The Abyssal Sun [Narrative Post]

[Seuss 1056]

 

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La Música

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The sea only carries willing men to cursed shores 

 

Cassian stood  just shy of the southern shores, watching as the tide rolled in and lazily retreated. The sun shone over the yellow-hued grass that tilted with the gentle winds grazing from the high mountains to the sunken valleys. Across the way did his gaze focus on the once blessed lands of the Silverwoods. The abyssal darkness that loomed overhead its silvery-blue foliage would certainly block out any true sunlight once underneath its veil. 

This was not his first journey; in fact, Cassian has sailed to the island on numerous occasions for battle and espionage, and today's expedition was no exception. His intense commitment was stolen from the nickering of his steed slowly walking up beside him. 

The warhorse, trained to excel in any climate on any terrain, had accompanied Cassian since he was a young boy. To this day, he towers over the Hunter akin to a living monument, but they were close friends. A hand raised to meet his steed, and the companion bowed his head in kind. Through thick and thin, Cassian knew he would ride free of any altercation if need be, and no other mount in the realm could catch him.

 

“In and out. As per usual.” observed the Hunter as the ferry came within distance to that shoreline dock. With rein in hand, he ventured onto that unkept pier.

 

“I cannot do this any longer.” Whined the Operator as he looked over his most accustomed passenger. “It gets worse and worse, and soon I fear the undead will begin clinging to my ship.”

 

A small, leather-bound pouch of coin was lofted over to that concerned man, followed by a most uncaring tone. “You only fear an empty purse. When this is over, find yourself guiding travellers to and from Idunia and the Empire.”

 

“Don’t get hurt out there.” From his tone, the Operator meant that.

 

Cassian brushed it off with a smile, carefully guiding his horse onto the ferry, and it was soon departing from the sunny shores where everything had reason and his family and friends were safe. With the time given before he was upon enemy territory, Cassian looked through his belongings to confirm he was set for an altercation. Sharpened weaponry, potions, aurum-dipped arrows, a large chain around his waist, and his longbow slung over his shoulder. Whatever he would encounter, he would conquer.

 

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Instinct notices danger long before the mind accepts it

 

Just as he made landfall, Cassian watched his ride make haste in ridding his presence of despair and gloom. The Hunter bid the rider farewell with a lowering of his chin before turning onto his horse. With one leg raised and secured against the stirrup, he launched himself up and over, settling on the saddle and brushing back his mount’s mane. Cassian’s eyes turned upwards towards those towering trunks of silver and white; the only hope of a blessing’s return still residing in the natural wildlife. 

 

Hooves pressed into the grass below, turning over fresh soil as Cassian surged between low hanging branches at exposed roots. The familiar paths he travelled to and from on multiple outings brought him to the first open field where flowers bloomed in plenty and trees circled the area. In the center lay a corrupt construction of blasphemy having not previously existed. An amalgamation of wrought flesh, sinew, and unidentifiable bone made up this totem-like effigy.

 

Cassian brought his horse to a slow pace, not motioning close to the totem, but instead observing it from afar. The uneasiness within him grew from there. He always felt uneasy when approaching lairs; however, this dread that came over him did not steady. It grew the longer he remained on the island. There may be more totems on the island, and so he was off once more, sailing through the forest like a ship over water.

 

As he turned towards the white sand beaches and circled around the small portion of woods killed over by The First Blasphemy, Cassian came across yet another effigy raised from the once-pure ground. He was certain more would populate the island, and as he attempted to continue on, his horse whined and stepped in the beginnings of a retreat.

 

“Woah. . .” he brushed along the steed’s head, attempting to calm him down. “It’s alright. I just want to check for more, then we will leave immediately.”

 

Almost unconvinced, the horse was ready to leave, yet moved with Cassian’s guidance further into the island. He now aimed to reach the lower valley just short of the Black Church fortress. The gothic structure itself posed as a cathedral of past creations. Towers rise and split apart into needle-like spires, each tapering at their peaks like black ferrum spears. Vertical windows with sealed walls behind them stacked in a pattern along the front and sides of the pointed arches. A contrasting darkness to the white earth around it, and a large circular window at the fortress’ forefront. 

