Seeking the Light [Open!]
Kristopher Neculai
Craftsman / Artist

Age: 310 | Height: 6'2" | Race: Ascended | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship:
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#1
 
      Kristopher walked into the Atheneum, such a familiar place for the Ascended man. He flickered a fanged grin at the sight, rolling the sleeves of his new button-down shirt up to his elbows.

      He looked around the large space, remembering what it had been like nearly 150 years ago. Gods above… He still couldn’t believe it had been that long…

      His fingers trailed over the dusty books and tomes of the shelves, his other hand in his pocket. As he approached one of the bookcases, a small grin was worn on his lips, seeing the grooves upon the false books. The man pulled at them, opening the doors to reveal the hidden shrine.

      Intense eyes roamed over the offerings on the shelf around the obsidian sphere. Everything was covered in dust and cobwebs, and Kristopher wondered just how long it had been since someone had come and prayed there. How many people who left those offerings were still alive? How many met their end before their time? What story did each item have to tell?

      He had been changed at that shrine. He prayed to the New Gods to ascend, and they had granted him his request. It was so long ago that he truly couldn’t remember the voice of the goddess who helped him.

      The man felt the disrespect of abandonment the shrine received. He released a strong puff of air, blowing as much dust away as he could, then he removed the handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped the sphere clean, touching it softly with bare fingers.

      He withdrew his hand and slipped his necklace off over his head, looking at the twined metal pendant. He hadn’t taken that necklace off since before his change, but he needed an answer more than he needed something of sentiment. ”Light mother,” he whispered, ”your son calls on you for help.” He had fed on multiple people since rising, but they were temporary solutions to his true need. ”More than a lifetime spent trapped underground… I ask for your help, Divine Mistress. Please.” Kristopher kissed the necklace and carefully placed it on the shelf near the sphere, lowering his head and hoping for an answer.



Kristopher


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#2
108
To go on is to go through. At last, even the seer is cremated.
Each seed loves the dark for the light it promises.

I sit in the silence and stillness of the temple, until suddenly I don't.

Someone else is here.

He moves like I do, languidly and without the physical limitations of the others.   Do I remember him? It is hard to say. He has a familiar face, but then again, we all do. Eyes, noses, ears...it is so alike. The patterns do not stay long in my mind. But perhaps I know him. Knew him? Will know him? The tense temporarily confuses me. But then, time itself is a confusing thing.

"Do you think she values your sentimentality?" I ask, watching the way he presses his lips to the item and places it upon the shrine. The Voice does not require such things. We are her children and while I do not think that it is love that binds us to her, it cannot be something as mundane as DNA placed upon a babble.

Can it?

I rise and move towards him. There is dust on his hands from where he had touched books and shelves and I find myself wondering why. He can clearly see what it is beneath his fingers. Running my own fingers together, I feel the utter lack of sensation despite the fact that my mind is aware that I am touching something. But it has been centuries since tactile contact has cultivated knowledge for me.

Perhaps he is not as old as I thought him to be.

Or perhaps he has simply forgotten he is not human.
Kristopher Neculai
Craftsman / Artist

Age: 310 | Height: 6'2" | Race: Ascended | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship:
Level: 0 - Strg: 8 - Dext: 10 - Endr: 12 - Luck: 5 - Int:
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#3
 
      He hadn’t realized that there was someone else in the Atheneum until they spoke. The voice carried, echoing slightly in the large space, but it didn’t bother him. He stayed where he was, unmoving and silent for a long moment.

      Kristopher finally lifted his head and opened his eyes, glancing at the figure slightly behind him with a smirk. ”I would like to,” he said softly, watching them touch their fingers together. He had been like this for so long, he had forgotten that the sensation of touch was even really a thing. Touching the tomes and shelves was simply a way to connect to the words that he had read so many years ago. The sensation almost didn’t mean anything to him anymore.

      ”She is our mother, maybe not by blood, but her relation in giving life is true.” He combed his fingers through his hair, moving it out of his face. ”Family is the most important influence someone can have, and sentiment plays a large part in that. I’ve been locked away from her for too long, so I bring a piece of myself for her to keep as an apology and a hope that she will answer the prayer of a lost son.”

      Kristopher spoke poetically and without hesitation, showing his words were honest, but he worried that he would be left by the mother who gave him his new life. He had lost his parents, lost his siblings… He silently prayed that he would not be abandoned by the closest thing to family he had left.

