[Tiyribi] The Path to Enlightenment, begins in the Mind.

[Archalen Andares]

39th Optia, in the Season of Summer, Era XIV

They were hesitant at first, but relented sooner or later. Truth be told, the two didn't want to leave his side in the city, let alone for one of those whimsy-washy mage types. It was a matter of trust, a matter of lacking security. Archalen held his hand high to the two bodyguards that had accompanied him since traveling the breadth of the Empire, if only to re-iterate his order. "I assure you....I will be fine." The gray haired shadow kin chuckled (as close to a laugh as he could) as he shook his head from side to side. "after all, I have survived in Imperia....for thane for quite some time. If I can keep alive as a public figure there without harm...surely I can weather the streets of Vortex if only for a short...candlemark or two." Christos and the other guard looked to each other, unease in their eyes. But, this was an order, not a suggestion and as such the two would have to leave their charge and entertain themselves in the city until he came back.

Why leave the guards behind? Why risk mortal danger? It was just something the Thane of Imperia had to do. He had to be alone before he started his training in mysticism, to clear his mind and steel himself as much as possible. From what he understood, mysticism was the link of the arcane to the mind, and as such he wanted his own prepared as much as possible before he began. Maybe it didn't matter? Mayhap it was unnecessary, but he so badly wanted to learn the arcane secrets of the mind he was willing to do preparation, even if it turned out for naught.

So, with this in mind he left the two keepers standing their befuddled and walked down the street alone in his thoughts. He tried to clear his mind, to somehow bring good luck in the coming candlemarks as if he could will such a thing. He passed by a small fountain, and brushed some water on his head, casually starring at his reflection for a moment before departing to clear his mind again.

He moved easily, with his black serape and loose baggy pants of the southern style. Underneath the serape the pale elf adorned a simple riffled white shirt with an open neck. A large belt holstered his dagger, kept under the serape. He walked in quiet concentration for the better of a half candle mark and by the time he arrived back at the D'Rinishad Academy he was in quite a reflective and philosophical state, if not more alert then he had previously been. Of course, he was naturally a philosopher.

As he passed within the walls of the Academy he hoped his teacher would get along with him. If nothing, it would make the perceived stress of learning an arcane art better, as well as increasing the chance his teacher would do a proper job at that. He did hear from the boy that had accepted the payment for the class, his teacher was Iranca, a master Vysstichi mystic.

A Vysstichi, the hated ones.

It would prove interesting whatever the case. He approached the class room door, perhaps a few minutes early, and knocked on the door before he entered. It would be here he would meet the underground one and see for himself, if this class could, and would, be productive under the tutelage of a Vysstichi.

[Tiyribi Andares]

“Enter.” The words were concise and to the point, each consonant cutting the air with the razor edge of a knife. Clearly the Common Tongue was not the speaker’s native language; a slight lilt on the vowels and a harshness on the ending syllable lent that much information even to the most unobservant of ears. Still, the voice was feminine…and slightly sensual. The word was as much of a command as it was a desire.

As the door to the classroom opened, very little light left the interior to meet Archalen at the doorway. Any sunlight that might have dared to enter by way of the small square window on the opposite wall had been purposefully diverted with a navy blue cloth draped over the glass. The other walls were completely unadorned, showing only the plain, simple building structures that made up this particular Arcane academy. They were, after all, in Vortex, a city not known for its architectural style.

Underneath the window sat the singular furniture and figure in the room. Even in the shadowed light of the room, one could easily make out the elegant silhouette of one of the race of Elfs sitting quietly on a chair, her long, thin legs folded delicately one over the other. Tapered fingers curled over each other and rested on her knee. Straight strands of pure white hair fell over both shoulders just to the gentle curve of her chest. But her most striking feature was, indeed, the fluorescent eyes glittering amongst the dusky grey of the room. Oh yes, she was a Vysstichi – and she knew it.

She didn’t move as Archalen entered the room. She simply stared at him, watching his every move with the instincts of a predatory cat, as if, upon visual inspection, summing up the Esh’lahier’s strengths and weaknesses. She didn’t smile, either. “Sit.” Finally a long hand moved and outstretched before her. The lone chair in the room was currently occupied by herself, but she didn’t seem to care much as she made her demand.

“I don’t care much who you are or why you’re here,” her words cut the silence once more, harshness taking form in every abrupt syllable. “I don’t even care if you succeed. But you are here, and you seem to be intent upon learning the art of Mysticism. So we shall begin.”

