The shorter path is not easier

[Time]

Through the Mountain – Iasan, Divide, Hawke, Lucrezia, Cerva
 
“I can help you! a voice calls from inside the strange rock formation. As always, you can go back, though by now the way back may be harder than the way forward. Or you can go to the voice promising help. The sound of running water catches your ear, and when you enter the rock temple, a man with two heads stands there, a small river running in front of his feet. “Drink,” he offers, and as you do, the rocks begin to grow around you, slamming shut on all sides until it is just you and the strange man with two heads. No, not really two heads. It is one head, but with two faces on either side.
 
They swivel back and forth to look at you, the other mouth speaking now.  “I promise, this is help. It is a quicker route.” The man – is he a man, or a god? – raises his hands slightly and two shimmering doors appear on each side of him, and another behind you. “The shorter path is never easier – “ “you can go back if you choose.”
 
At this, two creatures begin to shimmer, forming as the doors did, though the creatures do not solidify. On one side, a creature with the body, tail, and back legs of a lion; the head and wings of an eagle and an eagle's talons as its front feet. One the other side, an impossibly large two-legged creature towers, a club in his hands. The head on the side of the strange lion and eagle creature speaks first. “Inside each door, you will find these creatures in the tunnel.” ”We cannot stop the creatures, we can only warn you.”
 
”Choose. Griffin,” Or Giant. Or the door behind you will take you home.” And then the two-faced man is gone, and you are left to choose.
 
**
Detail your trip through the tunnel. The tunnel is cold, and you are still under the snowy landscape above, but the rest of the details of the tunnel are entirely up to you (small/large, dark/light, etc.). Encounter the monster you choose and detail your escape. Your trip ends when you reach the end of the tunnel and find a white room.
 
Dunes in the Desert - Briske
 
“I can help you! a voice calls from inside the tree-ringed oasis. As always, you can go back, though by now the way back may be harder than the way forward. Or you can go to the voice promising help. The sound of running water catches your ear, and when you enter the oasis, a man with two heads stands there, a small river running in front of his feet. “Drink,” he offers, and as you do, the trees begin to grow around you, slamming shut on all sides until it is just you and the strange man with two heads. No, not really two heads. It is one head, but with two faces on either side.
 
They swivel back and forth to look at you, the other mouth speaking now.  “I promise, this is help. It is a quicker route.” The man – is he a man, or a god? – raises his hands slightly and two shimmering doors appear on each side of him, and another behind you. “The shorter path is never easier – “ “you can go back if you choose.”
 
At this, two creatures begin to shimmer, forming as the doors did, though the creatures do not solidify. On one side, a large snake appears, fangs dripping venom. One the other side, an overlarge hyena forms, though you know it cannot be a hyena. There’s something wrong about it, something long dead. The head on the side of the snake speaks first. “Inside each door, you will find these creatures in the tunnel.” ”We cannot stop the creatures, we can only warn you.”
 
”Choose. Basilisk,” Or ghoul. Or the door behind you will take you home.” And then the two-faced man is gone, and you are left to choose.
 
**
Detail your trip through the tunnel. The tunnel is hot, and you are still under the desert landscape above, but the rest of the details of the tunnel are entirely up to you (small/large, dark/light, etc.). Encounter the monster you choose and detail your escape. Your trip ends when you reach the end of the tunnel and find a white room.
 
Hard Ground in the Desert - Rora
 
“I can help you! a voice calls from inside the tree-ringed oasis. As always, you can go back, though by now the way back may be harder than the way forward. Or you can go to the voice promising help. The sound of running water catches your ear, and when you enter the oasis, a man with two heads stands there, a small river running in front of his feet. “Drink,” he offers, and as you do, the trees begin to grow around you, slamming shut on all sides until it is just you and the strange man with two heads. No, not really two heads. It is one head, but with two faces on either side.
 
They swivel back and forth to look at you, the other mouth speaking now.  “I promise, this is help. It is a quicker route.” The man – is he a man, or a god? – raises his hands slightly and two shimmering doors appear on each side of him, and another behind you. “The shorter path is never easier – “ “you can go back if you choose.”
 
At this, two creatures begin to shimmer, forming as the doors did, though the creatures do not solidify. On one side, a large two-legged dragon appears, though it’s head looks like that of a rooster. One the other side, a two-foot long worm appears, with no discernable head. The head on the side of the dragon speaks first. “Inside each door, you will find these creatures in the tunnel.” ”We cannot stop the creatures, we can only warn you.”
 
”Choose. Cockatrice,” Or Death Worm. Or the door behind you will take you home.” And then the two-faced man is gone, and you are left to choose.
 
**
Detail your trip through the tunnel. The tunnel is hot, and you are still under the desert landscape above, but the rest of the details of the tunnel are entirely up to you (small/large, dark/light, etc.). Encounter the monster you choose and detail your escape. Your trip ends when you reach the end of the tunnel and find a white room.
 
 
Jungle on the Island – Druid, Nyxia
 
“I can help you! a voice calls from inside the hut. As always, you can go back, though by now the way back may be harder than the way forward. Or you can go to the voice promising help. The sound of running water catches your ear, and when you enter the hut, a man with two heads stands there, a small river running in front of his feet. “Drink,” he offers, and as you do, the doors and windows turn to hard wood, until it is just you and the strange man with two heads. No, not really two heads. It is one head, but with two faces on either side.
 
They swivel back and forth to look at you, the other mouth speaking now.  “I promise, this is help. It is a quicker route.” The man – is he a man, or a god? – raises his hands slightly and two shimmering doors appear on each side of him, and another behind you. “The shorter path is never easier – “ “you can go back if you choose.”
 
At this, two creatures begin to shimmer, forming as the doors did, though the creatures do not solidify. On one side, a creature with the body of a red lion and a human head with three rows of sharp teeth. One the other side, a two-legged creature with flaming red hair, his feet twisted around to face behind him. The head on the side of the lion-like creature speaks first. “Inside each door, you will find these creatures in the tunnel.” ”We cannot stop the creatures, we can only warn you.”
 
”Choose. Manitcore,” Or Curupira. Or the door behind you will take you home.” And then the two-faced man is gone, and you are left to choose.
 
**
Detail your trip through the tunnel. The tunnel is hot, and you are still under the desert landscape above, but the rest of the details of the tunnel are entirely up to you (small/large, dark/light, etc.). Encounter the monster you choose and detail your escape. Your trip ends when you reach the end of the tunnel and find a white room.
 
 
***

Teal and Argo have withdrawn. 
 
Irisa withdrew after the time limit, and Jay’s Wing has been eliminated.  For the next BQ year, Irisa and Jay’s Wing will speed age both backward and forward, as far as their birth and death. They will not be re-born or die, however. After one BQ year, they go back to their correct age. 

As before, if I messed up your choice, correct me and just reply to the right prompt. If I missed a choice completely and you need a prompt, let me know. 

The 1,500 word maximum is still in effect. You have until Thursday, January 5th at 5pm EST to reply.

[hawke]

I can help you it calls and her ears immediately go flat.

She would not be fooled. Not again.

But this time, the voice does not mask the sound of rushing water. This time, the water does not echo into the depths; it does not sound like death at all. This time, the water runs and tinkles and calls out quietly to her. She is, suddenly, all too aware of how dry her throat is—how swollen her tongue is in her mouth.

She would not be fooled, but she still needed help.

She is thirsty—

and she is alone—

and she is still, oh, she is still so young.

So she climbs to her feet and steps forward, each movement forced, shoulder throbbing from where she had collided with the rock. She moves into the center of the formation and then startles when she sees the creature, the thing, that looked so much like Time and yet nothing like him at all.

She lets her guard down—ever so slightly—and takes another step forward, tongue seeming to swell in her mouth at the sound and now sight of water. He offers and she prickles a little, still sensitive to the last time that she had accepted someone’s “help,” but she cannot deny the fact that she is dehydrated.

So Hawke just nods and dips her head into the cool water, gulping greedily. It is then that she hears the sound, her initial yelp of terror turning into a snarl when she sees that the formation had closed in on her.

