A lanky if unassuming looking Eeee wings his way towards the Guild tower. He's dressed in the newest 'middle class' fashion, somewhere between the fancily decorated attire of the nobility and the basics of the working class: the result is something of better quality than serfs would wear, but without the ostentatious I'm-rich-and-important advertising of the upper class. He spots a landing area and descends.
Two spear-wielding guards in light armor nod to the newcomer. "Please state your business at the Guild Hall," the one on the right asks in Babelite, but in a surprisingly warm tone of voice for a guard.
"I am here to visit Mage Cyprian on matters of mental fortitude," Alptraum, aka Twigtraum, aka Mr. Fig, tells the guards as he folds in his wings. He's glad to be doing something relatively normal for a chance. Few of his days are ever normal anymore. "You can tell him, ska-week. He'll remember me."
"Ska-week?" the guard replies, eyes wide. "Is there any other name I can give him?"
"Oh, forgive me. I have a strange sense of humor and I thought he would remember that. It's more interesting than saying 'Mr. Fig is here'," Fig claims and shrugs.
The guard turns and knocks on the door behind him. A panel slides open, and he reports, "A Mr. Fig to see Mage Cyprian. Also with the note: ska-week." He keeps a perfectly straight face the entire time. "Hold on," squeaks a young voice from the other side of the door, and the panel slides shut. "It will just take a moment, sir," the guard apologizes to Mr. Fig.
"Well, I will forgive it, this time," Fig jokes, smiling. Since he has time to wait, he decides to look off the landing balcony and out into the city.
From here, the city looks pleasant (if you don't look down). There is quite a bit of sky traffic, and even people on the balconies and parapets of the nearby towers.
"/It almost seems normal,/" Fig thinks, wistful. ""/When did normal have to become so ... abnormal?"
The door opens at the end of the landing, and a young Eeee in acolyte's robes of the Sphere of Mind calls out, "Mr. Fig?" - as if uncertain which of the single men standing out there it might be.
"Here," Fig answers and holds up his right hand. He turns away from the city to face the acolyte. HE almost asks why the kid didn't know that if he's supposed to be of the Sphere of Mind, but decides that might not be a very tactful question.
The youngster is much shorter than Mr. Fig, who is, in turn, a little taller than the average Babelite. "Just follow me please sir," the guide says all at once. There are several not-so-surreptitious glances towards the visitor's pronounced fang-tips.
"I don't bite," Fig remarks a bit dryly after the looks. He shifts his wings again, then follows after the guide. "And I hope I am not interrupting anything...?"
"I don't.. uh.. know of anything being interrupted," the acolyte squeaks. "Mage Cyprian is supposedly on sabbatical." After a few twists and turns and stairs, one might suspect the route is chosen to specifically avoid any sensitive areas rather than travel in a direct method. But they do come to a stop before an ornate door.
"Then I hope I have not put him in a bad mood by visiting," Fig remarks. He looks about as they go, and his ears flick about curiously, but he doesn't expect to hear much in here; Eeee know how to build to confound other Eeee. "Fancy door," he remarks at the grand ornate gate.
The child knocks on the door in several different patterns, until it finally opens. "Enter," comes the familiar voice from within. The child steps aside so Fig can pass.
Fig grins fangily to the child, then slips by him and through the door. "Thank you," the child can hear him say.
A tall dark figure stands before one of the windows, looking outward. Cyprian doesn't speak until the door closes. "I wasn't expecting a visitor," the mage notes, before finally turning and looking at Fig with his blank green eyes.
"Yes, you were. You asked me to come so you could fortify my mind," Fig counters as he looks around at the overly ornate suite. "I couldn't come in the forms you already knew, of course ... because it might raise questions as to what sort of carnal hobbies you have."
"I see," Cyprian says, showing a bit of surprise. "Much less.. distracting, certainly. I've been thinking about our mutual 'patient' and what could have broken him so thoroughly."
"He hasn't gotten any better. Tulani has taken to calling him Captain Crazy, unfortunately," Fig remarks. "I also have some more information; from some orphans. Apparently there is a gang of cultists 'collecting' adults to break. A recent raid was near some Fountain of Angels in the Undercity."
"Hmmm," the mage ponders, clasping his hands behind his back. "Unfortunate, in more ways than one," he says. "What happened to our patient was not done with magic. Had it been, I might have been able to muster an official Guild response. However, I do think I have a handle on the immediate cause of insanity."
