Ayl
The Tale Weaver
Shan'Manrir, Main Plaza, in front of the Great House of Commerce
The crowd was bustling with energy and noise. People were eating, drinking, dancing and laughing in the streets, flooding them with the feeling of joy and happiness. The moon was shining bright, repelling the clouds, as the magical street lights were illuminating the roads so that people wouldn't stumble and fall. Men, women and children alike were engaged in various games to relax, all of this just to celebrate the victory of the Dylenor Navy against the pirates that dared engage the Sharian precious cargo. Dylenor sailors from aboard the Lion and Wolf Fleets were among those who were blowing steam, gulping down the sweet, native wine that seemed to flow down in waterfalls.
Suddenly, the noisy cheers were halted by a screech in the night! As people ignored the skyline so far, all of their attention was now directed at the moon, which was now blocked by a black clouder, darker than even the sky itself. Silent gasps were let out as people soon realised that the cloud was constantly shifting, like something was disturbing its slumber. It didn't take long for another screech to deafen the previously joyful streets of Shan'Manrir, as screams of terror escaped the population's mouth, at the sight of the cloud breaking up into multiple fragments, which, at a closer look, seemed to be birds, but in fact were much worse!
Terrible creatures, with wings black as charcoal, and the faces of hell itself printed on them, descended upon the civilization below, grabbing people from the ground, only to take them high in the air and drop them on the ground, ending their lives. Some didn't even bother going that far, using their razor sharp teeth to bite into the necks of any person they encountered, letting blood gush out, stainning the white pavement. Once the initial shock lifted, the military started its act of retaliation. From atop the walls and guard towers, one unison shout could be heard: "ARCHERS!". The valiant bowmen needed no other call, as they quickly prepared their arrows to sink deep into the bodies of the nightmarish creatures.
Main Eastern Gate
But that wouldn't be all, not by far! Towards the main gate, a single silhouette was marching. The gate guards, unaware of the events inside the city walls yet, approached the dark figure gently. "State your business, outsider!" they sneered. The black robed man, with his head bowed, stopped in his tracks, only to let out a chuckle, that quickly turned into a maniacal laughter, as his head slowly raised, only to reveal a horrid mask, with two bright azure eyes staring at the two. "My business, you ask?" he spoke with a gutural voice, which could've seeped fear into the bravest man's heart. "Well, I don't suppose you would believe me if I said I was here to take your city and your lives with it, so I assume I must make a small demonstration beforehand!".
With a simple wave of his hand, the two guards were rocketed backwards, hitting against the city wall hardly. Lifting his hands to an horizontal postion, stretched towards his left and right, the Necromancer spoke again, loudly, for each man to hear and shiver: "Come now, my minions! Show this wretched mortals your power of destruction! Show them Death itself!". Not a moment later, the forests behind him started trembling with bad omens. Loud and multiple creaks could be heard, followed by trees falling down one by one, as from the forest emerged a gruesome sight. At least 50 giant, skinless monsters, with steel claws and fangs protruding from their extremities, showed themselves, followed by other smaller undead entities. Skeletons, horrid looking people, horse-human abominations, all of them counting in the thousands, were marching slowly but surely towards the city.
"This is the night we take what is ours, starting with the weakest, that plague our world! Aedas vas Tenebros!" were the Necromancer's last words, before the giant Hulks started rainning hits upon the great oak doors that led inside the city. The valiant combination of wood and iron did not stand a chance in the long run, and was soon bashed inwards, giving way for the piles of flesh and bones to enter and wreak havoc! It was a nightmare came true. Those who remained stunned in shock were the first to be killed, while those who ran only prolongued their suffering by a few minutes or seconds. Screams, prays and whatnot could be heard in the night, as some gave in to their desperation, and simply stood there, accepting and waiting for their fate, hoping it would end quick. How much they would be wrong! Their deaths came neither swift nor easy!
Soon, women with violet-blue faces and large mouths let out deafening screams that would last for minutes, only affecting the ones that were living, apparently. Skeletons that could manipulate magick came along and set fire to the houses and buildings that surrounded them, torching entire districts, while the lesser ones put the population to the sword. Blood started pouring down the avenues in waves, limbs and flesh adorning the walls and street light poles. Heads rolled in the alleyways, while families were embracing one another tightly, hoping it was but a dream, and they would wake up to normality again. The guards, military and anyone who could wield a weapon tried opposing the invasion of evil, but stood no chance against the reaping that followed the crowd of undead, who marched on relentless. Alarms sounded throughout the capital of the Terago Coalition, which was now on fire! All seemed hopeless, as slowly, the legion of dead was approaching the towering building in the middle of the city, the Great House of Commerce.
All seemed doomed and hopeless.
Sebastian Grauwen, Great House of Commerce, Main Hall
The glass of wine that was kissing Sebastian's lips just a second ago was now held in the air as the Admiral's ears were now focused on the clamor coming from outside. Stepping up from his chair, he approached the window, only for his eyes to shrink in surprise at the turning of events. Not wasting a time, he unsheathed the two halves of his double glaive and motioned towards the Headmasters that were still sitting at their table, watching him carefully, to get up and move! "We must get out of here, now!" Sebastian shouted!
"But, Admiral, why mu-"
"I SAID NOW!"
The second order came with no more doubts or second-guessing, as by that moment, everyone saw the horror from outside. In a second, they were all on their feet, rushing for the exit. Sebastian followed from behind, pushing them to move faster. He knew it was pointless and stupid to try opposing such a force just by looking at it. No, their only escape was the ships docked at the piers. It was his duty to get them all to safety, and quick! Sprinting through the hallways and down the many staircases, he whispered a curse at the carelessness that took over him this time. But then again, who could've foreseen such a disaster! It was true, the Dylenor High Military Command had received a great number of undead sightings, but each time it was merely a puny force, easy to dispatch. Sebastian never heard nor has he seen such an army of them so far.
Bursting through the front door, he watched as the alleyways leading towards the Main Plaza were swarming with citizens dashing away from their dead assailants. Quickly, he directed, by a wave of his hand, anyone in the vicinity, towards the Docks. "Come with me if you want to live!" he screamed, and surprisingly, it had the effect he counted on, as a large part of the crowd started running after him, in the direction of the docked ships. The pace was constant, and a few minutes later, they were in front of the now closed portcullis tht led towards the piers. Marching towards the guards, whom were gazing like stupid in the horizon at the destruction, Sebastian ordered the opening of the obstacle between them and salvation.
The guard quickly conformed, and started pulling the wheel that opened the gates. Not a second later, the crowd started to cluterring to get out, each of them yelling out arguements of why they should be the first to pass. Ones said they had children, others that they were younger and others that they were more important for society. Sebastian sighed heavily, with a hand on his forehead, as he couldn't possibly render why did people believe that their traits made them more worthy to survive than the others. He knew that the world was a condemned place for a long time, but never had he witnessed its depravity firsthand like now.
But now was not the time for contemplation, as he was soon to know. Already, pockets of undead had found their way towards the gates, and Sebastian knew it was finally time for action.
"Keep the gates open! Everyone, get on the ships and set sail! The Dylenor Navy will take you to safety. You, men sworn to defend this city from all evil, come with me! We must buy the civils time to escape!"
As the shambling skeletons approached them, Sebastian steeled his heart and cleared his mind of any thoughts, as with one step at a time, he cleaved through the masses of opposing forces. His moves were swift, his attacks precise, each of them hitting their target in their pressumed vital spots. The easiest way to kill these undead seemed to be beheading them. After their heads were off, Sebastian noticed no more movement from the body. That made things easier for him. He was an expert at whirlwinding his glaive, and so he used the technique to slice off at least two dozen undead heads. The few pockets of undead were now defeated, but more were soon to come. Taking a quick glance behind, he noticed that all the crowd from the before made it to the other side. "Retreat to the other side! Lower the gate! Come one, men, look alive!".
The remainning force of defenders quickly followed his orders out of fear, feeling a whole lot more safe once the gate was closed shut behind them, and they were in the safety of the ships. But alas, fate was cruel that night, as just as they were headed for the ships, the gate was bashed down by nothing other than a mighty Hulk, now raging and roaring louder than a hundred ringing bells, all at once. Sebastian's eyes were widened with the feeling of fear, an emotion he hasn't sensed in a long time. He knew that if they just kept on their way, the Hulk would come after them and sink all the ships before they could even undock. Tightening the grip on his glaive, Sebastian knew what he had to do. With a special signal transmitted from his hands, he told the ships to hurry to undock and get away. He would hold the creature at bay until they were at a safe enough distance.
Now facing the monster, Sebastian stood alone, appart from one or two more Sharian guards who were too proud to leave without a fight. Afterall, it was their city that was under siege and yet a Dylenor had more guts than them. That was something they couldn't possibly accept, not at a time like this. The two opposing parties stared at each other, not making a move, for a whole minute, at which point, the Hulk charged. Sebastian struck the first blow at its feet, but it was just as effective as throwing a rock at it. The giant lifted his hand and cleaved the ground with its claws in one strike, taking Sebastian and the two Sharians out immediatly. Falling on the ground, blood flowing out from four different deep wounds, Sebastian didn't even have the strenght to get up. His head and vision went numb as he felt his whole body cold. It was a stupid idea to think they could take on the beast by their own, but there was nothing else they could do. From his position, He stared helplessly as the giant now approached the caravels, with the sole intent of destroying them.
"N-...no..." was all he could mutter in his weakened state, as he watched the Hulk lift his hand once again. He knew what was next, yet what he saw made his eyes widden again, the third time tonight, but this time, not with fear or desperation, but with hope and awe. The Hulk's arm that was supposed to ravage the ships was now severed from is owner, entirely, floating in the air before hitting the ground, causing a shake. A cry of pain was heard from the monster, as it shifted its vision to see who was the one that hurt it. Before it, stood a figure that was unmistakable. Clad in heavy armour, with shoulderpads arching up in four horns, wearing a helmet that hid his face, covered from the waist down in a crimson robe, wearing a black cloaked, lined with gold. In his hand, a longsword, with metal shining like a lighthouse in the middle of the fog, almost blinding people around and lightning up the night.
