redshiftlogs | september 2019. welcome to the void.

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september 2019. welcome to the void.

Who: Everyone in Anchor.
What: Third Introductory Mingle
When: The Month of September 2019
Where: Around and outside the city.
Warnings: Please add any warnings in the subject lines.

Redshift: Welcome to the v͖͕̺̲̘̱̜͎o̴̦̣̠̦̘̹͞i̯̖d̛̪̬͈̱̦̝͍̕.

Click here to read what characters will experience when arriving in Anchor.

a. turrets.

That power surge kicked off some sh... stuff, all right. It took a while for the systems to cycle back on, but two new areas of Anchor are now accessible and usable. One of them is nice and relaxing and safe, and we'll get to that one in a minute. The other one, addressed first, is not very nice and not very relaxing and definitely not safe.

The internal defense systems on the upper levels have come to life, and have targeted anyone within their range as a hostile entity. Get ready to run the gauntlet if you want to turn them off - you'll have to dodge lasers, bullets, and aggressive defense bots (that can be rewired and/or rebooted to assist characters instead of trying to murder them). The reward? Getting to the heavily protected (think many many murderbots and lasers) security control room. If you can make it, you'll be able to reboot the internal defenses, turning off the aggressive targeting and having access for the first time to surveillance of almost all of Anchor. Those areas your characters didn't know were there? Revealed. Those dense patches of jungle-like growth in the agricultural center? You've got a spotlight into their heart.

Though, huh, not all the cameras seem to be working. What's with those screens that show up from time to time that are nothing but static?

Oh well, doesn't really matter, does it?

b. hot springs episode.

One of the areas adjacent to the bar and intimacy lounge has been sputtering on and off ever since the power surge. One evening, with a loud crack and a humming sound that slowly dissipates, the lights come on and water starts flowing down the artificial waterfall into the fountain out front. The spa is back online!

The lobby is inviting and zen, with holographic walls that depict scenic locations (some of them very unlike Earth), with fountains splashing delicately on either side of the door. The attendants are slightly malfunctioning bots, but the most harm they'll do is bring you six towels when you ask for one, or a bucket of massage oil to work on those knots in your back with.

There are three areas in the spa, each of them fully-outfitted with towels, robes of all sizes, fuzzy slippers, the works. One has all the amenities of a Turkish bath, right down to the fantastically arched roofs and mosaics of Istanbul. One is designed not unlike a Japanese hot spring, though the spring is heated artificially rather than naturally. The springs are large enough to be communal in some areas and small enough to be private in others, varying in depth from deep enough to swim on one end and shallow enough to sit on the bottom on the other. All hot springs have a stone shelf around the edges where those who don't want to swim can sit. The last area is more Western, with steam rooms, saunas, massage tables, and mud baths for the adventurous.

One thing all of these areas have in common: the settings on virtually everything can be adjusted to taste. Not in the traditional way, either. The steams and waters can be tweaked to be soporific, can serve as muscle relaxants, can ease anxiety, and can even bolster moods. None of these effects are involuntary, and none of them are brought on by drugs - it's more an advanced mix of pheromones and harmless compounds that can affect a single person or a given pool or room. Also, the baths and hot springs have adjustable bubble settings. The water colors can change, some of them even allowing characters to dye their hair the color that's been selected for the tub without staining their skin. Bubbles of all kinds can rise up out of the water, from the foamy comfort of childhood bubble baths to hovering golden bubbles that chime when you pop them. Characters can choose from a variety of bath salts, scents, and oils - the spas were designed not just for relaxation, but for pure and simple fun.

c. joe's dirt.

So you've survived the security malfunction. You've washed off the dirt and anxiety at the spa. But the newly reactivated security stations throughout Anchor have revealed something odd. There's a blip in the power systems in one area of the agricultural level, like something is siphoning off power from the main lines. Tracking down the source in the deep tangle of underbrush won't be easy, and there may be a few mutated, fanged, clawed cattle that maneuver shockingly well between the trees, but eventually you'll come to a breach in Anchor's wall. At first it just looks like a crack, but it's large enough to squeeze through and there's the darkness of an open space behind it. A tunnel, leading down into the earth outside, well below surface level and thus largely safe.
Wires run along the roof and floor, though the tunnel itself is dark. Walk long enough and you'll come to a wider space, open enough for two or three people to move around comfortably at the same time. It's still dark, lit only by screens that show the same security feeds that are available at the stations throughout the city. And others. Angles on the surface that show Anchor from a distance, and other visuals that don't show Anchor at all, trained instead on massive structures or formations or lakes out on the surface somewhere. But there's something more disturbing: there are cameras set to record some people's rooms. And the only rooms that are shown are occupied.

