Solo Insidious Intentions

[Gilva Snowsong]

Day 1, Fall, 514

The last thing that the boy’s eyes had processed was the image of the ceiling within his cottage. The boy’s body had lay limp onto his bed, and suddenly he had felt lighter than he had ever felt before. It was almost as if by laying upon his bed, the boy had inadvertently triggered a journey in which he was transported from his home and into a mysterious new destination. His senses were greatly disoriented which caused him to feel a tad bit uncomfortable. His grey eyes struggled to scan his new surroundings, but there was a distinct lack of light entering his pupils. The boy’s nose also failed him, in that he was unable to smell anything that would help him identify his location. Taste proved to be equally, if not the most disappointing of his senses. Unfortunately, the only thing the boy could feel at this moment was the tiny kneads of sweat as they formed on the back of his neck and slowly trailed down the rest of his body.

Clank. Clank. Clank. The sound was beginning to claw at the boy’s brain. Its source was beginning to become a great source of frustration for him. As he followed it to the area from where it was resonating from, the environment became more illuminated. His eyes were able to decipher that the sound he had heard were the rattling of chains. There were several rooms, all of which contained people of assorted races, bound by chains keeping them confined to specific areas. Some of them appeared to be better off than others, though the young Vantha wasn’t entirely sure of why. There wasn’t any clear pattern for him to interpret why some species seemed to be allowed more freedoms than the others. But it was clear that none of the creatures looked as if they were having a pleasant time during their stay.

Gilva continued walking along the hallway, until settling in a room of his own. On the wall was a portrait of a woman that looked entirely unfamiliar to him. She appeared to have had Vantha-like qualities, but she had long, black curly hair that was a stark contrast to the tied-up hairdos that the boy had typically been exposed to.

“Wow, she sure is beautiful. I wouldn’t mind finding out more about her, maybe I could even dance for her. Better yet, I could dance with her. I wonder if she is as skilled as she is. The grace and beauty of her appearance will probably even be reflected in her steps!” Since he was alone and the portrait had reminded him of his Vanthan heritage, the boy felt it most natural to speak in Vani.

Gilva looked around the room, where a table had caught his attention. Upon the table, there were several different cutting instruments. There was an assortment of knives, chains, and a strange object that looked as if it were meant to be used for drilling purposes. Since he had no idea of what to think about these objects, the boy left the subject alone and returned his attention back to the portrait. The longer he gazed at it, the more it became etched into his mind. And the more he thought about it, the more he found himself becoming enamored with the thought of meeting her.

Soon his desires were interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. Did they belong to another poor soul that was being incarcerated or was there some other person in the building that had a much more…oppressive role? What kind of environment had the boy stumbled into? Who was the girl in the painting? These questions invaded his mind, though the latter was the most prominent, because with each passing step; pieces of the image melted off of the wall leaving a trail from the frame to the floor.

The liquid form of the portrait suddenly sprouted chains, which began to wrap around the boy's wrists. His mind became increasingly overwhelmed with confusion, for he was unable to provide a logical explanation for what he was currently experiencing. The chains bound the tall and slender boy to the wall with relative ease. If this were the moment that he were about to die, it was disappointing that it would be within darkness and solitude. With no one around to witness his demise, there was no one around to feed his ego one last time. Gilva found himself wishing that he could gaze at the portrait once more, if only so that he could at least pretend to have someone to observe his final moments.

His wish came true, though it was not in the form that he had expected. The footsteps had finally reached him, and to the boy's relief they belonged to his sister. When he looked at her face, guilt and grief swarmed his body; for her dire situation was his fault. And if this meant that she would exact her revenge, then he should accept it rightfully so. If it weren't for him, then his sister would most likely be happily married in Avanthal. His parents had inadvertently sacrificed their daughter so that they could have a son. And there was nothing that any of them could do about it. This wasn’t the first time that she had sprouted within his life. The last time her ghastly form had appeared had spread doom for the boy.

"We almost made it to Zeltiva brother...I almost made it. We were supposed to find a new, better life there! And by we...father only met you. You, whose life was so much greater in worth than mine, that I wasn't able to marry my love. You did this to me! If only you had convinced father to wait until after my marriage. If only you didn't feel the need to hog all of the attention and affection for yourself. If only you had been training more with father. IF ONLY YOU HAD DIED INSTEAD OF ME!"

His sisters voice taunted him. His eyes shifted from grey to its sorrowful equivalent, and he felt distraught about her predicament. She was speaking only the truth, and this is probably what hurt him the most.

