It has been three days since the dazzling image of the deity known as Moon rose in the black Sky. Sylphs from all walks of life praised Him with giddy laughter.
Three glorious days of sylphs running mad with creativity, hardly sleeping, bursting with ideas. Towering golem construction projects and new celerity lines vie for space in the increasingly crowded city.
**
It is rumored there are some pockets of resistance somewhere in the city, but such a thing is impossible. No one can steel their mind against the charms of Moon for long.
The city of Light is built upon disasters. Owing to the inventive nature of its sylphan founders, many sections of the city have been rebuilt, plowing under old rubble to make way for the new.
The dregs of these old, burnt-out buildings can be found in the catacombs below Light. Some of them connect through strange, angular tunnels of fallen architecture.
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Three days.
For most of Albert's life, there had been little need to measure things in days. Experiments didn't take days, at least not the ones worth doing. They took weeks, months, or years. Usually years. And when a patient's life was on the line, it wasn't days that mattered most of the time, but candles, driblets, or even flickers. Certainly, days mattered to other elens, but they were of minimal consequence to Albert.
Until Moonrise.
Albert could divide the last three days into as many increments as he wanted, but it didn't ashing matter. He had narrowly avoided death and dismemberment countless times from elens he knew, their faces stretched in masks of mad glee. His watch was still keeping time thanks to his stash of batteries, but it was impractical to count survival on a clock. And so days counted. Each bright. Each dim. Each el or ele saved. Each el or ele lost.
But this wasn't an experiment, and it wasn't the triage that Albert was used to or had taught his students to handle. This was Resistance. Or at least it was an attempt. (Ironic, perhaps, or the point: the silver throughout much of Light was highly conductive. It was the nature of this metal that allowed for celerity to flow unimpeded, unresisted. And it was this same conductivity that made resistance now so challenging.)
Albert's stomach growls to draw him out of his inner monologue. He had skipped dinner last night, preferring to work a bit more, and had awoken early to make sure that he was prepared for whatever the day brought. But of course, he was hungry. The elen body still needed food. He reaches up a rubber-gloved hand and ineffectually wipes a bead of sweat from his brow, and then leans back gently. He is sitting on an old organ bench, facing away from the cracked ebony and ivory manuals towards the marble altar he dragged over here last night (further scarring the already-destroyed floor). Faded silver filigree on the side closest to Albert reads "Leva debiles cum instrumenta." It might have bothered Edmund that this altar to Silver-Bringer was now covered with Albert's tools, but if it did then he hadn't said anything yet. Albert hoped that seeing the old aphorism being brought to good, literal use would bring him some measure of comfort, but comfort was in short supply down here.
To that end, he probably ought to eat something.
Albert finishes one last bit of soldering and hops off the organ bench to wander towards the makeshift kitchen in a dilapidated vestry. Despite being a medical professional who had many times informed his patients and students that breakfast was the most important meal of the day, it was advice that he frequently ignored. (And "most important" was one of the odd phrases that rank-ordered things that didn't need to be--or adamantly resisted--ordering.) But now he'd take any gruel just to keep his mind sharp. No more skipping meals.
With a yawn, he opens the door and ruffles his hair. "Good morning," he says to the gathered, his voice lilting in a light singsong. "What do we have to fill our bellies with today?"
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Three days.
For most of Albert's life, there had been little need to measure things in days. Experiments didn't take days, at least not the ones worth doing. They took weeks, months, or years. Usually years. And when a patient's life was on the line, it wasn't days that mattered most of the time, but candles, driblets, or even flickers. Certainly, days mattered to other elens, but they were of minimal consequence to Albert.
Until Moonrise.
Albert could divide the last three days into as many increments as he wanted, but it didn't ashing matter. He had narrowly avoided death and dismemberment countless times from elens he knew, their faces stretched in masks of mad glee. His watch was still keeping time thanks to his stash of batteries, but it was impractical to count survival on a clock. And so days counted. Each bright. Each dim. Each el or ele saved. Each el or ele lost.
But this wasn't an experiment, and it wasn't the triage that Albert was used to or had taught his students to handle. This was Resistance. Or at least it was an attempt. (Ironic, perhaps, or the point: the silver throughout much of Light was highly conductive. It was the nature of this metal that allowed for celerity to flow unimpeded, unresisted. And it was this same conductivity that made resistance now so challenging.)