Tears escaped Sebastian's eyes as he gave out his final breath, succumbing to his wounds. He knew that everything would be alright now. Afterall, the one considered the most powerful among Aeons was with them, in their moment of despair. Ridsk himself couldn't stand the atrocity no more, and jumped in to save the lives of innocents. Although a tad late, his help was by no means not needed. With a simple slash, the Hulk was now split into two halves, rendering it useless. Turning his gaze towards his back, he nodded once, signalling the ship captains to get the hell out of there. A moment later, voices could be heard from all decks, crowded with the survivors: "LOWER THE SAILS! BRING UP THE ANCHOR! GET US THE BLOODY EMBERWELL OUTTA' HERE!".
The sails went down in a moment's notice, as the ropes binding the ships to the harbour were cut loose, the waves slowly dragging the vessels out to sea. Before, they could leave, however, they heard one more thing that froze the hair on their backs. A voice that, even if never heard before, couldn't be mistaken.
"OH, SO THY HAVE DECIDED TO SPOIL THE FUN OF MY NEW WORSHIPPERS, RIDSK? WELL, I'M AFRAID YOU ARE TOO LATE NOW! THIS WRETCHED CITY IS NOW UNDER MY DOMAIN, AND THERE'S NOTHING YOU CAN DO TO STOP IT! NOT EVEN YOU HAVE THE POWER TO FACE THE WRATH OF MINE LEGION!"
Not even flinching, Ridsk stood there, silent and elegant, watching the flames now engulfing the city. He knew Mektor was right in his statement. With the power he stole from the Emberwell, he imbued his new pets, the Necromancers, with almost infinite power. That, coupled with the amount of the population that died that night, would result in a force that not even him alone could suppress. All he could do now was wait, silently, and watch as the events unfolded. The true reason he came wasn't because he felt that he needed to intervene, as none of the other Aeons put any effort towards saving Shan'Manrir. The reason he came for was because he knew that on the few ships that would sail away, laid the only hope they had to defeat Mektor. The Emberwell bestowed the First, the Aeons, with many gifts, some of which not even they knew the full extent of.
But if he was sure of something, it was that certain persons on the ships that just sailed away would be very important in the months to come!
@LupusDeUmbra :
Sheut stumbled through the bushes, carefully aiming his bow into the shadows all around him. Sundown was in full effect with its red and orange hues. It cloaked the forest in a strange, bloody light. He could not find his hunting companion anywhere and he was late to get back into the city. As he thought of the punishment Teraze would give him and of how furious the pup in the Inn would be when he did not bring back the woman who had saved him, he heard shallow breathing. The fur on the back of his neck stood up and he made his way slowly towards the noise. He was prepared to let his arrow fly into the throat of his assailant.
He made his away between two large plants and noticed a figure lying on the ground. He looked down the arrow at the figure, fearing it might leap up and attack. As he got closer he realized who it was, lowered his bow, and rushed over to her. Zevran. The wounds in her side had dry blood caked around them, the fur a matted, crusty mess. Her breaths were shallow, her heartbeat getting a bit too relaxed between beats. A cold breeze swept through the forest and made Sheut shiver. Why was it so unnaturally cold?
He placed slung his bow across his back, using his quiver as its support. He was thankful he did not have his large clanky swords or Apophis with him today. He picked Zevran up in his arms, curling her up against his chest as best he could to keep her warm. Her size, however, made it an awkward feat. He figured out where his compass directions were, and from there headed in the direction of the city
Sheut approached the treeline at the edge of the forest, Zevran stirring a little. He was grateful she had made it out of the forest with him with a bit of life intact. Now, all he would have to do is make a rush for the gates across the open grassland between here and the city. As he broke through the trees and onto the field, he skidded to a halt, barely keeping hold of the woman. He carefully laid the woman onto the grass and took in what he was seeing. A rainbow of colors surrounded the city. The buildings were ablaze, the flames dancing happily inside the city walls. Red. Orange. Yellow. Flashes of magic being cast came from within and without the walls.
@LupusDeUmbra :
Sheut saw the woman stir and take in the sight. He saw his expression mirrored on her face just before she bolted. He started to chase after her, but she quickly out sped him and he stopped. He knew she would be fine as long as she could remain conscious. His attention turned towards a plan of action. He noticed the main gate being bombarded by a large abomination of a creature. That entrance was a no-no. He saw many places on the wall that he could scale and made his way towards the tall structure.
Finding footholds that the average person would not have seen, Sheut scaled the wall and leaped over the top, he scanned for the nearest rooftop that wasn't on fire and leaped towards it. He landed, took his bow off of his back, and notched an arrow. He scanned for signs of danger before finding the spire of the Academy. He bounded across the rooftops towards it. As he neared, he found that this was where the heat of the battle was. The gates to the Academy had been blown off the hinges and their were hordes of skeletons, abominations, and overall terrors laying siege to the Sharian soldiers inside.
Sheut crept over to one of the flags hanging from the Academy wall and used it as leverage. Making his way up to the nearest guard tower, he swung his feet into the window, landing inside with a crash. He climbed down the ladder to the ground level and made his way out into the courtyard. Taking aim, he fired off some arrows, each one lodging itself in the skull of an undead soldier. He fired off some more at the abominations, but they were useless against them.
Keeping alert to his surroundings, Sheut found the quickest path to the corridor that his room was on and bolted across the courtyard. He was almost there when something knocked into his side, sending him sprawling into the grass. As he rolled over to face his assailant, a dark blur appeared above him. It blocked the path between him and the abomination before decapitating the beast. The figure turned around. Preparing to shoot, Sheut realized it was his general, Teraze.
"Get out of here now! That is an order! You're a guard not a solider. We are loading ships at the Harbor to evacuate civilians, but the undead will reach the port within the hour. They need as much help as they can over there so that we can leave as few people behind as possible. Also, be careful where you point that-"
His sentence was cut short by a jaw around his throat. A hound with large, sunken eyes had lept up from nowhere and killed the General. Sheut fired an arrow into the creatures back leg before rolling back and popping up into the air, landing in a crouched position. He fired another arrow, this one hitting the beast in the jaw. With its movement and main weapon hindered, the hound snarled at Sheut, huddling in a defensive position. Sheut came up and stomped the dog's face in, hearing it let out a final, dreadful yelp. He knelt beside Teraze, offering one final salute, before heading to his room. What Sheut saw inside, he would never forget.
He opened the door to find a hooded figure in the center of his room. All of the furniture was pushed to the sides of the room and in the center was a large stone tablet. On the ground, the same rune from before glowed that same purple color as the amethyst he had found. The rune was in the exact place of the singe marks he had found. On the stone tablet, was a strange, 18 foot (5.5 meters) long rope. Sheut heard the rope make a harsh hissing sound as the hooded figure cut into it.
That hiss. Sheut had only heard it once, when Apophis had caught the bad end of a large wolf. The wolf had sunken its teeth into Apophis, but hit nothing vital. It was then that Sheut realized the rope was moving on its own and that it wasn't a rope. It was the tail of a king cobra. Blinded by rage, Sheut dropped his bow and rushed straight for the figure. He knocked the figure into the wall before bringing his fist back and plunging it into its face. The figure blocked his punch with its arms and kicked Sheut off. Sheut landed in a feral stance, ready to pounce, when he remembered his swords.
He kneeled and closed his eyes, remembering how his father had taught him to summon the blades using a small amount of his Essence. He could not do this with normal weapons, but these had been crafted in the image of the first King's Essence. Legend said a small portion still lingered in the runes and recognized those who were rightful heirs to the Chamorest throne. They skidded across the floor and into his hands. Opening his eyes, he found the hooded figure looming over him, prepared to strike. Sheut rolled back, kicking upward. Using his forward momentum he arched his back and pushed off of the ground. He landed crouched with his feet on the figure's chest, one sword at their throat, pinning them down. He pushed the hood back and saw the face of a female cheetah Sharian. He snarled as he recognized those piercing icy blue eyes. They belonged to his father's old Chief General.
"What the hell are you doing here, Pakhta"
"Fulfilling what your father started, boy."
"My father had nothing to do with this!"
"Oh is that what you think? Your memories have been tampered with, here let me help you remember."
What was she talking about? Sheut knew he had gaps in his memory, but he figured they were from passing out after too much training. He pressed the blade down and blood welled up.
"He has been dead for 7 months now. Don't you think I'd remember something like that?. It's not every day that someone turns 18 and then four months later their father is publicly executed."
"Did you really think they executed him for being simply insubordinate? No, there was much more under Anrak's sleeve than that"
The woman smirked as she thrust a shining piece of sapphire into the side of Sheut's head. Sheut howled in pain as he clenched up, thrusting the blade down into the womans throat. He stood, gripping his head, the other blade clattering to the ground, an sharp pain throbbing at his forehead. His vision went black and he saw himself.
He was around the age of 10 and he had been eavesdropping on one of his father's meetings. The door had opened inward, the awkward pup falling over and into the room. He had looked up into his father's glare.
"What is the meaning of this Sheut! You know my meetings with the Chief General are private!"
The fist of his father came down and he let out a high pitched yelp. Sheut stood, shaking violently as tears ran down and soaked his fur. He noticed a strange symbol on the wall that was glowing purple and in the corner was an odd man with sunken holes where is eyes should be.
"D-D-D-Dad what's wrong with that man"
His father exchanged glances with the woman.
"Pakhta, bring me the Scroll of Memory Binding and a sapphire that is small enough to easily fit in the palm of one's hand."
"Of course, My Lord."
"Scroll of What? What's a sapphire used for?"
"Have you ever wondered what your name means? Sheut is the ancient term for "shadow". It, however, means more than just ones shadow or the absence of light. It deals with the darkness inside one's soul. You will know what this means some day, but you are not ready."
His father took a blade out and made a cut on his forearm. Pakhta held out a piece of paper in front of him and he ran his arm across the paper. A strange blue glow emanated from it as his father placed a strange blue stone into the light.
"Just remember, you brought me to this. Oh who am I kidding you won't remember a thing."
