The Second

"The first is dead. Long live the second."

[ominousvoice-blog]

"Heaven sent hell away....no one sings like you anymore...”

[ominousvoice-blog]

“....I’m sorry....I’m sorry....Nic....I’m so so sorry....”

[ominousvoice-blog]

A thousand, thousand emotions pass through him in an instant. Time stands still in a way that he has never experienced before.

Again.

Again.

Again again again again again again again again again again again again again againagainagainagainagainagainagainagainagainagainagainagainagainagainagainagainagainagainagainagainagainagainagainagainagainagain

Each of those thousand emotions turn to fury. Sorrowful, maddening anger. He howls out in fury, his body moving without thought, without reason or logic. Instinctively, the shadows, shades of himself, parts of his being that he left throughout Faerun during his travels, speed through the world to his call. The parts of himself that were separated, the shadows and fragments of his being that he had left to try and make this world better.

They no longer had a job to do. Because their origin no longer cared for the world.

No, in fact....the world was his enemy now. The very will of the planet itself was his enemy. And if it meant reaching down and tearing out its beating heart with his own bare hands...then he would do it.

Eilwen could live with him in the Shadowfell. Eulalia could found a new kingdom there. No one else mattered. Not even one other person was worth saving from this wretched world.

The feral scream that parts his lips is distorted by the shadows that wrap around his body, merging with the shadows that he’s called back to himself. His form twists and distorts, agony shredding his nerves to tatters as the writhing shadows pierce into him, crawling through his veins. Shadows become his blood. Shadows become his heart. Shadows become his soul.

The world continues to take everything that matters to him.

So he’ll take everything from the world. Its life. Its will. Its heart and soul.

He’ll smash it all to pieces and scatter the fragments to the planes. 

Fuck Faerun.

Fuck the Scourge.

Fuck Kaathion, Somnus, and the traitorous Torven.

Let everything fade to shadows. Let everything be painted black.

The light in his life was gone. The orange flame that lived in his heart had been put out.

Her smile, her touch, her scent, the way she teased, the way she shouted, the way she scolded. Everything was gone now. And nothing mattered anymore.

His Nicnevin was gone. So let the rest of the world join her.

And let her murderer be the first one to join her in the void.

“̵̗̪̟̯͔̭̲͈̣͖̪͙̣̻̘̋̑͊̕͝Ţ̷̛̬͉̠͉̦̹̟͖͉̩̱̬̞̿̐̆͆̀̊̽̾̉̏̾̿͝O̷̢̮̙͉͕͕̤̖͙̲̻͓͇̐͌͝ͅṚ̷̡́̔̽͌V̸̧̗̜̣̺̞̗̠̩̺͉̩͑̇̓̈͒̋́̓̇̒̈̎͌̋Ē̶̲̹̩͖̗͔̻̯̳̈́́̃͗́͒̿̽̃̕Ê̷̝͂̓͐̍͆̐͝E̸̡̦͈͍͈̪͖͙͔͌̏̂́̏͌͐̃͋̑͂̅̆͘͘͝E̴̩̪̞̻̦̳͑̽̀͆̽̏̒͆͆͑̉̌̈́̄̕̕Ē̷̡̧̙̼̘̟̤̲̼̲̯͉̲̳̩͓̇̒̋͐͆̐͋̉̂͘͘͝Ẹ̴̡̙͙̘̤͕̠̻̹̻̦̩̤̭̬͋́̀͌͆̎̾̿̊̎͘͝Ę̴̧̳͖͎͓̭̰͇̳̍̾̌͊̀̔̒͛Ę̷̘͙̻̾͒̾͠E̸͖͗̀̑̉̾̅̒̈̋̀͝E̸̹̣͑͗̋̃̈́N̶͉͙̖̩͙̓͆͗́͋̊̕͝͝Ṉ̶̛̝̤̟͚̘͚͌̆̑̏̚͝N̷̛͓͔̬̋͛̐̈́̈́̋́̒̒̏͆̈̋̅N̵̤̞̑̇͒̆̓̚N̷͈̜͖͓̖̘͊̎͌̃̔̒͜Ñ̵̢͓̪̭̠̻̙̳̻̒͊͂̕!̶̹͉̜̳͎̳̥̒̃̾̈̌̋̈́̽̽͘ͅ!̵̟̘̼͙͔̄!̷̢̛̺̜̮̪̤̰̲̮͖͙̤̟̪͖͐̅̂”̶̢̰̹͉͙̬͇̯̯̟̰̰̀̈̇̒̑̽͌̓̇͊̒́̿͘͜ͅͅ

