"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
07-17-2017, 10:21 AM (This post was last modified: 07-17-2017, 11:54 AM by The Underneath.)
AuroraElis, you have been eliminated. You stumbled upon an unseen portal after entering the poisonous gas at the top of the mountain and were teleported back to Beqanna. For one real life month, your character will be covered in pus-filled boils from head to hoof, after which you can decide whether any scarring occurred as a result. Better luck next time.
The Underneath: The Hills
And suddenly, you are no longer at the top of a mountain, nor in the deep, depths of a forest.
In the blink of an eye, you are elsewhere - standing in an open clearing, with roving hilltops and thick clusters of pine trees, but there is no light to illuminate the sky – there is no sun to break through the thick, encroaching darkness, and the silence is deafening. The stillness is unnerving, and for a moment, it is almost as if time has stopped – ceasing to exist in a world where nothing felt as it should, where nothing seemed as it would – but in the distance, there is a faint glow. Two, beady eyes of gleaming red, standing out starkly amid the shadows – blinking slowly.
Even if you cannot see it, you can feel it. There is one pair, and then two. And then three.
And slowly, the darkness is consumed by small, watchful eyes, boring into you.
If you have come from the mountain, your lungs are heavy and burdened with a sticky substance – the glowing orb had not been kind, and it lured you into a suffocating poisonous gas, stirring a scattering of boils to rise from the surface of your flesh – but it had offered you passage – it brought you here.
If you have come from the forest, you have not escaped unscathed. The beast that has sought you for its prey has left its mark, and still, it is hunting for you – it is always hunting for you. Though it is no longer a physical presence, reaching for you, grabbing for you, it is now in your mind – its snarl, its growl echoing in your mind, unnerving you and rattling you within your own skin. Its breath is across your skin, setting your nerves on fire. A paranoia will set in, slowly but surely. It has left its mark.
The hills have eyes, and oh, how they long for you! There is no turning back now – a thick, and immovable boundary lay behind you, and there is nothing before you but the unknown. You must venture towards the river, towards the north where a crystalline lake should reveal itself to you.
You are not alone.
But you must carry on.
You are in Loess, and must venture to the north to Hyaline.
The hills have eyes. It is up to you to decide what these mysterious eyes are attached to. These creatures must be described, must cause some sort of physical damage, and the character must find a way to creatively get past them or destroy them.
End your post with your character venturing over the hills and seeing the lake for the first time.
For future reference:
As clearly stated in the initial post, dragon vision is always activated in the Underneath unless otherwise mentioned (i.e. the Forest deactivated it temporarily; the Mountain did not). Failure to incorporate it in future posts will result in immediate elimination. As Atrani is eyeless, she will receive a pass for not incorporating it into her response.
The trees begin to thin, the forest cruelly spats her out. She can’t recall when this had happened, how she suddenly comes to stand in open land once more. Perhaps the Leshen had forced her out but she doubts it, feeling in her gut that it still wanted to rake the twisted roots of it’s hands along her dark skin. It wasn’t done with her yet. A shiver runs along her spine, a crease in her forehead as she frowns and worries. She doesn’t like being so exposed in this clearing, doesn’t like feeling so vulnerable.
Her dragon vision has returned since her terrifying encounter in the woods, a little clearer then it was in the forest but not by much. She can make out the outlines of small clumps of pines, gentle rolling hills, can see the endless open terrain before her. It’s still too dark, closing in. Forcing it’s way into her mouth and nostrils, pressing against the curve of her ears. Choking her senses, laughing at her bewilderment. While this is terrible, it is the stillness that is worst of all. Not even a breeze ripples against stalks of grass, doesn’t rake gentle fingers through her mane. It has once again become too quiet, no crickets or birds. Nothing except the sound of her unsteady breathing.
Ciri slowly glances around her, remaining as still as she can. If she wasn’t moving, perhaps she wouldn’t attract attention. It gives her a moment to gain her bearings as silvery iris’s flick about warily. From what she has heard, the terrain seems like she may be in Loess. She’s assuming of course but she has nothing else to go on. From her brief knowledge of the new world, she knows that a land with a lake shouldn’t be too far away. Perhaps being by the water’s edge will be safer. No Leshen’s could rise from a watery grave could they?
Even though she has left that dark secretive wood, she can’t help but glance behind her back. Expecting the gleaming white of a skull, the heavy hands to crash across her back. Remembering the feel of it’s mossy saliva that dripped down her hip. She remembers the ravens, thinks she hears the rustle of feathers. Her heart starts to race, her pulse accelerating. Closing her eyes, she tries to force herself to calm down. Her body refuses to comply, her skin pricking beneath her smoky coat. Feeling as if she’s being watched.
