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Post by Delaela Fenastra-Asiliari on Jan 31, 2024 14:05:26 GMT -5
It is a singular feeling to be standing in the aftermath of a disaster. Even though it had only been a few short months since the Primordial entity Vulcadreaus had erupted from the volcano of Mount Drakholt, the world had seen fit to march onward, unabated and unrelenting in the forward momentum of time. It was not unlike standing upon the precipice of a great chasm of your own memory, recalling something harrowing and vivid and terrifying, and being confronted with the peaceful reality of that which remained.
Much had happened, since then.
Yet, it did not feel truly peaceful. Standing near the edge of the caldera, looking down into the valley of the blooming flowers held a sense of... tension. Not quite forboding, but as though something yet lingered that was unresolved. Or, worse, that something new had arrived in the wake of the battle with an entity that embodied destruction and rebirth.
It was lucky Cyran and Del were in the area when the whispers began; people wanted the flowers investigated, but not many were willing to approach, given the rumours about them. The story was that you would become "not yourself" if you entered the ring of flowers, that strange and unwelcome changes had happened to people who felt as though they were looking at themselves through another person's eyes. Concerning as that was, it seemed at first like it wasn't any of their business, but... perhaps they could find something there. A solution for their problem at hand, that which prevented them from remaining in the area for too long, and keeping them from the kids. Del knew what a burden that was on Cyran, but it was safer by far. They would not hide behind their children to prevent the reckoning they believed was due.
It did not make it any easier, but here they remained.
Slipping through the woods towards the caldera was a slow, careful process. If there was a threat in the area that could impact the lives of Darkveil and the orphans at Shade's Valley, all the more reason for the pair of them to ascertain its true nature. If it could help them in the long run... well, so much the better. But as they stand at that edge, looking down into the crater where their world had changed, finding it full of flowers that waved delicately in the breeze.
Unsure, Del looks to Cyran, brow lowered with her puzzlement. "It's strange that there's so much plant life here at the moment, but I don't see anything outwardly wrong at the moment?"
Quest Name: Ring of Flowers Participants: Exactly Two Location: One of the listed locations below Post Requirements: 6 posts per person, 200 words per post Reward: +2 Renown, 1 Mystical Archive Ticket Description: Strange things are occurring around these newly formed flower circles and help is needed in understanding why. Unfortunately, as one of the first groups of people to explore these phenomena, we are unaware of any specific strange or weird side effects interacting with these rings may bring, so be careful. Study the flowers, record what you see, hear, or even feel. Special Requirements: Your investigations will reveal that these circles are not native to Charon and are coming from some other realm. They are Fae in nature and give off similar magical traces as the Fae creatures that currently live on Charon, although much stronger and more potent. Upon arriving at the location, you will find that strange things have begun to happen, not only to the environment but to you as well, with prolonged exposure to the circle increasing the effects. Before you begin the quest, you must choose one of the locations listed below to explore, with a specific obstacle attached based on the region. These added effects cannot be ignored and must be applied to your characters during the quest. Ash Lands | Drakholt Crater | Red, yellow and orange flowers have grown around the rim of Drakolt Crater, remnants left over from Vulcadreaus. The smell of burnt flesh sits on the air while water is scalding to the touch. | While investigating the flowers, both members find that they have swapped bodies. Your mind is still intact, but you are now in the other person's body, gaining access to everything on their character sheet but losing everything on yours. Lasts the entire topic. |
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Post by Cyran Fenastra-Asiliari on Jan 31, 2024 18:10:50 GMT -5
Though he was loathe to admit it, Cyran had… a passing familiarity with magic and its aspects.
A consequence of his connection to the shadows. Less a learned, trained skill and more an ability to tap into what lurked in the dark. Shadows existed everywhere; in deep corners and wells, in peaks and in the wake of everyone who held their head high towards the sun. They thrived in the dark of dreams and the void of the moon. They were alive, and they collected all that they witnessed. A vast wealth of knowledge, just simmering under the surface; if one knew where to look.
Too much for Cyran to comprehend. He wanted nothing to do with power and all its trappings - power was for heroes and kings and mages and it corrupted all that it touched, and he’d already made a monster of himself. Each spell, each manipulation of the shadows, it pulled Cyran towards something beyond his understanding. Something that scared him, when he gave enough thought to the fact that he no longer recognized his reflection. If he stopped to listen to their whisperings in a language that became more familiar to him with each passing day.
