"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
07-12-2017, 09:29 AM (This post was last modified: 07-12-2017, 09:34 AM by The Underneath.)
Welcome to all who have entered - no eliminations this round.
The Underneath: The Forest
You enter the forest.
Fearless one, aren't you?
Or perhaps foolish.
Very, very foolish.
Only time would tell.
The darkness is encroaching - suffocating, stifling - until it is enveloping you, shrouding you in a drapery of nothingness and stealing all but one part of your advanced vision (you are left with nothing else but infrared vision, stolen away by the forest boundary). If it seemed dark before, surely this must be the abyss itself. It is reminiscent of the many times you had blearily opened your eyes after a leisurely afternoon slumber, only to wake and find yourself surrounded by the shadow of night, and the disorienting visual adjustment that inevitably followed.
There is a faint outline of trees ahead, but it is as if there had never been a sun in the sky - as if there had never been in a moon in its wake. There is movement up ahead, towards the left - a shifting, wavering figure, stark and bright - a beacon of light? But no, it moves - and its chest, or what would be, is heaving, panting heavily with the thickness of the atmosphere. It is alive, breathing!
Its deep and vivid yellow silhouette carries a crimson, beating heart in its center, blending into the darkness of the auburn of its own heat signature. It is a shapeless form, and twisting and turning, and its growl echoes through the seemingly still air, before it has disappeared altogether. Dissipated, in front of your very own eyes.
The foliage is dense, and it is all too easy to disappear into it, weaving through the many old and brittle pines towering overhead - but behind you, there is soon the footfall of another.
It has found you again.
The warmth of its breath is hot on your neck; the heat of its body lingering too close to your own. Another snarl, and its saliva is dribbling down across your hipbone -
Do you turn and fight, or do you flee?
You have entered the Forest, and thus, Taiga.
The forest has taken any and all ability to see in the darkness (temporarily - round two and three only).
Any living creature your character comes across can only be seen in infrared vision, as seen here.
The creature your character has come across can be any natural or mythological creature you can think of.
You can fight, or you can flee.
End your post at the conclusion of your valiant fight or cunning escape.
The Underneath: The Mountain
You have approached the treacherous mountain, and suddenly it is as if the thickest part of the darkness has dissipated.
There is some semblance of light in the clearing, though with no discernible source, it is an eerie sort of illumination. To the west of the mountain lay the ravenous black sea, churning and swallowing itself with each rhythmic, pounding wave - and to the east is from whence you came, and there is nothing left for you there. The echo of the howl that had spurned you to move has faded in oblivion, and you are again alone - deeply, undeniably alone, with nothing but the crest of the dark and sinister mountain before you to keep you company.
An ominous storm is surrounding its peak, with dark and heavy clouds reaching towards the sky - stirring and roiling around its base and ascending to its sharpened peak. It crackles with electricity, and gentle bursts of light brighten it. There is something menacing about the dark clouds, but there is a bright, glowing light that can be seen shining within its depths - an orb that is calling to you, beckoning you forward with promise of an answer you seek.
Why are you here?
You could resist its allure, and journey around the base of the mountain and onward to the river to the north on a dangerous, unsteady rock-laden pathway, or you can venture into the clouds and seek the glimmering light, and attempt going over the mountain.
Which will you choose?
You have approached the Mountain.
There is a storm at its base with a glowing, levitating orb in its center - and there is a thin, rock-lined path to the right that goes around the Mountain and next to the darkness of the Forest.
Will your character brave the clouds and seek out the glimmering light, or will they avoid the storm and take the path towards the River?
End the post with your character either reaching the mountain peak or traveling around its base.
Jah-Lilah scrambled further into the once-comforting forest, eyes rolling in a panic she was desperately trying to suppress. She could barely breathe. The heavy weight of the absolute darkness was smothering. She tried to focus her newly-replaced vision, but something was off again. She couldn't see anything now, even as she ducked and dodged around trees it was all from memory.
If you need it, we will make it all alright.
