[Quest] Archi-Mage-ic (Closed)

[Kuvarakh]

He approached the door at the junction where the central dome met the left wing. Every where was the clutter of greenhouse materiel. Planter pots, stacked and cracked or broken. Long rotted bags burst from the weight of the soil inside, now spilled over the walkway. Rusted shovels of every size. Spikes, pegs and hooks. Scaffolding rails, in disordered heaps, trays in off-balanced stacks. Wheelbarrows, hoes, rakes, watering cans.

And dead plants in flats. Cuttings, sprouts and trimmed back shrubs, all dead and virtually mummified in mute despair. The sense of lonely desolation was overwhelming. Kuvarakh stood in a melancholy daze. He didn't know where to start.

There was a sudden wooden clatter from around the other side of the dome, protruding forward to block his sight of where the sound had occurred. His nape crawled with apprehension at the timing of it. There suddenly seemed to be an unidentifiable presence of waiting, of anticipation. The air hummed with it. Kuvarakh could not detect any particular source of the sound. He was not even sure he truly heard it. He likened it to what it must sound like to an insect to hear the blood flow through the hands of a man that has caught you in them.

He stepped away from the structure and the sound stopped. Everything stopped. Wind, birds, bugs. It was maddening. He spun, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever it was watching him. But there was nothing. He took a step back towards the trail in the woods, but he saw no break in the woods encircling the clearing. Also, it seemed as though the matted grass promised no respite from grasping and twining he every step he might take.

There was a sliding scrape behind him. His hair stood on end as he spun, trying to stifle a scream and only managing to accomplish a gasping croak. A broom caught his eye. He would have sworn it had actually just finished rising back to its propped position against the outside of the dome. A breeze swept up, and the broom slid to clatter to the walkway. The sound was an exact duplicate of the clatter from moments before.

Kuvarakh took a shaking step back. Grass wound around his foot. He looked down, half expecting to see the hand of some ghoul gripping his ankle, but it was only grass and it was not hindering his step in any way that he could see. He looked back up and his ichor froze in his veins. The broom was at the edge of the grass, right at his feet.

His shriek of dread was an unrestrained howl as he jumped back...to land on the walkway. His stared in unreasoning panic, his hands clenched, his knuckles white. He was facing the woods. He spun to face the greenhouse. There was a loud crack as something rattled his hand when in struck a large stone decorative planter. His hand felt off balance somehow. He looked at his hand and terror consumed him. He was holding the broom.

OOCHA! edited Tap

[Shyam Kuromiya]

Shyam stayed where he was, trying to gather his senses which seemed to have scattered in the Four Cardinal Directions with the winds. He got onto his slightly shaky legs. Testing to make usre that he wasn't hurt at all. The lack of any discomfort or pain verified the fact that he was perfectly alright. He looked at the two passages that he had noticed earlier. Looking up at the roof he didn't see the hole he had fallen through. Knowing that he wouldn't be able to return, he wondered where he would go now. Looking at the light he felt like going that way would be safer but, some sixth sense of his was telling him that going that way would be extremely dangerous. Laying down on the ground to relax, he thought of the pros and cons of going through the passageway that sounded like it had water. He remembered his father telling him, that if you followed the water while stuck in a cave it would eventually leave to an opening of some kind. He would also have some water available for him which was vital for life. He did not see or hear any bats in the area, but it was safe to assume that there would be some in the area if he needed something to eat. Tho he did not like the taste of them survival was of utmost importance. He had too many things to do before he died, so abit of discomfort was tolerable. Getting onto his feet again, he was felt strong and his legs were stable. He took a few tentative steps to make sure his legs wouldn't give out on him. Turning towards the passageway that had the sound of water coming from it he walked slowly and carefully, making sure that he did trip any other traps. He was also worried about the area he was in. The way he had fallen earlier was completely unnatural and it left him was a faint sense of fear and unease. He hoped Aesir was alright as well as the other people in the group. It would be such a pity if they all got hurt. After finding no more traps, he started trotting at a ground-eating pace. Keeping a look out for anything wierd he followed the sound of water. The tunnel was extremely dark but a kind of fungi that was growing on the wall, gave him enough light to to walk through without fear of hitting his nose on the wall. After walking for what seemed to be 20 minutes, he started to become worried. The sound of water was not coming any closer, yet it didn't seem to be fading away. It was like he was being endlessly pulled along on a wild goose-chase that dd not seem to have an end. The fear and unease that was just a slight feeling in his heart was slowly growing into something unbearable. He stopped and sat down. Movement right now was just eating away at his energy. For now the best thing would be to think about what was going on, and how to escape it. Slightly tired he decided to take a nap. Usually he would sleep and wake up to a solution for his problem. Drifting off into sleep, he vaguely registered a change in the scent of the air. He fell asleep before he could register what it was.

