Resurrection

[satinkira 5929]

Music

 

"Soul. . .Name thyself."

 

In Nothing, a voice murmured - startling the Ash-Knight from his rest.

 

". . .I am the Ash-Knight."

 

"You of the wayward flock, forsaken by death and life together - Tell me; would you desire to walk again? Are you willing?"

 

———«»————————————«»————————————«»———

 

The form of the An-Gho was fairly steaming smoke. The creature turned its towering form in a flurry of scarlet, fiery spit dripping from its jaws as it walked towards Daman.

"In this temple, none are equal. All are ash. Ash-" 

He tasted the name, gazed up.

"Ash!"

He cried out the word, like a curse, like the name of a long-lost lover.

 

———«»————————————«»————————————«»———

 

I am so tired.

 

I do not want to struggle. I wish to bask in Nothing, to spend an eternity resting - until the World breaks. I have served my time.

 

But that voice, that.. that nagging question - 'Would you desire to walk again?' - the opportunity of more, of a better afterlife; the offer to roll the dice once more, it infuriates! It angers, it nags, it reminds that I have responsibilities, duties, vows to uphold, a Prophet to serve..

 

A woman to protect.

 

———«»————————————«»————————————«»———

 

"Know that you find yourself at the Juncture, that the metaphysical stamp of the God's broken Ark resides here.. The Mark of what you would know as ye betrayer.."

 

Remon spasmed, the power of the nearby deific forces slowly driving him mad.

 

"When you look to the Hyades in the night sky forever, ye will see this, and ye will weep. For We will haunt ye forever."

 

All his fighting - for nothing. He was still Damned.

 

There was more condemnation, and Remon was sent spinning from the Hyades, back to the World..

 

 

———«»————————————«»————————————«»———

 

He was tumbling, falling, spinning endlessly. He was surrounded by an all-consuming black, a vast tunnel that - at the bottom - led to the World. All he could see of it was a speck of light.

 

Ahh.. I think I see now, An-Gho.

 

He extended a finger, and blotted out the World.

 

A dead Dragon. A burning pile of ash, black miasma, Draconic armour rising from a pit of fire -

 

There was revelation.

 

 

———«»————————————«»————————————«»———

 

The Ash-Knight returned to the world, pulled up by the hand of a Mystic through a pool of miasma.

 

He spoke to them; thanked them, supported them, confessed his being in debt, and - after dealing with a troublesome Occultist who believed his views to be utterly correct and all others foolish - he left.

 

His hands ran through snow. One of the Heralds who had shown up had explained to him the circumstances of his death. He knew Alemdrom to be unsafe, Ut'torvioth to be scheming, the An-Gho to be weak. He knew the hypocrisy of the Azdrazi.

 

Though he would never confess such, the Ash-Knight was filled with a black hatred.

 

 

 

((THE FOLLOWING LETTER IS AVAILABLE ONLY TO THE AN-GHO.))

Spoiler

An-Gho;

 

 

How many times will you have me perform my miracles before you perform your own?

 

- The Ash-Knight

[PlutoPhobia 57]

Rumil had returned home that night. Rested, some might say - others differ. His armor was put pon its rack as he made sight of the moon and stars in silence. He thought of nothing but the bitter cold.

[Pallodium 465]

The red-shrouded one would remain in a lone cabin deep within the mountains, gazing out the window solemnly. The windows were long shattered, the floorboards reduced to naught but fibers held together by rot and permafrost, and the room held no life but for the sole figure within it. He would turn away from the window, looking at a small spot in the center of the room- completely mundane physically, yet the mental weight of the hand that breached from it still hung heavy in the air. The figure remained for naught but a few minutes, before pushing open the rotting doorframe, and taking his leave silently, deep into the snowing night.