Closed In The Forests Of The Night

[Postmaster]

To whom it may concern,
•───────── [Date Goes Here] ────────•

Life continued as normal for some time after the the Ferrier and his apprentice had their peculiar rendezvous in Rømskog, long enough for one to almost think of it more as dream than memory. True to his word, the strange Rakshasa at the shrine that night made no habit of visiting the witch's grove, nor were there any new reports of incidents or hauntings with game-loving spirits. Day turned to day, and other concerns took the forefront, necessarily pushing the spirit's promise to the background.

But then, one day much like all others, a letter arrived for the master of Själasalr, writ in neat hand upon clean vellum and sealed with a dab of wax imprinted by a cat's paw. Inside was a simple message:

Honorable Velho fyn'Seiðr Hespæros,

Ten nights hence, I intend to depart upon a tour of the northwestern forest, to make a catalogue of the various beasts which dwell below and observe their comings and goings. This shall be groundwork for all that comes after, and to ensure that my observations are correct, I will require a second observer. In this, I must have the aid of someone who can observe these creatures with dispassion and discernment. I request your aid in providing such a person.

I pledge in full confidence that no harm whatsoever shall befall this person, nor any mischief of any kind, save that which may be within themselves. I will arrive to your door at that time, and I await to your fulsome response.

~ In faith, I remain,
Your obedient servant,
Postmaster.

On the tenth night, as the sun had just begun sinking below the horizon, the cat arrived. Out of respect for Velho (and not, of course, out of any concern that the place might be protected against Apparition), he materialized a short distance down the path leading to Själasalr in feline form and sauntered up towards the building.

When corporeal, it was the Rakshasa's ordinary custom to adopt the Seeming of the race with whom he was mingling, to avoid endless repetition of identification or alarum. Tonight, however, he intended to conserve his powers for the journey, and refused to waste his efforts on polite fictions. If any of the people who saw the behatted black cat walking up the road to the Ferrier's house were confused by the scene, that was upon their own heads.

Upon reaching the door, the cat paused and extruded a silky black tendril of aether, rapping smartly upon the door in the manner of any material guest.

•══════════⊹⊱❖⊰⊹══════════•​

Yr. Obdt. Svt.
Postmaster

 

[Velho]

༺༉❁ April 28 year 124 of the third age ❁༉༻
<notes>

Rakshasa were known to be a whimsical, distractible sort as a collective. These traits, when applied to individuals, varied quite wildly as one might expect. The most predictable thing about them, really, was their unpredictability. And so despite what Postmaster may have said, it was equally likely that the Ferrier might hear from the entity within the season, in several years, or even never.

Velho and Æhti had returned to their lives per what was typical for each of them, only wondering about what the cat was up to on occasion. And then the letter arrived; stamped by a paw, one could guess without even opening it from whom it was sent. Neither of them knew what to expect in ten days time, but both awaited whatever excursion the cat had planned with their own flavor of curiosity.

•════════════════════• ༺༉ ❁ ❀ ❁ ༉༻ •════════════════════•​

Själasalr was, indeed, woven with warding Talismans against the unwanted intrusions of apparitions. Motivations notwithstanding, it was wise for Postmaster to have chosen to knock politely as opposed to attempting to intrude. Nevertheless, when the sveinn, or serving staff, opened the door to see a small, belled and behatted cat at the door, she looked down upon the little creature with a bemused sort of curiosity. In the past, she had opened the door to all sorts of things, so while this was certainly novel, she didn't appear all too surprised.

"Welcome to Själasalr, Postmaster," She greeted the cat with a polite nod.

Given that it was the tenth night since the letter had arrived, perhaps her surprise was muted, indeed, because she'd been informed to expect such a thing.

"Please, come in and make yourself comfortable– I'll go fetch the master," she continued, opening the door and allowing the little Rakshasa to enter the lobby.

The room looked to be designed as a plush sort of waiting area for clients and other guests. It had plenty of comfortable looking, exquisitely crafted furniture, and ornate, maximalist decor crafted of the same durable, dark wood as the manor itself. One might describe the aesthetic theme as a sort of druidic art deco, odd as such an aesthetic might sound. The curtains on the windows and the upholstery was a deep shade of purple, and the room was adorned with both varying artworks and floral growths. The flowers that grew within were the same variety that adorned the outside of the towering tree-manse– glowing red poppies and the lovely purple hues of wisteria and nightshade.

The sveinn would leave the room, but Postmaster would be alone for less than ten minutes before Velho, accompanied by Æhti, entered from the same door, one centered along the room's back wall.

"Glad to see you again, Postmaster," Velho said in greeting.

Æhti, not quite sure if he was supposed to say anything, simply nodded his head and offered a small wave.

"I am happy to offer you Æhti for this excursion; I think he'd be able to offer assistance to you as much as he'd benefit from such a journey himself," Velho continued.

As for Æhti, he seemed somewhat wary, but was in no position to offer any sort of protest regardless of how he felt.

 

[Postmaster]

To whom it may concern,
•───────── [Date Goes Here] ────────•

The Rakshasa wandered the waiting room, unbothered by the brief disappearance of all. He spent little time in Hesperia, so the aelven decor and decorum were more novel than those of his usual haunts. The wisteria was an especially nice touch, he thought. If he ever did return to Arcanis, he would have to take one of the aelven gardeners with him, to decorate a temple thusly. That would certainly stick a flower in the craw of those who'd chuckled at his focus on glamour and saol.


