Cry unto the void. Receive an answer.
Clack clack clack- Nimolin's shoes echo in the empty, polished, hallway. No one else is around.
Her mother prefers the servants make themselves scarce while she is in the main areas and not cloistered up in her personal quarters.
Her brother isn't around either, she hasn't seen him, hasn't been permitted to see him. How is he? Has he been washing behind his ears? Has he been practicing his letters? Has he been eating well? Nimolin ignores the thing that appears in the back of her head to squeeze a tail around her heart and whisper "Ohhh darling has he been fed?" She hates that voice with all her heart, it drags out her fears in the mocking croons of her mother's voice and her father's dulled sarcasm.
She shakes it off, her mother prefers her brother Tarlyn over her. To Aunatril she holds value as a fine horse would, sell her off to gain some prestige to the paltry family name, and sweep the evidence of her father's mixed heritage under the runner. Altogether, she needn't be too worried over Tarlyn's basic needs as he is being set as the heir.
Regardless of course, that Nimolin is the eldest and should by all right and tradition permitted to prove herself capable of ownership over the company.
Beyond age, gender, and history someone that knows how to dress, how to talk, and doesn't look like a brisk wind could topple them, will have a distinct negotiation advantage. Which is exactly what her mother is going for. Thankfully she hasn't rubbed off on her brother too much, Aunatril has little patience and no motivation to care for an infant or toddler.
This left the actual child rearing to the household staff. What is left of the staff, that being a cook, two maids that are also cooks, the gardener and her family, and Allistaer the butler. Combined with the practical lessons on everything from mending cloths to grafting apple trees Allistaer has been able to fill in a few of the cracks that were left.
The only marks against Nimolin educationally at this point was her lack of experience with high society and knowledge of current events.
The rhythmic punctuation oh Nimolin's shoes slows as she passes a pair of tall doors decorated with delicate, but conserved strokes of blue, red, and yellow paint .
The abstract lines together with the bright pigmentation gave the impression of delicate foliage, like what you would see in a picture book. Her hand reaches out to caress the brass handle, she knew the door would be locked if she tried it. With a twist of her wrist she proved herself correct, hand falling to her side. Inside is the old playroom, her playroom. It hadn't been in use since her great aunt passed away and how Nimolin missed that dignified, elderly woman with a will of steel. Rhylisa Opalarbor was the family matriarch up until her death when Nimolin was only 19. Sometimes Nimolin feels as if she was as closed up and frozen in time as the room, outer walls cleaned and maintained while the inner room gathers dust slowly going stale.
"Perhaps things would have been different were she still alive, I remember she visited often. I wonder what became of her old house, sold off most likely..."
The still atmosphere is killed by the percussive steps of someone storming down the hall, her mother. Aunatril currently has her voiced raised at someone in a tone shrill and derisive enough that actual yelling would be preferable. "I do not not care how much it cost! You saw what that Rowanchanter was wearing. I will not be outclassed by a dark haired boondock cow!" Her father's soft voice slips into the air with a flustered edge "I dont particularly understand your issue with her and you refuse to talk about it. Surely there has been a misunderstanding somewhere, she is from another system after all things are bound to be different. Certainly not drastic enough to use such an insult---" He trails off with a sigh rubbing his hands over the bridge of his nose. "Ahh I've another headache coming on. Dear would you just tell me what she said so I we can work all this out?"
The women sniffs, petulant. "Well I dont think it will do much for the deal lovely, best just to drop it and move on."
She begins to walk off again, he stops her with a brush on the shoulder.
"Now don't be like that, we are in a rough spot but things have looked up since I started to get things under control. Surely there is something to be done?"
"She has no place looking down on us, you've worked too hard. Rowanchanter just waltzes in literally dripping in her success." Nimolin recalls meeting Lady Rowanchanter, she is a middle-aged Nunnehi woman that came to the capital to discuss some sort of trade deal. Apparently, she practiced druidry and was a prominent figure in her community. Nimolin could understand why. Lady Rowanchanter when visiting for tea had been given a tour of the garden and came across Nimolin journaling on the swing by the pond. Her first words to Nimolin were "Good afternoon little deer", as in a fawn. She then immediately complemented Nimolin's freckles, blue eyes, and the and the bronzed undertone of her skin, all of which drive her mother ballistic with how "peasant" they look. Finally, she told her that she should visit Yryn and consider learning druidry herself because she has the 'touch' for it.
The entire exchange left Nimolin reeling as if she had been struck upside the head with a large wooden plank, if wooden planks were made of nice feelings.
She was under the distinct impression that Aunatril was just driven insane by the fact that a Nunnehi was more successful then she was.
Nimolin's train of thought was cut off as her mother again spoke. "Perhaps I'll just stay in my rooms then, I can't stand to be shown up so brazenly in my house!" Aunatril let out a short sniff no doubt full of crocodile tears.
