04-20-2019, 01:52 PM
<link href='https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Allura|Source+Sans+Pro' rel='stylesheet' type='text/css'><style type="text/css">.kag2_container { position: relative; z-index: 1; background-image: url('https://i.postimg.cc/9fspjT8k/kag2.png'); background-repeat: no-repeat; background-attachment: fixed; background-position: center; background-size: cover; width: 600px; border: solid 2px #000; box-shadow: 0px 0px 15px 1px #000; } .kag2_container p { margin: 0; } .kag2_image { position: relative; z-index: 4; width: 580px; margin-top: 10px; border-top: none; border: solid 1px #000; box-shadow: 0px 0px 15px 1px #000; } .kag2_text { position: relative; z-index: 7; width: 580px; background-color: #00000099; margin-bottom: 10px; border: solid 1px #000; box-shadow: 0px 0px 15px 1px #000; } .kag2_message { position: relative; font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif; text-align: justify; color: #e8fafc; padding: 20px; } .kag2_name { position: absolute; z-index: 8; font: 70px 'Allura', cursive; color: #93b6b2; text-shadow: 0px 0px 20px #130b22; opacity: 0.2; text-indent: 20px; margin-top: -63px; } .kag2_quote { text-align: right; color: #fff; opacity: 0.7; font: 10px 'Source Sans Pro', sans-serif; text-transform: uppercase; text-shadow: 0px 0px 20px #fff; padding-top: 10px; padding-bottom: 10px; padding-right: 10px; letter-spacing: 3px; } </style><center><div class="kag2_container"><img class="kag2_image" src="https://i.postimg.cc/rwnjQ7SM/kag1.jpg"><div class="kag2_name">Kagerus</div><div class="kag2_quote"> { and in my dreams I've kissed your lips a thousand times } </div> <div class="kag2_text"> <p class="kag2_message">What small comfort I earned in laying with Panthera atop this plague-forsaken mountain is disbanded all too soon as the sound of tectonic wrenching assaults my ears. Scrambling to my hooves seems impossible yet I manage, almost laughing at the absurdity of this situation with a bloody gurgle in the back of my throat. Next to me, Panthera hisses, the sound of her aggression silent before the breaking of Beqanna's rib bones, before the surgery into her very heart.
<i>Stay close to me.</i>
I think the words to my familiar, but she makes no response; without warning, the cavity of the mountain which continue to open and unsettle our weight spews out what I can only describe as magic incarnate. My vision glitches, the fibre of this reality morphing in sickly fashions, the images being presented not yet clear as they distort my perception. Panic sends more blood spilling down my muzzle. The earth shifts dangerously beneath me, and the last thing I see before tumbling into the deep recesses of the mountain is Panthera, clawing at me desperately, her eyes confused beyond reason as I realize that she, too, must be trying to contact me.
Breathless. Landing on the recently earth-bended path which winds down the rib bones of the mountain, I lay as though with stars floating above me head - and they do, in my dreamscape. In my dazed stupor I reach lazily to send one of the stars (which, I numbly realize, are the items I must bring to the heart) twirling, but nothing happens. A weight lands atop me, thrashes upon me. My withers twitch as though to make the weight move, my eyes glowering towards what switches between a mound of snow, a mound of sweet red flowers, a mound of dragonglass, and a mound of sand. Eventually the image clears into that of Panthera as my dreamscape recesses, and I realize that she is trying to get me to move.
I groan. Wordless though it may be, the sight of me reacting to her efforts is enough to get me to my hooves once more. I turn my head away from the onslaught of magic which pours from the mountain's heart below, anxious to keep my grasp on reality firm; and, with a staggering step, I begin the journey downward, praying that whatever hallucinations come will not disrupt me from doing as the faeries have bid.
It is difficult to be true to an objective when your mind convinces you that you are merely dreaming.
Although many fluctuations occur before I can put words to the phenomena I experience during my painfully slow journey down, I eventually find enough mental prowess to understand. About every ten seconds, my dreams weave themselves as they see fit, dancing and flitting and convincing me that what goes on around me is simply a nightmare. The comfort of knowing that I am yet in Solace's arms always makes me smile... But in the next moment, that blanket of security is ripped away from me along with my sanity as the dream vanishes, leaving me crushed as I realize <i>again</i> the gravity of the situation at hand. Panic sets in as I struggle to cope with the fact that I will cycle again, that I will again be put through the horror of relief and realization, on and on as my own magic turns against me.
