Speaker
First Post
Speaker vs Barendd Nobeard
Pressure.
Something is about me, pressing in, squeezing. I move. Muscles respond slowly, as if held in a powerful grip. I look. My eyes are open, yet I cannot see; the colour is leeched out of the world.
All is white, and in that white is movement, though I cannot comprehend what it is that I see.
Something is wrong. Wrong. I yearn to know what it is, but I cannot think, my thoughts are hazy and as vague as the formless substance around me. Before I can understand, I dream.
“Hello, child.”
The world is now mine to observe once more, my thoughts restored to focus. At first I can see only the colour gold, a great expanse of precious metal. A statue of gold. I know where I am, though I do not know how I arrived. Nor do I know the identity of the voice that now speaks from the air to me.
“Memories are powerful. They remind you of who you are. They take you back, and within the past they shape you, creating a new being from the old. Do you recognize this one, child?”
I looked up. My gaze reached high, and still higher, until the vast expanse of a blue sky filled my eyes and still the statue rises, burnished by the light, beautiful. Now I know where I am.
“This was the day you swore to my enemy that you would be faithful. That your life would be spent fighting for his glory. That you would die for the honour. Do you remember, child?”
My hands—small and smooth, without the rough calluses that would come. My feet—bare and unmarked by many years on the road. I remember taking the oath, young in years and experience, innocent to the consequences of my actions. I remember that I was once a child.
(‘The child' picture)
Then all is white again. I am once again held by pressure. I flail and struggle, to no avail. My unease is compounded by the fact that I cannot breathe. My mouth stubbornly refuses to open. I will suffocate soon.
“Time passes, and oaths grow bitter in the cold expanse of months and years.”
I am free again. A young man stands before me, athletic, strong. He smiles at me, white teeth showing, lips curled back. I still cannot breathe, but the need to do so passes from my body.
“How acidic does your tongue now taste, when you come to the end, and know that all you’ve done is done in vain?” He asks, teasingly.
We are in a green field, him and I. My shape is no longer that of a young girl, but of a woman, fine toned by the hunt. Now I sense that it is my turn to speak.
“Any who work against you cannot die in futility.” My voice rings harsh in my ears.
“So, you have guessed my name?” the young man inquires.
“I have guessed that you are a servant of evil.”
“No servant, wretch, but evil itself. Now with power over you. The power of life and death.”
“I am a hunter. You have no power over the light I chose to reside within me.”
“Indeed. But I have the power to ask you now, when the choice matters most, if you want that light to remain.”
I would speak to deny him, to dismiss that choice as one already taken, but the young man turns from me and bends to his knees. His face begins to smoke, then his body, as if some great fire consumed him from within.
(‘Steaming man’ picture)
When he rises again and turns back to me, I am forced to step back in horror. Where his eyes once were are empty sockets, where smooth skin stretched over hard muscle there is only bone. His hair is long and white. His teeth still grin, but now it is the fleshless grin of the dead. Permanent and unseeing, that of a dead man.
“When you wake from this nightmare, warrior, you will find yourself immersed in water, flung from the cliffs into the ocean depths, your lungs poised on the brink of collapse and your body too far from the air above.”
So that is the pressure; that is why I couldn’t breathe.
“What your merciful mind has caused you to forget, warrior, is that you are betrayed, your mission foiled. My men have found you, and have overcome you, and now have thrown you to the very edge of life.”
The white I saw was the exhalation of my fall, the pouring out of my breath. A white curtain beyond which death laid waiting.
“Whether you survive the experience or not now depends on my will, warrior. A simple spell will whisk you from the water, and you will find air your friend once more. The price will come, but it pales in comparison with the alternative.”
The water pressing all about me, slowing my movements, impeding my arms and legs, encasement as strong as steel and as final as that horror which it brings.
“Really, I cannot believe you have a choice at all, warrior. Yet I must ask. Is this your brave yet useless end? Or do you live, plucked from the jaws of death, just as they snap shut.”
His grin is mocking, his stance insolent. He already knows that answer I must give.
(‘Mocking grin’ picture)
I do not waste time in responding. “I accept”
He laughs. “Then you are mine.” His hands began to move, the dead lips start to utter the words that will save me.
“I accept.” I say again, staring down into the black wells of his eyes. “I accept the fulfilment of my oath, the promise I swore to defend the light, and the path I have led.”
The dead man stops his spell, his eyes on mine, his teeth still and silent in the wake of my words.
“I accept my death, and do not submit. I die free of you, and I die well.”
“As is your choice.” His final words to me are cold, but I am warm now.
On all sides the water waits once more. My lungs are empty. I fall through the white curtain of air that heralds my passage. My limbs lose their strength and become still.
Yet my mind is clear.
I fall towards the depths, and rise into the light.
