August Flay

[Coaster 2086]

August Flay

Nicknames: Prince, Lord Bandit

Age: Unknown, late fifties to mid sixties.

Gender: Male.

Race: Human.

Status: Alive.

Description

Height: Around six foot.

Weight: 160-170 pounds.

Body Type: Average build.

Eyes: Green

Hair: Originally brown, now grey.

Skin: Tanned.

Markings/Tattoos: N/A

Health: Growing frail due to age.

Personality: Intensely competitive and power hungry, is extremely untrustworthy. Almost only has his own interests at heart.

Further Details: Constantly wears a blood red bandanna that has become his trademark, has taken to donning full plate most times.

Life Style

Alignment*: Chaotic Evil.

Deity*: None.

Religion: Oren Reformed. (Nominally)

Alliance/Nation/Home Holy Oren Empire. (Nominally)

Job/Class: General of the Empire.

Title(s): Marquis, Marshal.

Profession(s): Tactician, strategist.

Special Skill(s): N/A

Flaw(s): Overconfident.

Magic*

N/A

Weaponry

Fighting Style: Unorthodox

Preferred Weapon: One handed sword.

Favored Weapon: Skinning knife.

Biography

Parents: Unknown.

Siblings: Tiberius Flay (Fate unknown), Gawyn Flay (Deceased)

Children: N/A

Extended Family: Atticus Flay (Nephew, baseborn)

History

Act I: Humble Beginnings

Since his childhood, August was obsessed with death and its intricacies. As an urchin abandoned on the streets of Alras at an early age, he would hunker in the dank sewers and hunt rats, while the other street children begged for alms and wandered around aimlessly. When he was fortuitous enough to capture one, he would do abhorrent things to it, adopting a very peculiar hobby of torturing it to near death, and then watching it slip away from blood loss and pain. His greatest pleasure was creating new ways with which to torment the rats, happily falling to sleep under doorways fantasizing about the next day's experiments. Why this is, is anyone's guess, although some close friends indicate a strange ideology that every being is unique and deserves to die uniquely. A strange thought process, which none know exactly the origins of.

At twelve years old, August got his first chance at human flesh. Stumbling upon a dead homeless man in an alleyway, he often retells the events that day as if it were the best in his life. "Tingling with joy, excitement coursing through my veins, barely able to contain the enthusiasm in my body" was how he would describe the euphoria of finding the cold corpse. Although the man was long deceased, August still fell upon the body with a fervor, using his little knife to carve the man up; over and over, utilizing every strange method of torture to his knowledge. August would later describe the scene as, "A beautiful canvas, splattered with blood, and littered with gore".

As he lay in the alleyway next to the mutilated corpse, exhausted and drowsy, August noticed something. Suddenly, a large, muscular hand shot out of the shadows, grabbing him by the neck, forcing out the air in his lungs. August panicked, able to feel his airways close and swept out with his little knife, scratching the man across the face. Unfortunately for August, the cut did little but infuriate the man who angrily thrust with his second hand and began strangling August in earnest. Feeling himself weaken, August lost consciousness; his face pale and body limp.

Ahad, 15th of Suns Smile, 18 years after the fall of Aegis.

Prince's Journal

"...and as I write here of my past, I can't help but think to that fateful day I was taken by that arsehole who called himself, "Sicklent". I cannot recall much, but when I woke up in the bed, weak yet alert, his face was there to greet me. Along with a wack on the head..."

"Ouch!", cried August, rubbing his sore head. "That's fur cutting me.", Sicklent gruffly said. August, recovering from the sudden strike, rose slowly, wary of any further attacks. "Whe-Where am I; Wh-Who are you!?" Sicklent stared intently at the little boy, a look of pity just barely showing before disappearing just as fast. "Yur in mah home boyo. Mah name is Sicklent, but ye will call me, master".

"...That day, was when I began my training. Of course back then, I didn't know I was training for anything; but then again, I hadn't ever been taken as a slave either. It gave me something to do though, and there were other boys as well, urchins like me that Sicklent had kidnapped. He had armored guards all over his large mansion in the woods, fiercely loyal to him. Attempting to run was pointless and outright suicide. I saw lots of boys get cut down the first few days as they vainly tried to escape, my heart raced at their blood being spilt by the great oaken spears of the stoic guards. The survivors worked during the day in Sicklents estate as servants, preparing meals, cleaning; but when night fell, our education began. How to be a gentlemen, how to write, read, and most importantly; fight. The training was brutal, and Sicklent was a merciless task driver, many boys didn't survive, but I did..."

