Legend of Ransera

The High City of Zaichaer
34th of Searing, Year 122 Steel


Aurin awoke to a bang.

Not like that. Eshar was lying beside him in their bed, but the banging was over at this point. Oh, he had forgotten to release the bonds. They were awake now, as well, so Aurin hadn't imagined that. When the screaming began, they were both immediately alert and he cut their bonds rather than waste time unbinding them. The way they were ready for action in an instant would have aroused him all over again, but his veins were already thrumming with racing blood and he was pulling his pants on.

Eshar didn't bother. One moment they were gloriously naked; the next they were clothed and sprinting toward the door, boots in hand. That was wise. A glamour couldn't protect one's feet from sharp rocks and glass.

"Don't die!" he called after them, grabbing his own boots and his tunic.

Something was rippling through the aether. Whatever was happening, it was big. Something that big and unexpected was almost certainly bad news. Time would be of the essence, so he paused rather than dressing, and began to seek connections as Valencia had taught him to do. The fabric of reality didn't seem damaged so he figured there was no time but the present to start practicing his gifts.

Be the gate, he thought, working the Railrunner trick through his Rune. He winked out of existence.


He winked into existence.

"Put your pants on, Urs," he said, getting an eyeful of the good doctor. There was always time for lechery. "And pack your bags. That might have been our cue to depart."

Aurin's business with the covens wasn't complete, but he supposed that if Kalzasi had made a surprise attack on the High City, he wouldn't want to be there, and he would need to help the covens, at least, escape. He stumbled out of Urs' room and quickly dressed, throwing his necessities into his pack as well. He was a bit more stable when he returned and flung his pack onto Urs' bed.

"Keep an eye on this for me. Stay here. Going to investigate."

He winked out of existence.

He winked into existence.

The sky was on fire. No, but it was tearing magically, and Aurin could sense the chaos roiling within until the Dread Mists and other things began to pour out.

"Fuck," he muttered, looking back down at the ground. The Market was full of turmoil; some staring gape-mouthed at the sky, others running like chickens with their heads cut off. When he recognized one of the runners, he grabbed the boy by the arm. It was the youngest of the Whispers he had met. Using his own momentum to swing him around, face to face, and catching his other arm. Hazel eyes bored into his.

"Run home, kid," he ordered. "We're getting out of here today."

Once the kid managed a nod, Aurin nodded and gave him an encouraging little shrug in that direction.

He winked out of existence.

He winked into existence.

His stomach rebelled.

"Fuck," he muttered, and Jacq caught him when he faltered. Aurin breathed, trying to steady his breathing, his heartbeat, and his stomach. He could sense panic all around him. He admired the Whispers, but they were children. He had been a child when he had been on his own as well, but still and all, he was going to claim ownership of them now, at least until he fulfilled his part of the bargain and got them to safety.

"Rift in the sky," he explained. "Dread Mists. We're getting out of here. Pack what you need. Leave what you don't. Airships aren't going to be safe so we'll be traveling on foot, at least at first."

"Rick ought to be here shortly," he assured the young witch. "Ran into him on my way here... Thanks." By now, he was leaning nonchalantly against the wall, though he wasn't quite certain whether the powder was meant to go into a drink or other; in the end, he just tipped his head back and tapped it into his mouth, swallowing it dry. There was no time for niceties. When he tried to speak, it tickled his throat and he had a brief coughing fit, but managed to gather himself after a moment.

"I'm packed. Wardell's got my pack and is staying put. I'm going to find us a more skilled Railrunner and see if we can't get out through a portal... If not, I'm going to find some Sunsingers to latch onto. More firepower so we can get the Mists out."

Aurin nodded approvingly at the packing already well underway.

"You'll have my tricks and my blades and my wits to get you and the kids out of here. Whatever's happening, there will be those who want to stay and those who want to go. We're gonna go."

Once they were agreed, he left their hideout, looking for those opportunities they would need to get out. He swung by the inn, told Urs where to take their things. It would be best if all the people he had to get out safe were in one place.

Finally, he found a bit of a vantage and stepped out of the tumultulous flow of foot traffic to meditate upon whatever the hell was happening. It was chaotic to his senses: mundane explosions; Dread Mists; strange energies he hadn't a name for. The air was turgid with fear and anger and desperation. This was going to get ugly and quickly.

A portal then, or stalwart warriors, and perhaps one of his contacts to let them know he was absconding with the Whispers per their desire to break with Zaichaer and her Watchers. He didn't want them to think he was running out of sheer cowardice. He was a terminus of an underground railroad now, and if he hadn't accomplished all his goals for the trip, surviving to negotiate another day trumped those.

