Logs:Skeletons
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 21 April, 2015 |
| Who: Qhyluth, Lifreyth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Qhyluth and Lifreyth compare skeletons. |
| When: Day 6, Month 8, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
  |
| To Qhyluth, Lifreyth's cheeky apology precedes him: not in words, exactly, but in the sense of a man sidling sideways to cut well ahead in line, with a scuze me, pardon me whirl of dust and pages fluttering under sunbeams. His mindtouch edges unerringly toward Qhyluth, but with that I'm not looking at you kind of side-eye. The library is hushed and dreary under drawn curtains, but every so often light catches off one of Lifreyth's multitude of trinkets and doodads: a toy tin train, here, a bulb sputtering with electricity, there. Is anyone home? To Lifreyth, Qhyluth's mental 'scape is a desolate one. The primordial ocean is still and covered in a thick blanket of fog that glows a sickly green. The clouds are heavy and the moons are not to be seen in those starless skies. All is dark. Until that subtle intrusion, that is. The clouds of his mind shift and part, revealing the pale, bloated forms of Belior and Timor hanging just above the horizon. Something stirs in the water - a singular bloop of sound that sends ripples through everything. No words are issued, but it is clear: he is aware. Ooh, stars. Lifreyth likes stars. So, with the mindtouch equivalent of clasping his hands behind his back and strolling around, whistling, the young brown inches closer. Wary, still, of course. He's not brought the full weight of his attention around to bear. But there's a rustling in those pages, the heavy scent of aging paper and leather--almost musty. Among those curious trifles that dot his mental shelves, there's movement stirring, a low electric hum feeding into yellow-flickering bulbs. That bloop catches his awareness. And in response, a creaking, as of someone leaning back in their chair. (To Qhyluth from Lifreyth) The younger one is free to explore those pale shores - but look not too closely at the things littered up on it. Overhead, constellations emerge slowly, warped reflections of the stars that normally claim Pern's heavens. Their sheer wrongness might inspire a metallic twinge in the teeth or the scent of ozone. Indeed, there is much here that speaks of the subtly obscene - and not in the way humans might perceive it. Another bloop in the water. Closer. Louder. The fog shudders and parts, forming ethereal tentacles that uncoil and reach. There is no shame in his search of the other mind; no fear. The tentacles remain hewn of fog as they press, seeking to coil harmlessly around this gadget or that trinket. And yet, and yet, and yet - it will not be enough to satisfy. The bone-pale sand of his mental shores trembles and forms a handful of strange, damp mounds. A limb probes out of one, nameless by nature and horrifying in its conception. (To Lifreyth from Qhyluth) To Qhyluth, Lifreyth, it seems, cannot contain his curiosity (but look how restrained he's been 'til now!), because the full brunt of the dragonet's scrutiny materializes. There's much to see here, to taste. Nothing is met, yet, with any sort of revulsion or dismay, only a relentless eagerness to nose at the shore's debris, to inspect those tentacles even as they twist into shelves and around books and trinkets. It's an impartial sort of inquiry, requiring application of a scientific mind: what happens if a magnifying glass shifts to catch a sunbeam, to sizzle a hot point of light against one of those fog tentacles? What happens if that toy tin train is tossed out over those dark ocean waters? Curiosity upon curiosity can be found littered on those strange shores of Qhyluth's consciousness. The sands are pale at first glance, but a closer examination proves that the grains are like glass; clear and colorful in the right light. Skeletons of unspeakable creations are scattered here and there, blasted to an unnatural hue of gray. Studying them for too long may even yield a twinge of nausea; there is just something so other, so wrong that the senses struggle to process them. Shells of a distorted shape can be found here and there, their colors indescribable - and perceived only as color by virtue of lacking some other means to describe them. Overhead, the moons shift in their gyres and rise higher, their pallid light set to reflect on fog and water and sand. Like eyes, they carry a weight of regard. They study. They survey. They examine. Just like the foggy appendages do. But those appendages are soon joined by a small army of lobstrosities that click and clatter and chatter in their nonsense language. They take the place of the tentacles and proceed to poke and prod and tilt - and take, if one is not mindful enough to keep them at bay. Perhaps they're intent on seeing just what would happen if that toy tin train was flung into the waters. Perhaps. (To Lifreyth from Qhyluth) Here; look! A great mahogany cabinet swungs open with a ponderous satisfaction, an unmistakable sense of camaraderie. Within: a bleached-white skeleton, dangling from a hook, joints articulated by tiny brass fittings. Lifreyth, with a heightened hum of electricity from deeper within the library (is it laughter?) twitches the skeleton