Last edited:
Lore Book Celestials
- Thread starter Drackos
- Start date
- Status
I - STRANGER IN A STRANGE LAND
Sandy Shores, Mainland
"These lands...twisted beyond recognition." The strange man spoke, cloaked in mundane brown cloths, as he stood on the shores. Waves of water brushed underneath his feet. "Rotten to the core, a broken world ripped apart by its own physics." He knelt, hand grazing the sand just in front of his feet. As he stood, to an average onlooker, this was no ordinary human. While no one was with him, he would have towered above his peers at nearly eight and a half feet tall. And while shrouded by a cloak, one could tell from a distance that he was proportionately muscular. The cloak concealed his clothes and even cast a shadow about his face, giving him no discernible features aside from his size and a peculiar claymore strapped to his back. The blade was ornate, marked by a series of runes, and was inlaid with a single amethyst in the center of the cross-guard. "So different, yet...familiar." He walked inland, with the sound of metallic armor under his robes clattering as he did so.
And beneath those robes: a smirk.
Sandy Shores, Mainland
"These lands...twisted beyond recognition." The strange man spoke, cloaked in mundane brown cloths, as he stood on the shores. Waves of water brushed underneath his feet. "Rotten to the core, a broken world ripped apart by its own physics." He knelt, hand grazing the sand just in front of his feet. As he stood, to an average onlooker, this was no ordinary human. While no one was with him, he would have towered above his peers at nearly eight and a half feet tall. And while shrouded by a cloak, one could tell from a distance that he was proportionately muscular. The cloak concealed his clothes and even cast a shadow about his face, giving him no discernible features aside from his size and a peculiar claymore strapped to his back. The blade was ornate, marked by a series of runes, and was inlaid with a single amethyst in the center of the cross-guard. "So different, yet...familiar." He walked inland, with the sound of metallic armor under his robes clattering as he did so.
And beneath those robes: a smirk.
II - CORRESPONDENCE
Unknown; letter delivered to Mara, Grandmaster of the Golden Amputation
Mara,
I hope this letters find you in good health in these dark and trying times. You do not know me. But like you, I am an ardent advocate for humanity's freedom and their salvation. The gods, in their limited faculties yet limitless arrogance, have erred and faltered. Their legs have buckled underneath the weight of their mandate. It turns to humanity to supplant them and their spawn with a new order. One for humans and only humans.
Enclosed in this package you will find an implement made only for a bright Atavist such as yourself and your closest lieutenants. It is a dagger fit for a queen. A gift from a likeminded Champion of Humanity.
I am sure you will know what to do with it.
-AT
Unknown; letter delivered to Mara, Grandmaster of the Golden Amputation
Mara,
I hope this letters find you in good health in these dark and trying times. You do not know me. But like you, I am an ardent advocate for humanity's freedom and their salvation. The gods, in their limited faculties yet limitless arrogance, have erred and faltered. Their legs have buckled underneath the weight of their mandate. It turns to humanity to supplant them and their spawn with a new order. One for humans and only humans.
Enclosed in this package you will find an implement made only for a bright Atavist such as yourself and your closest lieutenants. It is a dagger fit for a queen. A gift from a likeminded Champion of Humanity.
I am sure you will know what to do with it.
-AT
Last edited:
III – NIGHTMARES
Unknown
I found myself buried under a pile of lunar rubble, now freed from the celestial catacombs that had imprisoned my brothers and sisters for time immemorial. Though all that was left of us were mere disembodied souls, left disoriented by a potent, inebriated-like, stupor. I was a phantom and a specter. A pale and hollow form of something that had lived so long ago; existing in a state of reality and a fraudulent existence simultaneously. But now, in this sundered world, I found myself able to walk among the children of gold. I was free.
But my memories were shattered into dust, scattered to the winds of time as confinement took its toll on my existence. All I could recall was the memories of a dying world, left stagnant by calamity. An echo of a primeval power that, with the mere swing of his sword, could cleave existence itself in two. I saw the world burn, in the past, in the present, and in the future. An all-encompassing prophecy that haunted my spirit and overwrote my memories.