When I finally reach the cusp of the heart, I no longer possess any understanding of reality. The image of that which fuels all of Beqanna's magic might as well be a giant crystal, a sea of stars, or an ethereal gust of air to my dream-addled mind. I no longer attempt to discern dream from wakefulness, mentally exhausted from the severity of my panic during the journey down. I haven't even the strength to wonder at the greatness of this quest, at the magnitude of that which I and the others are accomplishing in these moments. I only know nothing, lost to the trance of a hyper-suspended existence.
Lowering my head to drink from the pool of the heart of Beqanna, the three items which have followed me faithfully to their resting place now dissolve into the precious silverline liquid. Called there, I suppose dreamily, stirring my nose in the precious heart and tainting it with the blood of my sickness. Lastly, the shell which saved me life dislodges itself from my shoulder blades, floating like a shooting star as it joins the remainder of the galaxy.
As I stand, stirring and shivering, a sensation comes over me: that of Solace standing next to me, her arms beneath mine as she supports me. The part of me that knows this to be but another trick of the fickle magic-and-plague concoction around me silences itself gladly, and with a sigh, I lean into my wife's hallucinogenic embrace, not caring that the world around me cries out in pain.</p> </div> </div> </center>
<i>Stay close to me.</i>
I think the words to my familiar, but she makes no response; without warning, the cavity of the mountain which continue to open and unsettle our weight spews out what I can only describe as magic incarnate. My vision glitches, the fibre of this reality morphing in sickly fashions, the images being presented not yet clear as they distort my perception. Panic sends more blood spilling down my muzzle. The earth shifts dangerously beneath me, and the last thing I see before tumbling into the deep recesses of the mountain is Panthera, clawing at me desperately, her eyes confused beyond reason as I realize that she, too, must be trying to contact me.
Breathless. Landing on the recently earth-bended path which winds down the rib bones of the mountain, I lay as though with stars floating above me head - and they do, in my dreamscape. In my dazed stupor I reach lazily to send one of the stars (which, I numbly realize, are the items I must bring to the heart) twirling, but nothing happens. A weight lands atop me, thrashes upon me. My withers twitch as though to make the weight move, my eyes glowering towards what switches between a mound of snow, a mound of sweet red flowers, a mound of dragonglass, and a mound of sand. Eventually the image clears into that of Panthera as my dreamscape recesses, and I realize that she is trying to get me to move.
I groan. Wordless though it may be, the sight of me reacting to her efforts is enough to get me to my hooves once more. I turn my head away from the onslaught of magic which pours from the mountain's heart below, anxious to keep my grasp on reality firm; and, with a staggering step, I begin the journey downward, praying that whatever hallucinations come will not disrupt me from doing as the faeries have bid.
It is difficult to be true to an objective when your mind convinces you that you are merely dreaming.
Although many fluctuations occur before I can put words to the phenomena I experience during my painfully slow journey down, I eventually find enough mental prowess to understand. About every ten seconds, my dreams weave themselves as they see fit, dancing and flitting and convincing me that what goes on around me is simply a nightmare. The comfort of knowing that I am yet in Solace's arms always makes me smile... But in the next moment, that blanket of security is ripped away from me along with my sanity as the dream vanishes, leaving me crushed as I realize <i>again</i> the gravity of the situation at hand. Panic sets in as I struggle to cope with the fact that I will cycle again, that I will again be put through the horror of relief and realization, on and on as my own magic turns against me.
When I finally reach the cusp of the heart, I no longer possess any understanding of reality. The image of that which fuels all of Beqanna's magic might as well be a giant crystal, a sea of stars, or an ethereal gust of air to my dream-addled mind. I no longer attempt to discern dream from wakefulness, mentally exhausted from the severity of my panic during the journey down. I haven't even the strength to wonder at the greatness of this quest, at the magnitude of that which I and the others are accomplishing in these moments. I only know nothing, lost to the trance of a hyper-suspended existence.
Lowering my head to drink from the pool of the heart of Beqanna, the three items which have followed me faithfully to their resting place now dissolve into the precious silverline liquid. Called there, I suppose dreamily, stirring my nose in the precious heart and tainting it with the blood of my sickness. Lastly, the shell which saved me life dislodges itself from my shoulder blades, floating like a shooting star as it joins the remainder of the galaxy.
As I stand, stirring and shivering, a sensation comes over me: that of Solace standing next to me, her arms beneath mine as she supports me. The part of me that knows this to be but another trick of the fickle magic-and-plague concoction around me silences itself gladly, and with a sigh, I lean into my wife's hallucinogenic embrace, not caring that the world around me cries out in pain.</p> </div> </div> </center>
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