‘…Wherefrom this Cleave? Into the way of things, and with, your Voice! Your ego. Unknown murk of me, and a harrowing onto all since. Age on age, ceaseless-unending, keeping ordained watch over the way of things do I, my vow to the Maker! And now behold: Death! Madness! Chaos...Man! Bereaved I ever remain by the waves that steal away the many beauties, by Time who leaves Man be.’
The Hundred and Fifth Year of our Sovereign.
WE BEGAN IN THE WAR. AND FOR TIME SINCE SERVED THE ONCOMING DAYS: THE PROMISED FREEDOM.
‘
‘You will wake to speech, or steel?’ Gulzar proposed the sleeping soldier, at this disturbance his eyes snapped open, muscles taught, and a hand reached for the Wight at hip. At least he woke like a soldier, Gulzar thought believing some use may yet come of him, but alas were his hopes dashed.
Cornelius eyes danced over the familiar space and faces before easing, and finally settling on his Regent, ‘Words will do just fine Regent,’ hiding his contempt at the rude awakening, he spoke in faux ennui. ‘Now, were I Common born?’ Cornelius’ eyes glanced distastefully over his Regent, ‘Perhaps Albion would find some use.’
Gulzar eyed the young Noblesse; weighing the undoing to come to bare should baser instincts prevail. He was a well-aged Soldier of repute reaching the end of his third score, Soldiers aged less were known to suffer the mind fever. But Velar Tristan would not eat the lie, of the four Noble houses he had loved Tristan the least, but even he could do nothing as Gulzar still served the Sovereign, but were that to change as soon would, all prominent friends in his life if called upon would only share his fate if at all they offered any assistance. Age had given him many pains and much to ponder, only this once he wished it gave him an unguilt. If but only…
‘A fine choice.’ Gulzar said; clear and firm, his eyes doing all to pierce the young Noblesse, his hand firmly on Albion’s hilt.
‘No blood!’ Cornelius heard Kiesza who his mind since monikered: The Feckless Whore; cheering in mirth, and from his eye's side caught her palming five gold coins and a fine Dirk off the vexed Aapeli. ‘Fuck the Devils beyond and below! Fool can’t even earn a good bleeding.’ The one eyed-soldier spat the words with a thick glob of spittle falling at the base of his feet, but as many times before Cornelius marked the transgression, choosing to suffer these filthy acts in the moment and await his reprisal. Commons can only be just under firm hands.
‘A FINE BLEEDING,’ Alder smugly corrected ‘I believe you meant This fool cannot even earn a fine bleeding. After all, one must be clear in speech whilst in Noblesse company.
‘Aye, forgot the prissy bastards don't hear Commons talk.’ Aapeli said, and others laughed at his taunt.
Cornelius considered killing the man where he stood, he had killed many for far less, but with the thought always came slow regard the scarred portion of his face where his eye was absent, his hulking frame, and not to say the least; the Wight he possessed. His Kraven to form of a mace, the spirit’s wrath to be shown in the Ardent flames it summoned.
Cornelius was of little doubt he and Ravik would be the victor in a clash, but little doubt was just enough for him to favor the side of caution. With this thought a power began flowing through his blade. Be calm Ravik, he is not long for this world.
‘A good night! For all is well for all this night,’ Kiesza cheered on; her sound drowned by the guffaw of nine strong who formed this Flare. ‘But for Commons who wager Nobility.’ She finished; a grin loosed at Aapeli, and for her false claims to nobility, Cornelius marked another for death.
‘As I hear it those Noblesse lips’ got bite for Darker Meat, eh?’, Aapeli retorted, the knowing smirk and the raging soldiers left her jawline taut, ‘Bastards, can’t be Noblesse; especially ones whelped off whores. But tell you what! Come by the Hammocks later. Sure’ the lads’ll find some good work for them Noble lips, eh, Kiesz?’
‘SOD A GOAT Y-!’
