Solo The Occluded Sky

[Alses]

Timestamp: 25th of Autumn, 512 A.V. There was a storm advancing angrily towards celestial Lhavit when Alses awoke with the dawn – not that the sunlight was particularly noticeable through the louring thunderheads; all she had was her vague sense of the sun overhead, completely blotted out by the clouds. Bruised purple, night-black, battleship gray...all the foreboding colours of the spectrum were arrayed across the vast bowl of the Lhavitian sky in a vast wavefront, a boiling charivari of cloud that looked decidedly menacing as it came closer and closer. Winds howled and whipped about Lhavit's high peaks, the vanguard advance of the main tempest itself, sending volleys of rain like bullets against the serene skyglass, confounded and confused by the spiralling, winding streets but roaring, full-force, along the grand procession of squares and plazas that led up to the Koten Temple. Banners and flags flapped wildly, snapping and racing with abandon from their chains and moorings – some tore free and hurtled across the rain-slick flagstones, batted hither and yon by the furious winds. The fadeong trees in their thousands along Lhavit's idyllic boulevards and avenues shivered and trembled in the autumnal gales; the approaching storm's vanguard of fighting air tore free millions upon millions of their brilliantly-coloured leaves, outlining the flows and currents of the winds in a river of skirling, dancing light. Kariino branches lashed the sky, the energy of the storm lifting their drooping branches in raucous and wild abandon, the elements playing and gambolling through the near-deserted streets. Until the storm burned itself out, and Syna's steady, beating influence dispersed the clouds once more, Lhavit's streets were the playground of Kalea's violent skies. Lhavit, it seemed, had only two types of weather – either it was a splendidly sunny, bright day, or it was a foully vicious tempest, seeking redress for the pleasantry the city generally experienced. The cloud deck rarely mounded up high enough to disrupt the sunny climes of Lhavit, but when it did...well, that was a day – or night, of course - when the city was in for a show indeed. Clouds fought and raged against one another, fuelled by the battling fronts of warm and cold air funnelled by Kalea's towering, dramatic mountains – Unforgiving in every aspect. As the buttressed thunderheads rose, they were trapped, corralled and herded and channelled by those same peaks, building up rage and – crucially – voltage, their rocky prisons forcing them to rise higher and higher for freedom, and as they did so, they encountered the normally-serene city of the stars. When the rising fury of a storm met the serene skyglass city, the results were always spectacular, to say the least. The poetically-inclined – or perhaps merely those attuned to the divine – likened the climax of the storms to the wild dance of Zulrav, the exultation in the raw power of wind and rain, the electric thrill of the lightning and the endless conflicts of the air, rising, falling, only to rise anew, wreathed in a cloak of thunderbolts. There were stories – there were always stories – of the Slap of the World manifesting to those brave enough to stand and glory in the middle of the fury and majesty of his storms, spiriting the lucky few away. Personally, Alses thought that the fools who stood on the rooftops during the more vicious storms deserved everything they got – which was probably a long, long fall and then a messy death, courtesy of the winds sweeping them clean off the mountain city rather than any godly manifestation of the Lord of Storms. The Shinya, whose unenviable job it generally was to organize the tidy-up after a storm had battered the city of stars, were tight-lipped on the subject, of course, as they were with almost anything save for directions and the laws of Lhavit. 'Well,' Alses added, in the spirit of fairness 'All the on-duty ones, at any rate.' Her circles – such as they were – and those of the Shinya guard didn't really overlap. Off-duty, they could be the most easygoing and fun-loving people on all of Mizahar, but how would she know? 'Stop faffing,' she admonished herself absently, throwing her cape over her shoulders. It wouldn't provide much protection from the driving wind and the vicious slash of the rain, true, but it was better than nothing. “Wild morning,” murmured one of the Respite staff, by way of greeting as Alses crossed the entrance hall. “The Dusk Tower have you running messages in this weather? Take my advice and stay home - we don't need anyone being lost over the side of the bridges or something.” Alses shrugged, philosophical. She wasn't about to risk her apprenticeship, trusting to her surety of foot and celestial grace - as well as strength - to see her through the short journey safely. “We've not been told to the contrary, so come rain or shine I must report to the Tower secretary for work. At least, if we want to keep living.” A slightly sardonic grin. “We might not eat, or drink anywhere near as much as anyone else, but living is still expensive.” Shaking her head at the vagaries of kina, and how they always seemed to slip through her fingers, Alses moved towards the doors. An absent smile from behind a tottering pile of papers. “Well, take care. And for the love of Zintila, don't open the doors too wide – I don't have enough paperweights for all of this lot and I don't want them blowing all over the place.” Too late – a mischievous wind had hold of the doors and slipped in through the opening as Alses fought with the doorhandles, a playful gust of air that sent papers flying even as the Ethaefal decided that discretion was the best part of valour, vanishing into the storm-lashed