ꙮ You are adrift. Holding hands - and even if you stop holding hands, the six of you will remain a whole, a unit, even though stray gnosis - no, mana, the stuff of creation itself, the energy that becomes gnosis once channeled - buffets you. Thin, here, in this stratum. It is not warm, it is not cold, it is not light or dark. You realise, startlingly, that you do not have to breathe, right now, if you do not desire to. It might be a bad idea to fall out of the habit, though. A kaleidoscope of colours surrounds you - more distant and more muted than they were when you first fell through the hole in reality. It does not seem -unreal-, quite the opposite in fact- but it is not a reality that any of you are used to, or familiar with. 🙧
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- Aurelius
- The Awoken
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#full cast session
#tlanextli
#chapter 1: a sanctuary
isn’t letting go!
clutches Wolf and Unua’s hands tighter
also immediately reaches out with his mind, trying to visualize the edges of the colors, where they lead, where they begin, where they end.
ꙮ That would be an appropriate moment for a liminal gnosis invocation, I think. DC 3.
- The Awoken invoked their 🌌liminal gnosis [d4] -> 4! It ✨explodes!
- The Awoken invoked their 🌌liminal gnosis [d4] -> 2.
breathes slowly and steadily, as much to remind himself to do so as anything. He stays calm because it is his nature, but also because he’s too well versed in panic to let it take hold in a space like this. He sways to one side, then the other, never letting go of Daina’s hand–eyes half-closed, ear-tips twitching…he’s hunting for a very specific sound. A Song.
uses his feel hand to reach into a pocket, and pulls out a pair of wielding glasses a few moments later. He then dons them. “So. Where to first? I’m assuming… we wanna check out their home?” He gestures towards Wolf and Daina.
ꙮ It is hard to say where the colours -start- or -end-, where they lead or where they begin. There are… /attractors/, though, within the flow. There is a point that is an end or a beginning or both or neither but it is something. It would be possible to orient yourself towards that point, in some way, if you so chose.
I…trust your judgement. I worry slightly. There is no telling that we will be able to return.
twists his essence, orienting his past towards the beginning, his future towards the end, but continues to let himself be pulled along. With a breath of the soul, he intakes the raw kaleidoscope of between states.
: “If you can make ONE hole in reality, you can most definitely make another.”
: “Which is perhaps alarming in its own way, but we won’t wind up stuck.”
: “We did not make this hole. And there is no telling whether or not more will be granted us.”
ꙮ Wolf - you jumped in to the Void, you jumped in looking for something, feeling your way towards a specific thing, and you feel… there are -many- intertwined threads, and some of them? Many of them? Very much do feel like ‘home’.
: “It’ll heal up just fine!” he calls out. “Don’t think the universe so fragile- even though it is!”
ꙮ That said, with your ears perked up, you DO hear something interesting, the background susurrus of gnosis resolving, slowly and unsteadily, as you acclimate to the environment. You all hear it, after a moment.
thrust his hand outward before spraying his fingers out, letting them brush against the strands of gnosis surrounding them.
- You hear — and your Star hears — a song, echoing from the stillness: Adrift Amidst Strange Paths
winces, slightly, at the strange discordance–not entirely unpleasant, and a welcome change from the tower’s silence, but one of his eyes still twitches a bit.
: “Hmm, even here…”
ꙮ Even here, indeed.
whispers, “(Even destroyed… it sings…)”
: “Is this what you guys always mean when you start talking about The Song? I don’t believe this was actually common back home.”
looks at The Awoken
ꙮ Something… some vast mechanism, shattered to pieces, and yet, and yet. Something that was once whole, singing to itself across the distance.
closes his eyes for a long moment, listening intently. Then, he looks down at the Saint. “Daina. I wish…to try…something. But I must…let go. May I?”
takes a deep breath as if willing some of this mana to stay with him as he surveys the area around him , drinking in the unfamiliar but not entirely unpleasant feeling and trying to place the melody of the Song.
nods, and releases his hand.
This is not my Song. Not the song of our Home. This one is…colder, but warm still.
: “I don’t hear The Song like Wolf does, but this doesn’t sound like home to me.”
lets go–not entirely without reluctance–and floats free…reaching into his sash for something tucked up against one of his scabbards. A small, long cylinder made of wood, with holes along its length–a flute, for those who are familiar with the shape. He clutches it tightly, brings it to his chest–and then, with a deep breath he doesn’t strictly need, he brings it to his mouth and begins to play it. Hesitantly, carefully, he tries to find that thread and match it, bring it forth, trying not to wince as the background gnosis interjects dissonances and disharmonies. He tries to find the path through the noise..to the sound of home.
ꙮ Wolf - something interesting happens, almost as soon as you start playing into the Void. There is something- something distant, something /down/, or… a direction which it makes sense, to you, to call ‘down’, that is… responding? Harmonizing with you? A call-and-response. It is, also, not the sound of home, there is something profoundly -familiar-, maybe just the sense of accompaniment, of playing music around a campfire and having someone else take up the melody and react.
