Private Tales Whispering Hearts. Black Divinity - The Legacy Series

[Ktaris]

One mystery short of an answer.​

369
Southern Eretejva
Ice Taiga
The Enigma. Real name unknown.
Circle of Thorns, the Shadow Court.

The heart of mysteries, a city of secrets, and the cloak of Eleth upon the mortal plane. Shadowmancy at its core to rip open the natural order of things, so that even the brightest light above in the sky barely illuminated anything here. The domain of the unknown, hidden away within the ice of the Southern Eretejva tundra. A great ice mist surrounding the valley with beasts and vicious plants awaiting the unwary who stray from the safe routes. With little sight to guide visitors and even less when they met the black blanketing shadow of the city itself, those entering rarely if ever left unless the Tundra elves, the circle of thorns or the shadow court decreed it so.

Further inside the Enigma, green or blue torches exist for very sparse illumination but these are scattered far with great gaps. There are few items on the street, for in blackness and blindness they become a hazard. Rooms and buildings are spartan to walk within but have many twisting passages to get lost inside or side streets with secrets hidden away. There are hidden passages inside hidden passages to vaults of information and relics that are fiercely guarded, all done to maintain the confusion that Eleth wishes, to keep those that could use them in darkness and unaware of what they lack. The less that is known, the greater Eleth’s dominion and control, here of all places that is the truest of all.

Whispering was all around, and difficult to discern where from. Today in the heart of the Engima, a council room of sorts existed. Shrouded in darkness, those within move with hearing only, and on these floors, even footsteps are hidden from earshot. Shadowmancers feel not just comfortable but empowered in the blackness, like a familiar armor, but certainly not all present were skilled in the art.

“Friends.” The tone was cold and cutting. The whispers from the blackness, and the unclear shapes moving around the elves ceased. The shadowkin knew their place within the court, even if they respected little of its elven customs. Off to the side, Ktaris stood to attention, one of the many retainers and guards within the court itself, as no Tundra elf truly trusted another, there were guards for the guards at some points within the marble halls. He had to be careful even more so than usual and had found a sturdy corner to watch from, so his back was well covered. Unless the wall was to move… which would not be the first time.

“Today is an auspicious day. For our reach extends.” The elder elf didn’t elaborate where, for to do so would spread knowledge and go against his nature. If indeed the statement was true at all. These meetings were fraught with pitfalls and dangerous half-truths. “Soon the heritage mystery that has consumed us for a decade will be within our reach.” This again was dangerous as people assumed the heritage mystery was different things. Ktaris almost smiled, he was not yet skilled enough to perceive the lies within the truth or the truth within the lies, but he was a keen student of the art of deception between the elders. Almost to highlight it there was a slow, sarcastic, plodding clap from one of those gathered. Which sent the shadowkin creatures moving around the room, and brought back some of the whisperings.

 

[Ktaris]

The slow clap was in time with the nonexistent sound of his footsteps. Another elf stood in front of the first, his voice sarcastic and spiteful, with his face completely blacked out, even where a gap in the hood should have been, no face existed.

“You summoned us for this? Chest thumping.”

The tension in the room seemed to ebb and flow. A challenge to the first for dominance.

“I’d told everyone with ears what they needed, only the blind missed it. Young one.” The elder elf calmly added the ending words to taunt. In practice nobody here speaking was less than four centuries of age. Age was one of the few things valued, as it showed a mastery of not only domain but also an ability to be one step ahead of those wanting you dead.

A younger Ktaris kept his attention on the exchange for signs of betrayal, seeing little through the black at first. Finally an elf lit a purple torch, possibly to scare back others a step from revealing their identity openly, a good way to ensure nobody snuck up on him, or just to gain secrets for himself. It provided enough illumination to see some of those who had attended unmasked, much to the irritation of a few. A fragile balance between maintaining the shadow and your own life was in each decision, the blame might fall on the torchbearer or those that had allowed themselves to be revealed so easily. Ktaris made a mental note of a few faces for later, and more importantly who they’d stood beside which might provide valuable insight later.

