Completed [Squire’s Dormitories] Birds of a feather

[Fallon]

52nd Fall 513AV
Midday

It was upon the floor of the dormitories that Fallon had managed to lie, sprawled out with a book resting upon her chest. A faint draft managed to cause a patter against the narrow window, the old worn glass partly ajar to let in a draft, leaving the room cool in the mid autumn weather. Eyes drifted through the gap and onwards to the slither of a grey blanket that covered the sky, only to look next upon the towering stone coffin of Syliras that masked it. It was one of the few places in the city where the sky could be seen, though it was minimal at the best of times. A shame, for it was one of the few things she missed from her travelling. The endless sky.

Orvin gave a whine, followed by a snort as he pushed his nose against her. He sought attention, and it was an inevitable thing she would have to face. The squire pushed herself up onto her elbows, back muscles straining as she gave him a look and finally shook her head, “In a chime Orvin. Now sit.” He gave a perplexed look, head cocking to one side inquisitively to her command before he sat himself down. Releasing a sigh she gave him a firm pet between the ears, “Good boy.”

Fallon scratched at her vest, and then at her bare arms, followed finally to the uncovered space on her back. Tips felt the scars and bumps that peaked out from beneath. Gods she hated those, those pale white lines that told many a story. Eyes drifted around the room, a slight crease as she looked to her discarded boots and then to the shirt she had draped over the bed. Other than that, the room was devoid of life, alien of the presence of other women. Beyond that however, existed the rest of the suite and where there was most certainly signs of other squires. But at the moment that was silent and she was certain that she was indeed alone to her own privacy and that of literature.

And Orvin of course.

There was a long moment of contemplation as she regarded the closed room door, eyes looking upon the solid wood that it was made from. She gave an inhale of breath, her mind forced into clearing. With her solitude however came the other opportunities to practice. Things frowned upon that should indeed only be practiced in private. Now was as good as time as any. Nostrils flared, a deep breath sucking in the cool air, her lids closing. Practice makes perfect was the words her mentor once said. The Djed gave a turn, the feeling of ice setting in through her nerves and her senses. It tightened and grasped; her jaw tensing and her tongue going numb. Auristics in time would get easier, though not any time soon. She gave a mutter of key words she helped would aid, “Wake up, light up, let me see.”

“I said. Wake up, light up, let me see!” A fist thumped against the floor, her eyes cracking open as it held itself there, the strange thin blue filter that smothered her sight. It burned and it crackled, her pulse increasing with every tick. There was a swallow as she tried to hold it, her lip trembling as it gave a ripple. It gave a slip, growing brighter and piercing. Eyes clenched shut, “Rest now, darken down, enough is seen!”

She gave a gasp, falling back onto her back as she did a hand covering her eyes. The djed drained away to nothing, the grip slipping free. Her chest gave a rise, and it was a firm second nudge from Orvin that made her peel her hand away from her blood shot eyes. She gave a blink at him, before she gently hushed his whining, “I’m okay. Don’t worry… I’m okay.”

Petch, auristics is hard.

[Wrenmae]

Winging low over the darkened, grey skies, the raven grasped ledge by ledge, coking its head and shadow-eyes before spreading its wings and flying again. It had been at this almost every day for the past three, slipping past windows in the Squire Dormitories and cawing low and melancholic, searching, or perhaps calling in an unknown crow-tongue.

Now it sat outside, a shade among the gloom spattered shingles. For almost ten minutes it had remained outside one of the narrow windows of the Squire Dormitory, looking in as a squire seemed to puzzle over a book. Only when she moved, focusing on the creature at her feet did the raven take wing suddenly, winging up over the building and crowing its long mournful cry once more, soaring down and alighting on her windowsill.

The opening was not wide enough for the bird to fit through without effort, and it growled low in its throat as it pushed into the dormitory. Orvin growled immediately and the bird fixed him with a hard stare, sending the puppy scurrying to the corner of the room with a yelp and a whimper. clasped in one claw the bird was holding a small rolled piece of paper and as Fallon confronted the bird, it opened both wings, outspread as if in challenge, and dropped the paper to the floor, hopping onto her bed and then off the other side.


The paper read. "Fallon, do not be alarmed. You are often in the company of others and I did not know how to approach you. Please do not cry out till I have finished my transformation."

