Prompt: Your character is teleported back in time to the fall of Lordaeron. They have 1 day to act, and may bring back 1 personal possession from their past. What do they do, and what do they bring back? (Reminder - we have an AU fall of Lordaeron storyline coming up.)
Rules: Write as much or as little as you want. Write in whatever format you want, poetic to first person narrative. All skill levels of writing are welcome. Keep any adult content limited and tasteful in scope - adult content (horror/gore/etc) is allowed as long as it works for the story. Most of all have fun, and don't be intimated.
Prize: Speedpainted Headshot by Icky, winner chosen by the officers.
This prompt thread ends Aug 31st, 2015.
Last Edit: Aug 4, 2015 20:58:23 GMT by Ickariss: Updated prize!
Post by Hana Motblood on Aug 13, 2015 19:01:47 GMT
The flash of light faded, Hana slowly regaining her sight not knowing what happened or if she was still in Lordaeron. She checked her being to make sure she was in one piece still when she noticed her hands looked human again, though she still felt dead..an illusion? Suddenly screeches ringed though the air she knew what they were she heard the same screech many times in Northrend but she couldn't believe it. "Dragons..?" the dragons roar was shortly followed by what had to be hundreds upon hundreds of orcish battlecries.
"What the blast is going on?!" Soldiers and archers were running to their post fanatically, one or two were scared out of their minds blubbering about the roars of the dragons. Hana didn't know what to do, she was thrown into the chaos of a battle. She looked up seeing several red dragons fly overhead accompanied by their roars. Hana ran, following some archers to the post. She heard cannon fire from ships or somewhere else she couldn't tell. The dragons were decimating the human forces and the catapults were destroying towers and Lordaeron was going to fall. She saw the orcs, ogres and trolls, along with the humans that were launching arrows, pouring hot oil, the griphons that flew out to do what they could. This was it she thought, this was the fall of Lordaeron. Orcs now trying to climb the walls Hana assisted with spells. Everything she had was thrown at the Orcish Horde, but there was to many, and to many dragons. She decided to return to the courtyard, not hurried, just walked back as the catapults broke more defense and the dragons burned away the forces of the Alliance. The gates were being rammed now, and soldiers moved to barricade it with what they can.
Hana plucked a flower from the courtyard that she noticed didn't grow there anymore in her time. She sat among the rubble and several dead the laid in the courtyard thinking of why she was sent here. She had given up trying to help she knew the outcome. We would win and this would be the Hordes downfall. She heard stories from relatives that were here fighting with the Alliance. Just like that she heard an archer yell "There is a massive amount of orcs retreating! This is our chance!" He was right she thought and before she could see the end of the battle the light returned she stood holding the blue flower she plucked and proceeded to walk into the light.
When the light faded she was back. Like she never left, but she was holding the flower. "At least something good came of this. She dug a hole and planted it saying a prayer. "This is for the fallen and forgotten, for the heroes that wont be remembered and for a brighter day for our people"
Hana returned to the courtyard calmly from the archer's tower. She knew how it would end, the orcs sending away their forces and the Alliance would win. The orcs ramming the gates didn't relent but Hana knew this would end well for Lordaeron. She knew the outcome already, it would end well she thought. With a smash of the gate she figured it out. It was the past, but of an alternate reality. She rose in panic as the orcs swarmed through the broken gates. Hana threw off shadow bolts left and right but there was to many so she mustered everything she could unleashing a wave of shadow energy with a flurry of shadow bolt decimating everything that came through. Yet it still wasn't enough, she was force into the throne room with Terenas and his royal guards. They heard the slaughter. Nobody stood a chance and it was only a matter of time before they were in the throne room too. Almost like the orcs heard her orcs began pouring into the room gaurd quickly became busy with fighting the orcs. Hana was trying to deflect the blows of the orc's weapon but she wasn't a skilled melee fighter and she was cut down. The light returned she knew that there was no hope. This is what would have happened if the orcs never let up. They slaughtered everyone in the city.
As Hana began to fade back to her reality she began to wonder about what if this had happen to our world. Where would we be now and like that she was back in the courtyard chest spit open, but she didn't move, she was still in shock of what she had witnessed. The death of her people.
