Crossover Apotheosis (D&D x Berserk)
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Blasterbot
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[X] Mythic Path: White Wolf. The journey takes a turn, and through the eyes of another.
Conquest
Gladiator
Well-known member
Chapter 20: Conquest
"What is best in life? It's to crush your enemies, see them driven before you, and to hear the lamentations of their women!"
- Conan of Cimmeria
Conrad, loved more than anything else, the gluttonous appetites of mortals. Their hunger. Their drive towards self-destruction. It was unmatched by any other creature in the planes. It was through that primal instinct he drew power. He became greater for it.
A god.
At least that is what he thought. The truth was that a demon lord was but the mockery of one. All the power of a deity but none of the beauty. The regal and sublime perfection of it. They were positively disgusting instead, and did not have the favor of Ao.
They did despise him.
Their station was stolen. Not granted to them by the one and only. Not bequeathed or promised. No, it was simply taken. That is all they knew. They could only take. Never give.
What they brought with them was pestilence. The diseases that culled mortals, and which kept them weak. Vulnerable, if you would. Most of all, it made them susceptible to suggestion. The people were superstitious. They were easy to control.
Then the interloper came. That was the moment everything changed. Their paradise was being taken from them. The Higher Planes were intruding on one of their realms. They were all afraid, but they would never admit it.
All except for one.
Griffith.
Femto as they now called him. The youngest of them, but also the most alien. None of them, with the exception of Void himself, understood what his motives were. The precariousness of that situation made it impossible for any of them to trust him.
They had no doubt that Falcon of Light would take any opportunity to steal their territory. Capitalize on their domains. Draw in more souls for himself.
The greatest oddity of all was that he treated his subjects fairly. Mortal and immortal alike. Femto wasn't a fool. He knew a kingdom could not function as a tyranny. It needed to be precise. Evenhanded in execution most of all.
Femto was a good ruler, but a horrible person. He would never jeopardize his dream. That was the purpose behind all of this. The greatest kingdoms require the greatest rulers. He could not do that by catering to beasts.
The souls of all his subjects were drawn into the Abyss instead. It was a contract. Sanctity in life, but torture in death as fuel for his godhood. As kindling for the fire that was his divinity.
None of them knew this of course, and Griffith made sure none of them would. Ignorance is bliss, and the happier his people? The easier they were to control.
"What an incredible monster." Conrad murmurs. He was impressed. The false hope he had granted his slaves was delectable. He was as bad as any of them. It was because of this that Femto was feared. "I envy that falcon."
The mask he wore was flawless. A beautiful saint with the heart of a devil.
That was the problem. Femto was a devil in every way that mattered. He was no demon. He was a Devil Lord, if anything. The Nine Hells would have suited him better.
There was no chaos. Only law to his evil.
As Conrad continued his ruminations? He was only brought out of them when heard a cracking noise in the distance. In the primordial darkness of his realm? A doorway had opened.
The Chasm of Sorrow was under siege.
"Arlan Vorlesh has come--" No. It was not Arlan Vorlesh. "That cannot be!"
The person who led the army was another. A familiar face that the demon lord knew.
"The Black Swordsman?" No, he was The Black Swordsman no longer. His armor was ivory now, and the steel plate had gold etched into it. It had changed completely. The helmet having contorted into the countenance of a wolf, and then there were those gleaming rubies burning with a holy fire within it. Dragon Slayer itself had changed into something else. The great sword had become aureate. Parts of it engraved in that same dazzling gold as his armor, and near the handle, where the guard would have been if it had one, a crystal eye would occasionally blink. The ocular ruby belonging to Grunbeld. The blade a mixture of silver and gold, and the flat of it was no longer stained black. All of the filth washed away in resplendence.
The demon lord could feel his gaze. As far away as he was? The aura assaulted all of his divine senses. A god? How was that even possible!
"Conrad! I'm here for your head!"
The White Wolf brought Dragon Slayer down. The flames burning all that they touched. Anything that was consumed by them? Rendered into a capricious non-existence. That fire devoured history.
Almost as if anything it touched had never been born. Their past unwritten by flame. Cursing them to oblivion in the present. It was not a figure of speech, but an absurd reality. Anything his flames touched ceased to exist in the present. As they had no past that suggested they would even be at the appointed time.
The Monad would certainly like to have a word.
Aivu had taken roost in my royal chambers. The havoc dragon enjoying the presence of family after so many centuries. The problem was all of the snoring. It was loud enough that I couldn't sleep at all.
"I need to do something about that."
"Yes, sir!" The soldiers of the former Kushan Empire are encouraged by their general's enthusiasm. The White Swordsman loved what he was doing.
His ebony mane was bleached a stark ivory. Gleaming red eyes had replaced bronze orbs. A pair of fangs, that would make many question whether he was a vampire or another creature of the night, made his grin all the more fearsome. Those ears had become like knives. Almost like that of an elf. There was something ethereal about his appearance. Otherworldly.
Casca was beside him. The power of her goddess protecting her. Now as a paladin? Her blade was imbued with a holy rite. A Smite meant to purify evil. The demons before her practically melted when the edge of her sword touched them.
When her Guts had changed? The young woman was concerned at first, but that caution quickly disappeared when her lover took her to bed. That is when she knew that he was the same man. The love she felt was no different.
Guts had changed in some ways, but he was still the same person. The aura he now exuded reminded Casca of The Light of Valor. If perhaps a bit watered down. There was a divinity about him. A presence that soothed her, and brought ease to her soul.
"I will keep them company." The paladin had made her decision. "Go ahead. I will be waiting."
"..." Guts nods his head. He knew that this was his Casca. Not Elaine. His woman could handle herself. "Just make sure they earn their keep! Arlan's Way isn't a charity!"
"Don't worry! I will whip them into shape!" The young woman smiles at him. "If there are any stragglers? I will lash them myself!"
I was a bad influence on them.
Not Guts. Not The Black Swordsman, but that didn't fit anymore. Now it was The White Swordsman, and he could deny it no longer.
The mortal had ascended. He had reached apotheosis. This was a nightmare. Arlan Vorlesh was already a problem, but now they had to contend with this as well!
"I knew that he should have died that day!" That Eclipse was faulty. Everything about it was wrong. It was a premonition of what was to come. A signal. "Why did we spare any of them?"
The demon lord was terrified.
It was because of Femto. He wanted his dream. That babe inside of the whore? It was his ticket out of the Abyss. The fool had cursed them all! They were doomed now.
This was the end of The Godhand! All because of that upstart!
The demon lord hears a loud crash. The doorway to his antechambers smashed to pieces. A greater demon immolated by something. Then he heard a howl, and he knew that his death had come for him.
"Conrad! I am the end!" Guts had made short work of all the demons that stood in his way. They were nothing compared to a demon lord. Not even the greater demons. "Those faggot ass monsters didn't even leave a scratch on my armor! I hope you do better!"
"If I had known you would become this--"
"Shut up, you god damn monster!" Guts wasn't about to let the demon lord have any kind of say in this. "I didn't come here to hear you whine! I came here to hear you beg!"
Conrad grimaces in pain. The divine protection would have shielded him. It would have protected him from all things a mortal could throw at him... but this was no mortal.
Not anymore.
"I will not die a mewling child! I am a god!" Conrad struggles to even break the grip around his neck. "I will not beg!"
"A god?" Guts snorts. "Trust me, you are no god! You are just another dumb ass who thought having a lot of power made him untouchable!" The White Swordsman forces Conrad through a dozen walls, the castle around them falling apart, and eventually it explodes. The demon lord is sent hurdling out of his citadel. Which is engulfed in empyrean flames. Then just as quickly it disappears from the history books. The name of the citadel wiped from every record in this universe.
Conrad tries to remember it, but the name eludes him. He knows that it did have one, but that is all that he can recall. "How is this even possible?" The White Swordsman had erased it.
All that was left was the Chasm of Sorrow. This plane that had belonged to the demon lord. Soon it would share the same fate.
"I will not die like this! I will not die a coward!" Conrad begins to transform, and unleashes all of his power. The prayers of his devout transfiguring him into gluttony itself. Dozens of black holes appear around him, and they devour everything they touch. The demon lord throws them all at The White Swordsman.
Guts hefts Dragon Slayer over his shoulder, and swats them out of the air with his remaining hand. He didn't even need it for something this trivial. They are sent flying into outer space as he flicks them away one-by-one. One of the dark orbs even destroying the moon that orbited this planet. It simply disappears on contact. Eaten by whatever power spawned it.
The last black hole is crushed in the palm of The White Wolf's hand. Before being engulfed in flame. Along with the rest of the dark orbs that he had hurled into outer space. As the fire consumes them? The moon returns to where it once was. The multitude of events in history leading up to the destruction of it never occurring when they should have.
"T-This is just ridiculous! What is even going on?" Conrad's head aches as his memory constantly changes in order to accommodate for the rewriting of history.
The Wolf laughs at him. He was enjoying this. "I am just cheating." The White Swordsman wondered for a moment if the demon lord felt what he did whenever he fought The Knight Commander. "It must be horrible on the receiving end of it!"
One of the things his ascension had done was grant him an affinity for fire unlike any other. No resistance could defend against it. No immunity could protect anyone from it. The flames bypassed them all, and did so much more.
They ate time itself.
These celestial flames had come from Grunbeld. Who had ascended with him. He had become a Great Wyrm. A dragon. He was no longer an apostle. He was free of The Godhand at last.
"Allow me to relish this, Guts." The great sword spoke to him. "Let me join you!"
Guts grins. He gently touches the flat of his blade, and from it emerges the beast. A dragon whose scales were a dazzling gold! The moment he is summoned? He soars through the air, closing the distance between them, and bites into Conrad.
The demon lord screams in agony as the dragon disperses. Returning to the sword.
"Only for a few moments it seems." Grunbeld muses. It was something at least. He would remember the taste. The blood of a demon lord was exquisite. If just a bit revolting.
"Not bad." Guts cracks his neck. "My turn!" The Berserker Armor begins to glow, and that is when it is absorbed into the demi-god. The White Swordsman transforms. What replaced him was a dire wolf of grandiose proportions. Whose fur was the color of snow instead of the burnished ebony that belonged to his forebearer. He was the size of a mountain at least. Not unlike the wolf of myth he descended from.
Fenrir, his progenitor, had thought his pup would have an affinity for the cold. Just like he did. His father had been wrong. Guts was not like him. His fury burned hot, but...
"Achoo!" The moment the wolf sneezes? The demon lord completely loses sight of where he was. He was no longer on the planet. He looked down towards the ground. There was no ground.
There was a galaxy instead. A swirling mass of stars.
The White Swordsman had blown him countless light-years away without even trying.
"Air." All hope had been lost. Conrad couldn't fight this. "It was just air!"
"That's right." The voice booms throughout the cosmos. "Simple, but I guess it fits." He had wanted revenge, but he sought freedom. He wanted to live, and with Casca by his side. He wanted a family.
He had his friends. He had his brother. He had his woman.
The White Swordsman was close to achieving his dream. All that stood in the way of that? It was The Godhand. They need only be destroyed for him to be free!
At last.
"No more sleepless nights. No more fighting alone." The tears were true, but they were not out of grief or for what was lost. What he felt was joy. Reassurance in what he had found.
Hope.
A future when before he had nothing. His struggle was over.
This was his counterattack!
"I am the wind."
He heard the howl in the wind. He felt the death of one of his fellows, and he knew in that moment who was responsible.
It was not Arlan Vorlesh. It was not I.
"Guts." He speaks the name. "It has been a while."
The White Swordsman walked the same path, but he did not betray anyone to do it.
There it was again. The jealously from before. He had felt it when he was mortal. The White Swordsman had made him remember. When before there was nothing but apathy.
Griffith clutches his chest. His heart was beating. He was in pain. That child wanted to see them.
"This is not the time for it." He whispers to the creature. "I have a people." An empire. A land to call his own. His dream. It was all that mattered to him. "Just leave me be..."
He didn't want to remember these feelings. He didn't want to have them at all. It was why he became a demon lord. He had to throw them away to embrace his ambition.
Now he was forced to live as a mortal through this vessel. This body that was not his. He knew the feelings were not his own. They couldn't be his!
Then that could only mean that the child was beginning to wake up. If that happened who would rule? Surely not these apostles. They would eat and devour the people in a heartbeat if he did not stop them.
"My liege. Conrad has fallen. The..." The apostle tries to remember the name, but he could not. "...plane he ruled over is gone. Along with all the demons that served him." That was the best he could do.
"I know." Femto turns towards his servant. "I have to prepare." He walks towards his throne. Leaning against it was a glorious long-sword. A radiant blade glowing in the dark. Illuminating every distant shadow. A holy weapon that no demon dare touch.
Lest they be banished to the depths of the Abyss. Never to see the splendor of it again. Oh, how they coveted it. How they desired to violate something as sacred as this sword.
Griffith lifted the blade by the handle. When it would have burnt any other demon lord to ash.
"Radiance." He whispers to the blade. "I need your help."
The child had a purity to him. A great one that made him worthy of it.
Griffith, most certainly, was not.
[] Another demon lord is dead. The Godhand stands as three. I must assess the situation in Arlan's Way, and speak with Guts.
[] Another demon lord is dead. The Godhand stands as three. I must speak to Iomedae. My condition has worsened with the death of another demon lord. Perhaps she knows something about it?
"What is best in life? It's to crush your enemies, see them driven before you, and to hear the lamentations of their women!"
- Conan of Cimmeria
Conrad, loved more than anything else, the gluttonous appetites of mortals. Their hunger. Their drive towards self-destruction. It was unmatched by any other creature in the planes. It was through that primal instinct he drew power. He became greater for it.
A god.
At least that is what he thought. The truth was that a demon lord was but the mockery of one. All the power of a deity but none of the beauty. The regal and sublime perfection of it. They were positively disgusting instead, and did not have the favor of Ao.
They did despise him.
Their station was stolen. Not granted to them by the one and only. Not bequeathed or promised. No, it was simply taken. That is all they knew. They could only take. Never give.
What they brought with them was pestilence. The diseases that culled mortals, and which kept them weak. Vulnerable, if you would. Most of all, it made them susceptible to suggestion. The people were superstitious. They were easy to control.
Then the interloper came. That was the moment everything changed. Their paradise was being taken from them. The Higher Planes were intruding on one of their realms. They were all afraid, but they would never admit it.
All except for one.
Griffith.
Femto as they now called him. The youngest of them, but also the most alien. None of them, with the exception of Void himself, understood what his motives were. The precariousness of that situation made it impossible for any of them to trust him.
They had no doubt that Falcon of Light would take any opportunity to steal their territory. Capitalize on their domains. Draw in more souls for himself.
The greatest oddity of all was that he treated his subjects fairly. Mortal and immortal alike. Femto wasn't a fool. He knew a kingdom could not function as a tyranny. It needed to be precise. Evenhanded in execution most of all.
Femto was a good ruler, but a horrible person. He would never jeopardize his dream. That was the purpose behind all of this. The greatest kingdoms require the greatest rulers. He could not do that by catering to beasts.
The souls of all his subjects were drawn into the Abyss instead. It was a contract. Sanctity in life, but torture in death as fuel for his godhood. As kindling for the fire that was his divinity.
None of them knew this of course, and Griffith made sure none of them would. Ignorance is bliss, and the happier his people? The easier they were to control.
"What an incredible monster." Conrad murmurs. He was impressed. The false hope he had granted his slaves was delectable. He was as bad as any of them. It was because of this that Femto was feared. "I envy that falcon."
The mask he wore was flawless. A beautiful saint with the heart of a devil.
That was the problem. Femto was a devil in every way that mattered. He was no demon. He was a Devil Lord, if anything. The Nine Hells would have suited him better.
There was no chaos. Only law to his evil.
As Conrad continued his ruminations? He was only brought out of them when heard a cracking noise in the distance. In the primordial darkness of his realm? A doorway had opened.
The Chasm of Sorrow was under siege.
"Arlan Vorlesh has come--" No. It was not Arlan Vorlesh. "That cannot be!"
The person who led the army was another. A familiar face that the demon lord knew.
"The Black Swordsman?" No, he was The Black Swordsman no longer. His armor was ivory now, and the steel plate had gold etched into it. It had changed completely. The helmet having contorted into the countenance of a wolf, and then there were those gleaming rubies burning with a holy fire within it. Dragon Slayer itself had changed into something else. The great sword had become aureate. Parts of it engraved in that same dazzling gold as his armor, and near the handle, where the guard would have been if it had one, a crystal eye would occasionally blink. The ocular ruby belonging to Grunbeld. The blade a mixture of silver and gold, and the flat of it was no longer stained black. All of the filth washed away in resplendence.
The demon lord could feel his gaze. As far away as he was? The aura assaulted all of his divine senses. A god? How was that even possible!
"Conrad! I'm here for your head!"
The White Wolf brought Dragon Slayer down. The flames burning all that they touched. Anything that was consumed by them? Rendered into a capricious non-existence. That fire devoured history.
Almost as if anything it touched had never been born. Their past unwritten by flame. Cursing them to oblivion in the present. It was not a figure of speech, but an absurd reality. Anything his flames touched ceased to exist in the present. As they had no past that suggested they would even be at the appointed time.
The Monad would certainly like to have a word.
<<X>>
"It is nice to have a break." I take a seat, and for once since I have arrived here, just relax. I was confident in Guts, and his ability to handle a demon lord now. He was nearly as powerful as I was in my prime. "Unusual but it's refreshing, I suppose."
Aivu had taken roost in my royal chambers. The havoc dragon enjoying the presence of family after so many centuries. The problem was all of the snoring. It was loud enough that I couldn't sleep at all.
"I need to do something about that."
<<X>>
"You lazy fucking whoresons! I want each of you to kill a hundred apostles! No exceptions! If I see any hesitation? That will be latrine duty for the lot of you!" The White Wolf doesn't even bother with Dragon Slayer. He grabs an apostle, and tears him in half with his bare hands.
"Yes, sir!" The soldiers of the former Kushan Empire are encouraged by their general's enthusiasm. The White Swordsman loved what he was doing.
