[Quest] Archi-Mage-ic (Closed)

[Kuvarakh]

Kuvarakh was nearly as panicked as the rest, but Aceren's words commanded him to focus. He had no idea what was possessing the house, causing its upheaval. He assumed there was some sort of glyphed mage crafting at work here, triggered by Towers' death. 'Is that what everyone here assumes?' he thought, trying to gauge what might give a hint who had done this. He saw the tray on the ground and immediately concluded that the waiter with that tray was the assassin. 'Does he also realize this house is reacting to Towers' death somehow?'

An idea occurred to him. He stepped back to Aceren, "Order everyone away from the doors and windows! Tell them the house will kill anyone that tries to leave! Maybe you can get Verlyna to create an illusion of this happening. It has to have been the waiter that had that tray." He didn't know if Aceren could get through the din to get anyone's attention. He looked around to see if anyone was escaping up the stairs or disappearing through nearby doors, but saw no one. "I think he's still here. probably in disguise, hoping to get out with the crowd." He knew this may be just wishful thinking. The toxin in the drink may have had a delayed reaction, but he had to go on whatever gave him some hope.

His mask was hindering his vision somewhat, so he pulled it off. He grunted in frustration as he felt a new one take its place and recalled the mask's nature of featuring a chronological litany of the various faces of all the bodies he'd "worn" as a Nuit. He flashed through them in haste, tossing them aside until he got to the last one. When he pulled it off, he knew his face should be his normal face, from his current body. He didn't really even notice that he continued to hold onto this last mask.

He didn't know if Aceren was about to make his proposed announcement, or if he was trying to find Verlyna first, but he knew time was running out. He made his way quickly through the crowd, scanning for any inconsistencies in costumes. The assassin would have to have a disguise he could have worn beneath his waiter's suit without it being obvious. He saw a man do a double take at him, but thought such reactions must be common in a room full of such elaborate attire.

Then it dawned on him that this was the first man, besides Aceren, to make any gesture that focused on him. Up until now, all his interactions with the crowd had been as if either HE was scenery, or THEY were. He spun about to see the man missing, but there was only one group into which he could have disappeared. As he headed that way, he saw his reflection in the window. He did not have his own face!

'What the petch?' He stared for a moment in shock. 'Who in Dira's Dungeon is THIS face supposed to belong to? Certainly not ME!' In absent confusion he looked at the mask he still held in his hand. He was even more shocked to see what looked like his real face represented there. In a morbid kind of fascination, he lifted the mask back up to his head as he looked at his reflection in the window. 'Yes! THIS is my real face! What is going on here?'

A wild realization struck him. It was ridiculous, it was insane! But it added up. He stepped out away from the tight group and yelled as loudly as he could for everyone to remove their masks. No one reacted that he could see. In an agony of wasted time, he realized he needed to find Aceren. He could only hope he could explain in time, and that the man would even believe him.

"ACEREN! ACEREN! TELL THEM ALL TO REMOVE THEIR MASKS! I THINK I KNOW WHA-..." His shout was cut short by a sharp pain in his side delivered with the force to drive the breath from his lungs as someone stabbed him and slammed into the wall of a statue niche largely out of sight of the crowd. He quivered in pain as the knife drove in a second and third time as a man wearing the same face that he had on under the mask sneered hatefully. "I don't know who you are, or how it is that you wear my face, but it won't soon matter!"

[Tapestry]

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The blade fell with venomous intent, driving into Kuvarakh's body, puncturing his skin and tearing muscle. Ichor bubbled through the wounds, precious life that seeped into the open air and quivered there, evaporating as it desperately tried to cling to its original host.

Overwhelmed by the vicious assault, Kuvarakh hadn't the adequate time to defend himself, and raised a hand against the blade, only to see it plunge into his palm and viciously twist, tearing a hole in his hand before it was torn away and once again tore into his flesh.

The killer was a middle aged man with dark eyes and short hair. He wasn't tall, nor particularly strong looking, but he was more than enough to overcome the frailer nuit.

Lifting his dagger with both hands, the assassin grinned, driving it down toward Kuvarakh's eye.

