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blankmaskara -> RE: The Hallows Inn (4/15/2015 11:56:09)
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Eyes cracked open, with light streaming into a space consumed by darkness, creating a landscape with blurry, unfamiliar splotches of black and grey as some streaks of white struck down from above. Meanwhile, pulsing, blood-red lines of a shaky, droplet-like consistency ran through the entire area. The sight was undefinable, yet some air of familiarity pervaded it.
I've seen this place before.. I know, but where exactly i--
"Well, look what the bloody cat dragged in."
The voice carried nothing but sharp-tongued wit and dripped naught but sheer venom with a sinister lisp to accompany it, as if it belonged to something inhumane. To something otherworldly, malevolent, disturbing and wicked. Evil, even.
And Franklin knew all too well to whom this voice belonged.
"You..bastard..Why are you here, and what do you want from me?!"
The owner of the voice came into being just as he said these words, taking the form of a seemingly malnourished humanoid, covered by a skin of ashen gray laden with old, demonic runes. The ashen layer and whatever fat that may have accompanied it did nothing to hide the sharp outlines of the several bones that made up the bodily structure, and instead only highlighted it. Gave it some ominous quality that came through as something all-too disturbing for the human eye. However, this was not the end of it, as besides all of that, what should have been a human head was replaced by the skull of a goat, horns twisted, crooked, and sharpened to a degree befitting that of a carnal beast.
Blood-red eyes flashed to Franklin then, and replied,
"That's no way to greet a friend, now is it? I have a name, after all, and besides, whatever I do want from you.. is already being taken away."
Panic surged through the sorcerer's body. Was already being taken away? How was that possible? How could that even happen?
A laugh echoed throughout the air for all to hear, stinking of sadistic pleasure and pure apathy for the accursed mage, as if the demon found nothing but joy and endless mirth in his situation.
"I know that face. That face full of contorted muscles and questioning, fearful eyes. Besides your utter confusion, you're scared, aren't you? I mean, after all, how could something be taken away from your miserably, worthless, terribly unimportant self when you have nothing left to offer? Well, here's what," The demon's fingers, the shape of an eagle's talons, pulled Franklin's face to level with its bloodshot eyes. "I'm taking away that blasted mind and body you cherish so much, and bit by bit, you'll become my vessel. You will become me."
The demon then backed away, a wicked grin plastered across its features. Fear slowly ebbed away from Franklin's body, replaced by an inner rage, burning, and growing like the smoke of a wildfire. That blasted fiend took away everything, absolutely everything that he had, and yet it still wanted more?! It was going to pay, and it should--no, it shall.
With a deathly stare, he pushed himself off the ground, attempting to get into a standing position. He could see it. The blasted demon, just a few feet away, with that damned grin on its face. He would get his hands on him, and choke that damned feculent stain and bash its head in until there was nothing left but bits and pieces o--
"Oh," the demon said in surprise, "Trying to get up, are you? Can't wait to get your hands on me? To get revenge, payback, or maybe assurance that I won't be able to take away what precious little you have? Well, I certainly can't have that, now can I?"
A snap echoed through the area, then the lines of crimson red suddenly hummed and glowed with a deathly aura. At that very moment, an excruciating pain echoed through Franklin's whole body, filling his nerves with intolerable agony that sent him down once more, writhing and twisting like a helpless little worm.
"Have fun."
Then all went to black.
---
The taste of earthly soil and dirt lingered in his tongue.
What the hell was that?
A cough. A sputter. Palms dusting off dirt. Bleary eyes slowly coming into focus. Color gradually pouring in. The place was slowly coming back into an idea of familiarity. From murky colors of black, grey and white that sent his body into an all-too-familiar panic, wicked spindly branches of old came into view. Crooked trees hung over the ground as leaves of brown, tan, and dark verdant green lay scattered through. It was the same forest he had come from a few days ago, and the very one he entered (supposedly) moments before. It was the Darkwald.
Relieved (was he, really, with his current situation?), Franklin got back up. Stance still a bit shaky from the supposed nightmare, he leaned against a nearby tree, attempting to regain his balance.
That fiend.. I'll get him for this..
Fist shaking, the sorcerer quickly took note of his surroundings, listening for any sudden movements. His hands ached, mind twisting and turning in frustration regarding what had happened to a point that he just wanted something to hurt. To harm. To brutalize, and to kill. There were no speakable words that could ease his fury at his situation, and the helplessness of it all.
However, despite his keen observation, there seemed to be nothing moving in the forest. All was deathly still, and there were no sounds of battle. No swords clanging against each other, no spells being thrown out, nor any of those monstrosities called Nazha letting out their trademark screams. There was no pest to squash, and it seemed he had been out for far too long to escape from despair and drown himself into the heat of battle against the monsters Toren sought aid for.
Biting back his lip, Franklin picked up his staff and headed back for town. With all that happened, he needed a rest before trying to think of--or even do--anything else.
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