‘Silence!’ Gulzar roared over her, bringing the chamber into a stilled deafening quiet.
‘A bane to the soldier are a cool nights breeze and lit torches, warmth and comfort, the like never to lick the fields. A bane is the lie ‘It is a small thing to rest the eye!’’ For it only begets death. I find this frequent amongst young Noblesse who seek the grandiose before duty. And have staked my honor on none…But you.’ The Regents’ eyes settled on Cornelius.
‘Forgiveness Regent; I was stolen in deep reverie. Noblesse must indeed ponder the times,’ Cornelius met his gaze shrugging away the admonitions, ‘To steer the future.’
‘You wish my Regency?’ knowing this to be the whelps design. ‘You only need make your Challenge known.’ He finished, hoping the fool would take it.
‘Time, is an ally to Nobility. So too are wisdom and patience, and I prefer not to offend my allies.’
He sighed, pondering what any; much less she, valued in such a man. He appraised the man born to nobility, spoiled but lean in the ways that mattered to soldiers. A handsome man at the end of his first score, hands soft as mutton, blue-eyed and golden haired. Was this all to him? Was this all that mattered to her? Had he failed her?
To Gulzar’s disgust; his sea-green earrings to match his eyes caught the firelight at the turn of his head, which made the grizzled soldier ponder if the mark of pure bloods’ of House Tristan could be nothing else.
Above all failings, he was a powerful Maester. More so than he had right be; and in no distant time, more so than Gulzar. And yet, none of it tested in the fields, none of it paid in blood; earned by iron. All of it undeserved.
‘Yes. Yes, I have heard the House creed. Time, Wisdom, and patience be your friend, eh?’
‘An old thing in sad need of addendum; perhaps comfort and pleasure will make even finer? What say you Common?’ Cornelius finished, his smile that of a man who knew power laid in his favor. Which made the gauntlet that pushed his nose into his skull that more unforeseeable.
Argh! He coughed up the blood rushing down his throat, ‘How dare you! Common cur.’ Cornelius half drew Ravik from his sheath before another gauntlet fist sent him barreling to the pristine floors; pushing his nose even deeper.
‘Draw your weapon boy, I have grown weary of this farce. In your father’s stead I will teach you fear.’ Gulzar unsheathed Albion, a mighty-golden sword radiating raging karmic-power and fiery death, the errant flecks of golden fire Albion spat leaving smoldering molten puddles and the acrid smell of sulfur.
‘Steady Regent, your strong arm unlike Albions’ edge is time worn. Best not to stain.’ Alder snickered between both men, his spear in loose grip. ‘Thank Orphes for the weak-brave, the strong-foolhardy. And our curious Cornelius who hath found our Regent’s rage.’
‘Enough Viceroy, step aside.’ Gulzar’s eye train Alder, and the Viceroy to his credit, coolly returned the gesture.
‘Is it really? I may say the same to you Regent.’ His thin-lipped smile never breaking, though transparently he seemed less than eager to go beyond.
Minding the words of his Viceroy he breathed deeply and sealed Albion in his sheath, ‘We have been given charge over the Sovereign this night, and you neglect duty? Luminary who walk these halls look to the Paladins. Tell me, what is it they see this night? Valor? Strength? No! This night they see a rabble and a fool, one without worth not bought by his station, yet wears our steel,’ Gulzar eyed the white hilt of Cornelius sheathed blade, his hunger to strip him of it only too apparent.
Had the young Noblesse known ignominy, his head would bend low enough to quell his rancorous billows from within. But alas he did not, he jumped from his crouch drawing hungrily on Ravik’s power to end the bout before it began, yet again, just before Cornelius blade was unsheathed the butt of Alder spear struck him at the wrist hard enough to shatter bone were it not for his gauntlet but the strength escaped his fingers.
‘The many Masters you have survived, the bloody-spars crawled to this night, to earn your way. Do not test us boy, War will prove the greater Master. Alder said, his usual smile no more.
