herbglitch @ herbglitch @lemmy.world

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Joined

2 yr. ago

        Cursing they raised their arm to throw the poorly sketched map to the ground. "Bastards! This map is bullshit!" Even though their frustration, they had to acknowledge the map makers were reputable people, so this map must be authentic. Their journey had started off well enough, the map had points of interest which the adventure followed fairly easily. Though a few hours ago, when the rain had started, was when everything started to go awry. The ink had blurred as the rain started to drizzle. Though after taking shelter from the downpour, the map seemed to clear up.

    While walking, an oddly shaped tree glinted at it's base occasionally, the adventure's only landmark. A sign that the adventure was wondering in circles. After the seventh time noticing the tree, they decided they might as well get closer to see what was glinting at its base.

    They waded through vines and mud until they entered the umbra of the tree. Even though this area was clouded in shadow, there still was an odd glint near its base. Once the adventurer had slogged close enough for the shapes outline to be disclosed, they noticed it was a sword.

    At initial glance, the sword took the frustration the adventure felt and warped it into a such a visceral disgust that the adventurer yearned to destroy it. They noticed its tip was lodged into a rock embedded in the tree, and it made the adventurer even more upset. The rock glittered as if it was eyes of a demon.

    The adventurer snatched at the blade in a desperate motion. Every sense in their body screamed at them to destroy it. And as their hand made contact they gasped in pain. Curved spikes protruded from their hand, gluing the adventurer to the blade, and leaving their hand a bloody mess. Though as their surprise passed, the adventurer's gasp morphed into a scream that shook the branches of nearby trees, and sent wildlife scattering. By the time they reclaimed their senses enough to fight through their pain, they noticed dark green vines sewn through their lower arm. The vines slowly moved, puncturing skin, as they sutured a nonexistent wound.

    The deeper the vines wove, the less pain the adventurer felt. As if the act of watching the vines was an anesthetic. Their body dulled until they felt a vine gently push through the skin on their neck, and then there was nothingness.