718 Vhalar 26...
Sometimes life didn’t go the way you wanted it to.
Sometimes you tripped and soiled your neat, recently purchased blouse, got chased by a pack of hungry dogs, or couldn’t pay the landlord’s due on time. Sometimes you lost your job, got evicted without proper notice, or got mugged by a band of low-lives with an unquestionable lack of hygiene. Sometimes things that should have gone your way simply don’t.
And then sometimes you get assailed by a figment of what should have been a harmless product of a idle reverie, have your shoulders torn up by literal imagination, get dragged by a cannibal into a door that halfway across the world into a land where blood is worshipped, people are eaten, shrubbery and Necromancy are one and the same, and worse of all: you’re living on the unearned charity of a retiree and her son, both cannibals and, even more damningly, possessed of what should be in a sane world the most despised sorceries of all.
Sometimes you miss cleaning up Finn’s messes. Sometimes you even miss labouring under Torvyn and his old, horrid voice screaming those old, horrid demands.
And sometimes going home might finding a very tiny, very invisible needle in a haystack the size of eternity.
“Okay.” Zipper said, surveying the infinite expanse of gaping wounds that served as doors into the sleeping mind. “This shouldn’t take long.” There were, after all, only a million and a half doors in the veil. Finding one that could guide her into Etzos was going to be a piece of cake… A fitting analogy because she could not even digest cake for the life of her. She stared on, doing nothing, not moving an inch, wondering where she should even begin searching.
Where else? The wound closest to her.
“Should we not… mark the doors we enter?” Mathias stood right behind her, bright eyes surveying the vast slab of granite before them. “Or do they… reset?”
“There’s a way to mark them.” Zipper said. “I’ll just run out of chalk before I’m through with-” Ten of them? Twenty? When she branded Mathias, she felt a piece of herself carved into him; permanent, everlasting, impossible to take back - clearly a mistake in hindsight. Zipper was not one for sentiment, but something more meaningful should have been her first brand. Her home back in Etzos, for example. Or literally anyone who wasn’t a fucking Abrogator and, less damningly, a cannibal. “No, no, that won’t do, shield maiden. We’re going in blind.”
“And coming out the same.” He didn’t seem to worry either way, but it was clear he now better understood just how abysmal their chances were to stumble upon the correct door. No matter how long they tried for, they would be starting from the same odds every time. “I will go first, then.”
His gallantry, if intended, was neither appreciated nor welcome. She did not take her body this time. Not after that fiasco with the dream flyer. The goal was to find a dreamscape within Etzos or close enough to it - Hell, she’d take drunken Rharne or religiously crazed Ne’hear before she stepped a foot into Quacia - brand it, emerge into the real world, drag her body towards the door, and return home sweet home.
Graciana had told Mathias to accompany her to shop for some appropriate garments, but she had insisted that they try to find the right dreamscape before they committed to her stay in Quacia. She really, really, really did not want to see the city, no matter how much the old woman assured her the so-called creep creatures were kept in check far away. Which she hadn’t done a very good job of, now that she thought about it.
He stepped in and she followed.
The streets dark, narrow, and winding twisted through the ramshackle buildings like cracks along a cheap, colorless vase. Lights, pale and sickly yellow, drifted through the air like motes of dust. There was the distinct scent of blood in the air; the coppery tang of it immediately assailed the senses, even before the door sealed itself shut behind them.
They entered into a poorly cobbled courtyard, two figures frozen before them. One was tall and angular, his bony body shroud in what seem to be a cloak made, quite literally, of shadows. His eyes burned green, more flame than iris, and his long, crooked nose was nearly raven-like. The other was short and stout, like a teapot, with a shock of fuzzy red hair and a dramatically over-defiant glare in his eyes. Both held swords, points pressed into the neck of the other - though the shorter, red-haired one was forced upon the tips of his toes to reach -, and neither moved a muscle.
