Ernya.com

Floating, as if upon only air.
Those were the days that passed, those were the dreams of night, those were the people brushing past - barely images, with names - in a house that felt truly suspended in not only time, but space. Wasn't that what he had attempted to achieve, in those seemingly fruitless hours of half-hearted elemental practice, attempted to replicate that careless drift of sleep --

It was strange to live without the set routines and structured schedules built over a short lifetime. Where were the letters? The gold-etched fountain pen with which to sign each carefully crafted note? A leather bound address book (Italian), half-memorized, checked only to ensure the utmost accuracy in the writing-out of the many titles of the addressee -- set on the right corner of a redwood desk, made tiny by the hollow of a high-vaulted ceiling, and the echoing halls of that --

Home. He had returned there, on Sunday, for necessities. The blonde boy - no, master inventor! as incredulous as that might be! - had sent him off with the same wide, bright grin that was difficult to comprehend. That, and the colorful blurs of the others he'd momentarily left behind, had swum in his vision as he walked, thinking, through the chambers and gardens of his expensive, enormous, extravagant, exquisite estate. The servants of the house were, as always, present and in full attention, dressed well, postured well, (trained well) with crescent moons for smiles and dark little suns for eyes. For all the glistening obsidian floors and vivid sprays of bouquets, and all the little worlds of rainbows living in the crystal chandeliers, it was always really...

Empty - was comfort. Empty was security. The grand scale of his residence had allowed him great distance from the meddling of unwanted people. Personal space was an abundant commodity once he had finished the work of the day (Have you phoned the chairman yet? He is waiting on your call. And tonight, that charity dinner). Here Rian felt little threat, where each chair and vase and frame so familiar, and in that wintered but warm mansion of the inventor he was always on edge even behind the lock of his door and the guise of afternoon sleep. Unfamiliar faces, with unfamiliar customs of operation... Without perfect control, without unquestionable authority, without...

Rian had considered his options that first day, wondered what strategies to undertake, what allies to make. He had approached everyone with tact - starting first with the youngest, Miles Taylor, through whom he had an easy introduction to Liam Sullivan. The two seemed the most easy-going of the group, comfortable with their surroundings and without much complaint; and though he kept a good distance, he found it an uncomplicated means of amusement to watch the two of them, silently, from behind an over-read book, as they camped in front of the living room monitor and played tireless hours of video games.

He had made it a point the first morning to speak to the relative newcomer of the group, who he learned was named Altair Nejem. He had thought that he could perhaps make a quick ally by helping to receive him into the group, but Simon had quickly and rightfully taken over that process, and Altair seemed preoccupied with the boy and everything else after that. Rian had then retreated, admiring the peaceful, quiet nature of Altair too much to bother him again.

There was also that matter of the boy himself - who turned out to be not only the only official resident of the house, but also its owner, operator, and master inventor. Simon - noted along with many of his self-adorned nicknames - was a most generous, though eccentric, host. There was never a need in the house, as everything, bar the more complicated, experimental, and overall inconsequential devices, was smoothly run and kept. Despite his sanguine energy and child-like charm, Rian could not help a strong feeling of distrust stemming from the uncertainty of the entire situation and the many unanswerable unknowns. It was with a little guilt that he interacted, wary, with Simon during the short training sessions following that, and he deliberately limited those sessions as much as possible, at the cost of very little development, to avoid showing too much of that distrust to the boy.

He had instead invested all of that distrust into that Salazar-Montenegro heir, Celcia. Initially, he had attempted to pass himself off as someone else, but he was certain, through his own trained eye and memory, that she would not so easily be fooled. Rian had accepted this, and accepted her presence, and took great lengths to avoid contact with her as much as possible, not wanting to be involved in the affairs of the world she represented - Rian much preferred to make new acquaintances, though uncomfortable, than to delve back into what was familiar.

He had gotten then opportunity to approach Yorishirou Nagatou one early morning - it was more of a surprise, really, running into someone in those hours, and he had solemnly apologized for the intrusion before offering a formal introduction to the annoyed man. Yorishirou was icy upfront: with some consideration, he later ventured his thanks for the incident in the snow the first day, which did turn out to be an accurate guess. Still, that cold demeanor was a clear, easily-read signal, which Rian appreciated and knew how to deal with: it was easy enough to afford the man enough space in the quiet of the early mornings to do as he liked.

