Recording #004 | The Voice

[the_archive]

WHO: Jonathan Sims et al
WHAT: DOOM
WHERE: The return from the Horizon, and the dungeons.
WHEN: From July 24th to August 12^th
WARNING: Body horror, eyes, execution talk, mention of self-harm.
NOTES: Always up to add something more specific for any asker. I'm in the group disco at all hours, or on plurk as TheHats.

 

1.

Jon wakes up outside the rim of the crater with a sense of gentle, falling disappointment, staring up at the sky. He simply lays there for a while in the long grass, hands folded on his stomach, unmoving. It's one of the guards accompanying the mages that first notices he's awake, and they're swift to pull him to his feet. The guard who grabs his wrist to recuff him makes a startled sound when one of the three broad scars across Jon's throat opens and blinks lazily at him, and when another eye winks from the back of his neck, the guard escorting him back to the group pushes harder than necessary, sending him to his knees.

It's there he goes still, frozen, his eyes – all of his eyes, in their dozens now, every scar opening to show a different shade of iris with pinprick pupils – go wide as the voice sounds inside his head, for him alone, a dead language hissing like static between his ears.
 

H̷̨̀͂É̴̩̩͋L̷̘͂͝L̴̳̹͐Ö̴̠͉́ ̴̱̽͝H̴̡̱̎͝E̸̥̻̍̄L̵͈̽͜L̷̙͛͒Ọ̶́̔
̶̬̾Ý̸͓̖͝O̷̦͐U̴͈̿̒ ̷̳̔̀C̴̳̰̚A̸̰̔N̸͎͕̈́ ̸̗̦̂U̶̼̖͌Ṋ̶̛́ͅD̸͌̕͜E̴͖̩̅̽Ȓ̴͔͚̔S̸̘̔T̷͎͔͊͐A̶̰͑̎Ň̴̬͝D̷̙̂̐ ̸̨̦͂̊M̴͖̾Ě̷͔ ̶̹̙͆Y̷̺̱͛E̸̟̓͗S̶͎̀̒ ̸̧̥̆F̵̝̯͗I̷̛̯̔N̶̡̪͠Â̶͙̩Ĺ̸̖̭͝L̵͎̩̇Ý̸̲͈ ̷̙́ͅB̴̻̙́̈́È̶̖͖Ę̴̩͒̄N̴̺̋̑ ̵̛̮͠W̴̻̃A̴̗̞̍̕Í̷̻͝T̷͚͒́Ì̷̙̃͜Ṅ̴͖͖̂G̶̺̩̃

He doesn't answer when he's ordered to his feet,
 

Ç̵̥͗͑Ą̷͖͂N̴̨͈͝'̵̥̇̂T̶͔͍̕ ̶̬́͌T̵̹̔͘Ą̸̲͊͝L̷̺̓̚K̵͖̚ ̴̼̿́M̷̟̉̓Ǘ̵̠͐C̴̖̔H̵̜́ ̸̤͛Ṋ̸̄͝O̸͉̣͒̔W̵̱͐ ̸̱̻̅̚V̸̥͝͠Ẽ̷͚R̸̎͊͜Y̴̠̋̕ ̶̗̎E̵̡͒X̴̟̀H̷̘̀̓Ả̷̪U̸̞̦͊S̸̘̜̍T̶̡͙̀Ȋ̵̘N̵͓̬͂Ğ̵̢
̷͓͈͆I̷̅͜ ̵̯͌̒W̴͓͜͠I̶͔̝̍L̸̨̯̀́L̴̢̟͆͑ ̸̱̿Ș̷͆Ẹ̷͖͝Ṉ̸̼͊̎D̵̦̃ ̷̯̗̇͝M̷̤͐Ẏ̷͎ ̷̬̑Ȩ̵͍̏̏N̸̤͋V̷͚̺̾̇O̴͔̮̍̃Y̷̦͝

or rise when they yank his arm.
 

