It has all led to this. A hodge-podge of clues and calamities, hope crushed underfoot time and again as he wandered his way after what should have been his by right. But now, at long last, he is driven by less then meander hopelessly - he can stride with purpose, knowing that he steps foot on the lands of immortals. His home turf.
Kaladin was not an atheist. Neither was he religious. When he had been free, he had not believed in powers higher then himself - because who could be higher then he who was master of fate? However, ever since his imprisonment, he had found himself in prayer time and time again, eyes to the sky and wondering if anyone cared. But he had soon learned he was the only one he could trust. The gods of these lands were superfluous squanders of divinity, tossing their godly objects out from the heavens to watch in amusement as the mortals ran frantically in search of them. Had Kaladin still been a god himself, he would have reached up into the heavens and slapped them silly. But he was not - at least, not yet.
Over the time of his travels, he had slowly lost hope of ever reclaiming his former glory. And yet, with every mortal he'd encountered, he'd seen incontestable proof that this world needed him; it needed a benevolent god to see this mismatched puzzle taken apart, then piece it back together in matching order.
But those goals had slowly become hazy - like a dream that had been vivid, but disappeared into fog upon waking. Instead, his ambition had been replaced with familiar faces - the crimson-and-horned Camdis, the betraying but angel-faced Damascus, the storm-seeking Seraphina, even the star-strewn woman from the swamp whose name he could no longer recall. And every time he thought of his former power, he was faced with the selfish nature of his destructive intentions. It was not a philosophical question he intended to ponder, however - he had been created as a tool, and the purpose of a tool was specific and absolute.
And so the once-god entered a true-god's land, his hooves determined yet nervous upon the turf, every step ringing loudly in the shivering quiet. His eyes seemed to shine in the maze's gloom - reflecting the emerald dress of the towering hedges. I have no reason to fear, he repeated to himself, a mantra that seemed more and more unconvincing the deeper he entered into the unfamiliar labyrinth. If the relic is anywhere, it is here, he added, every movement deeper into the network of hedges edged with surety and apprehension. The world around him was now dark, with nothing more then the occasional ray of faint light to burst through the darkly-backed forestry. A god would have been comfortable here - but Kaladin was mortal, and so he shivered instead.
He met the first fork in the maze, and paused. Both paths seemed identical to naked eye, but as he closed his eyes he could feel a familiar humming coming from the left. It was the thrum of power, faint as a heartbeat but assertive in its suggestion - reminding Kaladin of what he could soon have. But he knew mortals too well - he knew they would not be able to resist the allure of divinity, as foreign as it was to them. If he were to claim this relic, he could not afford hesitation - and so he picked up the pace, moving to the left, eyes slitted and analytical as he plotted his course.
He was sure, now. He could hear it, like a lone bird singing after dark - freedom, calling his name. This maze was not just a challenge - it was a promise. And if Kaladin knew anything about deities, it was that they always kept their promises.
As you enter the maze, the world around you seem to dampen and grow darker, the tall hedges casting shadows from every direction as they seem to lean in towards you. The air cools the further you venture in, crystals of ice covering a few delicate leaves on the hedges, the ground hardened under hoof. Each breath of air you take is cold, and small puffs of frost are emitted with every exhale. From somewhere up ahead comes a high pitched cackle, disembodied in the mist.
Rounding the next corner will show a lone figure standing there, his skin as pale and thin as stone, tangled locks obscuring a good portion of his face. Across his body is draped the skin of some animal you don’t recognize, covering frail shoulders.
”Is it the relic of almighty Tempus you seek, Kaladin?” he asks mockingly, his voice youthful despite his aged appearance, carrying a lilt you cannot place into any of the Courts. You do not know how he knows your name, for he is a figure you have never seen before, and you can only wonder what more he knows about you. ”You will have to follow me to find it.” And with that, he turns and takes off further into the maze, ever leading you northwards. His speed belies his age, for he is constantly just ahead of you, sometimes disappearing into the dim but never venturing far. As he disappears around the next corner, you become aware of another creature lurking somewhere behind you, one of the many beasts to have make the maze its home.
@Kaladin you’ve found the Shaman! However he is not one to stay and chat, and has already taken off into the brambles. It is up to you to hunt him down or not, but be warned: the maze contains many hidden dangers and beasts lurking within it that you might just get caught up in!