Her father is swayed easily, a man just as infatuated with his bride as on the day of their marriage. As dedicated to pulling the family out of his late brothers crippling debt as he is, mother has an easy time gently pushing him whatever ways she wishes. Guilt is probably her fathers shadow as much as it is absent from her mothers lexicon aside from under "Forms of emotional manipulation".
Nimolin cannot decide if she is frustrated at her fathers naivety or glad her mother is too stupid to pull of anything resembling actual subterfuge. Much to her surprise her father doesn't immediately cave, but tries to again address the issue. "I understand you've been hurt but I cant help if you wont tell me what happened." He takes in a breath. "Lady Rowanchanter wont be here for too much longer and surely any attempt to end the conflict will reflect better on the family then letting ourselves get walked over." As he finished they both came around the corner revealing exactly the kind of expressions she expected from the two of them. Her father flustered and obviously baffled by the situation he found himself in but convicted, perhaps he isn't as much of a buffoon as she thought. Contrastingly her mother was --- tense, as if she were a pot of water on the brink of boiling. With a rapid shift her mother bubbles over. The women's lips screwed up in a pursed scowl with eyebrows drawn together and raised authoritatively. Once again, Aunatril's voice cracks the air like a whiplash, "The fact that the druid Lady will be returning to the hole she slithered out of is IRRELEVANT! We must live in the present, seize every opportunity to hoist this family up out of inane spice shipments and paltry trade deals to make something of it!" Just as it seems that she will continue with her tirade straight past Nimolin without a glance she turns briskly on her heel to face her. "And you! what are you doin loitering about? Don't you have lessons to be working on? Go, GO ON! get out from underfoot, and dont bother coming down for dinner I will have something sent up."
With that Nimolin fled.
Dinner had not been sent up, mother was probably to busy one upping someone who wouldn't pay her posturing any mind and her father was bent over his desk falling asleep on his paperwork. Somebody, Nimolin did not know who, had taken to leaving wrapped biscuits stashed around her room. She nibbled on one lethargically.
Since nobody was around to stop her, she went outside as it got dark.
The night is cool, and ever so slightly damp. Nimolin's favorite weather, when the moisture hangs as mist over the garden, wrapping her in a chilled and muffling embrace under a starry sky. This does nothing to lift her mood; The mist cannot, will not carry her and her brother away to security, or bar that freedom. Tilting her head upwards, golden locks glittering with dew in the moonlight she calls out, voice soft but threaded with cold steel, "Would not a single soul take pity upon me? Though I learn with fervor and respect the powr's greatly? Do you all doubt my willingness? My intentions? Do I speak to a dead universe and a desolate sky! Is it not enough that I have labored for this, is it because I have scrounged every mortal aid I could? Why, why have I been abandoned."
Unexpectedly she received and answer from a voice coarse and watchful as a crow, and sly and slithering as a snake in the grass. "Oh? Strength and opportunity you have been denied so you seek the powers of the mind and soul? You hunger for this. Yes, yes! I have something you want, and you have much to give. Come here and we'll make a trade. I will give you power, and you will give me knowledge."
"Knowledge of what sort?"
"Anything, everything, all that you see, pass it on to me! Your laughter, your tears, your aching, the miseries, the joys, all the glory and wretchedness in existence is what I desire! Give me this ,eternally and I will make sure your flimsy little shell wont hold you back."
"I would fetch and carry experiences Forevermore to you then?"
"Of course forevermore! What use do I have for a creature gone so swiftly as a mortal? Even such as yourself that can live to see centuries pass are alike to insects, withering betwixt my blinks. Why would I give to something I cannot keep? Should one reach out and change something that isn't theirs? No! Take my patronage and come to my service fully, then, while you still live a mortal life. Use the strengths I bestow upon you to reach for what you please." "Shall I exchange one chain for another then? Bind myself to some unseen pow'r rather than a mortal I can perceive? Will I trade a noose I may slip for shackles that will last into perpetuity?" "Impudent child, Do you not send yourself off to places unknown? Is your loyalty not already owed indefinitely? What difference would it be if I ask you to give it to me instead? Are your gods and kings any more seen then I? If that is the issue then allow me to reveal myself!" It was as if the air split open, ragged edges curling and shriveling up like skin on a roast hen. It was a gaping toothless maw, looming close to swallow Nimolin whole. She remained stationary, whilst reality slid elsewhere-- or did elsewhere slide past reality? It was nothingness and everything was lined in swirling, glittering prickles of light that burnt all the way through her, in through her eyes into her brain before spiking down to coil lazily in her chest. Her ribs were full of liquid iron, her head spun wildly with her stomach but it hardly mattered for everything was spinning as well.