[Kuvarakh]

Kuvarakh's mind whirled in a frenzy as he tried to throw the broom away from himself. Three, four, five times he tried only to have his wrist turn and swing the handle into the palm of his other hand. It seemed that the other hand was always open and waiting for it as well.

One of the few synapses of his brain not operating in panic mode noticed a pulse of outside insistence that abated slightly whenever both hands were on the handle. He stopped fighting it for a moment, his mouth wide open, as he wondered why he was breathing heavily, why he was breathing at all. It seemed that he ought to be feeling his heart pounding in his chest, but that was absurd, he was a Nuit, after all.

He very deliberately let go with one hand. Immediately an urge to 'correct his hold' in order to 'make things right' struck him. He inched the handle towards his open, empty hand and felt 'relief' grow to calm as he took hold with both hands. It warmed to outright satisfaction as he held it precisely as you would when using it.

He suddenly felt as though he was being viewed as a sullen child, tasked with a chore, and having let it slide to dreadful conditions. And had now been caught by his parents, who waited patiently, even with some amusement, but were not going to let the responsibility lax one bit further. He almost felt this focused sentience chuckle at his foolishness, having let the job become so monumental and now having to deal with it.

Well, there was no shortage of time. He shrugged and began sweeping.

[Kuvarakh]

Time seemed to drag, but there was no boredom. He lost track of the sun's position in the sky, the bells of the day were lost to him. He looked around, at the shortness of the shadows. It couldn't be more than three bells past midday. He found himself unconcerned over this inconsistent passage of time. It had been near ten bells this morning when he had first arrived at the front gate. Now with the time spent moving through the woods with the others. Then arriving at the bridge, the short discussion, and his departure towards the greenhouse. Then his slow movement on that trail, allowing for any who wished to catch up to him, his eventual arrival after already losing track of time, and now the bells spent here, he figured it must be nightfall by now.

Yet all seemed as it should be. The most perplexing question he seemed able to ask himself was why he wasn't done sweeping up yet. There was still so much to do. He turned back to see his progress, and was greatly relieved to see how much he had actually accomplished. When had he stacked those trays? When had he retied those soil bags? When had he ground the rust off those tools? Had he oiled them as well? For a second, they didn't appear to have been, but almost as soon as the thought occurred to him, the rich gleam of oil-treated metal shone from the toolrack, filled with a pleasingly balanced array of long handled implements of every kind.

Where there had been a leaning, mossy, travesty of a shed, eaten by termites and dry rot, was now a freshly painted, solid building. The door opened without a hint of a creak, and as Kuvarakh rolled the wheelbarrow inside, he found the planter pots neatly stacked and the small hand tools hung on pegs along one wall.

As he stepped back out, he found the swept up heaps of leaves and crockery debris resting in waste bins. The broken tiles replaced by new, the pieces discarded in the bins or stacked for cutting to smaller sizes used in other areas. Mulch, compost and fertilizer separated to distinct flats.

One thing struck him suddenly very strongly, the smell of freshly cut grass. he was astounded to turn and see the massive lawn neatly cropped. Yet there was still no sense of shock and mystery, even though he knew there was no way he could have taken the time to accomplish such an undertaking. Still, he dutifully retrieved the scythe and edging blade from where he seemed to have left them, scraped the grass residue from the blades, honed them with fine stones, polished them with cloths and oiled them before putting them back where he had gotten them...?

He looked up and saw the sun still in its same position. It seemed that time was no obstacle. He shrugged and looked back at the greenhouse building itself. Glad to have done such a good job on the grounds, he stepped through the doorway to clean and repair the building itself.