(‘Into the depths’ picture)
Pressure.
Something is about me, pressing in, squeezing. I move. Muscles respond slowly, as if held in a powerful grip. I look. My eyes are open, yet I cannot see; the colour is leeched out of the world.
All is white, and in that white is movement, though I cannot comprehend what it is that I see.
Something is wrong. Wrong. I yearn to know what it is, but I cannot think, my thoughts are hazy and as vague as the formless substance around me. Before I can understand, I dream.
“Hello, child.”
The world is now mine to observe once more, my thoughts restored to focus. At first I can see only the colour gold, a great expanse of precious metal. A statue of gold. I know where I am, though I do not know how I arrived. Nor do I know the identity of the voice that now speaks from the air to me.
“Memories are powerful. They remind you of who you are. They take you back, and within the past they shape you, creating a new being from the old. Do you recognize this one, child?”
I looked up. My gaze reached high, and still higher, until the vast expanse of a blue sky filled my eyes and still the statue rises, burnished by the light, beautiful. Now I know where I am.
“This was the day you swore to my enemy that you would be faithful. That your life would be spent fighting for his glory. That you would die for the honour. Do you remember, child?”
My hands—small and smooth, without the rough calluses that would come. My feet—bare and unmarked by many years on the road. I remember taking the oath, young in years and experience, innocent to the consequences of my actions. I remember that I was once a child.
(‘The child' picture)
Then all is white again. I am once again held by pressure. I flail and struggle, to no avail. My unease is compounded by the fact that I cannot breathe. My mouth stubbornly refuses to open. I will suffocate soon.
“Time passes, and oaths grow bitter in the cold expanse of months and years.”
I am free again. A young man stands before me, athletic, strong. He smiles at me, white teeth showing, lips curled back. I still cannot breathe, but the need to do so passes from my body.
“How acidic does your tongue now taste, when you come to the end, and know that all you’ve done is done in vain?” He asks, teasingly.
We are in a green field, him and I. My shape is no longer that of a young girl, but of a woman, fine toned by the hunt. Now I sense that it is my turn to speak.
“Any who work against you cannot die in futility.” My voice rings harsh in my ears.
“So, you have guessed my name?” the young man inquires.
“I have guessed that you are a servant of evil.”
“No servant, wretch, but evil itself. Now with power over you. The power of life and death.”
“I am a hunter. You have no power over the light I chose to reside within me.”
“Indeed. But I have the power to ask you now, when the choice matters most, if you want that light to remain.”
I would speak to deny him, to dismiss that choice as one already taken, but the young man turns from me and bends to his knees. His face begins to smoke, then his body, as if some great fire consumed him from within.
(‘Steaming man’ picture)
When he rises again and turns back to me, I am forced to step back in horror. Where his eyes once were are empty sockets, where smooth skin stretched over hard muscle there is only bone. His hair is long and white. His teeth still grin, but now it is the fleshless grin of the dead. Permanent and unseeing, that of a dead man.
“When you wake from this nightmare, warrior, you will find yourself immersed in water, flung from the cliffs into the ocean depths, your lungs poised on the brink of collapse and your body too far from the air above.”
So that is the pressure; that is why I couldn’t breathe.
“What your merciful mind has caused you to forget, warrior, is that you are betrayed, your mission foiled. My men have found you, and have overcome you, and now have thrown you to the very edge of life.”
The white I saw was the exhalation of my fall, the pouring out of my breath. A white curtain beyond which death laid waiting.
“Whether you survive the experience or not now depends on my will, warrior. A simple spell will whisk you from the water, and you will find air your friend once more. The price will come, but it pales in comparison with the alternative.”
The water pressing all about me, slowing my movements, impeding my arms and legs, encasement as strong as steel and as final as that horror which it brings.
“Really, I cannot believe you have a choice at all, warrior. Yet I must ask. Is this your brave yet useless end? Or do you live, plucked from the jaws of death, just as they snap shut.”
His grin is mocking, his stance insolent. He already knows that answer I must give.
(‘Mocking grin’ picture)
I do not waste time in responding. “I accept”
He laughs. “Then you are mine.” His hands began to move, the dead lips start to utter the words that will save me.
“I accept.” I say again, staring down into the black wells of his eyes. “I accept the fulfilment of my oath, the promise I swore to defend the light, and the path I have led.”
The dead man stops his spell, his eyes on mine, his teeth still and silent in the wake of my words.
“I accept my death, and do not submit. I die free of you, and I die well.”
“As is your choice.” His final words to me are cold, but I am warm now.
On all sides the water waits once more. My lungs are empty. I fall through the white curtain of air that heralds my passage. My limbs lose their strength and become still.
Yet my mind is clear.
I fall towards the depths, and rise into the light.
(‘Into the depths’ picture)