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spooky-ghostwriter · 5 years

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Dressed to Kill - Chapter Twenty-Three

<– Previous Chapter

Galen hesitated.

“The... Death Robe?” He confirmed.

“That's right,” said Tsukiko. “I'm positive – that's the only weapon that we have that will be able to destroy this thing.”

“But we don't know how it works!” Galen protested. “All we know is that it doesn't activate when you die.”

“Look,” said Tsukiko. “I've been trapped in this facility for god knows how long. I've had a lot of time to think this over.”

“Two days. You've been here for two days.”

“It felt longer. Look. You and I both know we can't fight this thing with a tank, sword, bow, fists or pretty red shoes, so come on.” Tsukiko extended her hand and made a grabbing gesture.

“All right. Fine.” Galen dug his hand into the Cargo Pants' pocket. He felt the flowing fabric of the robe and withdrew the black, ghost-like figure.

“Just promise me,” said Galen. “Promise me that however you're planning on activating the Robe doesn't involve dying.”

“It doesn't.”

Galen sighed and passed Tsukiko the robe. He watched hesitantly as she threw the robe over her head.

“Cold blood, cold steel,” Tsukiko recited. She held the sheathed Shiba Kariki in both hands. “Cold steel is half of the equation – something that's pretty easy to find. But cold blood is a little harder.

“It's been easy to justify killing dryads. They're not intelligent. They're just bundles of instinct. But Garrick – he's a human. This isn't going to be like smashing a pumpkin or swatting a fly. This is something I need to be cold-blooded for.”

Tsukiko drew her sword, then she felt the wires slither around beneath the fabric of the Death Robe.

“It's not that I need to die to wear the Death Robe,” She said.

“I need to kill.”

Tsukiko waited. The slithering across the fabric of her arm had stopped briefly, but it began to pick up once more. Something about this felt different than other Religalia. Whereas the others had been hundreds of tiny, thin wires, this felt like one large mass slithering together. In fact, it felt just like –

“Gary,” Tsukiko said dully.

The ball python finished its travel down her arm and poked his head out of her sleeve. Gary flicked his tongue up at Tsukiko.

“What?” Galen asked. “I thought I – ”

“Were you keeping Gary in your pocket dimension?!” Tsukiko asked Galen.

“No! I put him back in his terrarium, I swear,” Galen said. “I'd never put Gary in the Cargo Pants on purpose. I wasn't sure there was air in there.”

Gary continued slithering down Tsukiko's arm. Galen moved closer to pick him up, but the snake seemed fixated on its path. He reached Tsukiko's wrist and the handle of Shiba Kariki. Then, the snake opened its mouth wide and bit down on the handle.

“What is he doing?” Galen asked.

Tsukiko didn't answer. She picked up Shiba Kariki's sheath and held it behind Gary and the handle. Gary's tail wrapped around the sheath as well and the snake constricted into a tight ball, connecting the sword and sheath at a ninety degree angle.

Finally, the transformation began.

Tsukiko felt the movement of countless thin wires within the robe, the more normal sensation of a Religalia activating. They did not go outwards as she was used to from the Tank Top, but instead spiraled around her body within the robe. Metal wove around her, invisibly to Galen until it reached her arms.

Thousands of wire rings clamped down on each arm. In seconds, it looked as though she was wearing skin-tight gauntlets.

Tsukiko's face was the last part of her that Galen could see, but that changed too in an instant. The wires covered her face like a mask. They traced a skull, one that covered every inch of her face but the eyes. Tsukiko felt the wires pull her blonde streak back up onto her head, and the mask constricted to keep her hair stationary.

Finally, the wires among Tsukiko's sword-wielding arm moved again, and they crept along the odd formation Gary had made with Shiba Kariki. The metal covered both the snake and sword just as completely as it covered Tsukiko, forming an eerie scythe out of her weapon and pet. The scythe had retained a few of the flowery engravings on Shiba Kariki's sheath, but with a new ornament – a coiled serpent where the blade met the handle.

Where Tsukiko and Gary had stood, there was now a reaper – the truest embodiment of death Galen could imagine.

“Cold blood and cold steel,” Tsukiko repeated, but she said it with a voice that was unlike any she'd ever spoken with before. It sounded as chilling as ice. “This is Niddhoggr – the serpent that gnaws the roots of Yggdrasil.”

Were this friendly banter in one of their magic shows, Galen might have asked when Tsukiko learned that much about Norse mythology. Instead, Galen remained speechless.

Tsukiko swung the scythe over her shoulder.

“I'll be back soon,” she said.

Tsukiko began walking. It was neither towards the left wall of thorny roots nor the safe path to the city. Instead, she walked straight up, stepping through the air with no more difficulty than one would walk up a ramp.

“Our second-to-top story continues now,” said Liz Ardtail. “The girl we have just identified as Tsukiko Tanner is now walking on air. She mentioned something about a magic show, and I think you viewers can agree that this is some magic show!”

The camera zoomed in. Though the picture wasn't perfectly in focus, viewers caught a glimpse of Tsukiko's face underneath the hood.

Elizabeth Tanner looked away from the screen. The cold skull-like mask hiding her daughter's face was too much to bear.

