Wonder’s Weave
Perry I
Perry Van Winkle stirred from the depths of a poisoned slumber, his eyes blinking against the harsh illumination of an otherworldly gloom. The air hung heavy with a foreboding silence, broken only by the distant echoes of muffled sobs and the occasional cackles of the goblin clowns. As his eyes adjusted, the darkness revealed itself to be a disorienting blend of vibrant colours, an unsettling palette that bathed the surroundings in a surreal glow.
In the dim light, Perry's gaze wandered across the cell, his eyes falling upon a weathered dwarf, a figure that seemed a reservoir of ancient knowledge. The dwarf, clad in armour that bore the scars of countless battles, was studying their surroundings with an intensity that bordered on hunger. Perry felt a strange compulsion to approach, to inquire about the mysteries that lingered in the shadows, yet something stayed his curiosity, and he continued to observe.
In a corner, an unusual young man, his body adorned with mushroom-like growths, wept quietly. The dampness of his sobs seemed to merge with the moist air, creating an eerie symphony of despair. A sense of melancholy clung to Perry, as if the very air were permeated with the sorrows of those held captive in this enigmatic prison. His first thought once more, was to approach the boy and console him; that was always the way within the church of Hajranta but in this place in this situation it seemed best to focus his attention on escape. “The faithful are first” he whispered to himself.
In a corner, beneath the spectral glow, a young man hunched over the sand. His fingers, dipped in the ashen soil, traced intricate patterns as the grains yielded beneath their touch. What emerged on the canvas of the cold floor was a tapestry of disquiet.
At first glance, the scene depicted was innocuous—a dragon, its scales etched with meticulous care, stood as a sentinel of shadow and flame. Its eyes bore an unsettling luminescence, a glint that mirrored the eerie radiance of the prison. The details of the creature spoke of craftsmanship, a proficiency that belied the crude medium employed.
Yet, as the eyes delved deeper, the narrative began to unfurl. The dragon, a creature of mythic proportions, breathed forth a torrent of flames that engulfed a flock of sheep. The woolly figures, etched with a simplicity that contrasted with the dragon's complexity, writhed in the throes of fiery demise. The flames, rendered in the monochromatic hues of the sandy canvas, danced in an almost hypnotic rhythm.
The juxtaposition of the majestic and the mundane hinted at a tale far beyond the superficial. The dragon, a symbol of primordial power, seemed almost indifferent to the devastation it wrought upon the sheep—a narrative woven in contrasts. Was it a depiction of inevitable destruction, an allegory for the indifferent cruelty of cosmic forces? Or perhaps a manifestation of the artist's own internal turmoil, a struggle between the grandeur of purpose and the insignificance of the mundane? Perry did not know but he felt himself staring far too long; the man looked over at him, his golden eyes noting the presence of the halfling.
Amidst the cryptic tableau, a tall woman, a dark elf by the look of things, emerged as a tempestuous force. She stood at the cell bars, her dark visage defiant, berating the goblin clowns with demands for better provisions. Her voice, a cascade of authority, reverberated through the chamber. When met with resistance, she unleashed a swift kick that connected with the face of one of the guards. To Perry this was an assertion that she, unlike the others, would not succumb to a fate dictated by unseen hands. “Hmm, perhaps she fits our cause” he thought.
Yet, before he could deliberate further on the potential value she might offer, one of the guards, now clearly visible by the gate, inserted a key into the lock. The goblin's makeup and twisted grin, though meant to entertain, filled Perry with an unsettling sense of fear. The whimsical façade now appeared as a veil for something more sinister. Perry reached for his blade on instinct. He was bitterly disappointed when he realised he, like the others, was unarmed.
The goblin guard swaggered in, a whip dangling nonchalantly from his belt, a sinister glint in his eyes. Addressing the defiant dark elf, he proposed a diversion, "Want to see a magic trick?" Irritated, she snapped, "What? I don't have time for this! Where is your boss?" The goblin, unfazed, responded, "He's busy! But I tell you what, if you get past me, you can go find him! I'll even give you a hand!" With a dismissive toss, he threw the whip down at her feet.
The dwarf, immersed in his own contemplation, abruptly noticed the unfolding drama. Urgently, he yelled a warning, "Don't pick that—" But the woman paid no heed, snatching up the whip. Ignoring the dwarf's caution, she swung it toward the goblin. A malevolent laughter echoed, and a strange, swirling portal with a cosmic hue materialised between them. The whip connected with the portal, triggering another one above the woman. The lash, moving with incredible speed, descended toward her. Reacting too slowly, the old man rushed forward in a futile attempt to block it.
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Meanwhile, Perry had risen and was charging towards the goblin from the side. The whip landed with brutal force, lashing the defiant woman, and with chaotic and eerie swiftness the weapon was snatched from her, absorbed into the portal ahead. Perry surged forward, tackling the goblin and driving him forcefully into the ground with a resounding thud. As the goblin crumpled, he swiftly drew his dagger, attempting to thrust the blade into Perry's back. However, the blade met the unyielding surface of Perry's half plate, failing to pierce through. Seizing the opportunity, Perry reached up and kicked himself free, rising back to his feet in a deft motion. With agile grace, he sprawled to catch the now descending whip, determined to control the chaotic situation.
