Lw'nafhnah hnah, ymg' mgep mg c'dzhjen ot ahf' Y' ah. Ot ahf' c' ah. Raeth yog llll ymg' bthnknahor, g'tashk c'. C' ah'f'nah ahnnn. Ahlloigehye.
The voices. They were so vile.
"Lethiril, they're so... hungry. What do they want? I don't . . . I don't understand."
"Your aether," he said. "Nothing more, nothing less. It is what all Archetypes want. It is how they feed."
"But--"
"The Vesj'vakar starve. They have so few Summoners, and a demanding Patron."
"But they don't need to eat, do they?" Taelian asked. His lips were pressed together, his expression strained; he appeared uncomfortable, as the Ritual's colors rose from his fingertips. The sound filling the air was deep and disturbing, more than just the voices that whispered around him like a cloak.
"Need is often a subjective quality, despite what others say, and particularly when it concerns the arcane. Want -- that's the metric we shall judge the Archetypes by. They want many things. Sustenance. Power. The chance to roam among us, even if only to play their momentary games. Archetypes often have complex societal dynamics; being called upon by one of us is an opportunity for prestige, a chance to regale in stories. They are like warriors in that regard. Their value is derived from their accomplishments in the field."
He understood. It was not dissimilar to the Ebon Knights who clamored around the Black Revenants, waiting to be called to the field, even if only to die at a Dranoch's hand. These Archetypes were in competition with one another, even if nothing truly valuable came from their dance. He supposed the ether they paid as tribute to their Patron was value in itself; the opportunity to draw favor from the entity that acted as their creator, their all.
It wasn't dissimilar from how he was acting now; willing to put himself on the line to gain the admiration of Lethiril, who he looked up to and adored. His old friend.
"Leth," he whispered. "I'm beginning to feel one, drawing near. Does this mean I've done the Ritual correctly?" he asked.
"It may indeed mean that," the Dratori replied. "Don't move. Let it come to you. Feel its shape, its texture and contours. Describe it to me."
Taelian nodded, and focused. His eyes remained closed. It was strange -- it was like he was living in a separate reality within his mind, thrown to a different space. But he was really there... or it felt like he was. One body was in the flesh, in the Free Cities and their wilds, and another -- an aethereal form -- was in this place. Not the Ebony Nightmare, but... Veravend's domain. Wherever that was.
He felt like he was at the bottom of the sea. It was so dark that only small lights could be made out and determined, but the Archetypes themselves could not be seen, only felt and heard. Their breathing. Their faint whispers. It seemed the closer they drew, the farther they felt.
"It's here!" he exclaimed.
"Touch it," Lethiril bade him. "What does it feel like?"
"It--feels..."
Cold.
Re: Binding
Posted: Wed Dec 25, 2019 12:05 pm
by Taelian
"It feels so... sleek, like steel -- sharpened, every inch of its surface. It feels... ah, it's investigating me, Leth. I feel it almost... smelling me? But with tendrils, all formed by its mouth. It... ah!" he yelled out in shock, jumping as his back and upper body completely tensed. "It grabbed my hand. Leth, it doesn't want me to feel it anymore. It's whispering something--I can't make it out."
Ymg' ah mgepnah, ymg' ah nafl? Shuggog uh'eog l' ainah ya, ymg' yaah. Taelian. Rannoch; Y' mgep seen h' mgep. Ehye, noth yar mgepyarog, Veravend quor'has h' l' epfm'latgh.
The Dratori immediately rose from his seated position and sat beside Taelian, placing his steel blue fingers along the tense muscles of the Siltori's shoulders and massaging him gently, attempting to winnow out the knots from his flesh. He breathed softly along the other man's neck, a warm sensation tickling the Ebon Knight's tan skin. Taelian relaxed.
"Don't summon it," he demanded, though in a soft tone. "In moments like these, you must think as logically as you can. Why would it not want you to touch it further? It does not want you to examine its shape, only to discover the complexity of its form. A Nahl is a simple and rudimentary thing. Very little depth or definition; you will know one when you feel it. A Vrannik, on the other hand, has weapons that burgeon from its form. Complex shapes, characteristics that are less crude and more refined. What you are describing to me, Taelian, is a Vrannik. Tell it to leave."