"It's also unfortunate that groups with ability to help decide not to just because there is no direct gain in it for them," Fig remarks a bit dryly, then waves his hand. "But that is another matter for argument later. What do you believe caused it?"
"Xenoempathic Psychosis," Cyprian claims. "It's a relatively recent theoretical condition. It causes a breakdown in the victim's ability to organize reality due to traumatic exposure to an incompatible thought process."
"Actually ... I can believe that. As you've seen I can shift some. I also get some of the echo of personality the form was based on," Fig notes. "And I know I've had the chance to see even odder ways, and it can be disorienting. Taking that to extremes would be ... unpleasant."
"It would seem to add credence to the notion that the abductees are being exposed to something from the Valley of Mists Forbidden Zone. The psychotic break may be a side effect of the entity's own attempts at communication," Cyprian suggests. "It does help with formulating how to counter it."
"Aw, and here I was hoping to talk to it. Maybe invite it to dinner," Fig quips, grinning fangily. "How do you suggest countering it?"
"Are you familiar with the Babelite 'tradition' of petite poissone?" Cyprian asks. "The nobility in particular engages in it: ingesting small, non-lethal amounts of poison over an extended period to build a resistance. Of course, there are so many poisons, some of which have no non-lethal dosages, that it isn't very practical. But I think the notion can be adapted to mental fitness as well."
"That sounds decidedly unpleasant," Fig notes as he rolls his shoulders to stretch a bit. "Where are you suggesting finding small doses of insanity? Have you kept a few Yodhblakat for yourself?"
The mage smirks slightly at the suggestion. "Not insanity exactly, but.. more of a prank spell. It will induce a state of.. disorganization. You will then unscramble it with your will and focus. As you progress, I will induce stronger and stronger versions of the effect.. until it simply is no longer an issue for you to deal with it."
"Why does this sound like a spell crafted by drunk College students to torment their friends?" Fig has to ask. "I'm quickly losing the disappointment I had of never being able to get a proper education."
"You would not have believed the parties thrown by the Chaos students," Cyprian notes, and then seems to get somber. "Back before the war and the Boomer, anyway. I'm sure they still get up to such things on Caroban, but not in the old campuses. Not anymore."
"Have you been exposed to spells or rituals before?" the mage asks next, his mood switching back to something more professional. "And if so, did they work?"
"That's unfortunate. If you can't find some fun in life you begin to wonder why you're living it," Fig notes and sighs. "It's just like when Rosa... er, nevermind that. Forget I said anything. Yes, I have. And I'm capable of my own of a sort. I've also been present when a Yodhinala seduced a Bosch demon."
"Not exactly structured magic, that," Cyprian notes. "Also, do you have anything in your stomach right now? The most common physical reaction to this spell is to void your stomach."
"I was almost turned into a zombie once. I think my stomach can handle it," Fig remarks a bit dryly. "And I haven't eaten anything recently, no. Even if I had, it would have been liquid."
"Very well, if you are ready then we can begin," Cyprian notes. "I will only start with a cantrip."
"You are difficult to just talk with," Fig points out, then shrugs. "I am ready."
"The effects of this will be short lived, and are just to introduce you to the lesson," Cyprian assures, and then begins chanting in a tongue-twisting, half-muttered cadence.
Fig almost blesses him for a 'sneeze', but decides it is not quite the right time or place. "He's not someone you can take drinking, alas," he think
When the spell hits, Fig sees everything go negative, while a cacophony of strange sounds assault his hearing and equilibrium. He also tastes.. raisins. He's probably never had any in his life, but he's certain that this is what they must taste like.
"This reminds me of things Melusine has done, ugh," Fig thinks as his toes curl to try and grab onto the floor to steady himself. He actually closes his eyes as well to cut out his vision and have one less thing trying to attack his mind.
The effect passes quickly. "I imagine that was annoying, but not terribly confusing," Cyprian says. "How do you feel?"
"I now know what raisins taste like," Fig remarks. "It was ... well, like having a really bad drink."
Fig shakes his head, clearing his mind of the fuzz and flavor.
"Are you ready for something stronger and longer lasting?" the Mind Mage asks.
"PErhaps I should sit down for that?" Fig suggests.
"Lying down might be better," the glowing-eyed bat replies. "This will be a minor spell, so it will take some time to build."
"Just on the floor? Or do you have a couch?" Fig asks.
