ꙮ Within the Liminal Library. Papers and orbs of gnosis are strewn about, rather even more haphazardly than they had been, before.
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- The Dragon
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← Active ScenesIn the Liminal Library, IV
#awoken
steps through the portal, both more awake and fatigued than last time…somehow. He looks about at the assembled mess and sheepishly runs a hand through his hair.
: “Ah, well… I don’t… think anything got damaged…”
huffs and splays out his his hands. Playing the air, his fingers tinge with gnosis- liminal, seeking the metals and research papers, tenebrous, summoning his own gnosis back to himself.
ꙮ DC 4, I think? Within the Sealed Space of the Library, it’s always easier to make matter do, and be, where you’d prefer, it feels like. Less resistance. (The orbs of tenebrous gnosis, of course, come when your will beckons; it could never be other than thus.)
- The Awoken invoked their 🌌liminal gnosis [d8] -> 1.
ꙮ You can [Take Half], if you would like.
frowns perceptibly and refocuses, clapping twice with sharp bursts of liminal gnosis.
Take Half, though I weren't convinced they'd disappear into the aether I'd fail and suffer going to pick them up myself lol
ꙮ Nothing happens at first. The research papers, possibly like their authors, are being recalcitrant and unwilling to share their secrets (of being in the right order), but then you clap your hands and a couple of them (lazily sprawled out, cascading over the side of a couch that had been repurposed to hold papers briefly before being used for a purpose rather more aligned with its fundamental telos and, in so doing, lost its capacity to hold papers) perk up and, if they had ears, they’d swivel them around, and they jump in swift, smooth arcs through the air into the Awoken’s outstretched hand. (The metals, conveniently, array themselves into neat piles next to him.)
: “That’s better.” Papers in firm hand, he walks to one of the couches, giving it an aside glance before neatly placing the papers on the table at the center. He turns back to sit upon the couch- lazy, casual, bent like a shrimp, arms across the back, both feet on the floor but one leg bouncing with an impatient, restless rhythm. He leans his head back, and a passerby might think he’s looking at the ceiling, but his mind isn’t there yet. His eyes are looking, but not seeing.
ꙮ The stars twinkle, far beyond their glass panes, and the Sun shines.
is instead, thinking about the Traveler’s Guide to Known Reality. His mind recalls the layout, idly flitting about entries gathered nearest to the Samudran topic. The stars, their overseer, their dramatus personae, their constellations… there’s several connections written into the text, and he’s imagining the ones he can’t see. Or, well, trying to.
ꙮ It’s impossible to know what’s an accident of layout on the part of whatever hand initially composed the Guide for you, and what’s suggesting a fundamental truth, isn’t it? Impossible to have certainty, but not to have faith.
nods his head side to side. Leaps of faith, huh? Not entirely different from leaps of logic. Like solving a puzzle, nine by nine squared, that is dependent on every piece that comes before and after. Sometimes you make notes in the margins and make more notes and make more and the margins become a right mess, but you’ve got to chase that idea because… well… you want to. You need to. Because it’s fun.
ꙮ And sometimes, there is a convergence. A set of suggestions and hypotheses, whose truths imply one another, who sink or swim as a whole and, in so doing, suggest the shape of something invisible and true.
hums, “Gold sun, love sun, shine for me… gentle heart beat, help them see…”
down Up Up down 1 2 3 ... 1-2 1-2 1 2 3
thinks… no, that’s not entirely right. But it’s close.
: “Close enough to take a leap…”
ꙮ Close in the way that matters.
eyes become aware of the ceiling now, the constellations and loving sun hanging above. There’s… the Dreaming Serpent, who deigns to wake before its time, and the Falling Leaf, who’s time has already come and rent those who it was fated to watch, and the Lantern-and-Eye, who-
’s heart stops because he wills it so. And that same will then forces a beat, twice as fast, now.
: “…oh… son of a–!!”
ꙮ Sometimes the answer’s right there in front of you, isn’t it?
launches himself over the back of the couch, scrambling towards the metals assembled by the entryway. The sheets of metal, gathered as they are, are unwieldly, but unwieldly is just a concept, and Awoken is extremely adept at wielding concepts. He doesn’t notice the weight as he snatches them up from the ground, bundled in extended arms and white-knuckled grip. He awkwardly but quickly hurries back over to the table, setting them down with a fwump that displaces the air around them, beginning to send the stack of papers to flight- but he’s moving in double-time now, and with a juggler’s practiced motion, snatches the flightly documents before they can go far.
ꙮ Got ‘em!
