| Logs |
2010 October 27
| Neverneverwhere |
| Realms |
Retired
| Reality Fault |
General Info
 |
| Realms: Taps Logs |
Shedding Skins
Suraksha eyes the Froid's smile thoughtfully -- are those snake teeth? Pythons are non-venomous; does the Froid look as if he has fangs for delivering venom? Froid Jacques' teeth are short, sharp, and backward curved. "We cannot break this, you know. It must be people associated with it. We can only give you advice."
Suraksha tilts her head curiously at the houngan... then looks up at the man whose arm she's leaning slightly on. Her voice is soft, "Do you mean his majesty and... and who?"
Chanticleer frowns thoughtfully. "The people who made this need to be convinced to break it?" Suraksha ahs, as she looks at Chanticleer. She clearly misunderstood.
Mother Therese smiles and says, "No, air-child. I mean people who are connected to the target of the curse." Alfonse nods, "Roy and people connected to him. The less human, the better." Chanticleer glances to Suraksha with a little amusement. He was the one who misunderstood!
Suraksha frowns as she considers that, then nods slowly. She glances back at Roy, her voice concerned, "Alg is injured. Do you have other non-human guards who might assist?" She doesn't think it wise to offer herself... especially since she's spent possibly the least time with him than anyone here. Well, that -- she grins wryly -- and her godsmother would have very irritable words with her if she revealed her non-human nature publicly!
Roy says slowly, "I... ain't so good at the spiritual stuff." He does seem truly reluctant about the idea, not wanting to meet the eyes of the clergy. Suraksha has to cover a small smile at that.
Chanticleer nods to Suraksha. "I can assist."
Suraksha smiles in relief at Chanticleer, "Thank you; that is generous." She looks interestedly at the clergy, "So how many are needed? How soon?"
The Froid says, "You don't have to be good. You just have to be you. The ones that should go with you should have a connection to you -- oath or relationship. The closer you are physically, the better." The old shaman nods, agreeing with the houngan, "Blood exchanged is good. Coupling is good. If nothing else, just not human."
Roy nods and takes a very deep breath, "There are a couple other guards might agree to it."
Alfonse says, "Just three. One for each of the ones that cast the spell -- that is, assuming it was a trio. Someone should send for that blood."
Suraksha looks curiously at Chanticleer, "There were two that you killed upstairs? What were they like?"
Chanticleer considers, "Human, as near as I can tell. Or am I misunderstanding the question, Lady?"
Mother Therese says, "If we are correct, they were human. Probably not even actual Taps. They are some of those angry at Roy for treating the non-humans so well -- the freaks Droog spoke of."
Chanticleer frowns. "Wait... one may not have been. He was a short, squat man, with bronze-red skin." He looks around. "I realize that I've not been exposed to the vast panoply of humanity," he says wryly, "so it only just now struck me that I've never seen any red-skinned humans."
Suraksha blinks at Chanticleer, then giggles softly, tilting her head towards Ohkwari, "You mean red-skinned like him, or like Mother Therese here?"
Chanticleer hmms, then nods, "More like Mother Therese, but somewhat more... intense."
Sulochana nods thoughtfully, considering Mother Therese's words and glancing around warily. She's checking Gramma Marcie is still in the ambulance -- she really doesn't want the older woman dragging her off by an ear or something, to keep her from doing something interesting like this! She grins roguishly at Ohkwari, who rolls his eyes and shakes his head amusedly at her... but, Sulochana thinks, because he's a dear sweet man he doesn't go alert her godsmother to the stupidly dangerous thing she's considering! She's grinning mischievously as she turns back to the three clergy, mentally praying they won't 'out' her, "If someone was human but had coupled with him... would that still work?"
Frere Alfonse says, "It's a good connection. Not as good as actual love, but sometimes you can substitute passion for love."
Suraksha nods and smiles to the Catholic priest, "All right." She glances curiously at Chanti -- then suddenly blinks, "Wait. If... if one of them was American Indian, and Droog is a black bokor... could... could they have been a, um, a black bokor, a dark shaman, and a satanic priest?" She looks worriedly around at the others, sort of hoping she's wrong.
Froid Jacques says, "I would rather think they were inexperienced." Alfonse adds dryly, "At least one of them had to be skilled." By now, one of the guards has been dispatched back to the palace for the sample of blood.
Suraksha frowns as she considers, idly rubbing her fingers along her lower lip. Finally she says thoughtfully, "So... will it make any difference if none of us believe in any of those three religions?"
