RP:Herding Death

Part of the Welcome To The End Of Eras Arc

Summary: As promised, Lanlan delivers help in discerning the hordes of mindless undead from the sentient ones (and also returns some books he borrowed from the dusty library). This comes in the form of a sort of ghost. It carries a lamp that emits a twilight glow and a bell that rings mournfully. To the living, both go undetected. To sentient undead, it evokes feelings possibly long past, of a life that they no longer have. To the mindless thralls, it is a lure, an instinct that drives them toward this ghost to seek it out. Lanlan and Kasyr see a multitude of mindless wanderers gathered around Caluss's Demise. An ominous scene, but then they find other things to talk about, especially the protests surrounding the treatment of undead. Worst of all, the protesters are denying Lanlan's greatness (by denying Caluss's existence). They must be stopped!

Each evening at twilight, Lanlan gathered motes of twilight.  In what appeared to be nothing more than a stroll about the village, he gathered the light in a small prism. He never stole so much that it would be noticed, and in fact the light itself that beamed out from the prism, was hardly more than a glow to him or anyone else that saw it. This prism, now full, was placed in a lamp constructed out of dreamstuff, completely insubstantial and unable to be held by corporeal beings. Next he'd make a bell. It was somewhat more difficult to construct, and the essence of its sound was created by siphoning the wish for continued life by a dying man. So he needed but to find one. He found a great many such unfortunate people were found in hospitals. Garbed in the robes of a priest of Vakmatharas, he imparted a blessing of peaceful acceptance. The dying man who's name was quickly forgotten found peace in his last days. The prayer also served to conjure out of him the will to live, which Lanlan was able to change into a sound. This very sound was enchanted into a bell shaped out of coffin nails.

These two objects together could allow one to call the dead, and they would see the light like a beacon and hear the bell like a summons. So vague was it, that any being of sentience would merely be imparted with a subtle sense of melancholy. To the mindless wanderers who's life left them, it would be a nearly irresistible lure. But to carry such objects would be impossible for a corporeal being and who would agree to the tedious task of marching through a labyrinth of streets? No, Lanlan needed an agent to hold them. It came from a mask that Lanlan used to wear in times of danger. It was made using silk from worms he'd cultivated during his time in the underdark. When he wore it, it would grow into an entire robe made from illusive rags that obscured his identity and even his entire shape.

When he weaves a number of enchantments into it; it animated and exists and possesses a purpose. It seems like a ghost or a spirit inhabits the rags, possessing no form or body underneath, yet it holds the bell and the lamp. Finally it's complete.

With it following behind, Lanlan embarks to Vailkrin. When he arrives, he sends word to the king of this land, and waits in the necromancer's guild's library. A ghastly figure hovers above, seeming to linger just beyond reality, coming into vision at some points and then seeming to disappear behind the dust at others. For now, its Bell is silent and its lamp is dim. Clogging up the entrance to the library with mindless roaming dead things wasn't worth it.

Kasyr may have considered keeping Lanlan waiting, but the invitation actually comes as a welcome invitation. Even if whatever entreaty went up in flames, it was still apt to be a more promising and pleasant endeavour than the latest assortment of undead demands. Whether it was sheer numbers, intricacy, or militant absurdity- it simply didn't stop, and often seemed wholly disconnected from any measures being put into place to expand or improve the necropolis. Which goes a long way to explain why there is an almost literal pall of exhausted discontent emanating from the man when he emerges from a rip in space- a literal locus of gloom, that practically embodies the dead city.

Lanlan ensures that he is nestled in the cleanest part of the library, by employing his laundromancy ahead of anywhere he goes. He eyes the place with nothing short of disdain, even so, and held a handkerchief over his nose and mouth like he might catch something by breathing freely. Tiny little voids opened up in strategic parts of the reading room. Dust and cobwebs and tiny living things were funneled into little nothingnesses the size of fireflies. Then the little black voids pop! and glitter and a fragrance like teatree rained down. In minutes, the horrible little library was admittedly, still horrible, but it is ten thousand times more tolerable. The trouble is that so much of his effort turns in on itself. The books and shelves, once covered with a veil of dust, are now clean, and their repulsiveness is vivid. On the desk that he’s claimed are more books that he’d apparently borrowed some time ago. Though they’re pushed far off to one side as though making space for something else, something unseen. Occasionally, there is a string that seems to materialize whenever the flickering shadows cast from the candle light overlap in a particular way. As Kasyr arrives, he’s practically heralded by a temptation of melancholy, which Lanlan easily resists. Then the portal tears open and smacks closed and he’s here. Lanlan doesn’t turn around to see him yet, seeming to be appraising the invisible thing that sleeps on the table. Though past the back of his head, an eyebrow like a flourish of calligraphy twitches. “You wear the crown like a curse,” he smirks. “I think I can feel the misery coming off you, which is so strange since you wanted it so much you stole it. Or so I’ve heard.” He turns around at this point to bask in the misery and see how his humor lands. It’s only what Kasyr’s earned for subjecting people to himself in this state.