His ebony mane was bleached a stark ivory. Gleaming red eyes had replaced bronze orbs. A pair of fangs, that would make many question whether he was a vampire or another creature of the night, made his grin all the more fearsome. Those ears had become like knives. Almost like that of an elf. There was something ethereal about his appearance. Otherworldly.
Casca was beside him. The power of her goddess protecting her. Now as a paladin? Her blade was imbued with a holy rite. A Smite meant to purify evil. The demons before her practically melted when the edge of her sword touched them.
When her Guts had changed? The young woman was concerned at first, but that caution quickly disappeared when her lover took her to bed. That is when she knew that he was the same man. The love she felt was no different.
Guts had changed in some ways, but he was still the same person. The aura he now exuded reminded Casca of The Light of Valor. If perhaps a bit watered down. There was a divinity about him. A presence that soothed her, and brought ease to her soul.
"I will keep them company." The paladin had made her decision. "Go ahead. I will be waiting."
"..." Guts nods his head. He knew that this was his Casca. Not Elaine. His woman could handle herself. "Just make sure they earn their keep! Arlan's Way isn't a charity!"
"Don't worry! I will whip them into shape!" The young woman smiles at him. "If there are any stragglers? I will lash them myself!"
I was a bad influence on them.
<<X>>
Conrad was losing whatever was left of his composure. This was not how he imagined he would die. At the very least he had hoped it would be at the hand of one of his brothers or sisters, or maybe even Arlan Vorlesh.
Not Guts. Not The Black Swordsman, but that didn't fit anymore. Now it was The White Swordsman, and he could deny it no longer.
The mortal had ascended. He had reached apotheosis. This was a nightmare. Arlan Vorlesh was already a problem, but now they had to contend with this as well!
"I knew that he should have died that day!" That Eclipse was faulty. Everything about it was wrong. It was a premonition of what was to come. A signal. "Why did we spare any of them?"
The demon lord was terrified.
It was because of Femto. He wanted his dream. That babe inside of the whore? It was his ticket out of the Abyss. The fool had cursed them all! They were doomed now.
This was the end of The Godhand! All because of that upstart!
The demon lord hears a loud crash. The doorway to his antechambers smashed to pieces. A greater demon immolated by something. Then he heard a howl, and he knew that his death had come for him.
"Conrad! I am the end!" Guts had made short work of all the demons that stood in his way. They were nothing compared to a demon lord. Not even the greater demons. "Those faggot ass monsters didn't even leave a scratch on my armor! I hope you do better!"
"If I had known you would become this--"
"Shut up, you god damn monster!" Guts wasn't about to let the demon lord have any kind of say in this. "I didn't come here to hear you whine! I came here to hear you beg!"
Conrad grimaces in pain. The divine protection would have shielded him. It would have protected him from all things a mortal could throw at him... but this was no mortal.
Not anymore.
"I will not die a mewling child! I am a god!" Conrad struggles to even break the grip around his neck. "I will not beg!"
"A god?" Guts snorts. "Trust me, you are no god! You are just another dumb ass who thought having a lot of power made him untouchable!" The White Swordsman forces Conrad through a dozen walls, the castle around them falling apart, and eventually it explodes. The demon lord is sent hurdling out of his citadel. Which is engulfed in empyrean flames. Then just as quickly it disappears from the history books. The name of the citadel wiped from every record in this universe.
Conrad tries to remember it, but the name eludes him. He knows that it did have one, but that is all that he can recall. "How is this even possible?" The White Swordsman had erased it.
All that was left was the Chasm of Sorrow. This plane that had belonged to the demon lord. Soon it would share the same fate.
"I will not die like this! I will not die a coward!" Conrad begins to transform, and unleashes all of his power. The prayers of his devout transfiguring him into gluttony itself. Dozens of black holes appear around him, and they devour everything they touch. The demon lord throws them all at The White Swordsman.
Guts hefts Dragon Slayer over his shoulder, and swats them out of the air with his remaining hand. He didn't even need it for something this trivial. They are sent flying into outer space as he flicks them away one-by-one. One of the dark orbs even destroying the moon that orbited this planet. It simply disappears on contact. Eaten by whatever power spawned it.
The last black hole is crushed in the palm of The White Wolf's hand. Before being engulfed in flame. Along with the rest of the dark orbs that he had hurled into outer space. As the fire consumes them? The moon returns to where it once was. The multitude of events in history leading up to the destruction of it never occurring when they should have.
"T-This is just ridiculous! What is even going on?" Conrad's head aches as his memory constantly changes in order to accommodate for the rewriting of history.
The Wolf laughs at him. He was enjoying this. "I am just cheating." The White Swordsman wondered for a moment if the demon lord felt what he did whenever he fought The Knight Commander. "It must be horrible on the receiving end of it!"
One of the things his ascension had done was grant him an affinity for fire unlike any other. No resistance could defend against it. No immunity could protect anyone from it. The flames bypassed them all, and did so much more.
They ate time itself.
These celestial flames had come from Grunbeld. Who had ascended with him. He had become a Great Wyrm. A dragon. He was no longer an apostle. He was free of The Godhand at last.
"Allow me to relish this, Guts." The great sword spoke to him. "Let me join you!"
Guts grins. He gently touches the flat of his blade, and from it emerges the beast. A dragon whose scales were a dazzling gold! The moment he is summoned? He soars through the air, closing the distance between them, and bites into Conrad.
The demon lord screams in agony as the dragon disperses. Returning to the sword.
"Only for a few moments it seems." Grunbeld muses. It was something at least. He would remember the taste. The blood of a demon lord was exquisite. If just a bit revolting.
"Not bad." Guts cracks his neck. "My turn!" The Berserker Armor begins to glow, and that is when it is absorbed into the demi-god. The White Swordsman transforms. What replaced him was a dire wolf of grandiose proportions. Whose fur was the color of snow instead of the burnished ebony that belonged to his forebearer. He was the size of a mountain at least. Not unlike the wolf of myth he descended from.
Fenrir, his progenitor, had thought his pup would have an affinity for the cold. Just like he did. His father had been wrong. Guts was not like him. His fury burned hot, but...
"Achoo!" The moment the wolf sneezes? The demon lord completely loses sight of where he was. He was no longer on the planet. He looked down towards the ground. There was no ground.
There was a galaxy instead. A swirling mass of stars.
The White Swordsman had blown him countless light-years away without even trying.
"Air." All hope had been lost. Conrad couldn't fight this. "It was just air!"
"That's right." The voice booms throughout the cosmos. "Simple, but I guess it fits." He had wanted revenge, but he sought freedom. He wanted to live, and with Casca by his side. He wanted a family.
He had his friends. He had his brother. He had his woman.
The White Swordsman was close to achieving his dream. All that stood in the way of that? It was The Godhand. They need only be destroyed for him to be free!
At last.
"No more sleepless nights. No more fighting alone." The tears were true, but they were not out of grief or for what was lost. What he felt was joy. Reassurance in what he had found.
Hope.
A future when before he had nothing. His struggle was over.
This was his counterattack!
"I am the wind."
<<X>>
Griffith could feel it. Everything was changing. His kingdom would not last. In every future he saw the wolf. When before it was a hapless and rabid dog? It was now a regal beast. A great and towering mountain. Whose peak could not be reached.
He heard the howl in the wind. He felt the death of one of his fellows, and he knew in that moment who was responsible.
It was not Arlan Vorlesh. It was not I.
"Guts." He speaks the name. "It has been a while."
The White Swordsman walked the same path, but he did not betray anyone to do it.
There it was again. The jealously from before. He had felt it when he was mortal. The White Swordsman had made him remember. When before there was nothing but apathy.
Griffith clutches his chest. His heart was beating. He was in pain. That child wanted to see them.
"This is not the time for it." He whispers to the creature. "I have a people." An empire. A land to call his own. His dream. It was all that mattered to him. "Just leave me be..."
He didn't want to remember these feelings. He didn't want to have them at all. It was why he became a demon lord. He had to throw them away to embrace his ambition.
Now he was forced to live as a mortal through this vessel. This body that was not his. He knew the feelings were not his own. They couldn't be his!
Then that could only mean that the child was beginning to wake up. If that happened who would rule? Surely not these apostles. They would eat and devour the people in a heartbeat if he did not stop them.
"My liege. Conrad has fallen. The..." The apostle tries to remember the name, but he could not. "...plane he ruled over is gone. Along with all the demons that served him." That was the best he could do.
"I know." Femto turns towards his servant. "I have to prepare." He walks towards his throne. Leaning against it was a glorious long-sword. A radiant blade glowing in the dark. Illuminating every distant shadow. A holy weapon that no demon dare touch.
Lest they be banished to the depths of the Abyss. Never to see the splendor of it again. Oh, how they coveted it. How they desired to violate something as sacred as this sword.
Griffith lifted the blade by the handle. When it would have burnt any other demon lord to ash.
"Radiance." He whispers to the blade. "I need your help."
The child had a purity to him. A great one that made him worthy of it.
Griffith, most certainly, was not.
[] Another demon lord is dead. The Godhand stands as three. I must assess the situation in Arlan's Way, and speak with Guts.
[] Another demon lord is dead. The Godhand stands as three. I must speak to Iomedae. My condition has worsened with the death of another demon lord. Perhaps she knows something about it?
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Blasterbot
Well-known member
[X] Another demon lord is dead. The Godhand stands as three. I must speak to Iomedae. My condition has worsened with the death of another demon lord. Perhaps she knows something about it?
Revelation in the Dark
Gladiator
Well-known member
Chapter 21: Revelation in the Dark
"Great stories remain to be told in this era but they are not the tales of gods and god-like beings. They are the tales of mortal heroes, taking a stand to preserve the world they love."
- The Watcher
The pain was excruciating. It was everything I knew in that moment. There was nothing else that mattered. It invaded everything that I was. No, not even my beloved Iomedae held fast against it. The Inheritor had been banished from my soul. Another stitching around my spirit began to come undone. There were only four that remained.
The three remaining members of The Godhand, and of course their master. The Heart of Darkness. Once they were all gone what would happen to me?
I use everything that I am just to leave my throne. I begin to move forward towards the balcony. I wanted to see Arlan's Way. I wanted to see my city. The people I had saved. The crusaders who swore themselves into my service. Those things that I loved.
I spew bile with every effort. The blood flowing from every orifice. It began to evaporate. The mist was dyed crimson. The marrow in my bones disintegrating, all of my muscles atrophying, and every artery I had beginning to clog with a viscous slime.
I quickly cast the major hex Regenerative Sinew on myself, and the damage is dealt with... but not quickly enough. I cast Heal on top of that. I catch myself as I collapse onto the railing. The sounds of the city beneath my balcony drowning out my curse. The world becoming clear again.
It would only be a temporary solution. I had weakened once more.
"A price for everything..." I murmur to myself. "No victory can be achieved without it."
"This is too much, Arlan!" The shadow is by my side. He always will be. "This is destroying you!" Caelum Vorlesh sounded genuinely worried.
"It's fine. I just need to rest." I nod my head. Yeah, that is all that I needed. That, and the embrace of my goddess. "I will make it. I need to focus." I wipe my face with my robes. They were drenched red. "I need to last."
The shadow is annoyed by that resignation. I knew my death was coming. I didn't want to stop it. Just prolong the inevitable. What I needed was to be able for these people. They need their Knight Commander.
After that, I can rest.
"This death will be the last, Arlan! There will be no afterlife!" The soul I had would disappear. There would be nothing.
Oblivion.
The absence of all things. A cessation of everything that I am. Nothing would be preserved. I would not go to the Higher Planes. Not like I was promised. The only thing that would remain would be the people I left behind.
The memories I had given them. The hope I had bequeathed them.
That would be enough.
"It isn't!" The necromancer is furious. "It is not enough, Arlan!"
That brother of mine wanted me to live.
"..." I do not have the energy to argue. I faint as I lose consciousness. This darkness would be all that I knew. It would be my tomorrow, but it would not be my today.
I had damned myself.
Just as I had instructed her.
"There is always a catch." The noble heiress shakes her head. That is when she begins to change my bandages. "There has to be someone you can ask for help!" The Regenerative Sinew continued to work.
"I cannot." I did not want them to worry. "They will sleep peacefully not knowing." It was better that way.
"There is a goddess who loves you, Arlan!" The witch in training was annoyed. I had all these blessings, but I did not take advantage of any of them. The girl had to wonder whether it was pride or just plain foolishness. "Ask her!"
Her hands clenched tightly into fists. Just as burned as they always were. The bandages wrapped tightly to hide her scars.
I gently grab them.
"This is my curse. I thought you would understand." I get back up, and look directly into her eyes. The gaze I had pierced into her like a spear.
I had sworn her to secrecy. If she betrayed my confidence? How could she forgive herself? I was her master.
I was the person who changed everything for her. Not even Guts had managed the same...
"I don't want to lose you." The young woman did not speak as my apprentice in that moment, but as a friend. "I would not know what I would do without you, and Serpico wouldn't either." Her brother had become one of my best crusaders. Only second to both Regill and Guts.
"I have taught you everything, Farnese." I smile at her. "There are no more surprises."
"There are! There always are surprises!" The young woman is indignant. I had showed her a world unlike any other. "If we are to face them? Arlan Vorlesh must live!"
"No. That's a promise I can't make." I turn away from her. "I will make it so that even if I die? The Sixth Crusade will live on." That is the one assurance I can grant them.
The witch had a look about her that illustrated just how frustrated she was. That obstinacy of mine was beginning to grate on her nerves.
"If you don't tell her? I will!" Farnese marches out of my bedroom. The door slams shut behind her.
"No, wait! Stop Farnese!" I fall out of my bed as I try to chase after her. Everything failing me as my face hits the ground. "I am giving you an order! Farnese!"
What impudence! I had to get my Belt of Discipline.
"Don't make me tan your hide!" I crawl towards the door. If only my limbs actually worked...
"I think she would enjoy that anyway. That girl is a freak." The shadow chooses that moment to reappear. The wraith chuckling at my misfortune.
"There is nothing anyone can do." I grumble. "This feeling... it's not something that can be bested." I was certain of nothing else in my life except for this. This was inevitable more than anything else.
"I don't understand why." The specter sounds annoyed. "The Arlan Vorlesh I know makes his own destiny. Why are you just accepting this?" Caelum Vorlesh takes on a more familiar appearance.
It was how he looked centuries ago, and before he had died. He looked nothing like me. I had inherited the physical features of Areelu Vorlesh. Whereas my brother took after the patriarch of our family.
He might have been a wizard, but he looked more like a barbarian. He was built like a body builder, and had scars everywhere. It was hard to imagine that he had a preference for magic. Just like I did.
What stories I heard of the patriarch were that he hailed from a distant land, and that he worshiped a foreign god by the name of Crom. He had loved my mother, and gave her a son. Then he left for lands unknown.
Areelu Vorlesh was certain things would have been different if he had stayed. That Caelum Vorlesh would have lived. He might have even taken to the blade instead, and in many ways he did despite the influence of the witch.
I had no father. In essence, I was a magical construct. Conjured from absolutely nothing, and based on Areelu Vorlesh. I was more along the lines of her clone. The anomaly was in that I was male. That was the first time I had defied fate.
Then I became real. That day in Kenabres?
A miracle had transpired. One of my own making. I think that was when I drew the attention of many. The Godclaw in particular had a vested interest in my adventures, but unlike The Godhand, they were all mostly benevolent. The exception being Asmodeus, but even he held no animosity. No, he simply wanted a general to lead his armies. I was the perfect candidate.
I held many suspicions about him. The Blood War...
He didn't want it to end. He liked it just the way it was. Why exactly did he conspire against his own? I had many theories, but the most obvious one? It was that he had competition in the Nine Hells, and he needed them distracted by each other.
Asmodeus was comfortable where he was. Happy even. A warmonger was just what he needed to keep The Blood War going forever, and if it did stay that way? The rest of the realms would be secure in their stage. This theater called life. Safe even.
Everything where it should be, and shall always be.
"Ao." It had to be. The gods were his pawns in the end. I wouldn't be surprised if Asmodeus answered directly to him. As malevolent as The Lord of Darkness was? He was no fool. He knew his place.
The Overdeity could squash them all, but he was a distant figure. Most of all he was vague. Nondescript. Incomprehensible in many ways.
My brother hated him. I was merely curious.
I wanted to understand the plan. The Grand Design he had for all of us.
Perhaps even for myself.
"Ao?" The specter is outraged. "This is his doing?" He clenches his hands.
"Perhaps." I had the inkling of it. An authority had intruded into this conflict. It was not just The Heart of Darkness. "I trust this one."
There was no plot. No machination engineered to destroy us. Thus there was no point in fighting against this influence. Whatever it may be.
"Why?" The wraith just couldn't understand it. "Why do you have faith?"
"I'm tired." I begin. "I want to believe. Not because I worship any of them, but because I want to believe that things are happening for a reason. A purpose. I do not believe in something like chaos. I believe in order." There were no coincidences.
There never were any.
"Always your own person, Arlan..." I had inherited the countenance of our mother, but nothing else from any of them. "I just wish things were different." That I listened to him, but...
I am Arlan Vorlesh. No more, no less. The same as always.
I am not my past. I am not my family.
I am just The Knight Commander.
It was not something that a deity just overlooks. The Inheritor sensed it immediately, but she wanted to pretend the problem wasn't there. That her beloved was just exhausted from his campaigns against the Abyss.
That I would prevail. Just as I always did.
That is when everything began to unravel. Iomedae made use of her station, and looked into it. What she discovered horrified her. I had truly died that day when I cast myself into The Worldwound, but that was not all. It was a gross oversimplification. My soul had been fragmented throughout the six-hundred and sixty-six layers of the Abyss. I had been lost.
No afterlife. No peace for the person who freed Golarion. Only aimless wandering for a broken soul. Perhaps being cast into the Fugue Plane would have been kinder.
At least I could be found in that case. That was not the case here. Someone would have to traverse every layer of the Abyss just to reconstruct my being. A daunting task even for the most powerful of deities.
