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[spoiler=Awareness]
"Squeak.........Squeeeeeeeeeeek!"
A large rat
d
a
Standing alone in the now vacant clearing, you sense a tug at the Tellurian.
A zephyr bearing the scent of brine blows across you. In its wake it leaves a tingle of dampness on your face and the taste of salt upon your lips. A few seconds later you hear a loud squeaking noise eminating from your feet. A rat the size of a house cat stares up at you, makes eye contact for the space of a heartbeat, then scurries off chasing the wind.
Ceridwyn draws a deep breath as she wakes from her slumber. She opens her eyes and—as with every waking after she puts herself to sleep—is somewhat surprised by her surroundings.
Ceridwyn draws a deep breath as she wakes from her slumber. She opens her eyes and—as with every waking after she puts herself to sleep—is somewhat surprised by her surroundings.
You remember that today you are supposed to scout out a suitable piece of real estate for a manufacturing company seeking to expand its production facility.
He takes in a long, deep breath through his nose and blows it out through his mouth, lifting his hands up to his face as if seeing them for the first time, then closes his eyes.
Opening them again, his eyes rest upon the rodent at his feet and watch as it scurries away. He sniffs the wind, running his fingers over his face, his tongue slowly sliding across his lips.
"A soul's whisper, remembering hidden depths and promising wisdom; a navigator of mazes chasing it through the unknown. A covenant extended of unknown terms, and a guide to the offeror. What can I do but follow?"
He sets off after the rat, doing his best to follow it.
Maybe
You keep pace with the rat. As you follow it you sense a pull towards the west (the direction you are heading). Soon another rat joins the first, and another, then another. The swarm keeps growing until it’s a wave of rats. Swirling eddies of rats merge and then break apart, and reform. Smaller waves join as it rolls forward forming a vast tidal wave of rats. As the wave continues to swell, the smell of the sea, the wind, and the pull grows in intensity. The rat tsunami thunders with the fury of an ocean storm.
You reach the crest of a large hill and pause for moment, lagging behind the wave. On the horizon you see a large city with buildings made of huge bones and viscera. Gore runs from the bones into aqueducts feeding a sanguine river which splits the city in two before disappearing. It’s upper reaches are covered in a translucent miasma of oily smog, which filters down to grayness at ground level giving the city in a permanent twilight.
He is fascinated as the rats swell to oceanic proportions, his original guide lost to him in the depths of its brethren. He doesn't allow this to concern him.
"It cannot be understood by the details of its individual parts, only as the whole - but do we seek what is ahead, or flee what is behind?"
"No; the guide and the destination merge, the journey becomes the goal." He becomes their wake, their shadow cast by the light of the west. As he tops the hill and sees the city on the horizon, he pauses.
"In the border between all things, death begets life; decay, renewal. Yet still the core of what came before persists beneath the new, a new place uncertain of itself, its attempts at reason serving only to fetter it more closely to that which it seeks distance from."
"Whose bones these, I wonder? What draws nourishment from their decay?" He looks again to the rodential wave flowing down the hill towards the city. "I know who comes now to feed, and I would be among them!"
He dashes down the hill after the rats, longing to join their number and become lost in their communal certainty of purpose.
Ceridwyn rolls completely onto her back, momentarily stretching her eyes open wide in a reflexive attempt to settle into the prevailing timeline. She inhales through her nose and tilts her head back to look above her. She sees the headboard. I’m laying down. my bed. my room. I’m twenty-five years old. She rolls her head to the side and sees Samantha still asleep beside her, nude. Ah, yes. There is a difference between being lost and being disoriented; now Ceridwyn is neither. Her sleep, as always, was dreamless, so there are no disorienting thoughts that she must displace with reality. She breathes again, looking around her now-familiar room.
