A book,

[Venefyxatu]

OOC Note : please don't post in this thread since it will be developed into a story. If you wish to comment, feel free to start an OOC thread in the Critic's Corner. Thank you!

The prologue that started this all can be found here.

----

The book opens with some cracking protests from the pages. Nevertheless, it doesn't attempt to close itself again as many books tend to do.
On the first page, centered and in a beautiful, hand-written font, the title of a story is written.

 

"L'homme à l'harmonica"

 

On the pages after this one, a story is written. Sometimes the handwriting is a bit hard to decipher, but it is obvious that whoever wrote this took great care to avoid this.

It is a small town in the middle of a vast desert. The wooden houses have stood for so long that the boards have almost turned to sand themselves. They haven't started to rot yet because there is simply not enough moisture to start a rotting process in the first place, let alone sustain one. Some of the houses are leaning into each other, as if searching for support in their old age, their windows broken such a long time ago that sand, wind and time have dulled the sharp edges of the glass that is still left.
A thin veil of sand covers the houses for a few moments as a soft breeze stirs, too warm to relieve the harshness of the sun, carrying too much sand to be called even mildly pleasant.
It doesn't matter anyway, for the last inhabitant of this place has died or moved away such a long time ago that no living soul even remembers the existence of this place. This town is a real ghost town, the buildings, worn and old though they might be, still vaguely remembering some of the liveliness that was once so common here. It shows in a faded, fluttering red curtain here, a small patch of faded blue paint desparately clinging to a wall there and the piano in the saloon that hums softly if the wind strikes it at exactly the right angle.
Only the sun, mercilessly beating down on the little town day after day, casting sharp shadows on what once were dusty roads but are now mere dust, knows where this town is located.

A very faint sound drifts through the streets of the town.

Or not?

The sound becomes a little stronger, strong enough to identify it as being a sad, lonely tune played on a mouth-organ. Slowly the notes drift through the streets, carried by the wind.

In the distance, something shimmers on the horizon, something different from the haze in which the sun dresses the horizons day after day.

The sound of the mouth-organ becomes a little stronger but the song loses none of its sadness. On the contrary, it becomes even sadder, sounding lost and lonely in the deserted town.

The shimmering in the distance becomes larger. Apparently, a large black spot is moving sedately towards the town. As it becomes larger, the spot dissolves into four smaller spots, moving at equal speeds, staying next to each other.

The song doesn't seem to fade away as it drifts past the streets of the town, instead staying strong as the wind carries it towards the moving spots, almost as if calling out to them in its loneliness.

Closer and closer they move, slowly becoming four riders who are as terrible as they are radiant. They make no haste as they ride closer to the town, nor do they stop as they reach the first of the buildings. Riding through the hot shadows and blistering sunlight alike, they don't even stray from their path.

The old man sits on a stone under a dried-up tree so old it has almost become a stone itself, its trunk barely wide enough to cast a shadow on the man. His clothes are ragged, softly flapping around his thin body in the light breeze, faded to a blue so light it is almost as white as the little hair he has left.

He is aware of the riders although he keeps his eyes firmly on the ground, his brow wrinkled in concentration as he plays his mouth-organ. He knows that it might even be because of his song that they have come, but he doesn't know for sure - just like he doesn't know who or what they are.

The houses stand motionless as the riders pass, no curtains flutter in the breeze, no doors creak, no shutters suddenly slap closed. Nothing moves but the dust around the feet of the horses and even that settles down again faster than the wind should allow.

They pass the last house and stop at a stone. Near the stone stands a dried-up tree so old it has almost become a stone itself, and on the stone sits an old man, his eyes still fixed firmly on the ground, his brow wrinkled in concentration as he plays his song.

The last notes of a very sad song slowly drift through a ghost town, fading away as they are carried by the wind until they are no longer recognizeable as coming from a mouth organ. Never again will they be heard in this abandoned town.

- Erik, Wijnegem.
Based on the song.

A few pages are left blank after this story, with the obvious intent of writing the title of the next story on them. After these blank pages, the word "In" is written, and nothing more ...

