Miach Glimpses

[Miach]

Alone in the Athenaeum, Miach was cleaning to prepare for the events that might come. Even though he was an Acanthus, he had no idea what were the odds that he might recruit Ermac, and Pelican and Varyx. Heck, he may very well end up empty-handed. That was a very real possibility. On the other hand, if all three happened to enter...

It was something he had to consider, at least. If Ermac was recruited, it meant an Obrimos, a Councilor, a member of the VT, and one mage in the fifteen or so they were. If Pelican joined, it would mean a Moros - meaning they'd have a representative of each Path, as well as another mage in the fifteen. And if Varyx ever decided she was interested, it would mean another potential Councilor-material Awakened in their fold, and another member strong... They might end up six on a Consilium of fifteen or so. A third of the Consilium...

Miach didn't care much about politics, but even someone as he remembered what it had felt like when the VT had seemed to have a hand in everything - Councilors, Heralds, Sentinels, Order Heads... And there was a very real possibility some might fear the same about the Mysterium, should they become successful.

On the other hand, he would be remiss to let go of such an opportunity. The Consilium clearly needed unity and coordination. Bringing all those Awakened under a common banner could only foster that. And it would give him more opportunities for his own purposes, if he were honest to himself. No more powerlessness. At last a tool to use to mend them all, to make it all better.

His jaw tensed. Given half a chance, he wouldn't turn down that opportunity. Come what may. The Curator was ready.

[Miach]

Alone in the Athenaeum, Miach was watching the empty, disarrayed shelves with a downcast look. He was trying to bring his Order back to the fore, to recruit valuable members, to support their ideals, but it was so taxing... and he had so little to show for it. Of course, the Acanthus knew that Time was needed to achieve anything meaningful, and he hadn't hoped to raise the Mysterium back in an instant like a Phoenix - ha, the irony of the name - but still... their Library was no better than nearly a year ago, nor was their Scriptorium. He couldn't even argue that the place was safe enough to store dangerous artifacts, if he were honest to himself...

Sure, he had enlisted the help of Faust and Flidais, and it had seemed like headway was being made. But he had not managed to recruit Ermac, and the Mighty had left. On the bright side, Pelican and Varyx might still join, perhaps...

Only after the hurdle of manpower came the hurdle of circumstances. Faust had requested that his duties be redirected - and it couldn't in all honesty be denied, given the forces the Consilium was facing. And the Curator was pretty sure that Flidais would use the same rationale soon...

In all that agitation, he was himself forced to deal with the personal pressure from Esmeralda, in addition to the Banisher's threat, thus further delaying the studies he craved delving into, or the attention the Order so badly needed.

How had Tyria dealt with all of it ? How had she kept her cool with so much frustration mounting up ? Had she looked far enough into the future, and divined that it was the best way, thus worth putting up with it ? Had she just pretended to care, or not to care ? Now that he was walking in her boots, the doctor was pretty sure that her self-control was only because otherwise she would have cried at them for hours on end... At least that's what he was thinking.

For people who were used to bending the laws of "reality" through their own Will, it was an extremely frustrating situation than one in which no matter the Will they poured in, the outcome didn't change one bit to their satisfaction. But what could he do, really ?

Well, tackle issues one by one... as a doctor would. First the immediate survival, then would come the time for a more in-depth recovery...

Sighing, the Curator reluctantly had to admit that those shelves wouldn't be fuller before many many more monthes to come, alas. But he still had Time. For now. All Hope was not lost. For now.

[Miach]

  7 successes !

Date		Action		Roll		Result
2016-03-24 17:45:04		Miach rolls 6 to Mistake... (10 Again)		8, 8, 10, 9, 9, 10, 8, 7		7 successes
2016-03-24 17:44:45		Miach rolls 1 to Gno 2 + Space 3 + HS 2 to Spont. Destroy The Threads (10 Again)		2		failure

At last. At long last.

It had taken him years to get there, but there it was. As far as the Acanthus could tell, he was now free for sure !

With no way to be sure otherwise, the careful Acanthus had had to purge himself, and his Sanctum, of all possible sympathetic connection, all by himself. That way, whatever his jailors might once have had upon him, had now been rendered useless. No more fear about long forgotten locks of hair, or samples of blood. It had been of him, and potential threats to his freedom. No more.