Kasyr might have squinted a bit at the room, if only because the familiar dust and must has given way to scents more fitting for a spa than a study space. "I wonder how the librarians will take this." Lan's barbed remark does precipitate a slight flinch on the kensai's part- followed by his attention flickering to his suit pocket. Because, unfortunately, the Kensai is still stuck wearing spider-silk fineries, and looking far too formal for his liking. Really, the only part of the ensemble he likes, is his tie- which might explain why it's somewhat askew from being fiddled with one too many times. "Mm. And Xalious is enacting undead spree killings, and 'colluding with the government to oppress them'. Or didn't you know?" There's a weary disgust there, a contempt wholly targeted elsewhere- with Lanlan only on the very cusp of it all. "Oh, and the living are land thieves who owe those passed on the properties they once owned or tread upon. That too." Because that one would go over so well.

Lanlan rolled his eyes at any idea of concern toward a librarian who would allow their only responsibility to be shirked for so long. “I hope it hurts them,” he mutters. Lanlan is dressed somewhat like a caricature of vampiric nobility, with his magnificent coat of many coats turned to a side that’s all red on the inside, and a cthonic purple on the outside. The collar of it is stiffly turned up and terminates into batlike webbing. Presumably, it has some purpose. Against the baseless accusations that were returned to him, he can only laugh. There were still a fair amount of people outside of Vailkrin who would see the act of expunging rambling corpses as heroism. “Ha! Very true, but luckily all the land I own was bequeathed to me, so I can’t be counted among such villains.” The land was in fact, stolen. “Anyway, you’ve been expecting me to delivery some good news, and I do have that. Maybe something of a remedy for these strange rumors,” he lifts the sometimes invisible string away from the table where it seems to float on its own, trailing up into nothing. He guides the floating string out of the library, holding it so proudly like a child with a balloon. As they step on the gravemoss and fall under moonbeams, the being or the object that’s invisibly tethered to the string materializes. It’s a floating cloak, mainly. The hood of it shrouds infinite blackness, and the sleeves hover over incorporeal hands that hold an incorporeal lamp and an incorporeal bell. No legs, the being that is the cloak terminates into rags and shadow. “This is Trismegistus,” he says, as if it explained everything. He gives the string a slight tug, and it falls away from Trismegistus. The ghost is quite literally unleashed. Its bell sounds a melancholy treble that seems echoless, soft, subtle, and yet it carries. A small ember in the lamp comes alight, and emanates a dolorous green-gold-white glow, that touches faraway places, but casts no shadows. Lanlan can only hear and see these if he tries, and Kasyr might find them quaint or not. But the thoughtless roamers would be drawn to them, tempted almost by echoes of their former being. Or lured by a forgotten thirst or hunger. Or maybe it is the first thing that inspires any purpose in them in their new existence. These were all theories. Trismegistus wandered away, seemingly aimless. The way it bobbed through the air, ignorant of a breeze or a tree branch or a stone, reminds Lanlan of a jellyfish the way its tattered and tendrilous rags fluttered. An incredibly ugly jellyfish. “Look, he found one.” From behind a twisted, leafless tree, a skeleton wearing its sunday best creaks out behind Trismegistus. Its suit pants are all shredded from being thoughtlessly snagged against countless briars, and one coat sleeve was missing, but it was mostly clean. It seemed to want to -get- the ghost. Due to some curiosity or bloodlust or hunger Lanlan could not guess. "Ah! Well done, he's found one already. How many more are there do you think." Trismegistus was moving very very slowly.