Triumph transmuted into turmoil on his face, and the dagger bit short, the man pulled away from Kuvarakh by a furious Aceren. The dagger spun to combat this new threat, but Aceren moved with the adept training of the Silencers, catching the wrist of the blade and forcing it down, driving his knee into the hand to force the blade against the floor. With his weapon caught, the murderer attempted to tear at Aceren's face, only knocking aside his mask.

To Kuvarakh's surprise, when it was knocked aside there was nothing there. No skin, no identity, the only parts that remained were the ones visible when Aceren wore the mask. Seemingly unconcerned, he reached down with both hands and gripped the side of the assassin's head, viciously twisting it to one side with a sickening crack.

There was silence.

Around them everything fell silent. Perhaps it was that Kuvarakh was close to death himself, but the sounds of the chaos bled away, and Aceren pushed the body toward the nuit.

"Take it." He told Kuvarakh with his empty face, "Save yourself. You've earned your reward."


As Kuvarakh dragged himself over the corpse, pouring his essence out and into the open corpse, the world around him lost consistency, shivered out of existence.

And he lay in his own body in the old, dusty ruins of the same hall the party had taken place in. Discarded silver trays and long discarded instruments suggested nothing had happened here since the death of Andres Towers. He was alone in the room.

Empty.

"His name is Ravion Roma."

Aceren was above him, his mask returned, leaning against the rail where they had first spoken, "I remember him. He came here many times before without a mask. Aceren never did...so I didn't have much to work with."

Aceren melted away and reappeared beside Kuvarakh, reaching down to help the nuit to his feet. His grip felt real, but cold.

"Most of the new guests only seek to solve me, search me, raid me..." After Kuvarakh was on his feet, Aceren strolled away from him, laying a hand absently on the stage Andres had originally appeared on. "But you cleaned, maintained, preserved...and now you've helped me again...showed me who his murderer was. I don't think I would have known if not for you."

Turning again, Aceren dipped into a bow. "I apologize for deceiving you...I am...less trustful of people these days, hence my solitude. I am Towers Mansion."

The sound of a scrape behind Kuvarakh called his attention to a single chair that had not been there before.

"You may sit if this is shocking," the Aceren phantom said, indicating it, "You mortals often have such dramatic reactions to strange news."
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[Kuvarakh]

Kuvarakh had not known what to expect when he jumped into the body. A broken neck being a death sentence, even for a Nuit, perhaps. But his current body was not going to last now either. And he thought there was already so much that was odd here, at least he would still be able to talk to this strange figure. Also, when he made the jump, he anticipated several bells of near immobility as his presence got oriented within the new body's structure. He feared the broken neck might prevent it altogether.

But no, he was immediately able to get to his feet, though he still lay flat for a moment, looking up at the vaulted, cobwebbed ceiling, highlighted only by dust and decay. A terrible melancholy coursed through him. Not for the solitude, but once again, as with the greenhouse, over the state of the mansion. It was like a beloved pet whose master has suddenly died and left it abandoned and neglected, lonely and hopeless.

"His name is Ravion Roma. I remember him. He came here many times before without a mask. Aceren never did...so I didn't have much to work with," the man he'd called "Aceren" said. It would have struck Kuvarakh as odd that he seemed to be referring to himself in third person, had he not then dissolved and reappeared close enough to offer a hand up. It became quickly apparent that "Aceren" was not exactly a real person.

Everything else had obviously been an illusion, no real surprise in Alvadas, but Aceren remained, at least as a representative form of some type of...entity...or sentient...something. The figure then went on, as it strolled to the stage, now as dusty as everything else. He presented a point of view that seemed to be on behalf of the actual mansion itself. But regardless of this advance insight, Kuvarakh was still stunned when the figure announced itself to be that very thing, the manifestation of the building itself.

He flopped back into the chair that had slid up behind him, both marveling and shaken by its timely appearance. He almost jumped back up out of it, but a strange sense that it would be rude prevented him. "You are...the mansion? Itself? The very building? The wood, the glass, the bricks and mortar?" Kuvarakh's skin suddenly wanted to crawl, but he repressed it, again not wanting to be offensive to an entity he now found himself contained within. But he recalled his earlier sense of an awareness while he had been in the greenhouse. And though it had struck him as somewhat amused by him, it had not seemed malicious. Now it was even being apologetic and courteous.