But fire. Oh, the fire. Dancing purple flames across the surface of the world as it engulfed the cosmos…
And yet I craved completion; I knew little, even where I was remained a secret to myself when I fell. But instinct drove me to my first victim. A sister of mine, from ages past. Like me, their memories were broken. She stumbled through the shattered fragments of the dark celestial.
It was too easy.
Our spirits clashed. My instinct, my sheer will, overpowering her own. I subsumed her shattered essence; whatever memories were left, broken or not, became part of my own. I tore into her essence like a wild beast ripping into the carcass of its dead prey. She was nothing more than sustenance to me. A feast for a phantasmal parasite. I ripped and I tore at the ethereal soul, gorging myself. Had I a stomach, it would have burst. But her memories became my own as our spirits clashed. Her will succumbed to mine and I imprinted those very nightmares onto her; an even exchange. Her memories for my terror. And it was then I realized: we had known each other. For a moment I felt guilt.
But then, as if a bolt of Enlil’s lightning struck me, my memories began to become whole. She had known me. I could see myself through her eyes. I did not know her name, likely because she didn’t know her own name. But she knew of me in my former life; and she feared me. I could feel a visceral dread in her memories as she looked upon my living flesh thousands of years ago. But why I could not say.
Guilt turned to determination. That moment of hesitation melted away as I bore down on her the flesh of her spirit yet again, subsuming whatever was left of the memories that hadn’t been scattered to the wind. I had given into my gluttony as I feasted.
I was a fell beast, as I had been in life. Ferocious, ravenous, and remorseless.
My own nightmares did not leave me. They had been seared into the essence of whatever was left of my freed soul. But a nightmare became a dream. I would dance before the pyre of the burning world before all would be rendered to nothingness.
Unknown
I found myself buried under a pile of lunar rubble, now freed from the celestial catacombs that had imprisoned my brothers and sisters for time immemorial. Though all that was left of us were mere disembodied souls, left disoriented by a potent, inebriated-like, stupor. I was a phantom and a specter. A pale and hollow form of something that had lived so long ago; existing in a state of reality and a fraudulent existence simultaneously. But now, in this sundered world, I found myself able to walk among the children of gold. I was free.
But my memories were shattered into dust, scattered to the winds of time as confinement took its toll on my existence. All I could recall was the memories of a dying world, left stagnant by calamity. An echo of a primeval power that, with the mere swing of his sword, could cleave existence itself in two. I saw the world burn, in the past, in the present, and in the future. An all-encompassing prophecy that haunted my spirit and overwrote my memories.
But fire. Oh, the fire. Dancing purple flames across the surface of the world as it engulfed the cosmos…
And yet I craved completion; I knew little, even where I was remained a secret to myself when I fell. But instinct drove me to my first victim. A sister of mine, from ages past. Like me, their memories were broken. She stumbled through the shattered fragments of the dark celestial.
It was too easy.
Our spirits clashed. My instinct, my sheer will, overpowering her own. I subsumed her shattered essence; whatever memories were left, broken or not, became part of my own. I tore into her essence like a wild beast ripping into the carcass of its dead prey. She was nothing more than sustenance to me. A feast for a phantasmal parasite. I ripped and I tore at the ethereal soul, gorging myself. Had I a stomach, it would have burst. But her memories became my own as our spirits clashed. Her will succumbed to mine and I imprinted those very nightmares onto her; an even exchange. Her memories for my terror. And it was then I realized: we had known each other. For a moment I felt guilt.
But then, as if a bolt of Enlil’s lightning struck me, my memories began to become whole. She had known me. I could see myself through her eyes. I did not know her name, likely because she didn’t know her own name. But she knew of me in my former life; and she feared me. I could feel a visceral dread in her memories as she looked upon my living flesh thousands of years ago. But why I could not say.
Guilt turned to determination. That moment of hesitation melted away as I bore down on her the flesh of her spirit yet again, subsuming whatever was left of the memories that hadn’t been scattered to the wind. I had given into my gluttony as I feasted.
I was a fell beast, as I had been in life. Ferocious, ravenous, and remorseless.