city. It was still just the outriders, the forerunners of the main tempest, which was fortunate – when the storm really got into full voice, out on the open skyglass bridges, it could be difficult even to maintain one's footing, let alone actually make forward progress, in the face of the scything winds and driving rain. Alses kept low and ran, feet slapping against the slick skyglass and splashing in the puddles that were a result of the sheer amount of water bucketing down, defeating the gargoyles' efforts at draining it away. Each and every one of the skyglass figures along the span of the bridge was in full, gushing flow, torrents of water pouring down and away into space, but still it wasn't enough. As she ran, muscles singing and blood hammering a thunderous rhythm in her head, Alses blessed the grace of her celestial form and the surety of foot it gave her as flesh met skyglass, swift and sure, speeding her on her way towards the glowing spire of light that was the Dusk Tower. The skyglass beneath her feet, just a little ahead and behind her, glowed brightly, illuminating her way in the uncertain, wavering light of the mounting storm. Alses kept her head down and sprinted for the Tower doors, flashing between the soggy Shinya guards in an instant, relying on the rain-slick shine of her skin and the glitter of her crown-of-horns to stop the hiss of sword-blades from their sheath. It worked – thankfully – and Alses was free to cross the last few yards to the Tower doors unopposed. A The inside of the Tower was beautifully warm and snug; fires blazed brightly in the grates, throwing out vast amounts of heat to complement the natural warmth of the skyglass, beating back the autumnal chill. Alses' sodden clothes immediately began to steam as the heat struck a blow against the perfidious water – she hurried to put herself as close as possible to the nearest fireplace, almost standing in the dancing flames and making them hiss and crackle as drops fell from the tips of her horns. Alses was the recipient of more than one pitying – and, admittedly, wondering – look from the various Tower servants and guards; who, on such a foul day, would risk the thunderstorm just to come to work? Steam rose in shimmering curls and curlicues of vapour as she dried out, the base of her horns feeling deliciously taut as her skin tightened in the heat, her hair lightening from a sodden black to the deep crimson of her autumnal form. A lazy smile tugged at the corners of her plump mouth – how many mornings in rainy and damp Zeltiva had she spent huddled close to the fire, enjoying the warmth and the sensations it sent racing through her body? She wasn't a pyromaniac, not by any stretch of the word, but warmth was something she cherished. A low, rumbling boom signalled the first assault of the thunderstorm just as she was mounting the shallow spiral staircase – out of one of the windows she saw the opening barrage of lightning bolts go dancing and skittering through the clouds, followed a split second later by the blunt thunder of their passage, splitting the air with the sheer heat and force of their strike. To her complete and total surprise, the Tower secretary wasn't at his desk, no, the mahogany-and-brass trays full of paper were unattended, the shelves of books and scrolls left alone, the chair tilted back from the marble desk. The dapper man was instead leaning casually on the windowsill, eyes distant as he looked out at the storm. “Isn't it beautiful?” he murmured, voice even softer than usual. “The weather, I mean. The boil of cloud and wind and rain, sculpted by the mountains of Kalea.” Only then did he turn, and seem to come a little closer to earth. His pale gray eyes were as direct as ever, though, focusing clearly and directly on her. “Did you struggle up here through that?” he asked, eyebrow raised. Alses nodded, confused; when she'd been given the job of couriering Dusk Tower messages about the city, she'd been told to report to the Tower secretary every day, by no later than the tenth bell of the morning. No-one had bothered to tell her about using common sense, about when it was appropriate to turn up and when any right-thinking person would just curl up at home in front of a blazing fire and wait for the storms to pass. “Um...yes?” she ventured. “It's my job?” “We're not monsters, Alses! Zintila above, you could be swept off the bridges in an instant if I sent you out in this weather! If the storms are this bad, it's understood that you can't very well make it to the Tower – you can stay at home, you know.” Alses flushed, dull red. “We didn't know,” she murmured. “We don't want to risk our apprenticeship, in any case.” A sigh. “Well, in future bear it in mind – the odd missed day here and there due to the weather or illness isn't a problem.” His eyes flicked over to the window again, longingly. “Best you enjoy the weather whilst it's here – we don't often get storms. This one's shaping up to be a beauty, wouldn't you say? It's just at the Amaranthine Gates now, look!” there was a boyish excitement to his voice that was unmistakeable – Alses smiled, unreserved, at such delight, and followed the secretary's pointing finger. “What are we looking for?” she asked, eyes straining to penetrate the murk. There was a sudden, bright flash. “There, did you see?” the secretary was as excited as a child. “That's lightning streaking up from the Gates, likely as not.” “Lightning...going up?” she echoed, incredulous. Lightning came down, even she knew that. Everyone knew that. Everyone except the secretary, that was. “Yes. There's a little thin, thready bolt that goes up before the big one comes down.” he gave her an apologetic, slightly embarrassed smile. “I've watched storms all my life, see.”

