Empathy for the Stars

[Ataraxis]

He hated the darkness.

His first memory of it had been that of a silent companion, a playfellow he could never outrun. In time, he learned of the world beyond the small hovel that was his home, the world that was a great theater of war and death, of sacrifice and betrayal – the world he and other children like him would one day inherit. This revelation had terrified him, and in answer to this newborn fear, the darkness had become a stalwart guardian, a shield at his back against the dangers that prowled far behind, out of sight and out of mind.

But he was no longer the boy who played games with his shadow, nor was he the young man who feared to step into the unknown, who sought a pillar unfailing in the gloom of night. He had known light in the company of a childhood friend, a charming girl he had always fancied, and upon their first kiss, he had known the sun. There was so much more to that warmth than the dark could ever provide, and a lifelong sense of numbness he had thought to be the norm was set ablaze in this feeling he had come to know as love. He remembered her fondly: the daylight in her eyes, and her smile brighter than sunshine. In the radiance of her presence, there was no longer any room for the darkness, and the memory of his oldest companion was quick to fade away.

It came again, wearing a face he had never seen before, and in suffering he had learned this visage bore the name of vengeance. Her passing had come as quick as the falling night, and he knew a piece of his heart had died with the setting sun. Her eyes no longer shone, and her lips could no longer turn into the smile that lit his soul afire. He could barely see her in the obscurity, and her traits seemed wholly unfamiliar in that numbing stillness. In his denial, he had built a pyre for her funeral, and had watched with tearful eyes the somber cremation, watched as the sparks tore away that bright soul from the clutches of a jealous night.

His mind had faltered since her death. He had locked himself in this hovel, surrounded by tallow candles that burned red with the anger of his bleeding heart. Even when the heat had become unbearable, he would douse none: not a sliver of shadow could be allowed to reach him. Never again, he would say, remembering the empty wells that were the eyes of his deceased wife. Never again.

He had grown old, a recluse who only kept the sways of fire as his comrades. The townspeople only caught sight of him once every fortnight, when he required sustenance or wicks and wax to fashion his own candles. They refused to have him pay, knowing he did not have the fortune to last very long, even at his pace. But, now, they knew. They knew just as he did, that his time was nearing. He had not left for three weeks now, and his strength was waning. He perceived with dread the approach of dusk, and soon the hovel seemed a globe of devouring darkness, broken only by the feeble light of a single, dying flame.

A wafting breeze from an open window, and it was gone.

“You’ve done me in,” the man blubbered, feeling the darkness swathe his form like fingers about his throat. “You’ve taken her from me, like you take the sun away.” Tears fell away, washing the dirt and soot from the furrows of his face. “Well you can take me now. You can take me and be done with your revenge.”

He felt his heart break again, and he knew there no longer were any shards, only ground dust. His fingers, frail and trembling, clutched at the skin and bones that were his chest. “You’ve blotted her out from my sky…”

And he heard the darkness answer.

“Come with me.”

He heard a hiss from the snuffed candle, and its wick flashed red as a flame was born anew. In his bewilderment, he only stared, enthralled by this renewed hope burning bright before his eyes. The darkness spoke to him again, and he nodded. He nodded, smiling, eyes glistening for the first time in decades with tears of happiness.

It was with joy that his hand reached for the flame.

[Ataraxis]

It was the first time in centuries that the break of dawn cast a fearful light upon the peaceful town of Drada Kestal. These were simple people who long ago sought shelter in the Fields of Khu’fein, thus removing themselves from the insidious reach of industrialization. Wrought with the arcana of elder magic as they were, the Fields did come with their own perils, but the town had been built far on the southern edges, away from the heart of what ancient fallout had befallen these lands.

Drada Kestal had been a safe haven for generations, hanging in the limbo between sorcery and technology without ever straying. They had thought their hearts free from crime or scandal, from fear within their own isolationism, but this lifelong belief had come crashing in the light of this early morning. Accidental or not, there had been a fire born of living hands, and towers of dark smoke had reached across the night skies as villagers watched in dread. Now, only grey wisps faded away into the clouded heavens, but of the small hovel that had been consumed in the night, nothing but ashes remained in the scorched wreckage.

“It was old Barras’ house,” one of the villagers said, an undeniable grief lacing his words and sighs. “He spent his later years locked in, surrounded by candles… perhaps this should not have come as such a surprise.”

“No one expected he would last much longer.” A young woman with child stood far from the burnt rubble, the grip on her husband’s hand quavering as she sought comfort in his presence. “But I thought… I thought he would go peacefully, and leave on the Cortege.”