Along with the details of her life, Ceridwyn recalls today’s appointment to assess real estate for a client. She gets up out of bed completely refreshed and reassembled. She washes at the basin—a large ceramic bowl set atop a low, heavy wooden chest of drawers. Although she does not expect to have to disorder much during her appointment, she slowly and meticulously combs her hair in the mirror on the wall behind the basin, ordering each strand to either side of the part, to the fringe. Once her dogmatic dedication to her hair is satisfied, she notices sleeping Samantha’s reflection in the mirror. Before continuing her preparations, Ceridwyn walks over to Samantha’s side of the bed to enjoy a few more moments with her. Samantha’s shoulder is uncovered and Ceridwyn kisses it heavily until Samantha wakes. Ceridwyn leaves her to wake and returns to the mirror in order to ensure that her eyebrows and eyelashes are orderly.
“Look at you primping.”
“Sweetheart,” begins Ceridwyn without turning away from the mirror, “the men are going to stare no matter what.” She makes one last pluck at an eyebrow before setting down her tweezers on the counter next to a jar of wax, melting a bit of wax with body heat onto a fingertip, and leaning again over the counter to the mirror as she shares the wax with one finger on her other hand. “You know it helps me with my work.” With one finger from each hand, she pushes each set of eyelashes gently upward in unison until they have the same even spacings. She steps back from the mirror and turns toward Samantha. Ceridwyn’s nude body has a red crease across the hips where she had leaned against the counter. Samantha’s gaze lingers there before she slowly looks up into Ceridwyn’s face. Ceridwyn curtseys with a slight smile. “Alright, Love,” Ceridwyn states firmly as she walks over to her wardrobe, “out of bed with you and get downstairs. You need to mind the desk while I’m out.”
Ceridwyn has pale skin like all of the people in the future in which she was born. She would likely face racist demurrals if she had a dark complexion coupled with her ethnic features: wavy black hair, black eyes, long face, straight nose. As it is, most people simply find Ceridwyn remarkably attractive. She looks twenty-five with the last hints of baby fat adorning her face and thighs. She is taller than average. The most profound subconscious effect that she has on those around her is that she nearly glows with vigor owing to her favorable genetics and her active youth in the suburbs. Remarkable, but mundane: these qualities of hers could be possessed by anyone with common beauty and could be leveraged by anyone with a penchant for persuasion and sales. In addition, Ceridwyn slumbers each night in Dunwall on a minor Node—like the Node of her youth outside of town. To be sure, the consulting practice that she keeps downstairs and the life that she keeps in her rooms above stairs are not common.
“And,” Ceridwyn speaks loudly from her dressing corner, “you told your landlady that your business trip would be three days, so you’ll need to sleep at home tonight. Don’t walk off with my eyeliner again this time.” I won’t need to spend on Samantha today, anyway. I expect today’s job should be a full effort.
As Ceridwyn puts on her underclothes, she half-twirls her body so that her slips spin out away from her legs. She is reminded of the clothes of the gypsies with whom she grew up. She expertly and methodically suppresses such thoughts of free-flowing clothes so that she might order herself. Expertly, methodically, though not joyfully: survival comes first, business is business, and...she does not wish to think of her mother. She aligns the seams of her undergarments with each other, she rotates the buttons of her jacket into mutual alignment, she squares herself with the light coming through the windows so that she might inspect herself for asymmetries. It is not a compulsion, it’s a living.
Just as Ceridwyn finishes dressing, Samantha approaches and feigns a lunge, as if to ruffle Ceridwyn’s hair. Ceridwyn doesn’t flinch and, indeed, Samantha stops short. After exchanging a look and a smile, Samantha lowers her own head and Ceridwyn tousles Samantha’s hair with both hands. Samantha raises her head, closes her eyes, and holds still to receive a small kiss from Ceridwyn. “Alright,” says Ceridwyn. “Off with you.”
Ceridwyn walks back to the bed to survey a small collection of puzzle toys on her nightstand: some of her own making, some purchased locally. Real estate, today. She picks up a Minus Cube and tilts it once, allowing one piece to slide. Nah. She sets it down and picks up two flat devices: a 15-slider and a Klotski inscribed with foreign characters—her “pocket abacus,” if anyone asks. She slips them into a small handbag and heads for the door. “Back by tea,” she calls to Samantha over her shoulder as she descends the stairs to the office.
