Syrianne's Journal

[bleuception]

A Taste From The Far
Ad-hoc by Blackheart (Originally posted in another thread, but cleaning up to keep to a journal format.)




    There's nothing more that I would like right now than to forget this happened.


    The air was difficult to breathe. Thick, like a molasse more so than air. The footsteps of the others resonated around me. We were hurrying along, attempting to spend as little time as possible within the Far Realm. But despite all this hurry, our footsteps were... Muted, and echoing in odd ways. As if the sound couldn't get entirely that far due to this thick air, rebounding on unseen things and then reaching our ears. I thought that I would've been fine. I have a resilient mind. But I was very quickly proved to be terribly wrong. I began to feel panic slowly welling up inside of me when Rin and Celdor simply ceased to function. A muted thud is what alerted me first, that their bodies hit the ground. They were breathing, but they couldn't perceive things around them anymore, or at least it looked to be that way. We had to carry them. We couldn't let them here. It's not a fate I'd wish on anybody. We kept pushing on, two of our allies carried by others. I tried not to look to much, but look I did. Even just looking at the ground wasn't safe. Grass like small tentacles, that would just... Reach, and wrap around my boots. As if trying to hold me down. Trees like iron, but iron that hard grown rather than be found in rocky deposits. Twisting up and in odd shapes. Their branches always seemed to adopt a new position whenever I wasn't looking, in such a way that looking at the same tree twice made me feel all the more lost and disoriented. Translucent leaves extending up from the branches, up, and up... And up. Into a sky. No clouds, no stars. Just void, with distant shapes. Amorphous bubbles filled with colorful gases or... Substances, stretching in random directions. The distant shapes of the Far Realm's other layers, and gigantic creatures moving through the open spaces behind the – for a lack of better words – landmasses. There was no way to north here. Did the Far even had directions? How could we hope to find Aedan and whoever else it was that ended up in here? Most of us had been injuries severely already from the illithid, beholders and driders. Were they really driders, though? They looked the part, but were they really misshapen drow-spider hybrids? I don't know. I can't know. I have a headache. My body aches, but the pain moved away from my wounds and crawled around my skin like a swarm of clawed hands. Why couldn't I just hurt normally? Why did even pain have to be maddening, here?


    I have a h̴̫̊ĕ̶͉ȧ̴̧d̸̥̂ǎ̵͕c̷͎͂h̴͎̋e̸̮̋.


    I'm not sure if I should be grateful that Rin raised me when I was slain by a beholder ray. Maybe having been carried out in the form of a corpse, then raised, would have been better. I did what I could after that point, but my magic kept failing me. The effects of the Far on our magic items prevented us from retrieving some of our items; scrolls. Then potions... And right from the start, we found that using Haste sell effects was impossible. I tried, but when I did; nothing happened. Many of them hit the ground. So many of us were periodically knocked unconscious or otherwise slain and revived that I quickly was worrying about our chances of survival. I quickly ran out of Raise Dead, as did Rin, and likely the other clerics I failed to notice. So many were here, yet we felt not enough. Eventually, we came upon a fortified location. At first, I didn't know what I was looking at. I don't even know if the others were seeing the same things I did. The madness had already wormed its way in my mind at this point, so perhaps I did? The iron trees began to meld together and formed intertwining arches, structuring a wall of thorny metal vines. Parapets covered in these long leaves partially hid archers. Elves? Maybe at one point. But they were archers, and pointing arrows at us. I was shocked to notice that their bows looked to be part of their arms. Strong but flexible spurs extending from the forearm, ligaments extending between them. These arrows were... Long, thin thorns? I suppose, this was the Far's mockery of elves. Perhaps a creation of our collective minds of what we would find threatening to see on elevated positions, with ranged weaponry. Who knows? I aimed my wand of fireballs at them, bathing the parapets in fire.