Takehiko still looked at the screen. All the excitement that he'd had just moments ago was gone, and now he had a look of determination on his face, as if he himself were fighting.

Seeing the look in his eyes, Elizabeth forced herself to look back at Tsukiko, but at her current angle, she was blocked from view by a hundred-meter-thick branch.

None of it felt real.

It was as if Tsukiko was somewhere between awake and asleep. She couldn't even describe the sensation as a dream, for she felt less in control of her actions than any dream she'd ever had before. It was more like she watched herself from afar.

Thinking of how she was watching herself from what felt like a new perspective made her realize just how strange her vision had become in this form. The ground, the buildings and cars that Yggdrasil had crushed and all the tools being used by the news crew and circus – anything inanimate felt distant in some way, as if they were completely meaningless to her now.

The things around her that were alive, however, felt much more vibrant. The circusfolk looked almost like the ghost lions; ethereal wisps of some sort of brightly lit plasma. Though their forms were much less defined, Tsukiko found she could recognize them effortlessly. She picked out Galen from the crowd below. She saw the spirit-equivalents of Ravindra, Stiletto and Pierre redistribute themselves among the remaining dryads.

The closest one to her, or at least the one closest to the reaper body she had no control over, was in her metallic skeletal hand.

It's Gary, Tsukiko realized.

With each step up through the air, Tsukiko felt more and more distant from her own body and the wisps around her became more faded. Yggdrasil was a monstrous climb, but the spirit she recognized as Garrick was within sight. Tsukiko wasn't sure she'd be able to stop her body even if she'd wanted to, but reaffirmed her decision to keep climbing higher.

By the time she reached the top, she could only barely see two of the things she believed to be souls – Garrick's and Gary's.

Garrick stood on a leaf. It was a leaf hundreds of feet above the city below; a leaf dozens of meters wide, one thicker and sturdier than most buildings' floors, yet still only one of thousands upon Yggdrasil. The view was extraordinary; the tree's plumage extended as far as the eye could see in any given direction. A sea of pure green leaves flowed around him.

It was not the leaves at which his attention was directed, however. Not ten feet away from Garrick's leaf platform stood the heart of Yggdrasil. Not unlike the hearts in the apple tree beasts, it was an organ shaped just like a human's heart, but over three times Garrick's height.

The heart pulsed, sending a low resonating sound through the leaves. Garrick watched in awe as nutrients absorbed themselves into the heart and it forced them back into the tree.

“It's beautiful,” He said to himself.

Garrick waited a moment for the heart to pulse again. The feeling of the heartbeat pulsing through the the leaf below him made it all feel worth it.

Then he turned around. A rustling in the leaves had continued long after the heartbeat's pulse had ended.

A black shadow emerged from a small gap in the leaf platforms. That was all it looked like to Garrick – a human-shaped shadow. Garrick backed against the heart as the shadow moved closer, walking across the leaves with more ease than even Garrick himself.

“What... what are you?!” Garrick demanded of the reaper.

The ghastly figure said nothing as it approached. It raised its scythe, the silvery edge glimmering in the light of the sunset.

As the light shone across the silver skull-like mask, Garrick caught a glimpse at the eyes underneath. There was something unearthly about the eyes behind the mask, something that chilled even Garrick to the bone, but he still recognized the minute features he could make out.

“You... I knew it...” He said. He backed up further against the heart. He couldn't move any further, but couldn't bring himself to leave the heart of Yggdrasil. “There is something special about you. What is it?!”

She said nothing, merely gliding closer towards Garrick and the heart.

“You and I – we have both ascended beyond mundane humanity!” Garrick cried. “Why be enemies after all? We're the only two people who understand what it means to transcend the mundane and live in a world of fantasy!”

The reaper raised her scythe.

“What do you want?!” Garrick demanded. “Whatever it is, you and I can surely find out how to obtain it – or create it! You and I can have anything we desire!”

Still, the reaper did not answer.

Garrick grimaced. “Very well,” he said. “If you want to waste your abilities protecting these… these humans… then you can die alongside them.”

Several branches of Yggdrasil began to move. They extended, more like tentacles than wood, and lurched forwards towards the reaper. They surrounded her; hands ready to grasp their prey.

The scythe swung twice, tearing away the branches. The reaper continued to advance.

“Fine. Yggdrasil, it is time!” Garrick cried. “All of your children - as many as are ready - release them now!”

Waves rippled along the sea of leaves. A single leaf lifted upwards, curling around air. Then, like a magician’s cloak, it flapped back down, revealing a pumpkin dryad. Unlike the ones Tsukiko had fought previously, this dryad was made out of ten pumpkins, each one larger and more vicious-looking than ever before.

More leaves lifted up and fluttered away.

Garrick’s eyes grew wild with excitement as he watched the dryads appear. A snapdragon with three heads spat a breath of seed bullets to the sky. A woman made of ivy extended angelic wings from her shoulders. A hot pepper dryad three times larger than a normal ape lumbered across the leaves. Several leaves came together to reveal a six-legged apple tree creature.

“I can hardly believe it...” Garrick awed. “I knew that Yggdrasil’s presence would bolster our forces, but to be able to spawn so many dryads so quickly… this is exactly what we needed.”

He extended his arms and raised his voice, commands echoing to his new army.