[Alses]

Whatever Mr. Secretary's views on the storm – even the most urbane and polished people in Mizahar, the sort of chaps who looked as though they were ironed and pressed and folded away on a clothes hanger when not in use, had to have some spark of excitement to them – Alses had no desire to be up and about on the Dusk Tower's balconies and rooftops, dancing with the storm like a madwoman. No, give her a comfortable, overstuffed armchair, a blazing fire, and a good book – better make that a set of books, actually, if the storm looked set in for the duration - any day. Perhaps a glass of imported wine to sample every now and again, too, that would be a nice touch. 'Mmm,' Alses thought, allowing herself to get distracted by that pleasant thought, the memories of smooth red wine, richer than sin and so very devilish. Taking the long, long view that came so naturally, she knew that all pleasures were fleeting, but still...Perhaps a trip to the Plaza was in order – maybe a merchant from Riverfall would have made the perilous trip from Cyphrus and might even have a bottle or two for sale. A luxury, absolutely, but since Alses didn't actually drink it, merely experienced it through the glass, a bottle lasted her a great deal longer than almost anyone else. Unless she decided to be generous and share it with someone, of course – but then, there wasn't really anyone she'd have cared to share with. Well, Martin would perhaps have been a contender, but his tipple of choice was some sort of rice beer; he had little taste for red wine. Oh well. The markets would be closed thanks to the storm in any case, so there was absolutely no point in thinking about that sort of thing until the skies brightened and Lhavit emerged anew into the storm-cleared world. The polite, diffident cough from the Tower secretary brought her back to reality with a bump. “Alses?” “Hmm? We're sorry – thinking, you know.” It was a useful excuse, cultivating the image of a contemplative sorceress. It excused all sorts of eccentricities, along with the frequent - and involuntary, more often than not - introspections into memory that characterised her daily life. “I said I shan't be sending you out until the storm dies down a bit,” he repeated patiently. “I'd advise against trying to struggle back to the Respite in this weather – likely as not you'd be fried by a lightning bolt or swept clean off the bridge. You might as well find yourself something to do in the Tower.” “We'll have a look in the library. Go over our books before we submit ourselves to the flame of our instructor.” Alses scowled; the secretary winced in sympathy. It was moderately well-known in the Tower that she and her current teacher didn't exactly see eye-to-eye on the practice of magic, and the poor secretary knew that better than most, often being stuck in the middle when Alses submitted a piece of work that didn't quite come up to the correct standard. Regardless of Alses' dislike of her teacher, it was forcing her to be absolutely correct and meticulous in her observations and answers, with almost every statement backed up with references in triplicate, drawn from whatever reference texts the Dusk Tower had on-hand. It was nothing compared to what was available in the Bharani Library, surely, but she had to make do with whatever was sufficiently common (or written by a Dusk, of course) to have a place in the Tower's much smaller, more specialised library. “Good luck,” he murmured, before turning back to the storm. Alses hid a smile – the man should probably have been beavering away like an industrious little minion, but he seemed to take a break so rarely he was probably entitled to a little indulgence. She certainly wasn't going to be the one to blow the whistle – all other considerations (like being given nothing but boxes for the foreseeable future) aside, she rather liked the dapper fellow. He was efficient, predictable – but not too much, as today had proved. What a delight. A The library of the Dusk Tower was always a comforting place, a vaulting chamber of many levels spiralling up through the main building, garlanded with mezzanine floors and subsidiary galleries shooting off in all directions as the collection had expanded over the years – either due to fresh scholarship from House Dusk's aurists, or contributions from grateful old students. The light was softer and gentler than usual – without the broad blocks of light flooding in through the broad windows and sending the ever-present dust motes to short-lived supernovae, the library had to rely exclusively on its artificial lights. They were beautifully simple in their concept and execution, simply burning candles inside a double globe of glass that was filled with water. That way, if a lamp was knocked to the floor by a careless elbow, there was no risk of hungry flame devouring the books, just a wet patch on the skyglass floor that was easily and quickly mopped up, and a soggy candle – infinitely preferable to the library, and possibly the entire Tower, going up in flames. Their light threw the library into a melange of soft light and shadow – hardened to sudden, dramatic glare and abrupt, total dark with every flash of lightning. Even with the changeable light conditions, there were still novices and masters both amongst the shelves, trying to read and research. Alses' fingers danced across the leatherbound tomes – she was well enough known, now, by the Tower librarians to be trusted with finding her own way around the books, and she had earned extra credit with them thanks to never eating or drinking, minimizing the risks of damaging the precious books they safeguarded. 'Let me see...' she mused, fingers skimming over ornate gilt lettering and bindings – books were just as valid a form of art as a painting or a sculpture, after all. 'The Transcendent Body, written by a complete lunatic, 'Impressions of Auristics', a theoretical primer that seemed to be the most reliable of the works on offer – at least, of the ones she could comprehend – and 'Fear of Magic,' another warning, sanctimonious text. 'Blast and damnation – Fear of Magic is out again!' A philosophical sigh – these things couldn't be helped, since she had to share the library with the other inhabitants of the Dusk Tower. Her eyes – used to light in all its forms, unerringly sought out 'her' carrel, a lump of battle-scarred old wood on the third mezzanine, usually drenched in abundant sunlight and now dramatically backlit by increasingly-frequent lightning flashes, the thunder penetrating even into the cathedral-hush of the library, echoing down the aisles before being drunk into nothingness by the listening shelves. Other novices padded past, their footsteps muffled by the cloth moccasins that most of them seemed to favour, so quiet that their robed forms came as a shock each time. The climb, lit by storm-light, was eerie, everything thrown into high relief and then relative darkness as lightning roared and flashed outside. The sound of the rain beating relentlessly against the celestial skyglass was loud, insistent, as she settled into her carrel, the twisting and changing patterns of water running down the intricate glass – but the steady drumming provided some oddly comforting background noise as she settled down, books arranged in fastidious piles according to her careful system – what was needed when, and how often. Time to do some research. Self-improvement was the only way to become more useful.

[Alses]