Feel free to write in your own obstacles or beasts, or tag the Random Events account if you would like one given to you! You have until Wednesday, July 19th to get your next reply in, at which point the Shaman will again respond.
Happy writing!
To tag this account: @*'Random Events' without the asterisk.
Please be advised, tagging the Random Event account does not guarantee a response!
When the Shaman came, the world darkened. In the same instant, the jewel upon Kaladin's collar flickered to life, the sole beacon of light amongst the approaching gloom, a lone star to the waking night. Kaladin met the Shaman's mocking gaze with his own irreverent ambers, unyielding now in the face of unraveling mystery. If this was his trial to face, so be it, he thought. If he needed to put a knife through this pale specter's chest, so be it - but he would not bow. He was too near his own divinity now.
When the creature spoke, it sounded almost like Kaladin. A young, clear voice like a tolling bell, yet laden with unplaced years and shrouded in enigma, daring one to guess and fail at where it could come from. Kaladin knew that sound too well - it was the pompous arrogance of one thinking himself above the universe's laws. This creature, this Shaman, it was an agent of chaos, one come to rend apart what order was left in this nigh-anarchic world. But Kaladin would be forced to rely on the instability left by the shrouded entity. If he were to win the game, he would have to play it.
The Shaman turned, parchment-like skin nearly translucent in the light cast by Kaladin's collar. Should it have been another time, he might have begun to analyze the creature's existence, debate on which hole had sprung up such an unholy being, on whether it was cast or created. But now was not the time - for as the Shaman led on, the world around Kaladin began to grow colder and colder. For some time, the Shaman's icy hide remained in view - just a faint beacon, a reminder that Kaladin had crossed the threshold of the mortal world into something far more spiritual. Then, as they neared another fork and turn in the rode, the mist thickened and the beast vanished.
Kaladin paused, his breath misting before him as he considered his next path. He had not realized what a relief it had been to have companionship, feeble as it was, until it had disappeared. "Fantastic," he muttered to himself. He found himself smiling morbidly, akin to a prisoner awaiting execution for his crimes. He shook his head and continued back in the direction the Shaman had vanished to. He was not giving up now.
Something moved in the fog, and Kaladin's head shot up. "Fantastic. Thank you, Ghosty, for no - " he froze, ice suddenly rushing through his veins. The figure approaching was distinctly familiar, and most certainly not the Shaman. It was carved of obsidian stone, merciless raven wings tipped with silvered mist, spread to cover what little light remained above them. Hooves trailing blood on the earth, nostrils flared and eyes glowing - glowing like two lamplights, casting divine judgment upon whatever they struck.
"F - father..." Kaldin's hooves crunched against the grass, digging up dirt as he began to shuffle back, collar now flared bright in alarm and pupils dilating. "Father, I - I haven't -" But the figure continued to advance, judge and executioner with the sentence passed, closer and closer, now so close that Kaladin could feel its death-laced breaths against his face, his eyes forced to slits and nearly blind against the light cast by its eyes. "No! I'm not going to be trapped again! Not by you, not by anyone - " Closer and closer. He thought he could feel the press of tomb-stones against his shoulders. "No, please - please, I can't go back." Voice fading to a whisper now. Closer, closer, closer.Knees buckling beneath him in submission.
"I won't go back!" Kaladin lashed out, a final, futile rebellion against the oncoming storm. "I am no longer your tool to use!"
And he closed his eyes.
BRIEF EXPLANATION: Kaladin's father locked him in a tomb for eight-hundred years before he escaped, and his greatest fear is his father coming back to lock him up again.
As you lash out your hoof, the figure seems to dissipate into smoke, behind which you can see the real Shaman fleeing around the next corner, his laugh reverberating throughout the maze. But he isn’t finished with you yet. The mist begins to rise once more, taking on instead the form of your own collar. It hurtles at you from several meters away, seeking to imprison you within the maze the same way you are imprisoned within a mortal’s body.
And still the Shaman cackles.
@Kaladin
You had an away, we can let it slide! Hope you’re feeling better <3 You now have until Wednesday, July 26th at 11:59pm PST to get one last reply in before the Shaman reappears, so please reply accordingly!
Happy writing!
To tag this account: @*'Random Events' without the asterisk.
Please be advised, tagging the Random Event account does not guarantee a response!