      His eyes narrowed just slightly at the blonde. ”Does sentimentality not hold a place in your worship of the goddess?”



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#4
the VOICE
In reality's shadow the blind see best
"Bright ones, do not quarrel with each other so."

The obsidian orb pulsed with a light-that-was-not and seemed to hum and vibrate, though its frequency was far too low for un-Ascended ears to discern.

The anti-light grew brighter (dimmer?) and more intense until it burst out of the orb entirely; through dancing motes of it, the Voice came together like an illusion, or a hologram, becoming more solid and more real as she laid her eyes upon her children.

"You have been sleeping for so long. I hear you, and I am here for you. What is it you seek?"


Age: 209 | Height: 5"9 | Race: Ascended | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship:
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#5
108
To go on is to go through. At last, even the seer is cremated.
Each seed loves the dark for the light it promises.

I listen. The mother imagery is not one that I am ignorant of, indeed the Voice proclaims herself as such. I suppose it is true, though I rather dislike the emotional connotations and baggage associated with it. My counterpart apparently does not. He holds onto his humanity far tighter than I ever might have. Even now, I hardly remember it at all.

I shake my head. "There are far other more important influences surely." I counter, my voice reasonable and without emotion. Still, I do not understand. "Why does a piece of you serve as an apology? Why would our maker value the possession of such a thing?"

I shake my head a firm and immediate no. "No. But nor do I worship." I say simply. "I value, appreciate, and require her. But I do not worship. We are not like the rest of them, bowing before gods who we hope will continue to bless and love us. Our bond is to a being much greater, one who has showed us the limitless potential of their desire to make us better. "

Before I might continue, to illustrate the poetic uselessness of the concept of worship for creatures such as we are, she is there.

I need not shelter my eyes from her, though her presence is illuminating. She is how I have always remembered her, even in my deepest slumbers, and whatever part of me still feels the longing pangs of emotion sighs happily in her radiant presence.

"Only you." I say with a confidence I rarely boast. "I am weak and the decades have been long."
Kristopher Neculai
Craftsman / Artist

Age: 310 | Height: 6'2" | Race: Ascended | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship:
Level: 0 - Strg: 8 - Dext: 10 - Endr: 12 - Luck: 5 - Int:
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#6
 
      Quarreling? No. At least he didn’t think it was a quarrel. Of course he could have very well been wrong: he had been buried and trapped for so many years, perhaps the ways that people were supposed to interact had changed. He wouldn’t exactly be shocked at that realization.

      He watched the Voice materialize in front of him, and his dark eyes widened slightly with a gaze of reverence and appreciation that she answered.

      His current companion answered the goddess, and Kristopher looked from them to the Voice and nodded in agreement. ”Sleeping for far too long, my goddess,” he said, dipping his head to her in respect. ”It was not my intention to desert you, and I am ever grateful that you answered my call. If I could ask something more… Would you open yourself to your children?”

      The decades had indeed been long, and the goddess surely knew he was starving.



Kristopher


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#7
the VOICE
In reality's shadow the blind see best
She could sense their weakness of their tether to her, could sense the need made raw by the years. Bowing her head and giving a beatific smile, she held out her arms for her children so that they might replenish themselves.

"Take what you will, my bright ones. The well is endless; drink deep."

With the pierce of any fangs upon her light made flesh, the Ascended would feel not only the bliss of her presence, of her nourishment, but the information they were surely and sorely lacking. The decades were unkind, and there was much to be done. She would have her most devoted at their full strength for what lay ahead.


Age: 209 | Height: 5"9 | Race: Ascended | Nationality: Natural | Citizenship:
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#8
108
To go on is to go through. At last, even the seer is cremated.
Each seed loves the dark for the light it promises.

Without a word, I step forward. I know this ritual implicitly. It sings in my bones like a melody I cannot forget, even after the centuries have wiped most of my memory clear.

Though I do not like the enigmatic stirrings of pleasure that her taste incites in me, I do not hesitate. This is life, this is creation, this is her design.

My teeth pierce her wrists and knowledge and history and the urge to be in her and whit her always burns like a shooting star across a dry forest inside of me. I want to gasp, but I do not need air, and the gesture itself was meaningless in the face of all that she offered.

My life for you I think, I sceam with every particle made perfect by her touch.


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