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[5E] The Age of Worms - Solid Snake's Campaign
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<blockquote data-quote="Alexander Bryant1" data-source="post: 7557364" data-attributes="member: 6916184"><p><strong>In the past: Verdre unconscious at the Great Tree of Rishkar's tribe</strong></p><p></p><p><em>Verdre is unconscious in the nursery of Rishkar’s tribe, having called forth her Mistress’ radiant wrath from deep inside herself. She collapses with a curse to Sehanine on her lips.</em></p><p><em></em></p><p>She is panting in a shallow pool of hot water.</p><p></p><p>“Do you think I do not know your heart, girl?”</p><p></p><p>The voice is caustic but familiar. It is her own but layered with the unmistakable five tones of Sehanine-in-dream.</p><p></p><p>Her eyes snap open. She is in a smoky place, humid, surrounded by eggs and crawling green worms. Immediately she sits up and sets to blasting them with Moonbeams, shattering some of the eggs. Each cracks open with a tiny dying elf inside. She stares: a wiry Etona with short, black hair. Another is pale, willowy Etona with long, silver hair. Others are child Etonas and baby Etonas, all dying.</p><p></p><p>“The humans have an ironic saying,” the voice continues. “You cannot make an omelet without breaking some eggs.”</p><p></p><p>Now an Etona in front of her is <em>me’ara inra</em>, her sister-in-law, Etona’s mother Fiora. Verdre’s closest friend until she died giving birth to her holy daughter.</p><p></p><p>A twin of herself is perched atop a huge black egg in her peripheral vision. It had been filling the back part of the room, only it is not an egg when she looks at it directly: it is a throne gleaming silver and platinum though the base is black, black with pinpoints and flares and trails of everything in the heavens. The throne from fae tales forgotten by her own tribe long ago. Seeing it now makes her think she is in a ghastly and nonsensical play, and expected to say her lines correctly.</p><p></p><p>This other Verdre, atop the throne, looks down at her body. She runs her hands across herself. “Mmm, I like this one. So much stronger than little Etona’s. And so full of wrath and the self-righteousness of loss. You do not know loss, girl.” She hops down. “Listen.”</p><p></p><p>It had been there the entire time, a faint thrumming. Now it grows louder. It is rhythmic, the sound of a hundred staves hitting a stone floor in a vast cavern, the mighty sound echoing. After every few thrummms bellows a crowd, “i’YOOSS!” or something like that word. It wasn’t one she knew. The terrible sound is all around. Sehanine-as-Verdre, who was strolling in a circle around the chamber idly dragging her finger along the wall, completes the full circuit. Below her trace, the room abruptly falls away tumbling into a milky pool beneath Verdre’s feet. It shrinks to nothingness only to reappear as a growing shape: a round hub at the center of eight endless lines of people, thousands of them, every species she’s ever heard of and more, each holding a staff, pounding it in time and shouting that word, which she hears more clearly now: “KYUSS!”</p><p></p><p>Every one of them is afflicted with dark green wriggling worms poking out from all over their bodies.</p><p></p><p>At the center of all this is a seven-foot man adorned in gold and also holding a staff, but his is not mere wood: it is black, oily, its surface undulating. As she stares, each of its folds gives off dark purple sparks where they touch, and in each spark she sees entire worlds.</p><p></p><p>The figure looks up at the two of them, or rather, at Sehanine whose eyes, Verdre is alarmed to see, are wide with fear.</p><p></p><p>“Mistress!” she calls.</p><p></p><p>There is abruptly silence below. Verdre looks back, and the figure is just a bow’s length away. Sehanine is transfixed.</p><p></p><p>Verdre runs to … now Sehanine-as-Etona … and steps in front of her. </p><p></p><p>“Mistress, Etona! You must snap out of it. Mistress!”</p><p></p><p>But Sehanine-as-Etona looks on with a dead expression.</p><p></p><p>Verdre whirls to the eyes, catches their gaze and glares back.