A fever dream small vignette

[nobody]

I was reading through the lore pages yesterday while fighting a fever and this short story came to me in several brief scenes. My writing doesn't do them justice, but hopefully you enjoy them. I'm in no hurry to make a harbinger, but those immortals' pages are particularly rich and full of possibility. Feel free to steal anything here you like enough.


* * *


Her thoughts were interrupted by a shout, "Git gone, your kind ain't welcome here, demon worshipper!" A weathered man that had been seated on a stump now stood, practically spitting the last words as his hand edged toward the pistol at his side.


"My business isn't in your dusty little town, it's at the hanged man, where I assure you, I am welcome. But now it seems my business is with you, you've misunderstood Kurn, what she stands for," she subtly reached toward her own blades even as she reached for a sermon that might serve even better. "Hesutu, the Father of Seasons, teaches that all things have a time and a season, a beginning and an end." She began calmly, easily hiding the chaos battling inside her. That was a gift she'd always had, but she wondered if she would lose it as she grew closer to her patron. "All things, you, me, the world, will eventually end, but Kurn fights that end, rages against it to push it back, giving us more time. She fights her destiny, strives to make her own path, much like your little frontier town wouldn't you say?" This last asked with a slight grin, but she sobers her tone as she continues, "She is not always successful, so she is also the patron of regret," she tried to carefully draw the man's sadness to the surface as the followers of Ujaeio teach, asking in a voice somehow both firm and pleading, "have you never had any regrets, felt pulled by invisible strings of destiny you cannot control?"


The man paused at the question, surprised even as his eyes began to water, but the pause lasted only a moment as he blinked and furiously clutched at his pistol, still not yet drawn, and growled, "I. Said. Git."


"At least Kurn thinks about the consequences of her actions, many immortals do not. That is where regret comes from after all." This time she pulled fear, forcefully tugging with her mind, "Consequences are important. She is also a patron of destruction, and if you level that pistol at me like you're about to, you will have consequences. However briefly, you will know regret and you will feel destruction," this last said with a cold edge in her voice. She felt his fear bubbling up, and saw him lift the pistol. She unleashed her chaos, charging forward to close the distance.


* * *


Like a spooked coydog snapping, he drew his gun and fired instinctively. His shot rang true, it practically had to at this distance. The girl hit the ground, dead before she'd made two strides with her young face frozen in a look of fear and pain. The sight struck him. He felt pure regret until it filled his soul, and then once more it was tainted with shame, and anger. He hated himself for killing this woman, barely not a child, he hated himself for feeling shame at killing a cultist. As he stood there, filled with regret, he no longer saw her. He saw another woman, dead years ago and before her time, a fresh bullet wound bleeding out. With a heavy heart, he gently lifted the woman, cradled in his arms as he trudged down the long trail.


* * *


Her fury and her chaos exploded around her, no longer carefully contained within her controlling mortal frame. "Kurn!" she howled the name, prayer and pleading and cursing all at once. She shouted the name again and again, deafeningly, silently, at the still base of an ancient pyramid.


* * *


The man schooled his face again, wearing a mask of indifference as he stepped into the shrine and carelessly dropped the body onto the ground. Noone would call him a sympathizer, not today. He turned and left the shrine without a word, carefully hiding his regret and his own inner chaos. His mind was filled with the past, retracing his steps, his choices. Was this his destiny? Could he not change anything?


* * *


She raged until she had no energy left in her soul. An eternity later, an instant later, she quieted, feeling broken. Was this to be her destiny? Had she accomplished anying, pushed back the end even a little? Torn down anything ripe for overthrow? She only had her thoughts now, and they were harder to control now, spiraling again and again outside her grasp.


* * *


"Should we really try to help her?" the middle-aged priestess asked skeptically, not bending to lift the body at all, disdain evident in her voice and on her face.


The high priestess, younger but not inexperienced calmly replied, "It is not our duty to Judge the souls of the departed, no matter what raiment they wear." She bent and lifted the young harbinger's body and placed it on a low stone table. "Perhaps, if she comes back here often enough, she too will learn to revere the great Judge of the dead," the tone was kindly, but the chastisement was pointed and the older priestess bowed her head looking abashed.


* * *


All at once her fury returned, and she reached up to grasp the throat of the man before her, but he was no longer there. The high priestess calmly pushed the feeble arm away, unsurprised, and placed it back by the woman's side. "Rest child. Rest."


The movement was gentle, so gentle, but it felt worse than a slap in the face. She tried to roll onto her side, instinctively curling up, trying to control her feelings, but her body was too tired; she only managed to twich a leg and turn her head. The room smelled of herbs and incense, but it was no physicker's infirmary.


* * *


When she stepped out of the shrine she was still bone tired, but her mind raced. Had she truly died? The priestess had been quite clear, but she remembered nothing. Was that what waited? Just... nothing? Now more than ever she felt pushed by the unseen tides of destiny, but this was not a time for regret. If what awaited was nothing, all the more reason to fight for tomorrow. The end wouldn't be today, not if she kept fighting. The most powerful sermons we give are always for ourself first.

[Rias]

Don't sell your writing short, this was an amazing read! I look forward to your inevitable Harbinger alt. Don't fight it!

[Rilulth]

Embrace the Harbinger within!

Fever dreams are such fun, it's neat to see one put in words. Hope you're feeling better though!

[darkangel]

This was an absolute joy to read.
I admit, I am tempted to write down one of my own, whenever I can choose between the 8. all of their lore, the ways it can be interpreted is so fascinating.
I hope you are feeling better now, though.

[nobody]

Thank you for the praise and the well wishes. My fever seems to have gone over night, so yay for being able to function without fever reducers/pain meds.