"THWAK!", the heavy ashen staff flew down, time and time again, with each blow showing more force than the last. "YE DO NOT GIVE UP! EVER!", Sicklent screamed, his muscular arm, beating the young fourteen year old. August stood back impassively, his bloody wooden sword on the floor before him. The other boys were watching him like hawks with hatred in their eyes as their peer was beaten mercilessly. Augusts' opponent had made the mistake of yielding during a sparring match and now paid the price. "HAVE I TAUGHT YE NOTHING?", spat Sicklent, finally throwing the wooden staff on the ground. The room was completely silent, save for the whimpering of the beaten and bloody pupil. "Pitiful....just pitiful...", Sicklent turned to walk away, but shifted quickly on his heel, spinning around. "Last week, I told ye boys tha rules te' a duel; Did I not?" The dirty boys shuffled around, slowly nodding their heads in agreement. "Well den, ye know wut happens te da loser of a duel...don't ye boys..." The room fell deathly silent once again, with even the defeated boy halting his complaints and being left speechless. "August, finish the loser." Sicklent turned to leave again, but not before taking out a vicious looking dagger from his belt, and tossing it into the ground before young August. August looked at his fallen opponent, seeing the terror in his eyes. A cold, emotionless stare was what the boy saw in return. August grabbed at the dagger quickly, scanning around the room for any who might interfere; none dared move. He grinned maliciously, his first real kill on a living human being, truly a historic moment. "Please! No! August!". The objecting pleas turned into blood curdling screams as August jumped at him.

"...his eyes as well, all in a corner in a few moments. It really was odd to me how someone could live that long without most of their organs. I did it though, and I enjoyed doing it, unfortunately for me, it didn't make me any friends. But life went on, and more boys died; Sicklent having decided to uphold the rule of losers in a duel, but holding the fights quite sparsely, careful not to lose too many slaves. The suspense was unbearable, every night could be your last, and you never knew when a fight was going to be scheduled. I actually didn't mind my time at Sicklents home; I enjoyed years of security and prosperity, as I was the obvious favorite.. The others hated me with a passion, and I hated them in a likewise fashion, jealousy was their reasoning for disliking me; I would have liked to cut the lot open, if only I had the chance. Thought I must admit, I was very restless at the idea that I would be under the rule of Sicklent for the rest of my life. I missed the carefree days of my youth where no one was in charge of me but myself. I plotted many different times to kill Sicklent and make my escape, perhaps take over his operation, but none of it came into fruition, days before my latest plan, he gathered the remaining boys and made an announcement..."

"Fer years, I have been trainin' ye, beatin' ye. I know ye all hate me and would gladly slit ma throat if ah let ye out of yer cages. As of yet, none of ye 'ave known why I 'ave been teachin' ye; well today, ye know. Ye all know how te fight, ye have been trained in tactics and strategy. Ye will be my private army, and replace my current soldiers. With me ye shall be rich, no longer suspect to my punishment and chores, if ye do not, I will kill have ye killed where ye stand." The hardened lads, 18 to 20 years of age stood around him, silent. One by one, they stepped forward and bent their knee to him. Sicklent crossed his arms and smiled cruelly, happy with their submission. In moments, there were six heads bowed low, the eyes in them looking straight at the ground.

Standing two feet behind them with his eyebrow raised was August.

"...Like the nether I was going to be a man's ***** on my own account. He caught me when I was young, when I was helpless, and I held my tongue because I knew I had to or be slaughtered. That moment was the last straw however; I wanted my freedom and I was done being a follower. Sicklent was not happy in the very least, and he had me beat 'till I couldn't see, sit, or hear. The important part however, was that he didn't kill me, as I knew he wouldn't. He always treated me differently, and that's because I was the best, the most sadistic, and he loved me for it. So, I was given an offer..."

Sicklent wiped the sweat of his brow, and rested his head on his hands. "Ye prove yer worth te me, use what I've taught you and I'll let ye go". August tilted his head, trying to conceal his excitement. He thought hopefully how he could simply run away the moment Sicklent let him loose, but his hopes were dashed when he continued, "Meat and Skip will accompany ye, te make sure ye don't run off". August let an inward groan loose, 'Meat and Skip...of all the people in the world' he thought woefully to himself. "What's da job?" August inquired, attempting to stay calm. Years with Sicklent had led to August adopting his speech. "There's a shipment comin' in soon, the details are on dis here parchment," Sicklent pushed forward a little note, writing hastily scrawled on it. August read as Sicklent continued, "Ye will capture it, and bring it te me; and if ye succeed...", August looked up as Sicklent inhaled for dramatic effect, "Ye will be free". This time, August could not contain his joy, and grinned as wide as possible, but seeing the unamused expression on Sicklents face, went back to reading the details of the operation. To Augusts' disappointment, the depth in which the report went was lax. 'Doesn't say what the shipment contains...' he thought to himself. Deciding to find out later, August turned for the door, going for the knob. "Oh and August," The teen turned slightly at the sound of his name. "If you try to run, you WILL be killed." The response was the slightest of nods, and August walked out into the courtyard.

The twins, Meat and Skip were there waiting for him. 'Ugly, dumb, smelly brutes' August thought to himself. They chuckled among themselves as he approached. Obviously they knew something that he didn't. August grunted at his rude comrades as he threw his sack of equipment over his shoulder; it was unnecessary to be strained by the weight of armor when the site was so far away.

