[OOC] Dream: The master and the servant.
It felt like any other ordinary day.
He was only cleaning the manor and doing what he should; his young master came, ditching his fiancee and asking to play. It was annoying, but he would do it--revenge could wait until later. So they played and played until the master of the house came and scolded the young one. Of course, he got scolded, too--it wasn't his place to waste time with the heir to the throne.
It was so disgusting, but he would bear it until the time came, until he was given the signal.
And then the young master couldn't walk, couldn't speak, couldn't remember the events of times past. And he smiled, because the master was like a blank slate. He could teach him anything he wanted, and it would make things twice as painful when they counted their losses. But even though he was annoying, spoiled, and a total pain, he found himself enjoying his time with the master.
Then there was darkness and the distinct smell of blood and death. This was all too familiar, and he armed himself to fight when an earthquake struck and the land began to fall. As he fell, there was a turbulent storm, such like a tempest, that dashed his surroundings -his home- into desolate ruin before it crashed into a murky sea of disgusting violet sludge.
Its people emerged. He thought they were survivors, but their eyes were dark, empty and lifeless. They could not talk; they could barely walk! But they struggled, dragging themselves out from the rubble and reaching out toward him.
But, some people have died because the replicas were born. People aren't so simple that they can accept anything and everything...
And then he knew that his master was exactly the same. No, there was a difference--he didn't want his master to die!
"Exactly. That's why I asked you to make a deal." The other -the original- stepped forward. "So what's it going to be? You have nowhere else to go."
His master was angry. "This is insane! You were the one who said you didn't want to die!"
"Are you saying you'll die in my place?"
And then they were in a cathedral, and another person's voice answered firmly, "The only alternative I could think of is even crueler..."
He heard his young master ask, in a quiet voice, "Me?"
Before he knew it, he grabbed the other by the collar, yelling with apparent desperation, "You bastard! You're going to tell the Light of the Sacred Flame to die in his place?!"
But the master said, "Please, give me some time to think."
Something told him that he knew the answer, and he hated it.
Then he was in a barren wasteland with no end in sight. The ground before him split; people -mirror images of each other- lined each side. Some faces he recognized as family, friends, or loved ones; others he was barely acquainted with or didn't even know at all. But all of them were suffering, no matter which side they were on. Some were too ill, frail, and weak to continue once a copy had been made. And the copies suffered, as they were unable to function as they should.
Far in the distance where the earth remained unbroken was a friend, a comrade. One of those loyal to him even after he -a master himself- placed himself under another, one who was not his liege. "My feelings have not changed. If you will aid me, I would gladly welcome you. My promise still stands."
"I can't go along with what you're doing. That's all." He turned away, having cast his servant's loyalties away, and then the storm rained down upon him. It was soaking him, chilling him, but he continued fighting as the elements bore down their full weight upon him.
And afterward, he somehow survived. Now he would wait for his young master.
But his mind was still turbulent, struggling with feelings as chaotic as the Tempest.
He was only cleaning the manor and doing what he should; his young master came, ditching his fiancee and asking to play. It was annoying, but he would do it--revenge could wait until later. So they played and played until the master of the house came and scolded the young one. Of course, he got scolded, too--it wasn't his place to waste time with the heir to the throne.
It was so disgusting, but he would bear it until the time came, until he was given the signal.
And then the young master couldn't walk, couldn't speak, couldn't remember the events of times past. And he smiled, because the master was like a blank slate. He could teach him anything he wanted, and it would make things twice as painful when they counted their losses. But even though he was annoying, spoiled, and a total pain, he found himself enjoying his time with the master.
Then there was darkness and the distinct smell of blood and death. This was all too familiar, and he armed himself to fight when an earthquake struck and the land began to fall. As he fell, there was a turbulent storm, such like a tempest, that dashed his surroundings -his home- into desolate ruin before it crashed into a murky sea of disgusting violet sludge.
Its people emerged. He thought they were survivors, but their eyes were dark, empty and lifeless. They could not talk; they could barely walk! But they struggled, dragging themselves out from the rubble and reaching out toward him.
But, some people have died because the replicas were born. People aren't so simple that they can accept anything and everything...
And then he knew that his master was exactly the same. No, there was a difference--he didn't want his master to die!
"Exactly. That's why I asked you to make a deal." The other -the original- stepped forward. "So what's it going to be? You have nowhere else to go."
His master was angry. "This is insane! You were the one who said you didn't want to die!"
"Are you saying you'll die in my place?"
And then they were in a cathedral, and another person's voice answered firmly, "The only alternative I could think of is even crueler..."
He heard his young master ask, in a quiet voice, "Me?"
Before he knew it, he grabbed the other by the collar, yelling with apparent desperation, "You bastard! You're going to tell the Light of the Sacred Flame to die in his place?!"
But the master said, "Please, give me some time to think."
Something told him that he knew the answer, and he hated it.
Then he was in a barren wasteland with no end in sight. The ground before him split; people -mirror images of each other- lined each side. Some faces he recognized as family, friends, or loved ones; others he was barely acquainted with or didn't even know at all. But all of them were suffering, no matter which side they were on. Some were too ill, frail, and weak to continue once a copy had been made. And the copies suffered, as they were unable to function as they should.
Far in the distance where the earth remained unbroken was a friend, a comrade. One of those loyal to him even after he -a master himself- placed himself under another, one who was not his liege. "My feelings have not changed. If you will aid me, I would gladly welcome you. My promise still stands."
"I can't go along with what you're doing. That's all." He turned away, having cast his servant's loyalties away, and then the storm rained down upon him. It was soaking him, chilling him, but he continued fighting as the elements bore down their full weight upon him.
And afterward, he somehow survived. Now he would wait for his young master.
But his mind was still turbulent, struggling with feelings as chaotic as the Tempest.