shitposting rave 3: Dawn of the third rave

...ah.

...somewhat? For given values of 'take care of' and 'dead'.

 

*muffled mixture of rumbling, explosions, and angry shouting in the distance*

 

[Onyx twists an ear towards the commotion, but otherwise takes no heed. At least he's expressing his anger somewhere far away where no one can be hurt.]

 

That's true, yeah.

If you, uh, end up needing help, I've dealt with fire and, um, explosions in metas before. Dunno if you guys are similar, but, uh, just putting that on the table.

 

Oh boy that's quite the temper.

 

Oh, please, have you met Megatronus yet?

 

Nope! :O He went through the well after all! What's he like?

 

i guess it´s ok as long as they´re ok with it? I dunno getting eaten doesn´t sound good.

 

...loud. Passionate, to both extremes. Easily steered with a light hand on the reins, though a heavy touch will bring rebellion more than any other result. Dear to my own spark, even after... everything.

 

That's how all eventually go! It's not bad, they don't notice it anymore!

 

He sounds nice!
[She smiles fondly.]
I hope he accomplishes what he wants soon and finds peace and fulfilment.

 

It is a passing, the final step in a long journey. Not something cruel, but a gift to those who wish to move on.

...yes. His spark is in the world again; perhaps this time... well. [She smiles, a little sadly.] Probably not this time; our Turning is still far-off. But I do hope he gets as close as is possible.

 

(The answer is to Voidborn, although she considers Onyx remark as well)
(Deirdre smiles) All things must end, the circle must be closed. And then it shall begin anew. I would love to show you the Ghost River, but alas, I have never laid eyes on this particular trick of the light.

 

[She offers Deirdre a slender hand]
She me how it feels? In return i will teach you how it feels to dance with sparks?

 

You're like my friend Myrtha! She's a Witch, too! We also have a Seer and a Sylph and a Knight and a Rogue. I'm a Mage, and I'm also a Fairy!
(Ilma smiles brightly)
What's a Wood Witch do? I've never heard of that Aspect. Or is it from a different system of magic?

 

Gladly.
(Deirdre smiles, and accepts the handshake without even the hesitation of not quite knowing where the offered hand is. She knows.)

(There is more to the handshake than just the feel of the Ghost River. It carries its mythology and the stories, the smell and the taste and the sound of the Night Forest it runs through.)

[The Forest covers the whole country at night. Ghostly trees and grass growing through the rock and iron of the waking world, covering the paths. The land remembers. The Night Forest is the Void/Warp/Furthest Ring that sidles up to Deirdre's homeworld and reminds it of what it once looked like, centuries, millenia, eons ago, when the warm red light of the sun has faded to night. It smells cool and old, like soil after the rain, when the next morning will bring frost.
The Ghost River is, deep down, any river, running through the land in shapes it had not had in long, long years, and which it will regain in just as many.
But following the rivers in the Night Forest only sometimes leads to the sea, to Caeri's realm, the realm of the Knight of Void, the Deep One, the Sea Serpent, the Dragon of the Ocean, the Keeper of Secrets. It also leads to the realm of Tershoet, the Seer of Doom, Love and Death and Home and Rest and Closed Circles.

It is a place in-between, cold, quiet of life, as its inhabitants are quiet, and there are many, many who hunt the living and each other, but they make no sound in this place, there are only the sounds that the land remembers. The gentle lapping of the waves, the wind the the trees, the creaking of the wood. You can't change the Night Forest.

There is a boat on the River, and it feels complete. It has a soul sitting in it, and a glowing lantern hanging from the front. In the living world, there is a body, embalmed with plant oils and wrapped in burial cloth and offerings. Little knicknacks they held dear in their life. Some flatbread and a flagon of alcohol for the journey, and a coin under their tongue to pay the boatsperson who will collect the boat when the soul arrives at Tershoet's realm. Deirdre sees none of this, but she Sees, and the boat feels complete as the Rites have been done. She gives it a last push into the current.]

 

Different system. Others can't live in the Woods, beyond the land of Men and far from civilization, but witches can.

 

How beautiful!
[Voidborn humms and smiles and then the handshake changes.

The world is filled with song, the song of sparks in their casings alighting perception like stars. And every step is a dance while you are everywhere and nowhere at once. A dip and you are surrounded by nebulas, a hop-skip and you ump from meteor to meteor, a twirl into the cold embrace of the dead realm, a jump back among the living.

The warmth when your servos reach out to a smiling face, reach into a greying frame. The lightness of untethering a spark from its dying frame. The sweet crackle of energy when it touches your plating.

And then the dance back, a duet now, careful balance and air-y hovering slides, an arabesque and a split and another twirl.

The rightness of presenting the spark to the Unmaker and watching him devour the light. Feeling just a little lighter for having done the job. And feeling the pull of the next. Hearing the song of another end-at-the-right-time.]

 

Alright -snuggles up against beastmamma-

 

[She hums contentedly, kneeling down to better shelter the kitten.]