 

As Cassian rode through the forest once again, leaving behind the absent abomination, the churning of low chants echoed between trees, and the everpresent odor of death assaulted his nostrils greater than before. As the low branches parted way to the next clearing, Cassian found himself before the denizens of that false church. 

 

A group of undead ghouls accompanied by their Necromancers stood before a third effigy of unknown remains. A foul rite of desecration upon the land they call home, where imbuing lifeforce empowered the totem’s corruption into the land below it. The shuffling of his horse stirred their attention as the ritual came to an end. Rotten eyes turned upon that lone Hunter - he was spotted.

 

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Even seasoned hunters can become prey

 

One weaker ghoul caught a glimpse of the Hunter soon after his mount made enough noise. An axe came from the undead’s belt, held in both hands as the creature fidgeted and twitched similar to withdrawal. There stood a skeleton close by - its bony hand sporting wisps of foul black ether between the digits. It too turned upon Cassian and sluggishly ascended the valley slope.

 

In the rear stood a jester-like enigma, sporting a mask of sorrow and joy with a long cap’n’bell headpiece stretching down its backside. Beside them paced a Dark Elf sorceress, quick to channel lavender energies within her palm. Closest to the abomination effigy did the form of a witch stride forward. Her robes billowed about her form as shadows darkened around her person. The summoning of abyssal flame around her arm began coalescing into a sphere.

 

The greatest threat stood nearest the Hunter. A foe he has witnessed before - a King. A man whose appearance indicates centuries of age, with a green cloak hanging just over his shoulders and a cane in hand. The ash-crown atop his head symbolized his position in the hierarchy, and Cassian knew this to be one of the Sepulchre’s chosen directors.

 

As that congress of entropy and ruin set into motion their march upon the Hunter, the woods around Cassian churned to life with previously unfound activity. The clamoring forms of undead shuffled to and fro between trees and shrubbery. Some afforded armor, albeit rusted and falling apart. Wicked weaponry dragged across the ground as their awful groans of forced revival replaced the once board-scratching ceremonial display.

 

That King of Witches, black flame spurring from his hand, raised an arm in directive as his command rang to all those present. All of them.

 

“What are you waiting for?” Questioned that subject of the darkness. “Bring him to me.”

 

Cassian’s heel kicked into the side of his steed as he rushed leftward, aiming to break free of that undead barricade slowly forming a perimeter around him. He lowered his head, and for a brief moment it appeared as though the wolf-pelt that hung on his body had come back to life and controlled the horse’s sprint. His gut screamed at him as much as his horse whined out in terror. He should have not come here today. He should have listened when his companion desired to leave. When the ferry operator suggested turning away.

 

The initial ghoul that caught wind of him rushed in a blind fury, energized by hunger alone. Its teeth parted wide, exposing the rot within that only dreamed to feast upon flesh. It was the first to combat Cassian. The Hunter drew his axe and swung it down the side of his horse, crashing against that ghoul’s arm as it opted to dive away instead of tanking the collision. Its own weapon swung for the belly of that horse, yet more worry laid ahead.

 

As Cassian charged forward, the King of Witches gestured with his blackened hand, urging black flames to erupt from the soil below and conjured forth a wall of abyssal hell. He could not dodge the impact to come, and with his boots freeing the stirrups and aiding Cassian while standing onto his horse, he met the wall.

 

He hoped the impact was enough to end his friend’s life. The slash from the axe alone would bring him only agonizing pain - but that impact into the wall was sure to destroy that mount’s vertebrae from head to tail. Cassian went over that large wall, flung by the kinetic force transferred into him when his steed came to a sudden halt.

 

A heavy thud rang out from the ground as Cassian landed. A second, softer thud followed, then his body continued rolling.

 

“I wonder if you will be the first to die on this new. . . blessed land.” Came the chuckled taunts of the jester.

 

The ghoul screeched out as it broke into a furious sprint towards Cassian. “You will make a fine feast!”

 

The voice of a witch played like an instrument as air slowly made its way back into Cassian’s chest. “A reckoning child of the light, you are blessed to have witnessed a daughter of entropy bring forth blessed ruin upon the lands.”