[Shyam Kuromiya]

Shyam came to slowly. Being underground he had no way of telling how long he had slept, but the thing that worried him the most was the fact that he was getting hungry. He could last a few days, a week and a half at most, without food but he needed water badly. He also knew that he had to stay in his natural form cause morphing would drain him of precious energy. He stood up slowly and immediately felt something wierd about the ground beneath his paws. The air also had a different smell to it. It wasn't the old earthy staleness he had initially picked up, but rather a dirty living smell. It smelt of sweat slightly. He immediately went on guard. He didn't know what was in the cave with him and suddenly finding a way out was the most important thing. He started trotting in the same direction he had started with. Staying still was the most dangerous thing he could do and he berated himself slightly for falling asleep. He was surprised that he wasn't eaten by whatever force that was controlling the area around him. He was unsure if it was malevolent or not but he wasn't going to hang around to check it out. The felt a breeze of air but it disappeared so fast that he wasn't sure if he had just imagined it or if it was actually there. He ignored it and kept on walking. As he walked he felt it again and he was certain it was there. He was, as of yet, unsure of where it came from but for now he would forge on until he was sure. The small breeze brushed by him again but this time it was constant. He followed it to it source, which was a small crack in the wall. He heard water on the other side of this crack. He was unsure of whether he was or wasn't still below ground, but the sound of the water was reassuring. The water seemed to flow in the same direction that he was going so he decided to continue on his path until he found a way to reach it.

[Kuvarakh]

He entered the greenhouse, The air not as still as it would be if so many of the panes were not broken. There were reinforced scaffolding braces to support the upper levels. Even with the broken windows the air got noticeably hotter with each level. There were three levels, each with flooring and a central opening for the ladder.

He climbed up to find a broom already at the top. He didn't have much knowledge of plant species, and didn't know how well it would have served, given the withered state of the remains in the flats and pots. But most had a viney, tropical look, as best he could tell. There was an apparatus that looked like it was supposed to create steam for humidity. He guessed it had worked, given the dried mildew coating the frames and sills. It had long dried beyond smelling up here.

He pulled the broken panes from their frames and stacked the larger pieces, figuring to place them in an empty strap-flat for carting back down the ladder. Then he took a soft wire brush that happened to be sitting on a shelf and began working on the rust and mildew. Bells later, the metal was ready for oiling. He was amazed that he had not picked up a handful of slivers by now.

'Well, the day is young yet.' he thought cynically. Then it struck him that the day WAS still young. He had done days worth of work, but it was still the same time, the same day as when he started. 'What amount of repair do I have to accomplish for this estate to recognize the passage of a single day?'

He began to sweep the glass and crusty residue towards the center hole in the floor, picking up wads of cobwebs, soil and fertilizer as he went. The flooring creaked and sagged dangerously in a few places and he had to go carefully, his broom sweeping away the grime to reveal dry rot. No doubt it had rained through the broken windows and eventually the treated wood had lost its resistance to the endless soakings over the years.

'How many years?' he wondered.

[Fallacy]

Kuvarakh OOCGreat job. Really, impressive how you manage to do what I set you up to do without consulting me Am I that predictable? Anyways, going to throw you a curve ball here. Have fun. Time seemed to have no meaning here, time seemed to pass inconsistently. Mere bells of work would only progress the day a couple of chimes. It was as if time had stopped around the manor because it no longer had any meaning, no longer any purpose. Or perhaps it was an illusionary safeguard; to stop the passage of time would mean to stop the deliberation of the buildings on and around the grounds, which would mean this marvel of a place would be immortalized forever in a sorry condition. Better than losing it forever, right? As he was cleaning the nuit would see a shiny glint out of the corner of his eye. The light was something he couldn’t ignore, because it shone bright, like it was emitting daylight itself. Pausing, the light bringing him out of this cleaning trance, he would turn to look at it. It, whatever it was, seemed to be a plant, a very special plant in a potter. It was curious how he didn’t notice it before since it was the only living thing in the greenhouse, not only that but it was shining. Was this manifestation just another one of the odd occurrences which had happened since he had been cleaning? Had picking up the place, had repairing the place, was he giving it power or was he disturbing and waking up something better left undisturbed? Though he seemed drawn to the strange plant, golden in color, its leaves full of veins and texture, it extended upwards like a small tree, and it was to be noted that the plant itself wasn’t glowing, but it was the leaves which were emitting the light. If one were to look even closer at the plant he would see it wasn’t just light, but images. There were moving pictures coming from the light which was coming from the leaves, which originated from the plant, but the question was where did the plant come from, and what did it mean? OOCHave a fun idea here, I think, but I didn’t want to control your character too much, so we will see how Kuvarakh will react to the introduction of the plant instead of me just godding everything Shyam The strange wind he felt would only get stronger and stronger still, blowing against him with some force which threatened to knock him off his feet. It was pushing him, guiding him towards the wall. Then with a rather violent burst the wind picked up, dragging the wolf off his feet and smashing him against the wall, though the wall itself had no substance to it. He went right through and was met by a splash of water. Once the wolf would regain his senses he could afford to look around and see that there was a little waterfall coming from the hole which he had passed through, but… there had been no water there before. He was in a pool, smooth and clear, crystals adorned the walls and ceiling glowing slightly with a surreal presence. The crystals gave the water a green tint to it, though it smelled like normal water it did not taste like it. There was a strange, rustic taste to it. Was it safe to drink, and where did he find himself now? After surveying the place he would see a strange plant growing at the edge of the pool. The plant itself couldn’t have been there before, for he would have noticed it right away, right? The plant glowed with a strange light, much like the crystals, and stood up straight like a little tree. Perhaps it was a tree, but how could anything but fungi grow in a place like this? There was no light to support it, the water was weird. Could it be the water? If he looked closely he could see that the shadows around the tree move with a sense of purpose, a distortion in the reality which was the cave. The light spread more, and he could see images playing, being shown to him, but they moved too fast for him to see accurately. Blurrs. What was this strange thing?

