The Way The Wind Blows

The Tower of Dawn

One of the four Towers of Light torch-towers in Light's Reach, the Tower of Dawn stands in the north-western corner of the city. Internally, there is little of interest save for the seemingly ceaseless spiral of stairs that lead up to the zenith of the tower, and the shade of the stone used to create the tower itself - namely that of flax, to simulate the dawn. Thin arch-windows spaced at measured intervals provide a view of the Noble District beyond and - eventually - far below the tower as you ascend or descend. The zenith of the tower is the main point of interest, however, featuring as it does a vast torch fire that casts soft illumination down upon the area beneath the tower, acting as a beacon that can be witnessed from miles away. The torch is covered with a stone "/-\" shaped canopy to protect the flame from heavy downpours, while the area around the torch itself remains railed off to prevent people who have come up here from getting *too* close to the perpetually lit inferno.

There is something haunting in the light of the moon; it has all the dispassionateness of a disembodied soul, and something of its inconceivable mystery. Tonight, three of those moons hang virtually motionless in the cold, clear night sky above Light's Reach. Four, if one were to count the beacon of flame that burns within the Town of Dawn itself, the heat of the fire pushing back against the chill of the night air, as if Light and Shadow were in competition for temperature itself, rather than just umbra and illumination alone. Aside from the crackle of those flames and the soft ambiance of the reborn city that sprawls to the southeast of the tower, all is quiet. The stars shine, the few clouds that are out tonight ponder their journey across the heavens, and Serath Kahar leans against the outer rail, looking north over the Dawnstar Forest towards the lands of the Zahir far upon the horizon.

Stalking along, as always, Wolfsbane is another shadow of the evening. A life long spent where silence is a necessity leaves the ranger's steps on the rising stairs of the torch tower. And he could likely pass unnoticed to a casual observer or unsuspecting Prince if it weren't for that ever-present glowing bow he holds on his shoulder.

Regardless, eyes are fixed upwards as he climbs, the ever-present burning torch of the tower illuminating his steps all the more as he nears the peak of his climb, finally chasing away the darkness almost entirely as he emerges into the tower top. The Tower of Dawn indeed.

Undeniably, were it not for the Prince's physical appearances and the Ranger's seraphite longbow, the two could perhaps stand next to each other without ever knowing the other was there. Such is the nature of experience. Regardless, arranged meetings usually have a habit of the participants knowing about each other, and this one of those instances where such logic holds true. Besides which, the Tower of Dawn is a location where few people often travel without real purpose or intent of reflection. On this night, perhaps both are true. That the two are good friends seems almost trivial by comparison. "Mister Wolfsbane," Serath purrs without looking back. Though he can't be sure that the arrival is who he's waiting for, one might assume that a lack of reply to the greeting would cause someone more trouble than they might have expected to find at the top of a watchtower. The 'address' is also spoken with some degree of mirth, as if the "Mister" was being used purely for amusement value.

"Oh Captain, mine Captain," replies Vhramis to the greeting, and though it could likely be assumed that it's in the same spirit of amusement as the comment offered, the ranger's voice is somewhat flat as ever. And possibly with a faint tired quality to it.

"I came as soon as I could. It seems your messenger was waiting for me in the Refuge when I returned. As always, they seem to know just how to find me." He moves to stand beside Serath, joining the other man in his vigil over the distant Zahir lands.

"I was expecting a "Mister Kahar" in reply," Serath laments, leaning more of his weight upon the railing as he offers a sidelong glance upon the other Ranger without turning to look away from the ravens in the north. "And they have a habit of being able to do that, I've found. As do we, when you think about it. Which seems to make a lot of sense." He pauses, and then - quite sincerely - questions, "Oh Captain, mine Captain?"

Wolfsbane bites his bottom lip lightly at the question, staring at the darkened horizon. "I think I heard it spoken by someone once during a play of some sort. Perhaps. Or it was in a bard's song, at least. It was a while ago, at any rate."

He half shrugs and half rolls his shoulder, glancing finally to the older ranger. "I could go back to Mister Kahar, if you really wished."