The savior cursed to an eternity of anguish. I had to laugh at that. A curse? No! This was a blessing.
"Perfect. I can wage my war in the Abyss forever!" All layers of the Abyss would know the terror of Arlan Vorlesh.
"Are you completely mad?" The goddess was distraught. "Did you not hear what I just said, Arlan?" I would be lost to them all.
"I love this war, Iomedae. I have lived for it." I could feel it. A sense of euphoria. This was just as it should be. The sensation was indescribable, but I quickly recognized it.
Joyous anticipation. I was starting to remember. I had been waging war for centuries before I had returned. In so many planes of the Abyss! Under the guise of countless heroes...
The demons were being routed. They could not understand what was going on.
They had planned this with The Heart of Darkness to expel me from the Abyss. They were losing against all of my avatars. I had almost succeeded in destroying them all.
"They are afraid of me, Iomedae." I smile at her. "I am their executioner. Their death." I knew my purpose.
The one Ao saw fit to grant me, and in that moment I could feel it. The presence of that entity everywhere. It did not matter where or when it was. Ao was in everything that existed.
He had granted my wish.
"Thank you, my friend."
No truer one than I had ever known.
In the wind I could hear a whisper. A confirmation of what I already knew.
"Do as thou wilt, Knight Commander. I know ye. Thy joy derived from the pain of demons, and the yearning for victory against the whole lot of them." The Hidden One ever present. "I may not have created thou, but I revel in what you are. Be as yourself in the worst of places, and things will be just as they should be."
I cry. Purpose.
I had a purpose.
"As you say, Ao. As you say."
This was a glorious day!
[] I had made my peace. There was nothing that could stop me. This pain a gift. I had unlocked greater power for it. As a piece of my soul breaks away, and is scattered to the Abyss? I gain a new ability. Legendary Feature: The Hero of Many Faces. I can summon the heroes I lived as in the Abyss to aid me in battle. An army in of myself. Who once almost routed the Abyss. This army can be summoned twice per rest. In order to turn the tide of any desperate battle.
[] I had made my peace. There was nothing that could stop me. This pain a gift. I had unlocked greater power for it. As a piece of my soul breaks away, and is scattered to the Abyss? I gain a new ability. Legendary Feature: The Destroyer of Fate. I can now roll an automatic critical success once per rest. No matter the advantages or disadvantages, or extenuating circumstances. A critical success is no longer indicative of what is the best possible outcome in any given situation. It is now indicative of the best possible outcome period. No matter how implausible or patently insane.
"Great stories remain to be told in this era but they are not the tales of gods and god-like beings. They are the tales of mortal heroes, taking a stand to preserve the world they love."
- The Watcher
The pain was excruciating. It was everything I knew in that moment. There was nothing else that mattered. It invaded everything that I was. No, not even my beloved Iomedae held fast against it. The Inheritor had been banished from my soul. Another stitching around my spirit began to come undone. There were only four that remained.
The three remaining members of The Godhand, and of course their master. The Heart of Darkness. Once they were all gone what would happen to me?
I use everything that I am just to leave my throne. I begin to move forward towards the balcony. I wanted to see Arlan's Way. I wanted to see my city. The people I had saved. The crusaders who swore themselves into my service. Those things that I loved.
I spew bile with every effort. The blood flowing from every orifice. It began to evaporate. The mist was dyed crimson. The marrow in my bones disintegrating, all of my muscles atrophying, and every artery I had beginning to clog with a viscous slime.
I quickly cast the major hex Regenerative Sinew on myself, and the damage is dealt with... but not quickly enough. I cast Heal on top of that. I catch myself as I collapse onto the railing. The sounds of the city beneath my balcony drowning out my curse. The world becoming clear again.
It would only be a temporary solution. I had weakened once more.
"A price for everything..." I murmur to myself. "No victory can be achieved without it."
"This is too much, Arlan!" The shadow is by my side. He always will be. "This is destroying you!" Caelum Vorlesh sounded genuinely worried.
"It's fine. I just need to rest." I nod my head. Yeah, that is all that I needed. That, and the embrace of my goddess. "I will make it. I need to focus." I wipe my face with my robes. They were drenched red. "I need to last."
The shadow is annoyed by that resignation. I knew my death was coming. I didn't want to stop it. Just prolong the inevitable. What I needed was to be able for these people. They need their Knight Commander.
After that, I can rest.
"This death will be the last, Arlan! There will be no afterlife!" The soul I had would disappear. There would be nothing.
Oblivion.
The absence of all things. A cessation of everything that I am. Nothing would be preserved. I would not go to the Higher Planes. Not like I was promised. The only thing that would remain would be the people I left behind.
The memories I had given them. The hope I had bequeathed them.
That would be enough.
"It isn't!" The necromancer is furious. "It is not enough, Arlan!"
That brother of mine wanted me to live.
"..." I do not have the energy to argue. I faint as I lose consciousness. This darkness would be all that I knew. It would be my tomorrow, but it would not be my today.
I had damned myself.
<<X>>
When I begin to wake? I could feel Farnese by my bedside. It was my apprentice who found my unconscious body. The young woman tended to my wounds. Then destroyed my robes. Any evidence of my malady concealed.
Just as I had instructed her.
"There is always a catch." The noble heiress shakes her head. That is when she begins to change my bandages. "There has to be someone you can ask for help!" The Regenerative Sinew continued to work.
"I cannot." I did not want them to worry. "They will sleep peacefully not knowing." It was better that way.
"There is a goddess who loves you, Arlan!" The witch in training was annoyed. I had all these blessings, but I did not take advantage of any of them. The girl had to wonder whether it was pride or just plain foolishness. "Ask her!"
Her hands clenched tightly into fists. Just as burned as they always were. The bandages wrapped tightly to hide her scars.
I gently grab them.
"This is my curse. I thought you would understand." I get back up, and look directly into her eyes. The gaze I had pierced into her like a spear.
I had sworn her to secrecy. If she betrayed my confidence? How could she forgive herself? I was her master.
I was the person who changed everything for her. Not even Guts had managed the same...
"I don't want to lose you." The young woman did not speak as my apprentice in that moment, but as a friend. "I would not know what I would do without you, and Serpico wouldn't either." Her brother had become one of my best crusaders. Only second to both Regill and Guts.
"I have taught you everything, Farnese." I smile at her. "There are no more surprises."
"There are! There always are surprises!" The young woman is indignant. I had showed her a world unlike any other. "If we are to face them? Arlan Vorlesh must live!"
"No. That's a promise I can't make." I turn away from her. "I will make it so that even if I die? The Sixth Crusade will live on." That is the one assurance I can grant them.
The witch had a look about her that illustrated just how frustrated she was. That obstinacy of mine was beginning to grate on her nerves.
"If you don't tell her? I will!" Farnese marches out of my bedroom. The door slams shut behind her.
"No, wait! Stop Farnese!" I fall out of my bed as I try to chase after her. Everything failing me as my face hits the ground. "I am giving you an order! Farnese!"
What impudence! I had to get my Belt of Discipline.
"Don't make me tan your hide!" I crawl towards the door. If only my limbs actually worked...
"I think she would enjoy that anyway. That girl is a freak." The shadow chooses that moment to reappear. The wraith chuckling at my misfortune.
"There is nothing anyone can do." I grumble. "This feeling... it's not something that can be bested." I was certain of nothing else in my life except for this. This was inevitable more than anything else.
"I don't understand why." The specter sounds annoyed. "The Arlan Vorlesh I know makes his own destiny. Why are you just accepting this?" Caelum Vorlesh takes on a more familiar appearance.
It was how he looked centuries ago, and before he had died. He looked nothing like me. I had inherited the physical features of Areelu Vorlesh. Whereas my brother took after the patriarch of our family.
He might have been a wizard, but he looked more like a barbarian. He was built like a body builder, and had scars everywhere. It was hard to imagine that he had a preference for magic. Just like I did.
What stories I heard of the patriarch were that he hailed from a distant land, and that he worshiped a foreign god by the name of Crom. He had loved my mother, and gave her a son. Then he left for lands unknown.
Areelu Vorlesh was certain things would have been different if he had stayed. That Caelum Vorlesh would have lived. He might have even taken to the blade instead, and in many ways he did despite the influence of the witch.
I had no father. In essence, I was a magical construct. Conjured from absolutely nothing, and based on Areelu Vorlesh. I was more along the lines of her clone. The anomaly was in that I was male. That was the first time I had defied fate.
Then I became real. That day in Kenabres?
A miracle had transpired. One of my own making. I think that was when I drew the attention of many. The Godclaw in particular had a vested interest in my adventures, but unlike The Godhand, they were all mostly benevolent. The exception being Asmodeus, but even he held no animosity. No, he simply wanted a general to lead his armies. I was the perfect candidate.
I held many suspicions about him. The Blood War...
He didn't want it to end. He liked it just the way it was. Why exactly did he conspire against his own? I had many theories, but the most obvious one? It was that he had competition in the Nine Hells, and he needed them distracted by each other.
Asmodeus was comfortable where he was. Happy even. A warmonger was just what he needed to keep The Blood War going forever, and if it did stay that way? The rest of the realms would be secure in their stage. This theater called life. Safe even.
Everything where it should be, and shall always be.
"Ao." It had to be. The gods were his pawns in the end. I wouldn't be surprised if Asmodeus answered directly to him. As malevolent as The Lord of Darkness was? He was no fool. He knew his place.
The Overdeity could squash them all, but he was a distant figure. Most of all he was vague. Nondescript. Incomprehensible in many ways.
My brother hated him. I was merely curious.
I wanted to understand the plan. The Grand Design he had for all of us.
Perhaps even for myself.
"Ao?" The specter is outraged. "This is his doing?" He clenches his hands.
"Perhaps." I had the inkling of it. An authority had intruded into this conflict. It was not just The Heart of Darkness. "I trust this one."
There was no plot. No machination engineered to destroy us. Thus there was no point in fighting against this influence. Whatever it may be.
"Why?" The wraith just couldn't understand it. "Why do you have faith?"
"I'm tired." I begin. "I want to believe. Not because I worship any of them, but because I want to believe that things are happening for a reason. A purpose. I do not believe in something like chaos. I believe in order." There were no coincidences.
There never were any.
"Always your own person, Arlan..." I had inherited the countenance of our mother, but nothing else from any of them. "I just wish things were different." That I listened to him, but...
I am Arlan Vorlesh. No more, no less. The same as always.
I am not my past. I am not my family.
I am just The Knight Commander.
<<X>>
When Iomedae heard of my plight from Farnese? The goddess was not surprised. There was suspicion before. It was when she had tasted of my love. When she held me in her arms. The pain I felt? The frailness that was not there before?
It was not something that a deity just overlooks. The Inheritor sensed it immediately, but she wanted to pretend the problem wasn't there. That her beloved was just exhausted from his campaigns against the Abyss.
That I would prevail. Just as I always did.
That is when everything began to unravel. Iomedae made use of her station, and looked into it. What she discovered horrified her. I had truly died that day when I cast myself into The Worldwound, but that was not all. It was a gross oversimplification. My soul had been fragmented throughout the six-hundred and sixty-six layers of the Abyss. I had been lost.
No afterlife. No peace for the person who freed Golarion. Only aimless wandering for a broken soul. Perhaps being cast into the Fugue Plane would have been kinder.
At least I could be found in that case. That was not the case here. Someone would have to traverse every layer of the Abyss just to reconstruct my being. A daunting task even for the most powerful of deities.
The savior cursed to an eternity of anguish. I had to laugh at that. A curse? No! This was a blessing.
"Perfect. I can wage my war in the Abyss forever!" All layers of the Abyss would know the terror of Arlan Vorlesh.
"Are you completely mad?" The goddess was distraught. "Did you not hear what I just said, Arlan?" I would be lost to them all.
"I love this war, Iomedae. I have lived for it." I could feel it. A sense of euphoria. This was just as it should be. The sensation was indescribable, but I quickly recognized it.
Joyous anticipation. I was starting to remember. I had been waging war for centuries before I had returned. In so many planes of the Abyss! Under the guise of countless heroes...
The demons were being routed. They could not understand what was going on.
They had planned this with The Heart of Darkness to expel me from the Abyss. They were losing against all of my avatars. I had almost succeeded in destroying them all.
"They are afraid of me, Iomedae." I smile at her. "I am their executioner. Their death." I knew my purpose.
The one Ao saw fit to grant me, and in that moment I could feel it. The presence of that entity everywhere. It did not matter where or when it was. Ao was in everything that existed.
He had granted my wish.
"Thank you, my friend."
No truer one than I had ever known.
In the wind I could hear a whisper. A confirmation of what I already knew.
"Do as thou wilt, Knight Commander. I know ye. Thy joy derived from the pain of demons, and the yearning for victory against the whole lot of them." The Hidden One ever present. "I may not have created thou, but I revel in what you are. Be as yourself in the worst of places, and things will be just as they should be."
I cry. Purpose.
I had a purpose.
"As you say, Ao. As you say."
This was a glorious day!
[] I had made my peace. There was nothing that could stop me. This pain a gift. I had unlocked greater power for it. As a piece of my soul breaks away, and is scattered to the Abyss? I gain a new ability. Legendary Feature: The Hero of Many Faces. I can summon the heroes I lived as in the Abyss to aid me in battle. An army in of myself. Who once almost routed the Abyss. This army can be summoned twice per rest. In order to turn the tide of any desperate battle.
[] I had made my peace. There was nothing that could stop me. This pain a gift. I had unlocked greater power for it. As a piece of my soul breaks away, and is scattered to the Abyss? I gain a new ability. Legendary Feature: The Destroyer of Fate. I can now roll an automatic critical success once per rest. No matter the advantages or disadvantages, or extenuating circumstances. A critical success is no longer indicative of what is the best possible outcome in any given situation. It is now indicative of the best possible outcome period. No matter how implausible or patently insane.
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Blasterbot
Well-known member
[X] I had made my peace. There was nothing that could stop me. This pain a gift. I had unlocked greater power for it. As a piece of my soul breaks away, and is scattered to the Abyss? I gain a new ability. Legendary Feature: The Hero of Many Faces. I can summon the heroes I lived as in the Abyss to aid me in battle. An army in of myself. Who once almost routed the Abyss. This army can be summoned twice per rest. In order to turn the tide of any desperate battle.
A Day in the Limelight
Gladiator
Well-known member
Chapter 22: A Day in the Limelight
"The fishermen know that the sea is dangerous and the storm terrible, but they have never found these dangers sufficient reason for remaining ashore."
- Vincent Van Gogh
I can feel The Light of Valor. I could feel the warmth of her embrace. I felt her love. Her joy as I tended to her. Her supplication as she tended to me. When my goddess had learned of my plight? A decision was made. There would be no day that I would go without her. No night that I would sleep alone. No more of these frivolous distractions.
Iomedae would not waste a moment. Everything would be about this love.
"Remember this, Arlan. Please." Iomedae whispers. "This feeling. Do not forget it." Her hope was that I would recollect myself in the Abyss. That through remembrance I would draw her attention.
The Inheritor had not given up. Nor would she ever. When the time came? The Abyss would be scoured for every piece of myself that had been lost. Those heroes in squalor rebelling against the monsters.
I could feel them. They were a part of my being. They were who I was.
Champions all.
Every single one of them, and they felt a hunger. A desire for war. Just as I did. They would challenge demon lords. They would free those planes from their influence. All layers of the Abyss would know purification. No exception would be made.
I would expect no less from myself.
The word had begun to spread. Those closest to me learned of my curse. Guts had already discovered the truth. That surprised me the most. Regill on the other hand...
"A minor inconvenience at best. They will have whatever aid I can give them." The gnome had already begun making plans. He would go to the Abyss, and assist those aspects of myself. "This was the plan, Knight Commander. The Abyss was always our goal."
His stoicism was unmatched, and so was his certainty in victory. He would be there to wage war. As hungry as I ever was to see the end of the Abyss. The end of all demons.
"Thank you, my friend." I was happy to see that he had not changed. That he understood who I was.
More than anyone else.
Guts was adamant that he could prevent it. That he need only struggle against it. Just as he struggled against everything. That victory could be grasped from the jaws of defeat.
"I am not losing any family." He had a look of finality about him. "I will stop this." He had power now, and with it came a quiet confidence. He was more than just a mortal. He had the blood of a god, and now the appearance of one. "Did you forget, Arlan? When someone begins to fall? They just need to lean on their friends. Their comrades."
That took a while to digest. I almost confused him for an elf, but he was far too muscular for that. The razor sharp fangs did give me cause for concern, but the snowy hair and carmine eyes did suit him.
"I did say that." I smile at him. If only he had been mine. I would have loved him so. I would have treated him the same way as the son I had lost. "Didn't I?"
"No way, The Knight Commander I know? That psycho?" Casca is the next to speak. The paladin just laughs. "He is not dying. I have seen miracles because of him." The young woman is direct. "Just whip up another one, Arlan. Save yourself. Just like you saved me..." That is when doubt crept in.
"I don't think I have any more left, Casca." I had to admire her belief in someone as reckless as I was. "I am running out of them."
"Don't say that, please!" Her voice begins to waver. It cracks. Along with the facade. That is when she realizes that I am serious. "Just lie to me." Why couldn't I lie to her just like Griffith?
It would have been easier.
"I can't do that." I pat her on the head. "Guts will need you."
Her tears come quickly, but I wipe them away.
"That giant oaf you love will become the champion I once was. When I am gone? This world will need a hero. I want him to be that hero." I had found everything I ever wanted here, and now I was going to leave.
In that moment I wasn't sure whether war was I lived for, but I banish those thoughts. I am Arlan Vorlesh. This is the path I chose. I had to march on. I had to see this through.
I made a promise.
"El Puck understands!" The fairy is unfazed by this turn of events. He merely chews on some tobacco. A bad habit he had gotten recently. He spits out a wad. "The honor was mine, Knight Commander! Conquer that blasted Abyss!"
"I will." I nod my head. "I promise."