(This probably sucked XD but I hope somebody was entertained by the read at least)
Maliik wasn't entirely sure on how long he was in this state. Everything was bright in his otherwise dark world, and an unusual feeling of Nausea had settled in a long time ago. Eventually, the light faded, and the nausea had begun to fade. Maliik sat there blinking, until the light faded from his eyes. Suddenly, he sits up. For the first time in years he could SEE. Not through his magic, but actually with his eyes. Maliik looks down and see hands that are not rotten from death and are once again full and correctly colored. Quickly, he places two fingers on his neck, checking his pulse. And for the first time in years, a steady, slightly racy pulse comes back.
He jumped up from the bed he was on and felt the rustle of his clothes again. He looked around again, and saw the walls of his old Shop that he lost so many years ago, and he felt a surge of Emotion come to him. He grabbed his old cane that rested on his old Nightstand, and walked to his window, feeling the same pains and creaks he felt what seemed like an entirety ago, and welcomed it with Joy. With a shaky hand, he pulls back the curtain of the Window and saw, with such great joy, the busy streets of his hometown. His legs trembled and he collapsed to the floor with a sob. He lived again. He had been given a second chance.
Maliik stepped down to the bottom floor of his two floor Potion Shop, and saw all the old potions he advertised, and the old Satchel that he had still in his Undeath. Grabbing it, he puts it on and goes over to the calendar, curious on what day he was on, he always marked the days that had passed by putting an X at the end of the day. And that's when Maliik stopped celebrating. It was the exact day that the Scourge took over the town. He always remembered that date. THIS date. He sat down at the chair behind the counter and closed his eyes.
He stayed like this for several minutes, tears falling, not because of joy, but because on this day he would have to suffer the same horrors he suffered already. But a thought struck him. He grabbed his cane again and went barreling out the door. If the Scourge where coming again, then the least he could do is warn the people. Get them to leave. He was well known, and respected. They would listen to him.
They didn't. People quickly dismissed his ramblings as tales of an Old Man finally loosing his mind. No one would believe him. He overheard many people snickering about his warnings, and saw the people who he had helped many times shake their heads with sadness. "How the Wise go." He heard Tom Baker say, who he had helped many times with his sick son. With a glance to the Sky, he saw that the sun was almost down. The Scourge would attack soon. Shaking his head sadly, he headed back to his shop, waiting for the inevitable.
As he was about to stop, he looked back to the other side of the Street, and saw the Bakery, and his long time Friend, Lucy, working. She looked up and gave a friendly smile and beckoned him inside. His growling stomach urged him to go inside too. "Hey Maliik, haven't seen you since this morning. What have you been doing?" Lucy said with a friendly tone as he walked in. She went behind the counter and pulled out a small cake for him.
"I've been trying to tell the town something important, but no one will believe me." He replied, sitting down at a small table.
"Ah yes, the Undead that will be attacking the town at night." She said in a joking tone, setting the cake in front of him. "Isn't that a book?"
"Well yes, but I'm being serious! Damn it, why will no one believe me?!!?" Despite his stomachs protests, he doesn't touch the cake, instead standing up and facing Lucy.
"Well you have to admit, this is a bit far fetched. The town is talking about, they all think you've gone mad." She says, a more serious tone coming into her voice.
"It's the truth. You need to run. Now." Maliik looks her dead in the eye, and she seems less confident.
Nevertheless, she says in a firm voice. "I will not leave my shop for something that could be nothing more then a childish prank."
Maliik sighs and grips her shoulder with his left hand. "Please leave. This isn't a prank. We have known each other for 40 years. Please, for Fe-... H-Heavens sake, take what you can and run. Hopefully you can escape."
The pair stare at each other for several minutes. Finally, she sighs and says. "Fine. If you're lying to me, when I get back, you're a Dead man Maliik." She gives a small smile, and goes upstairs to begin packing. Maliik smiles, and a tear falls from his eye. Turning to the Cake, he picks it up gingerly with both hands and focuses his magic onto it, squeezing both eyes tightly shut as he concentrated on the cake, and when he opened them again, the cake was frozen in a Solid Crystal of Ice. He places the cake in his satchel and walks out of the Shop and back to his Shop where he sat beside the window. A few minutes later, Lucy leaves with bags in hand.
