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CERTAINTY IS RUIN [PK]


TheIchorDruid
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C E R T A I N T Y      I S      R U I N

 


 

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“K N O W      T H Y S E L F”


 

And so it began, with flashes of fire and screams filling the air..



 

“My chera. I will give you the world, its treasures and more..”

 

Whilst smoke broiled, wood splintered and lungs began their demise. That Hawk did not fear, instead it was an odd bliss that came about her tired frame as feet staggered through the crackling wood beneath her feet.. finding the ledge of that ablaze tower of Dun an Ein. The voice of her mother reassuring Darya, flashes of imagery arose.. 


 

As the flames clawed higher, the struggling group of Dun an Ein scrambled with what little energy they had left. Hacking.. Slicing. Door after door.. Struggle after struggle. 

 

“Sestra! Please.. Jump to us!”  Bellowed the voice of Angelika of Vidaus, though the voice of hers would soon be lost beneath the noise of roaring flames.. She of Caermad would not hear.


 


“Blood spilt, I care not if it means the safety of you.”

 

Then accompanied another voice, warmth licked against her flesh as those eyes found themselves looking between the immense drop of below and each face of her creed she had come to love. Angelika.. Solun.. Verres.. Masuo.. Though that voice beckoned her attention, Joseph’s form stood beside her with a softened smile. 


 

Higher and higher those flames swarmed, ash spiraling like that of flies.. The form of Darya remained unmoving, peripheral leaving her comrades and instead viewed that drop once more.



 

“It is by the decree of this Imperial Crown, that Darya d’Azor shalt serve these Hexers in place of my daughter..”

 

The chin of Empress Anastasia lofted, yet another form coming to appear behind the burning body of that Hexer. The sternness within  the Imperial monarch’s voice remained, offering all but a singular nod. 

 

 

The floors began to cave within themselves, the body of Kolette of Rolin long since engulfed by the carnage. Though still Darya did not come to move, riddled with an agonizing conflict.

 

 

 

“Must you leave me? Will I ever see you again?”

 

It was the voice of Gino d’Falcone then, the illusion of how Darya once saw him within her youth. His steps were drawn forth, coming to stand beside that dying Hawk and staring off into the horizon ahead.

 

 

 

Once again did the voice of Angelika erupt, yet this time did the sheer terror of such scream that bring  Darya to her senses. To a brief fleeting clarity “No! You have just returned to us. Please.. jump to us! Think of Will!”


 

W I L L      O F      B L A C K V A L E

 

 

The remaining breath in those tarnished lungs hitched.. realization of who she would leave behind..

 

And so did Darya jump to she of Vidaus, eyes squeezing tightly closed. 




 

“N O T H I N G      I N      E X C E S S ”


 

It was not arms that caught the fall of the Hawk. Instead she began to feel the flooding of air swarming beneath her frame.


 

“Trust not that which lurks unseen in the clothing of sheep whose faces you haven't known. A hawk's gaze must penetrate that which seeks to deceive, and discern that which bears truth..”

 

As that fall ensued the very world around Darya began to slow, an aged form molding within the very air beside her. The head of Edmond of Sava came to acknowledge her with a solemn frown. 


 

Those eyes of hers came to stare above, looking to the crumbling stronghold of the Hawks. Pieces of slate and wood caving within itself.


 

“You were a thorn in my side. But the greatest pride I could have hoped for.
My fated child..”

 

As that body of hers continued to fall, another stature appeared.. falling, falling.. Arthur of Caermad’s palm intertwined betwixt the digits of Darya’s own -- gripping tightly. 

 

 


 

“C E R T A I N T Y      I S      R U I N”


 

With a horrific thud did the being of Darya’s collide against the earth below, impacting all vitals. With a sharp splutter did an eruption of ichor come to don the chin of that deteriorating hawk.

 

Those above witnessing the plummet of the Caermad. Angelika’s voice shortly came to shrill in disbelief.

 

“DARYA!”  It was a distant shock as that spotted peripheral stared upwardly, acknowledging the panicked expression of each of her comrades.


 

“Ever unto the creed, sestra..” Did Solun of Esbec’s voice then call, eyes fixated beneath him.

 

Such would be the last living words Darya of Caermad would come to hear before those eyes drifted to Arthur..


 

“Are you ready, my child?”

 

“Ai.. Papu..”

 

It was then darkness in which came to warm that Hawk’s peripheral.

Darya of Caermad, one who lived and died by the creed, was no more. 

 


 

 

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D A R Y A      O F      C A E R M A D

 

1844 - 1896

 


 

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The ronin hexer, Masuo of Yamatai, watched in terror as the flames engulfed  the tower. Praying to himself for the safety of his beloved niece, the samurai urged those within the flames to find better ground. However, before he could, he watched in despair. 

 

A plummet of flames and flesh, the form roughly in the shape of that woman he held so dear. The wailing of Angelika, and the crackling of flames drowned out all sounds.  Yellowed gaze grew glassy, but the intensity of the flames summoned him back to his senses. 

 

"We have to GO!" He'd cry out, and the others acquiesced. He would mourn, later. However, the pain of this loss. It would never leave him. It would become a part of him, warping and changing him in a way no blade or fang could. 

 

Darya...his moody, headstrong, difficult Darya. How many times had they sat upon the rails, just outside Verres's room, and exchanged philosophical conversation by way of Kaktuz smoke? The times, standing side by side, as they fought for what they believed to be right, whether it be in the halls of Dun an Ein, or on the streets of Providence. Backing each others' play, keeping their heads on a swivel, being warriors for the mundane. He'd fought tooth and nail to keep her alive. He'd believed he failed once, and it ruined him. The uncertainty of not knowing her absolute fate, a haunting shadow that hung over him like a cloak.

