Bryony had found her footing in a friend’s house. They had known each other for centuries but they rarely spoke. She sat down at her friend’s table as if she had only been there yesterday. “You look like the world is coming down.” The man put a cup of tea down in front of the oracle as if he had been expecting her. “Don’t tell me you got involved with another idiot man. That isn’t like you at all.”

Shooting him a look he shut up and gave her a few drops of sugar. She picked it up and blew. “It’s not his fault.”

“Well sure it wasn’t Gondien’s fault either when he took a spear to the freaking heart. That was well over five hundred years ago and you still ain’t that great.” The man was tinkering at a desk near the table. She peeked over and lifted her hand to touch something next to his project. He swiftly hit her hand. “Don’t touch that. I’ve told you a thousand times over a thousand years, leave the things on my desk alone.”

“Well pardon me for being curious. Don’t bring Gondien into this. He’s not Sebastian.”

“So that’s the idiot’s name this time around. An oracle like you or a fortune teller like myself doesn't need trouble clouding our perceptions. You know this, that’s what’s been keeping you alive. How many times have you almost died since you started seeing this man?” By the look on her face, her friend just rolled his eyes. “You know what. Give me that tea you don’t even need it. What you need is something to get your mind off an idiot.” 

“And what would that be?” He forced a scroll into her hands. After looking at it she looked up at him. “Absolutely not.”

“Yes, and you’ll bring him to the location. A good old fashion break out is what you need.” Bryony was about to argue with him when he booted her out of his store. She growled lightly and looked down at the fake decree. She supposed she was breaking someone out of prison now. 

“Oh for the love of everything that could go wrong today.” She tucked the letter into her robe. “Oh god damn it, FINE.” She turned around and kicked the man’s door as hard as she could. It didn’t take her too long to scope out the entirety of the prison. He was known as Story and it was truly an odd name but Bryony had a thing for weird people.  

The prison staff took one look at her forged letter and couldn’t tell the difference. All they knew was that a commander for Parvporian forces wanted Story out for his unique abilities. She was escorted by one guard deep into the prison. Just who was this man that he needed to be this far in with security like that? She shrugged it off for the time being. They opened the cell and Bryony stood in the door. “Story? Lucky guy to be able to get out of this place.” She put on a fake smile but her eyes caught hold of the boy who was in the cell with him.

“I’m taking that one too.” The guard was about to tell her no when she pinned him to the door frame. She was so much taller than he was. She was choking the man with his own mail. “Listen, I have had a bad, bad day today so if you don’t want your balls cut off and stuffed down your throat, you will give me that boy. Understand?” To take the point she had a dagger right on his jewels. “And I will do it.” She dropped him after he agreed. “Don’t think if you go and tell them that I won’t stuff all of your balls where they belong.” The young guard shivered as Bryony turned back to the cell. “Come on boys, we need to leave now.”

"Just…let him go? You can't be serious. We don't even know why the man is in there to begin with…or even when or how he got there. We don't even have a name. Only a handle. Do you know how dangerous that could possibly be?"

Story sat calmly on the dank floor of his cell, legs crossed. His keen hearing picked up on the argument happening in the barracks above, and the corner of his mouth turned up slightly. Thoughtfully, he twirled a bit of his dark beard around his finger, and smoothed the thick, wild mane of his that had begun to dreadlock. When he had appeared, his olive skin was covered head to toe in some sort of unidentifiable ash, and although defiant to wash at first, nonetheless complied, but only to the most minimal degree. He had also refused every meal offered, and yet seemed robust and far from emaciated despite this.

"Your bon cousin is here for me. No doubt you s'well," he mused to the boy that shared his cell. He spoke with a muddied accent. Despite the curious way his deep voice danced around words, his way of speaking did still seem somewhat refined - reminiscent of the more noble of shipmen that passed through Vilpamolan, with a hint of Abeddian tinge.
He did not expect much response from the boy. He had not been in the prison for long, and in for reasoning much like himself - the guards simply did not know what to do with him. Story was also perfectly aware of the unnerving effect he tended to have, which was fine; he would not push just for the sake of some conversational company.

Story got to his feet as his benefactor opened the door to the cell. His red-brown, almost crimson eyes glinted with amusement as the woman threatened the guardsmen. He stood there and studied the torrential ocean that was the woman's gaze - not with hesitation, but with curiosity. He was aware of his rescuer's prominently-displayed womanly figure, yet his attentions did not once divert from her eyes, staring with the utmost intensity. "Hm. Here for me, or here for yourself, mon amie? Fret not. With the death that the Autumn brings, so to, inevitably, comes new life."
What he spoke seemed to be steeped in a riddle, and yet, he said the words casually, confident that the Rosenite would immediately grasp their implications.

All it had taken was one mistake to land him in this dreadful place.  And Cessair's short life had been full of them.  This was just another one for the list.  He had been a slave for so long, he often chided himself for his impudence.  But there was a stubborn defiance in his soul, and the young man carried his scars proudly.  The journey across the ocean had happened directly after the freshest one, when he had raised his hand again the master for defending himself.  It hadn't been Cessair's fault, the master's daughter kept making advances on him.  But she had convinced her father that their slave had abused her, and raped her, and the anger had welled up when Cessair had been confronted.  But he had refused to bow and say he had done something he hadn't.

