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Steel That Sleeps The Eye - A Fever Dream
This one needs a bit of backstory. Cannan contracted a mystery illness battling mutant crickets north of Spinesreach (yes, I know). For the last three or four months, he grew steadily worse, and Eleanor posited that one of the crickets, which had exhibited regenerative properties, was growing inside of him, and that he needed to be operated on as soon as possible. The Divine have other ideas.
Be aware that there's an abrupt shift in tone here. Body horror ahead.
***
A pristine, orderly infirmary.
A sigil in the shape of a small, rectangular monolith is on the ground. There are 2 spartan, military-grade cots here. An elegant white letter is in danger of being soiled here. A stainless steel medical stand holds a range of surgical instruments. A crisp white screen partitions off patient beds for a modicum of privacy. A grimy bucket sits beside one of the cots, filled with a dark black phlegm. There are 5 loafs of garlic bread here. There are 5 sweet, strawberry crepes here. A few toy balls roll around the floor of the infirmary, sliding under the feet of nurses. An obsidian-inlaid iron firepit has been positioned here. A cushion sits on one of the cots, soaked in black gunk. Large enough for an Atabahi to curl up with, a long cushion lies on one of the cots. A phlegm-soaked blanket is balled up at the bottom of one coat. A thick, military-issue blanket is neatly folded beside the wolf-sized pillow.
look Cannan
He is a resilient Human of a small build. He seems positively withered, his normally pale complexion gone a shade of dusky grey. Though his movements are still quick and lithe, his hands now shake visibly, and every once in a while he is racked by a deep, rattling cough that seems to boom in his chest. His raven black hair is touseled, pushed back and tangled into ringlets that stick to his sweat-slicked forehead. His sharp gray eyes have a slightly sunken, hollow look, and there are bags under them indicating a lack of sleep. His expression is tense, his lips pursed deeply, something strained and sad tugging at the corners of his mouth. He walks with the blessing of Maghak.
(worn on a finger) : an arcane black ring
(worn on the legs) : black leather soldier's pants
(worn beneath his shirt) : a round, silver pendant with gold script
(worn on the feet) : silver-spiked, scaled mountain boots
(worn with the top button undone) : a crisp black button-down shirt
(worn on a finger) : an anaxagorite-banded, kauri and sunstone ring
(slung across the chest) : a silver-studded crimson weaponbelt
(covering the body) : a tenebrous coat of black-furred cerberus hide
You have emoted: Cannan leans down and picks up his cup once more, this time having to balance the thing in between his wrists. The liquid has cooled enough that he can sip it regularly. Keeping one ear on the conversation, he gazes down into the pool of brown liquid in the mug, as if trying to suss out his reflection.
"I know.. and I love you all the more for that, Kelliara." Piper lowers her cup and beams genuinely at Kelliara. "Tossing me into danger and trying to keep me from it. Sign of the best person a sop could have by her side. I'm still going to get you to wear pink lace someday, though."
Doyen Kelliara wryly says to Piper Anfini, "Perhaps the most dangerous thing you will ever attempt."
Grinning menacingly, Piper Anfini smiles impishly and says to Doyen Kelliara, "I told you.. someday there will be a wedding and you'll have to wear one because all the other ladies will be forced into it."
Smirking, Doyen Kelliara says to Piper Anfini, "I do not think so. I will simply go wearing my pelt."
Piper Anfini says to Doyen Kelliara, "I'll get someone to sew you a fancy lupine cap of the stuff, then."
Kelliara snorts arrogantly.
Piper cackles hellishly.
Doyen Kelliara says to Piper Anfini, "I hope you know a brave tailor."
Her eyes still glittering with mischief, Piper Anfini says to you, "How's the hot chocolate."
The body of Faerah appears in a flash and her soul descends to fill it, causing the previously expressionless face to fill with emotion.
You have emoted: Cannan wrinkles his nose and winks at Piper over the mug as he drains the last of it. "B-bugger the h-hot chocolate, mate. I's just wonderin when you two sops is gonna kiss and be done with it, nyeh?"
Faerah inclines her head politely to those around her.
Piper suddenly, noisily begins to slurp at her tea with such a speed that her front teeth knock into the ceramic cup.
Kelliara shoots you a dirty look. "You know I am on the same side of the wards as you, yes?"
You have emoted: Cannan grins crookedly at Kelliara and gives her a wink. "I'd ask you to come snuggle up in bed w-with me. B-b-but I got a bita the shakes right n-now. And besides, you wouldn't wan-wanna wake up with me pukin gunk in yer eyes, would ye?"
"Whooooo... boy's got himself a ripe death wish." Piper whistles, her words mostly concealed by the bubbling of her tea as she blows into the hot liquid.
Severely, Doyen Kelliara says to you, "I could ease your pain, if you wished. It would be little trouble. A flick of the claws, or snap of teeth. Your illness would end swiftly enough."
Faerah's wings flutter to a close as she leans up against the partition. "Now, I wouldn't mind seeing /that/ after the day I've had," the Idreth muses to herself.
You have emoted: Cannan grins and clacks his teeth at Kelliara, then glances over to Piper. "She's a r-right firecracker ain't she? B-bit like you without the smiles and charm." He waves his hands at Kelliara, now trembling visibly. "Don't you go takin offense, miss, I t-talk to m-me on mum this way. Or would if she w-weren't mad as a hatter."
Kelliara's eyes dart to Faerah. "Seeing what?"
"Pits, rake. This woman is the one that gets me thinking that it's a good idea to try to punch a god. Woman's got more balls than half the men of this city and double what you'll have if you keep this up." Piper's grin grows and grows until she nearly resembles an amused feline.
Faerah says to Doyen Kelliara, "...someone shut Cannan up."
Doyen Kelliara says to Faerah, "No doubt he will be coughing soon enough. I do not think he can do both at once."
"...I think you underestimate his..." Faerah pauses for a bit as her gaze shifts to you with a smirk, "...Tenacity."
You have emoted: Cannan snorts at Faerah, but his eyes never leave Piper's. "N-now then, would she really be attackin a s-sick man, the way I am, all rurnt and s-shit? T-tell y-y-you what. If she got what I got, let's w-wait until it's progressed for her, t-then th-throw us in a ring together." Even though he grins ferally, sweat begins to stand out on his brow from the exertion of speaking. "B-be like two hobos slappin each other for a sammich!"
Piper places her cup down and moves over to you and pries the cup of hot chocolate from his hand. With brute force, she pushes him down flat. "Stay." Another quick movement and she's stolen one of the pillows from the cot and has made a move to place it over his face without any pressure.
Faerah's right hand reaches for her temple as she rubs at it slightly, her gaze returning to Kelliara sympathetically. "...This must be what your own personal inferno looks like, old friend," she lightly quips.
Grinning wickedly, Doyen Kelliara says to you, "Would I attack a sick man? Yes. Fair fights are too easy to loose."
Rajazel chews thoughtfully on his lip.
Rajazel smiles wryly at you.
You have emoted: Cannan gazes up at Piper curiously not without a great deal of amusement. Though his lips twitch as restlessly as his hands, the smirk remains as he's shoved down. "G-good gods, P-pipes, here? Now?" He waggles his eyebrows comically, but when the pillow is held over his face he yelps sharply and waves his hands around. "Aight, aight!" His voice is reedy, but the annoyance is genuine. "T-that's right...make fun of the sick k-kid!"
Out loud, Piper Anfini asks, "I guess I shouldn't let anyone know that he's ticklish, should I?"
Faerah says to Piper Anfini, "The only tickling Kelliara may do is with her claws and his internal organs."
Piper Anfini says, "S'just an idea. In his state, it'll probably knock him out cold and you'll get some silence."
Piper holds the pillow back up and fluffs it before returning it back to the head of the cot where she'd found it. "There's a good Cannan."
You have emoted: Cannan grunts and swats at Piper with his inarticulate hands. "Don't be givin away my secrets, woman! A m-man l-like me's g-g-gotta have secrets!" He glares at the rest of the room. "I AIN'T ticklish, and t-the r-resta you'll do well to forget you ever heard such!"
Faerah laughs softly, shaking her head at you. "Living proof that men are babies," the Idreth states, amusement latent in her voice. Her attention shifts to Piper as she waves slightly in her direction. "I'm Faerah, by the way."
Rajazel tells you, "How you feeling, mate?"
Rajazel tells you, "I've been wanting to come see you all month."
You tell Rajazel Tursatna, "I'm...doin better, now that Piper's here. Sometimes I get lost in my own
head."
Rajazel's eyes darken as he gazes at you. He smiles, but it is forced.
You tell Rajazel Tursatna, "I have these 'orrible dreams, yeah? And my hands shake all the time. I vomit blood a lot."
Rajazel tells you, "I hope the Cabalists can figure something out soon.. You look -horrible-.."
Piper makes a move as to clear the ward and extend her hand out towards Faerah, instead stopping short just about the limits. "I'll shake after I've decontaminated in the bathhouse, alright? Nice to meet you, Comrade Faerah. I'm Piper Anfini." Tucking her hands back against her hips, she sways on her feet to-and-fro. "I should really head back to my house, then. Long month after sleeping so long."
Faerah says to Doyen Kelliara, "I've news to lighten your spirits."
Kelliara tilts her head and listens intently to Faerah.
Rajazel tells you, "What.. Do you dream of?"
Piper Anfini asks Doyen Kelliara, "You take care, Kelliara. I'll come by next month if you're in
here and bring you some more to drink, alright?"
You tell Rajazel Tursatna, "My mother. Eyeless."
You tell Rajazel Tursatna, "She whispers poetry to me."
Rajazel frowns at you.
Rajazel tells you, "..That's horrifying."
You have emoted: Cannan deigns not to say anything to Faerah, instead simply smirking at her. He closes his eyes and takes a long, deep breath, and though it rattles in his chest, he smiles, finally managing to run his crooked fingers through his hair. His other hand rests at the hollow of his throat, as if remembering something.
Piper leaves to the south.
You tell Rajazel Tursatna, "I wake up...I wake up laughing. All the time."
You have emoted: Cannan's reverie is suddenly interrupted as he's racked by another coughing fit, a hollow booming sound from deep within his chest. He grimaces in pain and rolls over to face the wall, hiding his expression. The coughs go on and on, and as they worsen in intensity his hands begin to tremble, then spasm, until he is no longer in control.
Kelliara blinks.
Rajazel casts another worried gaze at you, his face pale.
Rajazel tells you, "I'm gonna work on a brew to help combat those coughs. If it worked to soothe the victims of the Bloom, it may help to soothe you."
You have emoted: Cannan coughs, over and over, unable to dislodge whatever his body seems trying to expell. Finally the coughs turn into retches, and he heaves, vacating a great deluge of black, viscous phlegm onto the wall. The liquid is chunky, and the viscera in it seems to twitch and move of its own accord. "Gods...." he breathes, before another heave and hurl overtake him.
Kelliara frowns, and withdraws back to her corner. Resuming her place in the corner and folding her arms. Her nose wrinkles, "Mmph. Still alive their, Comrade?"
Merelii arrives from the south.
Faerah visibly winces as she watches you intently.
Rajazel tells you, "..Gods, you're scaring me.. I need to work on that brew, -quickly-..
"
Rajazel's jaw clenches as he stares at you. His fists tighten at his sides, and he trembles visibly.
