Grasping At Moonbeams - Jaezred/Gerhard
Mar 29, 2022 22:22:55 GMT
Velania Kalugina, Andy D, and 2 more like this
Post by Jaezred Vandree on Mar 29, 2022 22:22:55 GMT
Co-written with Gerhard.
The bags under Gerhard’s eyes betray the amount of sleep he has had for the past week, and his workspace is no different. Parchment and scrolls litter the table he has chosen. His coat, usually brimming with scripts and notes instead lies to the side, its contents spilled out before him. Instead, the coat now hides a new prize: hidden underneath, out of sight but close at hand, lies his bow. A hint of silver reflects off of it as Gerhard moves a light to get a better look.
As he is hunched over a map, magnifying glass in hand, he hears a familiar, deep voice from his side. “Gerhard, salutations. It has been a while.”
Turning around, he sees a tall, drow gentleman with long, silken-white hair tied back into a ponytail, wearing a black frock coat and trousers, red waistcoat, and white cravat, his gloved hands resting on a cane firmly planted on the floor. He has met this man once before — Lord Jaezred Vandree.
“Lord… Jaezred?” Gerhard looks up from his work, confused, “It has been a while, and it’s good to see you again. My apologies, I didn’t expect any guests.” Gerhard clumsily gathers the loose papers around him, setting them in a messy pile to the desk. “Please, sit, sit” he says, and gestures to the now vacant seat at the table. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Ah, I came here to look for you. I actually brought a small basket of scones with me but they wouldn’t let me bring food into the library,” Jaezred says as he takes the offer of a seat. He fixes the other man with a careful gaze. “I have an… enquiry regarding a rather obscure subject, and I’ve been informed that you are the best person to answer my questions. You see, a friend of mine is searching for a way into a place within the Planescape that’s a bit difficult to reach, inaccessible by regular means of planar travel such as the plane shift spell…”
Gerhard shifts under Jaezred’s gaze, uneasy. “Well, if it’s planar travel you’re after, I’m sure one of the researchers here could help. There’s not a place I’ve heard of that they can’t send you to out in Portal Plaza.”
Jaezred inhales deeply through his nose, then leans in closer. “I have been apprised of what happened last time you traversed the Infinite Staircase,” he says, his voice dropping to almost a murmur. “I understand this is difficult for you. I am not asking you to come with us, I just want to know how to find an entrance to the Staircase. That is all.”
At the mention of The Staircase, Gerhard freezes. He looks Jaezred in the eye, measuring his words carefully. “If this were anyone else, I would turn you away for asking such a thing. But you were the reason I met Sarin, and so I owe you a debt.
“I know of only three entrances to The Staircase. One is deep in the Witching Court, and unless another eclipse is on its way, it will be nothing but old stone.
“The other two? Well, one is on the moon and the other is an ocean away, and likely torn down by now.”
Gerhard shifts so that he is facing the Jaezred head on, his jaw set. “The Staircase finds you. It Calls to you. A ringing in your ears, a humming in your head that cannot be muffled. And once you’re there? Did your little birdy mention that Kavel nearly stuck his head in a volcano from the sheer joy of climbing those Steps? It took both Derthaad and Tayz to pull him back.”
Jaezred purses his lips, taking another deep breath as he nods. His crimson eyes meet Gerhard’s brown ones in a gaze of equal intensity. “There is an addictive element to traversing the Staircase, so I have heard. But what do you mean it ‘Calls’ to you? Did you not last enter the Staircase through a portal outside of this town?”
Gerhard sighs, breaking away to look at the parchment on the table. One, labelled “Dis - Outskirts”, is on top, and he idly pushes it around on the table. “Yes, you’re right, we did walk The Staircase from just within the Angelbark. But that was not an ‘entrance’, exactly. If I hadn’t gone there, the rift wouldn’t have opened. The Call pulled me there, compelled me, and I opened a tear between the planes. I’m sure if I went to the same spot today, I’d feel nothing.”
He turns back to Jaezred. “If you’re looking for an entrance, and you do not have a Call,” Gerhard says pointing to his silver longbow, covered as it is, “then the entrances available to you are the ones that occur naturally.”