His father chuckled and smiled a cheshire grin as he placed the stone against Sheut's forehead.
10 year old Sheut woke up in his room, sweat on his brow. All he could remember was that it had been a great day training, but his father worked him too hard sometimes.
Back in his room at the Academy, Sheut woke up sprawled across the floor. A limp body lay beside him, a puddle of pooled blood beneath it. He sat up and a pain shot through his head. He groaned and stuck his fingers into the blood, which was still wet. Good, he hadn't been out for a long time if the blood hadn't dried yet. He retrieved both swords and turned to the stone table. He saw the limp sight of Apophis and a sob broke through him. He set the blades onto the ground and took the body of his snake into his arms. He ran his thumb along the still outstretched hood of his companion as tears ran down his face.
He sat there like that for about 10 minutes. His fur was soaked. He got up and found a bag to put Apophis in.
"Don't worry, old friend, if they can summon forth all those undead out there, surely I can revive you."
As he headed out the door with the bag on his back, blades in their Sheaths at his waist, he looked down and saw his bow. It was in pieces, broken all over the floor. He knelt down and picked up his quiver. The arrows were still in tact but they would be useless to him. He threw them to the side and headed out the door. He made his way through a shortcut that connected the Academy to the Harbor. He found himself jumping out into the midst of a sea of terrified civilians. With his General dead, he felt no need to help the oncoming horde and decided he would make a new life for himself now. Before leaving, he had changed into formal robes from Chamorest. A symbol of his status in that city. He was no longer the pawn of some Navy. He was Sheut. Shadow.
The ships had set sail and were just leaving. Scanning all of the people on board, Sheut was relieved to see a familiar, red-furred face among the crowd. As he approached the boy he glanced towards a large gap that had formed in the center of the docks. A tall Sharian with gold and purple armor was holding a limp, lifeless body in its arms. The body was so disfigured that Sheut did not recognize it. All he could make out was that it once belonged to a tan-furred Sharian. The armored warrior threw the body to the ground and took its helmet off.
It stared straight at Sheut, which filled him with terror. He watched in horror as the warrior grinned at him. It's face was half decayed, barely recognizeable, but as it brought out a familiar wooden staff and snapped it over its knee, Sheut knew exactly who it was, or rather, who it used to be. He had looked into those cold, hard eyes for his whole entire life. The staff and body, which now lay equally broken on the docks, belonged to the woman who had saved the boy on the other side of the ship. The face of the warrior who had grinned such a maleficent smile. That is what sent the shivers down his spine. Not the fact that he was dismembered or the fact that he had thrown his companion's lifeless body onto the docks. No. That smile was the same smile his father used in the memory trapped in the sapphire. The warrior wasn't a warrior, wasn't just another undead soldier. It was his revived father.
@Veirrianna Valentine :
It mattered little that she'd lost the pair from the forest.
It mattered little that she'd been slower than them on the return to the city as they watched it burn.
What did matter was watching the flowing tide of undead as they swept through the streets below. What mattered was measuring each stride, and planting each step, as she raced across the roofs above. Her breaths came in a rhythmic flow, in and in, out, in and in, out, as her heart began to beat harder and harder. Toes and claws digging at the roof materials, Brae made sure that each step had the same power as the one before that, and the one before that.
Coming up on a gap between roofs, Brae let her legs curl inward, coiling like a spring as her entire body became taut seconds before it fired off like a spring. Sailing over the narrow road, it gave Brae a chance to see the undead things below her. They were a mixture of all races, and they were reeking with the pungent odor of undeath and decay.
Landing with a roll, Brae came back to her foot-paws and continued her run, pleased to find that she had reached the forefront of the horde, and the tail end of the retreating citizens of Shan Manrir. As she looked down, she saw a man, elfen in appearance, and obviously rich and pompous, slam a knife into the back of another, more common looking, maiden of the same race. The woman fell, screaming in pain, but she still tried to kick forward, a small, squirming bundle held tight to her chest.
"Ichtheim!" Brae cursed as she watched the event unfold. Leaping from the roof, Brae manoeuvered herself perfectly to land between the fallen woman and the incoming horde. Firing a bolt into the leg of one of the forerunners, Brae turned and crouched next to the woman, already knowing that the wound would not allow her to continue her flight.
Still, despite the flowing blood, the woman saw Brae and only made one plea.
"My baby girl..."
Nodding, Brae lifted her into an arm before firing a bolt into the woman's head. It may have seemed callous, but it was better than what was streaming towards her. Securing the crossbow, Brae tied the baby in a quick sling as she ran. Once the sling was secure, Brae made her way back to the roofs.
Her ears folded tight against her skull as the child wailed from its nestled spot against her chest. Her breaths were losing their pace, and her muscles were beginning to burn. Still, she knew that with a horde like this, stopping meant death. Forging onwards, Brae leapt once more, feeling her claws scrabbling at the stone wall that separated her from the dock. Still, she found purchase and climbed over in time to see a man, one she knew not the identity of, take down one of the larger ones.
People were flooding down the docks and racing onto ships as fast as they could.
Leaping from the roof, Brae fought her way through anything that got in between her and the mouth of the dock just in time to have a man, Duender, like the child she was carrying, lean heavily against a stack of crates next to her as she took position and began firing bolts into the horde as they tried to make their way towards the ones fleeing.
"You, Duender!" barked Brae as she looked him over when she could, noting that he had a break in his left arm, "You look like a guard, but here's your new job. Your taking this child, she's of your race. I want you to get her on that ship, and get her a home. You run, and I'll hold here."
Passing the child off, Brae spared but a glance at the man as he took the child before turning her attention to taking pot shots at the undead through the crowd. Seemingly taking her lead, three archers and another crossbowman, all of mixed races, took up next to her, firing bolts and arrows into the horde as civilians flooded onto the dock and then aboard the ships behind them.
It was a near perfect defensive line as they shot anything that drew near that lacked a beating heart. Still, as the living dwindled in number and the undead become more and more prominent, it became clear that the defense was going to fail. First to fall was one of the archers, a Sharian like herself.
Starting to back down the dock, Brae continued firing bolts with precision borne from years hunting. Then another archer fell, Duender, followed by the third, Dylenor. Increasing her backwards pace, Brae thanked the gods that the ships were leaving, and that the pier she was backing on to was empty of all but herself and a Mjulnir with a crossbow.
"We're clear, we're clear," Brae growled as she put down another shambler, "Run!"
Turning around Brae began charging down the pier, hearing the Mjulnir scream behind her, realising that he must not have run quickly enough. There was a clatter as his crossbow hit the stone, and less than a second later Brae let out a snarl of pain as she felt a stray bolt bite into her right thigh.
Flipping her magazine off the top of her crossbow, Brae stowed it as she limped along the pier, quickly loading a new bolt, fitted with sinew cord and extra barbs, Brae reached the end of the pier before selecting her target, the nearest ship to the pier. Firing, Brae howled in triumph as the bolt bit hard into the side of the ship.
Tying the cord to her belt, Brae reaffixed the magazine and fired into the undead shambling down the pier towards her. Just as they drew within a metre, there was a sharp tug at her waist, and Brae felt herself fall backwards into the sea.
A short swim and a number of pulls at the cord later, Brae managed to scale the side of the ship and lever herself over the edge, coming to a rest sitting against the rail of the ship, realising only just now that there was but one man left standing on the docks, one of the almighty Aeons!
Grasping at her thigh, bleeding as it was, stinging from the salt from the harbour, and throbbing around the bolt lodged in it, Brae could only grin as she realised that she had managed to escape. Now she needed to find a medic.
@Jaysun :
Death. A concept given life and form, representation of fear, horror, disgust and everything mortals were too ashamed to amount to themselves. Feared, not for itself but mortal's inability to fathom the nature of a concept not benifiting their own. In a way, incarnation of death was humanity's ignorance and unfamiliarity. To look death in the eyes was to know that one is nothing, a worm under the night sky, reaching for the stars but tainting the air with its abominated existence instead. But life was exactly that, a delusion sketched by the ones before and strengthened by the followers' legacy, bound to be exposed yet refused to retract its claw from the minds of the hopeless and the unknowing, feeding on dreams and drawing on love, like a parasite, a drug on the addicted. Life was betrayal and lost, anguish and heartache and despair, yet we clung to the suffering out of ignorance, out of hope, blinded so thoroughly by the truth that we chose to stay in the shadow, ears to the ground and faced away from that small bit of clarity we were so fortunately given, ignoring the wisdom we so painfully gained for the comfort of not knowing. Death, instead, was true. Death did not deceive, did not lie. There were beauties in its simplicity, in its finality, in its inevitability. There was something sacred in death, something pure and inviolable, unfazed and uncaring for the regrets mortality wreaked upon a soul. Only in death did one see the fragility of life, the destined doom that wrapped around one's self like a bubble. A slash of a blade, a drop of liquid, a puncture of sharp edges. A broken heart. All ended in a blink of an eye, what was and what might have been. Pop.
All sounds came muffled and indistinguishable, as if echoing from a great distance away. High pitch screeches, howls of bloodlust, screams of terror and triumphed growls all mixed together into a cacophony in the back of his mind, rising and dipping irregularly with the rhymth of his pounding veins. There was a sound that rose above them all, a pure and distinct note that filled the air around him. Or that might just be his ears ringing. A big strong arms tucked under his and pulled him to his feet with slow and steady jerks that threw his head from side to side, hammering agonizing blows inside his skull.
"Come on, boy. Get up!" His vision blurred with streaks of colors, blooming reds, shifting blacks and flashing silvers. His calf was being bitten by a thousand ants, digging into his flesh and devouring the bone marrow within. A pair of brilliantly golden lupine eyes blocked out his view, worry and alert, with a hint of pain lurking just below the surface. His mind noticed all with indifferent, detached from the body.
Sins of the father....
