Post by Varga on Apr 6, 2023 20:29:17 GMT
Don't look at the clock.
What proof do you have that the last moment had just happened?
How do you know it's not coming up, or hasn't passed yesterday?
How do you keep time? What times do you keep?
Large columns support the dark ceiling of the Kundar temple as if it is a sky before the storm. The halls are quiet, safe for the adventuring party that's just returned from a small village plagued by the inability to move into the next day. They seem fine. The tall old firbolg, a bonsai tree on his shoulder, and his massive direwolf don't seem to be hurt at all. A drow barbarian is just a bit singed, while his half-orc colleague apparently had a harder time of it, but is still holding up. A statue of a terrified screaming tiefling they've had with them looked pristine, if a bit unsettling. The last member of the party, a curly-haired human who, despite his apparently weak constitution, doesn't look like he is about to collapse any time soon, is negotiating about something with the priests.
As they reach an agreement, the firbolg gently ushers a small monochrome dragon closer to the priests who are already waiting for it with open arms. As the little creature makes a couple of indecisive steps towards the kobolds, the half-orc barbarian suddenly stands in its way and crouches down to its level.
"Heret, can you translate?" She points between the curly-haired fighter and the dragon. The man nods, and the half-orc turns back to the dragon.
She takes off a medal from her neck. It's small and made of wood. On one side it says "Castle Victory" and has an etching of an epic castle. On the other, it just has two words: "I tried".
"Hey, I know you didn't mean to screw up the town," the half-orc addresses the dragon, and immediately shrugs. "Or maybe you did, kinda hard to tell. And there was that big metal idiot…" She points at metal scrap that vaguely looks like something that originated in Mechanus before being pummeled to death with various weaponry. "And you were just trying to hatch, to get out into the world and stuff. You tried, right? That's the important part. That's all we can do." As she's putting the medal around the dragon's neck, she adds quietly, barely above the whisper, like a mantra rehearsed over the years: "Try again and again against the opponent who you've got no way of beating until you find that way or die trying," She smiles and speaks up again. "And somewhere somebody decided that you and I need to try more times than others. Gruumsh decided for me, for you... I don't know, maybe Tiamat?" She looks up at the dark domed ceiling of the temple. "Just... don't think about it too much. Like - why, how, what for. There aren't many answers out there. Just... keep trying, I guess? For yourself, for your friends, or to show whoever gave you the chances that you made good of them. But keep trying. Maybe we win in the end, I don't know…" she trails off, gives the little dragon a pat on the head and gets back to her feet.
The little dragon, looking quite confused after being introduced to the concepts foreign for a newly born, glances down where the medal rests on its neck. The hatchling thinks for a couple of moments, then barrels its chest, proudly displaying the round piece of wood, and proceeds towards the awaiting priests.
Vikdu, the head of the priests' delegation, sprinkles some holy water on the tiefling statue and murmurs an incantation. The tiefling returns to life.
"Aaaah!" She screams, but, looking at the silence around her, thinks better of it. "Oh, wait, where's Marut, did we defeat it?" She asks, a bit lost. The drow nods with a grin. "And the chronomentals?"
The old firbolg smiles with gentle kindness, like an ancient forest, and puts his hand on the tiefling's shoulder. That seems to calm her down.
"Oh, good. That's good." She mutters under her breath.
As they say their goodbyes, the two groups part ways. The adventurers turn and walk to the exit, towards where the sun shines on a new day that will never repeat itself. Behind them, in the temple, one of the kobold priests tries to take the medal off the small dragon. An ominous creaking noise pierces the air, as if a moment in time freezes in anticipation. The priest changes their mind suddenly, and goes on their business, away from the time dragon hatchling. The ominous sound subsides, and the moment passes, as if it has never happened.
Only a proud smile on the half-orc's lips and a wooden medal on the dragon's chest remind the world that the moment did, in fact, happen.
What proof do you have that the last moment had just happened?
How do you know it's not coming up, or hasn't passed yesterday?
How do you keep time? What times do you keep?
Large columns support the dark ceiling of the Kundar temple as if it is a sky before the storm. The halls are quiet, safe for the adventuring party that's just returned from a small village plagued by the inability to move into the next day. They seem fine. The tall old firbolg, a bonsai tree on his shoulder, and his massive direwolf don't seem to be hurt at all. A drow barbarian is just a bit singed, while his half-orc colleague apparently had a harder time of it, but is still holding up. A statue of a terrified screaming tiefling they've had with them looked pristine, if a bit unsettling. The last member of the party, a curly-haired human who, despite his apparently weak constitution, doesn't look like he is about to collapse any time soon, is negotiating about something with the priests.
As they reach an agreement, the firbolg gently ushers a small monochrome dragon closer to the priests who are already waiting for it with open arms. As the little creature makes a couple of indecisive steps towards the kobolds, the half-orc barbarian suddenly stands in its way and crouches down to its level.
"Heret, can you translate?" She points between the curly-haired fighter and the dragon. The man nods, and the half-orc turns back to the dragon.
She takes off a medal from her neck. It's small and made of wood. On one side it says "Castle Victory" and has an etching of an epic castle. On the other, it just has two words: "I tried".
"Hey, I know you didn't mean to screw up the town," the half-orc addresses the dragon, and immediately shrugs. "Or maybe you did, kinda hard to tell. And there was that big metal idiot…" She points at metal scrap that vaguely looks like something that originated in Mechanus before being pummeled to death with various weaponry. "And you were just trying to hatch, to get out into the world and stuff. You tried, right? That's the important part. That's all we can do." As she's putting the medal around the dragon's neck, she adds quietly, barely above the whisper, like a mantra rehearsed over the years: "Try again and again against the opponent who you've got no way of beating until you find that way or die trying," She smiles and speaks up again. "And somewhere somebody decided that you and I need to try more times than others. Gruumsh decided for me, for you... I don't know, maybe Tiamat?" She looks up at the dark domed ceiling of the temple. "Just... don't think about it too much. Like - why, how, what for. There aren't many answers out there. Just... keep trying, I guess? For yourself, for your friends, or to show whoever gave you the chances that you made good of them. But keep trying. Maybe we win in the end, I don't know…" she trails off, gives the little dragon a pat on the head and gets back to her feet.
The little dragon, looking quite confused after being introduced to the concepts foreign for a newly born, glances down where the medal rests on its neck. The hatchling thinks for a couple of moments, then barrels its chest, proudly displaying the round piece of wood, and proceeds towards the awaiting priests.
Vikdu, the head of the priests' delegation, sprinkles some holy water on the tiefling statue and murmurs an incantation. The tiefling returns to life.
"Aaaah!" She screams, but, looking at the silence around her, thinks better of it. "Oh, wait, where's Marut, did we defeat it?" She asks, a bit lost. The drow nods with a grin. "And the chronomentals?"
The old firbolg smiles with gentle kindness, like an ancient forest, and puts his hand on the tiefling's shoulder. That seems to calm her down.
"Oh, good. That's good." She mutters under her breath.
As they say their goodbyes, the two groups part ways. The adventurers turn and walk to the exit, towards where the sun shines on a new day that will never repeat itself. Behind them, in the temple, one of the kobold priests tries to take the medal off the small dragon. An ominous creaking noise pierces the air, as if a moment in time freezes in anticipation. The priest changes their mind suddenly, and goes on their business, away from the time dragon hatchling. The ominous sound subsides, and the moment passes, as if it has never happened.
Only a proud smile on the half-orc's lips and a wooden medal on the dragon's chest remind the world that the moment did, in fact, happen.
