It's dangerous to go alone, take these with you. || Side blog for silly and/ or cute little videos saved on my Switch that need a good home, and things related to other games I play (yes, D&D too).
word count: 1,108
excerpt: Kindled Hearth: Wings of Vhallor
âLittle songbird⊠itâs time to wake upâŠâ
MotherâŠ? Is that you? I canât- I canât see you-
âThe snake beckons and calls, little songbird. Itâs time to wake up, our work isnât finished.âÂ
Wake up-? But Iâm not asleep, I-Â
A pause lingered in the moment, as the weight of reality set onto Morgâanaâs shoulders. The words were strange in thought, heavier in tongue.Â
I diedâ Iâm not asleep, Mother, Iâm deadâÂ
âOh, little bird⊠I thought weâd have more time than thisâŠâÂ
There was darkness everywhere Morgâana turned, dragging at her feet- dragging her with them- them? Hundreds- thousands of snakes pulling and grabbingâ at her arms, legs, at her hair, at her wingsâ dragging her with them. Pulling her apart at the seams, to unravel the very thought of her. She tried to grapple them, shove and claw them away- but they coiled tighter around her, snaking and winding tighter and tighter. Around her neck, choking the air from her lungs, over her mouth to drown out her screams. She clawed at the snakes on her faceâ pried her mouth free, clawed and bit until she drew blood. Hers, theirs- bitter like metal, pooling in her throat, choking her all the same. She spat it out and it, too, disappeared into the darkness, consumed whole. She called out, but the words burned in her throatâ scorching like a fire sheâd never known, or felt.Â
Motherâ?Â
âMy songbirdâŠâÂ
The voice sounded farther awayâ distant. Morgâana was fixedâ stuckâ no matter how much she struggled, how many snakes she clawed away. They festered and hissed, sinking their fangs into whatever part of her wasnât armored, trying to dig into her skin. All wriggling and intertwining into the next, so that it was indiscernible where one ended and the other began. Drowning out any sound she mightâve made into a chaos of noise, pulling her down into them. She caught a flicker of white among themâ slithering against the grain and biting at the others.Â
â other⊠â Mother!Â
She shot her hand forward into the dark, trying to take hold of the white snake, reaching for somethingâ anythingâ comfort in nothingness. Her hand met another, and suddenly she fell to her knees, the darkness rippling below her now, an unbothered, vast ocean of writhing, black snakes. The woman in front of her did not look like her motherâ did not move, did not feel as she remembered. But thereâd be no mistaking that voice in all the worlds, and deep inside, Morgâana felt the grief of losing something that is found again. The womanâs hair was swelling about her head in tendrils like fire, a hâalo of wings obscuring her face from view. But with her touch and with her presence, sheâd repelled the darkness here, and in their blinding bubble of light, it was warm.Â
Morgâana looked down to their hands and saw a little white cobra wrapped around them, looking at her curiously. It flicked its tongue at her, then slithered up the womanâs arm, settling on her shoulder. The woman kneeled in front of her and, cupping her cheek in her hand, caressed it gently. Emotion swelled in in Morgâanaâs chestâ an ache of all things, past and present and future, that sheâd never see again, of things that would soon be gone from memory as theyâre wont to do with time. It brought tears to her eyes and she began to weep, silently, leaning into the touch.Â
âMy little songbird⊠Youâve carried the world on your shoulders since Iâve been gone. Youâve done so much, and look so tired⊠You deserve to rest.â There was a sadness in the voice, a sort of helplessness that weighed on her. âBut⊠nobody is coming to save you, baby bird. Not this time. You need to wake up.â The woman bumped her forehead against Morgâanaâs, bringing her other hand up to cup her cheek, holding her face softly. Morgâana felt herself enveloped in warmth, and saw the womanâs wings surround them, white as the sparks of a new day. Morgâana opened her mouth but no words fell, only a desperate whine.Â
âI knowâ youâve fought for them long enough, died for themâ you deserve to rest. Iâm sorry, Iâd always wanted to leave you more in this life than a sword and a world of troubles. But weâre bound, by duty and blood, tethered to this fate. I thought I could spare you, give you a normal life where you could be happy. But still you found the sword I tried to hide, wore your heart on your sleeve, and did what you could to save them. Became a hero and died their legend. But your sentence isnât over yet.âÂ
Her voice echoed from every corner of the dreamâ from every speckle of light, from every writhing snake below.Â
âYou are a monster, heartless and cruelâ a destroyer, an omen of death, on whose wings comes the end of all things. You are their hero, selfless and kindâ protector, loved, a symbol of life, whose wings bring the promise of a new dawn. The thousands of lives youâve taken, the thousands of lives youâve saved; these are our curseâ our giftsâ to bear.âÂ
The woman began to pull away, slowly, leaving just her hand within Morgâanaâs.Â
âYouâre tired, I know. But you are also my childâ relentless. A sword is a better comfort in your hands than another. Killing is easy, carrying is hard, though we carry it well.âÂ
Butâ Mother, no!Â
I miss youâÂ
Iâm tired, please, donât goâÂ
I need you here stillâÂ
She couldnât get the thoughts out fast enough before she felt the snakes begin to wind around her leg again. The woman frowned without a mouth, joined her in crying without eyes. She pressed something into Morgâanaâs hand, her voice soft as she began to fade away to a fine golden dust. Her wings went first, the dust swirling around them in a dazzling whirlwind of gold and silver.Â
âCome find me, little songbird. I will be waiting for you.âÂ
But, MotherâÂ
â â come and find meââÂ
â Mother!Â
â â the snake beckons and callsâ âÂ
The last of the dust trailed off into the darkness, swallowed whole. The snakes caught hold once more, plunging Morgâana under, deep into the knot of their coils. The womanâs words echoed in her head, a haunting chant that grew more and more deafening with every passing moment. The hissing- the chanting- it all became unbearable and she covered her ears, screaming for them to stop. Something within her stirred, and for the first time in millennia,Â
Can't remember what the actual question I was asked is, but friends are plotting and planning a new campaign and the DM asked me a technical question about my war cleric, and the only answer that came out of my mouth was,
"I don't know, man. The only things I know about DnD are how to make hot women and how to fail important dice rolls."
Are we gonna talk about how the "Zelda" that tells you about the Blood Moon in TOTK is the fake Ganon illusion Zelda, and that she disappears and you no longer get that voice over in the cutscene after you figure out she's a fake, or-?