As she slowly forces herself to raise her lids, she realizes that something is watching her. In the distance, a soft glow. Two pinpricks that cut through the shadows. Before she can even make a sound of alarm, they begin to multiply before her. Eyes after sets of eyes. Watching, stabbing into her soul like a knife. She’s holding her breath and exhales softly, trembling slightly. Even if she could return to the forest, she wouldn’t. She knows what awaits her there. The Leshen continues to spread it’s reach, sending it’s minions where it was not comfortable going. It didn’t want to leave the safety of it’s beloved forest. It found a different way to hunt her.
Cruel croaks escape their beaks, shadowy wings stretching and ruffling with intent. Focused on it’s prey that stood waiting before them. They are everywhere, so many eyes slicing through the hills. While the fear is real, a surge of anger flares within her. What had she done to incite such a trial? Why had the Leshen chosen her? Why had this world picked her?
Ciri was tired of running. Despite being at an unfair disadvantage, despite not knowing what she had landed in… Running was not usually in her nature. The anger is comforting, it burns in her chest and fans courage into her heart. A steely glint touches the rims of silver orbs, muscles tightening beneath her ebony hide. No, she would not be a sitting duck for them. She would not allow this place to make her into something she wasn’t, a victim.
With a cry that shatters the silence, she leaps forward as the conspiracy of ravens take flight to meet her. Talons slice at her skin, beaks pecking at exposed flesh. They whirl and swirl around her, she feels consumed by the shadows themselves. Yet she fights. Her hooves hit soft warm bodies, her teeth rip feathers and leave bare bald skin in it’s wake. She bucks, she rears. She fights. She doesn’t know how long she defends herself as they continue to fall from the sky, pulling threads of her mane and leaving dark oozing cuts along her body. Her neck burns, her muscles aching with the strain, but the fire inside her urges her to not give up. It’s oddly satisfying, to feel the crunch of broken bone as her jaws clamp on a wing and crush it. It feels good to fight back.
Eventually the survivors of the unkindness abandon their cause. Where they go she doesn’t know or care. She’s a mess of what she was before. Her barrel heaves as she pants heavily, tired with exertion of the fight. There are so many scratches and wounds she doesn’t know where one begins or another ends. Some are deeper than others and bleed freely, a few ravens have managed to take a chunk of flesh, carving it from her like butchers. There is so much pain and she closes her eyes, gritting her teeth as she tries to breathe through it. For once she is grateful for the stillness, even the softest caress of a breeze would be pure agony to her raw split skin.
Eventually she forces herself to move despite the screaming protest of her muscles, the sharp pain from her wounds that jolts her with each step. All she can think of is finding the lake, being able to ease her ravaged body into the cool water. Sooner then she expects, she comes to the bank of the river. No soft gurgling rush meets her ears, the river seems frozen. Stuck. Nothing moves and the eeriness unsettles her. Antlers, bones, and trees raking at the back of her mind.
She follows the river, over rolling hills and dips. A few times she stumbles and nearly falls but catches herself before tumbling into the dirt. It’s with luck and great relief that she comes over a final hill and sees a large stretch of water before her. The lake, she has finally found it. Pausing momentarily, she glances about to see if she can catch the faint orange glow that would alert her that something else may be lurking nearby. There is nothing but the same sturdy blacks and swirling greens that have come to make up her sight. All is still once more. With a sigh she forces herself to start her trek down the hill. Once she was by the water, she would rest.
On the deathly still shore Crevan exhales and succumbs to the weight of victory. Everything seems to crush him, even going so far as to drag his drooping lids down over his glassy eyes until he’s wading through a personal darkness more devoid of life than this place he’d been thrust into. It was a much needed moment of reprise for the injured yearling, the rattling of his chest bringing with it an ebb and flow of dull pain. He felt … satisfied, something close to pride for the feat he’d accomplished - it had been a terrifying ordeal. So terrifying, in fact, that from behind his shuttered eyes he can still see the faint outlines of the writhing creature, still feel the palpating, rancid breath over his skin and the phantom remnants of claws trailing across his sides.
With a sudden jolt forward, the shifter opens his eyes and does his best to shake loose that feeling. The spinning of his thoughts slows, stops, and clears to reveal the likeness of undulating hills. His new vision detects patterns, soft mounds of grey that are only interrupted by jagged, thrusting silhouettes to the East. It looks different, but it’s Loess alright; the honey-brown colt has seen it once from the North, peering Southerly, and then often from the spot he’s standing in now. Taiga’s sister kingdom by blood alone. Had he been given the choice of where he was to journey next, this particular Kingdom might have been his last option.