Sometimes there was also that poised Morgana Wolfe in the sunrise hours, who he seemed to run into quite often by virtue of their shared early rising and their similar preferred spaces - the tea cupboard, the bookshelves, the quieter corners. He had hesitated to speak to her the first few days, preferring to give her necessary breathing room as she settled in, and he had waited to introduce himself during morning tea later in the week. The other lady, Eveleen Campbell, was a little more difficult to find common ground with, and he ended up being unable to tactfully approach her during that first week...

His contemplations of his companions washed out as he attempted to gather his belongings; he resisted the temptation to bring too much beyond what was necessary, as it might insult Simon's great generosity as a host... He chose his most simple civilian clothing with the goal of being inconspicuous, and took only his bow and arrows from the rest of his personal belongings. He left the firearms untouched in the corner of his closet, left his father untouched in the center of the family schemes and political intrigue - and left - quickly, without much thought, swallowing discomfort-- and returned to the mansion.

And that was what had transpired - floated by, really, in feeling - over that first week, with little progress and little success. He didn't mind. After all, he didn't care about what would happen... He would just tide this situation by, as uninvolved as possible, without useless investment. The world never changes.


Thursday morning - he had woken, at his habitual almost-6 AM, from a dream.
He had sprung awake from the nightmare, gasping out the remnants of fear, fingers curled tight and eyes wide open - uncontrollable emotion, as in no other time;
Within the room the scattered sheets and fallen furniture were reminiscent of a windstorm.

Bloody f---ing hell... Came her three more frequently uttered words in her mind, nearly spilling from her lips, as she emerged from this latest training session. Skin glistening slightly from sweat, hair clinging to her forehead and neck, and feeling a bruise or two coming on, Morgana sighed deeply and started to trudge back to her room. Her stamina in using her powers had increased, she noted, and she’d learned to tap more into her abilities, bending the metal more to her will and “connecting” with it to achieve what she wanted. For the past day or three, she’d been working on perfecting a new ‘trick’ during her training sessions. She’d managed to use a nearby oil drum and in taking bits off the top, she sharpened and flung them away, turning them into a sort of hollow ‘rings of death’. After most of her training sessions, though, she’d spend most of her spare time sprawled out on her bed, the door shut and locked, the window cracked, and her shirt partially undone, and was too bloody knackered to care. She’d wanted to ask Simon about doing something with a chain-link fence, but thought better of it since she’d barely mastered her newest trick, but she was still amazed at herself.

She’d barely had time to relax this time ‘round, however, as the insistent alarm of one of Simon’s inventions, the “Taggutag” as he called it, came to life, signaling that Simon required her presence. Glancing over at her bedside table and taking the invention off it, Morgana read fairly quickly through the message that scrolled across the screen. Letting her arm go limp and staring at the ceiling blankly for a moment, the Brit wearily stood, composed herself, and trotted downstairs, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear, just before grabbing the items mentioned. Glancing around at the other seven before focusing her attention on their host, Morgana saw two metal cases at his feet and raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued, wondering how he could have carried either of them about by himself. Wonder what loony invention he has in store for us now... Morgana wondered, an eyebrow still raised slightly.

As soon as the rag-tag group had assembled, she saw that Simon was handing out some rather... Interesting looking eyewear, very much to her surprise as she’d already began to pick out which one of the many inventions in the room would be more likely to explode at any given time. Taking the rather nice looking gold-toned reading glasses and looking about as everyone received their pair and Simon informed them, in his way, that if they needed to be fitted now would be the time to say something. Glancing them over and placing them on her face, she was surprised at how perfectly they fit.

As the group received their glasses, Simon went on to explain about picking up some sort of high-energy signature on his satellite. A fragment! It’s about bloody time! Morgana thought, crossing her arms over her chest, a smirk crossing her face, muscles tensing slightly at the premise of finally finding a damn fragment. Lending her ear to the rest of the information Simon dispatched to them, she quickly assessed that it was surprisingly straightforward in what they needed to do... A fragment had been found and they needed to investigate. Sounded easy enough. But it would be dangerous, going into unfamiliar territory, and hopefully everyone was prepared. Like it was said, anything that can go wrong, will. After all was said, Simon revealed what was in the other case... Weapons. Mostly blunt instruments from what she could see, and lots of them.

