Soular Eclipse

Log Info

• Title: Soular Eclipse
• Emitter: Aryia
• Characters: Aryia, Verna
• Place: Northern Banks of the Tornmawr
• Time: November 9th, 2021
• Summary: Under the bridge at the northern banks, Aryia is painting on the walls of the brick with moonlight and shade, trying to put to frame her internal struggles. Verna observes, then shares her opinion on the matter after watching for a spell. Aryia, trying to understand how to go about all this, is given advice that perhaps this drawing was a representation of the struggle of life. The mute is a bit confused from how abstract everything is getting, but she softly disagrees. Confused on how to go about using mul'neissian magics, or whatever it was that was manifesting within her, Verna simply reminds Aryia that she need not focus so much on the why, just the what. So, she does just that. She takes hold of both sides, and pulls them together. In a brilliant display of light and dark, shadow spills from the mul'neissa, filling up the underpass to the top. Followed by billiant moonlight that banished the shade. Almost. Leaving behind an eclipse of moonlight surrounding her. Aryia is stunned. Verna is pensive and offers some insights on this development, some that Aryia shuts down, but ends up thanking the Mourner for their help.

Northern Banks of the Tornmawr, Sunset.

It's a fair weather day, finally. Open sky to the west, shifting from blue to orange and purple, lazy clouds in the east. Still there's a chill in the air, and those around this part of the city, the banks, are mostly on leisurely strolls or sampling warm drinks to for those that rest beside frigid waters.

On such figure didn't partake of the seasonal warmth in a cup, them clad in a warm green jacket, the buckles blocked by crossed arms as they stare at the brick and mortar of the bridge support. Standing right where the manmade meets Ea, she runs a bare hand across the brick.

An even breath. In. Out.

And she starts to paint with moonlight from her fingertips.

Fair weather outside means, among other things, fair weather inside. Yet Verna is not inside, as she walks for the bridge. Not that the change in surroundings has limited her studies, research, and/or light reading in any sense given that a tome hovers before her in an unsurprising fashion.

Despite this, and her deep hood, she is still aware of her surroundings; enough to navigate as she walks (or floats?; the robes do often make some wonder if she has feet). As well, she is able to notice additional bits of light ahead and below, in unexpected places from unexpected angles. This causes her course to alter and slow, where she can better observe down the bank to the piers of the bridge, itself.

The Mourner can spot a familiar mul'neissa under the bridge, the angle giving a view of her back and what the brush strokes of her finger were creating.

The light plays strangly, almost looking like the shelter under the bridge was slowly beginning to be watched in moonlight, making the time of day feeling a bit skewed when looking in her direction.

It looks like she's just getting started, a few lines being slowly drawn out. One horizontal one, brimming with pale light. A hand smears more light above it, then clawed fingers make horizontal hatches underneath.

Her other hand draws a line of... nothing. Below that. But she does the same motions. Trying to smear something. Trying to make hatch marks. A brief aside reveals her eyes are closed, and locked in concentration.

Verna observes this ...artistic expression(?) with some quiet curiosity. She also steps closer; while not a mistress of obfuscation or skill in silent stalking, she and her strides are light. It is not until the attempts to draw or smear imply that the full-blood's inkwell is dry, so one might say, does she speak.

"You should be aware that fines a possible for grafitti upon city structures. Not that I believe your intent to be malicious. It appears quite ... intriguing."

More drawings. The top half a mirror of the bottom. The hatching mingles with one another. Both hands moving in tandem. It's a rough design, and the finishing touch is both hands outlining the entire sketch in two semi circles. One of moonlight. One of... nothing.

No. Not nothing. The light doesn't bleed over into the sections she's touched. The shadows are stronger there. Unnaturally so.

There is a pause from Aryia as the Mourner approaches, an ear flicking at the approach, however silent it was. It almost breaks her work, but she stays in it.

Hands pull away. One has fingertips lit aglow. The other hand... dripping shadow. Barely.

Out.

Her hands cleanse. Then gesture calmly. "They have more important things to worry about." <Handspeech>

"My apologies for any interruption," Verna offers quietly. "I was merely concerned, yet you are correct; it is unlikely others would be concerned enough to bother."

She is quiet for a time as she studies the now completed(?) sketch. "What does it symbolize or represent? The dichotomy of light and dark seem apparent, though there are many aspects that can parallel them both."

Aryia makes a untranslatable gesture disregarding a topic. Meant for things that didn't interest the signer, or to mention something wasn't worth bringing up. In this context, the apology wasn't needed, and Aryia was forgiving about it.

She opens her eyes slowly, torch-lit eyes half lidded as she looks at what lays before her. "I'm trying to figure something out... it's... what it feels like for me all the time," she explains, gesturing to the figure.