And it was this connection that usually allowed him to read the formulae inscribed in the laws of reality. The mutterings were usually inane and difficult to understand, but when Cyran made use of his magic, he could… hone into it somewhat. Read and erase memories. Understand languages and histories that he’d never studied in his schooling. Truths and lies. It was what made him an adept information gatherer, when he was still in the business.
At the very least, Cyran hoped such skills might be of use to him here. Foreign magics near the crater that was formerly Mount Drakolt, causing out of body experiences in those who dared linger long enough at the ring’s edges, or - dead gods forbid - step into it. Given the state of the world as of late, where draconic deities rose from ancient earth, Scern was still at large, and those in charge were just trying to steer their sinking ships to avoid crashing into any jagged rocks as they fell, it should barely have been cause for concern.
And yet.
The incidents had occurred near the crater. That couldn’t be coincidence.
Though they were hardly of good standing with the city itself, it was still their home. They still cared. And there was a chance that understanding the secrets of the ring might give Del and Cyran some much needed answers. Which was why he was hoping, as they approached the ring of fire, painted in petals of warm orange and red, Cyran had attempted to glean whatever he could of the magic in the air.
What he found instead was a chaos so intense that his mind felt fuzzy until Cyran massaged his temple, forcing the headache away. Ever since Vulcadreus, his magic had been acting strange… gleaning the memories of the amalgam of souls which had consumed Zarius, and the infinity of the cycle of life and death and rebirth - it was almost as if it had fundamentally shifted something in his being, opened a door that could not be closed.
Regardless. His attempts to glean the formulae had only earned him a small, budding headache, like he’d tried to read a contract of small print for a single cluster of words. Stamping down his frustration, Cyran closed his connection to the shadows, and shrugged.
“I can’t tell. It’s possible that everything feels so strange because of what Vulcadreus left behind.” Other than that, he could only guess. Other than that…
Well. At this point Cyran was quite used to operating within the scope of forces and phenomena that were outside of his control. A dog being dragged along a leash was only hurt by its resistance in the end. Cyran usually wanted no part in the games of higher beings, but it was better to adapt than keep his head buried in the sand. Cyran raised his boot to step over the edge of the ring when something snagged the back of his mind; he’d listened to Fish speak enough about the scientific process that he knew better than to charge in blindly, even if the effect seemed innocuous enough.
He paused, waving his hand in the air to summon his shadow. The double sprung from the tall grass, waiting for Cyran’s instructions with a silent, blank stare.[1]
“Go stand in there and see what happens.” Cyran muttered, gesturing towards the crater. The shadow obliged, stepping over the floral barrier. Cyran held his breath…
And nothing happened.
The shadow merely stood on the threshold, as if waiting for an unknown effect. But as the seconds ticked by, everything remained the same as it always was. Cyran’s brows furrowed.
“… Interesting.” He rubbed at his chin. “I suppose if we want to learn more about this magical effect, I could step in myself. Theoretically, I should be able to dispel magic should anything go awry.” He looked back to his fiancé to see what her thoughts were on the matter. It was a risk, but sometimes, if there was nothing ventured, there would be nothing gained. 1. Shadow Clone
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Post by Delaela Fenastra-Asiliari on Feb 27, 2024 0:02:12 GMT -5
Del watches the swaying circle of blooms, frowning. There was such a vast difference in the landscape from a year ago, to a few months ago, to now. It was strikingly beautiful the way nature had so effortlessly reclaimed this site of destruction, now near unrecognizable. In a millenia, would anyone really remember what happened here? The change was stark-- even though she watched intently as Cyran's shadow went beyond the line of flowers to stand in the field, watching as nothing happened, she still felt uneasy. Perhaps it was simply the memory of what had once lurked here, a remnant of power her body reminded her to be wary of, still tickling the back of her mind.
Though Del herself had not explored it at all since the last time they stood here at the hollow base of the mountain, she could sense within herself a shift. More importantly, the shift within Cyran. Their connection through their rings provided some of that insight, but in a strange way, his discomfort seemed to mirror her own. It wasn't exact, but it was nonetheless something that seemed to linger, something present beyond the normal senses.
Whatever it was that had drawn her to Darkveil in the first place, this silent insistence of her instincts, it now dwelled within her instead.
