89th of Ash, 124 AS
Time passed as it always did, even within the Void. Lyra had noticed that within the darkness Time did not function quite as it should have in the prime material realm. It was somewhat distorted, with events of the past sometimes bleeding into the future as if the ripples of time were slowed by the Void itself. This lead to quite a number of interesting phenomena. From time to time a person would appear in the Void, rarely lasting long, but many had different views of the current time they were in. Some thought it was earlier, others later. The differences were often minor and inconsequential, but it suggested that the Void itself operated not just outside of the material realms, but also outside, or perhaps adjacent to, the flow of time itself. Was this relevant? Not to Lyra. It was interesting to be sure, but it held little sway on her experiments. What's more time within the Void seemed closely in sync with the part of the material realm it reflected, thus her meetings with the mage Imogen occurred at precisely when she expected them to down to the second. Maybe time was relative to a place. After all the Void did not exist within the grand design of the Dragon Gods or the Mist Lords. It was a place absent of the Aetherium, where ideas fell and eventually died. Perhaps time as a concept was warped in passing through this place.
Lyra moved through the reflection of her Dark Demesne, subtly altering the landscape stone by stone. Each tree was shifted ever so slightly, its roots splayed out just so. It felt as if Lyra had spent ages cleaning the mess the invader had left in its wake, but now that she had her home returned to her once more she felt a strong need to put everything back into its proper place. There were also other motivations, of course. Her eyes traveled to two silver and black flames that danced around one another, occasionally bumping into and falling away from each other before continuing their endless dance. A Soul and its Reflection.
It was a concept Lyra had begun to untangle the longer she remained in the Nyxus. It all began with the Shades that mimicked sentient life. They way they moved, and how they could be enticed to mimic herself when properly coaxed had revealed much to the Outsider. Though what truly opened her eyes was when she first met a Disciple. Strangely enough she had heard of them long before she had met them. Their name, Disciple, was one of the few things muttered by greater shadow spawn that had grown some form of intelligence. They spoke it in different tongues, some Lyra recognized and others she did not, but all of them said the word with a similar reverence... Or maybe fear, if that were even possible for shadow spawn. Disciples, followers of greater Apostles, mythical figures in the Void that she had not met as of yet, but she had noticed their touch upon the world around her.
Every shadow spawn within Zaichaer rang with a particular note, a hum, a frequency which did not alter or change. It was similar to a symphony made up of a single instrument that never broke its wavering cord, and if one was not looking it was easy to miss. She had noticed that this note was echoed the loudest by the Shades, which went about their repeated routines over and over again, unconcerned with the nature of the world around them. Other Shadow Spawn would at times consume them, briefly enhancing the strength of the note they carried, but that quickly passed as the Shade returned again not long after to continue its unending pattern. When Lyra attempted to tamper with the note of these Shades, THAT was when things became truly odd. The Shades, unlike their shadow spawn brothers, could have their notes altered. Doing so, however, lead to immediate and severe consequences. The shadow spawn across the city would zero in on the altered shade, consuming them, and attempting to add that note to their own. It was this repeating pattern that lead to the first Disciple to appear.
Unlike the other shadow spawn this creature possessed a soul. A soul that was blackened and torn, a weak and pathetic thing that seemed to been left with only a few scattered instruments that hummed a similar disharmony. With the Disciples Lyra was able to make out what that note was... Greed. Avarice. Consumption. The abomination made of flesh was saturated by these concepts, and where it went the Shadow Spawn echoed the tones with growing strength. The most unexpected thing Lyra found was that the Disciples themselves were sentient. They possessed fragments of their old personalities, warped and twisted like their flesh for certain, but they were able to converse in a way that other spawn could not. They were all mad of course, and they spoke most often of the Apostle which they served. The information, while interesting, was all but meaningless to Lyra, except it revealed something to her once she had secured her dark demesne once more.
