This Mortal Coil

[grantuseyes]

Micolash is in the Nexus Plaza, thankfully looking cleaner and smelling better than the last time he'd been asking questions. The cage is still in place, of course; why would it not be? He even looks a little healthier! Not much, as his skin is still sallow and gaunt over angular bones and features. But at least not as unsteady and proportionally more alert as well.

He's not quick to ask a question, however. The scholar is instead on a sofa, long legs pulled up onto the seat with him and folded in front of him. The rest of the sofa, normally big enough to seat three, is piled with books. Easily two dozen, if not more. A glance at the covers that are visible will show a selection of possibly recognizable names: Erwin Schrödinger. Charles Hartshorne. René Descartes. David Ray Griffin. The one he has open on his knees right now is a collection of Thomas Aquinas' summae and related theories.

The scholar is content to immerse himself in this reading for hours on end, but eventually, he seems to recall where he is. And that he can ask questions if the fancy takes him.

"What do you think. Or believe. Happens after death?"

Getting RIGHT to the heavy stuff, it appears.

Comments

[heirtothearcane]

The caged head should be the sort of thing that makes a person uneasy at the very least, but it drags Viatorus from his thoughts with a surge of excitement. Micolash's question, on the other hand, gets him to hesitate and sober appropriately.

"I was taught that, provided you have the coins for the ferryman and you're buried correctly, you enter the underworld. Then you're put before judges of the Underworld who decide which part you're to be sent to." He fidgets and smiles weakly. "Most people go to the Meadows. It's not bad, or good, it… sounds rather dull, really."

[grantuseyes]

The sound of footsteps approaching gets him to look up from his book once they draw near enough, though his eyes linger across the page before they're eventually facing the young man now speaking. Just because he asked a question does not mean Micolash stopped his reading!

Oh! Oh!! But wait! He remembers this one! The young man who spoke of Dreams with him! The book is clapped shut with enthusiasm as Micolash grins uneasily at Viatorus. That grin remains all the way through the sombre description, in fact.

"OoOOhh!" The sound is comically musical, even moreso that it is done in earnest. "How terribly grim! Who has appointed these judges? What makes one worthy to dole out such verdicts? Can they be appealed? What happens to those without the currency to cross?" Though it's all said in his usual drone, the questions come one after the other, rapid-fire, animated with excitement.

[heirtothearcane]

Initially the other's grin is received with the same enthusiasm it was given in, but the longer he holds it the more it starts to (very slowly) nag at Viatorus' nerves. Still, he doesn't want to stare grimly at the other man. After all, he probably doesn't realise it's a little strange. So he smiles in a way that's barely a smile and looks like as much of a strain as it feels.

"Oh, well, Hades, god of the dead and king of the Underworld, rules over that realm. I imagine he appointed the judges. I… I don't think their verdict can be appealed though," he says thoughtfully. "Not unless something extraordinary happens. And the dead who can't pay can't get to the Underworld. They're left as restless souls to wander until they can pay Chiron..."

[grantuseyes]

Indeed, sometimes Micolash's expressions are either conscious and wooden masks OR almost crazed in their unchecked enthusiasm. It's all or nothing; he either must fake them or he cannot control them.

With that being said, his grin's uncomfortable slant soon fades and his eyes grow wider, brighter, increasingly alert. Eager for answers and hopeful for parallels. The book he had been reading is dropped immediately. By the time it bounces off the sofa cushion and thumps onto the floor, Micolash has already snatched up pen and pad.

"Spell the name, would you? Hay-deez, was it? And the realm he shapes is the Under...earth?" He's scratching out notes rapidly across the notebook; so rapidly that he sometimes smears the side of his writing left hand across still-drying ink. "Where are the judges appointed from? Created? Summoned?" His voice gains an quiver of zeal at the following word, "Ascended?"

[chiron_survivor]

Oh, it's that man from the library.