Del clicks her tongue and looks to her fiance, her brow also furrowing. Trepidatious as she was, she was not about to let her beloved Cyran venture into something potentially dangerous without her. "I trust you would be able to do so, my love, but I would be much more comfortable if I went with you." she gives him a meaningful look, the corner of her smile tugging upwards in a crooked bend. Perhaps she was simply fussing over her grown man of a soon-to-be husband, but Del still found herself reluctant to let Cyran too far out of her sight.
She holds out her hand to Cyran, smiling gently. They could not make time for a picnic at the moment, but there was no immediate danger present, other than that which was concocted by her paranoia. "Together. On three? One... two..."
On three, she takes a big step into the ring, tense and preemptively flinching, waiting for whatever was here to lunge at them or explode or something.
It happens... suddenly. And very quietly. One moment, Del is standing to the right of Cyran. The next, she is on his left. Er. No. Wait...
Blinking rapidly, her footsteps immediately come to a halt. Things seemed like they had been flipped around. Was she... a little taller? Her body moved so differently, like a leaf skimming elegantly over water, like wind weaving through tall blades of grass. She felt... ethereal. "That was--"
The words barely fall from her lips when instead Del emits a yelp of surprise in Cyran's smooth timbre, stumbling a little in shock. She lifts her eyes to Cyran and sees... not Cyran. Herself. Del. Staring back at her in complete, bewildered surprise. Turning her head causes some of the silky strands of hair to move in front of her face, bringing herself enough pause to lift a hand and try to move the hair out of the way-- hair that is also not hers. Hair she would know anywhere, for it belonged to the love of her life.
Del looks at the hair strewn between her light, slender fingers, her skin a lighter hue than her own. She looks back at the Del across from her. To the hair again. Back to the Del that wasn't her but was but she wasn't inhabiting that Del at the moment, so who was? "Ohh. Ohh dear. Cyran, please tell me that's you." she wheezes softly looking at... herself.
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Post by Cyran Fenastra-Asiliari on Feb 28, 2024 9:58:23 GMT -5
He ought to have expected that Del wouldn’t want him to traverse the ring alone; it was the safe thing for them to do, but he also knew his fiancé, and if there was any danger to be had, it would be something they faced together. He huffed out a small, amused laugh at her assertion they would stop and smell the roses together, so to speak.
“… Very well. Together.” He agreed reluctantly, in part because he knew there would be no argument on the subject, and in part because the witness testimony seemed to indicate this magical effect was… innocuous enough. Annoying, but harmless, if it was true. He reached out and grabbed her outstretched hand; comforted, as always, by the sturdiness of her grip.
“Through the flowers we go.”
The change was subtle.
The kind of shift you didn’t notice if you weren’t looking for it. It was fortunate Cyran was, in this case; it was as if he merely blinked, and the world… had been placed a little to the right, and as you stared at the scenery trying to figure out what was wrong, the only detail you could parse was that even though everything looked exactly the same, nothing ever would be again.
Or, as he heard a familiar voice - that you were the one who’d been changed.
Cyran whipped his head in the direction of the voice - his voice. “What the-“
Only for him to come face to face with himself.
This was hardly the first time Cyran had seen his own double, and yet, he found himself bewildered all the same. Never did the shadow-conjured copies come with such expression, such confusion in the pinch of his brow and the way he fiddled with his hair -
And only when he spoke, in a voice that was physically his own but inhabited by the accent and inflection of an entirely different person - someone as familiar to him as, well, himself - did Cyran put the pieces together.
He looked down at his hands. Carpenter’s hands. Brawler’s hands. Nicked and scarred from centuries of hard labor, only a fraction of which the mind remembered. Oh, but the body kept score, the tear and sting of old bruises singing of battle experience Cyran could barely hold a candle to.
He shifted his weight from foot to foot, moving each one of his fingers experimentally. Del moved her fingers, too.
He brought a hand up to his face and ran his hands across a familiar scar along the bridge of his - Del’s - this nose.
“… Del?” He said at last, his own question an answer to her query, in a sort. She didn’t need to answer. The silence, the confusion he felt resounding from their bond, it was enough. Cyran ran a hand through his hair, an old habit, immediately getting Del’s hand and his ring tangled in her curls. Perhaps if this were Del herself, her confusion might have lent to a shower of golden petals, or the smell of a storm. It was only fitting that Cyran inherit her countenance but none of her beauty.
