Chapter One: Method

I.

It was an interesting sensation to say the least. Felt like being very quickly sucked in, then slowly dribbling out, like molasses falling, drop by drop, out of the mouth of its bottle. Then it happened all at once, the strangest part of the experience; freefalling. It was followed, of course, by a sudden and very hard stop, as anyone might expect; had they more than a handful of seconds to think, at any rate. A few Sensates Rhedoc knew had always said no two portals feel the same, and each one was uniquely wonderful. Rhedoc was an Independent. There was nothing "uniquely wonderful" about being dropped unceremoniously on a body's sodding ass, in the middle of a strange plane. No, not wonderful, downright terrifying more like it.

He was slow to rise, planting the butt of the glaive in the dirt and hoisting himself up it like a clumsy spider. Bit by bit he rose to his feet, dusting off Cierra's old cloak, and brushing off the smoky grey leather armor he wore. Plane of Smoke is what the dragon had said. That's where this rig was enchanted. Fifth degree. Something downright special. Anywhere but the Outer Planes, that is. He'd found it on Arcadia, though, horde of a dragon, offered as payment for getting back its sodding egg. Downright addle-coved idea in the first place, but it paid well, and came with a minimal loss of life tag; and after the job from that tanar'ri…

One foot in front of the other, preceded by the glaive's hind-end. Thump, pad pad, thump, pad pad, all the way down the road. He found himself in a sort of sparse forest, golden sunlight streaming through the trees, the sound of a small brook babbling alongside him. The trees were high enough to provide shade, dense and thick, yet not so much so that light was blocked out. It was just generally nice, and after some of the other places he'd been, nice was piking wonderful.

What was it they'd always said about Elysium? Something about good people and bad people? Ah yes, good people always get where they're going in record time, as long as they have good intent. They get there in record time, too, if they stop to do good deeds on the way, which is a downright puzzlement of time and space. Now, evil people were another matter. Took them forever to get anywhere, so went the chant. That suited Mr. Gwydion right down to the ground. He just walked, keeping Cierra and her home in mind. He'd never been here, but if the chant was to be believed, that didn't matter one lick.

II.

He'd been walking nearly five hours, at a steady pace. No need to run, he knew where she was bound. She'd been saying over the past five jobs "we ought to go to Elysium and visit my mum. Get you introduced and take a break." So it seemed logical enough that she would be bound for her mother's house in Elysium. No need to rush. Take it even. Breath slowly, berk, don't get excited. It's just Cierra, you've seen her a thousand times before, slow down, berk!

"Help! Someone help me!"

It came form the woods. Sounded like a man's voice. Now the decision came, run off into the unknown to save the unknown, or keep walking like you didn't hear it? Think quick, think quicker, pike it all, why am I walking into the woods? Damn you, Rhedoc Gwydion, and your impulsive need to do the right thing.

As he chided himself internally, Rhedoc came upon a man. This man was trapped under a log, a wood-cutting axe not far from him. Blood lay in no small amount round the area of the man's legs, and the legs themselves didn't look particularly well-off, what with the log smashing them so neatly into the ground. The man, with his moppish brown hair and dark eyes, now matted with sweat, and bloodshot in fear, cried out to Rhedoc, though the Aasimar barely heard him. Too quickly, Rhedoc had tied his silken rope around the tree trunk and looped the other end over a tree branch. Tight muscles bulged in the wiry Aasimar's arms as he strained at the rope. Rhedoc had never been an exceptionally strong man, and so lifting a log was a bit of a stretch. Still, he had to try.

The two sat silently for the better part of an hour, Rhedoc straining constantly against the weight of the trunk, the man knowing help was either right here with him, or far beyond his call. After an hour of yanking, pulling, and straining, there was some give. Then more. Slowly, inch by inch, the tree budged, lifted, then came further up. Rhedoc quickly tied the rope to another tree-trunk, suspending the log indefinitely as he collapsed to the ground, chest heaving for breath.

"Can't thank you enough, cutter! I thought I was done for right then and there when that tree came down!" the man dragged himself by the nails toward Rhedoc.

