|
|
Post by Uathach Blackmantle on May 18, 2008 1:55:12 GMT -5
A rank grey haze and drizzle misted the Hive ward's haphazard skyline, and the muddy stretch snaking up the hill to the Gatehouse. As usual, the line of the downtrodden, the hopeless and the poor, awaiting admittence into this bastion of alms - and despair - spilled down Bedlam Run, out into the neighbouring sprawl of Laughing Cat Alley. It was a dismal place, a grim reality carved upon the uncaring face of Sigil, that Wraith had faced one too many times already.
But it seemed things had taken a drastic turn; for better or worse, only time would tell.
Shouldering her burden, and Aerin's weight with a clenched jaw, and eyes fixed ahead in stoic determination, the veiled Dustman, Wraith, begins her grim pilgrimage to the Gatehouse. Her purpose for being here? To find Hadrian. If anyone could help her, it was him, and if things were to go ahead as she and Hilathic had planned, Aerin had to be safe. She knew her son would be safe here, in the kind Aasimar's care.
She had her report prepared and ready to pass on to the strange tiefling. It was secured in a scrollcase within her satchel. She'd be passing that on to him tonight, if she could, and she didn't want her son to be there with her, while she discussed such horrible things...
Wraith stops, issuing a strangled sob when she realises what she was thinking. I'm giving up my son. Only after just getting him back... Clutching the child to her chest, and wrapping the wool cloak tighter about him to shield him from the rain, she sinks to her knees in the mud and cries.
"Oh, Aerin, what am I doing?" She sobs pitifully, kissing the little boy's forehead, and stares hopelessly at the towering, winged fortress rising above the detritus no one seemed to care about. Her glazed eyes search the line, hoping in vain to spy one of the Madman wandering up and down the line; or better yet to find the man who's aid she needed.
The rain begins to fall, knifing through the bleak grey light and cold air, spattering mud all around her, bearing the beleaguered woman down beneath the weight of wet wool, and her weary child.
|
|
|
|
Post by exile on May 29, 2008 13:22:11 GMT -5
"Name?"
The speaker was a willowy individual, whip thin and unexpectedly tall. Her features were pleasant, if not altogether beautiful, her face being perhaps a trifle long. She wore the robes of a Bleaker with solemnity, and in her graceful fingers she carried a register.
"Ma'am, your name? Oh-" she cut off suddenly, looking up at Wraith for the first time. "I recognize you. I was in the audience that day you sang at the Weary Head. You were there with Hadrian, no? I'll send a runner to let him know you're here."
Departing down the line of haggard faces, the woman flagged down a sullen looking youth from the mouth of the receiving room and passed on her instructions. The boy disappeared into the heart of the complex with a nod, and the exotic woman returned to her work collecting the names of the alms-seekers.
A quarter of an hour lapsed while Wraith and her child waited, but eventually a familiar face emerged from between the massive pillars that marked the border of the Bleakers' haven. Hadrian was dressed in white today, excepting his ever present wide brimmed hat, but otherwise he looked the same as ever with a sad smile firmly entrenched on his lips.
"Sister!" he called, spying the woman he sought and waving pleasantly. "This is a most welcome surprise. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
|
|
|
|
Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Jun 17, 2008 21:33:02 GMT -5
Wraith's eyes are sad, hollow and red-rimmed with her sorrow. She turns numbly at the sound of Hadrian's voice, only half aware that she'd even made it this far, when last she recalled shwe was knee-deep in the mud, still holding onto her child. In her arms, Aerin shivers. She draws the wet cloak tighter about him, forsaking her own warmth to shield the boy from the horrid weather.
"To what do you owe the pleasure?" She echoes, like the soughing of dry leaves in a graveyard. "It's the weight of my burden that brings me here, cutter. I-I can't... I can't bear it any longer." Tears roll down the tiefling's pale face. Crying pitifully, she pitches forward suddenly, and collapses against Hadrian. Her weight is feather light and frail, but combined with the child and her satchel... it's a small wonder that the poor woman can still stand.
|
|
|
|
Post by exile on Jun 19, 2008 22:59:02 GMT -5
Hadrian steps in to catch the falling woman without breaking stride; it was hardly the first time his frail companion had collapsed on him. Indeed the thought that she might suffer from some malady of the nerves or muscles had crossed his mind on occasion.