Great Huren kills it, the rhyme refused to be rooted out of his mind. Somehow its haunting words dug into his deepest memories, demanding answers, demanding recognition. Who are you, father? The question itself followed him even in oblivion, sifting through his recollection and engraved doubt into every moments he could remember with the man who had sired him. His joyful face as he lifted Raicus high into the air as he wiggled and laughed, the feeling of his rough beard caressing his youthful cheek, his contagious booming laughter cut through the cozy cottage, his lips touched his son's forehead in an act of blessing. His last days, worn out and exhausted, his hope dimming in his once magnificent eyes by the second.
Who are you, father? Not Kelron Cypher the adventurous youthful artist, who had walked the world and recorded its many wonders in paintings. Not Kelron Cypher, Captain of the Dylanor Royal Guard. That man had died long ago, disgraced and forgotten for a great act of sacrifice. Not Kelron Cypher the loving father of Lerwar or the shell of one in his last days, that man he had so yearned for and missed was a changed man, changed by the woman he had married and given birth to an heir with. Not that he left much of a legacy left other than mystery and sorrow. No, the question was for Kelron Cypher the Unknown, a man who left little traces of existence left, all led to Shan'Manrir. There was a gap of 12 years between his separated lives where Kelron Cypher was dead to the world. What had he done, where had he gone, no one could offer a clue. His sword was a mystery in itself, forged by a man long gone from the mortal realm, or so it was said to be.
Who are you, father? Are you the man I thought you were? Are you worthy of the deeds many said you had achieved? Am I worthy...of you? So many questions, so little hints. No time. There was never time for the past. The present demanded attention, as was the future. Life went on as death claimed its due.
Sins of the father...
"Do you know the Barcovian Bull, Raicus?" His father's voice echoed from the past, strong and light.
"Of course. It is the strongest and fiercest animal of the West. It was said to be as high as 10 feet, its legs as big as columns of a palace, its horns as sharp as the Mjonirian blades themselves. Grogidas the Mountain rode one into the Felarian Battle, where even the Sharian giants were trampled under its hooves." He said excitedly. He was such as small boy then, happy and innocent, lying in bed for his father's bedtime story.
"That's right, it is a fearsome battle mount. But as strong as it was, how do you think the Barcovians tamed it?"
"I...don't know? How do they do it, father?" He had asked, his eyes wide with curiosity.
"Barcovian Bulls are wild beasts. They capture the Bulls when they were merely calfs, strong but not enough to elude the experienced Bull hunters. They bring the young animal to a large open space where they tie a length of chain around the Bull's neck and a firm pole in the ground."
"But the Barcovian Bulls are the strongest animals of the realm! Surely they could break a chain!"
"Not at first. The calf was not yet grown enough, so it pulled and pulled to no avail. The chain would not break. Once every ten moons the caretaker would reinforce the chain, but only 3 times. Even as the Bull grew, it could never break free of the bond put upon it. So, as the Barcovian Bull grew into adulthood when no chain could bind the beast, it still could never break free. Do you know why? Because in its mind, it still thought that the bond would be unbreakable, and so...it ever tried. The riders would use that very chain as a rein, and the Bull would never even thought to disobey. Do you know what the lesson here is?"
He shook his head, eyes still wide with astonishment.
"The lesson is that, your limit is one you put there on your own. Your limit is set yourself, and you can't break through because you believe you can never do. We are always stronger than we thought we are, Raicus. Remember that. There is no limit other than one set by your own mind." His father's smile was light, with a tinge of something he now realised could be...sadness?
The world was falling down around him. Bodies laid askew, littering the dark street in mangled piles. Beasts and man danced together the dance of death, ripping, tearing and slashing at each other with claws and steel, painting the city scarlett. Above the bitter stench of rotting meat and the sharp metallic smell of blood, there was a distant scent of lilac lingering in the air, so out of place and lonely it invoked a twang of sadness deep from inside his core, like a tribute to the fallen who would soon be forgotten in the flow of time, another nameless face that never reached the surface to truely gaze into the stars. The deads roamed among the livings, reaping what they could never have again. It was a terrying sight, fire and horror riding down the once impenetrable fortress. His left leg burned with a claw wound, long but thankfully not too deep, trailing uselessly on the ground as he was half dragged, half carried forward. His mind was foggy as the last of the soldiers, one one each side of him, helped him onto the ship's deck.
Only when he heard the anchor being pulled from the water as the last image he saw of the dock registered. His head reeling in horror, Raicus pulled himself to the side and looked back at the doomed city just as the ship separeted itself from the dock and began moving.
Derion stood proud before a wave of nightmare, his back straight, his hulking body rose to nearly 9 feet tall. The flickering flame silhouetted around the lone form, fur clotted with dried blood and missing an arm, yet the mere sight invoked a primal fear from deep inside his chest. Derion raised his head and howled, a defiant yet lonely sound rising above the cacophony of the slaughter, the last breath of Shan'Manrir. The ship pulled further and further from shore as the Sharian shone brighter than the burning city with all of his brutal glory for the last time, wading into the mass of monsters that fell at the face of the ultimate predator.
"Promise me, boy, that you will live. Live for the both of us."
Just as the city itself, he burned bright and went out in a flash.
@LupusDeUmbra :
Sheut was frozen on the spot. The ships sailed away, the Harbor getting smaller, but all he could focus on was that gaze. That smile that was so full of malice. There was no mistaking that the Necromancers had revived his father and it all made sense now. The door, the symbol, the sunken-eyed man. That must be how Pakhta had gotten into the city so easily. When he had looked into the sunken eyes, he had thought he was looking at someone inside the building, when in reality he was looking at someone thousands of miles away.
He let himself collapse on the boat, sitting there, his gaze still forward, but his view blocked by the wood of the ship. He was starting to doubt everything he had done as a child. How could he tell what was true and what wasn't. The gaps in his memory were plentiful and only one had disappeared. He still couldn't shake that memory. His father, so heartless and cold, forcefully trapping memories he did not want Sheut remembering. He wondered just how many times he had witnessed something his father didn't want him to know.
He was so lost in his thoughts about his father and over the loss of Apophis that he didn't even notice the fox pup trying to get his attention. He just stared ahead, seemingly interested in the wooden planks that the ship was made of. There were others on board who had this same look in their eyes. A look of complete desolation, loss, and horror at what they had witnessed. For once he was not an outcast. Everyone on this ship faced similar losses and similar horrors.
Yet, he still felt like an outcast. He knew everyone on this ship would hate the Necromancers. They would hate any form of undead. Sheut, however, would try to find a way to revive Apophis. He couldn't help but chuckle at the thought of being an outcast among outcasts, which got him plenty of dirty looks and strange glances. After all, who but a mad man would laugh after witnessing a city burned to the ground, the people slaughtered mercilessly by beings of complete evil.
@Veirrianna Valentine :
What with the bolt having only done minimal damage, as far as bolts go, to her leg, it meant that it was a quick fix of removing the bolt and stitching the wound. That, in turn, meant that it took less time than Brae had anticipated before her wound was tied and she was up and doing her best to move through the small crowds on the ship.
Being sure to step lightly on her right leg, and not bump it against anything, Brae couldn't help but find herself happy to be on the way out of Shan Manrir. While she didn't approve of its fate, she also didn't approve of her technically illegal imprisonment, and she highly doubted that a Sharian lass such as herself would have been simply imprisoned, but more than likely loopholed into some form of degrading servitude or another.
Making her way past the other's on the ship, Brae made a beeline for the prow of the ship. Once there she perched herself on the guardrail and closed her eyes at the feeling of the sea air rushing past her face. As she sat, her back to the rest of the ship, she pulled around her crossbow and began running her hand-claws over it, her fingers poking and probing for any damage, any new dent, nick or scrape. She didn't need eyes for this job.
Almost unnoticed by Brae, her eyes grew moist as an overwhelming sadness took her. In the face of the destruction wrought upon Shan Manrir by the undead. Her heart hurt not for anything specific that had happened to her, but instead in shared pain and suffering of those who had been displaced. This catastrophe had surely left widows, widowers, orphans, and parents who could never have imagined outlasting their children, even in their worst nightmares.
Finishing her check over her weapon, and finishing her dwelling on the negative, Brae opened her eyes to the sea before her. Her thoughts doing there best to keep from the negative thoughts of her loneliness, she could only hope that someone would come along with some good news soon.
@LupusDeUmbra :
Sheut, lost in his thoughts, didn't notice the pup until he had full out punched Sheut's shoulder. Snapping due to the leftover adrenaline that was slowly wearing off, Sheut stood and turned on the boy, expecting a fight, but lowered his guard when he saw who it was.
"Hello, pup. I am sorry for turning on you so quickly. I am tense from the battle and I was deep in thought. i did not know you were trying to talk to me."
He stared down into the boy's eyes, seeing the question there. How could he tell the pup? How could he break the news to him that his savior was now dead? Rather than addressing the situation then and there, Sheut put a hand on the boy's shoulder and looked into his eyes.
"You look famished let's get you some-"
His sentence was cut short and he broke eye contact as he saw the feline woman from the forest walk past and head to the prow. Sheut looked back down and gave the boy an apologetic look.
"Hold that thought, there is someone I need to talk to. Please, follow me if you wish. I will introduce you to her."
Walking away from the pup, he figured that he would follow. He made his way up to the prow and stood beside the woman, leaning his back against the guardrail. He looked straight ahead, but spoke directly to her.
"I don't believe I ever got your name back in the forest. I'm Sheut, Prince and rightful King of Chamorest."
@Veirrianna Valentine :
Hearing the creaking wood behind her, Brae was not surprised to hear a voice behind her. She hadn't been expecting to recognise the voice though. Looking over her shoulder, Brae was actually relieved to see the massive canid Sharian she'd followed out to the forests outside Shan Manrir. Behind him was a small fox-esque Sharian that appeared to be nearly a foot taller than herself.
Altering her seated position so that she had one foot-paw on the rail, her knee drawn up to her chest, she gave the canid Sharian, Shuet, a smile.
"Brae Irvette. Hunter and... well, currently displaced resident of Nalor. It is good to see a friendly face made it to safety out of Shan Manrir." Brae greeted, genuinely pleased that someone she recognised had made it out, and also pleased that he didn't seem to have made her out as the one that had followed him in the woods, "Who is your friend back there?"
