Witchful Thinking - 5119-12-07 - Epilogue
Paragraphs (but not the section titles) taken from the following official forum post:
GS4-KENSTROM
Subject: Witchful Thinking - Epilogue on 12/07/2019 01:07 AM EST
Category: Cities, Towns, and Outposts
Topic: Wehnimer's Landing
Post: 14265
Thrayzar Captured
"Every ending is the harbinger of a beginning...for there are those who are driven to the edge by fear..."
He sniffed the air.
His dark brown eyes, still holding a small gleam of intelligence, opened wide.
He smelled the approaching danger.
Then he heard them next as their bodies pressed quietly through the foliage of the tree line. But not quiet enough. He turned his head quickly and bared his discolored fangs, sending them the only warning they would receive if they wished to still approach.
But they did not recognize him. Or maybe they did. He was something else once before, wasn’t he? It was becoming less and less clear.
The first assailant sprang into action, quickly uncoiling a whip from his side and cracking it in the air. He rolled, leaping at his attacker only to feel a sharp sting pinch his side. He twisted to face the new threat and the coated dart fell from his skin, landing in a patch of grass at his feet. The ground began to ripple like a tumultuous ocean wave. He felt the others quickly approaching as a potent numbness crept into his hands, then arms, then sides. He fell to one knee, snarling and growling at thrashing at any who might come near.
He felt the weight of the alloy net land on his head and shoulders, burdening him to the ground even quicker than the poison would have. The ground rushed up to meet him, his teeth slicing his tongue upon impact. Moments ago he knew where he was, he thought. Wasn’t he something different, once?
A large figure approached, silhouetted by the glowing sun in the backdrop. The side of a studded club swung into view. The red orc closed his eyes and heard the crack of bone before he felt it.
Disean Sails Off
"...and those imbued with a false sense of hope..."
The sun reflected along the azure waves as the small vessel appeared, gliding slowly through the waters and up to the expansive shore. The sky above was pure, a canvas of cyan swirls and green valleys stretched beyond the coast. The sound of the ocean danced in the air with the song of birds stretching to new heights.
The ramp of the vessel lowered, the wooden plank digging into the golden-white sands. Two Erithi figures in gossamer robes appeared on the ship’s deck, slowly carting a crystalline coffin down to the surface of the beach. Deep within the coffin a young but brutalized man rests, steel grey eyes open and locked in silent torment. Blood red scars carved up his bald head in the shape of an incarnadine crown.
From the edge of the woodlands, a figure emerges, garbed in a silken blue-green robe that matches the hue of his deep-set eyes. His dark skin glistens from the sun and a smile parts his dark brown bread. He nods to the Erithians as he approaches and places his hand upon the glass of the coffin. He motions for the others to lift the coffin and follow as he turns to head back to the verdant dales in the distant.
Thadston's Oblivion
"...while others are forged in the fires of endless torment..."
The sound of rushing winds and a clap of thunder had sent him into darkness.
He remembered the sheer power coursing through his forearms as he literally locked his fingers around ribbons of crimson energy, squeezing with all of his might and thought and heart to pull each scarlet strand closer to the next. He saw the determination and intrigue reflecting in the eyes of the red-haired mage on the other side, her copper locks reminding him in that exact moment of blood coated serpents.
He watched as a giantman with his glacial blue eyes wide in anger try to foolishly throw himself against the churning portal, bouncing away harmlessly each time. He could see all of the others as well, their faces locked in worry, in urgency, and in passion. He could see them shouting, yelling, always arguing. He couldn’t hear them, but he knew exactly how it would have sounded.
He felt the metal of his gauntlets begin to crack. Light glowed out from his hands and arms like the core of a white sun. Worst of all, he felt the burn of it too. But it drove him further, pushed him, but pained him. He felt a horrible agony in his side and he felt his skin shifting and boiling. The light got brighter and he grew numb. If this was death, he welcomed it. Its touch was somehow comforting and mystical.
Then the fissure in the sky closed. The wound between worlds snapped shut. That is when the wind and thunder and darkness came.
He did not remember how much time had passed, but he remembered the steady pounding of his heart echoing in his head. He felt the broken ground hugging his face. He opened his eyes and there was only darkness.
He tried to move and pain wracked his legs and arms.
He opened his eyes and there was only darkness.
He touched one of his arms. He felt the stickiness of his blood. He cut his fingers on the jagged shards of metal woven through his flesh.
He opened his eyes and there was only darkness.
He heard the sound of pylons firing in the distance and the roar of a sky on fire. He made out the audible sound of metal golems moving and marching. He tried to rise to a knee but his strength gave out and he collapsed, battered face to a blasted ground once more.
He opened his eyes and there was only darkness.
Grishom Stone
"...each woven together and connected to this great canvas of pious gods who care nothing for their infinite suffering..."
"What then, Master, will you do with these threads of heaven?" The servant asked.
"I will unravel them, and we shall rise beyond."
Before continuing, Grishom Stone grinned ear to ear.
"Now go, let there be blood."