tushanshu_logs | EVENT | LANDFALL

Raine could appreciate the inquisitive spirit, and she returned the gesture, only a bit less warmly than she might have otherwise. His failure to keep her apprised had been noted, and she had worried. Perhaps pointlessly, for she had no reason to doubt her skills, but she was accustomed to being able to keep an eye on friends and comrades, especially when they'd recently been injured or ill.

But he had asked her a question. "Not quite," she said, and turned aside a little to rest her hand against one of the larger mushrooms. "I can draw a rough comparison to a place I once visited, but I haven't experienced enough of the Dreaming to be sure the analogy is accurate." She looked up the mushroom, considering the luminescence and the feel of it, and after a moment turned her gaze back to Solomon.

"It's good to see you're doing well." It was more pointed than such a sentiment would normally warrant. Not really annoyed, or upset, but-- pushing, to see what he would do.

It was pointed enough that even Solomon noted it, though he felt no inclination to elaborate as the question subtly asked.

"Much better, yes," he said simply, because it was true. Admittedly he had had trouble after Raine had tried to heal him, but if that spell hadn't worked, what were the chances any of the others would? No, he'd found his own solution. There hadn't been any need to return to a healer.

"Nothing I've seen grows that large," he went on, nodding toward the mushrooms. "Are they magical, do you think?" If they were, what sort of effect would they have? Were they edible, or something magically luminescent?

"I'm glad." Raine did know the games of stubborn people avoiding topics, in part because she occasionally did such things herself, but regardless was distracted by his question about mushrooms. "I'd be inclined to assume they have some magical attributes, yes," she said, in response to that, and hummed briefly, thinking. "To the best of my knowledge, most fungi aren't equipped to reach quite this size. They simply can't generate sufficient nutrients past a certain point." Aggressive, four-foot-tall mushrooms she had encountered; twenty-story-tall mushrooms were new. "But this is, after all, the Dreaming. It's possible that what we would think of as the normal rules of reality don't apply in the same way." This was her first purposeful venture to the Dreaming, and she really didn't have much of a frame of reference. Perhaps Solomon did.

But the earlier question still nagged at her, and the prospect of experimenting with the mushrooms did not spark quite enough enthusiasm to turn her mind completely away from it. She could come up with any number of reasons why he hadn't done as he said he would, ranging from stress and absent-mindedness to a marked difference in regard, but the primary source was after all right in front of her, and there was little to lose in requesting clarification. "May I inquire why this is the first I've heard from you since then?"

Oh, blast. Solomon respected Raine--but even still the last thing he wanted was for a healer to be prodding at his activities after an appointment. It was only because Raine hadn't, previously, been so inclined to poking in his business that Solomon answered with honesty and a minimum of resignation.

"I didn't see the need. While I admit your spell was not, unfortunately, permanent, I was able to find another alternative."

He inspected the fungi as he spoke, touching it gingerly. It felt spongy and a touch damp, and when he lifted his fingers away the luminescence followed. "Curious. I wonder what sort of function they could possibly have in a dream."

Raine winced, a small motion more evident in her expression than anywhere else. She had inadvertently extended his troubles, then. At least he had cleared up his reasoning. "I'm glad you found a solution, at least, though I will say it would have been appreciated to know you were well-- for peace of mind, if nothing else." He couldn't be dense enough to completely miss what she was getting at, right? She didn't have enough friends on the turtle to simply dismiss it when someone she had even a vaguely fond attachment to was harmed.

Well. He was right about the mushrooms being curious. "I imagine they might serve for any number of things," she said, examining her own fingertips for luminescence. "Light source, sustenance, shelter for animals and plants alike. More, if the Dreaming presents them with other possibilities." She rubbed her fingers together, then touched the mushroom again, paying more attention this time to whether the luminescence was magical or biological or some combination thereof.

The comment got another bemused look, but then Solomon almost belatedly realised what, exactly, was the point of contention. Which in itself was an odd thought; certainly Solomon was capable of forming friendships, insofar as Necromancers ever did or could; and he was something of an oddity in that regard.

"I wasn't aware you were personally concerned for my well-being," he said after a moment, neutrally but still with a faint air of bemusement if Raine cared to look. "I ... apologise." What a strange thought. "There is no need to be so concerned, I assure you." Certainly not many people bothered, and those that did had usually been manipulated into it. Solomon hadn't done any such thing to Raine.

"The Dreaming is a place of dreams," he added dryly. "Surely no animals here, if real, require any such sustenance or shelter."

