Deimos and Kiada in the book:
Deimos:
Well, that might’ve been a mistake.
Not usually drawn into an impulsive nature, it had been more of a fleeting nuance of curiosity, sending him straight out of the underground, and into something else entirely. No pain, no torment, so perhaps not death.
The ivory haze and labyrinthine quality of the ether around him made him wonder, ponder, if it was like some aspect of the World’s Edge, all fog and enigmas, the rushing water pressing against rocks, embankments, a torrential, tempestuous eave.
But there was nothing - nothing really except a post nearby, arrows pointing in a myriad of directions, and with naught else to do, he stepped towards it, hoping to find some indicator of where he was, or how to get back.
Kiada:
Well, she’s abandoned everything else in her pursuit of following Deimos. Auni is back, away from the tunnels they have crossed, Zuriel is back with Amalia and Jigano, and Kiada’s followed Deimos into the literature.
At first she sees the seas of fog, and she too has a moment of recollection when it comes to the World’s Edge, even a small chance of it like the Heavenly Fields. But regardless, she spots the sign - and Deimos there as well. Hitching her breath, she approaches him silently at first, though relief floods through her at seeing he’s okay. “Deimos!” She calls, hurrying her steps over the fog toward the signpost, trying to spot anything that might make sense. She is not surprised when it doesn’t.
Deimos:
To his surprise, since that appeared to be the ongoing theme of this entire event, Zuriel appeared at his side soon after - irritated and annoyed, the only nuance flowing through their bond was that idiot bard. He nodded his head, understanding perfectly.
Another shock befuddling his system was Kiada’s distinction amidst the vapor and ether - his head twisting back to nod at her, no one harmed in the strange, alternate reality. She came to join him amidst the fog, and then they advanced upon the signpost, the only thing staring and standing out to them.
Words appear, warbling in slow motion, recognizing the Spire and Mathair (was the tree are a portal too?), and then one he didn’t recognize: The Citadel. His finger pointed at its clarity, eyes narrowing, head tilting, curiosity invoked again. “Citadel?” The Cheshire grin suddenly enfolding over his features, despite the completely odd atmosphere, clambered for a chance at the unknown. ”I am game if you are,” an indication of his intentions, gesturing towards the pointed arrow.
Kiada:
She’s incredibly surprised when Zuriel appears, gaze following Deimos’ form and the unicorn’s before they approach the sign post. At first nothing makes sense, but she breathes easier being at Deimos’ side. But then she can see the words take form. The Mathair, the Spire, but her eyes latch onto the last unknown when Deimos’ says it aloud.
As if he has to ask!
A grin forms on her own and she tilts her head to the Sword with a smirk. “Absolutely.” She tells him, beginning her steps to the location the arrow has pointed.
Deimos:
The audacity spread through his lungs the moment she accepted, and within one step, they’d seemingly traversed into another place - mirrors and surfaces, and then, then-
It was snow. It was ice. It was everything he’d once left behind, he’d once reigned upon, he’d once fought for with tooth, nail, and avarice; but none of the greed slid through him now. It was only a breathless gasp, a sharp inhale, then exhale, stunned into disbelief, his eyes riveted to every sanction before them. Something that had once been every part of him - drifting only in his dreams, in his hazy memories, savored in slumber or nostalgia, tangible and real before them now: mountains, as far as his gaze could catch, surrounding and enclosing over a frozen lake, a city below. The great beast could have wept with joy, with sheer, raw amusement, with excitement suddenly pulsing and pervading its way through him, the summits, peaks, and rime before them irresistible.
He tore his stare away from the scene for a moment to glance at Kiada, the depths of his smile illustrious and bright, mouth incapable of forming anything until he took a few more breaths. “Can you believe it?” Then he advanced, stepped forward, aching for the nuances, the ruminations, the splendor of its world, its whims, its power. Zuriel followed, and they were wayward blades in the snow.
Kiada:
It’s almost like they move as one, the trio, advancing toward the unknown. One step and everything changes, and Kiada doesn’t know where to focus first — the ice, the snow, the city in the distance. Her heart lurches, and she can feel a swift burning beneath the lids of her eyes. For a moment she doesn’t know if she can speak, at least not until she looks over toward Deimos, drifting closer to the sword with a shaking hand outstretched.
