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the-three-idiots · 1 year

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Tales of thedas: Epilogue #4 Last Push

Alakess Ledge is the old gateway to Caledon, it was shut by the Tyrian alliance long ago but my ancestor’s Master Lyrisa and her twin, Y'vana, managed to excavate a way through. Took twelve years but they managed to open a way back to the Caledon wastes.

Even though it is only the afternoon, I feel that we should wait until the morning before we head towards our final destination.

“Why did they close the portal?” Master Raim asks

“In the final days of the war with the shadows, shortly before the calamity. The Tyrian alliance had a plan to save the land using something called the last beacon. They needed time to finish building it. Now I'm not sure why but the shadows had trouble getting over large mountains. So they blocked it off the entire area.” i explain

“Like the Faolain peaks?” Master Raim asks

“Not exactly, while that was a feat of pure magical skill this was achieved by simply blowing up the portals and any way that it could be opened. The armies of Tyria did not expect to come out of Caledon alive, so they left nothing to chance.” I state

I grab one of my old journals out , open it and pass it to him. Master Raim looks at the pages intently.

“The Faolain peaks stopped shadows from getting in from the land but they didn’t stop the shadows from coming by sea but the remaining nightmare court sealed the portal to Caledon, so the Shadows wouldn’t be able to get into the rest of Caledon. They put a curse on the land so that the shadows would burn if they stepped foot in Caledon.” I clarify

He looks at the journal, he looks confused.

“Burn? How did that happen?” he asks

“From what I have been able to deduce, the shadows were basically anti-magical energy. They were not able to touch lands or people with large amounts of magical energy, A revenant called Voroni said to have felt the touch of a shadow and it was described as like touching an infinite ice glacier.” I try to explain

“So they knew they would die and so put all their magical energy into the curse so the shadows couldn't or at least had trouble getting into Caledon.” Master Raim figures out

“Exactly, the shadows consumed it but they couldn’t take on large amounts at any given time. However, the bigger the shadow, the more magic it could consume at any given time. ” I showed him the journal “But the very thing they consumed could kill them.” i explain.

He looks through the journal and nods.

“Will we encounter any of these shadows?” Master Raim asks

“No, they perished with the calamity. I'm not sure how but they are most certainly gone, do not worry.” I try to say in a reassuring tone

I am not completely sure how the creatures who ended the world vanished, by means of their biology, they could have easily lived off the land. Everything has some form of magical energy imbued into it, the elder dragons of old may have been conduits of this energy but everyone and everything has it in them.

One of the main issues the Tales of Thedas and indeed the great Tyrian alliance faced when fighting the shadows was that they could consume the very magic they fought them with. The only way to defeat a shadow, to my knowledge, was to overwhelm them with enough energy to ‘burn’ them out of existence really.

By the accounts of revenant Voroni, the shadows even had the power to effectively shut off the realms of mist from our own realm. They stopped people's souls from passing on or even coming back to become new revenants.

From what I have gathered over the years, I can only assume that shadows are a dark collection of energy from one of the other realms or even a counter balance to the amount of magical energy from our realm.

So how did they enter our world?

In short? I have no idea.

The Tales of Thedas main reliquary and library in the lost halls of Caledon have long been lost to me and my predecessors. Wherever it is, could tell me how this all started.

I'm sure if the original Thedas guild could have seen this tragedy occur before it did, then maybe the world would have been in a better place than it is now.

“I must warn you master Raim, we may be heading towards our final push but i have to warn you, when we get to the last beacon, you may not like what you find.” I warn

He nods.

“I’d rather find something that I don't like than having to live my whole life wondering what it was I should have found out.” he states

The words of a true scholar.

“If i may ask, how come you never taken me to this last beacon?" He asks

"I'll be honest with you, it scares me." I reply

He looks at me in a confused way.

"My father took me to see it when I was seven years. You just look at it and it feels like it staring back at you. This tower of crystal just stares right at you as if it has a mind of its own. Then there's the echo's." I explain

"Echos?" Master Raim asks

"It was I call them, my father called them the burned. They are impressions of people and animals burned into the very ground itself. You could dig up a hole 10 foot deep and the echo would still be there. I have no idea how something like that happens but that's not the worst part." I explain.

