Back in the mists of time wizards decided to just take power for themselves and quickly formed an enormous and powerful kingdom run by magic. It predictably went absolutely mad and insane and turned to shit in no time, as magic and mutation and horrors consumed and engulfed its population.The few of those sorcerers who still lived and were willing to teach their magic to others would then begin a tradition of forcing any student to experience a very strong psycho-magical vision of the fall of Hazahall, the Glittering Kingdom, as a way of deterring their pupils from lusting after temporal power.
This is an edited excerpt from a play-by-post game that I played with my partners a few years ago, that I am now posting here for posterity and because I was asked to. The scene involves Valeria - a young noble and later queen of her city-state that wants to learn how to practice magic and Jenx - a wizard and friend to Valeria, as well as mentor and counselor. The two are at the house of Violette, an old friend of Jenx’s, and Jenx is preparing the ritual of the Visions of Hazahall
During the trance Valeria had latched her aura into Jenx's with barbs of intention. She could feel his angular body pressed against her flesh. It was grounding and she used it as a conduit to dig deeper into his spirit. She did not want to hurt him but also wanted to be sure the ritual was done properly. When he inhaled she knew he was there. She could not see it but she understood it.
Jenx blinked and the scene changed. The city was still towering and glittering, but the people in it were now...different. Some looked like they were made of glass. Some had their skin become translucent and then shift into different colors. Some simply had an inscrutable look in their eyes. They still seemed joyous and happy as before, but there was a sense of unease. Like the joy was forced for the sake of appearances. There was a tension in the atmosphere, a dread. Like the pit in one's stomach as they are about to step off a cliff.
He took a deep breath. He knew what was about to come. He tensed up preparing for it.Valeria grew tenser with him. He blinked again.
The sky broke. It shattered like the shell of an egg, parts of it falling down, destroying the city, turning bodies into paste, shattering the glass creatures into shimmering mist. There was terror and panic that made his heart rate race like he was about to collapse. The sky broke still. Behind it there was nothing. A void and in it a black sun burned away flesh, thoughts, emotions, stone and wood. It burned away all.
Then there was nothing but a roiling mass of horror. Flesh, stone and glass mixed into one, pain worse than anything a mortal body was able to experience. And the burning of the black sun above. Jenx stood on, or hovered over, a low hill. Around him the roiling color and flesh reached out to him - with hands, claws, eyes, tendrils and other impossible appendages, reaching for help, begging for safety in a million voices. Every time they did not touch him though, pulling back away as if he was just out of reach.
Time became meaningless. There was simply an eternity of suffering in which Jenx was awash, like a man standing on the shore as the tides came in. It was years. Decades. Millennia. Time had become meaningless, just as self, pain, body, up, down, sky and sun had.
Valeria slumped against him. Every ounce of her will was in twined with his emotions. In her mind she clawed her way to him. His mind was locked in horror beyond reason but she clung to him, she loved him. It was like waves of pure terror and misery were trying to drag her down and away, but she clung to him, not just to support herself but also to brace Jenx against the onslaught. Tears flowed from her physical body and fell on his braided hair.
He had stopped breathing. He wasn't sure when exactly, but at some point he had stopped breathing because breathing had become a meaningless idea, just as his lungs were.
The sun had burned everything away - the million colors of the roiling flesh had simply turned to grey ash. Then the sun had burned itself out too. The screams stopped, but their echo continued. Nothing. Emptiness. But in that emptiness, the echo started to break apart. To take on a strange, stunted rhythm. The rhythm of his breath, the rhythm of the verse which Violette was reciting ever louder. And his breathing started again, again following the rhythm. He looked up one final time, into the empty void above where the sky had stood.
It was time to leave.