[Tanuchan]

Tanny closed the book, in an almost dreamlike state. The story had had her completely absorbed, and she still felt some strange vibration running through her. Something warmed against her breast, and with a start she touched Gryphon's Jewel. A clean flow of energy coursed through her, soothing the effects of the alien vibration, and she blinked some times.

 

"That was... weird..." she murmured, closing the book carefully. Then, reaching for a steadying thread of earth energy, she rested a hand on the faded red of the cover. Opening herself to its energy, she wasn't surprised to recognize something dark, at the same time threatening and alluring.

 

"Well, he's a Nether mage after all... I would expect something like this from a book he has had for a long time... though..."

 

Frowning, she let her mind sink deeper into the dark energy, throwing however a life-line to earth and water to keep her safe.

 

Dark... and twisted... but not in an evil way... not quite... a touch of Nether, yes... but... something buried so deep in there...

 

Pulling back, Tanny let go of the book and for some time just let her own kind of elemental energies flow through her, cleansing some faintly bitter aftertaste from her contact with whatever energy permeated the Book.

 

 

 

The fresh mid-morning air and the warmth helped to settle Tanny's mood after the surprising contact with the Book, and she took a moment to extend her senses through earth and feel it bubbling with life. Then, she changed into her wolf form and started in the path leading deeper into the forest.

 

Nearly an hour later, the path opened into a small graveyard. Tanny stopped for a while, attuning herself to the slightly different nature of the energies that ran there. And, as she had hoped, she had a glimpse of Venefyxatu.

 

The Nether mage sat on one of the stone benches, a few specks of sunlight coming through the trees. He was leaning back against the small crypt with his staff across his lap, staring intently at an object hidden in his hand.

 

 

Chained to a rock, my soul being tortured with an intensity that could never be applied to a mere body. There are no bodies down here, only souls, the souls of Archmagi being tortured. Their cries echo through the caverns, mixing and mingling with each other into one great cacaphony of pain and suffering.

The Demons that were once under my command now take their revenge, gloating over my bound soul, taunting me at every opportunity.

Crying out to the Gods doesn't help here - the only two who can hear you wouldn't answer if you were in their highest favour. You're alone down here - everything that happens is yours to bear, yours and yours alone.

 

And all of us know that we deserve it.

 

 

With a shock, the necromancer looked up from the polished piece of quartz he was holding. After taking a few moments to compose himself, he saw a familiar wolf coming towards him. Pulling the corners of his mouth up in a smile and putting the quartz back in its pouch he got up and saw the wolf shimmer into her human form.

 

"Tanuchan, it is good to see you. What brings you here?"

 

"Good morning, Venefyxatu. I was looking for you." She smiled, and sitting besides him she told him about her experience with the Book.

 

"It was... pretty weird. I was so absorbed in that story, I could almost feel I was there, seeing it happen. Smelling the dust and the horses... " She shuddered, gripped again by the feeling of some twisted energy flowing through her.

 

"That's odd." Venefyxatu frowned. "I didn't notice anything like that. I did get the impression that I know that place, though ... do you think that could be related?"

 

Venefyxatu's voice grew more pensive as he spoke. "Although ... as far as I know, Terra has never known a place like this. Maybe this is a book with a very strong memory?"

 

"Whatever it was, it even triggered Gryph's Jewel... and it shouldn't. I think there's some raw energy there that in a way resonates with mine."

 

She waved some doubts away, tucking her own questions about that triggering of he focus jewel in a corner of her mind. "Then... well... I just decided to find out more. I don't know if you know but... I can pick traces of energy that living things leave on objects they've handled. The longer they've been in contact, the stronger it is... "

 

"So every time someone touches something, they leave something from themselves on that object? Fascinating ... what exactly did you feel on the book?"

 

"I picked something ... weird from the book. Not evil, really, just very alien and twisted. I think there's a touch of Nether, and that would have come from you... but there's something hiding deeper."

 

"Well yes ... the book is pretty old, so it must have more of these patterns on it than just mine.

 

"I wonder... would you agree to open yourself to me?"

 

"What do you mean?" Venefyxatu looked at her, quite surprised.

 

"I can... pick the pattern of life forces. And they're unique enough so that I can identify them even in objects."