ꙮ Like calling out ‘hello’, and hearing it in return like a welcoming echo.
lets himself slip deeper into the music–finding that thread, that response, and slipping around it in quiet harmony, finding its edges, its timbres, its tones. If possible, he lets himself follow it–lets himself be drawn towards it, like a moth to flame.
doesn’t recognize the precise song, but does recognize the sound, and although Unua’s words, about no guarantee of another bit of shattered reality to get her friends to their own homes, stay with her, she joins in the way she knows best, in a quiet whisper, so as not to interrupt, “this is the story of almachadta which is also the story of the palimpsest king which is also the story of the first acorn planted by the first village which is also the story of the ember priests who walk the forests which is also the story of …” she can’t remember, and then she reaches into one of the purses beneath her cloak, brushing a finger against the smooth wood of something, and adds more, images layered upon images, bright light, deep forest, fire that destroys and things that are reborn, using the whole of something, telling stories, singing, crying. Unspecific, but everything that comes to mind that feels like home.
ꙮ You -all- feel a gentle tug downwards; a sense that the Wolf, and the Awoken, are leading in a -direction- down into the Void, and as soon as you feel that sense of -direction-, something changes about the sense of falling, or flying. You are no longer adrift. There is a path, and you are following it; you do not feel it underneath your feet, you are laying the brick for it in front of you as you go; there was not a path a moment ago, and now, there is, and this is of your own making. The strands of mana coalesce around you; a loose mesh, a tunnel, a channel, a capillary, knitting itself into place around you as you traverse the space.
twists the stray gnosis between his fingers, and helps the void weave a tunnel around them.
releases a trill of a satisfied sigh. “Ahh… it forms.”
picks up the thread of Daina’s whisper and…somehow, weaves it in–it feels correct. It feels like a memory–an ember, kept carefully banked against the cold. With his flute-song, he blows on the ember, to breathe it back to life. Down, down, down, following the spark-lit thread.
closes her eyes and focuses on the story. “We walk the hard-packed earth-paths between villages, we swing slow rivers under bright sun, we pluck apples and raspberries as we travel, we tell stories for the journey is long, it is always long, even when we ride and the wind catches in our hair or fur or leaves, but we journey and then we find ourselves someplace new and different and the same and home, still, always home.”
She pauses to breathe, to clear her dry throat, and smiles at the others. “We welcome you to walk with us. Or ride. However you like to travel.”
has his eyes fully closed now as well. The Saint’s words are a drumbeat, a rhythm to match a melody to, and his playing strengthens–but not so strongly that it cannot admit other songs, or other voices. There are empty spaces between his notes, carefully held open.
ꙮ And once the Strange Path through the void takes shape, the kaleidoscope of colour in the background starts to -rush- past, forming images in the motion blur, both familiar and new. A brief glimpse of a place you’re SURE you’ve been. A campsite in ochre mountains where three old friends sit and trade stories and one of them, briefly, looks up, into the fire, and meets your gaze with a flicker of surprise. A desert stretching out miles in every direction studded with bleached bones of a joyous world. A cavern full of song and light. A cramped little cave, or hollow in wood, with tally-marks carved into the walls. A single eye, unblinking, curious, full of unshed tears. Then…
: “Blessed we are by your invitation! Thank you both for creating the inviting hearth.”
ꙮ …you feel a surface under your feet. Hard. Glassy. It’s dark. The kaleidoscope of colours is far, far distant, now. It does feel -cold-, here. Not an unpleasant cold. A chill like a wine-cellar. There is a structure, or structures, in the distance. It is very hard to make them out.
ꙮ There is a road, leading in that direction, made of obsidian, upon which you find yourself.
pauses for a moment as the ground fully forms, tabbing at the obsidian with the toe of his boot before frowning.
allows his notes to trail off, carefully, as his boots touch down on ground–flute still raised to his lips until he’s certain that this road will hold without his playing.
ꙮ It exists. The Strange Path you wove led you to this place, wherever this place is.
: “Our path rises to meet us. Let us see the world that awaits us.”
grows quiet, swallowing the dryness in her throat. She didn’t think to bring water or wine.
takes a deeeeeep breath, then snaps his fingers.
As he does, dozens of torches burst into existence, lightning the space around them and further down the road.
exhales slowly, eyes opening slowly. He presses the flute to his forehead, then to his mouth, before tucking it carefully–reverently–back in its place. He smiles, almost sheepishly, at Daina. “It…worked.”
touches down with both feet, and releases his grip on Unua and Aurelius. He delightedly claps a few times towards Daina and Wolf.
gives a small bow to The Awoken, then smiles at Wolf. “Of course it worked.” She was certain it would, even if she wasn’t sure if they should.
ꙮ Aurelius: That does not occur. It feels like it might occur, that this space might, in fact, react to your will in such a way, some day. But not… yet. The darkness is too much a property of this place. But some day.
- Aurelius invoked their 🌌liminal gnosis [d4] -> 1.
: “…Hm. That… should have worked.” Another frown.
- Aurelius has gained 1 Arete, and now has 2.
