Post by Deleted on Oct 27, 2015 6:48:11 GMT
"No... I made a terrible mistake, Skrowe..." The words had lightly spilled out of Dorian's mouth, caught upon the wind as he stood there in the wake of what he had stumbled into. The Halloween monsters had been easy pickings, drab creatures of the dark and shadow that plagued the land; it was almost over though, that much was certain. The Shaman had sensed the darkness waning, the power slowly disappearing back where it came from, and realised that the 'event' was almost over. And yet, he was scared, unsure of what would happen once the darkness was gone... And so, shrugging off the warnings of the Lander people he had passed by, he rushed out into the wilderness, wanting... needing... to slay more, to bring about the glorious tranquillity that had existed before the Halloween monsters had come. But he had not anticipated what came next. In the shadowed opening of the cave he had discovered, where he sensed a great disturbance in the aura of the land, he had found it. "Draco Zombie."
A level 90 monstrosity, towering above him menacingly, it's body decayed and rotting; a zombified dragon, colossal in size, with bones and flesh stretching out over it's body, the smell almost overpowering the Shaman completely. Weakly raising his scythe, he had blindly charged, thinking of nothing but the chance to get rid of the darkness that was plaguing the dragon. But with one horrifying crash of it's clawed talon, he was sent soaring out of the cave's entrance, tumbling down over the ground and crumpling into a weighted heap. He reached out toward the grey, murky sky above him, his hand grasping for air as light faded from his vision. The last thing he felt, as his body drifted into non-existence, was the anger and betrayal of Skrowe, his beloved Shikigami; a scornful rage boiling in the back of his mind. "Damn it," he muttered out in a feeble whisper, as his body evaporated into data particles, bubbles of code that floated away, drifting upon the air.
As his mind slowly returned to himself, his eyes fluttered open, a strange wrenching feeling in his stomach that he couldn't quite put a finger on, like it wasn't actually there. "Lazy as always; I see I don't change that much in the future." Dorian blinked as he heard a familiar voice speak, his eyes going wide as he attempted to pick out who it was that had spoken. Rolling his head to turn his vision, his heart skipped a beat as he had the most nauseating out-of-body experience; there he was, or at least, the old Dorian... No, not Dorian... Chroma Abernath. Another odd guttural surge from his stomach, and yet it still felt out of place, like it wasn't him experiencing it... Like he was connected to something; loosely, but still connected. "Come on, slowpoke, up you get," Chroma mused, extending out his hand towards himself. Dorian hesitantly grabbed at the offered appendage, yanking to pull himself up onto his own two feet.
As if on cue, both of them brushed out their appearance, a habit he had inherited into the new world from himself. They chuckled lightly together, before releasing a content sigh as they finally realised they were both the same person. "So... where am I?" Chroma rolled his eyes, prodding the Shaman's chest. "Come now, don't tell me you've already forgotten?" The prod seemed to jolt Dorian into a strange mesmerised state, as he felt himself revisit the last few minutes; watching himself rush in foolishly, only to come crashing back out. His eyes went wide with fear and shock, his body rigid and stiff. Dying was one thing, but watching yourself die, unable to do anything to help? That was what hit the Shaman close to home. Shaking his head, he pressed his hand to his temple, trying to massage out the nagging pain that had surfaced there. "So, I died... But why haven't I awoken in the Cathedral? Like they said I would?"
Chroma gave a shrug, shifting his hand up to pat the Shaman on his shoulder. "I think this is... a ritual of some kind, perhaps. Don't take my word on it, but I think this is what happens the first time, like an inauguration." Dorian nodded, understanding the intelligence behind his thought process. It was at this time that the Shaman took the chance to actually look over his old self, the appearance strikingly different from his own. Besides the fact that Chroma was taller by a few inches, he was a dark brown in hair colour; and whereas Dorian's hair was somewhat smoothened and straight down his scalp, Chroma's stuck out interestingly, a ragged mess that somehow managed to look appealing in it's lack of uniformity. It was topped with two small braids, tied off just underneath his right ear. A strange fashion choice, but it worked. His face was older, though there were still hints of childish features here and there that made an interesting mix. As for clothing, he wore the same outfit Dorian had entered Elder Tale in; navy jeans, grey sneakers, a light grey sleeve shirt that reached to his elbows and a red plaid button-up that went over the top, the buttons left undone. What struck out at him most was the eyes, the bright, vibrant green orbs that peered back into his violet hues.