She could barely breathe. As she tried to swing her body 'round a tree, she cut it too close. Something touched her. Her skin shuddered involuntarily and she bolts right. She can't see what it is, she only knows what she felt. Slimy, sticky, something like ooze sliding against her shoulder. What in the actual fuck was that, Jah? She can't focus on that right now. She can barely make out the trees ahead, and that's when it catches her eye. Something was there, this was no bad trip. She freezes, body locked in fear for a split-second. This was getting too real too fast for the marrow-red mare.
I said if you wanted it, you could have it.
Something touched her. Now she knew what had left that mire on the bark of the redwood. It was a great, lumbering thing. A deep red heart beat in the center of an amber outline. Infrared vision, she realized, was all that remained of her once-perfect eyesight. She almost wished she couldn't see at all. It's body contorted in strange, unnatural ways that made her physically ill. She tried to stay calm, but was finding it increasingly difficult. She then witnessed something that made her blood run cold the beast had vanished.
Are you awake? Because it's creepin'.
She almost wished she couldn't see at all. She wasted no time in bounding for what she thought was the way through the timbers. She couldn't get the thing out of her mind, she'd never seen anything like it. What was that? Was that just a twig snapping? Shhhhhh, be quiet now. What. Was. That. Even in her deepest nightmares, she couldn't remember seeing anything whose shaped matched the beast's. It clearly had the upper hand, the way in melted seamlessly into the blackness. She was in it's element, and she thought it best to get her round ass outta there.
It's gon' find you, gon' catch you sleeping.
Shhhhhh, be quiet now. She knew it, weighty, deliberate steps trailing her. The beast had no sense of urgency, no sense of secrecy. It was unafraid, wanted her to know it was stalking her, hunting her. She can no longer contain it and lets loose a cry in alarm. The warmth on her side, the drool along her flank, it tips her over the edge. She shies away, lashing out with her hind legs upon her retreat. Jah-Lilah didn't know the first thing about combat. She had always been a wytch, a magicker. She was good at strategizing and planning, but not physical warfare. She tears away as quickly as the fog of darkness will allow her, seeking any kind of sanctuary from her pursuer.
It hadn’t taken very long for his own paws to disappear. At that time, the black curtain around him had been a reprieve from whatever it was that was left to lurk in this ruined wasteland. The natural conclusion that Crevan had drawn was escape; if he could slip quickly enough into the familiarity of the woods he might be able to avoid confrontation with the beastie, whatever it was. Unfortunately for him, the rule remained that when someone assumes things they shouldn’t, they usually suffer.
Within minutes of losing natural sight, it became evident to the pale-colored shifter that escape was unavoidable. He’d tempted fate by coming here, to the Forest, and now with every labored stride it seemed that outrunning the thing had been a fool’s errand. There was only fear left to drive him on into the heart of his mother’s kingdom, that and the occasional flicker of yellow-orange heat as it skittered alongside him. Soon enough, there would be nowhere left to run - he knew Circinae’s home as well as a wolf should; the edge of all land was approaching fast.
It’s only as the trees break in cover ahead that Crevan feels a sense of hope, thinking, “I’ll dive if I have to, right over the dunes and down into the sea.” (and they’re so very close now, the smell of briny air is already assaulting his nostrils) A few more painful lopes on weary legs and the earth would melt into sand, and he’d be free …
But his freedom would come at a price.
The creature had outwitted him. Up ahead, separating the now-motionless wolf from his tender ideas of hope, was a rounded, heaving body of ember yellow. The color has never been so much a warning as it is right now, even with the familiar shiver of a bloodred heart off-center in it’s chest. There’s no design to the animal (if he’s even sure it is one) but he can discern two elongated necks, winding seductively about each other while the squat, lizard-like body beneath seems poised for a chase.
Crevan turns away. The physical effort of even lifting a single paw has him trembling with exhaustion but the act is useless anyways. The creature has voided the dunes and showed his hand by appearing very near to him - there had been no chance of escape from the first step.
