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Fantasy Fables of the Forgotten (Closed)

Tyr had not expected to find the answer to the problem of magic in the town of Livu, one which was in the middle of nowhere with nothing of note.

Magic was still deeply seeded in their world. So much so that even one bad apple could come to lead everything to rot. Tyr was left in the middle of the ocean of pain and despair, his body lost in every call and demand to find these elusive treasures which would bring forth the Order of Breaal to glory.


It had been a quiet night. Such a thing was unusual for a tavern. Just as unusual as it was for them to be empty, devoid of life. It had been fate, or something of the like which had brought Tyr to the corner of his tavern. He was simply there to find peace of mind, leaning back against the wall as he let the burning ale slip down his throat.

The tavern was the Two Headed Dragon. A rickety old thing which was in the middle of a town which was forgotten by everyone except the tax collector. Besides Tyr there was a family, three generations of men, a grandfather, a father and a young son, barely above the age of ten. They had given chance looks to him the entire night, as it was a town so small that being from outside of it was enough to bring attention to the stranger. Yet, from the looks, the man who sat not too far away from him was a stranger as well. He was dressed far too well to be from a nothing town anyways.

Rough would had scratched at Tyr’s palms as he attempted to simply think, wanting only one moment to himself so he could do just that. It was quiet, it was offering him a bed to sleep in for the godforsaken night he had spent there. The barmaid came by again, her smile bright as the golden hair that fell over her pale shoulders. She put the stew before him, a hard piece of bread set aside it as she carefully tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.

He did not know her name nor did he care to know. Nor did he want to peruse with her, as his tastes were finer than with a common barmaid that had likely been with several others before he had even graced the town with his presence. For a moment, however, she was the only thing worth looking at, with her skin as white as snow, hair as shiny as polished gold and eyes sparkling like the azure jewels which often lined Tyr’s throat or fingers.

“It could take away any magic you could imagine,” the man slurred, his hand on the edge of the table, eyes bright in the excitement of his drunken stupor. “They said it didn’t fucking exist--” He looked down, pressing his hand to his mouth as though he was keeping his supper from coming up.

“Mister?” the barmaid asked, her big blue eyes slowly blinking, her auburn lashes hanging low, the light of the fire prettily catching on them.

“Shush!” he snapped, Tyr had not noticed how hardly he was gripping his table, splinters were digging into his hand. He could feel the ache in his fingers, yet he did not let go of the edge of the table. Her scowl was the last thing he had seen from her.

“They doubted me, the bastards,” he was a short man, his hair fell to his shoulders, wild and unkempt, though his face was closely shaven. His hair was a bright copper, making him stand out starkly, and his fine silk shirt was enough to prove he was not the average traveler. “They said I was wasting my time going through all those records, but look where they are going now, right to the ruins to chase down my treasure.”

The tavern owner looked bored, his eyes cast down as he wiped at the table, obviously just waiting to leave them all to go back into his den where he could do Gods know what in order to be away from the common rabble.

“What of it?” Tyr had asked, pushing the bottle of rum he had gotten over to the man before he could even think on what he was doing. “This treasure, what of it?”

“It is something right special,” the man smiled, taking Tyr’s rum without asking. It would have bothered him if anything else was coming from the man’s mouth. “I saw it with my own eyes and everyone told me I was a damn fool. Who is a damn fool now? Who is a damn fool, that thinks a world without magic is impossible?”

There was, in truth, no reason to believe him. He was a drunk and blathering fool. Yet, for two years now, two whole years, Tyr had been sent from one place to another. On one wild goose chase to another. One failed attempt to bring an end to the unnatural ability which was magic, freeing the populace from the stain upon the pristinity and it had come to naught. So it was only that, perhaps, which led him to feel so desperate to cling on to the words of a drunken man. However, there was more to it. He was a scholar. No muscle was on his arms, his grin held a certain naivete that was nearly admirable.

He had no reason to lie in this dingy tavern when already he was richer than any other there. Perhaps it was not the best plan which Tyr had managed to cobble together, however, he could not bring himself to look upon it with any type of disdain.

“I found it,” he murmured, taking Tyr’s hand. Tyr felt his lip turn at the feeling of the sweaty palm, however he did not move his hand away. “That thing that can take away-- I found it. Over in the forgotten ruins.”

“The forgotten ruins?” Tyr mused as he looked down into his mug, his fingers clasping loosely around it as he spun the liquid at the bottom, watching as it danced. “Why, I thought nothing was left there. Picked clean and dry by robbers.”

“They couldn’t have taken it without the-- without the ring The Sunderer.” Tyr leaned back, cocking his brow. The story was getting far too elaborate. However, he let the man continue. “The forgotten ruins, they’re traipsing there now, walking like they were the ones to figure all this out. They did not even pay me what they promised. A hundred gold pieces, they said! A hundred! And what do I get? Fifty! Fifty because I took too long. Do you think that’s fair?”

The Sunderer was a myth. A legend. Nothing which could have existed in life before. Lost to legend yet never again mentioned. It was the only thing known to have destroyed magic from the root and left anyone who had once had it completely rid of their ailment. The Sunderer was, in a word, a miracle.

Tyr did not actually answer, as he could not find himself to care.

“It ain’t fair, I will tell you that much-- damn fucking wizards-- Never trust a wizard, I was told that so many damn times, yet then I decide that I believe a wizard would hand me what he promised me, and yet he doesn’t. What am I to them? Their damn magic is only good for trickery, they think they are such--”

“Quite right,” Tyr said as he waved the man’s words off. “I am sure it was awful. About the wizards, you say they are going to the Forgotten Ruins, hm, when did you leave them?”

“Dunno, few days ago. They left me on my own to figure out how I’m supposed to get back to my home, but that doesn’t matter, eh?” Tyr nodded serenely, rubbing a hand down his black beard for a moment, his eyes narrowed as he stared up at the back wall.

Tyr frowned. Wizards. The stain upon society searching out the only tool which could properly rid them of their own curse. Yet, Tyr heavily doubted they planned to do anything of merit. Worse, if there was even a slight chance that The Sunderer were to actually exist, then they could not hold it to their bosoms if the Order of Breaal was to gain any leverage.

“I saw ‘em. A bunch of foreigners, eh? Walking around like they own the damn land?” The old man said as he stood up, coming over to them with a scowl on his lips. “I saw ‘em. They were comin’ up the road when I was coming back to my home, they were clogging up the damn roads, didn’t even look sorry, those absolute bastards!”

“They--” Tyr stood up afterward. It was getting a bit aggravating listening to drunken men spew half stories.

“What is this? The damn spell-slingers coming back?” The tavern owner had come back again. “I swear if they set foot in this town I’ll--”

“What? Shove drinks and bad stew to them until they die?” The old man snorted. “Their wizards, they’ll just turn you into a frog you idiot, that’s what wizards do!”

“No!” The scholar said, slamming his hand against the table. “They just act like they are smarter than they are and take your damn money!”

“I heard that they can curse ya so that ya grow hair as thick as a wolf’s pelt,” The tavern owner said as he slammed a mug down on the table. “They’ll rape the women too, at least the men will, heard the women magicians are too hot to try anything with.”

Tyr felt his features strain. He turned on his heal without another word and shoved himself out the door.

The night was long, but it had gotten better.

Tyr had no reason to believe The Sunderer of all things existed here. The Sunderer was a thing of legend, of myth, created by those who saw the evilness of magic to rid those cursed with it from their burden. It could slice and separate a man so cleanly from such a dark cloud, that some say he would not remember his life with it before.

~*~
The ruins were unremarkable.

Whatever treasures that had once been present within her long gone, likely taken either by petty thieves or noblemen that wished to have some form or culture brought into their life. It was hope along that The Sunderer wasn’t taken. Perhaps it could not be, from what the Scholar had said. Not only being unwanted, but being untouchable, like one of the rocks, or formations.

It was fortunate that Tyr had been in the right place at the right time. In truth, he could have missed this very moment had he decided to pass through the town as he truly wished to, with only the panging of his stomach being what led him to attempt to search for a warm meal among them there. He had never been overly religious, he had never felt the need to get approval from their God in order to bring himself closer to his goal or the land, but he could only think it was a boon from God that was given to him now. He had handed him the keys to a new future which could be walked along with a light heart should Tyr choose to take what he was given.

Tyr had never been a man to thank God for the things that happened in his life. Perhaps it was only because he was unused to it, and thus becoming unwilling as the words “Praise God for Victory!’ as his late father often murmured was often lost on him. Yet, at this very moment, in this very time, Tyr felt the need to say it loud, loud enough that any being which sat there high above in the heavens would be able to hear him clearly as a man would that stood so close to him, and many men and women now stood close to him.

They were wizards, he could practically feel the magic spark in the air the moment he saw them. He could feel himself growing weak in the knees, being forced to fall before them. It was his fortune, or perhaps quite the opposite, to have been exposed to so many of them that he could hold his own.

Tyr watched them for only a few moments, watched them gather their belongings as they began to camp for the night, preparing to enter the ruins. If what the scholar had said was true, then it did not matter, as no one would have taken The Sunderer. It would have been useless to them. Perhaps even valueless. Such value being in the pockets of a random thief would not have done. And it would have made Tyr’s goal much harder to achieve.

The Sunderer was not supposed to exist.

But if it did, Tyr would not be one to let the wizards get it.

