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makinglies2025-09-27 05:54 pm
lysoke) wrote in makinglies2025-09-27 05:54 pm
Entry tags:
Respite
Respite
The lake is dark and calm with a small breeze by the time they arrive at its shores. The stars above reflect perfectly in the still waters before them, and a small copse of trees lines one side, starting on their side of the river and jumping along the other side.
Chris takes a moment to re-prepare the spell he hadn't been able to cast in five years and gestures vaguely to the area around them as a suggestion for what the others can do. Gathering in the forest, sitting on a nearby over-turned log, it didn't matter to him. What he needed was an hour without interruption.
He settles down on the ground and presses his hands together as he closes his eyes to focus on the image in his mind. Within minutes, the white, shimmering outline of a large building forms in thin air. The gentle glow of its light barely spreads from the growing structure.
As promised, it takes the full hour before the slowly filling-in form is complete and finishes with a jaunty, echoing click.
Chris takes a breath, now sitting in front of the stoop that looks annoyingly like the one he'd passed earlier in the night, and gets back onto stiff legs as the glow fades away, leaving smooth, but otherwise unremarkable, white stone behind.
"Here we are. Home for the next however long we need. I'll start working on food and water next." Once they're inside, anyway, which is why he takes back his things from where he'd left them and leads them into the temple, marked only with the carving of ravens on the black wood of the double doors.
Inside is something just shy of opulence. The same polished white stone makes the walls, though black and gold veins course through the marble. The floor is the inverse, a black stone with white, shimmering speckles like a night sky if looked at for long enough. A single window faced East high up on the wall. The temple was alight with sconces at regular intervals along the walls, illuminating an open area that held all the offerings of comfort Chris could think of.
A large hot-springs-like bath, complete with a miniature waterfall, took up the left side of the room and ran into a smaller, similar bath at dog-height. Next to it, covered by a retractable screen, was a shower. Along the back wall, a raven's head emblazoned the white wall in black and watched out over a set of tables, chairs, and a couple of sofas. The majority of the center was clear for walking, but the right edge and right side of the room held a deeply inset pit of pillows, cushions, and blankets in various soft (black and purple) fabrics.
Finally, in the middle of the right-hand wall, there were two closed doors that, when inspected, revealed one room with a large, soft chair and rug, while the other room was made of nothing but stone with jars, pitchers, and plates on shelves along two walls and a cork wall perfect for catching daggers on the other side.
"I hope it works for everyone. I didn't...I didn't make separate bedrooms this time. I didn't figure we would need them tonight."
Chris takes a moment to re-prepare the spell he hadn't been able to cast in five years and gestures vaguely to the area around them as a suggestion for what the others can do. Gathering in the forest, sitting on a nearby over-turned log, it didn't matter to him. What he needed was an hour without interruption.
He settles down on the ground and presses his hands together as he closes his eyes to focus on the image in his mind. Within minutes, the white, shimmering outline of a large building forms in thin air. The gentle glow of its light barely spreads from the growing structure.
As promised, it takes the full hour before the slowly filling-in form is complete and finishes with a jaunty, echoing click.
Chris takes a breath, now sitting in front of the stoop that looks annoyingly like the one he'd passed earlier in the night, and gets back onto stiff legs as the glow fades away, leaving smooth, but otherwise unremarkable, white stone behind.
"Here we are. Home for the next however long we need. I'll start working on food and water next." Once they're inside, anyway, which is why he takes back his things from where he'd left them and leads them into the temple, marked only with the carving of ravens on the black wood of the double doors.
Inside is something just shy of opulence. The same polished white stone makes the walls, though black and gold veins course through the marble. The floor is the inverse, a black stone with white, shimmering speckles like a night sky if looked at for long enough. A single window faced East high up on the wall. The temple was alight with sconces at regular intervals along the walls, illuminating an open area that held all the offerings of comfort Chris could think of.
A large hot-springs-like bath, complete with a miniature waterfall, took up the left side of the room and ran into a smaller, similar bath at dog-height. Next to it, covered by a retractable screen, was a shower. Along the back wall, a raven's head emblazoned the white wall in black and watched out over a set of tables, chairs, and a couple of sofas. The majority of the center was clear for walking, but the right edge and right side of the room held a deeply inset pit of pillows, cushions, and blankets in various soft (black and purple) fabrics.
Finally, in the middle of the right-hand wall, there were two closed doors that, when inspected, revealed one room with a large, soft chair and rug, while the other room was made of nothing but stone with jars, pitchers, and plates on shelves along two walls and a cork wall perfect for catching daggers on the other side.
"I hope it works for everyone. I didn't...I didn't make separate bedrooms this time. I didn't figure we would need them tonight."
cw: minor ptsd moment, paranoia
His hands grip the side of the pit harder for a moment as Wolfe praises Chris. Chris needs this. He needs Jon to relax as much as he can and curl close. The Archivist knows he can keep a vigil even if he's lying down. He just can't let himself fall asleep.
With that mental compromise, he pushes off and into the pile to wade in and settle himself next to his cleric, arms curled against his chest as Jon faces him and presses another small kiss to his lips. Wolfe's hand on his shoulder is a comfort, as well, knowing the other man is there, just out of sight.
"Goodnight," Jon offers quietly to his friend, to all of them. "Be here in the morning, please." While he closes his eyes, Chris and Wolfe may be able to feel that he doesn't actually relax for a long while.
no subject
"We will be, love. Promise." That, at least, was a promise he felt reasonably sure he could make. Yet he didn't doubt every single one of them would have a moment of relief to see it wasn't all a dream come morning.
Poppet flies down on her gentle wings and takes up a perch on Jon's shoulder as Chris turns his focus onto his holy symbol. It wouldn't take much, he didn't have to use the chalk, he just liked the ritual of it...for this, it could wait. The spell casts and the connection opens in a way it hasn't in five years, and Chris nearly finds his throat paralyzed at finding Commune working as it should.
Gods, he has too many questions. Would she turn him away as not actually her cleric? Would she see him as a fake in comparison? Would her curiosity allow him answers once and then no more for even a reason as simple as the fact he hadn't set out to kill every undead in the city while he'd been there? They were all likely dead now; what did it matter?
"Are we shaved slivers of the same souls we're based on?" It wasn't his most important question whispered as quietly into the night as he could manage, but it was the one burning in him all the same.
He waits a moment before the answer comes to his mind, a flicker of confusion and curiosity behind the single word: No. He breathes a small sigh.
"Is there a way to wind and collect the soul threads needed to bind these people with me to pass through your halls alone?" Another pause, though much shorter and much less confused. Yes.
Last question. He scrambles for what he should prioritize with exhaustion creeping at the edges of him.
"Is there a way to contact Mystra, Lady of Magic and the Weave, to have these people with me woven into the proper place of all magics, ambient and ambitious?" There's almost no pause this time, as if she already expected the next question. Yes.
The relief is leaden comfort in him, but he remembers to offer a quiet thank you to the fading connection before sleep steals him entirely. If the others were awake and heard him at all, they'd just have to wait until morning.