ph_logs | [Open] And I Pray My Worries Might Melt Away

[Open] And I Pray My Worries Might Melt Away

Who: Drelasa and co.
What: Taking a dip at the hot springs at odd hours, in hopes of being able to do so without being seen by others
When: Start of August
Where: The hot springs
Warnings: Discussion of scars, body negativity, also there will be nudity

In the very early hours of the day, Drelasa Veloth makes her way to the hot springs. It's a cooler morning, a hint that the summer may be past its height, though it's hard to say what the day will bring, once the sun is up.

As she reaches the spring, she listens carefully for the sound of others, before being satisfied that she's alone. She takes off her mask, setting it on a nearby stone. Then, she carefully removes her dress, folds it, and sets it gently next to her mask. She takes off her smallclothes, and then, before stepping into the water, she takes a minute to run one hand along the length of the opposite arm. The results of Dr. Watson's surgical work are still holding up, for the most part, but she can already feel a little bit of swelling returning to her elbows- the 'sacraments' beginning to fill her body once again. She'll have to schedule another appointment.

As she slips into the water, she mutters a prayer of thanks to the Three and the Ehlnofey for the heat of the earth. Not that Azura, Boethia, or Mephala really have anything to do with geothermal phenomena, of course, but it's best not to leave them out. She reflects on what some of the older Ascended used to say back home: their kind and kin are blood of the Mountain, foyadas and lava ponds given flesh. Perhaps that's why she feels so at home in a hot spring; it's familiar to the point of feeling like it could be an extension of herself.

Drelasa starts to genuinely relax as she soaks, the nodules throughout her body softening and releasing their rock-hard tension. She's so relaxed, in fact, that she doesn't listen for newcomers.

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"Likely the same in my case - I've just spent the past few centuries ignoring the deadly creatures, unfortunately some of my powers are rather... subdued here."

Well not just here if he's being honest. But that's further than he wants to go right now.

"Why do you ask?"

"It's... something I think about quite a lot myself. About myself. I've mostly grown content with the idea that I am, at my core, the Drelasa Veloth that grew up on the Ascadian Isles, but there are times when I... doubt. And I'm curious what your thoughts are, as one changed to another. Though of course, I know we come from very circumstances. Your binding force was a brain; my binding force was a heart."

Ah. Well then. He glances off towards the treeline, thinking about that silently for a while, tentacles writhing against themselves.

"I'm not at all confident that we're entirely different and I consider that a problem. And somewhat of a failing on my part. I know what went awry during the Ceremorphosis process but it hadn't been a hindrance until recently." He huffs, "It should be harder to extricate the two conflicting experiences - and the fact that it's not is a little disturbing."

Not that he wants to have two separate identities, but the fact that all of it feels like it's his makes it hard to disassociate from his previous life.

She nods.

“People are made of more parts than they realize, I think. There’s the immortal question of how much one can change before they cease to be themselves. And I don’t think there’s a good way to answer it. Perhaps it shouldn’t be answered. Perhaps, like waking and sleeping, selfhood is not a binary but a spectrum, a continuity of beings that vary in nature.”

She takes a long, deep breath.

“The brain is thought to be the seat of the mind, I know, but I do not have one. Mine was consumed by my own heart, as it transformed into its own sort of godmeddled thing. I remember being Drelasa Veloth, and I feel as I remember feeling, but sometimes I’m haunted by the notion that I might be some sort of divine facsimile. Sometimes I feel like it doesn’t really matter.”

“I don’t know what advice to give about your experiences with the self. Indeed, I don’t think my advice would suit you, as we seem to want disparately different things.”

"I think there's an argument to be made that for the past few centuries I wasn't technically a person. So I do have a reliance on his memories that I don't enjoy in order to even attempt to function outside of Illithid society."

Which is a problem, but not for the reasons most might think.

"His memories are... Well. His existence was miserable. Pain and betrayal and suffering and being groomed for death. I would pick almost anyone I've eaten instead as a foundation for knowledge to draw against instead of him." He makes a pained noise, because that's more than he's ever said out loud, even if he's thought it often.

"I think even if you are a copy of yourself, it hardly matters. You're the only you that you can be. Who cares about her, care about yourself."

"You were... elevated, by the changes you underwent. Just as I went from a farmer's daughter to a figure of lesser nobility."

"Yes. This was a vast improvement. Despite how painful it was to become this. At least it was quick."

She nods slowly.

"Mine... mine was not quick. I don't have the clearest memories of it, but I know there was screaming, and crying, and begging."

"Unfortunate." There's a sentiment of apology there, but he doesn't know the words to express it.

"That is standard for being transformed against your will. Everyone who I've watched undergo ceremorphosis did the same. I believe it's expected."