“Mister?” Tyr looked up from the rocks, his musings being ended sooner than he thought. He put on a smile as he turned and looked at them, clasping his hands behind his back as he nodded towards the man that stood, the robes about him clasped tightly together by a rope. They were black, making him resemble a monk more than anything, and if he did not have a full head of hair, Tyr may have mistaken him for one. More came behind the man. Two men and one woman. Each dressed as he was, each watching Tyr skeptically. Tyr kept the smile on his lips as he glanced over each.

Tyr looked at them for a moment then raised his hands.

“I apologize, I had just come after having heard it may still have some treasures, but obviously those who told me such a thing lied.”

“Indeed,” the man agreed, a smile coming to his own lips as his head dipped forward into a nod. “Quite sad, is it not? Why don’t you go on? We’ll tell you if you missed anything.”

“I would prefer not to if it means anything to you. I simply want to continue to look--”

“After we leave it would be perfectly fine, but for now, I ask you to--” Tyr nodded his head, raising his hand in acknowledgment before he could continue. “Of course, I understand. Though can I ask what it is that the man before me holds in his hand?”

The wizard clenched his fist tighter. “No you may not. Please leave, hm?”

Tyr nodded, and took a step forward. He took a sharp breath in, feeling the knife slip down his sleeve and into his palm. He watched them all for a moment, feeling everything freeze. Then he shoved a knife into the neck of the wizard, it was quick and sudden. Enough so the wizard could not get a spell out before he gasped, blood gushing from the wound which had been inflicted. Tyr reached to grab the ring before a blast of magic sent him flying back. He hit the back wall hard, tumbling to the ground painfully.

He coughed, watching as the men ran at him, while the woman dove for the ring. Tyr tossed his ring at the woman, hitting her in the forehead, sending her dark hair flying about her as she fell back, her eyes rolling back before she hit the ground. He tossed himself forward, rolling between the two remaining wizards. A blast of fire next to him nearly singed off his eyebrows. Tyr groaned, shoving himself down to avoid another attack, as he scrambled to his boot to find another knife.

He was sent skidding across the ground by another blast of magic, leaving him gasping for air as he grasped at the ground. He felt at the ground, his brow tender and his body trembling as he felt something round and metal press into his palm. He shoved it on his finger and squeezed his hand closed.

If The Sunderer existed, he could use it now.

Take their magic away, damn it, take it from them!

Perhaps he could take them now, but the injuries he had already gotten…

Work! Take it from them now!
 
The ruins of a once-mighty city lay silent in the morning sun, her bones of stone - though weathered and beaten - still standing defiant against the unforgiving march of time. She was the relic of an age when magic was still potent and untamed, but much like her ancient denizens, her true name and former glory now lay buried beneath eons of debris, lost forever to the fleeting memories of mortals.

Most days passed in the same fashion as they had for countless bygone centuries, with nary a whisper of birdsong to wake the aging empress from her peaceful slumber. Today however, the breeze stirred the air around her with the sound of voices, the rise and fall of their words echoing hollowly amidst empty rooms and broken walls. While they breathed a shadow of life back into the deserted remains of the city, the catacombs below remained untarnished by the influence of earthly beings.

Wisps of consciousness stirred within a void of boundless nothingness, like weak fingers of light struggling to reach the murky depths of a lake long forgotten by the sun.

Both above ground and beneath the feet of those currently locked in a desperate fight to the death, the very stone upon which they stood seemed to tremble with a faint groan, the earth itself seeming to protest against an unseen force which held it in its grasp. Then, a deep, bone-rattling crack rent the air, as if the unseen stone heart buried deep beneath the city herself had been split instantaneously in two. For a moment, the remaining stone walls which still stood shuddered dangerously, the last of the city's strength threatening to give out all at once. Then, with one last audible protest, silence reigned once again.

Beneath the surface, hidden from the burning gaze of the sun, bare hands and knees met cold stone amidst a shower of shattered crystal. Each golden fragment of stone threw off a faint, ephemeral glow as it bounced to a halt, illuminating the figure with a warm radiance that a moment ago had been encased within an unbroken whole. Pale honey tresses cascaded down from a bent head to caress the dark stone beneath, an ageless figure that was unmistakably feminine shrouded in gossamer cloth released from within the crystal coffer.

Take.

There was a brief moment of hesitation, her limbs having forgotten the customs of movement. When she finally stood, the motion was slow and deliberate, placing one foot beneath herself before the other, seemingly ignorant of the shards of broken, glasslike stone which dug into the soles of her bare feet. The waves of golden hair fell back about her exposed shoulders to reveal a pale, alabaster face with delicate features, although much of her countenance was obscured by an intricate crown of silver which circled her head, entirely masking her eyes. Nevertheless, it seemed to have no effect upon her gait or sense of direction, each step unhurried and increasingly confident as an unseen voice guided her from her age-long resting place.

Take.

Just outside the ruins, the fighting had come to an abrupt halt when the ground beneath the city cried out, fear instantly overtaking the grimaces of rage which had adorned the faces of the two remaining wizards. For a moment, murderous intent was forgotten in the face of unified confusion and terror as the two scrambled to keep their footing, their gazes wildly seeking the source of the interruption where none could be found.

When the tremors finally stopped, one of the men trembled where he stood while his companion knelt, his head pressed to the ground as vehement prayers to his god tumbled freely from his quivering lips. The battered assassin was forgotten for the moment in favor of pleas for mercy and deliverance, the wrath of an angry deity a much more compelling threat than any single man.

In spite of the near-silence, a new hush suddenly fell over the ruins, as if the city itself waited with bated breath.

The soft pat of bare feet against the dirt seemed to fill the empty air around the three men, drowning their ears in the sound despite how quiet it was. Even the kneeling man was silent now, his head raised and mouth agape as his gaze followed the figure which had just emerged from within the ruins with wordless rapture.

Translucent silks clung to the woman's pale frame as she glided effortlessly towards the men on bare feet, her path seemingly uninhibited by her apparent lack of vision. Her gait slowed only as she approached the two wizards, the second now having fallen to his knees to join his companion in prostrating himself before the angelic figure that had materialized before them from within the ancient ruins.

"Oh God in heaven and on earth, please have mercy upon your obedient servants." The man's voice quavered with an amalgam of fear and reverence, casting his eyes away from the woman as if afraid that his gaze would offend. "We are forever your humble devotees, and we worship in your light."

In a fluid, graceful motion, the crowned woman knelt with a whisper of silken cloth before the two men, a delicate hand coming to rest gently on each of their heads. Elated, they caught the faint trace of a smile on her smooth, rose-colored lips as they lowered their foreheads to the ground once again, exultant at a touch from the divinity that they worshiped so vehemently.

The lips parted and a lilting, melodic phrase escaped them, the words incomprehensible, the language she spoke lost with those who had died out long before their city had crumbled. For a moment, her hands glowed with the same radiance which had shone from the crystals that had so recently bound her, and in an instant, the tears of joy which had streamed down the men's faces turned to tears of horror.

Take.

The Sunderer had awoken.​
 
Tyr had not known what he had been expecting. He did not know what he was supposed to look for. He did not know what the Sunderer was to look like, or how brightly it would shine before all of them the moment it arose. He knew only that it could be the miracle tool which would come and be used in this endless, bitter war against the magic that plagued the land.

Yet, what had materialized before them all, what had broken from the confines of these ancient ruins was far from what Tyr had ever expected to look upon.

A woman, so pale and fair he felt his breath leave him. As she stood and walked, she held the grace of a dancer. Rather than looking like a sword as he expected, or simply a divine beast which would lay down their hand in anger until the opposer knew the true power of their God, she came out like a woman that most would be climbing over one another to protect, a virginal maiden who had only lived for maybe twenty summers, yet she had certainly been trapped beneath in her tomb for eons upon eons.

Her feminine form was gripped in the translucent cloth that rustled with each soft step. Her pale skin had an ethereal glow, extending all the way to the pale golden tresses that fell down her shoulders and back, her features delicate and her rosy lips standing out starkly from her pale face. The crown which circled over her eyes did not marr the picture of perfection which was before Tyr, it only added to it. The mystery. The mysticism. The magic.

“Oh God,” Tyr breathed, despite himself. The fist that had been closed about the ring was now pressed to his chest as he watched the angel descend upon those who had become lost in their magic. “Oh God,” he said again as he struggled to his knees, eyes widened wondering what was the right thing to do, fear and awe slowly spreading throughout him.

With one lay of her hand, she had taken the curse from them. He could see it on their faces. He could see in their eyes. He could feel it within his own soul.

“No…” One of them murmured, looking down at his hands as his body shook, his eyes widening. The tears began to flow more heavily, he shook his head. “No! No, you--” he began, he tossed his hand out, experimentally. “No!” he said louder. The other began to sob heavily as he also threw his hand out, waiting for something to happen.

Tyr had made it to his feet by then, though his knees nearly buckled as his breath still hitched as he looked at her.

“No! For the love of God, please God no--”

“You don’t know any God,” Tyr said as he wiped his mouth of the blood that had formed there. He stepped forward with his eyes narrowed. “And you are saved from the curse that had once ruined you--”

“Ruined me?! Ruined me?!” he began to rise. “The only thing which has ruined me is this- this-” Tyr knew what their next thought likely was. He was healed enough now, and they were useless in combat without their magic. He ran, picking up his knife before tossing it at one, letting it sink deep into his chest before he slipped in smoothly and punched the other in the throat, watching him sink to his knees before Tyr wrapped an arm around his neck. The knife which the man had slipped into his hand raised to cut against his arm, but Tyr let it, it would not cut him badly through his thick jacket before he was finished.