Traitor. He was a traitor like the last one.

(And she was nothing but a young, silly fool.)

Hawke does not quiet at his reassurance, does not soften again; instead, she seemingly ignores him in the way of the young and stubborn. She fixes her gaze on the doors and the creatures that shimmer into existence before her, ignoring the possibility of the door behind her. That is not an option. It never was.

He leaves and she exhales—whether in anticipation or relief, it is impossible to say. She thinks of the strange light she had encountered in the mountain. She thinks of the two-faced creature. She thinks of the way Time had spoken to her. And, ultimately, she thinks of the scream. Of her. Of who she is saving.

She turns her head toward the strange creature of feline and bird and nods.

(“Okay, I will go,” she thinks, more personal mantra than anything at this point.)

As she walks toward the door, it yawns open before her and then snaps shut, leaving nothing but her and another path, twisted and too narrow and cold—so cold. She shivers and finds herself desperately missing the humidity of Tephra, of the warmth of her mother’s side, of the security of seeing her father.

She misses home.

But she doesn’t turn back.

No, she continues onward, dragging herself forward, feeling flesh prickle with anticipation at each sound of rock scraping against the ground—waiting, just waiting for that strange creature to appear before her.

The path that she is on opens, ever so slightly at first and then wider; emboldened by the ease of the path, Hawke breaks into a trot and then into a canter, forgetting all about the creature and just thinking of home and Time and the way that she had promised she would save the mysterious she.

Hawke does not notice when it gets lighter, when the wind in the tunnel dies down; she does not even notice when the path spits her out into an opening. In fact, she only notices when she collides into the side of something large and warm. She only notices when that thing turns, screams, and lunges at her.

She cannot move, at least not fast enough, and the beak of the Griffen grabs a hold of the base of her mane and yanks. As Hawke scrambles out of the way, the mane gives way and pulls apart from her flesh, leaving her with a raw, bleeding wound that smarts but is ultimately not fatal. At least, that is what she tells herself as tears spring to her eyes and she runs back to the beginning of the path, seeking out shelter.

When she is several feet away, she notices that the creature is not following her and so she slows and then comes to a stop, curling around in the shadows to peer out to see where the Griffin paced. The ground beneath both paws and talons is trampled thin and flat—worn from years (decades) of its motion.

Curious, Hawke takes a small step forward. Why hadn’t it moved? Why this spot?

Then she sees it. A small glint that catches the light and reflects it, the gold of it washing over the curve of the tunnel ceiling. Behind the Griffen is a stockpile of gold and silver, rubies winking out from the rubble, sapphires and emeralds encrusting the edges of things in shapes she had never seen before.

She begins to notice that the Griffen’s path curves in front of it, walking from wall to wall, its great eye often rolling in its head to look back toward its pile possessively. So that’s why it was here. That’s why it lunged at her when she got close. That’s why it didn’t pursue her when she left.

But how could she convince it that she had no interest in its jewels? In its shiny rocks?

At first, she tries calling out to it. Reasoning with it. Begging. She tries telling it of her mission, of the scream and the she that needs saving. Either the Griffen does not hear or does not care because the creature either ignores her and continues along its worn path or screams angrily in her direction.

Finally, throat sore, Hawke gives up and leans against the wall.

This couldn’t be how the story ended. This couldn’t be where she fails.

The filly stays there, quiet and miserable, for what seems like hours, racking her brain for ideas, trying to think of what her parents would do, wishing desperately that she was older, tougher, bigger—that she could somehow just make her way to the other side of the path with brute force and strength.

The Griffen yawns.

She snaps to attention.

The Griffen continues on its path as if nothing happened, but she does not move, mind whirling. More hours pass and although it is barely perceptible, she feels as if it grows darker, the light of the opening dimming. The Griffen does not yawn again, but it does slow (she thinks). It does begin to move softer, not going fully from wall to wall (she thinks). More hours pass and, finally, without ceremony, the giant creature lowers itself to the ground, spreads its wings out and then, seemingly, falls to sleep.

Hawke can almost not believe her luck.

Minutes tick by as she is aware of nothing but the sound of her breathing and that of the Griffen. When she finally does move, it is slow, deliberate, the filly terrified that the creature would open its beady eye and see her. The Griffen does not move. So she takes another step and then another. She moves out of the protection of the narrow path and into the Griffen’s lair. Her heart pounds against her throat.

She continues to sneak onward, shoulder pressing against the opposite wall, neck throbbing.

With each step, hope thrums in her veins and her breath comes easier. With each step, she begins to think of what will come next and what lies beyond. Step by step, brick by brick, she sneaks past the sleeping creature and almost, almost reaches safety until she stumbles, her tiny hoof hitting against a rock.

The sound is deafening—and everything happens at once.

The Griffen awakens with a howl, lunging before she even registers the noise. Again, Hawke finds herself scrambling for safety, racing against the clock, running hellbent for the small path that opens up before her. As she nears it, she feels the creature overtake her, feels as it rears back onto its back legs and reaches for her with the talons, the claws catching on the hide of her right flank and then yanking.

She screams as her flesh rips, as the blood streams down, but she is already in the path and she does not stop. Protected by the narrowing of the walls, she can hear the Griffen’s furious roars behind her, but she does not pause to look back. Tears stream down her face and her legs ache, but she does not stop running until the path once against spits her out unceremoniously, this time into a bright white room.

And then, finally, she stops, lowers her head, and cries.

hawke

I’m a princess cut from marble

{ smoother than a storm }

[Iasan]

I am a lover hater. I am an instigator.

What is this new devilry?

It approaches. This feeling of dread that settles in Iasan’s stomach as his eyes survey the Pict circle once more. The imposing stone structures with the runes of the Druids carved into their sides, of stone figurines standing on their heads. They seemed to dance around him in a circle, though they did not move. The fog thickens again, shutting the man-child inside. He exhales his irritation. The calls still sound, but they are not coming from this place. Where is he? 

What is this place? 

The silence is disturbed by the sound of feet scraping along the stone floor of the pict circle, and Iasan’s black ears filter to their direction, his head following them to settle upon a most curious looking creature. He casts a shadow that is not familiar to Iasan, and instinctively he takes a step backward. He blinks, and wordlessly gestures downward. A river shimmers out of nowhere, carving its way silently through the center of the stone temple. Iasan looks up again, his head tilting as he sees the man god thing heads spinning. Iasan squinted, his nostrils flaring. 

This was not normal. 

Always of two minds. 

Too many minds.

Be here. Be of one mind. Be present.

Drink it says, and Iasan keeps his mind focused on his current circumstance. The past is forgotten. What he has to remember them by are the wounds he carries from the tunnel—nothing more. The sooty black appaloosa is skeptical and keeps his eyes on the creature before him. But he lowers his head to the water and takes his fill. When he finishes—“Thank you, but can you tell me..”

He cannot complete his sentence. The dancing figurines have turned on their heads, and the whole place begins to shake. The tremors cause the stone floor to crack, creating a massive divide in the floor. Iasan leaps to one side to avoid falling into the resulting hole—or from being ripped in twain—and with a resounding crash, the pillars that make up the circle come slamming to the earth in an unceremonious pile about them both—much like dominos

Iasan stumbles forward into a kneeling position as the pict circle collapses. The river disappears underneath a pile of rubble—the dust is carried up into the air. He notices that the man god thing has approached, and he looks up. From his place in the dirt, Iasan’s eyes pin back against the sides of his head. Something is not quite right here. 

I promise this is the quicker route…

There is always a price to pay for the shorter path… 

Iasan gets up, hearing the rest of the bargain. More creatures. More dark. Shorter path.

What am I even doing here?

The doors materialize, and the head on the god thing spins again, giving one last warning that he could turn back.

If the price is too steep to pay…

Fuck it.

He nods, his face taking on an expression that was very much older than his rather young age, and he says nothing as the being disappears as quickly as he came, sliding back through the mist as even the stone pict circle begins to fade into nothingness. 

Two shimmering doors. Griffin or Giant. Animal or Biped. 

He would take his chance with Animal. 