A finger prods the center, where the light and dark hatches mingle. "I've been here for the longest time. My sister told me that mul'neissa have connection to shadow. To light, and lack of it."

She steps back, then gestures to the whole thing. "This is how it feels for me as of late. This is an ocean. And only just some weeks ago I've realized, or saw, that I'm stuck in the center of it." <Handspeech>

Verna continues to regard both artist and artistry, though perhaps more upon the former as the drawing is not actively communicating; not with hands, at the least. She dips her hood. "Your sister is correct, on multiple counts. There exists both the aptitude, and that one aspect is tied to the other; two halves of a whole. How is it that you feel... stuck within the two?"

The mute purses her lips. Feelings. Something she's had to grapple with for the longest time. And getting a handle on it has helped in this endeavor quite a lot. Aryia faintly nods, and gestures slowly. "I... never knew how to use my mul'neissa magics. Or, maybe I did, but I forgot. So I didn't know how to do it. Until I got here, and my sister showed me."

She looks to her hand that painted dark. "... I could never get the shadows down. I still can't, to a degree. I need guidance, but she's not here." A drop of shadow falls from her wrist, but nothing more.

She turns to Verna, her brows pinched. "I feel stuck because... I don't know what I'm doing. I reach and claw and scrabble. Try and swim. Or just let it rush over me. It feels like I nudged my way 'up'. But... that 'up' needs a 'down'."

A sigh. "I'm not making sense, am I? I just think this might be related to the Celestial thing. Sorry..." <Handspeech>

Verna is silent to absorb that explanation, possibly to process it. After a time, gloved hands lift. First, they rise to doff her hood, her features lit partly by the bright half of the sigil upon the stone. Next, they move to gesture in response.

"As I interpret it, you make perfect sense, though I believe it is larger than the touch of the Celestial upon you. What you describe, to me, is life."

She pauses before expounding,"You do not hold all answers; you strive and struggle to understand and achieve what you wish. You will succeed at some, fail at others. Some failures shall enable you to later succeed. In that context, you and I, and all others, are the same."

The full-blood is given a pointed look. "Did you presume that I know what I am doing? I strive to gain knowledge of many subjects, but there is much that I do not hold or have not experienced. I would claim that we are all ...stuck, though we do not always perceive it as a negative, nor should we."

The pensive expression on Aryia's face breaks to a downcast one. Life. Torch-lit eyes flit between the Mouner's revealed visage and the speaking hands.

Her own hands lift to respond. "I did at a point. But I know better than that now."

She looks to her creation, a hand reaching out to rest in the center of it. "My life has always been like that, Verna. The one I know, at least. It's always been a struggle. I have failed a lot. And succeeded some. Most recently the latter than the former due to the reasons you say. But I don't think this here has to deal with something as... vague as all that."

Her eyes trail up. "I'm.... just trying to figure out how to be unstuck. I want to swim. And learn why I can do this-" she taps the moonlight swath. "-where other mul'neissa shouldn't be able to?" <Handspeech>

Verna may have begun broad due to lack of narrowing factors, or possibly because, as stated, she does not know what she is doing. A moment of consideration, and she drifts back to speech when she resumes. A crutch, perhaps, from her perspective, as she defaults to what she knows better.

"Other mul'niessa should not be able to? Why? According to whom? In any case, you are not other mul'niessa. We are not the same." Admittedly she is only half, but she does not mire in that detail. "Does that make one of us less or more than the other? I do not believe so."

A pause and she steps near adjacent to reach a hand to tap the sigil, or Aryia's hand upon it. "If you wish a succinct answer, I can say with some certainty that this is due to your celestial ...blessing." For lack of a better term. "Why? Is that so pertinent? How would or should you make use of such? That is your decision, I believe, not some fated purpose. Even were it the later, your life remains your own."

"To use your metaphor, Aryia, swim. If you do not know the direction, you will need to explore to learn it. By swimming."

Aryia's brows knit at the first bit of information. "That's kind of pedantic, you know what I mean," she frowns a bit, but sighs and nods.

Her attention shifts back to the sigil, fingers curling some on the hand that's tapped as she raises a brow. "... I'm surprised you say that. I figured you of all people would be affixed to the 'why' rather than let it be."

The simple directive makes her blink, and her attention shifts to the lazy flowing river beside them. "... swim? Just..." ... was it truly so straightforward? "... should I try now...?" <Handspeech>

Verna purses her lips at Aryia's frown. She is not wrong, and perhaps Verna misspoke, or chose poorly with words or emphasis. This may well lead directly into the somewhat uncharacteristic comment, which the full-blood was prompt to note.