Cyprian gestures to a fainting couch near a small chair and desk covered in notebooks.
"That'll work. Also, it was good I came in a form that is wholly uninteresting, it seems. You are much more focused this time," Fig notes as he heads over to the couch and lies face down on it. He doesn't want to do something unpleasant to his wings if things go bad.
It takes several minutes for Cyprian to weave this next spell. At least the couch is relatively comfortable. At least until it suddenly tastes tart. But Fig's own clothes are another multi-dish entree, ranging from mold to pepper. Even the air has an odd flavor. The beating of his heart sends out great pulses of purple light, while the rest of the room is a veritable kaleidoscope.. but not seen through his eyes. They are busy smelling things, while his nose strains to hear everything as an odor, and his tongue.. well, it just seems bigger than his head now, somehow, every twitch of every muscle mapped onto its surface..
"Arglberglepththt," thinks Fig. At least he thinks he thinks. Maybe he didn't. It's really hard to tell. Also, his feet seems to have stuck to the ceiling somehow ... after detaching from his body.
Unlike the cantrip, this one keeps going - at least as far as Fig's sense of time can tell. How is someone supposed to sort out their own scrambled senses?
And then Fig realizes one way to try. He simply tries to ignore his senses. Put his mind into limbo, like when he feels detached by the shadow. Of course that means not extending the shadow ... but he hopes he can manage keeping that under control while focusing on ... being nothing.
It's something that may be unique to Fig, that experience of being bodiless and timeless. But it actually seems to work, as far as meditation goes. It isn't 'clearing ones mind' so much as isolating it; getting it to a state of pure, distinct Alptraum-ness.
"I guess this is what is meant about finding yourself," Alptruam thinks once he's clear enough to. And once there ... he just waits, focusing on being, well, nothing at all.
"Impressive," Cyprian concedes, his voice sounding like.. sound, instead of a colorful blur. "What sort of meditation technique is that?"
Fig relaxes, then slowly opens his eyes. "What do you mean?" he asks.
"You were able to break the spell, but not by sorting things out," Cyprian explains. "When your senses are tangled into a knot, you usually have to untangle it strand by strand - but you.. sliced through it with a knife, metaphorically."
"Ah. Well, that's probably because I shift. When I shift, I become detached from my body, mentally speaking. I exist in nothing," Fig explains as he sits up. "So since my body was telling me things that made no sense, I cut it off for a bit."
"Fascinating," the mage notes, watching Fig with renewed interest. "The rest of the exercises will focus on your mental state instead," he warns. "This next one.. is not one to be sorted or blocked out. I am going to suppress the subconscious filtering mechanism that normally only allows the 'important' information to reach your conscious mind."
"I'm a strange creature, I know. I haven't told you half of what I am," Fig admits and shrugs. Back down he goes onto the sofa, figuring it is as safe as anything with regard this next bit. "I won't try to cut off this time."
"I daresay you'll be able to think," Cyprian warns, and goes to a chest, where he begins removing ritual supplies: candles, chalk and bits of polished stone and crystal.
"Is this a more extensive ritual?" Fig asks, brow arched from where he lies on the couch.
"It will be a full ritual, as the effects are non-trivial," Cyprian explains as he sets out the candles. "This spell was once used as an interrogation and torture technique in the Nagai Empire. It was only ever taught there.. and in the original Guild campus here in Babel."
"And you're using this on me? You realize I am putting a lot in your hands. I know full well that many in this building would probably love to dissect me," Fig remarks in a rather somber tone.
"This is not an interrogation or torture," Cyprian notes, and gestures around the room. "The amount of activity in here will not be overwhelming, nor will there be any who are deliberately trying to make the experience worse. This is a controlled environment.. as much as is practical for the moment, at least. Would you rather not try this?"
"Not particularly, but I don't see I have much of a choice. We often have to do things we would rather not, simply because it is necessary," Fig notes, shrugging. "It's more or less been the story of my life. Proceed."
It takes some time. There's drawing the ritual circle and all of the esoteric sigils, probably taking longer than normal as Cyprian would never do anything so gauche as to kneel down - instead, he holds the chalk in his toes and draws the symbols beneath his robes, sight unseen, so that it looks like they just appear after he pauses in one spot for a minute (of course, it's ruined by the fact that the scratching of the chalk is clearly audible).
"Why haven't you turned me over to the rest of the mages?" Fig finally asks, apparently tired of waiting in silence.
