The Plan

[Vivian]

74th of Frost, 4622

Vivian had stayed up late after he had returned to his room. Hakon was a bastard. A fully brainwashed bastard who, like Vivian, had never had a real chance in the world. He had been seized too young and told that there was only one way of thinking. Gods, to think that Vivian might have turned out like him if the Guild had seen fit to take him from the streets. Daravin was a cruel mistress, but at least she wasn't delusional like this lot seemed to be. If he wanted to escape with his child he needed to come up with a plan.

Firstly, he needed information. Ascension and the birth of his child were going to be very close together. It was going to be draining spiritually, physically, and mentally. He had to be ready, and a few good days of meals and sleep were part of that plan. He needed to get more information on Hakon, the face he was planning on stealing, and the Ascension itself. Secondly, he needed to birth his child and convince the mages that he needed to keep the baby for a few days. A week, at most. Enough to recover, and ascend. Once ascended, he would get close to Hakon under the guise of giving up his baby. Once Hakon's face was stolen...all that remained was to take the child to an orphanage under Hakon's cloak. Once away from the Guild, turn tail and run like his arse was on fire.

Gods, this was not going to be easy to pull off.

In the morning over breakfast, he put his plan into action. He asked some of the older mages about Hakon. He was careful about who he approached, and did it casually. He made fun of Hakon. Light teasing really, but enough that let the other mages know the only reason he'd been near the man was that he was the only one Vivian knew. Unsurprisingly, their stories matched a lot of Hakon's. He'd arrived at the tower as a young child, had a bad adjustment. Horrific night terrors, to the point where he only calmed when he was given a stuffed animal. Vivian snorted at that; oh to be given the luxury of a stuffed bear and a warm bed. He'd counted cockroaches until he'd passed out.

Hakon was their attack dog. He had a large anti-mage streak and was known for butchering mages rather than retrieving them. That made Vivian's stomach a bit sour; they'd meant to kill him from the beginning...or had just assumed Hakon would dispose of him. The thought made him a bit angry. As though that bastard could have single handedly killed a master Malformist...even in the throes of pregnancy!

Hakon was also innocent. He kept to his work, it being all that he really knew, and was utterly devoted to the Path. That delusional brand of religion that told the man he could have the evils of magic...as long as it served their purposes. Really, like any other church. Hypocritical. Vivian thanked them for breakfast, and the information, and headed back to the library. Hakon had already shown his disdain for fun. He didn't think he'd see him there. But what he did find was books on Malformity. Particularly, a few books on past ascended mages...but nothing he could sneak out of the library or read openly without suspicion.

He needed privacy with such books.

Vivian found himself knocking on Hakon's door, dressed in simpler clothing. A loose shirt and pants, with his coat. He waited patiently for the door to open, and gave Hakon a look. "I want to understand it. The Path. You." he muttered, reluctantly. After all, he couldn't turn to the dark side too quickly could he?

[Hakon]

That Vivian stopped talking to him, Hakon was fine with. No mage talked to him unless they had to. He had been surprised and even a bit pleased that Vivian had been different, but had not been disappointed or upset when it turned out the lad had been like all the rest. He'd go on to gossip about him like the other rogues who he brought back. It had hurt Hakon's feelings when he was younger, but he was inured to it now because it was the way of things.

It was small wonder he found comfort in contemplating the Path, training, prayer, and meditation. They were solitary activities that did not depend on others gracing him with hours of their presence.

He was, however, surprised when he found the lad back at his door: and looking less like he was looking to stake out a street corner of his own and more like he was taking the guild's encouragement of modest dress seriously.

"Mister Kreine," he said, inclining his head. He didn't feel he had the right to call Vivian by his first name any more, and would not do so unless invited to do so again. "Why ask me? There are more qualified instructors on the Path here in the Guild than I, and ones who have not wounded you as I did. If you are sincere in your desire to learn more of the Path," he cast a long, slow look at Vivian after saying this, a non-verbal "and I doubt that you are," before continuing: "there are surely better, more appropriate teachers than me."

