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elk-and-thearchivist · 5 years ago

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Chiaroscuro, Chapter 3: Reconnaissance

It’s been a while but we’re still at it! Here’s the third chapter of my RP with @grumpyoldsnake / @justashadetalkative ! For this chapter art, @grumpyoldsnake did the sketch/composition and character lines/flats, while I did the background, shading, and effects. I also did the two other pieces in here.

The streamlined, edited version is on AO3 here.

Elk, Wiki, Linast, and Phosa finally see what they’re up against.

Words: 5385 Characters: Elk and Wiki (mine), Linast and Phosa ( @justashadetalkative ) Indented is me, regular is @justashadetalkative Dashes are POV shifts.

As per usual, Elk guided them expertly through the caverns and back into Greenpath. Hardly a husk noticed them as they went by, even with Phosa's dim glow.

Phosa. An interesting entity, as well - very different in mannerism from her sibling. Perhaps not surprising, given the polarity of their compositions.

And what interesting compositions indeed! Light and darkness. Yet not quite the pale light of soul, or the brilliance of the Old Light. And Linast's darkness was not the same void as they.

Ah, their mind has wandered once more. Already, they approach the area of the rifts.

"We're almost there," Elk called quietly.

“All right,” Phosa replied quietly, staying close behind them. She dimmed still further as the sounds of activity began to reach the group from the cavern ahead, her expression going grim.

Soon they’d drawn close enough to see a stark yellow light shining through the foliage ahead. Carefully, Phosa pushed forward to join the pair and slowly shifted a frond of greenery just far enough to give them a view of the rift area.

The rifts were larger now. One had expanded down to the ground, forming a doorway large enough to fit several people side by side; the others remained as slightly smaller tears in space. They opened into some hazy place that was too brightly lit to focus on; what little could be seen was surreal, seeming to pull and twist without actually moving.

The rift beings seemed to be hunting. Slain husks and Greenpath creatures had been piled haphazardly nearby, orange fluid leaking out across the floor. As the group watched, a group of three rift beings much like the one that had pursued Elk and Linast at the beginning of all this dragged in yet another bug to add to the pile, then departed again. A singular rift being in intricate robes circled slowly around the pile, tracing out glowing sigils in an ever widening arc. Other rift beings roamed the cavern, some apparently on guard, others setting up a sort of camp and talking cheerfully amongst themselves as they carried supplies through the central rift.

Phosa’s expression was tight as she let the greenery fall back into place. “...that is... a pretty big mess,” she whispered. “Shit.”

Wiki's stability within Elk quivered as they observed the the scene, motes and tendrils flicking out. Elk was suddenly anxious as well, taking a few steps back.

Wiki flicked out a tendril, laying it on Phosa's shoulder and giving a questioning prod for entry into her mind. They sensed her surprise, but quick assent. Forgive my intrusion. I don't wish to be overheard.

They could feel both their own and Elk's uneasiness bleeding into the bridge, but they supposed it couldn't be helped. It looks like they're killing and gathering the husks. Yet... I can't help but feel uneasy. I somehow doubt they'll stop at the ones already half-dead. Not to mention, those sigils... What are they for...?

Elk's mental presence echoed their sentiment. It was a much softer presence than theirs - very accommodating towards other entities in their mind. I don't think that they're any good news for Hallownest. Or- this dimension, maybe, if their intent is... larger scale......

I think you’re right, Phosa agreed. On all fronts. I don’t know what the sigils are but... considering corpses seem to be a primary component, I doubt it’s anything good.

Her thoughts flickered rapidly as she compared these beings to similar prior experiences. She seemed to be doing her best to call Wiki’s attention to the relevant ones.

This wasn’t the first time otherworldly beings had interrupted teleportation to and from the Spire, though it wasn’t common, either. ‘Vector wyrms’ seemed to be the most common culprit; they were simple creatures that fed off of the energy of teleportation spells, destabilizing the spell in the process. Hostile individuals had managed it a time or two, but they had usually been specifically searching for the Spire.

And there had once been a realm breach vaguely similar to these rifts in space, though it had been on a much larger scale. The edges of the Spire’s dimension had spilled into some vast, hungering darkness, lit by occasional sparks of lightning. Only Dalgiroth’s intervention and a lot of panicked work on the part of the spellcasters in the Spire had managed to pull them back from that particular incident. At least these rifts seem... stable...? Phosa didn’t seem reassured.

Wiki's thoughts churned as they observed Phosa's. They weren't reassured either.

There are way too many of them for us to confront... I doubt trying to fight them directly would turn out well. Elk gave a mental shudder.

If we could... seal the rifts, somehow. We could cut them off from their base of operations, before they establish themselves here… Rapid thoughts flickered across their mind - old magic, runes, seals, dreams, weavers-

Ah. There is another kingdom by the depths of Hallownest. Deepnest, the land of the Weavers. They are, or were, perhaps, rumored to weave intricate spells. Perhaps we could attempt to learn their magic to seal the rifts.

It's worth a shot. Phosa went distant and unfocused for a moment, her body wavering as she felt through the cavern. It wasn't quite sight, but she seemed to be able to get a general idea of the creature's locations and movements.

...If it worked, we could be sure they wouldn't get reinforcements, and we'd have enough time to be careful about it. If we could pick them off like that, I do think Linast and I could take the ones that are already here, she decided, refocusing. Especially once we're at full strength again.

Phosa looked at them with a serious expression. How long of a journey is it?

Their mind flashed with scenery, flying through various areas - a mental map coalescing in their mind. What would be the best way?

In moments, they traced a path in their mental map. Yes, the best option is most likely... They guided their mental image in a rapid journey, passing through Fog Canyon, the Queen's Station, the Fungal Wastes, before bringing them to a chasm of darkness. Deepnest.

It shall be a bit of a journey. Fog Canyon is dangerous, but not in the usual sense. We can guide you through safely - we are very familiar with it. It's where we met. Elk gave a nod at that.

Deepnest... it is a realm of darkness, we suppose. And not for the faint of heart. Images of parasitized husks and bugs tunneling dirtcarvers flickered across their mind. The Weavers' Den is said to be deep within the kingdom. We'll have to do a bit of exploring.

Phosa leaned forward as if to listen closer, not that it would make much difference. That does seem like quite a ways, she agreed. And those are... certainly some interesting creatures, there in Deepnest. But it seems you know the way pretty well.

She sat back again, smiling weakly. If nothing else, it will be interesting to see where you two met. And Linast is always up for some exploration. I’m sure we’ll manage to find something.

That is indeed the hope. Wiki retreated from the mental bridge, and Elk quietly stepped away from the scene of the rifts, looking around a bit before spotting the path to Fog Canyon. They waved a hand at Phosa, indicating that she follow.

Phosa obediently rose to follow them, picking her way carefully through the foliage. She seemed on higher alert than she had been before observing the rifts, her attention focused as much on their surroundings and on checking for pursuit from behind them as it was focused on following Wiki and Elk.

Soon, the air around them seemed to shift - thicker, almost fluid, and charged with an electrical energy. The bubbles particular to the Canyon began to populate their surroundings, soon giving way to the more hazardous ones, as well.

They paused a moment, warning Phosa: "Don't touch any of the bubbles with nuclei. They'll explode. Same for the larger jellyfish, though you have a chance to avoid them." They peered down the path. "Follow us closely - no harm will come to you here if you know how to avoid everything."

Wiki and Elk were both focused on plotting their pathway through the canyon, so neither were the first to notice, when a group of the creatures emerged from the undergrowth.

Phosa eyed the bubbles warily. “Noted. No touching,” she echoed, picking her way past the ones they’d pointed out to her. She looked up again once she was past them, though, returning to keeping a careful watch on their surroundings, and when the creatures stepped out she froze immediately.

Her warning hand on Elk’s shoulder might have served as warning or might have largely been a distraction, but their situation became clear enough as the quadrupedal creatures at the head of the hunting party spotted them and let out excited cries.

“Shit. Run, I’ll be right behind you—“ Phosa hissed, taking a half step in front of the pair. A blinding wave of light flew forward along the path and collided with the quadrupedal creatures as they started to rush forward. It threw them back to collapse in a heap atop the bipedal creatures behind them, clearing the way to the canyon—for a few moments, at least.

"Ah, Void-" they extended a number of tendrils from Elk and they rapidly scaled the walls of the canyon. Wiki frequently cast their awareness back to make sure Phosa followed - they chose a path relatively easy to navigate, but that meant the creatures were quick gaining on them.

Elk- we need-

A faster path, I know-

One of the creatures came close enough to leap at Phosa - they wrapped a tendril around her and pulled her out of the way, just in time to escape the explosion caused by the creature impacting a nucleated bubble. It let out a pained cry as Elk pulled them away from the blast zone. But the rest of the creatures were undeterred, perhaps more careful now that they were aware of the hazards.

They set Phosa down, but kept the tendril in contact as they continued their escape. Phosa, we're going to change our destination a bit. There's a passage we know by heart, and we might be able to shake them by taking it. It's a slight detour, but-

Phosa had kept up fairly well, right on their heels and nearly mirroring their exact steps at times, though every once in a while they'd leap for a ledge she clearly hadn't expected them to and she'd fall behind for a few moments as she readjusted.

She stumbled a step as they set her down and then caught her rhythm again. She reached up to grip their tendril with one hand, making sure that the contact didn't get interrupted.

Getting there at all sounds good to me, however many detours it takes, she replied. I tried to burn those things when they first showed up but it hardly did anything, shaking them's probably our best shot.

Elk cursed in their joined minds - so they were resilient and relentless. Despite the situation, Wiki felt a bit of amusement Elk's choice of words - giving a mental nudge equivalent to saying language- but the moment washed away quickly as they noticed the creatures gaining on them once more.

We'll do our best. Actually, we might be able to… Letting Elk take care of the navigation, Wiki considered their options. They sent Phosa an image of a cluster of Ooma - a large group typically lingered near where they were going. The Ooma are normally passive, but if their outer body is damaged, the volatile core will immediately fly towards the attacker. They will unleash a powerful explosion on impact.