From the other side of her bed, the raven hissed, bones snapping and rearranging as it grew, molted feathers into skin as its wings grew into arms and fingers, grasping uselessly at the ground. It only took a few seconds, the rush of growth and the cauldron of boiling flesh, feathers and crunching bones. In one moment of the transformation, a mostly completed arm trailing black feathers pulled Fallon's blanket down over the reforming body, twisting beneath there, constantly shifting and snapping, reforming, until the body was still.

He had tried, concentrated on the memories of himself that he remembered. His smile in a mirror, the way he looked reflected in the eyes of others. There would be some differences, some inconsistencies, but he could do it.

Wrenmae poked his face out from under the covers, blinked, realized he hadn't transformed his eyes and blinked them again...the austere black of the raven melting into a doe-brown.

"You exist." Wrenmae, once Egyptus, said, smiling as his chest rose and fall in swift, strained motions, "You're...Fallon."

[Fallon]

Fallon gave a flinch, eyes staring at the ratter from the window and the crow that rested there. Orvin of course reacted, a yapping bark before he shirked away. Forcing herself into action she fumbled for the window latch to confront it. Of course, that failed for it simply flew into the room with much speed and without a chance of her to catch it. Hands snagged for it, the curl of paper falling into her grip as it went past. It crumpled in her grip, and her eyes turned to it.

There was a flicker of concern as she read it, her back straightening to the distinct clicking and crunching that sounded out. It was hard not to look, as the blanket changed and distorted under the fabric. Orvin let out a whine, pushing himself up into the corner whilst the eyes of the squire darted around the room searching almost for something. Books were scattered and disorganised, and her thoughts racing through what was exactly going on. But that was not the only thing on her mind, or her most major concern. Someone knew her name, and that was the worrying factor. Her throat constricted, her target found as the form continued to twist and turn. A hand darted forth and towards the under bed. Fingers wrapped around her target, the kukri hilt that peaked from underneath. There was a clatter, a steady grasp as she ripped off the scabbard, letting it drop. Whatever had flown in was changing, and fast, mutating out of sight. And Fallon was not about to wait around to find out what exactly had trespassed.

Kelvic? She had seen enough change forms in their time, but they were generally a lot brighter and more sudden than... this. This was different, very different. Her free hand went to grab the blanket, the folds falling away to reveal the face of a man, those deep brown eyes staring back from beneath the folds. There was a smile upon his face, a ring of both pleasure and surprise in his voice. Her name hit her again, and her jaw clenched shut.

“And who in the gods names are you? What do you mean I exist?” She gave a glare, eyes displaying a mixture of emotions. Confusion. Worry. Wonder. It was her left hand that firmly grasped at his hair, the right hand with the blade coming round so it was hovering near. That face, she knew that face. There was a wince, her grip tightening and her arm shaking. Where did she know that face? Those eyes, that smile and that tone of voice. She shook her head, face creasing, and the keen cold steel ready to strike. Lips trembled as she tried to force out words, as she tried to understand.

Him. Was it in the street? A simple passing? What did he want? A dream?

It was with a loud clatter that the blade was dropped, and the hold was released. Colour drained from her face, her eyes growing large. It was with a snap that she turned away from him a firm hand covering her eyes.

“Oh… petch.”

[Wrenmae]

ooc :

If she tells him to stop, you can assume in your post that he stops at whatever stage of transformation you tell him to stop and begins transforming back...otherwise he's going straight raven again

In all the scenarios he ran in his head, it had never occurred to him that transforming from a crow into a man within her own bedroom might have been the most alarming approach he could have made. In his mind it had all played out differently, but somehow only on his end. It was only when she stood over him, Kukri raised, that he remembered he had brought no weapons to defend himself from a threat he didn't consider dangerous.

Stupid. Stupid. He inwardly berated himself for the complete lapse in judgement. Admittedly finding she existed at all was a catalyst to his impulsive action. Here he lay, under one of her covers, naked, transformed in her very presence.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

And if she had any others hiding out? If someone happened to walk in?