With one graceful movement she stood, allowing the black silk of her robes to cascade over her equally as dark skin. A hand moved to push some loose hair back away from her face as she walked quietly over to Archalen’s position. “I am Mistress Iranca. And I am about to Unbind you. This process cannot be reversed. It is the breaking of the mental barriers in your mind keeping you from seeing and understanding the power of this world. If the process fails, you will die. If it succeeds, you will suffer horrible pain as your mind fights to adjust.”

Her hands outstretched to opposite sides of the Esh’lahier Thane’s head, fully pulled to their full width. They didn’t quite touch the student’s hair, but they were ever so close. Allowing her eyes to flutter shut, she whispered, “Are you ready?”

[Archalen Andares]

Archalen followed the order, and walked in to the dimly lit room. From what he could see, the space was spartan and very unadorned. He knew not if this was the like of all of Vortex, to under furnished rooms so but instead focused on his teacher. "Mistress Iranca" Archalen greeted with a slight nod of his head. As the Hated one watched him, he too, watched her. Her phsquie was striking, and the Thane thought that in many cultures she would be considered attractive. But no, not here. This Esh'lahier had little care for the underground ones, and would rather be somewhere else if not for the knowledge she could impart to him. Old superstitions and grudges still bore in the heart of the young shadow elf, and he watched the Mistress Iranca warily and without mirth.

But, whatever the prejudice within the heart she was here to teach him. To extended a service she did not necessarily have to, and so Archalen would extend both civility and obedience. He bowed deeply to her as he came to stand before her. The initial meeting here had gone much like he thought so far. No introductions and no playing around. Straight to the point, which Archalen appreciated.

As she told him to sit, he looked behind him perhaps for a chair. Although he knew there was not one there of course. Opting to follow her instructions and sit on the floor before her he simply watched her. Domination, that was the name of the game for the Hated ones, and her telling him to sit without a chair present was all part of their games they liked to play. The young thane cared not. For Ioannes only knew, if he could pass Mylairs strict training and regiments, surely this one before him would be easy by comparison.

So, he sat on the ground without care that his cloths would gather dirt. After her disclaimer about the lack of care she possessed (which didn't surprise the aspiring politician) she had proceeded to tell Archalen that should the unbinding fail, he would die. This, was something he had not heard about before. If she didn't care whether he pass or why he was here, she surely didn't harbor any care for his life. And if she didn't, she could easily try to fail the unbinding and kill him. Would she? The paranoia of the Thane certainly thought so. Would she kill him? To purposely fail the unbinding and end the life of this Esh'lahier?

A fleeting instance of hesitation on the part of the thane, as he quickly weighed the situation. He would have to trust her, or leave here and now. However, if the Master Mystic wanted to kill the Thane of Imperia, Archalen knew she could do so at any time. She could have done so when he first entered the room. No, he was at her mercy for now either way. Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes he simply replied.

"I am."

His mind was racing faster then a sparrow in flight, and he knew this very moment could provide his downfall. Was it right to leave the bodyguards behind? He didn't know. Whatever happened was in Ioannes hands now, and that is exactly what Archalen focused on.

[Tiyribi Andares]

The Vysstichi Mage responded with the slightest nod of her head at her student’s agreement to the procedure, but that was all. Her eyes remained closed, her hands frozen on either side of the Esh’lahier’s head. It wasn’t her duty to send any reassurances. It was only her duty to instruct. That was all she intended to give.

To a Master such as herself, the state of Clara was both familiar and easily obtained. In mere seconds Iranca had reached the place of Arcane awareness and began to mix the swirling Ara surrounding her with her own Vis, preparing the energies needed to perform Archalen’s Unbinding. “You will begin to feel a popping sensation, as if things are being torn from your mind,” the Mistress explained, her voice rich as most of her consciousness was spent in her spellcast. “This is normal.”

And so it began. The Esh’lahier could feel something tugging at the very edges of his consciousness, pulling, breaking, bending. Some power was forcing against a wall Archalen never before knew he had. It was foreign, like a metal scalpel within his skull. It was painful. It was strange.

But it was the entrance to power.

Moments turned into eternity before Iranca finally whispered, “You will now drift off to sleep as your mind fights to adjust. Pleasant dreams.” With that, the pushing ceased. The Elfish Thane’s mind felt calm and quiet, and eerily empty.

