Microcosms?

[Machiavelli]

The sun was setting as he crept through the corn fields toward the barn. All around him rusty pools of light were juxtaposed against the deepening shadows. The elf paused, considering the tableaux. The sounds of twilight, of transition, carried through the still air. The crepuscular chorus of crickets, almost deafening in its softness, furnished an overture to the proceedings. Underlaying this, the rustling of diurnal birds preparing for a night in their nests was fading, even as the sounds of nocturnal creatures making their first forays into the gloaming gradually built in volume.

Transition? Yes. Change? Most certainly. But predictable in its course, however complex the dance between light and dark, between the denizens of each, and those of the twilight might be. Did they know the inevitable outcome, or was the result always a surprise to them? Did some perceive it as a victory, and others as a defeat, irrespective of the forces beyond their control which shaped events? Perhaps all this reflected the nature of the tide of history, as many liked to claim, but he seriously doubted it.

He returned his attention to the purpose which had drawn him hither. Perhaps that would provide deeper insights than the gathering night. Scanning the area, he ascertained that he had not been observed, and ever so quietly he made his way into the barn. The earthy, slightly corrupt, scents of the penned up animals replaced the cleaner ones of the twighlight outside. A strange admixture of the natural, and of captivity. First things first. He spotted a hen, scratching away at the ground in its enclosure, and made his way over to converse with the creature.

"Greetings my feathered friend." Said the elf, favouring the bird with a smile and a wink. "You may call me Erishkigal, or any other name that it suits you to use. I have come to offer you freedom of a sort, and a chance to see some of the wonders in this world."

The hen looked up at him, its beady eyes filled with utter incomprehension. He reached down and opened the door to its enclosure, in order to provide it with a means of egress. "Would you like to come with me, little one, and to taste the sweet air of liberty?"

No response was forthcoming, so he decided to try a different tack. He extracted his faithful companion Gobbles from within the folds of his robe, placing him down next to the hen. "Tell her Gobbles. Tell her what you have seen!" He encouraged the bird.

The two animals eyed each other pensively, making clucking noises and scratching at the ground. He watched patiently, waiting to see if this would lead to a breakthrough. After a while, he decided that a sufficient degree of communication had taken place, and picked up Gobbles, returning him to his home of fabric.

"Excellent! Come then." He reached down, attempting to pick up the bird, but it jumped squawking, away from his grasp. He furrowed his brow; this wasn't right. "Well, time for plan B then I suppose." He strode around the barn, opening up all of the animals' enclosures. "You are free now my friends! Take your liberty and go forth into the world that you may shape your own destinies." He told them all, a smile spreading across his face. The creatures simply milled around within their pens. His smile fell, replaced by a crestfallen expression. Why did they do nothing?

Deciding that he must seize the moment and make one final attempt, he scooped up the hen by one clawed foot, simultaneously murmering the smooth cadences of an invisibility spell. The creature began to make a terrible racket in complaint at this cavalier treatment, but the elf was undeterred and strode forth from the barn.

The commotion had, unsurprisingly, drawn the attention of the farmer. The man seemed rather taken aback by seeing one of his chickens floating upside down through the air, struggling and squawking.

"The bloody hell is this?!?" Exclaimed the rustic gentleman.

"Oh... Er... well, I'm a wind spirit you see." The elf made some whistling, wooing noises.

"What in hells are you doin' with my chicken?"

"Good question, but I don't actually have any answers. Woooooooo." At this, he decided to make a break for it, but he only managed to get ten or fiften yards before the bird broke free, and dashed back toward its comfortable captivity. The elf sighed, and started to move off silently away from the exasperated farmer and his intransigent poultry.

A short way off, he sat himself down on the ground to contemplate what all this might mean. As he sat, thinking it over, he heard a snuffling noise and felt a tug at his robe. It was one of the pigs from the barn. The creature shuffled about and grunted at him, as if trying to convey some message. The elf grinned, delighted at this new turn of events.

"Yes... what is it my friend? Tell me. I want to understand." He peered intently at the pig, sure that its activities embodied some deeper meaning, some method to insight. Sadly, after a few minutes, it simply wandered back toward the barn. The elf picked himself up, his mind racing in an attempt to understand all that had transpired. He began to walk away from the farm, the weird joy of existential uncertianty sending shivers down his spine.

[Machiavelli]

He sat on the hard stone floor of the cave, lost in quiet contemplation. The air up here in the spine was very cold indeed, and the rocks did not make the most comfortable of seats, but these inconveniences barely impinged upon his thoughts. If anything, the harsh realities which pricked at the peripheries of his consciousness seemed quite fitting. His mind wandered in strange spirals as he allowed it to drift where it pleased in search of answers.

After a while, how long was hard to say, something began to crystallise, like an emergent fractal pattern, from the disordered process of cognition. He drew in a deep breath, allowing his mind to focus, but as he did so the pattern began to slip away. Perhaps he ought to discuss this with someone.

