Real & Half-Real: Iskierka's Notes | OTA

[unsheathedfromreality]

Who: Illarion's Omen Iskierka and anyone who happens to stumble across her notes.
What: Receiving messages from hell.
When: March 5 onward, after Sayo's full return to the Waking World.
Where: Throughout Trench and the Levels

Content warnings: All of the following are mentioned or discussed obliquely: magical zombies, mind control, emotional manipulation, war-time violence, murder of family members, drug use, cannibalism, suicide, hallucinations/derealization, existential horror, apocalyptic setting, kidnapping, enslavement.



Iskierka has not been idle while her Sleeper is missing from Trench. Somewhere, he's wandering a hell far removed from the Waking World; somewhere, he rehearses to himself the briefing he might give to any would-be rescuers when they arrive, what is necessary to survive and sufficient for Sayo's ritual. When hoping for rescue pales on him, he dictates his thoughts to the air or an animal or a corpse's patient ear, and she hears it.

She hears every word of it, and she cannot respond; she listens faithfully, and the words fill her head to the point of forgetting. When there's no more room for them, she writes. With whatever comes to hand--beg buy borrow or steal--on whatever surface she can find, she writes--scratches out--rewrites. Notes and letters emerge beneath her pen, and she takes them where she thinks they belong. Some she abandons in significant places and others she brings to significant people, urging them to take this fragment of her lost Sleeper.


It may help, when they go to rescue him. If anyone can.

[[ OOC: Real & Half-Real Plot Write-Up and Interest Check, for those just joining us. Even if you haven't left a comment there you're more than welcome to join in on finding notes!

See comments for how to use this post and tasty tasty plot hooks. ]]

Comments

[unsheathedfromreality]

Always an Omen of very little (apparent) mind, Iskierka's got even less of one lately in service to her task. As the days have worn on since Illarion's disappearance from Trench, the words in her head have gotten more insistent, piling up beyond her ability to record them. She's eager to seize any opportunity to snatch a writing implement and something to write on; Ford's journal was a plum find. That there was another Omen around keeping an eye on it didn't deter her, though she had taken a long look at Castor--only the one--before settling down to write with monomaniacal determination.

(She's a day or two from realizing she should carry a pen and paper of her own. Bear with her.)

He watched that woman wither away, she's writing, as Ford arrives and asks if she wants help. Her antennae twitch at the sound of his voice but she--reactions slowed and dulled by how busy her oversoul is, wherever it is--doesn't respond beyond that. Not until she's finished with writing the note does she lift her head, goggling at Ford with faceted red eyes.

This goes on for several seconds. Then she looks back down at the note, and crosses out several sentences with a neat line through them. She is not one of those Omens who speaks--easily, in words--but she can formulate a message from herself if she thinks about it long enough. Eventually, painstakingly, she manages an image of Ford reading the note.

It's probably pretty weird to look at, even by his standards, given her higher-dimensional sight. His organs are looking good today, though!

[laminae]

It isn't unusual for Fern to be in the catacombs, doing typical Hunter business. It's a good place to find monsters trying to sneak a meal out of Trenchies, and even though it isn't the cleanest place it reminds him of the dungeons back in Ooo. That gives it a nostalgic edge, so he doesn't mind.

He isn't expecting to find a note down there, shoved in between two bricks just over his head. He very nearly misses it but Blodeuwedd, perched on top of his hat, catches it and grabs it with her forelegs with a chirp. Confused, he takes it from her and reads it, his brows knitting together in bewilderment. It seems like something out of an old book rather than some discarded note, so he pockets it for safekeeping.

for Iskierka

[laminae]

While Fern isn't a fan of the Patrons (it's hard to be, when he and the Moss King got off on the wrong foot, and Never Mind and the Tower killed him), it's hard to avoid the statues of them when you live in Cassandra. That, and Blodeuwedd for some reason enjoys perching on them. He's asked her about it but all she does is chirp, and secretly he's begun to think she just does it to either sass him or them. Or both.

The Reckoning's statues are especially painful for him, but not because he's ever had a bad encounter with her. No, it's because the sword she always seems to be holding seems so... cool. One he'd love to try using sometime, though he's certain that's never happening.

That's why he's stopped briefly in front of this statue today: his orchid mantis omen has fluttered on up to the top of the Reckoning's head, and while he waits for her to come back down Fern is examining the statue's sword.

[cryptograms]

There's no force in the multiverse that could have stopped Ford from reading that note, but it's nice to have the encouragement all the same. And such an interesting sort of encouragement, too! It's a good thing it's already in his journal; now he doesn't have to put any thought into how he can keep it for further study.

