Shadows 3.1
Aug. 27th, 2006 06:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
measured_wordsFirst bit of chapter 3 - More Matteo, and loooots of references to the Exia Forever game and characters. This actually continues the Matt-Gordon bit I posted earlier.
Shadows 3.1
He was, understandably, a little drunk. Possibly a lot drunk. The sake Nortia had brought out earlier has been strong as well as of good quality, and the subsequent rounds of ale and other lesser rice wine hadn't helped the matter. Still, he'd remembered: it was the Spirit Festival. Go to a temple at midnight, make a wish, call on the spirits and they might grant it.
Matteo didn't really have a wish, not a specific one. He had goals, ones he knew he could, and should, work towards on his own. He wanted guidance.
He didn't aim for a temple. They were too bright, too populated, for the spirit he sought. Instead, he let himself be drawn to the darkness, seeking the privacy of an alleyway where the light of the festival lanterns didn't intrude into the long shadows, and even his elven eyes had trouble distinguishing the outlines of the world.
He stopped trying to find the words he'd need in his muddled state. If it worked, they'd come. He tried instead to figure out if this conjuration was even possible. He wasn't sure. He'd been taught the basics, and nothing more. He was still working on mastering the dance itself - its steps and stillnesses. He was only the barest initiate into the world he hoped to contact here tonight.
Matteo moved into the darkness, not simply one foot forward, but a light, graceful fluid motion that carried him into the black. He drew a knife, letting it fall, blade down, into the packed earth, and closed his eyes. He thought, tried to think about his goal. Should he have brought some other sacrifice or boon? No, not for him.
He waited for a time, eyes closed, listening. There wouldn't be much to see - black on black, Shadow in a shadow. He heard - no, felt - something, and hesitated.
"Gordon?" His eyes snapped open, even though he knew there would be nothing to see. The shadows stared back.
“Hey, kid.” The voice was whispery thin, like paper rustling in the distance…. But the tone was right.
“Well, damn.” The sake was still blurring the edges of his thoughts. He’d had an excited hope that this might work, but he wasn’t sure if he’d really *believed* it.
“I’m as shocked as you are, I’m sure. Good to see you, Atremi.”
“Yeah well.” He couldn’t say the same – there was nothing to see. He leaned back against the alley wall, watching out into the street. “It’s good to hear from you at least.” He paused. He had a million questions for his boss – ex-boss – and didn’t know where to start. “I need some advice.”
“There’s not really a lot of…space between this realm and yours. That’s probably why I was able to slip through here. I’ve been able to keep up on some of what’s been happening.”
If you looked up ‘dedication’ in an encyclopedia, Matteo was sure you would find a picture of Gordon Fenning. Dying for his cause once wasn’t enough. He’d done it twice already – and not the kind of death a priest could bring you back from if you had enough money and not too much time had passed. The first time, he’d been captured and tortured to death by the Church of Salistrom in Exia. He’d had a magic ring which had allowed him to borrow, for a time, the body of another man – Walter Pellik. Once he’d reached Shinkyo and divulged his intelligence to the prince, he’d relinquished his nocturnal claims on Walter’s body and let himself move on.
But Gordon had also been a Shadowdancer. He had a debt to pay to the plane that had granted him his power in life. Matteo had heard this from Gordon himself – that when a Dancer died, his spirit would dwell on the plane of Shadow until selected by some other to serve as their companion on Keth. Once that obligation was fulfilled they would finally be released to whatever afterlife the fates had chosen for them. It seemed Gordon wasn’t spending his time idly. Even in this state he was watching out for his prince and the Loyalist cause.
“Shouldn’t be surprised, should I?” He’d never seemed to have much outside of his work. It made a kind of sense to Matteo – humans had such short lives that if they wanted to excel at something, they just weren’t going to be able to fit in much else. Except that mostly, they seemed to manage. Gordon was exceptional – he’d hardly let himself relax until his real last night of life. The elf may not have understood his boss’s single-mindedness, but he’d deeply respected his devotion to Exia and all it represented. “So, what should I be doing? I’m a little lost. We’re going to get kicked out of the city, and we still don’t know who the spy is.”
“Leaving here won’t be much of a loss. You’ll be able to keep a closer eye on people in a more isolated location. It will be harder for a spy to hide their activities. Just keep your eyes open.”
“I can do that.” It sounded simple enough. And he wasn’t alone. He’d just have to coordinate better with the other remaining members of Intel.
“I know you can.”
“It is hard to get them to listen, sometimes…. Everyone is so busy, when they’re even here.”
“Volaris will listen. He’s a very smart man. And I know you’ve got good ideas, kid.”
“Yeah, well. Plans are one thing. Execution is another. I’m sure it wouldn’t do to get caught investigating by the wrong people.”