After the torch was dealt with by a guard. The banter from the assembled circle went on for some time, other words were said, other secrets told within seemingly meaningless phrases, talking about the weather and the ebb of the tide. Ktaris felt the cold sensation of a shadowkin brush by his arm, eyes following its path along the wall. He didn’t leave his post but he did managed to spot the door the creature went through, noting it for later.

After more speech and negotiation, it was winding down. His senior in the keepers walked by and waved him over. Ktaris resisted the urge to ask what information was gained, that was not their way, spreading knowledge openly wasn’t proper ettiquette and indeed their language missed many of the elements required for frank conversation. It was all hidden messages and half-truths.

Instead, Ktaris and two others were led to the marble doorway the shadowkin had exited through, which behind the four elves was sealed shut, not that you’d hear it, the sound muffled through feats of construction. As his eyes rose from a respectful dip of his head, he was looking directly into the eyes of the creature, empty and hollow as they were at first, those hollow orbs ahead also gave nothing away.

 

[Ktaris]

Waiting, Ktaris said nothing. He was used to the silence of shadows and their kin, this one was not like the other shadowkin, or the swirling mass of shadow men that would follow in the wake of their kindred. It had more coherence and was less distracting. Ktaris was content to let it make the first move and had yet to ready a weapon, he did, however, turn his back to a wall as he waited.

Looking ever-long into those hollow eyes. The black orbs ahead glowed red with purpose. Knowledge or motive was given with the greatest of reluctance from their kind. It was the opposite of how you’d expect an exchange or meeting to go, much like the address earlier in the court.

“You have been initiated with the mark, but it is not yet hidden. It is visible and not a part of you, you are as yet ‘surfaced’ only in name and title.” The shadow’s voice rasped and licked.

Ktaris waited, giving away nothing, remember his training well.

“Silence does you credit.” It stated, its eyes burning red and then going to black. “Silence you will become. They will never know why you go or where you.” The mark along Ktaris’s chest burned, and he for the first time moved, placing his palm upon it and coughing up black ash.

“Gather these. Bring them here, to this room.” A selection of odd items were unveiled on the table ahead of him, copies of what was needed. “And I will make you silence.” With that, the shadow was gone. A rune bound book, a chalice, a crown, a knife, and bright yellow flower all that remained. He recognized one of the items but not the others.

“Stand.” His nearby superior stated behind him, and Ktaris turned attempting to stop coughing. The room illuminated now by that bright yellow flower was painful on his eyes. “The shadow court will hamper your efforts. Succeed and you will rise, fail and you will die.” A simple and often told keeper directive, not the first time he had heard it. Ktaris simply nodded, the formality of the words pointless.

Daiches his superior pulled out a knife, which smelled rotten and was covered with blue a liquid best not described. “Raise your hand.”

Ktaris, of course, did not.

Daiches cut his own palm with the blade lightly. “I will ask once more.”

At that point the Tundra elf had a choice, of killing Daiches or accepting. He held his hand up to the blade and ran it along the edge, cutting a wound of his own choosing.

“The marked are now twelve. We are two of them. We succeed or all twelve perish.”

Ktaris clutched his hand, the pain burning more than he could bear, biting down hard, he staggered into the wall. The poison churning its way into his veins, his eyes rolled back and after briefly flailing, thankfully soon passed out.

 

[Ktaris]

Water on the brow, the soft aching of senses returning and the rough dry taste at the back of the throat. The sound of running water nearby and droplets from above raining down upon his head. He knew the smell and the sensation, not sewers but a dry heat so close to water. It appeared he was below street level in the dredgeways. Blinking the sleep out of his eyes Ktaris clutched his side and rolled over, finding three other bodies down here with him. His possessions were gone save his cloak, now dirty black clothing and one knife. The other three looked the same and non were familiar, it seemed his superior had not suffered the same fate. How convenient.

Was it all a trick? It was always a trick

Ktaris could see the street above but the darkness gave him little in the way of direction, and no hope of reaching it anyway. Keeping his calm, the Tundra Elf walked to one of the other’s down here to steal their knife as well, pocketing it, but sadly wasn’t quick enough to take everyone’s weapon. At least he’d disarmed one threat, without the stranger even realising it.

