Public Forevermore

[Kal]

Mirror mirror on the wall, who's the handsome stranger in our hall.

Scalp of grey now luscious locks, wrinkled eyes turned to youthful vigour.

Unworthy heirs scorned, a second chance at last, a new life for a king's ransom.

These thoughts and more had flown through the head of Marcus Roland, aged widower, media mogul, proud son of Chaldea. These thoughts and more had spurned him to disregard the instructions in order to chug not two, not three, but twelve doses of the elixir of youth he had purchased at great expense from a credible, if legally dubious source.

So it was that Roland awoke a confused teenager with a severe neurochemical imbalance and plentiful assets.

---

<This is less than ideal.> The Shadows were hovering in the young millionaire's bathroom, staring down at the dozen discarded vials in his trash. <What a surprise.> The 'youth' himself was, unsurprisingly, nowhere to be seen. <Save the 'I told you so's', it's not like we can administrate it through hospitals. Deal with this, please? I have business elsewhere.>

<Don't worry, I'll take care of it. One for all, all for one, no? Besides, how much trouble can one teen get into?>

---

Public thread, open-ended, blah blah blah. Anyone can write Roland as an NPC in this thread - dude's a bit unbalanced.

 

[Ishani Dinn]

Following her odd encounter with a possessed woman, Ishani had resumed her walk through the outskirts of Chaldea's capital. It wasn't long, however, before she heard shouting coming from the nearby woods.

The area she was in happened to include an upscale neighborhood full of mansions owned by the very wealthy, usually merchants whose business had flourished offworld. Wealthy people on Chaldea tended to be... eccentric. Every instinct told Ishani to turn around and walk in the opposite direction, but before she could do so, a figure emerged from the trees.

He was young, possibly younger than Ishani herself, and dressed in a suit that was too big for his gawky adolescent frame. His hair was a mess and he looked confused and frightened. Spotting Ishani, a hopeful look came into his eyes. Not a good sign, given that she was dressed as a Mystic, and most Chaldeans tended to avoid Mystics. This guy was either crazy, or truly desperate.

"Aye, Mystic, please help me," he said, his voice tinged with what sounded like a Mizeget lilt - an unusual accent for someone so young. "I don't know..." He looked around wildly. "...where I am, or... how I got here?"

Sighing, Ishani reluctantly faced him head on. "You're right outside Nezamiyeh. Are you hurt?"

"No, no, I think not." He patted his chest and stomach, the fabric of his oversized jacket waving like a flag in the breeze. "But how did I get all the way out here...? I-I've got to get a lift home."

"Where do you live?"

"In Mizeget."

Ishani blinked. People still lived in Mizeget...? Well, he did have the accent, she supposed. An accent she normally only heard among old people, or in historical holofilms, mainly because Mizeget had been destroyed during the Civil War twenty five years ago. She hoped this guy wasn't tripping out on something...

Seeing the odd look on her face, he deflated. "Look, I'll catch a ride. Where's the nearest station?"

Looking the man over, Ishani winced. She could not, in good conscience, let this possibly drugged or mentally unwell kid go on his own. "Here, why don't I walk you there? I'm headed back into the city myself..."

Kal​

 

[Kal]

He had not taken a speeder, nor the shuttle, nor arranged something through the butler. It was as if he had simply walked out the door with no clear destination in mind, which might very well be the case.

Kal could only hope he had not taken a cab.

Incorporeal hand forming elaborate glyphs out of thin air, unseen by a nearby gardner, the Shadow pulled a dozen diffuse somethings from his home dimension. Lesser spirits, unintelligent bottom feeders ill-suited for tasks of any complexity. Even they had what it took to search an area for a specific 'scent', however.

Essence of Vitae left a mark on all it touched.

---

"Is it that far?" The young man seemed quite lost, but every once in a while a spark of recognition made something stick out. A mansion, most recently, one that brought with it flashes of smiles and parties that were far too posh for him, right?

"The city, not the station. I'm not, I mean, I think I walk regularly?"

Ishani Dinn​

 

[Ishani Dinn]

Ishani blinked. Yeah, she was pretty sure this kid was a tweaker or something. “It’s a decent distance, nothing too crazy. In fact, we’re closer to the Sky Harbor now than we are to my house.”

The heart of Nezamiyeh, with its rampaging plant life and scores of abandoned sectors, was visible in the distance. Glittering skyscrapers—not the starscrapers of a megalopolis, or Force forbid, an ecumenopolis—rose toward the clouds in a variety of architectural styles.