[ominousvoice-blog]

The procession stands in stark contrast to the usual manner in which Aeleric and his Faceless conduct themselves. His usual black jacket, the shadows in which he clothes himself, is replaced with a white ensemble consisting of a simple doublet and trousers, with a simple ceremonial silver chain hanging from his neck.

The ceremony is held in the open air, under the sunlight. When one of the Faceless passed on, they were returned to the light that they had once shunned for the sake of their duty. The bodies, retrieved in the aftermath of the battle, are laid out in pristine white shrouds, with only the uniform, smooth black masks of the Faceless to mar their purity.

Looking up to the gathered Faceless standing before the bodies, Aeleric makes no attempt to hide the sorrow on his features. Each of these men and women had been his comrades for decades, had trained under him, been guided by his hand....and had fallen in his defense, in the line of the duty that they had long ago chosen to devote their very beings to. Taking a deep breath, Aeleric begins to speak aloud, his words, spoken in Common, ringing out clearly across the courtyard.

“Brothers and Sisters....we have gathered here to bid farewell to those who shared our path, to those who shared our vision. We bid farewell to these brave men and women who gave their lives in the line of their duty. We who live in shadows will die in shadows....but in death, we return to the light that we once turned away from. Even wretched shades such as ourselves are granted that grace.”

He walks to each shrouded form in turn, pulling away their masks and revealing their faces. Each one is the face of a friend, the face of someone who had chosen to deny their selves for him....to act as his shadows, as the ones that he could trust above all others.

His blades in the dark. The reflections in the mirror.

“....once, they were Faceless. Nameless. Now...I give them back their names.”

A silver coin is placed in the middle of each of their foreheads, engraved with their names. He speaks them as he places them, returning the names that he had freely given to him upon entering his service.

An elven woman. “Kalliphae.”  An orcish man. “Ghamborz.”  A human woman. “Adriande.” A human man. “Edmund.” A drow male. “Amrel.” An aasimar woman. “Lailah.” An elven man. “Reluraun.” A tiefling man. “Kaimenos”

As the last coin is placed, he walks to join the rest of his Faceless, bowing his head in a period of reverent silence. Their silence remains for a full ten minutes, before Aeleric finally raises his head again and lifts a hand.

“Release.”

The single word, infused with arcane power, triggers the powerful enchantment on the coins. They glow brightly and, in a flash, the bodies of their fallen comrades are consumed by silver flames. The consecrated flames burn bright, casting away all shadows and illuminating the entire courtyard. But neither Aeleric nor the Faceless turn away. The light burns their eyes, the heat scalds their skin....but they do not flinch. They watch as their friends and comrades leave the world that they had died to defend, and they don’t so much as blink until the final embers fade away.

And all that remains is silence, and eight clean white shrouds.

“Faceless and Nameless no more. Rest in peace....my friends.”

[duskblxde]

cookie crazy

[ominousvoice-blog]

duskblade:

The noise that emitted from her was a mix between a squeak and a gasp, and she nearly dropped the oven fresh cookies she currently had in her gloved hands. She didn’t know which to be more embarrassed by–the fact that she didn’t know he was there to begin with or the sound she had made. He seemed to ignore it, however, of which she was grateful.

Swallowing her anxiety down, she set the cookies down and looked at the battlefield of cookies. He wasn’t wrong.