Kuvarakh began to feel an empathy for it. As a Nuit, he certainly understood the nature of solitude. Did this structure truly have feelings as a live creature? How long had it stood here, wherever "here" was? He had lived in Alvadas for a few years now and never seen this building before. It's recent arrival had been treated like an "event". Where was it the rest of the time? Lost in some timeless void? Kuvarakh knew what it was to make friends and then outlive them, again and again. Did this...entity...even have the brief companionships he did?

"I apologize for my...discomfort..." he lifted his arm and looked at the arm of the chair beneath it. Then looked back at the figure. "Are you the chair, as well? I can stand again if you like. I don't want...I mean, I'm not trying...to...uhh...Well, I'm not a truly living body, and not many things like me next to them." He poised himself to rise if the figure indicated its preference that way.

[Tapestry]

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"It's complicated." Aceren moved his hand and the chair with Kuvarakh on it shifted towards him slightly, "I don't mind, not really. I've been a tomb as well as a home, and look around me...everything is ruined, so I don't think you'll cause much of an issue."

Leaning down, he began mechanically gathering some of the dusty refuse, the remains of the party into a pile. Without speaking he worked on this for several moments before pausing, staring at it, past it, and then up to Kuvarakh.

"My master made me with a magic called Architectrix, calling me to life around him. Towers may not have been the most competent mage in Alvadas, but he was important to me. He was my father, my caretaker...and someone stole him away."

Aceren trailed off, and the house around them moaned and creaked, like wood sobbing.

"I hid myself away," the mansion continued, "And parts of me grew wild and violent, other parts forgetful. I kept my wits about me here, at least, and you are the first to solve my illusion mystery...the others weren't so lucky." The muscles under his skin tightened, as if trying to remember something, and then he shrugged and pushed it away, "A place like me, alone for centuries...well, you start to lose yourself. Bits and pieces here and there...look at me. I'm crumbling. In another few centuries there will be nothing left of me. Ravion Roma is long dead, but knowing who the killer was somehow doesn't bring me any peace...just reminds me how long I wasted grieving, looking."

Much of the fire and energy had left Aceren, as if dropping a character. The man represented now looked forlorn and tired, almost insubstantial, if even keeping up the illusion was too much effort.

"I will let you go," He said at last, "I am sorry for keeping you, subjecting you to this. I cannot recall all of me anymore and my moods have become...erratic. Perhaps it is best if I bow out like the old relic I am, hide beneath the illusion till the last of me quiets and falls silent."

He stared ahead at nothing.

"Crumble to dust, like my master."
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[Kuvarakh]

The future Kuvarakh had frequently contemplated stood manifest before him. Illusion or no, the existence Towers' Mansion spoke of addressed the emptiness of soul and purpose that Kuvarakh had been trying to stave off for only decades now. But centuries? Clinging to bitter memories, afraid to make new friends, knowing they would only become the subject of empty future memories. The Nuit curse. Was it any wonder Nuits tended to become indifferent to society?

Would added centuries only make him wish for the past years to fade from his mind? Would the effort to relieve himself of the emptiness take "parts" of him with it, as it seemed to have done with this once glorious structure? It was such a waste. What a tragedy to bring sentience to something and then abandon it. Not that he blamed Andres Towers. It was the assassin that was to blame. And the outbuildings had shown such attentiveness, such appreciation. The Greenhouse, at any rate. It had made him feel welcome, True, it required that he make some repairs, but many of the repairs had generated themselves simply in response to his efforts.

Kuvarakh wondered how some of the other buildings might have reacted to his presence...his intrusion. The Mansion had said that some of its extensions had grown wild and violent. Fury fueled by lonely anger at its long abandonment, he assumed. Maybe he could help.

"There is no need for me to depart just yet. Is there nothing I can do to prevent this slow ruin? I can not claim even two centuries, but I have known what it is to endure even one, void of true companionship, and am now well into my second. If I may ask, are you not able to come forth into the present Alvadas? Couldn't others take Mr. Tower's place? Or are these the "others" you spoke of, the ones that were...unlucky?"

He could not tell if "Aceren" was considering any of his questions, or just lost in a melancholy reverie. "I have come to Alvadas, thinking there was a purpose waiting for me here. I felt that the gods themselves led me here. I don't know what Mr. Tower's relationship or reverence for the gods was like. Do you think that...You...might be that purpose? The other possibilities have all come to naught. I find myself aimless and adrift, and I would not see you fade to some oblivion. It makes me feel that this is what awaits me as well."