“ Easy sister,” he murmured, helping the poor thing back on to her own feet. “I’m here now, you can share your burden with me.”
Glancing about, he offered a vague and what he hoped might pass for reassuring smile to the curious onlookers, the majority of whom were already beginning to lose interest. This was a predicament. The gatehouse did not permit visitors, only patients, the odd boarder, and those persons attending to business within. This was especially true where the visitor concerned wore the colors of another faction, even a reasonably sympathetic faction like the Dustmen.
The briefest glance at his sorrowful friend informed him that no simple alehouse meeting over a warm meal would suffice however. They needed both time and privacy, commodities in short supply in the hive.
‘To hell with the rules’ he decided. ‘Why should they matter when nothing else does?’
“I think perhaps we ought to find some place more quiet than this. Why don’t you let the boy ride on my shoulders for a time?” Hadrian offered, fixing Wraith with a considering gaze. He reached out to help transfer the child onto his back before steering the woman back towards the street.
Leaving the dull clamor of the crowd behind him, the aasimar slipped into an alley off of Bedlam Run and urged his friend to follow behind.
“We’re going back to my cell, sister, but they won’t let you in just because I say so. So we’re not going to ask. I can make you invisible for a time, and you need only follow close on my heels until we are alone. Can you manage that?”
|
|
|
|
Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Jun 23, 2008 22:43:56 GMT -5
Wraith nods numbly, allowing Hadrian to take her son from her arms, and falls into step beside the Aasimar as he steers her away from the haggard line. The rain eases off a bit, but it is so cold even the finest mist cuts through thick layers of clothing to sting the skin beneath. Shivering with every step, Wraith leans closer to Hadrian both for physical comfort and moral support.
"Again you have my eternal thanks and my graitude, basher. I don't know how many indigents you've heard utter these same words, but I mean it all the same." She says through chattering teeth, and promptly clamps her jaw shut... or else she might accidentally bite her tongue off.
Stuffing her hands under her armpits for warmth, Wraith trudges through the mud close behind Hadrian, and followed him into the alleyway. "Do as you must, basher. I have no objections, not when I'm fast losing my faith, my ability to know the difference between right and wrong, and any hope I have left. It's all such a blur to me..." She confesses in a faint voice. Drawing her hood tighter beneath her chin, she waits in the drizzle for Hadrian to cast his spell, and lead her out of the rain.
|
|
|
|
Post by exile on Jun 25, 2008 23:21:06 GMT -5
With a quick glance towards the mouth of the alleyway to ensure their privacy, Hadrian began to enact the exacting motions and ritual pronunciations demanded of him by his Art. The glamer he had selected was at least mercifully brief in its casting, and after a moment he reached out a gloved hand to touch Wraith on the brow. No sooner had his fingertips reached her crown than the woman altogether vanished from sight. The illusion would not silence her footfalls unfortunately, but in the midst of the crowded Gatehouse line there was little likelihood of anyone noticing.
“Alright sister, I must trust you are staying close to me, for even I can not see you.”
Shifting Aerin’s minimal bulk to a more comfortable displacement across his shoulders, Hadrian turned on his heels and strode back towards the Gatehouse’s receiving area. He was not at all concerned about the child on his back; another orphaned boy would arouse no suspicion whatsoever in this place. Walking with a determined stride and a pensive look that abided no interruption, the aasimar steadfastly ignored all eye contact or kind words with asylum seekers and faction mates alike.
Passing between the massive pillar’s from which the Gatehouse derived its name, Hadrian struck out for the hallway immediately opposite and kept on walking until the noise had begun to slacken behind him. Pausing at a door that look just like any of the dozens of others that lined this particular corridor, Hadrian withdrew a heavy iron key from his robes and slipped it into the lock. The tumblers, despite being as old as the masonry, were well oiled and slid away without protest, admitting the Bleaker and his entourage into his private chambers.
