"Welcome what may emerge from her love for austerity."
--
The pitch black granite that marred the walls occasionally morphed into a gradient of golden brown. The strata that slashed through the polished stone, too, would metamorphose from the honey yellow that was embedded in the sable rock to a cool white, emitting soft lambencies that matched their hues. The elaborate designs and whorls had straightened into a more practical pattern, arranged in a sequence of corners and lines that were not unlike a labyrinth to provide optimal illumination.
And again, just as it was on her arrival, the corridor was empty.
The soft steps of Tsanai's moccasins resonated far too loudly than one would expect as she stepped down the passage, which seemed to stretch and contort to a length that contradicted the form of the structure that contained it. It was impossible to tell when the change along the hall took place, but the streaked walls had begun to melt away as she stepped closer to the chamber where the Communion continued to take place. All senses gradually slipped from her perception, to be replaced with a familiar warm hum that gently padded the insides of her mind like a quilt being sewn to the underside of her consciousness.
The Xaela felt her rounded features grow numb until naught could be felt, as if it were vaporized into dust and drifted away. It was not an uncomfortable sensation, but the exact feeling of the experience differed with every single iteration. If she had to describe it, every bit of her from the entirety of her body to the smallest strand of unkempt black hair was being replaced by a grain of perfectly round sand that was far too smooth to be natural.
The granite walls and hard floor had completely melted away, and though she could not see or even feel her feet, she knew she was stepping forward. Every footfall that she perceived caused a white, circular ripple to flash out from the point of impact. Her surroundings were supposed to be bursting with the indescribable, unreachable colours that highlighted the presence of the Correspondence. However, where this space should have been awash with a rainbow of ideas, what colours swirled within range of Tsanai's senses were far too few, and far too bright in their solemn vigil.
What should have been a tapestry composed of a thousand brilliant stars was instead a nearly blank canvas plastered in dull, muted greys, silently screaming in the horizon. Disturbingly enough, whenever she focused on a patch of grey it would suddenly stretch forward with amoebic appendages that could not decide between taking the form of grasping hands or gnashing mouths, mere ilms from her face and body, yearning to partake of her and feed its ravenous hunger. She would merely frown at it distastefully, and with the next blink the section would be calm and far away.
Her steps ceased, the ripples abruptly vanishing, as she sensed she was where she needed to be. Wisps of a smoke-like substance flashed across the awareness she could only barely call her vision, within this space that defied all reason.
What have you observed? No voice came from the query and no breath rasped from a throat, for the bowels of the chamber held nothing but formless thought. It was as if she were receiving the bare concept of the question's idea--a question that desired a description from what she had perceived in a certain location. A brief flutter of her attention recalled the first time she'd been exposed to the sensation; however, those feelings of terror had long since vanished.
The edges of her mind held onto a smattering of her concept of physical form, and so though she could not feel limbs or organs her, voice--though its current state extraordinarily weak compared to how it was in normal contexts--still managed to serve as a vehicle of conveyance. It was the bare minimum required to keep her own sense of self from being drawn into the Communion. Even now, clawing at the edges of her consciousness, she could feel the ghostly white limbs reach out. They could sense her affinity for the Correspondence, and the mass desired it as a wolf desired tender flesh.
"All appears to be normal, but Tsuven has received a character of the Correspondence," Tsanai responded.
If an intangible haze made up of naught but ideas and scattered scraps of self-identity could have imitated a startled but slightly muted gasp, Tsanai expected that this was the moment she would have witnessed it.
Then our information is either incomplete, misinterpreted, or we have been deceived. It was impossible to tell who inside the fog was transmitting a particular idea, unless that specific Tsenkhai put forth effort into distinguishing their ego from the amorphous cloud while engaged in the Communion. More thoughts emerged from the mist like myriad limbs grasping for an understanding of the circumstances where very little could be found.
This limitation extends to all Tsenkhai. Even those who have supposedly been erased. None have collected more than a handful of characters."
It is not certain. Tsuven may yet be an exception.
There are none currently living among us who share his circumstances.
The archives are untouched by this anomaly.
Will we consult the Tsenkheriin?
We must.
The conversation--and it was difficult to classify the previous exchange of ideas as such, as they seemed to communicate more to themselves than to any other individual or group of individuals-ceased abruptly in consensus.
One ephemeral tuft of the haze poured forth into the shape of a humanoid, as if it were molten metal filling a mold, and in its place, Tsanai could begin to perceive the reflection of an individual's ego; wrinkled features that were aged by what seemed to be centuries, gnarled horns that curled behind the head and looked brittle enough to snap with one's finger, a bald head devoid of hair. It seemed an overtly difficult task to determine if the entity identified as male or female, but by the gesture alone she knew who it was anyway. She might have snorted; there was no need to go to such trouble just because Tsanai was not currently joined with the nebula of personalities that was the other Tsenkhai.
Tsanai felt her field of perception descend in height; had she a body within this space, it would have been kneeling. Not out of respect, but because the ghostly form of the elderly Xaela would not be able to perceive her presence otherwise.
