Vision of Transformation

As the surge of occult energy courses through your body, the torment in your skull comes in relentless blinding waves. You feel as if the very fabric of reality is unraveling. In the depths of your consciousness, frenzied flickers of shadow and brilliance dance erratically, assaulting your senses like a manic whirlwind. Your limbs are paralyzed, your comrades reduced to mere specters in a world teetering on the precipice of tangibility and unreality.
 
Witchwood, Witchwood…why had you ventured into that nightmarish place? The memories are fragments, dissonant echoes. Desperation propelled your flight, but success remains elusive. You recall delving into the earth during your flight, reaching for a hidden wellspring of iron, and then…what? Agony surges once more; you remember flesh being stripped away, revealing the starkness of bone underneath. Escape is imperative and time is not on yourside, slips through your shattered grasp. You can feel yourself bleeding out. You encase an exposed femur, part of your rib cage, and foot in the cold embrace of iron. Escape, escape, escape echoes through your mind over and over.



Memories remain fragments, dissonant and elusive. You must flee.
 
The portal—yes, they summoned it. But it could be a desperate route to potential salvation. With each agonized step, more of your very essence is torn asunder. Faltering, you struggle to rise, shaping iron to fortify your shattered form. You remember a frantic sprint toward the beckoning light, but as you draw near, sinister motes of darkness forth seep from it. They swirl like angry obisidan bees, the foreboding harbingers of the horrors that await beyond. But anywhere has to better than here and then you remember stepping through and losing yourself.

As your vision clears you remember. You once shaped metal by just your will. How did you forget that?