Ultima
07-21-2017, 12:06 AM
It hasn’t taken long for the Helovians to outstay their welcome.
Our land has been dying for ages, but their fateful arrival through the portal seemed to be a defibrillation against the Rift’s dying heart, and the final death rattle erupted into a symphony of corruption. It fed off of their magic, but it fed off of ours, too. I appreciate the retention of my shifting magic, though it being tainted with agony is nearly enough to not even bother using it. But the fact that causing hearts to race or slow or stop had suddenly begun to mirror itself onto my own heart? That was way over the line, and I’ve been letting that anger fester for the past several days.
I have stalked along, not yet able to find a suitably time to begin enacting my revenge, avoiding any others who may share or dispute my desires. Besides, I was still trying to find a way to minimize the torturous effects of my magic, and that bit of discomfort was enough to discourage me from flaunting it every moment I could. I had made my way to the southern seas, wandering purposely, chasing my frustrations away by trampling any small creature that crossed my path. Besides, the crunching and sqeals that the dying emitted helped bury the awful buzzing sound that rang from my previously silent horseshoes, a sound that was incessant and infuriating.
Was it possible to feel anything other than fury these days?
As I decended into the caverns, summoned by a hippocampus - the lining of fur down my back bristles at the thought of being summoned like some mongrel cur - I couldn’t help but wonder what this was all about. Perhaps there were more who, like me, knew that this sudden influx spelled nothing good? Or perhaps they would call for peace, and kindness, and flower crowns, and I didn’t have a moment of time to spare for such nonsense.
We fill in the room, though the initial audience is a bit unimpressive, but I’m already here so I may as well listen to what the hippocamp has to say.
“It’s an infestation,” I speak up, able to hide most of my frustrations, but my words are still laced with venom. They are like ants, crawling, purposeless, destroying our beautiful portal with their senseless trampling and frantic tantrums, and it is nauseating to see their panic. Yet, there is something comforting in knowing that their soft psyches and delicate bodies have already begun to succumb to our land’s magic.
I move forward, descending my perch, evaluating the beautiful creature before me. We from the rift are beautiful, or dangerous, or both. These new creatures, they are bland, plain, subpar. “I know nothing of them, other than that they seem to be panicky creatures. I was there the night they came, and it was out of control.” I shake my head, my crown glimmering in the soft light. “I didn’t interact with any, because on the night of their arrival my magic was tampered with by some unseen force.”
I fall silent, listening for information that may be a bit more useful than my input. When all have said their piece, I speak again. “Is there a plan for what we are to do with them? I hesitate to accept them.” Goodness, is that the understatement of the year.
@Ilunga
Our land has been dying for ages, but their fateful arrival through the portal seemed to be a defibrillation against the Rift’s dying heart, and the final death rattle erupted into a symphony of corruption. It fed off of their magic, but it fed off of ours, too. I appreciate the retention of my shifting magic, though it being tainted with agony is nearly enough to not even bother using it. But the fact that causing hearts to race or slow or stop had suddenly begun to mirror itself onto my own heart? That was way over the line, and I’ve been letting that anger fester for the past several days.
I have stalked along, not yet able to find a suitably time to begin enacting my revenge, avoiding any others who may share or dispute my desires. Besides, I was still trying to find a way to minimize the torturous effects of my magic, and that bit of discomfort was enough to discourage me from flaunting it every moment I could. I had made my way to the southern seas, wandering purposely, chasing my frustrations away by trampling any small creature that crossed my path. Besides, the crunching and sqeals that the dying emitted helped bury the awful buzzing sound that rang from my previously silent horseshoes, a sound that was incessant and infuriating.
Was it possible to feel anything other than fury these days?
As I decended into the caverns, summoned by a hippocampus - the lining of fur down my back bristles at the thought of being summoned like some mongrel cur - I couldn’t help but wonder what this was all about. Perhaps there were more who, like me, knew that this sudden influx spelled nothing good? Or perhaps they would call for peace, and kindness, and flower crowns, and I didn’t have a moment of time to spare for such nonsense.
We fill in the room, though the initial audience is a bit unimpressive, but I’m already here so I may as well listen to what the hippocamp has to say.
“It’s an infestation,” I speak up, able to hide most of my frustrations, but my words are still laced with venom. They are like ants, crawling, purposeless, destroying our beautiful portal with their senseless trampling and frantic tantrums, and it is nauseating to see their panic. Yet, there is something comforting in knowing that their soft psyches and delicate bodies have already begun to succumb to our land’s magic.
I move forward, descending my perch, evaluating the beautiful creature before me. We from the rift are beautiful, or dangerous, or both. These new creatures, they are bland, plain, subpar. “I know nothing of them, other than that they seem to be panicky creatures. I was there the night they came, and it was out of control.” I shake my head, my crown glimmering in the soft light. “I didn’t interact with any, because on the night of their arrival my magic was tampered with by some unseen force.”
I fall silent, listening for information that may be a bit more useful than my input. When all have said their piece, I speak again. “Is there a plan for what we are to do with them? I hesitate to accept them.” Goodness, is that the understatement of the year.
@Ilunga