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

But she turned away from him, hand over her eyes and the danger suddenly passed. Wren lay under the sheet, the last of his transformations occurring out of sight. When he stood, he did so gingerly, cautiously, keeping the blanket over one shoulder like a toga. Half his narrow chest was visible, the network of crisscross white lines in too long and swerving of direction to be from combat, and an angry patch of raised flesh black as shadow and coal, waves that angrily cascaded over his flesh, the mark of a furious god. On his collarbone, another mark, blood red and raised, shaped like a fingerprint.

For a few moments, he simply let her reel away from him. Somewhere was the instinct not to touch her, reinforced by his interactions with Kit. Somewhere else was the realization that he had chosen the most alarming way to reveal himself and that she would need time to grapple with that, especially if she was not accustomed to magic.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

"I..." he swallowed, sighed, and took a seat on the bed, "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking. I saw you and, well, I wasn't sure if you were just a dream or...petch. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid."

He put a hand over his eyes and dropped it, shaking his head.

"This was too much at once, I see that now. I...petch. Impulsive...not like me." Standing suddenly, he circled around her and to the window. "Look, let's just...we forget I came in this way, we meet perhaps somewhere more neutral. I can just...go."

Letting the blanket drop from his shoulders, he faced the window. At the base of his spine, on his back, a small black diamond glowered on raised skin, another gnosis mark like the two on his front. But it would only hold her attention for a few moments before the muscles and bones beneath his back began to shift, as though many swimming creatures were alive beneath his skin. His hair turned glossy black, separated, became raven feathers. He slowed the transformation, as to not alarm her...although in retrospect, it was alarming in itself...but within a minute or so, he could be airborn and leave her. Honestly he hadn't thought far enough ahead on how he was going to contact her again, or if she would simply tell the Knights and chase him from the city. It was all by the emotional instinct. Here, there, regret, escape.

And through it all, it struck him how very unlike him this all was....no plans, no plots, no schemes.

And perhaps that's what scared him the most.

[Fallon]

It was a laboured, dragged breath that Fallon managed to release. Out of all the things that could have occurred, this by far in the running for being the most stressful. He was a ghost in her mind, something she figured was little more than her imagination. She pressed her fingers against her lids, a ragged inhale and exhale lasting with every beat. She could barely think straight, a flood of emotions raged within, turbulent and snagging. Orvin however remained in the corner, ears flat and his eyes wide. Too scared to move a single muscle or let out a peep.

The squire turned her head back to him, eyes piercing in his direction. She looked upon his bare torso, the dancing patterns that marred its surface. Throat constricted, those same eyes turned to his lips when he spoke, or at least tried to between his stutters and stammers. Eyes gave a drift, glazing over but not truly focusing on him, the brow having knitted together. More so when he tried to shake it off, to discard this sudden spontaneous visit as if it was indeed nothing. To runaway almost, and deny that none of this ever happened.

But it was too late now. It would be a memory burned into her mind for a very long time. Emotions ran high, tethered tight to the point that it was almost strangling to the senses. She held her breath, more so when she heard the weight of him shifting behind once more. The illusive man from her dreams, the face she had seen before. Egyptus Murdock in the flesh. He really did come. And she really did wait. She gnawed at her lip, fingers twitching as the distinct sound of clicking and cracking. Her back straightened, the pulse quickening as he tried to talk his way out. To make his leave from such a situation.

“Wait,” she spoke, her eyes fixed upon the floor as she did, “Don’t you… don’t you dare run away. Not yet. Not…” she turned to face his back, or at least as best she could without truly focusing on him. His mutating, his morphing into something else stopped for a chime, trembling almost with anticipation. Her mouth dried, a falter in words as she tried to so desperately form them. She needed to speak; she needed to talk, to communicate. Voices revealed so much, yet so did touch. It was hard not to reach out and grasp at those feathers, those little shreds that an answer may indeed come to her.

“I… I… who…” she forced an inhale. She had to face this, she could not run away. It was perhaps because of that the girl forced more words to fall. To not speak would only cause regret, and that was something she could not allow herself. So, she took a single leap of faith.

“I… you…” she clenched her fists, her eyes raising to bring him into true focus, “Do you know of the Aylasa Caves? Well… either way. There. Sundown. Tonight. You better show your face. I… we…” she shook her head as she struggled with holding onto some form of composure, “We have answers to find.”

And she was going to have them one way or another.