    I don't know if fire helped. I only know I have a h̸̛̰̰̖̮͒ȅ̶̫̻̳̇̇a̵̢̛̞̻͐̎̓͗͘͝d̵̠̾̎ä̸̪̩́̾ç̷̡̧̰̩̖̩̃͋̆̐̕h̵̛̥̤̼́̿̆̾̚͜͠ë̷̻̱̰̗̫̘́͒́̍̍͋̈.




    And then, a spell I could partially recognize; Banshee's Wail. The spectral form appearing, filling my vision with an eyeless visage. Hair like tentacles. Its mouth opened, a screech followed, but... I don't remember what sound this was. It wasn't the usual wail, but it's likely that my brain couldn't decipher what kind of noise that was. As a result, all sounds vanished from my ears, briefly, before darkness. The ache was gone. Everything was gone. And then I was brought back to consciousness, Nai'el looming over me with her ever serious expression. I wanted to say thank you, but I don't remember myself saying the words. Maybe I did out of automatism, but in the heat of moment, with arrows flying and the keep's gate – or mouth? Maybe it was jaws that we cross to get in? – opening to let us in, I likely forgot. Justina flew in and opened it. And for her trouble, she was among the next to have their psyches assaulted viciously. She, and Thayne, and Nikolai, all went catatonic, or a state resembling it. I lost hope. The enemies were killed, or at least pushed back temporarily. But I was crying nonetheless. Today, I was supposed to have my fake-date with Thayne. To catch up, exchange jokes. Share a drink of tea or whatever else we would've decided to drink.

And now I have a h̷̻̠̪͓͖̓͌̃͠e̷̺̦̬̓́̚͜a̷̖̭̪̥̔̒̓͝͠ͅd̵̡͉͚̾̐å̴̛̮̦͍̩ć̶̢̱̤̖̠̾̇̔̚h̸̥̙̠́̂̀è̶̡̬͈̼̐͠. 

I have a s̸̳̠͋o̵̡̚͜u̵̪̗͗ĺ̶̼͓͠a̴͕͛c̸̦̓͘h̶̜̉̈́è̴͖͚.

I have a d̷̪̗͇̥̻̞͇̀͒͛͛̇́͊̈́̊͒͂͝e̴̩͍̓̇a̵̙̖̳͙̘̳̲̓̐͒̆̓̿͑̅̏̇͗͑͘͜ͅd̸̢̛͙͉̫̲̲͂̓̑̈́́͒̏̎͆̎̌̕͜͝a̴̫͕̟͙͍̘̘̯̩̝͖̻̮̻̾͝ĉ̸̝̠͔̽̈́̈́̒́̀̉̚ẖ̸̡̼̫̥̼͔̭̤̙̙͙̠̉̈́͂͊͐̓ͅȩ̴̯̞͇͎͍̟̐̒́̋̏̓̾̌̓́̑̀͛͐̓͠ͅ.

I á̸̡̨̗̞̘̯̝̺͚͇̦̙̝̦̱̟́̐̓̇̈̿̆̾̌͗͜͝c̶̡̦̪̗͓̟̠̯̍̉̈h̵̨̢̛͓̹̰͍͕̮̖̭̗͖͎̠̠̼̼̼̔̈́̏̿̈́̀͛͆͑̀̐̌̀͒͘͜͠͠ͅe̶̡̢̜̫̦̥̥̼̫̪̰̩͍͎̳̰͎͑̈́͜͝.

I have a ḥ̴̛̠̗̳̯͎̪̬̐̃̆͌͊͗̋́̆͗̄̅͆̀̕͘͜é̴̛̼̯̺̦̩̙̠̝̦̎͆̏̓̍̉͘̕ą̴̩̪̖͇̙̗͖̻̘͔̞̓̈́̌̏͋̉̍̈̂͜͠d̵̨̧̠̪͉̜͔̥̒̈̌̂͛

