"Please do not bring back any others. The levels below are...remembering places. Places of impressions, and languages. You must remember our facts, and our histories, and our stories. If your minds speak truth onto the pages, then the upper levels will be restored."
A loud, wet growling comes from the drake's scaled stomach. "Do any of you have ifrit food? Or pieces of lumber to chew on? Those are the only two dragon foods I know of."
"You might prefer it if I stay up here with you then," Abnaki says gracefully, "Unless you are confident about the immutability of truth, and not too concerned with the power of impression."
"You might prefer it if I stay up here with you then," Abnaki says gracefully, "Unless you are confident about the immutability of truth, and not too concerned with the power of impression."
"Speaker, you are one of the pieces we need. You must go in and speak from the children's book."
"For some reason that feels offensive, but I'm willing to look past that."
"Hahaha!" Samen laughs, genuinely.
"Maybe we can find some have the pop up pages on them. He'll be amused for hours!"
"I don't have any of that food, but there's plenty of it upstairs. We'll be on our way down, then."
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Gabriel is amazed the librarian is taking being back from the dead in such good spirits. Even casually mentioning the alteration of reality just by 'our minds speaking truth to pages'... what do these els deal with in a regular basis?
The green-and-white drake gestures, and a way is open -- no sliding panels, no sound, just an archway in the stone.
As you enter, you have the strange sensation of walking in place; the walls and floor are so dark and nebulous (even to your Sights) as to give the impression of standing still. A glance back at the librarian confirms you are indeed moving, but the sensation stubbornly remains.
Samen is no stranger to the abstract and malleable.
Abnaki has spent plenty of time in dreams
Thinking he's used to the unseen, Gabe is woefully unprepared to be in the abstract.
Words/Thoughts/Ideas appear before you in Letters/Images/Shapes. Purple mathematics float alongside the sound-shapes of ancient words, and the grunts that came before words.
There is one patch of words that seems different than the others - all the symbols are slowly turning into smiling crescents.
Farther down, there is a blob of churning, absolute darkness, with crying voices softly emanating from within.
A children's book lies carelessly on the floor. The non-floor of no color.
"Ew. Math," Abnaki spits. "And yet I do not find these crescents more comforting." He approaches the book.
Abnaki picks it up, and gives it a once-twice-thrice over.
Samen gives Abnaki a side-eyed glance. If the librarian hadn't encouraged it, bringing him here seems incredibly reckless. We must be careful in here to not corrupt anything into our own image.
He notices Gabe's queasiness and puts a hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry, this is a place of knowledge and peace, not violence."
He then approaches the Moon glyphs and addresses them as he would a misbehaving child. "You don't belong here. This isn't your story. Rest now, and let Truth sanitize this place."
Abnaki picks it up, and gives it a once-twice-thrice over.
As if yanking a fish from a lake, as you take the book off the ground, Qizzlvutz is pulled out of the ground along with it. They look delighted to see you.
"Friends!"
The enthusiatic bubbles stop, and Qizzlvutz' expression suddenly falls. "Friends..." Their face contorts and drips in a stream of weeping.
Samen gives Abnaki a side-eyed glance. If the librarian hadn't encouraged it, bringing him here seems incredibly reckless. We must be careful in here to not corrupt anything into our own image.
He notices Gabe's queasiness and puts a hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry, this is a place of knowledge and peace, not violence."
He then approaches the Moon glyphs and addresses them as he would a misbehaving child. "You don't belong here. This isn't your story. Rest now, and let Truth sanitize this place."
Not entirely sure what to make of this place, Gabe stands still and tries to orient himself. He gives Samen a grateful nod for his reassurances.
Being fairly certain that nothing besides Samen, Abnaki, and himself are real, Gabe doesn't immediately rush to Qizzlvutz as he's pulled from the ground. "Abnaki, what... ah... what do you have there?"
"A very sad Mycos, if what I'm seeing is to be believed." Abnaki shakes the book up and down a couple of times halfheartedly, trying to dislodge Qlz's grip. "Is something wrong then, my little fungal friend?"
"Learningto (is a book). She said goodbyeeeeee-" The sentence trails off into more tears. They cling to the book with all the arbitrary stubborness of a deeply upset child.
[dice=Linguistics]1d20+19
[dice=Spellcraft]1d20+25
Some of the smiling moons morph back into more regular-looking script. The remaining crescents bleed from yellow to an angry red.
Not entirely sure what to make of this place, Gabe stands still and tries to orient himself. He gives Samen a grateful nod for his reassurances.
Being fairly certain that nothing besides Samen, Abnaki, and himself are real, Gabe doesn't immediately rush to Qizzlvutz as he's pulled from the ground. "Abnaki, what... ah... what do you have there?"
Gabriel, the blurbling, weeping darkness is slowly approaching you (or growing larger?) It seems attracted to you.
"That doesn't add up to me. Gabriel, any input?" He looks at Qzzlphutstz. "I need to read from that book apparently. I'll give it back when I'm done if you'd like."
Qizz calms down, if not from your words, at least from the tranquility that infuses them.
