Hey! This is my take on the writing competition 'A Moment In Time'. The intro and the epilogue sections are both a brief recollection of my character's, Morgan's, solo interaction with a clicker that happened on March 15th. The middle section is a venture into some projections of Morgan's mind and conscience rather than actual events. Colour coding in a spoiler below to decrease confusion.
My thanks to @Magivore for inspiration for this little piece
Click for ambience! <3
-----
Greygate was about to fall, it seemed. People scattered from the bridge - a charter ran in one direction, another in different. Some escorted nobles, some their own lives. In this moment, Morgan's armour-clad, raggedy-breathed figure clambered on to seek something as vague as someone - anyone - living. But to protect them or feel the mere relief of seeing them?
The breizhen knight was not fortunate enough to have that opportunity on this day, no, as the clicking just behind her got louder. Cruel whispers of cowardice descended upon the back of her head, and as much as she tried to pick up the pace, they would only get closer.
There was nowhere to run, not fast enough. The fateful moment was that of Morgan's crossing of a wooden bridge, where the invisible beast took a knock at her side and flung her right over the railing to thunk into the river with a loud splash.
But even as the weight of her steel armour sent her to the river's very bank, that was not enough for the clicker, no. It submerged with the breizh and found its claws grasped around her throat, squeezing her of any life. Morgan did her best to cling on, with dear hope, pull on every last bit of air, even if it meant drawing in water too. But her sword had descended somewhere underneath her. The water turned ever darker, her limbs weaker.. until she could feel nothing more, but the deadly grasp around her last thread of life.
-----
The breizh found herself dropped onto an elevated wooden ledge, somewhere on the middle of the staircase leading into the deepest library grounds. Morgan's wet clothes, seaweed ridden limbs and black mess of muddy hair slowly started to form a kneeled person, despite her main focus of just drawing in breath for the life of her.
Somewhere beneath, about a dozen heads raised to observe. All faceless, shadowy minions, save for the Lich Lord hovering over his lecture stage. His face was indeed memorable, that boney structure and crimson cinders in the place of eyes tearing through the near-drowned ailor's very being as soon as their sights connected.
Morgan, now befallen to all fours, gasped for air and coughed out water, wide emerald eyes set upon that underworld's very lord. The faceless minions began to laugh at the breizh's despair, though Xilthruum raised a single hand to immediately bring the halls to a silence. He descended from his stage to hover to the room's middle and look up at the breizh upon the ledge. He knew what was that look of terror in the emerald eyes.
"The humanum are so inclined to the belief they will be greeted by some figure dread,
judged for their mortal acts… and yet, I am not your gatekeeper; you are not yet dead."
Morgan Zhau had found her left hand onto the holster at her hip, then, and already drew it out to point it at the lich's skull. Click, puff. The water had made the weapon useless. Realisation hit the breizh quickly in the form of shivers down her back, a clear death sentence now that the ancient being was provoked.
".. and immediately, your battle must carry on here.
But beware, there are no angels present for you to serve."
Morgan's swift hand had found the hilt of the longsword somewhere on the ledge, during her roll forward. With the hilt grasped for the life of her, and wet boots landed onto the library's floor with a plop, the woman's spare hand joined the hilt's grasp. She swung the blade overhead and twirled it so, her hips twirled in a deathly dance, but the sharp end of the longsword did not reach the sanguine. Every time it would come near, Xilthruum'd swing his figure in an arc to the left or the right, taking time to swat down his robe for the metallic dust the close swing might've left on the endeared fabric. The breizh's swings and cuts were ever restless, but the lich grew impatient, drawing a rotten particle from his palm to fling it at the woman's torso. It struck her with immense force, leaving the wooden seat she landed into a crooked mess.
"It is not yet my time, sanguine."
Morgan spoke throatily, through her teeth. She quickly found herself stood, feeling more powerful than ever before - the stinging pain in her sides from earlier impact felt nothing in comparison. The breizh took three strong steps forward and began swirling the longsword overhead once more. The emerald eyes were set upon the towering, skeletal figure, most full of determination.
"Nor is it mine. What then? Shall you swing with no rest--
use the invigorated feeling in your fibers granted as my guest?"
The lich lord hovered in place, his arms lowered, but the room developed a deeper darkness than ever before. The walls moved, faces forming to observe the mortal woman. Even the floor started to creak and pulse as eyes and hands alike creeped through, whispering to their lord.
"To rid the living of the terrorizing shadow you cast. To free many of your shackles. An underrealm taken over by your false shroud of mystery, knowledge and manifested ideals no more -- they must see the putrid blood instead, the rot, the agony you cause."
