The Truths We Create

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Serena
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Posted by Serena »


* * *


The realization had struck him as he was talking with the deviless, and it seemed so obvious in that moment that he almost felt dumb for not having seen the connections right away.
Granted it might have been a coincidence, but he had never really believed too much in such a thing.
Besides, one could have been a coincidence, but two?
One piece of the tablet belonged in the ruins of a Sarrukh temple. Another was orbiting in the Realmspace. Both were places he had dreamed of, but he never indulged in a third night of sleep beside the one he allowed himself in Karasuthra, and that dream he had there was.... Well, if anything was hidden in there, he had surely missed it, and he wasn't sure that loud chaos was something he wanted to analyze, at this time.
Of course, he knew there was a chance he still needed to indulge in that memory, at some point, especially if another night of proper sleep wasn't going to add anything of what he was expecting, but he still felt like he needed to give the experiment a try. despite his dislike for the experience.



* * *
"Hand me my shovel, I'm going in!"

Plays: Aidan Rhistel - Factor and Law Representative of the Fated
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Serena
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Posted by Serena »


Image


Sitting on the bed, he leaned against the windowsill behind him, throwing his head back until he was able to glance up at the silvery-blue sky of the Astral.
Scattered around him on the mattress -as well as on the desk, the small table nearby the fireplace and part of the floor- the work of the previous day, which he had indiscriminately disseminated all around his bedroom, granting the place the slightly unsettling quality of a madman's lair.
Not that he minded: there was at least a positive trait about being alone, and it was that he didn't need to worry about how his house looked. A meager consolation that had him laugh bitterly as he stared at the swirling clouds.

He had started cross referencing the runes from the ritual with the ones etched in the old tablet that he had managed to carefully copy until now, the translation process already proving to be slow and complicated, and he had also started going through everything he could find about the vessel named "Lady's Charm", in attempt to understand what he was going to have to deal with.
To his surprise, it turned out to be not a fully functional spelljammer, but a relict, apparently been orbiting around a planet in the Realmspace since a mindflayer attack nearly destroyed it. It was somehow a good news, much better than having to deal with a crew and a ship owner, but of course it didn't mean it was going to be safe, or easy....

The prospect of a travel through the Spheres irremediably brought his mind to everything such an endeavour required, and collaterally, back to the conversation he finally managed to have with Lance that cycle.
There was no need to lie about it, he had been low key fearing the man's reaction to the current situation... after all, the people whose opinion mattered to him could be counted on the fingers of a single hand, and he was among those: as pathetic as it might sound, he cared about what he thought, and he cared about the opinion he had of him.

He made to sit straight again and then slowly fell on the side and on the pillows, the scribbled parchments scattered around him creaking lightly under his weight. He had been working for quite too long, he knew he should not be doing so while in the Astral, but he had been careful this time, he had enough to drink, ate, and even took a pause to indulge in some piano practice, at some point.
His body, however, was most probably going to need to rest, and as much as he was not looking forward to it, he also knew it was time for him to try sleeping again and see whether his theory about the dreams was anywhere correct.

Just... not there.
He slowly stood up and started reordering the room, carefully piling up the books and parchments he had been perusing until the desk nearly disappeared under them, and then headed upstairs, where the portal to his home had finally been reactivated:
He never enjoyed allowing Alecto into his place, but at the point he was in, it was silly to keep trying to avoid it.. not to mention, in the recent past his demiplane had been the only place in which he felt completely safe. And right now, he needed that.

The arch reacted to his presence, and the rift opened in front of him, a breath of fresh air mixed with thin water droplets gently hitting him as he made to walk through. The sound of the waterfall welcomed him.

Everything was going to be alright.

"Hand me my shovel, I'm going in!"

