Dark Lord

[Xx_BloodStalk_xX 2120]

D A R K   L O R D
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Spoiler

 

 

"The day is coming. This Lord's death. He does not belong here. He too, shall fade with the end of a new era."

 

I do not belong in this era. Aye, he's right. Going to see Asger was a bad idea, despite how much it satiated by sentimental cravings. The curse burns what feeling I have left. The Lord mused, resting his back against the his seat. Grey tubes stuck to his body filtered black sludge through his torso. Not a drop of blood was left in his body. A hand was slowly lifted from the arm of his wheelchair, though he could only see half of it. It seems I've begun to lose my sight. I don't have much time. I hope they come soon. He was but a weathered old man bound to this chair now, his thinning grey hair shrouding most of his face, including that blinded eye which had become a pitch black. Like a pit without a bottom, there would be more in his gaze were there no eye at all. A line of light cracked into the room as two doors were slowly pushed open, illuminating the Lord to the world and causing him to briefly recoil at it. 
"As you've commanded, all of your servants have been asked to pack their things and leave. They've been relieved of their duties." A faceless figure said, not but a mere shadow in the doorway. The old man nodded, briefly lifting a twitching finger. "Good. You may go as well." - "I'm sorry?" They asked. "I'm afraid I do not understand. I'm to be fired as well? Why? With all due respect, you require help." At these words did the elder finally lift his head, his dry lips thinning at those words, thin enough for his lips to draw that aforementioned substance in place of natural ichor. "I require no servants. Not anymore. Begone!" He commanded with a flick of his hand, for any more he could not manage. The figure ahead of him froze, remaining silent for a while before offering a silent bow and leaving the Lord to fester alone. 

Minutes would past, then hours, in the stone chambers. The hours became days, plenty monotonous time wasted to writhe in a heap of regret. Fortunately there was no more need for the Lord to eat, for he had no stomach to put such things in anymore. He merely sat, and waited. And in the midst of his sleep did he hear a sudden bell. That sense of longing briefly caused him to think that it was in his head, that noise, but a moment to stir awake caused him to rise as much as his weathered posture could allow it. Frail, trembling hands grasped at the frames of his wheels and each spun caused his nerves to burn. Though eventually he made it to the gates, to which he was greeted by a light. A figure much taller, and much brighter.  "I'm here, Dael. Are you ready for-" They were almost immediately interrupted by him. "No, we won't be doing that today. The truth is, I'm dying. The curse is spreading faster than I anticipated. We've not time. We must wake Him early." He briefly explained. The newcomer was clearly taken aback, but eventually was convinced to journey into the inner-chambers of the Dark Lord. Delving deep into the halls of his clan the pair disappeared into the darkness together. 

Before them was a long cylinder of glass encasing a humanoid figure - whatever being within seeming to float within the green bile that filled the container, whether it was their home or a prison was not sure, even to the newcomer. What was he to call him? A son, or merely a second chance? For having created him, even he was not aware. He had spent the last of his days, all those decades, for this moment here. To ensure that the one before him would do well in his place. She glanced down to the elder, looking on with a furrowed brow. "What am I to do?" She asked. "Pull the chain and drain the fluid. I will do the rest." He said, and his hand came close to reach for the katana on his hip, the belt he used to carry it in no longer fitting his shrunken form. How he had withered away, he thought. The same unholy blade that he swore never to draw again, the same blade that cursed him in the first place. The same blade that would lead him to salvation. "At the very least," He started, placing his hand upon his hilt. Though there was a pause. In that pause, no life flashed before his eyes, as the rumors of adventurers told. Perhaps that was because he was not truly at the end, or perhaps it was merely a fallacy after all. Nevertheless he gazed into his past, finding what most people would. People he's lost, or those that lost him and would lose him after today. "At the very least, I wanted to finish my goodbyes." There was no time to linger on in melancholy, no time. It was sudden, just like death should be. "Release Him." He said, unsheathing the blade - its metal forcing out a hissing screech that rattled the framework of the laboratory. I am unsure if we will share thoughts after the merge, but I leave this message for you. You will not be alone, my boy. I've prepared everything for you. Food, shelter, repute, and comradery. All this for you. My first and final birthday gift. Though you will miss me, know that with you I am eternal. And as long as there is darkness in the heart of man, Dark Dael will always be here. At the moment the chain was pulled and that bile did begin to flush out of the tube, so did the Dark Lord thrust his own blade into his chest. Black sludge suddenly sprayed from his body, a cry of pain coming from him as he soon grew into ruin. His skin was first, flaking away and decomposing as his innards or lack thereof dissipated into a solid black mist. It was taken shape, and following the currents of the winds it came to the falling creature within the glass. For a moment the mist rivalled matter, order and everything else balance beheld to stop this ritual from proceeding. It was not enough, and in the moment after he was gone. All that remained was his wheelchair, and his companion. The companion looked on in horror, having watched a forgotten old man disappear in front of her eyes. Though those eyes, in their light, fell upon the figure within the glass. She was supposed to release him now, she would but her movements were slow. And as she came to meet hand upon glass, another hand came to meet her own palm. Alive? The thing inside was breathing. Living. Her face came closer to peer into the muddy glass stained with brine, to get a better look at what was inside.

 

It would gaze back.

 

A creature sharing the man's dull emerald gaze. Though it did not just come in a single pair, for three eyes in total came to meet her own. She shot backwards as the creature escaped, their six-eared form slowly stepping out, bare feet stepping upon what remained of that green fluid. It reminded her of something past. Something that should never be unsealed, no matter what. An old man's worthless dream, a chance at something pious. A wish to see something of his make persist in the next era. A line one could not cross, not even someone of his moniker. This was what an entire life had lead to. Abhorrent and terrible to look at, it was. But look away she could not bring herself to. In this silence to which the two figures stared at each other words were finally spoken. Only by her, for the other knew not how to speak.

"What have you become?"
.   .   .
"Who are you?"

[Criala 728]

It was a calm day. Only the sound of the waves could be heard as the 'fenn woman sat upon the shore. Unaware of what went on, she watched the waves as they crashed into one another. 

Suddenly, admist the peace of the ocean, it hit. A stomach churning bad feeling that shook the woman to her very core. Unease overtook her. Her hand gripped the shaft of her staff, gold rimmed turquiose eyes darting around. 

 

There was nothing there. No apparent reason for this feeling. But it refused to fade away, settling in the pit of her stomach. It would linger, and  she never was able to figure out what caused it.

[bloomtiara 354]

The woman went about her day as usual. Stretching her arms in preparation for using a needle and thread for her craft of the week. It was just like any other, and yet.

Something was off. Maybe it was the wind, or the depths of her mind playing tricks. On that day, she did not leave her home. She spent the hours, weaving the most minuscule of things out of thread and yarn. 

Surely, it was a day unlike any other. A day where she wondered on the past, for a few minutes at least. Hours, at most. Maybe a relic would come before her eyes again, some day.
A remnant, of some old thing.

Some day.