Denocte had been intriguing thus far, while it was a far cry from the political powerhouse his home had once been, the subtle nuances of the life had caught his interest, the people moreso. There were those who walked the shadows as well, if not even better, than himself, those who regarded the world with eyes that showed nothing. There were spies, dancers, thieves and assassins. He had seen a beguiling mare rob a poor wanderer blind, had seen a gypsy colt stealth into a gathering and remain unseen, he had even witnessed the cold ferocity of a mare that had caught him trailing her from the dark. The latter had been the most startling, for her perception in uncovering him. Truly, the raven was among his people now.

   So why did he still feel the clawing pain of nothingness in his chest?

   Ever since he had emerged from his slumber he had been restless, aching as if something crucial had been cut away like rotten flesh from a wound, yet still that wound did not heal closed. He felt disorientated, aimless, and within the depths of his mind he mocked himself for it. Here he was, playing socialite, living the life of someone 'normal', rather than doing what he had intended originally when entering the land of Novus. The Pretender, living the life of a commoner, of a no-body. Did that mean then... he was no longer Ammon? No longer the Hidden One if he had nothing to hide for? Why should he continue to be the Pretender if he was but a single, archaic raven among a flock of clever new crows?

   It was a sour thought on his tongue as he walked through the halls of the Keep, aimlessly, pointlessly exploring the nuances of his new residence. Sour was the turning of his mind, until his keen ears caught the weakest of cries down a hallway leading to the Sovereign's rooms. Normally, he would not have given it a second thought, but this cry had not been one of pleasure, but rather of despair, and that drew the raven like moth to flame. He turned down the hallway, rounding a curve to find collapsed upon the stone earthworks a stallion. He was shriveled, skin strung tight to bone, pathetic in his clawing attempts to reach the Sovereign's door. For a moment, Ammon looked at the stallion with nothingness, feeling and expressing nothing as he watched the crowned stag take a weak step forward to the door.

   Then it was as if he had been slammed back in time-

   the earth choked him, stagnant air hardly filling his once mighty lungs. There was only darkness, and with each breath a darkness of a different sort pressed around him, the suffocating hand of Death itself covering his mouth and nose. He fought, he thrashed and raged with weakened limbs against the earth surrounding him, clawing so desperately until with an abyssal scream, the withered Rook hauled himself from the earth-

   He moved almost without thought, shifting to press his larger bulk to the weakened stallion's, his neck bending low to carefully slide his head under the other's forelegs(wary of his antlers), and with a low grunt he heaved the other onto his back. Even emaciated, the other stag was heavy, Ammon's legs protesting the strain, but he slammed shut the corner of his mind that cried out in pain. "The Sovereign will wait." He spoke softly, baritones ringing out clear and without strain (though had he not been so controlling even then, they would have surely been strained and faint) as he began to move with slow, solid steps towards the infirmary, red insides of his nostrils flaring with each harsh breath.

   Why he was helping this wretched creature was beyond him. Perhaps he was slipping into 'Vasher' too much, as he once had with 'Gracifilis' so long ago... but the thought of continuing to watch the wretch struggle towards the Sovereign's door, weakened to the point of critical danger... it sparked something in him, something he couldn't name. That same something gave him the determination to keep walking even under the bulk of a man he did not know was his Regent.

   What had driven him to aid the Regent, he knew not, but within a shattering heartbeat he became oh so glad he had done so. The stallion was pathetic, struggling and writhing, mewling like a newborn brat, but it was what he said in his weakened, delirious state that had Ammon's ears flicking back, his attention snagged. Make it dark like the Void. And, from his apparent Regent, no less. Such ominous words, from such an important man... The raven would mull over them later, hoard each word like precious gems. His head turned, brushing the Regent's skin in an attempt to comfort, though his eyes remained hollow and his mind speculating in apathy to the wretched man's state. "Be still, mine lord, the King shalt wait for thine health be of far more import."

   Yet he had not taken but the first turn in the hall towards the infirmary before he was face-to-face with a shorter, squat stallion and some sort of hellish wolf that snarled and bared it's teeth at him. Ammon's silken ears flattened to his skull, and with a simple flick of his head he so passively reminded the wolf of what he bore on his skull, a silent warning. The shorter man, reeking of sour scents that almost made the stag gag, leapt forward, chattering rapidly in alarm, and Ammon shifted his weight, annoyance crossing his features. "Thou shalt move and let us pass, if thou wishes for thine Regent's health. It doth take a blind man to see his illness, and perhaps thou shouldst wait for thine answers and be more pressed with assuring the halls are clear for our passage." He let the faintest threads of scorn color his voice, expression finally showing something as a furrowed frown crossed his carved features.

   Then he allowed his voice to soften. "I understand he doth be thine boon companion, thine friend, but thou waste time and possibly his life with thine questions. They can wait, we must make haste." With that, the ebony stag pushed past the wolf, rolling his eyes to give it one final, warning look before he moved on past, once more planting each hoof solidly, rapidly but gently, using what his ilk had been bred for to avoid jostling the Regent.

How fortunate was he, ever in the right place at the right time? If the black stag didn't know far, far better, he might even venture as to claim an unnamed god watched over him, steering the spy in the direction he needed to go. But Ammon rebelled against such notions, for then that would mean the unnamed deity forced him to undergo suffering unknown by others in this world. The Regent upon his back had fallen silent when the brutish stallion approached (much to Ammon's irritation, after all that little tidbit had only whetted his appetite for knowledge), but finally the emaciated stud spoke, his croaking words not going unheard by the dark man who bore him, though Ammon didn't allow his ears to flick and show that he was listening. Instead he took a step forward, about to kick the demonic mongrel out of the way when it backed down seemingly of it's own accord, and without another care to the sour-scented 'Rosti', he struck out at a swift trot as the Regent's head fell back down against his side. He checked with a glance to make sure the man still breathed, though his mind mulled far more over what he had learned. The Crows.... birds? Or something else? He had a feeling the way the man had desperately called for his regent, then these crows, that they were not mere birds...

Rosti spoke, and once more annoyance flashed across Ammon's features, his ghastly eyes rolling to glance at the brutish stud. "And I know thee not. However, our ignorance doth hold no import in weight to thine Regent's state, would'st thou not agree?" His words were sharp, scolding. He turned back to his trot, moving down passages towards the infirmary, his mind wheeling. The Crows... Dark like the Void... Calligo. That last name he knew, had learned of almost immediately after his arrival. So, the Goddess of the Night wished for the world to become dark like the void? Or something else to grow dark?

Ammon mulled this over as he knelt in the infirmary, gently shifting Camdis off of his back before he rose, skull turned to Rosti. "Since he spoke of thine name, and thou art mine Warden, I trust thee to oversee him as I fetch a medic." He stepped over the Regent carefully, moving away from the pair despite his urge to stay, to listen and learn... but he had a part to play, and a concerned commoner of Denocte surely wouldn't allow his Regent to lie so sick without medical attention, and even moreso wouldn't dare to send his Warden off to find a healer.

The raven would be patient, as always, and play his part well.