Rhedoc simply held up a hand, motioning the man still. "Don't move, you'll hurt yourself further. Here, I'll go get help, you keep some food and water with you, I may be a while." He tossed the man a belt pouch and a few water skins, then shoved up and off, heading further down the path at a brisk jog without stopping to hear anything the man had to say.

And the man was saying something. Something about a hut. Or a cut. Who knew?

III.

It was another half hour before Rhedoc came upon a small cottage there in the forest. The most beautiful and tranquil house he'd ever seen, adorable white walls, golden yellow thatched roofing, with flowers here and there growing in it, and an iron fence surrounding a tiny garden. This place was absolute sodding paradise. There was a woman with blonde hair dressed simply in a dress of tan and a white apron sweeping down the path to the road, and she looked up, seeing Rhedoc.

It is important to note that the woman saw a gentleman with impossibly golden hair and insanely blue eyes dressed in a heavy smoky grey leather armor, a cloak of Elysian make, and carrying a glaive, a long-blade, and two short-swords. This was not a blood who looked kind or happy, and there he was, leaning on an instrument of death, wheezing.

IV.

The woman looked at him, eyes wide in terror. Rhedoc was confused. He raised a hand and she almost screamed before he managed to croak out "there's a man, was trapped under a log… had to lift it… needs help… broken legs…"

Her eyes went normal, she relaxed, then ran into the house. Again, Rhedoc was confused, and so he stood there, leaning on the glaive's haft. This was one barmy plane. Still, it was nice. Cool breeze, yet not cold, warm sun, yet not hot, just entirely pleasant. It did not take long for the woman to burst out of the house carrying a bag, nearly running. She passed Rhedoc off, and so he hoisted the polearm once more and ran after her, having almost caught his breath. Stupid barmy sodding plane and its do-goodiness.

They arrived at the man shortly thereafter, and the woman wasted no words in tending the wound, splinting the breaks and getting the man onto crutches. Apparently she was a healer, or a priestess, or some other thing that knew how to fix injuries. The three of them sat a while in silence before the wood-cutter spoke.

"Thank you both, immensely. From the very bottom of my heart, thank you. If there's anything I can do to repay you, please, tell me what it is."

Rhedoc sat, again, for a few moments, taking all of this in. Things had moved so incredibly fast in this plane, he hadn't had much time to think on things. He'd forsaken his party, his group, his compatriots to follow a girl into a strange plane on the hopes that she liked him well enough to not toss him out on his ass. This was the single most addle-coved thing he'd ever done, and he was now having second thoughts. Both the healer and the wood-cutter were looking directly at him, and he didn't care. The sun came through the trees, warming his face and limbs, while the damp earth was starting to soak his backside. Yet he sat, and thought, and grew even more depressed. This would not end well.

"My name… is Rhedoc Gwydion, I'm an Aasimar from Mount Celestia, originally. I came here to find," he barely got the word 'find' out when the healer piped up.

"Cierra Yuy. You're looking for Cierra!" she chirped, looking a bit over-excited for Rhedoc's taste.

"You… you're him! You're Rhedoc!" said the wood-cutter, "It's a downright pleasure to meet you, sir! A damn fine pleasure!"

Rhedoc all at once found himself confused, bewildered, and shaking hands with two people who seemed to know much more about him than he could be comfortable with.

V.

They had explained that they both knew Cierra, in fact, most of the town did. The town, of course, being the one just an hour's walk from here, in the same direction he'd initially been going. Hell of a coincidence for a man with honest and good intentions on the plane of Elysium. Cierra's mother was the town's baker, and apparently, quite a good one at that. Cierra herself, was something of a daughter, friend, sister, and mother to almost everyone in the town, which made a lot of sense. Too much to be a lie, anyway.

They led him enthusiastically to the town, babbling almost constantly about how wonderful it was to finally meet him, and wouldn't he like to come in for a spot of tea. Well, they babbled right enough, up until he asked if Cierra was home. Then they got very quiet very quickly. That was entirely too ominous.

