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Discontinued Remembrance

 
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8/26/2008 9:23:40   
  Master Samak
Productive!
Steward Leprechaun
L&L


Link to Comments Thread: Here!!!
Discontinued Remembrance


It was a gift the Gods gave,
Reparations for mistakes past,
Made to correct those depraved:
A people not meant to last.

Hidden for the just to find,
Those worthy of being redeemed.
As choices would then rewind,
So too could thoughts be undreamed.

But Fate has its way
Of leading plans astray,
Provoking fears at bay
Which no one's able to smother.

A pair of well-worn eyes to see,
Helping to find the key
That would set the Fallen free,
One lonely path to another.


< Message edited by Master Samak -- 8/20/2018 18:40:26 >
AQ DF  Post #: 1
8/26/2008 9:24:58   
  Master Samak
Productive!
Steward Leprechaun
L&L


Prologue: Admonition


“Not another one….”

Whirr…Click…Whirr…

An ancient door emitted low mechanical hums as its internal gears set in motion. Out of the gloaming imposed this towering slab, elaborate lines etched across its surface of stone. From within these lines came to life an azure glow, and they pulsed and quivered along to the dark rock humming, ever slightly, ever moving, an uncertain trickle in an enclosed stream.

Out of the dark, hindered by this fashioned light-work, the man standing before it had no time to waste. His appreciation for this marvel abandoned him. Impatience instead smoldered and a fear crept, and these gnawed at him. His feet shifted, his arms crossed and uncrossed in growing concern. All seemed harsher and louder by the quiet humming door. His forehead beaded blue with sweat in the dancing glow.

“Come on… Come on!” The man seethed and glanced back over his shoulder, making sure he was alone. His cloak clasped about him whipped to the movement and he felt as though it were clawing at his throat. He slammed a fist against the stone.

Almost deafeningly, reversing of deed, the noises of the door vanished as a way unsealed, one long crack of light splitting up the center. The man sprang forward, clawing, breath hissing through clenched teeth.

The halves of the door made to slide apart, toward the walls with nary a sound, but the man would not wait and squeezed into the ever-growing gap. In the narrow space his legs became trapped by the blade at his hip and and he gasped and wrenched. He gracelessly stumbled through onto his hands and knees.

Quick and sharp, his eyes peered across a bridge swart in shadow. To the man's sides stood thick and giant pillars of stone, the only guards against a treacherous fall. These stalwarts shone no inner light of their own yet looked of similar substance to the door, if but in polished reworked form. They were unmarked save for hanging torch-lights and stretched the gap to reveal a door on the far side. From the distance it appeared to soak up the other side of the bounded bridge. The shadows made it hard to judge. Looking up, immediately crouching low, the man strained his sight in vain to make out the ceiling to the pillars, which simply disappeared on into an engulfing darkness. He felt no breeze nor smelled stale air, but to him the space seemed opened for all to spy him, and yet, as well, contained away with overflowing night which was darker than night. For the night had stars.

With an effort in spite of his dread the man wrenched his gaze from the looming void, but as he went he kept his head low as though some thing might drop upon him. The surface of the walkway on flickered with the torches, ahead the makings of a circle was set in the floor, most catching of the dim light—but the bridge was empty and that was all that mattered.

He sped further into the room and continued to inspect, almost hunt out, one view to another, his eyes darting about faster than his pace. The span of the bridge was much longer than the man had perceived, but even as he swept warily on he could see the circle on the floor getting bigger. A vivid jade, in the exact center, it glinted without heed to the dark room. Still his guard did not lower. His shoulders tensed but he did not stop. A blur of a column rushed him by, followed close by sheer darkness before giving way to yet another column, and then another. However, the harder he hunted for any hiding foe, the rushing blur of these pillars and torches and shadows became ever and more clear. In fact, it wasn’t until the man jumped at the vision bordering his sight did he realize he had not been moving for some time: the faraway door no longer faced him, rather a pillar of stone did.

The man could see himself closely reflected in the polished column. Heartbeats of time passed. Carefully he took a step back, then tested another. The echoing steps reached his ears but seemed now louder than he wanted. Alert once more, disturbed to see himself as he was in the rock's mirror, he crept from the imperial giant. His eyes slid toward the door until they stopped suddenly mid-distance. His stride halted. He could not move.