My own nightmares did not leave me. They had been seared into the essence of whatever was left of my freed soul. But a nightmare became a dream. I would dance before the pyre of the burning world before all would be rendered to nothingness.
IV - TEYOLLOCUANI
Unknown
The solitude was not the unfamiliar feeling that gnawed away at the blacksmith’s psyche. He had spent thousands of years locked away in the depths of Ganzir, tormented by vicious stewards with an assortment of techniques to draw out secrets locked away in his mind. No, indeed it was the dying lights of his torches that lined his Armory. Day by day their flame grew ever so slightly weaker as humanity took step by step toward its own extinguishment. The smith sighed, cupping his hands on his face as he rested; he could only hope as days faded into weeks and turned to months.
“You’ve changed quite a bit since your time in the Navy haven’t you. Though I suppose you do look the same, at the very least,” Marzan’s head snapped up from his hands. A voice? “Confused?” The voice continued, taunting the ageless immortal. “I suppose your security measures for the armory did not account for disembodied spirits”
Marzan audibly sighed, rolling his eyes now. “Well? Are you going to show yourself or continue to taunt this old man you seemingly know so well?” He retorted sardonically; his patience was already thin.
Much to Marzan’s surprise the spirit did begin to reveal itself; before his very eyes the air began to shimmer. Once it manifested, the coalesced spirit was nothing more than a silhouette, a glimmering human figure yet distinctly featureless. And yet there was something distinctly familiar about being in its presence.
“Don’t recognize me like this, Fleet Admiral?” The spirit sneered, “I suppose not. I haven’t found my body, not yet.”
Marzan focused laser like onto the spirit; a ghost from his past. “You…” Marzan began, standing shocked for a moment as the color drained from his already pale face.
“Don’t spoil the moment of our grand reunion. You still have a part yet to play.” If the spirit could bear an expression, it would have been one that reflected his smug enjoyment of the situation; one that hid nefarious intentions. “Sit with me…or as best as I can sit. We have much to discuss.” The smith hesitated for a moment before shrugging. What choice did he have? He couldn’t leave.
The two spoke for hours, reminiscing of prosperous times and tragedies, of wars long lost to time. Though Marzan had much to share, in particular his torment after Nergal spirited him to the Underworld, the spirit before him had little of what came after his own death. He had lived in stasis for so very long, longer than even Marzan had been trapped in Ganzir.
“So all those years in the Underworld?” The spirit asked, crooking its ethereal featureless head.
“Thousands of years. Tortured me for the secrets of our forge. For the atavistic mysteries of mankind that separate us from the gods that created us.” He motioned, pointing his finger between himself and the spirit. “Though before that I was held hostage by Nergal, at least until he was supplanted.”
“That old bastard?” It laughed, “So what? You’re telling me the God of the Dead was killed in battle, replaced by his junior, who was then subsequently usurped, disembodied, and replaced by these Voidlords?”
Marzan nodded, grumbling under his breath. “These Voidlords were… are no joke. Do you remember Imeroth?”
The spirit remained silent for a moment, searching its broken memories. Memories it had stolen. It could vaguely recall a being with that name; a priest of Marduk and at one point the god’s champion. It simply nodded, keeping Marzan’s recollection going for as long as possible. Its instinct was to act, to leap on its prey and consume it just like it had all the others. It was so close now that it could practically taste the reunion; body and soul would be one at last.
“Beings imbued with the Void…with the power of nothingness. Unaspected Divinity. Imagine that?”
No imagination was required; the spirit did exactly that, rending Marzan’s psyche with its own claws. By now it had grown far too powerful to resist from other spirits coalesced into its own as a dark amalgamation. It ripped into his mind, desperately seeking the memories that it hungered for. And in that brief moment Marzan’s eyes went wide with shock, his mouth hung agape as if to fight back. Hand clutched at the hilt of his blade in self defense but it had happened to quickly; he collapsed at the seat of his forge.