“This looks like-” Mathias started, but the moment his voice broke the silence, the two figures erupted into motion.
“You think you can best me?” The shadowed, beak-nosed man hissed, thin lips parting to reveal jagged shark teeth. “You are but a child!”
“Age is but an illusion. one need not gauge physical growth-” the child said calmly. “-when it comes to justice.”
As if cued, the pair immediately turned to stare at the newcomers. All four of them waited for several trills before the red-headed baby child spoke again, a whine of exasperation in his voice.
“You guys gonna roll or not?” The child said, staring straight at Mathias. His arms were folded, his fingers tapping impatiently against his elbows. “Chop, chop, justice is on a timer, laddie.”
“I kill without compassion.” The beak-nosed one intoned ominously. “But even I would not slay time so wastefully. Roll before the grave take you all.”
Fiona and Mathias exchanged looks.
“I don’t think this is the dream I’m looking for. I’m going to leave-”
But Mathias had, at last, noticed the die in his hand. His bright eyes lit with curiosity, which was raised and leveled with Zipper’s confusion turned exasperation as she realized what he was about to do. “I am going to roll it.” Without hesitation, he cast it onto the ground, and at least three pairs of eyes watched it tumble along the uneven cobbles until it came to rest. It was a curious thing: twenty sides with numbers carved as digits.
It landed on a 9.
“Would that be for me or him? Justice demands it, laddie.” The child said, this time his gaze was set on Fiona.
“And sense demands that I leave. Good fuckity bye, folks.” Zipper flicked her fingers, materializing a door-
“What is ‘fuckity’?” The child asked when a whole lot of nothing happened.
The dark clad man shook his head. “I am evil, the laments of the innocent spill forth where I walk, yet I would not even think to use such words in front of a child.”
Mathias fetched the die from the ground and rose back to his feet. “If it is a matter of choosing, then-”
“No, no,” The child waved his fat little hands in the air, shaking his fuzzy head. “You have to roll for it, lassie.”
“And not you,” The beak-nosed man glared at Mathias. “But you.” His buring green eyes like flames in shadows shifted to focus on Zipper once more. “The deed must be done by that dark and twisted creature who would be my equal were it not for the fact she is not.”
“She’s the evilest,” the child added helpfully. The beak-nosed man scoffed. A stream of noxious pollution flowed freely from his nostrils. Such was his evil that every breath he took killed the world.
“Mathias,” Zipper said in a low, dangerous voice, her eyes still fixed on this weird, mismatched pair. “We are going.”
He opened his mouth as if he were going to protest, but instead he chose to close it and nod. This time it was his turn to extended his hand forward, reaching for the pearl and-
There was nothing.
He continued to paw the air like some sort of paint-faced pantomimer, searching for their exit, but the man and the child seemed to have lost whatever modicum of patience they had. “Have you no idea how justice works?” The child puffed his pudgy chest, voice booming with dramatic, over-done bravado. “You hold our fate in your hands, and we hold yours in ours!” To make his point, both he and the man extended their hands and, nestled neatly in their palms, were similarly crafted dice - one in each, both twenty-sided.
In response, Zipper threw her die straight at the head of the beak-nosed man.
The child quickly dropped his own, and it landed on 16 before Zipper’s was even halfway through the air. Her aim had been a bit off initially, but there was a sudden gust of wind and it knocked the little projectile back on track, allowing it to bounce of off the man’s forehead - just slightly off centre.
“Okay, this is a cuntin’ waste of time and I am out of here. You wanna stay with these fucks?” Zipper gestured dramatically with both hands towards beakie and kiddie. “Be my guest-”
The kid quickly picked up his die and dropped it again.
It landed on a 7-
And Zipper found herself turning around, words blurting out of her mouth unbidden, her eyes swimming with confusion and sheer fuckin’ hatred. “Then..., again… maybe this is… a great idea. We should see…. This confrontation to… its end.”
Mathias blinked blankly. “This is going to be an interesting game.”
