Embers and Ash - Lancelyn Vessier

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DeepWebAssassin
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Embers and Ash - Lancelyn Vessier

Post by DeepWebAssassin » Tue Oct 26, 2021 8:49 pm

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Chapter 1 - Mercy
(The Giant's Run mountains, 5 years ago.)

He didn't notice how hard his hands were trembling until he saw the tip of his sword quivering above the man's chest. He was lost there, in that moment of reflection. Too dazed even to make out the pleading words of the man sprawled out at his feet. The man's hands were clasped, tears stained his cheeks. He called for mercy but it fell upon ears that could hear nothing but the terrified beating of their own racing heart. Ragged, uneven breathing echoed within his helm and only when he felt the cold night air upon his skin did he realize that he, too, had cheeks stained with tears.

"Vessier. Vessier! LANCELYN!!"

Upon the third call of his name he was ripped from the murk that shrouded his mind. He turned his head toward the sound, his gaze falling upon his wounded companion sprawled upon the ground nearby. Like a boy being chastised by his father, Lancelyn's gaze was empty and afraid.

"What are you waiting for?! Do it!!"

He wanted to answer. To plead his case. To explain that taking this beaten man's life was not going to change a thing. If only he'd have known how wrong he was, perhaps he could have willed himself to move. But frozen as he was, he simply stared back blankly as he choked on words that wouldn't come. Fear ruled his body and constricted him like a great serpent. His companion groaned in pain as he dragged himself across the ground, trying to retrieve his own weapon to carry out the grizzly command himself.

But neither of them got the chance. A sudden rush of air blew past them and the conflicted knight turned toward its source just in time to get struck with a concussion that sent him tumbling to the dirt. His ears ringing and his vison blurred, he managed to make out the shape of the man he'd held at sword-point only moments before stepping into a dark, writhing portal. As he vanished into the mystical opening, he looked back. For one brief moment, they saw one another. The fear on their faces mirrored, one a dark reflection of the other. Both young and terrified. One wounded and weak of body. The other haunted and weak of faith.

And then the act gave way to truth, and the shrouded man flashed a wicked, hateful smile. A genuine malice stained his visage -- an unsettling look that would serve as a haunting omen of things to come. The portal closed around him and he was gone.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know-- I couldn't just--"

His words were cut off by the veteran's cold, steely tone. A mix of disappointment and raw anger, he barely held his own emotion in check as he chastised the young knight.

"I know, boy. I know. But your hesitation could have damned countless more lives. And when this is over, we're going to visit each of their graves. I need you to appreciate just what that little moment of yours cost this village. It's not just us who pays the price here."

The two knights recovered and departed from the clearing, not another word spoken between them. The young knight lost in fearful contemplation of what he'd set in motion -- the reality of what happened finally weighing upon him like a mountain. Later that night, he'd utter a prayer -- a desperate plea to a greater power, in hopes of righting what he'd failed to do. It wouldn't bring him any peace.
Ilmater forgive my weakness
and grant me the strength
to do what must be done.

I am but a man
and my heart is weak.

But you teach us to endure,
that we may inspire others to do the same.

Give these people the strength to carry the painful burden placed upon them,
until I may take it back upon myself,
as I always should have done.

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DeepWebAssassin
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Re: Embers and Ash - Lancelyn Vessier

Post by DeepWebAssassin » Tue Oct 26, 2021 9:50 pm

Chapter 2 - The Guilty Pay the Price
(The ruins of a nameless village.)


He circled the shrouded man, barely holding himself upright with all the strength he had left. His shield fell from his grasp, hitting the dirt with a soft thud. His hands clenched the grip of his blade, one atop the other. His eyes were wide and focused behind the visor of his helm. There was no denying, it would end today. One way or another, his penance would be served. He'd avenge the souls of those he'd failed, or he would join them.

His foe raised his own blade, pointing it across the dead space between them. In an exhausted tone of his own, he spoke.

"You-- I remember you now. How different you look after all this time. But you're still the same weak boy, aren't you? Tell me, little knight! How does it feel to know it was /you/ who set me free?"

The man's tone taunting, his voice bearing the edge of a man who knew he outclassed his enemy. His posture straightened a bit and his stance shifted to a more aggressive one -- his lack of respect for his opponent now all too clear. He was ready to end the charade.

Not a word was issued in reply, for his mind was already consumed. Though not with fear, as his foe suspected. The knight's heartbeat quickened with a righteous hate. He longed for vengeance as images of the past years filled his mind.

A destroyed village.
A slain knight.
Fields of graves that should never have existed.

Guilt was an ever present weight upon his soul, but it was a burden he'd become accustomed to bearing. And now, at the moment of truth, he stood where it all began. The dilapidated buildings around him serving as looming reminders of the price that failure would bring. He would find victory today.

Not because it was just.
Not because he was charged to do so.
Not because it would save his life.

He would find victory because he could not bear to leave behind a world in which this monster was able to roam free after all he'd done. Be it justice, retribution, or simple revenge. The knight no longer had care to put words to the emotion that welled within his chest.

He raised his blade and took one step forward, followed by another. And with a mixture of duty, grief, and hate in his heart he let forth an impassioned cry of war as his steps turned into a last desperate dash toward the enemy.

And war is what he brought. His foe lifted his blade to guard his attack, the smug look from before falling from his features. The knight's sudden, violent strike had caught him off guard and threw him off balance, sending him to the dirt. Without hesitation or ceremony, he stepped up over his defeated foe, who'd already begun to plead again. He'd remembered the weakness in the knight's heart in a time long past.

But the thing that stood before him was no longer a conflicted young man. Too late, he saw the scars that he'd left behind on the young man's soul. As he peered up into the grim visage of the knight's battered and scorched armor, he saw only one thing.

Retribution. The bill was due for all he'd done. A spirit of vengeance had pursued him across the land to collect payment for the wickedness he'd wrought.

Then his realization was cut short as he saw the flash of a knight's sword in the moonlight, driving down into his chest without even a hint of mercy. For a moment he was panicked, fear flitting across his gaze. But then he was still. His terror ebbing away as his soul departed from his body.

And the knight who struck him down collapsed too. Not from his wounds, nor from any weight upon him. He knelt in the dirt next to the man he'd just killed, working to free himself of the once-pristine armor he still wore from so long ago. If he had any tears left to shed, perhaps he would have. But his spirit was exhausted -- his faith frayed. He placed his armor next to the man, his shield atop it. The blade he would keep. The reminder that it would serve him, far too valuable to commit to the flames.

Around them, he erected a pyre. By morning's light, the man's remains were but ash and the armor was buried under a mound of charred debris. Both of them forgotten in a place devoid of life. A place that no longer had a name.

He'd never return. Not to this place, nor to the order that sent him on his mission. His path would take him to many graves over the next year. He'd make good on a promise to a man long gone. The man who'd shown him the great and terrible cost of failure.

Only when that grim pilgrimage was at its end would he search for purpose anew. Reborn a new man -- the terrible wisdom that stained his soul never quite washing away.

Violence had repaid violence. But the good that was lost could never be restored.
And this was the tragedy that the young knight bore for the rest of his days.


https://youtu.be/tlkdkQR2gUs

Currently Playing:
Veras Edrix
(Discord: narcopolo)


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