[M] Moonstruck

[Velho]

༺༉❁ June 23rd 124 of the third age ❁༉༻
<notes>

Over the next few days from that fateful eve where Aster had heeded Velho's summons, Æhti had done as he had been bade and assisted in the construction of whatever chambers Aster requested. Velho's skills with sculpting, his rudimentary understanding of architecture, his Draoidh and the young Galsterei's magic all wove together to build a fine, structurally sound sanctuary for the white-furred Inari.

However, the inoculation of Nightwalker was a much different beast. It was an affair that required ample space, ample space which would be shrouded wholly from the eyes of those who oughtn't know, at that. While Ælheim itself was vast, it was also full of Wisps– the existence and prevalence of which were a double edged sword for Alíthea. His children, of course, were supplanted into every layer of Ælheimar society, including among the number of the Visjonær (those who watch the wisps), but still, anything blatant had to be done where those precious souls could not– or would not– tread.

Velho tracked down and spoke with Reykr, Ælheim's eldest Scourge and his mentor, to arrange a meeting with Ulrik, the progenitor of the Nightwalkers, and with him did they decide upon a location wherein Aster would receive his gift. Despite the elitism and pack mentality that was baked into seemingly every Æld'Norai, all three of them had heard whispers of their own, urgings from their beloved Night Father that granting this little Inari's wish was the correct decision– who were they to turn away from His suggestions, after all? The tapestry of their experiences, however ancient and vast, still paled in comparison to His.

Effectively playing intermediary, messenger, and guide at this point, Velho deigned to return to Aster and inform him of what had been decided. The two of them were meant to depart into the cavernous depths of the Myrkvior mountains. They arrived in Sværlys with the assistance of an Exodii, but from there, they had to travel manually. Down, down they'd wander, as Exodus functioned…oddly, when it interacted with locations rife with Absentite. It was objectively safer to err on the side of caution than to risk ending up somewhere they did not wish to be, or emerging out the other end twisted or in pieces.

Given that they were both Apparators, however, the physical burden of their travels was eased and sped up by both of them being able to glide through the air, incorporeal and unshackled by the weight of their bodies or possessions. Eventually, the two of them would cross the threshold from Ælheim's mountainous depths into somewhere altogether different.

Helheim was a cold, barren wasteland, its sky a morass of deep black. No stars could be seen through the veneer of the sickly grayish clouds rolling across its false atmosphere; the only light emanated from the strange, dead reflections of the twin moons and the ethereal glow of the ice. The land was mountainous, salt swept, soaked with brine and frozen over. The only surviving species of Ælheim's vast and vibrant flora catalog were the hardiest of seafaring plants, with sickly looking seaweed washing up where icy waves crashed against the rocks. One might even be compelled to call it lifeless, though this was not the case. Tumbledowns were not home to the undead or spirits by nature, rather, they were home to the twisted creations of Nihilos– many of which could be classified as fully living entities. Still, there was a beauty to it– to the Absentite, the snow-capped mountains, those otherworldly fjords, the eerie auroras, even the masonry of what ghoulish fiends dwelt within. Velho, at least, could appreciate that much.

The Scourge, nought more than a cloud of Apparated Ash, vocalized. "Have you ever ventured into Helheim before or is this a new experience for you…?" His voice, though discorporated, radiated curiosity as the two of them continued to Drift through this icy, hostile landscape.

 

[Hananozō]

In but days, the Terra of Æhti the mage in Velho's employ built a truly impressive wonder. He ingrained within his memory every moment of the construction, and pined upon the man's art, that it could be wielded with finesse in his own hands. They had little time to explore the depths of Æhti's Arcana, leaving Aster wanting for more.

Aster worked to unweave his Memorandum, meanwhile. It took a few days, recalling the Phantasms of his old life, and sorting them away in his mind. When he returned, the Fae planted what was to be the first outline of his Memorandum within that flooded cavern and then again wove upon it the beauty of his Aestete.

