The Whispering Wind (Dra-Seven)

[Archon]

"Get out 'ere," the drunken man called as Seven could hear him stumbling over the underbrush and into the clearing, "I hear ya talkin', an' now I'm gunna make ya squeal." The sounds the man was making, along with Seven's fear, were making it incredibly difficult for the young man to try and meditate and clear his mind. He'd managed to make a little progress, starting to calm his pounding heart some, when the ghost's voice spoke up in his ear, "I think I can help protect you, but you'll have to trust me." The ghost had moved next to Seven, and was crouching with him behind the bush. His face showed a similar feeling of panic to what Seven felt, but there was also an undertone of determination to his words and posture, "I remember hearing that Ghosts can possess and use a living person's body. If I use your body I might be able to keep you safe, but I don't think I can do it if you don't let me," the man's neck was still a wide open gash, and the blood spilling down the front of his shirt was now coming at a very rapid pace.

[Seven Xu]

“You’ll have to trust me.”

Seven’s rushing blood and rising panic left him with little choice. He shifted again, this time in relative silence towards the ghost to speak. Knees cried out in fatigue from supporting his frame for so long and a hand shot down to the damp, leaf-covered ground to maintain his balance. Uncertainty clouded the offer, and it did little to calm Seven; despite this, he nodded abruptly towards the ghost. “If it helps,” he murmured. Desperation would leave men more stubborn than Seven prone to take any measure to escape. It was that exact moment the drunk had decided to throw his massive body against the fell log to sit, mere feet away from the pair. A ghoulish grin showcased yellowed teeth and foul breath that Seven swore he could smell.

His only predatory feature and most discernible quality from that of an albino human had poked out from beneath his upper lip as he glowered at the stinking drunk. Then an unnerving thought crossed his mind as he held a hand up between himself and the apparition as if to stop him from continuing. “It won’t hurt, will it?” As soon as the words left his mouth Seven’s ever-vigilant gaze snapped back to the inebriated vagrant and his fearful frown turned sour. Did he hear that? It was obvious that there was little time to think the offer over. “Do it.” The hesitant white hand dropped to the ground to pluck dead and flattened grass from the ground as Seven’s chin dipped and lucid eyes remained on the clumsy invader. His heart thumped in painful anticipation of being possessed – possessed! What a terrible word! – he could only wonder what the phantom was planning.

[Archon]

Fortune favored Seven for a moment as the drunken brute on the log had taken to incoherent mumbling and drinking from a flask while Seven debated the merits of letting himself be possessed. The Ghost with the slit throat remained silent and still by Seven's side the whole time, and only moved forward after Seven gave his final permission. "I hope it will not, but it cannot be worse than what that man will do to you," the Ghost whispered as he drifted close, and then into Seven. It was certainly not a pleasant feeling, being possessed. The initial touch of the Ghost was cold, as cold or colder than ice, and as he moved to occupy the same space as Seven the feeling engulfed him. It was like falling into freezing cold water, with the feeling of shocking cold and pinpricks all along his skin, and it caused Seven to involuntarily gasp in shock. "Huh?" the drunken man turned and looked right at Seven, and then grinned with those horrible teeth, "Ah, found ya!" The man stood up, the wickedly curved dagger in his hand plain to see now, and stepped over the log towards Seven. No matter what Seven tried to do his body wouldn't respond, and his sense were dulled and distant feeling. The drunk gave a sadistic laugh as he brought his knife down, the gleaming blade heading for Seven's face, but then Seven's body moved without his command. His right arm came up and moved in the path of the incoming knife, and then in the time of a blink Seven felt his Djed move and shift to create a faintly shimmering field around his arm. The descending dagger made contact with the field, and in a flash of blue light it was harmlessly deflected away. Seven's body stood, his Djed working once more, and the shimmering spread to cover his entire body. Thanks to Seven's repeated study of the book on the subject there could be no doubt that this was indeed shielding, and a impressive level of mastery with it at that. The drunk seemed to have no such knowledge, and slashed his dagger ineffectively at Seven's body a few more times. Each time the blade was effortlessly turned away with a flash of blue light. Finally the man's eyes widened, and he took a couple stumbling steps backwards, "Shyke... You're a mage!" tripping over the fallen log he stumbled back towards the forest where he had come from, and his voice raised up in a loud shout, "Help! Mage!" Seven's head turned to watch the man run away, and then he took a deep breath. More movements and shifting of his Djed resulted in some change to the shield, but Seven wasn't sure what. After a moment longer of standing there, his body breathing deeply, Seven's senses came rushing back to full strength, and with them came a soreness to Seven's body like he had spent the day working every single muscle in his body. The Ghost was outside of him once again, but he had gone back to a pleasant appearance, without the gash over his throat and blood streaming down. He gave a faint smile to Seven as he spoke, "I think that should do it. Now, no matter what weapon they use, you shouldn't be harmed by it." As the Ghost finished talking Seven could hear yells and the sounds of people running through the forest nearby. It seemed the drunken brute from earlier had friends, and they were coming to deal with the "mage" he had found.