Inside the small cell, Kopek was happily chasing motes of dust in the solitary shaft of light permitted by his barred window. Hadrian set Aerin down on the cot nearby to watch. Returning to the doorway, he allowed a moment to lapse before he closed the rough wooden door behind him.
“Are you with me, sister?” he inquired of the silence.
|
|
|
|
Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Jul 3, 2008 22:57:38 GMT -5
"Yes, I am with you." Came the soft melancholy reply. Though Wraith is safe inside Hadrian's private cell, and the Madman has shut the door behind him, she decides it far safer to let the spell run it's course, rather than trying to dispell it prematurely. Unseen to the outside world, even to herself, at that moment she knows - or can at least imagine - what it must feel like to be dead; forgotten. To float weightlessly in Oblivion, neither touching the world or being affected by it in turn. It's a frightening thought, really, to know that may well be her fate some day: Oblivion.
It certainly seemed to be the fate the rest of the Dead were slowly inching toward.
Was this then the Fate for all on this side of Life? To crumble into nothingness and simply cease to exist? Without a trace, a memory or even the impression of a memory to even suggest their fleeting existence?
Wraith quailed from the thought. "No!" She gasped in horror. "No. That can't be. I-I don't want to be forgotten. I-I don't want to... to think that someday all I know, all I've seen, all I've experienced will become meaningless and useless. I-I may not leave much of a permanent mark here, in this life.
But maybe, just maybe, someone will remember me, and carry on my legacy, so that none will ever have to resort to the same senseless, brutal acts commited by men like Ridnir Tetch." The voice, though soft enough, is clearly frightened. Whatever realisation she's suddenly stumbled upon, it's left her tentative hold on her faith even more shaken.
Trembling, Wraith sinks down onto the cot beside her son, and vacantly stares at the wall. There she waits until the spell of invisibility wears off, so returning her to the world of flesh that she has at least some control over.
|
|
|
|
Post by exile on Jul 6, 2008 13:12:25 GMT -5
Pulling out the chair from his desk, Hadrian was about to take a seat when Wraith’s voice rang out in alarm. The woman was in a fragile state to begin with, he reasoned, perhaps the invisibility glamer was ill conceived. With an act of will and a vague gesticulation towards the cot, Hadrian dismissed the spell prematurely and Uathach materialized before him.
Offering a soft smile, Hadrian tried to comfort her, but his words were colored by his own beliefs: “The planes are both timeless and limitless, sister. Not even the powers can change them for more than a blink of an eye. Though Tetch will die, men like him will always exist. Do not worry yourself over what people will remember of him or you in ten lifetimes. What you do now is all that matters. You may not be able to leave a mark upon the planes, but you can certainly leave a mark on the lives of people close to you. That is all any of us can endeavor to do.”
|
|
|
|
Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Jul 6, 2008 23:29:24 GMT -5
"You seem very certain of yourself, and your place in the multiverse, Hadrian." Wraith whispers. "I envy your position. I envy that you have found this peace with yourself, when all I feel is inner turmoil, and this need to find something - anything - that will improve the lives of those around me. You might think it meaningless to search for a way to touch the lives of others on a grander scale, but I do not. I've made it my life's work to achieve something that has never been done before, to push the boundaries of understanding and reason. I seek to make medical history, basher, to uncover truths that very few could even imagine are possible.
Am I insane to want this? Yes, I probably am. But I'm on a mission, to find the life that has eluded me, and to restore meaning and the quality of life to those who deserve it the most, but will probably never know... that there is something better out there than the hell they live in." Saying this, Wraith rises from the bed, crossing over to the narrow barred window, and stares outside.
The crumbling shell of the Slags looms before her, spread like a cancer across the face of the Cage, tucked away in the bowels of the Hive where all but the destitute could ignore it. How convenient for them, in their predictable, comfortable lives, that they could sweep aside their fellow man, like so much razorvine on the road side.
