Library of Babel

[Campanella]

"Given the strange effects of... What happened... It could be either."

The Moros let his eyes linger on the architecture around him.

"Now it is possible we may have missed it. We were few in number as the strikes came on relentlessly, we kept our collective heads down. The Sanctuary has good cause to be called so. Later our numbers were so few we joined together as one Cabal simply to keep an eye on one another - and that Cabal had a long lineage and tradition with a particular part of town. If an independent group had established themselves elsewhere we may not have known. So finding this place as it is, is quite possible."

His eyes, glittering, fell on Epitaph.

"And it could be a trap using just that reasoning as a lure. So? Shall we explore? If it is indeed a trap I want to know. The same if this is the home of an independent - whom can be bought into the fold."

If nothing else, Campanella wanted to know if the shop was safe so he could return later and simply browse the stacks.

[Epitaph]

"Before I ever entered this city I knew your name," Epitaph returned, her voice holding a mild note of reproach. "We have networks for a reason. If our suspicions are correct and the proprietor has not joined said network, then they are not our friends."

It was a sad truth, but one that could not be denied. In the world of the Awakened, you were either a part of their nation or you were a part of the same systems of control that were meant to imprison, or kill them.

"Nevertheless, I would be happy to explore the store with you. If my fears are correct, there is no place I'd rather be. If my fears are merely that, and do not dwell within the plane of reality, then I will still be happy to be here. After all, I am sure there are only a handful of places like this in the world."

[Campanella]

"Lets try the second level. With luck it will be quieter and we can speak more freely."

Campanella was making his way deeper into the shop. If it was a trap he was determined to spring it.

"Do you have a particular focus for your studies?" The Alchemist asked the Necromancer to break the tension.

[Epitaph]

A stream of air escaped from Epitaph's lungs, a breathy, rasping thing that sounded as though it was escaping the mouth of a shadowed barrow.

"I do not have a focus," Epitaph lamented as she trailed after the head of her Order. "I have a compulsion. An obsession. An impulse that is wound so deeply into my being that even were I to try to deny it, I would find myself following it nonetheless. So I have long since abandoned trying to deny it, or trying to obscure it. Instead, I have chosen to embrace it. As have many like us, I must assume."

Epitaph glanced back at the skull hanging upon the wall of the shop, and then turned back to Campanella.

"Judgement implies a lack of choice for the judged. Have you ever felt as though you had been judged?"

[Campanella]

Campanella stopped and stared at Epitaph.

"Many times. Before my mythic journey. While on my mythic journey. When joining our Order. When choosing the better part of valour and removing myself from a situation before I became a casuality or worse, an asset who could be compromised by the enemy."

Brightening he wandered back into the stacks.

"So what is this obsession you find so powerful that it cannot be denied?"

[Epitaph]

Epitaph frowned, wondering if the other Dadouchos was being intentionally dull, or if he was instead trying to reserve his judgement until she had been able to express herself. Regardless, she was not entirely happy that he hadn't picked up on what she had been hinting at. Perhaps she would have to dispense with some of the subtlety their Order was so obsessed with.

"Did you know that I grew up in Detroit?" she instead asked as they walked. "My family lived in a neighborhood that was plagued with all of the social ills that breed in that city. When I was playing make believe, crumbling buildings, bodies on the sidewalk, murderers with badges, and arson were all reflected in the imaginary lives of the porcelain unicorns I had to play with. Since then, I have become the only surviving member of my family, on both sides. This is why it makes more sense to me to paint my skin like that of a corpse than it does to emphasize the fragile essence of life. Death is my obsession. Forced upon me, and not chosen."

She stopped walking and turned to stare into Campanella's caramel eyes.

"There is a theory that I have heard, common amongst those who seek democratic council. They think that, perhaps, the five beings who sit in their ivory towers are not, perhaps, our saviors, but are instead merely guises for our Judges. If this is the case, I would not be surprised, for it seems to me that I was judged from birth and forced to walk as I do."

[Campanella]

Campanella grimaced slightly, perhaps the only sign that he could empathise with the Necromancer on the losses which weighed her down. His lips moved without speaking.

"I would say that I am sorry for your loss, if only such words did not sound trite and cliche, for your losses must be great indeed" he said at last, honestly. He did not shirk from her gaze. He said nothing more for a moment.

"Perhaps you were chosen because of the shape of your life." He did not entirely sound convinced by his argument. "But perhaps there is observed wisdom in what you speak of. I was raised in the ruins of old wealth, when vitality has all but gone and only material accumulation remains. That became my life and was my prison. I struggled, as you no doubt struggled, before Awakening transformed my prison into a crucible of transcendence."

Was he as much an avatar of Matter with his interests in grimoires, automata, and alchemy as she was in the practices of Death?

Campanella had never quite thought of it in that way before.

[Epitaph]

"That's not the question," Epitaph countered. "The question is what shaped our lives? Was it mere chance? Was it simply the confluence of cause and effect, the shape taken by billions upon billions of interconnected events whose trajectories have all woven together into the shape of our lives? Or has someone tugged upon the strings and woven them for us? We know it is possible. We know that there are those who rewrite the strands of destiny. So my question is, who has shaped ours, and for what purpose?"

[Campanella]

"You think that Archmages would bother to take the time to fashion you for the Awakening when they would, one supposes, have much more pressing matters and interests to pursue. Or perhaps you believe it would be the Oracles?" He made a shrugging gesture. "But if the Oracles could do such a thing, why don't we see them more active?"

He suppressed a sigh.

"They certainly were not around when we needed them the most, a few years ago. The Clock... I am given to understand the Clock was not the work of the Oracles, or indeed, even arch mages. It was the work of the founders of the Consilium put forward in time to when it was needed."

He did not sound completely convinced himself, having only gleaned rumour and conjecture from his fellow mages.

[Epitaph]

"As we were discussing the Inferno, earlier, allow me to play Devil's Advocate," Epitaph replied, keeping her voice carefully controlled, her earlier agitation fading, even as the storm of mania and trepidation rose towards a crescendo within her.

  4 successes, Subterfudge

Date		Action		Roll		Result
2018-04-25 20:45:26		Epitaph rolls 5 to Lie like a book on the floor (manip2+subter3) (10 Again)		10, 8, 10, 9, 7, 6, 4		4 successes

"Suppose that the Oracles, and the Towers, as we know them, are not what we think they are. Imagine, for a moment, the Exarchs, staring down at the consequence for their act of Hubris, the Supernal tearing away from the Fallen World, and the gulf of the Abyss widening. Imagine then, that their solution was to build tethers between the Supernal and the Fallen, tethers that could challenge the living pulse of Magic. Imagine that they realized that they would have no choice but to allow some of us to Awaken in order to continue to foster their power, in order to protect the Supernal. What better fiction, then, besides the Oracles and the Watchtowers? What better fiction than the quasi-religious figures that the Diamond essentially preys to are actually the Exarchs in disguise, and the Towers are actually one more method of control. How can we ascend, after all, if we can only walk one Path, if our souls are bound to only one dichotomy?

Now, supposing that this is 'true'," Epitaph went on, her black lacquered nails flashing as she formed the air quotes, "what better way to continue to create tethers than to shape the lives of the Sleepers they have selected to Awaken?"