Damnable Commons. His mind smoldered, he would make them pay. they who watched, they who laughed. there were no innocents here.
‘Duty demands I strip Ravik from your undeserving hands.’ Cornelius gripped his sword’ hilt; Ravik’s Karma doing well at healing his damaged nose and wrist. The blade was still young to him, its power far from finely honed, but stronger than most. Albion will not have an easy fight was the blade unsheathed, ‘But a daughter’s love blinds this fool to…’ Gulzar held his tongue mid-speech, the silence quickly replaced by a knowing stench.
‘There is gore in the breeze,’ Alder gave voice to the reek all knew well. ‘Death fouls the air.’ All laughter and transgressions now put past.
‘Rise Paladins. Duty calls to us.’ Gulzar’s fiery eyes questioning; Who would dare?
***
‘I am Harbinger, the Sovereign’s grim hand
Born to the broken world, and forged in ruin’s demand
A herald of sorrow, a dealer of despair
Forever sworn to mete ire
Ardently I lay waste with not question, malice, nor grief
For mine life is this toil, this blade, this march brief
For they who stray the beaten path, your end waits the righteous son
To blaze over heathens, his fury as Sun
Bloody-ash we shall bring from flesh, and desolation to fields
So will it be, hereunto the darkness yields
Hereunto the darkness cowers, and we enact this grim creed
For in ruin’s shadow, the righteous lead.’
Aaryan’s oath meeting its end, so too his daggers hilt; the dark blade rooted firmly in the skull of the last Imperial Knight: Luminary, they called themselves, for what was left to his life, he would not forget.
The Oath to the Sovering; words once did he loyally live-by. More so even, killed-by. Slaughtering men, women, and households; orphaning children, in its name. Giving everything, all he was without complaint. But what becomes of man when faith is stripped away, and loyalty is paid in treachery?
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Horrors cling his mind as he draws the devil iron from the Knight’s skull, the squelching sound and gaping steady rivulet of crimson black against pristine white, the wetness to his gloves, it all irked, yet he adroitly guided the Knight’s fall to the ground, laying him gently down. He deserved respect.
Kneeling beside the fallen knight, he unburden the Knight his skewered helm; to see the face beneath, a young man not even at the second score of life, unblinking eyes staring back at him affright, and Aaryan put them to close, whilst relieving him of the pendant over his head: Costly it seemed, but he had no use for coin, not now. It was the theft he desired, with nothing but death to the rear and fore, life became quiet, the many distractions taken away, and left were the stuff that truly made the person: love, fear, greed, joy… theft. And thievery always possessed a calming sway over him.
‘Well done soldier. I will not ask your forgiveness, but rest well knowing I am not too far behind.’ He whispered, willing to the shadows his intentions, a slight pulse in his Soul confirmed their attention; and aversely accepting his will, not a heartbeat after did the silent-barrier begins unravelling and the darkness gathered slithered away. The torches bring light into the vestibule once more; revealing the true extent of Aaryan’s horrors. A dozen Knights lay dead, more still lay behind, the sweet stench of burning flesh waft the air as he trailed its source. Valdemar sat in the crimson puddle; his torso burnt open to see charred lungs. Dismemberment lay about him in this red sea, indiscernibility to friend or foes, the only certainty: My brothers will wear no gravestones, no Epitaphs.
What are the few more faces to hound my mind? Always watching; always waiting on the fringe of sight, always crying vengeful castigations. No! all this death will have meaning; all this death ends with me. He decides, swooshing deftly his feet to find purchase in the murk, and pushing through double doors of the next chamber. Leaving Valdemar’s corpse behind felt no easier the betrayal as he had done many sisters and brothers, many times before, his mind taking him an age back again, into the nightmarish clash of steal and dying shrieks, the sweet stench of burning flesh, and roar of beasts. Seeking the thoughts and memories that lead to this point, to ponder on redemption: Such an onerous notion is it not? One prowled the many nights as this, a constant battle in mind, hoping on an answer feared; can one ever be deserving? His thoughts lead him to pray but recalls the absence of gods; not anymore, not for a time, only death. Indeed, those who once reigned; the false gods who peered down from on high places now buried, their damp shroud of misery still hangs heavy on the world; yet after a final death it will be no more. And yet again, in gods absence, the road to redemption is but barren errant, and all is left to us are the two evils: The greater commission, and the lesser omission.
