A Path To Be Taken

[dandan1350 479]

Howdy folks, this is a bit of odd writing I've begun to do in my spare time as my new job provides plenty of spare time but I only have a paper and pen to spend that time with! I felt you could have a look into an Itharels mind and following along his story with many twists to come. Parts will be uploaded once every now and again!

 

 

Part I:

 

 

 

The heavy and dull thud of metallic boots rang against the uneven stone of the roads flooring as the shadowed colossus made its approach. Its hulking mass marching its heavy form down the road, its stance and movement almost robotic as if calculation ran between each step. The golden plate shimmered, the thin and fragile tabard that hung as always in front of the Armour wrestled against the light wind caused by the quick pace of the being, its tattered and war torn history seemingly invisible, the battered and bruised armour now repaired, gleaming with a new light as if it had just been sent from the forges. On goers and travelers steered themselves round the behemoth of plate confusion and a hint of fear ripe on their face, each gesture and twitch of muscle to form these emotions were taken in by the being inhabiting the plate. It apparently did hold a mind, its thoughts running rampant in the large expanse of it.

 

‘Pathetic mortals, cowering from purity itself. Shows how truly fallen you are from his path, his light will shine past your thick skulls one day and cleanse your brain of these impudent thoughts.’

 

The hollowed hood shook its head, rattling its mind to cleanse it of the harsh thoughts. He knew why fear was represented, he knew what most thought came when the sacred light rose over the hilltops to their ‘aide’. Brutish slaughter and no mercy. He grunted, the curve of his lip twitching as he forced it into a frown of disappointment, his mind once again racing back to horrid thoughts. The slaughter of the scourgeborn, the trail of destruction and chaos he had left behind in his wake. More blood was shed then necessary on that day, his paladins had become mere muscle, hired ruffians to fight away the crowd. His own clerics despised him of his actions, others leaving scarred, mind warped. The memory of the girls father screaming curses and hatred, all true. False. His step faltered, the unknown thought that had appeared in his head caused him to halt for a fraction of a second before continuing. The corner of his lip twitched again, slowly forming without any registration of his own to an almost proud smirk as if happy of his actions.

 

He defended the impure, by right he is impurity.

He was a father, an innocent man looking to defend his daughter.

False! He swore that he would draw your blood, cursed your holiness, questioned your purity.

No, I accepted what I was to do that night. His words were truth.

Your words show your weakness, you are not befitting of your gift!

 

The argumentative voice fell silent on its last statement leaving him at a loss for words. His own mind began to question him? He shook his head once more, dismissing his thoughts. Finally registering the smirk had formed he snapped it straight off his face, looking up from his plated feet to where he wandered. He had no goal, no aim. Or so he thought at least, no aim of his own. He found himself on a bridge, the calm and serene river running beneath him sounding as if a waterfall fell by his ear before silence. Nothing, no wind, no rustling leaves, no water, no screaming or shouting. Just silence.

 

Weakness is what keeps you in your ‘elevated podium’. He promises you gifts of his power, he makes you his champion. And he dares to be disappointed at your actions!?

 

The voice.. It sounded similar. Not of one he had heard, but its pitch and tone deeper, just tweaked. He couldn’t pinpoint what voice he heard, who spoke to him. He began to recite litanies to cleanse his mind of the devilish thoughts.

 

Purity are our bounds.

Our shackles..

Purity is our pillar.

A crumbling pillar.

Purity is what we seek to deliver.

Purity is what you promise and then forget!

 

The voice boomed over his own incessant rambling, causing him to stop and freeze. It was something he had not felt in a long time.. Fear? It crept up his spine, weighing him down unable to move or speak.

 

You are not his champion, you are his dog. To unleash when he see’s fit!

His tool and weapon to use when people begin to lack faith in him.

You are his power! You are his strength! What is he without you?

He is nothing but a whimpering stag within a forest.

You are not some tool, you can become so much more.

You can break free of these shackles that bind you, you can become limitless.

You must do what is necessary, for the good of this world.

You can become a god!