"Serath is fine," the Prince decides, quitting while he's ahead. A few moments of silence follow suit with eyes of azure falling back upon the northern horizon. "I have a question for you," he finally notes in a tone that sounds as if it has been softened by the weight of what he wants to ask. "It's somewhat personal, however, so I'm not sure you'll want to answer it."

"Sending me off to kill something or deal with Drakes seems easier, by the way you're phrasing this," Vhramis notes after a moment, looking back ahead as well as his counterpart does. "Are you sure you don't have something like that for me to do?"

"It depends," Serath notes with a smile. "I might be making this sound harder than it will actually be. I just can't gauge it because I don't know how you feel about it." He pauses then, pushing himself up off the railing to stand with his arms folded, though still looking out across the horizon.

The longsword that sleeps upon his back clatters in complaint about the sudden movement, though is kept in check by the buckles upon the iron and leather armor that adorns his form. "A few years ago, I found out that I had a half-brother," he explains, gaze fixed upon the shadowed north, making spoken words easier to summon. "At the time, I was not - shall we say - the man I am today. Under the heel of the Kahar's Bane - the Aegis Curse - I was somewhat more impulsive, recklessly passionate about laws and duty, and a lot more militant than I the Prince I am today. I didn't have a dragon haunting me either, but that's a trivial point in the flow of this dialogue." He looks over his shoulder at that comment, as if seeing something that otherwise isn't there, nodding at it in turn, before looking away and - finally - back upon Vhramis.

"There's also that matter about where the term "Kahar's Fury" came from, but you saw that side of my when we first ventured into the Wildlands together. That was my flaw. My bane. One carried in blood, in which the world would become hazed in red, and in which vengeance became something that dictated actions and moods.

Wolfsbane's expression grows more grim as Serath continues, either from a flood of past memories, or simply the topic. "I remember there in the fields, as the Destroyer flew overhead. You started to rush after it, for a reason I could never even begin to figure. I had to jump on you to keep you from getting you, and myself, killed. Likely the only reason I /could/ knock you down like that was because you were so possessed."

Dragging a gloved hand over his scruffy scalp, the course hair protesting in a soft whisper, Vhramis licks lightly at wind burnt, cracked lips. "Still..." He gestures to Serath to continue.

The Prince nods at that. "I broke free of the shackles of that curse not long after. I didn't notice it at first because it wasn't as obvious as, say, the one my brother had. It was, in fact, Talus pointing out that his curse had left him once he was in the Wildlands that made me wonder about the Aegis itself, and discover that which became known as Kahar's Bane. Zan'setharan confirmed it, and I was lucky enough that the curse didn't take hold again once we came back to the Empire. But, all this is beside the point I seem to have lost in details..." A sigh escapes Serath as he ponders what to say next, but it isn't longer that regal purr returns to the serenity of the Tower of Dawn. "When Talus told me I had a half brother, I took the news as a true custodian of all that is right and proper and dutiful: I told him that I only have one brother, and that I would always only have one brother. How wrong I was." He pauses there to let the weight of this admission, and the hidden meaning behind those final four words, sink in.

"It turns out that I had two brothers. One of the may have been lost, and hidden, and only half that of Kahar blood - but the latter factor is irrelevant, and the former two items were dictated by fate. Now I only have one again, and while he might *only* be half-Kahar, that half is one of royal blood - nay, an Emperor's blood - and that's more than those of pure Noble blood can claim." "It might also be said," he continues, "that his own half-brother is only half-Kahar these days, and half-Dragon."

Wolfsbane averts his eyes at the talk, the weight of Serath's words likely felt just as fully by the listener as the speaker. Resting a hand on the edge of the tower, he squeezes it lightly. "I never quite spoke of the brother issue," he replies in a heavy voice. "It never seemed...important? Though saying it in such a manner misrepresents it. It is important, but, not so because we're linked solely by blood. I'd likely feel and view you as my brother even if we didn't share that link, because we would have another bond, still. A bond forged by the heat of circumstance?" His mouth twists slightly at that.

"I'm a poor speaker, and it's at times like this when I /do/ try to say what I mean, that I find myself repeatedly falling short." His eyes slowly turn back to the other, fixing upon him. "Half-dragon?"

