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mindcrackloveAaaaaaand chapter two.
The sound of laughter drifted on the wind, whispering like dry leaves, almost unheard or unknown.
The Spirits were playing.
Ghostlike, and amorphous when insubstantial, the two wove like colored smoke, red and green. They danced like falling leaves on the wind, merging and flying apart in sharp motions.
They drifted through the sky, until, far below, the Hostile regions were visible. It was here that they stopped, and began to slowly descend.
"Are these your creations, Dallankevr?" The greenish Spirit hissed, two darker spots widening like eyes. The red Spirit fluttered proudly.
"My trademark, Anmilep. The Hostile Regions are what the Players call them. Surviving one is seen as a great honor."
Anmilep sighed, before condensing into the shape of an eagle. "Let's take a look around, shall we?"
His partner wordlessly took on the physical form of a large bat, and swooped down towards the ground.
__________
Very few members of the group -Mindcrack, they called themselves- would speak to Blame after the incident when he had first awoken. Only Paul, Zisteau, Guude, and Jeff would, along with two others he had just met, Pakratt and Nebris.
He cared little about his reception, for the opinions of others were not important. If he needed their trust and total acceptance, he would get it eventually.
Presently, Blame was trying to find his way out of the labyrinth of hallways that made up the Mindcrack headquarters. Instead, he wound up in front of a door labeled with the name "Soares, P."
After a brief hesitation, he knocked, and the door swung open, revealing a rather confused Paul.
"Blame? What are you doing here? I'm pretty sure you didn't just decide to pay me a visit."
The masked man looked away, shifting slightly. "I was trying to go outside, but this place is a maze."
Paul grinned, and stepped out of his room, closing the door behind him. "That happens to everyone. Don't worry about it, I'll show you the way."
__________
Blame was relieved that Paul asked few questions about why he wanted to get out, simply making attempts at small talk.
A few minutes later, and with a number of twists and turns he hoped he could remember, they were down the hall from the door.
"I'm pretty sure you can use a door," Paul teased, and Blame nodded.
"One would hope so."
Paul turned back down the hall where they came, leaving Blame alone.
__________
The sky was dimly lit, with few visible stars, and showing no signs of the dawn that was a few hours away.
Blame stood some distance from the massive building that was the Headquarters, a screen of trees giving him some measure of privacy as he watched the sky. The moon was new, and clouds were scuttling from one horizon to the other, obscuring the stars in their wind-driven journey.
A storm was coming, looming below the sky. But he had not sought leave to look for weather.
Whistles and quiet shrieks fell from above, brought by the sound of wingbeats. Moments later, two dark shapes swooped down to land on a branch at Blame's eye level.
In the faint starlight, he could make out few features on them, only a reddish tint on the large bat, and a greenish one to the eagle.
"It has been a while, Dallankevr, Anmilep," Blame said quietly. The two Spirits glowed faintly; a sign of pleasure or ease. "Why did you call me to meet you?"
The bat rustled its wings, before squeaking out a response. "We heard that you had chosen to interact with these Players face-to-face. Wanted to see if it was true."
Blame sighed. Trust these two to want to know more. "Yes, it's true, in part. They know me only as Blame the Controller, the warrior who challenges the Spirits themselves."
Both Spirits chuckled, and Dallankevr spoke up again after his companions calmed themselves. "What do you hope to learn, to accomplish by being here? Is it not impossible to fulfill your role when down here, in the physical?"
This was the question Blame had hoped the two would not ask.
"I hope to understand why any mortal would choose this location," he said, turning away. "And yes... It is very difficult at best to fulfill my role."
Anmilep nodded, and launched off the branch, losing substance midair and reverting back to the natural tinted smoke of a Spirit. Dallankevr, however, was far more reluctant to leave.
"Dicendeven..." He began, "What is it that draws you to the Players?"
Blame froze. It had been a long time since he had been called by his old name.
"Edreim ackarar," Blame said slowly. "Tiengandan ek ackarar tornuque manganean tienganex."