It was slow. It was lumbering. But he felt the man begin to stop struggling as he tightened his hold. And then once again, all was calm.

Tyr watched him slip down, and crumble into a heap.

He looked up, at the woman that had come from the crystal, her silver circlet blocking her eyes. Yet, he felt as though she stared down into his soul. His knees were weak. But his hand was heavy with the ring that was on it. The Sunderer. The Sunderer was his. He need not fear anything.

His hand closed over his chest once again, his lips parted silently as he studied her delicate features once again, yet now from up close, able to see all the angelic glory that still resided within her.

“You… Are The Sunderer,” he said quietly, stepping close to her, his hand reaching out to touch her before he thought better of it. “The Sunderer. Is that correct?” he stood taller, bolder as he rubbed the ring with his thumb.

“And I am your master…” he held the ring in his hand. He felt a smile twitch on his lips.
 
As soon as the deed was done, the pale figure rose once again, the trace of a smile still lingering on the curve of her lips. However, it no longer held any modicum of joy for the two men kneeling at her feet. Instead, it haunted them as if it were the infernal leer of the devil himself, the last sight their eyes gleaned of the mortal world before the life was snuffed from their now-powerless bodies. The final expression fixed into their faces as the light drained from their eyes was despair in its purest embodiment, their lifeless forms with empty gazes forever seeking the heavens for a salvation which would never come.

The ruins were silent once again. The crumbling city seemed to breathe a sigh of relief as the last of the struggles gave way to peace, the turmoil of the past several minutes seemingly lost to the breeze just as quickly as it had come. The only two living beings which still remained were the traveler and his hard-won prize, standing alone amidst the carnage which had been wrought.

The Sunderer. It was a thing of distant legend which had been forgotten along with its creators for countless millennia. Even the title which it currently bore was the mark of recent imagination, its true name having long since been consigned to distant history. It was a product of the ancient magics of a bygone era, but its revival meant the ushering in of a new age of magic. The purpose of its creation was to serve as the hammer with which its wielder would forge the path for humanity, the same power which was now called upon again to shape the very future of the world.

The light breeze tugged at the gossamer cloth shrouding the figure where she stood, her countenance surprisingly still now that her work was complete. No discernable emotion crossed the delicate features, even as the two men were ruthlessly cut down before her, spilled blood from the first victim's torn chest slowly pooling about her pale, bare feet. Her expression remained impassively serene, bordering on emptiness, as if the scene unfolding before her invoked nothing from within. She merely stood, hands idle at her sides, although her eyeless façade appeared to remain fixed upon the one who currently bore the ring. Upon close inspection, it was evident that the circlet she wore and the ring which seemingly commanded her shared a common design, differing only in scale.

When Tyr finally stood to address her, her unseen gaze followed him, although his words and query were met only with silence for several long moments. If not for the melodious, if indecipherable tongue in which she had spoken just moments earlier, one might have presumed that she were mute as well as blind. However, the truth of the matter was that the common tongue was as foreign to her as the mannerisms and garb of the period, and she had to search deep within her repository of knowledge to decipher the ring-bearer's meaning. To top it off, she'd never been addressed as "The Sunderer" in any language; in fact, she'd never been directly addressed in the past in spite of her deceptively long lifetime. As such, her prolonged silence seemed colored with a faintly quizzical air.

"I…am Aila."

The words were slow and hesitant at first as she formed her lips around the unfamiliar sounds, her speech steeped in an accent foreign to their time. It was unclear whether the original question had been misunderstood, or if she was simply correcting the assumption which had been voiced.

"You are…not the Maker."

This time, her words were tinted with what could most closely be approximated to confusion. Her golden tresses shifted about her shoulders as her head tilted lightly to one side, her aura pensive. This was the first time in her long life that everything around her hadn't been made crystal clear, but she concluded that it was simply an effect of the absence of the Maker. She didn't question why that was, or even the purpose as to why she had been awakened in an unfamiliar land in an unfamiliar time. All that mattered was that this man before her bore the Artifact, and that was all the reason she needed.

"You are the Bearer."

There was a finality to the words, a power which seemed to resonate in the air between them, as if the statement solidified the bond which had been created when Tyr had placed the ring upon his finger. An air of acknowledgement emanated from Aila's unseen gaze, an acceptance of the contract which now bound the master to his new vassal.
 
Aila.

It was simple. It was elegant. A perfect representation of the image which stood before him. Now that all was still, with only the wanton breeze which had managed to worm into the cave of the ruins. A treasure that had been long forgotten and secluded to myth. This final piece of the long-forgotten past was no longer supposed to exist. And there she stood, unmoved by neither breeze or emotion, passive and quiet with only the gossamer cloth any indication that she was real and not a statue. Yet, still all he could see as he looked upon her was a statue, perhaps highly details, perhaps expertly painted, but a statue nonetheless, something which was beyond their own life and far away. In a way, that all she was. The remains of an age which was now brought to this modern time.

The ruins had stories untold etched in the walls. Men long dead had once walked through those halls, their minds likely obsessed with something which he himself could not comprehend. A generation of philosophers, thinkers, magicians who had lasted through a mighty empire that now only existed through tablets and scrolls. Their thoughts, their emotions, their ideas had all existed within these ruins, and now they had come to life through The Sunderer, who stood unmoving. Despite her appearance, she was timeless. A young woman, yet a woman with years beyond what anyone could understand, an old woman, yet one that looked like a virginal maiden awaiting to be married off by her father.

The Maker.

A genius who had existed in a time which was now nothing more than a brief thought in the heads of scholars and historians alike. The beginning of civilization and the end of savagery, that was when this mind, greater than any to have ever existed, had come to make this, which would bring this world to salvation. The story of The Maker and The Sunderer. The man prosecuted for only wanting to do good to the world. To want to rid it of problems. And this is what he had brought upon the world here and now.

A miracle.

If there was any other name for her, that was it. A miracle. He felt compelled to pray to God again, to kiss her cheeks and to laugh as he stepped forward, holding up the ring on his finger as his eyes slid to its copy which circled around her eyes. He did not touch it, his fingers twitching, but he worried she would crumble. Her body thin and lithe, her skin pale and her hair so pale and airy he worried she would break beneath his sordid touch.

"Aila..." he said beneath his breath, his hand came up to run across his black beard. He was glad she had a name, at the very least. It would keep him from having to come up with one himself, as they would have to go through towns for him to bring her back to the center. He frowned then. Already she looked too angelic to be a true woman. Already men would stare as they walked through any town, wondering who this was that Tyr had taken away from her home and brought upon his horseback to Nuveere. But any other smaller branch would not do. The Master of the Order, Grenor himself had to see her. Had to know her power.

"I am not the Maker," he nodded in response as he stepped closer to her, letting out a breath as he watched her. "And I am the Bearer. But you may call me Tyr." he studied her for a moment longer, then he touched her arm. It nearly felt wrong to sully her with his touch, but he did it anyway as he motioned with his hand, as though she could see. Perhaps she could. Or perhaps she was blind. It mattered not to him.

"We're leaving here, now. It is getting too drafty. I set up camp not too far away," he had not planned for a woman. But he could not bring himself to care as The Sunderer was now in his grasp.
 
Aila's skin was surprisingly cool to the touch, as if she had remained for too long in the clutches of a chill winter air. Perhaps it was simply the lingering touch of her stone sarcophagus's unyielding embrace, the warmth of her form long since stolen away by the eons she had spent hidden from the sun's reach. However, as unexpected as it may have been to Tyr when he reached out to close the distance between them, there was the unmistakable energy of life which hummed through her porcelain form under his fingertips. Whether it was mortal or magic in nature was impossible to discern, but her flesh was far from stone in spite of the statuesque presence which her countenance and demeanor emanated.

An invisible physical seal now broken, Aila seemed yet unmoved by Tyr's unsolicited touch, but her lack of concern or response was likely quickly becoming familiar to the man. Her expression remained incomparably quiescent, peaceful to the point of being somewhat unnerving considering the sluggish ebb of blood which continued to form a crimson stain against the pale skin of her feet. Physical contact was yet another concept unfamiliar to her, but it seemed to have as much effect upon her as did the playful breeze which currently teased her garments and hair.

"Your will is my command, Bearer."

Her words were accompanied by a graceful incline of her noble head, a verbal and physical acknowledgement of Tyr's statement. However, it seemed that his request to be addressed by his given name had gone unheeded, or perhaps Aila simply wasn't designed to respond to any request that fell short of a command. Nevertheless, her response did serve to provide Tyr with a glimmer of insight into the minutiae which governed her obedience. The truth behind the power of the ring which now adorned his finger lay in its affinity to his mind. As evidenced by the first wordless command which had raised Aila from her timeless slumber, the ring's true potential arose from imposing the wearer's will upon the woman who bore it's twin on her brow, their motives and aspirations instantaneously and seamlessly becoming hers in turn.

It was clear by the way her shrouded gaze followed his movements that in spite of her seeming lack of sight, Aila could perceive his motions and gestures as clearly as day. Her senses were a mixture of all those excluding sight, simultaneously augmented by magic of her creator's design. While she could not conventionally see the movement of Tyr's hand, she sensed it just as clearly as any person gifted with sight could have perceived it. It was impossible to say exactly what her Maker had deigned to place beneath the crown in place of her eyes - any attempt to remove the circlet would prove to be a seemingly impossible task, so those who were curious could only speculate as to what secrets it hid.

