Sent a couple messages, yeah. I'm pretty sure Dahut used the public ones to answer the first time, I don't know how he didn't know that was me already...
Yeah, that's... still a little weird for me, honestly. I'd have said it was more likely we were getting messed with, but it really does seem like it's them, right?
[ but you know. this place and those pesky memories.
the first thing you feel is pain. The wrenching, wretched pain of skin loosening and freeing the parts of you that sustain life - you can see the magic around you, deep purple and vivid-bright - and you know you’ve made a mistake. She’s killed you. You’re already dead, your mind is just faster than your heart to realize it. Vess DeRogna - Archmage of the Assembly and traitorous bitch - had won.
No no no no— I won’t be made a puppet, I won’t be made hollow, not like this not like this—
But you don’t have time for objections more than that.
For a while, it’s dark.
Then you wake up.
You’re sitting on the ground, in a field - quiet. It’s evening outside, though you don’t recognize the star patterns above your head. There’s the remains of something being packed away around you. A … carnival, maybe. There’s a large tent, half-fallen down, a few caravans to the side. Half of everything is in piles - poles and crates, costumes tossed in heaps. Bits of paper float by on the wind. It’s calm, like the aftermath of a storm.
No one else is around, except her.
“Oh. You’re here? A little earlier than expected. Hello.”
There’s a woman, seated on a crate across from you. She has milk-white eyes, and is much taller than she has any right to be. Then again, when you take another glance, she appears perfectly normal. Smiling, but only a little.
She’s shuffling cards in her hands (two, no, more than two, four, eight, infinite … two), deep red with a golden decoration inked across the back. the ever-swirling ocean blue of her skin is hypnotic, making it almost impossible to know where to look.
“I don’t think I have all of you … do you know where the other part might be? ... I suppose it happens. Do try and keep track of your soul. It makes it somewhat difficult for me." The woman watches for a moment and then: "Well. Once upon a time. No-- Twice upon a time."
There's a strange sense of timelessness happening - you are everywhere, and nowhere, and also a small part of you ... somewhere. all colors and songs and joyful life, while you are here. with her, watching you carefully.
"Now we can begin. Begin again, I mean. Would you like to see the draw?"
the woman continues shuffling her cards, before putting three down on the small table between the two of you. face down.
"Your past. Your present. Your future."
She turns the first. A purple-skinned tiefling child draws blood from his arm, filling a chandelier hanging from the ceiling of the great Sanguine Sanctuary. On either side, a dark-furred catfolk woman, and a tall, muscular blonde watch on, holding tight to either elbow.
"A terrible trade for magic ... but I suppose one has to make sacrifices."
She turns the second. A purple-skinned tiefling in a red coat, patterned and beautiful, spinning. It makes you sick to look at it. A red eye is tattooed across the back of one of the figure's hands.
"Empty. Free. Death-obsessed. Then again, you always were, weren't you? In another time and place, you'd be in another time and place."
She pauses, fingers against the third card and she hums before standing and walking away. You feel everything go dark again. Silence. Like when everyone has filed out of the theater after the performance, and you've been left here alone. Comforting, in a way, to be finally alone in the quiet.
there's a sound like a song, filtering through the silence. and before long (or not long? time isn't anything here) you hear the final notes of the refrain. A blade twists in your chest and
You hear footsteps. The woman is back, bending down to look you in the eye, smiling.
"Thrice upon a time. Can you believe it? Say, do you know what comes after thrice ... ?"
But you don't have time to respond. The purpose. The promise. THE VISION. OPEN YOUR EYES.A whispered command: wake up.
[god. OKAY. this is one that hits him off-guard, hand pressed to his chest at the end of it, after all of... what even was that? kind of like a weird dream, except the actively dying bit at the very beginning, that part's always familiar after he and the other sinners have died and lived and died and lived and died and-]
[ he's ... panicked, a little. crawling back up onto the seat he was on, holding a hand over his face in-- fear? almost? breathing hard and fast and eyes darting around. back where he was again. live, live again, the light burning as his brain struggles to return to function. ]
Always--? Always. This is the only time I've ever-- This is it.
I think perhaps it's worse than simply death. Death is a release, a leaving, but here-- They remain around every corner. Their whispers down every hallway, in every ear.
-well, usually that's true in more of a metaphorical sense, but.
[quiet, for a few seconds.]
I haven't been able to see death as any kind of release in a while, but... yeah. Little messed up that they're-- I don't know, stuck? Linked somehow? Haunting the systems? Still something to be said for them being able to be around in some way, though, so... ups and downs, maybe.
[ he starts fiddling with his I.R.I.S. give me a moment and he will share all the documents he has. ]
They couldn't remember any of it. Some of it is beginning to return - bits and pieces. A confused, tangled web. You should know this isn't the first time this has happened.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[reasons that he brought that up, like, as soon as it was feasible.]
Think we should be okay, with just Dion.
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Hopefully. Til next week, eh? Who then?
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[man.
he's finding somewhere to sit, his legs and chest are both pretty sore after all this and he's not about to let them give out.]
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[ wow.
he'll go follow him then, sitting down and leaning back, crossing one leg over the other. ]
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[leaning back as well, just kind of slumping into place.]
