He stared forward from beneath his dark hood, shielding his eyes from the evening sky but still seeing, knowing what it was that towered before him. The two orbs that peeked out from cover to stare at the tall ruins almost seemed to catch the fading rays of light from the fading day. Almost. His dark brown, nearly black cloak looked more like a fluttering blur, a passing memory, as his figure sped forward past a set of columns. He took several steps forward, each one haphazardly placed upon the cracked and broken cobblestone that had long since been overrun by weed and encroaching forest. It occured with not a single sound, no echo that would carry throughout the hollowed stone building. He looked above, toward the changing sky, as he stopped again. He peered through the crumbled ceiling of the ruins, one that had caved in atop the open expanse of room beneath perhaps hundreds of years before. His pale hands were still tucked behind the thick cloak, but they were grasping eachother in front of his chest, almost as if he were in prayer. He did not pray. He simply stared, watched the changing, corrupted sky through a changing, corrupted building. Each passing second caused unseen changes in the structure, eventually leading to its final return to sand and rubble. Each passing moment caused unseen changes in the sky that would lead to its eventual return to the abyss. Such was the way of an echo. So sure that it was there, only to be questioned the instant after it has been absorbed back into the empty space between listening ear and reflecting wall. Such would be the fate of himself, he was entirely sure, but until then, he would serve his purpose in the dying projection of the true world.

If he had been listening more intently and not absorbed in thought, he might have recognized a few unexpected sounds coming from nearby.

Ranewen had been back at her temple a few moments ago, having been adjusting the saddle from her nightmare and had fit it to her own divine beast, Isilme Isto. She had begun sick of being cased in by the temple and, particularly got annoyed at the people constantly coming in and ruining the day by asking her random questions that, of course, she either didn’t want to share or couldn’t answer. Well, there were some that she just didn’t feel like answering and just walked away from. But now…now she took the advantage of the day’s drawing to an end. Smirking lightly, she tightened the saddle upon the horse’s back and then took off from the temple. That, however, was what seemed to be an eternity ago. Now, she was at the ruins finally, which had been her destination in the first place. Gripping the reins in front of her, she led the horse slowly through the ruins. At the same time, she saw a cloaked figure, which was naught but an outline from where she stood. She focused on him for a moment and then pulled the reins to her right and walked towards where he was. He probably had heard the noises from the hooves of the rather large horse, hitting the cracked stones and trampling the weeds beneath his weight. Ranewen waited where she was for a moment, blinking her golden eyes as she watched the figure carefully, frowning, for she knew not who it was – or, in fact, what it was. She wrinkled her nose slightly and watched, then dismounted from the horse and laid the reins against the back of his neck. Luckily, the saddle she rode was just the right size as to not irritate his wings. And the bridle could fit itself over the horn easily. She grinned and stood, holding the reins near the bit of the bridle, looking at Isilme. Then, her attention went back on that of the cloaked figure and she waited silently, watching him. Was he actually ignoring her presence? Or had he not heard her? Shrugging, she watched him a moment longer before letting her hand fall from that of her loyal mount and she walked towards him. Being only about five foot four [yes, short], she had to look up at him, even at the distance she was at now. She stood approximately four meters away, her arm resting on the hilt of her Blade of Chaos, her other arm laying at her side. She did, however, refuse to break the silence. She stood now, with her head slightly in the air, watching the back of this hooded figure. She shifted her weight from foot-to-foot and blinked her eyes. She was about to say something, but for some reason, she fell short of words, not knowing what to say.

||ooc||Not much to work off of, but eh... Didn't know what she should say, so yeah... XD

