Deesul only saw darkness. At first, he felt nothing. He didn't know how much time passed here in this place that wasn't, but eventually he did sense something familiar: Pain. He had been trained, almost literally since birth, to tolerate pain. That didn't mean he couldn't feel it. Quite the opposite. He was a trained Sensitive; Not only did he feel his pain, but he could feel the pain of others and relieve them of it. He was no stranger to this sensation, yet this pain was nagging him.
Being a Sensitive, though, was not Deesul's gift. His Sense had been crafted within him by experts (afforded to him by his parents) over many many years of hard training and, at times, torture. His gift -- the thing that made him truly great, was his born-in ability to regenerate his body. While he also learned of healing alchemy and spells and runes, his body had the natural gift to regenerate itself very quickly. And with his intense years of training, he had been forged into a being no one would dare challenge. But this nagging pain, presently, it wasn't healing. Through his swirling confusion, this was the sole thought in Deesul's mind: Something is wrong.
A Transtemporal Flight
A Brave New Island
A loud crunch signaled the meeting of two great forces. The first of which was pavement, or compact gravel of some sort. The second of which was Deesul's face. Warm blood poured over him as he rolled over. He did not cry out at first, but instead caressed his old friend, pain. A somewhat lithe looking fellow rushed over to Deesul's aid, "You came out of nowhere, friend." Deesul stared at the man through blood stained eyes and managed to moan out, "Medic!" to anyone who would hear him. The lithe man signaled someone over who then began fretting over Deesul's limp figure. "I'm Thaine, friend. We're going to take care of you, don't you worry. Marrah knows just what to do." The man's soothing voice almost made Deesul forget his pain - such an odd feeling!
Deesul sat up, having been bandaged by expert hands, and wondered why he was not regenerating. He pressed on the bandages and the pain overwhelmed him. This was not right. He was the master of his pain. Looking around, Deesul realized he had absolutely no idea where he was. Come to think of it, he had no idea how he'd arrived. Panic washed over him. Under his bandages his face contorted to horror. He began wailing for his God, Brogue.
Deesul sat up, having been bandaged by expert hands, and wondered why he was not regenerating. He pressed on the bandages and the pain overwhelmed him. This was not right. He was the master of his pain. Looking around, Deesul realized he had absolutely no idea where he was. Come to think of it, he had no idea how he'd arrived. Panic washed over him. Under his bandages his face contorted to horror. He began wailing for his God, Brogue.
A Bronze For Your Thoughts
Deesul's face had finally healed, leaving a light scar along his mahogany skin. Deesul had never in his many many many years experienced a scar. As more and more evidence that he was not at all at home kept piling up, he turned a blind eye: The scar, his prayers to Brogue going unanswered (Brogue always answered him), the unfamiliar terrain (and, subsequently, his inability to find anyone versed in Geography), and the odd coins they used for currency. Deesul hadn't taken this appearance for a very long time. He had forgotten his true form long ago, if he ever even had one. Presently he looked like the others from the island where he trained to become Sensitive. The others like him on the Sensitive Island, they all looked the same. Through their sympathic ability they were able to change their appearance to match that of others - sometimes by complete accident. But mostly because it was an island near the equator, they took on a dark complexion to protect them from the sun naturally. Their hair was often bleached blonde by the intense sun there and the sympaths saw no reason to change it back. Because of this, they all looked very much alike and in most cases they looked identical. They were able to tell each other apart simply by sympathic talent, but foreigners found it very hard to function on the islands because of this.
Deesul was convinced he would find his way home eventually. He finally found a coin collector and showed him the bronze currency of his world. The coin was hollow, and had small triangles cut out from it in many places to create a pleasing pattern. The collector turned the coin in his hands for what seemed a very long time, "A very intricate coin - I've never seen anything like this. Nothing that I know of would even come close to minting a coin like this. I am sorry." The collector frowned into Deesul's steely eyes as he handed the coin back. Deesul took from his pocket a few of the roughly stamped gold coins of this "Cosrin" province and dropped them on the collector's desk. He prayed to Brogue to bring him home again as he stepped out of the collector's shop into the streets of Moorgate, making his way to the docks.
Deesul was convinced he would find his way home eventually. He finally found a coin collector and showed him the bronze currency of his world. The coin was hollow, and had small triangles cut out from it in many places to create a pleasing pattern. The collector turned the coin in his hands for what seemed a very long time, "A very intricate coin - I've never seen anything like this. Nothing that I know of would even come close to minting a coin like this. I am sorry." The collector frowned into Deesul's steely eyes as he handed the coin back. Deesul took from his pocket a few of the roughly stamped gold coins of this "Cosrin" province and dropped them on the collector's desk. He prayed to Brogue to bring him home again as he stepped out of the collector's shop into the streets of Moorgate, making his way to the docks.