So he had found himself on a ship, sent off across the seas to cause someone else trouble.  And the master here… even crueler than before.  Cessair had found himself the personal attendant of some magistrate, though the man was capricious to the extreme.  One hour, he could be grooming horses, the next forced to help carry a palanquin through the streets.  There was never enough time given to finish the first task before another appeared.  And there was always a whip nearby, and the thing had been tipped with iron.  The first week had been torture.  The next week, he had snapped.  It was fortunate that he hadn't killed the cruel man, that would have meant his own death.  Instead he had been left in a cell to rot. 

He mostly ignored his cellmate, a strange man that never ate.  Cessair himself could barely touch the socalled food in this prison, but he ate more than the other man.  "Wha… cousin?  Wouldn't even know one if I saw them…" he said, voice trailing off.  That was strange.  Did this man know something he didn't about who he was?  Cessair's memories were clear once he was about eight years old, but before that, there was nothing.  He knew of no family, nothing of where he was from.  Only that he'd been a slave and sold for nearly fourteen years.

Then the door of the cell opened and things got even stranger.  A woman he had never seen was staring at him, and Cessair shrank back into the corner of the cell.  "Take me, what?  Where?  Who are you?  And why should I go with you?" he asked quickly, the words spilling from his mouth before he could even really think.  That was probably about to get him into trouble again.  His cellmate and the woman clearly knew enough other though, and his gaze kept shifting between the two.  Gods only knew what kind of trouble he had gotten into now…

Bryony stared at the guard and smiled. “Do you think they wouldn’t send someone not capable of taking care of a dangerous person. I’ve lived 20 lifetimes, trust me.” She was getting much older and twenty was on the low end. If she had to guess right she had a few more centuries on top of that. 

Once the gates had opened she stared at him as he spoke to her. Immediately her smile left. “I’m here because I was told to be. Not because it benefits me that you are leaving. Whatever it is that you know about my situation, it doesn’t matter. At least not right now. I don’t give a damn about a new life or hearing about it.” She was frustrated. “Matter of fact don’t even mention Sebastian’s existence to me at the moment.” It was cold but she was trying to remain focus. The sheer amount of dismay on her voice as she calmed herself down was enough to show that. She had to remain in control.

Once the little one started in on her she sighed and came in. With one heavy haul, she put him over her shoulder with ease. Even if he struggled she was so strong it didn’t matter. “Home where you are from. I can smell it on you, Rosenite by blood. It makes us siblings in a way.” It was one of the few things she would say so she could get them to the gate. She took a hard step towards the guard she had spooked and he fell on his behind.

She stared at Story. “Come on, it’s time now. We’re going places.” She was quick to get them out of the prison. It wouldn’t be long before someone found out that she wasn’t sent here officially. She got them to a shack built deep within the cave walls of the flying city. It was someplace that looked like it seen no foot traffic. “Really a fucking shack.” She growled just a bit. “We’re to wait here until the port opens and we leave through it. Whatever they want with you is interesting enough.” Once inside she put the boy down and stared at him before hopping up on a shaky table and looking between them.

“My name is Bryony, I’m an oracle from Arri. You,” she pointed to Cessair. “Are a long way from home. Your past is so clouded that I’m having a hard time reading on you… It’s just as bad with you Story but I have an idea that maybe if you know something about Sebastian that it’s a weird one all the same.” She took out her hidden pipe and packed it full of tobacco before having a single flame appear on the tip of her fingertip. Soon she was puffing and trying to get it lit. “And how may I ask… did the lot of you end up in such a high-security place. Not just anyone ends up in a prison in the sky.”

"It might benefit you more than you realize, amie…but suit yourself."

Story made no move, even as Bryony entered the cell and took the boy by force. He regarded her carefully before stepping forward, pausing at the doorway, as though he would be smote by the Gods themselves were he to cross the threshold. "You say you come because you had to, but would this be an invitation freely given to leave?"
Only when he was thoroughly assured that it was did the man choose to follow.

Once procured and away from the prison, Story continued to be placid about the situation. He seemed neither thrilled, nor disgruntled about their unknown destination. Though he was grateful for his release. At the oracle's mention of his past, he gave a knowing grin. "It is best left hazy, crois moi. I know not of your amour specifically, but I do know of the forces you face, if you are open to hearing it."
He chuckled lightly. "As for how I ended up imprisoned, while interesting, I choose to save for another time, if you don't mind."

The only thing he could do was let out an undignified yelp when the strange woman just picked him up like a child.  Cessair found himself slung over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and she was speaking words that he did not understand.  He had no idea what a Rosenite was, or if it was even a good thing.  Once he was set down in the shack, he quickly backed into a corner, still uncertain as to just what was going on here.  "Tried to kill my master, lady.  Bryony.  Whatever you'd like me to call you.  Been a slave since I was little.  Never sat well with me though," he said with a crooked grin as he indicated his scar covered torso.  He looked to his former cellmate for a moment before continuing.  "Pretty sure they were going to leave me in there to rot…  So thank you.  My life, I owe you for that.  Am I a freedman now, or must I serve you?" he asked, half resigning himself to more servitude. 