The odd pair made it out of the general vicinity of the neighborhood without incident, but once they started to approach the Sky Harbor, the tweaker started acting up again.

“Something’s not right,” he muttered. “I shouldn’t be here. Who are you?”

“Ishani Sibwarra,” Ishani replied. “Are you sure you’re okay? I can take you to the hospital instead—”

“No, I-I don’t want to go to the hospital!” He fisted his hands in his hair as if to tear it out, his eyes wide. “I want to go home!”

“And home is in Mizeget, right? I’ll take you to the station. I'll even pay for your ticket.”

The tweaker suddenly whirled around and took off running in the opposite direction. Groaning, Ishani lifted her skirts with one hand, held onto her veil with the other, and hurried after him.

Kal​

 

[Kal]

Flashes of colour. Laughter, tears, and everything in between. The sum of a person. The wrong person.

A lurching movement, distance meaningless to a being with a tenuous grasp on material reality. Another presence sampled, another false lead - but wait, a flash of something familiar, fake smiles and firm handshakes, the joy of life faded to ennui. The traces of someone who wanted to experience life anew, the traces of a familiar presence.

The spirit was far too simplistic for satisfaction, but the 'scent' filled it with primal thrill nonetheless. Soon after, its kind converged on its location, spiralling outwards once more - this time with more purpose.

---

The Mystic thought he was sick. Sick or crazy. He wasn't feeling like himself, but he was not stupid - he wanted home, not a white room. He was, admittedly, somewhat fuzzy on where exactly home was.

A... a mansion? No, that wasn't right. The apartment, but it seemed so fuzzy. A memory of a memory.

Ishani Dinn​

 

[Ishani Dinn]

Ishani barely kept up with the fleeing young man, aided mainly by the fact that he was stumbling around and unsure of what direction he was supposed to go. Eventually he slowed to a stop, falling to his knees on the damp ground.

“Something’s wrong,” he moaned. “Mystic, you’ve got to help me. I need help.”

“All right, calm down,” Ishani muttered breathlessly, plopping down on the ground out of exhaustion. She was too fatigued to care if she muddied her dress. “Have you been drinking? Taking any drugs?”

“I don’t remember, I don’t remember…” He grabbed at his chest, as though disturbed by the pounding of his own heart. “I can’t remember anything… where home is, my family… I can feel them, but I can’t remember them…”

The look of terror and anguish on his face was enough to move Ishani to genuine pity. “Will you permit me to examine you?” she asked.

He didn’t quite answer, just continued to moan and whimper. Ishani closed her eyes and concentrated, trying to see if she could sense any traces of Force meddling on him... and if she did manage to locate some, she would sever them at once in hopes of stopping whoever was tormenting this poor kid.

Kal​

 

[Kal]

However hard the Mystic looked, she would find no trace of the usual suspects, and yet something was still unmistakably off about the young man. It was as if he radiated vitality that was not entirely his own, his cells still quivering with a force as primal as it was rejuvenating. The similarities to the most potent of alchemical formulae were there, to be sure.

It might well be possible for her to interfere with the process, but the results would be unpredictable.

---

Joy. Sorrow. Doubt. Resolve. Emotional remnants and half-forgotten aspirations; a scent caught by psychic bloodhounds; a narrowing search and a sudden revelation; a triumphant call to the handler, their purpose served. Then - home once more.

Roland was there, seemingly unharmed, but so was a past annoyance seemingly determined to haunt him.

<You again.> Stepping forth from nothingness, the greyish figure frowned down at her in annoyance. <Cease your inept meddling before you cause irreparable harm to an already vulnerable individual.>

Ishani Dinn​

 

[Ishani Dinn]

While Ishani may have sworn off all superfluous use of the Force when she took her vows, she still recognized the flavor of alchemy. This sort of thing was much more complicated than merely severing the tether that would bind a thrall to their master.

Hearing the all-too-familiar “voice” in her head, Ishani’s eyes opened, but she didn’t move to get up.

She was surprised and dismayed to find Kal here, of all places. It added an extra layer of vulnerability to this tenuous situation. Chaldea was already threatened by Darkness; the last thing she needed was for it to go to war against Shadow.

Yet Arcturus had pleaded with her to at least be reasonable when dealing with his Netherworld acquaintances. Had Kal been any other Shadow, save perhaps Dis, she might’ve been less nice, but he was one of Arc’s friends. Ishani heaved a sigh in an effort to calm herself.

