Prologue: Decisions

I.

He entered the same room he'd stayed in a thousand times before. The Open Shell Inn, deep in the heart of Sigil. The Cage. There was a slight clatter as his sword belt hit the floor, two short-blades landing unceremoniously on the wooden planks that served as ground on the second story. They were soon followed by a small host of daggers and knives, and then a long-blade still sheathed in a back hanger. He reached up and latched the lock on the door, setting a large glaive in the corner delicately, as if it were a newborn he was setting into its cradle for the night. Off came the worn traveling cloak, a size or two too small for him, then the tunic, a size too big. Belt pouches, lock-picks, tools, bags and the like all came down to the floor next.

Rhedoc was his name, Rhedoc Gwydion. Son of Zeus. Or an Asuras. Either way, a rapist and a liar, almost a killer. The half-fiends weren't the only ones with bad parents. Way he saw it, Baator and Mount Celestia were pretty much the same place. He was tall, at six feet, yet not as tall as other Aasimar he'd seen. His hair was golden, not that simple dark yellow of a deep blonde, but golden, shining like the sun itself on a clear day, eyes a similar way, only blue. Again, not the dull blue of a human with blue eyes, no, these almost glowed with an unearthly light. There was no mistaking the wiry, athletic man's heritage, even if you tried to. His frame with lithe, lean, yet muscular, and he clothed it in simple attire; a pair of simple brown pants he'd gotten on Ysgard, and a pair of boots the same. The tunic on the floor was Baatorian, and somewhat hideous, though the cloak…

…it still smelled like her…

The cloak was from Elysium. He let his hair down out of the short pony tail it was confined to when he was out walking the planes. It fell to his shoulders quietly, whispering across his neck. It hid the tears. A bottle lifted to his mouth, and he swallowed a pull from it. Whiskey. When he'd lost his mother, when he'd found out she'd died, he drank as well. Not like this, though, and the drinking made it all go away then. Now, now it just kept hurting, like a dull wound in his chest that couldn't be seen or healed. The light went out on the dirty little room in the filthy little inn, and Rhedoc's head hit the dirty little pillow, the bottle hit the floor.

He was in Ysgard again.

In the clearing was a man with one eye and two birds.

"These runes will force the hand of destiny."

"Are you able to make that choice?"

Her smile.

Her laugh.

That smell of her hair in the morning.

He woke with a start, gasping for air, and covered in a sheen of sweat and tears. First instinct told him it was blood, the tanar'ri'd come back with another job, and had torn into him, he was on his feet in a heartbeat, the long-blade naked in his hand, flickering and flashing in the dim light coming through the window. The Cage was still below, it was night, and none were out and about this street. His breathing slowed, his heart slowed, and he was left standing, naked, holding his sword, the air oppressive.

A long while he stood there, breathing in and out, before he tried sleeping again, laying down on the bed shakily, head resting on the pillow. He curled up into a fetal position and once more sleep took him.

Dreams were never kind to Rhedoc Gwydion.

His hand went into the bag.

Stabbing searing pain, ripping through his head.

Dissolution.

Evaporation.

Naked.

She smiled.

She held him through the night.

Everything was fine.

Alright.

They kissed.

This time, he was on his feet screaming, waving the sword at an imaginary foe, for a few minutes until he'd collected his bearings. The barkeep knocked at the door with a muffled 'alright in there?' and Rhedoc merely popped his head out, blue eyes now red and bloodshot.

"I'm fine. Just having a little trouble sleeping is all."

"Can get you some warm mil" slam. Rhedoc was not interested in warm milk, herbal teas, or any other concoction or folk remedy. He knew what kept him awake, and it was not simple insomnia. It was Cierra.

II.

Raime was a bariaur. A tall half-goat-half-human with long brown hair and soft brown eyes. What's more, she was a priestess, in the service of Freya. She lay asleep in her bed, tauric lower half of a goat sprawled out, human upper half curled around the pillow. Rhedoc was her friend, and she worried about him. He hadn't been the same since Cierra had struck out on her own, the little Aasimar seemed to have taken quite a shine t the other of his kind, and when she left, it was a blow to him. That much was obvious. Poor little guy.

All at once there was someone else in her bed with her. Maybe he was there a while and she hadn't noticed, maybe he just dropped in. Either way, there was a stranger curled up in her bed. She stood, grasping her hammer, then shoved the person awake.

III.

Someone shoved Rhedoc out of bed. He toppled over the side and landed on the hard-wood floor, sending dust flying. With a groan, the Aasimar stood, bewildered for a moment, fumbling for his blades. Then he saw Raime giving him the look of death.

"Oh uh… evening, cutter," he managed to choke out, giving her that winning Rhedoc Grin.

"What are you doing in my bed?" Raime screamed back.

"Sorry. I couldn't sleep… I kept dreaming of her, so I picked your lock and tried to sleep here. I figured another body by me would do the trick,"

Her expression softened, her hammer dropping as she hugged him tightly, almost crying herself. Poor little guy, only needed something fuzzy to cuddle. She looked down at the Aasimar and smiled gently.

"It's alright, Rhedoc. You'll see her again."

"I don't know what I should do. It's entirely intolerable."

"What is?"

"I can't sleep, I can't get her out of my head. I simply don't know what I should do," he said, pulling away as he began to pace about the room.

"Well it's obvious," she told him, very matter-of-factly. That was Raime's style, right to the point.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. You have to go after her, you sodding berk."

That was a day ago. Now Rhedoc was standing before a giant ale barrel in a back-alley in the Lady's Ward. He'd paid good money for this gilt rosebud, and as the portal began to open, he knew it was well-spent. He was on his way to Elysium. On his way to Cierra.