Before departing the office for the streets, Ceridwyn researches today’s job and considers her route to the sites.
Intelligence+Law:
After consulting your maps, law books, and other sources you decide on the Old Waterfront district as being the most likely to suit your client's needs. From your office in the Legal District you will have to cross the Denkhard bridge. This outing will require your papers as you will be passing near both infected districts, and areas (the Drapers Ward) of gang violence which you believe will have a heavy presence of the Watch and possibly Over Seers. You figure it will be 5 to 6 mile journey depending on traffic.
Ceridwyn walks back to the bed to survey a small collection of puzzle toys on her nightstand: some of her own making, some purchased locally. Real estate, today. She picks up a Minus Cube and tilts it once, allowing one piece to slide. Nah. She sets it down and picks up two flat devices: a 15-slider and a Klotski inscribed with foreign characters—her “pocket abacus,” if anyone asks.
The toys that sit on her nightstand have in common that their moving parts do not fall out when the puzzle is held vertical or upside-down. Ceridwyn often plays with these while laying in bed; especially when putting herself to sleep. They have all been expertly made from brass and wood and crystal and ceramic. There are a few three-dimensional toys that work like this and like this and like this. The two-dimensional puzzles are variants of this and this, the latter of which she often uses while working within sight of Sleepers.
Puzzles that need to be worked upon a tabletop Ceridwyn keeps in the upstairs sitting room or downstairs in her office. This puzzle admits of various initial arrangements and this morning Ceridwyn assembles a few about which to think while en route to the Old Waterfront.
You step out into the sultry mid-morning air and hail a cab. The ride is slow at first due to the hustle and bustle of the Legal District, and Slaughterhouse Row. The cab follows the rail car route through the city. At the bridge you are stopped by the Watch and asked for you papers. With everything in order, you cross through two Walls of Light on either side of Drakhen Bridge and enter the Drapers Ward.
Once you cross the bridge it is as if you entered another city entirely. The people are scarace, several buildings are borded up and seem abandonded, all due to the plague. The smog seems more substatial, the smell more biting, the air is acrid on your tongue, the hair stands on the back of your neck as you can here faint disconcerting noises on what little breeze there is.
The cab lets you off at a fork in the rail car tracks northern edge of the Old Waterfront. From there you will have to travel on foot.
You join the rolling wave of rats. Although jarring at first, you soon get the feel of the swarm. Relaxed, you bob and swirl, float and surf with the growing wave. The power of the magic grows the farther you travel. The sea fills your senses: the smell of brine, the taste of salt, the rats feel like water against your flesh, the roar of the wind and surf deafen your ears. You catch glimpses of the city growing closer as you are twisted and turned.
You manage to steady yourself as the wave of rats begin to crest. A solitary man-sized white rat dances a bizarre jig before the wave, directly in the path where it set to crash. He is the source of the magic and the terminus of the wave. The wave crests higher and higher and you fight to keep your head up as you are pulled upwards toward the wave's peak.
The white rat dances faster and faster as the wave crests higher and higher and then, with a flourish, it braces its legs wide and throws back its arms, and opens its mouth wide. The wave crest, now a fluid stream of rats, swells to a great height. Instead of crashing down the wave pauses, and you are swept to the very top. You see the white rat's jaw unhinge and you feel the wind rushing into his gaping maw. It begins inhaling/swallowing the wave of rats. At first a small stream from the tip of the wave spirals into its mouth, but as its body begins to bloat and distend, the wave is being consumed at an alarming rate. The stream becomes a raging river pulling you ever closer to the now giant sized rat.
You find an building that has an ideal location and begin divining its potential.
The hair stands up on the back of your neck and arms as something distinctly magical and not of your creation is happening. Your puzzle foci begins rearranging itself, and a small six inch tear in reality appears before you. Out of it a crystalline spider the size of a horse shoe descends, lands, seems to regard you, then scurries off towards an alleyway.