A nod of acknowledgement"I do not ignore the 'why,' and, yes, I typically pursue it, yet..." She inhales, looks potentially to pause, but speaks promptly without allowing herself the delay. "Should it take priority over the 'what?' The past over the present and future? The one with whom you are comfortable, whose smile you enjoy enough to read Kulthian... Can you quantify the 'why' of what you share? Would you spend your efforts investigating this, or simply accept that it is, and experience it?"

She nods once more to the affirmation, then blinks and looks between Aryia and the water. "Was that a literal reference?" And when did Verna start presuming metaphor over literal?

Aryia's visage softens at the introspective insight. She stills. Had she been going about this the wrong way? Was her focus so much on trying to understand it, that she forgot to just let it be and wash over her? Verna's words strike the heart of an issue she didn't know she had. "... y-'r- r-ght," she hisses softly, reaching up to curl her fingers to her chest. That feeling...

That little bit pulls Aryia out of her reflection and revelation, a silly grin plastering her lips as she snorts. "No no no, not actually swim. Fuck no, I'd freeze my tits off. I meant, like, just try. Just dive into.." she gestures to the sigil, from the moonlit banks to the empty depths. <Handspeech>

Verna's surprise and concerns turn to relief. That could be uncomfortable for them both, especially if Verna was obligated to dive in after. "Ah. Yes." A nod. "I believe less analysis and more practical experience would be best." There, now she sounds much more like herself. "I admit that you are more familiar with that than I." She is still working on that, or attempting to.

Aryia softly sighs, nodding as she returns her gaze back to the sigil. "... well, if something weird happens, I guess you're here to help."

She gulps. "Here goes nothing."

The mute steps a few feet away, folds her hands together in front of her, and closes her eyes.

She resumes the even breathing that came from before.

That feeling from before. Just the thought of her suffused it through her veins. Like before, she reaches past that. And holds it.

But what about the other. She thinks of her too. A different her. Sorrow fills the space too. But she moves past that, and holds it. Just like she did when she was painting earlier.

One hand drips shade, the other faintly shimmers. <Handspeech>

Yes, if something weird happens, Verna is present. She observes silently, though Aryia's words prompt a line of thought... A few nights past she followed a vampire that was slaying lycanthropes. A trip to a tower in Charn with members of a Taaran sect, strange artifacts, and one demon duke. Even more recent, she was scourng recipes to collate a list of ingredients.

Combing only these past days as context... what, precisely, should be considered weird?

There was many, many weird occuances of things happening as of late. The temples, a temporarily closure of a beloved spot. Relationships, and the breaking of them. Self discovery. Growth. Moving on.

Aryia had both in each grasp. She could feel the two pools. They were still. How would you swim here? No water to wade through. Diving didn't make the light dim, nor did swimming up make the dark fade. She couldn't move. She couldn't get closer to the light like she was trying.

How does one do this? How does one get closer?

The answer came through on an old memory.

"You should strive for yourself, for your desires, whatever they may be."

She really, really desired to be closer to both. So instead of swimming to either. Aryia brings them to her; she pulls.

And to her complete and utter surprise.

Both sides slammed into her.

Her eyes fly open, her gasping as she staggers back. A heartbeat later, shade beginning to pour off her body in droves. She flails a bit, torch-bright eyes wide as she tries to swipe at whatever the hell was happening. "F-ck f-ck f-ck f-ck f-ck-"

The penumbra of the shade spilling forth around around her, however, is tinged with moonlight.

Verna was uncertain what to expect. She could not know all that went through Aryia's thoughts (despite knowing some small snippets in and from the past). Whatever possibilities she might have postulated... this may not be it. That does not necessarily imply the result is a negative...

Neither does Aryia's flailing nor string of expletives, though they are both certainly cause for concern.

"Are you alright?!" Verna blurts what she hopes is not an entirely redundant nor rhetorical inquiry as she steps to Aryia to ... catch her? help her? She is no more confident what to do as she is in what is occuring.. but she is at least present, and can try to ensure neither of them end up in the river.

Aryia continues to flail, her breathing erratically she she looks around at herself and at the ground. The shadows billow out, rolling across the ground like a low fog. Verna slides into the umbra, nothing remiss felt aside from the light of the dusk becoming more obscured.

The movement makes the elf snap her attention over, her holding up both hands to try and stop her. "Wai-" For a moment. She thought she saw braids. A violet gaze. And she pauses.

The shade continues to fill from the ground up, piling atop the other. Blocking out the underpass of the bridge in nothing but darkness.

The shadows engulf the two.

She was still holding onto dark. She blinks, and a Mourner is standing in front of her. "... wh-t th- f-ck...?"