ꙮ It feels like it should have, doesn’t it?
bows to the Saint–deeply, in great respect. “Your words. They…helped.” He tilts his head to one side. “I almost…remember them.”
folds his arms behind his back. “Empty sconces staying empty, huh? Good thing there’s only one way forward.”
probably should wait for the others to have their moment, but the unease he’s feeling compelling him to start down the road ahead of them instead.
says, “We did… it. I’m still not sure what ‘it’ actually is, but we’re… here. Together. Like he said we would be. That’s at least one more point in his favor.” He laughs a little, then turns to Daina and the Wolf-Priest. “I take it you know this place, then?”
laughs, a short bark. “No. But. It’s forward.” And with that, he follows Aurelius.
: “Not this place. Hopefully wherever he’s going, though,” nodding at Aurelius.
kicks off with a few skips, settling into a walk down the obsidian way.
and then walks briskly ahead, having to almost trot to keep up
: “What was supposed to happen, Aurelius? Is that something you can normally do?”
: “Oh, uh, the gnosis was suppose to turn into light. But it… didn’t.”
follows along, but for a brief moment of curiosity he dips his foot off the trail, checking to see if there’s a surface there or if the road is all that exists in this place.
I feel like this is a roll but I don't know what it should be
: “As for the other question… hm.” He takes a moment to think about how to answer, before rolling a shrug. “…Probably? I did it on instinct, at least.”
ꙮ Much like the Strange Path you wove to arrive here, distance feels mental more than strictly physical. Judging from the obscurity of the shape in the distance, it should have taken… hours, at least, for it to come more clearly into view, and it certainly did not take hours. It took about as long as the conversation that just occurred! Aurelius is in a hurry, though. Oddly, that seems to matter.
ꙮ Archie, give me a Burning gnosis.
- The Archivist/Archie invoked their 🔴burning gnosis [d4] -> 3.
- The Archivist/Archie has gained 1 Arete, and now has 1.
ꙮ Are you wearing shoes?
Yes. They could perhaps be best described as orthopedic - clearly designed for comfort and endurance over appearance, with a thick, chunky sole proving as much.
ꙮ Oh, good. The surface you gingerly step in is… truly appalling. It’s mud, it’s -sticky-, you pull your foot back out of it with a truly alarmingly lugubrious thplorching sound. It would be HORRIBLE if you’d gotten that all over your fur.
turns at the sound. “Oh? Did you find something?”
ꙮ But, I mean. Yes, there’s a surface beyond the road. A perfectly flat plain of thick, near-solid pitch-black otherwise-featureless mud.
.
lugubrious thplorching
looks disgusted. “You could say that.” Annoyed by the effort required to pull his foot back off of the obsidian road, he slips both shoes off and carries them off to his side, making sure not to drip mud on anything else.
: “Your face certainly says it right now.” He giggles.
glances back at Archie, looking distinctly amused. “Could be…worse.”
kneels at the edge of the path, and unclips one of the empty potion bottles on his belt. He attempts to scoop up some of the mud.
: “Oh. Yeah. I… think…? We’re in someone, or something’s domain now so I probably wouldn’t get off the path until it turns back into mana.”
ꙮ The mud is, at least, relatively well-behaved and doesn’t drip everywhere. Might be a headache to clean off later, might not? The Awoken bottles a little of it. It is truly tremendously sticky, but not intractably so.
: “Would you care to expand on that. The part about someone or something’s domain?”
rocks his head from side to side.
lets the flicker of genuine annoyance that crosses his face melt into an exaggerated grimace of self-ridicule. “Well, at least I feel a little better knowing that ‘off the path’ is a place that exists. Even if that knowledge came at a truly awful price.”
snorts. “Meh. Didn’t eat you.”
: “It’s hard to explain, I’m not sure I even know what I’m talking about if I’m being completely honest. But I’m getting… like, flashes of insight as we go? I feel like I should be able to do things, or that I should know things. Kind of like if I was riding a bike and you asked me how I did it, I’m not sure I could really explain.”
looks bemused. “…bike?”
: “But things feel more… definitive here, than they did before the obsidian appeared.”
: “…Uh, a vehicle that’s basically two wheels slapped together with a stick and you can use pedals to move it.”
shoots Wolf a doubtful expression at this explanation of ‘bike’
blinks at Aurelius, looking, if anything, more bemused. “…why?”
: “Uses less stamina than running and is faster. Not quite as fast as a horse or train, of course, but.”
ꙮ The structure in the distance is coming into view. It is a ziggurat, rough-hewn and ripple-textured, made of the same obsidian as the road. In front of the ziggurat there is a courtyard paved with thick black glassy stones, and a source of light you can’t quite make out yet, and something else, in the courtyard that looks for all the world from a far distance like a respectably-sized pile of trash. There is a free-standing oval frame of obsidian along one edge of the courtyard, large enough to see even from a distance in the faint light.
: “…Ah yeah, there we go. Something is here.”
shakes her head at the term ‘train.’ Aurelius and Unua’s world will be very interesting indeed.
looks…skeptical, but lets it drop, as the structure ahead steals back his attention. One hand comes to rest casually on a blade-hilt as he walks. “Something?”
: “Another god’s home?”
