The Possibility of False Life

by **Thomas Cosa** on January 7th, 2013, 4:30 pm

11th of Winter, 512 AV

Thomas stumbled through the library, his mumbling incoherent as he passed aisle after aisle, tome after tome.

He was sick, perhaps deathly so. And it showed. His Sahovan made pallor skin tinged a faint gray, shiny with sweat. Glazed eyes followed titles as he passed, clamy hands tightened in shaking fists. His figure had thinned out considerably, and frightening so - some of the other apprentices had even, willingly, shared their food rations, which Thomas struggled to keep down. This disease, or whatever it was, had been brought on suddenly, and the young mage had slept the passed two days, much to the displeasure of his colleagues.

"Oh, the increasing frailty of mortality," one had teased, cruelly. Another had laughed.

They would both die when Thomas came in to power. Oh, how pleased Dira would be! The long lost souls finally reunited with the ever going cycle.

"What a pleasant thought," he sighed tiredly, not entirely conscious of his own speak.

Despite the temperate climate, Thomas adorned a thick cloak, one of the few luxuries he allowed himself on the dead isle, and while he originally cursed himself for bringing something so heavy and useless -- know he was just grateful to find something to warm himself with. Thank Avalis for that insight.

Eventually, the youth made his way to the Animation and Golem Building section, and slowly began to peruse the many titles, sneezing and coughing as he read them aloud.

So obviously alive.

by **Orinei** on January 7th, 2013, 8:31 pm

11th of Winter, 512

“Stupid, stupid, stupid, shyke…” Orinei, with her muttering, was weaving a tapestry of profanity as she stormed away from the glittering halls of the Palsa Hydrasa, stomping up the stairs and out towards the main Citadel. Normally she walked quietly, with measured steps, conserving the precious little kinetic energy bestowed up on her, being a Nuit; however, at the moment, her anger was turning her steps into thundering hoofbeats that did not befit her very slight frame.

She was on her way to the library. She’d teach Amaryllis a lesson or two. After ten days—count them, ten—of endless cataloguing of dead bodies for Nuit inhabitation, sunup til sundown, she had had quite enough. Though her senses were slightly deadened due to her undead nature, the pressure of Amaryllis’ peacock feather quills on her fingers had left pain and blisters. On the heels of yet another argument about why there were no golems to do these menial jobs, she had decided to play a little trick on her mistress. Get a few books about golems, she thought, leave them around her office. Maybe she needs a little light reading. Orinei wasn’t exactly fluent in Nader-canoch, but she figured she could read well enough to pick out a tome or two. Amaryllis would be less than happy about it, but she figured she’d blame it on one of the other hapless embalming apprentices. Most of them had been there far longer than she, but she had already dismissed most of them as fairly useless. Hopefully, they were just as fed up with doing tasks that even a Follower golem could do without a second thought.

She had to hand it to Amaryllis, though—the flamboyant old Nuit had sowed some seeds in Orinei’s brain. Why not learn to Animate as well? she asked herself, as she entered the library. Could be useful, especially if I end up running that place someday. Orinei’s delusions of grandeur allowed her to believe that ten days into her apprenticeship, she’d obviously be the queen of Sahova sooner than later. The lack of automated help in the Palsa Hydrasa had convinced her that an Animator—perhaps a Gadgeteer as well—was sorely needed in the embalming chambers. And who better than Orinei?

The library was intimidating, she had to admit, though in the last 10 days the stone grandiosity of everything in Sahova had lost just the tiniest bit of its luster for her. She was still impressed with everything, but was already becoming accustomed to such things. The room seemed to go on forever: bookshelves reaching to the ceiling, as far as the eye could see. It was very quiet, too; the only real constant movement was that of the CG golems, rolling around, and the dust motes, fluttering about whenever old books were cracked open. As she entered, still walking as quickly and angrily as she had before, she headed straight for the section housing the books on Animation and golems.

To her surprise, there was already someone in the aisle. Someone loud. She turned, nearly gaping at him, head tilted slightly as the boy hacked and sneezed. She adjusted her impression: someone loud and alive, and wearing a cloak that seemed unseasonably heavy. When she noticed him reading the titles aloud, she thought he might not only be ill, but maybe crazy. She took a few cautious steps toward him—she needed a book, after all.

