Dream's Edge

Andel & Azcasu

Set during the hunt for the Wasting Miasma, 1235.

Andel

When word arrived in Namarast about a monster attack at the Tourney, he'd been alarmed, but overall not too worried. Mead is close by, yes, but Namarast had so many monster hunters the creature would never be able to get close to begin with.

It would be dealt with, likely within a few hours.

After multiple days, this no longer seemed likely. When he was asked to help out efforts at Mead to get people out of the "mist", Andel's anxiety spiked. Of course he wanted to help! He should! What reason could anyone have to say no to that? No, I have better things to do, no, I'm terrified of monsters?

Well.

The monster hadn't moved, but it felt inevitable. And then the fog would descend on him, and the few other people who had joined the effort would get swallowed up too. The thought sent a shiver down his spine.

Surprisingly few monster hunters had joined. There were tales about a giant skeleton standing still, unphased by attacks, surrounded by the thick mist. That's why the hunters had stopped? It didn't seem to be affected?

What sort of a mage had this been?

Andel squeezed his hand with the prosthetic, trying to get some warmth into it, but the cold metal did him little good. From the corner of his vision he saw the eyes floating around, staring at him. It was awful, everything about this was grotesque. Here, by the edge of the mist, he looked out to multiple campfires spread over the area, people who had escaped gathering up. Andel and his little group had a fire going too, a big cart nearby with various supplies. Food, water, medical. At the end of the day, they would return to Namarast, and Andel would pray to whichever damn patron would listen that the monster would disappear overnight.

So far, it hadn't worked, and this was the second day in a row he was shivering beside the mist, frowning at it.

Besides being horribly grotesque, his task was frustrating. There were people who simply came out of the mist to eat and drink, and then they went back inside. No amount of convincing seemed to convince them that this was a poor idea. And Andel kind of resented playing part in giving them the option.

What would they do if there was no convenient group from the Order nearby to hand out resources? Leave? Maybe they were enabling this behavior. But the few people with him were soft-hearted, obviously, and balked at his suggestion of stopping to feed certain faces they kept seeing over and over.

Ugh.

His arm hurt.

Not the one that still carried blood, but the one with a prosthetic from the elbow down. Andel was used to phantom pains, but this wasn't one of those. A sharp stabbing came from the nub, right into the middle of the limb that was left. He knew what it meant. A pitch-black flower would be sprouting from the end again, slithering from a deep void scar left behind when the limb was forcibly ripped off.

Andel hated those flowers.

Nervously he checked over the prosthetic to make sure nothing was growing out of the little spaces in the jointing, worried the other order people would notice black flowers growing from his limb. He couldn't have them think his magic was anything but the ability to grow plants, to have vines control nature golems. Which he hadn't been able to summon to help, unfortunately. Far too much anxiety.

Another failing.

Andel tsk'ed as he dropped his arms, his hand quickly rubbing his shoulder in agitation. His gaze went out to the mist, trying to make out the shapes of people coming out, looking for the fire they'd set up.

He was careful to avoid looking at the giant eye that kept turning towards him.

When he did see a figure approach, the man stretched his neck and adjusted his glasses. "Hey! Over here!"

(665)

Azcasu

How much time had passed?

Azcasu could not recall sleeping, nor it ever becoming dark. There was only the half-dusk of the fog, cold and pale, erasing contrast and edges, tricking the eyes. She had glimpsed the enormous skeleton once before the fog had once again swathed it in swirling white, but the floating, watching eyeballs were constant.

Even if she saw through the illusions, and the dreams had no effect on her, something in the mist seemed to confuse the senses. It felt like she had left Harrow only a few hours ago—and that whole encounter was something she couldn’t decide whether she wanted to mull over or forget completely, leaving her mind anxiously churning, like a bruise to poke and prod—and in the space between then and now, she had wandered for… some time, waking people here and there and giving a hand to others who were already awake.

Even if it felt like she had only spent a day in the mist, it must have been longer. The thought was unsettling, sending a crawling feeling of disquiet down her spine. It was high time to leave; besides, Gába must be wondering what had happened, by now.