The lights suddenly scattered like minnows, and out of nowhere came a long, inky raven's beak growing out of a barn owl's face. It was longer than she was tall, with a serpentine neck intermittently sprinkled in long, glowing tendrils jutting from the stately ruffs of dusky feathers. Were they red? black? purple? Nimolin could hardly tell with the knives scraping at the backs of her eyes, and the ever-increasing weight of knotted molten space around her heart. Nimolin realized she was still kneeling somehow despite there no longer being ground, and just like that the shining pinheads started to crawl up her thighs. She was distinctly reminded of mercury rising in a thermometer-- or wait, was she sinking? " Tsssk tssk tsk. " Claws rose up from the fluid lights, dark and shining. Digits hard and wrinkled like a leather glove had stretched and dried over a fleshless hand coming up beneath her, so that she was cradled in a downy palm. Suddenly she was resting on solid matter once more and with that came the realization that she was now utterly exhausted. With that she limply collapsed onto her back, satin feathers brushing her face with every labored breath, claws curling up to prevent her from slipping off into the cosmic infinity. Numerous eyes blinking in sync the looming Raven-Owl-Snake being bobs his head several times, the feathers under his jaw dangling like the universes most dramatic jowls.
"What? Cat have your tongue? You must have the most horrible headache at the moment, I suppose you have had enough then."
Despite this, Nimolin was only brought up closer to one of his massive eyes.
"So, so, tiny."
It was a murmur. She imagined it was as close to a whisper as someone so huge could produce.
She could feel him watching her, every glittering, liquid orb sending pins and needles like lightning down her spine.
"Well?" he said, "do you underestimate my abilities still? I can certainly take this farther".
Nimolin had to stretch for an answer the fizzing in her sinuses, as well as everything else going on, was making it hard to think.
"No, I think--- you have made you point."
She was staring into one of his larger eyes and simply couldn't stop, it burnt--- like she had snuck a taste of her father's bourbon and drank it straight into her soul through smoldering eye sockets. Ephemeral concepts wafted through her mind's corridors like smoke in an infinite network of chimney pipes, spinning round and round and round and round and r---! Nimolin is abruptly brought back to--- not reality but the closest thing she has to it by the being jostling her around in his talons. He tsked at her again, even with her still phasing in and out of sanity that was getting old.
"Don't float off quite yet. I am recruiting not---- looking for houseplants." He lets out a massive huff of breath, it comes out cold and prickling with twinkling cosmic dust. As it rolls over her a confusing mass of scent leaves her drifting again, iron, parchment, starlight, feathers, ash, thoughts,happyness,cold,boredomwantcoldhungerlonesomenessmuskcoldsingingcold---cold---cold, cold.
Nimolin shoots upright, there is a single pinprick of matter inside her, compressed over and over and held unwaveringly fast, until--- she becomes a black hole. She is no longer able to sink into a haze, instead caught in a shear point of focus, in absolute awareness of how the information being forced through her would pulverize her if there wasn't a oppressive vice of will keeping her from unraveling.
"Now, I cant help you if you do not give me an answer Nimolin". The being's head cocks like a birds, "that is what you are called is it not?"
He has already received his answer Nimolin now knows, he is just waiting for history to take its course.
"I accept your offer, and yes, my name is Nimolin".
The being's face gave off the impression of a smile, "Well then, I suppose you should have something to call me as well." He leans sideways feathers ruffling with the mad sound of paper and crashing glass to raise wings. Wings made from the dust of dead stars before they have even graced the sky's endless expanse with their feeble infant rays, glittering in a captivating swish of light.
At this point Nimolin realizes he, and by extension she, are tipping smoothly down towards this place's hungry current. She attempts on pure instinct to scramble up the side of the being's claws but he shifts to grasp ahold of her firmly.
"Remain still".
And, they having apparently having reached the tipping point of a dive, plunge under. It feels sticky on her skin, smooth, and burns so freezing hot she opens her mouth to scream but immediately gags at the taste of reality on her tongue.
He bones heat up, crystalizing, her skin itches as if fishhooks are forcing their way out of her flesh and even with her eyes shut she can see a dizzying dance of light and dark surrounding her. Not for a moment does the grip falter and as her vision finally starts to spot,---
"Nimolin,----"
tunnels,----
"I am called----"
flickers in and out----
A screech of static, wailing, crows calling, a snakes hiss, the hoot of an owl,glassbreaking,fire,clackingteethsnowfallhidescrapedintoparchmetemptydroneofnothing----
and then blessed darkness.
Allistaer Ivorytounge is the butler of this particular Opalarbor estate, he has not maintaned his position by opening his mouth, nor has he maintained he good relationship with the rest of the staff by turning a blind eye.
He has has his fair share of experiences painfully dragging Lord Opalarbor's attention from work to a houshold issue or delicately deflating Lady Opalarbor's ill temper. It was well known among staff circles that the current Opalarbor family heads are well disliked, the Lord for his focus driven to blindness, the Lady for, anything you could stick to someone without actually involving authorities. It was with equal relief and disgust that the children were not around their mother enough to pick up her terrible attitudes.
This has presented a unique problem today as the young Miss Nimolin has gone missing with her parents unavailable. It had been all day and usually Allistaer would not be near as concerned, Miss Nimolin being in the habit of going out in town wearing plain clothing. However, she had not been seen today at all, even failing to feed the local birds. That was a disturbing occurrence to be informed of in of itself as she never failed to go by the gardeners cottage for seed bar extreme illness. Since Miss Nimolin was not in her room sick, not in the house, and even nowhere to be found in the market, the staff including himself were becoming increasingly worried.