A few hours later, the attack begins. Maliik stands up, and knew that he would die again, but this time he wouldn't be pushed. He found the group that he ran with the first time around, and together, they ran. Again, they made it a good ways away, when the ghastly screech of Ghouls where heard from behind.
Maliik saw the Leader of the group looking around, for a plan, and Maliik stood up. "I am an old man. I am slow. Leave me behind. I'll hold them off long enough for the rest of you to escape." They quickly nodded and began running without glancing back.
Maliik turned his head back to the ghouls. They where descending upon him quickly, and he planned on putting a fight this time. He swung his cane at the first one that came close, hitting it's head with a thick thud. But that served only to piss it off. Maliik held his own for a time, but eventually, he fell and they began attacking him, and the stray swipe once again knocked out his sight, making him once again dwelve into the world of darkness.
Like before, they suddenly stopped their attack. Like before he laid on the ground, in the dark, bleeding for hours listening to his town burn. He felt angry like last time, but before he faded into complete darkness that was death, he felt satisfaction that his time wasn't that big of a waste. This time, he saved Lucy, and sacrificed himself on his own terms this time. And with that thought, he died.
"Hey Master! Wake Up!" An annoying voice cried out.
"Ugh." Maliik sat up and allowed his magic to flow out. Instantly, the magic picked up his Imp, Gib' Tul. "Gib' Tul, What happened?"
"I don't know sir. You where standing there, then suddenly you collapsed. I couldn't wake you up, so I let you sleep. But the new Wheel for the Plague Spreader came." The Fel Imp replied.
Maliik nods. "Right. Get to replacing the Wheel, I be out in a bit." The imp nods, and hops away. Maliik grabs his cane and stands up again, looking around his Lab. Something magical that he never remembered being there glinted in a corner. He walks over to it and focuses his magic on it. Though it was hard to make out, it was plainly a Cake encased in Magical Ice. A smile played on his lips beneath his mask and he places the Crystal on his Workbench for all to see, A reminder of what he did was real.
His shock and rage followed him, frozen, through time and space. The bronze dragons golden dust had stopped his attack on a fellow Nexus member. That had been in the alternate timeline where the scourge was winning, and the Nexus was charged with going back and stopping some fool called Voros, who was going to pull a copycat of Garrosh. Tasked by some damn, gimpy trickster bronze dragon. The dusts enchantment wore off and Niraniz Cinderstrike continued his charge at the warlock, but stopped after two strides, for the warlock seemed to be long gone. The dust had held him long enough to spare the warlock his fiery fury. The fiery battlemage lowered his weapons and howled his displeasure.
The battlemage replayed the events in his mind. He recalled lighting that Inn on fire with some cultists inside, they deserved it and the death and fire made a spectacle he thoroughly enjoyed watching. The mage frowned, because he actually remembered only flashes of watching it, these strange things happened to him after a good bout of arson. The mage shrugged his shoulders and figured perhaps he was lost in the beauty of it all. The next thing he knew they were at some human stronghold and he was forced to take on his human disguise, which he despised as his illusion showed him as he was when Nira was alive: A leper. Thankfully that was only a short time and then he burned the illusion away, even now the mage shuddered at the image in his mind. His left hand fused into a claw and sections wasted on his face.
The next thing he recalled the Nexus came upon some really tall and obese cook. Well he fancied himself a cook but Nira knew he was a fraud or just had terrible taste. The cook was adding far too much bile, Nira remembered insulting him and then lighting his spoon on fire with some greasy fire. Nira’s assumption was proved true as the bile began burning and the vapour washed over his fellow Nexus members. Nira frowned and brought his hand to his jaw.
IT WAS GONE!
“My Face! Where is my face?!” The panicked undead mage wailed as he felt around where his jaw should have been. Quickly he summoned a mirror and inspected the damage.
