Character Castle 2.5
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The story shifts with a snap like the strings of a marionette at the end of a play.
Nathair finds himself in an empty, stone room silent as death.
A soft clip clop echoes louder and louder as the world bends.
And there is a stone throne ahead. So clean so large, but Nathair remembers when it was bloody, latched with chains that clicked and clinked. And of course, the long, thin needles dyed a crisp scarlet.
“Well well well, this is a bad idea.” Nathair says as he approaches the throne.
To be a light to the world you must shine in the darkness.
“Sherlock’s the same age as me, but I was born first.” Arsene said with the definite satisfaction of someone who bested his brother in something stupid. “I’m sure I’ve mentioned this at least once, but I’m not human. I’m a dragon hybrid. Hence, I’m not obligated to follow the basic aging process.”
No, you never mentioned that before!?!
Alessio stared at him for a long time with growing horror in his eyes. In his home-world, draekons were hunted, often for sport, they weren’t intelligent!? And how could Arsene possibly be older than him, was anyone here a normal age!?!?
“Don’t tell me you’ve never seen a dragon changeling?”
He slowly shook his head, but fortunately, John looked just as confused.
“NOT YOU TOO!”
Alessio cleared his throat uncomfortably. “You’re…a weredraekon? Or…dragons are intelligent in your world?”
He blinked slowly, opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it, and then said it anyway.
“If you’re half dragon and half human…how do…how do the two reproduce together?” Alessio asked in a faint voice and turned scarlet.
To be a light to the world you must shine in the darkness.
[You approach the throne despite the uncertainty. You are correct in assuming that uncertainty abounds with any decision you make.]
[As you get closer, you see a streak of light fall behind the throne – a door has cracked open just a bit. Barely anything. But in the darkness of the room, this thin sliver of light shows … things perhaps better left shrouded in shadow.]
[The throne is … changing. A stone throne with bloody chains. A marble throne with lions for arm-rests. A throne so deeply covered in velvet cushions you don’t know what’s under them. And on. And on. You only recognize one throne.]
[You peer at the door. It is hard to see in the darkness clashed by the light. Dazzling. Then something passes in front of it. It vanishes as quick as it appeared.]
[As you step onto the dais you look back. You see a shadow of a figure, pacing back and forth and back and forth. It does not see you.]
[You hold up your hand against the light and see]
[nothing]
[Do you sit on the throne?] {yes} + {no}
[Do you go to the door?] {yes} + {no}
[Do you turn back and approach the figure?] {yes} + {no}
[Choose. Wisely.]
When life knocks you down, wait 'til it passes over you and then attack it from behind.
Great.
Nathair crosses his arms and frowns at the stone throne with every fiber of sarcasm in his being.
Then he glances at the shadowy figure pacing.
Nathair approaches the figure and stabs him through the chest with a needle.
“Oops.” He smirks at the corpse before he walks up to the velvet throne and just starts stabbing the cushions.
Then he walks out the door whistling like the smart-aleck jerk he is.
To be a light to the world you must shine in the darkness.
*will just make Leana ignore/not hear this conversation, because… the result wouldn’t be good… so far as dragons/being part dragon/mating with dragons…* She knows they’re winged snakes, with legs, that’s… about it. They were always evil/horrifying in Nithel’s stories, if he mentioned them at all.
Jominkreesa
'Forth now! And fear no darkness!'
What just happened? Did Sherlock just witness a homicide? Hmm… Looming over the body, Sherlock investigated. Needles, that was the murder weapon. Considering that Arsene hated needles, this Nathair person might come in handy.
Wait, the body moved. The person was still alive. Augh, choices, choices, choices…
[Sherlock sits on the throne, although he gets a bad feeling about it after a few seconds and goes to the door].
You can only come to the morning through shadows: Tolkien
[@this-is-not-an-alien, You enter the door.]
[The room is large – almost unfathomably so. Pillars reach to the roof, each shaped like thorny vines. They support a roof so far above you that it is shrouded in shadow, except for the occasional dim light from rose-shaped lanterns. The marble under your feet resembles a chess-board. Each white tile has thorns lacing through it. Each black tile has scattered rose petals.]
[The room is as eerie as it is beautiful. It is not supposed to be behind a throne room. It should BE a throne room.]
[Then you hear the door close behind you. A key twists in the lock with fatal finality.]
[The lights die.]
[The sound of the key echoes through the room as you count to five.]
[Then you hear a rustling behind you. A twisting, coiling, rustling.]
[Then the rustling and coiling is accompanied by a tip-tip-tip-tip of needles hitting the marble floor.]
