08-17-2016, 04:35 PM
The Sage awoke in a soft bed, a strange smell permeating the room. He blinked, unable to make the scattered fragments of thought and memory align themselves into any sort of pattern. The room he was in was unfamiliar, and smelled faintly of an apothecary. As more scraps of consciousness began to coalesce the Sage became aware of a stiff white structure of some sort that was in place around his neck, preventing him from turning his head. The Sage furrowed his brow in confusion, what was this thing? He lifted a hand to touch the construction. He was forgetting something important, he knew the reason he was there clear and present in his brain. So why couldn’t he just think of it?
It occurred to him that his arm was still laying on the bed. He frowned, and raised his hand again. It remained completely stationary. With a growing sense of anxiety, the Sage glanced at his other arm, but that one also proved to be unresponsive. His eyes widened, and he uttered an involuntary moan of uncertainty. Or tried to. His eyes grew wide with fear as his repeated efforts failed to produce any audible sound. He wasn’t even sure if his mouth was moving. The Sage began to panic in earnest, as the true horror of the situation became apparent to him. He wanted to shout, call for help, fight back, resist. He could do none of it, and that fact only served to make his urge to act all the stronger. The cycle continued, and the Sage began to blink away tears as his struggles refused to bring any sort of response from his body. He fought with all the strength a man could bring, but to the outside world, he simply lay in the bed crying.
The Sage had no idea for how long he was swept up into that fit of futile resistance, but in the end he lay there, emotionally exhausted and still wholly unable to move. The Sage’s tears had finally ceased to flow, two streaks trailing down from the corners of his eyes to strike the pillow on which he lay. The path of the tears had dried out, the skin beneath itching at the crisp, dry air of the room. The Sage blinked and tried his best to force the thought out of his brain. He could not do anything to wipe the streaks away, and his impotence threatened to overwhelm him again. The knowledge that he had no course of action served only to heighten the sensation in his skin. He would have screamed in fury, but his mouth refused to move. He had no outlet, and his emotions continued to build inside him.
He lay there in the bed, without any concept of time. As raging panic slowly descended into dull acceptance, the Sage forced himself to take stock of the situation. He was able to think normally, as far as he could tell. With the exception of the events leading to his current situation his memories did not appear to have noticeable gaps. He had been studying in the king’s court when the godling Omni had decided to snatch him away to this astonishing new reality. He had learned things from numerous people, and destroyed entirely too many sailing vessels for a man without naval experience. He had been searching for Clowney, on Cinnibar Island, where every citizen was something bizarrely new. The Sage assumed he was still somewhere in that city, though a glance around his room could not confirm that in any particular way.
The Sage realized that he was still able to move his eyes, and although his head was fixed in a single, front-facing direction, he was still able to take in the entirety of the room surrounding him. To his left, some strange metal casing flashed with a plethora of lights and numbers. One screen in particular drew his attention, and he spent some time watching the line as it traced its jagged pattern across the surface of the screen. Eventually his revere waned, and the Sage’s eyes moved on. he took in the rest of the room, a table, a chair of questionable construction, a vase with some flower that the Sage had never seen before. He took some comfort in the health of the blossom, since that meant someone had been in the room recently. His eyes came to rest on the open window. It was not a grandiose view, the strange collection of rooftops from a few nearby buildings, and beyond that only sky. I see we remain on Cinnibar. The Sage thought, though his location currently meant very little. Location is a concept derivative of motion. Without the ability to change it, the place you are at does not need to be defined. The Sage tried to sigh, but found himself unable to. It simply is. He thought, doing his best to quell the returning sense of futility.
Time passed, the Sage did not move. Outside his window, the sky grew darker, slowly. A tantalizing reminder of the world which he had been a part of for so long. The Sage allowed his mind to wander, reminiscing on some of the happier portions of his life, his time with Yianna and the wood elves, his days in Court, studying the histories of the realm. His adventures here after being taken by Omni. But as time wore on, these memories proved only irksome, reminders of the things he had once been capable off. In the end the Sage allowed his mind to empty, to retreat into a sort of half-sleeping daze where thoughts were infrequent and his situation was less pervasively overpowering. He spent an hour in that way, then another, then several more.