“Too exposed,” He mutters reasonably, “too damn exposed and too risky.” The boy concludes. A wild cry pierces the silence, anguished and much too close for comfort. The sound forces both muted gold ears backwards on his head and cements the fact he’s not going back (though he would have strayed far from trying, anyways.) It was a struggle, keeping up with the pace of this ordeal, but Crevan is primordial in nature: he will learn or he will suffer, so the first step ahead comes easily enough. Whatever lay within and beyond this passage seemed almost imperative for him to reach and the boy is consumed by the longing to unveil it.
Through the first creeping fingers of low-grown pine needles Crevan is unhurried. He needed the rest, in whatever fashion it could be afforded, especially now that his superficial wounds had hardened into clumps of ragged fur and clotted flesh. There’s a silence transfixed that muffles each hoofstep, though often he finds himself glancing towards the shadows where he’s sure something has just scampered by. Around lazy bends and deeper into the wilderness this mantra continues: step after step, glance after glance until the first teeth of grey rock begin to jut up from the earth.
As the formations grow in size so does his instinct to flee. Crevan feels pressed by some unnamed anxiety, a trace of that beast within him that had saved his forest-dwelling ancestors in their time of great need. He doesn’t dream of glancing behind, to look back is to be lost, but all the while the pressure of an unseen enemy drives him on. He could hear the thing, is almost certain that the convoluting fae have reanimated the enemy only to torment him, and his ambling walk hastens to put distance between himself and those damn woods.
In fact, he’s at such a brisk pace that the first set of twinkling red eyes passes alongside him in a blur. The second set, however, cannot be missed. They scurry across his path and disappear into the shadows on the other side and Crevan knows the time for gentle passage is gone. He adopts a trot, squeezing a hushed whine from between his teeth at the soreness in his ribs but speed makes no difference; every few strides another pair of eyes is added to the mix and now and again, one or the other slimy creature darts into a hairsbreadth distance from his forefeet. From the rear he finds no comfort either - the Hydra is assuredly behind him, he can hear the clicking of sharp nails over rubble and that shuddering thud of a pounding heart.
A trap. They survey each other, the bloodied colt and the shapeless eyes steadily growing in number, one knowing that any step wrongly taken will excite a frenzy of activity while the other peers in hushed anticipation for that very misstep. His mind is too hazy with the terror of the Hydra gaining on him and with white eyes rolling in his head he stumbles - once, only once - but that’s all it takes for the black horde to come streaming over the bars of sediment, swelling like a pestilent flood that is sure to drown him.They had sensed his trepidation and now they sweep over him with the intention of feeding on it.
Adrenaline seizes him. The colt puffs his tender chest outward and breaths flame, a red-hot stream that pours itself out from his lungs and drenches the horde while he jerks back onto his haunches and circles with his forelegs. They’re not deterred, perhaps more invigorated by the idea that he’d felt the need to retaliate, and burning or not they launch themselves at him with grasping, strangely flesh-like claws. He’s never seen the likes of it, sizzling little creatures with whip-like snake tails for a bottom and pink flesh stretched over countable bones as a top. The fire eating away at them makes their shape perceptible to his heightened vision, and they are dragging themselves over the hard-packed earth with arms that extend from either side of their shoulders and rounded, melon-like heads with too-large eyes and wide mouths needled with teeth.
Too many to burn they seem to come from the very shadows themselves and though Crevan is stamping and blowing, they still manage to claw their way up his legs and onto his body. He leaps up and out in an arcing buck and comes down upon them with the satisfying crunch of bone. Hissing, screeching, they turn their full wrath upon him and without hesitation he scrambles forward into a labored gallop, some fiery Naga still clinging desperately to his mane and tail. The rest drive him on and down the confined path to a break in the scenery where above him, a hill stretches its back like a waking cat. It seems there’s nowhere else to run and with the encroaching promise of escape his demons lag as they try in vain to drag themselves through thick clumps of grass.
Upwards and onwards he struggles, losing speed and breaking the short-lived gallop down into a weak trot. Charred and lifeless, the few naga that remained clinging to him drop to the earth, black husks of scale and hairless skin. His mane, once thick and dyed navy, is now sparse and burnt much like his crop of a tail. Around his cannons and pasterns he can feel the nettling sting of tiny teeth marks, dotted with swelling, grey-colored buds of his lifesblood. Tired and breathless as he is, Crevan doesn’t stop until, shaking, he tops the rise and surveys a lifeless, black mouth of expansive water. A lake - deathly still and oily slick.
“Perfect.” He thinks.