[Two dim glows loom above you – almost as high as the ceiling. As the nebulous forms solidify, you realize they are blue buttons. Fastened to … something.]
[Do you approach the ____?]
{Yes} or {No}
{If yes – prepare yourself.}
{If no – try to open the door}
[@ragnarok, You sit on the throne.]
[From the throne, you watch the figure stand up again and prod the hole in its chest. The hole closes up. Then the figure starts pacing again like nothing happened.]
[You look aside and see a mirror within arm’s reach from the throne – gilded gold and roses traced around the frame. A dim fire burns in the center of the mirror – or perhaps behind it. It casts no light in this room.]
[As a threat unidentifiable looms overhead, you jump from the throne and go toward the door.]
[You lock it – you do not mean to, you did not tell your hand to lock it, your body defied your intention to open it wider and enter.]
[Your body continues to defy your will and starts walking back towards the throne.]
[Each step feels like an eternity.]
[As you sit back on the throne, you seem to regain some autonomy. While you cannot stand back up, you can change your position in the chair. You can open your mouth and lean almost entirely out of the chair.]
[You evaluate your options.]
[You can wait for Nathair to leave the room you just locked him in.] {yes} + {no}
[You can call for the assistance of the figure Nathair attempted to murder.] {yes} + {no}
[You can look into the mirror sitting beside the throne.] {yes} + {no}
[Choose. Wisely.]
When life knocks you down, wait 'til it passes over you and then attack it from behind.
The room is so large it’s a cage.
So quiet.
The tiles are patterned black and white, thorny white and flowery black. Nathair closes his eyes and gives a soft laugh. Oh this brings back memories.
‘You’re very interested in keeping as many pieces as possible.’ It didn’t matter what strategy game he played with Alessio, the little boy was so intent on saving as many of the silly playing cards and wooden figurines as possible while still winning the game.
‘The game simulates the strategies I’ll have to apply in the future. Sir.’ Where did he even get that vocabulary? He was such an avid reader of course, and his mother always had him crammed with knowledge and decorum to show off at her leisure. It was usually easy to tell he was quoting something he’d memorized by heart from a favored philosopher or something.
The only problem was, he kept saying things he shouldn’t have been able to read about anywhere…
‘I didn’t cheat, I just know how to play the game.’
Just silly ideals. The boy was an idealist. Nathair was a realist. Ideals are the first casualties of war. Wasn’t that what the boy, Yasha, always said? Oh but it was so hard to choose one side.
Thorny white and flowery black.
Click.
Nathair glances back at the door. Locked.
‘Every life is sacred.’
Those are the words of a person. They couldn’t apply to weapons.
The lights evaporate.
The click of keys behind him.
Well. Ideals don’t save you, do they?
Rustlings, twisting, coiling. And the tip-tip-tip of needles.
So that’s what we’re doing here. Nathair knows better than to feel, he knows better, he knows better. It’s cold. He won’t go back there. He knows better than to feel. He wishes he could kill them all all the people all the memories. All of it.
The world is all grey. Not black or white. Everything’s a dull grey even as his instincts sharpen.
In front of him are two blue buttons shimmering like foxfire.
So Nathair waits for it with a deadly blank smile.
To be a light to the world you must shine in the darkness.
Wait, what’s happening?!?!?!?!?
Before Sherlock could object, he had locked Nathair in the other room. Just lovely. If Nathair got out, Sherlock was certain he would kill him. Disobeying every command he gave, Sherlock’s body started walking to the throne.
NONONONONONONONONONONONONONONO!!!!!!!
He was not okay with this! NOT! Oh great, now he was sitting on the throne. To make matters worse, he couldn’t move. Or at least, he couldn’t stand up. Alright, breath in, breath out, look around.
Hands, arms, head, they could all still move. He still had his mind. He could think. His power still worked. Alright, good. Think, what else did he have? What was going on?
There was a mirror. One that would teleport him who knows where. Still, he couldn’t move from the throne. Maybe that was his only escape.
The person Nathair tried to murder was up now, tapping their chest. Healed. Go figure. Now the figure was walking to him. Something about the person felt familiar, but fake at the same time. They seemed to levitate as they walked to him. This didn’t seem right.
Like a wild animal, desperate for life, Sherlock tried to touch the mirror, hoping it would teleport him away. Unfortunately, it did nothing. Augh, everything just jinxed itself around him.
“It’s not for teleportation.” The figure said, “It’s for memories.”
Something about that voice sounded important. Personal. Like a flood of rain, the memories of the voice’s owner came to mind. Sherlock had nearly forgotten. A person he had loved long ago.
“Mother?”
@this-is-not-an-alien @hannahrennerYou can only come to the morning through shadows: Tolkien
Undeniably shaken, Alessio started. “You’re…a weredraekon?”