</p><p></p><p>“You face me now, Abyss spawn,” she says. “But I have already won. I lend my will to <em>yss’awara</em>, the Way of Things. I am part of the Way; I can fight forever. I will fight you forever.”</p><p></p><p>The figure stares fully at Verdre now. It is rot and despair, the relentlessness of every living thing decaying, its body corrupting to spawn writhing insects. It says nothing.</p><p></p><p>“I do not fear death,” Verdre replies to the void in its eyes. “When I die, from my body springs the world. You mimic the Way of Things. You have already lost.”</p><p></p><p>The black figure dissolves leaving behind delighted laughter bouncing around the room. Female laughter from behind her.</p><p></p><p>Verdre turns back around to see Sehanine-as-Tamyl, leader of the Children of the Mirror, standing tall over her.</p><p></p><p>“Good,” the goddess continues, nodding. “Soon, you will likely die for your cousin. If you last long enough, you will die for me. It is this sacrifice will hasten the defeat what we face, Verdre. This enemy of all life does not know the Way of Things. We will teach Him.”</p><p></p><p>“Who is he?”</p><p></p><p>“His avatar is Kyuss, but it is only His latest servant. You know the master as the Green Man. Yes, real, and more dangerous than demon lords and arch devils against whom they are angry ants on a volcano. The Green Man cannot be defeated by mortals or even a posse of gods tied merely to a handful of worlds.</p><p></p><p>“But that is not our task today. Today, His avatar is the one we must overcome. He is the obstacle placed by the universe and I must pass him on, a disease to kill my own children. I will watch you die. It will shrivel a part of me, but this is what love calls us to do. It is why others a thousand years hence and perhaps worlds away will continue the fight against the master, because we gave everything, here, this day, to fell a servant.</p><p></p><p>“You and Etona and noble Fiona and Skaen: all of you, my brave children, are here.” She brings the two fingers from each hand up to her temple and bends forward, pressing her forehead against Verdre’s.</p><p></p><p>A splash of images: her tribe, the shining lake of the Mirror and the beautiful forest around it; laughter from friends and family seen through one another’s eyes. She recognizes every scene, every face.</p><p></p><p>But in a single wind they become blackened ruin. Shambling, ever-hungry and dead, everyone she ever knew rove about mindlessly, creaking and writhing; Kyuss a tower above them, a temple shaped like a cactus behind him. In the sky, Her Radiant Regard, the full moon, blotches with black pools until it is blotted out completely becoming an oily sphere of corruption. She cannot breathe, her bones become brittle and crack, she withers and, with a final gasp of utter loss, she dies.</p><p></p><p>The goddess withdraws. “Do you see?” Sehanine-as-Fiora says.</p><p></p><p>Verdre falls to her feet, head on the floor in front of her. “I am a cawing crow,” She feels rare tears flow. “Please forgive me.”</p><p></p><p>A hand on her shoulder. It slides under her chin and gently pulls up her gaze to Her own. It is Sehanine Herself. The Moon Goddess. Creator of her own people.</p><p></p><p>“My Verdre. I know your heart. I desired your understanding, for with it comes your love. Rise now. I have restored my blessing to you. Return to your cousin but tarry on the way. You will know where.”</p><p></p><p>“Mistress?”</p><p></p><p>“A last question?”</p><p></p><p>“Yes. Can you not slay this enemy? Not Kyuss, but his master?”</p><p></p><p>“I and my infinite sisters and brothers must come together. That is far ahead. The quarry this night,” she calls out, “is the one in front of you now. Fell foul Kyuss and all who derive strength from him, and I will have voice for the Great Hunt to come.”</p><p></p><p>Around Verdre her entire tribe, Etona in front, stand with her. They have, she suddenly understands, been there all along.</p><p></p><p>“Go,” says Sehanine, towering now and glowing brighter and brighter, becoming the moon. “Lead. Fall if you must, but take our quarry to ground.”</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>She wakes up in the ancient tree housing Rishkar’s people. Etona smiles over her.</p><p></p><p>“Were you–?” Verdre begins.</p><p></p><p>“Yes.”