Plays: Aidan Rhistel - Factor and Law Representative of the Fated
Feel free to reach to me IC for enlisting or general faction rp
Slayer of Love
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Joined: Tue Mar 17, 2020 4:54 pm

Posted by Slayer of Love »


A natural first step in studying a language one has not seen before would be to categorise the symbols that comprise its scripture. The wedge-shaped characters, carved in old, white marble moldered from sandy yellow and mossy green marks of ages, display a numerous variety; Rhistel estimates around a thousand distinct characters in the samples he's got. There is furthermore an uncertainty to this count, not only because a lot of engravings are unintelligible, but also a lot are only subtle variations of the other symbols, not easy at all to distinguish at a first glance. Judging from that and their primitive crudeness, one would be tempted to assume this was some sort of logography, like say hieroglyphics, where every character represents a different word of the language, but Rhistel, knowing what he learned of the ritual and its seal, perhaps, knows the wedge-shaped symbols of this cuineform to represent in fact basic sounds - consonants, vowels, syllabes. This realisation saves a lot of work, but not without a downside of additional complexity of having to assign meaning to sequences of a myriad of unknown sounds of an extinct tongue, without even knowing how to pronounce them. Still he can at least use some of the words known from the ritual, and already he can understand a number of them: "be", "some", "command", "devil" or "fiend" maybe, "transparent" or "incorporeal" or maybe even "ethereal"; but even then his vocabulary is greatly lacking in completeness. Having spent a laborious few hours on it he manages to spot all the appearances of words he knows. Vast fragments of the text miss so many consecutive words that meaning cannot be made out of it, here and there there appear sentences Rhistel could with some degree of understanding read. It is an exhaustive labour and reading into the alien grammar of the extinct language, trying to understand it and the complex concepts it must contain, it is going to take a lot bigger chunk of effort. Even now some ambiguities caused by damage to the writings bug Rhistel still, but eventually he has to call it a day.

The next morning he finds himself rested well. The night was calm, there were some dreams but Rhistel remembers fleeting, blurry little of them; no vivid visions like he's been having. When he he heads out of his mansion and treads through the garden, he notes there is an unusual to his demiplane aurora in the sky; likely a benign discharge of the residual magic that holds together his spellbound realm, he gathers, but there is something baleful in its oddly shimmering, amethyst and ruby hue. As he returns to Sigil the Athar guide by the portal greets him as usual with a mere nod - he knows Rhistel doesn't like to be bothered, only does so out of common courtesy for the frequent passerby. In the greenery bar they are serving his favourite breakfast today, it is delicious this cycle, done just right. On his way out as Rhistel passes the numerous fountains, waterfalls, and water pools, in one of them he can note the reflection of the seal on his burned into his chest; it shimmers balefully of an odd, amethyst and ruby hue. He should probably visit the Festhall exhibition again, just to examine again some symbols of the scripture that were so damaged he could not translate them without ambiguities and guesswork. Once he resolves to that and arrives at the museum, perhaps little surprisingly he finds he's missed some details on his first take, and the symbols he thought too damaged seemed quite intelligible. Perhaps the Sensates changed the light because now the white marble appeared much brighter and clearer, not as worn by the sandy yellow and the mossy green limescale, and the golden, wedge-shaped characters read so much smoother. Rested with a good night's sleep he even recalls a lot better how to pronounce a lot of them, and spots the subtle variations in the symbols with ease. There even seem to be present a couple sections he missed entirely in the copy he's made. When he browses one of the chapters he managed to translate almost fully the night before, he finds himself comprehending it with ease and fluidity he could not muster in himself yesterday. But right now a realisation strikes him, that there is in that chapter a sequence he knows very well. He must have missed it because in the tablet it is written in a horizontal line, whereas in the begrudged ritual it was written in circles and curves surrounding the seal.

Eighteen hundred seventeenth knight of sixth house
Viper of Greed, Bull of Lust, Goat of Envy
Sixteenth ensnarer, fifty-fourth vessel of inquity, hundred-eighty-second sower of discord
Boiling Fever, twisting toothache, morbid thirst
Turner of Churches, Rise of Jealousy, Cherub of Betrayal
...
This is the part of the seal that identifies Alecto uniquely, according to some strange classification laid out in this chapter. Rhistel reads it aloud with unexpected fluency, despite barely having been familiarised with most of the hundreds of symbols of the scripture. Words just come to his mind naturally, even words he didn't know of earlier, despite him neither having heard this odd, throaty language ever before, nor having any comprehension of the alien grammar... But somehow, now he even continues some internal dialogue, speaking to himself aloud the words of the unknown language, not even sure where this level of comprehension came from - he just speaks it. It is then his mumbling to self in this odd speech, in the middle of the Festhall, is noticed and he is approached by a familiar face...
Slayer of Love
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Posted by Slayer of Love »