Panic coursed like fire through the man now, his thought and his form paralyzed. The one sense he felt present was his sight, and only that. He stared at what his eyes wanted him to see, fixed as they were, drawn to what lay truly beyond the columns. The man gazed upon something that churned a terror and a desire all at once, deep down inside.

Nothing….

It were as though drapes of pure shadow had been thrown from the openings looking out, and now around the bridge churned and roiled a living nothing, an absence with will. The torchlight diminished and would not leave the columns. Blackness fell all about the man.

The man gaped as the whirling blackness took on dithering forms of people. Hardly standing out against the darkness, the ghost-like bodies teased him for brief moments—looking to reach out and touch him—before getting sucked back into the shadowy wall. They were images the man could almost respond to, were he given a few seconds longer to watch. But the figures changed. They twisted in front of each other, they overlapped and merged, they made it hopeless to find any sense from their actions. The man felt frustrated… and it captivated him.

Waves of allure washed over the man. His body shivered as he felt thousands of small impulses call to him, calling from the void. He wanted to answer them; he wished he could get the feelings out of him, though he didn’t know how.

No… the man did know how… he just didn’t want them to stop. His body shivered again as a sudden thought wormed its way into his mind and blocked out all else.

Come…” breathed the man and the thought, in perfect unison.

He took a step forward. Immediately the swirling churned faster, anticipating the man’s arrival. Another step and his hand reached out to probe the dark matter, drawing nearer to the side of the bridge. His boots dragged across the floor like he hadn’t the strength to lift them higher. His breathing became labored though he had moved but a short distance. Unblinking eyes remained fixed on the shadows, compelled to examine them closer. He shuffled his feet more towards the edge, his sword forgotten, his mind lost.

A flash of pain swept through the man as his shoulder scraped against the side of one of the columns. Without emotion his eyes remained on the darkness. It now strained toward him, shrieking at the hand’s breadth that separated man from shadow. His face flinched away, an unconscious reaction to the fury pulsing through the air. The man didn’t want the wall to be angry. He only wanted to touch it, to feel it. Then he would be content. Then they would be content.

Yes….

With his hand outstretched, the man lifted his foot to make the last step to his goal, to his ambition, to his heart’s desire—


THUD


The man blinked. He swayed forward as his eyes aimlessly drifted in its attempts to recuperate. Once his sight began to register again with his mind he found himself looking at the floor. His feet were close to the edge of the bridge. Too close. He made to step back when a whisper caught his ear, a deathly breeze drifting in front of him, stopping him at once. Slower than before, the man slid his foot back from the bridge's edge, wincing at the noise it made. Only the breath of a whisper came to disturb him.

Shaking his head, the man straightened and looked boldly ahead, inwardly salvaging what was left of his pride. He instantly regretted doing so.

Opposite the man swirled a large, shadowy face—one of sorrow, of furor, of hate. The two locked eyes for brief seconds before the spectral outline opened its mouth and fragmented the air with a shrieking roar. Wails resounded throughout the bridge and the man could only stare back as the face contorted and twisted amid its screams. With the terrible sound still ringing all around, the face suddenly launched from the shadows, pulling the darkness with him. The man's eyes widened and he stumbled over himself in his attempts to get away. Twisting around faster than his feet would allow, the man slipped on the cape dragging behind him and tumbled to the floor. He scrambled to his feet as quickly as he could, gasping for breath, trying to look every which way.

Only thick swirling darkness lingered around the bridge, nothing more.

The man shut his eyes and for a long time just stood there, struggling to calm himself, fighting the urge to break down. His eyes snapped open again at a new thought as he whirled around, fumbling for his weapon and searching for what had made the loud noise in the first place.

He searched from column to column before looking at the door he'd came through. It, by design, had closed itself. Backing up, checking for anything abnormal, and eyeing the darkness beyond the pillars one last time, the man then turned on his heel and strode out for the other door, his attention back to its original intent.

Walking fast, the man soon crossed almost half the bridge’s length. As he came closer to the emerald ring the hairs on the back of his neck began to creep up. He slowed down and placed a hand on his sword. Several more steps would take him past the circle so he uneasily sped up again. Affirming his fears, the ring in front of him began to glow, slowly intensifying its radiance at each growing moment. The man stepped back as the space within started pulsating, visible swells of air rising from the floor like it would on a hot day.