Someone has been here, recently enough to track where new people have moved in.

On the floor in one corner, there's a crumpled photograph of a man some might recognize as Creepy Joe, happy and whole, with a little girl sitting on his shoulder. It looks like it's been stamped into the dirt.

Navigation.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Oh good, it's just about that magic rock after all. Carlisle has to admit that a magic rock that allowed someone untrained in glyphcrafting to protect their garden does sound a lot like something he'd come up with. He makes a mental note to try to reverse-engineer how he crafted that glyph, to attempt to brush up his skill in the craft when he has the time. He was better than he is now at a point before his death, and even if he can no longer remember it, surely he can reach that level of expertise again.

He follows along behind Reynir to the next spot, sheepish at the thought that he's somehow not the Carlisle Reynir was hoping to meet -- the alive, glyphcrafting, gardening, happy one of Hadriel rather than a literal husk of his former self. He can't even draw a circle that perfect. Reynir would be a much better glyphcrafter, he chides himself inwardly. Pratt would be better off with him helping tend to his crops.

Realizing that line of thinking is more like a Revenant than a logical line, he stifles it for the moment, tucking his pen into the pages of his journal as he waits for Reynir to finish his rune.]

It is life, unfortunately. It is the nature of life to eventually end. It was my duty to ensure it did not happen prematurely.

Edited 2019-09-28 23:45 (UTC)

[ Carlisle is a quiet sort of guy, isn't he? He hadn't seemed that way at the hot springs, but then again he'd been freaking out. This is, most likely, closer to his average self. And Reynir doesn't mind those stretches of silence; he'll either fill them himself or inhabit them happily.

When Carlisle mentions keeping life from ending prematurely, Reyni asks: ]

So how'd you become a clergy healer and exorcist? Do you have schools, too? Or are all those things put together normal for priests of your religion? Do you speak with your gods or are they more the distant type?

[ Yes, it's his turn to be full of questions, and while he might not have a notebook to write it all down in, he trusts he will remember.

And even if Carlisle doesn't know anything much about Reynir's religion, it's clear from his unperturbed attitude that he has no problem acknowledging that people from other regions have their own set of divine being to worship.]

[Carlisle's brow knits. Being on the other end of a myriad of questions isn't quite as endearing as he'd imagined, but he does his best to answer them one by one.]

Right. [Said more to himself than to Reynir.] Exorcism is common for practicing clergy, but true talent in the restorative arts is quite rare. I was taught to hone my gift from fellow members of my order, mostly healers and physicians themselves. We serve the Clarity, one of the primary deities of our world.

[ Reynir can see that Carlisle looks maybe a little uncomfortable, but he just smiles encouragingly as he listens. Some people aren't great at talking about themselves, and just need a small amount of kindness to help them get past feeling shy. Perhaps Carlisle is like that. So he listens attentively, and says: ]

That sounds like a really good way to learn, if you ask me. Waaaay better than sitting in a classroom with a bunch of strangers for a few weeks and then never seeing each other ever again.

[ Clarity sounds like kind of a weird name for a god, but Reynir supposes the reverse is probably true for people hearing about his own gods. It doesn't escape his notice that Carlisle hadn't exactly answered the question as he'd asked it, but maybe that was a rude thing to ask. Possibly? He doesn't want to step on toes so he lets it go.

He continues with the rune, filling in the pattern in assured and confident brushstrokes. This one is less intricate than the last, and he is tucking the brush into the paint once again in just a few moments. He turns to Carlisle and asks: ]

I was gonna take a break when I finished this hallway and get some tea, and I just finished! D'you want to come with me? I can tell you more stuff about mages if you want or we could just hang out.

[ Maybe Carlisle can't drink tea around other people because of the mask thing (which Reynir has just accepted is a religious garment) but he is still going to offer! ]

[Reynir keeps drawing, and Carlisle quiets down so he can focus on copying that rune as well, even noting the direction of the brushstrokes in case they're important. While he does agree that apprenticeship is more appealing than a classroom, he likely would have done well either way. He has always been the studious type, much to the chagrin of his father. To not be an adventurer of some sort is practically an affront to his bloodline.

