User blog:Kool Khajiit/Heart Stone

ya boi wrote a lil story  HEART STONE  by Sur Gatharian

 I felt it all lilting to the soft cadence of the dying torch, as Mistress Fyr, engrossed in heedless scrutiny of her newfangled toy, finally fastened the last belt of my stone-cold harness. Every reverberated beat I heard within my cranium like the most splitting of headaches discharged subtle pulses of energy from my chest. These pulses would crawl along the ashen scaffolding of the Mistress’ unfortunately miserable retreat; it was nowhere as stellar as the fungi of Tel Fyr, the majestic apex of Telvanni magics, sprouting lush from soil so dead that not even the spurned, parasitic scathecraw favored it. The Mistress was a sage of shrewd enchanting acumen, surely above abodes like this: fetid and stomach-churning. The serene rhythm of the stone, however, made it most alluring in a rather odd way, conjuring visions of the most exquisite kind.

I have only but a vague memory of my last moments, before a brutish, barbaric Nord hacked my chest open and left me in decay’s embrace, which would have proven to be most relieving, if a tad repulsive to the beholder, had it not been for Serjo Telvanni-Beyte Fyr. Taken from a makeshift, for the lack of a more fitting description, sepulchre of the ashen wastes where I met my untimely demise, I would only become alert and aware of my surroundings two months later, on the 3rd of Sun’s Dusk. A pretty fortuitous circumstance, for my body exhibited no signs of pallor mortis and onwards. Instead, the power within was bewildering. Even maddeningly so.

Contrary to my anticipations, this very power would prove to have an injurious nature, going so far as to summon forth disturbing echoes, and uncomfortably seductive ones at that. Spoken by a voice resembling my very own, my attempts at warding them off were to no avail. Enthralled by the burden, I lay on the table, my body under complete control yet my mind somewhere astray. I could see that the Mistress was sheerly underwhelmed by whatever she has taken upon herself every time we shared a glance. It was my routine; a glimpse of the Mistress’ robes, a vision like those of Quagmire’s deepest reaches, and my chest. Embellished by the iron harness in a rather crude fashion, there was the heart stone. I could see the edges of the ring melt slowly as the stone heated metal. I could feel it scorch my skin, my very lungs.

I did not want to feel it anymore.

I gave a harsh tug at the stone and loosen the nails supporting the harness. It scalded my fingers to the bone until the pulses and the beat shrunk and withdrew.

I don’t feel it anymore.