 

As the Nether mage nodded in understanding, Tanny continued with some hesitation. "We had some little contact, so I know there's something of you in that Book. But I feel there's more, buried deep. If you could open yourself to me so that I could pick your pattern..."

 

"... you think you might find out something else?"

 

Tanny nodded. "I won't invade your privacy. I'd never do it. You can open just as much as you're willing to... I just need you to lower some barriers."

 

Venefyxatu wasn't used to lowering the barriers around his mind. Working with Nether energies required a very strong will, and to prevent being affected too much by the darkness that the energies gave off he had constructed powerful barriers. However, one by one, he opened them up for Tanny - constantly aware of the Nether energies that would flood his mind if he opened them up too much, constantly aware of how vulnerable he was. He didn't doubt her intentions, not really, or that he could shut everything out in the blink of an eye should it prove necessary, but he knew that even that could be too slow.

 

Tanny picked easily some pattern in the energy she could feel being channeled, and so followed the caution with which Venefyxatu worked. Frowning, she realized that the Nether energies swirling around her would probably be felt much more strongly by someone who dealt directly with them. At the same time, her instinct told her that there was danger in what he was doing.

 

Delicately, so as to not distract the mage, Tanny focused on the Jewel and touched the pure energy that came from the unsullied earth under the graveyard. Skillfully, she wrapped it around herself and threaded it carefully into the strands of nether energy that she could feel around Venefyxatu, slowing their swirling.

 

As he felt the unfamiliar energies being woven around them, Venefyxatu didn't really give an outward sign other than smiling that ghost of a smile of his again. A few moments later, with a nod, he indicated that he was ready. Tanny touched his arm lightly, letting the familiar earth energy wrap her and ease the contact with the peculiar energy of the graveyard. In a flash, she saw and absorbed Venefyxatu's characteristic pattern. It felt like... a black silk web, intricately woven, alive somehow yet virtually impossible to bend.

 

 

 

Later that afternoon, having invited Venefyxatu over to her cottage, Tanny picked the Book again. Both mage and shapechanger examined it carefully, both somewhat warded - even for Venefyxatu, the book now seemed to be different, irradiating some kind of wild energy.

 

Carefully Tanny let go of her wards, just throwing her life line into earth. Again opening herself to the book, she now could feel clearly Venefyxatu's pattern entwined into the dark energy. As she had hinted, it seemed to go much deeper than what she would have expected for just a few years of handling. Following the intrincated, layered energy flow, she kept tracing Venefyxatu's pattern - deeper and deeper, changing at every layer, but always retaining that core that identified its being.

 

Blinking, Tanny let go of the threads - reluctantly, still amazed and curious. "Venefyxatu... this goes back... years and years. Centuries back. I can't even start to fathom how plain old the touch that comes from your pattern is."

Edited July 3, 2005 by Tanuchan

[Tanuchan]

Venefyxatu shook his head slowly. "I've had the book for about... eight, ten years."

 

Tanny caressed the cover once more, still feeling the book tugging at her awareness. She wove a warding quite unconsciously, keeping the book encased in a cocoon of steadying earth threads.

 

"Any inanimate, plain object retains the patterns that living beings left on them. Think of it like fingerprints. They pile on top of each other, each owner leaving his own fingerprints. Here," she pats the book, "there is a strong pattern in the surface that match yours. And it goes deeper. On and on, through the layers I can follow... it is still you. Subtly changed, but still... there's no possible mistake."

 

Her grey eyes held Venefyxatu's, steady in her certainty.

 

"Tanuchan... it can't be. Even if I can't tell how old I am - for I have no memories to tell me that - I do know that..."

 

Unbidden scenes flashed in his mind, and he paused. He knew he couldn't be centuries old, but he knew also that somehow, his memories were. His reincarnations were... even if he didn't have how to grasp and identify each one. Venefyxatu stood up, pacing slowly and rubbing his staff while his mind chased fragments of memories. Tanny's soft voice reached him once more.

 

"There is something else... the pattern itself merges into something from the book."

 

The mage stopped. "Are you saying that... the book has some fingerprint of its own, and it's mixed with mine?"

 

"Yes. Only magic objects behave that way, but you told me... "

 

"... that I've never sensed magic in it. Yes."