A bloodline that ends with him. Ended, even. Does he still count, being what he is? He's not sure, and he's not sure he wants to know. Reynir draws his attention with a question as he finishes copying.]

I would appreciate that, actually. I have yet to explore much of the lodgings here.

[ They are not too far away from the little area that Onni and Reynir had marked off as their own. Reynir leads the way there, cheerfully unlocking the door and letting Carlisle inside first. The door is covered in a huge rune, painted on thickly in black paint - it's spikier than many of the others, and stretches past the door and onto the walls around it. Reynir doesn't explain it, just gestures for Carlisle to go in, saying chipperly: ]

Explore away!

[ He follows his new friend (good news Carlisle, you've talked twice so Reynir considers you a friend now) in and heads for the little kitchen area - not much more than a small table with two chairs and some basics for food prep. A thought occurs to Reynir belatedly as he is putting a kettle of water on to heat up (No fire required! This place is absolutely bizarre!) He turns to Carlisle and asks: ]

Wait, so where have you been staying if it isn't around here?

[As Reynir heads to the kitchenette, Carlisle starts exploring immediately, taking note of the way the space is arranged, from the furniture to the personalized touches that indicate what kind of people are living there. All the beds in the open -- not good. He's glad he's turned away as Reynir asks him that question, or he might've seen just how wide-eyed Carlisle goes behind his glasses.]

Staying. Of course.

[In truth, he hasn't been staying anywhere -- not just because he hasn't properly had a chance to explore the options in the barracks, but also because he hasn't needed to sleep since he arrived. He should, he really should -- he needs to establish more of a routine, something that makes him appear alive even if he isn't. His hands come together, allowing him to wring them nervously.]

I've been... in the park area, mostly. The lowest level. [That much is true, and he handles a half-lie better than a bald-faced one.] It's peaceful there, with the trees and whatnot.

[ This time, Reynir again picks up on what seems like a slight reluctance in answering questions that, to him, seem very normal. But of course, normal is such a subjective matter. People had treated him as if he was peculiar, for asking questions about quarantines and trolls and things that are standard to him. Perhaps inquiring about another person's living quarters is very personal in Carlisle's world, and culturally, people keep that sort of thing discreet.

But Reynir at least pretends he doesn't notice the nervous hand wringing, as he gets down two mugs suitable for tea. They're mismatched, one of them chipped. Detritus that had slipped through from other worlds, in the shift. One is made to look like a bizarre stylized orange cat, and the other has some words in a curly script surrounded by small hearts.

He nods, accepting that the park is a reasonable place to have chosen to stay. ]

Onni and I thought about setting up down there, but we decided this was more secure. Even if it's all so lifeless and strange.

[ This place is so different from the textures and materials and colors that they are both used to. ]

This house... [ A pause, because it's not really a house but Reynir isn't sure what other word he would use for it, so he gives a little shrug and just goes on - Carlisle will understand, probably. ] is mine, and Onni is in the one next door. You're the first person I've brought back here, actually. I wonder where Kisa is...

[ He peers around to see if he can spot the little cat snoozing anywhere, but she's either hiding or out and about with Onni. Probably the latter. Reynir goes back to brewing the tea, asking: ]

Do mages visit one another's areas while they're dreaming, where you're from, or is that... rude? Should I try to avoid it?

[ Personal growth! He had just barged in on Onni and Lalli without permission. He's at least trying, now. ]

[Carlisle sighs quietly to himself, relieved that Reynir found his answer believable. He's aware there's only so much of the truth he can avoid regarding his condition, and mentally kick himself for not having considered this possibility sooner. First thing he's doing when he leaves is finding a proper room, one that is hopefully unoccupied.

In good news, they get away from the topic almost immediately.]

Pleased as I am to be your first guest, I have to admit I am not familiar with... anything you just said, really. Visiting another's area when dreaming? Is that something mages do in your world?