I turn back to Guts. "If you fail to save me? I have a request, White Wolf. I have a son in Faerun. Near the Sword Coast. Probably somewhere around Baldur's Gate by now." I grimace at that. How I failed Calder Vorlesh. "I want you to guide him. Be his guardian when he needs it."
"Do it yourself, Arlan--"
"I can't, even if I somehow live." I could not face him. I was a coward. I could destroy a demon lord, but I could not look that boy in the eyes. "Promise me, Guts. When this war is over, and you have lived your life with Casca, that you will make the pilgrimage."
"..." Guts pauses at that. Giving it some thought. The way time worked between the realms was disjointed. He could live here until his beloved was taken by the harshness of circumstance. His immortality would make sure of that. He would live to see all the mortals he knew die. That was the price.
A steep one above all else.
When that came to pass? He could leave for Faerun. At the appointed time, and in the appropriate place.
"I will do it, but only if I fail. If I succeed? I want you to promise that you will meet him instead." The White Swordsman was not going to budge on that.
"Alright." I clench my hands tightly. "I promise, Guts." He knew exactly what they meant to me. That I would keep this promise. If only he succeeded. "I will find my son."
That was all of the motivation he would need, but it would not be enough.
"My liege." Serpico is the next one to interject. "None of us would be here, if not for you." He looks thankful for everything. He was not sad like the rest. He had faith in the person who saved them. "I will not forget you, Arlan. I will make sure everyone remembers who exactly The Knight Commander was! I will be your scribe. I will write the story. I will write your story." That he would climb out from that fiery pit. "The good and the bad. The noble and the ignoble."
I would. One day. That one day I would see her. That I would see my son. That I would see my family. That I would be able to rest, but by their side. The war coming to a close. The end of it, and the hunger...
That flaw in myself. The one thing I could never defeat.
"I love you, Arlan." Farnese admits it, finally. "The love I felt for you was the only thing that wasn't marred by the madness of this world. It was the only thing that was pure. Not poisoned by my obsession." I had quieted the voices. I had given her peace. "I only wish I had met you earlier. That I could have been the one to love you as Iomedae does."
"I know, my apprentice." My witch. My student. "I always knew it." I had my goddess. I could not betray her. Iomedae would be in my heart, but these people were my family. "I care for you all the same, but I can't love you that way."
They would be there too.
"I understand." Farnese smiles. It was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen. "I'm happy just being by your side, master."
I nod my head. I would see her become a witch that eclipsed all others. It was the least I could do.
A legend in the making. My apprentice.
"Father..." Aivu had expected this. "When the time comes? I wish to join you." My child would not lose this again. After everything? No, she would not accept it. I was her father.
"If that is your wish, Aivu." Just as Regill always did? The havoc dragon would follow. "I will not stop you."
"Champion." The Skull Knight is there. He was at peace in Arlan's Way. This place had become a home. He had long since forgotten what that was like, and he would cherish these memories. "This war? I never thought I would see the end of it. Then you came from out of nowhere, and we are already on our way to victory. The Godhand I have struggled against for centuries are now but frightened tyrants because of you. They are no different than any other corrupt lord or lady. The guillotine will come for them. They will all die, and this world will change. It will change because you gave us hope. You gave us a future, Arlan." He closes the distance, and that is when he kneels. "Thank you, herald. Thank you, bringer of the new age. Thank you, friend."
"Gaiseric..." I lay a hand on his shoulder. "Stand up, I will not see you on your knees!" The Skull Knight does not hesitate, and obeys my command. "No more kings and queens! No more lords and ladies! Stand by my side as an equal! As family just like all my crusaders!"
I was certain I had seen tears fall from the empty sockets in his helmet. If only for a moment. It should not have been possible, but I could not mistake it for anything else.
"Then let us celebrate! This is not the end! It is a beginning!" I rally them all to my cause. "A feast for everyone in Arlan's Way! No expenses will be spared! This day will not be forgotten!" This would be the day that hope prevailed against despair.
The day that a family came together to break bread.
I would remember this when I was at my lowest in the Abyss. When the war was too much to bear. I would remember how happy they all were. How happy I was. That I had a place. A home. A people.
That one day I would return. That one day I would be free.
That one day I would live again.
Not as The Knight Commander, but as their friend. Their Arlan Vorlesh. Their candle burning brightly.
Their light in the dark.
[] The war must continue. Who must we face next? I believe Ubik would be a prime candidate. Preparations would have to be made. His power dealt in illusion. Just like the Great Dreamer. Dealing with him now would mean we would have to worry less about him twisting the minds of my crusaders. The enemy within can sometimes be more dangerous than the enemy without.
[] The Kingdom of Midland has been amassing a lot of power lately. Mostly due to the death of two demon lords. What remained of their apostles have now flocked to them. Femto was waiting for us. I could sense Radiance. Just as my brother told me. That blade could change a lot of things. If only I had it once more. It would be risky. Especially this early in the campaign.
"The fishermen know that the sea is dangerous and the storm terrible, but they have never found these dangers sufficient reason for remaining ashore."
- Vincent Van Gogh
I can feel The Light of Valor. I could feel the warmth of her embrace. I felt her love. Her joy as I tended to her. Her supplication as she tended to me. When my goddess had learned of my plight? A decision was made. There would be no day that I would go without her. No night that I would sleep alone. No more of these frivolous distractions.
Iomedae would not waste a moment. Everything would be about this love.
"Remember this, Arlan. Please." Iomedae whispers. "This feeling. Do not forget it." Her hope was that I would recollect myself in the Abyss. That through remembrance I would draw her attention.
The Inheritor had not given up. Nor would she ever. When the time came? The Abyss would be scoured for every piece of myself that had been lost. Those heroes in squalor rebelling against the monsters.
I could feel them. They were a part of my being. They were who I was.
Champions all.
Every single one of them, and they felt a hunger. A desire for war. Just as I did. They would challenge demon lords. They would free those planes from their influence. All layers of the Abyss would know purification. No exception would be made.
I would expect no less from myself.
The word had begun to spread. Those closest to me learned of my curse. Guts had already discovered the truth. That surprised me the most. Regill on the other hand...
"A minor inconvenience at best. They will have whatever aid I can give them." The gnome had already begun making plans. He would go to the Abyss, and assist those aspects of myself. "This was the plan, Knight Commander. The Abyss was always our goal."
His stoicism was unmatched, and so was his certainty in victory. He would be there to wage war. As hungry as I ever was to see the end of the Abyss. The end of all demons.
"Thank you, my friend." I was happy to see that he had not changed. That he understood who I was.
More than anyone else.
Guts was adamant that he could prevent it. That he need only struggle against it. Just as he struggled against everything. That victory could be grasped from the jaws of defeat.
"I am not losing any family." He had a look of finality about him. "I will stop this." He had power now, and with it came a quiet confidence. He was more than just a mortal. He had the blood of a god, and now the appearance of one. "Did you forget, Arlan? When someone begins to fall? They just need to lean on their friends. Their comrades."
That took a while to digest. I almost confused him for an elf, but he was far too muscular for that. The razor sharp fangs did give me cause for concern, but the snowy hair and carmine eyes did suit him.
"I did say that." I smile at him. If only he had been mine. I would have loved him so. I would have treated him the same way as the son I had lost. "Didn't I?"
"No way, The Knight Commander I know? That psycho?" Casca is the next to speak. The paladin just laughs. "He is not dying. I have seen miracles because of him." The young woman is direct. "Just whip up another one, Arlan. Save yourself. Just like you saved me..." That is when doubt crept in.
"I don't think I have any more left, Casca." I had to admire her belief in someone as reckless as I was. "I am running out of them."
"Don't say that, please!" Her voice begins to waver. It cracks. Along with the facade. That is when she realizes that I am serious. "Just lie to me." Why couldn't I lie to her just like Griffith?
It would have been easier.
"I can't do that." I pat her on the head. "Guts will need you."
Her tears come quickly, but I wipe them away.
"That giant oaf you love will become the champion I once was. When I am gone? This world will need a hero. I want him to be that hero." I had found everything I ever wanted here, and now I was going to leave.
In that moment I wasn't sure whether war was I lived for, but I banish those thoughts. I am Arlan Vorlesh. This is the path I chose. I had to march on. I had to see this through.
I made a promise.
"El Puck understands!" The fairy is unfazed by this turn of events. He merely chews on some tobacco. A bad habit he had gotten recently. He spits out a wad. "The honor was mine, Knight Commander! Conquer that blasted Abyss!"
"I will." I nod my head. "I promise."
I turn back to Guts. "If you fail to save me? I have a request, White Wolf. I have a son in Faerun. Near the Sword Coast. Probably somewhere around Baldur's Gate by now." I grimace at that. How I failed Calder Vorlesh. "I want you to guide him. Be his guardian when he needs it."
"Do it yourself, Arlan--"
"I can't, even if I somehow live." I could not face him. I was a coward. I could destroy a demon lord, but I could not look that boy in the eyes. "Promise me, Guts. When this war is over, and you have lived your life with Casca, that you will make the pilgrimage."
"..." Guts pauses at that. Giving it some thought. The way time worked between the realms was disjointed. He could live here until his beloved was taken by the harshness of circumstance. His immortality would make sure of that. He would live to see all the mortals he knew die. That was the price.
A steep one above all else.
When that came to pass? He could leave for Faerun. At the appointed time, and in the appropriate place.
"I will do it, but only if I fail. If I succeed? I want you to promise that you will meet him instead." The White Swordsman was not going to budge on that.
"Alright." I clench my hands tightly. "I promise, Guts." He knew exactly what they meant to me. That I would keep this promise. If only he succeeded. "I will find my son."
That was all of the motivation he would need, but it would not be enough.
"My liege." Serpico is the next one to interject. "None of us would be here, if not for you." He looks thankful for everything. He was not sad like the rest. He had faith in the person who saved them. "I will not forget you, Arlan. I will make sure everyone remembers who exactly The Knight Commander was! I will be your scribe. I will write the story. I will write your story." That he would climb out from that fiery pit. "The good and the bad. The noble and the ignoble."
I would. One day. That one day I would see her. That I would see my son. That I would see my family. That I would be able to rest, but by their side. The war coming to a close. The end of it, and the hunger...
That flaw in myself. The one thing I could never defeat.
"I love you, Arlan." Farnese admits it, finally. "The love I felt for you was the only thing that wasn't marred by the madness of this world. It was the only thing that was pure. Not poisoned by my obsession." I had quieted the voices. I had given her peace. "I only wish I had met you earlier. That I could have been the one to love you as Iomedae does."
"I know, my apprentice." My witch. My student. "I always knew it." I had my goddess. I could not betray her. Iomedae would be in my heart, but these people were my family. "I care for you all the same, but I can't love you that way."
They would be there too.
"I understand." Farnese smiles. It was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen. "I'm happy just being by your side, master."
I nod my head. I would see her become a witch that eclipsed all others. It was the least I could do.
A legend in the making. My apprentice.
"Father..." Aivu had expected this. "When the time comes? I wish to join you." My child would not lose this again. After everything? No, she would not accept it. I was her father.
"If that is your wish, Aivu." Just as Regill always did? The havoc dragon would follow. "I will not stop you."
"Champion." The Skull Knight is there. He was at peace in Arlan's Way. This place had become a home. He had long since forgotten what that was like, and he would cherish these memories. "This war? I never thought I would see the end of it. Then you came from out of nowhere, and we are already on our way to victory. The Godhand I have struggled against for centuries are now but frightened tyrants because of you. They are no different than any other corrupt lord or lady. The guillotine will come for them. They will all die, and this world will change. It will change because you gave us hope. You gave us a future, Arlan." He closes the distance, and that is when he kneels. "Thank you, herald. Thank you, bringer of the new age. Thank you, friend."
"Gaiseric..." I lay a hand on his shoulder. "Stand up, I will not see you on your knees!" The Skull Knight does not hesitate, and obeys my command. "No more kings and queens! No more lords and ladies! Stand by my side as an equal! As family just like all my crusaders!"
I was certain I had seen tears fall from the empty sockets in his helmet. If only for a moment. It should not have been possible, but I could not mistake it for anything else.
"Then let us celebrate! This is not the end! It is a beginning!" I rally them all to my cause. "A feast for everyone in Arlan's Way! No expenses will be spared! This day will not be forgotten!" This would be the day that hope prevailed against despair.
The day that a family came together to break bread.
I would remember this when I was at my lowest in the Abyss. When the war was too much to bear. I would remember how happy they all were. How happy I was. That I had a place. A home. A people.
That one day I would return. That one day I would be free.
That one day I would live again.
Not as The Knight Commander, but as their friend. Their Arlan Vorlesh. Their candle burning brightly.
Their light in the dark.
[] The war must continue. Who must we face next? I believe Ubik would be a prime candidate. Preparations would have to be made. His power dealt in illusion. Just like the Great Dreamer. Dealing with him now would mean we would have to worry less about him twisting the minds of my crusaders. The enemy within can sometimes be more dangerous than the enemy without.
[] The Kingdom of Midland has been amassing a lot of power lately. Mostly due to the death of two demon lords. What remained of their apostles have now flocked to them. Femto was waiting for us. I could sense Radiance. Just as my brother told me. That blade could change a lot of things. If only I had it once more. It would be risky. Especially this early in the campaign.
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Blasterbot
Well-known member
[X] The war must continue. Who must we face next? I believe Ubik would be a prime candidate. Preparations would have to be made. His power dealt in illusion. Just like the Great Dreamer. Dealing with him now would mean we would have to worry less about him twisting the minds of my crusaders. The enemy within can sometimes be more dangerous than the enemy without.
Awaken
Gladiator
Well-known member
Chapter 23: Awaken
"Yes: I am a dreamer. For a dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world."
- Oscar Wilde
I had thought I was prepared for everything, but I was not. When my crusaders had intruded on the realm of this demon lord? They were all lost to the mists. This plane was called Nightmare's Precipice, and in it all of the worst dreams imaginable were secretly housed. Locked away from the rest of the realms. Ubik, unlike Conrad, drew power from fear.
His domain was not in gluttony but instead in uncertainty. The unknown which haunted every mortal. The greatest fear of all. Which gave rise to doubt, and from that doubt almost every tragedy. The demon lord capitalized on this. He fed on it.
Femto, when he had been Griffith, had even fell victim to it.
That was why the demon lord was beside himself. I had not been susceptible to it at all. My army had been though.
"I will have to make some improvements to their training regime. The soldiers should be accustomed to this by now." Almost all of them. Regill was immovable as always. There was no fear. Only discipline. "Disappointing. I may have to lash the whole lot."
"I will wake them." I dig deeper into the mists. "Just don't be harsh, Regill. This dream has bested many heroes."
"These were not heroes! If something like this was too much for them to handle?" The gnome dismisses their efforts. "These fools did not meet the requirements! They are just failures, Knight Commander..."
"Only because their teachers failed them." I could not hide my concern. Guts, Casca, Serpico, and Farnese were somewhere in these nightmares. "I will not fail them again!"
I would save them.
"On that? I have no disagreement." The Paralictor did not shy away from any responsibility. "I will rectify this. I expect perfection from them all." The gnome reached for his hammer. "Anything less is a gross waste of resources."
I had to flinch. I remember what that was like. When I had been subjected to the teachings of The Order of the Godclaw? It was the most brutal experience of my life. Not even the six-hundred and sixty-six layers of the Abyss could compare.
"There are dangers ahead." I could not hide my concern. Those crusaders of mine, their history, there was a wealth of misfortune to exploit, and this may crush whatever semblance of sanity they had. "Time is of the essence."
There was the communion. The accord I had with The Watcher. It had granted me a gift, and reminded me of who I once was. When I had cast myself into the Abyss. The Worldwound having fractured my soul into hundreds of heroes.
They wanted to be let loose.
I had to oblige.
In the place where the Nahyndrian Crystal was nestled many centuries ago? My heart? Now it bled again. This time it was not due to the power of a demon lord. It was just me.
Just Arlan Vorlesh.
"Have faith, my crusaders." I whisper. "Let me be your guide."
An aurora borealis is born. The mist began to disperse. In that gleaming radiance? There was an echo. Then another. And another.
Then hundreds more materialized into being.
An army. A Band of Heroes. Mortals.
No more, no less.
Their hunger as palpable as my own. Their desire as sanguine.
They wanted to drink the blood of a demon lord.
The young woman vomits. The disgust she felt was eating at her. This is who she had once been.
"I'm impressed." Ubik was floating in the air. The demon lord whispering in her ear. "Mortals are always the most despicable creatures I have the pleasure of dealing with. It is why we even exist." They wanted an excuse.
The people? These mortals?
They could not and would not face what they had done to themselves. That is why The Godhand flourished. There was no end to the tragedy that was humanity. Their malevolence knew no bounds, and it nurtured these beasts.
They were like cattle. Just meat for the monsters. There was no greater nourishment. Nor any greater nexus of misery to siphon from. This was the apex. The perfection they sought. If only they had not been foiled by that accursed Arlan Vorlesh!
There would have been so much more to draw from, but now it was becoming scarce. Their food supply was running low, and they would have to replenish it. These morsels were few. When before they were plentiful.
"They are..." The witch doesn't hesitate. "...but they are beautiful too." Her memories go back to her master.
"How annoying." The demon lord could feel it. The Knight Commander had stolen something from this girl. Her heart was now his. When before it had been easy to invade the sanctify of her mind? He now felt like he slammed against an impenetrable fortress.
The only thing The Master of Whispers could see was a symbol. An icon. An abstract ideal given common courtesy. It should been impossible to even reach it.
However, no idea could ever claim to be indestructible. They could be changed. Rewritten in the favor of others. Defiled in every way imaginable. The demon lord decides to use that.
"Farnese, my crusader. My apprentice." The young woman feels him everywhere. "Why are you even trying to fight? Just give in already. It would be much easier..."
The young woman recoils at that. No, it was not Arlan Vorlesh! It was not The Knight Commander!
"It would be simple." When the weapons appears in her hand? The witch looks on in horror. It was an ornate dagger. Usually used in ritual sacrifice. "It would be freedom, Farnese."