But his cellmate had more mysterious words to impart, and Cessair found himself staring at the man.  He refused to give a straight answer it seemed, and he kind of admired that.  But he also felt that he was caught between two rather implacable forces, and he wasn't entirely sure of which one would win out.  As long as he was left to live, Cessair didn't see too much of a problem.

Bryony gave Story a look like she would like to know his information but the current situation had no place for it. “Yes, you have the right to leave Story. You are free.” She didn’t know why he needed to be told those words but it felt important. There was a strange sensation around the man, like destiny was dancing about him. Her visions were blurry but she wondered if it was because she was so unfocused.

Now that she sat up on her table she eyed Story. “Last time someone said that our baby ended up dead.” She was trying to throw it out that she had heard the same line before but this time through her stubbornness she looked away. “But I will hear it because I feel like I have no answers for the troubles we seek.”

Bryony looked at the boy and shook her head. “Slavers got you? Not uncommon in Arri. I’m not master or slave owner. I’m just a woman with a lot of baggage.” She stretched a bit and thought of it. “I’m half tempted to drop you in Arri. You look like you need to be with your kind. Do you even know what your kind is? You seemed confused when I mentioned it. All Rosenites, that is what we are, come from one singular place. It is called Arri. Found in the desert in Canelux that is where we are safe.  Sometimes we get lost or get kidnapped by slavers who run the desert. It’s not entirely unheard of.”

Story had been silent at first, following his deflection of initial inquiry. He let his cellmate and their benefactor speak at length, observing them with fascination until he was addressed directly once more. "Le sang…The blood," the strange man uttered, crimson-brown eyes shifting ominously in the half-light of the musty little shack. He inhaled deeply through his nostrils, as though smelling them both. "It is important. It makes us who we are…what we are, no?" Story chuckled to himself, running his fingers through his dark beard, which was riddled with the salt of age, despite him lacking any venerable marks in his other features.

He paced around the small area thoughtfully. He carried himself with great poise for a filthy prisoner in tattered rags. "I knew you both were kin straight away. That is not what you are interested in though; Rosenites know their own from fathoms away. The blood of your love, it is special, indeed…Oui. It is old. From a time when his…association's race communed with humanity in its infancy. Before they ascended what we understand as a physical form. Do you follow so far, Bryony the Oracle?"
Story cleared his throat. "Dreams are important. Philosophy has asserted for ages that dreams are just as real as what we readily perceive in the waking world. Things you probably already know. Your…Sebastian, was it? His essence is tied to the dreams of this timeless entity in some way. I cannot say with certainty if it should be purged from the border of our reality…if he would follow. If that is the goal, it would be objectively well for the world as a whole, I should say. Possibly not so much yourself or your own dreams."

Being aware as he was of the breadth of Bryony's troubles, it could be assumed that Story was aware of her feelings on the entire matter as well. Regardless, he chose to tail off the information with his rather blunt opinion before turning to Cessair.
"It is well that you made the choices that you have. Life spent in forced servitude is no life at all. That being said…"

He glanced over his shoulder back at Bryony. "You may pursue me if you wish, but I have no interest in armies and their petty squabbles. I shan't have any part of it. That is why you have come, is it not?" He flashed a toothy, knowing grin.


Story clasped Cessair on the shoulder reassuringly. "I assert that we should all travel to Arri together."
He chuckled again good-naturedly as he paced his way in front of Bryony, betwixt her legs where she was perched, and boldly took the pipe from her hand to take a long, soulful drag. "I believe it is tradition in most cultures for the eldest to dictate terms, after all."

He could only sit in a stunned silence for a few long moments as the woman, Bryony, told him where he belong.  That he had kin and possibly even family still.  That was a hell of a realization after not knowing a thing about who he was for so long.  His eyes grew wide when it sounded like she wanted to just drop him off in Arri without any guidance of where he could go or who he could speak with.  The life of a slave was confined and regimented, you always knew where you had to be and what you had to do, and who was likely to be there as well.  Prison had been much the same way.  Faced with the prospect of freedom, Cessair wasn't entirely sure of what to do.  He knew that he did want to at least find what he could of his family, and his real name. 

The young man did manage a glare at his former cellmate when he admitted to knowing that he and Bryony were kin right away, there was something very strange about Story.  And he had absolutely no idea as to what it might be.  But the glare softened to a nod when Story said exactly what he had thought of his slavery.  "Bryony… you owe me nothing.  But I fear I must ask you a favor.  I have no memory of my life before I was enslaved.  I don't know who I am, who my close family is.  I don't even know my real name.  Would you help me with that?  Or at least point me in the right direction.  It's… very intimidating to suddenly face freedom and choice myself without anyone to help or guide me," he said, knowing he sounded a bit forlorn in those moments.  But that was the consequence of what had happened when he was little.