"You've changed a lot since you arrived here, Dorian... Perhaps you have more changing to do." Chroma released his hand from the Shaman's shoulder, stepping back to slowly disappear into the air. Dorian blinked in surprise, turning to look around and try and find him, but his vision was concentrated elsewhere, for some reason. Where he once thought he stood in a vacant nothingness, he now saw a sprawling suburban street, himself standing in the centre of the road, houses lining either side of him. As he looked towards the cul-de-sac at the end of the road, he spotted his house, or at least, his house from before the Catastrophe; a lavish twenty-first century manor that stood vigilant atop the hill that overlooked the cul-de-sac, the tiny road shooting off of it spiralling up to the front porch. "Home," he whispered to himself, walking towards the welcoming image. But as he began approaching, his mind was brought to notice the emptiness of the street, the lack of people starting to disturb his brain; this was always a busy street, full of kids playing various different games either on the road or in their front yards.
And then, slowly, dark clouds began to swirl across his vision, slowly consuming the image before him, as a familiar voice whispered into his ears, "This is no longer your home, lad. You must accept that we are gone from you now. You have a new world to start fresh in. So make the most of it." A single tear began to roll off onto his cheek, as the Shaman fell to his knees, feeling himself collide with the asphalt, and yet not feeling it at all. Another out-of-body experience. As quickly as the image had appeared, it was engulfed, the dark shadows washing over his orbed eyes and blocking his view completely. Black. Darkness. Now he remembered; the shadows that had been drawn from Halloween, the darkness that had zombified the dragon or that had ensnared his fingers when he had snagged the fabric from underneath the bench in the church; it was all coming back to him, haunting him, manipulating him.
As the darkness faded, his vision was drawn to a new image, one of desolation and emptiness. A vast ocean of sand sprawled out before him, an endless desert with no civilization or signs of life in sight. The only change in colour was above, a starkly grey sky that seemed to swirl as blackened shadows shifted across it's surface, appearing like clouds but black and shimmering with life. Dorian stood up, getting himself a foothold in the sand as he peered up at the sky. "Do you understand now, Dorian?" The voice of Chroma had returned, his form reappearing atop the dune nearby, his voice calling down to the young Shaman. "This plane of existence, it exists only in your mind. The shadows above are crashing in, your connection to the world and it's spirits being manipulated by the forces of dark." Chroma then pointed to Dorian, a staunch finger, as if calling him to action. "You must fight back; you must reclaim your mind... Or you will be driven mad in this new world."
Dorian swallowed hard, looking from Chroma to the sky repeatedly before ending back on himself. "But how? I need help, I need someone to guide me." As if on cue, Chroma opened his arms wide, various forms appearing beside him atop the dune. The image of a stout dwarf, garbed in Summoner's clothes, a familiar fatherly smile donning his features; the image of a stern elven woman, garbed in blackened leather, arms crossed over her chest as she smirked, her visage equal parts brash, cold, and kind. "Fletcher and Sayha..." He murmured under his breath, as more and more forms appeared among the group. The Swashbuckler Dumah, standing proud and tall; the Samurai Sark, short among his compatriots but with a large smile and an even larger sword. The Sorcerer Artemisia appeared, a warm smile and an intricate staff ready for action. Others he had only briefly met, but had been no less helpful in shaping him through his journey. But alas, it was only for a brief moment that they would stay.