Verna peers about them, at least insofar as she can. Her eyes are not nearly so keen as her fullblooded companion. The brief gesture is overlooked, though she can hear something of the vowel-less whisper, as indicated by her eyes turning towards, if not truly discerning the dark upon dark upon dark of Aryia, or peraps even herself.Further, she has a reasonably-educated hypothesis concerning the lack of light about them.

"Are you alright?" she inquires, more steadily, now. "If your intent was to become more adept with the shadow, I believe that you succeeded. If that was not your intent... I still believe that you succeeded."

A hand extends out partially; offering rather than feeling nor flailing. "I cannot see you, but did hear you. I presume." It could be monsters in the dark, in theory.

Aryia's eyes are wide, and they could be seen cutting through the darkness. She takes the time to steady her breath. I-In. O-Out. She gulps, then nods.

Which, she realizes is futile, so she takes one of the extended hands and carefully taps it against her sternum. "Fine", was what the simple gesture relayed was. There's a soft snicker, but one that was still reeling from what was going on.

Yet still, Aryia was holding onto dark. Let's... give light a tug?

She does so. And both sides envelop her.

There's a pulse of biolumincesnt moonlight that spreads from her feet. It lights the mute woman up. Then Verna. Then the wall the with sigil. Then the whole underpass is bright as high noon. The darkness is dis... pelled?

Not entirely.

Still the shade sticks to walls and ceiling, around them in a perfect circle. But around that circle, in the punumbra, is the brightest of moonlights. Manifesting the depiction of a solar eclipse, though such rays were of the moon, rather than the harsh sun.

Everything within the shade was perfectly lit.

Aryia is perfectly stunned. <Handspeech>

Verna is relieved at the assurance... and then all but blinded While her eyes are not as sensitive, that does not mean that sudden daylight is not rather jarring and an arm lifts to shield her face, if late. "It is no longer dark... though I cannot see you. Again." Fact. Possibly also dry humor?

The spots fade quickly enough and she lowers her arm to look about them and then to Aryia. "I am quite impressed and dare say that may have the favor of both goddesses of magic... given that Taara claims to be such."

Aryia blinks wildly, her eyes just as bright as the light and her in a daze from all the sensations flowing through her at the present moment. She staggers back a step or two, then falls to her rear, the eclipse moving with her slowly as she does so.

She frowns at the mention of the two. "They can take their favor and shove it up their ass. Especially Taara," she crudely gestures, the light flaring a bit as if to accentuate her point. But, her knee jerk reaction to theism aside, she holds her forehead. "... you... really think this is their favor?" <Handspeech>

Verna holds up a hand open palm, in a halting gesture, counter-frowning. "Apologies for any offense. I did not mean to imply that you are directly aligned nor allied with either. It was more a statement of the dichotomy: light and shadow." She gestures to the sigil.

"As well, it could be considered a matter of heritage. Eluna is considered mother to the sildanyari, Taara to the mul'niessa. Yet mul'niessa are also sildanyari."

Aryia's visage smooths out at the mention of that, her tilting her head to the side. "I... didn't know Eluna was," she mentions, slowly getting to her feet. The elf looks off to the sigil.

She cycles a breath. In. Out. "You didn't offend me. I align with no one, if that sheds some light on things." Aryia blinks, then snickers. Unintended joke. Was Jinks rubbing on her? <Handspeech>

Verna nods, lowering her hand. Her frown lightens to pursed lips, but those continue to linger. "I am pleased to know. I have become rather concerned, perhaps excessively so, of offending others." For better or worse, the distraction of her thoughts may contribute to her not catching the unintended pun."

Aryia softly sighs, her stepping towards the Mourner and resting a hand on her shoulder. "Verna, you're fine. Okay? I just... maybe this discussion about the gods might be best saved for another time. But to keep it short, I don't want them having any hold on me. I've thrown myself to all of them before, and I've gotten nothing in response."

She looks around to the eclipse surrounding her, slowly taking in whatever it was that she was capable now before her gaze rests on the Mourner. "Verna," she squeezes the shoulder gently. "... thank you for helping me." <Handspeech>

"There is no requirement for a discussion of the gods," Verna notes, acknowledging Aryia's stance. "I do not proselytize." The squeeze on her shoulder and the gratitude seem to assure as some tension leaves the half-mul portion beneath the robes that are, in turn, beneath the squeeze. "You are welcome." Her eyes lift to the mixed eclipse about them.

"You appear to have a talent at discovering yourself with only a few words of inspiration. You are most welcome to continue to seek my advice." Perhaps next time she might simply recite a random passage from the tome she reads, and Aryia shall discover she can emit lightning bolts from her eyes?

-End Scene-