Post by Galder on Sept 3, 2016 8:14:28 GMT
I: DIRGE
The scathing air crackled with embers-- but something was different. One lumbering lump of iron clawed forward; Galder's fingers were barely eligible for such, misshapen things of glowering iron streaked with dark, coagulate chunks of cooled metal. As they moved, his unformed consciousness struggled to answer that question- a mere sensation of quizzical agitation in the relative silence of his unformed existence.
What had changed?
Change, itself, was foreign entirely. It was always blistering heat where he was; there was always liquescent rock rolling over his ill-formed body, which he knew only by that mutedly familiar sensation- something which... hadn't quite ceased. But no longer was the ore-like devil bathed in it. Instead- crisp, burnt air blew over him as a weeping billow. Embers rolled down in an incendiary flurry of ashen, glowering hail. Echoing higher above Galder could hear screams.
His open eyes saw much... the ochre, dusk-like lights of the upper Hells. The quivering cavern walls of his rather somnolent, molten birthplace. A glimmer of surprise took his primordial mind- to see that this place was not liquid lava, as his slumbering senses had told him in his stirring to wake, but rather- a descending funnel of charred, burnt firmaments linked only by that hot, glowering fluid; magma was the essence of this place, linking islands of melted-together, charred prisoners of hell still shifting in immolated image.
So much lied above.
One mighty appendage threw forth, after the other. With each grasping lunge Galder seized more sensation. There was an unseen force on himself- something he fought, resisting gravity with his malformed body, gripping at mounds of joined iron-coated bodies and heaps of floating, charcoal-black spikes caked in ash from the unseen worlds that comprised the sky of Galder's pit. In the hours to follow, he learned the feeling of his legs too, even attaining their motion; in time, the bubbling pit of magma and tar from which he'd crawled almost faded from view, becoming a tiny frothing speck of blackness and glowering rents of heat.
There was no want to return to that place- easy as it was, comfortable as it had been. The iron devil felt something compelling; desire, dire tension, disdain with his surroundings...
The scathing air crackled with embers-- but something was different. One lumbering lump of iron clawed forward; Galder's fingers were barely eligible for such, misshapen things of glowering iron streaked with dark, coagulate chunks of cooled metal. As they moved, his unformed consciousness struggled to answer that question- a mere sensation of quizzical agitation in the relative silence of his unformed existence.
What had changed?
Change, itself, was foreign entirely. It was always blistering heat where he was; there was always liquescent rock rolling over his ill-formed body, which he knew only by that mutedly familiar sensation- something which... hadn't quite ceased. But no longer was the ore-like devil bathed in it. Instead- crisp, burnt air blew over him as a weeping billow. Embers rolled down in an incendiary flurry of ashen, glowering hail. Echoing higher above Galder could hear screams.
His open eyes saw much... the ochre, dusk-like lights of the upper Hells. The quivering cavern walls of his rather somnolent, molten birthplace. A glimmer of surprise took his primordial mind- to see that this place was not liquid lava, as his slumbering senses had told him in his stirring to wake, but rather- a descending funnel of charred, burnt firmaments linked only by that hot, glowering fluid; magma was the essence of this place, linking islands of melted-together, charred prisoners of hell still shifting in immolated image.
So much lied above.
One mighty appendage threw forth, after the other. With each grasping lunge Galder seized more sensation. There was an unseen force on himself- something he fought, resisting gravity with his malformed body, gripping at mounds of joined iron-coated bodies and heaps of floating, charcoal-black spikes caked in ash from the unseen worlds that comprised the sky of Galder's pit. In the hours to follow, he learned the feeling of his legs too, even attaining their motion; in time, the bubbling pit of magma and tar from which he'd crawled almost faded from view, becoming a tiny frothing speck of blackness and glowering rents of heat.
There was no want to return to that place- easy as it was, comfortable as it had been. The iron devil felt something compelling; desire, dire tension, disdain with his surroundings...