A dying predator loses sensibility when he feels the brush of the reaper’s lips against his cheek. In Crevan’s case, it’s the rancid slick of wetness against his hip that sends him into a frenzy. Shrouded in total darkness the shaggy canine and hydra clash together, screams and shrieks rising above the canopy of night to echo around them. Our Taigan sees white, yellow, a flash of red, and then his teeth make purchase against a single neck and he tears through, blanching at the pain in his mouth while oiled blood sprays across his face and down his furred chin.
It buys him time to dart away, to collapse into the sand and shift back to horse while the Hydra wails in acute pain. Volatile in nature, the being’s mythical blood has taken an acidic taint which leaves a bare trail from Crevan’s once golden lips down to his heaving chest. The skin along his ribs is ribboned, flayed by tooth and claw alike. The former injury, hurting much more acutely than the latter, is throbbing while he turns his head to catch sight of the now three-headed mythos as it scuttles up the ridgeline to finish the deed. “Stand up.” He tells himself, and like a puppet suddenly reanimated, he stands. The red heart of his enemy seems closer now, thudding with feverish excitement as the Hydra nears. “Hold steady.” Crevan commands his body, though the being is almost upon him and his constitution is weakening.
“Now.” He thinks.
A jet of fire leaps from Crevan’s tender throat and bridges the short gap between them. In the saturated blackness around them even the blaze cannot be dimmed, spirituous as it is. Seared by fire’s touch the Hydra writhes in torment, unable to sprout more heads while Crevan’s flame devours it completely. The final few shudders of that telltale heart are almost comforting to the champagne stallion while his strength renews with rest. “Even more comforting if I could figure out its purpose.” He reasons as his eyes flicker back to the dead wood.
There’s no avoiding the truth now. He knows the circumstances are too good to be true. He’d found himself in a fairy ordeal, a quest that his people have spoken of in passing. He’s not sure why he’d been chosen, no one ever really is, but now - while he stands panting and bloodied on the edge of this other Taiga - he’s more determined than ever to see it through.
Then our skin gets thicker, living out in the snow
The fear was enough motivation to flee to the looming mountain.
With every step she takes her legs feel heavier and breathing actually started to hurt. Each gasp for air felt like getting stabbed in the chest. In any other situation she wouldn’t have pressed forward, would’ve given in to the struggle of breathing. The fear, however, won it over the lack of energy, although the latter is slowly winning terrain. The leaded hooves – or is it the lack of oxygen – slows her down little by little.
Eventually Diorae finds herself standing at the base of the mountain, heavily panting. Her sides expand and deflate with each gasp for breath she takes. The howl is nothing more but a dying echo and in that moment of eerie silence she silently wishes it was still there. Her eyes are set on the mountain, only to notice all the small changes.
It seems lighter, though there is no actual light. And against the light that now illuminates the ashen cloud coming from the very top is more visible. But still, without this new sense of sight, no horse would’ve been able to see it. It – the clouds – are still moving, but now she sees it’s not just that. It’s a storm, which probably explained the movement she had previously seen too. Still dark, so very dark, almost as dark as the black see in the west, almost as dark as the forest she fled from. But one thing so very different.
Squinting her eyes the golden mare takes a step closer. Even though the storm is raging not far away, her mane and tail only move in sync with her own movements. There is no wind tugging on them, yet. Another step and she can feel the call of that what makes the storm so very different from the forest and the sea – and the whole lot of Beqanna – becoming stronger. It lures Diorae in like a mot attracts a flame. She’s the mot, the orb the flame. And it calls her. Promising an answer to the answer she desperately seeks. Not simply where am I? But more, why am I here?
Not a moment does she think of resisting, of taking the path that leads into darkness again. She doesn’t want to go there, doesn’t want to face it. Okay, Diorae had to admit that defying the storm wasn’t a good thing either, but the light, the orb, it called her. And she desperately needed the little light in this dark dark world.
And thus the option of taking the path around the base is abandoned. Or, it never even had been a possible option in her mind. Her brown eyes leave the path, and instead Rae faces the storm. With a knit in her stomach and trembling nostrils as she still hasn’t caught her breath.