“Well…anything extra we can give to the citizens…and Rouse, of course.” At this point in time Lia had still not awoken from her long slumber after having been nearly beaten to death by (Nalgessian). It was thanks to Brakken that they were able to beat Nalgessian back, though it was unclear to her whether he was gone entirely. One thing at a time though.

“I was hoping that if I made enough cookies she might wake up from the smell alone…it seems kind of childish doesn’t it?” She smiled albeit a little painfully and began setting the cookies on one of the heaping piles. “

“If it was that easy to wake someone up, I think bakeries would get a lot more business from adventurers. Childish, maybe...but harmless. You mean well.”

He finished the cookie in his hand with a few more bites, brushing the lingering crumbs off of his hands before turning his eyes back to the woman.

“...sorry if I startled you. It’s something of a habit for me to just....walk where I please. I forget that not everyone is used to that.”

Moving with practiced caution, he gently nudged one of the cookies back into place in a pile that had begun to teeter dangerously to one side. He sighed quietly and grasped the back of a nearby chair, pulling it aside and sitting down with his arms folded across his chest.

“....I don’t understand you, Myrina. You’re supposedly friends with ‘Lia, but friendship only goes so far. You’ve walked into a warzone between Gods, Godlike beings, and Godslayers. You can’t even begin to match us in the realm of combat....but you’re still here. You’re still fighting and keeping up. What is it that drives you? What makes you keep going?”

[duskblxde]

cookie crazy

[ominousvoice-blog]

duskblade:

@ominousvoice ; @fataimplexis

Cookies. Freshly baked and of very variety–COOKIES. They sat on trays or racks in piles based on their variety; there in the middle of the cookie explosion was an ombre-haired half-drow that was bent over the oven inspecting even more cookies that were currently baking. Her brow was furrowed with a slight dew appearing there and it seemed like the girl was working hard at her baking. Though why she was going to such lengths was questionable at this point.

....honestly, he wasn’t sure just where this girl got her fortitude from. She wasn’t one of that group. She wasn’t some being that was blessed by Gods or Spirits. She was just...her. It puzzled him....it made him wary....but above all, it made him worry for her.

Their enemies were beings that gave even him pause, that tested the strength and resolve of God-chosen and Godslayer alike....and yet there she was. A girl who seemed to pale in comparison to them when it came to conflict, but proved more than their equal in terms of the battlefield of the mind. There she was....baking cookies. As if the world hadn’t changed a bit.

“....if ‘Lia eats that many cookies, she’s going to end up looking as big as her dragon form, you know.”

His footsteps completely silent, he strode out of the shadows in the midst of the cookie chaos that had taken over that small section of the kitchens, deft fingers snatching up one of the cookies, still warm even to his heat-resistant touch, and taking a small bite.

“....not bad though.”

[ominousvoice-blog]

chainrender:

Annoyance was clear on his face now, as it became obvious that the Second was reading his mind without so much as a warning. Distaste was evident as he rose from his seat, keeping his thoughts clear, but his anger persistent on the currently human features he had.

“Well, if you’re going to be so rude as to intrude upon my mind, then I might as well speak it regardless.”

“You’re a farce, Leos. A God that no one has any faith in. Were it not for your impeccable pedigree, you would be in a situation very similar to your friend, Kaathion, having to work your way out of the dirt of obscurity. What’s more, your fallacy of the Gods place in all things remains just as outdated as ever before. You and the Gods of this realm just don’t seem to realize it yet.”

“Wake up, boy. You’ve lived in the dark for too long, suffocated by beliefs that need not be continued. Gods can live like mortals, mortals like divine beings.The paradigm of power you’re enforcing is a relic. Give it up, and recognize what the world could truly be. Or don’t, and entertain your archaic ideals until the inevitable destruction of those you hold dear comes to pass.”

“You have naught my condolences, nor my sympathy, when the end of their world takes them from you forever.”