“I know. After all he’s been through… he at least deserved that,” her husband answered solemnly, turning to lace his arms gently about her in consolation. She began to sob, no longer able to restrain the tears. “He should have gotten those moments of lucidity. I know you wanted to talk to him… to the man he used to be.”

“He and Falann, they took me as if I were their own,” she went on, knees almost buckling from the pain in her heart. “I couldn’t speak to Falann before her passing, and now… not even him. Was it… was it my fault? Did… did they not have the privilege of undergoing the Cortege because they both raised me?”

“Don’t do this to yourself. It’s not your fault.” His arms unwound, and he brought his hand to the curve of her face, cradling it lovingly to soothe her pain. “It would break their hearts to see you like this. Here, let’s go home. You need to rest.”

When the couple had left, only masons and a few other baffled onlookers were left to appraise the damage. The fire had been contained to this area only, and it seemed they had avoided an incendiary spread by miracle alone.

However, someone stood closer to the wreckage than the others dared to; in fact, this stranger was crouching upon the scene, seemingly searching for something in particular. Most looked on worriedly, wondering who would be so bold as to stand upon the ashes of a good man. When they realized this was no member of their community, and that it was a young girl, no less, the constable decided to intervene.

“Young lady, would you be so kind as to step away from the premises? You are upsetting the villagers.”

“Ah,” she answered simply, standing up unhurriedly. She dusted the folds of her white, summer dress, and turned toward the crowd of bystanders. “I apologize.”

As she crossed the throng of villagers and left the burn site, she said one last thing, almost as an afterthought. “It only seemed odd to me that there were no bones, when even this much wood has survived the fire.”

[Ataraxis]

From what Lillian had gleaned from the locals, the Cortege was a phenomenon that went back as far as the founding of Drada Kestal. The tale of its first occurrence, from villager to villager, went along with but few minor variances outside the whimsies of its storytellers.

One of the founding fathers of the town was a dark elf remembered only as Zuanth Slyan, that is to say, the Wise Star. They said he harbored a deep connection with the inhabitants of the nightly skies, who in their friendship gave him the gift of foreknowledge. As a result of this gift, they had avoided and sometimes even averted many great dangers that could have otherwise razed their homes, such as great floods or the rare storms of arcane magic that sometimes erred from the heart of the Fields.

Alas, even with his link to the stars and their constellations, he could not share their immutable existence. And so, on a night marked through the centuries in solemn remembrance, the Zuanth Slyan fell deathly ill. He was struck by a great fever, and his mind had been warped in the throes of delirium, until none could recognize him anymore. This torture, they would all say with pained expressions, had then gone unabated for seven agonizing nights.

Yet on that seventh night, his attendant had spoken of a peculiar change. His screams and curses had come to a sudden stop, and in their stead rose the sound of laughter. Not the debilitated kind, but the laughter of joy in relief, in the gift of a second chance. The old elf drew himself to a stand upon legs he had not felt for decades. There was light in his eyes, the attendant had told the villagers that night, light so radiant he could only believe that the stars had finally come to claim their old friend.

So transformed, he carried himself with the ease of a young starling to the doors, and stepped out into the nipping air. The ensuing commotion had roused the town awake, and they all came to watch the unfurling of this miracle. They followed the Wise Star, deep into the winding paths of low dells and valleys. He would speak to his brothers and sisters, to his wife and children as he had before his sickness, and they rejoiced. Yet, whenever asked of his destination, he would only smile and give the stars a knowing glance.

They came upon a plain so vast it seemed a reflection of the stellar canvas overhead, and the Zuanth Slyan came to a sudden stop. He turned to face the procession of his loved ones, throwing his arms into an open embrace as his laughter reached their ears like the trickle of crystal water.

And he vanished, spirited away in a breath of that starry night.

[Ataraxis]

Thus ended the first incidence of what came to be known as the Cortege. In the years that followed, this strange phenomenon reoccurred by many times, touching those whose bodies were faltering, whose years had grown too many, whose minds had become shells of their former selves. In body and mind, they returned to their prime for an hour of blessed elation, until they too were whisked away with eyes and smiles that shone like starlight.

With the passing centuries, it had become a rite of death, a mores that held much respect and relieved many from a grief that could have crushed them. To be called by the stars was the greatest honor one could be granted, and as such, those few who did not undergo the Cortege before their dying moments were often pitied.

Lillian, however, was not convinced.

