasons for wanting to learn what you're teaching me, will the others know?" It was a question she wanted to know the answer to for many reasons of her own, but mainly to save herself the hardship of having to repeat herself more than once. She knew she would do so if the need be, but the heartache was present and as Merrek didn't want to revisit his insanity, neither did Satyra want to keep recalling the day she lost her beloved father.​

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[Rain of the Night]

[fieldbox=Merrek, gold, solid]The being who was being honored and remembered by the stone was none other than the father of the young sorceress, to which he brought his gaze back to. This was the man that had raised her, other than what he could presume be her mother. This certainly meant that it held much more sentimental value than most others to Satyra… It was best that the Priest not play with it, especially given the nature of it. Though, he could not deny that this would be the best place if any of the aspects wished to try and communicate with a dead relative of Satyra, who she most probably cared for.

His eyes remained upon it until Satyra came to ask a very particular question that, honestly, he thought she would already know, given the being he was and how everyone knows everything. Yet, he did not give a disapproving look. Instead, he gave a quick nod as he looked back around them. "Once we rejoin, our memories slowly meld together. We remember especially those we have lived ourselves, but all our knowledge is like one bay where all the rivers meet." Simple terms would give a greater understanding of how his mind and knowledge functioned. He knew that with simpler minded people who had not acquired science or technology in an advanced way needed to have simpler references to how things work. Only the Tech would still use scientific methods of explanation with these people.

His hues met hers as he finally reached up to take off his headgear and veil… And this time, he would be recognizable if she remembered their last encounter. Short brown hair, cold, passive expressions; this was the Aspect that 'killed' the Dealer when the nightmares were haunting the Sorceress. "I know of the meeting in the hall, so you do not need to recount it to me." He said fairly casually, approaching the stone now. He was looking for any writing or markings left by human hands, wondering if it was but a carved stone or if there were words to remember him by.[/fieldbox]

 

[The Returner]

[fieldbox="Satyra, #38ACEC, solid"]

Satyra was aware of how his mind worked, the process it underwent every single time the men merged. However, she was hoping it would be a more instant link. Something that would redistribute the information faster so that when she would come face to face with the Dealer, she wouldn't feel that pang of guilt for acting the way she did. They are one and the same. She'd tell herself, but it was so difficult to see them as such, yet somehow, she always found comfort in those bronze hues despite their varying looks. Even more so, when now as the Marksman unveiled himself, she recognized him as one of the aspects she has met only briefly before under circumstances much different, but with the same sense of dread despite the reason. She would remark that his attire was not as she remembered, but then the answer was more than obvious. Merrek was the type to fit within the surroundings of new places. Even the Dealer exchanged his suite for a robe similar to her people.

When he spoke about the meeting at the hall, Satyra only nodded. It was surprising he already knew, but then the Dealer might have called him out after the questioning. Not staying on the issue for too long, she watched him approach the stone and she knew he'd see the simple markings scripting into the boulder a simple few phrases uttered at the end of each funeral, but now made to last within the nature: 'With wind. With earth. With ancestors. Rejoining, rejoicing and free'. She still felt the words vibrating past her lips, the heat of the flames on her cheeks as they burnt his body even when it was a year old memory. "I... Satyra said warily, stepping forward and placing a hand on his arm, working her bravery up to speak the story. Yet before she would go down the road of her own demons, she had one more thing to say. Something he might anticipate just based on the glint in her golden blue hues. The look of apprehension "I am worried they will hear." She whispered, still keeping in mind that the secret of the new teachings was meant to stay that way and as much as they were secluded here, all the undergrowth and trees could hide any accidental listener and she hoped Merrek might just have the answer to that issue.​

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[Rain of the Night]

[fieldbox=Merrek, gold, solid]Within seconds of looking around on the surface of the stone, markings rose to leave a message that was surprisingly clear and nearly untouched by the hands of nature. He read what was engraved carefully, wondering this was something he wanted marked on his stone, or if it was tradition for the Shamans to receive such a farewell on their tomb. The saying was generic enough to be held for anyone of this world, yet it seemed to have influences of nature that could associate to what kind of practitioner he was. Only once the hand fell upon his arm did he look away from the stone and up to the Sorceress. She wished to express something, but the hesitation made the man stand to his feet, waiting for her to gather whatever courage she had.

She requested something of him, something quite simple really. He blinked and then looked around a little, knowing that the inhabitants of this world were much more connected to the primal forces than most other worlds. And so, he nodded, seemingly to no one. "I can put something temporary." He answered casually. Extending his arms forward, his fingers began to weave a pattern within the threads that would be invisible to the eyes of most, but with their connection, the threads he touched became visible to her. This was a show not many could admire; this hands manipulated the lingering, dull grey thread, just like strings, and began forming a pattern within it only Merrek would know to do. Along with these gestures, words of an unknown language formed, and with every syllable, the thread moved along with the pattern. A pentagram slowly came to life, extending a little past the mound on each side. The symbols within the pentagram were the same as those he had made into the threads… Along with random symbols here and there. With a final note, the pentagram flashed and Merrek let go of the pattern, remaining still in the air and still visible for the Sorceress. Grey began to surround them in a sphere like manner, the vanished, along with the pattern. Merrek then faced the young sorceress, a hand reaching up to caress her cheek. "No sound will be heard outside of this mound. Speak your mind, Miss Satyra."[/fieldbox]

