Fantasy RPG Forum - Standing Trials

There hadn’t really been a single step in this Immortals forsaken jungle that hadn’t been a wrong one, and this all sunk further into Pash’s mind as the cold, dark water clawed through his clothes and skin, gnawing toward his very bones. The water was deep, that much he could tell, but he’d made a choice that was perhaps less helpful than it’d seemed just a few heartbeats ago: it was becoming increasingly difficult to swim and hold a torch.

The seafaring minstrel frowned, not for the first time that trial, and as he tread water for a few trills and made a decision, he realized something:

The water was moving.

While he had yet to feel anything move in the water (because, why should he … didn’t they all just have that discussion?), he did feel the water moving. He knew of currents, he understood how water moved from higher ground to lower ground on land and how warm and cold water flowed in various directions and to form different, permanent, predictable currents in the sea. He used those currents for navigation, too—they were like invisible streams in the Orm’Del that told a sailor which way to go. While he wasn’t at all confident on how water worked underground, let alone on land at all to be honest, the tall Biqaj at least knew that when water was flowing, it was going somewhere. Was that somewhere better than here?

He couldn’t swim with the torch, however, not really. He wouldn’t be able to be in control of himself against the tug.

Pash didn’t necessarily have the full length of time he would have liked to consider his options—he really hadn’t all trial for obvious reasons—and part of him couldn’t imagine how going further down, especially down under water was at all going to help them get out of this strange place. But water had to flow somewhere if it was, indeed, flowing, and the seafaring musician could only hope that wherever it was going was perhaps better than their current location. He also knew that he couldn’t fight against the current forever, that he would grow tired especially in the cold and eventually be forced to give into something on its strong terms instead of on his own.

So, if anything worse was really going to happen that trial, the Biqaj decided that water was at least an appropriate harbinger of his own inappropriately time and unfortunately rudely unannounced end. May U’Frek forgive his poor, rash decisions and may Kali’rial forgive him for being a heartless ass who didn’t loudly proclaim his feelings the very moment he knew he had them out of fear they were just some Empathy-induced ruse. By Chrien’s ire, he was sure that after the Immortal’s Tongue he couldn’t quiet despise himself more, but Faith had so kindly pointed out his ineptitude. This was a fate he deserved for attempting to prove otherwise, regardless of the faint good of his intentions. Truly, he begged in wordless prayer, may his Maker have some undeserved mercies on his ridiculous self in this cold, liquid darkness.

Twisting, he tossed the torch back toward the tunnel they’d left behind, though he wasn’t necessarily attempting to be accurate. Could Tio or Veyre swim? Probably not as well as he could, if at all. Even if they could, they wouldn’t be able to fight the current for long, either, and as much as he would have liked to speak up and discuss these details with them, he also couldn’t.

So, with a deep inhale and his desperate desire to get home his only light in the darkness, he let the current be his guide instead of his enemy.

His goal was a simple one: not to drown until that became the only option.

Pash had sailed through most of his twenty-six arcs of life by the seat of his pants, recklessly following the enticing melodies of his insatiably curious heartstrings without much disciplined application of the steady rhythm of common sense. He had some, he did, but his aptitude at improvisation often chose to ignore the beat of that structured drum and follow his own whims. It was somewhat of a wonder he’d survived this long, to be honest, and to-trial was a dark reminder that his choices had consequences. Really cold, really terrifying consequences.

He’d made some terrible choices over the arcs, from his entanglement with Ari’nne in Rharne to leaving his family in Ne’haer one last time in 716. His regrets were heavy cargo, and as the rushing, swirling water yanked him roughly downward, the seafaring minstrel desperately attempted to focus on the positives that had grown from his mistakes. The swift current was violent in the narrow tunnel, and the opportunity to fill his burning lungs with air seemed woefully rare, but every breath was a hope, and Pash counted his way through them while struggling to stay conscious from the watery assault:

A gurgle for air—

The spark of Empathy wasn’t inherently bad, despite the circumstances of his Initiation.