He was surprised to realize how much he meant this. Another possible purpose for his own existence had presented itself. If it slipped away into irrelevance, he thought he might just give up. He still clung to his foremost purpose, to find a meaning for his daughter's death. But modifications to that pure intent, and peripheral significances had rendered it into simply finding ANY reason to go on.

[Tapestry]

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Aceren's eyes widened in surprise and a hand found his chin, cupping it. There was suspicion there, a guarded, old thing built on the back of centuries and previous misadventures. Towers was long gone, but the Mansion was also not long for the world.

Slowly crumbling, slowly decaying.

He fixed his eyes on Kuvarakh, silent for the first few moments before the hint of a small smile flitted across his face.

"Yes, there is something you can do." He said at last, regarding the nuit cautiously, "You cleaned up my greenhouse, helped me find the murderer of my dearest friend...I could not ask you to do more, and yet..."

He held out his hands around him, "Could you rebuild me? Show me the care and concern an owner might? Others have sought to exploit me for my secrets, seek Andres hidden treasures in my wildest parts, take me in with lies and deceit, I've grown quite accustomed to that sort of thing."

Bringing his hands back together, he rubbed them nervously, "I have not...trusted someone in quite some time. Although you have done me a great service, I cannot simply open myself to you. If you are willing to be patient with me and take upon yourself the responsibility of restoring my grounds and wilder parts...perhaps you can be a friend, a caretaker."

Aceren reached down and dug up a splinter from the floor of the ballroom, holding it out to Kuvarakh on his palm. "For that, however, you'll need to know Architetrix...the magic that brought me sentience. I can speak, yes, but that is by virtue of Ionu and Illusionism. The other parts of me...my siblings...they can only communicate with an Architetrix mage. If you can tame the rest of them, calm my properties, and begin to put us together...I will name you Andres successor for the mansion, with all that entails."

He regarded Kuvarakh, neither judging nor accepting, "Simply drive this shard into your arm, just under the skin, and we will see if the magic accepts you."
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[Kuvarakh]

Kuvarakh's mind reeled, both with the possibilities and apprehensions. So this grand estate had been here all this time, but hidden by illusion. He wondered how much time had really passed. It had seemed like days, but the power of illusion could certainly alter that perception as well any other. He set that worry aside. It was already done anyway. He would find out where he stood when he left. He was sure Wanda would understand. Anyone that did magic would surely understand why he had joined this adventure.

"Look, I am very intrigued by this, but I must come clean with you. I'm not sure what you are asking. I want to help, but I'm no builder. I know nothing of carpentry and construction. The repairs in the Greenhouse seemed largely to sort of...make themselves. All I did was sweep up and...mow the lawn...and stack stuff more neatly and things like that. The broken windows seemed to mend themselves. I will gladly do all that I can, but I will not try to pass myself off as something I'm not."

He knew it was not treasure or secrets he was really after, but he could not deny the appeal of such things. "I will do you the courtesy of complete honesty here. I would not wish to come off as another greedy plunderer, I have no problem waiting for trust to develop between us. It is not really treasures and secret chambers that interest me, so much as the...history available. To learn of events long past. To hear accounts of conversations that may have determined monumental decisions. There must be things to learn here that have never found their way into any of the tomes to be found in The Sunken Conundrum. These are the..."treasures" that entice me."

He found that he had risen to his feet and was pacing a bit, looking off into some unfocused combination of past and future. He looked back to Aceren with a hint of shame on his face. "Still, this must color me as somewhat self-serving. But at the least, I seek something that must involve interaction and conversation, not just an ignorant pillager, rampaging from room to room, trying to pry your secrets with no regard for your sovereignty or...sensitivity."

The thought of resurrecting this grand entity from a slow fade into obscurity took on an importance he had not felt for decades. Even a Nuit could ultimately decide to die and rejoin Lhex' cycle of rebirth. Was this mansion able to do this? Aceren spoke of "falling silent" and "crumbling to dust". Would this be actual "death"? Or just a more unfocused eternity of emptiness? It sickened him to consider a fate where his inhabited body rotted away, but he did not die, and could not become a ghost, bound to a spot, immovable.

