They're constructs, but animated by autonomous spirits. The first time I saw them, I'd never seen anything so incredible. I've been animating skeletons since I was a child, but getting their joints to move as seamlessly as a creature with muscles and flesh is incredibly challenging.
[It's odd. There's a part of him that feels that itchiness again, like. He should know about this than he does, maybe. But he personally has nothing against it, beyond just not understanding much of what it is. And it is beautiful? In its own way.]
So they're alive? In some way? This is what you were talking about, tying a spirit to a body?
It is, but they aren't exactly alive. They're autonomous, but the spirits attached to them are ancient, not precisely human. I don't think you can call this living.
It was the first time I became aware of the possibility, however. That spirits of the dead could be used as something like. . . a battery, powering a construct like this for eternity.
Her hand is still on the simulation, so when he says that, the vision flickers - a large, overweight young man, dressed in black, face painted like a skull, a sword through his chest. A planet, seen from afar, crumbling, the life drained from it. A man, with monstrous eyes and a kindly smile and a crown of bone, speaking - What's done is done, now you have to live with it. Darkness, and pain, a wall of bones and death behind it, and a steady voice nearby, filled with warmth and sorrow - the cruellest thing anyone has ever done to you in your whole life, believe me.
And then the simulation shuts off, and Harrow faints to the floor.]
[so glad we keep triggering each other's trauma just purely on accident
There's a lot to unpack here and no time to dwell on any of it. It feels violating to see, flipping through someone's head uninvited - someone else's memories. He just keeps prying unintentionally lately, doesn't he? Just can't seem to stop digging. It's hard to pay much attention to any individual image when it's going so quickly however, and then-]
Fuck! Harrow!
[Immediately diving to catch her or at least check she hasn't brained herself on the floor? Shaking her, gently or trying to be gentle but he's a little frantic and not very good at medical advice.]
[Oh cool just a nosebleed! That's probably nothing to worry about! Molly is just trying to hold her up around the shoulders, tail whipping back and forth in extreme worry? Hello? You just had Bad Brains and Fell Over?]
[That's. . . actually pretty considerate of him, so she softens a little.]
I can't even remember what I was thinking about. I never can. It isn't important what it was, just - clearly a bad idea to let it draw from my memories when they're as scrambled as they are.
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[Huh! Well. Gently reaching out to touch one on the shoulder.]
Undead? Or something else?
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So they're alive? In some way? This is what you were talking about, tying a spirit to a body?
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It was the first time I became aware of the possibility, however. That spirits of the dead could be used as something like. . . a battery, powering a construct like this for eternity.
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Not sure I'd want to stick around for eternity. Conscious or not, I suppose.
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Her hand is still on the simulation, so when he says that, the vision flickers - a large, overweight young man, dressed in black, face painted like a skull, a sword through his chest. A planet, seen from afar, crumbling, the life drained from it. A man, with monstrous eyes and a kindly smile and a crown of bone, speaking - What's done is done, now you have to live with it. Darkness, and pain, a wall of bones and death behind it, and a steady voice nearby, filled with warmth and sorrow - the cruellest thing anyone has ever done to you in your whole life, believe me.
And then the simulation shuts off, and Harrow faints to the floor.]
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There's a lot to unpack here and no time to dwell on any of it. It feels violating to see, flipping through someone's head uninvited - someone else's memories. He just keeps prying unintentionally lately, doesn't he? Just can't seem to stop digging. It's hard to pay much attention to any individual image when it's going so quickly however, and then-]
Fuck! Harrow!
[Immediately diving to catch her or at least check she hasn't brained herself on the floor? Shaking her, gently or trying to be gentle but he's a little frantic and not very good at medical advice.]
Harrow?
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. . . Ugh. I tire of this room.
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Are you alright?
[And,]
Yeah, we can leave.
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[Grumpy, she'll pull away from where he's holding her like a stubborn jerk.]
Pride said it seemed like a bad idea, to let this thing borrow too much from your memories. I'm beginning to think they were correct.
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I didn't see anything. Promise.
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I can't even remember what I was thinking about. I never can. It isn't important what it was, just - clearly a bad idea to let it draw from my memories when they're as scrambled as they are.