“Dryads! Kill this reaper - this magician. Then, the circus below. They are no longer a threat to us, but make them pay for what they’ve done to the dryads who came before you. This world shall become a paradise of fantasy.”

Garrick gave a glance towards the dark shadow of a girl, now surrounded by a continuously-increasing swarm of dryads.

“I regret that I’ll have to dispose of something as fantastical as you, Specimen Delta.”

Another slash of the scythe.

The pumpkin dryad fell, splattering guts across the otherwise untainted leaves.

The snapdragon fired seeds, but they were deflected by its target’s metallic palm. A single slash tore all three heads from their necks.

Garrick stared in horror as the reaper’s scythe shone again and again. She moved through the horde undeterred, leaving a path of plant destruction behind her.

Finally, Garrick found himself staring death in the eyes.

“You - “

She swung the scythe, striking Garrick in the abdomen. It provided no resistance; the scythe sliced through both Garrick and the heart in a single, effortless slash.

The last things Garrick saw were the countless leaves of Yggdrasil; their green fading away to a dull brown, then a ghastly grey.

It had only taken a moment. Only a few minutes had passed since Tsukiko began walking her way to the top of the tree. And now, it was over – Garrick and Yggdrasil were dead.

Galen and Vercingetorix watched as the trunk and roots of Yggdrasil lost their colour. The vivid green around them turned to a dull grey; the tree withering and dying before them.

“She did it,” Vercingetorix said, his voice transcending awe to pure disbelief.

“I... I guess she did,” Galen agreed. He looked up to the sky, finally seeing Tsukiko. She stepped down through the air, still as easily as the ghost lions had.

Finally, Tsukiko reached the ground once again. She dropped her silver scythe Niddhoggr on the pavement. The tip of the blade bounced off the ground, loosening the wires on the sword. They began to recede, revealing the original sword underneath. As they passed through over the scabbard, Gary became visible too. He finally relinquished his bite on the katana's hilt. The wires arced back up into the bottom of Tsukiko's robe. The scythe was gone; Gary slithered away from Shiba Kariki and its scabbard as if nothing had happened.

Before the snake could get too far, Galen scooped him up and held him to his shoulder. Vercingetorix stepped closer to Galen; he held out his finger to the snake and smiled as Gary gave him an affectionate lick. Galen barely noticed; he was focused intently on Tsukiko. She stood away from them, facing the last vestiges of the sun. She was but a vaguely Tsukiko-shaped shadow, no different than what stretched across the ground in front of Galen's feet.

“You did it, Tsukiko,” Galen said, trying to sound cheerful. “Now you can deactivate that robe. Let's all go back to the circus.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Galen saw Vercingetorix shake his head.

“Death is eternal, Galen. I'm not sure she can deactivate that robe,” Vercingetorix said.

“What are you talking about?” Galen demanded.

“Think back to the other Religalia,” said Vercingetorix. “All of them enshroud the wearer with utter fantasy, like an actor being immersed in their character. They become something impossible. But the other Religalia still allow their wearers to be visible; even the Tank Top keeps Tsukiko's head uncovered.”

Vercingetorix gave a solemn look to Tsukiko and the Death Robe.

“That robe has removed Tsukiko entirely from the world. None of her former self shines through.”

Galen realized in horror that Vercingetorix might be right. Tsukiko made no effort to come back to them; she still stared intently at the sunset behind them.

“I'm sorry, Galen,” said Vercingetorix. “But I believe that, if Tsukiko was able to activate the Robe, she must have known the cost. I believe she willingly sacrificed her future to destroy Yggdrasil, and save humanity forever.”

Finally, the sun disappeared completely. Galen wasn't sure if he had accepted the gravity of what Vercingetorix was explaining to him. He was distracted – Tsukiko began to move again.

She grabbed the outer edges of the robe's hood and pulled. She flapped the robe up over her head, then flung the garment onto the ground.

“Ah,” said Vercingetorix, scratching his chin. “I didn't think she'd just be able to take off the robe like that. Interesting.”

“Interesting?!” Galen demanded.

It was clear that Tsukiko's body was no longer covered by the Death Robe's metal armour. As she turned back to Vercingetorix and Galen, a wave of relief washed over Galen; her mask was also gone.

Tsukiko took a moment to mess with her hair; her blonde streak fell out of the constricted knot the Death Robe's mask had put it in, back over her right eye where it belonged. Then she gathered up the robe and Shiba Kariki.

“I know we were keeping track of the number of dryads we killed,” Tsukiko said, jerking her thumb at the tree. “But personally, I think the goddamn tree of life counts for more than one. What do you think?”

Galen could hardly believe it; Tsukiko's voice was perfectly normal. There was none of the chill that the skeletal mask had forced upon her.

“Galen?” Tsukiko asked. She waved her hand in front of his face. “Hello?” She paused. “Oh hey, Gary!” She picked the snake up off Galen's shoulder. “Never eat my sword again, okay? That was scary.”

Galen didn't know what to say, so he simply grabbed Tsukiko in a tight hug. Tsukiko was caught off-guard at first, but remembered the terrifying feeling of wearing the Robe. What felt like a dream was beginning to fade from her memory, as most dreams did when she woke up. She could imagine Garrick and Yggdrasil's heart, but the words he spoke were almost completely forgotten.

