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Not to send an essay in ur inbox but LITERALLY. I've seen ppl complain that genshin is too grindy and it's like. You people would NOT survive playing sky: children of the light. Genshin has a lot of grinding and farming but at least you get noticeable progress from it!! In sky you spend 2 hours farming for 15 candles and then if u don't have any friends to hang out with u just kind of. Log off. But you can't Not do those 2 hours of farming because then you won't be able to get the 16 new cosmetics tgc introduced at once that all cost 200 candles. At least 2 hours of playing genshin gets you well into the story, or artifacts or primogems or SOMETHING worthwhile. Probably should've just made this a post this is long sorry abdhdbfjxbd I just. Have a lot of feelings about the fact that gambling: the game is less horrid to be invested in than sky: children of the light which is supposed to be this fun cute lighthearted experience. Idk. We literally do not know each other sorry for this abdjdnjd
-forgetful-storyteller
gaymer. @forgetful-storyteller
look at my first post on this blog's fucking date. I've been playing since android release and stopped around Shattering getting into beta, this is my sky side-blog. I know Sky's draining on players. 2 years of sky fucked me up.
I grinded daily in sky. it fucking slaughtered me. I still have muscle memory of HF and VoT candle runs.
I don't play sky often anymore for a fucking reason; no one I'm close to plays, it's actually draining and stressing.
I was ftp other than maybe 2-3 seasonal passes on sky. I basically did crs daily for months when possible in 2020-2021, and got fucked over.
You may have a better experience in Sky than Genshin (if you played it), but Genshin is actually better for my mental health long term. I can drop it without worry, and I only play for fun with less worry of "I'm not going to be able to get something I want!" or "shit I'm low on candles". and don't even get me started on the winged lights that only got worse and worse.
I dislike gambling as well, but I don't spend money on Genshin, and quite honestly? I get more from Genshin than Sky ever did for me, which yeah, fucking sucks, but I hate grinding and I can bullshit my way through genshin without constantly gambling. Tbh bud, if TGC found a way to get people gambling, they would. They are not above that as a game company.
Why do you think all of the IAP are so fucking expensive for what it is, even when not collabs? Sky is not a moral game on ethics to it's making either. TGC have ignored the fact they need to pay artist and sweep so many things under the rug from players to try and keep people distracted they always will.
(Edit: I did misread it, look at reblogs)
#ymir sketches#I feel like this is really fucking aggressive on my part but fr. Sky gave me panic attacks if I didn't do dailies#Sky was more addicting to me than Genshin. I just really hate sky for that reason.#It was fine until the traveling spirits prices also grew too much. it hurts to play normally than throwing myself into eden or helping#people for the fucking fire trial (my beloved). I can not play sky often for the sake of my already fucked up mental health.#It's not relaxing to me. It never *was* ever since I got into it.#I hate gacha shit. but more or less. let me have Genshin > Sky:cotl. At least it actually doesn't drain me and gives something interesting#but uh yeah... uh asker I'm from old skyblr... I dealt with panphobes and so much drama as it is in skyblr as well#Anyways... uhh brain too depressed for sky. I actually played for friends over 'relaxing'... and I can not drop it as well as other things#just on the fly... I play genshin because it's just fun for me. I don't get drained because it's actually possible to pace yourself on it.#but uh I will say I stopped caring as much for sky since about dreams. it only finally killed me around shattering beta#tbh that's probably because I'm also a beta player but ya know. I love my ocs and shit which is why I help make The Idyll with my friends
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Departure
Never in my wildest dreams could I have known that I would be granted the opportunity to meet such kind and unique people. I can still remember everything from start to finish, like it just happened yesterday. Even the moments in which I felt consumed by fear, the memory does not fade. I do not think I will ever forget this experience. Then again, I also really do not want to. Who would want to lose any of the memories they have relating to their most cherished relationships, even the ones that hurt or are scary? In the beginning, though, things were neither painful nor scary; things were bleak.
