MEMORY SHARE: 12 OF BEETROOT EVENT (May)

[voidmissions]

JEMA'GRETHY MEMORY SHARE

The caves of Jema'grethy will allow for a few different ways for memories to be interacted with. But for most, such as those entering in bonds, it will be seen like a vision in their head, putting them in the position and perspective of whose memory it is.

For people sharing bond memories, and also memories being shared while moving through the Memory Cave, this is the spot to place said memories! It's not necessary if you'd like to write it during the thread, but hopefully convenient for others. Just make a toplevel with your character's name in the header, and remember to include any content warnings thereafter for each memory, as applicable!

Comments

Memory 3 - negative

[flatteries]

(cw: battle, aftermath of battle, blood, undead)

Inigo's heels dig deeper into the dirt as another body falls to the ground after a swing from his sword. The sky overhead is dark, but cloudy - not a single star in sight. How long has he already been fighting today? At some point the day had changed into night without him doing as much as noticing it. There's no time for it. Not when their enemies just keep coming and coming, over and over, infinite waves of them. Every single time it feels like he's cut down the last few, more pop up.

His body aches. He's tired, but he keeps moving, almost automatically. Because he knows there's no choice. It's either force himself to keep going or die. Or worse - let his friends die. He can hear them fighting just as much as him, swords and lances and axes clashing, arrows flying across the battlefield, the telltale sounds of magic being flung around.

Inigo swings his sword. Left, right, two more bodies fall to the ground. Despite the fact that his enemies look human, they don't say a thing. They just mindlessly and quietly attack, at best letting out nothing more than a wordless roar. Their skin is already unnaturally pale, the look in their eyes empty. Like there's no soul left in there.

After what feels like an eternity the waves finally start slowing down. Less and less of the Risen show up, though the ground is now littered with bodies everywhere, making Inigo have to make sure to watch out where he's moving as he fights so he won't trip over them.

The last remaining Risen stands in front of him, a man only slightly older than him holding an axe. Inigo pulls back his sword and plunges it straight through his heart.

But he doesn't go down like the others. Not instantly. The look in the eyes of the Risen - the man - changes, some actual emotion slipping in, some soul, as the man smiles and faintly manages to mumble "Thank you" before collapsing to the ground.

Inigo freezes. The night air suddenly feels so much colder. Don't think about it, he tells himself. Don't think about it, don't think about it, don't think about it.

He pulls his sword out of the corpse with a sickening sound and turns to walk. Someone calls out to him, one of his friends, looking as tired as Inigo feels his very bones are right now, asking him if he needs some healing from Brady. Inigo forces a smile on his face and shakes his head, saying he's fine, even though he can feel an open wound stinging at the back of his shoulders. Inigo tells him to check up on Nah first, he's pretty sure she got hurt pretty bad this time around-- and while the guy's back is turned, he quietly slips away, over to the nearby river.

He dips his sword into the water, attempting to rinse off all of the blood. Then he tugs off his shirt - the wound underneath stinging only more now it's exposed to the air - and holds it into the river. It's so red that its original colour only starts to appear as some of the blood washes out, though there are a few spots that he just can't seem to get rid of, no matter how much he tries to rub them out.

He thinks of the man whose eyes returned back to normal, who thanked him, and starts rubbing even more furiously. Tears appear in his eyes. Why won't the blood come out? Why won't it--

Without realising it, he's leaned forwards enough to catch a glimpse of himself in the water. Dirt and blood are smeared in streaks on his face, his hair so matted in blood that the usual dark blue has started to turn purple. Reflexively, as if burned by the sight, Inigo raises his hands up to his hair, trying to wipe out the blood. But considering his hands are covered in blood as well, it only makes worse of a mess. His arms feel so tired and heavy, but he keeps pushing himself, moving them more-- he has to get it out.

It won't come out.