"Dragonsblood," Serath confirms in answer to Vhramis's question, "Or so it is said in certain circles. They're right, too. I have the marks to prove it, but the embrace of the Light is more than enough for most people to believe that I'm not "entirely Imperial" anymore. It's a wonder they haven't been chasing after me to give up my claim to the Throne, but there are very few people who can demand such things of someone who has no superior in the eyes of the people and the law." "I know what you mean, though. We share more than just a blood connection, even in our upbringing. You didn't know your father, and I didn't really know mine. Emperors tend to care little about the "spare" Princes, once they have an established heir to dote over, so my relationship with His Grace the Emperor Talus Kahar the Thirteenth was distant at best." A few moments of quiet interject themselves at this point, and it seems Serath finally asks the question he wanted to ask to begin with: "Did your mother ever speak of him? I... I'm curious as to what would make an Emperor risk his reputation for a Freelander."

"Dragonsblood," mutters Vhramis, looking down upon himself briefly, before he puffs a breath. Take all things in stride, apparently. "My mother was ill suited to bearing children, as it turned out," replies the ranger. "Though the survived the birth, it sapped her health past the point of recovery.”

“Some have suggested to me that she was Shadow Touched, to not be able to bear a son without dying. Others have said, with me being part Kahar, that the curse which should have passed to me was what killed her instead, somehow. This is how I carried on - for all I could tell - unscathed while the Bane still lived in the walls." He swallows and taps the tower wall.

"But as to my father...your father...she never said much. Perhaps she didn't wish to tell me of her betrayal of my other father. And my father certainly never breathed word of it to me. Either out of shame, or out of respect for her."

"So how did you find out?" It seems that there are certain elements to the tale that even someone like Serath has little understanding of. Indeed, such things *are* possible! He leans forward on the rail again, the plates of the articulated iron spaulder that enshrouds his right arm clinking together softly. "How did Talus find out, for that matter? As blinded as I was by my raw pride and faith in Talus, I never thought to ask, and then it never came up again."

Wolfsbane seems a bit confused by that as well. "How /did/ I find out?" he mutters to himself. "...ah. Yes. It was back when the Wildlings were seeking She Who Protects. They referred to me as The One, apparently, among other things, when they took me away. Ashlynn Birch and I..."

He pauses at that, staring off past Serath, seeming to lose himself for a moment or two, before a shake of his head brings him back to the present. "A friend and I went to speak with an ex-blade by the name of Syke Kahar. Apparently it was he who suggested it, at first. Though... I met with His Majesty later, speaking to him, and he shed some more light on it. Apparently, your father knew of my birth."

"The One," Serath repeats with just a hint of bittersweet amusement playing into his voice. "Wildlings, and old Syke Kahar. There's more to you than I knew, and how quickly we forget what we've already learned." Perhaps out of simple respect, he doesn't mention the slip of the tongue in regards to one Ashlynn Birch, regardless of knowing the name, and who it belongs to. "And my-" the Prince stutters, catches his mistake. "Our father knew? I wouldn't put it past him. Emperors have a habit of knowing twice as much as they let on, and even more that they don't. All webs within webs. And people wonder why I have no taste for it."

A dry chuckle escapes Wolfsbane's throat at that, the man turning back to lean against the edge of the tower overlooking the forest below. "I sometimes remember myself from far back and wonder how it is I've come to be here. And then I realize it all started when I began to serve Rowena's niece." He considers that, staring into the night, and reaching back to draw his hood up over his head. "I think you'd be a fine Emperor, or Regent, just so you know. But I'd never wish such a thing on you. I think it would destroy you."

"I'd be a fine stereotype," Serath answers, his voice taking on a slightly darker tone in regards to the subject matter, but evidently not at Vhramis for bringing it up. "That lone figure, equally charismatic and distant, close in mind but distant in body, dotting the Is and crossing the Ts on cue, and occasionally shouting at people. It would, indeed, destroy me." He finally smiles once more, looking upwards at the array of stars as they glisten in the perfectly cold sky. "That throne is a prison, no matter which way you look at it. A prison that those who seek power view as a palace, their own greed blinding them to the truth. Talus knew the truth of it, but couldn't escape it. Zolor didn't understand it, but I think quickly learned the lesson. They knew the path, but not where it lead." "And there is a difference between knowing the path and walking it."