The rumors of this strange happening had reached her ears but a week ago, while she worked in the laboratories she had outfitted on the seventh floor of Ettermire’s esteemed Qu’Ellarin Building. Enticed by the possible mystery behind this strange phenomenon, she had traveled with haste from Ettermire to research it more thoroughly, if only to understand what mechanics were used for this seemingly instant transference of organic matter. It was a thought she knew not to share with anyone, knowing far too well what such words could do to dispel any semblance of mystique.

Yet after hearing the tale recounted by a dozen of the villagers, she was now persuaded that there was something amiss. While the recuperation of their bodies and minds truly was a boon, the manner in which they claimed these dying men and women would vanish from the face of Althanas held something… sinister. The girl, of course, was wary not to express her sentiments with the locals, fearing that her dismissal of a ceremony they had come to consider sacred would be enough to raise the torches of a mob, as was the habit in such small towns.

Instead, she had set off for the location of this vast plain, so that she may see with her own eyes if there was any veracity to these tales. While she did not expect anyone to reach the apogee of death this very night, she had an inkling that this Barras had not died in that fire, and that he had undergone the Cortege, quite antithetically, by himself.

The soil here was rich and peaty, and it was easy to see in the broken earth that someone had walked these grounds recently. Given the townspeople’s description of the old man, he could not have weighed much, and the relative shape and shallowness of these footprints seemed to reflect that.

“So you’ve come here,” Lillian said out loud, though only addressing the man figuratively. “But why did you burn your house, mister Barras?”

[Ataraxis]

She dropped to one knee, leaning forward as her hand palpated the ground, fingers following the trail until the footprints suddenly stopped. Same shape, same depth: without a doubt, he had not jumped to the stars, nor had he grown wings to soar free in the night. It was all very clean, and she could detect no trickery to his tracks. As far as she was concerned, he truly had been spirited away.

“This doesn’t help much, though,” she admitted with a long, heavy sigh. Overwhelmed with a sense of failure, she felt a great urge to turn back and head for the town, where she could compensate for her wasted time with a good book.

Lillian was already a few dozen yards away when she realized how odd that feeling had been. She never saw herself as a particularly optimistic person, but to give up at the first sign of an inconvenience… to give up, after going through all this trouble to even get here? “That isn’t me,” she murmured with conviction. And then, she knew.

In more ways than one, something was amiss.

Rolling on the ball of her heels, she headed back towards the center of the plain, scissoring strides cutting through the night air. Before she even realized it, she had veered off course and was now rounding back to the starting point. All the while, a haze seemed to spread across her mind in an obfuscating veil, hiding strong suggestions under the guise of her own thoughts and emotions.

“A barrier of mental obfuscation,” she whispered, and hearing herself speak these words had the same waking effect as dropping a bucketful of frigid water over her head. The girl was lucky: were it not for her ability to follow multiple tracks of thought at once, she would have been fooled like all those that had come before her. “Alright, let’s see you deflect this.”

She changed her stance, readying herself for a sprint. Eyes open wide, concentrating on a single tree on the other side of the plains as landmark, she threw herself forward, arms and legs scything through the wind as fast as she could. The world became thicker than water, and soon it was thicker than a pool of tar. Her body strained against the invisible force, and her mind was now assaulted by a slew of messages that were long past subliminal.

Her body grew weaker with every second, and she could feel ferrous warmth dripping from her nose, but Lillian struggled onward, her whole mind focused on that single tree that told her she was still plowing through in a straight line.

Her mind grew heavy, her sight grew dim. Feeling her body topple backward, she cursed. ‘So close…’

In front of her, the empty air burst into mist like breaking clouds, and a hand surged from the murky haze.

Darkness fell upon her. The last thing she remembered was her body being dragged across the peaty soil... dragged, as if held by the very heart.

[Ataraxis]

This was not the dungeon her wild imagination had expected. While her moments of unconsciousness had brought her nightmares of a cold cell that smelled of incipient dankness, of rusty chains that jangled upon blood-stained walls, her waking blinks were greeted by the clean shine of obsidian stone. She writhed where she lay, feeling knots in her muscles tighten and burst, and the girl was quick to give up. Motionless upon a floor whose feeling she could only describe as warm ice, Lillian stared up into the ceiling, a dark mirror that reflected her supine form.

The girl looked about the room, realizing only now that the word did not quite apply to what she was seeing. “Where… where are the walls?” She attempted to draw herself to a stand once more, and this time her extensive curiosity had trumped the soreness of her arms and legs. When her vision finally cleared, she wondered if she had gone mad.

