The Natural Heart

[GDPR 014 48]

 

“Don’t you dare go hollow on me.” - Avenel to Armin.

 

The last words he spoke to the halfling rang through Avenel’s head as the steady gallop of his metal horse hit the earth, carrying him along green glades and stone. What right did he have? When his heart felt so artificial; it beat and beat like a machine, churning and spreading its essence like the beat of a hammer, rather than the hearty thump of something human -- something he yearned to have back, like a noble who had lost their valuables to a peasant. A low sigh issued from the creature as the horse carried him along, pondering what he had become; was he a shadow of what once? A ghost inhabiting the shell of the Knight Enchanter that was urged to live as all those succumb? The plight of immortality -- trading humanity to watch the world burn, and be able to stand before it -- unhindered by death and her machinations. He had lost himself in this sorrowful state -- this putrid existence -- did horrendous things. All that was left was to recover, but how? He seemed more artificial than man, and when he tried to cope, they were only brief flashes, bringing back the hollow feeling after each seemingly natural beat. Nature had to take its course.

 

---

His grip tightens on the metal horse’s reins as it nears a shadowy forest -- life surging through her grounds and trees; forging nature’s things through sights and sounds -- pulling the straps back to urge the construct to stop. It followed its master’s commands, issuing a metallic snort as it ceased its step, allowing its master to dismount it. Avenel seized the reins once more, urging the creature along as he ventured into the woods; in doing so he listened to the chirps and chatters, smelled the earthy scent, even the breeze that ran breathed from the forest’s very being as he walked along the path. It felt as though she was alive, this forest, and everything within it was part of her beautiful life. He could not help but gasp, even simper as he saw nature’s calming existence -- marred naught by magi or druid. The creature continued down the path, his sights setting upon something he knew, unlike the calming nature this forest once fumed. A creature ate another, its fangs and teeth clasped around a deer’s neck, pulling from the carcass’s flesh with brutal force - breathing heat from its snout and snarled lips as it ate. This was nature, what completed it. Peace and violence were all part of the bigger picture -- balance itself. He curled in his hand as he saw this, the  creature muttering an incantation, one which was thwarted as he questioned himself, who am I to stop this? It will always happen, here and there. Nothing can be done. It was that realization that forced a groan, causing the once-mortal to move onward.

 

It invoked memories - this walk, as though he was walking through his own timeline. He saw the beginning, his start as a lowly scribe, becoming Kalameet’s apprentice, finding the High Elves, delving into darker arts; leaving to find his own path: Savoy, Oren, Malchediael, the void, his tools. It was what made him who he was, but as he became what he was, the Archon wondered if he was who he thought he is. These memories, are they truly his? Or was there another Avenel before him? One he killed when he transcended mortality, taking his memories and, in essence, becoming him. A monster. A fake. A curse. Avenel thought to himself, glancing to his glove, as though the leather held the answer.

 

“You are no such thing.” An otherworldly voice seeps out from Avenel’s front, and as the archon lifted his head, he saw what appeared to be an old figure, high elven in stature. He looked familiar, father like, even in the black and dilapidated robes common of a necromancer. It was his father-- Abraeke-- a once ancient wraith lost to time’s clutches. “Son, you’re about as mortal as they come.” A smile fell over the father’s features, a hand bidding his son to follow as he steps along the path, to which Avenel complied.

 

“You worry much like any other does. Take it from me, someone who has walked both sides.” The old wraith starts along the path, his body flaking and fuming with ashen wisps during their traverse. “Hold on to what you are; it is the only you there is.”

 

“You… you-”

 

“Left you for some time? I did, because I /know/ what my boy can achieve. You’re my son after all, Avenel. You were meant to do great things; look at what you’ve become! What you did!” The old elf chuckled, “Even became a member of the court; I was just a knight.”  

 

“So what then? I simply… suck it up?” The creature queried as they moved past the dirt, under vines and branches to a rocky pathway, with stone and vines acting as a canopy. “Go on and deal with what I’ve become? Keeping my question unanswered?” To that, the old elf shrugged, his form seemingly deteriorating now, becoming naught but air; it was a manifestation of the mind, or perhaps something greater. In its final moments, the vanishing face invocation turns to Avenel, flashing a warm smile as it uttered its final words.

 

“That is for you to find out my son; I know you’ll figure it out.”

