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bigcrazy

Chasing Ashes

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”I will never again grovel for a place in this world!”

- Raide of Ashford to the Hexer known as “Jin”.

 

He believed he was something better than what he was; that, to lend his sword to those who stood as pinnacles of humanity, would forgive the sin of what he was. In Mordskov, Ser Raide of Ashford fought relentlessly and tested the curse of the Unseen, butchering monster and man alike and driving him closer and closer to the fate of all Striga who think to boast their higher strength to the gods. In the end, when he took witness to the true shape of the Beast of Mordskov, it broke him in two; reducing Raide to the animal that he was, and cursing him to decades of animalistic butchery hidden by the cold south of Atlas. It reminded him, in his bestial depravity, of the fight he participated in; it reminded him of the men he fought with, even if their battle was futile. While an animal, a frothing madman that cannibalized those he caught, the landscape bid him some degree of homeliness, and a dull recollection of someone he was chasing after. A struggler whom he had witnessed grow into a man, who hated him for what he was, yet the only other person he truly related with. A son, almost. Raide never told the boy he thought of him as a son, but he wanted to. He searched ages for him, in his madness, but never found his ‘son’ – his brother, his equal. His other struggler.

 

When he was brought back from the precipice of madness by one who also bore the Unseen blood, it was too late, and the only stable mind that return to him in clarity was the egregore – or, shade, as they are known – placed upon him by black sorcerers far before his time as a Striga. Assuming the name Ur-Raihan, he rampaged across the Atlas countryside after being lured from the south, and became known as the ‘butcher’. This egregore that stole the body of Raide made a mockery of the broken mind he once tormented; insistent that he was different, that he was free, and in control. But he was never in control … always struggling with the animal that remained inside, in a sickening irony of what Raihan was. In the end, Raihan struggled with newfound humanity, and sought to fight for his freedom against those who branded him ‘anathema’. It was too much for a creature not meant to have a mind of its own; and soon Raihan lost his hold on worldly desires, waiting for the peace of death he knew would soon come to him and the maddened psyche of Raide.

 

They caught him, shortly after several skirmishes that he either prevailed in or escaped from. They put Raihan in a cage to wait for an end just like he was put in a cage to wait for a new beginning, and then the one that watched over Raide for the entire duration of his immortal suffering came to take him out to somewhere where the sun did not shine to put a bolt in the back of his head. What he was told by the watchman, this noble secret that only Raide was afforded, was enough to bring the divided mind some clarity. Whatever was left of Raide returned, channeled through Raihan, to experience death denied him in the battles against Mordskov.

 

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Raide fought to prove he was better than what he was. Raihan fought to prove that he was free.



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Edited by bigcrazy

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-

 

The Gwynonian metalworker tucked the cigarette between his lips.

 

He did not weep in relief nor sorrow for the death of this kindred turned beast; the man did not see the deed occur before him, but he heard it. This blessed man left the scene, giving farewells to the pair that had accompanied him.

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Sighard rests within the Seven Skies with Haddock as he repeatedly and eternally pummels Raide for being a cucked blood-fiend

 

 

 

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An unfortunate Hexer keeps screaming, his spirit shattered and broken; spiralling down in the hellish depths of the world, burning and twisting. A justified punishment. 

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Woe be to Raide of Ashford, woe be to the once held apotheosis of Taharaie, woe be to the disciple of Zecharael.

I judge thee guilty! Guilty of succumbing to the allure of the ether...
Crushed by justice! Crushed under the endless pressure of The Veil and it’s abhorrent aliens.

Beware — the will wanes in the gloaming.

Light fades. The mission is benighted.

 

The Light forsakes us? But why?

Light fades. The mission is benighted.

So dark here. And so cold...
Black as hate, this, the darkest of all nights.
Wherefore does the Light fade?

 

Send my child to the Light! I beg for his absolution!

My discipline fades. I am carried along by hate and whim.

 

Can so much death ever truly be justified?

Light preserve us. The twilight deepens...

 

 

 

 

 

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