The journey took three days, and the trio found themselves camping in the forests next to the road, waiting for the shipment to come through."How many men do ye think will be guardin' da package." inquired August. Meat grunted in response, "Shaddup August, neither o' us like ye, and ye know dat. Just shut yer trap and wait fer out word". His face burning with embarrassment, August turned away from them, wondering what was in the shipment to himself. He found that he could not sleep, disturbed by the strange looks the twins were giving him.

The next morning, Augusts' ears perked up at the sound of voices along the road. The sound of bustling bushes behind him alerted him as Meat came out. "Dis is it. Come on". August followed him obediently to a spot right next to the road, he crouched down with Meat and saw Skip on the other side. The party came into view, to Augusts' surprise it was a normal family of two adults and two children. "Hang on Meat, dis isn't it" "Yes it is" came the reply. Before he could say anything else, Meat suddenly burst out of the brush, screaming and waving his sword. A similar sound told August that Skip was doing the same. Shrugging, August leaped onto the road, to see the twins cutting down the family. As August approached, Meat pulled his sword out a woman, he observed the scene where two children lay, with their parents beside them. Shrugging, he turned to Meat, who was rummaging through their bags. "Aha! I found it!" said Meat triumphantly, he stood up with a little gold encrusted box. August felt himself being shoved aside as Skip ran over to see it for himself. The twins looked into the small box with amazement, the contents shining reflectively off of their faces. "Lemme see wut it is" August said impatiently. Meat growled angrily at him, and pocketing the prize, looked at his brother with a knowing glance. They both nodded at one each other, and once again drew their swords, this time at August. "Wut da fack are ye two doin'!?" August yelled in surprise. He never got his answer. Suddenly, the twins charged at him, flailing their swords. August, his sword out already, assumed a defensive stance. The brothers crashed into August, and a vicious fight ensued.

"...I awoke the next morning, it felt like I had just had a bad dream. But as I stood up, I saw six bodies on the road. The family, sprawled along the dirt, and in front of me, were the mutilated corpses of the twins Skip and Meat. I was in unimaginable pain, I had more cuts then I could count, and I looked down to see my entire body covered in blood, their or my own, I couldn't tell. Blood loss and shock got me, and I passed out where I had awoken moments before. I was eventually saved by a passing doctor, who nursed me up well enough till I could travel. I didn't have enough money to pay him so I snuck away in the dead of night. When I returned to the road where the fight had occurred, the bodies had been long looted, the little box gone. I never would found out what was in it. I also would never discover why Sicklent had the twins try and kill me, or if he had even ordered it, because I never returned. I was a free man again, and I took full advantage of the fact"

August breathed in deep. It was his first day breathing as a true free man. As he sat on the soft grass and looked out into the distance he couldn't help feel the most wonderful emotion of gleeful joy. So many possibilities. So many paths he could go down. Which would he take?

Act II: The Hallowed Bandits

From that day August led his own life, refusing to ever be bossed around again. He soon broke this promise to himself when he joined up with a gang under the leadership of the dwarven bandit Brom. The bandits gave him the nickname Prince, amused by the irony, since Prince was known to be the most demented amongst them. When Aegis fell, the bandits regrouped in Asulon, but this time under Prince's leadership. The group named the Hallowed Bandits lived a short life of infamy, at one point being the largest bandit group in Asulon. Prince himself was subject to many attacks, as many groups and a few nations banded together to bring him down. All the while Prince continued his sick lifestyle, constantly kidnapping travelers, forcing them to fight one another to the death or torturing them himself.

Ironically, despite the efforts of nations and guilds, what brought Prince down was his own hubris. Some of his men were dissatisfied with his rule, especially the previous leader, Brom. Eventually, Brom and several other bandits planned to take the fort, and turn in Prince to the authorities.

The birds sang beautifully, the trees in chorus, their branches fighting the light breeze. Prince walked about the courtyard of the mountain fortress he called home, nodding at the various bandits he saw along the walls and conversing. He looked around, taking in the glory that was mother nature, soaking in the warm sun, his arms outstretched. He stayed in that position for a few seconds, before opening his eyes and moving on. The tavern was empty, as was its balcony. Prince took the opportunity to rush upstairs and lay upon the wooden chairs, and look out over the wall into the nearby lake. He shifted around uncomfortably; the heavy armor he bore making it especially hard to lie down. "Bugger", he thought to himself as he prepared to take off the armor. He began unstrapping the buckles to his boots, planning to remove the whole set he was wearing. As he did this, four of his men, lead by Brom, casually walked upstairs into the tavern and sat at the table next to him, offering a mumbled greeting. Scowling, Prince redid the buckles he had undone and stood up, his hand on his hilt, his eyes on his lackeys. The five men stared back at him; Prince opened his mouth to say something, but thinking better of it, proceeded downstairs silently. As he stepped out of the tavern, Prince noticed something at the corner of his eye. A burst of yellow and red color had sprung out of the ground their stems intertwining with one another and fighting for room to grow. Prince smiled as he walked over to the flowers, a slight skip in his step. Bending over, he examined each one carefully, until he noticed a shadow looming over him.