None of that mattered to Tsukiko now. She hugged Galen back, just happy to know that this moment was real – and so too were the moments from here on.

Of course, knowing what was real and what was fantasy did not mean that Tsukiko had to choose reality for the rest of her life.

It had taken a while, much longer than Tsukiko had wanted. Knowledge of the dryads and Alesia's involvement in their battle went public, and so Vercingetorix's time as of late had been spent more in interviews and questioning than managing the circus. Finally, however, he'd found the time to get the show back on the road, and now Tsukiko stood backstage once again.

There wasn't a single empty seat, even in Alesia's largest stage. Being known as the stage magician who saved the world had given Tsukiko, and the circus itself, quite the boost in popularity. Tsukiko vowed to give them a show amazing enough to repay that.

She checked her watch. It was 8:59. A proper show began with proper tantalization, so if Galen were to be trusted, she had another two minutes to examine her props.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Galen's deep announcer voice bellowed, no more than a second later. “I don't know about anyone else, but my watch says it's 9:00 on the nose. And so, without even an instant of ado, let's get this show on the road.”

Tsukiko shook her head, but couldn't hold back a smile as Galen introduced her. This was where she belonged, after all; a fantasy that she owned, one she understood, and one through which she could lead her treasured audience.

She gave a glance towards the Tank Top and its hat, sitting neatly on a recreation of Freya's inescapable box. This was her intended finale for the night.

All right, Tsukiko admitted. I don't own or understand the entire fantasy. That's fine by me.

Galen's introduction had ended. Tsukiko stepped out from the curtain, into the blinding spotlights of center stage. The last whispers of the audience stopped, eagerly allowing Tsukiko to lead them from the mundane into the impossible.

#dressed to kill #original fiction #tsukiko #thanks for joining me on this wild ride #I had a lot of fun writing DtK #I hope you had fun reading it!

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thevoidgod · 3 years

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A Conversation With the Void-God

I have studied the arcane arts of the Void for many years. Through passion and borderline insanity, I found the Fringe Athenaeum. The infamous--and legendary plane the Void-God inhabits. Seldom few have written treatises of such a magnificent place, let alone listen to the abyssal voice of the Void-God himself. However, I postulate none have returned from his realm, for many reasons. It may be rumor, but rumors start somewhere, and I am not one to ignore information despite how it circulates, lest it hide the truth. My fail-safe for this is woven into my ritual. I will have an hour before I am pulled back to my physical body. After practicing my projection techniques, I am confident nothing can interfere with my fail-safe.

The andeamer believe Mariax Stygal entices passionate scholars to his realm, or those seeking answers to their questions, and quickly the descent into madness begins in the feverish search of those answers. I, however, am willing to take that chance as I have reasons to believe none have my gifts. I also was not intentionally drawing the attention of the Void-God.

“We have a visitor.”

His voice echoed through the Void. I searched for its origins, yet it came from everywhere… In my circling search, I found the Void-God himself stood behind me. I did not recognize this being to be him at first, no I thought it simply one of his minions.

It was a macabre creature. Imitating the form of a man veiled in black yet twisted by its own nature. It’s eyes… Its hollow eyes bore through me and I only admit to my fear now.

I dealt with these beings before, simple ones as I have learned, nothing like the behemoths that lurk the abyssal plane. I pulled the energy of the Void around me so easily. I was not bound by a veil that obscured the worlds. It was invigorating, to suddenly come from walking in water to walking on land and such ease of manipulation may have inflated my confidence at this encounter.

“Begone or I will destroy you.”

The stoic face like a mask twitched. A smile tugged the Chelsea grin across its face. He laughed.... Deep, carving, and tapping into some auxiliary fear hidden deep within me. “I know what you seek.”

“I seek nothing from you.” I so wisely stated he began to circle around me. Steps echoed through walls. Walls that had changed since I last observed them. New walls, shelves lined with books that organized themselves. Other void creatures wandered at a distance. The colors of the skies had changed their tones.

He paused. Eyes locked onto mine, or at least that is what I felt. “Are you sure of that?”

A vicious chill raced down my spine. It was at that moment, I recognized who was before me. “You are him...” I managed to say and state the obvious in the presence of the Lord of shadows.

“And you are [redacted], but you call yourself ‘Nightbane’ among your… peers.” Perhaps it was my own projection, but I felt a sting of judgement. One could never use their true name in my field of study.

“Surely, you know—”

“Naturally.” My defense of my pseudonym had become reflexive, but I sensed the Void-God would have none of it. He turned away. Hands clasped each other behind his back as he walked to the edge of the island we stood upon. His realm was ever changing… Perhaps at his will? “You have questions,” he said.

“Many.” I attempted to gather whatever sense I could, but it was difficult in such a being’s presence. I knew my risks coming here, yet… I never believed I would be in the presence of the Void-God.

“Ask and you shall receive.”

“I must know more about what your kind is—Voids and their nature.”

He looked over his shoulder. Another humored smile twitched. “My kind?” He laughed, a gentle laugh, yet it still unnerved me to my core. “You dive into depths one never surfaces from when it comes to my kind and I do not speak of the inhabitants of the Void.”

“You are not a being of the Void?”

He turned to me, “No.”