“What have you done to this man?” she asked. Her tone was supposed to be neutral, but it came out sounding taut and dangerously coiled, ready to spring. Needless to say, if he made any moves toward Roland, she would defend the young man. Part of her was rather curious to see how a Mystic would face off against a Shadow.

Kal​

 

[Kal]

<Wrong question.> Gliding through the air, colourless eyes scrutinised the 'young man' beside her. <What you should be asking is what he did to himself.> Satisfied with what he saw, or at least not too worried, he came to a stop.

<Our mutual acquaintance here is evidently not a fan of following instructions.>

That last part had evidently not been reserved for her mind only, given the reply it prompted. "What the hell are you implying, spirit? I'm don't even... I've never met anything like you! I would have remembered."

<Not directly, no, but your ignorance should not be this complete. Amnesia. Concerning. Mind if I take a look at your brain?> Eyes widening, Roland quickly stepped behind the Mystic as if hoping she would shield him, though he seemed more confused than scared. That was not surprising, given the circumstances.

Why couldn't they just follow simple procedures? Hopeless meatbags.

Ishani Dinn​

 

[Ishani Dinn]

Ishani’s eyes flicked toward Roland as he hid behind her. So the man had been trifling with things that any good Chaldean knew were not to be trifled with. Typical. Whatever the man had hoped to gain from all this, it probably wasn’t worth the price he paid for it. Amnesia, and for what?

“Hold your horses, Kal,” she said, gaze sliding back to the Shadow. “The production, buying and selling of alchemized goods on this world is illegal. To say nothing of your very presence on Chaldea.”

No doubt he and/or Roland had found a loophole—possession of alchemized goods was treated with far more laxity, mostly because of the Finfolk, and depending on the nature of the alchemy this situation might not even count. But Netherworld beings were definitely not kosher, and she wanted to make him sweat a little. Er, ectoplasmate...?

“I am interested in resolving this situation, but you’re going to have to be more specific. What did he do to himself?”

Kal​

 

[Kal]

<Whoever said it was sold on Chaldea?> It was, in fact, sold there, but good luck proving that in a court of law. It was not as if the courts could subpoena the incorporeal - and even if they could, few systems were invulnerable to bribery.

<Long story or short story? I'll go with the latter since you're hardly an expert.> A little barb, yes, but also the truth.

<He massively overdosed on life-extending substances, leading to drastic age-reversal. I imagine the act would have been quite fatal had it involved the primitive drugs favoured my mortal physicians.> However smug he might seem, he was not all that far off; it was hard to fatally overdose on life given liquid form.

Side effects were an entirely different matter, of course.

Ishani Dinn​

 

[Ishani Dinn]

For the time being, Ishani was determined not to stoop to the Shadow’s level by resorting to petty insults. After all, Kal couldn’t help that he was an unholy abomination. He was just created that way, no doubt by a similarly obnoxious Sith alchemist from whom he had inherited his repellent personality and his little bag of tricks.

“Well, I can’t say I’m all that surprised. Or impressed,” she muttered. Crossing her arms over her chest, she turned to Roland. “Now that we know what personal stumbling has brought you to this point, what do you wish to do?”

The unfortunate Marcus Roland looked woefully unprepared, wringing his hands in front of him and glancing back and forth between Mystic and Shadow. “I want my memories back… which one of you can give them back?”

“The answer may be neither of us. Alchemy is tricky, and often its effects are irreversible. That’s one of the reasons why the Potentium banned it. Because it’s dangerous.” Her eyebrows rose. “The question is, if you could reverse the effects, would you be willing to accept being old again if it gave you your memories back?”

That one really threw him for a loop. He couldn’t remember the memories he’d lost, so perhaps in this case ignorance would be bliss. That was the point of being young again, wasn’t it? Starting fresh?

On the other hand, it was clear he felt like something was missing. That feeling would linger, the spectral remnants of the life he’d had before his unnatural rebirth. Memories of his family, his loved ones—as he said, he would feel them always, but he would never be able to remember them.

Unless of course Kal could easily fix this problem and remove the consequences while letting Roland keep his newfound youth. Ishani wouldn't put it past him—obnoxious demons like him were the reason people never learned from their mistakes. In any case, she was really only here for the same reason the Mystics existed: to ensure that the power of the Force was not abused. As long as Ishani stood firm, Kal couldn’t force Roland to do anything. He could tempt and trick, but it would be Roland who fell for it of his own volition.

