Ioeth Story Prompts

It has been a long day, and night is falling over Faline as Ioeth carefully picks their way through the back alleys and crooked streets. The sky above is darkening into a deep blue, and in the west the clouds are exploding into reds and golds. A chilly spring breeze makes a forgotten line of laundry flutter, and they pull their cloak a little tighter around them. There are not only witchfinders to worry about, in these parts; the harbour district is known for its gangs and petty crime, and as a mage with a not insubstantial price on their head… Ioeth is confident in their abilities to defend themselves now, but if they can avoid a confrontation, they will.

The pouch of gold at their waist feels heavy. Not as heavy as it was—they’ve delivered a piece of jewelry for a discerning customer tonight; but still, the gold weighs on their mind. Rings and bracelets, mostly, small pieces that are easy to hide when worn. Each of them bears their own intricate craftsmanship and Aleister’s careful enchantments; spells to lure and confuse the senses.

Right now, they’re painfully aware of the irony that they have yet to ask the tall mage for an enchanted item of their own. It would be useful to be able to blend in, to make watchful eyes glaze over when Ioeth passes by… but as it is, they’ll have to make do with their own skills.

As soon as they find a suitably dark corner, they slip into the shadows. A deep breath in preparation for what they know is coming—and then they feel the cool blackness engulf them; the greedy, possessive embrace of the dark void.

And suddenly, in the dark, something stops them mid-step. There is nothing here—there never is, save for the faint glimmer of stars, endlessly far away. This is the Abyss, the void, the empty space between planes of existence; there isn’t supposed to be anything here.

(Except there is—the tearing claws, the strange hunger, the black bones of the universe, the things Ioeth firmly doesn’t think about.)

And yet… there is.

For a moment, the cloying blackness is forgotten, the way it fills their lungs and eyes. There is a door—an actual door—hanging in the middle of nothing. A sturdy wooden door, with an iron handle and a lock; it is vaguely, hauntingly familiar, but Ioeth can’t quite recall where they have seen it before.

They know the dangers of staying too long in the Abyss, and yet they linger, watching the door with morbid curiosity. They can feel it hum, not audibly, but like a vibration in their chest when they get closer to it. A part of them desperately wants to know what lies beyond it, and why it’s here, and how—ever hungering for the secrets of the void and what it hides. The rest is wary, cautious, and wants nothing to do with it.

With a chill, they realize what it reminds them of—the heavy doors of the Namarast infirmary, the ward for long-time patients. A door they have stepped through before… 

As soon as the thought crosses their mind, the door disappears. No sound or flashing light, nothing; in one moment it is there, and in the next, it is gone. Ioeth stares at the space where it was, but there is only the void, black and empty, and suddenly the press of darkness is too much, the feeling of drowning returning tenfold; for a second they wonder if this is the end, have they forgotten how to return—?

But no. A heartbeat later they step out of a dark corner of Aleister’s mansion, the shadows clinging onto them like greedy fingers before they dissipate. Ioeth is thankful that no one is there to see them gasp for breath, lean against the wall as if their legs would buckle, and try to calm their racing thoughts.