His jaw had been savagely ripped off, he now recalled. That had been the source of his blind rage. Xelth, the warlock that had set upon him, that had been the intended target of his sword. That savage rotter had ripped off his jaw with his own mouth, like some rabid scourge ghoul. The warlock hadn’t even been deterred when Nira tried to lick fire onto his face. The mage would have to be a bit more wary around his “allies” from now on, Nira decided. His inspection of his ruined and rotted flesh around where his jaw had connected didn’t look too bad. No broken bones around where his jaw would connect and some jagged torn flesh. Nira figured it would take a few rivets to reattach his jaw and some stitches to get the flesh sort of back together.
His rage cooled and decided the warlock must have been out of his mind, Nira was well aware what that was like, particularly when THE WAY was really showing him the path. The fiery batttlemage decided that the damage wasn’t bad enough to turn his fellow member into a bonfire. The mage tried to sigh but that was rather impossible without lungs. Even being dead this long did not stop old built in habits. Sheathing his sword and willing his crystal buckler to fold the mage looked around the floor of the Caverns of Time for his jaw. Within five minutes the mage had not located his jaw, and the reality hit him. His jaw was back in that other timeline, seemingly out of his reach! Then the other bit of reality creeped in. Niraniz was going to have to go back to that timeline to retrieve his missing jaw.
The battlemages body seemed to go slack as the familiar whispers and feelings crept into the back of his mind. The jawless Niraniz nodded as he absorbed and agreed with the path THE WAY was suggesting. Nira nodded for the final time and then began trotting deeper into the Caverns of Time, projecting his voice with a slight bit of magic, yelling out for the bronze dragon that had sent the Nexus back the first time. Around him the guards in the Cavern could be seen readying their weapons and keeping a sharp eye on the unstable deader.
“Kyrodormi!!!! Where are ya gimpy?” The forsaken screeched and searched around, looking for the maimed bronze dragon. “Show yourself this instant!”
Nira might not have realised it but his words were now slurred and sometimes gibberish. He was not used to not having his lower jaw. To him it sounded normal; perhaps he was still in denial. Despite this the pyrocanist still carried on yelling and screeching for the bronze dragon as he walked deeper into the cavern. Nira was just thinking that a little violence would hasten her arrival and locked eyes with a guard perhaps twenty feet away. The dragonkin guard seemed to know his intention and shifted his body and lowered his weapon to move if he was attacked. Nira narrowed his gaze and tried to grin at the same time, for the fiery deader savoured combat, and lowered his hand to his sword hilt. Of course without a jaw it is rather hard to grin. The infinite dragonkin bared his teeth and readied his massive glaive.
“Ah yes that’s the spirit.” Said the battlemage and he started to unsheathe his sword.
“Who is the fool who keeps butchering my name?” Boomed a metallic voice above and behind Niraniz. The mage spun and beheld the bronze dragon Kyrodormi, right-front leg shrivelled and scarred. The dragon looked less than impressed as she hovered in the air with heavy beats of her scaled wings. Kyrodormi then looked at the stance of the guard and Nira with his sword half naked. The dragon let out a large huff and boomed: “Violence will not be tolerated here! Sheathe your weapon now and leave! You disgrace yourself and your kind with your ill thought actions.”
The guard advanced towards Niraniz with the dragons words, eager to eject the hot headed deader. Nira merely winked at him and sheathed his blade and turned towards the dragon, by habit trying to fix a cocky smirk on his face, but again was foiled by the lack of his damned jaw. The deader then raised his hands and tried to appear as non-threatening as possible.
“This, you see this?” Nira pointed to his absent jaw. “This is your damned fault! My damned jaw is sitting back in that scourge ridden hell hole, and I want it back. IT IS MINE!” The mages voice was still magically projected and his latter statement reverberated along the cavern.
The dragon chuckled and shook her head as if listening to a child having a tantrum. “Now, now. What you ask can be done. Yet I am unwilling to see it done. Had you not resorted to wanton chaos against your fellow Forsaken then perhaps I would be inclined to help your wanton need. Yet you seek violence against your own and dragonkin alike. Such madness should not be enabled.” The dragon waved off the undead with her ruined leg. Yet Nira would not be dismissed.