 

[The Returner]

[fieldbox="Satyra, #38ACEC, solid"]

Satyra gave Merrek a thankful smile when he assured her already certain mind. In the moments following, her eyes looked at the pattern drawn in the air, the way his fingers manipulated the energies so skilfully and with ease. They danced in empty space and she wanted to join in with hers, reach out and copy the movements but she knew that would go without an effect. As the symbol disappeared and she felt his hand on her cheek, her heavy heart managed the lean into it just as her cheek did, finding comfort in the gesture as she should. Somehow, despite the man in front of her being brown haired and not the man she fell in love with, their connection bridged over the appearance difference. Her hand came up to cover his for a moment, keeping it in place to enjoy the simplicity of the warmth of his skin against hers, before she moved both of those in front of herself. Even now, when silence surrounded them and her words would only be for his ears, she felt the tug of secrecy rooted in months upon months of habit. Yet, she promised and she wouldn't let Merrek down again even if her story would have hard consequences.

"My father is why I am straying from my inborn magic." Satyra started, voice thick with memories and meaning. "Last Rebirth, before my mother went on to the Sanctuary as our tribe's delegate, my father was in the forest gathering specific herbs. He was always prepared for predator attacks, only a few scars commemorated his encounters with beasts. But that one day...something that no one knows for sure attacked him. Her hold on his hand tightened. "A scream from the forest drifted all the way to the village. Bone chilling. Elders with a few chosen life forcers and shamans immediately went to search, knowing others from our tribe where in the Woodlands. My mother was in the search party. When they returned, they were covered in blood, carrying no survivors but my father on a makeshift bed." She tried not to shiver, not to feel the ever growing pain to accompanied the wisp of an image of the body almost torn to shreds with life thread so thin it was a miracle it was still intact, carried over on their connection as she clenched her teeth, battling it. Battling the feeling of loss everyone suffered that day. It was not only her father who was lost. The others...they were unsalvageable. "I saw him. I saw him look my way with the last snippets of energy. I felt his need and want to do something, say something, but before I managed to cross the distance... ...gone. A breeze brushed against their skin, appearing to carry that grave whisper like cold breath from the other side.

Satyra shivered stepping closer to Merrek and reaching out with her other hand to hold onto his robes on his chest, eyes dropping and closing. She knew that her first lie was now palpable in the face of the truth. "They always rightfully suspected me. I always wanted a moment longer. Just a moment to find out what happened. To say my goodbyes. The wound of being so harshly torn away from the only man in her life was reopened and it bled. She has not spoken of her heartache ever since she felt like everyone turned on her. Her mother was her confidant right after the accident, but once Satyra spoke up in her heartbroken state against the Elders for not wanting to allow contact with the lost souls, a seed of suspicion was sown into everyone's mind. The woman who gave birth to Satyra was rightfully worried that her only child wanted to abound onto the road of corruption. No one looked down on the dark arts, but Life Forcers and Ancestor Callers were the right opposites of the magic spectrum with little to no chance of symbiosis.

Satyra would have said more, but at that moment sorrow overtook her one more time, bitter tears falling down her cheeks, but she wasn't crying. The tears were silent testament of held back bitterness she felt towards the lack of trust she received from those she relied on after her father's death, but as well towards herself, for lying to them and even to Merrek up to this point. "I swear...my intentions have long changed.. Satyra spoke quietly, her grasp on Merrek's hand and robe tightening. "Please, don't turn on me too..." Satyra pleaded and at last the fear of losing her mentor and lover won over. She remembered that one of the first questions he asked her were about her own investment in the matter and she lied by saying the dark art wasn't to be used for her own purposes, when now, it was more than clear she might have such intentions. But her reasons were pure. Her need for closure was of the most profound level of wanting to part with her father the right way. Hoping that Merrek would understand her amidst his insanity and his own heartache and forgive her, Satyra knew there was still more to tell. But for the time being, she dared not to speak further, awaiting judgement maybe sooner than it would come.​

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[Rain of the Night]

[fieldbox=Merrek, gold, solid]Something weighed heavily on the thoughts of the young sorceress; that much could be read by how they had interacted so far. Whatever she meant to say to him would certainly be a harsh reminder of a past event she would be displeased of remembering. Why did he know this? It was always so, in reality. IT had always been something that was a part of someone's personal history that brought forth such emotions and reactions. He too suffered from many of his past occurrences, many of which were lost but not forgotten, while others surfaced like it did at the Ceremonial Hall.