Tyr's last statement seemed to finally stir the woman to motion, her feet carrying her towards him in that same, gliding gait which had brought her forth from below the earth. Although she had no understanding of what a camp was, the order to leave the ruins and follow him were clear, and it was abundantly evident that she was ready to obediently follow wherever he led. There was no hesitation in her step, no pause which might have spoken towards a reluctance to leave the ruins of the city which had been her home for countless millennia before fate had brought Tyr to its bosom. If any memories from within its walls lingered with her after all these centuries, they seemed to hold no bearing upon her as she turned without a backwards glance to leave, perhaps never to set foot back inside the empire which had birthed her again.
 
The power of the ring upon Tyr's finger was not fully known to him.

He knew well that no one quite knew that power was residing within this Sunderer that he had found in these ruins. Most people did not even think that she existed. The ruins had been picked dry already, not even a stray piece of gold was left to be looted. If there were ever corpses then they were likely taken as well. It was very lucky, indeed, that Tyr was not keen on taking from the remains of an empire that had long fallen. It was one he had so much about while growing, one which was well respected despite their despised Gods and false prophets that had attempted to trick the populace from turning away from the true light.

The Varangian Empire was one of legend.

It was expansive, it was beautiful, it was bloodthirsty and it was a predator above all else. As much as the Varangians loved beauty, they loved war and bloodshed all the same. There were tales written endlessly in scrolls of generals taking a city and raping the women within, looting the houses before setting fire to them and leaving the inhabitants with nowhere to turn, salting the land in a bitter attempt to keep crops from growing and ensuring where their hatred lied was not only killed and slaughtered but completely and utterly decimated. They brought many tribes and city-states to their knees, at the same time they had revolutionized the idea of conquest and empire, every Kingdom which came after the bitter fall. However, to think something so... unfeeling had come from an Empire which was known for their constant rage was odd.

If The Sunderer were to be a person, Tyr would have expected not only a warrior, tearing through the bond which tied magic to a man, but also a rage filled being knowing nothing more than pain and anger, never able to get rid of the rage which had consumed them.

But she was far from that. She was delicate, quiet, keeping her head up and exuding power, but at the same time seeming so powerless before him, as though he should be protecting her instead. However, she was not a true woman. She was The Sunderer instead. She was not warm like a woman, but cold like a piece of stone that had been left out in the night's chilled air. She was delicate yet unfeeling like a piece of finely blown glass.

"My camp is this way," he said as he rapidly blinked, stepping out into the rising sun which was bathing the land around them. The forest was soft and green, the trees having come to be at their fullest. A town was not too far away from there, though Tyr wished to collect his bearings and revitalize his plan. He looked at her as they moved, her delicate steps and her gossamer clothing. She was a picture, but she was too conspicuous, one look at her told of her being something more than human. He began to look for a cloak that should wear, for now at the very least.

"Can your... crown," he said gesturing to his eyes, not fully knowing if she could see him or not. "Be removed?" He felt he already knew it could not. But it was far too odd. Even with a cloth wrapped around her eyes it would still look odd. It would be more difficult than he thought.

"Maker couldn't make you look more inconspicuous, eh?" he grumbled as he began to rummage through his things, putting a piece of hard meat in his mouth to chew on while he searched. "Had to make you look like a goddess or an angel rather than a woman-- what of him? Where did he go?" If she even knew. For all Tyr knew, she was put in that rock and then just left there while the ruins all decayed and The Maker she spoke of with it.
 
As Aila stepped out of the shadows of the ruins, the muted radiance of the rising sun fell upon her for the first time in countless centuries, seeming to illuminate her porcelain skin from within with a faint glow. The sheer garments which draped from her willowy figure caught the rays of golden light, shimmering with an unearthly effervescence which could easily have been mistaken for the gods' own handiwork. One would have expected no less from the being who had crafted a creature like her by his own hand; it was only in the light of day that his handiwork could be admired in its true glory, and it seemed safe to assume that he had meant for his creation to be gazed upon and revered for his artistry and not simply for his prowess as an artificer.

In truth, Aila bore a presence befitting of her station. While her creator had belonged to an ancient empire known for its legendary power, bloodthirst, and ambition, there existed too a more civilized side to the otherwise ruthless civilization. While the armies of Varangia razed their way across the continent subduing anything and anyone who stood in their path, the true power lay with those who ruled the nation from its capital, seated far beyond the trivialities of blood, flesh, and violence. Rumor had it that the upper echelon of the empire's ruling caste had mastered magic in ways that those living in the present could scarcely imagine. Some even went as far as to speculate that the Varangians had conquered death itself, but that myth would remain forever unsubstantiated now that all of the empire's denizens were gone. All but Aila, the last remaining reminder of the power which had once ruled the land with an unyielding fist.

Despite Varangia's bloody past, the ivory-skinned figure that now trailed behind Tyr had never witnessed a day of violence in her long, untold life. During her first awakening in the many years following her creation, her days had been spent hidden within the elegant walls of opulent castles and stately courthouses. As Tyr suspected, the purpose behind her inception was to stem the flow of magic at its root. However, the intent of her creator had not been so heavy-handed as to eradicate all traces of magic from the world - instead, his motive was to create a tool with which the wild growth of magic in the world could be purposefully trimmed, akin to the methodical pruning of a garden to encourage healthier and more constructive growth.

Aila's victims were never the poor, bloody, and conquered souls that could be found by the hordes in the ruined lands surrounding Varangia during the age of her birth. No, the ones who were selected to be both graced and cursed by her touch were only those deemed powerful and influential enough to receive a trial by the high court before their subsequent sentencing, those who would be made examples of for the rest of empire as symbols of the weakness of men led astray by the guiles of their magic. The empire ruled with an iron fist, but by the Maker's will, the laws which governed the mighty nation were not to be disregarded, even by those with seemingly absolute power.

All of that had now been swept away by the unrelenting passage of time, leaving behind only faint traces of what had once been.

Tyr's query seemed to elicit a sense of confusion from the woman who followed him, as if the very nature of the question puzzled her. It wasn't until he gestured with his hand towards his eyes that her own fingers rose to mirror the motion, touching the metal circlet which encircled her head briefly. "I understand not your question," she finally responded, the tone in her musical voice surprisingly matter-of-fact. "If it is your desire, I would presume that it is as easily removed as any other part of me would be. Perhaps a hand." The fingers which were resting against the crown a moment ago now extended towards Tyr, as if they were an offering. She could not comprehend the reason why the Bearer would wish to remove a bodily part of her, yet even as she offered it forth, she seemed supremely unconcerned. After all, no wish of the Bearer was too much to ask of her.

His next question seemed more straightforward, but nevertheless yielded no more satisfactory an answer. "The Maker is…gone. He once was, but is no more." Again, no emotion colored the clear, bell-like words which rolled from her tongue. Despite the ages she might have spent serving at her creator's side, she appeared to harbor no lingering affection or devotion to the one who had slaved endlessly over her creation.
 
Aila was, in short, a vision.

If there was anyone Tyr was to believe was made in the image of a God, it was her. The Maker, whoever he may be, had certainly sought to do more than just make a bringer of calm and protection, but to bring upon the world an image of peace and beauty as well. A calming image, one which would make people fall to their knees rather than fight. But a dangerous one all the same. The way he felt compelled the moment he saw her step from the stone, the way the wizards, nameless and faceless, had fallen to their knees despite knowing what she was, what she would do. In their eyes, she did not bless them but curse them, but they accepted the hex all the same only because they were enchanted. Something which must have been planned by The Maker as well.

Tyr, however, felt a certain unease the moment she offered her hand to him, so easily allowing him to mutilate her should he wish it. She was The Sunderer, that was true. She did not see herself as anything else than a tool, she did not have a human mind, nor a human voice, nor a human body. But she projected the image of a young woman, and Tyr did not wish to damage that image despite himself.

He shoved her hand back and shook his head. If taking the crown was equivalent to that, then perhaps it was unmovable. Tool, or not, person, or not, he did not want to risk bringing harm to her. Not just because of his disposition towards harming women for the sake of it, but because he did not know what would happen if he was to strike anything down from her body. If taking her crown was equivalent to taking her hand, he could easily be rendering her crippled the moment he did such a thing, and he was not The Maker. For all, he knew it could break her permanently and make her useless to the cause.

"Hm," he said as he studied her face again. "Nevermind then. Don't offer to have any of your... parts removed, hm? " he said. He would have to pretend something. Or... perhaps he could claim her to be a priestess of some sort. If anything, she looked the part of a head woman in religion, walking with her flowing golden hair and eyes covered from the light, walking about with her head held high and her beautiful face glowing in the white light of the sun. Some would hate her, some would still decide that they would want to take that crown on her brow, or take her even in general, as she was a prize to be won to them. But Tyr was ready for that. Tyr was ready to fight whoever came too close. But he was not ready for everyone to speculate and question. A high priestess of some sort would do. It would do fine.

"If someone questions who you are, tell them you are a high priestess," he said firmly. "And don't wander off alone. Keep close to me. Don't let anyone pull you away." She seemed so simple-minded at the moment, there was a legitimate worry as to what would happen if she were to be left alone with a complete stranger.

