[ the first thing you feel is pain. The wrenching, wretched pain of skin loosening and freeing the parts of you that sustain life - you can see the magic around you, deep purple and vivid-bright - and you know you’ve made a mistake. She’s killed you. You’re already dead, your mind is just faster than your heart to realize it. Vess DeRogna - Archmage of the Assembly and traitorous bitch - had won.
No no no no— I won’t be made a puppet, I won’t be made hollow, not like this not like this—
But you don’t have time for objections more than that.
For a while, it’s dark.
Then you wake up.
You’re sitting on the ground, in a field - quiet. It’s evening outside, though you don’t recognize the star patterns above your head. There’s the remains of something being packed away around you. A … carnival, maybe. There’s a large tent, half-fallen down, a few caravans to the side. Half of everything is in piles - poles and crates, costumes tossed in heaps. Bits of paper float by on the wind. It’s calm, like the aftermath of a storm.
No one else is around, except her.
“Oh. You’re here? A little earlier than expected. Hello.”
There’s a woman, seated on a crate across from you. She has milk-white eyes, and is much taller than she has any right to be. Then again, when you take another glance, she appears perfectly normal. Smiling, but only a little.
She’s shuffling cards in her hands (two, no, more than two, four, eight, infinite … two), deep red with a golden decoration inked across the back. the ever-swirling ocean blue of her skin is hypnotic, making it almost impossible to know where to look.
“I don’t think I have all of you … do you know where the other part might be?” The woman watches for a moment and then: "Well. Once upon a time. No-- Twice upon a time."
There's a strange sense of timelessness happening - you are everywhere, and nowhere, and also a small part of you ... somewhere. all colors and songs and joyful life, while you are here. with her, watching you carefully.
"Now we can begin. Begin again, I mean. Would you like to see the draw?"
the woman continues shuffling her cards, before putting three down on the small table between the two of you. face down.
"Your past. Your present. Your future."
She turns the first. A purple-skinned tiefling child draws blood from his arm, filling a chandelier hanging from the ceiling of the great Sanguine Sanctuary. On either side, a dark-furred catfolk woman, and a tall, muscular blonde watch on, holding tight to either elbow.
"A terrible trade for magic ... but I suppose one has to make sacrifices."
She turns the second. A purple-skinned tiefling in a red coat, patterned and beautiful, spinning. It makes you sick to look at it. A red eye is tattooed across the back of one of the figure's hands.
"Empty. Free. Death-obsessed. Then again, you always were, weren't you? In another time and place, you'd be in another time and place."
She pauses, fingers against the third card and she hums before standing and walking away. You feel everything go dark again. Silence. Like when everyone has filed out of the theater after the performance, and you've been left here alone. Comforting, in a way, to be finally alone in the quiet.
there's a sound like a song, filtering through the silence. and before long (or not long? time isn't anything here) you hear the final notes of the refrain. A blade twists in your chest and
You hear footsteps. The woman is back, bending down to look you in the eye, smiling.
"Thrice upon a time. Can you believe it? Say, do you know what comes after thrice ... ?"
But you don't have time to respond. The purpose. The promise. THE VISION. OPEN YOUR EYES.A whispered command: wake up.
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drymonster) wrote2024-02-29 10:53 am
no subject
no subject
I don't mean--
[ the first thing you feel is pain. The wrenching, wretched pain of skin loosening and freeing the parts of you that sustain life - you can see the magic around you, deep purple and vivid-bright - and you know you’ve made a mistake. She’s killed you. You’re already dead, your mind is just faster than your heart to realize it. Vess DeRogna - Archmage of the Assembly and traitorous bitch - had won.
No no no no— I won’t be made a puppet, I won’t be made hollow, not like this not like this—
But you don’t have time for objections more than that.
For a while, it’s dark.
Then you wake up.
You’re sitting on the ground, in a field - quiet. It’s evening outside, though you don’t recognize the star patterns above your head. There’s the remains of something being packed away around you. A … carnival, maybe. There’s a large tent, half-fallen down, a few caravans to the side. Half of everything is in piles - poles and crates, costumes tossed in heaps. Bits of paper float by on the wind. It’s calm, like the aftermath of a storm.
No one else is around, except her.
“Oh. You’re here? A little earlier than expected. Hello.”
There’s a woman, seated on a crate across from you. She has milk-white eyes, and is much taller than she has any right to be. Then again, when you take another glance, she appears perfectly normal. Smiling, but only a little.
She’s shuffling cards in her hands (two, no, more than two, four, eight, infinite … two), deep red with a golden decoration inked across the back. the ever-swirling ocean blue of her skin is hypnotic, making it almost impossible to know where to look.
“I don’t think I have all of you … do you know where the other part might be?” The woman watches for a moment and then: "Well. Once upon a time. No-- Twice upon a time."
There's a strange sense of timelessness happening - you are everywhere, and nowhere, and also a small part of you ... somewhere. all colors and songs and joyful life, while you are here. with her, watching you carefully.
"Now we can begin. Begin again, I mean. Would you like to see the draw?"
the woman continues shuffling her cards, before putting three down on the small table between the two of you. face down.
"Your past. Your present. Your future."
She turns the first. A purple-skinned tiefling child draws blood from his arm, filling a chandelier hanging from the ceiling of the great Sanguine Sanctuary. On either side, a dark-furred catfolk woman, and a tall, muscular blonde watch on, holding tight to either elbow.
"A terrible trade for magic ... but I suppose one has to make sacrifices."
She turns the second. A purple-skinned tiefling in a red coat, patterned and beautiful, spinning. It makes you sick to look at it. A red eye is tattooed across the back of one of the figure's hands.
"Empty. Free. Death-obsessed. Then again, you always were, weren't you? In another time and place, you'd be in another time and place."
She pauses, fingers against the third card and she hums before standing and walking away. You feel everything go dark again. Silence. Like when everyone has filed out of the theater after the performance, and you've been left here alone. Comforting, in a way, to be finally alone in the quiet.
there's a sound like a song, filtering through the silence. and before long (or not long? time isn't anything here) you hear the final notes of the refrain. A blade twists in your chest and
You hear footsteps. The woman is back, bending down to look you in the eye, smiling.
"Thrice upon a time. Can you believe it? Say, do you know what comes after thrice ... ?"
But you don't have time to respond. The purpose. The promise. THE VISION. OPEN YOUR EYES. A whispered command: wake up.
And then the light pours in.
You're back.]
no subject
...That was the death that didn't stick, I guess?