"There is one last thing." he said as he looked at the wood shard in Aceren's hand. "Being a Nuit, I need to change bodies every two or three years. As a...transient...spirit, might I lose...connection...when I transfer to a new one? Understand, it is not from any concern about having to redo this ritual, but I would worry that you might feel such a sudden break as a betrayal, and I might not find you again. I would promise to do all such transfers in your presence, but some circumstance may arise where I am unable to."

[Tapestry]

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Quietly, Aceren considered Kuvarakh, finally shrugging his shoulders in a distinctly human way. The walls around him shuddered, as if the house itself was trying to shrug with the illusion.

"Architectrix requires discipline and sacrifice," Aceren finally whispered, striding to a stained wall and running phantasmal fingers over the surface, "I do not expect you to rebuild immediately, only to learn carpentry skills, or to bring in people that do know. Some repairs parts of me can make, but not all. There are leaks in my roof and parts of my estate have collapsed. Over time, the elements ravage me worse than any looter ever has. If you want to be the new master of this estate, you must be committed."

Aceren's eyes found Kuvarakh again and he returned to where he was earlier, still gripping the splinter in his hand. "I require that every season you will do me a service. Renovate one of my rooms, decorate, wallpaper, repair...that is the price for ownership. You seem to have an abundance of time on your hands so I won't require extensive repairs every season...just enough to show you are sincerely different. Sometimes I will be in the city, you will see me...other times you will need to find me."

Reaching into a pocket he pulled out an old brass key. "So long as you hold this key, finding me should always be easy."

Clearing his throat, Aceren offered the splinter again, "The magic should bind to your soul if you're worthy, and you need not worry about a new splinter in a new body. I will warn you, though, some parts of me will be less hospitable than others. You can consider me the Mind of the Manor, the spirit...if you will. But Towers was the sort to want different friends, many friends, and so he animated many parts of me separately...we coexist now. I'll give you a map to the grounds, something to use should you ever lose your way. The others you'll have to...speak with, lean from, and make them comfortable with you again. The Greenhouse is easy to placate, you've seen that. She's a precious child. You have, of course, met me...and that leaves the ruined West Wing, the oldest part of this estate. It predates me by some time and is also one of the more dangerous personalities. Do not approach it till you are ready and confident in your discipline. The guest house is a dear soul, though badly damaged as I last heard...and you are not ready to speak to the vault."

Pushing his hands together, the splinter still proffered between them, Aceren smiled, "I'd be happy to tell you what occurred in this manor...the secrets here. It's been a long time since I've had a willing conversational partner."

The house creaked around them, bit by bit it seemed to be coming alive. Chairs were stacked against the back wall rather than lying discarded and even the thick film of dust seemed to quietly remove itself. "Do we have a deal, Kuvarakh?"
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[Kuvarakh]

Kuvarakh sagged visibly in relief. There was no immediate need for him to possess expert knowledge in architecture. So many of his talents had become somewhat drab and redundant that the thought of new directions of skill development seemed upbeat, adventurous even. He could either employ or get training from professionals in these fields. He could go see Miss Serenity at the Sanity Center and place a request for training or information on where to find such professionals. Somehow, it seemed right that he should bring in as few other people as possible.

It appeared that Aceren was content to give him time to rise to this challenge and commitment. He was very thankful for that and could relate to it. He'd found the downside of immortality and could only imagine how much worse it was for Aceren and this grand entity. The give and take would be a blessing to both of them.

For so long Kuvarakh hesitated to truly develop friendships. He had done so during his first forty or fifty years of his Nuit existence, only to anguish over the losses as they grew old and died. And the pain of their refusal to accept the "gift" he offered them. Not a one chose to become a Nuit. It had caused him to wonder how they saw him. They had been friendly, but were they friends? Had his unnatural existence made him a pariah, even among his "friends"?

Well, there would be no such aversion with Aceren. Their shared immortality and sense of exclusion from society would make them natural companions. Aceren could share his knowledge of bygone days with him as he would catch Aceren up on the present. It also struck him that his alchemical knowledge could be a boon to repair efforts. Would the Manor like glass that was flexible or sparkled in its sills? Would it take comfort in wall panels that were warm? Or had the texture of stone? Carpets that gave off the sound of tinkling bells when someone walked upon them?

