A Crack In A Dream

[Cleggmire_ 130]

 

17th of First Seed, 1542:

 

A slow unfurling of the veiled curtain revealed simmering figures, the inky hair and distraught orbs as their bodies were enveloped by a misshapen furnace which burned the soul from a body. Aymer stood unmoving, staring into the eyes of each of the figures, his visage distorted as the numerous figures revealed their features to him. His liege, Denis de Bar, stood atop the numerous disfigured bodies that stacked upon each other, burdening the lifeless countenances. He was staked, the massive pike impaling him and he stood boundless, held only by the cold steel. He craned his visage over, only to catch the sordid glimpse of his compatriot and kinsmen, Lucien and Joffrey, their bodies flayed and the scars breaching their backs deeper than any cut. They lie together, mouths agape as if they screamed their last, thoughtless remark. Aymer began to quake, his body still unmoved, as if paralyzed. He closed his eyes, and opened them slowly, anticipation that such a feat erase its image from his mind.

 

Now, he stood atop a pyre, the various brotherhood ordermen staring up to him with dreaded animosity. One stood in front of the others, a torch in his hand, and he looked up to Aymer with a somber expression. Once again he attempted to move himself, though this time he remain tied to that pyre, the stake behind him beckoning his soul.  The figure approached the fire, the disfigured flames scouring for the kindling that lie before him. “Traitor,” He called. Aymer looked around, his expression mesmerized with a heinous fear. “Traitor,” The congregation around him repeated. “Traitor!” The various figures would echo, their voices reverberating into his ears, deafening him and quaking his body, before the figure stood with the torch lit the kindling. Aymer’s legs would begin swiveling and flailing about, but to no avail. The flaming casket of hell reached his feet, taking catch and lighting him up, before a new figure walked forth calmly into the same fire, his legs dragging heavily as he ascended up to the stake. He stood calmly before Aymer, the features of this stranger becoming clear. It scowled at him, branding him with the mark of shame as he bore the words into his ears, “You will pay in hell for what you did, /Ser/ Aymer Fournier.” Aymer stood agape, before his eyes would flutter closed in an attempt to reminisce what he’s done.

He opened them, only to see Aurelia before him, his daughter sitting patiently in the numerous pews that lie in the church. Aymer stood before her, themselves brought in front of the altar. The Bishop began to speak, though it came from his own mouth, and he now gazed down from the dias to two familiar figures, as they stared up to him with their own patience. Aurelia now sat in the pews, though a different man sat beside her, hand clasped over hers, and a child swishing his legs back and forth jejunely. He retracted his gaze to the two figures that now turned to face eachother, and landed a peck on each other's lips. Aymer then spoke without his own words, “I now pronounce you Lucia and Rhys Roke!” Aymer perused behind those same eyes as the two newlyweds made their way down the aisle, calling to his daughter with a form of fatherly care. “Come, my little Roke,” He called to Adriana, before she’d adolescently jump from her seat, a large grin wringing onto her features. They’d leave, the chapel doors lapsing closed behind them, and Aymer would drift his orbs closed once more, his mind faltered with a cynical wroth.

He wrenched them open once more, only to find himself in a dark room, his hands now freed as he jumped from the estranged seat he was awaited in. Aymer gazed about in a conceding panic, his surroundings unfamiliar as he proceeds to step to the large steel door. He pressed onto it, only to find the door to be rusted shut, the creases beholding such a structure seemingly unmoving forever. He’d reach down, touching at his jawline only to find a pit, the marrow enveloped with bone the only physical being remaining. He’d tract his digits upwards, the various sinewy holes filled with cobwebs and corroded dread. Aymer would walk to the window, a shadowy black being all that could be seen. Suddenly the doorway that held so steady would suddenly open, revealing three deformed figures shrouded by torchlight. One would approach the skeletal figure of Aymer, and he’d promptly stare into the lifeless orbs he beheld. “Look what you’ve become. A casket, a mere lifeless existence, a defiler of all we held sacred,” The figure would state, gruff tone and aging but stoic demeanor piercing into Aymer’s heart. Behind the first figure, would come a younger one, the features familiar and welcoming. “Aymer.. I cannot believe you’ve fallen so far. What did I ever see in you.” The voice would state contemptibly, a tear befalling her stature before she’d turn about, taking her leave. The other figure that stood beside the first would now step forward, tone only bitter and resentful. “Just as I would have expected, Fournier. ‘Weak’, like all in your family. Weak like you. It brings a smile to my face to purge you from this existence.” The figure would state, then hocking up a large ball of spit and launching it into the eyes of Aymer. It would be met with unfeeling, as if the action had never been procured. The figure would then turn, taking his leave with a steady click, a scoff and a bitter chuckle entailed as the voice faded. The first figure would remain, simply staring into his eyes, unwavering in demeanor and solemn. He’d hold his torch, reeling it in between the two faces, and Aymer would look into the fire, only to see himself.

 

Life coursed through him, skin clean and young, as he entered the sanctity of Geldern. The bags under his eyes remained, as he peered to the young Grandmaster with vanity and animosity. “I leave your damned order, you dog!” The young Aymer would shout, tears piercing his expression and reddening his visage, “You betrayed me! You took everything from me! I hate you!!!” The voice would then crack out, as Denis sat atop his seat, unmoving and his gaze would only quiver in dismay. “Then leave, traitor. You are nothing, and will never be anything.” The figure would state, and Aymer trembled, the shaky demeanor breaking him as he swiveled on his heel and took his leave. A fire would burn once more, flashing before him, then the dreaded deceased members of everyone he held dear, to the skeletal figure he’d become, and lastly, a shrill scream tremoring the large keep of Bourigard and sending glasses flying down to the floor.

 

The voice causing such a raucous clamor is found to be his own. A cold sweat drifted down his body, the linen blanket and embellished bedding roughed and thrown as the miserable knight tore his room apart. His kinsmen drew to the door, fracturing it down and reaching down to him with a homely embrace. The quiet voice closest to him would perforate his distraught countenance, sending him into a mesmerized state. “Papa! Are you ok?” The voice would enunciate lightly. Aymer then beheld his surroundings with a beaten heart, to find it to be his own room. His convulsed muscles would then lax, flaxen hair waving slowly, breathing growing steadied. He’d look to his daughter, endeavoring a simplistic smile, and slowly nodding his head. “Oui, Adriana. It was but a dream.” His visage would fade, drifting back into his sleep with the bags under his eyes unfading, beckoning rest that he found so sorely achieved.

 

                                                                                                                                                                                                                   Just a dream.

[osumanduas 1442]

My eyes

[MikhaiI 231]

Help mee...

[mitch dharma 438]

sammy gives aymer a quick backhand across the face, "hey mate pull your **** together"

[Kilig 333]

(( Loved this. You're such a good writer O.G. Clegg.

[Porko 397]

(( Change the text color, Cleggyboy...

[Heff 2460]

((Great writing, but the text colors O_OOOOOOO

[Rudi 1747]

((Very well written, neat work! ))

[idiot 502]

((I didn't know you were capable of writing liek dis... DIS IS NOT ThE AMYAS CLEGG, surely... Jkjk. But, this was amazing!))

[Hammer4_ 166]

This makes up for Clegg's first post, I suppose.

[Cleggmire_ 130]

On 1/20/2016 at 1:51 PM, Hammer4_ said:

This makes up for Clegg's first post, I suppose.

Die

[CheekyNolan 5420]

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