[KQ] What Lies Beneath

Behind Amalia the door clicks shut.

As Jigano picks up the book, he vanishes and it falls closed.

Jigano, in the book:

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? Kiada? Jigano called into the mists along the Attuned bond, worried that he couldn’t see his friends nearby. The signpost was the only clue, and Jigano squinted at it, attempting to make out the words in spite of the difficulty in getting his eyes to focus on them. After a few moments’ study, he pulled his Broken Spectacles out of his sleeve and slipped them on, attempting to read the signpost through the uncracked lens.

Normally speaking through the attuned bond is a little like speaking normally; there is a small amount of an echo, an atmospheric sort of resonance. Here though, there seems to be nothing. Your mental voice falls flat.

Looking up at the words—whether because of the spectacles or simply proximity—you find you can now read three of them. They say: the Spire, Mathair, and the Citadel.

So it was like the portal control place that Safrin’s books had mentioned. Given the book’s title that made sense, and Jigano studied the words that he could make out with a faint frown. The Spire was only to be expected. The serpent was there… but likely still wouldn’t use the portal there to leave. The Mathair was unexpected, fascinating and curious… but again, a place Jigano knew. But ‘the Citadel’ held the allure of the unknown. If Deimos and Kiada had already left, seeking someplace new, that would be it.

Besides, it was called ‘the Citadel.’ It was practically made for Deimos.

Shifting his senses to his vulpine eyes and ears, Jigano closed his eyes and focused on the words of the signpost, thinking of how he had once created short portals in Numeria. Will it, hold the desire to travel there firmly in mind, and then…

Open his eyes and begin walking where the Citadel arrow indicated, because this wasn’t Numeria. But he still focused his thoughts on arriving at ‘the Citadel,’ whatever it was. And whatever new dangers it might bring.

No, not Numeria indeed. Still, the bard is clever enough not to let his mind wander too loftily. Indeed it is his steps that cause him to move. Suddenly Jigano is...elsewhere. The same cloudy vista, the same strange signpost and though it is all exactly the same, he has 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.

A reflection of reality? Jigano paused, studying the landscape as if to memorize it. If he stepped through would he be able to step back? The goddess and he were not as close as the spirit guide was, but this seemed to be more her place than theirs. And calling out for help hopefully wouldn’t hurt, at the very least. Composing himself, the bard tilted his head up and called: ”Safrin? Are you there? Is anyone there?” Maybe he’d get lucky and Kiada or Deimos would answer, even if the goddess couldn’t hear him here.

Once again as the bard calls out his voice falls flatter than it ought to; the physics of this place somehow impossibly bent. Then again, it is a book after all. Regardless, no one answers his call.

Once he went through there was a good chance he couldn’t go back, he suspected grimly. At least there was no guarantee of it. He had begged Amalia not to do something similar mere moments (minutes, hours, days?) ago. Before he went too far down a road he could not return from, it was better to check the other paths for his wayward friends. As silence continued to wrap around him (disturbing, distressing silence for a man who loved the sound of his own voice) he checked the signpost again, pulled in a breath, and focused on the Spire. He turned his feet in the direction of that arrow and stepped back into the mists.

Indeed that strange feeling of vast movement that somehow occurred within just a few steps would settle upon the Sage. The glacial expanses disappeared behind him into the cloudy-mists, and he would find yet another mirror-like portal before him of the basement in the Spire. Rocks had fallen, walls crumbled, items scattered; it was on the opposite wall from where the bard had last been, and yet the chaos and clutter was much the same. A wishing well with a stream of blue light glimmered through the strange window before Jigano.

This he recognized, and while he first looked for Kiada and Deimos both in the mists nearby and through the mirror itself, his second look was to try and find the serpent he had spoken to before, looking for the flash of pale stone scales and leviathan coils in the mirror’s depths. This portal, at least, he knew he could return from (or at least, so Roana’s return would indicate), but with the rocks still caved in between the portal room and the stairs it was unlikely he would be able to leave that place except to return here. Still, it was worth taking a step through if he couldn’t find his friends right away…

But first, check for them, and for the serpent. More decisions could be made after that.