Stretching before her feet was a door, carven neither from wood or stone. It seemed… crystalline, in a way, and opaque, with a silver device in its center that might have been a knob. Alas, no amount of twisting or pushing or pulling would make it budge. With a sigh, she focused her attention elsewhere, hoping to find an alternate exit.

In front of her was a hole, and she made sure to double-check. It was, indeed, a hole within nothing. Empty air. In an attempt to inspect it more closely, she sidled around the strange thing, but no matter what angle, it was unchanging, and she felt frustration rise, being unable to ascertain if the hole were two or three-dimensional.

She brought her hand to it, and the hole became… a window, though not quite. Instead of a panorama of plains and valleys, she saw the sky right as it turned from tangerine to violet dusk. “If I can trust what I’m seeing, then I’ve been out cold for over five hours, and… this is a skylight.”

With this, at the very least, she was capable of inducing the possible location of a window. Craning her neck, she searched the ceiling, until her eyes fell upon the arch of a window frame within the black stone. There were the plains and valleys, she thought with relief, kissed by the glow of a falling night. That the landscape was upside-down was a mere technicality.

“Alright,” the girl began, clapping her hands. “Either presume that the world has rotated by a right angle along one of its horizontal axes, or that gravity now operates tangentially to the usual horizontal frame of reference. Simple enough.”

[Ataraxis]

Her eyes caught motion in the window above her, and they widened in shock as her neck snapped back to look up. People. People were gathering outside in the plains she had once thought bare and empty. They were mostly elderly men and women, with the occasional youth or strapping child, running about in bouts of heartwarming laughter. They spoke to one another animatedly, and Lillian thought they seemed so… out of place in a realm so strange.

What had made her most anxious in seeing this picture of peace and serenity, however, was the lake around which they were gathered. They sat around it like families, friends and lovers on a warm summer evening, as if they were wholly oblivious to what it was…

As if they did not realize the lake was filled with blood.

Twilight had passed, and night had now fallen. The gathered people stopped in their tracks and turned their heads upward, snapping to attention. When they returned their stares to the earth, they gave each other nodding glances, and shambled about the grass field in utter silence. When they all came to a stop, Lillian gasped, realizing what pattern had been drawn around the lake of blood. “A… a five-pointed star… in a six-pointed one.”

The stars above answered to the stars below in a flash of light, and the lake began to roil and ripple. The blood was lit from deep within, a crimson glow growing more intensely with every passing second. Lillian raised a hand to protect her eyes, but she squinted to see between her fingers, knowing she needed to witness what would happen next.

The points of each star moved as one, shrinking but never breaking their formation. They moved closer and closer to the pool of blood, their steps enlivened by the elation she could see on their faces. The points of the first star reached the edge of the lake, and as they smiled to one another, they lifted one leg forward to step into the crimson pool.

Dark red fountains rose as their bodies fell, and there was a seething upon the disturbed waters, wisps of swirling mist effused by whatever had just come to pass. The last star was now upon the edge as well, and unable to hear Lillian’s screams of horror, they bounded within the depths of blood to join their companions.

She fell to her knees, crumpled over with her hands pressed against her mouth, fighting against the rising revulsion in her throat. With pained and tearful eyes, she looked to the window of death once more, and saw objects bubbling to the surface of the lake. Large skulls, small femurs, vertebrae, ribs, phalanges of all sizes… every bone of every person she had seen laughing and smiling but moments ago was now simmering within that sickening vision, still swirling with the wisps of mist that had emerged from each suicide.

One rose higher than the others, and she realized with rising apprehension that they were not simple chemical releases of gas. It floated up, higher and higher, until she understood.

It was coming straight toward her.

[Ataraxis]

“Open, open, open!” Her hands tugged at the silver knob, straining with every bit of her strength to open it, even if it meant breaking it. No matter what she could muster, however, it remained so unmoving she began to doubt it even was a door to begin with. She cursed, letting the knob go as she dashed away, looking for some end to this space, for some boundary she could break through and escape.

Her sight was set upon the hole that now displayed the night sky, and she wondered. Realizing it was her only chance, she scurried in its direction, hands reaching for the edges of the hole, or at least what she desperately wished would be solid edges with which she could pull herself out of this prison.

