Facing the Ire

[Reece Nolan 636]

     Click.

 

     That was the moment, the smoking gun that told Angr he was no longer safe. The click of a steel lock linking heavy iron chains around his body heralded the destruction of his senses, his perception of the real world. Ulfar's mighty beard drooped and leaked onto the floor. Hairs dripped from his friend's chin until it resembled the beardless neck of Gildroc, a former Goldhand. "Ulfar, yer beard?..." He asked nervously, now painfully aware of his drugged state. The melting Starbreaker would sink into the floor in a violent frenzy of liquids, stabbing through the cobbles and dragging him along with. Had he been able to, Angr would have screamed into the bloody sea which welcomed him to its abyss in the most horrifying of ways. The Worldmaker's Chamber fell apart into a frenzy of gore, teeth snapped and popped as the magma poured down an esophagus as the mountain and city he knew was swallowed whole alongside the pillars of the Brathmordakin. All pillars but one. When he thought he could not take it anymore, tangled in floating nerves and veins, just when he believed he might actually drown did he finally breathe for his first time anew.

 

     Angr was regurgitated into a place simultaneously foreign and familiar to him. He was on the roads on the outskirts of Elvenesse, but something was... Different. He rose to his feet, drenched in someone else's blood. He began to walk, and with him came two dwarven shapes formed from the coagulated and sloppy mess of guts, bone and yet more blood. A reoccurring theme of violence. To his left took the form of Grand King Bakir Ireheart, his beard growing off a skull-less jaw and his crown of teeth sat upon a gaping hole where one's face would be. The King's doppelganger wielded an axe made from a femur and a pelvis, decorated with a wrap of uruk skins and elf ears dangling from the grip. To Angr's right formed a distortion of Ragrin Ireheart, his usual bare chest moreso than it usually was, skin removed to show how strong and prideful their muscles and exposed, fleshy abs really were. Normally the sight of gore would not bother him, but this... This was too much even for him. He tried his best to keep his composure, marching alongside his twisted kin towards the gates of Elvenesse as the road behind them was drenched with red, rendering the lands both alien and hellish.

 

     An approaching traveler, a wood elf carrying wares and goods from one point to the next was spotted on the roads. Without hesitation, these shambling bodies rushed for them screaming from many mouths and open orifices, "MURDER! KILL! HONOR!" Angr cringed at the words, stopping as he watched their heavy and frenzied stride take them to their victim. He watched on as the weary merchant was slaughtered needlessly, their ears and tongue ripped from their body and incorporated into the madness. Where one elf died a new Bloodheart rose, consumed by an ire not green, but red. Their entrails littered the forest floor as the dwarf shaped vessels looked back at him, this new one assuming the likeness of Gror. The onslaught pressed forward, dragging him along with their quizzical inquiries. "WHAT'S WRONG IREHEART?! SHOW THEM YOUR COURAGE! They demanded, thrusting him forth towards their destination. The massive iron gates of Elvenesse stood open before him, welcoming a flood of travelers in a time where it was once more lively. Locals had stopped, in shock and horror at the grizzly sight before them, a wave of unreasonable death marching unto their gates given a dwarven shape. He was tossed an axe, formed from the bones of a long dead olog and an intestinal wrap still pulsing below his fingers. "T'es esn't righ'! Where es tah honor ov our ancestors, da rhyme er reason ov Yavok o' Kjellos?! Da purpose instilled wifin Urir?!" He lashed back, facing these maddening creatures. Bakir raised his own axe and pointed it at Angr, screeching from the hollow cavity where it's face should reside, "COWARD! DISHONORABLE! BETRAYER! UNWORTHY!" It rushed him with an almost unbeatable might, knocking him to the ground and wailing on the handle of his axe which he desperately held in defense of himself. He blocked and blocked as much as he could, suffering cuts and bruises, cracks wildly forming on the bone handle of his only protecting tool. "KILL! COWARD! DIE! BURN!" It roared, continuing its relentless assault. The fellow Bloodhearts, locals and even the plants cheered on his demise, cursing him for being an Ireheart, condemning him for the actions of his peers. Tears welled in his eyes, for he knew he could not strike the King, nor could he ever match him in combat. The meaning of this lesson was nearly lost on him, before his gaze flicked to the only outlier in this setting. A white visage, featureless and benign watched him from the furthest reaches of his vision. It was a figure indiscernible aside from its iron mask, a cobalt fog billowing behind it faintly and clashing with the crimson world into a soft lavender aura. Much symbolism was lost on him, aside from the vacant and hollow stare of the mask, just as the meaning of the trials and the teachings of Dungrimm had been lost upon his false kin. In that moment did something give, a shattering blow snapped his axe's handle in twain. Using this revelation, this moment of opportunity...

 

     Angr sprung up and embraced Bakir's copy, it's pulsing and bloody surface soaking his pelts and trousers. He held the paralyzed creature for an eternity and then some, a pained expression splattered on his face. "Meh honor es differen' from yurs, ahn yours differs from moine." He tells it, the world falling silent aside from the gurgles and squelches of the illusory gore forest. "Per'aps nae'un cahn undahstand da pride en bein ahn Ire'eart, maybeh ahl beh blamed fer yer actions fer da rest ov me loife, but ets toime ah stopped expectin' ye tae beh ah hero, o' du fings my way." The world grew warm once again as the sun pierced an endlessly clouded sky and bathed the land in radiance. The forest and other creatures burned in the sunlight, purged of their wickedness and filling the air with the smell of ashen rot, burnt flesh and seared bone. "Ah nevah 'ated ye lot, ah jus imposed me own morals on ye. But ef ahm tae burn fer loving moi own famileh, t'en ahm nevah gonnah let goh." He smiles as the body he's holding falls apart, sizzling in the golden and glorious sunlight. He turns to face it, welcoming the inferno into his heart and exposing his blood drenched skin to the bare sun for it to anihillate him with his loved ones.

 

     Click.

 

     He woke, drenched not in blood, but sweat. The sun peered in directly into his eyes and pierced his pupils with a searing pain, its rays bathing the Worldmaker's Chamber in a brilliant dawn. Casting a faint shadow stood his friend and mentor, Ulfar Starbreaker, watching over him. He rose and felt something wet fall off of his head, splatting to the ground. "Yeh 'ad ah bad fever, et's jus ahn icepack." He tells Angr, "Don' try tae sit up yet."