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+--- Thread: A Quiet Crossroads (Lake Baikal, Siberia) (/thread-1274.html)
RE: A Quiet Crossroads (Lake Baikal, Siberia) - Sören - 04-03-2023
Of course she argued.
Another rune assault unleashed, but he could only harry the creature’s advance for so long. “Jävla helvete, it’s not attacking me though is it!”
There was no fault in Kemala’s ignorance, but Sören snarled for how slowly she packaged away her pride in favour of action. It was not the time for enlightenment, and she could chew his ear off later if she wished; right now, it was a moment for survival. Fortunately he felt the instant she complied, though only because he was waiting for the tells. Expression fierce and expectant he guarded the moment with a focus on the creature, fist held tight, ready to act. He expected its attack to cease, as had the monster in Roopkund’s lake when the provocation was removed, but it wasn’t as though his assumption was without risk. Sören knew he wouldn’t die here, but he was reluctant to send Kemala to a watery grave just to test a hypothesis.
The creature dived almost immediately. As quickly as it had appeared, only the pink frothy remains of its blood and the tumultuous lake surface betrayed its surfacing before them.
Sören’s ragged breathing calmed. He waited a moment longer before he turned to Kemala. Clearly the shield of his body had been good for keeping her dry, he noted in irritation; Sören himself was soaked through, having taken the brunt. Fortunately he was also better dressed for the weather. “We have not sunk,” he observed. Clearly the lash of her tongue would follow; it felt prudent to point out before she had the chance.
“Are you hurt?” he demanded to know. He didn’t think so. Fear had frozen her solid before, yet for how quickly it thawed to the heat of her temper he suspected she was fine. But Declan’s fate made its haunt.
[[swedish is just a curse]]
RE: A Quiet Crossroads (Lake Baikal, Siberia) - Kemala - 04-03-2023
If Kemala previously doubted the indulgence of Sören’s story at the hostel, her opinion was now completely flipped. The fantastical lake he described nestled in the heights of the Himalayas echoed with the ring of having been all too real. The most chilling part was the notion that the lakebed in his story was indeed layered with a carpet of human remains. She felt all too close to contributing her own bones to the design of Lake Baikal’s impossible depths.
But the more afraid she’d grown, the more angry she’d become. He really was hunting lake monsters, just like before. He’d plainly said as much, although he knew she didn’t really believe the fantastical tale, but played along for some foolish reason she wouldn’t admit to herself. That aside, it was what he did not say that pushed all the heat from her icy toes up to her eyes.
“I’m so glad you were better prepared this time and thought to bring bait!” The water stopped leaking into the boat, but her feet were already frozen through solid. She couldn’t tug her legs up upon the narrow bench and keep her balance especially with him standing like a great tree where it didn’t belong, so she hugged down all the tighter into the shawl. Sören was soaked clean through to the bone yet he didn’t so much as shiver. That really burned her the most while she was so cold she had to clench her jaw tight just to keep her teeth from chattering.
Was he really concerned about her welfare? If so, she wasn’t too keen on the flip-flopping of being bait one moment and a beloved deckhand the next. “Yes I’m fine. How fortunate for me you reeled me back in time,” she sniffed. Her dark gaze might as well been spears sticking him to the seabed.
“Now what?” she asked, sulking, feeling foolish and worse, trapped, but it wasn’t like she was going to risk using the Energies a second time.
RE: A Quiet Crossroads (Lake Baikal, Siberia) - Sören - 04-06-2023
Sören paused to consider whether the heat in her accusation was justified. He had been using Kemala. Of course he had. But the word bait curled his lips downward and stiffened the muscles locking his jaw. It implied a carelessness he did not care for, and the insult dug under his skin colder than the water dripping down his face. “I told you what I was doing,” he said bluntly. If she had not believed him, the fault lay with her.
“You told me you stared down a tsunami. You asked to come. I would not have allowed it if I did not think you were capable.”
He could feel his temper begin to stir. Not at her, really, but at the way Declan’s face burned behind his eyes sometimes. He was not likely to risk the same mistake again.
In the end he grunted and released his fist. The runes fizzled out.