Wolfsbane lets those words sit for several moments, staring off into the darkness. "...and what of what you spoke of?" he finally dares to speak. "Half-dragon? What does that make me? What does that do to my path?" There's a hint of uncertainty in the man's otherwise quiet, neutral voice - and perhaps a bit of fear. "Tomorrow, I will stand with Crown's Refuge against a threat spawned of Shadow. It seems only right."

"Entirely Imperial," Serath notes with a smile, looking back upon his comrade in turn. Those blue eyes burn as cold flames in the shadows of the Tower of Dawn; the reflection of the ever-burning stanchion torch apparently having little to do with that ethereal glow. "Your path is still your own to walk. Mine? Well, I fell from it, and needed a little help standing back up again." His words drip with cryptic meaning, but there's a look upon expression that has faith that Vhramis understands the code. "As I said, I'm not the person I once was. We sat in a tavern, closed to the world, and I sent you to the Refuge, I believe; beyond the Aegis to find a dragon with crimson scales. You asked me a question then, as you ask it now. My answer is no different:" "That, here before you, is neither the man that was called the Prince," he states, sincerely, before continuing with, "nor the White Dragon named the Dawnbringer," in voice not his own, before concluding, "Yet, here before you stands both."

"Aye, you sent me, and I found him. Or vice-versa. I half think he watches me, despite the arrogance in such a thought," Vhramis answers that with a small grimace. "Still. I've no Dragon within me. At least... other than the one of which I apparently am. Which just raises more questions, but the answers to those will likely come on their own." He seems to be almost discussing it with himself, with Serath as an onlooker.

"Which leaves me much the same as I've always been. For better or worse." Vhramis nods slightly to the Prince, then, looking away from the scenery, such as it is in the moonlight. "Val'sharax once said I wished his power. I think, sometimes, that despite all of his knowledge and cleverness, he'll never quite be able to comprehend that what it is to be human. To be me."

"I wouldn't worry about it," the Prince finally states with a smile, reaching inside the midnight-blue long coat he wears to fish inside a pouch of some kind upon the left side of his belt. However, much of the motion is hidden by the battlegear itself, so whatever Serath is fishing *for* remains a mystery for the moment.

"Val'sharax isn't watching you because Val'sharax was driven away by another dragon by the name of Zael'tharalax. As Val'sharax banished Zan'setharan for abusing his power, so did Zael'tharalax banish Val'sharax. Which is amusing, depending on how you look at it; however, Zael'tharalax is far more benevolent in his interaction with this region of Sho'dralis."

"Val'sharax was... banished?!"

Such a statement comes as a clear shock to Vhramis, the man staring blankly at Serath, before he swallows. "Well then… does that mean there is another watching this…? Zael'tharalax? For any abuse on his part? And, that's good news, I imagine."

Serath offers a simple incline of his head in answer; but is that an affirmation to Vhramis's first question, his second, or a general reply to the statement that followed both? It appears the Prince has no desire to elaborate. Instead, he produces a carefully rolled parchment from beneath that long coat, bound in blue ribbon with a bow, and evidently quite official looking. "Speaking of paths..." he elaborates, turning to present the bound parchment to Vhramis, "As I said before, half the blood of an Emperor is more than all the blood of a Noble, from a certain perspective. This, by virtue of a Sovereign and the Imperial Tribunal, is a legally binding document that will permit you to shed the statue of Freelander and embrace that royal blood as one Vhramis Kahar, a Baron of House Kahar. It can't make you a Prince, but it can make you a Noble." "However," Serath then adds in a softer voice, that ethereal gaze intent upon Vhramis, watching his every expression and emotion, "Losing the mantle of Freelander and adopting that of Nobility will not make you a better person, Vhramis. Nor will it make you a worse one, if such a thing could ever be said. Equally, should you choose to turn around and cast this parchment into the stanchion blaze to the side of us, I will think no less of you for doing so. You are my brother, and you are who you have chosen to become, and nothing can change that without your involvement." "Everything begins with choice."

