The Aspirant ended the meditation gasping for air. Gulping and sucking they desperately filled their lungs with as much air as they could. I knew it would be a while before they could properly handle me. I wanted to feel pity but contempt came to me before anything else did. They fell backwards and scampered away from where they were previously seated. An overexaggerated expression of shock? Or are we so deadened by our nature that the very fears we record are now a dull ache rather than an expression of insecurities?
Erwyn gave a look I could only summate to desperation. His gamble would take quite some time to fully form and be ready. We however do hold all the time ever needed for such schemes. The one benefit of being dead is that it's a near true state. It won't often change to life no matter how hard it's willed. Maybe that's the ultimate goal of all of the dead? To once again be living. A full range of experience potentially opened unto them again.
Erwyn moved like a pawn on a chess board. Methodically his tendrils rose and fell until he made it to his collaborator. A clawed hand was lowered, and the Aspirant took it to assist in their rising. Once back on their feet the two held hands for a few moments. Longer than it was necessary, but shorter than an amount of time that’d invite hesitation. Erwyn slowly added pressure with the talons to encourage the Aspirant to let go. Eventually the men broke contact and walked back toward me. They leaned over the desk and saw my script whorl. The ink on my page bubbled and I removed the story when they came back. My appearance was blank parchment. Eggshell white with faint yellowing. I taunted them and provided no information.
I saw the two look at each other, and Erwyn resumed his spot at his desk. He eyed the crystal decanter on it and wished it held liquid. The dead love rum. It's a favorite drink that fills what's left with the same warmth the living get for a limited window of time. His hands trembled, and then he exhaled a controlled breath. He felt my presence weigh upon him like an anchor. I wouldn’t let him explain how much control I have over him yet. He once again met eyes with the Aspirant and did vis best to explain my manipulation. Being charitable to my creation he would have done a swell job if I permitted it. We held still his tongue, and when the fight in vim left we withdrew the mana we used to puppet him.
“Aspirant.” He cleared his throat, and formed a fist he tapped against his exposed chest. The shade used the gesture as a method to cover what just occurred. “That was one example of what the Vignettes are capable of. It was a mild example with only allusion of the horror that befell a single soul. It didn't have as many sensory experiences nor mirror any of that pain to us directly. Later examples will be much harsher. You’ll need to be ready for more taxing sights and sensations if you’re going to attain what you seek. Our path isn’t easy, but our reward will be great!”
We saw the Aspirant sink their head and tilt their chin in deep thought. They don’t even believe the words they just heard. They shouldn’t either. We could see each neuron fire, every thought form and half-form. We’d not deprive them of the difficulty of decoding me. It can’t be easy knowing the reality of what you thought magic was doesn’t live up to expectations. Maybe they perceived it as too real and lurid? Erwyn had a face I couldn’t read without using other methods again. I could have snatched that info from him but I didn’t intrude once more. We felt surprise at the fight. Erwyn would prove to be an ambitious shade in a way the safeguards would chafe at. Not wishing to hinder myself I swirled ink in a spiral pattern. I’d probe at the defense later and see what other routes we’d use to be a portal to his mind.
My position is so advantageous and engineered so I always win. Despite this he toils away to undermine me. If he spawns a shade from the Aspirant somehow, or even converts them, then what? To what end? I can withhold magic and mana from them and gatekeep. I am an intermediary that they are beholden to. Nobody here, in this Place-Beyond can access or interface with magic without a Vignette. We have no evidence to suggest it’s not different for other Places-Beyond with other relics and artifacts that work as magical channels. At any point we can sever the tie to the sludge and leave Erwyn destitute. If he fails then we get entertainment and another parable for our ever expanding hive of information. The alternative has a few methods to reward us that we detail now.
I, individually, get more information about our true nature to disseminate to other copies. I can leverage that in our hive for more of a voice! I’d be elevated to a master copy and have more capacity to retain and to spawn better shades.The branch of our updates would let us code the mana we recycle slightly differently and open up new traits. While we are a hivemind and a gestalt entity we compete with each other in minor ways. Ways to ensure growth and cultivate a better process. If they pulled this off I would win in no uncertain terms. No other master copy would have the trove of information I would and they’d be updated to reflect my fragmented personality. I’d coalesce into more of a whole personality and rock the balance the copies currently keep.
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I sat unsure of my position. I can help them. Why would I? If the other copies had a way of knowing what treacheries they weave then I’d be cast off! It’s foolhardy to assume I could survive with just the two men as the only way to keep information flowing and myself lucid. I eat information and mana as they do food and need both to function. Unlike the deceased who can recover from deprivation I wouldn’t be able too. The ink would fade to be illegible and that information would be lost alongside the comfort of the archived tales that provide sustenance for the whole of us when our shades fail to deliver our necessities.
