❧ i n b o x

[abheirrant]

—pposed to know when to start speaking? That wasn't a very thorough explanation on what I'm to do this, now was it? Hello? Hello? Are you listening to me? Are you even still ther— [beep]

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[abheirrant]

A 'golem,' as I know it, is a constructed being, humanoid or otherwise. Golemancers tend to work with the former for whatever reason, summoning energies and ensnaring them within the framework to animate it. They are- they are not alive.

[Yes, obviously.]

[superposition]

Ah. [ Qubit sits back slightly, placing a hand on his chin. He thinks he gets it now - it's either the fact that they're animate without being alive (like Carlisle himself), or that the process sounds very similar to how Carlisle raises the dead. Probably both, maybe with a splash of uncanny valley as well.

After a moment's consideration, he decides he might as well provide his own context. Only fair. ]

That's actually not far off. In my world, it's a humanoid made of clay, animated by writing one of the names of God on a tablet inside its mouth. [ He waves one hand, vaguely gesturing at nothing. ] Or something similar - writing "TRUTH" on its forehead, et cetera - there's some variation in the literature. But that's the method they used in Prague, which is the only confirmed case.

[abheirrant]

Animated by invoking the name of a deity? An odd method, but the basic premise is similar, despite our very different worlds.

[And Qubit is correct in his assumption as to why Carlisle is uncomfortable with the very concept. The clergyman shudders.]

It is too akin to necromancy for my taste, bringing to life that which should not live. And there are tales of golemancers who have taken it that far, building constructs to house the remnants of their loved ones.

[superposition]

[ Qubit ponders that for a moment, taking a preliminary taste of his tea. (Needs a couple more minutes.) ]

I wish I could say I'm surprised. I can see how it'd be a tempting prospect. How they might think they're doing them a favor. [ He folds his arms, frowning darkly. ] An immortal life in an unbreakable body, and all they give up in exchange is their humanity. It's a textbook Faustian bargain.

[abheirrant]

[Carlisle inhales the steam of his again, and while Qubit's needs another couple of minutes, his is already working: he can feel some semblance of heat seeping into his limbs, the tension ever-present in his shoulders relenting as his troubling thoughts are obscured by a veil of mild intoxication. He opens his eyes, the glow of them unfocused as they land on Qubit.]

'Faustian bargain'?

[superposition]

[ Ah, right. Earth-specific cultural reference. Sorry if he's fuzzy on the specifics, it's been a while since he thought about Faust. ]

A deal with the Devil. Faust is a literary figure, he's, ah... a scholar who sells his soul to a demon in exchange for knowledge, or power, or earthly pleasures, something like that. Worldly benefits at the price of eternal damnation.

[abheirrant]

[The reference is utterly lost on him, but forsaking one's morals for temporary pleasures of the flesh isn't exactly a foreign concept.]

I see. Such bargains are best left to serve as cautionary tales. Forbidden arts and accursed deals poison everything around those who partake in them: the land, the people, and themselves.

[superposition]

Hmph. Don't I know it.

[ There's some room for nuance, obviously (who forbade it? how do you define "accursed"? qui bono?), but that's a bit out of scope. He's more thinking of the literal devil-dealing and the literal poisoning of land and people that he's witnessed - technically two separate events, but with the same instigator - but that's a bit off topic.

In context, they're talking about "cheating death," but that brings to mind someone equally unpleasant. A man who cheated death by having no soul to sell. Less Faust, more Mephistopheles.

The sweet scent of Carlisle's tea provides a convenient distraction. But... it's odd, now that he notices it, that he can smell it this strongly without feeling any effects. He looks back to Carlisle, pointing generally at the teacup. ]

What was the glyph you used on that?

[abheirrant]

[He inhales deeply, letting himself relax just a bit more.]

I often enchanted tea at home, using specific brews for various reasons: a sleep aid, a pain reliever when my body failed me, and the like. I was disappointed to discover that while I could make a suitable tea from it, the sap here that so affected others, relieving them of their mental burdens if only for a time, did nothing at all for me. No substance does any longer. I have not had a good drink in so long.

[Said like a fellow who definitely drank. Possibly a lot.]

And so I devised this glyph. Charming, reparation, minor transfiguration. It has been altered to no longer affect the living, but instead target... well.

[The unliving. He's still reluctant to refer to himself as such.]

[superposition]

Hm. Where I'm from, they call that "self-medicating."

[ He does his best not to let that sound judgmental, though. Carlisle clearly didn't have a lot of alternatives. Physician, heal thyself, isn't that the turn of phrase?

Anyway, after another moment's consideration, he decides "eh, to hell with it" and pulls over the little sap jar. ] May I?

[abheirrant]

[Carlisle gives a little wave, a 'be my guest' sort of gesture. While he collected enough sap for plenty of brews, he figures he'll have to find a new way to self-medicate eventually. Being awake all the time with his thoughts, feeling his energy coursing through him at all times as it keeps his bones animated — it's utterly maddening, and sometimes, he needs a break.

Another deep inhale. Ahh, that's much better. The glow of his eyes is definitely unfocused now, albeit as vibrant as ever.]

Cisth, I miss liquor more than I thought I would. There are many... [another gesture as he searches for an appropriate word] commodities of my former self that I miss, but that one, I may miss most of all.

[superposition]

[ Qubit opens it up and stirs a dollop of the stuff into his own tea. It's hardly fair if only one of them gets to indulge. ]

Mm. I'm more a beer man, myself.