Alses crept along the skyglass corridor, footfalls almost soundless on the shimmering skyglass, padding from smooth stone to the thick pile of the elaborate rugs and mats that the Dusk Tower's halls were littered with and back again as she progressed, along and up, curving ever higher through the main structure of the Tower. In just a few chimes, the guard shifts would change. By dint of careful observation of the movements of the guards and the various minions who formed the bulk of the Dusk Tower's denizens, she was able to chart a route that avoided the vast majority of them – if she kept to her schedule, anyway. The assorted end tables – of rich mahogany and nokkochi wood, the grain seeming to swirl and dance the longer one looked at it – the exquisite statuary of pale marble and shimmering gilt, plush loveseats upholstered in rich purple fabric, all the accoutrements of wealth and the décor it brought combined together to add an element of difficulty into the mix, forcing her to move from the edges of corridors and hallways out into the exposed centre, where she might be more easily spotted, engaged in conversation, detained. She had a schedule to keep. This was not any form of escape attempt, breakout or midnight flit, if you will – rather, just a training exercise that Alses had devised for herself. Improvement in her auristic skills was something she considered vital – quite aside from the sheer beauty of the aurist's world, moving inside a symphony of colour and light, caressed by the myriad impressions of Mizahar, it was absolutely vital for serious advancement and research in her preferred craft. In one hand, she held a sheaf of papers, extracts culled from the body of work the Tower library had on auristics – at least, those bits of it she could make sense of. There were times when the poet-wizards' pretty little quatrains and verses had her ranting and railing at the pages, the actual meaning completely obscured behind complex metaphor and simile. Alses could only hope, and fervently so, that as her skills flowered under Dusk tutelage and her own researches, they would somehow begin to make more sense. At the moment, though, it was generally very heavy going. Today was as good a time as any to test some of the practical applications of the theory she'd painstakingly gleaned from the various texts. Everything that existed possessed an aura of some kind, the books asserted, and indeed that much was self-evident simply from looking around – everything that Alses saw these days was mantled in a shifting, shimmering corona of colour, a shroud of sound and – in some cases, a cloak of contact. Phantom sounds, phantom touches – phantom colours, too, when one thought about it, the brain converting djed-borne information into something comforting and familiar to interpret, the hints of a deeper world beneath the pretty surface that most Mizaharians saw. It was possible – sort of – to see through walls with auristics, but all forms of that sort of sight were difficult, made even more so by the auras of whatever one was trying to see through – the thicker or more numerous the obstacles, the more erratic the power became. It did mean that it was quite difficult to surprise a professional aurist though, always an advantage, especially in places where magic was regarded as suspicious, or in cases when an overly ambitious apprentice might start getting ideas above their station. Focus helped cut through the interference to some extent, yes – but surely it was possible to apply a lesser version, so to speak, of the concentrated focus, something just to sharpen up the passive Sight that aurists were blessed with, to dampen down the auras of rock and soil and plants, leaving mortal – or greater – auras to blaze in unobscured splendour? That would be a more elegant solution, if details about other auras weren't wanted, just clearer Sight in general. Harmonious desynchronisation, that was one of the terms that Impressions in Auristics had used – the art of gently massaging the djed synchronisation process to achieve the desired effect. It seemed a technique worth cultivating, hence Alses' presence in one of the remoter sections of the Tower, where there were fewer distractions. That was also the reason for avoiding guards, servants and other apprentices alike – practicing was hard enough without having to deal with extraneous input, none of it wanted. Well, nothing for it but to try. The seventh floor of the Dusk Tower – the one she was now most familiar with, thanks to a month of daily visits whilst crafting Ald'gare Dusk's dagger – was useful in that it contained almost nothing of interest to the casual visitor, and in that its design, peppered with balconies and staircases that looked over the lower floors, was perfect for her purposes. So. First, concentration – but not too much. The Dusk Tower, fortunately, had a profusion of comfortable chairs discreetly arrayed along its wide corridors, and Alses had dragged one of them to the best possible position, half-hidden in a gracefully-curving skyglass alcove. Settling comfortably against the plush purple upholstery, she allowed herself to slump, to relax bonelessly in the gentle embrace of the chair, letting tension flow out of her. This deep in the Tower, the drumming of the rain and the whistling howl of the wind were muffled; the only sign of the storm raging outside was the occasional muted crash of thunder as the tempest vented its spleen on celestial Lhavit – and a fair chunk of the rest of the Misty Peaks as well. Relaxed and at ease – Alses held no fear of thunder, unlike some – she consulted her notes. 'Now, let me see...' she mused, flipping through the pages, eyes scanning the dense text. Her own writing could be much more specific, much more empirical, than the textbooks in the Tower library ever could have been, since they were intended solely for her own personal use. It made refreshing her memory of a particular procedure or unusual aura that much quicker, and didn't leave her with the pressing desire to stick her head in a water butt until the headache went away as some of the Tower books did. All right, auristics was supremely subjective, but there had to be a better way of relaying concepts than with blasted poetry. Alses turned her sight inwards as she focused, concentrating on the soft waves of colour and sound that now pervaded her world. Under normal circumstances, she'd draw her expendable djed up from the brilliant sun that was her centre with phantom touches of thought, gently teasing a million strands of it up and outward, marking the intricate traceways through her body and gently washing her skin, her eyes, her ears, her nose – all her senses – with the power, energising them and tuning them to the secrets of the world, hidden in plain view. Once that was done, she'd burn more djed, concentrate more deeply, focus more precisely, upon one, singular thing, driving the synchronicity with the world with pieces of her essence until at least some of the maddening veils withdrew, letting her feast on secrets. Admittedly, by far and away her most common use of the skill was a frivolous one – tasting things without having to go through the disgusting process of eating – but every little bit helped, every time she flooded her system with djed and attuned her mind to the hidden, it got a little easier, a little faster. Interpretation didn't take so long, she wasn't left utterly drained after a protracted session and she didn't have to almost have her nose in whatever she was looking at. All in all, there was progress. Hard-won progress, yes, building on fraught lessons with Chiona Dusk and lots of wrestling with incomprehensible prose, but still: progress.

[Alses]

