[PK] Atlas Hetlesaether "The man in red"

[Zakajaervi 259]

Atlas Hetlesaether
"The man in red" 





"Dad! Am I gonna see you in the big parade? The one with the soldiers marching to the square? And all the flowers being thrown!"

"Yes, sunshine. You will see me marching through with the other soldiers and officers. Go to mother, okay? I’ll wave to you."

 

Spoiler

 

 

 

The young man in his traveler's robes walks through the gates. He got all sorts of weird stares. “Why are his eyes yellow?” “Why is his hair red?”  the citizens of Helena asked. His hair was crimson, his tongue was northern, and his posture was manly. The clanking footsteps of steel boots march through the city. “HALT. ABOUT FACE!” A booming commanding voice sounds from behind the red haired wanderer. Shortly followed, a tap on his shoulder. Ceasing his previous actions he turned around and was met by an iconic face, Captain Alren DeNurem. Those ocean blue eyes, and that stylish mustache. Dressed in an extra fancy looking officers uniform. “What’s your name, boy?” His name was Atlas. His hair was rose red, his yellow eyes shifted and squinted in suspicion quite often. He had a sly smile, and despite his uniqueness he was a charmer. Though perhaps trying to charm the wrong person got him a gloved slap every now and then. The shining golden cross of the barracks added fragrance to his oath. Fist clenched over the chest, like all the soldiers had done. Stood by his side were some of the people who grew up to be icons, superiors, comrades and friends and even one lover. Jacquelyn, Jason, Rylan, Illiquin, Alexios, Adrian, Peter, Elene, Viktoriya and so on… Atlas clenches onto his standard issue ISA recruit helmet. “MOVE IT, BUCKET!” The booming voice shouts. He had never seen war. Rain, Dirt and Blood runs down his dirty hands. No going back now he thinks in all his young foolishness. Grasps along his newly obtained longsword. Obeying, Marching, and Fighting in the field, the young man slowly learns that he has a profound talent in killing. Drenched, bloody, dirty, he stumbles into Helena once more. As he returns to the barracks, he is greeted by ISA breakfast and a promotion. “There he is, The man in red!” a fellow soldier cheered, standing up from one of the tables. The rest of the ISA raised their beer glasses and roared a cheer for him. For the first time, he had been recognized as more than a bucket and more as a comrade. It was a new beginning. This was where he belonged, this was his legacy. And so, the traveler had settled. Everyone has gone to bed in a mixture of tiredness and intoxication. While everyone’s night ended brightly, Atlas spent it alone back at his dorm. He stood in front of the mirror, but he could not look at himself. He only looked down at the water, and at his hands. It wouldn't wash off. Those red stains on his hands, they wouldn't go away. On this day, the legend of the sacred soldier started. Unfortunately, this was also the birth of something horrible. Something within, something caged waiting to be released. Like a chained devil, waiting to spread its wings. It was decades later, he was no longer a boy. His hair was no longer red. Shorter, brown, and he also had a mustache now. He was handsome. The citizens called him Helena’s darling, spreading joy and smiles where he went. He had a calming aura, one that made people relieved. Not only himself, but also… “Dad! When do I get to wear those loong and beautiful dresses?” Those innocent little eyes beamed up at him, her hands clenched in excitement. “Oh, Eliza, didn't your mother tell you? Once you grow up to be a young woman, and you meet a man as kind as me, you will wear a beautiful dress, so long that all of your friends will need to help you walk down the wedding aisle!” Those small and soft arms lifted in even more excitement. The little girl hopped up and embraced her father in a clinging hug. “Yippie!” She squealed in excitement. And Atlas was living a life happier than ever. Around who he loves the most, he always had a wide smile and a soft red hue on his cheeks. Of course, not all happy days last long. The same smile he walked around with during the good times was no longer there. It was hard to get it all out of his head. The war scars, in his head. It was there, like a demon tainting his mind. So many of his comrades had died. So many of his friends. Only a lucky few walked the red road with him. Alren was General, and his icons had shifted. Captain Illiquin resigned, and so his new inspiration was Peter D’Arkent. Perhaps one of the most disturbing days crossed him, the absolute bottom of his mentality. He had stumbled into a scared shook pair, a young man and woman. They told Atlas they had been a victim of torture in a place hidden below the local tavern. In investigation, they found out a man had forced citizens to be covered in paint and to run straight into painting to create some sort of vague art. A psychopath. With time and a steady eye on the city they finally found him.   Though it was not Atlas’ first time tasked with execution he had never executed a man like this one. “Any final words?” The respected soldier asked. He looked up at Atlas and wore a wide, creepy and toothy grin. “See you soon.” And even after his head was relieved of his body, that same creepy smile stared straight into the ceiling. Something changed in Atlas that day too. He was growing old. He had become an icon himself for inferiors. Soldiers like Atlas in his early days. Although an icon should not have favorites, he held a few soldiers dearest. Willem Galbraith and Stafford. Even though he was now old and grumpy, they still respected him mostly.  