Elk continued the thought: We might be able to do a little... misdirection. With enough of them, I doubt even these things will be unfazed? Though obviously it'll be pretty dangerous, we're handling explosives after all-

Phosa can do it. It seemed that Linast had woken again. Though with the current pace they were keeping and the explosion earlier, it wasn't surprising. It's a good idea. I can take our core, or you two can carry us, and she can drop back to where the rift people are and attack the Ooma from their direction.

Phosa assented, her mind quickly flicking through the necessary maneuver. She didn't seem concerned about the possibility of getting caught in the blast herself. They yelped at the explosion earlier. The light and heat might not do much but I'm betting the concussive force will. Solid folk tend to squish.

Wiki gave a mental equivalent of a snort. You have a point. Linast, good to see that you're awake. Your plan sounds very efficient. Though…

Will you two be alright? So long as your core is fine? Wiki could feel the concern emanating from Elk. Mirrored in their own self, though perhaps not as intensely.

Yes, and will you need a moment to form and split off? We'd probably be fine distracting them a moment if so.

We’ll be safe from the Ooma, yes.

The light from the explosions might be painful for me, if I’m in line of sight of them, Linast added. But that’s all. It doesn’t actually do me any harm, it’s just—tiring. The concept of ‘tired’ had a heavier mental weight to it than the word itself might suggest.

Guess we’ll find out for the rest. We don’t know what the creatures can do at close range. But they’d have to have some pretty specific abilities to be able to hurt me, and I don’t plan to linger.

Are you sure you could distract them safely? Linast seemed distinctly concerned at the risk, trying to think through alternative options. We won’t need long, I can teleport our core now that we’re healed, but it’ll take me a second to get my feet under me.

Wiki sent them a mental map of the area - there was an open area a little further, where the Ooma swarmed - and just beyond that stood the immense facility of the Archives.

We'll be alright. Good luck. They retracted their tendril. "We'll lead them off!"

“Meet you on the other side!” Phosa returned. Their core unspooled in ribbons of red and then into nothing at all, and moments later Phosa disappeared as well, flickering out of view like she’d never been there to begin with.

As Linast reclaimed their core, Phosa released her concentration on her form and turned her awareness outwards. The creatures were closer behind than she liked, but hopefully she was about to fix that.

Phosa located the Ooma that Wiki had described, glowing cores of orange at their centers making them stand out readily in her awareness. She should be able to target quite a few of them at once, especially since the creatures were even easier for her to feel than the Ooma nuclei.

Phosa lined up the shots, tracing a mental trajectory between each creature and a few Ooma each, then hesitated. She’d lost track of Elk and Wiki in the shuffle, antithetical as their bodies were to her magic. Were they out of the bloom yet? She refocused, looking for the small splotch of void that would mark Elk in her awareness.

It took a moment to pinpoint them - they weren't nearly as far as she'd expect, their emptiness still in the midst of the swarm of lights.

Their splotch expanded and contracted as they extended tendrils to vault themselves over and around the terrain, until it suddenly faltered and stopped.

That was most definitely not out of the bloom. Phosa didn't want to lose track of her sense of the creatures and Ooma, and she didn't want to distract Elk and Wiki at a bad time. But she focused in to take a look at what was going on, hoping to see what had gone wrong.

One of the creatures had managed to nick Elk's leg, causing them to trip. But they were still only for a moment, as tendrils suddenly burst from their body - a blur of motion followed by a yelp from the offending creature.

Elk was hunched over, the tendrils having pulled them back a bit. One tendril hung in the air, wielding some kind of weapon, stained with a liquid light.

The creature that was struck got up, a shallow gash on its face leaking the same fluid. It joined the rest of its pack, crouched a distance away from them - coiled energy about to strike.

Elk suddenly snapped their gaze to Phosa. The tendrils jerkily gestured to the Ooma, as if telling her, Do it now, now-

Phosa hesitated for an instant, the small sphere of light she’d formed to take a look at the situation flickering with stress. They had at least a bit of distance between themselves and the creatures, but it really wasn’t as much distance as she’d hoped. And they were still in the Ooma field. Would it set off a chain reaction, would they have time to get out—?

But Phosa was used to following instructions in combat situations, and Elk and Wiki were far more familiar with the Ooma than she was. An instant was all it took for her to shove her hesitance aside and refocus her attention, turning back to the creatures.

One, two—three. And more than enough Ooma for each. She lashed out from each creature’s position simultaneously, sending out narrow lances of heat and light that were about as close to laser focus as she could manage at such short notice.

As soon as the lances made contact, the soft outer layer of the Ooma burst. The cores were suspended in the air for just a moment, a moment of calm - before they descended upon the creatures.

Elk and Wiki just managed to leap out of the initial blast, ducking behind an outcropping. But as the creatures were caught in the blast, the explosion of heat and light reverberating through the air, they lashed out. The pops of Oomas' outer layers seemed loud in the gap between the first explosion - and the ones thereafter. It seemed as if a chain of at least ten of them were set off, brightness overshadowing the light of anything in the midst of the explosions.

When they finally stopped, the creatures were scattered on the canyon floor, weakly trying to get up. Elk and Wiki were out of Phosa's direct line of sight, but-

A trail of darkness was forming from a ways off from the scene, dripping from an amorphous spot of emptiness as it slowly moved further down the path.

Phosa had tried to keep track of Elk and Wiki through all of the explosions, in the hopes of intercepting the worst of the blasts if she could. But the light of the explosions was so much stronger in her awareness, and the pair blended into their surroundings—indistinguishable from flying debris and the dark interior of the cavern’s floor.

She cursed heartily as she spied the creatures still alive, forming in an amorphous shape and giving them a hard, merciless shove back to the ground. She honestly wasn’t paying much attention as she did so, though, casting about the cavern in search of her allies. She couldn’t burn the creatures, and she’d never been as good as Linast at physical force or cutting edges, and—there.

That was probably Elk, or Wiki, or both; it certainly wasn’t Linast. Stars they seemed in bad shape, though.

Phosa hurriedly formed near them, glancing over their wounds with a wince. At least they were upright. Sort of. “Hey,” she muttered, hovering uncertainly, her hands raised to offer support but not sure if it’d be welcome. “Hey, shit. I’m sorry, that got way more hectic than I expected, lost track of you for a few. Can I touch you? We need to get out of here—they’re not quite dead...”

They twitched, gooey tendrils flicking out. "Phosa...?" came out in a distorted warble. They shifted their head to look at her. "We'll... be alright once Elk wakes up and is able to focus. They're unconscious, they took the worst of it."

They curled their tendrils. "We were close, but- nnh. We got a direct hit from one at the very end. And Elk's shell has never- been very strong."

They glanced back to where the creatures were. "Sorry, we- panicked for a moment back there. Sorry. We thought we could make it." They looked back up to her. "We can't move that well right now... If you could give us a hand, that would... be appreciated. You can touch us, but it may be better for you to avoid our unstable Void. The cloak... should be fine."

“Yeah, that’s—I probably shouldn’t try touching that stuff right now,” Phosa agreed, looking them over. They seemed to be bleeding Void, and floating motes rose from their body as well. But if the cloak worked as a barrier, she could probably manage this; it was close enough to full length.

Phosa sent a wary glance back towards the creatures, which were still struggling to stand, then crouched down. She carefully tugged their cloak forward, wrapping it more securely about them. “I’m just going to pick you up, okay?”

They nodded as she wrapped the cloak around them, the texture under the cloak almost fluid, before it met enough resistance for it to seem solid.

They twitched suddenly, lifting their head a bit. "W... wait. Would it... be possible to capture one of the creatures? We might be able to find out something... now's... a good chance. They're weakened-"

“So are we,” Phosa returned, a bit more sharply than she’d meant to. She finished with the cloak, gently scooped them up, and held them close to her chest as she turned to check on the creatures’ progress.

She watched as a quadrupedal creature nudged at the bipedal one—which hadn’t yet managed to regain its feet—and let out a slow, conflicted hiss.

The problem was that Wiki was right. If the things were this resilient, this may well be their best chance at capturing one safely. Especially if they were going to keep running into them like this, unprepared and far from full strength.

“...I’m not taking you back in there,” Phosa said, slowly. Then, her conviction growing, she added, “And I’m not leaving you here undefended while I try to subdue three of them at once to make it safe enough to approach. We’ll meet back up with Linast. Then I’ll come back on my own and see if I can capture one.”

"...Nnh." They seemed wrought with tension, before they slumped as it drained from them. "I'm in no position to argue."

"We'll be safe in the Archives. We can rest there.... we know all the places to hide...." They slightly turned their head in the direction of her face. "Just... be careful..."

Phosa relaxed a bit as the tension drained from them, and readjusted her grip to keep them from slipping. “I always am,” she said. “Which is why we’re not staying here when Elk’s unconscious and you hardly seem much better off.”

Phosa set off at as smooth a run as she could manage, keeping a sharp eye out for any remnant Ooma or nucleated bubbles. She didn’t want to aggravate their injuries, but she was also intent on getting them out of the way as quickly as possible. She would need to get back before the creatures recovered much further.

It wasn't long until they emerged from a passageway into a large cavern. Ooma floated aimlessly around the expansive space, hovering around a sprawling complex of bronze metal and glass windows that glowed with the same green as the acid lake it was built upon.

Wiki was silent and motionless until they had arrived; as soon as they came into sight of the building, they shifted their gaze to it. "We can go in through the main entrance. No one really alive... stays here." They shifted again, looking around. "Is Linast here already...?"

Phosa frowned a bit, finding their specification of 'really alive' a bit ominous. She set her reservations aside and nodded as they asked after Linast, though, and glanced around for him herself. "Yeah, I can feel us--there he is."

Linast finished his teleportation in from whatever recessed corner of the passageway he’d found, and fell in beside her as she started towards the Archive's entrance. He stared at Elk and Wiki, looking a bit horrified. "Phosa, what--?"

"We fucked up," Phosa interrupted. She caught a cold blankness settling into his expression, and when he began to turn back the way they'd come she reached out with a formless limb to tug him back towards her by the core. His form flickered unsteadily against her light even as he pushed her away with a petulant hiss. "We fucked up, Linast. Don't even think about it. We can't afford more mistakes right now and you have been active way too long."