Perry clenched the whip in his grasp, but the moment his fingers wrapped around it, an excruciating burn seared through his hand. The pain surpassed any threshold he had known. A scream of agony escaped his lips, merging with the malevolent laughter echoing from the twisted goblin. In the midst of his torment, a sharp ringing pierced his ears, amplifying the surreal horror of the moment. Yet, despite the searing pain, he fought through the sensory onslaught, determined to confront the malevolent goblin before him. Swinging the whip downward, Perry felt every nerve in his arm and wrist ignite with fiery agony. In that searing moment, a haunting familiarity crept over him. This was magic of no man, no mere mage, no clown and certainly no prison guard; this was of the Red Weave.
"Ignorant fool!" bellowed the Dwarf as he deftly wrestled the Goblin's dagger into his grasp, swiftly rolling out of the whip’s path. The leather serpent, flung with malevolent intent, hurtled toward the Goblin. Quick as a thought, the portal materialized. The Dwarf, undeterred, raised his hand perpendicular to his face, unleashing a burst of golden energy. His eyes sharpened, body tightening, he spun his hand and thrust it forward, sending a gust of extraordinary magical force toward the portal. The rift, under the relentless assault, contorted and shifted until it brutally split in two. The Goblin yelped as the whip struck with thunderous accuracy, crashing between his eyes and down his snot-coloured face. The Elfin woman, having swiftly recovered, seized her opportunity and darted over to the fallen goblin. Planting her knee on his throat, she unleashed a torrent of strikes from above. Perry, having finally released the devilish weapon, watched in both awe and horror as the Drow systematically smashed their captor's face apart with each brutal blow. After a few moments the creature lay unconscious or dead, either way the deed was done.
The young artist, previously engrossed in his work, abruptly stood up, kicking over his creation and smudging it in the process. "Hello, everyone! It seems we might actually be escaping this hell hole. I don’t suppose the rest of you realized that the other guards were pulled away? This fool was acting alone." His words were accompanied by a gleeful smirk that unsettled Perry. The man, tall at 6’2 and towering over the halfling, exuded an air of confidence. With long, well-groomed brown hair carefully styled atop his head, his eyes gleamed with tenacity. Despite his good looks, it was his smile that brought discomfort to Perry — his lips pursed and whistled together, just alike the beast of Hrothnagar. In contrast to the handsome and well-made artist, Perry was a brutish, short creature. He had a wide torso, rather short and overly muscular legs and his arms hung down like those of a baboon. His face however, was soft and disarming.
The dwarf stroked his beard, studying the unconscious goblin and then the gate ahead. Perry looked beyond the fellow and saw a deep and dark tunnel covered in the same ash that lay plentifully along the ground within this chamber. Along the tunnel, large spires and shafts of rainbow-painted wood sat in clear view, winding around the tunnel's corner and into whatever lay beyond. With a grumble, the dwarf called over, “It seems that way, though this could be a simple trick… Our first priority is that we must arm ourselves; without the proper equipment, we are essentially dead in the water.” The dwarf pondered for a moment, and just as Perry prepared to speak, he burst back into conversational song, “I believe we are in the End Realm, the pit… The soil at our feet does not belong to any of the continents; it is a product of the weave.” Perry, minorly frustrated but intrigued, responded, “I see.” ‘The Pit!’ he thought to himself. That place? Of all places? Why would Somenex bring him here? No matter. He was here now, and there was no use in focusing on the past.
He turned back towards the others, “If we are to escape this place together, we ought to at least know who each other are. I am Perry. I serve Hajranta in Avantar and was captured on a mission. I awoke here just as she-" he gestured to the Drow, "booted the guard.” The woman staring down at the Halfling almost seemed irritated as she revealed her identity “I am Nizana. I am of Elohim’s court. I am not sure how I got here, but I imagine it has something to do with my… sister.” Exasperated, she concluded, “What's your name, painter?” The young man now crouched down, collected the whip, and declared, “You don’t already know?” They all stared blankly at him. Perry briefly thought he recognized him, but alas, he had mislead himself. Finally, unknown artisan broke the silence, “I am Lakieth, the greatest artist in all of Osiri.”
The Dwarf turned with haste and approached the young boy at the edge of the cell. The man had been cautious not to further frighten the already shaken youth, quietly and delicately approaching. The pair began to talk quietly. The words were not audible to Perry, but after a few moments, the man began to laugh, bellowing out round after round of emphatic sniggering. ”What’s so damn funny?” Nizana's eyes rolled back as she ventured the question. "The kid's name… pahaha! He's called Sirloin!" The Dwarf collapsed where he stood, engulfed in laughter and glee. He briefly removed his helm, wiping the sweat from his brow. At this moment, Perry recognized the enigmatic elder, “You are Grendell Greybeard of Durion. You were an envoy to our church some years ago were you not?” Perry stared over at the philosopher before him, “Yes I am he and he is I.” His laughter came to abrupt close but a smirk still lingered on his face, “I do not recall ever visiting your faithful though. It is a rare for me to embark on such a pointless venture.” Perry wondered what he meant by this but as he prepared to ask his thoughts were interrupted, “Now, boy. Are you going to introduce yourself or just sit there pouting until one of these Goblin bastards comes back and sticks a pike up your arse?” The young boy clad in Mushroom slowly rose to his feet, wiping the tears from his eyes “Hi.” He then, evidently frightened, marched over alongside Grendell without saying as much as another word.
Beside Grendell, Lakieth, Nizana, and Sirloin, Perry crossed the threshold of the gate, ready for whatever awaited them beyond. His mind was singularly focused on one goal—arming himself.