So he turns the journal enough to read the note, realizing with growing fascination that he doesn't have the faintest idea what it's talking about. He knows plenty of the terms, of course, and the concept of a phylactery registers even though the word itself isn't used. It's also clear that this is information being written about someone that is, at the very least, a potential threat, if not an outright enemy. He has absolutely zero context for what he just read, however, and no idea how to go about getting more.

"I don't suppose this archlich is here, is he?"

[the_obedient_servant]

[Chara reads over the note, amused. They had been stalking this shrine for their own personal, deeply spiteful reasons, and making notes on the faces of all the devoted followers.

And here is where they find it. They hum in interest. What a vile woman indeed.

The situation rings similar to them, someone who treats their domain as a child would treat a box of toys. And near the shrine of Superior herself as well. Perhaps it was a coincidence. Or fate. Or something conscious.

They don't know. In the end it doesn't matter. They tuck it into their coat anyway. Beato will probably want to look at this.]

[unsheathedfromreality]

She takes the time Ford requires to read the note to release the pen--an oddly painstaking process, one claw at a time--and lay it politely down on the table where she found it. With that task completed she's ready as she ever is for a new question to work on--and bless all Pthumerians and gods that might look after an Omen such as her, it's an easy one.

no. It isn't a formed word, more an impression of negation of here. The archlich is not here, not in the Archives or Trench or Deer Country or the Waking World.

It does not occur to her to say where he might be, instead. She is too busy staring at the contents of Ford's pockets.

[unsheathedfromreality]

There's a furtive shadow perched on one of the statue's shoulders, one that watches Bloduewedd pass with faceted red eyes as the mantis ascends to the Reckoning's crowned head. Iskierka's been here for--she doesn't know how long, huddled in a place that feels right for want of anything else to do now that the words have stopped. For anything else to do now that she's written the last of them and kept them to her, a feeble little scroll she clutches like a lifeline to her Sleeper.

The sight of an Omen she knows is like another lifeline. Bloduewedd means Fern, and Fern's someone her Sleeper trusted; in the absence of any other directing force, Fern's a direction she can go in and the thought gives her a jolt of energy. She pops out of the hollow she'd tucked herself in and leaps into the air, more falling than flying in her haste to get to Fern. It's only in the last second before she'd collide with his head that she remembers herself and flares her wings to drop to the ground instead.

friend. The not-word's impatient, worried, impassioned. friend. help. read. She waves the rolled note above her head in emphasis.

[laminae]

Blodeuwedd catches the movement of Iskierka's fumbly flight out of the corner of her eye while on the top of the statue, and lets out a little chirp as she turns to watch. The other omen isn't a threat and, well. It's kind of funny to watch her.

Fern looks up at the chirp to see the omen, and blinks in surprise as she very nearly beans him in the head. When she lands on the ground he immediately moves to crouch, the sword forgotten.

"Dude -" Hold on, " - Lady -" There, he should be a little more respectful. Since she's a lady and all. He carefully takes the note as Blodeuwedd flutters down from her perch, landing daintily on Fern's head. "Are you alright?"

[unsheathedfromreality]

no. Unambiguously, she is not--worse, she's aware now she's not. Her Sleeper is missing; her connection to him is all-but-severed. She doesn't know what's caused it nor whether this means he's beyond hope of rescue.

Fern's taken the note, and that means she can wring her tiny claws together and stare up at him with distressed intensity. no. no. read. help.

Her efforts with the notes have to have been worth something--right?

[laminae]

Ah geez, the poor thing. If she'll let him, Fern will scoop Iskierka up into his hands, petting her head gently in hopes of calming her down a little bit. Once he's done that he'll open up the note and read it over. Blodeuwedd scoots over to read as well, tilting her head.

Twice, because what the heck, man. He looks confused as he tries to work out the meaning in the words, but he's sorely lacking in context.

"I got no idea what any of this means." He shoots Iskierka an apologetic look. "It, uh. It doesn't sound good, though."

[cryptograms]

Well, no is easy enough to understand. At least he doesn't have to worry about a zombie riding a glacier crashing through the library or anything so dramatic as that. But it still leaves him at something of a loss for what to do. Iskierka has given him some very interesting information, but not much he can actually work with. He picks up his journal and, absently, starts to pace the length of the table. He doesn't notice Iskierka staring at his pockets, nor the way Castor finally lets herself down from the candelabra.

"I don't suppose your Sleeper is nearby, are they?"

He watched his friend, sister of his heart, consumed. Ford's not great at reading between the emotional lines, but that's parses as pretty personal despite the third person perspective. So why share it with a complete stranger if this archlich isn't even here? Why write it down at all? And why choose him, assuming it's even a choice? And--

Ford lapses into the sort of thought that can only be interrupted by an answer to his question a moment ago. Castor is aware of this, and take the opportunity to carefully scuttle closer to Iskierka and study her new friend.