Finding her way in the thick mist was easier than she had thought it would be. Her heartsight, unexpectedly, helped; it pierced even the thickest of fog banks, showing glimpses of what had been—fleeting memories of the Tournament, of the sunlit streets of Mead, ghostly apparitions of the crowds that had walked there—and she knew the ins and outs of the town. 

She pulled her cloak closer around her and tightened the wraps around her arms. Her tall boots were well-greased, but even so they began to feel a little damp around the seams as she made her way through the wet grass of the tournament grounds. Idly, she eyed the many market stalls, wagons, and tents that were left unattended, wondering if their owners were still around here somewhere or if they had managed to get out.

After what could have been minutes or hours, she wasn’t sure, the fog began to thin out, the rolling hills around Mead slowly coming into view. It was still cold, even here on the outskirts, as if the mist had brought the chill of autumn with it. Behind her, a floating eye followed her with its piercing gaze.

Someone had lit a fire in the distance, she noted. Even further away there were more lights, and what looked like tents and wagons; some sort of rescue operation, perhaps? Or a thrill-seeking public, trying to get a glimpse of the monster? Neither would have surprised her, though when a voice rang out, she almost stopped, instantly suspicious.

It was a man, waving at her, urging her forward. As she stepped closer, colours and shapes appeared on him; little secrets and hidden shame painting a garish picture in her heartsight. A shadow of shame and guilt seemed to seep from one of his hands; disappointment in his fellow Order members—so they were here, interesting—dripped all along his form, and most obviously, fear.

The man was terrified of the monster. And yet here he stood, waving at her. She blinked, pushing the heartsight vision to the back of her mind. He was slightly shorter than her, fairly well-clad, with large, round glasses that seemed to have slipped down his nose slightly.

“What?” she said brusquely, stepping aside as he came closer. He was from the Order, which instantly put her on guard, and she wished she had steered clear. “What is it?”

(596)

Andel

The person emerging from the mist was someone he didn't recognize. Not that that was uncommon, Andel wasn't known for being a social butterfly, but the bright eye and odd tattoos signaled to him this was not an Order mage.

But a mage all the same.

He had been warned there had been Wild mages at the Tourney, even if they'd had guards to prevent them from joining. And most of those mages weren't going to risk running into the Order upon exiting the mist, but still. Some would need help.

This'd bothered Andel too, of course. Those people were there uninvited, and were taking away needed resources from the Order mages, and he wasn't very keen on offering any of them food or drink.

But he would. That was what he had been tasked to do. And maybe he could either convince or arrest some, and gain himself some favor after his last run-in with the jerk who'd helped a bunch of them escape.

There was a tiny scar beside his left eye reminding him of it.

Yet, as Azcasu barked at him and stepped aside, all those thoughts were gone. Andel was instantaneously put on edge, all his confidence disappeared. "No, uhm, we're just here to offer help." As if the mage had been able to hear his thoughts and he was now denying them out loud. How annoying. "And, uhm, to ask people not to go back in. There's a monster making this mist." He'd started to explain before his thoughts caught up to him. They would obviously know that. "—And the dreams. So. Do you need water?"

He'd started to roll the hem of his sleeve in between his fingers nervously.

(285)

Azcasu

“Offer help,” she repeated darkly, glancing towards the glimmer of campfires further away. Those must be the Order, too, and she could imagine what a field day the witchfinders were having, with so many tired and desperate mages leaving the mist. “Sure. You ask for help and then get arrested, that’s really helpful.” Pointed sarcasm in her words, and her hand went to the knife at her belt, thumbing the handle.

The smear of anxiety that appeared on him made the corner of her mouth curl. Pathetic, really; she couldn’t imagine this poor fool arresting anyone, not with the way fear made him shrink from her, from the mist, from the monster.

And yet. He hadn’t tried anything so far, instead offering water. The word made her realize that yes, she was parched—once again she wondered how long she had been wandering the mist—and water would be wonderful. She eyed the nearby cart; there was no one else around, not yet.