Their creativity. They have the creativity many do not have.
Dallankevr stopped his uncertain twitching when the man responded in the Old Language of the Spirits, Spiritial. After a moment, he launched off the branch just as Anmilep had, dissolving into smoke. As he faded away, he spoke quietly.
"Resiair alqui, Dicendeven..."
I will return, Dicendeven...
________
Dallankevr was unnerved. Never had he met anyone who was as interested in the Players as Dicendeven showed himself to be. Anyone who was not a Player themself.
Yet, he found himself curious, wanting to understand why his old friend had taken such an interest in them, in a group that few would pay any notice to.
He had another reason to be curious. Dallankevr wanted to know what it was that drove Players, the weak creatures they were, to live in such a dangerous place, surrounded by the many Hostile regions he himself had made.
It did not take long before Dallankevr came to a conclusion similar to the one that Dicendeven had made years before.
________
Blame was late to breakfast, arriving windswept, dusty, and shivering. Paul asked one of the others still at the table to warm up a portion while he fetched a blanket for the man.
No-one asked questions when he sat down, but Pak and Paul kept throwing concerned looks his way. They could tell that something had happened while he was out.
Finally, Paul had to ask. "Blame, you look like a Spirit stepped out of the sky and cursed you. What has you so.... Off?"
Blame flinched, jerked from his thoughts. He glanced over at Paul, sitting across from him, before looking down at the mug steaming between his hands.
"It was a Spirit," he said quietly. "However, he did not curse me. I think he was a young one, a new one, intrigued by this group. Intrigued by the creativity of Players."
Blame felt bad lying to the men who had been so generous, so trusting, but he could not afford to tell them the truth. Not now, not yet, not so soon.
________
"Diviandilai kuestrutciemganel ouim almatra...." He found himself muttering as he thought of his discussion with the two Spirits.
It had been several hours since Blame had come inside and been confronted by Paul, and he could not stop thinking of the two, so much so that his mind drug out words from an ancient language. A language that he learned from the very Spirits he could not get out of his thoughts.
The words found in some old books on the higher order, on the Spirits, the Creators, on the unseen Reaver.
'Diviandilai kuestrutciemganel ouim almatra.'
'I hope you destroy your soul.'
One of, if not the cruelest things a Spirit could say to another.
A curse of erasing, of an end to one's entire existence.
_________
On the other side of Blame's door, Paul stood frozen.
There was much that he and the others did not know about the masked man. He was secretive, speaking little, and when he did speak, his words were slow, and carefully chosen.
But to hear a man speaking words like those of the higher beings, that was not something Paul could keep to himself only.
He decided to seek out one of the few Mindcrackers that had already taken a liking to Blame: Pak.
_________
Pak leaned back in his chair, slight scowl as he thought. Paul sat across from him, eyes fixed on the grain of the polished wood table between them. They were in the most private location they could: Paul's room.
"Are you sure that you heard the Spirit Language?" Pak said at last. Paul nodded, looking up from the table.
"I'm sure."
Pak met Paul's gaze solemnly, and asked, "Can you recall any of the words? I know some of the old language, as its common in the more aged records."
It took a long time for Paul to speak.
"It sounded something like.... 'Deevandelay quest-something weem almatra'," he said at last.
Pak froze. "Did it.... Sound like 'Diviandilai kuestrutciemganel ouim almatra....?' "
Paul nodded, and Pak hid his face in his hands briefly before meeting the older man's eyes again.
"That's an equivalent of the worst profanities in our language," he began. "It... Basically is telling someone to destroy themselves for all eternity, no Otherworld."
__________
After Pak left, Paul sat silently, staring at the slip of paper that had the words Blame had said written upon it.
Diviandilai kuestrutciemganel ouim almatra....
I hope you destroy your soul.
Why the man would have said that, Paul did not know.
He knew only what he had known all along: Blame was a strange man, he had secrets, and was not inclined be sharing them any time soon.
The sound of laughter drifted on the wind, whispering like dry leaves, almost unheard or unknown.