"We cannot help you, Dorian. We are your friends and allies, yes; but this battle is one you must fight with yourself." The cryptic ending to Chroma's message sparked in Dorian's mind, but he was unable to ask what he meant, as the various forms fizzled and dissipated into shadows of their own, floating upwards to join the mass of darkness above. Hope seemed lost, in that long period of silence, but one tiny voice broke the quiet. "Come on. With yourself? He's just giving the answer to you." Dorian turned wildly to see the familiar chibi scarecrow floating beside him, his tiny arms crossed over his chest. "I thought you were mad at me..." Skrowe rolled his eyes, floating closer to speak. "I was... Still am... But we're a team, big guy. The Shaman and the Shikigami; so let's kick this things behind." He pointed up towards the sky, a malicious grin on his face. "Besides; there's only room for one Scarecrow in your brain... And let's face it, I'm cuter."
The two of them happily chuckled at the sudden humour, before staring up at the sky once more. "Together then." With that, Dorian pointed his hand up at the largest mass of shadows, charging his mana into Skrowe as he shouted full force. "Soulcutter!" With that, Skrowe's body began to shift and form into a ball of energy, a prismatic orb of light that sparked in various places. With a burst upwards, the energy speared towards the sky, piercing the shadows with a deafening boom. Where he had struck, the grey began to dissipate and peel away, the sky returning to a more natural blue colour as the shadows were swiftly eaten up by the light, the blue spreading outwards until all of the grey and shadows were dissolved. A wave of understanding washed over the Shaman's body, and he felt himself pulled in towards an unknown location. His vision slowly dissolved as the shadows had, and he was yanked with sudden force back into his real body.
A sudden gasp erupted from his mouth as he awoke upon the cold hard floor of the cathedral, his form jolting up onto his feet. He soon discovered the reason he had been feeling the weird, out-of-body stomach surges, as his real stomach lurched; with a reeling buck of his upper torso, he released a bolt of vomit onto the floor, pulling back as his stomach settled. "First death experience. To be expected, I suppose." He wiped away the residue on his mouth, noting himself to get a drink later to wash down the horrible taste in his mouth. Grabbing a nearby mop from the cathedral closet, he cleaned up his mess and set back the equipment where it belonged, before striding out into the streets. A new dawn approaches us, big guy. What next? Skrowe's question had already been answered in Dorian's mind, his lips curling into a smirk as he looked up at the familiar blue sky above. "We make the most of this new world. After all, it's our home now."
Notes: Set during the last day of the Halloween event; Dorian reawakens in the Cathedral just as it ends.
Words: 2124
Tags: N/A
A level 90 monstrosity, towering above him menacingly, it's body decayed and rotting; a zombified dragon, colossal in size, with bones and flesh stretching out over it's body, the smell almost overpowering the Shaman completely. Weakly raising his scythe, he had blindly charged, thinking of nothing but the chance to get rid of the darkness that was plaguing the dragon. But with one horrifying crash of it's clawed talon, he was sent soaring out of the cave's entrance, tumbling down over the ground and crumpling into a weighted heap. He reached out toward the grey, murky sky above him, his hand grasping for air as light faded from his vision. The last thing he felt, as his body drifted into non-existence, was the anger and betrayal of Skrowe, his beloved Shikigami; a scornful rage boiling in the back of his mind. "Damn it," he muttered out in a feeble whisper, as his body evaporated into data particles, bubbles of code that floated away, drifting upon the air.
As his mind slowly returned to himself, his eyes fluttered open, a strange wrenching feeling in his stomach that he couldn't quite put a finger on, like it wasn't actually there. "Lazy as always; I see I don't change that much in the future." Dorian blinked as he heard a familiar voice speak, his eyes going wide as he attempted to pick out who it was that had spoken. Rolling his head to turn his vision, his heart skipped a beat as he had the most nauseating out-of-body experience; there he was, or at least, the old Dorian... No, not Dorian... Chroma Abernath. Another odd guttural surge from his stomach, and yet it still felt out of place, like it wasn't him experiencing it... Like he was connected to something; loosely, but still connected. "Come on, slowpoke, up you get," Chroma mused, extending out his hand towards himself. Dorian hesitantly grabbed at the offered appendage, yanking to pull himself up onto his own two feet.