A Three Hour Tour
Looking out from the port city, the ocean of Cosrin did not remind Deesul of home. The waters surrounding the Sensitive Island were crisp and clear. The ocean before him, at the pier, was mucky and grey. Then Deesul had started to experience something quite odd. Not a memory, really, but the retelling of a memory...
The ship’s captain, who so lovingly referred to her as, “this wench†(though her name was Crossbreeze) docked her on the island chain’s only port. The main island’s name was too long to use in conversation and as such was only ‘the islet’ to its natives. Mainlanders sometimes called it Sensitive Island. In fact it was a chain of islands, but so few mainlanders ever visited, that its specific geography was mostly uncharted on maps except occasionally as one small island.
The captain disembarked, followed by a man and a woman, of which the woman was holding a swaddle. Both man and woman were very pale with dark hair and green eyes, as was their son deep within his blanket. The captain motioned the young couple into a shack near the docks. “Jacob, Kayla, you will sleep here tonight. you will meet with Hestia tomorrow.†The shack seemed much bigger on the inside than it had been from the dock, but it was late and the young couple was tired from being at sea for so long as they were not accustomed to such travel. The captain turned from the door, “dinner and breakfast are on the table. I will see you tomorrow. Sleep well.†with that he left the young couple.
The next morning, after breakfast, the ship's captain took the couple to a large meeting hall sort of room. Shortly, three female sensitives entered the large room, their features so soft they were difficult to discern from one another. Gentle smiles played on their deeply tanned faces. As they approached the couple, their blonde hair swayed with each step. “Hello, and welcome to our island. I am Hestia†intoned the middle woman. “Please, place the baby on the table.†Kayla did as she was asked. Until now the two other sensitives had been looking at the floor rather intently, but as Hestia unwrapped the baby their gaze drew upward. Three sets of blue eyes studied the baby on the table as two sets of green eyes studied the ever-changing faces of the sensitives. As everyone stood in silence, the sensitives had already begun to subconsciously shift -- their hair went many shades darker and their skin lightened. This was why everyone who lived here looked very similar to one another. When not paying concentration to their sympathic links (as often happened at home on the island), the more powerful sensitives lost their sense of self. In fact none of the most powerful sympaths remember what they looked like before their training began. Hestia, for the first time, made eye contact with Kayla, “This is going to hurt him... and us†and with that Hestia pricked the baby on the arm with an athame, drawing blood. The baby began to wail. The two other sensitives were already at work to calm him, but not to take his wounds. He would have to do that himself, to prove his place on the island. And so he did prove himself -- the baby healed with uncanny speed. He was a regenerator. His sensitivity training would begin soon. As such, he would stay on the island and his parents would be required to leave. The island couldn’t hold insensitives for very long, as it taxed the concentration of the local inhabitants. Hestia swaddled the baby up in his blankets, “We will take care of him. He is one of our own, now.†Kayla began to weep, followed by the other sensitives. Hestia remained stoic, but her eyes were now green. Hestia, baby in arms, and the other sensitives left for the nursery.
The captain shuffled the mainlanders back aboard Crossbreeze. The return trip was always hard for the sensitive captain. A child should never be separated from its parents.
The ship’s captain, who so lovingly referred to her as, “this wench†(though her name was Crossbreeze) docked her on the island chain’s only port. The main island’s name was too long to use in conversation and as such was only ‘the islet’ to its natives. Mainlanders sometimes called it Sensitive Island. In fact it was a chain of islands, but so few mainlanders ever visited, that its specific geography was mostly uncharted on maps except occasionally as one small island.
The captain disembarked, followed by a man and a woman, of which the woman was holding a swaddle. Both man and woman were very pale with dark hair and green eyes, as was their son deep within his blanket. The captain motioned the young couple into a shack near the docks. “Jacob, Kayla, you will sleep here tonight. you will meet with Hestia tomorrow.†The shack seemed much bigger on the inside than it had been from the dock, but it was late and the young couple was tired from being at sea for so long as they were not accustomed to such travel. The captain turned from the door, “dinner and breakfast are on the table. I will see you tomorrow. Sleep well.†with that he left the young couple.
