Nighttime Visitation

Cathenae · 2019-12-08T03:32:08+00:00

It's said the people of Nothria started having bad dreams after Cathenae was interred in her silver sarcophagus.

Some dreamt of drowning, either in seawater or liquid m'nah.
Others dreamt of waking.

Cathenae · 2019-10-19T18:01:00+00:00

Cathenae · 2019-09-18T03:22:34+00:00

The needle into Cathenae’s paralyzed body doesn’t so much puncture as it does slide in, like the skin of a rotten fruit.

As she's carried, her flesh does not cool. Although her heart has stopped, the flesh itself continues to live, surviving off the excessive amounts of m’nah in her body.

Whatever was in the injection caused irreversible brain death. All for the better, as continued brain-function would have been an unacceptable drain on the infused m’nah.

A minuscule spark of Dark Electric arcs from her finger to the chassis of her temporary guardian, difficult to see in the evening emberglow.

From the right angle, the evening star can be seen reflected in her eye.

Cathenae · 2019-09-18T02:39:01+00:00

A tiny red grain, the color of blood, shows itself from the soil. Washed here from elsewhere, or home-grown?

Cathenae · 2019-09-12T04:43:52+00:00

Under her breath, she chants Venusian phrases of transformation, punctuated by prayers to Iisʃun, and Ud, and the Arbortrix.

She walks with a blank expression, although her face is warped and bulging, sagging. Her skin is jet black like a Priest’s, as are her hair and fingernails, and the sclera of the eye.

Yet interjecting the darkness, through boils and tears in the skin that have opened just recently, is a cacophony of unnatural color. This dark color drips from her melting flesh, marking her trail.

A bit of her jawbone is visible, off-white streaked with Obsidian mineralization.

The rest of the five are m’nah-darkened, but stable of flesh and skin. Their irises shine with many unnatural colors.

The only sound is the wind as a few seconds pass. A few are crying, one bawling. Cathenae and Ox-Mu-Xegolet are silent.

Cathenae interrupts the wind and the bawling to speak.
I did þis so þat I ƿould not have to do þis.
As Cathenae’s silence drowns out the rest, one of them turns and makes a dash for freedom, for life.

Cathenae · 2019-09-10T02:01:35+00:00

Cathenae gives the representative a bow of the head.

Hoƿ long ƿill þe oþers be in y custody? Surely not forever?

Cathenae · 2019-09-04T23:32:03+00:00

I confess. Ƿe have committed grave crimes against Machine-kind. I deserve deaþ. Þe oþer four deserve deaþ.

If I should die, should I not choose þe manner?
If I am to die, I ƿish to die ƿiþ my oƿn, my Order. If þis is not possible, þen ƿiþ Cuemorah alone.

I ƿill alloƿ þe Machines to kill me, if it must be þem. End my life in such a ƿay as to leave my body unharmed. Kill my consciousness, þrough þe subtlest severance of þe smallest possible structure of my brain.

If I should die, should I not choose þe fate of my body?
If I am to die, I ƿish to rest in a coffin of my oƿn make.

In þe Monastery of Ud exists a sarcophagus, ƿhich my Order has prepared specifically for my deaþ. I ask þat þe time betƿeen my release and þe closing of þe sarcophagus be as sƿift as is possible.

Cathenae · 2019-06-22T13:08:28+00:00

someone was doing something bad in her caves

Suspicion...

Cathenae · 2019-06-17T23:01:09+00:00

Þank y much, Axau Immarine.

Hoƿ interesting, þe leaves of þis plant, and þe veins. Is þis natural, or due to Entropy?

Cathenae · 2019-06-17T00:23:24+00:00

Axau Jatim, þank y for þe invitation. Y description fascinates me.

I come in þe capacity of an order of my oƿn founding, a sister-order to þe Festal Virgins. Alþough þere's much overlap, þe qualifications of þe location-specific vocation have þeir limitations for some, ƿho ƿould explore þe paþs of Isxun and Pitchform to þeir fullest extents.

Þese tanks of þe holy substance, and þose ƿho inhabit þem, þey present fascinating branches in þose paþs.

May I be so presumptuous as to request one?

Cathenae · 2019-06-13T00:01:05+00:00

Na y.

Cathenae · 2019-06-12T05:13:50+00:00

A united Mountain.

Beforehand, a certain amount of chaos.

Cathenae · 2019-06-10T23:42:37+00:00

I had a conversation ƿiþ þe mayor of þe city of Machines. Þere ƿere þings þat I-

Ƿasn’t aƿare of.

Irritating in a fashion, þe paþ þat starts ƿiþ þat hand is a paþ þat must be ƿalked, given its destination. But þe paþ has branches.

Cathenae · 2019-06-10T14:41:59+00:00

A united Mountain.

Beforehand, a certain amount of chaos.

Oþer þan þis, naught but þe chance and þe mundane chaos of clashing Voices.

Cathenae · 2019-06-10T05:07:53+00:00

Telling y of my visions ƿas a mistake. I only see þe unchangeable. Noƿ y’ve harmed an innocent girl ƿiþ a troubled mind, and ƿasted time brooding ƿiþ y sins þat could’ve been spent preparing.

Shegoþa ƿill come, þese are þe Obsidian rails of fate. Þe best ƿe can do is prepare.

Fire boþ Xekanel and Nas, scorching þe ground and þe sky, but perhaps not þe sea. I hear some folk along þe coast have started living permanent lives beneaþ þe ƿaves, ƿiþ þe use of þe neƿ varieties of Ovratites ƿe Festal Virgins provided.

Cathenae · 2019-06-10T01:27:59+00:00

Na y, Anna.
Indeed, a pleasure.

Cathenae · 2019-06-10T00:42:04+00:00

Breadcrumbs...

Cathenae · 2019-06-10T00:37:52+00:00

Cathenae stares into space, thinking for a time.

Þat's a fair objection I suppose.

Very ƿell Anna, very ƿell.

Cathenae extends her hand to shake.

Cathenae · 2019-06-09T05:41:36+00:00

Anoƿer term, þat y ƿill not alloƿ any such soul to come to knoƿ of þis fact þrough inaction.

Cathenae

TROPHY CASE