 

---

 

He was alone yet again, save for the metal companion that followed him. The manifestation and its departure only confused the once mortal, yet he took its words. There must be some truth in it. The mind will play tricks to help it cope, he thought, continuing on - trudging along the stone and dirt, before he met the end. Beauty invokes itself in many places, and surely, this was one of them: he stood upon a small hill, overlooking a massive tree which leaned on the rock and dirt that housed it, twinkling vines and branches sway gracefully with the wind, complementing the calm lake at its side. Avenel traversed the hill, his boots working nimbly to keep him from falling; he eventually came to the water, maneuvering with a hesitant gait. The water cast the sun, even the figure’s scarred face as a reflection, everything else was blurry, albeit beautiful in their own respects.

 

He kneels before the water, his face nearing the reflection, studying the scars and features it displayed. His glove reached up to touch the shallow cut under his left eye, running down to his cheek; at the touch, the archon winced, remembering the icy blade carve into his skin, biting into the flesh and spewing blood from the wound; he glanced to the other scar, a slight cut along his right eye from poorly evaded slash. He couldn’t help but smile at these events, recalling the feelings from his past, good and bad swirling and churning. It was human to experience such things. His gloves dig into the water, threading as he scooped out some of the lake’s essence, staring into the acquired piece. The same timeline he saw before played in the water, albeit slower, showing more in his existence. Mortality, Immortality, all of the events before and between were part of him, of logic and mind; of heart and soul. The once mortal, after his moment’s stare, splashed the water into his face. He reveled in this; it was peaceful, unchanged by man. Removing his hands from his dripping face, he stared out towards the lake’s center, spying a figure clad in robes and a faceless mask. It was an Archhorror he was very familiar with, Errant.

 

“Errant?” Avenel lifted his brows, the figure’s mask facing him. “Why are you out?”

 

“I wouldn’t worry about that, Wanderer.” Its ethereal voice, akin to Abraeke’s invocation, surged through Avenel’s mind. “You’ve something else to consider. When you finish, I think we’ll be able to talk.”

 

---

 

 

Avenel felt something touch his shoulder, a gauntleted hand from a black robed figure, brandishing a mask that resembled a weeping elf. It was him from a darker time.

“How are- what /are/ you?” The archon asked, brandishing a perplexed look.

 

“I am you, Avenel.” The figure rasped out, unhooking its hand from his shoulder. “Or, I am a part of you -- I am your malice, your cruelty… even bits and pieces of your sorrow.”

 

“Thought I was done with you.” Avenel grunts, the figure only shrugging after.

 

“You never are; we are part of you, impossible to let go.”

 

“We?”

 

“Indeed.” Another figure stepped out from the side, though this one was clad in black and gold armor, one which sported a red robe and a white toga that seemingly latched on its gorget, bound with its golden close helmet. A brighter him, when he served Malchediael as his voice. It clenched its fist, setting it on its breast before raising the gauntlet to the sky, towards Avenel.

 

“I am the good in you; the softness in your heart.”

 

Avenel twitched at that, he could feel something twitch and murmur in his chest, a warm feeling came over him. During this, a gleaming red being, covered in dark armor and a midnight hood rests it draconic gauntlets on Avenel’s shoulders, leaning its faceplate forward, facing the warm-hearted fellow.

 

“I am your passion; what causes you to reach for the skies.” The bright colored archon releases Avenel’s shoulder, moving to stand before him, the other manifestations following. Another being came into the fray, issuing an azure light from its garbed phizog, the frame bound energy patting Avenel’s shoulder as it passes towards the gathered pieces.

 

“And I am your logic, your knowledge.”

 

The immortal stared at the gathering, his lips twitching into a small smile, taking a step towards them. Then, I must be real. This shell is my own, for they are all a part of it -- these memories, this life… it is all mine. He paused, furrowing his brows as the voice of a woman sang in his head, caressing his ears with her sweet voice.

 

“Who are you?” At her question, Avenel took a quick glance at the cluster, before moving his hand toward the water, eying his reflection; the others followed, their beings almost merging in the pond. They each reach out their hands and gauntlets, hovering and gently setting on his glove.

 

“I am Avenel; I will always be Avenel.”