The next morning, after breakfast, the ship's captain took the couple to a large meeting hall sort of room. Shortly, three female sensitives entered the large room, their features so soft they were difficult to discern from one another. Gentle smiles played on their deeply tanned faces. As they approached the couple, their blonde hair swayed with each step. “Hello, and welcome to our island. I am Hestia†intoned the middle woman. “Please, place the baby on the table.†Kayla did as she was asked. Until now the two other sensitives had been looking at the floor rather intently, but as Hestia unwrapped the baby their gaze drew upward. Three sets of blue eyes studied the baby on the table as two sets of green eyes studied the ever-changing faces of the sensitives. As everyone stood in silence, the sensitives had already begun to subconsciously shift -- their hair went many shades darker and their skin lightened. This was why everyone who lived here looked very similar to one another. When not paying concentration to their sympathic links (as often happened at home on the island), the more powerful sensitives lost their sense of self. In fact none of the most powerful sympaths remember what they looked like before their training began. Hestia, for the first time, made eye contact with Kayla, “This is going to hurt him... and us†and with that Hestia pricked the baby on the arm with an athame, drawing blood. The baby began to wail. The two other sensitives were already at work to calm him, but not to take his wounds. He would have to do that himself, to prove his place on the island. And so he did prove himself -- the baby healed with uncanny speed. He was a regenerator. His sensitivity training would begin soon. As such, he would stay on the island and his parents would be required to leave. The island couldn’t hold insensitives for very long, as it taxed the concentration of the local inhabitants. Hestia swaddled the baby up in his blankets, “We will take care of him. He is one of our own, now.†Kayla began to weep, followed by the other sensitives. Hestia remained stoic, but her eyes were now green. Hestia, baby in arms, and the other sensitives left for the nursery.
The captain shuffled the mainlanders back aboard Crossbreeze. The return trip was always hard for the sensitive captain. A child should never be separated from its parents.
All The King's Men
Deesul had lost everything. He was without Brogue. He was without his regeneration. He was without his sensitivity. Nonetheless, he had proven himself to be formidable in battle. The city he'd been staying in, Moorgate, was constantly besieged by all manner of creature. He felt as though he was constantly either recovering from battle, or in battle. The medics, or as they were called here, the shaman, used some sort of arcane magic to instantaneously heal wounds. It was very strange to Deesul, but eventually he got used to it and even learned a little bit of the arcane arts himself. He was a warrior - he had been in many battles. Finally, something he had not lost. During the short recesses between the onslaughts, he took time to pray to Brogue. One day, during prayer, Deesul had a vivid memory...
The sound of battle echoed off of nearby cliffs as the last hope for the battle of thunder hills marched, in ranks, toward the field with battle-fervored faces. Seasoned warriors, the elite of the elite, formed a protective phalanx around the king’s personal sympath, Deesul. Deesul’s face, in contrast, was stoic. He had an eerie appearance, being blond haired but his skin having a deep mahogany tone that somehow shone with unnatural light. And he didn’t march as the soldiers did, so much as glide. This sort of thing didn't happen often, but when the king asks you to do something, he isn’t really asking. Nonetheless, Deesul had done this before, and was probably one of the best. He began forging sympathic links to the men who protected him by lightly touching bits of exposed skin. Deesul’s friend, and one of the king’s personal guard, was easiest to link. He had only to think of their childhood together. The other men, while not complete strangers, were harder to forge. But thinking of his duty to them, and in turn their duty to the state, helped. Once the links were strong, and he was sure they would hold, he forced the men’s rage out of the links so he would not be distracted by emotion. They entered the battlefield and surveyed the carnage. It was complete chaos, even for battle. It was sloppy.
“Time to clean things up.†Deesul informed the men.
His men, he reminded himself -- the king had charged him with bringing all of them back ‘without a scratch’ he remembered. They positioned themselves on the outskirts of the open field and Deesul’s soldiers began organizing fellow troops. They were tired, wounded, some nearly dead. But they weren’t Deesul’s concern. He felt badly for them, but he had to save himself for the king’s men. They moved inward slightly and began fighting enemy soldiers, handling themselves with some sort of battle grace, if there was such a thing. Deesul took their fatigue as his own and refreshed himself using small precious stones crafted by the finest runecrafters in the kingdom. Deesul enjoyed working with such nice tools, afforded to him by the king. The sting of transferred pain brought him out of his distraction. A stray arrow struck one of the soldiers in the shoulder. Deesul quickly rushed to him and pushed the arrow entirely through the man’s shoulder as he continued to fight. Deesul screamed in pain, but it was drowned out by the sound of battle. The soldier’s wound sealed itself and he was unharmed again. Deesul, on the other hand, now had a hole through his shoulder which oozed blood. He wrapped it with bandages. They battled on and did not grow tired, their wounds seemed to vanish into thin air. The other soldiers could not see Deesul, but they began to take notice of the group gaining superior position on the battlefield. Deesul unwrapped his shoulder, his arrow wound had now healed. He was out of runestones, and so began preparing his spell matrix for use.
