Post by Logos on May 31, 2013 4:01:03 GMT -5
Lliira:
Alone in darkness, screams. Lliira pounded her hands against the gently-curved hatch of the eggshell of structural silk that contained her. What had been a realm of perfect quietude seconds before was now a cacophony of echoing cries, splashes, and resonant thumps. The hatch opened up and away, and light burst into the womb-like interior. Seeing the paraclete, she lunged and clutched his arms, wide-eyed with a scream on her lips.
Then, the feel of the solidity of his flesh, the softness of his silk toga, the triangulated arc of Ouranon's translucent Sphere, all began to pull her back to the ordered world. As her scream faded like the edge of a tattered flag, Lliira lowered her head in shame. She tried to cross her hands under her throat to form the Mudra of Apology, but her hands were shaking too badly to produce it Elegantly.
“It is alright. You are safe now. Not all that is True is Beautiful,” the paraclete said, forming the Mudra of Emptiness with the fingers of his left hand; a meditative gesture that could also be used to say 'There is nothing to apologize for.' “It is alright. You are safe now,” he said again in soft, comforting tones. “Would you like to go to the Rinsing Pool?” Lliira nodded and let him help her out of the Egg of Visions, and ease her into the Rinsing Pool, a tub of iridescent white structural silk crafted to resemble a river eddy under a waterfall. Lliira positioned herself under the gently falling curtain of warm water to let it rinse the Egg's briny water from her hair and skin. The paraclete gave her a few moments of silence to center herself while he went to fetch a recording cylinder, inserted it into a delicate device of brass filigree and clockwork gears, then asked, “Would you like to talk about your experience?” Lliira looked up at him, her pale blue eyes wide. “It is alright. No one can judge you for the content of your visions,” he said gently as he wound the device. Lliira nodded. The paraclete positioned the stylus. “Are you ready to begin?” Another nod, and he started the cylinder spinning.
Unable to craft Elegant words, she spoke in a babbling torrent. Every now and then, the paraclete would offer a nod or a Mudra of understanding, sympathy, or compassion, while allowing only a serene expression on his face. A paraclete was trained to offer reassurance and when necessary, counseling to a Visionary with a traumatic Journey, but to refrain from biasing the initial recording with emotional reactions or leading questions. With her story finally told, Lliira felt the horror of it recede enough to surrender primacy to shame and feelings of failure. The paraclete took the recording cylinder, put it in a protective case, sealed it, and inserted it into a pneumatic tube before her eyes so she could verify that he had not tampered with its recording in any way, then shifted a small brass lever to send it on its way. The case would be numbered in one place without breaking its seal, then sent to a transcription room, where it would be transcribed by someone who did not know its origins. Only the Algorithms would be able to connect the cylinder to Lliira.
“Have...any real Visionaries ever seen anything like that?” she asked. The paraclete responded with a subtle smile and the Mudra of Silence. 'Of that I may not speak.' She sighed, realizing that she should not even have asked. His fingers shifted to the Mudra of Emptiness again.
Well...I think I'll not become a Visionary, she thought. What if I never get an Assignment? The other youths in her Icosa were already Assigned, even those more than a year younger. No one was so uncultured as to say anything, but she could see it in their eyes. Kitestaff in hand, she made her way to a balcony overlooking a convection zone. These were areas spaced evenly around the Sphere, kept free of buildings to allow convection currents to flow unimpeded so that temperatures could be equalized, and air exchange could be regulated through openings to the outside. With a graceful step and twirl, Lliira opened her kitestaff and spun its kite out into the wind, seating herself on the staff as the parasail unfurled. The wind caught, and she took hold of the parasail's control handles as she was lifted up and away. By pulling down on one or the other and shifting her weight, she turned out into the river of air and let herself be carried by it up, up, along the curved belly of the Sphere toward the uppermost heights. Through gauzy, translucent veils of taut silk, she could see a panorama of blue ocean and vast, mysterious continents. As she reached the top, she steered and swung to shift from the convection current to the polar gyre. Given free time and a troubled mind, she could circle 'round and 'round, letting her mind wander to imaginings of those distant realms, far away from her problems and failures.
“Pardon me, miss. Are you Lliira of the Laulainens?” Lliira returned from her musings and turned to see an older woman in a wingsuit matching her flight. Lliira dipped her head in the aerialist's nod—a subtler gesture might not be seen across distance. The woman wagged her wings, then made a quick roll, a gesture signaling a request to land for the transfer of a cylinder. Lliira dipped her head again and slowed to take position behind the woman so she could follow her in to the nearest convenient balcony.