The drow’s gaze follows the parchment on the table before looking at the longbow under the coat, then back to Gerhard. His expression is unreadable. “I see,” he says.
He stands up and takes a couple quiet steps towards Gerhard. “We are trying to get to somewhere within the Hells too, though not in the same layer as where you found your friend. Somewhere deeper. Our goal is to liberate someone from the clutches of a devil — I’m sure you are able to sympathise to some degree.”
His eyes never once leave Gerhard’s. “I am grateful for the information you have given me here,” he continues, “and as I said before, I’m not asking you to come with us, or put yourself in danger in any way. But I must ask you of one thing: the next time you feel the pull of the Call, send word to me, and open a tear for me and my companions to pass through. And in return, I will try to find whatever information you desire regarding Dis or Henri. The place we are going ought to be full of secrets and knowledge, but an attempt is the best I can promise here and now.”
Jaezred pulls the glove off his right hand and proffers it to the ranger. “Do we have a deal, Gerhard?”
“Jaezred… I…” Gerhard stands. “I would not do this if it were not important to you. But you must know these three things.
“The first is about the tear. The few natural tears I have seen have all remained open for short periods of time. The ones I open, though, will shut as soon as you cross over. I will not be able to bring you back.
“The second is Mister. Walking the stairs feeds him. Each step you take powers him and the Stairs. I already cannot touch him. If I send you, know this: every step you take there will make it harder for me to bring Henri home. I say this not to dissuade you; were I in your shoes I would ask the same favour. But what you ask comes at a cost. And if one of you were to turn, to become entranced by the pull of the Stairs…” Gerhard shakes his head. “That would be a cost too high to bear. For both our sakes: be quick, and be careful.
“And finally: I do not need information about Henri. I can find him. And Dis, well,” and he points to all of the parchment strewn about, “I can learn. No, what I really need from you, if we are to make a deal, is information about Mister. Who he is, where he lives, and how to end his control.”
As he spoke, Gerhard paced around the room. Now, he stands in front of Jaezred. “Do we still have a deal?”
Jaezred arches an eyebrow, as though he had not expected Gerhard to try to negotiate. Nonetheless, the corner of his lips quirk upwards into a small smile. Gerhard feels a hand grasp his own in a firm grip.
“Deal,” he says. “To begin, you need to tell me everything you know about this Mister. Describe him to me, his appearance, his powers — anything would be helpful.”
He picks out a blank sheet of parchment from under a pile of scrolls on the table and draws it closer to them. He mutters an Elvish incantation and waves a hand over it, and, as if an invisible quill had started drawing on it, lines of ink begin to form on the surface of the paper, eventually joining together to create the shape of a featureless, masculine humanoid body.
Gerhard grabs a pen and some ink, scribbling in some features as he speaks. “We may have met him in Hell, but he is no fiend. Protection from evil and good does not apply.” The figure on the paper has a long black cloak, tied around his waist and bordering a stark white shirt. His grey skin is framed by black hair, which sprouts wildly from his head. A long black tail stretches out behind him. “His powers are connected to The Stairs. It was no jest that I could not touch him. Things like the corporeal are not a concern for him, I think.”
The figure is finished with some gold jewellery: rings on his tail, arms, and belts around his neck and waist. “I know so little about what he can do. But he can open doorways to The Stairs at will. He can control those that belong to The Stairs. I imagine that if he wanted to find you, there are few places you could run.” With a stroke of the pen, the sketch is complete. Wisps of black smoke now curl up from Mister’s hands, the fingertips black as night.
Gerhard hands the sketch to Jaezred. “He wants, needs, new bodies on The Stairs. If you are entering only to pass through, he may not bother you. But I cannot promise that.”
Jaezred takes the parchment and furrows his brow deeply as he stares at the drawing. Looks like a fiend but isn’t one, powerful, either incorporeal or uses illusion magic, has mastery over the Staircase. A parasite living off of it. “I wonder, then, why the Staircase is so little-known. There are many who would be interested in a passageway connecting the planes — all he needs to do is put out a small advertisement, a mention or two in some books here and there… And what is the role of the Call in all of this?” He nods at the silver longbow.