From within his robes, the elf extracted a leather bag, untying the strings which kept it sealed. Reaching inside, he carefully drew out a severed head, setting it on the ground in front of him. He cocked his head, peering at the desiccated object. A woman's head, rictus grin spread across her face by the tightening of decaying flesh, exceptionally long canines now clearly visible. Somehow this was not quite right. He carefully propped the head on an angle, so that he was looking directly into the dark recesses of the empty eye sockets. This was better. It was always a matter of good courtesy to maintain eye contact during a conversation. The lack of actual eyes was no excuse for bad manners.

"So, Madame Vampyr, tell me, what have you become?" He asked of the head. "Actually, I can answer that. You are, quite obviously, a mummified head that I carry around in a bag. A thing simultaneously banal, and somewhat macabre. Not very interesting though." He paused. This line of questioning was going absolutely nowhere, so he decided to share his own thoughts with his companion.

"I know this is very rude, but if the truth is to be told, I'm not really very interested in you. I could make small talk, and ask you about yourself, but in reality I don't keep you out that type of curiosity." He shrugged slightly. "However, given your current state, I'm sure you won't mind if we discuss other things."

"I have been thinking on matters, my toothy companion, and I find that cetain aspects of them are bothering me quite deeply. Take my friends in the barn for instance; despite every opportunity being given, they simply chose to return to their comfortable captivity. Now, consider this valley and its inhabitants." Said the elf, clearly not making much of a distinction between the two groups. "The order here is corrupt and decaying. New things emerge, precisely what I cannot say. The collapse and the emergence of the new should be a matter for joy, a time of change and flux, but it is not. So far as I can tell, their prison is mutating around them into some other form of confinement, and all that they care to do is cling fast to the oppression they already know. Surely that can only doom them to worse as the walls that contain them gradually crumble, and they huddle in the ruins?"

He pauses, allowing the head time to contemplate the rhetorical question, regarding it curiously while gathering his own thoughts.

"But how to do good? How to help, hmm? People can rarely be talked out of follies with which they are greatly enamoured. And, in the end, what point is there in helping those who oppose the worst of what happens here if the only result is to prop up the foundations of the prison where they willingly keep their minds." Genuine sadness and regret began to fill him. Asking the same questions repeatedly would provide no answers, and his audience was being singularly unhelpful.

An agitated squawking began to emerge from within his robes. Gobbles was restless. He extracted the fowl and also some grain for his friend, plaing both on the ground. Gobbles pecked at the grain for a few moments before losing interest and strutting toward the severed head.

The bird walked around it in circles for a few moments, its beady eyes taking in the ruined countenance. It paused, and then began to peck at one of the ears. The elf watched in fascination. Was this something new? Had such a phenomenon ever occured before? A manic smile spread over his face as he watched the bizarre spectacle. The joy of witnessing something that few if any had ever seen before replaced the feelings of melancholy that had gripped him only a minute ago. As he watched the bird picking scraps of flesh from the hideous remnant, he suddenly knew what he must do.

It was time to return to the barn.

[Machiavelli]

It was the dead of night as the pair made their way across the fields toward the farm. The elf was glad to have the company of another who felt this to be a worthwhile endeavour, and to whom the strange insights gained during his meditations up in the spine also made sense of a sort. Sadly the night was clear, so the plan he had devised to make the whole thing appear an accident was unlikely to convince anyone of sound mind and reasonable intellect. Luckily it was Clevus the farmer with whom they would be contending, so that probably wasn’t a huge issue. “You ought to disguise your appearance my friend.” said the elf to his companion, “This isn’t the sort of work where recognition is desirable.”

His friend did not reply, but instead simply acted on the advice. Malaclypse winced slightly at the sound of bones cracking and reforming, as always simultaneously fascinated and repelled by the phenomenon of the shape shifter in action. The wince turned to a smile as he reminded himself that the Trickster would most likely approve, and he offered up some silent praise to the fickle deity. The reformation of flesh and bone was complete almost as soon as it had begun, and his accomplice now wore the form of a particularly healthy and magnificent looking dairy cow. He chuckled quietly at the sight, “Very fitting, now let us to work, yes?” His companion replied with an affirmative sounding ‘Moo’, so the elf began to creep along the road toward the barn, the pseudo-bovine entity clomping along inconspicuously ahead of him.

This was a risky business, so the plan was to conduct the whole affair in short order and be gone as quickly as possible. Firstly, the pens and the barn door needed to be propped open. Then for the main event, and to observe whether the anticipated outcome would indeed come to pass. He looked up at the stars shining in the clear sky with a wry smile; oh well, it had to happen occasionally, even in Sundren. At least it looked like Clevus was currently sleeping, as the windows of the farmhouse were dark.