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Spoken to any of the dead? Through the letters?
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Haven't heard back otherwise though.
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Still, curious that they remain so close. So coherent.
no subject
[taking another drag.]
I'm used to people just being... gone.
no subject
[ but you know. this place and those pesky memories.
the first thing you feel is pain. The wrenching, wretched pain of skin loosening and freeing the parts of you that sustain life - you can see the magic around you, deep purple and vivid-bright - and you know you’ve made a mistake. She’s killed you. You’re already dead, your mind is just faster than your heart to realize it. Vess DeRogna - Archmage of the Assembly and traitorous bitch - had won.
No no no no— I won’t be made a puppet, I won’t be made hollow, not like this not like this—
But you don’t have time for objections more than that.
For a while, it’s dark.
Then you wake up.
You’re sitting on the ground, in a field - quiet. It’s evening outside, though you don’t recognize the star patterns above your head. There’s the remains of something being packed away around you. A … carnival, maybe. There’s a large tent, half-fallen down, a few caravans to the side. Half of everything is in piles - poles and crates, costumes tossed in heaps. Bits of paper float by on the wind. It’s calm, like the aftermath of a storm.
No one else is around, except her.
“Oh. You’re here? A little earlier than expected. Hello.”
There’s a woman, seated on a crate across from you. She has milk-white eyes, and is much taller than she has any right to be. Then again, when you take another glance, she appears perfectly normal. Smiling, but only a little.
She’s shuffling cards in her hands (two, no, more than two, four, eight, infinite … two), deep red with a golden decoration inked across the back. the ever-swirling ocean blue of her skin is hypnotic, making it almost impossible to know where to look.
“I don’t think I have all of you … do you know where the other part might be? ... I suppose it happens. Do try and keep track of your soul. It makes it somewhat difficult for me." The woman watches for a moment and then: "Well. Once upon a time. No-- Twice upon a time."
There's a strange sense of timelessness happening - you are everywhere, and nowhere, and also a small part of you ... somewhere. all colors and songs and joyful life, while you are here. with her, watching you carefully.
"Now we can begin. Begin again, I mean. Would you like to see the draw?"
the woman continues shuffling her cards, before putting three down on the small table between the two of you. face down.
"Your past. Your present. Your future."
She turns the first. A purple-skinned tiefling child draws blood from his arm, filling a chandelier hanging from the ceiling of the great Sanguine Sanctuary. On either side, a dark-furred catfolk woman, and a tall, muscular blonde watch on, holding tight to either elbow.
"A terrible trade for magic ... but I suppose one has to make sacrifices."
She turns the second. A purple-skinned tiefling in a red coat, patterned and beautiful, spinning. It makes you sick to look at it. A red eye is tattooed across the back of one of the figure's hands.
"Empty. Free. Death-obsessed. Then again, you always were, weren't you? In another time and place, you'd be in another time and place."
She pauses, fingers against the third card and she hums before standing and walking away. You feel everything go dark again. Silence. Like when everyone has filed out of the theater after the performance, and you've been left here alone. Comforting, in a way, to be finally alone in the quiet.
there's a sound like a song, filtering through the silence. and before long (or not long? time isn't anything here) you hear the final notes of the refrain. A blade twists in your chest and
You hear footsteps. The woman is back, bending down to look you in the eye, smiling.
"Thrice upon a time. Can you believe it? Say, do you know what comes after thrice ... ?"
But you don't have time to respond. The purpose. The promise. THE VISION. OPEN YOUR EYES. A whispered command: wake up.
And then the light pours in. ]
no subject
....Lucien, bud.
[he says, a little unfocused still.]
Is your version of death always like that?
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Always--? Always. This is the only time I've ever-- This is it.
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[it's a little trippy, so he is, maybe, relieved that's not how it goes back home.]
-you good? Breathe a little.
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I'm fine.
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[at this point he is getting so used to people telling him they're fine.]
...so what-- was that? Any idea if you stayed dead, or...?
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[ he is here, alive, of course. ]
I was resurrected. my cleric, Cree, performed a ritual, and I was restored to life. A few weeks before this incident.
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...rough few weeks, then, coming off that and then getting thrown into-- what's apparently the ship of death.
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It won't let us go. Not even in death.
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[quiet, for a few seconds.]
I haven't been able to see death as any kind of release in a while, but... yeah. Little messed up that they're-- I don't know, stuck? Linked somehow? Haunting the systems? Still something to be said for them being able to be around in some way, though, so... ups and downs, maybe.
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Not just our dead either, I don't think. How many of these ... logs and such have you seen?
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[an exhale, a little shake of his head.]
And the officers can't remember any of it.
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They couldn't remember any of it. Some of it is beginning to return - bits and pieces. A confused, tangled web. You should know this isn't the first time this has happened.
[ W3 Security, W3 Salon, W2 Multiplex, W2 Ship Log, W2 Multiplex and W1 Cargo Bay ]
no subject
[pulling up three of his own: W2 Multiplex Decrypted, W3 Log, and W3 Video.]
Full version of one of 'em, plus a couple I got sent tonight.
...they're remembering, though? Really?
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Some. Be careful - not all of them are trustworthy.
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Yeah? Which ones d'you think aren't?