Welcome to Gaia! ::

Erikkson was scribbling something from an open book onto a scroll of some sort, a rather simple mathematical symbol with the whole equal angles and lines over an inked circle. Safe to say, he was rather engrossed in his work, doing his preparations before his expedition was set to begin.


And then someone came by, distracting him. Luckily however, he just finished his scribbling, so he didnt jump out of surprise and mess it all up. But it wasnt like he was going to mess it up anyway, since he was expecting people to come by in the first place.

"Oh, no, far from it." He began as he slipped a finger beneath the eyeglasses he wore and scratched his temple, a nervous gesture? "Hahaha."

"This is all rather interesting," a pause, "My work that is. I seem to have stumbled upon information of a ruins of days gone by, where it is rumoured to be the last known place of..." he looked around the building, almost shifty eyed to make sure there were no eavesdroppers before he finished the sentence in a lowered tone, "An artifact known as the Godslayer."

He just stoppped talking there. Oh yeah, let that information sink in. Why? Because he was the first person to come by, and Erikkson didnt have a problem with trying to recruit anyone who was willing to converse with him, not to mention nobody else had shown up beforehand. In addition to that, his newspaper advertisement did not mention anything about the artifact at all, or even the name of the ruins he was going to explore. So with this sort of information, any adventurous type would probably leap at the opportunity to go on one such adventure.

"Oh, how rude of me," he broke the silence between them, just before the funny dressed racer could say anything else, "Let me introduce myself," He held his hand out for a handshake, "Er-"


Why, yes, that was his name alright. Suppose the interruption would have to suffice. The newspaper with the circled advertisement was all he needed to know. At last, someone who would set up and help him on this expedition. Huzzah!

"That is indeed who I am, and who might you be, my good man?" He didnt seem to notice the man's grim presence, or maybe he just ignored it altogether with the sudden rush of excitement of possibly assembling an expedition party. Hell, he had already assumed that this priestly figure was going to join him with the newspaper bit.


The scholar's eyes diverted to the man and the one following him, his brow raised, suggesting he go on in his speech.


"Good. Good. Very good." This was what now? Three, four people? Exactly the bare minimum number of people he needed to go on this expedition with.

He turned around and dug in one of his packs, going through a stack of papers in a folder before pulling out a couple of sheets, all identical; a picture with a tablet and carved runes. Underneath the picture was a written translation.

'South of the crag where paradise meets hell and into the dragon’s maw which greets the new day; here lies the home of the Slayer of Gods.'

What did it mean? Well, that was the riddle which revealed the location of the ruins, and the artifact held within. He gave the sheets of paper to the would be adventurers to look at, and think for themselves, awaiting a comment from either of them.




Meanwhile...

Tzenidaar had been wandering around town for the past while, and he always made a trip past this building. Why? Because he was going to mug the planned expedition and pawn off whatever they excavate, duh. Plus, at first, he didnt know who he was suppose to follow and stalk in order to achieve his goal, but after passing by the first few times and looking through the windows, it wasnt hard to figure out that it was the guy that was always in the building around noon and had a shittonne of bags and books with him.

Whoa, straying from the point with a bunch of text, but whatever. Getting back on topic now.

So hey, guess what? The chimera had just been passing by at the moment. Oh, well would you look at that? Mr Expedition Grand Adventure was having a conversation with a group of CHUMPS. Suppose he should make a note and remember their faces so he knew who to follow. He went up to the window and looked in... except he didnt do it all discreet or anything with a passing glance. Oh no, he put both palms up against the large glass window and mashed his face against it as well, all smushing his nose, cheeks, and mouth against the glass pane.

Nope. Nobody he recognized. Oh well, time to move along. He just turned around, oblivious to how outrageously stupid he looked, and walked away from the establishment as he put those faces in his tiny memory bank.