Never having had a voice, Diorae is also unfamiliar with addressing herself in her thoughts. She simply decides that she has to do it, she would have to find out if she can or cannot soon. Very soon. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t scare her. Just.. facing the storm seemed a better option than going around and face the darkness again. She wanted the light.
Her hooves still feel like they’re coated with lead, each step so hard to take. Pure will power is that what has her actually moving forward. Slowly, much slower than her run from the forest to the mountain, but slowly and surely she makes her way up. It starts with a few droplets, and soon her whole golden coat is drenched. Pale mane are dripping and clinging to her neck, equally as pale – though also a bit dirty – tail wat and swaying.
It drip into her eyes too, clouding her amazing vision and forcing her to squint her eyes a bit to keep the water out of them. Rae sometimes stumbles, having to catch herself after a wrong step. The orb also looks like it had gotten less bright, but perhaps it just looks like that in the pouring rain. What was a storm without rain? This time there is more movement too. The wind coming with the storm tugs on her, blazing against her and pulling on her mane and tail, sending them flying.
She can only hope that the orb will show her which way to go, how to continue from this, or simply just she could go back home.
The higher she goes, the thinner the air becomes. Before breathing was already hard, but up here it only gets worse. She’s soaked to the bones too, teeth rattling and muscles trembling. She’s cold, so cold. But she has to keep moving, she has to get to the top, to reach the orb. The orb will answer all her questions. She hopes.
It feels like hours, no, even like days, before she reaches the peak. Rain has her drenched from top to bottom and if the storm wouldn’t have been there to accompany her all the way, sweat would’ve gotten her equally as wet. But she’s there. Finally there. Diorae stands above the storm now, but the orb is still not within reach.
She’s cold. She’s panting. Soaked to the very bottom of her being. Perhaps it hadn’t been the wisest idea to go to the peak after all.
07-13-2017, 04:06 PM (This post was last modified: 07-13-2017, 04:12 PM by Ciri.)
The coverage of the forest had made sense at the time. She had counted on the dense wood and foliage to camouflage her, hide her from the thing that was stalking her. What she didn’t realize was that she had encroached on the creature’s domain. This was his playing field and he knew it well. She had made the wrong choice.
All she can hear is the sound of her own rattled breath, silver eyes darting around the forest and trying to make sense of her surroundings. Her vision had changed. She can barely make out the shadows of the trunks and she slowly starts to make her way deeper into the woods. She doesn’t know Taiga, the new world unfamiliar to her. This forest is dense and strange, and it holds a secret at it’s heart. A secret she was about to discover.
Her going is slow, having to check herself from falling over logs and roots. Slowly feeling her way around the trees, trying to be careful and not snap any twigs, trying not to bring unnecessary attention to herself. She has managed to catch her breath now but the darkness is smothering. The air was heavier here due to the density of leaves and brush. As much as she usually loves the forests, she wishes nothing more than to be out of this one.
As she leans against the broad rough bark of a tree trunk, trying to catch her breath, she suddenly freezes. Something is moving between the trees towards her left. The darkness is split by the large image, a mass of orange and yellows exposing it’s shape. It’s tall, very tall. She catches a glimpse of antlers, long arms that seem to spiral at the hands much like twisted roots of trees. There’s a dark red spot in what she assumes is it’s broad chest, it’s beating. It’s heart? It’s moving slowly before her, as if the trees themselves shift and move to make way for it. For a second she thinks she can hear the harsh caws of a ravens, it unnerves her when this world is so still and silent. All of sudden, in a swirl of smoke and shadows, it has disappeared. She thought she saw the warm orange bodies of ravens sweeping around it before it vanishes. She's not sure. Not sure of anything anymore.
She stares at the spot where it had once been in totally disbelief. The darkness has returned, only able to once again make out faint shadows of branches. What could that even be? She had never seen anything like it before. Her brain seems foggy, unable to process what was happening. Sluggish, unsure. Scared. Her own pulse was racing with the anticipation of the unknown. She can hear it in her ears. Shaking her head, trying to clear the cobwebs. She doesn’t see the mist, feathers, and shadows swirling behind her. Doesn’t see the Leshen that has formed from nowhere.