I remember hinting to my friends that we should not leave the village, but of course we would anyway. Whether or not we stayed or left, war would continue to consume our lives and destroy our livelihood. We were far too outnumbered to stand up to either the Alliance or the Horde, so we played an insignificant force in the war as a supplier of food resources. There were a few people here and there who would abandon the village to join the ranks of our oppressors, but the lot of us simply resisted that temptation. We were nothing if not resilient. Our spirits would not be broken by the onslaught of foreign nations declaring war over our own soil. There had been rumors circulating that neighboring villages had driven off all the soldiers from either side that dared to fight on their land, and we used this as our fuel to keep fighting. Eventually, however, one day, we grew weary of the senseless bloodshed.
“There must be a better way to deal with this than to merely ride it out,” I pleaded to my fellow villager.
“When we have the forces to drive them back, we will know. Until then, we must survive. You know in your heart that there is no other way, Hunjun,” she sighed to me.
As much as I did not want to keep hearing it, I knew that she was right. But I was growing more concerned as the days turned to weeks, and weeks to months. Our numbers were dwindling. Some of us who openly opposed the commandeering of land which was already inhabited and cared for ended up paying the price for speaking out - either by harsh physical labor or other means of subordination. Many of us did not survive the transition into forced servitude. We are a gentle race, but we are also determined and persistent. It was difficult to watch so many of us fall to their torture. We simply would not sit idly by in the face of injustice and cruelty. There was nothing just about the war being fought between the two factions, and so we fought back.
To fight back was our downfall, as ill-prepared as we were. Our quiet, peaceful village was not as prepared for battle as it should have been. As our numbers grew smaller and more of our resources were stolen by soldiers, our lives diminished before us, and we lost hope of redemption for our village. Soon it was just Maysam, Toolani, Songxue, Shen, Mao Cung, and me.
“I don’t know how much longer we can live like this,” cried Toolani.
“We are not living, we are surviving. If you want to live, first you have to survive,” Shen counseled her.
“But it has been this way for so long. Could you so easily chide our brothers and sisters out there slaving away for our enemies?” Mao Cung rebuked.
“Mao is right; if surviving and holding out were the answer, there would not be so many of us dead or enslaved!” lamented Songxue.
As the days drew nearer to our eventual decision to escape the prison of our last safe house, discussions like this were not uncommon. Shen was always level-headed, but did not understand that we were dealing with entirely foreign forces. Toolani's parents had been a part of the resistance which was stamped out by the soldiers, and it took more and more of a mental toll on her every day. The prospect of our kin being enslaved on our own land enraged Mao Cung beyond belief, especially as the last remaining member of the family who led the village. Songxue knew not what to do besides mourn our losses. Maysam and I typically remained silent during these discussions, since they usually led to nowhere. But not that day. Maysam interrupted the bickering with one thoughtful question:
“What reason do any of us have to oppose the idea of leaving our forsaken village?”
There was a moment of silence, and Songxue responded first.
“Would we not be abandoning our kin and leaving them to a life of servitude until death?” she remarked.
“Songxue, while it is admirable that you wish to free our brethren, what ability do any of us here have to do so? What makes you feel certain that we would not end up as they have? Should we not carry on a legacy for this village and make our escape before everyone is lost?” Maysam admonished. Songxue lowered her head and nodded in sorrowful understanding.
Mao Cung stewed in his thoughts for a moment before voicing a bothersome detail about Maysam's proposal.
“It's a pretty cowardly thing to do. I know staying here would likely result in our ultimate demise, but in facing our ends with pride, we die with honor. You should like to dishonor the name of our village by cowardly retreating in its dying moments?” he criticized.
Maysam was taken aback by his assertion. She meditated on his sentiments for a few moments before he continued.
“We are not living, we are surviving. We must survive until the very end in order to bestow honor upon our village's name and our own names. What would our ancestors think of us, running away and leaving what they have given us to become ruins? Though our defeat is certain, we still must face it with bravery and pride for our loved ones, do you not agree? Certainly you understand what that means,” Mao Cung finished.
