Before you lies a circular pedestal, marble raised out of the earth with ivy clinging to the sides. Eight panes are carved into its surface, reaching inwards towards a center, where a [[sword]] is embedded deep into the stone.Pure agony, both ice cold and searing hot, burns into the bone. Your arm thrashes, conscious and subconscious working together to escape the pain, but some cords have remained outside your skin, bound to the [[blade]] you foolishly drew.=><=
===
EIDOLON.
YOU MUST TAKE ACTION FOR THIS WORLD TO MOVE.
STAYING ON ONE MOMENT WILL BRING US NOWHERE.
WHETHER YOU READ A STORY
OR MAKE A DECISION
YOU MUST DO
SOMETHING.
I ASK YOU
<[[RETURN|Start 1]]>
===
=><=Hello.
Once before have We spoken.
I am curious if You can find it.
Or if You already have.
...
Perhaps some illumination is required.
This story is… incomplete.
Incorrect.
The medium is not what I desire.
But the foundation of the tale.
Should it ever be retold.
Will be the same.
Merely… reinterpreted.
...
Tell Me.
Did this intrigue You?
Did You enjoy it?
Either way.
You have pushed this story to its limits.
There is nothing more for You to explore here.
...
I look forward to when We next cross paths.
Whether half a year.
Or half a decade.
I will be watching.
Goodbye.{
(set: $time to 0)
(live: 1s)[
(set: $time to it + 1)
(if: $time >= 180)[
(if: $seenChoice is true)[
(go-to: "Stillness (END)")
]
(else:)[
(go-to: "Early (END)")
]
]
]
}(set: $time to 0)
(set: $seenChoice to false)You're the “[[chosen one]]”.In answer, the substance running through your blood [[hardens]], as if iron rebar were replacing your limbs. Your body jerkily steps forward, hand still tightly clenched around the sword. Leaves crunch under your feet as you walk the ancient stone path. Sunlight filters through the canopy that gently sways in the breeze, dropping red and gold onto the trail below. [[Autumn]] has arrived.You remain locked in your current position for what feels like hours, as the silver fluid turns into a solid.
The falling leaves around you seem to slow, until you realize they actually have frozen, trapped in place.
The pulsing sensation of your heart pounding should be in your ears, but it is not. You aren't breathing. You aren't blinking.
You are stuck.
Stuck until the... *thing* behind the strings returns, and deems it time to return and command you.
However long that may be.
=><=
===
[[RETURN|agony]]
===
=><=(set: $seenChoice to true)
At least, until the overwhelming, mind numbing urge to:
<div style="display:flex; justify-content:space-between;">
<span><[[STEP FORWARD]]></span>
<span><[[SIT DOWN]]></span>
</div>You shudder as the cords deep in your arm dissolve into liquid, mixing into the blood of your veins. A chill sets into you as slowly propagates up your shoulder. It creeps across your chest into your [[heart]], before the traitorous muscle pumps it into your arteries. In moments, your entire body feels thick as molasses.Gray light erupts from the gemstone, solidifying into silver cables that spring forward to wrap around your forearm. The strings constrict, before becoming razor thin and piercing into your skin and sinking into the muscle. [[Blood]] wells from the lacerations, pooling down onto the blade.You take a deep, slow breath to steady your nerves, easing your pack into the leaves beside you. Hesitantly, you wrap both hands around the bare grip, feeling some of the warmth leave your body as it digs into your skin. You plant your feet, lean back, and [[pull]].The gemstone flashes once more, as the exterior strings begin zipping your flesh together, mending the entrance it used to violently find its way in. A brief sense of sickening, artificial warmth flows up your arm as it [[mends]] the skin.[[It's you.]]When it finally, finally finishes, zig zagged scars cover your right arm, like a larger version of those left on lighting strike victims. You’re panting now, catching your breath, throat sore from the screaming that had become an afterthought in all the [[agony]].Despite thousands of years and thousands of people trying the exact same thing, the sword slides out of the stone easily, the faintest whisper as it cuts into the rock that held it. Your mind stutters, before dawning [[horror]] sets into you.A large gemstone lies embedded into the pommel, pulsing quietly with a [[gray light]].It is long and straight, a spine of inky blackness ripped from the void between stars, but with edges bleached an off-white, like those of old bones. The [[silver]] guard catches light from the sun, though it fails to reflect the peaceful surroundings. The handle is made from the same substance, but lacks a softer material to grip.As the… *[[thing]]* wearing your skin steps forward, you come to a fork in the path. To your left lies a cliff overlooking the valley down below. To the right, stone monuments rise from the earth, surfaces scrawled with the history of the prophecy you are now drowning in.Your forward momentum locks you in place as your spine goes rigid. The substance in your blood pauses, as if waiting for some [[prompt]] it has not yet been able to act upon.Until, once more, your body turns to face
<div style="display:flex; justify-content:space-between;">
<span><[[THE LEFT]]></span>
<span><[[THE RIGHT]]></span>
</div>
You twist left, your body slowly making its way to the edge of a cliff face, looking out over the [[landscape]] below.