He clasped his hands together as he narrowed his eyes at her, frowning. It was almost disturbing hearing the lack of emotion on her tongue, someone so human acting so inhuman. "No more... Did he give you any parting words?" Tyr asked, out of pure curiosity. It did not matter, he supposed. But he had the only true link to this Ancient World he had been told to read about in the book.
 
Aila's proffered hand fell obediently back to her side upon Tyr's pointed physical rejection of her gesture, although no sign of affront or reproach marred her expression in response to his rebuke. She merely took his counter in stride, her demeanor unfazed. "I would not offer such a thing to another unless you asked it of me, Bearer." Aila's tone was level and patient, almost as if she were illustrating an elementary concept which needed no explanation. It was plainly evident that the laws she was bound by were clear beyond a shadow of a doubt in her mind, although it hadn't – or perhaps couldn't – occur to her that these were not concepts which came naturally to those of this era. That same ignorance seemed to extend to the convention of names as well – it seemed that until she was given an express command otherwise, her programming led her to address Tyr by his formal title of 'Bearer' despite his earlier introduction.

"You wish for me to deceive others who are not yourself of my identity?" Any other rational person would almost certainly have questioned why such a thing would have been asked of them. However, Aila seemed unconcerned with the nature of the deception, merely seeming to want to clarify the expectations her master had of her. "You are the Bearer. I shall not leave your side unless it is at your behest." It was unclear what would happen should another person attempt to forcefully take her from him though. Would she fight back? Could she fight back? After all, she appeared so delicate that it was hard to believe that she could put up any kind of real resistance, but at the same time, it was that same appearance that hid the true nature of the power which had earned her the title of 'The Sunderer'. One could only guess at what other secrets lay hidden within her willowy, ageless form.

As she walked, her eyeless gaze remained fixed unwaveringly forward, turning occasionally only to address Tyr before returning to its original position. It was somewhat unnerving for something mimicking life – for lack of a better description – to appear so unlifelike. The way she walked and talked seemed believably human, but the root of the unnaturalness of her demeanor lay within the total lack of subtle body language in each of her motions. It was something which went generally unnoticed and taken for granted by most people in day-to-day interactions, but its complete and utter absence in Aila was what made her seem truly inhuman, even more so than the crown circling her eyes and her angelic aura and appearance.

"The Maker did not oft speak with me. Words were not necessary for me to understand his will." There was yet another hint at the power of the ring upon Tyr's finger, but also another glimpse into Aila's past and the true nature of her creator's relationship with her. She had been no more than a tool in his arsenal – a fact which she seemed to take readily in stride. "When he spoke of me to others though, he spoke of justice and peace. Of a world guided by the wisdom of the Elders, and a vision for a future which could only be realized with my creation."

Aila paused, her aura seeming to border on pensiveness. "I must not have been conscious when he left, for he did not part with me. From my birth to my dormancy, I could always sense him there as a part of me, but when I awakened, he was simply gone." Her head tilted to regard Tyr once again, her tone still somehow disconcertingly devoid of emotion. "Now there is only you."
 
Had Tyr not watched the being step from the rock of the ruins, he would have thought she was nothing more than a simpleton who had wandered too far from a town. She understood words, yet at the same time it almost seemed like she did not. She was a being able to discern meaning but not understanding. She was supposed to be a being of wisdom and Justice, blind to the follies of men. She was certainly blind to many things when it came to man. It went beyond the folly of a simpleton or basic jester, as even they seemed to understand more basic concepts such as the need to hide identity and going beyond just doing what they had been told. She, however, only seemed to be concerned with what Tyr said, seeing him as a new master, or rather The Bearer as she said.

"Also, refer to me only as Tyr, not as The Bearer," perhaps a more direct command would be enough. "Should you ever seek me, or need my attention, or otherwise address me, you shall know me as Tyr," As certainly they would garner attention if she went around calling him The Bearer , for no other reason other than it was simply odd and people would feel compelled to give them odd looks because of the oddity. He did not need more attention on them than necessary. For all he knew, the magicians were part of a group of their own, and should they find the object of their desires so exposed...

They reached his camp, a fire had been smoldering that had been put out. A sleeping roll with ermine lined blankets was still lying out on the grassy ground. A horse stood, tied to a tree, walking lazily about, briefly looking at them as they approached, flicking his tail and then bending his head once more to begin chewing on the grass at his hooves once again. Many trinkets and bags were hanging by the trees, all of which would be packed up and brought with them when they left. Stray bones from finished meals laid discarded about the still smoking sticks that rest close to the makeshift bed.

It was a little nook in the forest, surrounded by trees and hidden from any town or other world. It was not easy to find as Tyr had chosen a place that had no path, leaving it purely up to chance that someone would find it lest they were a good tracker. It was close to a grassy knoll, dipping into a miniature valley for them to rest in.

Tyr realized he would likely have to go into town and buy another blanket as well, this was certainly going to be a bother. Though he looked up with interest as she spoke more on her Maker. Gone just like that. Perhaps chased down and not wanting his greatest creation to be found and used in a way he did not wish. Or perhaps magicians found him and wished to take away one of the greatest things he had brought unto man. If a man protects anything, it is his creation. He did not say anything quite yet, instead, he stepped to the side and grabbed a cloak. It was odd, because had anyone else spoke, that may have been a sad story.

However, it only sounded like a story when she told it. Tyr felt the ring on his finger, the way it laid heavily there. The way it could give forward his will without him even saying it. And he looked down and put the cloak on her shoulders. "For now," he said as he snapped it in place on the front. "Where this. I will get you proper clothes eventually. He took out a piece of cloth and handed it to her. "And where this around your eyes. We will be leaving here soon. We must get to the base as soon as possible."
 
The pair finally came upon the camp of which Tyr had spoken, a modest affair hidden cleverly away amidst the trees which seemed to match the man's practical tastes perfectly. The trappings were much humbler than any which Aila had been privy to in her past, but the functional nature of the encampment hardly seemed to faze her. Her expression remained unchanging as her new keeper draped a dark cloak about her pale, bare shoulders, the earthen-hued cloth managing to somewhat mute the glow of her alabaster skin. The gossamer silks which the woman currently wore were the only fabrics which had ever graced her figure in her long lifetime, so the sensation of wool against her bare skin was a first as the fibers comprising the thin material scratched lightly against flawless porcelain.

Aila's unseen gaze remained fixed on Tyr's face as he worked to clasp the cloak carefully at her throat. "Is my appearance not to your liking?" Once again, there was a rare flash of something akin to mild puzzlement in the woman's voice as she posed her question, the closest approximation to a human emotion she'd shown since her awakening. "The Maker shaped me in the form which he thought to be the most pleasing. Perhaps he was mistaken. If you know of a way to mend this defect, please do." As before, there was no apology in her tone – it sounded like a simple request and no more. It would appear that she possessed little or no self-awareness outside of the fact that her existence was brought about to serve a specific purpose, and her only goal in life appeared to be fulfilling that purpose to its fullest.

Her hand extended from beneath the swath of the cloak to take the proffered cloth in Tyr's hand, her delicate fingers caressing the soft linen fabric for a brief moment, exploring its length. In truth, Aila had never needed to don clothing herself in her past life, but fortunately, it didn't mean that she was entirely ignorant to the customs of garments either. Lifting the fabric to her face, she slowly and deliberately wrapped it around her façade, the cloth obscuring the majority of the crown which adorned her head. Tying the ends of the cloth behind her head took a little longer, but soon, her hands returned to her sides, her appearance now slightly less remarkable although still decidedly odd. Passersby would likely spare her second glances at the very least, but it was possible that with his modifications, Tyr might be able to pass her off as a blind woman, someone healing from an affliction of the gaze, or perhaps as a priestess as he had originally planned.

"This was not your 'base'? Is the 'base' your home?" It seemed that Aila was under the impression that the camp was Tyr's permanent abode, and that it was where she would be spending the duration of her servitude to him. Travel clearly wasn't something she was accustomed to considering the fact that she'd never left the city in which she'd been born, and to awaken in such a foreign time and place would already have been an overwhelming experience for any other without the added disorientation of travel. It seemed she understood the concept of a home, but while she could apply the need for a hearth to others, it appeared that she held no attachment for the place from whence she came herself. Perhaps that was for the best, considering the journey she was about to embark upon.
 
She still looked too perfect to be real.

"Your appearance is fine," Tyr grunted out absentmindedly as he studied her again. Very perfect, obviously a woman of extraordinary beauty, but now she looked less ethereal, which was all he could ask for. It was oddly comforting as well, to see her made human. In the sense that even a being who was shaped and perfected by the hands of a man rather than being left up to chance could be able to look human still. In a way, she was a direct creation of a God, as what else was someone that brought on a creature capable of speech and reason, to an extent, other than a God? "I'm sure he was certain to shape you to look as pleasing as can be..." Tyr mumbled as he rolled his eyes, because at the same time as being a genius, a God in his own right, the Maker was certainly a man first. A man who thought of a delicately shaped woman, with porcelain skin and smooth pink lips. A woman with flowing golden hair and hands and skin so soft that anyone could lay upon them and dream beautiful dreams.

There was no defect, that was the problem. It was so blatantly obvious that it must have been a man who had made her, it made the man's godlike status all but disappear. Tyr was not supposed to be so critical, yet the more he thought of this maker, the more he felt a certain disgust with the man. It was one thing to create a being to be able to cut magic from its root, rid people of their curses but at the same time show his carnal side so unabashedly. The only other reason he could think was that he hoped to make her angelic. He pinched his nose, he was thinking too hard on a man who was long dead. Now it was time to get her to a place of safety.

