By His Lonesome Self

[dandan1350 479]

 

 

 

 

 

 

"For a century before my light has guided, for centuries more my light will burn onwards."

 

A conflict of emotion consumed the broken man as he was forced to twist and turn, his body lifeless but his mind instead writhing in a constant agony. His only solace, his only salvation gripped tightly in his digits as it radiated a warmth and silver hue. His eyes shoot wide and flinging his sweating frame upwards a rupturing wave of light washed over the room and he thrusted to spear into the air in front of him mindlessly. Heavy pants escaped him and his look of mindless fear began to fade, transitioning into confusion continually patrolling the room with his gaze in search of what horror lurked in the darkness of his room. A metallic echo of a deep cackle escaped and rang round the empty room, the door flung open at a swarm of black mist swept into the room with urgency. Within the depths of the mist emerged a crooked and rusted gauntlet, grasping out into the air in the direction of Daniel. He shook his head, uttering out a word of denial as he kept the spear tip pointed towards the submersed creature. "N.. No.." He managed out as he fumbled his way up to stand and scrambled out of the bed to his feet, his arm supporting the radiating spear shaking. The being's body pulled further from the grasping mist as it forced itself to escape from its dark bindings, clawing at a hurried pace, desperately reaching out towards Daniel as its echoing and maniacal laugh began to raise in volume and deepen in pitch. Drilling into his mind with each second it persisted. Daniel gripping the spear tighter and turning on his heel scrambling towards the second door of the bedroom to exit, bursting through with urgency as his panted breaths began to pick up and fear shook him down to the very core, glancing briefly over his shoulder to see the elder creature finally escape it's bindings and standing in full view to him now. The form dimly lit by the candles that dotted room showing a rusted and contorted set of armour, a blue hue to its metal plating. Motionless as it stood and watched the fleeing cleric, there laughing at the clerics decline was one of the eight, one Daniel had fought slain and gone from this realm and however it mocked the clerics retreat it did not remain stationary when it broke from its bindings instead beginning  to stomp forward each foot sending out a booming ring against the wooden floor, as if he was a hundred times heavier than the intimidating Harbinger looked already. Forcing his legs to work he forced himself onward as he sprinted down the seemingly never ending hallway were eventually a turn sought his attention, he twisted and pivoted his frame round to make for the right where he was met with a shadowed set of stairs and the ever growing mist of black covering the last few flights of the step.

 

A figure stood motionless besides one action of its body, atop its head sat a rotting and twisted pumpkin with a carved smile grinning onwards that caused Daniels body to freeze and lock up as shock jolted through his form as his already beating heart increased the creatures beading red eyes staring the man down. It's head tilted and with that one action a scream of anger and terror escaped the panicked cleric as he further continued to chant. "You're dead, you're all dead!" He spoke out in desperation repeatedly to remain what little sanity was left within his mind, failing. Finally he sprung into action once more and turned back to burst out into the hallway and continue down the never ending chasm for safety. Fleeting down further he saw at the corner of his eye a door swing open and the never ending waves of black mist burst from new source, a decrepit hand clawing its fingers round the door frame as a third figure emerged, one of the last prophets of Iblees entering. Not pausing to gawk and stare he simply kept running in his heightened panic, pushing further for exit to safety. Further and further as more figures escaped from the doorways that cluttered the walls of the never-ending hallway each their own history in his life, each their own slain creature in his memories dealt a blow by his hand; further they came, shades, necromancers, frost witch's, Harbingers, ghouls, wraiths, drakes and more escaped from the lock doors that were once his memory as the floodgates were realised and the ever creeping mist grew in volume. They stalked and chased him, each step he took . His eyes widened as he noticed to what waited for him at the end, a blank wall, a dead-end. No-where further to run in attempt to escape his outlying fate that would eventually creep up on him one way or another. As he slammed his shoulder to the wall, a thud and his body recoiling to fall to the floor as it would not budge he quickly scrambled forwards, fists balling and pounding against the barrier that prevented him from fleeing crying out his constant chant in hopes it would once again come true. “Dead, you’re all dead, dead, dead, dead!” He constantly cried. Eventually his actions began to die as the inevitable wormed its way inside his mind and he slunk further down the wall, hands reaching to wind into his brown locks and clutch at his head, shaking it repeatedly as he tried to force back the words that escaped them all. Each to their own spoke a word, a title he had been known by or they had dubbed him. The already growing fear of their sudden appearance and now the addition of their constant slurs and murmurs.

 

“Ivanus.”

“Cleric.”

“Paladin.”

“Warrior.”

“Holy One.”

“Itharel.”

“Judgement.”

“Fool.”

“Warrior of god.”

“Tahariaes servant.”

“Slave.”

 

He shook his head, curling inwards as his body rocked and he sobbed hysterically. The creatures crawling closer with each second, rusted gauntlets, bloodied or rotted limbs extending outwards to grasp out as the voices grew louder and louder, screams and shouts that rang constant. Finally the cleric snapped and in a final shriek his arm flung out, a brilliant silver light washing outwards and a wave of gruesome silver fire washed outward in a single wave as it consumed the encroaching darkness and eventually swallowed it whole. The light began to fade and so did the apparitions, his head finally raising from its cocooned position and heavy breaths escaped him. His sobbing beginning to stifle and fade as the voices dropped to whispers and then nothingness. There the cleric sat alone in an empty and dark hallway of his home, covered in sweats from his ‘night-terror’ that felt all too real. His body shaking uncontrollably and still rocking, heart pounding heavily. He remained in silence. Alone. Till finally he grew the strength to rise and the sweet silence that consumed the hallways became almost eerie. The former shell of the once glorious Itharel was obvious, hunched over and shaking, fear clear on his expression as he looked about uneasily at the few doors that littered the hall. “Alone..” He muttered quietly, to some truth. Loneliness he was used to, but never had he prayed it so much then. He was truly alone, as he always was. “Not quite..” A sinister whisper brushed against the back of his neck and his hairs rose, body freezing in terror before he jolted and twisted to see only empty space.

 

Was he truly alone?

 

Spoiler

((After 300 years of clericing hard, and Ithareling hard my character has finally snapped over the **** he's seen, simply enough. Consider this his own form of PTSD from the war he thought. I don't know why I wrote this, I just felt I needed to further my character a bit more by writing something up. This occurred to him after a semi-gruesome torture session he endured.))

 

[Ricky 321]

Rickard raises a glass to Daniels madness, well he thinks it's a glass, just like he thought he was the world’s leading Children's book author. He goes back to eating egg and melon sandwiches’ and stuff.

[Elad™ 560]

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