nexus_crossings | (no subject)

(no subject)

While lots of human-style furniture is understandably meant for bipeds and little else, there is a K'da poet-warrior who is appreciating the chance to test out one of the chaise lounges in the Plaza, its cushion long enough to allow the entire length of the tiger-sized creature to stretch out comfortably, hanging his forepaws over the side.

Perhaps it's frivolous to spend his time this way when there are other things he could be doing, but he's been in the Nexus many times and never had reason to ask a question. That is no longer the case.

"Have you ever had cause to uproot yourself from your home and travel to places unknown, with no intention of returning? Did you encounter any difficulties that you had not expected?"

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Ignorance or just being slightly off. Or severely. Up to you, really.

The changing colours of the scales is absolutely marvelous. It hasn't escaped Micolash's notice in the least. "Majestic," he whispers, amazed at such a fine display. Is it a shift of temperament? Temperature? Camouflage? Is it like a chameleon? Or an octopus? Oh dear Oedon, if this creature is linked to octopuses...

"Whose then? Do you have an owner?" The caged man looks about, as if expecting to see a petkeeper somewhere nearby. "May I speak with them? Tell them it is most urgent." Micolash is SO eager to get past these pesky formalities so he can get down to some science. The fact that he's asking something obviously sapient and able to speak for himself completely seems to go over his, well. Cage.

From insult to even graver insult. "I am no slave," Faris responds in disgust. He hasn't put away his claws, the sharp points effortlessly carving gashes into the floor. Perhaps under less confrontational circumstances, he'd explain his symbiotic nature, but not to someone who seems to view him as a fascinating scientific specimen, at best. "You will not touch me. Do you greet all strangers this way?"

Perhaps if he does, it would be more understandable. Not excusable, of course, but understandable.

The question seems to confuse the man for a moment, his excited if queasy smile failing as he glances at the floor and ponders. Does he? There was the being who he suspects of being kin, though that one was far more touchy to begin with. The girl with the drawings and the girl on the library steps didn't warrant inspection, did they? No, of course not. They were just normal human girls. What about the man made of energy? Surely he should have leapt at the chance with that one. How foolish to be so briefly dazzled to overlook his academic duties.

The awkwardly long time it's taking Micolash to mull out a response to the question, one may think he'd forgotten entirely he was having a conversation, such as it is. If nothing else, maybe it'll at least clue in Faris that this man isn't really...right? Or he's just outrageously sleep-deprived perhaps. The way he drones and halts his words and the ringed, exhausted eyes are passable clues.

"...I don't. Believe so?" Micolash finally ventures, though he sounds unsure. Blast this feeble human brain and it's patchy, unreliable memories!

Faris has had relatively limited exposure to human behavior, only a few isolated individuals, but there does seem to be something odd about the way this human behaves. Perhaps he is ill. Sickness of the body, perhaps, or of the mind.

The K'da's scales are slowly brightening again, the longer the stranger stays at bay. Not quite as vivid as before, still leeched through with black, but the red edges becoming more visible on his hide. "Then do not do so with me."

Micolash looks disappointed, of course, but at least this time it seems to sink in that this creature, regardless of not being human-shaped, has agency and that must be acknowledged. It's only polite. "I do hope you'll reconsider..." he murmurs before hopefully leaving the subject dropped for good.

Wait, oh no, he's approaching again. Micolash, can't you behave for a single moment?! Oh, but it appears to be a false alarm; instead, the caged scholar shuffles nearer only so he can seat himself onto the chaise lounge. He does so like a puppet with cut strings; just flops bonelessly and limp-armed onto the furniture. Spindly hands on his knees, he taps his fingers idly for a time.

"...Had we been discussing something before? I can't remember..."

"Doubtful," is Faris' response, still eyeing the strange human warily.

He retracts his claws, his scales returning fully to their original golden color. He does not, however, approach the stranger, unwilling to get within prodding distance again so soon. "It was not quite a discussion," he answers, "but a question in need of answers. I was asking for tales of those who left their homes and encountered hardships because of this."

Micolash perks up, remembering as well now. "Oh! Yes. Yes! Wondering if one has left one's home without intent of return, was it? I certainly have a great deal to say on such matters, should you care to hear it."

Not that he pauses long enough for Faris to inject if he'd rather not. Instead, Micolash straightens up and tugs his tattered scholar's regalia to rights. Making sure he looks presentable in his dirty, ragged clothing and towering iron cage, of course. "I made extensive plans to leave most literally everything behind in Yahar'gul. My belongings, my school, my very body. All for the hope of traversing to the higher planes of the Nightmare. And arrival went exactly as planned with...a few. Oversights. And...unplanned developments." Micolash's droning speech slows as he plucks and picks his words carefully. Musn't make anything sound like it was out of hand.

Well, droning speech or not, this is what Faris asked for, and it's better than being poked at like some kind of zoo animal. Not that he understands everything, of course, but enough to get the basic idea.

"You wished to discard your body?" That's the part that makes the least sense, at the moment.

Micolash tilts his head with an expression bordering on patronizing. Because from his point of view, that part is the most obvious and lacking need for explanation.

"Of course! You may not share the sentiment but only because you're not human. The limitations of a mortal shell are maddening! Positively maddening. The human mind can only be expanded so far before it has reached its highest potential; an upper threshold that is nowhere near what is required for ascension. Not enough eyes, no, no. Nowhere nearly enough..."

"Ascension?" It's the one word Faris doesn't recognize, having not covered it in any of his learning of the language, and he can't figure it out from context, confused and disjointed as that is.

