N
ico let out a frustrated sigh, eyes rolling their sockets. “Does
nobody wanna get out of here, or…?” The silence was his reply, and he leaned against the gate in aggravation that quickly melted into a softer anxiety. “That kid sounded pretty ominous.” He kept his voice much lower than before; though the room had not revealed to be hiding any other living entities, it didn’t make it any more comfortable to speak much above a hushed tone, especially without the added bravery of the hotter emotions.
“Did he?” Mathias nodded, gaze fixed on a particularly interesting journal in his hands. “Perhaps he is one of the pixie’s agents, then.” It didn’t seem too farfetched – after all, the entire situation was ludicrous. He’d never seen anyone with the abilities to do what the little woman had done, and there had been something distinctly off about her; something inhuman.
“Y-you think so?”
“Merely supposition, Nico. At this point,” he turned the page, speaking into it rather than making much of an effort to allow his voice to weave through the shelves to better meet his companion’s ears. “Most anything seems possible, if not plausible.” They’d been transported without any sort of disturbance; items had appeared out of nowhere; they were in the surprisingly well-kept remains of castle or manor no one – save, maybe, the boy – had any prior knowledge of. Alone, each event was hardly common. Smashed together and topped with a crimson ribbon of enigmatic laughter, it was beyond the realm of natural expectations.
They were in uncharted territory, as far as Mathias understood it, which let him with shaky assumptions at the very best.
“Anything? Y’think maybe… we could still be dreaming?”
“It is a potential explanation for…” There it was again: the “Others”. He lost his train of thought, eyes squinting to make out the uneven scrawl.
“For?”
“…for what we have seen thus far, yes.” Glancing up from the journal, Mathis stared in the direction Nico’s voice had been coming from. “Nico?”
Immediately Nico’s tone brightened with hope. “What is it?”
“I am going to stop talking now. Please excuse me.”
There was a pause, during which Nico shrugged and looked almost longingly at the retreating light that had headed down the northern hallway, before he managed a tight, “Okay.”
Save for the clinking, rapping, and tapping that soon began to drift through the stale, empty air of the library as Nico continued to try to find a way to open the lockless gate – making sure to avert his eyes from the uncomfortably life-like gargoyle that rested atop it – Mathias found himself much better able to think in the relative quiet.
Though the passages were little more than a collection of notes – perhaps even those of multiple people, if the shifts in handwriting were not intentional –, they were surprisingly informative, even if the Vahanic was a bit more advanced than he was used to reading.
It seemed Amadeus Levante had been a professor of a sort – a man of knowledge, like the ancient scholars of the Golden Age. He had not been alone in his research – at least four others had contributed to the journal itself, and many many others were suggested by the mundane detailing of who was doing what and where and when. The first hook that snagged his attention had been mention of “the event”. The words had been repeated enough throughout the pages of the journal after its first appearance – enough to warrant a closer analysis.
…and it was there. All of it - most of it. It was incredible as if the stars themselves had opened and poured out their precious blood straight onto the- I diverge. What we saw, this event – The Event – is something beyond mortal understanding. Yes, for now. For now, it is beyond us, but once something like this, like The Event, has been seen it burns itself into the very fabric of the soul. What is possible. What is real. It astounds me – us, all of us – to think, to wonder. And we will. We will wonder – and wander – until we know. There was…
The passages continued in the same rapturous gospel, but there was no real detailing of The Event itself as if inking it into the pages of the journal might somehow lessen their shared experience. One particular passage stood out to him. It was a theory – or, perhaps a more suitable term was “guess” – as to what the repercussion of The Event might be. Most of the entry, which went on for a page and a half of tightly crammed, spiderlike handwriting, was legible but incomprehensible, yet near the end, he found his attention fixed and mind mulling over the words.
They say, you know, nature is life. It is alive. And it is so, such, and very. Grass grows. Flowers bloom. Vines crawl. But this… this is more than that. Is it consciousness? Is it sentience? Where they clashed there now is something more. Something greater. Something… divine? But no, not divine. Not entirely, not the way I think of it. Not the way they think of it. It’s more, more and more and more, and I find myself hungry – no, ravenous – no, starving to know what it is. What is it? A creature? A spirit? And entity beyond…
He couldn’t make sense of the rest. It simply devolved into a complicated theory of time and the space that time occupied and how time might find its way to doors and shortcuts between them. Most of the entries about The Event were similar – seemingly lucid ideas filled with nonsense and prose and a general sense of… urgency – or maybe it was excitement. It was difficult to know from the writing alone.