It’s like home.
A jagged inhale is taken before she tries to give his arm a squeeze, taking more steps toward the unknown city of ice and snow — toward the closest thing to home, unable to speak or say anything at all.
Deimos:
Together, together, they’ll wander into the mountains together, and from then on, they’ll -
The wind shifted to almost nothing, no rustling breeze pulling at his heart, at his lungs, at his soul; the world outstretched before them, but nothing closer. The excitement still remained, pulsing through his skin, his flesh, his bones, calling for the potent, powerful edges of the mountaintops. But there, somewhere in the distinction of all they could see, the inevitable plunge started to seethe and burn and brew in his gut; that they might not be able to advance any further. That they were in a tome, and nothing more - like a promise, like a tease, like a torment.
His hands reached out, the cold spiraling along his palms, so close, so close, so close, only to have an invisible barrier bound back for him - and he wondered, no matter how far they roamed, no matter how far they meandered and wandered, if it was even possible to gain access to the beautiful world laid out there - completely out of reach. “No,” he whispered, a sort of despondent pull on his soul.
Kiada:
It’s almost tangible, the cold, the ice, the snow — and that childish part within her wants to run toward it, to not look back and dwell with snowmen and snow angels, to skate along the ice, to find hot springs should they exist…
And then it’s taken away, as quickly as they reach the barrier. Sealed off, cut off, frustrated. She curses under her breath as Deimos reaches out, at the whisper he gives, and her tears grow edged with anger. Another trick, another illusion of sorts perhaps? She’s had enough of that with the blight.
She trusts Deimos to prove they can’t pass, and she doesn’t try to attempt it herself, uncertain if she’d rather tear through it with talons and claws if she were to. Hissing under her breath, she turns to look back at the sign post. “It exists.” She determines. Because the Spire exists. The Mathair exists. Those names among the familiar to her. So why can’t they pass it? Is it a window to the others too?
Huffing under her breath even more, she leaves Deimos at the barrier and goes back to the sign post to stare at it with all her fury. “We can try the Mathair?” There’s a bite of her anger to her tone, but it’s not directed at him. She does glance over toward him before stepping in the direction of the Mathair to see if there’s a similar windowed barrier to that one too.
Deimos:
For half a second, he considered beating his fists on the barrier, using any means possible to defy it, to destroy it, to allow him into the confines of the mountains and disappear into its sanction. Would his magic work? Was there anything he could do? His jaw clenched and his brows furrowed, the sinking weight of looking through a window sharpening over his senses - as if there was naught more to do, the beacon there, there, there, but an intangible motion, and no amount of his daring propositions or emboldened inclinations would matter. Try bent into his mind and warped his predilections, and perhaps the only thing that called him from the abysmal void was Kiada’s voice.
He wasn’t angry, not like the bite to her voice - he was dismayed, to be so close and yet so far, to look upon something he’d savored and craved for so long, and being incapable of getting it. Would patience be a virtue? Would it matter, in the end? Could they even get to it, or were those lands just ruses, a play upon their dreams? He’d remember the words though - the Citadel bellowing in his brain; either a sanctum or an illusion.
Deimos followed after the Harpy, with one, last lingering touch upon the barrier, a sigh unfurling from his chest. Zuriel stared once and then nothing more - a child of the forest, not the summits, couldn’t, didn’t, fathom the enormity of what could’ve been.
He ventured back to the sign, trailing after her footsteps, curiosity lingering along the Mathair’s purposes - he thought it simply to be one giant tree, a creature of the grove, a tower, a precipice, something otherworldly and ethereal. Their steps manifested along the Greatwood, on the outside looking in, more windows to potential. “Why are the guards there?” He inquired, head tilting. He couldn’t remember a time any of the Fae had hovered at its roots. Better yet - what were they protecting or defending?
