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VERSAI

A lonely figure wandered through the darkened, shady constructs- shadows themselves of a once-magnificent place. Homes, working-grounds, a Smithy, the wall- large and friendly even in its abandoned state. Once that wall was like a mother, protecting the denizens of this place from harm, but now it was a solitary, stubborn testament to the civilization now long-gone.

The silhouette of a man, outlined against the rough stone by the moonlight, ran its hand over the corroded surface. The reflective pace with which he walked seemed slowed by heavy thought to a greater degree than by the bits of rubble he had to avoid stumbling over. Perhaps the combination of these was hard to manage, thus explaining his slow and wandering steps.

The various wild noises of the nighttime seemed not to assault his senses as he moved slowly and deliberately towards a deteriorated tower. He shifted some scraps of cloth before the doorway, where the moonlight cast a more revealing beam upon his features- rather plain and fair-skinned, mouse-brown hair tussled upon his head and perhaps a scrap or two of leaves left from the fall well-hidden in between. A more well-kempt beard meekly outlined his chin. He was neither short nor tall, but somewhere in between. Alas, only a quick glance could have been ascertained before he entered the tower. and was obscured from vision.

Versai unclipped a small pouch from his side and ascended a short and unsafe staircase, and kept to the more solid areas nearby the landing at the top. The floor was unstable in places, but he had business on that night. The pouch tinkled as he pulled some bits of glass from within and held them in the palm of his hand. They were barely larger than grains of dust, but they held some of the most useful magic he'd ever encountered.

VERSAI

Versai began to gather up a small pile of glass in the corner of the barren room. The ruins had been looted time and time again, but never for the junk that was so plentiful throughout the area- be it the shambles of an old whetting stone or the collapsed masonry of a long-malfunct well. In this case, however, his interest fell upon the broken glass- bits of mirror and windows that no longer inhabited the space provided. Long ago such shards might have injured unwary travelers, but as the ruins grew less safe with time glass became less of a problem. What Versai now held had been softened and rounded with the magic of time, smoothing once-sharp edges.

Versai knew he was born with a certain gift, but understood very little of it. Moonlight glinting off of these bits of glass gave glimpses of images to him. Perhaps it was the funny way light worked, with time warped around it, or magical frequencies permeating the building and ground for hundreds of years that gave them this "memory." Maybe it was Versai himself. What he did know was that this time he came prepared to make some sense of the nonsense he had seen.

The silence of his observer and the intense intent with which he worked made him completely oblivious to her entrance. He was busy arranging each peice, like a little puzzle, so the dulled edges fit together. When, presently, he completed this task, the glass was far from the standard shape of any mirror, the outside edges irregular and mismatched in color, but the internal area was smooth, ignoring the lattice of cracks that seperated each peace.

With a careful hand, he spread the glittering dust from his pouch over the surface, and then, with a sleeve, wiped it back and forth until it was caught in the crevices. The substance, though in no way enchanted, could be powerfully magic if used correctly. It was perfectly ordinary glass-dust; ground to very fine grains, and generally held as useless, it was easy for Versai to obtain. It filled each crevice between the shards of glass, making it akin to a whole sheet.

Versai sat quietly and stared into the glass, making no movements other than the occasional raised eyebrow or squint, as though he were watching something particularly interesting.

DAMEON

Up on the highest pieces of what was left of one the old ruins' towers, sat a figure cloaked in black. The "wall" of which he knelt, balanced atop, was barely wide enough to hold him, and looked like it should be falling over with the addition of his weight. It seemed as though the stones had worn away perfectly to make a staircase, regardless of how skinny they were when walking up, or down them.

The perch that the figure had was perfect for hiding in plain sight, due to the fact that the moon was directly behind him, making it so that anyone further into the ruins that might look towards him, would only see the black of the wall continuing on. That is, unless of course, they looked close enough to see the slight movement of the cloak behind him, which he wasn't so worried about anyway. He wasn't so worried about hiding from the one person he had seen through the gaping hole in the wall, who only seemed to be scrounging up what he had assumed to be little relics.