Soft footfalls, practically inaudible marked the arrival of another, trailing in just behind the one shrouded in white, or so he had been before the garment discarded to embrace the warmth of the library. Impossibly quiet yet still even as she whispered her proper thanks for his gesture, the act of holding the door open to allow her passage inside. Much else hardly fell from her lips over the course of the trip but it had not been her usual, eerie silence but one of a hesitant, submissive timidness. Shy if you would, considering her still unfamiliarity with her traveling partner. Fortunate for her though, his presence was, suffice to say, little more comforting than the other man she was used to accompanying...

Words and posture both quite reserved, the meek, lithe little girl she was simply let her pale blues roam over the numerous shelves and the mountains of books curiously, seeming enthralled almost by her new surroundings. She loved to read, and silently desired nothing more than to pluck one from it's home and settle down with it some place quiet.

Like here.

Yes, she liked it here. How unfortunate it was that they wouldn't likely to be staying for too long.

Her lead soon came to a pause and she found herself doing the same, approaching a man, seated, engrossed in study, work. As Rivven began with his introductions, following with a proper exchange of hands, she herself acted with utmost respect and proper acknowledgement. She let her knees bend and dipped, gathering the corners of her skirt in hand with a small curtsey, ashe blonde hair falling somewhat as she performed. Old fashioned? Why yes. It was how she had been raised, and Rasilyn, as she was so named, was far too set in her ways to change now. Forearms exposed, the sleeves of the garment beneath her blue tunic-like vest only extending to quarter arm's length, you would be blind to ignore the blue markings along each, arcane and runic in their design, it was difficult to discern whether they were permanent and their purpose.

Most found her behavior mildly strange. She was barely out of her youth, the peek of nineteen years and not yet reaching twenty however one had certain expectations from someone of her age. It usually was not until she spoke and spent enough time studying her that you noticed something was not quite right. But I leave you to make your own judgments.

Rasilyn dropped her gaze to whatever it was that busied the man, scholar like in his general appearance. Or she would at least, until he retrieved from his belongings a small collection of papers, their inscriptions, contents suddenly far more intriguing than the books surrounding them.

The petit blonde accepted a sheet with a polite nod and found a new infatuation with what she had been given, her sometimes childlike mentality striking an odd contrast against her sharp observations and deep rooted love for anything mysterious, for puzzles, and riddles. Her peculiar mind went right to work, devoting her thought to gathering an answer, but the voice near the window, drifting over and falling upon her ears, pulling her from the task before it swallowed all of her attention, her focus.

Such pale blue eyes tore themselves away from the paper and followed the thrall of white robes from where they swept the floor to where they broke and the man himself did begin and they lingered there for a moment or more when he spoke the answer.

Having a simple joy taken from her, lips pulled into a tiny frown, irritance and disappointment falling across her features, though she said nothing and awaited a comment from either Rivven or Caddure.

Rivven, unlike their larger companion, did not so much blink at the intrusion- he was looking away from the window, so it was entirely possible he did not notice. Or else did not care.

Rather his eyes grazed the paper as the others spoke, before folding it in quarters with slender fingers, and tucking securely into a pocket within his coat for keeping- even though it seemed there would be no need for him to have this information. There was no need to discard it either. He looked up, phased by neither the name given the object they sought, nor the priest's act, or much of anything else. Certainly, not the most lively of company within the Feimurgan.

"Then our destination is decided."

Standing straight, he tucked his hands behind his back and glanced at Rasilyn, considering the implications of their traveling through desert and by an oasis. Dryer lands than he was used to, but it made little matter. He would make himself ready.

"How long shall we be in preparations to journey?"

There may have been more information he was cutting past, but it was immaterial. They would be made aware soon enough if it were important despite.

"Mm...."

At the mention of “god” and “slayer” in the same sentence, Richard’s attention was peaked and his appetite wetted. He was a man who loved to get his thrills, parachuting off tall buildings, bike jumping over buses and all that jazz. So he was used to a face paced life style where he did whatever came to his mind first, whatever was the most dangerous, whatever could get the biggest response. And at this point, life was beginning to lose its luster. For the past few weeks he hadn’t been able to land a decent gig, so he was a bit thrill-deprived. So this adventure perked his ears up a good deal, even though he did not believe much in gods or something powerful enough to slaw one should they exist.