“...I should’ve known that you and I would never see eye to eye. For someone who freely enters the minds of others and manipulates them to his own ends, you’re surprisingly sensitive about others doing the same to you. The typical hypocrisy of Gods, I suppose.”

He stands facing the starlight still, fingers idly plucking at strings that only he can see and feel, producing music only he can hear. The symphony of the cosmos, the music of reality...nothing was more beautiful or soothing.

“You’re not special, you know. You’re just another person that has no faith in them, in their abilities, or their feelings. Other ‘gods’ may live as mortals, but there must always be a throne and one who is seated in it. Even if they don’t act, the very act of their existence must be upheld. The ‘paradigm’ I uphold is existence, that is all. I don’t give half a damn if mortals raise themselves up....no, in fact I welcome it. But if Gods wish to live as mortals, they will do it as mortals, and they will leave their power within their godly shell.”

“And let me make one thing clear, Nyarlathotep. My name is ‘Leos’. You aren’t someone that I’ll allow to speak to me so casually. We are not friends, not equals, and I have no need nor desire for your condolences nor your sympathy.”

He allows the full power of his existence to fill the space around him, to surround Nyarlathotep. The full power of all of creation and destruction fills the imaginary space, the stars in the distance flaring brighter as he turns to face the arrogant Elder God.

“Perhaps it’s because you only hold the power of the End in your hands....but that’s all you can see or care about. I pity you for it. You are so short sighted that you fail to realize what lies beyond the end of something, that the end of one world can simply lead into the birth of another. These are the things I see, the infinite expanse of eternity, the sway and swell of the currents that are time, space, and reality.”

He releases the power, the stars dimming in the sky behind him as he stares down at Nyarlathotep.

“You can not, and will not, ever understand me, Destroyer. Don’t ever presume that you do. Now....get out.”

[ominousvoice-blog]

chainrender:

Well, this was already mind numbingly boring. At the very least, Eslo had some class, some style to him. This boy lacked both. He may have all the power of a Creator to him, but he had none of the finesse that made Eslo enjoyable to be around. And now, as he went on like some sort of cosmic parole officer, he couldn’t help but miss him more.

“I’m not new to this, Leos. Just because you’re a spring chicken in your position does not mean the same for me. The only reason I’ve ever even had to play with Eslo before was for sheer enjoyment. I’ve been able to stride in and out of this world before without issue and without leaving a real mess. Why? Because I knew my limitations and the limitations of my subjects. There’s no enjoyment in breaking them.”

He leaned back in his chair, unamused and uncaring of the Second’s threat. Of course he had to accept this request, lest he be thrown out before he could truly enjoy the company of the party. But needless to say, there were some idle daydreams splashing about of what he would do with the power of the Creator. But, he snuffed them out as quickly as they came. Complete and absolute dominion over all things…nothing could be so boring.

“As I said before, I already accept these rules. Is there anything else you feel you need to remind me of?”

“For the record, ‘Simon’, I don’t care if you find me boring, nor what comparisons you draw between my father and I.”

He rises from his chair, dismissing it and the desk with a snap and returning them to ethereal dust. As if conducting a symphony, he spins the dust through the air before, with a sweep of his hands, casting it to the sky and filling the night with countless new stars.

“There. The deal is sealed in starlight, and will last until those stars go out. We’ll meet again when that happens to renegotiate...and if you’ve abided by the deal with no problems, we can talk about lessening your restrictions.”

He sighs quietly, bringing a hand up to brush hair away from his eyes. Another motion allows the ponytail at the back of his head to fall loose and he conjures a comb through it to straighten out the tangles.

“I am not my father, Nyarlathotep. I have no interest in flaunting or abusing my power. Absolute power, as your mind so eloquently put it, is frankly...boring. And tiring. So please...don’t give me any more work than I already have....and....”

“Be good to them. The family that chose me.”