Rhistel does not know how right his suspicion about this reality being wrong is, until after he has a conversation he's been looking forward too with Sasha and an unexpected visit from an odd, phantasmal hermit, who speaks of worlds beyond the reality he knows, and in some weird gratitude hands him a mossy root, which he calls his business card. Only then, when the surreality begets so much grotesque that plays on his distorted perceptions, incredulous, freudian fears and fantasies, when a small orchestra plays a lively, cheery tune while he is pinned to a wall by a colorful bear with patch on one eye, advertising to Rhistel benefits of castration, while the bear's - human - wife makes a daring advance, whilst another, unrelated - or perhaps symbolising something, crawling half-drow is pestered by an imp that is more like a cross between a gremlin and a familiar deviless; only then does the wizard's mind acknowledges fully how absurd things have become and realises the scene beheld cannot be of the waking world. And he finds in himself enough mental discipline to shake off the products of his subconscious, and focus his dream where he would want - the tablet.

He spends some more time reading brough the gaps with the same ease, the first chapters relate largely to Astral and Ethereal planes and how the "spirits" as it calls them or, in modern terms, outsiders, tie to these planes, how their aspects are fundamentally tied to the nature of those planes, how they interact with the properties of those planes, and how these interactions can be used to engineer a conjuring ritual... It is powerful, advanced lore, though a lot of these concepts were known to him, the understanding conveyed here is so much more robust and sound, it makes modern day conjuration seem like blind child's play with scissors, it gives him indepth revelations into why the spells he know even work. It has been a tiring dream though, and at a point begins to feel cold on his face and in his feet, until eventually the waking time is nigh, and he finds himself back on his demiplane, raising from his sleep. To his surprise Rhistel finds himself not as his bed in the mansion, but napping in the garden outside, and there is an object weighing in his pocket. A mossy root he dreamed of being given by the odd, phantasmal hermit, but Rhistel does not recall having it before he went to sleep...
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Serena
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Posted by Serena »


Image


Oh no, he definitely didn't like it.
Of course, he should only be satisfied about the final outcome, for that weird experience had given him more than he could have hoped for, even after the sheer luck of finding one of the pieces of the tablet almost immediately...
But Dreamwalking?
No, it wasn't something he could deal with, not now, nor ever.

He took a deep breath, the familiar scent of grass and slightly damp ground hanging on him as he slowly made to sit up. Soon his gaze fell again on the mossy root the old traveler had handed him, and on the note attached to it.
The Dreamheart.
That wasn't for him. Dream was not his specialty. Actually, he didn't know a single thing about it. And he had no time to... practice, losing possibly invaluable time chasing something that could turn out not only to be useless, but even dangerous.

He groaned softly as he pushed himself to his feet, his body stiff with cold, and then he eventually made to head toward the portal that lead him back to his house in the Astral. He had been lucky, managing to sleep walk all the way from his cave to the garden without actually falling off the cliff: perhaps the dream could not kill him, but he was pretty sure a ten meters fall on rocks was likely to do the trick.
Was that even true, however? Were dreams as innocuous as most seemed to think? Could a dream kill him?
He shook his head absentmindedly as he entered the dimly lit bedroom, the warmth inside immediately helping him feeling a bit better.
Sure enough Sasha was going to kill him alright, had he not managed to pull himself out of that dreamscape.
Was it even his own?
Maybe the others weren't, but this one?
No, it couldn't be. He didn't possess those knowledges about the tablet, they could not belong to him.
And since there was only another being he was consistently spending his nights with, she could only be his next best guess.
No, he didn't like it at all.
But for now he had one important thing to do, which was securing whatever he had learned in the dream, and it couldn't wait.
He needed to write down everything, correct his transcriptions where needed, note down the translations...
And, oh, of course.
He also needed to -actually- let Sasha know, since his attempt turned out ot be a not real one.