Adia pauses on her way to her favorite Nexus terminal, nervously eyeing the seated man. It has to be the same man, although he's looking a lot cleaner and healthier than when she last saw him, sprawled out on one of the study corrals, sleeping fitfully and muttering about eyeballs. She always felt a little bad about ignoring him, backing up hurriedly whenever she spotted him rummaging through one of the shelves. Maybe she should answer his question. It'd be the polite thing to do.

The large bird standing beside her adamantly disagrees. Adia, why do you want to talk to the weirdo with a birdcage on his head? He tries to block her path, then chirps in irritation when she continues forward. Adia, seriously. This guy is creepy!

"Bucky..." She shushes him softly while she looks over Micolash's collection of books. The names are unfamiliar to her, but she gets the gist of the subject matter. "I, um... I suppose this is isn't a terribly interesting answer, but I don't know what I believe anymore. The Sacred Scrolls talk about an Underworld that our souls travel to after death... the Elysium Fields if we're good, and Tartarus if we're bad... but I wasn't raised in a religious household, and wishful thinking isn't the same as belief."

[grantuseyes]

Yharnam is no stranger to giant birds as it hosts a distressing population of crows so robust that they cannot even fly properly anymore. Too gorged on eating...things. That being said, the one accompanying the young lady is stared at with mixed trepidation and amazement. That is a colourful crow, isn't it?

Adia is not recognized in turn which might end up being to her advantage. The man in the cage always did seem distracted, even lost, when in the library. If not, of course, outright unconscious and left to murmur and babble in his sleep. As it is, Micolash gives the girl a twitch of an unpracticed smile as she approaches.

"Changing your beliefs," he begins softly in that nasal drone of his, "isn't a shortcoming. Especially when done when you've been presented. New data. That challenges them. To do otherwise invites stagnation, the antithesis of growth. Fools clutching, as you said, 'wishful thinking' in dead and brittle hands." His cadence and emphasis is always so odd, dragging out words with careful tasting of each syllable, halting and starting as if having to wait for a thought to form or for another to pass.

"So you do not believe this yourself." It's meant as a question, but Micolash's voice has taken a dip into a lower, flatter tone as he's briefly absorbed with picking a fingernail at a frayed bit of thread on the cover of the book he still holds.

[chiron_survivor]

Bucky gives him his best glare in return, the feathers around his neck ruffling up in displeasure. This guy really sets his beak on edge...

The cadence of the man's voice is at once both hypnotic and unnerving. Adia finds herself thinking over his words as much to understand them as to formulate a reply. "No, I... I haven't seen any evidence of an afterlife. In my world," she corrects quickly. "I've seen plenty of evidence for the supernatural in the Nexus."

That cage looks so heavy. How is he able to keep his head up at all? She can't help but feel a little sorry for him. "What do you think happens after death?"

[dembonyhips]

Let's be honest here: Fortyskey is from Azeroth. A dude wearing a cage on his head is kind of tame by comparison to some of the weird, freaky, and all out strange shit she's seen, okay?

That said, there's a bitter, and boy is it bitter laugh from her at this question, sorry Microlash, she's got tons of issues on the subject of death. "Ha. It's not some bunch of preachy feel-good bullshit, let me fucking tell you. At least not for me. It was black nothingness for the all of five minutes I was fucking dead before I was raised again."

Her memories after that, and before being freed? A blur. And something she tries to ignore since some of the shit she did was pretty terrible even by her standards.

Fun fact, Microlash: You're talking to a walking corpse. It's especially obvious after a not-so-quick glance. Jane's skinny, scrawny, pale to the point of almost being white. Her voice has an odd echo to it, and she speaks (and looks, despite the inability to be so) like she's Eternally Exhausted. There's also, y'know, the yellow glowing eyes.

[grantuseyes]

What's the stats on that cage anyway? It must be good for casters but it's mail? Maybe even plate? This man doesn't look like he'd be much of a healadin...

What does it say of the man a living corpse is speaking to resembles her in so many ways? Gaunt, thin, bony, an unhealthy pale pallour and waxy complexion. Micolash tries so very hard to concentrate on her words, catching some key ones like 'nothingness' and an appalling amount of swears. But regardless of Fortyskey's obviously interesting story (being 'raised'? What must that imply?), the scholar finds himself focused instead on her appearances. Staring openly, searching her face and features with pale blue eyes.