Morgan's words, though firmly spoken, echoed quietly through the hall as if sent back by a ravaging storm of the night. Despite all that was against her, she took a charge forward and swung the longsword with might and precision. The lich had since grown irritated of dashing around the entire library and instead circled the breizh in a small whirl, slipping past her every slash and swing, until the long-dead arms finally found their way between the floorboards and grabbed, tugged at Morgan's legs to get her on her knees.
"Let the crimson flame overlook and tell this, there will always be some obscure sect
and loyal men to carry out every charming word, so save the bolt of your puretek.
You see, ailor, I am not by far the worst, only the one your righteous path has taken to,
made you feel like violent meaningless life lived through has finally hit break through."
Xilthruum truly stood in place, now. Tall as ever, but he trusted his domain to utilise all arcane strength to hold the hopeful bloodcast down. And so it did. Perhaps that was what caused the shivers to proceed over Morgan's spine - the calm in which sanguine had taken this attempt on its existence, to carry on leading a conversation with a friend.
"You are wrong, lich. There is more to me than to seek a means to an end; a villain to put a blade in. The moment you fall, my story will not end - it'll only begin."
Morgan spoke with her own kind of power, and yet, somehow… it overwhelmed her. She breathed hard, as if her lungs were filling up with coal - that weight, that pain, was it the meaning of losing faith in her own belief?
"Then strike me down, just as planned, and brace the emptiness it brings. Prove me your lord, your nightmare, and your restless soul…
Or instead take your sword, go back through that watery portal. Show me you will seek your own salvation without a scapegoat to make you whole."
Up until the last word, Morgan was still encompassed by near pitch black darkness and a hold of bones, but all such fell to whence it came as soon as the last word was said and done. With a grip on her trusted hilt, the breizh found herself rising. And though emerald eyes had not yet left crimson cinders, Morgan, without a word, stepped backward to let herself be taken by a watery hold.
-----
Morgan opened her eyes once more with new clearance. The longsword was in reach. She took it firmly in hand and thrust it upward at whatever was holding her.
Thrust, shriek.
The steel blade and water around it mixed with a blackish liquid of a void mass-- whatever this daemonic thing had in blood's stead. The clicker shrieked more furiously and loudly than she'd ever heard one to, and before she knew it, Morgan felt herself flung into the air with so much immense force that the water surface was a good twenty feet beneath her now.
The luck and sheer happiness in that moment was very brief, as instead of a watery grave, came a building's facade with a sole goal in mind - showing how little Morgan appreciated her healthy bones when she had them. A crash against the wall and a fall into the bushes, the breizh could barely held conscience, but one thing she knew.
Fucking sanguine was too wise for his own good.
event environment
dream environment
xilthruum's speech
morgan's speech
dream environment
xilthruum's speech
morgan's speech
My thanks to @Magivore for inspiration for this little piece
Click for ambience! <3
-----
Greygate was about to fall, it seemed. People scattered from the bridge - a charter ran in one direction, another in different. Some escorted nobles, some their own lives. In this moment, Morgan's armour-clad, raggedy-breathed figure clambered on to seek something as vague as someone - anyone - living. But to protect them or feel the mere relief of seeing them?
The breizhen knight was not fortunate enough to have that opportunity on this day, no, as the clicking just behind her got louder. Cruel whispers of cowardice descended upon the back of her head, and as much as she tried to pick up the pace, they would only get closer.
There was nowhere to run, not fast enough. The fateful moment was that of Morgan's crossing of a wooden bridge, where the invisible beast took a knock at her side and flung her right over the railing to thunk into the river with a loud splash.
But even as the weight of her steel armour sent her to the river's very bank, that was not enough for the clicker, no. It submerged with the breizh and found its claws grasped around her throat, squeezing her of any life. Morgan did her best to cling on, with dear hope, pull on every last bit of air, even if it meant drawing in water too. But her sword had descended somewhere underneath her. The water turned ever darker, her limbs weaker.. until she could feel nothing more, but the deadly grasp around her last thread of life.
-----
The breizh found herself dropped onto an elevated wooden ledge, somewhere on the middle of the staircase leading into the deepest library grounds. Morgan's wet clothes, seaweed ridden limbs and black mess of muddy hair slowly started to form a kneeled person, despite her main focus of just drawing in breath for the life of her.
Somewhere beneath, about a dozen heads raised to observe. All faceless, shadowy minions, save for the Lich Lord hovering over his lecture stage. His face was indeed memorable, that boney structure and crimson cinders in the place of eyes tearing through the near-drowned ailor's very being as soon as their sights connected.
Morgan, now befallen to all fours, gasped for air and coughed out water, wide emerald eyes set upon that underworld's very lord. The faceless minions began to laugh at the breizh's despair, though Xilthruum raised a single hand to immediately bring the halls to a silence. He descended from his stage to hover to the room's middle and look up at the breizh upon the ledge. He knew what was that look of terror in the emerald eyes.