Life and death magic were easy to use on the battlefield, charged by spontaneity of it all and of course the many deaths occurring. Every death released energy like a rubber band snapping. The trick was harnessing that energy and using it when it was needed. They had taken center field and were faced with an onslaught of soldiers. Wounds piled on top of other wounds and eventually this process took its toll on Deesul. More specifically on Deesul’s leg. His eyes widened at the familiar sensation, and then his eyes shut tightly as his leg exploded out from under him into a fine pink mist. He worked quickly with bandages to stop the hemorrhaging. He then used a spell to staunch the blood further. With only a moment’s rest, a searing pain shot through his chest. One of the soldiers had miscalculated and blundered directly into a sword. The soldier fell backwards into the circle, the sword made an odd slurping noise as it was retracted. The men closed the gap and Deesul crawled, one-legged, over to his fallen friend, blood spurting from the other man's open wound. Deesul applied pressure on his friend’s chest and waited until the wound sealed up. Deesul then wrapped himself in yet more bandages to hold himself together, and rummaged for his smelling salts. He cracked them over his friend’s head, who woke with a start, and then grinned, patting Deesul on the shoulder. “Life saver!†he yelled as he jumped back into the fray as if he had not just been mortally wounded. Deesul sat, wheezing, when that familiar pain struck his right arm, which then suddenly exploded into nothing. He fell backwards onto the hard ground, laughing. He had a few moments to watch the clouds float effortlessly by in the bright blue sky.
This released his darkest spell. Deesul’s body flew up into the air like a rag doll awkwardly suspended on strings like a tangled marionette. A heavy, black cloud formed under him. Purple lightning shot out from the cloud, and those it struck received Deesul’s wounds that he had been collecting throughout the battle. With each lightning strike, Deesul’s wounds sealed and he became stronger. Anyone nearby who he didn't have a sympathic link to was struck without warning. The enemies around him fell as purple lightning coursed through them. The cloud subsided, and Deesul stood in the clearing. Only he and his men remained standing, and so they made their way back to the castle.
The sound of battle echoed off of nearby cliffs as the last hope for the battle of thunder hills marched, in ranks, toward the field with battle-fervored faces. Seasoned warriors, the elite of the elite, formed a protective phalanx around the king’s personal sympath, Deesul. Deesul’s face, in contrast, was stoic. He had an eerie appearance, being blond haired but his skin having a deep mahogany tone that somehow shone with unnatural light. And he didn’t march as the soldiers did, so much as glide. This sort of thing didn't happen often, but when the king asks you to do something, he isn’t really asking. Nonetheless, Deesul had done this before, and was probably one of the best. He began forging sympathic links to the men who protected him by lightly touching bits of exposed skin. Deesul’s friend, and one of the king’s personal guard, was easiest to link. He had only to think of their childhood together. The other men, while not complete strangers, were harder to forge. But thinking of his duty to them, and in turn their duty to the state, helped. Once the links were strong, and he was sure they would hold, he forced the men’s rage out of the links so he would not be distracted by emotion. They entered the battlefield and surveyed the carnage. It was complete chaos, even for battle. It was sloppy.
“Time to clean things up.†Deesul informed the men.
His men, he reminded himself -- the king had charged him with bringing all of them back ‘without a scratch’ he remembered. They positioned themselves on the outskirts of the open field and Deesul’s soldiers began organizing fellow troops. They were tired, wounded, some nearly dead. But they weren’t Deesul’s concern. He felt badly for them, but he had to save himself for the king’s men. They moved inward slightly and began fighting enemy soldiers, handling themselves with some sort of battle grace, if there was such a thing. Deesul took their fatigue as his own and refreshed himself using small precious stones crafted by the finest runecrafters in the kingdom. Deesul enjoyed working with such nice tools, afforded to him by the king. The sting of transferred pain brought him out of his distraction. A stray arrow struck one of the soldiers in the shoulder. Deesul quickly rushed to him and pushed the arrow entirely through the man’s shoulder as he continued to fight. Deesul screamed in pain, but it was drowned out by the sound of battle. The soldier’s wound sealed itself and he was unharmed again. Deesul, on the other hand, now had a hole through his shoulder which oozed blood. He wrapped it with bandages. They battled on and did not grow tired, their wounds seemed to vanish into thin air. The other soldiers could not see Deesul, but they began to take notice of the group gaining superior position on the battlefield. Deesul unwrapped his shoulder, his arrow wound had now healed. He was out of runestones, and so began preparing his spell matrix for use.