His words drew her attention from the consideration of luminescence, and she studied him for a little while even after he finished speaking. That sort of bemusement she recognized, and had never really known what to do about, save press on. "Thank you," she said finally, at a loss for other appropriate sentiments. She meant it for the apology and assurance both, which with any luck he would pick up on.

Unless he wanted to revisit or clarify the matter, however, she was content to move on to science. "Even dreams usually have their own consistent logic," Raine pointed out. "However strange it seems by the light of day. ...I wonder. Do you think the animals here are products of the Dreaming, or themselves dreamers?" But that was a little bit of a side issue to the mushrooms themselves, and she shook her head. "Regardless, magic is involved. This place feels rich with mana to me, to an extent I've seldom felt. I'd hypothesize it's that which allows the mushrooms to thrive so extravagantly, but what exactly they do will require further testing." She looked fairly thrilled by the prospect.

Solomon was quite willing to move past the awkward moment with theory. "True," he said. "Do animals dream? Do they dream with enough substance to reach another dimension in doing so? Some, perhaps, but I would not have said so of most."

He took a step and felt the spongy ground give way beneath his feet. It was mostly the moss, he was sure, though not entirely. Perhaps it was the Dreaming too.

"I can't feel much at all," he admitted. "My strength is not in sensing magic alone--simply magic in a natural occurrence. There is no death here." There was no death in Dreaming, after all. Nothing truly died in dreams. Experimentally Solomon attempted to draw up shadows and pressed his hand to the mushroom's side, and watched it shrivel exactly where his palm was.

"Perhaps. Regrettably, it's difficult to ask them." Nevertheless Raine's gaze flickered from place to place briefly, tracking the faint rustling of animals not quite visible, as if she planned to corner one and interrogate them.

Solomon's movement caught her eye, though, and she watched him instead, recalling what he'd told her about his magic. "Mana isn't quite magic," she said after a moment, driven to correct the inaccuracy. "The potential for it, perhaps. It's necessary for magic to exist, but requires something more, a catalyst, to make the transition. Such as a person, or a mushroom. This place-- it's brimming with possibilities." She fell silent there; trying to explain mana to humans always turned either too technical or too abstract. Sometimes she thought more things might have been avoided if humans could understand it. The war, the death of the Tree...

The old familiar line of thought intersected with her previous ruminations on the nature of the Dreaming in a new way, and she blinked in surprise. Well, why not, after all? On impulse, driven by the excitement of the idea rather than logic, she said aloud, "Solomon. May I try to show you something?" And she extended one hand toward him, as the gesture seemed right.

There wasn't any distinction between magic and mana in Solomon's world, so he turned to listen to the explanation. "We don't have a word for such potential," he said, "though mana exists in my world as a word, so I suppose it ought to suffice. There are many people with the potential for magic who never use it, or are aware of that potential."

The request was startling, but as Raine had not in the past shown Solomon a desire for harm--quite the contrary--Solomon took her hand after only a pause.

Raine did not quite grin, as that was not an expression she was overly given to, but her face lit up as she clasped Solomon's hand. It was instinct she followed rather than any conscious knowledge, to extend not only her mana but also one of the most basic senses she possessed across the point of contact between them. "Here. If this works-- this is what I feel."

Solomon might find his hand warmed slightly, by more than simply the heat of another person. Far more noticeable, however, would be the sense that the world around them had more vibrancy than it had a moment before. As if everything, from the mushrooms to the earth to the animals in the underbrush, was full of a tiny sunrise waiting only for something to nudge it into cresting the horizon.

"This place is rather more exuberant than any at home," Raine added after a few moments, watching Solomon carefully for signs of his reaction, and whether or not her impulsive idea had borne fruit.

It was enough of a warning for Solomon to brace himself, somewhat, although frankly he wasn't entirely sure if that was possible after what he did feel. It was warmth and could have been soothing, except that he was a Necromancer.

It wasn't opposed to the sense he already had--quite--but it was a wellspring of potential in the presence of the same things from whose deaths he would have drawn power. It was enough that it made him feel flushed and cold in equal turns. His magic was cold and calm; what Raine was showing him was warm, blooming. It felt like ... like his body was trying to reject a virus.

Solomon yanked his hand away from Raine's, feeling a touch dizzy. "Exuberant, yes," he managed, blinking. He probably could turn that magical potential to his own ends--but he wasn't certain he wanted to try.

