Forbidden Whispers

[Epitaph]

As shadow began to creep across the land, the fading light stained the hue of freshly spilled blood, Epitaph sat within the hallowed halls of the Mysterium's sanctuary within the Circle of Creation. Not within the Athaneum itself. No, that was a space she was hesitant to venture into tonight, but the the sounds of their hushed conversation could echo through the halls and rooms around it. She quite liked the idea of a susurrus of knowledge floating around the sanctum that housed a piece of Atlantis, itself.

To prepare for the evening, she had bought a small selection of spirits for them sample: a pinot noir, a scotch, and a tequila, as well as some crackers and cheeses. It was polite, she'd heard, to offer such refreshments, though she had trouble picturing Knot consuming anything that was not from a food truck. How little she knew of him, let alone understood. Nevertheless, he had surprised, leaving the feather that she'd requested instead of a simple note. Such a gesture deserved respect, and she intended to pay it.

[Knot]

Knot was looking forward to this evening. Epitaph, self-titled Priestess of the Deathly Realm, who sought the feather of a carrion bird to signal agreement, seemed very devoted to some of the mythic resonances associated with the Path of Doom. Knot respected that kind of thing, after all they were Mystagogues, not Libertines. There was more to being one of the Awakened than just knowing spells. Respect for the past, devotion to ritual, the pageantry of an expertly performed ceremony. The fact that even some of the Awakened looked down on that kind of thing just showed how deep the Lie had gotten.

Knot cleared his throat when he walked into the Mysterium's wing to announce his presence. He was dressed much like he had been the last time he had met Epitaph - thrift shop chic in that his clothes came from a thrift shop and he had a little sense of personal style. Except for a number of small bandages on his face and hands, covering up a myriad collection of minor scratches he sported, he seemed in both good health and good cheer. When she acknowledges him, he nods to her with small greeting. "Theoricus Epitaph. Thank you for responding to my letter."

[Epitaph]

"Greetings, Corax Knot,"* Epitaph replied warmly, rising from her seat and spreading her arms in welcome as the young neokoros walked into the room.

"Thank you for your considerate reply, I was most touched that you had agreed to my request," she went on, her bleached teeth practically shining against the black stain on her lips as she gestured for him to sit across from him. "It speaks very well of you, and I believe we are very fortunate to have you amongst us. No pun intended, of course. Would you care for refreshment?"

Her black, meticulously sculpted talons swept across the three bottles of spirits, as well as the waiting crackers and cheeses. She studied him as she did this, taking in the used cloth covering his body and the sign of recent wounds. Best not to comment upon those. She suspected where he'd gotten them, after all.

"Before we begin sharing the knowledge we've accumulated on our travels," she continued, "why don't we briefly discuss our Sophiad?"

[Knot]

"Ah, of course. It was..." Knot pauses, stopping himself from saying 'it was no trouble' and making a liar out of himself. "It wasn't difficult. But thank you." He looks at Epitaph with some surprise when refreshments are offered as he takes a seat. "I'd appreciate some refreshments, of course. Can I pour you something?" He passes over the cheese entirely, not even glancing at what's on offer, but he does takes some crackers for himself. If Epitaph asks, he pours a splash of whatever spirit she chooses for her, but for himself, he does not partake.

"Where would you like to begin?" Knot asks, once he's settled himself down. "I was inducted, and then initiated, into the Order by Miles Azhwar, in Portland about seventeen months ago. The foundations of my Sophiad were Theosophical, though not quite the brand of Theosophy that Sleepers follow." A brief grimace of discontent passes over Knot's face before he continues. "I have since broken with that tradition, largely. For personal reasons. They're why I left Portland. Right now I'm beginning to explore paths outside of Asceticism."

[Epitaph]

"I will have a glass of wine, I think. Thank you, Corax Knot," Epitaph replied, teeth still gleaming in a showroom smile. She waited for the cascade of rich, carmine red to stop, the glass passed to her hand where she swirled it into a gentle maelstrom as she watched him.

"Are the spirits or cheeses offensive to you?" she inquired after a moment. "If so, I did not mean to convey any insult."

Was he lactose intolerant, perhaps? Or maybe a former alcoholic? No gluten intolerance, however. Interesting. She would have suspected this was merely part of his aescetic practice, though he had just said he was exploring other areas of thought. Fascinating.

"I am curious why you've distanced yourself from your original Sophiad, however. This suggests to me that perhaps you did not originally choose your Sophiad, or were otherwise influenced to pursue another's. Would this be correct, or is it a faulty assumption?"

[Benji]

wrong account

[Knot]

"There's no insult, they're just full of bad Karma. It's a ritual purity thing." Knot explains, knowing how it sounds but preferring to explain things to a fellow Mystagogue that he wouldn't normally explain to a stranger. "Animal matter has a kind of spiritual gravity to it that lets the nature of the thing it once was stick to it, while alcohol is extremely sensitive to psychic influences so it preserves all the emanations from all the individuals involved in it's fabrication. When it comes up I usually just say that I'm Vegan and then endure people trying to convince me to try bacon."