He used the break in conversation to plop his a** down on the adjacent chair. It was as he was motioning the man to continue that they were rudely interrupted by an abnormally buff priest, though Richard was more annoyed than surprised as nothing was really abnormal in these parts. Attention was shifted away from himself, as more and more people began to come out of the woodworks. It was if someone had called the dinner bell and the cats were coming out for supper.

All eyes were on this Mr. Caddure, who was kind enough to shed some more life on this adventure although the light bulb he used was a little dim. Puzzles and riddles were not Richard’s forte; he was more a doer than a thinker since thinking too much would prevent him from his chosen profession. So although he took the picture as graciously as everyone else, he was just looking at the nice picture. And lucky for him someone else decided to speak up with a guess and gander at what this gibberish meant. He visibly sighed in relief that someone else had answered the tough question and pretty quickly too. He made a mental note, that the big dude with the staff was also a quick thinker.

The picture was as a memento, as he began to sip at his glass again. Things seemed to be pretty set, the location was already decided and discussion of other details was about to begin. No need for him to intrude, this wasn’t his niche after all. For now he’d leave things for those who looked like they knew what they were doing, he’d grow more active as they got down to actually doing things.

He disagreed with many things, and an especially large number of these things currently had to do with this undertaking. The priest sniffed aloud in response to Eriksson's utter lack of honest appreciation for his opinion. Everyone else seemed to have been reminded of just what fifth or first period in High School felt like; but what would he know of that? Better analogy: a Scholar speaking to a collective of village idiots. Arguably this was the actual crowd he was speaking too and the Priest had been given the wrong directions to the wrong seminar. Rather than allow himself to become unhinged from this sign of disrespect, he bowed low; eyes never once coming off the pudgy man. Even as his waist peaked towards the ceiling before eventually coming back up again! And as the leader of this exploration was finished giving his speech the man of cloth cleared his throat once more.

"I would be wary. All of you."

Suddenly, his arms were spread wide in order to try and manifest the scale of the situation he was about to expose. There was a heated fire in his voice that was added into the natural gravel tone that he inflected with each syllable. It was not becoming more clear as to what kind of Priest he was. This man seemed to seethe with warnings of Damnation and Hellfire! Sinners were doomed to forever lay scalded at the wrath of his God. Each eye seemed devoid of any lid, they were so far drawn back; these were the tools of a religious fanatic who drove out all blasphemy before him. And yes, in the midst of all these people, he proved just how devoted and utterly enthralled he was. Imagine the scene from There Will Be Blood, where Eli Sunday is attempting to exorcise a demon from one of his followers; except Eli is suddenly a lot older, buffer, and not a sniveling coward.

"My devotion is to none but my God. Not you, not Eriksson, not your families, not your sons or daughters. And if you fall prey to the temptations of weaker men then I will not hesitate to rectify your folly."

Ooh! He said those words with such passion in his voice, the utter formation of his words was akin to watching a wolf bite into a sheep. The priest was going to bleed their heretical ways dry right here; right now. Before he was daunting, now he was colossal. The expression on his face demonstrated that he was not afraid or even mildly threatened by anyone in this room or elsewhere. You did not get in the way of a man like this and expect there to be little to no repercussions.

"Good day to you all, and I shall see you in a week; if all goes well."

The priest bowed again, this time it was demonstrated with barely an inclination of his shoulders before stepping back and moving away. He exited the building with those words of warning fresh on their consciousness and disappeared down the road into a crowd of Janes and Johns.

The biker had departed later on in that day once he had had his fill of booze and pretty barmaids.

And now he was back again. The week's time had passed and his preparations were complete. He found a bit odd that no one was his previous group could be a found around here, but he might just be in the wrong place. He scratched his head in confusion, as he went back over the events of days past.

"Hmm.... Were we supposed to meet here or...."

Then it hit him. The rendezvous was set up for somewhere else. And that someplace else was....