[Wrenmae]

When the raven took flight from the squire's room, it did so without the frantic flapping that had brought it there. Moments before he had shifted in front of her, shrinking and twisting till his skin was feathers and his eyes were the hard inquisition of a raven. He'd cocked his head at her, tapping his hardened beak against the wooden floor before hopping up to the sill and, then, after one more look at her, pushed into the grey autumn air, gone like he'd never been.


Returning to his home and the open window he'd left was not difficult. For a moment or two, the raven hopped around on the sill, cocking its head, peering inside and then hopping beyond the sill and prying eyes beneath. When he transformed again, he was already moving. Even as feathers twisted and dwindled, he was forcing a shirt over his mass of slithering flesh. He almost tore his pants on talons not quite feet, but managed just barely to avoid another mistake in his haste.

Wren didn't even pause to consider that he no longer regarded morphing as dangerous or even something to use sparingly. When he needed to, he simply shifted...losing more of himself in the mercurial definition of what he COULD be. It wasn't difficult, it wasn't trying, and it didn't exhaust him as it once had.

When he tripped over forcing a shoe onto his foot and began to fall sideways, he instinctively morphed the tiny hairs on his one outstretched hand, Symenestra touch, gripping the wall and pausing his fall. But when he removed his hand, they were already ordinary again.

He reached all the way across his room, his arm boiling forward to grab his cloak and then retracted into his body again. He tossed it over his shoulders, pulled the hood over his face and belted his weapons to his body.

It was not hard to find where she wanted to meet him. The people of Syliras were happy to point him in the right direction. So when he reached the caves early, he could do no more than wait.

This was an important time, the breath of air he needed to calm his rushing mind and put a splint on his heart. He could not afford to be so damn foolish this time around. The air tasted of stillness, etched stone and quartz. Each sigh and gasp pulled more of himself from the depths of his being, smoothed it out.

He was Egyptus, Murdock, Wrenmae. He was Plague and he was Chaos. He was Cursed and he was Blessed. He was Knight killer and savior in both equal hands.

More importantly, he was not a bumbling youth. He was not a clumsy fool. He was not stupid.

He took a deep breath, and then another, and by the third much of the day had fallen into a cautionary memory. So she existed...what of it? Knowing did not fill him with a sense of tumult. There was a sadness there, perhaps, the wistful hole dug and casually covered. But it changed little. He could not change his life because of her, he could be no different than he was.

What, then, was the point of this exercise?

He didn't know. Damn it all, he had no idea...there was just the drive to know about her, to know more, to feel protective and close.

Zan would have laughed at him...if they were still talking anyways.

He almost stood up to leave twice, but always found himself back at the caves...a silhouette shadow folded up against the cave wall as the sun fell, and spilled its ruinous bloodlight across the Syliran landscape.

[Fallon]

It took Fallon a few long chimes to come to terms with what had happened. On how the Raven flew free from the window mere ticks after her speaking. Weakly she pressed her hand against her face, long deep breaths forced into place to keep her calm. She needed to clear her mind, she needed to think. She needed a plan. And a good one to boot. Eyes turned down to Orvin, a brief sombre look having forced itself there. How long would it be until the chosen time? Bells. Getting ready was not the issue, it was being prepared. It could have been a trick, a trap, but it was a location she knew – and one he hopefully did not. The squire prepared herself. She was going for answers, to solve the riddle that had been played before on many an occasion. She was going to unravel the mystery and reveal the truth. The gnosis gave a prickle on her skin, the beating pulse lasting in her veins.

Fingers grasped her shirt, shortly followed by whatever came next. She became animated, equipment meeting her person and being attached. Coat, hood, boots, the firm belt with her weapons linked to it. Quiver, bow, the lantern checked and filled, the flint and steel soon after being pressed into her pocket. She knew she had no hope in travelling if it got too dark. She gave a smile to Orvin, before finally pulling on her gloves and hiding the golden mark on her hand.

It was time.

Heavy feet was what lead her, the cold sweat that dragged her through the narrow hall ways of Syliras. A march towards a fate she did not have an answer for. The greys filtered out to the strange, twisting colours of dusk. Red hues danced across it, the creeping umbers clawing at it. But still she walked, the lantern lighting the way through and onwards. Bark, wood, the smell of damp earth and turned ground lead her on. But why did she go? For answers? The false hope that something would indeed come to fruit?

