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unerring
- Joined
- Jan 22, 2003
- Messages
- 7,623
Orders due Thursday, March 7th,at midnight.
Acclaim for Whispers!
"I feel Trippy."
-Seon.
"... This is trippy.
I'm in."
-Nintz
"What delusional, LSD-influenced idea did I just find?"
-SamSniped
Intro
You exist.
You existed before but memories of what that was fade rapidly. And are gone… or nearly so.
Blazing ribbon-like trails radiate from you like spokes of a wheel. These burn up rapidly, disappearing into the regions beyond your perception before you can truly comprehend what they are, or were. Like bands of sinew stretched taunt and suddenly cut, they spring away from you. And you are without their brilliance.
In the dismal grey you perceive patterns- dim but present- like a candle flickering in a strong wind. They are complex knots and interwoven designs of semi-luminescent ribbon, similar to the blazing luminescence of the much thicker ribbons that just burned away the same way a tiny candle’s fire is similar to the shining rays of the sun. Except these ribbon patterns are whole, entwined upon themselves, without beginning or end. They form the shell of a form, a torso, two legs, two arms, a face; you recognize them to be the ‘pattern’ or ‘essence’ of men or women, those mortal creatures you barely remember from a time long ago. Except these are not well, even as you comprehend what they are, you perceive them to fall apart and you know the mortals are dying. The patterns slowly tear and unravel- their ribbon-like forms pulled apart- losing their luminescence and structure. Soon all that is left are several piles of grey… once-patterns.
Without the blazing intensity of the spokes which radiated from you mere moments ago and with the dying of the mortal patterns, your existence is suddenly much darker and you are unsure if you still exist.
But you do, though you ability to perceive anything in the darkness is very limited indeed. You extend your perception into the physical and ‘look’ around; you notice that you exist in a large room with high vaulted ceilings held aloft by a grand multitude of thick stone pillars. There are no windows but, on the physical plane, the room is well lit by thousands of thick candles and torches held in sconces throughout the chamber. These do nothing to illuminate your perception however for they have no soul. You can ‘hear’ rats scurrying in the far reaches and the gentle echoes of a thin wind moving through the subterranean room. The ‘once-patterns’ belong to men dressed in ornate and extensively decorated robes. They all wear metal crosses around their necks. The dead men, for they are all men, either hold or have dropped solid ‘looking’ tomes as elaborately decorated as their vestments. You perceive the books and realize they are not written in ‘the language’ but you are none-the-less able to absorb their meaning. They are full of prayers, histories, and liturgical incantations. Amongst the text is your name, written in the language, in the true tongue, unpronounceable in any other and you suspect this has something to do with your very existence.
You are not alone. There are others who ‘exist’ with you, on the same plane as you. You do not perceive them directly, nor can you communicate with them, but you are aware of them and presumably they are aware of you. Their presence disturbs you and you can almost but not quite feel their confusion and curiosity mirroring your own.
Your existence transcends beyond the cavernous vaults of the subterranean room and into space beyond. Here your perception is not so strained. The luminescence of living men and women are present here. You realize you can ‘read’ the patterns as they shift and knot within the form of the mortal; they are mostly serene, receptive, contemplative. You realize they are praying and that you are now in some sort of temple and that you must have been in its basement earlier. Continuing the expansion of your perception, of your existence, you grow and transcend and now perceive a wider array of mortal patterns, men and women going about their lives. Peering into the dim, beyond the luminescence of the mortals, you perceive that you exist within/upon/over a sea-side town.
‘Reading’ the patterns of the citizenry, you realize the town is called Nicaea. The year is 325.
Acclaim for Whispers!
"I feel Trippy."
-Seon.
"... This is trippy.
I'm in."
-Nintz
"What delusional, LSD-influenced idea did I just find?"
-SamSniped
Intro
You exist.
You existed before but memories of what that was fade rapidly. And are gone… or nearly so.
Blazing ribbon-like trails radiate from you like spokes of a wheel. These burn up rapidly, disappearing into the regions beyond your perception before you can truly comprehend what they are, or were. Like bands of sinew stretched taunt and suddenly cut, they spring away from you. And you are without their brilliance.
In the dismal grey you perceive patterns- dim but present- like a candle flickering in a strong wind. They are complex knots and interwoven designs of semi-luminescent ribbon, similar to the blazing luminescence of the much thicker ribbons that just burned away the same way a tiny candle’s fire is similar to the shining rays of the sun. Except these ribbon patterns are whole, entwined upon themselves, without beginning or end. They form the shell of a form, a torso, two legs, two arms, a face; you recognize them to be the ‘pattern’ or ‘essence’ of men or women, those mortal creatures you barely remember from a time long ago. Except these are not well, even as you comprehend what they are, you perceive them to fall apart and you know the mortals are dying. The patterns slowly tear and unravel- their ribbon-like forms pulled apart- losing their luminescence and structure. Soon all that is left are several piles of grey… once-patterns.
Without the blazing intensity of the spokes which radiated from you mere moments ago and with the dying of the mortal patterns, your existence is suddenly much darker and you are unsure if you still exist.
But you do, though you ability to perceive anything in the darkness is very limited indeed. You extend your perception into the physical and ‘look’ around; you notice that you exist in a large room with high vaulted ceilings held aloft by a grand multitude of thick stone pillars. There are no windows but, on the physical plane, the room is well lit by thousands of thick candles and torches held in sconces throughout the chamber. These do nothing to illuminate your perception however for they have no soul. You can ‘hear’ rats scurrying in the far reaches and the gentle echoes of a thin wind moving through the subterranean room. The ‘once-patterns’ belong to men dressed in ornate and extensively decorated robes. They all wear metal crosses around their necks. The dead men, for they are all men, either hold or have dropped solid ‘looking’ tomes as elaborately decorated as their vestments. You perceive the books and realize they are not written in ‘the language’ but you are none-the-less able to absorb their meaning. They are full of prayers, histories, and liturgical incantations. Amongst the text is your name, written in the language, in the true tongue, unpronounceable in any other and you suspect this has something to do with your very existence.
You are not alone. There are others who ‘exist’ with you, on the same plane as you. You do not perceive them directly, nor can you communicate with them, but you are aware of them and presumably they are aware of you. Their presence disturbs you and you can almost but not quite feel their confusion and curiosity mirroring your own.
Your existence transcends beyond the cavernous vaults of the subterranean room and into space beyond. Here your perception is not so strained. The luminescence of living men and women are present here. You realize you can ‘read’ the patterns as they shift and knot within the form of the mortal; they are mostly serene, receptive, contemplative. You realize they are praying and that you are now in some sort of temple and that you must have been in its basement earlier. Continuing the expansion of your perception, of your existence, you grow and transcend and now perceive a wider array of mortal patterns, men and women going about their lives. Peering into the dim, beyond the luminescence of the mortals, you perceive that you exist within/upon/over a sea-side town.
‘Reading’ the patterns of the citizenry, you realize the town is called Nicaea. The year is 325.