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dramatispersonae) wrote2015-03-28 03:56 pm
dramatispersonae) wrote2015-03-28 03:56 pm
IOLITE
[The Ring tilts under your feet, and with a sudden, gut-wrenching twist you're falling. A sense of how someone might have come to be in this position wraps around you as you fall; you (no, not you, but someone) could have leapt from a cliff to avoid something chasing them, and in the sick vertigo of freefall thought only that this could not possibly be as bad as what was behind them catching up--
You land with a thump. That phantom hunted feeling stays with you, leaving your hands shaky and your mouth dry.
You're in a perfectly circular and thoroughly strange workroom. The floor is made of polished rosewood and the walls are clear glass, but they're both hard to see because of how packed and active the space is - a clear brook bubbles incongruously over stones through the center, while shelves and tables crowd the walls and books and clock-or-wirework projects crowd the shelves and tables. Unfinished clockwork dummies stand here and there with a faintly gloomy air. A brand-new pottery wheel is turning slowly in the corner, its movement driven by the current of the water through the room.
Despite the cheerful clutter, the feeling of dread is still very strong here - papers have been rifled through frantically and left in heaps, and a few of the little mechanical toys have been broken, as though they were handled with too much haste and not enough care.
When you look around to identify the source of your unease, you see that the one broad uncovered section of glass shows a mirror hanging on the white wall beyond, out of reach beyond the glass. An indistinct dark shape lurks in it, and when you approach it you can hear whispers:
it's been summoned
did you say its name three times?
it's coming.]
You land with a thump. That phantom hunted feeling stays with you, leaving your hands shaky and your mouth dry.
You're in a perfectly circular and thoroughly strange workroom. The floor is made of polished rosewood and the walls are clear glass, but they're both hard to see because of how packed and active the space is - a clear brook bubbles incongruously over stones through the center, while shelves and tables crowd the walls and books and clock-or-wirework projects crowd the shelves and tables. Unfinished clockwork dummies stand here and there with a faintly gloomy air. A brand-new pottery wheel is turning slowly in the corner, its movement driven by the current of the water through the room.
Despite the cheerful clutter, the feeling of dread is still very strong here - papers have been rifled through frantically and left in heaps, and a few of the little mechanical toys have been broken, as though they were handled with too much haste and not enough care.
When you look around to identify the source of your unease, you see that the one broad uncovered section of glass shows a mirror hanging on the white wall beyond, out of reach beyond the glass. An indistinct dark shape lurks in it, and when you approach it you can hear whispers:
it's been summoned
did you say its name three times?
it's coming.]
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