Albert's stomach growls to draw him out of his inner monologue.
With a yawn, he opens the door and ruffles his hair. "Good morning," he says to the gathered, his voice lilting in a light singsong. "What do we have to fill our bellies with today?"
"We have a great deal more than many, with all that the Father has blessed us with." Zephyr smiled at his friend; mornings were never a fair time to preach, and empty stomachs didn't listen any better than empty hearts. "In today's case, your blessing is simply friends who can fly ... AND forage ... AND hunt ... in the dim."
"For today's miracle though, we have more ashberries & earthfruit than I have seen in weeks. I didn't realize Fury would be searching so intently while I fished ..." "The fruit is sliced and I used the Old Ways to chill them, could you make some heat for me to cook the fish?"
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One of Edmund's young acolytes is standing by the doorway, waiting for a break in the conversation. His expression is grave.
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Albert blinks, trying not to let his eye twitch as Zephyr launches into a morning homily. It wasn't a miracle--it was hard work and years of training to achieve a desired outcome. But different elen had different ways of expressing the same concept.
Instead, he looks down hungrily at the chilled ashberries and earthfruit and greedily at the fish. This would be much better than gruel.
"Of course," he responds to the zealot. He could probably rig some of his batteries together to form a heat source, but a small, controlled fire was probably sufficient, and that was done easily enough with flint, steel, and a bit of oil. They'd run out eventually, but now wasn't the time to think about that. Now was the time to cook. With a few quick motions, Albert sets a fire ablaze for Zephyr.
Then he turns to the young man that had followed him into the vestry. One of Edmund's. Agh, what was the kid's name? Albert swore he had seen him on the Caith pitch once or twice, but he never had been great with faces. Expressions, though? Those he could read, more or less. Perhaps a not-so-good morning?
"What news?" he asks.
The boy (you remember now, his name is Drook) shifts from one foot to another uneasily. You also remember - this one is very loyal to Edmund. "If it pleases you, I'd rather wait for my master to be present."
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Edmund had awoken rather late that day having intended to work thought the a third night on a prototype scavenger homunculus golem but finally succumbed to fatigue. He had not intended to sleep so had not set anyone to come awaken him so it wasn't until the passing of the 10th candle that a rather inattentive aid of his named Fredrik came in to check on his progress to find him asleep on his worktable with a half finished Silver construct occasionally twitching with celerity by his head.
Edmund woke with a start as Fredrik entered the room murmuring "Oh I'm sorry to bother you sir." as he noticed the less than active look of his master. as Edmund jolted to a standing position he took a moment looked over and responded "No bother at all Fredrik, my apologies for my appearance I think I may have dosed off for a moment there. Do you happen to know the candle?" Fredrik paused a moment checking a timepiece in the hall before calling back "10 Driblets past 10." after a moment of realization Edmund mutters "Mac soith, Al is going to kill me, we were supposed to meet to discuss his new designs this morning."
Edmund brushed past Fredrik as he apologized for needing to leave he made his way though their makeshift hovel and squeezed though what used to be a doorway to get out of his quarters and into the main hall which he briskly strutted down to get to the mess hall. He entered a few Driblets after Drook and rushed over to Al before he noticed the dour abidance and blurted out "Sorry, I really split the ores here Al."
Albert looks Edmund up and down, noting the bedhead and dried spittle stuck on his cheek. Fell asleep again. "You're fine, me birdo. A wick shouldn't burn at both ends."
He reaches into his jacket pocket and fishes out a vial with a dark green liquid, looking a bit thicker than water. "Catch," he says, tossing it across the room. "You look like you need it."
Edmund would recognize the contents as a panacea that Albert called Jolt. It tasted like Dirt and was thick enough to cover your mouth and throat with an unpleasant, slightly gritty film for a few minutes, but it did the trick of keeping you awake. Efforts to add flavor had thus far nullified the wakefulness effects, but Albert wasn't done trying something to improve the taste or texture. Coffee was still probably preferable for most elen, so it wasn't the sort of thing he was keen to bring to a market anytime soon.
As Edmund contemplates the gritty drink, the acolyte Drook suddenly bursts out, "I saw an inquisitor last night! In my dreams!"