He was disgusted by his own mortality. Disgusted by the unilateral tremble of his body, the fear coursing through his veins like liquid lightning. By the way he cowered before his father in trepidation of what was to come. He was ignominious in his transience, forced to consider the nature of his existence and the weakness of his own bone and sinew. As he admitted the coming of his demise, he was forced into the admission of all the faults and miscalculations that had led to his very position - even before his fall. Even as a god, he'd made mortal mistakes - he would have to transcend further to achieve divinity and to enact his righteous purpose.
But he had said he was no longer a tool. So what would that purpose be?
It seemed the world would allow him to answer that question, as the stench of loosened around him and Kaladin found himself, panting, upon his knees, almost genuflect in the face of his now immaterial fears. The stench of rotting carcasses and iron seemed to cling to his skin, however, and he felt through the cold in his veins that the danger only just beginning. As he rose shakily to his hooves, the claustrophobic darkness around him began to reverberate with the mocking laughter of the Shaman. However, Kaladin stood his ground, stubbornly refusing to be taunted by the derision of the ethereal creature. "When I get my hands on that relic," he told the disembodied cackling, "I am going to kick your ghostly arse to kingdom come."
A flicker of white in his peripheral informed him that the ghoul was not quite as unearthly as it pretended. He willed himself to move after the creature, his every fiber now tensed in apprehension. It must use some form of magic, he reasoned. It is creating illusions in order to frighten me away. Which means that it must be guarding something. It was a small but tangible realization to cling to - he was on the right track. And it appeared that the Shaman was in no way done with him.
When he rounded another corner, the Shaman vanished again - instead, he was faced with a large, flickering replica of his own cursed collar. It was a powerful conjuring, and felt strongly of his father's death-magic - but Kaladin did not allow himself to be cowed this time, despite the shudders that ran along his spine. As it hurtled towards him, he dodged aside, his alarm somehow willing the real collar around his neck into a bright burst of blue. He dodged aside, attention whipping from the collar out to the dark of the maze around him, from where the jeering laughter of the Shaman rang out once more. "Enough illusions, creature!" he called out. His eyes flickered as he attempted to catch sight of the white wraith once more. At the same time, he came to a realization - that he was playing a game, and that the tactics were beginning to seem hauntingly familiar. "We are alike, you and I," he realized, panting. "We cannot fight, so we use our minds instead. But you cannot fool me." he cocked his head, forcing a grin in the direction of the darkness even as he was faced with the horrors of his waking dreams. "So, what are you hiding?"
The hedges part, his pale figure striding proudly out from between them. A smile plays at the corners of his blacked lips, delighted at his own workings.
“Me? I am not hiding anything. Merely defending the secrets of this land, secrets older than you or I.”
“I’ve heard what you seek, Kaladin, once-god, and anger is not the answer. We all are wronged, but we make do with what we get. It would be wise of you to do the same.” He stops, contemplating you with his dark gaze. His stance mirrors your own, a pale copy of your own figure. It may be another trick, but something about him seems now genuine. “I don’t have the key you seek, but I’ll tell you what: if you prove yourself worthy of the mind, I’ll give you something better. Something that may make you your own god again. Answer my riddle correctly, and what once was lost may again be found.
“This thing repeats, no man ever yet did see,
it never was but is always to be.
From Orien’s first breath to Caligo’s great dark,
Birthed from nothing and returning thenceforth.
It leaves behind a single sign:
the passing of the sun across the sky.”
@Kaladin
You may write your character interacting with the Shaman, but please pm your response to the Random Events account! Title the pm as “RIDDLE—Character Name.” You have until Sunday, August 6th to get your answer pm sent! Your IC may be made during that time or after the winner is selected. If multiple correct answers are received, a dice roll may be used to decide who the winner is.
Happy writing!
To tag this account: @*'Random Events' without the asterisk.
Please be advised, tagging the Random Event account does not guarantee a response!
The Shaman's sneer deepens, a jagged line across his face as he arches his serpentine neck back to peer down at you. A long pause stretches between the two of you, your answer hanging heavy on the air.
"Wrong."
With that the mist returns, crawling up his legs and over his spine, thickening until his entire body is obscured. When it again clears the Shaman is gone, in his wake a strange darkness falling across the maze.
Leaving you alone.
To tag this account: @*'Random Events' without the asterisk.
Please be advised, tagging the Random Event account does not guarantee a response!