Perception expanded, on glittering wings of djed, the artist unseen refining the broad blocks of colour that daubed themselves across Alses' vision, adding in shimmering details, working on saturation and hue, the majesty and beauty of the world laid bare before even the barest touch of magic. Snatches of sound tugged at her ears, cool touches pressed gently against her skin – the Tower was a rock of ages, having stood through the centuries, and had taken in something of the prevailing character of those in its walls; had Alses been more skilled, it would have been as though she stood in the centre of something that exemplified every value of House Dusk. As it was, she could only touch the very edges of that aura, seeing it as a wavering, insubstantial melange of blue and purple that maddeningly defied definition, always just at the very edge of vision, blurring and slightly confusing everything else. Part of her experiment today was to see if she could somehow compensate for that, and for the aura of the skyglass that was everywhere in the Tower – small and self-contained, yes, but still something that could distract her. The bulk of the Tower's skyglass seemed very similar, the small and static auras of each etched flagstone flowing and melting and melding into one another, hardly different at all in their minutest details (at least, such details as she could see). This was in sharp contrast to normal stones that she'd seen; back in Zeltiva, a cobbled street could be a positive kaleidoscope of different auras, forming a haphazard carpet of different colours and styles – there wasn't a better word to describe how the fractured spires of one stone suddenly shifted into rippled and compressed whorls and lines of deeper colour in another. Here, though, with the Tower's smooth skyglass construction, the seamless walls and only faintly-edged floor, there was harmony. Serenity too, of course, since the auras were static, unchanging, not characterised by the vibrancy and continual, rippling change that anything sapient could produce as thought and emotion seethed and boiled inside them, altering and shifting from tick to tick. The tranquillity and calm of the environment only further helped her, letting her maintain the meditative, contemplative state that was necessary for the synchronisation, the threading of beautifully warm djed up from the centre of her soul and letting it drive a connection with the world at large. She smiled faintly, remembering the bells upon bells she'd spent trying to get it just right – too much djed at once into any sense and things burned out in a rather nasty and often unexpected fashion – walking around seeing everything in odd shades of blue for four days, that had been an unusual one. Headaches had been common; horrible, pounding things that seemed as though some particularly vicious moldling was perched in her crown and hammering iron stakes into her brain. Everyone had given her a wide berth on those days, physical perfection or no. Too little, and you got nothing to show for your hard work – except perhaps a persistent ringing in the ears and some blurry vision. Decidedly anticlimactic, really – but that was better than an unplanned effect, at least. Those memories of overgiving were decidedly not pleasant ones – and each time she'd been subjected to a lecture on how lucky she was to have escaped with whatever affliction had plagued her and not something worse, to boot. At least she'd got better at recognizing when she was about to tip over the edge – either that, or her personal stores of djed had grown with the constant practice. Either way, Alses wasn't about to complain. 'Now,' she thought. 'I know that one floor down, almost directly under me on the parallel corridor, there's one of the House Guard on duty outside the Family door.' That was an oddity of the Dusk Tower, something that rather took getting used to, that about a quarter of the place was absolutely off-limits to anyone not bearing the surname 'Dusk', or not escorted by someone with that exalted name. It meant that, whilst maps might show a nice, easy, direct route through the Tower, on occasion actually getting there involved substantial detours. At her current levels of skill with auristics, it was a fool's errand to try and pick out anything from the aura of someone that far away – but that wasn't her goal, no; she merely wanted to be able to perceive it accurately, without the confusing clutter of the statics in the way. She could tell the guard was there, yes – there was a brighter flare in the welter of colour, shade and hue in the approximate area of where she knew he was, but even that was difficult to see, tiring and distracting to even attempt to focus on, her vision struggling to cope with the distance and depth of the other auras covering and masking his. Burning more djed might help, of course, but there was a limit to how long she could keep that up for, and besides, that was a brute-force method that taught her nothing of technique and finesse. 'Technique and finesse, technique and finesse,' she repeated obediently in her head. At present, that phrase seemed to make up about fifty percent of whatever her instructor said to her – much more of that and it'd be tattooed on her brain. Now...it was a pretty balancing act, playing the fundamental force of the world off against her own body. Focusing wasn't exactly a switch, of course, but there was a threshold, a tipping point beyond which all other auras ceased to whisper their secrets. Making it selective, without costing nearly so much in djed, now that would be the prize. 'Focus, Alse,' she thought, mind working furiously as her sense of sight gorged itself on djed. An image of the aura of skyglass came into her head, sedate and serene, unchanging. Boring. A stray part of her mind began to wonder; where had that thought come from? There was no time to wonder, though, not for her – her entire intellect was bent to the problem of how to maintain a lesser version of focus, how to exclude, rather than include an aura in her vision. How to invert the techniques she was painstakingly becoming familiar with, in essence. It was heavy going; the djed she was using to synchronise herself with the world felt as though it was whiplashing around in her brain, sizzling inside her mind, as though it were unsure of what she was trying to do and so was attempting everything – and failing. Beads of sweat stood out like pearls on her skin, glowing palely in the even light from the skyglass, her brow furrowed and lip bitten as she concentrated furiously, oblivious to the thin trickle of bronze blood slowly oozing down her chin. The image of the skyglass aura came to her again, stronger, more insistent – she gritted her teeth, thrust more djed into the faltering synchronisation 'Ah! But that's not what we need!' the realisation hit with the force of the tempest outside and she pulled back, throttling the flow of djed as her sight twisted and complained. 'Not this,' she thought fiercely, focusing on the aura, marking it for her sight to ignore, forcing it to home in on everything else – anything else. Black spots began to dance over her eyes, auras winking in and out of existence, leaping shadows that sent her vision reeling like a devilish diorama, growing and growing, swallowing the silvered auras of the skyglass and leaving, just for a second, the sapient auras glowing brightly in her sight, not fettered or obscured. Just for a second, mind – the red-hot stipplers threatened their imminent return with a vengeance to prick her eyeballs anew; even the thought of it left streaks of phantom pain that sent her, blinking and cursing half of the pantheon, reeling to the floor. Overgiving was never pleasant; best to be cautious than dead. Or worse. Vision smeared, blinking away hot tears and staring at the faint patterns of skyglass in front of her where she'd slipped from her chair, it was still all tinged with the heady rush of satisfaction. Exclusion could be done, surely.