The woman held the brass container up in the gesture of giving. Lliira gave her a Mudra of Gratitude and took it in an elegant, economical motion. The cylinder's indicator dials were turned to indicate urgency, and that its contents were for her. Another Mudra of Gratitude for the woman, then she clicked the end-cap of the cylinder into the nearest rating terminal and gave her the highest Rating. The woman smiled and soared away, leaving her to open it in privacy. Inside was a note, a silk holster, and the hilt of a Whip, its pearl handle exquisitely carved into a fluted spiral. Each fluting was itself a spiral with spiral etchings, a truly Elegant expression of fractal beauty. Lliira stared at it in shock. Why am I receiving such a thing? She pressed the thumb-contact to allow the teardrop of polished stainless steel to unreel a little from the business end of the weapon. It hung on what looked like a black thread, almost too thin to see. Black Silk?! That was the rarest and strongest kind. Wrapped around a target and pulled tight, such a thread could cut through leather and flesh, and even some types of armor.
Then she remembered the urgency marker, reeled the Whip back up and turned to the Instruction that came with it. “Please proceed to the Orchid airship dock. You will meet a woman in a light blue gown and privacy veil. You are to go with her.” Quickly strapping on the holster and securing the Whip, she reset the dials of the cylinder to neutral and inserted it into the nearest Tube's magazine for re-use. Then, she unfurled her parasail again and set off for the Orchid dock. Moments after she touched down, Lliira was met, as promised, by a woman in a light blue gown and privacy veil, with a gauzy hooded cloak haloing her in a soft white aura. She noticed that the woman moved with uncanny Elegance as they exchanged the Mudra of Greeting.
“Please come with me. There is not much time,” the woman said. The woman led her aboard an airship with a sleek, transparent body and articulated, backward-curving wings. [OOC: Looks like this, but with a passenger cabin built inside the ventral surface, and an array of curved mirrors on gimbals for a solar-thermal power system.] We’re going on a journey? Lliira thought. But I did not get a chance to--
“Do not worry. Our supplies have already been provided,” the woman said. Almost as soon as they sat down, the airship cast off moorings and departed for the open sky. “We are going to Aramazd. Your vision was not the only one of its kind. I have been Instructed to accompany you on a journey to investigate. I will assist as necessary, but this is your journey. Your opportunity to experience the life of a Traveler.” Lliira felt a jolt of nervousness, with a touch of excitement. She had never told anyone of her curiosity about the world outside the Sphere, but it seemed that the Algorithms had sussed it out anyway.
Over the city, she and the woman launched themselves out of the airship, gliding down on their kitestaffs. Here, daydreaming in flight was not an option. The winds were stronger and much more unpredictable than within the Sphere. As she neared the ground, Lliira slid off of her kitestaff and shifted a small lever to engage a gear connected to a tightly-wound spring. A button released the catch, and the spring quickly reeled in a set of drawstrings that folded her parasail and drew it into the staff. Quickly, she seized the top of her kitestaff with one hand, placing one foot in the middle of the staff and extending her other leg as a counterbalance. She fell about twenty cubits before the bottom of the staff hit the stone pavement. The staff bowed under her weight, slowing her descent enough for her to step off, grab the middle of the staff with her free hand, step forward and turn the staff toward the horizontal as she lifted its butt from the ground. The tension built up in the staff made the ends thrum back and forth until its energy was spent. The Traveler’s Dismount was one of the more difficult maneuvers with a kitestaff, but it let a flier make sure that their parasail would not end up dragging on the ground and being fouled with twigs, pebbles or other detritus before it could be reeled into the staff.
Lliira glanced back to make sure her companion managed her landing alright, but she needn’t have. The woman settled to the ground with such exquisite smoothness that Lliira blinked in astonishment. She folded the fingers of her free hand in a Mudra of very heartfelt Appreciation, receiving Gratitude and Emptiness in return. I should be carrying the pack forher, not the other way around! Lliira thought. Instructions were Instructions though, and Lliira could detect no hint of objection to the arrangement in her companion. Again, she had to turn her thoughts from wondering who she was. The woman’s ability to read people had proven to be very acute, and if she wanted to wear a privacy veil, Lliira would not disrespect her choice.