“I’m still not exactly sure. All of this,” and Gerhard rolls up his sleeve to reveal a brilliant white band circling his forearm followed by some silver writing, “denotes one chosen of The Stairs. I think The Call sort of behaves like a key. All travellers have one, and they are the tools that they use to open the tears. This used to be a Call in the shape of a cane,” he says, pointing to the writing on his arm. It is in a language that nobody can read, “but I can understand it now, somehow,” Gerhard says.
“What does it say? And who chooses the Chosen of The Stairs? Mister? Or the Staircase itself?”
“The writing? I haven’t had a chance to spend much time on it, but it appears to be a schematic. Some method of improving The Call.” Gerhard sits back down and shrugs. “For the rest… if I knew, I would tell you. It’s strange, though. These travellers, the chosen, well, Mister made it clear that they can leave whenever they want. Or, at least, he wanted us to think that. That he does not keep them; they remain of their own free will. But if it were a free choice, like you said, why have Chosen at all? Maybe the Chosen are just those unlucky enough to stumble upon The Stairs.”
“If Mister does not keep them, it is probably because he cannot,” Jaezred suggests. “Perhaps these travellers are part of the Staircase’s… ecosystem, somehow, and either Mister deemed it wise to leave them be and not meddle too much, or he does not have as much mastery and understanding of the Staircase as it may seem.”
He turns around to lean against the table. “I used to be a ‘Chosen’ myself. Not the Stairs’, obviously, someone else’s Chosen. I had a mark right here, just like you.” Two fingers tap a spot on the inner part of his left forearm. “I suppose we both have that in common — being unlucky bastards.” He gives Gerhard a wry smile.
Gerhard returns the smile, and looks away into the middle distance. “Well, if you got out of it… maybe there is hope for me, too.”
“Maybe.”
Jaezred folds the parchment, slips it into his coat, and pushes himself off the edge of the table. “The next time you hear it Calling… tug on the string of my web, ask for me anywhere, and I will come to you. Thank you and farewell, Gerhard. Oh, and don’t forget to ask the woman at the desk for the scones on your way out, though I suspect they might go cold before you’re done…”
The drow begins to walk away from Gerhard, his footsteps practised in its quietness, out of the light flickering from the lantern on the table and into the darkness of the vast library, the shadows closing in on his form. Soon, the soft tap—tap—tap of his cane fades away too, and Gerhard is alone once more.
The bags under Gerhard’s eyes betray the amount of sleep he has had for the past week, and his workspace is no different. Parchment and scrolls litter the table he has chosen. His coat, usually brimming with scripts and notes instead lies to the side, its contents spilled out before him. Instead, the coat now hides a new prize: hidden underneath, out of sight but close at hand, lies his bow. A hint of silver reflects off of it as Gerhard moves a light to get a better look.
As he is hunched over a map, magnifying glass in hand, he hears a familiar, deep voice from his side. “Gerhard, salutations. It has been a while.”
Turning around, he sees a tall, drow gentleman with long, silken-white hair tied back into a ponytail, wearing a black frock coat and trousers, red waistcoat, and white cravat, his gloved hands resting on a cane firmly planted on the floor. He has met this man once before — Lord Jaezred Vandree.
“Lord… Jaezred?” Gerhard looks up from his work, confused, “It has been a while, and it’s good to see you again. My apologies, I didn’t expect any guests.” Gerhard clumsily gathers the loose papers around him, setting them in a messy pile to the desk. “Please, sit, sit” he says, and gestures to the now vacant seat at the table. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Ah, I came here to look for you. I actually brought a small basket of scones with me but they wouldn’t let me bring food into the library,” Jaezred says as he takes the offer of a seat. He fixes the other man with a careful gaze. “I have an… enquiry regarding a rather obscure subject, and I’ve been informed that you are the best person to answer my questions. You see, a friend of mine is searching for a way into a place within the Planescape that’s a bit difficult to reach, inaccessible by regular means of planar travel such as the plane shift spell…”
Gerhard shifts under Jaezred’s gaze, uneasy. “Well, if it’s planar travel you’re after, I’m sure one of the researchers here could help. There’s not a place I’ve heard of that they can’t send you to out in Portal Plaza.”
Jaezred inhales deeply through his nose, then leans in closer. “I have been apprised of what happened last time you traversed the Infinite Staircase,” he says, his voice dropping to almost a murmur. “I understand this is difficult for you. I am not asking you to come with us, I just want to know how to find an entrance to the Staircase. That is all.”