[Seven Xu]

As uncomfortable, as cold and unnerving as the experience was, it sometimes forged a mutual understanding between the possessor and their host. When the Ghost weaved and shifted Seven’s djed into a shimmering, protective shield it was unlike any feeling he had experienced before. The extrusion of his djed seemed effortless, something he had never been able to do in the past. And as he sat helpless in his own body, it was as if the Ghost had unlocked a part of his mind that had previously been unreachable by conventional means.

“Aah ...” The overwhelming ache of the apparition leaving his body forced the eighteen year old to groan and drop to his knees in the dirt. His entire body burned; his muscles screamed for respite. Trembling, he lifted a hand to stare incredulously between his fingers; they flexed, turned, and then bunched into a fist. Seven knew it was there; but however closely he looked, he could not make out the invisible shield’s shimmer as he had when it blocked the dagger. “Remarkable,” he whispered beneath his breath as pools of crimson flickered back to the smiling visage of the Ghost beside him. “How did you –,”

Seven’s curiosity was cut short by the sound of rustling in the thick bush. Two shadows now accompanied the familiar stumbling outline of the man who had accused him of being a mage before storming off for reinforcements – reinforcements he appeared to have succeeded in acquiring. Now that the haze of being possessed had lifted, Seven’s fear returned in full force and he stumbled to his feet, taking pre-emptive steps backwards until his feet dragged through the ruined charcoal fire pit and his shins pressed against the fell log.

“There ‘e is. There’s the mage, bloody thing. Get it!”

No onus lay on the head of the Ghost as the trio circled Seven, flashing silvery weapons in the moonlight and yellowed grins beneath insults and cackles. “He’s tiny,” another teased. “Did you really need help?”

“Aye,” the third dipped to pull a dagger from the leather boot on his right, before curling an arm around the white neck from behind and threaten the length of Seven’s throat with a chortling laugh. “Almost looks like a woman. Maybe we should leave ‘im alive, for a little while. I bet ‘e moans like a whore.”

“You’re sick, mate!” The first exclaimed before the sound of his voice devolved into grating laughter. “Let’s just get it over with; this place is crawling with knights.”

The same dagger that had tested his throat before now pushed with the force behind bunched muscles. Seven inhaled sharply and his eyelids snapped shut as the blue shimmer returned with equal force beneath the silvery blade. The sound of metal on metal shrieked through stale night air before the weapon retracted and its wielder yelled in frustration. Unfocused garnets opened again and he whirled around to face the flash of a scowl and the whites of his attacker’s eyes, “What the petch?!”

“I told you, he’s a damn mage.” Unfortunately, Seven was not invulnerable to the pull of gravity as the first knocked the halfblood to the ground with a well-aimed boot to the back of his knees. He crumpled as his side met the shock of dirt; and a moment of desperate prayer turned to rebellious volition. Seven's vapid countenance turned defiant and he grit his fanged teeth in a low hiss. “No.” He couldn’t just lie there and accept a humiliating defeat. When the leather-bound foot descended on him again, he rolled to the left and away as it crushed innocent leaves and twigs in Seven’s wake. The prospect of freedom was fleeting before the trio were on him, slashing and punching and scraping fruitlessly against the contrary shield of djed. He was nearly invincible, save for the issue of balance: they could grab him and knock his willowy frame to the ground, but they could not permeate the shield with their fists and blades to draw his blood. With every failed strike, every cantankerous growl of futility, Seven grew in confidence.

Finally, he was able to extend his right hand to snatch one of the invading daggers by the blade and rip it painlessly out of a dirty grip. This weapon so happened to belong to the pugnacious vagrant that had interrupted the Ghost earlier. It fumbled between his thin digits as it passed to his stronger left hand. Bony fingers encompassed the small hilt and he held it with every ounce of strength left in his tired body at the stinking drunk he had unarmed. “I’ll do it!” Seven’s voice was shaking, and by now, if they weren’t complete dullards, they would have predicted that stabbing him again would be useless. Seven’s voice grew low as he repeated himself, blood-red and bleary eyes narrowing as he glanced sidelong at the pair of accomplices. “I’ll gut him like a fish.”