</p><p></p><p>“Everything?”</p><p></p><p>“Yes.”</p><p></p><p>“We must not fail,” Verdre asserts.</p><p></p><p>Etona curls up onto her, burying her head in the crook of her aunt’s neck. Verdre realizes she has been there already some time.</p><p></p><p>“We won’t,” she whispers in reply.</p><p></p><p><em>We might, my darling Etona</em>, she thinks. <em>But you will not. You have never known how.</em></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Alexander Bryant1, post: 7557364, member: 6916184"] [b]In the past: Verdre unconscious at the Great Tree of Rishkar's tribe[/b] [I]Verdre is unconscious in the nursery of Rishkar’s tribe, having called forth her Mistress’ radiant wrath from deep inside herself. She collapses with a curse to Sehanine on her lips. [/I] She is panting in a shallow pool of hot water. “Do you think I do not know your heart, girl?” The voice is caustic but familiar. It is her own but layered with the unmistakable five tones of Sehanine-in-dream. Her eyes snap open. She is in a smoky place, humid, surrounded by eggs and crawling green worms. Immediately she sits up and sets to blasting them with Moonbeams, shattering some of the eggs. Each cracks open with a tiny dying elf inside. She stares: a wiry Etona with short, black hair. Another is pale, willowy Etona with long, silver hair. Others are child Etonas and baby Etonas, all dying. “The humans have an ironic saying,” the voice continues. “You cannot make an omelet without breaking some eggs.” Now an Etona in front of her is [I]me’ara inra[/I], her sister-in-law, Etona’s mother Fiora. Verdre’s closest friend until she died giving birth to her holy daughter. A twin of herself is perched atop a huge black egg in her peripheral vision. It had been filling the back part of the room, only it is not an egg when she looks at it directly: it is a throne gleaming silver and platinum though the base is black, black with pinpoints and flares and trails of everything in the heavens. The throne from fae tales forgotten by her own tribe long ago. Seeing it now makes her think she is in a ghastly and nonsensical play, and expected to say her lines correctly. This other Verdre, atop the throne, looks down at her body. She runs her hands across herself. “Mmm, I like this one. So much stronger than little Etona’s. And so full of wrath and the self-righteousness of loss. You do not know loss, girl.” She hops down. “Listen.” It had been there the entire time, a faint thrumming. Now it grows louder. It is rhythmic, the sound of a hundred staves hitting a stone floor in a vast cavern, the mighty sound echoing. After every few thrummms bellows a crowd, “i’YOOSS!” or something like that word. It wasn’t one she knew. The terrible sound is all around. Sehanine-as-Verdre, who was strolling in a circle around the chamber idly dragging her finger along the wall, completes the full circuit. Below her trace, the room abruptly falls away tumbling into a milky pool beneath Verdre’s feet. It shrinks to nothingness only to reappear as a growing shape: a round hub at the center of eight endless lines of people, thousands of them, every species she’s ever heard of and more, each holding a staff, pounding it in time and shouting that word, which she hears more clearly now: “KYUSS!” Every one of them is afflicted with dark green wriggling worms poking out from all over their bodies. At the center of all this is a seven-foot man adorned in gold and also holding a staff, but his is not mere wood: it is black, oily, its surface undulating. As she stares, each of its folds gives off dark purple sparks where they touch, and in each spark she sees entire worlds. The figure looks up at the two of them, or rather, at Sehanine whose eyes, Verdre is alarmed to see, are wide with fear. “Mistress!” she calls. There is abruptly silence below. Verdre looks back, and the figure is just a bow’s length away. Sehanine is transfixed. Verdre runs to … now Sehanine-as-Etona … and steps in front of her. “Mistress, Etona! You must snap out of it. Mistress!” But Sehanine-as-Etona looks on with a dead expression. Verdre whirls to the eyes, catches their gaze and glares back. “You face me now, Abyss spawn,” she says. “But I have already won. I lend my will to [I]yss’awara[/I], the