Only Jacqualyn “Jack” was alive from the old days. His one remaining friend. She was the only one that understood his heavy heart, despite his hollow and tainted soul. She was the only one that led out a heavy breath when he held his resignation speech. Perhaps, she along with his daughter were the thin line keeping Atlas from going insane. It was a cloud-free day. His wooden cane tapped on the wooden dock. Atlas, and his old friend Jack were sitting by the water. The sun drew a beautiful line that remained so still on the vast and clear ocean. The breeze was warm and yet cooling at the same time. The goldfinches sang so peacefully. He had been through a lot. He had seen many days, and it was time. She embraced him, and for once in a very long time let himself fall apart. Jack, Alren, Alexios, Jason, he had said his goodbyes to all. All but one. As trinity grasps him slowly into death, he is overwhelmed by will. He had not said goodbye to his daughter yet. He had to see her face once more. Thus he is reborn. Not a man, but a whisper.   Walking on the line between life and death, the ghost started his journey to find his daughter. On his journey, he was afraid. Afraid that he would be shunned from the place he bled for. And shunned by the people he knew. Surprisingly, regardless of what ghosts were called he was respected. A blind eye was turned to the whisper and so he grew to be the sacred soldier. Assisted by the elf Minuvas, he was given a new name. “Aurdir miles” translating to the sacred soldier from elven. And so, as a protector of the ebonwood forests he was worshiped as a guardian. With the symbolic look of an angel, his nature was good and his purpose was clear. Even if it was just a glimpse, he had to see her face just once more. Long did the angel wander. The longer he did, the heavier the wings felt. Remnants of the darker days were flashing anytime his eyes were closed. Was he roaming the lands to find his daughter or was he running away from his past? Unfortunately, the past caught up, the darker days returned, for he had a fallback. Atlas found his daughter, but she was no longer humming songs in a happy walk. Eliza was dead. His soothing aura of peace and harmony vanquished in an instant. The thunder roared. The last drop fell. His soul began beating a deep and violent red heat. Overruling the once holy ghost, the crimson spread like a plague. The crimson behemoth was released, and havoc was to be wreaked. Decades pass. Noone is able to fully put the enraged being to death. Over and over, Aurum and other natures of reaping darkspawn only brought him back over and over, turning him more and more violent. Erasing what was good in his mind, bit by bit. Only at very certain times could ‘Atlas’, the good guy, be in control of such a fragile form. And what peace he could establish, he spent on obscure places. In connection to his peaceful death, he often sits by water and observes in silence. And one time, his silence gets disturbed. For once, at the sight of life, the man in red stays contained. Atlas is met by an innocent little face, and a soft voice with a warm smile. Emerald eyes, brown hair that only blew ever so slightly in the calm breeze. She looked familiar. With so many years alive, it was certainly difficult to make out all the faces. All mortals cowered, shivered, angered, and ran at the sight of him, but not her. She was a golden child, she was Laurelai Holly. Her eyes beamed up at the wraith. Around her, he did not feel like less of a man he was. He felt like something even greater. And in time, associating this golden child as his own daughter he was able to remain relatively sane. In time, Atlas became anchored. He believed that if he could take a step closer to what he was before he could die again and die properly. Unfortunately, the devil within hid his phylactory in a place Atlas had forgotten and demanifested, erasing the memory. It hid in a place where he was once worshiped as something else. Often crossing the bridge between sanity and insanity, “The man in red” made many enemies and gathered more and more nicknames. “Hunger incarnate”, “The Crimson Revenant ''. Battled with the likes of Glod Grimgold, Baldrum Colborn, and so the list goes on. Very few survived encounters with him. Many years he was the harbinger of pandemonium, often attacking Orenian Descended places like Minitz and Petra. The few lucky warriors that did cross him served purpose on Atlas’ path to the end. Unfortunately, it also fed the devil. In times of armed need, Atlas crosses paths with a rumored blacksmith from the Hyspian family of Santos. Camillo Santos creates Atlas his new signature weapons, The Blades of Hunger. Chains rattling and spinning around his arms in the midst of the upcoming battles. The devil within/The man in red was winning, and Atlas was losing. The man in red became so obsessed with taking over the fragile phantom that he even attacked the man who had made him his blades. “Diablo” they called him. The madness he was wreaking was not only dangerous, but contagious and it crossed the Obediah family. Almost completely flipping a switch in the mind of the well respected Isaac Daystar, his specter father Kenny Obediah takes the fall and sacrifices his sanity for his son. And so, the crimson spread plaguing those who dared cross the infamous man in red. Laurelai had now grown up. She was no longer a sweet little innocent girl, even though that's what he saw as the grown woman looked at him with a mixture of sympathy and duty. Atlas, in his little sanity he had, was growing tired of the endless cycle of rage and hunger. And there was only one person he could trust. With time and help, the place he was once worshiped as Aur’Dir Miles was found and finally they had his phylactory back. With enough contemplation, both Laurelai and Atlas agreed that it was time to put the ancient soldier to rest. It was time for him to fulfill his destiny and see his daughter's face for one last time.