As is all too typical of plans, this one lived for a very short time indeed. Indeed, it barely managed to draw breath in the first place. They entered the barn, concealed elf and cow shaped entity both taking in the surroundings. The barn contained a selection of poultry, some pigs, a cow and a rather surly looking horse. These were the same intransigent beasts that had been so reluctant to take freedom when it was both offered and explained to them. This time they would lose their cherished prison entirely. He smiled happily, going about unfastening the various enclosures and propping these open to provide the creatures with an easy means of egress. Unsurprisingly, they did not move to make use of it, precisely as per expectation. The sound of a quiet exchange between lowing livestock began to build as he was fiddling with one of the gates, and turning he saw his companion in the process of having some sort of ‘conversation’ with the cow. This was going to slow things down, but the best thing to do was finish the preparations. He crept out, unable to understand the specifics of the exchange in any case.

Collecting an armful of straw, he began to circle the barn, looking for an appropriate spot. Choosing one more or less at random, he arranged a neat pile and unstoppered a flask of oil, pouring it over the dry stalks. At this point the sound of hooves exiting the building could be heard, and he made his way back to the door to see what might be transpiring. The two cows had emerged, one shepherding the other away from its refuge and toward a nearby cornfield. With this accomplished, he urged his companion to come away from the other beast, and see what it might do. Predictably, no longer being herded away, the creature returned once more to its refuge. “I fear this approach will bear no fruit my friend.” He said quietly. Nonetheless, his companion apparently took a decision to persist. Once more the sound of cracking bone and reforming flesh as the shape shifter assumed the form of a Rooster, before re-entering for a fresh attempt at inspiring the occupants to freedom.

He remained outside, watching the nearby house pensively for signs that the occupant might be stirring. All of a sudden, some uncomfortably loud squawking began to filter out from within. Ducking quickly in the door, he was confronted by the spectacle of a rather bizarre standoff. One rooster, larger and more aggressive seeming so therefore his erstwhile compatriot, faced off against another with two hens behind it. They clawed at the ground and ruffled their feathers at one another, the occasional ‘bawk!’ escaping them as they feinted at one another with their fearsome beaks. Inevitably, the faux rooster’s position as alpha male was quickly established, and with a quick series of commanding noises and flaps, the others were coaxed from the barn, and out toward the cornfield. He followed, curious to see if this approach might bear fruit, but seriously doubting that it would. The same pattern that he had seen several times on different occasions began to play out once more. As soon as the pressure to move away was lifted, the creatures returned once more to their prison with obvious enthusiasm.

At this point, he was growing nervous and wanted to complete the intended task as quickly as possible, but apparently a third and final attempt was to be made. And who was he to deny the wiser member of their bizarre little pack a final try to resolve all of this rationally. The rooster became a horse, and entered once more. He remained outside, growing increasingly nervous that Clevus would be wakened from slumber by the various goings on. He waited, and watched the house for signs of movement. After a few more minutes, the horse emerged once more, but alone. “It’s not going to work, they’re too fond of their imprisonment and want to know of nothing else.” He said quietly to the beast, “Come, it’s time to do it my way before we are discovered.” There was an affirmative sounding whinny, and the two moved off to some distance away.

Looking up at the clear sky, he shrugged to himself with a slight smile. “Well, there’s no helping it now.” The elf murmured a few phrases, weaving an intricate pattern in the air before him with his hands and a lightning bolt split the clear sky. It struck true, and the straw at the base of the wall ignited. The fire began to spread quickly, moving up the wall and spreading to two sides of the building very rapidly indeed. Acrid smoke from the treated wood filled his nostrils, and he watched, waiting. Would they choose to burn rather than leave the world they knew? This was the moment of truth. Agitated noises filtered out from the barn, hard to hear over the growing noise of the fire itself until the various occupants hove into view. The animals spread out, heading off in several different directions at full tilt, apparently not so keen to return this time. A manic grin spread over the elf’s face, his eyes sparkling with reflected light from the fire. Here was something which made sense; an answer to the vital questions which had been plaguing him. He could feel a warmth growing within him, even as the heat from the growing inferno brought an uncomfortable prickling sensation to his skin.

Clevus finally burst forth from his residence, a look of horror and disbelief plastered across the farmer’s face. Now was the time to go. “We need to go now, lest we are discovered.” He said to his companion, but the Horse gave no response, simply continuing to watch the fire. The shifter could look after himself, but Malaclypse was reluctant to remain any longer. He quietly spoke the smooth tones of a spell to conceal himself, and began to creep off, filled at last with certainty as to what he must do.

((This thread is now complete, unless Captain Caveman or Cornuto want to add different perspectives on the events in/surrounding what took place in the final post. If you guys would like to, then please feel free.))

[Machiavelli]

The elf slowly came back to consciousness from the depths of his reverie. Disorientation, complete and overwhelming. His surroundings seemed completely foreign; some sort of cave. How long had he meditated? Where was this?

He shook his head, attempting to put his thoughts in some sort of order. An initial attempt to stand was met with a resounding veto by legs made numb with the cold and nerves pinched by the harsh rock on which he was seated.

This was a cave in the spine above Sundren, he recognised it now.

Body and mind were both sluggish, and he could not yet recollect why he had come here, or how long ago that had been. Time would be the cure. He began to massage the life back into his numb limbs.