Demise

[Rig 17580]

 

♬♬♬

 

• ──────────────────────── 𖤐 ──────────────────────── •

Khelman Acal – Sul Amirsan aen Sov – patrolled the halls of his cavernous underrealm with hurried steps. His Striith dogged his steps, the ram skull mask howling at him with amusement.

“Usurper!”

With that, he jolted, as he clutched onto something in the periphery of his vision. An angelic woman dressed in blues and pinks. Sul remembered now the sordid tale of how he was reconstructed from nothing; Vriza dominated him, but he kept that inkling of what he was. Until he overreached…

“You think your plans went unnoticed? That you can seek to consume your own Patron Lord without consequence?”

The Striith hissed aloud as for the first time in his many years as an Inferis, the Demon King knew true fear. Ordinarily, the creature was subservient to the Demon King – the two had always acted of an accord, they had possessed mutual symbiosis. However, it had spied on him, and reported back to their master what he saw. The evidence was quite damning.

“You are no fabled Arch-Drakaar, that is certain. Velketzar shall exact his penance from you.”

Raucous laughter filled the Demon King’s throne room as he slumped back in his great ornate chair, the terrible power of the vision overtaking him. The price of power was steep – there is nothing in the world for free – and needless to say, the Pentacle Lord of Greed had sent something in his stead  to come and collect.

“We must confess, you are a useful pawn. We have given you much to enable your schemes. But now, we see you are spending more time running than winning. And saving this woman’s life… No, that cannot be done.” 

Sul, Khelman, Vriza choked on his words as words left his gullet unprompted, and he suffered at the hands of his master. 

“And you conspired to have her soul all for yourself. You sought to rob us by enabling her dabbling in Flesh Alchemy.”

This time the voice grew angrier. In the distance, the mosaics within his chamber began to shatter, and the glass flew in all directions. One gouged out one of his eyes, the Acaelanite howling in agony as darkness overtook his rightmost socket. It was a pathetic site. Such a powerful creature – a hybrid Zar’akal – reduced to nothing more than a weeping child in his False Prince form. A mere man clutching his bleeding arms as that vision of his wife had been robbed from him forever. He could see her soft smile vanishing from sight as in the distance, the sulphuric winds of Moz’Strimoza howled. Space seemed to be translucent, his soul was caught between worlds, cleaved in twine by dual responsibilities.

“Do not worry though, Vriza. Your usefulness has not been outlived. We merely deign to… Reorganize your priorities.”

The elf screamed loudly, it was so hoarse and truncated that it was cut off immediately by the howling winds. Blood oozed from his right eye socket, the matter of his cornea smeared over his neck as the ichor swept forth over the side of his face.

“I gave you everything! My soul. The souls of my children.”

• ──────────────────────── 𖤐 ──────────────────────── •

“That is not enough.”

“You cannot take her!” he begged pitifully. “I will do anything. Take me instead!”

The night was young as Sul and Naazeri took to the halls of Caurost’s tavern. Around them dwelled their smiling friends like the High Prince Galahad, Lorinthia, Veluc, and Dubh Ainmhi. Festive cheer was in the air as the couple stole away to a hallway far away from the joy and laughter to gaze into one another’s lives. Such is the curse of the Naztherak, the fragile ego, the false sense of divinity, and the notion of invulnerability. However, the Hells always take their due, and soon enough the couple’s love would be unwittingly plucked from them forever. Their son Caderyn left entirely without his doting parents because their vices had claimed their souls at last. As they gazed upon one another’s eyes, it did not occur to them that twelve-years later, their unbreakable sacrament would be stolen from them. That those loving eyes would gaze upon one another no longer. 

“No,” the insipid voice laughed, before there was a chorus of screams echoing throughout the caverns.

• ──────────────────────── 𖤐 ──────────────────────── •

One day their son Caderyn was left to visit their graves, the place where Sul and Rhianwen would remain in soul-sleep for all eternity, their bodies entombed forevermore within Haelune'leh Tahn, The Glade of the Dead. Yet, disquieting was the burning incense, and the way the grave itself appeared to gaze upon him with malice. With a shudder, their son left their grave behind, the soft crunch of gravel audible as their grave was littered with roses and chrysanthemum flowers to honor their passing. In the distance, a tremendous shadow lurked, before it slinked away into the dead of night, the thing's robes bellowing from the wind as it descended from the hilltop.

