Kindred Minds

[AstriaS 3679]

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KINDRED MINDS

 

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    With the shuffling of paper and the gentle thump of a tome snapping shut, Alara pushed herself away from her desk, rubbing at weary eyes with a thumb and forefinger. A grumble of mild frustration escaped her, and she gave a small gesture in the direction of an ever-attentive living doll, a silent order or perhaps a request. In course, the obedient construct trotted off into the next room, leaving the elf to her lonesome. A silent moment to herself was one to be cherished, she thought – though of course her entire evening had been relatively silent and solitudinous, apart from a knock or two at the door, but that was neither here nor there. In the quiet she allowed herself a moment's rest. Poring over tomes, as ever, had proven a surprisingly taxing ordeal. Toil, she ruminated, was all that it was. Was there gain to be had? Certainly so, but it yet eluded her grasp. She cradled a cheek in her palm then, and her eyes drift shut ever so briefly. Within but a moment, the familiar, languid drift of sleep found her. Yet, in the darkness, the quiet departed. A voice called, its words unintelligible…

 

    Alara roused from her momentary trance with a mild jolt, a hand clutching at the arm of the chair. She gazed about, finding only the living doll assistant, tugging at her sleeve to present her with a fresh cup of tea. This she rewarded with a flash of a smile and a gentle pat upon the doll's wooden head. Taking her teacup in hand she drew a sip from it. As was her preference, the tea was quite strong and sharply bitter, though not overwhelmingly so; perfect, in her opinion, though perhaps offensive to the palates of more people than not. Either way, it seemed, that was just the thing she needed, and between her tea and the gentle aroma rising from her desktop censer, the fatigued woman began to feel just a touch of renewal in her spirit; a much needed respite from her stresses. Yet it was to be a fleeting thing. 

 

    Her leisure was interrupted by a sensation rather unfamiliar and uncanny, akin to a sudden change in the wind. This she found quite perplexing, and it made her overactive mind begin to churn. Worry and concern bubbled up in her thoughts and began to eat at her. This only worsened as the sensation began to linger, and finally after some few minutes of fretting over the matter, Alara decided to seek answers beyond, in the Otherworld where the Spirits dwell. And so, despite her weariness and with an anxious urgency, she began to arrange her usual ritual circle. Lines and sigils were drawn on the floor in chalk, candles set in each cardinal direction, and a pungent incense set asmolder in a ritual bowl. Alara settled in and set her focus. As straightforward as ever, moments later she found herself caught by the familiar pull of the Spirit World, and soon enough her mind was adrift on the current. That, however, was where familiarity ended. 

 

    No longer was Alara in control of her direction or destination. Plucked from her intended path she felt as a ball rolling down a cluttered staircase, tossed about and crashing into obstacles in her descent. She soon found herself pulled into a place of substance, however, and began slowly regaining her wits, her mind scrambled from the disorienting experience. As she came to, blinking dizziness from her eyes, the Shaman found herself amidst seemingly endless shelves in a maze of a library – the realm of Theruz, by her recollection. Yet as she wandered, all was not as expected. The corridors began to wind and twist further with every step taken. The confusing rows of shelves carried on for what felt like an age, the pathways becoming more ill-lit and cluttered increasingly by scattered tomes, the floors becoming uneven, and eventually inclining at paradoxical angles. Shadows of curious denizens lingered at the edges of her vision, eyes lingering on her as she passed.

 

    Finally, she tired of her wandering and came to a stop, a glance cast ahead and behind, unease washing over her. The path before her looked identical to the way she had come. Had she gone in a circle? Surely not. There was nowhere to go from here, she thought, except perhaps to get lost enough to get unlost – a trick concocted by a vexsome Lesser fond of oxymoron and paradox, perhaps. It was then that she decided that it would be best to return to the waking world, to retreat and attempt her journey again on the morrow with her mind rested. But, even as she considered it, the floorboards below her feet began to warp, twist and creak, the wood near screaming as it suddenly opened like a gaping maw beneath her feet. Scrambling for ground Alara began to fall, catching herself unsteadily by the edge of the newly-opened pit. Her mind raced in terror. Below lay only an abyss, stygian darkness with not a speck of light to be seen. And as Alara struggled an appendage stretched from the depths of that horror and coiled around her ankle. One swift tug and she nearly lost her grip, and with the second she began to plummet into the black depths beneath the endless library.