Linast subsided reluctantly, his attention drifting back towards Wiki. He started to reach towards them, then seemed to have second thoughts and tucked his hand back in against his chest. "Are you two okay..?" he asked, hesitant. "I mean--stable, or... is there anything we can do to help?"

They'd curled into themselves at Phosa's words, as if contrite. "We'll be... fine. Once Elk wakes up. They- they have an ability to heal themself using soul - we still have a lot we absorbed in the spring. I'm just... holding us together until then. Just need to rest for a bit..."

They turned Elk's head to Linast. "Active too long...? Are you alright-hnm." They flinched as more void dripped from the crack in their shell. "Let's- we should get inside- then we can all rest. I can show you where to go."

"Best to get out of sight," Phosa agreed quietly, shifting her hand away from the fresh drip of void before it could make contact. As she approached the entrance to the Archive, she exchanged a brief glance with Linast. He looked painfully worried, and she couldn't quite disagree with him.

Wiki said they'd be fine, and she'd gathered that they weren't exactly your typical biological beings. But they were... oozing quite a lot, and she was used to head wounds and unconsciousness being direly serious, in most physical creatures. 'Holding us together' was equally concerning. It was hard to reconcile all of that with 'fine,' or with a certainty that Elk would wake.

Nothing for it right now, though. As during all the rest of this nonsense, she'd just have to trust them. She nodded Linast towards the door, and he slipped through. He returned a moment later to gesture her in, apparently deeming it safe. She entered and took a look at their new surroundings. "Alright. Where are we heading?"

They took a second to respond - "Down the hallway, second left. There's a hidden door in the room there, you can take the steps to reach the second floor atrium. There are windows to the outside, so we'll be able to see if anything's coming..."

They shifted. "Oh, and... don't worry Uoma, the smaller jellies. They just... linger. Even if they hardly remember why they're here..."

“Okay,” Linast said. He set off ahead down the path they had indicated, continuing the practice of walking ahead of her and keeping an eye out for potential threats. It wasn’t their normal procedure, but then Phosa wasn’t normally the one carrying something vulnerable.

He’d already been looking wan and faintly shaky around the edges outside of the Archive. Phosa frowned as that was replaced with an entirely different sort of shakiness, her sibling twitching at every fresh flash from a nearby Uoma. She couldn’t see his expression from behind, but she could see that their core had disappeared beneath shadows much deeper than Linast would normally bother with even when he wasn’t overtired.

“Are the Uoma safe to touch?” she asked Wiki, as she paused outside the first room they’d described while Linast checked it. “Or are they explosive or aggressive, too?”

They hummed. "I wouldn't recommend touching them, as they can give an electrical discharge. The young ones," they gestured to the small green jellies wiggling about, "are harmless, however. And luckily, they are not explosive. At the slightest damage, they will perish."

"They, with the Ooma... helped keep the Archives running, back then..." They fell silent.

"Yeah, I can... see that." Nice to know they were easy to dispatch and harmless if unbothered, at least. Phosa might... try to shuffle them to other parts of the Archives, if there were any in the atrium. She doubted Linast would agree to rest with them anywhere nearby, and she didn't particularly relish the prospect, herself.

Phosa frowned as Wiki trailed off, and gently thumbed their shoulder beneath their cloak. "Hey. You still with us?" Normally she wouldn't keep bothering them, but... 'holding us together'. She wasn't sure it was entirely safe for Wiki to drift off, right now.

"Mmm..." That was some response, at least. "Still awake. Just... concentrating on.. mm. Might go under for a bit after Elk wakes up... They're... starting to come around. Won't be long, now..."

"Alright. I'm glad to hear it." Phosa looked up as Linast returned and gestured her into the room.

"I found the door," he said, pointing it out to her with a shaky gesture as she entered. "It was closed sso it's—mostly empty up there, at least. "

Phosa started up the stairs, listening as Linast closed the hidden door behind them and started up after her. "I'm going to head back and see if I can safely capture one of the injured creatures," she told him, as they entered the atrium and she began to look around for a good spot to set Elk and Wiki down. "Hopefully they haven't gotten too far. I want you to stay here with them, Wiki says Elk's starting to come around."

The atrium was a large circular room, an array of windows on either side, purple glow of the canyons filtering in. The room had a number of lamps filled with, presumably, acid - emitting a soft, diffuse glow - in between the windows, hanging from the walls. A long bench followed the wall, in addition to the circular ones surrounding an insignia that looked a lot like Wiki's likeness in the middle of the room. A winding staircase went up the side of the room to another platform, which was connected to other platforms by stairways crossing the room. A few of the smaller Uoma milled about aimlessly.

"... This was used as a research area, in the past... They'd call out to each other across the room. The stairs were mostly for the benefit of the bugs that couldn't float."

"There used to be more ways to access it, but they began sealing entrances when the Infection began. The researchers wanted to focus on their work. Or perhaps it was in fear of those already infected..." Wiki sighed, and waved a tendril in the direction of the central benches. "We can sit here."

“I’m going to need one of you to explain this Infection business to me at some point.” Phosa finished looking around and moved into the room to lay Elk’s unconscious form down on one of the benches Wiki had indicated.

She straightened up again afterwards and took a moment to look and feel around the room one last time, checking the entrances, making sure there weren’t any of the adult Uoma hidden in back corners. She knew Linast had already checked, but...

“It’s fine,” Linast muttered, patting her shoulder as he brushed past her to sit next to Elk and Wiki. “Go—get one of the rift folk before we lose track of them, and make sure none of the others were around to follow us. I’ll get your attention if s-ssomething goes wrong.”

“...Okay. I’ll try to be quick.” Without giving herself any more time to hesitate, Phosa let her body fade and turned her attention to finding the creatures they’d left behind.

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nai-has-jams · 5 years ago

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Day 33; No Sleep

Structures. What are they for? Population control? Self-identification?

Most feel more comfortable with the latter explanation. It gives them a sense of control.

The common man has no control when they see the very structures they’ve grown so accustomed and have abided by are not their own choice. Time allowed the lines of free will to be blurred. Am I drinking this tea because I’m thirsty or someone told me to? Who told me to? Was it me or someone else? How could I know I’m not being watched by someone I can’t see the very same way I do on a television. Watching a character, who’s been given lines of what to say from the minute they were born out of the creativity of someone else’s mind. The character itself was born into a structure. Everything for that character was decided for them; the setting, plot, their dreams, goals and desires. From start to finish, the character has already gotten a fate that’s been decided. In the creative medium, that character thinks all its choices are freewill… not knowing they’re actually a script. When you look at film and media from the lenses of blurred reality, it opens the door for comparisons to our own real life experiences.

From the day you are born, you are given a series of labels, followed by structures you will have to grow to mold yourself in. From day one, you are told your name, that you must live up to the actions of those bearing the same name, and fixated to a cult of family known as a bloodline and further fixated into a religion or lack thereof. You are decided to be poor, or rich. If you’re on the inside or outside of the socio-economic barriers called class. You’re given choices to make with consequences, whether they be dire or not. You grow to find people are easily manipulated, that you can commit acts of dishonesty and they’re none-the-wiser without proof other than your hearsay. It becomes easy to you. You’ve learned how certain people think. You are able to predict how they react in certain scenarios and then begin to craft scenarios for your benefit, hoping to get their reaction to go according to your plan. You’ve now eliminated them of freewill. They think their choices are their own. On a smaller scale, this type of manipulation is harmless. ‘A little white lie’. But on a gargantuan scale, this small like can grow from harmless to devastating.

Unbeknownst to them that you have been feeding them the very information they believed to have come up with on their own. You allow them to feel that sense of power while simultaneously stripping them of it. You are in control of what they say or do because you have an understanding of structure. How it’s not real. It’s only information you’ve been feeding them and they’re expected to conform because that goes with your plan. You’ve used the very structures that were given to you to keep you in line to keep the ones who’ve structured you in line. Act accordingly while simultaneously observing their nature. If I am dishonest about this and i am not caught, I have outsmarted the system because now, only I know the truth. Have you ever noticed what happens when you hide the truth from someone? They’re blissful until that truth has been unveiled. If you can keep the veil on, there is no other truth to their knowledge.

Maintaining that hidden truth proves difficult to do amongst a small group of people. They begin to talk and find inconsistencies with one another due to perspective. One’s own perspective influences their interpretation of the truth. Perspective allows for a system of belief. In other words. “I’ve seen this with my own two eyes, it must be true.” But if they’ve been seeing an illusion for most of their lives, they’ve attached themselves to their beliefs rather than their rationality. They become synonymous with the truth they’ve been fed. Reminding the control of this only reinforces the strength of the veil. Any moment they began to question if the information they’ve been fed is the only truth has been erased because they’re now self-righteous and belief oriented. Humans are very stubborn beings. Once their belief is challenged, they will do anything to convince others of their correctness. Why? The short answer is fear.

Fear of what would happen if they were wrong. That means having to confront a truth they’ve spent so long in the dark about. Not knowing what's on the other side of that truth they’ve been fed. To question one believe opens another door to question everything you’ve been told and have taken as fact. It destroys all your structures. What’s real and what’s not real? You come into this world belonging to someone or something. A structure has been made for you when you are born.

As I’ve grown older, the lines between fiction and reality become harder and harder to see. I notice the patterns in nearly everything. I try to ignore them and stay blissfully ignorant, but there’s no denying that some things are just… weird.

Some phrases repeated a few too many times, some shapes look a bit too familiar. Deja-vu over and over. I know I've been here before. Have i visited it in a dream? Have I been here in a different timeline and my consciousness is being shared with someone else? Is it narcissistic to think that said consciousness is an alternate version of me? What if it’s a completely different person born to a completely different structure and we synced because of our position under the stars or some bullshit like that. I could never be sure without allowing myself to give up this reality and explore endless possibilities and theories.

It started after I was addicted to playing games that allowed me to be fully in control.Prime example; Sims 4 I was the god in their world. I birthed these characters. Decided what I wanted them to look like, how I wanted them to act how I wanted them to be. Decided personality traits, where they would live, what kind of job they would have. How much money they’d make. Everything they ever did, I was in control of. I told them when to shit, when to eat, when to fuck. Everything. That kind of power allowed me to step outside of being myself and to be someone else. God. I didn’t understand why that felt so freeing. It wasn't until I began to question my own sanity outside the game. What if I don't actually want to play this game? What if I’m the actual Sim thinking i’ve got free will and someone else is controlling what I do or say? Then what? My power diminished. I was nothing more than a vessel. I’d never know unless I sought out the truth past the structures I've been given to live in.

