Fang
Active member
There were times that walking between the fabric of reality took a fraction of a moment, an infinitesimal tick that flashes by faster than conscious thought can recognize that the world has changed around it. That tiny little moment might sometimes take place mid-step, a shifting around Catian that was at once noticeable and subtle. Those times were often a bit jarring, perhaps, but their brevity lent itself to an expedience in his actions from the outset of his arrival than the alternative inspired.
Those times when the shift was more than a moment were eternity; entire lifetimes wasted in black nothingness between worlds devoid of potential and chaos and consisting of nothing and everything just out of grasp. Weightless, nearly thoughtless, time became the abstract concept of splitting cells and greying hairs that would flow around Catian like a stone slammed into the center of a river, grey and weathered but standing ever vigilant against the passing of time around it. Separated and untouched, it was the self containment that facilitated and bound him to the never ending journey of cycling steps and endless masks. Catian’s world remained within him despite its destruction or resurrection, and within him timelessness became a whisper of truth mixed with lies told in soft tones.
The experience was far more disappointing once the next stone on his never ending path was touched upon lightly, experimentally at first to see what sort of pressure to expect with that next step. A moot point, really, as the next step must always be taken, whether beneath drowning darkness or high in the suffocating light the timeless must move forward, must drive their cycles by sheer force rather than mark them helplessly. Catian was not helpless, not some boring whelp from a tiny village crying at night because a goblin hoarde gathered somewhere at the edge of the world he knew.
The ancient memories disappeared as his toe landed on the next stone, oddly set upon some sort of table in a drab, clinical room of order and organization. Neutral walls and floors, furniture clearly designed to be just uncomfortable enough to discourage long moments of rest. He stepped down from the desk, right ear twitching slightly as the sound of a heartbeat, aflutter with expected panic, echoed through the room. The lupine ears twitched again as the steps of some other souls reverberated through the walls. For a moment Catian absorbed the information around him, the Orders of the reality in front of him read like open scrolls at lightning speed as he smoothly turned with the ends of his long, black leather coat cut through the air. His hand swept low as he turned the spin to a bow, courtly and well practiced with right hand over hear and head low.
”I am here to serve, Summoner.” His words were flawlessly translated, though a glimpse at the rules beneath him quirked at something being a bit wrong with the setup. His eyes squinted at the floor, the slowly shifting hue of his iris cycling frantically through a kaleidoscope of colors, some of which were beyond what the human eye could normally perceive. Still squinting his eyes rose, though his posture remained rock steady, to study the person behind the desk curiously. ”Perhaps Summoner is the wrong title here? Pray tell me your name and rank.” His words were sharper than intended, an unfortunate side effect of existing for some time in between.
Those times when the shift was more than a moment were eternity; entire lifetimes wasted in black nothingness between worlds devoid of potential and chaos and consisting of nothing and everything just out of grasp. Weightless, nearly thoughtless, time became the abstract concept of splitting cells and greying hairs that would flow around Catian like a stone slammed into the center of a river, grey and weathered but standing ever vigilant against the passing of time around it. Separated and untouched, it was the self containment that facilitated and bound him to the never ending journey of cycling steps and endless masks. Catian’s world remained within him despite its destruction or resurrection, and within him timelessness became a whisper of truth mixed with lies told in soft tones.
The experience was far more disappointing once the next stone on his never ending path was touched upon lightly, experimentally at first to see what sort of pressure to expect with that next step. A moot point, really, as the next step must always be taken, whether beneath drowning darkness or high in the suffocating light the timeless must move forward, must drive their cycles by sheer force rather than mark them helplessly. Catian was not helpless, not some boring whelp from a tiny village crying at night because a goblin hoarde gathered somewhere at the edge of the world he knew.
The ancient memories disappeared as his toe landed on the next stone, oddly set upon some sort of table in a drab, clinical room of order and organization. Neutral walls and floors, furniture clearly designed to be just uncomfortable enough to discourage long moments of rest. He stepped down from the desk, right ear twitching slightly as the sound of a heartbeat, aflutter with expected panic, echoed through the room. The lupine ears twitched again as the steps of some other souls reverberated through the walls. For a moment Catian absorbed the information around him, the Orders of the reality in front of him read like open scrolls at lightning speed as he smoothly turned with the ends of his long, black leather coat cut through the air. His hand swept low as he turned the spin to a bow, courtly and well practiced with right hand over hear and head low.
”I am here to serve, Summoner.” His words were flawlessly translated, though a glimpse at the rules beneath him quirked at something being a bit wrong with the setup. His eyes squinted at the floor, the slowly shifting hue of his iris cycling frantically through a kaleidoscope of colors, some of which were beyond what the human eye could normally perceive. Still squinting his eyes rose, though his posture remained rock steady, to study the person behind the desk curiously. ”Perhaps Summoner is the wrong title here? Pray tell me your name and rank.” His words were sharper than intended, an unfortunate side effect of existing for some time in between.