“There is a difference, a fine line between bravery and foolishness, Mao Cung. What good would it do us or our ancestors to wait patiently in our seats for the kiss of death? Brave heroes face certain death when it means a greater good is accomplished. Fools await their demise in the name of the so-called ‘honor’ that comes waiting. There is no honor in senseless bloodshed. There is no honor in this war. I am certain that our ancestors would want us to rebuild their legacy where fertile soil awaits. We cannot change the fates of those we loved and lost, but we can continue living for them. Does that not sound like what you would want, Mao?” Maysam spoke. Mao Cung reflected for a moment before agreeing with the sentiments Maysam expressed. Truly, she was making a groundbreaking decision.
With Maysam's speeches granting reassurance to Toolani and Shen that escape was the right thing to do, it seemed as though we were all in agreement with the idea. Then, I spoke on one important detail.
“Where shall we go?”
Songxue and Mao Cung's eyes fixated on me in confusion, while Shen, Toolani, and Maysam shared a look of insightful despondency. They knew what I meant, and they did not have an answer. No one could have.
“Where shall we escape to? A neighboring village already consumed by the war? What about the dense forests that we can trek through to reach the beaches? Will there not be soldiers arriving on those beaches? What would we do then?”
As I barraged them with question after question, the atmosphere quickly withdrew from hopeful to despairing. It was unintentional, but I refused to welcome hope into my heart again only to have it ripped away. They had all forgotten how prevalent the presence was of those pests we were hiding from. Soldiers were on every beach, constantly arriving with new and improved plans to burn our villages and take our resources. How would we expect to get past them? Daunting as the task seemed, Shen remembered to never lose that hope that I had already lost.
“We are all willing to do whatever it takes to carry on our legacy, so there must be a way,” he proclaimed.
A moment of silence passed before Toolani spoke.
“I may have an idea, but you won't like it,” she told us.
I can still remember the feeling that overcame me when she sighed those words. In my heart, I felt grief - grief that was so strong, I almost thought I had already lost her. I am certain we all knew what she was going to say before she shared her plan with us. Toolani was a very skilled mage, of course her idea would include the use of her talents, likely against the invaders. However, something told me that she would likely not make it with us in our journey onward. It seemed that Toolani was the only one willing to accept the fact that we would not all make it. Before she could continue with the details, Maysam sprung into the conversation.
“No! I will not allow you to put yourself on the line and ultimately die at the hands of these savages! Do you want to end up as the rest of our brothers and sisters have?” Maysam implored Toolani not to go through with it. But Toolani's mind was already made up.
“No, sister, I don’t. And I wish to shield the rest of you from meeting that same fate as well. But I know - I know full well that they will not stop coming. If we are to escape, it must be now. We don't have the luxury of time. We don't have the promise of good fortune. So, I must do everything in my power to protect you all and keep the memory of our beloved village alive. It is my duty. Please, May, let me lead you all to victory,” Toolani calmly spoke.
We all sat in a moment of silence in respect to the bereavement we knew we would be experiencing soon enough. Following shortly after, Toolani shared with us her plan. It was bold and daring, just her style. She had carefully concocted the idea so we would have a means of escape and a length of time to expect for travel away from our home. Toolani really did think of everything.
Though her plan was executed perfectly, it still hurt to say goodbye.
#olive writes things#world of warcraft#my ocs#Hunjun Sweetbreeze#Maysam Wildsong#idk#the others are just kind of made up and not fleshed out really lmaooo#maybe i'll do a part 2?