And suddenly Jigano's progress is halted by an invisible barrier. It's all still there; the dark, the dust, the pillar of light, but you are no closer. 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?

Stretch your hands around and you’ll feel it, though it has no real shape or demonstrable properties.

His head bounced off the - glass? Crystal? Stone? - and he shook his head as he pulled it back from his attempt to peer through, his assumptions shattered and leaving him frowning as he rubbed the spot on his forehead and frowned at the not-portal to the Spire. Exploring it cautiously with his hands yielded little but an inability to pass through it, and his frown deepened. Was this some sort of illusion of the portal control plane the book had described? A sort of… of how-to guide on how to use it if he ever found himself there for real?

For the moment there was still one path left to check for his wayward companions, though, and he pondered as he turned to check the sign and then strode off towards the Mathair. He couldn’t think of why Deimos and Kiada might have gone there, but for the moment he didn’t have any other legible directions to check. So, off to the goddess-tree he tried to go.

As Jigano steps forward he will feel the same momentous crossing of vast distances and there before himin the same portal-like vista, is the Greatwood. Much more familiar, he 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 he 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.

What were the Fae doing surrounding the Mathair? Alas, the barrier prevented him from asking - if they would even answer him. They looked ready for war, a state he found alarming, and something Adam said tickled at the back of his mind. Lucas, killed by a tree? Doing something for the Voice? Gods least fortunate, what was the goddess doing in the Greatwood now? He grimaced, but could see no sign of his friends among the winged folk and after a moment’s hesitation he stepped back, returning to stand beneath the signpost and think.

Sentient Books had stories to tell. Places they wanted you to go, characters to interact with. Was the book blocking the Spire and the Mathair because that wasn’t the direction the tale ahead was meant to take? He’d run into that before, with Sam in their first journey. The book had a way of herding them along down the preferred path. He had been unable to pass through two of the three portals, so that left the third… And hoping to Mort that he was guessing right and it was just a story. That he’d be able to return to Amalia and Rory and the rest before LongNight.

Squaring his shoulders he focused on the Citadel, heading in that direction once more and this time attempting to push through the the mirror-portal between the Between Place and the world beyond the glass.

Oh, he could push all he liked. Luckily there was a strange sort of resistance that wouldn’t result in bruised shoulders, but it was as sturdy as it was fixed firmly in this metaphysical space. How long, how hard did Jigano push? Irrelevant; here, such things hardly mattered. Their efficacy somehow lacking. Still, the nearer to the barrier the Sage found himself, the different the view: 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.

Alright, he’d guessed wrong. He could live with that, thankfully, since getting it wrong didn’t involve claws or swords or grinding gears or sharks with pointy teeth. He took the time to study the Citadel first, though, looking at the people who bustled about to try and get a sense for their racial mix through the blurriness. When he’d looked as much as he could he stepped back, tilting his head to the side and tapping a finger against his pouch, trying to decide where Deimos and Kiada had gone. If not through any of these windows, then perhaps… back to the beginning? Unsure of what to do next, but desperately hoping that his next few steps would take him to them he stepped backwards, focusing on where it had all begun.

The step backwards would take the bard back into the strange underground cavern, as if having stepped back from a curtain. The book is before him, closed neatly on the ground.

Deimos and Kiada in the book:

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 though his terrible luck has nothing to do with it this time. Kiada’s voice too seems limp in this strange metaphysically-impossible space, and while a clever enough answer, naming the location seems to do nothing.

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.

Alright. For those keeping track, Jigano, Deimos, and Kiada have just been spat out of the book—Jigano a few moments before the other two. Luckily they weren't in his bag when it happened or things might have gotten a bit tight.

Amalia is still off doing who knows what.

---

No posting order between the three of you.

