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Rating: 3-3-3

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RPF* Real Person Fiction; IE Apping an actual celebrity

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OOC min age:18


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There are other worlds than these
August 15: And so it begins...
The Dark Tower-Mid-World

1 Posts
1 Threads
Age:Ageless
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Randal Flagg

Points: 55€
#1
The Man in Black walked calmly across the desert… for there was no longer a gunslinger following.

So much for that world, he supposed. Everything had gone backwards lately, all of his plans, all of the destruction, but this time? Oh, this time, he’d won. That world, whose portal had shone bright and true, he had seen dimming, collapsing, and vanishing. The little borough he could see from the top of the Tower had shrunk, with all of the others sliding in to fill its space like it had never been there at all. Would anyone remember it? No, he really didn’t think they would. What was there to remember? A world had been born, it had grown, stagnated, corrupted, and aborted its foul life back into the Prim. O Discordia.

Still, his work was cut out for him. Plans had failed, what had been broken had mended itself, what had moved on had slowly begun to move back. He could look at each world and see the point where it had resisted the pull of Discordia, thwarted the touch of the Crimson King, like a bright white scar across history. On many, the scars were mostly the same, on some they were different. The antibodies that some of these worlds had come up with to protect themselves had been… colorful, he supposed. Some had gone to magic, some had elevated gods, some had fantastic heroes in bright spandex… it didn’t matter. All order tended toward chaos. All men tended toward corruption. All creation tended toward Discordia.

And this place… what was this place? Where had it come from? Was it some manifestation of the Prim, some trick of the Tower to show all of the facets of every world along every beam? He didn’t know, but that didn’t matter. For below the tower, and he was convinced that this place radiated out from the tower, or maybe many towers, there were gathered the people who guarded these worlds, and what would happen if those people turned toward his purposes?

He whistled breathily, the tune barely audible, but somewhat recognizable as ‘Hey Jude’ as he reached into his purse, withdrawing the first globe and gazing affectionately into its beautiful, terrible azure light. “Hello, dear,” he murmured. “Why don’t you show me what’s being dreamt about tonight?”
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