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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Generally, Imbros doesn't really like being wet, and handles it with all the aplomb of a cat that fell in a bathtub. But hot springs are a whole different thing. When his adventuring party found one in his realm he had to be dragged kicking and screaming from it; fully ready to live there for the rest of his life.

So when he finds out there's one here, there's no hesitation as he sets out looking for it. Who cares about the barrier, or the cult, or his current mission to learn necromancy when there's steamy water to sit in?

Turns out someone else had the same idea, "Good morning," he says politely as he walks around to a further side of the spring to put some distance between them, dropping down to his feet to walk rather than levitate so she can hear him. He's too self-centered to ask if he can join her, but he does at least attempt some sort of pleasantries, "I'm surprised more people aren't here. Especially if they're all sleeping with dirt in their beds."

She jumps a little at the sound of his voice, making a sound like a few stray notes on an oboe, before sinking herself a little more into the water. Her flutes float on the surface, thankfully keeping water from rushing into her many spiracles. After a moment, though, she raises herself back up, at least enough that her mouth is above the water.

"Sera Imbros. Err... good day. I imagine the rest of the town isn't awake yet."

"Ah yes, diurnal creatures." He says distractedly like he's trying to fix it in his memory. He knows that, he just wasn't considering it.

There's the shuffle of clothing as he slips out of his leather robes before sinking into the water. Being able to levitate allows him to walk over the surface of the spring and then slip down into the water with barely a splash. He puts his arms on the edge of the rock behind him to support himself, giving a hum of pleasure as he acclimates to the warmer water.

"This is one of the few things the surface of my world does correctly. We don't have hot springs in the Underdark."

He's just going to close his eyes and contentedly float here for the rest of the day.

"We have a good many hot springs in Vvardenfell. The island was formed by a massive volcano, and there are magma pockets throughout the region. We actually have thermal baths within my family's stronghold. It's good to have something so familiar here."

His eyes half open as he looks over at Drelasa, "Your family had their own stronghold with a thermal bath? You must have been quite well off."

“It was my extended family. My House. My parents were humble farmers, but House Dagoth is one of the Dunmeri Great Houses. I am humble in rank amongst them, but…” But what? She realizes she’s straying a little too far into her old Sixth House speak.

“Kogoruhn was built close to Red Mountain, so it actually was not too difficult a thing to manage.”

"House Dagoth." He searches his memory for any familiarity with that name. Nothing comes to mind, it seems their worlds are very similar but different enough to not match up.

"Humble in rank of a Great House is still well above those in high station of a lower house." He gently skims the top of the water with his fingertips, watching the ripples in the water. "The house I -- he was from, would be beneath both of those. A hot spring would have been barely even dreamt of."

Mmm, that's enough said about that.

"I do not wish to stay on this plane of existence, but I can't deny - some of it is rather nice."

"This place is not unpleasant," she agrees.

"I think there are fewer deadly creatures here than in my homeland."

Sorry Imbros, but she's not about to let that line go. You've talked too much to her about identity before.

"You're confident that the one who came before the assimilation into the collection was someone entirely different from you?"

"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."

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[Open] And I Pray My Worries Might Melt Away

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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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