Shelon Eternal

{Story!?}It had been six cycles since Laviett had arrived on Shelon and it was everything he could have hoped for and more.

While passing through Russard, the backwaters of backwater planes, he happened to overhear talk of Shelon, as discussed between two obnoxiously loud dullards in a mostly empty tavern. Between the obvious fact that the two of them didn't know anything of what they were talking about, and that neither appeared to have any sort of potential about them, Spark or otherwise, it was quite apparent that this must be a trap of some sort. More specifically, a trap for himself, as who in their right mind and capable of going anywhere in the Multiverse would care about a world 'stuck in decay' as the blubbering buffoons had put it.

Further thought into the matter lead Laviett to the conclusion that, should there indeed be a trap, it should be mostly safe. If someone competent was behind this, it wouldn't be so obvious. That they may be so fore-thinking to lay a poor trap and lure someone into a false sense of security inevitably goes down a spiral of 'I knew you would know I knew', which would be wasted effort on precious decision making. There was also the possibility that this was not a trap, but instead a parley of sorts, a peace offering for a place to meet. Surely if it was a gift, Laviett would not decline.

And Laviett was glad he didn't. From what he had witnessed from under his shroud during his time spent on Shelon, the entire plane seemed to be repeating a period of a week. He had settled himself by a small town, a bit away from the ruins of what may have been a larger trading city. He took note of the stale air and the crunch of the dry ground. He watched how, rather than panic, most of the residents shuffled through melancholic lives, dread in their faces as though they knew what was to come. And when it did come, even as some cried and others laughed in madness, the only one who was surprised was Laviett.

The air grew heavy and dry, while the sky seemed to crack and crumble to dust. Light and shadow had begun to fade from view leaving only the emptiness of the void. Laviett had felt his body begin to be torn away, like he was being forced through the Blind Eternities unwillingly, but as everything was falling apart, he felt it pull itself together again. The Plane of Shelon came back into focus and the sky mended its holes. And as Laviett stood in the town square, he saw the people flow like bizarre liquids to different locations and states.

The sun now hung at a new location in the sky and people had reformed into their normal solid selves. They walked about the town, doing menial chores, toiling away in their sorrow and depression, yet still very much not torn asunder by whatever had just happened. Even after the second and third time Laviett experienced it, he still did not know what to call the event.

After some delving into decrepit libraries and scouring through tomes of history and stories, Laviett found that Shelon had a history, long and full, far beyond the week that had been replaying. While tracking the steps of the townsfolk, obscuring his person from their perception, he saw that they never deviated from their tasks. Each cycle appeared to have the same events occur, the same yelling match between the two men drinking themselves to oblivion, the same child crying on a doorstep as the adults continue to walk by and avert their eyes.

Had he not been accustomed to despair, he may have felt something for these people, but now armed with the knowledge that even if he were to try to do something, they would still revert to this state of being, he was assured in himself to research this phenomena from a strictly unbiased perspective. Whoever had lead him here had also shown no sign of themselves, and although the curiosity tugged at him, he was so enthralled with the plane and its weekly loop that he set it aside to investigate later.