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
“Little songbird… it’s time to wake up…”
Mother…? Is that you? I can’t- I can’t see you-
“The snake beckons and calls, little songbird. It’s time to wake up, our work isn’t finished.”
Wake up-? But I’m not asleep, I-
A pause lingered in the moment, as the weight of reality set onto Morg’ana’s shoulders. The words were strange in thought, heavier in tongue.
I died— I’m not asleep, Mother, I’m dead—
“Oh, little bird… I thought we’d have more time than this…”
There was darkness everywhere Morg’ana turned, dragging at her feet- dragging her with them- them? Hundreds- thousands of snakes pulling and grabbing– at her arms, legs, at her hair, at her wings– 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 face– 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 throat– scorching like a fire she’d never known, or felt.
Mother–?
“My songbird…”
The voice sounded farther away– distant. Morg’ana was fixed– stuck– no matter how much she struggled, how many snakes she clawed away. They festered and hissed, sinking their fangs into whatever part of her wasn’t 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 might’ve made into a chaos of noise, pulling her down into them. She caught a flicker of white among them– slithering against the grain and biting at the others.
– other… – Mother!
She shot her hand forward into the dark, trying to take hold of the white snake, reaching for something– anything– 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 mother– did not move, did not feel as she remembered. But there’d be no mistaking that voice in all the worlds, and deep inside, Morg’ana felt the grief of losing something that is found again. The woman’s hair was swelling about her head in tendrils like fire, a h’alo of wings obscuring her face from view. But with her touch and with her presence, she’d repelled the darkness here, and in their blinding bubble of light, it was warm.
Morg’ana 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 woman’s 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 Morg’ana’s chest– an ache of all things, past and present and future, that she’d never see again, of things that would soon be gone from memory as they’re wont to do with time. It brought tears to her eyes and she began to weep, silently, leaning into the touch.
“My little songbird… You’ve carried the world on your shoulders since I’ve been gone. You’ve done so much, and look so tired… You deserve to rest.” There was a sadness in the voice, a sort of helplessness that weighed on her. “But… nobody is coming to save you, baby bird. Not this time. You need to wake up.” The woman bumped her forehead against Morg’ana’s, bringing her other hand up to cup her cheek, holding her face softly. Morg’ana felt herself enveloped in warmth, and saw the woman’s wings surround them, white as the sparks of a new day. Morg’ana opened her mouth but no words fell, only a desperate whine.
“I know– you’ve fought for them long enough, died for them– you deserve to rest. I’m sorry, I’d always wanted to leave you more in this life than a sword and a world of troubles. But we’re 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 isn’t over yet.”
Her voice echoed from every corner of the dream– from every speckle of light, from every writhing snake below.
“You are a monster, heartless and cruel– a destroyer, an omen of death, on whose wings comes the end of all things. You are their hero, selfless and kind– protector, loved, a symbol of life, whose wings bring the promise of a new dawn. The thousands of lives you’ve taken, the thousands of lives you’ve saved; these are our curse– our gifts– to bear.”
The woman began to pull away, slowly, leaving just her hand within Morg’ana’s.
“You’re tired, I know. But you are also my child– relentless. A sword is a better comfort in your hands than another. Killing is easy, carrying is hard, though we carry it well.”
But– Mother, no!
I miss you–
I’m tired, please, don’t go–
I need you here still–
She couldn’t 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 Morg’ana’s 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.
“Come find me, little songbird. I will be waiting for you.”
But, Mother–
“ – come and find me–”
– Mother!
“ – the snake beckons and calls– “
The last of the dust trailed off into the darkness, swallowed whole. The snakes caught hold once more, plunging Morg’ana under, deep into the knot of their coils. The woman’s 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,
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-?