Unknown
The solitude was not the unfamiliar feeling that gnawed away at the blacksmith’s psyche. He had spent thousands of years locked away in the depths of Ganzir, tormented by vicious stewards with an assortment of techniques to draw out secrets locked away in his mind. No, indeed it was the dying lights of his torches that lined his Armory. Day by day their flame grew ever so slightly weaker as humanity took step by step toward its own extinguishment. The smith sighed, cupping his hands on his face as he rested; he could only hope as days faded into weeks and turned to months.
“You’ve changed quite a bit since your time in the Navy haven’t you. Though I suppose you do look the same, at the very least,” Marzan’s head snapped up from his hands. A voice? “Confused?” The voice continued, taunting the ageless immortal. “I suppose your security measures for the armory did not account for disembodied spirits”
Marzan audibly sighed, rolling his eyes now. “Well? Are you going to show yourself or continue to taunt this old man you seemingly know so well?” He retorted sardonically; his patience was already thin.
Much to Marzan’s surprise the spirit did begin to reveal itself; before his very eyes the air began to shimmer. Once it manifested, the coalesced spirit was nothing more than a silhouette, a glimmering human figure yet distinctly featureless. And yet there was something distinctly familiar about being in its presence.
“Don’t recognize me like this, Fleet Admiral?” The spirit sneered, “I suppose not. I haven’t found my body, not yet.”
Marzan focused laser like onto the spirit; a ghost from his past. “You…” Marzan began, standing shocked for a moment as the color drained from his already pale face.
“Don’t spoil the moment of our grand reunion. You still have a part yet to play.” If the spirit could bear an expression, it would have been one that reflected his smug enjoyment of the situation; one that hid nefarious intentions. “Sit with me…or as best as I can sit. We have much to discuss.” The smith hesitated for a moment before shrugging. What choice did he have? He couldn’t leave.
The two spoke for hours, reminiscing of prosperous times and tragedies, of wars long lost to time. Though Marzan had much to share, in particular his torment after Nergal spirited him to the Underworld, the spirit before him had little of what came after his own death. He had lived in stasis for so very long, longer than even Marzan had been trapped in Ganzir.
“So all those years in the Underworld?” The spirit asked, crooking its ethereal featureless head.
“Thousands of years. Tortured me for the secrets of our forge. For the atavistic mysteries of mankind that separate us from the gods that created us.” He motioned, pointing his finger between himself and the spirit. “Though before that I was held hostage by Nergal, at least until he was supplanted.”
“That old bastard?” It laughed, “So what? You’re telling me the God of the Dead was killed in battle, replaced by his junior, who was then subsequently usurped, disembodied, and replaced by these Voidlords?”
Marzan nodded, grumbling under his breath. “These Voidlords were… are no joke. Do you remember Imeroth?”
The spirit remained silent for a moment, searching its broken memories. Memories it had stolen. It could vaguely recall a being with that name; a priest of Marduk and at one point the god’s champion. It simply nodded, keeping Marzan’s recollection going for as long as possible. Its instinct was to act, to leap on its prey and consume it just like it had all the others. It was so close now that it could practically taste the reunion; body and soul would be one at last.
“Beings imbued with the Void…with the power of nothingness. Unaspected Divinity. Imagine that?”
No imagination was required; the spirit did exactly that, rending Marzan’s psyche with its own claws. By now it had grown far too powerful to resist from other spirits coalesced into its own as a dark amalgamation. It ripped into his mind, desperately seeking the memories that it hungered for. And in that brief moment Marzan’s eyes went wide with shock, his mouth hung agape as if to fight back. Hand clutched at the hilt of his blade in self defense but it had happened to quickly; he collapsed at the seat of his forge.
V – EUHEMERIST
Unknown
Consumed by agonizing pain the sage’s eyes snapped open. Though he could see no difference between the void of darkness within the sarcophagus, eyes opened or closed. In spite of the pain, he was overwhelmed with a visceral joy unlike any he had felt before, in life or in his afterlife. It was his body; he twitched and squirmed within the coffin, slowly adjusting to his reclaimed physical form. It had taken nearly a year, countless brothers and sisters devoured for information that he so desperately sought.