Instead, Lliira looked around to orient herself in this new world she’d landed in. It was strange to see a city, and hills, that just went on and on and on without the rainbow-tinged translucence of the Sphere and its delicately-triangulated structure to mark a boundary. Stranger still was the weighty solidity of everything. The paving stones under her feet, the buildings, and the nearby fountain… Even the people, with their severe, thick robes, their footfalls like gavel-taps, forcefully announcing their presence as if their errands carried a weight of legal imperative. Some of those close by stared at the strangers who had landed in their midst. Lliira tried to keep from squirming under their gaze. They are not uncultured…this is their City. Their ways are different, she reminded herself. Unable to decide which Mudra to use, and deciding that the Aramazdi might not understand it anyway, she nodded her head in what she hoped they would interpret as a friendly gesture. She spotted the library and headed toward it. Behind her, the veiled woman’s whisper-quiet footsteps said she followed with her usual eerie grace. The library greeted her with a carved wooden door that did not yield like a curtain. After a moment of embarrassment, Lliira figured out that the petal of brass above the curved brass handle was a latch meant to be pushed by the thumb as one’s hand gripped the handle. Once she did this, the door opened smoothly on well-oiled hinges. Hefting so much mass merely to enter a room felt strange, but perhaps it had meaning for the Aramazdi.
A wave of dizziness hit her as she walked inside. Everything about the place was utterly alien. Thick codices instead of silken scrolls, lined up on massive wooden shelves. Columns rising from a stone floor, spreading into vaults and arches of a stone ceiling that looked like it could very easily pulp everyone inside the building should it fall. A part of her mind appreciated the Elegance with which the design pitted mass against mass to make the ceiling suspend itself instead of crashing down, even as the thought of so much hard, heavy solidity hanging over her head made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. So. Much. Mass. Everywhere she looked. Nevertheless, there was a beauty to it. The grains of wood and marble, the clean, economical lines. Ninety-degree right angles were ubiquitous here; not a single triangular vertex or tension cord in sight. This heightened the sense of alienness…and yet…this place was also eerily familiar. With a sudden tingle of fear, she realized why.
“May I help you?” a librarian asked. By force of habit, Lliira gave him a Mudra of Greeting.
“Has anything…unusual happened here?” she asked. The librarian frowned.
“You must be here about the ‘shadow’ incident. This way please,” he said, then headed deeper into the library at a brisk pace. Lliira and the veiled woman followed. He led her to a group of men, one of whom was larger and more imposing by far than anyone she had ever seen. But that was not what caused her to gasp in terror. When the men turned to her, she bowed her head and gave the one-handed version of the Mudra of Apology.
“Please forgive me…what happened here…I have Seen it,” she stammered, kicking herself for the inElegance of her speech.
Alone in darkness, screams. Lliira pounded her hands against the gently-curved hatch of the eggshell of structural silk that contained her. What had been a realm of perfect quietude seconds before was now a cacophony of echoing cries, splashes, and resonant thumps. The hatch opened up and away, and light burst into the womb-like interior. Seeing the paraclete, she lunged and clutched his arms, wide-eyed with a scream on her lips.
Then, the feel of the solidity of his flesh, the softness of his silk toga, the triangulated arc of Ouranon's translucent Sphere, all began to pull her back to the ordered world. As her scream faded like the edge of a tattered flag, Lliira lowered her head in shame. She tried to cross her hands under her throat to form the Mudra of Apology, but her hands were shaking too badly to produce it Elegantly.
“It is alright. You are safe now. Not all that is True is Beautiful,” the paraclete said, forming the Mudra of Emptiness with the fingers of his left hand; a meditative gesture that could also be used to say 'There is nothing to apologize for.' “It is alright. You are safe now,” he said again in soft, comforting tones. “Would you like to go to the Rinsing Pool?” Lliira nodded and let him help her out of the Egg of Visions, and ease her into the Rinsing Pool, a tub of iridescent white structural silk crafted to resemble a river eddy under a waterfall. Lliira positioned herself under the gently falling curtain of warm water to let it rinse the Egg's briny water from her hair and skin. The paraclete gave her a few moments of silence to center herself while he went to fetch a recording cylinder, inserted it into a delicate device of brass filigree and clockwork gears, then asked, “Would you like to talk about your experience?” Lliira looked up at him, her pale blue eyes wide. “It is alright. No one can judge you for the content of your visions,” he said gently as he wound the device. Lliira nodded. The paraclete positioned the stylus. “Are you ready to begin?” Another nod, and he started the cylinder spinning.
Unable to craft Elegant words, she spoke in a babbling torrent. Every now and then, the paraclete would offer a nod or a Mudra of understanding, sympathy, or compassion, while allowing only a serene expression on his face. A paraclete was trained to offer reassurance and when necessary, counseling to a Visionary with a traumatic Journey, but to refrain from biasing the initial recording with emotional reactions or leading questions. With her story finally told, Lliira felt the horror of it recede enough to surrender primacy to shame and feelings of failure. The paraclete took the recording cylinder, put it in a protective case, sealed it, and inserted it into a pneumatic tube before her eyes so she could verify that he had not tampered with its recording in any way, then shifted a small brass lever to send it on its way. The case would be numbered in one place without breaking its seal, then sent to a transcription room, where it would be transcribed by someone who did not know its origins. Only the Algorithms would be able to connect the cylinder to Lliira.
