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| Awakening | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Oct 20 2012, 09:41 PM (179 Views) | |
| Ares | Oct 20 2012, 09:41 PM Post #1 |
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The Dream He woke gasping for breath, he could feel his heart pounding, his body covered in a sheen of cold sweat, and the echo of that death rattle in his ears. Large calloused hands covered his face, feeling the bristle of days old growth on his cheeks and chin, eyes closing as his body shuddered. He sat with elbows on raised knees, feeling the chill of morning creep through the uneven slats of his hut, heard the bleat of goats and the murmur of the shepherds starting their morning work, and tried to shake off the last vestiges of the nightmare. Rubbing his face he threw off the linen sheet, and stretched his frame as he stood. Pulling on his tunic and breeches, stomping into his boots, he pulled aside thee hide that served as his door, stooped, and left his hut to begin his day. He was a big man, a giant some said, nearly seven feet tall, easily nearly three hundred pounds, a body worked into muscle and form through hard work and farming. He''d always been big, even as a child, and it was that size that had saved him from an orphanage when his parents had fallen to the Night land plague near the home of his birth. Huge as he was, he was quick to smile and laugh, despite this rough start, and was known through this grassland village to the north of the Celestial Isle as a gentle soul. Always willing to help, he did everything from cutting stone for houses and fences, to building those houses and fences. Good with his hands, he was often tasked in the fields during harvest and spent long hours on the gently rolling hills heading the goats and cattle the village had. Still in his youth, it was no surprise his handsome face was prized and sought after by many of the unwed daughters of the village, but as yet, he remained by himself, living in his wooden shack on the edge of the path leading to the small mountain nearby. His mentor and foster father, Cecil, was unofficial governor and protector of this little settlement out here on the Threshold. For nearly twenty years, the retired Dragon Blooded warrior had maintained his small arboretum and household atop a hill, and it was by his gentle grace and wisdom that the settlement prospered. Renown for his gift with plants, he'd set out from the capital to find a place to settle and start his own family, but like Ares' parents, his wife, and three children were taken in the plague, along with several hundred others, as the war with the Abyssal forces spilled into their city for a time. The Celestial City Guard arrived and fought back the Abyssal forces but not before massive amounts of damage had been done, both to the population and the coastal city itself. Bereft of house and home and family, Cecil had wandered yet again, and found the orphan boy, and a handful of other children, huddled in back of a shipping warehouse, guarded by a giant of a lad barely five years old, wielding an oar like a club. He gave a faint inward smile in memory of the day the Wood Dragon warrior had found him, as he made his way up the path to the arboretum Cecil called his house. It was a structural wonder; little more than pillars planted evenly spaced, latticed vine grew in abundance, weaved together to form nearly air tight walls, flowered with a variety of buds ranging from pale blues to soft off whites and pinks in the summertime. At four corners, were massive oak trees, their canopies so broad they overlapped in the middle, forming a maze work of catwalks and platforms. From some of the branches above, hung more vines of thicker quality, from which suspended several slabs of stone connected by more arching branches and grown hand rails. All in all it was a magnificent place, full of life and fresh air and green growing things. Cecil was always growing something, and he helped the village grow their crops and taught them their farming techniques. But it wasn't farming or growing things he came to ask Cecil about today. He found the old man in the back, tending a small field of ferns and wild roses, dressed in his customary green and white silk robes, the sleeves stained with bits of leaves and grass, his old warriors hands dirty up to the elbows as he knelt on a cushion and worked the soil with bare hands. His white hair was gathered in a simple long braid down his back, and he didn't raise his head or turn to face him as he spoke "Little early to fetch me for the harvest isn't it?" He never knew how the old man could know exactly where he was, no matter how quiet he tried to be, but he smiled faintly at the off hand greeting. "No, Sensai. The village is just waking. I came for other reasons ... " Something in his voice caused the old man to pause, wiping his hands off and looking over a shoulder at him with his pale blue eyes, arching a bushy brow. "Another dream...." It was more statement than question, and he nodded his head wordlessly. He moved reflexively to take the old man's arm as he rose to his feet, the creak of his joints nearly audible as he hobbled his way to a wash basin and rinsed his hands. "Tell me, " he said, his back still to him. And he did, he told him of the nightmare; of the army of men left in the dark, the small group, the palace of gold and light, the mad god, the battle, and the death rattle. As he stood in silence a moment after the telling, the old Cecil turned to him and moved over taking one of the youth's large dinner plate hands in his own gnarled one. Giving the top a pat he smiled, still with all his teeth, though yellow with age and the kava he so enjoyed drinking, and spoke with gentle reassurance. "And .. what do we get from this dream, my boy?" He thought a long moment, pushing