If need be, he could unearth Morven from wherever the Custody buried her, or press upon the Network to connect him with another woman who could use the runes. Either of those would take time, but first he needed to ascertain how to recover the shard without losing it to the bottom of the lake. Roopkund had drained itself upon its guardian’s demise, but clearly the same would not happen here. In the meantime Elias could search all he liked, but lacking the missing piece it would be fruitless. The girl trailing in his company had no power of her own. Sören had time.
What he did not have was the patience to soothe Kemala’s hurt feelings. No matter how pathetic she looked huddled under that shawl. He sat. They rocked, gentle and aimless without the boat’s motor.
“I’ll take you back, if that’s what you want. You’ve every right to be afraid.” His gaze returned to mildness, though it was not without challenge. He did not in fact think he was wrong about her capabilities, or her courage. He finally retrieved the warm thermos from his pack, and held it out. “Instruct me. How do I get the boat to move? We’ll need to work together.”
RE: A Quiet Crossroads (Lake Baikal, Siberia) - Kemala - 04-06-2023
The subtext that she was afraid bothered her. She was afraid, and she would admit it, but she disliked the idea that she should be more calm simply because he’d half-told-her what to expect. In the most fantastical and twisted way, no less, knowing that she was only entertaining the idea because of the way he told the original tale. Kemala could hardly look him in the eye anymore. It was just too damn hard. Instead, she blinked and turned her attention to the surface of the water with a frown. It had settled back to glass by then, completely impervious to the disturbance. Nay that anything swam beneath them at all. Were there more down there? How many? The lake was flooded with rumors and tales. It was why she came to Baikal at all, chasing the legends of snakes and fantastical creatures and hoping to find another nest of the Naga that had saved her so that she could deliver them from hiding.
The boat rocked a little when he sat, but it was a soothing movement. She breathed a sigh of relief, but the lowered proximity all but forced her to meet his eye again. They were so light. Like he was some sort of albino fish tentatively testing shallower waters for the first time. But like the surface of Baikal, their lightness was hard and accusatory. Anger rimmed them, which inflamed hers in turn.
”I did stare down a tsunami. There were innocent people behind me, and I was protecting everything that I love. What is here for me to love?” The words spilled before she understood the meaning. She didn’t mean that there weren’t innocents or anyone else that captured her care, but the Energies came out of defiance and anger. She had been afraid, but most importantly, stubbornly refused to lose what she loved most that night.
A silence plugged her voice as she searched for the right saying.
”…This is just fishing,”, she muttered. He clearly didn’t love the creature that he sought. Nor show any attachment to the people, land, or anything else except being tall and wet. Bangsat.
She tried to remember more of what they discussed at the hostel. He talked of a talisman that aided him in the previous encounter. Other than generic suggestion of helping him, she had suggested to accompany him for the spectacle first and foremost and for the company second. The journey from Bali was lonely, and Kemala enjoyed a storyteller. Oh how foolish she’d been.
His question went unanswered but for casting her dark eyes toward the distant shore, finally summoning the pride to meet his light ones again. She was tempted to explain nothing. That if he couldn’t figure it out, they would have to sit there until they drifted to shore.
Instead, she decided she didn’t want to sit in the boat all day simply to prove a point. She drew a cleansing breath and tried to put the emotions behind her. It worked a little. “I will explain, but you must tell me what we are doing here. Why do you want that thing? And why do you want me here?" Her feelings bubbled up annoyingly that moment.
"Am I bait or am I something ... else?”
She went on to explain how she did what she did. “To harness the power of tenaga dalam, you must quiet the mind and focus the breath. Be satisfied with the moment, stop moving and remain still. Once you do, you can sense the five powers: Jasmani, Rohaniah, Batin, Dalam, and Gerak, and embracing these powers was how I faced the tsunami and moved the boat. Sweep the boat with the power of dalam, the power of breath,” she said while making a motion with her arm like it was obvious what to do.
Of course, it took her years of practice and meditation to master tenaga dalam. Sören, on the other hand, seemed the opposite of the type to meditate and turn inward. He was action incarnate.
