Logs:Abandon All Hope...
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| RL Date: 28 April, 2015 |
| Who: Ilicaeth, Qhyluth, Alida, Ulyana |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Some Things should never be investigated. |
| Where: HRW: Lake Shore |
| When: Day 27, Month 8, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Sunny, clear, warm. |
| OOC Notes: This started out as OOC dragon fun... and we took it IC, it became so interesting. ^^ |
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| Ilicaeth> Qhyluth gurgles. Ilicaeth> Ilicaeth groans...like shifting continental plates. Ilicaeth> Qhyluth bubbles up, like water in the cracks of those plates. Gurgle, gurgle. Ilicaeth> Ilicaeth leaks some earths and metals into that water. Ilicaeth> Qhyluth deposits that mess on the shore, lest he poison his queer creations before they're due. Ilicaeth> Ilicaeth peers at the 'leftovers.' Well, what-do-you know?! Calcite, zeolites, some silver and gold... Ilicaeth> Qhyluth washes up a little extra - sea glass, shells, the mechanical guts of some diabolical construct... Ilicaeth> Ilicaeth says, « CEWL! » *paws around and investigates all of it* Ilicaeth> Qhyluth continues to disgorge oddities. A book filled with scribbles that make no sense to man or beast, yet inspire a headache all the same; shapeless squidlike entities that shift through a horrifying range of colors before expiring violently on the sand; a string of glass beads, slick with something unspeakable and dark. Ilicaeth> Ilicaeth is utterly (maybe even bizarrely) 'enchanted' by all the mysteries Qhyluth ralfs up! *cautiously noses around in all of them* The elder blue even heaves up out of his earth and stones a massive sandstone arch, a towering fist of granite with sparkly mica pieces imbedded in it, and a raging dust storm. Ilicaeth> Qhyluth certainly isn't one to complain about the inquisitive nature of the elder blue! The waters slow in their regurgitation to allow proper exploration: the minty tingle of the beads, the sensation of pins and needles left behind by the squiddities, the dull ache promsied by the book. And that sandstone arch? It will be studied in turn by the bloated 'eyes' of Belior and Timor, and the curious fingers of fog that uncoil and reach only as far as the storm before they're torn apart. Ilicaeth> Ilicaeth can't help but be what he is: a warrior/Guard, and so those mysteries of Qhyluth's are a siren's call to him. Even if they sort-of gross him out a little, those minty (slimey?) beads are carefully whuffled, while the pins and needles are easily tolerated when investigation of those freaky squiddites pulls him that-a-way. But that book... oh yeah, that's the biggest draw. Give him some thoughtful moments, and Ilicaeth's finally nudging it open in slow, testing fashion...even as his sandstone arch develops bandings of ochre, yellow, orange, and buff in reaction to the other blue's curiosity in them. There's the ageless, yet aged intimations of Igen's burning heart within them...and perhaps hints of other things yet unfound. Ilicaeth> Qhyluth, on the other hand, is destined - or doomed - to remain an enigma. Always. The other things turn to ash when they're dismissed and the waters reach to reclaim its own. The book, though- that stays. The cover, patched together in five colors - the five hues of dragonkind - is easy enough to flip open. The contents, however- well. The illustrations are stark and strange; anatomical deconstructions and engineering diagrams that are interspersed among arcane symbols stripped from the stars. The moons grow larger, more intense - and, this time, terrible, squamous appendages writhe from the depths to reach out and search for that burning heart. Ilicaeth> He's not afraid to ponder the imponderable... just cautious (and rightly so). At first, Ilicaeth gives those anatomical deconstructions and diagrams quick looksees, his furnace-hot, bone-dry, scouring sands flipping the pages in semi-rapid succession. It's the warrior in him that feels the intensification of those eerie 'eye-moons' over his shoulder, and there's a snake of head/sand whirl under his shoulder to keep it in thought before he returns to a somewhat deeper perusal of that five-colored book...even if it is giving him a small headache. The dessicated heart of that desert? Ah-ah-AH, younger man! It's tit-for-tat in Ilicaeth parlance, and so only sand-shrouded glimpses between mirages are allowed: Is that a ghost-hold shimmering out there? Ilicaeth> It's more than can be said of most - which, perhaps, is why the younger blue does not warn the elder off. It's easy enough for the water to recede and for the shores to vanish