He looked at the key in Aceren's hand, thinking how appropriate it was, given how keys were instrumental in citizens locating their own homes throughout Alvadas. The man gave him the rundown on the various wings and outbuildings and their demeanor, promising a map to guide him. The shard was still the prominent feature offered. Kuvarakh assumed the key would be offered once the shard was accepted, both by Kuvarakh AND the Manor.

He took the shard and placed it against his skin. "I want you to know I...I once had a child. Her mother died in childbirth and I had to raise her without the benefit of her mother's experience." He pierced the skin of his arm, wincing slightly. "She felt both abandoned and misunderstood. Though we loved each other, she often had fits that I had to deal with. But I was patient, and did my best, and she came to realize that."

He drove the shard in a little deeper. "It was a painful ordeal much of the time, but by the time she was a young woman, she'd learned to accept the disadvantages of her motherless upbringing and rise above them. She even came to love the mother she never knew...Then it was my turn..."

He paused a moment and then drove the shard in the rest of the way as tears started in his eyes. "She died...she was murdered...and I became a Nuit to gain the time I needed to find meaning for her death." He looked at the small bloodless wound in his arm. "I can not claim to have found it exactly. But, like her, I found acceptance and a degree of closure. And I see this commitment as the next step."

He looked at Aceren directly. "Now, I do not mean to call you, or any of the other parts of the estate, a child. My daughter was not a child when I lost her. But as someone that needs the outside guidance of someone who has endured the same thing. Perhaps not on the same time scale, but assuredly the same...intensity."

The pain in his arm was forgotten as his gaze looked into some unseen distance. "Besides...My daughter would want me to do this."

[Tapestry]

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For the first few moments, nothing happened. The splinter remained within Kuvarakh's arm, trailing a bloodless wound in its wake. Aceren took a seat, crossing one leg over the other as he waited for the magic to take or reject. It manifested in Kuvarakh first as an ich, a strange sensation for the nuit, localized around the splinter. Within a tick, that ich had become maddening pain, but just for the split instant of its passage, and then it was quiet.

Kuvarakh was left where he stood, the mental rigors of the initiation persisting past the actual feeling. He first became aware of the sentience around him, the power there. He could feel Aceren around him, in the walls, the floor, the furniture. It was a surprisingly powerful presence, and he could feel the raw emotions there...curiosity, hope, peace, joy. The manor around him creaked in appreciation of the successful initiation, accepting the mage.

Aceren brought his hands together in a soft clap and then stood, offering the key to Kuvarakh with a small smile. "And so we begin. The first step on your journey of Architectrix is understanding. Architectrix works like infection. If one of us grants you a piece of our structure, you can add it to a silent structure to grant it the gradual growth of sentience. You can feel me now, yes? Most of my brethren have not been gifted with Ionu's gnosis and cannot communicate as I can. You will feel their emotions. An Architectrix mage can council the souls of those beings so lonely and inside themselves...but you should know something about us...we're much like you."

Aceren held his hands out to the walls which shook, quaked, and then drew the fire from the candles in the room into the space around Aceren, bright, brilliant, and then winked out. One by one, the candles relit with a snap of teal res.

"We can learn magic, most of us know a bit...considering who our former master was. We can also expand up and down as far as we like...or as far as our structures can support. I can make myself huge, or as small as a single room. I can change my material, I am capable of much...we all are, and you shouldn't underestimate us. We're sentient, we think, we feel, we live. We can expand to the edge of our property, but have agreed to keep to our own dimensions for now. Kuvarakh, unite us again as Towers once did and you will have our gratitude, protection, and service."

Aceren smiled, reaching out suddenly and enveloping Kuvarakh in a hug. It smelled of varnish and old wood, of history and dust.

"We all know loss as you do, Kuvarakh...and together we can find meaning to the endless centuries. Towers found his in celebration, experimentation, and excess...but you are different than him, I think, and perhaps not so easily given to his greed and arrogance."

Blinking, Aceren held up a hand, "Not to speak ill of Towers, he truly was our father and our closest friend...but his faults led him down the road to the death you saw. The eye...it was so important to him to keep." Aceren shook his head.

"You have work to do, I think. Worry not, quarters will be given to you on request, it is no matter for me to furnish and prepare such a place for you."
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