RE: QUIETUS [S!5] [Round 1: Godsworn Valley]
05-20-2014, 06:58 AM
(This post was last modified: 05-23-2014, 03:45 AM by chimericgenderbeast.)
Beautiful / beautiful / beautiful.
The seven who survived found themselves within the Outsider's domain once more. Each had been placed on an unadorned, geometric plinth, arrayed in two rows-- the Outsider itself stood in the middle. The abomination itself had changed, seemingly less of a mass of limbs vaguely arranged into a humanoid armature and more of a refined attempted at mimicry. The slavering grin its mask-face had was gone now-- its face was now featureless cerulean.
Its domain was no longer the broken, chaotic space that it had been the first time, with broken walls half-shielding the group from an inestimable void. Solid walls of obsidian and thick, nigh-opaque glass stretched upward towards a distant ceiling, and other crude experiments in architecture were visible-- pillars, arches, attempts at what might be windows. It resembled a cathedral, almost-- or a mausoleum, given the bloody remains of what had been Chaete that hovered before the Outsider. It observed the intact parts of the visceral corpse like it were a pinned butterfly in a collection, emotionlessly and analytical.
We have seen tragedy / sacrifice now. It soundlessly intoned into the contestant's minds. It took a few steps, curiously circling and examining the broken body from another angle. We have seen duty / rebellion. We have seen so much. Chaete's remains disappeared, folding into a pocket of void away from the Outsider's sanctum.
But there is more we wish to see.
The Outsider's pocket dimension vanished, leaving in its wake an empty expanse of space-- not the void of its dimension, but the familiar one of stars and nebulae. For a brief moment, the unprotected and humanoid among the contestants felt the harsh exposure of space-- eardrums almost bursting, tissue swelling, air rushing out of lungs-- before some degree of protection washed over them, invisibly separating them from the vacuum.
For a second, there was nothing-- no planets, no asteroids or suns or anything to make the sheer space on all sides any less daunting.
The Krei'kii'kelriz.
A shape came into view-- a spaceship, almost crustacean-like in appearance. Folds of metal carapace protected it, sensors protruded from the front like twitching antennae, alien machinery emerged from cracks along the spine. Faint lines glowed and traced their way across the hull, terminating around engines that streamed an incandescent plume of plasma.
The last creation of a dead civilization. A salvation that never came.
Eons passed in an instant-- the trail of fire died down to an ember, the lights dimmed, microscopic fragments of its machinery trailed like a comet's tail. A millennia of collisions and damage became evident, as the ship was battered and lost parts of its metal shell. The contestants watched as the ship made a lifeless sojourn across countless dead stars.
A relic that was found.
The ship slowed down, then stopped. Scabs of new, foreign metal artifice filled the vessel's old wounds. The dead engines experimentally flickered, as though they were being reignited. Shuttles drifted around the hulk curiously, as the dead ship was examined. Time returned to normal-- and before the handful of contestants could fully readjust, they were thrust forward, rushed inside of the ship now before them. As they began to reacquaint themselves, they heard a voice-- not the voice that soundlessly bored into their minds, but one just as awful and subconsciously recognizable as their tormentor's.
"Begin."
The seven who survived found themselves within the Outsider's domain once more. Each had been placed on an unadorned, geometric plinth, arrayed in two rows-- the Outsider itself stood in the middle. The abomination itself had changed, seemingly less of a mass of limbs vaguely arranged into a humanoid armature and more of a refined attempted at mimicry. The slavering grin its mask-face had was gone now-- its face was now featureless cerulean.
Its domain was no longer the broken, chaotic space that it had been the first time, with broken walls half-shielding the group from an inestimable void. Solid walls of obsidian and thick, nigh-opaque glass stretched upward towards a distant ceiling, and other crude experiments in architecture were visible-- pillars, arches, attempts at what might be windows. It resembled a cathedral, almost-- or a mausoleum, given the bloody remains of what had been Chaete that hovered before the Outsider. It observed the intact parts of the visceral corpse like it were a pinned butterfly in a collection, emotionlessly and analytical.
We have seen tragedy / sacrifice now. It soundlessly intoned into the contestant's minds. It took a few steps, curiously circling and examining the broken body from another angle. We have seen duty / rebellion. We have seen so much. Chaete's remains disappeared, folding into a pocket of void away from the Outsider's sanctum.
But there is more we wish to see.
The Outsider's pocket dimension vanished, leaving in its wake an empty expanse of space-- not the void of its dimension, but the familiar one of stars and nebulae. For a brief moment, the unprotected and humanoid among the contestants felt the harsh exposure of space-- eardrums almost bursting, tissue swelling, air rushing out of lungs-- before some degree of protection washed over them, invisibly separating them from the vacuum.
For a second, there was nothing-- no planets, no asteroids or suns or anything to make the sheer space on all sides any less daunting.
The Krei'kii'kelriz.
A shape came into view-- a spaceship, almost crustacean-like in appearance. Folds of metal carapace protected it, sensors protruded from the front like twitching antennae, alien machinery emerged from cracks along the spine. Faint lines glowed and traced their way across the hull, terminating around engines that streamed an incandescent plume of plasma.
The last creation of a dead civilization. A salvation that never came.
Eons passed in an instant-- the trail of fire died down to an ember, the lights dimmed, microscopic fragments of its machinery trailed like a comet's tail. A millennia of collisions and damage became evident, as the ship was battered and lost parts of its metal shell. The contestants watched as the ship made a lifeless sojourn across countless dead stars.
A relic that was found.
The ship slowed down, then stopped. Scabs of new, foreign metal artifice filled the vessel's old wounds. The dead engines experimentally flickered, as though they were being reignited. Shuttles drifted around the hulk curiously, as the dead ship was examined. Time returned to normal-- and before the handful of contestants could fully readjust, they were thrust forward, rushed inside of the ship now before them. As they began to reacquaint themselves, they heard a voice-- not the voice that soundlessly bored into their minds, but one just as awful and subconsciously recognizable as their tormentor's.
"Begin."