station72 | Hello, it's me

CHARACTERS: EVERYONE
WHERE: Hyrypia - The Swept Manor Grounds
WHEN: Morning of day 12
SUMMARY: Rudely calling like 80% of the Nest out for being cagey.
WARNINGS: Will update as necessary.

(Hello! Am I doing this right? Hello!!! Good morning!!)

[ The red sun is hardly up, it's barely after breakfast, some of the members of the nest may still be sleeping - and this one doesn't seem to mind. He noisily floods the network like a one-man-band who just won the lottery, his very thoughts musical and abrasively cheerful. ]

(It's been several long days since my young broodmate and I joined you in this dustbowl, but I have yet to meet all of you properly. I understand we're working covertly, but you're all quite cagey for being connected in the head, you know that?)

[ There's either a slight tone of vindication, as though he believes most have earned this morning call for being so standoffish. Or perhaps he's just being loud because he's inexperienced with the symbiote still. Possibly both. It's hard to tell through the band playing behind every word. ]

(Most of you don't know me yet, but I want to get to know every single one of you. Since we have another day here, I'd like to get started. Here, I'll go first-

My name is Gildor Helyanwe, and I'm a bard from Esterport. How are all of you? Well I hope, not getting too hot, learning to ride those constructs?)

[ The band stops. Crickets chirp, though hopefully not for long. If he's left hanging, he has no qualms over striking up the mental orchestra next. ]

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[ Adra's mental landscape is light and heat, a swaddling warmth that radiates outward from a burning center. Something intense, but focused, restrained. ]

( We are all one with the universe--here, more literally than I ever thought possible. Yet the heart resists as much as it longs for connection. )

[ Matter-of-fact. He shrugs, going on. ]

( My name is Adrasteius. )

[ His voice is deep; stentorian. ]

[ Gildor finds it fascinating - a light he can observe without any burning sensation, and a quiet filled with peace instead of anxiousness. It's practically the opposite of his headspace, dark and always playing a song or three. ]

(Yes! Despite this unique connection we've been granted, it seems the majority of hosts barely know one another, save for a few wrapped up in their own walled off clusters.)

[ And it's frustrating when they are so close yet so separated. As frustrating as it is when a symphony plays out of sync. ]

[ Adra can hear the music still, filtering in through their connection, shifting constantly in timbre and tone. Music is layered into the priesthood: Adra's work with instruments is only rudimentary, but he sure knows how to sing.

He hums in response to the rhythms coming through, a low baritone sound. ]

( Fear keeps us isolated, no matter how close we are otherwise. )

[ Fear of judgment, fear of pain, fear of loss. There are so many reasons to keep the door locked. ]

(You remind me of the clerics I lived with for a time in the of the Temple of the Artist.)

[ It's said with a certain amount of affection. Gildor is mostly fond of clerics, and if he's met one he has hope they'll get on well. ]

(Can you tell me a bit more about yourself, Mr. Adrasteius? Are you a cleric?)

[ Most of the people he's met here don't look favorably on religion of any kind, so Gildor's reaction is a pleasant surprise. ]

( High Priest of the Light--a force that suffuses all universes with the generative spark of life and hope. )

[ A grand cathedral rises in his mind, a tremendous structure of white stone, stained glass, and cloud-scraping towers. Hymns follow, a chorus that rises and thrums, that chimes and shimmers. ]

[ To Gildor, the shared image is magnificent, made more splendorous by the chorus that accompanies it. It is especially wondrous, considering he has never seen a cathedral, or stained glass, or light like this. His mind regards the image with curiosity, picking at it like a puzzle. ]

(It's lovely... whatever it is. Sorry, I mean no offense, it's just-

I'm still learning to interpret images.)

[ Confusing image-memories aside, he reacts with some vague familiarity to the Priest's title and message. ]

(The temples I frequented held similar beliefs. Not in light quite so literally, but certainly in hope and goodness. I would love to hear some of your teachings, but first-

What sort of priestly magics can you wield?)

[ Learning to interpret images? It doesn't take much of a logical leap to get the implications there, though Adra wouldn't address them directly. You can't just ask someone about their eyesight, after all. ]

( I'm relieved to hear that. From the stories I've been told, it's all dire prophecy and blood rituals and so forth, at least with these people. )

[ Holy energy suffuses the connection, a bright, diaphanous light that both burns and soothes. Like a wound cauterized, like a body draped in a thick blanket--all at once. ]

( The Light heals those who suffer, even as it strikes down those who inflict suffering. )

(So you are a healer and a smiter of evil. That's wonderful.)

[ While it is wonderful, it seems to Gildor that Adrasteius is avoiding specifics. He certainly sounds like the clerics he knew - magnanimous yet vague. If their worlds are similar enough the pieces can fall into place, but perhaps incorrectly. He would rather have concise details, so he tries to offer some of his own- ]

(I have some healing abilities myself, though probably none as powerful as yours. I'm not sure if there are bards where you come from, if you are familiar with the musical magics. It's sort of a mixed bag with the potential for both good and evil. )

[ So far only Seviilia had recognized his title in it's full meaning, though not his magic. ]

( I try to focus more on the healing than the smiting, when at all possible. )

[ He has a jocular tone here, albeit emphatic. The Light can sear as much as soothe, but Adra's time as a soldier only taught him that war was a horror, a nightmare to be endured only when absolutely necessary.

Music as magic, though--this, he knows. ]

( I know a few hymns that will perk you right up, if that's the kind of thing you mean. )

(Mmm... sort of what I mean.)

[ He had said his magic has the potential for both good and evil. If Adresteius isn't going to take notice in that, he won't push it. Somewhere in the back of his thoughts, behind the orchestra stage curtains, he wonders unasked things - like what must the High Priest think of Miss Seviilia? He'll save it for later. ]

(I would love to hear those sometime.)

[ To Adra's mind, all magic has that power--all power, in general. He feels a certain amount of withholding over their connection, and it's only this that makes him pause to consider what Gil's saying more carefully. The Light, too, was often used for less than savory purposes: all doctrines breed zealots. ]

( I'd like to hear what you have to say, too. Or sing. )

[ That gets him to lighten back up, as a brief but bright laugh rings through the dark. ]

(I'm afraid for a bard, I'm not much of a singer! I'd rather always cast on violin, but singing's faster. Can't escape it.

A rain check then. After this mission, when it's safe to be loud as we want, we find some time to trade songs and make music together.)

( That works out well, because I can't pluck a string to save my life. )

[ He has some legitimate concerns about their ability to actually survive this mission, but hey. Nothing wrong with optimism. ]

( I'm gonna hold you to that. )

Hello, it's me

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