Solo [The Pit] Volte-Face

[Celeste Arumen]

15th Day of Winter, 513 AV

Continued from The Piercing Fang

There was duality in her heart. Celeste sat, nearly unblinking as she resumed her place in the Pit. Tierra told her not to fight the change, but to endure it. Not endure it, even. A shiver ran down her spine, the filigree of her djed warping sideways as a patch of her flesh turned blue. She was meant to embrace it. But in the embrace, would she lose her precious identity? Was she giving up Celeste the Girl?

Did she even have a choice?

Dejected, she sat, allowing the deft fingers of Pit to prod at her. They ran along the bottoms of her feet, twisting skin to scales, causing her to irritably rub them back and forth. But what was the big deal, after all? Celeste had been morphing for most her life. It didn’t make sense that she was so wary; she’d done it thousands of times in the past. Why was this any different?

Pondering it all, she shot a subconscious hand toward the encroaching djed of the Pit, holding fast to her energy mid-morph, the result dappling her locks electric blue. She could feel the fatigue set in at her resistance. At this rate, she would only manage another fifteen chimes. Celeste sighed in disgust. She didn’t want this. This was not what she’d anticipated.

Why was she so resentful, all of the sudden? Was it because she simply didn’t want to go through with it? What sense did that even make? Everything was so confusing. The girl had never felt so utterly conflicted in her life. All that she’d done until then had been logical; it had made sense. But now, despite the linear progression of things, she was fighting the tide, resisting change. How selfish could she be, to be angered on the basis of taking responsibility?

Caught in the throes of adolescence and adulthood, she pounded a fist against the ground, pain shooting up through her arm in reply. Dismay, anxiety, fury and sadness all roiled in her heart, further colored by other, deeper emotions that she could not understand. The question still stood: why was it so deeply disturbing, so utterly impossible to let go and just submit to the change?

Tears formed at the corners of her eyes, which burned as they were twisted to oddly reptilian slits. Wearily, she allowed her energy to be pulled sharply out of place, thinned and elongated. She wondered idly if the djed was plucking thoughts from her mind, or if it was in some way reacting to her needs, saying it understood. What did this Pit want her to be? Why couldn’t she just let it guide her?

Like Ionu. Like Alvadas.

The young girl nodded in silence, as if this made sense to her. She felt the pressure slowly increase as the energy of her training ground grew more fevered, more eager to mold and shape her. Celeste endeavored to sit and let it happen, though she still reacted without thinking, trying to reject this morph or that, tightening her internal grasp, even when she didn’t really mean to. It was all a reflex, an innate rejection. She could not allow herself to be a puppet, not even for her own good.

This confused her on a fundamental level. How could she claim to worship Ionu if she couldn’t embrace change? She’d lived in his city for most of her life. Alvadas was dangerous, sometimes sinister, yet it’d only done nominal harm to her psychologically. She’d been bred to trust it like a brother, to confide in it her secrets, so that in return, it would hold and keep her.

So in a way, wasn’t this Pit much the same? Shouldn’t she trust it, as Riyanna, Brom and Tierra had before her?

[Celeste Arumen]

Her eyes, now a brilliant green, stared absently at the smooth wall before her. She had to literally swallow down the urge to resist the changes as they went, the pulsating aura warping her, stretching her, testing her limits. It wanted to know her in the most intimate way, djed on djed, the core of her and this alien force reconciling together as they came to be one, universal whole.

She didn’t want it.

It was more or less in resignation that she allowed the strands of her spine to be warped, bending her double in a sickening fashion, bones thickening in odd places and thinning in others. It hurt, almost, being manhandled with such force. The strands of her djed sang a foreign tune as they resonated along. Spiny quills forced their way up from the skin of her back, causing her to whimper at the sudden, violent growth. What was she? This question, thick with some many different meanings, sang throughout. What was she? Was this life really for her?

She wanted to change Sahova. But why? Why was it so important? Was the catch that in the change, she’d also change herself? But as she was molded, groomed by others, forced to do their bidding, would she retain herself? Or would she be a monster, just as she was now? Would she be forced into this pose of submission?

Was this an illustration of who she was now: a slave?

Her elbows began to crack as the djed twisted painfully. Bone sheathed out from either end, curving into sharp, creamy tusks that very nearly cut her in their emerging. She wept bitterly. Yes, she was a slave. To Amaryllis, to the Pit, to Sahova. This was the dream she’d won. Riyanna was right. She was a fool. It would be her right to die, right here.

It wasn’t but ticks later that the headaches began to start. She was beginning to know them well and it’d only been a few bells. Driven only by the thinnest wisp of self-preservation, she began shambling toward the rope, using what little energy she had to again, straighten herself out, forcing the djed in a more linear direction so that she might momentarily collect herself.

