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From Darkness, Love - part 1

In which a strange messenger arrives, Sian's sanity is questioned, and an ancient necropolis braved...

The 23rd Day of Resplendent Wood, Realm Year 763

Sleep comes poorly for Sian this night and unsettling images lance through his mind as he tries to slumber. Black iron, sharp pain, piercing screams and choking sobs fill his dreams, and through it all a voice calling his name. "Sian!" A piteous voice, filled with loss and pain, "Sian!"

Dark figures of terrible aspect walk before him, bathed in rippling green light. His hands are trapped! He cannot breathe! Bubbles burst from his lungs and he realises that the green light is a thick liquid filling his lungs!

Wakefulness arrives, suddenly, a welcomed thing, but it does not come with alertness or relief from fatigue.

He lies in bed for a long while, resting on his front and gazing dully at the wall opposite. Being submerged in water has always felt relaxing, but that dream was anything but.

The blackness of the sky outside suggests that night has yet to depart, stars twinkling dully through a slight haze. A soft rasping sound draws attention to itself, and a black cat, unseen and unheard until now, sits on the table next to Sian's bed, quietly and methodically cleaning itself.

Sian's eyes turn towards it slowly, and it becomes the new target for his unawake stare, as he finds a strange comfort in the continuous motion it makes.

The cat gazes back at Sian, its slitted green eyes unblinking, for long seconds before it returns to cleaning itself, its whole attitude suggesting that it wasn't playing a staring contest anyway.

Naturally. Sian just grunts tiredly, and pushes himself up to sit and try and clear his head. Stupid dreams.

"It was no mere dream."

Sian blinks. Just a bit.

The bed shakes a little as the cat leaps onto it, padding silently across the sheets. "You are awake, in case you were wondering," it says.

Sian decides the rational response is to pinch himself to make sure, suddenly wide awake as he is. Nope. Blink-blink.

"Oh, come on... are you telling me that in all your dealings with spirits you never met a talking cat?" The feline shakes its head disdainfully.

"Er." Sian brushes his hair back to try and make himself a bit more presentable, but mostly to buy himself a moment to think. "Well, actually no. A cat made of vines, yeah, but not a normal cat."

"Oh. Well, now you have. Aren't you a lucky monkey." The cat leaps back onto the table and sits upright, almost formally, "Ahem... I am the herald of her magnificence, Isia, Southern Marchioness of Black Cats. I bring a message."

"Ah."

"Yes, well... I could read out the whole thing, I memorised it you see, but really I have more important things to do, so I'll summarise. Isia wants you to rescue her daughter, and she wants you to do it now. There are threats of unspecified nastiness."

Sian falls back on the good old-fashioned blink, and then a frown of annoyance. "I was told I couldn't rescue her."

"Yes, well... the exact wording was 'I shall visit such torments upon your broken flesh that death itself would seem like a welcome release'. It's up to you, though."

"Do you have anything for me beyond threats, then? Like where to start looking?"

The cat leaps down from the table, and pads out towards the door, "My mistress said that you already have the means of locating her daughter, but that you should begin your search in Ashok-Tar."

"... thanks."

"You are welcome," the cat passes through the door, muttering, "Now to find that pretty little ginger I saw earlier..."

Sian banishes that particular mental image quickly, before sliding out of bed to go and immerse himself in some real water. And to ponder what it is he owns that can help to find Aia. Newly cleansed and refreshed, he locates his pack, and starts searching through it for anything useful (since this equals the sum of his current, non-Whitewall based, belongings). After a brief and uneventful inspection of the sheath and the pyramids, he locates the Star, frowning at it as he thinks and tests.

The Star reveals some of its secrets to Sian's prying mind. It keeps the user correctly aligned to Creation, preventing him from becoming lost but, more importantly, it will allow the user to locate any person he knows, anywhere in Creation or beyond.

Eeeenteresting. Very much so. Sian looks at it for a long while afterwards, weighing the various options this presents. Possible harm to Aia versus definite harm to himself is not exactly a hard choice; he'd do anything for her, up to and including dying. But the dream is still fresh in his mind, and the months of separation have just been making him more and more worried for her. He reaches for the Star, and concentrates, letting Essence flow into it as he keeps her in his mind.

The Star pulses in Sian's hand, the five jades that ring it pulsating softly, each feeling like a fragment of the Element it represents in his hand. The orichalcum that caps it pulsates likewise throbs and glows faintly, while the soulsteel on the base remains chill. After a minute or so the artefact seems to settle down, and only the soulsteel retains any special character. She is somewhere in the Underworld.

Then to Ashok-Tar it is. Sian repacks his gear, and asks Descant to hold any messages for him from Asura, before starting off. Preparations for the journey into the Fell are rapid and hasty, this late in the year the ground is rapidly losing its covering of snow and ice, with patches of greenery already visible in places.

Several days later Sian arrives in Greycove, only to find that most of the ice-runner captains have already "beached" their boats in preparation for the 3-4 months of the year when they can't sail, and the few that haven't are either desperately poor or just believe strongly in their own luck.