Contact.
I have done it. We, really, but it was I who finally spoke with one of Them. One of the Others. I write the word “speak”, but that is not entirely correct. Not yet – or, rather, not at first. It was… contact. Contact with Them, but not with my voice or my mind but something else. I understood Them; They understood me.
We found Them. Or… as I write this now, maybe They found us. I cannot say, one way or another, but what I can? Incredible. They are unbelievable – not anything like what we imagined. Johann genuinely wept – I tell you he was so fearful They would be angry when I went to Visit. Yet, They were gentle. Kind, in the sense that They allowed me there, in Their presence. Equals? Maybe. It is too early to say.
From what he could tell, the “Others” did not seem to be gods – not like the Wounded God or the heretics’ myriad of petty creatures of whim and whimsy. Their title was aptly chosen: something other, something… else. Whatever they were, they were powerful – powerful enough that the author, no matter whether it was the forward slant or the jagged scrawl, never went into any real detail about them, other than expressing a general sense of awe – very nearly worship.
They possessed their own world, their own “reality”, wherein Levante – or whoever – had met with them – one of them? multitudes of them? the journal wasn’t clear. As far as the authors were concerned, the “Others” had sought a relationship with them. To what end, each had their own theories, but the most lucid presented more so the relationship itself and the details of its culmination.
To hear Them speak… I never imagined what it would be like; what it felt like, and I cannot detail it. Not now, not ever. But I can recount what it was They said, and impress upon these pages just how chilling it was to know that even They were not entities without strife.
They call it “It Which Knows All”. They have a word for it, but as has been discussed, our attempts to transcribe Their language – no, their unique form of communication – has proved all but impossible. This… entity opposes the Others, though in what way I do not know. My comrades all have their own ideas, their own theories. Amadeus believes They are enemies; Johann imagines the Others as Its children. I? I do not know, and I do not believe I can know.
What I do know? The Others are alone in Their struggle. I want to help Them.
Ominous though it was, had the journal itself not held such gravity in the manner in which it was written, Mathias might have mistaken it for a book of fantasy. The following pages contained more speculation, more theories: how would they help, how
could they help, how could the Others help
them, where was Their world – it seemed that though they could travel there, they didn’t understand much about it –, and what exactly was It Which Knows All.
At the end of the journal, Professor Levante, presumably, wrote the last entry. It was in a far different tone than those before, and as Mads checked the entry above, he found that the journal’s contents shifted almost violently from the musings of those with minds too grand for their dreams and dreams to grand for their minds into cold paranoia.
They trust me. They said so, directly to my soul – to my heart? – and now I have… this. The Key. I must protect it, protect Them, but to protect Them, I need Them to protect me. It is more than I expected; more than any of us- no. The Key is my burden, Our burden. My mind is greater than any of theirs, I have confidence I can – and will – keep It hidden. Keep it safe. But there are those who I cannot predict. I cannot predict It Who Knows. I cannot. They cannot. So They must- they might, no I pray. I ask. I asked them to send the One to me. I do not know if they will – I hope. I believe they will, but then… nothing is ever what it seems until is and you realize you are… blind? Am I blind?
Maybe. Maybe I am, but I have the Key. Their Key. Its Key? They never told me. They do not tell me – did they ever? I do not know. I think back to when it all began, and I simply do not know. It will be kept safe because I will keep it safe. I and the One. They-
They are here. They have heard me, and now I go. Know this. This singular thing. Know it and do not forget it. Do not let it slip away, into the darkness. Into the empty- see. See it and know it.
Alabast.
He stared at the last word, the crimson ink like a fire, burning itself into his memory. Whatever it was Levante had wanted to remember, Mathias wasn’t certain it was “alabast”. There seemed, from the way the passage had been written, as if there would be more – and the shift in colour… He flipped the last page over with his thumb and examined where the worn leather cover connected with the journal’s spine.
There was no indication that anything had been torn or removed, and there were no further entries. No secret messages disguised as scratches. Nothing.
Closing the small, leather-bound book, he tied it shut and slipped it into the back pocket of his trousers. If the Key was indeed a real object and Levante had been tasked by the mysterious “Others” to keep it safe, it stood to reason that the “orb” the fiery-headed woman – and, by extension, a band of strangers she’d collected and summarily dumped into the midst of an ancient crypt – sought after was the Levante’s Key.
