The world is dying.
It has been dying for some time now, and there’s not much left. Ashes, burnt out husks of cities, soulless wretches and monstrosities beyond a man’s wildest nightmare. You have been driven, as of late, but by what exactly escapes you. It simply urges you onward, ever onward, into the maw of fate.
You find yourself before an ancient wooden door, battered and beaten by the elements. The old shack around it appears as old as the gnarled trees grasping and clawing at you from every angle. The world itself seems to melt and distort, and you push your way into the shack in half a panic. Inside is a simple stone hearth, and a figure just as old as its home – perhaps even moreso.
“Took you long enough, deary.”
A woman’s voice, a dried up husk full of scorn and amusement.
“You must be wondering why you even came here. I wish I could tell you, but… no." She turns, but the eyes that seem to bore through your soul are milky and pale. The woman is clearly blind. Why, then – how – can she be staring at you with such intensity?
“You will continue your journey, when you awaken. You will push onward. Find the source of this curse, that has broken our world and killed our gods. And in doing so, you will make the curse your greatest tool, as it is your greatest damnation.”
She cackles again, and the crackling and hissing of the fire joins in as one of the logs pops gently beneath the heat. She looks you up and down, and shakes her head.
“But… you will die. Again and again, you will die. You will tire of the journey, and when you stand before that obsidian throne and face judgement – when you are forced to make that choice of your own true nature, you will wonder, again… why you are even here.”
Not impressed.
09-Mar-2016 22:14:38
- Last edited on
12-Mar-2016 06:14:06
by
Roraria