“Stars alive, this is strange.” Del’s voice and his own accent made for an odd combination. “Okay. We expected this. No matter; we can fix it. We just have to…”
He lifted a leg and smoothly stepped over the flower ring, expecting the same shift they’d been subjected to only seconds ago…
But nothing happened.
“Er. Okay, not to panic. I can fix this.” He muttered, unsure whether he was convincing himself or Del more. He raised his - Del’s, Lunala this was confusing - hand, fingers splayed, as if calling the shadows to his aid. And then he clenched his hand into a fist, weaving power into the magic to dispel the effect.
And once again, nothing happened, save a stirring of the shadows, rather confused at this turn of events. Nothing happened, save the primal sense of battle-readiness that surged through him, the ancient… something that stirred underneath the surface.
Odd.
He turned back to Del… in his own body, which was already strange enough to think about. He hadn’t lost much in terms of height, given how tall Del was, but the sensation was still discomforting. Even moreso was seeing the expressiveness Del wore on her sleeve on his own face.
He grabbed his fiancé by his own face and tried to stave away the headache regarding the confusing logistics of this scenario. “Okay, Del, don’t panic, hon.” He said, spoken like someone who was more prone to panic in this situation. They weren’t quite there yet; not when this was likely the result of stray, ambient magic rather than a direct threat to their life.
Gods. Was he always this cold-?
No, not the time, Cyran.
“But it looks like this… whatever spell this is, didn’t transfer over my magic.” An odd, more theological question than he knew how to answer. One might think his talents with umbramancy, the ghosts behind his shoulder, so intimately tied to his soul, would carry over with him. And yet, oddly enough, they were tied to his body. “Which means if this is a spell, you’re the one who can counter it.”
He loathed the thought of subjecting her to the shadows that stuck to him, but there was no other way around it. This wasn’t the worst situation to be in, but they were vulnerable like this. The sooner they figured out how to get back, the better.
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Post by Delaela Fenastra-Asiliari on Mar 23, 2024 19:08:49 GMT -5
It was Cyran. Thank the gods for that, she thinks, shoulders falling with relief-- only to tense again, slightly, feeling an unfamiliar twinge in in Cyran's back. She knows what it is immediately; the ragged claw marks on his back That Woman had imparted on him before she'd died. Her brow furrows a little, distressed for Cyran. But this was... okay. It was fine. There was no reason to panic.
Cyran was here, with her. Inhabiting her body. If there was a better way for having her consciousness swapped out of her body and into someone elses, this was by far the best outcome.
"Well," she looks around them, hands on her hips. "At least we know what the effect is?" She watches as Cyran steps back over the ring of flowers, expecting to occupy the space where he was now standing as soon as the connection to the circle was broken.
Nothing happens.
A nervousness starts to bubble up in her stomach. Cyran--Del-- Delran, comes over, cupping the face she was wearing (a jolt as his palm touches her face-- that skin temperature was near boiling! It didn't hurt or sting-- in fact, it felt quite nice-- but had she always been THAT warm?) with tenderness and affection and gods, it was so strange seeing Cyran's familiar expressions on her own skin. It was equal parts comforting and unnerving; comforting because she could feel her body's own innate reaction to the comfort of their partner, but unnerving because gods help her it felt weird to feel comforted and reassured by herself.
If she wasn't panicking BEFORE--
"Yes! No need to panic! It's okay, I'm okay, you're okay..." she nodded vigorously, doing her best to keep things at bay. She covered Delran's hands with her own, cool and soothing, giving him a familiar lopsided smile. "We'll figure this out."
She watched him break out into thought, again, the familiar expressions of someone else over skin they did not belong in. In spite of this, still, it was precious to watch him mull and think things over. Even if it was in her own body.
...that didn't make her Delaela then, did it? If he was Delran, then she was... ah. Cylaela. That differentiation seemed to help a little. Made it less confusing.
She blinks, coming back to herself as Delran reasons what to do next, that she would need to use his magic to try and dispell the effect on them. "I.. ah... I can give it a try, certainly." Cylaela looks at her hands and at Cyran-- herself. Delran. Magic. Right. She had used Cyran's magic before, she could do this. Mirroring Delran's actions, she lifts her hand, and tries to summon the magic.