The resulting pain was so blinding that she reeled back into the dirt. It was unreal; the strain of having come up and gone down three times or more in the course of just bells had been too much. Struggling and clutching her blazing skull, she tried to climb up, hand over foot, weeping and whimpering, while the fuzzy outlines of Brom and Tierra suddenly slid into view.

As her hands reached the top, she slipped and they bodily hauled her out, Tierra catching her with one of her many sets of arms.

”Celeste!” Brom cried, eyes wild with fear and anger. ”I told you to come up sooner, this time! You could’ve gotten yourself killed.”

Tierra placed a hand on his forearm. ”Brom,” she said in a placating manner. ”Easy.” Looking slightly mollified, he grunted in assent, looking back at the child. Her back was still hunched, her toe and fingernails forked and split. Quills covered her back, digging against her flesh. Her hair was blacker than night, her pupils slit and eyes green.

They immediately got to work, fixing her up.

”Fool,” she croaked. ”I’m such a fool.” Tierra placed an errant hand on her forehead. ”Stop that,” she said softly, dabbing up the blood that lined her back.

”No, Riyanna was right. Look what I’ve done. I’m not smart enough to be here in Sahova.”

Tierra, with her beautiful dark eyes, smiled. ”Riyanna made her own mistakes. She was hurt when she said that. She just didn’t want you to follow her path. For all her strength, she has a hard time letting go.”

Riyanna’s path? But if she’d followed her path, she wouldn’t be going to the Heartlands to die. Her head surged uncomfortably. ”I don’t understand.” She finally managed, squeezing her eyes shut.

”You and Riyanna are so alike,” she said, still smiling placidly. ”You’re both self-critical, sensitive and stubborn as mules. You made a mistake – we all have. Once I almost got myself decapitated because I was too worried for Brom and I never heard the end of it from her.” She shook her head, as if lost in a distant thought.

”It’s not the same,” the girl answered, clutching her temples.

”It is, though.” Riyanna continued mending her. ”I took the lashing. I learned from it. But you aren’t just an initiate, not like Brom or I. Your mistakes are greater because you’re going farther than we ever will.” Brom nodded imperceptibly, for only Tierra to see. It was as if they’d spoken of it before.

”I don’t get it. I can’t even let the Pit change me without fighting it. I failed my Judgement and now I’ll fail this too.” She groaned, speech and light plaguing her.

”Celeste,” Brom said from somewhere near her feet. ”I need you to listen carefully. You knew that by coming here, you’d be something. When you fell, Riyanna was there to catch you. But now, you have to learn to trust yourself. If you say you’re going to fail, you’re going to fail.” There was a painful silence, as if he struggled to articulate the thought.

”Don’t fight the change. No matter how you look, how you act, you’ll always be you on the inside. Do you understand? Trust me. Trust us.” He looked to the other initiate, who beamed, immensely proud. He blushed and looked away, muttering to himself. ”I’m getting dinner,” he announced, unable to handle any more sentimentality.

”Once you’re ready,” Tierra said, ”it’ll be time to try again.”

She thought of all this as her consciousness briefly faded. Try again. This was her second chance. She had to trust herself. Maybe Celeste the Girl wasn’t who she truly was. Maybe she was just Celeste. But who was that, in the end?

[Celeste Arumen]

She sat, feeling the feathery brush of the Pit pulling her hair shorter, thickening the shining halo into tight ringlets. It took a great deal of detachment to let it do as it wished without making a move to stop it. This would be the true exercise. The initiate closed her eyes and tried to shift her focus to philosophical matters, hoping it’d take her away from the need for control.

So who was she?

This was the greatest matter at stake. Illia, ever the quiet hum in the back of her mind, was there to remind her of the little girl of what she’d started out as. But as they progressed, she found herself caring less and less about that outward form. In the end, she could choose anything she liked. That original form would be a model and if she were to call it a reflection of her true self, then it would be. But that was for her to decide.

At the heart of it, she was still conflicted. Her head swam ever so slightly as the djed of her eyes was twisted to an acute angle, causing them to literally go red. Well, that was a fun accent, she thought without humor. Perhaps it’d give her fangs, too, making her into a beautiful little monster.

So who was she, huh? Petulant, ambitious smart-ass Celeste Arumen. What did she want with Sahova? All she’d dreamed of was the prestige of being a great Wizard, an innovator of the post-Valterrian world. But she’d never really thought what to innovate. All the grand dreams of proving Grams wrong had been swept up in the flurry of initiate and apprentice and of climbing the political ladder. But why? She’d sold her soul to Amaryllis, in the name of something better. But what the petch was it?

To follow in the path of Goron Silverheart. Was that Illia? Was it her? Or did the Pit respond in kind?