 

The northern winds howled through the ruins of the once holy place now all but rubbles. The red mist continuously flowing through the rock, the phylactery was flowing faster and faster. The trio arrived at the finish line of the cold journey. Rohir Vaueryn, Sergei Harold, and last but not least, Laurelai Holly. The only three he and the golden child allowed to witness. “So must it be.” He says, and gestured to them to ascend the stairs of the ruined church. His old and worn armor was stanced in the abandoned church. The armor now still and unworn was filled with an abyss of emptiness.

Not many had seen him without his armor. Nothing less than a devil, he and his symbolic wings were wrapped in a chain. Like a parasite feeding on itself he was a devil trapped in a cycle of rage and hunger. It was finally time, and he stood atop of the rubbles and cried out his last words of a little less than three centuries.

 

“I hear my soldiers cheering for me in the halls of the skies. I hear my mother weeping, waiting for her son to return to her graceful arms. I feel my fathers wisdom beckoning me to greatness. I feel the wrath of the man in red fading away. Release me from my chains, unbind me from this endless cycle of rage and hunger. The day has come where I can finally be at peace.”

The giant crack in the roof of the church ceiling shined a light on the night, ushering Atlas closer and closer. And so, he raised his arms toward the sky embracing his long awaited end.

“Eliza, I’m coming. Hold out, my little sunshine. Father is coming home.”

The crimson eyes shut for a last time, and with three mighty strikes Laurelai shatters the phylactory, and with it shatters the chains. The cycle ends, and Atlas is finally and truly dead.


To those he could not say goodbye to, he sent letters.

 

Dame Viktoriya. I wanted to tell you goodbye in person but after some thinking I doubted you would let me go through with what I have done. If you’re reading this, I am feasting with the likes of Alren, Stafford, Willem and all our old friends. I can finally see my daughter's face again. The issue with my destiny never lied in my problem, but in my solution. I hope you understand. And I hope that you too will one day join us. I hope that you’ll one day forgive him. Forgiving was my most important lesson on my journey to death. Thank you for being a dear friend, and an even better comrade. See you soon, Lieutenant. Sincerely,  Atlas Hetlesaether.

 

 

Jacquelyn Cenobia I don’t even know what your name is nowadays, I don’t even know if you’re still alive. It will be hard for you to make out what this means, but when we were both mortal humans I was a very close friend of yours and even though I never admitted it I loved you a lot more than I ever had the courage to show. Thank you, dear friend for being there for me when I died and for staying alive by my side when all of our comrades died one by one. I never wanted to return, I wanted to die that time by the ocean. It was a beautiful death. I was ushered back, but now I will return. It is time I rest. Love, Atlas Hetlesaether.

 

 

Glod Grimgold Old friend, old enemy. You fought me enough times that you would have to count with both your hands but you need not worry that I need salvation anymore. If you’re reading this I have finally found my path to death. And after I write this, I am going to walk it. Next red ghost you fight, tell them you knew me. Your friend, Atlas.

 

 

Alyssa Colborn I hope you do not read this letter in fear, but in relief. While I do not have full memory of everything I do know you fell victim to the madness I was trapped in. And for that, I am truly sorry. No amount of words written on a little letter could make up for it, and for all who I have crossed in uncontrolled confusion. Let it be known that you never have to walk a lonely road and look over your shoulder more often anymore because I have found peace and salvation and if you’re reading this I am dead. I hope you overcome your fear. Apologies, Atlas.

 

Minuvas Malphestaus It has been a while since I have exchanged words with you, my dear friend. I am sorry to inform you that you will not be able to send any letter back unless you join me in death. It is time I return to what I was always destined to do. And when you’re reading this, I am likely crying of happiness holding on to my little girl in the skies. Thank you for everything, and thank you for seeing greatness in me when nobody did. Sincerely, Aur’Dir Miles.

OOC NOTE

Thank you, all of you so much for a nice journey. This character was created all the way back in Helena during the times where I had properly rejoined LOTC and has been some of the most fun, dramatic and amazing RP I have ever had. To all his friends, all his enemies, thank you. 

Zakajaervi
















 

[Mescaffier 6197]

The Dame shed a single tear. The days of Orenia were fleeting and the Empire was gone: now its soldiers had begun to dwindle, too.