He concentrated and stared, his illusory eyes, ones belonging only to a memory, saw a world of truth. He let his body feel the very air that pressed against him, breathing in lungfulls of the corrupted material. Every intake was the repeat of a breath something had once taken in the past. He felt honored to realize that the breath may have been derived from something of great importance. What, who, when, he would never be able to say. He could never find any solid strands that led back to the one true past, never could place his finger on that one link that would reconnect a dying echo back to its source. He would not stray from this path in defeat or disinterest, letting the dream, the desire, burn itself away into the ash of forgotten tales of fancy. It was his responsibility to learn, to recollect, as much of the corrupted, false world as he could. He would combine and compare, analyze and scrutinize, twist and pull taught, everything he could. He would link the knowledge of what is true with the bastardized echo of a once perfect world in order to strengthen the memory of the perfect world itself. In so doing, he would have completed his task before he too faded away into the unknown beyond, the unspoken world where echo is wrought and chained so that it can no longer return to the stream of time. He was to propogate the echo, add slivers of time to an already destined fate, the known conclusion of the echo and the final spark of memory of a world long past. It was his respect for that true world that drove him forward, kept him turning corrupted stones and staring past impure sunrises.

The air had changed. Knowledge, sounds that had been heard but never thought about, had finally reached his conciousness. Clip-clops of a worldly beast, steps across the tattered and worn ground of the ruined building. Another echo, another destined to fade. Most probably another creature toiling in the false world as pieces of an echo tend to do, mindlessly carrying out task and trade with comforting knowledge that the accomplishment of worldly goals would have some effect on the outcome of days yet to arrive. His body turned, robe shifting as he stared straight but rotated on his feet. He peered down through the darkness of his hood, the dying light of day dimming the sky so that he was little more than a darker speck across a dark background. A small creature, a larger creature. Two, unexpected. Both echos and both trapped, just as himself. He continued to hold his hands in front of his chest as he stared and watched, contemplating their role and fate in the sunset of the world.

Ranewen watched him for a moment and then he had turned around, though only his feet had to have moves. Perhaps not even. He just spun in place. She watched him with her golden eyes, the wings from her Erinyes demon that she was infused with hanging lazily out of both of her shoulders blades, the wings making her look much too small. Although she looked as if she were fourteen and no threat at all, she was, as matter of fact. She didn’t look like she was fit for the spot as Goddess of Darkness, but if one searched her mind, they would find that she was probably one of the most well suited people out there.

Blinking slowly, she looked up at what would most likely be the face of this person. She couldn’t see beyond the hood of the cloak, but as she thought, would she really want to? Shrugging to herself, she searched for the right words in her mind, which wouldn’t come. Well, not in English anyways… Yes, finally, she decided to speak, but it wasn’t in the language she wanted it to be. It was in Drow, but perhaps he knew the language? If not, he could probably translate it as her introducing herself. “Vedui’, nika. Usstan uil Ranewen, Quarval-sharess del Oloth,” she said with a nod of her head, and then pondered for a moment whether or not to have translated that into the common language of Imythess. But one would not be able to know if this stranger had known the language or even understood it. Or, perhaps, he was a mute and couldn’t respond to her at all. Only the treasured time could tell, though time usually decided to place itself against Ranewen.

[.Drown Translation: Greetings, stranger. I am Ranewen, Goddess of Darkness.]

The waves of sound from her voice washed over him, only some of the tide siphoning into his ears. He almost felt like he could sense the words bouncing off of his cloak and face. Yes, just another echo, a simple vibration of a lost note. She was a curious sort, relatively small for those he had seen in the distant shadows of darkened night and general disinterest. She seemed to be not more than a growing vessel, yet to be fully distinguised as a seperate thread of the tangled web of the projection of world long past. Perhaps she would survive long enough in the tunnel of time to finish her development and potentially make an impact on the fate of the false world. He was being particularly optimistic for no particular reason. He generally ignored the beast behind the girl, just another mindless lie, corrupted and a bystander.

He was curious about the worth of the noise appearing before him, her feet upon the equally illusionary stone floor of the ruined structure. Her words meant nothing, as if she was as confused as to her role in what appeared to be life as he was. No sense, logic, knowledge, nothing had come through to him. He learned nothing from the vibratory emanation that poured from the vibratory creature's projected mouth. He had long since been used to the idea that he was equally as corrupt and false as those he judged, so the fact that he was analyzing creatures that did not entirely exist had been dealt with. He did not dwell on the issue that he was required to participate as a interlocuter with untrue depictions of an undeniable past, rather, he accepted it and continued to gain knowledge however he could.