He tries to slow his breathing, then continues, "The one with the glasses. The one that always asks questions. He was there. And he asked me something." His young eyes are full of fright, like a hunted bird.
Albert's eye twitches involuntarily this time as he's unable to control it. Ashing dream magic, now, was it?
"All right now, let's have a sit, mmm?" Albert says, guiding Drook to a cracked-in-half pew. "Do you remember what he asked?"
Mac soith, they might be trying to go through a list of people they suspected of being in these catacombs and contacting them to see what information they could get. There were spells what could ward a mind against such intrusion, but Albert didn't know how to craft such into a chemical formula. Agh, there was probably something like that in a library in the city, but was it worth getting to? Even if he could manage to find it, he'd only be able to protect, oh, four maybe five people at a time? It would be like throwing a net over their domicile: sure, it might keep some things out, but it was no guarantee.
Unfortunately, Albert was better with ailments of the body than he was with ailments of the mind. The Order of Blood did require a course in therapeutic counseling, but that was all that most physicians got (and then mostly to ensure that their bedside manner was no longer described as barbaric).
But he might be able to brew up something to enable more lucid dreaming, help people keep their wits about them. Better yet, someone here could provide counseling to ensure mindfulness. That person wouldn't be Albert, though, unfortunately.
He sits down carefully, as if he is afraid he might shatter. In a small, pathetic voice, he says, "He asked me if I remember the last time I wet the bed."
The young acolyte turns to Edmund. "Master, what have I done wrong? Why has this happened to me? I promise I've remained true to the words of the Rove Voce. I swear!" His voice is quickly rising in pitch - the boy is close to hysteria.
He sits down carefully, as if he is afraid he might shatter. In a small, pathetic voice, he says, "He asked me if I remember the last time I wet the bed."
The young acolyte turns to Edmund. "Master, what have I done wrong? Why has this happened to me? I promise I've remained true to the words of the Rove Voce. I swear!" His voice is quickly rising in pitch - the boy is close to hysteria.
Zephyr turns away from preparing their meal to look at the young man. He smiles and begins to walk towards the pew ...
"Son, you have done nothing wrong, quite the contrary. The weak flock to evil of their own accord, but you are strong, so evil attacks you in hopes of finding your weakness. That will not happen."Zephyr begins to rise from the floor, floating several feet in front of Drook
"Do you know what it took to go from simply floating like this, to flying the way you have seen? Faith. Faith in MYSELF ... yes, I talk a lot about the Father, but I needed to be strong in and of myself for my power to grow. Like you. Strong in your faith. Faith without shame."
"So when the shame returns, in life or in dreams, hold your faith in your heart when you say you only remember the power running through you as you asked your masters to help you clean and remake your pallet that you could return to your rest. Your power is greater than evil."
After quickly downing the phial of Wakefulness with a slight grimace Edmund states a quick "Thank you" to Al before sitting and turning to Drook and listening to his story.
As Drook makes mention of Ky La Edmund looks to Al just in time to see his eye twitch. As Drook finishes and looks to Edmund for guidance Ed is momentarily taken aback, still unaccustomed to being an authority on anything more than smithing and other such work. as Zephyr steps in to initially attempt to calm the young boy down Edmund shoots him an appreciative look.
After Zeph finishes his speech Edmund steps up having gathered his thoughts for a few moments and turns to Drook and quietly says "Zephyr speaks no lie, you are not to blame, and you can't let this take the steam out of you." Possibly in a minor manic state from the new dose of Wakefulness Edmund then steps out and turns to address the entire gathered hall who by now have stopped their daily business to watch this spectacle.
He looks around a moment a with a twinge of sorrow on his face before he wipes it clear as best he can and calls out "No one who has seen the influence of Moon or his followers is at fault, you aren't weak of mind and you have nothing to be ashamed of and certainly doesn't come from leaving the Libro della Voce Rovente. What Drook did here by telling us is all we can ask. We need to protect the heard from his influence and the best way we can do that is by inoculating ourselves with knowledge. We can't protect ourselves from an infection we don't know exists. If anyone has been asked questions in sleep or is in the future do what you can to keep from revealing information but make certain to remember what you have told."
After this departure Edmund steps back in to Drook and says quietly "Was there anything else you remember?"
The boy is comforted by the words of those he looks up to, but he still looks uneasy. "He asked me if I knew what 'tides' were. I started awake to the sound of his laughter."