Exultation! Becoming as just another drop in the wave of rats, he feels their eager excitement at rushing towards whatever may lie ahead. Cresting at the head of the wave he sees the dancing rat below finish it's jig with a flourish and open wide its maw. As the wave tips down into it's mouth and funnels down it's throat he stretches arms and legs ahead and behind, diving with the rest into the unknown depths of it's gullet!
Cerdiwyn takes two steps away from the cab, then stands still. Her mouth is closed and she takes shallow breaths through her nose. What a smell. Fish would be an improvement. She uneasily scans the street and buildings before her, moving her eyes to the right and left. As the cab drives off, the open street behind her is added to her apprehension; she turns her shoulders and head to take in the remainder of her surroundings.
Not much happening. Toward the water to start, then. Ceridwyn completes her survey of the street scene, then rights herself: tucks her handbag beneath her left arm, with two hands tugs down on the back of her short coat, then down on the front, then smooths the front of her skirt. She clutches her handbag, takes a single deeper breath, and walks westward toward the river down the nearest wide alley.
Ceridwyn works her way southward through the district on successive east‒west paths, occasionally glimpsing the water and some heightened activity near the shore. She reconciles the buildings with her morning’s research and with her few past visits to this area. After a measure of due diligence elsewhere in the district, she now stands before the most promising building. Her eyes narrow and she frowns in thought, not content to judge the edifice from its instantaneous façade.
Ceridwyn brings her handbag up from her side and holds it with two hands. As she finds the latch on the bag with her fingers, she turns her head to look at the side of the alley behind her. She walks over to a low crate and seats herself facing her building. She places both feet flat on the ground, opens her handbag on her lap, and draws out her “pocket calculator”.
Looking down at its wooden tiles, she idly slides a few back and forth. She looks up at the building inquisitively, her fingers still moving tiles. Worse before better? Her fingers now gain purpose, jumbling the tiles to one edge of the frame before the tiles are able to be quickly parted for the red tile to drop down a level. Better before worse? Her eyes still on the building, her fingers perform a few simple movements, in short order sliding the red tile down one more layer only for it to lay on an impermeable final layer of two blocks. Back and forth. She reconfigures the tiles to their original positions, then solves it, then recovers the beginning, then configures an unsolved state—each configuration requiring about four seconds of time to bring about, her fingers moving unremarkably.
Ceridwyn’s breathing slows so that she inhales while she is resetting the tiles to their start and exhales while she disorders them.
Inhale. Once I caught a fish alive. Exhale. one, two, three, four, five. Inhale. Then I let it go again. Exhale. Six, seven, eight, nine, ten.
Ceridwyn gazes at the building. Her fingers stop moving and her hands rest over the puzzle as her Effect takes hold. Ceridwyn begins to become aware of the fate of the building, its people, its rats, its commerce, its foundation, its rotting wood… The seasons pass… A prosperous summer…
six, seven, eight, eight, eight, eight… Ceridwyn blinks. Her hands slightly tighten on her puzzle. What? Confused, her eyes search the edifice. She is aware of nothing beyond this same season next year. The wood is not even rotting...this can’t be right.
Ceridwyn then feels a sort of chill and a lightness in her gut. She misinterprets this as the crate giving way and her falling through the air—but she looks down and everything is stationary. Am I dizzy? I was fresh this morning… She looks down to inspect herself and feels the tiles on her puzzle begin sliding themselves beneath her fingers. She pulls her hands away and stares at the moving tiles open-mouthed. I can’t be doing this. Ceridwyn looks up searchingly at the building but her eyes instead focus on something much nearer—something in the air.
A spider?! is it glass? Ceridwyn cocks her head and stares. The sound of the spider landing on the ground serves as Ceridwyn’s evidence that the sight is real. When the spider moves, Ceridwyn reflexively gathers her bag and puzzle to her belly and lifts her feet from the ground. As the spider disappears down the alley, Ceridwyn slowly sets her feet back on the ground and closes her mouth. What? Incredulous, she looks for footprints from the spider. Did that just happen?