aside the fear, the madness he could see in the god's eyes, the pain on the warrior's faces, the scent and taste of blood so real on his tongue and nose, and took a slow breath to clear himself and think. "There is madness in power unchecked... and there is grace in defeat and mercy in victory ... " Cecil beamed and smiled at him, the crows feet at the edges of his eyes deepening to valleys as he poured the rich steaming kava from the pot into two cups and set one on the table they were sitting at now. "The Great Revolt was several centuries ago, several generations removed we still feel it's effects today. The Great Houses maintain their vigil, though with the in fighting the Wyld Hunt has been less and less frequent. Do you remember what I said about that?" The youth nodded, sipping the bitter drink, more out of courtesy than like of the stuff, it always gave him a stomach ache and took forever to leave his taste buds. "The Exalted were immortal... they reincarnated if they were not hunted down. Their madness would spread if they were not killed before they could regain their power." "Right, right... " Ceil nodded and savored his own cup a moment, grinning to himself before sipping it and then looking to his foster son. "And .. these dreams. Why do you think you have them?" One bushy brow arched, and though he did a good job of masking it, the youth could see the slight shake in his hand. "Because you named me Ares... after one of the last Solar Exalts... because I bear his name, I carry his karma... his debt... he was an evil Tyrant... a monster. He slayed entire cities, he laid waste to whole divisions of troops, " he set the cup down as his own hands shook, remembering the lessons and journals he'd read during those lessons. "Because ... we need to remember ... " Cecil, nodding, seemed pleased enough, but there was a hesitance to him. "Ares, I named you that because, before he went mad, that Dawn Caste Exalt was a great warrior, a protector of the people. Most forget that. Most see only the end days, the tyrany, the slaughter ..." he lowered his own cup "the madness... " Smiling gently he continued, "but they were not always so. The histories say they were great once, and it is believed, they could be redeemed." Ares snorted, and set his cup down without drinking more, frowning "they were monsters... they let the Wylds encroach on Creation,, they let the Death Lords loose on our reality... " his large fists curling in his cross legged lap, the knuckles showing white and his nostrils flaring. Cecil, well familiar with the onset of the youth's temper, said nothing and let him reign in his own emotions, finishing with a quiet "they are damned... " Cecil was about to say something, as if to protest, but both their heads turned suddenly as the sound of the village alarm gong began to ring out with wild abandon, not the even tempo of approaching danger but with the mad uneven beats of someone in the grip of panic smashing away at it. With grace and speed his frame didn't denote the old Dragon Blood rose to his feet and reached for a staff of gnarled wood in the corner, and Ares was close on his heels as they ran toward the village.... Edited by Ares, Mar 16 2013, 05:12 PM.
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| Ares | Oct 24 2012, 03:16 AM Post #2 |
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Before they made it to the base of the winding road leading to the village they could both see the plumes of smoke from several fires, and Ares prayed under his breath that the people were at the very least outside their homes. Slaves could be saved, people trapped inside burning homes were rarely so lucky. Bandits this season had been cruel and unusually vicious along the coast, but they were further inland than most of those villages they liked to raid regularly, he hoped that it was a small party, and that Cecil could manage to scare them off with some Dragon Blooded feat of force as he had in the past. They reached the edge of the village to see half the field aflame, a whole platoon of Celestial Isle royal guard setting it alight with hand torches, directed by a man in full cavalry mount and armor, a plume from one shoulder signifying officer rank. A score of other soldiers, easily a hundred or more were pouring through the stone and thatch houses, tossing things out windows, dragging people out into the street where they were corralled into a milling frightened group. Cecil at his side gave a cry of pain as he saw them, his village, already half burned to the ground, and rushed forward, Ares a towering form close on his heels. The old Dragon Blooded broke through the ring of guards around the people with a sharp crack of his gnarled staff against one then another Royal Guard's helm, sending them sprawling and staggering to either side as the rest drew their weapons and advanced on him, halted by a clear "NO! in a commanding voice from the far end of town. Ares looked up to see three mounted figures, two men, and a woman, all wearing the Shogunate armor of Dragon Blooded warriors. The man who had called out wore the crimson and gold of the Fire aspected Dragon, a long spear tucked into the stirrup of his mount held aloft. The woman at his side wore the bronze and gold armor of an Earth Dragon blooded, her face set in blank expressionless lines, a set of twin sabers crossing her back and poking their handles over her shoulders. The third was wearing the blue and silver armor of the Air Aspected Dragon, and Ares quickly realized, this wasn't just a raid, or a simple search. This was a Wyld Hunt party, seeking a reborn Exalted. The crowd parted as Cecil made his angry way toward the mounted trio, and as Ares moved to follow him, he was seized by the arms on either side. He was larger than both guards, but these were Celestial Isle elite, and he was but a farm