"Ello bo-" the greeting was cut off, the man suddenly regretting walking over as the sword hovered over his unprotected neck. Prince tilted his head, and recognized the man as 'Crash'. "Ye stupid facking idiot Crash, I almost killed ye...", Prince retorted. "Well er, gud te see ye too boss", came the reply. Prince sighed, sheathed his sword and gave Crash a pat on the back, motioning for him to continue walking with him. The duo climbed up on the high walls of the fortress, resting on the battlements. The forest that lay outside the wall was breathtaking, a light fog hiding the trees. The fog fought itself, like waves of a troublesome ocean, the layers of the mist covering itself. "We live in a beautiful world, Cra-", Prince stopped, the sentence would never be finished thanks to the rain of arrows that flew out of the woods in front of them. Instinctively, Prince ducked immediately when he heard the sound, one oaken arrow protruding out of his shoulder. "Crash! Get da fack down!" he yelled. Crash was slumped over the wall, and Prince angrily pulled him off, the heavy body falling with a 'thud' onto the ground. Prince cursed at the sight of four arrows penetrated into his friend. "BOYS! WE'RE UNDER ATTACK!" he screamed.

The whole camp burst into motion, two bandits running up beside him with bows, stepping on Crash's corpse occasionally as they shot blindly into the forest. A bandit threw Prince a bow and some arrows, which he took. He took deep breaths, in...out....in...out. Suddenly reinvigorated, Prince stood up, shooting rapidly at the attackers, ignoring the arrow embedded into his shoulder. "Come at me ye bloodeh cowards!" he cried viciously. Seeing one of the assailants moving from one tree to another, he stretched out over the wall, trying to get an angle from which he could shoot the man. "THWAK!" THWAK!", Prince fell up and over the wall, his heavy armor and body weight making a deep imprint into the ground below. Prince looked up slightly, seeing three arrows littering his chest. Feeling weak, he allowed his head to rest on the ground, turning slightly with the momentum. He could feel blood soaking the clothes under his armor, his mind sinking away. As he looked on blankly, his head turned to face the forest. His eyes were heavy and extremely disoriented. Behind him, he could hear the sound of someone opening the main gate from the inside. "A traitor. Of course" he thought absentmindedly to himself. He could feel himself slipping away; The birds were still singing, men were shouting, but the trees had stopped their song of branches. There was no wind and the sky was perfectly clear, not a cloud in sight. Prince smiled slightly and let forth a great sigh, his hand falling to the side of his body.

Utter blackness, then more yelling. "Am I dead?" thought Prince. "No, I'm being pulled." he assured himself. He could hear the heaving of the man who was pulling him. Prince opened his eyes, and looking up saw the familiar face of Fenrir, otherwise known as Lucas Black, his face twisted in exertion. "You are a fatass, Prince" he grunted. Prince chuckled himself, as Fenrir pulled him away from the dying battle, eventually falling unconscious again.

"...nothing lasts forever. Neither will I. Why did I live while my men died? I sit here bitter and angry. My men are dead or scattered, my home occupied by Dwarven legionaries, few allies, and even fewer friends. My glory days may be over, I may fall into obscurity. I often wonder to myself, what will I do now? I will not lie down and die. I will rise again, stronger, and with a vengeance that will have babies quivering in the womb and dead rattling in their tombs. This I swear on all I know . This I swear."

40 Years Later:

August Flay looked at his reflection in the water. His hair was thick with white and grey. His face lined with wrinkles. His eyes sagged, exhausted. "Decades of fighting, for this. So that when I lie in my grave, cold and lifeless; when my bones are naught by dust, and when even the bright sun over us is close to waning forever, my name might live on. August Flay, they will say. What a man. August Flay the Conqueror, the Cruel, the Crimson. They shall tell of my life to students of history at temples, to disobedient children by their mothers. I will be a legend. I must. It cannot all have been for nothing". August thought back to Asulon. To the momentous decisions he had made...

Act III: House Flay

When the Hallowed Bandits were destroyed, August Flay, or Prince, was a broken man. His supporters consisted of perhaps half a dozen ill equipped, hungry, and demoralized bandits. Everywhere he turned he was defeated, unable to reach the glory and riches he once had. His men grew further disillusioned with each day, until one by one they disappeared into the night. Finally he had only one man left; Tom, and realized that in order to survive, he would have to turn to outside help.

Prince shuffled nervously over to the large tent that indicated the current royal court of Renatus. He looked behind him to see Tom carrying the various gifts he had brought with him. Prince gritted his teeth, recent events had made standing alone near impossible, allies were needed, even if it meant subordinating himself.

The guards at the tent eyed him wearily, and had their swords half drawn by the time he approached. Suddenly, there was a sword to his neck; one of the guards had recognized the blood red bandanna he was known by. "It's the bandit! Kill him!" the sentry yelled, and at this word, Tom fled, leaving Prince on his own to face the angry men. Prince braced himself for the impending attack, hoping that the monks could again save him. He shut his eyes and held his breath...but the strike never came.

