Muted Screams

Most that journey out from their home realms are often the type of being with the right amount of levels to allow adaptive changes to their form.

Even living humans have this ability without aid, for when someone dreams - their soul and mind takes a wonder across the many worlds. This can also happen in the right circumstances such as being full focused into any tv, video or game; enough human imagination allows temporize wondering. So is daydreaming.

That said, all souled being have this ability. their are some whom are better at it, like the shadows of the damned. Souls now bodiless can achieve great feats of travel across the universe without trying.

But adaptiveness is also a curse, its why a guilty or bad mannered soul can not enter places of divine paradise. It is also the same laws that do not allow gods to be among humans at free will. The add of a vessel, a being whom already exists in the realm - dubbed god followers; it the loop hole to that rule. As is also being to near death like state - a damned so starved will become physical ashes.

Sometimes, that is the largest cruelty of the interaction laws, or as the gods call it the veil.

Those that we love can be stood by our side this whole time. It doesn't matter if your godly, magical or give divinity to see past things. No matter how close the dead can linger, the furthest apart they are at reaching out to tell you things are ok. No hand to brush away tears. No voice to stop you from saying things you don't mean to. No physical body to shield you from the oncoming weapon.

It's especially cruel when the shadows gather in one area... they are visible. Only meaning that someone will loss something detrimental to themselves. The mute blank clay faces that have a partly opened mouth, hands that brush light and turn into a flurry of ashes. The odd one that is willing to give up their chances, to stop you from walking forwards. Only to shower all of what is the threat in the ashes. These ashes have power, that erase otherworldly objects from sight.

A long row of masked faces pass glare at the on walking among many of Sigil's walk ways, each a smug smile of nerve. Off putting as it is. Thankfully has worked to prevent idiots so far. Misted bodies of thinned structures posing threats of any whom lingered to close.

There horror become ever more real as a blind god walks this pathway through. A god in wish to visit old friends of the deep. A drowned fella, in carpets of seaweed. A undead type which fits with the slogan. The code of 'what is dead may never die'. Wet foot prints cake ash, smearing as a trail of such a slow snail.

The tug of ex-god followers by curse throw in the way of the lord; their voices will never reach. No lord of good divinity will hear the hollow screams of the damned. As haunting as the any banshee could muster. The more clay faces held of joyed expressions, were feeling the totally opposite.

"What a strange party gathered in the halls of the faceless?" So the drowned man noted, paying no mind as misted bodies throw themselves in failing attempts to prevent him inching forwards.

The screams struck their loudest, at the tipping point. All whom were now close to this god were nearly able to just touch the god; just at being in his presence. With it was the sudden chill the tingles down, eating something in the heart of the man.

"He is a goner. His walked to far to be saved... now he too is cursed like us." The chorus in full stop, eyes that go back to the halls to the entry. Long deep cut grinning, that each could nearly cry. This short set of words were not heard... but they were felt. The drown lord could tell that this leading damned had said something, it was plain as day to night. But still there were no crossing of words that could be recognized. Ironic as the speaker was indeed the one the drowned came to see. The faceless one.

"Welcome... you aren't meant to be here." The seated human shape was sat at pool in the middle of this hall... sharpening a blade with a wet stone. There weren't any indications of them before until now. A wounded fella, whom dripped strange blood. Wild eyes that focused on every slight directional changes of sliding that blade on the stone.

"I don't think you're whom I was looking for. You are not them." Drowned man walks in inspected the empty stone walls, once covered in faces that the many faced god had collected. More odd was the rot in here, the assassin death god disliked such property. According to the host of the faceless one, the smell was a reminder that life finds a way to mock the title often. The drowned man is very sure now... that things are wrong.

"I am not the faceless... as you seemed to be seeking." the blade is at lift to inspect the quality, "No... I am the protector of my timeline. A unspoken and unwanted guest; a fate worse then dying." the blade is danced swiftly in motions of practicing cuts, "It doesn't matter to you."

"Mmm...." the dark place as no windows to the outside, so there isn't any hope of checking why prayers are utter silence... what give strength of miracles to a god in the first place, "I have wondered to far away from what I should have belonged. it must have been what they were telling me. It's strange how I still didn't them speak." the blade is stopped from practice, it is posed with concetration, "So there is no returning?"

"You will do... not in the state you would like. Nor will you recall of it all. Your mind will simply not know." the is poses of counting... the gentlemen weakly standing. Not how a human should stand. More like a weak little puppet on strings of shadows.