[Alses]

Breathing deeply, slowly, relishing the feel of cool air rushing in and out of her lungs, Alses rested, relaxing against the silky smoothness of the upholstery and drinking in the serene atmosphere of the Tower. She hadn't overgiven – not quite. Sailed close, very close in fact, to the wall, undoubtedly, but had just managed to avoid hurtling headlong into it. Her personal reserves of expendable djed looked weak and flickering, hunkered close to the bright star of her soul and centre in her mind's eye, but she'd not shot through it all and started to burn parts of herself, at least. An improvement, then, on the early days, where even the slightest expressions of personal power had threatened the multifarious afflictions of overgiving. 'Have a care, Alse,' she remonstrated with herself, cautious as ever. 'Caution should ever be our watchword.' Just to be on the safe side, it'd be best not to do any magic – well, any personal magic, anyway – for a while – a few bells, at the least, and the whole day if she could manage it. Alses cocked an ear – the rolling crash of thunder was much fainter and more widely-spaced now – perhaps the storm was passing. There wasn't much else, in truth, that she could do in the Tower in any case – Chiona Dusk would not take kindly to her turning up on the Family doorstep asking for extra tuition, for one, and there were only so many pretty poems she could take before she felt like tearing her crown-of-horns out by its roots. Time, then, to see if Mr. Secretary had anything to be delivered. Although spacious, the skyglass walls of the Tower seemed to be pressing in on all sides; cabin fever was never fun. She needed to feel the sun on her skin – or at the least some fresh air in her lungs. Yes, best to get out and clear her head with a jaunt through the city, even if it was still reeling from the storm. A Alses cleared her throat, completely out of a sense of politeness rather than any actual need to. Even that slight noise caused the secretary to jump, his relaxed posture snapping up into the picture-perfect representation of a senior member of staff. He relaxed, but only fractionally, when he turned as Alses was speaking. “Does anything need delivering today?” she asked. "The weather's cleared a bit, no?" “You must be bored,” the Tower secretary murmured with a wry smile, his eyes dancing. He peered back towards the window with no small amount of longing, squinting against the bright glare of the reflected light. “We seem to have caught a bit of a reprieve, for the moment – but you can be sure the storms will be back later on.” “So can we deliver anything for the Tower?” Alses asked again, patiently. In the grand scheme of things, a few chimes mattered not a jot. Reluctantly, the dapper minion tore himself away from the window, where weak sunlight streamed through a gap in the circling clouds and bounced off every gleaming surface. He ruffled, absently, through the sheaves of papers and wax-sealed official documents that littered the marble surface, then bent to rummage further in the mahogany drawers that ranged all around the room. “It's in here somewhere,” he muttered, distracted. “Letter, letter, letter, letter, lette-ah!” He flourished a buff envelope with a triumphant wave. “This needs to go to the Temple of the Moon,” he said, doubtfully. “It's not exactly urgent, but it is something for you to do, at least.” “The Moon Temple?” Alses asked, slightly confused. The other Towers, Koten Temple and the various businessmen of the city, yes, but the religious Temples? “It's not a donation, is it?” He laughed, briefly. “Hah, no, we'd send that under Shinya guard. No offence, of course, but tens of thousands of kina with one Ethaefal courier? No, this is just some requests to the Chandra – that's Leth's priesthood here in the city, if you weren't aware.” Alses gave him a gentle smile. “I may be Synaborn, but I have lived in Lhavit for several years, Mr. Secretary.” He blushed, suddenly, something which took her completely by surprise. “Of course, of course. Do forgive me. Ahem. Yes. As I was saying, requests to the Chandra for the Winter season.” He smiled at her confusion, regaining something of his previous and normally unshakeable equipoise. “We do like to be organized. Winter is the busiest time for the Chandra; they're called upon for all sorts of observances and festivals, and so it serves the Dusk Tower's interests to get our requests in early.” He paused, considering. “You don't...mind, do you, Alses?" he asked delicately. It could be a sticky subject, after all. "I can get another courier to take it, of course, but I don't have anything else for you right now. I've got a whole stack of invoices that need to go up to Koten Temple when I've finished stamping them, if you'd rather wait.” “Very kind of you, Mr. Secretary," Alses murmured wryly, "But we'll take your message and leave the boxes of invoices to the others. Time for them to shoulder the burden of boxes for a little bit.” Alses plucked the thick, creamy paper out of the secretary's hand and slipped it inside her cloak, the better to protect it from the fitful rain that was now falling across Lhavit, a sort of continual reminder that the storms hadn't permanently gone away, just fallen back to regroup for a bit. If one cocked a listening ear, it was easy enough to hear the grumbling roar of thunder crashing up and down the mountain valleys all around the city of stars. “Take care, Alses!” the secretary called after her. “I shouldn't want to hear you've gone and done yourself a mischief!” She turned and swept him a graceful bow, before heading purposefully across the grand atrium towards the Tower's time-hardened doors, currently shut fast against the elements which had, up until recently, been battering on them full-force. A Some caprice of the weather meant that Lhavit's streets were socked in fog, dense and drifting clouds of vapour that, thanks to the glow of the skyglass, the weak sunshine shouldering its way through closing gaps in the cloud layer and the bioluminescence of the plants themselves, shimmered with obscuring light. Alses picked her way carefully through Lhavit's spiralling streets; past the grand procession of squares and avenues that lead from the Amaranthine Gates up to Koten Temple's imposing façade, the streets wended and wove their way over the peaks, their curving nature breaking up the mountain winds before they became too strong. It was fortunate, really, that she knew Lhavit well, both by dint of having lived there for years as well as thanks to running all over the place in the course of her duties as a courier. She was reduced to using the rooflines as a means of navigation where the fog was thickest, using the minarets and domes looming out of the murk to guide her on her way. Virtually no-one else was out and about on the streets – only sensible, when one thought about it – just the Shinya guards, as usual, their skyglass armour and robes glittering with beaded water. They inclined their heads or offered her slight bows as she sped past, the usual genuflections for a Lhavitian favourite, and thankfully didn't try to hinder her. Fortunately, it was really only a short journey from the Dusk Tower to the Moon Temple – just a matter of traversing a few tiers and going across until one came to the low, circular structure on its little promontory. In the diffuse light of the fog, it was instantly recognizable; in defiance of the daytime, the skyglass of that particular building glowed very faintly with the colours of the night – blue, black and deep, rich purple – seeming to drink in the paler light all around, making it easy to aim for. Alses must have looked quite a picture, appearing out of the swirling wisps of mountain fog, skin glowing brightly and pearls of water shimmering from every facet of her crown-of-horns; it must have been a rare sight indeed to see a glorious Synaborn Ethaefal setting foot over the threshold of the Moon God's temple. Indeed, the sleepy-looking acolyte on duty looked quite unable to believe her heavy-lidded eyes. “Um...excuse me, m'lady, but...are you lost?”