Zephyr,, your hair is ruffled as if by an invisible hand - Fury is trying to get your attention. You feel curiosity and a bit of apprehension.
Zephyr,, your hair is ruffled as if by an invisible hand - Fury is trying to get your attention. You feel curiosity and a bit of apprehension.
Zeph looks up from the fish ..., "My friend, I thought you might rest now, what can I help with? Zephyr turns to where the elemental is hovering, hoping he will feel what his companion is thinking.
You see water leaking from under one of the doors, that should just lead to a storeroom. A burst water barrel? Sky forbid it be a true flood...
Zephyr,, your hair is ruffled as if by an invisible hand - Fury is trying to get your attention. You feel curiosity and a bit of apprehension.Zeph looks up from the fish ..., "My friend, I thought you might rest now, what can I help with? Zephyr turns to where the elemental is hovering, hoping he will feel what his companion is thinking.
"Friends! Fury needs our help! You know he isn't from here, that's why he notices everything ... stand ready; I did not know we were storing water in there." "Blessings Above I hope that water is ours!"
You all see water continuing to seep from under the door of a hallway storeroom. Fury's agitation causes small ripples in the expanding puddle, making it seem alive.
Zephyr will walk over to the door and get ready to open it, watching to see what Fury's reactions are. "Attack anything that comes out ... we can ask questions later."
A small stream of water trickles out of the opened doorway. The water itself is strange-- thin, unreal somehow.
Zephyr will walk over to the door and get ready to open it, watching to see what Fury's reactions are. "Attack anything that comes out ... we can ask questions later."
"or maybe we SHOULD ask some questions now ... maybe Moon has turned on the People of Water and they need our help."
Edmund takes the now empty vial that previously contained the Wakefulness and approaches the door. Carefully he kneels down and dips the vial into the stream and pulls it back out to see if it will fill the vial.
"Steady yourselves, this may be a trick or it may be someone in need, but we must tread carefully." He calls out as he does so.
The water does not fill the vial. The movement of the glass disturbs the water somewhat, almost a connection. The stream gives off a ghostly cold that you can feel even through your gloves.
Zephyr, as you tentatively speak in the language of the undines, Fury blows into your eyes. You get brief impressions of statues, and empty cages. Nothing to talk to here.
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Zephyr, as you tentatively speak in the language of the undines, Fury blows into your eyes. You get brief impressions of statues, and empty cages. Nothing to talk to here.
Zephyr and Edmund take care of Drook before the situation blows up out of control. They were certainly of an accord on all this. Worrying and pointing fingers, whether at oneself or one's fellow elen, did no one any good.
But just as things seem like they're getting ready to settle down, Zephyr notes, through--what did he call it, fury?--some sort of aquatic incursion. Edmund bends down towards it, trying to pick some up with a vial, but shakes his hand as though it's especially cold.
"Fascinating," Albert says, crouching down himself. "Edmund, can you detect magic today? Or can anyone out there?"
Albert's fingers fumble at the vials on his belt, ready to be inserted into compartments on his armor but still just made for drinking at the moment. What was going on here?
Drook, eager to help, steps forward and casts detect magic. He looks toward the disturbance, ready to scan for any details. "Oh! I see it! It's illusion magic, and-!" Suddenly, he starts yelling in pain, clutching at his eyes. "It's burning!"
At the cold temperature Edmund pulls his hand back and lightly says "I think its an illusion of some sort, keep you're gau-" as he is finishing that though Drook casts his spell and falls to the ground
"Drook!" Edmund shouts as he runs over to the boy. "Dismiss the spell lad!" he says as he pries Drook's hands off his face to examine
him closer he also murmurs a brief blessing to heal the child. He place his hands over the boys eyes and shuts them as a radiant red glow emanates out Edmund says in Makers Script
(Spontaneous casting a Divine Favor as a cure light wounds.)
Drook dismisses the spell with a cry. The healing spell takes hold, the silvery light of the Bringer uncomfortably resembling that of Moon. The damage the cold has wrought is repaired, and the boy blinks the melting tears away.
The illusory water changes course slightly, toward Edmund's hands. It does not seem to be intelligent, but some sense or attraction drives it toward the magic.
