Yandel [PK]

[satin 7600]

Spoiler

 

 

 

“HOW DO WE EMBRACE DEATH?”

 

The Nephilim were typically zealous in their response: “WITH OPEN ARMS!”

 

“YOU ANSWER RIGHTLY,” A Z D R O M O T H roared, in turn.

 

———«»————————————«»————————————«»———

 

Crippled, bound, and shackled to the hip of the Oyashiwoman, Yandel could only watch the battle for the Throne Room of Tor’Azdraeth. Even when his body shimmered with Sapphire, empowered by the presence of Xan, a swift kick to the crotch had ended any hope of casting. He had watched as the Centurions of Xan were fairly slaughtered, and to the captured Paladin, it was almost ironic - to think that he had once believed himself capable of combating her! More than anything, the fight hammered into his heart proof of his being a relative novice in combat. 

 

But even though the initial battle was a grim sight, the latter stages were not. All the combatants in the castle heard the roar of pain as Azdromoth’s underbelly was speared. And - when the last of the Centurions had been slain, and the entrance of the Throne Room was suddenly blasted open by the Paladins, and when that cleave had split the room in two, and the Azdrazi were fairly screaming, and the screech of the fallen Elden, there had been a singular mad moment - a moment of hope, despite it all…

 

———«»————————————«»————————————«»———

 

“A pitiful existence.”

 

A scorching pain. An immolating fire.

 

Then - the souls of the Xannites were overtaken by the fires of the New Order.

 

———«»————————————«»————————————«»———

 

After the defeat and the death of his Lord, she had gripped his hair, yanked him about like her pet, laughing, mocking and taunting him. Yandel could vaguely feel it, a response of sorts - a low hatred, bubbling deep in his gut and coiling around his soul. But he could not bring himself to focus on it.

 

That remained true, even when he spent decades isolated in the Black Cells - but for a different reason. His dreams were plagued with visions, with the chime of prayer-bells and murmured golden prayers.

 

"Domino soli aureo gratias agimus, quod permissum est nobis pugnare contra dracones impios et serpentem invisum..."

 

A side-affect of the transmutation of his soul. Yandel payed it less heed than he maybe should have - what truly kept him sane was the Oyashiwoman, and her visits, her promises. Her gifts. She thought of him as some captured animal, that he knew, but Yandel didn't care. Any dignity he might once have held had been utterly shattered, so why care if she mocked him? It would all be over soon anyways.

 

That fatalistic attitude pervaded him, impossible to move, impossible to change. It would prove correct.

 

———«»————————————«»————————————«»———

 

What use is bravery if you lose anyway? That was the question that had been plaguing him, up until the moment that Elathion kicked open the door of the cell, and spoke.

 

"It is time to realise the truth, Yandel. Neither Xan, nor your former Xannites are able to offer you any salvation."

 

"I will not turn," came the blunt reply. 

 

"You think I seek to turn you to our side? You'll see no usch attempts from me. I simply need you to know that your faith was misplaced, and your intentions, while positive, were aimed incorrectly, and your efforts wasted in service to one who could never deliver on what is promised."

 

Yandel snorted. Who did this Nephilim think he was? Had it been his strike that had slain his Lord? Evidently, he had mistaken proximity to events for influence over them. Did he think that his God murdering another God would bring about their aims?

 

To the last, he held no respect for the Azdrazi. But the Oyashiwoman was different, and as she entered, he saw the expression on her face - and, with a lump in his throat, he knew it was time. She asked who he wanted to take his life, he said her. He asked for it to be done outside, and she accepted the request. So they trooped out.

 

They went to the tower, and Yandel was permitted to see the sky. He saw the sun set - the faux, incapable sun, weak and degraded. He knelt against the railing, and Elathion readied his axe. In his last moments, Yandel searched for a great lesson, a vast meaning - but there was none. It had all been too quick, too rushed; the forces at work were too large, and he, too small.

 

What was the meaning of a deluded life?

 

He heard the axe swing through the air, clenched his eyes shut-

 

———«»————————————«»————————————«»———

 

Spoiler

A somewhat late post, but I thoroughly enjoyed Yandel - easily some of the best RP I've had on this server. Thank you @Java17for providing such excellent prison-guard RP and the unique experience you did - even without the ongoing Apotheosis eventline, it would have been brilliant. 

 

[Cheese 8883]

Liridona waited in the Seven Skies. Amongst the children she had lost and reunited with, she had kept a tally. She had welcomed them all with hugs and kisses and "I missed you"s. But Yandel, she would never reunite with him. She would never welcome the boy she knew so long ago into her arms.

 

Liridona, in the embrace of her family, prayed for the soul of her now damned kin. Whether he was truly hers or not, Yandel was a child of House Amador, and thus Liridona's.

[frvma 1014]

A wraith fought in the abyss. The undead and servants of Mordring never ending. Ephemeral gore and transcendent gore and ectoplasm impossibly staining an incorporeal form. 

 

A memory flickered over her form. One of war, the intricacies of it. The pain and anxiety of the Duty she wrought onto the world while she was alive. 

 

Then there was her last student. The young man who came to her seeking Order. She mentored him, taught him, placed the Ember of Xan into his soul. 

 

She wondered how he was, what he was up to. A mercy rarely afforded in an eternal battle against the denizens of old Aegis. He was a young, naive man who sought Order and the limits of its philosophy. She wondered if he was being treated well. 

 

A regret washed over her. Memories were not needed here. Just Order and battle. The way of things.

 

She refocused on the battle with a whisper. "I hope you are well young Yandel."

[DahStalker 3692]

A venomous scream echoed through the stream of a thousand cries from tormented souls. A lost soul, with no haven to rest, unleashed an unrelenting roar of fury. She'd claw out at the essence of Yandel, heart-broken for the youth, enraged. The one who could truly relate, now lost to Aeriel's damnation akin to her. If privileged, for even if a sheer moment, that soul sought to cling upon the other to provide whatever brief solace from their unyielding misery - even if just for a moment. 

[don dada 579]

Spoiler

yea this a hit

 

[Java17 2216]

The trees rustled in the wind, and the distant forest at the edge of Aevos echoed with the songs of birds. Sunlight bathed the Oyashi as she knelt weakly in prayer, her hands trembling from starvation. Before her lay a grave, meticulously crafted and adorned with a weapon of true sharpness, an Oyashiman make.

 

"Yandel," she whispered to the wind. "Gomen."