The Aspirant couldn't make sense of the language inside. It was supposed to be quilled, the inkwells and used pots seen discarded tenderly in the garbage was indication of this. Yet the markings made no sense that a hand could scrawl them. They were too symmetric and even to be done manually, instead resembling pressed characters and movable type rather than letters. “These things that pride themselves on honesty can deign to use magic that forces unease. The purchaser, however, isn't given an automatic translation?” The Aspirant mused to themselves while they tugged at the scarf that wrapped their face. They were starting to get warm on the couch made. Especially uneasy, the scroll added to the sensation and feeling of unease. The Aspirant felt like their body was too temperamental in it's distribution of heat. They idly remembered the enchantment on the scroll that would unease bud and bloom, and tried to shift their weight to see if that could reestablish comfort or focus.
They brushed their hair out of their face, and wished they had more pins to keep it stuck out of the way. They try again, in earnest, to focus on the text in the scroll. Maybe it required a meditation to translate? Maybe the Aspirant saw this language once in seminar- and recalled now what they failed a test on then. It felt familiar, and it felt like it was this lifetime that they once could read this text. Was it recorded left to right? Or perhaps it was meant to be read vertically? The shape of the scroll inclined the Aspirant to think it didn't require any form of rotation to be read. Unless they initially held the scroll upside down? They turned racing thoughts over in their mind and began to weigh theories against the facts the Aspirant could pull together. They wish they had a rock or ball to lightly throw up and down to catch, something external to move around to give a channel to their thoughts. In the absence of a fidget, they started the twirling loose fabric of their clothes.
Continually feeling unsatisfied, the Aspirant reached for the other apple, and tempted themselves with it. They waited before indulging, to have another and then be bereft of apples already wasn't the wisest. They stuck their large hand down their pouch, and started delicately popping grapes off the bushel. They'd soon find themselves in the mouth of the Aspirant, and each bite of their jaws crushed the fruit. Using them as stand ins for thought, each theory they ran through would be punctuated with the powerful mashing of a grape. Hunger was known to many in the Sludgelands, as the only real sustenance given was offerings from people in the Place Before. Tributes from the living came with no seeming overall logic that guided distribution. Individual Shades usually were those who could claim first pick. Being so connected to the sludge, they had a more intimate and familiar sense of the land. In this place-after the first entity who found an offering would be the fair and just owner of it. The Sludge was greedy, and seldom didn't claim the alms first.
The Aspirant began to feel calm, and recounted some vital information that would get themselves closer to their goal. The facts were as follows: The scroll needed some sort of key to be understood. The Aspirant was not outwardly certain the scroll had some rudimentary encryption written onto it. If it did, would it be with it's words or woven onto it with magic? What security features were on this scroll? The Aspirant began to trace the flawlessly dried ink with their finger, as if they were using whatever tool penned this document themselves. Slowly, it made sense. It wouldn't be a quill, but a stylus. The Shades, possessing varying degrees of mystical art would be able to rapidly edit the characters of the stylus while only needing to posses one. While they could avoid most of material unreality, even a Shade was subject to some of it. One such case made itself known to the Aspirant. There has to be vowels and consonants! But what denotes which?
Gauging the distribution of characters, the Aspirant saw it so that most characters had a hollow hole in the center of them, that different configurations of “teeth” would fork around. That would most likely denote consonants, since they're used more oft than vowels. Following that deduction, it followed logical sense that the filled in holes of the characters on the scroll were vowels. But what did the different prongs of the stylus denote? Was this a language that was first spoken then wrote, or was it originally written? The Aspirant couldn't pull the wisdom and clues they had it together. They counted their blessings among the situation. They had, hypothetically, an endless amount of time to decode it. The only concern was how reduced their mental facilities would be the longer they went without sustenance. While it was impossible for anything that resided in a Place-After to starve, it was obvious which residents and entities weren't getting devotionals. It made them prone to baser desires, less sharp, and deadened the senses. Be deprived long enough and it would beckon the finality of the soul, and they'd merely destroyed and reduced to flecks of nothingness midst the Sludge. The Aspirant knew they had much, much time on their hands before it would devolve to that.
