"Thank you." The ghosts were almost close to visible in the khajbit, particularly with the Ring attempting to draw attention to itself. Solomon ignored it and paid attention to the spirits instead.
This was going to be the delicate part. Solomon had no desire to absorb the ghosts, so he would have to be so very light. Fortunately, what he was attempting didn't involve having to reach out with his own soul--simply connect theirs. It was a similar technique to what Necromancers used to animate a zombie, particularly a zombie intended to maintain its intelligence for at least a few minutes--or at least one that was tame, before it ate anything.
Such a technique involved attaching soul, or at least enough of a soul to have some basic intelligence, to its body. It was simply a matter of prompting the parts back together using the qualities of attraction inherent in every individual. Solomon raised his hands, dipping the fingers of one into the bowl and one palm-flat at one of the swells of consciousnesses around Bakura. There was no way to tell for certain whether it was what was left of one individual or a clash of more; either way, there was a good chance one of the ghosts, singular, was there.
One breath. Inhale. Exhale. Then Solomon drew on his power and the shadows collected around him, around his hands. It wasn't like the other shadows he'd used--it was formless, less sharp, not a weapon but energy used as a sudden shock--like a crash-cart.
The shadows struck that swell with a ripple of colliding waves, unharmful but shocking enough to send any ghosts nearby scattering. A silhouette formed, with enough shape to see that the individual was human. All at once Solomon felt the pressure around him, sharp-edged and from all directions; not just the buzz of the khajbit but more as if it was gravity emerging from three--no, four--different directions.
Solomon breathed deeply and closed his eyes and felt for the faintest of the gravity wells--the one in this being reaching, vainly, for the rest of it. In that well was the link between planes.
The problem here was accessing it. Solomon tried to take a step and it felt like moving through molasses; as if his every limb were too heavy for him to even move. Not a good idea. "Bakura," he said, his voice strained. "If you would be so kind as to direct your friend here toward me, that would be much appreciated."
no subject
This was going to be the delicate part. Solomon had no desire to absorb the ghosts, so he would have to be so very light. Fortunately, what he was attempting didn't involve having to reach out with his own soul--simply connect theirs. It was a similar technique to what Necromancers used to animate a zombie, particularly a zombie intended to maintain its intelligence for at least a few minutes--or at least one that was tame, before it ate anything.
Such a technique involved attaching soul, or at least enough of a soul to have some basic intelligence, to its body. It was simply a matter of prompting the parts back together using the qualities of attraction inherent in every individual. Solomon raised his hands, dipping the fingers of one into the bowl and one palm-flat at one of the swells of consciousnesses around Bakura. There was no way to tell for certain whether it was what was left of one individual or a clash of more; either way, there was a good chance one of the ghosts, singular, was there.
One breath. Inhale. Exhale. Then Solomon drew on his power and the shadows collected around him, around his hands. It wasn't like the other shadows he'd used--it was formless, less sharp, not a weapon but energy used as a sudden shock--like a crash-cart.
The shadows struck that swell with a ripple of colliding waves, unharmful but shocking enough to send any ghosts nearby scattering. A silhouette formed, with enough shape to see that the individual was human. All at once Solomon felt the pressure around him, sharp-edged and from all directions; not just the buzz of the khajbit but more as if it was gravity emerging from three--no, four--different directions.
Solomon breathed deeply and closed his eyes and felt for the faintest of the gravity wells--the one in this being reaching, vainly, for the rest of it. In that well was the link between planes.
The problem here was accessing it. Solomon tried to take a step and it felt like moving through molasses; as if his every limb were too heavy for him to even move. Not a good idea. "Bakura," he said, his voice strained. "If you would be so kind as to direct your friend here toward me, that would be much appreciated."