The Keeper of the Scales

[Mady 3771]

 

Spoiler

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The world was silent. Oliviya opened her eyes, her breath sharp and shallow, and found herself surrounded by thick, curling smoke that clung to her skin, its tendrils tugging at her with an invisible weight. She blinked once, twice, but it didn’t clear. The air was thick, suffocating, as though the very act of breathing was an effort.

Her gaze darted around, but there was nothing—only the swirling gray mist, swirling and folding in on itself, like an ocean with no shore. She reached out, her hand trembling, and it was then that she saw it.

A mirror stood before her, tall and out of place in the midst of the smoke, its surface gleaming like a silvered lake in the haze. She could barely make out her own reflection, her pale face framed by wild hair, eyes wide in confusion. Something within the mirror flickered.

Her hand, almost without thought, extended toward the glass. As her fingers brushed against the cold surface, the mirror rippled like water, distorting the girl's image. She gasped, watching as her reflection shimmered and shifted. The face in the mirror was no longer hers.

It was a man—dark-haired, tall, and ragged. His eyes were wide with fear, his breath coming in quick, shallow bursts. He was running, his body moving through the trees of a dense forest, crashing through the underbrush. Something chased him—something unseen, but deadly. She could sense it, could feel the urgency, the terror that gripped him.

But it was hard to see him clearly; his form blurred with speed, the image distorting as branches whipped across the mirror’s surface, creating shadows, hiding his face.

The girl pressed closer, her voice breaking the stillness as she called out, "Wait! Who are you?!" Her words seemed to vanish into the smoke, voice unheard. She extended her hand again, feeling a deep, inexplicable need to reach out to him, to help.

The moment her fingertips brushed the mirror again, she felt a pull—light and insistent. Before she could think, before she could stop herself, she stepped forward. Her foot met no resistance as she crossed through the glass, her body folding into the reflection.

The air was different now. The smoke was gone, replaced by the sharp scent of pine and earth. She stood in the heart of the woods, the cool wind tugging at her clothes. She spun, searching for him, calling out, "Wait! Please, I am here!"

But there was nothing. No answer. No sign of him.

The woods around her were silent, save for the rustling of branches and the distant call of birds. Her heart began to pound in her chest as she realized—she was alone. The man, the one she had seen in the mirror, was gone.

Her feet carried her forward, pushing through the underbrush, her mind swirling with confusion. Where had he gone? What was chasing him? And why couldn’t he hear her?

But then, as she turned back toward the mirror—toward the reflection she had stepped out of—she froze.

There he was. The man stood before her, his dark hair hanging in wild strands over his face. His eyes were wild, filled with a fear she could feel in the pit of her stomach. In his hand, a sword glinted in the dim light.

Before she could speak, before she could move, he lifted the weapon.

His eyes met hers, and for a fleeting moment, she saw something—a flicker of recognition, of sadness, perhaps even regret—but it was gone in an instant.

Then, he struck.

The sword plunged into her stomach with a sickening, cold force. The pain was immediate, but it wasn’t the heat of a wound—it was an icy, numbing cold that spread from the point of contact, chilling her to the core. Her breath hitched, but the cold, the weight, it was as if the very life was being drained from her.

She looked down, eyes wide with shock, as black blood began to spill from the wound, dark as tar, pooling at her feet. The world spun around her as she staggered backward, her legs giving way beneath her.

She fell, the cold, black liquid swallowing her as she sank deeper, deeper into the earth. The puddle beneath her spread, thick and viscous, and she realized—horror tightening her chest—that it was her blood filling the ground, darkening the soil, creeping toward her.

The man stood above her, his face twisted in something she couldn’t quite read. His sword was lowered now, his eyes empty, as though he had no further care for her. The space around him felt like a fog, distorted, as if she were drowning in her own blood.

The puddle began to rise, and she could feel the weight of it, feel it pressing against her chest, her throat, her face. She could no longer move, no longer breathe. She was sinking deeper, lost in a sea of blackness, the liquid creeping into every part of her being until she could see nothing at all.

And as the last remnants of her vision blurred into nothingness, she thought she saw the man—hovering over her, his face now an inscrutable mask, like a ghost.

And then, nothing.

Only the dark, quiet woods, where silence stretched on endlessly, broken only by the whisper of the wind through the trees.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Spoiler

This is just a narrative post of a vision my character had and only those roleplayed with know of it!! That being said, anyone is free to make a comment below so long as metagaming rules are followed :)

 

[Gandhi 3225]

Ser Andrei stood on the eastern verge of the Karoswald - gazing out over the vast Verelund. His hand laid idle upon his bogatyr scabbard; and he recalled Oliviya's prophecy which seemed to rang ever-true since his knighting. He spat upon the dirt  - and for many years he wished to reject those scales, but it was a duty that came both with inheritance and a life among warriors; and eventually it would be clear to him.

 

To be a knight - one must be brave, just, and fair; and for a second he wondered if that was who he truly was.