Contamination of the Soul
It was so difficult to simply accept one's strain and willingly relax. Like being asked to sleep in water; a prospect discomforting until you had lain within the pool for so long tiredness took its hold of your soul, and you had no other choice. For so long, Dorian had either battled Drethir, or now traveled the Street, that a restful evening on a foreign world seemed outlandish to him, his entire body straining with effort to not accept this repose; as if forced to drink a medicine yet only recognizing vile poison in its taste.
After several days of unease, he finally managed to strike a fine balance: each morning, he'd rise and perform a regimen of callisthenics to maintain bodily flexibility and maintain his strength. He'd devote no more than a couple of minutes to a Visceral inspection of his body and utilize its power to massage capillaries and promote well-being. Then he'd not so much craft new masks, as tinker with them. It took a while to find and refit the appropriate tools, but eventually, as he labored over masks, the one on his face started to drink in his deeds, understanding its identity; that of a craftsman, a man who uses tools to refine matter into more useful arrangements.
The afternoon was devoted to strict, controlled practice with the distortion now within, which based on something Andrei said, Dorian dubbed 'Contamination.' It was according to the doctor, a transgression of the subconscious whim upon the material realm; a form of contamination by the mental medium upon the physical. While it fascinated him deeply, the doctor ultimately admitted that study of other Towers took precedence, since they could still study this effect off-world.
Its nature, however, eluded either of them.
To Dorian it felt as if within his chest were a gyre, a basin that contained not water, but an almost fluid force of reality itself. It was a strong impression of the spirit itself, a force that rewrote the world in accord with everything he didn't wish to think about or acknowledge; often his darkest or most desperate desires. It could be externalized en masse with simple mental direction and an exertion of willpower; a single moment of usage could cover the entire span of a room, if he so wished.
It was a contaminant, as it defiled the world and substituted its truth with subjective potential, supplanting the natural order. Their observations of items repeatedly affected suggested they underwent some kind of reality breakdown, which required further study to pinpoint its exact properties. Contaminated, a string of yarn enlarged over time to become a length of rope, and that rope eventually animated itself and tried to strangle them until Andrei firmly ordered it to stand down. It had then ceased to exist, right in front of their eyes, simply dissipating from reality as if matter had suddenly become a ropelike fog; dispersed with a wave of the hand, scattered to utter invisibility.
This accident was a reminder of their limits and a harsh wake-up call. That somehow, they'd awakened a power that any reasonable and god-fearing man wouldn't dare mess around with. Their intention naturally - as a self-declared freedom-fighter and unrepentant scientist respectively - was to do their best to exploit it without being harmed.
For that to occur, they needed strict rules of conduct.
Both of the men agreed that a single object shouldn't undergo too much exposure until they understood the effect of the breakdown better, as well as because after several iterations, Dorian's subconscious tended to create calamitous monsters and beings that wanted to kill them; even a fork had transformed into a butcher's tool, filling its holder with a possessive bloodlust and urge to kill, and which Dorian only managed to put down through intense will. They also agreed not to use this power on people whatsoever, especially ones of a hostile disposition; the contamination's effects would be unpredictable at least, and potentially disastrous at worst.
Even in a dire situation, if someone required killing, it was safer to simply shoot or stab them.
So Dorian's training of Contamination proceeded as such: he'd select a number of small, recently purchased items and mementos, acquired on the previous day from a market. Cutlery, small figurines, books. Then he'd contaminate each of them with painstaking and grueling attention paid towards mental self-discipline; narrowing down the outcomes, conceiving not of strange outcomes, and stretching the timeline of the changes as much as he could, as to assert better redirection over sudden alterations.
This over the week of constant practice, allowed him to make minor changes to the world in a fashion that resembled logic. He could turn small amounts of metal to stone, and vice versa. Although the contents weren't always legible and couldn't draw on information he didn't possess, he could rewrite books or passages of text in a fraction of the time. He transformed small toy soldiers made of tin into more impressive idols of silver, resembling Drethiri heroes and legends. He believed that with more effort and training of his control, he could even manage to consistently produce noble metals such as gold, or even transform simple glass into gemstones.