"I can feel it. How tired you are of always losing." Ubik spoke, and out from his mouth came my voice. "It doesn't have to be that way. There can be an end to this game."
"The failures need not continue! All that is required is a flourish of this blade." A cut, and it would be over. The life would leave her body. Her soul would belong to the Abyss.
The witch shakes her head. The voices! They grew louder and louder with each moment! They were everywhere. There was no thought that wasn't assaulted by them.
It was the same. Just like in the days before the crusade. Alone in her guilt. Her madness ever present. The lust for the flames scorching everything pure.
The temptation that had ruined her. That made her into a monster. The murderer. The arsonist. The pyromaniac who wanted to watch the world burn. Along with everyone that lived in it.
"No." There was a quiet confidence. "I choose to live." Her hands began to bleed. The bandages unraveling everywhere. The curse would not let her forget. Her penance had to be met with courage.
Not cowardice.
The Everlight had promised her that. The decision had already been made. Sarenrae would always be with her. Even if I was not. The pain acting as a bulwark against this illusion. Bringing her back to her senses.
"Arlan Vorlesh would never say this!" The witch is furious. "If it is fire you seek, Ubik?" The dream is set ablaze. "The sun is what I have to give!"
The radiance banishes the primordial darkness. The demon lord in front of her, now aghast, as a Sunburst ignites, and strikes at him. The explosion engulfing everything around him.
When the smoke begins to clear? The demon lord is still hovering before her, but now he was wounded! The witch had drawn blood...
"Despicable whore, I will tear your soul asunder--" The demon lord stops at that. His tongue caught by someone. There was a warrior? A brute the witch could not recognize. He had appeared as if from the ether.
"I tire of all of this talk!" The barbarian tears the tongue out from his mouth. The demon lord gargling on what remained. "I have only come to hear your screams!"
In the confusion there is nothing more that the demon lord can do, and his head is caught by the savage. Who roars as he is taken by Rage, and that is when he squeezes. The demon lord's brain compressed to something the size of a peanut. The vagabond unceremoniously dumps what is left on the ground.
The hero held the uncanny likeness of the House Vorlesh patriarch. Raven hair. Cerulean eyes. Bulging muscles that housed the might of a giant. Scars everywhere. Skin that was once fair, but had been tanned olive by hardship. An atlantean sword by his side. "To hell with you!"
The barbarian spits on him.
"W-Who are you?" The young woman was genuinely confused. "What happened to--"
"It's just a shade. An echo of sorts. The demon lord is elsewhere. Plotting." He answers her quickly. "I am a friend. That is all you need to know... for now." He grabs her by the waist, and the witch blushes. Surprised by the sudden act and the feeling of the giant's pounding heart. He doesn't hesitate before locking lips with her. A kiss? The witch eases into it as she begins to sense something familiar. "In another time, and in another place; I will be waiting for you."
This feeling...
"Master?"
It felt like fate, but not quite.
It was as if this encounter would not be the last.
Serpico saw it all. Again and again. The flames that burned it all. The blank stare of his mother. Whatever was left of her had gone with her mind. There was absolutely nothing left.
His mother had died long before she had been put to the flame.
"There is more to a person. Their mind is just part of the equation." The retainer was brought out of his musings. The voice was familiar, but he was certain he had never heard it before.
When he turns to look at the figure? It was an elderly person. Unmistakably male. Due in part to the bushy beard. His hair was grey, and his eyes a milky white. He was blind. He had to be. There were too many wrinkles to count. A century of experience. It was written everywhere.
"Excuse me, but who are you?" The duelist was curious. "I feel like I should know."
"It's too early for that! Spoilers, my boy!" The arcanist felt warm. In everything that he did. He was the grandfather that everyone had at one point. "I am just a wizard. On a journey of discovery. Of myself, and others. I like to learn what I can."
"A wizard?" Serpico is reminded of another. His liege. His lord. The Knight Commander.
"No, I'm afraid a witch is different!" The wizard knows a lot. Too much, in fact.
"If you are an apostle? I will have to--" Serpico reaches for his weapon, but it is not where it should be.
"Ubik has left us." The wizard doesn't stop. "Fret not." That same sense of comfort.
The duelist relaxes at that.
"Do you want to remember?" The elderly figure is cryptic. "What her last words to you were?"
"There weren't any."
"There were!"
The wizard knew everything. He always did. It didn't matter what it was? He had a record of it somewhere. The Farwalker made sure of that. His friend had taught him many things.
"..." Serpico gives him a scrutinizing glance. What could it possibly hurt? "What were they? Her last words?"
"Don't cry. It's okay."
The duelist pauses at that. He tries to remember, but he is drawing a blank.
"Did she say that?" How many things had he blocked out? How many memories were lost to time?
"Many disappear..." The wizards seems to already know what he is thinking. "...but the feeling stays." He pats the boy on the shoulder, and gestures towards his heart. "The mind is temporary, but the heart lingers. It yearns. It desires. It is hurt by the world, and carries every wound even if all traces of them disappear."
"Why does it do that?" The crusader had to know. "Why not let it go?"
"It can't! People are their struggle. Their conflict! The war? It is what they are. Who they are! What they aim to be..." The dream begins to change. In front of them lay the Nine Hells. The flames licking at them. "Peace is not a lie, but in peace is nothing. It is devoid of anything. A person is more than just that! They're all their problems."
"Sounds miserable." Serpico remembers his sister. "Why not just die?"
"Death is not an escape. It is a trap!" He smiles at the young man. The wizard liked him. "The world is horrible, and that is exactly why you shouldn't expect death to be any better!"
"Then what choice do we have?" Serpico clenches his hands. He could feel his heart ache. "Is there anything we can even do?"
"The same thing we always do!" The hero grins at that. "We fight, and we fight! Then desperately challenge the gods and goddesses themselves! Peace won't save us, but problems will!"
"I think you're crazy." The duelist couldn't help but be happy. There was something endearing about the mad man.
"I am!" The wizard doesn't deny it. "It's part of being human..."
"I think I understand." The duelist looks towards the horizon. The Blood War raging on. "It's time to go home."
The wizard begins to fade away. "That it most certainly is!"
The dream is extinguished.
There was only war, but in that war?
Purpose could be found.
The demons leering at her. Her clothes torn away. Salivating at the prospect of raping her. Despoiling her in every way. Just as Griffith had once done. When before she would have shut down? The grizzled veteran is focused. The Light of Valor ever present.
Elaine was no more. It was just Casca.
If she did not have a weapon? Then all she had to do was make one of her enemies. The dream distorts around her. As her aura burns away every monster that approaches. Quickly casting Dimensional Blade, the young woman's hands become ethereal, and she tears through the beasts. Any defenses they had before now completely useless. This spell granted any weapon the ability to bypass armor.
Her bare hands included.
Viscera spilled onto the ground. As the young woman's hands clawed through the stomach of every demon in her way. They screech as they feel the grace of her goddess. It burns at them! Compounded further by Smite Evil. The divine power purifying every demon that felt her touch. That is when Casca found what she was looking for. A femur that would make for a decent bludgeon.
The paladin tears it from an apostle's thigh, and proceeds to beat him to death with it. Casting Holy Sword, the weapon is blessed by Iomedae. This enchantment a gift from her patron deity. The bone does not break. The femur endures as it is used to bash every monster in her way, and with every blow it reduces them to a greasy smear.
The Inheritor had to be proud. Her paladin had become a fierce warrior. That day would never come again. The Eclipse was in the past.
Casca would die before she would ever be dishonored like that again. There the paladin stood atop a mountain of corpses. Soaked in the entrails of countless apostles. Their insides everywhere except where they were supposed to be.
The young woman had been dyed crimson. Corum would have suited her! This violence fit for any barbarian...
"I don't need armor! I don't need a weapon!" Casca roars, and it is bestial. Primal. "I have my arms and legs! I have this body!"
There was only rage. When before she had been broken? This memory had instead awoken something animalistic in her. A desire for revenge.
"Femto!" The paladin wanted to see him. The fear was gone. "Griffith!"
The fury almost as great as the one dwelling within The White Wolf. The betrayal they all experienced. All those in the Band of the Hawk.
However, she was just mortal. One person. Her exhaustion had to come, but that would make no difference.
"Rest, Casca." The hero catches her. If a crusader falls? There is always another by their side. A brother or sister to help shoulder their burden. This mysterious stranger had something roguish about him. Casca almost mistook him for Judeau. "I'm here."
"Arlan?" That is what it felt like. "What is going on?"
"Not quite." The masked man had every feature obscured. The shadows wrapped around his body. He was like a living shade. "Drink this." He reached for an alchemical concoction from his bandolier.
The young woman quickly ingested the potion. Her body ceased to ache. The contents of whatever was in it had restored her.
"I can see why The White Wolf fell in love." There is something lecherous about the way he says that. The thief ogles her. There was no need for him to undress her with his eyes. This dream had already seen to that. "Gorgeous, and those muscles accentuate your curves perfectly."
"Be careful, rogue. I am spoken for." Casca glares at him. "Do you have any clothes?"
"Of course." The rogue almost seems to conjure them from nothing. The shirt was intertwined with enchanted chainmail, leather pants with knee-pads came next, and then a pair of sturdy boots made from the remains of a wyvern. "Dress quickly. There are many more."
Casca keeps her focus on the shadowy assassin as she changes. Never once trusting him.
"On schedule. I knew they would be." The hero turns around to face another horde of demons. He reaches into his satchel, and from it throws a hailstorm of bombs. The explosives cascading through the air. The moment they detonate? The apostles are blown to pieces. Appendages flying every which way. Arms and legs torn from bodies. Gore raining down on the rest.
Casca quickly grabs the femur, but the rogue stops her.
"Almost forgot. A paladin is nothing without a weapon." In his hands the blade appeared. A bastard sword that was unmistakable.
"Dawnbreaker?" Casca had to be surprised. It was lost to her in this place. "How did you find it?" The young woman grabs the blade.
"I followed the butterflies." He replies, and as always there is a suave undercurrent. "Just as always they never fail."
"..." The paladin was perplexed. Not for the first or last time. Those words definitely reminded her of Arlan Vorlesh. Her savior. The messiah. However, this person was too much of a pervert. What connection did this mysterious stranger have with The Knight Commander? "What is your name?"
"Antonio Vorlesh. The pleasure is mine!" He throws a hailstorm of knives. They perforate another group of demons. Who cry out in pain as they realize they were all poisoned. "My friends just call me Tony!"
"Is that so?" Casca scrunches her face in confusion. A relative? "Does the name Arlan Vorlesh mean anything to you?"
"Not in the least!" The rogue slashes the throat of another apostle. It gurgles, grasping at the wound, and tries to stop the bleeding. The demon quickly falls over and dies. Failing to create any kind of tourniquet. Their regeneration was not working. The poison the rogue was using had neutralized it entirely.
This had to be another miracle. The paladin could feel it. Her divine senses going haywire. Casca grips Dawnbreaker tightly, and stabs into another apostle. "I understand."
The Knight Commander was watching over them all. I was watching over them all.
They would never be alone.
Not while I still fought.
By himself.
The monsters were everywhere. They were even his family.
"No." That thought is crushed. "They were never my family." The White Swordsman charges forward. He had finally found it. The truth that had been escaping him. His misfortune unveiled to everyone. He now knew what it was like to have a family. It was not Gambino. It was not Griffith.
It was Arlan Vorlesh! It was The Knight Commander! It was this Sixth Crusade!
It was Shisu...
How could The White Wolf have forgotten her? The woman who loved him. The child everyone had called cursed for being born at the base of that tree. The tribute to Yggdrasil. It had banished him. It had torn him from the realm he was meant for!
Fenrir held nothing back. It was an act of vengeance. All for what The Black Wolf had done. When he had brought death to Asgard.
A father and mother denied their progeny. However, despite everything, Guts was happy that it had happened.
"I would never have met any of them." It was worth it. This life had meaning. Guts had a purpose. He had his friends. These people who were now his family. He was no hound! He was a wolf! He was a Hellknight! He was a crusader!
Dragon Slayer ignited at that. The flames were sublimating all of reality. History changing, and the tapestry of time unraveling at the seams! The gilded dragon slumbering within the great sword had awoken. Grunbeld would be sated.
"Is this all, Ubik?" Guts roars. "I am not impressed!" He swings his great sword, and a swathe of flames envelop the dream. A shroud of fire. They take on the form of many wolves. Who burn everything around them. The pack of beasts howling in tandem with the destruction.
The White Wolf soon joined them.
"It seems that I have to address this problem directly." The Master of Whispers appears. Not as a shade, but as himself truly. The form he wore was that of an elf. Cloaked in extravagant robes. The glasses he wore were the only thing that didn't change. "It would have been easier if you had just surrendered--"
Guts doesn't let the demon lord finish. He is already on the move. The great sword swinging through a shadow. Another illusion. The Master of Whispers is behind him. Having deftly avoided the strike.
"Very well." The demon lord adjusts his robes. "I won't bother with any pleasantries." A cane appears in his hands, and he unsheathes it. Revealing the weapon within. The blade had a sickly hue. An emerald glow that promised death.
Guts immediately twirls around, and reaches for the demon lord. His claws almost catching him. Ubik blocks the attack. The Berserker Armor clashing against abysium. The moment he does? He gags.
"Pestilence. It is a fine rapier." The weapon had to be enchanted. That, or whatever material had been used to forge it was toxic. Guts may have been a demi-god, but this was no conventional disease. There was something unnatural about it. It would have instantly meant the death of even the hardiest paladin. Their immunity to disease not withstanding.
The White Wolf falls. Barely able to stand after meeting it once. "Begone." A cyclone is conjured as he speaks. The tornado crashing into the demon lord, and sending him careening backwards. The wind blowing away everything. Even the affliction had been exorcised. His mastery over air would make him the envy of even the most powerful kineticist. Not unlike Grunbeld's fire? There was no immunity against this. Only brute force could meet it.
Guts stands back up. Hefting Dragon Slayer over his shoulders. "Neat trick!" Whilst Grunbeld's flames dealt in destruction? His wind excelled elsewhere. It was in displacement. It didn't matter what it was. If it existed the thing could be banished anywhere. In this case he had hurled it back at the demon lord. "How do you like mine?"
Surprisingly, Ubik didn't even seem fazed by it. "This rapier has been my ally since my rebirth, Guts. I cannot be hurt by it." He had developed an immunity to it. Over centuries of constant use. Ubik hovered above his realm. Secure in his power.
"It is never simple..." The White Wolf assumes another deadly stance. "Then prepare yourself, Ubik!" Guts quickly casts Flight. He soars through the air, and meets Ubik. Dragon Slayer slams against Pestilence. The clash of these mythical armaments echoing throughout Nightmare's Precipice. The universe began to tremble. Unlike Conrad? Ubik was no pushover. He was the voice.
He spoke for The Godhand.
When Guts fell back down? He was not ready. He met the ground with the subtlety of an asteroid. The planet shaking as Ubik kept his distance.
"There is much to learn." The Master of Whispers admonishes him.
"He already knows enough!" Another voice echoed throughout the realm. "I'm here to save the damsel in distress!" It was my own.
"I am no damsel!" The White Wolf was beside himself. "I already told you that, Arlan!"
"Whatever you say, my lady." I make my entrance. My many facets would serve my army. They would protect them. Aid them when I could not. "A fair maiden such as yourself deserves respect!"
I cast Heal, and quickly repair any damage. What wounds The White Swordsman did have disappeared. I went to pet him, and that is when he had enough of my teasing.
"Ah, you bit me!" I shake my hand. Several puncture wounds bleeding profusely. "That's no way to treat your Knight Commander!"
Ubik could only look on in amazement. At this display of idiocy. These were the heroes that had already destroyed Slan and Conrad? "Unbelievable..." This was just embarrassing. The Master of Whispers made a note of this. He would expunge every record of The Sixth Crusade. They would be wiped from every book. If only to salvage the dignity of The Godhand.
Of course, the demon lord would never get a chance to do this. I would make sure of that.
"I will join you." I drop all pretenses. The wound did not matter. The curse be damned. "This is an enemy that must be faced together, my crusader. Stand steadfast!"
"..." Guts pauses at that. "What about--"
"Don't worry!" I smile at him. "It's coming, but this must be done." This was no war. It was a genocide. "This is their punishment."
No realm would be spared. No plane left to these monsters. The purification would occur.
A purge was in order.
"Be careful, Arlan." The White Wolf could not hide it. His fear. The only one he had left. That the day would come when we would have to part ways.
"No promises! At least for this..." No, this was not the time for them. I couldn't keep that one. "Ubik! I am The Knight Commander, and I have come to claim your soul!"
"The pleasure is mine." The Master of Whispers prepares himself. "I will end your crusade today!"
"Duly noted, but I don't consider this a pleasure at all!" It was just a chore. There was something dangerous in the air. A sense of foreboding. I reach out for nothing, and Frostbite appears in my hand. The frigid blade making the temperature drop to absolute zero around us. "Try it!"
I quickly cast Mind Blank, Communal. Then amplify it with Conduit Surge. The magic protecting our minds from any intrusion. The demon lord could rely on illusions no more.
The White Wolf leaps into action. Dragon Slayer burning everything that it touched. As he clashes against the demon lord? I cast Walk Through Space, and materialize behind the monster. I swing Frostbite down on his head. The demon lord blocks both blades with Pestilence, but the force of it overwhelms him. He recoils, and is thrust downwards. Crashing into Nightmare's Precipice. The planet cracks in half. The core fracturing at that. The blow from before had already damaged it. It could not handle another.
"A shame. I did enjoy this plane." The demon lord complains. "I will need a replacement." What happens next is no illusion. The universe begins to change. Another universe is born around us. Nebulae drawn from ether. Galaxies revolving around us. At the center of it all was Ubik. The demon lord floating in the vacuum of outer space. A supermassive black hole of impossible size serving as his throne.