RE: A Quiet Crossroads (Lake Baikal, Siberia) - Sören - 04-10-2023
There was nothing he could say to remedy the insult she saw in him, which made him reluctant to say anything at all. Sören had the knowledge he wanted. Kemala’s offence at his method ought to be easily cast aside, and it annoyed him that it wasn’t. Those hooks of hers dug through his skin still, and he resented how the flash of her accusation made him want to defend himself. She hadn’t been hurt. He hadn’t intended to allow her to be hurt. And she certainly wouldn’t have come if he had explained bluntly his intentions. She acted like bait and something else were mutually exclusive rather than an efficiency he took advantage of for both reasons. His presumption of her capability was a compliment, and one so rarely bestowed he was stung that she did not accept it like the golden offering it was.
Sören watched her suddenly refuse to look at him in surprise. He suffered no such weak affliction in return, for Kemala held the entirety of his attention now. She did not reach for the flask, and so he placed it on the boards by his feet. Despite himself he was not unmoved. She infuriated and allured in such equal measure he was unsure of navigation.
“Providence spoke, I only listened; she does not always reveal to us the question when she provides the answer. We are rarely only one thing or the other, Kemala. Bait, or something else. King or servant. You tell me which you are.”
But he answered her other question without further coercion. His forearms settled onto his knees as he spoke, hands lightly laced, seeking the captivation of attention that tried to allude him. “I went to the lake at Roopkund because a friend asked for my help. The creature there had killed an entire expedition already, and he was convinced there was a secret to discover – that it guarded something,” he said. If Kemala was searching for nobility, she would find little to her liking. But passion in Sören was like deepest flames; nurtured deep, a furnace. It held the cadence of his voice now, measured and poured like nectar. He did not soothe her injured feelings, but did offer truth in its stead; to him, perhaps they amounted to the same value. “The creature attacked me specifically. I told you the truth at the hostel, that the scale you touched belonged to the creature that took my eye, and I thought my sight was the payment owed for the talisman procured. Together, we discovered a tomb beneath the blanket of bones afterwards. It did not belong to this world, Kemala. I have never seen anything like it. Runes whispered there; objects imbued with the gifts we wield. I would describe it for you if you asked me, but words make a poor man’s reflection. Easier to describe paradise.
“I thought my eye was the sacrifice demanded. I was wrong. My friend lingered when he should not have, and I let my attention lapse when I should not have. We were nearly at the surface again when the final price was paid.” He did not take a blink from her attention, but neither relinquished the privacy of his own guilt and grief; those were not secrets of his soul he deigned to share with anyone, even Declan’s widow. Her judgements would not scathe his armour. Like as not she would be unable to keep them to herself, he thought sourly. But neither did he lack emotion. “When I was approached for the job of uncovering a second creature guarding a second treasure, I accepted. To ignore the mystery is to make a mockery of his death and my role in it. That is why I am here.”
He had expected her to impart some wisdom on the steering of the boat, not her understanding of the power itself. If it was just a case of nudging, it seemed an easy enough task. He offered no clarification though, accepting the knowledge in open interest. In reciprocity he reached for the back of his thick sweater and pulled it over his head. Cold bit his skin, a chill that made him grunt. The shirt beneath was similarly damp, but it was the ink on his forearm he shared with her. A depiction of runes. “I read it in patterns,” he told her. “If I remained as still as you say and allowed it to embrace me, the runes would consume me to cinders. To command it is a battle. It is life and struggle and ferocity. Such is the reason I believe the creature here was lured to attack you and not me. Such is why you cannot see the weaves as I make them, nor I yours.”
Fist softly closed, the runes threaded a gentle path as he spoke, but not yet to move the boat. Instead it warmed the air around them, burrowing faint heat into the shawl clasped about her shoulders. He would be gratified to witness a measure of surprise once she noticed, he realised. It was not a comfortable acknowledgement, yet he did not find himself able to look away from searching her face. “We bargained as equals, Kemala. You cautioned me to judge you a goddess. If you think I have used you unkindly, then you are owed in kind. What would you have of me?”