As he moved through the stacks, now searching for any books or journals that had no clear indication of what was bound within their contents, he mulled over what it was he’d discovered thus far. Perhaps the woman was one of the “Others”? Or, more likely, “It Who Knows All”? Neither possibly sparked within him any confidence in their situation. From what he understood the “Others” had used Levante and his comrades, and yet they still feared “It Who Knows All”.
Then there was The Event, the Key, the One, and “Alabast”, all without a frame of reference in time. He had no idea how long ago that which was detailed in the journal had taken place. While he wasn’t positive any of it had even happened within the crypt they were now in, it was an assumption he loosely considered to be more correct than not, but it only provided a greater gravity to their situation. Suddenly the concept of “traps” seemed much more pressing than it had when warned in so flippantly nonchalant a chuckle.
“Nico?” This time, to impress upon the other man his revelations, Mathias forced a soft quiver of worry into his voice, even as he continued to search for anything else that might be useful, far faster this time as he knew to avoid the titled volumes.
“What?” Having just finished shaking the gate – and managing to not budge it even in the slightest – Nico’s voice was a bit breathless. He wiped his hand over his forehead and stared into the stacks in the direction of the glow of Mathias’ candle.
“Do be careful with the gate.”
In the short silence that followed, had Mathias been paying much attention to the other man’s reaction, he might have felt the sharp prick of the daggers that spun through Nico’s gaze. “Thanks,
I’ll try.”
“And Nico?”
Having decided that Mathias was not, after all, coming to help him with the damned gate, Nico took a step back from it frown uneasily at the stone sculpture that stared down at him. “What?”
“Does the word ‘alabast’ mean anything to you?” Having found no further journals – or maps, and he’d hoped he might – Mathias poked his head around one of the shelves, eyes bright and inquisitive but expression otherwise blank.
“Ala- like the rock?” Still staring up at the gargoyle, unaware of Mathias’ overdue exit from the main attraction of the library’s contents, Nico shrugged, still frowning as he shifted side to side. “I dunno. I think it’s some kind of white rock, right?”
“That would be alabast
er.” Mathias corrected, strolling towards his companion to join him in studying the remarkably observant sculpture. “But I did have the same-“ He stopped for a moment, blinking three times in rapid succession before he reached out and took Nico by the elbow, pulling him backwards a few steps. “It might be best not to stand so close to it.”
“Why?” Though he asked his question with a fair amount of surprise, he didn’t protest the retreat. “What is it?”
Pursing his lips for a moment, Mathias shook his head, gaze still fixed on the creature of stone that unblinkingly returned its own in kind. “I… do not know. Something about it seems…”
“Off?”
“Off.”
Glancing down the hall towards the other pair, Nico nudged Mathias, a brief nod of his head to direct Mathias’ newly won attention. “Should we follow them, then? There’s no getting through…
that.” He shot a dirty – though somewhat nervous – glance at the gargoyle and its gate.
Mathias stared down the hallway, considering the proposition. “They seem to have reached an impasse.” Rather than pursuing, he raised his voice enough that Quiet and boy would hear him in the relative silence of the crypt. Having already tested the defier and finding him lacking, he had no need to play the role of incompetence, thus his Common, though accented, was as clear and precise and his Vahanic. “Have you found anything useful? A lever to open the gate, perhaps?”
“You speak Common?” Nico’s eyes widened, and it wasn’t difficult to know where his mind was headed, even surrounded by the uncertainty of their current predicament – though if they widened in awe or rising anger, Mathias wasn’t certain and chose to nip whatever it was in the bud.
“I am as far from nobility as you are, I assure you, Nico. I merely had an… eccentric childhood.”
Hardly convinced, but well aware of the delicate state of most nobles’ sense of pride – or perhaps “narcissism” better fit – Nico chose instead to grumble out a short, “Eccentric. Sure.”
Moderator’s Note: If Quiet asks Nico and Mads to join him, they will do so. If they join them at the end of the hallway, assume Mads will translate any written Vahanic and any simple statements or commands from the boy (with the exception of anything revealing about the Crypt or Kata) but will not answer any personal questions (feel free to write Mads seeming to not understand what Quiet is saying if you'd like to do so). If not, Mads will tell Nico it’s better for them to wait in the library, and suggest they carefully search the walls and shelves for hidden levers or mechanisms, looking out for traps and being extremely wary of the floor.