The Obsolescence Of A Weapon

[Rael 935]

 

 

 

A weapon is made to defend, to damage, to conquer. A weapon is a tool, a creation of a creature. Devoid of free will. Without a holder, a weapon is nothing. A weapon speaks only with action.

 

The form of Rael Ith'ael drops to the soft earth, released into the mud. His body, clenched in pain, screams for an end. The scarred and disheveled mali'aheral tightens his fists against the ground, preparing for the conclusion. His use had been spent for quite a time now, living his days aimlessly in the grime. 

 

A weapon without a master is a tool without purpose, direction. A rogue weapon is a dangerous situation, for in the case of man it resembles a lion backed into a corner. It does not reason, it does not compromise. Only with cold action will a weapon proceed.

 

There was still so much, arguably, to do. Rael, in life, had fought for purity within the mali'aheral of Haelun'or. This task was by no means complete, with enemies to that ideal both internal and external in fruition. Alas, he had little allies, little aid in these monumental moments that lay before him.

 

Does a weapon fear its end? Does a tool, worn down by physical stress, dread its certain eventual demise?

 

Rael's head is drawn back by the hair, his lone eye gazing almost longingly towards the murky pools ahead. He did not dread the end, but welcomed it, for a tool without a holder, a weapon without directed purpose is a life not worth living. The cold steel meets his throat, ushering forth a tide of crimson. It spills into the pools dotting the ground, seeping into earth. The chill of the blade sweeps over him in entirety, a precursor to the death which had him in its grasp. At last, his eye glazes to that of the deceased, his released form sploshing back into the muck.

 

A weapon, in the end, is just that. A temporary tool to be used by higher creation. A weapon does not feel, experience love or happiness. It acts and works to the best of its ability, an item to be used until that purpose is no longer feasible.

 

Yet a weapon does not truly die. That idea, that plan which formed the tool lies dormant until made material once more.

 

 

 

OOC:

 

I and Rael both sought a demise for the character, his use as a tool effectively ending. A villain serves as a provider of enjoyable and worthwhile roleplay to those around it, yet to outlive its use is wrong. I thought it would be silly to extend a character that met his demise in a fair, agreeable way. That's all I can ever ask, in the end. A fitting death for a character that brought me and, I hope, a lot of others fun. I'd like to thank everyone for the positive experience I've had with Rael, a character who was never meant to amount to much, and especially CosmicWhaleShark and Ilikefoodude for providing a great end. :)

[Rig 17585]

Mithras perks a brow, "About time that bastard died." He mutters. 

[CosmicWhaleShark 2488]

"Ah thrak lat za zaboth Golug, Shezept. Srizû fûrz, narkrampûrz, dâgalûrob lûrûrz ronkz. Nork za Golug, Shezept!"

 

And so the weapon met with the smith. And so the smith bid his farewell.

[Overland 349]

Somewhere else - most likely in a different time - in a room coated with wood and illuminated with a single candle sat a lone Elfess. Dressed in her typical, but fashionable, blue attire, she sat upon quietly in contemplation as she was always inclined to do when alone.

 

 But alas, her thoughts of planning and horrible scheming drifted away. In that moment it all became painfully clear: all her family was missing; she was alone. From Janos, Luna, Zeus and then… Rael. Rael was peculiar, to say the least, in Andria’s mind. The last she had seen of him was a mere, distorted blur, along with an injury that would render herself to be ashamed ‘til the end of her days.

 

 No matter how much she now hated him, a feeling of sadness lingered within her. He could’ve been turned away from heading down this path, yet she merely watched and encouraged him when she had an opportunity. A frown shifted over her face, one giving off conflicting emotions of both pain and disgust. At the end, there would be only one phrase that would come to her mind when the news would one day reach her:

“A shame.”

[Avacyn 1712]

The crackling mass of arcane energy encased within a steel sarcophagus that once called itself Janos, rests far below the earth. It does not mourn the loss of its kin. It did not mourn much, anymore. The violet light flickered, and then died.

[Dohvi 622]

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