Sian is getting himself prepared, yes, emptying his bag of most of his usual gear and replacing it with supplies and other purely survival-based things. Most of his writing equipment goes, and a a great deal of his jade; for some strange reason, zombies seem to be immune to bribes. Most importantly, one of the replacement items is a set of warm, slightly smaller clothing. Hopefully, they'll see some use.

Greycove is, as is usual by this time of year, essentially empty. The few people who remain are those who are either unwilling or unable to leave, and the normally busy land-dock is almost entirely bereft of ships. The main point for gossip, food and drink (the three things that ports cannot operate without) is a large and mostly empty tavern named the Icy Heart, although whether that refers to its owner or its location is a matter of conjecture.

Sian wanders in as quietly as possible, not really in the mood for dealing with others. Plus, he notes as he rubs his chin, he feels a little different than usual... more watery, if there is such a thing.

The crowd within is small, barely a half-dozen in all, with the frost-faced owner watching Sian enter while cleaning a glass (snow falls from his hands as he does so). The other customers (whether captains, criminals or exiles) keep themselves to themselves. He wanders over to owner (or who he presumes is the owner), and inquires in a low voice about lodging in the town, and about getting something to eat.

The icy figure nods once, frost sprinkling from his hair, "We have rooms and food here, best place in town." His teeth glitter like glaciers when he grins.

Sian wonders somewhat about his heritage, but considers it rude to ask. "Then just one room for the night, if you would, and dinner."

"Upstairs. First on your left," the owner tosses Sian a crude key, "Whatcha want to eat? Provided it's yeddim-steak, anyway."

"The steak will do, thank you." He heads upstairs to said room.

The room is small and cool, but with well-constructed walls that suggest it will warm up rapidly when a hot-bucket has been obtained. The furnishings are comfortable, if functional, and the lock on the door affords a measure of privacy. Not that he really needs it for anything but sleeping, but still. Nice to know.

Sian settles out on the bed, just recovering a bit from the trip here.

An hour or so later, there is a knock at the door and a frosty voice says, "Your food's ready. Want it here or downstairs?"

"Here."

The steak arrives, steaming hot and surrounded by vegetables that appear to have surrendered to its awesomeness, a few minutes later. Thick and heavy, the meat is surprisingly tender and tasty, and the food is better than might perhaps be expected in a place like the Icy Heart. Sian eats it, rather pleased with the meal. Better than stuff cooked over a campfire, that's for sure.

Dinner having finished, and Sian being a bit fuller and warmer, he goes off to look for a ship!

There are two vessels at the land-dock that still appear to be looking for business. As Sian expects, neither ship looks to be in particularly good condition, although they are unlikely to crash and splinter when a runner shatters. Which is good. He wanders up to the nearest one, and looks for someone to talk to.

The presumed captain of the ship, the name "Polestar" emblazoned on the bow, steps forward. A large, muscular man with an impressive collection of scars on his face and left arm, he looks Sian up and down, "Yer?"

"You taking passengers?"

"'Pends on where you're going."

"Ashok-Tar." He remains stony-faced, knowing the response he's going to get.

"You mad? That's a ghost city."

"I know that. And I have my reasons. If you won't take me all the way there, then just as far as you can... I can walk the rest of the way."

He looks Sian over again, and names a price. It is just within the young Dragon-Blood's means.

Sian nods. "Done deal, then. When do you leave?"

The man shrugs, which creates interesting patterns in his scars, "We can leave now if you're ready."

"Very well. Let me collect my gear." He returns to the tavern, and informs the owner that he won't be staying, after all.

"Fair enough. You won't getcha money back, though."

"Keep it. The meal was worth it." He gathers up his gear again.

Polestar and her crew are waiting at the docks as Sian clambers up the rope-ladder and onboard the ship. The captain half-turns, "Are ye sure ye wanna go there?"

"Yes." He offers no further comment.

"Right ye are, then." He turns to the crew, "Raise the sails! Make way!" With a few unwelcome creaks Polestar pulls away from the town of Greycove, the runners clattering and shaking as it slides over the icy ground at an ever-increasing pace, until it far exceeds the speed of any sea vessel Sian has been on. Sian stands by the railing and watches the landscape fly by, hoping he can handle what's ahead.

Polestar rumbles over the thawing ground of the Fell, occasionally making sharp turns to avoid the large patches of greenery that are beginning to make the presence noticed in the North. Travelling for two days without break (stopping in a shadowland is tantamount to suicide, after all), the ice-runner has traversed a massive distance and, to the north, the first hints of the ghost city of Ashok-Tar are now visible as too-regular mountains.

The captain approaches Sian as he stands at the prow of his ship, "I won't get too close to that place. Wierd shit happens there, but I'll drop you at walking distance."

"That's all I asked for. Thank you."

"I think you're tapped in the head, myself. So do the crew. But, you're paying and we should be able to get back before the thaw really sets in."

Sian shrugs a little, and turns back to face the mountains.

