(no subject)
Agnes felt it an instant before it happened. A surge of magic and a hint of an octarine glow between one breath and the next.
And then she isn't in Lancre anymore. She has a sneaking suspicion she wasn't anywhere on the Disc. Nothing feels right. Nothing looks right.
What the hell just happened? Perdita asks.
I don't know!
Well, you're the witch! Figure it out!
Agnes frowns. She'd never heard Perdita so nervous before. She looks around, swallowing on a suddenly dry throat. The buildings -- the ones still standing, anyway -- are too tall, too blocky. But the most unnerving part is the utter silence. No people, no carts, no birds... just an unnatural stillness that sends shivers down the witch's back.
And then the silence is broken, split down the middle by a crash of thunder. Agnes looks up and sighs. Yeah, it definitely looks like rain.
"Well, a little rain never hurt anybody," she says to no one in particular. Then, settling the large, pointed witch hat more firmly on her head, she starts walking. "Probably ought to find some shelter, though. Figure out where I am afterwards."
The first few drops fall almost immediately after that pronouncement. They hiss when they hit the ground.
"Must not have rained for a while," Agnes muses. "Figures that it'd start as soon as I get here. The magic needed to pull me here is bound to play games with the weather."
There's a large building off in the distance that looks intact. It's hard to tell from here, but it also looks like there's a wall around it of some kind. She can't see any people, but it's as good a destination as any, so she starts heading that way.
A raindrop hits the brim of her hat and hisses, burning a tiny hole straight through. Agnes stops and looks up cross-eyed at the hole. She reaches up with a hand to examine when another drop rolls down her arm, leaving a lance of pain in its wake. The witch gasps at the shock of it, and again when she sees the burn mark along her forearm.
Call me crazy, but I don't think rain is supposed to do that, Perdita says, real fear edging in on that mental voice.
"This is dark magic!" Agnes blurts out. Behind her, she can see the main line of the storm approaching and the sight spurs her into motion.
On the Disc, it is said that a witch only gets wet if she chooses to. And to a large extent, that's true. After all, Agnes has personally watched Granny Weatherwax walk straight through a downpour and emerge bone dry. Trouble is, not only is Granny more of a witch than Agnes, but Agnes is more of a person than Granny. Which is to say there's a lot more of Agnes to squeeze between raindrops.
Still, for all that, she's doing well at the moment, darting through the sprinkles ahead of the torrent. The brim of her hat takes a few more hits, but for the most part, Agnes herself is largely untouched. The rain behind her is moving faster, though, and a particularly forward-thinking collection of three or four raindrops fall together in a clump, hitting the girl's calf and hammering straight through. Agnes stumbles and falls forward, skidding across the rocky ground. The drops missed the bone, but Agnes can still see a clear hole straight through her lower leg. The chemical burn from the acid has cauterized the wound so it's not bleeding, but it still burns like fire.
With Perdita screaming in her head, Agnes starts to push herself up. The first time, she falls back to the ground when another raindrop punches a hole in the flesh of her hand between thumb and forefinger, but the second time, she manages to get back to her feet. She presses on, hobbling on the wounded leg, and trying desperately to regain the focus to move between the drops.
The building is a little closer now, close enough that Agnes can sense the people inside, even if she would appear as little more than a pointy black dot to anyone looking out from the window. She doesn't waste her breath calling out to people who wouldn't hear, instead putting all her effort into staying ahead of the storm. Her side cramps up, and she still pushes onward. Then she slips up and puts too much weight on her hurt left leg and takes another tumble to the ground. The tips of her right fingers fall, hissing, into a puddle of the acidic rain. Agnes screams and pulls her hand back, but not before the first knuckle's worth of flesh and bone are eaten away from her two middle fingers.
We're not going to make it, you know, Perdita says, her pessimism in full force.
Of course we are! Agnes protests. Witches on the Disc always know when they're going to die!
But we're not on the Disc anymore.
Agnes feels the pit of her stomach drop at that pronouncement, and looks again at the pouring rain just a few yards away and getting closer.
"It's not fair!" she screams into the face of the storm. "I was supposed to know! We're always supposed to know!"
And then the rain rolls over her, and there's just screams.
And then there's nothing but the sound of the rain.
