Re: MORITURI TE SALUTANT!! [S!4]
03-20-2012, 01:38 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by XX.
The lights go down.
“Noble ladies…”
A skeleton of a woman in a throne of crystal needles, a glittering sphere in her narrow lap. She wears a silky gown pierced with gently pulsing threads that extend into her skin and into her hair, forming a web over her face and the gentle slope of her sunken chest. She is pale to the point of translucency.
“Esteemed gentlemen.”
On her shoulder is the smallest smear of green: a hummingbird nestled against the curve of her neck.
“Man and beast. Welcome.”
She opens her hands over the globe draped in the swath of her gown, spidery fingers creaking. Strings jut up from her wrists and arms like searching roots towards the crystal and burrow into it greedily, cracking the surface with the faint sound of grinding glass. Dark lights flicker in the crystal’s core.
“Are you prepared to die?”
The bird on the woman’s shoulder blurs into motion, hovering silently over her head. She grasps the crystal in a stranglehold; the light strikes out between her fingers, blinding the eight unfortunates before her.
“We who have gathered here salute you. I am the Haruspex.”
The hummingbird’s wings are the faintest note on the edge of hearing.
“You will die,” she says, musing over the crystal’s surface with a bony finger. The glass buckles and warps under her touch. “I foresee it. I foresee a time of pain and sorrow, of men and gods and women. Of fire and death. I see a challenge and challengers. I see those who fall.” For the briefest instant her gaze rests on the bird. “I see victory. For one.”
Her eyes are mirrors, glittering freezing silver against her glacial throne. “For the rest of you I see only suffering and death.”
The lights bloom into brightness, exposing a wide swath of marble that had been shrouded in shadow. Eight shapes are gathered together in rigid poses, faces smoothed into icy serenity and mouths locked into placid smiles. Their eyes are dark and terrified; more than one is shaking. The bird comes to a rest on the head of a golden dragon towering far above the others. It preens itself in the reflection of the creature’s eye.
“A dragon. Mysiddion.”
The Haruspex’s voice is calm and assured. As she speaks the crystal ball pulses and flickers with ghostly images of the contestants’ lives: faces and words, brief glimpses of landscapes, buildings, empires. Each sees it only as a vision of their own past. From atop the dragon’s scales the hummingbird stirs.
“Three men and two women. A serpent and an urn.”
She smiles underneath the spiderweb of threads, her teeth white knives in the glow of her crystal. The threads pulse and twitch with life as the globe darkens until its surface is obsidian glass, draining what color still remained from her white skin. Her hands drift over its surface with the delicacy of lace and the precision of needlework, pulling the shadows within it to the surface. All at once it clears, revealing a towering Victorian mansion crumbling from years of neglect. Tattered black curtains billow wildly in the winds of a silently raging storm.
“The Shrewdish Manor. Long rumored to be haunted and the site of several murders some many years ago. The bodies were found but the culprit was not; legend tells of a hidden treasure and a vengeful old miser. But these are just stories....” The crystal’s view sweeps down to reveal a tiny figure banging at the massive double doors of the manor for a few seconds before smashing one of the few intact windows with a crowbar. The intruder clambers through the frame clumsily clutching what appeared to be a rather battered notebook and a suspiciously lumpy duffel bag. “A self-styled detective. Jamie Knight, amateur sleuth… not very popular with the locals. Nor so the local crime ring. Rather infamous for this sort of thing…”
The crystal ball dims and dies once more as the Haruspex beckons towards the hummingbird. As the little creature flutters to her hand she waves vaguely in the contestants’ direction. “Eight of you are leaving but I foresee only seven’s return. I trust you to make your own introductions. We will meet soon again, children. Mors vincit omnia.”
The marble floors of the palace shift and twist under their feet like quicksand. As the room begins to blur, they swear they hear a quiet voice murmur, “Good show, Mademoiselle. I couldn’t have done it better myself.”
The lights go down.
“Noble ladies…”
A skeleton of a woman in a throne of crystal needles, a glittering sphere in her narrow lap. She wears a silky gown pierced with gently pulsing threads that extend into her skin and into her hair, forming a web over her face and the gentle slope of her sunken chest. She is pale to the point of translucency.
“Esteemed gentlemen.”
On her shoulder is the smallest smear of green: a hummingbird nestled against the curve of her neck.
“Man and beast. Welcome.”
She opens her hands over the globe draped in the swath of her gown, spidery fingers creaking. Strings jut up from her wrists and arms like searching roots towards the crystal and burrow into it greedily, cracking the surface with the faint sound of grinding glass. Dark lights flicker in the crystal’s core.
“Are you prepared to die?”
The bird on the woman’s shoulder blurs into motion, hovering silently over her head. She grasps the crystal in a stranglehold; the light strikes out between her fingers, blinding the eight unfortunates before her.
“We who have gathered here salute you. I am the Haruspex.”
The hummingbird’s wings are the faintest note on the edge of hearing.
“You will die,” she says, musing over the crystal’s surface with a bony finger. The glass buckles and warps under her touch. “I foresee it. I foresee a time of pain and sorrow, of men and gods and women. Of fire and death. I see a challenge and challengers. I see those who fall.” For the briefest instant her gaze rests on the bird. “I see victory. For one.”
Her eyes are mirrors, glittering freezing silver against her glacial throne. “For the rest of you I see only suffering and death.”
The lights bloom into brightness, exposing a wide swath of marble that had been shrouded in shadow. Eight shapes are gathered together in rigid poses, faces smoothed into icy serenity and mouths locked into placid smiles. Their eyes are dark and terrified; more than one is shaking. The bird comes to a rest on the head of a golden dragon towering far above the others. It preens itself in the reflection of the creature’s eye.
“A dragon. Mysiddion.”
The Haruspex’s voice is calm and assured. As she speaks the crystal ball pulses and flickers with ghostly images of the contestants’ lives: faces and words, brief glimpses of landscapes, buildings, empires. Each sees it only as a vision of their own past. From atop the dragon’s scales the hummingbird stirs.
“Three men and two women. A serpent and an urn.”
She smiles underneath the spiderweb of threads, her teeth white knives in the glow of her crystal. The threads pulse and twitch with life as the globe darkens until its surface is obsidian glass, draining what color still remained from her white skin. Her hands drift over its surface with the delicacy of lace and the precision of needlework, pulling the shadows within it to the surface. All at once it clears, revealing a towering Victorian mansion crumbling from years of neglect. Tattered black curtains billow wildly in the winds of a silently raging storm.
“The Shrewdish Manor. Long rumored to be haunted and the site of several murders some many years ago. The bodies were found but the culprit was not; legend tells of a hidden treasure and a vengeful old miser. But these are just stories....” The crystal’s view sweeps down to reveal a tiny figure banging at the massive double doors of the manor for a few seconds before smashing one of the few intact windows with a crowbar. The intruder clambers through the frame clumsily clutching what appeared to be a rather battered notebook and a suspiciously lumpy duffel bag. “A self-styled detective. Jamie Knight, amateur sleuth… not very popular with the locals. Nor so the local crime ring. Rather infamous for this sort of thing…”
The crystal ball dims and dies once more as the Haruspex beckons towards the hummingbird. As the little creature flutters to her hand she waves vaguely in the contestants’ direction. “Eight of you are leaving but I foresee only seven’s return. I trust you to make your own introductions. We will meet soon again, children. Mors vincit omnia.”
The marble floors of the palace shift and twist under their feet like quicksand. As the room begins to blur, they swear they hear a quiet voice murmur, “Good show, Mademoiselle. I couldn’t have done it better myself.”