Sometimes life didn’t go the way you wanted it to.
Sometimes you tripped and soiled your neat, recently purchased blouse, got chased by a pack of hungry dogs, or couldn’t pay the landlord’s due on time. Sometimes you lost your job, got evicted without proper notice, or got mugged by a band of low-lives with an unquestionable lack of hygiene. Sometimes things that should have gone your way simply don’t.
And then sometimes you get assailed by a figment of what should have been a harmless product of a idle reverie, have your shoulders torn up by literal imagination, get dragged by a cannibal into a door that halfway across the world into a land where blood is worshipped, people are eaten, shrubbery and Necromancy are one and the same, and worse of all: you’re living on the unearned charity of a retiree and her son, both cannibals and, even more damningly, possessed of what should be in a sane world the most despised sorceries of all.
Sometimes you miss cleaning up Finn’s messes. Sometimes you even miss labouring under Torvyn and his old, horrid voice screaming those old, horrid demands.
And sometimes going home might finding a very tiny, very invisible needle in a haystack the size of eternity.
“Okay.” Zipper said, surveying the infinite expanse of gaping wounds that served as doors into the sleeping mind. “This shouldn’t take long.” There were, after all, only a million and a half doors in the veil. Finding one that could guide her into Etzos was going to be a piece of cake… A fitting analogy because she could not even digest cake for the life of her. She stared on, doing nothing, not moving an inch, wondering where she should even begin searching.
Where else? The wound closest to her.
“Should we not… mark the doors we enter?” Mathias stood right behind her, bright eyes surveying the vast slab of granite before them. “Or do they… reset?”
“There’s a way to mark them.” Zipper said. “I’ll just run out of chalk before I’m through with-” Ten of them? Twenty? When she branded Mathias, she felt a piece of herself carved into him; permanent, everlasting, impossible to take back - clearly a mistake in hindsight. Zipper was not one for sentiment, but something more meaningful should have been her first brand. Her home back in Etzos, for example. Or literally anyone who wasn’t a fucking Abrogator and, less damningly, a cannibal. “No, no, that won’t do, shield maiden. We’re going in blind.”
“And coming out the same.” He didn’t seem to worry either way, but it was clear he now better understood just how abysmal their chances were to stumble upon the correct door. No matter how long they tried for, they would be starting from the same odds every time. “I will go first, then.”
His gallantry, if intended, was neither appreciated nor welcome. She did not take her body this time. Not after that fiasco with the dream flyer. The goal was to find a dreamscape within Etzos or close enough to it - Hell, she’d take drunken Rharne or religiously crazed Ne’hear before she stepped a foot into Quacia - brand it, emerge into the real world, drag her body towards the door, and return home sweet home.
Graciana had told Mathias to accompany her to shop for some appropriate garments, but she had insisted that they try to find the right dreamscape before they committed to her stay in Quacia. She really, really, really did not want to see the city, no matter how much the old woman assured her the so-called creep creatures were kept in check far away. Which she hadn’t done a very good job of, now that she thought about it.
He stepped in and she followed.
The streets dark, narrow, and winding twisted through the ramshackle buildings like cracks along a cheap, colorless vase. Lights, pale and sickly yellow, drifted through the air like motes of dust. There was the distinct scent of blood in the air; the coppery tang of it immediately assailed the senses, even before the door sealed itself shut behind them.
They entered into a poorly cobbled courtyard, two figures frozen before them. One was tall and angular, his bony body shroud in what seem to be a cloak made, quite literally, of shadows. His eyes burned green, more flame than iris, and his long, crooked nose was nearly raven-like. The other was short and stout, like a teapot, with a shock of fuzzy red hair and a dramatically over-defiant glare in his eyes. Both held swords, points pressed into the neck of the other - though the shorter, red-haired one was forced upon the tips of his toes to reach -, and neither moved a muscle.
“This looks like-” Mathias started, but the moment his voice broke the silence, the two figures erupted into motion.
