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#Post#: 1091--------------------------------------------------
Omen War
By: Jenn B. Date: April 12, 2025, 5:12 pm
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Geoffrey Wodeward
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max=45%][img]
HTML https://sharedalbums.b-cdn.net/8deb3d78-e3fd-4c5c-baf9-c72705ec7da4.png?rotate=0&width=800&height=800&optimizer=image[/img][/float]
[br]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]To all things housed in her
silence[/font][br]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]Nature offers a violence[/font][br]
[font=Arial, sans-serif][/font]
[hr]
The Carpathian hills and the forest were ablaze. A smoldering
red line on the horizon that may or may not have stirred
something in Yorick, dream or no. Fear or familiarity. [br]
Just over the rise from his lookout point, he could see what
looked like an awful sight - the stone chantry of Cathedral's
Reach was on fire and under assault. Transferred from the
dimension it had fallen into by dream logic into this ancient
and alien locale. [br]
A huge shadow loomed against the flames; a warped monster easily
the size of a school bus with a giant maw of teeth and multiple
limbs ripped at the stones. From the top of the Reach, a
gargoyle came to life, stretching its stone wings nd diving down
towards the fleshy creation. The latter almost like a larger
version of his own familiar, Medea. Larger and stronger and
currently locked in a pitched battle of life and death.[br]
A battle it lost with a swipe of the monster's powerful limbs.
Pulverized to ash in the air.[br]
Behind him was a man who looked similar to him, like a sibling
or cousin. He was dressed in a heavy cloak against the chill and
held the reins of three horses still as if to make a quick
getaway.[br]
A pair of eerie red lights pierced the darkness of the forest.
As if from eyes about his own height. Hard to see until Geoffrey
broke into the clearing, gaze blaring red. He was dressed
similarly to how he'd first appeared, much-mended wool garments,
a cloak, a quiver of arrows at the hip. In one hand, he carried
a large warbow easily almost as tall as he was.[br]
In the other, he held a wooden box with a latch carried over one
shoulder like it weighed nothing. It looked heavy. Things
shifted inside weightily when he turned towards Yorick. A
private smile there in the darkness, just for him.[br]
"I got it." He declared. "What you were looking for. Made it
right past the voivode's people. I don't think they noticed."
#Post#: 1092--------------------------------------------------
Re: Omen War
By: MAT Date: April 13, 2025, 12:15 am
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Yorick Tsipras
HTML https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1F3tCmvXqFTlAT1j9JHc8k280TMxJzRNNPcuFY1Mi33Q/edit?usp=drive_link
[float=right
max=45%]
HTML https://splatomat.com/personal/images/DH/yorick/yurik.jpg[/float]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]Do not stand at my grave and weep[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]I am not there, I do not sleep[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]Do not stand at my grave and cry[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]I am not there, I do not die[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]Euthanatos | Notoriety 2 | Medium[/font]
[hr]
He was lying on a futon in his cheap studio apartment with a
book in his hands. Theogony. Then his vision blurred and his
eyes fluttered shut for just a moment. When he opened them
again, he was lying in the grass. It was cold and wet; a sharp
contrast to the dry warmth from the previous moment. The late
morning light was gone in a single blink. It was so dark. How
many hours had passed?
Yorick pushed up on his elbows, trying to likewise push away the
grogginess in his mind. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t real. He
grasped at liquid threads of thought and memory, trying to grasp
something familiar. When he took hold of one of them, he was
suddenly standing. He was six paces behind another man; a man
with his height, build, and even the same colored hair.
Grabbing the man’s shoulder, he turned him about, and felt like
he was looking into a mirror. Like a twisted carnival funhouse.
Like one of the mirrors that showed alternate versions of
himself. This one clad in a deep crimson cloak and wool
breeches, with dark leather boots and a short bow in his hands
and a quiver at his back.
“Wh-wh-wh-what.” The word fell out of his mouth like water
tumbling roughly over stones. He didn’t know what he was looking
at - or who - and yet also somehow did know. The man he looked
at was hale and healthy. Had a quality that almost seemed
cherubic. It was astonishing and bizarre. It made him anxious.
