Quest The Zenith

Alses does a bit of digging at the Temple of the Sun

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The Diamond of Kalea is located on Kalea's extreme west coast and called as such because its completely made of a crystalline substance called Skyglass. Home of the Alvina of the Stars, cultural mecca of knowledge seekers, and rife with Ethaefal, this remote city shimmers with its own unique light.

The Zenith

Postby Elysium on February 19th, 2013, 10:33 pm

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71st Day of Winter, 512 AV

It was first light. The sun touched the city’s rooftops with a delicate hand. Lhavit began to shed its nighttime skin, ushering in the newborn day. It caressed each individual surface with the ascent, the Temple of the Sun being no exception. At high noon it reflected brilliant vermillion and gold. Inside the Taiyang nursed the fire and were glad for its warmth. It blazed fiercely in its bindings, warming the frigid air. They danced and leapt nearby. A typical winter afternoon for the faithful, yet there was still something amiss.

”Greetings, blessed one.” A dancer recognized the Synaborn in their midst before the others. She bowed low, fingertips grazing the tops of her knees. This woman seemed troubled and the reason was not hard to guess. Every member of the priesthood had been affected by the tragedy. It was assumed worse for the members of the divine race. As humans, they had no concept of the endless scheme of immortality. To cast off such a precious gift seemed unforgivable.

”How can we be of service?” Before long the Ethaefal was surrounded by Taiyang, and all were grateful for her appearance. Most approached simply to bow and depart, while others stood in respectful admiration. She was resplendent, her chocolate hair framed by verdant horns and contrasted by a pair of tawny eyes. The speaker beheld Alses with a piercing gaze, clearly higher in rank than the others.

”Your presence is appreciated,” she continued. ”Have you come to give thanks?” It was unkind, but the Priestess had already guessed at the woman’s coming. Others had already sought the information but had been turned away. An Ethaefal however, was a very different affair. She considered this thoughtfully. It would be in no violation to tell her the details of the man’s suicide. The Priesthood knew nothing of importance, nothing the Shinya did not.

She waited patiently, worry touching her eyes.

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The Zenith

Postby Alses on February 20th, 2013, 10:45 pm

A burning winter's afternoon in Lhavit, the sun just past its zenith and burnishing every surface with gilt bronze, the clouds reflecting pink light and deep blue shadow in the endless bowl of the sky overhead, pierced by a thousand triumphant towers and soaring spires of the city of stars. Shimmering skyglass danced and played in defiance of the slowly-sinking sun, making the most of every moment of Syna's abundant light, turning the Diamond of Kalea into a rainbowed jewel-work of surpassing intricacy.

On the Tenten, that most congenial of peaks (at least, in Alses' mind), a small bubble of space in the strolling crowds would be visible to any panoptic eye that happened to turn its gaze to the teeming city, looking past the forest of reaching minarets, the bright blazes of the arcing domes and the vibrant decorations that adorned the shining buildings to the strolling crowds which filled its spacious tiers.

Alses' favourite red dress blended perfectly here, at least, where everyone dressed to imitate Syna's solar raiment – the pure quill of redness that called the bloodred orb of a sinking sun to mind, the gilded flash that brought lazy, perfect dawns to the fore, and the scintillating blaze of white that echoed the infinite energies of Syna's perfect zenith were all common, comforting. An involuntary, reflex smile tugged at the corners of Alses' mouth as she swept through the glowing tiers of sunny Tenten, but rather than the full beam which so often graced her features on this most congenial of peaks, it was instead a tight-lipped little thing, kinking and crinkling her fire-opal skin and showing the strain at the corners; her errand today was not a happy one, and one of uncertain resolution to boot.

The suicide of a Synaborn...it was like a sucking, suppurating abscess inside her head, pulling and teasing at her thoughts with its dull, insistent throb. Even kariino, the forbidden purple oblivion, barely held it at bay, the endless drone of cyclical questions hammering inside her skull: 'Why was it done?' 'What was the Synaborn's name?' 'Why could no-one help?' and a thousand others, an endless maelstrom that caught up normal, rational thought and kept pointing it to the black.

Closure, some form of catharsis or end would have helped, surely – but the suicide was the first of its kind in the celestial city, it had shaken the citizens and Powers that Be alike to their core. Her connections in the Dusk Tower had been unable to wrangle anything new, anything fresh from the Shinya or those selfsame Powers who might have known something more than the average citizen, and the traders and smallholders in the Azure Market had had no gossip from which to glean precious pearls of information.

Alses sighed as she walked, the very picture of an otherworldly Ethaefal, lost in contemplation of one mystery or another. Often, now, she no longer noticed the careful sphere of space around her, the considerate honour that Lhavit's citizenry bestowed, almost as a reflex, on the celestial Ethaefal. It wasn't, in truth, a particularly onerous honour, since Ethaefal were a solitary and tragic race by nature and only a few could face the company of mortals – or other Ethaefal, for that matter. Even here in Lhavit, the closest they had to a home on Mizahar, there were perhaps fifty at the very most, but that was far more than could be seen anywhere else in the world. With anyone else, it would have been a tight-knit community bonded together by sheer population pressures, but with Synaborn and Lethaefal...only the most tenuous of bonds existed between them, usually thanks to the Festival days when the presence of the gods and the prevailing mood of the city was strong enough to overcome the old wounds, at least for a little while. From observation, Alses had concluded that alcohol too, especially the cocktails that the city was well-known for, seemed to help.

Her thoughts, courtesy of the mental abscess, swung back to darker things once more. 'Our friends advised us to forget about it and move on,' she thought, feet operating on automatic as she mulled over, time and again, what had brought her to the Tenten, what had been occupying her mind to a greater or lesser extent for the last span of days, ever since the news broke. 'But how can we forget the loss? It confuses and saddens us, all the more because we don't know why. In my experience, if one of my kin survives the first night, they're here for the long haul. They might forsake their faith and turn their faces from the sun, but they'll still be here, on Mizahar.' A slight, humourless smile cut through the pensive pondering on her face, a raw razor-slash that saw some of those closest to her bow jerkily and hurry away without waiting for a proper smile, a wave, a half-bow of recognition – any sort of response. 'Life's addictive, even in this imperfect form and on this grossly imperfect world. Someone, somewhere, must know something.'

Her musings had taken her, absent-mindedly, to the threshold of the glorious Temple of the Sun, to its curving outer colonnade and the scintillating-silver lake with its happy golden fish that leapt and danced in their aquatic paradise, well cared-for by the Taiyang priesthood. Alses rocked on the threshold for a moment, then her purpose steeled her, firmed her features and set her on the path up to the magnificent nacarine blaze that was the great dome of Syna's Temple in Lhavit, the sanctum sanctorum of the sun and the sacred flame and normally a place of rest and comfort for a Synaborn.