[warning: cut for length and graphic imagery.]
And then she isn't in Lancre anymore. She has a sneaking suspicion she wasn't anywhere on the Disc. Nothing feels right. Nothing looks right.
What the hell just happened? Perdita asks.
I don't know!
Well, you're the witch! Figure it out!
Agnes frowns. She'd never heard Perdita so nervous before. She looks around, swallowing on a suddenly dry throat. The buildings -- the ones still standing, anyway -- are too tall, too blocky. But the most unnerving part is the utter silence. No people, no carts, no birds... just an unnatural stillness that sends shivers down the witch's back.
And then the silence is broken, split down the middle by a crash of thunder. Agnes looks up and sighs. Yeah, it definitely looks like rain.
"Well, a little rain never hurt anybody," she says to no one in particular. Then, settling the large, pointed witch hat more firmly on her head, she starts walking. "Probably ought to find some shelter, though. Figure out where I am afterwards."
The first few drops fall almost immediately after that pronouncement. They hiss when they hit the ground.
"Must not have rained for a while," Agnes muses. "Figures that it'd start as soon as I get here. The magic needed to pull me here is bound to play games with the weather."
There's a large building off in the distance that looks intact. It's hard to tell from here, but it also looks like there's a wall around it of some kind. She can't see any people, but it's as good a destination as any, so she starts heading that way.
A raindrop hits the brim of her hat and hisses, burning a tiny hole straight through. Agnes stops and looks up cross-eyed at the hole. She reaches up with a hand to examine when another drop rolls down her arm, leaving a lance of pain in its wake. The witch gasps at the shock of it, and again when she sees the burn mark along her forearm.
Call me crazy, but I don't think rain is supposed to do that, Perdita says, real fear edging in on that mental voice.
"This is dark magic!" Agnes blurts out. Behind her, she can see the main line of the storm approaching and the sight spurs her into motion.
On the Disc, it is said that a witch only gets wet if she chooses to. And to a large extent, that's true. After all, Agnes has personally watched Granny Weatherwax walk straight through a downpour and emerge bone dry. Trouble is, not only is Granny more of a witch than Agnes, but Agnes is more of a person than Granny. Which is to say there's a lot more of Agnes to squeeze between raindrops.
Still, for all that, she's doing well at the moment, darting through the sprinkles ahead of the torrent. The brim of her hat takes a few more hits, but for the most part, Agnes herself is largely untouched. The rain behind her is moving faster, though, and a particularly forward-thinking collection of three or four raindrops fall together in a clump, hitting the girl's calf and hammering straight through. Agnes stumbles and falls forward, skidding across the rocky ground. The drops missed the bone, but Agnes can still see a clear hole straight through her lower leg. The chemical burn from the acid has cauterized the wound so it's not bleeding, but it still burns like fire.
With Perdita screaming in her head, Agnes starts to push herself up. The first time, she falls back to the ground when another raindrop punches a hole in the flesh of her hand between thumb and forefinger, but the second time, she manages to get back to her feet. She presses on, hobbling on the wounded leg, and trying desperately to regain the focus to move between the drops.
The building is a little closer now, close enough that Agnes can sense the people inside, even if she would appear as little more than a pointy black dot to anyone looking out from the window. She doesn't waste her breath calling out to people who wouldn't hear, instead putting all her effort into staying ahead of the storm. Her side cramps up, and she still pushes onward. Then she slips up and puts too much weight on her hurt left leg and takes another tumble to the ground. The tips of her right fingers fall, hissing, into a puddle of the acidic rain. Agnes screams and pulls her hand back, but not before the first knuckle's worth of flesh and bone are eaten away from her two middle fingers.
We're not going to make it, you know, Perdita says, her pessimism in full force.
Of course we are! Agnes protests. Witches on the Disc always know when they're going to die!
But we're not on the Disc anymore.
Agnes feels the pit of her stomach drop at that pronouncement, and looks again at the pouring rain just a few yards away and getting closer.
"It's not fair!" she screams into the face of the storm. "I was supposed to know! We're always supposed to know!"
And then the rain rolls over her, and there's just screams.
And then there's nothing but the sound of the rain.
[warning: cut for length and graphic imagery.]