His bronze hues remained on the young sorceress as she began to speak, his thumb gently caressing her skin. The story began with that of his father, the one who lay under the ground, in front of the stone. It was a tale of an unfortunate death, as many others were, but this one stayed personal to the young sorceress. Merrek felt like maybe this was his father's time to go, so there wasn't anything abnormal about this death… But to Satyra, it was the words that were left incomplete that wracked her mind. Death, for the Marksman especially, wasn't something that came to affect him, even when it was personal. Yes, there was always a hint of sadness, but the people he typically fought with knew what was to come of them, so one just needed to fight forth. However, he could understand what she was going through.

His fingers never ceased to run across the skin of her cheek, even as she got closer. Yes, she had lied to him about something that was important for him to know, but it was maybe for the best. The Dealer wouldn't have let this slip so easily, especially when he spoke of corruption. Yet, in some way, it would be something he would take into strong consideration, given the will to push forward just for this. He remained still as she asked him to stay by her side. His hand left her, only to come wrap around her shoulders and pull her head against his chest. "There is no need to worry, Satyra. It is not because of this I will quit your side, same for the others aspects." He started, eyes closing for a moment. "I am sure we will be able to oversee she detail. Just know the Dealer will tell you what I will tell you now; let your father's death be what starts your fire, not what fuels it." He gave a pause for her to compose herself, wishing for her sorrow to be lifted away and tossed out. Though, this particular situation had a solution that the Dealer, the Swordsman or the Mage could deal with for sure.

"There is another solution to speak to your father, without needing to bring him back from the dead."[/fieldbox]

 

[The Returner]

[fieldbox="Satyra, #38ACEC, solid"]

He embraced her. A gesture so simple but speaking thousand words that made her lean onto him with more than her body but her heart as well. Her hands traced from his torso onto his back, curling around the fabric. He would not leave her. He would not let suspicion win over his mind like with those she loved and respected. He would not abandon her to meddle within the arts herself and cause much more damage than good. Satyra nodded against his chest. At first, her father's death was the reason what brought the flame to life and kept it burning with that sole intention of raising him to speak to him one last time. But over the year, she has seen others suffer the same or similar fate that by the time she found Merrek, all those months ago, her own selfish needs were no longer in the forefront of her mind. Hearing her lover saying the words that she already lived by only reassured her that their harmony ran further than the connection they created. She did not need to fear Merrek parting with her.

Aside from the reawoken sorrow of the loss, her anxiety of being alone also diminished as he spoke and held her. She faced the consequences of personal guilt within her mind for long enough, but even that was slowly disappearing. When he spoke of another solution, Satyra nodded her head a few times, parting enough to be able to look at him. "I know. But the Ancestor Callers from Lake Children Tribe won't fulfil such a minor request. They could bring the remnants of my father's thread forth so I could say good bye, but it costs a lot of energy." The sorceress explained, though the longer she looked at him, the more she had a feeling that the Marksman was not talking about the same thing. Her eyes widened slightly, hope sparking again to life but she dared not to let it soar too high as she did not dare to speak and plead for something that she knew Merrek did not particularly like. She would let him either crush her wishful thinking with reason and facts, or enable it to take over her one last time.​

[/fieldbox]

 

[Rain of the Night]

[fieldbox=Merrek, gold, solid]The slow relief of this moment, pulling Satyra away from darker, harsher emotions, could be felt throughout the threads that connected their souls. The torment she had suffered all this time with the suspicion of those she loved and cared for. The Marksman was glad to be able to bring comfort to the young sorceress; at least it could bring her out of her distressed state of being. His arms remained around her so she could know he was going to be there for her. Better yet, that he was going to push her away for something that he found trivial anyway; he had lived enough in his life to know that time always fixes things, rather it be for the best or the worst.

Once she spoke, their eyes meeting each other, there was a hint of a smile that let slip that it wasn't exactly what he wish to say. It took seconds for her to notice, and already, he could feel it on their threads. It was with a gentle laughter, almost resembling that of the True Aspect and, oddly enough, from most aspects. He spoke once those eyes opened wider, letting her know what he wished to hear. "There is no need to request this from the Tribe. The Dealer is known to be a Spirit Talker; bringing spirits up from the dead to speak to them…" He slowly parted from her, knowing he would have to explain something.

"Though we do not bring the dead back to life, we do influence the day, just as we do not kill, but we influence those alive." With arms extended on either side of him, one thread showed its colors in each hand. On was of a lighter, vibrant color, while the other was darker, more opaque. They had become immobile. "We cannot make Life release its grip on those it has claim over… but we can loosen the grip." Gently, his hand released the lighter thread, starting to darken and becoming shades like the one he held in his other hand. Though, it never truly became like the other thread as the hand squeezed back around it. "Just as we cannot make Death release its grip on something it has claimed, but we can also loosen its grip." The same happened, but the complete opposite, with the thread getting lighter, but never like the other.