Not right now, though; even here, in the centre of Syna's power in the starry city, there was a faint tang of unease for those with the senses to taste it, a bitter, rancid aftertaste that hung, phantasmal, in the air, tainting everything with worry and concern, even though outwardly, at least, everything was serenely, reassuringly normal. There was the great blaze of the fire, paltry in its own right when compared to what it represented, of course, but a powerful symbol of Syna's infinite solar energies nonetheless, and around it the swaying lines of Taiyang priestesses in their complex, never-ending dance of praise. More of the priesthood were ranged about the vast Temple, and Shinya guards were close to the inviolate line, just in case of any trespassers. All exactly as it had been for years, if not decades or centuries.

The sounds, too, they were exactly as they should have been: the drumming thrum of bare feet on skyglass, the skirling swish of silk through the air and the occasional chiming, sonorous clash of gold jewellery, all the incidental noise of worship that was caught and reflected and baffled by the gilded curve of the great dome overhead, further distorted and fractured by the collections of elaborate columns which held up the roof until it was nothing more than a comforting, anonymising susurrus. Worship and prayer were still personal, private things, after all, between supplicant and goddess and only occasionally with a Taiyang priestess as intermediary.

Once again moving automatically, from the force of long habit, Alses tracked across the endless expanses of gilded marble and shimmering skyglass to the wretched smug golden line, her footsteps precisely matching its arc as she paced, face troubled and mind racing.

She nearly took a misstep when a voice interrupted her recursive musings, but recovered with the preternatural grace of her race. 'Blessed one?' Alses thought, momentarily confused, even as she sought the source – a blindingly-robed Taiyang priestess, dark eyes direct and piercing. 'She means me,” came the realisation, spiced with a stab of pain and pity – expressions she was sure flitted across her face for a moment - for the inconstant, flicker-life mortals who thought her half-ruined state was a blessed aspiration.

'Another title to add to the list,' came the rueful thought, even as Taiyang gathered close about her, closer than Lhavit's citizens ever did, drawn by the celestial gift in their midst. Some bowed, others curtseyed, and even the constant dance-line seemed to dip lower in front of her. That sort of thing could go to an Ethaefal's head; despite herself, Alses couldn't help the angling of her head and the small smile which flashed out at the priestesses gathered close around. Syna's steady, beating presence overhead, easily felt in Her temple, was probably helping, too.

Thanks?” Alses echoed, then shook her head, viridan green crown-of-horns catching the abundant light. “We gave our thanks to Syna at the dawn, when the first rays of light gilded the clouds and crept through the mountain peaks to set the striated rock all ablaze with orange flame. I offered up my prayers on the Cloudward Pathway as the Change stripped the mortal chain from us and we were able to glory in Syna's infinite energies once more.” Alses shivered, recalling the ever-delicious memories. “Dawn light is effervescently enervescent, full of...of joy and possibilities unbounded, of the energy for every living thing on the face of Mizahar and it makes our spirits soar.” She sobered, smile vanishing and sunny eyes becoming dark and serious. “Thanks are not...not why we came to Temple today.

She looked away, collecting herself, thinking how best to put words around the sickening thought. “We wished to know more about...about our kin who...how to put this? Relieved himself of the burden of life.” She gulped, fighting down the rising gorge with the relative ease of long practice, and plunged on regardless. “Who he was, where he lived, anything that could...could help us understand. And so perhaps to avoid whatever pit of despair swallowed him whole.” This time, she managed to meet and hold the Taiyang's eyes.

There are not that many of my kind in the city, still fewer who are Sons or Daughters of Syna, and most, if not all of those must surely have come here at some time or another. Synaborn are still drawn to Her, after all. Anything you can tell us, anything at all, would be...immeasurably helpful.” Alses tailed off, and then her voice returned.

It is our greatest fear, to let the reality of our situation overwhelm us.” A sad smile. “Oblivion is very attractive, sometimes.
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The Zenith

Postby Elysium on February 26th, 2013, 10:14 pm

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The Taiyang still clustered about Alses, held in thrall by her description. Accounts of an Ethaefal were held in high regard as it was, but the detail and specificity involved were too great for them to bear. Alses spoke of the change and the eternal joy of the sunlight… Each priestess stood enraptured and at the finer points, even shivered with delight. There was only one that hung back, marked by her implacable stare. The audience was quickly becoming tiresome for this stately woman it seemed. With a blithe wave of her hand they were dismissed. Some stared mulishly before her mouth tightened in reproach, and at that the stragglers danced off to continue their worship.

This Priestess was of advanced age, though she bore it with a dignity that could only be admired. Her eyes were cornflower blue and her face long and ovular, brows rounding pleasantly over what could be called an open expression. The sandy hair crowning her head was peppered with grey and arranged in such grand knotwork that it could put the most ambitious of sailors to shame. The only uniform characteristic about her was the robe she shared with the rest of the priesthood, adorned only by a single work of art. Upon her breast lived a tiny, flaming sun.

”You have an affinity for expression,” she mused, finding her defenses momentarily overcome. ”I am not accustomed to such a talent,” she gave a reverential little bow. ”You must excuse me.” Her face was kind and her hand delicately gestured for Alses to follow as she distanced herself from those that might eavesdrop. Assuming the Ethaefal complied she continued their talk, casting a furtive glance in her direction. ”We do not keep many secrets, but those we do are sealed beneath the tongue. There they are held fast, unspoken and therefore, maintained.” But this was a wholly different matter.

”It saddens me to hear you’ve considered such an option, however seriously. You have been granted an enormous gift. But like with anything great, there also comes great responsibility.” She stopped just before the room’s far end, where a small brazier smoldered. ”We come here to think sometimes,” she said by way of explanation. ”Here, we will not be heard.” So her intention was clear. ”Maryela, fetch me two chairs.” The bystander gave a plaintive whine and stalked off.

”My name is Sel’ira, one of the elder Taiyang. I have been distinguished by my years of service and charitable acts.” It was impolite not to introduce oneself, after all. ”Regarding your inquiry, all I have is speculation.” She spread her hands helplessly. ”In regards to why, we haven’t a clue. His name was Arture,” her eyes misted over, recalling details now tangibly lost. The pain was evident – she’d met this man. ”He was a very talented summoner, though his patronages have always been few. He loved Syna more than I can ever know.” Coming from a priestess, this of course was the highest regard.

”In the weeks leading up to his untimely end, he was said to have acted strangely. More strangely than usual – magic has the potential cause a bit of eccentricity, here and there.” Her face darkened. ”Some have reported he was involved in a hushed disagreement, a confrontation if you will. It seemed he was pleading with someone in a sable cloak. Shortly after, he took his own life.” Eyes blazing she continued. ”I think these facts speak for themselves, but it seems that Arture the Summoner was not worthy of a proper investigation.” Indignation and anger was all but etched into her face.