[Alses]

Lost? Well, it could be looked at that way. In a way, every Ethaefal was lost, cast adrift on Mizahar without a guide or purpose. That was probably a little too metaphysical for the sleepy acolyte on duty at high noon, though, giving the question an altogether more mundane spin. “Not in the sense you’re meaning, no,” Alses replied, after giving the question due consideration. “I have a dispatch from the Dusk Tower for-” her mind went blank. What was the name of whoever headed up the Chandra, Leth’s priesthood in the city? “-for the Chandra,” she finished, lamely, giving the priestess an embarrassed smile. The Chandra priestess pushed back her midnight-blue hood - gods and stars, but she was pale - and squinted past Alses and out into the drifting banks of fog. Perhaps her eyes were better-accustomed to the dark, or maybe she was simply more used to Lhavit’s weather. “They picked the right time to send you out and no mistake. There’s another storm approaching fast from the northwest.” “Joy,” Alses replied, sourly, and then felt churlish. There was something about the hushed and near-sepulchral atmosphere of Leth’s temple that made her feel very small indeed - which was probably where her snappishness came from, to be honest. That and feeling very much out of her comfort zone - Leth was the antithesis of everything she stood for, in a way. It was a peaceful, contemplative place nonetheless, with the cool blue alcohol flames blazing behind clear skyglass and the eerie pool of water right in the centre of the structure, the focal point, dancing and shimmering with faint light even though the oculus, high overhead and only just visible in the gathered gloom, was tightly shut. “My apologies, priestess.” She rummaged in her bag, using the opportunity to collect herself before depositing the creamy envelope into the pale, waiting hand. A yawn, improperly hidden, brought a smile to her face. Leth’s dominion was the night, the hours of darkness - small wonder this junior was on duty, and shattered, at that. Most of the senior figures of the Chandra would be sleeping - or at least, attempting to, surely, in preparation for the nightly rites and benedictions under the silver light of the moon. “Thank you, courier. I’ll see that Her Holiness gets it when she wakes up.” Another yawn and she drifted off, seeming to float across the acres of floor, rapidly blending into the midnight-glowing skyglass that made up the general fabric of the place. Left to her own devices, Alses wandered aimlessly around the central chamber of the temple, her footfalls - unlike those of the Chandra priestess - booming on the skyglass floor, echoing off the coffered dome whenever she took a step or two along the outer wall, studying the bas-reliefs and frescoes that had been painstakingly carved, or perhaps, come to think of it, grown, into the shimmering stone. She trailed wondering fingers along the smoothly sculpted figures gazing up towards the heavens or acting out incomprehensible scenes. It was eerie, the way the blue blaze of the alcohol flames and the steady glow of the skyglass seemed to make them shift and move, shadows racing and vanishing in the somehow unearthly light. “Still here?” the voice came from almost directly behind her. Even Alses’ superior hearing hadn’t caught the soft pad of moccasin on skyglass - she whirled in surprise, and then relaxed slowly as the still sleepy, loose features of the Chandra priestess came into focus, swathed in midnight blue silk that blended almost perfectly with the general fabric of the temple. Indeed, now that her eyes were slightly more accustomed to the bluish gloom (Syna above but her night vision was simply abysmal) she could see other Chandra silently seated behind the ornate metal grilles covering the arches of the higher tiers, just under the arcing coffered dome. It was all entirely different, somewhat more contemplative than the energetic whirl of the Sun Temple with its circles of dancers and exuberant chants, positively dragging people to worship. The atmosphere here, by contrast, was a much more introspective one, turning the mind inwards before focusing it - presumably - on the focal point of the temple, the great pool of dark water which lapped peacefully against its marble bounds. “Yes, priestess.” Alses didn’t know if there were particular terms for the Chandra ranks; it was a safe assumption to make, admittedly, but not a particularly helpful one in this instance - hence, priestess as a general, safe term. “We’re sorry - is the temple closed?” As far as Alses was aware, the Temples never closed - even Syna’s temple blazed cheerfully day and night, the fire forever tended by the swaying lines of Taiyang acolytes and the ripples of joyful prayer to the Sun Goddess never ceased or faded. Even on Longnight, the very hammer of winter, when it felt as though the sun had barely surmounted the mountaintops before it sank down again, the Sun Temple glowed on its peak with steady, beating reverence and bright warmth. The pale, pale priestess opposite her blinked slowly, liquidly, whilst another thought was painstakingly assembled. “Not at all - I was just surprised to find a Synaborn lingering here. Are you quite well?” Alses turned her head away, back to contemplating the ornate carvings that covered every scrap of the Temple. ‘How interesting,’ she thought, idly. ‘It all looks simple at first glance, but then there’s all this beautiful decoration you have to be up close to even see, let alone appreciate.’ “Quite well, thank you. Just trying to understand the other half, as it were.” She turned, suddenly, to look at the priestess, bright golden eyes direct. “There’s an echo in the dark, something similar to my goddess’s power…it intrigues me. We used to hate the night, flee it in all its forms. We are still not exactly…comfortable…with it, but it’s not nearly so bad as before. I felt we should learn more about Syna’s lover.” She shrugged, self-deprecatingly. “When the Dusk Tower asked me to deliver here, of all places, well…I couldn’t very well pass up the opportunity.” A slow smile, unsure at first, and then growing wider. “Would you like me to explain the carvings?” Alses blinked, never having considered them anything more than decoration. “They’re significant?” she asked, getting a low chuckle in return. “They’re the history of Leth, and of this Temple, too.” A faint smile. “I could preach a sermon, if you’d prefer that, but as a rule the Chandra encourage personal reflection. People should move at their own pace towards worship - we are here to guide and encourage, not force.” Alses inclined her head in a short, respectful bow. “Then we will be glad to take instruction from a tour of the carvings, if you would.”