Kal​

 

[Kal]

Classic superstion, why was he not surprised. Kal would have rolled his eyes, if he could.

<The Mystic...> It was clear as day he did not consider it a mark of respect, at least in the Chaldean context. <... is clearly out of her depth. Your issues are likely due to a neurochemical imbalance. You need treatment, not some halfwit mucking about, clumsily attempting to undo the work of her betters. Further imbalance would only make things worse.>

Such treatment would not come cheap, as he himself was at fault for the side effects, but it would almost certainly resolve his issues. In a worst case scenario, the soul tended to remember - the Nethermancers had their ways.

That kind of encounter could easily leave a mark on body and soul, however; the stain of death defied or the clarity of enlightenment, it was impossible to tell in advance. Every soul reacted differently to being partially parted from the body.

Ishani Dinn​

 

[Ishani Dinn]

“Well, what’s the treatment?” Marcus pressed, brow furrowing. After what had happened to him, he was inclined to be a lot more cautious about how he went about this stuff. “What would either of you do to help me get my memories back?”

Ishani shrugged her crossed arms, a gesture which involved slightly lifting her hand from her elbow. “I would reverse everything that was done. You would be old again.”

Even with his memories gone, Marcus didn’t seem all too keen on the idea. He looked to Kal for answers. “When someone is sick, even dying, the doctor tells them everything. I want to understand this, all right? So tell me what will happen, the risks, everything.”

Kal​

 

[Kal]

Kal took longer than Ishani to answer, largely due to needing to review his own memories for the details. Eidetic memory was all well and good, but without significant effort spent cataloguing and pruning you would be left with a useless soup.

<I perform a cursory review to confirm the likely cause of the side effects, then you would be forwarded to specialists. Your brain would be scanned over the course of days and weeks unless drastic action is needed.> Images accompanied the words, pristine white rooms and strange instruments, some recognisable to those familiar with high-end clinics.

<In all likelihood corrective bioalchemy will be sufficient - the risks are modest to negligible, death an impossibility.>

Body rippling in something vaguely reminiscent of a shrug, it was clear Kal considered that the most likely outcome.

<Even if the issues run deeper than that, anything can be resolved. The soul remembers what the body forgets and its recollection can be tapped with the right methods. As for the body... well, it is but clay before the potter.>

After a moment's hesitation, he couldn't help but brag. <Even if memories have been completely purged from existence, it is not inconceivable that they could be reconstructed from other sources. Not relevant to your case, of course.>

If the Mystic could somehow fully reverse the Essence's effects, the memories would have to be present, just suppressed.

Ishani Dinn​

 

[Ishani Dinn]

Marcus turned to Ishani, his gaze questioning. “How did you say you would do it again?”

“I would reverse everything.” She sighed. “If you want to stay young and regain your memories, Kal is your best bet. Otherwise, it is my duty as a Mystic to purge the unnatural from Chaldea.”

Marcus was quick to understand her obligations. “All right. Uh, well…”

Under normal circumstances, Ishani would have been inclined to stay with Marcus Roland until his case was closed. But days and weeks of treatment? Now that was a tall order for Ishani Sibwarra, Senator of Chaldea. She was a very busy woman, and she could neither afford nor stomach hanging around with these demonic clowns for that long.

“I can’t stay with you for days or weeks,” she admitted. “I’ve got too many other duties to devote that much time to this. If you still want a Mystic’s protection, I can send somebody else to be with you.”

“Uh, do you think I’ll need protection?” Marcus asked.

Ishani raised an eyebrow. “You’re the one who decided to do business with these beings. You tell me.”

Marcus cast a leery glance at Kal, then his gaze slid back to Ishani. “I would like a Mystic to accompany me.”

“Good man. I trust you will have patience, Kal.” Even if the Shadow did try to protest, she’d ignore him. Taking out her comlink, she asked, “What’s your name?”

“Marcus Roland.”

“Ah. My son’s name is Marcus.”

A comlink call and a ten minute wait later, a man emerged from the woods. Clad in a suit of lustrous green dragonskin, with a leonardbird’s furry mane draped over his shoulders, he was a lot older than Ishani, his curly hair having gone gray. But his violet eyes were keen, and there was power in his well-muscled physique.

Spotting Kal, the man briefly paused, like a hunter spotting prey. Then he approached the two humans. “Hello Marcus. I hear you’ve caught a case of amnesia.”

“Well, yes.” Marcus studied him. “Do we know each other?”