Life and death magic were easy to use on the battlefield, charged by spontaneity of it all and of course the many deaths occurring. Every death released energy like a rubber band snapping. The trick was harnessing that energy and using it when it was needed. They had taken center field and were faced with an onslaught of soldiers. Wounds piled on top of other wounds and eventually this process took its toll on Deesul. More specifically on Deesul’s leg. His eyes widened at the familiar sensation, and then his eyes shut tightly as his leg exploded out from under him into a fine pink mist. He worked quickly with bandages to stop the hemorrhaging. He then used a spell to staunch the blood further. With only a moment’s rest, a searing pain shot through his chest. One of the soldiers had miscalculated and blundered directly into a sword. The soldier fell backwards into the circle, the sword made an odd slurping noise as it was retracted. The men closed the gap and Deesul crawled, one-legged, over to his fallen friend, blood spurting from the other man's open wound. Deesul applied pressure on his friend’s chest and waited until the wound sealed up. Deesul then wrapped himself in yet more bandages to hold himself together, and rummaged for his smelling salts. He cracked them over his friend’s head, who woke with a start, and then grinned, patting Deesul on the shoulder. “Life saver!†he yelled as he jumped back into the fray as if he had not just been mortally wounded. Deesul sat, wheezing, when that familiar pain struck his right arm, which then suddenly exploded into nothing. He fell backwards onto the hard ground, laughing. He had a few moments to watch the clouds float effortlessly by in the bright blue sky.
This released his darkest spell. Deesul’s body flew up into the air like a rag doll awkwardly suspended on strings like a tangled marionette. A heavy, black cloud formed under him. Purple lightning shot out from the cloud, and those it struck received Deesul’s wounds that he had been collecting throughout the battle. With each lightning strike, Deesul’s wounds sealed and he became stronger. Anyone nearby who he didn't have a sympathic link to was struck without warning. The enemies around him fell as purple lightning coursed through them. The cloud subsided, and Deesul stood in the clearing. Only he and his men remained standing, and so they made their way back to the castle.
Far Away For Far Too Long, pt 1
A disfigured man laughed at Brogue, his voice echoing through the cavernous church. “You believe yourself a God. You’ve got everyone else believing it, too. We’re here to show that you bleed.†Cade’s we wasn’t royal, he was talking about his organization. Cade grabbed Brogue, a bold move, but Brogue allowed it - what could this mere man do to him? Cade dragged him into a quiet vestibule. “But I don’t bleed, Cade. I am immortal; only I know the everlasting Word.†Brogue wasn’t presently in the mood for theatrics, as he had certain business with one of his newest devout. He had been trying to convince this one to take on his Gold Lips for quite some time, with a bit more conversation Brogue was certain the empath could be convinced. Cade laughed again, “Everlasting, sure. But not all knowing, are you?†The stupid grin on Cade’s face made Brogue want to kill him then and there. All it would take was the killing Word. Politics disallowed this, though.Cade was the leader of an anti-cult, he had spread dissent against Brogue’s Church of Golden Lips - his chosen acolytes blessed in his image, with gold lips. Alas Brogue couldn’t kill Cade. Cade was hiding something... he was going to do something drastic soon. Sooner than Brogue knew. Brogue wasn’t all-knowing, but he was very good at reading people. “Cade, you’re keeping me from an appointment. What do you want?†Cade rubbed the stubble on his scarred face, “Oh, it’s not about me. This is about you. We know about your most recent convert... or should I say conquest?†Cade’s laugh was absolutely sardonic, “Oh, we know all about him.†Brogue’s face remained stoic, but his mind turned over and over. He couldn’t show emotion for the empath, not until he knew more. He attempted a confused look, “Hmm... my conquests, so many, I’m afraid I’m not sure who you’re speaking of?†He waved a dismissive hand and hoped that threw Cade off the trail. It didn’t. “Oh, this one’s very special. Immortal, like you, but bleeds. Oh, how he bleeds.†Brogue screamed, his emotions overwhelmed him, and he lunged his hands at the disfigured man’s rough neck. Brogue spat the Word for pain, “Where is he! Where is he?!†Cade choked in pain, but his windpipe was being crushed by Brogue’s inhuman strength so his cries were nearly silent. Still, the sound echoed through the church. Brogue used the Word for travel followed by the word “Deesulâ€. Cade fell to the floor, dead, a smile on his face.