Aspects of the thought-woven place looked much like an artful laboratory of Arcanis then, replete with columns of marble and fresh, always fresh air like fragrant woods. He even bridged the memories of a Jianese palace where he once served a Dragon, conferring a wide, flat overlook with its terrace ending abruptly before a false sky atop a sea of clouds, stretching out towards the horizon. A structure with ceilings vast enough to house even an Ancient Dragon.

The illusory nature of Remnant allowed Aster to fit far more within the bounds of an underwater cavern than he should.

By the end, Aster wove a perpetual whirlpool linking to the Plane of Antarok, thin and mired in Aeris such that it would not leave those descending through it feeling dampened. Velho and Æhti were free to come and go as they pleased, and Aster began the import of many mundane things down into those heavenly depths.

Then he went to sleep, and could not fathom the mire of his exhaustion.

. . .

Awful, demented dreams spun by the Night-Father had peaked in their fervor. Tired could not begin to describe the sorry state Aster's mind was in. When it came time to leave his Memorandum, he felt as if he were ripping himself from a sticky coma with tendrils wound deep, holding him to the annals of Arcadia.

If he followed through upon his end, then he would see peace. Aster was always the solitary type of Fae, never caring much for a grand agenda and more self-interested; now he was being dragged towards the fold of Blighted-kin.

Alíthea.

Alíthea.

Had I any internal principle, I would have known better.

In spite of his woes, Aster did feel marginally safer. He could trust Velho, unlike Yonakouchi, and the man seemed to favor him. He made no mistake: Aster was sure Velho would betray him if it suited the wasting Scourge to do so.

So now here they were, adrift towards an ill fate. Aster's disembodied voice replied with a lilting "no..." trailing off as he gazed with a minds eye down at the fetid expanse below. "Tumbledowns are to be avoided as anomalies; I had never bothered with one, nor connected them with Alíthea. Even the Rakshasa of Bast knew well enough to stay clear of the one lurking at the edge of their deserts."

As for his other opinion, that he hated this dark place, he withheld the thought and followed, bottling up his misgivings to save them for the audience he would soon be given. "I hope this Nightwalker fellow is at least sociable," he remarked.

 

[Velho]

༺༉❁ June 23rd 124 of the third age ❁༉༻

​

Velho was a nosy man; he'd find the time to Drift down into Aster's newly built demesne and explore, with or without its owner. That being said, he would prefer to be shown about by Aster himself, as the fox could then provide him with context or additional history, commentary and the like– but nevertheless, what's down there would eventually be perused by him.

•════════════════════• ❀​

"That they are– yet some intrepid explorers delve down into them anyways– or simply end up here by mistake. It's always a…spectacle, one might say, when that happens here," Velho's discorporated voice echoed across the ice in response, sounding almost amused at whatever fates folks such as that met.

"Ulrik has an interesting reputation. The years have both tempered and stressed his sanity; he apparently knows how to control himself…but often chooses not to," he mused, regurgitating what rumors he could recall about the elder Nightwalker. "Maybe being the first gives him a bit more control– maybe he's just a particularly steeled personality, but I hear he's calmer than most of his ilk."

The two of them continued on Drifting through these brackish environs, gliding along above the ice. As they did so they would pass the occasional blackened monstrosity, but beyond that, the path they'd chosen to take was a desolate one. Soon, the ice sheet would give way to a rocky fjord, towering mountains walling them in on either side. There was no clear path on which anything could walk anymore, relegating the two Apparators to floating over the blackened water beneath.

Eventually, however, their travels would come to an end in front of an ancient looking temple, the entrance of which was nestled into the mountain and half flooded. The physical doors, heavy, stone, and covered in thick, intricate carvings, would've been markedly difficult to open– both because of their own weight, and also because one would have to contend with the water pooling before them. Luckily for Aster and Velho, they could simply Apparate through it.