 

The figures nodded at that, and their hands seemed to fuse with him, their own beings following as they sucked into his core, fusing and becoming. He felt something warm within him, an erratic thump that oddly held some order. It was odd: normal, natural.

 

He felt The Natural Heart beat inside him. Invigorating the mind and banishing the doubts of the artificial. Perception changes views on many things.

 

Avenel, the rather humanized elf, brandishes a warm smile as he looked about, this time spotting Errant leaning a bit on his side. It spoke in its eldritch tongue, even patting Avenel on the back.

 

“There will always be sorrows and doubts, Wanderer.”

 

“I know,” The man stated, his smile broadening as he glances down at the water, keeping it as he stepped over to the metal horse which found itself moving to his side.

 

“And struggling and overcoming is what makes me human.” And with that, the horror produced a crackling laughter, vanishing from the realm. Avenel mounted the construct, beckoning it to move forth; as it moved along the land, the figure sets his hand on his beating heart, no longer feeling the artificial thumping.  

 

 

 

[Aelesh 541]

Somewhere, a lord strums their fingers across their obsidian throne; he looks out over the keep that is his charge, and the fields of endless combat that surround his lands. There is a gnawing sensation at the back of his mind, a shift in his heart, as he turns his eyes down towards one amongst many of his soldiers. Though he may have been rent from him and offered up to a greater evil, he was a fitting sacrifice to make, a devout ally in a war against the unseen, the nothing, the Void. The lord smiles and nods to himself, looking down upon a squire just cresting the stairs to his throne. Wind blows atop the obsidian tower, and the lord speaks;

 

"That man, and a man he is for his soul is pure and just, is a shining example for you. All you young ones, take note of his deeds and sing songs of him, for he has made himself into a blade as sharp as myself, to cleave through the darkness and give our beautiful realm of Light the time it deserves. Write his name down amongst our most beloved, and soon we shall come to creating for him a fitting companion weapon, to sit amongst the arms of all our fallen comrades, my faithful knights." The squire stares into the eyes of his lord as the elder man turns away to look out once more at the ever rising sun. "Soon, my halls shall sing with the song of your life, my Sunsinger."

[HurferDurfer1 2979]

( I dont read rp posts often but this was genuinely a great read, inspiring)

[meg 1994]

Spoiler

 

 

Her eyes opened, slowly, reluctantly. Her head was heavy, throbbing from a sleepless and troubled night. Her arms stretched out across the bed, expectantly, before she sat up. Her gaze meandered around the room, groggily, before settling on the arcane contraption nestled in the corner. Her hand drifted to her stomach, peeling her gaze away from it. Her jaw shifted, familiar chittering beginning again in her mind....

 

I do not understand. At least you have attempted before to excuse  your irrationality.

 

There wasn't anything to say. She turned away from it, laying back down with a thump. There wasn't anything to say to either of them. What could she say? That she lied again, because she was scared? That every time he looked at her she wanted to run, that her shoulder shook and insides churned? 

 

Have you forgiven him, then? You seem conflicted on the matter, even in your own mind. If you have not, then, will you ever?

 

Maybe. 

 

You are usually a much worse liar than this.

 

[Jentos 9425]

((Much like hurfer said, I can only admit that it was a fantastic read, with a great touch in music! You should make these more often. 

[cablam 477]

The Halfling mulls over Avenel's final words, repeating them in his head for minutes in his seat atop the table of the Library.

 

"Don't you dare go hollow on me. Don't you dare go hollow on me."

 

In an instant he hops to his feet, dashing to the trapdoor at the back of the desk. Scrambling down the ladder he makes his way into the pantry, grabbing armfuls of bread, cheese, eggs, sausage and bacon. He waddles into the kitchen, lighting the fire and preparing his pots, pans and spices. Armin rubs his hands together, a large, ****-eating grin donning his facial expression as he exclaims,

 

"Can'' be 'ollow if I've ea'en second breakfas'!"

[The King Of The Moon 7016]

Within the underbelly of The Assembly, a monolith of unnatural stone quivers as Valmir Synalli's soul emits a deafening silence; out of sight, out of mind, he mutely cries out for his father's aid.

[Shadeleaf 1022]

((Glorious as always my friend, glad you're keeping the spirit of Errant alive. Amazing read.))

[mitto 2312]

Moved to The Great Library. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.

 

If you feel this is a mistake, please contact myself or any FM and we'll restore it.