Journal @Inksome
Journal @IJ
Pavo - The Peacock - Purple - Beautiful, willowy angular people and they do seem to know it. Archers and swordsmen of an odd, light blade. They seem too delicate to be here, honestly. I've heard of witchcraft and royalty... who knows for sure.
1:
[[You ran out of paper a while ago. Your designs now stretch almost the expanse of the floor. The inks are long since used, dried or spilled and you have taken to the rough and indelicate lines of charcoal for now. It was important to get this mad idea out while the fever still had your bones. If it went away before you finished, you'd never find it again... just a few equations away, just a few lines from completion.
She is in the room sometimes, sometimes she's not. She's a practical one... doesn't try to stop it anymore. Just calmly suggests. Occasionally questions. She sits beside you, hands folded on her lap, eyes down and watching your scrawl.
"Almost finished."
"You can tell?"
"By the design... no." She shakes her head, then smiles, her angular face softening with the expression. "It's that kind of energy."
"It is like this when it happens, isn't it?" You don't stop. You are almost there.
"I've been preparing the engineers and builders. They are waiting for you."
"You're a marvel, my dear." You say, honestly meaning it. Just a few more lines. Your right hand finishes an inner schematic, while your left completes the last structural equation. You frantically scan the work, reprocessing it, even as you feel the energy, the near divine inspiration rushing away from you. The moment you confirm it... that it IS complete, you fall to your knees, suddenly weak. You aren't sure when you last ate or drank, but it's been at least that long since you've slept.
You fall back, laughing. "Done!"
"It is..." She reaches down and traces a line. "What is it this time."
"A bridge... A way up! A building higher than anything ever before." You lift your hands, gesturing in the air. "At it's pinnacle, I could walk right out and kiss-"]]
2:
[Tearing, unraveling, half of you rails against the madness while the other slips away, sliding into a soft nothing. There's so much you can't remember now, all of it pulling apart like so many threads. The important things are there though... You are sure of that.]
Concept: Practical peacocks
Top piece: Loose, long tunic with 3/4 peasant sleeves (m), T-shirts (f)
Bottom piece: Long sleeveless robe with shoulder straps (m), short overall jumper (f)
Outer piece: Gathered, front-closed academic robe with knee-length open sleeves
Accessory: Pouches (m), workbelts (f)
Footwear: Calf boots (m), ankle boots (f), socks
[There is the gentle sound of a shuttle moving through taut thread, and as the memory settles deep, your eyes open to the familiar garments of your kin on both yourself and those around you, dyed a delicate shade of violet.
At first glance of those voluminous robes, some would think priests or scholars. They fall to the ankles on both genders (though it's not like those under the peacock banner can be judged by normal standards; much like their namesake, often enough and to the folly of many it is the men who catch the eye first), the sleeves almost as long, open along the bottom seam to fall cape-like around the arm.
At first glance, that. At second, one might see something else; the loose, gathered sleeves of the men's tunics, woven of soft panna and silk, that drift soft around their necks. Ever the more plan, girls favour simple shirts, short-sleeved and tighter to the body. Where both have straps latched over their shoulders, the short jumpers held up by those on the girls are a far cry from the long, sleeveless overdress that hangs to the feet on the men. Yet both are of the same, sturdy woven cort (and faint enough, if one looks, are the remains of stains from oils and ash, or the brush of chalk), light enough to catch the breeze without risking tears during a long day's work. Boots rise to the ankle on girls, and lace up the calves of the men, both worked of a leather stiff enough to resist the odd dropped object; softer hides are found on the pouches of their belts, tucked tight above the short cut of the jumpers, and hanging in a cascading trio down one side of the men's robes.]
Spiraling City
[The architecture that surrounds you is nothing short of graceful. Dancing with the practicality of bridges, roads and buildings is a whimsy and flight of fancy that can only be called delightful and full of mad eyed wonder. Strange blue and red flames dance in the sconces, as if absorbing the light of the two half full moons above and giving their light back. It casts the whole night cityscape in vivid purples.