Sitting in his Sanctum, and breathing from the exertion of his Will in an Arcana he was still getting accustomed to, the Acanthus was still puzzled. He was experiencing mixed feelings. Pride, at having broken free from those potential and invisible chains by himself. Relief, too. Fear, that perhaps he'd have missed something, or that it might not be enough. And a void. That nagging fear in the back of his mind was as gone as it could be, and he was left with a void. Now what ?

Now that he had further widened the gap between he and his past, what would he do with his hard-earned future ? No amount of Arcana ever taught you how to overcome PTSD. Or whether you'd be happy for the rest of your life with the woman you currently passionately love. Or whether you should propose her, or have a child. In those respects, the so-called Wise were as blind as the Sleepers.

The Curator had hoped to experience elation, and a sense of closure. An opening of his mind to the future. But he wasn't, or not exactly, at least. How could he move on, now ? What else ? What would drive him now ?

The Sleepers all deserved his attention, there was no doubt about that, as would Esmeralda, or the Mysterium's goals. He wasn't exactly drifting around pointlessly. And there were still many threats to be adressed. And yet, it still left him with a void. Was that what you experienced when you left a part of your past behind you ? Was that growing ? learning ? living ? He had overcome Menwel's passing, and the void she had left in him. He would do the same now. Heal. Move on.

But how long would it take ? and how long would he still be capable of healing ?

[Miach]

Alone in his living room, Miach's gaze was affixed upon an opened small book. A gift from Esmeralda, of course. More specifically, the Acanthus was reading over and over again a couple of lines of a famous poem. He couldn't divert his eyes from them, and his mind was in a continuous loop.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find me, unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gait,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

The tall doctor would have scoffed at what seemed like misplaced pride perhaps, or self-delusions of a Sleeper, if it didn't resonate so deeply within him. He was very much afraid of the Horror of the shade. He had experienced pain several times over, but he still clung to life as much because he enjoyed it, as because of honest fear. Fright. Terror. It came in plenty of flavours, and all of them left him at best bitter, when not drunk.

Then, was he not the master of his fate ? was he not the captain of his soul ? Ha, the Soul... apparently, you could deny Death its price by shepherding the Souls of others, at least... Couldn't it be good enough ?

That poem sounded like an accusation of weakness because of the temptation he felt to call to him the Deathless, to pry its mysteries to alleviate its fears. Couldn't he find reassurance within himself ? Did he really have to lean on a crude clutch like that book ?

To those, the Acanthus had only one answer. Yes. Yes. Yes.

Of course Henley was merely a Sleeper. Of course he couldn't possibly imagine that Death might be a Lie. That there could be a way to deny it. So he had had to learn how to brace himself, but Awakened surely weren't constrained by the same limits. Yes, that was the real meaning of being Invictus. Awakened. You didn't admit a limit, and pushed beyond those arbitrary boundaries. The Acanthus was merely being true to his fate by challenging the boundary of Death.

He was no coward, but a visionary instead.

So.. why did he still feel so ashamed of his thoughts, then ?

[Miach]

Between >this< and >that<.
Cayce I hope you won't find fault with it - I've barely mentioned Avis. Otherwise please ask for it to be edited, of course. Thank you !

Even though the place was so familiar to the Curator, he still couldn't relax. How could he ? Granted, he was standing in his Order's headquarters, but he was also waiting beside a Warlock Arrow whose beliefs were of great concern to him, and who had called more Awakened to her side to support her. Could he hope to turn them all to his side, convince them that Avis needed help ? He had to hope. Without hope, they might as well throw down their lives for all to take.

Since she had seemed to him both angry and afraid, Miach took great care to keep a safe distance from her, and even purposefully turned his back to the woman, so she could perhaps feel like he wasn't threatening her. Meanwhile, he was trying his best not to let his body language betray his agitation, the whirlwind in his mind. How would he explain that lives held infinite possibilities ahead of them, and were thus infinitely precious because of that ? that Death as the ultimate stopping process meant that hopes and possibilities became meaningless, nullified, futile ? that the Awakening was a promise meant for the living, and only the living ?