 

Now, there was no question. 

 

Grief stricken, a pit left curled into his stomach, as he would take stock of his life and choices. Could he carry on? In a world without one he had sworn his family? A bond deeper than blood. One of absolute, unshakeable love. 

 

He knew the Hexer Creed meant certain death. He'd steeled himself for it many times over. So why? Why did this pain wrack his body and mind? Poisoning his thoughts and stalling his action.

 

Again, he asked. Could he carry on? Once before, when he'd thought her lost, he tore himself away from the family he knew, and retreated back into himself. A destiny he swore he'd never let happen again. A stain of guilt, for his shakiness to the Creed, ever marking him. He'd promised himself: whatever happens, he would see it through to the end.

 

Well, despite his best efforts, those thoughts intruded again. Many nights were spent staring down to the bottom of a sake bottle. A panacea for the pain. Now, more than ever, when his family needed him, he was sitting hand in hand with his vices. 

 

Replaying the events in his mind. Opening wounds before they had the chance to close and heal. It should have been him. She should have surpassed him. Curse it all, this long lived life! 

 

The blame he rendered upon himself, the horrid self-flagellation of the mind, tore him to bits. He could do it again. The trail called him once more, and he was on the precipice of letting his feet carry him off. Like the wind, he had said fondly, though this time would be marred with grim intent. He'd spiral. Like a man being pulled into the undertow. Drifting away, leaving others to share the burden amongst themselves. Until he thought to himself....

 

What would she say, should she see him now? 

 

"Get up, uncle. I thought you were one of the old ones." He'd heard, clear as day.

 

A smile formed at the thought. A weak one, but it was what he needed. How foolish Arising from his stupor, he'd enter the forests outside of where they made refuge, the voice of his niece guiding him onward. He needed to be stronger now. Resolute. An unmoving oak for the others to latch to, when they feel themselves growing weak.

 

"I am sorry to have left once more, uncle.. But in spirit I shall remain until we are united once more..

 

There, in the dense woodlands, one would hear the primal screams. One filled with hatred, sorrow, pain, and most importantly...love. A reaffirming of himself to this order; to his family. He'd scream, and scream, until his voice gave out. Tears poured from his eyes like a dam that had been breached, until his eyes could produce no more. 

 

And, then when all was quiet, and he was sat upon a stump, he would look to the sky, upon the pallid complexion of the moon. 

 

And he could swear, up there on the surface of that celestial rock, that he could see a figure dancing. Swaying in a dress, hair bobbing as she's lifted and swung around by a man with eyes yellowed much like his own. 

 

They'd seem to stop as soon as they were noticed, the girl breaking free from the man's grasp, as she ran to put herself in better view. She was jumping and waving, as if to get the ronin's attention, soon coming to rest with a wide, toothy grin. The man took position behind her, a more reserved smile lining his visage. He'd wave as well. 

 

The Hexer's hand moved on it's own, as he lofted it high, and waved back, a smile etched permanently upon him. 

 

He'd sworn he had no more tears left. A gamble he'd lose.

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Serenity…

 

What was peace, but the unattainable dream that all could strive for? What was the thrill of the hunt and an adventure of a lifetime , in comparison to an eternity of comfort and quiet living? Arthur of Caermad had found that peace and quiet that he could never attain in life so long ago. He sat by the banks of a great lake, one where the waters always shimmered a pure sapphire shade and the sky was burdened by no clouds. He knew this lake so well. For every day he would come and fish for trout. Sometimes, even bigger catches, where he was fortunate. The deep woods made for an excellent hunting ground, where he could prowl for elk, boar and bear to his hearts content. A small shack sat at the top of the hill, a fireplace set outside with numerous logs surrounding it. Each one, he hoped, would be filled by his comrades in the future, when their time was inevitably up.


The crunching of grass behind him causes the long dead Hexer to swivel his head backwards, amber eyes glistening with joy at the person who meets him.

 

”Took you long enough, didn’t it, kid?” a wide and joyous grin spreads upon his lips as he sets down his fishing rod, patting the ground beside him.

 

”Come sit down. You’ve travelled so far, and your journey is at an end. You played your part. Now it’s time for you to rest.”

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As the keep roared asunder the young woman gripped unto the flank of Henry, supporting the wounded man with a heaving torso. She had finished slaughtering the corrupt mage, floor trembling under her feet as they hoped to support themselves against the havoc. "We-.. we must go!" She had started to scream aloud, though her cries fell upon deaf ears. Shrieks had come, filling her mind as the burning corpse of Darya fell from the tower of the keep, out of her sight. Only after when she sought to hastily evacuate that crumbling fortification did she dare sneak a peer downwards, catching a glimpse of what was the fate of that unfortunate Hexer. Her stomach churned. 

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Within the wheat fields of Acre a 'Thill feels a tugging at his heart. How strange... He thinks to himself, unsure why the feeling of dread loomed over him. His mind went briefly to the dearest of lliran he had known in his youth, the fiery Caermad girl, Darya, and the friendship they had known, once. She's been dead for decades, why am I thinking of her now? He'd ask himself, grimacing as he recalled harsh words spoken to her, their last meeting. 

 

Shame.

Regrets.

Grief.

 

Surely by now she's conquered the entirety of the seven skies with her wit alone.

A smile. His patrol continued.

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"I-I never wanted this. I didn't want to damn Darya!"

Sobs of the now past Kolette almost rang eternally in the destroyed dungeons of Dun an Ein. Kolette was the real demise of Darya. She took away her will to decide her fate and ended both of their stories. They'll never meet in the seven skies.

Their souls perish together in the emptiness of death.

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