How easy it was for them that they could turn their backs on these people, because it wasn't their life; their problem.
But Wraith wasn't like them. She saw the truth for what it was, and unlike those who touted their screed of helping others and making a difference, she was willing to make a difference! To show these people that someone out there gave a damn about them!
Someone who could help take the slack off the gatehouse, and draw the unwary away from the trap of the Weary Spirit. She wanted to be that someone. A person these people could look up to for hope and salvation. Was that too much to ask? To be the mother and the carer for all, when she felt her own existence almost amounted to nothing?
Someone had to shoulder the Cage's burdens, because no one, except for the Bleak Cabal, cared enough to do it.
"I want to build a hospital, basher. And a school. I want to make a refuge and a home, where no one will ever want for food, or shelter, a warm bed to sleep in and a comforting shoulder to lean on. I want to see that one person can make a difference, no matter how big or daunting the task may seem. I've made it my life's work to help other people, Hadrian. Every since a child, my life has never been my own. Is this too much to ask, to want to be as a mother to all, to give them the love and the hope they're lacking in?"
Turning away from the window, Wraith returns to the bed and sinks down beside her son. Taking the boy into her arms, she holds him close like he is the most precious thing to her in all of creation, and softly strokes his hair. "I'm a mother, Hadrian. I know no other life." She echoes sadly.
|
|
|
|
Post by exile on Jul 7, 2008 22:57:43 GMT -5
(OOC: Ironically this thread occurs 10 days prior to Hadrian’s expedition into the Slags on his mission to reclaim it for the Hive)
“If I didn’t know better, sister, I’d think you a Godsman; always looking for the good in people and trying to raise them out of the muck. Indeed, I have serious doubts you will accomplish your goals any other way as I’m not even convinced the powers could correct the injustices in the Cage. Misery is a constant it seems, much like the rule of threes or the unity of rings.”
Hadrian offered his most reassuring smile, but the lines around his mouth professed his own personal fatigue.
“The Hive doesn’t need a mother, but your boy does. You are not ready to meet the task you’ve set yourself. Altruism in the absence of self assurance will bleed you dry, dear sister. You have to know yourself before you can give of it safely to others. This should be your first goal. When you have climbed this mountain, maybe then we can talk again about your utopian dreams.”
|
|
|
|
Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Jul 8, 2008 0:58:42 GMT -5
"I'm sure I do give that impression, Hadrian, but if you were to say that around one of them, the majority would laugh and certainly regard me with suspicion." Wraith sighs, and kisses her son's forehead. The boy seems completely oblivious to her, which pains the frail woman greatly. Instead he plays with his tridrone doll, and watches the cat swiping at the dustmotes.
"I know I should concern myself more with him, and I have been. There is none more important to me than my child. I would do anything - anything - to ensure he has a swift and full recovery. But I'm not so naive to think that will happen. I can hope, and pray, and I certainly won't give up... and I won't stop until justice has been done to those who hurt him so badly." Anger flits across her face. For a moment her eyes harden, like purple ice, then her expression softens again. She slumps forward visibly, and resumes stroking her son's hair.
Tears begin to slide down Wraith's haggard face. "He doesn't even recognise me anymore, basher. It seems to me that he prefers the company of another, a man who helped me out of a tight situation not more than a week ago. The day my son was returned to me." She sighs. Thinking of Hilathic returns her mind to the present.
"But my wavering faith isn't the sole reason I am here." She murmurs in a soft, faraway voice. "There are some things I need to do, Hadrian. Dangerous things, and I fear for my son's safety. Where I must go, I cannot take him with me. That's why I am here, Hadrian. I need your help. I need to you care for my son, or at least find a safe place for him here, while I am gone." Her sad gaze meets the Aasimar's lapis orbs.