The Spirits were playing.
Ghostlike, and amorphous when insubstantial, the two wove like colored smoke, red and green. They danced like falling leaves on the wind, merging and flying apart in sharp motions.
They drifted through the sky, until, far below, the Hostile regions were visible. It was here that they stopped, and began to slowly descend.
"Are these your creations, Dallankevr?" The greenish Spirit hissed, two darker spots widening like eyes. The red Spirit fluttered proudly.
"My trademark, Anmilep. The Hostile Regions are what the Players call them. Surviving one is seen as a great honor."
Anmilep sighed, before condensing into the shape of an eagle. "Let's take a look around, shall we?"
His partner wordlessly took on the physical form of a large bat, and swooped down towards the ground.
__________
Very few members of the group -Mindcrack, they called themselves- would speak to Blame after the incident when he had first awoken. Only Paul, Zisteau, Guude, and Jeff would, along with two others he had just met, Pakratt and Nebris.
He cared little about his reception, for the opinions of others were not important. If he needed their trust and total acceptance, he would get it eventually.
Presently, Blame was trying to find his way out of the labyrinth of hallways that made up the Mindcrack headquarters. Instead, he wound up in front of a door labeled with the name "Soares, P."
After a brief hesitation, he knocked, and the door swung open, revealing a rather confused Paul.
"Blame? What are you doing here? I'm pretty sure you didn't just decide to pay me a visit."
The masked man looked away, shifting slightly. "I was trying to go outside, but this place is a maze."
Paul grinned, and stepped out of his room, closing the door behind him. "That happens to everyone. Don't worry about it, I'll show you the way."
__________
Blame was relieved that Paul asked few questions about why he wanted to get out, simply making attempts at small talk.
A few minutes later, and with a number of twists and turns he hoped he could remember, they were down the hall from the door.
"I'm pretty sure you can use a door," Paul teased, and Blame nodded.
"One would hope so."
Paul turned back down the hall where they came, leaving Blame alone.
__________
The sky was dimly lit, with few visible stars, and showing no signs of the dawn that was a few hours away.
Blame stood some distance from the massive building that was the Headquarters, a screen of trees giving him some measure of privacy as he watched the sky. The moon was new, and clouds were scuttling from one horizon to the other, obscuring the stars in their wind-driven journey.
A storm was coming, looming below the sky. But he had not sought leave to look for weather.
Whistles and quiet shrieks fell from above, brought by the sound of wingbeats. Moments later, two dark shapes swooped down to land on a branch at Blame's eye level.
In the faint starlight, he could make out few features on them, only a reddish tint on the large bat, and a greenish one to the eagle.
"It has been a while, Dallankevr, Anmilep," Blame said quietly. The two Spirits glowed faintly; a sign of pleasure or ease. "Why did you call me to meet you?"
The bat rustled its wings, before squeaking out a response. "We heard that you had chosen to interact with these Players face-to-face. Wanted to see if it was true."
Blame sighed. Trust these two to want to know more. "Yes, it's true, in part. They know me only as Blame the Controller, the warrior who challenges the Spirits themselves."
Both Spirits chuckled, and Dallankevr spoke up again after his companions calmed themselves. "What do you hope to learn, to accomplish by being here? Is it not impossible to fulfill your role when down here, in the physical?"
This was the question Blame had hoped the two would not ask.
"I hope to understand why any mortal would choose this location," he said, turning away. "And yes... It is very difficult at best to fulfill my role."
Anmilep nodded, and launched off the branch, losing substance midair and reverting back to the natural tinted smoke of a Spirit. Dallankevr, however, was far more reluctant to leave.
"Dicendeven..." He began, "What is it that draws you to the Players?"
Blame froze. It had been a long time since he had been called by his old name.
"Edreim ackarar," Blame said slowly. "Tiengandan ek ackarar tornuque manganean tienganex."
Their creativity. They have the creativity many do not have.
