Eternity RPC Board
11-15-2019, 06:32 PM
No response.
Nevina's body lay motionless, limbs contorted from the final fall in the unmistakable pretzel-sign of a complete lack of conscious control. Now much further and safer from the fire, she might find it nonetheless more difficult now to discern whether or how much of the flowing crimson sheets falling across the elf's front was hair, or...something definitely not hair.
Nothing.
Passage through the garden had proven uneventful. Whatever the two avoided on the way into the cottage, if anything, clearly no longer posed any concern; whether this was tied to Nevina or Mildred remained unclear, any pitiful moans of agony from the crumpled remains of the immolated witch could not breach the crackling cacophony of the bonfire-cottage, which thankfully did not spread far under the stagnant summer evening air.
Alone.
The endless songs of insects, the imposing feeling of countless eyes upon her in the dark, the scratching of shrub and tree: all the familiar and comforting sounds of a nighttime wilderness remained absent against the crackle and pop of the fires. With them went the voices, forces, the spirits about which she ruminated with Nevina earlier that day and ultimately, supposedly, guided her to Myerleigh. For the first time in her entire season-long journey, lying in a nameless burning field in the middle of an empty wilderness beside the limp body of an unresponsive mentor, a weight of absolute isolation fell upon Elke's prone form and pushed her slowly into the warm, comforting numbness of nothing as the last few stars blinked insistently through her blackening vision.
And then they blinked brighter, before exploding into a blinding whiteness that filled past Elke's vision, behind her eyes and into her very consciousness. As the light burrowed into her the aches in her body returned, only now amplified by a searing pain piercing from the base of her skull through her forehead.
"Wake up." The voice was both firm and gentle, as if rousing someone to bed who had fallen asleep in the wrong place. A familiar voice.
Nevina's voice.
"It is time to wake up."
* * * * *
By the time the brilliant brightness dissipated and the shocking stabbing in her skull began to ebb, Elke was no longer face up among the flowers and grasses of a clearing, but around a somewhat familiar scene. Sat in a chair, an untouched teacup upon a crooked table before her, the warm embers of a fire illuminating rickety cupboards and hanging utensils and her belongings an arm's reach away, the scene looked identical to the moments before the sudden outburst and explosion that had propelled her from the cottage.
No, not quite. Something looked..."off" about it, and the more her vision came into focus, the more the differences became noticeable: the table, chairs, and other furnishings had a bony resistance and leather-like texture, the hearth and all the cupboards fleshy cocoons with gaping holes, the walls pulsing slightly - almost imperceptibly - to an unheard drumbeat. The light wasn't from any fire, but faint orange rays being cast through the veiny, membranous window and door. The hunched woman sitting close by became a bloated flesh-sack with stumped arms and a droopy face, making a barely audible, repetitive inquiry, "Tea? Tea?"
Every surface and thing in this otherworldly room reflected the sheen of a clear, liquidy, slightly viscous substance gave off a sweet smell and taste of nectars, pooling especially thick on and around the flesh-heap and around most of Elke's own form. It pulsed and jiggled in time with the movements of the walls, rolling at once both up and down itself as it gave the room a persistent melting hypnotism, it's cold minty sensation both growing and soothing the persistent aches and pains in the mageling's body.
The overwhelmingly pungent spear of brimstone pierced every sense upon the warm, heavy, humid air.
"There you are," came a soft voice. Nevina stood beside the young mage, hunched slightly as she withdrew her hands from Elke's head. She looked a woman who had just run consecutive marathons through a bog: her hair matted, covered in the sweat of exertion, arms and legs soiled with the clear goop. She forced herself with breathy grunts through sluggish movements as she ran her arms down Elke's body, swiping away as much of the jelly as possible before placing herself beneath one of young woman's armpits. With one spent arm, flute in hand, wrapped around the torso and her other holding the pupil's various belongings, the elf began to lift.