“Then what are you?”

“Our topic is: ‘what are Voids’.” I simply nodded. Finally, I saw the realm around me shaped to him. From the stone we stood on, it built upon itself a throne of sorts for him and he sat. “I do love these chats with your kind,” a slow hand rose and a blackened finger pointed to me. Behind me a throne like his had come from the ground when I wasn’t looking. “Do not mistake me, however, I lack tone and the nuance of speech so know that everything I say, I say literally. I have no sleight of hand reserved and no mirror to my words.”

“Ah,” I nodded, somewhat relieved. If he was telling the truth anyhow…

What are the Voids?

Your curiosity of the Void is shared by many, but seldom few have sought their answers at the source. These creatures are not unlike you but know that you are more [pause] special than they. They come in a variety; you have dealt with those that are but the equivalent of children; weak, blunt, small.

They are not dangerous, because they are small things. It is the intelligent ones you ought to fear and avoid. The Greater Voids were not given their positions. They took them. They are the most willful and intelligent Voidlings you will find and that is what makes them dangerous.

Where did they come from?

From the Void. This is their genesis. They are not born and do not die. They can be created from other Voids. Recycled by defeat or devoured. Some are merely contained, shackled by their foes.

What are their goals?

Their goals? Every creature has its goals and those are known only to them. Many know but a fraction of the Greater Voids. Hismael Hamariel does not have compulsion to corrupt the hearts of men. Valac Vetis is not forced to create dreams in the sleeping mind.

I see their symptoms, not their illness.

Why do they harm the living?

What makes you think they are not alive themselves? They are but another form of life. I do not know the minds of ants; however, I can speculate.

As I stated before they come in a variety same as humans. The dichotomy of man is not unique. Voids may attack because they are an animal defending its territory the same as nations defend their borders. …Or they attack because they are like a man, fearful and frightened seeking to end whatever perceived threat is near.

And then there are those who attack simply because they enjoy it. That variety, Void and man, are the closest I can confirm to be purely malevolent. They are always the intelligent kind of being. They know what they inflict on others.

Are there any who possibly help? In some way or have… traits we may consider “good”?

Yes, but you would not call them “Void” do you? The andeamer call them ätherä. But not all ätherä are benevolent Voids; they are something else.

I feel as though you’re trying to imply something—

I illustrate parallels simply because I find it the easiest means for you to comprehend. The beings of your worlds and Voids are not the same. One does not become the other.

What of the creatures called Void-turned? Many are under the assumption they’re possessed or become Void things leading many in my field to believe that we can become them.

I applaud the demonstrated will to learn in any subject, it was I admire most of you. It is what separates you from Void-borne; you can learn and change.

But to answer your question, I will be blunt: they are wrong. What you see is akin to a disease. They are not possessed in the way you think. Corrupted? Yes. Corrupted to the core of their DNA. This engineered disease does not “turn” a man into a void creature. It rots the mind like many natural diseases that deteriorate the fragile neural networks, but the difference is that whomever infected the individual can control the deterioration effectively making them a slave.

It’s a disease? Engineered? Your statement has so many implications…

Extract what you will from it then. Yes, it means you can create a vaccine to defend yourselves, but this disease functions more like cancer, and there will never be a cure for such an ailment.

There wouldn’t’ be a cure? How?

I know you’ve no background in biology, [sighs] so, I must abridge this to an extreme. The disease of the Void-turned is based off their own generic makeup. Once infected, the virus morphs to control them. However, death is never intended, common, but seldom have I seen an infector’s virus truly meld into the victims as to not kill them.

Hypothetically, a cure is possible. However, to cure every infected individual, one would need just as many panaceas.

You mention earlier how we differ from Voids, and it is what makes us “special”, as you say.

Humans can learn and change. You are dependent on it. Adaptability is very important for organisms from your pocket of existence. Voids do not possess that. They do not “learn” exactly, few do, and it is a complex subject matter I still observe. They appear to absorb information, but never truly use it.

You know of the Greater Voids, at least those the andeamer fear. Of all them, the only one I have truly witnessed to “learn”, that is to absorb information and then use it to change outcomes would be Hismael Hamariel. The great heart-stealer is one those whose meddling is merely fun. She learned how to make her victims suffer more.

Can you learn?

[laughs]I want you to revisit that question and think just a bit harder. I am not of the Void. Yes, I can learn, adapt, change, just as you. It is how I sit here, upon a throne in my world with hundreds of legions of servants beneath me.

Those Voids loyal to you, can they learn?

Some. My second, Ronove, is just one. The first. It took centuries, perhaps longer, but he can. He is my favorite lieutenant. I took him from being a scuttling little insect rushing away from being crushed under the sabatons of another and I showed him how to walk, now he is a god in every sense.

I’ve seen his name before, rarely. He is often attributed to being a servant of Mïzäirn.

You rarely see the names of those who have not caused suffering. And you often see my and Mïzäirn’s spheres overlapping.

You’re supposed to be the Greater Void of the shadows and secrecy, yet you’re forthcoming.

I know what you think, but don’t say: only if I am telling the truth. No, I cannot read minds; I have existed a very long time. The sphere of the encroaching darkness was assigned to me by the andeamer who, just as I, see only the methods and not the goals. I do not blame them, and I won’t bother to correct them.