Lines of color flickered around the enclosed area, gathering in the center. With a low hiss, the light dimmed and a woman swam into view from the circle. The man swiftly drew his sword and charged at his foe. Reacting, the woman threw up her hands in protest.

“Stay your hand, human, for I cannot harm you!” she commanded. The man skidded to a halt, an arm’s length away from her, his sword still raised between them. “And equally,” she added, “you would find that you cannot do the same.” To confirm her statement, the woman’s image wavered before the man, creating a fuzzy outline before returning to its real-life clarity.

The man hesitated a moment, his eyes narrowing. She had no weapons to be seen, and the simple cloak she wore made her appear nonthreatening. His sword lowered. He did not return the blade to its sheath, however, but kept it loosely in his hand. Squinting at the woman, he noticed that she seemed to both stare back and stare past the man. “Forgive me, but what are you?”

A smile favored the woman. “I am nothing but the image of everything,” she replied. Her words resonated within itself, a gentle echoing with each one. The softness of her voice was matched by her pronunciation, for she spoke systematically, saying each word clearly, effectively, and without emotion.

The man’s brow furrowed. "…What? Is that supposed to mean something?"

She blinked and looked away from him, staring instead at something that was not there. “I am a visual exposure totality assigned for the benefit of those wishing to know more of this location,” she stated, returning her gaze to the man.

He frowned. “That still didn't hel— never mind. Why have you stopped me?”

Her head tilted slightly. “I am instructed to guard this bridge and to bestow a message to all who seek the room that follows.” It was now the man’s turn to tilt his head.

“A message for me? What is it?” The woman blinked again, though this time continuing to stare at the man.

“I come to express a warning. What you seek may not be what you have sought after. Many have come before you and many have failed to survive what is contained within the room. It is something that may bring you perpetual fulfillment or perpetual despair. Those who died from it were the luckier ones to those who endured and lived afflicted. One way or another, if you so choose to enter the confinements of the room you will never be the same. Search your heart, human; is the risk truly worth the gain?”

Silence passed between the two until the woman blinked once more and said, “You have received the message.”

A troubled look hovered around the man as he ran the message through his head again and again. The woman stood on, watching him with unblinking eyes. After what seemed hours of awkward stillness, he lifted his head and said, “My path has already been set. I can’t go back from this. I have… I have decided.” The woman said nothing, and the man realized that he had said it more for himself than anyone else.

With that, the man set out once more, sword in hand. Walking around the circle, he averted his eyes and made for the door. He could start to make out writing etched into the stone, much like the previous one. He pressed forward, anxious to get out of the room, almost touching the glowing words when—

“I know who you are, Jarvis Voltel, and I know of your intentions!” spoke the woman, her voice tinged with authority. The man froze. “And believe me when I say that they will not work out as you would hope. I know not how you came to this place, but it was not through conventional means. Do not go through that door.”

With remarkable speed, Jarvis spun around and flung his sword at the woman. The whirling steel bridged the distance to her in a matter of seconds and passed right through. Her image wavered while the sword glanced off a column and clattered to the floor. He seethed in anger, watching the woman rematerialize within the circle, furious at himself for forgetting.

“You must not go through that door.”

“Shut up!” Jarvis Volte snapped. “I know what I must do! Nothing can change that!”

“Do not do this. Your purpose is impure. You will not find succe—”

“I SAID SHUT UP!” He furiously gestured in the air. Blue, crackling energy enveloped his hand and he hurled it at the woman’s feet. With a deafening blast the energy smote upon the jade circle. Smoke and sparks burst forth, blocking out the woman. She began to flicker away, the image unable to sustain itself. Jarvis didn’t wait to see her disappear. He turned to the door and waved a hand over it. Small, mechanical noises started up as the door prepared to open.

“No!” the woman cried out. “You mus… not go int… th… oom!” The sound of electricity began to build, the ring rapidly blinking on and off, drowning out any other noise. To herself, she whispered, “You have no idea what you’ll cause—”

In a blinding flash the ring detonated, releasing enormous amounts of sound and force into the bridge. The ground trembled under the man’s feet as the door stopped humming. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure he was the only one there. His cape swished to the movement as he observed the charred, smoldering center of the bridge.