 

The nether mage looked at the book, pondering, and then picked it from Tanny's hands. She felt him using some kind of magic, probably to probe the book, and her warding resonated in a somewhat unpleasant way. She unraveled the warding, but didn't sense any change in what Venefyxatu was doing except for the lessening of the shadowy taste she felt coming from him. Curious, she made herself relax and open carefully to the energies she knew were there, forcing herself not to recoil from what she defined as "tainted earth" taste.

 

"It's not magic... not quite. But you're right, there is something about it. Strangely, I have never felt it before now." Saying that, Venefyxatu returned the book to the table.

 

"There's energy woven into the book. Something I don't recognize, Venefyxatu. There is however a faint touch of earth, and water. Then, something that feels like fire, and air." Tanny touched again the book, and immediately another flavor was recognizable. "And nether."

 

Venefyxatu agreed slowly, her words matching his analysis. He considered again what he had garnered from his probing, separating the touches of the several kinds of magic. What puzzled him was how, and why, a book would have all of them and yet not give a hint of its purpose. Tanny went on, her voice just a murmur as she considered her own impressions on the book.

 

"And through all this, there's your pattern. It changes subtly, but it's like a core around which all strands swirl, adding variations to the pattern."

 

The silence from Venefyxatu deepened, and Tanny sensed that he was sorting all the information. She looked again at the book - a faded red cover, age-yellowed pages, and the strikingly black ink. She breathed in sharply, an earlier image coming to her mind.

 

Bright black? It was faded this morning... wasn't it?

 

Her eyes unfocused as she brought back to her mind her first reading of the book.

 

 

She had opened the book and sensed the tiniest of tugs, one that had told her that there was some magic woven in it. Her eyes had wandered to the top of the page, and although the title was clearly visible in black ink, the text was somewhat hard to read. However, by the time she had reached the end of the tale, the effort of reading faded ink had disappeared. She had blinked, fighting to pull herself back from the story she saw in her mind, much like a person who wakes up still in the clutches of a vivid dream.

 

 

Venefyxatu's hand traced the title of the story. Now that he knew what to look for, he could clearly feel the Verdant magic delicately laid on the book, a subtle and faint touch he was sure was done on purpose.

 

"Is it possible that the book has some magic that even you, an archmage, wouldn't detect?" Tanny's voice broke his concentration, and she apologized as he frowned.

 

"It certainly is. There are different powers that feed different magic. And although we are sensitive to some kinds of magic, there are always two that we can't use but for the simplest of spells. I wouldn't be able to detect more than an aura of either Ascendant or Verd..."

 

He stopped, so abruptly that Tanny instinctively reached out with a stoothing tendril of water freshness.

 

 

The greatest things are achieved when two opposites work together...

 

 

The voice and the memory struck Venefyxatu at once, blotting out completely Tanny's touch. He held his breath, staring at the clear image of the woman who had been his mother smiling at him while teaching the basics of magic.

 

 

"The greatest things are achieved when two opposites work together," he repeated aloud, slowly. Then looked at Tanny. "You work with power that comes from nature. Earth. Water. Verdant magic."

 

"Magic?" She looks startled, then shook her head in a vehement negative. "No. We weave the threads to achieve some results. It's not magic. I have seen magic being worked, Venefyxatu, and I can tell you that I know the difference."

 

"Regardless." He waved her negative away with a hand. "It is magic, even if you don't realize it is. Not powerful as an Archmage, but you have a touch of Verdancy in you. One of my opposites."

 

My mother's gift, comes the unbidden thought. His eyes strayed to his staff, mentally tracing the Verdant runes he had carved... he?... long ago... but how long ago?

 

Regaining control over his memories, Venefyxatu explained his sudden insight. "You said that my pattern is there... so, a nether pattern. And you are opposite to nether. This book has never been touched by Verdant magic since it came into my hands... but this morning you used earth threads to probe it."

 

Tanny nodded slowly, and added, "Not just today. When you gave me the book, at the Valentine Ball... do you remember? I probed it lightly."

 

Did our energies mix then, to wake something up? A touch of... nature... nudging whatever nether power is woven in that book?

 

Murmuring something that echoed Tanny's thoughts, Venefyxatu invited her to walk with him. If his memory served him well, he had a way to find out what he needed to know.