RE: A Quiet Crossroads (Lake Baikal, Siberia) - Kemala - 05-13-2023
The pulse of anger thumping her heart slowed, although she was hesitant to release her anger. She was aware that the proportion of her reaction was unfairly volatile, but the tightness of her jaw and purse of her lips did not soon release. If only because she wanted him to suffer through her ire a little while longer. Even if the story that flowed forth swept aside some of the emotion that caused it in the first place. She wished Sören had but shared the fullness of the truth last night, but now she could sample the drips of such awareness amid the fantastical words pouring from his mouth. When he described the sacrifice of his friend, her face suddenly tilted up, settling on the paleness of his eyes. The colors were matched perfectly, she thought, and only upon deeply peering into their watery depths could she discern something different about the cloned organ compared to its mate. He was willing to subject himself for a cause, but the sharpness of his jaw and curl of his posture told her that he grieved what was taken instead. Had he put this friend in danger as he had her? No matter intentions, accidents happened. Did the friend walk willingly into the maw of death? Or did he only realize it once the trap was snared? It sounded like an agonizing death. She was near to reaching out to those tightly clasped fists when he moved instead.
The sudden tug of the sweater flared her eyes to moons. For all the fire within, it did little to keep her actually warm. To take off her clothes in that moment would freeze her to ice yet he did as much without hesitation. She could see the arcs and ridges of his body clung to his undershirt. It was almost obscenely damp. For a woman raised on the sea, where clothes were annoying tolerances when all they wanted to live in was swimwear and walk bare foot, she did not understand the flush of her reaction. Yet doggedly, she would not look aside. Her attention followed where he led like a fish on the line to the shapes and writing dotting his forearm.
She’d never heard anyone speak of such things out loud. Even the King Nāgarāja was silent on such matters but what Kemala needed for herself, specifically. She was fascinated by his tale as much as she was drawn in by his exotic voice the night before, but mostly she concerned that he would catch a cold. She was frowning at the soggy sweater after that, wondering if she could risk using the power of tenaga dalam to pull the water from the fibers, when the shawl began to slip from her shoulders. She hadn’t realized she wasn’t holding it so snug until that very moment. It was as if she was laying in the soft folds of sand warmed by the sun, warm water lapping her toes. The sensation lulled her eyes low to savor the strange transportation home. After a moment to gather her bearings, she looked around herself, and finally studied the shawl now fallen to the crook of her elbow as if it was one of those magical objects he found in the tomb.
When she found no logical explanation, her attention settled on his face. He was watching her so closely that it stole the breath from her lungs. Her lips parted as if to speak words of awe, but they wriggled free of his hook and she imparted her high judgement instead.
“You mean to tell me you could have warmed me up this entire time?” She tsk’d a sniff to hide the smile that threatened to break her smooth expression, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. She realized that there were perhaps better choice of words than ways to share warmth, so she shook it off and quickly followed with another. “I will think of how you may repay me ‘in kind’, Sören North Man.”
She sat straighter as she crossed her arms. She assumed he would steer the boat back to shore now, but she had a feeling this was not their final excursion on the water today. Sören still had not captured the trinket that lured him to Baikal.
RE: A Quiet Crossroads (Lake Baikal, Siberia) - Sören - 01-24-2024
Sören watched as Kemala became aware of the warmth coursing through the shawl he’d gifted her. Watched as it slid down her skin to the crook of her arm. Her eyes lidded shut, lulled into a perfect serenity that made him very aware. It was more gratifying than simple surprise, for unguarded like that she was utterly beautiful. Not a new observation by any means, but in that moment he felt a part of its making.
He was still opening looking when her attention landed back on him. Sören’s gaze was steady for her reaction, and his lips twitched into a self-aware smirk when she snapped. For once he did not find frustration in her lack of gratitude. Kemala sat like a queen in judgement. It wasn't forgiveness, but he had no use for that anyway. He found her intriguing.
***
Their way back to shore was uneventful, and Sören spent much of it in contemplation as he steered the boat. Elias had no female channeler at his disposal, which meant he had time to plan and prepare thoroughly for his next move to recover the creature’s shard. There was still Thalia and her theft prickling at his pride, of course, but ferries to the island on the lake were not frequent, and it was not like she could simply disappear. For the first time in a long time, Sören toyed with the luxury of time at his disposal, and a new object of his curiosity.When they disembarked he helped Kemala in whatever way she directed; the water was her kingdom, and for the same reason he had asked for instruction on steering the boat he deferred now. It was not subservience, nor apology, but acceptance of an equal and the respect it was due. On the docks it was cold and bright, teeming with tourists and locals both. The runes took the worst of the chill, though Sören had long since found that he could simply ignore the temperature if he focused past it. His sodden shirt had been dried with a moment’s attention while they were still on the water, but his sweater was slung over his shoulder along with his bag. He glanced down at Kemala, wondering if she would try to wriggle free of the hook now they were not confined to the boat.
