At the top of the world [OPEN]

“Santa Maria…”
At the peak of a snow blanketed mountain stood a tall, crimson tower. At its base the bright red of the brick poked out from under its hiding place beneath the snow as the brick clearly continued from the vertical building to the horizontal ground making Eza wonder just where the brick began—perhaps further down the slope? Or was the entire mountain made of brick?—however it would have been impossible to know due to the recent snowfall. The tower had no windows, except at the very top Eza’s keen eyes could depict, which made her nervous—that meant if she needed to get out in a pinch flying would not be an option. The pinnacle of the tower ended in a sharp looking, red point that ascended so far above Eza’s head that she had to stand several yards away from the base of the tower and crane her neck all the way back to see the windows at its tip.

The snow covering the ground was still soft and light and didn’t coat the ground more than a few inches, Eza’s steel toed boot kicked some up as if to test it and it flew from its resting place like powder, leaving the brick beneath it naked. Eza’s dark eyes reluctantly rose from her boot and the snow to the door before her. It was old looking but certainly sturdy as well: it was red like the rest of the edifice but the paint was chipped in places, such as at the decorative molding, revealing a weathered grey color. It was arched at the top adding to the aged appearance but there was no window to look through to the inside, only a brass knob that appeared to have been weathered as well due to the bluish hue it had taken.

Eza let out an impatient breath and pulled at her leather jacket; she was partially annoyed at her own hesitation and the other half was irritated by the lack of accommodations for winged persons such as herself. Cramped spaces always made her edgy and the narrowness of the building had her wondering if she’d even be able to open her wings to their full potential. The only reason for her to continue forward was because this was the rumored location of a very valuable, very stolen, artifact—and that was all Eza knew. She needed the cash and it didn’t seem to her that many people would know about this rumor so what was the harm? Eza comforted herself with the thought of being alone in the tower and she calmed a bit; for her to fight without her wings to aid her would be a hindrance being she relied on them and would be restricted to human combat.

Setting her jaw, she grasped the knob confidently and pushed the door open. To her surprise the tower held only a darkly lit set of railing-less stairs—but that wasn’t what surprised her. Not only did the stairs ascend, but there were more going down. Eza’s eyes followed the dusky stairs until the darkness swallowed them up. A cold breezy traveled up Eza’s spine; there was no way she was going down there. Then the sound of something falling below had Eza physically tensing and bolting quietly as she could up the stairs toward the only light and windows in the tower. She remembered that she had left the door open in case she had to find a way out in a hurry, maybe she could fly out. Maybe.

Something LURKS...

The moment the seeker turned to the tree and began counting, all of the little hiders ran off to disappear into the farmland, each with the tiny hope that they will be the last one found. The skinniest little boy was particularly good at hiding, and this time he was going to hide so well that the town will spend days looking for him. He knew just the spot to hide in.

Scrawny legs of denim carried the little boy through the wheat field, panting excitedly as he approached his destiny: his destiny as the best hider of them all. That destiny lied in wait deep within the barn on the other side. The barn's yawning maw produced that familiar scent of stale hay, and the moment he smelled it, the little boy was close enough to pause and catch his breath. With a deep inhale, the boy crossed into the barn's mouth.

It went on for miles; the scrawny little boy had a pounding heart and a dry mouth as his sneakers pounded the dusty barn floor. He needed to get to the back of the barn before the seeker or any of the hiders could see him. Past endless rows of empty stables and decaying wood the boy ran; when he reached the back of the barn's throat, he saw his destiny shimmering from beneath an obscure pile of hay in the furthest stable. No one would ever find him there. He was sure of it.

The boy was all too excited to plunge into the pile of hay. There he lay, hardly able to help snickering; he could see it just then, all of the familiar faces twisted in despair, searching frantically for the boy while he hid just under a pile of hay in the back of the barn. Their desperate cries will sound to him like grains of raw sugar grinding between his teeth. So sweet was that sound....

The boy's fantasy was cut short when a roach crawled up his neck. The boy brushed it away only for two more to take its place. Curious, the boy turned, expecting to find a nest of roaches. However, with complete horror his eyes beheld not a nest, but the corpses of the boy's parents, immured, half decayed, and roach infested. Their hollow faces stared back without eyes, twisted in what agony they'd experienced in their unquiet deaths. Just then, the boy heard his friends call out for him in the barn; how long had he spent there? The boy was frantic and tried to cry out for them, but just as he did, roaches entered his mouth and gagged him. The boy attempted to claw his way out of the hay pile, but the a sinewy hand wrapped itself tightly, painfully, around his arm. His deceased father began pulling the boy down further into the hay pile; his mother grasped his neck and leg and began pulling as well. Helpless was the scrawny little boy, the best hider, sinking into a family grave in the back of the barn, just as he'd heard his friends leave the barn, and his last glimmer of hope with them.