To deprive a thing of life never came lightly, a mark the killing left; a mark to blacken the soul, to steal the color from life, and to call you ever more to the killing edge. But harder still was the deed when a life was weighed against the many, or the many against the one. This query bordered on the life hung on the block; that of Man or gods? There is life, and then there is life. A simple distinction hath a killer made of him. But no matter, on this day, he will claim both. Who had he become? A man so irredeemable, one exalted by an evil god, or a good man who often did bad things? A consequentialist will-o’-the-wisp it is; but also, a truth undeniable.
As crows cannot deny this call to carrion, so too, I cannot this lonesome path: One to the greatest evils; to vengeance for the many undeserving put to rest, for grievers wailing through the night, and of all, for a life stolen from me. One to set low the god truly deserving, the architect of this mad world.
And then the Dive takes him. Aaryan’s mind takes quick to the gust’s whistle, cold and dry against his dark beak, chaffing the niche of hollow eyes, heard dead leaves rustle and fall almost somberly to earth, with the frosts and the Crowe soon upon, many deaths will follow. It is the season, a nevermore baleful season. The moon’s pale blue belighted as he soared through the night skies of Alderon, shadowed wingspans drinking-up the distance, tearing their way to Citadel, he feels despair creeping, anguish, rage. And then the feelings die with the dive, his view shifting back to that of colored streaks piercing through stained windows, meeting lights of flickering torches. Caught in this clash; in this dance of lights, the shadows played their mischief in the mighty hall spread with finest arts, sculptures, and murals, painted into the confines of the sunshade, chronicling bloody won battles and steely conquest over chaos.
Tap...Tap…Tap. Echoes footsteps against pristine floors, footsteps trailing laves obscured by playful shadows or altered by variant illuminations. Once this may have been a place of reverie, but it is no so this night. This night the dance of lights, the playful dark; and a promised ill-intent clung the damp of death. Through devilry or illusion; facial contours in the sculptures twisted and warped, taking on subtle changes as the many eyes of the sunshade caught the light.
Do they know?
The query spawns in his mind as he eyed the malign life, and ghastly mystique granted the arts.
Blade to blood. Blood to bane. Bane to blade. The baleful trifecta.
Only a single entrance allows access into this space, and one alone into the next, escape was in doubt had he wished it, but escape to what? Therein lay the question, with thoughts of retreat seemingly a path barred; what must be done settled into clarity, but time and again the thoughts: Why need it be done? Proved very less transparent, and this truth further grimed the ambience.
His mind pulled by the dive once again to awed voices, screams of terror strewn the ground below. A looming shade coming over and fleeting by swiftly as the night’s breeze, his brook for obscurity long exhausted. Let them see! let them fear! The Paladins tread too far, this night. Retribution! His malice burnt black now, and the shadows gave slight tremble in angst.
Why do I cast him away? Aaryan pondered an answer to a question well beaten over the age: A man between fires serves better to burn alone, than lead oncoming days into pyre.
At his behest the shadow Spires under the moon's pallid glow, writhed and uncoiled from rigidity, gathering themselves into a great thicket, he could now see the battle's cost through Aaryan’s eyes, as Aaryan saw through his. Many had fallen. But Luminary paid the steep price seven-fold. Dipping into this inkwell, the gathered darkness dispersed, a working banishing the darkness to posts.