hand, so he did not resist as they held him back. He watched Cecil come to a stop between the guarded crowd and the trio of mounted Dragon Blooded, easily two generations their senior, and called out to them in a clear unfaltering voice. "By what decree do you entitle yourselves to burn my village?" The Fire Blood dismounted, hefting the spear out of it's carrier, and approached the older man, drawing his helmet off to reveal rich black hair tied into an ornate que at the crown of his head, slanted jade colored eyes fixed on Cecil with a slight sneer "And who would you be, miser? The village shaman?" A few guard laughed with the Flame Lord, and the Air Dragon chortled in a nasal aristocratic titter, the woman stared blankly ahead, unmoved. "I am Brigadier General Casiolous, House V'neef. I served the Scarlet queen for Fourty years. Show a little respect for your elders." There was another round of chuckles from thee guards near the villagers, but the Flame Lord's face went red. Not the flush of embarrassment, but the red of boiled potatoes, the flush of a Flame Dragon Blood calling on his power. Cecil, or Casiolous, was quick to jump to one side and roll as the Flame Lord opened his mouth and vomited a stream of fire where the old Earth Dragon had just been standing. Wiping at his mouth like wiping away spit, the Flame Lord hefted his spear and leveled it at Cecil. "Respect for an old has been like you? I'm the Master of this Hunt old man ... you will show respect to me!" and with that their battle began. It was quick and fierce, both moving faster and with more force than humans could muster, and even though Cecil was ancient, easily past his centennial, he moved with the grace of a willow in the wind. Ares watched a moment, caught up in the display like the rest, but the situation's circumstances snapped him back to himself. A Hunt had come to his village, his home. They were renown for their tactics; nothing lived, just to make sure the potentially reborn Solar would die. Even if Cecil managed to come out on top of this, there were two others just sitting watching, and probably the one out in the field now that he thought back on it. Three Dragon Blooded, and hundreds of soldiers trained to follow their commands until the death if need be, and two of them holding his arms loosely, attention on the fight. Putting repercussions on the back burner, he decided now was the time to act if at all. Moving quicker than his size indicated he could, he yanked his arm out of one guard's grip, hooked the other guard under the rump and back of the neck and hurled him bodily into the first, and started running toward the two Dragon Blooded who were fighting. The Earth Dragon's unblinking gaze had watched him do it, just sat there on her horse and seen him, and simply twitched her chin in his direction. The silver armored Air Aspected Lord beside her smiled like a snake, and slithered off his horse moving to intercept the charging giant. Ares towered over the Dragon Blooded but had no illusions of defeating him in straight on combat, so he tried veering to one side to run around him and get to his foster father. The man kept smiling that snake like smirk, and swept out one hand in a cupped motion rising from hip to shoulder in an odd gesture, and he felt his feet swept out from under him, his whole body risen into the air like the Dragon Blooded had picked him up. Struggle against air was useless, but he did it reflexively, flailing his limbs to try and purchase on something as he felt himself turned over, face down toward the ground now easily ten meters under him, and crossed his arms in front of him just as reflexively as that ground rushed up at him as the smirking Air Lord dropped his hand, and his victim. The impact wasn't just the fall. He could feel the air pushing him down like a large hand, flattening him against the earth, hard enough to bounce slightly a few inches. He felt something in his chest snap, and blinding pain every time he took a ragged breath, struggling to his hands and knees just in time to see the smirking man casually flick his hand palm forward at him, sending another near solid gust of wind up under him sending him flying into the nearby building, half crashing through the wall in a shower of stone and thatch and dust. He could hear the unhappy murmur from the guards that reached in to pull him out, tossing him face down unceremoniously to the dirt at the Air Lord's feet. Ares managed to look up through one nearly swollen shut eye, watching the Dragon Blooded reach for the neckline of his armor, pulling out a long embroidered white silk scarf, letting it hang from his long nailed fingers and flutter in the wind around him. "Shouldn't step in where you do not belong, commoner... " the Air Lord said, his voice a high nasal tone, an aristocratic accent from a Celestial Isle family. Ares could barely breathe through the blood running down his throat from the broken nose, and something inside felt loose and rattling with each labored breath. The Air Lord's scarf dangled down near him, as if baiting, wiggling as he shifted his fingers and made a clucking sound with his tongue "go on ... where's your rebellious spirit now?" Not knowing what else to do, he rose a shaking hand to try and take hold of the scarf, but before he could, the thing moved as if on it's own, fast as a snake, sliding around his wrist and forearm. With a careless twirl and twist, the Air Lord had his arm up behind his back, and the scarp looping twice around his throat, all but cutting off what little air he could get. His free hand scrabbled faintly at the material, and the Dragon Blooded gave him a kick in the ribs for his effort. "A waste of flesh ... all of you ... " His nasal voice rang out, addressing the crowd of villagers held in the center. The sound of the combat told him his foster father still