Then our skin gets thicker, living out in the snow
Jah-Lilah burst out of the Taiga tree line like a diver coming up for air. She stumbles, taking a spill. She rolls once, then rights herself, looking back frantically. Was it gone? Had she escaped it? What was that noise? Her body was tense, still, silent. She strained desperately to listen for any sign the creature was behind her. She heard nothing, saw nothing. She began to climb to her feet unsteadily, then took a look around warily. Her strange vision had returned, and she could see far, far off. The rolling hillside, the scent of pine needles, this could only be Loess, ruled by the Winged Queen Heda. How she would be in mourning if she could see her beloved kingdom now, motionless, filled with sorrow and despair. No amount of empathy could fix this problem.
Don't you close your eyes.
Tense, still, silent. She ventured forth, afraid to be still for too long. The beast had her scent, knew her voice, had tasted her fear, she had to move. She was still adjusting to her newly returned old new vision. Shit, that's confusing Jah. She shakes her head, the feathers in her mane the only solace she had right now. They connected her. They reminded her that the other Beqanna existed, and that if she got her ass here, she could get her ass home. She took a sharp breath in as her dragon vision picks up something far in the distance. No, not something, somethings. Eyes, red as rubies, staring at her. And then another pair, and another pair. It takes her only a moment to asses the possible paths around them, and she can't see a way without going dangerously close to them. Welp, here goes nothing.
Too late.
Not something, somethings. She had finally figured out why those red eyes set off red flags in her- what was that? She froze, listening. She could have sworn she'd heard slow, methodical footsteps behind her. Now, nothing. She shakes it off, her talisman flicking against her neck comfortingly. She takes a deep breath and moves closer to the eyes dancing ahead of her. Wyverns. Disgusting, pale, snake-like things, but with little front legs to drag their filthy bodies around. The elders had multiple heads, dragon-like, but with less knowledge and understanding. The females, guardians of the nests and offspring, had long fangs that dripped poison. The smallest one she had ever encountered was a youngling, only two or three feet long at the most. The biggest...was a nightmare. Coils upon pasty coils the old king had, and as thick around as one of these very pine trees. The only basilisk she had ever known to be bigger than their ruler was the Midgard Serpent, who was said to have the whole world in his scaly grasp.
You want to make it right, but now it's too late.
Wyverns. Why did it have to be wyverns? My red mare gathered her wits, and began to creep quietly towards them. Towards them? Girl, are you high? Shhhhh. I know what I'm doing. The wyverns eyes were beautiful to look at, but were useless. They were blind. Generation after generation living in caves in hollow hills such as these had bred their eyesight right out of there genepool. The downside? Their hearing was incredible, bordering on superhuman. As long as she was so careful, so quiet, she could do this. They couldn't swim with those stubby legs, and her nose told her there was water just beyond those hills. If she could make th-what was that?! She knew she'd seen something. A shadow, ducking between the trees. Her heart was racing, her stomach tied in knots. Her eyes rolled, searching frantically for the beast. She knew she saw him, had felt him...now nothing. She panted heavily, mane plastered to her neck. Her fear had drove her to a near-frenzy. She woo-sahed, exhaling long and low. One monster at a time, Jah-lilah, we can do this.
My peanut butter chocolate cake with Kool-Aid.
So careful, so quiet. Jah-Lilah tiptoed through the meanies like she'd been doing it all her life. She treated their cluster of dens like a live mine field. She had no room for mistakes, she'd come too far to fail now. Her confidence was growing with each step as she neared the ridge that led to the lake. Another noise, another shadow. Out of the corner of her eye she sees the mystery from Taiga, her cloaked pursuer. He has found her, and his voice is in her mind, chiding, goading. "I've come for you, little Wytchhhh..." He trails off, and Jah-Lilah can bear no more. She panics, no longer able to take the mind games. She broke free from the wyverns' community and was all but racing away from them when she made her first crucial mistake since happening upon the fiends. Not watching where she places her feet, one hard hoof comes crashing down on the tail of a stray wyrm. He cries out, a gurgling, hissing sound, and springs on her.
I'm trying not to waste my time.
Jah-Lilah can bear no more. The wyvern snaps at her, clawing his way up her hind quarters. His cry stirs his other nearby comrades, and they all shake the darkness from themselves and join the pursuit. His talons dig deep in her rump, and he pulls himself up towards her back. She is frantic, eyes white with fear. Her adrenaline is pumping now, the only way she's able to outrun the other wyrmsnakedragons, and she vaults up the hill towards the smell of water. Her only saving grace would be the lake. They hate water, they can't swim, she chants to herself, a mantra for self preservation. She reaches the top of the hill and can see it, the lake of Hyaline. She doesn't have time to rest, as soon as she peaks the hill he sinks his teeth into her hip, her unwelcome baggage. She half-rears, the pain jolting her into action. She drops to her knees and rolls, crushing her passenger. She rolls again, then is up and to her feet quicker than the ever thought she could in this nether realm. She pounces on his still-ish body, hopefully she broke his back in the fall. She stomps and stamps until there is nothing but bloody mush where his head should be. She sees a few of his allies climbing the hill, still giving chase, and doesn't wait for them to reach her. She turns to the border of Hyaline and plunges downward, towards her saving grace.