“Keep training.”
“I will.”
“You’re closer to getting this than you think. You move well. You hide very well. The rest of it will come. You haven’t been at this very long. And you’ve already made the pact.”
It was true, though it was good to have encouragement from an outside source. Elves tended to be slow learners. Not because they weren’t as quick on the uptake as the other races, but because they simply had more time. His own university career demonstrated that ably enough. Even his time in the guard – a little over ten years now – had initially shown a slow pace of development. Granted in the early years, he’d been learning to deal with all the distractions offered in a human city. It hadn’t been until the last four or maybe five years that he’d really thrown himself into things. More recent changes had taught him that sometimes time was a luxury that even Elves didn’t have. He’d already been trained as a spy, but after the Fall he’d started trying to be more like Gordon.
“Thanks,” he replied. “Did you ever have a Shadow?” It wasn’t important, maybe, but it was one of the many things he was curious about. He’d guessed at Gordon’s abilities a long time ago, and his boss had been fairly forthcoming when confronted. He’d told Matteo that he showed potential.
“Of course.”
“I never saw it – I wasn’t sure.”
“That was the idea.”
Matteo could fairly hear him grinning in the darkness. He grinned back, looking deeper into the blackness that lay across the alley wall. Could he just make out a silhouette, or was it his drink-heightened imagination? “So, when I do get better at this…”
“I’ll be around. Until then this is the best you can get.”
Matteo nodded and looked back out into the street. It was well past midnight, but people in all sorts of fancy garb still wandered by on their way to or from parties intended theoretically to honour the spirits of Keth. None of them so much as glanced his way.
“What about Triskin? Should I say anything to her?”
To his credit, Gordon barely skipped a beat. It was still a noticeable 'barely'. “No. It will be better in the long run if you don’t blow your cover.”
He nodded, wondering if his boss had thought at all about this possibility on that last night, or if he’d been too busy concentrating on the pretty elf who was offering him good time before the end. “Yeah.” Everyone wondered what, or rather who, the child would be more like: Gordon, or mild-mannered Walter, whose body had, so to speak, had the pleasure. People often neglected to consider that he or she also had a fair shot at inheriting Triskin’s charm and flair. “She’ll do alright. Hooked up with Sterling and all…” It was something of an awkward conversation topic, but he just couldn’t help himself. “Good job on that, by the way.”
“Heh, thanks.”
There was a brief pause – just long enough to silently agree to switch conversational gears.
“So,” the elf began again. “Got any other advice for what I should be doing?”
“You’re already on the right track. Do try and get them to move somewhere more secure. More isolated, like I said. That will make things easier. The only other thing I can say is – don’t bait Drulenth so much. He might be a punk, but he is an ally, and you need all the ones you can keep.”
“It’s too easy.” He shook his head. Dru was cocky – he just about walked in to his taunts, unwise as it might be to be taunting a wizard in the first place.
“Maybe. I’m not saying he doesn’t deserve it, but Gods, I’ve seen the mess you can get into if your allies are at odds with each other.”
“I bet you have.” Gordon (or as people commonly thought of it, Walter/Gordon) had traveled south with Hadyn, Valentine, Piove, Sterling, and Triskin. It was still uncommon not to hear that two or more of that group were fighting. Usually it was Piove and Valentine, but Matteo nevertheless envied the Elowyn the ‘on-again’ segments of their tumultuous relationship. Some said that Piove was a goddess. She looked it. Her joy brightened the heavens, and her anger could bring down fiery vengeance from skies that clouded black in an instant. Some of the sailors in Sterling’s fleet were known to whisper quiet prayers for her blessing when they set out on trips. Others courted her favour more openly with gems and other baubles intended to delight. She liked him alright so far, apparently. He had exciting songs and dances to teach her. The highest compliment that he’d yet received was that he was ‘less stuffy than Valentine’ – a good step in the right direction, as far as he was concerned. “I’ll try not to cause any honest strife, but I *am* a bard. People have certain expectations that I have to live up to. I took a class on witty repartee, you know.”
“Un-huh.”
"I’ll be care—“ He cut himself off.
“You saw it, then.”
“Yes.” Matteo stepped out to the end of the alley for a better look. There was no mistake. Just rounding the corner a block away was a figured dressed in the red robes of a priest of Salistrom. “I should follow them.”
“That would be a good start. Good luck.”
“Thanks.” He was already moving off. No one knew for certain that the cult itself was active in Shinkyo, and this was an opportunity he couldn’t pass up. Keeping his quarry just in sigh, he blended into the thinning crowd of celebrants, and pursued.