“THE WAY has already made it clear that you will help. For what would happen if this Voros fellow got a hold on my jaw, it being from this timeline. I’m no time walker by any means but this Voros fellow seems rather versatile and motivated. I will not have him use my being against me or anyone else.” Nira crossed his arms and tried to fight back the rage building in the back of his mind.
The dragon was silent and merely floated there for a moment, seemingly pondering his words. Wordlessly Kyrodormi turned to the guard and waved him away. The infinite dragonkin snorted in contempt but dutifully turned around and returned to his post, his gaze never leaving the mage. With that the dragon blinked 3 times and a small hourglass and a silver bell at the bottom landed at Niraniz’s feet.
“While you are mad you could have a point. Loose ends are unacceptable in matters such as these. So far Voros has done the unpredictable, so there is no telling what he can pull off. You have fifteen minutes or until you ring that bell.” Nira didn’t have any time to respond before he was torn through time and space.
He landed with an audible crunch and he heard his rotted collarbone snap. Nira couldn’t feel pain and didn’t care that the busted collarbone was poking through his decayed skin. He could hear activity all around him and quickly rolled into a prone position. The battlemage was quickly set upon by some one armed ghoul, who didn’t seem too happy about Niraniz Cinderstrike just popping into existence in front of him. Unlike when Xelth jumped on him, Nira showed no restraint. The ghoul had a solid hold on Nira’s shoulder pad and attempted to wrestle him to the ground while snapping at the pyrocanist’s already savaged face.
The seasoned battlemage roared in defiance and grabbed the slobbering fool’s neck with both hands. A mere second later greasy fire flowed from the mages hands and soon enough the ghouls head was a raging pyre. With but a little effort Niraniz wrenched the head back and forth, and it popped off with a steamy hiss. The arm and body of the ghoul went limp immediately. Nira looked to the head burning in his hands and then looked around, two more ghouls readying to pounce. Nira attempted to smile and raised the smoking head above his head and then heaved it towards the nearest mindless ghoul. The melon left a trail of greasy smoke as it sailed right into the arms of the witless ghoul. Nira hadn’t counted on him catching it but snapped his fingers all the same, the head exploding like a compressed gas cylinder. The explosion was short and white hot, and a moment later the only thing remaining of Nira’s target was a few smoking toes. Nira didn’t have the time to enjoy it.
The remaining ghoul had been a large man in life. Even dead the ghouls muscles were rippled and well defined, and still wore a torn and bloody blacksmiths apron. The brute seemed to have some slight spark of animalistic intelligence and began to circle around the mage, instead of leaping at him like his two other fellows. Nira circled the other way and unsheathed his fiery longsword and with a command the ruby sitting on his left forearm unfolded into something resembling a buckler. The two circled for a short while longer, sizing each other up. It should come to no surprise that the air behind the ghoul exploded in a bright flash, for while the buckler was unfolding the mage had sneakily released a small pebble of compressed flame behind him, and the brute had circled right to it as he was focused on Niraniz. The brute staggered a few steps and then his knees buckled and it slumped forward. Its back had been seared and cauterised away, and sections of the spine were charred.
The ghoul struggled to rise but Nira was already there, two hand swinging the greasily burning sword. The sword cleaved deep into the thick skull and the brute twitched but was otherwise still. The last remaining Cinderstrike put his boot on the dead brutes head and hauled on the sword as the hair around the blade started to ignite. With all the exertion he could manage with the busted collarbone the blade finally wrenched free with a savage grinding noise.
“Brains over brawn wins again, fancy that.” Nira slurred at the sundered skull.
The battlemage looked at his surroundings and quickly figured out where he was. But twenty yards away was a fetid cauldron with random parts and a rent fat bastard lying dead beside it. Such a terrible cook, thought Nira. With his bearings set Nira walked in the general direction of where he was attacked. On the way over he looked at the sands flowing in the hourglass and figured he had at least ten minutes more before he would be back in caverns, no doubt with that guard waiting. He reached the spot of the attack and picked up his savaged lower jaw. It seemed that some of the teeth had been broken in the struggle but the jaw was still intact enough. Before it was lost again in some way Niraniz tucked the jaw under his soiled and multicolored tabard.
