Falling Upwards Through the Hourglass [Rnwn][Priv]
Nov 29, 2023 20:59:36 GMT -5
Post by Morrigan Moonweaver on Nov 29, 2023 20:59:36 GMT -5
A multicolored wagon bumped across the sands - its pace, only able to be harkened to a snail’s crawl. But its wheels were designed for desert travel, and a little uneven terrain was far from the worst it had endured. So it forged onwards, leaving empty sands behind it, and the wastes up ahead. Only a dot on the horizon, its darkened colors shifting from the heat’s mirage (even so late in autumn’s grip, Zeinavian temperatures were unbearable), betrayed that there was any sign of civilization around them. The speck was not a city or a village or even a hamlet, but a temple. A single temple, its blackened pitch stone stark against the pallid earth. Even in the shimmering air, its presence was an ever-growing constant the deeper the wagon plunged into the White Sand Sea… much to the chagrin of the wagon’s driver, a lavender-skinned fellblood of svelte stature and a petulant expression on their face.
Morrigan Moonweaver - the great Wizard of the Wasted, enchanter, diviner, storyteller, creator of miracles and blah, blah, blah, something about alchemy and clowns, you’ve heard this all before - let out a rather affronted huff, shoulders slumping. They turned to face the only other occupant in the passenger seat. A striking face framed by dark hair and vulpine ears, looking right at home against the backdrop of the desert dunes. Given what Morrigan had learned of his heritage some months ago, this should have been no surprise. It was a shame, really, that Morrigan had never gotten to see him in his vagabond heyday. He probably would’ve made a really cute little desert warrior…
But they digressed.
“I don’t like this.” They asserted petulantly, what probably marked the thousandth time they’d said this particular phrase since leaving the Desert Rose Apothecary, no doubt to the chagrin of Kvasir Sigurros - medic, scholar, chemist, and one of the few people in this godsforsaken country that Morrigan had ever learned to care about.
The expression might have sounded childish, and it was; though not without its own weight to it. Their trepidation to venture further to this temple was solely due to the very man sitting next to them. Not an admission from Kvasir’s own lips, but rather, information they’d managed to pry from the archivist god-king’s traitorous tongue, the deity’s cruel plan for exactly what he was to do with his vessel.
White Sand Sea. Lost Temple. Resume my divine role.
Oh, Morrigan would not forget anything that spineless worm had admitted for a long time. It still haunted them, sometimes, the thought that Kvasir might one day make his pilgrimage into the desert, and the annals of time would drag him under. That he might return in a daze, his mind so muddled with thoughts that weren’t his that he would not even be able to remember his own name. If he even returned at all. Yes, Morrigan was not Kvasir’s keeper, but they would be quite content if Kvasir never returned this far out into the White Sand Seas again.
Yet, here they were. Doing this very, stupid, suicidal thing.
Morrigan was fine taking risks and playing fast and loose with their own life. Hell, they were fine playing that game with others. People did not matter to them. Even coming to grips with the fact that there were some people exempt to this rule brought its own series of challenges. Like right now, they were ready to tear their hair out over this trip rather than enjoying an otherwise pleasant romp to a temple with a dear friend. They enjoyed spending time with Kvasir. So why did it have to be poisoned with… feelings? Was this how normal people operated on a day to day basis? No wonder they all had gray hairs at age thirty! Oh, Ginma, was Morrigan going to start getting wrinkles?
“I don’t like this.” They repeated, once more for good measure, because Morrigan so enjoyed having the last word. “I just have to make my opinion known. Are you certain we have to go to the temple itself to find these Unbandaged?”
It was about five days ago now that the first patients showed up on Kvasir’s doorstep that had caused this entire mess. A couple of excavators, rotted inside and out from an unknown plague. Dark magic, festering and tearing their bodies apart. The only words any of them had managed to get out of them were,
Obsidian Temple.
Tomb.