In an instant, his lips began moving on their own; uttering out sounds that eventually formed prayers in Vani. He wasn't doing this intentionally, but for some reason with an impending death looming towards him; his body simply reacted. Unfortunately, the boy didn't have much experience with gods apart from Rhaus and Morwen; and it didn't seem as if it were appropriate to contact them during this situation.

"Praise be to the gods, please I beg of you to give me forgiveness! I don't want this to be my last moment. I would be willing to do anything as long as you let me live!"

[Gilva Snowsong]

It seemed as if his pleading had been successful, for when his cries for mercy had ceased, the image of his sister had disappeared. But then, why did it sound like there were still footsteps approaching? The young Snowsong felt himself swirling with more fear and confusion. Perhaps it would have been more bearable if he were not attached to the wall as a helpless lamb ready to be slaughtered. At this point, he preferred the company of his sister, no matter how malicious her presence may have been. Even though it was becoming increasingly clear that she wanted him to suffer, the bond that they shared still held some meaning.

Gilva shut his eyes tightly, hoping that he could make the sound of the footsteps disappear. It still wasn’t verified how he was transported to this mysterious room, but maybe he could transport himself back by repeating the process. The boy felt reinvigorated when the footsteps had finally subsided. But the hope that had filled him, had quickly turned to despair when he opened his eyes and discovered that he was staring at one’s feet. Upon close examination, this person’s feet didn’t match those of his sisters. They were clad in shoes, but they looked eerily familiar.

His eyes scaled the person, and confirmed his fear. The woman that he saw before him had mirrored the one that had broken him. But the feeling that this one was emanating was nothing of the sort. Her appearance was also different from what he remembered, for now she had concealed herself entirely behind a red hooded cloak. The atmosphere of the room had become darker. Fear and hatred clouded his soul and tainted his djed, which formed the figure which stood before him.

The woman lifted a scalpel off the table and trailed it down the boy’s cheek. The cold blade lightly pricked his face, leaving a small trail of blood in the wake of its path. But, how was she connected to the apparition of his sister? Both times the ghost had menaced him, only to be replaced by an even worse foe.

He opened his mouth to question her, but the only thing able to escape his mouth was a gasp. Almost as if she were anticipating his speech, the woman had shoved the scalpel into his stomach, preventing him taking his intended course of action. The pain was sharp, but it didn’t last for long. It was a strange sensation for the boy. Yet again, his breath was taken away as another jab was absorbed by his stomach. He wanted to reach down and grasp the wound, but the chains that bounded his wrists prevented him from doing so. The woman chuckled lightly at the boy’s humiliated expense.

“You prayed to the gods to let you live. That you’d be willing to do anything as long as you didn’t die. Maybe next time you should consider the weight of your words.” She said.

This was the first time that the Vantha had ever been lectured on his diction. First, his dancing, now his literacy. It was as if the few skills that the boy could call his own, were being targeted.

The revelation of what was happening to him seemed to have caused a rift in the room. Instead of stabbing him once more as the boy had anticipated, the woman turned towards a chair. She sat down and simply gazed at the boy. It was an odd sensation, in that little by little he didn’t feel as if he were still being watched even though the woman’s form was still in front of him. The chains had miraculously unshackled him, and he was free to escape. Before it was too late, Gilva ran towards the woman with the hopes of pulling back her hood. He wanted to see her face, he wanted to verify that it truly was the Tuvalik that was plaguing him.

When he reached for the hood, his hand passed through the air. The woman disappeared, and the room was no longer present. To the boy’s surprise, he found himself in his bed with his hand stretched outright, straining towards the ceiling. Immediately, he brought his hands back to his body to examine himself for stab wounds. There was nothing there to confirm the events of the night.

The boy heard a small shuffling in the cottage, and when he looked to his left horror had seized his face. The mysterious hooded woman was real. She was in his cottage, petting his fathers’ double-edged spear. Their eyes connected, and a smirk formed on her lips. Whether the Vantha liked it or not, he was hinged to the woman by an unknown bond.

[Perplexity]

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Gilva :

Howdy Gilva,

This is predominantly a Dream thread. As such it belongs in the Dreamscape subforum. Seeing as that is the nature of this thread and you are not in possession of Dreamwalking Gnosis I cannot award EXP or Lores for this thread. It was a very suspenseful and thrilling read however. I commend you for the imagery.

Regards,
Perplexity