As she regains her wits, Ceridwyn inspects the air from which the spider came by moving her head for perspective. She looks up at the building. Why could I not see beyond a year? She looks at the corner of the alley around which the spider disappeared. This spider is not part of this building’s future...why is it here? Ceridwyn packs her puzzle back into her handbag, straightens her back, and looks to her right and left. What is going on?
Ceridwyn sets her feet and stands up, reflexively smoothing the front of her clothes―but she sits back down abruptly. By standing, she had brought herself closer to the spot from which the spider emerged; she uneasily tries to focus her eyes on the foreground air. Unsuccessful, she blinks and sighs heavily. Ugh! She is disheveled and hates feeling out of control. She breathes heavily once again, but too aggressively for it to be calming.
Ceridwyn looks at the corner of the alley around which the spider disappeared. As if trying to ignore a foe that has got the better of her, she looks away and back up to the building. She hopes that resuming her study will give her some purpose and direction―but she knows that she is lying to herself. Indeed, the thought of taking her calculator back out of her handbag unsettles her more.
Ceridwyn turns back toward the alley of the spider, this time with purpose. What is going on. She stares at the edge of alleyway, her eyes narrowing. Her mouth settles into a frown: a frown of thought; she is satisfied and calmed by the notion of pursuing the spider. A course of action determined, she stands confidently, fixes her sleeves one at a time, replaces a few hairs that had fallen in front of her eyes.
Ceridwyn searches the ground again for footprints of the spider. She begins to walk toward the alleyway, taking a wide angle into the street in order to be able to look around the corner. Slowly, she walks far enough to have a view down the alley.
Pursuing the crystalline spider, Celdwyn rounds the corner into a dimly lit alley way. A briny breeze travels down the alley blowing debris towards you. You reflexively raise your hand to protect your eyes from the airborne detritus and mop your dampened brow. Your clothes cling to your body, dampened from the surge of humidity.
The observe that the wind is not emanating from the far end of the alley, rather from behind a corroded dumpster a quarter of the way down the lane. As you focus on the dumpster you spot several crystalline spiders struggling against the forceful breeze as they try to reach a large gap between the dumpster and the alley wall.
"Get back YOUS!", erupts from behind the dumpster, followed by a loud belch.
A large, dirty, raggedy looking homeless looking man drunkenly stumbles out from behind the dumpster bottle in hand. The hair on your neck stands up, and your flesh is covered in goosebumps as several audible POPS go off in rapid succession, followed by a sound like wind chimes. Dozens of crystalline spiders appear through tears in reality once the man presents himself.
The man angrily looks about, "if its a ruck your wan'....YOU GO' IT!!"
Before your eyes the man begins growing and swelling to immense proportions. Before your eyes the man grows to over 9 feet tall and expands to seemingly the same width. His now exposed gut writhes with large lumps that swirl about, rise and recede. The wind grows is strength as the man takes a huge pull of of his bottle, chokes and begins vomiting. At first just spittle and bile, but then a rat followed by another comes forth from his mouth. To your dismay, his jaw unhinges from his disgustingly bulbous inflated head and veritable river of rats spews forth. The orifice that was once his mouth continues to enlarge until it fills the alley and tidal wave of rats crash forth immediately attacking the spiders who continue appearing at an alarming rate.
The amount of odd events and magical energy flowing in the alley is more than enough to test your will. Then what appears to be another man exits the vile distorted maw, gleefully floating and bobbing along with the rats as if he were in an actual river.
In one maw and out another, for a moment he floats atop the living sea, consumed by the thrill of his journey. Finally noticing the battle between rodent and arachnid, he dives beneath the furry surface before somersaulting out from its edge to stand at the mouth of the alley.
"Architects meet us at the door with death; seeking to feed, we are in turn consumed. A trap?"