"Hold onto me," said Nevina, "we are leaving."
Nevina's body lay motionless, limbs contorted from the final fall in the unmistakable pretzel-sign of a complete lack of conscious control. Now much further and safer from the fire, she might find it nonetheless more difficult now to discern whether or how much of the flowing crimson sheets falling across the elf's front was hair, or...something definitely not hair.
Nothing.
Passage through the garden had proven uneventful. Whatever the two avoided on the way into the cottage, if anything, clearly no longer posed any concern; whether this was tied to Nevina or Mildred remained unclear, any pitiful moans of agony from the crumpled remains of the immolated witch could not breach the crackling cacophony of the bonfire-cottage, which thankfully did not spread far under the stagnant summer evening air.
Alone.
The endless songs of insects, the imposing feeling of countless eyes upon her in the dark, the scratching of shrub and tree: all the familiar and comforting sounds of a nighttime wilderness remained absent against the crackle and pop of the fires. With them went the voices, forces, the spirits about which she ruminated with Nevina earlier that day and ultimately, supposedly, guided her to Myerleigh. For the first time in her entire season-long journey, lying in a nameless burning field in the middle of an empty wilderness beside the limp body of an unresponsive mentor, a weight of absolute isolation fell upon Elke's prone form and pushed her slowly into the warm, comforting numbness of nothing as the last few stars blinked insistently through her blackening vision.
And then they blinked brighter, before exploding into a blinding whiteness that filled past Elke's vision, behind her eyes and into her very consciousness. As the light burrowed into her the aches in her body returned, only now amplified by a searing pain piercing from the base of her skull through her forehead.
"Wake up." The voice was both firm and gentle, as if rousing someone to bed who had fallen asleep in the wrong place. A familiar voice.
Nevina's voice.
"It is time to wake up."
* * * * *
By the time the brilliant brightness dissipated and the shocking stabbing in her skull began to ebb, Elke was no longer face up among the flowers and grasses of a clearing, but around a somewhat familiar scene. Sat in a chair, an untouched teacup upon a crooked table before her, the warm embers of a fire illuminating rickety cupboards and hanging utensils and her belongings an arm's reach away, the scene looked identical to the moments before the sudden outburst and explosion that had propelled her from the cottage.
No, not quite. Something looked..."off" about it, and the more her vision came into focus, the more the differences became noticeable: the table, chairs, and other furnishings had a bony resistance and leather-like texture, the hearth and all the cupboards fleshy cocoons with gaping holes, the walls pulsing slightly - almost imperceptibly - to an unheard drumbeat. The light wasn't from any fire, but faint orange rays being cast through the veiny, membranous window and door. The hunched woman sitting close by became a bloated flesh-sack with stumped arms and a droopy face, making a barely audible, repetitive inquiry, "Tea? Tea?"
Every surface and thing in this otherworldly room reflected the sheen of a clear, liquidy, slightly viscous substance gave off a sweet smell and taste of nectars, pooling especially thick on and around the flesh-heap and around most of Elke's own form. It pulsed and jiggled in time with the movements of the walls, rolling at once both up and down itself as it gave the room a persistent melting hypnotism, it's cold minty sensation both growing and soothing the persistent aches and pains in the mageling's body.
The overwhelmingly pungent spear of brimstone pierced every sense upon the warm, heavy, humid air.
"There you are," came a soft voice. Nevina stood beside the young mage, hunched slightly as she withdrew her hands from Elke's head. She looked a woman who had just run consecutive marathons through a bog: her hair matted, covered in the sweat of exertion, arms and legs soiled with the clear goop. She forced herself with breathy grunts through sluggish movements as she ran her arms down Elke's body, swiping away as much of the jelly as possible before placing herself beneath one of young woman's armpits. With one spent arm, flute in hand, wrapped around the torso and her other holding the pupil's various belongings, the elf began to lift.
"Hold onto me," said Nevina, "we are leaving."