[oh hey you know what helps with explaining things? memshares! down into Memory Theatre they go. the cat just lands on top of lu bixing when they drop in here. hi.
a memory begins to play...]
MEMORY: STRONGER
No matter how hard you try, it's useless.
Every day, you train with the sword. Every night, you study the magic arts.
And yet, you're still so much weaker than the men you're supposed to be leading. You have no talent for magic. No strength or stamina to stand up against a seasoned warrior. For years, you've tried to get stronger, and failed. You slip up, get wounded, and start to fall behind. Why are you the leader, anyway? You only fail them, time and time again.
And not just them. The villagers who rely on you for protection. The children, waiting for you to return with food and supplies in hand. And most of all... that man. The great sage you've devoted your life to serving. You're failing him.
"I have to be stronger...! Stronger...!"
Today, like many other days, you sneak away to train in secret. It's futile, but you won't stop trying. You swing your sword again and again, using a tree for a target, adding to its hundreds of scars -- all of them pathetically shallow. Desperation growing, you swing and you swing until at last, you collapse. Your muscles ache. Your lungs burn. Is this all you're capable of?
... A familiar chime pulls you from your thoughts. The sound of his staff.
"Allow me to grant that wish."
You can barely stand, but you just manage to turn to see him. The great sage, clad in red, extending his staff towards you.
In that moment, it's as if everything around you is bathed in crimson. Dark tendrils extend from him to you, binding you in place as the magic fills your body. There's a horrible crawling feeling, a feeling of things shifting in unnatural ways underneath your skin, a feeling so strange and terrifying that you can only scream. Your skin hardens, uneven rock protrusions forming in various places. Your sense of feeling dulls, and all that's left is a lingering sense of wrongness... and the bitter taste of betrayal.
no subject
[oh hey you know what helps with explaining things? memshares! down into Memory Theatre they go. the cat just lands on top of lu bixing when they drop in here. hi.
a memory begins to play...]
Every day, you train with the sword. Every night, you study the magic arts.
And yet, you're still so much weaker than the men you're supposed to be leading. You have no talent for magic. No strength or stamina to stand up against a seasoned warrior. For years, you've tried to get stronger, and failed. You slip up, get wounded, and start to fall behind. Why are you the leader, anyway? You only fail them, time and time again.
And not just them. The villagers who rely on you for protection. The children, waiting for you to return with food and supplies in hand. And most of all... that man. The great sage you've devoted your life to serving. You're failing him.
"I have to be stronger...! Stronger...!"
Today, like many other days, you sneak away to train in secret. It's futile, but you won't stop trying. You swing your sword again and again, using a tree for a target, adding to its hundreds of scars -- all of them pathetically shallow. Desperation growing, you swing and you swing until at last, you collapse. Your muscles ache. Your lungs burn. Is this all you're capable of?
... A familiar chime pulls you from your thoughts. The sound of his staff.
"Allow me to grant that wish."
You can barely stand, but you just manage to turn to see him. The great sage, clad in red, extending his staff towards you.
In that moment, it's as if everything around you is bathed in crimson. Dark tendrils extend from him to you, binding you in place as the magic fills your body. There's a horrible crawling feeling, a feeling of things shifting in unnatural ways underneath your skin, a feeling so strange and terrifying that you can only scream. Your skin hardens, uneven rock protrusions forming in various places. Your sense of feeling dulls, and all that's left is a lingering sense of wrongness... and the bitter taste of betrayal.