Because of his ease of worry, the figure left the hood of his cloak down, revealing mostly only his hair, though from the side some of his face was visibly worn, either from a lack of rest, or too much time spent working or fighting. It couldn't be told specifically, due to the shadows that covered his face, but it was the best anyone could guess.

He had been around the ruins all day, having found them for the first time. He had liked the peace that it had made him feel and the secluded feeling that he got from it. He had wandered it all day before finding the wall perch around sunset. It was a little after that that he had first seen the other person moving around. He was curious, having thought that he would be alone here, as to what the man was up to. Having paid so much attention to the person, he was too oblivious to notice if there was any other movement. He considered, leaving his place atop the wall and moving closer to the man, but he decided to wait a little bit, the man seemed very into whatever it was he was looking at. Then he noticed the figure of what seemed to be a woman, now right behind the man, though the man seemed completely oblivious. He was now, more than before, content with his decision to wait, now to see what would happen between the two.
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DAMEON

As he continued to watch, the man continued to seem completely oblivious to the fact that anything was happening. He wondered what could be so interesting about the thing that the man had in his hand, that could keep him so unaware of his surroundings. He started to wonder what exactly it was that the man had, obviously, if not value, it must have been extremely fascinating.

Finally the man seemed to say something. But to who? he hadn't turned around, acknowledging the woman, but he could still be talking to himself. On the other hand, he didn't necessarily have to turn to a person to talk to them, but it did seem kind of rude to him to not be looking at someone you were addressing.

Finally he decided he would start to move closer, to eventually, as long as they didn't turn out to seem threatening, meet the two. He really did hope that they weren't malicious, or anything that might cause them to attack. He had no weapon, which was unusual for himself, but he didn't really have much of a choice about what someone steals from right under your nose. He'd promised himself never to sleep in any public inn again after that experience.

He made his way down the spiral like make shift staircase that was made up of whatever few bricks were left of the tower, making sure that he had his balance at all time. Jumping was one thing when you had planned the fall and were easily able to land on your feet, but falling unwillingly, one usually didn't have the choice of controlling their landing. Finally, he made it to the last few bricks, still a small drop from the ground, but not half as far as it would have been from as high up as he had been.

Jumping down from the left over part of the tower he made his way towards the entrance he had originally seen the man enter through earlier that day. He continued on unaware of exactly what to expect from the two up in that room, walking aided by the light of the moon, which he knew to himself, was ironic in itself.

VERSAI

Versai sighed. Once again, it seemed that he was the only one who saw the illusory pictures that danced across his vision weaving in and out like lost dreams from some forgotten sleeper. Perhaps he was insane. It seemed as though noone was telling him otherwise. Perhaps it was a safe assumption. Just because the feelings he had were often correct didn't mean he possessed anything more than some head trauma and dumb luck.

"I saw... many things," he said, trying to clear his mind. He relaxed a little bit more now, his stare still directed away from the young woman as he attempted to make sense of what he had seen. It had all passed him by as quickly as the ages passed the stone that constructed this place. Time barely touched them, and the daily lives of inhabitants whizzed by the physical place itself.

Unconsciouslly, he reached to touch the peice which had shattered further. It was icy cold under his fingers, and though the reddish tint had faded, anyone could have recognized it as blood. That peice must have come from a window...

"I saw death," he added. It was a simple statement, not ominous, but mildly mournful.

The intensity of the other young man's suicide must have had too powerful and emotional energy for the fenestraculum... along with the literal shattering of glass in the memory. The entire contraption died along with the poor, distressed man of days long past...