“You think you can best me?” The shadowed, beak-nosed man hissed, thin lips parting to reveal jagged shark teeth. “You are but a child!”
“Age is but an illusion. one need not gauge physical growth-” the child said calmly. “-when it comes to justice.”
As if cued, the pair immediately turned to stare at the newcomers. All four of them waited for several trills before the red-headed baby child spoke again, a whine of exasperation in his voice.
“You guys gonna roll or not?” The child said, staring straight at Mathias. His arms were folded, his fingers tapping impatiently against his elbows. “Chop, chop, justice is on a timer, laddie.”
“I kill without compassion.” The beak-nosed one intoned ominously. “But even I would not slay time so wastefully. Roll before the grave take you all.”
Fiona and Mathias exchanged looks.
“I don’t think this is the dream I’m looking for. I’m going to leave-”
But Mathias had, at last, noticed the die in his hand. His bright eyes lit with curiosity, which was raised and leveled with Zipper’s confusion turned exasperation as she realized what he was about to do. “I am going to roll it.” Without hesitation, he cast it onto the ground, and at least three pairs of eyes watched it tumble along the uneven cobbles until it came to rest. It was a curious thing: twenty sides with numbers carved as digits.
It landed on a 9.
“Would that be for me or him? Justice demands it, laddie.” The child said, this time his gaze was set on Fiona.
“And sense demands that I leave. Good fuckity bye, folks.” Zipper flicked her fingers, materializing a door-
“What is ‘fuckity’?” The child asked when a whole lot of nothing happened.
The dark clad man shook his head. “I am evil, the laments of the innocent spill forth where I walk, yet I would not even think to use such words in front of a child.”
Mathias fetched the die from the ground and rose back to his feet. “If it is a matter of choosing, then-”
“No, no,” The child waved his fat little hands in the air, shaking his fuzzy head. “You have to roll for it, lassie.”
“And not you,” The beak-nosed man glared at Mathias. “But you.” His buring green eyes like flames in shadows shifted to focus on Zipper once more. “The deed must be done by that dark and twisted creature who would be my equal were it not for the fact she is not.”
“She’s the evilest,” the child added helpfully. The beak-nosed man scoffed. A stream of noxious pollution flowed freely from his nostrils. Such was his evil that every breath he took killed the world.
“Mathias,” Zipper said in a low, dangerous voice, her eyes still fixed on this weird, mismatched pair. “We are going.”
He opened his mouth as if he were going to protest, but instead he chose to close it and nod. This time it was his turn to extended his hand forward, reaching for the pearl and-
There was nothing.
He continued to paw the air like some sort of paint-faced pantomimer, searching for their exit, but the man and the child seemed to have lost whatever modicum of patience they had. “Have you no idea how justice works?” The child puffed his pudgy chest, voice booming with dramatic, over-done bravado. “You hold our fate in your hands, and we hold yours in ours!” To make his point, both he and the man extended their hands and, nestled neatly in their palms, were similarly crafted dice - one in each, both twenty-sided.
In response, Zipper threw her die straight at the head of the beak-nosed man.
The child quickly dropped his own, and it landed on 16 before Zipper’s was even halfway through the air. Her aim had been a bit off initially, but there was a sudden gust of wind and it knocked the little projectile back on track, allowing it to bounce of off the man’s forehead - just slightly off centre.
“Okay, this is a cuntin’ waste of time and I am out of here. You wanna stay with these fucks?” Zipper gestured dramatically with both hands towards beakie and kiddie. “Be my guest-”
The kid quickly picked up his die and dropped it again.
It landed on a 7-
And Zipper found herself turning around, words blurting out of her mouth unbidden, her eyes swimming with confusion and sheer fuckin’ hatred. “Then..., again… maybe this is… a great idea. We should see…. This confrontation to… its end.”
Mathias blinked blankly. “This is going to be an interesting game.”