Guts is not fazed by it. The air around his body contorting to become an atmosphere. He could breathe again. The White Wolf flies through this facsimile of the Astral Plane, and collides against the demon lord! The black hole enduring the assault. Unlike the planet which had almost died.
I grip Frostbite tightly, and cast Foresight. The spell granting me an unbelievable prescience. When Ubik appears to pierce Guts from behind? I am already prepared. Frostbite met Pestilence, and I cackle like a hyena. "Sorry, but it won't be that easy!" I cast the grand hex known as Death Curse, and imbue my bastard sword with the magic.
Ubik doesn't realize it. Not until he feels his body begin to die. The fatigue hits him before anything else. He clutches his heart in abject agony, and expels it from his body. The heart detonates with the force of a supernova. He had saved himself. Just barely.
Another heart is grown. It replaces what was lost.
It did serve as a distraction at least.
Dragon Slayer pierces through his chest. Guts having taken the opportunity to impale him from behind. The demon lord is furious at that, and expels everything with a roar. The power hurls The White Wolf away. The demi-god crashing against the black hole.
"That should grant me a reprieve." Ubik tears the great sword out of his chest. Before it could even think of devouring his soul. "Just you, Knight Commander?"
"Just me!" I don't hesitate to answer. "Don't die before my crusader gets a chance to witness it!" I focus on the others. The heroes I had lived as. Six-hundred and sixty-six brave champions! Those who would one day rout the Abyss!
The four remaining stitches around my soul begin to give. Then it erupts in a spectacular fashion.
They were all here. An army only of myself.
"W-What is this?" The demon lord was taken aback. Where had all these mortals come from? "Who are they?"
"Arlan Vorlesh! The whole lot of them!" The Band of Heroes at my back. I would lead the charge.
We roar as one, and together we all march towards certain victory! The one indulgence we would always have!
Ubik is overwhelmed by it all. As he attempts to stop them? He is blown back. Spears impale him everywhere. Swords stab into everything vital. His body blasted by every kind of magic. Whether it was arcane or divine. The Weave at their disposal. A fist breaks his nose. A boot stomps on his sternum. One of them even had the nerve to poke him in the eyes!
"I can't see anything!" Ubik screeches. "Stop this, Arlan Vorlesh!"
"No, I don't think I will!" I had cast Legendary Proportions, and grew to the size of a titan. I grab the diminutive demon lord, and shove him against a galaxy. "This is what I live for!" The galaxy begins to die, and it returns to Shar.
The night would have it!
That is when the throne begins to crumble. The black hole at the center of this universe is destroyed, and where it once was? A glorious White Wolf stood triumphant. Guts had won against it!
The beast began to howl, and from that came a hurricane. The winds smashing against The Master of Whispers, and hurling him deeper into the Abyss. All the way to the bottom of it.
Ubik could barely stand. The onslaught I had unleashed, and the winds of The White Wolf, they were both too much for him.
"This is how I die?" The demon lord accepts it. A mortal, and a wolf? They had bested him. After centuries this would be his death. "This is the end?"
Ubik chuckles.
"It's strange..." There was absolutely nothing. His rebirth had already taken any emotions. Then why did he suddenly feel satisfied? "Who was I before--"
I plunge Frostbite into his heart. Silencing the demon lord.
Guts takes care of the rest, and relieves him of his head with Dragon Slayer.
The Godhand only stood as two.
"Here it comes again!" I grumble. Another one of the stitches coming undone. I nearly collapse as I am drained by it. "It is most troublesome!"
Guts manages to grab his Knight Commander before he falls.
It was not a burden I would endure alone.
"Rest, Arlan. We won." The White Swordsman would carry his friend back home.
Just as he always would.
[] I dream of the past. The days of The Fifth Crusade.
[] I dream of the future. Of Calder Vorlesh, and his struggle.
"Yes: I am a dreamer. For a dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world."
- Oscar Wilde
I had thought I was prepared for everything, but I was not. When my crusaders had intruded on the realm of this demon lord? They were all lost to the mists. This plane was called Nightmare's Precipice, and in it all of the worst dreams imaginable were secretly housed. Locked away from the rest of the realms. Ubik, unlike Conrad, drew power from fear.
His domain was not in gluttony but instead in uncertainty. The unknown which haunted every mortal. The greatest fear of all. Which gave rise to doubt, and from that doubt almost every tragedy. The demon lord capitalized on this. He fed on it.
Femto, when he had been Griffith, had even fell victim to it.
That was why the demon lord was beside himself. I had not been susceptible to it at all. My army had been though.
"I will have to make some improvements to their training regime. The soldiers should be accustomed to this by now." Almost all of them. Regill was immovable as always. There was no fear. Only discipline. "Disappointing. I may have to lash the whole lot."
"I will wake them." I dig deeper into the mists. "Just don't be harsh, Regill. This dream has bested many heroes."
"These were not heroes! If something like this was too much for them to handle?" The gnome dismisses their efforts. "These fools did not meet the requirements! They are just failures, Knight Commander..."
"Only because their teachers failed them." I could not hide my concern. Guts, Casca, Serpico, and Farnese were somewhere in these nightmares. "I will not fail them again!"
I would save them.
"On that? I have no disagreement." The Paralictor did not shy away from any responsibility. "I will rectify this. I expect perfection from them all." The gnome reached for his hammer. "Anything less is a gross waste of resources."
I had to flinch. I remember what that was like. When I had been subjected to the teachings of The Order of the Godclaw? It was the most brutal experience of my life. Not even the six-hundred and sixty-six layers of the Abyss could compare.
"There are dangers ahead." I could not hide my concern. Those crusaders of mine, their history, there was a wealth of misfortune to exploit, and this may crush whatever semblance of sanity they had. "Time is of the essence."
There was the communion. The accord I had with The Watcher. It had granted me a gift, and reminded me of who I once was. When I had cast myself into the Abyss. The Worldwound having fractured my soul into hundreds of heroes.
They wanted to be let loose.
I had to oblige.
In the place where the Nahyndrian Crystal was nestled many centuries ago? My heart? Now it bled again. This time it was not due to the power of a demon lord. It was just me.
Just Arlan Vorlesh.
"Have faith, my crusaders." I whisper. "Let me be your guide."
An aurora borealis is born. The mist began to disperse. In that gleaming radiance? There was an echo. Then another. And another.
Then hundreds more materialized into being.
An army. A Band of Heroes. Mortals.
No more, no less.
Their hunger as palpable as my own. Their desire as sanguine.
They wanted to drink the blood of a demon lord.
<<X>>
Farnese could not look away. No, not as that person burned to ash. Serpico's mother, and this was just as she remembered it. There she was. A smile on her face. The joy she felt was undeniable. The fire had entrapped her. Illustrious as it had ever been.
The young woman vomits. The disgust she felt was eating at her. This is who she had once been.
"I'm impressed." Ubik was floating in the air. The demon lord whispering in her ear. "Mortals are always the most despicable creatures I have the pleasure of dealing with. It is why we even exist." They wanted an excuse.
The people? These mortals?
They could not and would not face what they had done to themselves. That is why The Godhand flourished. There was no end to the tragedy that was humanity. Their malevolence knew no bounds, and it nurtured these beasts.
They were like cattle. Just meat for the monsters. There was no greater nourishment. Nor any greater nexus of misery to siphon from. This was the apex. The perfection they sought. If only they had not been foiled by that accursed Arlan Vorlesh!
There would have been so much more to draw from, but now it was becoming scarce. Their food supply was running low, and they would have to replenish it. These morsels were few. When before they were plentiful.
"They are..." The witch doesn't hesitate. "...but they are beautiful too." Her memories go back to her master.
"How annoying." The demon lord could feel it. The Knight Commander had stolen something from this girl. Her heart was now his. When before it had been easy to invade the sanctify of her mind? He now felt like he slammed against an impenetrable fortress.
The only thing The Master of Whispers could see was a symbol. An icon. An abstract ideal given common courtesy. It should been impossible to even reach it.
However, no idea could ever claim to be indestructible. They could be changed. Rewritten in the favor of others. Defiled in every way imaginable. The demon lord decides to use that.
"Farnese, my crusader. My apprentice." The young woman feels him everywhere. "Why are you even trying to fight? Just give in already. It would be much easier..."
The young woman recoils at that. No, it was not Arlan Vorlesh! It was not The Knight Commander!
"It would be simple." When the weapons appears in her hand? The witch looks on in horror. It was an ornate dagger. Usually used in ritual sacrifice. "It would be freedom, Farnese."
"I can feel it. How tired you are of always losing." Ubik spoke, and out from his mouth came my voice. "It doesn't have to be that way. There can be an end to this game."
"The failures need not continue! All that is required is a flourish of this blade." A cut, and it would be over. The life would leave her body. Her soul would belong to the Abyss.
The witch shakes her head. The voices! They grew louder and louder with each moment! They were everywhere. There was no thought that wasn't assaulted by them.
It was the same. Just like in the days before the crusade. Alone in her guilt. Her madness ever present. The lust for the flames scorching everything pure.
The temptation that had ruined her. That made her into a monster. The murderer. The arsonist. The pyromaniac who wanted to watch the world burn. Along with everyone that lived in it.
"No." There was a quiet confidence. "I choose to live." Her hands began to bleed. The bandages unraveling everywhere. The curse would not let her forget. Her penance had to be met with courage.
Not cowardice.
The Everlight had promised her that. The decision had already been made. Sarenrae would always be with her. Even if I was not. The pain acting as a bulwark against this illusion. Bringing her back to her senses.
"Arlan Vorlesh would never say this!" The witch is furious. "If it is fire you seek, Ubik?" The dream is set ablaze. "The sun is what I have to give!"
The radiance banishes the primordial darkness. The demon lord in front of her, now aghast, as a Sunburst ignites, and strikes at him. The explosion engulfing everything around him.
When the smoke begins to clear? The demon lord is still hovering before her, but now he was wounded! The witch had drawn blood...
"Despicable whore, I will tear your soul asunder--" The demon lord stops at that. His tongue caught by someone. There was a warrior? A brute the witch could not recognize. He had appeared as if from the ether.
"I tire of all of this talk!" The barbarian tears the tongue out from his mouth. The demon lord gargling on what remained. "I have only come to hear your screams!"
In the confusion there is nothing more that the demon lord can do, and his head is caught by the savage. Who roars as he is taken by Rage, and that is when he squeezes. The demon lord's brain compressed to something the size of a peanut. The vagabond unceremoniously dumps what is left on the ground.
The hero held the uncanny likeness of the House Vorlesh patriarch. Raven hair. Cerulean eyes. Bulging muscles that housed the might of a giant. Scars everywhere. Skin that was once fair, but had been tanned olive by hardship. An atlantean sword by his side. "To hell with you!"
The barbarian spits on him.
"W-Who are you?" The young woman was genuinely confused. "What happened to--"
"It's just a shade. An echo of sorts. The demon lord is elsewhere. Plotting." He answers her quickly. "I am a friend. That is all you need to know... for now." He grabs her by the waist, and the witch blushes. Surprised by the sudden act and the feeling of the giant's pounding heart. He doesn't hesitate before locking lips with her. A kiss? The witch eases into it as she begins to sense something familiar. "In another time, and in another place; I will be waiting for you."
This feeling...
"Master?"
It felt like fate, but not quite.
It was as if this encounter would not be the last.
<<X>>
Serpico saw it all. Again and again. The flames that burned it all. The blank stare of his mother. Whatever was left of her had gone with her mind. There was absolutely nothing left.
His mother had died long before she had been put to the flame.
"There is more to a person. Their mind is just part of the equation." The retainer was brought out of his musings. The voice was familiar, but he was certain he had never heard it before.
When he turns to look at the figure? It was an elderly person. Unmistakably male. Due in part to the bushy beard. His hair was grey, and his eyes a milky white. He was blind. He had to be. There were too many wrinkles to count. A century of experience. It was written everywhere.
"Excuse me, but who are you?" The duelist was curious. "I feel like I should know."
"It's too early for that! Spoilers, my boy!" The arcanist felt warm. In everything that he did. He was the grandfather that everyone had at one point. "I am just a wizard. On a journey of discovery. Of myself, and others. I like to learn what I can."
"A wizard?" Serpico is reminded of another. His liege. His lord. The Knight Commander.
"No, I'm afraid a witch is different!" The wizard knows a lot. Too much, in fact.
"If you are an apostle? I will have to--" Serpico reaches for his weapon, but it is not where it should be.
"Ubik has left us." The wizard doesn't stop. "Fret not." That same sense of comfort.
The duelist relaxes at that.
"Do you want to remember?" The elderly figure is cryptic. "What her last words to you were?"
"There weren't any."
"There were!"
The wizard knew everything. He always did. It didn't matter what it was? He had a record of it somewhere. The Farwalker made sure of that. His friend had taught him many things.
"..." Serpico gives him a scrutinizing glance. What could it possibly hurt? "What were they? Her last words?"
"Don't cry. It's okay."
The duelist pauses at that. He tries to remember, but he is drawing a blank.
"Did she say that?" How many things had he blocked out? How many memories were lost to time?
"Many disappear..." The wizards seems to already know what he is thinking. "...but the feeling stays." He pats the boy on the shoulder, and gestures towards his heart. "The mind is temporary, but the heart lingers. It yearns. It desires. It is hurt by the world, and carries every wound even if all traces of them disappear."
"Why does it do that?" The crusader had to know. "Why not let it go?"
"It can't! People are their struggle. Their conflict! The war? It is what they are. Who they are! What they aim to be..." The dream begins to change. In front of them lay the Nine Hells. The flames licking at them. "Peace is not a lie, but in peace is nothing. It is devoid of anything. A person is more than just that! They're all their problems."
"Sounds miserable." Serpico remembers his sister. "Why not just die?"
"Death is not an escape. It is a trap!" He smiles at the young man. The wizard liked him. "The world is horrible, and that is exactly why you shouldn't expect death to be any better!"
"Then what choice do we have?" Serpico clenches his hands. He could feel his heart ache. "Is there anything we can even do?"
"The same thing we always do!" The hero grins at that. "We fight, and we fight! Then desperately challenge the gods and goddesses themselves! Peace won't save us, but problems will!"
"I think you're crazy." The duelist couldn't help but be happy. There was something endearing about the mad man.
"I am!" The wizard doesn't deny it. "It's part of being human..."
"I think I understand." The duelist looks towards the horizon. The Blood War raging on. "It's time to go home."
The wizard begins to fade away. "That it most certainly is!"
The dream is extinguished.
There was only war, but in that war?
Purpose could be found.
<<X>>
Casca had to face it again. The Eclipse, and this time, the paladin had to face it alone. Guts absent. Arlan Vorlesh a distant memory. If even that either.
The demons leering at her. Her clothes torn away. Salivating at the prospect of raping her. Despoiling her in every way. Just as Griffith had once done. When before she would have shut down? The grizzled veteran is focused. The Light of Valor ever present.
Elaine was no more. It was just Casca.
If she did not have a weapon? Then all she had to do was make one of her enemies. The dream distorts around her. As her aura burns away every monster that approaches. Quickly casting Dimensional Blade, the young woman's hands become ethereal, and she tears through the beasts. Any defenses they had before now completely useless. This spell granted any weapon the ability to bypass armor.
Her bare hands included.
Viscera spilled onto the ground. As the young woman's hands clawed through the stomach of every demon in her way. They screech as they feel the grace of her goddess. It burns at them! Compounded further by Smite Evil. The divine power purifying every demon that felt her touch. That is when Casca found what she was looking for. A femur that would make for a decent bludgeon.
The paladin tears it from an apostle's thigh, and proceeds to beat him to death with it. Casting Holy Sword, the weapon is blessed by Iomedae. This enchantment a gift from her patron deity. The bone does not break. The femur endures as it is used to bash every monster in her way, and with every blow it reduces them to a greasy smear.
The Inheritor had to be proud. Her paladin had become a fierce warrior. That day would never come again. The Eclipse was in the past.
Casca would die before she would ever be dishonored like that again. There the paladin stood atop a mountain of corpses. Soaked in the entrails of countless apostles. Their insides everywhere except where they were supposed to be.
The young woman had been dyed crimson. Corum would have suited her! This violence fit for any barbarian...
"I don't need armor! I don't need a weapon!" Casca roars, and it is bestial. Primal. "I have my arms and legs! I have this body!"
There was only rage. When before she had been broken? This memory had instead awoken something animalistic in her. A desire for revenge.
"Femto!" The paladin wanted to see him. The fear was gone. "Griffith!"
The fury almost as great as the one dwelling within The White Wolf. The betrayal they all experienced. All those in the Band of the Hawk.
However, she was just mortal. One person. Her exhaustion had to come, but that would make no difference.
"Rest, Casca." The hero catches her. If a crusader falls? There is always another by their side. A brother or sister to help shoulder their burden. This mysterious stranger had something roguish about him. Casca almost mistook him for Judeau. "I'm here."
"Arlan?" That is what it felt like. "What is going on?"
"Not quite." The masked man had every feature obscured. The shadows wrapped around his body. He was like a living shade. "Drink this." He reached for an alchemical concoction from his bandolier.
The young woman quickly ingested the potion. Her body ceased to ache. The contents of whatever was in it had restored her.
"I can see why The White Wolf fell in love." There is something lecherous about the way he says that. The thief ogles her. There was no need for him to undress her with his eyes. This dream had already seen to that. "Gorgeous, and those muscles accentuate your curves perfectly."
"Be careful, rogue. I am spoken for." Casca glares at him. "Do you have any clothes?"
"Of course." The rogue almost seems to conjure them from nothing. The shirt was intertwined with enchanted chainmail, leather pants with knee-pads came next, and then a pair of sturdy boots made from the remains of a wyvern. "Dress quickly. There are many more."
Casca keeps her focus on the shadowy assassin as she changes. Never once trusting him.
"On schedule. I knew they would be." The hero turns around to face another horde of demons. He reaches into his satchel, and from it throws a hailstorm of bombs. The explosives cascading through the air. The moment they detonate? The apostles are blown to pieces. Appendages flying every which way. Arms and legs torn from bodies. Gore raining down on the rest.
