Eight. use the feathers.
You will not feel a thing
Eight, act.
You won't even notice that you die
Yves gathered all available energy, drawing from chains and his last ring, from crystals in his bags and the sparse environment around him. He depleted everything but one crystal — an odd habit, perhaps, but practiced one. If you needed everything you had, it was never enough. So, you might as well give everything but one. That one might be your lifeline in the aftermath. It was also a silent pledge, a promise to himself. This last crystal was dedicated to ending the witch that had fed the Vicha.
Who are you trying to fool? Do you even believe your own words?
With that, he began to build.
Within the crater, Yves covered the ground with a transparent array of shards, aligning them with the natural contours of the rocky terrain. Having depleted the Lightgiver Wand, he relied on the Bow of Light to transform his energy into a condensed light arrow, which he in turn harnessed with his light magic abilities. He infused his shards with so much light that they were better described as materialised light, a radiance crafted into an almost imperceptible, reflective surface.
The stony terrain of the Northlands was severely saturated with salt and riddled with deep fissures, so that the heavy rainfall seeped away instead of building up. The depths of the unnatural crater featured the same rock structures as the surface. Where Yves stood, the ground held little earth, all but a knee-high mess of mud. Filling the depression with a few layers of shards was sufficient to prevent him from sinking in. Atop this foundation, he created vertical supports and interconnected them through horizontal structures. They spanned the width like a scaffold of glass growing far and further into the sky.
No monsters emerged. None would. Until now, Yves had spotted no creatures in his vicinity. Midnight, too, had sensed nothing the entire time she had been with him. He forced himself not to dwell on Midnight.
She knows that you gave up.
Oh how she must loathe her decision to be your familiar
She knows that you are too ashamed to die in front of her.
It was impossible. When Yves was not actively thinking about something, intrusive thoughts crept in like alien voices, disrupting, disturbing and distracting. The problem with an illusionist’s vivid imagination and versatile thinking was the struggle to reduce all those strings of thoughts to one. Whatever Yves did, there was always an endless array of images, memories, and voices demanding his attention. The quiet was too loud. And if it was too quiet for too long, the elf noise emerged. Yves needed to occupy his mind to avoid distraction, so he focussed on reciting his own conclusions, basically lecturing to himself, as he so often did to suppress the clamour.
Eight. use the feathers.
You will not feel a thing
Eight, act.
You won't even notice that you die
Yves gathered all available energy, drawing from chains and his last ring, from crystals in his bags and the sparse environment around him. He depleted everything but one crystal — an odd habit, perhaps, but practiced one. If you needed everything you had, it was never enough. So, you might as well give everything but one. That one might be your lifeline in the aftermath. It was also a silent pledge, a promise to himself. This last crystal was dedicated to ending the witch that had fed the Vicha.
Who are you trying to fool? Do you even believe your own words?
Yves gathered all available energy, drawing from chains to his last ring, from crystals in his bags to the sparse environment around him. He depleted everything but one crystal — an odd habit, perhaps, but practiced one. If you needed everything you had, it was never enough. So, you might as well give everything but one. That one might be your lifeline in the aftermath. It was also a silent pledge, a promise to himself. This last crystal was dedicated to ending the witch that had fed the Vicha.
With that, he began to build.
Within the crater, Yves covered the ground with a transparent array of shards, aligning them with the natural contours of the rocky terrain. Having depleted the Lightgiver Wand, he relied on the Bow of Light to transform his energy into a condensed light arrow, which he in turn harnessed with his light magic abilities. He infused his shards with so much light that they were better described as materialised light, a radiance crafted into an almost imperceptible, reflective surface.
The stony terrain of the Northlands was severely saturated with salt and riddled with deep fissures, so that the heavy rainfall seeped away instead of building up. The depths of the unnatural crater featured the same rock structures as the surface. Where Yves stood, the ground held little earth, all but a knee-high mess of mud. Filling the depression with a few layers of shards was sufficient to prevent him from sinking in. Atop this foundation, he created vertical supports and interconnected them through horizontal structures. They spanned the width like a scaffold of glass growing far and further into the sky.
No monsters emerged. None would. Until now, Yves had spotted no creatures in his vicinity. Midnight, too, had sensed nothing the entire time she had been with him. He forced himself not to dwell on Midnight.
She knows that you gave up.
Oh how she must loathe her decision to be your familiar
She knows that you are too ashamed to die in front of her.
It was impossible. When Yves was not actively thinking about something, intrusive thoughts crept in like alien voices, disrupting, disturbing and distracting. The problem with an illusionist’s vivid imagination and versatile thinking was the struggle to reduce all those strings of thoughts to one. Whatever Yves did, there was always an endless array of images, memories, and voices demanding his attention. The quiet was too loud. And if it was too quiet for too long, the elf noise emerged. Yves needed to occupy his mind to avoid distraction, so he focussed on reciting his own conclusions, basically lecturing to himself, as he so often did to suppress the clamour.
Eight. use the feathers.
You will not
feel a thing
Eight, act.
You won't
even notice
that you die
Yves gathered all available energy, drawing from chains and his last ring, from crystals in his bags and the sparse environment around him. He depleted everything but one crystal — an odd habit, perhaps, but practiced one. If you needed everything you had, it was never enough. So, you might as well give everything but one. That one might be your lifeline in the aftermath. It was also a silent pledge, a promise to himself. This last crystal was dedicated to ending the witch that had fed the Vicha.
Who are you trying to fool?
Do you even believe your own words?
Yves gathered all available energy, drawing from chains to his last ring, from crystals in his bags to the sparse environment around him. He depleted everything but one crystal — an odd habit, perhaps, but practiced one. If you needed everything you had, it was never enough. So, you might as well give everything but one. That one might be your lifeline in the aftermath. It was also a silent pledge, a promise to himself. This last crystal was dedicated to ending the witch that had fed the Vicha.
With that, he began to build.
Within the crater, Yves covered the ground with a transparent array of shards, aligning them with the natural contours of the rocky terrain. Having depleted the Lightgiver Wand, he relied on the Bow of Light to transform his energy into a condensed light arrow, which he in turn harnessed with his light magic abilities. He infused his shards with so much light that they were better described as materialised light, a radiance crafted into an almost imperceptible, reflective surface.
The stony terrain of the Northlands was severely saturated with salt and riddled with deep fissures, so that the heavy rainfall seeped away instead of building up. The depths of the unnatural crater featured the same rock structures as the surface. Where Yves stood, the ground held little earth, all but a knee-high mess of mud. Filling the depression with a few layers of shards was sufficient to prevent him from sinking in. Atop this foundation, he created vertical supports and interconnected them through horizontal structures. They spanned the width like a scaffold of glass growing far and further into the sky.
No monsters emerged. None would. Until now, Yves had spotted no creatures in his vicinity. Midnight, too, had sensed nothing the entire time she had been with him. He forced himself not to dwell on Midnight.
She knows that you gave up.
Oh how she must loathe her decision to be your familiar
She knows that you are too ashamed to die in front of her.
It was impossible. When Yves was not actively thinking about something, intrusive thoughts crept in like alien voices, disrupting, disturbing and distracting. The problem with an illusionist’s vivid imagination and versatile thinking was the struggle to reduce all those strings of thoughts to one. Whatever Yves did, there was always an endless array of images, memories, and voices demanding his attention. The quiet was too loud. And if it was too quiet for too long, the elf noise emerged. Yves needed to occupy his mind to avoid distraction, so he focussed on reciting his own conclusions, basically lecturing to himself, as he so often did to suppress the clamour.
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