Merrin knew his error; Failure to sense the force. The inner control still eluded him. That, as much as acting the veilCounsel, was a needed skill. Fingers clawed against the throat, rasping for air. It was hard, even the hands grew tired of the repetition. They fell, slapping into the hard earth. Unlike reality, these did not sear off flesh—a good turnaround.
Then the bird dropped from the sky, waddling forward, its size barely the totality of his head. It smiled, somehow, said, "What a theatrical posture you have adopted."
Merrin wanted to strangle the creature.
It flapped its wings, waving ashy dust, "Give it a moment. Enough with the playing."
And Merrin gasped, power flooding into his senses and flesh. Rejuvenated. He turned, hands pressed against the earth, back trembling. Sweet. An orgasmic sensation that flickered his eyes, an itch in the brows. "You could have told me, given time, it would return."
"You should have known it does." The bird retorted. "Experience alone teaches this."
"Mist you!'
"Damn you!" The bird took to the sky, tunneling through a brume.
A moment of considering the significance of the 'damn you' term passed, Merrin sitting up, staring at the distant heavens; the brittle gate. The mark of his fall and insignificance. How far away it seemed now—up there, looking down—a sameness to how he was viewed now by his people—a godly thing to him, a God to them.
He stood, dusting off the grey from his clothes, sleek, angled black. Envisioned, of course. Easier, perhaps, he could think the stain off, but the little things. It reminded to remember he was still human. A god in their minds, yes, but a human nonetheless. There he would play the lofty role, here….more of the same. But the little things. That should always remain.
He cracked his fingers, the snap echoing through the ash-scented world. Pure, undiluted by the distracting noise. Then, the currentness fitted into his awareness, eyes scanning the created world. Mountains on all sides, sky shimmering, lakes flowing into a river of queer glass. Beauty for perception.
But more so can it be.
Despite the growing strength, dripping into his body, he knew now the accurate limit of his force. In this world, its restoration, although faster, was fed away in casting. Especially for the creation of a world. As it should. Such nativity should be hard; less man caused the work of god a cinch. That must never happen. Not by his hands, at least.
A sigh left him standing, eyes locked on the sacred form of the dark castle; spires stretching into the sky, black. A holy thing. Often how he forgot its origin. A symbol from a fallen. Now it served as his greatest source of power. He took it, made it his, and deepened the myth its might provided. The illusory control he had over his people stemmed from this.
A gift from the dark.
Odd how beyond the ashman, the El'shadie seemed a creature of Stygian. He smiled. Pattern within Pattern.
And he waved, the world trembling beneath his feet, the sky tearing through with bouts of thunder. A chaos for something so small. Almost as though it were a battle. No matter. Eyes sealed to the darkness, feeling the distant connection of his Ardent. The one ever made to watch over the highBorn Ivory.
He called to it, knew it, and channeled the symbol of the dreaming: The dream castle.
Time to meet the thief!
Ivory gasped, hand snapping for the gloved fingers. Nothing. Just the pale feeling of own skin. No emerlt. Her eyes opened to the familiar darkness of an endless world, the humming of silence, and the chill of the unseen. The works. A breath flowed out, invisible. No pain from motions.
Good.
She moved in that darkness, searching. Differently, now there was the total cognitation, mentation as fluid as it were in reality. This, of course, was not the material world, something else. A world in her dreams, perhaps?
Regardless…she awaited the eventual outcome. For now, she filed the study of this world into the inner archives. For later. And she walked on, trailing the lightless paths for an uncertain destination.
What should I do when he asks for the history of Valor? Ivory thought, arms crossed behind. Or one of the high family? A lie? Would he tell the difference, or would he ask a trick question to prove my truth? Or is this something he can achieve with simple casting?
Questions within questions.
Outside that, he was bold enough to return even after Father. That should have proved something. Either Argon's words were true, or he was something different. An inexperienced power? A caster with a gift? No. Impossible. He claimed to have multiple forms; Elmiran, that surely put him beyond a redeemed, perhaps a sacred or saint, but Father still stated him unversed. Just a brute with force.
Another improbable thing given he can pull me despite the wardings into a dream. He had symbols for sure. middleMind at the very least. But he lacked control? A brute, yes. She sighed. A meaning was in there somewhere.
A caster who was able to give force and symbols. That symbol. Ivory resisted the recollection. Dangerous to visualize such an odious concept. A thing that writes into reality. Imposes its laws on space and matter. An abstract. She rubbed the side of her head, shifting thoughts.
He was powerful; that was a given. A deceiver then? A liar who played the weakened role to provide a false sense of weakness? If he had defeated Argon, then saints would be provided as a countermeasure. But he didn't, hence no such might was arranged. Was that the idea? I, less protected, he gains unlimited access to me. Was that it?
An intelligent plan, as expected for a caster. But dangerous. A veilCounsel with such a power surely belonged to the House of Noctis. Could they have freed themselves from moaning their dead highness to create such a thing? Maybe they did. It played well with the ruse of weakness they presented.
The weakest part of Noctis was Nightfell. Odd, given it was their seat of power. But it fitted into the logic. A feeble clan with a frail seat. No highness. No strength. They played the role expertly, as though they invited something for themselves. See us. Come find us. That was the message. That also presented the possibility. Whoever this veilCounsel was, he was in Nightfell.
But again, it could be the trick. A power existed, and any Caster beyond the acolyte can potentially figure this out, a deadEye even more so. Which meant it was another. A power existed, it was in Nightfell, but it was a warning. Do not see us. Do not come for us. We are powerful and we know it. Let us be!
But for what? What did Night do that the light must never know?
A radiance glowed in the distance, consuming the darkness of this world, calming. She smiled. Let me see what happens now. Hands crossed forward, over the stomach, one atop the other.
And the darkness was gone, light raying across her features. She stood now, before him, awed at the newness. Ahead stood I AM. Profile obscured by the ring of light behind him, clothes a sleek, elegant long coat. Black. Similar to the aesthetics of valor. Rather intentional, she thought, but was more marveled by another.
A world.
Mist, she stood in a world. The sky a shade of parodic hues; red in blue, gold in black, swirling. Like a mash of contradicting colors. Even the clouds were exaggerated around the edges.
What was this?
Then there was the below-world. Vast mountains in the distance. All in different shades. Ranges of black, sole peaks of gold, water sliding from the tops and rivers of queer crystaline tints. A forest also spread in the vastness, dark, tall, elastic woods. Beautiful.
They stood in a garden of red flora, elastic woods spanning a totality of 7 to 10 meters. No life, oddly. No bugs, no animals. Just a quiet naturalness. Beyond that was a dark castle, eerily guarded by strange figures. Men, heads a mass of spiraling darkness, draped in sleek, oily dark robes, pooled underneath. A starkness to the collective world.
Was this also a dream?
She glanced at the river ringing the garden, a division from the wider scapes. Within, no animals, no life, like the rest of the world. Was there a reason for that? She wondered, heard then the soft tone of I AM, calling.
"Sit." He waved, and a chair faded in. A high-backed stone throne, similar to hers in the grand hall. Was this him telling me he sees my secrets, too? Quietly, she took to it, sat, and observed.
I AM did more of the same for a moment, stepped back, and something blurred in behind him. Not a throne, as expected. No. A simple rock. Bigger and flatter than a normal stone. High rock, she thought. That being a name given by darkCrowns. He took to it, sat, right leg bent over the other, both hands on the thighs. Elegant in a certain simplicity.