 

They left the cottage, the mage talking about the balance between the different kinds of magic while Tanny kept the book and listened attentively. There was a light breeze, and she noticed the sun getting definitely lower. With a start, she realized that they had been talking long, and it was already mid-afternoon.

 

The lake glimmered golden, reflecting the light from the westering sun, and Tanny relaxed as she instinctively reached for its soothing touch. Venefyxatu smiled softly, noticing the small fluttering in the energy around his companion.

 

"Did you know we're almost exactly over a node?"

 

Tanny turned to him in surprise, and he continued, pointing to the lake with his staff. "I believe the core is under the lake. I can feel it vibrating with power, although it's one that I can't control easily - if at all. I believe you feel most at ease here when you have to manipulate energies?"

 

Tanny blinked, and then smiled as memories came back to her. Her morning dives in the lake, and the touch of water that always refreshed her when she was tired. The special, delicate weavings that she always chose to make in her favorite spot right beside the lake. She saw again the glimmering of the jewel she had given Merelas, and felt the smoothness of the wooden wyvern scupture she had chosen for Stephen Hascodem.

 

"It's because the node feeds the purest of energies to you, Wolf-lady. And you recognized it instinctively." He found a comfortable shaded spot under a tree, and motioned Tanny to sit by him. "I want to try something, but can't do it alone. If what I think is correct, there is something in this book that needs a Verdant guide to be touched, but Nether magic to be unlocked. You have the Verdancy touch needed. Specially here, on a node."

 

Suddenly attuned to all the energies swirling around her, Tanny set a shrewd look on her companion. "But it doesn't make you too comfortable. Being here, I mean."

 

He shrugged.

 

"You need the node for what I'm asking, as you aren't an Archmage. I can deal with it, and in a way... it's also easier for me, because the nether forces here aren't so strong. And I don't need powerful magic right now. Tell me ... I know you can feel it when I work magic. Could you add your own weavings to that?"

 

"Add? I don't know... what exactly do you mean?"

 

"I was thinking about trying to follow the ... special properties of the book and see if I encountered anything that can be unlocked. But I'll need your magic to guide me."

 

"Can you be more specific?"

 

"Well ... it's hard to explain, but I'd like to try to mix our energies. Think of it as guiding my mind across the lifeforce patterns you described."

 

"Hmm... " Tanny considered for a long moment. "Can you ... follow in a 'tunnel'?"

 

Venefyxatu nodded. "Yes, I think I can do that."

 

"I'll need a thread of Nether ... nothing too powerful or I can't control it. Then I can just encase it in earth, and take it with me when I go through the layers. I suppose you can still keep in touch with your thread, and it won't fight me as it would normally do."

 

Venefyxatu arched an eyebrow, and Tanny shrugged lightly. "I call it so... any of the energies I can't channel behave quite rebelliously unless I can secure them inside earth or water. They fight my weaving around them."

 

Nodding, the mage concentrated on forming a small thread of Nether energy and making sure she'd be able to sense it. Calmly he held on to it, waiting.

 

Tanny promptly probed at the unfamiliar energy. After being sure that she could deal with it, she picked a clear strand of earth, channeling through Gryphon's Jewel. With a sure touch, she wove that strand around the slippery nether thread, securing it with some effort. She looked at Venefyxatu, signaling that she was ready.

 

Venefyxatu turned his attention to the book. Feeling the unfamiliar Verdant weight around his own energies made him careful, and after some unsteady experimenting both him and Tanny started getting used to each other and began to explore the book.

 

Venefyxatu nodded, satisfied, feeling Tanny's steadying touch guiding him. The book was indeed ancient, and it had some qualities that were almost like magic.

 

Not here ... not here either ... yes, here! A knot!

 

As she had done earlier, Tanny just followed the layers she could feel, drawing on earth and water to keep a steady weaving around the Nether thread.

 

Oops... steady... strange how this feels knotted... I hadn't noticed it before...

 

 

A vaguely glimpsed mess in a room with wooden walls. On the white desk lies a book, closed, the book, with a pile of draft sheets next to it. The sheets have been scribbled on, no spot has been left unused - lines and lines of text, words written in between the lines, diagonally across, squeezed into the smallest empty space.

