Who: Valen What: Running away, finding out he can't. Where: Molly's apartment, the barrier, and Clifty Falls State Park. When: After midnight 9/23 - 9/24 Warnings | Status: None | Narrative | Complete
Valen had intended to bed down with Molly Carpenter until the winter season passed, then he'd move on. For the last three years he'd starved and froze his balls through the colder climates in the wilds and he'd little desire to continue the trend; much to his good fortune Molly'd offered her home as a convenient place to lie low and stay fed. Her price being that he stay as her bed partner, of course, which admittedly was not as terrible as it could have been. He'd done in rough times before since he was little more than a lad who'd figured out what his parts were for, and for a lot less than she was giving. But he'd also stored food she'd provided, taking bits and pieces here and there to hoard under his pillows at night. One never knew what would transpire in the coming days, after all.
Which was fortunate as he'd had need of them now more than before. Max had arrived, and Valen's idiocy had cursed him into not taking a false name when he'd first come himself. Valen wasn't so far a jump to Magnus Valentia de Cartamandua-Celestine, after all. And Max would recognize him anywhere. He'd been foolish enough to think the Registry wouldn't find its way here. Not even between worlds was a recondeur safe.
Having waited until Molly expired to her bedroom, Valen set about packing his meager things. 12 years of sneaking about had taught him valuable lessons on being quiet, and going about his business on silent feet. She'd brought him a whole host of supplies he didn't have use for and so the most of it he left behind for her to do with what she would. What had value that he could sell on the road, he did take. But mostly he packed the blanket, extra clothing--he now proudly owned several sets including clothes for winter--and his boots, plus the food store he'd saved up. Then he pilfered several other things from her wares--mostly magical in nature and therefore valuable--shouldered his packs and made his exit.
Thank Mother Samele the night wasn't so chill as it'd been the past few. There was naught worse than traveling in the cold dark with weary bones. His thigh ached from the wound he wasn't letting heal, but Valen trudged away from the establishment Molly called 'apartments' and headed toward the North road, taking an indirect route out of Madison Valley's city proper. He didn't know where he was going or what he'd do once he got out of the area, but anywhere away from Max and his pureblood laws suited Valen fine.
He hadn't seen any of his family in 12 years - but the messages from Max told him his luck had finally run out and his lies were catching up with him. But not his freedom, that hadn't come to an end. Not yet. Would Max follow and drag him back of his own will? Deunor's fire, make him burst into spontaneous flame and regenerate in Palinur, like a damnable Phoenix.
Valen had avoided being recaptured by the Registry by abandoning comforts, luxuries and familiarity for the back roads, hovels, sop-houses and whores that no one would believe a pureblood would ever sink to, and therefore never bothered checking. 12 years and he hated the idea of finery, wealth above some nations, and the strict rules and regulations of the Registry. All which were under the purview of pureblood life.
He'd refused to live as a slave to his family and the Pureblood Registry. It was a body of governance that decided whom Valen may speak to, what profession he'd follow, whom he could marry and how many children they'd have and above all, sell his life to the highest bidder. Purebloods were contracted out to wealthy nobility. They were of the unsoiled Aurellian bloodlines and had a natural talent for magic. They were exalted and said to have the similar status as Gods, so that not even ordinaries could look upon them or address them without permission. Valen hated every aspect of it, and had rebelled since he was a child in the nursery.
Once far enough away from the city, Valen stooped low and thrust his hands into the earth. He summoned a bit of his Bent. He wasn't at all good at spellcasting, having ignored even he greater lessons of spellcrafting as a boy, but he possessed the Cartamandua gift for reading the land. Pushing the magic out of him, he opened his senses to the world and mapped the layout in his mind for a few quercae in three directions - reaching north, west and east. A rush of cars, footsteps, horses and thousands of cattle washed over him, and the histories, lives, songs, dances and sorrows of a thousand people over the years flitted through his understanding. But he drew away before it could overwhelm him. Valen took the nearest route that bore him along a road that would lead him to freedom, and avoid human contact on his way out.
So imagine his damnable luck and devastation when that road led out of Madison Valley and directly into a solid barrier.
"Magrog's gazti whores!" he swore. He was achey, his shoulder throbbed where a sizable chunk of flesh had been ripped out naught two weeks prior, and his thigh wasn't permitting a fast pace. What damnable demon had conjured this bit of working far as the eye could see? And worse, how was he to escape Max, his lies, life and history now? May Magrog give him boils on his backside for eternity. In his typical fashion, Valen delayed making a choice in his next move and turned to the woods to set up a temporary shelter several quercae in. He'd deal with it eventually.