Once the demonstration done, the threads vanished and his arms fell to his side. "I think our aspects will be able to help you with your request."[/fieldbox]

 

[The Returner]

[fieldbox="Satyra, #38ACEC, solid"]

Her heart thumped in her chest with renewed vitality that stemmed from more than adoration. He was willing to fulfil her wish she held hidden for over a year that it still sounded shocking to even consider the possibility of it coming true aloud. She almost gave up on the prospect of ever hearing her father again that now as Merrek spoke and explained the way he proceeded with this, she could only look on with blue-golden hues overflowing with a blend of fascination, not with the way he's done things or the fact he could do them; and avidity from knowing her peace was just touch away. She stood there in front of him, no longer embraced but still feeling enveloped in him. What he was showing her was something she could do herself as a life forcer but not to such an extent. That alone dawned on her the possibilities and what ifs... What if her kind would learn that magic? What if she could advance as far as Merrek and then teach others? What if she could bring more to her people that she has taken already? What if this was her way of giving back?

The sense of wonder and excitement arising from so many reasons, settled in her features even as she looked into his eyes after the demonstration. The disbelief still lingered on her thread but it came to be covered with all those other emotions she hardly kept in check. "Merrek, I..." She started, unable to put her thoughts and feelings into words just yet. "I never wished for anything more but few last words. For this whole one cycle I've been dreaming about it but also afraid. If you...if you could help this wish come true..." He'd award himself with more than the already bottomless gratefulness. He'd help a soul heal and recover from a damage suffered and still suffering. He'd be the saviour he did not believe himself to be.​

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[Rain of the Night]

[fieldbox=Merrek, gold, solid]If this truly what she wished, then he would give what she wanted. In some way, he could see that the young woman would finally be able to let go of something that she has been breaking her back to do without the results she wished for. This wasn't going to be a simple '1,2,3, done' task, as anytime one dealt with the dead, there was always something or someone watching, making sure that he specifically wasn't obstructing the cycle… Who? Well, that was a good question. It wasn't something that bothered Merrek anymore. He had been more concerned about the worlds he has visited than his own personal safety, which was never truly at risk.

The grey sphere of energy appeared once again, though its fabric turned into tiny particles that dissolved into the ambient air, allowing them to hear the woods once again. The Marksman brought two fingers two his lips and gave a loud, almost booming whistle that echoed along the wooden walls of the forest. One would think he was calling someone who was quite far away for it to be so loud… And yet, within seconds of it departing, one could see movement within the trees. The speed at which this thing was going couldn't be followed by the naked eye. It dashed from branch to branch before it set itself on the ground and ran right passed Satyra. What came to be, standing right beside the Marksman, was another aspect; the Swordsman. He bared a typical oriental outfit, like that of samurais outside of their armours, with a sheathed katana tightly snugged into his sash. He gave Satyra a grand smile and he winked at her. They then engaged in a conversation in a language unknown to all but the aspects.

"Khit'f yqu?"
"Ka hiva i tifk fhor llidu fituri."
"Raillllu? Ka ira doetjj fomathetjj fquakeill?"
"Ha ira jjoetjj to fymmot tha fqueret ofh har fhithar."
"Oh fqueretf! Oha daillar kellll ka qyeta axxketad fhor thef ota."
"Ka ira jjoetjj to taad tha qureaft itd tha mijja too."
"Ofh koyrfa, Ofh koyrfa. Ooy kitt to kirt ham ikoyt te itd ftirt rafairkhetjj et, rejjht?"
"Axxiktllu."
"Dota daill!"

They the both looked at the young sorceress. "The Swordsman will tell the others about the request. They will begin to prepare for this. It may take some time, but we will get it done." He continued… And now the Swordsman began to speak. "We have this covered, Satyra. Shouldn't be any harder than usual. I'll see you two later!" He said, and within a second,, vanished, an air current washing over Satyra as the Sowrdsman dashed by.[/fieldbox]

 

[The Returner]

[fieldbox="Satyra, #38ACEC, solid"]

At the command from the man in front of her, the barrier dissipated into no longer needed particles of magic, that almost like snowflakes fell and disappeared. Perhaps it was just her imagination but she could feel the breeze and its cool touch against her skin with more urgency when sound was once again free to travel. Even more so when the whistling sound that Satyra swore must have been heard all the way back in the village, cut the air like sharp steel of weapons that have not been used since the war of long time gone. Wildlife scurried away, birds resting on the branches above their heads protested and flew away only in time as another entity closed the distance between the sorceress and her companion.

The Swordsman landed by their side securely on his feet like an acrobat. Satyra replied with an equally gladdened smile, the wink making her feel extraordinarily giddy inside. She could only guess what the two aspects were talking about but the moment the Swordsman reassured her before dashing off, she could just about utter her thanks to him, unsure what the preparations needed to be. Even a tinge of sudden uncertainty stabbed at her mind as she remembered the Priest and his attitude. Would he be against it? Would he come forth and question her?

"I hope they will all be fine with this." Satyra said quietly as she watched the branches sway in the empty air, the only sign of where the aspect has disappeared to. Eyes turning from the greenery to the bronze hues of her lover. a blossoming bud of adoration appeared through the reflection of the Woodlands on the golden blue canvas. Even though, he didn't look like the man she fell in love with, she could feel the infatuation coming anew.He could look anything he liked but he would still be the same man at heart and mind. Perhaps, she finally figured out what she needed to do - to fall in love with all of them separately to come to love them as one. Satyra stepped closer to the Marksman, arms coming upwards to wrap around his neck so she could embrace him.