The crowd was bustling with energy and noise. People were eating, drinking, dancing and laughing in the streets, flooding them with the feeling of joy and happiness. The moon was shining bright, repelling the clouds, as the magical street lights were illuminating the roads so that people wouldn't stumble and fall. Men, women and children alike were engaged in various games to relax, all of this just to celebrate the victory of the Dylenor Navy against the pirates that dared engage the Sharian precious cargo. Dylenor sailors from aboard the Lion and Wolf Fleets were among those who were blowing steam, gulping down the sweet, native wine that seemed to flow down in waterfalls.
Suddenly, the noisy cheers were halted by a screech in the night! As people ignored the skyline so far, all of their attention was now directed at the moon, which was now blocked by a black clouder, darker than even the sky itself. Silent gasps were let out as people soon realised that the cloud was constantly shifting, like something was disturbing its slumber. It didn't take long for another screech to deafen the previously joyful streets of Shan'Manrir, as screams of terror escaped the population's mouth, at the sight of the cloud breaking up into multiple fragments, which, at a closer look, seemed to be birds, but in fact were much worse!
Terrible creatures, with wings black as charcoal, and the faces of hell itself printed on them, descended upon the civilization below, grabbing people from the ground, only to take them high in the air and drop them on the ground, ending their lives. Some didn't even bother going that far, using their razor sharp teeth to bite into the necks of any person they encountered, letting blood gush out, stainning the white pavement. Once the initial shock lifted, the military started its act of retaliation. From atop the walls and guard towers, one unison shout could be heard: "ARCHERS!". The valiant bowmen needed no other call, as they quickly prepared their arrows to sink deep into the bodies of the nightmarish creatures.
Main Eastern Gate
But that wouldn't be all, not by far! Towards the main gate, a single silhouette was marching. The gate guards, unaware of the events inside the city walls yet, approached the dark figure gently. "State your business, outsider!" they sneered. The black robed man, with his head bowed, stopped in his tracks, only to let out a chuckle, that quickly turned into a maniacal laughter, as his head slowly raised, only to reveal a horrid mask, with two bright azure eyes staring at the two. "My business, you ask?" he spoke with a gutural voice, which could've seeped fear into the bravest man's heart. "Well, I don't suppose you would believe me if I said I was here to take your city and your lives with it, so I assume I must make a small demonstration beforehand!".
With a simple wave of his hand, the two guards were rocketed backwards, hitting against the city wall hardly. Lifting his hands to an horizontal postion, stretched towards his left and right, the Necromancer spoke again, loudly, for each man to hear and shiver: "Come now, my minions! Show this wretched mortals your power of destruction! Show them Death itself!". Not a moment later, the forests behind him started trembling with bad omens. Loud and multiple creaks could be heard, followed by trees falling down one by one, as from the forest emerged a gruesome sight. At least 50 giant, skinless monsters, with steel claws and fangs protruding from their extremities, showed themselves, followed by other smaller undead entities. Skeletons, horrid looking people, horse-human abominations, all of them counting in the thousands, were marching slowly but surely towards the city.
"This is the night we take what is ours, starting with the weakest, that plague our world! Aedas vas Tenebros!" were the Necromancer's last words, before the giant Hulks started rainning hits upon the great oak doors that led inside the city. The valiant combination of wood and iron did not stand a chance in the long run, and was soon bashed inwards, giving way for the piles of flesh and bones to enter and wreak havoc! It was a nightmare came true. Those who remained stunned in shock were the first to be killed, while those who ran only prolongued their suffering by a few minutes or seconds. Screams, prays and whatnot could be heard in the night, as some gave in to their desperation, and simply stood there, accepting and waiting for their fate, hoping it would end quick. How much they would be wrong! Their deaths came neither swift nor easy!
Soon, women with violet-blue faces and large mouths let out deafening screams that would last for minutes, only affecting the ones that were living, apparently. Skeletons that could manipulate magick came along and set fire to the houses and buildings that surrounded them, torching entire districts, while the lesser ones put the population to the sword. Blood started pouring down the avenues in waves, limbs and flesh adorning the walls and street light poles. Heads rolled in the alleyways, while families were embracing one another tightly, hoping it was but a dream, and they would wake up to normality again. The guards, military and anyone who could wield a weapon tried opposing the invasion of evil, but stood no chance against the reaping that followed the crowd of undead, who marched on relentless. Alarms sounded throughout the capital of the Terago Coalition, which was now on fire! All seemed hopeless, as slowly, the legion of dead was approaching the towering building in the middle of the city, the Great House of Commerce.
All seemed doomed and hopeless.
Sebastian Grauwen, Great House of Commerce, Main Hall
The glass of wine that was kissing Sebastian's lips just a second ago was now held in the air as the Admiral's ears were now focused on the clamor coming from outside. Stepping up from his chair, he approached the window, only for his eyes to shrink in surprise at the turning of events. Not wasting a time, he unsheathed the two halves of his double glaive and motioned towards the Headmasters that were still sitting at their table, watching him carefully, to get up and move! "We must get out of here, now!" Sebastian shouted!
"But, Admiral, why mu-"
"I SAID NOW!"
The second order came with no more doubts or second-guessing, as by that moment, everyone saw the horror from outside. In a second, they were all on their feet, rushing for the exit. Sebastian followed from behind, pushing them to move faster. He knew it was pointless and stupid to try opposing such a force just by looking at it. No, their only escape was the ships docked at the piers. It was his duty to get them all to safety, and quick! Sprinting through the hallways and down the many staircases, he whispered a curse at the carelessness that took over him this time. But then again, who could've foreseen such a disaster! It was true, the Dylenor High Military Command had received a great number of undead sightings, but each time it was merely a puny force, easy to dispatch. Sebastian never heard nor has he seen such an army of them so far.
Bursting through the front door, he watched as the alleyways leading towards the Main Plaza were swarming with citizens dashing away from their dead assailants. Quickly, he directed, by a wave of his hand, anyone in the vicinity, towards the Docks. "Come with me if you want to live!" he screamed, and surprisingly, it had the effect he counted on, as a large part of the crowd started running after him, in the direction of the docked ships. The pace was constant, and a few minutes later, they were in front of the now closed portcullis tht led towards the piers. Marching towards the guards, whom were gazing like stupid in the horizon at the destruction, Sebastian ordered the opening of the obstacle between them and salvation.
The guard quickly conformed, and started pulling the wheel that opened the gates. Not a second later, the crowd started to cluterring to get out, each of them yelling out arguements of why they should be the first to pass. Ones said they had children, others that they were younger and others that they were more important for society. Sebastian sighed heavily, with a hand on his forehead, as he couldn't possibly render why did people believe that their traits made them more worthy to survive than the others. He knew that the world was a condemned place for a long time, but never had he witnessed its depravity firsthand like now.
But now was not the time for contemplation, as he was soon to know. Already, pockets of undead had found their way towards the gates, and Sebastian knew it was finally time for action.
"Keep the gates open! Everyone, get on the ships and set sail! The Dylenor Navy will take you to safety. You, men sworn to defend this city from all evil, come with me! We must buy the civils time to escape!"
As the shambling skeletons approached them, Sebastian steeled his heart and cleared his mind of any thoughts, as with one step at a time, he cleaved through the masses of opposing forces. His moves were swift, his attacks precise, each of them hitting their target in their pressumed vital spots. The easiest way to kill these undead seemed to be beheading them. After their heads were off, Sebastian noticed no more movement from the body. That made things easier for him. He was an expert at whirlwinding his glaive, and so he used the technique to slice off at least two dozen undead heads. The few pockets of undead were now defeated, but more were soon to come. Taking a quick glance behind, he noticed that all the crowd from the before made it to the other side. "Retreat to the other side! Lower the gate! Come one, men, look alive!".
The remainning force of defenders quickly followed his orders out of fear, feeling a whole lot more safe once the gate was closed shut behind them, and they were in the safety of the ships. But alas, fate was cruel that night, as just as they were headed for the ships, the gate was bashed down by nothing other than a mighty Hulk, now raging and roaring louder than a hundred ringing bells, all at once. Sebastian's eyes were widened with the feeling of fear, an emotion he hasn't sensed in a long time. He knew that if they just kept on their way, the Hulk would come after them and sink all the ships before they could even undock. Tightening the grip on his glaive, Sebastian knew what he had to do. With a special signal transmitted from his hands, he told the ships to hurry to undock and get away. He would hold the creature at bay until they were at a safe enough distance.
Now facing the monster, Sebastian stood alone, appart from one or two more Sharian guards who were too proud to leave without a fight. Afterall, it was their city that was under siege and yet a Dylenor had more guts than them. That was something they couldn't possibly accept, not at a time like this. The two opposing parties stared at each other, not making a move, for a whole minute, at which point, the Hulk charged. Sebastian struck the first blow at its feet, but it was just as effective as throwing a rock at it. The giant lifted his hand and cleaved the ground with its claws in one strike, taking Sebastian and the two Sharians out immediatly. Falling on the ground, blood flowing out from four different deep wounds, Sebastian didn't even have the strenght to get up. His head and vision went numb as he felt his whole body cold. It was a stupid idea to think they could take on the beast by their own, but there was nothing else they could do. From his position, He stared helplessly as the giant now approached the caravels, with the sole intent of destroying them.
"N-...no..." was all he could mutter in his weakened state, as he watched the Hulk lift his hand once again. He knew what was next, yet what he saw made his eyes widden again, the third time tonight, but this time, not with fear or desperation, but with hope and awe. The Hulk's arm that was supposed to ravage the ships was now severed from is owner, entirely, floating in the air before hitting the ground, causing a shake. A cry of pain was heard from the monster, as it shifted its vision to see who was the one that hurt it. Before it, stood a figure that was unmistakable. Clad in heavy armour, with shoulderpads arching up in four horns, wearing a helmet that hid his face, covered from the waist down in a crimson robe, wearing a black cloaked, lined with gold. In his hand, a longsword, with metal shining like a lighthouse in the middle of the fog, almost blinding people around and lightning up the night.