....

....

....Barthavos Dessert. Now, he was getting somewhere. With the location of the proper meeting place discovered, Richard turned a complete one eighty and walked right back out the door.

INTERLUDE PART 1

A day in April



It's not enough now, is it?

It will never be enough.


She couldn't tell for how long exactly she had been staring at those words. Let's just say for quite some time, because the dark blue ink had dried completely, had seeped deeply into the paper's fibers. Like a tattoo, the Siren thought: painful while being written and hard, if ever, to remove. You can avert your eyes, or take a knife to carve it out - but the truth of those words, the image they carry, remains imprinted in a layer of yourself that lies hidden beneath your skin.

A look out of the library's window made her sigh: The weather didn't help at all keeping those heavy thoughts at bay; even more so, it was save to say it was the main source for Lucind's growing sadness. Everything was gray, as if the streets, buildings, even the passengers couldn't help putting on the sky's color.

Her fingers traced the outlines of the notepad. She had found it in a chest of drawers while cleaning it from clutter. It had yellowish edges and smelled of dust. On this Monday afternoon, the Siren was the only person in Feimurgan's library area. Down in the basement, the kitchen team was busy preparing food for the next day, but the only sounds Lucind heard came from the half opened window.

Was it sadness she felt?

Mere sadness doesn't make you tremble inside, doesn't make your throat feel raspy and way too narrow so that swallowing hurt and made you greedy for more fresh air.
And mere sadness usually doesn't bring nausea, the one where you can't decide if it's derived from anxiety or anticipation.

Clumsy fingers opened the pen once more to write below the first sentences:


Still, we try to make up for our sins.


In a world like this, with a heritage like hers and in times like these, was it possible to be without this state existent in every culture on this planet - different in its definition but still always a blemish? Being a sinner always meant you had done something wrong, and there were three ways to deal with it: find forgiveness with your gods or with whoever you thought stood morally above you; forgive yourself; deny and forget.

For Lucind, it wasn't just her sins, it wasn't just the fact that, for example, she had chosen life over death and with that, had freed a thousand souls all trapped within the Tower of Babel, only to make them guardians of all the victims that followed in the course of Victor's doing. Today she knew how close she had been to be judged for the disturbance of the world's inner balance, by authorities and in places where even the Sirens' Grand Circle's immense influence and power - both physical, but mainly spiritual - wouldn't have reached to save her. She had seen it in the mismatched eyes of her love.

Furthermore, it wasn't just the burden she had loaded upon herself, barely knowing what part she had picked in that play, when she aided the Mothers, the five first Sirens on Gaia, for thousands of years residing as mere spiritual beings on the depths of all seas. Together, they implemented a new version of the lhor aven, the Mothers' very own psionic plane which stretched throughout the planet (and probably beyond), connecting all Sirens and connected to all living souls.
It had been a necessary step, but one which had also cost the life of many of her people, those whose old souls and minds hadn't been able to adjust to the new mental network; but without the old one, they would've been forced to lead a life disconnected from the main source of their powers. No, from something that by then was too much a part of their very being. Therefore, instead of choosing a lifetime which would've been but a slow process of hurtful withering, most had returned to the sea voluntarily. Never to come back. Too often in their past four hundred, five hundred years or more had they seen a sister wandering along the shore, lost, waiting for an answer, a call which would never come.

Lucind knew, even though the day of the call, when the installment had been completed, was more than half a year ago, and even though the Siren world was almost back to normal, there were still quite a few out there who held her alone responsible that so many of them weren't part of their families and clans anymore. But it was something she could deal with. Maybe because that time, it had had something to do with the greater good.

She started writing once more.


I am


She stopped. Put the lid back on the pen after a moment, worrying her bottom lip.

That's the real problem here, isn't it, the dark haired woman thought. It's so cheesy it would make second rate dramatist snort, but that's exactly what...if only...

