You trace over Hellfire, and Kiri, and Cut Through All Foes, and Khrysaor, Temptation of Angels, and feel how perfectly clean the cuts were that carved them in the door—parting the industrial hardwood with the ease of soft butter. Talk about Superior Attribute: Cutting (5), right?
When you trace over Khysael—that name in some λ-language—the shape of the letters feels almost like a poem, or a tiny fragment of one:
Thousand-cutting soul; a thousand ways of ending
Finally, you run your fingers over the grooves of the floral crest, and with that comes with a kind of certainty: that these are your (her) flowers, as much a part of you as your cutting edge:
Lotus, Key of the Descending Angel. Aconite, Key of Rage.
(In fact, if Sashay has read Hellfire's profile before, they may recall that it says exactly that.)
There is blood on the wind. The rest of the dorm falls away, and you find yourself on the battlefield.
…Or the remnants of one, in any event. It’s not just blood on the breeze, but the sickening smell of spilled entrails, and the groans of dying men: You really did it! You slew them all. The one who wielded lays in the blood-soaked soil beside you—and it is his own blood which has soaked it. His lamellar has broken apart around the head of the spear that pierced through his gut, but his face is still set in a howl of triumph.
It isn’t any particular battlefield, or any particular warrior. You loved them all, but there were so many, and you were wielded again and again and again.
In the distance, past the tattered flags and corpses of men and horses, is the sheen of what looks like a pond.
they also remember everything else, but not in the same way. everything else is just what life was back then, so they're making a beeline straight for the pond, ignoring everything else. ]
The surface of the pond is mirror-smooth, and reflects velvet-dark night sky, moonless and glimmering with stars—and each and every one of those stars is falling.
It is peaceful here. And you know: here, in the water, is the way home.
It is dark, in the deeps, like the dark of the sky had come down into the water itself. In fact, it is too dark to see anything; you can only feel how far the dark stretches: a welcoming void.
...But you haven't found anything yet, and your lungs are starting to strain.
It's hard to drown yourself, even intentionally. Every instinct of the body fights against it.
...But you hold yourself under, and you let the water fill your lungs as you submerge yourself completely.
It seems as though the water reflects the void not just on the surface but underneath, for it is dark, too dark to see anything—but there is not need to be afraid, for here the void is right, it is warm, it is good—and though it looked to only be a pond it's so, so much deeper than that, and you find yourself like a weight, sinking
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Re: CHARACTER ROOMS
they trace each name with a finger, before opening the door. ]
1/2
Talk about Superior Attribute: Cutting (5), right?
When you trace over Khysael—that name in some λ-language—the shape of the letters feels almost like a poem, or a tiny fragment of one:
Finally, you run your fingers over the grooves of the floral crest, and with that comes with a kind of certainty: that these are your (her) flowers, as much a part of you as your cutting edge:
Lotus, Key of the Descending Angel.
Aconite, Key of Rage.
(In fact, if Sashay has read Hellfire's profile before, they may recall that it says exactly that.)
2/2
There is blood on the wind.
The rest of the dorm falls away, and you find yourself on the battlefield.
…Or the remnants of one, in any event. It’s not just blood on the breeze, but the sickening smell of spilled entrails, and the groans of dying men: You really did it! You slew them all. The one who wielded lays in the blood-soaked soil beside you—and it is his own blood which has soaked it. His lamellar has broken apart around the head of the spear that pierced through his gut, but his face is still set in a howl of triumph.
It isn’t any particular battlefield, or any particular warrior. You loved them all, but there were so many, and you were wielded again and again and again.
In the distance, past the tattered flags and corpses of men and horses, is the sheen of what looks like a pond.
Re: 2/2
they also remember everything else, but not in the same way. everything else is just what life was back then, so they're making a beeline straight for the pond, ignoring everything else. ]
Re: 2/2
It is peaceful here. And you know: here, in the water, is the way home.
Re: 2/2
what if they put their hand into the pond. ]
Re: 2/2
Re: 2/2
time to dive into pond ]
Re: 2/2
...But you haven't found anything yet, and your lungs are starting to strain.
Re: 2/2
Re: 2/2
...But you hold yourself under, and you let the water fill your lungs as you submerge yourself completely.
It seems as though the water reflects the void not just on the surface but underneath, for it is dark, too dark to see anything—but there is not need to be afraid, for here the void is right, it is warm, it is good—and though it looked to only be a pond it's so, so much deeper than that, and you find yourself like a weight, sinking
down, and
down, and
down.
You emerge from the water to a starry sky.