Way of Things. I am part of the Way; I can fight forever. I will fight you forever.” The figure stares fully at Verdre now. It is rot and despair, the relentlessness of every living thing decaying, its body corrupting to spawn writhing insects. It says nothing. “I do not fear death,” Verdre replies to the void in its eyes. “When I die, from my body springs the world. You mimic the Way of Things. You have already lost.” The black figure dissolves leaving behind delighted laughter bouncing around the room. Female laughter from behind her. Verdre turns back around to see Sehanine-as-Tamyl, leader of the Children of the Mirror, standing tall over her. “Good,” the goddess continues, nodding. “Soon, you will likely die for your cousin. If you last long enough, you will die for me. It is this sacrifice will hasten the defeat what we face, Verdre. This enemy of all life does not know the Way of Things. We will teach Him.” “Who is he?” “His avatar is Kyuss, but it is only His latest servant. You know the master as the Green Man. Yes, real, and more dangerous than demon lords and arch devils against whom they are angry ants on a volcano. The Green Man cannot be defeated by mortals or even a posse of gods tied merely to a handful of worlds. “But that is not our task today. Today, His avatar is the one we must overcome. He is the obstacle placed by the universe and I must pass him on, a disease to kill my own children. I will watch you die. It will shrivel a part of me, but this is what love calls us to do. It is why others a thousand years hence and perhaps worlds away will continue the fight against the master, because we gave everything, here, this day, to fell a servant. “You and Etona and noble Fiona and Skaen: all of you, my brave children, are here.” She brings the two fingers from each hand up to her temple and bends forward, pressing her forehead against Verdre’s. A splash of images: her tribe, the shining lake of the Mirror and the beautiful forest around it; laughter from friends and family seen through one another’s eyes. She recognizes every scene, every face. But in a single wind they become blackened ruin. Shambling, ever-hungry and dead, everyone she ever knew rove about mindlessly, creaking and writhing; Kyuss a tower above them, a temple shaped like a cactus behind him. In the sky, Her Radiant Regard, the full moon, blotches with black pools until it is blotted out completely becoming an oily sphere of corruption. She cannot breathe, her bones become brittle and crack, she withers and, with a final gasp of utter loss, she dies. The goddess withdraws. “Do you see?” Sehanine-as-Fiora says. Verdre falls to her feet, head on the floor in front of her. “I am a cawing crow,” She feels rare tears flow. “Please forgive me.” A hand on her shoulder. It slides under her chin and gently pulls up her gaze to Her own. It is Sehanine Herself. The Moon Goddess. Creator of her own people. “My Verdre. I know your heart. I desired your understanding, for with it comes your love. Rise now. I have restored my blessing to you. Return to your cousin but tarry on the way. You will know where.” “Mistress?” “A last question?” “Yes. Can you not slay this enemy? Not Kyuss, but his master?” “I and my infinite sisters and brothers must come together. That is far ahead. The quarry this night,” she calls out, “is the one in front of you now. Fell foul Kyuss and all who derive strength from him, and I will have voice for the Great Hunt to come.” Around Verdre her entire tribe, Etona in front, stand with her. They have, she suddenly understands, been there all along. “Go,” says Sehanine, towering now and glowing brighter and brighter, becoming the moon. “Lead. Fall if you must, but take our quarry to ground.” *** She wakes up in the ancient tree housing Rishkar’s people. Etona smiles over her. “Were you–?” Verdre begins. “Yes.” “Everything?” “Yes.” “We must not fail,” Verdre asserts. Etona curls up onto her, burying her head in the crook of her aunt’s neck. Verdre realizes she has been there already some time. “We won’t,” she whispers in reply. [I]We might, my darling Etona[/I], she thinks. [I]But you will not. You have never known how.[/I] [/QUOTE]
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