[ Reynir blinks at Carlisle a few seconds, one of the tea bags still held in his fingers, about to be dropped in a mug. A mage that isn't familiar with the dream space is something very foreign to him. There is so much that is extremely different, between the way that Reynir and Finnish mages like Lalli or Onni do magic. But dreaming is their common thread. Customs around how mages interact in them might vary based on culture, but it is still far more a point of community and shared experience, more than a difference. ]

Y...es, in my world, mages dream. We... have areas. Places we go every time we sleep, where we are in control, and mostly safe. But there is an in-between space and we can travel to find one another. Talk to each other, regardless of language or how many miles away the other person is. We can share visions, and memories, and communicate with spirits.

[ Even if it weren't clear from the abilities Reynir is describing, his way of talking about it shows how fundamental it is to magehood, for him. Tucking his braid back over his shoulder, he offers: ]

I - could not remember my dreams before I realized I was a mage. Maybe it's like that for you? You go to your area when you sleep, but you just don't remember it since nobody's ever visited you. I could try to find you tonight, if you'd like, after you go to sleep. I might not... be very good at a lot of stuff, but I'm really good at finding people and crossing the in-between place.

[ The kettle is beginning to whistle, and Reynir drops that tea bag finally and pours some of the hot water in each mug. ]

Edited 2019-10-01 10:22 (UTC)

As fascinating an idea as that is, I don't believe I have an, um. Area. And if I did, it would be unpleasant.

[And in all honesty, would he want someone from who knows where walking into his mind, into some 'area' that is 'mostly safe'? The concept is both incredible and disturbing to a man as private as Carlisle, one who would prefer to keep to himself in both the sleeping and waking worlds.

He hasn't slept since his reawakening, but he still remembers the dreams of his living years well. When they weren't nightmares about bears, bugs, drowning, failure, or any of his other fears, they so often involved an empty, colorless plane of existence, one where he was damned to be forever mired in regrets he could not escaoe for sins he could no longer remember. That was said to be the end for all twice-cursed, something that plagued him more and more in his sleep as the years passed.

Of course, what was said and what was reality were two different things. No one knew what he would become upon death. Had that been present in his dreams, and he'd simply forgotten? Or was his case an unfortunate fluke?]

You would waste your time searching for me, but I appreciate the offer. I need no confirmation of my magical potential from dreams.

[ Reynir blinks a few times at that. He's a straightforward sort of person, so he immediately and plainly asks: ]

Why would you assume that?

[ It seems strange to him, to just jump to the conclusion that his area would be unpleasant. Especially since this is apparently the first he is hearing about how dreams work for mages. So to automatically think that... it seems to suggest Carlisle is troubled in some way, and if so, Reynir wants to know about it. Maybe he could help!

If Carlisle had merely said he would prefer not to have visitors, Reynir would have respected that (at least, unless there was an emergency). But he's worried now that something is wrong. So he sets the tea in front of Carlisle, steam curling up from the mug, and takes a seat near him. ]

Okay. I guess I won't try, if you don't want me to. But even if I didn't find you, I don't think it would've been a waste of time to look or anything. It's super nice, meeting another mage! I haven't had a lot of people I can really talk to about all this stuff.

[ And Reynir smiles, earnest, good-natured, friendly. He nods to the tea cooling in front of Carlisle and says: ]

I hope you like it!

[Carlisle tries to address Reynir's concerns as he eyes the tea before him, procrastinating on facing the obvious problem of drinking he'll have to deal with shortly.]

Neither my dreams nor my mind have ever been generous to me. I see no reason that would change now. [Especially now. He wraps his fingers around the mug, feeling only the barest amount of warmth through his gloves despite the steam rising from the top. Even then, it's not warmth as he's used to -- it's more the feel of the heat butting against the energies keeping him animated, the sensation of two incompatible forces colliding. He feels the heat radiating from the mug in a sterile, clinical sense, and nearly nothing more.

He tries to get away from his fear of that detachment -- and what it means for him -- by moving to (figuratively) warmer topics.]

But let us not worry about my dreams. It is good to meet someone else capable of spellcasting. Most that I have met so far have been technologically inclined rather than magically.

[ Oh no! That doesn't sound good at all. Reynir frowns, a worried little expression that would doubtless be more severe if he had ever had a single nightmare in his entire life. But while he's had a few frightening moments in the dream space, and an extremely alarming vision of the future or two, he's never had an honest-to-goodness nightmare. And his mind, for the majority of his life, has been very kind to him. So he doesn't really get it, even if he does get that Carlisle's unhappy.