I take the journal from Master Raim, flip a few pages back and pass it back to him. He has a read-through.

"The echos feel wrong, like there was a person wiped from existence. I haven't actually touched one, I just look at them and I get shivers. Like someone just walked over my own grave." I remark

"Scared by something you can't explain? that's not like you." Master Raim remarks

Master Raim is hearing me but he doesn't understand what I’m saying.

I grab a small wooden box from my bag, I open it and show him the inside. In the box are six of the weirdest dirt samples. I take bottle three from row one, I present it to Master Raim.

Inside the bottle is a black substance I had scraped from one of the echos when I first went to the last beacon. I’ve tried every type of test on it to determine its chemical composition and it has none.

“What’s wrong with it?” He asks

“What makes you think there’s something wrong with it?” I inquire

He takes the bottle, he shivers before putting the bottle down on the floor.

“There’s nothing there, I can see it and touch it but there isn't anything there.” He replies

I take the bottle off the floor, the effect it gives off, numbs my hand a little. I put it back into its box. I look

“I’m not sure what we will find at the last beacon but promise me that as soon as we find out what the message, we get out of there.” I request

“You really dont like that place do you?” Master Raim asks

I shake my head.

“Sure but you promise me, whatever we find, please keep and open mind, okay?” He requests

I nod and he smiles. I can guarantee much, The sylvari are all dead so i have no idea how Ashal Tieran managed to contact Master Raim but whatever we discover tomorrow, it cant be good.

#gw2 #gw2 sylvari #GW2 OC #fanfic #gw2 fanfiction #gw2 fanfic #epilogue #tales of thedas #tales of thedas guild #2500AE

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braindeacl · 3 years

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Splinter | Solomon & Eilidh

SETTING: The woods. TIMING: Current, early morning. PARTIES: @shroomsbysolomon & @braindeacl SUMMARY: Eilidh means to put an end to Solomon’s trail of death, permanently, but ideologies get in the way. WARNINGS: Drug use

Anger had driven him from his home. Rage had fueled the destruction he’d left in his wake all those miles from here. But it was fear that brought him back; heavy in his gait and thick in his throat. It was fear that coaxed him toward the coast, that sent sharp aches through his body and violent shivers up his spine. He’d been gone too long. What might have happened in his absence? No, no, he couldn’t rationalize it that way, he—

How was he to reconcile this?

It had taken several centuries to forget the first time, and he wasn’t sure how many more centuries he had to spare.

Lumbering through familiar forests, a sense of calm began to worm its way into his anxious mind. Perhaps he had strayed too far—this was his home, after all. His roots were here, in more ways than one. His thoughts drifted to soft lips, the snarling curl of a scar amidst a warm smile… sunlight streaming in through the window, all golden and peaceful. For a moment, blissful memory overtook the hate that had inspired his trip out west, cleansing his conscience of all the horrible things he’d done to those people—

As with all things, it was not meant to last. A sound snapped Solomon from his reverie, golden eyes darting to his left, where they fell upon a most peculiar figure in the distance. A beat of silence passed between them: the human-shaped silhouette, half hidden by foliage, stood small before the towering fae, all bark and thorns and lichen and antlers.

An uncharacteristic vocalization bloomed in the leshy’s throat, deep and growling. He recognized this one. He’d seen them out in his woods before, coming upon the bodies of the unfortunate souls he’d turned into hedge hounds… as well as the ones that the vines had refused to make hosts out of. Even after the first failed attempt, Solomon had persisted, not having any better explanation for his own existence and hoping that perhaps one would work out.

“What do you want?” he snarled, his ancient, unnatural voice pouring forth from the skull that adorned his head.

It started as an attempt to find answers. Searching for potential leads on the gateways that kept sprouting about White Crest. But the trail led nowhere. Might as well have fun heading back. Eilidh took to the forests, exploring what they had to offer. When Eilidh came upon the first body, she was a mixture of disturbed and intrigued. Just as the corpse was a mixture of flesh and plant. It had been hard to distinguish at first, the protruding vines blending in with the surrounding vegetation. But something felt off. On closer inspection, she noted the way the vines curled and twisted into a familiar shape. A human shape. Unlike most of the hedges she’d see in town, which were forced into poses by the cut of a blade, what lay before lacked any sort of obvious manipulation. This was simply how it grew to be. Out in the middle of the woods. Interesting. Further inspection confirmed a suspicion. Someone had been snipped of their true form, forced by powerful magic into this construction. Part of her wondered if this had been the fate of all the hedges she had seen moving about town. But unlike those, this was still. More plant than creature. Is this how all the hedges will end? One side winning out?