"Your flowers reflect a somber aesthete," Postmaster commented as Velho arrived. The Rakshasa was standing on a piece of furniture, examining the plantings as closely as he could. There were no signs of Tendrils this time around- he looked, for all the world, like a perfectly ordinary cat which someone had chanced to be-hat. "I like asters, myself, but it's certainly a phantasmagoric look. It puts me in mind of Avernus."


The cat's nose flared as he sniffed. "It even smells a bit like memory."


Postmaster turned away from the flowers and leapt gracefully to the floor, padding towards his host. He fixed Æhti with his piecing red eyes for but a moment, then nodded in a distinctly un-feline manner.


"Æhti is perfectly acceptable for the task. I've a mind to visit the lairs of three beasts. Are you at all familiar with travel through the miasmata, Æhti? In my homeland, it was a common thing, for the Jin'Norai to arrange with one of my kin to transport them swiftly and unto secret places. You may be sure that no spirit is more adroit at the art than a Rakshasa. Indeed, it is a rare honor in these lands."


The cat drew nearer to the nervous apprentice and walked a slow circle around his legs, tail swishing silently through the air.


"Now, I can leave you invisible while we observe the creatures, but you'll find it difficult to speak in such a state. As such, I think it preferable if you remain out of sight while I interview them, and we may discuss your observations thereafter. Have you any objection?"

•══════════⊹⊱❖⊰⊹══════════•​

Yr. Obdt. Svt.
Postmaster

 

[Velho]

༺༉❁ April 28 year 124 of the third age ❁༉༻
<notes>

Velho seemed pleased that the little feline guest appreciated his choices in floral decoration. He had carefully mulled over each plant before enacting the short ritual for Florabinding– it was hard choosing between flowers and functional plants, in truth.

"Refreshing to hear any guest appreciate my choices in that regard," Velho began, giving Postmaster an appreciative nod. "Especially one capable of drawing the connections I'd meant to invoke." He'd selected those three with a vision in mind– reminiscent of Miasmata, yet soothing, somber, dreamlike and vaguely threaded with hope for those who still lived.

He continued, "...and asters are a lovely choice. The ones that grow in Ælheim are quite dazzling in the moonlight, too." Touched by Ældrassil's Grist, the little blooms truly resembled stars within His Grove.

Æhti's eyes stayed glued to the small spirit as it padded around the room. He seemed on edge, still, despite both how adorable Postmaster was and the fact that he'd already proved himself to be the cordial sort. Surely, he wouldn't harm the young man…and yet, Æhti couldn't quite quell his worries for the moment. Both of them listened as Postmaster continued, Velho finding his proposed procedure fascinating while Æhti…a bit skeptical, yet curious all the same. Much as he had his trepidations, he could see why Velho would volunteer him– it sounded a novel experience with ample opportunity to learn.

"I've no qualms with the proposition," Velho responded first before looking to Æhti.

"...as long as you're sure I won't come to harm, I suppose I've no true complaints, either." And to be fair, the young man realized that along with the cat, if something went awry, his own magics should prove enough in combination to abate any danger.

"I've…I guess I'm ready when you are, uh…Postmaster," he continued, for he had nothing else to gather.

 

[Postmaster]

To whom it may concern,
•───────── [Date Goes Here] ────────•

Postmaster smiled, his posture a picture of feline amiability. "Wonderful. Let's get things underway then, shall we?"


The cat turned on a dime, making his way towards the parlor door. He did not wait for assistance, but stood up on his hind legs, his paws just barely reaching the doorhandle, and grasped it, swinging his entire body backwards in order to lever the door open. It was a completely absurd sight, the like of which had surely never been seen in Hesperia before.


As the door creaked open, the Rakshasa let himself fall back to the ground and darted out into the cool night air. He took a deep breath, letting out an exaggerated sigh in his high tenor tone, before sticking his tail high into the air and leaning down to stretch his front paws, yawning.


"Those solid walls... well, I'm sure they're indispensable in your line of work, Æhti, but they make the place feel like a cage. And not the fun kind, if you follow me!" It didn't seem to matter if the mage followed or not, because Postmaster moved on without explanation. "Let's save the better specimens for last, shall we? We'll start at the small end. Just pick me up."


If Æhti hesitated, the cat would simply watch him, quiet, until the man did as he was directed. As soon as contact was made, however, the cambion's magic would begin its work, waves of energy passing from spirit to man and retuning the frequency of flesh and blood and bone alike. The world around Æhti would dissolve into darkness as Postmaster's tendrils wrapped softly about him.


To the uninitiated, becoming nothing was a fairly unpleasant experience. Lacking the spiritual muscles to move a gaseous form, the spirit's companion was rendered practically immobile. There were no legs to walk, to kick, no arms to try to move as if treading water. No mouth with which to speak, or even to scream.


On the other hand, there was nothing paintful about it. No stiffness of paralysis, no racing heart to respond to panic. Some Jin'Norai grew addicted to the feeling, even going so far as to seek out an appropriate galdr to meld into air for themselves. That could be a serious problem; those who grew addicted to being nothing sometimes failed to come back. Maybe it was better for them? Postmaster didn't feel qualified to judge.


As a mass of miasmata and aether, the spirit would drag Æhti through the forest at speed. The cat did not seek an entry to Avernus--not yet, at any rate--for the first creatures he had in mind dwelt just down the river, only a few miles away from the witch's grove. The Rakshasa brought the ghostly man through the darkening sky like a black smoke, peering down at the clearings along the water for any sign of spoor.


"Ought to be around here someplace- I scouted the nests out two weeks back, but these move around rather... ah! There we go."


Though dissipate, the spirit still spoke, scorning the laws which governed lesser spirits like ghosts. He would set Æhti down upon a ridge overlooking a bend in the great river between Hesperia and the distant bay, then slowly return the man's frequency to solid flesh, causing his shadow to fade into color and life, his pose precisely as he'd been outside Velho's estate.