"Miles Azhwar terminated our working relationship." Knot states regretfully. "They are an evangelist for the Advent, a sect of Magi I had hoped to join. They are a Transformative Legacy, who pursue the resurrection of Atlantis through individual spiritual purification and physical evolution into a superior being. Most outsiders consider them crackpots, but everything Miles Azhwar was able to show me about their methods and teachings held up. In the end however, there were aspects of the Advent philosophy that I have difficulty reconciling myself with, and personality conflicts with Azhwar's other disciples that proved irreconcilable. I don't harbor any ill will towards Miles Azhwar, it just proved to not be a good fit. Malignant influences."

"But now," Knot says with a small shrug. "Since I am no longer on the path to becoming one of the beautiful, enlightened three-eyed hermaphrodite sage destined to be the ruling class of the revived Atlantis, I've cut back on some of the stricter purity rituals. Clothing restrictions, fasting, celibacy, mortification of the flesh, those kinds of things."

[Epitaph]

"That's fascinating! I didn't know that such simple things could have such profound impacts upon the soul!" Epitaph exclaimed, her eyes wide in fascination, her wine forgotten as she leaned forward.

"You'll have to share the studies you've read on the subject. I would love to read that research, to see what Arcana are used to observe such effects and how they interact with the Soul under different conditions. That's more of a Magosphical study, but still, I am nevertheless interested."

The black swathed Priestess leaned back once again, her eyes dropping to her wine as she considered the implications of such a study, and more importantly, the drink in front of her. To think that the swirling red within its glass prison could have such an effect...assuming, of course, that such a belief was based upon true magosophical study. She took a sip of wine and then set the glass down on the table next to, her artificially pale eyes returning to knot once more.

"It is quite ironic that those with three eyes go so far to close off your sight, is it not?" Epitaph asked, a small smirk appearing upon her lips. "It is not surprising that you would find your mind drawn beyond the confines originally placed upon it. You are not just Awakened, you are clearly in tune with the curiosity of your Soul and the communion with Magic itself. Though, for some of us, that is not enough. My Sophiad touches upon Magosophy, the study of the soul, but it is firmly rooted in the Supernological study of Death."

[Knot]

"The rituals are deadly for the unprepared and insufficiently purified." Knot says, disagreeing with the implication that he had been wronged somehow. Whatever he thought of some aspects of the Advent's philosophy and Azhwar's other disciples, Azhwar had still been his first Teacher. Knot owed him a great deal of both respect and loyalty because of that. But he wasn't going to lecture about how everyone's Sophiad was, of a necessity, different. If anyone knew it, she did. She outranked him, after all. "And certainly, the Caucus is always a valuable resource."

"I admit that death as Capital-D-Death is something I haven't had much study of. How does one study it? Why does it catch your interest so much?" Cearly, with the gothness it had a very tight grip on her personality. He didn't wish to sound dismissive or worse yet ignorant, but outside of killing animals, or perhaps meditating in a graveyard, he couldn't think of ways to attune yourself to that facet of the Supernal. Well, maybe you could bury yourself alive... but how would you set that up? He could go on about Karma and Fate all night long, but now wasn't the time. He liked Epitaph, and the stroking his ego was nice (who would deny it?), but he didn't know her well enought to know if it was genuine or something else.

Do you mean what you say Epitaph, or are you just saying it to make me like you? (contest with something + subterfuge if you'd like)

  3 successes

Date		Action		Roll		Result
2018-06-20 14:29:50		Knot rolls 4 to Why so Complementary (Wits 3 + Empathy 1) (10 Again)		2, 9, 8, 8		3 successes

[Epitaph]

The salesroom smile told Knot almost more than it concealed. The movement of the Necromancer's expertly painted eye lids, and the sweep of her devastatingly long lashes betrayed what was genuine, and what was not. It seemed that the Angel of Death did genuinely like him, though it was clear that she was more concerned with cultivating his own appreciation of her than she was in being honest. Perhaps...because of fear, rather than a need to be validated.

Though, at the moment, it was clear that it was the upswell of passion that brough Epitaph to her feet, rather than a mere desire for theatrics.

"Death," Epitaph began, "is not just an absence of life. Death," she continued, pacing across the room, only to spin back, her arms spread wide, the sleeves of her black robe falling like spread wings.

"Death is transition as much as it is entropy. As I'm sure you are aware, the Soul is not destroyed after life has fled. It becomes something else, goes somewhere else, and eventually it circles back to life. Yet, what precisely happens to the Soul we do not know. That is what we study. What clues can we gain through the observation of death? What can the psychic imprints left by Death tell us? How does the Soul respond to different stimuli? How does the soul change, or grow? These are all questions that we ask when we study Death, and much as the mortal astronomers do, we look for the few observable phenomenon that exist in our hunt for Truth.

"Though, to answer your last question," Epitaph replied with a soft laugh, a manic look entering her eyes, "I am not interested in Death. It is nothing so trivial as that. My study of Death is a compulsion. An urge that is so hardwired into my being that it cannot be removed without unmaking me. For better or worse, I am drawn to Death. As for why this is, well, grant me a few moments of your participation, will you?"

Epitaph's sable brows rose in question as she slowly walked back over to her chair and sank into it, taking up her wine once more.

"Suppose, for a moment, that at the dawn of Time as we know it, when the great cataclysm split the Universe asunder, the Supernal and the Fallen rent by the emergence of the Abyss, that the cataclysm did not stop. Imagine that the Abyss was going to continue growing wider, and wider. Imagine, then, that the Hated Ones needed to find a solution to the ever widening gulf lest their Hubris consume all. What purpose, then, might the Watchtowers serve in such a scenario?"