waged his own battle, but the outcome was inevitable. Ares gagged and gasped for breath as the Air Lord began to drag him through the dirt behind him as he walked through the crowd, his face set in a scowl of disgust. "Filth ... uncouth... undisciplined... and ungrateful... We of the Hunt come to save you from the tyranny of a reborn Solar Exalted, and this is the thanks we get? Assaulted and disregarded. Do you forget it was we, the Dragon Blooded, that freed your ancestors from the oppression of the would be gods? Would you have them return?" His words had the already frightened villagers all but cowering on their knees, some actually doing so seeing the giant Ares dragged along like so much chaff in his wake. His pain and choking intensified as the Air Lord dragged him back toward the horses, and up onto his knees, putting his own knee in Ares' back as he wound the scarf about his hand and leaned down. "Witness ... the fate of traitors...Ujo is one of the best House Sesus has produced in generations... your would be savior, is only postponing the inevitable.. " petting Ares' head like a treasured pet as he spoke, forcing Ares to look at the ongoing scene in progress. Cecil was half crouched, his clothing singed and cut in several places, his skin was a pale white hue and lined like bark, his braid had come undone, silvery and silken, laced with half blooming white flowers. His ancient gnarled staff bore several sap oozing nicks and cuts, but was otherwise still whole, but the old man was wheezing for each breath he took, while the Fire Lord seemed to be gaining in strength rather than loosing his wind. As the edges of his vision began to blacken and sparkle from lack of air, he watched his foster father plant the end of his staff in the dirt with one hand, and press his other to the knobby gnarled end, which split like a seedling, sprouting several tendrils of vine that sprouted and bloomed into a half dozen star like lotus blossoms. Pursing his lips, Cecil blew on them like the head of a dandelion, and the petals shot off their stamen toward the Fire Lord like thrown knives. The Dragon Blooded braced his feet, twirling his spear hand over hand, the ends igniting and trailing in a circle as he deflected them, but even so a few got through his defense, chinking home in his breastplate and nicking his cheek and one hand. The Fire Aspected Warrior didn't miss a beat as he parried the last petal, spun on his heel, and launched the flaming spear like a flaming lightning bolt. Ares couldn't draw enough breath to scream the "NO!" that echoed in his head, as his blackening vision saw in almost slow motion crystal clarity;the spear head shattering the upright staff, scorching as it passed through Cecil's stomach, and jutted out his back in a burning spray of flame and blood and bone, hurtling the old man back several paces and falling down. As his foster father fell, his face was composed, peaceful as he always remembered the old man being, his pale eyes looking at him, his lips curved in a faint smile as he reached out toward him. |
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| Ares | Oct 29 2012, 10:39 PM Post #3 |
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As the Flame Lord came toward his victim and crouched to retrieve his weapon, the old man, blood flecking his lips, began to laugh. His serene smile was pinched with pain around the edges as the quiet building laugh made his punctured body curl around itself, but whatever it was that caused him to start laughing, only made him laugh harder as the pain seized him. "Your demise so amusing you laugh at your own death, old man? Gods above I hope I die before I reach that age.. " Ujo scoffed, and reached for his weapon, and when his hand closed on the bloody haft, the old man's grip on his wrist was like iron. Slanted green eyes shifted from the weapon to Cecil's seemingly maddened bloody grin with an incredulous frown. "Not ...my death... yours ... " and with a gnarled trembling hand, speckled with his own blood, he pointed across the courtyard to the kneeling giant held captive in the Air Lord's ribbon ties. Scoffing again, Ujo turned to regard the pathetic spectacle, the words of scorn dieing on his lips as the color drained from his face, his whole body going stiff as his jaw worked. "Ichiro... Kill him.. now!" he hissed, his weapon forgotten in the sudden bowl churning fear and urgency that washed over him to the point of paralyzation . Ichiro, the Air Lord, who had been sneering with aristocratic disdain a moment before, went blank with momentary confusion, a line forming between his brows as he looked at Ujo, then the Earth Dragon who suddenly whipped the weapons off her back and began charging with a grim determination of death written on her features. Dawning realization passed over his face a split second before the Anima flare of Ares' essence washed over him in a burst of gold and silver flame. The Anima Flare, a visible manifestation of raw Essence, as well as the symbol of the Unconquered Sun etched in gold and silver light on Ares' brow, marked him for all the world to see, for what he was, a Solar Exalted, Ascended in his power. The brilliance of the flare and the sudden wash of it had most of the onlookers shielding their eyes in a daze of confusion. Ujo and his Earth aspected companion reflexively turned their heads, the charging woman stopping mid step in a skidding halt, bringing both weapons up in a crossed guard as if warding off the light itself. Ichiro's look of horrified realization was frozen in time as his body seemed to go deathly still, and pale, like sun bleached wood, and then start to crumble like a statue made of ash, falling in a shapeless heap as the giant of a man rose to his feet. He had been large before, but now, surrounded by the swirling silver and gold light, he seemed larger than