Why would you not correct them when you’ve already shown me so much?

That is how I fit into their mythology. It is their interpretation to events, who am I to say they are wrong?

Well, given that you are very real and witnessed what they believe to be true why not tell them exactly what happened?

What makes you think I am an unbiased source? Do you know what else the andeamer think of me? They also know of my wrathful nature. There is not one voice in existence that ever tells the truth.

You said every creature has its goals and those are known only to them. What is your goal then?

You will live to see the ends, but now it’s time for you to wake up.

#worldbuilding #worldbuilding lore #fantasy literature #fantasy #fiction #fictional deities #dark fantasy #otherworld #writing #original character #lovecraftian #mysterious #original work #orginal writing #original content

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linelpisffxiv · 5 years

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Post-Vault Argument

Another story from the land of WoL!M’yrr. This is not a happy one, not just because it’s pretty immediately after the end of the Vaultl Originally I wanted more lead-in. All you need to know is that M’yrr and Lin are at the Forgotten Knight to try and figure out the stuff they just dealt with.

“I know you two were lovers,” he says. “I expected you to announce your marriage any day now if—”

She shakes her head. “We weren’t lovers. Not for months. He loved someone else until the end.”

A’lin has a weird quiver in her voice, as if she struggles to accept that the words are in past tense. If that is not a sign of love, he doesn’t know what is. “My apologies.But what of you?”

She looks to her mug of ale and sighs. “My feelings are unimportant. I may fight by your side, but I’m not a worthy hero.”

He lifts his eyebrow, confused by her words. “What does that have to do with anything, Lin? Of course your feelings are important. If you loved him, you should have told me, I would have helped you. At least if you didn’t disappear every time the three of us were alone.”

She sets her drink down. Her ears flatten and eyes narrow. The shape her mouth makes it as if she had eaten a sour lemon whole in as few bites as possible. “Why do you think I kept making myself scarce, M’yrr. Gods, you’re denser than Rakka. And here I wanted to support you two.”

S--support? It finally makes him realize everything that happened in the past months.

“Me,” he says. “You’re saying that Haurchefant was in love with me. And you were…” He can’t figure it out. “Why did you never say anything? I would have let him know my interests are not with love. That you could have been there with him.”

“When I found out, he had this look on his face, as if he thought of the sun and all its warmth given to the jungles of Vylbrand. How could I ever hope to deserve a man who has found someone like that? I would never be more than a mummer’s equivalent. Even had you told him, his mind would always wander to what if. You think me low if you think I could accept that.”

When he first met Haurchefant, he had wondered if Lin knew how he looked at others. If she didn’t on that day, then she learned quickly. She started her little disappearing acts after they had stormed the Castrum Meridianum, destroyed the Ultima Weapon.

M’yrr thought he could see through the mask, but clearly he was blind to Haurchefant’s continued affections.

He thought there were political reasons behind all the supplies, especially after Aymeric asked the Scions to keep watch over the corpse of Midgardsormr. That such was the same reason he gave him, Tataru, and Alphinaud asylum in his family’s home.

(Lin had just followed once Ishgard reluctantly allowed a handful of adventurers in as thanks for their assistance in the fight on the Steps of Faith. He heard some Durendaire claim she was one of the most recommended for her skill with a bow and song.)

By the seven gates, it was love. No wonder there was that warmth in Haurchefant’s voice. How much he loved the smile on M’yrr’s face, the rare times, he trusted himself with a half-mask.

He could see through it, but in that moment, he felt blind

And his best friend only spoke the truth she’s known for months after it was all too late. “Why didn’t you tell me? You claim you’d be only the mummer’s equivalent of the sun, but if you waited then surely you could have—”

“You know damn well why I didn’t tell you forward. You’re smart, M’yrr. You’re a brilliant Gyr Abanian. One so good with his words he studied in fucking Sharlayan. I shouldn’t have to tell you this. Besides, I accepted long ago that even had you refused him, I’m one he’d never look at like he did you. I was around at the same time. Too supportive. Even if he ever did, I’d always question if he truly meant it, or just settled for the closest he could get.”

He opens his mouth, but Lin starts talking again. “Don’t you dare tell me I’m wrong. You know damn well that I’m in several of your tales. As a second, as a foil. Anyone who would look at me now has their eye on you.”

“Who are you and what have you done with my friend?” M’yrr says. His voice is clipped. He almost regrets those words, but only the phrasing, not the intention.

He doesn’t need to look to the back to know Lin’s tail has bristled. “Excuse me?”

“The A’lin I know is confident, and would never let something as little as unrequited love eat at her, even with such a man dead. She’d try and set me up with that someone, yes, but she would have found someone new and interesting by now. Probably be three someones in.”

The mask protects him from the splash of ale. He can’t feel it, at first, but the sound is loud and clear, as if waves crashed against each other in the open sea. The chill of the drink sets into his hood and doublet a moment later.

“You can go fuck yourself, griffon. You think I can’t fucking love? That all I care about is pleasure? Why would I spend time with you if that was the case? I never expected half of that with you. Or the damn fame you worked out. You just — well — reminded me. What I actually meant to do when I set off from clan five years ago, and damn if I don’t love it. And look at me now, a Bard in my own right.”

