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#Post#: 1147--------------------------------------------------
Stumbling Into The Faewilds
DIR By: guest6
Date: November 30, 2024, 7:54 pm
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[glow=black,2,300][color=black][font=georgia]Damian
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[color=black][font=georgia][size=11pt]|| The cult, death, the
guild, death, the "Queen," the current....how much of me is even
left to save? ||
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It was the subtle changes at first. The air was more dense, but
lighter. The gravity was....off, ever so slightly. The
temperature was warmer. The ground about a half an inch higher.
All this was enough for Damian to stumble and lose his balance
as he tried to catch himself coming through the gate, glancing
back through the portal to watch the darkened sewers of Newark
and the fuming Haymond fade out of his vision as the magic
faded.
Safe.
Hopefully.
Safe-ish at the very least.
The latent magic in the air resonated with the runes in his
blood, sending a tingling sensation all throughout his body, as
if his senses were magically heightened to everything around
him. Octaavia was coughing a bit after opening the gate and
ushering the three of them through it. Cleo seemed to be burning
with fire she was failing to suppress after whatever her own
newfound revelations about her adoptive granny were. Words were
being said, but if he heard them, he didn't register or
comprehend them. His ears were filled with the sighs of
frustration, regret, and guilt. It felt as if the transition
happened slowly, but must have taken no more than a few seconds
for the sighs to become tears streaming down his own face.
He pulled himself off the ground, rising to his feet only for
the grass itself to seemingly grab his fur and pull him back
down. Collapsing to his knees, the tears flowed into sobs,
within moments he was wailing in anguish.
"I fvcked up. Oh gods....oh gods I fvcked up! MAL!!! I'M SORRY!!
I panicked and fvcked up Mal. I'm so sorry!"
Tears poured down his face, watering the ground itself. The
grass seemed to reach toward his face with the aid of the gentle
breeze now rustling through the small meadow, brushing the tears
away.
The change in front of the hag and Cleo was unsettling to say
the least. Cleo had watched Damian face death with a giddy smile
in odds that most guild members would run from and remain
unfazed. Octaavia had watched Damian keep his mind sharp and
focused under the most high pressured situations where only his
cunning kept the entire room alive. Neither of them recognized
the bumbling sack of fur and tears on the ground before them.
Damian's mind began replaying the events of the last 25, 30
minutes. Haymond and several other guild members stepping
through the front door of Octaavia's shop, the tense atmosphere,
him barely realizing he had activated his armor's antimagic
field, and the disaster that followed. He watched the betrayal
on Mal's face over and over a hundred times, morphing worse and
worse every time. It grew from betrayal to anger, rage,
vengeance, hatred, and more. The anguish coursing through
Damian's body pinning him to the ground, refusing to let him
stand up as the grass stretched over him, growing into vines
tying him down, pulling him closer to the dirt.
His face kissed the puddle beneath him. Tears dripping off his
face and mixing with the dirt at the base of the planar gate.
The arcane light flickered and dimmed, disappearing as the
magical connection was severed back on the material plane. The
mud, cool and refreshing, pulling his face deeper. He would be
choking on the mud if his sobs and dry heaves were actually
necessary for breathing, but instead he just kept lowering his
face into the mud. He needed to get lower, to become one with
the ground, to fall beneath it and succumb to it, decay within
it. He started to hate himself for his inability to die in the
dirt the way he knew it was supposed to happen.
Anger.
Rage.
Failure.
He couldn't even die properly.
Rejection.
The vines covering his body began to bloom in vibrant colors
Cleo had never seen and Octaavia had long forgotten before the
ground itself coughed up the body of Damian, throwing him
several feet away, landing on his back.
I fvcking hate the faewild
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|| If I can find the answers, I can find the way. ||
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