He can tell Carlisle is trying to end the conversation about dreams there, and part of Reynir wants to insist on lingering, until he figures out if there really isn't anything he can do to help. But... Carlisle is a guest here and he should probably let it go, for now. ]

Yeah. I'm really out of my depth, too. We've got some of the technology from the Old World still around, where I come from, but even most that stuff is pretty new to me.

[ He's not rich and he's not from the city. The house he grew up in has electricity, but not computers; it wasn't until he was on the expedition that he used a radio all that much, and it was certainly the first time he'd driven a vehicle that wasn't a cart with a horse attached to it. ]

By the way the uh, constructs. I can see how they would be really scary but uh, I don't think they're actually dangerous. Pretty much everyone I've talked to here is fine with them.

So I have been told.

[Unfortunately, someone telling Carlisle the robots are harmless and him believing they're harmless are two very different things, and Carlisle is the type to cling to his own opinion until directly proven otherwise. Even then, he may still cling to it out of pure paranoia or stubbornness, especially when it comes to something he naturally distrusts like constructs or the undead.

He stares down at his mug, having not attempted to take a drink -- or even remove his mask.]

I assume that 'Old World' you mentioned is the one beyond the borders of safety, the one ravaged by the illness.

Oh. Okay!

[ This really isn't going how Reynir had wanted it to, at all. He had wanted to reassure Carlisle, but... he gets the feeling he's missing the mark. And he hasn't even touched his tea. Reynir sips from his own mug, his smile growing faintly worried around the edges. He'd been so excited to play host and he's just sucking at it, isn't he? ]

That's how we talk about the world as it was before the Illness, actually. When we're talking about the present day areas that aren't safe, the name we use is 'The Silent World'.

[ Reynir rubs at his neck. Probably explaining this next part is only going to make the vibe in this room even worse, but: ]

It's not, really. Silent, I mean - not for mages. We can sort of. Hear the voices of all the trapped souls of the people that were infected and transformed. So it's. Pretty loud, in some places. It's just that regular people can't hear anything.

[Carlisle shifts uncomfortably, grimacing. He has trouble enough stifling his own thoughts, be it through meditation or intoxication; the notion of hearing the souls of others trapped all around him, a cacophony of damnation that only a certain few could hear, is beyond unsettling.

And yet Reynir seems so... chipper. Relatively upbeat, even when talking about what Carlisle internalizes as torture. How he maintains that is an utter mystery.]

That sounds absolutely dreadful. Why is it that only mages can hear them?

I don't know.

[ Maybe he would, if he had been allowed into the more advanced classes at the Academy, but he kind of doubts it. There's a lot more focus on how and not much on why. ]

I grew up in the one country that is completely troll-free, so I'd never heard them before a few months ago, when I went into the Silent World. It's not like you can hear them everywhere on the planet all at once. You have to be pretty close by.

[ He gives a small, jerky little shrug, still rubbing his neck, at the comment that it sounds dreadful. No point in denying, that. The only way to keep the conversation from getting too horrific is to be vague about the details. Not to tell Carlisle how they scream and beg and just want to die so badly. ]

It's... useful for knowing where they are, so you can avoid them, but it's. Pretty awful, yeah.

[Only able to detect them when near; infected and transformed and trapped in their own bodies. Carlisle cannot help but wonder what torment it would be for a mage like Reynir to have been in Bear Den. Could they hear the undead of other worlds? Or was it only these "infected" he spoke of? What would he have heard from a Revenant?

If nothing else, at least he doesn't seem to be hearing anything now, or Carlisle assumes as such. Reynir seems fairly guileless; were he hearing something, he would make it known. There is some comfort in the thought that even as an undead, he may be less tainted than some plagued soul from another world. There are other variables, of course, but Carlisle will take what he can get in this... transitional time in his (after)life.]

What do your deities think of the infected?

[ 'Guileless' is putting it mildly; Reynir doesn't have a deceitful bone in his body, or even a half-deceitful one. He sits there, sipping at his tea and allowing Carlisle to think it over, even though he's still bursting with curiosity, himself. But before he can get to ask anything more, Carlisle is presenting him with another huge, rather existential question that he just doesn't have the answer to.