The man with the horses got a casual glance, and a name came to
Yorick’s lips. Sebastian. A brother in name only. A servant, a
friend, a thrall. The one who walked in the day and handled the
household affairs. Beloved, but also property. An unsettling
dichotomy.
Then He looked over at the horizon, recognizing Cathedral Reach.
The chantry. He instinctively knew that it was out of place. It
had been overlaid atop something else. Another chantry. Foul
wizards. Profane. A dark irony. Or the twisted strands of fate.
When Yorick turned his gaze back, the cloaked man was gone.
Because it was him. Now he was clad in the soft wool and cotton
clothing from an age long past. He pushed the brick-colored hood
back and squinted at the bow in his hands. An archaic weapon.
One he’d only learned - or rather, the other man had learned -
from his friend.
Geoffrey approached, as if on cue, looking very pleased. It was
a strange expression; one Yorick really hadn’t seen before.
“Wh-wh-what I was looking f-for.” He drew in a deep breath and
pinched his eyes shut. He refused to be a slave to his
impediment. His strength of will sort of bent the space around
him and then radiated outwards. It was only a momentary flicker.
But he suddenly felt a lot more confident. Able to control what
was happening.
“What now?”
#Post#: 1095--------------------------------------------------
Re: Omen War
By: Jenn B. Date: April 13, 2025, 8:16 pm
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Geoffrey Wodeward
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max=45%][img]
HTML https://sharedalbums.b-cdn.net/8deb3d78-e3fd-4c5c-baf9-c72705ec7da4.png?rotate=0&width=800&height=800&optimizer=image[/img][/float]
[br]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]To all things housed in her
silence[/font][br]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]Nature offers a violence[/font][br]
[font=Arial, sans-serif][/font]
[hr]
At the what now, a grin broke across the vampire's face. He
took a moment to free a hand - slinging the strung bow over one
shoulder, so he could reach out to clasp Yorick's shoulder
fondly. [br]
"Let's go back to your haven and look it over."He jostled the
chest on his own shoulder to indicate what he meant: whatever
was inside it. "I'll read it to you."[br]
There was a note of pride in his tone at that last statement,
and a note of something else. The context might filter easy
enough: like the archery, Geoffrey could read because the man in
the red cloak had patiently taught him. And perhaps a little bit
of a joke as well: whatever was contained within might be beyond
his education to understand or even pronounce.[br]
He leaned in impulsivly to touch his cold lips to Yorick's
temple. A tender and affectionate gesture that was almost out of
place with the monster delivering it.[br]
Then, he hesitated. Close enough that the other man could
register the lack of breath on his cheek. He turned his face
away quietly. Fingers on Yorick's shoulder curling with a touch
of awkwardness before pulling away. He took a step back and
turned towards Sebastian and the horses.[br]
"Can you ride?" He asked a question a little out of place. Of
course the man he'd been addressing a moment ago would have.
That wasn't who has was asking.
#Post#: 1115--------------------------------------------------
Re: Omen War
By: MAT Date: April 20, 2025, 12:01 am
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Yorick Tsipras
HTML https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1F3tCmvXqFTlAT1j9JHc8k280TMxJzRNNPcuFY1Mi33Q/edit?usp=drive_link
[float=right
max=45%]
HTML https://splatomat.com/personal/images/DH/yorick/yurik.jpg[/float]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]Do not stand at my grave and weep[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]I am not there, I do not sleep[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]Do not stand at my grave and cry[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]I am not there, I do not die[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]Euthanatos | Notoriety 2 | Medium[/font]
[hr]
There was something profound in Geoffrey’s offer, and for a
second, Yorick couldn’t figure out what it was. Then it struck
him, though; some kind of echo in the dream that carried with it
thought and emotion. It was gratification. The kiss that
followed gave him equal pause, but only because he wasn’t
expecting it. It was another piece in a puzzle he already knew
the picture of. For a moment, he actually even felt bad, as if
he was violating someone else's privacy and stepping on
something precious.
But then the tenor changed again. The vampire seemed to realize
where he was, and who he was talking to.