Blurring those lines prove dangerous to me. I’m a black woman. A gay black woman.

These structures i’ve been confined within make it difficult to leave this vessel. They hold weight. I’m expected to live out past my structures. To make something great of myself despite the labels I've been given. These labels are “self empowered” we always hear about a struggle behind these labels. How hard it is to live within them because I live in a system designed not for my socio-economic benefit. An apologetic system that wants to allow a certain percentage of people from my sort of background to be the “token” of businesses. To demand they show a fair balance between me and that of my possibly Caucasian counterparts. Affirmative action-y type of thing. It’s not winning if it’s handed to you, right? But everything has been handed to me. And I don’t mean that in a “my life is super silver-spooned” type way. I mean that in, these cards were not my dealings. I didn’t sit at this table to talk about why I am what I am. Who I am.

I was told this was my name, this was my class, this was my gender, this was my struggle, do something about it.

It’s almost as is my life is one big test and I'm being monitored by someone i can’t see. Someone who constantly is scripting my movie, making changes to parts of my life. And flashbacks and deja-vu are scenes I've filmed already as this character that are part of the deleted scenes.

The only escape is through dreams. And even then, those contain a whole new take on what reality actually is. I’ve had recurring dreams littered with signs or allusions to my life outside of that realm. I’ve felt the most free in my dreams. I struggle to remember them when i wake up but i always seem to remember the point of them. How they’re messages or sometimes, often times, escapes.

Then it hit me. I felt free when I was God in that game, not because of that sense of power. But because I could spend time not being binded to these structures that I live in everyday. I could spend time being someone else.

And that’s why writing in first person these stories about Korean performers was so liberating. I was writing as If i was really a Nam Joon or Ji Min. Exploring and observing their personalities on camera and alluding to what it would be like to reduce their existence to characters in a story where I could make them do what I wanted. Feed my own emotions into the piece at the time and make them react to real life situations I dealt with as themselves and instead of me. It fucks with you when you stop writing and you have to go back to being confined in your structures. But it fucks with you more when you work a 9-5 like a zombie knowing this is nothing but another structure where your creative outlet is being muted so you can make time to be someone you are not.

But is that really any different than sitting at a computer for 7 hours concocting a tale of lust, angst and drama. Pretending to be someone you are not. I am the god in my stories. I am the god in my video games. I am not the god in my present day life.

#psych #pschology #college #2019 #reality #mind-bending #kpop #bts #poem #poetry #my poem #poems #poems on tumblr #black excellence #perception #black empowerment #literature #black literature #black women

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neuxue · 6 years ago

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Wheel of Time liveblogging: The Gathering Storm ch 32

In which ghosts have funerals and Nynaeve plays detective.

Chapter 32: Rivers of Shadow

That’s a lovely chapter title. And interesting, if a little ominous, combined with the snake-and-wheel icon that’s basically shorthand for ‘this chapter has implications for the entire story and world’.

And we’re with Nynaeve. Standing on top of a wall. Not you, too, Nynaeve!

I’m not going to quote the whole thing but the opening description is very atmospheric and lovely.

She can still feel a storm in the north, only it’s not really a storm, it’s a metaphor, and when the wind starts blowing it’s also a metaphor, and actually it’s another point of parallel between her and Mat. Her weather-sense is quite a lot like his dice. Both basically just say ‘PLOT COMETH AHEAD’.

There would never again be a place for her in the Two Rivers. She knew this, though it hurt her. She was Aes Sedai now; it had become who she was, more important to her now than being Wisdom had once been.

That’s quite an admission from Nynaeve, Queen of Denial, Self-Deception and Malkier.

It’s also a nice continuation of her thoughts from way back in TFoH, when she and Elayne were on the wagon away from Tanchico and Nynaeve had a moment to think about what she wanted and who she was becoming. How this started out as her wanting to protect the people from her village, but then shifted more into a desire to learn how to Heal, and set her on the path towards becoming Aes Sedai – something she once utterly denied ever wanting to be, but has been becoming ever since.

And it’s one thing for Egwene to leave the Two Rivers behind; she wanted a bigger world, and while she’s occasionally expressed some nostalgia, she came of age elsewhere. The Two Rivers was a childhood home, but she is no longer a child, and her life has taken her beyond that village.

Nynaeve, though, came into adulthood in the Two Rivers. She was Wisdom; it was her place in the world, her identity, not just her childhood. And when she left, so much of that was taken from her, and so much of her journey since then has been about re-establishing who she is, both to herself and to those around her. She is no longer the Wisdom, but along the way she has gained wisdom.

And now, she’s almost finished with that journey. They all are. The time for character development is past; it’s time to take their places, as who they have become, for an ending.

That simple life – once all she had been able to imagine – would now seem dull and unfulfilling.

How far she has come, to be able to acknowledge that and admit it to herself without fighting it. She knows herself, now. She’s faced so many of her fears and insecurities – has actually faced one of her worst fears twice: once in her Accepted test and then again at World’s End – broken her block, become and embraced being Aes Sedai, and in the process she’s learned to accept and be herself. She’s still Nynaeve, so she’d still probably want to box your ears if you said that to her, but she can be so much more honest with herself now. She can see and understand things like this, even if it runs counter to who she once thought she was meant to be.

Have I mentioned that I love Nynaeve’s character arc?

The nearby fields were barren. Ploughed, seeded, yet still barren. Light! Why didn’t crops grow anymore? Where would they find food this winter?

I don’t know, maybe ask some Aiel to come sing to them? They might not mind a break from kidnapping rulers. Loial would probably join in.

So they’re up here to look at…ghosts?

Like a wisp of the ocean fog, a tiny patch of glowing light was blowing across the ground. It grew, bulging like a tiny storm cloud, glowing with a pearly light not unlike that of the clouds above. It resolved into the shape of a man, walking. Then that luminescent fog sprouted more figures. Within moments, an entire glowing procession strode across the ground, moving at a mournful pace. […] They were composed of a strange, otherworldly light. Several figures in the group – which was now about two hundred strong – were carrying a large object. Some kind of palanquin? Or…no. It was a coffin. Was this a funeral procession from long ago, then? What had happened to these people, and why had they been drawn back to the world of the living?

This is lovely. I didn’t mean to quote so much of it, but it’s just a very cool image. Soft and light and a little bit eerie and a little bit mournful but also strangely beautiful. Then again, Sanderson has practice at writing ghosts among mist…

I suppose it’s fitting that a ghostly funeral procession turned up the day after Rand did. The Pattern’s fraying, and right now he carries a feeling of darkness and death…and yet, this doesn’t seem dark in the same way. Sad, perhaps. Wistful. But it puts me in mind of the whole no beginnings or endings notion. This has been, and perhaps soon will be again, and the Wheel turns.

A guy turning to charcoal, on the other hand, is just fucking creepy.

But also kind of cool.

Mostly creepy, though.

“You’ve heard that he is proclaiming that the Last Battle will begin soon.” Nynaeve felt a stab of worry for Lan, then anger towards Rand. He still thought that if he could stage his assault at the same time as Lan’s attack on Tarwin’s Gap, he could confuse his enemies. Lan’s attack could very well be the beginning of the Last Battle.

Which seems very fitting, to me. Maybe it’s because Malkier feels almost like a prelude to Tarmon Gai’don, if you zoom out a little. Or maybe because of the parallels between Lan and Rand, and the way Lan feels like a…version of Rand on a smaller scale and different timeline. Tied to Malkier as Rand is tied to the land as a whole, an embodiment almost of a nation or world. Fated, or believing himself fated, to give his life to that cause.

And it would be fitting, too, for Lan’s personal war in the Blight to finally come to fulfilment not as a waste, not as a distraction from his and Moiraine’s and the world’s greater cause, but as the true beginning of its culmination. As if Lan has been held back until now, held back by other duties and other bonds but always looking northwards, until it becomes time for those things to intersect and so he is released.

Also it would be a fitting nod to part of Aragorn’s role in Return of the King, so there’s that.

“Yes,” Cadsuane said, musingly, “he is probably right.” Why did she keep that hood up? Rand obviously wasn’t around.

Because it adds to her aura of wisdom and mystery, obviously. She’s almost three hundred years old; she can do it for the aesthetic if she wants to.

The other Aes Sedai resumed their conversation, Merise and Corele taking further opportunity to voice their displeasure with Rand in their separate ways – one dour, the other congenial.

It made Nynaeve want to defend him.

Ah, Nynaeve. That’s just like her – she can chew out her people until the cows (sheep?) come home, but if someone else so much as looks at them crosswise, she will be boxing ears before you can say ‘hypocrite’. I love her.

And honestly, that’s not even a particularly unusual trait, as much as it’s fun to laugh about in Nynaeve. Anyone here have siblings? Yeah.

Nynaeve started to leave, and as she did so she noticed that Cadsuane was watching her. Nynaeve hesitated, turning toward the cloaked woman. Cadsuane’s face was barely visible by torchlight, but Nynaeve caught a grimace in the shadows, as if Cadsuane were displeased with Merise’s and Corele’s complaints. Nynaeve and Cadsuane stared at each other for a moment; then Cadsuane nodded curtly. The aged Aes Sedai turned and began to walk away, right in the middle of one of Merise’s tirades about Rand.

One of the subtle things I’ve enjoyed is watching the relationship between these two change, especially Cadsuane’s growing respect for Nynaeve. In Winter’s Heart, she thinks she will not acknowledge Nynaeve as Aes Sedai until Nynaeve has been tested and has held the Oath Rod. Then, in Crossroads of Twilight, we get this: The child would need to flash her Great Serpent ring under people’s noses to be taken for Aes Sedai, which she was, if just technically. It’s a small shift, but definitely a shift. And now this – a nod of seeming respect, of agreement, even, as if between equals or allies. It’s just one of those on-the-sidelines relationship shifts that can be fun to see in subtle snippets like these.

