tushanshu_logs | EVENT | LANDFALL

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?

"But would you have to do so here? Could you store it and take it away with you, or would that require the use of your exsphere?" The sphere was the only thing in the Dreaming that currently felt at all tangible to Solomon's Necromantic senses.

That gave her some pause, but after a little consideration she shook her head. "I'd be loath to experiment with the exsphere without an expert as backup, and in any case they do not easily let go of the mana they have absorbed. For my own part, while I can hold an arte temporarily in stasis before finally casting it..."

Raine trailed off for a moment, caught by a thought. "That might be worth trying, if only to see what happens. Since bending the laws of nature seems to be the order of the day."

"It is a dream," Solomon pointed out, glancing around. He reached out toward a mushroom's shadow and it came to him fairly easily, but when he put his hand on one and focussed upon it, it withered away. "What do you sense from this mushroom as I do this?"

It was a touch fascinating, actually. It felt almost as though he was ... absorbing it, slowly, by proximity. As though it was becoming clearer to his senses just by his being there.

Like a bolt he realised what that was and snatched his hand away, paling a touch. Ah. That's what he'd been doing.

"Exactly," she agreed, and turned her focus also to the mushroom. She'd attend to the matter of a delayed casting when they were finding their way out, but in the mean time, experimentation was afoot.

Mana flowed out of the mushroom toward Solomon, and somewhere in the traversing it seemed simply to vanish, as though consumed. The effect was not unfamiliar, per se, as some older pieces of magitechnology had that effect, but it was no less disquieting for it. "I'd prefer it if you didn't do that again," Raine said, keeping her voice as steady as possible. He'd already flinched back by the time she spoke, and that was a fascinating reaction, too. Did some of his abilities frighten him, or was that simply distaste? She wasn't sure she disagreed with him.

He had asked, though, and she relayed what she sensed, exercising the best detachment she knew how. "Mana transferred toward you, and either was consumed or underwent such a transformation that I could no longer sense it. Some is--" She paused, attention on the mushroom for a moment. "--at least some of the effect seems to be reversing."

"I apologise," Solomon said instantly. He didn't usually believe in apologies, but he was himself unsettled by what he'd done by accident. It hadn't even been an accident, exactly--he'd intended to do what he did, or else it wouldn't have worked; such was Asti's boon. He just hadn't realised it was using the death-aura technique, from a different side.

"Is it?" That was a surprise. Tentatively he touched the mushroom again, but this time he didn't focus on taking, but putting back. There wasn't much of a difference--a faint wave of dizziness, and nothing more; but there was a difference. "And now?"

That really had shaken him, hadn't it. Raine paid careful attention to the state of the mushroom for a little bit longer, finally nodded. "There's no longer a substantial difference from its initial state," she reported. "If there was some kind of loss, it's beyond the precision of my senses. A much better result than can usually be expected from magitechnology." She still didn't look precisely calm, but was at least more settled. "What was that?"

That was ... extremely interesting. Solomon hadn't known that the energy taken by the death-aura could be returned--he doubted anyone knew. Could it do the same for souls? If he took a soul, could he put it back? And if he could ...

A wash of something very close to relief went through him. If he could put souls back, then the death-aura wasn't nearly the damning thing he thought it was. Not something to be dallied with, still--but at least reversible.

Raine's voice made him look at her, and he regarded her for a very long moment. The death-aura was privileged knowledge. As an acolyte, it had been a whimsy of power. As a cleric, he had understood it to be so much more--on a level no other cleric did. That was why he'd kept his knowledge of it secret. Especially with what had happened just after becoming cleric.

But Raine was of steady mind, and this place ... was far more stable than the life-plane. If he could discover things here--maybe it would help him in the other planes too. He didn't want to lose control again.

"It's called the death-aura," he said finally. "It's a technique by which a Necromancer can ... envelop those around them in a bubble and absorb their souls to add to his power." He looked at the mushroom. "I didn't realise it would have the same effect on mana." He gave a short laugh, and it came out partway between incredulous and relieved. "Or that what was taken could be returned."

She hadn't even really thought before asking -- it was, after all, the most natural thing to her, to reach out for explanations in any way possible. It had happened before, of course, that she asked more than someone wanted to answer. That she could recognize, but all the same it felt like there was something more in his silence than she could quite read, and all she could do was wonder.

The moment passed.

By all rights, Raine should probably have been horrified by the technique he described. And she more than likely would be, later, when there was the luxury to consider the implications at length. For now, though, her mind was occupied slotting together the earlier instinctive recoil with the long, considering silence, and the incredulity in his realization. This did frighten him, didn't it.