Her fingers sank into the hole, and soon her arms had as well. She let loose a squeal of relief as she pulled herself into what was now a tunnel toward the skies, until she felt the tug at her ankles. She wanted to cry, and the tears trickled before she could even sob in grief of her own failed escape, for it was now pulling her back into this space of madness by an unrelenting strength. “Let… let me go…”

She fell to the obsidian floor, but she felt too spent to even look up. “What do you want with me?” she lamented, repressing her sobs even as the tears kept flowing. “You want to sacrifice me too? Is that it?” The sorrow and fear for her own life had become anger at her helplessness, anger at this force that could not be contented with, this force that would not negotiate.

“I’d rather… I’d rather be killed here and now, than let you warp my mind like you did theirs. I’m not going to let myself be dissolved with a smile on my face.”

“Such is not your purpose,” she heard it speak, and as if struck by a rockslide, her mind was crushed under the eldritch echoes of its voice. As if realizing the torture it was inflicting upon her, the being of mists and numinous lights promptly quelled its ethereal resonance, as well as unknowingly loosening its vise grip around her ankle, if only for an instant.

[Ataraxis]

That was all the time she needed.

Ignoring the strange physics at work, she kicked her snared foot out of its gaseous grip, the violent motion scraping off wisps of ashen mist from its hand. Her fingers swiftly found their way around the hilt of her glass dirk, and in one sweeping motion did she rend the space between them: a sorcerous wind was summoned from the core of the enchanted blade, surging forth as strong as a gale and as keen as a razor. She saw the speeding vacuum sever the bonds of its gaseous mass right before its whole form was blown apart, floating about the room without walls in an amorphous cloud of scintillating particles.

Lillian swung her head back toward the round piece of night sky waiting at the other end of this tower turned tunnel. When her whole body disappeared into this floating exit, she realized how much bigger it was on the inside. For one, the tunnel was wider than she was tall, meaning there would be no need to crouch or crawl, now: she could run all the way forward – or was it up? “Doesn’t matter, as long as it leads out!”

Never had she felt so fleet on her feet before, and it was not long before she reached the end of the tunnel. Stepping upon the edge, she leapt out without thinking, so exhilarated was she by the notion of freedom at last. It looked as if Lillian had jumped through the strangest of portals and, now freed from this strange gravity, she was free to fly into this alien realm, an endless canvas of ink and stellar lights.

In the midst of the starry skies, her body hung in limbo, weightless… and in that foolish moment, she felt as if she could reach the stars.

Alas, the girl felt a familiar force pull at her now, and in a bout of panic she realized that the world outside answered to the standard laws of physics. Looking back over her shoulder, she saw the top of the tower growing increasingly larger as gravity dragged her back down. Lillian could only spin half a turn before the cold stone struck her square in the chest, while her lower abdomen had painfully caught the edge of the pit through which she had just escaped. Unable to breathe and undergoing a world of pain, she could only writhe where she lay and grit her teeth.

A great wave of cold blew past her legs, which rather than dangling into the hole were stretched out almost parallel to her splayed upper body – she was caught halfway between two worlds with different laws, after all. With pained effort, she crawled a few feet forward until her whole body was outside the pit, grunting as she turned to face the entity of haze she knew had been floating over her in silent observation.

“I need to know,” she barely managed to say without coughing and wheezing. “How many did you… did you sacrifice, for this? And what is this? What do you hope to accomplish with this… this twisted ritual of yours?” Overwhelmed by her anger, by her defeat, she cursed and screamed, the tears she cried burning her cheeks. “What in the hells are you?”

[Ataraxis]

Lillian squinted her eyes, only now noticing an odd tilt to what should have been its head. “You speak of sacrifice,” it began, this time without the maddening echoes that had nearly shattered her mind before. “We do not understand.”

“Hah, that’s rich. So what, we’re gnats, then?” She scoffed, rolling her eyes derisively. “Oh, there’s no sacrifice in taking their blood, they’re just human… just trash,” she went on sarcastically, head bowed to hide her scorn and despair. “After all, there’s nothing wrong in recycling: it’s just pure pragmatism.”

“Stars beyond,” the being wailed its strange oath, its otherworldly voice laced with a harsh, denouncing tone. “Your views, though logical, are highly unethical. We are offended.”

“What?” the girl snarled, unable to restrain much of her temper now. To hear her sardonic comments openly criticized as unscrupulous by murderous monsters… that was the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back. “I’m not going to let you judge my sarcasm as truth, when you’re the ones making human sacrifices to gods know what unholy beast you worship!”

“We did no such thing,” the entity answered, continuously sedate. “And they are not beasts.”