Nevertheless, he mustn't panic, things must go on and Miss Nimolin must be found. Allistaer could not leave the ground himself so he was on about his 269th walkthrough of the grounds and house. He goes outside despite knowing she'd have been home or sent word back already if she could. This was fast approching the time to call the city gaurd and have them help expand the search, perhaps for once it would even knock some awareness into the Lord and some humility into the Lady. Fancy that.
As Allistaer steps onto the stone paved path in the garden he resolves to call the guard after this round but as he goes around the corner her hears a droning hum intermittently drowned out by brief whistles, crackles of static and low wailing croons. He try's to locate the noise, abruptly turning to follow it down a side path towards the lake.
"It's probably my ears ringing again, but. This, this is the path where she usually sits isn't it?"
His pace quickens and the drone grows louder and louder, whistles coming like a steam engine, static like a roaring wave, and the crooning made a twisting in his gut like something long past it's due.
A smell hit him next, or rather a lack of it at first. All the flowers, the pungent cypress and cedar, even the constant underlying smell of the city disappeared without a trace. And from their grave lackadaisically waft the scent of empty holes, not like dirt or gravel, but the unadulterated scent of something so barren that it is completely disassociated from matter.
There is a bit of a legend among among starfaring sailors, people who spend more time sailing between stars then under a sheltering sky. It speaks of the void, not the old man death, no the void itself, the things in it. Sometimes it is spoken as one, sometimes as many, but its what makes the sound in space. And that, is what is heard in this moment, the horrid keen of nothingness.
Allistaer becoming fed up with the meandering path, broke strait through the immaculate hedging. Even as branches and foliage came breaking off no scent could be discerned, not even when the bristling holly drew blood that stained the white of his cuffs.
After that he found himself on the artificially grassy bank of the lake, Miss Nimolin's favored bench was just down the way hidden behind some flowering buckwheat. The sound emanated from the sheltered nook. He quickly approached on light feet, he may be past his prime but he can put up a decent fight on any intruder.
Allistear ignores the creeping feeling of his own insignificance.
Just a few feet away the is a sudden fffwwaaaariiiiIIIIIIIIIIIISHHTCT CRACK like a thousand old sheets were being ripped into rags, but they were glass and the maids were using two man saws, who then fired a cannon each.
The first thing Allistear realized that he had brought his hands up to his face so he brought them down again. He looked up to see Miss Nimolin laying flat on her back surrounded by the buckwheat that had suddenly became a thorny groundcover plant. He did not pay it any mind as he sloughed through it to check on her.
Her eyes were shut, skin pallid and clammy. "Miss, Miss? Nimolin are you alright?"
Nimolin's face twists with discomfort and she curls into herself shivering, even while unconscious.
Alistaer reached down placing his hand on her shoulder. She was feverish despite the absence of flush on her cheeks.
"Nimolin, wake up. What has happened?" No answer. He mutters under his breath, roughly caressing a bit of wire wrenched around his pinky.
"Whispered on the wind, carry words to where I send, swiftly go onward."
He points a finger towards the house sending a telepathic message to the group investigating for signs of a break in.
"Quickly! Down by the lakeside bench, I've found her. She is alive but sickly."
"Come on, please, please awaken. Stay with us, you are strong Nimolin, you can do this. We are all waiting, that cat is having kittens remember? you cant miss that!" He continues to ramble to her as she sprawls unresponsive. "Your brother is worried sick come on, we can go back to the house and you can tell me how you managed to turn a grass into a thorny vine over some tea. Nimolin!"
By now everyone else is running up, someone is yelling about a healer, another about hot rags. A few reach down to pick her up and he comes back into him self in time to stop them.
"No! dont move her, the bench is completely destroyed. If she fell and broke something we cant see, moving can sometimes make it worse."
The elderly cook, Auntie Kethoro pipes, organ pipes that is, up. "That doesn't mean we cant get some blankets on her is that right?
"Ah no. actually we should get on that right away."
everyone starts shedding their coats and a couple sprint back to the house. Nimolin is starting to gain more color finally, her breathing is steady, not that he actually remembers it being feeble.
Auntie starts talking with him "It will be alright dear, dont worry we've all got you now." The women sets a trembling and wrinkled hand on Nimolin's temple and continues.
"It will be fine. it will be fine. it will be fine." over and over.
Maybe she was already waking up, or perhaps the elderly woman's hand had beckoned the girl back to consciousness. But her face twitched, followed by a hard, wet cough that shook her slight frame.
They both froze, Auntie tried to say something but could only let out a cracked wheeze so Alistear took over.
"Nimolin?"
She takes in a deep breath, and lets it out with a haunting white noise.