"I can't even begin to say how much I appreciate what you're doing Merrek." The sorceress whispered as lightly as the late afternoon wind that brushed against them through the forest flora just as she felt she could brush against him. However, there was the very convenient side of their connection. She did not need words to convey what was going on inside her. It was all marked on her thread to certain extent. The stronger emotions that shifted her overall demeanour, reflected on her life that he could now feel so intimately. And so she leaned even further in and pressed a light kiss upon his lips that marked her newly found affection for this new man yet the same man in her life.​

[/fieldbox]

 

[Rain of the Night]

[fieldbox=Merrek, gold, solid]"I am sure they will come to reason." His words held a note that seemed to make it sound like a promise. It was to say, the Marksman knew himself very well. Those who would question it would never take this away from Satyra, given it followed the rules that the Mage had made for himself many, many years ago. Certainly, he had already broken one, but it was not an act he regretted. It had all turned out fairly well, and he did not have to withhold his desires for others any longer. It was something that could bring him back fond memories of mortality, which he would hold on to tightly.

Satyra came to place her arms around his neck, which was answer with his own seeking to wrap themselves around her waist. The came no hesitation to tighten his embrace to bring her closer to him, so that little to no space was left between their bodies. She had changed his life so much in such a short time, just like those who had claimed his heart before her… She represented a priceless gift that he could not refuse to have, a gift of both love and relief, of affection he long sought out for and a reminder that immortality had its great moments. Nothing could make this scene flourish more than the lips of the Sorceress coming to claim his own in adoration for one another. Merrek remained silent as their shared an intimate moment alone in these woods. Only the soft breeze created the rustling of leaves, though it was barely audible to the two.

They remained within each other's grasp for God knows how long, but the Marksman broke off the contact, though reluctantly so. His forehead came to rest against that of Satyra, his eyes still closed… There was no need to see her when the energies of the thread were drawing a beautiful for him. Their connection allowed him to see past the mortal coil and into the soul of one another. It was an experience on its own, as it was never predicted that this could ever come to happen. The Creators had told theories about a thing happening, but not with human beings. Elves, who were naturally gifted with magic, were said to have a chance of creating a bond in their magic, but would require time and rituals that held no connection to the emotional state and inner desires of their person. Truly… Merrek had yet to see everything he could in his existence, and that filled him with life.

"Then do not speak it." He whispered quietly to her, a hand running along her back, then onto the symbols on her sides that had their magic spark once more. It was strange how the power these marks held triggered so easily to his magic… It was the first time sorcerous magic upon one's being reacted in such a manner, and again, was fascinating and new to the man. His fingers explored the bare skin, though not in lust and desire to take her, but in mysterious contemplation. Even his own marks were acting up, sending odd, pulsating energies within him, one he was most unfamiliar with.

"I thought I would have seen it all, felt it all…" He began speaking, fingers now trailing up to the tinted marks under her eyes. "… And mortality always seems to throw me something I do not understand or haven't studied." His eyes opened, hoping to meet the mixture of blue and gold he could see within her eyes every time. His smile was a simple one, showing signs of his love for the Sorceress who had come to join in his life, to have helped him pass through a time that could have caused his demise. Very few had come to take this away from him, and as life would go on, so very few would continue to do so.

"… You should return to your people. I will return to my duties for now."[/fieldbox]

 

[The Returner]

[fieldbox="Satyra, #38ACEC, solid"]

But I have just began to know you... She uncontrollably thought when she was advised to return. It was a circle of repetition of emotions and realizations that she would be bound to for a long time, but the smile curving her lips spoke of understanding of many things at once. "It takes more than the thousand life times you've lived to uncover all the secrets mortality beholds." Satyra spoke kindly, yet somehow with a spark of knowing in her voice. She has been on the road of learning since the day she has been born and from her view, she could never hope to even be able to uncover all the secrets about herself and her magic to ever hope to uncover all the mysteries of everything living and breathing within her life time. With her hand lightly travelling from his neck to brush along his cheek, feeling the flow of threads and magic beneath his skin and within the inscriptions, her thumb left a soft promise against his bottom lip.

"Don't let the Dawn Stalker get you." She gave away a good natured simile of a warning, making a small wordplay on one of the sayings of her people. Yet, she would leave it to his imagination and curiosity to either ask next time they meet, or maybe figure it out himself as she has already turned, with a small bow of farewell and began her journey back to her village. Her steps on the soil of her home world were light, almost as if she could break into a light dance, the nature and rhythm of power coursing through the veins of the earth being her music. Instead, she only allowed a little sway to her body that had her hair freely fall by the command of the breeze, her long braids swing mildly from side to side. Nature was her ruler and she freely gave herself to it. However, a sting of solitude attacked her mind at one point as she realized that Blitz would have been with her there and then, enjoying the moment of harmony just as much as she was. Alas, he was back in the cottage, suffering most likely. Her tempo slowed, losing its energetic march as she broke the tree line, eyes settling on the thatched roofs of her village. Her golden-blue hues carrying a burden of knowledge that stopped her dead in her tracks. One day, all this would be different. One day, they would all change. One day...