“Yes,” Yorick replied. He felt very strong in this dream. So
strong he thought that he could possibly shape it. He didn’t
want to, though. Geoffrey’s memories were driving the narrative
flow. It was possible that there were nuggets of knowledge to be
mined here in this time and place. Something that might be a
clue; something that could point them in a direction back in the
waking world.
He got onto one of the horses with a smoothness that suggested a
long history of riding, even though no such history existed.
With a nudge of his heel and the reins, he guided the horse
forward from Sebastian’s control.
“Lead the way,” he said, following as they set off from the
mountain foothills.
“You infiltrated that chantry. But the physical structure…that’s
from my memories. What was it actually?” he asked, falling into
line alongside Geoffrey’s mount as the horses trotted away.
“Whose stronghold? What were those flying creatures?” He didn’t
really think the answers to the questions would be meaningful
for their shared mission, but he wasn’t entirely sure.
Besides, he was curious. Was probably going to get him killed
eventually.
#Post#: 1122--------------------------------------------------
Re: Omen War
By: Jenn B. Date: April 22, 2025, 8:49 pm
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Geoffrey Wodeward
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HTML https://sharedalbums.b-cdn.net/c0885f09-5d09-426b-8312-77b688531fa9.png?rotate=0&width=800&height=800&optimizer=imagerotate=0&width=800&height=800&optimizer=imagee[/img][/float]
[br]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]To all things housed in her
silence[/font][br]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]Nature offers a violence[/font][br]
[hr]
Satisfied with Yorick's answer, Geoffrey took the reins of the
horse from Sebastian. He settled the crate he'd purloined behind
him on the saddle so they could carry it back. For someone who
exuded such obvious predatory energy in his dreams, the horse
didn't seem too bothered by his presence.[br]
He went to lead the way through the forst back to what he
assumed would be the village, and Yurik's haven. He didn't know
anymore. The horse moved fowards as though it had no other
destination, no path other than this one he'd already traveled .
He looked over his shoulder at Yorick's question, regarding the
carnage they were leaving. The stone building on fire. That
satisfaction on his face that warmed him as surely as the fire
might.[br]
"A chantry of Tremere. Are you familiar with them?" Why he'd
would be seeing something from his own memories was beyond him
otherwise. "They used to be sorcerers. Mortals who practiced
magic. Then, they stole the Embrace and have been trying to claw
their way into our courts." Whether or not that was entirely or
just partially accurate didn't seem to concern him. A real kind
of heat that turned to acid, to poison when Yorick asked about
the stone creatures. [br]
"The Gargoyles." He stared forward in stonelike silence. His
hands gripping the reins more tightly. Whatever the answer was
pissed him off before he could speak it.[br]
"They're created from Cainites the Tremere didn't think anyone
would miss." He found his voice enough to half-growl out some
kind of explanation.
#Post#: 1123--------------------------------------------------
Re: Omen War
By: MAT Date: April 22, 2025, 10:22 pm
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Yorick Tsipras
HTML https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1F3tCmvXqFTlAT1j9JHc8k280TMxJzRNNPcuFY1Mi33Q/edit?usp=drive_link
[float=right
max=45%]
HTML https://splatomat.com/personal/images/DH/yorick/yurik.jpg[/float]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]Do not stand at my grave and weep[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]I am not there, I do not sleep[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]Do not stand at my grave and cry[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]I am not there, I do not die[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]Euthanatos | Notoriety 2 | Medium[/font]
[hr]
Geoffrey threw a lot of proper nouns at him that he wasn’t
familiar with: Tremere, Gargoyles, Cainites.
“I...am familiar with the word chantry,” he said with a
self-effacing laugh. “It’s a word the Order of Hermes uses to
describe a...I dunno. Part clubhouse, part sacred site, I guess;
a place where consensus can be suspended and the laws of nature
can be bent or broken. We call them ‘marabouts’, but I haven’t
been to one in a while. Not since the last one blew up. I’m kind
of a bad luck charm to have around.”