Even she did not have an answer for that. Instinct and emotions were at play, the mind of logic barely clinging on. Why now of all times? For that was how it was, there was little she could do about that. This time was important, every tick was important. The crisp air cooled her mind, the idea of a neutral ground becoming more daunting. There was nothing she could do now, she had spoken and she had arranged. There was the low clinking noise in every step she took, the distinct rattle of steel in its scabbard. She pulled at the bow string that she had rested across her, hands clenching into little fists.

Nothing would change, is what she told herself. That it was all just a misunderstanding and life would continue on as normal.

And there she stood, the mouth of the cave open before her, a giant maw into the darkness beyond and the single light within her grasp. The shadow of a man was caught in the glow of the dying sun. She gave a swallow, peering out beneath her hood and onwards to him. For a chime she regarded him silently, her mind calming down to present things in a logical manner, to follow a set plan no matter what.

“You’re early,” she addressed him.

Time to get this going.

[Wrenmae]

"No such thing," he said in return, detaching from the wall of the cave and approaching her. In the light, her shadow stretched out behind her in an imposing guardian. How fitting, to come from a place of darkness to see her standing in a place of light. But he dismissed it quickly, there was no good or evil, these were mere constructs of the Syliran Knights. Would that they could get into his head, move the pieces of his mind around in their dizzying ways. She was girded for battle, but had not come expecting it. Instead there was a defiance in her stance, a certain nervous energy beneath that betrayed her.

The first thing that came from the shadows was Wren's outstretched hand, the chain and wing from the dream dangling off his two longest fingers. He held it there for a few moments, letting her see that it was the same as he had shown her and then withdrew it, putting it around his neck.

"You named this place, which means you have the advantage of familiarity. I simply came first to be assured I would not walk into any trap."

Of course that was revelation enough that someone wanted to trap him. The voice of prudence snapped in his head, deceive, mislead, manipulate, control. Reveal, illuminate, comfort, support, came another voice. He ignored them both and circled the girl warily.

"I'm sorry for startling you," he said, "I was not thinking. You would be the first I've dreamed of to exist in this world. I came here straight after the dream, you know...it was a journey." He did not elaborate, did not need to.

"Well then, Squire," he said to her, holding out his hands, "Here I am. Fate ordained us siblings, flesh and blood, the only living blood I have. All I have is yours, but you should want none of it." He pulled the hood down from his face, caught in the light the scars across his face were glimmering silver, set between eyes not so kind and calm as the dream but cold, perhaps cruel. There was a light in them, a certain restrained spark of something, but he held it well.

"I was Egyptus Murdock. I am now Wrenmae Sek, a name I chose for myself when my father and siblings passed to Dira. I thought to leave behind a family dead and the gods are kind enough to grace me with an unknown relation...a Knight to be, in fact. Irony, perhaps, knows best the divine comedy of our connection."

Sighing, he shook his head, pressing his hands together, "I'm at a loss, honestly. I don't know how one addresses lost siblings. Do we hug? Do we reveal our secrets?" His right hand rose to his collarbone, where the blood red mark had been, hesitated, then dropped, "Or do we acknowledge we exist and go our separate ways?"

It grew darker and his eyes shimmered, immediately shifting zith-gold to compensate for the darkness, "Come then," he encouraged with an effort at a nervous smile, "Surely you're not only here to listen."

[Fallon]

Fallon stared to him and then the necklace. Her free hand hooked at her own chain and her own matching pendant dangling at the end. It gave a glint in the faint light, spinning before it was quickly tucked away once more. When he made his approach though, and he begun his slow stalking around her. He became a predator, watching and waiting for the perfect moment to strike. And she? Well she was not sure yet. She shifted her weight on her feet, toes flexing, the muscles contracting and relaxing. Prepared almost for some form of ill to happen. Hands slid behind her, fingers curling around her belt as he spoke his monologue, certain words ringing out distinctively.

Fate. Siblings. Blood. Was. Passed. Gods. Irony. Comedy.

Her lips gave a twitch. At most she was a listener, an observer as she preferred. She did not know how to exactly respond to him and his hesitations. Eyes gave a turn, glinting in the low light before she lowered the lantern. Fingers flexed, the leather bending and folding in her grasp, before she paused to listen to his conclusion.