under starless night. More difficult to remain as he is, waters sloshing placidly and the light of twin moons illuminating the reading material. The pages moan as they're flipped; the images shudder and move, but only when not observed directly. Obscenities lurk just at the fringes, nightmares just waiting to be birthed - but not yet. The deeper he goes, the more arcane the work; half-formed shapes tremble at the exposure and thoughts are smeared as if one tried to smear them out of existence. And then there are the moons and their unblinking stare, their unrelenting survey of that which resides beyond. The limbs birthed of water and given alien flesh reach and reach, unspooling from the depths with a curiosity that's well-matched in the elder blue. Those glimpses are not enough. That hint of a hold is not enough. The light grows brighter - and, over the water, a bronze bell tolls. Ilicaeth> Hopefully curiosity won't kill the proverbial cat, because Ilicaeth innately senses that there's enough 'somethings' within Qhyluth that could be quite dangerous, if summoned fully to the surface. It helps that the elder blue is more-than-conversant with danger, of course. That shimmering ghost-hold flashes first azure, then vert, finally into a gules so rich and bright that it might temporarily blind the eye - like looking straight into Rukbat's plasma-heart for a second - the stygian blue experiencing the distinct feeling of implied danger within. In reaction to the tolling of Qhyluth's bronze bell, there's the incessant hiss of burning sands that grows slowly louder, more imminent, along with baking gusts of wind. In the meantime, Ilicaeth continues to investigate that obscene book with his 'trained' eye, though the headache worsens and his hide begins to crawl about his shoulders. Ilicaeth> Kill? No. He needs that proverbial cat for other things. Enough half-formed concepts and ideas loom in the depths of both book and water alike to lend further weight to that knowledge. To speak the words - if, indeed, there are words on those pages - might be enough to give birth to greater horrors, perhaps even to the Old Things Without Names That Await Their Hour. Enough of the living nightmare within the water has been born and, now, slouches without a body - composed entirely of those blue-scaled appendages - toward the shimmering ghost-hold in the distance. But then that light - that damnable brilliance - forces the tentacles to recoil for an instant. The moons shield themselves with a veil of clouds, but the damage is done. The Thing That Resides Within The Depths begins to churn and the water at the heart of the ocean boils. Steam, scented with salt and something unspeakable, roils and rolls over the ocean; the tentacles begin to dig into the desert of Ilicaeth's mind - and they begin to pull. Danger? He fears nothing - for what is there to fear but death? And that book? That horrible book? The pages grow darker and darker still, composed of a substance too thick to be paper - and written on in a fluid that's too viscous to have been ink. Ilicaeth> Unspeakable knowledge, bizarre concepts... Damn Ilicaeth and his curiosity! The older blue is on the 'trail' now, and the closer he gets to solving the riddle, the more dogged he becomes. With the rise of those horrific tentacles and the churning of that freakish ocean comes the answering howl of hurricane-strength winds. Ilicaeth's partially-exposed ghost-hold is suddenly plunged into a night as deep as a naturally sunless one, but *this* blackness is brought about by a sandstorm that eats up the sky - horizon to horizon - that sends gyres of rapacious, miniscule particles lofting towards that nameless Thing. If they permeate it, the virulent sandstorm's black motes could threaten to flay not only hide from bone, but perhaps obliterate consciousness itself with a mindless scour. That flashing, multi-colored heart Qhyluth glimpsed before? Even through the howling psychic sandstorm, it burns a magnificent, blinding blue/green/red, the colors twirling madly in stacatto succession, pulsing in time with hearts' beating. Pull? Pulling?! NO. That sensation of being forced to give up his own inner secrets - instead of exchanging equally - *that's* what finally makes Ilicaeth force his mind up from that horrible tome that sucks him in, a mental stagger backwards with flailing wings and tail that ends in a mental roar that echoes his startlement and yes, even the barely-controlled fear within. The black sandstorm leaps forward to try and tear the Thing apart...and then suddenly, there's nothing. Ilicaeth's withdrawn his mind from Qhyluth's, the rocky blue's hide turning an even paler blanch of