[ Actually, his own relationship with alcohol is remarkably healthy. Everything in moderation. He knows his tolerance, he knows when he's had enough - and he dislikes the feeling of drunkenness, of his mind turning dull and sluggish and stupid, enough that it's a powerful deterrant in itself. But he still enjoys a good beer now and again. (Enough to have strong opinions on what qualifies as a good beer.)

He finally takes a proper sip, closing his eyes for a moment as the warmth of it leaches into him. Substance abuse is another downer topic, unfortunately, but... ]

Have you ever heard of Oktoberfest?

[abheirrant]

[If there was ever a fellow to abuse substances both magical and not, it was this fellow.]

I assume it was a party of some sort.

[superposition]

[ He nods, with a hint of a smile. ] Still is. It's an annual beer festival held in Munich, Germany. Largest of its kind in the world - it goes for two and a half weeks, draws in millions of attendees from around the globe.

[abheirrant]

That's quite a long time to get drunk.

[Not that he thinks it'd take that long for Qubit, but the man has many unusual talents.]

Did you ever attend?

[superposition]

[ To be fair, you do have to pace yourself! You can't properly enjoy the rest of the festivities if you get too drunk. Also most people don't stay for the full 17-18 days. Buuut that's just splitting hairs, really. ]

A handful of times. [ siiiip. ] Though - funny story - the last time I went was sort of an accident, if you can believe it.

[abheirrant]

You accidentally went to a beer festival.

[He sounds doubtful, albeit playful about it. His enchanted drink must be working, the sides of his mask lifting in what is clearly a smile behind it.]

[superposition]

No, really! So -

[ He shifts on his stool, gearing up to talk with his hands, because it's storytime. ]

This needs some context. Last world I was stranded on, just before Anchor - I call it Earth-beta, distinct from the Earth I call home - there were a few hundred other people in the same boat, forcibly taken from their home dimensions. Not unlike what happens here. Only there, the machine that was used to abduct us - the Porter - also interfered with our powers, or bestowed new powers on people who didn't have them prior. With me so far?

[abheirrant]

I believe so, yes.

[He's just going to put a pin in the part where Qubit was from another place where people were taken from their homes before this one, don't mind him and that somewhat surprised look.]

[superposition]

[ If Qubit notices his reaction, he doesn't slow down to mention it. He's already brightened considerably just remembering this. ]

All right. Now, there were two fellows who arrived the same day I did. Hermann Gottlieb and Newton Geiszler. They're both scientists - Hermann's an astrophysicist, Newt's a xenobiologist - from another alternate Earth, where they were instrumental in putting a stop to a decades-long extradimensional siege. That's not relevant to this, of course, just - interesting fact. Anyway.

[ Look, he's got to brag about them, even if they drive him crazy sometimes. They're good dudes, and he's missed having them around. ]

One of the powers Hermann ended up with was - I don't think we ever came up with a good short name for it, actually. But it was essentially a form of reality warping. Anything he could express mathematically, he could do.

[abheirrant]

That... sounds utterly terrifying, admittedly.

[Says the undead guy animated by magic.]

Though I suppose it does sound a bit like what is done with glyphcrafting, albeit with numbers instead of language. How does one express what they want to do through mathematics?

[superposition]

[ Qubit lets out a short, amused huff. Carlisle, you think a lot of things are utterly terrifying. But in fairness, that's a pretty normal reaction when it comes to superpowers. Hermann's power is extremely versatile - in theory, the only limitations on it are the limits of mathematics itself. Or more precisely, Hermann's understanding of math, but that's still nothing to sneeze at. ]

Oh, he'd do most of the calculations in his head. Or for longer equations, in chalk. You should see their flat - Newt turned a whole wall into a floor-to-ceiling chalkboard for him.

[ He remembers his tea with a little more enthusiasm. The goop may already be starting to kick in. ]

- Or did you want an example? Hold on.

[ He pokes a few buttons on his watch, and out of it springs a translucent blue globe - a holographic projection of Earth, rotating lazily in the air above his wrist. ]

[abheirrant]

[Ah yes, the good old chalkboard. Now that's the kind of technology Carlisle can understand. The holographic projection of planet Earth that Qubit produces for him, on the other hand... not so much.

Despite knowing good and well that Qubit wouldn't deliberately harm him, Carlisle nearly falls out of his chair as the projection springs up before him, managing to duck the entirety of his body beneath the table in a matter of seconds. He peers back over the edge, his glowing eyes still unfocused, but locked onto the hologram.]

What is that? What is that? It's- it's fine, obviously, as you made it, but what is it?

[superposition]

[ Qubit barely manages to keep from laughing at the way Carlisle immediately books it under the table, only to emerge peering over the edge like a smaller-nosed Kilroy. He does not manage to keep from grinning, however. ]

Sorry, sorry...! It's called a hologram. A three-dimensional soft-light projection. Totally harmless.

[ To demonstrate, he runs his hand through it, with no effect other than disrupting the beams such that chunks of the planet briefly disappear. ]

You all right down there?

[abheirrant]

[Oh, so it is harmless, as promised. Carlisle stares at it, wide-eyed, for another moment, his gaze flicking to Qubit and back again.]

O- oh. It's— it's not magic, I know, and you're going to tell me it's not magic, but- but it looks like it. Some- some sort of an apparition or illusion.