What started as a fascinating oddity became a repeated occurrence. Again and again. Sometimes it was like the forest floor was made of those bodies, for they looked one and the same. In perfect tandem. The harmony was almost beautiful. But the amount was becoming concerning. Whoever was the cause clearly had no plans on slowing down. How long until the forest was only corpses? She began to take the inspection seriously. Time was taken to observe the area, face obscured so she may not be observed as well. A plan began to formulate. She suspected fae, perhaps a nymph. An angry one. Her iron dagger was close at hand.

Over time, she noticed a pattern. Realization brought forth a path in her mind; a path that hopefully led her to the source. Following that trail of death, it brought her to the being before her. Massive in form. Something powerful. Maybe even ancient. She had seen such a sight before, lingering near the bodies, but for her was from a safe distance. Only a vague idea of what she would face. That luxury was lost as the being placed their sights on her, and she was able to fully behold what she had gotten herself into. Her hand immediately went to grab at the syringe of Bliss nestled near her chest. No more close calls, it was time to do this right. James was saying something, probably an attempt to stop her. She couldn’t hear. Didn’t want to hear. Fuck the consequences. Temptation gnawed at her hands and throat as she gripped the needle. The cravings willed it.

She stabbed it into her neck.

Only enough for one hit remained. Her lucky charm. Pressing down, the contents filled her, worming its way through her body. Too soon to fully take over, she waited. Staring. Something sent a shiver down her spine as she fully studied her target. Ancient knowledge banged in her head, wanting to be realized. Details previously lost came into focus: head replaced with skull, towering like a tree, horns outstretched like branches. Horns like branches. Horns. Familiarity caused her to gasp. This didn’t seem right; part of her was skeptical. But before that side could win, the other part willed her to proclaim, voice in awe, “Adharcach aon… Carson a tha thu…”

Staring the stranger down, Solomon could tell by the tone of her voice that she was overwhelmed by his appearance—not an uncommon reaction, truth be told, but something was different about it, this time. Something that reminded him of the way the humans used to react to seeing him many hundreds of years ago… shortly before they would begin to treat him like one of their gods.

He didn’t know the language that she spoke, but it sounded old, like the one he’d been taught growing up. Taking a step toward her, the leshy growled out a warning, though it was in the tongue of long-dead vikings. “Get out of my forest,” he commanded, “and do not return.” Not caring if she understood the language, he took another threatening step toward her. His long digits splayed out in a way that made them seem ready to attack, antlers angling down toward her.

“You are not welcome here,” he added in English, just for good measure.

Eilidh’s thoughts were still swimming in a pool of questions. Why had The Horned One taken on this form? Should she offer him something? Was this even real? An illusion? Did she get hit with something again and was seeing things? The being that stood before her was exactly as she had imagined him all these years, these centuries. The Horned God. She’d never thought she’d see him like this. Usually he could only be felt—in the leaves, the bark, the grass below—his presence permeating everywhere, everything. Her body was electrified at the sight.

She did not understand him. And he did not seem to understand her, which casted a heavy shadow of doubt above them all. But the way he spoke brought upon a memory she had thought was long lost. Momentarily transported back centuries ago, she recalled a man. A vampire. His voice carried the same rhythm, the same flow and pitch. The same forgotten song. Even then, in the encounter so long ago, it was understood what he spoke was old and long gone. How much older it has grown since. Whoever stood before her was very ancient, or was very good at pretending to be.

His image, who he appeared to be, was still causing confliction, contradictions, in her mind. Awe? Confusion? Anger? She wasn’t even sure whether to move, leave, or remain frozen. But in her pause, the drug was able to finally make its nest. It stole all those questions. Quieted her mind for a moment. Until the anger, no longer having competitors, was able to move to the forefront. Her body felt electrified for a different reason. Power.