Abruptly, the Siren turned her head to the right, away from the desk lamp with its heavy, green glass shade. The light falling in through the window was gray. Lifeless, if only for a myriad of tiniest dust particles that hovered in mid-air, as for them gravity had stopped in this aisle of light, which ended an arm length away from Lucind. The longer she stared at the inanimated dots, the blurrier her view became, thanks to the tears in her eyes and because she didn't dare blinking. But eyes can only hold so much until they overflow all by themselves.

"I...can't go on like this," she whispered, hastily wiping her cheeks. "It can't go on like this."

Seriously, what would you do if you get to know that the person you'd admired most in all of your life, the one person who had always served as a role model for your doing and thinking, who you had always thought to be strong-willed and free spirited till the very end, had only been...well, not human, but a mere feeling being with a troubled heart that couldn't be protected, not even by all those special Siren abilities.
What do you do when you learn that the mother you always held high, too high, committed suicide because she couldn't take it no longer, being torn and lost between two worlds?

For the longest time, Lucind had felt like she was recovering, doing well - and most days she had indeed done just fine. Feimurgan was flourishing, she had friends who cared - and she had found love. All that had made her truly happy, despite the fact the Siren world was in turmoil since it was waiting for the call, unsure what was going to happen. Lucind had been feeling happy - but only because the shock about the truth of her mother's demise had been buried so deep, on a place hidden so well, that the woman needn't touch it any further. However, that was also why Lu hadn't seen it swelling in its safe little niche, festering, infecting its surrounding, gouging its new found home.

Not too long ago, after the last Heaven or Hell's finals, when she was among of group of people who formed to not only stand against Victor, Ra'kar and their henchmen, but also against an even darker, even more threatening entity and its army of so called dark shades, the Siren had been convinced she had made it, that she had found a way back to her old strength and determination. But that was the crux: she was still looking back.

Lucind had been ready to die and eventually risked so much that she had payed with her voice. It had been a remarkable month, remarkably strange. Sometimes, the Siren had been able to enjoy the silence - yet, often enough, she had had to fight against a panic that threatened to take all her breath away. More than once, someone had found her kneeling on the ground, both hands around her throat, shaking, frozen to the spot.

Above all, the silence had unevitably directed her attention to the area of her mind Lucind hadn't dared to touch. No matter how much she had tried to keep her inner eye blind, she had been forced to watch it crawling up, up from the darkness, the result of her deliberate ignorance. It had grown: a fat maggot it had become, numbing her insides as it wound its way up, from the back of her head, relentlessly digging through mental tissue - and breathing became a task impossible to comply once more.

No, it would never be enough. That was what she had learned not too long ago. Not until you learned to forgive yourself and go on. If you couldn't manage on your own, it sometimes was enough when somebody came to hug you close and say, It's alright, you've been brave, you can rest now, so that you were able to accept the past and give it your best that never again you would commit such a mistake, such a sin.

However, Lucind was far from all this and now only ready to admit that she had simply and completely lost herself.

After her voice had returned to her, the Siren had noticed with growing fear that she wasn't even strong enough anymore to function at work - nor in her relationship. Maximos was somebody she could lean on, whenever she needed, for as long as she needed. Yet, the panic inside had only intensified when she realized that it wasn't enough anymore. Her feelings hadn't changed in the slightest, but it was as though the contact to more and more areas of her mind, her emotions, her self was blocked, as if something was denying her access. She was growing cold from the inside, and the more she struggled, the more that maggot spread its rotting frost, draining her.

It was especially difficult when Max returned from his job, when he was so absent, so icy, so distant, that it took the last bit of warmth she scooped from the bottom of her soul to face him and be strong until he had found back his heart warming smile.

Had she been living with a clan, Lucind knew, she had long since been dragged and forced to undergo a cleaning, a cathartic ritual to free mind and soul of all troubles - by the means of locking them away even deeper and more safely. For a good while, at least.

But she didn't want to forget this time. All she wanted was...was...


Strong

She wrote. And added two letters.

Stronger


With a deep sigh, the Siren leaned forward, placing her forehead right onto the notepad to rest on the desk's top.