Finally, once Dorian decided he was done with Contamination, he'd wander the town. Go to a market here, purchase more knick-knacs for tomorrow. Lend his talents there where a carver or medic was needed. Come to the local bar and drink alongside the locals, unmasked but almost without the discomfort that instinctively came with. There, he'd allow the compelling voice of a Dawn songstress to wash his worries away; a sweet melody that lulled him into forgetting the sorrows of his past, for however short a time. During and after these visits, sometimes he'd feel creatively inspired and try his hand at crafting something new - not even always a mask - to sometimes mixed results.
And then he'd sleep, as always dreamless, yet bothered increasingly less by the sense of trepidation and fatigue that had clung onto him ever since he came onto the Street.
Like clockwork, over three weeks passed in this manner - and the Street started to narrow its zone, its song heard faintly every night as they went to bed, as if reminding them that little time was left now - when Dorian finally decided to inform Andrei of his idea.
It was not the idea of using masks to interface with - or perhaps even try to repair - these Towers, as that one which Andrei agreed was sound in principle, but perhaps not achievable in practice, with what little time they had left on this world. These Towers were vast and ancient constructs and likely required an elder power of similar puissance to meaningfully repair. Dorian's idea was different, more personal in nature.
"I believe with controlled Contamination, I could return my sense of creativity to myself."
"An interesting concept. You did mention it can be applied to phenomena, as well." The doctor mused, sitting back, a hand to his chin. "Does that include creativity?"
"I haven't experimented but I do believe so," answered Dorian. "In fact, I've learned the dross of distortion doesn't have to occupy space as a medium for its transference; this was only a self-imposed limitation. It can even supersede it - or so I feel when I think about its release, at least. It's only a vague instinct for now. But I believe that if I devote more to controlled training, I could achieve this. I always believed my creativity was one of my stronger suits. Its restoration should be instinctive, shouldn't it?"
"Yes. There is some danger, however, so I would recommend holding off," Andrei says. "A failure here wouldn't be as dramatic as Facelessness. At worst, I predict you'll develop some warped aesthetic sense. Like a perverse form of artistic fluency in on area, to the detriment of others. It might return your creative well when it comes to making masks, but disregard other areas, for instance."
"That wouldn't be so tragic in my eyes, actually," said Dorian, picking up one of the demonstrative pieces - a blank mask of featureless wood - they'd ripped off the contaminated tree. "These masks are my family's legacy. We've always been craftsmen, we Crofts. And such a price might be temporary anyway."
"Maybe so. Don't let me be a gatekeeper to your dreams if you feel that strongly about it. Regardless of your personal feelings on the matter of masks, your subconscious isn't predisposed to suicidal ideation or paranoid fears of self-destructive mental descent. It should be safe to try."
Dorian nodded. "We'll be leaving soon, too."
"Tomorrow?" asked Musorov, not yet accustomed to the Street's sense of time.
"No. Ten days or so."
The scientist nodded, pulling up the sleeve of his labcoat as he started noting something down in one of his numerous notepad. "Well, if you want to try out a mask on a Tower - then we'd have to do it within that time. I wonder... each entrant is limited to a single Tower, aren't they? This is the rule the locals speak of as an ironclad law: one person, one Choice. But could we perhaps circumvent that? What if you crafted a disguise? Could we fool these Towers into granting us dual blessings? Even if we could, my studies indicate that mixing types too disparate may lead to madness or worse. For example, I suspect a Zenith-Midnight hybrid would not enjoy its existence very much, even if I have no empirical evidence to support this. We could invite some of the locals to participate in such experiments; a double Choice is unprecedented."
"And you think they'd agree? It's also unprecedented to draw in volunteers in a timeframe as short as the one we have."
"Perhaps. It's something to consider, at any rate, since I'm afraid other research opportunities are dry; I've already conducted a survey of the rising and fall of every other Tower, measured the average abilities of each Chosen, and heard out tales of wild claims. If no one else is willing, I would act as a test subject myself, if only you crafted the appropriate mask," said Andrei with a soft smile, a spark of - not quite mischief, but something closer to elated and roguish excitement - passing through his eyes. "Think of what we could discover! Such unprecedented glory would be virtually unheard of. Even the Comet Kings never achieved something like this."