She sighed, and some of the tension in her shoulders went with the exhalation. "Understandably," she said aloud. "It doesn't seem like the sort of thing that would be wise to experiment with often." After a moment more's thought, she inclined her head toward the recovered mushroom. "As unsettling as that movement of mana is, you appear to have done no harm. I don't think you'll get a better opportunity."

The fact that Raine didn't immediately recoil in horror allowed some of the tension to roll out of Solomon's back, though it was with some surprise that he realised it. Somehow, he wasn't quite sure how, Raine's opinion had become important to him--enough that he was actually worried about her reaction.

It was ridiculous. It was ... familiar. Now that he thought about it, in fact, she was similar to Morwenna Crow in many ways.

Such as that. He couldn't help but laugh slightly. Morwenna had wanted him to cultivate the death-aura too--if only to have someone powerful enough to contest Lord Vile. "No," he agreed. "Not often at all. In fact, the last time anyone used it, the user murdered thousands, if not millions, of people. Necromancy ... is addictive."

The last was said both grimly and with an air of resignation. He looked around at the mushroom, and even knowing what she said was logical, he still hesitated. "It ... might be dangerous for you if I did."

It was logical. He might not get a better chance. And yet he wasn't sure whether he wanted to.

Perhaps millions. Even in the context of history, over and gone and nothing to be done about it now, the figure was high, and she couldn't fault his reluctance. "If you have that capability," Raine said, slowly, detached, "I would rather it be at your will. A technique you cannot control is more dangerous than one you can, even if you never put it to use again. You said you have a sort of filter now, correct?" Hence their meeting at the beginning of the month. "So that risk, too, should be minimal."

It really was the best opportunity, the more she looked at it logically. "The feeling of mana disappearing is unsettling, but ultimately tolerable, and reversable. If experimentation will help, it's more than worth it." She paused there. Properly processed that his mention of danger had been most likely directed at the possibility that he might accidentally pull her soul from her. "You've proven you can stop. If something does go wrong, I have no doubt one of us will notice and it can be corrected."

So much like Morwenna Crow--Solomon could only wonder how he hadn't seen it earlier. He couldn't help but laugh at her own description. If he pulled her soul from her, she wouldn't have the chance to notice that anything was wrong. She'd just drop down dead.

But this was Dreaming and the death-aura had proven itself potentially reversible, even if just on mana. That was better than knowing it wasn't reversible at all.

And she was willing to take that risk. It had been a long time since Solomon had felt such faith in him. Even when he'd taken Pandemona and Baritone with him to fight the Faceless Ones, it had surely been a matter of practicality on their part. They had understood that the Temple didn't stand apart.

Solomon couldn't even be sure when he made the decision. He turned and put some space between them, and looked around at the foliage. Then he took a deep breath and closed his eyes, and reached out. It took a moment--he had spent so long pulling back, avoiding the senses he knew he could have. He didn't know, exactly, how to press out, except that when he'd touched the mushrooms it had almost felt like the mushroom had been eager to be used.

It wasn't, he found, a matter of enforcing his presence on the things around him so much as a combination of give and take. Of noticing the life, feeling it, knowing it could be something else--something more easily read to him. Letting the rest of him reach out and make it something he could read.

Slowly, but gathering speed and size, a perfectly spherical bubble formed around him. It wasn't one made of something, but of the opposite--a bubble of withering foliage. Mushrooms sank in, leaves crumbled, animals dropped to the floor of the jungle without nary a sound. Solomon could feel it, feel all of it, as though each and every life had previously been hazy mirages to his senses and had only now become real. Become solid.

If this had been a month ago, he already knew, that would have been intoxicating. Even now, there was a whisper in him--the knowledge that he could do this, that it was his and no one could stop him. The memory of how comforting this power had felt, when he'd had it. But it wasn't, anymore; its coolness was soothing still, but when he looked at the images they were sharp. Crystalline, unmoving. He could use them, if he wanted--but they could cut him, and now he would notice.

So Solomon didn't. He stopped and stood in the middle of a perfect bubble of death around him, and knew he could take more and didn't, because he couldn't be sure where Raine stood--not without taking her too. He opened his eyes to look and flinched when the life he'd taken stood out sharply, waiting for command, like crystal figurines; a perfect, defined replica of what they'd been in life. His to take. His to see. His to use.

He didn't know it, but his eyes were red, purely and solidly red--even the whites.

Raine understood why he'd been concerned when the bubble started to spread.

She saw nothing of the magic itself, only the effects it had, the slowly expanding sphere where mana ebbed and life vanished. The implications of the silence, the sheer magnitude of the possible death toll should he use this in a crowded area, all came to the forefront of her mind at once. She took one involuntary step back as her heart began to race, then another, before she forced herself to stop. There she held her ground, watching the inexorable spread of dying foliage and refusing to acknowledge the physiological symptoms of fear.