"Stop!" cried a booming voice. "What are we, peacekeepers? Let that man in!" it continued. Prince opened his eyes carefully, to see the men had parted to allow him entrance, behind him, Tom had returned; seeing no danger of death any longer. Recomposing himself, Prince entered the cool atmosphere of the tent, to see King Godfrey of Renatus before him, the man who he had fought on the battlefield of several occasions, but also the man who had just spared his life.

"Hail te ye, great King of Renatus" Prince said halfheartedly. Godfrey nodded, he cared little for the lackluster tone of Prince or the formalities he had to say, mostly he was curious as to what a ruthless criminal was doing in his royal court. "What are you doing here, Prince?" "I have seen the error in my ways great King, and I come to repent for my sins and serve the Renatus and her people" Prince looked up briefly, to see the disapproving look that he was receiving. "Uh, I have brought gifts for you great King, in order to receive your mercy" at this, Tom lumbered over carelessly, and handed Prince a large sack of items. Carefully, Prince pulled out one of the contents, a resplendent iron block, and presented it to the King. He sighed inwardly at the smile on Godfrey's face. "This is only the beginning, great King" Prince said as he passed the bag of iron gingerly to the monarch.

From that day, Prince was known as August Flay, his real name. Soon thereafter made a Count of Renatus by Godfrey, August created House Flay. Old followers and new flocked to the house, it's strength swelling to become the most powerful in all of Renatus within weeks of its formation. Godfrey made good use of August and his followers, renowned for their cruelty and practice of skinning their enemies alive.

Some might say that it was House Flay's contributions to the Kingdom and August's own cunning that helped create the Holy Oren Empire, a collection of nations that were assimilated into Renatus through conquest and vassalage.

Under his new leader, August grew richer than he ever thought imaginable; wielding more power than ever before. He finally had everything that he'd ever wanted. But it wasn't enough. He chafed under the rule of another man, despite the lack of restrictions that had been placed upon him. After a self imposed exile of several years of planning and meditation, August returned to his men, having left his long lost brother Tiberius in charge. During his journey he'd rediscovered himself, killing for pleasure was a fools game, raiding small villages and poor peasants even more so. He resolved to change into something more, and greater than ever before.

Act IV: The Crimson Rebellion

August Flay, a man who had not been seen in years took in the sight of his home - The Dreadfort - as his three companions crowded behind him. The fort was the same; cold, uninviting, and with a horrid stench always lingering. However, the head Flay was not the same, nor would he ever be again. August looked around one last time, at nothing in particular before ascending the bare stone steps that led into the equally lax decorated meeting hall. With a barely noticeable look of disdain, he sat at the head of the table- slouching- yet somehow maintaining a feel of rigid posture. The guards that had followed him looked amongst themselves, unsure of what to do; it was clear something had changed in their leader. It had been less than a week since August had returned from his multi year journey, one he refused to speak of. He tapped his fingers against the armrest of the seat.

"Maps. Reports"

The voice came, without any noticeable tone, although a sense of dread filled the men at the sound. The man known as "Stalwart" quickly stepped forward, moving the already present map closer to his employer. Silence filled the room once again, 'Stalwart' began to sweat. Never had he ever truly feared August, and he was not quite sure why he did so now. Stuttering occasionally, the thug explained the major actions of the bannermen of House Flay over the years during August’s disappearance. Slowly, he began to gain confidence as August nodded acknowledgment as he spoke, showing no external signs of anger. As the soldier finished, August spoke.

“I had thought that leaving my brother to the responsibility of leading House Flay would result in the further advancement of our position in this realm...seeing as how my past and reputation barred such progress. However, it is clear that we no longer stand to gain anything from our ‘King’ Godfrey. I have been gone years, and nothing has changed. I am tired of this facade. It's time I reached out, and take what is mine. I built this empire, and I shall dismantle it if I must.

August walked over to the wall of the meeting room, where a large map of Asulon and its settlements hung. He brushed his hands through his hair as he did so, watching in silence as a few strands of gray fell among the mix of brown. Without a word, he turned to the men waiting, promptly motioning for a quill and scroll. With a vigor, he wrote, sealing the letter with the Flayed man that was the sigil of the house, and handed it to the waiting soldier.

"Gather the men".

-Two hours later-

There was a great commotion on the hills behind the Dreadfort, near a hundred men were gathered; talking, swearing, fighting. Interspersed throughout were banners of the various households assembled. House Xiphias, Loken, Adelban, Aeries, and of course, Flay. The tanned, haughty men of House Xiphias found themselves cackling over tales of malice and mirth, with drink in hand, and a smoke in the other. Soldiers of Adelban and Loken remained stoic and quiet, uniform to the tee, observing the ongoing discourse with a mechanical stare. The eerie and eccentric rogues of Aeries plotted amongst themselves, while men of Flay were everywhere in between, belligerent and twisted as always. A general silence overtook the men as a figure appeared on the balcony above them. Their former leader, August Flay, with his brothers the Count Tiberius and cruel torture master Gawyn standing close behind. Ser Alistair, or “Savage”, playfully sat on his fours, with August’s cold, wiry fingers dancing in his mangled hair. A hand was raised, and the men watched in anticipation.