Roy cuts his eyes down at Suraksha and says, "Whoa. Hold on one second here. Yer offerin' to try an' help with this? Lady, you don't even like me that well."
Suraksha smiles sweetly, although her eyes are sparkling with mischief, as she murmurs, "How do you know, your majesty?"
Roy chuckles and says, "Well, guess I don't, exactly." To Chanticleer he says, "I appreciate it." His face is serious, lacking some of his customary public arrogance. The king still doesn't seem at ease with the whole situation. Chanticleer nods soberly to RoyRoi- er, King Roy.
Suraksha grins wickedly at the king, "Oh, I intend to ask you for something once we're done! But it is not a demand. I'm doing this because I think it's the right thing to do."
Froid Jacques smiles that disconcertingly toothy smile and answers the girl, "It might in fact be a boon."
Suraksha nods firmly to the Froid, "Excellent." She looks at the other two men, "Well then! Shall we? The sooner, the better, in my book." [Like before my godsmother finds out what I'm doing!] she thinks amusedly.
The houngan, the shaman, and the priest withdraw a little distance to speak together, leaving the king alone with the two who have volunteered to help break this curse. It doesn't take long for the small vial of blood to arrive, along with a note -- Pierce doesn't seem too bothered about the fact that the would-be assassin did not survive his wounds. Suraksha frowns, disappointed at the news that Droog died -- she'd hoped to hear his questioning. She speaks to Ohkwari for a moment right after she's agreed to help, and when she returns she has a knife and a small belt pouch looped about her slender waist. It's a little pen knife in Ohkwari's huge hands; on Sura it's a sizeable dagger.
After their confabulation the clergy gather Roy, Chanticleer, and Suraksha and put them inside the small Medicine Wheel Chanti helped Therese build. Sulochana braids her hair up tightly, rolls up her sleeves in a business-like fashion, and steps to join Roy and Chanti. Chanticleer tries not to fidget; he still isn't quite comfortable with human magics, and has never been able to shake the superstitions the fey have about such. Regardless, he remains still and steady and trusting in the clergy. Suraksha grins cheerfully at her companions, pulling out a light necklace from beneath her loose shirt so it hangs openly. The pendant is a swirling serpentine shape which glitters like gold. She says, "Ready!" She steps over and loops a hand onto Roy's arm, glancing up at him to make sure he's not disconcerted by her apparent forwardness. "So... atheist?"
Roy arches his brows and says, "Hell, naw. Just not real... in touch with God. I know he exists. He knows I exist. No reason to presume on the relationship." He pats her hand and looks a little distracted, staring into the water at the edge of the docks until they're arranged inside the medicine circle. They're each directed to sit as comfortably as they can, and the clergy arrange the threesome so they can lean back against one another, serving as mutual support.
Suraksha grins mischievously, murmuring softly to the king as they're settling, "How do you know it's a he?"
The king admits frankly, "I don't. Just the words I use."
The priest has started around the circle, crouching first in front of Chanticleer. Alfonse says, "I know we can't use steel, but Therese assures me this is glass." He holds up the little knife Chanticleer used earlier. The priest murmurs something in Latin and touches the center of Chanticleer's head. Chanticleer tenses a little; historically and traditionally the Church Catholique didn't have a good relationship with the sidhe. Of course, that was before Armageddon -- and Frere Alfonse has never been anything except friendly. The sidhe blinks as the priest says the Latin prayer; he feels a lightening sensation, like his body is trying to relax but his mind is still awake. It's not terribly strong, but he does try to go with it, to let his body relax.
The priest moves on to Suraksha, crouching in front of her as well, "What we need the three of you to do is to relax. Quiet your minds. Quiet your souls." Suraksha watches the Catholic priest with wary interest; his church has been traditionally violently opposed to her deity, but she's going to guess he has no personal antipathy to her. He touches the woman in the center of the forehead as well. As he's doing so, Therese moves in front of Chanti with a burning lump of charcoal. Atop it are moist tobacco leaves, smoldering as she brushes the smoke toward him, "Something is hidden from us... and you three must go see it."
Chanticleer closes his eyes, trying to relax as the clergy instructs him. A part of him finds it fascinating that three very different religions are not merely working together in this, but seem to be so well coordinated. Suraksha sits cross-legged, her hands palm up on her knees in meditative pose. She gets no sense of hostility from the priest, and so she lets herself start sinking almost reflexively into no-mind as the glass dagger lightly touches her forehead. Sna'thaid has taught her quite a bit about meditation; it's easy for the small woman. 'Chana has borrowed a dagger and the belt pouch from Ohkwari because he's a non-human entity himself. She's trying to prepare herselves (spiritual as well as physical) for any eventuality in this curse-breaking.