As if on cue, both of them brushed out their appearance, a habit he had inherited into the new world from himself. They chuckled lightly together, before releasing a content sigh as they finally realised they were both the same person. "So... where am I?" Chroma rolled his eyes, prodding the Shaman's chest. "Come now, don't tell me you've already forgotten?" The prod seemed to jolt Dorian into a strange mesmerised state, as he felt himself revisit the last few minutes; watching himself rush in foolishly, only to come crashing back out. His eyes went wide with fear and shock, his body rigid and stiff. Dying was one thing, but watching yourself die, unable to do anything to help? That was what hit the Shaman close to home. Shaking his head, he pressed his hand to his temple, trying to massage out the nagging pain that had surfaced there. "So, I died... But why haven't I awoken in the Cathedral? Like they said I would?"
Chroma gave a shrug, shifting his hand up to pat the Shaman on his shoulder. "I think this is... a ritual of some kind, perhaps. Don't take my word on it, but I think this is what happens the first time, like an inauguration." Dorian nodded, understanding the intelligence behind his thought process. It was at this time that the Shaman took the chance to actually look over his old self, the appearance strikingly different from his own. Besides the fact that Chroma was taller by a few inches, he was a dark brown in hair colour; and whereas Dorian's hair was somewhat smoothened and straight down his scalp, Chroma's stuck out interestingly, a ragged mess that somehow managed to look appealing in it's lack of uniformity. It was topped with two small braids, tied off just underneath his right ear. A strange fashion choice, but it worked. His face was older, though there were still hints of childish features here and there that made an interesting mix. As for clothing, he wore the same outfit Dorian had entered Elder Tale in; navy jeans, grey sneakers, a light grey sleeve shirt that reached to his elbows and a red plaid button-up that went over the top, the buttons left undone. What struck out at him most was the eyes, the bright, vibrant green orbs that peered back into his violet hues.
"You've changed a lot since you arrived here, Dorian... Perhaps you have more changing to do." Chroma released his hand from the Shaman's shoulder, stepping back to slowly disappear into the air. Dorian blinked in surprise, turning to look around and try and find him, but his vision was concentrated elsewhere, for some reason. Where he once thought he stood in a vacant nothingness, he now saw a sprawling suburban street, himself standing in the centre of the road, houses lining either side of him. As he looked towards the cul-de-sac at the end of the road, he spotted his house, or at least, his house from before the Catastrophe; a lavish twenty-first century manor that stood vigilant atop the hill that overlooked the cul-de-sac, the tiny road shooting off of it spiralling up to the front porch. "Home," he whispered to himself, walking towards the welcoming image. But as he began approaching, his mind was brought to notice the emptiness of the street, the lack of people starting to disturb his brain; this was always a busy street, full of kids playing various different games either on the road or in their front yards.
And then, slowly, dark clouds began to swirl across his vision, slowly consuming the image before him, as a familiar voice whispered into his ears, "This is no longer your home, lad. You must accept that we are gone from you now. You have a new world to start fresh in. So make the most of it." A single tear began to roll off onto his cheek, as the Shaman fell to his knees, feeling himself collide with the asphalt, and yet not feeling it at all. Another out-of-body experience. As quickly as the image had appeared, it was engulfed, the dark shadows washing over his orbed eyes and blocking his view completely. Black. Darkness. Now he remembered; the shadows that had been drawn from Halloween, the darkness that had zombified the dragon or that had ensnared his fingers when he had snagged the fabric from underneath the bench in the church; it was all coming back to him, haunting him, manipulating him.