Ť̵̞̈́R̵̛͉̀Y̴̳͠ ̷̡̹̃N̶̘͆̉O̸̡͕̅T̵̨͗́͜ ̶͉̏́Ṭ̵̋Ȍ̸̺͓̚ ̷̢̬̽L̵̼̱̚O̸͙̾̔O̴͚̠͗͠Ḱ̸̢̕ ̷͉͈̔H̸̙̜͑̾E̶̻͒̈́ ̷̱̭̇̔I̵̻̩͗̾S̷̤̊͂ ̴͓̥̊Ǹ̶͍͇̍Ȍ̶ͅT̵͙̈́̄ ̷͕̎̓M̷͚̗̀E̴̝͛A̸͈̅N̶͓̏T̵͓̒̈́ ̸̰͙͌͌T̶͍̗̑̏O̶̡͙̽̑ ̸̠͆B̷͔͔͠E̸̼̔ ̴͙̍̓ͅS̶͉̽̏Ė̶̠̘̑E̴̪̓́͜N̷̻͍͐͝ ̸̤̉͊Ẉ̵̓̒I̴͍͋T̸̡̾H̴̖͉̎ ̶̗̠̀E̴̞̋Ẏ̴͖E̸͇̔S̴̩̕͜ ̸̀͜Ḁ̶̺̂͑Ṡ̶̯̘ ̸̱̈́͆O̸̝̓̃P̸͍͉͝Ę̶̪̚N̴͓͐ ̴̭͑Ḁ̵̱̆͂S̶̜̭͌̋ ̵̟̽̎Y̷͚̽O̷͔̙̔͒Ü̸̘̎R̸̺̚S̶͔̬̈́̚
̶̪̬̏I̸̢̝̓̀T̴̓ͅ ̸̳̃͛Ẇ̵̫̱Ȋ̶̘͔̇L̷͍͗L̸̦͊́͜ ̷̫̆͠H̶̤͍̾͝Ų̵͂̀R̶̰̳̈́̋Ţ̸͇̓ ̶̢͚̾L̵̳̍͛ͅĪ̸͎̜͝Ķ̴̗̈́̽Ē̴̡ ̷̜̀̚Ś̶̨̮T̸̢̎͜A̶̹̗̾̊R̷̝̄I̵̳̼͐̚Ǹ̴͖̥G̷̼͆̓ ̷̤́͠I̴͎̍N̷̫̻̎T̸̡͆Ỏ̵͔̱ ̷̣̽T̵̮̠̓H̷̦͒̇Ẹ̵̤́̒ ̷̪̔̄Ş̷̑U̴̹̫͆̔N̴̗̱͗̋ ̷͔͚͋̌

He's frozen in horror, listening to something other than their gruff orders,
 

W̴̨͗̈͠Ȃ̴̝̦I̸͍͕͂̿͝T̷̹̫̮͑ ̸̱͇͛̒͒F̴̧͕̬̋̏Ö̵̹͚͒R̵͔̔̃ ̶͉̲̂̂͑H̸̯̪̊Ī̴̳͚̈́̒M̴̢̼͔͊̚
̵̏͜S̶̖͂͝È̸̳̰̥T̷̿͜ ̸̫̮́̅M̵̺̒E̷̦̍͝ ̴͓͙̽̈́F̴̦͊̐̄ͅR̸̯̕Ẽ̵̘̆E̸͎̻̓ͅ ̵̼̊̀͌

and when they finally get him up, he staggers where he's pushed, stands where he's left, numb, pale, and breathing fast.

2.

He's still just as unsettled when they're returned to the cells. He manages to retreat to his bed, although there's no sleep for him. The new eyes don't all shut, not when he wants them too, and he twitches at every voice. Twitches and relaxes again when he realizes they're safe, he's only hearing them with his ears.

It takes him until the next day to begin to breathe easily again, and even then, the equanimity he displayed before the Horizon is gone. Instead of sitting by the bars to see who's coming down the corridor, now he paces, jaw so tense his head aches. It's not the Eye. He knows that much. What it is, what it might be, he doesn't know. And he fears.

Comments

[the_archive]

He spreads his hands a bit, arms still resting through the bars.

"No, that is my own baggage. It's not mine, but I can't shake it, either.

"I am... attached, let's say, to an entity that wants to know and watch and record everything. Especially fear, but everything. As its hands in the real parts of reality, it's given me a few abilities to do with digging out the truth. All the better to feed it. Of course, down here, I'm enjoying their absence."

For a given value of enjoying. Certainly it looks like he hasn't slept in days, and his brief flash of smile is purely on the surface.

[towerjunkie]

[ An entity. There was no talk of such things in any of the lands Roland had traveled to, not by that name. But gaining power by making deals with higher powers-- that's familiar enough. ]

Absence? This entity is bound by the same thing which keeps all other magic at bay, down in these cells, then.

[ That rules out asking for a demonstration. ]

What else, that you know of, can counteract your power? It must be powerful strong to not allow even Sai Ambrose to resist.

[the_archive]

"I think it's more that I am bound by whatever smothering effect they have in here, and in Ambrose's spell, and I'm the Eye's only way into this world so far. There were a few things in my world that could turn its gaze away - I only know one of them, for certain; there was a book, almost certainly made by another Entity. Reading a few words would hide you. But I met a few other people who had ways to escape notice."

[towerjunkie]

[ So other, powerful entities and certain people can avoid this, but otherwise-- ]

But outside of here, you can control it. Direct that gaze. Compel answers.