"We're looking for leopards here. There are footprints down by the river, but they're doubtless hiding in the treeline. Help me spot them, and I'll catch one for questioning."

•══════════⊹⊱❖⊰⊹══════════•​

Yr. Obdt. Svt.
Postmaster

 

[Velho]

༺༉❁ April 28 year 124 of the third age ❁༉༻
<notes>

If nothing else, Postmaster was positively polite. And given how strangely covetous Velho had become of him of late, Æhti felt that if he'd agreed to this, then the Ferrier must trust, to some degree, that it'll be fine…so surely, it shall be. Nothing could possibly go wrong galavanting in the night with a Rakshasa. So when it was that Postmaster turned and padded toward the door, Æhti followed– he was about to move to help with the handle, but it appeared that the cat was insistent upon doing that part himself. The sight was as adorable as it was absurd.

It didn't surprise the man to hear the cat comment on the warded walls, though he, admittedly, wasn't quite sure what Postmaster meant by a 'fun' sort of cage– his mind flit through numerous types, but he supposed that might simply be a matter of taste. Æhti did not find any sort of cage entertaining, at least, not if he were the one imprisoned. Still, he could somewhat relate to the notion that Själasalr in particular felt like a cage.

"Any building can feel like a cage, I suppose, if one is not able to enter and exit freely," was all he'd say on the matter.

And without another word, he'd kneel down to pick up the little behatted cat. Though he did not know quite what to expect, the Galsterei found the sensation of losing his solidity strange, alien– but he did not find it unpleasant. In a way, it was freeing, as it did allay the physical manifestations of his anxiety, at least, for the nonce.

Further, watching the wetland flit by was novel whilst traveling this way; he found himself liking the change of perspective. He truly felt like an observer, one that was shrouded from the world, watching from a nebulous sort of 'outside.' This, perhaps, explained maybe a facet of why he'd heard the Rakshasa were known to so meticulously watch over their subjects in Bast and Arcanis. Æhti found himself wondering where exactly it was they were going, but the journey wasn't long before he'd found out at least their first destination.

When it was that Postmaster made him manifest as flesh once more, the mage found himself a bit disoriented as he adjusted back into his skin. He rolled his shoulders as he listened to the cat's words, his eyes taking a moment to become accustomed to the darkness again. A leopard, then…

Looking around, it didn't take him too long to spot the bespotted beast– there was one lounging in the boughs of a tree growing along the river's edge some safe distance away from them. "There–..." he pointed, speaking softly; one could never be too cautious.

 

[Postmaster]

To whom it may concern,
•───────── [Date Goes Here] ────────•

"Ah!" said the Rakshasa delightedly, following the man's finger with his eyes. "Well spotted. Allow me to-"


Shadows boiled away from the cat, erupting into lines which tore through the air, fast as the eye could see. The jaguar started, trying to leap away, but found itself surrounded by Postmaster's tendrils. It yowled in panic as the umbral appendages wrapped around it, jerking it out of the tree in which it had hidden. The spirit dangled the ungainly feline in midair for a moment, turning the unhappy jungle cat this way and that as he examined it.


"Mmm. An unremarkable specimen. But! Still, look at the elegant musculature, so reminiscent of a spring; the camouflage deft enough to fool the eyes of prey who think of nothing but spotting predators... yes, that ought to do."


The cat's tendrils snaked away all at once, dropping the large cat onto the ground from a foot up in the air. The leopard scrambled for its feet, obviously intending to turn and run, but then-


"❀ ✿ ❁ ꕤ ◉ ?"


Postmaster canted Saol, the unprintable sounds of life echoing from the cat's mouth. The leopard's muscles relaxed as the soothing energies of the plane of its distant origin washed through the beast, draining away adrenalin and mindless terror. The big cat turned its head from side to side, cocking its ears as though straining to hear more of the mellifluous tone. A moment later, it sunk to its hind legs, lowering its head, and coughed.


The Rakshasa nodded. "Yes, I think she's calmed down a bit. Forgive me if I lecture a bit as we get started."


"This specimen is, of course, a pantherine subspecies- the dominant breed among the southern forests, I fancy. Unlike dogs, you know, the big cats remain in relatively stable form through time and tide." Postmaster hopped down out of Æhti's arms and began to pace a slow circuit around the creature, red eyes fixed upon it. The jaguar watched him warily, but made no move to flee, apparently still deep in the grips of whatever pacific cant the spirit had employed. "Thick fur, but soft. Something like... 70 inches long? Probably weighs as much as you do, Æhti. Solitary hunter, territorial; it doesn't like people and seldom bothers them, so the aelf hunters leave them be. Time for questioning, then."


The Rakshasa stopped his circling and spoke again in the language of life, words coming together with sinuous motions of his little feline body to ripple through the empty space. The other cat watched, intently, and coughed again, making a grating noise like a saw. Its ears twitched.


"Interesting. It speaks of the wheel returning, of fluctuation upon the surface of the river of life- or it would, if it understood such metaphors. There is the kill and there are the killers, and the rest of the day is discovery of what is which. But is it satisfied with that?"


Postmaster spoke another numinous syllable, and the big cat released an unexpectedly plaintive "mew."


"Indeed. Who is satisfied, really? Is that the essence of life? Endless chasing of satisfaction never reached?"


The cat turned away, eying Æhti. "Anything you'd care to ask this jaguar, then?"