There are drums starting to beat -- two beats: hup-thup -- played quietly by Pierce, who seems slightly uncomfortable with his role but is going along out of loyalty to Roy. The priest moves on to Roy, speaking with him softly, "Nothing is going to get out of the warehouse. If you get in there and don't know what to do, think of a cock crowing. Morning. Time to awaken." Therese is chanting, a low, fluid rise and fall that mixes with the drums; a drowsy sort of sound. She moves around the circle to Suraksha, using her little fan to waft the smoke over the small Indian woman. Suraksha inhales with languid pleasure. She likes the scent of sage smudge.
As Therese moves on, Froid Jacques appears in Chanti's field of vision. His tongue flickers and is definitely not human. "Blood of the bokor." He holds up a small bowl with the sample of Droog's blood. With his other hand he takes Chanti's hand, "Blood of the guard." He draws his lips back delicately from his needle-pointed teeth and raises Chanti's hand, using one ivory tooth to prick the sidhe's fingertip. Afterward he lets a drop or two of the fae's blood plink into the bowl. Chanticleer doesn't have quite the superstitious baggage most humans and some sidhe have; at least he sometimes tells himself that. Nevertheless it takes more than a little bit of will to keep from freaking the hell out while watching Froid Jacques. [Nobody ever said Voudoun was a particularly clean, shiny, and fluffy faith,] he tells himself soothingly. [Besides... he knows what he's doing.]
Alfonse's voice is gentle and deep, soothing as he urges them to relax and step across. Froid Jacques moves on and that brings Alfonse full-round, still speaking in his quiet, priestly voice. The words are mixing: Latin and English, obvious prayers and blessings mixing with an invitation to let the prayers guide them. Chanticleer feels a very real and strong separation now. He is aware of his self as something currently overlapping his body. He also gets the very clear certainty that he could stand up and leave the flesh behind.
Froid Jacques crouches before Suraksha, voice very low and quiet, hissing softly and reverently. His voice is just for her as he says something and brings her hand toward his mouth. Suraksha is touched by the houngan's consideration. She smiles relaxedly at him, letting her hand gently cup his cheek for a moment. Without really consciously thinking about it, she murmurs softly in her native tongue, "[Her hood shelters all her children, honored monk.]"
Froid Jacques' tongue flickers out and there's a slow, appreciative hiss. The dual tips of his tongue brush Sulochana's Third Eye and she hears him breathe, "May she always find a warm stone on a cold day, child." He moves on; the motion of the clergy and the sounds of their voices becomes harder to keep track of. They seem to fade out, back and down, but the idea of listening for the cock crow if the threesome get into trouble weaves in with the speaking; the bodies of the three people sitting in the medicine wheel seem to feel much less secondary. Something odd has started to happen to the sky. The color seems a bit off, a little too dark. Suraksha can feel herself wanting to be distracted by the flicker of the python on Froid Jacques' shoulder, the sensation keeping her anchored to her body.
Suraksha frowns thoughtfully, then decides to visualize a serpent for herself, instead of looking at the python. She builds the image in her head: a slender and graceful lady with ebony hair, slitted golden eyes, weaving in a slowly swaying dance... with the tail of a brilliantly glittering serpent from the waist down. Snakes swirl through her hair, a living corona of patterned beauty. She flickers her long, dark, bifurcate tongue, and Sulochana imagines herself stepping from her body to that image. The visualization seems to work, at least somewhat. Suraksha feels herself slip free of her body. She has done such visualizations of leaving her body behind with Sna'thaid, but this is a more tangible separation. Suraksha nods once, pleased with herself, and looks around -- downwards to see what form she's in just now, and at the other two, to see if they need a hand with standing up out of their bodies.
Chanticleer takes in slow, deep breaths, though he doesn't notice his breathing. It's such a oddly curious and wonderful sensation. He could stand up and leave his body where it's sitting. Wait, would he even be standing up? No matter. He knows it's protected. It's a little strange to think of doing so, since he's always been acutely aware he's been in his body... so to speak. He stops thinking about it.
