On the Deepness, Capital and Articled

Thul

(An interesting little conversation with @Hoaracle, as Thul meddles further into his son's business.)

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You place your hand against the trees crystalline trunk and it ripples like water. Easily, you pass through it as a sinking displacement seizes your insides, branching throughout the rest of your body. When the feeling fades, you find that your location has been drastically changed.

The Nemeton of Hoaracle.

Truly a conference of trees, this solemn grove is verdant and thick with clean, pure air. Overhead, looming oak and birches block out sight of the sky, only the occasional silvery stream of light passing through their heavy canopies. Blood-stained saplings stretch to greet the moon, failing to compete against their sturdier elders; in recompense, their slender branches shelter altars of stone. Within the shadows of the forest boughs, fantastical and haunting images linger - a dreamy haze that suggests you stand at the threshold of two worlds. An utter silence befalls this place, and the trees shiver though no breeze stirs them. Its bark dark and shimmering, a warden tree erupts from an altar of stone - a triumphant sapling amongst its kin. A flurry of leaves rains down from the mighty trees overhead. A wide-lipped offering bowl rises expectantly here, the air around it trembling with whispers of potential.

There are no obvious exits.

You bow respectfully to the master shrine of Hoaracle.

You offer up 122 corpses to Hoaracle, the Oak Whacher.

Softly, you say, "Hail, Lord. I don't know if Your attention was here, but I've spoken with my son recently, and he seems hopeful for Your efforts."

A grumbling voice echoes far beyond the treeline, "And if there is hope, then we jumped over the greatest hurdle."

Smiling, you say, "His mood is much improved, yes. Thank You. Though, if I may ask, he brought up something intriguing."

Head tilting curiously, you say, "He mentioned a... deepness? I'm unsure if that's with a capital D."

A grumbling voice echoes far beyond the treeline, "Aye, the Deepness. Capital and articled."

The trees tense for an unnervingly long moment - as if they are holding their breath in anticipation.

You have emoted: Thul nods, looking curious, though he pauses at the sensation in the air and glances about warily.

From beyond the treeline, a grumbling voice asks, "Is something the matter?"

Clearing his throat, you say, "A bit jumpy, perhaps. Excuse me. I would inquire what sort of place the Deepness is, if it wouldn't be too much to ask. I've never heard of such a place."

A grumbling voice echoes far beyond the treeline, "It is... a place, but not like normal places. It is beyond the edges of the Dreaming, further through the Heart of Vestera. It is a place of raw, untempered power."

Nodding, you ask, "And is this place Yours, Lord? Or... rather, do the other Elders know of it?"

A grumbling voice echoes far beyond the treeline, "It is not Mine, no. But I do not know if the Others know of its existence. The False Gods, the ones that mortalkind and I fought against - they are aware of its power. Perhaps Vestera did too. But I do not know if the Others do."

After a long moment of consideration, you ask, "What's it like there? I have none of the Dreamweavers' power, but Tarkenton spoke of... space and no space. I can only imagine it. What do You even do in such a place?"

A grumbling voice echoes far beyond the treeline, "It is..."

The voice pauses for a good long while: a slight 'hrm' filling the silence.

You have emoted: Thul waits patiently, ears perked.

A grumbling voice echoes far beyond the treeline, "Tarkenton is true, it is both space and no space. 

It is an interval - a between. It is true possibility. What do you even do? Why, you can do everything."

Blinking slowly, you say, "Everything."

You ask, "...why leave?"

From beyond the treeline, a grumbling voice asks, "What do you mean?"

You ask, "A place of power, where You could do as You wish. How could You leave?"

A wry grin tugging at his lips, you say, "I'd not have the willpower, I think."

A grumbling voice echoes far beyond the treeline, "It is quite lonely. The Dreaming generally is. 

The Deepness even more so. That is certainly what the False Gods felt; however, they opted to do the opposite of what every true dream wishes to do. They wanted to bring everything to them, reside in the Dreaming."

A grumbling voice echoes far beyond the treeline, "But the destiny of a dream is to be made real. To 

be realized. To be experienced."

A grumbling voice echoes far beyond the treeline, "So even with all the power in the Dreaming, in the Deepness, it pales in comparison to being felt by the presence of others, of life itself."

A grumbling voice echoes far beyond the treeline, "If the average dreamweaver could even get to the Deepness, I imagine they too would not have the willpower to leave. Though, I think they probably could not. The Deepness is just as much a trap as it is a treasure trove."

You have emoted: Thul's eyes widen with understanding, and he gives a little smile at the mention of loneliness. That smile fades as the explanation continues.

From beyond the treeline, a grumbling voice asks, "Is there a reason why you are so curious, Thul d'Illici?"

The question hugs the leaves: not accusatory, but simply interested.

Nodding his head, you say, "It is something I've never heard of, Lord. I do ever hunger for answers. And then I'm curious about this place where You are apparently taking my son for treatment."

A grumbling voice echoes far beyond the treeline, "Ahhh... parental worry. Do not fret, I will not let the thrall of the Deepness take him over. He has been trapped by others for fall too long - he needs not another danger in his life."

Chuckling, you say, "He doesn't, no. Hmm."

Aside, you say, "Wonder how he'll feel knowing that he's surpassed some of the greatest Dreamweavers in history."

A grumbling voice echoes far beyond the treeline, "Well, I wouldn't give him that great of an honour. It isn't as if he were traveling there by himself."

A chuckle breaks through the denseness of the treeline, filling the air with a gentle boom.

Waving a hand dismissively, you say, "Details."

Another chuckle soon follows.

Nodding, you say, "Well, thank You for indulging my curiosity, Lord."

A grumbling voice echoes far beyond the treeline, "Of course, Thul d'Illici, of course."

From beyond the treeline, a grumbling voice asks, "And, if I recall, you were the one who inquired about another shrine of Mine?"

Blinking, you say, "Yes. I'm always a bit hesitant to set foot upon the fulcruxes without good reason, and I wasn't sure if there was... perhaps a less intrusive place to deliver an offering."

A grumbling voice echoes far beyond the treeline, "Well, I think it is always good reason for you to step into fulcruxes. For offerings or otherwise."

A grumbling voice echoes far beyond the treeline, "But if you desire a shorter distance for offerings, and to leave this place for conversation alone. Then..."

You are transported by the power of the Divine.

"birch192932"                           a mature birch tree

"totem16243"                            a living totem

"shrine207605"                          a healing shrine of Hoaracle

Number of objects: 3

A grumbling voice echoes throughout the grove, "You can simply use this."

You chuckle long and heartily.

Looking about, you say, "Very good. Thank You, Lord Hoaracle."

A grumbling voice echoes throughout the grove, "Of course. But do remember to step in to My nemeton for conversation. You are quite pleasant."

Lowering his head, you say, "I'm glad You think so. I'll be sure to speak with You again soon."

A grumbling voice echoes throughout the grove, "Good. Take care then, Thul d'Illici."

With a flourish of your arm, you bow deeply.

You sense the presence of the God has vanished: the grove quiet and still.