Kasyr might have silently mouthed 'Oh thank Daedria', when Lanlan mentions something akin to good news. Yes, the quirk of following Lanlan as he tugs along an invisible balloon string is a bit odd- but the swordsman goes along with it anyways. Inoculated against weirdness had been part and parcel to being part of the Cabal. Frankly, the actual appearance of something associated with the string actually adds an air of normalcy to the whole ordeal, "Evening, Meg." Not that the ghost heeds him. It seems a bit too concerned with rattling its bell, and milling over the graves like a dread harbinger, albeit a mildly charming one. Admittedly, that epitaph is likely accurate, given that it was doing a more than adequate job of drawing a shabby skeleton to it's presence. "Well, if we take into account the multiple regions that Caluss marched through, the overall time he had to prepare, and the hundreds of years that bodies have been piled out- minus those that were incinerated or obliterated as part of combat or funerary rites-" The kensai extends his fingers as though he's counting, before finally shrugging, "It's a lot. Just, an unfathomable amount. -But- this should help the necromancers guild in sorting through. ...Et, er, it is an undead dealing with undead, non?" Was it actually a ghost, or just some illusory phantasm. Did he even want to know?

Lanlan was a little surprised, but none too perturbed to hear of the approximate infinity zombies that were roaming about. It shouldn’t end up being his problem. “Then it could be a long time. Just keep the skies clear of any clouds that might block the moonlight and he could go on like this forever.” As Trismegistus wandered deeper into the graveyard, other unliving creatures in various states of decay, with various sections of their flesh drooping or dragging, mindlessly formed a herd. Some others who heard the noise and saw the light did step out to see what it was and to decide whether or not they thought the sensations were pleasant (to no avail), but they wouldn’t become the swarm. “It’s something like an echo of life,” Lanlan says in response to Kasyr’s categorizing. “I think it has even less of a will than the ones it leads.” There would come a time when the herd of undead would be so large that it might clog up parts of the city if what Kasyr said was true. Lanlan brought his handkerchief back to his face just thinking about it. “Now what are you doing about that other silly little thing.” He seemed to think again. “Wouldn’t it be nice to clear it all up this weekend.” He smiled with mischief and perhaps menace, and even his eyebrows seemed to curl up in a smile. “You must have something in mind to address it?”

Kasyr wonders if he'll hear complaints about a proverbial pied piper just scooping up mindless and feral undead. He decides he doesn't give a single damn, given the most vocal representatives seemed intent on laying blame everywhere else, and refusing to extend an iota of co-operation. "What? You mean the rumours? To a certain degree, nothing. Far be it from moi to provide them fresh fuel to spiral with." There's a pause there, before he scrutinizes the archmages' decidedly expressive eyebrows, "Or did you mean our erstwhile refugees? Because if you come bearing solutions beyond providing supplies and ensuring they don't get picked off, I am certainly all ears." Perhaps a bit more literally than normal, given the Kensai' cat ears have quite literally perked in the hopes of something bordering a decisive conclusion to at least one of the city's problems. "That said, if it's something beside- well, if it's not abundantly clear, there's enough problems to last a good long while."

Lanlan manifested offense, “Of course I mean the rumors. No I suppose it’s all in hand isn’t it with the upcoming messages of (he glamorous his face) positivity.” His face becomes uncanny in its radiance and literally twinkling smile. “Does that type of thing work for these people as much as it does for humans?” He takes the glamour off like it was a mask and throws it over his shoulder. Then he makes a deep exhale, and as if it was the burden that was holding him to the ground, he floats. He looks like he’s monitoring the progress of an investment, or admiring it. “The drow refugees? They have their own plans,” he muses, hardly considering that it couldn’t be a welcome prospect for anyone. Even them. Trismegistus is taking a more deliberate path than he expected. And then beyond some twisted trees and hanging moss. He see’s another. One with bark slick with oil or tar, with limbs stretching and jointed like that of a great insect, and his heart flips. Why was his creation going -there-? “Have you been back to it yet?” Lanlan begins to list along the breeze in the direction of where the god fell.

Kasyr snorts at the display, though the question itself is afforded a bit more thought, "If they're sentient, then they want hope. I imagine even the drow do- like reclaiming their homeland, and crushing the hopes of any insurgent slaves, ou quoi-ce-soit." Probably culturally insensitive. It's fine. In any case, as they trudge along, the kensai can't help but note -where- their path is taking them, and his expression grows a bit more sour. "Ah. Here and there. Mostly so I could make notes on how much wood et oil we'd need to pile around to set it on fire. I doubt it would take- but I imagine a yearly burning will help bring up the mood in the city. Et if that celebration carries on for long enough- maybe I can just...erase or distort the meaning until every iota of the things' gone." Like the little puppet shows, starring Vurmin & Vakathwak.