Raine stayed right where she was, conscious as logic caught up with her that pushing mana at the necromancer could have been a bad idea. "My apologies if it startled you," she said, quietly. "Words are often insufficient-- I have never been completely successful in explaining mana to a human." Her tendency to get carried away with magical theory he could likely extrapolate for himself.

'Human'? That was the first time Solomon had had any indication that Raine wasn't. After a moment he answered, "Never mind. It isn't ... dissimilar to the sensation of finding power in death. But it has opposing characteristics and I am afraid it clashed somewhat with my usual magical senses."

He tilted his head, still watching her, this time with curiosity in something else. "If you're not human, what are you?"

She wasn't wholly surprised he described it as opposing -- mana was, after all, essential to life as far as she was concerned. But it hadn't harmed him, either.

His question made her still briefly, in wariness that was more reflexive than conscious. She'd been somewhat careless lately. Overall foreigners on the turtle didn't tend to question a woman in her twenties already white-haired, and she supposed the precedent set by Bakura worked in her favor. Keeliai was worlds away from the fear she'd been raised in, and it was with that in mind that she said aloud, "I'm a half-elf. Some measure of elven blood is usually necessary to perceive mana."

"I see," said Solomon, and fleetingly wondered if that was why she wore her hair down around her ears. "The elves with which I'm familiar haven't been seen in a very long time, and they usually referred to the fey folk--the sídhe."

He managed a brief smile. "Of course, there are those who have claimed that sorcerers, such as myself, are elves ourselves--the older folk, Tuatha Dé Danann, who lived on my nation's land before mortals did. Legend says they agreed to leave our shores to allow mortals room to prosper, and went into their mounds, the sídhe. Since then the word has become, for some, synonymous with both dwelling and people."

A practical woman, often among wounded people, whose hair was unbound and long enough to swing into her face while working-- it'd be a safe assumption for Solomon to make that she had reason to keep it so.

He had her undivided focus the moment he mentioned his own world's version of elves, and Raine couldn't help but make comparisons all the while. "Did they... diminish, so to speak, when they changed their home?" she asked, a moment or two after he stopped. "I think there may be some parallel, which is frankly fascinating. It seems there's many worlds that, despite how disparate they are, share some key concept or paradigm. And is it possible that modern sorcerers are descended from your sídhe?"

"That depends on to whom you speak," Solomon said, "and from which era they come." He smiled slightly and it was a touch bitter. "Ireland is one of the most magical places on Earth, but it has been the target of many hard conversions. Most of our ancient history has been lost. Much of it needs to be picked from embellishments and religious indoctrination, and much of it, again, is magical in nature and thus secret from mortals."

He touched the mushroom again, more for something to do while he organised his thoughts. "Long ago," he began, "the world was ruled by what sorcerers call the Faceless Ones, but which the past Irish called the fomoire. They were gods of chaos and cruelty, giants and titans, who used humanity's ancestors as their slaves and playthings. But there were those among the people who possessed great talents of magic, and they refused to be oppressed."

Solomon glanced sideways at Raine. "These were the Tuatha Dé Danann, what sorcerers call the Ancients. The Faceless Ones had great defences, but the Ancients were cunning. They took the Faceless Ones' greatest weapon and imbued it with their desire for freedom, the most powerful force they had at their disposal, and they used it to drive the Faceless Ones from our plane of existence entirely. But the Ancients fell to squabbling, and used the weapon against one another, until only one was left. When he realised how such power had brought them low he cast the weapon into the earth, where it was swallowed forever."

Or so the tale went, but Solomon and a handful of others knew better. The line of the Ancients lived, and so did the Sceptre. ... Relatively speaking.

"The line of the Ancients was lost after that," Solomon continued, "but as I said, mortal lore says the Tuatha Dé Danann left our shores. Some say they left willingly, which is a possibly interpretation of the legend of the Ancients. Others say they were tricked by the next wave of Ireland's inhabitants into living 'underground', which could well be a euphemism for another plane of existence. Whichever is true, they are gone and have become legend only."

Ah yes. Embellishments, and religious indoctrination. Raine was not unfamiliar with such things, and she did not miss that bitterness.

She listened, and thought, and even when Solomon had clearly done speaking she was silent for some time, mulling it over. There were fewer parallels than she had initially thought there might be, but nevertheless the story he told had some familiarity to it. Not in the details of events, but rather in style, in the way it blurred the line between lore and myth and history, the way there was clearly more to it than Solomon was saying, perhaps simply because there were gaps in his own knowledge.