While this strange danger slithers upon the floor air, some among you look close to panic. Tense days and sleepless nights have everyone on edge, and this intrusion is too muvh. Zephyr's robust confidence keeps his disciples in check, and Albert's's clinical calm reassures his interns, but a few among Edmund's flock start to waver.
A few whispers-
"A curse!"
"-look at where it's going!"
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While this strange danger slithers upon the floor air, some among you look close to panic. Tense days and sleepless nights have everyone on edge, and this intrusion is too muvh. Zephyr's robust confidence keeps his disciples in check, and Albert's's clinical calm reassures his interns, but a few among Edmund's flock start to waver.
A few whispers-
"A curse!"
"-look at where it's going!"
"This is NO curse, this is paltry. This is the work of those with no light of their own ... be still and watch in faith."
Fury immediately follows Zephyr's command, twisting and turning faster and faster, descending closer to the unreal water. The strength of the whirlwind blows around the room, flapping robes and mussing hair. The small creature is indeed Furious.
Although a natural wind would not affect such an illusion, an elemental reaches into both the magical and the mundane worlds; Fury's whirlwind takes hold of the icy magic and begins siphoning the water upwards, into the eye of the vortex, and away from Edmund.
Drook's temporary (and already alleviated) pain was, in Albert's mind, a worth risk taking to find out further information. Albert stands by and calmly, patiently observes what is happening as the others begin their experiments. Illusion magic, further drawn to magic. Albert might not be innately capable of detecting magical auras (he'd need to prepare an extract for that), but he had developed a certain level of expertise and understanding of the ways that arcana could be used. While Edmund, Zephyr, and Fury work through their rash experiments, Albert closes his eyes and focuses on what sort of magic this could be. If it was documented in a textbook somewhere, he might know it.
As the wind begins whipping around, he re-opens his eyes to watch what was going on. If push came to shove (and it very probably would), then he could quaff one of his extracts to run some experiments on the illusory substance. Not all illusions were unreal, after all--quite the contrary.
"Hold your magics," he warns the gathered observers. "And try to retain your composure. If you need to take a walk to calm down, take someone with you."
While this strange danger slithers upon the floor air, some among you look close to panic. Tense days and sleepless nights have everyone on edge, and this intrusion is too muvh. Zephyr's robust confidence keeps his disciples in check, and Albert's's clinical calm reassures his interns, but a few among Edmund's flock start to waver.
A few whispers-
"A curse!"
"-look at where it's going!"
It is as the others say, we must steel ourselves, this is foul magic intended to foster distrust we must not let it shake us. We will stay together." Edmund says he looks to Drook for a moment to ensure he is okay before standing and moving to Albert and saying quieter "What do you know of this magic, illusions are far from my expertise."
Very closer in nature to Shadow Conjuration. This semi-real substance is actively attracted to anything related to divine magic like that of Silver-Bringer and Sky, etc. It seems to pass through everything else.
If this stuff completely surrounds you, it could lower your body temperature very quickly.
Edumund, your words and calm demeanor seem effective, for now.
You hear more muttering, but the tone is more even and measured now:
"Should we try to dispel it?"
"-or limit the damage?"
"Someone should scout aboveground - this could be a distraction!"
Edumund, your words and calm demeanor seem effective, for now.
You hear more muttering, but the tone is more even and measured now:
"Should we try to dispel it?"
"-or limit the damage?"
"Someone should scout aboveground - this could be a distraction!"
"I can certainly scout above ground and fly above the city to see if there is anyone on the way; if I were to try to dispel it, that magic would also be divine and possibly LESS helpful. Could we try to heal it Sometimes healing is harmful to evil."
The ever-increasing volume of water proves too much for Fury to avoid indefinitely-
The ambient temperature of the room is starting to fall, noticeably. Frost gathers on sections of the wall, showing a pattern of small, upturned crescents. Dozens of tiny, smiling Moons crackle as the frost continues to expand.
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The ever-increasing volume of water proves too much for Fury to avoid indefinitely-
The ambient temperature of the room is starting to fall, noticeably. Frost gathers on sections of the wall, showing a pattern of small, upturned crescents. Dozens of tiny, smiling Moons crackle as the frost continues to expand.
Albert had never been particularly praised for his bedside manner, but he knew his students and colleagues. They were elen of reason, inculcated against superstition to steel themselves from irrational fear. Still, he understands the need to use his words and inject calm in his voice as he addresses the gathered.