Shadows 3.1
He was, understandably, a little drunk. Possibly a lot drunk. The sake Nortia had brought out earlier has been strong as well as of good quality, and the subsequent rounds of ale and other lesser rice wine hadn't helped the matter. Still, he'd remembered: it was the Spirit Festival. Go to a temple at midnight, make a wish, call on the spirits and they might grant it.
Matteo didn't really have a wish, not a specific one. He had goals, ones he knew he could, and should, work towards on his own. He wanted guidance.
He didn't aim for a temple. They were too bright, too populated, for the spirit he sought. Instead, he let himself be drawn to the darkness, seeking the privacy of an alleyway where the light of the festival lanterns didn't intrude into the long shadows, and even his elven eyes had trouble distinguishing the outlines of the world.
He stopped trying to find the words he'd need in his muddled state. If it worked, they'd come. He tried instead to figure out if this conjuration was even possible. He wasn't sure. He'd been taught the basics, and nothing more. He was still working on mastering the dance itself - its steps and stillnesses. He was only the barest initiate into the world he hoped to contact here tonight.
Matteo moved into the darkness, not simply one foot forward, but a light, graceful fluid motion that carried him into the black. He drew a knife, letting it fall, blade down, into the packed earth, and closed his eyes. He thought, tried to think about his goal. Should he have brought some other sacrifice or boon? No, not for him.
He waited for a time, eyes closed, listening. There wouldn't be much to see - black on black, Shadow in a shadow. He heard - no, felt - something, and hesitated.
"Gordon?" His eyes snapped open, even though he knew there would be nothing to see. The shadows stared back.
“Hey, kid.” The voice was whispery thin, like paper rustling in the distance…. But the tone was right.
“Well, damn.” The sake was still blurring the edges of his thoughts. He’d had an excited hope that this might work, but he wasn’t sure if he’d really *believed* it.
“I’m as shocked as you are, I’m sure. Good to see you, Atremi.”
“Yeah well.” He couldn’t say the same – there was nothing to see. He leaned back against the alley wall, watching out into the street. “It’s good to hear from you at least.” He paused. He had a million questions for his boss – ex-boss – and didn’t know where to start. “I need some advice.”
“There’s not really a lot of…space between this realm and yours. That’s probably why I was able to slip through here. I’ve been able to keep up on some of what’s been happening.”
If you looked up ‘dedication’ in an encyclopedia, Matteo was sure you would find a picture of Gordon Fenning. Dying for his cause once wasn’t enough. He’d done it twice already – and not the kind of death a priest could bring you back from if you had enough money and not too much time had passed. The first time, he’d been captured and tortured to death by the Church of Salistrom in Exia. He’d had a magic ring which had allowed him to borrow, for a time, the body of another man – Walter Pellik. Once he’d reached Shinkyo and divulged his intelligence to the prince, he’d relinquished his nocturnal claims on Walter’s body and let himself move on.
But Gordon had also been a Shadowdancer. He had a debt to pay to the plane that had granted him his power in life. Matteo had heard this from Gordon himself – that when a Dancer died, his spirit would dwell on the plane of Shadow until selected by some other to serve as their companion on Keth. Once that obligation was fulfilled they would finally be released to whatever afterlife the fates had chosen for them. It seemed Gordon wasn’t spending his time idly. Even in this state he was watching out for his prince and the Loyalist cause.
“Shouldn’t be surprised, should I?” He’d never seemed to have much outside of his work. It made a kind of sense to Matteo – humans had such short lives that if they wanted to excel at something, they just weren’t going to be able to fit in much else. Except that mostly, they seemed to manage. Gordon was exceptional – he’d hardly let himself relax until his real last night of life. The elf may not have understood his boss’s single-mindedness, but he’d deeply respected his devotion to Exia and all it represented. “So, what should I be doing? I’m a little lost. We’re going to get kicked out of the city, and we still don’t know who the spy is.”
“Leaving here won’t be much of a loss. You’ll be able to keep a closer eye on people in a more isolated location. It will be harder for a spy to hide their activities. Just keep your eyes open.”
“I can do that.” It sounded simple enough. And he wasn’t alone. He’d just have to coordinate better with the other remaining members of Intel.
“I know you can.”
“It is hard to get them to listen, sometimes…. Everyone is so busy, when they’re even here.”
“Volaris will listen. He’s a very smart man. And I know you’ve got good ideas, kid.”
“Yeah, well. Plans are one thing. Execution is another. I’m sure it wouldn’t do to get caught investigating by the wrong people.”
“Keep training.”
“I will.”
“You’re closer to getting this than you think. You move well. You hide very well. The rest of it will come. You haven’t been at this very long. And you’ve already made the pact.”