life. He acted out of pure rage driven instinct, driven over the edge by the sights he'd been forced to witness, reaching out his hands and smacking the palms together in a thunderclap boom that deafened those nearest to him, sending a concussive wave of sound and power flattening anyone within a quarter mile. Even the horses the Dragon Blooded had ridden in, and those houses in the village that were not entirely sturdy, toppled and fell under the initial wave of power. Before anyone could recover, his hands parted, and between them glowed a sphere of pure white hot Essence, a miniature sun burning inches from his palms. He tossed the sphere up into the air several meters overhead, basking the central village courtyard in false sunlight, the miniature star visible for miles in any direction. As Ujo and the as yet unnamed Earth Aspected Dragon Blooded recovered their footing, the Anima around Ares seemed to shrink and coalesces into something solid, shining and glowing with the same burning light. A suit of burnished gold inlaid with archaic and ancient designs in wrought silver encased his massive frame from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet, moving like a second skin, translucent like some phantom mirage. He curled his powerful legs and leapt straight up so fast he left blurring after images of gold and silver behind. For a split second he seemed to perch on the sphere as if it was solid, then leapt off it as it exploded downward in a rain of gold and silver bolts that struck each and every Celestial Guard in the square like Divine Lightning, scorching through armor flesh and bone with unerring accuracy. Not a single villager received so much as a singed hair. The Solar Exalt curled mid leap nearly twenty meters up, the glow of his Anima Armor blurring into a sphere of coronal fire as he plummeted like a comet back toward he courtyard, and Ujo scrambled nearly on all fours to try and escape, but the shooting star that was Ares struck him directly anyway as if guided by the hands of the Gods themselves. The impact was so severe the ground cratered for several feet around them, and the shock of it threw the Earth Aspect Dragon Blooded back, crashing into a rolling heap near one far wall. A hail of blood, bone and near vaporized flesh surrounded the glowing Exalt as he stood back up, turning with slow timelessness to face the Dragon Blooded as she rolled to her feet weapons still in hand. His eyes were washed out with a white and gold light, twin suns that regarded her with almost dispassionate indifference, climbing out of the crater in large, long legged strides, as if he had all the time in the world. The other soldiers were now flooding into the courtyard on all sides like a tide of men, and armor and weapons, halting at the edges as they saw the glowing demi-god standing there. Trained since early childhood, the soldiers of the Royal Blooded Houses were renown for their fearlessness, their unfaltering loyalty, and willingness to charge into certain death for their Dragon Blooded commanders, the whole of the Wyld Hunt remaining still hesitated on the verge of the courtyard like children who were told the monster under their bed is very much real, as it stood facing them eye to eye. "What are you waiting for? Kill him!" the Dragon Blooded roared, and as one, the wave of solders broke their fear induced trance, and charged the Exalt. His slow timeless motion became a blur of deadly action as he whirled into motion. Using bare hands, coated in glowing gold and silver gauntlets he hew through the first to meet him, seizing their weapons with phantom limbs even as he was turning to parry and slaughter the next wave. In a matter of heartbeats the first dozen or more guards were little more than heaps of smoldering armor and bits of meat. Now armed, not only his own hands, but two phantom limbs also wielding weapons he picked up, he became a dervish of death, an unstoppable force of nature no longer the target of the hunt, but hunting those who had come for him. When the army of soldiers began to retreat and run seeing their fate written on the corpses before them, he pursued, vengeance and bloody wrath incarnate, all his limbs seeming to act in complete autonomy, as if he was aware of everything around him seen or not. He hacked and slashed and mauled his way through three hundred Elite guards faster than a siege weapon, leaving the courtyard and most of the village littered with broken and mangled bodies, some steaming as if struck by lightning or charred by holy fire. In the end, the Dragon Blooded warrior stood alone, frozen in stone faced fear, as he glowing armored figure came back for her. To her credit she didn't run, though she didn't raise arms. She'd seen it all, a series of crystal clear images played over and over in her mind as he came for her, phantom limbs dissolving into shimmering essence, dropping their bloodied weapons. His own hands dropped the weapons they held, and the armor evaporated into the corona of silver and gold fire, but the symbol on his brow and the glow to his dispassionate eyes remained, locked on her small frame as he towered over her a moment in silence. "Make it quick ... " was all she said, reaching up to take her helm off, revealing close cropped hair the color of wheat. She closed her eyes as his hand reached for her, cupping her face as if in tenderness, stroking a large thumb worn by hard work in fields that now lay sodden under rivers of blood, against her high sculpted cheek bone. Her lower lip trembled faintly as his other hand came up to cup the other side, and she all but slumped into his grasp, and then the wave of his Anima washed over her, and the ashes floated away from him in a hazy cloud. He turned then, the flames around him washing out like a guttering candle, and he half fell, half slumped to his knees, the courtyard a smoldering wreck of it's former self, filled with the stench of death. He crawled on hands and knees over to the still form of his foster father, and reached out to close his glassy eyes, his head slumping down to rest against the old man's chest as he began to weep in long silent sobs. |