"The humanum are so inclined to the belief they will be greeted by some figure dread,
judged for their mortal acts… and yet, I am not your gatekeeper; you are not yet dead."
Morgan Zhau had found her left hand onto the holster at her hip, then, and already drew it out to point it at the lich's skull. Click, puff. The water had made the weapon useless. Realisation hit the breizh quickly in the form of shivers down her back, a clear death sentence now that the ancient being was provoked.
".. and immediately, your battle must carry on here.
But beware, there are no angels present for you to serve."
Morgan's swift hand had found the hilt of the longsword somewhere on the ledge, during her roll forward. With the hilt grasped for the life of her, and wet boots landed onto the library's floor with a plop, the woman's spare hand joined the hilt's grasp. She swung the blade overhead and twirled it so, her hips twirled in a deathly dance, but the sharp end of the longsword did not reach the sanguine. Every time it would come near, Xilthruum'd swing his figure in an arc to the left or the right, taking time to swat down his robe for the metallic dust the close swing might've left on the endeared fabric. The breizh's swings and cuts were ever restless, but the lich grew impatient, drawing a rotten particle from his palm to fling it at the woman's torso. It struck her with immense force, leaving the wooden seat she landed into a crooked mess.
"It is not yet my time, sanguine."
Morgan spoke throatily, through her teeth. She quickly found herself stood, feeling more powerful than ever before - the stinging pain in her sides from earlier impact felt nothing in comparison. The breizh took three strong steps forward and began swirling the longsword overhead once more. The emerald eyes were set upon the towering, skeletal figure, most full of determination.
"Nor is it mine. What then? Shall you swing with no rest--
use the invigorated feeling in your fibers granted as my guest?"
The lich lord hovered in place, his arms lowered, but the room developed a deeper darkness than ever before. The walls moved, faces forming to observe the mortal woman. Even the floor started to creak and pulse as eyes and hands alike creeped through, whispering to their lord.
"To rid the living of the terrorizing shadow you cast. To free many of your shackles. An underrealm taken over by your false shroud of mystery, knowledge and manifested ideals no more -- they must see the putrid blood instead, the rot, the agony you cause."
Morgan's words, though firmly spoken, echoed quietly through the hall as if sent back by a ravaging storm of the night. Despite all that was against her, she took a charge forward and swung the longsword with might and precision. The lich had since grown irritated of dashing around the entire library and instead circled the breizh in a small whirl, slipping past her every slash and swing, until the long-dead arms finally found their way between the floorboards and grabbed, tugged at Morgan's legs to get her on her knees.
"Let the crimson flame overlook and tell this, there will always be some obscure sect
and loyal men to carry out every charming word, so save the bolt of your puretek.
You see, ailor, I am not by far the worst, only the one your righteous path has taken to,
made you feel like violent meaningless life lived through has finally hit break through."
Xilthruum truly stood in place, now. Tall as ever, but he trusted his domain to utilise all arcane strength to hold the hopeful bloodcast down. And so it did. Perhaps that was what caused the shivers to proceed over Morgan's spine - the calm in which sanguine had taken this attempt on its existence, to carry on leading a conversation with a friend.
"You are wrong, lich. There is more to me than to seek a means to an end; a villain to put a blade in. The moment you fall, my story will not end - it'll only begin."
Morgan spoke with her own kind of power, and yet, somehow… it overwhelmed her. She breathed hard, as if her lungs were filling up with coal - that weight, that pain, was it the meaning of losing faith in her own belief?
"Then strike me down, just as planned, and brace the emptiness it brings. Prove me your lord, your nightmare, and your restless soul…
Or instead take your sword, go back through that watery portal. Show me you will seek your own salvation without a scapegoat to make you whole."
Up until the last word, Morgan was still encompassed by near pitch black darkness and a hold of bones, but all such fell to whence it came as soon as the last word was said and done. With a grip on her trusted hilt, the breizh found herself rising. And though emerald eyes had not yet left crimson cinders, Morgan, without a word, stepped backward to let herself be taken by a watery hold.
-----
Morgan opened her eyes once more with new clearance. The longsword was in reach. She took it firmly in hand and thrust it upward at whatever was holding her.
Thrust, shriek.
The steel blade and water around it mixed with a blackish liquid of a void mass-- whatever this daemonic thing had in blood's stead. The clicker shrieked more furiously and loudly than she'd ever heard one to, and before she knew it, Morgan felt herself flung into the air with so much immense force that the water surface was a good twenty feet beneath her now.
The luck and sheer happiness in that moment was very brief, as instead of a watery grave, came a building's facade with a sole goal in mind - showing how little Morgan appreciated her healthy bones when she had them. A crash against the wall and a fall into the bushes, the breizh could barely held conscience, but one thing she knew.
Fucking sanguine was too wise for his own good.
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