He was not aware of time passing, but when he eventually came back to cognizant rationality, the first fingers of dawn were starting to reach for the night sky outside his window. There was movement in the hallway outside his room, two sets of feet, walking his direction. Despite his best efforts, hope soared in the Sage’s mind, and the tracing line on the screen beside him started to quicken its dance. Two figures entered the room, and the Sage found so many thoughts racing though his head he could barely focus. The first figure was a round pink thing, with a strange white hat. It immediately moved over to the array of lights beside the Sage’s bed, and began to press buttons with short stubby arms that reminded the Sage of that small ghost-thing he had seen earlier in the market.
The other was a more constrained form, a yellow being vaguely reminiscent of a fox. A drooping yellow moustache hung from its snout, dangling in front of the ornamental robe it wore. It watched the Sage with eyes that spoke of anger, and fatigue. After it had finished fiddling with the boxes beside him, the pink egg-shaped Pokémon turned back to its companion, and some sort of communication passed between them. The pink Pokémon left the room, closing the door behind her.
Fully paralyzed. How about that. The thing spoke, the words entering directly into the Sage’s mind. For a moment, the Sage was utterly dumbfounded. If this Pokémon could project words directly into the Sage’s mind, could he also hear thoughts that the Sage made apparent? Yes, I can do that, came the words again. There was not exactly another voice speaking in his head, the words appeared as though he himself was thinking them. However, the method of speaking, of thinking, was so alien to the Sage that he had little trouble distinguishing between his own thoughts and those of the Pokémon that was inside of his mind. You are quite fortunate that Chansey was correct in her diagnosis, human. Or else you would still be trapped in this isolation of yours.
“I suppose so…” The Sage emphasized in his mind, to allow the psychic type to read it. He was trying “Though I do not know yet what benefit that does either of us right now.” The Sage was doing everything that he could to maintain his composure, but just the prospect of communication with another person was elating. He did his best to keep these feelings as subtle as possible, since he had no idea to what extent the Pokémon was able to monitor his thoughts.
I can read those, yes. Came the words into his brain again. The Sage would have tried to frown, but of course it wasn’t possible, so he had to suffice with projecting his dissatisfaction for the Pokémon to detect.
“I suppose I am in your debt. I was starting to worry about my future in this place.” he said, trying to maintain eye contact as the yellow fox-thing processed around the room. The Pokémon projected what could only be a chuckle into the Sage’s brain.
I wouldn’t start worrying just yet… We’ll save that for after we know what role you had in that terrorist’s attack today.
It occurred to him that his arm was still laying on the bed. He frowned, and raised his hand again. It remained completely stationary. With a growing sense of anxiety, the Sage glanced at his other arm, but that one also proved to be unresponsive. His eyes widened, and he uttered an involuntary moan of uncertainty. Or tried to. His eyes grew wide with fear as his repeated efforts failed to produce any audible sound. He wasn’t even sure if his mouth was moving. The Sage began to panic in earnest, as the true horror of the situation became apparent to him. He wanted to shout, call for help, fight back, resist. He could do none of it, and that fact only served to make his urge to act all the stronger. The cycle continued, and the Sage began to blink away tears as his struggles refused to bring any sort of response from his body. He fought with all the strength a man could bring, but to the outside world, he simply lay in the bed crying.
The Sage had no idea for how long he was swept up into that fit of futile resistance, but in the end he lay there, emotionally exhausted and still wholly unable to move. The Sage’s tears had finally ceased to flow, two streaks trailing down from the corners of his eyes to strike the pillow on which he lay. The path of the tears had dried out, the skin beneath itching at the crisp, dry air of the room. The Sage blinked and tried his best to force the thought out of his brain. He could not do anything to wipe the streaks away, and his impotence threatened to overwhelm him again. The knowledge that he had no course of action served only to heighten the sensation in his skin. He would have screamed in fury, but his mouth refused to move. He had no outlet, and his emotions continued to build inside him.
He lay there in the bed, without any concept of time. As raging panic slowly descended into dull acceptance, the Sage forced himself to take stock of the situation. He was able to think normally, as far as he could tell. With the exception of the events leading to his current situation his memories did not appear to have noticeable gaps. He had been studying in the king’s court when the godling Omni had decided to snatch him away to this astonishing new reality. He had learned things from numerous people, and destroyed entirely too many sailing vessels for a man without naval experience. He had been searching for Clowney, on Cinnibar Island, where every citizen was something bizarrely new. The Sage assumed he was still somewhere in that city, though a glance around his room could not confirm that in any particular way.
