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Jun 18, 2016 12:04:49 GMT
Post by delta on Jun 18, 2016 12:04:49 GMT
Arthur Langley had been an innocent truck driver. A single father of three, he had been looking forward to one Sunday where his not-so-small family of four would celebrate Father's Day. There would be no Father's Day celebration this Sunday. There would also be no more celebrations next year, the year after, forever. He had been the truck driver who was driving a truck full of dust out of the suburbs of Miskatonic County and into Arkham. Not even Langley himself knew what had caused the accident. Was it due to dust, that had reacted to the generators as the truck drove past it? Or had there been supernatural forces at work to sabotage the delivery and claim the hallucinogen for itself? Langley would never find out. The dust he had been transported was mostly scattered to the wind, in the sense that a potent drug that could be obtained for free attracted a crowd. In its wake, it also attracted death. It was puzzling, because after death, the soul was theoretically brought to Underworld, to Hell, or to whatever faith the person believed in. But what happened to souls whose spiritual energy had been completely drained by dust? Iskander did not foray into the spiritual plane often, but here he was, observing an anomalous blob on the astral plane. Different people observed the astral plane differently; to some, it was Paradise. To him, it was an endlessly fluxing sea of waves and no particular path in sight. However, one trait remained consistent: the anomalous blob. It was light blue, and shimmered like the way water evaporated from the ground on extraordinarily hot days. The blob had more of a form than Iskander himself did; it was spherical, and he himself was smokeless, shapeless flame that burned a pale, sort of faded red. Without opposable thumbs, or any form in particular, it was impossible for Iskander to interact with the blob. It quivered as it was joined by another large sphere of energy - also light blue, shimmery, and oddly enticing - and together both masses of spiritual energy pooled in excess on the astral plane. If it weren't so pretty to behold, it would have been an eyesore and an obstacle. Iskander hummed in thought. RULER
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Jun 21, 2016 23:44:25 GMT
Post by RULER on Jun 21, 2016 23:44:25 GMT
RULER I I remembered the words for the pictures that traveled in my mind. The meandering lane of water was a river. The high, rocky landscape reaching the clouds was a mountain. The blue mirror below the heavens was an ocean. The dreary shower pounding on the ground was a rain. And the white powder falling from above was a snow. It was the element that which took my mother – the female who gave birth to me – and I distinctly remembered (beyond my expectations) feeling sad. No, that's not the proper word. Sad was feeling... dispirited. Sadness was...not angry enough. But I did not feel murderous toward the “snow” as I believed I would be when the Haessa ripped me of my humanity. But it had shaken my being, this “snow.” I had not wanted to think or see it. As I briefly froze the picture in my memory, however, I knew that whatever that feeling was was already gone, gone like the white powder losing its form to the sun. I traveled further, glimpsing more pictures and sights. There were many colors in Earth, some I didn't recognize and thus couldn't see. What were they again? Ah, yes, crayons. Earth was like a giant crayon box. Crayons possessed different shades that filled up empty white spaces. They made me happy, once. I pulled my blond hair to my eyes, a brimstone color that I remembered. I was made with crayons, too. A human colony appeared under me as I neared the site where our first spaceship landed. Traveling had taken longer than I thought, but I couldn't risk landing my spaceship here and attracting whatever it was that took care of our expedition. I made my descent, unseen and unheard by the buzzing population. I had done some testing and it seemed humans couldn't see me in the astral plane. I was wary, still. I looked around, spotting splotches of gray on gradients my mind didn't know. Something tickled me in the air. When I made a turn, I came face-to-face with a semi-liquid sphere colored the way the sky was. It spilled toward me. I jumped around it, my red cape barely escaping its touch. A defense mechanism? I jogged past it and saw more lurking. One floated too close and my instinct was to blow it. With a single look, the blob burst into hundreds of tiny little pieces, bounding off the barrier I had hastily erected. I caught something red at the corner of my eyes and saw a shapeless form this time. I was sensing life from this form. Was it a guardian? I turned to the being, looking tall and noble for a person with the face of a fourteen-year-old. “Who are you?” A standard question. I decided it was wiser to ask before doing anything rash. delta |
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Post by delta on Jun 22, 2016 5:16:03 GMT