All three of those awake looked at each other, and nobody said a word. He could barely make out their faces and didn’t recognize what he did see. What each did begin doing is looking for a way out. There was only one way out that Ktaris spotted and that was further into the dredgeways, long green tunnels and as with anywhere in this city, almost no light. He chose not to take the obvious route though it might give him some distance to these strangers, it was too obvious. He didn’t serve a god of speed, obviousness or even power, he served the mystery true, and long may it continue.

This had to be a test, that or a game of sorts.

Running his palm over the nearby stone to look for loose passageways or something that wasn’t immediately obvious, careful to keep his back away from the strangers. The texture on the wall was gritty, old stone, seemingly being redone over and over again, patchwork to keep it whole, the grooves in the surface were undeniable and not all that well put together. This was a place you didn't linger to do construction, old tunnels dug before the city was built.

Finding nothing hidden and no secret way out, he’d lost the initative, one of the group had gone off ahead which left the possibility of threats behind and in front. The choice was to wait and risk losing more ground if this was a test of speed and cunning or push on. Ktaris pulled his hood down, and went to sit in a corner, he’d play the long game. If there were any traps ahead let the fools going off first set them off.

 

[Ktaris]

The long game. A tale from legend and passed down through the shadow court in hushed whispers. A battle of seers and those with the sight to foretell what might come to pass. The Shadow Court was actively engaged day in day out with this affair, a war ahead of time to prevent worse befalling them.

As such patience was key just as was knowing when to act. Both the court's agents and the keepers that were sent out on these errands acted cautiously. Seeing two elves had left and one remained, that presented an opportunity. “I am Vnaris,” the other introduced himself foolishly, Ktaris nodded. Not offering him anything as per his training.

Nobody said anything for several more minutes, the one who revealed more first always lost ground. That was the way of their people and society.

“Are you coming?”

Why did this elf seem so interested in how Ktaris was going to tackle this challenge, or test, or game. Why did he want his company? Ktaris offered nothing in return. Waiting till Vnaris’s back was turned, he began to follow into the depths of the dredgeways. Each step of his was half a step faster than the elf ahead. A planned approach.

Just they reached the pitch black, he grabbed the elf ahead and struck his weapon upward in between the shoulder blades, pushing it deep. Muffling the screams of the dying Tundra elf and pulling him toward the ground. The victim thrashed around but the wound was true and well placed.

There was no clever tell or sign beyond heightened suspicion, revealing a name was very out of place even for a lie. That alone had been enough to take this life in this circumstance. Laying the body to rest, Ktaris began searching it for any clues. Taking a third knife to add to the growing collection, that left one elf besides him armed now, and much better odds to face what was ahead.

Who were these elves in here with him?

Entering further into the shadows, both in body and mind he stuck to the wall and looked for traps as best he could through the darkness. Flashes of images burned into his consciousness and across his vision, dark and hard to make out. He blinked and had to hold onto the wall for support.

Was this what the shadows saw? An echo of what was or what might be? Was this the present, how did they see? Such questions added to the growing headache he was experiencing, almost faltering as he had when he accepted the toxin earlier. Black ash was still a dry ache in the back of his throat.

 

[Ktaris]

The hallowing, cindering the inside to ash or those parts that the shadow could not become. It was not the first time he had heard of it, a cold flame in the gut. Everyone who became an acolyte in shadowmancy gave up a part of themselves, be that a few years of their life, losing a sense, or gaining a large scar to remind them, perhaps parting with something they loved. There was always a price to show commitment to the god and shadowcraft.

It was clear to him when he’d accepted the blade what this likely was, but it never paid to assume it. This was a test, his initiation was completing itself, and now he’d be a permanent and equal threat to the shadow court’s agents who usually had a monopoly on shadowmancers.

None of that mattered now. Staggering along the wall, his mind heard the whispers of the shadows more readily. Trying to understand them, the shadows in this place seemed to move and to be alive of their own accord. Hands steadying on the rough stone tunnels felt the scars of alchemical liquid which had permeated the stone. Old wounds leading to the many stories of the manaborn twisted creatures down here, whispers and lies hidden with truth. The risk of contamination with old discarded magical liquids was one reason nobody wanted to set foot down here, in what had once been a prized achievement for the city.