"This isn't my base-- well, I suppose the better way to describe it would be our base. I am apart of a society, and that means we have a place to meet to discuss what is happening in this abode. I am planning on taking you to our base, not just my base. It isn't my home, no," he was not even sure if she would be able to see his home before they reached the base. Hopefully not, in truth. Hopefully she was brought before the other men and women in the faction first, lest she be faced with too many questions for her to be able to properly answer. At the moment even his basic questions seemed to be too much for her.

He turned towards his horse and waved her follow him, assuming she still could see well enough, seeing as even with the Crown that seemed to cover her eyes she was still able to sense things around her. "Come, get on the horse, we'll be going soon," he said as he knet on his knee and laced his fingers together, holding his hands out as a stepping stone for her to use. "Step on my hands and use them to help you get up,"
 
The aura of confusion which had swirled around the woman seemed now to settle back into a quiet contentment as Tyr voiced his satisfaction with her altered appearance. She couldn’t understand how a simple change in the vestments draped about her form brought about such a marked shift in his approval, but the reasoning appeared to be of no concern to her as long as her keeper was appeased. Aila appeared to be programmed - for lack of a better word - to serve and live without question by the word of the individual who bore the matching ring, incapable of (or perhaps forbidden from) independent will and thought. In the life she had been born into, her purpose had been much clearer, the Maker having dictated all aspects of her existence with a crystalline clarity which freed her from any need for self-awareness. It wasn't until her arrival in this time and place that she'd ever felt the need to voice a question, but that in itself illustrated the fact that she was indeed capable of some form of reasoning however elementary it seemed in its nascency.

Tyr's response to her query seemed more complex than the answer she had anticipated, and despite the lack of conventional facial expressions to color her features, her newfound perplexity seemed almost palpable. One could almost see the previously unused mechanisms for logical thought turning behind her hidden gaze as she absorbed this new information, attempting to make sense out of it. "A society…so there are others like you, who are unlike the men you called upon me to touch earlier? Others born severed from the bond of the Essence?" The vocabulary which she used was unfamiliar to this time, but it wasn't hard to deduce her meaning. From her perspective, the ability to wield magic sprang from a connection to what she called the 'Essence', a bond which some were born with and others without. It would appear that the nature which lay behind the ability which earned her the epithet of 'The Sunderer' originated from her capacity to sever that bond with a simple touch. The next logical question would have been to inquire as to the nature of the conflict which likely had been the cause of the bloodbath back in the ruins, but Aila's curiosity seemed to stop at the simple practicalities which were presented directly to her instead of speculating on grander motives. After all, her loyalty lay only with Tyr, so as far as she was concerned, his reasonings and beliefs alone could be found faultless.

As Tyr motioned Aila towards the horse, she followed obediently, her movement seemingly unhampered by the addition of the cloth about her face. As he knelt to offer his laced hands for her to mount the steed, she hesitated, caught between the imperative desire to obey and the clear unfamiliarity with the practice of horse riding. The former finally seemed to win out as she raised an uncertain foot, placing it cautiously on Tyr's makeshift step as she gingerly pressed her weight into it. As she began to lift the other though, she swayed dangerously as she fought to maintain her balance on a surface much less stable than solid ground, her hands instinctively reaching out to steady herself against the horse's flank, earning a somewhat disgruntled snort from the beast.

"I'm afraid I have never gotten on a horse in my past experience. Please forgive my inadequacy in fulfilling your request." The woman seemed genuinely remorseful of the perceived shortcoming - it was another new experience for her, seeing as she'd never been asking to do anything outside of her known abilities in her past life. She'd placed her other foot back on solid ground once again to stabilize herself, although the first still remained planted on Tyr's hands. It was hard to say whether she was intending to make another attempt at getting on the horse, but it was clear that her chances of success the second time were likely going to be just as good as her first.
 
Tyr did not fully understand the nature of The Sunderer.

Perhaps he never would. Aila was not acting like a normal woman, no matter how many times Tyr expected her to. It was like he was waiting for the inevitable moment when she, like any normal woman would slap him for even thinking of asking her to go somewhere with him that was not to be left in some town. Or for her to demand answers about the current state of the world, asking why her Maker was gone and what had become of him, why she was brought out by Tyr and for what purpose. But she did not seem to care about any of that. She only seemed to care about the fact that she was brought out and it was Tyr that had done it, thus it would be Tyr that she answered to for the rest of her days. Or at the very least, she would be loyal to whoever wore the ring on their fingers in the same way Tyr bore it on his own. Absently, he ran his thumb over the band of metal, lost in the feeling of the smooth surface that had somehow connected him to the woman at his side. It was uncanny, almost, the way it did it. As he realized, it was something which connected them, mind to mind, controlling her without him even meaning to. Was this akin to slavery? Tyr shook it from his mind, he did not want to think about that. He could not think of that. Not now.

"There are others like me, yes, already severed from the bond." It confused him, for a moment, until he realized she was likely only ever presented before those who bore magic. She was, after all, a tool to dispose of it. It was possible, that in her past life she was sheltered as a child in a castle would be. Shielded from the rest of the world until now that he had to move her across it. It may have been cruelty to have woken her up then, and thrust her into the unknown. But that did not matter, for now, and for now, she was by his side and he would bring her back to the base for them to see the full power of The Sunderer. The myth that had become a reality. And truly, the truth was stranger than fiction.

Tyr looked up at the horse and then to Aila. That was right, she was sheltered. Even with his assistance, it would be hard for her to even understand the nature of a horse. He unclasped his hands, setting her foot gently on the ground before he stood. It was lucky that he was a sturdy built man and she a small woman. While Tyr's strength did not exceed him, and in many ways, he could be called average, he was strong enough to lift a woman half his size. Muscle had been built through had to practice sword fighting in his younger years and having to do select manual labor. He was a huntsman before, and crafter, though he had never been a warrior. And now he did not have to be, as she would not only put him in such a position in the society that he would likely be praised, she would also provide them such an advantage that no one could challenge their belief again. Magic would die, as it should, and no one could stop the end from coming.

"Alright, er... if I may..." he did not have to ask, yet still felt awkward as he clasped his hands about her small waist, lifting her up with ease. He placed her on the horse. "Take the reins to help you balance," he commanded before untying the horse from the tree and tying his bag down at the back end of it. Then he placed his foot in the stirrups and swung his leg over, taking his seat behind her. There was a town not too far away from them. He took the reins and looked up at the rising sun, they would be able to make it to restock before sundown. He looked down at her.

"Remember what I said, when we see other people, make sure you don't wander off or go with anyone that is not me," he felt like he was explaining to a child. Any adult would likely be insulted by the insinuation of his tone, but truthfully he did not know how much she knew and how much she did not know. All he knew was that there was a shabby town for them to rest in for the rest of the night and that it was better than nothing.
 
Any other woman might have been startled or taken aback by the forward - though polite - grasp which Tyr placed firmly about Aila's slender waist, lifting her easily to place her atop the awaiting steed. As was likely expected by now, the young woman seemed to take the new development in stride, hesitating only momentarily as she attempted to find a center of balance astride the living, breathing bone and muscle of the beast beneath her. More likely than not, her feet had never left solid ground in her past experiences, so learning to ride a horse on the fly was a fairly tall order, albeit one which she seemed to tackle with admirable aplomb. The horse whickered softly, tossing its mane in a small motion which still somehow threatened to unseat its sole rider. She took the proffered reins obediently, grasping them with a mild air of uncertainty which was quickly replaced by relief when she found that they provided her a slight anchor upon which to steady herself.

As Tyr secured his bag and swung himself up behind her, each movement elicited a subsequent shift in the horse's footing, causing Aila to sway dangerously, her only protest to grip the reins in her hands marginally harder. However, once he settled into his customary seat, albeit somewhat more crowded now with two aboard, the woman found that the shifts in the steed's stance seemed considerably less pronounced now that Tyr's practiced hand was there to steady it, his body forming a half-cage around her as he took the reins. The threat of toppling off now seemed much less imminent and her calves loosened up slightly from where they'd been squeezing the horse's sides, although luckily she hadn't possessed the strength to really bother the animal.

Aila's shrouded gaze bobbed up and down briefly as she indicated her understanding of Tyr's command regarding other people, although such affirmation wasn't really necessary. As long as the bearer of the ring commanded it, his new ward would fulfill his request to the best of her abilities, regardless of the nature of the task. Although he had now taken the reins and control of the horse, her hands remained on the leather loop where it curved closest to her as if she still gleaned some sort of instinctive comfort from having something to hold on to while everything else around her moved.

"I shall not leave your side unless you command it, Tyr." It was the first time that she'd addressed him by his given name, but in spite of that fact, she delivered it with no hint of hesitation or uncertainty. Others who served a master would have been timid in addressing their superior with such a lack of formality, but his request to be called by his given name transcended any preconceived notions of honorary titles which may have existed in her mind.

