46th of Ash, 124 AS
There was a perpetual fog in the Nyxus, or perhaps more like smoke which obscured the lands and creatures that populated the Void. It was also an odd sensation to peer into utter darkness, yet still be able to see. There was an absolute absence of light here within the Void, yet somehow Lyra could still make out structures, landmarks and somewhat familiar surroundings. From where she stood now on the sky island that held her prison it seemed as if she were a castaway adrift in an endless sea of shadows, but when she focused and looked down through the darkness she could see the lands below.
Beside her padded her ever present guardian, the tiger she had come to call "Et'vaaran", which meant 'Guardian of the Shadows' when loosely translated to common. It was perhaps a bit too poetic for such a regal creature, but she could not bear to continue to call it 'tiger' or 'beast'. He was always there whenever she ventured into the Void, silent and watching, curious at times, and aloof at others. His company was well appreciated, however, as at times he gave her aid. One thing Lyra had noticed was a lack of shadow spawn in the areas when Et'vaaran was present. It wasn't that they were not there, but rather that they avoided appearing in his sight whenever he was present. The few times she had wandered alone in the realm the number of shadow spawn had been impressive. There were a few exceptions, of course. The large squid like shadow spawn in the crater did not shy away from them whenever they plunged into the depts to reach her dark demesne. There was also another which did not fully reveal itself, but Lyra would catch sight of from time to time. It slunk in the darkness, formless and menacing, but it did not approach whenever Et'vaaran was near. It did grow bolder from time to time, but thus far it has not been a direct threat to her.
With a shake of her head Lyra looked around at the world, and breathed in the darkness. The old air chilled her, but not in an uncomfortable way. In fact, she felt more welcomed here than she ever had in the Prime Material realm.
"A broken doll indeed." Lyra muttered under her breath, her smile sardonic. The more she learned of the Void the more she realized that it was a place that she likely belonged. It was, to put it simply, a dumping ground for the aetherium. It was a place for broken and disfigured things which held no place in the Prime Material world. Unused ideas, failed experiments, disfigured remains, all could be found in some form or another within the Nyxus. It was this which Lyra found fascinating, and it also explained some of the oddities she observed between this and the material realm. It made her wonder what all could here, hidden away from the world where light ruled, just waiting to be discovered.
A shiver brought her focus back to the present, and Lyra glanced down at her still withered hands and sighed. It was not yet time to explore the unknown. She had other, more pressing matters to deal with. She needed a way to gather more blood, and a method to draw in the thousands of wayward souls into her dark demesne. The second was oddly the most easily accomplished, the trouble was the aether it required to set up.
Reaching within Lyra touched upon her soul, tracing the lines of glyphs which covered its surface. Each one represented a part of her, a memory, a thought, a passion. The soul was intricate and wove countless threads of memories together into one whole, and there were even older, longer memories from lives lived previously which Lyra knew could be drawn out. Not in her soul, however. It had been an peculiar day when she realized that she had not had a previous life before this one, that her soul had simply existed as it had from its creation. Others, like the pup or even the prince had souls marked by the passage of time, rebirth and renewal creating layers as new personalities and memories covered up the old. This added layers of complexity to the to the already complex makings of the soul glyphs. Past experiences forgotten would influence the future choices, and so on and so on for centuries the older a soul became. It was during her observations that Lyra began to notice that there were very few 'new' souls in any given place, at least within Karnor. It made her question the mechanism of these souls creations, and if, perhaps, there was something halting the process of new souls being born from the aetherium.
With a thought Lyra fractured her soul, drawing out a sliver which quickly shaped itself into an orb within her soul space. Where it had been in her soul was quickly filled in as her soul became whole once more, but Lyra knew it would accept the fragment back when the time came. The orb began to give off a soft, golden light and faint patterns moved across its surface. Lyra then fell back into her soul space fully, flowing up and forming beside the glowing orb which was the size of her fist in this place.
Her hand extended toward her own soul which towered in this place, a colossal structure of shifting lines and darkness, but when she reached out to it, it bent and a thin tendril of power reached back. With a snap that power shaped itself into a quill, its tip dripping with black liquid and its feather made of shadows stretching impossibly far into the sky. This was Lyra's own soul construct, the tool which she used to interact with the soul itself. It was a representation of everything she was, the focus and control she exerted on herself and her surroundings. With it she could re-write her destiny to be whatever she desired.
Touching the golden orb with her left hand, the small soul fragment unfurled itself like a scroll and all it contained was laid bare before her. Each memory that made it up became clear, every skill, every thought. When she touched the magical parchment those memories came flooding back to her, and she smiled.