Fissszzzzlwhuuusssh..... Nimolin's eyes flutter open, glittering purple to reflect a dusk touched sky.
Her mother prefers the servants make themselves scarce while she is in the main areas and not cloistered up in her personal quarters.
Her brother isn't around either, she hasn't seen him, hasn't been permitted to see him. How is he? Has he been washing behind his ears? Has he been practicing his letters? Has he been eating well? Nimolin ignores the thing that appears in the back of her head to squeeze a tail around her heart and whisper "Ohhh darling has he been fed?" She hates that voice with all her heart, it drags out her fears in the mocking croons of her mother's voice and her father's dulled sarcasm.
She shakes it off, her mother prefers her brother Tarlyn over her. To Aunatril she holds value as a fine horse would, sell her off to gain some prestige to the paltry family name, and sweep the evidence of her father's mixed heritage under the runner. Altogether, she needn't be too worried over Tarlyn's basic needs as he is being set as the heir.
Regardless of course, that Nimolin is the eldest and should by all right and tradition permitted to prove herself capable of ownership over the company.
Beyond age, gender, and history someone that knows how to dress, how to talk, and doesn't look like a brisk wind could topple them, will have a distinct negotiation advantage. Which is exactly what her mother is going for. Thankfully she hasn't rubbed off on her brother too much, Aunatril has little patience and no motivation to care for an infant or toddler.
This left the actual child rearing to the household staff. What is left of the staff, that being a cook, two maids that are also cooks, the gardener and her family, and Allistaer the butler. Combined with the practical lessons on everything from mending cloths to grafting apple trees Allistaer has been able to fill in a few of the cracks that were left.
The only marks against Nimolin educationally at this point was her lack of experience with high society and knowledge of current events.
The rhythmic punctuation oh Nimolin's shoes slows as she passes a pair of tall doors decorated with delicate, but conserved strokes of blue, red, and yellow paint .
The abstract lines together with the bright pigmentation gave the impression of delicate foliage, like what you would see in a picture book. Her hand reaches out to caress the brass handle, she knew the door would be locked if she tried it. With a twist of her wrist she proved herself correct, hand falling to her side. Inside is the old playroom, her playroom. It hadn't been in use since her great aunt passed away and how Nimolin missed that dignified, elderly woman with a will of steel. Rhylisa Opalarbor was the family matriarch up until her death when Nimolin was only 19. Sometimes Nimolin feels as if she was as closed up and frozen in time as the room, outer walls cleaned and maintained while the inner room gathers dust slowly going stale.
"Perhaps things would have been different were she still alive, I remember she visited often. I wonder what became of her old house, sold off most likely..."
The still atmosphere is killed by the percussive steps of someone storming down the hall, her mother. Aunatril currently has her voiced raised at someone in a tone shrill and derisive enough that actual yelling would be preferable. "I do not not care how much it cost! You saw what that Rowanchanter was wearing. I will not be outclassed by a dark haired boondock cow!" Her father's soft voice slips into the air with a flustered edge "I dont particularly understand your issue with her and you refuse to talk about it. Surely there has been a misunderstanding somewhere, she is from another system after all things are bound to be different. Certainly not drastic enough to use such an insult---" He trails off with a sigh rubbing his hands over the bridge of his nose. "Ahh I've another headache coming on. Dear would you just tell me what she said so I we can work all this out?"
The women sniffs, petulant. "Well I dont think it will do much for the deal lovely, best just to drop it and move on."
She begins to walk off again, he stops her with a brush on the shoulder.
"Now don't be like that, we are in a rough spot but things have looked up since I started to get things under control. Surely there is something to be done?"
"She has no place looking down on us, you've worked too hard. Rowanchanter just waltzes in literally dripping in her success." Nimolin recalls meeting Lady Rowanchanter, she is a middle-aged Nunnehi woman that came to the capital to discuss some sort of trade deal. Apparently, she practiced druidry and was a prominent figure in her community. Nimolin could understand why. Lady Rowanchanter when visiting for tea had been given a tour of the garden and came across Nimolin journaling on the swing by the pond. Her first words to Nimolin were "Good afternoon little deer", as in a fawn. She then immediately complemented Nimolin's freckles, blue eyes, and the and the bronzed undertone of her skin, all of which drive her mother ballistic with how "peasant" they look. Finally, she told her that she should visit Yryn and consider learning druidry herself because she has the 'touch' for it.
The entire exchange left Nimolin reeling as if she had been struck upside the head with a large wooden plank, if wooden planks were made of nice feelings.
She was under the distinct impression that Aunatril was just driven insane by the fact that a Nunnehi was more successful then she was.
Nimolin's train of thought was cut off as her mother again spoke. "Perhaps I'll just stay in my rooms then, I can't stand to be shown up so brazenly in my house!" Aunatril let out a short sniff no doubt full of crocodile tears.
Her father is swayed easily, a man just as infatuated with his bride as on the day of their marriage. As dedicated to pulling the family out of his late brothers crippling debt as he is, mother has an easy time gently pushing him whatever ways she wishes. Guilt is probably her fathers shadow as much as it is absent from her mothers lexicon aside from under "Forms of emotional manipulation".