"I'll need you to sit or stand in this sub-circle," Cyprian notes, then seems to think about the question posed to him. "Why should I?" he replies.
"Because I'm what most would classify as an abomination," Fig answers rather matter-of-factly as he rises. "Even I recognize that much about myself." He walks into the center of the sub-circle.
"There are plenty of abominations in Babel," Cyprian notes, as he alters a few of the markings to the circle. "Many of them with money and influence as well. We mages have learned the hard way that we are quite mortal and fragile. The last war decimated our numbers - and not just those who engaged in combat, but those who simply dwelled in the campuses of the 'enemy' side. Acolytes, novices.. the next generation was targeted. After the Dream Ritual, it was clear that even after building our great floating city of magic, we were still susceptible to corruption. We cannot police all the magic in the world anymore, despite what treaties may claim. We are not an army or a police force. We only act when asked, specifically, and if the matter is one of magic."
"So you are telling me that the others wouldn't dissect me if they had the chance?" Fig asks, brow arched. He rubs his forehead a bit. "The only reason for this, for what I became, and for what I'm risking, is to protect my family. No money, no desire for power. No grand dream about ruling the world. I just want my children to have a chance to live and be happy."
"And for the record, yes, my natural form is Eeee," he adds.
"No, we don't actually go around dissecting people, or using them as sacrifices, or anything else of that sort," Cyprian says. "We did not drop the Boomer, are not trying to take over the city, and did not fight against the Yodh. This Guild Hall is home to only a dozen Journeymen and Masters, the rest being our students. Our Earth Mages have to have armed escorts to protect them while they work the spells that keep the great towers from collapsing. But they still do it, despite the risks, rather than abandon Babel. We've had strange beings within our own ranks, you know. There's nothing we can learn from someone like you, you must realize. You aren't using magic as we know it, and you are not posing a threat to us or anyone who has come forth and asked for our help in dealing with you."
"I wield the Shadow of Amena as a personal weapon, and I can direct the power of the Light of Nala artifact ... and the guild would have zero interest in that?" Fig notes, brow still arched. "And even outside of that there are plenty of people who would see me dead just because of what family I am from. Probably even you eventually," he adds and rubs his forehead. "Anyway, lets get on with it."
"I did not say they would have no interest," Cyprian notes. "But they would not force you to cooperate. I don't see how we could in any case," the dark Eeee notes, before sitting down in the center of the circle and beginning his ritual. Which is clearly going to take longer than the last spell..
"There are plenty of ways. And I know you wouldn't be dealing with me now if you knew who I was. Almost no one would," Fig things rather glumly. For now, he just waits out this ritual.
There's something hypnotic in the droning of the ritual. It takes a good quarter of an hour before Fig begins to feel different. At first, it's like his awareness is expanding. The details of the room become more defined, such that he knows every wall carving and decoration, how the light plays through the fractured windows and even that the light of Cyprian's eyes changes intensity as he works the spell. Fig's own heartbeat fills his ears, along with the sound of his blood flowing, and that of Cyprian's. He becomes aware of every squashed strand of fur that he's sitting on, and every square inch of skin.. and every muscle.. and hair.. and current in the air..
"Okay, this is going to get maddening quickly," Fig thinks ... and is having to force himself to not simply try to cut everything off again. Instead he sits there and tries to find new ways to filter it back out.
It becomes an effort in futility. The mind just can't keep up with it all. Soon there's nothing but awareness pushing out the ability to think. Or at least think rationally. Emotions seem to work fine, since they are used to dealing with full stream of awareness in the first place. It isn't disturbing, but.. an older way of being, perhaps. In it's own way though it is debilitating. Movement, volition.. all decisions are suppressed.
So, Fig tries a different tactic. He just sits there and doesn't try to do anything at all, not even think. Treats it like a dream, for lack of a better description, one where everything is just observed as if a third person.
After tens of minutes, things begin to diminish. Fewer details begin to stand out, heartbeats fade and Fig can finally think again.
And that is quite the relief. The experience was ... disconcerting, but compared to everything he has been through it at least isn't panic-inducting. So, he continues to just sit there and breathe.
Cyprian closes the ritual, and asks, "Did you learn anything?"
"That you can't think if too much is coming at you at once," Fig remarks. "And it's easier to not fight it."
