The Furies are at home in the mirror

[MalfGuy2]

Act I

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A world bereft of Mana flickers across an ovular, shining surface.
It is quiet. Solid. Lonesome.
Bored by logic and immiseration, not fantastical adventure and abstracted canvases;
But harsh truths. Cold iron.
The will of steel and animal oil burning against water and yet more steel.

"A material world, a dreary world..."
"The force of capital knows no bounds, but what humanity imagines it to be."

Timestream anomaly detected: Evocation text unavailable.
Tarnished platinum scales and feathers stow the coin-like object away. It was an oddity.
And hopefully just an oddity.

"Judge Lendthys. The rear admiral demands your presence in the bunks' meeting."

"A chance to show them the righteous path."
"Don't falter from our crewmen."

The air for a sigh builds up in your lungs, but your resignation to your duties stifles most of the sound.
The cold abovedecks in the Spirit Seas' realms never bothered you anyways.
Your body noticeably grows colder as your talons descend across Rosegold Arcanium-reinforced steps leading to the central hold.
Something's gone horribly wrong with the assembly of faithful Drakanite Magi just a dozen meters from you, as a would-be Nethradin interloper scales the magitech cannon row...

---

Act II

---

Your senses warp and shimmer as whatever temporal anomaly afflicted you begun to dissipate.
You're awake. For the most part. Marble tile and teak-polished woods greet you among the watercolor blurs, and as you lumber your body around, you realize it.
You're back in your shop. In your desert lair.

"It's not much, but it was home for many years."
"The world of money has taught us well. If short..."
"Upon a midnight dreary, I heard a whisper, oh so bleary..."

The collar.
The invisible voice, they're not in here anymore.

"Wait, we lost someone?"
"Serves them right."

Abandoned.
You wander outside, vaguely feeling out the setting sun & the tell-tale golden branches of the voice overhead.
Except there isn't a voice any longer.
And those bronze-gold watercolor blurs are fading into the background,
Like the last pangs of a tortured soul being released into the aether...
"I'm free."
Free.
...Free to do what, exactly?
As the decades pass, so, too, have your excursions and your social willpower.
Lord Shenlian continues to refuse your summons.
For all intents and purposes, we're alone.
Completely.

"I saw in you, what life was missing; You lit a flame that consumed my hate,"
"I'm not one for reminiscing, but i'd trade it all for your embrace..."
"It feels more like we lost everything."
"Somehow. We can't place a finger on it."
"Not for lack of trying."
"I'm sorry. I failed you when you needed that addictive energy the most."
"Where do we go from here?.."

There is a bleary look across the glens.
Timestream anomaly detected; Fast-forwarding...
Multiple other Monsters come and go.
Uppity Werewolves and Rune-bears try to make their mark, but the storms above refuse them.
A bandit boy shudders and turns to pre-emptively run away.
The terror of consistently reckless spellcasting;
The innocence of a toddler playing with superweapons like they are just another rattling toy.

---

---

"A thing of beauty, I know..."
"Will never fade away..."

A great competition of Sirens and Aphrosi abound.
A muted golden age of the Republic; Heraldry happily collides with casual beachgoers.
You end up with a personal typhoon by the end of it all, an honorable mention amidst the Divine Storm,
And a complimentary barrel of bourbon.

"This soothes our directionlessness."
"Live a little."
"We don't have anything important to do anyway."

Another Werewolf falls to you on the way to the northern bay.
They abuse the same perceptions that you do -- But to much lesser effect.
What is the point of close-quarters spells against a Monster that only understands area spells?
A horrible truth.

"...I am a weapon. Not a person."
"The chaff fall. The Schism continues. Peoples' lives are forfeit over the smallest things..."
"And so are all these Monsters."

---

---

Tens of thousands must die for our cause.
They're not really people.
They're not really alive.
Not in the normal senses. Not like ordinary animals. Not like ordinary 'people'.
Millions, billions, it matters little to you.

"Destruction unleashed."
"A temporary mania."
"I.F.F. ping detected; Enemy retreating..."

Your warpath across most of the rest of Monsterkind finally gives way to the soft, chiming blues and vermillions of the northernmost faerie forests.
The colour palette itself seems to slow things down.
We can feel the presence of a ghostly dagger, being slowly set down, slowly put aside...
The Monster rush of the year was over.

"I'll free everyone."

As your clumsiness precedes you, you manage to half-stumble, half-float your way into town.
Delphina Bay and the coastal environs greet you in full. Runeoaks, holy trees, holy statues, as far as the eye can see;
A purpose-built tapestry of humanity and Mother Nature's finest.
A reverence for the natural & immutable laws of existence precedes the first few conversations you overhear.

"I'm already sold."
"We'll set up shop here. We can move out in time."

---

Act III

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The years continue to slowly scroll by.
Literature you can barely grasp floats over the simple, oaken shelving.
Mass storage, brutal efficiency to a clandestine and esoteric art.
The shop itself remains like it was before:
Just another out-of-the-way discount store.
It's not much.

"But it's home."

The Timestream storms malingering off the horizon bring odd portents.
Plenty of Demonic invasion timelines scatter away from old excursions of Meranthe's.
An odd, slate tower flickers in-and-out of view over Nereides, but ultimately fails to stay long enough for you to investigate.
Even now, even as you meander aimlessly through this life, powerful as you are,
Plenty of other, more important stories unfold of the peoples around you:
The Void attempts to devour one,
Cambion thrown to the side,
A Death Mage reclaimed elsewhere,
All in a long year's work for Delphina.

"Judgement is good. For now."
"And 'just good' is all the mockingjay really needs."

You stare out across the cube containing a rogue river, a shop, a miniature tavern accoutrement,
And let the whispers of another begin to reshape you once more...

---

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"Eighty-five-million, four-hundred-and-nine-thousand, seven-hundred-and-eighty-two left."