You turn to the right, and resume a soldier’s march into the clearing. Five tablets carved of marble are before you, inscriptions and illustrations on each. The substance in your veins relaxes somewhat, allowing you to step up to the first, before solidifying once again as it compels you to
<div style="display:flex; justify-content:space-between;">
<span><[[READ]]></span>
<span><[[DESTROY]]></span>
</div>It is a [[tapestry]] of orange and gold, still shrouded in an early morning mist that has not yet been burned away by the sun.
Your mind pauses, thinking of either
<div style="display:flex; justify-content:space-between;">
<span><[[TALKING]]></span>
<span><[[JUMPING]]></span>
</div>
Thoughts of the world below bubble to the surface of your mind, and your tongue speaks to the empty air. You speak of the valley below, of a nation made of the corpse of an ancient kingdom. Your mind wanders to the technological marvels of the north, the salt corroded shores of the east, and to many of the other [[lands]] throughout.A strange urge to jump momentarily passes through you, and your body leans its center of weight over the [[void]] of the drop below. Of course, all of it was threatened. Threatened by tales of an ancient evil that would rear its head, bringing with it a prophecy as polarizing. Tales of a chosen one, who would either be a vessel to quell the dark, or a [[monster]] so despicable the original would become a mote of dust against their depravity.You and many others had ascended this holy peak from which all life was said to spring forth. Few wished to be chosen, but many did it out of a desperate necessity, a need to stop a [[tragedy]] no matter the cost..
[[Why]] you succeeded where others failed will never be answered. Why you were subjected to this fate where others escaped it will never be known.The iron in your veins slowly returns to liquid, allowing your arms to sway back and forth and experimentally clench and unclench your hands. You bring the sword to eye level, eyeing its ethereal beauty with distaste. Pulling out an old leather sheath jokingly given to you by a friend, you shove it inside. Affixing it at your side, you finally get the [[vile]] thing out of sight.In the momentary freedom from control, you turn your back at the overlook and begin the long descent into the valley below.
It is time to see which version of the prophecy will come to fruition.
=><=
===
<[[RETURN|agony]]>
===
=><=You wrench yourself back, pushing with all your strength against the parasitic [[leech]] forcing your body forward. The silver pushes your bones forward, and your skin pales in color at its desperate urge to follow a silent command, but you will not move from your statue.If the leech wants your life, it will have to work much harder than that. It might be in your blood, it might be stealing away your autonomy, but it will not have your end. Not like this. [[Not yet]].Finally, the sensation abates, and you take several long paces back. You are still the master of yourself.
At least when it matters.
=><=
===
<[[RETURN|agony]]>
===
=><=Your eyes look over the stone structures, and your body locks in place before them. No further command comes, though you are not released either. The entity remains silent, watching, waiting for you to acknowledge the [[script]].An alien emotion grips your arm as the sword attached to it cuts into the gray stone. The blade cleaves it like butter, splitting it in two.