At the mention of The Staircase, Gerhard freezes. He looks Jaezred in the eye, measuring his words carefully. “If this were anyone else, I would turn you away for asking such a thing. But you were the reason I met Sarin, and so I owe you a debt.
“I know of only three entrances to The Staircase. One is deep in the Witching Court, and unless another eclipse is on its way, it will be nothing but old stone.
“The other two? Well, one is on the moon and the other is an ocean away, and likely torn down by now.”
Gerhard shifts so that he is facing the Jaezred head on, his jaw set. “The Staircase finds you. It Calls to you. A ringing in your ears, a humming in your head that cannot be muffled. And once you’re there? Did your little birdy mention that Kavel nearly stuck his head in a volcano from the sheer joy of climbing those Steps? It took both Derthaad and Tayz to pull him back.”
Jaezred purses his lips, taking another deep breath as he nods. His crimson eyes meet Gerhard’s brown ones in a gaze of equal intensity. “There is an addictive element to traversing the Staircase, so I have heard. But what do you mean it ‘Calls’ to you? Did you not last enter the Staircase through a portal outside of this town?”
Gerhard sighs, breaking away to look at the parchment on the table. One, labelled “Dis - Outskirts”, is on top, and he idly pushes it around on the table. “Yes, you’re right, we did walk The Staircase from just within the Angelbark. But that was not an ‘entrance’, exactly. If I hadn’t gone there, the rift wouldn’t have opened. The Call pulled me there, compelled me, and I opened a tear between the planes. I’m sure if I went to the same spot today, I’d feel nothing.”
He turns back to Jaezred. “If you’re looking for an entrance, and you do not have a Call,” Gerhard says pointing to his silver longbow, covered as it is, “then the entrances available to you are the ones that occur naturally.”
The drow’s gaze follows the parchment on the table before looking at the longbow under the coat, then back to Gerhard. His expression is unreadable. “I see,” he says.
He stands up and takes a couple quiet steps towards Gerhard. “We are trying to get to somewhere within the Hells too, though not in the same layer as where you found your friend. Somewhere deeper. Our goal is to liberate someone from the clutches of a devil — I’m sure you are able to sympathise to some degree.”
His eyes never once leave Gerhard’s. “I am grateful for the information you have given me here,” he continues, “and as I said before, I’m not asking you to come with us, or put yourself in danger in any way. But I must ask you of one thing: the next time you feel the pull of the Call, send word to me, and open a tear for me and my companions to pass through. And in return, I will try to find whatever information you desire regarding Dis or Henri. The place we are going ought to be full of secrets and knowledge, but an attempt is the best I can promise here and now.”
Jaezred pulls the glove off his right hand and proffers it to the ranger. “Do we have a deal, Gerhard?”
“Jaezred… I…” Gerhard stands. “I would not do this if it were not important to you. But you must know these three things.
“The first is about the tear. The few natural tears I have seen have all remained open for short periods of time. The ones I open, though, will shut as soon as you cross over. I will not be able to bring you back.
“The second is Mister. Walking the stairs feeds him. Each step you take powers him and the Stairs. I already cannot touch him. If I send you, know this: every step you take there will make it harder for me to bring Henri home. I say this not to dissuade you; were I in your shoes I would ask the same favour. But what you ask comes at a cost. And if one of you were to turn, to become entranced by the pull of the Stairs…” Gerhard shakes his head. “That would be a cost too high to bear. For both our sakes: be quick, and be careful.
“And finally: I do not need information about Henri. I can find him. And Dis, well,” and he points to all of the parchment strewn about, “I can learn. No, what I really need from you, if we are to make a deal, is information about Mister. Who he is, where he lives, and how to end his control.”
As he spoke, Gerhard paced around the room. Now, he stands in front of Jaezred. “Do we still have a deal?”
Jaezred arches an eyebrow, as though he had not expected Gerhard to try to negotiate. Nonetheless, the corner of his lips quirk upwards into a small smile. Gerhard feels a hand grasp his own in a firm grip.