***


The door slams shut and Iasan winces, lowering his head to shelter himself from the sound. When it dissipates, he looks behind him, and sees that the door is gone. Choice made. There is no going back now. 

Once more, back to the blackness and the uncertainty. There was one major difference this time—there was no cold. Iasan takes refuge that for once this journey was without the frigid feeling that winter brings. He is limping still—he had not spent nearly enough time in the stone circle to be able to heal in any measurable value, and his body reeks with the stench of sweat and salt and blood. He knows he is the prey in this tunnel, backed against dark and nothingness. 

But Iasan has much to live for still. He still has to save her.

For whatever purpose the man being had done him a favor—to warn Iasan of what lay ahead, and allowing him a path that would perhaps require a heavy toll, but that was not so cold. 

He would pay his pound of flesh if it meant not being frozen to death for once. 

***

The inkstain son of Ruan has gone through the majority of the tunnel; the darkness fading to a dull grey as the white light of the exit grants a promise of reprieve from the suffocating closeness of the tunnel walls. Having been alone within his own thoughts for hours, the images, the dancing skeletons of the mount come back to haunt him. Shadows of a life long bereft of glory—the children he’s buried; the faces he’s forgotten. 

And yet, they threatened to drown him once more. 

A child of Ruan and Reagan… yet the images of Ashling and Eol threatened to fog his memory. The faces spin once more, and Jason continues to go down into the world; to remember why he was born great. To remember why the beach spat him up from the depths and allowed the clock to wind its way backwards… for Time to allow him his due. To allow him time of a new life to save her.

I have a new reason for being. All the promises of death, and yet I find that I have time once again. 

Two powerful sons, the scions of two houses, forged in one body. The eagle and the lion.

Jason closes his eyes and flexes—the muscles rippling with health under the guise of a youthful body reborn into the life of another. He is not as he was—and he finds that he feels guilty. He is wounded, and he sees this, and then the dancing of the corpses remind him once again. Head spin.

Iasan snarls, his green eyes pushing forward towards the exit, the floor now littered liberally with fur. And feathers. He steps over the remains of a previous meal, and the bones shift—making just the barest of sounds. 

It is enough. 

A battle cry sounds, and the forged creature appears—body of a lion; head, wings, and talons of an eagle. He is flying low, the tips of his wings spanning both sides of the tunnel; but oh, is he fast. 

Jason and Iasan; they want to live through this experience. Two schools of thought in one body. The old, and the mystic. The young and powerful. He would have to learn to be at one with himself, lest he be lost in the clamor of his own thought. His headspace was very crowded, and he figured he had two options—battle himself until there was disharmony that would rip them both apart, or learn the harmony that comes in the power of experience greater than oneself. 

The griffin lands, standing tall, placing his wings on his back and peering down at him. The inkstain flicks his tail, his thoughts pulsating. The young one has learned much, and when the beast reaches down to lunge at him, he moves, spinning with experience that is not his own. Black hooves dodge the beak, and kick back at the griffin’s massive paws. 

A dangerous move, going for the business end. Iasan groans aloud as his back legs take a gash from the talons, but the sensitive paws of the cat are too much for the eagle to handle—it screeches, falling over as its tail whips around to try and knock Jason off balance. He moves again, rushing the exit. A final snap! of a beak catches the stunned horse by the tail. The lion pulls back with his paws, and the eagle pumps his wings, unable to take flight. Irritated, the griffin finds his parts at odds with each other, and in his lust for meal, becomes clumsy. He falls on his own pile of fur and feathers—all while Iasan flails about in the eagle’s mouth, landing to the floor of the narrowing tunnel with a thud.

The sooty black man child seizes this opportunity of a distracted griffin. He kicks back again, landing a weaker blow right to the griffin’s beak—pushing off, his tail frays, the hair ripping apart as he makes for the light at the end of the tunnel. 

Freedom.

Bobbed tail, gashed flank, and blood openly flowing, Iasan finds himself coming to grips with his unbidden memories, and Jason finds himself learning to be at peace with his existence. They are tormented; haunted. 

But they are one. 

The darkness is gone, but there is no apparent exit to this room that is full of nothing of white light. He looks around. It cannot be this easy. 

Your move.

Iasan

[Druid]

He skids to a halt, nearly toppling forward end over end.

I can help you, a voice calls, and now as he rests the pain against his chest finds him once more, the adrenaline slowly leaving him. Just once he looks back, eyeing the treeline with murky brown eyes, nostrils flaring to catch scent of what will inevitably catch up with him. So he enters, safer inside than out he assumes and the sound of running water greets him.

Before him stands a man, a two-legger but what is more a two-header. No, that’s not quite right, a two-facer would be more apt. Drink, the man says gesturing to the small river running in front of his feet and Druid does, taking deep gulps of the crystalline waters. This is honey compared to the mud he has just recently ingested, filling his stomach and quenching his thirst with a metallic coolness- like water tossed off the rocks of a waterfall. “Thank you,” Druid manages in panted breaths, still having not fully caught up to the struggle for oxygen in his racing lungs.

As he lifts his mahogany head he finds that the door has sealed, the windows too- they’ve all boarded themselves up and with a jerk of his head he finds the man. His muscles have knotted up because this screams trap, it tells him danger and he must run- surely he must.

I promise, this is help. It is a quicker route. Two shimmering doors accompany his vow, forming into existence from thin air and Druid knows this is only part of the journey, perhaps this is Time itself taken new shape.

The shorter path is never easier- says one head while the other offers choice, you can go back if you choose. At that two creatures begin to shimmer, forming as the doors did, but they are not solid- no, they are something unwhole. He knows one though, he knows it by name, by a familiarity of his childhood in the form of tales told long into the night with the star filled sky overhead peeking through the treetops. Inside each door you will find these creatures in the tunnel, the two-faced man warns but offers not further help on his quest. Choose, they say and then they are gone, disappearing from his sight.

Druid takes the door with the Curupira, he has done no wrong to the forest, this is his path- this will be easy, he’ll save that girl in no time.

He feels rather pleased with himself as he enters the door, stepping into what is a tunnel, dark and earthy. It’s hot, humid even, the Jungle heat obviously not stopped by a little rock, seeping it’s muggy fingers where it pleases. Each step is cautious though, careful as his hooves clack against the shale, echoing into the tunnel- the Curupira will surely hear him coming. It’s long though, this hallway, seeming endless in the pitch black with only his steady footfall and breath to keep him company. A rhythm forms, a pattern, endless and timeless as he traverses the cavern, he calls out “Hello?” but there is never an answer, save for his own echos.

Druid laughs, his voice leaving him in hysterics, this is a trap- the jig is up, he’s been had. What a fool, left to walk in the dark for all eternity, stumbling like a blind newborn cat. He is sightless for what could be hours, days, months. Time feels to have stopped again and so he too stills, coughing as he chuckles.

It is dark, so very dark but then as if by summons there is light, just ahead, flickering against the curved walls. Druid races now, chasing the creature into the bowels of hot earth, building up lather as he goes. “Wait!” he calls and it stops, then it turns, facing him in a fiery splendor. “Druid”, it hisses as it rounds, it’s head a beacon of light, illuminating the path like a torch, spilling into the depths of the shadows and chasing them away. It is just like they say, like he imagined so long ago when he was young, when he was as new to the earth as a sapling, as new even as a sprouting seed in the moist earth. “Curupira I-” the livered stallion begins, “Silence!” it rages cutting him off and then filling his ears with a high pitched whistle.

“Aggghhh,” Druid cries, buckling to the floor, “No, no I never-” he tries to negotiate but the creature will not have his pleas.

“You did nothing, you are right!” it screams at him, the pitch increasing yet somehow the Curupira speaks over his torture. “You are all talk and no action Druid, you hide in the trees with your anger and your distrust and you let her die.”

“No, no I-”

“No? No?!” It says screaching his failure against the tunnel walls. Then it plagues his mind, filling his head with visions. Things he has all seen before and yet somehow, in this perspective it is new, all of it.