When he finally speaks, his voice is a conversationally airy tone. "You appear to be quite dead...?" It upticks at the very end into a uncertain question.

[dembonyhips]

Either way, it's headgear she doesn't really want to bother trying to equip, she's a cloth wearer, so she probably can't. What would be more of a concern for her is how much it'd sell for because of that.

To be fair to Fortyskey, she doesn't strictly assume Microlash is, y'know, dead either. He lacks many of the typical traits of an Azeroth flavor of undead, particularly the glowing eyes or haunting voice. Forty herself is lucky in comparison to most, in that she's relatively intact.

"Stick an 'un' infront of that and you'd be fucking dead on." ha, puns "I'm undead, forcibly raised after I was fucking killed." By a traitor prince, and his undead army. Fuck you, Arthas. Death is too good for you. Maybe if you were eternally killed once a week, resetting on a tuesday...

"Which is to say I've got some damn experience with death. Along with saying 'fuck you' to its goddamn sick sense of humor."

Well, why not?

[plagueofdeception]

"STOULTUS!"

That wasn't some monstrous beast wandering into the plaza, if that's what Micolash is wondering. It seems a stranger in white with a burlap sack over his shoulder has lost his way, and it doesn't take him very long to realize this isn't his laboratorium.

"What the-" He quickly glances about, but he can't find the doorway he just came out of. Or any doorway he recognizes for that matter. Only couches, lounge chairs, weird internet machines and books. "Where the hell am I!?"

And then he spots the fellow with the cage on his head. If Micolash had been just a touch paler, the stranger might have took him for one of his patients on first glance... Which wouldn't explain the cloak. "Who the hell are you?!"

all right all right all right all right /OutKast

[grantuseyes]

Micolash is jolted from his reading when someone else impolitely and loudly screeches another's name in his vicinity. Good heavens. How disruptive. (Thinks the man who's infamous at the Nexus library for howling when the mood takes him. Sometimes you've just got to howl, you know?)

At first, he doesn't deign to look up and cast about for whoever is doing that shouting. He'd sooner just keep on reading, instead busy with scanning for where he'd left off. Let's see, he'd just been reading something about how divine intervention is necessary for man to obtain higher knowledge...

Oh. But the other person is yelling again. Much closer now. Only when he looks up does Micolash realise that he was actually the one being addressed. Dr. White's own vexation is met with owlish pale eyes from behind a cage and that behind a book. He stares longer than is considered polite as his gears are turning slowly and are slowed worse by the fact he's taking in the other man's appearances bit by bit.

"...Hello." That's not answering him, Micolash. You're gonna have to take another stab at it.

HEEEEEYAA~

[plagueofdeception]

Dr. White ended up staring back at the other guy. God, this one was weird. Was he sick? Probably, but he wasn't coughing up blood or anything, so it isn't the plague. And what's up with the cage on his head? Trying to get away from the diseased? Kind of hard to do that with all the gaps-

The guy said hello. Dr. White furrows his brows in annoyance.

"...Hi. I noticed you didn't really answer my questions, like, at all. So, would you be so kind as to tell me who you are and what I'm doing here?'

[chocolatechipbadass]

Tina remembers this guy. He was there for storytime when she was working on her new Bunkers and Badasses campaign. It's easy to spot him in the Nexus again thanks to his signature headgear and all that. The books aren't or much interest to her as nothing is really geared toward a child of her age.

But his question. Well.

"You're done, son. That's what death is all about. I see folks die all the time. Ain't nothing happen to 'em after."

She isn't quite as upbeat as she usually is. Her thoughts are drifting back to her parents. And to Roland.

[grantuseyes]

Oh, and he remembers her in turn! Micolash gives Tina a small wave with one pale hand accompanied by a somewhat goofy smile. All his smiles are like that. He's trying.

Tina's answer is so grim! So devoid of hope or wonder. It makes his smile vanish quickly as he hears it, looking a little sympathetic now instead. "Aye, I too have witnessed a fair share of death. So it goes, living in a city beset with a plague. But." He raises a single finger to punctuate that 'but'.