The path seems to twist at first... in a baffling way, as if the designer simply placed a strainer full of noodles on a blueprint and called it genius... Until you notice that it takes you out of the path of a lifting mechanism for a bridge above a canal, or under a awned pathway to protect the pedestrians from a workshop above, or even to take you in perfect distance to of a great tile mural of a woman veiled by fans... Even the buildings seem to slide into each other in design, as if taken into a dance themselves.
You are... fairly sure that the winding street you now follow will lead you to the great spired palace of the Designers... But it COULD be that branch to the left, made even more enticing by a strange, feathery slash of color that slides away behind closed street stall.]
Decision point one
Ahead
[Your path gets closer and closer in a roundabout however, wholey encouraging manner.
You see the fanning gates of the palace ahead... but as you start to move towards them, a refrain of music catches your attention. It is muted... but delicate and clear. Your attention is drawn through it, almost inexplicably, to a small glass vial that seems to have rolled to the very bottom of an otherwise emptied merchant stall.
The stall itself boasts that it sells the treasure of the singing springs, guaranteeing clarity and ability like none others. Used for generations!]
Left
[As you wander down another route, you... seem to also be heading towards the palace, but you can’t help but be distracted now and then by a brilliant plumage of a bird...
As you pass, nightgoing scholars and workers, they seem to look from the bird to you... and oddly enough, make a sign of reverence to the bird... and then one to all of you as well.
The bird continues on its winding path... You think you can still make it back from here... maybe.]
Decision point two
The great hall
[You are almost to the palace itself... you see the gates in front of you, the mechanism of them one of the great marvels in the city... designed like a peacocks tail, they will fold into themselves to allow entrance to either side, or then lower, to allow a great vehicle or procession...
Just before you lay a hand on the pull string to tug out a pattern to alert the night warden that you have arrived, a simple, breathy song stills your hand.]
[Riddle]
Transformation - End
[To chase the bright bird further and further down the ally. It seems so terribly elusive... sliding around the corner or taking to the wind and a roof just as you get close enough to make out its royal plumage.
Just as you might feel out of breath or discouraged, it cocks its head back at you, and drops a single crystal to the ground before taking flight again.
You’re not... entirely sure of the way back, but think if you keep the tower in sight you have a chance.]
----[As you bend down to examine the crystal, you are overcome by its perfection. Something about the way it was cut, obviously by some master artificer, it catches every light and seems to concentrate it in its center.
There is something within you can’t quiet make out.]
----[As your fingers touch the gem’s surface, you find yourself looking towards the sky. You are filled with an uncontrolled yearning, wishing not so much to touch the sky as to fall into it, be engulfed and loved by it, tossed by its currents and dance with its whims.
You leave something ridiculous and heavy behind... stretch your wings and take to the sky... ethereal and weightless as the wind itself.]
Song - End
[The song is clearer as you enter the workshop... It is entrancing... multitoned though you could be certain there was only one voice... one carrying high and clear... but another sliding below it, humming out a tempo.... and perhaps a third, joining now and then into a counterpart...
Until there’s one for all of you...
You are almost startled to hear your own voice amongst them... Your mind if whirling, almost unfurling. You have never felt yourself think so clearly, so rapidly...
Designs begin to unweave in your collective consciousness... and almost as one, you realise that where you are is a workshop... and there is work to be done.]
Boss
[None]
(Someone else can add links later, this stuff is all over. Just doing distillation for now. --Jace.)
--Lenalee: "Eve". A member of the Winged Royal Guard, with clockwork wings and other gearpunk enhancements. The Guard is mostly ceremonial but still an elite unit. Brother to old!Howl.
--Raenef: "???/Your Majesty." King of Pavo (sole ruler?). Lives in "a place of mirrors and windows... clockwork and beauty."
--Pavo's baths are famous for miles around. Bathing, including ritual bathing, is culturally important. [run down quotes for this.]
--"But it's hard to convince a Pavo that something doesn't need fixing... well, why would you try?"