Tears escaped Sebastian's eyes as he gave out his final breath, succumbing to his wounds. He knew that everything would be alright now. Afterall, the one considered the most powerful among Aeons was with them, in their moment of despair. Ridsk himself couldn't stand the atrocity no more, and jumped in to save the lives of innocents. Although a tad late, his help was by no means not needed. With a simple slash, the Hulk was now split into two halves, rendering it useless. Turning his gaze towards his back, he nodded once, signalling the ship captains to get the hell out of there. A moment later, voices could be heard from all decks, crowded with the survivors: "LOWER THE SAILS! BRING UP THE ANCHOR! GET US THE BLOODY EMBERWELL OUTTA' HERE!".
The sails went down in a moment's notice, as the ropes binding the ships to the harbour were cut loose, the waves slowly dragging the vessels out to sea. Before, they could leave, however, they heard one more thing that froze the hair on their backs. A voice that, even if never heard before, couldn't be mistaken.
"OH, SO THY HAVE DECIDED TO SPOIL THE FUN OF MY NEW WORSHIPPERS, RIDSK? WELL, I'M AFRAID YOU ARE TOO LATE NOW! THIS WRETCHED CITY IS NOW UNDER MY DOMAIN, AND THERE'S NOTHING YOU CAN DO TO STOP IT! NOT EVEN YOU HAVE THE POWER TO FACE THE WRATH OF MINE LEGION!"
Not even flinching, Ridsk stood there, silent and elegant, watching the flames now engulfing the city. He knew Mektor was right in his statement. With the power he stole from the Emberwell, he imbued his new pets, the Necromancers, with almost infinite power. That, coupled with the amount of the population that died that night, would result in a force that not even him alone could suppress. All he could do now was wait, silently, and watch as the events unfolded. The true reason he came wasn't because he felt that he needed to intervene, as none of the other Aeons put any effort towards saving Shan'Manrir. The reason he came for was because he knew that on the few ships that would sail away, laid the only hope they had to defeat Mektor. The Emberwell bestowed the First, the Aeons, with many gifts, some of which not even they knew the full extent of.
But if he was sure of something, it was that certain persons on the ships that just sailed away would be very important in the months to come!
@LupusDeUmbra :
Sheut stumbled through the bushes, carefully aiming his bow into the shadows all around him. Sundown was in full effect with its red and orange hues. It cloaked the forest in a strange, bloody light. He could not find his hunting companion anywhere and he was late to get back into the city. As he thought of the punishment Teraze would give him and of how furious the pup in the Inn would be when he did not bring back the woman who had saved him, he heard shallow breathing. The fur on the back of his neck stood up and he made his way slowly towards the noise. He was prepared to let his arrow fly into the throat of his assailant.
He made his away between two large plants and noticed a figure lying on the ground. He looked down the arrow at the figure, fearing it might leap up and attack. As he got closer he realized who it was, lowered his bow, and rushed over to her. Zevran. The wounds in her side had dry blood caked around them, the fur a matted, crusty mess. Her breaths were shallow, her heartbeat getting a bit too relaxed between beats. A cold breeze swept through the forest and made Sheut shiver. Why was it so unnaturally cold?
He placed slung his bow across his back, using his quiver as its support. He was thankful he did not have his large clanky swords or Apophis with him today. He picked Zevran up in his arms, curling her up against his chest as best he could to keep her warm. Her size, however, made it an awkward feat. He figured out where his compass directions were, and from there headed in the direction of the city
Sheut approached the treeline at the edge of the forest, Zevran stirring a little. He was grateful she had made it out of the forest with him with a bit of life intact. Now, all he would have to do is make a rush for the gates across the open grassland between here and the city. As he broke through the trees and onto the field, he skidded to a halt, barely keeping hold of the woman. He carefully laid the woman onto the grass and took in what he was seeing. A rainbow of colors surrounded the city. The buildings were ablaze, the flames dancing happily inside the city walls. Red. Orange. Yellow. Flashes of magic being cast came from within and without the walls.
@LupusDeUmbra :
Sheut saw the woman stir and take in the sight. He saw his expression mirrored on her face just before she bolted. He started to chase after her, but she quickly out sped him and he stopped. He knew she would be fine as long as she could remain conscious. His attention turned towards a plan of action. He noticed the main gate being bombarded by a large abomination of a creature. That entrance was a no-no. He saw many places on the wall that he could scale and made his way towards the tall structure.
Finding footholds that the average person would not have seen, Sheut scaled the wall and leaped over the top, he scanned for the nearest rooftop that wasn't on fire and leaped towards it. He landed, took his bow off of his back, and notched an arrow. He scanned for signs of danger before finding the spire of the Academy. He bounded across the rooftops towards it. As he neared, he found that this was where the heat of the battle was. The gates to the Academy had been blown off the hinges and their were hordes of skeletons, abominations, and overall terrors laying siege to the Sharian soldiers inside.
Sheut crept over to one of the flags hanging from the Academy wall and used it as leverage. Making his way up to the nearest guard tower, he swung his feet into the window, landing inside with a crash. He climbed down the ladder to the ground level and made his way out into the courtyard. Taking aim, he fired off some arrows, each one lodging itself in the skull of an undead soldier. He fired off some more at the abominations, but they were useless against them.
Keeping alert to his surroundings, Sheut found the quickest path to the corridor that his room was on and bolted across the courtyard. He was almost there when something knocked into his side, sending him sprawling into the grass. As he rolled over to face his assailant, a dark blur appeared above him. It blocked the path between him and the abomination before decapitating the beast. The figure turned around. Preparing to shoot, Sheut realized it was his general, Teraze.
"Get out of here now! That is an order! You're a guard not a solider. We are loading ships at the Harbor to evacuate civilians, but the undead will reach the port within the hour. They need as much help as they can over there so that we can leave as few people behind as possible. Also, be careful where you point that-"
His sentence was cut short by a jaw around his throat. A hound with large, sunken eyes had lept up from nowhere and killed the General. Sheut fired an arrow into the creatures back leg before rolling back and popping up into the air, landing in a crouched position. He fired another arrow, this one hitting the beast in the jaw. With its movement and main weapon hindered, the hound snarled at Sheut, huddling in a defensive position. Sheut came up and stomped the dog's face in, hearing it let out a final, dreadful yelp. He knelt beside Teraze, offering one final salute, before heading to his room. What Sheut saw inside, he would never forget.
He opened the door to find a hooded figure in the center of his room. All of the furniture was pushed to the sides of the room and in the center was a large stone tablet. On the ground, the same rune from before glowed that same purple color as the amethyst he had found. The rune was in the exact place of the singe marks he had found. On the stone tablet, was a strange, 18 foot (5.5 meters) long rope. Sheut heard the rope make a harsh hissing sound as the hooded figure cut into it.
That hiss. Sheut had only heard it once, when Apophis had caught the bad end of a large wolf. The wolf had sunken its teeth into Apophis, but hit nothing vital. It was then that Sheut realized the rope was moving on its own and that it wasn't a rope. It was the tail of a king cobra. Blinded by rage, Sheut dropped his bow and rushed straight for the figure. He knocked the figure into the wall before bringing his fist back and plunging it into its face. The figure blocked his punch with its arms and kicked Sheut off. Sheut landed in a feral stance, ready to pounce, when he remembered his swords.
He kneeled and closed his eyes, remembering how his father had taught him to summon the blades using a small amount of his Essence. He could not do this with normal weapons, but these had been crafted in the image of the first King's Essence. Legend said a small portion still lingered in the runes and recognized those who were rightful heirs to the Chamorest throne. They skidded across the floor and into his hands. Opening his eyes, he found the hooded figure looming over him, prepared to strike. Sheut rolled back, kicking upward. Using his forward momentum he arched his back and pushed off of the ground. He landed crouched with his feet on the figure's chest, one sword at their throat, pinning them down. He pushed the hood back and saw the face of a female cheetah Sharian. He snarled as he recognized those piercing icy blue eyes. They belonged to his father's old Chief General.
"What the hell are you doing here, Pakhta"
"Fulfilling what your father started, boy."
"My father had nothing to do with this!"
"Oh is that what you think? Your memories have been tampered with, here let me help you remember."
What was she talking about? Sheut knew he had gaps in his memory, but he figured they were from passing out after too much training. He pressed the blade down and blood welled up.
"He has been dead for 7 months now. Don't you think I'd remember something like that?. It's not every day that someone turns 18 and then four months later their father is publicly executed."
"Did you really think they executed him for being simply insubordinate? No, there was much more under Anrak's sleeve than that"
The woman smirked as she thrust a shining piece of sapphire into the side of Sheut's head. Sheut howled in pain as he clenched up, thrusting the blade down into the womans throat. He stood, gripping his head, the other blade clattering to the ground, an sharp pain throbbing at his forehead. His vision went black and he saw himself.
He was around the age of 10 and he had been eavesdropping on one of his father's meetings. The door had opened inward, the awkward pup falling over and into the room. He had looked up into his father's glare.
"What is the meaning of this Sheut! You know my meetings with the Chief General are private!"
The fist of his father came down and he let out a high pitched yelp. Sheut stood, shaking violently as tears ran down and soaked his fur. He noticed a strange symbol on the wall that was glowing purple and in the corner was an odd man with sunken holes where is eyes should be.
"D-D-D-Dad what's wrong with that man"
His father exchanged glances with the woman.
"Pakhta, bring me the Scroll of Memory Binding and a sapphire that is small enough to easily fit in the palm of one's hand."
"Of course, My Lord."
"Scroll of What? What's a sapphire used for?"
"Have you ever wondered what your name means? Sheut is the ancient term for "shadow". It, however, means more than just ones shadow or the absence of light. It deals with the darkness inside one's soul. You will know what this means some day, but you are not ready."
His father took a blade out and made a cut on his forearm. Pakhta held out a piece of paper in front of him and he ran his arm across the paper. A strange blue glow emanated from it as his father placed a strange blue stone into the light.
"Just remember, you brought me to this. Oh who am I kidding you won't remember a thing."