Losing interest in the girl's speech, he shifted to the side so that the waning sun was visible to her, just beside his shoulder, just over the bottom rim of the hole that he had been peering through. His hand crossed his body to cover the sun from her view again, palm open, until he made a fist. His skin was now showing past his cloak, white as if it had only the vaguest acquaintance with sunlight over the years. Moving back to where he had started, fist still clenched and in place beside his shoulder, the dark hole surrouding his face stared at the girl, never moving during the entire set of actions. With slow, calculated movement, he shifted his hand in front of his body, almost offering it to the girl. The fingers of his fist pointed to the sky, he opened his hand to have his palm upraised. Within it, a spherical ball of light hovered just over his pale skin. A calm, wise voice crept out from beneath the dark hood, a response given to an unknown comment.

Pieces stolen from the very heavens, how do you exist in unreal reality?

Ranewen raised both of her black eyebrows as she looked at him after he had asked his question. She blinked a few times and shifted weight from foot to foot, watching his fist for a moment and then looking back at the hood of his cloak. “Err—I’m not sure…” she said with a rather abashed look upon her rather pale face. No matter how long she stayed out in the sunlight, her skin wouldn’t tan, nor would it burn. Then again, she was colorblind, though she could see the normal shades of the rainbow [red, orange, etc]. She couldn’t, however, see the color salmon—it would turn up as nothing but a red to her.

She shrugged her shoulders once again in this awkward silence—not that it bothered her, though. She just wondered what in the world of Imythess he meant. She shrugged it off mentally. Curious, probably… she concluded, but did nothing more than place an arm against the horse she had ridden here as she watched him with unblinking, golden eyes. She used alter form to make her wings disappear and looked to her right to make sure that they were not there. Satisfied, she turned back around to face Echo again. “If you don’t mind my asking—and hopefully you aren’t as arrogant as the last fool I came across who failed to introduce himself to me—what is your name?”

Patting the horse on the side of the neck, she simultaneously wondered if he would actually give an honest answer. Well, hopefully he has a name… she thought and smirked slightly, the ends of her lips twitching momentarily before going back to their old state—unmoving and in naught but a straight line. She clenched her teeth together and then looked at his fist for a moment and wondered—when he had stuck it out—if she was supposed to, well, do something… But, she’d’ve already known if she had done something wrong, right? Well, perhaps not, but that’s beside the point…

Hints of the abysmal hole of nothingness sent out tendrils to probe the world as the two stood in silence, the girl's response and question now dead in the air of the evening. He remained motionless as the orb glowed in his hand and he considered the words that once again pushed past him, some trailing into his perception and thought. So she could speak and be understood, an interesting discovery. He had assumed the creature to be incapable of communicating across the open space between them. It was not uncommon, now that time had taken a firm grip of the fate of the world, for gaps to form within the resonance of the true world, rendering some creature or space incapable of functioning in a constructive manner. While her response was less than insightful, he was comforted to know that he was not in such close proximity to the first signs of worldly demise. He did not expect an answer from the girl, at least she did not make a vain attempt. How could she possibly understand. Her next syllables were no more useful, but they were more unfortunate. A threat so soon for a demand so pointless.

His open palm closed again around the glowing orb, its light still shining out from his fingertips. Moving to the side again, he replaced his fist off the side of his opposite shoulder and opened his palm to expose it to the last breaths of the sun. As he brought his hand back down, still open, it could be seen that the light was now gone.

Borrowed corruption returned in hope for a cleansing of fate.

His comment seemed non-direct, more likely words spoken to the evening breeze than to the girl standing before him. He had not reacted to her wings returning to her body; he had seen much more concentrated forms of the bastardization of the true world. That is all magic is: manipulation of the corruption present in the false world.

Only that which is unique is given a name. I am but an echo, derived from an original such that I am nothing more and inherently less.