As he hacked again, she couldn’t stifle a snigger. “Don’t you think you’re a bit…warm-blooded to be down here?”

OOC :

by **Thomas Cosa** on January 8th, 2013, 12:03 am

OOCSo, Thomas isn't usually this cray-cray. But, he was infected or I guess, any sickness he had was doubled by the blight, and I decided to play it off with a ridiculous cold fever and mild hallucinations -- I figure it would be easier this way to get him to teach a Nuit, since he hates them XD.
Also, don't worry about post length! I love reading so the more the better -- I should be the one worrying to keep my post length up, haha!

"Warm-blooded?" Thomas echoed palely, almost as if the words were foreign to the sickly human. Certainly, all implied offense was completely lost on the boy.

"No," he said softly, his voice barely audible, "I'm cold."

And an awkward silence fell between them, Thomas lazily pushing Djed through his eyes. The world brightened for a brief moment, and then blurred around the Nuit as Thomas tried to maintain a grasp on his magic, knowing his current state wouldn't allow for much energy spent before his Auristics flickered out.

"Quick," he mumbled, unaware he was speaking instead of thinking. Had the young pulser been healthy, or at least as healthy as one alive could claim on Sahova, Orinei would have been met with a scowl and an immediate dismal upon learning she had no real magic to her name. His skin felt no electric touch, no warming, rolling sensation passed his pale skin as he scanned the Nuit. Only the same decaying taste accompanied Orinei's aura, the same with all Nuits. That and the strange smell of foreign chemicals.

"But nothing else. No magic. She hasn't any," Thomas said, stumbling through the basic sentence, again speaking when he meant only to think. A low buzzing began in his left ear, but he ignored it, eager to learn more. To See more.

So he pushed on, ignoring the warning signs he had memorized, all five senses burning with the Auristic touch. "Still dead, though," he pondered, not really able to grasp more then the fact that, yes, the Nuit was indeed a Nuit. The taste only progressed to his other sense, Orinei's slightly blurring and darkening, hearing only an unnatural silence, his fingers imagining the soft touch of rotting fruit, the smell of decomposing leaves filling his nostrils, his nose wrinkling unpleasantly.

And then he sneezed, and his vision flickered and his magic was gone.

But there was still a buzzing in his left ear.

"So, you're dead, then?" he asked, louder then before, his head perpetually tilting to the left, as if he was trying to force water out of his ear canal.

by **Orinei** on January 8th, 2013, 2:07 am

Before he started mumbling again, Orinei realized that her little jab hadn’t had the desired effect. This one truly was a bit out of it. So she decided to try another little jibe, see if she couldn’t get even the slightest rise out of him. “You’re cold…hmm,” she said, snickering a little once more. “I have a feeling you might be on the wrong island.” She was, of course, referring to the fact that Sahova provided little to nothing in the ways of the comforts of the living. Personally, she couldn’t see why any pulsers would want to concern themselves with living among the undead--especially if they ended up like this poor soul. She wondered how many seasons he'd spent here among the wizards; they obviously weren't taking very good care of him.

Orinei hadn’t met many people in Sahova thus far, but Thomas was quickly proving himself to be by far the strangest. She watched him quizzically while he focused on her aura; she, of course, had no idea what he was doing. She wondered if he was having trouble seeing her, as he squinted and their awkward pause passed. Once he spoke again, to comment on her lack of magic, she was even more confused—and a little incensed.

Oh, so this one’s MAGICAL, is he? She thought, unable to keep the smirk from forming on her lips. Apparently she’d come across one of Sahova’s rare living wizards. It doesn’t look like his magic is doing him much good now. She did wonder, though, what he was doing in the Animation section of the Great Library. Though she admittedly had a distaste for the living, she supposed she wouldn’t be above consulting one for help or advice—even an ill, possibly deranged one. Generally, even if she hated someone, if she found them somehow useful to her own ends, she’d find a way to stand their presence. He’d at least be more entertaining than some meek Zeltivan apprentice, she figured. Probably easier to get information out of him, too.