: “Your guess is as good as mine. I feel like you could probably describe the big thing as ‘ziggurat-like’ if you were so inclined, at least.”
clips the obsidian-filled bottle back onto his belt and advances toward the courtyard, making a beeline for the frame.
sighs, getting very tired of having to end every sentence with a questioning tone. “Ziggurat…?”
reaches a hand down to the obsidian paving-stones underfoot, contemplatively. If this place is someone’s domain, it must have been created somehow, and maybe understanding something of the gnosis that underpins this place will give us a hint as to what to expect from its originator.
: “Uh… Big Obelisk?”
: “Ah. That thing.”
: “Are structures uncommon in your homeland?”
gives the Knight a wry smile. “Like that? Yes.”
: “In material, surely. But the shape must at least be somewhat familiar?”
ꙮ The source of light is a very fancy wrought-iron lamppost in the middle of the courtyard. The light it casts is dim, but -warm-. It illuminates… well, it’s not a pile of trash. It looks like a pile of… very, very old leather, layered on top of itself, folded and thin and cracking with age, thick pieces and thin. Some of it looks like it was painted once, vibrant reds and yellows that have long since flaked and faded.
: “Hmm…” He spins around to talk while walking backwards. “-but we’re definitely in the right place, yes?” He spins back around.
: “We’re in a place.”
shrugs at the Knight. “I don’t…remember…so much…stone.”
investigates the leather.
Looking to discern a purpose
ꙮ The obsidian frame seems inert for the time being, although - Wolf and Daina, -you- both can feel that it is absolutely HUMMING with flourishing gnosis.
: “Ahh yes. You mentioned many…trees. Wood must be quite plentiful for you. Our home is full of steel and stone.”
ꙮ Unua, roll a gnosis corresponding to the spirit with which you are investigating the leather.
- Unua? The Clockwork Knight invoked their 🔵pellucid gnosis [d4] -> 4! It ✨explodes!
- Unua? The Clockwork Knight invoked their 🔵pellucid gnosis [d4] -> 2.
wanders towards the frame, examining it–looking for any writing, or any sense of what it does with that much gnosis. “Yes. Trees. Earth. Stone…some. But not…” He gestures idly at the “ziggurat” as he examines the frame.
: “A place of ephemeral yet still very real structures, hmm?”
cups his hands over his mouth before shouting towards the structure: “Is anyone home…?”
ꙮ Unua: You immediately understand that there was, at some point, something living inside this heap of leather - skins, tanned and prepared according to exacting technique, of a very many things which were once alive, and were honored for some very specific ceremonial purpose. A very brief moment after that, you see two very bright azure eyes blinking, very slowly, from somewhere very dark, inside the heap.
: “One wonders. Was this place always here, or did our purpose form it ahead of us as well?”
recoils and backs up. “Apologies.”
ꙮ The eyes close again.
: “Is there something there?”
is there anything familiar about the leather pile to me?
: “something appears to reside within this pile. I may have disturbed it.”
turns sharply away from the frame, fingers tightening on blade-hilt. “May have?”
looks to the Wolf-Priest with a grin. “Hasn’t eaten him yet.”
: “It has closed its eyes. It does not appear disturbed. However, without further investigation, I conclude, yes, I may have.”
ꙮ There is absolutely nothing familiar about the leather, the way it is piled up, the faded markings - paying attention to it, Wolf gets the sense that, at one point, incalculably long ago, they may have been vestments, or served some kind of ceremonial purpose? But nothing any of you are -familiar- with.
: “We talking like… cat? fiend? capital C Creature? Other…?”
takes a moment to consider the leather and the ziggurat together, racking his mind, trying to think of anything that he may have encountered that resembles this, at least in structure.
I'd like to roll Pellucid about this if I could, maybe getting the Academic bonus? I'm trying to think about rites and rituals I may have studied that kinda rhyme with what I'm seeing here
ambles toward the lamp post, running a hand along it as he circles it once.
ꙮ Pellucid gnosis, applying Academic. DC 10 - 3 = 7.
- The Archivist/Archie invoked their 🔵pellucid gnosis [d6] -> 3.
- The Archivist/Archie has gained 1 Arete, and now has 2.
down on one knee, taps the ground with a steel finger, then opens their hand, to see if it might be, as Aureliius has suggested, a cat.
shrugs and goes over to the oval frame, and reaches out to touch it
ꙮ You feel like something is on the tip of your brain. You could SWEAR you’ve seen a sketch of a structure like the ziggurat before; if you were in the library back home you could probably find it. Something to keep in mind for later.
ꙮ It does not seem to be a cat. That said…
ꙮ …it does start singing.
ꙮ The six of you can hear it; the pile and whatever’s in it does not start moving, but it is still singing, you can hear it with your soul, and even though there is no reason you SHOULD be able to, you understand the words.
- You hear — and your Star hears — a song, echoing from the stillness: On the Obsidian Road
ꙮ Note that this song page has lyrics.
: “What the -”
stands transfixed, fingers…now not on blade-hilt, but on his flute, eyes heavy as he listens to the song…rumbling, or humming, something like a harmony to it under his breath.
scrunches up his face, turning to the pile. “…Ember?”
ꙮ Wolf: You are, absolutely, certain that this entity is the one that responded to your own melody.
: “Ohh… you’re a special one.” He stops circling and heads toward the leather, transfixed.
sits. “Thank you for your song, little spark.”
squats next to Unua. “How long have you been waiting?” he asks, unblinking and focused.