 

Not she, cursed by immortality, and plagued to devour her brethren and live with only spite. The wicked do not rest, the undead remain undying. Including he.

 

Atlas, she knew, had been condemned to Ebrietaes. She could save him still. 

[ErikAzog 3575]

The General Peter d'Arkent remembered fondly of the exploits of Atlas Hetlesaether, days of marching alongside him, fighting against the foes of the Empire together in many wars... he could only hope that from the seven skies that his old friend found peace.

[SimonItorp 124]

No longer, was the Hyspian Knight plagued by what visions and torment Atlas had put on him the day that those tarnished, nay- FORSAKEN; blades were made. A wind, brushing through the man's house, would bear that same cold and echoing cackle of the man, but... Going out, he was almost excited to see the man, as he had gotten to know what Atlas' story actually was. But, there was none there. It then dawned upon him... The words that had been spoken to the man... "The day of my Salvation, has come. No longer, will I visit your dreams, and no longer, will you be tormented, Camilo."  

 

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And so, the Red Behemoth, no longer walked the soil he had seen evolve, Kings and Queens seen fall, a great Empire struck down. The Phoenix would inhale a breath as he was sat on a stone overlooking the sea, away from EVERYTHING. He knew, but, he dared not to pursue it.

 

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Much akin to his son, The Fallen Star, stands in his cavern surrounded by darkness and nothing but wisdom to have been bestowed upon him. Then... There in the distance, the sounds of the RED  Geist finally LAUGHING with a female voice so bright and heartwarming. He had recieved the end he so dearly searched after. Hearing the two souls, finally reunited, made the Wraith himself smile, bobbing his head to the sound of the two. "You needn't suffer, anymore, my friend." The man then raised his hand slowly in a salute, an old Orenian salute. Firm, and proper.

[MeteorDragon 3441]

And so a man crafted from stone sat upon hearing the news of a geist that faded away. Irlioz looked to the sky above, rolling pebbles of menhir in his hand as he uttered to himself, "Gone is the Red One I once knew. Though, he simply walks the lands called The Wastes." Flicking his blue-green hand forwards, the Pale Knight sent a few stones towards the water before him, only one of them skipping across the surface before plunging into the depths with the others. "Do not fret. Soon, you will walk along a Shore."

[helldiving 5793]

The ghostly figure of Adrian welcomed yet another soul of a brother-in-arms unto the realms beyond mortality, reminiscing upon their time as exalted combatants under the same banner, that of the Holy Oren, red clad in unison by an oath. 

[MapleSunflower 1889]

The red figure stood over the young golden-haired child who laid in the cradle of oak roots that dug into the earth. Her lids had shut as sleep came over her, the bright green eyes sealed away to rest. The man's hand rests on her shoulder and red mists flow through his touch into her fair skin. 

A sharp inhale was drawn in by the youth as a chill shivered through her small frame. Her eyes open, and she looked up at the walls of Helena that tower over her. "Papa, Papa!" A girl's voice cries, to which young  Laurelai Holly Komnenos turns to look down at the girl. Her dark hair and green eyes are unfamiliar to her, but the child knew her. There was no control over Laurelai's body as the large arms strongly lift the girl. Suddenly, a man's voice. A familiar gruffness to his tone. "My sunshine!"

Blood. The cobblestone pathways ran rivers of crimson between the crevice of stone, and bodies lay within the street. The ear-splitting ringing of steel upon steel cries out while blades meet. She sees too, that hers meets that of a ghastly red daemon in front of her. Those who have not yet died writhe in the scarlet pools, their red uniforms during a darker, near-black color. 

A blade impales the woman, her jaw held open as shock overtakes her. Yet, no sound would come. Green eyes lose their light and she crumbles to the ground. Translucent snow-white hands begin to take on the same color as the blood that seeps into the dark-haired woman's dress; Red. 
 

"E L I Z A!"

 

The woman shot up from her bed with a deep gasp for air, hands running through the front of the peanut-hued curls. Her chest rises and falls quickly, a panicked pant the only sound in the chilly night. Finally, she begins to steady and her hands eased out from the locks. It was the nightmare that haunted her on the occasion. Laurelai's green eyes shift to the ISA sword mounted on the wall of the room. There were still unanswered questions.

 

How did Atlas die? What happened to Eliza? How was she related to Eliza? Why couldn't she find any records of Eliza or Atlas? 

 

Laurelai laid back, her curls haloing her head upon the pillow. Staring at the ceiling, her hands clasp over her stomach as she thinks. Hours pass and the Komnenos remained restless yet still. The morning sunshine beamed through the windows and illuminated the bedroom; The bright rays shining upon Laurelai's warm cheeks. Sitting up slowly and swinging her legs over the side of the bed, Laurelai brushed aside the blankets and lifted herself to begin her day.