Nimolin cannot decide if she is frustrated at her fathers naivety or glad her mother is too stupid to pull of anything resembling actual subterfuge. Much to her surprise her father doesn't immediately cave, but tries to again address the issue. "I understand you've been hurt but I cant help if you wont tell me what happened." He takes in a breath. "Lady Rowanchanter wont be here for too much longer and surely any attempt to end the conflict will reflect better on the family then letting ourselves get walked over." As he finished they both came around the corner revealing exactly the kind of expressions she expected from the two of them. Her father flustered and obviously baffled by the situation he found himself in but convicted, perhaps he isn't as much of a buffoon as she thought. Contrastingly her mother was --- tense, as if she were a pot of water on the brink of boiling. With a rapid shift her mother bubbles over. The women's lips screwed up in a pursed scowl with eyebrows drawn together and raised authoritatively. Once again, Aunatril's voice cracks the air like a whiplash, "The fact that the druid Lady will be returning to the hole she slithered out of is IRRELEVANT! We must live in the present, seize every opportunity to hoist this family up out of inane spice shipments and paltry trade deals to make something of it!" Just as it seems that she will continue with her tirade straight past Nimolin without a glance she turns briskly on her heel to face her. "And you! what are you doin loitering about? Don't you have lessons to be working on? Go, GO ON! get out from underfoot, and dont bother coming down for dinner I will have something sent up."
With that Nimolin fled.
Dinner had not been sent up, mother was probably to busy one upping someone who wouldn't pay her posturing any mind and her father was bent over his desk falling asleep on his paperwork. Somebody, Nimolin did not know who, had taken to leaving wrapped biscuits stashed around her room. She nibbled on one lethargically.
Since nobody was around to stop her, she went outside as it got dark.
The night is cool, and ever so slightly damp. Nimolin's favorite weather, when the moisture hangs as mist over the garden, wrapping her in a chilled and muffling embrace under a starry sky. This does nothing to lift her mood; The mist cannot, will not carry her and her brother away to security, or bar that freedom. Tilting her head upwards, golden locks glittering with dew in the moonlight she calls out, voice soft but threaded with cold steel, "Would not a single soul take pity upon me? Though I learn with fervor and respect the powr's greatly? Do you all doubt my willingness? My intentions? Do I speak to a dead universe and a desolate sky! Is it not enough that I have labored for this, is it because I have scrounged every mortal aid I could? Why, why have I been abandoned."
Unexpectedly she received and answer from a voice coarse and watchful as a crow, and sly and slithering as a snake in the grass. "Oh? Strength and opportunity you have been denied so you seek the powers of the mind and soul? You hunger for this. Yes, yes! I have something you want, and you have much to give. Come here and we'll make a trade. I will give you power, and you will give me knowledge."
"Knowledge of what sort?"
"Anything, everything, all that you see, pass it on to me! Your laughter, your tears, your aching, the miseries, the joys, all the glory and wretchedness in existence is what I desire! Give me this ,eternally and I will make sure your flimsy little shell wont hold you back."
"I would fetch and carry experiences Forevermore to you then?"
"Of course forevermore! What use do I have for a creature gone so swiftly as a mortal? Even such as yourself that can live to see centuries pass are alike to insects, withering betwixt my blinks. Why would I give to something I cannot keep? Should one reach out and change something that isn't theirs? No! Take my patronage and come to my service fully, then, while you still live a mortal life. Use the strengths I bestow upon you to reach for what you please." "Shall I exchange one chain for another then? Bind myself to some unseen pow'r rather than a mortal I can perceive? Will I trade a noose I may slip for shackles that will last into perpetuity?" "Impudent child, Do you not send yourself off to places unknown? Is your loyalty not already owed indefinitely? What difference would it be if I ask you to give it to me instead? Are your gods and kings any more seen then I? If that is the issue then allow me to reveal myself!" It was as if the air split open, ragged edges curling and shriveling up like skin on a roast hen. It was a gaping toothless maw, looming close to swallow Nimolin whole. She remained stationary, whilst reality slid elsewhere-- or did elsewhere slide past reality? It was nothingness and everything was lined in swirling, glittering prickles of light that burnt all the way through her, in through her eyes into her brain before spiking down to coil lazily in her chest. Her ribs were full of liquid iron, her head spun wildly with her stomach but it hardly mattered for everything was spinning as well.