The mage made it about one minute before he walked over to the crest of the hill where the battle with the fat scourge had taken place. He could see where his fire had had scorched the ground around the cauldron filled with desiccated humanity. Below him he could see some ghouls milling in and around an abandoned farmhouse bordering some dry and thick forest. Nira checked the hourglass again and confirmed he had but eight minutes remaining on his dragon imposed timeline. THE WAY showed him the path.
“Plenty of time for mayhem, yes.” Nira huskily whispered to no one.
He began the movements of a rather complicated spell. He gyrated with the syllables slurring out of his mouth and his hands and fingers were busy with the difficult somatic components of the spell. The spell took him five minutes of intense concentration to complete but when it was over he could see a thin plane of oily fire hanging in the sky about fifty feet above the trees. The plane was spread out around a kilometer wide. The pyrocanist was sure if he was still among the living that he would be sweating buckets right now. Even as an undead his limbs were trembling and he could feel himself getting weaker and the weight and strain of the spell.
“Turnilik baelkinthos,” With those last slurred syllables Niraniz Cinderstrike lowered his arms quickly to his sides. The plane was already falling on top of the trees and coating them in a thick oily accelerant. By the time the hourglass hit one minute left the whole square kilometre was alight in greasy flames. Ghouls ran to and fro, fanning on the flames and he spotted one abomination trying to make something like a snow angel in the thick viscous fluid. The world was alight as far he could see. His strength gave out and he fell backwards onto his back, wrenching his collarbone some more. The spell had drained him fully, but Nira knew something of joy again. THE WAY had led him to bliss yet again. Niraniz could be heard cackling softly as he was yet again hurled back through space and time.
There was no hard landing as he materialised in the Cavern of Time. He laid there on his back, too weak to move. He could hear the heavy beat of wings and could taste her anger, and savoured it.
“Your little display of spellcraft could have undone us all. I would slay you here and now if an innocent had died. Yet somehow you only brought your petty arson upon the scourge there. You were lucky, this time. Perhaps this little foray has taught you a small lesson of humility.” Kyrodormi said.
The mage took out his jaw and slid it back and place and maneuvered the jaw so he has something of a smile. The battlemage looked her right in the eye with his usual smug look.
“Nope.” Was all he said.
The bronze dragon roared in anger and motioned at the guard with irritated movements. The undead was too weak and uncaring to fight the dragonkin as he was picked up and carried out of the caverns. With a grunt the dragonkin tossed him out the entrance and Niraniz tumbled and rolled down the rock and sand incline, his jaw still pressed to his face and still cackling madly.
His slow pilgrimage wore on, slowly. Sand and wind had eroded the jagged edges of cracked bones. Clumps of hair gone, shedded hair still clinging by dried blood. Expressionless, dragging himself.
Yet, he thought. Time I went back. Time I faced what I was, what I would have been. Looking at his arm, always his arm. Once warm, bone warmly encased by strong flesh, blood, hair. Whole body, a body. Now, just bones. Somehow moving. Ability to feel the strain of muscle, gone. Ability to feel pleasure from a gentle touch, never will be felt again. How has it changed me? How much of what I am is the Lady’s gift, and how much merely the product of losing the self? Is the self the flesh, or the mind? Mind I still have, but flesh gone.
Pilgrimage to nowhere, an empty goal with the hope of finding answers along the way.
Zwanzong stopped. Placed staff on ground. Sat, cross legged. Closed his eyes and focused his mind. Did not breath like the Pandaren mentor tried to teach him with futility. Soul, mind, not of this body. Transcended, leaving the bone, leaving the husk. Leaving time. Gone.
Time lost, disoriented. Strength, warmth, returned. Pain in stiff limbs. What is this? Eyes opened, feeling the moisture of eye lids, strain of muscle. Not hard bone connecting him to the stone, but a layer of squishy flesh. Startled, deep breath, startled again, hairs shot up along his neck, startled again.
“Mr. Zwanzong?” I looked up. Young man speaking to me. “Mr. Zwanzong? Are you all right, sir?”
Silence met. What is going on? My thoughts are different. Flowing with blood and feeling now. Yes, so strange and so familiar at once. This is what I was, or what I could have been.