“Don’t lie to me! I saw it.” The ordeal played in her mind once more, as clear as when she had first witnessed it. The girl brought a quavering hand to her mouth, eyes glazing over as she saw eleven innocent people walk to their deaths, over and over again, with smiles on their faces. “You took over their bodies, you made them… you made them walk into that lake of acid, or blood, or both... You… you made them die so horribly.”

“Did we?” it asked, the first hint of emotion creeping into its query, and Lillian was flummoxed. Had it been… confusion?

“Yes, you did,” she whispered, barely able to contain her aggravation. It would not even recognize its crime. “You murdered them. You… liquefied them, you sick bastard!”

“No.” The solitary word was heavy with a second emotion she could recognize: impatience. Lillian fell quiet, too riled up to comprehend what it had meant by that. “Did we die so horribly?”

Lillian’s eyes were wide in disbelief. She thought she understood, now… but it was impossible. Quietly, carefully, she pulled herself up, noticing that the being of light did not react to her recovery. With the utmost deliberation, she took a step toward it.

“What… is your name?”

Without flinching, the ghastly creature answered. “Fearghall.” Lillian’s hopes dropped, as did her chin. She must have been mistaken.

“Vergilius,” she heard it continue, and her head snapped back to watch the creature, the beating in her chest resuming with a vengeance.

“Lotan,” it went on. Only now did she realize that each name was being spoken in a different voice. “Simurgh. Rahab. Adad. Shapash.”

Young man, small boy, hoarse and elderly, low and suave. Then, her heart stopped upon hearing the wan and raspy voice of an old man – upon hearing his voice, and his name.

“Barras.”

[Ataraxis]

“I thought… back then, at the lake. I thought you were one of those who…” Lillian could not untangle her words, so bewildered was she to learn that the man she had tracked to this tower had become something else entirely. Something more.

“How… how do I know this isn’t just a trick? You’re light and mist: the basic elements that make up most illusions. Your voice alone is maddening… how difficult would it be to change it?”

“We have no strong desire to persuade you of anything,” they spoke as one, and she could make out eight distinct tones now, synchronized and harmonious. Eight lives, eight souls, coexisted within that transcendent body of radiance. “But we will try and help.”

The living lights that sheathed its body were doused at once; Lillian saw a brown blur fall to the stone floor of the tower’s crest with a light tap. A crooked old man now stood before her, clad in a taupe coat, the fabric still smoldering at the edges as it absorbed the brilliant light that had once shrouded him. The codger was hunched over slightly, his weary face wrinkled like a rag, but there was an unmistakable glow in his eyes, joyful and vivacious. “How is this?”

“Are you… are you Barras?”

“In the flesh, for now!” He clenched and unclenched his fists, as if the motion had become wholly unfamiliar to him. “In all honesty, this body is still a form of light, and not actually flesh… I have discarded mine recently, as you have witnessed.”

“The others… they are inside you?”

“In a way. There is no dominance nor subservience in our shared existence. Rather than vanishing in the meld, we each remain whole, yet more.” He held a quavering hand to his heart, before going on. “We have agreed that my identity would be more suitable for these circumstances, being the youngest.”

Lillian had wanted to comment on that, but the grin on Barras’ face told him he was entirely aware of the irony, and had found it quite in good taste. “I need to understand, Barras. What is transpiring here? What are you? What is this? All of this?”

“I will show you, but you must trust me. As I have said before, we have need of your help. Knowing this… will you still take my hand?” His honesty in reminding her of their motive was as disarming as it was unsettling. It could have been a ruse… but she knew whatever they were, they had the power to easily force her hand – an option they had yet to take.

With a sigh, she extended her hand.

[Ataraxis]

When she felt the warmth of his hand against hers, she felt her body uplifted for a moment, weightless. It had lasted the time of a blink, and when her eyes unsealed, she found herself standing on soft grass fields, a few dozen feet away from the great lake of blood. She recoiled at its sight, slapping his hand away, but Barras only stood with understanding in his eyes.

“This, all of this, is a door,” he began, and the simplicity of the statement had an inverse effect on the girl. “A door that opens to a path leading home, and the blood… it is the key. But we did not harvest it, we did not steal it.”

Lillian could see what Barras had implied. “Is this the true nature of the Cortege?”

The old man nodded, soft eyes riveted on the vastness of still blood before him, as he would something very dear to his heart. “For centuries, they would come to the moribund. They would tell us of their predicament, and ask us for help. They needed blood, but not for its dark meaning and gruesome power.

“Every living thing holds an infinitesimal connection to their world, a sacred bond that never dies. We are all born with it, and some carry a stronger link than others, such as elves and dwarves, and humans as well. As thanks for those generous enough to provide them with their lifeblood in death, they suggested a bond of their own… the bond that now links me to six generations before me.”