"Can you promise me that I will go back home, no matter what state I become?" the question lingers in echo for a while... it had stopped them counting. They instead lowered in a sort shock, nearly collapsed even. As if the puppeteer almost dropped the doll, "It wasn't the first time such sorry situation have been highlighted... I say, there been repeated gods whom didn't belong among us. Each had said strange things that never happened or had yet to happen to the history as we are aware of. I say, almost as if something beyond the veils is the cause of such strangeness. Something all us gods, of the now we know and the now these strangers know, is making happen. Fixing then losing them strangers."

The blade is weighted in their hand... as if the burden of causing trouble for the drowned whom belonged to the Elder Ender's cloth were something not worth the risks of wrath. No... they dare not risk the horror of all timelines fear most. To be unrepairable, a possibility when such a godly elder lends their hand. They lower back to the pond, and with back to sharpening the weapon they care for.

"I can't not.... No. I refuse to make that happen. The last thing I need is someone like them to be upset with me. So for now, you must stay here... drowned one. You must not leave here. You can not risk yourself, be it from the turth of here or at my fault of protecting your in the wrong manner. Stay... but hide. Hide in the shadows of a pillar until they come fetch you. When it is safe to."

"You're a strange fella... but I take that my guess right. I am not where I belong."

"Yes... this isn't the events as you know it. This place, the time and the history are of no baring of you or as you assume it. You must not provoke the bad side of then Elder. We all agreed on that." The scrapping is continued. The drowned does well to listen to the stranger, this protector of their time. It too a stranger of the realm this place should be. But at least the more local of the two - whom knows of the story of this area and respects it close as possible. The place is actually very clean, the building was repaired in sections, even a roof section was replaced with new timber joints. It were strange, to sense to know this place and be told that its not the home of the one called friend.

"I have heard about the Elder ender... a lot of you strange puppet mask men say this often. You all fear this elder."

"It's a mixed emotions of feelings. Fear isn't right word, not by the definitions humans of the living would use." A more soft mutter in the tone and that of wild eyes were gone. In passive glances, this puppet held no face at all... no human shape. It were a coiled mass of mists, liquids and paper. The stone that sharpened were more like a bone. The metal weapon is still that, nicked and thinned beyond shape. There is wounds that festered in odd coloring, it were a fountain of ozing rot.

"So what is this being?" the mass could almost scream at the notion of shock. A marvel of just how good and hidden the Elder is from being realized by the gods he protecting. the discomfort of being mocked makes the drowned one frown, at the annoyance.

"Forgive me... Let me do things right..." the mass alters enough to be utterly and perfectly human, giving a respectable bow, "We are called Ender. Each of us Ender's protect universes, realms and or existence. We are the frontline of what marks the exact definitions of known and unknown. When the universes allows a new existence from outside its boundaries to happen, our souls and titles are created as a sort of protective buffer to allow such things to flex into the rules. This isn't a easy job. Ender can be momentary, a passing phrase of history gone wrong for the weavers time space. Then sometimes things are not so good... for whatever reason that must be. You get folks like myself, whom screw up being ender."

The bow is finally lifted up now and they stand with being ready to defend this land section. It were more serious then ever, because there was something there isn't worth losing. More then the pile of dead and souls in the pond behind them. The drowned was dragged around to a more protected area, grappled to be wrapped in many layers of wards.

"And..." the new voice took froze a while with collecting their thoughts about what they walked onto, "Why you are not whom I am looking for."

"Give your greeting or be slayed." Warning 1, there are stages to this.

"Greeting? What you? A oath hunter? May may... I didn't get your name, so why would I tell mine?" the illusoins of what this thing is were ruined upon crossing into the room correctly, "Oh... my clothing..." they note with long thought, "I give you my greeting if you tell me a name."

"I am not a fool either. I am crystal ranking oath keeper, my codename is Ender. You are unwelcomed here. A trouble maker, Clothus." the hiss of being known of has brought this into a battle now, a ghost of cloth and clay against a injured decay of what could be many corpses tied into a shape. The soul of the ender was the sore loser, the soul a crystal with many creaks.

"Even at the core of the soul is refusing to be my servant. Mmm.... it seems they know our laws, brothers." the got to try to break the soul, to freeze with realizing a more interesting case was still around here, "Mmm... very odd. This hunter has murdered every other being, many of faceless, mother, drowned and father have came here... all lining that rotting pool. But yet, this hunter doesn't kill this one. This one clone of many."

"A clothus... yes... you are breaking the laws you should be following." The drowned is aware of the clothus, as it seems every soul of the elder timeline knows of them. There is no religion that doesn't warn of the ghost of cloth, masks and faulse wording, "If i do recall correctly... this motion is important one." by the exact flick of both hands and hover above the heart and a sharp throw of the metiphorical heart. All of cloth became visible and each of all were suffering. It would seem this was a ward that prevented the clothus from claiming one's soul name or soul at all. It became part of prayer, to have hands held near the heart.