The Sage realized that he was still able to move his eyes, and although his head was fixed in a single, front-facing direction, he was still able to take in the entirety of the room surrounding him. To his left, some strange metal casing flashed with a plethora of lights and numbers. One screen in particular drew his attention, and he spent some time watching the line as it traced its jagged pattern across the surface of the screen. Eventually his revere waned, and the Sage’s eyes moved on. he took in the rest of the room, a table, a chair of questionable construction, a vase with some flower that the Sage had never seen before. He took some comfort in the health of the blossom, since that meant someone had been in the room recently. His eyes came to rest on the open window. It was not a grandiose view, the strange collection of rooftops from a few nearby buildings, and beyond that only sky. I see we remain on Cinnibar. The Sage thought, though his location currently meant very little. Location is a concept derivative of motion. Without the ability to change it, the place you are at does not need to be defined. The Sage tried to sigh, but found himself unable to. It simply is. He thought, doing his best to quell the returning sense of futility.
Time passed, the Sage did not move. Outside his window, the sky grew darker, slowly. A tantalizing reminder of the world which he had been a part of for so long. The Sage allowed his mind to wander, reminiscing on some of the happier portions of his life, his time with Yianna and the wood elves, his days in Court, studying the histories of the realm. His adventures here after being taken by Omni. But as time wore on, these memories proved only irksome, reminders of the things he had once been capable off. In the end the Sage allowed his mind to empty, to retreat into a sort of half-sleeping daze where thoughts were infrequent and his situation was less pervasively overpowering. He spent an hour in that way, then another, then several more.
He was not aware of time passing, but when he eventually came back to cognizant rationality, the first fingers of dawn were starting to reach for the night sky outside his window. There was movement in the hallway outside his room, two sets of feet, walking his direction. Despite his best efforts, hope soared in the Sage’s mind, and the tracing line on the screen beside him started to quicken its dance. Two figures entered the room, and the Sage found so many thoughts racing though his head he could barely focus. The first figure was a round pink thing, with a strange white hat. It immediately moved over to the array of lights beside the Sage’s bed, and began to press buttons with short stubby arms that reminded the Sage of that small ghost-thing he had seen earlier in the market.
The other was a more constrained form, a yellow being vaguely reminiscent of a fox. A drooping yellow moustache hung from its snout, dangling in front of the ornamental robe it wore. It watched the Sage with eyes that spoke of anger, and fatigue. After it had finished fiddling with the boxes beside him, the pink egg-shaped Pokémon turned back to its companion, and some sort of communication passed between them. The pink Pokémon left the room, closing the door behind her.
Fully paralyzed. How about that. The thing spoke, the words entering directly into the Sage’s mind. For a moment, the Sage was utterly dumbfounded. If this Pokémon could project words directly into the Sage’s mind, could he also hear thoughts that the Sage made apparent? Yes, I can do that, came the words again. There was not exactly another voice speaking in his head, the words appeared as though he himself was thinking them. However, the method of speaking, of thinking, was so alien to the Sage that he had little trouble distinguishing between his own thoughts and those of the Pokémon that was inside of his mind. You are quite fortunate that Chansey was correct in her diagnosis, human. Or else you would still be trapped in this isolation of yours.
“I suppose so…” The Sage emphasized in his mind, to allow the psychic type to read it. He was trying “Though I do not know yet what benefit that does either of us right now.” The Sage was doing everything that he could to maintain his composure, but just the prospect of communication with another person was elating. He did his best to keep these feelings as subtle as possible, since he had no idea to what extent the Pokémon was able to monitor his thoughts.
I can read those, yes. Came the words into his brain again. The Sage would have tried to frown, but of course it wasn’t possible, so he had to suffice with projecting his dissatisfaction for the Pokémon to detect.
“I suppose I am in your debt. I was starting to worry about my future in this place.” he said, trying to maintain eye contact as the yellow fox-thing processed around the room. The Pokémon projected what could only be a chuckle into the Sage’s brain.
I wouldn’t start worrying just yet… We’ll save that for after we know what role you had in that terrorist’s attack today.
Quote:1,515 words according to MS word
13,645 words total.
If history is to become legend, it first must be recorded.