A’lin stands up. Her tail swishes from side to side, the anger adding volume to the fur.

“Get a new second, and don’t you fucking dare look for me.”

Her heels press against the wooden floor louder than an army of sabaton-wearing dragoons ever could.

He reaches to his deck of cards. Maybe find an answer to what awaits him.

Or he can wait for another day. It’s not right to ask for this now.

#Lin's Writings #WoL!M'yrr #Final Fantasy XIV #FFXIV #Spoilers for Heavensward implied

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lighthouseofthewanderess · 6 years

Text

School

(noun): A place kids go to everyday, where they learn history, science, health, and other things of the world.

So you already know about my 14 schools. You also know that there as been some bullying and issues adapting. While this phase of new schools, same yellow pencils were tough to see through, I believe it all made me a stronger person. There were so many people who crossed my path, and this one’s for them. For the schools, the principles, and the young souls that took me in when I was constantly on the line of hate.

My first school, Price Harris, was in Wichita. It was a typical public institution where the popular kids ruled like kings and left the others to play catch up. It was here that my blue coast incident happened. And it was here that I was quarantined, seen like a monster for the little bugs living on my head. Yes, I had lice. My father’s family had them, and even though my dad had cut my hair short, they clung on for dear life and sailed the seas with me. Turns out someone in school had seen a ‘bee’ in my hair and the next few hours slipped out of my hands even before I could try and say ‘I have an explanation.’

Lice is a big deal, even here in India. So I can imagine how I must look like to these Americans. A walking talking host, spreading the infectious bugs to the normal healthy children of the school. A memo was dropped into all our cubby holes and I, like every other person, walked up and slowly read it. Oh my god, it’s my name. Typed in bold, all caps. Yup, they wanted to be clear it was me. The memo went on to say that there’s a girl called this, studying in that class, who has lice. While the school figures out a solution, please maintain distance if you see her. Had I suddenly become a repelling magnet? There was no one around me. Backed against the walls, the kids and the teacher looked at me half scared, half with pity. My mom was summoned at once from work. I was put in a white room, made to sit on a single wooden stool.

“Your daughter… she has been seen with a very small insect. Now, these things aren’t life-threatening. We can fix her.” splicing with the knife versus the band aid. The look on my mom’s face would’ve said something to the equivalent of ‘We are made of steel, don’t treat us like a bubble about to burst.’ What she did say though was:

“Are you talking about lice?” The principal relaxed a bit, the news had been broken and it was received without much damage.

“It is not that uncommon in India. The temperate climate, and the number of people children mix with on a close basis … I know what needs to be done.” my mom stood up, walked to where I was quarantined and from school took me straight to the hairdresser. She asked him to cut it all short, like a buzz cut. The next day, she took a day off and we sat for hours cleaning up my hair. Strand by strand, every inch of my scalp. Two days after the incident, I was back at school and a nurse was assigned to do a thorough check. With a face mask, two latex gloves and a pair of ice, cream sticks, the nurse certified me clean. The Principal was in shock of how my mom took command of the situation. She launched into a lecture about how she cannot make decisions about me without my consent. My mom laughed it away. “You wanted her lice-free. It is done.”

Thankfully I left that school and moved into Gammon Elementary for my second grade. All the feels. It has been my favorite school among all, and the only one I joined back to in 5th grade. For now, I was placed under the care of Mrs. Braet, in a classroom with two guinea pigs as the class pet. Here is where I would understand that you did not have to carry heavy school bags to school, they lived in class. Where I would sharpen my focus on art and imagination over stars and science. Every day started with the national anthem on the intercom and ended with candies earned for good behavior. What a heaven. Here’s also where I met some of my best friends.

I was hanging upside down from the monkey bars when Weston Jones walked up to me.

“Why are you hanging like that?” he asked, his dark blue eyes squinting against the sun

“Why is there a fake scar on your forehead?” I asked instead of answering.

“Oh it’s a Harry Potter scar. I’m a huge fan. Don’t you know the book?” He turned a book he was holding against his chest to its front and I saw an illustrated cover. Looks unreal.

I swung down from my bars and Weston launched into a whole synopsis of the two books that were out. I didn’t find the story interesting, but I found Weston’s enthusiasm and his belief in the story to be something wonderful. His imagination allowed for a book like this. Mine didn’t. And so, I would never go on to read any of the Harry Potter books, even later in life. I would just recount all the conversations with this boy; they were all about the book mostly. At lunch, we would exchange boxes. We would skate every Friday night under the big disco ball. He once told me randomly while waiting in the lunch line - “Your culture has so much to learn from. It’s super cool Priya.” Gee thanks. Something associated with me was cool? Throughout second grade, I wasn’t bullied. I had used up all my slips and falls to learn and shape myself into a normal kid when I got here. I was wholesomely loved. I celebrated my birthday surrounded by my classmates, and Mrs. Braet gave me birthday bumps in front of the whole class. I wore a pretty white silk dress and distributed cupcakes bought from Walmart. Learning was made fun, one annual exam of 60 minutes with a 10 minute snack break in between. It would be stressful otherwise, they felt. Learning is one of the greatest adventures we embark on during the larger part of our life. Very true. School: A place where you’re nurtured to grow into anything you want to be. Where you begin your journey to find what you’d like to do, and learn the things needed to make it come true.