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Tales from Mayfield: Profiles.3
Johnny Haskins, 30′s, Family-Oriented, Goofball, Natural Musician
Johnny had a rather simple life. Raised by two parents who loved him dearly, but each other not so much. They separated when he was rather young and he grew up in two homes, shared custody. He made acceptable grades and grew up like any other teenage boy. Johnny didn’t feel like he started living until his early twenties, when he met his wife. The woman that caused his whole world to turn upside down. All she did was laugh at one of his lame jokes, and he felt like the earth felt out from beneath him. It was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. They had a spring wedding and his parents actually sat together. She teased him about his crooked bowtie most of the wedding and he pushed cake into her face. They lived a simple, honest life together before their daughter joined their lives. A chubby, beautiful baby girl who he promised to give the world, to the best of his abilities. Everything was simple, beautiful and real. Until he lost the love of his life. Life gives and life takes away. It was sudden and harsh. One morning she was waking him up with soft kisses and the next he woke up alone, for the first time of many. Summer had taught Johnny how to live, and now he had to learn how to live without her. He had to be strong, for Summer. There was no other choice.
Summer Haskins, 10′s, AD(H)D.
Summer remembered small details about her mother. She had brown hair like her and her father always said they had the same laughter. It hadn’t been very long ago, only four years, but she was terribly young when it happened. Everything she remembered about her mother was a fuzzed memory. That being said, she knew how pained her father was and that tore her apart. Summer loved her mother more than anything and just wanted to see him happy. She hated seeing how he stared into space silently when he thought she wasn’t in the room. Her mother may be done, but she was still here. And damn it, she was going to be the best daughter she could be and show her father that the world wasn’t over. His life with her was gone, but their life together was just starting!!
Johnny Haskins, Age Unknown, Curious, Free Spirited, Charming.
Sixam was a beautiful planet, with vivid colours and curious plants. There were so many people living among the hills and so many strange visitors, but it wasn’t enough for Aileen. Ever since she was a girl, she dreamed of traveling. Of seeing the outer planets and meeting people that were like the far travelers that came to her home. Her dreams came true when a space traveler offered to give her a ride to his home, Earth. It was such a change from everything she knew, but it was everything that she imagined. All the food was bright and flavourful and all the people were so unique! Sure, she had to wear a disguise so people didn’t panic, but that was fine! It was a small price to pay in exchange for being able to experience an entirely new world. -- can’t put into words how excited she is to take this world on, but she is ready to do it with a bright smile and gusto that can’t be matched. Shame she doesn’t realize how troublesome humans can be.
Lanying Haung, 30's, Natrual Cook, Tea Lover, Family-Oriented.
Lanying was the kind of girl that tried to plan out her life, but everything got away from her faster than she could handle. A good student and a behaved daughter, everyone expected good things from the only Haung daughter. She did too. She studied in a good university and kept her head down. Declined parties and stuck to her books. Lanying was in her early twenties when she met the man that would become her fiance. He was sweet, charming and funny. They hit it off right away and were engaged in less than two years. He had been a businessman and gave them a good life, both Lanying and her first child, Song. While he was often away for work, he called every night and always told Song bedtime stories. Lanying was thrilled with her life until it all came crumbling down. Turns out he was a businessman, but not the kind that went on trips. His ‘trips’ were him living with his actual wife and children. Neither woman knew about each other until his wife showed up at Lanying’s home, demanding answers. They were both hurt by the realization but teamed together against this bastard. His wife divorced him and Lanying never spoke to him again. Shame it was two weeks later she learned she was pregnant with his twins. Now, she’s a single mother who is working for the first time in her life and trying to keep her head above the water.
Song Haung, Late 10's, Great Kisser, Clubber
Song never really recovered from the truth of her father. It was only four years ago that they learned the truth and she was still torn apart. The man she thought loved her was lying the entire time. Probably lying every time he said I love you, too. Song didn’t cope with the truth well and turned to drinking and partying to numb the pain. Her grades dropped and her relationship with her mother suffers. Song truly did love her mother, but part of her blamed her as well. How could she have never known the truth? Then she brought more children into the house? Two little shits who were more trouble than they were worth. Song wanted to love her siblings, but she couldn’t. They were spitting images of her father and the sight of them pissed her off. If her father could lie so easily, how could she trust anyone?