Well, that’s a new one, although that could describe it.
“Or…dragons are intelligent in your world?”
He blinked slowly, opened his mouth to say something, hesitated, and then opened his mouth to speak anyway. This should be good.
“If you’re half dragon and half human…how do…how do the two reproduce together?” Alessio asked in a faint voice and started blushing.
Arsene smiled. “Who said anything about being half human? As I said before, my father was a woodland elf, who left his country, and my mother was a lone dragon. I have no human heritage.”
Reactions were great, but Alessio was classic. His jaw dropped like a thousand-pound weight.
“And yes, dragons are sentient in my world. Are you saying dragons aren’t sentient in your world?”
Mother stared at him, wearing the same unreadable expression. Relaxed poker face as Father called it.
“How long has it been?” Mother started, “I’ve lost count of the years.”
Sherlock could hardly believe it. His Mother, alive and well, right in front of him. He was at a complete loss of words.
“Don’t get your hopes up.” Mother continued, “I’m not living. I died long ago. I’ve only been brought back temporarily for whatever mess this is.”
As quickly as it rose, Sherlock found his hopes falling once again. Like everything else, this had failed.
“What’s that in the mirror?” Mother asked.
Glancing into the reflection, Sherlock recognized the events it portrayed. “That’s me making a plan to get revenge on Mithril.”
…
“Why?” Mother questioned.
… “Because they left us to die,” Sherlock answered, “They deserve to suffer. The world’s better without them.”
“Hmm. What was your plan?”
“Simple.” Sherlock said, “I planned to raise the Grand Dragons again, show them the evils in Mithril, and let them inflict their justice on the peoples.”
The Grand Dragons were great beasts that destroyed cities of great corruption. Most believed them to be a myth, but Sherlock discovered they were real. They hadn’t been seen for three centuries, but Sherlock knew how to awake them. All could have gone well, if it wasn’t for Arsene Lupin.
“Where’s your brother?” Mother asked.
“I got a lead soon after about where he was.” Sherlock responded, “He had changed his name to Arsene Lupin and had been working with a former terrorist.”
…
“Go on,” Mother said, “What happened?”
She wouldn’t like it. Not at all. “He was living with the same terrorist that killed you.”
@this-is-not-an-alien @hannahrennerYou can only come to the morning through shadows: Tolkien
[@this-is-not-an-alien – you … just sit there? REALLY?!]
[You are wrong.]
[Life is not gray. It is black and white. But they mingle. A little black in the white. A little white in the black.]
[Take off your apathy-tinted glasses. See the world as it is.]
[That fox-fire you stare into dims. Winks out. And darts away.]
[The tip-tip-tip-tip of needles rings over the floor. Undercut by the coiling, rustling, twisting.]
[Then the buttons winks back into flicking light, looking at you. And out again.]
[They come back. Loom over you, lighting up nothing despite the pitch-black darkness. Then tip-coil-rustle away.]
[And you realize – with dread – that they – the buttons – or it – what wears them if anything – wants you to follow.]
[You hear a loud crack and shattering from outside the room, from behind the locked door.]
[You wonder what happened.]
[Do you follow the ____?]
{Yes} or {No}
{If yes – move forward.}
{If no – try to open the door}
[@ragnarok – You look into the mirror.]
[The mirror glints out memories.]
[Are they of someone you love?]
[Someone you miss?]
[Or someone you hate?]
[Someone you wish to never see again?]
[Whatever makes you most yourself – not the front you put up for others. Not the lies you make yourself believe.]
<p style=”text-align: left;”>[The mother.]</p>
[It always comes back to the parents.][You experience all the important memories. The bitter and the sweet. The painful and the good.]
[And then it is over.]
[The figure is still there. Watching you. Solemn.]
[Is the figure really your mother?]
[Or something that stole her skin?][You look back at the mirror.]
[As you reach out to it – knowing it is for memories but hoping anyway – it cracks.]
[It cracks and then shatters.]
[The frame splits in two and clatters onto the floor.]
[Behind that, you see a blooming rosebush. It twists and coils around the remains.]
[Then it’s vines curl around the frame – and it consumes.]
[You see the mirror fragments still hold the magic – you see some of those memories remain.]
[And the figure – mother? Or cursed shifter? – is there, watching you intently.]
[Do you rescue a mirror fragment?] {yes} + {no}
[Do you ask the figure to help you?] {yes} + {no}
[Scream for Nathair to come help you?] {yes} + {no}
When life knocks you down, wait 'til it passes over you and then attack it from behind.