•══════════⊹⊱❖⊰⊹══════════•​

Yr. Obdt. Svt.
Postmaster

 

[Velho]

༺༉❁ April 28 year 124 of the third age ❁༉༻
<notes>

It was an impossibly tempting prospect to pet the Rakshasa, but the young man managed to refrain. If normal cats were prone to a myriad of possible reactions to being pat, he figured it wasn't worth the risk. Powerful mages that such spirits were, he was quite afraid of offending the little beast.

Æhti's first instinct upon witnessing Postmaster pick up the leopard with his shadowy tendrils was to laugh– though he did manage to suppress it. The wild cat looked ridiculous as it flailed, however understandably, through the air, and all the man could do was watch, listen and wonder after whatever his feline companion's goals were.

When the wild cat was dropped unceremoniously onto the ground, it appeared poised to run, but stopped upon hearing the Saol-infused beast speech of its fellow feline. The proceeding conversation was fascinating on multiple levels, both because Æhti appreciated the information Postmaster imparted onto him and also because listening to two cats 'speak' to one another in this fashion was as bizarre as it was charming. And when the young mage himself was presented with the opportunity to pose a query of his own, he paused for a moment– because what does one ask a wild cat?

"Has she ever killed a man?" He couldn't help it; he was morbidly curious. Certainly, she was more than capable of felling a mundane human…or an ælf who absolutely was not paying attention to their surroundings, he supposed.

 

[Postmaster]

To whom it may concern,
•───────── [Date Goes Here] ────────•

Postmaster looked quite surprised by the question, tilting his head to one side- but then again, perhaps it was a folly to try to read the cat's emotions like one might a human's. Feline and Faelnir had very different ways of expressing themselves, and who could say which ones might or might not be adopted by a spirit which saw itself superior to both?

"A curious query." the cat said at last, tail swishing idly, "But perhaps a fair point. A panthera of this size would be unlikely to hunt a human, except perhaps for a lone child, but fear and hunger can drive any creature to desperate acts. One must evaluate the individual qua individual, and not merely as exemplar of a breed, no?"
The Rakshasa turned away from Æhti, and spoke Saol once again to the other cat, which gazed at the spirit in rapt attention. Once more it responded, if at all, with posturing and twitches, rather than overt vocalization. Postmaster nodded idly at the creature's reply.

"No, I didn't think so. This sort are more akin to the little domestic cats which haunt your settlements than you know- you could probably raise one as a pet, if you were so inclined, even without knowing any of the secrets of animism."
"If there is any of the strength I'm seeking in this breed, it is hardly greater than in its smaller cousins. But your question makes me wonder- is that a result of size alone, or temperament? As I said, housecat and leopard are much alike in that way."
The cat turned away from the leopard, which seemed to slowly awaken from the stupor his cant had induced. Slowly, hesitantly, the big cat looked around and rose from its haunches, taking cautious steps away before looking full-on at Æhti and spooking, its muscles jolting as it hurtled away, clearly startled by the realization of his presence. Postmaster did not react at all to the sudden frenzy, deep in thought.

"Well, that's a fine question to answer tonight, then! Let's start with a small cat which is bloodthirsty. Tell me, Æhti- are you at all familiar with the Glawackus?"

•══════════⊹⊱❖⊰⊹══════════•​

Yr. Obdt. Svt.
Postmaster

 

[Velho]

༺༉❁ April 28 year 124 of the third age ❁༉༻
<notes>

No zoologist himself, Æhti actually had not a clue how the temperament of wildcats compared to those of the more domestic ones.

"Really? They're that similar to the smaller, domestic variety, eh? Interesting…much as I adore cats," he paused, perhaps abruptly, awkwardly, upon realizing to whom he was speaking that comment to, "...I don't think Velho would humor me if I asked for a leopard as a pet," the young mage quickly continued.

"She's a pretty thing, if nothing else," he commented as the cat scampered away into the night.

In the moments thereafter, Postmaster posed another query of his own. "I'm familiar in name and story only; never clapped eyes on one myself," he'd answer, his mind flipping through memories and information to try and recall what he could about the beast. "They're the ones with the mesmerizing eyes, aye? Dangerous as they are beautiful, so I've seen in paintings thereof."

After a short pause, Æhti would add, "what sort of strength are you looking for, exactly? …I never got the chance to ask before, but…I feel like I'd be more of a help to you if I had a better idea." He didn't know how much help he was even capable of being, but he'd certainly try his best– both out of his own curiosity, and because his pride didn't want to disappoint either Velho or the mysterious little Rakshasa.

 

[Postmaster]

To whom it may concern,
•───────── [Date Goes Here] ────────•

"You don't know?" the Rakshasa's voice was the very picture of polite surprise; if you could distill a gentleman's perplexity down to its most succinct essence, it would be thus. "Well, that's a relief. Neither do I."


Æhti found his shoulder suddenly sporting cat once more as Postmaster drifted up onto it- though whether that was some act of Apparition or just the ordinary mystery of catlike climb, he couldn't possibly say. The spirit cat swung himself forward, so that much of his upper body was in the Faelnir's vision, and spread his paws apart like some grandiose tavern storyteller.


"The world, Æhti, is not as it was. Nothing remains forever, which means that nothing endures eternal. In the deserts of Arcanis, there are sand-traps which feature titanic bones, vast enough to humble even the eldest of the Ævergreen. In days so ancient that no cat alive remembers them, the face of this plane was indescribably different."


The cat reached up with one paw and tipped his fashionable hat, and pressed the other into the fluff of his chest.


