[And indeed, what is around them, speaking to them, bobbing in and out of the ebb and flow of the depths of the water does not feel like the energy of the North. It is far less mischievous, strict and yet constantly changing, whimsical and yet terrifying in their breadth.]
You can hear them now, can't you? The ocean.
[It doesn't speak in words as often as it does in emotion. And it is filled with disappointment, with disgust, with anger. It sees you as a threat. It sees you as a nuisance. It sees you as a prisoner. Its prisoner.
Time blurs. You are being dragged across the immense pressures of the seabed by the hands of those unseen. You're deposited in front of part of the ocean shelf. You don't remember it very well. You definitely can't see anything. But they wouldn't have brought you here if not for a very specific reason. Your magic is here. Your spells. A test you'd done when you were far younger, just to see what might happen. That was years ago. Decades ago. Centuries? You're not sure anymore.
You have not grown mute, sorcerer. Remove it.
It is not as though you have a choice. So your hands lift, and you work on untangling the spell. This one is complicated, and would take all of your attention even if you weren't at the bottom of the sea. As it is, the time it takes in addition to the curse wrangling your body makes the experience torturous. Your body breathes the water and yet craves for air that it can't quite remember.
But you sit, obediently, unlocking and unlocking, until you've let it go. There is no response. Your bonds simply tug, and you are moved on to the next location. Over and over. Your fingerprints are all over the ocean's landscape, your magic stretching in massive strides, and they are using you to personally scrub it clean, no matter how long it takes.]
no subject
[And indeed, what is around them, speaking to them, bobbing in and out of the ebb and flow of the depths of the water does not feel like the energy of the North. It is far less mischievous, strict and yet constantly changing, whimsical and yet terrifying in their breadth.]
You can hear them now, can't you? The ocean.
[It doesn't speak in words as often as it does in emotion. And it is filled with disappointment, with disgust, with anger. It sees you as a threat. It sees you as a nuisance. It sees you as a prisoner. Its prisoner.
Time blurs. You are being dragged across the immense pressures of the seabed by the hands of those unseen. You're deposited in front of part of the ocean shelf. You don't remember it very well. You definitely can't see anything. But they wouldn't have brought you here if not for a very specific reason. Your magic is here. Your spells. A test you'd done when you were far younger, just to see what might happen. That was years ago. Decades ago. Centuries? You're not sure anymore.
You have not grown mute, sorcerer. Remove it.
It is not as though you have a choice. So your hands lift, and you work on untangling the spell. This one is complicated, and would take all of your attention even if you weren't at the bottom of the sea. As it is, the time it takes in addition to the curse wrangling your body makes the experience torturous. Your body breathes the water and yet craves for air that it can't quite remember.
But you sit, obediently, unlocking and unlocking, until you've let it go. There is no response. Your bonds simply tug, and you are moved on to the next location. Over and over. Your fingerprints are all over the ocean's landscape, your magic stretching in massive strides, and they are using you to personally scrub it clean, no matter how long it takes.]