You have emoted: Finally the vomiting subsides, leaving the wall behind Cannan coated in the black, chunky fluid. It pools to the floor, spreading out in a very deliberate fashion, and he falls back onto the cot, now looking worse than ever. His face is absolutely pallid, his eyes sunken and hollow. He breathes heavily, his thin chest heaving, and swallows. "Y...yeah. I'm al-" But that's all he can manage at Kelliara before falling silent again.
Merelii bites down on her bottom lip, visibly troubled.
You have emoted: Cannan stares at the ceiling, tangled in his coat and sheets but not having the strength to remove them. Instead he simply lays there like the victim of a murder without much struggle, and begins to hum something tuneless to himself. "Pallid limbs in the raven's thrall, fracture sulphur honey'd skin..." He sings to himself, not really hearing the words, but letting them fall out as they come.
Merelii sniffs slightly, the fur on her tail suddenly standing on end.
Faerah pauses, before she bites on her bottom lip pensively.
Faerah starts to wield an exquisite ebony violin in her left hand.
Faerah starts to wield an intricate ebony instrument bow in her right hand.
Something moves in you. Something glutinous and chunky, rolling through the sickness, a countervailing wave. It is not a nauseous sensation but lays on some serious vertigo. Smears of apple-red crowd the corners of your vision.
Worse still, it wants something. You can feel its urges in your skull. It's happy when you sing. It wants you to keep singing.
Faerah slips her chin into her violin's chinrest, and gently glides her bow across the four taut strings summoning forth a calm melody that fills the chamber with a certain warmth.
Rajazel's eyes begin to water as he gazes intently at you. His ears prick up at the sound of the music, and he blinks, causing them to run down his face. Once flowing, they don't stop.
Ms. Merelii Aquila says to you, "I'll be back soon."
You have emoted: Cannan stops in mid-sentence and closes his eyes. He tries to draw another breath but it only comes out as a soft sob. He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head, as if denying a question, or a request. Finally, though, he simply hasn't the strength to continue denying, and stares at the ceiling once more. He swallows, hard, and starts over. "Steel that sleeps with the morningstar, would that I could sin once more..." His voice is raspy, broken, but still they carry a recognizable tune.
Merelii arrives from the south.
Argolis strides in with a lacquered mug in hand. "You better fucking drinking this and enjoy it." He states you as he takes up a spot next to the cot, the mug extended expectantly towards you.
Rajazel tells you, "..Mate, you should rest. No more poetry.."
"Blades will sing over stone and field," it rasps. A voice like a door creak. Claws without points, down the inside of your stomach. Grasping, pulling. "That their song might grace our fall..."
Faerah's eyes close as her fingers deftly press against the violin's fingerboard, the melody softening to a sombre - melancholy sound that hangs heavily in the air, following your lead as he struggles through his song.
You have emoted: Cannan doesn't move from his warped position on the cot as Argolis enters. Instead he stares at the ceiling, his hands twitching helplessly, crooking themselves into awful shapes. He weeps openly now, tears staining his cheeks as they fall. "Pallid limbs in the raven's thrall, Fracture sulphur honey'd skin..." His body moves and shifts like a tide beneath the moon, and there is the distinct impression that he is singing along with someone, if only in his head.
Argolis stands in silence for a moment before it seems to sink in that something is going on. With a soft sigh he sinks down and sits on the edge of the cot, watching you intently.
Your erstwhile companion soothes over your back, lifting you by your hips. Though your muscles contract, a slave to something else's whims, it's hard to shake the feeling of being moved by an external force. "Waves are screaming... abraxan hymns..." Blurs at your peripheries. In the midst of fever the world sounds as if encased in glass, but the rasp in your head is as clear as a bell. "So that shoreline... virgins... cry..."
Quietly, Rajazel Tursatna says, "Excuse me folks.. I'll be back in a bit.."
The music continues to drift through the room, as Faerah plays her violin - the notes seeming to drip from the violin freely as a stream through a wood far from the walls of the infirmary. The Idreth watches you carefully, a soft frown creased at her lips.
You have emoted: Cannan's hips lift from the bed in a distinctly unnatural fashion. His arms are spread, as if he is giving himself up to whatever dark force moves within him. His hair hangs downward as he dangles, seemingly by the force of his legs - at such an unnatural position though, there must be something else holding him aloft. "Reel in place...'til the bastards take me away..." his voice trails off, and he closes his eyes as if in rapture, or as if giving up completely. "Steel that sleeps the eye..."
The final note of the song vibrates from the fourth string as Faerah Faerah slips the violin out from under her neck. She sighs softly at you. "I wish you peace," she says, before she begins to pack the instrument up again. Her gaze shifts to Kelliara, "...I hope you are still feeling well?"
"SOBER TASTE OF THE EYES." Pulsing, drumming, beating your head. Your skull is a box, too small, going to collapse under too much weight too heavy. Too much is red. Even blue, even blue would be better. Blue or green but the red hurts. You're flying. Where is the bed? The bed has gone. "STEEL THAT SLEEPS THE EYE."
"STEEL THAT SLEEPS THE EYE."
You feel yourself slip away.
You are transported by the power of the Divine.
Falling through the midnight dark.
There are no obvious exits.
"you are not going to die."
"make a wish. make it on the moon."
You have emoted: Cannan opens his eyes. Or does he? It is impossible to tell in the darkness that seems so complete no sun will ever shine again. He floats, and drifts, and breathes. "On t-the m-m-moon..." he shivers violently, though he is not cold anymore. He's not anything at all. "I see no moon." He weeps openly again, the tears now accompanied by quiet sobs. "Peace," he says gently, almost begging. "Peace from her. From her eyeless voice. Peace..."
This place is different. Not a function of light and sound but of motion. Things pass through you that might not be real. You might have heard the name for them, in passing, a snippet of conversation from a scholar or scientist - types of waves, types of forces. It feels like magic. Sorcery raw in the air. Wind whips at you but you cannot feel it. And in the distance, giving context to the endless black, a huge wall of pulsating grey light looms.
"you don't understand."
"here, there is nothing but the moon. you may no longer exist. not unless you fight for it."
You have emoted: Cannan opens his eyes fully now, tears streaming past them and into the pitch behind him unheeded. His fingers no longer jitter, for the moment, though through his own force of will or by some unseen magic he doesn't know. He clenches his hands into fists, flexing his weakened, raided muscles and leans his head back to weep again. "Please!" He begs, nearly screaming. "No more! I can't live with her in my head any longer!" Only rushing silence answers him, and he grits his teeth in response. "I wish for the strength to fight it. I wish for life! Give me LIFE!"
The lances of silvery light stop as the world jarringly seizes. A tremendous wave of nausea rocks through your body as you are momentarily disoriented.
Space.
A grand canopy of stars envelops the world, blue and red and white, some faint, some as bright as a distant candle's flame. Far, far, far below, an enormous sphere hangs in the great nothing. Covered predominantly in blue swirls, you can make out the erratic stains of green, brown, and grey across its surface, shaped like familiar geography. Distant though it seems, the sensation of size is unimaginable - it might be the largest thing you have ever seen. Above all else, at the peak of the heavens, is the moon, pocked with grey craters, radiant in silver. There are no obvious exits.
Pitted, cratered, cracked, valleyed, clad in beautiful silver and platinum. Ancient, waterless seas the size of entire worlds. The wall was the moon. Is the moon. Everything above you. You could reach out and touch it, it looks that close - but it must not be so. It is so large.
"give her a name..."
"give her a name... and i will steal her from your head."
You have emoted: Cannan gazes down at the endless starscape below him. He tilts his head, curiously detached, and looks at first his right and, and then his left. His tears still stream, but the racking sobs that twisted his body are gone, and though he stands on the edge of something infinitely larger than himself, he breathes. Deeply. "Alita..." The word is breathed gently, slowly, as if pronounced in a foreign tongue, and he closes his eyes. "My mother's name...was Alita."
You are gripped by a hand. Tight around your neck, it does not cut off the airflow, but threatens to every second. It guides you, forces your chin up, baring your throat. The rich rasp puffs against your temple, cold like the grave. It is a voice sick with madness, with avarice, pregnant with promises. It is the voice of an empress.
"you have to want her gone. say it. tell me to take it from your skull."
Even if you evade the hand, the vastness of space yawns in every direction around you. You could not surely escape it forever.
You have emoted: Cannan opens his mouth and gasps, unable to resist the call of deep, feminine voice from within his head, within his skull, within his bones. He feels the slide against his face, and he trembles, flinching away from that power in terror, as an animal might fear a hunter in a trap. "Alita!" He yells, his voice trembling. "Take Alita from me! Her hatred, her madness, her eyeless voice. Her failure! Steal this madness from my skull! From my heart..." he trails off, sick with fear, but unable to move.
The world halts as you are frozen in time and sp--
The hand's form materializes only enough that you can make out its ridges and veins. Shapes like horns, shells and spines over its splay of long fingers. You can no longer move, can only watch - this isolated incident being the only thing that moves in the universe, it seems - as it crawls over your mouth, razing your flesh. A terrible itch settles in.
Its fingers breach your lips. They delve into your throat, filling it well beyond capacity, yet whatever this fleshless thing is, this thing that invades you, it stretches and molds, reforms like a fluid. It fills you with the cold of death. The sensation spreads through your extremities first, working its way down your arms and legs, before it hits you most roughly in the gut and the genitals. Over all, though, its pain sears when it hits your brain.
--ace. Everything has begun moving again.
But the hand is still there. In your head. It moves through memory, a bandit hurling files from desks. It is looking for your mother.
"think of her. think of her. give me a memory. i'm losing her."
You have emoted: Cannan closes his eyes, squeezes them shut, even as the massive, immutable hand slides forth through his core. Unable to fight it, he instead gives in to the voice's demands, falling back through a time from which he'd run far, far away, and further still, all the way to the great Reach of the North, to the Keep. He travels backwards along the roads that took him there, growing smaller and smaller. Weaker. His defenses slowly crumble, his jokes, his drinks, his poetry. Unbuilding themselves. Finally he finds himself on a hill, overlooking an endless field of grass.
You have emoted: There Cannan's mother stands, on this hill. She looks out over it as if she could see forever, but she can't. She's been blind from birth. She stands in front of a canvas, her work, something she's been creating for days, and weeks and months. She paints though she sees nothing, from some ancestral memory, perhaps. Or maybe just madness.
You have emoted: Cannan sits beside her, a tender eleven years old, on the cusp of adolescence. He stares off into the distance, wondering, dreaming, wanting to see what she sees but failing. She reaches down and runs a hand through his fine, fine black hair. "Isn't it lovely, little wolf cub?" Her voice is lilting, but already he's learning to be afraid. He looks up at her, and she smiles down at him. "Isn't it lovely." He knows. He knows as surely as the sun follows the moon. She puts the final stroke on her canvas, and reaches up, nonchalantly, clawing at her face to leave rivulets of blood. There is a shriek of terror, blackness, losing. The memory goes dark.
Wearing the empress' voice, Alita says, "Isn't it- it- isn't it- steel that-- reel and reels in place--"
The hand makes a fist in your skull. There is a pinpoint of light on the horizon, brighter than the moon itself. Suddenly...
Suddenly, in the aftermath of the cold in your head, you cannot remember what she looked like.