For this is the forest’s secret. A spirit of the woods, it’s guardian. Do not confuse it for the kind thoughtfulness of the fairies for this being was much darker then that. It manipulates shadows, holds sway over the forest creatures and plants. An ancient thing that had seen centuries pass from the sanctuary of it’s home. This one is not as old as others, it can’t command packs of wolves like it’s elders. It can however, call down the ravens. How lucky for her.
It snarls softly behind her, it’s twig like hands scratching against her hindquarters as mossy slime drips from the deer skull that makes up it’s head. It lands on her hipbone, dripping down slowly. She turns quickly, sees the monster looming over her. It’s a split second decision. Her body aches to fight but her mind has snapped back together in the seconds it’s spotted the Leshen (although she does not know it’s name). She quickly takes in it’s size, the long strong wooden arms. Remembers the way it lumbered through the trees, slow but deadly. She knows very quickly that she is grossly outmatched. In those few seconds it’s become obvious what she needs to do.
The ravens scream as they seem to explode from behind his skull, driving her back as she turns and flees. Her escape is messy and ungraceful. More than once she runs into branches and bushes, they grab at her flesh. Tearing and tangling into her mane. Her body slicing against rough bark as she grazes against trees. It’s pure luck that keeps her from running head on into them or perhaps it’s the Leshen, playing with it’s prey. Gasping for air, she knows it’s still behind her. Can hear the heaviness of it’s steps as the ground quivers beneath her hooves. She doesn’t see the Leshen dip down, doesn’t see it’s arms bury into the forest floor. Roots suddenly spring up before her, smashing her to the left. She falls into a large rotten log and lays there, struggling to breath. Her sides hurt and eventually she rolls herself back up, bruised and aching.
The Leshen is gone again. She knows it’s somewhere, not far. Maybe it’s toying with her, maybe she’s close to leaving it’s territory and no longer thinks her a threat. She’s not sure. But for now it’s simply lurking, somewhere she can’t see. As quietly as she can, she gets to her feet. There’s nothing to do but keep moving. Somehow, someway, she’s got to get out of here.
She gasps for air as her chest heaved. Milk dipped forelimbs buckle as she is brought down upon her knees. The cream white now stained with filth. Her plumage shifts upon her frame as she attempts to rise again but she needs a minute...
The cream of her forelock drapes across her dished face as ears swivel. The menacing grumble that caused her fleet was heard no more. Navy eyes that had been widened in fear - steadied - raising slightly to view what lie ahead...
Get up
Using whatever strength she could muster she stood. The once compressing air lightened within her lungs. Her breathing becoming rhythmatic again. She noted the path to the right. It's uneven footing and narrow wind around the mountains base towards the trees. Her advanced vision offered her a glimpse of what was ahead but she had made up her mind. She was determined to find help.
Her gaze shifted to the activity around the towering rock formation. The flickering lights cast by the electric energy within the obsidian abyss intruiged her. The glow was not blueish white, as any she had seen streak across the skies before, but hues of the sun. Her head tilted in confusion then stepping forward - lighter than before - she moved freely. The wispy edges of her emerald gown dusted against the path. As she neared the base the path twisted upwards, into the clouds. Watching as the they churned just as the blackened sea in the distance. Within the darkness was a glowing beacon of light. It resembled that of the orbs that had led her to the safety of Beqanna. Surely they must be the same...
Fairies
There was a new found pep in her stride as she traversed onward. The path curling up the mountain was treacherous. Sections had crumbled away, leaving her to leap the gaps. Loose stones slid beneath her hooves, tumbling down the steep sides. Gold flecked eyes remained focused. The luminous glow of the orb guiding her way. Nothing would stop her now...
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."