“A little, yes. We fought together at Winsome Creek.” He smirked. “Although you were a few years older back then.”

“This is Arlo Renard, my master,” Ishani introduced the other Mystic. “He’s got more experience and skill. You’ll be better off with him. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to finish my morning walk…”

As Ishani exited, Arlo turned to regard Kal, argus-eyed. “Well?”

Kal​

 

[Kal]

One of superstition-peddlers would be tagging along. Just great. It seemed important to the client, however.

The wait for her stand-in was quite alright, at least - truth be told they would have been waiting anyway. The Mystic and the amnesiac likely spent at least some of the time conversing, but Kal was quite busy shaping an entrance.

At first, his efforts would likely go unnoticed by the non-Sensitive Roland, but soon enough the temperature began to sink. This was less due to supernatural mumbo-jumbo and more due to Kal siphoning energy in the form of heat from his surroundings to save his own strength, but perceptions might be quite different.

Especially to the superstitious.

<One moment, please. I am almost ready. Nice suit, by the way.> There was no trace of mockery in the statement. The colouring was unusually strong, but to Kal the most important part was a willingness to stick out. That was interesting.

Like a conductor directing an orchestra, Kal suddenly began to pull on invisible strings and a moment later a perfectly even oval opening in reality appeared before them, the occasional radiant spark swirling off disharmonically.

<There we are, one point-to-point rift. With some speed, please, I am not made of energy.>

On the other side was a sleek, thoroughly impersonal black marble room devoid of any furniture.

Ishani Dinn​

 

[Ishani Dinn]

While the two men waited for Kal to open a portal to the Netherworld, Marcus kept glancing at Arlo. “This Winsome Creek…” he began. “What was it like?”

“Like most battlefields. Loud, hellish, incomprehensible, reeking of blood, chit, mud and fear. Then when it was all over, a stillness fell, and the peach blossoms dropped from the trees like fragrant snow and blanketed the dead with pale pink petals.”

“Oh.” Marcus looked startled. “I don’t remember any of that.”

“It’s not so bad a thing to forget.”

Both noticed the chill in the air. Marcus closed his jacket and tucked his hands into his pockets for warmth, while Arlo stood very still, watching. The portal manifested itself, and Kal urged them to enter.

“Will you go first?” Marcus asked.

Arlo nodded, and with surprising confidence, he leaped through the portal and into the black marble room. An observer might be inclined to conclude he must have made this sort of trip before.

Marcus followed much more cautiously, stepping one foot carefully inside, then climbing the rest of the way through sideways.

Kal​

 

[Kal]

The Mystic leapt through without complaint, something he doubted Ishani would. He liked this one more already.

Following along after the pair, Kal allowed the rift to snap shut as smoothly as it had appeared. Stretching imaginary muscles with satisfaction, the Shadow allowed his form to fill out and clarify until something that could have passed for a human stood before them. Could have, were it not for ink-black skin, bone-white hair, and two glowing eyes.

"Home sweet home." His voice was tangible here but still retained an ephemeral quality. Taking the lead, he led them out an arch through a long corridor. Outside the large windows on both walls was nought but corrosive nothingness.

"This entry can be discarded like a snake sheds its skin if breached. Much better than guardians, in my opinion."

Once inside the abode proper, the decor expanded greatly. Actual furniture was still a rarity, but a variety of collectables were spread out on pedestals and adorning the walls. It ran the gamut from priceless jewellery to children's drawings.

Ishani Dinn​

 

[Ishani Dinn]

While Marcus at least was wide-eyed by their surroundings, Arlo simply swept the area for exits and potential threats, then stared straight ahead.

The corrosive nothingness made Marcus gulp. “Say, uh, Arlo… have you by any chance ever been here before?”

“Once,” Arlo replied without breaking his stride. “To save my daughter, after the Magician claimed her soul.”

“The Magician?”

“You know tarot cards? Fortune tellers use them. The Magician is on one of those cards. He’s a real being who exists here, in his very own Arcane Realm.” Arlo smiled to himself. “Or he used to.”

Marcus’ eyebrows rose. “Did you…?”

“No. You can’t really kill something like him. Too ancient, too powerful. We did run him out of his realm and deprive him of a body, though.” Arlo set his jaw. “Nearly killed my son-in-law. I used to always wonder whatever possessed that little one-armed gypsy to make him do the things he did. Turns out it was a mischievous being from another dimension all along.”

Marcus’ eyebrows stayed up as they passed through the museum/storeroom. “What is all this stuff for?”

Kal​