D e i m o s

Send a heartbeat to the void that cries through you
Relive the pictures that have come to pass

They tumbled out of the book, back from where they’d started, but with a wealth of information, something to look forward to (mountains, peaks, summits, the glory of another world). It was just how to get there. The Mathair? Guarded by the Fae? Something else altogether? The stretch of enigmas, the brandished heights of the unknown, spurred and instigated by curiosity, His eyes searched the remains of their underground wares, the rush of the waterfall, the signs of the others. But before he could share anything, express their findings, their discoveries, he only noted Jigano, Kiada, and Zuriel – no Amalia in sight. His stare narrowed, steps advancing, head inclined towards the bard, striving to keep composure in check. It could be nothing. She was strong. She was capable. “Where is Amalia?” Even his voice sounded completely, utterly neutral – not delving into the deeper confines of concern, a portion he was likely going to reside in very, very soon, where memories of Fae trickery and capture were aligned. For now we stand alone, the world is lost and blown And we are flesh and blood disintegrate with no more to hate

He had a few moments to compose himself before the others reappeared, and the relief in his expression was unmasked as they stepped out unharmed from the book. Questions and answers, information and guesses, so much to ask and so little time. What mattered most was that Amalia wasn't with them, however, and he nodded at Deimos's question. It was the Greatwood again. The Spire. The thousand and one things that lay between them in the past, that might again in the future. But she had chosen her path, and he had chosen his, and they all had to trust each other now.

"Behind the waterfall," Jigano called, already shedding bag and books to return to feathers. I don't know how long we were in there. It might have only been seconds or minutes. Follow me and I'll lead you to where she went. His heart had broken in that leaving, and it still ached painfully, throbbing with the wound of that decision, but now they were back and all of them - well, except Zuriel, perhaps - could rejoin the baker.

If she hadn't become lost as well.

Flapping up and waiting only for Deimos and Kiada to put their feathers on, he led the way back, closing his wings and hurtling his slender raven's body behind the cascade to where he had last seen Amalia.

---

Jigano turns into a raven and leads the way back behind the waterfall to the last place he saw Amalia!

KIADA

do not misunderstand me when i call myself a shell

i mean a used up bullet casing

It pains her to return to the Spire and where they currently had found such a book. But when she does, and she spots Deimos and Zuriel, then Jigano… She notices immediately the absence of Amalia. Deimos’ voice is flat as it reaches out toward Jigano, and she listens while the Bard mentions how long they had been in there, and immediately her icy eyes follow the raven form of Jigano.

Shifting into her vulture form, she swiftly follows after him with frustration panging through the bond. You came with us? And just, left her here? She snaps, worry beginning to sink in her stomach like lead. Amalia, gone, much like before with the Fae. Only this time she wasn’t there with her, with the baker, leopardess, Shield.

Do they even know where she’s gone?

---

Kiada follows Jigano behind the waterfall to where he last saw Amalia.

as in, the aftermath of something lethal

as in, an echo of inflicted evil

Amalia in the Endless Room:

The Qilin’s dainty hooves make no sound upon the clouds as Amalia steps forward and the door clicks shut behind. The world is dark, but it is the sort of dark you see behind your eyelids when peering up at the moon; dark yes, but full of colour and light and movement as well. Dark, but not frightening. A warm sort of dark. A fetal-dark.

”ASK/” A voice suddenly booms. It isn’t Safrin’s voice, but it also isn’t at the same time.

As the door falls closed Amalia turns around in alarm, suddenly realizing for the first time that she is, in fact, alone. Well, alone but for Jyoti, who finds the space strangely comforting; the starwhale immediately sets out on an adventure to find the edges of this vast space, the Shield watching with keen dark eyes.

Ask, a voice somewhere says, and the baker calls her reply silently, long ears flicking as she turns her head. "I… where am I? Who are you? Are my friends safe?"

As Jyoti floats in this strange space, she will feel a weightlessness that her kind rarely is able to experience. Already she traverses the air as if were water, but this is something different entirely. This is without context or description. This flies in the face of gravity entirely.

There is a weighty pause as Amalia’s voice echoes outwards, and a reverberation that intuitively is caused by something very vast considering. ”Here. Myself. Complex.”