In the blink of an eye – ha! The humor! – she is no longer standing on a mountain peak with the wind whipping her unruly locks across her face. Atrani cannot see the change of scenery, but she can feel it.
The rocks that had chipped and squealed beneath her shifting weight is now grass. She doesn’t ask why or how the ground is suddenly cushion underneath her and not quite as precarious.
Who would she even ask?
Everything around her is eerily still, more so now. It had not been like this before; it was lonely, but it wasn’t frightening. A chill climbs up her rigid spine because the eyes are blinking to life. They watch her hungrily, but what’s more unsettling is that she can’t even meet their gaze. She doesn’t know where they are, only the stabbing sense of foreboding of eyes boring into her.
Her body shifts. A twig cracks. A swift pull of her attention and her face is looking in the direction of the noise, unseeing.
When they inch closer – their footsteps whispering across the grass – is when the blisters surface across her skin. That’s when she actually diverts her attention away from the danger and onto the burning of her lungs. It hurts to breathe, and yet she has to. She shifts again, but this time also takes a step forward. A low growl forces her to take pause. Silence.
She turns north although she doesn’t know which direction she is actually turning. The lure of gurgling water is what strikes her attention and draws her from the noises beginning to surround her. With a weighted breath Atrani lurches forward. She only reaches for two strides before an ear-shattering scream breaks the quiet and nails claw down from her left hip down toward her hock. It pounced on her, but it barely missed her. It had been enough to rattle her balance and skew her hindquarters to the right before recovering. Blood is immediately dripping down her legs, but she runs. The boils burst and bleed. Pus dribbles down, thick as it clings to her mangy coat.
But she can’t stop.
There’s another shrill scream and another one pounces onto her. The velocity that it attacks hurls her meager, starved body tumbling down a hill. She falls on rocks, branches, and whatever else the world hurtles at her that she cannot see. Air is knocked from her lungs as she rolls over down the hill until she is at its base, motionless, in pain.
Her body is marred, bruised, and bleeding. She cannot see the damage or what had done this to her, but if she knew what they were – what they looked like – she would want her memory wiped clean.
The creatures crawl on all fours, paled by the eternal night. Pigmentation has been lost and their vision depleted. Their roving eyes still roll in their sockets, but they see only the blackness, blurred and muddled together. Their screams are how they locate her, knowing she is moving just by her heavy and uncertain footsteps. Teeth? Jagged, serrated, ready to tear her apart. Talons? Sharp.
Bald, pale, monsters of the night.
When Atrani gasps for a breath, they shuffle in her direction, attracted by the sound. She catches it in her throat and the muscles in her empty sockets twitch as readily as her ears. They don’t move. She stands, her bones creaking. They press closer. One of them screams, but she doesn’t move and somehow she slips their notice as they blindly stare down at her from the crest of the hill. Their nails scrape ominously across the dirt, waiting for her to make a move.
This time, more calculated, she inches to the left. It’s where she can hear a faint rustle of pines as her mind rings back to reality. Another slow, meticulous step followed by another. It hurts to move – her legs, her skin, her lungs – but there is no other option. When there are trees close enough, she tries desperately to slide behind a wall of them, pressing her shoulder against the rough bark. It offers support for a moment as she musters her strength. They’ve inched closer, still screaming occasionally and blindly groping in front of them much like Atrani. Her muzzle glides along the side of the tree then reaches for the next one to measure the distance.
It’s large enough for her.
It’s a desperate attempt, but what else can a blind girl do?
There are no leaves underfoot. These are pine trees. But pine cones? There are those. Her back legs shift and she kicks behind her gently. She scrapes her hooves across the bark and her heavy landing attracts them. She squeals then, luring them toward her.
And they come.
They screech and jump, leaping through the air. Her movement is noted.
Their claws nearly grab her again, but they mostly latch onto the trees that are a barricade in front of her. They are her shield. But there is one that lunges in between a pair of pines. It stabs its nails into her and then it bites her, but she kicks again then runs. She awkwardly winds her body through that gap she had measured only moments prior. While the creatures scramble around the trees to find her, Atrani runs toward the sound of the river. The gurgling is a beacon to her ears. She stumbles, yes, but she also doesn’t stop. Her lungs burn and the blisters adorning her skin fester, pop, and dribble. Blood trickles down her back legs, thick rivulets weaving to her legs where it falls and splatters across the grass.