"Also, that you are only aware of a fraction of your own sensorium," Cyprian explains. "But your emotions are aware of them. This means things that you do not consciously notice can still be used to trigger things like fear or anxiety. The trick will be separating the emotion from the reaction: recognizing that your emotions can be alerting you to something without succumbing to them."
"Fair enough. that explains how certain auras can be used to manipulate someone. It even explains what an aura works on," Fig comments. "Also, it can be summed up in 'learn to listen to your gut'.
"Auras?" Cyprian asks, sounding curious. "Can you explain further?"
"I can try to demonstrate," Fig remarks ... then tries to tap into the shadow dragon aura of intimidation. "You already know of the one that the human form emanates. The distraction."
"So, they are forms of glamour," Cyprian says. "Although I cannot sense any magic at work, I can feel the effect. This is why it is useful to be able to separate your emotions from their reaction. Otherwise I would be feeling very uncomfortable right now."
"I'm also not trying very hard," Fig points out, then relents and just goes back to sitting on the floor. "What all this really tells me is I don't have much hope of dealing with the monster down in the pit if it works as you have demonstrated in here."
"Not yet," Cyprian says. "The goal here is to try and prepare you for things that might happen. There is one more exercise, but it may be a bit extreme, in that it is ... unpredictable."
"Now? Or for another time?" Fig asks.
"Hmmm," Cyprian says, "It may be best to conduct it.. somewhere else. For anyone else, there would be little risk of physical side-effects, but your unique situation may require a bit more precaution."
"What do you think might happen, then? What test is this?" Fig asks.
"It is often used as a therapeutic tool, but mostly as a training method for Mind Mages," Cyprian says. "It is Inner Mirror, which lets you see yourself, without any self-delusion. It helps in knowing yourself, but can be disturbing as well. My concern comes from your revelation that you actually take on different personalities associated with your different body forms."
"You don't want to see the real me. It is uninspiring and you would likely turn on me and hate me too," Fig remarks as he stands up. "So, I guess that is all you can do for me. Thank you for your time and help."
"You misunderstand," Cyprian says. "It is you who face yourself, in your own mind. Nobody else can see what happens. But if you have multiple selves, then things can become complicated."
"It is the same person with different aspects enhanced by the form," Fig says, then shrugs. "And frankly, I don't want to see myself."
"If you don't think it will benefit you, we can focus on the other methods instead," Cyprian notes.
"I can barely stand myself. If I have to see that, bare, I don't think I will like the result," Fig says simply.
"You may benefit from some general counseling," Cyprian notes. "Having someone to talk to can help, especially someone outside of your inner circle of friends."
"What, are you volunteering?" Fig asks.
"If you like," Cyprian notes. "It depends on if you trust me enough to feel comfortable."
"I'll consider it, then," Fig remarks. "Is there any more you wish to do today, or should I let you get back to actually relaxing and taking a real break."
"I think that should be enough for a first session," Cyprian notes. "Was there any element you want to give more attention to?"
Fig rubs his forehead. "I'll have to think on it, sorry. Not knowing what I'm actually dealing with makes that hard to answer. Otherwise it's just a guess and a roll of the dice that something focused on will be helpful or not," he says.
"It may be easier to try and discover where your mental limits are, so that they can be reinforced," Cyprian suggests. "Rather than try and harden yourself against all possibilities, narrow it to just the ones that can break you."
"A fair suggestion. I'll keep that in mind. And now I'll take my leave. I am sorry to leave abruptly like this, but I am feeling ... moody and want to be alone for a while," Fig says as he gets to his feet. "Thank you for you time. If I can find a way to pay you, I will."
"I'm more concerned with your success than with payment," Cyprian notes, and stands. "I apologize for causing the moodiness."
"You just remind me of a lot of failings in myself, is all," Fig notes as he heads towards the door.
"We need to know our failings if we are going to address them," Cyprian claims, and opens the door for Fig. Since there's no acolyte handy, he also escorts him back to the fliers landing.
"I could have waited for an escort. Your time is worth too much to be escorting me," Fig notes once he reaches the landing. "You know how to find me if you want to talk, and I you." His wings spread as he prepares for launch. "Thank you again and good day to you."
The dark Eeee nods to Fig in farewell.
And the rather ordinary Fig spreads his wings and takes to the air. Soon the Mage's towers are disappearing behind him. Right now all he wants to do is fly. No dealings, no problems, just fly. If people worry back at the bunker, so be it. He needs time to just not be anyone of importance.