Help, I'm Alive
Deesul sat in a chair, bound, the hooded figure at the table in front of him dragged strong fingers over all manner of torture tools sat out before him. Deesul wasn’t caught off guard often. He could sense life energies around him so he couldn't be jumped. He couldn’t be poisoned or drugged. But he couldn’t read minds. He was betrayed. That pain cut deeper than the man with the silver hacksaw presently removing his leg. Deesul sighed, “If it’s organs you need, I would be happy to oblige. You can remove my restraints.†As the torturer went to put Deesul’s leg into a bin, it had already begun to regrow. He could control the regrowth quite well at this point in his career and he still wasn’t sure what the other man’s intent was just yet. Evidently it wasn’t organs, because another hooded man emerged and they both began hacking away at his limbs at the same time. Deesul pleaded, “I’m sure we can work something out, friends.†He laughed nervously. But they didn’t seem interested in his offers, as they continued to remove limb after limb grunting when they got to the bony parts. Eventually Deesul tired and his captors stopped hacking away his limbs when they noticed this. Then they started his torture. They were under strict orders not to kill him until they had Brogue. Luckily, Deesul was nearly impossible to kill.
Far Away For Far Too Long, pt 2
A crack and whip drew the attention of the torturers. Brogue tasted copper. He directed the Word for deafness at Deesul, and let loose the killing Word on the other bloody men - and anyone else within shouting distance. They fell silently as Brogue rushed towards Deesul, or what was left of him. A torso sat - if that’s what a torso can do - strapped in a chair over a drain which was presently swirling with his red ichor. Brogue comforted the empath, “Be still, your savior has come.†Deesul was barely aware, in some sort of trance, repeating a mantra he had learned long ago to help with pain. Brogue had no Words to help, but he untied the torso from the chair and lifted it up, “Come along, now.†Brogue’s voice was so soothing as he stepped towards the exit, Deesul stopped his mantra and regained focus on the world around him. He gasped out, “Ambush.†But it was too late. A clockwork cage was dropped over the two men as soon as they had exited the dungeon. The cage hummed a sonic frequency... and Brogue could not make sound. For the first time in his life, Words failed Brogue. Brogue looked up. He dropped himself and Deesul’s torso - which had started to become more of a body again - to the ground, grabbed his head so they locked eyes and mouthed the word “climbâ€. Deesul wasn’t in any state to be able to understand why, but he did what Brogue asked of him without question. Luckily he had some semblance of arms by this point. Brogue really was quite a genius, with Deesul’s weight at the top of the cage, it became top heavy and he was able to ram his body into the bars hard enough so that the cage fell over. Brogue grabbed Deesul and dragged him out of the cage. As soon as they were out, Brogue wrapped Deesul in his arms so tightly that red ooze spewed out of several gaping holes. And then Brogue used a Word that he had never used before. Only theoretical, he hoped it would work. At the exact moment the Word passed over his gold lips the sonic cage exploded. When the dust from the collapsed buildings nearby had cleared, there was only an empty street. But something had gone wrong - the cage had interfered with Brogue's Word. Brogue groped out for Deesul, but could not find him. Deesul only saw darkness.
The Badwater Incident
The ship ride had taken from Deesul several things. In an attempt to heal Lothaine and Trisana during their protection spell when normal healing wouldn’t work, Deesul had tried to use his Sympathic ability to link life force essences to him and draw their wounds onto his self. Whether this was successful or not, no one present could really say. But it did leave Deesul incredibly drained afterwards. After he recovered slightly from this, he dived into the water in an attempt to get to the small speck of land the boat was having trouble getting to. Deesul lost consciousness halfway through the swim and was saved by Nalendi’s good grace. Deesul, Zeya, and Nalendi were then flown to Moorgate’s shore by Lothaine’s dragon. They would not be getting to the islet this day. Deesul lay unconscious, again, on the shoreline as Nalendi and Zeya coughed the water out of their lungs. Deesul’s chest rose and fell with signs of life, but even when Nalendi slapped him across the face he remained unresponsive. Within his subconscious, he began to dream... or were they visions from Zoran?
Falling...
In your haze and muddled thoughts, you hear what sounds like a voice whispering: "Brogue"
In your haze and muddled thoughts, you hear what sounds like a voice whispering: "Zoran"
The bystanders mumble in hushed conversation...
Nalendi narrows her eyes at Deesul.
In your haze and muddled thoughts, you hear what sounds like a voice whispering: "Brogue"
In your haze and muddled thoughts, you hear what sounds like a voice whispering: "Zoran"
The light plays across the waters and gives you a sense of self fulfillment
Zeya says 'He can't help it's he's sick in the head.'
Zeya Shouts: 'Trisana. He might need your medical attention. -Z-'
Zeya Shouts: 'He's not getting any from me. -Z-'
The ocean rolls and swells in front of you.
Nalendi shakes her head. "I suppose not."
A rumbling female voice shouts 'I'll be right there, mister! ~Tris~'
The tide is slowly working its way inwards.
Zeya nods.
Zeya says 'We'll talk later, Lath. I have something, or someone, to locate.'
More sea gulls fly about cawing away as they scan for more food.
You can hear soft voices calling you out to the sea.