The door unsealing, his amused expression grew and he quietly laughed. While the two pieces of the door slid apart, Jarvis Volte waited patiently for space enough to pass through. He continued to laugh as he walked into the next room. The door closed behind him.

A wall of darkness swirled around the bridge. A vividly green circle stood out on the walkway. A scream shattered the silence, echoing throughout the bridge before dying out and allowing silence to reign once more, as it had been for a very long time.

< Message edited by Master Samak -- 10/12/2019 8:05:50 >
AQ DF  Post #: 2
11/28/2009 17:44:20   
  Master Samak
Productive!
Steward Leprechaun
L&L


Chapter One: Disturbance


A breeze pushed between Gaerin and the other man. On the crest of a grassy hill were they tensed. Neither broke their gaze. Onlookers stood around this pair, daring so much sound as needed only to back themselves away.

“Hoyt, answer me.” His voice frayed with a guarded edge.

Gerin towered tall and in a stance of demand. His eyes pierced at his comrade-in-arms. Clean-shaven, close-cropped, yet hard was his face. The strength of his attire impressed here: Gerin's uniform fit like it should, not like the display-men high-marching in the town, more deadly and assuring. It is a bad sign when the shine of their jacket does not match the shine of their eyes. the emblem of a full-fledged tree enclosed by a circlet of silver. He had an ungloved hand resting lightly on the pommel of his sword, but the rest of him tensed to hear an answer.

The other man smirked and kicked the glove at his feet back towards its owner.

Hiont noticeably bore the more muscular physique, though both men were distinguishably strapping. He stood at a medium height, demonstrating larger mass than stature, for his entire body swelled with strength. Crossed before his chest, his arms flexed against each other in the attempt of expanding to their natural bulk. He too wore the uniform of a combatant, his insignia varied instead by a silver broadsword guarding the tree. A walking hulk of a man, he seemed more inclined to exhibit rather than utilize his physicality, which he did to great effect.

Shifting his weight, Hiont scoffed with the half-smile still on his lips. “You’re daft, Gaerin. No one lower in level tells me what to do.”

“I am not below you!” Gaerin’s swordhand clenched around its hilt. “You leave her alone, or so help me—”

“What?” Hiont’s eyes narrowed and his face lost all pleasant expression as his hand moved to his own blade. “What’ll you do, Gaerin? What do you possibly think you could do to change how I act around your sister? She’s the same age as you are; she can do whatever she wants to. And if I just happen to be nearby when she realizes how… grown-up we both are… well, who are you to stop us?”

Within the crowd could be heard repressed gasps and murmuring. Gaerin let out in stages the breath he had held as Hiont spoke, but that was all which could be seen as calm. His hands grew pale as they struggled to clench further into shaking fists. Enraged blazes flared through his mind, forcing every muscle in his body to become rigid. His mouth clamped shut to suppress what burned inside of him; his face twitched with the effort. Other thoughts he may have had fell away into a single-minded revulsion.

Confound him! Guided by nothing but cravings and self-esteem, thriving on ambitions to outperform all else, to wield any feeling of dominance and power, no mater how unreal— Curses upon him! This must not end poorly.

With effort, an additional breath obliged for Gaerin to focus and settle his thoughts. His neck and shoulders relaxed and he allowed himself to work loose the vehemence inside of him. “Fine. Do I have your word, then, as a combater, that you will leave my sister to her own determination and not trouble her with your presence if it is undesired?”

Perplexity flashed for the briefest moment across Hiont’s face before he smiled. His mouth opened and then closed before anything could be said. For several moments he inspected Gaerin and the crowd. “Is that really what you wanted?” Chuckling, he said with a shake of his head, “Sure, Gaerin. It’s a promise. Gods above… you had me thinking you were asking something more.”

The released exhale from the crowd nearly overpowered Gaerin’s own sigh. He had at last gotten him to understand. Perhaps it wasn’t exactly the way Gaerin wanted to conclude this dispute—in all honesty, he would prefer that those kinds of “admirers” leave well enough alone—but for now he was content. He had to start somewhere, though the conditions could have been better. Glancing around at the crowd he caused sent twinges of embarrassment amid his relief, but he brushed them away. The issue was settled, so Gaerin now had no reason to delay leaving. His glove still lay upon the ground in front of him. He reached down for it.