Stammered, “Yes, sorry. I’m sorry, I’m feeling disoriented.” Looking around, this was a strange seen. But familiar. Yes, I know these walls, but only without the rich tapestries hanging from the walls, without the busy marketplace with vendors shouting about their wares. Without the crowds of excited and happy…Lordaeronians. “What is it?”
“Sir,” the young man called him. Sir? Why sir? He called me by my name, Zwanzong. How is this Lordaeron? The past? The present?
Much bustle in the streets. Wagon filled with barrels catches attention. "Make way! Grain shipment from Andorhal!"
"Finally!" A pale shopkeep runs out of his stall to speak to the wagoneer.
I never stepped foot in this city when it was alive, when I was alive. Only after, only in the sewers and catacombs beneath. The city below of Our Dark Lady.
“Sir, I’ve been looking for you," the young man continued. "When I found you, I couldn’t wake you. I was worried.”
“It’s alright, I’m fine now. Just a spell.” Did this make sense?
“Your sister is waiting for you. She’s traveled from Gilneas and is eager to see you.”
“My sister? How…”
“Yes, sir. She suspected you did not remember her visit. Please, come with me.”
I followed the young man as he pushed aside crowds.
“Ambassador coming through!” He cried, “Make way! Servant of the King, Ambassador of Gilneas! Make way!”
I chuckled. Me, an ambassador. Wrong job for a hermit.
Entering the room, seeing her beautiful face. Did not expect. Feeling of heart freezing, involuntary muscle spasms, cheeks pulled back stretching mouth wide open. Teeth bared, must look every bit a hideous monster. Involuntarily, “Sister!” Not hideous. A smile, long forgotten.
“Brother!” She embraced him, soft flesh against soft flesh. Warm. Comforting. Like nothing he can remember. Began convulsing. The warmth! Hold her tighter. What is this. Bury face in her neck. Sister! My sister. Tears erupted.
“Brother? Z? What is wrong? What happened? I expected joy, not this.” She pulled back, but arms still around…care? Love? Concern?
Shook. Despair. “Sister,” whispered. “So much. Such horror. Oh, love.” Embrace her again, she embraced me. Tears flowing down warm cheeks. Salt water creeked into his wet mouth, licked with heated tongue.
The young man, shocked, gently excused himself from the room. Alone with sister.
“Brother, you worry me. I don’t understand this. You must tell me…but in a moment. My husband is waiting down the corridor. Let me run and tell him I’ll be awhile. I will be back. But before I go, here. Letters from mom and dad.” Pulled out a parcel from her bag. Dozens of letters, drawings. Some small trinkets from childhood. Smells, too. Smell of the farm. Smell of mom and dad. Smell of the kitchen. Memories exploded. Convulsed with tears again. “Look at these until I return. Just one moment.” She left the room.
Exhausted from such care, still tearing, still convulsing. Feel I should lie down.
But turning. What have I become? Such attachment to this world. Such chaos. Such lack of freedom.
What is worth more? This immense feeling? This comfort? Are those good, or are they chains? My freedom, the Dark Lady’s gift. Detachment from the world. The freedom of emptiness.
Look at the parcel. Feel the memories. Smell the past, what could have been. Sister is returning, I hear her steps.
Parcel into the fire. Burns, smoke, ash. Sister turning the door knob.
Lie down. Close eyes. Detach. Leave behind. Mind transcends, up, gone. Burn the warmth. Leave it behind. Nothing to take that would not burden.
I awoke. Dusty Desolace. Dust piled against my rotted corpse. Lift up, pulling the few light pounds from the ground. Step. Step. Pilgrimage begins once more, enlightened.
Serata: I am desperately stalling and trying to find something to do with myself at work. Posted a bunch of stuff about Sherbourne so y'all know who she is and what she looks like...and I still have 4 1/2 hours left before I can go home and play again. T_T
Aug 31, 2016 6:28:52 GMT
Banshih: Yay for stalling? Yay for rp campaign starting soon!
Sept 12, 2016 23:04:21 GMT
Banshih: Thanks for another great Dance Of The Dead!
Oct 27, 2016 12:23:26 GMT