Past those doors lay a large, empty sanctum of polished stone; it looked like tarnished marble, if such a thing were possible. Each of the walls– ceiling included– were painted with macabre, incoherent frescoes, littered with skeletal remains, and supported by thick, elegant pillars. The room was lit by a crevasse in the ceiling; pale white light dripped down and pooled into the puddles of black water below, abyssal shadows clinging to where the light failed to reach. Between the farthest pillars on each side, there were two small sets of stairs; in the center sat an archway, though it was impossible to see anything beyond it. The only other object populating the room was a man– a pale, stately Æld'Norai carved up by scars (however, a discerning eye might notice a small, black bat hanging from the room's exceptionally tall ceilings).

Upon seeing the man, Velho recognized him. They'd never been formally introduced, but they had crossed paths a few times before. The Scourge began lowering his frequency, his Ashes condensing and congealing back into the sickly shade of an Ælf he truly was. However, he was not supporting himself with his legs, rather, from beneath the thick fabric of his robes streamed four thick, muscular tendrils– this was always preferable to walking in scenarios where he could freely manifest them. The Ferrier was dressed from head to toe in heavy black fabric, insulating his withering body from the cold as much as he could.

"A pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, brother Ulrik," Velho greeted him, his voice a velvet whisper, as if he were trying to respect the temple's silence.

Ulrik would wait to speak until both parties had finished making themselves manifest.

꧁══════════• ༺༉ { Ulrik } ༉༻•══════════꧂​

​

꧁══════════• ༺༉ ❁ ❀ ❁ ༉༻•══════════꧂​

 

[Hananozō]

"It is hard to believe the Æld'Norai let this place exist," remarked Aster as they neared what he could only describe as a titan born from grotesque Arcana. As they passed by, its head turned - focusing on him with its hateful red eyes , yet showing restraint. It knew he was diffuse, that its claws could not rend him. It let him pass. There were other beings here better suited to handling the incorporeal. Or so Aster thought. "If even someone like that should struggle, maybe I am wrong to pursue this curse," Aster murmured. "But if time would allow me to become its master, then what more is a hundred, two hundred years in doing so?"

There wasn't a single natural light here, his unnatural vision the only thing allowing him to 'see' - it was foreboding and black, the bowels of the earth, and quiet. Now in the temple, he felt perturbed by the grisly art, dismissing such grotesque displays as simple barbarism. Symbolic to someone, yes, but hardly more than that.

The pair came upon that vast, lit chamber, and Aster could already feel his desire to leave ratcheting up. A sickening aura of something murderous befouled his mind, but at least he could feel Velho's conscious near at all times. One small comfort.

The white Inari emerged just as Velho did, clad in that same, starry-black robe he'd woven his Aeris into just to mimic his handler's uniform for a sense of sameness. With his Frequency low enough to appear solid, Aster begrudgingly wielded his tails upon the floor in that same fashion to match the Scourge's slithering gait.

Far above in the ceiling, Aster was close enough to feel if the bat had a mind of its own. Something he ignored for now, and otherwise failed to take notice of.

Saying little as his eyes met the unusual Æld'Norai, aster bowed his head until Velho's greeting rang out. Only then did he tag on one of his own: "As I," he said with that same air of careful softness. "The Night-Father has brought me here, to you."

 

[Velho]

༺༉❁ June 23rd 124 of the third age ❁༉༻

​

Ulrik looked to both manifesting parties with an eye of appraisal; he noted the way that Aster almost appeared to be mimicking certain aspects of Velho, though he wouldn't acknowledge this outright. He stood straight, posture imposing, visage austere, and expression flat.

When both of the others had spoken, a wry grin cracked the man's erstwhile frigid features. "The pleasure is all mine, brothers," returning their greetings with a nod– he did not care to match their softness, with his deep, bass-toned voice resonating throughout the room. Looking to Aster, "...if it was not already given, I am called Duane fyn'Kjær Ulrik."

"Have you been told at all what to expect, or shall this be an entirely alien experience to you?" He voiced this inquiry innocently enough, but within his mismatched eyes burned a predatory fire, eyeing the little fox as one might gaze upon prey.