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The Zenith

Postby Alses on February 28th, 2013, 3:50 pm

Alses had, naturally enough, followed the line of sight of the priestesses who clustered close around her when they turned from their admiration, and watched the evidently senior Taiyang priestess closely as she dismissed the awestruck gaggle with a nonchalant wave of one papery hand and a momentary glare that surely had the power to etch granite, stabbing out from pretty cornflower-blue eyes. It certainly cowed her fellow Taiyang, sending them scurrying back to the various activities they'd left to come and marvel at an Ethaefal in full and glorious form. Ah well; their laughter and delight had been beautiful to bathe in, at least for a while.

Giving her full and undivided attention to the elderly priestess, Alses returned the elder Taiyang's bow with a shallow one of her own, the action second nature to her now. “Talent?” A smile quirked her lips for a moment. “I suppose it is something of a talent, now you mention it to us.” A gentle half-shrug. “Prolixity is rather expected of a Dusk Tower mage, though. Still, our thanks for your kind words – and for dispersing your sistren.” Alses blinked. “Is that the correct word?” She cast a glance back towards the main concentration of the Taiyang, swaying rhythmically around the great fire, and continued, slightly wistfully: “Still, we would have enjoyed their presence a little longer; we always were intrigued by the temple-dance.” Alses sighed, shaking her head even as she moved to follow the senior priestess, mulling over the implication that the Taiyang kept secrets. The thought was a new one to her; how many secrets could they have to keep, after all?

They crossed the acres of marble floor at a sedate and stately pace, slow enough that conversation could continue relatively uninterrupted.

It saddens me to hear you’ve considered such an option, however seriously. You have been granted an enormous gift. But like with anything great, there also comes great responsibility.

Alses bridled slightly at the touch of reproach she thought she'd heard in the steady, measured cadences. “And I suppose mortals never feel dissatisfied or disappointed with their lot? We are a half-ruined creature with a thousand lives shouting in our head that should never have returned here. I suppose it wouldn't be so bad if we couldn't recall the Goldenlands, and all that we had before, but...we do.” Alses gave Sel'ira a jagged smile, pain, harsh and raw, glaring out from it.

You needn't worry, though. We can understand why some of our kin find life here too much to bear, but we won't follow their examples. I will not give up, I will not let this world get the better of me and we refuse to cause Her more pain by turning from Her bright blaze and becoming one of those pathetic, mewling Forsaken who crawl in the corners of the world and rail against the gods! We might not be able to speak directly to Her any more, we might not remember what made us so dear to Her heart, but in Syna's mantling radiance there is Her presence, warm at our back every tick we spend in the sunlight, energizing and refreshing us. Proof positive She still looks fondly on Her Ethaefal, even if for whatever reason She cannot gather us close again.” Alses closed her eyes and took a few deep, calming breaths. “The only oblivion I will permit myself is the occasional dram of kariino, to help the night pass faster.

She coughed and looked away for a moment, and found that their gentle progress had taken them to the far end of the enormous open rotunda. An ornate gilded brazier smouldered cheerfully there, tucked into the lee of one of the many collections of columns which supported the roof high overhead, with the twisting curls of bluish smoke perfumed with some sort of incense. Whatever the Taiyang were burning, it was hot enough to beat back the faint winter chill and make a small globe of space positively tropical, something which suited Alses, who'd gloried in the endless heat of the deserts of Eyktol, right down to the ground. The elder Taiyang sent a younger dedicate scurrying away for chairs, even whilst Alses, true to form, made a beeline for the glowing brazier, her hands mere centimetres from the leaping flames and delighting in the warmth with a gentle, distracted smile – it was as if, for a few moments, she'd forgotten entirely about the presence of her priestly companion, her mind high and far from Mizahar, back amongst the burning suns where it belonged.

It didn't last for long, though, that moment of disconnected inattention; Alses soon turned her attention back to the Mizahar and the stately priestess next to her.

Ah, but where are our manners?” she said, striking out for civility and normality once more, sweeping a deeper than usual bow as she took in the priestess's name and seniority within the priesthood. “I go by Alses here. Magesmith and Apprentice at the Dusk Tower, at least for the moment.

Two elegant scissors chairs of pale wood, red silk and gilt, polished to a near-mirror shine, appeared in the hands of the aforementioned Maryela and another priestess who'd evidently been drafted in to help with the lifting.

My thanks,” Alses murmured gratefully as she sank onto the plush silk-swathed chair, relaxing into the yielding material. Evidently not wishing to risk the wrath of Sel'ira, the two Taiyang melted away into the vastness of the Temple, leaving Alses and Sel'ira alone.

Arture, Arture,” Alses murmured, mostly to herself, rolling the name around her mouth and memorizing it. “That's more than the traders of the Azure Market and the Dusk Tower were able to find out for me.” Her head snapped up at Sel'ira's next words.

Summoner?” Alses echoed, sharply. “He was a summoner? Truly? Lhavit really is a haven for magic. I never knew any summoners back in Zeltiva; we know almost nothing about how the discipline works or even really what it can do. Summoning, yes, but summoning what? Is it limited to animals? Plants? Minerals? I-” she caught herself, and gave Sel'ira an embarrassed look, a ruby-blush flooding her cheeks.

I apologise for that.” Alses noticed the faraway look in the Taiyang solon's eyes; it was a gaze she was familiar with, having seen it in the mirror, in the bath and on the surface of reflecting pools often enough. Reflected pain, spiced with sadness, with just a soupçon of loss to round off the melange. “You knew him, didn't you?" It wasn't really a question. "It shows-” she touched her fingers to just below her eyes “-here.

Alses leant back against the plush upholstery of her chair as the priestess continued, eyes alight with righteous flame at the thought of Arture's case being locked away and quietly left, unsolved. “Summoner, summoner,” Alses murmured, pensive. Some butterfly thought tickled her brain, some ephemeral link. Her mouth operated more or less on automatic as she chased after the thin thread of cogitation. “No investigation? Now that is strange. We'd have thought the Shinya would be all over it, running down every last little scrap of information like bloodhounds. Unless-” she smiled, suddenly, butterfly-thought pinned and examined.

Lhavit's been having problems with summoners lately,” she said quietly, still marshalling her thoughts, not wanting to scare and scatter them. “Those creatures on the thirteenth, and again on the thirty-seventh, and now this. All summoners...and poor Arture-” the name sounded leaden and wrong on her lips “-a summoner too.” She paused, just for a moment, then brightened. “Oh, we think we see why our kinsman's been allowed to pass quietly, as it were. The Ethaefal are Lhavit's favourites-” there was no arrogance or pride there, just a simple statement of fact “-and we are very few, for all that several of my kind hold positions of power in the city. I daresay it was thought better for the serenity of Lhavit to preserve the status quo for the citizens without bringing any...” Alses cast around for the right words “...potentially inconvenient facts about an honoured Ethaefal to light. Sensible, and also devious. If I were the Ascendant, we'd have the Shinya outwardly drop the case and poke around quietly, until I knew exactly what happened. Then we could decide whether to make it public knowledge or not.” She smiled, faintly, and shrugged. “Then again, we could be quite wrong, and apathy could, I suppose, have taken root amongst the Shinya.” Alses was silent for a while, eyes glittering with reflected light from the brazier nearby.