The black flames which Lyra had noticed when she first discovered her demesne in this world. They were souls... Or, not quite souls. They were echo's, shadows of souls which clung to the living souls in her domain like moths to a flame. They gave off no notes, no souls or vibrations. They were in essence completely blank, empty, which was why Lyra was unable to recognize them for what they were at first. Dark reflections of souls on the outside of the Void. Perhaps when given a note they took on the form of shades, the humanoid things that continued in repeating patterns out in the city proper. Maybe Shades were these Black Souls after they had consumed an idea errantly passed into the Void. But where did they come from? She wasn't sure. Perhaps they were born whenever a new soul came into existence outside, or maybe these were the first attempt at a soul and were merely discarded here with the rest of the cosmic trash. Whatever the case may be Lyra wanted to understand them, and their purpose, and more importantly how they could be of use to her.
It was while she was pondering these things, adjusting her demesne as she went, that she felt the first ripple through the Void. It was like a wave of nostalgia, and memories of ancient times came to her along with the sensations of battle. She felt a familiar stirring in her soul, the part of her that was Lyrielle purred in unfettered desire. Excitement welled within her chest, even as a sense of dread filled her stomach. She cast her eyes upward then, looking for the source of the sensations, but as quickly as it had come it was gone once more.
"Did you sense that?" Lyra asked Et'Vaaran, the tiger who lounged in his usual spot atop the dais at the center of her demesne. His head was raised, ears twitching, a sign that she had not imagined it. Lyra knew what that sensation was, and she recognized the item which had made it. Alah'Fin, Lights End. It had clashed with Arcas once more.
Concern began to creep up her spine, which Lyra pushed down with force as she considered what she needed to do. She recalled the creation of that blade, how she had been called to aid in its forging, weaving a part of Shaeoth himself into it so that it could slay a god. It had been a master work of master works, one of the greatest weapons ever created, though Lyra herself was not the best judge of such things, but she did recall the pride she felt in its making. Shaeoth had praised her for her aid, and then, and now she supposed, she craved his affection like a mortal craved air. It was a weapon made to kill Arcas, an effort Lyrielle had supported without question at the time, but now... What did her beloved want? She knew that it was not Shaoeth himself that wielded the sword, for it did not resonate in the same way, but did that mean it was being used in his name?
Then there was Talon. Lyra, and Lyrielle to an extent, had become quite fond of the little prince. After coming into his own and returning as Arcas in full they had become somewhat distant she felt, but the fact remained that he had been there at the creation of her daughter, and thus Talon held a unique position in her heart. There was also the matter of the mark she felt on her back, which even now was like a warm hand that slightly burned her skin, yet it was a comfort in these times as even she fell pray to hopelessness.
Her thoughts twisted and turned as she considered, wondered what she should do... but at last she sighed. It was really no question at all. Lyra knew what she must do, but a part of her disliked it. She cast a look down at her body, which was much improved since receiving blood regularly from Imogen. Much of her beauty had returned, and while she was gaunt Lyra at least felt she appeared among the living once more. At least she was no longer a walking husk, which had been a horrendous thing. Silver hair flowed around her, black shadows and smoke draped her like a living dress, and from her eyes dripped a line of black tears that disappeared into smoke as it fell from her cheeks. Her skin did not writhe around today, but the black tattoos across her body still moved of their own accord, weeping a dark liquid that flowed down to the ground, leaving a trail of black tar that evaporated to smoke soon after. It was not her best look, but Lyra supposed she was presentable.
Reaching into her soul space Lyra called on the soul glyph that belonged to Talon. It was a large, confusing tangle of lines of scripts and pictographs, each one made of shiny light that hurt to look at for too long. It was one of only three divine soul glyphs she possessed, and was the second most complex. By his nature as the son of the Dragon King he was an exceptionally powerful demigod, and it was simply by her nature that she was even able to keep possession of this glyph. She ran a mental hand over it, while she pressed her own physical hands against her chest. With a thought she pulled on their connection and a shiny light bloomed from within Lyra, growing to fill her hands as she removed a white fire from her chest and extended it outward. The fire took flight then, its flames resolving into wings as a falcon made of purest light was formed. Its feathers were marked in glyph patterns that reflected the soul glyph within Lyra's soul space, and when she extended her hand the soul construct landed on her arm. It turned one of its burning eyes on Lyra.
"Little Prince..." Lyra whispered, gently stroking the birds feathers, "I call you."