Requiescat in Pace,

Rhys and Rhianwen aen Sov

Spoiler

 

This is the culmination of about 10 months of roleplaying. Too many hours of scheming, killing, and plotting. However, Moz'Strimoza is cruel. While one minute you might be finding solace in the few loved ones that remain to you, it is bound to be stripped away - the Pentacle Lords are jealous creatures, and they absolutely are not beyond punishing their inferiors for plotting to overthrow them. Since the very moment Vriza became a Zar'akal, he has relentlessly attempted to change his destiny, to be the crab that climbs out of the barrel, while the others try to pull him down. However, his attachment to his False Prince Form caused him to wrestle with moral quandaries ordinary Zar'akal did not. While he still possesses it, his punishment is fitting - Sul himself is dead, and his body is merely a disguise now that his Malices have absolutely taken over, and his memories - like those of his wife's - have been stripped from him by unforeseeable forces. Now, both of them are more or less dead. Naazeri's own memories and "self" have been stricken from her by her former master the Black Cat Zathairn. 

 

From Inquisitors, to Hell-Kings, to Politicians, these characters truly figured that they were unbeatable. However, the price will always catch up to wicked characters, and with that a family is destroyed.

 

 

 

 

[deviouschungus 164]

♬♬♬

 

Liar. Serpent. Betrayer.

 

…

 

“I love thee, Sul, and ever shall my heart abide in thee.”

 

“And I, mine own, I love thee in return, my beloved wife.”

 

“But why… why dost thou love me?”

 

“Ah, my lady… thou asketh this as thou hast always done.”

 

…

 

Thus did their last discourse unfold, engraved upon the tablets of Naazeri’s memory, and glowing there with tender luminance. She carried one arm encumbered by a wicker hamper, provisioned with fruits, cured meats, and the simplest of delicacies, intended for a modest repast upon the mountain's crest.

 

Four long years elapsed since her beloved’s embrace, and the summit now lay just within her reach.

 

She neared it, breath ragged, heart alight with anticipation — and then her gaze was seized by an apparition most foul. An imp, grotesque and vile, yet shaped in the uncanny semblance of her striith, whose bond had long been sundered and whose presence should have returned to the Hells from whence it came.

 

Ere certainty could bloom, the creature lunged, sinew and claw wrought of impossible strength. She was flung upon the rugged earth, rolling, tumbling — her scream shattered the mountain’s serenity, and a tree’s bark greeted her spine with cruel abruptness.

 

Darkness swallowed sight, and dread clutched her throat.

 

---

 

 

In that shadowed mind, no warmth of her husband’s smile arose, nor did the sweetened memory of his hands guiding or holding her stir solace. Instead, a horror of molted scales and furious yellow eyes confronted her. Immobilised, she stood arrested — unable to speak, unable to flee.

 

“Thou hast taken far more than thou hast given, foolish girl,” 

it hissed, venom thick upon the tongue. 

 

“How darest thou? How darest thou collude with the usurper?” 

“How darest thou steal that which is mine?!”

 

It iterated its accusations incessantly, a torrent of malevolence. She could do naught but weep, each tear a bitter tribute to her impotence.

 

A jagged claw, monstrous beyond imagining, reached for her brow. She squeezed her eyes shut, expecting agony — yet none came. And when she dared to open them again, the claw grasped not her flesh, but a luminous orb. Within it… she glimpsed a familiar face. 

 

Could it be? 

 

Yes… 

 

Sul.

 

Her breath caught, frozen by the revelation, yet no plea would form upon her lips in spite of every effort. The light, and the being that held it, receded, taking with it more than she could name.

 

Even the sweet reminiscence of their progeny fell prey to the void, leaving her heart a desolate chamber.

 

---

 

She awoke to agony incarnate. Cries rent the air, raw and keening, as the realisation her arm lay twisted in a ghastly bend and her leg shattered beneath her came to notice. Each breath burned, each heartbeat thundered.

 

Yet the greater terror was the unknown: where, upon this forsaken mountain, did she lie? 

 

How had she come hither?

 

Memory never came, leaving her adrift upon the precipice of despair and bewilderment.

 

 

---

 

 

…

 

“Wilt thou ever tire of me, Sul? Of all my vexations,

and my penchant for asking questions better left unasked?”