And still, she runs.
They’re following her. She can hear their screams and the rush of their footsteps. They pant hungrily in hot pursuit. Closer… They’re gaining on her… She’s tiring…
Another painful breath.
And then she stumbles. Water immediately greets her. Her legs scramble to break the surface of the river, and she gasps for another lungful of air.
The current sweeps her away. Attentively, her ears swivel to hear for the creatures, but they stopped at the river’s edge. They scream again and again, trying desperately to locate her, but the river hides her from their echolocation-type prowess. Atrani doesn’t have the energy to fight the current, and so she lets the water bathe her wounds and take her to the lake, into where it empties.
Her body, exhausted and torn, is abandoned at the water’s edge of the lake. The only thing that shows the world she is alive are the rise and falls of her ragged breaths.
dove into her eyes and starved all the fears
picture by haenuli shin- HTML by Call - words: ________
Ignoring the cold and the fact that she was completely soaked, she had stretched out. She had attempted to reach the peak, with the only goal in mind of reaching the orb. It was so close, so very close, but still too far away. Her neck extended and she reached out as far as she possibly could, even taking another step forward in an attempt to touch the orb that stood so bright against the stark darkness.
Just like that, from one moment to another, it’s gone.
Gasping in surprise and still struggling due to the low amount of oxygen in the air – little did she know that there also was poison in the game – Rae stumbles. She blinks, once, twice, and looks around almost dumbfound. No mountain, no storm, no orb. Instead she found herself standing, with four trembling legs, in a clearing.
No, Diorae then realises. It’s not the orb that is gone, but instead she is the one that suddenly disappeared from the mountain peak. What, in name of the dear lord, was happening here?
And what the **** was happening to her? Golden ears flick back and muscles tense under her skin. It burns. Burns so much. For a short moment it is like she goes down, her legs almost giving out, but then she corrects herself. No way she should lie down here and now. Bending her neck and glancing to herself, she can see the boils, which grow so big they show through her coat. It disgusts her, but honestly, it’s not the right time to think about it.
Instead she glances around, taking in the new location, the orb had brought her to. She can see massive pine trees and the gentle glow of hills, well, except for the fact that it’s looking at her. The little light that the orb had radiated, is now gone. Once again darkness is all around her, and normally she wouldn’t have been able to see the.. thing, whatever it was. Now she can. And she can only wishes she couldn’t.
For a moment she can only stare, eyes wide and ears pressed back against her skull. What was this? What was going on? What was it that was looking at her? In the eerie silence around her, the sound of her own – still heavy – breathing is harsh and loud to her ears. Diorae stumbles back, or actually she wants to, but finds herself unable to. The flesh of the rounding of her gluttons bump into something, some kind of barrier, blocking her way back. She can only go forward.
That meant facing whatever it was that was staring at her.
It’s not just one eye, or one pair of eyes. So many. And at first look it looks like they’re floating. They stare at her, not even blinking if favour of not losing sight of her. Rae stares right back at them. Unmoving.
But she has to. Going back is not an option, only forward. She shudders, willing herself to move. Step for step, hoof for hoof. The closer she gets, the more clearer she can see them. Her eyesight is still better than ever, shaper, more clear, and she can see even in the darkness. Diorae squints her eyes a little, as if it would make her sight even better. She gasps and widens her eyes, obviously surprised, as her vision changes.
She no longer just sees in the darkness, but instead her vision changed. She can see whatever it is that is looking at her, all because she can see heat signatures. What she sees is their body warmth, the warmers part bright red, then orange and yellowish green on the outside. Everything else is dark. So so dark, and Rae wishes that she could switch back to the other sight.
However, now she knows how they look like. The eyes.. they are the highest part of the creatures. The hills are full with them, and all have a pair of eyes still watching her. They don’t more, or not more than a gentle blub of their muddy, jelly-like moving body. All flat on the ground, a little rise in the middle and then, from there up, two sticks. On the top of the sticks, a too big eyeball. It’s slimy and disgusting. But, it doesn’t look too dangerous.
She still struggles to breath, but it’s no longer due to her hike up the mountain. Whatever it was that she had breathed in, it got her good. Like her lungs weren’t able to take in the oxygen that she breathed in, not enough to be fully comfortable at least. Diorae knows that staying still is no option, and thus she pushes forward. Closer and closer to the creatures.
They don’t move, not even when she stops right in front of them. Her nostrils flare, trembling as she snorts. Her head dips towards it, as if she want to sniff it out. First the eyeball, which still doesn’t blink – though looks irritated now – before venturing further down. Down the long stick, or is it a neck, that connects to the body. It still hadn’t moved, or not really, just bubbling and oozing in place. Like an alive mud pool.