Surely she was old, and arthritic. No... younger, maybe, but you recall she had a favorite... what was it, a dress?
Like a malformed dream, your mother's details flee when you try to access them.
You have emoted: Cannan flicks his eyes back and forth, no longer taking in the endless stars and oceans of space before him, but going deeper into his head. He chases these memories, even though they've haunted him for years. He chases them out of a sense of duty, perhaps. Alas, they flee. Like grains of sand in a hand squeezed too tightly.
"shhh... it hurts. i know how badly it hurts. but think of what you gain..."
It takes Alita's deeds, next. Every hand laid against you in punishment. Every kind word. Every hug. You can remember the sound of her voice no better than you can recall whether she neglected or doted on you.
As before, these losses feel real, very real. Scrapes in your brainpan. Floods of chilly sensation. All it leaves you with is a name. A name and your birthlink.
You have emoted: Cannan draws a sharp breath, and his eyes become wide with a nameless fear. A vertigo of loss. His hands twitch, scratching and searching, as if trying to hold onto something. Gone, gone, all gone. "Gained..." he murmurs. "What have I gained? Myself...myself. My freedom. In payment for what?"
Just as quickly, more hands grab you by the wrists. You find yourself pinioned in the blackness of space, like a needled butterfly beneath the scrutinizing eye of the lepidopterist. You can thrash, but do little else, such is the strength of your partner. And what comes next is delivered in dead monotone.
"you will ask yourself that question every day of your life."
Much time passes.
You find yourself in a bizarre place: a realm of stars, backlit by the moon in grotesque magnification. A grey-green-blue sphere hangs in the space below, disturbingly familiar. But why are you out here? Why do you feel something is missing?
The adumbrative night stretches onward, ever elusive of dawn's grasp.
It is now the 14th of Niuran, year 412 of the Midnight Age.
Today is your birthday! You are 26 years old!
You have emoted: Cannan tilts his head back, gazing at the stars above and around. His tears are gone, as are the sobs that shook him so. He shifts his eyes back and forth, moving his head slowly, in a deliberate manner, before looking downward to gaze out over the endless blue sphere below him. He takes all of this in with a disturbing clinical coolness, as if completely in control. His fear is gone. His gaze falters, and he frowns, looking off to the side as if searching for something - a memory that he can't quite seem to grasp. It eludes him, like a name on the tip of the tongue, or a song one can't quite remember the tune of.
There is only one thing.
A painting.
You can't fathom what sort of painting. What it depicted. What frame. Where you saw it. But you remember a painting.
Internal reverie may have to wait - for you are no longer alone in space.
Space.
A grand canopy of stars envelops the world, blue and red and white, some faint, some as bright as a distant candle's flame. Far, far, far below, an enormous sphere hangs in the great nothing. Covered predominantly in blue swirls, you can make out the erratic stains of green, brown, and grey across its surface, shaped like familiar geography. Distant though it seems, the sensation of size is unimaginable - it might be the largest thing you have ever seen. Above all else, at the peak of the heavens, is the moon, pocked with grey craters, radiant in silver. Tall, wiry, and savage, Omei, the Artist is here, covered in glowing tattoos.
There are no obvious exits.
She is an Immortal Rajamala, sharp-faced and wiry. Hard with muscle, Her slender body is the color of charcoal, tattooed with inscrutable writings in glowing ink. Fitfully these markings smear across Her skin, their ancient messages changing before the blinking eye. The tips of Her fingers appear as though dipped in ink, always shining, making a seamless transition into inches-long claws. Beneath a wild, tightly-braided mane, Omei's eyes are a dull plum color, set deep into Her sockets. She is like the night, motes of starlight caught in the tufts of Her fur, each movement scattering light moondust, as thin as the powder of a moth's wing.
(bristling with dark arrows) : a sleek leather quiver
(reaching Her feet) : a purple silk loincloth
(slung over a shoulder) : the Muse's Tome
(ornamented, cinched around Her throat) : a thick gorget of tarnished brass
(piercing Her felinoid septum) : a tapered bone nosering
Omei stares you down, wide-eyed, out of breath. She is no more than a few inches away, hovering, Her body's heat palpable. It is She who holds your wrists.
You have emoted: Cannan glances up from his reverie, and his eyes go wide. His body jerks reflexively, another animal caught in another trap, but no, he cannot get away. There is no moving from this immutable force. He closes his eyes, squeezing them shut, and opens them again, perhaps hoping that She will be gone. But still She stands in front of him. "Lady..." he breathes, unable to say much else.
"You have nothing to say to Me..." Omei whispers, panting, Her breath hot and sour in your face. "Every cure is someone else's disease." The Goddess pulls back Her arm.
For a split second, you catch a glimpse of searing white light in Her palm...
Omei clasps your face, Her hands across your chin, mouth and nose, as if trying to cut off your air. It burns, white-hot, enough to char your skin, so achingly painful that even Her Divine form is obscured in the brilliant white.
You have emoted: Cannan leans his face back as Omei places her hand against his face. He shrieks in pure, liquid agony, such a sound never having issued from his mouth before. He cannot writhe, he cannot fight, but simply lets the white heat envelop him utterly, obliterating his senses.
Thankfully - blessedly - wonderfully - the pain is gone. You simply cannot recall how much time passed just then. Your face doesn't even burn that badly... unless you try to move it. A wrinkle of the nose, a shift of the lips, these things agonize for heartbeats at a time, though once the initial hurt has come, it feels easier until you allow your face to come to rest again. Omei examines Her work: a perfect imprint. A long, clawed hand snarled across the width of your face.
Softly, Omei, the Artist says to you, "When I put you back... you will tell no one you saw Me. I was never here."
You have emoted: Cannan stares up at the Goddess. He can say nothing for the pain that needles its way through his face every time he moves. Instead he nods once, very slowly, silenced utterly by Her Divine power.
"This was a fever dream," Omei urges. Despite Her implicit threat, Her tone is pleading, like that of a worried lover. "If you breathe a word of Me... if your stories feature a cat, or a woman in black... I will take everything from you. I must. These are the rules."
Before you can respond, you feel your body shift and churn queasily.
You are transported by the power of the Divine.
A pristine, orderly infirmary.
A sigil in the shape of a small, rectangular monolith is on the ground. There are 2 spartan, military-grade cots here. An elegant white letter is in danger of being soiled here. A stainless steel medical stand holds a range of surgical instruments. A crisp white screen partitions off patient beds for a modicum of privacy. A grimy bucket sits beside one of the cots, filled with a dark black phlegm. There are 5 loafs of garlic bread here. There are 5 sweet, strawberry crepes here. A few toy balls roll around the floor of the infirmary, sliding under the feet of nurses. An obsidian-inlaid iron firepit has been positioned here. A cushion sits on one of the cots, soaked in black gunk. Large enough for an Atabahi to curl up with, a long cushion lies on one of the cots. A phlegm-soaked blanket is balled up at the bottom of one coat. A thick, military-issue blanket is neatly folded beside the wolf-sized pillow. Flyte stands next to one of the cots. She wields a bardiche in her hands. Faerah is here. She wields an exquisite ebony violin in her left hand. Kelliara is here, leaning against a corner wall with her arms folded. Rajazel Tursatna is here. Ms. Merelii Aquila is here. She wields a sinister gold-tipped whip in her left hand and a needle-pointed dirk in her right.
You see a single exit leading south (open pine door).
Irritably, Doyen Kelliara says to Ser Argolis, The Unyielding, "If you want science go find a Cabalist."
Rajazel gasps at you in surprise.
Argolis stares implacably at you.
Ms. Merelii Aquila says, "You're back.."
Rajazel Tursatna asks you, "What -happened- to you?"
Flyte lets out a sigh of relief as you reappears. "Finally! How are you? Are you hurting?"
Kelliara steps to your side quickly, and grabs hold of you, easing you back onto the bed. "Welcome back, Comrade."
Faerah completes the tuning of her instrument, her head turning upward at you as those around you attempt to solicit a response.
You have emoted: Cannan stares at the ceiling for a few long, silent breaths. He swallows, hard, then lifts his head to stare out over the room, gazing at each face in turn. "How long..." he says, his voice cracking. He grimaces as if talking is painful to him, and when he reaches up to touch his cheek, there is a faint but very visible hand print slashed across his skin. "How LONG?" His voice is stronger now.
Ms. Merelii Aquila says, "Few days."
Ms. Merelii Aquila says, "What'd she do to you?"
You have emoted: Cannan tilts his head to Merelii, eyes bloodshot and rolling, as if unable to focus. Though sweat still drips from him, he looks decidedly less flushed than when he passed out. "Who...
Merelii seems to think for a moment before nodding slowly.
Flyte frowns in concern as she looks at you, reaching out with a piece of cloth she's picked up out of habit and wipes your forehead carefully. "You disappeared. What did you see?"
You have emoted: Cannan grunts and trembles as he sits up against the wall back of the cot, trying to support himself but falling and bumping his head. He sits there and trembles, and the sounds he makes are something between laughing and weeping. "I saw..." He breathes deeply. Once, twice, then opens his eyes once more. "I saw an endless sea of stars. One could lose themselves for a million years, an eternity. A dove brushing its wings against the moon."
You say, "If the moon were reduced to the size of a marble, it wouldn't be long enough to find your way back..."
Ser Argolis, The Unyielding says, "Well.. if it were reduced to the size of a marble, I imagine not."
Horribly, you can still feel that cold fist in your head. The hand that took... something from you. Sitting there, as if waiting.
Ser Argolis, The Unyielding says, "But that sounds like bloody Omei."
"Hush, I think questions can wait." Flyte murmurs, placing her hand on your shoulder. "You need to feel better first."
Faerah peeks up once more from her violin before half-heartedly suggesting, "I suggest we try and ground him in what he now sees, instead of ask him to stay in his delusions."
Rajazel chews on his lip, and nods his head at Faerah's suggestion.
You have emoted: Cannan stares at the ceiling, searching, searching. His mouth is strained, and he purses his lips. When Argolis speaks, he snaps his head forward, the intensity in his eyes is unmistakable. "It was just a dream. Something already fading from me. All I can remember is a painting. Not what of, or even its dimensions...just a painting."
"Omei.. " Argolis half spits the name. "She has no business putting you through all that in this state."
"Maybe one of your mother's?" Flyte muses.
You have emoted: "I don't know that name." Cannan says to Argolis, as if that's the end of it, then leans his head back against the wall once more. "Mother..." he murmurs to Flyte. "Did...did my mother paint?"
"She apparently knows yours." Argolis replies to you with a grimace. "Did you by chance hear me yelling at you?"
Flyte shifts on her knees, shrugging a shoulder. "I only know what I've heard you mumble in your feverish dreams, Cannan." She gives you a light shake with her hand. "Can you focus for a moment, please? We'll talk about your mother later, just look at us."
You have emoted: Cannan shakes his head and glances over at Faerah, giving her a smirk, even though it's evident it still causes some pain. "I didn't hear anything," he says, turning to Flyte. How long have you lot been here? Where's the Commander? Jensen? Or hell even Eleanor...someone who knows something..."
Ms. Merelii Aquila says, "What d you want to know, Cannan?"
The burn stings your flesh. Using your lips feels like trying to peel the skin back. But it's not the worst you've ever felt.