Reynir tries to think, though. If he remembers anything from the legends he was taught, about the opinion of the gods on those who are infected. He doesn't want to just speculate and present that to Carlisle as fact. Gradually, frowning a little, but in thought rather than anger, he says: ]

I'm... not really sure how to answer that question. I'm not a member of the clergy, like you, and the truth is... I didn't pray much or pay attention to spiritual things, until I realized they'd chosen me to be a mage. So there's lots I don't know. I know... they've helped protect me from getting infected, when I thought there was no way I was gonna make it.

[ If Carlisle had been fishing for anything more specific than that, he is going to have to clarify. Reynir is willing to answer, but his knowledge only extends so far. ]

So do your gods share their thoughts freely? Like... do they talk to you?

Edited 2019-10-04 17:35 (UTC)

[That answer seems to appease Carlisle's curiosity for now; there's no sense in pushing further if Reynir doesn't know what they think. Gifted as he may be as a mage, he admits hasn't much of a personal connection with them, and perhaps hasn't studied what religious teachings there are in his world regarding the deities' stances on their current circumstances. Maybe their gods only care so much; maybe they only speak to a few. There could be many reasons for Reynir's ignorance completely unrelated to his own lack of experience. Gods are like that, sometimes.]

A few in every order are able to commune directly with their deity, though most of us are trained in indirect interpretation of their will. I fall into the latter category. Through devotion and prayer, I connect with my goddess, though whether or not she hears and answers me is for me to determine. She is said to reach out only on rare occasion, as the Clarity can be quite... aloof.

But - that's so cool!

[ He leans forward, fully engaged and brimming with enthusiasm and curiosity once again. ]

We don't have anything like that! We offer prayers to our gods, and sometimes they give us aid, or signs, or visions, but - but they don't talk to humans!

[ The idea that a god would do so is wild to Reynir. No matter how aloof Clarity might be, by Carlisle's standards, it's a lot more dialogue than anyone has had with Odin since... forever. ]

Was Clarity your family god or did you choose her? How does all that work?

She is the creator of our world. I had a, ah, accident of sorts when I was younger, and required a significant amount of healing. It was discovered by those healers that I had a predisposition for the art myself, and I thought it best I use it to serve the one who must have gifted me with such talent.

[Knowing said energies would later be attuned toward the necrotic, would he have made the same choice? He does not know. He's almost certain that's just an unfortunate coincidence -- or he likes to think so. He sets his mug aside (still without a sip taken) and places his fingers in the air, drawing a crude shape. While his illustrations of the plants and the runes in his journal are quite good, albeit on the technical, impersonal end, the picture he makes in the air out of glowing, suspended lines of magic is far simpler.]

[He frowns. Not his best work.]

Forgive this unflattering depiction of the Camisou -- the Clarity.

Edited 2019-10-05 21:35 (UTC)

[ Reynir listens to Carlisle's story about his calling with rapt attention. There is more there, he can tell. The hesitation around the way he mentions an accident, glossed over quickly. The lack of detail about how extensive the healing he needed was and the amount of time it took him to recover. It occurs to Reynir then that perhaps the mask is not a vestment of his order, but to cover up some scarring or disfiguration from what had happened all those years ago when he was young. But of course, he won't ask.

There is other information in the story, too. Certain individuals having predispositions to certain kinds of magic. That isn't really how things work, where Reynir is from, but he supposes it isn't any different than some people being gifted with beautiful singing voices and others being good with navigation. Talents vary. ]

I agree. I mean, with that decision. Once you know you've been chosen and given powers, you should use those powers to help people. It's not just something you can do, it's a responsibility.

[ Reynir watches, wide-eyed and silent, as Carlisle's fingers leave glowing lines in the air, gradually forming into a figure. It's not like anything Reynir has ever seen, and in a different context, with different details, he might think it was a troll. But they haven't been talking about anything related to that, so he waits patiently, and then Carlisle explains that that is the form of his deity. ]

Wow. So - there are people who have seen her? Other followers in your order, the ones that commune directly?

[ Reynir has seen illustrations of Odin but it's so not the same thing. ]

[Carlisle smiles beneath that mask of his, glad Reynir seems to understand - his decision in serving as a healer was not just the right thing to do for his bloodline, but the responsible choice. It gave him purpose -- a reason to keep moving when he felt he had so little. That, unfortunately, makes it all the more painful that things went so wrong after his death.

The lines in the air dissipate, fading away before them.]

They have not seen her in person, but in visions, dreams. The impression of her. She is far too large for one to behold with their mortal eye.

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