H130, Day 191, 9 A.P [Wraith]

[Uathach Blackmantle]

Change. Everything changes, evolves, grows, or slips further down the ladder of Existence, devolving into lesser shades of former consciousness. Or, as the Dead twigged to their peculiar interpretation of existence; devolved into greater states of attachment to the False Life...

And so, as the Great Cogs and Gears of Mechanus continued to turn, propelling the Multiverse and everything in it through yet another day, a tiefling Dead became aware of her own consciousness evolving; as it had been for sometime, as souls were an ever changing and rarely static.

Although, until recently, personal improvement and advancement through the ranks of the Dead had been of little consequence to her; paling in comparison to the more pressing issues of daily life...

These are some of the thoughts that passed through Uathach's mind that evening, as she traversed the slumbering halls of the Dead, her footfalls ringing out as ominous echoes from the polished, ebon marble flagstones. Braziers cast from burnished bronze, and ancient torches set back in brass high upon the walls, threw leaping flames into the air, and hurled their long, eerie shadows across the floor.

Her own penumbra fell as a long hazy line ahead of her, drifting to the side and behind as she moved, silent as the enervating breath of Death Herself. The atmosphere of the Mortuary was oppressive, lifeless and cold; not entirely hostile, but not exactly nurturing, either. An antiseptic smell permeated the very bedrock - the catacombs beneath - that the looming mausoleum now stood upon, lingering day and night, as the undead laborers worked tirelessly through their mindless tasks.

Yet to Uathach - who had long been haunted by the umbra of Death - it had been a silent comfort in years gone by; a place to hide away and forget about the trials of Life.

After a few more minutes of walking and quiet reflection, she halted outside the Initiates' quarters on the second floor, and raised her hand to knock. The blood within had been expecting her, yet she hesitated, suddenly pensive, afraid, and uncertain of what to expect; or what might come to pass from this meeting.

"Come in, Uathach." A soft, sepulchral drone announced from the chamber beyond. "I have been expecting you."

[Uathach Blackmantle]

Wraith's blood froze in her veins. A cold shiver prickled her scalp, and coursed down her spine. She shuddered emphatically, and drew a deep, calming breath to steel herself for the preternatural gloom within.

She turned the doorknob slowly, easing the portal open a crack, and waited. Nothing happened. Pushing it open further, she heaved a sigh of relief when no concealed runes unleashed their deadly traps, and slipped inside.

The chamber, though veiled beneath a translucent penumbra for the most part, was colder than she expected. An enervating chill, it seemed, had sucked all vestiges of heat and life from the Initiate's sleeping quarters and study. Yet an inert sapphire and irridescent violet lighting from an unknown source, wreathed the wall brackets, and spilled across the cluttered desk.

Surprisingly, a small fire burned in the red veined, marble hearth, between an overflowing bookcase, and an ancient brocade armchair. Flames that shed burnished light but no heat, licked and danced from one smoldering oak log to the other, and hurled leaping shadows across the soot encrusted flue.

At first, the Initiate who summoned her, wasn't immediately apparent, and she thought that maybe she was imagining things, until a pale whisp of tobacco smoke drifted away from the armchair.

"Initiate Zanathis?" Wraith echoed uncertainly as she moved away from the door, and stepped deeper into the icy chamber. She hesitated and shivered again, rubbing her arms vigorously through the long sleaves of her black robe. When that failed to warm her, she wrapped her gray wool cloak tighter about her thin frame.

The Dead in the armchair said nothing for a while, and took another long, slow drag on his pipe. "Do you know why you are here, Uathach?" He asked without warning.

Uathach blinked. Though she'd been expecting him to ask as much, the question came so suddenly, it took her off guard. She nervously fiddled with the copper clasp of her cloak, and wet her dry lips with a quick flick of her tongue.

"I believe so, but I'm not entirely sure why." She answered with all honesty, and hesitated, wondering silently if this was a trap.
The Dead sat quietly for a moment, and expelled another plume of fragrant smoke into the air.

"It has come to my attention that you have saved a sod from certain death." He began in flat, even tones. "Although I have no concern for how you conduct your time outside these walls, I will endeavor to ask; why is this so?"

[Uathach Blackmantle]

Uathach froze again, and lowered her hands to her sides. So this was why he summoned her... It was hard not to fidget, and to keep her restless hands completely still. But again, she had to reminded herself: Initiate Zanathis was no Namer. He would see through her like glass.

"I did as any other might do in my position; I put my knowledge and my training to good use, in the event that it might give the sod a second chance to realise the Truth." She answered as noncommitally as she could manage.

Something moved within the shadows cast by the bookcase then, distracting her momentarily, and revealed itself to be a tiny winged creature, no bigger than a house cat. It hopped up onto the writing desk, and began shuffling through the surface clutter. It stopped for a moment, and regarded Wraith with large orange eyes, and a lopsided, fanged grin.

At first she thought the tiny misshapen being might've been an imp; such servants weren't entirely uncommon amongst the high-ups. But closer inspection revealed the leathery, almost waxy texture of its skin, and the carefully stitched, near invisible seams, encircling each joint. Unless she was mistaken, the creature shuffling through the stack of papers and scrollcases left discarded on the dark mahogany, was a homonculus.

"Indeed." The response was deadpan, and revealed no indication of what he might've been thinking. "What is Truth, Uathach?" Initiate Zanathis pressed her again.

Extending a fine, porcelain white hand, he beckoned silently to his servant; the homonculus obediently retrieved a scrollcase from the haphazard sheafs of parchment and hastily scrawled notes, and flew to its' master's side. Without turning to face her, the Dustman took his prize, and seemingly dismissed his pet. Yet it remained perched upon the ancient upholstery, regarding the awkward tiefling woman through glittering amber eyes.