Casca quickly grabs the femur, but the rogue stops her.
"Almost forgot. A paladin is nothing without a weapon." In his hands the blade appeared. A bastard sword that was unmistakable.
"Dawnbreaker?" Casca had to be surprised. It was lost to her in this place. "How did you find it?" The young woman grabs the blade.
"I followed the butterflies." He replies, and as always there is a suave undercurrent. "Just as always they never fail."
"..." The paladin was perplexed. Not for the first or last time. Those words definitely reminded her of Arlan Vorlesh. Her savior. The messiah. However, this person was too much of a pervert. What connection did this mysterious stranger have with The Knight Commander? "What is your name?"
"Antonio Vorlesh. The pleasure is mine!" He throws a hailstorm of knives. They perforate another group of demons. Who cry out in pain as they realize they were all poisoned. "My friends just call me Tony!"
"Is that so?" Casca scrunches her face in confusion. A relative? "Does the name Arlan Vorlesh mean anything to you?"
"Not in the least!" The rogue slashes the throat of another apostle. It gurgles, grasping at the wound, and tries to stop the bleeding. The demon quickly falls over and dies. Failing to create any kind of tourniquet. Their regeneration was not working. The poison the rogue was using had neutralized it entirely.
This had to be another miracle. The paladin could feel it. Her divine senses going haywire. Casca grips Dawnbreaker tightly, and stabs into another apostle. "I understand."
The Knight Commander was watching over them all. I was watching over them all.
They would never be alone.
Not while I still fought.
<<X>>
Guts remembered it all. How he was betrayed by everyone he ever loved. Those he trusted taking advantage of everything he gave of himself. His devotion made to be a sacrifice to their hatred. Their ambition! He had to fight. He had to struggle. He had to endure it all.
By himself.
The monsters were everywhere. They were even his family.
"No." That thought is crushed. "They were never my family." The White Swordsman charges forward. He had finally found it. The truth that had been escaping him. His misfortune unveiled to everyone. He now knew what it was like to have a family. It was not Gambino. It was not Griffith.
It was Arlan Vorlesh! It was The Knight Commander! It was this Sixth Crusade!
It was Shisu...
How could The White Wolf have forgotten her? The woman who loved him. The child everyone had called cursed for being born at the base of that tree. The tribute to Yggdrasil. It had banished him. It had torn him from the realm he was meant for!
Fenrir held nothing back. It was an act of vengeance. All for what The Black Wolf had done. When he had brought death to Asgard.
A father and mother denied their progeny. However, despite everything, Guts was happy that it had happened.
"I would never have met any of them." It was worth it. This life had meaning. Guts had a purpose. He had his friends. These people who were now his family. He was no hound! He was a wolf! He was a Hellknight! He was a crusader!
Dragon Slayer ignited at that. The flames were sublimating all of reality. History changing, and the tapestry of time unraveling at the seams! The gilded dragon slumbering within the great sword had awoken. Grunbeld would be sated.
"Is this all, Ubik?" Guts roars. "I am not impressed!" He swings his great sword, and a swathe of flames envelop the dream. A shroud of fire. They take on the form of many wolves. Who burn everything around them. The pack of beasts howling in tandem with the destruction.
The White Wolf soon joined them.
"It seems that I have to address this problem directly." The Master of Whispers appears. Not as a shade, but as himself truly. The form he wore was that of an elf. Cloaked in extravagant robes. The glasses he wore were the only thing that didn't change. "It would have been easier if you had just surrendered--"
Guts doesn't let the demon lord finish. He is already on the move. The great sword swinging through a shadow. Another illusion. The Master of Whispers is behind him. Having deftly avoided the strike.
"Very well." The demon lord adjusts his robes. "I won't bother with any pleasantries." A cane appears in his hands, and he unsheathes it. Revealing the weapon within. The blade had a sickly hue. An emerald glow that promised death.
Guts immediately twirls around, and reaches for the demon lord. His claws almost catching him. Ubik blocks the attack. The Berserker Armor clashing against abysium. The moment he does? He gags.
"Pestilence. It is a fine rapier." The weapon had to be enchanted. That, or whatever material had been used to forge it was toxic. Guts may have been a demi-god, but this was no conventional disease. There was something unnatural about it. It would have instantly meant the death of even the hardiest paladin. Their immunity to disease not withstanding.
The White Wolf falls. Barely able to stand after meeting it once. "Begone." A cyclone is conjured as he speaks. The tornado crashing into the demon lord, and sending him careening backwards. The wind blowing away everything. Even the affliction had been exorcised. His mastery over air would make him the envy of even the most powerful kineticist. Not unlike Grunbeld's fire? There was no immunity against this. Only brute force could meet it.
Guts stands back up. Hefting Dragon Slayer over his shoulders. "Neat trick!" Whilst Grunbeld's flames dealt in destruction? His wind excelled elsewhere. It was in displacement. It didn't matter what it was. If it existed the thing could be banished anywhere. In this case he had hurled it back at the demon lord. "How do you like mine?"
Surprisingly, Ubik didn't even seem fazed by it. "This rapier has been my ally since my rebirth, Guts. I cannot be hurt by it." He had developed an immunity to it. Over centuries of constant use. Ubik hovered above his realm. Secure in his power.
"It is never simple..." The White Wolf assumes another deadly stance. "Then prepare yourself, Ubik!" Guts quickly casts Flight. He soars through the air, and meets Ubik. Dragon Slayer slams against Pestilence. The clash of these mythical armaments echoing throughout Nightmare's Precipice. The universe began to tremble. Unlike Conrad? Ubik was no pushover. He was the voice.
He spoke for The Godhand.
When Guts fell back down? He was not ready. He met the ground with the subtlety of an asteroid. The planet shaking as Ubik kept his distance.
"There is much to learn." The Master of Whispers admonishes him.
"He already knows enough!" Another voice echoed throughout the realm. "I'm here to save the damsel in distress!" It was my own.
"I am no damsel!" The White Wolf was beside himself. "I already told you that, Arlan!"
"Whatever you say, my lady." I make my entrance. My many facets would serve my army. They would protect them. Aid them when I could not. "A fair maiden such as yourself deserves respect!"
I cast Heal, and quickly repair any damage. What wounds The White Swordsman did have disappeared. I went to pet him, and that is when he had enough of my teasing.
"Ah, you bit me!" I shake my hand. Several puncture wounds bleeding profusely. "That's no way to treat your Knight Commander!"
Ubik could only look on in amazement. At this display of idiocy. These were the heroes that had already destroyed Slan and Conrad? "Unbelievable..." This was just embarrassing. The Master of Whispers made a note of this. He would expunge every record of The Sixth Crusade. They would be wiped from every book. If only to salvage the dignity of The Godhand.
Of course, the demon lord would never get a chance to do this. I would make sure of that.
"I will join you." I drop all pretenses. The wound did not matter. The curse be damned. "This is an enemy that must be faced together, my crusader. Stand steadfast!"
"..." Guts pauses at that. "What about--"
"Don't worry!" I smile at him. "It's coming, but this must be done." This was no war. It was a genocide. "This is their punishment."
No realm would be spared. No plane left to these monsters. The purification would occur.
A purge was in order.
"Be careful, Arlan." The White Wolf could not hide it. His fear. The only one he had left. That the day would come when we would have to part ways.
"No promises! At least for this..." No, this was not the time for them. I couldn't keep that one. "Ubik! I am The Knight Commander, and I have come to claim your soul!"
"The pleasure is mine." The Master of Whispers prepares himself. "I will end your crusade today!"
"Duly noted, but I don't consider this a pleasure at all!" It was just a chore. There was something dangerous in the air. A sense of foreboding. I reach out for nothing, and Frostbite appears in my hand. The frigid blade making the temperature drop to absolute zero around us. "Try it!"
I quickly cast Mind Blank, Communal. Then amplify it with Conduit Surge. The magic protecting our minds from any intrusion. The demon lord could rely on illusions no more.
The White Wolf leaps into action. Dragon Slayer burning everything that it touched. As he clashes against the demon lord? I cast Walk Through Space, and materialize behind the monster. I swing Frostbite down on his head. The demon lord blocks both blades with Pestilence, but the force of it overwhelms him. He recoils, and is thrust downwards. Crashing into Nightmare's Precipice. The planet cracks in half. The core fracturing at that. The blow from before had already damaged it. It could not handle another.
"A shame. I did enjoy this plane." The demon lord complains. "I will need a replacement." What happens next is no illusion. The universe begins to change. Another universe is born around us. Nebulae drawn from ether. Galaxies revolving around us. At the center of it all was Ubik. The demon lord floating in the vacuum of outer space. A supermassive black hole of impossible size serving as his throne.
Guts is not fazed by it. The air around his body contorting to become an atmosphere. He could breathe again. The White Wolf flies through this facsimile of the Astral Plane, and collides against the demon lord! The black hole enduring the assault. Unlike the planet which had almost died.
I grip Frostbite tightly, and cast Foresight. The spell granting me an unbelievable prescience. When Ubik appears to pierce Guts from behind? I am already prepared. Frostbite met Pestilence, and I cackle like a hyena. "Sorry, but it won't be that easy!" I cast the grand hex known as Death Curse, and imbue my bastard sword with the magic.
Ubik doesn't realize it. Not until he feels his body begin to die. The fatigue hits him before anything else. He clutches his heart in abject agony, and expels it from his body. The heart detonates with the force of a supernova. He had saved himself. Just barely.
Another heart is grown. It replaces what was lost.
It did serve as a distraction at least.
Dragon Slayer pierces through his chest. Guts having taken the opportunity to impale him from behind. The demon lord is furious at that, and expels everything with a roar. The power hurls The White Wolf away. The demi-god crashing against the black hole.
"That should grant me a reprieve." Ubik tears the great sword out of his chest. Before it could even think of devouring his soul. "Just you, Knight Commander?"
"Just me!" I don't hesitate to answer. "Don't die before my crusader gets a chance to witness it!" I focus on the others. The heroes I had lived as. Six-hundred and sixty-six brave champions! Those who would one day rout the Abyss!
The four remaining stitches around my soul begin to give. Then it erupts in a spectacular fashion.
They were all here. An army only of myself.
"W-What is this?" The demon lord was taken aback. Where had all these mortals come from? "Who are they?"
"Arlan Vorlesh! The whole lot of them!" The Band of Heroes at my back. I would lead the charge.
We roar as one, and together we all march towards certain victory! The one indulgence we would always have!
Ubik is overwhelmed by it all. As he attempts to stop them? He is blown back. Spears impale him everywhere. Swords stab into everything vital. His body blasted by every kind of magic. Whether it was arcane or divine. The Weave at their disposal. A fist breaks his nose. A boot stomps on his sternum. One of them even had the nerve to poke him in the eyes!
"I can't see anything!" Ubik screeches. "Stop this, Arlan Vorlesh!"
"No, I don't think I will!" I had cast Legendary Proportions, and grew to the size of a titan. I grab the diminutive demon lord, and shove him against a galaxy. "This is what I live for!" The galaxy begins to die, and it returns to Shar.
The night would have it!
That is when the throne begins to crumble. The black hole at the center of this universe is destroyed, and where it once was? A glorious White Wolf stood triumphant. Guts had won against it!
The beast began to howl, and from that came a hurricane. The winds smashing against The Master of Whispers, and hurling him deeper into the Abyss. All the way to the bottom of it.
Ubik could barely stand. The onslaught I had unleashed, and the winds of The White Wolf, they were both too much for him.
"This is how I die?" The demon lord accepts it. A mortal, and a wolf? They had bested him. After centuries this would be his death. "This is the end?"
Ubik chuckles.
"It's strange..." There was absolutely nothing. His rebirth had already taken any emotions. Then why did he suddenly feel satisfied? "Who was I before--"
I plunge Frostbite into his heart. Silencing the demon lord.
Guts takes care of the rest, and relieves him of his head with Dragon Slayer.
The Godhand only stood as two.
"Here it comes again!" I grumble. Another one of the stitches coming undone. I nearly collapse as I am drained by it. "It is most troublesome!"
Guts manages to grab his Knight Commander before he falls.
It was not a burden I would endure alone.
"Rest, Arlan. We won." The White Swordsman would carry his friend back home.
Just as he always would.
[] I dream of the past. The days of The Fifth Crusade.
[] I dream of the future. Of Calder Vorlesh, and his struggle.
Last edited:
Blasterbot
Well-known member
[X] I dream of the future. Of Calder Vorlesh, and his struggle.
Gladiator
Well-known member
Oh, and as an explanation as to why we haven't seen a lot of Schierke and Isidro? Arlan is disgusted by the idea of child soldiers, and has purposely barred them from participating in the war. Schierke is still apprenticing underneath Flora, and Arlan has basically replaced her. Only reason he let them follow him into Elysium was because it was generally safe for mortals. Cannibalistic mermaids aside (and that's only really a problem if you try to bang their daughters).
Isidro is currently building the Thieves Guild in Arlan's Way. This to the great annoyance of Serpico. Who is the head of law enforcement in Arlan's Way.
Isidro is currently building the Thieves Guild in Arlan's Way. This to the great annoyance of Serpico. Who is the head of law enforcement in Arlan's Way.
The Guardian
Gladiator
Well-known member
Chapter 24: The Guardian
"I made a promise! I can't go back on my word, Casca! What Arlan Vorlesh did for all of us? I will never forget it..."
- The White Wolf
Calder Vorlesh awoke from a nightmare. A demon lord haunting his dreams. A war he did not know. A people who fought desperately against their destiny. All of them heroes. All of them broken, but rising to meet the challenge despite that!
This life which had conspired against them? Which had sought to take everything? They would take it all back. The happiness that was promised. The skald would dream of them. He would dream of that person. His father. The person who he only knew as The Knight Commander of the Fifth Crusade.
Areelu Vorlesh spoke of him. There was regret lingering within the witch. How she had wanted to love him. How she had wanted to give him the mother he deserved. It was not meant to be. The skald wanted to help her. His grandmother had done everything to make sure he would became a hero. A champion just like Arlan Vorlesh.
Instead Calder Vorlesh took after the father who raised him. A harper. A bard. A reluctant hero, but a hero nonetheless. Edgin had found love again. When he had met my Arueshalae. In turn, Calder Vorlesh had been delivered a sister. That Kira who always watched over him, and a mentor by the name of Holga. The barbarian taught him courage, and how to wield an axe. How to rage in many ways, and how to inspire those around him. The young man was the culmination of everyone who had raised him.
In Elysium, that son of mine flourished. I took solace in that.
Calder Vorlesh did not need to be like Arlan Vorlesh. He only needed to be like Calder Vorlesh. I had hope that he would learn the importance of that.
One day.
The nautiloid is crashing. It is about to fall, and Calder Vorlesh goes with it. He did not have my power. This would be death.
Unlike those he had encountered on the vessel? There was no tadpole squirming inside of his brain.
The artifact would not save him. The Emperor had no interest in him. Oh, how I despised that worm! I would have snatched the life from him myself if I could.
I did not need to act though. The White Wolf was always prepared.
A gust of wind comes along. An updraft that slows the fall of one Calder Vorlesh. Until he is brought to a stop. Just before his head could crack open like a walnut. His unconscious body descends gently, and lands on the ground. The beach a comfort. Instead of the death sentence it once was. The glare of the sun. The sound of seagulls. The smell of the ocean. It was peaceful.
I hated every second of it. Where was the war?
"I knew I shouldn't have gone on that bender!" The skald had taken to the bar at Baldur's Gate, and that is when he had been kidnapped. He would have been a mind flayer, if not for the fact he fought back. The tadpole had almost gotten him. Instead it received an axe.
The same one that his mentor had given him. That was before the passing of the bard. His father was mortal. He grew, and then he died. Just as his sister did. Then his mentor went the same way. It was a curse, as far as he was concerned. He never wanted immortality, but he had inherited it from his parentage. His mother. The azata.
My Arueshalae.
Calder Vorlesh would live. "Here we go again." He cracks his neck. Another adventure. The mystery of that wind. Where had it come from? "It couldn't have been grandmother."
Areelu Vorlesh had her own problems to deal with. The succubus did enjoy the act of spoiling her grandchildren, but this was not her doing.
The skald surveyed the beach. He looked for anything familiar. That is when he saw it. The cleric had survived the fall, and besides her was the prison. That prism which housed a particular person of interest.
Royalty, if you would.
In time, the skald would learn. The young man would become the centerpiece. The hero of this story. Hopefully, an azata just like his mother before him.
As the skald approached the half-elf? He made sure to cover his tracks. A habit he had formed in Elysium. It was always wise when hunting anything. "Excuse me, miss? Are you alive?" The young man pokes at her with a stick. "If you are not? Do you mind if I take all your valuables?" He says that but he was already searching all of her pockets. It was just a formality. The skald had every intention of grave robbing here.
It was a tradition. There was no adventurer who did not relish the act, and he aimed to be the greatest one of all. Therefore no corpse could go unsullied. They all had to be relieved of their treasures.
"Stop it!" The cleric pushes him away. "I'm alive!" Shadowheart had felt murderous at that exact moment. This buffoon had made no secret that he was a thief. The only reason why the young woman had stayed her hand? The skald had saved her before.
"Oh, apologies. I had thought you a cadaver."
"That doesn't make it okay!"
Calder Vorlesh doesn't even have the decency to look ashamed of himself. He grins at her, and proceeds to bow. "The name is Calder Vorlesh. Skald, and career criminal. I do a bit of adventuring too!"
"I can see that." The cleric couldn't hide her distaste. "Regardless of that, I haven't forgotten anything. Thank you for saving my life."
"No worries. That will be twenty." He gestures with his hand, and points towards his palm. As if waiting for something.
"Twenty what?" The cleric gives him an incredulous look.
"Gold coins, of course!" He smiles at her. "That is a discount. Only because I like you."
"I am not paying you!" The cleric had an indignant look about her. "I don't even have any gold coins!"
"Silver?"
"No, nothing!"
Calder Vorlesh shakes his head. "Cheapskates, always the same." The condescending look he wore had the ability to annoy even the most pious of individuals. "Alright, I will wait. Consider it on hold!"