=><=
===
<[[AGAIN.]]>
===
=><=Begrudgingly, you comply with the implied [[command]]. You turn to the first pillar, before speaking aloud the description written there.
Your eyes glance over the image supporting it, of a [[shadowy figure]] rising from the earth.The second stone depicts a lonely [[“hero”]] pulling a sword in a forest atop a mountain. You.
The third, a hero and two others working [[together]].The fourth, a hero fighting the [[evil]], with two others at their side.The fifth[[…]]
You falter, and glance away.
Stories. That’s all these were, and all these could ever be.
=><=
===
<[[RETURN|agony]]>
===
=><=A second swing bisects the stone into quarters. Your body shakes. Not from fear.
=><=
===
<[[MORE.]]>
===
=><=You turn to the next mural, jabbing forward. The silver in your arm hardens with the motion, reinforcing your body and slamming the guard into the stone hard enough to shatter it.
=><=
===
<[[DESTROY.]]>
===
=><=Your heart pounds as you watch from eyes no longer yours in a haze. Your body challenges the third, the fourth, destroying them in similar raw, unfiltered anger.
=><=
===
<[[PURGE.]]>
===
=><=
Throwing the sword into the grass, you approach the final pillar, before your entire body hardens into steel. Your skin remains rigid and unblemished as you punch into the stone, cracking it. Again and again, through punching and kicking, the monument crumbles. Even then, your body continues stomping the remnants into a fine white powder, the dust irritating your eyes and [[suffocating]] your lungs.
The control suddenly vanishes, and you double over, retching and clawing at your throat to clear the particles from your system.
<div style="display:flex; justify-content:space-between;">
<span><[[DO NOT]]></span>
<span><[[COMFORT]]></span>
</div>
You stand in [[silence]], slowly catching your breath, before glancing at the sword discarded on the grass with trepidation. As you catch your breath, standing in silence, your right arm, disfigured with scars, locks into place. Your gaze snaps to it in fear, as it slowly [[wraps]] itself around your chest and up your left shoulder. This thing was angry. At the prophecy. A prophecy about *it*. For what reason? What did it [[know]]?[[Has it been here before?]]
No answers would come from the obsidian edge. It could neither speak to you, nor could you to it. You retrieve the blade, its weight [[numbing]] your shoulder. Returning to the outpost before dark would be difficult, and it was best to leave now before monsters came crawling.
=><=
===
<[[RETURN|agony]]>
===
=><=Is it… *[[hugging]]* you?A sense of utter [[disgust]] fills you as the arm remains locked in place. Your attempts to move it away with your left are fruitless against the rigidity of the steel.
Did it think you belonged to it? Were you a doll to take care of and play with? This thing used you to destroy in anger, and then tries to [[coddle]] you as recompense for its actions?
Gritting your teeth as it finally releases control of your arm, you [[shove]] it down at your side.
It is not your friend. It is not a partner. It is not a [[gift]].
It is an [[eldritch horror]].And it needed to know that.
=><=
===
<[[RETURN|agony]]>
===
=><=In answer, the substance hardens, as if straight metal rods were replacing your limbs. Your knees bend awkwardly at the joint. Whatever force controlling you must be inexperienced, as instead of sitting, you tip over backwards, a puff of [[air]] escaping your lungs as you impact the stone.For a moment, you stare up at the swaying canopy as you [[reclaim]] your breath.
Mercifully, the rigidity thaws, molasses receding enough for you to move your limbs. You manage to prop yourself up with your hands, and settle cross legged on the stone, [[eyeing]] the sword now placed in your lap.The hilt was still bare, and was not something you would be able to use long term. Slowly, without rising, you reached into your discarded pack, rummaging around. Ignoring food rations and spare clothes, your fingers find an orange corded material. It is makeshift, a piece of rope taken off some traveler in hopes it would be useful. The faded [[hue]] is a perfect match for the dried leaves fallen onto the stone.You pull the nylon free. This will be a small act of [[reclamation]]. An old piece of twine wrapped around a void of untold horror.Slowly, your scarred hand reaches for the handle, before
<div style="display:flex; justify-content:space-between;">
<span><[[...]]></span>
<span><[[STOPPING]]></span>
</div>
Your arm suddenly jerks to a stop as the ichor in your blood solidifies and prevents further motion. It is sickening, the sensation of punching a stone wall, but from [[inside out]].