grey as he jerks his head up...to peer white-eyed for some moments at the other male dragon splaying upon the lake shore. Ilicaeth> Obscure and terrible beyond words, the pages permit themselves to be turned. Indeed, each page seems to beg for Ilicaeth's attention; they insist and plead, beg and cajole. But the deeper he goes, the louder those voices become - howling and screaming, demanding and insisting in their alien and wordless way. The winds rise - and the bell tolls again, the sound shuddering through air that's gone utterly still. The clouds still move and the water still churns, but the air itself is stagnant and gathering foulness. The drop of night upon the hold does nothing to dissuade That Which Will Take What It Desires - and the tentacles sink deeper into the desert sands, aided by the birth of thorns and hooks that sprout from the scaled limbs. They will dig. And dig. And dig. Until they get a better hold. A better grip. And then the pulling will continue - or would. Blind though the moons now are in the face of that blackened storm of sand, there is no need for sight where his desires come into play. Flecks and bits of the stuff do manage to slide under the scales, but it's of no consequence; let the bones be laid bare, expose the black and gelatinous meat of The Thing That Reaches. It will endure - until there is no need. A deep, metallic bellow - a bell mingled with some monstrous voice - sounds from the depths and the mangled limbs are drawn back, taking the tome with them in their twisted grip. Ilicaeth will be left with scraps and fragments of The Thing, but nothing more; even as his mind snaps cleanly away, the waters are receding. And is there fear? Perhaps. Briefly glimpsed in the water. But Qhyluth's eyes are red-rimmed, not white, despite the ashen quality of his ink-dark hide. His wings unfurl just a little, then snap shut - and he, like the tendrils of his psyche - retreats into the water to lick his wounds. licaeth> The white of near-terror quickly fades 'down' to the red of inner fury held at bay, Ilicaeth just as quickly dampening the force of that odd personality down so that he doesn't alarm others...or further alarm his lifemate, who's rushing pell-mell over the granite towards her blue dragon. Alida...doesn't look pleased by a long shot; more ready to go to war to destroy that which almost freaked out her bestest buddy in the universe. There's a creaky sort of groan-gasp from the elder blue as he slowly, perhaps a little weak-kneed-ly heaves himself up from the earth to go meet Alida half way, but he still retains just enough chutzpah (or is it insanity) to beam a tight dart of purely 'vocal' communication to Qhyluth: « Later... » Later for what? Ilicaeth> And coming from the other direction is a hastening - and exceptionally pale, even for her - Ulyana. Qhyluth does not emerge from the water to meet her. Rather, he sinks deeper and deeper still, until even the glow of his eyes is hard to spot. This forces the diminutive girl to come up short at the water, her state apparent enough; fresh from the baths and hastily dressed, her hair left unbound and clinging to her back. She drops to her knees and struggles to catch her breath, fingers digging into the sand as if that might do to pull the monster from the deeps. To Ilicaeth, a bell tolls in response - low and sonorous and strange in its lack of reverberation. With it, the moaning sycophants breathe their mantra of « She, She, She... » for what may feel like an eternity - or until the minds break apart, again. Ilicaeth> At some point, both human females meet up - even in frantic passing - but it's only after Alida's literally head-to-head with Ilicaeth, both halves reassuring themselves that all's well - that the palest-blonde manages to spill her huge-eyed regard back to the lake, and to both Ulyana and that blue 'monster' that lurks in the watery depths. To the other blue's mantra is huffed a slightly-breathless « Mine. » It's not jealous, but more a firm reassurance that *he's* regaining stability quickly with the tight link he and his rider are currently maintaining between them. Alida is *his* 'she.' Mine. And, for once, *his* rock bouying him up in a crazy world. Shudder. Ilicaeth> The difference is a stark one. There is no overt sense of reassurance or comforting - from either monstrous blue or his rider. Rather, she pushes herself to her feet and stiffens, posture gone ramrod straight and it's only then that the beast beneath is finally born again. He heaves himself out of the water, the fluid sluicing down his lean frame, and he pauses, positively quivering, until some permission is granted - or some chain is pulled. In