He squinted. “I’m intuiting that Cainites is another word for
vampire, the Tremere are like, a faction or flavor of Cainite,
and they…what, used magic to turn themselves into vampires, and
then more magic to build those monsters out of other vampires?
Uhhh, yikes. That’s some fucked up Weird Science, Temple of Doom
shit. When I was younger I used to be sent to hunt mages who
were deep into dark magics like that.”
Yorick shook his head. “Come to think of it, I remember hearing
about some war the Hermetics were waging against vampires back
around 2000. Maybe they were your Tremere. I don’t know how it
turned out, but the Order’s still around being anal-retentive
twats so it can’t have gone too badly for them.”
He didn’t seem to be picking up on the emotional subtext. He
could feel some resentment bleeding off Geoffrey into the
emotional currents of the dream, but didn’t understand the
reason. Honestly the psychic resonance of this memory-dream was
kind of heady and distracting.
“Why are they called Cainites? You, I mean. If the word applies,
I mean.”
#Post#: 1126--------------------------------------------------
Re: Omen War
By: Jenn B. Date: April 24, 2025, 11:36 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
Geoffrey Wodeward
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max=45%][img]
HTML https://sharedalbums.b-cdn.net/c0885f09-5d09-426b-8312-77b688531fa9.png?rotate=0&width=800&height=800&optimizer=imagerotate=0&width=800&height=800&optimizer=imagee[/img][/float]
[br]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]To all things housed in her
silence[/font][br]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]Nature offers a violence[/font][br]
[font=Arial, sans-serif][/font]
[hr]
Likewise, Yorick was throwing around some things Geoffrey had
never heard about. Wars the Tremere had gotten into beyond the
upheval they'd caused when they'd first begun weasling their way
into vampiric society.[br]
"So did I. When I was younger." A quiet laugh left his throat as
he gestured behind them at the carnage. He was grinning when he
looked back, teeth a little too sharp "Is that something you
still do? Your friends?" [br]
It seemed a prudent question to ask. He'd enough experience with
groups of humans out to kill what they called evil (however
rightly).[br]
"Did they? It's almost a miracle the Tremere survived at all."
Despite the darkness in his tone and mood, he could grudgingly
admit some kind of respect for that tenacity. The audacity of
it. [br]
"Did they?" The Order of Hermes wasn't anything he immediately
recognized or thought he'd encounter, but noted it anyways. The
expressiono on his face picked up, from the moroseness of
following a fate that had already happened to something more
wistful. [br]
"I'd always known the world contained many things beyond my
understanding." He settled as much as a creature like him seemed
to be able to. "Wonderous and terrible. But I wasn't sure any of
it existed anymore. The world seems to have grown so small."[br]
He said this as he lay in a city on a continent that hadn't
existed on maps of his youth. Surrounded by technology he hadn't
imagined could be possible, but looking out at the dark and
forboding forest of another time. Here and there, a few
flickering lights appeared ahead of them. The shadows of a
closed town gate, buildings beyond. Wherever they were headed
was drawing near. [br]
"Dominus Cain signum ut non eum interficeret omnis qui
invenisset eum." The explanation came in a Latin that sounded
like he'd learned it by having it repeated to him.
Unintelligible, if this wasn't also the realm of the
subconscious. The meaning parsed well enough. [br]
The Lord set a mark upon Cain, that whosoever found him should
not kill him.
#Post#: 1127--------------------------------------------------
Re: Omen War
By: MAT Date: April 25, 2025, 1:36 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
Yorick Tsipras
HTML https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1F3tCmvXqFTlAT1j9JHc8k280TMxJzRNNPcuFY1Mi33Q/edit?usp=drive_link
[float=right
max=45%]
HTML https://splatomat.com/personal/images/DH/yorick/yurik.jpg[/float]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]Do not stand at my grave and weep[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]I am not there, I do not sleep[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]Do not stand at my grave and cry[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]I am not there, I do not die[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]Euthanatos | Notoriety 2 | Medium[/font]
[hr]
When asked if hunting was something he still did, Yorick fell
silent for a moment. ‘Younger’ meant very different things to
each of them. It was a matter of different time periods and
societal expectations; a span of years instead of centuries. In
terms of distance it was closer to him. Hotter. Like a spectre
chasing at his heels.