"How dare you!" this casting of ward had done something else, it has made the souls of the dead around here be heard... even to the ears of a god. Its no wonder that this is a dangerous ward of prayer to use. As it takes away divine entitlement too, equal the play feilds of all souls present to see the ward gesture completed. If it were a perfect way of gesturing, it would have made these damned physical bodies too. But there must have been a section skipped or forgotten; so for now. the ghost are still ghosts.

"You have broken oath! You foul clothus!" the hiss of many dead souls then... it would seem that the clothus caused this realm and its history a great deal of issue.

"All of you clothus are the same, shameful beings." many were weighting in.

"Enough, souls of the dead." the drowned speaks, "Under this ward, we are all equals. Break it and we all suffer worse. Am I right, Ender?" the soul of the crystal pulls form as a damned among them and with bowed agreement in a sort backwards way... no allowing any edges for the clothus to steal anyone.

"The fall of time cloths and torn of soul tomes is not a new thing." the drowned explains, "It maybe that these clothus are not the orginal set that caused it all this pain for you all. As you are the damned as one race. They are a clothus, a race too. From my understanding at least. I don't claim any knowledge of understanding the damned. I do however have clear knowledge of how to go about the next steps from here. By the way of universe laws; I wish to be medator. It is not my frist time... nor will it be my last. As the most I keep finding of lost pages like this." there is a look of all between each other.

"There will no need for you to do so. But I must thank you, Drowned. You have correctly set the path straight for these souls." A new one... a broken face that holds a gooing ink body that twists. It has sections that slough off and become mist, that collects back together to repeat the melting affect.

"Lord Elder, I knew not to harm your own. I had not expected that I would be the one protecting your drowned from clothus grasp." the ender of this realm bows... and was suddenly grappled... crushed by on fell of a slap. the soul of them turned from crystal to book.

"Yes. Yes. You all do that unnecessary talking at me. It gets annoying." the figure scans pages and were doing very wrong things with that book. How it broke pages then sewed pages... it did so much that clearly the ashes of all here fell in one clump. Souls that flexed into pages. The reality of what is the realm wrapped.

It were like a afterthought, a sort breath to a stormy sky. Whatever had happened, was traceless. The only baring that could be consider realizing the truth were the return of remarking that the room was off. Return that the notion of realizing the roof had been repaired and that there were less face hung among the walls. A sort of starter set to get back to working as the faceless one. The dust seems to settle, or it was always there anyways. The drowned having a lapse of judgement for why he was here among the faceless's domain at all.

"I should leave the man to his business and his lass to her training." Muttering to himself and creating a gateway home. The sea mist drifts... the door closing. The air warps around the hidden ones.

"One less headache. Now..." the deeper voice ruled them all and then give a good chest cough. A sliding adjustment of the tone and voice. It was younger now, "I do believe that your the wanted for your crimes against the chess black king." the playful tone snickers, that over tones above the Clothus whom screamed in terror of being touched by summoner hands, "Back home you fall, don't break your legs." cheery, a little to happy about snapping limbs. The young voice snickers to himself about the sounds of breaking bodies. The lift of ashes pour into the hidden creaks, wrapped souls fleeing the instable and insane one. The few left belonged to this cloth of time and space. They were no fun to the young Ender, 'leaving the children to clean their own mess' (as it so claimed to say on leave).

"I think my regrets do not matter anymore." noting the few souls around here, that of stemmed the restart of the place to recover from broken time.

"I just missed them, didn't I?" a damned of golden chain locket tied into their neck.

"The young Elder's insanity had passed here." A soul remarked. The tsk of making leave once more, the annoyance of missing the one they were seeking. Further was the dark nattering it were making. A teenager complaining how unfair it all is, to have to be the adult with all the dirty dishes.

The lass of summons was done snatching lost Clothus from this world, now she snatched the ender of golden chain and crunched a few ribs on her grapple to take the idiot to where he should go ask questions.

"Hmm... I guess I have no complaints now. He did the thing and now I got to keep my end of the bargain." the healthy ender of this timespace closes a repaired soul tome, "Don't patronize me." he spoken to the scythe that were a snake resting his shoulders, "No... It will not be the last time. We are still missing a quarter of pages, we must guard what we have until then. Make do with the problems it comes with lacking a quarter."

"Delivery." a scaled crow screeched loudly in announcing. the smooth vrooming of properly connected joints passed pages over, "He said something about mess."

"Nothing is a easy fix. You must go the long way around of doing things right. No cutting corners." the machine speaks. The Ender of this timeline sighed and took the pages, the two strange souless damned left. Marking the last time that this cloth will interact with this elder every again for service repairs. No... the only next time they face that elder will be in dire situations with boarder disputes. The soul whom knows the unknown past the boundaries of existence as they know it.