The man clenched his fist, knuckles turned white as they cracked and snapped. He had not moved for thousands of years in this body, so each movement brought new sharp sensations of pain. But it was a pain that reaffirmed his being, his existence. Physical pain that belonged to his anatomy; and so with his immense strength behind a tightly bound fist, the man punched through six inches of solid enchanted granite. An explosion echoed through the burial chamber as dust and rubble blasted outwards, throwing the entire lid of the sarcophagus off.
The man sat up, his gaze shifting through the Crypts. Arrays of sarcophagi lined the pocket dimension, seemingly spreading out into infinity. But he knew the truth of the matter: there were no more than a few thousand here. Bodies separated from their souls, locked away deep in the afterlife for none to find. But he did; it was the smith that had the intelligence all along. Even now he could see the memory so vividly in his mind, as if he was there with Nergal himself, through Marzan’s own eyes…
“This is where they leave them?” A much younger, albeit still ancient, Marzan asked his jailor. He slowly trailed closely behind Nergal, God of the Dead.
“Yes. These are your brothers and sisters from the Golden and Silver Empires. Those who believed their time had come to ascend to the stars, unlike you.” The King of the Dead replied, cloaked in black robes, shrouding titanic relic armor befitting that of a warrior-king. He strode in between rows of dark granite ornate coffins. They were large and magnificent, but their size gave way to a secret: they were as much to keep others out as they were to keep what was inside within.
Marzan furrowed his brow, suspecting that Nergal already knew of his suspicions. Though he had no desire to anger his captor, he could not but help push the envelope. “Why? Why keep their spirits in the moon but leave their bodies locked away?”
Nergal offered no response. Yet his silence spoke volumes to the blacksmith.
Marzan grunted. “The least you could do is tell your captive such stories, since you’ve taken the time to show me where my fellow fallen Immortals now reside. You’ve even denied their spirits a proper afterlife.”
“Captive?” Nergal responded, turning to face the blacksmith. Beneath his hood blue flames ignited in rage at the suggestion, as if the very idea was antithetical and insulting to the very reasoning that Marzan was now within the Underworld. “A captive would not walk freely in my halls, would not be escorted by the very god that fashioned your soul from nothingness.” His perspective was warped in Marzan’s view. The very idea was contradictory, escorted but free to walk the halls of Irkalla.
Marzan knew the truth of the matter; his captivity was to deny Marduk and Enlil’s army proper armaments to fight against the divinities that allied with Nergal. A devastating civil war was brewing; for two thousand years the gods had retained a non-interventionist mandate. No longer.
Marzan did not take a step back. “It was just a question.” The smith reaffirmed, holding firm in the face of true divine power.
“Yes…I suppose so.” The flames subsided as Nergal pulled back, calmed now as war raged in the world above.
“An eternity of confinement. The gods feared our potential, brothers!” The man shouted into the void, as if speaking to the thousands of coffins that lined the Crypts. “A pity that Nergal’s enchantments waned over time, I was hoping to test my strength… But I cannot deny the feeling of satisfaction; body and soul reunited at last!” The man stood up from the coffin, now freed from spiritual and physical confinement. He looked down at both of his hands, now flesh and blood compared with the spiritual visage he had abandoned just moments ago. With a single flex of his power the Crypt began shaking, trembling the very structure of the dimension itself.
Unknown
Consumed by agonizing pain the sage’s eyes snapped open. Though he could see no difference between the void of darkness within the sarcophagus, eyes opened or closed. In spite of the pain, he was overwhelmed with a visceral joy unlike any he had felt before, in life or in his afterlife. It was his body; he twitched and squirmed within the coffin, slowly adjusting to his reclaimed physical form. It had taken nearly a year, countless brothers and sisters devoured for information that he so desperately sought.
The man clenched his fist, knuckles turned white as they cracked and snapped. He had not moved for thousands of years in this body, so each movement brought new sharp sensations of pain. But it was a pain that reaffirmed his being, his existence. Physical pain that belonged to his anatomy; and so with his immense strength behind a tightly bound fist, the man punched through six inches of solid enchanted granite. An explosion echoed through the burial chamber as dust and rubble blasted outwards, throwing the entire lid of the sarcophagus off.