Whilst Aster was verbalizing his answer to this question, Ulrik would pull up the sleeve of his right arm, extend clawed fingers and without flinching, would swiftly excise a strip of flesh large enough for the Inari's soon-to-be initiation. In the seconds after that, the tissue would bubble and heal with preternatural rapidity.

"Within these halls you will find fresh meat to sate your newfound hunger, though you will have to search for it yourself," was all he'd add by way of explanation, gesturing broadly to the sanctum around him as he did so.

Holding his own meat forward in an outstretched palm: "...approach and partake whenever you feel you are ready; we will have time to talk further after you are transformed." these words spoken in a voice friendly enough, though threaded with menacing undertones.

Velho simply watched on in silence; he'd only ever bore witness to the initiations of Scourge, Devorare, and Rusalka; the other two eluded him.

꧁══════════• ༺༉ { Ulrik } ༉༻•══════════꧂​

​

꧁══════════• ༺༉ ❁ ❀ ❁ ༉༻•══════════꧂​

 

[Hananozō]

A grin. It caught Aster off guard, and he smiled weakly back in kind to mimic the gesture, even if he felt nothing but suspicion and doubt for all of this.

These ascetics; they always, always thought highly of themselves. In many ways, they had attained great power, but they would not be away from the world if not for this lack of control. Their minds were rotten with duty, uptight and fanatic with motes of false relaxation. He knew such ascetics from Jian, and the old Fae who cared not for the world with no reason to covet its gifts, and this man, Duane fyn'Kjær Ulrik, was much the same.

"No, Pater. From the beginning, please." Aster answered quietly, awaiting an explanation. Knowing the beast was important.

Little had been explained to Aster, in truth, though a shroud of doubt inside spoke out through careful bouts of silence. He knew vaguely what a Nightwalker was, a beast of scarcely contained rage, and the implications of such things. Aster had known rage. He had quelled rage in others, and within himself. If Nihilos did not swindle him the opportunity, this was a caveat he might control in time. His eyes leered up at Ulrik, milky with intensity.

He was already being offered such a simple thing as man-meat. His nose caught the scent, which was the gamy odor of raw, tawny beast flesh. So unlike his usual palette for the taste of human. Revolting. Cupping both paws, he accepted the sliver and bowed his head graciously, though he waited for Ulrik to finish his explanation before he could determine whether or not he wished for such a thing.

It seemed he would not be told ''everything'' until he had already proceeded beyond the point of return. What a sickening prospect.

. . .

But sleep called out to him. He longed for even slightly more blissful rest beneath the lucid jaws of the Night-Father's boundless creativity. Gripping the man's meat between two fingers, he dropped it onto his tongue and sloughed it back into his maw, gagging with scoffing chuffs until he was able to swallow its predictably ferine taste.

Foul.

Aster stood in silence for a moment, feeling within himself for the seed he'd swallowed. The split second he thought something wouldn't happen, he felt the pulse.

"Hhhhghhk-euuh!" The white-furred Inari doubled over in pain, and a sickening crack bowed him prostrate to the floor. His three tails swung outward, writhing and jagged along the masonry. Their hard Frequency whipped into the stone, cracking where they struck.

It's...

So much more than mere emotion.

Motes of Aesthete sparkled through Aster's mane as his bones began to pop and shift, muscles stretching and tearing, renewing in agony. "Aaauughhh!" he bellowed at Ulrik's feet, and in that next moment everything dimmed to a fuzzy series of moments frozen in memory.

What followed was more of that horrid sound. Aster's fur stood on end across every inch of him, claws peeling out of their sheaths to lengthen and dig at the dark ruin beneath his pads. They dragged backward, the beast whimpering until with a shrill yipe, it suddenly thrust itself upward and threw its wretched talons into the air above it.

Aster's red-ringed eyes were wide. One of them caught Velho's gaze, emotionless and mindless as he howled, rib cage bursting in size, his legs lengthening until he rose to a hulking height edged out even the scrawny lank of Velho for its verticality. Even his midsection ruptured the sash that held his robes neatly together, and they flowed outward from him as his tails undulated now in a scarcely contained display of reactive instinct.