When he asked her if she was dead, though, the black humor that had prevailed over their interaction so far finally bubbled out of her. She couldn’t help but laugh, and it was a full, rich laugh indeed. It wouldn’t have been particularly loud anywhere else in the Citadel, but in the silent library it echoed off the ceiling to reverberate over the sounds of wheeling golems and the rustle of pages. She didn’t normally like to do anything that showed off her Nuit black tongue, but she couldn’t resist. “Am I dead?” she repeated, still chortling. Though it had probably been an honest question from the poor, sick boy, she had mistaken it for sarcasm. Sarcasm—she could deal with that. “Quite the contrary, boy. My blood might not be as red as yours, but I plan to live through your lifetime and then a hundred more.” Shaking her head, she laughed again.

“What’s your name, human?” she asked, and grudgingly, she actually was curious. The naïveté of humans never failed to irritate her, but after ten days in the Rubellum Chamber—silent as the grave, no pun intended—she was desperate for entertainment.

by **Thomas Cosa** on January 8th, 2013, 9:12 am

"No, I'm not," he replied, a little too quickly. If Orinei was observant, something defensive could be heard in the young mage's voice, "I'm supposed to be here," a pause followed, silence. And then, "I come here to further my studies in the fields of animation and golem building, and improve on what I know of Pre-Valterrian history," he declared loudly, as if Orinei had asked. As if she was the Vestible.

Either way, he had declared his studies loudly, and confidently, two traits that had been absent in his speak.

"But you are dead," Thomas said pointedly, his voice stronger now, as if he needed to convince Orinei of that fact, "I saw your ton--," he coughed repeatedly, using his cloak as his mouth cover. "Your tongue. It's black," he added, his own sweaty, clammy finger pointing at his own throat, his own tongue, pink and swollen, sticking out as if he wanted to compare the two. "And you felt dead, so you must be," Thomas noted decidedly, nodding, the slight buzzing in his left ear now truly starting to annoy the sickly human, his fingers clawing at his ear, trying to find the source of the noise.

"She's dead. She's Nuit," Thomas noted, speaking instead of thinking. His broken sentences rough and forced, his mind trying to link his way of speaking with the way the young pulser thought, "So she's unnatural. Untrustworthy. Difficult," he listed, reminding himself of the troubles of the Nuit, as if he was remembering he was supposed to hate them.

But he would still answer her, because she was a Nuit, and he was human. His clouded mind had convinced the young mage that the Orinei was in charge, that she would have some kind of power over him -- had he been well, he would have been long gone. A Nuit without magic was like a fish who couldn't swim.

Useless to Thomas, unless he could manage to eat it.

"Thomas Cosa," he replied, his voice raspy and damaged from sick. "And you?" he sneezed, his nose a bright red from all the rubbing and blowing, his skin dry and cracked.

"Why do you stay if you don't have magic?" Thomas asked, sincerely curious.

by **Orinei** on January 9th, 2013, 8:28 pm

As soon as he had finished proudly declaring his studies to her, Orinei’s pallor lit up considerably. A small smile even broke out over her face, her eyes—generally moving, roving over everything as if to make up for her minimal physical movement—fixed on him. This is it, she thought. A stroke of luck. She was familiar with the way pulsers treated Nuits (well, pulsers that wanted to keep their pulse) and if that held true for this boy…maybe she’d learn something.

She listened to him insist upon her dead-ness, smiling slowly again, raising an eyebrow when he got to the part about her being untrustworthy, difficult, unnatural. Unnatural? She considered that one for a moment, and almost thought it funny. This boy, on an island of the undead, found them unnatural when they outnumbered his kind more than two to one? She wondered if he was having trouble adjusting. Jealous of their immortality, perhaps? Difficult, she could deal with. She could even admit that. She’d perhaps have a harder time admitting to being untrustworthy—she kept her words, after all, even if she did admittedly use people to her greatest personal advantage.

Quietly, she nodded thoughtfully, choosing her words carefully. “I suppose, if you consider a heartbeat, blood, breathing, et cetera, to be the only qualifiers for life, then yes, I am dead,” she began. “But is it not enough to simply exist? I feel alive. Perhaps differently than you, because my time is not so fleeting. I have all the time in the world. But wait--” She frowned suddenly, eyebrows furrowed. “What you do mean, I feel dead?” To the best of her knowledge, the boy hadn’t touched her.