A change of wind, that was what she needed. And only two days ago, such a chance had been presented to her: she had met Tagis, a special friend who had once brought Lu, Sunstrike, Owle and Vahn to Azum, where the Siren had initiated the installation of the new lhor aven. After their adventures on the Eastern continent, Tagis, a sturdy woman defying her frail appearance, had given up her well paid position in her country's army and instead decided to be a captain and nothing else.
The Feiruza, though, was no more. The loyal ship had seen one storm too many and lay shattered on the ground of the ocean, except from one small wooden piece. Tagis was determined to rebuild the ship, and over a bottle of strong Azumerian wine, the two women had gossiped and laughed until...

Until the captain with the short, black hair had spun the idea of a swimming bookstore, located nowhere else but on her future boat. The second this spontaneous suggestion spilled from the other woman's lips, Lucind had problems breathing all over again, but this time more out of the sheer exitement that vision ignited in her. To get such a business going wouldn't take overly much effort. But what it meant, would it could mean for her, the Siren...Lu had felt the adrenaline rushing through her from head to toe, and her tongue had felt dry, no matter how many more gulps she had taken.

The sea.

Why hadn't she thought of it earlier?

Well, who was she fooling? Lucind had known all along that it was calling for her and for her alone. And she had been ignoring it, being too scared of what could happen, would happen. The sea showed no mercy, and most of all, it wouldn't allow her to turn away. Once she gave herself over to it, she would have to face it all. Everything. Everything she had long since forgotten, everything she had ever tried to suppress.
There was a Siren saying which in its direct translation sounded weird, but which made at least a little sense to all those who harbored some love for the endless waters:

Never turn your back on the sea.

Lucind knew what happened otherwise. In the water, everything had its beginning and that was where everything would end. And even your own element could bring your ruin. All it demanded was unconditioned honesty.

She wanted this. Really, really wanted to go out there, take a time-out, to work on herself. To get back on track, so to speak. At the same time, she was frightened.
Slowly, she sat up, noticing she had left a soft spot on the paper.

Kara would understand. Actually, Lucind suspected her friend would be even relieved to get the Siren out of the house for a while, witnessing her getting more frustrated, darker and more touchy with each day.
Larhien, her brother, currently was in Azum and enjoying the days with Yaranahe, one of Sirens who had come to Gaia, guarding Shanker, embassador of the Aishwarya, a back then shunned Siren clan living on said continent in the East. He had all the right in the world to lead his own life without constantly worrying about her.
And as for Maximos. Well, he wouldn't hold her back either. Lucind knew he was watching her, knew he saw that she was hiding once more, from a battle in which this time he wouldn't be able to rush to aid.

Then again, having a store on a boat would also mean more distance in general...yet on the other hand, did distance really matter in their lives?

Moaning and burrying her face in her hands for a few seconds, she finally got up - too rash for her body, actually, for the first two steps came a little shaky.

She stared out of the window and came to realize that she didn't even feel like singing.

"..."





Upon returning to the table at which visitors of the library usually browsed through all kind of books, Lu leaned down to add one last sentence, without giving it too much thought and which thus made her wonder what she actually wanted to say with it:


I trust you.


She pulled the sheet off the pad, considered screwing it up but then left it right there. Instead, she checked her watch. Time for her to get ready: Max had discovered a new restaurant they wanted to try that day.
Glancing at her words one last time, Lucind knew she would tell him, everything he probably already knew and everything she needed him to know.

The cold water running over hands and wrists felt good, but when Lucind straightened to look at herself, she had to grin, a chuckle followed: the word 'stronger' was printed on her forehead, inverted, but readable in the bathroom's mirror.

She read it out aloud. And, for some reason, felt a little bit lighter.

Weeks ago, she had gotten back her voice. But only tonight she would talk again for the first time.



In the library, a gust of wind swept up the single piece of paper, made it dance with the dust and defy gravity, before it gently glided down to land on the carpet. There it lay, silently presenting its ink tattoos until someone came to find it and throw it away.




End