A tall, fair-skinned man, long of limb, and possessed of smooth, crude features. He is dressed in muted greys and browns: simple shirt, breeches, and wide-brimmed hat, such as a peasant or farmer might wear; sturdy boots and wide-collared longcoat, finished with a bright yellow scarf bundled beneath his chin. He glances about the alley, his eyes - one iris dead white, the other bright yellow - coming to rest on the woman next to him.
"Is it your web I've fallen into?"
Ceridwyn blinks as the wind unexpectedly rises against her face. She lifts her right hand in front of her face and squints through the rushing air. As dust and debris are swept toward her, she begins to also raise her hand that is clutching her handbag―her sleeve clings so much to her arm that she looks down to learn the source of the wetness. Ceridwyn inhales her first breath since encountering the wind and finds the air to be salty and warm and wet. She exhales with controlled disgust and purposefully raises her eyes from her sleeve back to the alley, unblinkingly assessing the scene.
This cannot be my doing. This cannot be my doing. My thoughts of the building― My word! More spiders?! They are also fighting this wind…
The sound of the belch and the appearance of the man brings Ceridwyn’s thoughts to a halt. Her mouth parts open and her eyes widen, despite the windblown sand and dust. She reflexively shivers at a now-familiar sensation―Again! I felt this on the street at the building just now. I― The loud popping noises steal all her attention; she bends her knees and presses her lips into a thin frown.
Oh! More spiders. Ceridwyn’s eyes survey the mounting altercation. Are they―? Ceridwyn begins to turn around to check if the spiders are all arriving from the street as did her first one―but the shouts of the man bring her gaze back to the scene in the alley. Oh. Ceridwyn’s mouth again falls open as the man’s body swells and writhes. Ceridwyn darts her attention around the alley, grasping for spatial perspective; she reflexively fears that she is being drawn toward the man.
Convinced that she is still stationary, Ceridwyn again sets her feet against the growing disturbance. Could I be― Ceridwyn regains her composure just in time to have it toppled anew as the man gives way to the vomiting of rats. Ugh. Ceridwyn exhales in disgust. No. She refuses to turn away. She snaps her mouth shut, straightens her back, and stares at the scene: determined to understand it.
Is this possible? Ceridwyn clutches with her left hand, aware of her handbag of toys. Is this a possibility that I cannot foresee? How can this happen? What―
The other man appears.
Ceridwyn struggles to follow his motion among the rats, then her arms fall slightly limp to her sides as he reappears from the mass and somersaults through the air. She meets his gaze and is occupied by his bright yellow iris until he speaks.
Trap?! Ceridwyn is alert, skeptical, aware that she is tired but propped up by adrenaline.
“Trap?” Ceridwyn narrows her eyes. “My web?”
Ceridwyn looks the man up and down then glances briefly at the swarm of rats and crystalline spiders. This is not his doing, either. We should get away.
Ceridwyn raises a finger into the man’s face and looks him in the eyes as if to bark an order. My word, I am wound up! Slow down! She draws her finger back toward her own face, still meeting his gaze. What... She extends her hand to point to the street from whence she came.
“Let’s go,” she speaks softly.
Ceridwyn looks away from him and begins walking toward the entrance to the alley.
Yellow glances back at the raging battle and realizes his connection with the rats has been lost; no longer an aspect subsumed by the swarm, he is again himself and whole. There is a fleeting sense of loss, lasting only as long as it takes for him to turn away and face the departing woman. He follows her out of the alley, paying the scene behind him no more heed.
"This city consumes the flesh and the blood of its prey yet grafts itself to the skeleton, having no bones of its own," he remarks.
Flesh. Blood. Skeleton. The words find little purchase in Ceridwyn’s steeled mind. What?
“What?” She turns to face the man, intent on standing her ground and demanding an explanation. However, she again sees the swarm behind him and loses energy for anything but leaving the alley―she completes her turn to face him and continues walking backward, fixing her gaze on his eyes rather than on the disgusting events behind him. How can he be ignoring it? How can he turn his back on that ?!
