An Ungraceful Tumble

[Rig 17590]

"We are born by the Dark;
Made Men by the Dark;
Undone by the Dark;
We fear the Old Dark."
- The Adage of the Old Lords

 

The Necromancer had fallen with a spear in his heel, his form jerking as a foot came from behind and crashed into the side of his head, rendering him into a slow daze. He stared upwards for the vehement Kolohe with rage, seeing only the face of someone who he had once considered his friend, perhaps even a brother, in times of duress. Andrus Maximillion, Gareth Hawthorne, Dralazar, all these names recurred in the thoughts of the decrepit Weaver, recently having christened himself a Herald of Xion. It mattered not now, he thought, for he would enjoy little time among the living any longer. He would join his own pets and trinkets in the afterlife as a crazed abomination or be imprisoned by the gods for his sins. There was a time perhaps where he could be called something else, but he could not remember, but unlike his kith and kin he worried not for what he once was. The longing inside his soul was great, as Kolohe had led him towards the what would become object of his doom. He held no fear, he held no pain, he held only compliance and utter failure. He had not been careful enough and now he would pay the price.
 

 

A woman nearby peered over, Gareth looked towards Alrian, murmuring in the Dark Tongue, the wretched vocals of  Al’tahrn-Durngo, “Fear the Old Dark.”  Alrian simply smiled slyly, answering the contrary with venemous intent. A snake to which I despise, a two-faced fool. Gareth’s fist balled, knuckles cracking from the effort as he was suddenly slammed into the ground once again, rasping as more blood coursed free of him, driblets running down his platemail. He had been dubbed many things in his lifetime, his own master Kaer’gi naming him Kaegaz’arai,  King of Snakes in the tongue of the Cyniine, he had been listed among the Ascended’s greatest foes, he had strived to become Vandalore only to watch his friend Nafis Yar be spitefully betrayed and killed by the Kharadeens. None of that would matter of course, the world was now devouring and tearing him apart bit by bit. Fear the Old Dark, he thought bitterly, imagining what might have been had he succeeded or never walked the path that he had.




The man had now coughed, form alight with agony. Seeing Cheza, he hurled the runic stone towards her. His shoulders trembled, breathing hitched as his parched lips moved slightly into a soft incantation in his native tongue. He thought of his lover and then his children, before again a blade tore through the sinews of his leg and hit the stones. His teeth only grit, as Aenor had completely ravaged his eyes, crimson dribbling down from his sockets. The agony did not stop there, as he was again and again tormented by his foes, before being left to die in the basement, form slack and unconscious. It is then that Alrian had slipped his sword free of his scabbard. Gareth briefly regained consciousness, frail and weary from trying to fight back with no avail before the blade caught him in the abdomen. “I..” he whispered dully at the vast insanity of of his newly decided fate, whatever vestiges of his control lost now to the dawning realization that he would now join all he had slain.

He now thought of all the horrendous betrayals, he thought of the death of his wife, he thought even of Vallel, the woman he had impaled through the spine with his rapier out of pure rage and undignified spite. The screaming in his mindwent silent as he finally slipped into the sleep he had long tried to thwart. The lull of death had called upon him, bestowing a sanctified peace on the man’s worn and tired soul, as the vultures refused to pick at his vile and tainted carcass, sensing the taint from a shattered vial dripping the sickening substance across his ravaged vessel.

Eventually all the bystanders had left, and in the darkness of the night a lone Echelon stole the corpse away, never to be seen again.

The Lord of Torment’s career had seemed to have come to an abrupt end.
 

Spoiler

 

Taking a long break from this character, it's not a PK. He might get revived, he might not, idk yet.
 

 

[Tom_Whiteman 949]

"How does a sheep protect another?"

"By killing the shepherd."

 

"You are finally where I want you," Alrian would scoff at the maimed Andrus, the weaver slumping in his own chair. His hand falls upon the hilt of his blade. "Finally..." Brandishing his accursed sword, he curls his wrist so that the blade's tip points down towards the man's abdomen. He murmurs a few last words in an ancient tongue, 

 

"I have betrayed you, Gareth, I have betrayed Xion. Van'ayla, old friend."

 

The sword hurls downwards, heavily jabbing into Andrus' gut. Sinking into his flesh, it would stay there to later be retrieved.

[JEEGK 1367]

"Hm Fear the Old Dark, I suppose..." 

 

The 'aheral murmured, packing his belongings into his bag.

 

"Later, I shall return..."

[Gone 869]

Later that night Cheza, stinking of alcohol, could be seen walking around Sanctuary's roads. No real destination in mind the drunken drui merely wanders the town before finally finding herself staring out at the water. Only there does she mutter to the moon "H-he wasn't that bad really, not to me at least. Shame I won't talk to him anymore..." 

 

With a soft huff she shakes her head to stumble back for home. 

[Your Favorite Impure 736]

Aenor faintly heard Artimec calling out to him, resting his hand on Aenor's shoulder. The usually bright blue eyes of Aenor now dull and hazy as his thoughts wander. He blinks, staring up from his bloodied gauntlets and glancing over his shoulder towards Artimec "What was that?" 

 

Artimec offers a grim smile accompanied by a small nod "Are you alright, kae'llir?"

 

Aenor simply blinked, returning the nod before glancing back down to his hands, his gauntleted digits curling into a fist "I will be." The stoic Mali slowly turns his gaze upwards, correcting himself "I am." 

[WuHanXianShi14 0]

Sitting atop his rooftop, overlooking Laureh'lins forest glade, Artimec recalled upon the days events. His features were usually stoic, grim and damp, but today they held a sinister elation to them. He kicked up his feet and broke out into song, allowing his tenor voice to resound across the trees.

