#plot happenings

It should be familiar by now. Strange, yes, and perhaps a little different, but still familiar. The matrices that summon forth the ghosts of song and lay them firmly atop those living souls that walk upon this star, and every shard threaded to it by fate, in such sweet melodies are lain in each city, but to disturb them shan’t end this show, this marvelous production.

The curtain rises, but there are no dancers to wake, this time. The array spans all continents, all cities, the leylines cut across vast fields and beneath oceans. There must be a purpose to all this, it need only be uncovered.

♪ Listen sweet children, the golden bells harken, the Encore is set to begin, ♪ With melodies spoken and sweeter songs broken - dictating this change in the wind.

Alissa -- 

Rabiah left a note asking me to meet her down in Kessex.  I’ll see to it quickly. Don’t worry, half the house is watching to see when the adoption assessment report shows up.  You’ll hear the results near about as quickly as I will.

J.

Near the high road statue of Grenth that overlooked the city cemetery, shadow bloomed.  Not a little shadow that blended in with the movement of the sun through the day.  Not a subtle shadow that billowed out so cunningly from the dark corners that passers-by barely questioned it. 

Instead, the statue itself seemed almost shrouded despite the bright day, an odd and disquieting illusion that required great strength -- and in this particular instance, great desperation. Two separate priests had arrived to light candles, but grey dimness had already swallowed the tiny flames.

Shadows to attract a shadow.  She knew no other way to catch the man’s attention, and the time for decisions grew short. 

Grenth’s stone face darkened.  Rosella crouched in wispy darkness and let her power flow.

When J’hasi finally got back to college grounds he was exhausted, sore, and in need of a somewhat-soft place to lay down for the next...forever. He put his hand on the door to the Hall of Attainment, then hissed a low curse under his breath when he remembered something. He told Tolfdir he’d inform the Arch-Mage about what they found in Saarthal. The Khajiit sighed, knowing it couldn’t wait until tomorrow, reluctantly making his way to the Hall of the Elements, trying a different door than the one he found led to the Arcaneum, hoping it would bring him to where he needed to go.

At the top of the stairs he peeked around the corner, finding a massive room as well as a beautiful garden lit by floating magical lights. He could smell a fresh, newly-familiar scent as well, glad he didn’t have to go traipsing all over the grounds to find the Arch-Mage. J’hasi found the Dunmer in a chair near the garden, clearing his throat nervously.

“Um...s’cuse me. You’re Savos Aren, right?” The mer looked up, finger paused on the line they’d been reading.

“Yes, I am.” A brow arched.

“You are relatively new here, are you not? I have noticed you, but we have not spoken.”

“No, sir.” Savos chuckled.

“‘Sir’? How quaint.” The Khajiit swallowed, unsure if that was how he was supposed to address him. Whatever. The sooner he got this over with, the sooner he could faceplant into his bedroll.

“I need to speak to you about Saarthal.” The Arch-Mage sighed, fingers pressing into his brow.

“Please don’t tell me that another one of the apprentices has been incinerated. I have enough to deal with right now.” J’hasi shivered a little, was that so common here?

“We’ve found something in Saarthal, and Tolfdir thinks it’s important.” The Dunmer sighed, closing his book.

“Very well, I trust that you wouldn’t be here were it not significant. Thank you for bringing this to my attention.” Savos looked at him a little more closely.

“Tolfdir normally looks after your little group, yes? Since he’s apparently occupied, and I will need to see this discovery for myself, I think perhaps you should begin researching the subject. Speak with Urag in the Arcaneum. See if he’s aware of anything that matches your discovery.” The Arch-Mage got up from his seat, heading towards a rack of staves on the wall, pulling one down.

“And...good work. The next time you find yourself exploring Nordic ruins, perhaps this will be helpful.” he said, offering it to the Khajiit. J’hasi took it, surprised.

“Th...thank you, sir.” Savos smiled, then returned to his seat, cracking his book open again to his previous spot. J’hasi fidgeted a moment. He had to ask. He had to know if what he’d seen was real, not some exhaustion-fueled hallucination or something.

“Have you ever met with the Psijic Order?” Savos raised a brow.

“Personally? No, not I. One of their number used to advise the Arch-Mage when I was but an Apprentice here. But that was a great many years ago, before all the members of the order were called back to the Isle of Artaeum, and it disappeared entirely.” J’hasi’s ears flicked back. That didn’t soothe his worries all that much. He’d have to look into the Psijic Order, see what they could want with him, or with whatever that thing was in Saarthal.

“Thank you, sir.”

---

When he got downstairs, the Khajiit nearly bumped right into Faralda, putting his hands up, eyes shut and brows furrowed in mild irritation and tried patience, no doubt from...everything today. He let out his breath in a huff, the Altmer raising a brow at him before speaking.

“There you are. I’ve been trying to find you.”