Forgive me, but do you know where else Arture might have frequented? Whilst I trust the Shinya, we still would like to find out a little more about him, and the circumstances surrounding his...” the words stuck in Alses' throat, and she looked down, absently twisting her fingers together. “Just in case.
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The Zenith

Postby Elysium on March 12th, 2013, 6:26 pm

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The bow was unexpected – Ethaefal did not typically bow, not even to their respective priesthood. Alses was unusual in many ways; her stature, her mannerisms… Even her societal position was odd for a transcendent. Sel’ira arched a tidy brow, amused and somewhat quizzical. ”A Synaborn under the employ of Dusk Tower,” she echoed. ”A very interesting series of events must have led you there.” The priestess wore a knowing smile. ”Syna’s light can lead where you least anticipate.”

”Sistren works as well as any other,” she replied. This woman was a mass of complexities, but all Ethaefal were. Alses seemed both deferential and defiant, moving imperceptibly from one to the other. She reveled in her own existence and abhorred it. It was evident from her speech, from her gait and the wound in her golden eyes. Sel’ira sighed. That position was reaffirmed from the longing stare cast at the Taiyang’s retreating figures.

”Take comfort that I’ve walked with the Ethaefal prior,” she said softly. ”I am enlightened to your pain, so characteristic in all the others.” It seemed she felt it, too. ”There is no need to persuade me. I knew you were stronger by the manner in which you entered this temple. You carry a unique ability within, stronger than others of your kind. Your responsibility outweighs theirs, in that regard. You have something to offer this world.” She smiled sadly. ”However, in no way would I suggest you won't rise to the challenge. Your stubborn spirit refuses to do otherwise.” The smile grew warmer, like a wintry sun.

”I know you’re not in need of lectures, but your other half was chosen for a reason. Kariino is habit-forming as I’m sure you’re well aware.” The woman was nothing if not maternal. ”If you feel the need to fall back on it more often than you like, perhaps you might visit me again. I have spoken with many a Synaborn and helped them with their nightly transformations. There are better ways to cope with the revulsion.” Her deep, blue eyes were penetrating.

”Good to meet you, Alses.” She chuckled, allowing the flood to wash by. It seemed once comfortable, the ethereal beauty opposite her brought along a wealth of questions. ”Lhavit has a very liberal view of magic. The walls aren’t so breakable here, to start.” She gestured good-naturedly to the skyglass around them. ”I know not of Summoning and its intricacy, but I can tell you that it has a tendency to backfire. It takes a strong spirit to master.” Sel’ira frowned. Arture was a loner, but no weakling. He had a vital heart.

She winced, clearly disarmed. ”I knew him, yes.” Her gaze shifted away. ”He was like a son to me, though all Ethaefal are. I am old where you can never be. It compels me to adopt you all.” She grinned and the gesture shaved twenty years off her complexion. There was a younger woman there, once a true beauty. It was obvious she genuinely cared for those who came to worship.

Alses put it together more quickly than she’d imagined. ”I apologize,” she said softly, eyes wide. ”I have underestimated you.” It was clear that this Ethaefal was intelligent, ambitious… But her innate shrewdness was far greater than she’d imagined. It could be the answer everything hinged on. ”I will tell you where he lived. That was his primary location. But you must promise me this....” She halted, massaging her temples. ”You must swear that if you find answers, keep them to yourself. Make no accusation unless you are certain.” Whispering fervently, she continued. ”And whatever you do, do not bring this to the Shinya. There is a very foul stench on the air and I like it not.”

”Now then,” she said. ”He lived in a private residence on the Zinta. 212 Okomo Way, top tier.” The elder sighed. ”Not far from where he died.” She shook her head. ”By day, the Shinya are lax in their procedure as they’re all usually initiates. You may enter today or whenever you like.” Maryela returned. ”Would you like something to drink, blessed one?” Her voice was high and sweet, like a set of pipes almost. ”Tea perhaps?”

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The Zenith

Postby Alses on March 13th, 2013, 4:37 pm

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Alses laughed softly. “Hardly. We fell back to Mizahar on the other side of the continent, near the port city of Zeltiva.” She smiled, softly, at a distant memory. “I'd be there still, but for the inconvenient mortality of my mentor and the nature of some of his other apprentices.” Absently, she rubbed a finger over the heavy golden sunburst signet she wore, a memento of her former mentor, twisting it over and over.

I've spent much of my life in one wizard's tower or another, so when I arrived here in Lhavit after what seemed like an age of travel, we craved the familiar with such desperation it almost drove us mad. The Towers were an obvious choice, and besides, the journey had swallowed all our funds and we were – are – a magesmith without a laboratory or anywhere near enough kina to start anew.” A faintly sardonic smirk at herself. “And a world mage without the tools of their craft is just the same as a farmer who's never felt the fire of djed roaring through them. Auristics was one of the few remotely practical skills we had, and that only because of its usefulness to us in our principal craft, so it was only logical to ask for an apprenticeship at the Dusk Tower.” She smiled, lopsided. “We daresay a substantial part of our acceptance came from our magesmith's skills, however – His Excellency the Patriarch got an artifact from me this Autumn past for a song. Not that we really begrudge him our skill, mind.

Settled back into her chair, she paid close attention to Sel'ira's words; the woman was a senior priestess in Syna's priesthood, possibly even marked by the Radiant Lady, which made her worth listening to. Besides, it cost her nothing but the time she had in an infinite supply.

Alses looked away, though, at the mention of kariino, her philtre of Sweet Oblivion. “Well aware indeed. We've danced to the seductive glory of its tune before; I spent...several seasons, at least, in its vice-like grip. But, like all things, even oblivion fades after a while. There comes a point where one cannot physically imbibe enough of it, or refine it to sufficient strength, to overcome the natural resistance to its effects, dumping you into reality once more, however unprepared you might be.

Alses shuddered, a slow roll of fire-opal flesh, and continued: “However, it's not our mortal chain that causes us to reach for Sweet Oblivion, although it's hardly a pleasant experience, being trapped for bells on bells in something that looks like a walking corpse.” She made a face, making it abundantly clear how little she cared for her mortal seeming. “No, it's the constant din of memories that batters us so. During the day, we have Syna's radiance at our back and the energy to control our thoughts, but the night is the dark ebb of our compound soul. Sometimes, if we're lucky, we can slip into sleep with barely a whisper, but other times...the inside of our head is flayed by a thousand disjointed memories echoing and re-echoing, no matter how much we might wish to shut it out. At night it's less, we know, than the full chorus that sings to us in the day, the memories more broken and disjointed, but I have fewer defences then against the welter of fragments.” She quirked an eyebrow at Sel'ira. “And on occasion, there's nothing we need or want more than a night of sleep, dreamless and deep.