Then it rushed at him with all the power of a released torrential flood. This was the world of the Arcane. This was the sensibility of Ara and Vis. This was magehood.

OOC: Archalen will dream now…anything and everything, the stranger the better. I’ll let you RP that out, then we’ll pick up when he wakes up a few hours later.

[Archalen Andares]

Falling....falling, and falling. The thane of Imperia dropped through a void of nothingness, a strange womb of darkness. Spiraling out of control he fought to stop the descent even though he knew he was powerless to do so. And then suddenly slamming into what felt like hard bricked flooring. He could feel blood, hot and heavy, pouring out of his skull pooling gently on the bricks around him. This was it, this was the end of the once promised Esh'lahier.

He laid there motionless, dead, and incomplete for days before anyone had found him. Then suddenly he heard a noise. Footsteps and a door opening. The next thing he knew he was being dragged, although he was still very much dead. The dragging seemed to go on forever but finally someone had hoisted the body up and propped it on a chair. Then the feeling of cold water hitting the face. It was here that the gray orbs (although now slightly darker, had he been able to see his own eyes) flickered open. It was misty and hard to make out but the Shadow elf recognized the body of small child before him.

The child....oh, but how could this be? The child was him! As sure as the morning stars a younger...but different Archalen Andares stood before him clutching a water basket. The child was pale, even paler then he had been at that age. His hair was weirdly black and streaked with gray throughout and heavy black bags shadowed his familiar gray orbs. He was thin and frail, much like the Thane had been back then, but something was different entirely. Something emanated from the curious boy a feeling of unnerving despair and darkness. They sat there in complete silence, looking over each other for an eternity. The room was small and barren save for the two Andares.

Archalen spoke first. "Speak boy....where..am I?". The boy continued to look at Archalen, unphased or unrecognizable from the question. And then Archalen noticed for the first time, the younger Archalen looked not at the Thane, but through completely. It was as if the young boy had no awareness. What magic was this? And where was he? Growing angry he spoke to the boy once more, desperately trying to get information. "Why have you...brought me here? Who are you?" The boy again, only looked through its older twin.

Frustrated Archalen tried to stand from the chair, but his legs held the weight of a thousands columns, and he fell down crashing into the stonework once more. This however, caused the boy to snap his attention toward Archalen. He did so with a precise and almost, un-natural way. "Speak boy! Tell me the answers I need! Where...am I?" Archalen yelled at the boy. The boy took a shuffling step forward, and tilted his head weirdly. As if he heard the words but didn't understand them. Something about this was very amiss. And the then boy spoke, the voice seemed like a thousand voices speaking at once. Female, male, childern and whatever else answered the Thane finally.

"Blood will fall from the sky
All above, Must die
The truth, Must be this
They will meet the Reaper's Kiss"

Archalen scrambled backwards at the nightmarish boy, trying to put distance between them. "What Madness?" Archalen asked himself in confusion, as the boy continued its fearful answer.

"The time is here to start anew
Not all, Chosen few
Those selected, Must suffice
Not to be chosen by the dice"

As Archalen scrambled away backwards from the thousand voiced doppleganger, the boy slowly took un-natural shuffling steps foward. It lurched its whole body forward and then a leg, as if its legs were broken or worse. The light grew dim in here, and heat rose dramatically. This was all wrong Arhcalen told himself. Still though, the demented doppleganger pressed on, forcing its maddening poem toward the un-willing (and now, very much frightened) thane. "Leave me! Go!" Archalen yelled as the boy continued to speak with the voice of thousands. And it was here that Archalen heard that in the background of the voice he could hear crying, screaming, pain and all manner of frightful things.

"Wings will receive Red dye
Beautiful scene, Meets the eye
The deed, Is signed
For this is what has been divined"

It was here, that Archalen could retreat no more having hit the wall behind him. Still the demon advanced before him slowly. It continued to look through Archalen. And then to Archalens right hand brushed a small stone. Picking the pebble up he hurled it at the boy, although such a thing was surely futile. It the boy, and caused a gash but otherwise failed to stop the macabre prophecy.

"The blood will spill at my hands
Ultimate chaos, Expands
Truth, Finally known
Pages of history, away blown"

And here the boy stretched its arms out slowly, reaching for the Thane. A hunger shown behind its eyes and a maddness that would surely liken Aeternians. It came towards Archalen and the still defensless Thane could do nothing but kick at the thing. Its mouth opened wider and wider, and suddenly it recieved such a burst of speed it overwhelmed the failing kicks of the Thane and broke almost toward his face, hungry and full of death.