I had a h̷̡̛̩͕̥̜̮̥̏̅̚̕e̴̢͙̝͈̝͒̂̂ą̸͎̣͙̃̀̓̌d̷̛̹͕̠͐̉͆

    I have friends. I have a friend. Yes. I do. Bjorn, a warden archon. Yes, he could help. I Called him, and very quickly used the telepathic link between Conjurer and the conjured being to explain the situation, when I asked him to carry as many of those that had fallen that her could. His bear face held a grim expression as he helped however he could, picking up people gently. Voss gave him a stern warning, an aggressivity he displayed in the past when confronted by extraplanar beings. However, Bjorn quietly reassured him; he would not drop them. He would keep them safe. Unbeknownst to us at the time, the end was in sight. Aedan and the woman I later knew as Rhen were in the keep. We collected them and hightailed it out from the Far Realm as quickly as we could, retracing our steps roughly to find our way out the way we came. People slowly came back to. Injuries were tended to. I stepped away for a moment, but after that, I returned to close the portal. I added a Mordenkainen's Disjunction for good measure. And then Davorin and I, though mostly him, scorched the ritual site so that nobody could reproduce the ritual. Fireballs and walls of fires bathed the area in fire, in a controlled manner, as to not cause a forest fire.


    I still ache. In my mind.


    Even as I sit there, in bed. Satiah was sleeping besides me in the Warbling Seraph's suite. I kept my golden eyes on her while she was at peace, and I was troubled by the events from earlier. I cried sobbed against her shoulder, before we went to rest, some hours ago. But I woke up. These events replaying in my dreams... Nightmares. I found myself hesitantly moving my hand to caress her hair while she still slept, careful not to wake her. Her proximity helped. I couldn't know if anything I experienced in the Far Realm was real or creations of my mind to interpret what I saw. However, I know that Satiah is real. She is how I see her. How I hear her. How I feel about her, the love. And thank the gods, she didn't have to subject herself to Far Realm. I slowly nestled at her side and slipped my arms around her, closing my eyes. Her warmth comforted me, and I slipped into slumber. Today, I felt...





    I felt powerless.

[bleuception]

Entry the Second, or something I guess. Whatever...


I don't often write for myself. In fact, the last time I wrote in this thing, first entry in a new journal, was soon after my too-close-for-comfort experience with the Far Realm. Looking back at what I wrote and the odd patterns that my shaky hands scribbled over certain passages, I have to wonder if I truly ever recovered. Greater restoration can, in theory, clear the mind of such things. At least such is the common belief.

Regardless, I admit that I haven't been feeling great. The Etherquake, the Violet Flame. How little the Masters/Mistresses/Councilmembers are involved, and yet getting angry notes some months too late about how I'm acting above my station and being rude and whatnot. The stress associated with trying to centralize information only to realize that certain pieces of information were instead directed to one such absentee leaders instead of individuals such as Zilvai or myself, who are respectively calling meetings and creating concise documents on the matter.

I struggle to find it in myself to be kind, understanding and patient with others in the face of these things. The lax approach, the lack of organization, the disregard towards my efforts and expectations of respect when these people have done nothing to earn it from me. All I wanted was for them to do the responsibilities associated with their titles and ranks. I could have been more diplomatic; this I agree with. However, five months of absence, is still five months of absence. Something which I wish miss Serra and the others would be held accountable for. Including the Headmaster, who all but vanished with the samples collected from the Ethereal Plane. Where's the follow-up? Where's the credit due for the field team that went into the Ethereal Plane?

I'm not a leader, and yet my thoughts now revolve around the idea of creating a new guild, a better guild. Beneath the veneer of confidence I affect, I'm just another clueless human hoping I understand how things work, or at least how things should work. Try to approach things with logic in the way I was taught. The Magistrati's way. And I have faith in that. Faith that a good application of carefully placed spells can solve many problems. But magic can only solve so much. Why would people want to be led by somebody who freely admit she dislikes leading? What makes me think I could do any better? A few people to whom I shared the idea offered to help, but why are they doing it for? Do they actually believe in me, or just indulging in the silly and spiteful reactions of a delusional theurge?