Alses fell obediently silent once more as Sel'ira continued to speak. “Zintila be praised for the skyglass,” she said with a smile. “We shudder to think of the damage the djed storm might have done had the city been made of mundane stone and wood, considering the sheer number of wizards who congregate here.

Nothing worthwhile ever seems to be without risk and danger,” she sighed, in response to Sel'ira's pensive warning of the dangers of Summoning. “And nowhere is that more evident than with magic – at least, in our experience, limited though that is. Caution is ever the prudent wizard's watchword – we've seen what happens to mages who go too far down the path of power without control, and I've no desire to end up like them.

Alses swallowed reflexively, fighting down the rising gorge as the old memory of her former mentor, hideously mangled by some Voiding ritual gone horribly wrong, rose in the theatre of her brain. Graphic images of his body, great chunks carved out of his form with careless abandon as though some great beast had bitten and worried at him, flashed across her consciousness, along with a recollection of the smell, the metallic stench of blood mixed with faeces and urine where the haywire Voiding portals had burst through his intestines, turning what had once been a kindly wizard into an horrific, tortured mess.

No desire at all,” she whispered. With an effort, she pulled herself back to the here-and-now, and this time it was Sel'ira's turn to look away, evidently surprised at Alses' perception. A wry smile tugged at the corners of her mouth at that; Ethaefal were the past masters of loss, after all, and to not recognize it in another would be almost unheard of.

We are grateful for your concern,” Alses admitted quietly, after a stretching silence. “For us and for all the Synaborn in the city. Too many see the physical perfection and not the soul cowering behind the shine.” A brief, wicked smile flashed across her face, her eyes glittering with sudden mischief. “Though we shan't call you 'mother'.

Her smile died away as quickly as it had come, however, even as she watched and waited patiently as Sel'ira worked through a conundrum in her head, leaning forward as she reached a decision and began to speak once more. The words that followed were surprising and frank – but then again, perhaps a priestess had a duty to speak the truth as she saw it.

'Underestimated?' Alses thought nonetheless, slightly annoyed. 'What sort of person did she think we'd be?' This was tempered, just a moment later, by: 'On the other hand, better to be underestimated than out of our depth. And she has apologised.'

Silence stretched between them for long moments as Alses' mind raced, surprise and no small amount of shock on her features. 'She doesn't trust the Shinya an inch,' she realised, confused; they were the protectors of the starry city and had always seemed the very paragons of virtue. Then again, there was the historical stain of the Day of Discord; where had the Shinya been – or rather, what had they become in the dark times for Lhavit? Perhaps Sel'ira still remembered those times, not all that long ago, and that was the wellspring of her caution. Perhaps not; it was useless to speculate further.

Should we swear on the sun, moons and stars that watch over Lhavit, under the sight of hourglasses and blue rivers, or is our word enough?” she asked quietly. “We will bear your caution in the very forefront of our mind, have no fear, and you may be sure our accusation, if we find anything, will be as much of a certainty as I can make it.” Alses smiled, a jagged slash there and gone in an instant. “Finesse is something they teach us at the Dusk Tower; I shan't be an Okomo in a china shop, so to speak, and if we find anything truly unsettling, then I'm sure the Day Lady can make time for us.

Her head snapped around at the high and fluting cadence of notes that was Maryela's voice; it took a split-second for her to sort out the words; when she did, it was with a wince and a faint tensing of her body, torn between courtesy and urgency. After a brief – though vicious – internal fight, she settled back into the scissors chair, gesturing towards the ramrod-straight figure of Sel'ira.

Only if your esteemed priestess partakes,” she replied – it would be a waste of doubtless-good tea otherwise, and that simply didn't sit well with Alses. “Though it's kind of you to offer...” she tailed off, expectant, waiting for a name to put to a face.
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Postby Elysium on April 1st, 2013, 6:54 pm

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”Maryela,” she supplied nervously. ”My name is Maryela.” Helpless, she turned to Sel’ira for direction. ”Nevermind, though the offer is appreciated.” Seeming relieved, the young initiate bowed before making her graceful retreat. ”She’s new to the Priesthood,” she provided. ”Maryela has taken great strides since her initiation, but has not yet sought a gnosis from our beloved Lady. I believe she is nervous about her station.” The older woman winked conspiratorially. ”She does not know this, but I’ve already selected her as my replacement in the event I am to fall. Maryela is dutiful and sharp. She’ll make a very excellent advisor when the time comes.”

As Alses spoke, Sel’ira had nodded along. She was not quick to rush to judgment. It was now that she chose to address those previous statements, those that stuck in mind. ”You must have valued your Master,” she remarked. ”There is something about his loss that still disturbs you.” That feeling was very evident in her face. ”I know of the memories – it is symptomatic of being Ethaefal.” She sighed. ”Some are more affected than others. Arture had been plagued by them. He sought me for counsel. He’d made some progress before the accident, too. It does nothing however, to soften the blow.” The habit-forming nature of Kariino was also nothing new. ”He also resorted to the same end. Any body, mortal or otherwise, will develop a tolerance for earthly substance. The mind grows sick of interference and begins to resist. You know just as well as I, from how you spoke. It is of course, up to you how you choose to respond.” Sel’ira smiled.

”I trust you.” She seemed earnest, at that. ”It is those that seek to profit from this that I do not.” As if replying to her very thoughts, she elaborated. ”There was once a time where protection was bought and sold. Death could happen at the foot of your very door. It is easy to forget such things in times of renewal. Talora and Aysel have done such a lovely job in restoring this city to what it always had been.” Her admiration for them was clear. ”But regardless, they remember the sins of those who went before… And so do I. I will not abide losing another Ethaefal. Syna herself rails against it.” Her eyes grew dark. ”I do not presume to know her mind, but I have felt the grief in my heart. I see it in her light. If I had to guess, I’d say she is mourning.”

”Anyway, I’d find as much as I can without being too transparent. Use your mortal seeming as frequently as you can. I cannot protect you, but I will try.” She nodded seriously. ”It is up to whether or not you frequent this temple, but here I will remain. My house is open.” She gestured to the walls around her. It seemed their meeting was quickly coming to an end. The Priestess rose, vertebrae subtly popping in line.

”Alses,” she said quietly – fondly, even. ”Be careful.”

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Postby Alses on April 4th, 2013, 1:05 pm

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I'm a useless judge of that sort of thing,” Alses replied, slightly helplessly. Sel'ira had seemed to need a reply, and that was the only one she had available. “How would you-” the words dried in her throat “-that is, how could a...” she tried again, then gave up, looking away. “Never mind. Let's hope the time for Maryela to take up your mantle is a long time in the future.

Valued? Hmm. Yes, he was good to me, when he could have been so very, very bad. I count my blessings I met a kindly man, back at the very beginning.” She flashed a brief smile at Sel'ira. “I was...a curiosity, I suppose, at least at first, and then a pet, of sorts, a mascot, and once we could speak and knew enough of civilisation, I made the transition to apprentice. We know it could have been much worse, especially when we were too weak and confused to resist anything. Rather than take advantage of my state, he taught us...well, everything. We couldn't even speak Common back then, couldn't understand a word of what anyone was saying, just the language of the gods echoing in my mind and never able to speak it. Confused by all of Mizahar – we had to relearn it all, from first principles. Or so it felt, anyway.” She swallowed, convulsive, eyes blank with recollection.

