A Strange Looking Pipe

[Creation 1]

Perhaps if you smoke the pipe, a story will unfold before your mind, as if you yourself lived it. Perhaps not.

If you chose to sit and smoke the pipe and have a little read, congratulations, you've unlocked a Timewalking Achievment, Ramblings of a Madwoman.

 

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The pipe ignites as you put it to your lips, even if jokingly. There is a wrongness to it. There is nothing to burn within the pipe nor source for flame. And yet, smoke fills your lungs and you find yourself exhailing. The space around you begins to grow black, your ears begin to feel strange, as if air were heavy in them and becoming cotton. Darkness takes you, until you blink. You find yourself standing....where are you standing? It's cold. No, cool? Perhaps it's just the air? But there was no wind. Odd, you were standing right? But, if you think about it, can you really feel the ground anymore?

Blackness, silken and soft seems to hum and quiver with anticipation. Something was coming. But how do you know that? How could anything here know that? But it was, it was coming, and fast. You open your mouth. You will scream, you will scream and you will wake up. As your mouth opens to pour forth sound you realize with horror, the sound if stiffled, and forced back the way it came. Blackness creeps over your tongue, tasting of oil and dead bile grown slick on fermineted waters. The putrid flavors threaten to overwhelm, scents of death and decay find your nose. Suddenly acrid smells sneak in. Light, what is this?

The sound of warped laughter tickles your mind, like maddness it schreeks and you want to claw it from your mind; but you have no hands to do so. Where are your hands? What happened to your body? Who were you? The laughter grows louder. The smell of brimstone and smoke begins to waft in through some sense you were not aware you possessed. Something absolutly animalistic in you knows, flee. Through the maddness something touches you, wraps you in coldness, douses you like red iron meeting water.

 

You've passed through the Nightmare, or but a shadow of it.

 

Standing before you is a woman, unassuming and perhaps frail. The light hurts at first as your eyes adjust. "Where am I?" 

She turns, and you are given pause. Is she undead? Her voice relieves that question. "You stand within the Caverns of Time outsider, it seems someone has chosen you to join us." Silvie picked up the pipe and gave it a fond tap. She handled it with a familiarity that would leave no doubt of ownership. "Stand, please. There is much to explain."

 

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Name: Silviahna Spellwind

Rank/Alliegance: Former 

Age: Well of Eternity generation Highborne

Sex: Female

Skills: Temporal Magic, Fire Magic, Runes

Less important skills: Dancing, Mounted Combat, Tailor

Habitual Effects: 

Taste in jewelry runs toward silvers and white golds with gems set in cooler tones and colors. Prefers rich cloth blended to matching practical chainmail. She wears boos constantly, just in case. Refuses to use a focus device such as a staff or wand. There have been those who notice she always wear the same tri-piece set of jewelry though, and wonder if it may not be such a enhancment. Prefers sweets to sours, hates bitter alcohol or breads. Likes animals and small children. Short temper at times with adults, particularly men who seem keen to get things done their own way.

Brief OOC History:

 

I was born. We fell. The Maul turned evil, we killed our own kind to survive. We fled. Survival has been the name of my life for more years now than ever we were a golden civilization. I have spent over half of my life running in one form or another. We thought the Legion was the end, that it could get no worse. We were wrong. The Nightmare has escaped, the Bronze Flight has fallen to the Twilight. The Bronze Aspect stood alone. We were the last hope of our Time, the last of many timelines forced together toward one end, toward one goal. Save the Pattern of All Time, before it was ruined forever.

 

Edited February 26, 2019 by Creation