Another painful gasp—

His travels had been full of beautiful experiences, even if his family had often needed him more than he knew.

Oh, thank U’Frek for one more breath—

Had he been home an arc ago, would he have lived? Or would his life had ended beside his brother’s? Would he have been able to keep his father from being injured, crippled? Would he really have been capable of running a business, of rebuilding?

That rock hurt—

Had he not sailed away, he wouldn’t have met Kali’rial, who had perhaps changed more things than he was capable of understanding in this moment, if at all.

A quick gulp in the darkness—

One more chance to change things, to make things matter.

Did he really need to reach the ends of the world to see so clearly? It felt like it. In the raging, watery darkness, he felt illuminated.

Or was this just what it felt like to stare mortality in the face when drowning? Of oxygen deprivation and pain?

For a heartbeat or two, the rush through the dark tunnel may had been thrilling, but the seafaring minstrel was far too busy throwing things overboard in his own mind to enjoy anything other than when he managed to take a fiery breath.

A faint glow filled the liquid doom and then the light of day was all but blinding, filling his mind with its vibrant brightness while a loud roaring of falling water snarled in his ears over the rush of his own panicked heartbeat. He may have let a shout of fear escape his lips had he somehow possessed the air in his lungs to spare, but the sound hardly left the hull of his chest as the tall Biqaj was unceremoniously tossed over the waterfall and down into the pool below. He heard Tio’s voice on the way down, which was a bit encouraging, though he had no time to be glad for it, the painful sting of hitting the surface of the pool exploding across every inch of his awkwardly positioned body.

Chunta! That hurt, and Pash let himself sink beneath the surface for a moment, no matter how desperate for more breath his lungs wanted him to know he was.

Weightless, only the sound of water filling his senses, the seafaring minstrel grasped at the threads of enlightenment and change for a heartbeat or two, seeing far too many things at once with a painful clarity. When he finally shifted and forced himself to break the surface with a kick or two, inhaling the warm air and treading water with sore limbs, Tio was laughing.

Laughing.

The cheeky, trouble-making bastard was laughing.

To be fair, the seafaring musician had agreed to everything. All of it. Every trill of the trial. He had wanted to prove something ... but from his current position, he couldn't even remember what that was. It hadn't been worth it. It hadn't been worth it at all. He'd still failed. Whatever it had been, it didn't matter.

Adrenaline taking its course through his veins as well, Pash may have finally smiled a little despite having spent so much of the trial frowning. Thank the Immortals, they were alive indeed,

"Again? Havakda! No thanks." The tall Biqaj managed a humorless sort of chuckle and made his own way to shore with a groan, sitting and taking stock of bumps, bruises, and blood. He knew most of the things in his rucksack were ruined, but here wasn’t the place to sort that out. Calloused fingers reached up to curl into dripping hair, dragging the sea-bleached mess out of his face, "Retreatin’ sounds like th’ first good idea all trial at this point, but we should look for Veyre a bit first, eh?"

Pash was doubtful, afraid, worried, and yet he’d already learned his limitations in the jungle that day. Perhaps she was just as lost as they, but through a different exit. Tidepool gaze swept up to judge the sun’s position in the sky, trying to determine the break to know how much daylight they had left, not wanting to be anywhere near the jungle after dark. He’d want to make at least a small effort to search for their lost companion, but knew he didn’t have much in him to make it an extended one. This hurt, inside, as much as his body ached and itched.

He was eager to get back to The Muse, to Kali’rial who wouldn’t even know why he had been missing, his secretive escape most likely festering into anger and hurt as the trial wore on. His selfish decisions had been stupid, and he’d be paying a high price for it. Perhaps too high, but he hoped not.

Still, he was alive.

Pash had been granted this opportunity to fix things, for the past handful of trials felt like some kind of heated crucible, crushing him with the weight of change.

Once no signs of their friend had been confirmed, the tall Biqaj was willing to stagger back towards town with Tio without too much reluctance, willing to admit defeat for a second time in less than ten trials. The end of the world was a tough place to adventure, that was for damn sure.