P.S: Just started last week. please give feedback, comment and ideas if you find this mildly interesting! Will determine pace of update according to response received.
Btw, what is counted as an "acceptable" rate of update here in ?
It is boring here.
Arid to the point it drowns you with dryness, quiet to an extent the tranquility bangs and crushes on your eardrums, dark, so overwhelming that it blinds your senses.
Forgive my use of third-rate oxymora, the time's so plentiful here that if you don't waste some, you end up getting wasted.
I have no eyes but I see the world before me; a world without realms, darkness thick and tangible, deeper than fine ink. It is so deep that the moment I got tossed in, I began sinking, descending for eternities but never reaching the bottom.
So much time passed, and I could count every single moment. No clock to remind me, yet my cold, plasmic blood trickles so helplessly that I couldn't mesmerise myself.
Woe is this void...
Only fools and idiots would sputter words bigoted as "time flies". Time never flies, nor does it ever alter its pace at your plead. A second is a second, a pathetically large collection of seconds an eternity. Arcane magic could alter one's perception of time, true; trapped here, I don't have the privilege to access even one tiny speck of magic.
It is boring here.
Every passing moment, my blood gets colder. It will reach absolute zero sooner or later, and then me, once the greatest mage in all of Runeterra, fades to nothingness. No flame, no ash, no dust. My form becomes more raveled and knotted each and every second; desperation seeps into my veins, tainting them.
No. The lack of information will drive me insane before I could fade out and end this imprisonment in the most pathetic and dishonourable way. There is something I should do. One day, as I began pondering about my past-not that I have a future anyway-I found light.
No, no the bright kind of light; I tried summoning that once, but apparently I don't have sufficient authority to do so. It is a dim, golden glaze, inscribed on the outer rim of the endless space, an infinite distance from me, so far and so small. But if I think more, and orate more, the light will multiply, creep towards me in vain.
Oh, the Book Keeper may be dead, but something of his is bound to me still. There is nothing to do except this, and rueful I am when facing the past, I must continue. No one will probably be able to read the story, but I don't mind. This is a consolation, a last resort, and I don't desire to redeem myself-or anyone else.
Though, I hope I will not betray them to the believers of this age. People do still believe in things, right? Incorrect the thoughts might be...
Let us start here, the story of the Godslayer, how it started, carried on, twisted, turned, and ended. How men and realms were torn to shreds. I promise you, my dear nonexistent audience, this will be a long story, and interesting enough to lift me out of the silent pit.
As a side note, I am not the Godslayer.