The man sat up, his gaze shifting through the Crypts. Arrays of sarcophagi lined the pocket dimension, seemingly spreading out into infinity. But he knew the truth of the matter: there were no more than a few thousand here. Bodies separated from their souls, locked away deep in the afterlife for none to find. But he did; it was the smith that had the intelligence all along. Even now he could see the memory so vividly in his mind, as if he was there with Nergal himself, through Marzan’s own eyes…
“This is where they leave them?” A much younger, albeit still ancient, Marzan asked his jailor. He slowly trailed closely behind Nergal, God of the Dead.
“Yes. These are your brothers and sisters from the Golden and Silver Empires. Those who believed their time had come to ascend to the stars, unlike you.” The King of the Dead replied, cloaked in black robes, shrouding titanic relic armor befitting that of a warrior-king. He strode in between rows of dark granite ornate coffins. They were large and magnificent, but their size gave way to a secret: they were as much to keep others out as they were to keep what was inside within.
Marzan furrowed his brow, suspecting that Nergal already knew of his suspicions. Though he had no desire to anger his captor, he could not but help push the envelope. “Why? Why keep their spirits in the moon but leave their bodies locked away?”
Nergal offered no response. Yet his silence spoke volumes to the blacksmith.
Marzan grunted. “The least you could do is tell your captive such stories, since you’ve taken the time to show me where my fellow fallen Immortals now reside. You’ve even denied their spirits a proper afterlife.”
“Captive?” Nergal responded, turning to face the blacksmith. Beneath his hood blue flames ignited in rage at the suggestion, as if the very idea was antithetical and insulting to the very reasoning that Marzan was now within the Underworld. “A captive would not walk freely in my halls, would not be escorted by the very god that fashioned your soul from nothingness.” His perspective was warped in Marzan’s view. The very idea was contradictory, escorted but free to walk the halls of Irkalla.
Marzan knew the truth of the matter; his captivity was to deny Marduk and Enlil’s army proper armaments to fight against the divinities that allied with Nergal. A devastating civil war was brewing; for two thousand years the gods had retained a non-interventionist mandate. No longer.
Marzan did not take a step back. “It was just a question.” The smith reaffirmed, holding firm in the face of true divine power.
“Yes…I suppose so.” The flames subsided as Nergal pulled back, calmed now as war raged in the world above.
“An eternity of confinement. The gods feared our potential, brothers!” The man shouted into the void, as if speaking to the thousands of coffins that lined the Crypts. “A pity that Nergal’s enchantments waned over time, I was hoping to test my strength… But I cannot deny the feeling of satisfaction; body and soul reunited at last!” The man stood up from the coffin, now freed from spiritual and physical confinement. He looked down at both of his hands, now flesh and blood compared with the spiritual visage he had abandoned just moments ago. With a single flex of his power the Crypt began shaking, trembling the very structure of the dimension itself.
VI - THE FINAL DAYS OF BRONZE
Unknown
The man, clad in his silver heavy plate armor, sat in the middle of a small forest clearing; he rest upon a dead tree stump, meditating. His eyes were closed and to an unaware observer, would have appeared entirely alone. But before him, invisible to all others, an array of souls swirled around him like a small tornado. They shouted out to him, or perhaps at him, in a horrific chorus of emotion; sadness and grief, rage and hatred. Among them were famous individuals such as the Scholar, the Scribe, the Smith, and the Sailor. But even their names were lost by now, consumed in the man’s growing inferno of nihilistic ambition. But the man, still meditating, paid no attention to their cries. His mind was not only elsewhere, but at another point of time entirely.
He stood amidst soot and smoke, embers dancing in the air around him, atop towering ramparts of an ancient port city. Below him he watched as droves of civilians fled through the city’s gates, once built to protect them from threats outside its walls. But their attempt at escape was futile; what they ran from within the walls now was outside their gates. The danger was all around. The man observed now to the towers above the ramparts and watched as one exploded, collapsing down onto the cityscape below, crushing six homes and no doubt killing or wounding dozens of civilians.