Valencia's appearance was fortuitous and calmed his nerves for all of an instant before she started griping at him. He was nowhere near the ability to track with their trick, but if she was able to find him, then it seemed possible, probable, and if his traveling had confused her, well, that was hardly his fault. He didn't answer, though; whether the question was rhetorical or not, there were more important things to do.

She held out her hand to him and he considered for an instant.

"All right," he said. "But I promised to get the Whispers out of Zaichaer, and Wardell is here under my protection. I don't know if he got what he wanted from the Grymalka, but I need you to open a portal for them to Kalzasi. Use my knowledge of the place... use my aether if you need to... Help me keep my word and I'll stay and protect the coven. The covens."

Not waiting for her to dissuade him, he pictured the yard between Kilvin's Forge and the house. He engaged the Rune she had inscribed upon his shoulder, and he began what would have been magical suicide—attempting to open a portal from once city to another as a mere novice. But she had given him his Rune and she seemed able to follow what he did with it, so she would bend to his gambit or not.

Jacq and his lot could be of help, but he didn't know how many of them had tricks other than knowing, and they were already prepared to abandon ship. Wardell could heal, which would be helpful if things went violent as things tended to do in his experience, but if Aurin was going to be any help to the covens to whom he had tied himself, he needed Wardell off to safety as well so he could focus, risk, and succeed. With Aurin's name on his lips, Jacq could get help from Torin until Aurin got back to see to the Whispers. They would be safe and sound in Kalzasi, and the smith would probably even enjoy the chance to speak to a coven full of people with the same trick as he had.

But, for now, he focused on the spell to force Valencia's hand so he could lend his hand to hers in the wider struggle.

Aurin helped as he could, mostly staying out of her way and providing whatever energy he could. His will being done, he was compliant.

"This goes to the forge of Torin Kilvin," he said so Jacq could hear him. "Tell him Aurin Kavafis said to keep your coven safe until I return to sort you out. If there isn't enough room, he has a key to my cottage." He swore, wondering where the little Whisper had gone off to instead of where Aurin told him to go. "I'll keep an eye out for the other one. Go." He gave the young man a nudge.

When the portal flickered out, he gave a gruff, "Thanks."

Then, "I just have to keep an eye out for their youngling. I suppose my priority now is Railrunners and Myshalarai, but... fuck it. Let's save some witches."

He gave her hand a surreptitious squeeze. He would deny it having happened if it were commented upon, but Valencia had helped him come back from the terrors of the Aetherium and he didn't need a magically binding contract to want to help her. When Urs arrived, Aurin sighed at his tardiness and took his pack from the man. "Tell your elf the Kindred are interested in speaking to him. Not sure when they will be taking messages, but..." If Aurin survived, he would ask whether the man got what he wanted from the Grymalka. Aurin liked to know things.

"If you can send him through, I'm all yours," he said to his mentor in the Railrunner coven. Slinging his pack over his shoulders, he adjusted the weight distribution so he wouldn't be thrown off if he had to move quickly and carefully. He squeezed first one bracer and then the other, assuring himself that his insurance policy was in place.

Aurin was a bit more prepared for Valencia using him to guide her own magic this time, and did what he could once more to stay out of her way but support the portal with his own fledgling power. Then, after Wardell had gone through, it seemed for a moment as if all his ducks were in a row, the last little Whisper finally answering the call. But he could sense something wrong in the timbre of the voice, in the ease of the smile, and then what had been 'Rick became a monstrosity, and without even thinking, Aurin found his dagger buried to the hilt in the thing's neck.

"Shut the fucking portal, Valencia," he snarled, pissed not at her, but at whoever was responsible for him not keeping up his end of the bargain he had struck with Jacq. He held the monster, keeping it as still as possible as its death throes came upon it. Aurin didn't know if anyone had seen what happened, or if it was even visible through the portal. He was new to this trick. He wasn't, sadly, new to monsters, nor to killing things that looked like people.

Or people.

When the struggles didn't cease as quickly as he would have liked, he yanked, near decapitating the body. He sensed the corrupted life fleeing the thing and muttered something like a prayer that he had heard from the Grymalka, hoping nothing had damaged the kid's soul. He wiped the ichor from his blade on the corpse's shirt and tossed it aside.

"Let's go," he said, pushing away everything, even his revulsion, to be dealt with later when the work was complete.

She knew he wasn't much with Traversion yet, but she had catalogued his Runes and knew he could sense, glamour, and shield. These skills and what he could do with blades would surely come in handy.