And then, a horn sounded in the distance. The creature/boy stopped and stood, looking straight ahead. Archalen did nothing but watch it warily as it stood just before his face. Then suddenly, it turned around and ran off and it was there that Archalen saw what perhaps he would remember for all time. As the creature ran off, Archalen saw the whole of his backside. The back of the skull was missing, and inside oozed a black tar that ran down the back. The skull looked as though it had been broken, and deep cutting lashmarks marred the back. The red blood from these lashmarks still flowed slowly and contrasted greatly on the pale skin. Black spots like leeches slowly swirled around the skin as some spots on the body held no skin, but only exposed muscle and bone. Truly, it was a sight that he would remember always.

Archalen sat there for perhaps three candle marks, so un wanting to move that he only stared at the empty doorway on the other side of the room. He thought here, of what this all meant. If it meant anything at all. What were the words the demon boy had said, and what did the mean? Finally Archalen willed himself to raise, and headed toward the doorway.

Outside the sky was dark and ominous. Stars jetted overhead, sometimes crashing into each other and other times passing unharmed. Snow fell, but not white snow. This was black like ash and wholly un-natrual and surreal. And he noticed he was in Imperia. The market block, to be certain. The familiar gray bricked buildings, the dirty streets and the faces he had seen before wandered the streets before him. But something was different indeed. Everyone seemed....preoccupied. Vendors still hawked their wares but the inventories were macabre. Skewed rats and captured fae lined the food vendors baskets and cages. A tall katta in red dirty robes sold dwarven slaves that he claimed could work for weeks on end without a proper meal over on the corner. What seemed like a school teacher passed, holding a line that her frail and stunted students held onto less they get lost. And on the line they held, where shackles upon which every malnurtured student was tied with.

What place is this? Archalens mind screamed. He walked up toward a obese human that sloppy was eating a leg of beef. Dribble of saliva and juice fell down his big lips, spilling on his already stained a dirty shirt. His eyes were wild and hair thin and unkept. The man regarded Archalen with a wicked smile and bowed mockingly. "....ssssirr?" the obtuse man asked. Archalen noticed the mans free hand dangled dangerously near his dagger. (of which Archalen didn't spot since it was on the other side of the large man.) "What place is this? Where am I?" Archalen asked cautiously, ready to flee.

The man kept eating greedily, lips smaking meat and he answered while he chewed with is mouth open spitting small chunks of meat and juiced toward the Thane of Imperia. "Whhhhere am I?" The man said in a laugh. "Whhhhere am I? Ha ha" he yelled as he built himself in laughter, making his large stomach wiggle and bounce. Those that overheard and were nearby stopped and turned toward the Thane and laughed as well, pointing and covering their mouths in the absurdity of the question. Archalen looked around and saw fingers pointing and bystanders whisper the question to each other in amusement. The large mans lips sucked down more meat on the leg of beef and wiped his mouth with his fore-arm before winking at Archalen and offering him an answer. "Immmmperia of Courssse! Era XIV of the Regentttt Calius Xirorussi." he said, laughing all the while. His amusement being sated, the large man turned and waddled off, throwing the bone behind his back.

It is there the Archalen saw that the bone wasn't from livestock, but rather looked like it belonged to a small child. Mayhap human or elf, defiantly not dwarven though. The crowd that laughed at Archalen now saw his disgusted look at the bone and curiously eyed him with a sense of paranoia and distrust. Feeling rather then seeing the eyes on him, Archalen turned and began to walk quickly away, looking back to see if the people were still watching him. Which they were.

Archalen didn't know where he was going his feet were on auto drive. He passed through the familiar streets of Imperia, as the black ash grew stronger from the sky. He ended up in front of a building that resembled (at least geographically) the Office of the Thane. The trees that were usually well kept now stood there twisted without leaves or buds. Like skeletons of a darker sort, the branches twisted and reached out sinisterly. The grass was also different, being blood red and shaped like blades. Only wanting escape Archalen pressed fourth to enter the place, to find answers hoping that Lir'anna his secretary was in. She would have answers.