In due time.
After all, he wasn't sure he wanted to meet them in person, just right about now...

He sat down at his desk and immediately returned to the work he had left few hours earlier, his attention focused on recalling every single details. But still, at the back of his head, a little thought couldn't really be silenced.
He was sure he had sourcebooks about the Plane of Dreams. He wondered what he could learn about it.
"Hand me my shovel, I'm going in!"

Plays: Aidan Rhistel - Factor and Law Representative of the Fated
Feel free to reach to me IC for enlisting or general faction rp
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Serena
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Posted by Serena »


Image


The Dreamheart.
He knew he had heard about it, even if at first he failed to recall exactly where.
Back then he wasn't paying due attention, that was true, at the time he was too busy brooding over an entirely different matter, but part of him still was listening as usual, and it took him just a few pages into one of the books he had fetched for the memory to come back, the explanation of the fey ringing in his head as if he was listening at it while he read through the content of the pages.



"...a little known place in the planes that most everyone in this room has been to, and more often, visits every time they sleep. It is known as the Region of Dreams...."


"...a dreamscape, one of countless
within the plane... each one as a demi-plane. Everyone who dreams has one."


"...its own entity and doesn't interact with another. But, sometimes... a technique known as lucid dreaming can even visit the dreams of others."


"...this spot is known
as the Dreamheart, where dreams go to die. It's a dangerous region. Venturing into it should only be done if absolutely necessary. For if you die in the Dreamheart, you die in the material world...


"...everyone in this room can be subject to the dangers of the plane. Creatures
that feed of dreams, demons that possess you through them, and more dangers..."


"...Lucid dreaming, as an example. As a dreamer, you are in complete control of your dreamscape. Most people who have nightmares don't realize this and often manifest their own fears. A lucid
dreamer can either will these nightmares away or even force themselves to wake up... It's a more advanced technique that takes time to learn. Until then, there are..."



Such a coincidence that he had stepped in that place during that event right in time to hear that entire explanation. But he had always been too stubborn and prideful, his troubles with dreams were not something he'd ever bring up with anyone, especially not to ask for help. Even when he had occasion to receive a boon from a God of Dreams itself, he didn't ask for help, holding up the favour for... for what? He didn't really know. Future occasions, as usual. More pressing matters.

He quietly set aside the book to return his attention to the now almost completed study of the tablet fragment.
He knew he should start planning how to get to the other known piece as soon as possible, but he also wished to have more time to talk with Lance first. And he still needed to update Sasha and Dace.

Once more, he left his hiding place and headed toward the Cage.
"Hand me my shovel, I'm going in!"

Plays: Aidan Rhistel - Factor and Law Representative of the Fated
Feel free to reach to me IC for enlisting or general faction rp
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Serena
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Posted by Serena »


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"Hand me my shovel, I'm going in!"

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Serena
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Posted by Serena »


[placeholder]
"Hand me my shovel, I'm going in!"

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Serena
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Posted by Serena »



He rationally knew following her had not been a good idea.

Not because of the throbbing headache that had welcomed him the moment he walked through the portal, as the conflict took a painful toll on him, nor for the spirit trapped inside him, whose vicious wailing, bolstered by the nature of the plane, tried to clog his mind with murderous intents.
It was the memories that connected him to that place he was scared of, something he had fought and won, but never really managed to completely get rid of.

Yet he followed. He hadn't been asked to, he didn't have to, but somehow, he felt it was important, even if the hissing thought at the back of his head kept suggesting he was probably just fooling himself.
A pilgrimage.
He didn't understand a thing of what she was saying, he tried asking, but as they walked he soon realised he was not supposed to understand: it wasn't the point.
So he had stopped trying to use conversation as his anchor, and simply focused on himself and his feelings, trying to get a hold of them, to not let them be swayed. He might not understand what that journey was for her, but that didn't mean he couldn't give it a different meaning for himself.
Perhaps, that "pilgrimage" was something he should actually be doing: prove to himself whether he had overcome his weaknesses, finally find out if he was still in that same hole.
It wasn't as easy as years ago, when the Wastes actually welcomed him as if he belonged to them... But on second thought, did that really make it easier? Or was that actually one of the reasons he found himself attracted to that place, back then, like a petitioner ahead of time?