"And I doubt it's the pleasure of my company you seek, as it has been made quite clear to me over the years that I am not pleasant company. So what it is, exactly, that I can do for you?"

[Vivian]

Vivian had expected some resistance, but he did feel a small swell of anger in his chest. Hakon had actually put that entire experience on him? God, how ignorant could one man be? He choked down the urge to slap him. He did come here under dubiously honest pretenses, after all. He did want to understand the Path, if only to avoid such venomous animals in the future. Perhaps he could rehabilitate such lost souls, if any of them were Malformists.

That, however, was a plan for another time.

“Better you than the men who crafted you.” Vivian pointed out. “And yes. You hurt me. But it was also partially my fault. I thought they’d actually taught you about Malformists, and that you had some idea of what was going to happen. You certainly were relaxing into it enough. But what I did to you was…violating, no matter how beneficial I thought it would be, because I didn’t have your consent.”

That was also true. He sighed. “I’m here to apologize to you. You care about the Path, and I can’t exactly leave this prison. Malformists are supposed to understand the world. So…help me understand.” He muttered.

If he was going to eventually come back and destroy this institution, and rehabilitate the mages within…including Hakon…he needed to know everything about it. Azunath was a god of understanding as well as chaos, and he would be remiss in his duty if he didn't adhere to his god's teachings. There was a lesson in everything wasn't there?

[Hakon]

Hakon knew that was as close to an apology as he was ever going to get for the incident, and he knew it was his turn to apologize in kind. He wasn't a phenom when it came to social interaction, but his superiors had drilled manners into him at an early age, and they had stuck decently well.

"I could have been more gracious in declining your offer, Mister Kreine. I was surprised by what transpired, I will admit, but that is no excuse. I -- hurt you, I believe. Your fingernails," he clarified, because he wouldn't be so rude as to bring up Vivian's obvious emotional pain. "I can restore them for you in the Arcanery, if you'd like. I will admit I am barely more than a novitiate in Grave, but I can rectify your injuries caused by my own haste, at least."

He looked around the hallway: deserted for now, but one never knew when someone with a wagging tongue would happen by.

"You should come in, I think, if you wish to continue this conversation. Now that you've distanced yourself from me, you wouldn't want people to think you're doubling back." He stated this factually and without malice. If Vivian were to remain in the Guild, the smart thing to do was befriend the other Novuses and Maguses around him, and maintaining a connection with Hakon would only complicate that endeavor.

He stopped looming in the doorway and allowed Vivian entrance to his quarters. Assuming he followed, he would see a clean, spartan room.

In contrast to other long-standing tower residents, Hakon's room looked like the man tended to it for hours every day, to the point of being spotless and was almost entirely bare of possessions. There was a rickety bed that was obviously too small for the man to sleep in without a good portion of him hanging off dressed in clean white linen and the kinds of blankets one sees in a church or a hospital: donations from those more fortunate with little regard or care given to how they look together. A set of drawers where he kept his clothes, and a small set of shelves for his personal possessions, such as they were. The stuffed toy was indeed on the set of shelves, but there was little else. A few keepsakes acquired from adventures outside of the tower, mostly made in parts of Radenor with a few things of Daravinic influence, as well. On the wall were two masquerade masks meant for use by the Entente -- should Vivian be familiar enough with such things, he would be able to discern that they were recently made, considered no longer the latest fashion but not so dated as to be embarrassing, and made to be worn, not displayed -- a few wall scrolls depicting key moments within the Path that presumably had personal meaning to Hakon, and little else.

He had a small barred window by his desk, which looked to be made for a much smaller man. The presence of a few pillows propped up against the side of it intimated that Hakon knelt to use the desk to read, write, study, and pray. There was a neat stack of letters on top tied with wine-red string. and presumably paper, ink, and the like were stored inside, as well.