Kiada:
The barrier is there, she can see it and feel it, but that’s not what distracts her. No, it’s the fae standing guard, the tree itself looks damaged in some way. And her anger begins to dissipate as Deimos joins her. “Something is wrong.” She announces quietly, brows furrowing. Had the otherworldly tree become a portal too? Had something happened to make it such?
They couldn’t leave this either, the barrier preventing it. And she likely assumes the Spire is the same. Glancing toward Deimos she frowns slightly. “These are real places. The mountain exists. But how do we get there?” She ponders for a moment, thinking over the options before she gives the Sword another look back and moves back to the Citadel. The distance feels so incredibly far, but when she reaches the barrier, she partially shifts so her hand is now clawed in her caracal paws, and she swipes at the barrier — hoping to break free.
Deimos:
Something is wrong - beyond being stuck in a book, beyond the bewildering, enigmatic quandaries this world had spiralled within. He breathed, he calculated, he pondered, listening to Kiada, following her thereafter as they paced back and forth between portraits, tapestries, canvases, and worlds. “What about the Mathair? If it is a portal -,” and then he hung the insinuation within the air, considering the circumstances. As far as he knew, or was ever told, there hadn’t been a portal within the Greatwood - they’d thought about searching for more in the Spire, which made connections and sense with the other signpost…or was that merely because every Outlander had landed there...
The Sword’s calculations ceased for the moment. He watched as Kiada bore her claws into the barrier, as she strived to commit action instead of ruminations - but it didn’t matter. The trial was over before it had even begun. If they were in a tome, if this was all intangible fragments, perhaps they were merely lucky to even be players in this game, to be staring out at a beautiful expanse.
The images shifted again, and he watched as it revealed castles, ice, too much finery, but there were people. People. Could they call out? Was any of this real? “Hello!” He boomed against the barrier, pondering if his roar, if his bellow, would reach beyond, or if it would ricochet, bound away; all a haze and cloud, vapor meant to distort or inform.
Kiada:
At first she doesn’t know what she expects. She wishes her claws slice through the veil to the other world they can see — but it doesn’t, and she curses again and again, pressing against the barrier that gives no give. Frustration looms beneath the burning of her tears, and she chews on her lower lip as the portal viewing begins to move. And with it, her gaze follows it.
People, darting in and out of the castle, Deimos’ booming voice erupting the fogged air around them, and she adds her own in as well. “Can you hear us?” She calls out with Deimos, frustration underlying the tone of her voice. People, mountains, life. It’s out there, and she needs to see it. She presses against the barrier again with her own question, praying, begging, needing the Citadel internally.
Deimos:
Nothing again, words bounding back at their feet, no expressions on the humans altered, changed, outside those tome walls and boundaries. It was as if they weren’t there at all - which might have been very well true and certain - confined to the fringes and edges of a book, of a window, of a canvas they couldn’t have, couldn’t ascertain, no matter how much they yearned to grasp and hold. Please, he wanted to shout, but that wouldn’t have mattered anyway - no amount of begging, of pleading, of demanding could have countered what they already faced. A deep, burdening sigh flickered from his mouth, hastened back to him on a chilling accord with his face pressed close to the barrier. “Do you think it could show us another part of it?” Or would that hurt more, to continually face something they couldn’t do anything with, only chase and dream? Did a book take requests? Or were those notions all the more ridiculous, the longer they stayed, the longer they strived?
”What do you want to do?” he murmured, and he didn’t want to go back just yet, not when the mountains were there, there, there, right in front of them, the nuances too fleeting, the notions too desperate.
Kiada:
Oh, she doesn’t want to leave just yet. The view is incredible, and even though she can’t reach out and be there, she can certainly try to find other ways. She takes in as much information as she can, hand dropping from the barrier as she peers within. “It’s real. It has to be. The spire is, the Mathair is. This is here somewhere.” She justifies to Deimos, the only thing they want — the two of them, their home, nestled in mountains and snow, ice and warmth of hearths.
But it’s also a book too, and she bites down on her lip taking a mental step back. “Deimos, if this is a book, perhaps it’s trying to tell us its there. Maybe how to get there?” She contemplates, shooting him a look as she glanced back toward the fog, focusing her attention on the book as much as she can. “What do you want us to know?”