[Kuvarakh]

Kuvarakh stared in mute fascination. 'How long has this been in here?' he puzzled. 'I could NOT have missed it, not considering that my entire purpose up here has been so detail-oriented. Has the decrepit condition of the greenhouse inhibited this display? Has cleaning up restored some sort of energy to this...thing.'

He suddenly cringed and looked around with a feeling of apprehension that he had insulted some entity by calling the plant a 'thing'. "I'm sorry." he spoke aloud, the sound of his voice coming as somewhat of a shock to him. He seemed now more able to realize the unnatural passage of time, and was again disturbed that he had not noticed it. Then again, it occurred to him that he had noted the long stretch of this single afternoon, but dismissed it as unimportant.

It suddenly took on enormous importance and the hair on the nape of his neck stood on end, much the way it had when the broom first took over his actions outside. This now also became clear to him. He had been terrified, but found solace in repair and reordering the area. Were the two connected? Was there an actual awareness that had been filled with despair over the condition of the grounds? Had it invaded his will and imbued his emotions with a like feeling? Driving him to clean and restore it to pristine condition?

Why, then, had it released its mental hold on him? A possibility occurred to him and he went quickly to the opening in the floor and looked down. The entire inner structure was renewed and reworked in preparation to receive all new cuttings and seed. The air smelled rich and pungent with fresh, fertilized soil and loam.

His jaw dropped in amazement. Movement caught his eye and he spun around. No, it was not actual movement, it was the light, coming from the plant. The light itself moved, shades and colors swinging and bobbing, shadows and figures crossing the floor like firelight in a campsite.

Again, his hair stood up unbidden. 'Alright' he told himself. 'The cleaning is apparently finished. It appears to be the whole reason I was compelled to be here and it was definitely the whole focus of my existence from the moment I arrived. Now that I am done, this plant appears. Is it a reward? Am I supposed to take it out of here? Put it up on the shelf for better light?'

"My name is Kuvarakh." he suddenly felt inspired to announce. "Is that who you believe me to be? I was invited. Was cleaning up the greenhouse the reason I was invited? Would I be cleaning up the..." he wracked his brain a moment to remember some of the other locations shown on the signpost. "...The Stone Garden, if I'd gone there instead?"

It suddenly struck him that if he was to go to this 'Stone Garden', it probably WOULD be to clean or restore. And many of the tools were here at the Greenhouse. Perhaps he would be able to leave now. Or, perhaps when he left, he would suddenly find himself pushing a wheelbarrow full of rock rakes, hoes and levers.

'...And the plant' The thought suddenly manifested on its own. He turned to the plant and noticed that the light was steady, there was no movement of shades or images. Even as he noticed, the light began swirling anew. He decided he would pick it up. he felt that if he didn't do it willingly, he would end up doing it all the same. He preferred not to give whatever awareness was empowering this place any reason to accost his willpower again.