The lights suddenly scattered like minnows, and out of nowhere came a long, inky raven's beak growing out of a barn owl's face. It was longer than she was tall, with a serpentine neck intermittently sprinkled in long, glowing tendrils jutting from the stately ruffs of dusky feathers. Were they red? black? purple? Nimolin could hardly tell with the knives scraping at the backs of her eyes, and the ever-increasing weight of knotted molten space around her heart. Nimolin realized she was still kneeling somehow despite there no longer being ground, and just like that the shining pinheads started to crawl up her thighs. She was distinctly reminded of mercury rising in a thermometer-- or wait, was she sinking? " Tsssk tssk tsk. " Claws rose up from the fluid lights, dark and shining. Digits hard and wrinkled like a leather glove had stretched and dried over a fleshless hand coming up beneath her, so that she was cradled in a downy palm. Suddenly she was resting on solid matter once more and with that came the realization that she was now utterly exhausted. With that she limply collapsed onto her back, satin feathers brushing her face with every labored breath, claws curling up to prevent her from slipping off into the cosmic infinity. Numerous eyes blinking in sync the looming Raven-Owl-Snake being bobs his head several times, the feathers under his jaw dangling like the universes most dramatic jowls.
"What? Cat have your tongue? You must have the most horrible headache at the moment, I suppose you have had enough then."
Despite this, Nimolin was only brought up closer to one of his massive eyes.
"So, so, tiny."
It was a murmur. She imagined it was as close to a whisper as someone so huge could produce.
She could feel him watching her, every glittering, liquid orb sending pins and needles like lightning down her spine.
"Well?" he said, "do you underestimate my abilities still? I can certainly take this farther".
Nimolin had to stretch for an answer the fizzing in her sinuses, as well as everything else going on, was making it hard to think.
"No, I think--- you have made you point."
She was staring into one of his larger eyes and simply couldn't stop, it burnt--- like she had snuck a taste of her father's bourbon and drank it straight into her soul through smoldering eye sockets. Ephemeral concepts wafted through her mind's corridors like smoke in an infinite network of chimney pipes, spinning round and round and round and round and r---! Nimolin is abruptly brought back to--- not reality but the closest thing she has to it by the being jostling her around in his talons. He tsked at her again, even with her still phasing in and out of sanity that was getting old.
"Don't float off quite yet. I am recruiting not---- looking for houseplants." He lets out a massive huff of breath, it comes out cold and prickling with twinkling cosmic dust. As it rolls over her a confusing mass of scent leaves her drifting again, iron, parchment, starlight, feathers, ash, thoughts,happyness,cold,boredomwantcoldhungerlonesomenessmuskcoldsingingcold---cold---cold, cold.
Nimolin shoots upright, there is a single pinprick of matter inside her, compressed over and over and held unwaveringly fast, until--- she becomes a black hole. She is no longer able to sink into a haze, instead caught in a shear point of focus, in absolute awareness of how the information being forced through her would pulverize her if there wasn't a oppressive vice of will keeping her from unraveling.
"Now, I cant help you if you do not give me an answer Nimolin". The being's head cocks like a birds, "that is what you are called is it not?"
He has already received his answer Nimolin now knows, he is just waiting for history to take its course.
"I accept your offer, and yes, my name is Nimolin".
The being's face gave off the impression of a smile, "Well then, I suppose you should have something to call me as well." He leans sideways feathers ruffling with the mad sound of paper and crashing glass to raise wings. Wings made from the dust of dead stars before they have even graced the sky's endless expanse with their feeble infant rays, glittering in a captivating swish of light.
At this point Nimolin realizes he, and by extension she, are tipping smoothly down towards this place's hungry current. She attempts on pure instinct to scramble up the side of the being's claws but he shifts to grasp ahold of her firmly.
"Remain still".
And, they having apparently having reached the tipping point of a dive, plunge under. It feels sticky on her skin, smooth, and burns so freezing hot she opens her mouth to scream but immediately gags at the taste of reality on her tongue.
He bones heat up, crystalizing, her skin itches as if fishhooks are forcing their way out of her flesh and even with her eyes shut she can see a dizzying dance of light and dark surrounding her. Not for a moment does the grip falter and as her vision finally starts to spot,---
"Nimolin,----"
tunnels,----
"I am called----"
flickers in and out----
A screech of static, wailing, crows calling, a snakes hiss, the hoot of an owl,glassbreaking,fire,clackingteethsnowfallhidescrapedintoparchmetemptydroneofnothing----
and then blessed darkness.
Allistaer Ivorytounge is the butler of this particular Opalarbor estate, he has not maintaned his position by opening his mouth, nor has he maintained he good relationship with the rest of the staff by turning a blind eye.
He has has his fair share of experiences painfully dragging Lord Opalarbor's attention from work to a houshold issue or delicately deflating Lady Opalarbor's ill temper. It was well known among staff circles that the current Opalarbor family heads are well disliked, the Lord for his focus driven to blindness, the Lady for, anything you could stick to someone without actually involving authorities. It was with equal relief and disgust that the children were not around their mother enough to pick up her terrible attitudes.
This has presented a unique problem today as the young Miss Nimolin has gone missing with her parents unavailable. It had been all day and usually Allistaer would not be near as concerned, Miss Nimolin being in the habit of going out in town wearing plain clothing. However, she had not been seen today at all, even failing to feed the local birds. That was a disturbing occurrence to be informed of in of itself as she never failed to go by the gardeners cottage for seed bar extreme illness. Since Miss Nimolin was not in her room sick, not in the house, and even nowhere to be found in the market, the staff including himself were becoming increasingly worried.