It's not only the sky that looks different -- everything looks different. There are interlacings of light and dark racing over the surfaces of things and of people. The traceries are less something visible and almost something audible or a scent. The colors sound purple and look like a musical trill. Perhaps it is the absence of the bodily constraints causing the senses to blur and connect.
Sulochana's eyes widen a bit with appreciation as she looks at the others -- she can see/feel the physical bodies of the two men! The king looks... translucent; light is going right through him. She's guessing he's having trouble getting here, because he's almost monochrome -- a sort of dull blueish-gray. Chanticleer, on the other hand, looks magnificent! The slender, ethereal-looking sidhe has enormous black wings with a sheen of green and purple. Through his hair bursts a proud crest of brilliant scarlet feathers, although the rest of his body is a little difficult to define visually. She tilts her head, flickering a considering serpentine tongue: graceful, slender, but the color is a bit hard for her to taste/hear/smell, shifting from sunlight to crystal to dreaming. Nice flavor, though. Oh, good -- they've got their bright line of connecting light/color/sound stretching from each of them to their bodies. That's reassuring.
Chanticleer blinks a little as he 'stands' there, looking at Roy and Suraksha. Roy is blue-gray-slippery-cool -- a melange of sensations that impinge upon him -- and a little hard to look at because he never sounds or seems to be the same from moment to moment. If anything, it kind of makes Chanti feel sorry for Roy. Sulochana, on the other hand, is a blazing column of light that shimmers and moves like the flicker of Froid Jacques' tongue on fire -- a brilliant blend of bright-curious-laughter. Chanti doesn't think he'll ever get the hang of seeing or sensing someone in so complex a manner.
Suraksha slips over to in front of the king, taking a moment to look reassuring before she crouches and holds out a hand to him. Her voice is dulcet liquid cinnamon, "It's all right, Roy. Come. You can do it." Roy's shadow-whisper body stands up and leaves behind the physical one. He doesn't reach out like he's taking her hand, but just lets himself use her voice to pull up and out and away. Around them, the circle laid out by the clergy is a wall of stay-in-brick-silence-stop. The warehouse has the solid feel they instinctively know means it has been there a while. The inside is a slippery, hazy half-dream of changing contents. All of them can feel, however, the altar in the building. It feels like it's visible right through the walls.
Suraksha makes a mental note: her voice is like a helping hand -- excellent! She'll remember that. She looks around, smiling at Chanti, then steps to the edge of the medicine wheel circle, studying the warehouse and the altar thoughtfully. How to disassemble it? Idly she wishes she could see herself. Unfortunately it's somewhat like trying to see her own eyes without a mirror... over her entire body. She sighs a bit wistfully, then smiles again. Focus: how to disassemble the altar. She murmurs to the others, "Ready?"
Roy says, "As ready as I can be." He starts to move forward and then pauses, seeming unsettled somehow. The emotion wasn't so much visible as just a sense of his entire being.
Chanticleer nods, then says out loud when he realizes they probably can't see him nod, "Ready."
Suraksha grins as Roy has a moment of trouble with movement here, then tsks at herself -- she had trouble lots of times at this as well, training under Sna'thaid! She'll just have to do her best to help the others too, if they seem to need it. She takes a slow, melodious breath... then slides over the edge of the medicine wheel circle, heading for the barrier around the warehouse. She's not sure precisely where it is, but if it's truly meant to keep her out, she suspects she'll find it. She keeps a careful hand forward for it or any other barriers.
The doorway of the warehouse is black and unpleasant. It's difficult to see how they could have missed the clear screaming of the leylines around it as they were bent out of shape and channeled. The whisper-slithers of light/energy are being twisted and forced toward the altar -- but instead of making it brighter as they are channeled, the place of the sacrifice is a place of brilliant darkness... a void waiting for something. Chanticleer frowns, his hand going to his sword. "Like they were going to fill it with something... or something was going to fill it," he says of the void. He can feel there's something where his sword would normally be. It has the feel in his mind of a weapon, but not a sword.
Suraksha pauses at the first bent leyline, studying it thoughtfully. It clearly wishes to be unbent... can she do so? She reaches down with her senses, trying to encourage it to straighten. Sulochana's concentrating causes the small flicker of energy to twang, but doesn't make it move back into place. Roy's thought is clear to them all: Lisbet was meant to fill the void. The spell the altar was meant to have wrought is incomplete. Suraksha hmms thoughtfully. Clearly whatever is twisting the leylines is fairly strong. So... she looks at the others and murmurs, "Let's see if we can pick apart the darkness, yes? If we can weaken it enough, we might be able to untwist the leylines here."
