He’s been in this strange place for days now. Weeks? Maybe. Time ceased to cohere long ago; for the Outsider, days seem to pass both in a blink and at a snail’s crawl. However long it’s been, the Outsider’s used his time to linger at the outskirts of a market, to plant himself invisible in people’s homes. He’s used his time to gather information (it’s more difficult here than he’s used to; here, the information doesn’t simply come to him; here, he doesn’t have the Void’s eternal, invasive input to consult), trying to understand the world he’s come into, seeking signs of the man he’d followed here and why, why Daud had been set on finding this place.
How the Outsider had come here remains unclear. He knows it’d started with taking a renewed interest in Daud’s activities. His wayward Chosen had been fueled by some strange mission for the past several years, at last catching the Outsider’s attention. It’d been a seemingly impossible mission Daud was on: for some reason, he’d been bent on making his way to a place called Whitestone. A place across - what was it that researcher had said - worlds, dimensions, universes? Daud had been certain such a jump could be made, the the researcher, a woman of seemingly infinite patience, had agreed.
They’d spent years working on a contraption geared toward somehow bending the fabric of space, a venture worthy even of the Outsider’s continued attention. When everything was finally ready, the scientist had activated the device, and as the Outsider leaned in, close as he could from his place in the Void, there’d been a sense of suction, the sound of a snap, a broken string or something more vital. He’d closed his eyes against a rush of light, felt its needling burn around him, and when he opened his eyes, he’d been elsewhere. Felt the unfamiliar brush of breeze against his skin (he had skin? a body? was it possible?) and for the first time in centuries found himself beyond the Void.
Here in this new place something’s… Different. Wrong, perhaps, though the Outsider can’t say whether it’s really a bad change. He doesn’t feel entirely unlike the self he’s become used to, but his connection with the Void has altered. Instead of wrapping everywhere around him, forming the whole of his world, it’s woven through him, traced lightly around his form as if in currents of air. And while the Outsider can still transport himself across space, can still fade into and out from invisibility, there’s almost, almost effort to it. Like it takes something out of him to draw on the Void’s powers. Like somehow, the Void is no longer infinite, or his connection to it has weakened.
It’s almost as if the Void has been left thousands upon thousands of miles behind. Worlds behind. And somehow, somehow the Outsider has been drawn here in Daud’s wake.
In all of the Outsider’s attempts to garner information about Daud, one name has rose over and over again: Cassandra de Rolo, apparently a guardian of the city, some part of its ruling family. As rumor tells it, Daud’s been seen in her company; been staying with her in the Castle. (It’s a puzzle of its own; what does Daud have to do with this woman, and is it true she’s welcomed him as warmly as they say? The Outsider cannot envision it. He’ll have to see it for himself.)
Which is why a particular night finds the Outsider stepping calmly across the castle’s rooftops, disappearing and reappearing at will in order to cross from one to the next, moving with a quiet confidence. It’s why he pauses only briefly when he sees the woman’s figure atop the roof, doesn’t question who she is.
Head cocked, he takes a step forward, lithe figure still obscured by shadow, his face almost indiscernible in the dark. Is this the woman, then? Yes. Yes, she must be.
no subject
He’s been in this strange place for days now. Weeks? Maybe. Time ceased to cohere long ago; for the Outsider, days seem to pass both in a blink and at a snail’s crawl. However long it’s been, the Outsider’s used his time to linger at the outskirts of a market, to plant himself invisible in people’s homes. He’s used his time to gather information (it’s more difficult here than he’s used to; here, the information doesn’t simply come to him; here, he doesn’t have the Void’s eternal, invasive input to consult), trying to understand the world he’s come into, seeking signs of the man he’d followed here and why, why Daud had been set on finding this place.
How the Outsider had come here remains unclear. He knows it’d started with taking a renewed interest in Daud’s activities. His wayward Chosen had been fueled by some strange mission for the past several years, at last catching the Outsider’s attention. It’d been a seemingly impossible mission Daud was on: for some reason, he’d been bent on making his way to a place called Whitestone. A place across - what was it that researcher had said - worlds, dimensions, universes? Daud had been certain such a jump could be made, the the researcher, a woman of seemingly infinite patience, had agreed.
They’d spent years working on a contraption geared toward somehow bending the fabric of space, a venture worthy even of the Outsider’s continued attention. When everything was finally ready, the scientist had activated the device, and as the Outsider leaned in, close as he could from his place in the Void, there’d been a sense of suction, the sound of a snap, a broken string or something more vital. He’d closed his eyes against a rush of light, felt its needling burn around him, and when he opened his eyes, he’d been elsewhere. Felt the unfamiliar brush of breeze against his skin (he had skin? a body? was it possible?) and for the first time in centuries found himself beyond the Void.
Here in this new place something’s… Different. Wrong, perhaps, though the Outsider can’t say whether it’s really a bad change. He doesn’t feel entirely unlike the self he’s become used to, but his connection with the Void has altered. Instead of wrapping everywhere around him, forming the whole of his world, it’s woven through him, traced lightly around his form as if in currents of air. And while the Outsider can still transport himself across space, can still fade into and out from invisibility, there’s almost, almost effort to it. Like it takes something out of him to draw on the Void’s powers. Like somehow, the Void is no longer infinite, or his connection to it has weakened.
It’s almost as if the Void has been left thousands upon thousands of miles behind. Worlds behind. And somehow, somehow the Outsider has been drawn here in Daud’s wake.
In all of the Outsider’s attempts to garner information about Daud, one name has rose over and over again: Cassandra de Rolo, apparently a guardian of the city, some part of its ruling family. As rumor tells it, Daud’s been seen in her company; been staying with her in the Castle. (It’s a puzzle of its own; what does Daud have to do with this woman, and is it true she’s welcomed him as warmly as they say? The Outsider cannot envision it. He’ll have to see it for himself.)
Which is why a particular night finds the Outsider stepping calmly across the castle’s rooftops, disappearing and reappearing at will in order to cross from one to the next, moving with a quiet confidence. It’s why he pauses only briefly when he sees the woman’s figure atop the roof, doesn’t question who she is.
Head cocked, he takes a step forward, lithe figure still obscured by shadow, his face almost indiscernible in the dark. Is this the woman, then? Yes. Yes, she must be.
"I’ve heard about you, Cassandra."