Nevertheless, he mustn't panic, things must go on and Miss Nimolin must be found. Allistaer could not leave the ground himself so he was on about his 269th walkthrough of the grounds and house. He goes outside despite knowing she'd have been home or sent word back already if she could. This was fast approching the time to call the city gaurd and have them help expand the search, perhaps for once it would even knock some awareness into the Lord and some humility into the Lady. Fancy that.
As Allistaer steps onto the stone paved path in the garden he resolves to call the guard after this round but as he goes around the corner her hears a droning hum intermittently drowned out by brief whistles, crackles of static and low wailing croons. He try's to locate the noise, abruptly turning to follow it down a side path towards the lake.
"It's probably my ears ringing again, but. This, this is the path where she usually sits isn't it?"
His pace quickens and the drone grows louder and louder, whistles coming like a steam engine, static like a roaring wave, and the crooning made a twisting in his gut like something long past it's due.
A smell hit him next, or rather a lack of it at first. All the flowers, the pungent cypress and cedar, even the constant underlying smell of the city disappeared without a trace. And from their grave lackadaisically waft the scent of empty holes, not like dirt or gravel, but the unadulterated scent of something so barren that it is completely disassociated from matter.
There is a bit of a legend among among starfaring sailors, people who spend more time sailing between stars then under a sheltering sky. It speaks of the void, not the old man death, no the void itself, the things in it. Sometimes it is spoken as one, sometimes as many, but its what makes the sound in space. And that, is what is heard in this moment, the horrid keen of nothingness.
Allistaer becoming fed up with the meandering path, broke strait through the immaculate hedging. Even as branches and foliage came breaking off no scent could be discerned, not even when the bristling holly drew blood that stained the white of his cuffs.
After that he found himself on the artificially grassy bank of the lake, Miss Nimolin's favored bench was just down the way hidden behind some flowering buckwheat. The sound emanated from the sheltered nook. He quickly approached on light feet, he may be past his prime but he can put up a decent fight on any intruder.
Allistear ignores the creeping feeling of his own insignificance.
Just a few feet away the is a sudden fffwwaaaariiiiIIIIIIIIIIIISHHTCT CRACK like a thousand old sheets were being ripped into rags, but they were glass and the maids were using two man saws, who then fired a cannon each.
The first thing Allistear realized that he had brought his hands up to his face so he brought them down again. He looked up to see Miss Nimolin laying flat on her back surrounded by the buckwheat that had suddenly became a thorny groundcover plant. He did not pay it any mind as he sloughed through it to check on her.
Her eyes were shut, skin pallid and clammy. "Miss, Miss? Nimolin are you alright?"
Nimolin's face twists with discomfort and she curls into herself shivering, even while unconscious.
Alistaer reached down placing his hand on her shoulder. She was feverish despite the absence of flush on her cheeks.
"Nimolin, wake up. What has happened?" No answer. He mutters under his breath, roughly caressing a bit of wire wrenched around his pinky.
"Whispered on the wind, carry words to where I send, swiftly go onward."
He points a finger towards the house sending a telepathic message to the group investigating for signs of a break in.
"Quickly! Down by the lakeside bench, I've found her. She is alive but sickly."
"Come on, please, please awaken. Stay with us, you are strong Nimolin, you can do this. We are all waiting, that cat is having kittens remember? you cant miss that!" He continues to ramble to her as she sprawls unresponsive. "Your brother is worried sick come on, we can go back to the house and you can tell me how you managed to turn a grass into a thorny vine over some tea. Nimolin!"
By now everyone else is running up, someone is yelling about a healer, another about hot rags. A few reach down to pick her up and he comes back into him self in time to stop them.
"No! dont move her, the bench is completely destroyed. If she fell and broke something we cant see, moving can sometimes make it worse."
The elderly cook, Auntie Kethoro pipes, organ pipes that is, up. "That doesn't mean we cant get some blankets on her is that right?
"Ah no. actually we should get on that right away."
everyone starts shedding their coats and a couple sprint back to the house. Nimolin is starting to gain more color finally, her breathing is steady, not that he actually remembers it being feeble.
Auntie starts talking with him "It will be alright dear, dont worry we've all got you now." The women sets a trembling and wrinkled hand on Nimolin's temple and continues.
"It will be fine. it will be fine. it will be fine." over and over.
Maybe she was already waking up, or perhaps the elderly woman's hand had beckoned the girl back to consciousness. But her face twitched, followed by a hard, wet cough that shook her slight frame.
They both froze, Auntie tried to say something but could only let out a cracked wheeze so Alistear took over.
"Nimolin?"
She takes in a deep breath, and lets it out with a haunting white noise.
Fissszzzzlwhuuusssh..... Nimolin's eyes flutter open, glittering purple to reflect a dusk touched sky.
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