He twists his tentacles in his fingers, "I did not. He was dying, this actually saved this body from a worse fate. It was a very slow acting poison, but debilitating enough to make ending it prematurely extremely difficult. So this was welcomed."

"I'm glad you made it."

The things she's heard about the Illithid unnerve her, in may ways because it reminds her of the failings of her own people. That doesn't mean she won't respect Imbros' merits and feelings as an individual, or acknowledge his experiences. He's ignorant of a lot of things... but so is she. The fact that he's opening up is a welcome thing, an exciting thing.

She wonders, though...

"Is there any incongruity between his form and yours? Is there anything that hurts or aches in the aftermath of your ceremorphosis?"

"Well I'm much taller than he was," there's a hint of laughter in his voice when he says that. He's not sure how he'd handle being five foot three again, hopefully he never has to find out.

"But no, this form feels natural and complete. This is me, born from a tadpole and nurtured by the flesh of a Drow. But I also did not need to learn how to use this form, I had instant access to the infinite memories of all of my kind. So it wasn't like I became something else, I simply...am."

"What is a Drow? I've never heard that term."

"An underdark species, what was the name the surface dwellers used..." he thoughtfully says a few sentences in another language trying to figure out how to translate this. "Dark Elves I believe. Though they are very much not elves and would despise the comparison."

He doesn't even like saying it and he's not a Drow anymore.

If she had eyes, they would widen.

"You... he was a Dark Elf, too? My people called ourselves Dunmer, not Drow, but... oh, but it's probably not the same. Blue-gray skin, red eyes?"

"He had yellow eyes. But yes, blue-ish grey skin, red, purple, yellow eyes. Infinite lifespan if they don't kill each other, and they always kill each other."

He still has yellow eyes even.

"By the blessing of Mephala's cunning and Boethia's schemes," she laughs.

"Although I suppose he kept different gods. Hm... did his people work closely with arthropods? Reptiles?"

"Goddess, Lolth." He says something in that language again, and from the cadence it's obviously a proverb or prayer or a parable. "Mmm, I'm starting to think we're very similar."

There's a scurrying sound, as he manifests something in his hand and then it vanishes just as fast.

"Spiders."

“Spiders!” she gasps in delight.

“Blessed Mephala, Mother of Webs and Whispers, is the patron of spiders.”

"I spin thy web of chaos, Lolth, I spin it in your name - let not the threads unravel." He sighs, sinking further into the spring. At least one of them is happy about spiders.

"She is a spiteful and vengeful goddess, I hope in my absence someone has found a way to end her. Is yours better?"

“I would not say Mephala is without her connections to chaos. She is the one who teaches us to see from the corner of our eyes, to keep our friends close and our enemies closer. She is master of conspiracies, spinning in her web the connections between all who vie to undo one another. She is not a gentle goddess, but she teaches us the skills we need to survive. Our Velothi ancestors departed the Summerset Isle out of disgust for the haughty indolence of the Aldmer. During this exodus, it was essential that they be able to know and outwit their enemies.”

"They do sound similar. I have no need for gods or goddesses." Or those who worship them, but that goes unsaid.

"Aldmer? Another god or is that a species?"

"The Aldmer were some of the first elves. The Dunmer, Bosmer, and Altmer all trace their lineage to the Aldmer. We could not be more different from them."

"Ah I see. Similar to my world then. It's strange how close ours are to each other but we're clearly not from the same realm." He's not sure what to make of that, it's like witnessing his own home a few feet to the left. It's unsettling but also piques his curiosity.

"What of other races? Orcs? Humans? Dwarves?"

“The Orsimer have seen their kingdoms rise and fall, rise and fall, rise and fall. Four times they have raised a sovereign state called Orsinium, and thrice far it has fallen. They are proud and quick to anger. I’ve not met so many in my life, though they are more numerous in Skyrim, where I was last traveling.”

“The great human empire fell two centuries ago, and rose again as a shadow of its former self. Their Emperor is at the beck and call of the High Elven Thalmor state, and for that reason, the men are at war with one another, as the crown seeks to control their way of life.”

“The Dwemer… the Dwarves… they vanished thousands of years ago. No one quite knows what happened, but they were likely victims of their own reckless artifice.”

"Many of the dwarves in my world went north to mine for black ice, which can be shaped into powerful magic items. Assuming one doesn't die of inclement weather while obtaining it, though they seem not to mind. If I had to guess, I'd think there's more humans in my world than any other race, but they're also the shortest lived so it makes sense they reproduce faster and wider."

He makes a soft musing sound, "Were we back in my world, this is where I'd be told to stop thinking of them as livestock. I can hear it in his voice even..."

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cw: heavy discussion of existential identity stuff

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cw: existential contemplations on selfhood and identity

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cw: suicide mention

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