6th of Vhalar 721 continued from here...
Woe let the sensation of the woman who had resembled Emelia linger on his mind. The feeling of her soft hair against his lips. The grief of the moment almost threatened to pull him back through the bridge he'd nearly crossed, but he turned away from those events, leaving them in the past where they belonged. Instead, he rose above, to walk upon the Veil once more and find his way to the next dreamer. When at last he settled into their dreamscape, he saw nothing. For a moment he almost dared to wonder if he'd actually died, and been sent to Sintra's realm for true, having failed his trial and thus strayed to the whispered of Outer Darkness.
For a moment this fear hung on his psyche, unreasonable, as he knew where he was, and was well aware that he was dreaming. All the same, in the moment of terror, how often does the danger seem so real in spite of all logic? The threat of unknown and untold and secreted terrors lurking in that darkness could build upon the imagination, until it conjured something worthy of the mounting fear.
Woe was no stranger to fear either, whether as a purveyor or victim.
So what did a man who spent years working as a torturer within the Dungeons of Andaris himself find terrifying? What brought him anguish, told him that hope was an illusion, and brought him down to his lowest possible self? For a moment, as he stared out into the darkness, listening to the short-breathed whispers upon the air, whispering the tales of Webspinner Terror and the Halls of Manipulation within Sintra's Realm. Of course, this could be no other than the dreamer's conception of that Hall of Terror, that he found himself in.
And while Woe was no stranger to the dark, he knew there lied the essence of fear. The extinction of hope, and the overwhelming possibilities of a trial, a life, a world bereft of anticipation. But he also knew, and was well equipped to deal with, the faces shown to him in that dark hell. They were geometrical shapes at first, as if taking form upon the shadows, little facets of light as if shining upon a crystalline structure. Then the mosaic resolved to smaller and smaller facets, until real horros took form before him.
He saw no material horrors, no monsters threatening his life or self-preservation. In that dark abyss, he saw a vision of a world destroyed, a world beyond the brink of repair. A world without life or people to meet. A world devoid of any anticipation of meaning. Yet he took that world, took to it and stepped into it, ignoring the fearful implications of partaking of this challenge. He rose to it, seeing the illusion for what it must be.
Yet he wasn't unaffected by it. Far from it. As he walked through, he saw things he had known, all the monsters he'd faced, ravaging the world and the remainder of its populace. A world of chaos and disorder, formed from the cold collectivist rationalization, and then exposed to the worst of wildness and savagery of human nature, diminished in the wake of a great cataclysm.
As he walked on, he saw the city of Quacia, which had often appeared within his dreams, and eventually he had visited, to find quite another place from what he'd imagined in dreams. The city was torn apart by the Creep, and for the first time since leaving there, he was brought to confront the terror and horror of that experience, to internalize it. He saw thorny maws opening to swallow the flesh and blood of humankind, their waste leaking into the deep crevices of stone in the Quacian Underway, to some sleeping entity deep beneath...
There, he ran through the roads of Quacia, heading for the same Nave that he knew in the Chapel of the Wounded God. He ran through, and into the Nave, under the city. There he found darkness, but none of the miscreants who'd once inhabited it. There he found only corpses, being supped upon by some foul beast. And something worse still, unseeable, beyond the darkness.
He tried to peer through that darkness, only to encounter a pair of red eyes. The blood of the Wounded God, or so he presumed. He caught himself before turning away to run in terror, and instead proceeded, remembering the lesson of the tales of the Halls of Terror, told to Webspinner children in order that they'd be prepared when they met Sintra in the flesh, in her Realm. He walked toward those eyes, until he saw the dreamer. Just another ordinary man, nothing special about him. There, he reached out and touched the terror, and was bridged back to the Veil, having passed through the essence of terror, and come out the other side.
For a moment this fear hung on his psyche, unreasonable, as he knew where he was, and was well aware that he was dreaming. All the same, in the moment of terror, how often does the danger seem so real in spite of all logic? The threat of unknown and untold and secreted terrors lurking in that darkness could build upon the imagination, until it conjured something worthy of the mounting fear.
Woe was no stranger to fear either, whether as a purveyor or victim.
So what did a man who spent years working as a torturer within the Dungeons of Andaris himself find terrifying? What brought him anguish, told him that hope was an illusion, and brought him down to his lowest possible self? For a moment, as he stared out into the darkness, listening to the short-breathed whispers upon the air, whispering the tales of Webspinner Terror and the Halls of Manipulation within Sintra's Realm. Of course, this could be no other than the dreamer's conception of that Hall of Terror, that he found himself in.
And while Woe was no stranger to the dark, he knew there lied the essence of fear. The extinction of hope, and the overwhelming possibilities of a trial, a life, a world bereft of anticipation. But he also knew, and was well equipped to deal with, the faces shown to him in that dark hell. They were geometrical shapes at first, as if taking form upon the shadows, little facets of light as if shining upon a crystalline structure. Then the mosaic resolved to smaller and smaller facets, until real horros took form before him.
He saw no material horrors, no monsters threatening his life or self-preservation. In that dark abyss, he saw a vision of a world destroyed, a world beyond the brink of repair. A world without life or people to meet. A world devoid of any anticipation of meaning. Yet he took that world, took to it and stepped into it, ignoring the fearful implications of partaking of this challenge. He rose to it, seeing the illusion for what it must be.
Yet he wasn't unaffected by it. Far from it. As he walked through, he saw things he had known, all the monsters he'd faced, ravaging the world and the remainder of its populace. A world of chaos and disorder, formed from the cold collectivist rationalization, and then exposed to the worst of wildness and savagery of human nature, diminished in the wake of a great cataclysm.
As he walked on, he saw the city of Quacia, which had often appeared within his dreams, and eventually he had visited, to find quite another place from what he'd imagined in dreams. The city was torn apart by the Creep, and for the first time since leaving there, he was brought to confront the terror and horror of that experience, to internalize it. He saw thorny maws opening to swallow the flesh and blood of humankind, their waste leaking into the deep crevices of stone in the Quacian Underway, to some sleeping entity deep beneath...
There, he ran through the roads of Quacia, heading for the same Nave that he knew in the Chapel of the Wounded God. He ran through, and into the Nave, under the city. There he found darkness, but none of the miscreants who'd once inhabited it. There he found only corpses, being supped upon by some foul beast. And something worse still, unseeable, beyond the darkness.
He tried to peer through that darkness, only to encounter a pair of red eyes. The blood of the Wounded God, or so he presumed. He caught himself before turning away to run in terror, and instead proceeded, remembering the lesson of the tales of the Halls of Terror, told to Webspinner children in order that they'd be prepared when they met Sintra in the flesh, in her Realm. He walked toward those eyes, until he saw the dreamer. Just another ordinary man, nothing special about him. There, he reached out and touched the terror, and was bridged back to the Veil, having passed through the essence of terror, and come out the other side.