“Have...any real Visionaries ever seen anything like that?” she asked. The paraclete responded with a subtle smile and the Mudra of Silence. 'Of that I may not speak.' She sighed, realizing that she should not even have asked. His fingers shifted to the Mudra of Emptiness again.
Well...I think I'll not become a Visionary, she thought. What if I never get an Assignment? The other youths in her Icosa were already Assigned, even those more than a year younger. No one was so uncultured as to say anything, but she could see it in their eyes. Kitestaff in hand, she made her way to a balcony overlooking a convection zone. These were areas spaced evenly around the Sphere, kept free of buildings to allow convection currents to flow unimpeded so that temperatures could be equalized, and air exchange could be regulated through openings to the outside. With a graceful step and twirl, Lliira opened her kitestaff and spun its kite out into the wind, seating herself on the staff as the parasail unfurled. The wind caught, and she took hold of the parasail's control handles as she was lifted up and away. By pulling down on one or the other and shifting her weight, she turned out into the river of air and let herself be carried by it up, up, along the curved belly of the Sphere toward the uppermost heights. Through gauzy, translucent veils of taut silk, she could see a panorama of blue ocean and vast, mysterious continents. As she reached the top, she steered and swung to shift from the convection current to the polar gyre. Given free time and a troubled mind, she could circle 'round and 'round, letting her mind wander to imaginings of those distant realms, far away from her problems and failures.
“Pardon me, miss. Are you Lliira of the Laulainens?” Lliira returned from her musings and turned to see an older woman in a wingsuit matching her flight. Lliira dipped her head in the aerialist's nod—a subtler gesture might not be seen across distance. The woman wagged her wings, then made a quick roll, a gesture signaling a request to land for the transfer of a cylinder. Lliira dipped her head again and slowed to take position behind the woman so she could follow her in to the nearest convenient balcony.
The woman held the brass container up in the gesture of giving. Lliira gave her a Mudra of Gratitude and took it in an elegant, economical motion. The cylinder's indicator dials were turned to indicate urgency, and that its contents were for her. Another Mudra of Gratitude for the woman, then she clicked the end-cap of the cylinder into the nearest rating terminal and gave her the highest Rating. The woman smiled and soared away, leaving her to open it in privacy. Inside was a note, a silk holster, and the hilt of a Whip, its pearl handle exquisitely carved into a fluted spiral. Each fluting was itself a spiral with spiral etchings, a truly Elegant expression of fractal beauty. Lliira stared at it in shock. Why am I receiving such a thing? She pressed the thumb-contact to allow the teardrop of polished stainless steel to unreel a little from the business end of the weapon. It hung on what looked like a black thread, almost too thin to see. Black Silk?! That was the rarest and strongest kind. Wrapped around a target and pulled tight, such a thread could cut through leather and flesh, and even some types of armor.
Then she remembered the urgency marker, reeled the Whip back up and turned to the Instruction that came with it. “Please proceed to the Orchid airship dock. You will meet a woman in a light blue gown and privacy veil. You are to go with her.” Quickly strapping on the holster and securing the Whip, she reset the dials of the cylinder to neutral and inserted it into the nearest Tube's magazine for re-use. Then, she unfurled her parasail again and set off for the Orchid dock. Moments after she touched down, Lliira was met, as promised, by a woman in a light blue gown and privacy veil, with a gauzy hooded cloak haloing her in a soft white aura. She noticed that the woman moved with uncanny Elegance as they exchanged the Mudra of Greeting.
“Please come with me. There is not much time,” the woman said. The woman led her aboard an airship with a sleek, transparent body and articulated, backward-curving wings. [OOC: Looks like this, but with a passenger cabin built inside the ventral surface, and an array of curved mirrors on gimbals for a solar-thermal power system.] We’re going on a journey? Lliira thought. But I did not get a chance to--
“Do not worry. Our supplies have already been provided,” the woman said. Almost as soon as they sat down, the airship cast off moorings and departed for the open sky. “We are going to Aramazd. Your vision was not the only one of its kind. I have been Instructed to accompany you on a journey to investigate. I will assist as necessary, but this is your journey. Your opportunity to experience the life of a Traveler.” Lliira felt a jolt of nervousness, with a touch of excitement. She had never told anyone of her curiosity about the world outside the Sphere, but it seemed that the Algorithms had sussed it out anyway.
