I'll stay with you until the end ...
Time had no meaning in the Void. Or at least, that was what he’d learned.
Rye was surprised to realize he wasn’t dead yet - even if he wasn’t quite sure whether he still had a body. The demon was gone, devoured by the energies of the Void and dissipated back to the Abyssal Plane. He’d watched that happen with some delight; then wondered if that would be his fate as well. Would it even matter? If it had already happened, how was he watching? If it hadn’t, and it did … what would happen to his soul? Would that be scattered as well? Why did he care?
Something inside him flared to life at that - a residual reminder of that precious person. She’d yell at him if he said he didn’t care. What would he do if he saw her again like this, hmm?
Wait, where had that thought come from?
Vaguely aware that his mind was slipping, Rycroft - was that his name? - gathered what remained and concentrated, bringing the immediate … environment?... into focus around him.
For all the descriptions of the ‘void’ and the impression that it would be empty - the truth was far from it. The ‘space’ was overall dark, though the blackness was laced with darker color here and there, along with bright sparks of light that anywhere else may resemble stars. There were also ‘beings’ here; though he struggled to articulate how he knew that. The demon had been ripped apart by them, he was sure, but it was also true that ‘they’ were simply energy.
As if summoned, he turned when he ‘felt’ arms wrap around him - his ‘breath’ catching in his throat when he recognized the feeling. They were here for him, finally. Hopefully it wouldn’t hurt. He hurt enough already.
Ry, now is not your time. Warmth surged through him, and the arms became familiar in a different way. Bright white and burning, he knew them. Knew her. Danja…
Yes. I’m with you, always.
Powerful emotions gripped him, but he couldn’t reply. The expanse was racing, now. She was moving them, or perhaps they were both being pulled. He clung to her with what was left of his strength, before the speed and the impossibility of what was happening made him black out.
“Y’think he’ll wake up?”
“Would you? With that much blood? Seems pretty dead. Death Court’s brutal.”
“Ain’t got shit on him either… dead and broke.”
Hands moved him, their touch searing to his cold flesh. An involuntary gasp broke the short silence, hissing across his teeth. The hands retreated with a startled yelp, followed by a swift kick to his torso. He coughed up blood. “Fuck! He ain’t dead!”
“I’m outta here, those bastards’ll be back to finish the job, then.” Retreating footsteps, both sets at a run. The clattering of something hollow and metal being knocked over, more unfamiliar expletives, and then blessed silence. Wearily, he finally opened his eyes.
He was on his side in a pool of his own blood, one arm curled under him, the other partially stretched out. Both legs were attached, though they felt numb. The icy cobbles of the alley-way pressed uncomfortable against his cheek, though he wasn’t sure he had the energy to move just yet. Tentatively, he flexed his fingers, then his toes, and winced at the sharp pain. Everything hurt - Astera’s bloody tits!
The smell hit him next. Rancid and nauseating, he moved only to leverage his upper half up off the dirty cobbles, where he promptly vomited. Dammit …
Drawing his legs up under him, he struggled to his feet after wiping his mouth with his bloody sleeve. One still broken, but he'd manage. Staggering into the nearby wall, he sagged against it for several moments before hazarding another step. A pounding headache was growing behind his eyes, and he knew he was in for a reaction headache to end all reaction headaches. Danja--- he stopped himself. Grief shot through him, grabbing his heart and squeezing painfully.
No. Not now. I have to get home …
Where was home? Where was here, even? For all the similarities between a disgusting alley back home and the one he was in, there were sharp differences. The hollow metal bins were numerous, and clearly used to house trash. He’d never seen anything like them before, nor buildings as tall. The words on the walls were in a language he didn’t recognize, and he realized with a sharp pang that his Gift had allowed him to understand the opportunists, earlier. Staggering forward, he made his way towards the brighter end of the alley, and quickly stumbled back into the shadows.
The street was crowded - a hustle and bustle that reminded him of stories from the Eastern Empire before the Storms. Not even Haven had as many people as this place! Fear gripped him in a new, dangerous way as he instinctively grasped around him with his Gifts - realizing that even the magical energy of this place was different. Fuller, somehow. As if the life energy of the place had never been …
Oh … oh no.
Closing his eyes, he slid down the wall, landing hard on his tailbone, knees cradled to his chest with his arms wrapped around them.