Glamour activated, it was like her form suddenly struggled to retain its shape. It shifted and lurched this way and that. Fighting to be free from this humanoid container. Nothing about her looked the same for long. “ToUGh shIt.” Even her voice fought against her. “I’vE seeN wHat you’VE doNe, FUcker.” Her iron dagger was drawn, preparing for an attack. Fast clicking emanated from her. Teeth chattering. Too fast to be human. Then she was on the move. Not directly at the other being, but in the general vicinity. Here, then there, back again. Maneuvering through the trees as if she had ran through the area many times.

That spark of anger ignited, and it was fueled by something Solomon did not fully comprehend. There was a voice in his head that demanded sacrifice, that demanded he protect it, no matter the cost. He was compelled by something unseen, a phantom that haunted him—draped over him like a blanket made of shadow. It was warm, though, that wispy embrace… inviting. Solomon was beginning to lose himself in it. The heat bloomed and rose in his chest, the flame licked higher and burned brighter until it was white-hot, blinding him to reality.

All he knew was that he had to defend.

Golden orbs tucked away in black pits struggled to keep up with the rapid, erratic movements of his enemy, his large head jerking this way and that as he took a wary step back.

“I did what had to be done!” he bellowed, heart racing as she drew near. With a furious stomp, the leshy dug his trunk-like feet into the earth as roots erupted from them, racing through the soil in all directions, trying to create a protective circle around him. They lashed out of the ground wherever the stranger flicked into existence, reaching with the intent to strangle, but never quite quick enough. The glint of metal in his attacker’s hand sent a shiver of fear up his spine: he might have had very little understanding of what he was, but as a fae, he had discovered at a young age that iron was something he did not want to be injured with.

“This does not concern you!” the leshy tried again, focusing his attempts to get a handle on her to hold her still.

As Eilidh’s feet struck down, the ground below awoke. Roots shot out, cracking the soil, like nightcrawlers returning from a winter’s nap—wriggling, writhing, grasping—with only one goal. Stop her. But they only touched her shadow. Their attempts grew more powerful, more desperate, the closer she came to where the being stood, hidden behind a barricade. Coward. The sight alone would’ve culled any lingering wonder as to who the being was. This was no god. This could be killed.

This could be a meal.

Her teeth snapped in anticipation. Hard click of canines that wanted to bury into the other’s head. The thought was distracting enough to allow a root to knock on her heel. Almost enough to lose balance. Almost. Onward it went, the eternal game of cat and mouse—but who was which? In the repetition of actions, her mind wandered to the previous words. What had to be done. When humans uttered that phrase, a weak attempt at justification, it made her want to rip their throats. And they ironically would want to do the same to those who simply did what had to be done in order to survive, gore and all. Was the latter true in this case? Ever the curious soul, even with a tampered mind, she barked out. “FeEl FRee to eXplAIn yoUrseLf bEforeee I eAT yOu.” The chase continued, continued, continued; her energy seemingly never ending, the roots seemingly ever growing. Her patience, however, had a limit. Erratic feet found a singular goal, and she grew closer. When the roots became frantic, instead of retreating, allowing the stalemate to carry on, she pressed onward. Switching to the defense, her blade was in motion, aiming a slash at any root that dared to come near.

That rage was returning as Solomon failed again and again to catch her, to stop her—it was burning white hot in his skull, bleeding out to his chest and stomach, smothering him. He felt something catch, but just as quickly as it had made contact, it was gone. The leshy let out an infuriated wail that made the branches of the trees around them shiver in response, and doubled down on his efforts. Only now… now something was hurting him. Cutting into his roots, burning like the anger that was making him lightheaded.

Fear escalated to panic, threatening to overtake him until finally—there! Got her.

“The humans,” he moaned, the root that had managed to catch his attacker’s foot snaking around her ankle and working up her leg, “they hurt us. They come into my woods and cut them down—” The barrier fell away as Solomon emerged to face whoever this person was, his lithe body trembling with emotion. “—they kill the creatures I call my family, they burn our home to the ground!” One root had become many, each grasping at her and trying to hold her in place, recoiling in pain with each slash of her weapon. And yet Solomon still lamented, the anguish laced in his tone only fueled by her attempts to break free. “I must take back what they have claimed, I must show them—listen!—I must show them that they are not the center of all creation! Can you not understand that?”