 

    Falling. For a moment it was the rush of a headlong, accelerating fall. But, then things began to slow. From what light trickled in through the aperture through which she had been pulled, Alara could see as books fell from the shelves above. Through the air they tumbled haphazardly downward only to be caught on a gentle current of sorts – the same current which seemed to have caught her, carrying her towards an unknown destination. The air became tense, a chill at the back of the neck caused Alara to shiver. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she caught the flash of a low, green light, only for it to disappear before her gaze could fix on it. In the darkness, shifting could be heard – the rustling of papers, and the thumping of books being stacked. Then, silence. Stillness. All around Alara came to a sudden, unnerving halt, and a great eye opened before her, bathing her in a pale, green light. A voice rumbled in the Old Tongue.

 

“Neither tome nor scrap of parchment are you… Why do you enter this place?”

 

    Before Alara could answer, a tentacle-like limb surged from the darkness to coil around her form and lock her in place. Another eye flared to life in the darkness, and then another, and a third and a fourth. The drifting, seemingly disembodied eyes floated about her, circled her like a predator circling prey – an appraisal of a sort, it seemed to be. Again the voice rumbled, echoing deep into the sightless void around them.

 

“Ahhh, you. I have seen you, mortal… Or those like you mayhaps. The hunger to know, it marks you.”

 

    The grip of the cephalopoid appendage tightened around Alara’s form as it coiled around her, cementing its hold. As of yet, the binding was unthreatening, but Alara was no fool; one wrong move could be the end. More eyes began to illuminate the space and they slowly drifted onwards, continuing to bear down on Alara from all angles. Anxiety high, the situation seemed fated to escalate in any event, as thick, viridescent mist began to coalesce. As the Spirit kept her in its grasp, the Elf’s head began to throb, and her mind was wracked by a foreign presence. The glowing fog lazily changed in shape, dripping like a viscous semi-liquid as it warped and twisted into grotesque tableaus of Alara’s memories. The eyes watched on silently for the time, absorbing what the Spirit’s probing had revealed.

 

“You are Alara. Shaman… Most curious indeed.”

 

    It was only then that the being’s grip on Alara was loosened, and she soon found herself standing upon a solid floor again, though there was still no light to be found. The eyes slowly moved to gather, with the great eye in the center, all looking at the elf head-on.

 

“I am the one they call NAAGATHOTH, the Hoarding One – you have come to me at an opportune moment, as the winds begin to shift. This meeting is beneficial to you, is it not? Speak, Alara the Seeking One; shall we enter into an agreement?”

 

    For a Spirit to be so forward, Alara thought, that was a strange thing. What could it want? Why was it so eager to make agreements without so much as setting a price? Was it ambition, simple opportunism or something else that motivated this creature? These questions and more raced through Alara’s mind as she pondered a response. After some few moments – the delay of which seemed to raise a tension of sorts from the Spirit – the shaman mustered a reply.

 

“T’was not my intent to seek you out, Spirit. What is it you offer, Lord Naagathoth? And what do you wish for in turn?”

 

    The eyes shifted then, drawing in closer until Alara’s face was limned in their dim, emerald glow. And, in fact, by that light she was momentarily able to glimpse the silhouette of what she could only assume to be an enormous stack of collected books – ostensibly taken from the library above. Again, the ever-so-forward Spirit spoke.

 

“You and I are not so different, Alara the Seeking One. A craving unquenchable, the one that drives you is. This I know, for the need to know is deep-rooted in my mind. Like yourself, however, there remains much that eludes my collection, grand though it may be.”

 

    With the Spirit’s final word, a mote of sickly green light came to hover before Alara, and as she extended a hand to touch it, light suddenly returned to her. Though dim and tinged in pale green, Alara now looked upon the hoard unhindered by the darkness that protected it from prying eyes; she saw it as the Spirit itself saw it. On shelves, in stacks, and in piles, books, scrolls and loose parchment decorated the lair in numbers beyond counting. And lording above it was a form of writhing, coiling tentacles and glowing eyes, thick, dark mist rolling off of its otherworldly appendages, and occasionally forming into new ones altogether.

 

“The terms, shaman, are simple. You will contribute to my hoard, and grant me greater sight into your world. In exchange, you may peruse the contents of my hoard at your leisure, and learn all that you like – but you must not share what you find here, not with any soul or creature. And, of course, I will lend you my power as your patron. Together we will prosper.”

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“What say you, Alara the Seeking One? Have we got an accord, you and I?”

 

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Spoiler

Pact of Naagathoth, Lesser of Theruz, Magic Slots 3/5