Claws gnarled with savage confusion as this dark ritual came to a head, the beast snorted hot air in a billowing cloud from its nose. Its maw began to drool, slavering as it looked to Velho and smelled only ash.

This was not a good sign. His mind which survived not on strength, but avoidance now teetered edge on the edge of being Moonstruck as he was forced to confront feelings so profound and alien he could not even think how to weave them away.

There was no conversation.

Aster circled Velho like a wary animal, then detached for the caverns upon all fours, its long nest of tails snaking behind.

"Aaaaooo-oooooooooooo-ooooooooooooooohhhhh!" came a haunting howl not long after, already so far away.
. . .

In the hours that bade.

Always, he glittered like moonlight. He was a monster who cared not to hide for the dark, who would not be challenged by any beast that was not itself a thing of Hel. Somehow, he knew this.

There was no context, now. There was the hunt, substance, and the feeling of flesh as he threw his tails like spears upon the first edible thing that did not reek of poison. Claws raking and peeling away haunches of fresh meat, the animal still lived as he cruelly partook before it had even shed its last breath. Bone, organs, and hide were finished to the last scrap in a noisy reverie

Some goliath beast with horns stood in the monster's path. Its roving tails felt for the weak points in its flesh as it charged and threw him, and he tore its ribs before latching on, and climbing inside. He ate again at its still-beating mass while it yet lived, like the maggot of a wasp chewing for newborn freedom

It took an hour before he was gnawing between the bones for bits of sinew, all of it disappearing into the veritable, burning furnace inside that never quelled. He glutted himself on the wilds, with kill after kill until the cloudy mists lightened blue with the rising sun.

Slowing, his burning transformation left him ill. Thoughts began to return, flesh steaming as the changes began to burn away. Though that furnace remained in his belly, sore and hearing every heavy plod of his aching feet. He fell to the floor in a raucous fever, crawling into the shady hollow of a dead tree and shivering in the ash.

Everything burned. His claws were caked in filth as he curled ragged like a beast in its den, though he still glimmered like a pretty little marble through the roots.

A disembodied voice briefly denied him as he shut his eyes for a sleep that would grip him for at least a week.

"With this sacrament you have earned indifference."

"Here you are, childe again."

"You never had a father you acknowledged."

"Acknowledge the Night-Father as your blackened kin,"

"He will guide you."

Then everything faded to bliss, and Aster slept beneath Ulrik's purview.

 

[Velho]

༺༉❁ June 23rd 124 of the third age ❁༉༻

​

Ulrik was a man who found perhaps an undue amount of fun in spontaneity– if Aster had not been thus far told what to expect, he would consider it better for all if the initiation were as much a discovery process as it was a transformation. Velho, on the other hand, was a much more cautious man who put quite a lot of value on the notion of being prepared. He had very much wanted to give his newfound friend a more detailed explanation, though he had been bade not to by his elder.

The two Æld'Norai (and the bat) watched on with great interest as Aster moved to consume the flesh. And as the Inari transformed, Ulrik almost appeared as if he were relieved. Though his trials had just begun, Aster had not broken to pieces during the initial transformation. It was always a shame when pups died during that phase. While he'd never admit it, Ulrik was always filled with a bitter sense of sorrow when any prospective progeny of his perished– especially so early.

Once Aster leapt away, bounding off in feverish hunger, the three left behind moved to follow. Velho slithering along on those tentacles wasn't even that much slower– a feat he'd never manage with his legs alone. Ulrik moved with a preternatural swiftness, for he always engaged a partial state of Chimerism such that he maintained much of the strength, speed, and stamina of his Therianthropic form. The bat flitted through the air almost leisurely, in no apparent rush.

Ulrik had chosen this location because it was often used as a shelter for wandering beasts and other sorts within Helheim; parts of it were broken, and there were more than enough cracks for all manner of critters to slink inside. He'd had the halls scouted beforehand to ensure his pup would not starve– what sort of Pater would he be, otherwise?