Eilidh continued to slash—the resulting wails only fueling her frenzy. But it was her against an army; she could only hold them off for so long. The distinction between ground and root was lost. All below writhed: reaching, reaching, reaching. She would not back down. Until something forced her to. Attention could only be divided so many ways; a hand can only be in so many places. One of the roots darted out from such a place. Ensnared its prey. To the ground, she fell.

Is he… monologuing? She did technically ask for this. Nevertheless, she preoccupied herself with repeatedly stabbing the root snaked around her leg. More quickly followed. One replaced the battered root that had been encircling her shin. Others gripped her attacking arms, trying to slow her movements into less offensive blows. She bit into the barked flesh, ripping off pieces with her canines. Their hold diminished until her hand was free to send another flurry of stab, stab, stab, stab. Discarded bark littered the forest floor, revealing wooden innards. Weakened by her ambush, or discouraged by her hostility, the roots peeled away by the will of her hands. Freedom at last. She rolled, and when feet struck ground, she returned to a sprint. Intent on continuing the chase, waiting for the next opportunity to arise.

But with her predicament solved, his words started worming into her brain. Just as the roots had done to her body. Encircling. Ensnaring. Contorting her to a new position, a new viewpoint. What he said struck a chord with her. It did make sense. If Bliss had been stripped from within, she might have even felt sympathy. Or she might have discarded his words as bullshit. She wasn’t sure. The drug wiggled its way through her mind all the same, dancing with his words. James saw the look on her face; tried to remind her about something. Something she couldn’t bring herself to care about now. “Ya gOt A poINt.” She readily admitted, musing out loud. Sprint turned into a brisk jog as her legs lost some of their fire. “So tHOse bODiees ouT thErE. THat’s tHeem?”

Seeing her break free, Solomon fell into retreat. She was by far the toughest thing he’d encountered in quite some time, and he had apparently grown weak with such easy domination of his foes. Roots slithered back toward him, reforming into his body as he took a few steps back, waiting to see if she would come running at him again.

She did, and he continued to move back, lashing out again and again with the extensions of himself, paralytic thorns whizzing through the air as he tried to put her down a second time.

It wasn’t until he noticed the change in her body language and how her pace had slowed that he too allowed a moment of respite, grasping at a tree trunk as he passed it by, worn down from the constant effort of defending himself.

“Some of them,” he answered with a growl, pushing off of the tree to keep moving away from her, though it was certainly less energetic at this point. “Others are retaliation… for the centuries of destruction.” The wounds she had left him with were sapping his strength, and after a few more steps, the leshy dropped to one knee and leaned forward, a shudder running down his spine. “Please,” he groaned, “please, don’t… I have to care for this place.”

The tides were turning in Eilidh’s favor, and the cravings enjoyed that very much. Seeing him relent under the weight of his injuries, his actions. The excitement tingled down her arm, her fingers, shaking against the handle of her blade. But she did have standards. It seemed his soul was not as ripe for the picking as she hoped. Virtue could be found in his actions, at least from her type of sensibilities. Disappointing. She had been so close to finishing. He was practically on his knees, waiting to be eaten! She could still continue, just for sustenance instead of satisfying that side of her nature. But as he brought up the need to protect, to provide for the surrounding habitat, Eilidh remembered his own nature. Killing him would remove this forest its guardian.

She looked to James, her source of moral direction when in this state. He was cautiously eyeing the being, anger clear on his face, but the wink of sympathy in his eyes betrayed him. She recognized it easily, an expression he wore frequently. Always such a gentle soul. But his fleeting moment of empathy sealed the being’s fate. If Eilidh had watched longer, the two would have locked eyes. He would have motioned for her to carry on, frustration and anger and sadness at the other’s cruelty urging his damning hands. He would have sentenced his death. But instead, Eilidh looked away. Considered his importance to the flow of this environment. Considered further still the unreadiness of his soul. Perhaps in another time, another place, it would become much riper. Richer. Delicious.

“KeEP tHaat shIt ConTained to thOSe wHo HUrt tHiis PLace, or I’lL fiiiND yoU AGain.” Though some of her wished he would go against her words. Ripen his soul. Give her something to truly feast on. With that she started to leave. Footfalls as silent as James’ protest might as well have been, falling on deaf ears.

#splinter #chatzy #;— interactions #ft. solomon h.#glitch tag #drug use tw

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