His was not a pleasant death, and we regret his passing wasn't peaceful, or at any great age. I can still smell the reek of blood and shit and half-digested food from what remained of his body sometimes, isn't that strange? Things stick in the mind for far longer than they have any right to, longer even than they linger in the aura of a soul.” A long sigh, and then a brittle brightness to the cast of her features, once dark and troubled, and to the tone of her voice.

But, as everyone tells us, morbidity is not the lot of a glorious Ethaefal, favoured and chosen. People seeing the shine and not the creature cowering behind it again.” She smiled, humourless, a meaningless upcurve of Cupid's bow lips, at Sel'ira's words.

Ha. I've come to see the songs and dinning voices in my head as a test – albeit a sometimes-ruinous one – along with so much else about Mizahar.” She'd had to bite back a string of swearwords there; they didn't seem appropriate for a kindly priestess, even though she'd doubtless seen and heard much over her lifetime. “Nonetheless, we'll bear your offer in mind in future. I've tried lots of things to rid myself of my cast-of-thousands; what's one more?

Alses listened, restive, to the rest of Sel'ira's admonition, filing the advice away for careful consideration even as she itched to leave the Temple and find Arture's dwelling and whatever secrets lay within. There were niceties to observe, however, the glue that held such a disparate city as Lhavit together, and in an odd sort of way, Alses didn't want to disappoint the old solon.

I raise my voice and my mind in prayer to Her often, when we find ourself in the sunshine.Every dawn and noon and dusk, and every second we feel Her presence at our back, without fail or exception,' she didn't say. Alses smiled wanly. “I suppose we hope to ease her pain a little, but we're never sure if She can hear us in the din from the rest of Mizahar. If you have-” here, Alses swallowed, and put words round what would tear her heartstrings asunder with the wanting ache to actually say “-a clearer link to Her, we'd deem it a service if you'd tell Syna we still love Her, when next She graces this place with Her presence.” She was privately amazed her voice only wobbled slightly at the last – Lhavit and the Dusk Tower had to be rubbing off on her.

In a whisper of fabric, she rose and swept a deep, deep bow to the aged priestess, almost as low as she would for Syna Herself, should she manifest in glory atop the altar. “My thanks for your advice and counsel, Sel'ira. I am more grateful than you likely know; we are terrible at expressing gratitude.

A fey smile, as she turned to leave. “I'll be careful, and with luck we'll be able to have tea some other time - but if, honoured Priestess, by some black chance I'm not careful enough and the theories of some of my kind are true: that we are gathered close to Her bosom once more after death, I shall commend your soul to Syna in the highest of terms.


A


It was an abstracted Alses that left the Sun Temple that afternoon, as the shadows lengthened into the long, languorous evening bells of rest. She'd been bombarded with information from what seemed like all sides, and now it began to sift and drip through her brain, firing off synapses and sparking tangents and connections in her mind as she strolled, an unhurried Ethaefal drinking in the fading sunshine. Even the blankness of her gaze as she walked along fitted; anyone watching would think her far and high amongst the stars, in communion with Syna and her attendant solar angels, rather than concerned with mundane happenings.

Sel'ira's advice had been sound, that much was certain. No sense in making herself an obvious target for these possible Ethaefal-murderers; for once, her pallid little mortal seeming might prove more advantageous than the celestial form she so gloried in. Sel'ira had known her audience; Alses would never have thought to go snooping around as a Konti off her own bat. That familiarity with how she thought was mildly troubling, but then, the priestess had had dealings with the Ethaefal before, and therefore must have understood something of Alses' own nature.

That, or she was simply very, very good at reading people. Either way, it was a valuable piece of advice, and one that Alses intended to follow, once the sun had slipped below the horizon and a decent interval had passed.

But then again, she'd said that the Shinya were less vigilant during the daytime – the lower ranks seemed to serve then, so perhaps it'd be a good idea to at least get a feel for the place Arture spent most of his time before the sun set. Alses cast an experienced glance skywards. 'I should have enough time,' she reassured herself as she set off along the wide boulevards that would eventually spill out onto Okomo Way, another peak over.

Okomo Way seemed quite a pleasant place, plumply anonymous and much like most of the reasonably well-heeled residential areas of the celestial city. Not remarkable at all; indeed, it had only come to her notice thanks to Arture and Sel'ira. Well-kept – although quite small; space was at a premium in Lhavit, after all, especially on the topmost tiers – houses stretched down both sides of the street, and all was quiet – the rest bells hadn't pealed joyously out yet, and so most, if not all, of the inhabitants would surely be hard at work in the other districts of Lhavit.

There were some beautiful gardens, though, and even had Alses no ulterior motive in scrutinizing the houses she'd still have gone to ogle the intricate designs and all the ingenious uses of space, light and plants the gardeners here had used.

As it was, looking at the gardens and occasionally trailing a hand in the overhanging foliage provided the perfect cover for her to examine the house numbers discreetly prominent next to the doors.

'204...206...208...must be getting close now...210...there it is!' From behind a shrouding mantle of kariino blossoms, Alses scrutinized the building and its surrounds, sharp eyes hunting for anything unusual, anything out of the ordinary, even whilst her other senses swelled into prominence as she flushed sparkling djed up through the phantom tracework of her body, a reaching synchrony that painted the world in shimmering light, a more thorough and – crucially – more subtle method of investigation.

Guards and traps could be hidden from normal sight, true, but their auras would give them away in an instant, sparkling and glimmering through the obstacles that obscured them.

'So, she thought, outwardly engrossed in the study of plants 'What sort of guard have the Shinya mounted here? And what else might we have to contend with?'
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Postby Elysium on April 4th, 2013, 2:27 pm

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Alses’ departure left the Priestess abstracted, staring at the Temple’s sacred blaze. ”Syna,” she began aloud, voice scarcely above a murmur. ”Give her strength.” The fire crackled merrily, as if in assent. This task was dangerous and beyond that, political. Whoever orchestrated these deaths had taken special care to go undetected. They were not suicides, clearly. They were sophisticated assassinations. There was no feeling behind the kill. Whoever worked to this gruesome end was clearly in it for the pay. And this Synaborn had experienced death before.

Sel’ira prayed with her entire heart that she had not sent this radiant being to their demise.



The dwelling was humble – a single room cottage, overlooking the craggy mountainside, fitted together with dry stones and sand. The roof was no doubt skyglass, the iridescent substance scattering Syna’s light about the path with multi-hued splendor. The place was conspicuously unguarded. Despite the Priestess’ warning, no man stood watch. It was an open invitation to explore, yet anyone with sight would see the calamity.