With one swift motion Lyra struck a line through a passage, striking out years of collected memories from one of her fragments. The glyphs shivered and withered away, drifting off the page in a stream of light which flooded into the quill. Black ink turned gold, and with it Lyra began to fill in the now open passage in the scroll of memories. She could feel her power humming to life as the whispers grew louder, and she created new memories to replace the old. She wrote out what had occurred throughout the last seasons, simplifying it and condensing it down to its fundamental points. Stroke after stroke the new glyphs formed, slowly replacing the old and matching with the soul schema that had once made up the fragment. Lyra meticulously replaced each memory and thought with one tailored to her purpose, and this was where she deviated further.
The ink on the quill turned black once more and again she struck out a series of glyphs which formed a pattern of interlocking rings. These burst into light to flow back into the quill, the ink turning golden once more as Lyra rewrote the soul fragments very personality. She gave it a curiosity like a child's, yet the obedience she desired in one that served her. It would remember her and who she was, and act in accordance to her will, yet she desired for it to be somewhat independent. Thus Lyra gave it memories of her other fragments, ones which showed ingenuity, thoughtfulness and resourcefulness.
Lyra continued to scribe until the golden ink began to run dry, indicating the space she had to work with in this single fragment was coming to its end. Thus Lyra marked a few final adjustments, and then snapped her fingers. The soul rolled itself back up to form a golden orb once more, and Lyra released the quill which was returned to her soul. With that Lyra extended her hand to the fragment, a thin trickle of smoke escaping her fingers to wrap its form to encase it in a whispering cloud that quickly absorbed the golden light.
In the Nyxus Lyra drew in the cold air of the Void. She felt the fragment collecting in her soul space, and when she breathed out a thin trickle of golden smoke flowed over her lips to form a cloud a short distance away. The cloud shifted, pulling itself together as silver strands of hair formed and a small face with golden eyes blinked open. The whisper contained a fragment of Lyra's own soul, which gave it greater substance and a small portion of her power. It could not fully solidify, but it could retain its shape more easily than was possible for her when she first escaped.
The whisper glanced around itself, eyes tracing a path from the buildings, to the tiger and finally to Lyra herself. It looked like a much younger version of Lyra herself, perhaps if she were a child again, but its eyes were not those of an innocent girl. He stared at Lyra, questions seeming to cross its mind before quickly being desugared. Without a word the whisper dispersed into golden smoke, shooting off into the darkness of the void. There was no need to discuss, as Lyra had written its purpose into its very soul. It would gather souls for her. As many as it could carry, and with them Lyra would create a beacon in her Demesne to call others like it to her.
There was a perpetual fog in the Nyxus, or perhaps more like smoke which obscured the lands and creatures that populated the Void. It was also an odd sensation to peer into utter darkness, yet still be able to see. There was an absolute absence of light here within the Void, yet somehow Lyra could still make out structures, landmarks and somewhat familiar surroundings. From where she stood now on the sky island that held her prison it seemed as if she were a castaway adrift in an endless sea of shadows, but when she focused and looked down through the darkness she could see the lands below.
Beside her padded her ever present guardian, the tiger she had come to call "Et'vaaran", which meant 'Guardian of the Shadows' when loosely translated to common. It was perhaps a bit too poetic for such a regal creature, but she could not bear to continue to call it 'tiger' or 'beast'. He was always there whenever she ventured into the Void, silent and watching, curious at times, and aloof at others. His company was well appreciated, however, as at times he gave her aid. One thing Lyra had noticed was a lack of shadow spawn in the areas when Et'vaaran was present. It wasn't that they were not there, but rather that they avoided appearing in his sight whenever he was present. The few times she had wandered alone in the realm the number of shadow spawn had been impressive. There were a few exceptions, of course. The large squid like shadow spawn in the crater did not shy away from them whenever they plunged into the depts to reach her dark demesne. There was also another which did not fully reveal itself, but Lyra would catch sight of from time to time. It slunk in the darkness, formless and menacing, but it did not approach whenever Et'vaaran was near. It did grow bolder from time to time, but thus far it has not been a direct threat to her.
With a shake of her head Lyra looked around at the world, and breathed in the darkness. The old air chilled her, but not in an uncomfortable way. In fact, she felt more welcomed here than she ever had in the Prime Material realm.
"A broken doll indeed." Lyra muttered under her breath, her smile sardonic. The more she learned of the Void the more she realized that it was a place that she likely belonged. It was, to put it simply, a dumping ground for the aetherium. It was a place for broken and disfigured things which held no place in the Prime Material world. Unused ideas, failed experiments, disfigured remains, all could be found in some form or another within the Nyxus. It was this which Lyra found fascinating, and it also explained some of the oddities she observed between this and the material realm. It made her wonder what all could here, hidden away from the world where light ruled, just waiting to be discovered.