[ominousvoice-blog]

chainrender:

An ethereal space, in a realm that even the elder god could not reach. He presumed, it was a space solely reserved for Creators and the like, which would mean, of those he knew, it would be Eslo, Leos and Azatoth. Annoying how one component was enough to ruin it for him. He held the Power of Apocalypse all too handily, but used it so rarely some would question if he did. Yet, it was the Power of Genesis alongside it that made a true Creator. Such aggravating rules, he thought to himself, as he slumped into a false chair hanging in the air.

“Fine, lets just get this out of the way already.”

...well this was something he had hoped to avoid. This space was somewhere he had created for himself, and for those he cared for, the ones who had raised him into the man he was now. For this being to be there....

“Let’s make this clear from the word go: This world has rules. Rules that even I am bound by. I am not my father. I will not bypass the rules, nor allow others to do so.”

He gives a wave of his hand, the very stardust of the universe’s birth forming into a chair and desk, and even forming a true chair beneath the Destroyer that now sat across from him.

“First: Limit your use of powers that go beyond the scope of this world. Even my own have the possibility of ripping reality, so I’d rather not give any more entry points to...well, your kind, if you’ll pardon my wording.”

“Second: You are free to observe as you wish, but limit your direct involvement. This isn’t a world of Gods, this is a world of mortals. Their history should be shaped by their hands. The time of Gods creating history has passed.”

“Third: No more playing people against each other. Conflicts come to a head on their own, and there’s more than enough conflict in this world without you pushing people towards it.”

“....Fourth, and final: If you break any of these rules, or try to find a loophole in them to abuse the privilege of entry into this world that you’ve been given by my family....you go back. Either willingly, or by my hand, and you will be forever barred from leaving the Far Realm.”

His eyes glow momentarily with his full power, the oppressive force of the absolute god, the Second, filling the whole of extra-dimensional space. It’s a brief moment, but it’s a pure show of force and willingness to use it.

“If you can abide by those rules, you and I will have no problems.”

[ominousvoice-blog]

“Empty your mind.”

His words are calm, almost hypnotically so. Every intonation designed to make those that hear him trust in him.

“Empty it entirely. Remove all thoughts except for the sound of my voice. Breathe in....good. Now hold it. Hold it until your lungs start to ache. Then breathe out.”

The space he brings them to is silent and empty, devoid of any distractions, devoid of...really anything. A space within the Shadowfell, a black room made of pure night and shadow. A space that belongs only to him. These shadows are his, writhing and alive, the culmination of centuries of perfecting his craft. Even the greater creatures of this place would recoil from this small section of the dark.

He paces the room, unseen by his charge, footsteps silent within the shadows, his voice the only sound allowed. Even their own breathing is silent to their ears. Even if they were to scream, no sound will come forth. This is a place of silence and shade, a place usually reserved for torture and interrogation. And, in truth....this practice is little more than torture at its core.

“...good. I want you to fill your mind with the sensation of broken glass. Feel it slice your skin, pierce your flesh. Remember that agony, crystallize it in your mind. Hold it there like a precious memory.....good. Just like that.”

This is the only way. The only way to make a mind hostile to outside influence, to outside intrusion. And it only gets worse the more he speaks. A small pang of sympathy for the poor soul in his charge passes through him....but like so many other feelings, he shoves it back down. This is business. This is for the sake of everyone. And if he must hurt them to help them....then so be it.

“.....now....recall the worst moment of your life. The most painful moment in all of history for you. Remember the pain you felt, the sorrow, the misery, the anguish....the hatred. Remember every person who has ever betrayed you, every person who has ever wronged you. Hate them, revile them, change that animosity into agony....and wrap your mind in it. Wrap it around you like armor, cradle it against your heart like a loved one. Hate it. Adore it. Create a contradiction inside of yourself.”

“And when I reach into your mind...push it against me. Make me feel that pain, make me feel that hatred. Make me feel the love and revulsion that you have for the pain that has made you who you are. And most of all....hate me. Hate the thing that dares enter your mind. Revel in their pain, revel in their misery, smile with glee while they feel your agony.”