Slowly she lifts her head, swallowing the dry lump in her throat, then she forces herself forward and steps on it. Just as quick as her hoof came in contact with the jelly substance of the body, she pulls back with a hiss. Tears water in her eyes, as if she didn’t hurt enough already. They cloud her vision too, but through it she can see the burn marks on her coronet bad. Widened eyes go back to the creatures, vision no longer in heat, but still better than normal. Some kind of gas was oozing from them.
But she has to cross them in favour of moving forward. Glancing back across her shoulder, no, that was no option. Eyes are squeezed shut and yes, she has to go forward, and she doesn’t want to. But has to.
A quick trot – canter still isn’t possible with the lack of oxygen in the air – she crosses them. Her hooves on their bodies, probably bruising and hurting them, just as they hurts her. Their gas burns her legs, burns her flesh, the hair of her body, it hurts. It hurts so much, but Rae has to go forward. Past the hills, to whatever lied behind them. Tears once again cloud her vision, breath raging and legs feeling like lead.
Each step is one harder to take, and her pace slows down little by little. In the end, she’s barely trotting, soon walking. Step for step. Her head is low, dipped close to the ground, and she’s gasping for breath. At that point she thinks she’s not able to do this much longer, close to crumble and go down again. But then, then they are no longer underneath her hooves. Grass, instead, even in the darkness she sees.
Rae gasps, as that’s the only thing she can do, tears rolling down her cheeks and she’s thankful. Finally, the torture is over. Finally, most of the hurting stopped. It’s not gone, her legs still glowing, burning, with whatever it was they got her with. Slowly she looks up, the smell of something sweet and promising reaching out to her. She has to blink a few times to be sure, to actually be sure of whatever it was that she was seeing. Hoping it would be able to take the burn away from her legs.
The sun crashed down to the ground, the moon rose up into the sky bright red, the dead climbed up from their graves and fell to their knees saying "Come one, come all, come see and believe."
He could choke on the taste of fear, sharp and metallic, burning his lungs as his breaths come harsh and ragged. He is tired, wearied by flight and misdirection, but he cannot stop. Not until he is safe.
But then he is no longer in the dark reaches of the forest. With no warning his churning legs are carrying him across an open clearing. He can see again, preternatural vision sharp in the murky light of this underworld. He knows he shouldn’t, but he slows, his feet drawing to a halt as he glances about him with a leery eye. Rolling hills stretch before him, dotted by occasional, sparse copses of pine trees. He does not recognize this land, even though it must be Beqanna [not the true Beqanna, but a false, hellish mirror].
After only a moment’s hesitation, he edges forward once more, propelled by the eerie growling of the beast. He can still hear it, that hissing snarl, the sinuous movement, the feel of hot breath, damp on his mottled skin. He shivers, his sweat-slicked flesh chilling in the still air. His steps hasten, quicker, quicker, until he is trotting at a brisk pace across the unnaturally still grasses blanketing the hills.
He halts abruptly once more when his powerful gaze catches upon bright pinpricks of red in the darkness. Fear races across his spine, the immediate thought of “It’s back!” clamoring through his fogged mind. But then the first pair of bright red lights [eyes?] is joined by a second. A third. A fourth. And then he loses count as they begin appearing all around him, filling the dim light with their menacing stare.
This time though, he is not fool enough to wait around. This time, he bolts, terror quickening his steps and giving him a precious burst of energy. The wolf is there beside him, friend and ally, the only protection he has in this dark, abnormal world.
Alas, he is not quick enough to outrun this nightmare. There are too many of them, and he had drawn far too close.The red, red eyes coalesce into shapes, featureless and foreign. But then they come closer, ever nearer, gaining too easily upon his lagging stride. As they close in, their appearance becomes sharper, more distinct. Thin, spindly bodies carrying long, grasping fingers and toes tipped by jagged claws. Their small faces are ugly and mean, pointed features and wide mouths split into sharp-toothed grins.
Another spurt of terror rushes through him, powering his weakening limbs, but it is not enough. Not even close to enough. Those feral creatures are soon upon him, unnaturally silent in their hunt, talons and fangs grasping for any piece of flesh they can find. The first creature to find him, to tear at his tender skin, draws a pained and panicked shriek from gasping lips.
But it is only the first of many.
He is young, small, not yet able to bear much weight beyond his own. Soon the grasping fingers become too much. No amount of bucking or bellowing seems to dislodge them. The wolf, snapping and snarling, grabs and flings gremlins from its master’s side, but one shadowy ally is not enough to fight so many. Even the addition of a second, a third, is not enough. The small beasts hold fast, their weight adding to his as they find finger holds, slowing his pace until he stumbles, falls. Until he is consumed by writhing, grasping bodies.