Micolash laughs lightly, right hand reaching upwards to point. Originally with just one finger, indicating the direction itself, but halfway through his explanation, his hand flattens. At the same time, the other arm soon lifts as well, holding itself out straight at a 90° angle of the first.

"To rise up, to reach the higher levels of existence, of course! To adopt the form of the Great Ones and become their kin, to achieve the ability to traverse the planes, to untether the spirit from the body and roam as you will."

He doesn't even seem to notice the odd position he's gone and put his arms into, as if the gesture was unconsciously done.

A ritual gesture, perhaps? It makes as much sense as the human's words, which is to say, very little. But Faris suspects that asking more questions will probably lead to answers that are just as confusing.

"I see," he says instead. He doesn't, of course, but it seems the best response he can make.

Micolash remains oblivious to the sheer confusion he's causing, just as he has all the other times here in the Nexus he's baffled someone. To him, this place is quite lovely with all the people who are so interested in what he does or follow his explanations so readily with phrases like 'I see' and 'of course' and 'sure'. This place is wonderful for the scholarly-minded!

Faris IS astute regarding the gesture, though. A guess that ends up right on the money.

"So I'm sure you understand now why a mortal, physical body is...less than ideal."

Micolash's arms are still being held in that position, likely still without thinking. Ah, but at last he's lowering the one that's raised. Or...no, nevermind. In one slow, fluid motion, the raised arm now lies outstretched from his shoulder and the left is now the one pointing upwards. Simply trading spots like turning clock hands.

He doesn't, of course, but there seems to be something inconsistent about it. "You are in a physical body now, yes?"

Oh, there. Finally the arms both drop, flopped to his sides as his face falls in confusion as well.

"...Technically? Unfortunately. I am not clear on how this happened, I'm afraid."

"One of your 'unplanned developments.'" That much is clear to see, though Faris doesn't remotely understand what this strange human meant to do or what possibly went wrong. Perhaps his desires were impossible to begin with, and only madness made him believe otherwise. The K'da will likely never know.

"Oh no. No, no, I reached the Nightmare with physical body left in the waking. Everything I'd intended reached fruition on arrival. Though I'd predicted more...mm, survivors. I'd not conducted the Mensis Ritual alone, of course. That's likely impossible.

"But in the interim of leaving the Nightmare for this dream, my body...It's quite the puzzle, isn't it. My body was left behind in Yahar'gul and awakening should have doomed me to return to that discarded shell. But I've simply transcended to another plane entirely? Perhaps I am still more phantasm than living blood? That would be ideal..." He trails off.

It makes no logical amount of sense that Faris can puzzle out, and he's not sure he wants to know. Either way, this human doesn't seem inclined to clarify, or tell the story in a more straightforward manner. Perhaps he cannot. A K'da that chases his own tail accomplishes nothing, so Faris decides that it might be a better idea not to ask about details and be led in circles.

The human's strategy is... vague, but somewhat understandable. What doesn't make sense is why. "What did you hope to accomplish? Why do this... ritual to achieve ascension?"

Micolash sighs, as if he IS being asked to again clarify something he's already done. It never occurs that he's NOT being clear, taking his own self-familiarity for granted.

"Ascension should be self-explanatory, shouldn't it? True understanding of the workings of the cosmos cannot be comprehended by beastly human minds. We lack the eyes, we lack the Insight. One must transcend our physical limits if we are ever to truly understand these matters."

"But to what end?" Faris persists. "What use did you plan for this knowledge? What purpose would it have? Knowledge for the sake of knowledge is of no use if not shared."

"Ahh, I would have agreed with you once upon a time, but with the ascension of the Vacuous Rom, one must pause. A great Bergywerth student who was chosen to ascend and holds knowledge of every ritual but divests none? Who am I to doubt the judgement of one now so far above me? She withholds for reasons I know not.

"And while I have always acted for the eventual, collective betterment of mankind, what blame is there in simply wanting to know for the sake of knowing? I have never been able to abide by a mystery going uninvestigated..."

"A mystery is not solved if the solution is never revealed," Faris points out. It's against his nature to be selfish, and while he knows that other creatures have no such restrictions, it goes against everything he believes in.

Something about this particular debate seems to have woken up the normally dozy Micolash, at least to some degree where his eyes aren't constantly out of focus or half-lidded, or his posture no longer slouching. This conversation is exciting!

"But the evidence of one who's clearly solved it becomes reason to spur others," he retorts, holding one finger up. "One must be willing to pursue self-enlightenment on their own merits. How else do we prove we are worthy? "

Faris can see the change in body language and posture, and can only hope that it's a good thing. He's still uncertain what to make of this bizarre human, though by now he's somewhat assured that there will be no more prodding hands in the immediate future. Still no reason to get closer, but enough to relax his guard to be merely alert.

"Who decides what is worthy?" he counters easily. "If someone needs to be worthy to learn, then how did you learn enough to do your ritual in the first place? Knowledge is still the base of the house that is built, regardless of how grand; what makes one more worthy than another?"

"Anyone is worthy! We as humans all have the innate potential for greatness. But seeing who thinks only on the basest of planes and surrenders themselves to beasthood, and who elevates their thoughts to transcendence, there is the test. It is evolution at its finest; who will push themselves to become more, and who will languish in their beastly idiocy and never leave the pond?

"And in the case of Rom, sometimes...somehow. Someone is exceptional enough to catch the notice of the Great Ones and lifted up to join them. Magnificent."