The forest burns, the trees crackling as their limbs fall to the earth with a groan. Overhead birds cry, ravens take wing and there are shouts, there is fighting. “No, what was I-” he cries now, anger brimming his insides, frustration and sadness flooding their way out. He had died inside a little the first time these visions had filled his eyes, and now he was nailed to the cross for them, feeling their weight, feeling his responsibility for them piled on his chest until he couldn’t breathe.

The fires burn, licking the forest into ashes as horses rage conflict among the flames. He can feel the heat, he can see the waves of it rising to blur his sight, he is scorched but it is not even the cries or shouts of the other horses or himself that are the loudest- it is the forest’s. “Listen to her Druid, hear her cry like I did, listen to her die,” and he does listen, there on the cold stone floor, incapacitated not by his lack of action but by the power of the Curupira’s wails. He listen’s and he watches, silently weeping as the torment does not stop there. First he burns, then he freezes. The earth frosts, turns to ice and then that which did not burn stops breathing, he can hear the forest animals heart's stop. Each one racing in fear from the flames until they are suddenly stilled, until the trees do not cry any longer but stop speaking at all.

They can speak, he thinks trembling against the ground, his breath leaving him in puffs of steam. One last racking inhale of air into his freezing insides before he himself can not breathe.

The oceans, water floods the earth, soaks into the dry sand of the desert. Everything within succombs to the rise of the tide, the roll of water as it seeps into their very beings. He is drowning, sinking to the bottom of the flood water and he watches, eyes wide, as the animals float by- suspended, weightless in their death. But there is light here, a burning whiteness that blinds him but he swims to it anyways, pushes his body as his lungs fail. Is this the heaven they speak of, those that believed in salvation? They always say ‘go into the light’ and when he does he falls with a solid thunk against a pristine white floor.

druid

words: 1299 points:  HTML by Call

[Briske]

They say "Curiosity killed the cat"

As she moves to the oasis, she is blind and deaf with need. For rest and especially to drink. So much so that she hardly notices the two-legged creature speaking to her. Her bones ache, muscles quiver, breaths ragged and rough. And all she wants is to divulge in the most beautiful pool she thinks she's ever seen. She does just that, dropping to her knees in the liquid and submerges her whole face, letting it flow down her throat and fill her. And it does, in a way she never could have imagined. Revitalizing, refreshing. When at last she comes up for air, she gasps and releases a quiet sigh. Surely nothing could have tasted as sweet. Idly, she catalogs her wound behind the left shoulder, on the girth area. It stings, but has stopped its bleeding.

She opens her eyes, then, and they widen with shock. The trees have closed in around her and her gaze locks onto the bipedal being, registering its two faces and the words it'd spoken. Yes, she could use some help, she's pretty sure. And a shorter path to the end sounds nice. Except, there is a catch. Always a catch, she is learning. The man-thing raises its arms and Briske rises to stand along with his motions. She stretches, easing the soreness and comes to stand before him as he speaks of the choice she must now make. Golden brown eyes shift between the two doors that give just a glimpse of what she must face. "...or the door behind you will take you home." Home, her heart lurches. Home was with her Other Half, her brother, her twin. Russie.. Oh, she misses him, and he probably would be freaking out without her. Don't worry, bubba, I will see you soon.

Soon, but not now. Now, she has choices, and back is not one of them. A deep breath flows into her lungs before she steps to the door to the left. Truly, there was no right or wrong. Both were equally terrifying, but she would take her chances with this one.

The door swings open slowly and softly sweeps across the stone floor. Darkness greets her once more, still hot though shielded from the desert sun. She moves with no hurry, sticking closely to the right wall. Every stride forward was made as softly as possible, in attempt to keep the clip-clop of hoof against rock to a bare minimum. She even tries to stifle her breaths, as her gaze darts into every shadow and crevice. Anywhere this basilisk could be lurking.

What unnerves her most is the silence and the stillness in the deep. Knowing the beast is in here, but not where. If the thing couldn't hear her steps or her breathing, surely it would hear the uncontrollable pounding of her heart in her chest. Or perhaps it would smell her- having an open flesh wound, even if it wasn't bleeding anymore. And it must have, at least one or all of those things as finally there was a shift in the tunnel. A subtle sound, something smooth sliding against stone and a soft slow hiss of a noise that could have been mistaken for breeze if not for the fact the air was still. 

Adrenaline soars within her and her keen gaze flits everywhere for answers. The tunnel is huge and dimly lit, and as she goes forward she realizes there are many paths to take. She goes to the first tunnel to the right, trying to ignore the tremble under her skin. Just move, keep moving. Her gut sinks as she realizes the shifting she had thought was behind her now sounds like is in front of her. Crap. Ahead, there are two ways, one curving to the left and one that jags straight. Oh, the choices. Where is this thing? At least if she knew, she would know where not to go. Maybe. But maybe it's better to not, because then it doesn't know where she is. Or does it? Fear tingles up her spine and she aches to run. If she does, she could make it through faster, but the beast could find her easier. Slow, it is. Ugh, the torture.

She moves to the left, extending her walk but trying to maintain soft steps. Vaguely, she notices a different flow of air. Less like endless maze of cavern, and more like there is an end to this somewhere. Not too far! Hope fills her, drives her forward. Her nose catches the scent of.. hope, as there is no other word she can think of to call it, and follows it straight ahead. 

To the right, and then straight and a turn to the left. She comes to a wide chamber, huge and tall with a multitude of tunnels all the way around the circular expanse. She hesitates in the opening, mouth agape. Oh gods, so many choices. Her nostrils quiver with a shaky breath. She steps forward. In an act of blind faith, she clenches her eyes shut and follows her nose. Following that little shred of hope she smells. Feels. She turns her head to it and opens her eyes again, stepping to the entrance there in front of her. There is yet another sinking feeling inside her, but she tries to quash it as she crosses the wide open space to the mouth she feels is her answer. Oh, please. Everywhere around her is still and quiet. Too quiet. 

There is a moment of triumph when she reaches the chosen opening, having crossed such an open area unseen. It is short-lived, however, as she turns the next corner and freezes suddenly at the sight before her. A large body, forever long and covered in scales as gray as the rock. Its head, twice the size to hers, with a pair of vibrant green eyes. Don't look at them! It hisses, revealing those long fangs. A row of them, but two at the forefront, dripping with venom. It raises, but she doesn't give it the chance. Springing into motion, she backpedals rapidly before swirling and bolting back into the chamber. Ears flick back, knowing the thing is not far behind her. She spins and plants herself on the other end of the circle, eyes glaring at the beast. She is terrified, but filled with determination and courage belying her age.

The giant snake slithers from the hole, filling the room, hissing its fury. Hungry, so hungry. Well, not today, beastie. It strikes for her and she leaps in and to the left, spinning to face it. The tail, slinky and quick, rushes at her and she leaps to avoid being swept from her feet. Those fangs come at her again- from behind- and she throws up her heels at him, putting all her might into kicking out with her rear. She catches it on the nose and it shrieks at her. Suddenly, she realizes she is too close, the snake's body surrounding her. Too late. The beast coils around her and squeezes, catching the back half of her body. She screams, loud in the darkness, as its grip becomes tighter on her ribcage. This was it. Her bones would be crushed and she would slowly die. Russie, I'm so sorry. And then the beast strikes again, its final blow. Its fangs pierce her neck and she screams louder, the pain white-hot and blinding. Lightning-quick. Just like that it was over. Her screams fade and eyes are clenched, but she pops them open as the basilisk begins screaming itself. All at once, its grip on her loosens and she falls to a lump on the floor, gaping for breath and staring at the snake with her blood on its fangs, steam rising from the crimson on its mouth. It writhes and hisses and curls in on itself, glaring at her one last time before it slinks away into darkness, crying as it disappears. 

Her vision grows rapidly foggy, and her body burns. Every part of her feels like it's growing tense, ceasing all function. Before long she can't breathe with the venom spreading and working its evil upon her. She twitches, struggles. Darkness floods her. Her heart slows.

And then suddenly gasps as her airways clear, and the burning slowly subsides.

