The Tomb of Menetnashte
August 30th, 761, 4:29 AM; Day 165 of the Menetnashte Expedition
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Lightning arced and twirled around the Lamordian as he spoke the words, his eyes turning a pure, electric blue. The dim orbs that lit the room now blazed white hot as the energy that coursed through Tomas shot through the air, crawling across the metal fixtures. The air grew even thicker, and the room began to shake with the sheer
power that rippled through it.
"Tomas..." Devereux said quietly, still holding onto the knight's shoulder. You weren't sure exactly who he was addressing. If the professor was concerned at all about the electricity, the only sign he gave was a slight tightening of his fingers as the lightning blazed across his arm. "Sometimes, you can't save everyone... sometimes, you might fail... that is the price you pay for walking among us. But... you shouldn't blame yourself for the evil actions of others... and no matter what happens, you aren't alone anymore...."
Alone... the voice spoke. It sounded natural now, coming from Tomas' throat, but at the same time seemed more distant.
I felt my own body turn against me. I wondered, that day, and many since, if I was even still human. Birds came to life in my hands, I had strange powers I couldn't control. I hid my body away from everyone, knowing how they'd react if they saw what I'd become...
The lightning covering the room coalesced into a single beam of light, crashing into the ground near where Otto stood.
There was a scream, both in shock and fear. You felt something whiz by your head as you ducked and scrambled: your bronze wind-up clock, which smashed into the door frame as you dodged through it-
“Get out!” the woman screamed, her voice half sobbing, half hysterical. “You... you... freak! GET OUT!”
Your heart, usually unmoving, tightened uncontrollably as you took one final look backward...
From the corner of his half-blinded eyes, Otto could see his double in the alcove: surrounded by wolves, yet awkward among them, longingly staring at the little hamlet he had left and could never return to.
It was never the same, since that day. Friends were strangers now. No one would look me in the eye. They whispered behind my back. I deserved what I'd got, as far as they were concerned. I wasn't one of them anymore...
Lightning flew across the ceiling and floor. One stray bolt jumped from the wall, striking near where Charles stood.
A thousand masked faces leering out at you, two thousand accusing eyes hidden behind them. The rustling of fine silk, as they circled, the quiet din of whispering voices roiling in the air-
“-certainly has... strange appetites-”
“-was supposed to be a dignified occasion-”
“-been away from civilization too long. A year without seeing a real
woman! Made him desperate enough to stoop to-“
The ghostly afterimage burnt away, save for what had been burned in the alcove: A circle of grotesquely masked nobles, silently judging; Sarari, defiant, in the center of them; Charles by her side, a cracked mask in his hand, earning their stares by association.
My family worried for me. They didn't approve of the path I'd taken, they still don't. It was dangerous, it was foolish, it was based in nonsense... They wanted to act like it had never happened, that I was still normal, that I could just ignore it all...
Captain Harris, perhaps, expected the lightning that arced toward him, but he wasn't quite fast enough to cover his eyes.
People were around you, people you know. Voices raised in anger, furious gestures, beseeching eyes-
“-just going to throw away everything
you worked for!“
“Walk out that door and you are no longer a part of this family!”
“Is she more important than us, Uncle...?”
Edmund closed his eyes tightly, refusing to look at the alcove behind him: A man standing at the gallows, arms folded in resignation; his family turned from him, even as the noose went around his neck.
And I was ashamed of myself; for how ugly I was, for how stupid I had been, for the people who had died for me, for not being able to do anything more than run... for how ashamed everyone was of me.
Electricity danced across the floor, exploding toward the sky as it flashed toward the Ashen Knight.
”Monster,” the girl whispered, clutching the still body of her brother to her chest. “Monster.”
You could hear your men forming up behind you, watching the scene with idly sated cruelty. “The other villagers have been dealt with. We’re ready to move on,” one ventured. He looked at your hesitating form, a twisted smile beginning to form on his face. “Unless you want more time with her.”
You stared down at your black-mailed fist, the wicked blade you held still slick with blood. “They were farmers, Albrecht,” you said, softly. “Women and children. What did they do to deserve this slaughter?”
You could hear the murmuring starting among the ranks. The soldier’s smile vanished. “All villages that harbor traitors to Falkovnia are to be destroyed,” he reminded you, coldly. “No survivors. Your own orders... sir.”
You stared at the young woman, hopelessly. She glared back in hatred, spitting at your feet.
“Monster.”
The Sascha that appeared on the wall was from another lifetime, clad in black armor, a much younger man; walled on one side by Falkovnians, the other by bloody and vengeful spectres, living and dead; his eyes suddenly filled with pain and doubt.
I... The voice trailed off. Perhaps it noticed the fear in Devereux's eyes, or the way the professor trembled as he gripped Tomas like a lifeline.
But Devereux continued where the voice did not, not allowing the speech to be finished. "You doubted your own senses... you came to wonder if you truly were mad, like everyone thought of you. You saw the darkness in the world around you, things you couldn't explain... there was no one to tell them to. Who would believe you? Who wouldn't think less of you...? And you began to push people away... for fear of harming them... for fear of losing them..."
Devereux removed his hand, walking stiffly and purposefully back toward the final, unmarked alcove, his hands trembling as he faced it. "But... you can't always live in fear like that... and remain who you are."
The professor swallowed heavily, reaching his shaking hands toward the alcove...
*crack-BOOOOM!*
It wasn’t the dim light, the sounds of insane laughter, of sobbing, of mad gibbering, of the scratching of filth-encrusted fingernails against the floor. It wasn’t the walls, stark white, void of any sign of human warmth or empathy. It was the feeling
pressing in around you, the absolute wretchedness, the deepest pit of human squalor and misery that filled your soul and you could never, ever escape from-
“Let me go!” you screamed. “Let me go, I haven’t done
anything! Please don’t do this!”
“No fussing, now,” the man said, with his frozen smile. “We’re going to take good
care of you.”
And the door closed, and they
where there, their hands tearing at you, their eyes gleaming in the light that came through the prison bars; eyes devoid of any hope, mercy, comfort, or sanity...
Devereux flinched away from the wall as if he’d been burned, hunching over and cradling himself in his arms, crying to himself softly in a sing-song voice. In the alcove, his painted double matched his pose, forced into it by the heavy leather straps of his white straightjacket. His mousy brown hair, once long and flowing, had been sheared to his skin. Eyes glittered around him, hands reached out to grab him - not the unholy creatures he had spoken of, sometimes, the monsters only he could see, but
people - people who had been thrown in here to be forgotten, who reached out now to drag him down with them...
The lightning... shrank back. The power drew itself back to Tomas, gathering around his chest in a glowing ball. With one final flash of light, it vanished, leaving behind a simple white disk, hanging from Tomas' neck by a chain. It was unmarked in any way, a plain blank pendant made of the same white metal as the ring he wore on his hand.
Tomas, the voice said. This time it did not come from his throat, but seemed to come from the air around.
People have always saw fit to try and remake us like what they thought we should be. Choose your own path, now. Make yourself, Paladin.
And then you were alone. The voice was gone, leaving you alone with yourselves and the sounds of Devereux's quiet sobs. The stone alcove at the end of the temple now yawned open, revealing the blackness beyond.