 

Cassian pushed himself up to his knee, struggling to hold his axe as the neverending forces of dark marched on. He ripped his other leg forward, planting his boot on the ground in his desperate attempt to evade and strike. Misfortune befell him in a quartet.

 

The Witch of Ruin unleashed her sphere of abyssal flame, colliding against Cassian’s head - slamming into the makeshift helm lined underneath the wolf-pelt and knocking it free of its perch.

 

An undead sorceress followed suit with their blackened summoning of lifeforce, striking the Hunter in his shoulder, just off his center line and throwing him off-balance.

 

The cackling howls of the jester screamed out in a deranged manner. A withering overcame Cassian, draining him of the necessary strength he needed.

 

His eyes widened, staring out at the several figures emboldened by their habitat. The final shot from the resurrected skeleton was a sphere of unholy make. It collided with the plate armor over Cassian’s chest, sending him into the massive silverwood oak at his rear.

 

His vision began fading, and the noise that left his body was one he could not recall hearing before. He fought to stay awake, and yet his head bobbed and his eyelids grew tenfolds the weight.

 

“Do not kill him.”

 

“Let us show him the doom that awaits.”

 

The last sight he could recall was the descending ghoul. It ripped at the armaments on his arm, freeing cloth and metal alike as that drooling, rotten mouth shot forward. He could not feel what happened after.

 

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He woke to a world that had already ended

 

As he woke, Cassian laid sideways in a field of pale yellow grass. The silver foliage around him was gone, as were the illspawn that he happened upon. He felt no pain in his body as his palms pressed against earth and lifted him to his rear. Cassian looked around, spotting in his immediate vicinity that the grass had long died. The portion that laid under him was split and broken akin to hardened straw. He brushed the back of his hand against a patch and it withered away.

 

The world felt wrong. All about him did a great fog drift through the air. A darkness unlike the night sky he studied in his youth. Cassian pushed himself to his feet and looked over his body for what he expected many wounds and mutilation to reside; yet he found nothing. His armor and weapons were gone. His wolf pelt no longer on his shoulder, and all he wore was a thin layer of gray silk robes with a belt looped around the waist.

 

“Where have I. . ?” He questioned himself, but stopped short. There truly was no one else around, and his condition did not fit the bill of someone just recently attacked and subdued.

 

“I must be by the southern shores again.” Cassian convinced himself, and began his trek northbound to find the closest road. 

 

The longer Cassian walked, the more apparent the strangeness of his predicament became. Not a flower in sight of a path he often spotted tulips. Trees barren of foliage and fruit; no evidence of such existing at the base of those oaks. The telltale beauty of nature went silent as not a bird was in view and not a song of their tweets rang out.

 

“What happened?” Cassian would inquire, and yet it was spoken to no one but himself. He crossed through a valley hidden between mountains and happened upon the ruins of the Dwarves. A familiar sight, and a guarantee he was on the right path. The fog around him made determining the time of day or the delay in his travel difficult to determine. The world around him had the same lay out, at least.

 

Cassian felt no pain in his body despite how far he walked. He crossed through the golden leaf forests and was met with a river that once flowed. On one side, the river stood steady, and the other it was a barren trench of where the river used to reside. Between them a toppled tower, destroyed and taken over by vines that acted as a dam. Was this the result of the Crusade? He was unsure, and so he used that fallen keep as a bridge to continue north.

 

His stomach churned with anxiety as the next location he came upon were the ruins of Alba. A once lively city with citizens travelling about the roads in excess, was now a long past status of loss. The tall palace barely had any walls left, and ash stained the ground around it from flames that have since dissipated. Cassian’s worries grew, and he broke into a sprint past those dilapidated structures. He made his way to the bridge; however, the center had caved down into the river below. Too far a gap to jump, so Cassian retraced his steps and chose to swim the width of the river across.

 

Water dripped from his robes as he continued on. He passed by Fruitfall - the Imperial home of his Tawantinsuyin companions, but much like everything else along the walk, it was gone. As he crested the hill, the anxiety left Cassian’s body. The nervousness disappeared. His soul escaped his form as air fled from his lungs.

 

What once stood as the hallmark of Imperial achievement was now gone without a trace. Rittersburg was no more, and the barren wasteland that remained became readily apparent of the world Cassian now lived in.

