The eye hangs high above your head, impossibly massive, larger than most buildings you’ve seen, even in the capital. Long, undulating, dark grey tendrils expand from its sides and latch onto the walls of this place; somewhere deep and dark and underground, a massive cavern to house the thing that lives here. The eyeball tilts down to look at you, its gaze piercing, unknowable. It remains suspended like a spider resting in the center of its web.
And you? You're so small in comparison, just a tiny mortal thing, but your gaze is hard and accusing as you look up at the entity. You stand upon a ledge of rock and shale, unable to move farther into the cavern, or else you'd step foot-first into a "pool" of noxious green gases just below, a lake of poison that you, as a Dredger, know well to avoid. This is as close as you can stand unless you wish to die from poisons that would asphyxiate a man in ten seconds flat.
For what good it does, you think. You feel so, so sick. It has been a struggle to make your way down here, and it takes all your effort not to wretch on the spot, assailed by nausea for an entire week now. An entire week since you had been saved by this unfathomable organism that looks down at you with constant curiosity. With amusement.
"What did you do to me?" you say, everything throbbing. The thing above replies in a way you cannot hope to understand.
"I can't understand you like that, you fool thing-"
The eyeball writhes and considers. Then, its many tendrils fold itself inwards, snaking and sinuous and drawing itself in, until those same tentacles pile around its own eye and it looks more brain than eyeball. Just a mass of grey curves with a glowing iris peeking out from beneath the moving folds, suspended only by three tendrils that cling to the cavern walls. It "speaks" again this time, and you can hear it in your head, too loud and words like static.
I SAVED you, River-child. I am abiding by my part of the deal, which, of course, might be uncomfortable for you and your little strangely-shaped body. OH, it's only been days, hasn't it? Give it time, GIVE IT SO MUCH MORE TIME. You will adjust to my blood, or my blood will adjust to you. And then you will be a survivor. Not quite perfect, but closer!
"A survivor?" you scoff. "And how might I survive in this state? You've done nothing but make me weaker. You may as well have left me to bleed out."
Already questioning one of my GIFTS? Has it not been made clear to you already? No? Oh, you are so oblivious to so much, here let me SHOW you.
You've not time to reply, much less resist. A tendril unfurls and lashes out like a whip, wrapping tight around your leg and pulling hard. You trip and fall hard with your back against the ground as it drags you across the cavern floor, down the slope of shale and sharp rock, and straight into that mire of toxic green gas. You struggle, but you're weak. You curse, but you only hear laughter threading through your own mind.
BREATHE DEEP.
You gasp, and you do. That sulfuric, rotten taste fills your mouth, your lungs. And this should be the end of it. This should kill you, this should shut down your brain and freeze your ability to breathe and move, and you will simply die a horrible death via a creature that saved your life once and then dragged you into deadly fumes just a few days later.
But... you keep breathing. Dizzyingly, you look up at the entity that has pitched its huge gaze down towards you, and too much time passes. And you realize that you are not dead. That the poison is simply like breathing air -- rank, but unaffecting air all the same.
You feel a smile uncoil across your brain.
See? A gift. My blood is a gift to you. Nothing foul may poison you, because what is FOULER than what already runs through your veins? Haha!
And really, it takes all your energy to reply after a few long, world-spinning moments. Resigned and tired.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
THE POLYMATH.
The eye hangs high above your head, impossibly massive, larger than most buildings you’ve seen, even in the capital. Long, undulating, dark grey tendrils expand from its sides and latch onto the walls of this place; somewhere deep and dark and underground, a massive cavern to house the thing that lives here. The eyeball tilts down to look at you, its gaze piercing, unknowable. It remains suspended like a spider resting in the center of its web.
And you? You're so small in comparison, just a tiny mortal thing, but your gaze is hard and accusing as you look up at the entity. You stand upon a ledge of rock and shale, unable to move farther into the cavern, or else you'd step foot-first into a "pool" of noxious green gases just below, a lake of poison that you, as a Dredger, know well to avoid. This is as close as you can stand unless you wish to die from poisons that would asphyxiate a man in ten seconds flat.
For what good it does, you think. You feel so, so sick. It has been a struggle to make your way down here, and it takes all your effort not to wretch on the spot, assailed by nausea for an entire week now. An entire week since you had been saved by this unfathomable organism that looks down at you with constant curiosity. With amusement.
"What did you do to me?" you say, everything throbbing. The thing above replies in a way you cannot hope to understand.
"I can't understand you like that, you fool thing-"
The eyeball writhes and considers. Then, its many tendrils fold itself inwards, snaking and sinuous and drawing itself in, until those same tentacles pile around its own eye and it looks more brain than eyeball. Just a mass of grey curves with a glowing iris peeking out from beneath the moving folds, suspended only by three tendrils that cling to the cavern walls. It "speaks" again this time, and you can hear it in your head, too loud and words like static.
"A survivor?" you scoff. "And how might I survive in this state? You've done nothing but make me weaker. You may as well have left me to bleed out."
You've not time to reply, much less resist. A tendril unfurls and lashes out like a whip, wrapping tight around your leg and pulling hard. You trip and fall hard with your back against the ground as it drags you across the cavern floor, down the slope of shale and sharp rock, and straight into that mire of toxic green gas. You struggle, but you're weak. You curse, but you only hear laughter threading through your own mind.
You gasp, and you do. That sulfuric, rotten taste fills your mouth, your lungs. And this should be the end of it. This should kill you, this should shut down your brain and freeze your ability to breathe and move, and you will simply die a horrible death via a creature that saved your life once and then dragged you into deadly fumes just a few days later.
But... you keep breathing. Dizzyingly, you look up at the entity that has pitched its huge gaze down towards you, and too much time passes. And you realize that you are not dead. That the poison is simply like breathing air -- rank, but unaffecting air all the same.
You feel a smile uncoil across your brain.
And really, it takes all your energy to reply after a few long, world-spinning moments. Resigned and tired.
"Fuck you."