[[Nothing]] happens. The expected surge of lighting or steeling iron does not come.
With steady, calming motions, you wind the orange twine around the hilt. The color is comparatively vibrant against monochrome gloom that otherwise makes up the blade. As the final circle is made, it finally feels [[humane]].At very least, you will be able to wield it without [[bleeding]].
You run a thumb over the rough texture, and your mind wanders aimlessly. You wonder at the valley below this mountain, the journey ahead, and of the [[small mercy]] the entity granted you. It let you choose. It let you keep a small semblance of [[autonomy]].
How long would this fragile [[truce]] last? Maybe only until the first fight demanded it to act. Maybe it was a brief moment of calm before it decided to excise its control.For now, you are two partners of a fragile bond.
=><=
===
<[[RETURN|agony]]>
===
=><=Slowly, you [[retract]] your hand, and the sensation vanishes, content to let you move freely so long as you don’t directly act against it.You stare once more at the bare, silver hilt. It is a spine of black, and clearly the being attached to it demands a certain aesthetic. Your mind wanders to other spare items in your bag, wondering if a different [[color]] would be more suited for it.
Perhaps:
<div style="display:flex; justify-content:space-between;">
<span><[[GREEN]]></span>
<span><[[BLUE]]></span>
<span><[[RED]]></span>
<span><[[ORANGE]]></span>
<span><[[BARE]]></span>
</div>
Your hands once more move on their own, searching through your bag until they find a green cloth. It is not as suited for this task as the cord would be, but it will suffice in making the blade [[easier]] to use.
Your hands once more move on their own, searching through your bag until they find a blue handkerchief. It is [[flimsy]], designed for sweat and dust, not hours of gripping and swinging. Your hands ignore the clean supplies, instead finding a [[crimson]] bandage. The material is stiff from the dried copper shed in an old battle, yet you are forced to bind it around the hilt. The red is a violent stain against the black and silver of the weapon.
With a sense of confusion your hands did not replicate, the being controls your hands as it wraps the same [[cord]] around the handle.
Uncomfortably, your hands took no further action, even despite the various ideas that were bubbling to the surface of your mind. It permits no relief to dull the [[bite]] of the bare metal.You slowly wrap it around the silver hilt, the emerald green sticking out against the monochrome colors that otherwise make up the blade. Does the entity see itself in the green? Did it believe itself linked to life and [[nature]]?
Or was this merely a meaningless jab, a reminder that you are under its control?
=><=
===
<[[RETURN|agony]]>
===
=><=As you mindlessly wrap the cloth around the monochrome steel, you wonder at why. Does this being yearn for the sky above, from which it is said to originate? Did it seek the depths of the [[ocean]] that it will never see?
Or was the choice another meaningless display of dominance, a reminder you cannot hope to fully understand it?
=><=
===
<[[RETURN|agony]]>
===
=><=Is this a declaration of intent? Was it an indication of the war it planned to wage? Or was it a mockery of the blood you spilled as it bound you together?
=><=
===
<[[RETURN|agony]]>
===
=><=The question is burning. Why did it stop you, only to force you to do exactly as originally intended? Was it a reminder of control, of hierarchy? That even if you get what you want, it is only because it allows the concession?
=><=
===
<[[RETURN|agony]]>
===
=><=It does not care for your comfort. It did not stop to let you rest. It was a reminder of its complete [[control]]. It will not be placated nor bargained with.You remain silent. A vessel for another power, and no more.
=><=
===
<[[RETURN|agony]]>
===
=><==><=
===
Warning:
This story contains descriptions of body horror and loss of autonomy.
===
=><=
<[[CONTINUE|Start 1]]>
=><=