oooh so beefy.
The warping winds of the Abscess threatened to pull Lucrien's spell apart. Time travel, or rather, traveling through the absence of time, taxed the prolonging effects of his spell. His bones ached from the bi-polar pull of the place, his organs screamed under the pressure of the void, a formless weight which threatened to crush him beneath eons of forgotten history.
He put his hand in front of his eyes to block the sand-like grit which roared through the ceaseless currents of the Abscess, granules which flaked from the literal decay of centuries past.
In the short distance before him a figure took shape - that of a man, an elf - who waiting for him. The elf sat on top of a tremendous slab of black rock, which jutted up from the dusty ground of the place. Lucrien knew it to be a part of the old Library, the building which had sunk from heaven to hell and created the Abscess in its wake - the vacant pit of nothingness which had bored through all of time and space.
“Make it short minotaur.” The elf spoke in an old dialect of common, not his own tongue, and one that was tinged with an accent that spoke of his coastal origin. He grinned at his own pun.
“I do not appreciate your sense of humor.” Lucrien stiffened a bit, trying to make himself taller.
“I'm late for my chores.” The elf hopped down and narrowed his eyes. “What's happened to you? You look awful.”
“Time has not been kind to me. You can only irritate so many omnipotent beings of limitless power before your number comes up...”
“Then speak quickly. It isn't every day that the Librarian shows up broken and dying on my doorstep.”
“Your mother...”
The elf unwound a leather whip which had been coiled tightly around his arm. “I'll ask you to not speak of her.”
“Please...”
The elf waited.
Lucrien continued. “The Accomplices are near to her now. Soon The Process will begin.”
The elf dropped his weapon. “I'm not ready...”
“None of us ever are. Your endless task will soon be over, Sisyphus.”
“Do they know? These Accomplices? Do they know who and what they all are?”
“They're idiots. Just as we were, just as our parents were, in the beginning.”
“I can't... I'm not ready.”
“I can't be that you enjoy what you do.”
“The only way... It's the only way I get to see her as she was.”
“Don't you see? Soon she'll become what she was meant to be. All these years. Her and her stubborn attitude will be put to rest and she will ascend.”
The elf rubbed his eyes, not from the dust.
“The future is not as it should be, brother. I have come to try and repair the damage I have created. Repair the broken throne. Make things right. And to this end I must ensure that further changes do not occur.”
“She won't go easy.”
“The Lord of Steel would have it no other way. She will have to die fighting to appease him. No, I suppose she won't go easy. Still, a living god in a decaying, physical body... She is ill, dying from the disease which she contracted by denying her fate. They have a chance.”
“I will help them.”
“For her sake, I hope you will.”
He put his hand in front of his eyes to block the sand-like grit which roared through the ceaseless currents of the Abscess, granules which flaked from the literal decay of centuries past.
In the short distance before him a figure took shape - that of a man, an elf - who waiting for him. The elf sat on top of a tremendous slab of black rock, which jutted up from the dusty ground of the place. Lucrien knew it to be a part of the old Library, the building which had sunk from heaven to hell and created the Abscess in its wake - the vacant pit of nothingness which had bored through all of time and space.
“Make it short minotaur.” The elf spoke in an old dialect of common, not his own tongue, and one that was tinged with an accent that spoke of his coastal origin. He grinned at his own pun.
“I do not appreciate your sense of humor.” Lucrien stiffened a bit, trying to make himself taller.
“I'm late for my chores.” The elf hopped down and narrowed his eyes. “What's happened to you? You look awful.”
“Time has not been kind to me. You can only irritate so many omnipotent beings of limitless power before your number comes up...”
“Then speak quickly. It isn't every day that the Librarian shows up broken and dying on my doorstep.”
“Your mother...”
The elf unwound a leather whip which had been coiled tightly around his arm. “I'll ask you to not speak of her.”
“Please...”
The elf waited.
Lucrien continued. “The Accomplices are near to her now. Soon The Process will begin.”
The elf dropped his weapon. “I'm not ready...”
“None of us ever are. Your endless task will soon be over, Sisyphus.”
“Do they know? These Accomplices? Do they know who and what they all are?”
“They're idiots. Just as we were, just as our parents were, in the beginning.”
“I can't... I'm not ready.”
“I can't be that you enjoy what you do.”
“The only way... It's the only way I get to see her as she was.”
“Don't you see? Soon she'll become what she was meant to be. All these years. Her and her stubborn attitude will be put to rest and she will ascend.”
The elf rubbed his eyes, not from the dust.
“The future is not as it should be, brother. I have come to try and repair the damage I have created. Repair the broken throne. Make things right. And to this end I must ensure that further changes do not occur.”
“She won't go easy.”
“The Lord of Steel would have it no other way. She will have to die fighting to appease him. No, I suppose she won't go easy. Still, a living god in a decaying, physical body... She is ill, dying from the disease which she contracted by denying her fate. They have a chance.”
“I will help them.”
“For her sake, I hope you will.”