What. just. happened? It was as though her blood was like acid on the beast's tongue! And she should be dead! But how- and then she remembers the pool she'd drunk from before entering the tunnel. There must have been something in the water. It cleared the venom and warded off the basilisk. What a miracle!! Slowly, Briske stands. The twin holes still remain in her neck, bleeding and oozing the last of the poison. It hurts bad, but she's alive! And so she goes, following that scent of hope and enters the white room at the end of the tunnel.

Good thing I'm something more.

Reeeeally hope this is okay.
Word count: 1494

[Cerva]

“I can help you.”

The voice startles Cerva as she lies herself against the rock. Her breaths are coming and going in large waves, her body racked with exhaustion. Having been chased and navigating through tunnels, caves, and weaseling between rocks has shaken sweet Cerva. All the fibers of her muscles are quivering as she lies in the fresh, powdery snow, recovering. Her heart is in her throat and still her breath catches when the voice knives through the silence. Unfortunately, she doesn’t yet have the energy to move away from it or to yet investigate. Instead, she musters the strength – both physical and emotional – to ask, ”Help me with what?” Her dished head cranes to the side expectantly as she waits for an answer that never comes. ”Where am I?” she tries again, but there still remains an eerie quiet. The voice came and left, but the echoes are still ringing in her ears.

Cerva doesn’t ignore the offer. After only a few tiresome heartbeats, only when she has recovered and stilled her racing thoughts, does she rise again to her feet. Her coat is blanketed with fallen snow, but she shakes herself vigorously before joining the creature at the center. When it offers a drink, she obliges. Her throat is dry from the bitter wind, but the water is sweet on her tongue and sates her for the moment. Cerva hardly noticed the rocks forming a shield wall around her, trapping her in its dark embrace. ”I’m not going back,” she asserts which surprises even herself, ”someone needs my help.” But she’s beginning to wonder if it’s actually her that needs the help.

The doors shimmer into view as do the images of creatures she has never before seen. One is similar to the mountain troll, but larger – so much larger – and with a defined neck but still rippling with muscles. For a fleeting moment Cerva anticipates the options to be an ally in her next endeavor, but then she is warned. ”Stop them?” Just as easily as that, she realizes that these creatures are further obstacles. Her nutmeg eyes dart back and forth between the images, trembling at the prospect of crossing paths. The giant reminds her far too much of the troll, of its monstrous strides and power. She shakes her head. ”Griffin,” but as the word slips from her tongue she sees the eagle face and monstrous beak. The claws don’t escape her notice either, but it’s too late now.

The image lurches forward at her, trying to grab her, but Cerva squeals and scampers backwards.

It was just an image.

Just as it makes contact with her skin, the shimmering creature dissipates and the door opens.

Cerva enters slowly, but hesitates. Her mind is playing with her, repeating the cries for help – but it’s so believable – and it sounds like they are so close. She lurches forward and begins to run down the frigid tunnel until the footing changes ever so slightly. There is a depression and she slides to a halt. A wall is in front of her, forcing her to turn to the right. Her voice is stuck, her tongue swollen with fear. While she wants to call out, something – a gut feeling – is holding her back.

Unable to see in the darkness, Cerva reaches out tendrils of poison ivy from underneath the earth. Vines sprout and slither across the surface of the ground, slowly, gingerly.

Only feet away does she both hear and feel her ivy torn. Immediately she retracts her magic and shies to the side only to hear a scraping on the stone she was just standing in front of. There is a screech that drowns her thoughts as it fills the halls. The Griffin has found her and is already trying to maul her and bring this adventure to an end. The eagle doesn’t have (as) strong eyesight in the dark; it’s relying on other senses and the touch of her ivy to guide it to her location. It lunges at her again, blindly, and their bodies this time collide. Air is forced from Cerva’s lungs as she collapses to the ground. She can just barely see the griffin when her head lifts up; her vision isn’t all so bad in the darkness. It’s towering above her, listening for her, but she doesn’t move – not yet. As a horse, standing would be somewhat slow and clumsy. She’s too large to go undetected.

Cerva’s shift is so natural and so fluid now after years of practice. She remains in the same position, but now as a badger, and her vision is amplified so that she may more clearly see the griffin and its breath clouding in front of its nostrils.

It screeches and she curls up in fear.

Dovev, she reminds herself, and slowly lifts to her padded feet. Her left side is throbbing from the muscular creature ramming her, but she doesn’t allow the discomfort to hinder her too much. She is getting away on whispered footsteps, but she makes the mistake of trying to climb a small ledge. It had seemed possible from her vantage point, but her body is hanging from the edge with her hind legs scraping against rock. The griffin advances immediately and lunges with a large beak. It stabs the rock next to her and realizes its error immediately before coming quickly at her again. It pins her tail and she screeches before swiveling to claw and bite anything she can. It’s a battle of everything sharp. She is flung aside, but she notices the dampness of her paws when she reels away. Avoid the corners, she advises herself. Run.

Cerva scrambles quickly, but badgers can run at a quick speed only for a short distance.

There is a light at the end of the tunnel – she sees it – but just when it looms nearer it’s suddenly receding. The griffin has her in its grasp, pinning her down and lunging its beak at her again and again. Is the blood hers or the monster’s? She’s clawing, biting, screeching, squirming, until there is a loud scream and the pressure is released from her body. When she blinks away her bleary – frightened – vision she sees the griffin reeling away with blood draining from its eyes. Pain is shooting through it in its yelps, and Cerva can only spare a moment to mournfully stare on. ”I’m so sorry,” she isn’t a warrior; she has always been far too kindhearted and gentle to harm anyone, but her life was slipping through her fingers. Even with adrenaline coursing through her veins she can still notice the throbbing of her muscles and shooting stabs that freeze her in her step.

”Go, go, go,” she is having to force herself to move. She has managed to blind the creature, but it isn’t enough. There is rage beginning to surface in its cries and Cerva knows how quickly her time is ticking. Shifting back into a horse, she hoists herself into a staggering trot then a gallop. The cavern widens into a room – perhaps its den and nest? – and it’s large enough for the monster to run behind her then take flight. There is a departure hole at the top that’s leaking sunlight, but it doesn’t fly to escape. Instead, it listens for her and dives with claws outstretched and hungry for her flesh. Cerva runs – it’s all she can do – until her leg buckles and she is forced to the ground. It lands next to her, screeching, and she responds with an abrupt, loud shout. ”STOP!” She can’t bring herself to hurt it, not any more than she has. The yell startles it to the side and Cerva seizes the moment and extends a multitude of ivy vines. They spill forward like a thousand snakes and wind around the griffin’s legs, beak, wings – everything. The poison ivy traps the monster and forces it to the ground. Even then, more vines are erupting from the cold ground and sliding across the monster’s body to further pin it down and save herself. ”I’m sorry,” is all she whispers into its incoherent ears before she turns and limps away.

Cerva often glances back but there’s only silence broken by an occasional – futile – struggle from the griffin.

With blood trickling down her legs, Cerva again approaches the light where it eventually opens to a door and a white room. The brightness, after having been in a dark cave, startles her. Her head drops and her forelock slips across her eyes as she waits, panting and trembling.

Cerva

1432 words

[Lucrezia]

Here it comes with no warning; capsize, i'm first in the water

“I can help you,” the voice calls to her, as if the rocks speak themselves.

Lucrezia steps closer to the rock formation, her body still aches from being thrown down the mountain. However, the sound of water trickling catches her attention. It is a peaceful sound that echoes in the darkness of the rock formation.

The sound of the water running draws her in, luring her in. It is the peacefulness that draws her in, forgetting the ache of her body and falling into the hands of fate to guide her again—trusting heart and instinct to help her.

Her movement is slow, dragging ached legs and sore hooves. It is not until she is in the middle of the rock formation—or maybe some sort of temple, she realizes—that there is someone else in here. Lucrezia’s eyes widen, large nutmeg eyes astonished, as she sees the other for the first time. He has two heads, but the longer she looks at the creature she is not sure.

“Drink,” he says. For the first time, she had not noticed how thirsty she was. She had forgotten about the need of nutrients and hydration. It was only saving her that she knew she must do—she must save her for Time. Lucrezia, without question, does drink. She drinks all that she can, but it isn’t long.