Tears begin to leak from his eyes as blood leaks from his skin, lapped away almost as quickly as it appears. Drawing sharply into himself, he curls into as small a form as possible, feeling his skin rip and tear beneath the seeking claws of those unsightly monsters. The wolves dissolve into a mist, the darkness drawing to him, settling upon him like a cloak. The only comfort he has in this moment, when he is so certain death is upon him.
But as the shadow coalesces upon his skin, it acts as unwitting shield, hardening to protect sensitive flesh from grasping fingers and teeth. He can feel them scrabbling at suddenly hardened skin, the scritch of talon against the blackened shell painful to his ear. And then a thought comes to him, one shining bright sliver of hope, the only chance he might possibly have of escape. With a heave and a below of effort, he throws his shield wide. Gremlins, abruptly displaced, fly through the air, spindly bodies flailing, mouths wide in silent yowls as they hit the ground with hard, satisfying thumps.
Despite the pain, the weakness, despite the blood now flowing freely from his torn skin, Ether hauls himself to his feet and runs. His gait is hobbling and difficult, each step painful and strained by torn skin and muscle, but still he runs. Drawing his loyal shadow back to him, he coats himself once more in the armor. It eats away precious energy, but for the moment, it doesn't matter. His only aim is survival.
Finally, one last hill is crested, revealing a smooth, mirrored lake resting in a shallow basin. His heart thumps hard in his chest as he stares at the crystalline surface, ragged breath metallic in his mouth as he is reminded of just how badly he needs a drink. But he fears it, that still water. Fears it like those goblin creatures, like the snarling serpent once again far too close. Ever there, ever behind him, driving him onwards with dark, sticky despair.
Through despair and hope, Through faith and love. Till we find our place, on the path unwinding.
Once again, he is transported. For the second time the darkness pulls him, stretches him, tosses him to a new location. As he lands his shoulders heave and his stomach churns, but this time there is nothing in his belly. Tall and straight trees surround him, but they feel like a cage more than a shelter and he moves into the darkness towards a faint red glow..
The hills have eyes, hungry all seeing eyes. He looks back over his shoulder but the darkness it complete, there is no turning back, the way is shut.
Round eyes pucker the hillside in front of him, much like the oozing sores which speckle his body. His beautiful body. The golden fur on his pelt is ragged and mottled by blisters from the poisonous vapors on the mountain. But the burning of his skin barely registers, it is dwarfed but the searing pain which tears his lungs with each breath he draws. He moves towards the hills, his back legs shifting from his feline form to the powerful haunches and hard hooves of a horse.
Each orb in its rocky socket watches him, simultaneously, they blink. Then, one thousand stone lids lift to reveal their red irises. He evaluates them with the unnerving clarity of his enhanced vision. The red irises are all the same bloody shade of crimson, globular heavy red around the edges and burning hot red encircling the pupil. The pupils are endless wells, but inside each inky lens he can see the flickering of a small flame.
He groans. This is a nightmare.
Zenith draws abreast with the first eye. It watches him coolly before the pupil contracts and it begins to shake. Like a disease the rattling spreads until the ten eyes nearest him are all quivering in their stone sockets. He moves faster, burning lungs be damned, he had to get past these hills. What was to the north? Hyaline? The lake? In this world there was probably a leviathan in the late. He could worry about that later.
But he doesn't make it far before the first eye ruptures and spews liquid flames towards him. With a youl that causes one thousand stone lids to blink, he twists away from the burning fluid. Across his haunch a splash of fur is missing and his flesh steams in the darkness.
Unbidden, his vision shifts to thermal imaging. The hills are awash in blues and green speckled with red spots. The eyes are warm and alive, the give off a soft glow of heat. But there is not time to linger and observe - beside him another starts to quake and as it does it changes for red to orange to yellow and finally white hot. He doesn't stay close, he knows what happens next. He is running, twisting to avoid the eyes which grow hotter before they attack. He dodges and dances his way up the hillside, falling into a rhythm, discovering the pattern and turning the nightmare into a sort of morbid walts. It is a dance with major consequences for one misstep. His mind is focused and his fear fades into the background now that there are rules - a clear way to win and lose.
And then, the hills are behind him. His own green eyes scan the new landscape, a hunter's eyes.
The lake of Hyaline is before him. The supernatural stillness no longer surprises him. He wants desperately to use this moment to relax and regain his strength, but he doesn't dare. He recovers as he walks, pulling air in gasps into his damaged lugs and making his way towards the lake.
Cats have nine lives, they had told him. Hopefully the were right.