Deimos:
Nothing again, a continual pattern. A part of him wondered if that was all it was meant to be - a window, a portrait, but with no door, no interval, no way to get in except on the natural, tangible side, out into reality. Insight, but no further.
But if it was Safrin’s book, a contortion, a portion, of her library, would she be able to hear them? Would she be able to show them? Or were they too far gone, too locked away, ready to be ignored again? “Safrin,” he called, booming voice attempting to reach out beyond pages and portals and barricades - his eyes on the mountains, on the Citadel. “What do you want to show us?” His hopes were not high, and he pondered if just staying here, in its midst, would offer a change, more images, more insights, more incorporeal things.
Kiada:
Deimos’ thought process is a good one, and she nods encouragingly with it. She’s never met Safrin, but she has met Ludo. Though she doesn’t call to it. Instead, she remains quiet, hopeful, watchful as she looks through the small barrier to try and spot out more information. “The Citadel.” She says aloud, wondering if she says the name enough times it might just pop into existence.
Deimos:
Not even remotely surprised by the results, the beast didn’t even bother to sigh. It’d been a long shot, and he withheld a snarl. “We could try the Spire. Or the Mathair again?” he shrugged, slowly running out of ideas, no matter how much his mind churned. A more Machiavellian venture would make sense, but naught did here - and he was uncertain, afraid, they were quickly coming to a dead end.
He and Zuriel backed away from the mountains, an aching notion, and headed towards the signposts again, with their foggy ether, with their labyrinthine conjectures, intending to meander either along the Spire’s wares, the only direction they’d yet to attempt, or back to the Mathair, in case the image changed, like the Citadel’s had from before.
Kiada:
Maybe they’re not supposed to go anywhere through this book. Perhaps it’s just as it’s aptly named. To gather the information of what’s out there? At Deimos’ suggestion, she chews on her lip, eyes drifting from the mountains and ice with a heaviness of her heart. He suggests the Spire or the Mathair, and their ideas settle along the same. If the image had changed at the Citadel like before, perhaps they could get an idea of what happened at the Mathair.
Reaching out to tug at him, she directs them and Zuriel toward the Mathair again, hoping for another angle, another view. “Can we see what happened here?” She asks into the abyss, watching and waiting for no response.
Kiada:
Well, with Deimos stepping back, she doesn’t find the point in remaining when he disappears. And with it, there’s no answer to this question as well. Inhaling deeply, Kiada tries to gather everything they’ve seen so far somewhere in her confused mind, quelling the frustration of earlier as much as she can.
And she too steps back.
- As you disappear it isn’t painful. No vertigo. No dizziness. You’re just...gone, and suddenly you’re in...well. It’s hard to describe. You look around and it’s sort of white and cloudy for miles and miles, though you get the distinct impression you can’t actually walk for all those miles. It only looks like it goes on forever. Next to you is a signpost with dozens of arrows pointing in dozens of directions, though as if in a dream, your eyes can’t quite make out what the words say.
Deimos:
Well, that might’ve been a mistake.
Not usually drawn into an impulsive nature, it had been more of a fleeting nuance of curiosity, sending him straight out of the underground, and into something else entirely. No pain, no torment, so perhaps not death.
The ivory haze and labyrinthine quality of the ether around him made him wonder, ponder, if it was like some aspect of the World’s Edge, all fog and enigmas, the rushing water pressing against rocks, embankments, a torrential, tempestuous eave.
But there was nothing - nothing really except a post nearby, arrows pointing in a myriad of directions, and with naught else to do, he stepped towards it, hoping to find some indicator of where he was, or how to get back.
Kiada:
Well, she’s abandoned everything else in her pursuit of following Deimos. Auni is back, away from the tunnels they have crossed, Zuriel is back with Amalia and Jigano, and Kiada’s followed Deimos into the literature.
At first she sees the seas of fog, and she too has a moment of recollection when it comes to the World’s Edge, even a small chance of it like the Heavenly Fields. But regardless, she spots the sign - and Deimos there as well. Hitching her breath, she approaches him silently at first, though relief floods through her at seeing he’s okay. “Deimos!” She calls, hurrying her steps over the fog toward the signpost, trying to spot anything that might make sense. She is not surprised when it doesn’t.