A shiver brought her focus back to the present, and Lyra glanced down at her still withered hands and sighed. It was not yet time to explore the unknown. She had other, more pressing matters to deal with. She needed a way to gather more blood, and a method to draw in the thousands of wayward souls into her dark demesne. The second was oddly the most easily accomplished, the trouble was the aether it required to set up.
Reaching within Lyra touched upon her soul, tracing the lines of glyphs which covered its surface. Each one represented a part of her, a memory, a thought, a passion. The soul was intricate and wove countless threads of memories together into one whole, and there were even older, longer memories from lives lived previously which Lyra knew could be drawn out. Not in her soul, however. It had been an peculiar day when she realized that she had not had a previous life before this one, that her soul had simply existed as it had from its creation. Others, like the pup or even the prince had souls marked by the passage of time, rebirth and renewal creating layers as new personalities and memories covered up the old. This added layers of complexity to the to the already complex makings of the soul glyphs. Past experiences forgotten would influence the future choices, and so on and so on for centuries the older a soul became. It was during her observations that Lyra began to notice that there were very few 'new' souls in any given place, at least within Karnor. It made her question the mechanism of these souls creations, and if, perhaps, there was something halting the process of new souls being born from the aetherium.
With a thought Lyra fractured her soul, drawing out a sliver which quickly shaped itself into an orb within her soul space. Where it had been in her soul was quickly filled in as her soul became whole once more, but Lyra knew it would accept the fragment back when the time came. The orb began to give off a soft, golden light and faint patterns moved across its surface. Lyra then fell back into her soul space fully, flowing up and forming beside the glowing orb which was the size of her fist in this place.
Her hand extended toward her own soul which towered in this place, a colossal structure of shifting lines and darkness, but when she reached out to it, it bent and a thin tendril of power reached back. With a snap that power shaped itself into a quill, its tip dripping with black liquid and its feather made of shadows stretching impossibly far into the sky. This was Lyra's own soul construct, the tool which she used to interact with the soul itself. It was a representation of everything she was, the focus and control she exerted on herself and her surroundings. With it she could re-write her destiny to be whatever she desired.
Touching the golden orb with her left hand, the small soul fragment unfurled itself like a scroll and all it contained was laid bare before her. Each memory that made it up became clear, every skill, every thought. When she touched the magical parchment those memories came flooding back to her, and she smiled.
With one swift motion Lyra struck a line through a passage, striking out years of collected memories from one of her fragments. The glyphs shivered and withered away, drifting off the page in a stream of light which flooded into the quill. Black ink turned gold, and with it Lyra began to fill in the now open passage in the scroll of memories. She could feel her power humming to life as the whispers grew louder, and she created new memories to replace the old. She wrote out what had occurred throughout the last seasons, simplifying it and condensing it down to its fundamental points. Stroke after stroke the new glyphs formed, slowly replacing the old and matching with the soul schema that had once made up the fragment. Lyra meticulously replaced each memory and thought with one tailored to her purpose, and this was where she deviated further.
The ink on the quill turned black once more and again she struck out a series of glyphs which formed a pattern of interlocking rings. These burst into light to flow back into the quill, the ink turning golden once more as Lyra rewrote the soul fragments very personality. She gave it a curiosity like a child's, yet the obedience she desired in one that served her. It would remember her and who she was, and act in accordance to her will, yet she desired for it to be somewhat independent. Thus Lyra gave it memories of her other fragments, ones which showed ingenuity, thoughtfulness and resourcefulness.
Lyra continued to scribe until the golden ink began to run dry, indicating the space she had to work with in this single fragment was coming to its end. Thus Lyra marked a few final adjustments, and then snapped her fingers. The soul rolled itself back up to form a golden orb once more, and Lyra released the quill which was returned to her soul. With that Lyra extended her hand to the fragment, a thin trickle of smoke escaping her fingers to wrap its form to encase it in a whispering cloud that quickly absorbed the golden light.
In the Nyxus Lyra drew in the cold air of the Void. She felt the fragment collecting in her soul space, and when she breathed out a thin trickle of golden smoke flowed over her lips to form a cloud a short distance away. The cloud shifted, pulling itself together as silver strands of hair formed and a small face with golden eyes blinked open. The whisper contained a fragment of Lyra's own soul, which gave it greater substance and a small portion of her power. It could not fully solidify, but it could retain its shape more easily than was possible for her when she first escaped.
The whisper glanced around itself, eyes tracing a path from the buildings, to the tiger and finally to Lyra herself. It looked like a much younger version of Lyra herself, perhaps if she were a child again, but its eyes were not those of an innocent girl. He stared at Lyra, questions seeming to cross its mind before quickly being desugared. Without a word the whisper dispersed into golden smoke, shooting off into the darkness of the void. There was no need to discuss, as Lyra had written its purpose into its very soul. It would gather souls for her. As many as it could carry, and with them Lyra would create a beacon in her Demesne to call others like it to her.