2019.05.08 Saskia Dreaming Pt. 1
| Saskia Dreaming Pt. 1 | |
|---|---|
| Saskia is trained in the basic practices of Mind magic. | |
| Players | Oktav Saskia |
| Location | Saskia's Mind |
| Spheres | Mage |
On the day Oktav and Saskia choose to meet, it is abundantly clear that the Magi has made absolutely no attempt to clean things up to welcome his guest. If anything, the glass has only accumulated since last time. Oktav himself, however, is in his full gear - a long leather trenchcoat, with intricate demonic seals stitched into every square inch. He stands there, regarding Saskia behind crimson sunglasses. "My apprentice has wronged you and your friend, dragged hell to your home in a time of rest. If she hadn't done so, she would have died - I understand what she did and why she did it, but a price must be paid. From what I have come to understand, you have withstood attempts at Mind manipulation, by and large, through sheer force of will."
Oktav's face is impassive. It's clear that this is a rehearsed speech, that it was practiced again and again in the mirror, that he carefully chose every single inflection. "Force of will is necessary for the understanding of Mind. Thankfully, you have already taken many steps in cultivating this force. As such, instead of going with something as dramatic as Evaline's first session, we can start on the fundamentals from the beginning. Are you prepared, Saskia?"
Saskia is standing there, her boots crunching on the glass, opposite Oktav as she meets his gaze. Her eyes are narrowed with inquisitive intent, her expression hidden behind her stern Germanic masque. She's wearing combat grab, a long stylish double-breasted coat sewn with amour plates; with a tactical harness within that wraps around her torso beneath it. It sprouts various weapons, pouches and bits of equipment here and there as the coat is splayed open down the middle. A hefty sword hilt is poking out of the coat on the belt, the scabbard of the long bastard sword trailing down her leg almost to her ankle. It's a big sword. The pommel is a cruciform. "Your apprentice needs to learn about the virtues of a safehouse, not some girls apartment with no wards- no protections, no escape routes." She breathes out, "If I was not there, Teagan would be dead- Evaline would be dead. It was not a good impression, but... what is zee' saying?" She rumbles, and rolls out her wrist as she summons the phrase. "Best laid plans of moose and men- right?" She nods, affirming it. Totally correct. "I'm not swearing a vengeance pact against her if that's what you're getting at, Oktav."
She upticks her chin as Oktav mentions her force of will, "A War-mage of the house of flambeau must have unbreakable will." A pause, her lips twitching to the side. "Well, those of us who don't burn up in the first five minutes, anyway." She flares her eyes at that, a low rumble working in her throat. "We are know to have a hilarious attrition rate in Hermetic circles." Her shoulders roll, and she unwraps her arms about her chest which hang loosely at her sides. Her fingers wiggle, and clench into fists. "I'm ready, Oktav-" A pause, one of those fists launch out, stabbing a finger towards him. "So long as you don't convince me I'm some sort of poultry." She looks ready, or as ready as she can be to get her mind flayed alive by a man who sleeps in broken glass.
"And so long as you don't stab me with your walking armory, Saskia." Oktav smirks. "Evaline is not inexperienced, but she can be caught off guard sometimes. You were the only source of help nearby, as I was off on another Avatar-spurred jaunt. To seek help is human, and if you had sworn any kind of blood vengeance against her I would -certainly- not be teaching you even the rudiments of what I know. I teach you so that you will prove more useful to her, and to yourself. Also, it's mice and men, not moose."
Oktav takes a deep breath, and then returns to his more serious mode. "This lesson will be uncomfortable, but not unbearable. If you, at any point, feel that I am going too far, exert your will and force me out." Oktav raises his arms, palms turned upwards, as subtle magickal energies swirl around him. They flow in and out of the seals stitched into his coat, causing them to glow and fade as the power flows through the various demons required to make this spell work. Finally, all the magic coalesces into his back, where it flows into the Lesser Key of Solomon. As the room begins to darken, and unseen chains rattle in the far distance, the Key burns brightly even through Oktav's leather coat. The Magi sweats, his eyes closed and his mouth chanting words unspeakable. By degrees, the room grows darker, darker, darker, only the Key can be seen, and then...
...And then, they're both standing atop Helms Deep from Lord of the Rings. The horns sound out below as the hordes of Orcs mass for their assault on the walls, the archers behind firing arrows desperately into the dark masses and darker bodies of the horrible creatures in a futile attempt to stem the tide of death and destruction. The sound of fighting, the clash of weapons and screaming of the wounded fills the air. The acrid scent of war lingers in the air, it's so thick you can almost taste it at the back of your mouth. Something is off about it... the battle repeats itself, stuck in a repetitive loop of about five minutes. It replays itself again, and again, each time the defenders fail to secure and defend the breach in the walls. The orcs pouring in, slaughtering everyone in their path. Saskia and Oktav are both standing on the highest battlement, overlooking it all- they're standing in quite a precarious place, the wind whipping all about them in the night air. One false move, and they'll tumble off into the masses below.
The battle expanse only exists towards the horizon, a sheet of flames encircles the scene like a curtain. Sometimes, the flickering flames part and whip about to reveal another scene behind those, next to this one. Each time it's some sort of battle, either made up or drawn directly from a piece of media Saskia might've seen in the last few weeks. She's been on a binge.