Ms. Merelii Aquila says to you, "Eleanor's on her way."
Ser Argolis, The Unyielding says, "Nobody knows anything, that's the damn problem."
Eleanor arrives from the south.
Flyte searches your face, clearly relieved you can recall some of what's been going on. "The Commander had some business to deal with and I think the Warden is resting."
Eleanor glances about the chamber. "This is becoming a familiar sight," she muses.
Ms. Merelii Aquila says, "Nobody? Hm."
Postulant Flyte says to you, "Eleanor means to check the sample... thing they collected."
You have emoted: Cannan grimaces and leans forward, running his hands over the collar of his shirt. With a single easy motion he pulls outward, popping every button on the way down. He looks at his sunken chest, his stomach, and begins to touch his ribs, feeling for something. "Is it there?" He asks, murmuring it so as not to move his lips. The burned hand print on his face looks pink and raw. "Is it still there?"
Flyte begins to pull back to leave room for others.
Ms. Merelii Aquila says, "Is what still there?"
Eleanor glances left and right, scanning the faces present. "When there's a moment," she says, "I could do with an update on what's happened."
Doyen Kelliara wryly says to Conduit Eleanor Junakutz-Lionheart, "No rest, hmm?"
In a weary tone, Conduit Eleanor Junakutz-Lionheart says, "Not for the Cabalistic."
Doyen Kelliara wryly says to Conduit Eleanor Junakutz-Lionheart, "At least you are able to do things."
Ms. Merelii Aquila says to Conduit Eleanor Junakutz-Lionheart, "We were discussing options, Omei didn't answer us in the forest... he just...popped back in, like when you drop out of phase. What it looked like to me anyway."
Flyte turns to Eleanor, offering a brief report. "The image flickered, looked like he was in pain, then he returned to us. He rambled some in the beginning, making little sense and eventually he regained some focus. That's when he asked for the Commander, the Warden and you."
You have emoted: Cannan looks up at Merelii and makes a fist, beating at his chest several times. "This thing!" He says fiercely. He grimaces and nearly cries out with pain, reaching up to brush his face gingerly. "This thing was...was singing inside me. It loved me. It wanted me to sing. It was IN me..."
Eleanor tucks her hands behind her back, listening intently, though she doesn't comment.
You have emoted: Cannan shakes his head and brushes his hand over his face. This time he does cry out, seeming to forget the raw and angry mark that rests upon it. "I don't...I don't know. But I sang a song. It came to me. These words, this poetry. A song I don't remember now. Can't...can't recall. And it sang back to me. It echoed in my head. We sang together."
Faerah plucks out a few notes of the song on her violin, having remembered it from playing it earlier. "That one?"
Flyte furrows her brows, but makes no comment. Instead she settles down a little bit away from you, simply looking at you.
You have emoted: Cannan tilts his head, listening to the tune and humming a few hesitant bars. He closes his eyes for a moment, the humming coming slower now. The tune is primal and slow, like a death march. He opens his eyes and shrugs one shoulder. "It could be..." his face is genuine, and genuinely lost. "But I don't know. I feel like I'm...missing something."
Faerah says, "Oh, it was a definite duet... That's not in your head at least - I know my music well enough."
You have emoted: Cannan takes no notice of the argument going on around him. Instead he hums the bars again, and again, though his voice grows fainter each time. He furrows his brow and closes his eyes, both sad and frustrated as he loses the tune. He takes a deep breath, and this time there is no rattle at all in his chest.
Eleanor tilts her head. "That sounded healthy," she comments.
Faerah suddenly trails her nail along the fourth string of her instrument, the sound jarring and rather off-putting.
Flyte nods at Eleanor, a brief smile flashing across her lips. "It's much better than what I've endured before."
Faerah says to you, "Stay away from your daydreams... That company you long for is likely what took you from us the first time."
You have emoted: Cannan turns his eyes to Faerah and tilts his head. "That's what I don't get," he murmurs. "You say I disappeared. But I just...fell asleep, didn't I? I sang, and I sang, and drifted. What did you see?"
Faerah says to you, "You blew up in a bright light and an image of you hung in the air over your bed like a tortured ragdoll."
Conduit Eleanor Junakutz-Lionheart says, "Something more like an apparition, lad. It's why I figured you'd gone for a walk in Her garden."
Postulant Flyte asks, "Maybe the singing was part of the healing process?"
Faerah says, "Music has been known to have healing properties."
You have emoted: Cannan raises and lowers his brow in acknowledgment, wincing yet again. "By Gods, and you lot say I'm the mad one. Did someone put somethin in your steel this mornin? Or are you all havin a giggle at me?"
Ms. Merelii Aquila says, "Wouldn't joke about this, Comrade."
Faerah says to you, "We don't have to make things up to laugh at you, Cannan. I promise."
Faerah smirks at you.
Flyte smiles wryly at Faerah.
A faint flicker brightens Rajazel's eyes as he smiles, glancing from Faerah to you.
You have emoted: Cannan smirks and winces through making a petulant expression, going so far as to stick his tongue out the side of his mouth. This effort seems to tire him though, and he leans back against the wall, groaning a little at how weak he seems to be. "I dinna say anything embarrassin in my sleep did I? Like how I have a crush on Ser Argolis or nothin?"
Merelii snickers under her breath.
Argolis stares implacably at you.
Conduit Eleanor Junakutz-Lionheart says, "More importantly, lad. How are you feeling?"
Flyte hums softly to herself, glancing at you. "I've heard plenty of things being murmured during your fever. -That particular one was not mentioned."
Ser Argolis, The Unyielding says to you, "If you weren't sick.. I'd punch you."
Faerah beings to idly fingerpick at her violin, summoning forth a light airy tune. "I'd punch him anyway, for good measure. He might die afterall and then you won't ever get the chance."
You have emoted: "I feel..." Cannan reaches down and brushes his hands over his chest, his stomach. Though visibly reduced, possibly from lack of proper nutrition, his breathing is easier, and his hands no longer tremble uncontrollably. "I feel...better. But not whole." He looks up at Eleanor. "I feel like something's missing from me. Like it slipped outta my head like water from a drain, or sand from a glass. What am I missing?"
Conduit Eleanor Junakutz-Lionheart says, "Well, you're breathing alright, and you haven't thrown up yet. I could take a guess at what's missing. How about you try and eat something?"
Argolis gives a lacquered mug to you.
Rajazel Tursatna says, "On it!"
Rajazel leaves to the south.
Ser Argolis, The Unyielding says to you, "Drink that you troublesome idiot."
Rajazel gives four kebabs to you.
Rajazel Tursatna says to you, "Those'll fatten you back up!"
Faerah starts to wield an intricate ebony instrument bow in her right hand.
You have emoted: Cannan leans forward and sniffs at the mug full of Kawhe. He wrinkles his nose and tilts his head at Argolis. "What's all this then? I don't think I've ever had it. It's black as pitch and smells stronger than Varian's balls."
Conduit Eleanor Junakutz-Lionheart says, "About as effective as Varian's balls for getting you up in the morning."
Kelliara sighs and folds her arms over her chest, closing her eyes and frowning.
Eleanor delivers this with a complete deadpan.
You have emoted: Cannan shrugs. "I ain't never met a drink I wouldn't try once..."
Slowly, Ser Argolis, The Unyielding says, "Right.."
Eleanor rubs her claws against her top, idly buffing them. "Nothing like some testicular encouragement. Kawhe's good for you."
You have emoted: Cannan takes a long drag of the stuff and smacks his lips, frowning as if unsure how to feel about it. "I dunno. Am I supposed to...feel differnt or somethin?" He takes another long drag, this time draining half the mug in a single go.
Faerah nods her head at Eleanor.
You have emoted: Cannan grins at Faerah, though his lips can't quite pass over his teeth without causing visible pain.
Faerah smiles and says to Doyen Kelliara, "I'll be back to check on you."
You slide each piece of steak and each vegetable off of the kebab, chewing them slowly to savor their taste before swallowing.
"Yeah, good to see you're going better." Flyte says to you, settling down on her usual cot. "Means I might not necessarily have to clean things up anymore."
Postulant Flyte says, "I think people have this down. I'll get some rest."
You have emoted: Cannan glances over at Flyte, his mouth wrapped around a chunk of steak as it oozes juices onto his chin. He laughs crudely, showing his food, and offers Flyte a kebab of her own.
Doyen Kelliara wryly says to Faerah, "I would try and keep you away, but from this side of the wards, I cannot do so."
Quietly, Conduit Eleanor Junakutz-Lionheart says, "That food seems to be staying down."
Flyte narrows her eyes at you. "You can bloody well wipe your own chin now." Grumbling, she brings out a plate full of curry and starts eating from that instead. "And keep your kebabs. You need it yourself."
Faerah laughingly says to Doyen Kelliara, "Oh, pfft. You wouldn't want me away even if you could."
You have emoted: Cannan shrugs, now feeling faintly ridiculous as he holds the kebab out, and goes to town on it himself. "Women be such a touchy lot," he murmurs around his food.
Narrowing her eyes, Doyen Kelliara says to you, "Women?"
Faerah says to Doyen Kelliara, "...oh, and /try/ not to kill him."
Faerah leaves to the south.
You have emoted: Cannan grins down at Kelliara around his Kebab and winks at her. "Don't worry, miss, you don't count as a woman."
Flyte lets out a venomous hiss between spoons of food. "Anyone would be after being cooped up dealing with this alone with you for this long. No appreciation at all!" She huffs and swipes some water from a cup.
You have emoted: "And look!" Cannan he rolls his head along the wall to look over at Flyte as she sits there eating. He gives her a long, meaningful stare, then glances down at his lap. "I appreciate everthin you done for me. All my heart, I mean it."
Flyte hesitates briefly, cup still at her lips. She takes another mouthful before putting the plate and cup away for later washing, then looks at you, nodding her head. "Alright, well... good then." She nods again, then curls up on her cot preparing to sleep.
Eleanor claps her hands together abruptly, and rubs them together for a moment. "Well! I'm feeling good about this, I don't know about anyone else."
Conduit Eleanor Junakutz-Lionheart says, "I'm not seeing a great many of the earlier symptoms, nor a development of new ones."
Eleanor adjusts the sit of her goggles, eyeing you. "I'm not quite ready to sign a clean bill of health just yet, but it's looking optimistic. Looks like your coin came down lucky."
You have emoted: Cannan watches Flyte for a while, then looks away and shrugs. "Well I don't feel like I'm fuckin dying from the inside out, at least." He gazes around the room, catching each person's eyes in turn. "Thank you, Reach." His voice no longer holds that petulant playfulness that he so often carries. Instead he is genuine, as strange as it sounds on his lips. "I woulda died without you lot."
Eleanor nods, sagely. "Comrades help each other in times of need," is her wisdom on that topic.
Conduit Eleanor Junakutz-Lionheart says, "Now. I think what needs to happen here is rest for all parties involved. If things haven't changed once that's been attended to, I think we may be able to tentatively declare the quarantine complete."
Eleanor gestures to the various quarantined parties. "Food and rest and watching out for returning symptoms. Got it?"
You have emoted: Cannan leans his head back against the wall, cradling his mug in his hands. Despite having downed the kahwe inside sleep threatens to overtake him again. He closes his eyes and begins to drift. "Aye-aye, miss," he murmurs, but it's obvious he's already somewhere else. He slides down on his cot and moves into a resting position, and as he does so he begins to hum again. A mournful, slow tune, one that begins to fade from his lips as soon as it began.