Wolfsbane hesitates at that, only glancing down to the parchment briefly. "A noble," he mutters to himself, looking past Serath again. He stares, for several moments, before moving past, walking to another edge of the tower to look down upon the lit streets of Light's Reach, looking but not quite seeing, before turning to his half-brother. "Can I see it?" he slowly asks, holding out his hand.

Serath places the parchment into Vhramis's waiting hand. "You don't have to make a decision right now," he notes, understanding the cause of the pacing, "I just thought the flame here would be convenient."

Stepping away, Vhramis carefully undoes the ribbon holding the parchment rolled, his brow furrowed as he opens it and looks over it. His hands tremble slightly, his mouth drawn. "Being your brother..." he murmurs. "It's something I've always been. Whether charging through the woods after a skeletal dragon, or diving into a narrow cave to avoid wildling claws. But just walking around with your name on me, I think, would do more harm than good."

"In all honesty," Serath admits, "If you were to ask my opinion of what choice you should make, I would tell you that the weight of nobility would only act as a burden upon your freedom. Though you may be a Freelander by social standing, the reality is very different, which is something we both know. I had to fight against centuries of social convention, pre-determined destiny, and the bonds of royal standing to attain my own. I would rather not see you throw away that which you were born with, regardless of all the hardships it may have caused."

"Being a Freelander has never been a burden upon me," Vhramis shakes his head slightly. "I've accomplished more in this manner than I'd ever be able to if I had a Duke to answer to, or the honor of a House at stake. Ready to be tarnished should I act improperly."

Now that's something that brings a smile to the Wildcat's face as well. "I doubt any Noble would dare, given your blood connections," he muses before looking back towards the north once again. "My wrath is not a commodity that many want to partake of, I've found."

"I believe you," murmurs Vhramis with a small nod and soft chuckle. He sighs and looks back down to the parchment, considering it for a long moment, before rolling it back up again. "I'll never forget you offered me this, Serath. And even as I refuse it now, know that I'll still strive to act in a manner that would befit me as having accepted it." Slipping the ribbon back on, and tieing it, he turns to stare at the torch. "Many would call me insane," he muses to himself. "But many already do." He extends his hand, staring at the fire waiting to so greedily claim the vulnerable parchment.

"The irony of that promise," Serath notes, "is that you fulfilled it a long time ago." With his statement offered, and with little concern about the fate the paper now faces, the Wildcat Prince decides to validate his opinion with the words he chooses next. "So, you're off to defend Crown's Refuge from more evils soon, you said?"

The turn to more pressing topics seems to draw Vhramis' mind away from the offer, drawing the ranger's attention back to Serath. "Yes, or so I plan upon it. Returning after we finish speaking. Apparently, tomorrow is the deadline for the demands to be met before the attack." He releases the parchment, letting it fall down to be consumed by the fire as Wolfsbane turns away.

Another road taken.

"I'm convinced Crown's Refuge will survive this, but I still feel bound to help."

The Prince nods to that, and then looks back towards the sky, apparently looking for signs of the current time, rather than admiring the view (for once). "Early morning," he concludes, mostly to himself, and then looks back upon Vhramis once more. "You'll be using the Song Portal?"

"I need to," confirms the ranger at that. "Normally, I'd trek it myself. But, due to the time constraints, I have little choice. I don't like relying upon that portal, however. On that note... perhaps Fastheld would be served having an extra large Watch posting on this side, in case anything unseemly passes through."

"Between the Tribunal, the Ordinators, the Imperial Watch, the natural effect that Light's Reach has on the Shadow, and a certain Prince by the name of Serath, I doubt that anything could come through the Aria with hostile intent and live to repent their wicked ways," the Wildcat muses.

"But I'll be sure to have them post a few more agents before dawn comes around. Speaking of, if you can wait until dawn before leaving, I'll see if I can't send a few Pathfinders with you."

"Unfair," Vhramis muses, before he sighs and nods slightly. "It's true. And I'm sure there'd be many in Crown's Refuge who would instantly suspect them, as well." He bites his bottom lip lightly and considers Serath.

"Even if you were able to offer such help, I would beg that you didn't. For Crown's Refuge's sake. I learned a rather harsh lesson my last trip out. They can face this, and they need to know they can."