- Suddenly Zuriel is with you? Well. It isn’t as if stranger things haven’t been happening this entire time anyways.
As you near the sign and look up, three of the words do seem to warble into place. The letters swim, but slowly words appear: the Spire, Mathair, the Citadel.
Deimos:
To his surprise, since that appeared to be the ongoing theme of this entire event, Zuriel appeared at his side soon after - irritated and annoyed, the only nuance flowing through their bond was that idiot bard. He nodded his head, understanding perfectly.
Another shock befuddling his system was Kiada’s distinction amidst the vapor and ether - his head twisting back to nod at her, no one harmed in the strange, alternate reality. She came to join him amidst the fog, and then they advanced upon the signpost, the only thing staring and standing out to them.
Words appear, warbling in slow motion, recognizing the Spire and Mathair (was the tree are a portal too?), and then one he didn’t recognize: The Citadel. His finger pointed at its clarity, eyes narrowing, head tilting, curiosity invoked again. “Citadel?” The Cheshire grin suddenly enfolding over his features, despite the completely odd atmosphere, clambered for a chance at the unknown. ”I am game if you are,” an indication of his intentions, gesturing towards the pointed arrow.
Kiada:
She’s incredibly surprised when Zuriel appears, gaze following Deimos’ form and the unicorn’s before they approach the sign post. At first nothing makes sense, but she breathes easier being at Deimos’ side. But then she can see the words take form. The Mathair, the Spire, but her eyes latch onto the last unknown when Deimos’ says it aloud.
As if he has to ask!
A grin forms on her own and she tilts her head to the Sword with a smirk. “Absolutely.” She tells him, beginning her steps to the location the arrow has pointed.
- They take a step, and suddenly they are...elsewhere. The same cloudy vista, the same strange signpost and thought it is all exactly the same, they have travelled. There is a mirror-like surface that bends as if made of water and air. Through it a vast world of snow and ice can be seen below in sparse detail. It looks frigid and sparse, great glacial mountains enclosing everything within, a massive frozen lake, a city sparkling in the distance.
Deimos:
The audacity spread through his lungs the moment she accepted, and within one step, they’d seemingly traversed into another place - mirrors and surfaces, and then, then-
It was snow. It was ice. It was everything he’d once left behind, he’d once reigned upon, he’d once fought for with tooth, nail, and avarice; but none of the greed slid through him now. It was only a breathless gasp, a sharp inhale, then exhale, stunned into disbelief, his eyes riveted to every sanction before them. Something that had once been every part of him - drifting only in his dreams, in his hazy memories, savored in slumber or nostalgia, tangible and real before them now: mountains, as far as his gaze could catch, surrounding and enclosing over a frozen lake, a city below. The great beast could have wept with joy, with sheer, raw amusement, with excitement suddenly pulsing and pervading its way through him, the summits, peaks, and rime before them irresistible.
He tore his stare away from the scene for a moment to glance at Kiada, the depths of his smile illustrious and bright, mouth incapable of forming anything until he took a few more breaths. “Can you believe it?” Then he advanced, stepped forward, aching for the nuances, the ruminations, the splendor of its world, its whims, its power. Zuriel followed, and they were wayward blades in the snow.
Kiada:
It’s almost like they move as one, the trio, advancing toward the unknown. One step and everything changes, and Kiada doesn’t know where to focus first — the ice, the snow, the city in the distance. Her heart lurches, and she can feel a swift burning beneath the lids of her eyes. For a moment she doesn’t know if she can speak, at least not until she looks over toward Deimos, drifting closer to the sword with a shaking hand outstretched.
It’s like home.
A jagged inhale is taken before she tries to give his arm a squeeze, taking more steps toward the unknown city of ice and snow — toward the closest thing to home, unable to speak or say anything at all.
- And suddenly their progress is halted by an invisible barrier. The swift winds seem to stall, the glacial chill in the air is no longer in your throats. It’s there still, the world, the ice, the twinkling glimmer of hoarfrost coating everything, but it’s somehow farther. You are in a book after all. There might be more to this than simply strolling about.