There wasn’t a single trace of the Storms, here. He was nowhere near his home. Couldn’t be. The magic was intact. Plentiful, even. As if a great many had returned to the life energy here following a great battle. He could sense the lingering resentment in places - and the touch of something else. Something so ... foreign, he couldn’t even hazard a guess at it’s identity. Not a corruption, per say, but a change. Something… someone… had Changed creatures here. It felt similar to the nature of the Changebeasts back home, where their fundamental being was changed into something else entirely at the core level. But there the similarity ended. The Changebeasts were beings corrupted by magic and turned to something savage. This felt … methodical. The changed beings here had a purpose, it seemed.
Huddling up on himself, he remained there for a long while, getting his magical bearings and sending out thin mental tendrils of thought to assess the area as his much-abused body shivered. There were many beings, though he was certain he wasn’t sensing them all. The crush of humanity and Others was strong in this city; and it was only his training that kept him from a full scale panic. Perhaps he was on another Plane … something previously undiscovered? And he was definitely alive; this wasn’t the Abyssal Plane nor the Empyreal. Both would have killed him by now.
“Y’alright there, sirrah?”
The curious voice drew him from his thoughts with a start, causing him to look up with wild eyes and an instinctive hand thrown up to ward off the stranger.
“Woah, easy now. S’okay. I’ll help ye out, yer injured.” The being crouched beside him, close enough to touch him, though she wasn’t, yet. “I’m Gossi. What’s yer name?” Human. Female. He turned his pale eyes on her and studied her face for a long moment. Round and neither attractive nor unpleasant. A face-shaped face, really. She’d fit in just about everywhere and could be aged anywhere from 30 to 50 years old. Her mouse-brown hair was tied back with a simple blue ribbon and she wore what appeared to be a homespun apron over finer wool fabrics. At her side, a woven basket filled with produce. Shopping, then.
He looked behind her to the crowd milling by on the street. Some glanced at them as they passed by. All hurried along when they saw the blood. Most wore clothing of a higher quality and different cut from this woman, and he quickly decided she was probably a local oddity.
That was fine. So was he.
“Rycroft.” He finally answered, carefully. His voice came out thick and pained, ending in a gasp. Concern flashed across Gossi’s face, and she reached to steady him when he started to tip over. He flinched, but she maintained the steady support. “Well met, Rycroft. Can ye stand? M’tavern’s but a few yards that way.” And she gestured down the street. “Lemme get ye set up with clean clothes n’a doctor, ye?” Another unfamiliar word, though he guessed a ‘doctor’ may be like a healer, from the context of her words.
Still, she could have ulterior motives. He didn’t move, and instead broke one of the cardinal rules of his order. He invoked Truth Spell on the woman, quietly and without her permission. The local minor air elementals seemed similar enough to the vrondi back home that he made a quick pact and gave them some of his power in exchange for showing him her lies in a way only he could see.
“Why are you helping me?” He asked, slowly. The glow was different from back home, the locals appeared to prefer a subtle purple over the blue the vrondi were known for. Gossi looked perplexed, then sighed a little and folded her hands in her apron. “Yer hurt, lad. S’what anyone would do.” The glow remained. She wasn’t lying.
“I don’t have any money.” He replied, suspicious and scared in a way he’d never been before in his life. Maybe she could tell, because her expression softened. “My help is free, lad. If ye want to clean some tavern tables and help out once ye feel better, I’ll consider it a blessing. But ye don’t have to.” The glow never wavered, and Rycroft felt his fears ebb slightly as he dismissed the elementals. “M’husband died to the Death Court, lad. S’just me n’my cook an’ a nice serving girl. She lost her wife and m'cook lost her son t'the Death Court as well. Helpin’ out someone else hurt by those bastards is …” Gossi trailed off for a moment, then shook her head. “I jus’ wish someone had been there fer my husband. So, lemme do what I can for you. Yeah?”
Slowly, he nodded. While he wasn't trying to read her thoughts, the pain she was feeling was plain enough on her face. As was his dire situation, really. He wasn't in a position to refuse her, or stop her if she decided to just pick him up.
Gossi smiled at him, then gently reached forward to loop one of his arms around her shoulders. Leveraging his weight against her side, she snaked her other arm around his waist and heaved him up, taking a moment to let him steady himself before reaching down to grab her basket. “Hang on t’me, kay? It’s a short trudge.” Gritting his teeth, he only nodded through the pain, and did his best to stagger along with her.
“You’ll see, the White Horse is a good spot. Nice hearth fer warming yer bones.” She was making small talk to distract him, and he tried not to let it show that the name of her tavern hit him like a crossbow.
But there was something he needed to say … particularly before he passed out.
“... thank you.” Worn out and heavy, he managed the words just as Gossi turned the last corner. Pausing, she glanced at him, and realized with a pang that the poor man had fallen unconscious again.
“S’nothing, lad. Let’s get ye patched up.”