Posted by Tommy Tanaka
on 6/10/2009, 12:42 pm, in reply to "Re: The Curious Case of Tommy Tanaka"
"If you have an idea which you think could help Tommy then by all means share it, Kana," The Dark Elf suggested, "Now is not the time to hold out on us--especially with someone's life in the balance."
Turning to the Drowling, Irzen added, "And War Scribe, for once, you actually came up with a good idea."
"Thanks!" beamed the Chronicler before she frowned, "Hey! Was that a backhanded compliment or what?"
A chuckle slipped from both the elementalist and the assassin in unison.
Moving Tommy up to a sitting position, the Dark Elf slipped his arm around Tommy's shoulder and tried to hoist the Gamer to his feet, "Good grief! What has he been eating? He weighs a ton. Willow, can you help me out here?"
The Ranger slipped under The Gamer's other arm to support him while Irzen announced to everyone, "I'm taking Tommy to The Great Library to find a cure for his condition. If you want to come along and help, you're more than welcome to do it. If you want to return to The Harlech Inn and tell Neven about Tommy's fate, go right ahead. I will not think less of you for doing it."
The Dark Elf turned to The Elementalist, "High Lady Alyson, I cannot and will not wait for whatever has Tommy to let him go a day, a week, a month or a year from now. I want my friend back and I want him back now. If we cannot find what we need in War Scribe's Library, then his cure was never mean't to be found." Addressing everyone else he added, "Are you coming with us or staying behind ladies? Kana? Serna? Seriah? Alyson?"
"We are coming, swordsman," answered the assassin right behind Alyson, "I have yet to see this library of the chronicler."
"I'm with Mistress Kana," declared Serna looking towards The Wolfen, "Whatever she wants to do and wherever she wants to go, I will do the same."
*********** Interlude **************** TURNING and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Redness and slow motion. Like sinking into an ocean of high viscosity. Very slowly, at first. Drifting and darkening, all the pretty lights far, far ahead. Faintly, my apparent velocity increased. Flakes of light, distant, intermittent. A trifle faster then, it seemed. No scale. I was a point of consciousness of indeterminate dimensions. Aware of movement, aware of the configuration toward which I advanced, now almost rapidly. The redness was nearly gone, as was the consciousness of any medium. Resistance vanished. I was speeding. All of this, now, seemed to have taken but a single instant, was still taking that same instant. There was a peculiar, timeless quality to the entire affair. My velocity relative to what now seemed my target was enormous. The little, twisted maze was growing, was resolving into what appeared a three-dimensional variation of the Pattern itself. Punctuated by flares of colored light, it grew before me, still reminiscent of a bizarre galaxy half raveled in the middle of the ever-night, haloed with a pale shine of dust, its streamers composed of countless flickering points. And it grew or I shrank, or it advanced or I advanced, and we were near, near together, and it filled all of space now, top to bottom, this way to that, and my personal velocity still seemed, if anything, to be increasing. I was caught, overwhelmed by the blaze, and there was a stray streamer which I knew to be the beginning. I was too close - lost, actually - to apprehend its over-all configuration any longer, but the buckling, the flickering, the weaving of all that I could see of it, everywhere about me, made me wonder whether three dimensions were sufficient to account for the senses-warping complexities with which I was confronted. Rather than my galactic analogy, something in my mind shifted to the other extreme, suggesting the infinitely dimensioned Hilbert space of the subatomic. But then, it was a metaphor of desperation. Truly and simply, I did not understand anything about it. I had only a growing feeling - Pattern-conditioned? Instinctive? - that I had to pass through this maze also…
*********** Interlude ****************
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