It resonated so sharply it pained his inner ears. The long-neglected hinges on the door far above creaked and grated and thrust the miserable thing across the threshold between dream and reality. Had sensory deprivation not left the wretch so vulnerable, the noise may not have done what damage it did. To his misfortune, however, it threw him into a startled pandemonium, hurling dust and bones every which way.

The frightened thing stopped seizing when he perceived footsteps. He closed his eyes to listen, as if he could see anything to begin with. "Footsteps! Bipedal.... sentience! Oh yes, sentience! It wanders.... aimless steps. Ah, yes, this thing is new. It knows not where it treads...."

Hope began to kindle within the pitiful thing; he perked up and prepared to make himself presentable. The chains securing his wrists to the wall allowed him enough leeway to do this. He brushed off the dust clinging to the sweat on his brow and bent his back into an acceptable posture. He hastily combed the brown, matted hair with his fingers and tucked his collared shirt into his slacks. He realigned his shoulder-holster and checked his gun, as he'd forgotten whether or not it was loaded. He took an entire half a minute to clear his throat. In a hasty minute, the wretched thing once again took on some semblance of a decent human being.

"Seemingly weary traveler!" he called out in a timid voice, "I am in need of your assistance! Do you have a light? My eyes presently fail me!"

After ascending three flights in rapid succession, Eza noticed something stirring in the dust only a few flights beneath her. Her eyes adjusted to take it in, it appeared to be a circular pocket watch tettering on its edges from the gust from outside the tower which must have blown it further down the steps. Eza let out a silent huff of breath and chided herself for startling so easily. The falling noise she had heard had been a harmless gold watch. And now, if anyone was in this tower with her the way she had clamored up the stairs--though her speed was uncanny and inhuman--would have alerted anyone with ears to her presence. Eza cursed herself mentally and slowly, and quietly, made her way back down the steps to where the watch lay.

Just as her fingers curled around the pocketwatch her ear picked up on a voice. She didn't breathe out of habit as she listened, but the voice has suddenly faded. Puzzled and suspicious Eza straightened and tucked the the watch into her pocket. Then she heard it again: "Seemingly weary traveler! I am in need of your assistance! Do you have a light? My eyes presently fail me!"
Eza didn't move but her eyes grew wide. The voice had a funny way of speaking that she did not recognize and she didn't understand all of what he said however she had gotten, 'assistance' and 'light' two things she could, unfortunately, provide. She cursed again and this time didn't bother to keep it to herself. She trudged down the steps knowing that she would have to offer her 'assistance' to whomever dwelled below due to her own moral code--even as she concidered that this could have been a trap her steps didn't waver.

Her annoyance grew with each descending flight but she was insistant on taking each step slowly and clunkily. It was her way of expressing her disdain for having to go exactly where she didn't want to be. She looked around and decided that there was certainly no chance of her flying out of here, absolutely no space for someone with a wingspan to commodate. Not to mention the steps widened the further down she went.

The stairs fanned out on to a flat round platform. Eza's feet kicked up thick dust here; she looked upward to see a tiny speck of light and she suddenly felt like she was at the bottom of a well. Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves her eyes returned to the darkness around her. There appeared to be a doorway to her right that was only distinguished by a long rectangle that was darker than the rest of the chamber. Eza took a step toward the middle of the platform and her foot connected with something light but solid. She froze and her fingers instinctively pulled a small LED flashlight out of a pocket. It was a bone she realized in grim shock. The light from the flashlight made something else in the darkness visible. Near the wall was a man. Chains? Eza thought. Why was this man in chains? Either he was in danger or he was dangerous himself. Or both. Eza took one step forward, her eyes searching his dusty frame, he did not appear physically intimidiating which was good news to her but that did not mean she was safe with this stranger.

She swallowed, "Who are you?" Her voice level and steady and also clearly tinted with a Spanish accent, something she was self-conscious of. "Why are you here, and how did you come--here?" She struggled slightly with the English words but recovered quickly and was rewarded by a burst of annoyance from her gut. She didn't concider her lack of ability in English a strength and she wasn't going to give this stranger any idea of a weakness she possessed if she could help it.