"OK," he said with a smile, "I'll bite." he walked over to the planter pot and grabbed it to lift it, intending to set it in the very wheelbarrow he had thougth about a moment ago.

[Fallacy]

Kuvarakh The consciousness of the place remained unstirred by the voice who tried to communicate with it. The place itself already set the events into motion. The plan already had action accelerating it and promoting it, manifesting it into reality, and the people gathered there would be its tools. Calculating, trying to guide, as if it knew better, but for now it would let them be. They had to choose their own path and the intelligence couldn’t choose every action, no, that would be far too tiring, far too taxing, far too late. Though the pieces were in place, and there was a light, a ray of hope for the place yet. As Kuvarakh picked up the plant and attempted to set it in the wheelbarrow the light around the plant began to expand, growing more and more, the light within seconds engulfing the man, within seconds engulfing the greenhouse, within seconds a ray of light could be seen by anyone on the grounds. A grand flare which showed that –something- had happened. For Kuvarakh however the flash of light only lasted a second. Around him played various images warping and contorting around him, a tree, a grand tree with leaves shining just like the plant he picked up was shown to him. Its giant trunk showed that it was apparently ancient, and the leafs shown with a unique light. Before he could fully grasp what was happening, he was brought to another scene. He was outside the manor. The gates were open, and people, all finely dressed, were making their way to the manor. Laughs and smiles were worn as masks as they advanced in a blur of blues, reds, yellows, blacks, all different colors one could imagine, there was a fine fabric, a dress, a tux, that was worn. Masks and hats were stylistically and artfully placed, the chosen members all held an invitation which suspiciously looked like the one that Kuvarakh picked up. Though of all the fine dresses, they each had an Alvadas flare to them, twisting and distorting them. Sometimes the effect was beautiful, sometimes it was odd. Some of the ladies dressed flowed unnaturally, others had moving images snaking up and moving across the fabric, and others still changed colors, or even their entire garb changed. It was obvious that some grand event was taking place in Towers’ Manor. A masked ball, perhaps? Kuvarakh would notice that he wasn’t in the same clothes which he had entered. No, he was dressed much like the other guests invited, mask and all. oocHave fun describing what you are wearing Would he follow the others? He did have an invitation after all…

[Kuvarakh]

Kuvarakh looked a moment to see if there was any indication that any of these people were from his original party. There was one man with a bird perched on his shoulder, but its species changed along with the plumage on his grand tricorn hat. He sensed on odd constriction around his own head and reached up, bumping his fingers on the brim of a colossal top hat with an exaggerated funnel, flaring in a upward moving swirl of colors.

The movement of color seemed to recall the effect of the plant in the greenhouse, and he half expected to see shining leaves spring from the barrel. Leaves did, however, spring into his field of vision as he began to look to the side. No, not leaves, epaulets, adorning the shoulders of his jacket, dappling like an autumn forest between greens, browns, golds and reds, all coordinating surprisingly well with the dark blue of the jacket itself.

And what a jacket! A tailor's glory of pleats, lapels and tucks seeming to frame the cloth-of-gold sash and white satin shirt that spoke of one-of-a-kind design. He would have reveled in the rainbow of accessorizing patterns that keyed on the changing colors of the epaulets, as well as the tie tack, cufflinks and buttons, had his gaze not found itself riveted on the boots.

It was as though he was wearing elaborate fountains on his feet. If there were laces, they were indistinguishable from the currents of water appearing to flow UP his legs to spray out, defining the wide cuffs as a circular flare of sprouting water, sparkling and generating mist. The mist wafted around him, catching the light and dividing it into a curtain of prismatically generated bands of color.

He half expected to splash or squelch as he walked towards the door. The light from a nearby window cast his shadow across the lawn. He realized he had a cape on as well, judging by the wave of shadow swirling behind him. he reached up around his shoulders, and felt a massive collar rising from his neckline. He was suddenly very curious to see his face and turned to join the throng parading through the front door of the Manor House.

As he reached the door and showed his invitation, it occurred to him that he had only just finished completing some long ordeal to fulfill some obligation with the Greenhouse. What sort of charade might he be recruited into by walking into the manse itself? He tried to pull back, but the crowd behind him playfully catcalled to him to keep the line moving. The boos and hisses were good-natured, but the inertia of the assembled party-goers was not to be denied.

He found himself inside, on the steps leading down into the reception area of the Manor House.