Naturally, Shiro had stepped forward first to receive his weapon, which looked like a glorified lead pipe... But Simon was the inventor here, not she. It seemed to suit him very well. Noting Eve didn’t step forward, Morgana assumed the younger woman didn’t need a weapon or already had one her... Personally, she didn’t really care which. Shrugging internally as she turned her attention back to those choosing their weapons, she saw the crimson-haired Liam select his own weapon... A bat. Knobhead... She thought as she watched him look it over and step away to test it out.

Might as well get in on all this while we’re ‘ere... she thought as she shrugged internally once more. Stepping up to the ranged assortment of weapons, Morgana chose what looked like a metal-enclosed staff. She was no master of staves, but she could figure out everything as she went. As she backed away from the group, twirling the staff lightly in her hands, she wondered how everything in this room worked. What kind of energy did the midget’s satellites pick up on? Morgana was sure they’d all find out in due time. Looking over the staff once more, she saw that it could be broken down into two seperate pieces for transport or smaller weapon.

Satisfied, Morgana herself stepped through the teleporter after the others. Slowly scanning her surroundings, it was just as Eve had pointed out; a barren wasteland of snow and ice. Outside of themselves, there wasn’t much to look at except-- What was Shiro staring at so intently all of a sudden? It had to be a fragment, what else could it possibly be? Looking carefully, she too saw the faint glow that was almost indistiguishable from the backdrop in which it floated in. Between the blackened sky and falling snow, could you blame one for missing it?

Cautiously approaching the... Whatever it was, it appeared Liam didn’t have the same reservations towards personal safety. As she was about to reach out and snap the pasty Irishman to his senses, Shiro beat her to it. Stifling a smirk and a small mirthful laugh, turning it into a small bout of clearing her throat. Of all the damn fool things to do, trying to touch something that was potentially dangerous. It was like running into a burning building after bring doused in petrol.

“I don’t know what you think you were doing, knobhead, you should know not to touch things that you don’t know what they are and are probably dange--” she started, before the soft sensation of the fragment’s smoky tendrils wrapped about her raised hand reached her brain.

TRIAL OF THE DRAGON!

Well... This was unexpected. The world swimming around her for a few moments after the gritty pavement rushed to meet her, knocking the wind from her lungs after she landed on her chest. It felt like some kraken had taken a hold of her and drug her through an ocean to smack her down on some nondescript island. They’d gone down the proverbial rabbit-hole it seemed. Near her, she heard three others land on the same pavement with just as much force as she.

Pushing herself off the ground, her vision nearly cleared, Morgana began to look around at the new world around her. "F---ing hell... This is bloody cheery, innit?” Morgana commented, taking in the scenery. They seemed to have landed in an alleyway by the looks of it.

The world around them seemed to be veiled in some shade of green. Nothing about where they were seemed right. The water puddles on the ground were strangely think and inky looking. Nudging a stray piece of gravel into a nearby puddle confirmed her suspicions, it couldn’t even be f---ing water at all. Even the moon above seemed to be dyed a strange, sickly yellow and looked down upon the four with a forboding glow. Besides the four that were here, everything around them had been plunged into an inky green darkness. Even the sounds were dead. The entire place seemed to suck up any and all sounds that were made. Like a thick blanket of whale blubber was placed between them and the rest of the world.

Spotting the coffins near them, she edged up to Shiro with just as much caution as she did with the fragment, deciding to come from a decent feild of view, and began to eye it from a safe distance, crouching. There were no indicators that it had been dragged there, no drag marks, nicks, nothing. As if the glossy black carapice was... Built there. There also was a strange crimson glow coming from somewhere below. "Just where in the hell are we?” Morgana asked aloud, straightening, her clammy hand tightening on the staff. Looking ot the snowy-haired Shiro, she quickly assessed that this place was somewhere he knew very well. His home perhaps? Only he knew.

~~~~‡~~~~