He pushes his mind against theirs now, prodding and probing, forcing his way into the darkest corners of their psyche, dragging out memories and traumas better left forgotten, tearing open old wounds and fresh wounds alike. Every insecurity, every doubt, laid bare in front of him and them alike.

“This is the only way. So resist me. Resist with every ounce of your soul.”

“RESIST!”

He can feel it then. The pain being shoved against his probing mind, the misery crystallized into physical form, physical and emotional pain forged into weapons. His way is kinder than how he was taught, kinder than the whips and knives that carved the memory of agony into his body....but the process is cruel nonetheless. And as he steps from the shadows, blood running from his eyes and mouth, he gives a smile and extends a hand toward his charge.

“Congratulations...and well done.”

[ominousvoice-blog]

Bravo...dear children...bravo.

[chainrender]

His smile held as he realized his intervention had given the young celestial a new lease on life, invigorating the youth back into combat with a fervor that could only be.described as heroic. It was a brilliant display that would have warmed the hearts of any wide-eyed child, but for Vai’non, it was more than a little ridiculous, and even his smile couldn’t hold when he heard the boy yell out something that he could only assume was…

“Flashy, but a bit of overkill isnt it? Just attacking them head on would have done the trick…and did you really name that attack?”

A disapproving tone, only partially aimed at the idiotic nature of naming one’s techniques. The boy was an honor preacher, a tiring existence to say the least, but he could be sure to work it in his favor. Better to put this situation to rest quickly than to waste time ruminating over how stupid this one was. With a shrug, Vai’non commanded the stones surrounding his head to rise, circling around the two white haired individuals with unnerving precision.

“Relax. This battle is already over. You’ve pushed yourself a little too hard with that one, so let me finish this up.”

A flash of a smile as the orbit of the rocks around the two began to expand, the stones spinning faster and faster the further they drew out. As they revolved, they began to accelerate to levels far beyond human sight, eventually becoming a singular ring around them, that only promised pain and death to those unfortunate enough to attempt to approach. One fool took a leap of faith, and cried out in agony as the stones tore through him again and again, even as he began his descent to the ground. Fervor was quickly replaced by fear, as the five that now remained realized they were no longer in a profitable situation…

[ominousvoice-blog]

For a moment, Aeolus paused to consider the boy’s words, looking around at the devastation caused by his impact. So deep in his growing realizations was he that he failed to notice the remaining bandits scattering before the strange power of the youth beside him. So deep in his contemplation was he that he failed to notice when Akriel, freed from her own aggressors, landed heavily beside him to place herself between her nestmate and the strange newcomer.

When Aeolus finally came out of his thoughts, the look on his face was one of sincere embarrassment and horror.

“I...overdid it again...”

Lowering his lance and hanging his head, the boy flushed scarlet as he pulled his hood up over his head. After a moment he crouched entirely, still staring at the ground and releasing his grip on his lance to hug his knees tight against his chest. If the other white-haired youth listened, he would hear the boy muttering to himself quietly as he drew circles in the cracked earth at his feet with the armored tip of his finger.

“I should know better by now...the elders always told me that I need to learn to control my strength, but how can I do that in a real combat situation....”

The mumblings continued in that line of thought, the boy driving himself seemingly further and further into his own scolding. Beside him, Akriel merely shook her head and rolled her eyes. She had seen him do this too often to be surprised anymore.

“wux xihood kiri kiarf, isthasy. ilepkir svern.”

Nudging him with her head as she speaks, she turns her attention fully to her nestmate in an attempt to pull him from his downward spiral.

[chainrender]

Death awaited the Valiant with open arms, a belief that the false boy, Vai’non, ardently accepted. Knights and warriors, kings and conquerors, all being scrutinized, day and night by the lidless gaze of he who would carry them onto the afterlife. Valor’s reward was a valorous end. To some, a good death was its own reward, but to others, like the young celestial Vai’non had been observing, it seemed more a punishment than a gift, a life taken too early when he had so much more to offer. Writing the finale of a story that had only just begun seemed like such a waste. And so he, as the hand of fate, would not abide.

