Aust
23-04-2005, 19:00
((This is an open RP... if you have characters who've died who could have wound up in Hell, or some other eternal punishment, feel free to play them here. I'll explain more IC.))
The brilliant tunnel of light is so cliche it's a joke. But it's real. The doctors say it's just your brain shutting down, that the part of your brain that sees hallucinates the tunnel of light. They're wrong. It's pain, the pain of the final moment before death, when all your life is a searing needle in your head, driving away all thought just before the black. The light is real, but it's not the end.
"Welcome to Endgate," someone says. Whoever it is has said that before, at least once, and seeing as I'm busy trying to get that agony out of my brain, I wish they'd stop it.
Getting jerked to my feet doesn't help with the pain, and neither do the quick punches that set my ears to ringing, but I keep my feet and manage to look my tormentor in the eye. Big mistake. The room dances around me in a most unappealing manner. The red thing holding me up doesn't seem to mind when I totter to the corner of the room to retch. Jesus, I hate dry heaving.
"What... where am I?" I manage to spit out.
"Welcome to Endgate," I almost say it with him. Shoulda known. This time, the little thing apparently has more to say, though. "You died. Here now, in Endgate. Go, time to work."
I don't have time to ask what he means when he shoves me out of the little room, onto a street. The sky is red at the zenith, and darkens to black at the horizon, like an open wound necrotising around the edges. The stones paving the street give a little, screaming when I step on them. This place gives me the creeps.
And suddenly, I'm not alone. All around me there are hundreds of people, thousands, hurrying and going about their business. Hulking monstrosities wade through the crowd. Jesus, that thing tore that guy's legs off.
The street runs straight as an arrow. I can see what's at the end: some kind of portal made of obsidian, it must be miles high. There's something silvery between the obsidian spires, and it looks kind of like a face. It's hard to tell, 'cause the whole thing is almost drowned out by the shining radiance of the two beings standing beside the towers. They must be angels. I've never seen anyone so beautiful, or so frightening. Guards. They're guarding the gate.
Welcome to Endgate.
The brilliant tunnel of light is so cliche it's a joke. But it's real. The doctors say it's just your brain shutting down, that the part of your brain that sees hallucinates the tunnel of light. They're wrong. It's pain, the pain of the final moment before death, when all your life is a searing needle in your head, driving away all thought just before the black. The light is real, but it's not the end.
"Welcome to Endgate," someone says. Whoever it is has said that before, at least once, and seeing as I'm busy trying to get that agony out of my brain, I wish they'd stop it.
Getting jerked to my feet doesn't help with the pain, and neither do the quick punches that set my ears to ringing, but I keep my feet and manage to look my tormentor in the eye. Big mistake. The room dances around me in a most unappealing manner. The red thing holding me up doesn't seem to mind when I totter to the corner of the room to retch. Jesus, I hate dry heaving.
"What... where am I?" I manage to spit out.
"Welcome to Endgate," I almost say it with him. Shoulda known. This time, the little thing apparently has more to say, though. "You died. Here now, in Endgate. Go, time to work."
I don't have time to ask what he means when he shoves me out of the little room, onto a street. The sky is red at the zenith, and darkens to black at the horizon, like an open wound necrotising around the edges. The stones paving the street give a little, screaming when I step on them. This place gives me the creeps.
And suddenly, I'm not alone. All around me there are hundreds of people, thousands, hurrying and going about their business. Hulking monstrosities wade through the crowd. Jesus, that thing tore that guy's legs off.
The street runs straight as an arrow. I can see what's at the end: some kind of portal made of obsidian, it must be miles high. There's something silvery between the obsidian spires, and it looks kind of like a face. It's hard to tell, 'cause the whole thing is almost drowned out by the shining radiance of the two beings standing beside the towers. They must be angels. I've never seen anyone so beautiful, or so frightening. Guards. They're guarding the gate.
Welcome to Endgate.