“I am a listener and observer at heart,” she gave a nonchalant shrug; “Talking is a difficult yet necessary pastime if people wish to get the message across. Unfortunately, people also have a tendency to hear what they want to hear.”

Silence ruled for a moment, her own thoughts mulling over the situation. She was not sure exactly on what to do or say herself, but there was one question that came to her mind, the strange pitted feeling that rested within, “If I may be so bold, why do you hesitate? Do you fear a little girl?”

The squire shook her head, her eyes lowering down to the lantern on the floor, sections of her face dipping into shadow whilst others burned brightly in the light. She gave a sigh, brow creasing and her head bowing slightly. There was much to say, but it was forming it into words that was the difficulty. It was hard enough making herself stand and face him, let alone anything else that may involve Egyptus – or Wrenmae as it seemed he now preferred. Fingers tightened around the belt, and then relaxed. There was no use allowing herself to get worked up, “Do, what you deem is best. I cannot make you do something after all. It is up to only you to make a choice as to what your next aim is,” she tilted her head up to face him, “And as I am not you, I cannot say what it is you want or what you think. But, here I am. Do as you see fit.”

Eyes burned for a moment, then pulled away. She stepped away from the lantern creating a slight distance from it before once more facing him, “In your own time.”

[Wrenmae]

Outside the lantern light, Wren smiled, all brilliant teeth and glowing eyes. In this moment they were thieves meeting in the dead of darkness to divide the spoils, spies ready to trade damning information. They might as well have been highwaymen, or monsters. The cool autumn wind suggested treason, old earth and rotting leaves. There was the underlying smell of carrion, perhaps of rot. Did she bring it with her from the city, or did it follow him?

"It is not you I fear," He said to her softly, "But what I am capable of that gives me shudder."

For the moment they stood apart, divided only by the circle of lantern light. Neither crossed that sacred circle to each other but remained on opposite ends. One, the Squire, who he knew so little about, calm and callous...curious and yet withdrawn. The other, The Shroud, all deceit and death, drenched blood and torn lives that followed in his wake like half-moans, whispered accusations on the wind.

He could stab her. Kill her right here by the cave.

He could hug her. Embrace her beneath the colored leaves and skeleton branches.

He could leave her. Turn on his heel and be swallowed by the hungry evening, raw for the taste of mischief.

He could kiss her. Defy what dreams had told him, and bit into her exposed chin...passion more like rage, and lust more like hunger.

He could test her. Draw blade here and now, press her like a cornered dog. Their steel would sing songs neither voice could hope to match.

He could tell her. Hoarsely moan the name of her dead god, the tree that stood in his place and that Rhysol held that knowledge as well. Hold her eyes with his as he described the way disease withered the healthy flesh from lords and wretches alike, how many times he'd seen the light fade from open eyes...the dead archer girl on the beach, the artist in the alley, the slavers in Sunberth, Imass languishing in Sahovan prison, then carried to Ravok.

All these choices were like the wavering phantom shadows that split and danced beneath her lantern-light...her wytch-fire burning into accusation and secrecy.

A hand slid onto his blade, grasped the hilt, and then relaxed. He closed his eyes, internally weighing the troubles, the consequences.

Before she could react he was upon her, stepping straight into the lantern light and ducking beneath its baleful yellow eye. Both arms swung wide and up, catching her around her chest and hoisting her up with surprising strength. He buried his face into her coat, drew in the scent of her, the essence of what had not existed beyond fantasy but a season before. It was over in a moment, the embrace lingering in the shallow caverns carved by his arms against her coat. He let her drop gently and then stepped back, eyeing her warily.

He would have hugged Kit this way a thousand times if he could, but had he touched her, in that moment, he was sure she would go for his eyes.

And maybe she was right to do it. In touching her, he had accepted the dream prophecy, the link of talisman pendants, the shared history. In that moment he'd opened a vulnerable door held shut by bodies and caution.

Damn him for this...and damn her for existing.

May she not regret what transpired here tonight.

Back in the protection of gloom, his baleful yellow eyes glowed a mellow thoughtful. "My sister." He murmured, wringing his hands together, "Tell me who you are...who you really are."