Chanticleer isn't quite sure what he has his hand on, but he holds it in case he needs it as a weapon. Then he thinks that over again, and cautiously checks to make sure it is indeed a weapon. He grimaces. "So now we need to figure out how to break this spell and set the leylines aright." Suraksha flows slowly into the warehouse, glancing around and deliberately letting herself be a brilliant beacon so the others can stay close, humming in growing fractal tones of shimmering light.
Roy still seems to move very much more like a human than the other two, holding more tightly to the constraints of his physical form. As they approach the altar through the phantoms of Lafayette's old shipments and cargo, the leylines -- the thread-sized ones and the wrist-sized ones and all the ones in between -- are being slowly bent into a shimmer-thought of a sphere around the void at the altar. The shadow-forms of people are visible in the sphere, woven through and around the reality of the leylines like a shell of papier-maché over wire. Suraksha hisses in soft dismay as she realizes these spirits are being held here unnaturally! She slips over, standing carefully outside the sphere as she tries to communicate with the sacrificed people, "Can you hear me? We need to get you out of here, but I think we'll need your help to do so."
Chanticleer's mouth gapes as he sees the figures within the sphere. A surge of anger and indignation rushes through him. That's... that's unconscionable! It's monstrous! Now he wishes Droog remained alive -- death is too good for someone who would do this! He clenches his hand into a fist, trying to focus. Focus... right now they have to free these souls. The ragged trailing lines of the anchors that would have held them to their bodies -- as the sidhe, the woman, and the king are held -- have been woven through the leylines and are somehow attached. It feels and tastes somewhere between welding and suturing, although there are weak spots where they attach to the void at the center.
Suraksha frowns worriedly as none of the entities seem capable of communicating. She murmurs to the other two, "I'm going to step in. Be wary of hostile guardians, please? I cannot untangle and fight at the same time."
Chanticleer nods resolutely, drawing his sword though being careful not to let it intersect the leylines or the... soul-lines, for want of a better term. As Chanti draws his weapon, it makes a sweetly sighing sound. It feels like fire-light-cutting. Chanticleer blinks a little and looks quizzically at the sword. "You never made that sound before," he murmurs, then shakes his head. Now isn't the time to talk to heirlooms, especially those which can give away one's entire history at a dramatically inopportune time.
Roy says, "Maybe..." He points at the weak spots, "Maybe we should try and detach them..."
Suraksha smiles at both men, "That's what I'm going to try and do!" then turns and, with serpentine care, slithers slowly through one of the few remaining gaping holes in the sphere. She's cautious, doing her best not to touch the edges of the sphere.
"Would they have been so arrogant," Chanticleer says, "as to believe that they could make this casting without setting up some sort of guardian? They seemed so, but I'd rather not take... chances...." His eyes narrow and he goes still. After a moment, though, he whirls with flashing eyes, sword pointing in the direction that had been behind him. Formerly behind Chanti there is a void, a space his eyes won't stay quite on. When they slide to the side he can feel the edges, however.
Suraksha can find the weak places where the soul-lines attach to the void. They seem to be woven into place, spliced with another sort of substance. It feels like life, but not like the stuff of the human souls being used. Sulochana touches gently, trying to get hold of the soul-lines to pull them free. If she must, she'll use her claws to carefully slice through... she pauses, then checks. Is the other substance the sacrificed animals? She'll have to free them too, if so. She hasn't the heart to leave them here, lost and alone, any more than she would the humans.
The substance holding them together does seem to be the essence of the animals. As Sulochana examines it, Roy seems to be touching the trapped people, soothing them. It appears to make the energy less difficult to look at; easier to touch. Sulochana sighs softly and starts untangling as best she can -- animals as well as humans. She hums quiet calm flavors of peace, letting her fingers soften and caress as well as free.
Chanticleer narrows his eyes, taking half a step back. "Silly me," he murmurs. "So it was my own arrogance to think their guardian would be something fought like a foe on the battlefield. Well played." He keeps his sword before him; he isn't at all certain what the void that seems to have a presence is, but he can't let his eyes leave it... or rather, he can't help it, but he can at least keep track of it. Mostly. The thing Chanticleer can't quite face shifts, the focus of it trying to circle around him. He can feel it is amused by him -- finds him almost not worth paying attention to... or at least that's what it wants him to feel.
[Previous Log] [Index] [Next Log]