And she was, but was not as well. He passed through the doors to the office (which usually held the standards of the Empire and Imperia, but now were adorned with black flags with red skulls on them.) Lir'anna sat at her desk, her counternace much like he remembered. She bowed to Archalen and spoke, her usually silken voice now ragged and short. "I trust those...offenders did not beg for your Lordships mercy to much?" she laughed greatly. "I know how you hate that so, my dear Thane. Come....I imagine you need a bit of....refreshing after such hard work." she laughed with a knowing smile and led him by his arms toward the familiar bedrooms where he spent so much time before.

She led him to his bedroom, which a young elf was frantically cleaning. The boy looked in shock as he saw Lir'anna and cowered over in a corner. Lir'anna took a dagger out of her belt and approached the boy. Archalen could only watch, as if his body was unresponsive. His mind was overwhelmed. Was he dead? Was he indeed in the abyss? "Please, Mistress Lir'anna. I tried my best. Its too much for just me...I need help to finish cleaning the mansion. Please...I'll do better next time."

Undettered Lir'anna approached the boy with dagger in hand. "I told you Orthis, a candlemark. I'm not paying you to take your time....am I? Perhaps my payment is too generous for one such as you?" The boy shook his head, revealing small cuts on the back of his neck. "No Mistress..." and the boy now seemed confused or perhaps regretful of his words. "I mean yes, I am not worthy please...don't". His words however, fell on deaf ears and Lir'anna walked over to the one who crouched in the corner, and sliced a gash on his midsection. Blood immeaditly fell, staining the cleaning boys dingy green shirt. He ran off past her, clutching his midsection. "And let that be a lesson to you Orthis!" Lir'anna yelled after him chuckling. She then turned toward Archalen and smiled widely. "Its so hard to find decent help...." She approached Archalen and laid the dagger on the bedside table. Proceeding to climb on the edge of the bed she started to undress, smiling at Archalen.

It was here and now, that Archalen had enough of this. He needed to escape, and leave this wicked place. It was all too much for him. Such a vile and wicked place! The cannibal man, captured fae, slaves, and slave children. Such brutality and un-holiness. Everywhere around him the taint of evil so stronged, it threatened now to pull Archalen in. How could he live here? He had to escape, had to leave this place. He looked down to Lir'annas face, who had now got her top off and thrown it playfully over Archalens head and through the still open door behind him. Archalen had to do something. Had to correct something. He looked in her eyes and saw nothing, no trace of emotion or regret over what she did. He had to do something.

And it would start with her.


Without another thought Archalen grabbed the dagger off bedside table, and thrust into into Lir'annas throat. A look of surprise fleeted across her face, before she fell backward on the bed, half dressed. The blade warmed in his hand, wanting more. He watched the blood pool beside her on the white sheets. Turning quickly, he ran downstairs and around the desk of his once secretary and walked quickly toward the closed door of the Thane. Inside he knew he had a secreted bag of coins which would be enough to pay for a carriage away from here. As he turned the handle and opened the door though, one last surprised waited for him.

Right before his face stood.... himself. Archalen Andares, Thane of Imperia met himself in the doorway to the office. Time seemed to slow now and something strange happened to his stomach. Something warming him. Looking down slowly he saw a sword half directly in front of his stomach. How odd? he thought, only to slowly realize that the sword was also inside his stomach. He looked back toward the face of himself, who stood right before him and noticed it smiled. Blood started to foam up in Archalens throat and he noticed that when the dopple ganger smiled, blood slowly poured from its mouth as well. With the sound of the croaking frog the being, the evil Archalen said only a word.

It would be the last word Archalen ever heard, as his eyes slowly closed and a final sleep took him over.

"Welcome."

[Tiyribi Andares]

“So you return.”

The words weren’t so much of a welcome as they were a statement of fact. It held no note of congratulations, no sense of assurance that Archalen had survived the perils of his Unbinding. They were merely sounds, summing up the situation before moving on. That was how she did business, this Mistress Iranca. Why use words when one could simply manipulate the power of Psionic Energies?

With one smooth movement, the Vysstichi woman stood from where she had been reclining in her chair and walked softly over to where Archalen lay sprawled along the floor. Slinking down to rest her thin weight upon her knees, she crossed her arms in front of her and let her hands fall loosely before her chest, dangling just above the Esh’lahier’s chest. Her fluorescent eyes studied him up and down before returning to meet his own gaze. The red orbs held no emotion; it was impossible to tell whether she was pleased or displeased with what she saw. Iranca merely shrugged and moved on.