When I had to leave mid 3rd grade back to India, everyone around me had long faces. Why, I wondered. The concept of goodbyes hadn’t been understood yet. So while people signed cards, wished I ate peanuts on the beach for me, or slapped their addresses on my notebook -- I just smiled wide and gave them a hug. Even the teachers teared up and said I was sunshine. Haha, what? My color is purple, not yellow. Weston came over and left me a plastic sunflower to remind me of Kansas. I plucked out a peacock feather from the house decor and left a bit of India with him. I went to Chuk E Cheese, traded all the game coupons I earned and got myself a gift from the envious top shelf. Mackenzie, my other best friend, and I played a game or two for old times sake and plunged into greasy slices of pizza. Her mother watched us eat, and when Mackenzie left to the restroom she spoke to me of friendship.

“You guys can be like pen pals. It’s just a world, not another universe. Write to her, no matter how silly. Stay friends with Mackenzie, she really likes you.” Her words would ring in my head come every Christmas, and I would write a letter to the only address I have in hand. I would get a message on Facebook a month later about how I sent it to her mother’s house and how her mother recognized my name and dropped it off at her place.

Even though I stopped going to school, we still spent a few weeks wrapping up our life for good in Kansas. Mom took me to school one last time to say goodbye and I went straight to the principal Mrs. Fullerton to give her a big hug. “We’re really going to miss you.” she said softly, and took me to the gym-turned-lunch room. This moment was the closest I’ll get to fame, the one I revist when I doubt myself over and over again.

When we stepped in, a silence fell. My eyes frantically searched for the familiar faces of my class so that I can go to them. I had also been mixing with kids from other classes who I met at ESOL. And some more through Girl’s Scout of 99’. The minute I started spotting them, the auditorium tore off into a cheer.

“School, guess who it is!” Mrs. Fullerton cooed loudly. And in unison, all 550 students called out my name. How they all know me is a different story, let’s focus on my moment of sweet glory.

I heard some questions around me. Did you go to India and come back?Are you not going any more? Will you be staying with us now? How I wish I cried at that moment, let them know I was so sad about leaving all these beautiful souls. Well, I didn’t. I blew kisses in the air and walked up to where my class was sitting and launched with them. The last supper.

The echoing of that cheer was with me till I landed in India. Till I stood outside the gate of my new school - Spartan, in Chennai. One foot in, and that echo finally died. In front of me was a dry, dusty school ground. Someone knocked my shoulder and ran off. I travelled in my head back to the time I tapped on someone’s shoulder and got thrown in detention because of infringing personal space. Ha. And were there so many children? The place was literally crawling with them. Luckily, I had come to school with another girl from my neighborhood. Jaswanti. I still remember the first sentence I uttered to her. “Where’s the restroom?” Peals of laughter, all around me, at my thickly accented American English. “We say toilet here.” Ugh. It was going to be a very long day. And I will have to swing like a pendulum, once again.

This isn’t the end of my school story, but it does mark something significant. Life had come a full circle at the tender age of 9. I had transported myself into the future that was America, and now back into my roots. My people, my soil. Yet so different, unbelonging. The first few days, I missed my friends and school sorely. I wish I brought back some of the gifts they had given me. But our suitcases were full. And so, we had stupidly given it to someone else to bring back with them when they visit India. A singed pillow from my Girl’s Scout. A sunflower, a boot-shaped picture keychain. I willed my mind to remember more and more of my days there. How I would swing on the monkey bars, the mist from the little electric fan that the PT teacher treated us to after recess. The hours sent with oodles of glue and Crayola markers. The mind palace of Weston T Jones. Anything other than the hours of sitting in one place, the utter stupidity of it all. Of being taught ‘what to think’ and not ‘how to think’. Were teachers even teachers here if they thought for you and dictated answers? The heavy bag I carried to school and back sunk me to the ground each day. I wished I didn’t take my life there for granted, if only I could go back there again. Stop it. I gave myself another pep talk. It was high time. The time had come when I needed to be a chameleon again. “You will never be like them in their eyes. You are meant to belong here, but you don’t have to.” My accent stuck with me for far too long, made it harder for me to fit in. But I pushed through. 13 subjects, not 7. Exams every quarter, tests every week, and homework every day. I just wanted to disappear from it all. This was clearly too much stress for any student. There was a dissonance within. Having to do something that I clearly didn’t believe in. Being forced to it and given the example of others who didn’t even think twice about it. This just sucks on so many levels. Learning is supposed to be an adventure. It really didn’t matter what I thought when the rest of the world was spinning the other way. Don’t try to change it, just adapt. I turned all my anger to rote learning. I shook my head clear the minute any memory from US snuck in. It’s not what I needed to get past this part of life. I moved schools again, half of 4th grade was spent in a girl’s school - DAV, Chennai. Nothing changed though, if at all, it was worse. Girls were believed to be an obedient bunch, and I was anything but that. I was labelled as the girl from abroad and I could see how words were swimming around in their heads when they looked at me. Words that weren’t English.

#nanowrimo #nano writing #nano 2018 #writing #writedaily #wrimo #loveforwriting #writing challenge #day4

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