"I have made a hobby of studying the thousand thousand breeds which walk and skitter and swim and fly upon this world, and I have come to discover that they have dwindled. What was vast has grown small; what was mighty, weak. Perhaps there has been gain as well as loss; nothing is ever entirely without merit. Nevertheless, in my ages of studying Saol, I have grown convinced that an imperishable seed of that power remains within every living creature. Even you!"


Postmaster patted Æhti's head with one paw, now standing fully upon his shoulder while he disclaimed.


"But not, I think, so much as in the few great beasts which still roam these forests. Not to fear, Æhti. We'll see some of those before the night is out, hmm?"

•══════════⊹⊱❖⊰⊹══════════•​

Yr. Obdt. Svt.
Postmaster

 

[Velho]

༺༉❁ April 28 year 124 of the third age ❁༉༻
<notes>

Æhti was never quite prepared for many of the strange experiences he'd somehow found himself falling into since entering into Velho's … care, so to speak. Never did he expect to be on a night tour with a Rakshasa, nor did he expect such a guide to be so very, ah, threatric? with his mannerisms. He didn't find himself minding at all in this case, though– rather, he was having fun, bizarre as this was; enjoying the show, as it were.

He let himself listen with ample interest to the story woven by the behatted little cat, and was silent for a moment afterwards. "That…uhhh…Velho's always rambling about how everything is guided by Metaphors, um, have you considered the possibility that maybe you're looking for one that's been lost?

"S-sorry if that sounds dumb, but think about it; in the old stories my mom used to tell me, she always loved this one tale about a divinity known as Læloch that had its domain thieved from it by Elphame, the Dryad Queen. When she faded, so, too, did its domain and Metaphor; what if you're looking for the Metaphor of a dead…god…? My mom always used it as motivation; said that if Godheads can be felled, anything can be overcome or sommat," His facial features scrunched as he thought about it more. "I've not the faintest clue how one would go about finding such a thing, but, hhh…ah, have you heard of any other dead Godheads? That's more Velho's expertise," he said with a short laugh– Læloch was the only one he'd heard of.

"I dunno how much help I could be in such an endeavor, but, truth be told, looking for something like that sounds fascinating," he almost mumbled. He didn't think himself important enough to actually ask after involving himself in the cat's machinations going forward, so awkward as that was, it was his way of expressing interest.

"I do like your idea of looking in large beasts; let's um, let's find another," he sounded excited, though as if he were trying to stifle it.

 

[Postmaster]

To whom it may concern,
•───────── [Date Goes Here] ────────•

The cat yawned at the young man's suggestion, though it was impossible to be sure if that was some intentional snub or just a thing cats liked to do.


"What you're saying isn't wrong, but it misses the forest for the trees. Rather... it names them." Postmaster zipped around to Æhti's other shoulder, tail trailing against the Faelnir's hair. "You use words like godhead and metaphor, and trick yourself into thinking you understand them because you've labeled them. Never name anything you aren't sure you comprehend, that's my advice. It'll help you keep an open mind. And happily-"


The cat grinned, showing his razor-sharp teeth.


"I do know how to find such things. To wit-"


Æhti felt his body lighten and expand once more as his frequency shifted, his perception filling the little glade from which the leopard had fled. The amorphous Rakshasa took the apprentice's being in his tendrils, and set off once more across the dark forests. The trees rushed by, and around, and even through, the two so light and incorporeal that they could attain incredible speeds.


Even moving so quickly, however, it was as if the stars rising overhead were standing still. In the moment, Æhti could perceive the forest as Postmaster must- like a thing from a story, full of little dioramas and dramas which you could safely ignore or engage with as you pleased. It was, perhaps, a clue. Why was the Rakshasa so manic and careless, so self-absorbed and indifferent to the horrors of the world? How else could one be expected to behave, when they could naturally disengage with the world whenever they pleased, simply expand into nothingness and leave any care behind?


Postmaster, of course, was used to this, and made no comment at all. He was shockingly self-aware, for a Rakshasa, but only for a Rakshasa.


The drift went on for many minutes; maybe longer. Postmaster had plainly identified where he wanted to go in advance of his arrival, for he spent no time checking for trails or hunting spoor. Still, even if you had clear conceptions of where your prey could be found, that didn't mean they were close by.


"Now Æhti." spoke the bodiless cat, somewhere to the front of wherever Æhti himself was, "The Glawackus is a strange beast. It is little larger than the leopard, but they do hunt men; and gladly. This they accomplish by means of their eyes. If you look too deeply into the creature's eyes, you are lost, for you will be unable to think, or speak, or spell, or run. It advances slowly, then paralyzes you and tears out the throat."


"But what might seem an incredible strength is also a weakness. If you trust me, you can lure the Glawackus right to us without fuss. When you see it, simply give in and let it entrance you. When it approaches, focused on your eyes, I will snatch it up for our interrogation."


"Let's see how you handle yourself."


Suddenly, Æhti found himself contracting, his being returning to flesh and blood, and finally body. He stood alone in the midst of the forest, with the dark sky and stars above, and nothing but the coiling shadows of the tree (and, perhaps, the Rakshasa) around him. Through the trees ahead, he saw a flash of electric blue, as something moved through the forest.

•══════════⊹⊱❖⊰⊹══════════•​

Yr. Obdt. Svt.
Postmaster

 

[Velho]

༺༉❁ April 28 year 124 of the third age ❁༉༻
<notes>

Æhti thought for a moment, and Postmaster did have a point– for when one gave something a name, one typically regarded that thing, or concept, or even abstraction, as known. And that doing so, indeed, was counterintuitive when one was searching for the unknown.

"Fair point; labels do tend to oversimplify things," he'd reply, eager to continue on their journey, to root 'round for whatever crumbs of insight may or may not exist.

