I'm in a horse

[theflyingone]

[ The current Liminal Space is seen from the eyes of Altaïr, who is standing in the main chamber, the thundering of hooves and storm echoing around him. Luckily for those on the Network, his view does not shake as he keeps a steady balance. He deliberately does not look at the bronze organs, which... move as living organs do. He speaks in his usual serious tones, though he breathes like he's just finished with a run. ]

If this is indeed the Wooden Horse, the next Jaunt will not be a happy one. The Trojan War is not a place any of us want to be. We must be cautious. The lengths people will go to inflict suffering on one another are only limited by the imagination.

When we are taken to the next world, try talking to me on the Network. If you cannot make a portal into Liminal Space, I will find places for us to hide until we are sure of safety in that land.

Comments

[phobophage]

Ah, a psychic network. So at least there's that. Let's see, what can I do on it?

[And suddenly there's voice, then a broadcast of what Deimonea's seeing, in this case looking out of the horse's eyes at the storm outside. And suddenly the visual perception moves forward, right through the wall to gaze directly at the storm before pulling back inside.

Then a whole lot of nothing.]

Hmm, it seems like my capabilities're far too limited here too.

[theflyingone]

[ Having Infiltrated as a werewolf who astral projected, he was not as shocked as he would have been months ago. His view shifted slightly upward, towards the neck of the horse. ]

I had wanted to see what was outside in the storm, but I might not survive the physical trip. May I ask you to do that again while I use the Network to follow you?

[ For Science. ]

[phobophage]

I already tried going outside. The wind pushed me back in. Despite me being immaterial. But I can stick my head out again alright.

[And she's just gonna do so again, giving him a first-person view of the raging storm outside.]

[theflyingone]

[ He takes his chance, following her with his own unpracticed grasp of experiencing her view as his own. The storm rages and thunders and pushes as it did before. In an attempt to stay, he finds his own projection blinking into existence next to her. The man in white robes looks solid, but for the tell-tale wrong lighting, and he doesn't cast a shadow. He takes one surprised look around, then blinks out again.

His shade reappears inside the horse's head, but his voice only comes from the psychic network, echoing from where he is broadcasting from the horse's stomach. ]

I am glad I did not try that in person.

[phobophage]

Yeah, it'd probably kill you or something. I'm intrigued by what you just did though, creating a projection like that. It's frustrating that the ability to do things like that's been taken away from me.

I'm not sure there's even anything other than the storm out right.

[theflyingone]

[ He thinks of the "projections" someone has just described to him, but theirs take different forms, like that of gods, and are more like personifications of an aspect of their personality. He also thinks of his last Infiltrator, who, as a particular kind of werewolf, was able to astral project as a shadow. ]

I do not have the mastery of it yet. [ An understatement, as he just discovered that his ability to look through another's eyes with permission could also branch into this. He keeps looking at his own hands and at his surroundings. ] But with a little practice, the psychic Network can yield interesting results. I never dreamed of being able to do this back home.