“Who said anything about being half human?” Arsene returned with his usual annoying smile. “As I said before, my father was a woodland elf, who left his country, and my mother was a lone dragon. I have no human heritage.”
Alessio blinked slowly, his eyes getting wider even while he was trying to maintain a neutral expression. Vaguely he remembered Arsene mentioning this when he’d confronted him about Nathair earlier but…well…he’d assumed that was like a particular tribe name, or cultural thing or something (So actually he hadn’t really thought about it at all; it hadn’t made the priority list while he was busy trying to not die).
But. Actual, literal draekons…
But draekons didn’t look humanoid draekons didn’t look humanoid how could he possibly suggest that!?!?!
“And yes, dragons are sentient in my world. Are you saying dragons aren’t sentient in your world?”
“No,” Alessio said in a rather distressed voice. “In my world they’re a menace and they’re hunted and everyone’s killed at least one at their coming of age ritual.”
Well. Alessio missed that ceremony, but it creeped him out anyway so…
Arsene was giving him a very offended, hurt look.
“They aren’t sentient in my world!” Alessio protested in a panicky voice.
[Nathair is that one smarty who chooses all the wrong dialogue bubbles in games just to see what happens]
The buttons wink like flickering little beasts, staring at Nathair. Looming.
It wants me to follow it.
Pft! Never let your opponent pick the battleground that’s just basic common sense.
There’s a loud crack behind him, on the other side of the locked door.
Nathair crosses his arms and smirks at the buttons.
He does nothing for he is stubborn.
To be a light to the world you must shine in the darkness.
Ohel fell stumbled through the doorway, What? The toe of one sandal getting caught on the threshold, and his arms flailed before he fell on his face. “Oof.”
Leana gave a short squeal and sprang to her feet, swinging her spikey club over her shoulder, ready to swing it down on him. (Though the blanket’s a bit tangled on it.)
Ohel jumped, grunting, and glanced to his side at the squeal. His eyes widened and he gaped, rolling onto his side and holding out his hands. Easy kitty… He sputtered. Orange hair. Actual orange hair. He’d only heard of such a thing. And those eyes! Crystal blue. Like the purest sky, or rushing water. He’d never heard of that. Where are you from? You, have a father? Brother? Husband? You don’t have a husband, do you? “Hi. Uh…” Arms still up in front of him, he glanced around the place. What- Where am I? Ohel’s eyes only grew wider.
——
@ragnarok @this-is-not-an-alien 🐪Jominkreesa
'Forth now! And fear no darkness!'
Wait, Nithel had said Leana was about Alessio’s age, but Nithel was a couple thousand years old before he became human and he didn’t have Alessio’s exact age he’d just been estimating so was Leana actually seventeen or eighteen or was “about your age?” actually like a couple hundred years old because she’d turn out to be some fantastical race who aged differently!?!?
Suddenly Leana squeaked, and Alessio spun around, notching an arrow at the stranger. A burly guy, probably around his age, smelled like money. He scared her.
“Hi. Uh…”
“Who are you?” Alessio demanded. The man looked totally lost, he’d probably fallen in just like all of them. Nithel probably wouldn’t have liked him aiming his bow at a complete stranger, after all he was supposed to be making friends. But that didn’t mean he had to throw caution to the wind.
“Are you ok?” Alessio asked Leana, making sure he was between her and the newcomer, just in case. She didn’t have any experience fighting and she knew she was a target. If that man did anything to make her feel any more unsafe than she already was he would murder him with his bare hands.
To be a light to the world you must shine in the darkness.
Leana lowered her stick and backed up to stand beside Alessio, glancing from the newcomer to the others behind them, and back to the newcomer.
Ohel’s eyes widened even more, as he stared at the arrow, nocked toward his head.
“Who are you?” Alessia’s tone was hard, protective.
Leana’s cheeks flushed in shock. She looked down expectantly at the new man, still squeezing the table leg in one hand.
“Are you ok?” Alessio whispered, glancing toward Leana.
She nodded and pressed her lips together. “It just startled me.”
Ah. So… a protector of some sort. Ohel’s stomach tightened. But there was more than one way to get a girl. “My name is Ohel. I… don’t know…” Gingerly, he pushed to his knees, eyes on Alessio’s arrow, then his dark eyes, and back to the arrow. “What is this place? Who are you?” Ohel was careful to keep his hands away from his waist, and the intricate hilt of his dagger.
Ohel… Leana’s brows furrowed, and she took a small step nearer Alessio, thinking. Tent of Light. Tent of Hope. But when she looked into his eyes, all she saw was, Snake.
————–
@ragnarok @this-is-not-an-alien 🐇Jominkreesa
'Forth now! And fear no darkness!'
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