[Archon]

The trio of brutes froze as it became obvious that Seven was now armed. It seemed that even to minds as drink addled as these three the prospect of fighting with Seven was quickly losing any value or appeal. "Petch, let's get outta here before the Knights come," one of the new men, who had a horribly crooked nose, growled as he started to back away from Seven. "But the little shyke has my knife," whined the first man, his gaze shifting back and forth between the other two and Seven. "What, did yer Mother give it to ya?" snapped the third man, whose big and imposing presence gave the impression that he was the leader of the three, "You wanna get sent to the mines, maybe even gutted, over a stupid knife?" The other two men turned and made their way back into the forest, grumbling to each other about mages, and the first man stood there and glared at Seven for a few moments longer, "I'll getcha back some day," he snarled, but even fresh from his lips the words seemed hollow and hardly threatening as he turned and staggered after the other two. "Are you hurt?" the Ghost asked as he moved back to Seven's side as the men vanished into the darkness once more, "I wasn't sure it would work well, but it seemed my Shielding isn't terribly rusty even after death," he gave a faint chuckle, but there was little humor behind it, "If only I could have done such when Lelina and me were attacked..."

[Seven Xu]

Seven’s heart was thumping so vigorously against his chest he was sure it would break through his ribs and flop onto the ground in front of him like a suffocating fish. White-knuckled fingers were still wrapped in a death grip around the knife that cut through the air as every man had his piece in their decision. Despite the determined glare in his eye, the halfblood’s willowy frame shook like a dying leaf and beneath a mess of silvery bangs, sweat broke cold on his pale skin. His breaths were slow and calculated; if he allowed himself to pant he would likely vomit.

The situation had been successfully diffused, and the trio sank back into the darkness of the forest. When the sound of laughter and inebriated footsteps had melted into the night, Seven allowed himself to droop to the ground. The knife fell from between dead fingers and clattered against twigs and rotting leaves at his side. When the air cooled in the approaching soulmist, Seven’s hazy stare found the face of the Ghost that stood over him. Whatever he had said that brought on the priggish chuckle had fallen on deaf ears and no polite smile would find its way onto those flat, pink lips.

It would be a moment before the Ghost’s words even made any sense in his scrambled mind. Lelina. Of course. That’s why they came out here in the first place, wasn’t it?

“How long does this stay,” a murmur finally rose from Seven, an entire chime after the Ghost’s reflection of hindsight, “this … shield?” He haphazardly pushed his hands together to see the shimmer of blue between thin fingers. It calmed him, drew panic from his tense body and subdued the flopping fish inside his chest. He wondered if it was a product of his own ability, enhanced by the Ghost’s experience; perhaps if he could recreate it somehow he would no longer fear the stifling and uncaring crowds of an overpopulated city. Armor both invisible and weightless; power not in offensive ability but in that of unerring defense.

Unfortunately, it seemed the shield was not made for longevity. As his fingers clashed a second time, he noticed that the shimmer no longer persisted on his index fingers; it was receding, degrading. “No.” Seven’s eyes began to sting in the desperation of forming tears and his chin lifted to stare wide-eyed at the Ghost. He had spared his life, opened his eyes to something his narrow and logical mind once found impossible; but there was still the glaring issue of their initial venture into the Bronze Woods. The utterance was as much a question as it was a teary-eyed demand. “Lelina, she cannot be far now, can she?”

[Archon]

"Probably no more than a bell," the Ghost replied to Seven's first question, his gaze snapping back to the pale young man from the distant gaze of memory, "I didn't have the forethought or time to set it strong enough to last properly." The question/demand was met with silence at first. The Ghost's eyes thoughtfully regarded Seven's face for almost a full chime before the ethereal figure spoke again, "Yes, she should be close now, but you have done enough friend," there was a faint hint of pain in the man's eyes, but he gave a friendly smile to Seven, "Lelina would not want me to risk another's life just to satisfy my selfish desire." With a sigh heavy with regret and weariness the Ghost turned his gaze towards the dark forest, "I think... I might be ready to move on now. You've helped me realize that I was being foolish and selfish. I should not have asked you to come to such a dangerous place alone." Despite the Ghost's words he did not move to lead the way back to Syliras. His gaze remained steadfast on the forest, and it seemed that his heart still longed to give the one he had loved a proper burial.