"By giving my brother, untainted and sinless, a man who had been convicted of no true crime, rule of Flay, I had sought to have our status elevated. But Godfrey had not elevated our houses, it was not I who restricted our ascension to power, but the twisted man himself. What purpose do we serve to be his peons, his worthless soldiers, grains of sand in his shores of power! All of us here lost friends in the tundra of Hanseti, the dunes of Seventis; while that man who would be a ruler took the glory!

Release your shackles to the crown. Your ties to the Empire hold no bounds to your own obligations. We will not wither and rot as veterans of war, wounded and abandoned, unrecognized for our fortitude and steadfast loyalty. We were not sent to war in the name of justice. We were not sent to war in the name of honor. We were sent, and went because we were -are- true men, true soldiers, who served a false and selfish King.

We mark ourselves for the blood we shed, the burden we bore, in the name of a king of false judgments. Our crimson banners and clothe will bring a new era to Asulon; one of power and might. Our rebellion, the sparks of our swords, the sounds of our swings, will play forevermore in the halls of the heavens, as angels sing our praises in life and in death. We fight, we fight to end Godfrey’s reign. Our blood will drown his falsehood. Our wrath will know no bounds.

Our crimson will glisten forevermore.”

As he finished, August tore off his dark red bandanna, twirling it in the air madly.

“This is how this rebellion starts! Follow my lead!” The bloodthirsty cheering echoed all throughout the valley the fort rested on, and the rolling hills beyond.

The screams continued, war chants of all kinds being shouted and the sand sifted as the men stomped and threw fits of excitement. Articles and scraps of garment flew all over, men fastening armbands, headbands, masks of crimson red. August watched over the scored of men that would fight for glory, fight for House Flay, and most importantly, fight for him. Had he ever felt loyalty to this King he so easily denounced? Perhaps, but he assured himself - swore to himself - it had been a blind and false love. He would never love anybody but himself. To think he had once thought of Godfrey as a father was incomprehensible to him.

For all his efforts and ambitions, the Crimson Rebellion was a disaster for August. He was instantly betrayed and exposed, leading members of his council killed. His younger brother and heir Tiberius disappeared, assumed to be killed by the Kings agents; his youngest brother Gawyn committed suicide rather than bare the shame of defeat. Because of his previous service to the throne August was spared by Godfrey. In front of the other Lords and his surviving Captains, August was made to kneel and beg forgiveness from the King he had sought to overthrow.

Although he had been permitted to live, King Godfrey had effectively destroyed August. His men no longer had confidence in him, his only family and those meant to carry on his legacy were gone, and never again would he have the influence and power he once had enjoyed in court.

The bottle smashed against the wall, its remaining contents staining the floor. August Flay was drunk, he was drunk and he didn’t care. He had had his first drink ever four days after the disaster, and had just finished his hundredth. His eyes were misty, disoriented. The Dreadfort was quieter than usual, there had been more desertions the past night. “Would that I listened...” he said to nobody. He was furious, why was he alive? Why had Godfrey not executed him? He still remembered the sadness in his King’s eyes, the hurt of betrayal. Of all the things August thought of Godfrey, a friend was never one of them; but with the recently crushed rebellion, he realized what he had lost. Still in a drunken stupor, he stumbled out of chair, and walked over to the nearby field, mostly empty except for an adjacent wood and single well.

The rain poured down onto him, relentless, dousing him in water. A great fog covered the area, waves upon waves of the mist, fighting itself. The clouds covered what sun there might have been. His clothes were drab and drenched, as colorless as the weather seemed to make the day; but for the dulling crimson bandanna across his face. A voice echoed through his mind, clear and fresh, "You're expendable. You both are. Never forget what you really are. Replaceable. Dirt. Worthless".

His fist tightened, as he stood hunched over the open well. He imagined he were crushing it all. His emotions, his regrets, his mistakes. He imagined he were crushing all of it into non existence, and that all of it would cease to exist. When he re-opened his hand, all of it came rushing back to him, blinding as a resplendent sun. He spun around at the sounds of yelling, and saw nothing but shadows. Shadows in a lightless and shrouded environment.

The darkness distorted itself until a scene could be discerned, constantly shifting. "Brother please, I-" said one shadowed figure, on its knees. "I am your LORD first, MASTER second, and KIN last," the second figure hissed. His breath quickened, his heart beating faster. He turned away, not willing to face the demons of his past. The face of the man in the reflection of the well looked up at him, dark cloud behind. The drops of rain on water twisted the face and contorted it, giving it a grotesque appearance. He watched in horror as the visage reached out, emerging from the pool of water. A creature of shadow, its face disgusting to behold. With a scream, he was pulled into the dark water.

The darkness was complete. Utter blackness. He had no face, no hands, no hair, no voice with which to yell. He could only see with the eyes he didn't have and couldn't close.

Figures of fire, one blood red, another sitting atop a throne built upon bones. Floating embers wandered around, whispering constantly and keeping audience. He tried to escape, tried to think of anything that would keep him from watching. He heard the words that accompanied what he had never seen, but had caused. "Blood for Coin. Blood for August!" screeched the crimson flame, a shuffle of motion, and it burst into ash and naught. The embers and flame upon the throne laughed, incessantly, unceasingly. With every bit of willpower he could muster he tried to scream, to cry, to claw out his eyes, when the blackness turned to grey, and he felt the rain patter upon his head and shoulders.