The rocks around here are closing and Lucrezia makes an awkward sound of helplessness. Her heart is racing and the air feels like it does not have any oxygen—she cannot breathe. Lucrezia looks around, wide-eyed again, for an exit of some sort. It was a trap, a very bad trap! Her mind races with anxious thoughts. She turns back to the creature, now noticing his head is just one with two faces on either side.

Lucrezia gulps as the faces move back and forth. The other face speaks now, promising of help and guidance. She is not sure if she should trust him, but there is something in his voice that gives her peace. It feels as if she had felt such a presence before—when she should in front of the gods of the Deserts—of a creature that knows more worlds than just the one she knows of.

Two doors open to her side, shimmering and holding two paths. Another opens behind her, and she hears the words that she could go back. “No,” she says quietly and quickly, “I cannot go back.” It was too late for that. She was already here, already made the decision to save her for Time. Time had chosen her for a reason she is not sure about but it was a good enough reason that she must stay. Then again, it is also her heart that tells her to stay. There is a sense of duty and a promise she made to Time that she would do.

She would not fail someone again.

I will not!

Lucrezia looks at the two doors on each side of her and the man god. She knows these creatures—the griffin is close enough to the sphinx tattoo on her hip—and she and just met something like this giant before coming into the cave.

He is gone in an instant, leaving her to make the choice. A choice was not always easy for her to make, but this one was simple. Lucrezia moves to the door that the griffin stands in—her heart beats fast but she is not feeling worried, only excited for what comes next and how she must overcome this new challenge. I am brave is the last thing she says as she steps into the shimmering door.

As she steps into the pathway, the door behind her slams. The icy cold temperature returns and quickly reaches into the organs of her body. Lucrezia shivers violently and she huffs loudly. Her eyes peer through the small cavern. There is little light here but enough for her to find her way through—she moves forward, using the dim light as her guidance.

Eventually, the path widens slowly, opening into a larger space. She did not notice the path become wider and a little bit brighter until she was in the center of a much larger path of the tunnel. A loud screech echoes through the quiet cave. Lucrezia abruptly comes to a stop in the middle of the hard stone pathway. Her eyes widen, searching and seeking out the source of the noise.

A loud screech is heard again. The pitch of the sound is louder and clearer now—the griffin is much closer now. Lucrezia shakes her head, letting the fear that creeped up into her mind and fill her heart with worry go away. She steps forward, feeling bolder and courageous to continue further into the tunnel.  

It is too late before she moves again.

Her path is cut short as a shadowy figure steps forward. Lucrezia takes a step back each time the creature steps forward. The light begins to reveal the creature—the body, tail, and back legs of a lion; the head and wings of an eagle, and talons of an eagle on its front feet. The mare gulps loudly, noticing the griffin only has eyes for her.

Lucrezia tries to speak to the griffin several times, remembering that a familiar creature,sphinx, spoke riddles to her once. The griffin only screeched at her, thrusting his talon claws at her. Lucrezia lunged back as she barely missed the mythical creature’s attempt on her life.

Her pleas for trying to pass did not help again as she tried one more time. The griffin made its choice—either hungry or done playing with its food—he lunged forward at her. This time both talon feet ready to strike. The griffin’s beak ready to bite her. Lucrezia, out of instinct and protection, reared up. She had no plans to fight, always more of a peace seeker in such events, but if she must she would protect herself and to continue her journey.

Lucrezia thrusts a hoof forward as the beast lunges at her. She lets out a loud whicker, almost like a roar of a lion as it echoes through the tunnel. Her hoof hits the beak of the griffin just as one of his talon claws strikes her on her neck. The griffin quickly pulls back, its cat reflexes allowing the creature to move quicker than she would have liked. It pulls around, looping to regain its balance and strength. Lucrezia too ready’s herself, regaining her balance on the hard ground.

The griffin is quick to move and strike again, much the same way it did before. Lucrezia might not be an experienced fighter but she picks up on the repeated attempt easily. As the griffin comes forward, she swoops to his right and slams her whole body into his right side. Her teeth snatch onto fur and feather, as hooves kick and thrust at his shoulder. The griffin screeches and falls down. The attack was a surprise for the griffin, and it quickly stumbles down to the ground with a loud thud. A low screech—helpless and surrendering—exhales through the griffin.

Lucrezia is quick to back away, finding balance and distance from the griffin. She carefully watches him for a couple of moments. The griffin does not move again, only letting low screeches out—almost telling her to go. And with a twirl and loud hooves echoing on the tunnel floor, she is gone down the path again.

Her movement is fast. The tunnel becomes smaller again and the light becomes fainter as before. Her heart races and she dares not look back in case the griffin changes its mind. Lucrezia only has eyes forward, determined to fight and find her way through this tunnel.

Then, finally, after what felt like a long time, she finds herself in a bright white room.

...too close to the bottom.

html © samshine| character info: here | picture reference: here

[Rora]

You need never feel broken again.

((lol really wishing I’d thought to post Rora’s temporary trait as her permanent one before entering her in the quest. Alas, onward.))

I bid my new monkey-face cat-friend goodbye and scamper off toward the water, because I am soooo so so so thirsty! As I get close to the trees though, a voice calls out, “I can help you!” Oh, good! Help would be lovely! So I redirect my scamper toward the sound of the voice and maybe another new friend, especially if he’s going to be all nice and helpful. Unlike monkey-cat-friend, who was very odd and very rude. Well, but he did stand up and let me pass, even if he was very strange about it, so maybe he was only somewhat rude. Either way, his mommy should maybe give him a better lesson in manners. Ohhh or maybe he doesn’t have a mommy! Poor monkey-cat-friend!

“Drink.” Oh, right, yes, good. Newer new friend, who looks an awful lot like cat-tail-man but with two faces - new friends? even better! - points me toward the water and I could smother him with tickly-whisker kisses I’m so thirsty. I fall into the water, swallowing down as much as my tummy can hold and letting the rest rush around me and wash some of the dried up sweat and dust away and cool me off, and I almost don’t even notice the trees growing shut, twining and twisting and trapping me in with my new two-face friends. Friend? Friends. Yes. Definitely friends, because both of them talk separately.

“Um, are you sure you know what help means?” I ask, a nervous tickle in my newly-filled belly as doors appear in the tree walls. “It’s okay if you don’t know, that’s what asking questions is for.” But they go on, and give me a choice between going home, back across the heat and the rock and the sand and not saving...well, someone. Her. Whoever she is. Or going through a door with a cool wingy thing on it or one with a squirmy wormy on it. I don’t know anything about either of the creatures that hide behind the doors, but the name death worm sounds...um, scary. And dangerful. And probably Momma would not be happy if I picked the door with the death thing hiding behind it. Soooo “I guess I’ll pick the--” Oh. Well. Okay, or new friends are gone.

Maybe Momma needs to teach manners lessons. They didn’t even say goodbye!

Well fine, that’s okay. I go up to the door with the wingy thing on it, because it didn’t have dying in its name. And I push the door with my nose, since that’s all I have for opening it. Unlike new friends who had hands and did not stay to use them. Shaking my head, I nudge the door open and step through and back into the dark.

The tunnel is small, narrow and dark at first, dim light flickering from inside the sandpapery-stone walls, flickering and catching on sparkly spots. Some of those sparkles are even big enough I can see my face in them, which is pretty neat at least. It’s still very hot though, so I’m glad I cooled off in the water even if it is all gone too soon, drying up to try to keep me from crispifying in the heat. I walk on, because what else is there to do now? Just go forward and hope the wingy thing is less scary than squirmy wormy death.