That nod of Cadsuane’s couldn’t possibly have been given out of respect. Cadsuane was far too self-righteous and arrogant for that.

Well, she’d hardly be the first Aes Sedai you’ve judged that way, Nynaeve. Moiraine?

What to do about Rand, then? He didn’t want Nynaeve’s help – or anyone’s help – but that was nothing new.

It’s hard, when there’s so much else at stake. Because it’s not just about him – it’s about the entire world.

And ‘I don’t want anyone’s help’ is fine when it’s, say, your maths homework. Or a struggle between friends that people keep meddling with. Or when work sucks and you’re tired and your flat’s a mess and you just want to not have to deal with any of it for a bit. But there’s a point where it stops being a thing people actually need to listen to – where help becomes necessary whether you want it or not – and I’m pretty sure that point is somewhere slightly before ‘I carry a nuke in my pocket just in case’.

Now, it’s also true that a lot of the people ostensibly trying to help Rand are actually just trying to push him in one direction or another, and are not in fact helping at all.

And there are others who are trying to help, but are going about it in a way that is absolutely not going to work.

And there are some who are perhaps trying to help him, but are mostly trying to help keep the world from breaking apart around him. That’s where it gets a bit…tricky.

But as threatening and as intimidating as Lan could be, he’d sooner chop off his own hand than raise it to harm her.

Too soon, Nynaeve. Too soon.

Rand. Once, she’d thought him as gentle as Lan.

Once, he was gentle. But then…*waves at entirety of series up to this point* thathappened.

That Rand was gone. Nynaeve saw again the moment when he had exiled Cadsuane. She’d believed that he wouldkill Cadsuane if he saw her face again, and thinking of the moment still gave her shivers. Surely it had been her imagination, but the room had seemed to darkendistinctly at that moment, as if a cloud had passed over the sun.

Yeah um…not just your imagination, sorry.

And this is where Nynaeve sees more than perhaps most of the people around Rand, including some of the other Aes Sedai. Cadsuane sees it as well, but the others, I think, don’t realise quite how significantly he’s changed. Nynaeve, though…she knew him when he was gentle. And she knew him when he was becoming the Dragon Reborn, Healed him when he said he wasn’t sure how human the Dragon Reborn could afford to be, stood by his side and protected him when she could, however she could. She can see that something has changed, that the boy she knew is…hopefully not gone forever but certainly on a very extended, forced holiday.

Still, she won’t turn away from him. Nynaeve doesn’t give up on people like that. And anything can be healed.

But first, a coughing child. I suppose it’s the sort of thing Rand might once have paid attention to – refugees and starving children – as he did in Tear with the two steamwagon boys for whom Min foresaw tragedy. Now, though, he can’t take the time or the energy to care. And so it falls to Nynaeve.

I suppose it’s a way to show her in a role that’s not actually unlike Wisdom. Just for the world in general and with greater power and knowledge. But that doesn’t mean she’s left this behind: her care for those who need help or Healing, her sense of responsibility for those who find themselves in her care or purview. And also her low tolerance for bullshit, as evidenced by her dealings with this kid’s father.

“He should live, if you do as I say. […] If the fever starts again, bring him to me at the Dragon’s palace.”

“Yes, my Lady,” the woman said as the husband knelt, taking the boy and smiling.

Nynaeve picked up her lantern and rose.

“Lady,” the woman said. “Thank you.”

Nynaeve turned back. “You should have brought him to me days ago. I don’t care what foolish superstitions people are spreading, the Aes Sedai are not your enemies. If you know any who are sick, encourage them to visit us.”

She’s still blunt and a bit abrasive, of course, but even so I think she’s just done more for the reputation of and sentiment towards Aes Sedai with one Healing than any of the others have in the city thus far.

Because, while she has become Aes Sedai, Nynaeve isn’t one to hold herself aloof and apart from the world, not when there are people who need her help or healing. She can’t help everyone – like Rand, she can’t solve everyone’s problems – but when she can, she’ll always try. She doesn’t ignore the refugees as not worth her time; she just tells them to bring their sick to her. Because they’re suffering, and she can help, so she will. She’s practical that way. Practical and caring – it was one of her early conflicts with Moiraine, that Moiraine could look away when people were suffering, in the name of a greater cause.

Both kinds of people are needed, and this helps highlight Nynaeve’s own strengths. She knows Tarmon Gai’don is coming, and is certainly focused on that, but she doesn’t let that stop her from taking the time to help a random child who needs it, because that’s who she is. She’s still Wisdom in many ways, just of more than Emond’s Field, and it doesn’t much matter to her if the people who need her help are refugees or royalty.

But I think it definitely surprises the family, to see an Aes Sedai so…human, I suppose. Human, and straightforward, and helping them while asking nothing in return except that they not keep anyone else who needs help away.

How did one handle a creature like the Dragon Reborn?

Ask Min. Or Elayne. Or Aviendha.

Look, it was just lying there…

Nynaeve knew that the old Rand was there, within him somewhere.

Oddly enough, she seems to be one of the every few to actually…see that. To remember that he’s human.

He had simply been beaten and kicked so many times that he’d gone into hiding, letting this harsher version rule.

He’s human, and he’s hurting, and he’s been hurting so much for so long. It’s amazing, in a way, that so few are able to understand that, seeing instead a monster or a legend or a weapon or an obstacle, but rarely seeing the broken, bleeding boy. Amazing, and yet at the same time not surprising at all. That’s how this works. And he’s done too good a job of pushing that humanity away – though it becomes a vicious cycle at some point; how long can you retain humanity when no one expects it of you?

It’s one of the most important things about Nynaeve, especially in terms of her role in Rand’s story: she doesn’t stop seeing that. She can see what he has become, can see what he’s done to himself, but she can also still see the boy from her village. And that’s no small thing. He needs that now as much as – perhaps more than – he ever has; he needs those anchor points, those people who know him and love him and see him, otherwise how could he find his way back even if he decided he wanted to? This at least gives him the choice. To know he is loved, to know he is seen, to know that he is still human in the eyes of those who know him.

As much as it galled her to admit it, bullying him was just not going to work. But how was she to get him to do what he should, since he was too bullheaded to respond to ordinary prodding?

Ah, Nynaeve. Bless her. *shakes head fondly*

It’s a good realisation, but I also like it because even her thinking here shows clearly that she’s seeing him like just another problem from her village, rather than as some cosmic gamepiece she needs to position and control. Yes, she’s trying to get him to ‘do what he should’, but it’s the sort of tone she might have used in thinking about how to get young Matrim Cauthon to milk his father’s cows when he’s supposed to.

So in that sense she’s not really…treating him any differently, just because he’s the Dragon Reborn and could incinerate her where she stands. And there’s great value in that – it’s honest, it’s straightforward, and it’s very much Nynaeve. This is just how she shows her love.

There was one person who hadmanaged to work with Rand while at the same time teaching and training him. It hadn’t been Cadsuane, nor had it been any of the Aes Sedai who tried to capture him, trick him or bully him. It had been Moiraine.

So much growth from Nynaeve, to be able to understand and acknowledge this.

Her grudge against or hatred for Moiraine is another thing I’ve enjoyed watching the progress of over time because it does what so many hate-at-first-sight reflexive yet largely irrational hatreds and grudges do in reality: it fades, gradually and often subtly, until it’s just not there anymore but you can’t put a finger on when exactly it vanished, or why. It just takes lesser and lesser importance in the face of other things, other points of focus.

Of course, her apparent death, and Nynaeve’s shame at her own response to it, certainly helped – I think that ‘death’ shifted the perception of her in the eyes of quite a lot of characters and even readers towards the more positive. Because memory turns to legend, and things are altered in that changing. It does set her up well for an eleventh-hour return.

But a lot of it is just that Nynaeve hated Moiraine because Moiraine represented the changes she resented – leaving Emond’s Field, the boys and Egwene changing and sometimes suffering, Nynaeve losing her sense of place and purpose and authority – more than because of Moiraine herself. And so as she’s grown – as she’s accepted some of those changes, and found a place in this larger world for herself, and learned to embrace her own power, and understood the necessity or inevitability of some of what has happened, and focused on her true passion for healing – that sharp hatred faded to wariness and then to something more like a stubborn and even petty attempt at holding on to that grudge, and eventually even that faded to…respect. Understanding, perhaps.

Well, Nynaeve wasn’t about to act the same way for Rand al’Thor, no matter how many fancy titles he had.

I’m not sure that method would work now, anyway. It worked for Moiraine because she understood what he needed and would accept and respond to at the time. When he was being pushed and chased and tormented into a power he feared, when he was fighting to prove his claim to a destiny he didn’t want, when he was unsure and afraid and trying desperately to mask it, fighting for control and authority and so, so afraid of being outplayed, taken, used by those who knew this game he was only beginning to understand but was thrown in the middle of.

That was a mindset in which he could accept some guidance and advice because on some level he could admit he very much needed it, so long as he could be sure it was free of manipulation – the thing he so greatly feared, because at the time he was far more susceptible to it, new as he was to the game and to power, and with barely even the Aiel at his back.

Now…subservience, obedience, obequieousness are commonplace to him. Aes Sedai have sworn fealty to him. He doesn’t fear manipulation as he once did, because the scales of power have shifted so drastically, and doesn’t acknowledge his need for advice the way he once might have. So it will have to be a different approach.

Perhaps Nynaeve is well-suited to that; perhaps meeting his eyes and letting the fact that he is the Dragon Reborn and could kill her on a whim just…pass her by, seeing him and treating him instead as human, is in itself a form of surrendering in order to control. Not fighting against what he is, yet also not being cowed by it; just letting it exist, and accepting it, and focusing on him instead of on that.

Maybe I’m forcing the metaphor too far. But it’s a nice metaphor, so…*shoves*

Or maybe the solution is just appearing to die in a way almost perfectly designed to fuck with the guy’s head, and then reappearing dramatically at an opportune moment.

She needed to show him that they were working for the same goals. She didn’t want to tell him what to do; she just wanted him to stop acting like a fool. And, beyond that, she just wanted him to be safe.

It’s that last part that makes her so different from the others she disdains as petty manipulators. The simple fact that she cares about him.