Close to him a woman cried out, “Don’t—!” but Gaerin had already heard Hiont’s approach. Letting the half-retrieved glove drop for a second time into the grass, he snapped back up to have his vision obstructed by the bulky outline of Hiont. He barely had the time to raise an arm before a fist slammed into the side of his face, sending him sprawling onto ground hastily cleared away by retreating members of the crowd.

Grass brushing against his cheek, dampened by blood trickling from his nose, gave the indication that he had landed facedown. As Gaerin blinked back flashes of color he heard Hiont’s voice above him. “Of all the brainless men I have to put up with, you are the worst.” His boot dug into Gaerin’s side, inciting a stifled cry of pain. “Don’t think for a moment you can tell me who I can’t attract for. I’ll work my magic on whoever I want.” Hiont finished with a malicious grin, for the crowd gasped afresh at his emphasis.

It affected Gaerin as well. With a sudden turn, he jerked his entire body around to roll onto his back and used the momentum to swing a free leg in Hiont’s direction. His vision blurred with the motion. Hiont himself had taken a step back when Gaerin whirled about, and it was that leg he had used to land on that Gaerin made contact with. His blow caught Hiont in the center of the shins, just above the place where he knew his boots brimmed off. With his support kicked out from under him, Hiont stumbled and fell with his arms flailing. Gaerin rolled just out of the way, boosted himself up onto his feet, and turned around.

Hiont landed on his side with enough force to knock the air out of him. A breathless snarl on his lips, he turned over and hoisted himself onto his knees, planting one boot firmly onto the ground. He then leaned forward, exerting himself to rise, and in the same motion drew his sword partway. Gaerin’s eyes flared. “‘…Your swords are not to be used beyond the reaches of war and grave combat. They are protective tools to wield for reasons above the insignificant. Under no circumstance…’” Gaerin spun fiercely from the waist down toward Hiont, his flanking leg smashing into the weapon.

The brief metallic ring from Hiont’s sheath dulled into silence as it absorbed the boot. Its holder, shoved by the impact, was forced unsteadily to both knees again and had to fling his arms out to stop his fall. That was all the time Gaerin needed to draw his own blade and bring its point clearly before Hiont’s throat.

The two men froze as they at first did; the crowd fell silent with them. Using every care, Hiont rose slowly to his knees and locked eyes with Gaerin, whose sword tracked every move. Both drew strongly for breath, their efforts conjoining with a visual fracas unheard: the looks of pure detestation linking the two.

“First,” Gaerin began, “don’t ever think of drawing your sword out of battle again.” He spoke softly, but with dangerous emphasis to every word. The sword quivered inches from Hiont’s neck, and several moments passed before Gaerin continued. “Secon—”

From behind Gaerin came the clanging of a bell. Like a blast of air it rippled through the gathering of people, leaving an unnatural echo on their ears. All turned as one in the direction of the sound. Its source stood three quarters of a mile away: Bouldrik, a stronghold city and the home of Gaerin, Hiont, and everyone else present. The city appeared unscathed, for no sign of violence marked its walls. And yet, that bell meant something… something very serious… the sound itself uncommonly loud… recognizable, but then, not at all….

Gaerin’s sword felt loose in his hand, and when he looked down he saw it had fallen to his side. Quickly, he spun around and faced Hiont again. The man on his knees hadn’t moved but was gazing with unease past Gaerin like the rest. A sword at his chest refocused him.

“Second, Hiont…” But once more he broke off, tightening his grip on the sword, but his eyes falling downcast. After a few moments Hiont’s brow furrowed and he sought Gaerin’s eyes. They seemed adrift and forgotten in thought, as though they searched the recesses of his memory with little purpose. Taking advantage and eyeing the blade inches from him, Hiont began to tilt away from it. He was able to drag himself back a few inches before Gaerin’s sword poked the hardened leather of Hiont’s uniform. The two met eyes once more, and Hiont could no longer judge the man’s thoughts.

“You stay the hell away from my sister.” With that, Gaerin lowered his sword and brought his boot square into Hiont’s chest. The kick sent Hiont sprawling square onto his back. But Gaerin saw none of this, for he had turned and was now leading the mass of people racing back down the hill toward the city, apprehension growing with every step, as the bell resounded again.

< Message edited by Master Samak -- 5/16/2020 13:07:22 >
AQ DF  Post #: 3
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