Lanlan thinks for a moment on Kasyr’s perception of the drow. In particular he’s considering a language he hasn’t had much use for lately. “I’m not sure they have a word for such a thing as ‘hope’. I think they have something similar that they recognize in other peoples when it is gone. The context is all wrong, though. It’s not something they could ever have.” It’s primarily reserved for surface groups who understand their fate is something that can no longer be fought against. It’s replaced with blades or with chains. Hope to them is something that’s taken, not something to hold onto. “I don’t see the slaves returning with them. There’s too many of them here, and I don’t think their laws of property persist in the light.” Realizing he’d misspoke, he adds, “Or in the moving wind.” But it was becoming secondary to the tree now, and the field of tall swaying grass that surrounded it. Or was it an endless swarm of maggots? No, it was something much more foreboding. “I don’t like that,” says Lanlan, observing from above the gentle swaying motions of a horde of undead creatures. They were packed densely around the wretched tree. Already Tresmegistus was peeling them away, but the fact that they exist discomfits Lanlan. Not that it necessarily implies any sort of remnant of the god’s will, but it evokes a dreadful facsimile. Whether they came to seek the tree out, or the newly ambient energies radiating out of it caused the creatures to emerge from the dirt, he couldn’t say. “Maybe Xalious does enact -one- undead killing spree,” he offers, as a cracked wooden staff slides out of his coat sleeve.

Kasyr supposes there -are- people with a bleaker outlook on life than him. Lanlan's cultural enlightenment lesson is mulled over for a few moments, before he shakes his head, "I imagine not. Unlife provided an opportunity- where they could be something more than a beaten dog clinging to a half-life." The swordsman finally removes the cigarette he'd been searching for earlier and sets it between his lips, where it rests unlit. "Well, I don't like it either- but unless they start -doing- something, I'm going to leave it be until I can get the necromancers guild involved." There's a pause as Lanlan makes his offer, in tandem with the appearance of his staff, "Don't. Let's not scuttle the peace summit before it's begun. I'd rather not have to stop you from playing the villain, monsieur- despite how much that would simplify things here." Ascendi only knows the publicity of fighting of Xalious archmage in defence of the undead would be as far as headlines- but the ramifications would be a problem in and of itself.

Lanlan looks down to Kasyr with some mild incredulity. “You see how this looks.” As Lanlan draws nearer, he sees that several of the shuffling mass are wielding familiar implements. Or, no that isn’t correct. They’re not -wielding- anything. Nevertheless several among them are specifically ones who were among Caluss’s agents, the ones he used to exert his will beyond what his mere presence would do. Probably it was only natural that the mindless multitudes in this area would become lured to the place. His eyebrow twitched, and he became instantly repulsed. “The magic here is like the musk of a hundred forgotten tombs.” All mildew and decay that he could sense even with his handkerchief over his face. “Fine.” And then he decides there’s another way to help the situation after all. He flutters over above the shuffling mass, careful not to let its biome touch his. A small breeze blows from the sky down on him, keeping a positive pressure environment all around him so none of their breath could ever become mixed. And then he touches his staff to a branch that was curled up something like what happens to a bug when it dries up. And then he touches his staff to Tresmegistus’s lamp. More of the horde decide to leave then, and follow their newest whim. “If you’re not going to kill them then what are you going to do.”

Kasyr may have rolled his eyes, "I'm not -blind-. Unfortunately, good swathes of the undead population are. Did you know we have Caluss deniers?" The swordsman casually observes Lanlan's movements, following some what in tow, "That he didn't exist, that he didn't -do- all of this, that the vampires spontaneously killed themselves- oh, et that we brought him here." The swordsman was beginning to wonder if there was truth to the theory that the intelligence of certain undead was wholly linked to how intact their brain was when revived. It would explain so much. "We do anything, they threaten to 'decisively' finish the problem. Which likely involves a more conscious attempt at genocide, et dealing with the problems they perceive elsewhere." The swordsman pauses, before rather darkly emphasizing, "Attempt." As Lanlan's pet polter begins to slip towards a new environ, the Kensai likewise redirects his movements, "It's why I'm involving the necromancers guild. They still have -somewhat- good ties to the necropolis, I imagine partly due to their undead staff, rather than any of the, "Yes, there are air-quotes when he says, "Breathers. But, dealing with everything that carries his taint, or that es simply feral will likely fall on us, since they seem to be leaving things alone. Probably so they can cry negligence if we do nothing, et discrimination if we act brashly, or involve ourselves directly." It's great. It's fantastic. "Frankly, I'd rather the militants just gather up et try to kill me. It'd be far more tolerable."

