PrimnyaQuorum 1042 Share Posted February 24 Spoiler Music Source (The contents of the post are private, and not publicly known - please do not Metagame. Those present during May’s Event would be aware of the events leading up to this post) Haus was no stranger to violence. From the swamps of the Attunlands, to the jungles of Amathine, and every land in-between, the man had been through some of the most devastating conflicts of recent history. Not all of them - he wasn’t insane - but he fought his share of battles and conflicts. By some miracle, he had made it through almost entirely unscathed, though such good luck only came at misfortune to his allies and peers. He had long tried to keep track, devote the names of those who had died fighting alongside him to memory and speak well of them, but he knew as he aged, those distant memories were the first to slip away, to be consumed and feed - something. Today, however, he bore no such luck. As the Celia’norians peered into an abyss guided only by a single, rickety rope, he only felt his temper rising as they bickered and debated what to do, how to proceed. He only requested a backup rope tied to him, and down he descended - not fearless or courageous, but simply driven and no small measure of impatient. What did those coated in steel and strength have to fear from the dark that he did not? Of course, it was his luck after all. He never saw the jaws that lunged upward to consume him whole. He fell into that creature’s stomach, as acid began to burn away at his skin - it only served to erode at his flesh, and ignite his Fury as he lashed out with blade and nails. Perhaps another would have managed to cut through, or plot their way out. Haus, of course, didn’t expect to find himself under a barrage of alchemicals, arrows, and armored elves jumping atop him - nevermind to be ignited ablaze himself. Anger gave way to agony, and agony gave way to a blankness as skin melted, and bone blackened. As he slipped away into shock, a mercy that precedes what ought to be death, he never bore witnessed as the Celia’norians sliced through that creature's stomach. His mind, unlucid, wandered elsewhere and his body tumbled into the cave floor out the stomach of the Cave Lurker as he drifted away. At the edge of existence, Haus’s mind wandered and wondered. He knew what awaited him - an agonizing death, and a slow one at that. Deep in some cave off the beaten path, even if by some grace of luck a competent healer found him - there was no medicine of mortal hands capable of fixing him. It didn’t matter how furious he felt, how scared he was - this was it. A hand brushed against that ever-shifting barrier - a life’s purpose and work, and his resting place, he dreaded. He had to wonder if it was finally time. No goodbye, no - letters or wills that he had always procrastinated writing. Just an unidentifiable corpse, in a cave in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by people he barely knew. Dead in an accident that he didn’t foresee. Emptiness swam over him - then anger. It wasn’t his fault the Celia’norians were uninventive cowards, unable to process how to move forward like ants on a leaf's edge- not his fault that he had been bruised and battered, shot and lit aflame. He didn’t deserve it, and he certainly deserved better than this- Frustration overwhelmed him - he was still dying, or already dead. For everything he was, he had not out-thought or outfought his way from his circumstances, and in such - he had broken the one promise, the last promise he ever made. An exasperated sigh drew around his mind, and as darkness swept over his vision, that lilting Auvergnian voice caressed his soul. “C'est la vie, Jardinière, n'est-ce pas?” How he hated that voice! His eyes snapped open - the first thing he noted was that he was free of pain. At last, he dared wonder. He noted he no longer resided at that Veil, that he was lying upon his back. Water lapped gently at a shore - not an ocean, a lake, he listened and observed - and a cloudless night sky sprawled above him. Stellar features dotted the horizon, impossible sights of collapsing swirls of a rainbow of colors and starlight, bands of clouds of starbirth that only disappeared at the edge of the sky, under the still water. Even under such beauty - he felt watched, as ever. Beyond that breathtakingly magnificent sight, he knew there were things more undesired than nothing. Still he remained, a long breath drawn in. He had lost track of time, and what a bother that proved - had it been days? Minutes? Years? Was he a decayed corpse, or still struggling to cling to some vestige of life, or- “Etre gentil. What did you expect? It’s rude to say nothing.” “Be silent, and let me go back.” That Watcher groaned, to that bodiless voice. Why he entertained it, he could not understand - but it certainly indulged his feeling of watchful paranoia. “-Yea, oh well. Grand observation.” “Ah, ah~ peu