He opened his eyes, wiped the wetness from them. Looking up he saw that the cover of clouds was still thick as before, rain continuing to pour. Footsteps. Soft, but close. He looked up again, expecting to see a messenger, one of his soldiers, a farmer.

To his amazement, it was himself. No- this approaching man was taller, his bandanna of red fresher and brighter, his face less hard set. He stood as this man phantom from times past slowly cantered towards him, a smile evident behind his mask, arms outstretched. August chortled, speechless with joy. He took a few steps forward, almost collapsing, preparing for an embrace. The man appeared transparent as he came closer, and he walked right through him, as if he were but a gust of wind. He turned, and saw the creature he had first expected to see meet the taller man. Hard jaw line, cruel eyes, stocky build. It was himself this time, that was for certain. At this point they both appeared to be apparitions, blending in with the fog. They spoke, but no words were heard. The taller tilted its head, but no words were heard. It went to its knees, hands clasped together, but no words were heard. It grabbed for the others knees, on the ground, pleading, but no words were heard. No words had to be heard. He knew what was said. The standing figure turned away as the one kneeling was dragged away by an unseen force, both vanished. The man was alone again, wet and leaning against the well. He peered into the water exhausted, and saw three faces. Their faces were dirty, toothy grins worn instead of blood stained masks, green eyes alive with youth and innocence. He fingers trembled as he reached out to touch them, the water making rings around his finger as he touched the pool. The faces to the left and right disappeared, leaving only the one in the middle, a bandanna at his face, sadness in his eyes "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry", he chortled. He blinked, the water made a plonk, plonk, the sound of drips of water falling into the well. He looked up, he hadn't noticed the rain had stopped, the sun poking through the departing clouds. And then he could hear Them, the sun was warm, the heavy fog was lifting, and the air clean. He could hear Them. They had heard. The words had been heard. He felt the closest thing to peace he had ever felt in his entire life. He closed his eyes...

...and woke. He looked around, stone and gloomy walls greeted him. He was alone. Again. He sat there for what seemed an eternity, contemplating everything. Broken bottles were all around him, just as they were before he had apparently gone outside. The sound of the knocking at the door rattled throughout the entire chamber. "M'Lord Flay, the King sends a summons for you". He rose, seemingly no different from when he had gone to sleep. He refitted the bandanna around his neck, pinching his nose and breathing in deep before opening the door. A man he didn’t recognize stood outside to escort him. As they walked through the empty halls of the Dreadfort, he spoke to one as dismissively as he was able. "Did the King make mention of what he needed?", the guard shook his head no. Thus, they continued to Arethor.

The day was bright and crisp. A perfect day by all regards. As he approached the Imperial capital August stopped to watch a family of peasants being accosted and harassed by the local watch. He felt a tinge of shame, he had created the Empire alongside Godfrey, along with all the injustices that occurred in it. He chose to continue, followed meekly by his guardsman. August did not visit the capital often, and he was struck by the beauty of it every time, it teemed with life and prosperity.; his favorite feature. As he walked he was all too aware of the stares he was receiving, looks of spite. Among those glares were men of noble status, those who had stood by motionless as he conquered nations for the Kingdom and King. A giant does not concern himself with the notions of insects, August thought to himself. However many times he told himself this, August knew it would always bother him. The anger, the insults, the plotting. The memory of the failed rebellion was fresh in his mind, as it always would be in theirs. Yet the worst was that he knew he deserved all of it. I have done terrible things to get where I am today. My greatest victory, turned to ashes in my mou- he was stopped mid thought by the realization that a small child had approached him, hands outstretched in a cup. "Alms m'lord" the young urchin chirped.

Clearly the child did not recognize the bandanna around his face, nor who he was asking money from . August looked around, the entire square was watching him, birds of prey, waiting to strike. They were clearly watching in anticipation, the common folk and nobles alike tense, parents holding tight to their children, Lords muttering to their aides. There was barely a sound to be heard in the once bustling area of the city, all eyes were on him and the child before him. He turned his eyes to the wretch, and gasped. His hands were still outstretched, his mouth set in a tight line, his hair unruly and he was entirely covered in muck and grime. But his eyes. His eyes. They're pure green. Brilliant green, August thought to himself. He turned to his guard, almost frantic. "Come, give me my purs-" - At the sound of his Lords voice, the guard stepped forward, into view full view of the child. August heard a choking sound and a clatter, and spun around to see the child had fallen to the ground, tears welling in his green eyes, staring directly at the sigil sewn over the breast of his bannerman's tabard. The bloody man, inverted, flayed upon an X with a background of black. His banner, one flown by his armies and worn by all of his personal force. The child knows the sigil, he has seen it before, but not the man who leads them, August deduced. Realization seemed to dawn upon the fallen child, who looked up at August with absolute loath, the once pure green eyes seeming dirtied by hatred. August stared right back at him and could almost see the burning village, the bloody swords, the screaming villagers...the child that watched from the woods as he saw his parents slaughtered - A red and black flag fluttering in the distance. "Child, I neve-" The orphan wiped the tears from his eyes angrily and fled before he could finish. Red rushed to August's cheeks, and without waiting to see the reaction he turned and quickened his pace for the Imperial keep. He could hear the cretins all too well. "Did you see that?" " He's a monster, refusing that poor child like that!" "Has there ever been a man so cruel?"