They went back to their work, and kept reading the heisted volume. Eventually, fatigue set in and they laid their head back in rest. They didn't know how much time had passed, nor would they truly care. Whatever manner of game this Shade wished to play the Aspirant knew it was something already in motion.
The thing that disturbed them was the lock jostling itself, clinking and creaking. Eventually, the heavy key fell free and clanged loudly against the ring outside the door. The Sovereign of the estate entered through the door, triumphantly. The Aspirant felt their heart race, and their legs twitch in anticipation of sprinting through and passed the noble. Sensing that, the Shade raised one a raptorial hand and spoke with icy authority.
“Be still, and do not move. No undue harm will befall you, if you see too it no undue harm befalls me.” The Shade spoke, as it's multiple tentacles guided it across the entryway. Each sucker popped as they guided the creature to a piece of furniture adjacent to the Aspirant. They, in a graceful motion closed the door along the path they walked, and the Aspirant hadn't even noticed the tendril move. The Aspirant was only made aware by hearing the sound of the door clunk back into place. Adjusting how they sat to better look at each other, the Aspirant guided their eyes to the shade. Every one had a different appearance, and often dramatically so. This Shade was awesome in every sense of the word. The figure he cut was imposing and oozed out the very power he was formed of.
A being of concentric lines and harsh angles. Each intersecting point revealed deep blue veins like sapphires flowing with blood. The veins trailed their way over strong arms with well cultivated muscle bulging slightly. His manner of dress was cut and draped around to showcase this trait. The fabric was more a decency cover, obscuring the parts of skin that are impolite to showcase to others. The rest was woven together tightly by magic, which allowed it to shift and whorl around him. The fabric rotated askew, and gave a faint shimmer. Like the well he resided over, he too thrummed with power. Two parts to a unity of power- structure and Shade.
If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
A noble being of the Sludge with his chin and jaw set to look down at the intruder. Looking down at the Aspirant, it became evident that he was a being of twisted and deeply tapped mana. He stared like a predatory bird. The Shade seemingly timed blinks to be aligned with the Aspirant's. The effect left the feeling of constant overwhelming supervision on them. Every movement was scrutinized and appraised by Erwyn. After adequately assessing the Aspirant he went to find a seat on another piece of furniture in his foyer.
Each action was a seamless glide across his domain. The sound of the suckers on the tentacles popping off the floor pronounced each step. The minuscule amount of clothing worn by a shade was a sharp contrast against the Aspirant. No part of any native's skin would be exposed aside their face. The Sludge tended to be caustic, melting away flesh and bone of any exposed extremities. Curiously, the sludge seemed to struggle to permeate anything. Even simple cotton tatters would be able to handle the mire that was the bulk of this Place-Beyond. Those who wouldn't get dissolved by the filth would always struggle to remove it. It stained more than fabric, it stained souls who got in touch with the viscous fluid. Shades prided themselves on how uncharacteristically clean they were despite being the royals of filth. The bare skin of a shade too, was a show of their classification in the Places-Beyond.
As their eyes met, the Shade kept their jaw stiff- sending the body language of confidence and power to the Aspirant. They raised their head and chin slightly, to look down upon the Aspirant. The Shade knew what was in their hand before their eyes darted to it before locking eyes once more. The Aspirant slowly felt their body lose some of the tension, and allowed them to slowly loosen their posture and sit
correctly in the presence of a Sovereign of the Sludge. They didn't even recall when they first began to slouch, and once again recess their posture. The Aspirant went to move their mouth to speak, but the Shade countermanded by resuming where he left off.
“I am Erwyn, Minor Shade. You will refer to me as He and Him, or Ve and Vim on occasion. I am the Lord of this Well you find yourself intruding upon. I know what brings you here, and I wish to see you know the severity of your situation before you do something more reckless. Depending on how much food of mine you've eaten, you might be able to escape this with only a minor pact binding you to light service for a span of only a few years. If you wish to submit to me, and not continue on your path, of course.
The Aspirant replyed, with a voice weaker than they'd like. It was fitting of the circumstances, but didn't send the message they'd like. They said, “I will submit to nothing, Master Shade. I am not so uninformed to be left unaware of what could befall me.”