: “Sometimes, you gotta just chase the answer, too!”
: “And give it no hints that you’re creeping up on it!”
fans out the metals, and chooses a few- brass for the blood, and silver for the form, and a blued nickel for style… gold for accent, tin for workmanship. The image doesn’t require a lot of thought, not when the answer’s right there. Pellucid gnosis rolls about his hands- more than bold, it must be perfect.
: “A relic created by neceessity, practicality, and desire to plumb a swallowing darkness. Strength and vision within a hand, and even with this grace, we still seek to direct its power.” He traces a thirteen-sided shape, five tiny tiny legs to hold it upright- thin walls climb from the flat plane of the shape, no longer than his forearm, and he traces an angled hood to top. He circles a finger to trace a ring affixed to the top of the hood.
hands move back to the body, and with careful pellucid tools at his fingertips, he works at each wall- the columns connecting them gain in importance, for they will be the mechanism. There’s a growing cacophany of click-clack, click-clack as he works, testing them… the walls are able to slide their mass along the columns by a mechanism at their base- little nubs of brass, enough to catch a fingernail upon.
, playing with the invention just as easily as it is created, slides a quarter of the panels to the side, leaving the rest up and untouched… that should work for a directional view. He slides them closed, and now works at the top, just below the hood- a central ring of brass, here. It has only one brass nub, and otherwise facilitates the movement of the rest, except for one function. He flicks his wrist down, and the walls sink into the base- exposing the center, with only the walls’ columns remaining as proof that they were once there. Sensing something missing, he taps a finger on the table, before going “oh- of course, right-“ and traces a small, slightly curved dais on the tops and bottoms of the lantern’s internals.
plays with it some more, raising all the walls up, and down, and up, and down. Omnidirectional. Perfect.
ꙮ It can go dim and it can focus its light; that’s everything you’d need a lantern to be able to do. Can I have Pellucid, DC 3? In this, you are Starlit.
- The Awoken invoked their ⭐Starlit 🔵pellucid gnosis [d4: (1, 2)] -> 2.
- The Awoken spent 1 Arete and now has 4 remaining.
ꙮ Outside the Library, this level of fine-grained control would be - likely impossible, honestly. But you’re here, and it’s good that you’re here. The structure of it takes shape, slowly but surely, once you’ve a firm image in mind. Metal -folds- under your fingertips into the correct shapes.
: “An impossible task by any other means!” He nods. “And yet!”
looks up, his focus now locked on the golden sun, this time with purpose, rather than dreamlike wonder.
stands, still staring upwards, and his hands lift the lantern from the table.
spins it around in his hands, testing its weight, leaving the center well exposed. “At least this part, I can just copy.”
analyzes the panes above- the fiend about them holds a form that’s simple enough to understand, once you know what you’re looking for. It’s a view into elsewhere- not there, but- where the sun is. Where it should be. Only that one though. He doesn’t need a metaphorical bomb in his conceptual pocket.
nods. And the view, goes both ways.
liminal gnosis focuses within the lantern, and his mind seeks the world where the pane above shines from.
ꙮ You are overtaken by a sudden, vivid memory of being underwater. Your eyes are open. You’re holding your breath. There are hands holding you. There’s light, flickering through the water, so much light.
ꙮ You know exactly where it is, you’ve always known, although you couldn’t put it to words if you tried. You could reach out and touch it, maybe.
ꙮ It could reach out and touch you.
ꙮ And that would not be a Circle but it would be like a Circle. Awoken + [???], Liminal, DC 20.
- The Awoken invoked their 🌌liminal gnosis [d8] -> 8! It ✨explodes!
- The Awoken invoked their 🌌liminal gnosis [d8] -> 3.
ꙮ Roll again. You are Starlit still.
- The Awoken invoked their 🌌liminal gnosis [d8] -> 6.
- The Awoken spent 2 Arete and now has 2 remaining.
ꙮ Ascension!
- The Awoken‘s 🌌liminal gnosis has ascended unto the 10ᵗʰ rank.
- The Awoken invoked their ⭐Starlit 🌌liminal gnosis [d10: (8, 3)] -> 8.
ꙮ That is a success, and it is wholly your own.
