Credence
I Am Learning

"I've fought for love and life and liberty,
But not against my own."
--Dulahan; Not Against My Own






I. Standing


The thought of turning his back on the city did several things.

It reminded him of what he had become, what he could become and what he was not. He kept a foot in the lapping ocean as he crawled down the beach, turned around and crawled back again. This ground reminded him of all things that were and what had become.
When he face-planted into the marble he'd set here that time ago, something in him simply snapped.
Loyalty has no place in Rhy'Din, does it?

Renne made no sound but his fruitless barrage of fist and foot against the stone was part of an old fury. He laid into it like he could never lay into a living being; tears crying his frustrations.
He didn't have to scream or howl. His feet and fists did it for him. His own nature did it for him; flinging the betrayal, the anger, the confusion, the uncertainty out from himself.

Stop it, damn you. Stop it.

After another hour, he'd finally beaten most of the fire out of himself. The marble stood as streaked with silvery blue as his hands when he finally heard the voice of logic thunder in his head. It had to stop; the shadows, the mere survival. The fear.
It had to stop.

Renne leaned against the marble and tried to reflect on things. The past was just that. He'd done enough atoning and he'd grown from it; whether or not that was for the better, Renne didn't entirely know. He had survived this far.
Survived. He wanted to do more than that.

His mind turned to things more recent.

Renne thought of 'Nathan and allowed himself to smile. The smile remained as he thought of Dude Three and Dude Four. Each one he thought of, all four of the Dudes, Oobie, 'Nathan. They gave him pause as he knew what each one meant to him.
None was above any other. They gave him a kind of hope. He reflected on the brief encounter with Padriq and while he was uncertain of it, Renne allowed himself to think anyway. Even the prospect of a job was something to hope for.

His mind turned closer to the present as Renne assessed his hands and feet. Bruised. Sore. But he didn't break anything.
When he began to think of his surprise cake-tasting for the Dudes, Renne's hands began to rework the stone in front of him.

Renne was sick of running.

Fingers fluctuated temperature carefully as the salt-scoured block beneath his touch slowly transformed. Rough became smooth again and he more gently confronted the stone-cut faces.

He was learning.

Credence
I Am Learning

"Did my time, took my chances
Went the distance, now I'm back on my feet
Just a man and his will to survive."
--Def Leppard; Eye of the Tiger






III. Angels and Demons


The Rings buzzed with a strangely revitalising kind of tension. He crawled in with a measure of uncertainty, knowing full well this was ground he'd never touched. At first, the wall provided an adequate guide but once he had to square off, Renne's uncertainty nearly tripled.

Even so, he was drawn to this tension.

He soon got a handle on the rhythm here and sooner than he thought, Renne found himself in the rings. The energy in here was amazing -- the emotions swirling about so much that it was nearly a storm he had to stay afloat in. It was Maranya, thankfully, that gave him his first ringside experience.
And he absolutely loved it.

It was a kind of healthy high; controlled yet chaotic all at once and he was glad for it. Renne didn't relish the idea of getting whacked out of his senses and he loved the fact he could do this with beings easily four and five times his size. He could compete and let out fury and... Just let go without letting go. It wasn't about size or power or who was stronger than whom here. Renne felt nothing but a good, fun rush and it easily turned into a game.
It was a game and he loved playing it.


Renne had gone back to the Rings several times and in the end, met a few more individuals. His victories were fewer than his defeats but it didn't matter. The imp had gone back one night only to find himself drawn to one called Porthos and at the end of that night, he found himself speaking of ancient stories. The sagas and his bumbling inexperience in the rings had led to a strange fledgling attachment and another name to add to his many. He crawled out that night with a blushing face, a handsome Human-sized dagger at his belt and something he couldn't help but be drawn to -- a name, much like the NightRunners of long ago.

Renne, the Mini-Musketeer.

It still made him laugh.

------------

The days had begun to blur as they went by. Renne had found out when the Dudes were to marry and was on his way back from the Market with a little smile on his face. A smile and a bit of hope as he planned his gift.

It was dashed in an instant when the foul stench met his nose.

Confused, Renne's crawl to the Red Dragon slowed considerably and his ears perked forward. His timing proved too slow at a time when he should have run like the wind.
In seconds, he found himself in the mouth of the foul-stenching thing. In seconds, he knew what a dog's chew toy felt like and Renne deduced several things other than the fact that it hurt like blazes: It was bloody embarrassing. And it pissed him off.

Growling, he managed to at least get a scratching in when his mind registered the growing numbness in his extremities.

Lovely. Bloody lovely.

