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The Triad of Death


Qizu
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The Mind is a divine creature, though fickle to what it seeks to conquer.

 

 



DEATH reaps through the lands of the urukin. Their minds feast upon the thoughts of destroying darkness. Their eyes pulsing with the blood of their ancestor, the one brother who defied the creature known as Iblees. Their pathways covered with the rotting heads of their enemies, their land smothered in blood and ferrum, their minds strong. However this is a tale of the triad, the three who have fallen to the grasps of the very flames they seek to harness.

The first is a passionate young man. His heart pounding with honor, his mind wrought with fear. This was however, until the beast descended upon him. Long black wings spanning 10 feet in length, a triad of mouths nipping at his very form, and a mind filled with rage. With each step, fear polluted the mind of the first, trembling in his wake. He laid there against the post covered in blood as his body was stripped from belongings, pleading for mercy. He was forced to beg, to humiliate himself before a blade wrought through his neck decapitating him. The first, receiving the blessing of mercy through a swift death.

 

The second, the fool. As he trotted through the lands of those who seek his head as a bounty he was swiftly discovered, a fool prancing upon the idea of his own death. This one too, tied against the post defenseless, his markings bright upon his chest as he laid there in rage. He too pleaded for answers, for mercy. A sheep dying to the wolf with no shepherd to protect it. His eyes gazed at the room before him,  his arms spread wide as ologs and orcs grappled onto each side of him. He began to scream before a burst of gore covered the very same post that had slain the one before him. Perhaps this death was not merciful, however nevertheless, righteous.

The third, the traitor. Abandoning his walks of life for power as many descendents do. A craftsman of the sorts, quite knowledgeable but filled with rage. Once more a lost sheep from his herd, with no shepherd to protect it. His body mutilated and destroyed - this time the beast returned to claim its victim once more. His toy of the sorts as he tortured his mind, his hands, and finally his head as it was severed from it’s body. The powers of the ancient stolen from him, sapped almost leaving the third open to redemption with his people should his soul ever return.



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However I tell this tale not to boast of my victories. But to ease the mind of those who seek to slaughter me as I have their students. Three. That is the number of heads that sit before me as a right this, three heads of the Heralds of Azdromoth. I will show mercy, however I wish to ease your mind not in a sense of confirming their deaths, but to ease your mind in a sense that you need not to worry about defeating me.

I am already lost, my body rattles with each step and I seek out death for myself however - I am merely having fun in these last few moments of my life. Provoking you - waiting for a righteous battle that will destroy me. I crave this thrill, I crave my end as there is nothing waiting for me after it.

 

 



 

To the sheep of the herd, I will tell you now that whilst I slaughter you - you are merely victims in my plan. Your minds corrupt with the idea of attaining power from the ones known as Nephilim. However this is a warning. If you continue to stand in my path, you will die alongside them. For those who seek freedom from their pacts, you will be set free through fire or through death.


 



 

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"Old longings nomadic leap,
Chafing at custom's chain;
Again from its brumal sleep
Wakens the ferine strain."

                 -Atavism by John Myers O’Hara

 

An elf, far out in the sea, watches the sun set in the distant horizon. Months of rowing had taken the duo far from the mainland one had been born to. The day's end was only the beginning of their efforts as he prepared the food, the other taking over the duty of rowing. The stars above, ever bright in this darkened, empty water, brought him back to a conversation held shortly before departure. 

 

"You were more a maln to me than the one who sired me- I can only imagine Hera's pain at this ongoing war." 

 

The academy, that fateful day with Vothdrem bound in chains as cut after cut of demonic metal was sliced against draconic flesh. How Morur'ei had wept. The war that had occurred that day, the scars ever permanent along his left shoulder. The elf frowns, his brow furrows. Memories of being rended unconscious and awakening later, shielded by Morur's body from the other heralds' attacks rushed back. 

 

"The purpose of my revenge is to make my kin feel what I did that foul night. It haunts me, the words that were spoken as I lay there bleeding upon the floor."

 

Salted, well preserved meat was set upon plate. How the elf longed for fresh food, for days long gone. Gazing to his companion, a quiet sigh, he reflected on the first time they had met, surrounded by heralds and nephilim within the upper district of Haelun'or. "What is a god?" An-Gho had asked, so long ago, in the basement of a tower. "To me, it is Earendel." He had answered without hesitation. Soon, though, with the ever lapping of waves, his thoughts shifted from the longer haired 'Thill, of joyous times in Haelun'or at his side, to the tragedy of a parent's hatred. Of bleeding near to death before his sire and the Sohaer.

 

"That my maln left me to die, to bleed out from wounds incurred at war for Haelun'or, yet I have forgiven him, forgiven my banishment and the hatred I have felt by those who share my blood. You bear the same father as those you hate- what stops you from the same?" 

