[Event] The Echoes of Andromeda

ECHOES

the whispered words

Something--someone?--brushed against Karambit. True eyes it may have lacked, yet the soft caress of cold air felt like far more than simply air. It was the passage of something that noticed Karambit not at all; the memory of someone intent on some long-lost goal.

Karambit was not alone in its encounter.

The wisp leading Wilder's way seemed to be dimmed, almost swallowed by the shadows. Tourmaline, Erasmus, Richter and the rest--all of them descended, all finding that strangely cold, pervasive stillness settling in their hearts. It was a place of... rest. Yet restless. No--that wasn't right, it was a place of...

"Echoes." The voice was gentle. Soft. It held a mournful tone, and it was very much alive--and it came not from the blackness of the pit, but the lip of it, above. A black cloak shuffled, a horned head (familiar to some, perhaps, as the Blacksmith) bobbing forward. "A remnant of her... uncontrolled... forgotten?" His tone was one of mourning. Musing. It was interrupted with a soft, sad sigh. "She has been... almost forgotten. Almost. But the rest... she remembers. An echo of her... only. An echo... remembering echoes... of others. Her power... this was hers..."

He made his way down, carefully, to join the Gembound. One hand raised, palm-up, as if feeling for falling snow, and his head then bowed.

Before them, a lamb. An echo, like the rest, yet seemingly summoned by the Blacksmith's mere presence. She was there for but a heartbeat, a glimpse of white wool and blind-white eyes, shifting as if to listen--and then she was gone, her form dissipating like the rest. Whispers, wordless, rose softly around them in a chorus, then faded.

The Blacksmith sighed again, and lowered himself to sit.

"Come here... if you wish. Meditate... remember. Honor those... who have come before. They cannot... will not... cause harm. They are the forgotten-... but they do not need... to be so. They can be remembered... if you wish."

*

This thread has now ended, and is closed to new entrants, excepting those who participated in the previous thread of the event.

Characters who have entered the pit may now exit the thread, and can then post in Update Me to claim the achievements Discovered Andromeda and Pilgrimage of Echoes. They may also claim one Halloween Specialty Spell of their choice:

Jack-o-Spawn
Low Intensity Manipulation. Grow a small-medium sized pumpkin out of the ground. They can be eaten or carved into a spooky Jack-o-Lantern or thrown at people, because throwing pumpkins is fun.

Vampire Gaze
Low Intensity Transformation. The user's eyes become bloodshot and turn a ghastly shade of crimson for as long as the user can focus. There seems to be no other purpose to this spell besides spooking others.

Witch Cackle
Low Intensity Manipulation. The user can conjure a witchy cackling emited either from them or from somewhere else in the room. Like a regular cackle, only slightly scarier.

Fracture my spine

Like opposing death, wailing and probing into the unseen and unknown for a single beloved ghost proved an impossibility. Never acknowledged but treated as a mere obstacle to brush past in this vast void it'd stumbled into, this was the end of Karambit's search. If Creo existed anywhere inside that great swell of voices, adding commentary of their life to its ever-shifting murmur, they couldn't be recognized nor did a simple memory care enough to console a confused sibling. They would've only said their part of the chorus and faded away into peaceful, final silence.

Sickle claws scrabbled for purchase at the bottom of the pit, and trembling stick limbs forced the monster to stand. One last time it whined, "Crreeeooo," and like all others, no answer came to ease its concern. What remained then was the soft whir of wings and a discordant hum interspersed with squelching sobs.

For some reason, it'd upset them and caused all speech to cease. Who knew if it'd hear its cherished Creo ever again after this latest failure to reestablish a bond with them.

And swear that you're mine

He was silent, though not by any means absent.

Ears flicked, his head turning to track the Blacksmith in his mournful pilgrimage--and Pride followed, his distance kept respectful and his gaze attentively solemn.

She?
Pride's eyes slid to the vision at the center of the pit, to the white lamb that stood there for but an instant before fading altogether.

Who was she..?
But when he turned to ask the Blacksmith, the sheer grief lingering there... Maybe I'm imagining it, he thought, for a beat. Although--perhaps it would help the Blacksmith, to speak of it..?

I'll give him time, the stag decided. He turned, stepping delicately off into the shadows to wait. He'd ask him, perhaps, after the smith had been given a few minutes to think, or meditate. To remember... on his own.

red deer img credit - dan seagrave

Rex, like the others, wasn't quite sure what this was all about. And like some of them, he feared intruding on the hushed solemnity of the place. Though he followed them down into the pit, and stood amongst the shadows, he understood nothing more than he had before.

And despite his massive size, fear pricked through him. "So what are these..?" he asked, at last, hushed and uncertain. He didn't know a magic that could do this--and the brief glimpse of the lamb left him none the wiser.

When they began to file out, he lingered only briefly before his nerve failed him--and he beat a rather hasty retreat, then, soft thuds announcing his departure.

So this entire phenomenon had sprung from another's power according to this soft-voiced stranger. Standing here, watching as bodies made of little more than threads of smoke unraveled and disappeared into the darkness, Richter found no reason to doubt the claim. Still young, inexperienced when it came to the caves' many wonders, the sheer scope of the gathering he'd just witnessed could not be explained by comparatively paltry magical displays seen in the past. What strength did a blinding spotlight possess, after all, when placed beside the conjuration of those who must've wandered ages before his chrysalis had shattered? This she, whoever she'd been, must have possessed formidable abilities indeed.

Much as he had upon hatching, despite the dim surroundings, eyes wide and stormy gray tried best as they could to absorb the happenings around him. They followed the last vestiges of memory given Gembound form being dispelled like leaves in wind; openly combed through whoever amongst the crowd had left their expressions unguarded about the proceedings; and lingered, ponderous and nose twitching, upon the cloaked figure that simply sat there in quiet remembrance of lives long spent.

He personally had none who'd touched his life intimately enough to engrave a mark upon his soul. At most, he had collected over the cycles the light touches of acquaintances who might never be encountered again due to the tremendous sprawl of the cave system. Nevertheless, it felt right to bow his head in reverence. Respects would be paid not only to the dead never known, but also to those whose life stories would eventually pour into the pit like all before them.

She went in, alone at first, but other steps followed. But it was like she didny hear them, eyes fixed ahead where that dark wisp had disappeared. Where she imagined glowing gold eyes would appear suddenly before her, judging, hating, blaming her. She wanted to cry out that she was sorry, that she loved it, that she didnt want it to go that way. But her words died before she could even open her mouth. Would it even matter?

Did she even mean it?

The Blacksmith's voice washed over her, moarnful and remembering, but for once, she barely listened and she didnt care. It didnt matter who 'she' was, not right now. Not to Wilder. She felt...emptied, lost. It was a strange dicotomy between the feeling of being hollowed out into a pit of despair and the oddly calming nature of Andromeda's atmosphere.

She sighed and sunk to the ground as the whispers began to grow quiet. She could still hear them, the echoes, distant in this place, and she swore she could hear words she knew and recognized.

The Blacksmith was nearby, but seperate from where she'd chosen to meditate. She could feel Vaati at the edge of the pit, wanting to come down, but for once Wilder wanted to be alone. She needed it.

She stayed in the dark as the other filed out, curled into herself, a shadow among shadows, until her consciousness gave way to dreams, fragmented and confusing and not altogether terrifying. A strange comfort, if anything.

*exit