He heard everything. Felt everything and smelled everything. His mind raced to try and get himself out of this one -- Renne didn't even think of other people coming into the equation. He was too used to getting himself out of things alone. Which was why, when the demonic-canid thing figured out he wasn't a treat and horked him out, Renne was surprised to find himself picked up and carried into the Red Dragon.
Surprising, that.

In the time it took for the paralysis venom to wear off, Renne had deduced a few things.

Firstly, he felt a surge of protective worry over the Dudes, Oobie and now, the Musketeer called Porthos.

Secondly, he wanted to try to learn more about these things so he could fight back.

And thirdly, Renne desperately wanted a bath.

Credence
Mortal Reflections

"In a land of innocence, there is no need for gods."
--Introduction; Black & White







Renne reflected on the wedding.

It had been small, simple and elegant in its own quiet kind of way. He'd sat there in his best coat he'd not gotten a chance to wear until then and he sat with one paw curled around Johnathan Tapole's fingers. The wedding was both an honour to attend and a shocking surprise.
He reflected on it all, marveling at the honour of attendance and the doubling of that day's joy with a quiet reunion. Renne hadn't strayed but he'd come close several times of losing hope. He'd come close to thinking he'd never find 'Nathan again. Never finding hope again.

He had found both and the date didn't escape him.

The date was something that scared him and thrilled him all at once -- a time of something dark finally overlaid by something bright. Something full of hope and life and for once, something that might just stick around.
Renne was happy and as the wedding concluded, he laughed and wept as he found himself in 'Nathan's arms again. If at least, for a while. They had too much to catch up on but he knew they would. They were creatures of their word and he knew they would.
The wedding was beautiful and his first kiss to her was beautiful.

It was clumsy and chaste and unsure.

It was still beautiful.

He told her about the Dudes, about their first meeting. He shared with 'Nathan funny and awkward memories. Embarrassing and laughable memories. He told her of the darker moments; the moments of fear when the one, Dude Two, had been abducted. He told her what he found in the Dudes and a three-inch ghost-jester. She was like them and they were like her. He told her of these unsure, budding feelings to all of them.

And he told her he loved her.

Credence
Primeval Things

"All our experience with history should teach us, when we look back, how badly human wisdom is betrayed when it relies on itself."
--Martin Luther








The growls were too close.

He knew what sound these demon-dogs made and he knew what it felt like to run into them. He didn't object to the survival instinct. He did object when it came to some things and it was a strange sort of wire to walk on.
Renne had killed before -- in war, in self defense and with what he knew, he had killed without recollection or awareness of those acts. Thinking of that still sent chills down his spine. He still had nightmares as his imagination ran itself wild.
He had killed before. He had killed even to eat.

It was this that came second in his mind.

The thing that came first spurred him into action.

Renne was good at sniffing things out on the ground and in the air and while it was with some relief he didn't smell the stench in the ground, the air was enough to set him on edge.
That did not belong here.
He circled, crawled his familiar path and then broke from it, turning to the right. He didn't need to make a sound as he went either.

Renne heard the foul beasts behind him.
They growled and wailed. They made sounds Renne knew all too well: Sounds of desperate survival, of instinct and of places where defending a land full of ghosts was the farthest thing from the mind. He knew these sounds and knew the laws of survival. He fled on those rules and fled, spurred by another set of laws that bound him to somewhere.
Somewhere that was and wasn't his.


They were starving.

They roamed the city's underworld and came out at its less populated end. Still, they smelled sustenance and they went after it. Survival was their goal and the thing they chased smelled of survival. It had the scent of a fearful animal, of a hunter, of the hunted and of a creature too determined to defend territory.
They had no conception of territory.

One broke ahead of the small pack, lunging at the wiry little creature that was running for its life. This animal didn't care or conceive that the prey was equally intent upon luring the predator. The simple fact was, the predator was going where the prey was going.


Renne was fast when he needed to be. On familiar, well-known ground, he was fast. He ran with only his life and his bounds to protect and when the Denubae lunged, he moved.
He was fast but not fast enough.
The thing was on him in a matter of seconds. He had to stifle the urge to gag at the stench and resorted to his own teeth and claws. In his mind, ran a persistent mantra.
Protect. Survive. Protect. Survive.

His feet and hands were doing well so far against the abomination. Its face slathered and twisted at his lucky strokes and it snapped once. Twice.
The first two times, the abomination's head was batted away and those seconds gave Renne enough time to at least get in a few more decent slashes. He wanted to try his venom on these creatures but an untested hypothesis had no place here. He had to simply survive.

Renne groaned inwardly as the thing clamped its mouth down on his left shoulder.

His mind raced to stay ahead of his relatively newfound cynicism as he fought to think his way out.