"..." Shadowheart felt the urge to smack the young man again, but she manages to restrain herself. "These tadpoles are a problem." The cleric changes the subject.
"Sure." The skald goes along with it. It wasn't his problem, but it was definitely her problem. Besides that, this was interesting. An opportunity for fun, and whatever else may come. "I can't argue against that. What solution do you have, cleric? I am certain you must know a spell that could cure us?"
"No, this is not something I have dealt with before." Shadowheart had recollected herself. The tadpole had to come before anything else. It would mean becoming a monster otherwise. "What about you, Calder?"
"I have dealt with..." He stops himself at that. It was something that was unbelievable. The Nine Hells were one thing, but Elysium? "...nothing this exotic before." He lies through his teeth. "I'm afraid that tentacles may be in our charter."
Especially if the skald continued to travel with the cleric, and he decided that was an excellent idea. If anything? Calder Vorlesh could end her misery. If the worst happened. "What is that contraption, by the way?"
"What contraption?" Shadowheart folds her arms over her chest. Feigning ignorance.
"The prism." The skald sees through it. "That artifact is occupied."
"Occupied?" That caught her interest. "What do you mean?"
"There is someone inside of it. I can feel it." He approaches the young woman. "If I may examine it?"
"No, you may not." The cleric stores it in her satchel. "It is none of your business."
"A devout of Shar has a secret? Why I am not surprised?"
"How did you--"
The skald grabs one of her hands. The one that was cursed.
"I can feel it. That goddess, and her re-imagining of The Weave." He tries to be polite about it. He would have preferred to have called it a perversion. "I mean no disrespect, but if I am to travel with someone like yourself? There can be no secrets..."
The skald says that, but he was already lying himself. It is the reason he decides to be forthcoming next.
"I have no tadpole. I murdered the mind flayer who tried to insert it." He smiles at her, and points towards one of his eyes. "There is my honesty! What about you, Shadowheart?"
The cleric backs away from the skald. A look of confusion on her face. "Why did you even pretend that you were infected?"
"I like an adventure." The skald grabs her by the waist, and brings her close. The half-elf blushes at that. "I want to be part of this one..."
Shadowheart had met a mad man.
"I won't say no to any assistance." The cleric pushes him away. "I need all the help I can get."
"Good." Calder Vorlesh was pleased by that. "What of the githyanki? Have you seen Lae'zel?"
"I haven't." Shadowheart turns away from the skald. "Since there are no more secrets? Is there anything you can actually do?"
"I could kill you." The skald is blunt about it. "However, I'm afraid what magic I do know does not include True Resurrection, and I have the feeling that creating another body for you to inhabit will not solve this problem." He closes the distance, and flicks her in the head. "There is a power protecting the tadpole. That same power has consigned it to a kind of stasis. It won't grow anymore, but it can't be removed either. A troubling conundrum. A curious one too."
Who could be behind it?
"That is why I asked to examine the prism." The skald points towards her satchel. "It may have something to do with it."
"Sorry, but I can't let you touch it."
"It has to do with Shar?"
The cleric nods her head.
"I understand." The skald bows again. "I do not know how exactly this stasis works--" He feels an intrusion, and quickly forces it out with the abruptness of a battering ram. "I do know that it comes with perks. Such as the telepathy of mind flayers."
Shadowheart clutches her head. The cleric had attempted something, and had failed spectacularly.
"I apologize--"
"Oh, please! No patronizing!" Calder Vorlesh tilts his head. Reexamining the young woman. "Don't do it again."
"I won't." The cleric looks guilty at that.
"It's fine. I am a grave robber, after all! This just makes us even. At least for now!" The skald is diplomatic. He dealt with criminals every day in his profession.
"I think that our best course of action is to examine the wreckage." The skald looks around. "The nautiloid made a mess, and there are probably a few mind flayers in need of an axing!" The young man reaches for it. Smouldering Promise. Holga's favorite. The axe was enchanted. It burned, and whatever it touched burned with it.
"Confident! What exactly is stopping them from making another thrall?" Shadowheart was not impressed.
"Experience, and..." The skald ignites it. The axe is enveloped in hellfire. "...overwhelming firepower."
Literally, in this case.
The cleric almost pitied them. The keyword being almost.
They had found another survivor. That is what they thought. In truth, the pale elf had died. Someone had bisected him. His torso was separated from his waist, and there was a look of horror on his face. He had been struck by terror before death claimed him.
What they did find? It was a knight. He wore the most unusual armor, and it was ornate. Decorated in every luxury. Gold etched into it. Everything else was silver. It would be fit for royalty, or even the divine.
The White Swordsman wielded a great sword. That was a misnomer though. It was more like a ginormous hunk of metal. That was crudely made into a blade. It wasn't just massive. It should have been impossible for anyone to use it as a weapon. Despite that? This mysterious stranger treated it as if it was an extension of himself. That it was even weightless. His might could match that of any giant. Perhaps even surpass them all.
"I imagine you are responsible for this murder?" The skald approaches him. "What was the cause for it?"
"Self-defense." The giant had the look of an elf, but he couldn't have been one. The resemblance was uncanny though. He could have been a sibling, or something along those lines. His victim had features like his own. The same snowy hair. Those gleaming carmine eyes. Heck, they even both had razor sharp fangs! "It was a vampire."
"A vampire?" Calder Vorlesh tilts his head. "Then what are you? The same?"
"No, I am no monster." The mysterious stranger did not lie. Instead what the skald could feel was recognition? As if he should know this person. "A crusader. A slayer of monsters." He smiles. "I have something I need to do."
"What would that be?"
"None of your business, brat!"
Impossibly ancient. Calder Vorlesh could feel it. It was like speaking to one of the deities in Elysium. The power was almost exactly the same. A chosen? No, it was greater than just any chosen! Whoever this person was? They were a force to be reckoned with.
"I'm coming." The White Wolf is direct. "The business in question involves this."
"Is there a choice involved for any of us?" The skald is bemused. He loved a mystery.
"No." The muscular elf doesn't hesitate to answer. "None at all."
The mysterious stranger would have his way.
"Interesting, and what is your name?"
"Guts."
I could always rely on him. My crusader.
My brother.
[] I awaken from my slumber. The dream came to an end. It was time to face Griffith. There was no point in waiting. I would reclaim Radiance. Whatever the cost may be.
[] There was more I could do to prepare for this. I could focus on bolstering our army, and most of all on Casca's development. I had no doubt she would want to face Femto too.
"I made a promise! I can't go back on my word, Casca! What Arlan Vorlesh did for all of us? I will never forget it..."
- The White Wolf
Calder Vorlesh awoke from a nightmare. A demon lord haunting his dreams. A war he did not know. A people who fought desperately against their destiny. All of them heroes. All of them broken, but rising to meet the challenge despite that!
This life which had conspired against them? Which had sought to take everything? They would take it all back. The happiness that was promised. The skald would dream of them. He would dream of that person. His father. The person who he only knew as The Knight Commander of the Fifth Crusade.
Areelu Vorlesh spoke of him. There was regret lingering within the witch. How she had wanted to love him. How she had wanted to give him the mother he deserved. It was not meant to be. The skald wanted to help her. His grandmother had done everything to make sure he would became a hero. A champion just like Arlan Vorlesh.
Instead Calder Vorlesh took after the father who raised him. A harper. A bard. A reluctant hero, but a hero nonetheless. Edgin had found love again. When he had met my Arueshalae. In turn, Calder Vorlesh had been delivered a sister. That Kira who always watched over him, and a mentor by the name of Holga. The barbarian taught him courage, and how to wield an axe. How to rage in many ways, and how to inspire those around him. The young man was the culmination of everyone who had raised him.
In Elysium, that son of mine flourished. I took solace in that.
Calder Vorlesh did not need to be like Arlan Vorlesh. He only needed to be like Calder Vorlesh. I had hope that he would learn the importance of that.
One day.
The nautiloid is crashing. It is about to fall, and Calder Vorlesh goes with it. He did not have my power. This would be death.
Unlike those he had encountered on the vessel? There was no tadpole squirming inside of his brain.
The artifact would not save him. The Emperor had no interest in him. Oh, how I despised that worm! I would have snatched the life from him myself if I could.
I did not need to act though. The White Wolf was always prepared.
A gust of wind comes along. An updraft that slows the fall of one Calder Vorlesh. Until he is brought to a stop. Just before his head could crack open like a walnut. His unconscious body descends gently, and lands on the ground. The beach a comfort. Instead of the death sentence it once was. The glare of the sun. The sound of seagulls. The smell of the ocean. It was peaceful.
I hated every second of it. Where was the war?
"I knew I shouldn't have gone on that bender!" The skald had taken to the bar at Baldur's Gate, and that is when he had been kidnapped. He would have been a mind flayer, if not for the fact he fought back. The tadpole had almost gotten him. Instead it received an axe.
The same one that his mentor had given him. That was before the passing of the bard. His father was mortal. He grew, and then he died. Just as his sister did. Then his mentor went the same way. It was a curse, as far as he was concerned. He never wanted immortality, but he had inherited it from his parentage. His mother. The azata.
My Arueshalae.
Calder Vorlesh would live. "Here we go again." He cracks his neck. Another adventure. The mystery of that wind. Where had it come from? "It couldn't have been grandmother."
Areelu Vorlesh had her own problems to deal with. The succubus did enjoy the act of spoiling her grandchildren, but this was not her doing.
The skald surveyed the beach. He looked for anything familiar. That is when he saw it. The cleric had survived the fall, and besides her was the prison. That prism which housed a particular person of interest.
Royalty, if you would.
In time, the skald would learn. The young man would become the centerpiece. The hero of this story. Hopefully, an azata just like his mother before him.
As the skald approached the half-elf? He made sure to cover his tracks. A habit he had formed in Elysium. It was always wise when hunting anything. "Excuse me, miss? Are you alive?" The young man pokes at her with a stick. "If you are not? Do you mind if I take all your valuables?" He says that but he was already searching all of her pockets. It was just a formality. The skald had every intention of grave robbing here.
It was a tradition. There was no adventurer who did not relish the act, and he aimed to be the greatest one of all. Therefore no corpse could go unsullied. They all had to be relieved of their treasures.
"Stop it!" The cleric pushes him away. "I'm alive!" Shadowheart had felt murderous at that exact moment. This buffoon had made no secret that he was a thief. The only reason why the young woman had stayed her hand? The skald had saved her before.
"Oh, apologies. I had thought you a cadaver."
"That doesn't make it okay!"
Calder Vorlesh doesn't even have the decency to look ashamed of himself. He grins at her, and proceeds to bow. "The name is Calder Vorlesh. Skald, and career criminal. I do a bit of adventuring too!"
"I can see that." The cleric couldn't hide her distaste. "Regardless of that, I haven't forgotten anything. Thank you for saving my life."
"No worries. That will be twenty." He gestures with his hand, and points towards his palm. As if waiting for something.
"Twenty what?" The cleric gives him an incredulous look.
"Gold coins, of course!" He smiles at her. "That is a discount. Only because I like you."
"I am not paying you!" The cleric had an indignant look about her. "I don't even have any gold coins!"
"Silver?"
"No, nothing!"
Calder Vorlesh shakes his head. "Cheapskates, always the same." The condescending look he wore had the ability to annoy even the most pious of individuals. "Alright, I will wait. Consider it on hold!"
"..." Shadowheart felt the urge to smack the young man again, but she manages to restrain herself. "These tadpoles are a problem." The cleric changes the subject.
"Sure." The skald goes along with it. It wasn't his problem, but it was definitely her problem. Besides that, this was interesting. An opportunity for fun, and whatever else may come. "I can't argue against that. What solution do you have, cleric? I am certain you must know a spell that could cure us?"
"No, this is not something I have dealt with before." Shadowheart had recollected herself. The tadpole had to come before anything else. It would mean becoming a monster otherwise. "What about you, Calder?"
"I have dealt with..." He stops himself at that. It was something that was unbelievable. The Nine Hells were one thing, but Elysium? "...nothing this exotic before." He lies through his teeth. "I'm afraid that tentacles may be in our charter."
Especially if the skald continued to travel with the cleric, and he decided that was an excellent idea. If anything? Calder Vorlesh could end her misery. If the worst happened. "What is that contraption, by the way?"
"What contraption?" Shadowheart folds her arms over her chest. Feigning ignorance.
"The prism." The skald sees through it. "That artifact is occupied."
"Occupied?" That caught her interest. "What do you mean?"
"There is someone inside of it. I can feel it." He approaches the young woman. "If I may examine it?"
"No, you may not." The cleric stores it in her satchel. "It is none of your business."
"A devout of Shar has a secret? Why I am not surprised?"
"How did you--"
The skald grabs one of her hands. The one that was cursed.
"I can feel it. That goddess, and her re-imagining of The Weave." He tries to be polite about it. He would have preferred to have called it a perversion. "I mean no disrespect, but if I am to travel with someone like yourself? There can be no secrets..."
The skald says that, but he was already lying himself. It is the reason he decides to be forthcoming next.
"I have no tadpole. I murdered the mind flayer who tried to insert it." He smiles at her, and points towards one of his eyes. "There is my honesty! What about you, Shadowheart?"
The cleric backs away from the skald. A look of confusion on her face. "Why did you even pretend that you were infected?"
"I like an adventure." The skald grabs her by the waist, and brings her close. The half-elf blushes at that. "I want to be part of this one..."
Shadowheart had met a mad man.
"I won't say no to any assistance." The cleric pushes him away. "I need all the help I can get."
"Good." Calder Vorlesh was pleased by that. "What of the githyanki? Have you seen Lae'zel?"
"I haven't." Shadowheart turns away from the skald. "Since there are no more secrets? Is there anything you can actually do?"
"I could kill you." The skald is blunt about it. "However, I'm afraid what magic I do know does not include True Resurrection, and I have the feeling that creating another body for you to inhabit will not solve this problem." He closes the distance, and flicks her in the head. "There is a power protecting the tadpole. That same power has consigned it to a kind of stasis. It won't grow anymore, but it can't be removed either. A troubling conundrum. A curious one too."
Who could be behind it?
"That is why I asked to examine the prism." The skald points towards her satchel. "It may have something to do with it."
"Sorry, but I can't let you touch it."
"It has to do with Shar?"
The cleric nods her head.
"I understand." The skald bows again. "I do not know how exactly this stasis works--" He feels an intrusion, and quickly forces it out with the abruptness of a battering ram. "I do know that it comes with perks. Such as the telepathy of mind flayers."
Shadowheart clutches her head. The cleric had attempted something, and had failed spectacularly.
"I apologize--"
"Oh, please! No patronizing!" Calder Vorlesh tilts his head. Reexamining the young woman. "Don't do it again."
"I won't." The cleric looks guilty at that.
"It's fine. I am a grave robber, after all! This just makes us even. At least for now!" The skald is diplomatic. He dealt with criminals every day in his profession.
"I think that our best course of action is to examine the wreckage." The skald looks around. "The nautiloid made a mess, and there are probably a few mind flayers in need of an axing!" The young man reaches for it. Smouldering Promise. Holga's favorite. The axe was enchanted. It burned, and whatever it touched burned with it.
"Confident! What exactly is stopping them from making another thrall?" Shadowheart was not impressed.
"Experience, and..." The skald ignites it. The axe is enveloped in hellfire. "...overwhelming firepower."
Literally, in this case.
<<X>>
When they came across the pod? They were surprised to see that someone had already beat them to it. As they sifted through the wreckage of the derelict nautiloid? They had found at least one mind flayer that had survived the crash. Which Calder Vorlesh had made short work of with his axe. The enthusiasm he displayed did concern his companion. Shadowheart had more reason to hate these abominations, but the way this skald dealt with them had been brutal.
The cleric almost pitied them. The keyword being almost.
They had found another survivor. That is what they thought. In truth, the pale elf had died. Someone had bisected him. His torso was separated from his waist, and there was a look of horror on his face. He had been struck by terror before death claimed him.
What they did find? It was a knight. He wore the most unusual armor, and it was ornate. Decorated in every luxury. Gold etched into it. Everything else was silver. It would be fit for royalty, or even the divine.
The White Swordsman wielded a great sword. That was a misnomer though. It was more like a ginormous hunk of metal. That was crudely made into a blade. It wasn't just massive. It should have been impossible for anyone to use it as a weapon. Despite that? This mysterious stranger treated it as if it was an extension of himself. That it was even weightless. His might could match that of any giant. Perhaps even surpass them all.
"I imagine you are responsible for this murder?" The skald approaches him. "What was the cause for it?"
"Self-defense." The giant had the look of an elf, but he couldn't have been one. The resemblance was uncanny though. He could have been a sibling, or something along those lines. His victim had features like his own. The same snowy hair. Those gleaming carmine eyes. Heck, they even both had razor sharp fangs! "It was a vampire."
"A vampire?" Calder Vorlesh tilts his head. "Then what are you? The same?"
"No, I am no monster." The mysterious stranger did not lie. Instead what the skald could feel was recognition? As if he should know this person. "A crusader. A slayer of monsters." He smiles. "I have something I need to do."
"What would that be?"
"None of your business, brat!"
Impossibly ancient. Calder Vorlesh could feel it. It was like speaking to one of the deities in Elysium. The power was almost exactly the same. A chosen? No, it was greater than just any chosen! Whoever this person was? They were a force to be reckoned with.
"I'm coming." The White Wolf is direct. "The business in question involves this."
"Is there a choice involved for any of us?" The skald is bemused. He loved a mystery.
"No." The muscular elf doesn't hesitate to answer. "None at all."
The mysterious stranger would have his way.
"Interesting, and what is your name?"
"Guts."
I could always rely on him. My crusader.
My brother.
[] I awaken from my slumber. The dream came to an end. It was time to face Griffith. There was no point in waiting. I would reclaim Radiance. Whatever the cost may be.
[] There was more I could do to prepare for this. I could focus on bolstering our army, and most of all on Casca's development. I had no doubt she would want to face Femto too.
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