Kang Haung, 1′s, Independent
Kang and Shen are the children of Lanying’s fiance and the only thing keeping her smile going these days. Though they look just like their father, they also smile like the morning sun and that’s all she needs right now. Her sweet children.
Shen Haung, 1′s, Angelic
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186: boundaries
The mountains of northern Vvardenfell were an unforgiving place, riddled with caves and gouged with deep, volcanic trenches. The latter, known locally as foyadas, were perilous to navigate, their steep sides granting travellers no escape from swooping cliff racers or marauding kagouti packs. No escape from the impressive acoustics, either. "Sixty-third came a Bosmer whore, toothy and stout, What goes in a Wood Elf's mouth doesn't come out! Sing ohhh, the loves of Boethiah! The ninety-nine loves of Boethiah!" It was only their second hour of hiking since breaking camp, but Iriel was already pondering self-targeted Silence spells, or, failing that, the sound-muffling properties of shalk resin.
"A Hist, twenty-eighth, spread its roots for a view, At least, that's what we think it was trying to do! Sing ohhh, the loves of Boethiah! The ninety-nine loves of Boethiah!" More than getting beetle-gunk permanently lodged in his auditory canal, Iriel was afraid of being passive-aggressive and spoiling the mood. Julan was in the kind of high spirits he usually only reached with the aid of at least four bottles. That said, Ire's tolerance had limits. "The fourteenth was a Sload with reversible tube, The thing about Sload is, you never need--" "You sang fourteenth already!" Ire couldn't keep the anguished betrayal from his voice. Julan glanced over his shoulder. "Did I?" he remarked blithely. "Yes! I've been keeping track! But it wasn't a Sload, it was something lurid about a Khajiit who was flexible enough to reach any part of his anatomy with his tongue." Iriel sucked in his cheeks, suddenly pensive. "I'm beginning to understand why Dro'Zaymar didn't require my company, that night in St Delyn." "Huh?" "Never mind. Are there really ninety-nine verses?" "'No, of course not!" "Oh, thank Mara." "There's far more than that, because if you run out, you make them up as you go along!" As Iriel closed his eyes and moaned, Julan gave him a condescending look. "Ire, you say filthier things than this all the time." "I know, but with these awful tavern songs, I'm always waiting for the next 'hilarious' thing that'll hit me somewhere it hurts. Humour like this depends on using other people for its punchlines." "Look, the one about the Nord girl with the plaited moustache I got from Sottilde, so--" "I don't care!" "I skipped all the verses about Altmer!" "I've already composed them in my head via guesswork, and upset myself, so you needn't have bothered!" "Lighten up, Ire. I sang the bit with the Dunmer who married a guar, didn't I? Nobody's safe with this sort of song." "Let me try one, then." Iriel chewed his lip for a while, then sang: "An Ashlander maid, sacred clit-rings on show, They have twelve words for 'fuck me' and no word for 'no'." To his satisfaction, Julan's face immediately darkened. "That," he said, "was over the line." "EXACTLY!!! Because you know where that line is! Stop pretending you do for everyone else!" Julan threw up a hand. "OK! Fine! Let's sing your one about the dead baby in the pond again, that'll keep our spirits up!" Iriel watched him march on ahead, skipping over rocks in his path, already humming the opening strains of The Kwama Miner's Daughter. Perhaps there was nothing extreme about Julan's cheerfulness, Iriel considered. Perhaps anyone would appear cheerful in comparison to himself, and the creeping dread that tugged, tar-like, at his heels with every step. His spirits require no support, while mine are beyond salvaging. What are we doing? What am I doing? What am I letting him do? "You're certain we're in the correct foyada?" Iriel ventured, when they stopped at midday to eat. He knew Julan's answer would be 'yes', regardless of truth, but that was why he'd asked - a desire for reassurance at any price. Every grey, lava-bitten channel snaking down from Red Mountain looked identical to him. "Of course!" Julan, grinning broadly, began indicating landmarks with a stick of scrib jerky. "I've spent my life in these mountains! Those pointed rock spires down there are Airan's Teeth, so this is Yamus bel-Shannarai, the Valley of the Wind. It's