Turns away from the frame and almost runs over to where everyone else stands around the leather scraps, intent, listening, like she’s trying to remember every word in the song just sung.
rocks back on his heels, eyes squeezing shut, as memory grips him like a vise. Unthinking, almost unknowing, he lifts his flute and plays–plays something that sounds like warmth, and well-banked fires, and a spark that flies out of a blaze. It sounds like a…hymn, like something sacred. And it sounds like–kin, but not identical–to the song the small thing sang.
Saint: it is possible that you will know this song as a Hymn to the Lady of Embers.
closes his eyes gently and basks in the sound, feeling it warm him in this brisk and dark night.
- You hear — and your Star hears — a song, echoing from the stillness: I Am, Also, This
ꙮ You hear this one with your ears.
ꙮ A voice joins in, briefly, flickeringly. Communicating only in song and counterpoint.
ꙮ A breeze stirs in the courtyard. It feels like it is probably the first time that has happened in a very, very long time. It rustles the leather scraps, just a little.
plays, plays a song he knows as deeply as his own heartbeat…and in so doing, as he did to the ember of Daina’s words and memory, he tries…to breathe the ember alight.
At the end of the sacred hymn, she tries… “This is the story of an ember which is also a story of a seed which is also a story of forgetting and will be a story of remembering and of a Wolf of the embers fanning the flames and a Knight who thanked the ember for its song and…” she looks around helplessly.
ꙮ As Daina speaks and Wolf plays, everyone who’s in any way gnosis-aware, you HEAR it before you see anything happen - a sudden RUSH from the obsidian portal, a sudden -presence- of an incredibly complex interplay. To the Wolf and the Sword-Saint it’s the sound of -home-. ⁂
ꙮ A moment after that, and the portal comes alive, limned around the edges, at first, with a warm, green light, spreading like strange and lovely fire or like vines overgrowing a rock face from the edges to the center. ⁂
ꙮ A thin, shimmering membrane, as the Wolf’s second melody weaves another Strange Path along the armature provided by the portal and the song that guided them here; there is a brightly-shining warm light pulsing from behind the membrane like sunlight through trees. 🙧
was in the middle of shrugging back at Daina before his attention is diverted to the portal, and watches it form. “…I think you got it.”
gives the pile of leather a happy pat. “Thanks, Ember!”
allows the last notes to trail off, then basks in that light and sound for a long moment–his face still and serene but yet…alight in a way that you could not have known it should have been, until this moment.
feels the pulse of light, the call of home, but she stays by the pile of leather. “Is that the song you want me to keep for you?” she asks it, unsure if it can even reply
ꙮ If a weird pile of leather can… seem satisfied with an outcome, this one does. It doesn’t respond, in any tangible way, in any event. But you have a vague sense of it, anyway.
stares at it with another long look, before nodding. “I will remember this,” and goes toward the portal
: “So…” Aurelius observes the pile of leather for a moment. “You’re like… some kind of station master? Hrm.”
rises, a new destination in sight. “Thank you, little spark. I will search for your song along with mine.”
looks admiringly at the Wolf-Priest. “I’ve never seen… I should say, that was… you’re…” He seems too stunned by the warm green glow that now fills this space to be able to verbally finish a thought, and so he stops trying, turning towards the portal and admiring it in its completeness.
looks at the Archivist with a small smile. “I was…I am…a priest of the embers.” He goes over to the pile of leather and kneels beside it, resting his fingers lightly on one bit of it. “Thank you, little ember. Is there aught I might do to repay this gift?” The hesitation, the roughness of his voice, is simply…absent, now.
pops up to a stand, dusting off his hands (from whatever they might have gained by touching the ‘leather’), and begins to head toward the portal, behind Daina in pace. “You’re both quite skilled at telling the story you remember. Is the uncertainty and restraint natural, or were you both holding back?”
: “I–remember very much, but very little of it is useful, or coherent. It seemed cruel, to have that when no one else did.”
nods, seemingly in response to something, though…if there’s something to be heard, none other could hear it. He stands, and brushes off his robes. “It was difficult to speak, in such silence.” His voice is no less deep, but now it flows…and those listening closely will notice that he speaks in rhythm and harmony with the complex stream of song that is coming from beyond the portal.
.
MAY notice, anyway.
absolutely notices there is a rightness to Wolf that had been missing before. “Would you still like to be called Wolf?”
: “It is not cruel to have what others do not. It is only cruel to gloat in it, or hoard it. Tell your stories, new friend. They will do me no harm. I, too, know more than many of my kind.”
: “Cruelty is a blade that is twisted intentionally. At best it would have been more clublike- ignorance!” He laughs.
smiles at Daina. “Your story was needed, to bring us to this place. Do not be ashamed of what you kept.”
: “And yes, Wolf will serve. If I had another name, I do not yet remember it.”
nods. “To not remember so much about myself and my home but to remember much and more of the things I studied there is vexing, true, and perhaps a reflection of my priorities that strikes me as… unflattering. But it seems that this place, such as it is, is what we make of it. And you brought that something that transformed this place, too.”
:
is genuinely surprised at their reactions. “I can explain, then, why I remember so much and the way I do. Though perhaps not here?”