"Tsenkheriin." The invisible head of the figure tilted itself downwards. "What do you know of this anomaly?"
Precedence. The concept flowed from the spectral silhouette towards the swarm of Tsenkhai, shrouded in fog, curling within itself before letting out an earth-shattering boom. The white ripples from before appeared again in torrents, threatening to wash away the haze of personalities.
Almost immediately, they began jabbering with one another.
That is good. This has happened before.
That means there exists a solution.
And an explanation."
Clarity, and thus prevention, may be achieved.
"Explain," Tsanai spoke, focusing her voice. It was unnecessary for her speech to be any louder--within this space, volume was uniform and therefore did not exist--but distinguishing it was a blatant gesture that would not go unnoticed. She would have answers, and she would have them now. "And do not interrupt," the Xaela added offhandedly to the swirling mist beside her.
Insufficient. Impermanent. Reformation.
The sound of what seemed to be a gong reverberated in her mind.
Incomplete. Immature. Rebuild.
The strange gong-like sound echoed again.
Immortal. Interminable. Infinite.
And with nothing more, the wraith evaporated. A flash of light blazed in the horizon, indicating that another single of the Correspondence had been collected. And as soon as the ember of the Correspondence had been lit, the incessant chatter erupted again, heedless of Tsanai's earlier command. The mass of personalities swirled and bubbled.
We will work towards restoration.
Our stasis must be achieved.
The eternal march reveals itself to our generation.
We will be gathered.
A reformation is necessary.
All at once, the flurry of thoughts paused. Tsanai felt them focus on her. She struggled to withhold her thoughts of anger and horror at the idea the thick fog of personalities presented to her. She felt her form step back...retreat. She had no body, and it screamed at her to retreat. To flee. What they wanted to do...words failed her, yet somehow the Tsenkhai had reached a consensus on its implementation, and Tsanai alone would be unable to dissuade them.
Collect Tsuven.
She found herself being carried away--or rather, storming out--of the centre chamber. The frayed edges of her mind could still hear the howling. At least one of the personalities within the blob could sense her, would try to stop her. An errant dreamer, one that--if Tsanai's brief assessment was true--would never truly awake again.
But she would not be stopped. As the hallway dimly filtered itself into her vision and her senses returned, even as she could feel parts of herself crumbling away, she was defiant. Her hand shook as it grasped the hem of her robe. Their last command pounded away at her mind.
Collect. Collect. Collect.. Collect. Collect. collect. collect. collect collect collect collect collect collect
They would not have their way.
--
The pitch black granite that marred the walls occasionally morphed into a gradient of golden brown. The strata that slashed through the polished stone, too, would metamorphose from the honey yellow that was embedded in the sable rock to a cool white, emitting soft lambencies that matched their hues. The elaborate designs and whorls had straightened into a more practical pattern, arranged in a sequence of corners and lines that were not unlike a labyrinth to provide optimal illumination.
And again, just as it was on her arrival, the corridor was empty.
The soft steps of Tsanai's moccasins resonated far too loudly than one would expect as she stepped down the passage, which seemed to stretch and contort to a length that contradicted the form of the structure that contained it. It was impossible to tell when the change along the hall took place, but the streaked walls had begun to melt away as she stepped closer to the chamber where the Communion continued to take place. All senses gradually slipped from her perception, to be replaced with a familiar warm hum that gently padded the insides of her mind like a quilt being sewn to the underside of her consciousness.
The Xaela felt her rounded features grow numb until naught could be felt, as if it were vaporized into dust and drifted away. It was not an uncomfortable sensation, but the exact feeling of the experience differed with every single iteration. If she had to describe it, every bit of her from the entirety of her body to the smallest strand of unkempt black hair was being replaced by a grain of perfectly round sand that was far too smooth to be natural.
The granite walls and hard floor had completely melted away, and though she could not see or even feel her feet, she knew she was stepping forward. Every footfall that she perceived caused a white, circular ripple to flash out from the point of impact. Her surroundings were supposed to be bursting with the indescribable, unreachable colours that highlighted the presence of the Correspondence. However, where this space should have been awash with a rainbow of ideas, what colours swirled within range of Tsanai's senses were far too few, and far too bright in their solemn vigil.
What should have been a tapestry composed of a thousand brilliant stars was instead a nearly blank canvas plastered in dull, muted greys, silently screaming in the horizon. Disturbingly enough, whenever she focused on a patch of grey it would suddenly stretch forward with amoebic appendages that could not decide between taking the form of grasping hands or gnashing mouths, mere ilms from her face and body, yearning to partake of her and feed its ravenous hunger. She would merely frown at it distastefully, and with the next blink the section would be calm and far away.
Her steps ceased, the ripples abruptly vanishing, as she sensed she was where she needed to be. Wisps of a smoke-like substance flashed across the awareness she could only barely call her vision, within this space that defied all reason.