Should you look behind you, you’ll see the indescribable wash of cloudiness that was there all along; the nondescript landscape, the strange sign-post. To turn again puts it all in perspective; you’re looking through a window. Or, is it a portal in its own right? A window into this world? A clear door?
Step closer and you’ll feel the chill again, but the barrier is there. Stretch your hands around and you’ll feel it, though it has no real shape or demonstrable properties.
Deimos:
Together, together, they’ll wander into the mountains together, and from then on, they’ll -
The wind shifted to almost nothing, no rustling breeze pulling at his heart, at his lungs, at his soul; the world outstretched before them, but nothing closer. The excitement still remained, pulsing through his skin, his flesh, his bones, calling for the potent, powerful edges of the mountaintops. But there, somewhere in the distinction of all they could see, the inevitable plunge started to seethe and burn and brew in his gut; that they might not be able to advance any further. That they were in a tome, and nothing more - like a promise, like a tease, like a torment.
His hands reached out, the cold spiraling along his palms, so close, so close, so close, only to have an invisible barrier bound back for him - and he wondered, no matter how far they roamed, no matter how far they meandered and wandered, if it was even possible to gain access to the beautiful world laid out there - completely out of reach. “No,” he whispered, a sort of despondent pull on his soul.
Kiada:
It’s almost tangible, the cold, the ice, the snow — and that childish part within her wants to run toward it, to not look back and dwell with snowmen and snow angels, to skate along the ice, to find hot springs should they exist…
And then it’s taken away, as quickly as they reach the barrier. Sealed off, cut off, frustrated. She curses under her breath as Deimos reaches out, at the whisper he gives, and her tears grow edged with anger. Another trick, another illusion of sorts perhaps? She’s had enough of that with the blight.
She trusts Deimos to prove they can’t pass, and she doesn’t try to attempt it herself, uncertain if she’d rather tear through it with talons and claws if she were to. Hissing under her breath, she turns to look back at the sign post. “It exists.” She determines. Because the Spire exists. The Mathair exists. Those names among the familiar to her. So why can’t they pass it? Is it a window to the others too?
Huffing under her breath even more, she leaves Deimos at the barrier and goes back to the sign post to stare at it with all her fury. “We can try the Mathair?” There’s a bite of her anger to her tone, but it’s not directed at him. She does glance over toward him before stepping in the direction of the Mathair to see if there’s a similar windowed barrier to that one too.
- As Kiada steps forward she will feel the same momentous crossing of vast distances and there before her in the same portal-like vista, is the Greatwood. Much more familiar, she can smell the woods, hear the nattering of various woodland creatures as they scurry about, each preparing for LongNight in their own way. Again though, there is that barrier should she try and move forward. The portrait seems to focus on the great tree, guarded as it is by the fae. They stand around it lined with spears and torches in various states of readiness. Some sleep, some are at the ready. Should Deimos likewise step forward as Kiada has, he will see the same.
Deimos:
For half a second, he considered beating his fists on the barrier, using any means possible to defy it, to destroy it, to allow him into the confines of the mountains and disappear into its sanction. Would his magic work? Was there anything he could do? His jaw clenched and his brows furrowed, the sinking weight of looking through a window sharpening over his senses - as if there was naught more to do, the beacon there, there, there, but an intangible motion, and no amount of his daring propositions or emboldened inclinations would matter. Try bent into his mind and warped his predilections, and perhaps the only thing that called him from the abysmal void was Kiada’s voice.
He wasn’t angry, not like the bite to her voice - he was dismayed, to be so close and yet so far, to look upon something he’d savored and craved for so long, and being incapable of getting it. Would patience be a virtue? Would it matter, in the end? Could they even get to it, or were those lands just ruses, a play upon their dreams? He’d remember the words though - the Citadel bellowing in his brain; either a sanctum or an illusion.
Deimos followed after the Harpy, with one, last lingering touch upon the barrier, a sigh unfurling from his chest. Zuriel stared once and then nothing more - a child of the forest, not the summits, couldn’t, didn’t, fathom the enormity of what could’ve been.