The forest had swallowed him so easily, refusing to spit him back out despite his youthful naivete. It will not give up its prize so easily. And Ether, young and foolhardy colt that he is, continues ever deeper. Further entrenching himself in the dark, oily world that had replaced his familiar home with heavy, grasping fingers. Darker, deeper, deadlier. Taking him in until even his sight begins to blacken [that unnaturally powerfully sight that is not truly his], until only a faint glow is left in the distance.
His strides slow, faltering as he stares at that single visible object, its light melding, blending, shifting. Moving. It is not a light, but a thing. A thing with a pulse, bright and hot [a thrumming heartbeat that throbs in the false night], alarmingly alive.
For a moment, he can only stand and stare, eyes wide and frightened. The wolf still rests beside him, invisible in the blackness of the forest, in the wake of such bright life. It is the only comfort he has in this strange and awful parody of his home. The only protection he has against whatever beast now stares back at him.
And then it is moving towards him, its massive body making only a soft hissing sound as it slithers across the forest floor. The shifting of the heartbeat startles him from his reverie, reminding him that he should be running. This beast is coming for him, and it cannot be for anything good. Taking several hasty steps backwards, he stumbles, nearly falls. When his gaze once more finds that beastly creature, it is disappearing, dissolving in a flurry of bright sparks, leaving him blinded in the ensuing darkness.
Breath, hot and sticky, a low rumbling growl. This is all the warning he is given when the creature appears behind him, saliva dangling thick and wet from its fanged mouth. Flinching violently, Ether springs forward on tense muscles, his breath propelled from his lungs with a harsh gasp. But the wolf is there, leaping, jaws wide in a silent, lethal snarl. The smallest part of Ether that has retained any ability to think [to act] despite the horror.
He is but a boy though, small and inconsequential. He could not hope to overcome such a beast on his own. He can see it clearly now, long and serpentine, each thick coil as large as his barrel. The pulsing heart is there, hidden behind steely, sinewy muscle. Behind long, dripping fangs. So he does the only thing a boy like him can do. He runs.
A second wolf joins the first, a third. It drains his energy, weakens his muscles. They could not hope to win against such a beast [not when they are only as strong as their master], but they would buy him time. Time is precious now, necessary. Time is what he needs to get away. To flee to a distant corner of this otherworld. To find what safety he might.
He can hear the snapping, the growling and spitting, massive jaws closing futilely on ephemeral shadow, growing more distant with each step. He cannot maintain it though, not with such distance between them. And so one wolf vanishes, then another, and finally the last is beside him once more, a shadowy tendril he still cannot see. He can only pray they have bought him enough time. That they had allowed him his escape.
Through despair and hope, Through faith and love. Till we find our place, on the path unwinding.
He had ran from the darkness blindly. The unseen beast is far behind him, the Mountain before him and stillness surrounds him. Zenith had moved with the sole purpose of getting away from that creature, blind to the world around him.
But now, as his mind has steadies and his body stills, he sees he has a choice to make. The great ocean, roiling in its grey anger, causes a reaction in his body much like the dark growl earlier. His new vision lets him see each ripple atop the churning waves of energy and water, pulling a snarl from his lips. His stomach churns and his feline instincts make him look away, look to the mountain.
A storm is gathering, but a storm is something less foreign and therefore less terrifying. But this storm is not like others, it seems to have a heart at its center, a heart which glows with life. Before Zenith consciously make a decision he find himself padding towards the clouds and their heat, up a narrow path of slate and shale. He hates the sluggishness which still weighs him down, and especially at a time like this.
If I was my normal self I would not feel afraid, the lion consoles himself.
He tried not to think about what was going on, it didn't make sense and he needed to use all his energy for his body, not working out they why and how. Whatever was going on here was much bigger than him and he could only hope it would end as quickly and magically as it had began. So, as if he were in a battle, he stays in the moment, working off of instincts more than thoughts.
The orb seems to purr to him- beckon him. The muted scene captures his curiosity and in his interest slowly replaces his fear. His steps are heavy and purposeful and his sense remain sharp, nose and ears searching for what the fog may conceal from his dragon’s eye.
