[NoR] - [22] – [IK05] – Lost in your Head

Your eyes blink open, the grogginess of sleep still clouding your vision. You adjust yourself beneath the soft cotton, rolling over to rest your arm on the woman beside you. Her skin is warm, goosebumping as you run your fingers down her back. The night was not intended to end that way, but you can’t complain. Allowing yourself a chance to connect with another helped to reassure your shaky view of the world around you. You wonder vaguely what will change tomorrow, how the continued volley of chaos could possibly intensify. Deciding against worrying about it any further, you close your eyes, enjoying the peace while you can.

Razel.

You float through the wall in front of you, a bright glow drawing you in.

You have not responded. Others would be offended by these actions.

Your curiosity blossoms, while the lotuses that follow the metaphor collect around your ankles. A short stairway climbs the sudden island, sense built into a realm of confusion. The statue within the shrine is the same from your daydreams earlier, except much more vivid. The Mask glides down to your level, its robe billowing eternally. Several hands peek out of either side, their sharp red nails clicking against each other.

Why do you not reply? Are you-

The billowing stops. The hands retreat. The statue returns to dormancy and the presence departs.

You wake the next morning, the dream lingering in your mind yet defying any attempts to decipher it. Visions of the mask cling to the back of your eyes, regardless of your attempts to be rid of it. You sit upward, resting on the edge of the bed. So much happening in such little time. You can practically feel a bowstring pressed against your neck, urging you into adversity. You don’t much care for it. In fact, you wish it would hurry up and snap already.

Myra wakes behind you, rolling over and resting her head on her hand. She looks at you pleasantly.

“Good morning, Inquisitor. I see you rise early, like your black sun.”

The reference to your attire draws your attention to the haphazardly tossed robe, draped over an armor rack in the corner. You walk over to it, lazily pulling it over your head as she speaks again.

“What, already?” She sighs heavily. “I suppose we do have things to see to.”

She removes herself from the bed, her back arching as she stretches. Your eyes dart to her vanity mirror to watch her dress. A smirk sneaks onto your face, the first you can remember in a long while. You tie your belt, stepping into your boots and turning to face the now padded Justicar. Her under armor is a terrible fit, unlike to dress plate she had been wearing the night prior. The generic uniform offered no flattery to her gorgeous form, although with your specific knowledge in that area you can make out a few of your favorite shapes. You reach out, wrenching her in to you for a kiss. You press your lips furiously into hers, stopping abruptly and shoving her back to where she was. You turn, leaving before she has a chance to recover. Clearing your head of distraction, you step past her and straight to the door, not waiting for her to finish dressing.

“Hey, hold on!”

You stop, turning around to smile deviously at her. You explain your intention.

“You have sources. Find my apartment and meet me there in a week. We will…reconvene…at that point.”

You pull a small golden key from your pocket, knowing you have a spare.

“You might need this.”

The start of her reply cuts short as you turn and flick the key behind you, forcing her to scramble to catch it. You leave her apartment, closing the door as you go. Spying the window at the end of the hall, you walk briskly to it, vaulting the sill and dropping to the terrace below. You land deftly on your feet, crouching out of reflex to cushion your fall. Forcing the wellspring of memories from the night before out of your mind, you look around, spotting another terrace a story below. You vault to this one as well, sliding down the ladder across the way to the street level.

The streets are lively, the morning crowd filling the roads like clockwork. You take a moment to regain your bearings, recognizing the fountain from the night before. Your mind wanders as you walk, running the past several days in your head. The memory of your dream is fainter now, only a generic sense of the presence within the statue. You remember what Washus told you, and you frown deeply.

It’s done, regardless.

Truth. There was nothing more you could do about your memories. You tried the best avenues available to you, and both were seemingly outclassed. You learned much because of these things, but somehow you doubt it makes up for what you’ve lost. Your life will have to continue on as it did before.

Resolving to stop caring, you put the situation from your mind and instead begin to contemplate your work. You have missed a lot recently, and your evaluations have probably piled up. It isn’t a worry for you, as you decide most things shouldn’t be. You simply note it and put it away.

You are acutely aware of a much lower level of fear. Almost clinically aware. You decide it is due to the night’s ‘activities’ relieving your stress. You take the opportunity to hum a tune you can’t place the source of.

You turn down a causeway, spotting the tip of the Basilica’s grand spire between several buildings. An ancient gardener is hunched over the gutter, either gathering or germinating. You can’t tell which and you aren’t sure you want to. You walk gingerly past him, eying one of the storefronts.

“Inquisitor! Are you well?”

You come to a stop, turning to face the Golgari. You have no idea who he is, yet he looks familiar to you. There is blatant recognition in his face as he approaches you, cramming something in his pouch.

“I am sad you did not take my advice, Razel. You could use…a…”

Your confusion is made clear on your face, and you feel as though you should recognize the name. The Gardener’s face changes to a vignette of bemusement. He half-mutters his response.

“Oh my. I didn’t expect you to actually go through with THAT part of the suggestion.”

He clears his throat loudly.

“I apologize for wasting your time, Inquisitor. I mistook you for someone else.”

He turns to walk away, plodding into the alleyway. You simply stand there, dumbstruck, as the sea of people flows around you.