The ride has gotten bumpier over the last day, as stones begin to poke up through the thinning layer of snow and ice, and a particularly large rock shakes Polestar violently up onto two runners for a few seconds before it slams back into the ground. The anchor (which is more of a plough) is tossed overboard and sinks rapidly into the ground, slowing the ship rapidly within a fairly easy walk of the walls of Ashok-Tar. A rope-ladder is thrown down and the captain gestures to Sian, "This is where we turn around and get the hell out of here."

Sian shoulders his pack, and fishes out the last of his jade. "Here. And thanks." Not waiting for a reply, he descends, falling the last foot or two.

He nods and after Sian has left the boat, order the anchor retrieved and the ladder pulled back. The Polestar begins moving away, gaining speed rapidly, and then executes a long sweeping turn and begins the process of heading back out of the Fell.

Sian only watches it for a moment, approaching the walls and looking for an entrance.

Ashok-Tar rises, bone-white, out of the ground. Sheer crennelated walls soar high above, and a cold wind blows from the North disturbing what loose snow that there is, sweeping around Sian and extracting what heat they can from his body. Sian resists the urge to shiver. Betraying weakness is not a good idea in this place.

The walls appear solid, but a large door, black iron and tarnished bronze, stands out markedly against the blank walls, providing a means of ingress into this storied City of the Dead. Sian approaches slowly, looking out for any sort of guard. Not that he's going to be able to do much if there is one, but it's the thought that counts.

The gates are ajar, enough space for a person to walk through (if cramped), but not so much that they couldn't be closed quickly at need. Within the walls the towers and buildings rise into the murky, reddening sky, all formed from the same seamless white stone as the walls in the fashion of many First Age buildings. The only sounds Sian hears and the only companion he has in this city is the wind, howling down streets and around houses. He peers in through the gap for a moment, looking around, before sliding the pack from his shoulders and squeezing through, pulling it after him.

The city is, apparently, empty even of the ghosts that the stories about Ashok-Tar mention. Dust and ash are carried in swirling vortices by the wind as it sweeps through the streets and avenues of this ancient metropolis, leaving Sian with the feeling of utter and complete solitude as the sun finally begins to sink below the horizon.

Sian hunts through his pack for the Star, hoping the cat told him the truth, and that he isn't miles off-course.

Shadows creep rapidly up the white walls of the buildings, and where they fall images appear, translucent illusions of people from a long-dead Age, images that solidify into a crowd of ghosts that surround Sian in moments, as the last sunlight fades. Replaced by a pale blue luminescence from the previously empty lamp-posts, he sees hundreds of the spirits of the dead, all going about their business, apparently oblivious to his presence amongst them.

Sian waits patiently for them to fully appear, not wanting to appear a threat.

Suddenly, a gasp resounds across the street as one of the ghosts notices the Exalt among them. Dressed in an ancient style of clothes, she points at Sian and calls out, "Guards! Intruder! Guards!" as the other ghosts mostly back away from him, a couple changing into horrible, beast-like forms and remaining closer.

Sian lets himself appear harmless, but is fully prepared to draw a javelin if it comes to that.

The jingle of mail sounds through the streets and a squad of soldiers in jade-alloyed steel and bearing black-iron weapons, march quickly towards where the "intruder" has been found. Surrounding him, with spears pointed inwards in a distressingly familiar fashion, Sian finds himself confronted by a soldier, who speaks in accented Icetongue, "Identify yourself!"

Sian puts his hands up slowly. "Sian Nerivus."

"You're not from the city, and you're..." the soldier peers closer at Sian, "You're alive!" He steps back, hand on his sword, "Why are you here?"

I'm here to find someone. When I do, I will leave again. Nothing more."

"A quest into the Underworld? To find your dead love, no doubt? How romantic..." the ghost's mis-shapen mouth grins evilly as his tone turns to mocking, "You won't find her here. This is an old city."

"I won't find her unless I look, and I have been told she was brought here. I intend to find her." He fixes the ghost with his gaze, entirely uncompromising.

"The Fell is a dangerous place for you," the soldier pokes Sian in the chest, "You're warm and full of the stuff that they" he gestures out, beyond the walls, "like. You won't last a night on your own."

Sian lets his aspect markings show, just for that extra edge. "I don't want to fight with you. But I will, if I have to."

The soldier backs away from Sian, as do the others surrounding him, as his skin begins to gleam wetly, shimmering blue light leaking from his body. "A Chosen!" the gasp resounds through the crowd, and the the whole tone of the encounter changes.

"My apologies, Prince of the Earth!" the leader says, "I did not know."

Sian waves this off somewhat. "Now you do. Are you going to hold me up further?"

"No, of course. My apologies again," he waves at the soldiers, and they lower their spears and pull away from Sian. "We are honoured."

"Mmm. Is there someone in charge who I could talk to? A town leader, or such?"

"There is I," a deep voice, like that of a tomb, resounds across the street. The crowd, already thin, practically evaporates at the sound, as a tall ghost in a mask of black iron and white jade strides towards Sian.

Read part 2 here...