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You wake up and…
Well, actually, that’s about it. You just wake up. Groaning, you lift your head from a stony floor, the blackness around you confusing at first, until you blink a few times and look behind you. There- light. It’s strange, though… the light filters through slats, its brightness interrupted by lines of black. You don’t know what to make of it. The other thing you immediately notice is that you’re cold- so very cold. Shivering a few times, you roll yourself sternal, and eventually force yourself to stand. The process is slow. Your muscles feel old, like time itself has tested them, and your joints creak as you heave yourself upwards. What happened to you?
Eagerly, perhaps too eagerly, you leave Snowflake behind. She’s upset, but she’ll come around in time. She just doesn’t understand right now. She’s going to be queen. You get it, she’s a little rattled by being part of a war she didn’t have to be, and she probably is worried about T1 and 2, but in a few days, once she’s gotten everything sorted out, she’ll come around and forgive you. In the back of your head, you feel a nagging sensation- anger? It’s your companion, presenting her disagreement with your assessment of the situation, but you ignore her. She’s nothing but a wisp. She doesn’t understand complexity and emotions of higher beings, you’re certain.
Instead, you command her to search for Pastel- that’s who you need right now. For perhaps the first time since you’ve been in Helovia, you have a true purpose. Find her, figure out the specifics of making Snowflake queen, and then help the woman you love ascend into royalty. Finally, you see her, and without hesitation you stomp towards the mare who helped make this war a victory. That’s the way to do work, after all- make sure you delegate to somebody who will work harder than you. You sure picked good this time.
Suddenly, however, the world around you begins to grow black around the edges. Your mind grows slower, slower even than it does when it’s on your beloved drugs. Your muscles grow weak, your breath comes more quickly, and you begin to panic. This must be what it’s like when you use your blood magic on others, but you haven’t used your magic on yourself, have you? Everything is confusing. In a panic, you reach for your magic, trying to force it onto somebody, but the familiar feeling of releasing the darkness from within you is not there. Is this the Falls, trying to punish you? Friendly-fire from an overzealous invader?
You can’t decide, but as you fight against the blackness, you suddenly feel like you might not make it out of this situation. But for all your long life, for all of the many years you’ve lived, only three images flash before your eyes- Snowflake, Thing 1, and Thing 2. Is this all your life has amounted to? But then, if it is, you’re kind of ok with it. With a final kick, fighting against whatever madness has overcome you, you fall the ground.
That’s the last you remember. Now you’re here. When you finally walk to the bars that are barring your way and see the snow on the ground, you realize where you are. The north. The Basin?
Furrowing your brows in confusion, you push your shoulder gently against the door. It doesn’t budge. Next, you throw your weight against the gait. Still, it holds. Bruises all over your body protest the movements you’ve been making, but you push through the pain. You are a warrior, not some little bitch. “Hey!” you bellow out, kicking your massive hoof against the door, causing it to clang and echo throughout the land. “LET ME THE FUCK OUT OF HERE,” you add, delicately explaining your displeasure at the situation. “I’ll fucking kill you,” you add more quietly, adding just one more reason to the list of many that they should surely open the door and let you out.
At any rate, who you mean to kill isn’t entirely clear to you, since you don’t know who brought you here in the first place, but you’re fairly certain this has something to do with Pastel. Maybe it’s her you need to kill.
@[Deimos] @[Ophelia] @[d'Artagnan] @[Hotaru] – Not everybody needs to post, but tagged everybody I thought would be interested. Taken down by Deimos death magic (per Heather) and then transported to the Basin. I presumed lots of dragging was involved, hence the bruises.
Well, actually, that’s about it. You just wake up. Groaning, you lift your head from a stony floor, the blackness around you confusing at first, until you blink a few times and look behind you. There- light. It’s strange, though… the light filters through slats, its brightness interrupted by lines of black. You don’t know what to make of it. The other thing you immediately notice is that you’re cold- so very cold. Shivering a few times, you roll yourself sternal, and eventually force yourself to stand. The process is slow. Your muscles feel old, like time itself has tested them, and your joints creak as you heave yourself upwards. What happened to you?
Eagerly, perhaps too eagerly, you leave Snowflake behind. She’s upset, but she’ll come around in time. She just doesn’t understand right now. She’s going to be queen. You get it, she’s a little rattled by being part of a war she didn’t have to be, and she probably is worried about T1 and 2, but in a few days, once she’s gotten everything sorted out, she’ll come around and forgive you. In the back of your head, you feel a nagging sensation- anger? It’s your companion, presenting her disagreement with your assessment of the situation, but you ignore her. She’s nothing but a wisp. She doesn’t understand complexity and emotions of higher beings, you’re certain.
Instead, you command her to search for Pastel- that’s who you need right now. For perhaps the first time since you’ve been in Helovia, you have a true purpose. Find her, figure out the specifics of making Snowflake queen, and then help the woman you love ascend into royalty. Finally, you see her, and without hesitation you stomp towards the mare who helped make this war a victory. That’s the way to do work, after all- make sure you delegate to somebody who will work harder than you. You sure picked good this time.
Suddenly, however, the world around you begins to grow black around the edges. Your mind grows slower, slower even than it does when it’s on your beloved drugs. Your muscles grow weak, your breath comes more quickly, and you begin to panic. This must be what it’s like when you use your blood magic on others, but you haven’t used your magic on yourself, have you? Everything is confusing. In a panic, you reach for your magic, trying to force it onto somebody, but the familiar feeling of releasing the darkness from within you is not there. Is this the Falls, trying to punish you? Friendly-fire from an overzealous invader?
You can’t decide, but as you fight against the blackness, you suddenly feel like you might not make it out of this situation. But for all your long life, for all of the many years you’ve lived, only three images flash before your eyes- Snowflake, Thing 1, and Thing 2. Is this all your life has amounted to? But then, if it is, you’re kind of ok with it. With a final kick, fighting against whatever madness has overcome you, you fall the ground.
That’s the last you remember. Now you’re here. When you finally walk to the bars that are barring your way and see the snow on the ground, you realize where you are. The north. The Basin?
Furrowing your brows in confusion, you push your shoulder gently against the door. It doesn’t budge. Next, you throw your weight against the gait. Still, it holds. Bruises all over your body protest the movements you’ve been making, but you push through the pain. You are a warrior, not some little bitch. “Hey!” you bellow out, kicking your massive hoof against the door, causing it to clang and echo throughout the land. “LET ME THE FUCK OUT OF HERE,” you add, delicately explaining your displeasure at the situation. “I’ll fucking kill you,” you add more quietly, adding just one more reason to the list of many that they should surely open the door and let you out.
At any rate, who you mean to kill isn’t entirely clear to you, since you don’t know who brought you here in the first place, but you’re fairly certain this has something to do with Pastel. Maybe it’s her you need to kill.
@[Deimos] @[Ophelia] @[d'Artagnan] @[Hotaru] – Not everybody needs to post, but tagged everybody I thought would be interested. Taken down by Deimos death magic (per Heather) and then transported to the Basin. I presumed lots of dragging was involved, hence the bruises.
we all look for ways to make the pain go away
Permission granted to use magic or physical force with Oxy at any time for any reason to any degree, with the exception of killing him.
Please do not tag Oxy unless it is in an opening post
Please do not tag Oxy unless it is in an opening post