: “I don’t think Ember really minds, but we can move on if you like.”
nods. “I’m too excited to see what’s beyond this portal for me to want to sit around here. Though when we find time to talk about it, please forgive me if I ask… questions. Potentially a lot of them.” He chuckles a little at himself.
: “Unless you’d like to take advantage of our obsidian surroundings.”
: “Stillness would not beget us, currently. Not when we have found such a song.”
: “Aye. Let us make use of this gift.”
ꙮ There is not, currently, anywhere terribly good to set up camp along the Obsidian Road, it is true.
shakes her head. “No. If I’m going to tell it I’ll tell it properly. It’s a good story.”
: “There we go, and here we go!” He picks up the pace.
ꙮ The frame of the obsidian portal has already grown over with vines.
ꙮ The leaves will probably be disappointed at the only light coming from the little lamp-post, but that’s the way of things sometimes.
breaks his gaze from the portal and takes a long look back at the Obsidian Road. Who knows how we got here, and if or when we’ll ever come back. So many mysteries about it remain, and though he longs to unravel them all, he doubts that this place will give them up so easily. But he resolves to himself that, one day, he will understand all of these strange occurrences and locales. He touches a vine thoughtfully and then, as if jumping into a cold pool, he pokes his head through the portal and allows the rest of his body to follow.
gestures at The Awoken. “Would you like to go first?”
ꙮ The membrane pulses out, impossibly thin, like the light behind it is exerting a gentle but physical force on it - the slightest touch disrupts it. You can step right through - the first thing that hits you, if you AREN’T the sword-saint or the wolf, is the light. Hanging in the centre of the sky, clear and warm, radiant and alive, the Centrelight washes over the entire plane of Almachadta all at once. It dims to a dull glow at night; it fades for a few months at a time during the dim-season, but it is always present, hung in the sky on umbilicals like immense root-bundles or vines. ⁂
: “With both feet!” He does a whimsical hop- landing with both feet onto the carpet of green within the portal.
approaches the portal, too–stopping to briefly brush his fingers through the leaves with a soft, almost relieved, sigh. He gives one glance back at the pile of skins, gives it a small nod. “Be well, little Ember.” With the World-Song in his ears, he smiles and steps through.
ꙮ That’s when you notice the structure of the plane itself - the surface of an immense hollow sphere surrounding that Centrelight, impossibly vast, shrouded with fog and the light of the Centre itself but it’s impossible not to know that the other side is THERE, you could get there, you’d just have to walk far enough along the surface. ⁂
ꙮ Most of you, also, have never been absolutely surrounded by plants at any point in your life - you’re somewhere vaguely mountainous, there is a river nearby enough to hear cascading down along its way - and you are absolutely surrounded by LIFE and the living. Plants, animals, a truly overwhelming quantity of flourishing Gnosis twisting and braided into every crook and corner of an ecosystem the size of the plane itself. ⁂
ꙮ You step out from in between the two halves of a long-ago-bifurcated tree onto mossy ground. The Centrelight flickers pleasantly through the leaves. Welcome to Almachadta. 🙧
: “Strange, that this world too, has a heart, but keeps it so visible. Is the heart where your world’s song comes from as well?”
- You hear — and your Star hears — a song, echoing from the stillness: Centrelight Komorebi
hangs back a bit, letting everyone else enter the portal first. He pulls something out of his pocket and tosses it towards the lamppost before giving the pile of leather a nod, then steps on through.
He’s glad he’s already wearing the wielding glasses.
had laughed and jumped through immediately after The Awoken. She feels something settle in her seeing the familiarity of home.
steps out into the green light and turns his face up towards the Centrelight–eyes closed, basking in it like a…well, like a plant too long without sun. He takes a deep breath of the air, no longer so disturbingly sterile and free of the scent of life and water and wind. He spreads his arms out, fingers splayed wide, humming softly as the breeze plays across his skin. He steps out into the mossy clearing, then gracefully drops to both knees before pressing palms and forehead against the earth, staying there, still save for his breathing.
: “So… I don’t mean to be alarmist, but your world seems to be inside out and the air is on fire.”
: “What?”
has walked through the portal, amazed at the…sky? And the water, everywhere.
points at the sun.
deeply inhales the scent of the soil, the trees, the animals seen and not, the shadows cast onto them, the light that fills everywhere else. He stretches like he’s woken up from a big nap, limbs out and pointed, and holds the breath for two, three, four seconds, and then slowly lets it out, his heels finding the ground beneath him.
ꙮ The earth sings, and it welcomes its wolf and its saint home.
: “Yes. The centrelight lies at the centre of the world.”
: “Yeah we don’t… have one of those.”
: “And your world is … flipped? Inside out?”
staggers a little as the light hits his face, giving his eyes a moment to adjust to the sudden shift in brightness, shaking himself to alertness. “Me neither, I don’t think. All of our light sources are a lot… smaller. And the world is more… floaty.”
cranes his neck back further, observing the curve of the world. “How in the hell does nothing fall out of the sky…?” He mumbles, before responding to Daina. “Flat. Flatish. Like a map, rather than a ball. And definitely not the inside of a ball. Huh.”