“What you saw probably confused you, and what you will see will confuse you more,” the Mystic explained, her voice simple and to the point. Her gaze didn’t waver from the Thane’s, holding fast and intent, ready to pick up on any slight sign of weakness from her would-be pupil. “Your mind is now prepared to see and connect with the flows of Ara and Vis that surround you. Before, being Bound, you could not see the depth of what really exists. Now you can.”

She extended a singular finger toward Archalen’s face, pausing before it reached the uncomfortable mark of distance. A turn toward her side and the finger traced in the air along the outline of the wall of the room. “To reach the power that has now been opened to you, you must learn to Meditate. This technique empties your mind of all your conscious thoughts and seeks to connect your deepest level of understanding with the perception of the Arcane. If you achieve such a state, you will find the power of Mysticism waiting to greet you. It will take much practice and much time. It is not a natural state of the mind, but over your studies it might become second nature to you.”

Sparing a questioning glance in the Esh’lahier’s direction, the Mage stood back upright, stretching to her full height. “Now, begin.” Her hands crossed her thin, flat chest in anticipation of her student’s first attempts. “Remove your attachments from the Material and begin to see deeper into what is truly there.”

[Archalen Andares]

The dream. What had it meant? Did it have a meaning? The Thane of Imperia didn't know, only the images and words contained within held any clues to that riddle. As he awoke another image and set of words graced his ears. This time it was the Mistress Iranca. Archalen sat up off the barren floor and rubbed an alabaster hand over his face, hoping it could wipe the pain that had engulfed his mind. Was this some Vysstichi trick? This dream and now the lingering pain? He didn't know, but so far it seemed as if the young Moriquendi was still alive. "Wha..." The questioned trailed off absently as his vision and consciousness regained. He watched her warily as she came close, and let her slim arms dangle closely to his body. He had questions, but sense not enough to ask. Whatever had happened, or was about to happen would reveal itself in due time.

And then she shrugged. It was here the young Impeiran thought perhaps he was still in the dream. Could it be? And if he was, would he be able to exit? He didn't know and the ache in the back of the skull didn't allow him to think about it. So, with herculean effort he raised himself off the floor and steadied himself as best he could. His legs were tired, but his mind wasn't.

When the one before him extended her finger out Archalen merely looked at it. By now, the indifference and cold and almost rude behavior of this teacher was figured out to be nothing but intimidation tactics. At least, that is how the Thane perceived it. Yet he made this observation in secret and if she planned to try to frighten the Thane then he would resist. He only looked at the finger and then back to her eyes. But eager to learn the secrets of the arcane the Thane complied with all instructions. Taking a seat again before the Mistress Iranca he did as he was told, trying to empty his mind of all thoughts.

Bowing his head with eyes closed, the Thane of Imperia sought to open his mind and concentrate on clearing it. At first he could not allow himself to be secure enough to fully let go while Iranca was no doubt watching with her decided indifference and fluorescent eyes. But gradually his sense of surrounding seemingly disappeared, along with the sense of time. He did not know how long he was sitting there, but then again he didn't think of it. He only focused on trying to reach these new components this Vis and Ara.

[Tiyribi Andares]

Hmm. A slight protrusion on the side of the Vysstichi’s sculpted face evidenced her motion of frustration of pushing her tongue against the inside of her dark cheek. Bright eyes flickered carefully over Archalen sitting quietly with his eyes closed, trying so vainly to seek the state of Clara. If she had been a humorous sort of person, she would have found Initiate first attempts to reach the state as amusing. But she wasn’t exactly a humorous sort of person.

Instead, she found it rather sad.

It was clear the Esh’lahier was trying, and trying hard…and that was precisely the problem. Iranca uncrossed her arms and shifted her weight to rest solely on her right foot. She was a bit too impatient, perhaps, but with such attempts, he’d never reach his first Clara. “Remember that Vis is the energy within and Ara the energy without. Do not try to reach them. Instead, concentrate on the idea of emptiness and then do not concentrate at all. Do not try. Simply be empty, without thought, feeling, or impression. Merely be.”

Every new Initiate took an eternity to reach Clara for the first time. Maybe Archalen could cut that time significantly down.