His father chuckled and smiled a cheshire grin as he placed the stone against Sheut's forehead.
10 year old Sheut woke up in his room, sweat on his brow. All he could remember was that it had been a great day training, but his father worked him too hard sometimes.
Back in his room at the Academy, Sheut woke up sprawled across the floor. A limp body lay beside him, a puddle of pooled blood beneath it. He sat up and a pain shot through his head. He groaned and stuck his fingers into the blood, which was still wet. Good, he hadn't been out for a long time if the blood hadn't dried yet. He retrieved both swords and turned to the stone table. He saw the limp sight of Apophis and a sob broke through him. He set the blades onto the ground and took the body of his snake into his arms. He ran his thumb along the still outstretched hood of his companion as tears ran down his face.
He sat there like that for about 10 minutes. His fur was soaked. He got up and found a bag to put Apophis in.
"Don't worry, old friend, if they can summon forth all those undead out there, surely I can revive you."
As he headed out the door with the bag on his back, blades in their Sheaths at his waist, he looked down and saw his bow. It was in pieces, broken all over the floor. He knelt down and picked up his quiver. The arrows were still in tact but they would be useless to him. He threw them to the side and headed out the door. He made his way through a shortcut that connected the Academy to the Harbor. He found himself jumping out into the midst of a sea of terrified civilians. With his General dead, he felt no need to help the oncoming horde and decided he would make a new life for himself now. Before leaving, he had changed into formal robes from Chamorest. A symbol of his status in that city. He was no longer the pawn of some Navy. He was Sheut. Shadow.
The ships had set sail and were just leaving. Scanning all of the people on board, Sheut was relieved to see a familiar, red-furred face among the crowd. As he approached the boy he glanced towards a large gap that had formed in the center of the docks. A tall Sharian with gold and purple armor was holding a limp, lifeless body in its arms. The body was so disfigured that Sheut did not recognize it. All he could make out was that it once belonged to a tan-furred Sharian. The armored warrior threw the body to the ground and took its helmet off.
It stared straight at Sheut, which filled him with terror. He watched in horror as the warrior grinned at him. It's face was half decayed, barely recognizeable, but as it brought out a familiar wooden staff and snapped it over its knee, Sheut knew exactly who it was, or rather, who it used to be. He had looked into those cold, hard eyes for his whole entire life. The staff and body, which now lay equally broken on the docks, belonged to the woman who had saved the boy on the other side of the ship. The face of the warrior who had grinned such a maleficent smile. That is what sent the shivers down his spine. Not the fact that he was dismembered or the fact that he had thrown his companion's lifeless body onto the docks. No. That smile was the same smile his father used in the memory trapped in the sapphire. The warrior wasn't a warrior, wasn't just another undead soldier. It was his revived father.
@Veirrianna Valentine :
It mattered little that she'd lost the pair from the forest.
It mattered little that she'd been slower than them on the return to the city as they watched it burn.
What did matter was watching the flowing tide of undead as they swept through the streets below. What mattered was measuring each stride, and planting each step, as she raced across the roofs above. Her breaths came in a rhythmic flow, in and in, out, in and in, out, as her heart began to beat harder and harder. Toes and claws digging at the roof materials, Brae made sure that each step had the same power as the one before that, and the one before that.
Coming up on a gap between roofs, Brae let her legs curl inward, coiling like a spring as her entire body became taut seconds before it fired off like a spring. Sailing over the narrow road, it gave Brae a chance to see the undead things below her. They were a mixture of all races, and they were reeking with the pungent odor of undeath and decay.
Landing with a roll, Brae came back to her foot-paws and continued her run, pleased to find that she had reached the forefront of the horde, and the tail end of the retreating citizens of Shan Manrir. As she looked down, she saw a man, elfen in appearance, and obviously rich and pompous, slam a knife into the back of another, more common looking, maiden of the same race. The woman fell, screaming in pain, but she still tried to kick forward, a small, squirming bundle held tight to her chest.
"Ichtheim!" Brae cursed as she watched the event unfold. Leaping from the roof, Brae manoeuvered herself perfectly to land between the fallen woman and the incoming horde. Firing a bolt into the leg of one of the forerunners, Brae turned and crouched next to the woman, already knowing that the wound would not allow her to continue her flight.
Still, despite the flowing blood, the woman saw Brae and only made one plea.
"My baby girl..."
Nodding, Brae lifted her into an arm before firing a bolt into the woman's head. It may have seemed callous, but it was better than what was streaming towards her. Securing the crossbow, Brae tied the baby in a quick sling as she ran. Once the sling was secure, Brae made her way back to the roofs.
Her ears folded tight against her skull as the child wailed from its nestled spot against her chest. Her breaths were losing their pace, and her muscles were beginning to burn. Still, she knew that with a horde like this, stopping meant death. Forging onwards, Brae leapt once more, feeling her claws scrabbling at the stone wall that separated her from the dock. Still, she found purchase and climbed over in time to see a man, one she knew not the identity of, take down one of the larger ones.
People were flooding down the docks and racing onto ships as fast as they could.
Leaping from the roof, Brae fought her way through anything that got in between her and the mouth of the dock just in time to have a man, Duender, like the child she was carrying, lean heavily against a stack of crates next to her as she took position and began firing bolts into the horde as they tried to make their way towards the ones fleeing.
"You, Duender!" barked Brae as she looked him over when she could, noting that he had a break in his left arm, "You look like a guard, but here's your new job. Your taking this child, she's of your race. I want you to get her on that ship, and get her a home. You run, and I'll hold here."
Passing the child off, Brae spared but a glance at the man as he took the child before turning her attention to taking pot shots at the undead through the crowd. Seemingly taking her lead, three archers and another crossbowman, all of mixed races, took up next to her, firing bolts and arrows into the horde as civilians flooded onto the dock and then aboard the ships behind them.
It was a near perfect defensive line as they shot anything that drew near that lacked a beating heart. Still, as the living dwindled in number and the undead become more and more prominent, it became clear that the defense was going to fail. First to fall was one of the archers, a Sharian like herself.
Starting to back down the dock, Brae continued firing bolts with precision borne from years hunting. Then another archer fell, Duender, followed by the third, Dylenor. Increasing her backwards pace, Brae thanked the gods that the ships were leaving, and that the pier she was backing on to was empty of all but herself and a Mjulnir with a crossbow.
"We're clear, we're clear," Brae growled as she put down another shambler, "Run!"
Turning around Brae began charging down the pier, hearing the Mjulnir scream behind her, realising that he must not have run quickly enough. There was a clatter as his crossbow hit the stone, and less than a second later Brae let out a snarl of pain as she felt a stray bolt bite into her right thigh.
Flipping her magazine off the top of her crossbow, Brae stowed it as she limped along the pier, quickly loading a new bolt, fitted with sinew cord and extra barbs, Brae reached the end of the pier before selecting her target, the nearest ship to the pier. Firing, Brae howled in triumph as the bolt bit hard into the side of the ship.
Tying the cord to her belt, Brae reaffixed the magazine and fired into the undead shambling down the pier towards her. Just as they drew within a metre, there was a sharp tug at her waist, and Brae felt herself fall backwards into the sea.
A short swim and a number of pulls at the cord later, Brae managed to scale the side of the ship and lever herself over the edge, coming to a rest sitting against the rail of the ship, realising only just now that there was but one man left standing on the docks, one of the almighty Aeons!
Grasping at her thigh, bleeding as it was, stinging from the salt from the harbour, and throbbing around the bolt lodged in it, Brae could only grin as she realised that she had managed to escape. Now she needed to find a medic.
@Jaysun :
Death. A concept given life and form, representation of fear, horror, disgust and everything mortals were too ashamed to amount to themselves. Feared, not for itself but mortal's inability to fathom the nature of a concept not benifiting their own. In a way, incarnation of death was humanity's ignorance and unfamiliarity. To look death in the eyes was to know that one is nothing, a worm under the night sky, reaching for the stars but tainting the air with its abominated existence instead. But life was exactly that, a delusion sketched by the ones before and strengthened by the followers' legacy, bound to be exposed yet refused to retract its claw from the minds of the hopeless and the unknowing, feeding on dreams and drawing on love, like a parasite, a drug on the addicted. Life was betrayal and lost, anguish and heartache and despair, yet we clung to the suffering out of ignorance, out of hope, blinded so thoroughly by the truth that we chose to stay in the shadow, ears to the ground and faced away from that small bit of clarity we were so fortunately given, ignoring the wisdom we so painfully gained for the comfort of not knowing. Death, instead, was true. Death did not deceive, did not lie. There were beauties in its simplicity, in its finality, in its inevitability. There was something sacred in death, something pure and inviolable, unfazed and uncaring for the regrets mortality wreaked upon a soul. Only in death did one see the fragility of life, the destined doom that wrapped around one's self like a bubble. A slash of a blade, a drop of liquid, a puncture of sharp edges. A broken heart. All ended in a blink of an eye, what was and what might have been. Pop.
All sounds came muffled and indistinguishable, as if echoing from a great distance away. High pitch screeches, howls of bloodlust, screams of terror and triumphed growls all mixed together into a cacophony in the back of his mind, rising and dipping irregularly with the rhymth of his pounding veins. There was a sound that rose above them all, a pure and distinct note that filled the air around him. Or that might just be his ears ringing. A big strong arms tucked under his and pulled him to his feet with slow and steady jerks that threw his head from side to side, hammering agonizing blows inside his skull.
"Come on, boy. Get up!" His vision blurred with streaks of colors, blooming reds, shifting blacks and flashing silvers. His calf was being bitten by a thousand ants, digging into his flesh and devouring the bone marrow within. A pair of brilliantly golden lupine eyes blocked out his view, worry and alert, with a hint of pain lurking just below the surface. His mind noticed all with indifferent, detached from the body.
Sins of the father....