And though he had greater knowledge of what to respect with incorporeality this time, he was not sure if he'd ever quite get used to the process, so alien the sensation was to him. He did, however, like how it felt to be incorporeal; he liked taking on the role of an observer as the world flit by him. Knowing that this experience was common for spirits was insightful in and of itself, too.

Along for the ride as he was, Æhti had not a clue where they were going– though he was somewhat familiar with the territory still. He'd gone for many errands for Velho that spanned all over the vicinity of Thokkmyrr and into greater Hespæria, sometimes into Græntún and beyond. If he thought about it, the amount of assorted minutiae Velho compelled him to do might infuriate somebody with more dignity or expectation of basic autonomy.

Eventually, their travels slowed and Postmaster's disembodied voice rang again into his perception.

The Glawackus had always been a creature many in Ælheim adored for its magical properties, though it was also always spoken about with an air of warning. The idea of falling into its gaze was greatly unnerving to the Fælnir, and it occurred to him that this being a cruel trick was not entirely out of the question, but…he'd gone this far without bearing witness to outright malice from the cat. He supposed it would not be that much of a reach to continue to trust him, much as the idea of death terrified him.

Once he'd been granted back his corpus, he took a deep breath and nodded, though he could not be sure exactly where Postmaster was. In the ensuing moments, he missed the strange security of not having a body; the heaviness and density of his form made him feel terribly exposed. The flash of blue in the distance and the soft padding of paws on the night soil, the crunching of leaves, the snap of a branch– he knew he wasn't alone, but, despite the chill that ran up his spine, Æhti stood his ground.

The approach of the Glawackus was slow, and the moment Æhti caught track of it in his peripherals he turned his head, and then his shoulders, and then the rest of himself to face it. This boldness did not deter the Glawackus at all, with the cat's features remaining unreadable even as the young mage locked eyes with it. It would have been possible for him to have shut his eyes or ripped his gaze away within the first few seconds, but as instructed, he stuck it out. His mind initially shifted to thoughts of how beautiful the creature was, and then in the ensuing moments, he felt his head slowly empty, his inner monolog growing silent as he stood still, fully entranced.

Utterly vulnerable, he'd surely be dead soon without any sort of intervention.

 

[Postmaster]

To whom it may concern,
•───────── [Date Goes Here] ────────•

The eyes of the Glawackus were beautiful, no doubt about that, but there was something more to it. They were like prisms, but shifting by themselves- spinning, rotating within themselves, revealing a neverending cavalcade of hues and radiances the like of which nobody had ever seen. In moments, they robbed all sensation from the body, or perhaps they simply so enraptured the prey that they could think of nothing else.


In the depths of that endless dance of colors, Æhti could almost see the truth at the heart of things. That was the promise the Glawackus seemed to make; if you just keep looking, you'll see it. You'll see it. That thing, that missing thing. Whatever it is you need to be complete, to be whole, to be satisfied forever. It seemed impossible that such a thing could even exist, but what if it did? Could you bear to look away? Could you live with yourself if you tore your gaze away now, just moments before everything was finally made right...


But then, with an abruptness which shocked the soul, darkness fell. The dazzling colors were jerked rudely away, and Æhti found himself still standing on the path, right where he'd been before he fell prey to the predator's glamour.


The Glawackus itself was in an obvious panic, being held several feet above the ground by Postmaster's sinuous shadow tendrils, paws working madly and ineffectually in the air above the Rakshasa, who sat grinning on the ground below it.


"Well done, Æhti! Not a moment of hesitation; I like that. Now..."


Postmaster looked up at the struggling big cat, tilting his head to avoid catching any glimpse of its hypnotic eyes, and canted Saol anew. As before, the sounds--for they were hardly words--were incomprehensible, meaningless, snippets of a song barely-heard, accentuated by the roil of the cambion's muscles and rising of his fur.


"◉ ◎ ✿ ❀ ʚĭɞ ?"


The Glawackus tensed, then went slowly limp, hanging in the air. Postmaster lowered its body slowly to the ground, wrapping a shadow around its eyes so that it could not see (or charm) either of the two companions. Unlike the leopard, it was clear that the Rakshasa did not want to risk that the predator should have even a moment to escape or attack.


"I think it's calm enough for questions now. Let's start with the one you posed last time."


Postmaster spoke again, and the other cat huffed noisily. Now that its eyes were invisible, an onlooker's gaze fell naturally to its brilliant coat, which glowed in organic pulses, spreading like veins throughout the depths of its beautiful blue fur. It was little wonder that the fur fetched so formidable a price.


"Ah, no surprise there. Yes, this one has killed men, though it recognizes no distinction between the Aelves and your own sort. It is little larger than the leopard, but that glamour gives it great confidence in hunting- so long as it hunts lone prey. A bear falls to such charms as easily as a man, and is no more dangerous once you are close enough to tear out the throat. The tail-"


Another one of the Rakshasa's shadow tendrils gently pulled the Glawackus' tail out, fluffing it gently. The other cat coughed, nervous.


"-contains a paralytic venom, which seems redundant with the eye's spell, except that it needs some way to keep prey frozen when it cannot keep its eyes locked. I understand that, historically, some orders of assassins have found eyes and tail both very valuable. After all, if you're not expecting that glamour, there is very little way to resist it."


Postmaster canted Saol again, asking the Glawackus more questions, though he did not translate the answers for Æhti. After a few moments, he seemed satisfied, and turned back to the apprentice. "Well, have you any questions for this one? And more than that..."


The Rakshasa's tendril rose up underneath the captive Glawackus, barely tickling its throat. "...would you like me to release or kill this one?"