As the horse took up a steady pace, apparently unaffected by the added weight of a second rider, the woman fell silent once more, any thoughts that might have been going through her mind imperceivable on her smooth features. Any other woman, nay, any other individual, would have questioned where they were headed and how long it would take to get there. However, for Aila, time seemed to be an ephemeral concept, perhaps unsurprising for a being who had slumbered within a stone for countless centuries until her reawakening. All that she knew was that she was here now, and that the bearer of the ring had a purpose for her. It was neither her station nor her right to question his motives even if she had the desire to do so, and as such, she seemed quietly content with her lot in her new life in spite of its limitations. After all, it was impossible for her to long for something which had never been hers to begin with.
 
Tyr was, in truth, happy to have silence as they rode. It allowed him to think on the woman which he had before him that he now surrounded, his hands solidly on the reins and his body rigid as the horse began to walk. They stopped every now and then to water the horse and let it rest, but they rode on until nightfall, as he had planned. It was not a rich town, likely it never had been, with people dressed in rags that barely protected them from the crisp night winds that now was beginning to befall the land. Tyr pulled the cloak on his shoulders tighter as he looked around, his pulled into a soft frown as he urged the horse closer to a rickety old tavern that stood towards the middle of the town. The town's people watched as they walked through, though none actually came to speak, however he had no doubt that Aila was who they were watching.

"Remember, don't talk to anyone else," Tyr whispered before he threw himself off of the horse, reaching up to help Aila down, grabbing her waist once again and sitting her on the ground. He would have to teach her how to properly get on a horse of things kept going like this, it would get tiresome very quickly. It was odd to be travelling with another, especially a woman even if it was only by looks alone. He was a bachelor, and as far as he knew he would forever be one. Tyr had not begun to look for a wife when his peers had when they were strapping young teens, getting maidens to watch them as they did various tricks.

It was not that Tyr did not wish to have a maiden of his own to hold, but he had never found the time to be the bachelor which could attract them. He never found the time to be able to bring a deer to the doorstep of the young woman he thought was pretty. He never had the time to draw her into a kiss beneath the midnight moon in hopes that she would like it. And he never had the confidence to let his love be known to any woman.

In short, Tyr never tried and he did not think he ever would find the ability to.

So instead, he told Aila to stay close to his side as he stepped into the Inn, a smile on his lips as he ducked in and came up to the counter that the innkeeper sat behind. She looked up lazily, her dark hair pushed from her eyes as she eyed the both of them. She leaned back and sighed. "A room will be 6 bronzes, you can get food and drink in the lobby." she said shortly. Tyr quickly fished out the coin to pay her, he was looking forward to get the food he wanted.
 
Aila maintained a passive silence as the day drew on, the distance they had traveled since they embarked upon their journey measured only in the steady hoof beats of the horse beneath them, the passing of various unfamiliar landmarks, and the slow but inexorable march of the sun overhead as it raced them lazily towards the distant horizon. To the young woman's credit, there was no utterance of complaint as endless hours flew by, her face a placid, unchanging mask, even beneath the shroud of the cloth tied about her crowned eyes. She moved from her appointed seat only when they made occasional stops to water and rest the horse, and even then, only at Tyr's direct behest. Her posture had been somewhat rigid and uncertain at first as they rode, but as the hours wore on, she seemed to gradually learn the movement of the beast below her. By the time the sun had passed its zenith in the sky, the pale, willowy figure looked physically more at home on horseback than she had that morning.

Nevertheless, a full day of riding was a challenge for most, even those accustomed to the mode of travel. For the uninitiated such as Aila, it turned out to be a herculean feat, even if she made no move to protest. By the time dusk fell, the sun dropping behind the distant mountains with a splash of dusty pastel hues, the woman's posture had unconsciously stiffened once again, although her silence proved that it was merely a reflexive response to a physical discomfort.

It was clear that Tyr meant to pause their journey for the evening when he directed the horse into a small town, making his way directly to its center instead of skirting it as they had with several others earlier in the day. The newcomers drew gazes and hushed utterances from the locals that they passed on the small, packed dirt road that served as the main thoroughfare though the town, the townsfolk withdrawing to the edges of the street as the unfamiliar riders rode by. It was the kind of village where everyone knew each other, where a person couldn't catch a cold without becoming the talk of the town. These newcomers were not only strangers, but looked the part of foreigners as well - even to the untrained eye, it took no worldly experience to tell that neither of them hailed from any of the towns nearby, especially the woman. By the time the pair arrived at the tavern in the center of town, word had already traveled there of their approach.

Aila seemed blissfully unaware of the unusual attention, her face still a study in tranquility, although the faintest crinkle of discomfort creased the smoothness of her brow. The source quickly became evident as Tyr helped her from atop the horse and she nearly toppled, her legs seemingly refusing to support her own weight. For one who had never ridden a horse before today, a full day on horseback inevitably resulted in painfully cramped legs, the tender skin of her unprotected thighs chafed by hours in the saddle. Instinctively, she clung to the arms which had lifted her down for support, fighting all the while to regain her ability to stand independently. She seemed confused, as if uncertain why her own body refused to obey her commands, but after several uncertain moments, her legs seemed to at least recover enough to allow her to stand on her own, albeit somewhat shakily.

"My apologies, Tyr. It would seem that I've lost some faculty over my limbs." Despite the struggle she'd just undergone, Aila's voice still delivered the words in an even, supremely unruffled tone, as if her mind existed completely separately from her physical form. "I will do my best to regain control over them."

As Tyr led the way into the relative shelter of the tavern before them, Aila followed on less certain legs, although she did her best to keep pace with him. When she reached the counter of the inn a moment or two behind him, she extended a hand to brace herself against it, instinctively wanting to trust her balance to something more reliable than her own limbs. To her credit - although whether or not the effort was a conscious one was uncertain - her expression still remained unfazed, her demeanor remaining within the realm of passably travel-weary, likely to Tyr's great relief. The last thing they needed now was to be turned away by the innkeeper as drunks or worse. Aila watched quietly as Tyr secured their lodgings for the night, her mind clearly focused on following his earlier orders and remaining upright under her own power.
 
Tyr had forgotten the problems new riders often faced when they rode on horseback. Few people he rode with had never ridden before and were prepared for the soreness that usually came with it. Tyr himself had ridden for sport when he was younger, often racing others through the woods, particularly his sister. They would ride until day had turned into night and their legs and hands were sore from controlling the beast beneath them. That was a long time ago, so long that he had forgotten what it felt like to be a new rider, fresh from the saddle, unable to to get a handle on his own gait. He let out a soft sigh as he took Aila's hand and put it in the crook of his elbow so that she would have something to hold on to that was more stable than she was while they walked, one aside the other. Perhaps this would help with the illusion that she was, perhaps, a highly respected lady or even his wife. No one had questioned them, likely too lost in their own work to care.

"Should have warned you about rider's legs..." Tyr sighed quietly as he shook his head. He led them away from the counter, a key in hand. They could stop to get something to eat and drink before they went up, at the very least he could. He was unsure if Aila was even able to do such things. "That is my fault, don't apologize. I didn't think--" That was what got him into trouble every single time. He did not think about what the Sunderer would actually be and now he was taking care of a woman that did not seem to understand the basic functions of the world.

'You don't think anything through!' he sighed, rubbing his brow. Even so, he had a woman, a Sunderer, to deal with now.

"Do you eat? Drink?" he asked, as even a baby was able to figure out those basic functions for survival. He took them over to a table, helping her into a chair before he took one for himself. It had been far too long of a day. He rubbed his brow as he waited for her response, either way he waved over a barmaid, a dark haired young woman with a large smile on her lips as she looked a the both of them, hands on her hips.

"Well what can I get ya today?" she asked clearly.

Tyr waved his hand. "Bottle of ale, would you?" he said as he took out a few coins and slid them over to her. She took them and disappeared only to reappear a few moments later with two cups and a bottle of ale. Tyr took it and very gratefully poured it into his cup and began drinking.
 
Aila didn't seem in the least bit bothered by Tyr's apology - as far as she was concerned, he had nothing to apologize for as her shortcomings were merely a result of a flawed design on her part. Hopefully, it was something that her body would become accustomed to sooner rather than later; the woman herself didn't seem to be concerned with consequences or the idea that they would have potentially several more days of the same hard riding ahead of them. It seemed that she took each day, perhaps even each moment, as it came. After all, when an individual possessed no autonomy or desire for free will, eventualities held no sway over them.

She followed obediently as he led them to a table in the inn's modest tavern, the hard, unyielding wooden surface of the distinctly stationary chair a welcome relief after a day on horseback. In response to Tyr's question, Aila nodded before offering further clarification. "My body can be nourished by sustenance, although I am uncertain of its necessity." Odd words coming from yet an odder woman. Logically, it made sense that a form comprised of flesh which was susceptible to the harsh realities of the world would require the same care that any other body would demand. Perhaps what she said about food and drink potentially not being a necessity was true, but her body would likely suffer the familiar consequences of malnutrition and dehydration if denied those simple commodities.

"In my time with the Maker, my form was sustained by his magic. However, in his absence, I suspect it will require other sustenance." Luckily for Tyr, Aila spoke before the barmaid could come within earshot of them to take their order. Goodness only knew what would have come of the conversation had she overheard it.

As the barmaid left and returned with the drinks that he'd ordered, the room around them hummed softly with muted conversation, a wayward laugh or expletive occasionally piercing the atmosphere before dying back down into the general babble. The mood in the tavern had shifted ever so slightly when the two newcomers had entered, clearly foreigners even in an establishment meant for travelers. More than one pair of eyes had turned to scrutinize them, and many gazes lingered even after the initial interest had seemingly subsided. Several of the conversations had taken on more noticeably hushed tones, and it was no mystery what their participants' new topic of discussion had turned to. For the time being though, the rest of the patrons of the tavern seemed content to leave the pair to their business, satisfied with watching them from afar.