It was true, though it was good to have encouragement from an outside source. Elves tended to be slow learners. Not because they weren’t as quick on the uptake as the other races, but because they simply had more time. His own university career demonstrated that ably enough. Even his time in the guard – a little over ten years now – had initially shown a slow pace of development. Granted in the early years, he’d been learning to deal with all the distractions offered in a human city. It hadn’t been until the last four or maybe five years that he’d really thrown himself into things. More recent changes had taught him that sometimes time was a luxury that even Elves didn’t have. He’d already been trained as a spy, but after the Fall he’d started trying to be more like Gordon.
“Thanks,” he replied. “Did you ever have a Shadow?” It wasn’t important, maybe, but it was one of the many things he was curious about. He’d guessed at Gordon’s abilities a long time ago, and his boss had been fairly forthcoming when confronted. He’d told Matteo that he showed potential.
“Of course.”
“I never saw it – I wasn’t sure.”
“That was the idea.”
Matteo could fairly hear him grinning in the darkness. He grinned back, looking deeper into the blackness that lay across the alley wall. Could he just make out a silhouette, or was it his drink-heightened imagination? “So, when I do get better at this…”
“I’ll be around. Until then this is the best you can get.”
Matteo nodded and looked back out into the street. It was well past midnight, but people in all sorts of fancy garb still wandered by on their way to or from parties intended theoretically to honour the spirits of Keth. None of them so much as glanced his way.
“What about Triskin? Should I say anything to her?”
To his credit, Gordon barely skipped a beat. It was still a noticeable 'barely'. “No. It will be better in the long run if you don’t blow your cover.”
He nodded, wondering if his boss had thought at all about this possibility on that last night, or if he’d been too busy concentrating on the pretty elf who was offering him good time before the end. “Yeah.” Everyone wondered what, or rather who, the child would be more like: Gordon, or mild-mannered Walter, whose body had, so to speak, had the pleasure. People often neglected to consider that he or she also had a fair shot at inheriting Triskin’s charm and flair. “She’ll do alright. Hooked up with Sterling and all…” It was something of an awkward conversation topic, but he just couldn’t help himself. “Good job on that, by the way.”
“Heh, thanks.”
There was a brief pause – just long enough to silently agree to switch conversational gears.
“So,” the elf began again. “Got any other advice for what I should be doing?”
“You’re already on the right track. Do try and get them to move somewhere more secure. More isolated, like I said. That will make things easier. The only other thing I can say is – don’t bait Drulenth so much. He might be a punk, but he is an ally, and you need all the ones you can keep.”
“It’s too easy.” He shook his head. Dru was cocky – he just about walked in to his taunts, unwise as it might be to be taunting a wizard in the first place.
“Maybe. I’m not saying he doesn’t deserve it, but Gods, I’ve seen the mess you can get into if your allies are at odds with each other.”
“I bet you have.” Gordon (or as people commonly thought of it, Walter/Gordon) had traveled south with Hadyn, Valentine, Piove, Sterling, and Triskin. It was still uncommon not to hear that two or more of that group were fighting. Usually it was Piove and Valentine, but Matteo nevertheless envied the Elowyn the ‘on-again’ segments of their tumultuous relationship. Some said that Piove was a goddess. She looked it. Her joy brightened the heavens, and her anger could bring down fiery vengeance from skies that clouded black in an instant. Some of the sailors in Sterling’s fleet were known to whisper quiet prayers for her blessing when they set out on trips. Others courted her favour more openly with gems and other baubles intended to delight. She liked him alright so far, apparently. He had exciting songs and dances to teach her. The highest compliment that he’d yet received was that he was ‘less stuffy than Valentine’ – a good step in the right direction, as far as he was concerned. “I’ll try not to cause any honest strife, but I *am* a bard. People have certain expectations that I have to live up to. I took a class on witty repartee, you know.”
“Un-huh.”
"I’ll be care—“ He cut himself off.
“You saw it, then.”
“Yes.” Matteo stepped out to the end of the alley for a better look. There was no mistake. Just rounding the corner a block away was a figured dressed in the red robes of a priest of Salistrom. “I should follow them.”
“That would be a good start. Good luck.”
“Thanks.” He was already moving off. No one knew for certain that the cult itself was active in Shinkyo, and this was an opportunity he couldn’t pass up. Keeping his quarry just in sigh, he blended into the thinning crowd of celebrants, and pursued.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-08-28 03:01 pm (UTC)A couple of typos:
"his spirit would dwell on the plane of Shadow until his selected by some other to serve as their companion on Keth." - maybe 'he was'?
"It was still a noticeable barely." - barely noticeable, I guess?
"wondering if his boss had thought at al about this on that last night" - at all, and I don't know what 'this' is referring to here.
"unwise as it may be to be taunting a wizard in the first place." - I would think 'might' would be better than 'may' here.
no subject
Date: 2006-08-28 03:54 pm (UTC)I'll fix those up as soon as I beat word into submission properly.