A Bitter End to an Ancient Rivalry

[Merkaken 516]

Time had passed... Decades upon decades he waited for him. But he never showed up.

 

Alexandros, on of the few remaining Dread Knights, looked out to the silver city of the Mali'Aheral. An old acquaintance lived within. An informant lived within. One could even say a "friend" of sorts. Though, such a thing could never truly be done with a Dread Knight, nor would they wish it to be. Alexandros stared at the shimmering bastion from a distance, standing upon the boat, cloaked, though even covered he looked at best awkward and bumpy. He looked about the boat and the outer part of the Elven city, ensuring there could be no other witnesses. After which, his gauntleted thmb is placed on the crossguard of his sword, slowly extending it out until he grips it, ripping it off the scabbard. He holds the cursed necromantic sword, Lich's Bane, high, purple must dancing around the blade until cascading to the bottom, licking around the gauntlet that is now Alexandros' hand. After a brief few seconds, Alexandros sheathes the blade within its scabbard, the mist wrapping around it and then dissipating. A brief two flashes of a lamp were shown from a watchtower of the grand city, before turning off for good. The hulking figure turns, heading to a secluded area of the outer city under the cover of night.

 

Soon after, a hooded Mali'aheral would come rushing towards him, stopping suddenly. "Alexandros. You're here. Good..." The knight stares at the man, nodding finally. "My target... That damnable guard from the Conclave of Malin... Where is he? Where is Brutalus?" Alexandros demands, taking off the disguise that hid him decently enough. The Elf sighs, lowering his head. "Well... A half truth, Alexandros, at best... I did find Brutalus... But..." The Elf pauses, looking back to the Knight. "But what? Was he warned? What?"

 

The two took the ferry back to the Cloud Temple docks, not needing to hide himself anymore, though the Mali'aheral staying hidden out of concern. It was a small walk fro mthe docks to where they were headed. A small grove, and a clearing in the forest. There was a marker that read "Brutalus" in the ground, along with several flowers from loved ones. "... How?" Alexandros asks. The Elf shakes his head, sighing. "I don't know... But I'll leave you to do whatever it was you wanted to do when you found him... I've lingered away from the cihi for too long. I'd suggest we not meet again for a while..." The Elf waits for a response, but Alexandros just stares at the grave marker in the ground. The elf turns back to the ferry and leaves the Knight be.

 

Since the days of Anthos, Brutalus and Alexandros had a constant feud, a rivalry. The first fight they had, Brutalus single handedly defeated Alexandros through skill, sunning, and guile. Alexandros, underestimating the guard, losing a large part of his body after he was tricked into smashing himself into a forge after the guard rolled away from his attack in the nick of time. Since that day, Alexandros has gone to great lengths to get his revenge on the guard who humiliated him so horribly. Kidnapping citizens and holding them hostage in order to get to him, hiring infiltrators, and flat out smashing the gate himself in a fit of rage. Yet every time, handily or barely, Brutalus managed to escape death.

 

The Knight continued to stare at the marker in utter disbelief, the pain from his mark intensifying, causing him to fall to his knees and screech an ear piercing sound that could be heard in a large radius until the pain finally left.  It was not until now that Alexandros realized what an important role Brutalus played in his life. His obsession to become more powerful, his drive to become the new Dread Lord, and in the age of when the Dread Knights had been all but forgotten, his thirst to hunt Brutalus drove him on and on and on... But now, the Knight realizes he never wanted it to end... That he needed this rivalry, that it drove him to endure the pain of undeath, that Brutalus WAS the reason he continued to live.

 

But he would not admit it. He stared at the marker for what felt like hours before rising, unclipping the flail from his hip, his first and most reliable weapon, and placing it amongst the flowers. With one more turn, the Knight left to the docks, leaving the weapon that started it all with his fallen friend...

 

"You won..."

 

 

So, this is a bit late. As many of you know, several months ago, a dear member of this community passed. Watyll, one of the most amazing people on this server, touched a lot of our hearts. I wanted to write this around the time I had heard this had happened, but it was rather hard. Watyll was a close friend of mine, and someone I could always turn to. Our characters, his Dark Elf Brutals, and my Dread Knight Alexandros, dueled constantly. It drove our RP further, and was the high point of our day. We wanted to keep this going for years, having one of us winning the duel and the other narrowly escaping. It breaks my heart we won't be able to do this. I will miss watyll deary, and he will always have a special place in LotC's heart. This is my way of saying goodbye to him, and that he impacted my life, and how much I regret not telling him that.

 

P.S That Mali'aheral sort of 'spy' guy? Real person! Cheers to you, [REDACTED]! Our spy RP between our characters is a load of fun!

 

[Guest]

[[ a good read ]]

[Your Favorite Impure 736]

Spoiler

Great read, thoroughly enjoyed it

 

[lev 627]

((A fine read and a great honour to a warm and upstanding member of the community; only thing is the motivations of your DK aren't really consistent with the lore... pm me if you are still playing that character

[Elad™ 560]

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