You open the book...and the pages are all empty. You flip and flip (there are far more pages than the size of the book would suggest) and there is only paper, slightly yellowed around the edges.
Speak the book.
Gabriel, not wanting to hurt Qlz just in case he is real, doesn't back away. Even if he is growing bigger, he holds out his arms to embrace the myco should it want that. The confused look doesn't leave his face though. "This is definitely outside my area of expertise. It seems like it needs reassurances though."
Qizz hugs you. Qizz is real. Qizz cries.
Samen, the angry red crescents are floating all around you; you can feel their hunger for all the words stored in your head.
Gabe is as confused as ever as he embraces they myco. "How did you even get into this... place doesn't seem like the right word." His senses are obviously dulled as he only just now notices the experience Samen is going through. "Are you ok over there?" Looking down at Qizz, "Lets go see if we can help."
"Bad smiles. Mad smiles."
Samen snaps at the symbols like a stern father. "Settle down! Balance and harmony, not discord and strife. Moon did cause conflict here, but it's over now. Take your proper place amongst the history of this place and be at peace."
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"Always tell us a story Abnaki," he laments, "And what do I get out of it? I give and give parts of myself, and what do I get in return?" He brightens. "That's the story I shall tell! That of The Eldest Tree and the First Five Words! The way I'm going to tell it to you now though is not the way I learned it, so long ago. But it is true." He begins to intone.
"A very long time ago, when the ground was still new, and the sky still shone, there was an Oread. Now this Oread was also a tree, because in those days lots of people were also different things. Or perhaps more precisely lots of different things were also people. And this Oread was filled with love, for all of Elenity, and he sang that love to the other spirits like him, like birdsong, and it was good.
"One day, he realized that although the Els listened to his song, they did not know what he meant. This made the Oread very sad, and so he might reach the people, and be able to share his love and knowledge with them, he decided he would give meaning to the grunts that they made, so that they might be able to ask him for things, and he might be able to give advice."
"The Oread wandered amongst the people to see what they needed the most. He saw that the races were divided, and it saddened him to see the little children fight amongst themselves. So he brought them to a place where sky, mountain, fire, and water met, and taught them the first word: Compassion. He came forth with a giant blade, and his wrath was so mighty and terrible, that the Els cowered before him. He rent sea and sky asunder with his fury, and just when the Els thought they would surely be destroyed, he stopped, and gave each of them a piece of food instead. In that manner, the Els saw themselves reflected in the wrath of the Oread, and resolved to change their ways."
"It helped, for a time, the Els had a word to describe their feelings of love towards each other. It didn't stop all the fighting, but there was an understanding that every race had a role to play, a great part in the cosmic order. And it was good."
The Oread decided to walk amongst the Els again, to see what they needed, and what he saw dismayed them. Although they were now less violently inclined towards each other, they still had no organization. Every El merely did as they pleased, without thought for the future. And so he gave them a second word: Wisdom. He played a great fool, darting about with not a care in the world, often injuring himself or others in the process. His injuries brought him to the verge of death, and when winter came, it was trying for him to survive. The Els saw their ignorance and guilelessness reflected in the face of the Oread, and once again resolved to change their ways."
"It helped, for a time. The Els had a word to describe learning, growth brought of age, and started to form little groups around leaders. There was still foolishness of course, there always will be. But they began to stockpile during the harvest for the winter, instead of feasting right then and there."
"The Oread had given his compassion to the Els, yet he still loved them. He had given his wisdom to them, sacrificed his dignity, but he still was wise. Still, the toll that it had taken upon him was why he did what he did next."
"Then the Oread noticed that the Els identities had begun to melt. He had given them good words, it was true, but their compassion, and interest in philosophy had begun to subsume them, sapping their individuality. The Oread did not want this. And so he gave them the third word: Self. He took off his own skin, and cut it into ribbons, to wrap around the Els and to separate their insides from everyone else's."
"It helped, for a time. The Els were less close than they had been, but they were more whole, capable of acting without others. There were still those of course, who needed the perception of others to feel whole, but they were less."
"The Oread, on the other hand, was suffering greatly. He had given his skin, and now he could not feel anything but the biting cold wind on his exposed flesh, and the love he still had for Els. They were so much more than they had been, and yet he was so much less. And he still wasn't done."
"This time, the Els came to him. They were wise, and compassionate, and had a sense of self, but they still needed more. They needed his fourth word to quench the burning fires that still lasted within them, they needed Knowledge. And so the Oread took out his brain, and mixed it with a powder formed from his dreams, and turned it to a poultice that the Els could put on their burning need to know, and might then be satisfied."
"It helped, for a time. The Els were able to imagine mechanisms to further aid their wisdoms. They were able to teach themselves magics to aid even further. They were able to dream of fantastical and wonderful things that would one day allow Elenity to become the greatest, most versatile, most enduring."
"The Oread on the other hand, had nothing left but his love for the Els, burning bright and hot where his dreams used to be, filling the empty chasm of his mind. He was cold, and foolish, and wasn't even sure exactly who he was anymore. He could feel nothing but the twin dichotomous agony-ecstasies of the cold-hot in body-mind."