"I know it is a lot to ask. I know it may make me seem like a bad mother. Ah, already I feel that I am abandoning him. But I am not. I would never do that to him, especially now. I just need... to know he is safe for the next few days, while I do what must be done. I cannot risk putting him in the care of a nursemaid. Not after last time, when he was abducted..." Realising that she is rambling again, Wraith's voice trails off. She turns away and stares at the wall. Her numb gaze fixes upon something only she can see. A single tear slides down her cheek.
Pulling Aerin closer, Wraith rocks him back and forth in her arms again.
|
|
|
|
Post by exile on Jul 8, 2008 22:36:24 GMT -5
“Of course, sister,” Hadrian replied, turning his lapis-eyed gaze on the boy. “He can stay here with me. I will pick up some shifts in the orphanage, perhaps it will do him some good to be around children his age.”
Down on the floor Kopek had lost interest with his game of hunting and was busily examining the newcomers. Arching his sleek back in a languid stretch, the feral cat leapt up smoothly onto the cot and began to rub against Aerin in a bid for affection. Hadrian watched the behavior with a bemused smirk for a moment before turning his attention back to the matter at hand.
“You need never fear I’d judge you for such a thing, but you do have me worried, sister. What calling is placing you in harms way? Perhaps there is something more I can do to help?”
|
|
|
|
Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Jul 8, 2008 23:00:00 GMT -5
“ Of course, sister,” Hadrian replied, turning his lapis-eyed gaze on the boy. “ He can stay here with me. I will pick up some shifts in the orphanage, perhaps it will do him some good to be around children his age.” Down on the floor Kopek had lost interest with his game of hunting and was busily examining the newcomers. Arching his sleek back in a languid stretch, the feral cat leapt up smoothly onto the cot and began to rub against Aerin in a bid for affection. Hadrian watched the behavior with a bemused smirk for a moment before turning his attention back to the matter at hand. “ You need never fear I’d judge you for such a thing, but you do have me worried, sister. What calling is placing you in harms way? Perhaps there is something more I can do to help?” Wraith squeezes her eyes shut. For a moment she seems as though she is about to go into convulsions, when at last she lets out a shaky sigh. Hilathic is going to hate me for this..."Recently, I learned some... very terrible things I'd rather not know. Things I probably shouldn't be saying to you becausen not only do I place myself and my son in danger, but my informant's life may be at risk if... the wrong ears were to be parked where we are now." She glances about the tiny grey cell, hoping that Hadrian might catch onto her need for the utmost discretion in these matters. Deciding then that a more indirect approach might be needed, she asks quite unexpectedly. "Do you have a spare sheet of paper and some ink?" |
|
|
|
Post by exile on Jul 10, 2008 16:01:28 GMT -5
“Of course, sister,” Hadrian replies, indicating his much weathered desk with a wave of his hand. Like much of the rest of the room the surface is neatly squared away, one imagines not so much due to any fastidiousness on the aasimar’s part but rather due to his deficit of material wealth. A pounce pot and inkwell stand together like lonely sentinels, while a crow’s feather quill lies forgotten on a stack of assorted parchments close by.
“Please, help yourself.”
|
|
|
|
Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Jul 11, 2008 0:10:54 GMT -5
"Thankyou, Hadrian." Wraith sighs, and takes a seat at the desk. Sliding a sheet of parchment across the weathered wood before her, she dips the quill pen into the ink and begins to write. For a while the only sounds to come from her, aside from her breathing, is the rhythmic scratching of the pen-nib, moving across the sheet before her. She works quickly and efficiently, not because she found any joy in the task at hand, but because it had to be done. And this seemed to be the safest way to do it.
The effort of writing, indeed, just disgorging it all upon the page before her, takes a little longer than she expected. But at last the task is complete. Sprinkling some sand onto the page, and blowing onto the wet ink to help it dry quicker, she sits back with a weary sigh.
"I'm sure you'll understand if this doesn't say half as much as it could, basher, but I think this explains enough for you to... know of the danger I face..." She whispers, abandoning her place before the desk to sit down beside her son again.