"♫ Gods damn them all, I was told we'd raid the streets for wood-elven souls,

 We'd drain no trees, spread no fears,

 Now I'm a broken mage on an Embermoore pier,

 The one last gravelord rackateer... ♫"

 

[Aengoth 2890]

Aengoth is disgruntled that the death of an apparent powerful man did not garner any sort of valuables to be prized from his house during the commotion.

[GDPR 014 48]

A masked Aheral grins, rubbing his hands as he leans back into a chair, 

"Just as planned..."

[luv 3469]

The 'aheral woman weeps in her home, packing her bags quickly as she then begins to head out.

"Fear the old dark."

[jamesb 218]

An aging human heard of the news, a heavy sigh slipping from his dry lips.

 

“He spoke of a way to live.”

“A way to avoid The Curse.”

“Everything I did, gone to waste.”

“Let there be another way.”

 

The blue robed figure did not mutter the standard phrase of the Xionists as he turned away, the quiet sound of his footsteps fading into the distance.

 

[Geo 1415]

Chrodraeos sits in a far off distant temple hoping his Xion loyalists aren't committing terrorist attacks in the name of Xion. 

[kingnothing 571]

Kuro's eyes finally diverted from his abodes fireplace that he had been so intently staring into for some, an almost irritated sigh escaping him.

"Was a good run, Dralazar, shame it had to come to an end now, of all times."

The wood elf finally rose to his feet after some time, leaving his home with some vague amount of determination in his stride. A new objective?

"We... err, fear the old dark, or something like that."

[ebebebebeasodflkasdfkaksdf 10]

Io called over to some nearby women at the Sanctuary,

 

"Have you seen Andrus? I think I'm pregnant with his child. Exciting isn't it?"

 

They gasped and frowned,

 

"Come with us. Sit down."

[ScreamingDingo 20568]

“Aeri’kath chooses those that are strong, the weak fall under his gaze.”

The ghastly voice of Kaer’gi seemed to flood his head in his last moments. The one who destroyed the young boy’s potential, his dreams.
Torment is all he received from his “apparent” master, the one who he so vigilantly followed with every thought.

Look what had happened now, the poor youth had evolved into one of the most fearsome magi’ on Vailor. Many would count that as success, but he knew himself it was only failure. Failure was what brought him to this very moment, failure and the mistakes he knew which haunted him through all of his actions.

“Mistakes.”
The voice echoed once more in the Lord’s eardrums, the inner voice deafening as he stammered for words.
“The all seeing eye watches all”
His mind lulled into places of security, places he wished to cherish and focus on his last moments about. Though it was quickly ended by the

memories of torture which surged through his mind. His final moments were recollecting his biggest mistake of all, getting captured.

 

 

The youth, Aazar did not wish to follow this path, he was a young boy with dreams of becoming a squire. His freedom from the Uruks as a Southeron child, an orphan who began to explore the world.  Oh how that had changed.

His mind once again lashed out to a room filled with smoke, a horribly disfigured man infront of him adorning various brands and lashes.
“Helpless.”
The voice murmured once again as the youth shook on his bindings, unable to escape as the metal bit into the flesh of his wrists and ankles.
“Worthless.”
Blood leaped from his wounds as the various hooks and chains smashed against the youth, splattering across the entire room as the smoke trailed above.
“You must become strong, do not fall for mortal vices.”
Screams of agony erupted from the youth’s mouth as the scene continued. The Lord’s mind eventually fading to nothingness as the voices continued.

Aazar was just a boy, though he was shaped into a monster.

[Guest]

2 minutes ago, GrimReaper98 said:

“Aeri’kath chooses those that are strong, the weak fall under his gaze.”

The ghastly voice of Kaer’gi seemed to flood his head in his last moments. The one who destroyed the young boy’s potential, his dreams.
Torment is all he received from his “apparent” master, the one who he so vigilantly followed with every thought.

Look what had happened now, the poor youth had evolved into one of the most fearsome magi’ on Vailor. Many would count that as success, but he knew himself it was only failure. Failure was what brought him to this very moment, failure and the mistakes he knew which haunted him through all of his actions.

“Mistakes.”
The voice echoed once more in the Lord’s eardrums, the inner voice deafening as he stammered for words.
“The all seeing eye watches all”
His mind lulled into places of security, places he wished to cherish and focus on his last moments about. Though it was quickly ended by the

memories of torture which surged through his mind. His final moments were recollecting his biggest mistake of all, getting captured.

 

 

The youth, Aazar did not wish to follow this path, he was a young boy with dreams of becoming a squire. His freedom from the Uruks as a Southeron child, an orphan who began to explore the world.  Oh how that had changed.

His mind once again lashed out to a room filled with smoke, a horribly disfigured man infront of him adorning various brands and lashes.
“Helpless.”
The voice murmured once again as the youth shook on his bindings, unable to escape as the metal bit into the flesh of his wrists and ankles.
“Worthless.”
Blood leaped from his wounds as the various hooks and chains smashed against the youth, splattering across the entire room as the smoke trailed above.
“You must become strong, do not fall for mortal vices.”
Screams of agony erupted from the youth’s mouth as the scene continued. The Lord’s mind eventually fading to nothingness as the voices continued.

Aazar was just a boy, though he was shaped into a monster.

An unearthly silence perverted Aazar's surroundings, his corpse laying there as the vultures themselves refused to feed on his tainted flesh. Red mist flowed openly from his wounds, a faint red exuding from his hand for but a moment before being quashed by his surroundings. Inevitably, the man's mistakes had led to his apparent death.