“Then you know what it means to be in possession of part of the Vignettes and yet you still seek them out. Curious! State your name, and where from you hail.” The shade spoke in the matter of someone who wasn't used to hearing others speak. It was too punctuated and sharp. Each sibilant consonant was too sharp, to much like a needle puncturing to put something together. Yet, the more gentle sounds were like splashing of water. The tone carried in the hall, reverberating through each chamber. The well itself seemed to offer itself as an amplifer to the shade.
The Aspirant wasn't surprised at Erwyn. It wouldn't be hard to make the same deductions if the roles were reversed. The Aspirant was wrapped in colors not common to these lands, the mustard yellows and dingy golds were novelties amongst the populace of any populated place the Aspirant would stop. The Places-After were not color coded officially yet trends existed. Fashion had a way of finding the dead as much the living.
“I am unnamed, Erwyn. I have taken a title, and use that in place of the names I'm between. Calling me Aspirant is well enough, if you'd honor it. I mark myself with nothing beyond my desires.” The Aspirant finally found the timbre of their voice. It was more in line with how they usually sounded. It was a tone that was just out of the range of androgynous- with enough bass to almost make one assume masculine birth from it's resonance. However it was so refined as to be softened by careful diction and steady amplification. Much like the speaker, the sweet sound of that voice chafed under the binds of gender and opted for a neutral option every chance that was presented.
“I don't see why I wouldn't, Aspirant. From what Place-Beyond-Death are you native too? The Verdant Hedges? I wouldn't take you for a native to elsewhere, but I don't travel too far from the Sludgelands as a minor shade. I am not yet a hundred lives old.” Erwyn intoned matter-of-factly and concisely. It gave enough info for the Aspirant to savor and served to bait them into further conversation. Would they know how shades work? Erwyn mused, and waited for a reply.
“At one time, I would say that the Blinding Valley laid claim to me. I don't know for certain. I would say now that the only place I find shelter is the spaces between. The roads and webways that take one to different Places-After.”
Erwyn turned his words over in his mind, and couldn't hide how he perked up at the last part. Finding a way to sit straighter before leaning in to show interest. Erwyn lightly tilted their head a few degrees to the right. Minor shades wouldn't be powerful enough to leave the Sludgelands and the marker to split might was ability to escape the Sludge. The prospect of being able to do that came to the forefront of his thoughts. After sitting rigidly still Erwyn would rise some moments later. His suckers popped off the ground once again, his tentacled legs raising him a few inches off the ground while he paced. Coming to a decision he rose his right hand. The thin fingers punctuated in sharp claws brought tattered fabric down to his elbow. Extending his palm to be level with the Aspirants eyes, it emitted a spattering of smoke like a fire losing a battle to water. A strong, earthy stench filled the room. The smoke eventually took the form of a rat and badger hybrid. It scampered off to the kitchen, and Erwyn stopped coursing magic through his hand.It chittered as it scurried away, and the Aspirant was unsure of what to think about the casual use of magic. Was this more showmanship? A display of Erwyn's abilities? He had servants in the home he could have called for the same effect with less effort.
Erwyn was a lower ordered being of darkness. It came with stipulations- the one that Erwyn chafed over most was the inability to travel. Ve was aware of the restraint and he despised it. Whole other planes to have countless options offered. So many lives available to vim in a market he could likely corner hastily. Few had the mixed magical aptitudes of shades and access to the network of knowledge they carefully maintained. If there was a way to get the Aspirant to permit ve entry it was an nonrefusable offer. It would immediately ascend Erwyn to the upper crust of his social scene and come with an amount of wealth and potential offerings that threatened to make his head spin in circles.
Ves thought was broken whenthe animal scurried back. Erwyn gestured his hands toward the Aspirant in a rising motion and offered tea. The smell was appealing to the Aspirant reminding them of their favorite fruits. Memories from the time among the living came and went. Some clung to those for comfort. Others clung to them for a sense of despair at what they lost. It was the Aspirant who thought of them for what they could gain. Tea was a luxury good that most shades couldn't even reliably get. Tea leaves served the role gold did for most other planes that the dead inhabit.
“It's no trick. I promise. I'm composing terms for a deal, and will be busy a while thinking the particulars out. In the mean time, I'm going to ask you a series of leading questions. Think of it as a way to pay for my tea." The Aspirant help the urge to gulp at the suggestion. They felt like the were about to be in for a quick job made long.