obviously the 'teeth of the wind' that stupid riddle was talking about." Ire allowed himself to be reassured. It was true, they were only a couple of hours south-west of the Grazelands, and from there, it was only a few more miles along the coast to the summer location of Julan's mother's camp. To Iriel's relief, Julan had expressed no desire to visit. "I've never heard of any secret shrines to Azura around here," he was saying. "I'd have thought Mother would know about it. But I guess that's why it's secret." He rolled his eyes. "Sheogorath knows why that wise woman had to make it a whole stupid riddle. We passed the test, didn't we? These old women love messing with your head for the attention, but you shouldn't encourage them." "I was just relieved she didn't want to stick needles in me," said Ire. "You can do all the talking, next time. You have a promise of guest rites, after all, it was your choice not to come with me to--" "I know, get off my back!" Julan was still grinning. "I want to have this proof from the cavern, first. Then I'll go to the Urshilaku and show them, explain that I'm the Nerevarine, and you were only helping me." He set his jaw at the distant horizon. "I'll show Mother, too." You could still say something. You could repeat what Zainsubani told you about his father, try to-- He knows! He's heard it and rejected it, so all you'd be doing is telling him you believed the word of a stranger over his! Faith, Ire. You said you were going to have faith in him. Yes, but... ugh! Walk, just walk. The foyada seemed eternal. It ran broadly south, but as the incline increased, it began a slow, fern-frond curl around a huge rock spur. They scrambled uphill through flowering heather, swarming with tiny copper moths that rose like dustclouds as they passed. As the day wore on, Iriel's exhaustion grew, but Julan's optimism remained undentable. "I've been thinking about this guest-rites thing," he said, at one point. "One of the most well-known prophecies is called The Stranger. That's where the famous line about Incarnates comes from: 'many fall, but one remains'. But it also has lines about the tribes welcoming a stranger to their hearth. And guess what? The Velothi word for stranger, hlarmut, can also be translated as guest, and that's the word used in guest rites!" His eyebrows leapt as he beamed into Iriel's impassive face. "So me receiving guest rites might be part of the prophecy! For the first time in forever, I'm making real progress!" Iriel made a noncommittal noise and faked the need to focus on the placement of his feet. I said I wouldn't stand in his way. I said I couldn't protect him by showing him I doubted him. I said I had to trust him, even when he's wrong. Noble sentiments, so idealistic. Bodu saw through that guarshit straight away. What use is any of it, if he's dead? In the afternoon, they climbed above the ashline. Crossed into the high places, where the storms whipped constant torrents of ash from the crater of the volcano. They had goggles from the Urshilaku with shalk-wing lenses and tight leather straps. Ire wrapped his blue silk scarf around his nose and mouth, followed by another less permeable one of soft, grey racerskin. Even Julan was forced to cover his face, though Ire could still hear him humming, whenever the wind dropped. They clambered over piles of scree, and verdant explosions of bittergreen. Sometimes, a gust of wind would catch Iriel unawares, and he'd have to cling to the nearest bristling tendril until Julan rescued him, grateful his netch gauntlets kept the spines out of his skin. Everything is so fragile, so precarious. Any moment, something could tear him from me. Every step we take, a crack could open up between us. Could swallow either of us... or both. We killed an ash vampire, but we almost died a dozen times and it's only going to get worse. Where's the line, Ire? He knows. He stood across it, that night you tried to attack the Council Club. You lecture him about boundaries, but where are yours, now? You always do this. You fuck things up one way, then you overcorrect too far in the other direction. You're not "having faith" in him, you're enabling him. And if you keep going, you're going to watch him die. But what else can I do? In the crags, they passed through a cliff racer nesting ground, empty now the chicks had all fledged. Iriel felt small bones crunch beneath his boots, and forced his gaze upwards, stomach turning. Julan was already bouncing over