Chains

[ItsMisterPip 409]

 

 

 

Beyond the snow-laden city of the All-Father’s faithful and beyond the shores of Aevos, the oppressive walls of that raging stormfront pressed ever inward into the heart of the continent itself. The air churned with a sense of unease and dread, and the frigid winds offered no comfort for those who sought it.

 

What little peace of mind and warmth there was to scrape together in these trying times proved to be of little comfort. It was as if the very land itself was rebelling against the presence of all. Suddenly, the winds picked up, blowing through the city streets with gale-force winds as banners and flags ripped and tore. Upon those winds was carried the sound of chains.

 

 

Kazimir Weiss was one of many who rallied to face the threat of the storm that loomed in ruined, unforgotten lands. Notorious streaks of orange light lit up the sky as massive chains unearthed and reached for the clouds above. Comrades from Norland and companions from his homeland all rushed to the north toward a village where these chains and lights rose, shy of the fallen capital. Here, there would be a battle.

 

The warriors charged from their steeds as Goldenvine forces rallied to oppose, shimmering crowns adorning their heads- the tinge of orange further tainting the lands. The might of those rallied warriors demolished the first wave; cries of war and commands were shouted out among the clash of steel and galloping beasts. The Weiss’s Black Comet took the brunt of a spear, crippling any chance of advance on horseback, and so too did other horses fall. All battles require payment in blood.

 

 

The Goldenvine forces began to trickle in, initially few in number and strength, but they grew in these aspects as the Northern warriors pressed further into the village's confines. The wisps of arcana forming into daunting weapons, arrows soaring into the lines of those men and women, steel clashing with steel, towering creatures- elementals of the mountain, looming in the fray. The sounds were deafening compared to the breaths the warriors took as they focused on ending the various threats; the sound of chains rattling and jingling was ever-present through it all.

 

 

The vanguards and sorcerers were slain, one after another, as the warriors continued their charges, splitting up into groups as the need arose. These adversaries held defensive lines until broken by barrages of concussive blasts and the spewing of fire and ice, the edges of weapons being put to lethal use. Abilities and gifts bestowed upon various warriors erupted on the field to aid in the onslaught, but eventually, the Goldenvine forces grew stronger and stronger. More organized, larger in number, and sound in their tactics, a charging advance was put on hold, not out of will, but out of necessity.

 

 

Kazimir and his comrades began to take on wounds that bruised and cut beyond the protection of armor. Elemental behemoths drew the attention of many, while arrows from the lines of cloaked scouts pierced their limbs. The pikemen began to ward off assaults with greater ease as the warriors split further and further apart to hunt the masses of Goldenvine. Danger grew… As the Northern warriors began consolidating their efforts to regroup, yells of retreat began to echo through the village. The fight had been mostly won, but the force- …presence, within the village, was far greater than they could endure with their numbers. It was time to leave before any losses could occur.

 

 

As those warriors rallied in the village square, the action began to die down after their retreat, and they tended to their wounded, making their way back to their homelands. Left behind, and ever present, a haunting chime remained from the ominous chains.

Spoiler

My creative writing isn't GREAT, but I really enjoyed the antag event that took place and wanted to make a fun little post describing it. Hope some of you like it c:

 

[Frostdrop1 1843]

As they stood at the entrance of the looming gateway, a prince much worse than he pattered on about redemption. Perhaps, they wondered, redemption lay beyond it. A soul so terrible, and yet he wanted to be better. It was just the three of them at first, three devils. All had been touched by the hells, all oppressed by the figures in their lives. All hurt, in their own way. And he, the worst of them, dared to hope for a modicum redemption. It sat wrong with Reinhard.

"Redemption doesn't exist."

His reply was callous, gnawing. Hopeless. Even so, as silence hung, that prince turned his look upon the former. And still, what he spoke next, despite his trappings, was a dare to hope. Perhaps he didn't know better, yet. No - Reinhard knew he didn't know better.

"Vy won't. What remains of us ist part of a person. What ist within - er - ... like torn rags. There ist nie place for us, ag there never will be, except for those few who understand." 

Again, he rejected it. Firmer. In his own way, it was mercy. If he could spare one person the hell he walked each day, he would. Just one. Let him spare one, of something. Even, he supposed, if that something was the hope of a brighter future. Yet, it brought discomfort to the smaller green devil by him, who only hoped that they could be happy one day, too. The prince, meanwhile, audibly snickered - wisdom, he called it. He liked it. Whether intended or not, it came across like mockery. How familiar.

"... Take et as vy will."

It was a defeat. An easy defeat, as it always was with him these days. Yet, the peace wasn't to last. More came, more gathered. Faces he knew, and didn't. There came his mother, and kings. There came devils. There came demons. There came elves - and, too, Nickolai. His jaw tensed, and hand grasped at his crutch at the sight of the boy. Eager, willing - stupid. There he stood, among the damned as that which wished for more. He waved, in failed ability to recognise the danger he was in. He drew attention to himself as both groups stood in stand-off and the kings, of all things, rose to chide at the elves. His look only turned to his parents after, who stared in a disquieting silence.

"Vy'r an idiot. Vy had one instruction."

Scolding, he was, not as a prince, but as a father. A pointed glance flashed to the elves. The boy murmured back his love instead, and moved aside. Avoidance of the judgement in their gazes. He was not to escape though as Reinhard sneakily hobbled to Nickolai's side. Persistent.

"Go home."

Stubborn as he was, the boy refused. Perhaps that was his own fault. His own blood. It was bullish, stubborn. Injured as he was, here he stood. And for all the ache that Nickolai caused him, he found that he still had to try. He resented how the boy took after him. Following, a hesitant breath was taken and he hissed unto his ear what none had dared to do for him. It left him feeling vile, and rotten. It was something he never dreamed to do, and yet he saw no choice. He was a parent, not a friend. His duty was unto his son's safety as that boy chose to brazenly pranced in shadow of damnation.

"Vy can't listen, so ich will force vy to. Vy aren't ea son, ag the next ich see vy, ich am putting a dagger in vyr back."

The stillness that followed between them was an impossible one; a snapped look was turned to Reinhard. Silence. The message apparent. Reinhard turned off to help another prepare and without a word to either parent he left.

~~~

And so there, on another end on the world, another Weiss - a Schwartz - rallied against the forces that affected the continent. Unwell, leg broken and smothered in a cast, he rallied. Straining himself together with determined strings, he rallied. Beside the demons and kings and cursed he was a fit, among those he melded into. It was with those forces, that which had dragged him so far down, that they worked, together. And yet, it was not them alone. An unlikely lot: demons and the pure, forced into unison. 
 

And yet the worked, together.

The pain of his leg stopped him none when he fell behind. It stopped him none when he could not scale climbs as others did. It stopped him none. Instead, he focused on the task at hand. He didn't dare stop to think on his circumstances. His son. He couldn't stop, lest he break before they were done. He could not stop before they were done. Instead, his brain whirred with questions and answers. He rambled when he needed to, he drew clues together. It was some ounce of comfort that he was useful. And even when it was blood that was demanded, he moved to hobble. Except, a green hand caught his wrist and against better judgement, pulled him back with a harsh step. It tilted Reinhard promptly, unable to stand firm, and a glower turned upon the one that stood by him through everything. He glared at the little, green guardian. And for once that whole delve, they pleaded with the rust devil who threw themselves headlong into what laid before them. And to his plead, Reinhard relented.

"Not you."