Caution was reasonable. Terror was not. That was all there was to it.

The magic's progress stopped short of her -- not that it had been much of a question, at least where her rational mind was concerned. Solomon was conscientious and desired not to do her harm. Therefore, he would not. Raine adjusted her grip on her staff, planted her feet a little more solidly, and waited.

When he opened his eyes once more, however, she inhaled sharply, startled despite herself. Red eyes had not heralded good things for the affected person in the past. She noted differences as soon as the initial surprise was past -- the full sclera rather than just the iris, for one, and of course this situation was worlds away from Colette's, but there was still some less-than-rational part of her that was concerned he would not answer.

"Solomon?"

Something thudded in the crystal stillness, something muffled and inaudible due to the dullness of the echo. It came from a distance, as if someone was trying to reach him; and then Solomon realised that someone might be. If that had been Raine--what had she done? She couldn't attack death.

Talking. She must have said something, and Solomon hadn't heard it, as if he was in a completely different place.

With a start he realised he was, that the faint drag on the edges of his awareness wasn't just the mana trying to be used, but the vibration of a circle that wanted to spread. It was slower, so much slower that he hadn't noticed the difference until now, but it was the same drag that had sucked him into the death-plane when he'd been fighting Bakura.

Most certainly not something he wanted to experience again. It was just that--he wasn't sure how to turn the bubble off. It took a minute, and he had to breathe evenly to stop the unreasoning fear from taking over; but then he managed to soften his urgency and woo the life back into the bubble, and release the mana he'd taken. The bubble collapsed and the foliage grew healthy again; the animals picked themselves up, a little confused or startled, as if coming out of a sudden deep sleep.

Solomon's head pounded suddenly and he put a hand to his forehead, and staggered in the dizziness of cold order being replaced by warm chaos.

The stillness dragged on, chafing at her nerves, and she shifted uncomfortably in place. There was little to be done even if he was fully unresponsive, save trust that, somehow, he still knew what he was doing. Perhaps pushing the idea had been foolish-- but, no, she would still say there was wisdom in taking the opportunity to ascertain that he could control it. She hesitated in uncertainty, watching him closely for any sign of comprehension or action.

Perhaps she imagined the fractional turn in her direction. Perhaps the magic simply made his focus very distant. Whatever the cause, the point was moot in a few seconds more, as mana flowed back into the sphere before her, restoring radiance and life as quietly as they had gone.

With mana returned Raine judged an approach safe enough, and as Solomon staggered she quickened her pace until she was close enough to offer support if need be. "Are you all right?" she asked, genuine concern in her voice.

"Fine," Solomon said shortly and instinctively. Then he took another breath and winced, and reached out for something to lean on. "Possibly." He found her shoulder and he almost flinched when he did, for a moment absurdly afraid that he'd take her soul just with a touch.

Ridiculous. He put some of his weight on her and took a deep breath. What, exactly, was making his head pound so? The death-plane objecting to his escaping its grasp? The simple transition from one plane to the other without the benefit of the high?

"I think I understand why Necromancy developed its addictive qualities," he said a little weakly and very wryly, and raised his head. The pound was subsiding, but the ache was still there.

His 'fine' was not particularly convincing. Raine was unsurprised when he reached out, and she gave him what support she could. "If this is a common side-effect, then it makes sense." Her healing almost certainly wouldn't help with this, either, no matter how much she wanted to offer. Instead, remembering the entire point of this exercise in the first place, she turned her focus briefly on the mushroom forest around them once more.

As far as possible results went, this was among the better ones. "Nothing in the affected area seems much the worse for wear," she offered, after a moment. "Except you."

"How nice for me," Solomon muttered, and when he straightened up he was more composed, except for the lines of pain around his eyes. Thankfully, his eyes had also returned to normal. He followed Raine's gaze around, and the visual confirmation of what he'd already know served to dissipate some of his tension.

"I don't think I should try that again," he said quietly. "I think--" He looked around again. His theory--it was the only thing that made sense, really. If he was assuming that all dimensions had multi-faceted souls, or planes, then there was only one way for the death-aura to work metaphysically. "I think the death-aura is a means by which to draw the death-plane into other planes, temporarily. At home, it's simply a conduit for the user to grasp at power. But here ..." He almost shook his head, and then thought better of it. "I've already used it to accidentally throw myself into the death-plane once. If I'd tried to grasp much more just now, I likely would have done the same again."

"Since Death is a location in a more than figurative sense." As long as they were in this world, anyway. She followed his train of thought, and nodded shortly after. "Yes, that would make sense. I'm glad you didn't." Unplanned visits to that plane struck her as sub-optimal, especially if it was associated with the enemy. "You're right; that should be avoided. I'm sorry."

Because, after all, she had suggested it, and felt moderately responsible for the results.

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