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| Ares | Nov 15 2012, 01:22 AM Post #4 |
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Meanwhile ... Later that night, the surviving villagers were still in the process of filtering through the wreckage that was once their homes, gathering things of value, and personal belongings, to load into wagons and saddlebags. Several horses had been added to their meager stock, thanks to the Celestial Isle guard who no longer needed them. The village square was avoided at all costs, the crater, and the bodies of the fallen, were left where they were, and not even the crows seemed ready to brave the scene. A figure blended out of the dark, having passed through the wheat field outside the village, where even more bodies lay, their path to escape thwarted as the enraged Exalt had hunted them down to the last. No guard escaped to tell the tale, but only a few villagers were among the dead, having been cut down by those same guards as they'd begun ransacking the village. The figure was nearly indeterminable from the shadows he walked out of, slight of frame, and clothed in soundless black cloth, tucked into arm and shin guards that had been worked over by coal and oils to mute their shine and color. A wrap of the same black material wound about his head, draped down the angular back after winding around his neck, leaving only a thin line of pale flesh and emerald eyes visible, which scanned the carnage at every step. As he entered the main village square, he stopped still, the slight slant to his eyes vanishing as they went faintly wider, taking in everything, seeing in his mind's eye the sheer ferocity it would take to do so much in so little time. He'd seen the flash and had come running, knowing it for what it was, and hoping against hope, he wouldn't encounter what he saw now. He inwardly winced as he saw the crater in the center, and the gore that used to be a Dragon Blooded warrior, and crouched to examine a piece of shattered armor, the edges looking like they were disintegrated. He thumbed the edge thoughtfully before dropping it, and turning his head to the low feline rumble he heard behind him. Near one of the fallen walls, a cat as black as his clothing, with intricate and silver laced tribal scars from head to banded tail, standing nearly as tall as the man himself even on all fours, a Dire Cat. He was crouched over the form of Cecil, turned on his side, the broken end of his staff laying next to him, but not the head of it. Coming over, the man knelt again, examining the wound, arching a brow faintly and glancing over to the crater. "Shouldn't have done that... " his voice was soft, and young, and the Cat gave a huff in reply as if confirming the thought, and they both stood back up, glancing around. "So where is he Sam?" the man spoke to the cat, without looking at him, still trying to piece together the direction the battle, or rather the slaughter, had gone. As if on cue, there was a raised series of voices from the gathered villagers on the far side of the square, and the man crouch ran along the wall, sliding onto a kneeling crouch to peer around the edge, while the cat ran into a dilapidated alley and all but vanished in the darkness. Expecting to see a crowd gathered in fear, or awe, as he had sometimes seen, around the one who had done all this carnage, he was surprised to see the village en mass, huddling against their wagons and horses to one side, all looking at a single black armored figure atop a startling white mount with flowing mane and tail like cascades of lace. He grit his teeth and steeled himself as he saw the same telltale tribal marks along the horse's body, etched in silver, just like his Sam. "Lunar... and what did you bring?" he peered closer at the mounted figure, and held his breath, seeing the black armor, the pale skin, the dead eyes, his heart skipping a beat as he held himself as still as he could. Ash dismounted with the ageless, slow grace of one to whom the concept of time had no more meaning, and looked slowly around the edge of the village square, not having to go look for himself as he knew what had happened there from their own perspective. Instead, he turned to the huddled villagers, one hand resting on the pommel behind and to the side of him, regal and chilling with his austere features. The grey milky eyes settled on a child, a little girl clinging to a wagon wheel, staring wide eyed at him with straw in her pigtails. As the horse pranced a few paces behind him, Ash knelt slowly and held out his gauntleted hand, palm up, beckoning to the child. Those watching, including the hidden observers, were rooted to their spots with trepidation and fear, as the child let go of the wagon, and with shuffling steps, approached the dark armored man. She paused just out of reach, her hands knotted in the linen shirt that came to her knees, serving as her dress, keeping her eyes on the ground in front of her scuffing feet. "What is your name, child.." "B...Be.. " the child chewed her lip, glancing behind to the rest of her village, then back to the monotone knight. She had no idea what or who he was, but his attire, and the fact that he had his own horse, put his station above hers, and so she figured she had to answer. "Becky... " "Well met, Becky ... I am Ash. I know you are frightened, you have seen many horrors this day. Can you tell me where he went?" The child's head came up with wide eyes, shaking her head "No, Mister Ash! Don't follow him! He's a Solar! He killed all those soldiers... all those