Time Ticks Away (Solo)

by **Aello** on March 22nd, 2012, 3:21 pm

Timestamp: Spring 25, 512 AV

Deep red rained from older folds; crevices split anew. Like the uneven walls of shelters in the heat of a storm. Blood poured from the shriveling skin, the wizened white edges. Dead as ghosts; as the rubble clicked against the road. Horse's hooves clopped in the distance, churning the brew. Dust rose only to settle over the city's rotting corpse. Sinew strewn through the streets wove a river through the stones, while other, various innards hung against crumbling walls, draped lazily over their sides as though they were festive garlands. A welcome home. The sun's golden rays shone down on it all, setting it into an otherworldly boil. The streets themselves seemed to bubble and simmer. To pop with the intensity of it all. Spitting stones angrily at the sky as if in warning: turn the bloody oven off or else.

Or else what?

No matter, the world seemed to sink into a realm ruled by Ivak, despite how much many wished to fight it. Fire and brimstone, insurmountable heat, seemed to radiate from every pore of the earth. Every flake of skin. Every breath of fresh air. All seemed dark, and yet, it was cast in a blinding light. Light which engulfed the shade of the fallen, crimson red. Darkening, now that it had been set free for so long. Now that it had settled into the nooks and crannies, into the undulating lines at the bottom of the jar. Stained glass shimmered in the light, as several more droplets fell into the gathering pool. It rippled, sending spirals into the darkness. Splashes against the soft, curved sides. Despite the constant bombardment, the barrier stood strong. Tall and proud, refusing to relent as Aello's teeth fell onto her bottom lip. Her fingers trembled, and had long ago grown cold, and then numb. She hated the lack of feeling, supposing that's what it must be like when you were dead.

The irony stung. She was calling them.

The girl thought she could feel the beginnings of tears brimming in her ducts. The narrow triangles were red too. It was the heat, no the cold. Ice against the skin whenever she held their hands now. The memory of it, fading into her skin, as it crossed the back of her mind. It was the pain she knew she'd feel tomorrow. The pain she knew she'd encounter as soon as she had heard. As soon as she had asked all of the questions, and received the answers. Pain from knowing all the secrets. Torment; for she would be able to do nothing. Change nothing. Fix; nothing.

So why was she still trying so damn hard?

Parched lips curled into themselves. Faded rose petals furling as they turned to dust. The last bead of moisture had fallen from the trembling fronds. The dying beauty. Sinking into the pool below. Resting with its fellows as roughened edges came away, hurriedly into a bed of soft cloth. It felt tougher now though, coarse, like sandpaper. Rubbing imperfect wooden beams; hollowed, against another entity to emit that which was smooth. But such things could never be, not when tied with the teeth. Then ripped away into the trash heap. No, the whites were meant to die. They were meant to shrivel. They were meant to mirror those being called into the spiritist's midst.

Grunting with the effort it took, for her flesh felt as though it had been caught in a void, Aello slowly rolled the jar over the rubble, bringing it closer to her. She stared at the blood in the jar; her paint. The road was her canvas, if only she could will the brush's bristles into action. For all they wished, was to flatten out; twirl away. The girl, then, brought her uninjured hand forward. She brought her fingers to her lips, and slowly, licked each. Flashes of her time at work burst before her eyes; her taste buds exploded with the hint of things long gone. They seemed to grow, and then melt away as the sting set in. As though each spot had just been punctured by a bee's behind. Running the swollen muscle against the sides and roof of her mouth; soaking up her cool saliva seemed to do little. She could feel everything churning angrily inside; bubbling, as her fingers fell away, and dripped into the jar.

Only one broke the surface of the deep red pool. Only one caused a disturbance, everything to ripple. She could hear the moisture sloshing up against the side of the jar, begging to be let out. It was as though she were back in Ravok then, weaving her way through the city streets, past the endless maze of canals, listening to the darkened lake crashing up against the sides of walls; its impenetrable confines. She could hear the lake splashing alongside the sea in the distance. The foam crashing; popping, as gulls cawed in the distance. Gliding; circling, upon invisible currents of air.