He nodded, feeling the slightest touch of anxiety, sweat forming at his brow. His expression, tensed, began to relax as Lethiril offered him guidance. With firmness in his voice, he muttered that singular word.
"Leave". And it did, slinking away. A light drew nearer, and something benign seemed to approach with it. It brushed against his elbows, then sunk into his form, as if to embrace him. Taelian felt its contours; it was soft, like jelly. Simple in shape -- a bell that transitioned into a series of elongated, almost branch-like appendages, but with a leathery texture to them. He could actually envision it in his mind.
"A jellyfish," he smiled. Lethiril's brow quirked.
"Jellyfish?"
"It's all over me," the Siltori laughed. "It's like it's embracing me. I can feel its... tendrils--ah!" he squealed. Taelian couldn't stop laughing; the entity was almost petting him. It was so strange.
"Speak to it," Lethiril suggested. And Taelian tried, slipping a meek hello from his lips.
It did not respond back audibly. Instead, though he could still not make out its form, the Archetype seemed to shift the air around it to a bright white. It was a silent nod back.
"It... Lethiril, I think it's benevolent," he laughed, again. "I want to call it forth."
"Do it, then," the Dratori responded. "If anything goes awry, I am here. Let it in."
Re: Binding
Posted: Wed Dec 25, 2019 12:20 pm
by Taelian
He called it forth, the being entering into their world from a peerless black portal, as if a gateway to an infinite void. From that darkness spewed a watery insurgence that faded before it even met the floor, and the bright light of the entity he had contracted, surrounding its soft jelly-like bell. It was a jellyfish, after all -- and a large one at that. Taelian's eyes glowed with appreciation as he witnessed it drawing nearer, floating above the ground. It began to silently orbit around him, aimlessly wandering from the front of the Siltori to hovering gently over the seat of the sofa. Its color shifted to its seemingly regular, pale green shade, and as it remained in proximity the Ebon Knight began to somehow understand its name.
"Hira'lotha," he whispered. "That's the name of it. It's a... Nahl, then, right?" he asked for clarification.
"It must be," Lethiril said. "It's simple in form and shape. Vrannik, Tyrid and Qe'zhod are highly complex. They imitate life in many ways, though it depends on the Archetype. Many of the Archetypes designed by the Choir of Fog are seamless, otherworldly monstrosities, nothing like this... Hira'lotha of yours. They can be more difficult to judge, for that reason," the Dratori explained.
"Can I call upon those as well?" he asked.
"No," Lethiril responded. "Summoners do not peer across the factional lines of the Patrons. Though some have switched sides, so to speak, before, it is rare. To be honest, I was concerned that you might end up contracting with the Choir of Fog during your initiation... but fortunately my concern was invalidated. Elves tend to be drawn to the Elven Gods, anyway, on a disproportionate basis; or so I've been told." Taelian immediately glanced to Lethiril with a curious gaze, as if to ask for an explanation. The Dratori parted his lips to reply.
"A lot of your initial contact is based on inherent desires of yours, and so the familiarity to the Eldhan Weald draws you to them instinctively."
"I see," Taelian responded. "Interesting that you didn't tell me of the Choir of Fog and my risk in calling on them before initiating me." Another strangely suspicious deed of Lethiril's, to add to the growing mound.
"I knew you wouldn't make contact with them. And I was right."
"Is Veravend really any different?" the Siltori asked. "She's an enemy to them, perhaps more than the Choir is. What's the point of aligning with her? She--"
"Taelian," the Dratori interrupted him, his brows clinging closer to the lids of his eyes in frustration. "You aren't listening to me. There are six Patrons in the Eldhan Weald. You have the opportunity to eventually connect to all of them. And, besides . . . what would be greater than anything we could accomplish through Summoning? Drawing Veravend back to the fold. Amending her relations with the rest of the Eldhan Weald. It is a gargantuan task, but it is possible. Perhaps, for an Apostle. Perhaps."
