09-07-2022, 03:16 AM
A dozen different maps were scattered out on a massive stone table in the middle of the room, lit by flickering torches where the light barely managed to fill this open hall. Each map illustrated not islands, countries, or the borders of kingdoms, but elaborate floor plans and various intersecting rune gate tunnels, and they all headed one way... directly up.
Large sections of the maps were blank, missing puzzle pieces to an ever evolving picture. It would be incomplete until every single possibility was drawn out. A maze with ten million dead ends. There was a tall figure of nearly ten feet that loomed over the assortment of maps, robed in layers of scarlet, masked in ivory. His eyes were constantly aflame with two flickering orange lights. In his left hand he held a nearly empty wine glass, stained a deep red, and there were several more empty bottles near the silver-scaled throne he sat upon.
These maps, incomplete as they are, were studied to scrutiny. This was an act of desperation and self-hatred. They were the only clues and link he had, after all, and madness had become his closest friend over the centuries.
"Why did you leave us?" the creature whispered to himself, his breath a wintry frost in the air despite the mild temperatures of autumn. There was little warmth in the child of Mortyl. Not a second later, the wine glass shattered under the weight of his grip - fragmented shards of different sizes fell to the tiled metal below, the remaining mouthfuls of crimson dripping like thinned blood against a tense, shaking palm. It dripped against his hand, but he did not move. "My brother died because of you... I died because of you."
How many times have I asked that question and expected an answer from him? All I can hear are the ghosts laughing at me, and a sick part of me is glad they might find some small satisfaction from it.
These phantoms of the past were much like him, echoes of every era, present and scattered throughout the tower. Except he was here, bound in this lavish prison, and made to serve a penance of watching over every great warrior that reached new heights. There might be endless food, wine, servants and all the carnal needs one could desire, but it was still a tomb. "Over twelve hundred years since your giants bound me here, nine of which centuries I slept...
I wonder if you're even still out there, or if I'm chasing another laughing ghost. Did you find what you were looking for, Joseph?"
A sluggish rise follows, the frozen hand that shattered the wine glass suddenly coming to life again, long fingers twitching. It rubs the damp wine against his front as he rises off of the seat in a near tumble, grunting out an incoherent sound before finding his balance.
Red... Vitriol... Scias Bane... and so many others. You were taken from me in this petty game of kingdoms before I could show you the truth. I hope you're watching, laughing at me with the others. Or do you pity me? Maybe you even smile for your Lord. Perhaps you worship me, still. You were all so loyal until the very end. You understood that you served a grand purpose beyond this cycle of self-perpetuating greed that humanity is so keen on. You knew, like me, we are all chasing someone or something, and it is in that pursuit of a higher purpose that we may one day find our freedom again.
The primordial stared down at the mess of maps in front of him. It was insanity, and he knew that the errors presented before him would only drive him further down that hole if he remained. In the drunken haze, he squinted at the runic letters that spelled 'Realm 1 3 0' from a direct path of 'Realm 1 2 4'. His laughter was hollow, filling the room emptily, then he sauntered off and made his way elsewhere with heavy, faltering steps.
Large sections of the maps were blank, missing puzzle pieces to an ever evolving picture. It would be incomplete until every single possibility was drawn out. A maze with ten million dead ends. There was a tall figure of nearly ten feet that loomed over the assortment of maps, robed in layers of scarlet, masked in ivory. His eyes were constantly aflame with two flickering orange lights. In his left hand he held a nearly empty wine glass, stained a deep red, and there were several more empty bottles near the silver-scaled throne he sat upon.
These maps, incomplete as they are, were studied to scrutiny. This was an act of desperation and self-hatred. They were the only clues and link he had, after all, and madness had become his closest friend over the centuries.
"Why did you leave us?" the creature whispered to himself, his breath a wintry frost in the air despite the mild temperatures of autumn. There was little warmth in the child of Mortyl. Not a second later, the wine glass shattered under the weight of his grip - fragmented shards of different sizes fell to the tiled metal below, the remaining mouthfuls of crimson dripping like thinned blood against a tense, shaking palm. It dripped against his hand, but he did not move. "My brother died because of you... I died because of you."
.....
How many times have I asked that question and expected an answer from him? All I can hear are the ghosts laughing at me, and a sick part of me is glad they might find some small satisfaction from it.
These phantoms of the past were much like him, echoes of every era, present and scattered throughout the tower. Except he was here, bound in this lavish prison, and made to serve a penance of watching over every great warrior that reached new heights. There might be endless food, wine, servants and all the carnal needs one could desire, but it was still a tomb. "Over twelve hundred years since your giants bound me here, nine of which centuries I slept...
I wonder if you're even still out there, or if I'm chasing another laughing ghost. Did you find what you were looking for, Joseph?"
A sluggish rise follows, the frozen hand that shattered the wine glass suddenly coming to life again, long fingers twitching. It rubs the damp wine against his front as he rises off of the seat in a near tumble, grunting out an incoherent sound before finding his balance.
Red... Vitriol... Scias Bane... and so many others. You were taken from me in this petty game of kingdoms before I could show you the truth. I hope you're watching, laughing at me with the others. Or do you pity me? Maybe you even smile for your Lord. Perhaps you worship me, still. You were all so loyal until the very end. You understood that you served a grand purpose beyond this cycle of self-perpetuating greed that humanity is so keen on. You knew, like me, we are all chasing someone or something, and it is in that pursuit of a higher purpose that we may one day find our freedom again.
The primordial stared down at the mess of maps in front of him. It was insanity, and he knew that the errors presented before him would only drive him further down that hole if he remained. In the drunken haze, he squinted at the runic letters that spelled 'Realm 1 3 0' from a direct path of 'Realm 1 2 4'. His laughter was hollow, filling the room emptily, then he sauntered off and made his way elsewhere with heavy, faltering steps.