The limb drove deeper, twisting a little, sending the pool into a dervish. The cyclone sank towards the depths as slowly, methodically, the girl pulled her finger from her own blood. It clung to the inside of her nails. Beads of warm liquid settling into her skin, as the rest dripped off paling complexion. Back into the jar held under. Slowly, her finger pushed away, falling onto the ground where slowly it began to paint. To scrawl wavering cones without a top. Over and over her finger would paint over the rubble. Over and over it would motion for fresh paint, until Aello had come to complete a sixteen-pointed star. A jagged star; a star as rough about the edges as she. Slowly, slowly, her fingers returned to the cloth, freeing them of excess before she placed the jar in the star's center.

Air slipped through the spaces between her teeth as she took in a deep breath, holding it in her lungs for several seconds, until they stung, before releasing. It's time, she thought, as she placed both of her hands in her lap, and closed her eyes, taking a moment to clear her mind before she began her invocation. The girl took another deep breath before she opened her eyes. Lazy lotuses unfurling their petals as they called to the world to feast. To delve into their innermost desires; their endless dreams, from which there was no escape. Slowly, her lips parted again, paling as she began:

Ticks and chimes,
bells,
the sundial's shadow settles for a beat,
before winding slowly around the clock's face,
whiskers seem to stretch,
marking the hour,
soon to be up
before the next day
when all seems to repeat itself,
for a spell.

It's the endless flow,
time,
a coursing river with no beginning
and no end,
a river as far as the eye can see
and beyond.

Yet time is fickle,
fleeting,
like sand trickling to the bottom orb
of an hourglass,
no matter how much you shake it
it still falls,
even if as angular as rain.

It is to this world's misunderstood element
I call,
to its servants I bid come.
It is to those who understand the tapestry of old,
how everything weaves together,
thread by thread,
connecting us all
I call.

It is to the servants of its keeper I call.
It is to those who serve the lady of time,
the mighty Tanroa.

Aello's voice faltered as she took a deep breath in through the nose and out through the mouth. She paused a moment, as she tilted her head back, allowing her long brown hair to flow over her shoulders. To cascade down the length of her back. She closed her eyes as she lifted her hands skyward. Holding them out before her, her palms flat, she ended. Come to me! As the word's hung in the air, her hands balled into fists as they sank, like single, brown dying leaves from a tree, they fell, until they settled upon her knees. The girl sat still for a time, scarcely breathing as her heart shook in her chest. It seemed to drum a death toll, as the wind picked up, sweeping her hair off her shoulders, and as it passed, life seemed to sprout anew. Curtains were pulled away, as orbs dropped. An intense gaze settled upon the rattling stones, the soft glow of the star settling into the road. The blood offering had vanished, presumably sucked into the earth as had been done the time before. The air seemed to thicken so intently, it was as though it needed to be severed by a knife. The girl felt trapped, encased in an invisible cocoon. A web of Zulrav's making.

Startled by the sensation, a chill shat up Aello's spine, rattling her to the bone. Dust seemed to rise in wispy vapors, crawling over the ground like a thick, impenetrable fog. The whitened speckles glided across the floor silently, gracefully, before thinning. Like clouds parting to provide a clearer view of the sun. Rising from the ashes was a cool white. A soft glow; like the sun batting sleep crystals away from its eyes. Slowly, from the center of her star, rose a figure; a single spectre. A woman clad in long, flowing sandy brown robes cinched at the waist by a white, coiled cord came into view. The edges of her form, hovering over the earth, flickered as did the rest of her. Her body, seemed slight within the center folds of it all. Her hands, veins rising seemed to pulse with life despite the nature of her being. Her lips, so pale, seemed like roses drained of all life; save but a single drop. And her eyes, her eyes, were the most startling of all. All white with meandering red rivers, save for a speck; a black coil of a pupil, surrounded by a ring of bone, and then another ice cold, blue ring.