The larger pool of energy bubbled before Iskander in a show of might. It had every right to be cocky; its surroundings were polluted with a sickening glow of spiritual energy in excess, and its light blue mass was wide and starting to congeal into more of a solid form. He floated backwards when another blob spun into view. Iskander had no intention to be caught in the process of its assimilation. Interestingly enough, the newcomer never made it to the mainframe. It had exploded into smaller bits of itself, which were identical to its previous form. However, they were more liquid than gel, and it was evident to Iskander that whatever jellyfish sentience it had gained was lost upon being blown apart by an outside force. Like ants, they scurried around the fluxing sea, rolling across the astral streets of an avenue in Sentinel Hill, all the while trying to reform itself into a larger mass. Iskander left them be in favour of rooting out the source of their assailant -- and was greeted by a young voice. He shifted his gaze, which involved a parting of wispy flame and scattered embers. Even before seeing the other being who spoke to him, Iskander already had a response at the tip of his tongue. ' They call me Delta,' came his answer, a whispered thought instead of spoken, because smokeless flame had neither lips to part nor a mouthpiece to speak from. ' And you?' A teenager, authoritative as his stance might have been, was not a common sight on the astral plane -- for one, he was not dead. He did not reek of those who had had dealings with the devil either. RULER
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Post by RULER on Jun 23, 2016 2:36:02 GMT
RULER II The red shade spoke as though it had whispered into my mind. Del-ta. I meant the question to know more than the creature's label. For instance, its origin, its physiology, or its purpose. A label was useless to me. Perhaps I had stated the wrong phrase, or the answers were being kept secret from me. I should have known that language would be quite a challenge to overcome. I was asked for my label, that I understood. If it did not give me more information than a label, then I would only share as much as well. “I'm Ruler,” I told the shapeless creature, the “I'm” perfect and the “Ruler” rough on my tongue. I remembered “I'm” very well. I'm Alister, I'm ten, I'm a boy, I'm happy. Meanwhile,“Ruler” was a word that I had only recently discovered. It was the closest meaning to Vanoahrt. “You're living, I'm too.” It was my first time seeing a form like this in the astral plane. Projections often followed the specimen's appearance in the physical realm like I was. Mine had taken quite a while to change from my monstrous form back to this human body. I had worn the skin of a horned devil for too long. “Del-ta...” I struggled. The intensity of my concentration was clear in my eyes. “Del-ta is like this?” I remembered at least the tone questions were supposed to sound like though I remained uncertain. “Human? No?” delta |
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Jun 24, 2016 13:50:05 GMT
Post by delta on Jun 24, 2016 13:50:05 GMT
Iskander was pleased. The being had spoken back in a staccato; the anomalous blobs had not. With his hypothesis proven, Iskander floated a little closer to where Ruler stood. The ball of fire rolled about where it was, as if shifting to look up at the taller person. The pale red of the flames intensified slightly as his thoughts formed a whisper: ' Yes, like this. Perhaps I do not look like ... fire all the time, but I assure you that this form does not burn. Try it if you wish to, Ruler.' He allowed his body to flicker where it was; as far as he understood, the flames his spiritual form was made of burned cold. It was like ice to the touch. In a way, it resembled the clammy grasp of the departed who desperately clung to life as ghosts. ' What does it mean to be human? It does not matter if I am human or something else. Look --' Embers scattered to the ground as Iskander shifted yet again. He hadn't the need to move, but had done so anyway. His movement was more for aesthetic purpose, and for ease of his companion, who may have assumed there was a front and a back to the fireball. They were joined by a spirit - a dead human, for it hummed with lingering attachment to the living - who seemed to be tugged in wildly different directions towards the smaller pieces of blob. RULER
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Post by RULER on Jul 2, 2016 13:33:39 GMT