But accessing spells through the rings and tapping into Cyran's innate magical connection were not the same thing. It is not an unfamiliar feeling, tapping into it; the shadows hugged her own form as well, but they did not cling to her quite the way that they clung to Cyran. They responded to her call vociferously, chilling her to the bone in a way that Del normally did not feel. Faster than she can sever the connection, it swells, burgeoning at the edges of her mind as it pushes forward through Cylaela's lifted hand and surges out, a scalding wave of dismissal of magic in an over exerted attempt to banish the magical effect.
A wave of exhaustion immediately rolled over her, and Cylaela collapses to her knees, light headed. "I-- I don't think I did that right," she gasps seeing stars. Nothing could have prepared her for that surge of energy. Her gaze lifts to Delran, a little awestruck. "You've been holding that back all this time? You are... so impossibly strong, to hold that in check."
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Post by Cyran Fenastra-Asiliari on Mar 26, 2024 7:44:52 GMT -5
The testimony from Darvkeil’s citizens could not possibly prepare Cyran for how uncanny all of this was. Del’s mannerisms, her confidence, the timbre of her voice, spoken with all of his physicality. He was still having a hard time adjusting to the fact that he had to look up at her - himself - the Delaela which was currently Cyran - and yet, watching her move around, hands on her hips with all the grace and confidence often absent from a man who had a habit of making himself as small as possible…
It was like watching a paradigm shift in his brain brought to life, and Cyran couldn’t be sure he wasn’t dreaming.
“The people we spoke to said it was temporary.” He breathed. “That it was only for a blink. So why are we still…”
And how in the heck was she still calm about all this?
It could be worse. He could be stuck in the body of someone he didn’t know; much less trust. Cyran did not know how to be strong, but he knew Del’s battle patterns almost as well as he did his own. If this were meant to sow discord and vulnerability in travelers, they could not have picked a worse pairing to target.
Still. He bit his lip all the same while Del, within his own body - Cylaela, by her own naming conventions - raised her hand, drawing from the font of dark power which Cyran was intimately familiar with. He almost expected a stirring, deep within himself, as she moved the shadows around her; a calling to a power that was meant to be his. And yet, there was no connection. The use of magic was as foreign as the sun’s light.
And yet, the wave of power she released made a dread chill run down his spine, the scars and burns etched into Del’s back burning at the sensation.
He shouted in alarm at the same time Del lost control.
Del collapsed to her knees, a marionette whose strings have been cut in one swift movement - and Cyran was there to meet her. Muscle memory kicked in. Where Cyran’s body had been fine-tuned for murder, Del’s remembered all too well what it meant to save people. He grabbed her by her armpits, easing her to the ground so her descent was a flow rather than a crumple. His body was so light in her hands. So terribly light.
“Del! Gods, I’m so sorry… I shouldn’t have asked you to do that.” He murmured, a hand on her - Cylaela’s - back, keeping her steady as the wooziness cleared. As she came back to her senses, she wore a faint, distant expression one might harken to wonder as she looked back at him.
Cyran clenched his hand into a fist and averted his eyes.
“It’s not something I’m proud of.”
And it had only gotten worse the past few months. Like a fungal rot; no matter how many times one cleansed the infection, the stains remained to grow anew.
He pushed those thoughts aside and moved to scoop her up - hooking one arm around her knees and one around her back. Cyran was a stranger to what it meant to support another, but he’d seen Del do it countless times before. And as he hoisted her upwards, Cyran had to prevent from recoiling from how utterly easy the movement was. Cyran wobbled, off-kilter, only just managing to plant a foot behind him and keep from falling over.
If this was how Del reacted to something as heavy as a person…
“And as are you. I couldn’t imagine how careful you must have to be…” Cyran replied, quiet. Gods, she had to be, to keep every touch from crushing his bones like a baby bird’s skull. Unsure what else to say, other than to linger in the mutual understanding only afforded by those who struggled to keep the most monstrous parts of themselves in check. And perhaps even the knowledge that it would still be okay. They wouldn’t hurt one another.
Cyran sat Del down on a nearby rock, a little ways away from the flower ring, and reached for her own waterskin, now around his own waist. With a sad, knowing smile, he moved to help her drink. Next came the rations. “Here. To help with the energy.”
He shook his head with a sigh. “It was wrong of me to ask that. It could be dangerous if we go swinging around magic and might with reckless abandon; one of us could get hurt. It’s… we can figure something else out. Hell, maybe it’ll go away on its own?” The question in his tone did not sound especially hopeful.
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