Aila watched as Tyr poured himself a cup of ale from the bottle which the barmaid had delivered, mildly curious. She understood the concept of eating and drinking, having seen others do it in the past, but had no frame of reference for taste considering her lack of need to consume food or drink in the past. In fact, taste as a whole was an entirely new concept to her, but it wasn't until she'd had a chance to ingest something that she would even be aware of that.
 
Tyr was unsure what answer he was hoping to get as he began to down his first cup of ale. He, for a moment, wished to pretend he was on his own in that tavern with no one to answer to and no one to wheel around. It would have to be a week or so more of this, his hometown was a few leagues away and horses could not travel so long without rest, nor could their legs or rear ends take so much travel. Already Aila looked worse for wear-- when it came to her gait only. As always, she seemed immaculate in every other regard, and he was sure the patrons of the tavern knew that as well. He let out a sigh.

"You must be thirsty," he said as he poured her a cup of ale, filling it half way before pushing it over to her. "Drink that, it may help you relax as well, just be careful while you do it..." he trailed off as he suddenly realized how hungry he was. His stomach growled, the pains of hunger were more apparent. He had not eaten since the night before, and he was not a small man. Not to mention, the morning brought an intensity he was no prepared for, and now he had someone he was supposed to take guardianship over in a world which had long moved on and left the one she knew behind. His world was rocked, overturned and changed before he had even had a chance to demand it wait for him to catch his breath and he had not had a moment of rest since it had all began. It surprised him still that it was only that night, still the same day as it had been. Already he felt his shoulders droop and his body beginning to wind down now that he was sitting and the ale was taking effect.

He looked on her for a moment, the remaining ghost of the great empire. Her pale face, visage slightly obscured by the cloth he had her wrap around her eyes, a cloak partially keeping her radiance at bay, a creature from another time being thrown into a world which she knew nothing of. He felt his shoulders relax more. He doubted whoever her previous master, Maker, was they did not let her out of their abodes often, likely keeping her there, squandered for whenever they needed to remove the magic of some offender. He laced his fingers beneath his chin, he thought to say something. Then he closed his mouth again and abruptly stood up.

"Wait here, I am going to go get us food." He took his necktie from his throat, letting the front of his shirt fall partially open. He sat it on the table and turned away from Aila to go to the counter, rubbing his temples. Abruptly he stopped and turned back to her. "If anyone sits here or tries to take you somewhere, call my name loudly and tell them I am your husband and I will be very angry to see them here." At the very least the last part was true, after all this he would be exceedingly angry if someone tried to take her for a night's worth of fun.

He turned and went to the counter to order himself a simple stew, something warm and hearty, along with buttered bread to fill his stomach.
 
Aila took the half-filled cup of ale obediently, her head tipping slightly to the side as her attention turned to the cloudy golden liquid she held in her hands, closely approximating the motions of a person studying something unfamiliar. It was no surprise that alcohol was new to her, but any misgivings she might have had about it seemed thoroughly dispersed by the clear directive which Tyr had given her. Lifting the cup to her rosy lips, she took a first sip without so much as an experimental sniff. A startled cough interrupted her initial taste as a cascade of bubbles assailed her tongue, the carbonation a rather unpleasant surprise to one who couldn't have known to expect it. However, the reaction seemed only to be a physical reflex, and as soon as she recovered from her initial surprise, the young woman consumed the remainder of the cup with a dogged determination. After all, Tyr's instructions had been to drink what she'd been given, and it would go against every fiber of her being to disobey his order.

Of course, all of the carbonation she had consumed in such a short period of time had to go somewhere, and Aila was caught by yet another surprising first when the bubbles in the ale sought to escape in the same direction as they'd come. A rather unladylike burp issued from her lips, drawing several muted snickers from nearby tables as the locals found amusement in such unrefined behavior in a woman who seemed so far above their station. Aila, on the other hand, appeared as unfazed as ever, simply nodding her understanding as Tyr made his intentions to seek out sustenance clear, leaving her alone to guard their table as he made his way to the tavern counter.

The muttering at the nearby tables grew marginally louder upon Tyr's absence, hooded gazes growing bolder in their lingering glances as the man walked out of earshot. No one seemed courageous enough to make a move yet though, regardless of what their intentions were. If the pair were planning on staying for a meal and a night's rest, there would be plenty of opportunities to approach them after all. For the time being, the rest of the clientele seemed content to take measure of the strangers to their town from the safety of their seats, their attentions pointedly directed at the beverages in their hands.

Aila took no heed of the quiet stirrings around her, content to patiently wait where she'd been told to remain for Tyr's return. Any other person might have been more curious about their surroundings and the company they currently kept, but the woman's sole focus seemed to remain purely upon obeying her keeper's will. As she waited though, an odd fuzziness began to creep in at the edges of her consciousness, a slow and steady advance which seemed to wrap her mind in layers of cotton that felt inexplicably comforting. If she'd had any unconscious anxieties, they seemed to gently be swept away, leaving the hint of a smile on her lips as she rested her forearms on the table for support, the cup still gripped between her hands.

The barmaid approached once again, this time with another bottle of ale. "Another round for you and your husband, courtesy of the gentleman at the bar." The small smile on Aila's face seemed to put the serving woman at a little more ease, returning the expression with the wider, practiced grin of a career waitress before whisking off to tend to her other patrons again. Aila left both bottles untouched, her unseen gaze still fixed seemingly aimlessly in front of her in spite of the curious stare leveled upon her by the man whom the barmaid had indicated.

The man responsible for the ale was a balding, middle-aged fellow currently nursing a pint of his own at the counter, his gaze roving over the tavern with an air of confidence and familiarity that hinted at ownership. He seemed mildly taken aback when his offering went unacknowledged, but shook the pause off as quickly as it came. Instead, he turned his attention to the other half of the traveling pair, picking up his ale to make his way over to Tyr. The affectation he donned was an affable one as he approached the man, a friendly smile adorning his features. "Welcome to Dunnhaven." He addressed Tyr cordially, the slightest hint of deference coloring his tone. After all, he likely assumed that the couple were of decent means based on the quality of the clothing they wore and upon Aila's visible breeding. "My name is Harmond, the head of our humble town. To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?" For all intents and purposes, his friendliness seemed genuine although it also bore the practiced mark and ease of a seasoned bureaucrat.
 
The only saving grace which seemed to come from this morning endeavor was the fact that Aila was obedient to a near-fault. No matter what his orders, she would follow without question and with a near serene expression as though she was more than happy to do so for him. He supposed that he should have been grateful that he had gotten what seemed to amount to nothing more than a tool. It brought forth many questions, but it also caused a shadow of a doubt to come into his mind as he thought about bringing her back to the ministry, showing her abilities to them as the powerful creature she was created to be. Of all the things she was, a creature of power seemed to be far from it.

She looked to be a woman beyond sitting there in a tavern with lowly men and women around her from Gods know where. It was almost ridiculous what he was trying to do, something that might as well have been dreamt up in one of his feverish dreams when he was a child. He would be a laughing stock when he first arrived at the ministry, the fool who found a random woman around the ruins and then decided to take her with him as some sort of sick prize, claiming her to be this grand tool they have been looking for over the years to come, some man who had no relations to studies of it whatsoever had managed to fork it out through all the muck and lies which had been thrown out about her existence, with only the claim of the ring being what ringed true. Every other belief which had been forged and made over the years was false, fabricated. Tyr would need to make an example before he made his announcement too loudly if he did not want to be checked for insanity.

After a display, they could not verifiably believe him to be insane. But it was not like he could simply grab a random magic-user off the streets without precedence, he did not know where one was nor where they would come forth and convene. A stressed look took over his features as he roughly rubbed his nose and lowered his head, calling for whiskey and then taking a quick swig of it, letting it burn down his throat before he turned to acknowledge the man that had approached him. He let out a breath through his nose. He was not interested in the conversation now, but he forced a smile to twitch on his lips. He did not actually care about why Tyr was here, only that Tyr brought a decent amount of coin with him.

"The name is Tyr," Tyr said with an equally faux, though genuine looking smile. He brought a hand up in a half salute and then dropped it. "We just came from traveling, trying to get up to Theilon."

Harmond let out a low whistle, his brows raising. "That's rather far, any reason you going back there?"

"Picked up my wife a few towns only, we got married a bit ago," Tyr said absently. "Now we're heading back to my estate."

"Ha! Another round for the happy couple then?" Harmond asked, a smile on his lips that showed his teeth. Tyr shrugged. Why not?

A patron was growing restless with interest, his eyes flicking to the turned back of the

"My home town, I just picked up my wife from a few towns over, bringing 'er back home." Harmond's eyes lit up as he let his teeth show in another smile.

"How lovely! Another round for the married couple, then?" he asked.

A patron sat back in the shadows with a curious look on his face, biting his lip as he flicked his eyes to the turned back of the tall dark-haired man that was now at the bar, likely waiting for food and more drink to come out. He lapped at his lips and turned to the face of the woman he was with. She looked odd, near scary despite how innocent she was. His magic felt electric on his hands, but he toned it down as he simply asked for another drink. he felt compelled to go and ask her what she was, how she came to be. But he was having trouble building up the courage.
 
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