Raine took a deep breath. Held it for a moment. "Once upon a time," she said, finally, "there was a great tree that was the source of all mana. A war, however, caused this tree to wither away, and a hero's life was sacrificed in order to take its place." Her words had a particular hollow cadence to them, as if they were something learned by rote that she herself did not much care for.

She turned her free hand over, palm up, and gave a small grimace. The measuredness of her speech fell away as she moved on. "That is to say, lost history is something with which I can sympathize. From which era do you come, if I may? And which option do you prefer?"

"I was born in 1591," said Solomon, "at the height of religious indoctrination in my country. Many of our nationals were executed, blackmailed or coerced into beliefs not theirs by an invading party." His father had been one of them. "Of course, it was only a secondary wave. Ireland has been a bed of religious turmoil for many, many years before then. But you mistake me: the story of the Faceless Ones is real. I've seen them. I've fought them. Therefore, I assume there is some element of truth in the variations the mortals tell."

Sorcerers lived for significantly longer than mortals; long enough that their story was purer, more accurate, while still being old enough that most sorcerers believed it was just a story.

Solomon inclined his head thoughtfully. "You don't believe the story you've been told is accurate?"

Raine winced fractionally at his mention of religious indoctrination; it hit a little close to home. "There usually is," she said. "How did they return? ...And what year was it when you were last at home?" As she had nothing resembling a point of reference, and was curious.

And after a moment, she shook her head in response to his last question. "It's not a question of belief any more. The hero of the legend is, was, a fallen hero. There was a tree, and it did wither. The hero who ended the war made no sacrifice, however, but rather ripped the world apart." That was meant entirely literally. "Our history was purposefully obfuscated, our world kept stagnant. One person, that same hero, was ultimately responsible both for the creation of the church and for the Desians-- the organization that mass-produced these." She tapped her chest, where the exsphere sat. "He maintained a cycle of sacrifice and suffering for four thousand years in pursuit of one selfish goal. All, ultimately, because of the death of his sister."

There she stopped, a little startled despite herself at how angry it still made her. The story was a long one, at any rate, and doubtless more than Solomon had reason to be interested in. That much at least should explain why she could sympathize.

"It was 2009," Solomon answered with a slight bow. "I'm nearly four-hundred-and-twenty years old. The Faceless Ones were, are, still worshipped by a fanatical group of sorcerers. A few centuries ago they attempted to take the world by force and failed, but the remnants of their church remained. A small group of them--the most insane and fanatical--were recently able to open a portal and bring three of them through into our dimension."

He rubbed his leg absently. The injury had long since been healed, the pain long since subsided; but even still he sometimes woke up at night remembering that battle and knowing that, when he left Keeliai, he would find himself back in that very moment of combined success and failure. "That was when I was brought here. The injury you healed for me--it was the injury I suffered while attempting to force the last of them back into their dimension."

Solomon absorbed Raine's story quietly, watching the movement of the foliage behind her. "A conqueror, then," he said finally, and smiled bitterly. "That sounds familiar. The King of England was hardly four-thousand years old--but he demanded the worship of his subjects and executed as traitors those who refused."

Before, his tone had been matter-of-fact. Now it was just a touch too bitter to mistake for anything other than personal experience.

He certainly didn't look his age, but that wasn't particularly unusual. He'd also answered the question she hadn't asked, which she appreciated, and she nodded in acknowledgment. "I hope you were, or will be, successful in that endeavor." It had the potential to come off as a platitude, perhaps, but Raine was entirely sincere in that wish, especially in light of lacking anything more practical to offer.

A familiar story, certainly. And so was that bitter hint: she'd heard that sort of personal pain in apparently impersonal narratives before. More than she'd like. "The parallel exists, yes," she said, quietly.

Anything more sympathetic would have to be read from her face, not her words. She rather suspected Solomon might prefer she said nothing anyway, and after a moment she peered around the nearest mushroom deeper into the forest instead.

In turn Solomon appreciated that Raine didn't probe any further than necessary. He followed her gaze and went further with a step, moving through the underbrush. Everything seemed slightly damp, but in true dream-like fashion none of it came off on Solomon.

There was a faint glow in the distance, the glow of luminescence. "Could you draw mana from this place?" And would such mana stay with her as she left, or remain here in the Dreaming?

"To an extent, yes." Raine moved in the same direction, touching the mushrooms absently in passing. "I could gather it, certainly, and manipulate it into an arte. That would be easier here, in part thanks to the abundance, and a significant portion of it feels like light and earth." She could do that nearly anywhere, though. Perhaps he meant 'draw' in a different way?

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