so that it stilts and jerks in a dance. But those lobstrosities, ah--those are the most enthralling yet! From behind shelves, shadowed corners come a host of ticking, tocking little automatons, brass limbs driven by cogs and gears. They join those carapaced creatures, miming them in their poking and prodding, a mechanical caricature of their movements. Lifreyth even sends one of those automatons out onto Qhyluth's sandy shores to be lapped at by the water while a tiny blue-buzzing probe extends. Testing. (To Qhyluth from Lifreyth) A cabinet swings open in the space that is The Other Mind - and Qhyluth's moons blink once. In the distance, past the fog, a single light flicks on - and the tolling of a great and ancient bronze bell echoes across the water. The articulated skeleton is considered by one of the lobstrosities. Its movements are analyzed and, soon, mirrored as closely as the chitinous construction can manage. As for the others, they're drawn in by the anomalous automatons. Claws click, tentacles poke, spindly limbs test and touch. It's a curious dance to be sure, the horror-things scuttling like spiderclaws to one side - perhaps to see just whether these oddling mechanical makings will follow. And then there is the water. It recedes from the probe, its darkness so deep that the blue light skitters away. Should another attempt be made - as is likely anticipated - a deep splash will be heard in the water, sending shuddery ripples out, ripples that will try to capture the little construct before it has a chance to escape. In a bizarre display, the skeleton stiffly bends a boney arm above its head and unhooks itself, lowering itself to the ground where it may continue to lurch and twitch across the floor, joints popping in and out of sockets. Its waltz is cut abruptly short when it stumbles into a loosely heaped pile of books and blunders forward, collapsing into a shower of bones and sending tombs skittering away. If some of those bones end up in the hands (er, claws) of those lobstrosities, well, so be it. The jerky, clacking automatons will do their best to collect the skeleton, but soon devolve into clouting one another over the head with tibia and fibia wielded as clubs. The scene in the library has devolved into an absurd farce (it's definitely laughter, that distance electric thrumming), but that lone automaton is dead serious in its investigation. It skitters back just an instant before it's washed away, with a ticking now now sort of reprimand as it turns that lit probe onto a twisted skeleton on the sand. (To Qhyluth from Lifreyth) And what a spectacle it is. The lobstrosities get their varied appendages on bones, only to try to piece them together in ways that the bones simply weren't meant to do. As the automatons begin to bludgeon one another, the lobstrosities converse - and, as if curious to see what the fuss is about, begin to clobber their own kin in a similar manner. But, where there's clearly some manner of laughter in that musty study with its curiosities, there is no such laughter to be found on the other side of those expansive, pallid shores. At first, the only sound is the slight slosh of water as it withdraws again. Then the bell tolls, booming across the otherwise unmoving waters. The thunderous sound takes on a strange sensation, a hum that works through water and sand to set the skeletons to moving. Simple vibration, that, but the testing automaton will sense it plainly - more so when it applies probe to sickly-gray bones that take on a squamous gleam. It turns to ash - and that's when the waters crash forward, laced with a disturbing green foam. (To Lifreyth from Qhyluth) To Qhyluth, Lifreyth's attention in the library wanes, shifting to Qhyluth's primordial ocean, where that solitary little brass construct tick-tick-ticks its way across the sand. Cogs clack and gear teeth catch as the lone automaton sweeps a blue-cast light across sand, seeking out the next skeleton. It's given pause when the sallow bones begin to echo that vibration. It turns. And flees when that tidal wave lunges forward. But those treads, no matter how quickly they spin, cannot outrun it: it's swept away, pincher hands waving desperately, clacking. And as it sinks, spiraling deeper into the murky waters, Lifreyth's consciousness, too, fades. He leaves only a trace sentiment of satisfaction. Curiosity sated. The lobstrosities retreat when the bell tolls a second time, the sound ominous. It hangs oddly in the air, air gone utterly still despite the perpetual shifting of clouds and fog. The automaton, however, need not worry over sinking at its own pace; no, in those last moments, something squamous and slippery emerges from the true dark of the ocean. Perhaps Lifreyth will get a hint of it; perhaps not. Regardless, the construct is sucked down into the lightless depths of those ancient waters, drawn there by the real creature that dwells within. And, no sooner than the moons are cloaked with clouds than Qhyluth, too, is gone. (To Lifreyth from Qhyluth) |
Comments
Alida (21:23, 21 April 2015 (EDT)) said...
AWESOME insight into the interaction of dragon minds! Child/adult; uncomplicated/complicated, known/unknown... and they both switch those various roles, too! :D
Edyis (22:38, 21 April 2015 (EDT)) said...
Um <3 'nuff said
Leave A Comment