"Well, this is why I try to keep a low profile as well," Serath affirms. "Otherwise I become the answer to every problem the Empire faces. Gargoyles? Find Serath. Wildlings? Find Serath. Bandits on the loose again? Find Serath. Cat stuck in a tree? Find Serath.” The Wildcat sighs softly.

“I may be an "Avatar" of the Light, as the bards sing, but I can't become the answer to everything, lest I lose my freedom in the process of running around from problem to problem, and they lose their ability to fight for things they believe in and solve their own issues."

Wolfsbane nods and chuckles to himself, rubbing at his cheek. "I've been trying to adopt that stance, all things said. I'd much rather help guide people to solving things for themselves, as opposed to being counted on to solve it for them. Though, that said, if you or I ever really need to escape people..."

He tilts his head. "We're quite accomplished at hiding in the woods."

"And where does the newborn go from here?" Serath offers in a manner that suggests he's quoting from something, though has no intent on explaining what. "The Empire is vast and full of secrets, and exceptionally easy to get lost in. Especially when you want to get lost. I'll see what I can do about the Pathfinders, though. One of the secrets of the Dawnstar Forest is that the eagles have a nest there."

"Have they?" Vhramis blinks at that, looking suddenly down to the darkened wood. "One of the things I've noticed is that it seems far more know me than I know them. Which has resulted in some situations in which they seem to derive much amusement from." He shrugs some. "After Crown's Refuge...I can't say for certain. There's a certain man I mean to track down, who from what I've been told, has been chosen by a new Drake who apparently wishes to remain hidden. From what /you've/ told me, however, I believe I have some more insight into this."

"Speaking of Men and Dragons and Crown's Refuge," the Prince observes, placing a foot upon the northern guard rail now, before looking back upon Serath once his boot is firmly in place, "if you happen to see Taran Songbird, let him know that his path is his own to take, and that he doesn't need to apologise for anything. He seems to think I want to hunt him down and murder him for making a choice, and..." Serath merely shrugs helplessly, smiles, but then adds, "However, let him know that I cannot provide the answers that he seeks. Well, I *could*, but the whole 'show them they can walk their own path' thing dictates that we twist the truth a little. Don't tell him /that/ part, though."

"I'll see him tomorrow. Or so I suspect," Vhramis bobs his head. "He seems vastly interested in Drakes, and already seems to be working out ways to pick my brain clean of all I know on the subject. Still, I'll pass the message, and be as cryptic as I can in the process. I think I'm becoming better at that part."

"If he only knew…" Serath muses, before finally leaning forward and looking over the edge of the rail, as much as his one-footed stance permits now. "Regardless, the quickest way to the Dawnstar Forest is... what?"

"Jumping?" Vhramis suggests at that, eyeing Serath curiously. "Don't tell me you're going to sprout wings? I've only seen you do that once, back at the Aegis, where you ripped the hole in it."

"Correct," the Prince affirms with a glimmer of wild amusement in his eyes. "But I'm not going to sprout wings, Vhramis. That would be silly and, besides, they weren't my wings."

"I'd never accuse you of silliness," mutters Wolfsbane at that, rocking back on his heels and lifting an eyebrow at Serath. "Still. If you're going to do it..." He moves forward to the edge to climb up some, as if working to claim a good spot to watch.

With that in mind, Serath hops up onto the rail, standing upright with a balance that would suggest he was standing on flat terrain, rather than the thin tube-shaped length of the guarding support barrier. "Oh, and Vhramis?"

"Mmhmm?" prompts Vhramis in response.

"Don't get killed." With that request made, Serath steps down onto the stone lip of the Tower of Dawn, throws his arms out behind him, and then vanishes over the edge... ...to pace forwards down the side of high, arbalest stone palisade wall that surrounds Light's Reach, one step after the other, running at a direct vertical angle as if running upon a level surface, until no trace of him can be see as he vanishes into the darkness far below the tower.

Perhaps simply because he can.

Frowning slightly, Vhramis leans out over to watch his brother descend the wall. "I never plan on it," he calls out into the night, observing with some unhidden fascination.

''Return to Season 7 (2008)