Cerdiwyn, still walking backward, sweeps some stray hairs from her face behind her ear and straightens the front of her coat with a quick downward jerk with both hands.
He knows. Something.
“Are those your spiders?”
"Are they?" he asks with excitement. He stops and turns to look back at the battle taking place in the alley. After a moment his gaze strays all around, as if seeing his surroundings for the first time.
"I don't know. This place is strange. Everything is so... rigid."
Yellow unfocuses himself, the pupil of his white iris expanding, the blind eye opening to the unseen...
... hard lines hinged at sharp angles transcribing empty space, blurred masses of color flowing together and apart - two forces clashing in the alley, swirling around one another, in their mixing translucent frames giving form to amorphous color, amorphous color giving function to translucent frames, the world spiraling into the kaleidoscope of their conflict, its edges slicing the walls of the alley until blood freely flows, tones of melancholic anima drifting on unfelt breeze...
"No, those are not my spiders."
Amidst the chaos of the battle a lone slender figure appears at the other end of the alley. Adorned in all black save a golden mask and a strange crank device harnessed to its midsection, the figure begins advancing with a long, slow gait down the alley. With its gloved hand of heavy black leather the figure begins turning the crank.
A mere whisper at first, dissonant tones emanate from the machine that quickly crescendos. Each note thunders down the alley, a rippling wave of distorted reality that passes through matter and the spiders but becomes a hammer strike of concussive force when rat is in its way.
The sound grates at your being, and the horde of rats being decimated, several waves are heading your way!
Yellow springs back towards the alley's exit as the masked figure's waves of sound blast apart the horde of rats. In passing the woman he takes her by the hand and swings her towards the street corner, spinning himself away towards the corner opposite as the short cape of his Inverness-style longcoat flares around him. A moment after the sonic phenomenon passes between them he peeks back around the corner and down the alley and indicates the figure with a nod of his head.
"Perhaps they're their spiders?"
Rigid?! Ceridwyn quickly looks the man up and down while he studies the alley. Who is this?
Not his spiders. Maybe his rats? He doesn’t― An Overseer! Ceridwyn’s eyes widen with intensity then squint at the onset of the grating sound. She is already setting herself to run out of the alley as she sees the rats exploding in waves. I’ve got to get out.
What? As Ceridwyn flees toward the street, she feels drawn forward by her hand. Once safe, she is turned round and left facing across the alley. He is helping me?! The man alights behind his own cover across the alley, his coat settling around him as the distorted wave passes between him and Ceridwyn.
Their spiders?! I can’t leave him here. Ceridwyn looks the stranger in the eye. “We must go!” She beckons him with nothing more than her thumb pointing down the street behind her, punctuating each word with a move of her arm. She shifts her eyes to the alley and begins walking swiftly backward in retreat.
His attention commanded by the beckoning woman, Yellow casually walks across the mouth of the alley and follows her down the street.
"Do you invite me to join the life-flow of this slumbering city, or simply extract me from its wound?"
As the stranger strolls toward her, Ceridwyn slows her walk, parts open her mouth, and exhales with disbelief. What is he doing? Is he some sort of Overseer?! No, no–why would he help me out of there? How did he get into the alley?
Once he is by her side, she turns to walk forward, hastens her pace, and keeps him in step by maintaining a fixed gaze. Slumbering city? Wound? What does he know about this? Whatever...keep moving.
“We need to get out of here. You need to hurry up.” Ceridwyn hesitates, hearing herself speaking to him as if to a child. She clutches her handbag with two hands to keep herself from gesturing―he seems distracted by her every move. Is he drunk? No, no―he just somersaulted away from that mess...
“How did you get in with those rats?” He appears innocent to Ceridwyn now that he is not in action. Then she narrows her eyes in suspicion and separates slightly from him as they walk. Is he trouble? “Was that Overseer after you?”