 

And there's a song playing - a strangely alluring song that somehow feels familiar.

 

 

Venefyxatu blinked, gasped, and if it had not been for several lifetimes of practice would've lost his grip on the thread. As it was, he just held it still while he gave in to the memory that surfaced.

 

 

Tanny blinked at a sudden warp in the threads she's been manipulating, and for a second or so she grasped frantically at something slipping from her touch. But the feeling went away as suddenly as it had come, and she decided to let go of the book. With a tugging that she hoped would warn Venefyxatu, she let the threads unravel.

 

Looking up, the mage let his own thread dissipate. When he spoke, his voice was even softer than usually, as if he was mentally out of breath.

 

"That was ... odd. Did you see those images and hear that song as well?"

 

Tanny cocked her head, puzzled. "Images? Song? No, nothing at all. I just felt... knots. Where there was none earlier. Then, a sudden... twist, and something slipping from my control. So I thought prudent to let it go... "

 

Suddenly Venefyxatu reached for the book and opened it, looking for the last written page. Turning the book to his companion, he pointed at the top of the page.

 

Tanny gasped softly. Where before there was just a word written on the top of a blank page, now there was a title and a story written in bright, black, fresh ink.

Edited September 3, 2005 by Tanuchan

[Venefyxatu]

The title has appeared in the same beautiful, hand-written font as the title of the first story.

 

<center>"I pugni in tasca"</center>

The story that has appeared also seems to be written by someone who paid attention to their handwriting.

 

In the vast desert lies a small town, abandoned like so many others when whatever it was that lured the people to settle here left again.  The houses, once constructed with wooden boards, have almost turned to sand with old age and the streets have become one with the surrounding desert.  Trees ... there have never been any trees here.  The only shadow to be found here is cast by the buildings: long in the mornings and the evenings, virtually nonexistent at noon when it would be needed the most.

Hardly anything moves here – the wind seems to have started avoiding this place a few years ago, about the same time the girl appeared.  She seems to be in her late teens, and whenever she's there she's standing behind a window, looking out over what used to be the main street as if waiting for someone.

 

She's there, standing at her window, looking out over the long-forgotten main street.  She opens her mouth, and the sound that flows from between her lips seems to come straight from her heart; her bright blue eyes are wide open, staring into the distance as if expecting to see someone, her arms are reaching out as if to embrace this person.

 

Sometimes she sings – her voice is clear and can be heard all through the town, almost as if it magically carries through the streets.  The song she sings is always the same; wordless, and filled with a sad longing.  When she sings, she sometimes stretches out her arms as if calling out to someone.

 

Something else moves in the town, for the first time in years.  A few grains of sand seem to shift, then a few more.  Slowly, thin, eery veils of sand are shaped only to fade away again.  Yet nothing else moves; the faded curtains stay still behind the broken glass panes, the shutters on the windows remain motionless.

 

The stretching of her arms is the only movement she ever makes.  Her light brown curls touch her shoulders, untouched by any wind. 

 

As the ghostly veils of sand seem to move through the town, her song starts to sound more frightened.  Here and there, the glimpse of a tortured face can be seen in the shifting sands as they move through the streets.  As they come closer to her, she moves her hands to grab the windowsill.

 

She seems to be the only life in this dead, gray-brown waste – the bright blue of her eyes like a beacon of life, emphasized by the living brown of her hair.  The paleness of her skin contrasts with the dead brown of the houses almost as much as her dark clothes do.

 

Frantically, she keeps singing, closing her eyes as she tries to shut out whatever presence her song has summoned.  The sound of her voice seems to shrink away as the presence makes its way through the streets, almost as if it is being pushed back.

 

In this town, nothing is left to remind of the liveliness it once had.  Any and all colors have faded away; everything looks as though it has lost the struggle with the desert.

 

The sands lie down again as though they have never moved.  As her song relaxes again and carries through the streets once more it is also fading, just like she is.

Soon, nothing remains to indicate that the peace of the town has been disturbed.  Nothing but a drop of bright red blood on the windowsill.

 

- Erik, Wijnegem.

Based on the song.

Edited August 3, 2008 by Venefyxatu