In the world of auristic impression, the actual aura of the place was a genuine nightmare. Impressions of sorrow and pain echoed loudly from the stones of the house. The threshold itself held a special feeling of dismay. It could be gleaned that the individual crossing over was anxious to leave. Terrified, even. But despite all the woe, it was not a suicidal person who lived there, but more or less an agoraphobic one. Fear of the outside world was etched in no small way onto the very essence of the cottage. Whoever had lived there had done so for a very long time.

The interior was spartan. Nearly all the rooms were bare, giving the viewer a sense of compulsive tidiness. The feeling grew stronger as the person explored, the epicenter emanating strongly from the bedroom. It looked as if no one had lived there at all, despite the fact that they clearly had. Interestingly enough, a journal sat in the center of the kitchen island. Upon first glance, every page looked blank. But to the Aurist, they’d see glyphing clear as day upon the cover. It was a ward and a strong one at that. Only an Ethaefal could read the journal. What was more, the pages were actually full. Sprawling, archaic script adorned each one.

’I am afraid. Not as I have been before – indeed, the outside world has troubled me despite my insatiable appetite for Syna’s glory. No, I am afraid for my life. I see shadows where there should be none. I sense a presence watching, always. They give the sense of brown and red and I can taste their murderous intent. They leave a trail, you see… Wider than an ox-cart and colder than ice. I can tell you that I may lose this unending life soon. I cherish it now; I have cried to think that despite my life’s work, I will soon meet my end. It slips through my grasp like the endless grains of sand. My only regret is that I did not realize soon enough.

Heed this, reader. I do not know who you are, but you must be versed in the tongues of old. You must be as I am – an Ethaefal, having plummeted from the divine realms in blind fright. Please listen to my end. My last request is to take my notes from the chest. It is in my bedroom. There are very sophisticated wards glyphed on the underside so as not to be detected by the naked eye. The trigger word is love. That is what I have lived and died for. I loved this bittersweet life. There are notes detailing my summoning and glyphing research, compiling both failure and blessed success.

I have left you three scrolls. With them, you will know what to do.

- Arture’


OOCThe writing in is nader-canoch. Enjoy. :)

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Postby Alses on April 5th, 2013, 1:09 pm

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OOCOoh, you devil! In a good way, naturally. If you had something terribly devious planned for when Alses leaves, do tell me and I'll retcon, of course :) .

'Strange,' Alses thought, concerned and intrigued in equal measure. The small house seemed unwatched and unheeded, crouching under the craggy mountain which rose up and then abruptly fell away to the other tiers below. Sel'ira had seemed so sure there'd at least be a guard on the place, but as far as Alses could tell, there wasn't a soul about.

Squinting to get a better view, she ambled closer and then nearly ran straight back the way she'd came as the general aura of the place wrapped her in its poisoned tendrils. 'No wonder no-one's about,' she thought, forgetting for a moment that almost no-one in Lhavit - Dusk Tower staff and students excluded - could sense auras. The air reeked of fear, that soured-sweat smell – once known and never forgotten, pervading even the garden – slightly unkempt and more shaded than she'd expected, almost shrouding the small home in places, shielding it from prying eyes.

Now, where had that thought come from? The general atmosphere, perhaps, pressing against her skin with phantom pressure and whispering slyly in her ear during the briefest moments of inattention – she had to focus on the here-and-now, the shallow physicality of Mizahar, if she was to make any progress in any reasonable time, but there was also the need to keep a weather eye out for other people out on the prowl, for whatever reason.

Breaking into someone's house was a crime, after all, even if the owner was dead.

The most difficult part was moving past the threshold; she wavered for long moments on the boundary line, fighting against the tide of longing and fear that uncoiled in wailing strands from the edge, as though someone had stood here on many an occasion, unable for some reason to move beyond the boundaries of their property.

Alses shuddered as she drew close to the front door; the dark auras of the place pressed heavily against all her senses, sending fingers of crawling desperation skating over her skin. Fear, definitely – but not of life, exactly, more everything outside a person's immediate control. To her surprise, the door opened at the merest touch of her fingers. Unlocked...which was surely an oddity in and of itself, given how fiercely Arture must have guarded this place – his place, the only bit of Mizahar he felt at home with. She continued on with caution, fighting the welter of fearful impressions and her own curiosity which was pushing her to move faster, find out more, without due regard for her own skin.

Inside was an unprepossessing place; the original single room had been modified – presumably at the owner's behest – and sub-partitioned into several smaller sections. The air tasted flat and dead, much as her own unused apartment did when she made a rare visit there, and as Alses slowly, slowly made her way through the tiny dwelling, it seemed almost pathologically tidy, nary a speck of dust or clutter to break up the clean, almost spartan lines – it was almost aggressively minimalist, even for Lhavit.

She moved quietly through the tiny rooms, every sense on high alert and drinking in every scrap of information the world could offer, ready to react in an instant to anything unexpected or untoward. The bedroom reminded Alses of the better class of inn; the small bed was made with military precision, every crease and tuck measured with a ruler and protractor, the positioning of pillows and the turn-down exacting.

Everything – and not just in the bedroom; the entire house - was very neat, very exact. Here, for instance, the pillows were on the precise centreline to match the small chest at the foot of the bed, the bedside table positioned carefully for ease of reaching – perhaps for a glass or some bedtime reading, although there was, in point of fact, nothing on it.

Everything she could glean from the spartan rooms she'd passed through – and that was precious little – and from the wailing auras burned into the skyglass and wood of Arture's erstwhile home – pointed to a life of quiet desperation and a continual struggle against some nebulous fear of the entire world, something that kept him locked up here, paralysed by his own mind.

Alses drifted aimlessly through the last of the rooms, which appeared to be a kitchen. 'I suppose I should count my blessings,' she thought. Fighting with a thousand voices inside her head was probably a better fate than fearing everything outside these four walls. She didn't have too long to dwell on Arture's neuroses which had made themselves so manifest in the auras of his home, however – her attention was almost immediately captured by the flare of glyphery from the kitchen island, a brilliant coruscating glow to her augmented Sight that cut through the uneasy, unsettled auras of the rest of the place.

What have we here?” she murmured quietly, moving quickly over to examine the flare – coming from an otherwise-unremarkable book positioned prominently on the island counter. “Glyphs, definitely, but to what purpose?

Careful scrutiny was needed here; it could have been some devious trap left for the curious after all. Caution, delicacy and finesse would all be needed here, to prevent untimely decapitation, incineration, transmogrification or any one of an almost infinite variety of inimical effects that could be stored by glyphs.

Chimes passed, all unnoticed, whilst Alses bent her mind to the examination process, scrutinising every curl and curlicue, every flickering sigil and carefully-inscribed rune, reading both meaning and the deeper magical intents encoded in the djed conduits, following the recursive intricacy of the pathways that looped dizzyingly around one another, merging and splitting and merging again in a complex shield-like network that dazzled the sight and produced what was surely a very complex effect.