 

“Ne’er, my heart. Thy temper is but the wind to a sail, 

the very breath that keeps my days from dullness.”

 

“Then promise me, my love. Should the world grow drab and the 

days long, thou shalt still find thy heart willing to return to mine.”

 

“I swear it. Even should the heavens fall and the stars fade, 

I shall love thee, and love thee still. Come what may, my wife.”

 

 

…

 

Requiescat in Pace,

Rhys and Rhianwen aen Sov.

 

Spoiler

P.S. We never actually used Early Modern English that way in RP, I just thought it sounded better for this post. Anyways, R.I.P. to these two, their identities, their memories of each other, and their 40ish years of marriage ^_^

 

[KeiaTypeBeat 3277]

Spoiler

w post

 

[femurlord 3751]

Between the folds of reality warped by potent blood, gleaming eyes watched. Red pin-points that follow in shadow and disappear with light. They spectate a man wrestle with immortality, they saw its consequences. The watchful dark seemed to smile, as it uttered for once, "Good."

[__Stal27 2126]

Within the confines of the High-Hearth, there sat a King and his Vassal, his Elder, his Mentor  who recanted their most recent encounters.
 

“Not many can say that they have spoken with him and lived to recall it.”

 

“No, I suppose not.”

 

“His words make you think.”

 

“His vision is fair.”

 

“He is a demon.”

 

“Yet, of all, only he speaks the most sense.”

 

“Do not be so foolish as to heed his words.”

 

“I do not, but he makes me question, as to the world I seek.”

 

“Does he?”

 

“He does.”

 

“And what, pray-tell do you seek?”

 

“A world perhaps, where the likes of him, cannot be twisted to reach the vision that the living seek.”

 

“. . .”

 

@Terry

[Unwillingly 18096]

Cruelly ironic were the dealings of the dark, that beings so tortured and loathed yet almighty as they would seldom be vanquished on their own terms. No less was the irony of the Ivory Prince, whose virtue prevailed his vice, yet failed to guard that fragile, trusting blind spot oft prone of monarchs. 

It was, perhaps, best that the dealings of Sul eluded the eyes and ears of Galahad, for how sickening was it that one so devilish and wicked as he, so comfortably lurked behind one so goodly and noble as him. 

[DahStalker 3692]

Spoiler

damn bro I just read a whole novela ty

 

[Navigator 4260]

There was a special place in the High Hells of their Red Lord for the Kings who fell. 

Simmering, that creature had been, in that place, for so long. That Lord of Fear.

 

He stared across the barren field, hunched over, tortured and beaten still.

He smiled. That same old wicked smile he gave the Glutton when he was eaten.

 

"What a sick joke... That the Pentacle would torture me with a vision of you. . ."

 

The once-Lord of Fear turned away, and keeled over the bubbling rivers of smoldering blood once more.

[JediMaestro 240]

As Solveig lay next to Nicky in warm, comfortable darkness, somewhere between sleep and dreams, a memory from the isle of Kalldur rose unbidden to her mind . . . a chance encounter with a small cursed child, her gentle mother, and her enigmatic father. Solveig remembered how well she had gotten on with the woman--Rhianwen, was it? Solveig was surprised she could recall the name--and how she had hoped it was merely the first encounter that would lay down a friendship with the couple, who seemed to so delicately walk the line between gentle kindness and cold hostility. But no, like so many other things on Kalldur, it had been but a single meeting, and the family had vanished into the immense continent of Azuras without a trace. For a moment, Rhianwen's warm smile, Khelman's clinical fatherliness, and Halom's inquisitive and cheerful face rose to view in her mind's eye as plainly as if she had met them yesterday. Like as not, she would never meet them again. Solveig slipped into slumber, her memories of Kalldur melding with dreams until nothing was left.

 

Spoiler

I was just reviewing my old chat logs and came across the single conversation I had with Khelman and Rhianwen. I had always hoped I would encounter those characters more in the future, so I went searching . . . and that search led me here. RIP indeed to this very well-written and tragic couple. The parallels to how Solveig's own story could have gone with her cursed child husband are certainly very stark to me, and in another world, I could have ended up with a post very similar to this. I hope I get a chance to RP with y'all sometime in the future, as I certainly enjoyed that brief but scintillating encounter.

 

Edited April 16 by JediMaestro