He ventured back to the sign, trailing after her footsteps, curiosity lingering along the Mathair’s purposes - he thought it simply to be one giant tree, a creature of the grove, a tower, a precipice, something otherworldly and ethereal. Their steps manifested along the Greatwood, on the outside looking in, more windows to potential. “Why are the guards there?” He inquired, head tilting. He couldn’t remember a time any of the Fae had hovered at its roots. Better yet - what were they protecting or defending?
Kiada:
The barrier is there, she can see it and feel it, but that’s not what distracts her. No, it’s the fae standing guard, the tree itself looks damaged in some way. And her anger begins to dissipate as Deimos joins her. “Something is wrong.” She announces quietly, brows furrowing. Had the otherworldly tree become a portal too? Had something happened to make it such?
They couldn’t leave this either, the barrier preventing it. And she likely assumes the Spire is the same. Glancing toward Deimos she frowns slightly. “These are real places. The mountain exists. But how do we get there?” She ponders for a moment, thinking over the options before she gives the Sword another look back and moves back to the Citadel. The distance feels so incredibly far, but when she reaches the barrier, she partially shifts so her hand is now clawed in her caracal paws, and she swipes at the barrier — hoping to break free.
- Claws have no effect. Gumption, anger, wrath, or sheer grit and determination neither. This spell or whatever it is, is far stronger and superior than you. Then again, you are in a book mind. Perhaps all of this is merely for looking. Words upon a page, imprinted as images in your thoughts. Or not, since this does appear to be in real time. Who really knows?
The Citadel landscape shifts bringing the portal-viewing range inside a castle of ice and over the top decorations. It is medieval but almost garish, with everything finery draped like clumps of tinsel. It is blurrier here than the outside vista, but clear enough to make out figures hustling and bustling within the castle, running from room to room.
Deimos:
Something is wrong - beyond being stuck in a book, beyond the bewildering, enigmatic quandaries this world had spiralled within. He breathed, he calculated, he pondered, listening to Kiada, following her thereafter as they paced back and forth between portraits, tapestries, canvases, and worlds. “What about the Mathair? If it is a portal -,” and then he hung the insinuation within the air, considering the circumstances. As far as he knew, or was ever told, there hadn’t been a portal within the Greatwood - they’d thought about searching for more in the Spire, which made connections and sense with the other signpost…or was that merely because every Outlander had landed there...
The Sword’s calculations ceased for the moment. He watched as Kiada bore her claws into the barrier, as she strived to commit action instead of ruminations - but it didn’t matter. The trial was over before it had even begun. If they were in a tome, if this was all intangible fragments, perhaps they were merely lucky to even be players in this game, to be staring out at a beautiful expanse.
The images shifted again, and he watched as it revealed castles, ice, too much finery, but there were people. People. Could they call out? Was any of this real? “Hello!” He boomed against the barrier, pondering if his roar, if his bellow, would reach beyond, or if it would ricochet, bound away; all a haze and cloud, vapor meant to distort or inform.
Kiada:
At first she doesn’t know what she expects. She wishes her claws slice through the veil to the other world they can see — but it doesn’t, and she curses again and again, pressing against the barrier that gives no give. Frustration looms beneath the burning of her tears, and she chews on her lower lip as the portal viewing begins to move. And with it, her gaze follows it.
People, darting in and out of the castle, Deimos’ booming voice erupting the fogged air around them, and she adds her own in as well. “Can you hear us?” She calls out with Deimos, frustration underlying the tone of her voice. People, mountains, life. It’s out there, and she needs to see it. She presses against the barrier again with her own question, praying, begging, needing the Citadel internally.
- Strangely, the words don’t echo. They land near your feet, resounding not one bit, affecting nothing.
