[ set the stage. you stand above an ethereal altar in a room called eden, in a place not within time, not within space. twisted reaches of the dimensional crossroads stretch out in all directions. here is in between and nowhere at all, and so far away from anywhere else, anywhere anyone's ever been.
an apple at the altar. pristine and resplendent, but for the few moments it is complete— before the shattered fragments of something else claim its form. the resultant struggle with the creature temporarily birthed by this ends up destroying the altar, but it all goes by in a flash.
what's more important is that once the creature is defeated, darkness coalesces upon the apple (until 7:40 only if you let it play), and space begins to warp. the world goes white.
the fruit sprouts. grows roots. grows wings. the apple tree descends from the heavens, poisonous mistletoe ensnaring it from root to haloed crown.
when vision returns, the world has shifted. gone is the dizzying, twisted space from before; seared into reality now is the image of a city in flames, light streaming down from above. the sky is falling. the world is ending. the one-eyed wreath declares its judgment.
on the altar, a battle takes place. a much smaller creature dodges around the remnants of the ruined altar, wearing a worn cloak reminiscent of what a certain someone at the resort dons, if in much poorer condition.
another magolor, this one more familiar, sits perched on nothing in particular, somewhere overlooking the destruction not far from you. rather than pay attention to a battle he's already lived once, he seems to be more engrossed in taking in the sights surrounding of a city crumbling apart, the points of his hood where his ears are hidden laying flat.
around them, as backdrop, the memory of a lost civilization takes its last breaths.
mistilteinn, tree crown [that has lost] its ruler (aka dante's- i mean magolor's inferno)
an apple at the altar. pristine and resplendent, but for the few moments it is complete— before the shattered fragments of something else claim its form. the resultant struggle with the creature temporarily birthed by this ends up destroying the altar, but it all goes by in a flash.
what's more important is that once the creature is defeated, darkness coalesces upon the apple (until 7:40 only if you let it play), and space begins to warp. the world goes white.
the fruit sprouts. grows roots. grows wings. the apple tree descends from the heavens, poisonous mistletoe ensnaring it from root to haloed crown.
when vision returns, the world has shifted. gone is the dizzying, twisted space from before; seared into reality now is the image of a city in flames, light streaming down from above. the sky is falling. the world is ending. the one-eyed wreath declares its judgment.
on the altar, a battle takes place. a much smaller creature dodges around the remnants of the ruined altar, wearing a worn cloak reminiscent of what a certain someone at the resort dons, if in much poorer condition.
another magolor, this one more familiar, sits perched on nothing in particular, somewhere overlooking the destruction not far from you. rather than pay attention to a battle he's already lived once, he seems to be more engrossed in taking in the sights surrounding of a city crumbling apart, the points of his hood where his ears are hidden laying flat.
around them, as backdrop, the memory of a lost civilization takes its last breaths.
> have a chat? ]