Small and dark and narrow only lasts a little while though, because soon the tunnel starts splitting, branching and weaving back together. All the paths lead the same way, or at least it looks like it. I can see them joining back up again, curving in on each other like a dance through solid rock. As I walk, the sparkles in the walls get bigger, some even as big as my face, and shiny all reflecty like really calm water but solid. I even reach out to touch one to make sure, and yep! Solid, and my nose leaves a little smudge on the shiny surface. Oh and as I walk the branches get bigger too, taller and wider, and when they come together again they open into a big chamber, like a cave in the middle of the ground, and right in the middle--

Oh. Oh goodness. My eyes slam shut all by themselves, and my heart starts to race, and never before in my whole (maybe kinda short so far) life have I ever felt such a big strong push to Don’t Look! All I saw out of the corner of my eye was a flap of wings and just enough to know it was the cockatrick...cocktrix...cock-something wingy thing from the door but big big big and Don’t Look! Oh my heavens but my heart has never ever beat this fast that I can remember, not even after racing Mommy and Daddy through the trees so fast that the trunks all blurred together!

Okay. Okay, don’t look at the big cockathingy. Alright, heart, I got it. But I gotta keep going, though, so can I maybe sneak a quick peek around to see where I have to go? I open my eyes just a teensy weensy bit, just enough to look at the tunnel and how it curves out to make space for the wingybeast to romp and play, and then on the other side of the thing-I’m-not-supposed-to-see, the cave thing gets all narrow again, and the light over there is brighter, too, though I can’t quite see why with my eyes mostly closed.

Maybe if I walk really, really quietly? And just peek little bits at a time to make sure I’m not gonna bump into the wall or the whatchamathingy? I pick one foot up and set it down as quiet as I can, doing my very fairy berry scary hairy bestest not to make a clomp or a clatter when I put it back down. I peek again, and the cockabeast isn’t running at me and trying to eat me, or shooting fire out of its--it had a beak on the picture, I think, right?--beak at me, or making laser eyes like Momma can when she’s really, really mad. Which is lots of fun to watch when it’s Momma, but maybe not so fun when it’s something that might hurt me.

I keep creeping forward, peeking and sneaking and going as sloooowly as I can, and the wingy whatsit doesn’t seem to notice me at all, which makes the racing thump-thump of my heart ease up a little in my chest and breathing feels a little easier. Right up ‘til my hoof catches on a rock that is just an incy wincy bit taller than I was expecting, and I trip and fall to the ground in a clattery tangle of limbs, a great big grunt escaping as I land.

Uh-oh.

A huuuge scary ROAR echoes through the cavern tunnel thing and I scramble to my feet and run run run! I keep my eyes closed shut, but the brighter light from the other end of the tunnel is coming from right up ahead, so I just run toward it and hope hope hope there’s nothing else in the way. The scarybeast screams and oh it’s closer, close enough to make the ground shake and tremble beneath me. Oh my, and I’m making so so much noise, but the light is my safe place, it has to be. Mommy said the light wraps her up in hugs and cuddles and love, and makes her feel cozy and safe even when she’s all alone, so I run run run to the light and let it swallow me up.

The monsterthing screams louder, sounding so so mad that my heart gallops faster in my chest. I have to peek to see where I’m going so I don’t run into a wall and hurt myself, so I crack one eye open--and the tunnel around me is glowing with light and reflecting me back at myself from all directions. And even though the scarybeast stopped before the reflecty part started, I keep running ‘til I can’t see it anymore, and when the tunnel ends it empties out into a strange white room.

Sometimes darkness can show you the light.

pic by Qinni

[Divide]

all of my devils are free at last
all my secrets revealed

I can help you!

Those four simple words are music to her ears. Perhaps she should not be so trusting (certainly she has seen enough this day to warrant such distrust), but she would not be Divide otherwise. And maybe she would have been a bit more skeptical were she less exhausted, but she is, and so we shall never know. Whatever the reason, she takes this two-faced man at his word, barely sparing him even an odd look (though she has never seen a creature such as he before) as she bends her head to drink deeply of the cool water running at his feet.

At first she is too absorbed in the bliss of cool water sliding down her parched throat that she does not notice the stones growing around her. But as they grow to stunning proportions, as they begin to slam together, she jerks her delicate head abruptly upwards, ears swiveling madly and eyes wide as water dribbles down her chin. ”What… ?!?!” she starts in voice verging on panic.

Before she can finish the sentence however, the beast (god?) with two faces is speaking again, this time the other side swiveled to face her. She might just now be realizing that she may have been a bit too hasty to trust, but still she listens. She listens because she can see no other way out - not until the shimmering doors appear before her.

She could go back, but she shudders at the thought. Besides, she has made it too far to give up now (even if she does feel rather battered and bruised). Still, the creatures beyond the doors in front of her look rather horrifying in and of themselves. She is offered a choice, a warning, and for that she is grateful. She drops her head in a shallow dip in an effort to portray her gratitude before he disappears just as Time had  before him.

Taking a deep, fortifying breath, she glances at the two doors, gaze flicking back and forth as she attempts to make a decision. The giant at least looks potentially capable of reason (though who actually knows with these horrid beasts?), so, for that reason alone, she decides to go through the door with the giant (besides, she stands about the same chance of escaping unscathed either way - slim to none).

She shivers as she enters the chill of the dark tunnel. The sweat has cooled on her skin, leaving her unexpectedly cold. Her bruised muscles are stiffening, lending to the already tense feeling of dread at the trial she knows is coming. There is a dim light that seems to lead her way, allowing her to walk without stumbling. Exhaling a nervous puff of breath, she continues forward as quietly as possible, trying her best to ignore the aching of her abused bones. Perhaps, if she is stealthy enough, she can slip past the club-wielding giant without his notice.

Unfortunately, that would not come to pass, however. Though she tiptoes along as quietly as possible, based on the nearing sound of low grunting and shuffling steps, it soon becomes evident that danger is not too far off. Biting her lower lip to muffle a small groan of dismay, she presses herself against the high wall of the large tunnel (a tunnel clearly made for a massive creature). Maybe, just maybe, she is small enough to avoid his notice.

No such luck however. As he rounds the next bend, his small, dull eyes lock on her as though a magnet had drawn his gaze. Drawing in a sharp breath, she shrinks back as he considers her with a somewhat dim expression, eyes blinking slowly. He is a hideous creature, with thick, pebbled skin, stringy dark hair, and a filthy, swinging loincloth wrapped about his waist. Not to mention the odor...

With a satisfied grunt and a slight smile, the odiferous beast raises his club (a club that looks rather like the trunk of a tree he had simply ripped from the ground and denuded) and swings the cumbersome thing at her. With a yelp, she rockets forward, away from the arc of the monstrous weapon even as it slams into the wall near where she had just been, shaking loose dust and rock.

”Wait!” she shrieks as she skids to a halt on the other side of the tunnel, eyes frantically following the movement of the giant. ”Can’t we talk about this?!”

Backpedaling frantically, she stares at the beastly thing as it turns to look at her with a rather dumbfounded expression on its face. It doesn’t take long for those leathery features to stretch into a scowl however, as it responds to her in a low, barely intelligible growl, ”Dinner no talk.”

Oh, crap. Well, so much for the reasoning part of her plan. ”Well,” she huffs, sounding a bit more brave than she actually feels. ”I am definitely not on the dinner menu tonight.”

As he raises his club to swing it at her again, she bursts forward, using the distraction of his upraised swing to bolt past him and skid around the corner. As she passes, she can feel the wind of the club as it swings far too close for comfort.

She does not stop to look back; the thundering of footsteps is more than enough to inform her that the massive beast is in hot pursuit. His nearby roar only confirms what she already knows. Any noise she makes is easily drowned out by that terrifying sound. Unfortunately for her, her legs are much, much smaller and slower than his immensely long ones. It does not take him nearly as long to catch up as she would have liked.

To her credit, she does manage to catch the arc of his swing from the corner of her eye. With a yelp, she does an incredibly awkward twisting leap in an attempt to escape. Even so, the club manages to catch her on her retreating haunch, causing her hind end the spin out quite alarmingly. She loses her balance, resulting in her spinning towards the wall in in a rather interestingly flopped and splayed position. On the bright side, the giant was not quite expecting that, and his lumbering steps carry him several hundred yards past her before he finally slows enough to turn, giving her the time she needs to scramble back to her feet.

Her left haunch and flank is terribly sore, not to mentioned scraped and bleeding from the club and impromptu slide across the floor. On the bright side, this pause has given her time to note the light of (hopefully) an exit not too far in the distance. As the giant begins lumbering back towards her, expression mutinous, her eyes dart to the huge beast as she works to formulate an escape plan. He might be large, strong, and absurdly fast, but her smallness gives her one advantage - agility.