 

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The hardest graves are the ones never found

 

The Hunter fell to his knees, letting the hardened soil below remind him that he could feel pain still. The city he grew up in was gone without a trace. There were no tracks left of passerbys, or citizens fleeing, or where the barracks once stood. The bridge no longer connected the mainland to its island capital, and the high towers of ivory white that housed Horen were replaced with air.

 

The fog slowly dissipated around him, showing the dark horizon of dead forests and towering mountains.

 

“DIE. . .” Came a whisper overtaken by twisted sickness. It was not Cassian's voice, yet he heard it in his head.

 

“SUFFER. . .” Its foul intentions manifested once again. Cassian slowly looked up from where he was knelt, staring into the darkened sky above. 

 

The sun; though it was not his sun. It did not shine yellow and gold, casting warmth over the lands. A foul, purplish black had replaced it. It pulsed in the sky, radiating with malice and disdain.

 

“DIE. . .” It spoke. The sun spoke. Cassian was sure of this, that the voice in his mind of harrowing words came not from something standing leveled with him, but that cruel parody of the life-giver staring down upon the silent earth, wishing for the death of all below it.

 

Cassian’s upper torso fell forward, and he just barely caught himself as his palms smacked and scraped against that tough dirt. He looked away from that abomination in the sky, yet the voices would not stop.

 

“This cannot be. . .” Cassian pleaded to himself. His eyes widened as tears formed. “Kusi, Aurelian. . .” He raised himself up, looking around frantically. “Ally, Taki-” He stumbled up to his feet. “They must be in the tribe. Or in Norland. Underground i-in safety where they cannot be found.” He stammered over his words in a hurry as he began his trek once more. 

 

Cassian looped northbound, intent on finding everyone in the fortified city of Verdegrad. It took him days to reach there on foot, yet Cassian paid no mind to the hunger forming in his stomach or the pain under his feet.

 

“SUFFER. . .”

 

He was met with what he knew he would find. The stalwart city was no more, and despite his insistence in telling himself everything was fine, the ever-dreadful words of that false sun spurred his true thoughts to light. No matter. Cassian carried through that coniferous forest and onto his next destination.

 

With each step growing closer to the next town, his worry grew more. Walls that once stretched kilometers now paint the ground grey and return to nature’s newest form of lifeless control. No longer did Petra stare off with the crimson passage to its north. Viru was unrecognizable in the wasteland it became. Idunia’s capital is now a monochrome shadow of its former glory. Lairs he once traversed were found void of life as well, including the undead kind. Everything and everyone was gone.

 

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Each mark was proof he had not yet died

 

Off the southern shores, by the marble high formations of rock sat a makeshift hut years in the making. What little strong wood was left of the weak forests was strung together to craft roofs and walls alike. Tarps of decaying grass form the topside, just barely protecting the shelter by the pelt of acidic rain.

 

Within that abode sat a figure facing the white rock wall. In his hand was a shard of stone clenched - slowly etching into that diorite face a crude line. It joined many like it; tallies covered it from head to toe, counting off whatever it was the man had been counting.

 

Ten. . . fifty. . . eighty. . . one hundred. . . one hundred twenty.

 

The stone dropped from his hand, successfully recording another year that has passed. He stood up, his silk cloth long replaced by harvested material to form a cloak. He turned about, exiting the hut and returning to the eternal gaze of the dark sun.

 

An aged man, still as pale as he began, stood facing the vast seas with a scraggly, grown out beard and sunken eyes. His hair, still full but oily and matting to his skin. He was far too thin, and the muscle was all but gone from his body, leaving behind skin on bones. 

 

Cassian persevered.

 

“DIE. . .” The endless ire never once ceased its chatter.

 

“Not yet.” Replied that keen hunter as he committed his way down to the beach.

 

From a small wooden box hanging off his hip, did Cassian retrieve a portion of sliced bark that he treated in salt water and dried under the dark skies. He carried it up to his dried, cracking lips and rested the treat between his teeth before biting down. He starved for years, suffering the neverending pain of a stomach that yearned and cried for sustenance, and yet never did he die as a result. The bark was to pass the time - to distract him from an otherwise constant ping of reminder.