He just. Wanted. To go. To sleep. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, pinching the bridge of his muzzle near his furrowed brow.

“Sorry. Long day.” The Altmer frowned.

“I just wanted to let you know that Ancano’s been asking about you. I think he’s looking for you.” Cold shot through J’hasi’s core, eyes snapping open with alarm.

“Wh...why would Ancano be looking for me?” She glanced into the Hall of the Elements before looking back at him.

“I’m not sure. Just... Well, mind what you tell him, all right?” He swallowed.

“Is there a problem?” Faralda waved a hand a little as if to dismiss the anxiety brewing in the Khajiit’s gut, to little effect.

“No, no. Well, I don’t think so. Between the two of us, there are rumors about him. That this ‘advisor’ position he has is a sham, an excuse. That what he’s really doing is spying for the Thalmor, trying to feed them information. Whether it’s true, I can’t say. But it never hurts to be a little suspicious, does it?” On the contrary, it had saved his ass more times than he could count. J’hasi offered her a nod and a slight smile.

“Thanks for the warning.” The Altmer smiled back.

“You’re welcome.” He took his leave then, flinching at the cold before crossing the courtyard, mind set on one thing: sleep.

When J’hasi finally flopped onto his bed with a huff he lay there for a few moments in silence, his body aching all over, exhausted, his mind whirring through his concerns. The orb, the Psijic, the Thalmor whelp and his superior... He couldn’t figure out what to handle first, what was more of a concern. It just reeked like a disaster waiting to happen. Nothing ever coincidental happened without being related in the past, why would it be any different now?

At some point in his worrying his thoughts devolved into a spiraling mess of anxieties, moving, jumbling around too much to make sense...

[Vibes]

The dream had begun normally enough - though that in itself should have caused some alarm - as the small hours of the morning finally delivered Enambris to a fitful slumber. She never slept terribly well, thanks to the familiar, frequent nightmares that had plagued her since the Fall, though the potions her adopted parent had made for her were intended to ease her sleep and chase the black marys away. Maybe it was the sight of him covered in blood that was not his own, maybe it was the tug through her soul or the thread of the charm, but something stirred that day and, even now, could not be quieted.

It might not have been an issue, if Derelict were home. It wasn’t work that kept him away this time, but his absence was necessary, and without her Raven’s dream-eater technique to siphon away the darkness, the nightmares crept back in. Maybe, she found herself pondering through the lucidity offered by the dream, she wanted them.

Raw, unfiltered emotion and flashes of distant battlefields surrounded her in an expanse that has no horizon, no edges, no end. She stepped through each field, a specter in her own past, walking forward towards the edges of an eternity she never seemed to be able to reach. The blood-slaked edge of her blade danced the same way she does, the carnage somehow beautiful - torn flesh, bruised bodies, fallen figures with mortal wounds blooming flowers of red in the snow.

The celestial glass dome above and around her cracked and shattered, pieces falling, feather-like, through air thick with the scent of iron. Her reflection across a thousand broken shards of glass stared back at her; there was no smile, the impression of it fading from her own face. The shards slow, and Enambris stared into her own eyes, wide and wild, pupils swallowed by stars and shadows, lips parted in reverence. She remembered her Warsong, clinging to it with every strand of her soul, but the thrill beckoned - beckons, even still, as she remembers the sensation of it. The pounding of her heart, the rush of pure ecstasy in the throes of violence. She missed it. The Gift - Their Gift - reminded her of the song, and with every beat of her stellar heart she felt... yearning.

But then the glass parted, drawn like curtains to allow her to pass into the pale beyond, where a throne stood high upon a dais, overlooking the horror of a quiet battlefield. Curling rivulets of blood and shadow spiraled along the arm-rest and throne-back, drawing her eyes to the figure seated there - but who? She looked down and saw herself high above the field, and the throne beneath her yawned with jagged teeth. A final shard of broken mirror drifted past, and her eyes stared back, the eyes of the Righteous, the Holy, the Bloody. The eyes of a Tyrant.

Her heart fluttered again.

When Enambris woke, finally, from the dream, she did not scream, or utter so much as a sound, instead opting to lay in her bed, alone, staring at ceiling above her with wide, wild eyes.

I've been suffering from the strangest waking dreams, recently. Since the day They helped to cradle my heart and relieve me of Valor's pain, the waking dreams have visited me in the twilight moments before I fall asleep at night - when the potions Foreldri made for me chase them and the other nightmares away.

It always happens at sunset, and I don't know where I am. She descends on gilded wings; she need not speak, I already know what she's going to say. I know because she is me.

It had begun without warning. Long fingers dragged through locks of crimson with… it wasn’t tenderness. Some facsimile of it, an attempt at human affection. The attempt was far from perfect.