The intensity of thought, memory, and emotion in the dreamstate
rose sharply in that moment. Geoffrey's supernatural perception
allowed him to perceive the subtle furrowing of the younger
man's brow and twisting of his lips. It was a mask of grief,
fury, and trauma tightly controlled by a strength of will beyond
his years.
In that moment they rode past a thick wall of trees, but nestled
amongst them was clearing. The clearing served as a stage of
sorts, revealing a vignette of concepts. Somewhere sweltering
and humid near a distant ocean. A dark, cramped space
underground. Overwhelming entropy and decay. Blood and
blasphemous arts. A vicious battle of blade and willwork that
left a still-teenaged Yorick victorious but profoundly hurt. A
hurt of the soul, something the Gangrel might recognize as a
loss of humanity. And encapsulating it all, the sense that it
was just one example of many.
“No. I don't.”
He swallowed down bile, resentment, and self-loathing, and
listened. He could only imagine the depths of change the world
had seen during Geoffrey's lifetime.
“The gods do not abide hubris. So my kind exists within the
margins of man; the awakened amidst the sleeping masses.” It
was an interpretation of consensus and paradox. It was also an
explanation of how modern mages survived - by keeping to the
shadows. By recontextualizing themselves to be anything other
than what they actually were. Relatable, maybe.
“That's the curse, then,” he replied to Geoffrey's bit of Latin.
He didn't make the connection between Cain the biblical figure
and the word ‘Cainite’, but he did understand the intention. “A
divine suspension of Tamas reaching through time for eternity.”
Yorick shook his head. “Even in our sleep, pain which cannot
forget falls drop by drop upon the heart until, in our own
despair, against our will, comes wisdom through the awful grace
of God,” he quoted the father of tragedy, struck by the enormity
of it. Despite the danger involved in associating with the other
man, he still felt a great swell of sympathy.
Then they reached the city gate. “You're English.” How he'd
arrived at that particular assertion was unclear. He said it as
if it had just come to him like a bolt. “But you lived here.
Romania's pretty far from England, especially in a time before
airplanes.”
#Post#: 1141--------------------------------------------------
Re: Omen War
By: Jenn B. Date: April 29, 2025, 5:04 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
Geoffrey Wodeward
[float=right
max=45%][img]
HTML https://sharedalbums.b-cdn.net/c0885f09-5d09-426b-8312-77b688531fa9.png?rotate=0&width=800&height=800&optimizer=imagerotate=0&width=800&height=800&optimizer=imagee[/img][/float]
[br]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]To all things housed in her
silence[/font][br]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]Nature offers a violence[/font][br]
[font=Arial, sans-serif][/font]
[hr]
Geoffrey turned his head to watch the scene with a flinty look
on his face. It wasn't quite anger or outrage, but something
that stirred him anyways.[br]
"In my warmer days, our lord was called to war and took his
household with him." On the opposite side of the dark forest,
the faint shadows of whatever conflict of the time. A castle
under prolonged siege; an archer aiming an arrow through a
narrow slat at an enemy beyond; getting him straight through the
visor of his helmet and through the eye. Returning to a field
camp with a few rabbits and other small game animals strung
together. Picking up a sword off a corpse in a field of corpses
and walking away with it slung over his shoulder. The scenes
weren't as brilliant and charged; eroded around the edges from
time, far more distant in memory.[br]
"My younger brother, Henry, wanted very much to go with me, but
he was too young. We left him behind with our father to watch
the land." He turned his head to look. Half at Yorick, half over
his shoulder. [br]
"You seem to be about his age, there."[br]
The shadow that followed them on the road didn't take full
shape. A ghostly outline of a memory: a younger brother who'd
idolized an elder one, who'd wanted to emulate him, follow in
his footsteps. It followed at a pace for awhile, then stopped to
watch them go ahead without him. Faded into the distance as they
gort closer to the town until he finally disappeared.[br]
"So did we." Another easy parallel; whatever his people were
observed their own Masquerade, their own secrecy. "Easiest to
survive that way, not being known." Perhaps human wizards had
learned the same bitter lessons as vampires had. Perhaps it was
something else. [br]
"You get used to it." He hunched forward on the horse, looking