[Vivian]

Vivian looked at his nails. “I would like that, yes.” He said quietly. “And please; do you think I care what others think? I associate with who I like. I leave the rank-grubbing to the Entente and these mages begging for scraps from their jailers.” His mouth quirked in an odd smile, and he stepped inside.

Dear gods, the room was practically barren! There was the stuffed toy that the other mages had mentioned, but the bed was ridiculously small. This didn’t look like a man who was highly ranked. He took no comforts. This wasn’t even adequate for his size! He needed a bed twice as big, and would it kill someone to give the poor bastard a rug? Vivian raised an eyebrow. The other man didn’t want his pity but sometimes it was completely unconscious on his part.

He looked up at the Daravinic masks on the wall. “Trophies?” He asked grimly. He shook his head, and sat down on Hakon’s cot. Everything looked so miserable in here with the exception of the stuffed animal. It was sad that Hakon only had that to cling to. No wonder he was so…ignorant, and naive. That made him the perfect candidate for this. “I won’t hunt other mages. I won’t. But I can at least try and make this prison work for me instead of the other way around.”

“Don’t you miss color…?” He asked softly. “Not everything has to look like a monk’s cell.”

[Hakon]

Hakon grinned when Vivian noticed the masks. He was proud of those. It had been quite an engagement! Then he realized Vivian thought it was sad, or pathetic, or wrong, or -- something. Something bad, that he got some satisfaction out of his job, and some pride from protecting Jorikford. That caused a strange mixture of emotions: anger, confusion, sadness for Vivian, and maybe some empathy for him, too. The lad acknowledged all of the bad things that had happened to him at the hand of his torturers yet still felt some strange kinship with them -- why, because they both had Marks of Control? Madness.

At Vivian's assessment of his decor, Hakon spread his hands.

"I must admit, I've never devoted any time to aesthetics. My bed is more comfortable than the floor I was accustomed to prior to arriving here, my linens are clean, and I have what I need to do my job. I do enjoy the illustrations, though," he said, drawing attention to a few sketches done by artists of tales of the Adac. Were Vivian knowledgeable about such things, he would see that all of them depicted various aspects of Saren and Jaxkael: Fate and Command.

"And though I am perhaps too old to truly appreciate him as I once did, Scraps remains a faithful companion," he said of the stuffed dog on the shelf. It was made of colorful patchwork pieces, and had little buttons for its features that, to a keen eye or someone familiar with tailoring, had clearly been repaired a few times over the course of the creature's existence.

He grabbed a few pillows and knelt on the floor in front of Vivian, back straight. The height disparity, Hakon's erect posture, and his low bed meant that they were more eye to eye now than one might expect.

"Now then, Mister Kreine, I believe you wished for my help in matters pertaining to the Path? As I said, I am more of a devoted adherent than an expert, but I will do my utmost for you. How can I help?"

[Vivian]

The masks felt wrong. Vivian felt them looking at him, like the ghosts of the dead mages. He couldn’t have been more disturbed if Hakon had hung their hands on the wall, or skinned them for their Mark tattoos. He felt much more comfortable looking at the sketches, and he smiled softly. The art was more to his taste, and reflected something more romantic and religious rather than harsh and evil. The contrast between the two was jarring.

Vivian watched Hakon kneel down on the floor, raising his eyebrow. “Mister Kreine?” He asked, chuckling. “Just say Vivian. I’ve never been known as ‘Mister Kreine’. Assume I know nothing. I want to know what this Path is. I didn’t get a lot of exposure to this…religious sort of thing. Other than priests coming and trying to get us to listen in exchange for a meal.”

Vivian folded his hands in his lap. “I want you to know I’ll never hurt my fellow mages. I don’t hunt my own kind. That goes double for Malformists. But I’d be willing to hear you out, on any benefits this strange cult has.”

Of course, he didn't believe that the Guild had any sort of benefits. They were monsters that killed his kind, and tortured them, and kept them caged like animals. Poor Hakon was brainwashed, and through no fault of his own. They had ruined a sweet child with this nonsense and fed him on bloodshed and hatred.