people... " her wide eyes brimmed over and tears ran freely down her cheeks, her body quivering so badly she had to stop talking to keep from stammering. The kneeling form of Ash swept forward with the same ageless patience he had dismounted, and put an armored arm around her back and hefted her up as he stood, cradling her in the one arm as he looked over at the rest of the village. "You have all witnessed the horror of battle, the carnage, the terror of watching people die." He didn't raise his voice from the flat, icy monotone, but every face was turned to him, listening. "I am in service to Death itself... and I come to show you that Life is the horror.. that Life is the terror... that in death.. all is peace... that in Death ... there is no more fear..." The hidden observer pressed himself to the wall as the Death Knight's gaze swept over the place, making a gesture at it with his free hand as the child in his arms curled more into him. "All these souls are now at peace, regardless of the manner of achieving it...." he turned and set the child down, and wandered into the square, kneeling and taking a looped manacle off his hip chain. The hidden observer stared in unblinking horror as the Death Knight brushed the manacle over one of the corpses, and an eerie, incandescent blue glow outlined the man, and then stirred, as the hazy after image of the fallen guard moved to all fours, and then stood, looking down at his body. The guard's visible soul glanced around, as the rest of the bodies began to light up, one by one at first, then in handfuls, until the night was dimly lit by the spectral blue glow of the entire army standing where they'd fallen. Ash turned to survey the result, the villagers faces shifting from abject fear, to something closer to awe, and mystified bewilderment. "In death ... all are equal ... " Ash called out, returning to where he'd left the child, kneeling to scoop her up again, this time her arms went willingly about his neck, and he spoke to her quietly. "Do you want me to take the fear away, Becky? Do you want to feel safe again?" The hidden observer cupped a hand over his mouth to keep from crying out, as he knew where this was going. The girl nodded franticly, and curled herself in around his neck guard, and the Death Knight's hand came up to stroke her hair, a soothing gesture, even as his face had remained impassive, blank and flat as his voice. Above the faint murmur of the villagers, there was a brief crunch, the girl's body went rigid for a split second, and then relaxed completely. Amid the suddenly horrified gasps and once again fearful faces, Ash knelt and set the girl's lifeless and faintly twitching body on the ground, and like the guards, it began to glow. Becky's spectral form sat up, blinked as if coming awake, rubbing at her face and looked around, then up at Ash. Her nearly transparent face lit up in a smile, and she bounded up, her ethereal giggles silencing the horrified murmurs of the village survivors, as she pranced around the Death Knight's feet. "I offer you all the same ... Relief from torment, from fear, from anguish and loss... I offer peace, and eternity... " The hidden observer watched in mute horror as one by one, and then in twos and threes, the survivors accepted the Death Knight's offer, joining the girl in death, their spectral forms littering the courtyard as they milled about, the ghostly army still standing where they'd risen. It wasn't until the last villager was slain, and their spirit made manifest, that the true purpose of the manacle was made evident. Each specter paused, and glanced down at their left wrist at the same time, as Ash rose the arcane relic and blew on it, his breath frosting and crackling over the metal, the same eerie ghostly blue lighting the engravings on it's surface. Each and every specter visible, registered a moment of shock, as a manacle appeared on their ghostly forms, as incorporeal as they, but each one, string through with a chain, and leading to connect to the single ring that dangled from the manacle held in Ash's gauntleted hand. "I hereby accept the pledge of your souls... " he called out, slightly louder, the sound of rattling chains echoing behind his words as hands were raised to look at the shackle they wore, some crying out, some raising voices in question and outrage. Claims of deceit, and trickery, cries of horror, all raising into a din of noise. Ash tightened his grip and shattered the ice encasing the manacle, and all the voices were suddenly gone, leaving only an echo, and all the blue eerie glow snuffed out, leaving only the glyphs on the cuff the Death Lord held to illuminate the bodies left behind. |
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| Ares | Mar 16 2013, 12:58 AM Post #5 |
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From his hiding spot behind the portion of wall, Zac tried to settle his breathing and racing heart. There had been rumors and nightmarish stories of Abyssal Deathknights wandering the planes and valleys of Creation, but they’d all been dismissed as the depraved ravings of plague survivors or mere here say from people trying to spread fear and chaos among the people. Glancing around the wall portion with a furtive gesture, he watched as the black armor clad figure gestured, the pristine white horse with it’s silver engraved markings approached with a neigh that echoed in the silence of the now very dead settlement. A rock dislodged in the wall as his shoulder leaned on it, and that sound too echoed in the stillness, and Zac cursed under his breath as he pulled back out of sight. Both the Deathknight and the steed glanced toward the sound, falling into a deathly stillness. No sound came from them, even as the horse’s nostrils flared to take in scent, the gesture was soundless, and Zac could see across the muddy road between two other