"I awoke from the dreams of my fathers at their unmaking, descending from the hilltop to an invitation from a memory. Though I know not the terms of the engagement, I accepted, a rat guiding me to its collective purpose. I joined in that purpose - the journey here." He sweeps his eyes up and down the street. "This city must sleep, for it dreams of its skeleton, borrowed bones fresh from slaughter and shrouded in tainted reason. It struggles to free itself from its past but succeeds only in becoming more entangled." He nods, as if his words are confirmed by his cursory inspection.
"What is an 'Overseer?' Was it the inebriate, or the organ grinder - or one of the spiders or rats?"
Ceridwyn squints with incredulity and slackens her pace as her companion's answer unwinds. Well, he seems to believe it.
Skeleton? Borrowed bones?
"It struggles to free itself from its past but succeeds only in becoming more entangled."
Ceridwyn quickens her pace again. She looks away from Yellow, smooths down the front of her jacket, straightens the puckered creases in her handbag with a finger—
What is an Overseer?!
Ceridwyn side-steps them both into a passing alley. She halts to look at Yellow. "Really?" She studies his response. "We need to talk—but not here."
For the first time the man seems speechless, stunned into momentary silence.
”Really…” he breathes in quiet wonder.
”We need to talk—but not here.”
He opens his mouth to speak but again stops himself with visible effort, briefly staring wide-eyed at Ceridwyn before simply closing it and nodding his assent to follow her.
Making sure that you have not been followed to the best of your ability, you make it to the Old Waterfront and hail a cab. You have it take you to a pub you frequent on the outskirts of the city on the border of the Estate District and the old Waterfront. The Headless Woman.
The pub is a converted Estate House, with a large sitting area and bar. Simple, but delicious, food is available at all hours. It is frequented by both city dwellers looking to get away from the hustle and bustle of the city, outlying farmers and, due to its colorful history, it is a tourist attraction as well.
The pub is moderately busy and you easily find seating wherever you choose.
The name of the Headless Woman pub name recalls the local legend of Grace Trigg who died in about 1710 . She was a servant at Hockenhull Hall (which is now the pub), found hiding in a cellar there by Overseers after the reputed Occultist owners had fled. They tortured her to force her to reveal where the family valuables were hidden and, when she would not tell them, beheaded her in the attic, dragged her body downstairs and dumped it off one of the Bridges.
Legend has it that, 100 years following her beheading, the inn's owners, after researching the story, ascended to the attic to discover the bloodstains were still present where she had been killed. For nearly 50 years, her ghost has been reported to wander the roads about northern Dunwall and has been seen returning to her place of execution at the Headless Woman pub. Local farmers have reported seeing her ghost walking through rows of maize. She reportedly carries her severed head beneath her arm.
Yellow moves through the city almost as if he isn't there. People move around him without seeming to pay him any notice, even when he looms over their shoulders or bends his ear to their conversations. Only when when he forcibly intrudes into their perception, such as by peering closely into their faces, do some folks seem to react. Even then, however, they seem confused, and as soon as he steps away they simply continue on with their business as if nothing strange had occurred.
Once in the Headless Woman he follows Ceridwyn to a seat, curiously studying the establishment's interior until she seizes his attention.
As Yellow studies the room the hair stands up on the back of his neck. Ceridwyn is frozen mid-sentence; in fact, all sound and movement stop. The room and everything in it become pixelated to his eyes. Slowly the pixelation becomes greater and greater, everything growing larger and more distorted until the room, its contents, and occupants disappear into huge distorted squares of color.
Slowly the pixelation effect reverses and you are no longer in a pub, but rather in a smoky alley way. Metal and mortar walls are dimly illuminated by the screens of strange devices, save one bright red neon sign fashioned to look like playing cards held by a skeletal hand that reads “ACES and EIGHTS”.
A ragged voice comes from the shadows, ”The master will see you now.”
Unperturbed, Yellow looks at the glowing sign. "Elements harnessed and combined, the intangible made visible, inspiring understanding, tracing the instrument of fate as it offers variable fortunes - but can destiny ever hinge on chance?"
”The master will see you now."
Curious eyes scan the shadows for the voice's source. "And may I see the master?"