Time passed as it always did, even within the Void. Lyra had noticed that within the darkness Time did not function quite as it should have in the prime material realm. It was somewhat distorted, with events of the past sometimes bleeding into the future as if the ripples of time were slowed by the Void itself. This lead to quite a number of interesting phenomena. From time to time a person would appear in the Void, rarely lasting long, but many had different views of the current time they were in. Some thought it was earlier, others later. The differences were often minor and inconsequential, but it suggested that the Void itself operated not just outside of the material realms, but also outside, or perhaps adjacent to, the flow of time itself. Was this relevant? Not to Lyra. It was interesting to be sure, but it held little sway on her experiments. What's more time within the Void seemed closely in sync with the part of the material realm it reflected, thus her meetings with the mage Imogen occurred at precisely when she expected them to down to the second. Maybe time was relative to a place. After all the Void did not exist within the grand design of the Dragon Gods or the Mist Lords. It was a place absent of the Aetherium, where ideas fell and eventually died. Perhaps time as a concept was warped in passing through this place.
Lyra moved through the reflection of her Dark Demesne, subtly altering the landscape stone by stone. Each tree was shifted ever so slightly, its roots splayed out just so. It felt as if Lyra had spent ages cleaning the mess the invader had left in its wake, but now that she had her home returned to her once more she felt a strong need to put everything back into its proper place. There were also other motivations, of course. Her eyes traveled to two silver and black flames that danced around one another, occasionally bumping into and falling away from each other before continuing their endless dance. A Soul and its Reflection.
It was a concept Lyra had begun to untangle the longer she remained in the Nyxus. It all began with the Shades that mimicked sentient life. They way they moved, and how they could be enticed to mimic herself when properly coaxed had revealed much to the Outsider. Though what truly opened her eyes was when she first met a Disciple. Strangely enough she had heard of them long before she had met them. Their name, Disciple, was one of the few things muttered by greater shadow spawn that had grown some form of intelligence. They spoke it in different tongues, some Lyra recognized and others she did not, but all of them said the word with a similar reverence... Or maybe fear, if that were even possible for shadow spawn. Disciples, followers of greater Apostles, mythical figures in the Void that she had not met as of yet, but she had noticed their touch upon the world around her.
Every shadow spawn within Zaichaer rang with a particular note, a hum, a frequency which did not alter or change. It was similar to a symphony made up of a single instrument that never broke its wavering cord, and if one was not looking it was easy to miss. She had noticed that this note was echoed the loudest by the Shades, which went about their repeated routines over and over again, unconcerned with the nature of the world around them. Other Shadow Spawn would at times consume them, briefly enhancing the strength of the note they carried, but that quickly passed as the Shade returned again not long after to continue its unending pattern. When Lyra attempted to tamper with the note of these Shades, THAT was when things became truly odd. The Shades, unlike their shadow spawn brothers, could have their notes altered. Doing so, however, lead to immediate and severe consequences. The shadow spawn across the city would zero in on the altered shade, consuming them, and attempting to add that note to their own. It was this repeating pattern that lead to the first Disciple to appear.
Unlike the other shadow spawn this creature possessed a soul. A soul that was blackened and torn, a weak and pathetic thing that seemed to been left with only a few scattered instruments that hummed a similar disharmony. With the Disciples Lyra was able to make out what that note was... Greed. Avarice. Consumption. The abomination made of flesh was saturated by these concepts, and where it went the Shadow Spawn echoed the tones with growing strength. The most unexpected thing Lyra found was that the Disciples themselves were sentient. They possessed fragments of their old personalities, warped and twisted like their flesh for certain, but they were able to converse in a way that other spawn could not. They were all mad of course, and they spoke most often of the Apostle which they served. The information, while interesting, was all but meaningless to Lyra, except it revealed something to her once she had secured her dark demesne once more.
