Topic The Sphere of Forgetting
Edited by Malkavet on 4/14/12 12:01 PM (PDT)
I would append a useful time-stamp to this statement to help establish context, such as: "I awoke this morning." Unfortunately I had no idea if it even was morning. I only knew that as the muddy streams of consciousness worked their way through my limbs I was vaguely aware of the distant ringing of metal on metal beyond the invisible walls of the vacant, pitch black chamber of my solitude.
The unquenchable abyss was punctuated now and then by a deep, rumbling noise that felt familiar.
I have no idea where I am.
Not knowing one's location in time and space can make Teleportation somewhat difficult, but that sort of barrier had never dissuaded me before. The sharp, piercing pain that lanced through the back of what remains of my visual cortex however was a much more persuasive deterrent.
I have no idea where I am and I don't appear to be able to transport myself out.
There was a brief moment of panic as I contemplated the possibility of my powerlessness. It quickly subsided however when I realized that every attempt at conjuration - even something so simple as an illumination charm, resulted in the same white-hot flame behind my eyes. That brought a calm reassurance. My powers were intact, though restrained by some external force. It also gave me a much needed immediate purpose.
I have no idea where I am, cannot remember how I came to be here, have no idea how long I have languished in this darkness... but I do know that I am going to ignite whoever is responsible for this circumstance very soon.
Edited by Malkavet on 4/15/12 12:29 PM (PDT)
Setting aside magic for a moment I attempted a survey of my surroundings. The darkness was absolute, but it had an airy, vacant feel to it. I decided rather quickly that the sound and feel of the place advised caution. There may have also been a dizzying moment where I nearly tumbled off the edge of an invisible precipice that marks the physical boundary of my prison. Careful exploration revealed that my temporary home was a circular island of rock some four meters in diameter bounded by a cavernous drop of indeterminate depth. The sounds of my movement and breathing produced hollow echoes that faded into the unreachable boundaries beyond.
I am trapped in an oubliette.
Once I realized this I entertained a moment of wry admiration at the classical, yet spartan nature of my cage. There would be a bridge of some sort, beyond sight and reach across the empty walls of air. Either that or a rope ladder lowered from above. Very effective in either case.
I searched the full territory of my temporary domain with hands and ears and found that the rock surface is polished smooth, without even a hint of groove or chip. My nails had no impact on it, and I am without tools beyond my own flesh.
For that matter I was without anything beyond my own flesh, including clothing. The air was still however and there was no breeze, so there was no fear of catching a chill, but there was clearly nothing present to aid my escape but my wits, my rotten skin... and my secrets.
Edited by Malkavet on 4/16/12 3:08 PM (PDT)
Living with necrotic flesh can be an insufferable chore. The chemical and bacteriological factories that speed the process are all shut down of course, but decay is still an issue. As is pestilence. I learned to hate the Swamp of Sorrows for that cause. Every fly for six miles thought I was lunch. Surrounding myself in a constant wreath of flame was the only real solution.
Maggot never cared about such things of course. He just keeps falling apart and stitching the most awful patches onto himself. In my position though, and with my plans, I had need to be more conscious of physical appearances. Preservatives, oils, and careful maintenance were a part of daily life. The dead tissue did have its advantages however. Advantages such as an endless supply of invisible hiding places for trinkets more precious than jewels to an alchemist such as myself.
So it was that I sat myself at the center of my circular prison of air and summoned the quiet calm that would be needed. At first I focused on sound. Listening carefully to my surroundings, searching the lightless void for any sound of movement or breathing that might reveal the presence of a guard. I did not want what came next to be seen.
Edited by Malkavet on 4/17/12 3:23 PM (PDT)
Moments passed, maybe hours. In the timeless dark each moment melted into the next with no way of marking out their passage with any certainty. In the distance beyond invisible rock walls the clashing of metal continued, punctuated occasionally by a dull rumbling, but within my empty prison there were no sounds but my own. At last assured that I was indeed alone I ran my hand down the bare, lifeless tissue of my thigh and found the hidden flap of flesh that held the vial of tainted dragon’s essence.
The lifeblood of a greater aspect, it had taken me years to acquire and even longer to learn its uses. That fool flame worshipper had given me the key in his own dragon-tainted blood so many years ago - well in truth he had given it to an idiot Orc that Thorgrun had taken in but I managed to steal it for long enough to test its alchemical properties. I had put that knowledge to use on many occasions since, but this would be the last. It would require all that remained of the essence to accomplish what I needed now.
I removed the vial from its hiding place in the chiseled out bone of my hip, beneath a camouflaged access flap of dead skin and tissue, and cupped it in my hands. Slowly I began to whisper words, barely audible but excruciating to utter. I felt the resistance of the counter-spell that held my power in check and the flame of its assault was like a white-hot poker through the middle of my skull, but this was a contest I could not afford to lose.
Edited by Malkavet on 4/18/12 9:23 AM (PDT)
At last I began to feel the smooth rock floor of the oubliette heat beneath me. The ground was prepared and I moved quickly to work before it faded. Cautious but quick, I moved to the edge of my island prison and tipping the vial onto my finger began tracing the essence along the outer edges of the rock. It took all but a scant few drops to complete the circuit and then I moved back to the center, stood full height, and shouted the last few words of the incantation above the piercing roar in my brain just as the heat began to fade from the rock floor.
“Kuwack livyathan-el chapha t’adan!”
I threw the vial to the floor as the last syllable exploded in agony from my lips. The precious last drops of the concoction erupted in an explosion of flame and light that I could hear and feel, but not see.
The force of the spell-clash threw me down and pressed my face against the smooth stone floor of my prison. Just as I hit I felt the surface ignite with heat, searing my lifeless skin and releasing a bitter smell of rotten, roasted flesh. I laughed though, for I knew what that meant. Indeed I felt the whiplash snap of the binding spell break even as the heat of the flames licking up around the edges of the circular rock floor buffeted me.
I stood. I could hear and feel the tongues of fire around the circle’s edge - and the humm of the spell-shield dome that now encompassed me - but I could not see it. It was still dark...
I am free of the magical cage, but I am blind.
Even if it were a story of a single orc slaughtering one thousand night elves (Duke assulting Darnassus, maybe?), I'd compliment it if it was expertly written. :P
(("Oops, Character Not Available." Deleted a day later? Armory not updated yet?
((Armory hadn't updated. Though Malk is almost always logged out in his IC gear. (Accessory benefit: this is good for trolling dumb!@#$ would-be PvPers who think they know something about death and dismemberment because they scored in the top 50% on a rated arena. Yes, hooray for you. You're in the top half of a pile of stupid %^-*. Idiots.)
Updated for pt.3))