"...Nothing happens to their bodies. Is that what you mean? Other than decompose, of course. That is standard."

[chocolatechipbadass]

Tina's going to sit her petite tush on the far armrest of the sofa as it's one of the few surfaces not piled high with books. Rather than kick her feet or sing or any of the high energy antics she's wont to do, Tina simply watches Micolash speak.

"Aside from bein' used as tacky fashion statements, ornaments, or skag food, yeah thats about the sum of it."

Her gaze drops from meeting Micolash's own gaze.

"An it don't much care who it takes, neither."

[conjuredskies]

He's certainly drawn some attention with that question. And the cage, let's be honest, that's at least mildly unusual by anyone's standards. This young mage may be quite wrapped up in his own nefarious plans, but he has time enough to cast a curious eye over the scholar on his couch. Above his leather armor, his own head is covered by a thin silver-grey hood of some fine, soft material. Silk perhaps.

"It all depends on who you know. Much the same as in life." He chuckles. He has a pair of swords buckled at his sides, and his hands stray briefly toward the hilts. "In the realm I'm from, the souls of devout and virtuous worshipers of the Divines join them in Aetherius upon death. Those who pledge themselves to other powers - the Daedric Princes, in particular - may be claimed by them. For better or for worse. Some souls prove unable or unwilling to move onward, and become some type of wraith or other haunting the mortal plane.

"And," he adds, strolling closer to inspect the books, "if you're truly unfortunate your soul is trapped and bound to animate an undead creature, or drained dry to power an enchantment. It is a crime," he adds abruptly, his chiding tone at odds with how dispassionate he was a second ago. And perhaps it's not directed at the man he's speaking to. "Of course it is."

[grantuseyes]

The young man in turn is given a look over, taking in the sight of the leather armour, the duel weaponry, even the hood. How familiar! A hunter is a hunter, even in a dream...

Alas, any hope of him being another native of Yharnam is dashed when he speaks of beings and gods he knows not the name of. A pity, but he'd not had his hopes up too far. "And what is done with these claimed souls?" Micolash asks in that nasal drone of his. "For what reason would any higher being want the spirit of frail mortals, at least as they are..."

Micolash doesn't entirely mind the proximity when Felix draws closer to examine the books. It gives him another closer look at the young man and his curious weapons, after all. Hmm, they don't appear to be trick weapons as the hunters prefer, but they give off an odd radiance, don't they? He thinks briefly of how some would enhance their blades with the slime of augur shells, or infuse them with the strength of blood echoes. He's too wrapped up in his eyeballing to notice the unusual switch in Felix's tone, but then again, Micolash with his meandering cadence and unusual emphasis isn't really one to be discerning of such matters.

"Ooh, undead animation, you say? How does that work? Why would such a thing be illegal in the first place?" The fact he has to ask might say a lot as to where the scholar's moral compass lies.

[conjuredskies]

"It's difficult to speak to the motivations of beings so much greater than ourselves. I believe the Divines act from compassion, to reward and protect their worshippers. The Daedra, well, they're more varied in their desires. Azura, for example, cares for her followers much as the Divines would, and perhaps so does Sheogorath in his way..." He frowns, because that's one Prince he's always been careful not to get too close to in his studies. But it's tempting sometimes, with all the intriguing hints to be found among scribbled ravings and scattered artefacts.

"But I think most of them truly want subjects... in one sense of the word or another!" He laughs at his own joke. "Whether for companionship, or amusement, or to enhance their dominion... or to have something truly destructible to enact their spheres upon." Yes, Dagon, they all know your game by now. That's why your shrines are cold lonely places bare of offerings.

Felix, for his part, doesn't mind people admiring his blades... but he is more than a little jealous of them, and he takes note of where Micolash's attention goes. Just remember whose they are, scholar... Oh, wait, there was a question.

