Light steps echo from Pycena's awkward gait. A staff in her hand she has the look of someone who drank four cups of coffee yesterday and today had none.
"Ritual... ritual..." she mumbles to herself as she walks through a thick forest. She's here to do a ritual... but can't even remember the details. Almost callous of her, but she trudges on regardless, assuming her preparation prior was sufficient.
Between teaching her students and her own projects she must have cast hundreds of them by now, so what's one more?
She enters some kind of stone structure. A ritual circle sits in the middle. On the sides are waterfulls full of dark water, flowing down into some kind of reservoir below. It smells rotten in a way. Students surround her, perhaps she paid them better this time.
"Ah, a book!" she exclaims. Even if Pycena forgot the details of why she is here she surely hasn't forgotten how to read.
Pycena chants the spell inside the tome while channeling the magic through her staff. The students join the ritual, but their movements are unfamiliar... unnatural even. Eh, they probably learned it on their own, smart cookies they are.
On the last page of the book sits an embedded curved dagger. Its hilt is inscribed with runes Pycena can't quite comprehend and its dull side is embedded with several Jasper gems. Without hesitation, she slices her palm and lets her blood flow onto the stone idol in the middle of the circle. It flows, a dark crimson red and brown.
Wait... Isn't my blood supposed to be... just red? Then what is... flowing from my palm?
Her eyes do not deceive her. The flow from her palm isn't blood, it's something else. As she looks in confusion the liquid starts to flow more and more.
more
MORE
MORE
THE FIGURES BEHIND HER THEIR FEATURES UNRECOGNIZABLE, MERE FIGURES THEY STAND AND THEY CACKLE. THEY CACKLE AND THEIR VOICES FILL THE HALLS. THE LIQUID FLOWS IT DOESN'T STOP. IT'S NOT BLOOD IT'S NOT BLOOD IT'S NOT BLOOD.
TAINT
THE VERY TAINT CORRUPTING THE LEYLINES HAD CORRUPTED HER. SHE TRIES TO RUN BUT SHE SLIPS, AND THE FOUL STICKY ICHOR DRAGS HER BACK TO THE ALTAR TO FINISH THE JOB.
THIS ALTAR SHE DID NOT BUILD THESE RUNES SHE DOES NOT KNOW AND THIS SPELL SHE DID NOT WRITE. SHE HAS BEEN PLAYED, MANIPULATED, AND NOW DRAGGED BY A FORCE LARGER THAN HERSELF.
THE FOREST WAS NOT A FOREST AT ALL, THE TREES WERE NOT TREES BUT THE INSIDE OF HER OWN BODY. THE WATER WAS NOT WATER BUT HER OWN BLOOD AND NOW IT RAINS IT POURS LIKE A STORM.
THE CACKLING GETS LOUDER AS THE FOUL TAINT TWISTS THE IDOL, ITS FEATURES WARPED AS SHARP SPIKES BEGIN TO TEAR IT APART FROM THE INSIDE. NOW CORRUPTED LIKE HER, CORRUPTED LIKE HER.
SHE LOOKS UP AND SEES A CREATURE OF TERROR. A BONY LIMB SO TWISTED SO UNNATURAL WRAPPED IN MUMMIFIED SKIN WITH BLOODSHOT EYES DRIPPING WITH TEARS. IT HAS MADE MY SOUL ITS HOME BUT WHY.
I'M BLEEDING
I'M BLEEDING
I'M-...
*GASP*
She wakes up. A nightmare? A vision? Pycena doesn't know for sure. As she tries to get out of hand her hand itches, almost as if it touched something spiky. Almost as if...
The twisted idol is in her hand.