It was with those thoughts that they eventually reached the shores of the River, the black mass of its waters flowing in front of them in the eerie silence.
Some loquacity had returned to her, once their weird mockery of a camp had been laid on the sand, and after attempting a few words of his own, he once more set himself to listen, still intentioned in understanding what he had taken part to as he intimately kept battling the bleakness trying to get a grip of him.


It had been a marvelous, painful scene to behold, a statement he could share with his whole heart even as the waters of the Styx threatened to take from him everything he had fought for, but at the same time, the reason he perceived behind it left him conflicted. Bitter.
He had shared some of that, the previous cycle, in some weird attemp to prove he could open up, sometimes. A pathetic show of skill, all in all, he wasn't made for it even when in complete control of his feelings.
And now, with the Wastes oppressing him, the thought returned, unfiltered, despite his best attempts. He knew it was wrong, but he still did it and wasn't regretting it. Part of him wished for an explanation, something that would make him see things differently, that would help him understand.
She answered in kind, instead, and her words sank into him like a warm knife in butter.

His logical side came up almost immediately, like a safety net.
"She's upset. You hurt her, she's returning the favour, that's all. It's how it works, and you know it."

But at that time, with the malice of the plane weighting over him and the hopelessness clawing at his resolution, what usually would have come to him normal seemed almost impossible.
Did she really think that? Was there really no difference, in her eyes? Were mortals so worthless that it didn't matter whether they chose to fight or give up?
He felt himself sneering in anger and bitterness, and while he simply wished to pull the brake, he instead let out an equally vitriolic answer.

But she clearly didn't wish to fight, and so the subject was almost seamlessly shifted, something he welcomed and hated at the same time.
He listened, trying at the same time to get a hold of himself, his quiet struggle making him even less receptive to the conversation, every word coming out of him seeming antagonistic for no reason. Even her familiar teasing, that he should have been glad to notice in such circumstances, was lost to him as his mind kept grinding the same concept.

"For what?"

He knew he had to leave that place, but at the same time, that hopelessness was comforting.
For what, if there's no difference? Why the struggle?
Just because we are not allowed non-existence?

He offered a ghost of a smile at her last snarky remark and moved his gaze back to the silhouette of the city in the distance. He didn't say another word, after that, and when she eventually produced the now familiar vials, he eventually gathered the strength to pull himself back on his feet.


"I hope you'll find what you need," he offered quietly, the meaning matching his words, and he made to turn around toward the shore stretching to the distance.

"I'll be taking a walk, don't wait up, I'll find my way back."



* * *

== The Song with Five Names, a​.​k​.​a. Soapbox Tao, a​.​k​.​a. Checkmate Atheists! a​.​k​.​a. Neospace Government, a​.​k​.​a. You Can Never Know ==
Last edited by Serena on Sat Jan 09, 2021 1:31 pm, edited 2 times in total.
"Hand me my shovel, I'm going in!"

Plays: Aidan Rhistel - Factor and Law Representative of the Fated
Feel free to reach to me IC for enlisting or general faction rp
Slayer of Love
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Joined: Tue Mar 17, 2020 4:54 pm

Posted by Slayer of Love »


The deviless stays where they spoke, contemplating an internal dialogue with some cosmic concept so abstract that only one old such as she could conceive of; under the black parasol she lies on the silken, black towel, on the beach of endless gray, staring dulled into the darknesses of Hades, as though there was something to see beyond.. She zones out, absorbed by thoughts and by the rush of agony, but not before making sure the faceless shadows of Hell still keep Rhistel's company, and that she is informed without delay should he extend his stay for more than half a cycle. And so the diabolical phantasms tail the half-drow wizard into the darknesses of Hades.
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