The waking nightmares, she decides upon snapping out of her silent trance, has been the worst part of this. It’s not a moment later that she changes her mind - no, there is one unquestionably worse part. Standing from her desk chair, unable to focus her attention on paperwork or planning, or much of anything for that matter, Enambris vacates her corner office in the small hours of the morning, stepping quietly down the long, empty halls of Network headquarters and out into the brisk air of the winter night.

She didn’t know how long those fingers had been present, buried in her fiery mane. There was nothing she could do, no actions she could take, no retaliation for the unwanted attention. When the stroking of her hair stopped, she felt a wash of relief - and was robbed of it an instant later when those spidery fingers plunged into her chest.

Drawing her short, fur-lined cloak closer about her shoulders, she lets her mind wander, and her feet carry her wherever they may. She’s armed almost literally to the teeth, and never really alone, though lost in the vast expanse of the galaxies in her mind, she certainly feels alone.

She couldn’t scream. There was no air in her lungs to scream with, and no one around to hear it even if she could. Those fingers remained there, plunged into her chest, for what felt like hours. Days. An eternity, perhaps - looking for something, prodding about with little regard for her comfort. In her ears, Truth was screaming where she could not.

A wash of pale firelight absconds with her to distant shores, her boots leaving the cobbles of the Goblet and, a moment later, meeting the snowy earth of the farthest reaches of the north, stepping into the light of the bonfire coals at the center of Harrogate village. The hour is late, of course, and few are awake or coherent enough to pay her respects, though a few do offer a meager greeting as she passes into the darkness beyond the village’s rune-scrawl wards.

When the fingers finally receded, there was still no air in her lungs. The shrieks of seven unruly stars did not abate quickly; it left her ears ringing, and her head swimming. Enambris felt herself reaching, her hand suspended over an ocean of black, where a figure lingered quietly on its shores beyond her reach. The births and deaths of galaxies reflected in the ocean’s waters. The stars were always watching.

Silence presses in on all sides. Though, far from unsettling as it so oft proved itself, the silence instead envelopes her like a warm blanket on a chill night, and the night is chill indeed. Though she carries no torch, her path is lit - Valor lights the way, the glittering crystal set in her sternum that separates her from Truth’s stellar embrace.

It turned, then. Rotating slowly in place, the figure finally faced her. There was no face to speak of, not one that made sense through the painless agony, or if there was her focus had been too fixed to notice or care. A black crystal glittered back at her, set in the figure’s sternum, or what could be construed as a sternum. It was no Valor - it was Fear, flanked by seven of its own stars. The stars were dark. The sky filled with laughter and screams that were not her own.

More than a few minutes pass during her travel. The solitude is welcome, after so many voices trapped in her head. Here in this snow-capped forest, she finally slows to a halt, and lifts her face to the sky. It is only now that Enambris is able to admit to herself how glad she is that no one had noticed her trembling. Or at least, no one had said anything about it. But now she has no need to hide it, and with that tremble filling her voice, she speaks to the stars.

“I… I’m not sure if I should call you… Father? Or Justice? But I… I guess I just wanted to… talk.” She sinks down to sit on the stump of a tree, lacing her fingers together anxiously. “We’ve… we’ve never really talked before. I’m not even sure if you can hear me. Or if you’d notice. Or care. Or… I don’t know. I’m…”

Words fail her for but a moment, her lower lip catching between her teeth in sudden, overwhelming terror. Her heart skips a beat - Truth murmurs a susurrus of annoyance. She ignores it.

“I’m… afraid. Terrified, actually. I… I know what I must do, what I must tell the others. I know… I know logically that there are no other options. That this is our best chance to survive, and… and that there is a very real chance we might not. I know that choosing the lesser evil is still choosing an evil, but I also know that if we don’t… I’m not afraid to die, but I’m… even knowing the danger and the fear, and knowing what I have to do, I still feel so… lost.”

She takes a breath, and lingers in the quiet for a moment. “If I let Them in there’s no guarantee I’ll be the same once they’re gone. I know… I know at least that I’m drawn to the dark. That it defines me because of… because of these shards, because of Sol, but I just… I need to know if there is more to me. I just… wish you could talk to me. I wish I had something to hold onto.”

The night sky does not answer. A few minutes pass in the silence of the forest. Then, without a word, Enambris rises from the fallen log and turns, making her way through the thicket.

These pamphlets and flyers are being spread out across the cities and settlements of Aldenard, Othard and Ilsabard, handed out by those shouting on street corners and hung up along message boards and alleyways. The flyers are unsigned, simple parchment easily the size of a wanted poster.

Have you heard voices promising your desires in exchange for submission?

Have you received threats that those you love cannot be protected if you do not submit?

Have you been presented details about yourself that no one else should know when given these shadowy offers?

If you have been hearing these faceless whispers, do not accept or reject ANY offers! Instead, please make your way to the Silver Grace Clinic!

Lavender Beds, Ward 15, Plot 5.

YOU ARE NOT ALONE.

@the-faceless-ffxiv