“Eat with me,” he said.
There were plenty of restaurants along the waterfront that would offer better fare than the hostel, and she had declined breakfast that morning. Or at least she had haughtily attested to having her own food. A smile hinted at the corners of his expression, and it might have been charming had it not also had a slight air of needling to it. If she had an answer for him, or perhaps an upbraid for the forwardness, he didn’t get to hear it.
Sören’s eyes swivelled to the distance. No alarm seeped through the sudden austerity of him, though the abrupt weight of menace was nothing short of threatening. The hairs on his arms prickled. “A man is weaving the runes,” he said by way of explanation. The amounts were vast, and it pulled a frown over his brow just as the sky began to darken.
[[The sudden storm is the same one referenced in Dream, Memory, and Blood. The channeling Soren senses will occur in this thread]]
RE: A Quiet Crossroads (Lake Baikal, Siberia) - Kemala - 07-04-2024
Kamala took a moment to assess Sören’s invitation, her eyes narrowing slightly as she weighed her response. Despite his steady gaze and the hint of a smile playing on his lips, she could sense the underlying need to provoke her, to draw out a reaction. She’d learned to navigate these subtle manipulations, and while she found them mildly irksome, they also stirred a flicker of amusement.
“Very well,” she replied, her voice carrying the composed authority of one who had grown accustomed to leading. “I am choosing the place.”
Before Sören could interject, her attention shifted to the sudden shift in his demeanor. The relaxed smirk vanished, replaced by a keen alertness. His words about a man weaving the runes resonated with her, sending a jolt of concern through her veins. The darkening sky overhead mirrored the sudden gravity of the situation.
Kamala’s gaze followed Sören’s to the distance, barely discernible but undeniably significant. “A man is doing this?” she mumbled in apparent disbelief. “There’s no telling what kind of power he’s trying to harness.”
The once serene waterfront was quickly charged with an ominous energy, and Kamala could feel the eyes of the tourists and locals shifting uneasily as the sky continued to darken. Thunder rumbled overhead.
“Stay close,” she commanded, glancing back at Sören, though it was unclear why such an order was issued - for his protection, or hers. She huddled the shawl around her shoulders and hurried downslope to the water’s edge, her steps swift and sure. Others were rushing the opposite direction, seeking shelter against the impending onslaught. Drops of rain were already stinging her face as she waded into the water, its chill biting at her ankles.
She concentrated on the warmth of the shawl still draped over her shoulders, a small shield against the icy water curling her toes in their shoes.
“Let’s find out what he’s after,” she said, her voice a blend of determination and intrigue. “And make sure he doesn’t get it.”
Kamala took a deep breath, feeling the familiar Energies gather within her. Raising her arms to the sky, she focused her will. The rain, driven by a malevolent force, slowed in its descent. The chaotic winds around her began to abate, responding to her command with an almost sentient obedience. The storm was powerful, but so was she.
With every ounce of her strength, Kamala directed the Energies outward. She felt them intertwine with the natural elements, bending them to her will. The shawl stirred around her shoulders, and the icy water at her feet warmed slightly, reflecting her inner power.
Eyes opening, she peered across the lake that was now their battleground, and she spoke into the void between them. “Come find me.”
RE: A Quiet Crossroads (Lake Baikal, Siberia) - Sören - 08-01-2024
The frown deepened the lines of Sören’s expression, eyes hardened to slits as he tried to interpret the thick coils of power overhead. Mortals could witness the angry swell of clouds; the change in the air. But even Kemala could not see what he could. Rain began to spit upon his upturned face like mockery. Sören had no doubt who conjured such idiocy, but Elias must know by now that no display of his power would command the creature or her treasure to him. This was both foolish and dangerous, with no discernable gain.
He was not listening to Kemala speak, and the sudden spur of her movement away from him grit his teeth tighter with frustration at her pluck on his attention. But it was only when he realised the damn woman’s direction that he followed in haste, shouldering past the milling tourists wisely scurrying away from the unnatural storm. She was already ankle deep in the water by then, arms outstretched to the skies, and he did not need to heed the tingle across his skin to know what she was doing. His first irritated instinct was to haul her away before she got them both killed, but it was his second he acted on – gaze searching the churning line of water against the distant horizon as he came to stand close behind her.