Alses began to revise her opinion of Arture as she beheld his work – it was unlikely to be anyone else's, and there was an odd bent and shimmy to the glyphic auras that matched the wider impressions she'd gleaned from his home. He was a powerful mage, that much was evident, and more skilled than she in glyphing, at least, to be able to produce a powerful ward. And yet he'd lived here, in this poky little place...

Alses brought her mind back to the immediate problem in hand: the glyphic defences covering every scrap of the book in front of her. So, what was the ward's trigger, and what was it protecting? It seemed purely a defensive measure, a dizzyingly complex occultation – at least from the findings of her gentle probing. There were apparently no stored fireballs or anything of that nature, with the ward's temporary release seemingly keyed to an odd admixture of concepts; the Ukalas and Mizahar in one; divinity and mundanity mashed together.

Only one way to find out; she reached out and carefully, carefully opened the book, ready to drop it in an instant if necessary.

Syna was on her side, however, and the ward gave at her touch with barely a flicker. 'Ukalas and Mizahar together, of course!' she thought, suddenly jubilant. 'The very definition of an Ethaefal.' As the ornate script wrote itself into visibility on the pages, though, Alses' heart began to sink.

'What in Syna's name...' she groaned, but only for internal consumption. Alses recognized bits of the paragraphs that suddenly uncurled in front of her greedy sight, but still...this was Nader-canoch, and while she could hold a fairly reasonable conversation in the wizard's language, directing a light opera or taking a class on the finer points of metadjed theory was entirely beyond her. Making matters worse, Nader-canoch wasn't even originally meant to be written down, it was that old, and so much was conveyed by subtext, intonation, stress and accent that interpreting written Nader-canoch was very difficult, even more so if it hadn't been written in Glyphing runes, which this script certainly wasn't.

Her fingers skipped lightly along the dense paragraphs of text even as frown-lines etched themselves across her face. 'So what have we here...I am...something...afraid, maybe; I think that's a modified form of fear, there...something something something Syna...shadows and presences? Oh, and then there's this bit...there's capot, I recognize that – colour – but it's hyphenated with recha in front and mele behind; that's red and brown, therefore; I don't think our writer is talking about rust and the earth – but senses of red and brown? What senses? Auristics, maybe? If I've even got my translation right, that is...'And then there was that ugly compound word a little later on, a mishmash of nen and roza and a dash of negative accents to it that defeated her utterly. With a soft sigh, in the silence of the house, Alses continued to try and make sense of it all.

'Then we've got listen, or pay attention or something...I've no idea what the next bit is at all...something something something Ukalas – the divine realms? Why is he writing about divinity all of a sudden? And then that's the word for endings, roza, coupled with the personal so he's talking about his own death...is this a will? Oh, I'd kill for a proper lexicon...Something something something...that's either bedroom or duvet, I think, and then there's mention of Glyphing and triggers and a word...a word...that I have no clue about...no, no, hang on, what was that epic we were set once, as punishment...Daraq...Daraq...something Djas...it translated as Equal Love of the Self, or thereabouts, and I think that's what this word is...but I could be completely wrong, I probably am...' Alses nearly cackled with glee when she picked out the word 'research' coupled with 'notes' a little further on, but the rest of it might as well have been gibberish for all she could tell. Only the name at the end was clear.

Oh, Arture...Why couldn't you have written this in Common...” she whispered softly, mostly to herself, a futile expression of frustration, since she knew very well why Arture hadn't risked an easily-understood tongue, even with that frankly impressive ward on the journal's pages.

So, since the complexity of his writing had defeated her own meagre understanding of the grammatical intricacies of Nader-canoch, who would understand the ancient tongue in Lhavit? Presumably, most of the more experienced wizards in the Towers had at least a smattering of the wizard's language, but who would know enough of its linguistic convolutions to be able to interpret a written example? The Bharani Library, undoubtedly – but they refused to lend books to the general public, to anyone who hadn't materially contributed to the stores of knowledge behind its walls.

'But then again, Alse, asking them might not be so hopeless, after all...They won't let me borrow a lexicon or something of that nature, but they might at least have someone who can help translate the language, especially if I stress it's a last will and testament...worth a shot, if we hurry?'

Decision made, Alses gently, gently lifted the journal from the rather rickety island counter, took one last look around the unprepossessing, pathologically tidy and still dust-free rooms – her Sight revealed nothing of Arture's hidden glyphery, confounded and confused and battered by the wailing fears seared into the very fabric of the building, and flitted out into the gathering dusk, glad to be away from the impressions of a dead Ethaefal's personality that had stamped themselves on the stones and yet also conscious of the time.


A


Alses was now chained to her mortal seeming, a pale ghost wafting through Lhavit's citizenry seemingly without purpose or guide; the Change had come upon her soon after leaving Arture's huddled cottage and she'd taken advantage of her intimate knowledge of Lhavit's streetplan and shortcuts – the maintenance underbridges of the graceful skyglass spans between peaks, specifically – to shift from glorious Ethaefal to pallid Konti in privacy.

The Bharani Library's hugely imposing frontage gleamed impressively in front of her, courtesy of the many lamps ranged across the façade. Day and night, the temple to Knowledge was open – for those who had been found worthy, at any rate.

Alses was not currently counted amongst that blessed company, and so it was with mounting trepidation that she surmounted the steps and crossed the threshold, letting out a breath she hadn't even realised she'd been holding as she stepped into the atrium's mote-shot air. 'Deep breaths, Alse, and remember – not too urgent or forceful, we don't want to make a scene. Be careful, like Sel'ira said.'

The floor underfoot was intricate and beautiful – a circle of snowy marble with gilt-edged 'rays' emanating from it – the sun of knowledge, illuminating the world, perhaps? - but it rang in the cathedral-hush under her sedate footsteps, and she frowned. 'That must be annoying for readers,' Alses thought, briefly, but her attention was mostly taken by the barricade of heavy mahogany desks, each one topped with slightly worn sage-green leather and edged with brass railings. Behind each was a Seeker, the owners and guardians of the Library, she'd gathered, robed in white and clutching quills that skated elegantly across the pages they were working on, always copying, writing, transcribing from piles of books and scrolls, turning haphazard chicken-scratch into beautiful, readable fonts, the information handsomely-bound and presented for the ignorant to drink in.

Well. Always provided the ignorant weren't too ignorant.

Butterflies danced in her stomach – she now finally understood that particular expression – in apprehension and anxiety as she approached the least busy-looking of the Seekers on desk duty that evening, suppressing a shudder in her hands as she rested them – and the journal - on the edge of the leather top and coughed, as politely as she could. “Your pardon, sir? I was wondering if you could help me...does the Library have anyone skilled in Nader-canoch I might speak to?
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Alses
Lady Magesmith
 
Posts: 852
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Joined roleplay: August 8th, 2012, 2:32 pm
Location: Lhavit
Race: Ethaefal
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