•══════════⊹⊱❖⊰⊹══════════•​

Yr. Obdt. Svt.
Postmaster

 

[Velho]

༺༉❁ April 28 year 124 of the third age ❁༉༻
<notes>

The beast's eyes were enchanting, entrancing; brilliantly kaleidoscopic. And though his inner monolog had quieted down to nothing, there was a sensation welling within that he'd reach a sort of enlightenment, perhaps, if he just kept staring into those prismatic irises. The nature thereof? He didn't know, but that was the point wasn't it? To figure it out. Yes. He had to figure it out-

Waking up from that chromatic haze was like having one's head pulled above water after it'd been forced, and held, under. It was abrupt, but it was an immense relief– like a weight had been lifted, his mind was his own again and he was incredibly grateful for that. He blinked a few times fast, taking a breath to regain his senses as the Glawackus hung in the air before them.

"Hah…you've proven yourself to stand by your word thus far– no reason not to trust you." Maybe this was too trusting? He wasn't quite sure where the right balance between trust and skepticism really sat.

And as the Rakshasa canted Saol once more, Æhti found his own gaze, light blue eyes far less magical than the Glawackus, had landed on the wild cat's fur. This was the sort of thing Velho might use for decoration. He wasn't sure if the Ferrier would ever wear it, fond of monochromatic blacks as he was, but he would happily use it as a rug, or a throw, or wall decor– it'd fit in with the rest, at least.

Æhti's lips flattened into a hard line at the answer the spirit paraphrased for the wild one, though he'd wait to say anything until Postmaster had finished the rest of his extrapolation.

"Mm, yeah, I can see the utility of both the venom and the eyes working together. Makes sense that they're so well-feared…and highly prized," he commented, mostly to himself as he processed the information.

But then, he realized something about the cat's phrasing.

"Does that mean it's felled an Æld'Norai…?" trailing off, he paused for a moment.

"Grievous crime, that, if a man were to have done it. The Æld'Norai are so few in number they're passing precious about keeping their immortal lives going unless they choose to end it themselves," he said with a bit of a huff. "Every life and birth of theirs is treated like some nigh divine gift," Æhti's disdain audible.

The sorcerer shook his head. "Ask it if it enjoys the thrill of the hunt, or if it does so simply to satiate a need…

"Tempting as harvesting the beast for parts may be, I'd prefer to release, honestly,"

He'd not explain his reasoning.

 

[Postmaster]

To whom it may concern,
•───────── [Date Goes Here] ────────•

"Oh, I mean only that there's no way to tell which sort it has slain. Aelves and Faelnir care a great deal about the distinction- predators see only the same lanky profile." The Rakshasa flashed Æhti a toothy grin, "The lowest beasts which crawl upon the earth recognize little difference, and who is to say they have it amiss? Men worship aelves, Jin'Norai revere Rakshasa, but it's all no more real than the rules children make up for their own games. Cats know better than to respect such things."


When Æhti answered him, Postmaster looked contemplative; at least, to the degree which a cat could. He rounded upon the Glawackus and spoke Saol again, practically purring the syllables of life at it. The Glawackus shuddered, speaking something in the language of cats which sounded almost like a moan. He closed his eyes, drinking in the other cat's reply.


"It speaks of thrill, of the light of the moon through the hunting ground, of the flash of its prey's eyes, jewel-like, as it captivates them. But I wonder... is the thrill of the hunt truly a power unto itself, or is it simply an adaptation, a thought bored into this cat's mind to ensure that it wants to seek food? Well, maybe that doesn't matter."


"Maybe nothing else matters..."


Postmaster stood there in quiet thought for a surprising amount of time, then shook his head, clearing it of thoughts.


"No matter. You have chosen mercy, though I wonder at the price of it. Get thee gone, cat."


The Rakshasa released the benighted predator roughly, sending it tumbling to the ground. It rose, looking ready to round back upon its tormentor... but then the cambion struck it on the rump with a lash of shadow and it fled, releasing only a feline yip. Postmaster watched it go with a strange fondness to his eyes.


"Æhti, you have placed your trust in me, and I shall be in earnest. The final cat on our journey will take us some hours to reach, and it is extremely dangerous. To bind it as I have these lesser beasts would be exhausting and futile, so you and I will shun material form entirely and simply observe the creature as it moves. We will be entirely safe, but it may be difficult to get it to answer my queries. Are you prepared for the excursion?"

•══════════⊹⊱❖⊰⊹══════════•​

Yr. Obdt. Svt.
Postmaster

 

[Velho]

<notes>

It was interesting to hear that; Æhti had never really paid much thought to how predatorial beasts might perceive their prey. To learn that they were all the same in the eyes of animals…he liked that, actually. So tired was he of hearing that some people, some races, so on, had more value than the next. To a predator, they were all the same. Food.

"Cats are wise, then," Æhti responded with a short nod.

The description of the Glawackus' answer was an interesting one, as were the questions Postmaster posed.

"Instinct or intent, aye…hard to say. It might be fun to learn the answer, but otherwise, yeah, I'm not sure the distinction matters," part of the young mage simply liked learning a lot of miscellaneous facts. Whether or not the answer to a question mattered in the grand scheme of things didn't deter him from seeking it, generally. "...but does it need to matter for an answer to be worth seeking?"

Part of him had always questioned the wisdom in that compulsion of his to seek answers, even pointless ones.

"I wonder about the price of it, too. Maybe you wouldn't understand, but…I…being surrounded by so much death at Själasalr, I guess I just…I don't want to cause more of it," he'd say. "I don't like to kill things if I can avoid it– that's part of what I love about Abation. I can put something in a temporary stasis and flee when threatened, rather than to kill."

