twenty thousand leagues out of yours [c]

[attr="class","itsover"]
On the cold and rasp ground of those caverns, he lied in fetal position with nothing but a translucid piece of silk cloth covering his entire body. Slightly illuminated by the natural crystals existing in that part of The Depths, the boy's empty eyes looked ahead at the water dripping from the ceiling and creating a small puddle of salty water near that soulless human.

Splat. Splat. Splat.

He extended his hand, trying to feel the liquid on his skin.

He hadn't felt a real thing in a long time.

But then the ones who were there to make him their Saviour returned. Two men to make him stand up and a woman to make him feel awake.

It was time to see his followers.

It was time to be their God.

A sound of pain coming from his mouth as his left hand touched his screeching temple. It was his first time back to the place of his past and, as such, the first time that many ghosts were coming back to haunt him.

Were they really there? If not, why was he seeing them?

Shaking his head as if regrouping himself, he kept on marching through the darkness, the old hurricane lamp on his right hand being his only guide. Step after step he walked.

How long had he been inside? Hours? Days? The mist covering his brain ever since he stepped foot inside of the Pale Rock made it so that he couldn't tell neither time or location...

... but she could.

"To the left, my dear", the sweet voice whispered in his ear as he felt a warm embrance on his back.

Gasping, he quickly turned around. One name echoing one his mind.

Anna.

But there was no one. Just... nothing.

His right hand was shaking, so the other one needed to stop such thing. This took only seconds: even if confused, this one had the ability to overcome things that many could not, as he had proven to himself time and time again. He turned around once more, ready to continue his journey deep underground. There was no quitting now:

All the ghosts needed to be found.

And so they beginning to be.

In front of him he gazed upon someone that prevented him from taking his intended steps. A woman with purple eyes. A woman he knew. A woman he had just been touched by. As her mouth was about to open,  another light emerged from further behind the one she wished to speak to.

And, from this light, came a voice.

"Pardon me, miss."

Her mouth now shut, she lifted her index finger and put it closely againt her lips. Silence. Then, with the blink of an eye, she disappeared.

In her place, Gwrtheyrn saw reality once again: a pathway leading to the left and a pathway leading to right.

A choice. And a deep breath.

But first...

I'm afraid that such method will prove rather useless, his voice was serene, calm... charming, a contrast to the activity currently going on inside his skull, Look, he pointed with a finger of his free left hand to the ground, remaining with his back turned against the male voice that had spoke to him.

Close to the ground they both were stepping on and at a height not higher than their ankles, a dark fog could be seen swipping at everything underneath it when the low wind currents went stronger; a dark colour that make sure to hide everything it touched, making all that was different into an all that was the same as everything else.

In the Hamlet we say that entering The Depths is often the same as jumping into the hole of the Buried One... You never really get out of it.

He knew such thing very well.

But I'm just a lost lady, so I wouldn't that much about it, he finished with a soft smile as he turned around his body, revealing his face that was being illuminated by the guiding light he held on his right hand.

A light that would also reveal other things: some completly, some just details.

His tunic was white and made out of whool, some of its decorative embroidments being black as the trousers and gloves he was wearing. All clothing he had stolen after the previous one got destroyed in his first outting into the Outlands. His belt was brown - just like his boots - and, in it, his rapier was sheathed and visible on his left hip.

They were the poor dresses of a poor man, even if his facial features indicated that he could very well belong to the highest of nobilities.

Along with all these, Beggar's Wail could also be seen dangling from his neck. At the moment of this interaction, the scattered eyes of this uncanny stone were slightly open - as if it had just woke up from a long slumber - and their pupils lazily moving as if it was inspecting its surroundings.

This was a misfortune of bad timing since, now that he looked at the man in front of him...

A Vagrant, he concluded from the other's attires and the badge that could be seen somewhere in it.

Just my luck, he also thought, wondering about how in the maze that are The Depths he ended up encountering what was probably the only person in one of the Sponsored Jobs dumb enough to go there. 

He was also a rather beautiful man. Long air with a soft skin that contrasted with the fierce yet hipnotizing eyes with each he looked at what was ahead of him. If not having heard his voice prior to seeing him, Gwrtheyrn could've very well made the same mistake of assuming that he was dealing with someone of the opposite sex.

In some ways, it was like looking at a mirror.

A mirror that showed him what he could've been if life had handed him another set of cards.

And answering your question honestly would be saying that I'm merely a man looking for his past. Nothing more, he spoke, raising his hands slightly as if to say that he meant no harm.

I need to choose my steps carefully here, he thought, knowing that trouble with someone from a Government Sponsored Job was the last thing he needed, especially when in a location where to use his Vel he'd need to be quite imaginative and still not being fully healed from his encounter with a Beast some days before.

He needed to get out not only for his sake, but for the sake of all the one's that needed back in the shore of The Wharf.

He waited the other's reply. He waited what was to come next.

Maybe they could even help each other out.

ulla

[attr="class","itsover"]
To the question regarding the possibility of his involvement with the natural dark fog created in those uncanny caverns, the answer was a one-worded convincing denial - even if Asha did not know this, Gwrtheyrn's Vel (while having to do with that to which belongs to the realms of shadows) had no connection to the gas state of matter... at least not at that point in time. Not to say that he himself wished to get out of The Depths, so having responsibility in this matter would be more harmful than beneficial.

He knew about all this, but decided to take the risk of coming inside nevertheless.

However, he also took no offense to the Vagrant's remarks: after all, suspicion sometimes is never enough when it comes to the world they were living in.

He knew this very well.

To the man's following apologetic words that carried the same tone as their meaning, Gwrtheyrn dismissed the need for such.

Don't say sorry. You were not the first nor will you be the last, he stated in aknowledgement of how his own facial features were passible of being misgendered, following this by replying with what had brought him so deep into the insides of Pale Rock.

The man's response to that was an interesting one and, to Gwrtheyrn's interpretation, revealed something about the character of this long haired protector of people and merchandise: he was, at least, as calm as Gwrtheyrn himself. This was obvious for, in the young adult of the Fishing Hamlet's experience, beatings by members of the Sponsored Jobs had been given for less than this brief encounter, so they were off to a good start; then there was also his voice and facial expressions, which were contained, objective, and, maybe because of this mixed together, gave an unexplainable feeling of honesty. The latter was what Gwrtheyrn, as someone who considered himself to be a good reader of people, found the most striking - for better or worse, this Vagrant's nature appeared as one that set him out to do exactly as he said.

Something to confirm. Something to keep in mind.

Finally, there was that part of his response.

"I'm searching for something similar"...

...could that 'something' they were both looking for be shared by both?

I'll look until I find it, but I won't oppose to you joining me during the time you have available, he said, left hand on his pants front pocket while his right hand wrapped around Begar's Wail as it was an egg that needed warmth, You're right in saying that nothing good can be found here, although I must say that I also didn't expect to find a Vagrant in here... Your reason must also be an important one, he added, knowing that the one's of that profession that were familiar with The Wharf usually didn't pry these dark caves.

Removing his right hand from Beggar's Wail - who had now turned back to its original form - and also putting on the pocket of his pants, he continued.

Let's follow the path to left. But first...

Through the dim lights of their lanterns, he gazed at his eyes, voice unshaken.

My name is Gwrtheyrn Knútr Medrawt, from The Wharf.

He was expecting a reply before they continued on their way. Hopefully, trust could be built from this point onwards. If not, the following hours could prove to be quite difficult...

... and Gwrtheyrn doesn't like to create difficult situation when such isn't needed.

ulla