“I know you’re from the Order—I’m not going to ask for help from you. But how about a trade?” She smiled slowly. “If you give me water, I’ll give you some advice.”

(193)

Andel

"I—Well, you know," He found himself stumbling for words at the accusation. Arrested? Well, maybe, but obviously it was needed, given there was a giant monster right behind her. That hadn't happened to an Order mage.

And Hagia was a setup. He was sure of it.

His companions seemed busy convincing another pair of people to not go back in the mist, even if their dreams had been delightful, and Andel was left all alone with the rough-looking mage. She'd seen better days, Andel imagined, and there was no telling how long anyone had been in this mist.

"I was offering—" Andel huffed, a frown behind his glasses. "I don't know what kind of magic you deem me capable of, but I'm not able to trap you in the fae realm if you consume something I give you." A mock tone to his voice. Still. He had offered, and if she wanted to give him 'advice' in return, who was he to stop her.

Andel rolled his eyes before turning to the cart (a dumb thing to do, but what would an order-nerd who hadn't had much experience turning his back on hostiles know) to grab a leather waterskin for the stranger.

Of course, he HAD hoped that being nice and giving a mage food and drink would convince them the Order wasn't so bad, and maybe come with willingly. Because he was pretty unwilling to get more convincing than that. That wasn't going to happen, and instead he just gave the waterskin to the woman, who honestly looked FAR more capable of punching his glasses in than the little blonde guy had.

But maybe he should give her advice too. Just in case. Something about turning herself in—yes, maybe he could make something up.

(297)

Azcasu

She shrugged. “How would I know what kind of magic you can do or not do? I’ve seen weirder things.” He wasn’t hiding his magic, not consciously; she could see nothing of it, except that strange shame about a black flower, growing from somewhere within his prosthetic arm—but it didn’t seem to be his magic.

She took the waterskin, though, a flicker of gratitude in her eyes. “Thanks.” Drinking deeply, she couldn’t taste anything strange about the water; hadn’t seen anything either—it was probably safe, and besides after the first drop hit her tongue, she didn’t care. After slaking her thirst, she lowered it, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. 

For a long moment, she just looked at him, letting her heartsight bloom across her vision. A few things coalesced, little secrets and lies floating to the surface, like fat shimmering in a cooking pot. He wanted to arrest her, but he couldn’t do it himself; he was disappointed in the mage protectors and monster hunters for, in his opinion, being too soft; thoughts of the strange black flower; and most of all, he was still terrified.

He tried very hard to pretend he wasn’t.

She cocked her head, handing the waterskin back to him. “You’ve never seen much of the world outside the Order, I think.” That was an assumption on her part; not something he was hiding. “It would do you good. Leave that golden cage and the people telling you how good your shackles fit you… before they decide you’re not useful anymore.” She glanced at his arm. Whatever he was hiding there was worrying him, a lot.

For a moment she almost laughed at the absurdity of it all. What was she doing, doling out some bullshit advice to a witchfinder? The fog must have affected her more than she realized. The most sensible course of action would be to leave—and make sure he wouldn’t be able to send anyone after her.

(330)

Andel

Andel could not make out why she was staring him down like that, but it felt invasive. Something something glowing eye, perhaps it was related to her magic. Who knew what a wild mage could do? Like she didn't know his magic, Andel had no clue about hers either.

"That's your advice?" The bearded man scoffed, taking the waterskin back once Azcasu was done. "Get myself killed by some monster out there? You know mages are more at risk without a good education, right?" Yes! The little topic shift he needed, very natural, no notes on that.

The little "until you're not useful anymore" gnawed at him. His mind couldn't help but go over possible reasons for that—until they found out he was scarred by a shadow mage who was obviously going to turn into a monster one day. And then what? Would he turn too, since he still carried their magic on him?

With a deep breath, Andel steeled himself.

"Just," Andel sighed, searching for the words. "Why do you people refuse to see that turning into a monster is a bad thing? Mages should be waiting in line in front of the Order's gate to make sure stuff like this stops happening." He waved a hand towards the mist.