forward again. "You can get used to anything. Certainly, it's a
curse, but it's not all misery. It doesn't have to be." He
didn't elaborate, but the dreamscape took on the qualities of
his thoughts to some degree. The stars shining just slightly
brighter, the forest dark and terrifying, but full of adventure
and potential to the daring.[br]
"Tis. A month's travel over land once you get across the Channel
by boat. Longer if you can't go by day." " He confirmed; the
distance from his corner in the west of England where he'd lived
and expected to die to the primeval forest on the opposite side
of the continent. In a time when many people didn't go so far
from their homes at all. [br]
The gates opened for them. The scene in front of them flickered
and warped, as if it couldn't decide which of two things it
wanted to be. A bustling medieval castle town, mostly asleep by
night save a few watchmen and the light from a tavern. Or a
burned-out ruin of what was once a bustling medieval castle
town. Ashes and cinders on the breeze, the smell of burned flesh
and char and smoke in the air.[br]
"Did you still think you might need something of his?" Geoffrey
asked. Surveying the town a moment before urging the horse
forward.
#Post#: 1142--------------------------------------------------
Re: Omen War
By: MAT Date: May 4, 2025, 6:56 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
Yorick Tsipras
HTML https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1F3tCmvXqFTlAT1j9JHc8k280TMxJzRNNPcuFY1Mi33Q/edit?usp=drive_link
[float=right
max=45%]
HTML https://splatomat.com/personal/images/DH/yorick/yurik.jpg[/float]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]Do not stand at my grave and weep[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]I am not there, I do not sleep[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]Do not stand at my grave and cry[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]I am not there, I do not die[/font]
[font=Arial, sans-serif]Euthanatos | Notoriety 2 | Medium[/font]
[hr]
The resentment and self-loathing Yorick was emotionally spewing
into the dreamspace subsided a little at Geoffrey’s story.
Suddenly he felt a little embarrassed or childish. Something
that had been such a traumatic and formative part of his life
seemed rather commonplace to someone who had grown up near the
start of the high middle ages.
“I guess it must seem strange to you. If I’d been raised
alongside your brother I might have been married with kids by
the time I should have been in high school nowadays.”
Yorick turned back to watch the shadowy figure. He turned his
hand as if he was turning a valve, trying to bring the figure
into more clarity. Trying to lift the memories up from the silt
of Geoffrey’s mind; trying to pull them forward. It was barely
successful, but he thought he might have seen the young man’s
features for just a moment.
“May I ask what happened to him?” he said with as much calm
dignity as he could manage. “Your brother Henry. Did you…watch
over him? Did he have children of his own? Do you have living
relatives even now?” Maybe it wasn’t even something Geoffrey had
ever considered. Maybe it was. If such relatives did exist,
finding them might be as difficult as finding his wayward love.
He made a mental note to give it some thought, too, and to try.
Deciding not to belabor the nature of the curse, Yorick focused
on the town they’d arrived at. The dichotomy of the presentation
was easy to intuit; they were the same place simply at different
times. Since he’d never been to the Carpathian mountains - only
to Bucharest, and only in the modern age - that meant Geoffrey
was the one wallpapering the environment with this divided
vision.
“Well. Like I said before,” he prefaced with a pause, as if to
reiterate the absolute uncertainties involved, “I think it would
help. You might be able to serve as a guide to identity, but you
might not like how it works. It would probably be a bit
invasive. But I also know that it's a big ask for some object
that he touched, held, created, thought, or felt about to have
somehow survived the past 800-900 years.”
He slid off the horse and deftly landed on the gravel, walking
forward. Stretching out his hand, he caused the dreamscape to
solidify, and the bustling town disappeared. Only the scorched
ruins remained. Ashes mixed with the snow. “Both would be even
better. Something he touched to anchor thought, and you to
anchor feeling. A baited hook cast out through time and space to
try and catch something.”
*****************************************************
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