“Six? Then Fearghall… is he one of… them?”

“Yes, he is one of the Mizrata, as we all are now.”

“That’s a Fallien expression,” Lillian noted with surprise. “It means… Watchers of the Stars.”

“Yes. When we fell upon this world, we were lost in an endless desert… your Fallien. We would always look up to the heavens, searching for our home, and so our name came to be. We wandered for a very long time, looking for a place where the link was strongest... and found it here, in the Fields of Khu’Fein.”

“Your home is with the stars? You… you come from space?”

Barras shook his head, finding the concept amusingly ridiculous. “We live in the Stars Beyond the Stars – another world altogether, far beyond this space of yours… yet strangely closer. It is a universe of endless energy, of limitless life. We… miss it.”

Silence fell in the dead of night. Lillian’s eyes moved from the lake of life to the stars above, wondering if she could catch of glimpse of that world of theirs. She could understand them, all too well… she was lost just as they were, and ever sought a way back. Not to Fallien, the country that had exiled her… she sought a way back to the home that was once her mother’s.

Without even realizing it, she had spoken. “What do you need me to do?”

[Ataraxis]

Lillian was kneeling at the edge of the bloody lake, watching its silent ebbs with a mixture of fear and wonder. The bones that had emerged were long gone now, dissolved completely by the centennial blood. Barras stood next to her, a safe distance away so that she would not fear being pushed into the deathly stuff. Hovering around the lake were ten other creatures of mist and light; the girl had never realized how beautiful they were.

“You need not draw everything at once,” Barras spoke with genuine concern, brows creased in worry. “We have waited centuries. Days or weeks are as dust to us.”

“It’s alright,” Lillian reassured him, an irony that made her smile. If anything, she was the one in a position that required reassurance. “It’s in my power to do so.”

Barras had told her of how stronger the link was in her. No other living being had ever gone so far into the shroud that hid their tower without turning back – not without their presence and help. Such a feat could only be achieved by those most attuned with the essence of their home. However, had she tried to encroach farther into their pocket world, she would have eventually died. Barras had told her he was the one to have saved her then, before she lost consciousness. He told her that it was him who brought her to that strange chamber, where she could recover from the ordeal.

And Barras had also told her that with only a pint of her blood, she could complete the key that would open the gateway back to their world.

Without hesitation, Lillian drew the edge of her dirk along her forearm, cutting deep. She winced and suppressed a painful scream, and Barras gasped at the gush of vivid blood that poured out so profusely. It pooled into the lake, and within moments the body of crimson water began to pulse as it did before. With every crimson drop, the surface shone manifold brighter to become an uncanny reflection of the starscape above.

“Stop, that’s enough!” Barras cried out: she had offered much more than was needed. In a girl as frail and meek as she appeared to be, continued blood loss would inevitably lead to death. Though she was sheathed in cold sweat, Lillian raised her injured arm up, the bloodied dirk thumping on the grassy soil at her left. Within moments, dark threads moved from the bleeding gash, crisscrossing over the wound to knit the flesh. The bleeding was quickly stemmed, and the slashed flesh had already begun to mend.

Barras’ amazement was cut short by the ray of starlight that came not from above, but from below. The pool was now a colossal lens, not only reflecting the radiance in the night skies, but further empowering it with the lifeblood of generations past. A scar tore across the heavens, opening into the pure glow of an otherworldly rift. Lillian covered her eyes, before realizing the light was not blinding. Instead, it soothed the heart and vivified the soul. It held that deep and comforting sense of home… and drew tears from her eyes.

The old man did the same, blubbering at the radiant sight. The other beings of mist congregated around him, and Lillian could feel their tears of joy resonate deep within her as they spoke those four, heart-breaking words.

“We are… coming home.”

[Ataraxis]

As their cries of joy carried on the wind in tearful song, Lillian watched one of the ten shimmering entities floated down to the ground. The light peeled from its radiant silhouette and drained into its body the same way it had when Barras had taken human form. Standing before the old man was now the loveliest woman Lillian had ever seen: she had golden hair like flaxen fields, and her complexion was reminiscent of the sweetest summer peaches. Awestruck, Lillian watched the apparition with mouth agape. Watched the daylight in her eyes, and that smile brighter than sunshine.

“Falann,” the old man whispered, tears rushing from his eyes as his broken heart was mended. “My beloved, it really is you.”