: “Your world appears to be the inside of a sphere. Our far flung lands are not viewable in the sky.”
tilts his head at Aurelius. “Hmm? Does everything need to fall?”
leans back upright, finally, taking his time–going from full dogeza to seiza to finally standing back up slowly. “How strange, to think that a world might not have a sun…” He half-closes his eyes, listening again…but this time for what he had heard some time before. For dissonances, for the wrongness that had struck him.
: “I mean that’s generally how gravity works but… clearly not here. Unless the… ‘centrelight’? is doing something weird.”
: “Evidence suggests otherwise. But it would be very humorous if our world was the exterior and yours was the interior.”
She supposes it makes a kind of sense. The Architect’s Sanctuary also did not have far-flung lands in the sky. “This is how it has always been. It is mostly safe.”
ꙮ Wolf, flourishing gnosis, DC 3.
: “I feel like if we could dig down deep enough to find an upside down, inside out world we would have heard about it by now but… yes, that would be VERY funny.”
- The Wolf-Priest invoked their 🟢flourishing gnosis [d4] -> 3.
: “Can you imagine how the Queen would react? Ha.”
: “It would make this quest a little simpler, probably.”
: “I can’t!” He looks at Aurelius, intently. “How would she?”
: “It would cause quite the stir. Especially with all this wood and water.”
: “Honestly she’d probably throw a huge temper-tantrum, then round up half the Clans and start a war.”
: “Are resources scarce enough that people fight over them where you come from?”
: “Not… really. She’s just a very violent person by nature.”
frowns slightly. The joy of return dims, a bit. He looks out at the world…back to his companions…back out to the world. “My friends. There is something I must ask. And something you must know.”
she looks around, and spots a small bush, squat and ripe with blackberries. She picks a handful, popping one in her mouth, and then brings them over to the rest of the party.
: “Hm?”
laughs. “What a person!” He turns to Wolf, “Hmm?”
grabs a blackberry and turns to look attentively at Wolf - an attentive look interrupted only momentarily by the befuddled surprise of feeling the berry pop in his mouth.
squares his shoulders, gaze trailing across each companion in turn…ending on Daina, lingering there…before returning back to the group as a whole. “I must ask your help. I must ask your help to heal this world.”
“For it is dying.”
: “We generally trade and work for what we require. But we are rich in different things. This would naturally cause–dying? How can a world die?”
presses a blackberry into the Awoken’s hand, then Aurelius’, then three for Unua, then she goes and presents the last couple to Wolf. “Dying in what way?”
: “Oh? Do you know the nature of its death?”
: “Are…these food?”
turns to give Unua a small, subtle nod of confirmation before turning his attention back towards Wolf.
snags a few berries and plops him into his mouth. “Of course we’ll help.”
blinks at the berries, then smiles at Daina and takes them gratefully–though he doesn’t eat them yet, because he’s talking. “I do not know for certain. But one of the few things I remembered, before we awoke in that tower, was hearing…a wrongness in the World-Song. It is…clearer to me, than most. It is why I am a priest. I maintain the balance. I tend to the Song, and those who sing. There is a dissonance. And it grows. And I knew–though I knew not how…that it was killing this world.” He takes a deep breath. “It is still here. It is still growing.”
nods, “Perhaps the truth lies in the middle of things once more. Do you know how to follow this…wrongness?”
: “I do not know. But I can try.”
: “What do you need?”
: “I have faith in your perfect pitch. Though I ask-” He holds up a finger.
also stares, open-eyed, unblinking. “What does the death of this world, feel like?”
blinks at the Awoken. “I…have…told you all I know? It feels…” He frowns, frustrated. “Wrong. Dropped beats. Missed notes. The Song…unraveling.”
: “So… you know it when you hear it… but few of us can.”
nods, listening intently, though mostly only hearing the hum and buzz of all the teeming life around him. “If you don’t mind me asking, are the differences purely subtractive, or are there wrong notes being inserted, too? While I doubt it’s anything as simple as either the Architect or the Omniclast interfering directly, it’s worth at least considering. If the disturbance to the Song is coming from someone or somewhere, perhaps there’s a way to identify the voice which contravenes it, and I’m not willing to put our arrival here up to something like random chance.”
: “If I pulled the star from the sky, would it be forward its demise, or halt it?”
: “If you… what?”
just stares outright now. “If you pulled the star from the sky?”
tries to stifle his slight shudder at how nonchalantly The Awoken asked.
nods in affirmation, and as far as you can tell, it’s a geninue nod.
: “But…” He frowns, closes his eyes, listens again. “It…adds. No. It strangles…like vines strangling a tree. That which goes missing is that which is lost in its…noise…”
rocks back and forth on his heels, one hand brought up to his cheek in thought, his other arm supporting his raised elbow. He lowers his gaze to the ground, and his eyes unfocus as if trying to see through it. “Hmm…”
: “If we follow the river downstream we’ll get to Kesset. Maybe with some time and rest we can make a plan.” She isn’t looking at anyone. She’s almost looking through Wolf, though.
ꙮ There’s enough centrelight left to make it to Kesset from here, for sure. It’s not too far.