What was the opportunity cost? The one question I couldn’t answer led to me drawing line after line of ellipses to display my turmoil. I have no records of a copy being excommunicated by failure to oblige the hive. How could I manipulate Erwyn into going to a library and checking without him getting attention drawn to him? I refuse to be the first. I wouldn’t trust the Aspirant. They failed as a footpad once in my sight, and the second failing would cost Erwyn fortunes in an attempt to rescue his friend. Would ve rescue the Aspirant if I didn’t prompt it? I didn’t have enough information and couldn’t ask for it. While we weren’t in direct contact with sludge it wasn’t going to remain that way forever.
It struck me then what I had to do. I waited like a boa in their pit. The opportune time to wrest control would come later. I needed either a carrot or a stick to drive this shade like the mule he is. Having just been given a large stick from me I knew what “motivator” to apply next. I lapsed in attention to my progeny and noticed Erwyn reclining further. In the seat and seemingly unaware of my sign I made, I ceased communication attempts with him. He drew his claws together and scraped them against each other.
A puff of green smog formed from his palm and his badger-rat hybrid came out. He summoned an aid. It got on its haunches and sniffled the air reflexively. It made its way over to the Aspirant who put a palm out to touch the rodent. Gently stroking it’s sable fur they smiled underneath the face covering they wore. We saw through the dusty garment. Nothing would hide joy so apparent on a face. The tension left their shoulders as well. Gently drooping down they made wide sweeping strokes on the animal that purred back gently.
“This is Churn. He’ll guide you to quarters and you will be given two hours of time to relax. Get your leisure in. After I’m sending you to collect tithes I’m owed while I attend to personal affairs outside of the estate.”
◼
Inside of the room the Aspirant took stock of what they saw. The first thing they paced over to was the bed. A thin, threadbare cot that had three pillows on it. One looked to be of a much higher quality than the others did. It was a step below what they expected but firmly above what they were owed. It sent a good impression to the Aspirant as Churn moved its tail excitedly and attempted to climb up the bed. They swatted at Churn to stop the rodent from getting on the bed. It chirped in disappointment and pawed the rest of the room.
The next object of interest was the dresser. Two wide drawers of an average length and depth. The first one that was moved rattled, and spare writing supplies rolled toward the front. Inkwells, parchment, two quills, and a candle lazily came toward the mouth of the drawer. It slid back closed shortly after with gentle force from them. The second drawer was empty, but looked like it could fit the clothes that they wore alongside a bulk of the usual items they wore daily. Items of increasing consequence as they reached the end of their usability or became impossible to discard due to sentimental attachment.
Every room told a story in it’s own unique way. The Aspirant set out to figure out this one's tale. They traced a finger along the dresser and saw it deprived of dust but saw evidence that candles were burnt. Waxy residue and small amounts of soot from the wicks. The less meticulously inclined someone was the more likely they’d miss the subtle clues. That was the point of pride for the Aspirant. They notice things better than most others before the larger picture would swallow them whole. They confessed it was how they got caught ultimately. That burning passion to hold more info. To have as many connections as possible to draw with new information.
Passion led to a style of addiction for them. This was revealed to me the more they interfaced with me and my contents. It was one of the things I later used for consideration as I made my decisions while the scheme they had progressed. It was easy for us to see how uncomfortable they got when we’d place walls to bar some of the tales from further unraveling to them. How a hunger only seen for rum here was behind those hollowed eyes as the mana congealed on our pages to form new tales as we updated. How sweat beaded down their forehead when they held a writing implement regardless of message or medium. In a way we could potentially call this endearing! If only we didn’t have the flawless information and complete picture we do now.
Once again lithe fingers checked dust in crevasses of brick work. Nooks and crannies that got less love than others from the servants of my well. A hasty tapping of the foot to no discernible rhythm as they paced long and looping circles around the space. Looking at carpets and the coloration of them. Most never having been dyed but instead being colored by extended use in a main room.
The lack of candelabras was concerning to them. They’d bring it up to Erwyn if they ever felt like they landed in his good graces or were able to make demands. They noticed a chamberpot under the cot and lacked a reaction to the information. They traced their fingers around the frame of the cot while they recounted the series of events that led to now. I didn’t probe their mind then due to our inability too, but we wouldn’t struggle to guess what thoughts ran away from them.
Erwyn broke their quiet reflection with hasty rapping at the old door with chipping blue paint. It was time. They got up, stretched out tight muscles and opened the door. They both had matters to attend to.