He was interrupted from his thoughts about the suicidal inhabitant of what might have been the very same tower in which he now stood when he noticed in the mirror that his new aquaintance had reached for her hip. He took that ambiguous gesture as a que to turn and face her. He did so, plain grey clothes fluttering slightly in the stinging autumn air as his body pivoted. He made eye contact with her, hoping to establish an aire of awareness, in case she did have a concealed dagger of some sort. It just seemed as though strong eye contacted would help avoid any unpleasantries in the situation, particularly of the violent kind.

If she was hostile, he had two options: 1) Fight back, which, as he was unarmed, seemed difficult, although he supposed he had at least one failsafe spell, or 2) Make a leap out of the corroded tower wall, which seemed to have a sort of dark ironic humor to it, as he had just watched some unfortunate fellow do the same. Regardless, there was no reason yet to panic.

"My name is Versai. You look... a little familiar... but if I knew your name I've forgotten it..."

DAMEON

He made his way up to the entrance of the building, cautiously. He tried to keep as quiet as possible when he moved, but he was no rogue. Though he did manage to keep his steps quiet enough that one would have to listen closely to hear a thing, he knew that in the silence of the ruins, anyone within a few feet could hear his steps.

Still he moved on, finally stepping free from the main glare of the moon, and into the shadows of the darker insides of the place. As he stepped in from the moons light he felt an almost subconscious feeling, maybe just a little excess happiness wash to his surface, a happiness that didn't necessarily come from being in the darkness, but more so from being out of the moon's light.

Placing a hand on the wall, more for help in finding his way and avoiding any surprises than anything else, he moved through the small area relying on is dimmed eyes, his sense of feel, and the few rays of moonlight that broke through holes in the building to guide him along. He noticed cracks and crevices all around and took note of anything interesting along the way, mostly including little areas that seemed like they might be good places for someone to hid, or even ambush from. Everything seemed docile.

He stopped his train of thought about the layout of the room he was in, and returned his focus to finding the two people. He hoped they would both be alive and not fighting. He really didn't know what to expect. He used simple logic of how he entered and the entrances relation to the room to figure out what general area he would need to look in to find the two. He found the wall that he figured should be the one separating him from them and followed it letting his hand trail along it as he went. HE was careful to avoid kicking or shifting any big rocks to try and be as quiet as possible. Suddenly there was nothing on the other side of his hand. He stopped dead in his tracks.

DAMEON

He stood there still frozen in his tracks now aware that he was standing directly in the doorway to the room that the two people from before were in. Not only that, but they were right there, and the man had a line of sight right at him. He had stopped moving as soon as he had noticed his vulnerability, in hopes that he would be lucky enough to go unnoticed. This seemed to be a lost hope.

The man quickly made a movement and he had just enough time to turn his head to watch the man form a deep bluish ball in his hand. He took this as the obvious gesture that he had been seen. He thought to turn to face them, but the threat now emanating from the man kept him from making any further movements.

Before he had been noticed it seemed as if the man and woman were simply sitting there talking, which, is after all what he had hoped, that they would be non-violent. Of course this hope was broken just slightly by the ball that the man held menacingly at him. Still all of his hopes weren't for nothing. It seemed more like the man's action was geared towards defence of himself rather than aggression to hurt. After all, if the man had really wanted to deal harm, then why would he have waited?

Still it wasn't his best way to work, under a sudden pressure and all, not to mention one he was originally trying to avoid. In the brief moments that passed after the man had posed the questions, his mind had begun racing, trying to figure out exactly what information he should reveal and what exactly he should tell the man. He assumed that telling the man he had simply been bored and decided to watch a random person wouldn't be the right way to go to get anywhere near either of their good sides.

Finally, regardless of the situation that allowed for very little relaxation and reasonable thinking, he managed to relax enough that his muscles became less tense and he wasn't so much frozen anymore, but standing still out of choice, to avoid giving off a false provocative nature. Moving only once so that he was turned facing the two, instead of looking over his shoulder at them, he finally put together the words that he figured would be suitable enough to offer as answers.