Deimos:
Nothing again, words bounding back at their feet, no expressions on the humans altered, changed, outside those tome walls and boundaries. It was as if they weren’t there at all - which might have been very well true and certain - confined to the fringes and edges of a book, of a window, of a canvas they couldn’t have, couldn’t ascertain, no matter how much they yearned to grasp and hold. Please, he wanted to shout, but that wouldn’t have mattered anyway - no amount of begging, of pleading, of demanding could have countered what they already faced. A deep, burdening sigh flickered from his mouth, hastened back to him on a chilling accord with his face pressed close to the barrier. “Do you think it could show us another part of it?” Or would that hurt more, to continually face something they couldn’t do anything with, only chase and dream? Did a book take requests? Or were those notions all the more ridiculous, the longer they stayed, the longer they strived?
”What do you want to do?” he murmured, and he didn’t want to go back just yet, not when the mountains were there, there, there, right in front of them, the nuances too fleeting, the notions too desperate.
Kiada:
Oh, she doesn’t want to leave just yet. The view is incredible, and even though she can’t reach out and be there, she can certainly try to find other ways. She takes in as much information as she can, hand dropping from the barrier as she peers within. “It’s real. It has to be. The spire is, the Mathair is. This is here somewhere.” She justifies to Deimos, the only thing they want — the two of them, their home, nestled in mountains and snow, ice and warmth of hearths.
But it’s also a book too, and she bites down on her lip taking a mental step back. “Deimos, if this is a book, perhaps it’s trying to tell us its there. Maybe how to get there?” She contemplates, shooting him a look as she glanced back toward the fog, focusing her attention on the book as much as she can. “What do you want us to know?”
- Clever, but there is no response.
Deimos:
Nothing again, a continual pattern. A part of him wondered if that was all it was meant to be - a window, a portrait, but with no door, no interval, no way to get in except on the natural, tangible side, out into reality. Insight, but no further.
But if it was Safrin’s book, a contortion, a portion, of her library, would she be able to hear them? Would she be able to show them? Or were they too far gone, too locked away, ready to be ignored again? “Safrin,” he called, booming voice attempting to reach out beyond pages and portals and barricades - his eyes on the mountains, on the Citadel. “What do you want to show us?” His hopes were not high, and he pondered if just staying here, in its midst, would offer a change, more images, more insights, more incorporeal things.
Kiada:
Deimos’ thought process is a good one, and she nods encouragingly with it. She’s never met Safrin, but she has met Ludo. Though she doesn’t call to it. Instead, she remains quiet, hopeful, watchful as she looks through the small barrier to try and spot out more information. “The Citadel.” She says aloud, wondering if she says the name enough times it might just pop into existence.
- Deimos voice falls flat, failing to echo as it should have. Perhaps as he expects, there is no reply
Deimos:
Not even remotely surprised by the results, the beast didn’t even bother to sigh. It’d been a long shot, and he withheld a snarl. “We could try the Spire. Or the Mathair again?” he shrugged, slowly running out of ideas, no matter how much his mind churned. A more Machiavellian venture would make sense, but naught did here - and he was uncertain, afraid, they were quickly coming to a dead end.
He and Zuriel backed away from the mountains, an aching notion, and headed towards the signposts again, with their foggy ether, with their labyrinthine conjectures, intending to meander either along the Spire’s wares, the only direction they’d yet to attempt, or back to the Mathair, in case the image changed, like the Citadel’s had from before.
Kiada:
Maybe they’re not supposed to go anywhere through this book. Perhaps it’s just as it’s aptly named. To gather the information of what’s out there? At Deimos’ suggestion, she chews on her lip, eyes drifting from the mountains and ice with a heaviness of her heart. He suggests the Spire or the Mathair, and their ideas settle along the same. If the image had changed at the Citadel like before, perhaps they could get an idea of what happened at the Mathair.
Reaching out to tug at him, she directs them and Zuriel toward the Mathair again, hoping for another angle, another view. “Can we see what happened here?” She asks into the abyss, watching and waiting for no response.
- Oh, but as Deimos takes a step back from the mountains, he suddenly disappears. Kiada’s question, like those before, recieves no answer.
Kiada:
Well, with Deimos stepping back, she doesn’t find the point in remaining when he disappears. And with it, there’s no answer to this question as well. Inhaling deeply, Kiada tries to gather everything they’ve seen so far somewhere in her confused mind, quelling the frustration of earlier as much as she can.
And she too steps back.