"One day is a day too far for you to worry about now, child." A voice of wisdom sounded inside her head and it was more than that which caused the hair all over her body to stand in attention. The harbinger softly landed down by her side, its size as magnificent as its appearance. The warm tones of the late afternoon sunlight reflecting off its fur and feathers. It's own rich, golden hues bearing into the sorcerer's. The moment that they stared at each other almost felt frozen in time. A connection much farther reaching than that she shared with Merrek made itself known to her. Not in its entirety, but noticeably enough to make her gasp silently at its very own implication. The harbinger almost seemed to smile as it lowered its gracious body to lie down by Satyra's side. "Everything changes in time, child. You, this world, me..." The great creature turned its head to overlook the land in a motion almost nostalgic. Stillness fell upon the two as Satyra's rushing hard tried to overtake her mind which was just as equally racing. The harbinger...lowered its head towards the sorcerer's at last, almost seeming to intending on brushing its flat snout against the woman. "Aspire to greatness Satyra. The burden you've become to bear so suddenly will come at a cost, a frightening toll to pay. But when Promia unfolded within my palms, I could only dream of one like you to walk upon it one day." The harbinger turned its head away again. Perhaps to break the eye contact that was heavy with wishes untold, hopes not reached. Its existence was ancient, holding the same regrets and desires that Merrek might have. " My desires are long the essence of this world, unchangeable. But yours are not. You will have countless opportunities to fulfil all that you desire. Embrace it, child. Don't fear it. Don't fear the consequence. The one who is with you will protect you from failure." Those were words of blessing and higher request interwoven into desperation born from lack of power. Satyra understood and as the harbinger's quivering breath of wordless admittance, the young woman has realized its own humanity. Its own vulnerability conceived behind the regal decorum.

"As you wish, mother goddess." Satyra whispered with a shaking breath of her own and a heavy, obedient nod of a head mirrored by the august creature as the two women reached an agreement only those of loss, sacrifice and love that ran so deep could ever understand.​

[/fieldbox]

 

[Rain of the Night]

[fieldbox="In the Woods, green, solid"]The words she bestowed on him couldn't be any truer than they were; though he was bound to live until the end of times, or maybe until he was finally consumed by the burning fires of the Destroyer , or anything that could actually end his life, there would probably never be a time when he would know everything that could be known in all the realities. Even to this day, he had discovered magic he had not encountered before and could still try to figure out. These were simple instances in his life able to keep him away from his madness. Goosebumps rose upon his skin as he hand followed the flow of the threads within him, an electrifying sensation that jolted his senses since they had joint life threads. Very few had been able to make him feel so different from what he was…

The Dawn Stalker? This sounded like a creature of myth and legends, yet the Marksman believes that this wasn't said without purpose. The gentleness of her words hinted to something innocent, but it was like the other stories of creatures of legends coming to get you… And in these lands, anything could be true as long as he was new within it. There was much to dig out, but it would be left to the other aspects to do so. For the time being, he had a task to attend to. Offering the sorceress a final smile, a clock overtook his entire body, making him vanish from sight, and even from the area. He would leave her to return to her village while he had many thoughts to ponder on, and a task to return to. It was truly a lifting experience he shared with her, and he knew it wouldn't change.[/fieldbox]

​

[fieldbox="In the Village, gold, solid"]Having been left to his own devices, the Dealer had spent his time with the locals of the village. Their hospitality and willingness to speak to him had been a surprising sight to behold, especially considering the other otherworldly being had come to this world and left its mark. Though most of the conversations had been very simple and never broke into each other's personal lives, one in particular had sparked a deeper exchange. This conversation had been with a middle aged man, a father too, who had approached him. The initial conversation was simple introductions, a chatter of what they've be doing that day. A few of Merrek's events that he had been willing to share certainly had the man scratch his head. But, the conversation had changed once this father asked about something the Dealer had done with the children.

"Why did you give them those things?" The question had started the sudden change in the conversation the dealer and the man had been having. They were seated down on some grass, leaning against a balcony's support column, enjoying a lovely day. The dealer looked towards the man who showed both concern and curiosity to what he had presented to the children. He offered the father a kind smile as he went to answer back to the question. "Satyra spoke of everyone here being connected to magic once they reach a certain age." His eyes then set on a building across from them. "So, it is best you teach them a few essentials about it now." This wouldn't come to really reassure the man about his implications, which is why his 'hot so sure' look remained plastered on his face. Understanding that he needed to further explain, he chuckled and leaned forward. "The cards are for them to learn about magic and their intricacies. Each of them is unique and produces a unique effect, depending on what color it is. I want them to discover, experiment and use their imagination. Also, ask for help from those who have knowledge." He spoke of this with such ease, as if he knew everything about their magic like the inside of his pocket.