[Archalen Andares]

Archalen heard the words of the Mistress Iranca. And it was here that he knew he failed in this first attempt at Clara, for he could still hear her and was still in the realm of Telath. Committing her words to memory he saw her point and tried to correct himself. Sitting there he closed his eyes again, not even seeking Ars and Vis, just to enter the state of clara. He would get there, that much was certain. If he had to take all brightening he would achieve at least this. Truth be told, it should not have been hard for the young Esh'lahier. For if the truth was he was emptier then most naturaly. That is to say, his mind was not as it should have been. One of the reasons he sought the mystic arts of the mind was to understand his problem, to fix it, to correct it. Sure he had beliefs, ideas, and values. But these things did not make him equal to others, no. For inside the shell of the esh'lahier was a facade. A failing mind that was spirialing downwards, one that had not ever fully been whole.

He had lived with this madness all his life although lately it was growing. And for this, if nothing else it was imperative to learn mysticism and unlock the mind totally. So he heeded the mistress's advice and tried to achieve clara once more. Although, he did not try to achieve really. He simply sat there. He simply was. He focused on nothing, but did not did not "think" of "nothingness". Clearing the limits of his mind he sought only to exist, unfolding his mind as one unfolded a piece of paper. Seeking a zen like place almost, he continued sitting there under the tutelage of Mistress Iranca.

[Wildcard]

Archalen Andares had been patient, had been calm, in fact down right disciplined. He watched the nullified husk of this plane empty it's self like a cannon. The esh'lahier felt the iron shot hit the covering of his capacity, exposing the swift periphery of a blank wall. It had been this way all along.

The round ball constricting his inner most thoughts sunk into the wash beyond. Striking the surface forced ripples of raw static to bleed gore and electricity out his temples. That ounce of clarity would become the prize he'd known even as a child, as a Match when struck knew flame. It was Purpose. A Forced Direction cutting into the prism of singularity. Emotion was the churning sea, his Willpower the raft.

Lapping at the shores of this palette, the elf's tongue met it's boundaries. Teeth. Clara. A Nebula of energy focused by the crystalline shard of attention. Archalen would feel as though a violet sun had charred then revealed vulnerable layers of naked skin... as if the inside of a mage's soul spoke to mana directly through flesh, exposed from body and in mind. His lungs would then constrict, evolving the patterns of swirling luminosity and dynamics into lines and sharp channels... a place to dig under cool waters scraping away sand and salt. He had reached the polar opposite.

[Archalen Andares]

(ooc: Thanks Wildcard! Beautifully written!)

A brilliant, other worldly existence. Like a new born child he saw for the first time, felt for the first touch, and experienced the first experience. As if there was a part of his soul he had never knew existed before, hiding down there among the deep dark, it raised and took control. The feeling was like nothing Archalen Andares had ever felt before-and on this journey through what seemed to him to be something akin to time and space (as if it ever existed at all) his conciousness shot out like cannonade searching, feeling, seeking. This place, this clara, was so familiar yet alien at the same time. It was almost as if he had always known this place existed, and at the same time wasn't sure still if it was really real or if perhaps he himself (in this moment of time in this strange swirling vibrancy of newfound power) really existed along with it.

The air around him had a certian luminoscity, glowing about as currents charged not only into him, but through him. It was all very surreal and wholly teneous, as if any second now the link would be broken and he would fall back into where-ever it was he had come from. So weak and fleeting was the feeling that it almost seemed to dim in his preception of this place and time. Was it peaceful here? It felt so, although it also felt like nothing. Everything he had ever known about reality had been stripped away, peeled like paint from a decript wall. The very journey his soul (conciousness?) embarked upon now was lost and found at the same time.

It was anything, everything, and nothing-all at once.

And then his lungs unfurled, the vapor that had been trapped within spilling out of his mouth like smoke rising through a chimmney. A second later the immense wieght of his eyelids lifted, and through what seemed to be preceptive sight he saw the sparatan room his physical coil now occupied. A tingling (if it was real, which he didn't know) seemed to pulse through his mind as the link released itself and he rejoined Telath. He was sitting there, eyes open and seeing a blank wall which for himself meant more then anything now. For a few instances he sat there, still savoring and trying to understand the experience he had just had. Nothing, would ever be the same. The feeling dissapated and it seemed to leave, but he knew now that returning there was possible. Like an new friend who would be visitable. Although it surely wasn't friendly, nor hostile. It simply was. Which was a paradox since he had to simply not be to find it. Feeling the eyes of his teacher Mistress Iranca on him he could say nothing save for one word which summed up the whole experience. Whispereing quietly as if this reverant moment demanded the utmost respect and silence his lips only allowed a small;

"Whoa."