"My name is Dameon. I have been wandering around these ruins all day. I had thought i was alone out here until i saw you a little time after night had fallen. I decided it would be safer to make sure you weren't simply a thief, or anyone of bad intention before making myself known. My wishes were to avoid confrontation if at all possible."

Dameon, as he had now revealed himself, had thought about revealing also that he was currently unarmed, but at second thought, had gone against it. He knew that knowledge was power, and he wouldn't let the man know that he was at a disadvantage. If for some reason this man still thought bad of his company, maybe the possibility that he could be a threat to the man, would stop him from taking any offensive action, and instead remain defensive, allowing Dameon to go safely.

VERSAI

Versai sighed at the newcomer's answer, partially out of relief and partially disbelief. He swiftly returned his hand to his side with a sort of whisking motion, at which the energy crackled softly and dissipated, almost as though it were complaining to have been excited for nothing. Dameon's story didn't make much sense to Versai, but he supposed that boredom and loneliness could make people do strange and unsafe things. It seemed, though, that Dameon was in fact unarmed- though to Versai magic was twice as potent as a blade, at least in the hands of the crafty, glib and snake minded. He wasn't sure whether to trust the man or not, but if there was a fight, it wouldn't be Versai who began it.

He listened to Serica as she made her demands of Dameon, nodding guardedly in agreement. His eyes flickered back and forth from Dameon to Serica as she spoke, before he remembered his pre-interruption thoughts. The way she held herself, as well as her face, couldn't help but remind him vaguely of someone. Her name he could not place... but it would nag at him until he understood what her relationship to him was.

Being so wrapped up in his own mis-memory, Versai hardly paid notice to the lack of aid from Serica on the matter of her past. He might pick up the clues at a much later time, but for the moment he was too preoccupied. Perhaps it was one of the gifts of a Seer, but when something bothered him this much, it was usually critical.

Versai was no longer listening to the conversation around him. He tilted his gaze downward, towards the floor, and closed his eyes. He trusted that if this "Dameon" character did anything foolish, Serica would react in time to alert him.

Suddenly Versai found himself flung far into the past, along a meeting grounds deep in the heart of the woods. It was a place he had traversed often, though on much smaller legs than those which bore him presently. At nighttime, only the circle illuminated by the fire seemed to exist; the entirety of the world seemed only about as big across as a small field, drifting in a sea of darkness. This camp was home to a Coven on many moonlit nights, and had been like a second home to Versai at times...

And there, among the many young women (and a few men, albeit spectators and outsiders) stood the lady whom he had wracked his memory so hard to find. The likeness she bore to Serica was remarkable, so that at first Versai thought with a start that perhaps they were one and the same. But no, it was impossible, for Serica was shorter of stature and much younger than Versai cold ever remember this other woman being. Still, they had very nearly the same face, and certainly the similarities in posture were no coincidence- both held themselves proudly, as though they were nobility gathered before a King's court.

Her name was Sabriel, or as Versai had been known to call her, Mistress. Practically the leader of the large gathering of witches, Sabriel was a hard person to miss... her presence in and of itself was quite commanding. It did not demand attention, but drew and collected it as though high status was, to her, a god-given right. Though he had not noticed in his youth, Versai now saw the way that the other witches gave her more room than was really necessary, and there was a lot of emphatic listening and nodding of heads.

As Versai shook off his sudden recollection to once again rejoin the room at large, he felt a little silly for not remembering his own foster coven. Lost as a child, they had raised him, as a community, to a more suitable age before leaving him in the hands of a young knight from Mooncrest.

He looked at Serica for a long, hard moment. Had Sabriel ever married? Was Lumen her name? Did she have children? He had never thought to ask, being the silly little thing he was. He merely collected the spell regents and stirred the water and did little helpful things like that, and while Versai had gotten to know a number of the witches rather well, it never occurred to him that they might have lives outside the coven. Still, the resemblance was uncanny. It was worth a shot.

"Was your mother's name... Sabriel? Sabriel Lumen?" he asked hesitatingly.