She then considered his actual question, rather than prodding and poking into the statements that she was now realizing weren’t meant to be spoken. In contrast to his speech, hers was fluid and pensive—so far, Sahova had done nothing but good things for her, including beginning to shape how she formed her words. “Orinei Achora,” she began, with the reflex action of a curt nod. She pursed her lips before answering his question, not sure how to approach this without sounding completely ridiculous.

In her short time so far on the island, she had already encountered a bit of prejudice dealing with her lack of conventional magic. Other Nuits—the ones deigning to speak to any sort of apprentice, at least—quieted when she explained her study and her position in the Palsa Hydrasa. She’d had more trouble with the pulsers, who quieted in a manner of reverence when she was around. She assumed, though, that they snickered at her behind her back because she couldn’t create fireballs, or make a golem, or turn lead into gold…whatever it was these people did around here. She didn't mind, though. It wasn't as if they needed her services anyway--unless they wanted to become undead.

“The reason I stay won’t interest you,” she began, slowly. “I have my own brand of magic, I suppose…I’m an embalmer. Keeping Nuits beautiful, and such. Slowly working on making a more efficient, long-lasting Nuit body.” She flashed a pearly grin, though was careful this time not to show her tongue. “However,” she continued, “I wouldn’t mind learning a thing or two about Animation while I’m here. There are no golems in the Palsa Hydrasa, and I’m of the opinion that we’re in need of some.”

by **Thomas Cosa** on January 9th, 2013, 11:52 pm

"Existing is not living," Thomas said pointedly, "You are dead," he reinforced, rasping, his breathing strained. "You feel dead, because you are," Thomas shrugged, his sickly mind confusing his auristic sense with his other, more mundane, senses. "It taste like sick, and it smells like earthy decomposition. It feels like rotting fruit," Thomas said casually, referring to the Orinei's aura, "It's you and you are it," he finished, completely expecting the Nuit to understand him.

"Orinei," he whispered, the name exotic to his lips. "Orinei," he repeated, sounding the word for it's vowels and hard consonants. "Orinei," he repeated, gigglying sickly, his frail mind not exactly knowing why he was so enthralled with the name, just that he was.

"Magic?" he asked, alerted to the word, his diseased mentality forming a misguided idea. Thomas figured that since she studied a magic that preserved the Nuits, Orinei would know of a magic that decomposed them. A magic that would be poison and end to the undead.

"Perhaps," he began, his words slow and delibrate, "You show me this embalming magic, and I will allow you to watch me animate?" he paused, reconsidering, "Or perhaps, even, partake in the process?" he coughed, smiling greedily at the idea of a new, exciting magic. One that would allow him power over the undead.

Power he so greatly deserved.

by **Orinei** on January 10th, 2013, 7:39 am

“To each their own,” she said with a shrug, to his comment on existence. Different Nuits had different opinions on how they felt about life—whether they were alive or dead. Some were proud of just how dead they really were, feeling nothing for their host bodies, destroying them and merely jumping to the next. Orinei was a bit different in that respect. She was telling Thomas the truth: she truly did not feel dead. Cold, perhaps, and unfeeling, but for the most part she simply felt immortal. She kept her bodies as pristine as possible, as long as possible—but she would grudgingly jump bodies at the first obviously visible sign of decay.

As he repeated her name, over and over, she couldn’t help but laugh a bit along with him, tilting her head quizzically, eyebrows raised. He says it oddly, she remarked inwardly, listening to him pronounce the sounds over and over. “I wonder just where you’re from,” she murmured, more a vague wondering to herself. God, now I’m going crazy like he is, she thought immediately, wondering why and how that thought had manifested itself in speech.

Somewhere, deep within her, what passed for pity in her world stirred ever-so-slightly. She wasn’t one to coddle anyone, but this poor, sick little human…but she quelled the feelings as quickly as they had come. He’s alive. You don’t care about living things. She reminded herself that she had a disdain for humans, much as Thomas seemed to be reminding himself that he didn’t like the undead.

“I can’t say I’m too flattered by your description of me, though,” she continued, a poisonously sweet smile playing on her face. “Sure, Nuits rot, but I’m sure you’ve seen worse than me.” Sick? Rotting fruit? Her pride was getting in her way, and she fought to keep her offense at his words down. She knew he wasn’t exactly playing with a full deck at the moment. Strangely (for her, at least) she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. Continue her entertaining little ruse with this pulser, for a little while at least.