[ He gathers from Sai Jon's demeanour so far that using these powers or having this entity on board isn't something enjoys, but that's only part of it to Roland. A power so terrifying to their hosts that they imprisoned him for using it, that's not something that should just be ignored. ]

[the_archive]

Jon's expression cools, his eyes moving as he scans this man's weatherbeaten face.

"Yes. I can. But it's not safe."

[towerjunkie]

Such power rarely is, Sai.

[ He isn't being subtle, he knows. But he isn't trying to be. Surely this man is aware of how useful his abilities are and what they could be used for. Roland would like him to know that he, too, can think of many uses for it. ]

[the_archive]

"So honestly, the fact that I won't be getting out of here is probably the smartest choice I've seen Ambrose make yet."

[towerjunkie]

[ Roland's forehead wrinkles slightly. He hadn't expected the man to think Ambrose had done the right thing. ]

Is it danger to yourself you fear, or harm coming to others?

[the_archive]

The latter. I'm very serious when I say it's not safe. I am not safe.

[His eyes, his own eyes, flick down to Roland's hip, to confirm what the eye on his wrist already spotted.]

Just consider me a loaded gun, with a bad trigger.

[towerjunkie]

[ The accuracy of any gun metaphors aside, Roland nods once. He's felt the ache of old age and infirmity coming on him, and though the loss of the two fingers on his right hand haven't slowed him down-- the events surrounding that are ugly reminders of a time he could not trust his body to do what he wished. If Sai Jon feels the same about himself and his power, that explains much.

Not that Roland feels deterred. Some things are worth the risk. The tower is worth any risk. ]

When, and I beg you'll tell me, has safety ever been a guarantee to any of us who draw breath? Death and danger come to all of us, whether we call it on ourselves or not.

[the_archive]

[Jon's lips thin as he glances away. Fine. Less discretion. No metaphor. He lowers his voice, wrapping a hand around the bar as he leans in.]

Look. I was a few dozen words away from ending my world, when Ambrose summoned me here. Not by my choice. I was made to be a tool to call all the Entities of fear through whatever held them back and remake my world to serve them.

And now I'm here. In arm's reach of, allegedly, a link between all worlds. Everywhere.

[towerjunkie]

[ Roland doesn't initially move as Jon draws closer, his face still as impassive as he can keep it.

But before he speaks he takes another look up and down the corridor and steps closer as well. ]

And you think yourself the only means by which the Tower might fall? There is a man here, in this very dungeon, whom I have hunted all my life. His desire, other than to bring chaos and ruin where'er he sets his loathesome boots, is to climb to the top of the Tower himself and pull apart reality like a child eager to see how his Fairday present ticks. And he will set his mind to that end once he is released from him, I say true.

[ There's no hiding the vehemence of his feeling about the man currently using the name Flagg. A depth of hatred burns in Roland's soul towards the man who has played a part in all the tragedies of his life. ]

Unlike him, Sai Jon, you've no desire to see the Tower fall. [ A pause, as he considers whether to gamble on an assumption. ] And you'd choose death over seeing all things come to an end, I'd warrant.

[the_archive]

[Jon looks down the corridor, frowning. That bothers him. More people here from the same worlds. That reeks of something the High Mage is doing on purpose. Maybe digging around for something specific, like he told Strange.]

I would. Not enough to do it myself- [He smiles, quick and bitter.] But here I am. [A tapping on his bars.]

[towerjunkie]

Here you are.

[ Roland echoes it, calmer now the topic isn't Walter O'Dimm and his crimes. The impassive expression is back and he's silent a long moment as he considers what Jon is saying. ]

Know, Sai, that Ambrose and his cohort aren't the only ones who'll do you the mercy of putting a bullet in your head should the need arise.

[the_archive]

[Jon stares at him for a moment, seeing Roland from more angles than he'd like, and then all of his eyes squeeze shut as he laughs. It's nearly silent, his forehead dropping forward against the bars, but it shakes his whole body.]

[towerjunkie]

[ Roland is silent while he waits for the laughter takes it's course.

He's said what he meant; there's nothing in his demeanour which suggests he won't do what he's said. ]

[the_archive]

[There's some hysteria in it, but the laughter is more a release than anything else. It takes a little time to wind down, and Jon presses a hand to his chest as he catches his breath.]

Let's hope, if I have to take you up on it, that I'm in any shape for it to work.

[towerjunkie]

I'm not one to leave a job unfinished.

[ And he has the Death arcana embroidered on his tunic to back that up.

There's also an undercurrent of approval in Roland's tone. He can respect a man who does not shy from terrible things when they're needed. ]

[the_archive]

[Jon stands a bit straighter, and offers him his hand through the bars. It's the scarred one, the skin rippled and ruined in the print of another hand clasping his. At this second, at least, it has no open eyes.]

Should the need arise, then.