[Seven Xu]

Seven’s brow furrowed at the Ghost’s sudden change of heart. He found himself straightening, standing on legs that wobbled at the knee and forced him to grab hold of a thin tree trunk to maintain his balance. “That won’t do,” he disagreed, reaching to the bridge of his nose with his free hand to wipe back tears that had formed in the corners of his eyes. “We came here for a reason, and that was to bury Lelina. Don’t let your guilt get the best of you and leave my – our – efforts in vain. I won’t let you fizzle away with that kind of burden.”

He wished he could feel the shield on his skin - a change in temperature, a tingle to accompany the faint shimmer he saw when he touched it. Anything. A bell, he told himself, repeating in his head the estimation the Ghost had given him. Less than a bell, he would remain, for the most part, protected from whatever the Bronze Woods had to throw at them. Crimson searched between thick trees where the trio of drunks had receded, and then the tree at his side was released as he turned his entire body to peer through drying tears at the dark forest that closed in around them. “Come, she isn’t in this clearing, that’s obvious.” Knees bent and he scooped the knife from the grass, sliding it into his boot in the absence of a proper hilt. Before he lifted his wiry frame to stand straight again, he offered an assuring, if weary, half-smile to the Ghost. “We will find her.”

Seven stepped over the fell log and embarked on a careful journey through the bush. His heart had slowed and grown calm again and the feeling of a steel blade pressed safely between the leather of his boot and thick linen trousers made him feel all that much more comfortable.

[Archon]

The Ghost's face showed surprise, and then overwhelming gratitude. Giving the warmest and most lively smile Seven had yet seen from the spirit it nodded, and then followed after him into the forest, "Thank you." Moving into the forest reduced the light available to Seven's eyes, and with the encroaching of the darkness also came the strange sounds of the Wildlands at night. There was the soft crunches of Seven's feet on the fallen and decomposing bits of plant matter that made up the forest floor, and then beyond that were spurts of sounds that could only be guessed at. Was that shrieking like sound an animal being hunted, or perhaps some twisted and evil beast on the hunt for blood? Was that soft groaning sound the trees shifting in the bit of wind blowing by, or was it the sighs of some large best nearby, hidden by the shadows? Aside from the possible threats represented by the strange sounds in the darkness the two traveled mostly without incident for 20 chimes. The first major thing of interest that happened was when something caught Seven's boot, causing him to stumble a little. If he turned to look at what had caught him he would find something long and almost seeming to glow with its paleness in the darkness. A moment of looking it over would reveal it to be a bone that was protruding from the soft earth.

OOCIf Seven digs in the area he will find what appears to be a human skeleton, and along with it a small silver pendant. The pendant bears the symbol of two crossed daggers.

[Seven Xu]

No sound carried a notion so unnerving that it made Seven turn around and leave the Bronze Woods, but they certainly made him second guess his decision to push on. Pools of crimson raked in images through the darkness but many of the odd echoes, the unmistakable sounds of twigs snapping beneath weight that was not his own seemed to be beyond his visual grasp. His next step caught something not picked up by his vigilant scan of the ground ahead and caused him to exclaim in a sharp cry as he nearly lost his footing on what he assumed had to have been a displaced root. Stumbling forward, Seven caught his balance before he made a further fool of himself and whirled around on boot heel to glare at the offending root.

Opalescent moonlight caught the eerie protrusion, covered with moss and grassy overgrowth to the point where he would not have seen it in the direction he was traveling. A lump formed in the halfblood’s throat as he dropped to one knee, reaching forward to press two fingers against an unnatural shade of white. “Ghost,” he realized he had never formally asked the apparition what his name was, “is this …” He never finished. Instead, his dirt-laden fingers removed layers of grass and mud from the object and the lump grew and threatened to plummet into his stomach as his second assumption flourished into reality. The white root took on the shape of a human arm, naught more than dirty porous bone. Then a ribcage, a spine, and a skull all took form lying so peacefully not an inch below ground. A shallow grave fashioned by nature for a body left to rot.

Glinting silver caught Seven’s eye as he noticed a small pendant, still wrapped around the spine and caught around one rib – was it a significant symbol? Seven eyed the pair of crossed daggers, but knew little of Knights and their crests or other various factions and guilds in Sylira. His white lips opened and closed several times, but no discernable voice came from them, no words to be had over the macabre discovery. Finally, he lifted his chin to face the Ghost with his dumbfounded, open-mouthed stare.