He ran. Boots pounding the cobbles fast, but without sound. The rolling of his feet working in tandem with the his knees to dampen the impact of each step. In and out the streets and alleys, navigating the web-like city layout at random. Going left, right, or straight depending on his whim. It didn’t matter if the street ended in a wall, they posed no obstacles to Oberan. With a few leaps he vaulted up and over, to continue on the other side. Or take his route up the rooftops, sailing over the streets when they’d try to interrupt.
With the chill wind rushing by, Oberan truly felt the haze around him be blown away. Relishing the adrenaline pumping through his body with every dash, bound, and roll. Spiking when there was no ground supporting his feet, but the sky was closer than ever. Within reach to touch and grab and make his. Only for a fleeting moment. An eternity. Long enough to sate his hunger, yet starve him simultaneously.
Oberan had no wings, but he did fly. Giving in to the trembling of his soul. Listening to it sing. Made it soar after being grounded for so long.
In the moment, he was unbound. Unstoppable. Invincible. Happy.
It wouldn’t last, of course. Couldn’t. At some point his body would give out, sending him tumbling back to the ground, to reality. Forced to stop. Hot, panting, sweating. Not yet though, not now. This pace wasn’t too taxing, he could keep it up for quite some time.
Thoughts raced alongside him, but no longer tethered to the grey haze. Shedding it for just a little while, to flow freely. Always flowing, never stopping, uncontrollable. Meandering like a river, snaking its way through the landscape of his mind following no set course. Oberan couldn’t steer or redirect it himself. Sometimes he tried, but he couldn’t hold on to one thought for long. New, smaller thoughts joined the large stream, made it swell. They had little impact on their own, but their flows combined, battering Oberan and sweeping him off his feet whenever he tried to erect a dam. Before he knew it, he'd already been washed far downstream.
He rarely fought it anymore. Choosing to be carried along, to see where it took him. To allow it to rush past without trying desperately to grab onto the wild water. Only vaguely aware of it all while his body moved, and he drank up thrill and harvested enjoyment from being in motion. Witnessing all the thoughts pass by as blurry streaks and garbled noises. Some were clearer than others. Louder, brighter. Ones he might recall for a little while rather than forgetting them the moment they left the range of his senses.
Before him loomed a set of spires from Etzos’s most central point. The Citadel. No housing there, except for the blackjacks and some elite officials such as Pahrn himself. Separated from the Commercial Circle by a high circular wall in much the same way it and the Outer Perimeter kept apart.
Right in front, in the middle of a small plaza, rose the gargantuan, stone-hewn form of Morgan Pahrn, the first Pahrn, founder and protector of Etzos. He guarded the gate to the Citadel, aided in his immortal task by two defensive towers set against the wall.
Oberan ran past until the sets of guards at the towers’ entrances could no longer see him, then slipped up to the wall and set to climbing. His dark clothing camouflaged him within the wall's massive shadow, and under normal circumstances people rarely glanced up. Only someone cracked in the head would try to scale the tall encircling wall, and the few who’d tried had plummeted to their death.
However, Oberan was not most people. The wall was an old friend. Its ancient stones held no secrets for him. His clever fingers found purchase with ease, as did his feet. Though the wind did increase the force of its assault the higher he clambered, he’d tucked all loose bits of clothing tightly against his body, giving it very little to grab hold of.
Soon enough he returned to a flow state, all around him fading to the background. It was peaceful. Harmonious. Just him, floating on the river of thought, barely connected to his body. Everything moving too fast to stick for long. Bad thoughts, sad thoughts, errant thoughts, pleasant thoughts, memories, ideas, future plans, tavern songs, idle musings. Letting his mind wander so he could lose himself in the blank state perpetuated by the simple rhythm.
Climbing higher and higher until there was no higher left to climb.
Oberan peeked between the battlements, hauled himself into the crenel. Back pressed against stone, the big drop to the side, he gave his limbs some sorely needed rest, and listened. Metal buckles clinked and jiggled behind him, and hardened leather creaked softly. Far off still, by the sound of it, but all too loud in the quiet night air. Then footsteps. One set. No, two. A patrol of two guards who’d subconsciously matched each other’s pace. Taking their steps almost simultaneously. After a few minutes their voices reached Oberan, barely audible over the yelling of the wind.
Sound carried far at night, though Oberan didn’t know if that changed with altitude. He risked a quick peek, sticking an arm outside the safe area nestled between the battlements, angling a little mirror carefully as to not catch the moonlight and betray his presence.
The figures in the reflection strolled leisurely along the wall, pausing every so often to stare between the battlements and into the distance. Oberan tilted his mirror a little, counting the amount of merlons between himself and the patrol. Not many at all. Despite having to strain his ears to hear them, they were closer than he’d estimated.
