[Reality is so much more vast compared to the little stage people built for themselves. Never seeing beyond the little hole they've decided to view the world with. That is not the case with Fiona, however, yet it has been some time since she has entered anywhere other than her own dreams. It's an unfamiliar, topsy-turvy land, although it begins pulling itself together in a way that makes the priestess wonder whether it's her presence that brought clarity. Nonetheless, her curiosity calls along with the bells.
Fiona walks boldly upon the new path forming before her.]
Fufufuu...Quite a treat for my summoning. Perhaps it is God's will that I may shepard a lost light from the abyss of sleep.
[one would forgive for believing they were lost in the wayward path of a sanatorium. old wood and high windows, curtains left to fall somewhat apart over time. the place is somewhat darkened - sunset, by the looks through the glass - and yet, the scent of incense hovers in the air. as if there's something about this place touched by the Other, the faint sound of rustling feathers, great wings in the near distance.
the tinkling of chimes - or is it someone else's bells? - that echoes, beckoning her further into the dream. yet not all is peaceful, for underneath the smoke is something far too familiar. the old copper scent of shed blood, dark stains on an empty chair. no creeping dread of a hunter, no clatter and clang of machines - only somewhere that perhaps was better left forgotten.
footsteps, close by, but no visible presence of someone - save for the flutter of fabric that disappears through a doorway. and then, a voice that does not speak aloud, but leaves an impression in Fiona's mind. older than this realm is, yet vaguely amused.]
So, a seeker has come. This changes a few things.
[where to go, what to observe - it's up to Fiona now.]
[Fiona finds the bells quite pleasant as she moves along the ghastly hall. Not the droning flutes of far away lands across dimensions or murky whispers echoing from deep space. Nor is it like the alarms she's grown so used to of the exit gates opening. However, the sanatorium is all too familiar; it immediately calls upon her memory of the maze-like, vandalized asylum that became one of the hunting grounds for the manor's games.
While the twilight is pleasant, the rest of the morbid scene is gazed upon with mild trepidation. (Without the threat of a hunter looming, everything feels mild.) What had happened here? An aftermath of a nightmare or perhaps this was a fragment of what once was reality...?
The priestess' inquisitive thoughts are interrupted by the intrusion of another presence, both physical and mental. If the voice belonged to something similar to the Outer Gods, she may have welcomed the experience all to quickly. Rejoiced, even. Yet, the voice in her mind gives her pause. What sort of being is dealing with?]
...Indeed. A seeker, a guide. [She speaks to the air while walking to the door that the figure disappeared behind. Her tone remains calm.] What ethereal being accompanies me now? As I know them, you are not the kin of my god.
Far from it. Unless your god knows the woods, and the still places there, we are nothing alike.
[there is no one past the door, when Fiona gets there. what flutters in place of the figure is old, ragged cloth that was once spotless white. a ragged thing that might have been a coat, a part of a sheet, left to rot. the wind that courses through is mournful, and the room is too absent - across the one desk left standing, scattered forgotten files. information is inked out, and a sense of dread comes from looking too long. hope, steadily dissolving.
but in the empty space, comes a thin curl of silver smoke, darkening to jet black. it takes the vague outline of a bird, hovering there.]
Hold out your hand, priestess.
[if she does, it will solidify into nothing less than a crow, and perch on her hand. lighter than a real bird should be, but with eyes that seem too intelligent. an avatar is enough for now, when their real form is cloaked behind faded memory.
and whether she does or does not, something shifts in the dream - a great sigh, a turning over while asleep. a truth in that - the entire building, as it is, is alive.]
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takemycall) wrote2020-12-02 07:36 pm
no subject
Fiona walks boldly upon the new path forming before her.]
Fufufuu...Quite a treat for my summoning. Perhaps it is God's will that I may shepard a lost light from the abyss of sleep.
no subject
the tinkling of chimes - or is it someone else's bells? - that echoes, beckoning her further into the dream. yet not all is peaceful, for underneath the smoke is something far too familiar. the old copper scent of shed blood, dark stains on an empty chair. no creeping dread of a hunter, no clatter and clang of machines - only somewhere that perhaps was better left forgotten.
footsteps, close by, but no visible presence of someone - save for the flutter of fabric that disappears through a doorway. and then, a voice that does not speak aloud, but leaves an impression in Fiona's mind. older than this realm is, yet vaguely amused.]
So, a seeker has come. This changes a few things.
[where to go, what to observe - it's up to Fiona now.]
A MILLION YEAR LATER, I AM BACK FROM THE DEAD
While the twilight is pleasant, the rest of the morbid scene is gazed upon with mild trepidation. (Without the threat of a hunter looming, everything feels mild.) What had happened here? An aftermath of a nightmare or perhaps this was a fragment of what once was reality...?
The priestess' inquisitive thoughts are interrupted by the intrusion of another presence, both physical and mental. If the voice belonged to something similar to the Outer Gods, she may have welcomed the experience all to quickly. Rejoiced, even. Yet, the voice in her mind gives her pause. What sort of being is dealing with?]
...Indeed. A seeker, a guide. [She speaks to the air while walking to the door that the figure disappeared behind. Her tone remains calm.] What ethereal being accompanies me now? As I know them, you are not the kin of my god.
emerges from the pile of my work as well
[there is no one past the door, when Fiona gets there. what flutters in place of the figure is old, ragged cloth that was once spotless white. a ragged thing that might have been a coat, a part of a sheet, left to rot. the wind that courses through is mournful, and the room is too absent - across the one desk left standing, scattered forgotten files. information is inked out, and a sense of dread comes from looking too long. hope, steadily dissolving.
but in the empty space, comes a thin curl of silver smoke, darkening to jet black. it takes the vague outline of a bird, hovering there.]
Hold out your hand, priestess.
[if she does, it will solidify into nothing less than a crow, and perch on her hand. lighter than a real bird should be, but with eyes that seem too intelligent. an avatar is enough for now, when their real form is cloaked behind faded memory.
and whether she does or does not, something shifts in the dream - a great sigh, a turning over while asleep. a truth in that - the entire building, as it is, is alive.]