The black flames which Lyra had noticed when she first discovered her demesne in this world. They were souls... Or, not quite souls. They were echo's, shadows of souls which clung to the living souls in her domain like moths to a flame. They gave off no notes, no souls or vibrations. They were in essence completely blank, empty, which was why Lyra was unable to recognize them for what they were at first. Dark reflections of souls on the outside of the Void. Perhaps when given a note they took on the form of shades, the humanoid things that continued in repeating patterns out in the city proper. Maybe Shades were these Black Souls after they had consumed an idea errantly passed into the Void. But where did they come from? She wasn't sure. Perhaps they were born whenever a new soul came into existence outside, or maybe these were the first attempt at a soul and were merely discarded here with the rest of the cosmic trash. Whatever the case may be Lyra wanted to understand them, and their purpose, and more importantly how they could be of use to her.
It was while she was pondering these things, adjusting her demesne as she went, that she felt the first ripple through the Void. It was like a wave of nostalgia, and memories of ancient times came to her along with the sensations of battle. She felt a familiar stirring in her soul, the part of her that was Lyrielle purred in unfettered desire. Excitement welled within her chest, even as a sense of dread filled her stomach. She cast her eyes upward then, looking for the source of the sensations, but as quickly as it had come it was gone once more.
"Did you sense that?" Lyra asked Et'Vaaran, the tiger who lounged in his usual spot atop the dais at the center of her demesne. His head was raised, ears twitching, a sign that she had not imagined it. Lyra knew what that sensation was, and she recognized the item which had made it. Alah'Fin, Lights End. It had clashed with Arcas once more.
Concern began to creep up her spine, which Lyra pushed down with force as she considered what she needed to do. She recalled the creation of that blade, how she had been called to aid in its forging, weaving a part of Shaeoth himself into it so that it could slay a god. It had been a master work of master works, one of the greatest weapons ever created, though Lyra herself was not the best judge of such things, but she did recall the pride she felt in its making. Shaeoth had praised her for her aid, and then, and now she supposed, she craved his affection like a mortal craved air. It was a weapon made to kill Arcas, an effort Lyrielle had supported without question at the time, but now... What did her beloved want? She knew that it was not Shaoeth himself that wielded the sword, for it did not resonate in the same way, but did that mean it was being used in his name?
Then there was Talon. Lyra, and Lyrielle to an extent, had become quite fond of the little prince. After coming into his own and returning as Arcas in full they had become somewhat distant she felt, but the fact remained that he had been there at the creation of her daughter, and thus Talon held a unique position in her heart. There was also the matter of the mark she felt on her back, which even now was like a warm hand that slightly burned her skin, yet it was a comfort in these times as even she fell pray to hopelessness.
Her thoughts twisted and turned as she considered, wondered what she should do... but at last she sighed. It was really no question at all. Lyra knew what she must do, but a part of her disliked it. She cast a look down at her body, which was much improved since receiving blood regularly from Imogen. Much of her beauty had returned, and while she was gaunt Lyra at least felt she appeared among the living once more. At least she was no longer a walking husk, which had been a horrendous thing. Silver hair flowed around her, black shadows and smoke draped her like a living dress, and from her eyes dripped a line of black tears that disappeared into smoke as it fell from her cheeks. Her skin did not writhe around today, but the black tattoos across her body still moved of their own accord, weeping a dark liquid that flowed down to the ground, leaving a trail of black tar that evaporated to smoke soon after. It was not her best look, but Lyra supposed she was presentable.
Reaching into her soul space Lyra called on the soul glyph that belonged to Talon. It was a large, confusing tangle of lines of scripts and pictographs, each one made of shiny light that hurt to look at for too long. It was one of only three divine soul glyphs she possessed, and was the second most complex. By his nature as the son of the Dragon King he was an exceptionally powerful demigod, and it was simply by her nature that she was even able to keep possession of this glyph. She ran a mental hand over it, while she pressed her own physical hands against her chest. With a thought she pulled on their connection and a shiny light bloomed from within Lyra, growing to fill her hands as she removed a white fire from her chest and extended it outward. The fire took flight then, its flames resolving into wings as a falcon made of purest light was formed. Its feathers were marked in glyph patterns that reflected the soul glyph within Lyra's soul space, and when she extended her hand the soul construct landed on her arm. It turned one of its burning eyes on Lyra.
"Little Prince..." Lyra whispered, gently stroking the birds feathers, "I call you."