She’d also like him to be a leader that people respected, not one that people feared. He seemed incapable of seeing that the path he was on was that of a tyrant.

No, Nynaeve, he sees it. He just can’t bring himself to care. After all, what does a tyrant’s rule matter if it is destined to be short-lived?

(A somewhat related but largely tangential question: does anyone know if there’s any etymological link between ‘tyrant’ and Tyr, Norse god of justice/law/war who sacrificed his hand to bind a wolf? It feels like there shouldbe, though I can’t find anything that says so, but as I’m neither linguist nor Norse mythology/language/history expert, I’m really not qualified to answer.)

Anyway, Nynaeve, like Cadsuane, has a plan. Lots of mysterious plans showing up here recently. Knowing Sanderson, they’re likely to collide around the 85% mark somewhere.

Though I don’t know how much of the pacing he’s directly responsible for and how much of it would be contingent on whatever was already outlined, so who knows?

Nynaeve’s lantern cast strange shadows on the grass as its light shone through the trees trained and trimmed in the shapes of fanciful animals. The shadows moved in concert with her lantern, the phantom shapes lengthening and merging with the greater blackness of the night around her. Like rivers of shadow.

Subtle as a hammer. But it works, because it’s not meant to be subtle at this point. It’s meant to be a drumbeat that says Tarmon Gai’don, that doesn’t let you forget for a moment where we’re heading, because it’s close, now. It’s close, and it’s everywhere, and it’s inescapable.

There’s also a bit of a circling back to the opening of the chapter here, in the image of phantom shapes moving with her lantern – with the light – but merging with the darkness around as well…and a glowing funeral procession of the dead, a haunting yet beautiful reminder that the world is coming apart at the seams, as Light and Shadow take to the field.

The whitewashed walls were as immaculate here as they were in other sections of the mansion, but they were unornamented.

Not unlike— actually, no. I am not going to sit here and write a paragraph on the symbolism of undecorated walls. I am not. You can’t make me. I have dignity.

Turns out Nynaeve doesn’t need grey hair or an Aes Sedai face to get people to do as she tells them when she has her mind set on something. Especially when it relates in any way to helping or protecting her people. Which includes just about anyone she says it does.

Do they not know she’s Aes Sedai? Or is she ‘my Lady�� because she’s married to a king? Or is the hat she made fun of on that random worker actually a fedora?

Rand had determined that his hunt for the Domani king had hit a wall with the death of the messenger.

But you know how to deal with walls, Rand! Just climb on top of them and then fall off.

Nynaeve wasn’t so certain. There were others involved, and a few well-placed questions might be very illuminating.

Ah, so that’s the plan. Find out some information that will be useful to Rand – that he definitely wants – as a sort of…not peace offering exactly, but indication that she’s on his side and willing to help.

I’m not sure that’s really the secret to getting him to listen, but I suppose it can’t hurt.

…that’s probably a stupid thing to say, given, you know, everything about this book so far.

When in doubt, ask the housekeeper. And she’s seen the messenger, who definitely sounds beautiful enough to have come from Graendal. Probably the one we saw, briefly.

“Had one of the most beautiful faces I rightly think I’ve ever seen on a man.”

Unless of course he’s Galad.

“He was sent for questioning,” Nynaeve said shortly. “I have little time for foolishness, Loral. I am not here looking for evidence against your mistress, and I don’t really care what your loyalties are. There are much larger issues at stake. Answer my question.”

But what a different sort of not-caring it is than Rand’s. She’s direct and to the point, and not particularly delicate about it, and anything that isn’t relevant is not her concern because there are bigger issues…but it’s not an all-consuming attitude; it’s just pragmatism. It’s not nice, and she’s definitely using her power and position to intimidate and to get people to do what she wants, but she also has very clear, definite limits. And a clear, definite purpose. And also the capacity to feel emotion, which is probably a plus.

Excellent, looks like we’re in for some good old midnight skulduggery. Elayne would be so proud.

So would Cadsuane, probably, at how Nynaeve is handling this. But I’ll try not to let Nynaeve hear me say that.

True, Rand might grow angry at her for appropriating soldiers and stirring up trouble.

But Nynaeve is one of the very few people left who doesn’t fear his anger. She does a little, on something of an instinctive level where if he looks at her with the full force of his I-have-stared-into-the-True-Power-and-the-True-Power-stared-back act she’ll recoil, but it doesn’t…take. It doesn’t last. It’s not enough to make her turn away, or run. It’s unnerving, but there’s too much caring and concern and sheer stubbornness to her where he’s concerned for fear to truly take root.

Moiraine said something to this effect once, that he would need people around him who could face or quell his rages, who could, in essence, continue to look him in the eyes. She was talking to Egwene, but Nynaeve has taken on that role in many ways.

And I think it’s important that she’s there as someone who doesn’t love him the same way Min and Aviendha and Elayne do. It’s a different kind of love, a different kind of bond, and therefore a different kind of…anchor, or reminder.

Such a lovely evening stroll, through the rotting fish gut district to the prison.

She wished she had news from the White Tower.

Yeah, huh, it’s been a hot second since she’s actually heard anything from…anyone, really. It seems like Egwene could pay her a dream-visit, but I suppose Egwene has quite a lot of other things demanding her immediate focus, last we saw she was bleeding and about to be imprisoned, and I think she might not want to bring her problems to Nynaeve’s attention because she knows there’s nothing Nynaeve can do about it right now. There’s too much else that needs to be done, and all she can do is focus on her part of it, on doing what she can to heal the Tower.

Still, a brief message would be…far too much communication to expect, in this series.

Ha, a prison disguised as a chandlery. A place of walls and dark and cold, disguised as a place that sells candles for illumination. Cute.

Sanderson, we need to have a talk about your obsession with hawk-faced men. It’s gotten out of control. An intervention is required.

The writing here also feels much more Sanderson than some of the other parts have, but I don’t actually mind it as much because the shape of the characters and ideas feel mostly how they should. Maybe Nynaeve’s a little more direct in some of her thoughts, but it still feels like her, so it bothers me less that the phrasing is off. Sanderson said in his introduction that he wasn’t going to try to perfectly imitate Jordan’s style, and he hasn’t, and I can live with that because it’s certainly preferable to the alternative. It’s noticeable, but that’s okay. It’s only when the actual content – characterisation, particularly – feels wrong that it becomes frustrating.

But any good secret operation would have a working front.

Always another secret, right, Sanderson?

See, that’s the sort of line that definitely doesn’t feel like Jordan, but…oh well. It’s fine. It does the job. And this doesn’t feel like a scene where note-perfect prose is important, the way, say, The Last That Could Be Done was. And that, Sanderson got right. So I’ll take it.

(I may be less sanguine next time a Mat chapter rolls around, but again that’s because the changes start to actually interfere with the character and the story.)

Fight! Fight! Fight!

Pacing-wise, I suppose it’s about time this particular storyline was punctuated by a random fistfight. Not that I’m complaining about the fact that it’s been mostly talking and thinking since Chapter 22, because it’s deliciously painful talking and thinking, but sometimes you’ve just got to break some noses I guess.

“Which one do you think I should ungag,” she asked casually, “and which one should I kill?”

Okay she can be pretty terrifying when she wants to be. This almost reminds me of…Semirhage, actually, in that scene where she had Cabriana and her Warder held suspended in flows of Air much like Nynaeve has these two not-chandlers. I mean, that’s just about the only similarity, but it’s what came to mind.

Of course, she’s not going to kill either of them. They just don’t know that.

Which makes this interesting to compare to Rand; as a reader it’s incredibly obvious that there is a difference, because we can see their thoughts. But just as it seems many outside observers don’t fully realise just how far Rand has gone, it’s possible they also wouldn’t see as much of a difference between his threats and Nynaeve’s, here. So much is dependent on perception, and on what you know and don’t know.

But there is a difference, whether or not it’s clearly visible to an outside observer, and in this series that’s important. It’s important that Nynaeve does not intend to kill, here, and almost certainly would not even if it would make this task easier. It’s important that she’s doing this for a clear purpose, and for a cause she cares about. It’s important that she can feel.

Private jailers like these riled her anger.

Guess we know where she stands on the privatisation of prisons, then…

“I will do whatever you say! Please, don’t fill my stomach with insects! I haven’t done anything wrong, I promise you, I—”

She stuffed the gag of Air back in.

But you’re missing the best part, which is where you pause and then take the gag back out and he’s still talking, so it’s like pressing ‘mute’ off and on. Come on, if we’re doing a midnight prison raid there are tropes that must be observed!

[The other] looked sick, but he had probably already guessed that she’d want the dungeon. It was unlikely that an Aes Sedai would burst into the shop after midnight because she’d been sold a bad candle.

I mean, I wouldn’t put money on it. We’ve been taught well: Aes Sedai do the things they do for their own reasons.

A youth sat on the floor in front of him, and Nynaeve’s globe of light illuminated his face, a frightened Domani one with uncharacteristically light hair and hands spotted with burns.

“Now, that’s a chandler’s apprentice,” Triben said

Is he now? I feel like he wouldn’t be mentioned if he weren’t relevant – and I especially feel like he wouldn’t be mentioned in such a disarming, ‘nothing to see here’ way. I’ve read murder mysteries and whodunits. I know what I’m about.

She raised her globe of light and surveyed the cellar. The walls were stone, which made her feel much less nervous about the weight of the building above.

If you’d spent any time in the Tower recently, you might feel differently…

Or if you’ve spent any time with a mad Asha’man in the basement of a palace…

‘Hawk-faced’ count this chapter: 3. Sanderson. Please.

“Keys?” she asked.

Okay now I want a story about a wilder thief in one of the bigger cities whose main ‘trick’ is picking locks with weaves of Air.

And hello there, Lady Chadmar. Not enjoying your stay here, I see.

Nynaeve inhaled sharply at seeing how the woman was being treated. How could Rand allow this?

Because he dismissed her, and put her out of his mind completely. Because he can’t afford to care about her anymore, so she is none of his concern. Because nothing matters anymore, beside the Last Battle. If she lives, she lifes. If she dies, well, he’s already damned; what’s one more name?