either case, the creature settles into a protective coil around Her, though his wings remain pressed to his back, rather than pulled over to shield. Yet, still, that wing twitches, desperately even, with the desire to fully conceal, to guard, to protect Her. A throaty gurgle is offered at that singular word; physical, rather than mental. And in the span of the mind, there is dead silence and fog-covered water - and nothing more. Ilicaeth> Now that there's a semblance of order, and now that Alida's not ready to try and destroy whatever upset her blue's equilibrium so much...the blonde woman finally withdraws her sweaty brow away from Ilicaeth's own forehead. Note how neither of them is withdrawing their touch completely, though: the Glacier-cum-Taiga rider keeping one hand firmly pressed to her dragon's foreleg even as the pair slowly and cautiously approach Ulyana and the emerging Qhyluth. The 'horrific' blue's gurgle gets a purely physical answer in return: a stentorian rumble deep in Ilicaeth's chest, sounding more like the herald to a tectonic shift than a vocalization. It's only when the other pair approaches that Qhyluth begins to tense up. The wing pressed to his back is unfurled just enough to throw Ulyana in shadow - a dripping shadow, but a shadow nonetheless. It dips lower and lower still, until she's reaching up to stop the progress of that limb. Her other arm is folded across her midsection, fingers clenched and spasming just a little. The hand that rests against the edge of his wingfinger remains there, not stroking - but present, which is sufficient for him. But, where the blue's eyes are red-rimmed and rapidly whirling, the girl's gray eyes remain calm - practically unblinking for the duration. Ilicaeth's eyes are no longer white, nor even red...though the remnants of his inner upset linger in periodic swirls of carmine in his more abundantly yellow gaze. Ramping down...slowly returning towards normal, though the after-effects of touching even a small part of the Thing linger. Shiver. With her own self-control restored by sheer need and strength of will, Alida gestures something she rarely ever resorts to: a slow lift of hands - palms up - upon the air, in a show of 'no weapons.' Truce. And though - after a moment of hesitation and silent communication - the blonde steps away from her halted lifemate to close with Ulyana, Ilicaeth still maintains firm contact with a possessive curl of his tail tips about the guard's waist. Watching...recovering...waiting. As soon as she's within a range that allows for more private communication - about five feet away - Alida looks the other female up and down again, then mutters in her clipped, hard-accented alto, "Apparently they got...carried away." No shrug is issued. The girl's brow furrows just a touch at the other rider's cautious approach. Resolution is found in a flatly issued command: "Cease." It's not for Alida, that much is clear; the word is dropped like a heavy coin and Qhyluth doesn't precisely grow calm - but he does stop his bristling. His attention switches between the Others, little more than a subtle movement of his head one way or the other. The wing is retracted, freeing her hand up to rest it along the line of one of his forelegs. Her posture remains stiff and still, her bearing unyielding despite her height - or lack thereof. Her head tips back a little to allow her to look at Alida once she's closed the distance, but her expression remains dull and dead. "I apologize on Qhyluth's behalf," Ulyana intones in that odd, inflectionless way of hers. Flat. Bland. Alida's just testy enough that she still might take that word personally...but Ilicaeth instantly and silently communicates just exactly who the command is truly meant for, and the almost-tensing blonde relaxes again...as much as anyone can, in this weird circumstance. The somewhat older woman's own posture is a mix of casual and militaristic: kind of a sloppy parade rest, though one hand remains settled upon one of Ilicaeth's vaguely-twitchy tail tips. A grave nod is given to Ulyana's apology, and - rather formally - the paler woman intones, "Ilicaeth and I return that apology in equal amounts." Blink, sigh...breathe. "He's smooth at diggin'...but sometimes not as good at pullin' 'imself outta' some holes." A faintly, if darkly amused smirk touches one corner of the guard's mouth, then dies away as she continues to observe both of the other bluepair. Another, more pointed look is dragged across Qhyluth, finally, his darker blue self taken in like a scientist would go over something new found under a microscope...then followed by her alto directly addressing the strange dragon. "Are ya both