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"Another day, another voyage into the Deep Roads," Teyla muttered as she strapped on her armor. "Don't you just love being a Warden?"
"There are worse fates," Carver said. He checked the edge of his massive sword with a calloused thumb, absently rubbing the resulting drop of blood into his fist before strapping the sword to his back. They were a small group today--a scouting party, with Carver there as the muscle and the leader. There was a time when neither of those things would have been true.
(Not that he was still bitter about all that.)
(Really.)
She let out a breath. "Fine, yes, but not presently. Oh hey," Teyla added when Carver strode toward the exit, "what do you figure we'll--"
Her voice suddenly cut away as if it had never been. Startled, Carver whirled back, one hand reaching for his sword...but she wasn't there. The whole chamber wasn't there. He was standing on a stone bridge of some sort, staring out into swirling mist and darkness, flickers of light making his skin crawl every time they almost-but-not-quite lit up the shadows. At his back was a massive gate and a heavy, siege-resistant door.
He took a step toward the darkness, but sudden, visceral horror had him stepping back again. He felt as if a demon had reached out to squeeze his heart, and though he was nothing if not stupidly brave...even he knew better than to try to face whatever was waiting in that darkness down. He wasn't his brother, after all.
So. Inside the gate it was.
Carver turned back to the gate and studied it. It seemed closed tight, but he wanted to be inside it--he needed to. He frowned, placing a hand on the door. He gave an experimental push.
Nothing. Of course. Because why not?
"Well," he said, scowling up at the gate. The hair on the back of his neck was standing up, and he was stuck outside with...whatever was out here with him. "...fuck."
"There are worse fates," Carver said. He checked the edge of his massive sword with a calloused thumb, absently rubbing the resulting drop of blood into his fist before strapping the sword to his back. They were a small group today--a scouting party, with Carver there as the muscle and the leader. There was a time when neither of those things would have been true.
(Not that he was still bitter about all that.)
(Really.)
She let out a breath. "Fine, yes, but not presently. Oh hey," Teyla added when Carver strode toward the exit, "what do you figure we'll--"
Her voice suddenly cut away as if it had never been. Startled, Carver whirled back, one hand reaching for his sword...but she wasn't there. The whole chamber wasn't there. He was standing on a stone bridge of some sort, staring out into swirling mist and darkness, flickers of light making his skin crawl every time they almost-but-not-quite lit up the shadows. At his back was a massive gate and a heavy, siege-resistant door.
He took a step toward the darkness, but sudden, visceral horror had him stepping back again. He felt as if a demon had reached out to squeeze his heart, and though he was nothing if not stupidly brave...even he knew better than to try to face whatever was waiting in that darkness down. He wasn't his brother, after all.
So. Inside the gate it was.
Carver turned back to the gate and studied it. It seemed closed tight, but he wanted to be inside it--he needed to. He frowned, placing a hand on the door. He gave an experimental push.
Nothing. Of course. Because why not?
"Well," he said, scowling up at the gate. The hair on the back of his neck was standing up, and he was stuck outside with...whatever was out here with him. "...fuck."
