[Environs of Avanthal] Guises of the Mind [Stas]

[Tabarnac]

The air solidified around Stas, pulled him up into the air, turning him around for the god to inspect him like he was some horse merchant making a purchase at a fair. His inspection was intense and intrusive, like he could vivisect the fallen magus and look at his insides without even touching him. For the time being, the offer was forgotten. Instead, those stormy, inhuman eyes stared at him up close. Stas could feel the pent up energy, frighteningly strong, held in check so close to him it made the hairs on his body stand up at attention. It even excited the rest of his body, skin tingling, guts churning, manhood standing up to salute that much power within reach. But he couldn't reach out and touch the god despite his nearness, the bonds of solid air holding him back. "I am what I am," He acknowledged. "You are what you are. You seek a touchstone, and power. A flame in the Void. The eye of the storm. What will you do if I give you power and prophecy a touchstone, your guide? Your solace?"

[Stas Grigori]

“Thank you.” Anyone with the strange fortune to be listening would wonder if Stas was truly mad for saying those two words alone to the god in whose power he was already bound. But those words came after his inspection, after his being displayed more bare than any sensation of helpless nakedness one could imagine, after his body had been shocked in the most literal and awakening way possible. ‘There is more to be seen in those clouds of majesty than in anything my eyes have looked upon even in fever dreams. I can feel, I can see him, is this being a him, scouring my depths as though it was no harder than opening a chest or a sack. My body is alive with fire, and I am not afraid? I cannot move at all, would I have the courage to reach for him if I could? Does he see in me chaos and fury and worthlessness? Or is it value? What am I doing, questioning a god?’ He tried to clench his eyes shut in a mixture of shame and introspection and raw unfamiliarity with the sensation of having no secrets, shadows or places to hold the weakness inside away from the world. What would he do if given such a treasure, such a freedom that would come from feeling a right urge, a sense of finally knowing there was a purpose to achieve, a direction to go? ‘And…if this is not a god, then I am doing this, to myself? I have this power, this raw strength when I am in my madness? If I have this in any form then I can have it in every form, and if I have it, I must be able to own it, to control and direct it. But what if this is the sight and strength and inquiry of a god? Will it destroy me for that kind of thought? For wanting that kind of strength of will and direction and peace of the soul? What freak of a man can figure out the conundrum of the mind of those who live with, above and beyond us who know death, who go through what my mentor named the cycle? Whatever this may be, whatever it is, how it thinks…Gratitude and peace and effort towards paying the cost that such help demands…What else can I give but what makes me able?’ “I will thank you, and listen, and follow or lead as you require from me. Just let me know the peace that comes from having somewhere to go, something to do, that can’t be broken by the lashing of madness and weakness and the twists of the minds of those of us meant to travel the endless cycle while always forgetting the cycles before. . Even a broken being such as I felt your scrutiny. You know I can listen. You know I can learn. Show me how.”

[Tabarnac]

The invisible bonds that held him relaxed, allowing him to move although he was still hovering a couple of feet off the ground so he could look the god in the eye. He reached out to Stas, and when the weary magus reached out to touch His hand, lightning struck him. Time seemed to freeze, and Stas found himself with an eerie, panoramic view of the world with such clarity, that it was quite possible the lightning had destroyed his body, leaving only awareness. For that interminable moment, he could see the interior of his psyche lit up with the harsh and true light of the storm's anger. He could see what was broken, what could be fixed, with what he would have to learn to live. But there were people whose path would cross his who could help, whom he could help, where he could find purpose, power, and fulfillment. There was also danger... The lucid instant of eternity disappeared, leaving only strange afterimages in his vision. The fullness of his revelation quickly receded, shattering in the mess of his mind, mirror-bright pieces disappearing into dark corners, but there were some he could still see, might still piece together. "I help those who help themselves, Stas Grigori," said the god. There was an itch on Stas' back, but not one he could get to. "The breezes will hear you now. Some you can command, some cajole, others with whom you can bargain. And one will come whose face you recall from a haven in the trickster's city. Take his hand in friendship. There is much you can teach each other." With the strangeness of his vision and the static tingle of energy despite the sudden exhaustion of his bones, Stas might as well have been reborn for the weakness and disorientation, but there was a new power in him now, a place where, when his mind and soul were quiet, he might find a trace of the divine.

[Stas Grigori]

“Is this wisdom then?” Stas whispered into the darkness, or into whatever it was that he was gazing upon after the power of the bolt surged through him and tore him from the normal world. Perhaps it was not death, but it was pristine moment where his vision went so far that he could see the opening of his life, he could turn over memories long since dead and extinguished, and he was looking directly at where he could find peace, tranquillity, direction unquestionable. No way could such a state last. For a time he was within the eye of power that was the storm of the god before him, and was filled with it, overloaded and lifted higher by it. Out of the world of man and creature and into the realm of higher knowledge, of higher everything. It was a pain and a new anguish to come down from there. To see and feel the brilliant picture of clear answers crack and smash into shards of knowing, and to disappear into the shadow filled depths of his psyche. ‘But they are there. Even though they run from me, they are still there!’ It was a hope that took hold as he felt the scratching urge take hold, as he heard the voice of the god again, and saw the faces flash in and blur out of his minds vision. As he was counselled, and instructed on what had changed, on who he would look for, he basked in what could be his own glory from the feeling of hope. Or perhaps it was simply the lingering feeling of the god’s energy that made him pulse and quiver so. He felt something under his feet, and his legs just did not have it together yet so he could not stand. But he could still see the god, and his throat worked. There was a new swirl to his world and a little less, or at least a different madness. “I said you would have my thanks, and I give them with less hesitation than I have felt in ages. You have given me hints, whispers, a gift and a vision. What I saw…I can’t remember it clearly but I want to feel that way more. I will do everything I can figure out to get there again.” Stas paused and though tiredness was still wrapped about his limbs, he pressed against the weight of it and was able to come up and gradually get to his feet. “And I still do not know truly any name or claim for who or what you are, but I can live with what I have. Or I will try and learn from what the wind can teach me anew. And from this future friend of my history.”

[Tabarnac]

Though the breezes were fleeing, there was enough gathered energy for a bit more guidance. The wind turned Stas around, prevented his shaking legs from failing him, and then the god touched his back. The itch there cracked open with heat as if lightning had exploded across his back, up and down his spine, and the force of the god's will sent him hurling through space, warm winds buffeting him until he crunched up against the pillowy soft snow beside the gates to Avanthal. Stas' god was a mighty god, but He knew Whose place this was. The itch and the fire were gone, leaving only a strange awareness of something skittering across his back, the afterimage of the god's touch, a reminder that there was something, after all, to anchor him with reality, albeit a higher one than most mortals knew. The god was gone, but one of his breezes, a gentle, helpful one, whispered into Stas' ear one last message from their master: "The beginning of wisdom is the discovery of something we do not understand." And then a whisper of words from the breeze itself before it chased after its brethren: "Hail and farewell," it said, "brother." END

[Tabarnac]

XP Award! Stas XP Award: Wilderness Survival +1; Reimancy +5; Rhetoric +5 Award: 1 Mark of Stormwarden from Zulrav Additional Notes: Congratulations on your gnosis, you holy fool! Feel free to PM me if you have any questions or concerns. Keep writing!