settled down enough, now, ta allow us..." a quick lift of chin out at Ulyana then a touch of fingers to her own upper chest "...ta stand down?" And then her green eyes are flicked up and back to Ilicaeth, who's hovering protectively just beyond her. Well? It's difficult to tell whether the dip of Qhyluth's head is contrite or simply conceding to Ulyana's words - but there it is. Her hand lifts to press against the tip of his nose, and then the girl is casually extricating herself from his clutches. Silence spins out in the wake of Alida's words and it's some moments later - perhaps too many - before she intones: "He does not know how to respond to those who dig too deeply in his thoughts." Matter-of-fact. "And when he sees something of interest, he does not hesitate to take it in order to study it." Once free of his grip, the girl steps aside to leave the blue fully exposed to whatever scrutiny is offered. Eventually, she adds in that dull way of hers, "I am certain he would say that he is calm." A beat. "But he would be lying." One corner of her mouth distorts. "He will not cause further difficulty for now." And in the span of minds, there is just the slow lapping of water on alien shores - it suffices. Closer observation, however, will note the great chunks of ice in the water - and the frost creeping in at the edges. As Ulyana extricates herself from her clingy dragon, Alida likewise - though with subtle affection - removes *herself* from Ilicaeth's tail-wrap, the stockier, light blue's eyes half-blue and half yellow, by this time. Still tense, aye, but moving towards normal... whatever the hell that is, now that he's touched just beneath the surface of 'the Abyss.' The blonde woman nods thoughtfully, if briskly to Ulyana's words of her own lifemate, then offering back like a diplomat, "'Caeth's usually able ta stonewall most attempts at pullin' things from 'im." Unspoken: until now, apparently, since he had to tear his mind away with maximum effort. At the other woman's words of her dragon's fibbing about his calm, the former guard smirks low, then returning, "As would *he*." Cue a casual thumb jerk back at Ilicaeth, who mutter-grumbles low. "But he promises ta be good, too." Heck-no! Ilicaeth's keeping his brain to himself, right now, wanting more equilibrium...and not wanting to freak out Alida again. But, if Qhyluth dares that potential storm of flaying once more, he'll find impermeable gutrock blocking any means of egress, the granite of his mind pulsing with subtle veins of tsavorite green. "Well then..." Alida suddenly puffs out in a slightly relieved voice. "Lemme' buy ya' a drink?" Once divested of his duties as guardian - self-imposed though they are - Qhyluth rises to his feet and makes his way back to the water. He sinks beneath the surface and, for the time being, his presence is reasonably calm - or, at least, as calm as it can be, given givens. He does not dare to push for that storm; his tentacles may twitch with desire to do so, but they're still broken - and he's under orders to behave. Ulyana, meanwhile, seems to take in all of Alida's words in order to process them. That processing takes some time, though it ultimately yields an up-down-center nod and a flat, "He will be better behaved in the future." As to the rest? An equally singular shake of her head - left, right, center. "I am not thirsty," is noted in that blandly observational way of hers. "I appreciate the offer, however." The arm at her midsection is joined by the other and both press, if slightly, against there. And Ilicaeth...just stands there, like the rock he typically is. Except for that tail of his, the end of which twitches, on occasion...until - with a veiled look of dark humor and fondness - Alida waves him off. A creak and chuff down to his rider is all that's offered before the older blue strides away with bits of his dignity about him...then takes wing to soon settle up on the Rim. Easier to watch from there...and remain out of trouble. Of her lifemate, the blonde soon notes to Ulyana, "He knows better, now." A look up to her flying blue shows who she's speaking of, green eyes then lowering back down to take in the other rider's responses...noting all the fine points of Ulyana's stance, her blandness. Hm. "We should si'down tagether, sometime quite soon, talk a little." Beat, lip-twist. "I ain't known fer bein' good with words, 'r in groups...but our boys seem ta find each other pretty interesting." Which perhaps warrants both of their riders at least speaking a little more at length about the 'state of things' between all of them. Another of those singular nods is offered, mechanical and stiff as before. Ulyana's expression