Death was perhaps - probably - another trapping of the Lie, but noone had escaped from it and come talking, to the best of what Miach had been able to find. Why choose it over life, then, and shut down all potential futures ? For Freedom ? Did Freedom really exist, when even your Fates could be manipulated ? It was likely that the kind of Freedom they were experiencing was the one of a puppet who could see some strings, and believe that all other motions it did were out of free will, whereas it was simply blind to many thinner, more subtles threads. It seemed futile then to throw a tantrum over what you can see and break the doll, instead of going on and on and on until the day when you're sure you've got it all sorted out at last.

How would he convince Star, Truce or Emrys ? What about Wayland or Crowley ? He was convinced, but could he be convincing ? And what if he failed ? Would Avis still think that lives mattered less than some tilting against windmills ? her life ? or others too ? This Consilium didn't need rash hotheads, it needed determined and coolheaded people. Such as he ? The Acanthus knew himself too well. He had shortcomings aplenty. But at least he respected lives, and was optimistic that with time and efforts, lives could be bettered, and perhaps someday the Lie shaked off entirely.

Such grand hopes... for now, he had to convince a couple of other Awakeneds that they were precious, and worth more than a couple of lost fights in passing... It promised to be no small task.

He had to hope.

[Miach]

Thankfully, Miach's job as a doctor was not only filled with death and suffering. There were also moments of joy. The doctor was filled with content as he watched Diana sleeping with Ryan in her arms. A couple of hours ago, Diana had only been "Pregnant woman in her thirties. Fell in the stairs. Broken leg." Now she was Diana, she was fine, taken care of, as was her beloved son, Ryan - it was the name of her grandfather. Sipping his sweet cappuccino from outside of their room, Miach was silently watching them through the window, waiting for the father, when a hunch struck him.

Calling upon the Laws of Sympathy that tied his Soul to the Realms Above, the Acanthus Willed to lift the Veil that prevented his mortal coil to perceive the Souls, and watched the newborn's soul, unmarred yet by its time in this Fallen World. Would it be glowing like an Awakened Soul ? Probably not. But would it be dimmed like a Sleeper ? Perhaps not. That Soul was recently come in the Fallen World from the Supernal Realms, was it not ? It was perhaps still barely Asleep ? Perhaps by watching it change over long years under the Lie, something of its effects could be learned.

Which reminded him of other changes that could have been observed. Esmeralda hadn't always been a Sleepwalker. Her Soul must have changed as she was exposed to his, to his frequent calling upon the Truth. Perhaps she may eventually even Awaken, then ? And what about his own Soul, then ? It had been sound Asleep for years, until his Awakening, until he had written his name in the Tower of the Lunargent Thorn, and suddenly been shaken free from his lethargy.

The doctor owed a debt to Ryan. He had never thought about it like that before. Was he taking a new step on a path to understanding the workings of the Lie, and how best to fight it ? How best to mend the ties between this World and the one above, and filling forever the gap that was the Abyss ?

Perhaps... Miach was nothing if not hopeful.

[Miach]

*SMF, 08:47*

It had started at the airport. It was fitting then that it would end at the airport. It was no real ending of course, more like the turning of a page. But it was still significant.

Years ago, Miach had set foot for the first time in Sacramento, fleeing from a past whose memories were too painful. And now he was leaving Sacramento, moving on - and definitly not fleeing, he kept telling himself - from a soon-to-be past whose memories were... his own.

He had learned to cope with Menwel's death. He had met friends, and lost them. He had faced his own fragility, and been scarred even further by it. He'd caused deaths, and saved lives. He'd been shown some Truths, and some errors of his ways. He'd met Esmeralda.

Shaped by those experiences, he had decided now to leave Sacramento, and move on. Would it be better ? Would it be worse ? The Acanthus couldn't tell. One thing would be sure. It would be new. He would have all the possibilities open. His future would be his own to write, unhindered by the weight of those years in Sacramento, but helped instead by all of this experience.

The future would be blank, which meant it would be smiling, of course.

Hand in hand with Esmeralda, Miach boarded his one-way flight.

Out of Sacramento.