"Murderer."

"Bandit."

"Kinslayer"

He stopped walking only once he had exhausted himself, almost at the portcullis of the main keep. He sat upon a nearby chest to compose himself, his guard standing watch dutifully. "Did you see that?" August asked halfheartedly. "Don't mind them none, m'lord" droned the guard. There was an awkward pause as August recovered. Nearby birds began singing, a light breeze caught the branches of the trees. "Have family?" inquired August, intent on continuing the conversation to distract him from recent events. "My life is yours m'lord". August almost scoffed at the response. "Your name? I do not recall". "The boys call me Beak, m'lord," came the response.

Beak. Not even a real name. Almost none of his men kept their old names. He remembered this one now, he hadn't been older then the child in the city when he had been taken. There's a special place in the Nether for me, August knew. He spoke aloud, to himself rather than the broken man behind him. "Someday...someday I will face the consequences for all I've done. But not this day. Not tomorrow. When my end draws near, when my legacy is carved into history with blood, when all the sacrifices I've made - that you Beak, Thrive, Rio, Divinus, Crow, Crash, Gawyn and countless others have made - when all those sacrifices mean something in the end; then I'll face the fire. Then I'll permit myself to die," August turned around to see Beak still slouching over his spear, seemingly uninterested. "Then I'll see my brothers again," he finished. By this time he was fully recovered and moved to enter the fortress of his liege lord.

Godfrey met him at the steps to the throne room. Uncommon, and completely unheard of for a noble who had so recently rebelled and failed. August felt racked by guilt as he saw the warm smile on his face - he hated it. “My good friend and trusted adviser arrives at last. Have you fared well since I saw you last?” he asked. August did not care to respond, seeing how the last time they had met August was on his knees before the entire court, the blood of his men on his hands. He’d been drunk since that day. Sighing, Godfrey motioned, and together they ascended the stairs to Godfreys private office. Once the door was closed, Godfrey began, he was blunt and straight to the point. “You are shamed by this rebellion, and you hate me for winning. You are a broken man, August Flay”, he started. When August did not react, he continued, “I spared your life for the love I bear you as a comrade, a friend, but you must bear some kind of punishment, pay some price for the betrayal”. August sighed, nodding, “This is fair in itself, your grace”, he mumbled. “By God, August, how did it come to this? I loved you as my own brother...” Godfrey lamented, looking upon him with his sad eyes once again. “A grievous treason your grace, I am a wicked man” came the response, to which August couldn’t help but frown to. “House Flay will be disbanded, your lands and titles stripped, and yourself sent on a task of paramount importance. By completing it, you will have redeemed yourself”. Godfrey couldn’t help but cringe at the cold stare he received, he would never know how much in that moment August wanted to throttle him. “Rumor has it of a land, untainted, off the coast of our home here in Asulon. I entrust you with a ship, and bid you find it to prepare for our eventual arrival”. August had heard of this new land before, but only in rumors, it had never much mattered to him. Yet he had no choice. He simply muttered arrogance, and walked out of the nation as he had once walked in; with nothing. It would be decades until he was seen again.

Act V: The Return

The sun bore down onto the beach, its rays pounding the empty coast. The sands steamed and then sizzled as sea water rolled over it. The shadows of birds ominously glided smoothly over a seemingly featureless beach; but not for one figure, limp and wet upon the shore.

He had been a Lord once, with a castle and men to man it, great power and all the riches in the world. This broken, smelly thing on the beach. This aged man that woke, coughing raggedly as he looked around. Land. Sweet land at last. He rose, his creaking bones told of his infirmity. Covered in sand, drenched in water, the survivor treaded inland.

He had kept his sanity, somehow; what was left of it to begin with anyway. He'd been a Lord once. He'd once had a castle, soldiers, power, riches. He'd once had it all, and at this thought the wretched creature had been brought to his knees, they sunk in the soft sand. The heat beat on his back - the sun was unrelenting that day - but the man did not care. He allowed himself a few moments to collect his thoughts, emotion was one thing he never cared for, this old man.

He breathed in deep, the salty smell of the ocean reinvigorating him. With a determination in his eyes that burned with a resolve to live, the man who seemed like to fall apart at the seams marched confidently into the nearby brush without a falter in his step.

He'd been a Lord once, with a castle and soldiers; power and riches. Now all he had was the torn red mask that he wore around his neck, as old and ragged as himself. That, and a name. August Flay. A man who wanted it all back.

[Zarsies 6079]

[[Impressive, my good sir. Impressive indeed...]]

[Urahra 5359]