He’d hoped to slip out of his hiding place while they were distracted looking off the side, but with them being this close it posed too much risk. Getting to the tower wouldn’t be the problem, even after the guards resumed their stroll in that direction. Oberan was sneaky enough to evade capture as long as he could rely on his swift feet and quick reflexes. However, while clambering up the tower he'd be vulnerable, at least until he'd reached sufficient height to stay out of the guards' field of vision.
With his skill in stealth he could infiltrate any location unseen --or, more accurately, undetected-- but his actions were restricted. Suspicious actions would undo his mind trick, and, though what counted as suspicious tended to vary based on a location's security and whether or not it was off limits, clambering up a guard tower certainly would draw attention. Being chased by patrolling guardsmen held little appeal tonight. If Oberan had to wait for the patrol to pass before climbing up, he might as well let them pass now while he remained in hiding.
The noise produced by the blackjacks’ gear steadily grew louder, as did their voices, to the point that Oberan could follow their conversation. Mostly complaints about their night shift, some gossip about their immediate superior, and idle talk about the weather.
They certainly took their time. Perhaps he should have risked it after all. The crenels weren't the so comfortable he enjoyed spending time in them.
He brought out the mirror again, made it vanish almost immediately, and slowly brought his arm back behind cover. The patrol was right upon him, only a few meters away.
One of the two blackjacks fell silent, their footsteps softening, the noise of their gear stifled a bit. The other followed suit moments later.
Oberan cussed under his breath, eyed the drop beside him, and focused on the encroaching footfalls. Small and slow, careful, likely getting into position. Then a few seconds of no movement at all -- readying themselves. Steel sliding out of a wood sheath, deliberately languid as to dampen the scrape of it. Oberan tensed.
Suddenly, quick bounds, no longer quiet. Gear jostling and clattering with the sudden movement. Both guards leapt into action, facing the battlements, blades in hand and prepared for trouble.
And found nothing. Only an empty crenel and a killer view.
One sheathed his weapon, satisfied. The other did not, instead leaning between the battlements and peering down. Nothing there either. Nor to the left or right. She frowned, turning away only to throw a sudden glance over her shoulder.
“Something wrong?” her partner asked.
“Thought I saw something move. It’s gone now though.”
“Probably just a bat. Let’s go.”
With visible reluctance she put her sword back in its sheath, but remained alert.
Two merlons back, Oberan let out a held breath when the pair finally continued making the way to the tower. A bit too close for comfort, exactly how he liked it. Unlike the majority of the past seasons, he felt alive again. Nothing quite like this to distract him, keep his mind busy. Whenever he found himself idle, then he was vulnerable, subject to his thoughts. Now? Not so much.
Which was exactly why he’d refrained from doing similar things for the most part. He didn’t understand it himself. While he’d yearned for distractions, he’d felt too exhausted and listless to partake in them. It took too much effort to spur himself to action. That, and, it didn't feel right to indulge much;
The blackjacks reached the tower, opening the door leading inside, causing a bright rectangle of light spill onto the wall. While her partner entered without hesitation, the woman let her eyes scan the entirety of the wall one last time, seemingly unable to shrug of a feeling of unease. Then she shook her head, and followed her partner inside.
Oberan checked behind him for a new patrol, then stepped out of his crenel and quietly jogged down the rest of the way to the tower. He remained close to the battlements, ready to duck between the merlons at a moment’s notice should the blackjacks from before step back out the door. They’d be blinded for a few seconds, eyes accustomed to the lit interior, which should be plenty for Oberan to hide.
It turned out an unnecessary precaution, as no guards reappeared just yet. All the better. Oberan hopped up the merlon closest to the tower to get some extra height, and crawled to the top. The roof wasn’t too much further up. If he had to guess, he’d say that there were two more floors inside. One level with the top of the wall, where the guards passed through during their patrols, and one above it, likely for storage.
Finally he reached the overhang where the pointed rooftop flared beyond the wall, like the broad brim of the peaked hats sorcerers and witches wore in children’s tales. Oberan swung underneath, grabbed the edge, and dragged himself up the slightly slanted brim.
The view from up there was even better than it’d been on top of the wall. Cloaked in darkness, Etzos sprawled out below. The Perimeter was darkest of all, only a few lanterns dotted around to provide illumination. There he could see the outline of small houses, labyrinthine streets, and, if he squinted, ant-like silhouettes of people scurrying about.
The Circle, home to many businesses, as well as the rich, glowed with soft orange light. Its layout was more organized too, and there were more people milling about compared to the Perimeter. Considering the increased number of guards there and lower criminal activity –especially in its organized form-- that didn’t come as a surprise.
Oberan found the best spot with the best view, and sank down, resting his back against the steep slant of the rooftop. He shivered. It was colder up here than it had been on the street level, especially now he no longer was in motion. The wind played a part as well, of course, as did the cool clay tiles of the roof itself. At least it didn't rain. He withdrew a cloak from his Vault, wrapped himself snugly into it, then hugged his knees to his chest, and stared at the sky.