"I suspect that the effect is not unlike what an illusionist would do with tethers of shadowstuff: in other words, it has substance and is semi-real. It also seems drawn to divine effects, so avoid calling on your gods while it remains active. We're gonna take care of it."
Albert reaches to his bandolier and begins removing vials of different sizes, shapes, and colors of liquid. These he begins combining together into a substance that becomes increasingly volatile, save for the final catalyst.
"Zephyr, kindly inform Fury that they should move away unless they want to be burned."
[dice=Diplomacy, to keep calm and carry on]1d20-1
Albert had never been particularly praised for his bedside manner, but he knew his students and colleagues. They were elen of reason, inculcated against superstition to steel themselves from irrational fear. Still, he understands the need to use his words and inject calm in his voice as he addresses the gathered.
"I suspect that the effect is not unlike what an illusionist would do with tethers of shadowstuff: in other words, it has substance and is semi-real. It also seems drawn to divine effects, so avoid calling on your gods while it remains active. We're gonna take care of it."
Albert reaches to his bandolier and begins removing vials of different sizes, shapes, and colors of liquid. These he begins combining together into a substance that becomes increasingly volatile, save for the final catalyst.
"Zephyr, kindly inform Fury that they should move away unless they want to be burned."
[dice=Bomb Attack]1d20+8
[dice=Fire Dmg]4d6+4
"Fury, go above, I will join you shortly. I want to know if anyone is approaching the area.
The fiery bomb proves effective - it boils away the majority of the water, and its movement has paused after the damage.
The room is steamy from the resulting blast, which also eats away at the smiling crescents of frost on the wall. This, along with Albert's calm, clinical tone, serves to put the remainder of the crew at ease. No one apears to be on the verge of fleeing any longer.
Fury immediately notices the smiling frost is surrounding many nearby buildings on the block - this is not something being specifically targeted at you and your crew.
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Albert feels satisfied for the moment, and cautiously enters the room to survey the damage. He lights an oil-soaked rag on a torch to hold near any remaining smiling crescents as they melt away. He launches into teacher mode, almost more for himself than his students.
"Swift action can make the difference between living and dying. We can't always take the time to investigate to our hearts' content. The key is knowing when you have to move fast and when you can take your time, and then relying on your knowledge and training to carry you through the hard moments."
He calls out to one of his lab assistants, a young ifrit. "Signore Gamberino, please remind me of Professor Boyle's theories of cognition regarding such processes."
The ifrit stammers a bit and then tries to draw himself up to look prepared in front of the sylphan girl he had been flirting with over breakfast. "Of course: Boyle theorized two separate systems of thought: a fast one based in instinct and emotion, and a slow one based in logic and reason."
Albert smiles. "A point for Signore Gamberino. And if that's the case, what do we need to watch out for?"
The sylphan girl, Iris, speaks up. "We rely on heuristics that can be taken in by prejudices and stereotypes."
Albert nods. "Just so. A point for Signorina Iris." Iris glances over at Gamberino, waggling her eyebrows at him. The ifrit boy grins back. At that young romance, or at least raging hormones, could flourish even in the face of an apocalypse. "Our minds can delude us into believing that our split-second decisions were deliberate, patterning a semblance of logic onto actions that did not necessarily arise from good reason. We train ourselves to react appropriately, just as a iománaí trains their body to respond on the Caith páirc. We can calculate the velocity and acceleration of a sliotar, but this does us no good when it's coming at our face."
He gestures at the charred room behind him. "Counteracting illusory ice with fire seems logical in retrospect, but it was done out of instinct, and recognition that something had to be done. I am grateful to my past self for training and learning so that I could react in a productive way. But I do not pat myself on the back here. This is why we never stop training and never stop learning. We consistently hone ourselves."
The impromptu lecture probably wasn't what anyone wanted, but it was what the alchemist had to offer. Whether he bored or agitated the gathered into action was fine by him either way. He goes over to Edmund and Drook to check on them and (hopefully) get moving on what he had been planning to do with Edmund before.
"How're your eyes doing, Drook?"
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Zephyr smiled gently, finding it humourous that his proselytizing was somehow viewed as different than Albert's "speeches" -- there was absolutely no discernable difference, in content OR in traction, especially with the youth.