♦ pitied by @corollaryAspirant
the tides of blood bring me dark thoughts. dark and painful and ugl7. and also the7 make me sa7 things like "the tides of blood bring me dark thoughts" so i need to do literall7 an7thing else for a se(
let’s see. i have the land. i have the road and the storms, and the unworked land outside the roads. i have jagganoth attempting to splatter me a(ross the sands. i have… ever7thing i (an make, of (ourse. that rarel7 matters at this point. i have the powers of a godtier rogue of rage. to redistribute the harsh realit7. gotta have something…
jagganoth (an be hurt. snat(hed a bit of the storm and (hu(ked it at him and it injured him. minutel7. and then i had to s(ramble to flee be(ause otherwise he'd injure me a hell of a lot more than minutel7. that's something. ugh. ma7be it's time to wind down for the night
Nyrita steps through the antechamber, once full of activity, now still again. The underlings may not have been much even as speed bumps, but that particular one was a challenge. Or, well. As much of a challenge as this land has been capable of spitting out at her. Perhaps a newbie would have had trouble, even a newbie master class. Nyrita, however, is not a newbie, and she waltzes through it like it wasn’t even there. The massive stone doors bear the Heart sigil. She taps them. Unmoved. Well. How would she unlock a Heart door? With her soul, obviously. She reaches for her chest - and stops. The hollowness she’s been ignoring makes itself known. She glares at the door, and extends her claws. An extended time clawing through stone later, she walks a narrow path. The cavern is dark, lit by faint silver glimmers of light. They gather, like the stars in the sky, like shining ribbons, and form a crown above a massive figure, waiting patiently for her. “Hello, Nyrita,” says Sophia. “Come, sit. We need to talk, as you well know.” “There’s no chair here.” Nyrita cannot make out her expression, but she gets the distinct feeling Sophia is giving her a flat expression of ‘really?’. Fine, fine. Nyrita sits in midair. Soulless, but not powerless. “Right. So. Is this where you tell me what the fuck is going on? Why a Bard is here, playing the game again?” “Why would a Bard be here, Nyrita? This is a sacred place. This is in the heart and soul of Skaia. The crucible in which gods are formed. You are here because you’re a Muse.” Nyrita stands up so quick the chair she’d be sitting in would have been catapulted backwards, if it existed. “I’m not! I’ve already gone through the game! Been there, done that, got the codpiece, everything!” She jabs her finger at the Denizen. “The codpiece of a Bard! It’s written on my soul! You can’t change that! No one can! I am me, and no one will decide what that means but me! I know that much!” Sophia leans in close. “And do you think,” she says, “that any other Heart player can say that about their soul?” “I.” This brings Nyrita up short. “Huh?” “Because you’re right, Nyrita. No one else can make you anything other than Nyrita. Not me. Not the Lords. Not any other Heart players. Not Skaia. Just you. And do you think that’s something any other Heart player has? You yourself know the statistics of how many people fail and die. Do those fledgeling heroes who get crushed by meteors have untouchable souls? Do the godlings who stumble into the godtiers and victory without ever really understanding what their aspect is have unbreakable selves? No. They do not. Such a quality is not given to just any Heart player.” Nyrita opens her mouth. Nyrita closes her mouth. Nyrita looks down. “Destroy it utterly, though, well. That’s another matter,” Sophia says, straightening up again. Nyrita’s head snaps back up, her hand flying to her chest. “You are powerful, Nyrita. To fail and die trapped and alone, well. That’s not something to take for granted, not for a wanderer through worlds like yourself. So that is the price for failure. The destruction of your soul.” Nyrita’s hand curls into a fist in her blouse. “So. What do I do? What’s the Choice, huh? Do I get one?” “Of course you do. Everyone chooses. Even the ones like you, opposite the aspect of choosing.” She extends her hand, and Nyrita’s soul appears. “Your Choice is simple. Stay or leave. Attempt to become a Muse of Heart, or refuse the calling, leave now, and resume your life.” Nyrita blinks. “And you’re going to explain to me why I’m taking the first, because there’s no god damn way I’m not going back to what I had before. No threats, no possibilities of my soul being fucking erased. Just me, and my loved ones, and my friends, and my job, and everything I want and nothing I don’t want.” Sophia closes her hand. Nyrita’s soul vanishes. “Everything you want except your soul. It will be lost from you forever. Cast into the void, never to be seen again.” Nyrita’s mouth makes a complicated line. “But I’ll still…” “Perhaps. Nothing can simply not be, and that includes you. A new soul will grow in time. Will it be as strong? Will it be as vibrant? Will it still have love in itself for the type of people you love? Time will tell. But it won’t be a Muse of Heart, that I can be certain of. But you, as you are now? Are a Muse of Heart. And this is what you must do to be yourself.” Nyrita grits her teeth. What else could she do? Who else would she be if she chose anything else? “Fine. I’ll do it. I accept the challenge. You bastard.” “Good.” Sophia’s smile is visible in her voice, if not her face. “Truth be told, there wasn’t really anything prepared for you if you refused. What else would you choose, and still be you?” “Nothing! Because if I chose otherwise, I wouldn’t be me! Literally!” “Exactly.” Nyrita’s next few sounds are less words and more incoherent rage. “So what’s the game, then,” she says, when she can get words through her clenched teeth. “What do I do, here?” “Simple. The challenges before you are impossible for you.” “Oh, good. I was worried for a second there.” “So be different. Be someone else. Forge a new soul.” Sophia opens her hand again, and clouds of pink mist descend in front of Nyrita, the raw aether that makes up a soul. She reaches for them uncertainly, gathering them up. “Soon, your first trial will begin. Until then, you are free to do as you wish. That includes leaving the session. But if you aren’t here when it does, you’ll be counted as failing and your soul is destroyed.” “And when is that?” “You’ll intuit when the time is right.” “And what about people coming over to visit me?” “This is sacred ground. They will be repelled, as Miss Nichols was. Now. Our audience is over.”
i should have made some signposts or something to put up to make m7 own landmarks, this pla(e is fu(king barren
HÄH-I-guess-thät's-whät-häppens-when-you-äre-too-slow-on-the-fighting-scene<< Looking-forwärd-to-next-week-älreädy<<
c< well, ive gOt everytHiNg i cOuld pOssibly Need 4 wHatever sHe waNts.... i just HOpe sHe caN Help witH tHe screaMiNg >c
who the hell is the riddleman
we have each other left.
.✦ ݁˖ 𑄝੭ 84N61N6 MY H34D 1NT0 TH3 T4873 #CW-Z37FH4RM 𑄝੭ .✦ ݁˖
reall7 taking advantage of 7our window of opportunit7 to be here. 7ou (an trul7 learn from a thief of time about seizing ever7 moment
locked myself out of the house and forgot i could turn into wind for a bit.
Actually malding that there's a me out there that gets cool ass powers from the mass psychosis game, btw.