‘You are guardian to the oncoming days. The House of Belius endures through you, may you find a master befitting its throne, honor your duty my friend.’ Aaryan urged, his will thrumming as compulsion through the shared bond, albeit bitterly vying dominion over the darkness. His authority willing them to gather once more, yet they swirl into nebulous turmoil. His workings dulled by a clash of will.
‘This is enough!’ Aaryan’s will poured as a torrent, strengthening the compulsion. ‘You Obey!’
‘I obey.’
‘Then it is finished. I will spare you this memory: ‘Beneath Agalia's watchful eye, this I swear: Crowe! Your obligation is paid, our covenant is finished.’ You are free my friend.’ At the intent, the bindings that tethered Aaryan and the Crowe loosened. He felt his great rage in the betrayal, his sorrow…his love. As the Crowe no doubt felt his fear, misery, and longing.
‘A nevermore fortuitous season indeed, as such after deaths, come rebirth.’
***
The vestibule was of brilliant design, exultantly flushed with arts and color in the light of day, yet a dourly solemn thing come night; inspired by Nobles who were of belief; Man, only truly ever revealed themselves in the dark and far from the prying eye. They envisioned the hall be humbling to all who sought the ear of the Sovereign, and reminder to those who dared forget their imperfections. Cornelius was far from fond of this abasement, or any other for the matter. He is Noblesse after all, and humility was the stock of Commons. But the cold stiffness settling heavy onto his shoulders, the sudden gripping uncertainty sparring never prepared him danced his heart. Turning to his Flare, Cornelius believed he’d find himself mirrored in them, though shameful it was to search for strength in the eyes of Commons, worse still, was to learn he stood alone. Where he marched fixated on every breath, every motion and muscle contortion, theirs were hard eyed, straight backs, and steady hands; effortlessly so, they were far from the rabble he’d known up to this moment.
At the end of their march, a shadow strode silently solitary through the gallery’s center, garbed largely in a black motif: leather gloves, gaskins, buskins, and sable-mantle. The mantle aberrantly hiding any further insights’ into its build, like a sorcery to gloss over the sights. However, a geste-austere; the simple minimalisms told a tale, one of something strayed far from peaceful things. It bleeds into the way weight effortlessly swayed evenly between feet; a mastery far put even from Highest Nobility.
Who…What is this?
It’s breath came ragged but soon stilled to a heavy daunting silence licking at Cornelius’ nape, raising hackles.
Flecks of slick greying hair mate its face, hiding a seemingly tired, and heavy gaze, the presence, coppery stench, and dark trail in its wake handsomely justifies Cornelius’ need for caution. If nothing, the Old-hands forged in him good sense for danger.
‘Give me way.’
The intruder said in an almost tired plea, an augury calm trickling into the pregnant silence. And Cornelius caught himself swaying aside, his heart sinking, hoping none of the Commons took notice. And just then, Gulzar stepped forward breaking the cast spell and shaming him further. Drawing Albion, a mighty-golden sword radiating heat and karmic-power.
‘Sleepless!’ Gulzar called out, and the intruder’s washed-olive eyes flared slightly. Sleepless? The Reshkyma spoke little and far between of them, but in the telling they were remnants of a bygone era; a time before the sculptures and murals, Before Sovereign reigned supreme, and to the few surviving the Paladins’ War; there were no finer death-dealers. ‘Few else are fool enough to bare teeth in the hallows. We know well of your kind, and your Sun is since set.’
The Specter laughed a joyless chortle, deep and clear, and Cornelius felt the fear about him now creep within.
‘She may lord over life; yet any brave enough to wield the blade becomes death. I shall gift truly malignant end to your god, and as those who came before, I give a choice.’ It said with a solemnity of speech, ‘Return to life’s struggles, or be shadowed by Death’s embrace.’
At the words, all weapons of flew their sheaths, and primed the intruder, all but Cornelius. His hand trembled at the hilt if his blade, he had trained for this, the Old-hands had ensured he was. But…If truly it is capable of doing the Sovereign real harm, then this fight is not ours. And if it was unable, then its end will be swift and without cost.
