Danse Macabre

The Old Man's page

3 posts. Alias of Laithoron.


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Five heartbeats seem like five centuries before Lureene receives the answer to her question. "No, Lureene, you have not."

With those words, Lureene can begin to feel herself drifting further into sleep, mentally exhausted. As darkness begins to take her, she can faintly hear some parting advice from her father, "I love you, Lureene. Remember, it is yourself that you must not disappoint. That pride is the light I would shine on your path..."


Even as Sasha vanishes, the remnants of her feathery wings resolve into the now-familiar black-cloaked form of the man she has met here before — her father. Face grim, he gazes at Lureene with dark eyes full of concern and raises a dark lantern which catches a glint from the now-full silver moon and begins to glow in kind.

"Lureene," his voice reverberates through her dream world, "when you call upon Grak, know that he is part of your soul and trust in him. With that incantation, you can call him more quickly, or increase his strength, increase your strength."

"Tonight you have fought against your terror, the terror of what you may become. The struggle for peace in your soul will always be a war. You must always be vigilant. If you want peace, then end such battles quickly; the tribulations of your battles scar and defile the beauty of this place. When you are in torment, when you are afraid, the red moon grows in strength."

"How I hate that red cast... and the memories it brings..."


Theme: Nothing Can Be Explained

Lureene opens her eyes to find herself in a seemingly limitless sky amidst mountains of impossible height. Far below their peaks, the waves of a great sea surge to and fro. At the center of it all, this world seemingly folding back on itself, is a vast dark whirlpool that continuously siphons away the waters yet never drains them completely. Rising from it center is a lofty tower, its foundations lost in the inky depths below, its parapets striving towards the clouds above.

For a moment, Lureene is lost in the wonder of it all before something whizzes past her — a small, winged snake with scales like sapphire and translucent blue wings. It cavorts around her before diving below. As she looks down, she realizes that there is nothing below her. She is standing upon neither a mountain top nor a parapet but adrift in the sky!

Immediately, she can feel a tightening in her chest and ice in her veins as she starts to plummet, her wings doing little to slow her inexorable descent towards the whirlpool.

"Lureene," the voice is faint, nearly inaudible.

She continues falling even as another winged snake, this one larger and mottled grey and green, soars overhead looking down at her in curiosity before continuing on its way. As the golden-winged succubus continues to fall, each moment bringing her closer to the tower, she can see that its height has been scarred countless times by lightning yet the higher she looks, the newer the construction becomes. The parapets, in fact, seem as though they must be brand new.

"Lureene," the voice is stronger, more insistent. Was it coming from the tower?

The ligaments in her wings straining from bearing her up for so long, Lureene desperately tries to fly and spies another snake passing nearby. In desperation, she reaches out and manages to just catch its tail. The amethyst-scaled creature squawks once in surprise, beating its wings urgently.

Up ahead, Lureene can see that the tower is nearly within reach and there, look out over the void is a lone figure garbed in tattered black garments holding aloft a gleaming lantern. Yet as she watches, the winged serpent starts to veer away, fearful of the dark clouds that surround the tower. Knowing she has one chance, Lureene gives a single, powerful thrust of her wings, and sails toward the tower.

She has nearly enough altitude to land safely, when dread of what she will find there takes her momentarily. A sudden down-draft catches her at the last instant and it is everything she can do to catch hold of the stonework as she slams into the side of the tower, fingers gripping onto the edge.

Above her, the old man whom she has seen before, her father, looks down with his dark eyes, his features stark in the light of the lantern he holds. In a hollow voice that seems to echo off the clouds themsleves, he asks, "What are you doing? Stand up, be strong!"

With a great force of will, Lureene exerts herself forcing her arms to comply against the protest of her aching muscles. At last, she manages to pull herself up and she kneels panting on the parapets of the tower, pallets of bricks and mortar visible within.

"What burdens you so? What keeps you from rising up? What is it Lureene?"

"What is it Lureene?"

"What is it Lureene?"

"What is it Lureene...?"