Legend of Ransera

Aurin woke up in a cold sweat. He woke up with a dagger made of shame twisting in his guts. The Menagerie had been impenetrable when he and Imogen had found it seasons ago, or at least that was what he had told himself. It had been easier to play the odds, calculate, and play the hero here and there. But the coven of illusions saw through such things. He wasn't able to descend from the Sky Islands immediately, but when he had his boots on the ground once more and was left to his own devices, he took a roundabout route—both to lose anyone who might be tracking him and to put off the inevitable—to one of the gates that led to the Market, and then stood before the Menagerie.

Though he was what they had called a master of both projecting illusions and seeing through them, he could not for the life of him sense his way through the barrier that stood between the cabaret and the rest of the world. He was the type of man who would consider Eshar just another notch on his belt, and yet here he was. When nobody was looking, he tried to do the right thing. Or perhaps he was doing the stupid thing. He knew where the covens were hiding, but he wasn't asking for help. If this was a suicide mission, Arry had a kingdom kowtowing to him, and Torin was a lordling beloved of his liege lords. Elwes, Rivin, Ashoka, and the others—they knew some of the structure of people he had built and could either use it or move on.

"All right," he muttered, half to himself and half to the barrier. "I'm here."

He edged closer, hoping for any sort of hint as to what would happen when he crossed the line, wondering if he could erect some sort of ward around himself against whatever it was, or if he could just vault past it. Valencia might know... but then, if it were possible, a Railrunner would have done so already.

"D'you just want me to... walk in?"

Aurin missed the sun, even though most of his work was more easily done at night. The fucking eclipse needed to be dealt with; at least one of the towers had apparently become fixed in the south, and the stars had come out. He just wanted it all to happen faster. These things were beyond his pay grade and he was more powerful, more in the know than most. The Menagerie painted a pretty picture of the past, and he decided to play along. Even he couldn't tell fact from fiction here, at least not in his normal way. He hoped his wits would be enough; it had been some time since he hadn't had tricks to fall back on. There was no time like the present to sharpen them, though.

He settled for habit, made his way to the bar, and said to the vaguely familiar person there, "I'm looking for Eshar. They are expecting me."

Everyone here, real or not, was likely to be in the covens, else they wouldn't know how to find the Market, but he didn't think it prudent to identify himself as Myshalarai. Perhaps if more time had passed between his initiation and the cataclysm, the cataclysm and this day, he might have known signs and countersigns, passwords and hand gestures. But he didn't, so he was direct.

Perhaps the truth would set Eshar free.

Or perhaps something that had been Eshar was reaching out to someone they sensed, someone they knew.

He didn't know. This was stupid. He was being stupid.

But here he was.

He passed a coin nonchalantly for the information, for the communication, hoping it would be enough to keep this farce moving forward. He was damned if he was going to be plagued by nightmares for the rest of his life because one coven in particular had been hit hard by the rift and the mist storms that followed.

"I suppose you would know the upstairs better than most," he replied affably, taking the seat and claiming the drink with his hand. He didn't drink, though. No, he couldn't tell if the flashes of nightmare vision were any truer than what he was seeing now, but the hairs on the back of his neck were raised. He had always claimed he was no actor, but he was certainly acting like nothing whatever was the matter.

The slipspace felt strange around here, but he was certain he could at least attempt to vault out if things turned south quickly. He didn't know if Eshar had truly called to him or something had used their voice. He didn't know if whatever version of Eshar he found would be a sane one. He supposed he could raise wards quick and dirty, but he didn't know if his intuitive shields would guard against whatever was here.

This was insane, but if he had learned anything from dealing with the criminally insane, it was that one oughtn't to attempt to prove their delusion false. One had to play along or else risk their ire and violence. Perhaps by playing along, he could suss out what was going on. If Eshar and the other Myshalarai were well and truly lost, at least he would know, and he supposed the Menagerie could be magically burned to the ground to protect the others from whatever had been birthed in this wicked womb.

"You're the sort of fellow I like to think I'd remember. Hmm, are you new here?"

His eyes ran up and down the bartender—well, as far down as he could spy from across the bar. His own smile was a juxtaposition of shamelessness and sincerity.

The wastrel's mind was tagging everything, every detail magical and mundane. He offered the woman an apologetic shrug and followed the man. His own glamours tended to be subtle, but he could manage something like this. He just didn't know if the peeks behind the curtain were intentional or a testament to his scrying mind. His mind sought Eshars as they ascended, and he followed the man into the empty room, locking the door behind him.

Then he leaned back against the door, crossing his arms over his chest and his legs at the ankles, smirking.

"You don't seem to be the sort who worries overmuch about people seeing..." His eyes took in the show. He wondered if these were witches twisted by the Dread Mists. He wondered if they were still people under the twisting. That hunger made him want to shudder, but perhaps it could be leverage.

"So tell me true: what is it you most desire?"

His Semblance trick focused in on the man and the monster, trying to pierce the illusion and know his thoughts plainly. Aurin didn't want to be devoured, but if these creatures could speak and reason, perhaps he could speak and reason with them. Perhaps he could give them something they desired in order to get something he desired. Or perhaps Eshar was one of these creatures now and had only lured him here to devour him once and for all.

"I have a reputation for finding things for people, impossible things, even. But surely you desire more than a casual tumble here and there, don't you? The world outside is twisted and ruined, and things are never as they appear when it comes to my coven." He didn't want to pull a blade, but he had plenty of them if the need should arise.

The man made him think of what Torin might have been like had he been raised right, a bit more confident in the world before they met. That made him sad. Even if this was one of Galeas' demons of lust whose kisses killed, or the twisted remains of a human who simply craved the affection of and connection with another. But Aurin's mask maintained his curious interest. He whistled appreciatively at the sight.

"If it were a year ago, we wouldn't be having this discussion... that is, our bodies would be talking. But Eshar called out to me, and the Menagerie has been behind a barrier since the rift opened up in the sky and the Dread Mists poured out. I can't see you, and that's a problem for me. I don't know what's going on here, what's happened to you and the others, but I mean to find out and to help you all if I can. I don't think I should be bangin' on this job, though. Not when your mask slips and everyone pretends like nothing's wrong, like nothing's changed, like the sun actually burns visibly in the sky anymore."

He paused, seeming to relent.

"Help me find Eshar. Help me figure out what's going on here. Then, if I don't think it's going to curse me..." His smile turned wicked. "We can talk." There should have been quotation marks around talk. Aurin had the confidence of a man who knew what he was doing, whether that was true or not. But he hoped Eshar was alive, and then they could discuss philosophical questions about their tricks—like whether one ought to copulate with a creature that only seemed human.