Can't Run Anymore

[Rig 17591]

 

Written by Joel 

 

“I’ve tried to redeem myself, I can never be redeemed.”

 

The  mixture of flora and ash littered the underside of the caverns that he stood upon, the rused sabatons sinking in like soft mud. The former library of the Savannah Grove was the resting place for this creature now, what did it even achieve?

 

The tattered breastplate and the rusted metal of its decrepit armor screeched upon every movement, every step, every slight shift of bones beneath his vessel. The strange smog of red and black filled every former bit of life in this library, the lingering life-force smothering those who’d enter, all except this one.

 

The memories of years ago when this library stood tall, when the vines did not coil themselves and blacken themselves with lifelessness. When this grove was left to flourish under the care of those of the druids, it was a magnificent sight. Though now it was a faint reminder of what this creature had became, this grove represented him entirely. Death.

 

The Darkstalker continued to walk down the stone steps, ash and soot smothering each crevice as lush green plants blossomed next to plants that withered away ever so slowly. “Click, click, click.” Each step marked another noise which broke the consuming silence of the grove, there was nothing there anymore.

 

 

The helmet of the creature dropped onto the stone, clattering down the steps as it revealed the grotesque, cracked visage of the dark being. A hand print scorched across its face, glowing a faint blue from the scars of holy fire. The rest of its visage had completely succumbed to necrotic rot, the ashen bone having lines litter it like a crazed man’s painting. The creature’s skull turned towards the reddened pool beneath him, the red crystals growing faintly as they’d trail up from the water. Latching onto stone, life and anything possible. Other corpses impaled upon larger stones, while skulls and bones of dead animals littered the bottom of the depths of the water.

 

“I cannot try anymore, I cannot.”

 

The rasped voice of the creature once again broke the silence, before it knelt next to the water. The gauntlet of the being now dragging itself through the pool and breaking small shards of the red, crystalline surface that had formed. “Rejected from the very start.” The curse that bound this creature had left him devoid of everything, all notions of good and happiness. Those that knew him in life would realise this, though many did not. Many had not know this man.

 

Gawyn Rildor, a small farmer boy from the distant coasts of Aeldin. Parents selling most of their wealth to fund their boy to sail for an expedition towards the lands of Vailor. The small boy was meant to become a merchant, or perhaps a noble, something to grant his family the joys of life and being proud. Though, this did not happen. The boy was recruited into the Nauzica, under the rule of the John the I. Innocence was destroyed, all hope was replaced by the notion of surviving and paranoia. The execution of nobility and traitors, the slaughtering of families, this broke the boy. It broke him brutally.

 

The escape and plan of redemption for his crimes rested with the druids, he stumbled upon the desert sands and pledged himself to become a druid of noble causes. For peace, to protect the good and destroy the evil. Though, all had stood in his way, the elder druids blocked his ascension while his only friends became druids.

 

Sena and Oo’ri, both who became great ones of old.

 

He was never deserving of such a fate, he could never become grand or lead, he could never teach. His ideals were too radical, militarised against the undeath and those who slaughtered nature. He was not accepted.

 

Ouity Deathsbane, his mentor.

 

The Wolf, the stoic, the war-torn human who had suffered a fate similar. He always wanted to be like him, a strong druid who destroyed all threats of evil. Who knew nature’s true place. Though, he disappeared. Like the others.

 

Oropher Deathsbane, his friend.

 

The Bat, the crazed son of the Wolf. The prodigy who stuck with him upon his ascension to becoming an actual druid. That who mentored him into combatting those of undeath and evil, it was all grand. Gawyn’s redemption was perhaps on its way. For the man was now quite old, perhaps his life would be spent protecting nature itself.

 

It ended as quickly as it began, necrotic fuelled hatred spread upon the grove as others watched him be slaughtered. A spear in the back, a sword through the gullet. Tortured and kept barely alive as a means to dissuade the Paladin they hunted for. He didn’t save anyone, he didn’t help anything. Everything in life for him was futile, but his service was done.

 

All until he was abducted, a corpse risen from hatred and sent upon to work for a strange, malevolent being. The Jester, whom held his soul and would not relinquish or free him of his torment. That grove that he died in, became his only connection to his old life, it represented his growth and his ultimate failures.

 

“At least the grove birthed a creature that was of magnificence, what has been birthed from my death?”

 

The skeletal being shook its head, a guttural snarl following before it ripped its gauntlet from the surface of the water. The strange, ruiburium infested liquid spraying across all that behind him. He would never be redeemed, his actions in life must have forced him to become this being, this being of death. Rejected from the Aspects, from all portions of life, perhaps it was time to truly serve his sentence.

 

Gawyn was a free being, never truly controlled. Though it had always led to nothing, it only led to more hatred, no signs from the Aspects in his redemption. No signs from anything being able to cure him. He could not escape the coil of undeath and finally rest, it was never attainable.

 

The skeletal being tried to hold onto its humanity, it had done so for the last 40 years. Everyone was done to try and further the progress of man, even if disguised as plots of hatred and battle.

 

It was time for him to now truly pay for his crimes and to submit to the darkness that shrouded him. For now, The Jackal was gone. He cannot try to help the druids, he cannot hunt the rogue undead. He must become the pawn in the game that was so much bigger than him or anyone else.

 

He couldn’t run anymore

[Ambduscias 1028]

JONATHAN TED SMILE

[Fawb 557]

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.