convenable. Conjecture, even. Reconsider.” That voice bids - it’s voice has no trait other than it is slow, and smooth - withholding. It demands oh-so-tenderly his focus. “-There is nothing to ponder. They put me here, and that's tha-” “Pas assez - is it so simple? Is that it? A mistake? You accept and resign so assuredly?” Those words are spoken in a knowing, almost mocking kindness, and the blonde finds his hand gripping into the sand under him harder. He does not know what his anger will do, but he’s willing to indulge it. “I - messed up, yea?! Not like I wanted to, but here I am, absent from my desired outcome!” He bemoans, that handful of sand lofting to cast towards the waters - tiny disturbances cast, echoing through endlessly still waters as ripples scatter and fade. “Mon jardinière, you know what is spoken of. It is not what has occurred, but what you accept, non?” The Watcher doesn’t entertain a response. He knows what that sing-song voice leads him too, and he refuses to give it a second thought - how hopeless it is. That he is not afraid to die for him, but- “Everyone else. You fear the ripples of misery you ever-inflict, of a torment passed unto you unwantonly. You are tired and you plead to yourself - pourquoi ça?” “Stop - I Refuse. I will not - entertain this tirade, of sympathy or otherwise-” “Patience. You have lost your spirit in acceptance. Is any conclusion truly written so tightly?” That damned voice continues, ever soft and compassionate - the nonsensical words given so empathetically only ignite that dulled spark in his mind. It continues, and he finds as much as he wants to strangle it - he hangs onto every word, like air to a drowned man. “That you fight - it is what it always is, hmm? la Vérité - you promised, always. Will you accept resignation to what could be? A - quite distasteful, truthfully. conclusion to a trick most obtuse and poised?” “- pourquoi s'embêter? You know the answer. It is on the tip of your tongue upon every word, every suture you weave like magic, and every spell bound together by nothing but it. You deny it, bury it away under guise and elegance - But you cannot hide it from what matters, because it is all that matters.” “You have forgotten, and I, so humbly, re-acquaint you. To succumb or not, at the mercy of an occurrence willed by dice not of your own grasp, is not so distant and unmoving as you believe. You are not beholden to such scriptures - es-tu?” Haus stares skyward, grayish-brown iris laden eyes blinking methodically as he waits with bated breath. He almost misses the question, directed at him. “-You know the answer. It hasn’t changed. It never will. It is who I am, and it cannot be undone, ever.” “Then, Mon jardinière, let go of your trepidation. The only certainty is that which you allow - the only thing not in your grasp what you choose not to reach for. So stare, and cling unto it.” “You are cursed, but not a curse. Dying, but not dead. Do not wait for the truth - seek it out.” “You gave your word. You will falter, but - never let it go.” Darkness engulfs his vision, the tinge of sorrow in that lilting voice melting away into misery and pain - as his flesh and bone rends itself back together, and his body is rendered unburnt, free of the cauterizing that seared him overdone - a gift of healing not wrought of mundane means. Star-ladden eyes snap open, offering a glimpse into twin-trapped cosmos - and a hoarse cry spills from his maw, agonized, suffering, and angry. He has not died, and in that brief moment - euphoric mania drowns out that pain. The scars on his body will mend, and in time, he wonders as he stares upwards at the night sky before a great and fetid Torii gate, the sea breeze gusting in cooling sensation - it will simply be another story to tell. But he knows those tiny pieces of his mind wander away, and the Garden simply consumes them, like droplets of water to a lake - Tears to rain. In time - he will have to get them back, the same way he has done everything else - Damnably spitefully. Spoiler Totally did not stall on this for like a month post-event writing is hard. :3 Thanks again to @MayRndz for the event! Even though Haus got chomped by a Lurker, always a blast. Hopefully there will be a Round 2! 15 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
Moping 425 Share Posted February 24 Illthrak Would recall for a moment when he jumped into the mouth of a earth worm in order to save that of a stranger, for the simple fact he was in danger, for he bore his very own injuries from this decision, was it in vein? was it worth the scarring and pain he felt from this choice? Was it worth boiling alive in the stomach to save a magi, Illthrak could not know this answer, but all he recalls is the pain he felt while slicing that beast open and dragging this stranger from the fierce inferno that was the belly of the worm. 12 Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
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