Lanlan abruptly spins around and glowers at Kasyr, a look of great malice and fury spreading across his features that makes him look decidedly less human compared to the way most perceive elves and drow. Yet he floats down gently, his ire is not created for Kasyr. Back down to his level, his glare lingers unblinking into Kasyr’s. “...Deniers?” In a flash, this became all about him. “And what pitiful soul has risen from the murky depths of ignorance to question such a reality as this? What insect flies in the face of undeniable truth?” He barely took a breath. “Their skepticism is but the feeblest attempt to rob me of my achievement, tarnish my name! They should be in admiration! I should…!” He took a breath, suddenly gaining his wits back, or mollifying himself to vengeance in a future act. Then, in perfect composure, he resumes. “Well I must admire you for keeping the peace in the face of such flagrant stupidity. Did you mention the name of this Denier?”

Kasyr s' cigarette is sparked alight, the swordsman taking a brief puff, even as he tilts the smoke off to the side, "Welcome to my headache, monsieur." He's not even going to correct Lan. The man's on a roll, and quite frankly- a mutual disgusted animosity was better than quibbling over details. "I imagine they'll get quoted in the paper again, but- well, their opinions have already been inked in once." The swordsman looks a bit pensive there, before he neatly adds, "That said, I'll kindly ask you the same thing as I asked Tessa. Don't kill them. Martyrs cause more problems, even if their cause is-" He gestures off to the shambling corpses which lurch away from the vile tree, "misguided."

Lanlan gazes near lovingly toward his spectre and the great herd it was creating, as the smoke from Kasyr’s cigarette seems to float past an invisible force that keeps the sorcerer clean from airborne contaminants. “Of course I won’t kill them. But I think what we’ve seen today indicates a remnant of Caluss’s influence that must be addressed.” There is a portent of the undead demise even if it isn’t at his hands directly, and he hardly veils his intention. He spins back to the front of Kasyr’s request. “And have you and Quintessa come to terms, again? That’s…good.” Lanlan didn’t know what it was, but he most certainly did not agree with his own statement.

Kasyr nods solemnly, because as much as it was simple enough to gloss over, he'd suspected much the same as Lanlan. "I almost wonder if it's influence es in part responsible for some of the...inane behaviour. Or perhaps, hope- since the alternative elicits a certain exasperating kind of dread." The swordsman takes in a deep drag of his smoke, before casually flicking it off to the side, "Anyways, knock yourself out. Lefty es one of the militants willing to come to the table. Though, they seemed fairly dismissive of the idea that anything was wrong, or any fault or responsibility lay with the undead." Undead matters being resolved by undead seemed to amount to - displacing blame on vampires and whinging, rather than producing results. As for Tessa, "Work in progress. We'll see. Though I imagine her wife is apt to disagree with any attempts on that part. With some choice words, and maybe an assassination attempt." Not like limited mobility limits a creative and cruel mind.

Lanlan seems altogether elated that Kasyr agrees with him on the point of them being influenced by Caluss. “Good! Some problems only need a little encouragement in sorting themselves out.” As to Tessa, they would be talking soon as well, and perhaps he could understand what type of strange circumstance has brought the two together again. “Ah! Poor Karasu, she’s been in such dire straits lately.” Suddenly he had become much more sympathetic to her plight–whatever it is. “So many perceived betrayals and insults. Though I believe she does have reason to wish -you- harm, so many of us are becoming casualties to their strange form of affection. It’s all the time spent with humans, you know. They’re absolutely ruled by their feelings.” With the summit meeting incoming, and a task or two to see accomplished before then, Lanlan makes preparations to take his leave. “The ghost should work independently as long as moonbeams touch it,” he instructs. And already the world around them seems to be gradually changing, as if the grim landscape of the graveyard was being overlapped by a land of verdant greens nestled in a clutch of mountains. The mage’s tower, the village, the tree, are all able to be seen in the peripherals of one’s vision. Something like a road appears, though its paved not with stone and has no rutting, and seems more like a whorl of glittering dust. Lanlan steps into it and abruptly seems to vanish, along with the realm of Xalious.