"I-I still don't want to accept it myself, but if this is true there's very little I can do to change... who and what I am, and why they're after me."
|
|
|
|
Post by exile on Jul 11, 2008 10:48:04 GMT -5
Hadrian waits patiently while Wraith outlines her thoughts and fears on parchment, all the while regarding her with a worried frown. When at last she completes her work and relinquishes the chair he reaches for the paper and begins to read.
(OOC: Are the contents forthcoming? Or am I meant to imagine what Wraith might have written?)
|
|
|
|
Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Jul 14, 2008 6:16:12 GMT -5
(OOC: Are the contents forthcoming? Or am I meant to imagine what Wraith might have written?) I'll post the contents of the letter asap [based largely upon what was discussed in the Open Shell between Wraith and Hilathic].  |
|
|
|
Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Jul 14, 2008 13:33:23 GMT -5
In recent days, I have discovered things about myself, things so terrible and unbelievable, I dare not speak them aloud.
It seems I am tied far closer to the Cult of Graz'zt than I could've imagined I might be.
My blood father is not who I thought he was. He is a blackguard in the employ of one of His generals, and he may've had a hand in my abduction at birth. It pains me to say this, but it seems I am a direct descendant of Prince Graz'zt himself: a granddaughter, or even a daughter. But this still leaves me with many questions, and doubts, and uncertainty about mine, and my son's future.
Worse, I have become a target of the Cult; and because of this, my son became a target. A man in their ranks, who goes by the name Fidrath, though I know this scoundrel as Marrak, worked for my adopted family as an accountant for many years. He seduced me then, the night my mother died, and again last year, when he visited my former home, to check my deceased father's property records, and to inform me I was behind in my taxes.
The property was left to me after my adopted father's passing, but it was taken from me by the Fated. Only now I've learned Fidrath - Marrak - arranged the seizure of my home, and had a hand in my son's abduction.
The dark of all this I can only guess at, but it seems they're trying to break me, manipulate me for their own nefarious purposes.
I'm already a broken woman, and now that I know the truth, I feel a terrible, black hatred well up from the pit of my soul. I want this man hurt. I want him to suffer for all he has done to me and my family. I want him dead. I want him to rot in the Abyss where he belongs.
You should know, before I close this tirade, that the Cult of Graz'zt are responsible for the string of bizarre disappearances occuring in the Hive; typically indigents no one will miss. The calling cards of these mutilations are very distinctive; I've had the displeasure of examining these corpses myself. To complicate matters, there's been an outbreak of Abyssal Pertussis, localised to these parts of the city.
Before I acknowledged my loss of faith, I was charged with the task of investigating the outbreak before it becomes an epidemic, and the ritualistic murders.
I'm beginning to suspect the two are related.
The root, my root, is anchored deep in the Abyss...
|
|
|
|
Post by exile on Jul 14, 2008 20:46:15 GMT -5
Hadrian faithfully read through each line of the missive, his heart growing heavier with every word. At last he looked up from the crumpled page into the lavender gaze of his dear friend.
“I see now why your eyes forever search the shadows, sister. I swear to protect Aerin while you attend to whatever business calls to you; no harm will befall him here. May the powers keep and protect you, Uathach. ”
|
|
|
|
Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Jul 15, 2008 2:42:37 GMT -5
While Hadrian reads her letter, Wraith anxiously wrings her hands together, knotting them in her skirts to keep the pale digits from shaking. Her eyes were wide and fearful; understandable, considering the depth of her confession, and she hadn't even revealed the whole of it. She couldn't, wouldn't do that, not even to Hadrian, someone she trusted more than Hilathic.
When at last he puts the letter down and regards her with deep concern, she bows her head and mumbles. "I'm afraid of what I must face. I know I must be strong. I know I must show them that I am strong, that they must fear me, because this is how the Tanar'ri and their ilk think, but I am afraid." She confesses, without meeting his eyes.
"Again, you have my gratitude. I know he will be in the best care here, otherwise I wouldn't have asked." Heaving a tired sigh, Wraith unwraps her damp wimple, and hangs it over the foot of the bed to dry. The smoky blue hair beneath clings wetly to her scalp, and the sides of her neck.
|
|