The father still didn't seem convinced, which had him bring up a particular question. "Is it safe?" The Dealer only came to nod and confirm it for him. "I would never give something to a child that could harm them. And it is hard to misuse them, as they serve a very specific purpose." Merrek had a particular fondness to the youth present here, though why was still unexplained. Regardless, he wanted to show the man he knew what he was talking about, so he offered his hand forward. "Thirsty?" Merrek asked, which the man looked towards him with blank eyes. "Yes?" He said, wondering why the sudden offer of a hand towards him. Purple tendrils of magic extended out of his sleeve, which had the man on his guard, having probably never seen this before. They swirled into each other, coming to form a cylinder with a handle, made out of smoothed out wood. The man stared in awe as it came to be, right until the tendrils retreated back into the cloth.

"Take it, its wild berry juice." The Dealer said with a kind smile. The father was unsure if he should take whatever had just manifested in his hand, but so far, what reasons did he have to not trust him? He reached for it, though he had to ask; "How did you do that?" He had just been captivated by what had just happened. "Magic." Merrek replied to the man as he did the same thing for himself, with the same liquid. "Cheers." He did as he drank from his own. Now, if this didn't express, he had many other tricks for the man. Maybe he'd enjoy a show.[/fieldbox]

 

[The Returner]

[fieldbox="Satyra, #38ACEC, solid"]

Feet took her step by step through the meadow where the gentle breeze brushed over the straws of grass. One would hardly believe what hardship this land has seen already and what hardships were to come. It all looked too peaceful. Too kind to have ever been struck by hatred so deep it tore the land apart. But as Satyra walked forth, she could feel the energy coursing through the very veins of Promia. She could taste its aeons old waves and twists. It's wisdom, fears and desires. She hardly had a chance to realize it but she has been connected to her home world almost as if its magic now formed her body. Almost as if she were one of the gods that gave birth to Promia. It was a strange thought. One that made her light headed, but could it be true? Of course, it could just a figment of her imagination, a wishful thought that could bring her closer to the one she loved. Maybe if she was like him, she would live forever. She could make sure that he would not retreat to madness like Promia once had.

In the village, eyes were on Merrek. Wherever he went, whatever he did, whatever he said. The eyes might not have felt oppressing but they were present. There seemed to have been certain implication on misconceptions he might have had as he spoke, but no one felt the need to correct him. Not for his power and whatever fear it might have invoked. But if he was anything like Faireheart, he would not stay long. Hence the knowledge was not necessary for him to have. Yet, if he were to stay, he would have time to learn which yet again, prodded no one to correct him. Among the attention, there was a villager who hawked that visitor the most - Deva, the elder of shamans. The one who spoke the less, but when she did, wisdom were her words. She seemed to be the most leveled one. She seemed to be able to recognize a liar from an honest man with a simple look. Her eyes were those of justice.

She watched the trick, felt it with her being as the power so connected to the land coursed through her like they did with so many others in this group of settlements. As drinks were shared, she at last slowly approached. Not with apprehension, but with the mature prudence she possessed as an Elder. As she draw nearer the father looked up to her with a gentle smile of a friend and gave her a nod in greeting. She replied in kind since despite her reserved attitude, she was certainly of loving nature. Yet then, her eyes came to settle on the newcomer and with the warmth of respect, she spoke to Merrek. "Mind joining me?" She asked politely, but 'no' was hardly an expected answer.​

[/fieldbox]

 

[Rain of the Night]

[fieldbox=Merrek, gold, solid]The exchange the two man were having had left an imprint on him and whoever was watching him at that time. The world of magic was so broad and wide that Merrek knew there would never be one time in his life where he'd discover the entirety of it. This did not stop him from trying. He was birth from the threads and the desire for mortals to create life without the help of the gods or conventional mating; it was natural he'd wish to explore further. It also aided him transmit his knowledge to those willing to lend an ear and those who have shown to be reasonable enough to wield it without outrageous consequences. Who knows; maybe someone other than Satyra would wish to learn more about this art. He would be there, as he had always been for those he taught. Even when times get hard within other realities, he found time to teach those who needed his guidance, hence the multiple aspects.

The two were able to move on and discuss a little bit more about the cards. In fact, Merrek had let the man in on a few details to help the kids out, if they asked the right person. A small list of colors came with what they were tied to, which was something the man found different from what they did. Their magic was different from that used by the people of other realities, but everything had a link or a resemblance to be based upon.

Before The Dealer could elaborate further on the subject at hand, he noticed the silent approach of a being of great importance here; one of the elders. He had a keen eye for these things, and he looked towards the approaching woman with that ever present smile on his face. The father to his side and her exchanged a brief acknowledgement, and the request followed. Join her? He looked to the man at his side first, and then slowly finished the rest of his drinks. "If they come to ask, let them know, alright?" The Dealer said to the farther as he stood up, dusting off his backside. "I would love to join you, Elder." The father also came to finish his magically created drink and lifted the mug towards the man. "I believe this is yours." The Dealer shook his head and lightly pushed the mug back. "A gift. Keep it." He reached down and took his own mug, and with a simple wave of the hand over the object, it turned to dust and vanished into the ambient air. Then, he came to her said and made a small motion forward. "Lead the way."