Over the city, she and the woman launched themselves out of the airship, gliding down on their kitestaffs. Here, daydreaming in flight was not an option. The winds were stronger and much more unpredictable than within the Sphere. As she neared the ground, Lliira slid off of her kitestaff and shifted a small lever to engage a gear connected to a tightly-wound spring. A button released the catch, and the spring quickly reeled in a set of drawstrings that folded her parasail and drew it into the staff. Quickly, she seized the top of her kitestaff with one hand, placing one foot in the middle of the staff and extending her other leg as a counterbalance. She fell about twenty cubits before the bottom of the staff hit the stone pavement. The staff bowed under her weight, slowing her descent enough for her to step off, grab the middle of the staff with her free hand, step forward and turn the staff toward the horizontal as she lifted its butt from the ground. The tension built up in the staff made the ends thrum back and forth until its energy was spent. The Traveler’s Dismount was one of the more difficult maneuvers with a kitestaff, but it let a flier make sure that their parasail would not end up dragging on the ground and being fouled with twigs, pebbles or other detritus before it could be reeled into the staff.
Lliira glanced back to make sure her companion managed her landing alright, but she needn’t have. The woman settled to the ground with such exquisite smoothness that Lliira blinked in astonishment. She folded the fingers of her free hand in a Mudra of very heartfelt Appreciation, receiving Gratitude and Emptiness in return. I should be carrying the pack forher, not the other way around! Lliira thought. Instructions were Instructions though, and Lliira could detect no hint of objection to the arrangement in her companion. Again, she had to turn her thoughts from wondering who she was. The woman’s ability to read people had proven to be very acute, and if she wanted to wear a privacy veil, Lliira would not disrespect her choice.
Instead, Lliira looked around to orient herself in this new world she’d landed in. It was strange to see a city, and hills, that just went on and on and on without the rainbow-tinged translucence of the Sphere and its delicately-triangulated structure to mark a boundary. Stranger still was the weighty solidity of everything. The paving stones under her feet, the buildings, and the nearby fountain… Even the people, with their severe, thick robes, their footfalls like gavel-taps, forcefully announcing their presence as if their errands carried a weight of legal imperative. Some of those close by stared at the strangers who had landed in their midst. Lliira tried to keep from squirming under their gaze. They are not uncultured…this is their City. Their ways are different, she reminded herself. Unable to decide which Mudra to use, and deciding that the Aramazdi might not understand it anyway, she nodded her head in what she hoped they would interpret as a friendly gesture. She spotted the library and headed toward it. Behind her, the veiled woman’s whisper-quiet footsteps said she followed with her usual eerie grace. The library greeted her with a carved wooden door that did not yield like a curtain. After a moment of embarrassment, Lliira figured out that the petal of brass above the curved brass handle was a latch meant to be pushed by the thumb as one’s hand gripped the handle. Once she did this, the door opened smoothly on well-oiled hinges. Hefting so much mass merely to enter a room felt strange, but perhaps it had meaning for the Aramazdi.
A wave of dizziness hit her as she walked inside. Everything about the place was utterly alien. Thick codices instead of silken scrolls, lined up on massive wooden shelves. Columns rising from a stone floor, spreading into vaults and arches of a stone ceiling that looked like it could very easily pulp everyone inside the building should it fall. A part of her mind appreciated the Elegance with which the design pitted mass against mass to make the ceiling suspend itself instead of crashing down, even as the thought of so much hard, heavy solidity hanging over her head made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. So. Much. Mass. Everywhere she looked. Nevertheless, there was a beauty to it. The grains of wood and marble, the clean, economical lines. Ninety-degree right angles were ubiquitous here; not a single triangular vertex or tension cord in sight. This heightened the sense of alienness…and yet…this place was also eerily familiar. With a sudden tingle of fear, she realized why.
“May I help you?” a librarian asked. By force of habit, Lliira gave him a Mudra of Greeting.
“Has anything…unusual happened here?” she asked. The librarian frowned.
“You must be here about the ‘shadow’ incident. This way please,” he said, then headed deeper into the library at a brisk pace. Lliira and the veiled woman followed. He led her to a group of men, one of whom was larger and more imposing by far than anyone she had ever seen. But that was not what caused her to gasp in terror. When the men turned to her, she bowed her head and gave the one-handed version of the Mudra of Apology.
“Please forgive me…what happened here…I have Seen it,” she stammered, kicking herself for the inElegance of her speech.