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

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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

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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!

[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?"

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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.

[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.