Be aware that there's an abrupt shift in tone here. Body horror ahead.
***
A pristine, orderly infirmary.
A sigil in the shape of a small, rectangular monolith is on the ground. There are 2 spartan, military-grade cots here. An elegant white letter is in danger of being soiled here. A stainless steel medical stand holds a range of surgical instruments. A crisp white screen partitions off patient beds for a modicum of privacy. A grimy bucket sits beside one of the cots, filled with a dark black phlegm. There are 5 loafs of garlic bread here. There are 5 sweet, strawberry crepes here. A few toy balls roll around the floor of the infirmary, sliding under the feet of nurses. An obsidian-inlaid iron firepit has been positioned here. A cushion sits on one of the cots, soaked in black gunk. Large enough for an Atabahi to curl up with, a long cushion lies on one of the cots. A phlegm-soaked blanket is balled up at the bottom of one coat. A thick, military-issue blanket is neatly folded beside the wolf-sized pillow.
look Cannan
He is a resilient Human of a small build. He seems positively withered, his normally pale complexion gone a shade of dusky grey. Though his movements are still quick and lithe, his hands now shake visibly, and every once in a while he is racked by a deep, rattling cough that seems to boom in his chest. His raven black hair is touseled, pushed back and tangled into ringlets that stick to his sweat-slicked forehead. His sharp gray eyes have a slightly sunken, hollow look, and there are bags under them indicating a lack of sleep. His expression is tense, his lips pursed deeply, something strained and sad tugging at the corners of his mouth. He walks with the blessing of Maghak.
(worn on a finger) : an arcane black ring
(worn on the legs) : black leather soldier's pants
(worn beneath his shirt) : a round, silver pendant with gold script
(worn on the feet) : silver-spiked, scaled mountain boots
(worn with the top button undone) : a crisp black button-down shirt
(worn on a finger) : an anaxagorite-banded, kauri and sunstone ring
(slung across the chest) : a silver-studded crimson weaponbelt
(covering the body) : a tenebrous coat of black-furred cerberus hide
You have emoted: Cannan leans down and picks up his cup once more, this time having to balance the thing in between his wrists. The liquid has cooled enough that he can sip it regularly. Keeping one ear on the conversation, he gazes down into the pool of brown liquid in the mug, as if trying to suss out his reflection.
"I know.. and I love you all the more for that, Kelliara." Piper lowers her cup and beams genuinely at Kelliara. "Tossing me into danger and trying to keep me from it. Sign of the best person a sop could have by her side. I'm still going to get you to wear pink lace someday, though."
Doyen Kelliara wryly says to Piper Anfini, "Perhaps the most dangerous thing you will ever attempt."
Grinning menacingly, Piper Anfini smiles impishly and says to Doyen Kelliara, "I told you.. someday there will be a wedding and you'll have to wear one because all the other ladies will be forced into it."
Smirking, Doyen Kelliara says to Piper Anfini, "I do not think so. I will simply go wearing my pelt."
Piper Anfini says to Doyen Kelliara, "I'll get someone to sew you a fancy lupine cap of the stuff, then."
Kelliara snorts arrogantly.
Piper cackles hellishly.
Doyen Kelliara says to Piper Anfini, "I hope you know a brave tailor."
Her eyes still glittering with mischief, Piper Anfini says to you, "How's the hot chocolate."
The body of Faerah appears in a flash and her soul descends to fill it, causing the previously expressionless face to fill with emotion.
You have emoted: Cannan wrinkles his nose and winks at Piper over the mug as he drains the last of it. "B-bugger the h-hot chocolate, mate. I's just wonderin when you two sops is gonna kiss and be done with it, nyeh?"
Faerah inclines her head politely to those around her.
Piper suddenly, noisily begins to slurp at her tea with such a speed that her front teeth knock into the ceramic cup.
Kelliara shoots you a dirty look. "You know I am on the same side of the wards as you, yes?"
You have emoted: Cannan grins crookedly at Kelliara and gives her a wink. "I'd ask you to come snuggle up in bed w-with me. B-b-but I got a bita the shakes right n-now. And besides, you wouldn't wan-wanna wake up with me pukin gunk in yer eyes, would ye?"
"Whooooo... boy's got himself a ripe death wish." Piper whistles, her words mostly concealed by the bubbling of her tea as she blows into the hot liquid.
Severely, Doyen Kelliara says to you, "I could ease your pain, if you wished. It would be little trouble. A flick of the claws, or snap of teeth. Your illness would end swiftly enough."
Faerah's wings flutter to a close as she leans up against the partition. "Now, I wouldn't mind seeing /that/ after the day I've had," the Idreth muses to herself.
You have emoted: Cannan grins and clacks his teeth at Kelliara, then glances over to Piper. "She's a r-right firecracker ain't she? B-bit like you without the smiles and charm." He waves his hands at Kelliara, now trembling visibly. "Don't you go takin offense, miss, I t-talk to m-me on mum this way. Or would if she w-weren't mad as a hatter."
Kelliara's eyes dart to Faerah. "Seeing what?"
"Pits, rake. This woman is the one that gets me thinking that it's a good idea to try to punch a god. Woman's got more balls than half the men of this city and double what you'll have if you keep this up." Piper's grin grows and grows until she nearly resembles an amused feline.
Faerah says to Doyen Kelliara, "...someone shut Cannan up."
Doyen Kelliara says to Faerah, "No doubt he will be coughing soon enough. I do not think he can do both at once."
"...I think you underestimate his..." Faerah pauses for a bit as her gaze shifts to you with a smirk, "...Tenacity."
You have emoted: Cannan snorts at Faerah, but his eyes never leave Piper's. "N-now then, would she really be attackin a s-sick man, the way I am, all rurnt and s-shit? T-tell y-y-you what. If she got what I got, let's w-wait until it's progressed for her, t-then th-throw us in a ring together." Even though he grins ferally, sweat begins to stand out on his brow from the exertion of speaking. "B-be like two hobos slappin each other for a sammich!"
Piper places her cup down and moves over to you and pries the cup of hot chocolate from his hand. With brute force, she pushes him down flat. "Stay." Another quick movement and she's stolen one of the pillows from the cot and has made a move to place it over his face without any pressure.
Faerah's right hand reaches for her temple as she rubs at it slightly, her gaze returning to Kelliara sympathetically. "...This must be what your own personal inferno looks like, old friend," she lightly quips.
Grinning wickedly, Doyen Kelliara says to you, "Would I attack a sick man? Yes. Fair fights are too easy to loose."
Rajazel chews thoughtfully on his lip.
Rajazel smiles wryly at you.
You have emoted: Cannan gazes up at Piper curiously not without a great deal of amusement. Though his lips twitch as restlessly as his hands, the smirk remains as he's shoved down. "G-good gods, P-pipes, here? Now?" He waggles his eyebrows comically, but when the pillow is held over his face he yelps sharply and waves his hands around. "Aight, aight!" His voice is reedy, but the annoyance is genuine. "T-that's right...make fun of the sick k-kid!"
Out loud, Piper Anfini asks, "I guess I shouldn't let anyone know that he's ticklish, should I?"
Faerah says to Piper Anfini, "The only tickling Kelliara may do is with her claws and his internal organs."
Piper Anfini says, "S'just an idea. In his state, it'll probably knock him out cold and you'll get some silence."
Piper holds the pillow back up and fluffs it before returning it back to the head of the cot where she'd found it. "There's a good Cannan."
You have emoted: Cannan grunts and swats at Piper with his inarticulate hands. "Don't be givin away my secrets, woman! A m-man l-like me's g-g-gotta have secrets!" He glares at the rest of the room. "I AIN'T ticklish, and t-the r-resta you'll do well to forget you ever heard such!"
Faerah laughs softly, shaking her head at you. "Living proof that men are babies," the Idreth states, amusement latent in her voice. Her attention shifts to Piper as she waves slightly in her direction. "I'm Faerah, by the way."
Rajazel tells you, "How you feeling, mate?"
Rajazel tells you, "I've been wanting to come see you all month."
You tell Rajazel Tursatna, "I'm...doin better, now that Piper's here. Sometimes I get lost in my own
head."
Rajazel's eyes darken as he gazes at you. He smiles, but it is forced.
You tell Rajazel Tursatna, "I have these 'orrible dreams, yeah? And my hands shake all the time. I vomit blood a lot."
Rajazel tells you, "I hope the Cabalists can figure something out soon.. You look -horrible-.."
Piper makes a move as to clear the ward and extend her hand out towards Faerah, instead stopping short just about the limits. "I'll shake after I've decontaminated in the bathhouse, alright? Nice to meet you, Comrade Faerah. I'm Piper Anfini." Tucking her hands back against her hips, she sways on her feet to-and-fro. "I should really head back to my house, then. Long month after sleeping so long."
Faerah says to Doyen Kelliara, "I've news to lighten your spirits."
Kelliara tilts her head and listens intently to Faerah.
Rajazel tells you, "What.. Do you dream of?"
Piper Anfini asks Doyen Kelliara, "You take care, Kelliara. I'll come by next month if you're in
here and bring you some more to drink, alright?"
You tell Rajazel Tursatna, "My mother. Eyeless."
You tell Rajazel Tursatna, "She whispers poetry to me."
Rajazel frowns at you.
Rajazel tells you, "..That's horrifying."
You have emoted: Cannan deigns not to say anything to Faerah, instead simply smirking at her. He closes his eyes and takes a long, deep breath, and though it rattles in his chest, he smiles, finally managing to run his crooked fingers through his hair. His other hand rests at the hollow of his throat, as if remembering something.
Piper leaves to the south.
You tell Rajazel Tursatna, "I wake up...I wake up laughing. All the time."
You have emoted: Cannan's reverie is suddenly interrupted as he's racked by another coughing fit, a hollow booming sound from deep within his chest. He grimaces in pain and rolls over to face the wall, hiding his expression. The coughs go on and on, and as they worsen in intensity his hands begin to tremble, then spasm, until he is no longer in control.
Kelliara blinks.
Rajazel casts another worried gaze at you, his face pale.
Rajazel tells you, "I'm gonna work on a brew to help combat those coughs. If it worked to soothe the victims of the Bloom, it may help to soothe you."
You have emoted: Cannan coughs, over and over, unable to dislodge whatever his body seems trying to expell. Finally the coughs turn into retches, and he heaves, vacating a great deluge of black, viscous phlegm onto the wall. The liquid is chunky, and the viscera in it seems to twitch and move of its own accord. "Gods...." he breathes, before another heave and hurl overtake him.
Kelliara frowns, and withdraws back to her corner. Resuming her place in the corner and folding her arms. Her nose wrinkles, "Mmph. Still alive their, Comrade?"
Merelii arrives from the south.
Faerah visibly winces as she watches you intently.
Rajazel tells you, "..Gods, you're scaring me.. I need to work on that brew, -quickly-..
"
Rajazel's jaw clenches as he stares at you. His fists tighten at his sides, and he trembles visibly.