The situation was nothing short of desperate, an end for the poor unfortunate fool who had happened to come across these brigands. Yet a touch of destiny would seem to save him this day. As the horde of warriors surrounded the young man, evil intentions clear in their eyes, one would fall. A poor fool, in the very back of the line, stumbling to the ground without a reason, unless one should inspect closely at the back of his skull, where the smallest point of entry gave evidence to the pebble that had furiously embedded itself in the man’s brain. 

The one closest to the man would soon turn, eyes widening in confusion at the sight of their fallen comrade, not because he was particularly fond of the man, but because there didn’t seem a reason for him to die when their prey was so far away. However, another sight quickly drew his attention away, a figure in white, a boy by all appearances, twirling stones between his fingertips, quietly approaching with all the calm and authority of fate itself. A wicked smile on his lips made it clear that he was anything but benevolent.

“Today is a day of evidence to the cruelty that is life. A boy, dragged off his path by a storm of blundering failures, his life likely to be ended before it could truly begin. But then, the tides turn and now the fools face their grim and painful death. Hm…actually in hindsight, that’s some damn good karma.”

The bandits, unsure of what to make of the stranger, instead attempt to turn their focus upon him, moving to rush him down - his garments were definitely of a fine make, and children like him did well in the right circle. But even as they started, another stone found its mark, deep in the forehead of another unlucky warrior. However, the boy didn’t seem to lose a stone for the act, the same three twirling about his fingers. Even as another found its way into the heart of a third criminal, three remained.

“No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of a continent, a part of the main. If a clod is washed away by the sea, it is less! If hapless fools disappear into the ether, mankind as a whole suffers for those fools. Your ignorant choices bring about the pain of this world, your killing diminishing your people as a whole, and even your inevitable deaths! Did you hear the bells? Every time you bastards killed someone, did those bells ring in your ears? Those bells did not just toll for your victims…”

“They toll for thee!”

[ominousvoice-blog]

When the end didn’t come as he had assumed it would, Aeolus lifted his head in surprise. The sounds of battle, rather than fading away as he had thought, instead began to rang out behind him. Supporting his weight on his weapon, the young knight forced his battered and aching body up and around to once more face his attackers. Seeing them engaged with a newcomer, a boy who appeared to be no more than a child himself, the youth felt a surge of strength begin to fill his body, his muscles resonating with his noble desires. How could he simply lay down and die when this boy fought on? No matter the powers the poetically inclined boy wielded, how could Aeolus still call himself a knight if he allowed himself to die and leave this stranger to clean up his own mess?

His body tensing with effort, Aeolus forced himself upright and took up his weapon once more. There was little honor in attacking an opponent who was unawares, but his opponents were hardly possessing of such honor that they deserved that courtesy.

Grinding his heels into the ground, Aeolus tensed every muscle in his body at once, coiling himself like a spring before releasing that stored tension in a singular burst of upwards motion. Soaring high into the sky, the crisp and cool air stinging at his open wounds, Aeolus turned his focus on the largest grouping of the bandits below him and, in a motion that seemed to defy the reality of physics, turned himself in midair and dove towards them.

“Meteoric...IMPACT!”

The habit was one his elders had always scolded him for, but the boy had never been able to resist naming his more daring maneuvers. Though the strike itself was a simple thing, a combination of gravity, momentum, and sheer brute strength, the name proved appropriate as bodies scattered around the young knight’s point of impact. The ground cracked beneath the weight of his armor, his lance buried halfway up its haft by the driving force of his dive. This was what it was to be a Dragoon, that elite force whose tactics were originally designed to slay the almighty dragons themselves. Tearing his weapon from the ground, sheer willpower and determination allowing him to ignore the pain lancing through his body, Aeolus put his back towards the new arrival to the battle who had so invigorated his chivalrous spirit and faced their remaining aggressors.