”Sick games,” her voice is barely a whisper, gentled by the howling wind and churning waves. She speaks to no one and nothing. In this world – her world – she is eternally alone. Her head drops down, a shield facing the oncoming wind as it batters her, tumbling past the titanic mountain like a river. Atrani doesn’t know how the land maps out around her. Everything is dark just as it has always been, as it always will be.
The muscles surrounding the empty sockets twitch and follow her ears.
The wind blows and sends a chill down the length of her spine. What had once been growling behind her has since hushed, or perhaps the looming storm has simply muffled its rumbling threats.
Atrani pauses to take a breath, as shallow and insufficient as it may seem. Her altitude is increasing and the oxygen is decreasing. For a moment, while her body adjusts, she shuffles her feet in place.
In… Out… In…
Her lungs are greedy in the way they expand, but it’s never enough. It briefly reminds her of Tephra. Barely. There had been a volcano there, ominous in how it stood watch. Of course, Atrani never saw it, but somehow she felt it as she does now. There is no acrid smoke clouding the air this time so she knows that she isn’t in the home of Magnus.
Why are you here?
The voice interrupts her thoughts and she jerks her head to the left, then the right. She desperately tries to listen for the voice again, but only the howling wind pursues. There is a roll of thunder and a crackle of lightning, but still her world is dark, never to be illuminated by the storm’s flashing light. ”Leave the eyeless girl in a storm. How kind,” again, she is muttering to herself, assuming she remains alone as always. The voice has since diminished and there isn’t an eerie feeling of eyes tracing her body. ”Hello?” she forces herself to ask while trying to avoid sounding pitiful.
No response.
Silence.
Then thunder again.
Then the rain.
It sinks cold, wet fingers down through her coat and into her skin. Atrani shudders, confused, lost. When she breathes in, she tries desperately to sift through the scents for something – anything – familiar, but there is nothing. Everything is different and new and foreign. Is she even in Beqanna anymore? Is she asleep? Of course, she wouldn’t know since both worlds would be just as black and abysmal.
A moment of reflection funnels her attention on that voice that had crooned to her. It has only been minutes and yet seems like hours. She struggles to determine a direction from where it came. Another breath is a futile attempt for familiarity. When her ears swivel, she can hear the river to the north. She can hear the water gurgling and struggling over the rocks. No, she would fall and the water would further destroy her intent to seek out certain scents.
So she continues forward, stumbling over an occasional rock. When the path winds precariously, Atrani slows herself and inches her muzzle toward the surrounding rocks, letting her whiskers glide across the gravely surfaces before determining a place to turn. It’s rather slow work as her senses tediously rally together to navigate her along the uneven, rocky trail. Every few yards, she takes pause to breathe again and attempt to nourish her atrophied body. Her ribs protrude much like her hips, and her neck is ewed by a lack of topline. The skin is pulled taut. How she is alive, many would wonder. She is a walking skeleton with no eyes – an ugly thing, really – but she doesn’t allow her shortcomings to hinder her.
Little does she know of the advantage she has. All of her senses are more attuned to compensate for her blindness. There are others, certainly, but they are struggling in this new, dark world while Atrani just continues on as though it’s another normal day.
There is no way for her to keep track of the time passing. All she notices is how the temperature drops and the air continues to thin. It’s enough as her body doesn’t need quite as much – her muscles already malnourished and meager – and so she is able to finally ascend to what she assumes to be the peak. Is this where the voice had originated? ”Sick humor,” her tongue licks her cracked lips as she breathes, becoming more greedy for air. She doesn’t push herself anymore. When her voice extends in all directions, she knows to stop for now and to recover. ”Where am I?” She whispers to herself as her head tilts from one side to another, the muscles in the sockets twitching again.
dove into her eyes and starved all the fears
picture by haenuli shin- HTML by Call - words: ________
[Image: callwolf_zpsasro4cel.png]
the mountain didn't mention creating creatures or having dragon vision, so hopefully this is ok
Atrani stumbled her way to the peak rather than go around the base.
AuroraElis