All at once a warm wind suddenly shoves Amalia—and Jyoti back—thro itugh the door now suddenly open. It clicks before them after it closes, leaving them with their backs to the rushing waterfall.

The voice answers without saying much, but before Amalia can ask more she feels a wind pushing her back toward the open door. Jyoti trills her unhappiness, and Amalia as well: she still does not know anything, has no answers and a hundred more questions.

Wait! the qilin cries as the door falls shut, shifting back to human form and grabbing the door handle as Jyoti, too, hopes for it to open again. "Please! I want to know more- please. What do you want me to ask?"

With the door closed, her questions go unanswered. Still, the handle opens just as easily as before revealing the same room within.

Stepping back into the room, Amalia transforms into the qilin once more, this time taking the opportunity to look around more thoroughly. Inhaling deeply, she tries again to solve the puzzle of the infinite room. What… is this room? Who made it?"

There is nothing to see. Solipsist black eclipsed with pigments of every colour. Indefinable. Unimaginable, and yet there it is.

”Complex. Safrin.” The strange voice replies.

"Why?" Amalia asks, not sure what else to wonder, though the knowledge that Safrin made the room sets her somewhat at ease. Jyoti, meanwhile, continues to circle, asking to anyone who can understand where the other whale is.

”Complex.” The voice replies and once again, both Amalia and Jyo are shoved out via warm breeze as the door slams shut.

Growing frustrated now, Amalia once again opens the door, not sure what the room wants for her but too stubborn to give up. "Can you answer with more than that?" the Shield demands, still a qilin because fuck logic and doors. "What do you want from me?"

”No.” The door replies calmly. And then, “Nothing.”

Settling onto the floor (?), Amalia does her best to calm her mind. "Ok," the qilin thinks slowly. "Can you answer questions that aren't just yes or no?" A yes or no question itself. Perhaps this will work, though already Amalia can tell her curious mind will struggle under such constraints.

”No.” Once again, the warm wind blows the qilin and her companion out, the door shutting before them. This time however, it will not open when turned.

---

(Assuming Deimos follows along) With Jigano as their guide the trio is easily able to navigate the falling water, appearing behind the fall in the darkened stage before the door where, qilin-Amalia has been thrust.

---

No posting order.

Amalia

she wants the silence but fears the solitude

she wants to be alone and together with you

Once again the door falls shut, and the qilin is left behind the waterfall as it refuses to open again. Wait! Pressing her head into the door in frustration, Amalia's eyes fall closed. Please. Safrin- please. I just want to understand.

Jyoti, meanwhile, has noticed their friends, and greets them with an urgent series of croons and clicks, trying to convey what occurred without words.

---

Amalia tries to get back in one more time, and asks Safrin for help. Jyo greets the others as they arrive.

she ran to the lighthouse, hoped that it would help her see

she saw that the lighthouse had been washed out to sea

Gods least fortunate he was tired of trying to explain himself to people who had no interest in listening. The only one who didn't leave anyone deliberately behind was Deimos, he snapped back. Amalia is stronger than you think. Trust her. What more could any of them do?

Behind the waterfall once more, and the door was closed but the little 'room' was not empty.

Amalia?! the raven cried, seeing the... deer? Unicorn? Dreaming-beast? where he had last seen his friend, but Jyoti was there and the creature was too beautiful to be anyone but the baker. Jigano fluttered to land beside her, cawing in relief. What happened?

With the group safely reunited he could finally let his curiosity about the door rise to the surface, and he itched to try and open it, but first he needed to make sure that Amalia was alright, and what she could tell them about what she had found.

---

Sorry! Jigano needs to make sure everyone is okay. Next round he will take actions again!