[Alses]

She followed the Chandra maiden meekly, listening to the soft voice which barely disturbed the contemplative silence. “We start over here,” she murmured, gesturing at a vast, curving mural that glowed softly. Figures - too beautiful and distant to be anything but divine - were much in evidence. “This carving is the oldest of them all. It’s something of a legend, really, and it links Leth, Tanroa and your goddess together. The Appointing of the Sun and Moon, it‘s called.” She gestured at the most austere end of the carving, three figures all alone in the blankness. “Tanroa, the goddess of time itself, was looking for wild gods to take up the rate of day and night, so that the world could be prepared for mortals and the hours would differ from one another. She often walked through the heavens and the earth, accompanied by Kihala, the goddess of life everlasting, and Dira, goddess of eternal death. Often, they would speak of the glories they had seen and sought on their sojourns, talking and delighting in themselves and their surrounds as only the divines can.” She moved on slightly, pointing out the two figures that now flanked both Kihala and Dira. Beautiful, of course, and completely different from one another. Dira’s shadow was just that - blackened and veiled, a primal force for destruction and yet somehow beautiful in spite of, or perhaps even because of that, whilst Kihala’s companion was a brilliant spot of light on the skyglass. “It so happened that, during that timeless time, Dira’s dark and wild brother, his dominion uncertain, fell in love with the handmaiden of Kihala, a bright and radiant goddess bursting with golden life, and desired her greatly, enough that when Kihala denied him her hand, he attempted to take her for himself.” The priestess cleared her throat, looking slightly uncomfortable. That particular part of the story didn’t exactly show her god in the best of lights, even though this was before time had any mortal meaning at all and before his domain had been decided. “Dira pled his case before Tanroa, along with Kihala, who was reluctant to lose her handmaiden. Tanroa, in her wisdom, considered the two wild gods and found them fitting for her own eternal purposes, ordaining Kihala’s handmaiden as the goddess of the sun and the waking hours, and Dira’s brother as the god of the moon and the sleeping night. She commanded that each keep their distance from one another in their respective spheres, but that they should come close to each other at the start and close of each day, and so have the delight of one another’s company, in token of their love. Their realms in the Ukalas, too, they would forever be next to one another, intertwined as a symbol of their devotion to one another.” The priestess smiled. “And thus did Tanroa preside over the ordination of Leth and Syna as deities of the moon and sun.” Her soundless footfalls carried her - with Alses hurrying loudly on behind - around the curving wall of the Temple and towards another monumental fresco. “Here, we see the Valterrian. The war in the heavens, the catastrophe which nearly wiped us all from the surface of Mizahar.” Indeed, the vast fresco was a frenzy of violent, destructive activity, immortalized forever in gently-glowing skyglass – shattering fire obliterating cities, mountains being thrown up and then just as quickly cast down, tidal waves washing over once-fertile land and much else besides, directed by battling figures overhead, representations of the gods who had clashed in the disaster. Over them all there stood a burning figure, raining down fire from the heavens and calling it up from the earth in a veritable orgy of destruction – mountains split apart and vomited torrents of lava onto the defenceless land even as flame burned across the sky. Even frozen in time, immortalised in serene skyglass, the sheer savagery of the event shone through, visceral and clear. “As Ivak, the god of Fire, raged across the Suvan Empire in his grief over the death of his lover, Queen Kova of Alahea, his enemies among the pantheon seized the moment to strike, beginning a conflict which quickly spiralled out of all control. As the gods fought, heaven and earth alike trembled with the fury of their conflict. They raised entire mountain ranges in their clashes, drowned swathes of cities in the struggle, and at the height of the disaster, when battle was at its fiercest, our Lady of the Stars fell to earth to prevent some greater catastrophe. In anguish at her heavenly sister's plight, Syna moved to aid Zintila but was shielded, held back and protected by Leth, who understood the danger that Zintila's fall represented. Overwhelmed with concern, Syna fought, and their struggles took them close to the centre of the terrible events. Out of his love for the Sun Goddess, Leth bore the brunt of the backlash, and was grievously wounded in consequence, which resulted in the Dark Years when neither sun nor moon nor even the stars lit the skies of Mizahar.” The priestess shivered, her tale done and her voice rising from the measured cadences of a lecturer. “A dark time. A very dark time – the few survivors of the calamity sheltering like rats deep underground, with not a spark of sun or moonlight to sustain their hope. I'm glad I didn't have to live through that, believe me.” “Me too,” Alses murmured, fervently. “We would find it unbearable, I think.” A gentle smile. “You'd be surprised at your own fortitude. Faith manages. Mizahar survived, after all, and look at all we've rebuilt from the ashes.” A pause. “You look a little overwhelmed, miss. Do feel free to think on it a while – that's what the Temple is for, after all.” She padded away on velvet-shod feet – they had to be, her footfalls were absolutely silent on the echoing skyglass – leaving Alses magnificently alone in the Temple hall, considering everything she'd learned of the dark, frightening and mysterious God of the Moon. END

[Elysium]

Character: Alses
XP:
Running +2
Auristics +3
Observation +3

Lores:
Lore of “The Appointing of the Sun and the Moon”
Lore of “The Dark Years”
The Ferocity of Lhavitian Storms
How to Avoid Overgiving

Other: A lovely read. The description of the storm was magnificent. Well done.

and so, the journey continues...