“...I know not who you are, sir, but I thank you for coming to my aid. I swear to you by the honor of my order, I will find a way to repay you once these brigands are dealt with.”

[ominousvoice-blog]

Aeolus de Montreoum had known that he would encounter the filth and debauchery of the lower world once he had left on his pilgrimage. He knew that the evils of the world outside the walls of his highly perched mountain home would seek him out like moths to a flame, drawn by his radiance and by the sheen of his armor. His elders had told him as much, and so it was with trepidation that he had set out.

What they had not told him was how soon it would come.

His ranseur, forged by the smiths of the Order of the finest steel, drove through leather and flesh alike as he thrust himself forwards, driving the deadly weapon through the body of both the first man, his upraised club falling to the ground by the side of the melee, and his fellow behind him. Swiftly withdrawing the shining steel from the bodies before their dead weight could drag him down, the young knight turned to face the remaining men.

A score of the men had descended on him soon after he had left the forest that bordered the base of the mountain. Three had fallen to his spear in their initial rush to surround him, another two as they attempted to gain ground on him once he made it clear he would not surrender his possessions, and now another two had fallen in open melee as the young knight, strong of spirit and body but untested in the ways of the world, faced them with all of his righteous fury.

Akriel, his dragon companion, was similarly surrounded. She was young, far from the prime of her draconic lifespan, and thus unable to summon the most powerful of her birthrights, so even she was hard pressed as the men struggled to keep her pinned down and unmarred. A live, unharmed dragon would fetch quite the price, after all.

Distracted by the roar of the dragon, Aeolus was not fast enough to avoid the swipe of a club that left him staggering back, his silver visor knocked from his face. His vision blurred as a dull pain pulsed through him from the blow to his head. There were still so many, and even as he forced himself to his feet he knew they would give him no time to fully recover.

Moving more from instinct than any conscious thought, his masterwork spear came up once more to deflect a blow that would have split his skull, following the parry up with a strike with his heel to the stomach of the man whose balance had been upset. The power of his legs, honed by his training in the mountains, drove the man back and Aeolus could hear the sound of bones cracking as the man crumpled many feet away. His fellows came on slower then, picking at the youth with careful, measured swipes that left little room for counter.

He knew, through the pain that throbbed in his head, through the blood streaming down his cheek and soaking into his fine white cloak, that he had no way of escape. They would wear him down and, once he was too tired and hurt to retaliate, they would overwhelm him.

But if this was to be his grave, then he was determined to at least bring glory to the name of his Order.

Calling upon the strange divine strength that had been within him since the day of his birth, Aeolus let out a defiant roar as he kicked off from the ground, driving himself forwards with all of his strength. With the might of a dragon, the dragoon thrust his spear through the ranks of the marauders, only barely aware of the blood that splashed against him as three more men, unable to react to the sudden, suicidal, attack were impaled and split apart by the relentless forwards momentum of the silver-clad knight.

The ground beneath and behind him torn, Aeolus fell to his knees, supporting his weight against his weapon. His final act of defiance had brought the total to ten, and he took silent solace in the fact that he had sent half of the evil men to the Fugue Plane ahead of him. 

Closing his lavender eyes, Aeolus de Montreoum awaited the end.

[ominousvoice-blog]

“My dear friend...I’ll free you from your burden with my own two hands, I swear it.”

[ominousvoice-blog]

“This is how it has to be. Either they will die, or he will. Either way...the end has come. None can forestall it anymore.”

[chainrender]

“Hope? Hm. Interesting. How can our views be so different I wonder…Very well then my friend…”

“Let me see through your eyes, and I shall show you what I see through mine.”

[ominousvoice-blog]

“That was what we first agreed on, wasn’t it? We would show each other the things that the other could not see. I will show you my hope, and you will show me your despair.”