the top of the next ridge. I don't know how to help you. I've found plenty of ways not to do it. I don't want to mock you, deceive you, lecture you, patronise you, manipulate you, order you, guilt-trip you. I won't have you feel my love as a chain around your wrist, dragging you from your hopes and dreams into cultureless domesticity, like Shani tried to do. Is this all that's left, letting you pull me into the mouth of hell with you? I don't want to watch you die, but if the choice is this, or leaving you to die alone... I owe it to you. I owe it to you to be wrong about staying, instead of wrong about going. "Huh." Julan had stopped, and was scratching his head. The foyada had ended in a narrow clearing, rock faces on all sides. There was no sign of a cavern, or an opening of any sort. "I don't get it." He pushed up his goggles, the cliffs largely shielding them from the ash. "It must be here, but we've checked the entire length of the valley." "Can we rest?" Iriel's bag had slipped from his shoulders, and he looked ready to drop into the ash next to it. Julan nodded, and they settled themselves against the rock face at the foyada's dead end. Ire loosened his scarves, and shook out the ash, until it made him cough so much he stopped. Julan passed Ire the waterskin, and waited while he drank, watching with such intensity, it was all Ire could do not to choke. He settled for spilling it down his chin, and shooting Julan an exasperated glance. Julan returned him a smile of pure affection. "I know this has been hard on you," he told Iriel. "And I don't just mean the climbing, I mean everything. I know I've been hard on you, too, and difficult to live with. I want to apologise, and to say... you don't know how much it means to me, that you're here." Please let a crack in the rock open up, because I want to crawl into it. "I could do this." Ire heard Julan's voice, and dimly felt him cradling his hand, through his gauntlet and haze of impotent despair. "I could actually succeed at my mission! I never felt this way before, never in my whole life. It's amazing, and it's all because of you." Oh. Great. "I never imagined that anyone would do this for me, would share my burden like this. You're so strong, Iya, far more than me, and far more than you realise. I love you so much." Ire knew he couldn't respond without crying, and then having to explain why. And then falling apart completely, begging, drenching Julan in guilt, exchanging all his confidence and devotion for doubt and resentment again, and to achieve what? A temporary victory, at best. He gritted his teeth and looked away, into the rising blush of the sunset, at the lone star appearing over it. Vasa bel-Azura. Viatrix said love and faith were the same thing. That faith let her follow, when reason failed. But... she was talking about a god. What do gods ever have to lose? The mountain groaned, and, as if answer to his prayer, he felt the rock behind him shift. Iriel might have wondered how the liminal boundary operated, without a monk and a pulley, but at that moment, there was nothing in his mind but a sense of hollow inevitability. They walked down the passage hand in hand, a distant, submarine glow luring them into the depths. Julan was vibrating with anticipation, Iriel numbly docile. The cavern that opened around them was a temple. Luminous, numinous, stalactites and stalagmites ringing it like pillars. In the centre, surrounded by green and violet mushrooms that shone like altar candles, was a kneeling female figure, carved from the rock. Julan's eyes were fixed on the statue, his mouth slack. "Azurammu," Ire heard him breathe. Azura's stone eyes were cast down into her lap, where her hands were resting, upturned and open. Towed nearer, Ire saw lichen patterning her skin and moss softening the folds of her robe. Julan clutched convulsively at his arm. "Look!" Iriel followed his gaze. She had worshippers. Around the edges of the cavern, motionless figures were huddled at stiff angles, bent at the knees and neck. "They're bodies!" Julan let go of Iriel, and moved towards the nearest form. "This one's been given full death-honours... more than for a khan, even. Are they heroes, legendary champions? I've never seen soul-bindings this complex." He began going from corpse to corpse, squinting and gasping. Iriel hadn't moved, was still hovering at the centre of the cavern, paralysed by discomfort and dread. The statue loomed over him, all benign expression