Hollow

Chapter 3: Divine's Chosen

Cackling, hissing laughter wavers from the planes of everywhere and nowhere in unison. It starts to recede, only to grow louder again as if caressing his face with sound alone, never actually touching or getting close, but being far from the borders of comfortable. And in some twisted way, it's almost familiar. Like he's been here before.

The ethereal sensation of being pulled out of the reality he has always perceived is such a unique feeling. Somewhat pleasant in warmth and weightlessness, but at the same time, cold and bitter, biting chills wrack his spine with terror and pain and his stomach flips in nauseating knots.

Basically a typical hangover.

Then in a split second, it stops. The light snaps back and the sounds are gone and Llwell now finds himself standing in a dark space. Black and purple fluids and mist ooze out of the vile walls and the cracks in the ashen stone ground leak hissing puffs of black smoke that dissolves in the air.

There are a number of statues scattered around, some of which are broken and covered in the dark pulsating liquid that occasionally blinks with masses of eyes that snap around, watching them but only when no one is looking. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees them the moment before they close and return to looking like nothing but black bile fluids seeping off the fleshy walls.

He would move, but he stands near petrified of the horrifying sight. He can't convince his legs to move so he just stands there, staring at the last eye he saw in the living wall.

"Fascinating, isn't it?" he hears a voice from behind him.

He slowly turns his body to see the mage from the hall standing, leaning on his hip with one arm crossed and the other up, stroking his chin. He's looking around as well, only he has a smile on his face and an inquisitive spark in his eye.

The mage reaches out to touch one of the walls of black viscous fluid, but Llwell reaches out and grabs his wrist before he can. It's then that he realizes his hands are no longer bound behind his back, and the violet mark on the back of his right hand is for some reason now faintly glowing.

"I wouldn't touch that stuff, we don't know what it is," Llwell warns, then gasps and quickly lets go of his arm and steps back, slightly bowing his head. "I mean, my apologies, my lord. It is not my place to tell you what to—"

He stops talking and lifts his head again when the mage lightly laughs and waves him off. "Please, I have been studying the fabrications of the Horror Reach since the ripe age of six. None of this should be harmful, though I would strongly advise against licking it," he says and resumes his previous action of poking the wall. The black ooze lashes out with a tiny tendril of darkness that whips his finger and he recoils, rubbing the slight sting. "I stand corrected. Seems this one's feisty."

"We're in the Horror Reach?" Llwell asks, his wide eyes scan over their grotesque surroundings.

The mage wavers from side to side a bit. "Well, sort of. Long and technical answer, we are seeing a part of the Reach through a weakened tear in the veil between this plane and ours, the physical realm."

"And the short answer?" Llewel asks as his eyes fall back onto him.

The mage smiles. "Short answer, we are in your head," he glances around. "Word of advice, you could use some redecorating. Maybe an armoire over there, a nice Atedin rug—"

"Wait, what? How did you get in my head?" he cuts him off.

The mage chuckles and flashes a confident smirk. "Oh you know, I just have that effect on people," he sighs and shakes his head. "We've all done this before. The Horror Reach is a complicated 'place,' if you could even call it that. Every time a horror lures you into a dream, this is where you are. Only they usually alter it to look however you would find appealing to lower your guard. What we're seeing now is what is behind that curtain," he explains.