Much news, little updating. Ah well.
Doctor Malthus accosted me in town the other day, claiming several rather preposterous things. Although some of the smaller surprises (she and I have never met, she is a deputy and a forensic pathologist) left me rather at a loss, the big news was that at some indeterminate point in the past I assaulted Arteress Lai and attempted to hypnotize her with some sort of mind control serum. Given my limited physical abilities and my lacking medical training, this came as an understandable surprise. All the more so because in my memory such an event never occured.
A later interview with Arteress herself (who, for the record, I had not previously met) revealed that it was actually the good Doctor herself who performed the assault and attempted hypnosis. Apparently during the attack Malthus mumbled something about myself and the Red Nine, and this is the basis for her suspicion.
Needless to say, I find the whole thing rather amusing. It seems far more logical that Malthus commited a crime and is attempting to pin the blame on me by claiming I forced her to do so. It also seems fairly logical to me that there is nothing to be gained for me by forcing her to do this; why would I even dream of doing this? Nonetheless, the situation bears watching, even if it is something of a lowbrow farce.
In other news, I've once again set foot in the foothills and the passes beyond. The only new discovery on this expedition was an underground cave with what appears to be a leaking swimming pool in it. This would seem to fit quite nicely with the Hermit's insinuations that Trillbane enjoys swimming, and with Katpus's statements about Trillbane's library being buried in an earthquake. Time will tell.
Raldin (who has earned his way onto the trustworthy Mystic list) was along for this ride, and got the chance to mark the ground in Katpus's cave with his teleportation stone. In theory, it should now be possible to skip from the well in the Dread Passage directly to the foothills, though this has not yet been borne out experimentally.
In other news, subject T was finally beaten by the control group. It seems the standard method of kudzu farming is optimal, after all. So much for progress.
"The only perfect crime is the one you didn't commit."
7.4.01
A fascinating discussion with the esteemed Doctor Malthus today; she seems quite eager about joining the nascent Crimson Order, and even suggested several others who may be interested. This seems like the best possible way to server the purpose; doing good is always easier when the light of many is focused through the lense of unity.
On a related note, Subject T has begun iterating nicely. The experiment will likely be saved, though new information dissuades the original theorem. Ah, well.
"And in the master's chambers/ They gathered for the feast/ They stab it with their steely knives/ But they just can't kill the beast/ Last thing I remember/ I was running for the door/ I had to find the passage back/ to the place I was before/ Relax, said the nightman
/ We are programed to recieve/ You can check out any time you like/ But you can never leave."
21.3.01
I'm not entirely sure who I am.
That's not an uncommon statement around Puddleby, or course. The vast majority of exiles have only the haziest notion of their past, and those who claim to have specific memories often disagree with each other over crucial details.
My problem seems, so far, to be unique; I have no recollection of the mainland, or of the Ascendancy, or of Mobius. I know of them, just as I know of Thooms and Dwarves and Halflings and Humans and whatnot. But before that morning when I awoke in the spot I now know as town center, looked up and burned my eyes, I don't believe I had ever seen any of these things. I was not surprised when I first saw a Sylvan, nor when I first saw my own reflection; yet I had no sense of recognition. I knew what things were meant to look like, but I had not seen them previously.
The Mission is perfectly clear, of course. The Purpose is hazy, but still understandable. But details elude me... I believe there must be another like me, from a similar, competing, or perhaps opposite source, with an opposing Mission, to stop that which I must do. This individual escapes me, but I don't doubt I shall find him in time. Our paths must, inevitably, collide. And when they do, there must be no mercy.
"...twenty centuries of stony sleep/ Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle;/ And what rough beast, its hour come round at last/ Slouches toward Bethlehem to be born?"
Subject T must return sooner or later; "Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata."
18.3.01
Fell into a snagglewood rescue tonight; an interesting experience as I was the pathfinder and navigator, mainly by default. Once we discovered that the fallen were well beyond our range, I then became the chainer.
It seems chainers are held in about as high regard as mystics.
You would think that fighters would have the basic decency to share with someone who is now completely unable to tag or participate in any way, wouldn't you? Perhaps a foolish thought.
You would also think that the fallen, after being chained to the meadow, would thank everyone involved in their traditional "I'm up!" general thought broadcast. Apparently I am misinformed; it seems the proper protocol is to thank everyone in the party except the one who fell into the most thankless job.
I learn more about this wretched town every day.
Lest I sound too disgruntled, Urgelt and Veer have proven themselves in my book. They are certainly worth keeping around.
Ironically, the necromancer's lackey wandered into the party. Tyking is, as usual, Tyking. It would be interesting to compare a pre-Tenebrion psychological profile of him to a current one - perhaps the true function of a Soulsword is to convince the bearer that he is a powerful fighter. Nevertheless, Tyking is interesting to have around, if only for the purpose of observing that fascinating blade in action. Unfortunately, they seem solidly out of my price range. The Other can provide funds, but would grow suspicious if he desired such a large sum so suddenly. It's quite a shame that Malkor has already introduced Tenebrion to trickery.
"We are the hollow men/ We are the stuffed men/ Leaning together/ Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!"
17.3.01
"And I beheld when he had opened the sixth seal, and, lo, there was a great earthquake; and the sun became black as sackcloth of hair, and the moon became as blood; And the stars of heaven fell unto the earth, even as a fig tree casteth her untimely figs, when she is shaken of a mighty wind. And the heaven departed as a scroll when it is rolled together; and every mountain and island were moved out of their places."