"You beckoned one of us to your side?" The ghost asked, her voice sounding raspy, and yet, silky smooth.

by **Aello** on March 25th, 2012, 1:29 am

Aello offered the ghost a small nod, as life leapt into her muddied pupils. It was as though it had just rained for days, and finally, with the sun's grace, a glimmer of gold could be seen within each pure orb. Her fingers undulated, as though considering each question as it rose to the surface. The forefront of her mind. Wave after wave crashed into her, endlessly awaiting their truth to be told. Her lips curled into a small smile as her left hand moved towards her bag, pulled away the flap, and extracted a small vial of mist she had made many moons before. Mist, which strangely, hadn't faded away as it had done all those years before, ever since she was first introduced to the craft by the ghost in her attic, and her father. Slowly, the girl unplugged the stopper, and placed it in her pocket as she rose to her feet.

Now level with the hovering ghost, the spiritist held the vial under the entity's nose, letting her get a whiff of that she once knew. Scents she had once adored, but hadn't had a chance to enjoy for quite some time. Gingerly, Aello moved the vial towards her lips. "Drink," she instructed. "You must be tired from your journey." There was a pause as the ghost hesitated, eyeing her warily it seemed, although, it was difficult to tell with the nature of her eyes. So cold, so distant, and ageless. Lost within time. "There is no saying how long you will feel the need to remain. It'd be best if you had your strength; failing to return to your mistress' realm on an empty stomach." Again the girl paused, but received no word from the ghost. Slowly, her hand fell away, she reached for the stopper, but was stopped by the ghost, a hand on her wrist.

Startled by the cool touch, Aello looked up from what she was doing. "In time my hunger will return," the ghost whispered. Aello could hardly nod. "Perhaps then, you can offer your mist again." Aello's gaze faltered as she reached for the stopper and replaced it. She twirled the insignificant vial between her fingers. Watching it weave in and out. Glowing an ominous white that matched the ghost's shade, and soon, her own. "So, my dear, what did you call to us for?" the ghost asked, prompting Aello to put the vial of soulmist into her pocket and look up at the ghost again.

"There is much I wish to know," the spiritist replied simply as she gazed into the icy motes contained within the ghost's visage. The ghost said nothing, although she raised a single bushy, white brow, as though suggesting the girl go on. "Things about what have already come to pass. I do not believe the mistress Dira can help me in this situation, but perhaps the lady of time, Tanroa herself may be able to. Her people, may be able to." The brow rose even higher. "My family," Aello began, her hands clinging to the folds of her dress. Wringing the fabric dry of her blood and sweat. Dust which still clung to the frayed edges as her eyes widened with need and desire. Pain. "Died many years ago in a fire. Seasons past my brother came to me and asked for help before going away. Recently, just a few days ago, actually, I saw my mother at the site of our cottage. It still stands, if only in skeleton form." The girl glanced down as she sighed, shaking her head lightly. "She told me my father had never come. No one has seen him... since..."

Again, the girl shook her head. "It makes no sense. It's simply not like him." Aello paused a moment before looking back up. "I want to know what happened to him." There was a pause, a moment of time where the girl felt as though she were about to wring her own neck. "It doesn't seem as though either my brother or my mother would know what had happened... if they possessed me... I don't think I could find the secrets I seek. The truth of it all." Aello swallowed the clump of saliva that had gathered in her throat. Her vision was becoming glassy, causing her sight of the ghost to waver all the more. "I need help. From someone, anyone. I just... so desperately want to know."

For a long time, the ghost remained silent, simply peering down her nose at the girl. "Couldn't a divinist tell you what you wish to know?"

Aello shook her head. "I don't believe so. You see, I met a Konti around the time I saw Leon again, my little brother, and well, she said she could see the past... but she didn't seem to be able to show others her vision. Perhaps, she could see what once was for me, or even for you, and I'd know the truth of it all with my magic... but... he wasn't with me when he died. I don't think he was with my mom or Leon either. So, even if I went to one of the Konti women and pleaded they look into what was, I'm not so sure they could be of any service, since they're not really searching the tapestry of time for our individual threads, but for that of my father."

Again the ghost said nothing. "Please... won't you tell me what Tanroa's like?" Aello asked. "She may be my only hope, of putting everything back together."