You have emoted: Finally the vomiting subsides, leaving the wall behind Cannan coated in the black, chunky fluid. It pools to the floor, spreading out in a very deliberate fashion, and he falls back onto the cot, now looking worse than ever. His face is absolutely pallid, his eyes sunken and hollow. He breathes heavily, his thin chest heaving, and swallows. "Y...yeah. I'm al-" But that's all he can manage at Kelliara before falling silent again.
Merelii bites down on her bottom lip, visibly troubled.
You have emoted: Cannan stares at the ceiling, tangled in his coat and sheets but not having the strength to remove them. Instead he simply lays there like the victim of a murder without much struggle, and begins to hum something tuneless to himself. "Pallid limbs in the raven's thrall, fracture sulphur honey'd skin..." He sings to himself, not really hearing the words, but letting them fall out as they come.
Merelii sniffs slightly, the fur on her tail suddenly standing on end.
Faerah pauses, before she bites on her bottom lip pensively.
Faerah starts to wield an exquisite ebony violin in her left hand.
Faerah starts to wield an intricate ebony instrument bow in her right hand.
Something moves in you. Something glutinous and chunky, rolling through the sickness, a countervailing wave. It is not a nauseous sensation but lays on some serious vertigo. Smears of apple-red crowd the corners of your vision.
Worse still, it wants something. You can feel its urges in your skull. It's happy when you sing. It wants you to keep singing.
Faerah slips her chin into her violin's chinrest, and gently glides her bow across the four taut strings summoning forth a calm melody that fills the chamber with a certain warmth.
Rajazel's eyes begin to water as he gazes intently at you. His ears prick up at the sound of the music, and he blinks, causing them to run down his face. Once flowing, they don't stop.
Ms. Merelii Aquila says to you, "I'll be back soon."
You have emoted: Cannan stops in mid-sentence and closes his eyes. He tries to draw another breath but it only comes out as a soft sob. He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head, as if denying a question, or a request. Finally, though, he simply hasn't the strength to continue denying, and stares at the ceiling once more. He swallows, hard, and starts over. "Steel that sleeps with the morningstar, would that I could sin once more..." His voice is raspy, broken, but still they carry a recognizable tune.
Merelii arrives from the south.
Argolis strides in with a lacquered mug in hand. "You better fucking drinking this and enjoy it." He states you as he takes up a spot next to the cot, the mug extended expectantly towards you.
Rajazel tells you, "..Mate, you should rest. No more poetry.."
"Blades will sing over stone and field," it rasps. A voice like a door creak. Claws without points, down the inside of your stomach. Grasping, pulling. "That their song might grace our fall..."
Faerah's eyes close as her fingers deftly press against the violin's fingerboard, the melody softening to a sombre - melancholy sound that hangs heavily in the air, following your lead as he struggles through his song.
You have emoted: Cannan doesn't move from his warped position on the cot as Argolis enters. Instead he stares at the ceiling, his hands twitching helplessly, crooking themselves into awful shapes. He weeps openly now, tears staining his cheeks as they fall. "Pallid limbs in the raven's thrall, Fracture sulphur honey'd skin..." His body moves and shifts like a tide beneath the moon, and there is the distinct impression that he is singing along with someone, if only in his head.
Argolis stands in silence for a moment before it seems to sink in that something is going on. With a soft sigh he sinks down and sits on the edge of the cot, watching you intently.
Your erstwhile companion soothes over your back, lifting you by your hips. Though your muscles contract, a slave to something else's whims, it's hard to shake the feeling of being moved by an external force. "Waves are screaming... abraxan hymns..." Blurs at your peripheries. In the midst of fever the world sounds as if encased in glass, but the rasp in your head is as clear as a bell. "So that shoreline... virgins... cry..."
Quietly, Rajazel Tursatna says, "Excuse me folks.. I'll be back in a bit.."
The music continues to drift through the room, as Faerah plays her violin - the notes seeming to drip from the violin freely as a stream through a wood far from the walls of the infirmary. The Idreth watches you carefully, a soft frown creased at her lips.
You have emoted: Cannan's hips lift from the bed in a distinctly unnatural fashion. His arms are spread, as if he is giving himself up to whatever dark force moves within him. His hair hangs downward as he dangles, seemingly by the force of his legs - at such an unnatural position though, there must be something else holding him aloft. "Reel in place...'til the bastards take me away..." his voice trails off, and he closes his eyes as if in rapture, or as if giving up completely. "Steel that sleeps the eye..."
The final note of the song vibrates from the fourth string as Faerah Faerah slips the violin out from under her neck. She sighs softly at you. "I wish you peace," she says, before she begins to pack the instrument up again. Her gaze shifts to Kelliara, "...I hope you are still feeling well?"
"SOBER TASTE OF THE EYES." Pulsing, drumming, beating your head. Your skull is a box, too small, going to collapse under too much weight too heavy. Too much is red. Even blue, even blue would be better. Blue or green but the red hurts. You're flying. Where is the bed? The bed has gone. "STEEL THAT SLEEPS THE EYE."
"STEEL THAT SLEEPS THE EYE."
You feel yourself slip away.
You are transported by the power of the Divine.
Falling through the midnight dark.
There are no obvious exits.
"you are not going to die."
"make a wish. make it on the moon."
You have emoted: Cannan opens his eyes. Or does he? It is impossible to tell in the darkness that seems so complete no sun will ever shine again. He floats, and drifts, and breathes. "On t-the m-m-moon..." he shivers violently, though he is not cold anymore. He's not anything at all. "I see no moon." He weeps openly again, the tears now accompanied by quiet sobs. "Peace," he says gently, almost begging. "Peace from her. From her eyeless voice. Peace..."
This place is different. Not a function of light and sound but of motion. Things pass through you that might not be real. You might have heard the name for them, in passing, a snippet of conversation from a scholar or scientist - types of waves, types of forces. It feels like magic. Sorcery raw in the air. Wind whips at you but you cannot feel it. And in the distance, giving context to the endless black, a huge wall of pulsating grey light looms.
"you don't understand."
"here, there is nothing but the moon. you may no longer exist. not unless you fight for it."
You have emoted: Cannan opens his eyes fully now, tears streaming past them and into the pitch behind him unheeded. His fingers no longer jitter, for the moment, though through his own force of will or by some unseen magic he doesn't know. He clenches his hands into fists, flexing his weakened, raided muscles and leans his head back to weep again. "Please!" He begs, nearly screaming. "No more! I can't live with her in my head any longer!" Only rushing silence answers him, and he grits his teeth in response. "I wish for the strength to fight it. I wish for life! Give me LIFE!"
The lances of silvery light stop as the world jarringly seizes. A tremendous wave of nausea rocks through your body as you are momentarily disoriented.
Space.
A grand canopy of stars envelops the world, blue and red and white, some faint, some as bright as a distant candle's flame. Far, far, far below, an enormous sphere hangs in the great nothing. Covered predominantly in blue swirls, you can make out the erratic stains of green, brown, and grey across its surface, shaped like familiar geography. Distant though it seems, the sensation of size is unimaginable - it might be the largest thing you have ever seen. Above all else, at the peak of the heavens, is the moon, pocked with grey craters, radiant in silver. There are no obvious exits.
Pitted, cratered, cracked, valleyed, clad in beautiful silver and platinum. Ancient, waterless seas the size of entire worlds. The wall was the moon. Is the moon. Everything above you. You could reach out and touch it, it looks that close - but it must not be so. It is so large.
"give her a name..."
"give her a name... and i will steal her from your head."
You have emoted: Cannan gazes down at the endless starscape below him. He tilts his head, curiously detached, and looks at first his right and, and then his left. His tears still stream, but the racking sobs that twisted his body are gone, and though he stands on the edge of something infinitely larger than himself, he breathes. Deeply. "Alita..." The word is breathed gently, slowly, as if pronounced in a foreign tongue, and he closes his eyes. "My mother's name...was Alita."
You are gripped by a hand. Tight around your neck, it does not cut off the airflow, but threatens to every second. It guides you, forces your chin up, baring your throat. The rich rasp puffs against your temple, cold like the grave. It is a voice sick with madness, with avarice, pregnant with promises. It is the voice of an empress.
"you have to want her gone. say it. tell me to take it from your skull."
Even if you evade the hand, the vastness of space yawns in every direction around you. You could not surely escape it forever.
You have emoted: Cannan opens his mouth and gasps, unable to resist the call of deep, feminine voice from within his head, within his skull, within his bones. He feels the slide against his face, and he trembles, flinching away from that power in terror, as an animal might fear a hunter in a trap. "Alita!" He yells, his voice trembling. "Take Alita from me! Her hatred, her madness, her eyeless voice. Her failure! Steal this madness from my skull! From my heart..." he trails off, sick with fear, but unable to move.
The world halts as you are frozen in time and sp--
The hand's form materializes only enough that you can make out its ridges and veins. Shapes like horns, shells and spines over its splay of long fingers. You can no longer move, can only watch - this isolated incident being the only thing that moves in the universe, it seems - as it crawls over your mouth, razing your flesh. A terrible itch settles in.
Its fingers breach your lips. They delve into your throat, filling it well beyond capacity, yet whatever this fleshless thing is, this thing that invades you, it stretches and molds, reforms like a fluid. It fills you with the cold of death. The sensation spreads through your extremities first, working its way down your arms and legs, before it hits you most roughly in the gut and the genitals. Over all, though, its pain sears when it hits your brain.
--ace. Everything has begun moving again.
But the hand is still there. In your head. It moves through memory, a bandit hurling files from desks. It is looking for your mother.
"think of her. think of her. give me a memory. i'm losing her."
You have emoted: Cannan closes his eyes, squeezes them shut, even as the massive, immutable hand slides forth through his core. Unable to fight it, he instead gives in to the voice's demands, falling back through a time from which he'd run far, far away, and further still, all the way to the great Reach of the North, to the Keep. He travels backwards along the roads that took him there, growing smaller and smaller. Weaker. His defenses slowly crumble, his jokes, his drinks, his poetry. Unbuilding themselves. Finally he finds himself on a hill, overlooking an endless field of grass.
You have emoted: There Cannan's mother stands, on this hill. She looks out over it as if she could see forever, but she can't. She's been blind from birth. She stands in front of a canvas, her work, something she's been creating for days, and weeks and months. She paints though she sees nothing, from some ancestral memory, perhaps. Or maybe just madness.
You have emoted: Cannan sits beside her, a tender eleven years old, on the cusp of adolescence. He stares off into the distance, wondering, dreaming, wanting to see what she sees but failing. She reaches down and runs a hand through his fine, fine black hair. "Isn't it lovely, little wolf cub?" Her voice is lilting, but already he's learning to be afraid. He looks up at her, and she smiles down at him. "Isn't it lovely." He knows. He knows as surely as the sun follows the moon. She puts the final stroke on her canvas, and reaches up, nonchalantly, clawing at her face to leave rivulets of blood. There is a shriek of terror, blackness, losing. The memory goes dark.
Wearing the empress' voice, Alita says, "Isn't it- it- isn't it- steel that-- reel and reels in place--"
The hand makes a fist in your skull. There is a pinpoint of light on the horizon, brighter than the moon itself. Suddenly...
Suddenly, in the aftermath of the cold in your head, you cannot remember what she looked like.
Surely she was old, and arthritic. No... younger, maybe, but you recall she had a favorite... what was it, a dress?
Like a malformed dream, your mother's details flee when you try to access them.