“Deal,” he says. “To begin, you need to tell me everything you know about this Mister. Describe him to me, his appearance, his powers — anything would be helpful.”
He picks out a blank sheet of parchment from under a pile of scrolls on the table and draws it closer to them. He mutters an Elvish incantation and waves a hand over it, and, as if an invisible quill had started drawing on it, lines of ink begin to form on the surface of the paper, eventually joining together to create the shape of a featureless, masculine humanoid body.
Gerhard grabs a pen and some ink, scribbling in some features as he speaks. “We may have met him in Hell, but he is no fiend. Protection from evil and good does not apply.” The figure on the paper has a long black cloak, tied around his waist and bordering a stark white shirt. His grey skin is framed by black hair, which sprouts wildly from his head. A long black tail stretches out behind him. “His powers are connected to The Stairs. It was no jest that I could not touch him. Things like the corporeal are not a concern for him, I think.”
The figure is finished with some gold jewellery: rings on his tail, arms, and belts around his neck and waist. “I know so little about what he can do. But he can open doorways to The Stairs at will. He can control those that belong to The Stairs. I imagine that if he wanted to find you, there are few places you could run.” With a stroke of the pen, the sketch is complete. Wisps of black smoke now curl up from Mister’s hands, the fingertips black as night.
Gerhard hands the sketch to Jaezred. “He wants, needs, new bodies on The Stairs. If you are entering only to pass through, he may not bother you. But I cannot promise that.”
Jaezred takes the parchment and furrows his brow deeply as he stares at the drawing. Looks like a fiend but isn’t one, powerful, either incorporeal or uses illusion magic, has mastery over the Staircase. A parasite living off of it. “I wonder, then, why the Staircase is so little-known. There are many who would be interested in a passageway connecting the planes — all he needs to do is put out a small advertisement, a mention or two in some books here and there… And what is the role of the Call in all of this?” He nods at the silver longbow.
“I’m still not exactly sure. All of this,” and Gerhard rolls up his sleeve to reveal a brilliant white band circling his forearm followed by some silver writing, “denotes one chosen of The Stairs. I think The Call sort of behaves like a key. All travellers have one, and they are the tools that they use to open the tears. This used to be a Call in the shape of a cane,” he says, pointing to the writing on his arm. It is in a language that nobody can read, “but I can understand it now, somehow,” Gerhard says.
“What does it say? And who chooses the Chosen of The Stairs? Mister? Or the Staircase itself?”
“The writing? I haven’t had a chance to spend much time on it, but it appears to be a schematic. Some method of improving The Call.” Gerhard sits back down and shrugs. “For the rest… if I knew, I would tell you. It’s strange, though. These travellers, the chosen, well, Mister made it clear that they can leave whenever they want. Or, at least, he wanted us to think that. That he does not keep them; they remain of their own free will. But if it were a free choice, like you said, why have Chosen at all? Maybe the Chosen are just those unlucky enough to stumble upon The Stairs.”
“If Mister does not keep them, it is probably because he cannot,” Jaezred suggests. “Perhaps these travellers are part of the Staircase’s… ecosystem, somehow, and either Mister deemed it wise to leave them be and not meddle too much, or he does not have as much mastery and understanding of the Staircase as it may seem.”
He turns around to lean against the table. “I used to be a ‘Chosen’ myself. Not the Stairs’, obviously, someone else’s Chosen. I had a mark right here, just like you.” Two fingers tap a spot on the inner part of his left forearm. “I suppose we both have that in common — being unlucky bastards.” He gives Gerhard a wry smile.
Gerhard returns the smile, and looks away into the middle distance. “Well, if you got out of it… maybe there is hope for me, too.”
“Maybe.”
Jaezred folds the parchment, slips it into his coat, and pushes himself off the edge of the table. “The next time you hear it Calling… tug on the string of my web, ask for me anywhere, and I will come to you. Thank you and farewell, Gerhard. Oh, and don’t forget to ask the woman at the desk for the scones on your way out, though I suspect they might go cold before you’re done…”
The drow begins to walk away from Gerhard, his footsteps practised in its quietness, out of the light flickering from the lantern on the table and into the darkness of the vast library, the shadows closing in on his form. Soon, the soft tap—tap—tap of his cane fades away too, and Gerhard is alone once more.