Dallankevr stopped his uncertain twitching when the man responded in the Old Language of the Spirits, Spiritial. After a moment, he launched off the branch just as Anmilep had, dissolving into smoke. As he faded away, he spoke quietly.
"Resiair alqui, Dicendeven..."
I will return, Dicendeven...
________
Dallankevr was unnerved. Never had he met anyone who was as interested in the Players as Dicendeven showed himself to be. Anyone who was not a Player themself.
Yet, he found himself curious, wanting to understand why his old friend had taken such an interest in them, in a group that few would pay any notice to.
He had another reason to be curious. Dallankevr wanted to know what it was that drove Players, the weak creatures they were, to live in such a dangerous place, surrounded by the many Hostile regions he himself had made.
It did not take long before Dallankevr came to a conclusion similar to the one that Dicendeven had made years before.
________
Blame was late to breakfast, arriving windswept, dusty, and shivering. Paul asked one of the others still at the table to warm up a portion while he fetched a blanket for the man.
No-one asked questions when he sat down, but Pak and Paul kept throwing concerned looks his way. They could tell that something had happened while he was out.
Finally, Paul had to ask. "Blame, you look like a Spirit stepped out of the sky and cursed you. What has you so.... Off?"
Blame flinched, jerked from his thoughts. He glanced over at Paul, sitting across from him, before looking down at the mug steaming between his hands.
"It was a Spirit," he said quietly. "However, he did not curse me. I think he was a young one, a new one, intrigued by this group. Intrigued by the creativity of Players."
Blame felt bad lying to the men who had been so generous, so trusting, but he could not afford to tell them the truth. Not now, not yet, not so soon.
________
"Diviandilai kuestrutciemganel ouim almatra...." He found himself muttering as he thought of his discussion with the two Spirits.
It had been several hours since Blame had come inside and been confronted by Paul, and he could not stop thinking of the two, so much so that his mind drug out words from an ancient language. A language that he learned from the very Spirits he could not get out of his thoughts.
The words found in some old books on the higher order, on the Spirits, the Creators, on the unseen Reaver.
'Diviandilai kuestrutciemganel ouim almatra.'
'I hope you destroy your soul.'
One of, if not the cruelest things a Spirit could say to another.
A curse of erasing, of an end to one's entire existence.
_________
On the other side of Blame's door, Paul stood frozen.
There was much that he and the others did not know about the masked man. He was secretive, speaking little, and when he did speak, his words were slow, and carefully chosen.
But to hear a man speaking words like those of the higher beings, that was not something Paul could keep to himself only.
He decided to seek out one of the few Mindcrackers that had already taken a liking to Blame: Pak.
_________
Pak leaned back in his chair, slight scowl as he thought. Paul sat across from him, eyes fixed on the grain of the polished wood table between them. They were in the most private location they could: Paul's room.
"Are you sure that you heard the Spirit Language?" Pak said at last. Paul nodded, looking up from the table.
"I'm sure."
Pak met Paul's gaze solemnly, and asked, "Can you recall any of the words? I know some of the old language, as its common in the more aged records."
It took a long time for Paul to speak.
"It sounded something like.... 'Deevandelay quest-something weem almatra'," he said at last.
Pak froze. "Did it.... Sound like 'Diviandilai kuestrutciemganel ouim almatra....?' "
Paul nodded, and Pak hid his face in his hands briefly before meeting the older man's eyes again.
"That's an equivalent of the worst profanities in our language," he began. "It... Basically is telling someone to destroy themselves for all eternity, no Otherworld."
__________
After Pak left, Paul sat silently, staring at the slip of paper that had the words Blame had said written upon it.
Diviandilai kuestrutciemganel ouim almatra....
I hope you destroy your soul.
Why the man would have said that, Paul did not know.
He knew only what he had known all along: Blame was a strange man, he had secrets, and was not inclined be sharing them any time soon.
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Date: Saturday, June 27th, 2015 09:55 pm (UTC)G.C. (::)(::)(::)(::)(::)(::)
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Date: Sunday, June 28th, 2015 02:26 am (UTC)-awkward anon.
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