The dredgeways were a fitting name.

What manner of test was this, survival or adjustment to the gift? He knew not, only the throbbing headache continued as did the blurred visions and the need for his hand to find purchase on the tunnel wall. Eyes seemed to be watching him, then not, were they his eyes? It felt like madness and perhaps this is what they meant in blinding the mind to any one truth.

For hours he walked down one long tunnel, with no other routes. Stopping intermittently to look for new passageways away from this place. He calmly continued methodically in his search for an answer. After about three hours he found himself walking back the way he had come.

Ending up exactly where he had started. There had been no turns. As he approached he found three figures there again, and looking down at his belt, he had but one knife just as before. The man he had killed looked him directly in the eyes and smiled.

Welcome back.

​

 

[Ktaris]

There was a thought of killing each of them, instead, he sat closer to them as part of their circle but far away not to be caught off guard. He wanted details, clues. Resisting the urge to ask what Vnaris was, Ktaris stayed silent as per his training, observing all the time. They looked like regular Tundra elves, Vnaris didn’t speak like a Tundra elf did but he did have their physical mannerisms. They had no strange markings or ethereal nature to them, they did have a strange finality to them, a routine to their actions.

Ktaris calmly nodded and waited. However many hours it had been he didn’t feel hungry or thirst for his walking. He did feel dazed and confused still. Many hours past and once again they all left one by one. Staying where he was this time, he fought the urge to sleep or lose focus, resting against a nearby wall for support and to feel the hard surface behind his back, keeping him sharper.

Nothing happened. A dreamlike state of repetition occurred. He remembered the phrase all were but water and dust, all it seemed except illusions. They had to be illusions yet he could feel them, his headache had him doubting his own reality.

Heavy eyes. There was the smallest of blinks, he didn’t shut his eyes but he did close them for a second. Only for a second.

It was enough.

All three were back sitting in their circle. Vnaris the original speaker nodded to him, and Ktaris took a deep breath. This was not the challenge he had expected, thus far all he had done in the service of the Tome Keepers was to assassinate, spy and steal. Fighting his own sanity was not a demand until now.

The clue had to be here. Should he execute all three? The shadows shifted around him and sort answers within them. Their voices a faint whispering, only making adjusting to what was in front of him all the harder. The real truth became hard to discern in a world of lies and fiction.

Truth.

Was that the answer to this groundhog day riddle?

 

[Ktaris]

Truth would be something to be obscured. To go along with the charade should pass the test, though he tired of the repetition, as predictability went against his beliefs too. What was he missing? He pinched himself again, it felt real. How did he fight against the routine of always being in reaction?

To take part in the charade he was blinded by it. To sit by and observe he missed any chance to influence it. Those whispering voices were back in his mind and he tried to see through their eyes, trying to hear what they heard. The headache as he did so almost made him fall unconscious again, placing a hand to the wall, the other hand resting on his temple. Each flash of shadowy imagery were shocks of pain.

Flickering intensified behind him, and he searched for the cause of it, seeking, seeking. It was Vnaris, he was… a shadow. There it was, he looked through Vnaris’s eyes. They were all shadows, that would mean.

The pain stung so bad, he fell to his knees again, and the whispering intensified. “Yes you have seen our realm,” the figures began to become as shadow, “seen as we do, the endless repetition that awaits and we suffer. What we must fight against.” Their voices now became as whispers, as he was pulled out of his visions the world started to return to normal, the cut on his hand burning. “Is it still worth the price?”

While he had been real, he had been the only thing that was. As his eyes opened again, he faced the shadow kineth’s now glowing silvery eyes. “Yes,” Ktaris answered. Knowing now the endless routine that lay at the end of this path, the fading of purpose to the existence based on endless drudgery. He understood more clearly that the shadows could not change the results of their path, they merely walked it for another and now why they fought so hard for uncertainty, change, and confusion.

There was a laugh from his senior associate Daiches, “good, then we can begin.” Binding Ktaris’s hand with a ripped piece of cloth. “Acolyte.” The Shadow Kineth took one last look at them both and vanished.