Kell Of Kells - Tumblr Posts
You wake in a dramatic place. It seems that way anyway, you think, dramatic.
The fear of waking and knowing *nothing* is a panic so deep that you shiver, exhaling a heavy racking breath. You have no name, plunging down into an empty darkness within trying to find any vestige of what you were—anything, anything, anything. But nothing comes. Just that first formative sense of illumination followed by a breath that feels like it’s been taken after far too long. It fills you entirely and for a moment, you cling to that calmness. Looking around you.
Great banners hang taut from huge, bulging structures done in crimson and azure. It’s seen better days, though, you think— craters litter dusty ground, many of the banners torn and sheered as if great claws have dragged down them. There’s a sky above you, crammed with brilliant stars swimming in languid vermillion waves. Far away stones vast as mountains silently stare back across that void. Something buzzes near you and, with preternatural awareness you did not know you had, you snatch it from the air.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you!”cries a small voice, and you snap to its source with panic and terror and a fragment of excitement. You do know when you were spoken to last (maybe you’ve never been spoken to!), but the notion of communication makes your heart sail. So, you open your fist, fixing your four eyes to them.
It’s a small thing, big enough to fit in your hand comfortably. It twirls, fidgeting with nervousness and excitement, a singular blue eye glowing brightly back at you. This— drone?— feels like it is smiling at you, even if it has no real face to speak of. A nervous smile, you think. You *laugh*. It is a deep, rumbly sound that fills this empty and dramatic place with a unique warmth. You and the drone feel it reverberate out into the silence, and then you laugh again. It feels *good*! The drone joins, it’s tinny voice almost musical.
When the laughter is gone, sailing outward to those far away starlight mountains, you turn back to your companion (yes, that feels *right*), you speak.
*What is your name?*, you ask, mouthparts clicking. Something deep down sparks inside you, something familiar. Words. Speaking. A faintest suggestion that once, words and speeches carried a weight to you, a naturalness—
“I am Clementia”, says your friend. It comes closer, just a few spans from your face. It’s brightness feels so welcoming, so familiar.
“I’m your Ghost, and you”, Clementia says twirling, “are a Guardian— my Guardian.”
When you stand from the ground of the dramatic place, turning to follow Clementias brilliance, you nearly trip over something in the dirt. It’s a great mantle, a thing of bone and metal. It was great *once*, at least, you can see that through the rust and signs of damage; one great horn scorched, the other shattered into several half-buried halves. Another flickering down deep inside you comes, hard as one of those tumbling mountains slamming into you: phantoms of burdens and designs, betrayals that stole sleep and peace from you, a final trial—
“Guardian?” Clementia hovers, pleasant as starlight.
In silence, warmed by a new purpose, you leave the place of your rebirth. Together.