[Hakon]

"You'll never do it?" Hakon said, unable to help himself from poking at Vivian's purported pacifism for a bit. "Liar. You mean to tell me that someone who wishes you harm will be allowed to harm you solely because you both possess a Mark? I think, Vivian, that you will protect yourself. I think if you were truly so passive as you imply yourself to be, that you would not have found your way here, because you would be dead. You come from a land where the strong prey on the weak, and while you have been battered, you were not broken. I do not believe for a minute you would hesitate to attack someone if you believed they intended to kill you, for instance. If you do not wish to work on the sorts of missions I am assigned, your Warden will not designate them for you."

"That aside, you will not be forced to hurt someone else here. Most of my brethren do not engage in such activities. They perform their duties to help Jorikford. For instance, you could be called upon to communicate with insects in the area to learn why they are swarming the crops and causing famines, or perhaps to figure out a way to remove pests and vermin from the fields. Malformity, as you say, allows you to commune with animals, and there are many uses that the people of Jorikford have for that. You could also become a Malformity Fellow -- I know you are already quite an advanced practitioner, so the mages here may not have much to teach you -- and then foster the talents of the Malformists in the Guild here, or in another chapter should they find need for one."

He looked at Vivian with uncharacteristically gentle eyes. "Not everyone or even most people want to do what I do, Vivian." His gaze strayed toward the masks on the walls. "If you don't wish for that sort of assignment, don't ask for it, and you will not receive it. The only exception would be tracking an iconoclast -- that's a Guild mage that's abandoned their post -- or a rogue mage that we know to have murdered someone. Under any other circumstances, though, they will respect your choices, and as you will see, there is no shortage of work."

He shook his head to clear it. "I have gotten us off track. We are here to discuss the Path. As you said I should discuss this with you as though you know nothing, I may cover things that you find self-evident. If so, I apologize."

"To start with, our world was created for us by the Gods -- the Adac. Prior to the Fall -- you may know of this as the Bleeding, coming from Daravin -- the Path was the simple acknowledgement of the fact that the Living Gods were responsible for our world and all that dwelt upon it, and for the summation of what was in the hearts and minds of all the sentient races on Atharen, as well. Everything on this world, from the largest mountain to the smallest mote of dust, was within the domain of the Living Gods. They were also reasonably active on Atharen. If you prayed, you'd receive an answer. If you sought aid, aid would come."

"That changed with the Fall, brought about by the hubris of the Unbroken Empire. They sought to crown themselves the new Lords of creation. They were not content with the natural order, and sought to restrict access to the Gods, first by banning the practices associated with the Path, and then by persecuting its followers. Many of the Unbroken Empire's most powerful individuals were Draeden, children of the Living Gods, and they resented that they were not worshiped alongside their divine parents. They demanded they be added to the Pantheon, and it was this direct challenge to the tenets of the Path that led to the events of the Bleeding. The Gods punished the Unbroken Empire for their grasping rapacity. Not to be outdone, the Unbroken Empire retaliated against Venadak, poisoning him with an infernal weapon designed to kill the Living Gods."

"They failed in their intended aim, of course, but Venadak was severely harmed, and many of the others were, too. They have been confined to Bel to prevent the taint of their corruption spreading further on Atharen than it already has. Since then, the Gods do not answer prayers or provide aid actively or directly. Disciples of the Path still find comfort in their stories, and in prayer and meditation to honor them for the world they have created. Or," he said with a shy smile, "I do, at least."

[Vivian]

“Make no mistake, I wouldn’t hesitate to defend myself. But it would be a sad thing, Hakon. It wouldn’t be something to take pride or joy in. Even with Degare there was some sadness mixed in with the relief. I’ve killed, and would do so again, but only in defense of myself or those I love. Never just for the fun of it. I’m not a Veir. I don’t…celebrate my kills.” His eyes flicked up to the masks on the wall, then he settled for the lesson. Pinning trophies of past murders was very much something he’d expect out of a Daravinic mage. Not the noble killer Hakon purported himself to be.