buildings, the deeper darkness of his own Lunar friend, Samuel, hunkered low to the ground. Brilliant emerald feline eyes watched him, a twitching ear indicating his irritation or displeasure, Zac couldn’t tell which, and glared back at him, gesturing back before pulling his legs under him, back to the wall. “No use hiding, young Solar. I can smell you from here.” The Deathknight’s voice sounded bored, toneless, though Zac could almost feel the wry cynical amusement at his efforts to hide from something that could taste death and life in the very air. Zac didn’t rise, but he called out in response. “So the Dragon Blooded souls aren’t worth collecting. That’s interesting to know.” Samuel, ears flattening back in agitation, slinked further back into the dark, the green eyes winking out of sight as he turned away into the shadows. “What are the souls of five servants of mindless fate, compared to the hundreds they brought with them?” Ash answered in the same lifeless tone, reaching out a gauntleted hand to rest against the arched neck of his Lunar companion. Slowly, haltingly, Zac rose slowly to his feet and looked over the wall into those seemingly sightless eyes that saw everything. The Deathknight’s face was still devoid of any emotion, but Zac thought he could sense something beneath the surface of those still waters. Something vastly more dangerous than anything he could think of at the moment. “You, however,” Ash continued, reaching under the cloak, the sound of metal drawing over leather whispering through the night, as the long black blade was drawn, silver and gold etching along it’s length glinting in light that had no source, a moan as if from all the souls the Deathknight had just bound echoing distantly. “You, I will make an exception for.” Without thought, Zac’s left hand shot out and gripped the air that solidified into a quarter staff haft, drawing his weapon out of the Elsewhere between realities where he kept the otherwise cumbersome object, either end of the staff curving in opposite directions with elaborate gold blades. Giving it a shift and swirl over the back of one hand and into the other, he stood sidelong facing the Deathknight a moment. “You stand no chance, Night Caste. You know this.” Ash wasn’t boasting, or putting on an act, Zac could feel the otherworldly swirls and eddies of Essence that flowed from the dark figure, but he wasn’t about to simply give up as the children and villagers had. “I may have no chance, but I don’t do well with standing still.” Moving with the speed of a striking snake, his black clad figure trailed gold traces of light that dissolved into a silver mist in his wake, one foot rising up to the wall and using it as a spring board high into the air. At the apex of his leap, he gripped the weapon in both hands, coming down like the attacking dive of a falcon, only to be batted aside as easily as a gnat by the flat of Ash’s weapon. The Lunar horse nickered as if laughing, scuffing one hoof and shaking out it’s long silvery mane. “No ... he’s mine...” Ash said, as he began approaching the heap that was Zac after he’d landed and rolled like an unsteady meteor. Rolling to one side Zac managed to get to his feet, if shakily, the weapon held behind him braced along his arm and shoulder, his mask and hood having been knocked off revealed the alabaster skin, blazing green eyes faintly veiled by a fall of almost white blonde jaw length hair. He brought the weapon around in front of him, and twisted it in the middle, rotating the opposing angle blade to match the other with a hum of sudden power. Ash paused, those sightless pale eyes narrowing as he regarded the new design, but nothing in his face suggested even remote alarm, as Zac drew a line with his first two fingers starting at the point of one blade, over to the other, leaving a glowing trail that snapped taunt as the two points connected. The same two fingers hooked the glowing line in the middle and drew it back like a bowstring, another golden line forming between his fingers and balanced on the hand gripping the middle, an arrow of pure Essence. 'That won't save you either," Ash said, his same bored tones and expression, as he regarded the Solar, planting the end of his sword on the ground in front of him. "No ... but this might," Zac murmured, and changed the angle of his shot, aiming up high, and loosed the glowing bolt. As he'd guessed, Ash's head angled to watch the glowing bolt ascend, gaining brilliance as if the acceleration of the shot made it brighter. At the apex of the arc the arrow curved gracefully, point angled back down to earth, and then flashed as it began to fall, splitting into two, then four, then eight, every flash doubling the amount of falling missiles so a veritable rain would hit by the time it reached the Deathknight. The pale Lunar reared up, bellowing a challenge, while Ash simply looked up, regarding the fall of glowing arrows like a rain of stars set free of the night sky. As the Lunar's forelimbs hit the ground they were no longer hooves, but massive clawed paws, each as big as Zac himself was, as the silver inlaid markings glowed and the Lunar's body rippled like so much smoke. Instead of a pale horse sheltering it's companion, a gigantic horned dire bear, it's fur shimmering like polished ivory, braced on all fours like a living awning over the Deathknight, her bulk taking the brunt of the fall of arrows, crimson stains dotting the pristine white pelt. By the time the last arrow fell and faded, Zac and his midnight black companion were long gone, using his talents to blend into the night like living shadows while the Deathknight and Abyssal Lunar were distracted. Ash glanced where Zac had been, reached up a gloved h and and brushed a stray lock of raven hair free of his brow, and sheathed his sword. |
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