Emergence

[dard 756]

“...And it is foretold that from the deepest gloaming the Fifth Lord shall rise, defying his nature as man under Darkness to reinvigorate the flame once within us all.”

 

 

Nothingness.

 

“Weahur,” the word drifted along the walls of the chasm in a surreal half-whisper as his mind made it real.

 

A gauntlet rose to his countenance.  He knew it was there; he heard it rattle in the silent stillness.  He could feel the thin grime of ash and soot upon settled upon the eldritch talons.

 

Ashes…? My … ashes…

 

“Hisht…? Do’sek... hisht...” The words shrieked against the air, spoken not.  It did not vibrate off his lips or tongue, rather a hiss of a dark amalgamation scraping against metal and reverberating off the air.  His gauntlets instinctively went to his ears—rather—where they would be. The compressed upon a soot-stained hood and the featurelessness of his being, prompting the ashes seep down in front of his murky gaze.

 

What am I?

 

“Davu o’daz?”  The phrase stirred an anger in his core.  It seemed to claw into the stone walls of the Slumber, bouncing around to the top but not making it far enough to stir a sound beyond the chasm’s threshold.

 

The wraith drifted upright upon his sabatons, sounding a cacophonous discord as armor shook and shambled about in this cess of earth.  But beneath the violent reverie of metal there was something lighter. A softer sound, almost pleasant to the mind. It was small, amateurly crafted lapuz bracelet.  Gently, it clinked upon the antediluvian ash and metal that littered his new form.

 

And soon a sudden a fit of rage and ire.  His being raced from one side of the hole to the other, and back shrieking no words, but a maddening incoherent sound that seemed to wretch forth without breath.  The being slumped, wresting his gauntlet into a gritting grip that seemed to draw close to bending the hollow metal.

 

I remember…

 

“O’daz’uwar…” The phrase sounded like a low growl as it rumbled forth from the pit of his essence, though it lingered with a sting of defeat. The sound of his metal fingers grinding and groaning in his grip seemed to wake him up from his solemn stupor.  

 

The wraith shuffled around through the ashes and bones that littered the sunken fane of earth until it pried free a twisted metal.  A burnt metal crown—which he fastened to his hood before returning to face the towering depth of stone.

 

My name…

 

“Xaleskar...”

 

He launched his gauntlet forth, slamming into the cavern walls and grasping makeshift rungs of stone or making his own.  He repeated this with his other gauntlet, lifting himself in a slow ascent.

 

Clack.

 

Clack.

 

Cruk.

 

Clack.

 

Clack.

 

The newly risen Wraithlord had been climbing for many hours—perhaps days.  Each time, he dug its twisted metal talons into the side of the earthy cavern, piercing stone and embedding his nigh weightless form upon a foothold.  He felt no tire or aches, lifting himself rhythmically without the woe of flesh burdening down his hollow form.

 

Upon reaching the threshold of the depths, he threw his form over in a single swing and drifted upright without dirtying his already stained attire.  He approached the decaying bridge which seemed to be more decrepit than the last he remembered of it, and the still preserved corpse of a girl upon it.  In some eerie fashion, she was kept eerily intact by the Slumber a last some perverted torment for his twisted deed.

 

My daughter… Ro’ya.  

 

“Do’sek lithrin …” He wished to speak her name one last time, fearful whatever darkness tainted his words would desecrate a sound so innocent.  He reached down, picking up her lifeless form and cradling it in his arms to carry it out of the fane.

 

“Ro’ya.”

 

[Burnsy 437]

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.