Starting forward, doing her best to ignore the pain in her hind leg, she meets him part way. Shifting, she places herself at one side of the tunnel, and as his club begins it’s terrifying arc, she throws herself in the opposite direction, giving him just enough time to commit himself to the swing before she darts around him on the other side. A simple, but quite effective trick if she does say so herself.

She can hear the slamming of the club, the shower of gravel, the heart-stopping roar of anger, as she gallops as fast as her injured leg will allow towards the end of the tunnel. Towards the light that shines like a beacon. As the thunder of feet starts up behind her, she bursts through the exit. Skidding to a halt, she squeezes her eyes desperately shut as she is suddenly blinded by the whiteness of the chamber she had just entered. After a moment of adjustment, she is finally able to squint her eyes open, allowing her to glance around in an attempt to survey her new surroundings.

divide

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Word Count: 1355

[Nyxia]

my friend makes rings, she swirls and sings
she’s a mystic in the sense that she’s still mystified by things

Time offers no way back.

Not this time, anyway,

She must trust, instead, that which drew her away from all that came before. The internal thing, orientated by stars she cannot see, that pulls her ever towards.

‘I can help you!’ 
She gasps, stumbling backwards, startled – and yet, she cannot deny how badly she needs it. Hungers for it, actually, as once she had hungered for acceptance in a strange world. Her father took great care of her. Loved her, once. (Even now, she thinks, because she does not know any better – does not know that an impassable amount of time now exists between them.)

But what he left behind is a weak thing. A trusting, scared, naive thing. 

She trembles. As they are wont to do, her eyes begin to well. “Hello?” though she is terrified, she follows the voice. Nyxia steps up, passing through the door,  her eyes take a moment to adjust to the dark therein. He is like nothing she has ever seen before – but that’s okay. She has seen many a-strange thing. When he offers her a drink, she cannot remember how long ago she last slaked her thirst. Such a long time! “Thank you,” she mutters, sucking it back into her dry, sandy throat.

She does not notice the walls solidify, but when they do, it is not so terribly strange, to her. 

Just another in-between.

When he speaks, she blinks up at him, suddenly aware of her confinement. But that is fine. There was no going back, anyway. Even as he suggests it, she shakes her head and turns to look at his doors. They glimmer like mirages. Behind her, she can hear the whistle of warm wind between the newly carved exit and the floorboards. That out-door, she believes, in all her naivety and unsureness, is the biggest illusion of them all. Tempting as it is. To easy.

“That way, I know,” she says softly, tears spill past her eyelids and down her face – beautiful and broken sides, both. “But I can’t go back…”
‘...you can go back if you choose…’
She moves to shake her head again, but the phantom monsters suddenly materialize. She is still.
‘...Manticore or Curupira…’
For a long time – a moment or an hour – she does not look at them. Decides, instead, to examine the four faces shifting it the water at their feet. “Home,” she repeats, as he finishes, falling silent. That cannot be. Too easy.

She follows the animal, like all those bejeweled creatures of her mother’s making; something like the friends she had made, such a long time ago, in the forests and deserts of home. Passing through the door and the illusion of the manticore, looking back only to wonder if this god is, perhaps, the thing that had navigated her into mother’s dream. 

And then the hole in the wall closes in on itself. She turns, sadly, to face yet another world (or, in-between… it can get so very hard to tell the difference). On either side of her are big, fat trees and large, flowering bushes. Their trunks are thick, their leaves broad and shaped like hearts, fans and stars. But their bark is strange, colorful and glittering, as if made of gemstones in wood’s stead. The leaves, she can see, high above, are many-colored, too.

In front of her is a single path, and all that lay behind the rows of flora that skirt it is darkness… so utter, it might as well be outer space. The sky  is impossibly high, and from her place far below, is equally as jet-black. Starless and unimaginative. Night, it seems to her, for her body wants so badly to gauge some passage of time; really, it could simply be that they are stuck beneath a crust of the earth that could never permit sun to enter.

Dark, in either case.

The path, however, is lit up well enough. She begins to move forward (the only way to go) and as she does, it occurs to her that everything that lives down here seems to emit a faint bioluminescence. She glances down at her own knees and believed even she is alight!

Everything beyond this strip, she supposes, must be dead. Must be death.

She moves slowly, her mind repeating the words like a mantra, ‘We cannot stop the creatures, we can only warn you.’ She can hear nothing, in this world-without-wind to tussle the leaves and grass, and for a long time she walks, keeping her eyes forwards, and she is lulled. Naive. Remembering, once, that her father had told her he was the most dangerous thing in all of Beqanna…

—but what about here?

Finally, after hours (this time, of that she is certain) she catches something in the corner or her eye. So strange after such unending sameness, that she cannot be sure it had been movement or light in her peripheral. “H-hell-lo?” She peers into the dark over her right shoulder, trying to see anything from the pitch black there.

Again! To the left this time, passing just outside her line of sight.

Movement and light. “H-h-hellllo?” she croaks, turning to look to her left. Her gaze, however, is stilled straight ahead. She sucks in a sob and steps back from him. He sits, just as tall as she at the shoulders, in the center of the path. He glows much brighter than anything else here. “Oh,” she whimpers, knowing there is no way back. “I-I-I…” 

His queer, un-animal like face stares at her, with small, close-together eyes that blink but seldomly. He parts his thin, pink lips, revealing sharp teeth. She winces, expecting something horrid, but what comes is a soft, beautiful music. His voice is like a million harps, flutes and violins. No words, at first, but somewhere in the melody, a meaning crowds her ears.“I cannot let you pass.” It is deep and melodic. Beautiful, really. Nyxia stifles and sob and shakes her head.
“B-but, why? I have nowhere else to go…”
He looks at her for a moment, considering, and then his lips parts again, “it has been such a long time, since last someone wandered into my woods.” He stands up, stretching out his front paws, and she can see the lean muscle that rolls under his sleek, red coat.
“C-can you tell me… w-why are you so bright?” she tests a step forwards, imagining herself bolting past him, navigated now by a powerful sense of self-preservation.
His strange mouth frowns, “it… has been such a long time… since… last someone… wandered into my woods… I have… consumed them all, I’m afraid. I take no pleasure.”

As his last verse dies in the air, there is a still, quiet moment.

Nyxia, small and weak, thrusts forwards, thinking only to pass him, for anything else surely means death!

The manticore leaps, just as nimbly, thinking only of catching her, for anything else surely means suffering! 

They catch somewhere in between, Nyxia manages, only just, to skid to the side and avoid him head-on. The manticore lets loose a scream, like a beautiful opera, trying to turn in mid air. His claws catch her right hip, digging deep and then slipping off, dragging in mean, red lines down her rear.

He screams again, a violent, booming refrain.

Nyxia keeps running. It is all she can do. In her peripheral is darkness, and only that, beyond the gemstone trees. In front of her, the path seems endless, hopeless. That nothing beyond becomes increasingly welcoming, it seems to her, but every nerve in her body pleads her to ignore it – death! they cry, and nothing good! 

Run!

Suddenly, light gathers to her right and she has no time to react. He catches her with his front paws, but their momentum and weight tumbles them both, sending them rattling down the path and crashing into those strange, hard trees. She sucks in breath, her lungs feeling hot and deflated. Somewhere just beyond her aching body, she can hear his raspy breath – like a soft, low dirge. “Enough,” he sings, and she lifts her head, tears dampening her cheeks, watching him struggle to his feet. 

Her body obeys like a newborn. She struggles up to.

“There is… nowhere to go…” he frowns and sings, limping towards her.

“No,” she replies, softly. He leaps  and she hurtles. They meet, in blood and anthem, tumbling and then… darkness. She falls from the path (or… so it feels like) and into that darkness. Death, she thinks. But when her eyes open again, she is in a white room, his misery remembered in the scatches and pools of blood on her body, like sheet music.

and I pray to blades of grass to find forgiveness in the weeds.