[MU] - FEELING LIKE A GHOST (PART II)

[lifeaftr_mods]

"No, no...no!"

The Storyteller's voice cuts through the inkdrop-dark, frantic and scrambling. A distant blot of campfire gutters in the far distance - far from where you are. The disorientation of the week preceding this one has translated into Mu, and everything is hopelessly out of place. The Storyteller sounds muffled, clearly addressing someone or something else, their voice cushioned by the uniform, void-like night.

"Stop it. Stop it! I wasn't gone for very long at all. You can't behave for two weeks? You have to make it all...all...wrong? I can't keep this up - not with what I've had to do since returning - !"

Gradually, however, the shadowy campsite solidifies into being. Or...a semblance of it does, in any case. Four glistening pyres rear out from the shadows, each glowing a different color. The strange material that domes them almost resembles worked steel, forming different patterns against their multicolored backdrops.

[ ♆ ] The first glows a deep crimson, kicking scarlet embers into the dream-night air. Its pit sphere portrays a crowd of people in silhouette, heads bowed in genuflection - paying homage to some looping, many-coiled shape in the sky above.

[ ♆ ] The second glows a deep orange. Its pit sphere is worked into the shape of a looming mountain, with what might be some sort of village or ruin sprawled at its base.

[ ♆ ] The third's flames are a rich green. Its designs are most abstract; the starburst patterns that swirl across the metallic composition of its fire pit sphere could be explosions, maybe...or something else entirely.

[ ♆ ] The fourth pyre is one bearing host to golden flames, amber sparks sprayed out from behind the shape of a set of scales nestled among a flurry of birdlike shapes.

Beside each pyre is heaped a pile of sticks, colored to correspond to their respective flames. The Storyteller sounds agitated when they manage to speak again:

"Will you let them at least make the choice I left to gave them?" When there is no response, they sigh. "If you can hear me...I can't make it clearer than that, at the moment. Pick one. Pick one, quickly, and try to get out before it decides to make things worse! Just add a stick to whichever one looks best to you!"

Unfortunately, whether you abstain from voting or make your choice, that's not all there is to this night...



Tonight's Storytelling, further warped by Mu's capricious nature, will likely feel familiar to those of you who were with us in December of the year prior. Only this time, you don't get much choice in what kind of story you're telling...or, indeed, any choice in the matter at all. As you wake by the Storytelling campfire, Mu shifts to form three separate events from your character's present - which is to say, within one full year of their current canonpoint - in the most stark and painstaking of detail. There is no altering the memory, nor is there any preventing it once it's begun to play. You will simply have to witness memories that are not your own this go around.

Furthermore, stories that take place in worlds other than LifeAftr will be, frankly, inevitable. Those memories, too, will be recreated, to be relived by the teller and lived by the listener.

---

While the initial setting will be familiar for oldcomers, and newcomers will recognize it from the introduction they received in their dreams, things will be far more similar to the memory share that occurred in December. All memories must be from within one year of your character's canonpoint. For questions, please refer to our OOC event post!

Even those who prefer not to voice their stories aloud are not safe this time around. The memory does not need to be willingly recalled in essence in order for Mu will shift to accommodate it in full.

Just like the last time this happened, all memories will be worth two offerings each, as if in compensation. So at least there's that!

Comments

[crosslaced]

I-

[He tries to speak in Akielon, but finds it too tiring. Switches back to Veretian instead. ]

I was- wrong. I’ve said it before. What you’ve done doesn’t excuse my actions.

[The words are dragged out from some raw, subterranean part of himself. Even by Laurent standards he’s unusually subdued. Damen would know what’s been bugging him this week; Laurent’s been wavering to and from the house, plagued by a ghost called Auguste. He hadn’t said much about it beyond the confession that Auguste had not been too approving of his brother’s life choices. As it- would be, probably.]

But thank you.

[dedamastai]

My love, forgiveness is not the excusal of your actions. [He switches back to Veretian, just to make sure Laurent understands the next bit clearly.] You're a terrible snake of a human being, duplicitous and manipulative beyond belief.

[Damen brushes Laurent's hair from his face, and his tone changes. It's softer now, fonder.]

But I'm still here, and that is what separates you from them. Forgiveness means I trust it will stay this way.

[He doesn't clarify who he means, because there are still things that are just between the two of them. That one brother was a traitor and the Reagent had a laundry list of crimes isn't something he needs to say out loud.]

[crosslaced]

[The insulting epithet draws a laugh out of him. It’s quiet and unsteady, but ironically, there it is. Laurent letting one or two of his pent-up breaths out. ]

So you’re an idiot.

[He reaches to hold Damen’s hand. They’re near enough that Laurent lowering his head can be taken as an invitation, or just indulging in the safety of Damen’s presence- the haven, in other words, of someone who will beat up anyone who tries to hurt him. The blonde finds that kind of haven uncommonly. ]

Love you. [He says it again in the formal Akielon form, or the clumsy and accented form.]

[the next line is quieter, resigned.] Even if my brother doesn’t approve.

[dedamastai]

Those were not ghosts. They were mirages in the form of those we knew.

[He says it like it's something he's mentioned to Laurent before, like a reminder. Ghosts to him are kind of static things - the spirits in the river Styx and what have you. They might appear solid, but they're nothing more than smoke and mirrors and they definitely do not entice you to follow them. They lack the ability to influence those who are still living, because they're purposeless and lack the strength for it.]

Don't let anything he said weigh on you. They were words designed to trick, and nothing more.

[crosslaced]

But they were-

[He stops. It would be an admission, to say it. He would have to pin those unconscious inclinations into words and that would mean admitting he believes in things.]

...look at me, demanding your attention. [when damen’s the one whose past-self is getting whipped. he was supposed to help, damnit.] What’s on your mind?

[dedamastai]

[Damen is quiet for a moment, unsure of how to word what Jokaste left him with in her wake without being unreasonable about it. It's an impossibility. He is so, so aware it's an impossibility, and that hadn't mattered before this moment but if they're to be here forever, it . . . it's something he would like.]

Kashel. [It's not quite what he wants to say, but it is what he settles on.] The idea of righting the way Kastor became what he was.

[Bloodlines, he doesn't say. Heirs and legacies and the child Jokaste held that did not belong to him but which he so desperately wanted to believe did.]

[crosslaced]

was he’s thinking about. He lets Damen take his time. He’ll have to think over what he hears, too.

Who’s Kashel?

Oh, the Vaskian woman. Laurent has to take a while to figure out what Kashel could possibly have to do with Kastor and the envy that plagues royal families. ]

I’m not sure I understand.

[He says eventually, quietly. Miscommunication kills, folks. He’s smarter than that.]