RULER III I discerned the emotion from the blazing creature: delight, and immediately there came a picture of a smile over its shapelessness as my imagination tugged into my old, human memory. The smile that I remembered was a picture of my father’s – Albert was his name if I recalled correctly – and he gave me that smile after I had reported to him my day in the educational institution. I did not understand how Albert and Delta came to share this specific emotion. What action have I taken to elicit such response? Could questions be pleasing to hear? I dwelled at the thought as I studied the intensifying flames that came with the whisper. I saw reds and oranges from my memory of the fire cackling from the hearth, in the winter days and nights that I sat alone, my legs pulled to my chest, hypnotized by its merging colors. I never thought those flames could burn me. They were always there to keep me warm and that warmth kept me safe. Stirred by the memory, I accepted Delta’s invitation and reached into his form. Surprise made me jerk my hand back. My expectation had been met with the exact opposite and my body reacted appropriately. It burned like a snake’s bite and was as freezing as the long nights of Fomalhaut. I looked up at Delta, automatically trying to seek out eyes and finding none as he spoke once more, and allowed myself to be led by his words again while his comment lingered quietly in my mind. (What did it mean to be human? What had made him say that?) A human spirit. Unlike Delta, I did not sense the same life out of it. I looked at the lost soul, pained. Anger and sorrow pounded at the doors of my mind, trying to challenge its barriers. The feelings slipped through them somehow to tell me the name of the giver: Arthur Langley. “Ar-thor Lang-lee. Father. Lost.” Lost. I said the word in my head again. Many memories were chained with it. The spirit’s emotions continued to tickle in grain by grain as I, by half, forced it out. “Some-thing. It’s…” I pointed to the pieces of blob that I had imploded. There was a connection. delta |
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Post by delta on Jul 6, 2016 5:54:24 GMT
The dead human's spirit tussled with the blobs. It fought a losing battle, but its determination fueled its admirable fight. The blobs pinned parts of its body as it yelled out soundlessly -- Iskander could not tell its emotions, nor its precise thoughts at the moment, but what was visually conveyed was already vivid enough for him to form a solid guess. ' Ruler?' The flames rolled about where they were in mid-air. Ruler had picked up more than Iskander ever hoped he could from the spirit's gestures and calling. Father? Lost? Iskander accepted the first word as it was; 'father' needed no explanation. 'Lost', however ... As far as he knew, this spirit was not lost. The lingering dead walked on a different plane. This was par for the cycle of life and death. It wasn't as if Ar-thor Lang-lee was walking around in Kingsport. As Iskander mused, the blobs had started to gather in solidarity. First, they had consumed Langley's hands, using it as a catalyst to fuse themselves together. From a hundred pieces to twenty pieces they went, each blob comprising of five apiece. The twenty blobs rolled all over poor Langley, trying to assimilate anything else that he could offer. ' They are reforming themselves,' observed Iskander, even if it was plain as day. It helped to present his thoughts in a coherent manner. ' Feeding -- they feed on his outbursts. Emotion? Thoughts?' He regarded Ruler once again. And then he squinted through the fluxing sea, as if doing so would reveal a different future. One where this human wasn't dead. One where a father was having dinner with his family. (Iskander blinked at the thought. It felt foreign. An intrusion. Like knife into flesh.) On a different plane, Kingsport roared with life. And yet the blobs did not - could not? - reach out to those people. Iskander eventually formed a conclusion. With a small smile, he said, ' They feast upon spiritual energy that seep into their presence. Only of the dead, perhaps. I have a theory, but it stands unproven.' Langley dangled limply on the astral plane. The blobs seemed to be unable to detect his presence. RULER
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Post by RULER on Jul 8, 2016 10:10:39 GMT
RULER IV They were unnatural. The spirits of the dead were not some part of a feeding cycle. I regarded Delta’s small smile with wonder. What was there to be pleased about? But Delta was wrong. The blobs were not only eager toward the dead. I felt something cold as sharp knives touch me from the back. As the sensation sank in, I saw the blobs make a simultaneous motion toward me as though they were sensing me for the first time. But before they could proceed a foot closer, they burst again in multiple pieces, scattering in a messy implosion. I focused on my inner force next and drew that power out to explode from my being, sending the blob from my back and those around into the air. They had to be removed. Raising my hand, I began to blast every piece of blob about before they could reform. delta |
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Post by delta on Jul 14, 2016 3:57:28 GMT
Delta laughed at the sight, but the flames did not convey his mirth. They quivered on the astral plane as he watched Ruler take the blobs on, one at a time. They grew vicious. They were learning. They had learnt. Each time Ruler blasted them apart with telekinetic force, they reformed in huddles quicker and faster than before. A hundred they became, and as one they lunged. The spirit of the living was unlike the dead. What laid dormant was less interesting to capture as prey. The blobs seemed almost sentient as they rolled again, in a wave of blue towards Ruler. RULER
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