"It is then that he taught the Els the final word. In this state, The Oread loved them dearly. It is a matter of debate what the final word was. Common consensus is that he brought the word Death to the Els. This is not true. Dear listener, I will tell you know what the fifth and final word that he brought to the Els was. It was Fear. The Oread, although it was not right to call him the Oread any longer, for he had shed that form to reveal his true skinless mindless self, brought with him a great terror to the Els, for his love for them had consumed him, and left nothing left. And where he went, he left trails of nothing in his wake and the Els were rightfully afeared. Those who saw him and were not taken were left with a slightly different word. Awe."
"It helped, for a time. The Els were brought together, under the fear and awe that the Oread brought with him. They huddled together for warmth, and wailed, and prayed, and reveled. But time makes fools of us all, and over time the impact of the words he had given the Els were forgotten. They began to squabble more, think less. They began to attempt to break down the barriers governing self, and seek knowledge at the cost of their compassion. Perhaps worst of all, some forgot the meaning of fear and awe, whereas others were devoured by it."
"And what of the Oread? The Skinless, Mindless, God still loves Els. It loves me, and you, and all the little children. And where it walks, devastation follows in it's wake." Abnaki lowers his arms, which had been frantically animate throughout the story. "A metaphor for my condition? Life imatating art? Echoes of a Not-Quite-Dead-God? I don't know. Nor do I want to." He allows himself a single tear to fall down his cheek. "I do still love Els very much. I want to help them. In fact that's all I can feel anymore.
But what will we bring to them?"
The cloud of gibbering darkness is upon you, embracing you as _your shadow of old. Inside the border of darkness, however, it is bright day; you see the featureless ground you stand on.
Standing in front of you is- you. The old you - scarred, veined, frowning, broken. The eyes are desperate, pleading.
In a harsh whisper, you say, "I'm not you. I'm your other companion. The flowery one. But I'm hiding. Do you know of whom I speak?"
Samen snaps at the symbols like a stern father. "Settle down! Balance and harmony, not discord and strife. Moon did cause conflict here, but it's over now. Take your proper place amongst the history of this place and be at peace."
[dice=Linguistics]1d20+19+2
Samen, the crescents seem to pout as they slowly bend back into their natural shapes. The languages of elenkind have been scrubbed of Moonish influences, and words take on their proper meaning once more.
Now that you have dealt with the prehistory of words, you sense that History and Memory must be restored. You tap into the repository of knowledge that resides in the vast fields of your psychic unconscious.
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Abnaki, as your story gains presence and shape in this colorless tunnel of memory, strange blooms begin growing from the ground. Flowers?
But no, it is all the warrior mycos you thought lost to the depths of Uluru - Hroof Hroofa and the others, whose names you never learned (if they indeed do have names, in the elen sense). As they rise from the ground like worms in the rain, their faces shift in joy and...
Awe.
They debase themselves before you, chanting strange gaseous harmony. Losing themselves in the hypnotic embrace of your story, they abandon their minds to religious ecstasy.
The mycos worship you.
Eyes closed, Samen is tapping into the collective unconscious of several centuries worth of history, and making sure it all fits together correctly. He is thus preoccupied as the mycos crawl around Abnaki's feet.
Abnaki nods. This seems proper. Right even. As he is aware of his purpose, he lowers his hand, so that his followers might kiss it. His faithful will need relics, and so he gives them his soul soap, bought so long ago, as well as a few platinum coins. Then he rises to his full height, looking at the darkness, and shouts, "Anything else?"
In miniature, like bugs crawling across a road, you see tiny elens and tiny gods roaming across the blank floor. Volcano is an anthill; Forest a dab of lichen; and River a solitary teardrop. The distorted scale makes it difficult to see details, but it seems to be the history of the Land, unfurling at enormous speed. Tiny particles kill each other in the name of anthill and moss.
Abnaki, two of the more misshapen of the mycos (they more resemble their beloved Heap rather than any elen) eagerly take your gifts. Reverence fills their eyes. The one who took the soul soap begins blurbing about the truth of truth, and makes it a holy mission to scrub away all lies. This burst of enthusiam borders on madness. The other, clutching the coins with joy, turns to his fellow mycos and creates a spotaneous revelry, juggling the coins as they shine with a rainbow of chaotic colors.
"He has not ascended yet. But you should leave now. Your task is done. And if he is ever a danger to the sanity of reality...Say 'Gethis'. Force him to remember Gethis. Scream her name until he screams in return. That name will be your dagger. Go now.
Something...odd happens to the miniature menagerie spread at your feet. Tiny bats circle the great mesa of Uluru.
And then you realize - those are dragons.
You blink, and you are back on the third level.
"Blugghhhh... They should really put a warning label on that..."
Abnaki vomits a combination of seeds, soil, and wilted flowers. The smell is pleasant, which makes it all the more unsettling.
The drake that calls itself Librarian helps Abnaki to his feet. With its strange lipless growl, it says, "You have done it! I feel the taint of Moon's presence has faded." Your vision swims from the return to light and substance, and it seems there is more than one drake helping you up.