You have emoted: Cannan flicks his eyes back and forth, no longer taking in the endless stars and oceans of space before him, but going deeper into his head. He chases these memories, even though they've haunted him for years. He chases them out of a sense of duty, perhaps. Alas, they flee. Like grains of sand in a hand squeezed too tightly.
"shhh... it hurts. i know how badly it hurts. but think of what you gain..."
It takes Alita's deeds, next. Every hand laid against you in punishment. Every kind word. Every hug. You can remember the sound of her voice no better than you can recall whether she neglected or doted on you.
As before, these losses feel real, very real. Scrapes in your brainpan. Floods of chilly sensation. All it leaves you with is a name. A name and your birthlink.
You have emoted: Cannan draws a sharp breath, and his eyes become wide with a nameless fear. A vertigo of loss. His hands twitch, scratching and searching, as if trying to hold onto something. Gone, gone, all gone. "Gained..." he murmurs. "What have I gained? Myself...myself. My freedom. In payment for what?"
Just as quickly, more hands grab you by the wrists. You find yourself pinioned in the blackness of space, like a needled butterfly beneath the scrutinizing eye of the lepidopterist. You can thrash, but do little else, such is the strength of your partner. And what comes next is delivered in dead monotone.
"you will ask yourself that question every day of your life."
Much time passes.
You find yourself in a bizarre place: a realm of stars, backlit by the moon in grotesque magnification. A grey-green-blue sphere hangs in the space below, disturbingly familiar. But why are you out here? Why do you feel something is missing?
The adumbrative night stretches onward, ever elusive of dawn's grasp.
It is now the 14th of Niuran, year 412 of the Midnight Age.
Today is your birthday! You are 26 years old!
You have emoted: Cannan tilts his head back, gazing at the stars above and around. His tears are gone, as are the sobs that shook him so. He shifts his eyes back and forth, moving his head slowly, in a deliberate manner, before looking downward to gaze out over the endless blue sphere below him. He takes all of this in with a disturbing clinical coolness, as if completely in control. His fear is gone. His gaze falters, and he frowns, looking off to the side as if searching for something - a memory that he can't quite seem to grasp. It eludes him, like a name on the tip of the tongue, or a song one can't quite remember the tune of.
There is only one thing.
A painting.
You can't fathom what sort of painting. What it depicted. What frame. Where you saw it. But you remember a painting.
Internal reverie may have to wait - for you are no longer alone in space.
Space.
A grand canopy of stars envelops the world, blue and red and white, some faint, some as bright as a distant candle's flame. Far, far, far below, an enormous sphere hangs in the great nothing. Covered predominantly in blue swirls, you can make out the erratic stains of green, brown, and grey across its surface, shaped like familiar geography. Distant though it seems, the sensation of size is unimaginable - it might be the largest thing you have ever seen. Above all else, at the peak of the heavens, is the moon, pocked with grey craters, radiant in silver. Tall, wiry, and savage, Omei, the Artist is here, covered in glowing tattoos.
There are no obvious exits.
She is an Immortal Rajamala, sharp-faced and wiry. Hard with muscle, Her slender body is the color of charcoal, tattooed with inscrutable writings in glowing ink. Fitfully these markings smear across Her skin, their ancient messages changing before the blinking eye. The tips of Her fingers appear as though dipped in ink, always shining, making a seamless transition into inches-long claws. Beneath a wild, tightly-braided mane, Omei's eyes are a dull plum color, set deep into Her sockets. She is like the night, motes of starlight caught in the tufts of Her fur, each movement scattering light moondust, as thin as the powder of a moth's wing.
(bristling with dark arrows) : a sleek leather quiver
(reaching Her feet) : a purple silk loincloth
(slung over a shoulder) : the Muse's Tome
(ornamented, cinched around Her throat) : a thick gorget of tarnished brass
(piercing Her felinoid septum) : a tapered bone nosering
Omei stares you down, wide-eyed, out of breath. She is no more than a few inches away, hovering, Her body's heat palpable. It is She who holds your wrists.
You have emoted: Cannan glances up from his reverie, and his eyes go wide. His body jerks reflexively, another animal caught in another trap, but no, he cannot get away. There is no moving from this immutable force. He closes his eyes, squeezing them shut, and opens them again, perhaps hoping that She will be gone. But still She stands in front of him. "Lady..." he breathes, unable to say much else.
"You have nothing to say to Me..." Omei whispers, panting, Her breath hot and sour in your face. "Every cure is someone else's disease." The Goddess pulls back Her arm.
For a split second, you catch a glimpse of searing white light in Her palm...
Omei clasps your face, Her hands across your chin, mouth and nose, as if trying to cut off your air. It burns, white-hot, enough to char your skin, so achingly painful that even Her Divine form is obscured in the brilliant white.
You have emoted: Cannan leans his face back as Omei places her hand against his face. He shrieks in pure, liquid agony, such a sound never having issued from his mouth before. He cannot writhe, he cannot fight, but simply lets the white heat envelop him utterly, obliterating his senses.
Thankfully - blessedly - wonderfully - the pain is gone. You simply cannot recall how much time passed just then. Your face doesn't even burn that badly... unless you try to move it. A wrinkle of the nose, a shift of the lips, these things agonize for heartbeats at a time, though once the initial hurt has come, it feels easier until you allow your face to come to rest again. Omei examines Her work: a perfect imprint. A long, clawed hand snarled across the width of your face.
Softly, Omei, the Artist says to you, "When I put you back... you will tell no one you saw Me. I was never here."
You have emoted: Cannan stares up at the Goddess. He can say nothing for the pain that needles its way through his face every time he moves. Instead he nods once, very slowly, silenced utterly by Her Divine power.
"This was a fever dream," Omei urges. Despite Her implicit threat, Her tone is pleading, like that of a worried lover. "If you breathe a word of Me... if your stories feature a cat, or a woman in black... I will take everything from you. I must. These are the rules."
Before you can respond, you feel your body shift and churn queasily.
You are transported by the power of the Divine.
A pristine, orderly infirmary.
A sigil in the shape of a small, rectangular monolith is on the ground. There are 2 spartan, military-grade cots here. An elegant white letter is in danger of being soiled here. A stainless steel medical stand holds a range of surgical instruments. A crisp white screen partitions off patient beds for a modicum of privacy. A grimy bucket sits beside one of the cots, filled with a dark black phlegm. There are 5 loafs of garlic bread here. There are 5 sweet, strawberry crepes here. A few toy balls roll around the floor of the infirmary, sliding under the feet of nurses. An obsidian-inlaid iron firepit has been positioned here. A cushion sits on one of the cots, soaked in black gunk. Large enough for an Atabahi to curl up with, a long cushion lies on one of the cots. A phlegm-soaked blanket is balled up at the bottom of one coat. A thick, military-issue blanket is neatly folded beside the wolf-sized pillow. Flyte stands next to one of the cots. She wields a bardiche in her hands. Faerah is here. She wields an exquisite ebony violin in her left hand. Kelliara is here, leaning against a corner wall with her arms folded. Rajazel Tursatna is here. Ms. Merelii Aquila is here. She wields a sinister gold-tipped whip in her left hand and a needle-pointed dirk in her right.
You see a single exit leading south (open pine door).
Irritably, Doyen Kelliara says to Ser Argolis, The Unyielding, "If you want science go find a Cabalist."
Rajazel gasps at you in surprise.
Argolis stares implacably at you.
Ms. Merelii Aquila says, "You're back.."
Rajazel Tursatna asks you, "What -happened- to you?"
Flyte lets out a sigh of relief as you reappears. "Finally! How are you? Are you hurting?"
Kelliara steps to your side quickly, and grabs hold of you, easing you back onto the bed. "Welcome back, Comrade."
Faerah completes the tuning of her instrument, her head turning upward at you as those around you attempt to solicit a response.
You have emoted: Cannan stares at the ceiling for a few long, silent breaths. He swallows, hard, then lifts his head to stare out over the room, gazing at each face in turn. "How long..." he says, his voice cracking. He grimaces as if talking is painful to him, and when he reaches up to touch his cheek, there is a faint but very visible hand print slashed across his skin. "How LONG?" His voice is stronger now.
Ms. Merelii Aquila says, "Few days."
Ms. Merelii Aquila says, "What'd she do to you?"
You have emoted: Cannan tilts his head to Merelii, eyes bloodshot and rolling, as if unable to focus. Though sweat still drips from him, he looks decidedly less flushed than when he passed out. "Who...
Merelii seems to think for a moment before nodding slowly.
Flyte frowns in concern as she looks at you, reaching out with a piece of cloth she's picked up out of habit and wipes your forehead carefully. "You disappeared. What did you see?"
You have emoted: Cannan grunts and trembles as he sits up against the wall back of the cot, trying to support himself but falling and bumping his head. He sits there and trembles, and the sounds he makes are something between laughing and weeping. "I saw..." He breathes deeply. Once, twice, then opens his eyes once more. "I saw an endless sea of stars. One could lose themselves for a million years, an eternity. A dove brushing its wings against the moon."
You say, "If the moon were reduced to the size of a marble, it wouldn't be long enough to find your way back..."
Ser Argolis, The Unyielding says, "Well.. if it were reduced to the size of a marble, I imagine not."
Horribly, you can still feel that cold fist in your head. The hand that took... something from you. Sitting there, as if waiting.
Ser Argolis, The Unyielding says, "But that sounds like bloody Omei."
"Hush, I think questions can wait." Flyte murmurs, placing her hand on your shoulder. "You need to feel better first."
Faerah peeks up once more from her violin before half-heartedly suggesting, "I suggest we try and ground him in what he now sees, instead of ask him to stay in his delusions."
Rajazel chews on his lip, and nods his head at Faerah's suggestion.
You have emoted: Cannan stares at the ceiling, searching, searching. His mouth is strained, and he purses his lips. When Argolis speaks, he snaps his head forward, the intensity in his eyes is unmistakable. "It was just a dream. Something already fading from me. All I can remember is a painting. Not what of, or even its dimensions...just a painting."
"Omei.. " Argolis half spits the name. "She has no business putting you through all that in this state."
"Maybe one of your mother's?" Flyte muses.
You have emoted: "I don't know that name." Cannan says to Argolis, as if that's the end of it, then leans his head back against the wall once more. "Mother..." he murmurs to Flyte. "Did...did my mother paint?"
"She apparently knows yours." Argolis replies to you with a grimace. "Did you by chance hear me yelling at you?"
Flyte shifts on her knees, shrugging a shoulder. "I only know what I've heard you mumble in your feverish dreams, Cannan." She gives you a light shake with her hand. "Can you focus for a moment, please? We'll talk about your mother later, just look at us."
You have emoted: Cannan shakes his head and glances over at Faerah, giving her a smirk, even though it's evident it still causes some pain. "I didn't hear anything," he says, turning to Flyte. How long have you lot been here? Where's the Commander? Jensen? Or hell even Eleanor...someone who knows something..."
Ms. Merelii Aquila says, "What d you want to know, Cannan?"
The burn stings your flesh. Using your lips feels like trying to peel the skin back. But it's not the worst you've ever felt.
Ms. Merelii Aquila says to you, "Eleanor's on her way."
Ser Argolis, The Unyielding says, "Nobody knows anything, that's the damn problem."
Eleanor arrives from the south.