Again, Semirhage was treated better. But that’s because Rand still cared, then.

“Now,” she said to the three, “I am going to ask some questions. You are going to answer. I’m not certain what I’m going to do with you yet, so realise it’s best to be veryhonest with me.”

Cadsuane really would be proud. She’s sticking to the truth here, but still conveying a…well, it’s more of a figs-and-mice kind of threat than anything else, really. And it’s certainly effective.

Nynaeve sighed. “Look,” she said to him. “I am Aes Sedai, and am bound by my word. If you tell me what I want to know, I will see that you are not suspected in the death. The Dragon doesn’t care about you three, otherwise you wouldn’t still be here”

But she also gives them this. She doesn’t sit there speculating on whether or not she could simply will their hearts to stop beating. She threatens them, yes. She’s harsh. But she also offers…fairness, amnesty, pardon. It’s a question of lines in the sand again, I suppose, in determining the relative morality of this compared to Rand, but it still seems to me there’s a very marked difference. One is bound, still, by her word and her station and her general sense of what is and is not acceptable. The other…isn’t. It’s a question of limits.

The interesting part, again, is in the difference or similarity of perception by those who don’t have the privileged access we do into Rand’s and Nynaeve’s heads. Do these jailers feel any less threatened by Nynaeve than they would by Rand? She seems to be more human, offering them a chance to leave with their names clear, and reassurances that she will hold to her word, but she’s also Aes Sedai, appearing at midnight. Would they see the darkness around Rand? Would they react differently? To what extent does it matter whether or not the person threatening you has limits, if you don’t know where those limits are?

It’s part of the whole thing that I find so interesting about outsider POV – a chance to see how these characters are perceived by someone who can’t see their thoughts, and therefore a glimpse at them from a different angle, which can sometimes reveal surprising things. And then its close cousin, the view of outsiders from within a known character’s mind, but in such a way as to make you wonder what exactly it is they’re seeing. To see that character in a different way even while you’re in their head, through the reactions of those around them.

It’s something Jordan was particularly good at, and it’s being done rather well in these recent chapters as well, with the change in Rand’s mindset, and the way it’s so clear in his POV but not necessarily to all of those around him. And here, to see complete outsiders react to Nynaeve in such a way that makes it clear they see her very differently than those of us who have been in her head since the first book.

Anyway, it’s something I always find intriguing. Perception is such a fun thing to play with, and you can do so much with it when you have these lovely long character arcs.

“If we talk, we go free?” the fat man said, eyeing her. “Your word?”

Nynaeve glanced about the tiny room with a dissatisfied eye. They had left Lady Chadmar in the dark, and the door was packed with cloth to muffle screams. The cell would be dark, stuffy and cramped. Men wo would work a place like this barely deserved life, let alone freedom.

But there was a much larger sickness to deal with. “Yes,” Nynaeve said, the word bitter in her mouth.

Because there are things she will not do. And things she needs more; things that matter more.

And I do think there’s a difference in how they see her to how they would see Rand, because they’re willing to ask for that promise, for her word, and to take her up on it.

So the jailer is holding firm to the story that the messenger just dropped dead one day. Some aspect of Compulsion, perhaps?

“The man remained for months in your possession, presumably healthy all that time. Then, the daybefore he is to be brought before the Dragon Reborn, he suddenly dies?”

Nynaeve, too, has read her murder mysteries.

“I don’t know how he did it, Lady. Burn me, but I don’t! It’s like some…force had ahold of his tongue. It was like he couldn’t talk. Even if he wanted to.”

Yeah there was definitely some element of Compulsion involved, at least in keeping the messenger from talking. I wonder what happens when you put a Forsaken’s Compulsion against a dark ta’veren’s pull?

I’m kind of surprised that, for all Nynaeve’s experience with Compulsion at Moghedien’s hands, she doesn’t seem to pick up on this.

But she can’t seem to get much else out of any of them, and like so many ideas that seem excellent around or just after midnight, this one is starting to lose its shine a little.

Aha!

As soon as Nynaeve began the Delving, Nynaeve froze. She had expected to find Milisair’s body taxed by exhaustion. She had expected to find disease, perhaps hunger.

She had not expected to find poison.

A slow poison administered in several doses through food. And who makes the food?

Any guesses?

Yes indeed, it’s the ‘chandler’s apprentice’. Well done, Nynaeve, you’ve solved the case!

Next (TGS ch 33) Previous (TGS ch 31)

#this chapter almost passes for light but only by comparison #Wheel of Time #neuxue liveblogs WoT #The Gathering Storm

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gem-egg-hell · 7 years ago

Text

This fic really needed some more adorable gemlings. I’m sure there’s some plot in there somewhere too.

It took nearly three day and night cycles for Peridot to reform, and Jasper spent that time either deep in contemplation or watching their brood with an interest that was completely new to her. The large Gem spent most of the first day sitting against the cave wall as her injuries healed. Her physical form repaired itself much faster than a human body – but still far too slow for Jasper’s taste when she could have just retreated into her gem and reformed within a fraction of a single Earth revolution. However, watching the gemlings more than made up for the inconvenience, no matter how much Jasper’s wounds itched as they closed.

The tiny Gems had spent the first two days sticking close to Jasper as if they were afraid she’d leave again. They were still displaying an unnatural habit of gnawing on rock fragments, but now they would dart away to retrieve a piece then immediately return to Jasper’s side. The warrior Gem had given up trying to discourage them from the habit – it didn’t appear to be doing them any harm and now that she thought about it, Jasper realised they would have to draw nutrients from somewhere. In a Kindergarten the incubating Gems would have been forcibly injected with energy the robotic attendants had leeched from the planet, but the gemlings didn’t seem to require that level of sustenance. Probably because they weren’t being speed-grown to maturity like Kindergarten Gems.

On the third morning the gemlings had finally untangled themselves from their customary pile in Jasper’s lap and one by one they’d hopped down to explore the cave. All except for one of the two identical Peridots who had remained in Jasper’s lap – the large Gem was certain that it was the one who’d managed to hitch a ride out of the cave in her hair. Obviously that one’s curiosity was sated for now. The gemlings were still moving around on all-fours, but now they were faster and more confident as they moved around the cavern. The eldest once again moved to the pool that led to the outside world, as if she was attracted to the sunlight refracting through it. The other three decided to investigate the fence that Jasper had hurriedly made to contain them – the runt even made an enthusiastic attempt to climb it. She’d actually managed to get herself about an entire foot off the ground when she lost her grip and fell into Jasper’s waiting hands.

“Not bad for a first attempt,” Jasper told the little Gem as she set her down gently. The runt didn’t even try to bite her, butting her head against Jasper’s palm instead and purring softly as the warrior Gem patted her hair. The other gemlings – except for the eldest – came scampering over as well, clamouring for attention as they joined their smallest sister. Gathering them up in one arm, Jasper stroked the three gemlings with a slow, calming rhythm. Three soon became four as the Peridot who’d been sticking close to her wriggled in beside her siblings, Jasper’s arm easily big enough to accommodate them. Lying alongside each other, it became obvious that the second eldest Peridot – the one with jagged stripes like Jasper – was somewhat larger than the twins, her pale yellow hair starting to lose its neat shape and fluff out into the beginnings of a mane.

Wondering if the eldest shared these traits, Jasper looked over to where the gemling had been crouched by the pool… and jolted sharply with a curse as she saw that the little Peridot was leaning precariously over the water’s edge, a small arm outstretched as if she was trying to reach something. Setting the other gemlings down gently, Jasper strode quickly across the cave to grab the striped gemling and lift her away from the water, ignoring her protesting wail.

“Oh no, you’re way too small for that,” Jasper said firmly, holding the small Peridot in both hands so there was no way for her to wriggle loose. “I don’t know if you can swim, but it’s much too early to be finding out, the tide could sweep you right out.” Looking down into the pool, Jasper could see the sand at the bottom glowing a warm, buttery gold as it caught a shaft of sunlight from outside. Maybe that was what had attracted the gemling.

Then something moved.

Dropping to one knee and leaning closer for a better look – though making sure that she still had a good grip on the gemling in the process – Jasper drew in her breath sharply as she saw an eight-legged shape inch slowly out from beneath a rocky overhang. Apparently oblivious to her presence, the crab shuffled across the bottom of the pool, moving towards the exit. The striped Peridot in Jasper’s hands chirped, managing to slip one small arm through her parent’s fingers to gesture at the creature. Maybe the crab was what she’d been so interested in, not the water.

Jasper’s first impulse was to smash it, cold sweat prickling down her spine at the thought of the corrupted Gem monster she’d fought. She couldn’t help a paranoid glance over to where the Cinnabar was bubbled – she wasn’t surprised to see it hadn’t moved, but she was still relieved. But where it had been a titanic abomination, the crab that was making its laughably slow way across the bottom of the pool was even smaller than the runt. And instead of a bright, toxic red, its carapace was a dull greenish-brown and completely smooth, its legs short and bowed instead of long and spindly. It looked absolutely harmless.

Still, Jasper wasn’t feeling particularly charitable towards crustaceans, and it would be the work of a moment to scoop the creature up and smash it beneath her boot. Her eldest daughter wouldn’t even have the time to wriggle loose from her remaining hand, and… as Jasper automatically looked down at the gemling, she hesitated. The little Peridot was gazing at the crab with wide-eyed fascination, the look that Jasper had sometimes seen on Kindergarten Gems’ faces when they were taken off-world for the first time and got their first good look at the stars without an atmosphere in the way. Jasper wondered what the gemling would look like if it saw her crush the invertebrate against the stone floor. And decided that she didn’t want to find out, so instead they watched the small crab make its unhurried exit oblivious to the doom it had so narrowly avoided.

Turning back to the other gemlings, Jasper blinked in surprise as she saw that the runt and the other striped Peridot were squaring off against each other while the twins watched with apparent interest. The smaller gemling was growling and her sister responded with a challenging trill as they sized each other up. Before Jasper could get over to them, they charged at each other and butted heads as if they were wearing helms like their parent. However, as they weren’t wearing helmets the collision appeared to daze them, both gemlings falling flat with pained squeaks of dismay.

