[Donation] Leaving the Outlands

Post Reply
Cloudless
Posts: 1
Joined: Sun Mar 29, 2020 10:09 pm

Posted by Cloudless »


(( Theme ))


Hearing

Some blood told you to walk counter-clockwise, with the spire on your right, and eventually you'd reach Glorium from Sylvania, so that's exactly what you've been doing for days, because the Fated there have information, and information on a portal to Sigil is exactly what you need. You're walking through a mountain forest, can feel the temperature dropping with each step forward, and that has to be a good sign - Glorium is colder than Sylvania, isn't that what they told you?
You spot a tall rocky hill, fairly isolated from the trees and the other rock formations. Might be a good place to spend the night, you think, as you hasten towards it.
But then, from atop the hill, comes music. Such beautiful, alluring music, a harp, by the sound of it. Like crystal raining on leaves, you stand and listen in awe trying to find the origin of that melody... and then the voice joins in with the music - in a flap of rainbow-colored wings and the flick of a long serpentine tail, a Lillend starts circling around your designated resting place for the night, singing a melodic glossolalia that's both unintelligible to your ears and fills your heart with a feeling of warm joy. You can't help but close your eyes, trying to hold some tears back. And you know you won't spend the night there, it would be unacceptable to spoil such beauty with your presence.


Smell

After Glorium, your next step to finding the key to the portal you're looking for takes you to Bedlam. Not the most pleasant place, you've heard, and you hope you'll be able to just find what you're looking for without overstaying your welcome.
As you approach the outskirts of the burg, you hear a loud, roaring crowd cheering and yelling.
You smell roasted meat - a celebration of sorts, maybe a banquet? You could go for a bite, and maybe you'll be able to trade some songs for food. You get closer, following the smell. Closer, now, the smell gets stronger - and far less pleasant.
Two poor sods, wearing what looks like the armour of the Harmonium, have been tied to a post and set on fire by the raging crowd, their screams smothered by the cheering of the people surrounding them, enjoying the show.
You gag and try covering your nose, but it's too late - now you smell it, you really smell it. It's not the inviting scent of roasted meat, it's the stench of burning hair and charred flesh as the poor sods' own armor cooks them alive, as they blek themselves and cry for help and are met with nothing but laughter and roars.
Still covering your nose with your cloak, you turn away and run.


Taste

You've been in the desert for days, now, trying to make as much distance between you and Bedlam as you can. In hindsight, it would've been better to have a plan instead of just leaving in such a hurry. You can tell that now, as you try to squeeze some drops of water from your leather flask, to no avail. You suddenly realize - you might die here, after all, and that is your last thought as exhaustion overtakes you and you allow yourself to fall on the scalding sand.
...You open your eyes. Voices, many of them.
"You alright, berk?", someone asks you as they help you up, "trying to get yourself dead out 'ere in the middle of nothing?"
They hand you a bottle, and you think you muttered some thanks but before you know it your hands are reaching for it, your mouth reaching for its content, no matter what it might be.
And it's... water. Clear, cool, water. You notice how your tongue felt like dried leather by now - and it almost hurts, as if scraping away sand that has impossibly accumulated down your throat. You used to think water had no taste, but now, right now, the way it tickles your tongue, fills your mouth, lets you know you'll live - that's the taste of hope, one you never knew before.


Sight

Your legs ache, as you make your way up a slippery slope leading to the ruins you've been looking for. Somewhere in them you'll find the portal leading you someplace better, someplace where you'll be free to cut ties with your past. As you almost stumble and rush forward to prevent yourself from falling back where you started, you finally see them. Pink in the light of dawn, the ancient rocks seem too big to have been carved, let alone placed, by mortal hands. You gaze at them as the light gets brighter, as the old marble turns from pink to gold, and suddenly you hear a distant loud noise, like hundreds of ships' sails in the wind. You look up, and you see them. Dragons, dozens of them, their copper scales almost blinding you as they shine in the dawn's light, orange, tourquoise and green - they move through the air as if swimming, not flying through it, like misplaced majestic sea creatures. You just stare at them, your survival instincts forgetting about running, or hiding - if one of them spotted you it would be your end, but that isn't important right now. What matters is the way they soar, the way they remind you with every movement of how small, and helpless, you really are.


Touch

You made it, you're in Sigil, you're your own cutter at last! Or so you hoped. The portal you stepped through has led you to some crumbling alley, the people there busy scuttering about, eyeing each other suspiciously, yelling at each other and at themselves. You figure it'd be a good idea to keep a low profile and try and find your way somewhere safer - but it's too late.
Three bashers are coming your way, they seem both drunk and perfectly aware of their surroundings.
"Hey, cutter", begins the larger one of the three, "you got any spare gelt fer some thirsty bubbers? Lookin' mighty cagestruck, some jink and we can help you around the place."
"Bar that, you addle-cove!", says the one that looks like the brain of the operation, "we don't have time for games, just box the berk and flip his pockets."
"You're the boss.", and so, before you know it, you're being lifted up from the ground and, as the basher turns you around, you see the wall behind him - and it's full of black, sharp leaves belonging to a plant you've never seen before.
And in the blink of an eye, your back is against that wall.
Pain, pain sharper than you've ever felt erupts through your body, like hundreds of tiny knives stabbing, ripping and tearing. You try to scream, but find yourself breathless. You hope to pass out, but your stubborn body doesn't seem willing to grant you that mercy. You're literally hanging from sharp, black leaves, you can feel them cutting through your flesh as the three men untie your coin purse laughing with each other, and leave you there. Hanging on the vine, as good as dead.
Post Reply