She turned this over in her mind. He was the one who had legitimized the Wardens as a true faction. What was the man like, anyway? The Pit worked at her more furiously, this time separating and fanning out the djed of her forearms, working at it until she literally sprouted feathers - brilliant peacock plumage, to match her bright teal hair. Celeste blinked. This was an odd development. Idly, she scratched at the feathers, the pores inflamed at this sudden intrusion.

She could’ve sworn it was responding to her. It seemed with every morph, it was reacting to her fear, anxiety and dread, but it seemed the reserve was true. There was a little seed of hope in the thought of Goron Silverheart, in the Guild of Masters.

What if she got as far as he did? What would be possible for her?

There was be Nemora Tepest as an opponent, she thought excitedly, but of course that was true. The woman wouldn’t give up her seat easily and if she were to survive the Pit, survive the Heartlands against all odds, the spotlight would be on her. There would be a wicked wind at her back, propelling her onward. Her spirit buoyed. The outside world began to work at her bones, stripping the inside of her internal tapestry, fatigue abstractly washing over her, lapping at the fringes of her conscious mind.

There was a way to beat Nemora Tepest, to make her pay. Riyanna wouldn’t have to do a thing. Celeste knew the woman was after revenge. But this way, she wouldn't have to suffer. She wouldn't -

Suddenly, a thought halted her in her tracks. Was this who she was? Ambitious, smart, but good? She was good, wasn’t she? She’d given that slave in the Forge her food. She’d absolved Annalisa, despite everything the woman had told her. She refused to take advantage of Kouri, even when given the opportunity.

She was good. Laughter bubbled up inside her, tears spilling out onto her cheeks.

It was a relief. She was good. She would always be that way. Even when trying to outdo Thomas or being forced to watch Vick at his work, she did not lose it. So long as she kept this fundamental goodness a secret, this rebellious streak of humanity, it could live on and flourish, with these changes as the perfect disguise.

Emboldened by her reckless joy, the Pit gave her wings. Literally. From shoulder to fingertip, she was feathered, her bones hollow, all her fingers fused together.

And then she realized; how the hell was she supposed to climb out when she had no hands?

[Celeste Arumen]

”Tierra,” she cooed softly, forcing herself back together. Once out of the Pit, she wanted nothing more than to sleep it off. But she wouldn’t; she had to push to the absolute limit in order to grow. There was no other alternative. From this newfound determination sprang vigor, even in spite of her total exhaustion. ”I’m going back in soon, but before I do…”

All at once, she felt as if she’d smashed into a wall. The girl blinked, eyes watering. Not from sadness, or fear, but from pure exhaustion. Had adrenaline been driving her on? She blinked, struggling to keep her eyes open. ”Oh no you’re not,” Tierra said, ruffling her hair. ”You don’t even have the strength to put yourself back together, see?” She wiggled a feather that remained near the vicinity of her elbow.

With an awful strain, she searched for the anomaly in her djed. There were many new contours she did not understand: had she morphed taller? Or was that shorter? Did her legs and arms match? She was too tired to tell for sure. Finally, there was a divet that she recognized and with a great heave, she forced the energy back into place, or thereabouts, freeing herself from the appendage.

”Do I look normalish?” She asked, rubbing at the skin gratefully. ”Normalish,” Tierra responded, smoothing a hand over her forehead. ”You know, you’re a very strong girl. I know this has been hard on you.” She nodded sleepily, trying not to think of her near death experience. It’d been the closest she’d ever come to overgiving as a morpher – not the kind where you got stuck, either. The kind where you forgot to breathe.

”It’ll only get harder,” she said, her face contorting. ”It will be very, very hard tomorrow Celeste. And the day after that, it will soon become unbearable. Do you understand?” Unable to care at the given moment, she only mumbled in reply. ”You are going to hate me, everytime I tell you that you must go back in. So for now, sleep. Because you will need this strength tomorrow.”

That was her cue. She allowed her body to relax, so that she might doze off. But before she truly passed into dreaming, she considered what Tierra had said. She was going to suffer. It was good that at least she’d taken this time to wax philosophical, while she still could. She’d found her determination. Now she had to ride the wave until it crested.

Only time would tell whether or not it crashed down upon her.

[Strange]

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Celeste Arumen

Skills

Skill Name	Experience
Morphing	2 XP
Philosophy	1 XP

Lores

Morphing: Don't Fight The Change

Comments :

This was a good thread. I could really feel Celeste's inner turmoil. Unfortunately Some of the bold speech seems to have spilled out over the top of the template in some places leaving the side of the post completely meaning I couldn't read it. It wasn't a major setback because I just clicked the quote and looked at what it said from there but I thought you should know there was a malfunction.

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