ꙮ That said, there’s also no shortage of nice places you could make camp for the time being.
nods slowly and thoughtfully towards Wolf and turns his attention to The Awoken. “I’m not from here, so I can’t speak to what will help. But in general I think it best to not do anything in haste that cannot be easily undone, at least when it concerns an entire world.” He shrugs. “Such things are possible where I’m from. There are those who take… big swings, as it were. But back home, such things can often be undone just as easily, and I don’t think that’s the case here.” He approaches the river with enthusiasm that borders on glee, poorly half-concealed under a facade of academic interest. “I don’t suppose it would be safe to swim? Or at least, use the water to clean my shoes? Not that I think that would last long, here.”
blinks at the Archivist. “Yes, just be wary of maw eels.”
freezes slightly, darts up to the river, grabs just enough water in his hands to clean his shoe with, and moves just as swiftly away.
rubs his face with a hand. “Ah…I suppose you wouldn’t know how to tell what a maw eel was, would you…”
ꙮ Those dang maw eels will get you every time. On the bright side… you go to clean off your shoes, and they’re sparkling clean. That’s weird.
straightens up. “Well, we’ll see what needs doing.”
: “If we are to stay here for the time being, I can go forage. I remember some fruit in a nearby grove. And there should be some edible greens around there. I will be back in a while with them.” She turns without looking at anyone at all, and walks off into the greenery.
: “Yes, perhaps it would be wise to acclimate…” he trails off as Daina walks off. “Ah. Hmm.”
: “Camptime it is!” He smiles and casually makes his way to the river, squatting at the edge and testing it with a few fingers.
ꙮ It is incredibly easy to forage here basically no matter which way you go, which is probably mindblowing for the Archivist and Aurelius at bare minimum.
ꙮ And there’s a nice easy place to set up camp for the night, not far from where you arrived.
: “Mmm. Yes, um.” He looks after where Daina has gone for a long moment, then shakes himself with a very dog-like motion. “Right.” And he sets about setting up camp, asking for help as needed–branches for cover, fresh water, so on and so forth.
is a helper! And he’s gonna drink some of the water, too.
glances up and takes in the shape of the world, shaking his head at how… recognizable but completely unlike anything he knows it is, before turning his attention to Wolf, then the river. “Do you have river fish here?”
is happy to help lift and gather things at Wolf’s direction.
ꙮ The water is INCREDIBLY crisp and cold and delicious.
looks up from arranging a lean-to shelter of green branches. “Aye. Would be nice to have fish for dinner.” And he will describe a couple of different fish species to look out for in the nearby river.
nods, then tries his hand at a bit of spear fishing.
ꙮ Aurelius, give me a gnosis reflecting the spirit with which you are engaging in the endeavour!
ꙮ DC 4/8
is patient, observant and using burst of motion to do it so… probably green?
- Aurelius invoked their 🟢flourishing gnosis [d4] -> 3.
watches the attempt closely, trying to glean information about the behavior of the fish in this place.
- Aurelius has gained 1 Arete, and now has 3.
frowns, gradually losing patience as time goes on with near hit after near hit after near hit and nothing to show for it. “Not used to fish being this small.”
ꙮ You catch, like… one (1) fish? They’re tricky bastards. You’re used to hunting things several times bigger than you are, not fishing. It’s fine, it’ll be fine, there’ll be, like, greens to stew. It’ll be fine.
offers Aurelius the berries Daina had earlier given them.
: “Ah! Finally!!”
turns around with fish in hand, then stops. Glances around at all the greenery. … “…Do you cook with fire here?”
is, in fact, working on getting a fire started when Aurelius comes back and…does manage to keep his expression down to an eyebrow flicker when he sees the one (1) fish in the other’s hands. “Well done. You have fish on your world, then? I thought it had no water?” He frowns at himself. “Though one imagines there must be some water, to live.”
: “It has water. Just more metal.”
looks rather nonplussed. “More metal than water?”
: “We have a few rivers and lakes. Most of the creatures that are people or fiends are just… very… large.” He stands on his toes, then stretches a hand allll the way up and above even Unua.
.
that AREN'T people or fiends
Unua, helpfully, continues the gesture, reaching as high as they can.
chuckles. “Well, we have some large beasts of our own. Just not typically in small rivers. If there is time, we shall hunt together.”
: “Fair enough.”
carefully piles tinder, and pulls a flint from a sash-pouch. With a practiced strike, sparks spill into the tinder, and a careful breath sees the tinder catch alight. A little more careful tending–the Knight being an excellent firewood-finder–sees a nice fire going; enough to cook over, and it will keep off the evening’s chill. With that done, he settles down beside it, to wait for the Saint’s return.
And I'll consider that a stopping place for myself.
Once more than enough firewood has been gathered and a small shelter hastily arranged, Unua spends their time looking at the nearby plants, to see if any have the small berries they were given earlier.
wanders about, easily finding the foragable fruits and berries, and as he takes a few- tasting them as he walks, he’s also pocketing the seeds. After a few trips of dropping off his findings at the camp (he’s not exactly efficient about this task), he’ll sit on the ground and dig a makeshift row with a finger, and plants the various types a bit apart from each other, covers them up with a brush of his hand, and gives them a comforting pat.