(212)

Azcasu

She barked out a laugh at that. “You really have no clue, do you? Thinking the monsters roam Ivras unchecked? Mages are more at risk when they are hunted down and sent to rot in jail cells, I’d say. Or do you educate every wild and hidden mage you arrest?” Her voice was thick with sarcasm and doubt, her question more rhetorical than genuine.

She could see a sliver of doubt in him; images and memories, worries, floating to the top. Something about a shadow mage, terrifying—annoying, heartbreaking, hated, complicated—in his mind, close to corruption and inexorably tied to him and the black flowers sprouting from his arm stump. The images were brief, but she thought she recognised the mage: the same one who had rented a room at the Jug, last year. 

Interesting.

“Of course monsters are a bad thing,” she said, rolling her eyes. “And how many monsters have we had since that bitch Miriam took the reins?” She held up her hand, folding her fingers one by one. “Five. Five big monsters in less than two years. Excuse me for doubting the Order’s capabilities.” She crossed her arms.

(191)

Andel

He wanted to have a quick reply to that. Of course they did! Any and all mages were welcome to study after all! But the truth of it was that no, keeping mages contained had become the priority. There wasn't enough space to help all of them, and some simply didn't want to be helped either. Which, frustrating.

"That's a bit too simple, isn't it? We've had none in Namarast, and a whole lot of mages there." Andel replied confidently. "Correlation does not imply causation." A scoff, obviously. No Order mage had corrupted. The "five" she was referring to were all out there. And this one terrorizing Mead must've been a mage that snuck in, close to corruption already.

From the corner of his eyes he noticed the two other mages with him had lost the argument with the stranger, a shape quickly making its way back into the mist. "I think you should leave," Andel spoke up, attention back to Azcasu. "I'm not much of a mage hunter, but they are."

Unlikely. One was the janitor and the other one two months into their great big mushroom project. But this stranger didn't need to know that. "But don't go back in the mist." Oh yes, almost forgot why he'd come here originally. Get people out, not send them back in.

(221)

Azcasu

She shrugged, then smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes and it was more like a grimace. “Sounds like Namarast is overdue a monster, then. Good thing you’ve got so many competent mage protectors there, isn’t it?”

Fortune’s tits, she was tired. Tired of all this, of the mist, of the Order, of arguing about it with this dumbass. She still had to find some way to get back to Faline, too.

His glance didn’t go unnoticed, and she too turned to look at the approaching figures. Mage hunters, right. He was lying between his teeth; she could see it drip across his face, but she didn’t feel like arguing. “Sure they are,” she said with a laugh. “And not a chance. I’m out of here.” Nothing could make her go back into that cursed, awful fog.

She gave him another look, gleaning one last secret out of him—there was a glimpse of a name, Andel—then she gave him a sharp grin and mock-salute. “Good luck with this fucking mist,” she said, taking a step backwards, then another, still meeting his eyes. “Remember my words. Someday you’re not useful to them anymore, and then you’ll see the cage isn’t made out of gold anymore.”

She turned with a quick glance at the other figures, now closer, then began to pick her way towards the road that led out of Mead.

(230)

Andel

Was that a THREAT? Of course a wild mage would turn to threatening all the innocent people in Namarast. Andel grimaced at the mention of the mage protectors, unfortunately unsure how much they could actually do.

None of this had reassured him of their abillity to protect Namarast in any way.

Andel sighed a small breath of relief when she was leaving, even if she obviously didn't believe him. That was fine, he didn't care about that.

But her words were confusing. Why would he stop being useful to the Order? "Right! And someday you might wise up and decide you don't want to become a monster, and I guess I'll see you then." Andel frowned, folding his arms. Ugh, obviously. When his companions joined, they too seemed relieved Andel's trouble had left on her own.

What a strange one.

There would be more people, more convincing, more wild mages running blindly past them.

Finally, as the wind picked up a little and the mist seemed to thin out for a moment, Andel peered into it's center. Where a giant skeleton stood.

That sight would haunt him well into the night, together with a mage talking about golden cages and usefulness. He didn't think he'd gotten much sleep, actually.

The idea of perfect dreams seemed suddenly inviting.

(217)

—fin—