 

Down by the beach, resting in the sand as the gentle waves cruised to and fro, laid a raft of sturdy logs and rope. The years and dedication it took to source wood that was not hollow and fiber that did not fall apart upon first touch was not a simple expedition. Whether this platform would hold was now ready to be tested.

 

“I know you are out there, brother. It makes sense you left this continent - I can’t stand it any longer.” Cassian laughed in passing. “I am on my way.”

 

As he pushed the raft into the water, he glanced back at the place he called home for several decades. 

 

“SUFFER. . .”

 

Cassian spared his attention momentarily to eye the false sun, the essence of pure evil that haunted him since he first woke up. He offered no conversation and boarded his contraption. He prepared four paddles in case he lost one or two, and began pushing himself away from that beach of decay.

 

A world with no animals. Lakes and seas with no creatures. Fruitless trees and acid soil that fostered no plants. Cassian would go to leave it all behind and set his sights on his new home. With the Tawantinsuyin’s. With the Basileus’. With his friends of many tribes, clans, and nations. It was time to return to them and end his suffering.

 

As he sailed away, the coastline grew smaller and smaller. The dark sun was still with him, but Cassian was certain - whether through insanity or reason - that when he got far enough away it would all disappear.

 

As certain as he was to seek freedom and rejoin his kin, the nightmare that became his life was just as determined to keep his torture extended for much longer. As winds began increasing, the waves started to shift back and forth, growing in size and intensity. The fog that followed him everywhere condensed into greater darkness, defeating his ability to anticipate the greater sea’s challenge.

 

A heavy force struck against that small raft with ease, and the moment passed in the blink of an eye. Cassian stared up at that dark sky, lit by the abyssal sun. He felt the grinding pattern of sand under him, and as he sat up, he was right where he left off. The remnants of his boat were destroyed and washed ashore along with him.

 

“DIE. . .”

 

It taunted him from above. The slicing winds that cut from the high mountains, down through the valleys and kicking up the beach’s sand were almost howls of laughter pounding into his ears. Cassian’s hands balled up on either side of him, packing wet sand into a crude ball before splitting out. His chin tilted up as he screamed. His voice roared in unbridled rage at his new life. At that false sun. At his inability to change his world.

 

 

 

 

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A man can grow accustomed to almost anything except eternity

 

The marble faces of those surrounding statues of rock have been carved over many times now. An endless number of tallies dating the years spent under the eye of the void. At some point, the tallying had stopped. How many years have passed was no longer crucial. 

 

The final tally was five hundred seventy three, with the last tally barely making it halfway on the rock.

 

“SUFFER. . .”

 

“Suffer. . .” A quieter void repeated.

 

“DIE. . .”

 

“Die. . .” Like responding to a chant, each word was spoken in turn.

 

Nothing about him was recognizable. His body thinned even less than if his bones were still solid. A fraction of him remained, and yet he sat there on the beach while water slipped underneath him before the tide was beckoned further out.

 

His hair has all but fallen out or greyed. His eyes sunken to the point they just needed to fall out on their own.

 

“SUFFER. . .”

 

“Suffer. . .”

 

His forearms wrapped around his knees, fixed like hardened twigs that could no longer bend. Portions of his skin have rotted and fallen off, exposing that skeletal frame underneath. His lungs no longer filled with air. His stomach reduced to the size of an apple before its function ceased altogether. He cannot recall the last time his body yearned for nourishment.

 

“WE RISE, AND RETURN TO ONE.”

 

“We rise. . .” Though that response came short. For the first time, that false star spoke other than the single whispers of hatred and disdain.

 

Cassian’s eyes looked up to that sun, staring at it. Would it speak further? Did those words carry any meaning? Does it matter in the end? He would question what little he could think of.

 

The intensity of that looming harbinger grew, and slowly did Cassian’s body begin to dissipate into ash. His legs fell apart. His arms dropped at the shoulders and whispered away as nothing but floating particles. The remainder of his sight focused entirely on that floating abyss.

 

“I’ll kill you. . .” Came the last words of a Hunter who has lived far past his limits. As his head and torso fell in a vertical drop, they turned to dust on impact, joining the billions of sand grains that decorated that southern beach.