What have you observed? No voice came from the query and no breath rasped from a throat, for the bowels of the chamber held nothing but formless thought. It was as if she were receiving the bare concept of the question's idea--a question that desired a description from what she had perceived in a certain location. A brief flutter of her attention recalled the first time she'd been exposed to the sensation; however, those feelings of terror had long since vanished.
The edges of her mind held onto a smattering of her concept of physical form, and so though she could not feel limbs or organs her, voice--though its current state extraordinarily weak compared to how it was in normal contexts--still managed to serve as a vehicle of conveyance. It was the bare minimum required to keep her own sense of self from being drawn into the Communion. Even now, clawing at the edges of her consciousness, she could feel the ghostly white limbs reach out. They could sense her affinity for the Correspondence, and the mass desired it as a wolf desired tender flesh.
"All appears to be normal, but Tsuven has received a character of the Correspondence," Tsanai responded.
If an intangible haze made up of naught but ideas and scattered scraps of self-identity could have imitated a startled but slightly muted gasp, Tsanai expected that this was the moment she would have witnessed it.
Then our information is either incomplete, misinterpreted, or we have been deceived. It was impossible to tell who inside the fog was transmitting a particular idea, unless that specific Tsenkhai put forth effort into distinguishing their ego from the amorphous cloud while engaged in the Communion. More thoughts emerged from the mist like myriad limbs grasping for an understanding of the circumstances where very little could be found.
This limitation extends to all Tsenkhai. Even those who have supposedly been erased. None have collected more than a handful of characters."
It is not certain. Tsuven may yet be an exception.
There are none currently living among us who share his circumstances.
The archives are untouched by this anomaly.
Will we consult the Tsenkheriin?
We must.
The conversation--and it was difficult to classify the previous exchange of ideas as such, as they seemed to communicate more to themselves than to any other individual or group of individuals-ceased abruptly in consensus.
One ephemeral tuft of the haze poured forth into the shape of a humanoid, as if it were molten metal filling a mold, and in its place, Tsanai could begin to perceive the reflection of an individual's ego; wrinkled features that were aged by what seemed to be centuries, gnarled horns that curled behind the head and looked brittle enough to snap with one's finger, a bald head devoid of hair. It seemed an overtly difficult task to determine if the entity identified as male or female, but by the gesture alone she knew who it was anyway. She might have snorted; there was no need to go to such trouble just because Tsanai was not currently joined with the nebula of personalities that was the other Tsenkhai.
Tsanai felt her field of perception descend in height; had she a body within this space, it would have been kneeling. Not out of respect, but because the ghostly form of the elderly Xaela would not be able to perceive her presence otherwise.
"Tsenkheriin." The invisible head of the figure tilted itself downwards. "What do you know of this anomaly?"
Precedence. The concept flowed from the spectral silhouette towards the swarm of Tsenkhai, shrouded in fog, curling within itself before letting out an earth-shattering boom. The white ripples from before appeared again in torrents, threatening to wash away the haze of personalities.
Almost immediately, they began jabbering with one another.
That is good. This has happened before.
That means there exists a solution.
And an explanation."
Clarity, and thus prevention, may be achieved.
"Explain," Tsanai spoke, focusing her voice. It was unnecessary for her speech to be any louder--within this space, volume was uniform and therefore did not exist--but distinguishing it was a blatant gesture that would not go unnoticed. She would have answers, and she would have them now. "And do not interrupt," the Xaela added offhandedly to the swirling mist beside her.
Insufficient. Impermanent. Reformation.
The sound of what seemed to be a gong reverberated in her mind.
Incomplete. Immature. Rebuild.
The strange gong-like sound echoed again.
Immortal. Interminable. Infinite.
And with nothing more, the wraith evaporated. A flash of light blazed in the horizon, indicating that another single of the Correspondence had been collected. And as soon as the ember of the Correspondence had been lit, the incessant chatter erupted again, heedless of Tsanai's earlier command. The mass of personalities swirled and bubbled.
We will work towards restoration.
Our stasis must be achieved.
The eternal march reveals itself to our generation.
We will be gathered.
A reformation is necessary.
All at once, the flurry of thoughts paused. Tsanai felt them focus on her. She struggled to withhold her thoughts of anger and horror at the idea the thick fog of personalities presented to her. She felt her form step back...retreat. She had no body, and it screamed at her to retreat. To flee. What they wanted to do...words failed her, yet somehow the Tsenkhai had reached a consensus on its implementation, and Tsanai alone would be unable to dissuade them.
Collect Tsuven.
She found herself being carried away--or rather, storming out--of the centre chamber. The frayed edges of her mind could still hear the howling. At least one of the personalities within the blob could sense her, would try to stop her. An errant dreamer, one that--if Tsanai's brief assessment was true--would never truly awake again.
But she would not be stopped. As the hallway dimly filtered itself into her vision and her senses returned, even as she could feel parts of herself crumbling away, she was defiant. Her hand shook as it grasped the hem of her robe. Their last command pounded away at her mind.
Collect. Collect. Collect.. Collect. Collect. collect. collect. collect collect collect collect collect collect
They would not have their way.