And, They woke up.
Morrigan wanted to leave it all the hell alone, but there was only one way the two chemists were going to be able to synthesize some kind of antidote for the thing that was killing them. And if it really had come from some undead blight, then chances were those creatures wouldn’t stay in the temple for long. And oh, no matter how much time passed, no matter how much the fatigue sunk in from fighting a losing battle with a fuckdusty deity, Kvasir never stopped caring about helping people.
It was their only hope to save those who were sick. So naturally, traveling to the temple was their only choice.
It would be fine, Morrigan had bargained with themselves multiple times throughout the journey. Surely, this couldn’t be the secret temple, could it?
Could it?
There was nothing Morrigan Moonweaver, not really a wizard at all but a lying sham who’d only recently come to grips with how pathetic they truly were, could do but bite their nails and wait until they found the temple. And from the looks of it, the temple had found them first.
They turned to Kvasir once more, mouth open as if to speak. There was a plethora of things they wanted to say, to get off their chest. So much so that they could fill a book with it all. Are you going to be okay? Say the word and I’ll turn around right now. Damn them all if you’re not going to live through it. That’s not a victory I want. Or... You really shouldn’t count on me to protect you the way I think you do.
But Morrigan bit their tongue with sharpened teeth and withheld from truths that were all too raw. They, foolishly, still wanted to believe they had all the time in the world to say them.
So they forced a grin on their face, normalcy as best they could. There was no time like showtime.
“Don’t worry, though. If you get scared, I’ll go in first. I’ll hold your hand if you’d like, my dearest medic, so you don’t get scared of the mummies.”
Bringing Pets
Adult Form Bubbles (Adult Drake - Counts Against Pet Cap)
Nugget (Phoenix, Beastmaster III - Counts Against Pet Cap)
Junior (Black Bog Leech - Doesn’t Count Against Pet Cap)
Morrigan Moonweaver - the great Wizard of the Wasted, enchanter, diviner, storyteller, creator of miracles and blah, blah, blah, something about alchemy and clowns, you’ve heard this all before - let out a rather affronted huff, shoulders slumping. They turned to face the only other occupant in the passenger seat. A striking face framed by dark hair and vulpine ears, looking right at home against the backdrop of the desert dunes. Given what Morrigan had learned of his heritage some months ago, this should have been no surprise. It was a shame, really, that Morrigan had never gotten to see him in his vagabond heyday. He probably would’ve made a really cute little desert warrior…
But they digressed.
“I don’t like this.” They asserted petulantly, what probably marked the thousandth time they’d said this particular phrase since leaving the Desert Rose Apothecary, no doubt to the chagrin of Kvasir Sigurros - medic, scholar, chemist, and one of the few people in this godsforsaken country that Morrigan had ever learned to care about.
The expression might have sounded childish, and it was; though not without its own weight to it. Their trepidation to venture further to this temple was solely due to the very man sitting next to them. Not an admission from Kvasir’s own lips, but rather, information they’d managed to pry from the archivist god-king’s traitorous tongue, the deity’s cruel plan for exactly what he was to do with his vessel.
White Sand Sea. Lost Temple. Resume my divine role.
Oh, Morrigan would not forget anything that spineless worm had admitted for a long time. It still haunted them, sometimes, the thought that Kvasir might one day make his pilgrimage into the desert, and the annals of time would drag him under. That he might return in a daze, his mind so muddled with thoughts that weren’t his that he would not even be able to remember his own name. If he even returned at all. Yes, Morrigan was not Kvasir’s keeper, but they would be quite content if Kvasir never returned this far out into the White Sand Seas again.
Yet, here they were. Doing this very, stupid, suicidal thing.
