Kunimatyu
First Post
I've been running an Eberron game for the past year, and recently I've been writing a few small pieces of fiction that take place between the past year and the next. I'd like you, ENWorld readers, to read the following small piece, and tell me whether you'd like to see more than just the ending.
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Two ageless predatory eyes regarded the globe impassively, watching the unfolding scenes of death and tragedy. Mothers died holding infants above rubble, husbands ran through collapsing towers in futile efforts to find families. One young women helplessly beat her fists against a chunk of fallen rock, screaming for help as the tower collapsed.
Pitiful. No perspective, no understanding. Hordes of ants, reduced to mindlessness as their hive crumbles to dust. Had the rakshasa been present in the midst of the tragedy, it would have sneered.
And the then the eyes narrowed. Something was happening that it had not predicted.
How interesting.
*************************
Freed of its connections and responsibilities, the tower began to crumble. A glowing gash in the center of the room marked the place where his friends had made their escape. Cornelius - was that really his name? - shook his head. He could not begrudge them their decision; somewhere through that portal, the demon that set these events in motion was still alive.
Well, one of the demons. The other was still in the room.
Cornelius looked up at the machine. His machine. The device to end the Great War. The device that had ended the war, by causing more death and destruction in a single day then that which occurred in ten years' time. And then, like a vengeful ghost, it had come back to start the whole spiral of events all over again.
More masonry came crashing down. There wasn't much time left.
Cornelius saw the bullet holes in the machine, bullets that he had fired only minutes before. The machine was still running, and more bullets probably wouldn't change that. He had to hurry. The black-coated artificer ran up a flight of stairs, narrowly missing a steel beam falling from above. He opened the central chamber. If he had been capable of it - or had the time for dramatics, for that matter - he would have taken a deep breath, maybe gritted his teeth and flung his cloak behind him. But there was a job that needed finishing, and by everything holy he'd just cut off from the world, he was going to do it.
Cornelius strapped himself into the chamber and pulled the switch.
His machine could create - or unmake - connections between worlds. Its fuel was souls from those worlds, bound into physical forms and drained of vital essence to power the machine. Perhaps his sacrifice might undo the damage, perhaps not. But at least he wouldn't wake up a week later, cursing the rakshasa for a gift he didn't ask for.
Take that, you bastard. Even you can't bring me back now.
Cornelius felt himself slipping away. After so much pain, so much death, it was a good feeling. Perhaps he'd finally get to see his lost family.
His eyes shot open again. Something was wrong. He felt crushed, smashed flat against a wave of apathy, death, and despair surging through the machine, then the city. And then it dawned on him what he was, and what he'd done.
And then he heard another voice, an oily, mocking falsetto in the back of his head.
How very delightful and unexpected! You and I, lich, we have so very much to do together. Shall we get started?
Cornelius stepped out of the machine.
--------
Two ageless predatory eyes regarded the globe impassively, watching the unfolding scenes of death and tragedy. Mothers died holding infants above rubble, husbands ran through collapsing towers in futile efforts to find families. One young women helplessly beat her fists against a chunk of fallen rock, screaming for help as the tower collapsed.
Pitiful. No perspective, no understanding. Hordes of ants, reduced to mindlessness as their hive crumbles to dust. Had the rakshasa been present in the midst of the tragedy, it would have sneered.
And the then the eyes narrowed. Something was happening that it had not predicted.
How interesting.
*************************
Freed of its connections and responsibilities, the tower began to crumble. A glowing gash in the center of the room marked the place where his friends had made their escape. Cornelius - was that really his name? - shook his head. He could not begrudge them their decision; somewhere through that portal, the demon that set these events in motion was still alive.
Well, one of the demons. The other was still in the room.
Cornelius looked up at the machine. His machine. The device to end the Great War. The device that had ended the war, by causing more death and destruction in a single day then that which occurred in ten years' time. And then, like a vengeful ghost, it had come back to start the whole spiral of events all over again.
More masonry came crashing down. There wasn't much time left.
Cornelius saw the bullet holes in the machine, bullets that he had fired only minutes before. The machine was still running, and more bullets probably wouldn't change that. He had to hurry. The black-coated artificer ran up a flight of stairs, narrowly missing a steel beam falling from above. He opened the central chamber. If he had been capable of it - or had the time for dramatics, for that matter - he would have taken a deep breath, maybe gritted his teeth and flung his cloak behind him. But there was a job that needed finishing, and by everything holy he'd just cut off from the world, he was going to do it.
Cornelius strapped himself into the chamber and pulled the switch.
His machine could create - or unmake - connections between worlds. Its fuel was souls from those worlds, bound into physical forms and drained of vital essence to power the machine. Perhaps his sacrifice might undo the damage, perhaps not. But at least he wouldn't wake up a week later, cursing the rakshasa for a gift he didn't ask for.
Take that, you bastard. Even you can't bring me back now.
Cornelius felt himself slipping away. After so much pain, so much death, it was a good feeling. Perhaps he'd finally get to see his lost family.
His eyes shot open again. Something was wrong. He felt crushed, smashed flat against a wave of apathy, death, and despair surging through the machine, then the city. And then it dawned on him what he was, and what he'd done.
And then he heard another voice, an oily, mocking falsetto in the back of his head.
How very delightful and unexpected! You and I, lich, we have so very much to do together. Shall we get started?
Cornelius stepped out of the machine.