Before either of their safety, Sören considered that they were now in the shallows, and the creature’s corpse would not fall lost to the deeps if she was vanquished here. Given Kemala’s prickly ire, he could not be sure she would even consent to be used in the hunt again, and the opportunity seized him tighter than the will to protect her from her own brash nature. Did she even consider what else her power might call? Yet between them, here and now, he knew they could do it.
His chest thundered in anticipation, but there was no movement across the lake beyond the fierce spears of rain, no matter how hard he stared.
Sören’s eyes stung as he sloughed the water free of his face with a swipe of his palm. Grim disappointment twisted his lips, and he was about to turn Kemala towards him with a sharp and commanding grip on her shoulder, when he realised with some measure of surprise that the storm was responding to her. He never touched her, hand hovering only a fraction from her fluttering shawl before it returned to his side, fingers curled inward. She barely stood to his chest, this ferocious tempest, and Sören stared down with an awed hunger for his witness of the arcane secrets that had mystified him since they met. Even the air around her stirred warmer, like she carried a sun in her chest in place of a heart. Her eyes were closed. Serenity in the chaos.
His gaze traced her features before she spoke again, eyes opening to the challenge extended, and with it Sören’s attention also lifted, to see if she received an answer.
RE: A Quiet Crossroads (Lake Baikal, Siberia) - Elias Donovan - 08-03-2024
From the eye of the storm, the hand of rage gripped his ribcage so firm, he could barely breathe. The storm was the outward projection of his fury, but inwardly, his body reacted accordingly. The muscles of his arms were corded so tight he hoped they would burst just to relieve the pressure, but the power flowing through his soul was not enough. There were no walls to punch; nothing to throw. The boat was empty but for Asha, and while the quick examination of the options considered her one of them, she was quickly passed over. He’d not harm her.
So he turned his face into the forward and yelled; screaming as loud as his throat would allow toward an invisible foe, but one that was all too real.
Then something changed. There was no describing it except that where his unbridled rage was unleashed, now it met, resistance. Rather than enflame him more, he came to stillness, hands resting limp at his sides, attention fully attuned to whatever was out there. Then, to his shock, the resistance began to push back. The power pulsed his body harder, more direct, feeding the storm overhead in response, and the push-pull of two mighty forces changed what was previously a severe storm into something supernatural.
The lake roared beneath them, waves rising and crashing like fists of water. The sky darkened to an almost impenetrable black, shot through with jagged, violet lightning. Trees on the distant shore bent and snapped under the storm’s fury, and the air itself seemed to vibrate with an eerie, humming energy.
“Someone is fighting me,” his calm voice nearly drowned by the howling wind.
The boat surged forward through the roiling waters, driven by a combination of Elias’s magic and the relentless fury of the storm. Each wave loomed like a monstrous wall, threatening to swallow them whole. The boat shuddered with each impact as it cut through the cresting waves, wood creaking and groaning as if on the verge of breaking apart, sending sprays of icy water into the air, drenching everything in its path. Overhead, thunder cracked and boomed, while the wind pushed the boat erratically, but Elias will kept them on course, fixed toward the distant shore where the source of the resistance waited.
As they neared the shore, the energy in the air grew more palpable, a heavy thrum that resonated in their bones. The shoreline came into view, a dark, jagged line against the tempestuous backdrop. There, amidst the swirling chaos, the silhouette of their opponent became discernible—two figures standing firm against the storm’s might.
As the boat reached the shallows, it skidded to a jarring halt, its hull scraping on the laky rockbed. By now the storm was subsiding, and Elias was moving quickly. With a surge of adrenaline, he vaulted over the side of the boat, his boots splashing down into the frigid water. He barely registered the cold as he rushed up the shore. There were two people waiting. One was a small woman wrapped in a shawl whom he primarily ignored for now; the other was the tall, lanky, dead-eyed face of Alvis, and all came into clear focus: the signal’s sudden disappearance and the storm to thwart his advance.
“Alvis! You fucker. I fucking knew it was you. Give me the shard. I know you fucking have it! Give it to me!” Power continued to boil inside him, and he was more than prepared to unleash it if Alvis did not give into the demand.