and benevolent hands. He hated it with every fibre of his being. There was something glinting between the statue's cupped hands. A silver band. He leaned closer. A silver band... with a moon and star on it. He almost shouted to Julan, but stopped himself. Something was bothering him about the ring, and a second later, he realised what. It wasn't enchanted. It was impressive to look at, the six-pointed star nestled into the elegant curve of the crescent moon, but it wasn't magical. Not imbued with any sort of spell, let alone a soul-scanning murdercurse. I could be wrong. Daedra can be subtle, after all, and my judgement isn't what it was. But... I can still sense the arcane, and there's simply nothing here. I can feel the amulets on the corpses across the cavern, but not this ring. Nibani Maesa said that to gain the proof of Nerevar, I had to find the moon and star. But if she knew the cavern was here... why is the ring still here? Why hadn't they already retrieved it, kept it safe? Unless... it's just another sinyesh, a test-thing to retrieve. Iriel stared again at the circle of metal in the statue's hands. How can it be a proof, if it's not magical? She must have known it wasn't magical. That anyone could wear it, and-- He saw a trap. He saw a glittering snare. A manacle, to drain freedom, and replace it with blind, dutiful obedience. "Mephala!" Julan's voice drifted from somewhere behind the statue. "There's even more bodies! And they must be really powerful spirits, the amount of bone charms holding them to this place is... incredible. Iya, I think this place is a tomb for failed Incarnates!" He saw a poisoned chalice. If I'm wrong, and it is cursed somehow, it will kill him instantly. If I'm right, and it isn't, it will cement his confidence, and lock him on his course. Make him the willing dupe of this reborn soul shell game, or whatever it is these wise women are playing at. Either way, it kills him. Quick or slow, it kills him. The stalagmites and stalactites were no longer the pillars of a temple. They were ranks of pointed teeth, ready to snap closed. "What have you found?" Julan was approaching from the back of the cave, and Iriel's pulse hammered against his throat. Too late now to hide it, lose it, pretend it had never existed. He suddenly heard Viatrix, again. 'Some things They did so we might not have to. So we might receive the lesson, without paying the cost.' Iriel picked up the ring. At the flash of silver, Julan's eyes went wide. When he saw what Ire was doing with it, they went wider still. "No," he said hoarsely, beginning to run, catching his shoulder on a stalactite, forcing past it. "STOP!!" This time, I chose it. I betrayed him with both eyes open. The Moon-and-Star slid past Ire's knuckle, and settled around the base of his left middle finger. And nothing happened. There. I was right. I know it'll hurt, to find it was all meaningless. That he'll be disappointed it's not the proof he wanted, that it's been nothing but a huge set-up. At best, he'll be furious with me for taking the risk. At worst, he'll despise me forever, for sabotaging his destiny, and he'll have the right. But at least he might live to do it. Ire began releasing the breath he'd been holding. Then he saw Julan's face, and it froze in his chest. Julan came towards him. Silently, slowly as if underwater, his eyes fixed on the ring on Iriel's hand. When he reached it, he stopped. Took Ire's hand in his, gently, reverently. He ran his fingers along Iriel's knuckle, then across the ring. Then down the length of Ire's finger, and off. Iriel couldn't speak, but when Julan looked up, their eyes met. There was no trace of anger in Julan's face. Only something of the condemned man, in the split second after the trapdoor opens, and before the noose pulls tight. He nodded slowly. He squeezed Iriel's fingers. Then he ran from the cave. "WAIT!!" Ire's self-possession returned, as Julan reached the cavern entrance. Stumbling down the tunnel after him, Ire saw the stone door begin to grind downwards. He launched himself towards the shrinking wedge of rose-gold light. "COME BACK YOU IDIOT IT'S NOT ENCH--!" The rock wall descended the last few feet just as Iriel hit it face-first. next: 187: mother previous: 185: courage beginning: 1: numb
#howtodisappearcompletely#i can't tell you the tune to this one sorry#it's just a weird ditty in my head#you just need to know it's annoying
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