She considered his proposition. She wondered how Amaryllis would feel about her bringing this pulser down to the Palsa Hydrasa, working with the bodies so expressly meant for Nuits. They didn’t have any live apprentices at the moment—and why would they? Embalming was nothing special to the living. They had no use for it, especially in a world where time was precious and resources even more so. Precious time, Orinei thought, nearly chuckling at her own internal joke. I can’t think of anything I have more of. “I suppose we could arrange something,” she said, nodding. “I can take you to the Palsa Hydrasa, show you what I know about embalming. It’s a beautiful room, at least. But why…why would you want to know anything about embalming?” She was suddenly suspicious. There was nothing strange about a Nuit wanting to learn to Animate, but a pulser wanting to know how to embalm? She was confused, wondering if this was some crazy figment of Thomas’ imagination.

“Either way, though, I’d love to see you Animate,” she said hurriedly, not wanting her suspicion to put him off the task at hand. “Which lab do you work in?”

by **Thomas Cosa** on January 11th, 2013, 2:02 am

"Because I want to," Thomas countered, "Maybe it could be useful," he added, quietly. A moment of silence passed as he forced his tired brain to action, to think, "And...perhaps it would be nice to see something beautiful, again," he croaked, eyes glazed and wide, "Nothing here is," he sighed longingly.

While the aesthetic appeal of Sahova was the last concern of the young human, coming from six years on Mura, it was only natural to draw comparisons. Mura, a quasi utopia, practically birthed natural beauty, especially considering the natural inhabitants, the konti. Sahova was, simply, it's opposite in almost every aspect. Cold and hard, lifeless. It could claim no natural inhabitants, at least none known to Thomas. Everything here had come from somewhere else, or was created by mortal hands, despite the Nuits considering themselves otherwise.

"Good," Thomas nodded, a little bit too enthusiastically, experiencing a brief moment of nausea.

"So, what first?" He asked, trusting the Nuit completely. Should she choose to watch the animation and then leave with whatever golem he gifted her with, Thomas wasn't in the best state of mind to stop her.

by **Orinei** on January 13th, 2013, 7:24 pm

She raised her eyebrows slightly, nodding with a small smile. This was one of her go-to expressions; Thomas was sure to see it a lot, the more time he spent with her. It was her way of conveying amusement: perhaps a little haughtiness and humor were thrown in for good measure. Calculating, she assessed what her next move should be. Offer to take him to the Palsa Hydrasa first, or insist on an animation lesson? She wasn’t sure how long this less-than-lucid state would last for him—probably best to use this to her advantage.

“Perhaps we see your workspace first?” she suggested, a tiny shrug raising her slight shoulders just briefly. “I don’t want to tax you too much, you see,” she said, and she couldn’t resist another jibe at his inherent human-ness. “Being human and all.” Her small teeth were shown in another one of her wide (slightly devious?) grins.

“And then we’ll go to the Palsa Hydrasa. I’ll show you the pool, and where we keep the bodies, maybe even the surgery room…some embalming potions, maybe. I’ve been wanting to start some new work, but most of my work so far’s been in the ledger books…” she trailed off and quieted at the end, already annoyed at herself for revealing that. She was supposed to be powerful, cunning, mistress of keeping the dead alive! She had embalming skills, after all, but she supposed Amaryllis was still testing her a bit. “Like I said though, if you’re looking for beauty—which I realize you’re hard-pressed to find on this island—the Palsa Hydrasa will be a sight for sore eyes.” She seemed a bit reminiscent for a moment, even though she’d just come from the beautiful blue-and-gold chamber. She decided she’d save him the description—best seen with his own eyes, she thought.

“First ,though, I need some books,” she said, turning her eyes back on the shelf before her. “Animation books. Books about golems.” She turned back to him, pointing at the shelf. “I know a bit about Animation…what I’ve read in books at least. I’ve never tried. What’s a good book to start with?” She didn’t realize that this direct question—what might, coming from a Nuit, might have sounded like an order to him—might have put some undue pressure on him.

OOC :