You can have mine, then. I finally managed to get my hands on a proper bottle of liquor. Once the rest of this whiskey's gone, you can have the bowl and fill it with whatever drink you want.
Too bright. Neon. You’re exhausted, you can feel sticky blood not quite dried around your stomach, but the end seems so close now. You’ve just owned that catwalk, unlike the other two you’re with. An older dwarf - Merle - and a tall, muscular human man. Magnus Burnsides. So named for the impressive sideburns? You don’t know why you’re thinking this. You already know all this. You’ve known them for at least a year now.
Around you, down the catwalk you see the audience. Mannequins, blank wooden faces, all staring and posed to point at you.
One of the two elves standing at the end (you recognize them, obviously, as your tormentors here in The Suffering Game) continues to speak. They’ve been giving you their dumb villain speech. Until,
“Magnus, you landed on skull in the last round, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Bad luck.”
And then you hear the Animus Bell ring. And just like all the other grand relics you’ve seen used during your journey, the effects are immediate and horrible.
You see Magnus reel backwards, threatening to just fall straight back, and a light casts out of the back of his body for just the briefest moment as he falls. And then you see him spasm, and come to, and he throws a leg back to catch himself before he fully loses his balance. And he steadies himself on Rail-Splitter.
And he stands up to face you, and he says, in a voice familiar but not quite his own, “You know, boys, I don’t think Wonderland’s that bad. You know, I feel like I’ve learned a lot about myself here, and I feel like our friendship has grown even more powerful, don’t you think?”
You feel immediately sick. Angry. Bad luck.
He and Merle are saying other things. The imposter is trying to convince you to . . . what? You don't care right now. A brief argument, maybe, but you aren’t paying any attention. You’re thinking too fast, going through lists of spells in your mind, trying to think of anything— you know somethings wrong, something terrible has just happened, how the fuck do you fix it this time and then. Ah.
“I got a fuckin’ idea for ya.” Your own voice sounds so tight and serious, unlike you.
And then, you cast Magic Jar. It goes dark, cold, extremely suddenly as you rip your own soul out of your body - which you can now see abandoned like a rag doll on the floor - but there's no time to think about it. You see the hole in the Astral Plane, with all the chill of Death seeping out of it and the great ocean of souls beyond whipped into a frenzy, sucking you in. Sucking Magnus in. His soul. You think you even catch a glimpse of-- no. Couldn't be him, right? Fuck that. Fuck this place. Fuck the bastards who keep trying to take things from you.
He's yours, your friend, and you're going to take him back. You take his hands, and as you do you feel around your (spectral) ankles, a sensation of being pulled back to the Material Plane - a comforting force - and it’s Merle, casting a spell to drag you both back out of the gates of actual Hell. Arms outstretched.
And then, as you come to - feeling suddenly solid and heavy and extremely corporeal again in your body, you look and next to you, wearing a plate of fashionable elven scale-mail, you see one of the mannequins has climbed onto the catwalk. The thing wearing Magnus' body turns to look, shocked, stumbling out a what before suddenly, the mannequin points (with . . . whatever hands it has), and it shouts out in a familiar voice.
”I’ll be having my body back, you undead fuck!”
And you feel the grin break out the instant you hear it.]
[ Vezda hardly has any idea what he's watching--where is this? Who are those elves, how did they end up here? But he knows that he's just watched someone be pulled out of their body and...and maybe die. ]
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2020-10-26 11:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-10-28 02:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-10-28 08:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-10-29 10:44 pm (UTC)[He’ll get up though, but, uh,
walks right into one of those stupid bubbles]
no subject
Date: 2020-10-29 10:45 pm (UTC)Too bright. Neon. You’re exhausted, you can feel sticky blood not quite dried around your stomach, but the end seems so close now. You’ve just owned that catwalk, unlike the other two you’re with. An older dwarf - Merle - and a tall, muscular human man. Magnus Burnsides. So named for the impressive sideburns? You don’t know why you’re thinking this. You already know all this. You’ve known them for at least a year now.
Around you, down the catwalk you see the audience. Mannequins, blank wooden faces, all staring and posed to point at you.
One of the two elves standing at the end (you recognize them, obviously, as your tormentors here in The Suffering Game) continues to speak. They’ve been giving you their dumb villain speech. Until,
“Magnus, you landed on skull in the last round, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Bad luck.”
And then you hear the Animus Bell ring. And just like all the other grand relics you’ve seen used during your journey, the effects are immediate and horrible.
You see Magnus reel backwards, threatening to just fall straight back, and a light casts out of the back of his body for just the briefest moment as he falls. And then you see him spasm, and come to, and he throws a leg back to catch himself before he fully loses his balance. And he steadies himself on Rail-Splitter.
And he stands up to face you, and he says, in a voice familiar but not quite his own, “You know, boys, I don’t think Wonderland’s that bad. You know, I feel like I’ve learned a lot about myself here, and I feel like our friendship has grown even more powerful, don’t you think?”
You feel immediately sick. Angry. Bad luck.
He and Merle are saying other things. The imposter is trying to convince you to . . . what? You don't care right now. A brief argument, maybe, but you aren’t paying any attention. You’re thinking too fast, going through lists of spells in your mind, trying to think of anything— you know somethings wrong, something terrible has just happened, how the fuck do you fix it this time and then. Ah.
“I got a fuckin’ idea for ya.” Your own voice sounds so tight and serious, unlike you.
And then, you cast Magic Jar. It goes dark, cold, extremely suddenly as you rip your own soul out of your body - which you can now see abandoned like a rag doll on the floor - but there's no time to think about it. You see the hole in the Astral Plane, with all the chill of Death seeping out of it and the great ocean of souls beyond whipped into a frenzy, sucking you in. Sucking Magnus in. His soul. You think you even catch a glimpse of-- no. Couldn't be him, right? Fuck that. Fuck this place. Fuck the bastards who keep trying to take things from you.
He's yours, your friend, and you're going to take him back. You take his hands, and as you do you feel around your (spectral) ankles, a sensation of being pulled back to the Material Plane - a comforting force - and it’s Merle, casting a spell to drag you both back out of the gates of actual Hell. Arms outstretched.
And then, as you come to - feeling suddenly solid and heavy and extremely corporeal again in your body, you look and next to you, wearing a plate of fashionable elven scale-mail, you see one of the mannequins has climbed onto the catwalk. The thing wearing Magnus' body turns to look, shocked, stumbling out a what before suddenly, the mannequin points (with . . . whatever hands it has), and it shouts out in a familiar voice.
”I’ll be having my body back, you undead fuck!”
And you feel the grin break out the instant you hear it.]
no subject
Date: 2020-10-30 01:52 am (UTC)--Jesus. What was that?
no subject
Date: 2020-11-01 01:45 am (UTC)Uh, me being insanely rad?
no subject
Date: 2020-11-02 06:37 am (UTC)[ squints ] ...dying? Did somebody die there?