ꙮ Look at you shine brightly:
ꙮ A blossoming inside the lantern of something that, if through the bright-but-not-blinding light you were able to clearly make it out, would look like a riotously-blooming flower made of crystal, emitting the Sun’s light. You blink enough times for your eyes to adjust, and for all the carefully-sourced metals you used in the lantern’s construction, its material has changed; meticulous, decorative silverwork in subtle geometries, straight lines and sweeping flourishes, over a substance that looks black-beyond-black to a first glance, but then in the light, veins of purple running through it, a gentle shimmering; it’s cold like black iron, light and thin like the brass from which it was crafted. You know that this is a metal called rakaznar, and you’ve felt the way it thrums under your fingertips like a living thing before. ⁂
ꙮ Then, the lantern orients itself towards you, and it says,
“hello”
’s mind doesn’t falter. It’s too present to do so, right now. “…hello!”
it says, “what is my name?”
: “The Truth-That-Loves.”
says, “that’s a very good name.” its voice is soft and strange. unsure, from note to note, the cadences fluid, the prosody slightly off-beat. not out of tune but playing a completely different kind of music altogether, untrained in the harmonic traditions of the spoken word and winging it.
: “Glad you like it! My name’s Awoken!”
: “that’s a very good name too.” the light within it pulses, briefly.
asks, “for what purpose was i made?”
: “You’re going to bring some love to those who dearly need it.”
’s light pulses again, briefly and contentedly at that answer.
: “Sorry for not asking beforehand.”
: “Is that okay with you?”
: “how could you have asked me before? i did not yet exist. i exist now. i was created by purpose. i felt it. i wished to know how my maker understood it. now i do.”
: “Yeah, I guess not, huh. Metal isn’t very talkative. But the light is, in its own way. Maybe the metal is similar, I don’t know, I’ve never really tried.”
: “But, well, that’s in the past.” Although he is considering talking to some metals now, but that’s a Later Time Experiment.
: “Maybe it needed all three- metal, the light, and the care- to speak, and to be.”
: “maybe. i don’t remember what it was like being just metal. i don’t think it was like anything at all.” a lantern can’t shrug, but it’s there in its voice.
: “Yeah. I wouldn’t worry about it, either.”
: “Hope you’re water resistant, though!”
: “what is water?”
: “It has a form, like metal, but it’s more immediately malleable. Like metal heated to incredibly temperatures. But actually, most water is very cold. There’s hot water too, and it becomes that way through various means. Sometimes by the environment, and sometimes by an environment someone made.”
: “Anyway, it gets into each and every little crack and has a way of putting out fires.” He peers at the light. “But that’s not exactly what you are, is it?”
: “ah. that sounds interesting. i would like to experience water. i do not think it will unmake me. i am not a fire. i am The Truth-That-Loves.”
nods, smiling. “Right! I think everything is going to work out.”
: “The water’s just the first bit, though. You’ll be coming with us, on a journey. For there are oh so many who need love.”
: “i am meant to be carried to the far corners.” it states this like a fact, as evident as the handle in its construction.
giggles delightedly, and gives the lantern a little peck on the hood.
: “By hand or hook you will hang, and delight the edges of the universe.”
’s light pulses, again, at that statement of its purpose.
thinks for a second, and looks up at the Sun pane above. “Hey Sun, bring it down to 1%. Just for now, we’re trying something out.”
ꙮ Nothing happens. Although, for what it’s worth, you -could- just adjust the opacity of that pane on the fly and see what happens. It’s been done before!
wrinkles his lips, and reaches out with a set of pinched fingers- turning an unseen knob almost alllllllllllllll the way down.
ꙮ Yeah, that works. Whatever the properties of this Sun’s light are, one of them seems to be “obeys a dimmer pane”. The Truth-That-Loves shines brightly, though.
: “Okay, good. I was hoping the properties wouldn’t carry over.”
flicks the invisible knob back up, a small but safe (to his oddly-influenced mind) distance from ‘fully transparent.’
ꙮ Back to normal! You can probably get Aurelius to install a proper dimmer switch at some point.
: “Alright, let’s start movin’. Just about ready to rumble!” He slides the blinders up on the light, and thinks… ahh, he didn’t bring any coral with him. Fortunately, that’s easy to come by. He’ll make a pole with a hook at the end later.
gathers the papers regarding the Polite Visitors in one hand, and holds the lantern aloft with the other. Equipped enough- he’ll return the rest of the unused metals when he gets the chance- he moves for the portal leading out of the Liminal Library.
ꙮ There is a brief, strange resistance, as you cross the threshold, that wasn’t present when you crossed in. Like walking through an invisible wall made out of thin paper. Just the slightest exertion of your will needed to cross back over.
snorts ever so subtly, his curious eyes focusing into a glare while the step is in motion.
ꙮ And then you’re through, and holding the Truth-That-Loves in your hand on the other side.