Her warm laughter rang the bells in his heart, and he hobbled as fast as he could in his derelict body to hold her in his arms. Lillian looked left and right, trying in vain to give them their privacy.

“I did go through the Cortege, but just like you, no one knew… but we’ve found each other again, Barras,” she murmured in tears, squeezing his frail form in deep embrace, as if never to let go again. “And now we’ve found a new home.”

When Lillian risked a glance up, the two were looking at her with grateful eyes. They thanked her, over and over, and the girl felt overwhelmed. Even the other Mizrata were now showing their gratitude, taking elven and human shape one by one to shake her hand, and even hug her. Unable to formulate an answer to this storm of appreciation, Lillian could only think to ask a question that had been bothering her instead. “What of Drada Kestal?” she began tentatively. “What of the Cortege?”

“The path will not close,” Barras said with a calming smile. “We will keep it open, and guide to it those who wish to be among the stars. We are eternally indebted to them… and to you.”

“What? Oh! No, I’m okay,” she stuttered nervously, somehow unnerved by the notion of a certainty after death. “I would love to visit sometime… but my final home is elsewhere.”

“We understand,” Barras said with a nod. “But once we leave… look into the lake. There will be something we think you will like, from all of us.”

Though bewildered, Lillian had still managed to utter a timid ‘thank you’. “And if you will allow us one last selfish request… can you speak to our daughter, and our son-in-law? We would like them to know that we did undergo the Cortege… that we both had a peaceful death.”

Lillian nodded frantically, wiping the tears from her eyes. Then, she watched in awe as one by one, their mortal forms burst into light and drifted up toward the pulsing rift that lead to their world. Lillian remembered one last thing she needed to know, and quickly called out Barras’ name before he vanished through the portal.

“Barras! Could you… could you tell me why you burned down your house?”

She thought she heard him chuckle through the ether, his final words to her echoing behind as he disappeared to the other side of the looking glass.

“To bid my old friend farewell.”

[Ataraxis]

Thanks for reading, and I hope it was enjoyable.

This is the first House of Sora quest in a while, so instead of requesting the usual, obligatory spools of spidersilk (as stated in her profile), I'd like to lump it all for one thing.

It will be specifically used to construct something with the spoils gained from two other quests: Ring of the Sun, and Bottled Moon. Until then, it cannot be used for any other purpose. It belongs solely to the House of Sora, and will not be counted in Lillian's equipment.

This is basically an IC MacGuffin that explains how the House of Sora can power ancient artifacts they recovered from ruins or prototypes they're currently working on.

Spoils

The Stellar Diamond – After the departure of the Mizrata, Lillian noticed a glimmer floating upon the lake. She fished it out with a strand of her webs, and realized it was a massive, spherical diamond that barely fit in her hands. It is surprisingly light, however, and a mixture of red and white globules seem to float inside it. It is made of condensed matter from the centennial blood, as well as the solidified form of the tears the Mizrata shed as the pathway to their home was opened. The diamond is thus the strongest link to their universe of pure energy on Althanas. (Cannot be sold)


Special Property: Every once in a while, the diamond will 'sweat' a drop of semi-solid, semi-liquid matter, similar to the globules that float inside the diamond. These 'tears' can be used as safe, renewable and high-output power sources for future HoS machinery (which will be acquired through quests as well).

[Taskmienster]

Empathy for the Stars:



Continuity 7.5

:: At times I was confused as to what was going on with Lillian, at other times that confusion was wiped away with an entire post or a short paragraph to explain. However, I still felt that it was missing something important, such as why she was interested in the phenomenon and what had originally brought her to the village. Was it rumors that spread too far across Alerar? If so, wouldn’t the city be full of citizens wanting to eventually take part in the ritual, making it not a small town but a large quasi-religious cult like following nearly worshiping what they did not understand as anything more than a myth?

Setting 7

Pacing 6

:: Stopping to make entire posts about history is a good way to explain the background, but made me have to go back and figure out where the post before it ended and where the post after it continued from. The transition wasn’t poorly done; otherwise I’d have said more, it was just off-putting from the reader’s perspective.

Dialogue 7

Action 8

Persona 7

Technique 8

Mechanics 8

Clarity 7


Wild Card 7


Score: 72.5


Rewards:
Ataraxis :: 4048 exp | 200 gold
((Request for spoil approved, as long as it’s used for HoS purposes. Awarding an additional 300 gold to both primary and secondary treasury for the Clan as well (simply because you are using the PG).))

[Taskmienster]

Exp and Gp added.