Setting the eldest gemling down next to the twins, Jasper sat beside them and reached out to separate the erstwhile combatants, lifting one in each hand. “Okay, that’s enough of that. What in the stars brought that on?” Even as she asked the rhetorical question, Jasper wondered if the striped Peridot’s Jasper-type traits were to blame. A Peridot-type Gem, like most of the technician classes, would know better than to attack one of the warrior classes, even if they’d just emerged from a Kindergarten. Maybe this one thought she was a Jasper? Or maybe it was because her sibling was a runt; maybe the striped gemling didn’t recognise her sister as a warrior-type because she was so small. Or maybe it was just because they were gemlings, not Kindergarten Gems – they hadn’t been imprinted with hierarchy or class specifications when they were created. Jasper didn’t know enough about gemlings to make a guess – hell, nearly everything she knew about gemlings she’d learned in the last few days. No wonder Homeworld had switched to using Kindergartens instead of reproduction – the results were much easier to predict.

Carefully placing the two gemlings on her lap, Jasper wondered if letting them go was a good idea. And immediately realised that it wasn’t – the moment her grip slackened her daughters had wriggled loose and leapt at each other again. This time they didn’t try to butt heads; instead they began to tussle like miniature wrestlers. Jasper was about to pull them apart but hesitated when she realised that the gemlings didn’t seem to be actually hurting each other. The striped Peridot was bigger and heavier, but wasn’t using her superior strength to force her smaller sibling into submission. And while the runt was nipping at her sister, the bites weren’t hard. Jasper was well aware that the tiny gemling could draw blood if she wanted. Maybe they were just… playing? That was another strange concept, but Jasper reasoned that she enjoyed practice sparring with other warrior Gems regardless of whether Homeworld was on a war footing or not. Maybe this was similar, just on a much smaller scale.

If it was playing, then the other gemlings didn’t seem keen to join in, preferring to stay next to Peridot’s gem which was lying where Jasper had left it. Occasionally one of them would shake it and chirp - they still didn’t seem to have realised that wouldn’t do much good. The behaviour had annoyed Jasper at first, but then she had reminded herself that it wasn’t their fault. They didn’t understand regeneration, or Jasper’s explanation that their mother would be back soon. All they knew was that Peridot was gone, and that upset them. So Jasper had bit back her frustration just as she had when Peridot had been screaming accusations and blame at her back on the beach.

A part of her – a large part – had wanted to strike the technician for her insubordination and unbelievable insolence. But Jasper hadn’t been able to deny, not even to herself, that Peridot had a point. All the technician had wanted to do was follow her orders, not abandon them in favour of taking what was left of Rose Quartz back to Yellow Diamond in the hope it might gain back some of the favour she’d lost thousands of years before. And it didn’t help that there were a lot of things – hundreds of them – that Jasper would rather do than go anywhere near the Cluster, unless she was putting it out of its misery. The Gems fused together to make it had been enemies, there was no doubt about that. Jasper had probably even shattered some of them herself. But they had fought and died bravely. They didn’t deserve… that. It was necessary, she accepted that, but it wasn’t the first time she’d had qualms about something Homeworld felt was necessary.

…behind her Carnelian was screaming, close enough for her voice to slice through the cacophony of shrieks echoing across the battlefield. And when Jasper looked around she felt a cold chill of unwelcome vindication as she saw that her lieutenant was writhing on the ground just like Rose Quartz’s troops, shuddering as her form warped like clay being shaped by an unseen, malevolent hand. They’d told her the weapon would only work on the Crystal Gems. Either they’d been wrong… or they’d lied…

Banishing the memory with a grunt, Jasper looked down to see that the runt was now sitting squarely on the middle of the striped Peridot’s back. The larger gemling was finding it impossible to dislodge her; feet and arms flailing backwards at the weight that was just out of her reach. Eventually she went limp with a grudging chirp and the runt rolled off her – obviously the winner of this match.

“Good job,” Jasper congratulated the small gemling, ruffling her hair with her thumb. “And you’ll do better next time,” she added to the Peridot, gently scratching her head. “Just don’t let your sister pin you like that, you might be bigger than she is but you’re not quite strong enough to buck her off.” To Jasper’s relief, there didn’t seem to be any animosity between the two gemlings – both of them settled down to sleep beside each other without any qualms. Lifting the other three along with Peridot’s gem, Jasper set them down beside their siblings where they curled up beside them. One of the twins took hold of a length of Jasper’s hair, winding it between her forearms until it was in a large, soft roll then snuggling into it like a pillow. The other was resting her head on Peridot’s gem, as was the eldest of the brood. Within moments, the only sounds in the cave were an occasional sleepy chirp and the muted rush of the sea.

Sitting still as a statue, Jasper watched her brood sleep with a smile she wasn’t aware of. They were such tiny, helpless things. It almost didn’t make sense that they were so important to her – if they’d been Kindergarten Gems then she knew that she’d have been disgusted by their weakness. Instead she wanted to protect and nurture them. The former was at least a desire she was familiar with, but the latter was new and strange, much like the way her loyalties had underwent a tectonic shift from being a faithful servant of Homeworld and Yellow Diamond to being ready to fight them on sight. Jasper had served the Diamond Authority for millennia, and her loyalty had never once swayed, not even when her army had devolved into screeching abominations around her purely for the sake of spiting the rebellious Rose Quartz. But she would fight anyone who threatened her offspring, no matter who or why.

Maybe that was why gemlings were almost unknown on Homeworld; a historical curiosity that had been cast aside in favour of the much more efficient Kindergartens. Efficient they certainly were, but Jasper had never felt much connection with Kindergarten Gems, and no doubt the feeling was mutual – the only bond they all knew was to the Diamond Authority. Gemlings challenged that bond, if the instinctive feelings Jasper was experiencing were anything to go by.

Casting her mind back to the history lessons she’d been forced to sit through after clawing her way out of the rock face which had birthed her, Jasper tried to remember what she’d been taught about Kindergartens. Something about how natural reproduction was extremely rare and time consuming and the cost-benefit analysis was vastly inferior to Kindergarten production which guaranteed large numbers of flawless Gems of specific engineered types with a 99.98% success rate. The warrior Gem found herself wondering just how much of it was true – obviously the part about Kindergarten efficiency was, but they hadn’t told them much about Gem reproduction except for it being rare. Had it always been that way? Jasper had no idea, but she could see these strange, loyalty-shifting emotions being a threat to the Diamond Authority.

And she wondered – not for the first time – if the Crystal Gems would know any more than she did. Rose Quartz had been older than her, much older, and had objected to the Kindergarten process even before it threatened her pet planet. And they had a Pearl whose class – if memory served – was used to care for Gemlings to allow the parents to resume more important duties in addition to their services as technicians and aides. Jasper was sure that was one of the reasons they’d been replaced with the Peridot class. With no more need for nurturing, the Pearl class had been shelved in favour of one which was primarily geared towards technology and repair. And even if the Crystal Gem Pearl wasn’t old enough to have been involved in caring for gemlings, she’d still have those skills hardcoded into her molecular structure. She’d know more about how to raise them than Jasper and Peridot combined.

Sighing, Jasper shifted slightly to set her back against the cave wall, being careful not to wake the brood nestled in her lap. The Crystal Gems knew this planet. They’d survived here for thousands of years despite the hundreds of Gem monsters that had been set loose to lay waste to the Earth when Homeworld had abandoned it. They’d successfully managed to conceal themselves from any Homeworld surveillance probes and kept the planet isolated from the warp network. And they’d beaten her. Jasper had been armed with a ship, the latest in Gem technology, a skilled technician and an informant. And she was a warrior Gem, made purely for combat unlike any of the Crystal Gems. And they had beaten her. Destroyed her ship. Even if she had managed to remain in control of Malachite, Jasper wasn’t sure if she could have beaten them. What if they had fused together? Jasper had seen multi-Gem fusions in the final battle against Rose all those millennia ago and they had been formidable foes. If she was to approach them now, surrender, show them the gemlings… could they possibly be formidable allies?

The small thing that Rose had become would accept the brood, Jasper was sure of it. Rose would have accepted them. Then again, Rose had always been quick to accept an honest surrender and turn enemies into allies. That was one of the things that had made her such a threat to the Diamond Authority, who preferred to use turncoats and failures as salutary lessons. On the day of that final, fateful battle for Earth, Jasper knew that if she’d thrown her weapon down and knelt to Rose instead of organising the retreat of what was left of Homeworld’s army, she would have been made a Crystal Gem. Briefly, Jasper wondered what that would have been like. She wouldn’t have had to suffer Yellow Diamond’s displeasure, or her humiliating defeat at the hands of the fusion, or…

“Let’s stay on this miserable planet… together!”

Jasper’s shudder was automatic, her arms instinctively curling around and over the gemlings protectively. Of course, if she had surrendered to Rose, then she’d never have been placed with Peridot as an escort. And if that had never happened, then her brood would never have been born. No matter what else had happened to Jasper in this ill-fated mission, the gemlings made it worthwhile. That was why she had to make sure they were protected, even if it meant prostrating herself in front of the damned fusion and begging for mercy. If it kept her daughters safe, then that was all that mattered. Because if Homeworld found them, they would be unlikely to react well to the unsanctioned creation of Gem life, especially outside the controlled environment of a Kindergarten. And if there was anything left of Rose Quartz in the hybrid that called itself Steven, she wouldn’t let the gemlings be harmed.

A sudden flash from Jasper’s lap made her start, waking the gemlings as well. Looking down, the warrior Gem saw that Peridot’s gem was glowing brightly while the gemlings were watching it with wide eyes and bristling hair. As it rose into the air, the brood immediately sought refuge in Jasper’s mane, clambering up it to perch on her shoulders as the green gem floated higher and watching it suspiciously.

“It’s okay,” Jasper reassured them. “This just means that Peri’s coming back. I’m sure she’ll be glad to see you.” As the glowing aura around the stone coalesced into a humanoid shape, Jasper couldn’t help feeling somewhat uneasy. She was glad that Peridot was back of course but she doubted the technician would be over the moon at the prospect of contacting the Crystal Gems. Quite the opposite. But there was no more time to consider it, first of all Jasper had to make sure that Peridot landed on her lap, not on a gemling…

#gem egg hell #submission

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