 

The voice faded once more, the chilling sense of something creeping up his spine faded. His locked body allowed movement once again as he began to pick up his pace along the road. He knew not where his destination was but he somehow knew where to go, his feet guiding him with a mind of their own, as if possessed. Each thud of boot on stone. Each heel against the floor brought him closer and closer. Finally, he arrived. His gaze glanced up from the floor, rising the scout out where he had been delivered. He saw a tree, a large one. Hollowed out, sounds of merry making, drinking, cheering, socialising and all clear in the air. He glanced down to the entrance, eyes spotting the two bored and restless bouncers he leant on either side of the large expanse with their arms crossed, eyes half closed. His vision shifted past them to a large group and there he sat, the man who had cursed him and called him no man of god. The gauntlet slid down his side as his fingers found their mark, slipping round and gripping the heavy hilt of his blade. His arm twitched, barely noticeable at first until its whole length began to shook. His own body began to fight against his actions but he was losing, he was weak. A leg lifted, trembled for a moment but stomped down to bring him a step closer to the tavern. Then again, the other leg. With each simple movement of his body the fighting became less and less, his actions becoming smooth and simple. Or more appropriately. Someones actions. His blade began to draw as thoughts raced through his mind to plead his body to stop this madness, it would not listen. The laughter of the man and his group began to pick up, louder and louder before it began to drown out everything. It was only him, and them. The impure.

 

They aren't impure, this isn't right..

He defended them, he defended impurity. He is impurity, a stain.

Death is not his will!

Death is not his will, but it is yours my friend!

They do not deserve this.

They are with him, they seep off his impurity. They are tainted.

 

The conversation ended abruptly again, the tone of the second voice this time was different. Not the one from before, it was similar.. Similar to his own. Jolly in a sense was the only difference between them. Now he fought his own mind.

 

Without another word the blade left its sheath at the hulking mass of plate took into a sprint. He swung it round in a wild arc to the sleeping bouncer, a clean and easy cut as he took not a second to ‘admire’ his handwork. The mans chest slice across and open, his entrails left to pour out as he woke from his half slumber, shocked and confused. The second bouncer had little time to react, the garbed man was splattered in his own and his friends blood, the blade driving round to skewer him through and through. He pushed him off, dumping the soon to be corpse to the floor as he continued onwards. Blood began to stain his golden plate. Etching its way into cracks and crevices, coating it in a deep crimson.

 

Necessary.

 

His bladework knew no elegance as the bloodshed continued, it simply found clean and easy kills. The impure did not deserve elegance nor thought. His blade swept round again, nicking clean across the throat of a suddenly standing bystander, one who drank next to his target. Blood splattered, coating his plate further as he carried on. He spun on his heel and brought his weight about the blade following with him and driving heavily into the side of the other that sat at the mans stool. Four clean and simple kills. Four impure vanquished. He thought this would soothe him but it did not as he looked to the cowering mess of a man that was his actual target, sprawling his worthless frame back and crawling from his pre decided fate.

 

Necessary.

 

Daniel stormed forwards, kicking aside stool and man alike who stood in front of him or could not remove himself from his horrid path. The man was wrath incarnated, a mixture of the nether and the seven skies, his holy aura radiating off him but the stench and stain of descendant blood across his frame balanced against it. He slammed his heel down, connecting to the crawling mans shin and hearing a succulent out cry of his misery. He thought he heard a whispered word.. ‘W..Why..?’ Whether or not he did he felt to explain his actions anyway.

 

“I do not what is right, but what is necessary.” He thrust his blade down, slicing past the frail skin and severing the spine. Drawing out his blade slowly he lifted it and wiped its bloodied form against his already coated tabard. His glance began to look round the hallowed halls of the tavern now, fearful bystanders fleeing for their lives, running from the rampant machine of death. He began to shake, blade falling from his grip as he flattened out his palms. Staring into them, his eyes widened as he jaw began to hang agape. His knees buckled, whole body shaking as he wailed out his shock and horror. The blood, the bodies. They all claimed his senses, finally sinking in his actions. Just before his knees fell a dim black took over him.

 

The man woke, sweat pouring on his brow. Chest heaving beneath the sheets as his body jolted from its slumber and he exited the hellish nightmare that had warped and claimed his mind at this twilight. His hands suddenly raising as he stared at them seeing a fake crimson, flashes of the blood that claimed his gauntlets before. He froze in his bed, jaw hanging agape as the previous wailing of his misery from his dream was expected to cross but all that came was a.. Cackle one that carried and sounded out through the mountain range, ringing out aloud past his bed chambers in the humbled abode. A madman's laugh, manic and twisted as it left his lips. His body began to shake no longer with fear but from the sheer power of his twisted cackle as he stared at his seemingly bloodied hands. An image flashed across his mind, quick, almost missing it at first but barely making out what it was.

 

((http://fredhooper.deviantart.com/art/Crimson-Knight-108172525))

You will become a god.

[Glyc 234]

Moved to the Great Library. It shall be sorted into appropriate category shortly.