Bahij and Baal caught Cornelius eye, in the past they were vagrants of much renown, much so a Paladin intervention was ordered. At their deaths they swore to Orphes and took her Oath, bound to the Sovereign the rest of their days. And yet, the meaning in those eyes carried, one giving a knowing look to lower steel, but as always, they needed a coward to broach the thought, a rack upon which to hang their shame and Cornelius proved measured for the task.
Cornelius’ thoughts muddled , this was the stock of Noblesse-the Pride, and he will not be Common even in death. And with every lingering doubt dead, Ravik freed its sheath; a bastard sword that shone a deep blue.
‘We are the Dawnbringers, Paladins to our Sovereign and first of her cohorts. And on honor of the four noble Houses we will know your name and master before this night is done.’
‘Four Houses you say, much has changed indeed. I am a shadow; a dark secret. Of all, truth coming to light.’
Its cryptic and gravid calm only served to anger rather than unnerve the Regent. Perhaps he was truly a man without fear, perhaps he was a devout beyond understanding, perhaps his senses were dulled by the countless fields and countless blows, but surely others only saw a fool.
‘Dawnbringers!’ At his call, brandished weapons flashed with lights; Varying-vibrant-vestige of Karma, waft and seeped through the gleaming blades. The air became dauntingly heavy and carried flecks of loose Karma, and yet the black-clad Specter stood dauntless, ‘Take him.’
****
Striding tremulously, bloodied and bent to meet his quarry now across a well-lit aisle; and adorned in finest golden robes. Aaryan saw her regal beauty languidly sat upon a throne of gold and precious stones, and felt the lacking in his ability.
‘Huh…Huh! I have seen the truth beneath your telling tales,’ He offered the proclaimed god through harsh breaths, ‘…And for too long been but a witness. Tonight, I witness no more…tonight, this tale comes to end.’
‘And so, the shadow in fine hunts the light; a sad thing it is, truly. Many who needn’t are fallen to min... One yet lives’?’ A waft of surprise, gone as it came, took her features with some relief and even the trifling of a smile to her slothful velvet. ‘Time, truly a thief to all things.’
‘Aaryan Belius, this is truly you, is it not?’
Aaryan brought down his mantle to reveal the silver taken to hair, wrinkles to face, jawline, and wash to green eyes, proof of time’s creep.
‘The decades may have creeped, since you fled, but never did I forget the smell of you, the tremble of karma when you were near.’
‘I have returned for you my love,’ Taking in the size of her, the state of what she carried in her. It had been two score last he saw her, and yet the child was still unborn, far from man the child may be, but little more than a devil left to her care. He brandished his dagger, making his peace. Forgive me young one.
‘What is this?’ Anger worming way into her eyes, steadily becoming the inferno that laid many to rest ‘You will not harm this child.’
‘Had I the chance I would cut the child out, but I have made peace.’
‘I only have love for you, why do you hate me so?’ Her anger rising and the Karma in the expanse trembling, ‘Know you have stolen no less than I, killed no fewer. You would call me a liar, yet it is your truth that will burn this world: As it did your brothers.’
‘All needed has been said,’ Sealing off the remnant feelings past. Her supple lips called to him once again, and bile rose for the second in him for both, wanting; for needing her, yet refusing her still. ‘We will not meet the coming dawn.’
‘I have lived long and loved none as you. For this I plead you kneel. A way I gave no other. Keep your oath to me, and all is forgotten,’ Rising from her throne; adornments flowing grandiosely into place, the sloth now a far thing from her lips and a hand across her bulging-belly, a light takes in her eyes, white and hot, growing intensely brighter as stars piercing through the dark of night. ‘Refuse me, and our hearts will bleed your loss a final turn.’
‘A grand offer, Imante. And yet the faces grant no such reprieve. They also call to you, yes? Come then my love, let me give us rest.’ Amidst all a single thought; a question, was born in his mind.
They burned so very bright?