So many strange things today.

You return to your walk, now worried you may be on the verge of losing your control again. You step into the storefront you were eying idly, ignoring the cascade of chimes and browsing the wares as your thoughts continue to ruminate.

That name…

The shopkeep looks at you with terror in his eyes and swallows loudly. The artifacts are organized in neat sections, designed to appeal to any prospective customers. The smell of fresh paint fills the store, a freshly patched wall still wet with color. You feel your gaze drawn to the wicked spikes atop a shelf behind his register, supporting an old ‘not for sale’ sign. You walk between the tables, pausing to admire the objects. You’ve been here before…

“W-What can I help you f-find, S-sir?”

A glimmer of recognition sparks in your mind. Images escape you, but the stutter remains. You look to the owner, your expression unsure. Your gaze dances about, again spying the caged gem atop the shelf. You hear an audible gulp as the owner watches your eyes, knowing precisely what you are looking at. You stare unabashedly, stepping between the tables to lean against the checkout counter. The shopkeep backs away as you approach, keeping his distance but maintaining respect.

“S-Sir?”

Your mouth agape, you look to him, closing it suddenly as you realize how you must look. Your thoughts whirl about faster than you can have them, leaving only room for questions.

“What’s your name?”

The owner is very confused by this. He looks to a sign behind him which reads ‘Welcome to Derrin’s Pawn’, making you feel rather stupid. He answers you regardless.

“M-My name is D-Derrin, sir.”

You stand firm, locking eyes with him.

“What’s on the shelf there?”

He stumbles over a few syllables, unsure of what you want him to say.

“It...well, you...It’s a sign of-of my devotion.”

You narrow your eyes at him.

“What is it called?”

“It-it’s a Thought P-Prison, sir. It absorbs and restricts…thoughts. B-but it’s not for sale!”

The hurried addendum at the end spurs your curiosity deeper, driving you to seek more answers.

“Why are you afraid of me?”

As if to explain through example, his eyes opened wide. His voice cracks as he speaks to you.

“B-Because I know what will happen if I fail to pay my debts. I know what you do.”

“And what do I do?”

“You’re an In-Inquisitor. You make sure w-we pay, or else.”

He is telling the truth, albeit from a drastically different angle than you would. Your frustration builds as none of his responses provide any catharsis, instead making the situation worse. He recoils as you unconsciously raise your voice.

“Who am I?”

He shakes his head.

“You are an Inquisitor, you-“

You slam your palms on the counter, leaning in and screaming your response.

“WRONG! WHO AM I?!”

Derrin begins to cry, the tears welling up at the corners of his eyes before he squints them away. He retains a minimal control, forcing himself to squeak answers to your questions. The level of composure he displays would impress you were you not where you are. Instead it wears your patience thin, his delay grating against your need for answers.

“You are Inquisitor Korr of the Orzhov Syndicate.”

“HOW DO YOU KNOW MY NAME?”

Derrin whimpers, hiding behind his hands.

“The Azorius agent mentioned it while they were asking me about the other day…please…”

You have a vision of Myra, draped in her fine cotton and moonlight. You snap back to yourself, seeing the terror in Derrin’s eyes and coming to the awful realization of how you’ve just treated him. You look to him ashamedly, mumble an apology, and run for the door. You throw it open, ignoring the two or three pedestrians that overheard your screaming. You storm away, mortified and terrified simultaneously. How could you do that? How could you let your emotions overrule your basic civil senses? Your actions appall you.

You turn without aim down alley after alley, seeking to be as far from the bustle as you can. You flee the sights, the people, all the distractions and intrigue. You make your way beneath the streets, collapsing in a forgotten catacomb. The walls are wet with mildew. You shake your head, breathing deep and noting the pungent tang.

Clearly you are unfit to be around others at the moment. Your temper and self-control are gone. Your focus, much as you try to change it, keeps returning to the things that have been happening, and in particular, the memories you lack. You curse whoever removed them, wishing you could spend a few minutes alone in a dark cellar with them. You kick a small rodent, sending it flying out of the room and splashing loudly into the sewage causeway. The light streaks through the dusty air from a grating above, triggering another glint of recognition and subsequent irritation. More curses are screamed into the cavern as you vent your frustrations.

A brief flash of the Gardener from before alights in your mind. You stop, thinking back to the encounter, running what he said through your head.

He spoke to me as if he knew me.

So did the statue in your dream. Matter of fact, that was the second time someone, or something, had addressed you with familiarity unknown to you.

Come to think of it, what did the Statue call you again?

Razel…

You stand in a flash, a piece of the puzzle rebuilding itself. Somehow the Gardener and the Statue both mistook you for the same individual. But how? How could someone be exactly you, and yet not? You think again to the way the Golgari spoke to you. His tone was one of recognition, and better yet, he was physical. The fact that you can theoretically speak to him again means that your obsession has found a new target. Your budding zealotry is rewarded by a flittering incentive, a tugging of your self towards some point further within the catacombs. Instinctually you realize that you are going to the Gardener’s home. A smile fills your face once more as you move with a purpose, setting course for a source of revelation. If anybody were to be capable of providing the answers you seek, you definitely feel it is him.

Razel…who are you?