The man leaped down from the walls, falling nearly forty feet to the ground. Though he landed with a distinct thud, still clad in his heavy plate, none of the fleeing civilians seemed to pay him any attention. It was as if he wasn’t even there in the first place. He looked up toward the sky, seeing only grey clouds, ashes, and embers filling what was once a beautiful night sky. Even stars fell from the heavens as meteors upon the planet, leaving behind craters and untold destruction.
The man opened his eyes, cutting his vision short. Suddenly, and without a single word, the harrowing chorus of souls was silenced.
“Something has changed in the east.” The man claimed calmly, heading tilting in the direction of Tobusekai. He stood up, heavy plate clacking as he picked up his rune blade and sheathed it on his back. He began to walk, ever so slowly, toward the forest again; his gait carrying with it the sound of heavy metal plate clanking as he walked.
“Going so soon? Did you not want to see more of the forest?” A second mysterious voice sounded from behind the treeline opposite of the man’s back. A voice that was distinctly feminine in nature but somewhat demented, as if a darkness crept up from deep within her mind and made itself known through nothing but her voice. In the darkness of the forest her figure could be barely seen, cloaked in shadow; her frame was lithe and feminine. Strands of golden hair dripped down past her shoulders above a dark shroud.
The man turned toward the voice for a moment, turning his head slightly as if to peer over his shoulder before turning it back toward his objective. Though he did not respond to her question, he made it clear he acknowledged her presence. “Soon I shall seize the reins of fate once more, my friends. And when I have, even the stars will be scorched in my conflagration.” She followed him quietly, moving through the brush and trees./font]
Unknown
The man, clad in his silver heavy plate armor, sat in the middle of a small forest clearing; he rest upon a dead tree stump, meditating. His eyes were closed and to an unaware observer, would have appeared entirely alone. But before him, invisible to all others, an array of souls swirled around him like a small tornado. They shouted out to him, or perhaps at him, in a horrific chorus of emotion; sadness and grief, rage and hatred. Among them were famous individuals such as the Scholar, the Scribe, the Smith, and the Sailor. But even their names were lost by now, consumed in the man’s growing inferno of nihilistic ambition. But the man, still meditating, paid no attention to their cries. His mind was not only elsewhere, but at another point of time entirely.
He stood amidst soot and smoke, embers dancing in the air around him, atop towering ramparts of an ancient port city. Below him he watched as droves of civilians fled through the city’s gates, once built to protect them from threats outside its walls. But their attempt at escape was futile; what they ran from within the walls now was outside their gates. The danger was all around. The man observed now to the towers above the ramparts and watched as one exploded, collapsing down onto the cityscape below, crushing six homes and no doubt killing or wounding dozens of civilians.
The man leaped down from the walls, falling nearly forty feet to the ground. Though he landed with a distinct thud, still clad in his heavy plate, none of the fleeing civilians seemed to pay him any attention. It was as if he wasn’t even there in the first place. He looked up toward the sky, seeing only grey clouds, ashes, and embers filling what was once a beautiful night sky. Even stars fell from the heavens as meteors upon the planet, leaving behind craters and untold destruction.
The man opened his eyes, cutting his vision short. Suddenly, and without a single word, the harrowing chorus of souls was silenced.
“Something has changed in the east.” The man claimed calmly, heading tilting in the direction of Tobusekai. He stood up, heavy plate clacking as he picked up his rune blade and sheathed it on his back. He began to walk, ever so slowly, toward the forest again; his gait carrying with it the sound of heavy metal plate clanking as he walked.
“Going so soon? Did you not want to see more of the forest?” A second mysterious voice sounded from behind the treeline opposite of the man’s back. A voice that was distinctly feminine in nature but somewhat demented, as if a darkness crept up from deep within her mind and made itself known through nothing but her voice. In the darkness of the forest her figure could be barely seen, cloaked in shadow; her frame was lithe and feminine. Strands of golden hair dripped down past her shoulders above a dark shroud.
The man turned toward the voice for a moment, turning his head slightly as if to peer over his shoulder before turning it back toward his objective. Though he did not respond to her question, he made it clear he acknowledged her presence. “Soon I shall seize the reins of fate once more, my friends. And when I have, even the stars will be scorched in my conflagration.” She followed him quietly, moving through the brush and trees./font]
- Status