#th:anton

Oz had departed from Chile Village as if there was an angry mob hot on his heels once again, and this time he wasn’t going to let them or their duplicates or whatever those things were roaming around put him back on the pyre again. For all the cockiness he could possess naturally and by painting on a face, he knew not to test his luck with a burning stake again. Whether that creature he saw was a phoenix or not, he wasn’t going to go through burning alive again to figure it out. So he’d fled from the Village, breathless and nearly unable to walk as he arrived in the next nearest village he found and secured a horse to take him to the Ports. He used all the remaining coins on him to pay for the horse and for passage onto a ship that was departing from England within moments of him arriving on the docks to inquire. 

That had been weeks ago, and it was the first time since arriving at the School that he spent more time with his nose buried in a book than trying to get away with reading as little as possible. He wanted to call on Freya for guidance, for some kind of explanation, but he knew that there had to be too many others who were interested in talking with the woman. Young as she was in the eyes of some, her name was enough to convince people that she still must hold great wisdom beyond her years. Was that really the power of a last name? If it was, Oz was glad to not be burdened with one. Especially not when he was now burdened with more than he’d ever anticipated. 

To look into one’s own eyes is a chilling experience, and he still cannot entirely recall some of the things he did afterward. He remembers the two boys who looked alike, though. Remembers one getting struck with an arrow with precision that would have awed him if it didn’t split his heart in half to see something with so little life destroyed. As much as he wanted to seek out the advice of the older members of the Coven when he returned, he instead opted to simply find as many scrolls and books as he could, determined to get an answer for himself for once. There were so many things he needed answers. How could duplications of a person occur? He knew it was not simply someone who looked like him - it was him. How could he be certain he was the real Oz? And then there was the subject he always approached with reluctance: mental magic and how it feels when one is under the influence of it. He doesn’t remember what occurred before, but he remembers suddenly feeling as though he was not the only person in charge of his own mind. Freya would know, but... Freya was needed.

This was the first time he’d travelled out of Nottingham since returning home. He needed to perform more frequently than usual, rely on the good will of some of his friends to allow him to join them in a piece so he could get a cut of it. Too much of his money had been wasted on his trip to Athoria, and though there was little he ever saved for aside from costume and props, he didn’t like feeling so relieved at the sight of a flashing coin as it was flicked toward him. It made him feel too much like he was a child in Chile again, trying to cover up his begging by making it seem like a show with songs and stories. Now he had his fire, though, and it drew in more money. And it helped him to feel as though he did it all for more than just the coins and compliments tossed his way.

He was in desperate need of a break from the School and Nottingham as a whole, though, and decided it was perhaps time to take his show on the road for a few days. Finding himself in an unfamiliar location, however, he quickly wasted no time in approaching a man who he convinced himself looked both local and helpful and waved to get his attention. “Excuse me, I seem to have turned myself around too many times. I’m a little lost, could you help me?”