He wasn't sure how much sense his answer would make to somebody with a perspective like Postmater's.

The young mage thought for a moment about the description the Rakshasa had given him about their next target. To that, he'd nod, "I am."

"But, before we go– speaking on Abation, if…if you'd like, we can try to ask it questions with my magic. I've mastered Abation, you know– I can put things beyond even adult dragons into stasis, if necessary. I can lock all of its limbs, leaving the head free so that we may speak to it? Though…some monsters, even that's too much of a risk. With the two of us, though, I think it might be worth a shot. What do you think?"

The idea was almost exciting to him, but he'd understand if the other didn't want to chance it– he hadn't named the creature, after all, and some beasts really were not worth the trouble.

 

[Postmaster]

To whom it may concern,
•───────── [Date Goes Here] ────────•

"Do as you will; I'm not your master." the Rakshasa replied in a teasing voice, before shadow enveloped Æhti once again. "Hold tight to yourself, for tonight we must travel a strange road."


The cat did not immediately clarify as he adjusted Æhti's frequency once more- indeed, the strain of so often shifting the young man's flesh to mist was beginning to take a toll. He'd never been one of the sort to ferry the Jin'Norai about hither and thither, and it had been centuries since last he'd set foot in Arcanis anyway. Quite frankly, he was no longer used to this sort of effort.


Postmaster took Æhti through what was now well and truly night, hunting through the forest for... something. The young Faelnir watched himself drift rapidly from shadow to shadow, nosing at rocks and leaves, as if a hound intent on sniffing for truffles. Eventually, however, the Rakshasa seemed to find what he was looking for. They began to drift faster, more purposefully, until-


The shadow broke through the trees and into an encampment of Aelves- three of them, to be precise. Two were standing watch, eagle-eyed in the night, but they lacked the skill to spot the playful Rakshasa, who moved like darkness. Postmaster and Æhti slithered through the camp, and into a pitched tent, sliding across the surface of the ground until they reached a small bag. Æhti found darkness anew enveloping him as the cat poured them into the interior of the sack.


They remained in the jumbled sack for only a moment, though Æhti could tell that Postmaster was focused on something. With a sickening feeling, the young mage was pulled downward, further into the bag, stretched and stretched until it seemed as though he were to become nothing at all. And then...


Rakshasa and Faelnir emerged into a great grey plane, where it was no longer night.

~ o ~​

When the two emerged from Avernus, it was immediately apparent that they had drifted quite far. They left a Faelnir house, the sleeping children within never to know that the portrait of a beloved grandmother had been the gateway for a wicked and ancient spirit. They moved quickly upwards through the sky, defying gravity as Postmaster searched for his erstwhile prey.


Though they were still in the forest, the distinctive plants and clime served to prove that they were well south of the river they'd begun their journey upon. This was, without doubt, near Frostlund. And there was only one kind of cat Postmaster could be looking for here- one with whom Æhti was already well familiar.


"We should be near enough." the cat remarked, "I am no tracker myself, but I know the people here reported Felinog attacks just weeks prior. A shame we couldn't see the hunting itself, but- well, such is life. Keep an eye out for them, if you would. You ought to be able to speak, now."

•══════════⊹⊱❖⊰⊹══════════•​

Yr. Obdt. Svt.
Postmaster

 

[Velho]

<notes>

Æhti wasn't quite sure what precisely the cat meant with his reply, but given the mage's recent circumstances, he didn't mind not knowing. It was a nice change of pace to be following 'round somebody who wasn't trying to reign some form of dominion over him regardless of whether or not he knew precisely where they were headed.

He would once again feel himself resonate out of corporeality, his body ceasing to be. Æhti was content as an observer of the world that flew by while they traveled, enjoying the journey as much as he was curious about the destination. The only unfortunate part, in this case, was how dark it was– even with the natural glow of the forest, it would still be quite hard to make out much detail at this speed.

The young man was, however briefly, concerned that somehow the Æld'Norai would spot them– but they didn't. The abilities to perceive and interact with spirits were a specialized sort, and were rare even among a people so steeped in magic. He didn't understand what was happening at all when they went into the bag, and the sensation deeply unnerved him. Luckily, however, the journey through the dead realm was brief enough that he didn't well and truly start to panic.

Further, emerging from the old woman's portrait and slinking out of a family's home back into the night was supremely disorienting. He wasn't quite sure what they'd just done, he only know that Velho had told him Apparators could move through Avernus– it had to be that, he thought, though he wasn't completely certain. But, worldly as Æhti was, he did manage to piece together from the new environs that they were in the boreal forests bordering Frostlund.

When Postmaster spoke, it took a moment for Æhti to reply– speaking without a mouth was unintuitive to him. "Oh, the Felinog– I've encountered one of those before. Almost killed the friend that was accompanying me," he began, though he didn't sound all that wary.

The field of view he had while incorporeal was wider than with his eyes, and so he set about to look for traces of the beast– or beasts, as it were. One couldn't predict whether they'd run into more than one, but he could hope for that. Felinog tended to be lonesome creatures, at least.

In the distance, he saw the corpse of a moose. Gigantic and majestic as such beasts were, its ravaged body served as a sign that its killer must've been formidable. On top of that, it had been shredded by the tooth and claw of a fierce predator rather than a proper hunter, and not much of the carcass even remained beyond skeleton and antler.

"Over there, see that moose? We might be in or near the thing's hunting grounds," Æhti said, trying to somehow indicate direction.

Concealed by trees was a small cave not far from the moose, and within it lay their quarry, resting after its successful hunt.