Flyte searches your face, clearly relieved you can recall some of what's been going on. "The Commander had some business to deal with and I think the Warden is resting."
Eleanor glances about the chamber. "This is becoming a familiar sight," she muses.
Ms. Merelii Aquila says, "Nobody? Hm."
Postulant Flyte says to you, "Eleanor means to check the sample... thing they collected."
You have emoted: Cannan grimaces and leans forward, running his hands over the collar of his shirt. With a single easy motion he pulls outward, popping every button on the way down. He looks at his sunken chest, his stomach, and begins to touch his ribs, feeling for something. "Is it there?" He asks, murmuring it so as not to move his lips. The burned hand print on his face looks pink and raw. "Is it still there?"
Flyte begins to pull back to leave room for others.
Ms. Merelii Aquila says, "Is what still there?"
Eleanor glances left and right, scanning the faces present. "When there's a moment," she says, "I could do with an update on what's happened."
Doyen Kelliara wryly says to Conduit Eleanor Junakutz-Lionheart, "No rest, hmm?"
In a weary tone, Conduit Eleanor Junakutz-Lionheart says, "Not for the Cabalistic."
Doyen Kelliara wryly says to Conduit Eleanor Junakutz-Lionheart, "At least you are able to do things."
Ms. Merelii Aquila says to Conduit Eleanor Junakutz-Lionheart, "We were discussing options, Omei didn't answer us in the forest... he just...popped back in, like when you drop out of phase. What it looked like to me anyway."
Flyte turns to Eleanor, offering a brief report. "The image flickered, looked like he was in pain, then he returned to us. He rambled some in the beginning, making little sense and eventually he regained some focus. That's when he asked for the Commander, the Warden and you."
You have emoted: Cannan looks up at Merelii and makes a fist, beating at his chest several times. "This thing!" He says fiercely. He grimaces and nearly cries out with pain, reaching up to brush his face gingerly. "This thing was...was singing inside me. It loved me. It wanted me to sing. It was IN me..."
Eleanor tucks her hands behind her back, listening intently, though she doesn't comment.
You have emoted: Cannan shakes his head and brushes his hand over his face. This time he does cry out, seeming to forget the raw and angry mark that rests upon it. "I don't...I don't know. But I sang a song. It came to me. These words, this poetry. A song I don't remember now. Can't...can't recall. And it sang back to me. It echoed in my head. We sang together."
Faerah plucks out a few notes of the song on her violin, having remembered it from playing it earlier. "That one?"
Flyte furrows her brows, but makes no comment. Instead she settles down a little bit away from you, simply looking at you.
You have emoted: Cannan tilts his head, listening to the tune and humming a few hesitant bars. He closes his eyes for a moment, the humming coming slower now. The tune is primal and slow, like a death march. He opens his eyes and shrugs one shoulder. "It could be..." his face is genuine, and genuinely lost. "But I don't know. I feel like I'm...missing something."
Faerah says, "Oh, it was a definite duet... That's not in your head at least - I know my music well enough."
You have emoted: Cannan takes no notice of the argument going on around him. Instead he hums the bars again, and again, though his voice grows fainter each time. He furrows his brow and closes his eyes, both sad and frustrated as he loses the tune. He takes a deep breath, and this time there is no rattle at all in his chest.
Eleanor tilts her head. "That sounded healthy," she comments.
Faerah suddenly trails her nail along the fourth string of her instrument, the sound jarring and rather off-putting.
Flyte nods at Eleanor, a brief smile flashing across her lips. "It's much better than what I've endured before."
Faerah says to you, "Stay away from your daydreams... That company you long for is likely what took you from us the first time."
You have emoted: Cannan turns his eyes to Faerah and tilts his head. "That's what I don't get," he murmurs. "You say I disappeared. But I just...fell asleep, didn't I? I sang, and I sang, and drifted. What did you see?"
Faerah says to you, "You blew up in a bright light and an image of you hung in the air over your bed like a tortured ragdoll."
Conduit Eleanor Junakutz-Lionheart says, "Something more like an apparition, lad. It's why I figured you'd gone for a walk in Her garden."
Postulant Flyte asks, "Maybe the singing was part of the healing process?"
Faerah says, "Music has been known to have healing properties."
You have emoted: Cannan raises and lowers his brow in acknowledgment, wincing yet again. "By Gods, and you lot say I'm the mad one. Did someone put somethin in your steel this mornin? Or are you all havin a giggle at me?"
Ms. Merelii Aquila says, "Wouldn't joke about this, Comrade."
Faerah says to you, "We don't have to make things up to laugh at you, Cannan. I promise."
Faerah smirks at you.
Flyte smiles wryly at Faerah.
A faint flicker brightens Rajazel's eyes as he smiles, glancing from Faerah to you.
You have emoted: Cannan smirks and winces through making a petulant expression, going so far as to stick his tongue out the side of his mouth. This effort seems to tire him though, and he leans back against the wall, groaning a little at how weak he seems to be. "I dinna say anything embarrassin in my sleep did I? Like how I have a crush on Ser Argolis or nothin?"
Merelii snickers under her breath.
Argolis stares implacably at you.
Conduit Eleanor Junakutz-Lionheart says, "More importantly, lad. How are you feeling?"
Flyte hums softly to herself, glancing at you. "I've heard plenty of things being murmured during your fever. -That particular one was not mentioned."
Ser Argolis, The Unyielding says to you, "If you weren't sick.. I'd punch you."
Faerah beings to idly fingerpick at her violin, summoning forth a light airy tune. "I'd punch him anyway, for good measure. He might die afterall and then you won't ever get the chance."
You have emoted: "I feel..." Cannan reaches down and brushes his hands over his chest, his stomach. Though visibly reduced, possibly from lack of proper nutrition, his breathing is easier, and his hands no longer tremble uncontrollably. "I feel...better. But not whole." He looks up at Eleanor. "I feel like something's missing from me. Like it slipped outta my head like water from a drain, or sand from a glass. What am I missing?"
Conduit Eleanor Junakutz-Lionheart says, "Well, you're breathing alright, and you haven't thrown up yet. I could take a guess at what's missing. How about you try and eat something?"
Argolis gives a lacquered mug to you.
Rajazel Tursatna says, "On it!"
Rajazel leaves to the south.
Ser Argolis, The Unyielding says to you, "Drink that you troublesome idiot."
Rajazel gives four kebabs to you.
Rajazel Tursatna says to you, "Those'll fatten you back up!"
Faerah starts to wield an intricate ebony instrument bow in her right hand.
You have emoted: Cannan leans forward and sniffs at the mug full of Kawhe. He wrinkles his nose and tilts his head at Argolis. "What's all this then? I don't think I've ever had it. It's black as pitch and smells stronger than Varian's balls."
Conduit Eleanor Junakutz-Lionheart says, "About as effective as Varian's balls for getting you up in the morning."
Kelliara sighs and folds her arms over her chest, closing her eyes and frowning.
Eleanor delivers this with a complete deadpan.
You have emoted: Cannan shrugs. "I ain't never met a drink I wouldn't try once..."
Slowly, Ser Argolis, The Unyielding says, "Right.."
Eleanor rubs her claws against her top, idly buffing them. "Nothing like some testicular encouragement. Kawhe's good for you."
You have emoted: Cannan takes a long drag of the stuff and smacks his lips, frowning as if unsure how to feel about it. "I dunno. Am I supposed to...feel differnt or somethin?" He takes another long drag, this time draining half the mug in a single go.
Faerah nods her head at Eleanor.
You have emoted: Cannan grins at Faerah, though his lips can't quite pass over his teeth without causing visible pain.
Faerah smiles and says to Doyen Kelliara, "I'll be back to check on you."
You slide each piece of steak and each vegetable off of the kebab, chewing them slowly to savor their taste before swallowing.
"Yeah, good to see you're going better." Flyte says to you, settling down on her usual cot. "Means I might not necessarily have to clean things up anymore."
Postulant Flyte says, "I think people have this down. I'll get some rest."
You have emoted: Cannan glances over at Flyte, his mouth wrapped around a chunk of steak as it oozes juices onto his chin. He laughs crudely, showing his food, and offers Flyte a kebab of her own.
Doyen Kelliara wryly says to Faerah, "I would try and keep you away, but from this side of the wards, I cannot do so."
Quietly, Conduit Eleanor Junakutz-Lionheart says, "That food seems to be staying down."
Flyte narrows her eyes at you. "You can bloody well wipe your own chin now." Grumbling, she brings out a plate full of curry and starts eating from that instead. "And keep your kebabs. You need it yourself."
Faerah laughingly says to Doyen Kelliara, "Oh, pfft. You wouldn't want me away even if you could."
You have emoted: Cannan shrugs, now feeling faintly ridiculous as he holds the kebab out, and goes to town on it himself. "Women be such a touchy lot," he murmurs around his food.
Narrowing her eyes, Doyen Kelliara says to you, "Women?"
Faerah says to Doyen Kelliara, "...oh, and /try/ not to kill him."
Faerah leaves to the south.
You have emoted: Cannan grins down at Kelliara around his Kebab and winks at her. "Don't worry, miss, you don't count as a woman."
Flyte lets out a venomous hiss between spoons of food. "Anyone would be after being cooped up dealing with this alone with you for this long. No appreciation at all!" She huffs and swipes some water from a cup.
You have emoted: "And look!" Cannan he rolls his head along the wall to look over at Flyte as she sits there eating. He gives her a long, meaningful stare, then glances down at his lap. "I appreciate everthin you done for me. All my heart, I mean it."
Flyte hesitates briefly, cup still at her lips. She takes another mouthful before putting the plate and cup away for later washing, then looks at you, nodding her head. "Alright, well... good then." She nods again, then curls up on her cot preparing to sleep.
Eleanor claps her hands together abruptly, and rubs them together for a moment. "Well! I'm feeling good about this, I don't know about anyone else."
Conduit Eleanor Junakutz-Lionheart says, "I'm not seeing a great many of the earlier symptoms, nor a development of new ones."
Eleanor adjusts the sit of her goggles, eyeing you. "I'm not quite ready to sign a clean bill of health just yet, but it's looking optimistic. Looks like your coin came down lucky."
You have emoted: Cannan watches Flyte for a while, then looks away and shrugs. "Well I don't feel like I'm fuckin dying from the inside out, at least." He gazes around the room, catching each person's eyes in turn. "Thank you, Reach." His voice no longer holds that petulant playfulness that he so often carries. Instead he is genuine, as strange as it sounds on his lips. "I woulda died without you lot."
Eleanor nods, sagely. "Comrades help each other in times of need," is her wisdom on that topic.
Conduit Eleanor Junakutz-Lionheart says, "Now. I think what needs to happen here is rest for all parties involved. If things haven't changed once that's been attended to, I think we may be able to tentatively declare the quarantine complete."
Eleanor gestures to the various quarantined parties. "Food and rest and watching out for returning symptoms. Got it?"
You have emoted: Cannan leans his head back against the wall, cradling his mug in his hands. Despite having downed the kahwe inside sleep threatens to overtake him again. He closes his eyes and begins to drift. "Aye-aye, miss," he murmurs, but it's obvious he's already somewhere else. He slides down on his cot and moves into a resting position, and as he does so he begins to hum again. A mournful, slow tune, one that begins to fade from his lips as soon as it began.
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<stuff>
--ace. Everything has begun moving again."
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