Whensoever it was that Aster finally curled up into slumber, the little bat deigned to land upon that shimmering little pearl of white. Though barely conscious– perhaps having even fallen asleep already– Aster would feel some semblance of relief, as the bat had used its Syphon to impart Absentia. All initiations were taxing upon one's Metaphorical reserves, and this would restore that which had been diminished. Further, it would use Allay and Pallor on any wounds or pathogens Aster had acquired tumbling through these dark caverns, thereby allowing his healing to progress flawlessly.

When the bat had settled upon the fox's soft fur, Ulrik eyed it inquisitively, though once he realized what it was doing, he did not feel the need to intervene. The elder Nightwalker looked upon the little fox with a paternal sort of pride, because while there was a small chance his mind might not be quite intact upon such a time that he woke up, that chance was remarkably low.

Velho, on the other hand, had watched this entire ordeal as a scientist might observe his experiments. For him, it had been as fascinating as it was enlightening, and he was ever the more eager to find a way in which he could bear witness to a Null initiation. Part of him, too, was pleased Aster had not perished; he could see himself growing fond of the fox in time– 'twould've been a shame for him to have died down here.

Ulrik was a large man, about an inch or so taller than Velho. Unlike the latter, however, he was not lacking in bulk. Lifting the unconscious Aster into his arms was an exceptionally easy feat, and with pup in tow, there was no longer any need to linger here– the small group, including the bat, would then take their leave.

The first of the Nightwalkers had made his home in a cavern not too far from Sværlys. He valued solitude, though he did enjoy the conveniences and indulgences the city had on offer. His manse was a veritable castle in scale, though it had been carved into the stony walls of the cavern rather than traditionally constructed from the ground up. From its make, it would be an easy assumption that many an Ælven Terrari had toiled away on it, sparing nothing in its grandiosity. The end result bordered on brutalist, yet it still possessed much of the softer, naturalistic flair of traditional Æld'Norai architecture.

Whilst Velho had stated he was happy to take Aster back to Hespæria to care for him, Ulrik refused. He'd said he'd rather have his pup under his wing, at least until such time that he was able to acclimate properly to his new state of existence. To that, the Scourge did not object– he only requested that he, too, be allowed to stay. This request was accepted, and chambers were prepared for each of them.

The bedchamber granted to Aster had all of its furniture crafted from Myrksteinn, with the plusher aspects being a deep red. Unlike Velho's home, everything was well organized and it was almost too clean, as if one were staying in a rather luxurious inn. A sveinn with some medical skill would be tasked with checking Aster's vitals twice a day until such a time that she discovered him awake.

Once he was, Aster would be led to a spacious sort of ballroom. At least, that is the purpose it had been designed for, though Ulrik mainly used it as a sparring chamber. In this case, it had been chosen on the chance that Aster might wish to explore his new form a bit more. And within it, Ulrik and Velho were sat across from one another at a small table along the far wall. They were both drinking dark red liquids, though the consistency of Velho's was slightly more viscous than the obvious wine in the other's. The table was slightly out of place, likely brought in there for the two of them to wait at until Aster had indicated he was ready to be seen.

The second Ulrik would clap eyes upon Aster, he'd beam at him. "Full glad are we to see you awake! How do you feel, brother?" His question delivered with remarkable joviality.

꧁══════════• ༺༉ { Ulrik } ༉༻•══════════꧂​

​

꧁══════════• ༺༉ ❁ ❀ ❁ ༉༻•══════════꧂​

 

[Vicissitude]

꧁══════════• ༺༉ { Reviewed/Canon } ༉༻•══════════꧂​

Aster

+20 XP (2,024 words)

Velho

+26 XP (2,554 words)

And Aster has joined the monstrous ranks of the Nightwalkers! His transformation was delightful to read.

꧁══════════• ༺༉ ❁ ❀ ❁ ༉༻•══════════꧂​

​

​