Saeldur

[Princeton 395]

 

 

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By moonlit campfire, an ancient and frail Elf laid weeping on the ground in a broken cobble - thin and pale hands traced in an impossibility of prominent silver scars clutched around an obsidian and equally timeworn staff. Desperately did the Wizard try to find comfort in examining the alien figurine crowning the eldritch tool he held so tenderly, only finding the stark blackness that defined his new blind existence.

 

Thus the cycle began once again for Saeldur, quiet sobs echoing faintly into the surrounding forest as the Elf frantically tried a reframe a mind already once forced to adapt to a different and foreign existence - realizing with a shudder he could no longer rely on the arcana that shaped his life since Asulon without the ability to see; no longer able to face the threat encompassing Arcas and wider realm. Lapsing off into a fitful and hopeless sleep on the boggy ground just off the coastline, the Elf would suddenly awaken in a panic-stricken toil. The forest, inlet, and muddy ground he slept on beginning to cast a ruddy and shadowed illumination as Saeldur once again began to foolishly hope.

 

This short period of respite was shattered by a dull and pulsating thrum that reverberated around the vaguely incorporeal forest, realizing with a sigh that he casted off into a dream, begging to the unknown darkness to foster this illusion as reality. 

 

“Make me whole again.”

 

As the diaphanous shadow projecting off the false surroundings Saeldur perceived as real peaked to a foreboding crescendo, the Elf was faced with a horror that would make anyone question whether sight was truly necessary at all:

 

“I would do anything - please.”

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Quaking in fear while burying his muddled and pale eyes into the crook of his shoulder, Saeldur released a muffled cry during his sobbing plea - the entity of shadow now closely examining the broken Elf and seeming to find amusement in his worldly demise.

 

C̱̺̺̤̅́o͇̬̻̱͚̻͚̅̾͂͋ͭ̎́v̡̺̻̲̳̠͍̹̐ͧ̽ͣͮͣ’ͬ̏̽̎r̴̆ ̉͐̉͋̒ͧ̃͜y̶̬͎̱͖ͮ͊̃̒o̘̟̤͈͚͚̺̊ͫ͠ư̿͗͐̋̌ṟ̲̼̘̉̾͌̉̀ ̖̩͔̜ͥ̏̌ͨe͔͗̃́y̫̭̝̟ͯͥͭ͋̔̑e͚̠ͩ̇̍̎̉s̭̰̠͎͚̫̲.̽́̓ͫ

 

The words came like a nail struck through his skull and into the very core of his person: not a simple request, but a demand. Knowing only acquiescence, the Elf awoke to find himself slightly lowering the silver mantle of his circlet to cover his eyes, shakily tying it off with loose strands of his robes. As he adjusted to the covering veiling his eyes and forehead, the hellscape around him began to gradually subside - the creature fading with it as the darkness embedded into Saeldur’s surroundings returned to normal - his ability to perceive, however warped, returned with it.

 

[Ainulindalen 175]

That is terrifying! Well-written! +1