"Please..."

by **Aello** on March 25th, 2012, 2:28 am

For a long time the ghost remained silent, considering her. "Wise as the lady of time should be," she began. "Passive. Choosing to rarely interact with those still living. To intervene. Serene. For she knows what was, what is, and what shall come to be, little can surprise her."

Aello nodded. "As she should be. But, she just sounds so much like lady Avalis. Of the Konti people. That is how they describe her anyway, as knowing what was, is, and shall be." The girl sighed. "They seem the same to the unfamiliar. But how could that be? Why would they have two goddesses, almost precisely the same? Surely they must be different somehow."

"They are different," the ghost commented. "Like night and day."

"How?" Aello asked. "What makes them so different?"

"Personality, appearance, power." Aello's brow furrowed in confusion, as though beseeching the woman to expand. "Avalis lives among the Konti women, on Mura with her sister. She doesn't come see them much, either, but she tends to have more interaction than Tanroa does with the world. Tanroa is older, more powerful, unwilling to share her gift, whereas Avalis offers it more freely. But is that such a surprise really, with the Konti woman all being her children? Each offered a gift for being brought into this world?"

Aello shook her head. "I don't suppose so." There was a pause. "And I don't suppose they look too similar than either. I always imagined Avalis to look like her people. Blonde hair, blue eyes. But the lady Tanroa- I'm not so sure I could paint a picture. But if I had to, I suppose she'd be like the Ethaefal without horns. Ageless. Hauntingly beautiful. Statuesque."

The ghost's brow furrowed. "Now why would you bring such a thing up?" she asked.

Aello shrugged. "So I will have a picture to put with a name," she began. "So I can feel as though I know her better. Understand her... much as you do."

The ghost smiled, if only subtly. "She seems as though she is about twice your age. With eyes as dark and tempestuous as the sea. Hair as long and flowing as a river; silver. Or even white when it glimmers alongside her train." There was a pause. "Although, it is difficult to say. She seems ageless, and wise, even in appearance. Although, I suppose that could be manipulated on a whim. Churned like the sea to suit her needs. Surely all the gods, if not the majority of them, could manage that."

Aello nodded. "So is it true then?" she asked, causing the ghost's brow to furrow. "Can she help me?"

"If she comes to favor you, perhaps. If she sees it fit for her to do so," the ghost replied, simply.

"So she may help me turn back time. To see what once was?" Aello asked. "Is that what her mark does?"

"Treavery allows us to see what is, was, and will come to be if only we know the proper rituals, the flow of the river, and how to manipulate it. Bend it to our will, we can see," the ghost said. Aello cocked her head to the side, hoping for some sort of expansion. "It is difficult to explain, best understood only when the time comes. If it happens to you too."

Aello nodded. "And what if she grows to disfavor me?"

"Then you shall lose a part of yourself."

"And the mark?" Aello asked.

"Lost to you. Buried within the muddied irises surrounding your pupils. The motes which hold your pain. Your secrets. Your inner turmoil." There was a pause. "They are like an open book you know. They hold your rivers." Aello gulped, swallowing the clump of saliva in her throat. She simply didn't understand, but she didn't want to say that. Yet, she couldn't help but think that if the goddess failed to notice her, she'd be losing a piece of herself anyway. She simply wanted to know. Now. Everything. But she'd have to grow up. To be an adult. To be patient. "You will understand that too, if she ever comes to see you," the ghost explained, more than likely noticing the confusion in Aello's eyes.

The ghost's form seemed to flicker, causing Aello's hand to fall into her pocket and retrieve the vial. But the ghost shook her head. "I'm not hungry," she whispered. "Maybe in time..."

Soon, the ghost had faded away...

by **Echelon** on March 26th, 2012, 10:05 pm

Adventurer's Loot

A Gift
Experience is it's own reward.

Aello's Loot :

(I enjoyed this a lot, even more so than the last installment of the series. You were right, however, the last post was a little shaky. Shame.) - if you have ANY questions or concerns about this grading, don't hesitate to PM me.