At least the walk was pleasant, in the sun, mid-afternoon, shaded slightly, with a bit of a breeze across their faces.

VI.

Cierra's mother was named Isabell Yuy, and was every bit as lovely as her daughter. She stood taller than most other women of the town, and waited outside her front door wearing a white apron, gloves, and a long blue skirt, with a green tunic; having, of course, heard that the Great Rhedoc Gwydion, Hero of Mount Celestia, Defier of the Will of Zeus, Savior of the Gnomes of Bytopia was in town, and looking for her daughter.

Rhedoc approached through the streets of the tiny burg, houses crowded tightly together in a very homey manner, cobblestone streets greeting white stone houses with black and red tiled roofs. The town seemed centered on a fountain, or well, or a bit of each, and children ran about screaming and yelling, while men and women stuck their heads out of windows to see what was going on in the street below. It was a very small burg, and apparently he was the first visitor besides Cierra in a very long time.

The miniature procession made its way right up to Isabell's door, where she looked the boy Aasimar over a few times, appraising him. He straightened up, more than his share of uncomfortable, lifting his chin and trying to look impressive, intimidating, not-slovenly, or hopefully some combination of all three. In the end, he failed at all four.

Isabell leaning in, close, almost too close, and Rhedoc had the sour feeling in his stomach that meant he may have to run soon, and run fast. He hated running, almost more than he hated the Astral. And let me tell you, cutters, he hated the Astral.

"You need to eat more. You're too skinny," she said as her stony façade melted away into a genuine smile. Isabell laughed lightly, motioning Rhedoc into the house and away from prying eyes and ears.

VII.

"No! Absolutely impossible, not here!" Rhedoc shouted. He yelled so loud the people spying at the doors and windows nearly fell over.

"I'm sorry, Rhedoc, that's what happened. I'd be glad to help you get her back, but I can't do it on my own," Isabell replied calmly. Her cheeks were stained with fresh tears, as were Rhedoc's.

"Baatezu don't come to Elysium, and they don't capture people there! They're plain evil, for the love of all the powers! It's not possible!"

"But it is, Rhedoc."

"Fine. Fine, then I'm going for her. I'll get her back, or I'll sodding die!"

"That's where I may be able to help you, son," Isabell smiled, opening a very old and very dusty trunk.

The cottage was small, but accommodating, room enough for two, maybe three, but not more. That smell, the one that lingered on her cloak, and played through Cierra's hair, it was everywhere here, and the dried herbs hanging from the ceiling with the pots and pans did nothing to cover it up, nothing at all, and he loved it. There was a small round table at which they now sat, and a counter for preparing food. A large oven sat against the far wall, and at the back were two beds. The rest of the house was littered in boxes and bags and trunks.

She laid a short-sword, still in the scabbard on the table. It was breathtaking to see, simply breathtaking. The scabbard was etched and worked into a constant knot-design, working up over and around ever square inch of it, and interlaced with the leather-carved design, were inlaid strands of silver, ending in a silver heart at the tip of the scabbard, near the point of the blade. The hilt was steel, decorated with strands of gold and silver intertwining down its length, ending in the pommel; which was a ruby heart set into a silver notch.

Holding his breath, he drew the blade from its resting place, and looked upon it. Runes ran the length of the blade, and were inlaid with rubies, forming the shapes of said runes, making it appear as if the runes glowed red as it swung. Nothing short of breathtaking.

"It was mine, when I was about your age, from about the time I met Cierra's father."

"It's… this is a… you were a planewalker?"

"I was. Does it surprise you?"

He shook his head and sighed, standing. He flopped his own short-sword down on the table, replacing it with this new gift, then clasped Cierra's cloak about his neck. He lifted her glaive and groaned under its weight.

"There's one more thing, Rhedoc."

He turned and looked at Isabell. She was holding a bag.

"Cookies, for Cierra, when you find her."

Rhedoc took the cookies firmly in hand and marched from the cottage, a man intent on saving the woman he loved.