66th trial, Yiden, 720
The Outer Perimeter
Just before midnight
The Outer Perimeter
Just before midnight
Ulrik was, as had been said by friends and family alike, something of a twat. But at least he wasn't a cunt.
This is a fine distinction. To whit:
He teased and played tricks on his friends, but he did not betray them. He was morose and sullen when in his cups, but not violent. He wooed many a young lady, and took the virtue of more than one, but he did not abuse or lie to them. His charms were usually enough... such as they were. So those around him - from his despairing parents to his coterie of comrades - tolerated him, and enjoyed his japes at the expense of others. But he was never quite as trusted, quite as valued, quite as well-liked as he assumed he was.
"C'mon, y'look like frightened women!"
Now he stood in the doorway of the musty old home. Long-since abandoned by... him. The one they still whispered about, in those taverns Ulrik and Frankia and Exley had to find their courage to visit. They'd heard the name, the title, muttered by scarred men who they'd never try to fleece or con, like they did many others. Stamped on those older, crueler men was a violence they simply did not possess... yet even their visages cracked, for just a moment, when he was mentioned.
"Oh, stop it," Ulrik said with a roll of his eyes, reading the minds of his two friends. "He's long gone an' probably dead, innee? Woulda' come back by now if he wunt. I mean... look at this place!"
On the surface, he had a point. The house hadn't been lived in for some time. Not even the tracks of beggars and drunks marred the dust on the floors; just the smaller, quicker prints from rodents and felines (what few were left, anyway). Frankia shuffled forwards and craned her head into the doorway, peering around at the mold-covered wood and the dust and the smell of age and loss and-
"THE RAGGEDY MAN!"
"FUCK, shit, ASSHOLE, Ully?!"
"Fuckin' little tosser..."
Exly shook his head as Ulrik nearly fell over laughing. Frankia recovered herself admirably; living the life of a street rat in Etzos toughened one up quick. Doing so after the Siege, after the War... that was a whole new beast. Scowling at him and his shit-eating smile, she decided to let actions speak louder. She walked over the threshold, and into the house, leaving the two men acting like boys behind.
Soft wankers...
Once she was inside, it was... different. Easier to tolerate, she thought. Once the eyes were able to behold, the fantasies of the mind were lessened. She'd imagined nightmares carved into the walls. Bodies rotting under the floors. Ghosts and ghouls left behind by the Raggedy Man. Weapons, trophies... but there was nothing. It was the home of a mortal man, not a demigod of murder. But when she walked over to the splintered remnants of the bed, she could imagine someone squatting on the edge of it. Taking off his socks and boots. Tossing and turning until he could find a comfortable place to sleep. There was an old water jug, next to a wash basin. Cracked and chipped. Dry as the bones they looked like in the faint moonlight.
"He really did live here," she murmured. "Just a man, after all."
"Aye, well, let's not stand on ceremony," Ulrik said finally, turning with a flourish in front of the biggest, clearest wall in the house. "Let's get... famous!"
Another flourish, and his hands were loaded with brushes and a pot of black paint. They couldn't help but roll their eyes at the inane grin above it. All this, just to smear some crudeness on a wall. Oh, artistic crudeness, to a degree. Imaginative and original, one might argue. But still... just scrawling on the plaster. Frankia shook her head and took one of them. Exly took another, taciturn as always. They left Ulrik to make the first motions, decide what form and dimension his art would take. He tapped his lips with the end of the brush... then smiled.
"Yeah... yeah, I think... right... here..."
He popped open the pot, wetted his brush, and stuck his tongue out the side of his mouth like he always did.
"We'll put out name to it... an' the Raggedy-"
That's when it happened. Suddenly and with no preamble. With the dripping brush just inches away, the bare wall split in two. A white line of light cracked from floor to ceiling, like lightning slashed from the sky to the ground. As the three street rats stared and exclaimed, the line grew wider. As of something was pulling it from the inside. It seemed to bulge, until an aperture was torn into the wall... that was no longer a wall. Exly took a step forward. Entranced, and curious, and...
"... looks like water."
It did. The solid material was now shimmering and shaking like the surface of a pool. White and purple and yellow and other colors, all colors, all raced across the surface of it... but beyond them, was form. Some suggestion of it. Some shadow rising, like a monster from the bottom of that pool. And with a terrible, scraping, ripping sound the aperture tore open like a womb-
-birthing a small, slight man in simple clothes. Loaded down with weapons and a traveling bag across his back. He stepped out into the dusty old bedroom, faltering for a moment as if he'd just jumped from a height and was regaining his balance. The shimmering, dancing doorway behind him closed, and the kaleidoscope of lights was replaced by darkness and shattered moonlight once again.
There was no noise, save for his panting and the shallow, stunned breathes of the... oh... the man looked around and realized he was not alone. He straightened up, pure-black eyes looking from face to face... and he nodded.
"Eve'nin. Y'happen t'know what trial is it?"