I ended up being a spoilsport during midwinter celebration about snowmen and ice sculptures, too. Couldn't take my mind off the Etherquake. And now I'm just hiding out in this random tent I found nearby the Wanton Wyvern Inn, rain pattering onto it. I don't even know how I got here. I was trying to get to the forest falls, and from there into the mountains. And I somehow ended up here. Lost, somewhat.

Lost. A good word for how I feel right now, I suppose. Lost and pathetic.


It would be easier if I could be happy all the time, content and passive.

[bleuception]

Lifestyles


The Etherquake has been ongoing for a while now, and my worry has not decreased. I won't go in the details on why that is, for leaving such sensitive information in a completely mundane journal seems ill advised. With my suggestion to the Violet Flame' Mistress of Necromancy leading to no results (and other frustrations related to the mages' guild in question), I had to go out of my way to fumble around and interrogate spirits and incorporeal undead in the stead of one whose skills would have been beneficial in this endeavour. It would seem, that once again, they cannot be relied upon. Accompanied by the gall of another to proclaim superiority after having failed to notice my involvement in nearly half a year.


Witnessing the distress of the friendly ghost of Immersea has been a trial in it's own right as well. I cannot even begin to fathom how distressing it must be to feel the very fabric of your being, subjected to such forces that one feels twisted, compressed and stretched. If these worse she employed were correct, that is, given that she seemed to lack the right words to properly describe what she was experiencing. I couldn't help but feel pity for the poor creature. Undead she might be, but she's a victim of circumstances more than the ravenous and deadly creatures often ascribed to the classifications of disembodied souls. I've gone to leave flowers on her tombstone recently, and will do so again once a tenday has elapsed. I hope that such small gestures and conversation will at least assuage her suffering. Perhaps, once this is all over, it might even help her move on. Though I have to wonder if I am doing this for her or for myself. There is something oddly comforting in these moments. What does this say about me, I wonder, when I find I have more sympathy for the dead, than the living?


I have pondered the possibility of creating a guild of my own, writing a few rough drafts of a set of rules and what it would stand for, but I have been finding it difficult. Perhaps I should just take on an apprentice and form a small circle with individuals I consider to be my peers instead wasting time slaving for a cause I'm not sure is worth fighting for. The population of Arabel and surrounding territories are clearly not interested in putting in efforts, at least in the vast majority. Once I have gathered the few who I deem suitable, perhaps then we could compose something together.


A brief conversation with Revna has led her to suggest, in essence, less commitment, more freedom. These weren't her exact words of course, but she nonetheless makes a fair point that not everything has to be structured and whatnot... I responded, of course, that I didn't know if I had it in me to have a similar lifestyle. A lifestyle which seems to be, in a way, common in Arabel. Taking things as they happen, having few expectations. Some people I have witnessed push such a lifestyle to extremes I cannot see myself enjoy, libertine spirits following their whims and fancies. Wanton in their desires and whom they share such desires with. Others yet that abuse of substances such as alcohol and amass what material items they crave solely for the sake of having these things. And others yet that seek glory and titles, clenching their hands around these ephemeral concepts even though the responsibilities resting therein are all but forgotten, holding these positions of power yet doing nothing. It is, after all, always the extremists that repel us from partaking in similar activities, but I have also met free-spirited individuals that yet act with sound mind, however rare these individuals seem to be. In the end, it is once more a question of balance. And I seem to be on the opposite end of this spectrum, for the most part. I thrive when I adequately fulfill my role, and when others do as well. When things work out as expected. Planning ahead of time in order to be efficient, and minimize (or nullify) losses. The world at large is not meant for a child of the Magistrati, used to schedules and taught the importance of hard work and diligent studies. Of safety and the avoidance of recklessness...


I've thus come to the conclusion that people like me will struggle in the grand, confusing clusterfuck that is the Material Plane of Toril.




For example; Ogre Mages can fly.
Without the need of casting the spell Fly or anything.
They can just decide "Welp, time to go," and woosh.
They're in the air now.


No wings, too. Kind of makes me want to be an ogre mage.