Morrigan was fine taking risks and playing fast and loose with their own life. Hell, they were fine playing that game with others. People did not matter to them. Even coming to grips with the fact that there were some people exempt to this rule brought its own series of challenges. Like right now, they were ready to tear their hair out over this trip rather than enjoying an otherwise pleasant romp to a temple with a dear friend. They enjoyed spending time with Kvasir. So why did it have to be poisoned with… feelings? Was this how normal people operated on a day to day basis? No wonder they all had gray hairs at age thirty! Oh, Ginma, was Morrigan going to start getting wrinkles?
“I don’t like this.” They repeated, once more for good measure, because Morrigan so enjoyed having the last word. “I just have to make my opinion known. Are you certain we have to go to the temple itself to find these Unbandaged?”
It was about five days ago now that the first patients showed up on Kvasir’s doorstep that had caused this entire mess. A couple of excavators, rotted inside and out from an unknown plague. Dark magic, festering and tearing their bodies apart. The only words any of them had managed to get out of them were,
Obsidian Temple.
Tomb.
And, They woke up.
Morrigan wanted to leave it all the hell alone, but there was only one way the two chemists were going to be able to synthesize some kind of antidote for the thing that was killing them. And if it really had come from some undead blight, then chances were those creatures wouldn’t stay in the temple for long. And oh, no matter how much time passed, no matter how much the fatigue sunk in from fighting a losing battle with a fuckdusty deity, Kvasir never stopped caring about helping people.
It was their only hope to save those who were sick. So naturally, traveling to the temple was their only choice.
It would be fine, Morrigan had bargained with themselves multiple times throughout the journey. Surely, this couldn’t be the secret temple, could it?
Could it?
There was nothing Morrigan Moonweaver, not really a wizard at all but a lying sham who’d only recently come to grips with how pathetic they truly were, could do but bite their nails and wait until they found the temple. And from the looks of it, the temple had found them first.
They turned to Kvasir once more, mouth open as if to speak. There was a plethora of things they wanted to say, to get off their chest. So much so that they could fill a book with it all. Are you going to be okay? Say the word and I’ll turn around right now. Damn them all if you’re not going to live through it. That’s not a victory I want. Or... You really shouldn’t count on me to protect you the way I think you do.
But Morrigan bit their tongue with sharpened teeth and withheld from truths that were all too raw. They, foolishly, still wanted to believe they had all the time in the world to say them.
So they forced a grin on their face, normalcy as best they could. There was no time like showtime.
“Don’t worry, though. If you get scared, I’ll go in first. I’ll hold your hand if you’d like, my dearest medic, so you don’t get scared of the mummies.”
Bringing Pets
Adult Form Bubbles (Adult Drake - Counts Against Pet Cap)
Nugget (Phoenix, Beastmaster III - Counts Against Pet Cap)
Junior (Black Bog Leech - Doesn’t Count Against Pet Cap)
Quest Name: Unwrapped
Participants: Two or more
Location: Zeinav Desert
Post Requirements: 6 post per person, 200 words per post
Reward: +1 Renown, +Dark Catalyst, +1 Zombie Ash
Description: Further exploration and excavation of the Zeinav desert has disturbed many once forgotten tombs, causing the spirits inside to become restless. Now an uncontrolled amount of Unbandaged have been seen roaming the desert, preying on travelers and merchants. Brave adventurers are being asked to dispose of these creatures, helping to cull the growing threat in the desert. Take down a roaming band of 6 unbandaged, making Charon safer and helping their spirits find rest.
Participants: Two or more
Location: Zeinav Desert
Post Requirements: 6 post per person, 200 words per post
Reward: +1 Renown, +Dark Catalyst, +1 Zombie Ash
Description: Further exploration and excavation of the Zeinav desert has disturbed many once forgotten tombs, causing the spirits inside to become restless. Now an uncontrolled amount of Unbandaged have been seen roaming the desert, preying on travelers and merchants. Brave adventurers are being asked to dispose of these creatures, helping to cull the growing threat in the desert. Take down a roaming band of 6 unbandaged, making Charon safer and helping their spirits find rest.