She began to perspire a little beneath the creature's dispassionate scrutiny. "That we are dead, and we exist in a multiverse of Death, but most have not yet realised this. Experience and reasoning as taught by the Signers and Sensates are falsehoods intended to deceive us, and cloud our judgement; thus strengthening our dependency on the lie of False Life."

"Do you truly believe this?" Not once did he glance up from his notes, nor did he turn to face her.

[Uathach Blackmantle]

Uathach hesitated. If she was a little nervous before, now her stomach began to knot with anxiety. "Yes... I..." Other things soon asserted themselves from the enveloping gloom, as the Initiate read in silence, again drawing her attention away from him;

a clatter of bones and a leering skull here, doll-like effigies and murky jars filled with formaldehyde lining the shelves upon the opposite wall, and an impressive humanoid structure, built from the mismatched skin and bodyparts, harvested from the Mortuary's Contracted corpses.

Her wary eyes followed the movements, before drifting back to the Initiate. "Experience has taught me that this existence is empty and hollow. There is no joy or fulfillment; only pain and sorrow. Without attachment to emotion, there is no pain. Sever the dependancy on False Life, and a body is liberated to see existence as it truly is."

"Interesting... considering your history." He mused. The homonculous took the scrollcase from his extended hand, and hopped off the armchair to busy itself elsewhere.

Uathach flinched. That hurt. She bit her lip, painfully sinking her fangs in to choke back the alarmed gasp. "I've forgotten about him, and all other attachments to my former life." She mumbled, swallowing hard.

"Indeed." Was all the Dustman said. This time Initiate Zanathis rose from the ancient armchair, and took a seat at his desk. His staid black velvet robes rustled over the dark carpet with his movements, and settled about his boots when he sat down again. He pressed his fingertips together, forming a steeple beneath his pointed chin, and stylishly oiled goatee.

His piercing crystal blue eyes met hers beneath overshadowing sable brows, and an ebon velvet cowl that concealed his hair, and tapered ears. "Tell me of True Life, Uathach. Does it exist? Is it even attainable?"

[Uathach Blackmantle]

She hesitated again, taken off-guard by the sudden change in the direction of his questioning. She sucked on her lip thoughtfully, tasting the warm, metallic saltiness of her own blood. "Yes. It is the true multiverse we originated from - the cradle of Existence - before we died and descended to our entrapment in False Life. It is my firm belief that, by ascending through the various stages of Death, that the ultimate existence of True Life will be found beyond the veil of True Death."

Initiate Zanathis pursed his lips together. "Your thoughts are transparent, conflicted. It's no secret that you have been seen with those you claim would deceive you; a Genasi Signer, a Tiefling Sensate lass, and the barmy Aasimar who came here to speak with you, only two days hence. Tell me; what do you believe you will gain from them?

It has also come to my attention, that you have expressed an interest in experimentation with Positive Energy; indeed, harnessing that energy to heal others. I am curious to see how you intend to bring such experimentation to fruition." He finished on an impassive note, and resumed his questioning; but this time, from a different angle.

"Tell me this, Uathach: Is it hard to grasp the Truth laid bare before you?" An ebon eyebrow lifted ever so slightly; the only outward sign of anything that might be considered akin to emotion. Otherwise his eyes were icy, crystal blue pools of thoughtful repose, and his face a mask of staid Dustman composure.

Uathach began to sweat beneath his piercing, impassive gaze. She wet her lips with a nervous flick of her tongue. "One cannot rid themselves of emotion if one has not experienced it, to see how hollow and unfulfilling such expressions are. How can a body tumble to the light of Truth, if he has not stumbled more than once along the way?" She flailed helplessly with the words, hoping in vain that the Initiate would see some method to her madness. Although, that wasn't likely...

"Indeed. An intriguing, if misguided notion." He mused with a faint hint of a wry grin. "Very well, Uathach. I believe you are ready for your next set of tests. I have been watching your progress carefully these last few months. Though your behaviour clearly marks a woman still dependant on the trappings of False Life, your expertise in your chosen field is exemplary.

So, I have a task for you: In light of the recent plague sweeping through the Hive, Mister Tetch of the Weary Spirit Infirmary is understaffed, and has far too many patients in his care. You will assist him for the next two weeks, until he can find replacements..."

Uathach's eyes widened in horror... work alongside Ridnir Tetch? Wisely she bit her tongue, silencing her thoughts, and drew a deep breath to calm herself again. Such was the price of advancement...

"As for advancing your studies in the Art... I shall continue your education myself. Your former tutor passed on not two fortnights hence. Perhaps you haven't been paying attention enough, to notice that his cadaver was amongst those found curiously stuffed with straw."

[Uathach Blackmantle]

The next few hours were a blur for Uathach. After the Initiate dismissed her from his quarters, she found herself wandering the silent halls of the Dead in a numb torpor; as listless as the mindless dead that shuffled from one black tiled chamber, to the next. Her footsteps echoed on the icy slate and marble, rang out as a toll of mourning in the eerie silence and gloom.

When at last she ventured back to the Open Shell - a nice, comfortable inn she called kip for now - daring to traverse the chaotic warrens of the Hive with a single magical light source to guide her, her chosen course brought her to Weary Spirit Infirmary's ugly, hunkering form.

A choked, muffled scream echoed somewhere up on the second floor, conjuring memories of horror she'd tried desperately to forget. Alas, some things were meant to remain, as a stain upon the soul...

Uathach steeled herself with a deep, shaky breath, and moved on again, passing through the Sandstone District onto the more orderly avenues of the Clerk's Ward; blessedly ignored by the Hive's scabrous cutthroats and thieving indigents...