The room was completely dark, and only the thick scent of dust and
mold told the Avatar that he was most likely inside a cellar. A small
squeak told him that some things would never change.
The ether was strong, here. On his way in, he had felt several streams of
power coursing through the void, and this place lay somewhere in between .
but what had happened to the Guardian?
He was destroyed. . . broken into shards. . . just like the crystal of immortality. Has he escaped. . .!? . . .Shall he be remade in some new form?
No. But I am still a part of thee, whether I am in pieces or whole.
The Avatar blinked, for the voice had echoed inside his mind.
What hath occurred? Am I not in control of this vessel? Where is thine?
The ether is an intricate web. The strands of energy weave together all the realities, energies, and times into a corresponding fashion. It has never been in danger of unraveling. There were times that its raw chaotic power may have overflowed into a particular world and so destroyed it utterly. . . but the ether itself was never at risk.
It is now?
Neither was it a tool to be corrupted. But I felt a power just now, that struck me. some great missile that was sent with this intention. It broke me.
Broke you into what?
What power I had is gone, and what memory I had resides in thee.
So the merging was not altogether complete. And now thou art a demon within, just like Arcadion. But what of thy body, and the shrapnel it released?
As the exodus of a handful's sand into a dust storm, most likely;
twill have no lasting effect.
I do not believe you. There were streams of ether. . . they could have carried the sand into this place, as they did my self. They could cause damage.
Then see for thyself. There is always a way.
The Avatar stood quickly and moved toward the only doorway in the dank room. The door was locked, but the structure was so old he was able to tear off pieces of wood in solid chunks. It finally gave way to a forbidding hall, lit by a well-tended brazier.
As he moved stealthily along the corridor, the ceiling steadily became higher and higher. After winding along for several hundred meters, the hallway ended at exactly the same moment the ceiling went out of sight. Fortunately, the final wall contained indentations which would presumably work as crude ladder-rungs. The Avatar began to climb. The crumbling mortar was in slight disrepair, but navigable. After five rungs he could already see the opening to the next floor.
Wait. . .
He paused, listening tensely. Indeed, there was the sound of laborious breathing above his head. The noises sounded very much like some form of demon; so animal-like in nature they were.
"What place is this?"
The cellar of a mage, most likely. They often use impractical architecture and hire peculiar body-guards.
He cautiously continued moving upwards, until he noticed the segmented body of an enormous muckworm. But as he followed its corpulent form his sight encompassed the head, which bloated out and about into a cancerous mass of tentacles. The thin ones were squirming like black oily snakes, while some were thick and porous and excreted a hideous chunky ooze, and others still were barbed with teeth so sharp that the others nearby were bubbling yellow puss from recent wounds. It was quite easily the most disgusting thing he'd ever seen.
It had no eyes, and apparently couldn't discern his presence. . . as of yet. But the monstrosity was so completely unlike anything he'd ever seen before. . . it was plain frightening.
This being was not born of the void. Where did it come from?
The owner of this place would know. Perhaps thou shouldst ask him.
The curled-up worm occupied nearly the entire breadth of the tunnel which the Avatar had just climbed into. He would either have to squeeze by its massive body or go back down the ladder. But he had a nasty suspicion that if he touched its slimy skin, the worm would roll over and crush him. The broken tiles on the floor seemed to indicate just how heavy the monstrosity was.
It is most odd that events should arrange themselves thus. One obstacle after another. . . the endless game.
He was destroyed. . . broken into shards. . . just like the crystal of immortality. Has he escaped. . .!? . . .Shall he be remade in some new form?
No. But I am still a part of thee, whether I am in pieces or whole.
The Avatar blinked, for the voice had echoed inside his mind.
What hath occurred? Am I not in control of this vessel? Where is thine?
The ether is an intricate web. The strands of energy weave together all the realities, energies, and times into a corresponding fashion. It has never been in danger of unraveling. There were times that its raw chaotic power may have overflowed into a particular world and so destroyed it utterly. . . but the ether itself was never at risk.
It is now?
Neither was it a tool to be corrupted. But I felt a power just now, that struck me. some great missile that was sent with this intention. It broke me.
Broke you into what?
What power I had is gone, and what memory I had resides in thee.
So the merging was not altogether complete. And now thou art a demon within, just like Arcadion. But what of thy body, and the shrapnel it released?
As the exodus of a handful's sand into a dust storm, most likely;
twill have no lasting effect.
I do not believe you. There were streams of ether. . . they could have carried the sand into this place, as they did my self. They could cause damage.
Then see for thyself. There is always a way.
The Avatar stood quickly and moved toward the only doorway in the dank room. The door was locked, but the structure was so old he was able to tear off pieces of wood in solid chunks. It finally gave way to a forbidding hall, lit by a well-tended brazier.
As he moved stealthily along the corridor, the ceiling steadily became higher and higher. After winding along for several hundred meters, the hallway ended at exactly the same moment the ceiling went out of sight. Fortunately, the final wall contained indentations which would presumably work as crude ladder-rungs. The Avatar began to climb. The crumbling mortar was in slight disrepair, but navigable. After five rungs he could already see the opening to the next floor.
Wait. . .
He paused, listening tensely. Indeed, there was the sound of laborious breathing above his head. The noises sounded very much like some form of demon; so animal-like in nature they were.
"What place is this?"
The cellar of a mage, most likely. They often use impractical architecture and hire peculiar body-guards.
He cautiously continued moving upwards, until he noticed the segmented body of an enormous muckworm. But as he followed its corpulent form his sight encompassed the head, which bloated out and about into a cancerous mass of tentacles. The thin ones were squirming like black oily snakes, while some were thick and porous and excreted a hideous chunky ooze, and others still were barbed with teeth so sharp that the others nearby were bubbling yellow puss from recent wounds. It was quite easily the most disgusting thing he'd ever seen.
It had no eyes, and apparently couldn't discern his presence. . . as of yet. But the monstrosity was so completely unlike anything he'd ever seen before. . . it was plain frightening.
This being was not born of the void. Where did it come from?
The owner of this place would know. Perhaps thou shouldst ask him.
The curled-up worm occupied nearly the entire breadth of the tunnel which the Avatar had just climbed into. He would either have to squeeze by its massive body or go back down the ladder. But he had a nasty suspicion that if he touched its slimy skin, the worm would roll over and crush him. The broken tiles on the floor seemed to indicate just how heavy the monstrosity was.
It is most odd that events should arrange themselves thus. One obstacle after another. . . the endless game.