Broken Dreams

Chapter 2

A dull thud followed quickly by a rattling of the front door may have served Coin as a substitute for knocking politely in the past, but Raivyne was having none of it.

Instead, she decided to leave the brash man to himself until he learned a few manners; in the meantime, she had a monastery to run. Rising from her stiff desk, she walked out across the chapel and into the garden where she could begin her rounds of the temple.

Raivyne's footsteps blended silently with the murmuring of a small creek that ran lazily through the temples inner courtyard. From head to foot concentric streaks of red and silver blended together along the tall scriveners form, contrasting against the deep greens of the inner garden. Alighting from his nest among the tangled shrubbery a large crow of pure black took to the air, circling the inner ward briefly before coming to a rest on its masters shoulder.

Boredom streaked the face of a women reduced to a simple life that didn't quite fit her regal bearing. A tall headdress of wicked red blades accented the single long braid of silver hair that emerged from her otherwise bald head. Beneath these the ageless pale features of an Isle Elf contrasted with striking makeup of red and black that marked her face like a skull decorated for burial. A simple cut of robe formed her flowing dress of blood red fabric embroidered with the bone and scroll iconography of the death god Jergal.

Eight months ago she had co-authored a treatise on the complex relationship between healing, divine magic, and the necromantic arts. Sometimes she still wondered if that had been real; what she wouldn't give to be back there with Evaline, buried in the scent of parchment and the flurry of discovery. The version of her from back then would never have forgotten what it meant to chase dreams larger than life.

After that, her memories blurred together; a dozen moments clear in her mind but feeling brash and disjointed. A short moment of fame. Dinners, speeches, meetings, and discussions. House Orien's final agreement to sponsor her.

Evaline's return to her people.

Emptiness.

Just like that, it was over. The dinners that once thrilled her with intrigue just felt hallow without Evaline beside her. She just couldn't keep up the charade of nobility when her reason for doing so was so far away. The few lectures she could bring herself to teach left Raivyne feeling worn out and alone.

It wasn't like Evaline was truly gone, every night the two scholars would exchange a few brief words, carried across the cosmere by magic.

But it wasn't the same. Not for Raivyne.

Loneliness, however, had never been an emotion that particularly suited Raiven. Unfazed, her dedication to Jergal redoubled. With purpose she turned resolutely to prayer and study. Disillusioned from continuing as a court socialite she followed her old childhood dream and, with the patronage of House Orien, opened a temple to her god near the outpost of Irkna.

And through the bustle of purpose loneliness faded away. Three acolytes joined her at the temple, bringing with them needs for training and support. A dozen undead were now bound to her service, serving as guards and custodians to the temple but requiring constant supervision.

Walking lightly into the study she paused for a moment to examine Alex's work, noting the careful effort that went into his mathematical analysis of the temple's finances. Still unseen, Raiven slipped back into the garden for the rest of her rounds.

--------------------------------------------

Outside the thick temple door Coin's impatience neared a boiling point as the idiot priestess behind it continued to ignore him. He knew she was there; her light footsteps on sterile wood may have evaded his hearing but the clattering and moaning of a dozen animated corpses in varying states of decay gathering behind him betrayed her presence inside. Without their master's close presence undead would never show such methodical restraint.

In his heart Coin knew he would find better success if he waited. Instead he drew a thin tool from his robes and carefully set himself to picking the door's ornately decorated lock. If he could just maintain a bit of tension and evade the notches in pins one and five...

"Ooo, what are we doing here!"

The forceful whisper spooked Coin, but a lifetime of practice kept his reaction measured as he turned his head just enough to make out the beautiful stranger. Leading a stunning white horse unconcernedly through ranks of undead was a man cloaked with the unmistakable air of royalty. Medium-length silver hair shimmered across his scalp, framing a youthful face dominated by an impressive length of mustache that seemed to shift with the movement of his gloved left hand.

Still speaking in a comically boisterous whisper the stranger spoke again: "The name is Silv: and you, my friend, seem like my kind of person. Need a hand?"

Coin wasn't usually the type of person to trust someone whose clothing was nicer than their sword, but something about Silv's conspiratorial amiability left him stripped of his usual suspicion.

Not waiting for an answer Silv knelt beside Coin, digging in his pack for a moment before revealing his own lock-picking set.

"Careful. The lock is set with a curse if you trip the notched pins." Coin warned.

"No worries, I don't trip pins" Silv replied haughtily.

Silv pulled a pair of thin silver pins from their leather pouch, slipping one deep into the locks cogs while the other stayed back near the entrance, a light touch keeping tension on the cylinder as he worked within.

Closing his eyes Coin focused on his other senses. As he did an explosion of awareness bombarded him, the weave of his magic reaching out like a thousand strands of web. Along each the vibrations of a thousand objects revealed themselves to his listening ears, while their colors and textures flashed in his nose with a thousand unique scents.

Beyond a small radius the ambient movement of air blurred this special vision into incomprehensible noise, but within 10 feet he could pinpoint the smallest shift of pin and flesh as Silv's fingers writhed in time with the delicate springs within the locks core.

"Stop that, see here you almost..." Coin trailed off as he carefully placed his own tools of tempered marble into the keyway beside Silv's silver set, catching a pin and carefully turning it in place to mimic the rotational magnetism of the key.

The pair worked quickly at the magically enhanced lock, knitting their picks in and out almost wordlessly. As the final pin slotted into place Silv gingerly twisted the tension wrench, releasing the pins with his pick as they slid clear.

Slowly at first, the lock began to turn. Finally, Silv turned the knob with a flourish, revealing that what they had mistaken for the handle was merely a decretive panel hiding the doors true machinery.

Set into the doors inner surface four more locks sat unmoving, each one more intricate than the last.

As the monuments effort still before them dawned on him Silv's mouth fell open, an expression of stunned silence visible in his crestfallen gaze.

"Fuck this!" Coin finally said, breaking the silence. Power burning through him, his hand lifted in an invocation of magic. For a moment the entire door looked to be covered with cobwebs, the illusion hardening the next moment as thick drops of acid burned into the cherry hardwood. A moment later the once beautiful door was reduced to a thick sludge.

"I guess that would be the other way of getting in," Silv said simply, grinning stupidly as the door melted off of its hinges. Rising to his feet, he took a step forward into the newly formed gap. "Guess it's time we met this Raivyne character."