"This..." Saskia breathes out, her form rigid and stiff as she looks down into the expanse of the battle. "Does not make me happy." She rumbles out, her eyes wide with sock and alarm. Takes a lot to jar this ones senses, but this is just insane isn't it? She reaches out quickly, her hands snaking over her warriors-form to find her weapons- nothing there. She's not even wearing her armour, just plain clothes. Something mundane. "This is ridiculous." She complains, snapping her azure eyes to Oktav. "Explain." She demands, her eyes wide, full of uncertainty and just a smidgen of concern.
Oktav watches over it all, standing atop the unsteady battlements as though he's relaxing in a city park. "This is -your- mind, Saskia. I can have what suppositions I like, I could tell you what I come up with, but this is not my doing. Everything here has come from the wellspring of your soul, from the things you have seen and heard and felt. An endless battle, grand in scope, repeating without end... but always with the same result." Oktav clasps his hands behind his back, watching as a soldier on the grounds dies for the third time over. "Your weapons are gone, your armor is gone, but you are capable of standing here amidst the slaughter nonetheless. This is the result of your will, but your will can only keep you present. It cannot arm you, nor keep you safe, in the realm of your own making."
Hands still clasped behind his back, Oktav steps forward, off the battlements and onto the air itself. "The realm of Mind is one steeped in metaphor and symbols. What reality -is- matters far less than what we -know- it to be, here. The rules in your Mind are far different than the rules in mine, or the rules in Teagan's, or in Evaline's. These rules cannot be affected by those who cannot learn to alter their own. And to alter these rules, first we must play by them."
Oktav turns, his eyes honing on on Saskia's as the slaughter continues below. The screams of the dying, man and beast, echo without end. "In this realm of your own making, in this dire situation, in this unending chaos, are you capable of arming yourself? That is what your Mind asks of you. I will interpret, and assist where I can, but these demons are of your own making and must fall by your own hand."
"Oh it -can- hurt me," Saskia rumbles out as she turns a little to get a better look at the chaos unfolding all around them. A careful twist, making sure not to tumble right off the side. "It's my mind. It can hurt me. A Flambeau pushes themselves to extremes in all things, living a fast and dangerous life before we expire." She rambles, and as she talks, the battle grows more and more intense as her words subconsciously change the experience around them. Infusing it with a sense of danger, and threat. A few arrows from below twang, and ping off the stone of the battlement- narrowly missing them by inches. Saskia doesn't even move when they zip past their heads, nothing more than a twist flashing across her face. Her lips pinch into a thin line as he explains the intricacies of the scene before them, endless battle with no victory in sight. A metaphor for the ascension war, and something deeper inside her that seeps in through the cracks of the mindscape.
"Reality is what we make it." The mage says, "Here is... no different." She mumbles, her brow knitting together as if she doesn't really believe what she's saying. This place is different, the same rules do not apply. Or at least, that is what it appears to be. To his last question, "A Flambeau is armed by just existing, Oktav- We don't need weapons, tools- Or, well we do need tools... we need Foci." She's rambling a little, her thoughts running around her in circles as she tries to come to grips with this setting. Again, as she speaks in her unsure and rapid tone- the battle seems to shift and spasm below, the fighters pausing in their attacks for mere moments as her thoughts meld the experience. She pinches her lips together, her nostrils drawing in a deep breath. She stretches out her arm, the muscles clenching and hardening in her bicep and forearm. Her lips move in silent words, the fingers on her other hand twist and twine against her leg. A form begins to coalesce in her palm, first a hilt- then the cross-guard. She holds it before her eyes, the blade of her bastard sword shimmers into being as she is thusly armed.
"Reality is not here, Saskia. Only you."
The blade materializes in Saskia's hand, a moment of great triumph, of will overcoming even the self - and strikes out with liquid silver, scoring a telling gash across Saskia's midsection. The blade is no blade at all, not truly - it shifts and shimmers, a thin stream of liquid metal attached to Saskia's hilt. It flashes another strike, this one aimed directly at Saskia's throat-!
"I invoke the Prince of Hell, Gaap. Thine impermanence shall engulf eternity itself, granting succor to the suffering." A tiny hole in the firmament of reality appears the barest inch from Saskia's neck, consuming the silver streak and shooting it out through a corresponding hole behind the blade's would-be hilt, redirecting the blow and causing the cursed blade to shatter into a thousand pieces. Oktav stands in the air, staring down at Saskia as her wound opens. "Your mind, your rules. Everything you believe without knowing, everything you've dreamed without understanding, all the things you have internalized in your life and carried with you, -they- are what hold court here. Reality bends to your will, but as you are now, your will is propped up by your Mind. Master your Mind, master your Will, master your magic."
Oktav throws his arms out, hovering amidst the chaos of war that grows only more frenzied as Saskia bleeds. "This is the realm you now enter, the realm you seek to control! Conquer this, and you will take one step closer to mastery of steel and self." Oktav's form begins to melt into the darksteel sky behind him, leaving behind only words. "I will help you as best I can, but I cannot save you."