Nalendi looks down at Deesul, contempt flashing on her face for a second.
Nalendi says 'I will stay here and guard him until the hahren arrives.'
Zeya nods.
Zeya flies to the north, the eagle spreading its wings to gain height.
Trisana enters from the north
Trisana's eyes start to boggle!
Trisana exclaims 'Mister Deesul!'
Deesul is completely unresponsive, but his chest rises and falls with the sign of life.
Trisana rushes to Deesul's side and kneels down, putting an ear to his chest.
Deesul (thump thump. thump thump.)
Nalendi folds her arms over her chest. "I tried hitting him. Didn't work. Maybe I just need to hit harder."
In your haze and muddled thoughts, you hear what sounds like a voice whispering: "Brogue"
In your haze and muddled thoughts, you hear what sounds like a voice whispering: "Zoran"
Trisana holds her hands over Deesul's heart. They begin to glow with magic. "Don't hurt Mister Deesul!"
Images of the stars fading in and out of existences flood your mind; the light blinding
You can feel the call of the oceans upon your soul !
Deesul begins to have visions while in his unconscious state, floating among the stars.
Trisana concentrates, pouring her healing magic through Deesul. Slowly, the light envelops his body.
Clouds start to bunch together out on the vast ocean.
Beyond the stars, in the darkness - or perhaps of the stars themselves - the visage of an eye
takes shape. Massive, unblinking, and unfathomably precise in its design
In your haze and muddled thoughts, you hear what sounds like a voice whispering: "Brogue"
In your haze and muddled thoughts, you hear what sounds like a voice whispering: "Zoran"
You are falling. You are weightless. You can feel it in the pit of your stomach.
Deesul falls through the stars, gaining speed.
Trisana's eyes begin to glow as she taps into 'Thaine's magic as well. "Come back to us, Mister Deesul.
You begin entering the atmosphere. Your body begins to feel warm and whole again. But it's getting too hot.
You're still picking up speed. The heat is excrutiating. Falling. Falling.
In your haze and muddled thoughts, you hear what sounds like a voice whispering: "Brogue"
In your haze and muddled thoughts, you hear what sounds like a voice whispering: "Zoran"
Deesul sees the world of Cosrin below him, the stars above. The unblinking eye in the distance of the stars.
Deesul begins to descend upon the island of Cosrin. He glimpses a large cloud of mist to the west of it.
Deesul's soul burns as it screams through the atmosphere high above his body.
You begin to smell your own searing flesh. The nauseating pain. And then the nerves are gone.
Beside you, you can feel the presence of something - or someone. You look, but your eyes are of no use.
The presence washes over you. You feel His presence join with yours, for the briefest of moments
Trisana lets out a cry as she experiences the feeling of her own burning flesh. What was happening? Still, she continues on.
Quickly, the image of an island surrounded by towering trees flashes once more in your mind.
Suddenly a deafening thunder erupts, as if exploding from inside your own mind.
Deesul's soul hits his body at amazing speed. Upon their collision, a soundburst blasts the area. The smell of burnt flesh permeates from him.
With the thunder comes the jolting pain of electricity; however fleeting, before your
senses begin to drift back to you. Clarity returning to your mind and body; whole again.
Deesul coughs violently and writhes on the ground in soundless agony.
Trisana releases her link with 'Thaine, the glow of healing receding back into her.
Even in your clear state of mind, you can still hear a whisper: "Br-"
But it is cut short. Drowned out by a scream within your own head: "Zoran"
And with that, the voices are gone. Left now only to wonder as to whether or not
it was the shaman who restored your sanity and body - or the will of Zoran Himself.
Nalendi watches Deesul writhe silently.
Trisana exclaims 'It's okay Mister Deesul! Calm down!'
Deesul is calmed by Trisana's voice.
Trisana asks 'Are you okay, Mister Deesul?'
Deesul regains his senses, looks around, and stands.
Trisana smiles gently at Deesul.
Nalendi watches Deesul get to his feet and unfolds her arms, taking a step towards him.
Deesul decides not to share his visions just yet.
Deesul says 'Thank you Nalendi. Trisana.'
You bow low.
Falling...
In your haze and muddled thoughts, you hear what sounds like a voice whispering: "Brogue"
In your haze and muddled thoughts, you hear what sounds like a voice whispering: "Zoran"
The bystanders mumble in hushed conversation...
Nalendi narrows her eyes at Deesul.
In your haze and muddled thoughts, you hear what sounds like a voice whispering: "Brogue"
In your haze and muddled thoughts, you hear what sounds like a voice whispering: "Zoran"
The light plays across the waters and gives you a sense of self fulfillment
Zeya says 'He can't help it's he's sick in the head.'