As soon as they would begin walking off, he turned his head over to her, a charming smile on his lips. "What owes the pleasure of your company?" she was an elder, and the Dealer was sure she had a lot to do in this village, so the fact that she was here now certainly felt like an occasion for maybe more serious talk. "Can I offer you something to drink?"[/fieldbox]

 

[The Returner]

[fieldbox="Satyra, #38ACEC, solid"]

A few nods of the head later and the man was left behind as Deva walked forth between the simply yet effectively built houses. She shook her head at his offer. "I am fine. You're kind to offer." Deva said looking ahead. She did not choose to not look at Merrek. Her eyes didn't even seem to be focused on the beyond. "The pleasure is understanding, Merrek. Others wouldn't say or ask and it is perhaps for the reason of shamans having to understand the physical more than others." Words of meaning woven into the fabric of speech that might have sounded like a riddle. Deva knew. Hence, she kept talking as they seemed to be arriving at a particular hut with various plants drying outside, leather spread on the grass, dead birds hanging off the beam yet to be deplumed.

"Etos can know your magic but he won't understand your being, your...construct." She came to a stop by the door, that was closed and with the hanging supposition in the air it might have even looked a little ominous. After all, shamans were the ones who hunted and killed, gutted and skinned. They performed ancient rituals where knowledge was sacred and untold to others. "It is undeniable that you are not of our kind. So I ask you to expose what you're made off to me, Merrek so I can understand in ways only a shaman can and I can then decide at last whether you are a threat or not." Now as she turned to at last look at the man next to her, something became clear. Her eyes were unseeing. The irises almost as if burnt white, the pupil seeming to fade as if weathered by age.

Satyra, on the other hand, came to a stop in the field. The thought of magic forming her body, flowing through her as she felt it very clearly exhilarated her and for once she had the chance, the moment to examine it on her own. A moment where she could stop and think. Looking at her hands and inscriptions that were constantly alight, the bronze thread weaved through there so subtly, yet stark to the eyes. Her heart started to drum, her magic flowing in stronger currents. In a moment of excited astonishment of realization, she felt the grass around her. No, not in the way it brushed against her legs. She felt it in its core and she plucked on the thread like a skilled harpist would. She felt it shiver, sway, respond. Never did she experience response so strongly and her heart rate intensified. What if... She drew on all the threads around her, fingers moving in corresponding motion and suddenly it seemed as if strong gust of wind rushed from her in all directions, yet no wind was present. But the grass strands shivered and swayed wildly and a giggle escaped the woman.​

[/fieldbox]

 

[Rain of the Night]

[fieldbox=Merrek, gold, solid]If she did not desire a drink, then he would have no need to conjure up his magic to show her. It wouldn't seem like she needed to see it anyway; somehow, The Dealer had a feeling that the Elder present with him had already been watching for a little while. It certainly made the Dealer feel important and recognized, but also made him strangely cautious of what next actions he might take in favor of Satyra or himself. This was lessened however; Deva mentioned what she wished to have his presence for; understanding. This could be left as a broad term, but it was clear it was meant to point to him, as a being, or maybe even his magic and power.

Something else also was strange and odd; she wasn't looking at him. Not even a casual glance. Looking into them also revealed how they had turned out; a phenomenon he knew little about since he knew little about these lands. Intrigued, he would certainly not fail to accomplish what he could for the woman who wanted to know… of his being. To further add to this different culture, he had been brought to a place one would take for a hunter's hut. Each item was noted from the bronze hued man who was all the more curious as to what this elder did.

The more she spoke, the more he wondered what she really wanted him to do. They stopped in front of the door, and she asked him to expose himself to her. Those words didn't seem to make sense for the Dealer, as nothing was defined in her demand… Though, he knew he needed to do one thing to truly present her with his true self. The threads began to move subtlety, slowly readjusting the coloring and stitching of his clothes. Gone were the light robes that resembled that of the people of these lands. To take its place was a heftier set of darkened blue robes, with thicker fabric and more layers of it overlapping itself. Then the body would remold itself, stretching and releasing the skin to change how the structure of his face, hands and everything under the thick blue clothing. The hair shortened itself, along with shifting through a few set of hair colors before finishing on a black, fairly short hair. This version, the mage or the true aspect, seemed to be lighter in mood and not so somber; his smile held more appeasing warmth, a more inviting expression. Lastly came the final addition; an orb formed over his shoulder, made of crystal clear water. It grew to a basket-ball sized floating sphere, which levitated over him.

Once the transformation done, the threads became quiet again, save for a subtle pattern created not too far outside the village. It's source was familiar, and it only came to warm the heart of the mage. The bronze hues, one shared by all of the aspects, came to rest on the elder. "I do not know what you need me to do, Deva. I could expose myself in many ways… Though Etos might not be too far from seeing what makes me." A subtle hint about Etos knowing his magic, which would; certainly help knowing Merrek's inner workings. "I could make you see what I see, which might explain a few things… Though I sense it might not be what you are trying to make me do…" The man gave a light, kind-hearted laugh. "I'll do anything you desire me to." He gave her as a way to grant her permission to do as she wished.[/fieldbox]