"People- mortal people - generally take it quite amiss to find their compatriots' remains repurposed so." He explains it in the same faintly thoughtful tone he'd use for describing the behavior of clouds. "To snare their souls is much worse. They fear it, and also they understand very little about it. Though it's true, certain gods also despise the practice..." And there he actually grimaces, a little uneasy twitch of his mouth. He shrugs it off, a little too stiffly to make it look casual.

"As to the method, well, that's quite an art." This fellow seems like he might be the type to appreciate said art, so Felix adds (a little hopefully), "I've recently begun extending my studies in that direction, myself."

[rogueinladysclothing]

Despite her many hours in the grand library, Amelia's never seen the man lounging across the furniture she's walking by now in anything more than passing. With her nose pressed into any volume on elemental or defensive magic she can find, authors like those set out in front of Micolash are completely out of her range. It explains much of why she's never really paid him any mind, despite his odd appearance and ...less than pleasant smell, until he asks that question.

She slows her steps and comes to a stop a short distance from the very strange looking man with a cage on his head, her lips tugged into a small, resigned smile. "I know where I'm going when I die," she says firmly. "When my people leave the land of the living, they pass into a place called the Eternal Dream. Those who have lived good lives and impacted the world around them in a meaningful way will spend eternity dreaming wonderful things. And those of us who have lived quite otherwise?" Her smile turns rueful. "I'm told my worst nightmares can't even begin to compare to what waits for me."

[grantuseyes]

Her answer gets his eyes from the page the instant she says 'Eternal Dream'. Unblinking, staring from under those hairless brows, listening to her explanation in full with undivided (unnerving?) attention.

"...Have you. Heard of the Hunter's Nightmare?" He asks simply once Amelia has concluded. Micolash has yet to put his book down, but it's held open and neglected now in favour of whatever this line of inquiry is, the spine resting on his folded, gangly knees.

[rogueinladysclothing]

Amelia shakes her head at the question, her feet shifting beneath her in response to his intense gaze. The way he moves is very strange to her and she's certain she's never met anyone quite like him before - a rare thing in the Nexus. It's not often that someone who appears so introverted is so intense when they interact with someone; Usually such people are very shy, in her experience.

"It's not a familiar term, but I have a feeling it's not a pleasant thing. Where I'm from there's only one place we go when we pass on, but the experience within it varies depending on a person's actions in their lifetime." She crosses her arms loosely in front of her chest, tilting her head curiously to one side. "Is it something from your world?"

[thevictoriandetective]

There's a man with curly dark hair and intense, blue-green eyes watching him intensely, lounging on a chair. Maybe he's just resting. Maybe he's observing everyone. Maybe he's after someone. Or maybe he has no idea where he is.

He's wearing his usual garb of a Belstaff coat and a blue scarf, over a suit and dress shirt with no tie, but his clothes are worn, tattered, and he was far paler than usual. He seemed...not exactly nervous, but certainly brimming with excess energy.

The inquiry gets a laugh and a scoff.

"What do you think? Clearly it's important to you, otherwise you'd not bother asking the question."

[grantuseyes]

Well, this is strange. Micolash with his own dark curls, his pale blue eyes, pallid complexion, his tall (if lanky) build being addressed by another man with several of the same traits. Of course, one is dressed normally and the other wears ragged scholar regalia, untied shoes and a tall cage. And no eyebrows. No one will be mixing them up that easily just yet.

"Important? Very. Do you believe it is not? Short-sighted, that. And your observation is...equally so. Of course I inquire on matters pressing and relevant to my research; that one way of many to gather data. And I ask because I have yet to...solidify a lasting theory just yet."

A pause, looking down to turn a page, recalling that he'd left off at the end of one before he'd been addressed. "The only certainty presently is that death is not the end. Now, do you have anything more. Substantial to add...?"

[thevictoriandetective]

This one doesn't seemed too bothered the cage, it was marginally interesting, yes, but he'd seen all manner of eccentricities and until it revealed itself to be relevant somehow, he ignored it.

However, he seemed far more interested in what the man has to say.

His intense focus fixated on him, like a laser, ignoring his question.

"How do you know that death is not the end? Why is it a certainty?"