 

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The tide returned what the dead world could not keep

 

When his eyes opened next, the sky was bright blue and gentle, white puffy clouds floated by. He heard the tide roll in and back out, and once more felt the familiar texture of sand underneath him.

 

Cassian sat up, staring out at the vast body of water and the island of Silverwood glaring back at him. A flash of yellow just out of his peripheral made him squint, and with further investigation did he almost blind himself to the beauty that was the true sun.

 

Pain shot through his right arm, and a glance over notified him of bandaged bled through from a wound laying underneath. In that direction did Cassian spot the wreckage of a passenger ship. The corpse of one individual laying beside it - mutilated and feasted upon.

 

Cassian wondered who it was, or where he was. He came to a stand and looked around. Without rhyme or reason, he began walking west. Something in his body urged him to go that way. To the coast of white rocks and yellow grass. To a land he recognized most.

 

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Spoiler

A recent expedition to the Silverwoods resulted in quite the surprise roleplay and an even more surprising act of character development. Thanks to @King_Kunuk, @TheWyrdWolfand all their guys who were at the little meet-up get-together party.

No metaplaying the yellow unless you were present when it occurred.
No metaplaying the blue unless you gave the hex or were told about it irply.

 

[King_Kunuk 3022]

Spoiler

Peak writing. I'll need to do a justifiable rp comment later! 10/10 worth the wait.

This is my domain.

 

The Sun shall set a final time.

 

The End shall come, but it will not be with glory.

 

It will be slow, methodical, and wretched to be apart of.

 

Come, child of Light; know the true meaning of Entropy within your heart.

 

Reveal in its HOPELESS feeling.

 

Rejoice in the OBLIVION to come.

 

-Gravelord Adalmbhrun, the Witch King

[Sr_Dimentio 584]

After the battle, the jester known as Joka took advantage of the situation, draining some of the Hunter's lifeforce to create a Rotten Veiling, the undeath would then take off his mask, floating a foot off the ground as he would put both hands on his cheeks "Oh... To be beautiful again..."  He mumbled, his face now the one of an elf, a young man with extremely pallid skin and purple, intense eyes "Well... With the show closing it's curtains... It's time to bid adieu..." He chuckled, starting to float away from the Hunter's unconscious body... But he would pause for a moment, hearing something throught the now blighted woods of that silver forest, hissing and hungry growls... The glinting red eyes of starving undeath... This would be the end of the man... To be devoured by the creatures that dwelled on the same lands the jester helped cursing... "Hmm..." He would hum, remembering, remembering how he already left someone to die... How what was a simple entertainment... A simple show... Became a genocide, the screams of the Kelpie as her head was squashed by one of his closest allies, how he could have stopped him in time... The terrible screams and cries of those close to her... The screams... The hatred... The pain... It was all his

 

"IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT..." A disgusting and distorted, yet soft and melancholic voice talked in Joka's mind as he held into his forehead, gritting his teeth "LEAVE HIM TO DIE... LIKE THAT MAN IN THE SEPULCHRE, NOW FORCED TO ''LIVE '' THROUGHT YOUR SAME TERRIBLE CURSE... LIKE THAT BLUE WOMAN... YOU REMEMBER... RIGHT? YOU DIDN'T DO ANYTHING TO STOP IT... YOU ONLY WANTED TO CONTINUE YOUR LITTLE SHOW..." The voice mocked "WHAT A PATHETIC MANCHILD YOU ARE... OH! OR LIKE YOUR MOM... OR LIKE SMILEBONE..." At their mention, Joka would scream, holding into his own head, not able to cry, not able to feel real pain, he was truly as cursed as this forest.

 

The jester would then turn towards the man he helped bring down, and another glanze to the creatures preying on him, ready to devour his skin... He sighed "Hmm... I would feel bad if you died here..." He mumbled, holding into the Hunter with his quite limited, fragile strenght, and starting to drag him away, into somewhere safe.

[Mordringfan 166]

Spoiler

10/10 narrative post

 

[Chimeraof1999 1187]

Spoiler

Absolutely beautiful and not super formatted to where I can't read it, 10/10