Zeya Shouts: 'Trisana. He might need your medical attention. -Z-'
Zeya Shouts: 'He's not getting any from me. -Z-'
The ocean rolls and swells in front of you.
Nalendi shakes her head. "I suppose not."
A rumbling female voice shouts 'I'll be right there, mister! ~Tris~'
The tide is slowly working its way inwards.
Zeya nods.
Zeya says 'We'll talk later, Lath. I have something, or someone, to locate.'
More sea gulls fly about cawing away as they scan for more food.
You can hear soft voices calling you out to the sea.
Nalendi looks down at Deesul, contempt flashing on her face for a second.
Nalendi says 'I will stay here and guard him until the hahren arrives.'
Zeya nods.
Zeya flies to the north, the eagle spreading its wings to gain height.
Trisana enters from the north
Trisana's eyes start to boggle!
Trisana exclaims 'Mister Deesul!'
Deesul is completely unresponsive, but his chest rises and falls with the sign of life.
Trisana rushes to Deesul's side and kneels down, putting an ear to his chest.
Deesul (thump thump. thump thump.)
Nalendi folds her arms over her chest. "I tried hitting him. Didn't work. Maybe I just need to hit harder."
In your haze and muddled thoughts, you hear what sounds like a voice whispering: "Brogue"
In your haze and muddled thoughts, you hear what sounds like a voice whispering: "Zoran"
Trisana holds her hands over Deesul's heart. They begin to glow with magic. "Don't hurt Mister Deesul!"
Images of the stars fading in and out of existences flood your mind; the light blinding
You can feel the call of the oceans upon your soul !
Deesul begins to have visions while in his unconscious state, floating among the stars.
Trisana concentrates, pouring her healing magic through Deesul. Slowly, the light envelops his body.
Clouds start to bunch together out on the vast ocean.
Beyond the stars, in the darkness - or perhaps of the stars themselves - the visage of an eye
takes shape. Massive, unblinking, and unfathomably precise in its design
In your haze and muddled thoughts, you hear what sounds like a voice whispering: "Brogue"
In your haze and muddled thoughts, you hear what sounds like a voice whispering: "Zoran"
You are falling. You are weightless. You can feel it in the pit of your stomach.
Deesul falls through the stars, gaining speed.
Trisana's eyes begin to glow as she taps into 'Thaine's magic as well. "Come back to us, Mister Deesul.
You begin entering the atmosphere. Your body begins to feel warm and whole again. But it's getting too hot.
You're still picking up speed. The heat is excrutiating. Falling. Falling.
In your haze and muddled thoughts, you hear what sounds like a voice whispering: "Brogue"
In your haze and muddled thoughts, you hear what sounds like a voice whispering: "Zoran"
Deesul sees the world of Cosrin below him, the stars above. The unblinking eye in the distance of the stars.
Deesul begins to descend upon the island of Cosrin. He glimpses a large cloud of mist to the west of it.
Deesul's soul burns as it screams through the atmosphere high above his body.
You begin to smell your own searing flesh. The nauseating pain. And then the nerves are gone.
Beside you, you can feel the presence of something - or someone. You look, but your eyes are of no use.
The presence washes over you. You feel His presence join with yours, for the briefest of moments
Trisana lets out a cry as she experiences the feeling of her own burning flesh. What was happening? Still, she continues on.
Quickly, the image of an island surrounded by towering trees flashes once more in your mind.
Suddenly a deafening thunder erupts, as if exploding from inside your own mind.
Deesul's soul hits his body at amazing speed. Upon their collision, a soundburst blasts the area. The smell of burnt flesh permeates from him.
With the thunder comes the jolting pain of electricity; however fleeting, before your
senses begin to drift back to you. Clarity returning to your mind and body; whole again.
Deesul coughs violently and writhes on the ground in soundless agony.
Trisana releases her link with 'Thaine, the glow of healing receding back into her.
Even in your clear state of mind, you can still hear a whisper: "Br-"
But it is cut short. Drowned out by a scream within your own head: "Zoran"
And with that, the voices are gone. Left now only to wonder as to whether or not
it was the shaman who restored your sanity and body - or the will of Zoran Himself.
Nalendi watches Deesul writhe silently.
Trisana exclaims 'It's okay Mister Deesul! Calm down!'
Deesul is calmed by Trisana's voice.
Trisana asks 'Are you okay, Mister Deesul?'
Deesul regains his senses, looks around, and stands.
Trisana smiles gently at Deesul.
Nalendi watches Deesul get to his feet and unfolds her arms, taking a step towards him.
Deesul decides not to share his visions just yet.
Deesul says 'Thank you Nalendi. Trisana.'
You bow low.