Dorian found the sentiment agreeable. While he wasn't a natural scientist as Andrei was, it did seem wasteful to have all these gifts of the multiverse at one's fingertips and not cross-experiment on them with each other. He didn't consider it a human duty to do as they wished to do, but he definitely considered it wasteful not to. Only the fear of potential risks and consequences - a familiar feeling, now, after what happened on Demimonde - suppressed the fervent desire to say 'yes' outright and instantly.
Then again - who could say if godhood itself weren't the prize of the bold here, those who dared to capitalize on what was given to them? Such radical innovations, as Musorov said, were totally unprecedented.
"As always, the choice is yours, comrade," said Andrei, picking up his notepad and pen with a nod of deference. "Until then, I'll be over in the living room, drafting some fresh entries in my exploration log."
Dorian nodded back and returned to contemplating the correct choice here.
---
New Masks:
The Icarelian [17 Potential] - A mask cast in an array of shades covering the full gamut of the sky from morning to midnight.
Light and Darkness (14) - Photokinesis, about on par with a heavy-duty 100,000-lumen flashlight. Kinetic variant, like a 'luminous force push.' Can, via removal of photons from an area, create shadows and therefore simulate umbrakinesis. This can drain temperature from an area as well.
Gamaliel Enforcement (2) - Aids use of Gamaliel Contamination Protocol, mostly via making undesireable outcomes less likely.
Enhanced Form (1) - +1 to Physical Attributes when worn.
The Artificer's Mask [12 Potential] - A simple mask of varnished wood. Blockish, compact shape.
Enhanced Craft (12) - Generates selective Facelessness, only to craft masks. Enhanced hand-eye coordination with craftsman's tools.
The Theater Child [8 Potential] - A mask that evokes a simple, youthful feeling. It smiles benevolently.
Creative (4) - Enhances one's lateral and outside-the-box thinking, as well as creativity. Prone to mischievous conclusions. Weak and minor effect, at least for now.
Satisfied (4) - Generates innate 'life satisfaction.' Can relieve Stress. Acts as effective buff to one's willpower when resisting temptation, maintaining moral integrity, etc.
The Oracle of Midnight [8 Potential] - A mask mimicking Dr. Musorov in some regards, with an oracular third eye carved on its forehead.
Enhanced Sense (6) - Grants enhanced senses, mainly sight. About one-third as potent as the average Midnight's sensorium.
Farvision (2) - An ability to perceive from other locations. Range constrained to 'within the same small house' for now.
[ ] Assign (12) Potential - Assigning Potential to a Mask with less than 15 Potential costs 1 Potential here; to one with more than 15, costs 2 Potential here per 1 for the Mask in question. You can target specific aspects of a Mask, or even try to engender new ones.
---
A couple of decisions you have to make:
[ ] Tortured Artist's Final Lament - Use Gamaliel Contamination Protocol on your own sense of creativity in an attempt to heal your Dreamless condition. Effects unpredictable, likely not as catastrophic as death or Facelessness. If successful, you'll amend your condition and return into the oneiric's embrace, and once more feel the sweeping brush of inspiration inside your thoughts! Surely, having even better ability in crafting new masks and using magics to their fullest potential is worth it?
[ ] To Risk, or, Logically Speaking, Not To Risk - You must train more before trying such a wild maneuver. There'll be other worlds on which you can learn other arts of similar significance, and try to use them as either guiding crosshairs, or to apply their own fixes. With the Street, you're immortal as long as you continue traveling; your creativity is a scar, but not one that won't heal if given an eternity to hammer away at it. Need you risk more, when the clock is on your side on this dilemma?
Furthermore, what to do about the second proposal?
[ ] Joyful Tower Subversion Scheme - Hire out volunteers, if you can, and equip them with masks that'll aim to act as disguises. The ability to even theoretically make a second Choice is a once-in-a-cosmos opportunity. Refine your methods until you succeed. Otherwise, Andrei's willing to act as a lab rat.
[ ] Wiser To Leave Alone - Nah. Don't touch this cosmic can of worms. Here's a thought-gribblet to chew upon: every single world you've seen so far was pretty much post-apocalyptic? What if it causes the end of the world? What if the real apocalypse was, quite literally, the friend you made along the way (and his insane insistence on science?)