 

The moon was full that night, its splendor reflected on the surface of darkened ocean water, murky and filled with the unknown below. There was a slight chill to the air and he wrapped a blanket over the shoulders of the one taking their turn at rowing.

 

"I had wished for heralds to not get involved; however he was captured and there was nothing I could do. It is my brothers I seek revenge upon, truly." 

 

The conversation, held a year prior, still echoed in the elf's mind as wind and wave struck against the boat. The first to love him as a parent should. The first to embrace him, even if only as a tool at first. How he had admired and looked up to Morur, even when he had done wicked things at the creature's behest. Good soldiers obey orders. Faeryl's scoffing flittered through the elf's mind at that justification.

 

"I said the same, once, when confessing to things I had done, and justified them with a lack of choice. Yet, we always have a choice in what action we take...or avoid. To say we are powerless is to lie to ourselves. But I do not judge you, we all do things we regret, things we must justify to ourselves and the world, even if our heart aches from the lie." 

 

Silence. How he longed for the silence of his mind. What a loud creation thought was when one was lonely. He set a plate in front of the elf whose rowing slowed then ceased, settled beside him for warmth.

 

"I simply wish to erase all of us. Just to cease - to let heralds free from the lies of manipulation. To end our scourge upon the earth, to stop the wages of politics and wars. However, I know this can only do so much as you said. That is the balance of life, when a void is made another comes to fill it. But if I were to do nothing and seek redemption - that void will remain. I crave that sliver of peace."

 

Peace. Ever sought, rarely won, never for long. The long-haired elf's arm wrapped around his shoulders as he shivered, his eyes closed, the slightest of a smile forming on dried and cracked lips. The endless squabbles in his mind slowly faded away and his head came to rest against the other being's. 

 

"You're not beyond redemption- you're just hurting. Perhaps peace is found in acceptance instead of refusal. You are still a father, that my head remains on my shoulders speaks the story well enough in my eyes. If not for your sake, then hers." 

 

The memory faded then, his effort to sway Morur from his own madness had failed. Silently, he wept for his mentor-turned-father-figure, for he knew all too well the pain and torment of never belonging. His companion's head came to rest against his, and soon the world was silent, darkened by slumber. 

 

In silent prayer and hope had his heart begged Morur to return from this madness.

 

Yet they had both wished for the same, death's beautiful lie of freedom from tormented life.

 

Pity and weep for he who must face Aeriel's wrath, to be a slave to the aengudaemons once their soul departed mortal flesh...

 

What if the mind does not find peace once the body turns to stone?

 

 

 

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The “orc-lifter” reads on and nods “Ok then.”

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Soft singing drifted from the heights of Tor-Azdroth, a reaction, a movement, a response to none and all. 

 

"Acts born of spite, and regret and powerlessness,

Now transformed and warped in the perception of having been eluded and manipulated,

How should I have known that I should pay such a price, to save a life?

I spared you then, I spared you again,

I pay for my mercy. I pay for my love.

Now look O' World, how the words the ones I saved my brother from, come true . . .

Black knives, black hearts, black, black veil.

How is it, that even a dragon can fool himself?

No dragon at all."

 

Spoiler

my message to the krugistani sheople: 

 

unknown.png

 

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10 minutes ago, Jentos said:

Soft singing drifted from the heights of Tor-Azdroth, a reaction, a movement, a response to none and all. 

 

"Acts born of spite, and regret and powerlessness,

Now transformed and warped in the perception of having been eluded and manipulated,

How should I have known that I should pay such a price, to save a life?

I spared you then, I spared you again,

I pay for my mercy. I pay for my love.

Now look O' World, how the words the ones I saved my brother from, come true . . .

Black knives, black hearts, black, black veil.

How is it, that even a dragon can fool himself?

No dragon at all."

 

  Reveal hidden contents

my message to the krugistani sheople: 

 

unknown.png

 

 

Spoiler

unknown.png

 

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[!] "We are prideful beings." Zahkriikyzer had once told him. "You must never trust a dragon that broods by himself. The Asioth of Madfire."

 

A being stirred within the deep caverns of At-Ei, the shrine of first origins. Slowly, the Nephilim ventured towards its outward plane, where beams of the sun pierced his visage - it had been years, decades. As if the very essence of Tor-Azdroth willed him, the dragon ventured southward, to the brood of once his own.

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A curious Doomforged said nothing and sprint jumped around krugmar, as if it was his to own.

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Alucard stood upon the top of Tor-Azdroth, peering down at the missive in his hands as he perked a brow "Morur'ei only showed me two heads... which of the lives of my family has he taken now?He uttered to nobody but the wind, clenching the paper within his grasp. He threw it off the tower, allowing it to be carried off by such he had spoken to.

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