is a bland one otherwise, however, and a slow blink is all that's offered at the other woman's later words. Still, it takes time for her to process; longer still to articulate a response. By then, she's reaching up to pull her hair back, to peel some stray strands from her cheeks and neck with measured movements. "He is fascinated by those that are fascinated by him. It is a peculiar trait." Observation. A lopsided shrug ensues. Her gaze settles as squarely on Alida as she can manage, despite the difference in heights. "That is understandable - and it would make sense to do so." A long beat. Then: "Let me know when and where you would like to speak. My duties, for now, are not so great that I cannot take time off to do so if it is necessary." There's definitely some curiosity in Alida's regard when Ulyana continues to take time processing, though the green-eyed woman keeps her own council about what she thinks. As for draconic fascination, "I think Ilicaeth'll likely keep at least part uv' his interest in yer Qhyluth...but it'll be kept t' a less, uh...tempting level." Smirk. Though she seems faintly surprised that Ulyana so readily agrees to a meeting, Alida recovers smoothly with a glib, "Mm...how about a couple days from now? Someplace quiet, maybe more private?" A quick look up to the Rim, then out towards the diving cliff soon has the blonde murmuring, "No need ta have everybody an' their cousin hearin' us talk about our lifemates." Head shake. "Got a preference?" "He will be safe if he stays out of the water - or away from the books." Ominous, that. Ulyana's gaze tracks after Alida's, following to the Rim, to the cliff, then back to her. Somehow, she's gone paler than she was before - though at what and why will become evident soon enough. "On the ground or close to it, ideally. I do not have any special preferences beyond that." Her mouth distorts into further unreadability. "I do not know this Weyr well enough, even now, to know where best to speak without all the ears of the Weyr listening in. I will defer to your better judgment for that." It's as Ulyana's speaking of mental constructs that Ilicaeth might want to avoid in the future that a drowsy-golden firelizard wings in from somewhere, then comes to a perch upon Alida's right shoulder, the slightly-pudgy queen given a quick rub of headknobs. Nod. The other rider's paling in conjunction with her look up to those higher points is duly noted - Alida being an observant creature by training - the rest of what the other bluie has to say given a pair of firm nods. "I'll send a note with Pyrite." Cue a tip of head to the deep-sunflower-gold one on her shoulder, who even now is studying Ulyana with a whirling focus of blue eyes. "She's pretty reliable...an' she'll hang around ta show ya where ta go, if you need directions." Because, right now, Alida just can't make up her mind as to a proper meeting site. "Of course." The intonation is flatly issued. Ulyana regards the arrival of the firelizard with a wariness that might seem out of place. Her mouth flattens and her chin dips in a shallow gesture of acknowledgment. "If I know where to go," she explains, "I can usually puzzle out the directions without difficulty. The assistance, however, would be appreciated if you are inclined to go somewhere especially difficult to access." She draws a breath, holds it, and releases it slowly. "I will anticipate your note." A long pause. Then: "Thank you." "Exactly..." Alida replies casually to Ulyana's words of puzzling it out herself, unless it's too rareified a spot. Sage nod. That inhalation, holding, and slow exhale are again noted in subtle fashion, the former guard then tipping a very sloppy version of a salute - two fingers tapped to her forehead - to her fellow bluie before she murmurs, "Not a problem." Oh. She's not used to formal farewells, but bows to such this once with a glib, "Afternoon." And off the woman strides after pivoting crisply around on a booted toe, back towards the living cavern and the late lunch she abandoned. "I see." And, on that note, Ulyana offers her own stiff salute - much more formally executed and followed by a curtsey that's ill-suited for her current attire. Trousers are a poor match for such a thing - but habit dictates that it must be done. "Take care," is offered up flatly and allowed to hang until Alida's on the move. Only then does Ulyana venture forth to finish her bath from before - after a brief detour to get dry clothes to change into. |
Comments
Faryn (19:25, 29 April 2015 (EDT)) said...
I love this so much. It's the best when silliness meshes so well into actual scenes. <3
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