D e i m o s

Send a heartbeat to the void that cries through you
Relive the pictures that have come to pass

He listened, but his actions were a rush of motion and swift endeavors, shifting immediately to an eagle, placing his bag beside Zuriel (who would have to stay behind – with an obvious eyeroll and snort), and gliding over to the waterfall. Thoughts and movements were almost strictly on Amalia, ensuring she was safe, out of harm’s way, not because of a lack of confidence in her abilities, but simply due to the vast unknown along this threshold. While Kiada seemed to take hold of most of the anger, he pushed his aside, left it simmering underneath plumes, feathers, and upheaval, paramount exploits at the height of his intentions. He heard it all, the echoes of just left her here, presses of days where he’d done the same, and something burned in the back of the General’s throat, along the machinations of his mind, irritated beneath his skin. While Jigano sniped back, the avian beast’s eyes narrowed, wings gliding, pondering over the underlying tones. Deimos trusted Amalia. She trusted them. But you did not trust us? It was a mere question, not emboldened or embedded in rage, carefully neutral, calm, composed, a nuance, a sentiment, that might have burned brighter had there been danger looming. Rushing in after the Sword, the Harpy; perhaps it had been out of safeguarding, protective efforts, but it hadn’t been required – in hindsight. He appreciated Jigano for thinking of going after them, for sending Zuriel along, for adapting into protecting vibes, but not for leaving Amalia alone. Again. Perhaps we should employ a better system. Pairs at all times, no one lingering on their own, no matter how strong, no matter how capable. He proffered nothing more, once they reached the waterfall, behind its sanction and sanctum, folding his wings once he was on stable ground. The Sword’s eyes then drifted upon Jyoti, urgent croons and tunes coasting, before finally landing upon Amalia. Instead of bewilderment, shock, or surprise, all he could do was stare – impressed, a certain sort of reverence and pride pervading through his bond, solely to her, as he took in her latest stature. -- Deimos goes behind the waterfall with the rest of the gang. For now we stand alone, the world is lost and blown And we are flesh and blood disintegrate with no more to hate

KIADA

do not misunderstand me when i call myself a shell

i mean a used up bullet casing

Oh that doesn’t fly with Kiada. And luckily for her, Deimos has the same thought pattern. We do trust her. She snaps back to Jigano, wings spread as she soars up behind the waterfall with the rest of them. Deimos and I were there, you should have stayed. She announces. A swift feeling of agreement toward Deimos at the suggestion. A buddy system of sorts.

But all her frustration dissipates as she views Amalia, a brilliant, stunning creature of clouds and dragon-deer like qualities. She croons toward Jyoti before settling somewhere near the door Amalia has been pushed out of, shock and surprise sent across the bond. Ama, you’re beautiful… What did you find?

---

Kiada asks Amalia what she’s found.

as in, the aftermath of something lethal

as in, an echo of inflicted evil

The handle does not move at all, despite Amalia's attempts.

Around them, the walls give a nervous rumble that sounds of distant thunder because it's only 4 days until threads need to be wrapped up for LN so you all picked a bad time to go investigating. A few rocks loosened by the vibration fall ominously to the ground.

Amalia

she wants the silence but fears the solitude

she wants to be alone and together with you

Finally Amalia turns around, her long ears flicking discontentedly but her relief at seeing the others well obviously palpable. Jyoti has quieted enough for other voices to enter the Shield's mind; she lowers her head to huff affectionately against Kiada's feathers, glancing between Deimos and Jigano with large, black, glittering eyes, utterly oblivious to the tension between her friends. There was a room... but I can't get back in, she replies, her slender shoulders rolling in an unhappy sort of shrug. And in the pool there's something alive, but I couldn't speak to it. I want to-

Whatever it is she wants to do is interrupted by the distant rumbling of thunder far away. Glancing up at the wall, the luminous qilin shakes her large head. We... should come back, after LongNight. Stepping out from behind the waterfall, the qilin steps lightly across the pool toward where their belongings linger as Jyoti calls out one last time for the far away member of her kin. The starwhale vows a swift return, which Amalia confirms. Shifting back to human form and gathering her staff, she turns to face her friends. "Where did you go? Did you find anything?"

---

Ama suggests they boogie and walks across the pool back to their stuff. Jyoti calls out to the whale again

she ran to the lighthouse, hoped that it would help her see

she saw that the lighthouse had been washed out to sea