Great Huren kills it, the rhyme refused to be rooted out of his mind. Somehow its haunting words dug into his deepest memories, demanding answers, demanding recognition. Who are you, father? The question itself followed him even in oblivion, sifting through his recollection and engraved doubt into every moments he could remember with the man who had sired him. His joyful face as he lifted Raicus high into the air as he wiggled and laughed, the feeling of his rough beard caressing his youthful cheek, his contagious booming laughter cut through the cozy cottage, his lips touched his son's forehead in an act of blessing. His last days, worn out and exhausted, his hope dimming in his once magnificent eyes by the second.
Who are you, father? Not Kelron Cypher the adventurous youthful artist, who had walked the world and recorded its many wonders in paintings. Not Kelron Cypher, Captain of the Dylanor Royal Guard. That man had died long ago, disgraced and forgotten for a great act of sacrifice. Not Kelron Cypher the loving father of Lerwar or the shell of one in his last days, that man he had so yearned for and missed was a changed man, changed by the woman he had married and given birth to an heir with. Not that he left much of a legacy left other than mystery and sorrow. No, the question was for Kelron Cypher the Unknown, a man who left little traces of existence left, all led to Shan'Manrir. There was a gap of 12 years between his separated lives where Kelron Cypher was dead to the world. What had he done, where had he gone, no one could offer a clue. His sword was a mystery in itself, forged by a man long gone from the mortal realm, or so it was said to be.
Who are you, father? Are you the man I thought you were? Are you worthy of the deeds many said you had achieved? Am I worthy...of you? So many questions, so little hints. No time. There was never time for the past. The present demanded attention, as was the future. Life went on as death claimed its due.
Sins of the father...
"Do you know the Barcovian Bull, Raicus?" His father's voice echoed from the past, strong and light.
"Of course. It is the strongest and fiercest animal of the West. It was said to be as high as 10 feet, its legs as big as columns of a palace, its horns as sharp as the Mjonirian blades themselves. Grogidas the Mountain rode one into the Felarian Battle, where even the Sharian giants were trampled under its hooves." He said excitedly. He was such as small boy then, happy and innocent, lying in bed for his father's bedtime story.
"That's right, it is a fearsome battle mount. But as strong as it was, how do you think the Barcovians tamed it?"
"I...don't know? How do they do it, father?" He had asked, his eyes wide with curiosity.
"Barcovian Bulls are wild beasts. They capture the Bulls when they were merely calfs, strong but not enough to elude the experienced Bull hunters. They bring the young animal to a large open space where they tie a length of chain around the Bull's neck and a firm pole in the ground."
"But the Barcovian Bulls are the strongest animals of the realm! Surely they could break a chain!"
"Not at first. The calf was not yet grown enough, so it pulled and pulled to no avail. The chain would not break. Once every ten moons the caretaker would reinforce the chain, but only 3 times. Even as the Bull grew, it could never break free of the bond put upon it. So, as the Barcovian Bull grew into adulthood when no chain could bind the beast, it still could never break free. Do you know why? Because in its mind, it still thought that the bond would be unbreakable, and so...it ever tried. The riders would use that very chain as a rein, and the Bull would never even thought to disobey. Do you know what the lesson here is?"
He shook his head, eyes still wide with astonishment.
"The lesson is that, your limit is one you put there on your own. Your limit is set yourself, and you can't break through because you believe you can never do. We are always stronger than we thought we are, Raicus. Remember that. There is no limit other than one set by your own mind." His father's smile was light, with a tinge of something he now realised could be...sadness?
The world was falling down around him. Bodies laid askew, littering the dark street in mangled piles. Beasts and man danced together the dance of death, ripping, tearing and slashing at each other with claws and steel, painting the city scarlett. Above the bitter stench of rotting meat and the sharp metallic smell of blood, there was a distant scent of lilac lingering in the air, so out of place and lonely it invoked a twang of sadness deep from inside his core, like a tribute to the fallen who would soon be forgotten in the flow of time, another nameless face that never reached the surface to truely gaze into the stars. The deads roamed among the livings, reaping what they could never have again. It was a terrying sight, fire and horror riding down the once impenetrable fortress. His left leg burned with a claw wound, long but thankfully not too deep, trailing uselessly on the ground as he was half dragged, half carried forward. His mind was foggy as the last of the soldiers, one one each side of him, helped him onto the ship's deck.
Only when he heard the anchor being pulled from the water as the last image he saw of the dock registered. His head reeling in horror, Raicus pulled himself to the side and looked back at the doomed city just as the ship separeted itself from the dock and began moving.
Derion stood proud before a wave of nightmare, his back straight, his hulking body rose to nearly 9 feet tall. The flickering flame silhouetted around the lone form, fur clotted with dried blood and missing an arm, yet the mere sight invoked a primal fear from deep inside his chest. Derion raised his head and howled, a defiant yet lonely sound rising above the cacophony of the slaughter, the last breath of Shan'Manrir. The ship pulled further and further from shore as the Sharian shone brighter than the burning city with all of his brutal glory for the last time, wading into the mass of monsters that fell at the face of the ultimate predator.
"Promise me, boy, that you will live. Live for the both of us."
Just as the city itself, he burned bright and went out in a flash.
@LupusDeUmbra :
Sheut was frozen on the spot. The ships sailed away, the Harbor getting smaller, but all he could focus on was that gaze. That smile that was so full of malice. There was no mistaking that the Necromancers had revived his father and it all made sense now. The door, the symbol, the sunken-eyed man. That must be how Pakhta had gotten into the city so easily. When he had looked into the sunken eyes, he had thought he was looking at someone inside the building, when in reality he was looking at someone thousands of miles away.
He let himself collapse on the boat, sitting there, his gaze still forward, but his view blocked by the wood of the ship. He was starting to doubt everything he had done as a child. How could he tell what was true and what wasn't. The gaps in his memory were plentiful and only one had disappeared. He still couldn't shake that memory. His father, so heartless and cold, forcefully trapping memories he did not want Sheut remembering. He wondered just how many times he had witnessed something his father didn't want him to know.
He was so lost in his thoughts about his father and over the loss of Apophis that he didn't even notice the fox pup trying to get his attention. He just stared ahead, seemingly interested in the wooden planks that the ship was made of. There were others on board who had this same look in their eyes. A look of complete desolation, loss, and horror at what they had witnessed. For once he was not an outcast. Everyone on this ship faced similar losses and similar horrors.
Yet, he still felt like an outcast. He knew everyone on this ship would hate the Necromancers. They would hate any form of undead. Sheut, however, would try to find a way to revive Apophis. He couldn't help but chuckle at the thought of being an outcast among outcasts, which got him plenty of dirty looks and strange glances. After all, who but a mad man would laugh after witnessing a city burned to the ground, the people slaughtered mercilessly by beings of complete evil.
@Veirrianna Valentine :
What with the bolt having only done minimal damage, as far as bolts go, to her leg, it meant that it was a quick fix of removing the bolt and stitching the wound. That, in turn, meant that it took less time than Brae had anticipated before her wound was tied and she was up and doing her best to move through the small crowds on the ship.
Being sure to step lightly on her right leg, and not bump it against anything, Brae couldn't help but find herself happy to be on the way out of Shan Manrir. While she didn't approve of its fate, she also didn't approve of her technically illegal imprisonment, and she highly doubted that a Sharian lass such as herself would have been simply imprisoned, but more than likely loopholed into some form of degrading servitude or another.
Making her way past the other's on the ship, Brae made a beeline for the prow of the ship. Once there she perched herself on the guardrail and closed her eyes at the feeling of the sea air rushing past her face. As she sat, her back to the rest of the ship, she pulled around her crossbow and began running her hand-claws over it, her fingers poking and probing for any damage, any new dent, nick or scrape. She didn't need eyes for this job.
Almost unnoticed by Brae, her eyes grew moist as an overwhelming sadness took her. In the face of the destruction wrought upon Shan Manrir by the undead. Her heart hurt not for anything specific that had happened to her, but instead in shared pain and suffering of those who had been displaced. This catastrophe had surely left widows, widowers, orphans, and parents who could never have imagined outlasting their children, even in their worst nightmares.
Finishing her check over her weapon, and finishing her dwelling on the negative, Brae opened her eyes to the sea before her. Her thoughts doing there best to keep from the negative thoughts of her loneliness, she could only hope that someone would come along with some good news soon.
@LupusDeUmbra :
Sheut, lost in his thoughts, didn't notice the pup until he had full out punched Sheut's shoulder. Snapping due to the leftover adrenaline that was slowly wearing off, Sheut stood and turned on the boy, expecting a fight, but lowered his guard when he saw who it was.
"Hello, pup. I am sorry for turning on you so quickly. I am tense from the battle and I was deep in thought. i did not know you were trying to talk to me."
He stared down into the boy's eyes, seeing the question there. How could he tell the pup? How could he break the news to him that his savior was now dead? Rather than addressing the situation then and there, Sheut put a hand on the boy's shoulder and looked into his eyes.
"You look famished let's get you some-"
His sentence was cut short and he broke eye contact as he saw the feline woman from the forest walk past and head to the prow. Sheut looked back down and gave the boy an apologetic look.
"Hold that thought, there is someone I need to talk to. Please, follow me if you wish. I will introduce you to her."
Walking away from the pup, he figured that he would follow. He made his way up to the prow and stood beside the woman, leaning his back against the guardrail. He looked straight ahead, but spoke directly to her.
"I don't believe I ever got your name back in the forest. I'm Sheut, Prince and rightful King of Chamorest."
@Veirrianna Valentine :
Hearing the creaking wood behind her, Brae was not surprised to hear a voice behind her. She hadn't been expecting to recognise the voice though. Looking over her shoulder, Brae was actually relieved to see the massive canid Sharian she'd followed out to the forests outside Shan Manrir. Behind him was a small fox-esque Sharian that appeared to be nearly a foot taller than herself.
Altering her seated position so that she had one foot-paw on the rail, her knee drawn up to her chest, she gave the canid Sharian, Shuet, a smile.
"Brae Irvette. Hunter and... well, currently displaced resident of Nalor. It is good to see a friendly face made it to safety out of Shan Manrir." Brae greeted, genuinely pleased that someone she recognised had made it out, and also pleased that he didn't seem to have made her out as the one that had followed him in the woods, "Who is your friend back there?"