It's hard not to wonder about things. If a Ripture is a hole in the plane that leads to Void, how does that differ from a hole that leads to another plane? It's a fine line, to be sure. The necromancer has the power to destroy the plane, if he so desires, I'm sure. The major question is what it would take to push him to this. Perhaps all it would take is a point to which he might retreat.
It's a shame the mirror is so damnably inscrutable, as a comparison between the mirror and Tenebrion's method of transportation would be quite illuminating, I'm sure. He has implied that teleportation is merely a matter of stepping to another plane and back, which makes a great deal of sense; if planes curve relative to each other, or are distorted otherwise, a journey of a thousand miles in Shan Deral may be but a step in the Ether.
I would postulate that the elaborate nature of planar transport is a result of caution; the mirror serves to control the gap it contain, as Tenebrion's maze does the passage to the Ethereal plane, and the Dark Temple does the Astral plane and Abyss. It would be interesting to see what the destruction of an active mirror would cause; would the portal collapse, or expand? This would explain the necromancer's fascination with Purgatory Pendants; how could these simple trinkets control the same degree of power that his Zodiac passage does? Though he would never deign to discuss it, it is likely that his research is into adapting a Purgatory Pendant to serve the purpose of his maze, that he may carry the portal around on his neck.
All of this is purely academic, of course. The only important question is that of which plane I hail from, and what I might do to make my trip worthwile. The past remains hazy, though I'm beginning to doubt whether Fanan is really my name. It seems to me I was called something else, perhaps several other things. The only thing I remain truly sure of is the Mission, and that is all that matters.
Subject T becomes elusive, but time heals all wounds. The Crimson Order will rise, and the Darkness shall fall.
16.3.01
What is the cost to
break the gate to
lock the door to
Forever?
What?
Entropy rises to
smite the path to
turn the time to
Never.
Costs?
Seek the power to
walk these paths to
finally speak to
Better.
Eternity?
--
The true owner of the shadows is of interest to me. She who claims merely claims, but the other takes, keeps, and has. A taste of his power would be fascinating, I'm sure, though it could hardly be silent. Silence is of course golden - though I've always been partial to the dripping red of true power.
What does it gain a man to lose his life to gain the world? I would assume it gains him the world.
16.3.01
Blazing red across the sky.
Streaks of grey meeting black,
Colliding,
Intersecting,
Dispersing,
Rejoining.
A cold sun freezes rays of Dark.
The ice burns.
A single note, high, unlike the others.
Shrill, but controlled.
Light, but with strength.
The chorus begins, and
They chant.
Good, they stand for.
Good, they do.
Good, they want.
Good, they are.
The note widens,
Lenghtens,
Broadens,
Grows.
Becomes a roar.
Screaming (GOOD)
Tearing (GOOD)
Ripping (GOOD)
But they are decieved.
Tearing, ripping, violent rapture, endgame.
And as Light rises,
Darkness falls.
Darkness falls but once.
May the Darkness fall.
--
"No live organism can continue for long to exist sanely under conditions of absolute reality; even larks and katydids are supposed, by some, to dream. Hill House, not sane, stood by itself against its hills, holding darkness within; it had stood so for eighty years and might stand for eighty more. Within, walls continued upright, bricks met neatly, floors were firm, and doors were sensibly shut; silence lay steadily against the wood and stone of Hill House, and whatever walked there, walked alone."
I dream more often than I'd like. It can be distracting.
9.3.01
It's so obvious in retrospect that I feel rather stupid for taking this long to see it.
It is not a basic tenet of Mysticism to keep secrets, it is a basic tenet of Mysticism to appear to be keeping secrets. Mystics are not unwilling to provide guidance to their apprentices, they are merely unable - the secret to advancement is as mysterious to them as to anyone. They will not answer because they merely stumbled in the dark until they were promoted,and they know no better system to offer to their underlings. The Mystic Guild is a sham, an enormous bluff, devoid of purpose or value. The only members worthy of being spared when the revolution comes are Malkor and Nyssa; he for being upfront about his untrustworthy nature, she for seeing as I now do that the Guild is not the answer.
The answer is the Path, and the final destination is the Goal. The Guild is merely another illusion to be seen through, and in some great final reckoning it shall meet its fate.
I shall renew my focus on that which is of immediate importance, I've allowed this pettiness to distract me for far too long.
9.3.01
Sometimes I manage to impress even myself, though in retrospect the solution is rather obvious. What's in a name? Everything. And if not everything, at least a potential asset. One really must wonder whether that odd coincidence is intentional. I think not, it's just too backwards.
Okey-dokey, then. Plan A2 is ready.
27.2.01
Plan A has been put into effect, recently. Hopefully the exit strategy will not be necessary, although signs are bad at the moment. Subject T appeared to respond appropriately, but afterward failed to adequately justify leftovers. The situation must be monitored. Luckily, the spoils are still secure. I only hope that at least one phase iteration will be possible before the exit must be implemented.
Only time will tell.
27.2.01
It occurs to me that HTML must have been defined by somebody who thoroughly dislikes other people. The second version of the clan scrolls are finally operational at rednine.puddleby.dk, and now I'm taking the time to create a personal scroll. Hopefully, this Blogger service works as advertised.
25.2.01
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