Being a Fellow caught his attention. If he could guide the other Malformists here, and teach them the ways of understanding instead of shame, perhaps he wouldn’t be the only iconoclast here. “I would worry about becoming a Malformist Fellow. I like the idea. If I’m to guide anyone, and believe me I am more than capable as an expert, I don’t want anyone who hunts people.” He said firmly. “I want people who would help Jorikford. I’ve used my magic to help people worse off than I am. I wouldn’t mind doing that again.”

Vivian knew all too well the sort of killing Malformists did. While insects weren’t usually the first choice of Malformists who wanted to use their powers for the military, he was aware of the utilities. The blind hunger and muscular power of the worms and wasps. The chemical warfare of beetles and ants. Even the humble fly. They were all horrors best confined to their small worlds, not brought to the face of a battlefield. Vivian still remembered his first loss of control. A drunk trying to rape someone. He’d pulled the man down his throat and felt him struggle in his stomach. No one deserved a death like that.

Vivian nodded, clearing his throat. “Right. The Path.” He muttered. He listened, tilting his head. He could see how humans could have corrupted things between the Living Gods and man, but didn’t the gods share some of that responsibility? It seemed to him like lonely children striking out against absent parents, wanting someone or something to acknowledge them. They’d only wanted their birthright.

“It’s a sad story, then.” Vivian said as Hakon concluded. “Abandoned children of the gods that only wanted someone to see them, and burned everything down around them. Their parents didn’t try to understand them, but punished them. It wasn’t right on either side. The Living Gods should have embraced their children. Their children shouldn’t have tried to kill their parents. I can only imagine how they must feel.”

Vivian rubbed at the back of his neck. “They were probably alone. You had a father that loved you…sacrificed for you. They didn’t. Imagine if your father or mother was famous, and worshipped around the world as the creator of the seas or birds. I…I don’t think it was the pantheon they wanted. I think they just wanted their families.” He said softly. He touched his stomach. “I don’t know who my father is, and my mother didn’t want me. I know how much that hurts, when the person who’s supposed to love you from the moment you open your eyes wants nothing to do with you.”

Vivian ran his fingers idly over the swell of his belly. “Which of the Living Gods do you pray to? Is Azunath one of them?”

[Hakon]

"You aren't the first to make the familial connection in the Path," Hakon said, pleased that Vivian was actually paying attention. Maybe he'd really meant it when he said he was interested? Doubtful, but Hakon was a devotee of a religion where the Gods had not directly intervened for centuries. He believed in doing things even if there was no apparent payoff. "There's some interesting writing about the concept of the Draeden as abandoned or neglected children, too. It's not an interpretation I personally find that interesting, though."

"These individuals in question were adults, and so powerful in their own right that they controlled the fate of entire countries. Cities lived and died by their whim. This led to their fatal mistake: thinking that because they were partially divine, that they could hold a candle to their fully divine parents. So to answer the question I think you may be asking: no, I do not feel particularly sorry for the Draeden. I see echoes of them in the excesses of the Entente and of some of the worst rogues and iconoclasts I've encountered over the years. Power tempts, and it corrupts, and it ruins. Magical power more than most, it seems."

"It may not surprise you to know that while I pray to all of the Living Gods, I am a particular devotee of Evitrix and Gevala. I do spare some thoughts for Saren and Jaxkael, as well, corrupted though they may be."

He looked at Vivian's belly, smiling gently. "I can see why the theme of families may be on your mind, though, Vivian. And I believe that both of my parents did their absolute best for me. My mother brought me into this world even though it cost her her life, and my father did his best to provide for and protect me even though it ultimately cost him his. I am thankful for their efforts. It does not matter that they were not, to an outside observer, successful. You are already doing better for your child than your parents did for you, I think, by thinking about how you can provide the best life for them."

Hakon had little way of knowing how true that last statement was.