As the darkness faded, his vision was drawn to a new image, one of desolation and emptiness. A vast ocean of sand sprawled out before him, an endless desert with no civilization or signs of life in sight. The only change in colour was above, a starkly grey sky that seemed to swirl as blackened shadows shifted across it's surface, appearing like clouds but black and shimmering with life. Dorian stood up, getting himself a foothold in the sand as he peered up at the sky. "Do you understand now, Dorian?" The voice of Chroma had returned, his form reappearing atop the dune nearby, his voice calling down to the young Shaman. "This plane of existence, it exists only in your mind. The shadows above are crashing in, your connection to the world and it's spirits being manipulated by the forces of dark." Chroma then pointed to Dorian, a staunch finger, as if calling him to action. "You must fight back; you must reclaim your mind... Or you will be driven mad in this new world."
Dorian swallowed hard, looking from Chroma to the sky repeatedly before ending back on himself. "But how? I need help, I need someone to guide me." As if on cue, Chroma opened his arms wide, various forms appearing beside him atop the dune. The image of a stout dwarf, garbed in Summoner's clothes, a familiar fatherly smile donning his features; the image of a stern elven woman, garbed in blackened leather, arms crossed over her chest as she smirked, her visage equal parts brash, cold, and kind. "Fletcher and Sayha..." He murmured under his breath, as more and more forms appeared among the group. The Swashbuckler Dumah, standing proud and tall; the Samurai Sark, short among his compatriots but with a large smile and an even larger sword. The Sorcerer Artemisia appeared, a warm smile and an intricate staff ready for action. Others he had only briefly met, but had been no less helpful in shaping him through his journey. But alas, it was only for a brief moment that they would stay.
"We cannot help you, Dorian. We are your friends and allies, yes; but this battle is one you must fight with yourself." The cryptic ending to Chroma's message sparked in Dorian's mind, but he was unable to ask what he meant, as the various forms fizzled and dissipated into shadows of their own, floating upwards to join the mass of darkness above. Hope seemed lost, in that long period of silence, but one tiny voice broke the quiet. "Come on. With yourself? He's just giving the answer to you." Dorian turned wildly to see the familiar chibi scarecrow floating beside him, his tiny arms crossed over his chest. "I thought you were mad at me..." Skrowe rolled his eyes, floating closer to speak. "I was... Still am... But we're a team, big guy. The Shaman and the Shikigami; so let's kick this things behind." He pointed up towards the sky, a malicious grin on his face. "Besides; there's only room for one Scarecrow in your brain... And let's face it, I'm cuter."
The two of them happily chuckled at the sudden humour, before staring up at the sky once more. "Together then." With that, Dorian pointed his hand up at the largest mass of shadows, charging his mana into Skrowe as he shouted full force. "Soulcutter!" With that, Skrowe's body began to shift and form into a ball of energy, a prismatic orb of light that sparked in various places. With a burst upwards, the energy speared towards the sky, piercing the shadows with a deafening boom. Where he had struck, the grey began to dissipate and peel away, the sky returning to a more natural blue colour as the shadows were swiftly eaten up by the light, the blue spreading outwards until all of the grey and shadows were dissolved. A wave of understanding washed over the Shaman's body, and he felt himself pulled in towards an unknown location. His vision slowly dissolved as the shadows had, and he was yanked with sudden force back into his real body.
A sudden gasp erupted from his mouth as he awoke upon the cold hard floor of the cathedral, his form jolting up onto his feet. He soon discovered the reason he had been feeling the weird, out-of-body stomach surges, as his real stomach lurched; with a reeling buck of his upper torso, he released a bolt of vomit onto the floor, pulling back as his stomach settled. "First death experience. To be expected, I suppose." He wiped away the residue on his mouth, noting himself to get a drink later to wash down the horrible taste in his mouth. Grabbing a nearby mop from the cathedral closet, he cleaned up his mess and set back the equipment where it belonged, before striding out into the streets. A new dawn approaches us, big guy. What next? Skrowe's question had already been answered in Dorian's mind, his lips curling into a smirk as he looked up at the familiar blue sky above. "We make the most of this new world. After all, it's our home now."
Notes: Set during the last day of the Halloween event; Dorian reawakens in the Cathedral just as it ends.
Words: 2124
Tags: N/A
