The Coming Storm: Complete Collection

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[FeelTheAnguish]

Chapter 1
 
The pale, iron clad figure stood, surveying the area with his stare. The moon was casting its silvery web over the land, granting the him the ghostly aura that the slaves he was tending to had learnt to respect and fear. Even in the chill of the night their brows were alive with the beads of sweat that trailed down. The itch of the caress was agonising to endure, lest the crack of the whip slice open raw wounds on their backs for neglecting their work for just a second. The stones underfoot stabbed at their feet as they moved around. The simple task of walking became a job only the fittest could do after enduring the day of toil. The night, with the cold gripping their exhausted muscles, many fell, never to rise again. The stench of the pit dug out for the corpses of those who failed to do their work sufficiently was a grim reminder of the impossibility of their situation.

The clouds rolled over the hill, covering up the moon; everything went dark. The aura that the armoured character possessed vanished, only to be replaced by the menace of the blood red eyes that leered out from under the helmet. The elf stepped forwards, with the gentle crunch of the stone under his iron steel to alert the slaves that the watchful eye was present still.

The tapping of the rain upon the elf's iron skin was of no trouble to him. While it simply ran off him, he got the pleasure of seeing the ragged clothing of the slaves fuse with them from the wet. The open gashes of the whip stung from the rain. A middle-aged man, with a mixture of water, sweat and blood dripping through the end of his nose felt the strain of the day of labour. His eyes tightened and he gritted his teeth together firmly to resist the pain from the lash across his forehead. His arms began to shake as he raised his pickaxe into the air. As he let gravity pull the pointed end down, the end glanced off the edge of the rock, while his legs collapsed from underneath him.

The rest of the slaves continued working, their bloodshot eyes focussed on the work through fear of the sting. No helping hand to raise him from the floor. The rain pounded against his face as he lay there, shaking from the cold, the exhaustion and the fear of what was to come. The elf stepped forwards again. He placed long, bony fingers around the end of his blade, and with the slow scrape of the metal he drew it from its prison. The blade seemed to pull the elf behind it towards the floored victim, growling and hissing as it drew nearer.

The failure was added to the heap of the dead, the fresh blood still seeping from the wound on his neck. He was one of the lucky ones in that his death was quick. Others were void of their limbs, tongues and eyes as they lay on the mound. Some weren't even dead upon their descent, screaming and wailing in shrill voices as the weight of the others crushed them. The elves didn't care though. As he looked down at the crimson-stained blade that rested gently in the palms of his hands, the steel warrior smiled as to the wonder of such an object.

 
Chapter 2
 
The blade seemed to look right inside of him. Even encased in his metal cocoon, the elf still found its stare was deep and menacing. The light was flickering; every time it faded his heart pounded as to where the sharpened edge could find itself. He slowly rose, fearful of the beast that could pounce on him. Slowly pacing over he gently placed his fingertips on the handle. The fine otherworldly script, carved on with unholy fire, still glowed with the purple heat that brought about the infamous sting of the slash. Many the enemy would be rendered immobile by the pulse of the energy throughout their veins, causing their very blood to boil under their skin.

The rain was still thumping at the ground on the outside. He stepped over to the window of the tower, with the blade held by his side. The hills in the distance glowed with the fire of the battles from far away. It seemed to pull his heart away like it was on a string. He sighed, casting his eyes back into the cold black marble walls of the room.

Suddenly the blade scorched his hand with a blast of heat. He dropped it on the floor, with the ring of the metal echoing around his ears. It screamed out to him in foreign tongues, licking at his face with acidic saliva. When his eyes opened, they burnt with the violet flames of the blade itself, while the metal object lay there dormant on the floor. His whole body was alive with the agony of the heat as it flooded throughout him.

For several minutes, all of his vision collided in mid air. The words still flew around his mind, but after a while everything seemed to fade away. He awoke, blood oozing out of the wounds on his hand, but other than that he seemed alright. The blade lay there, with no purple runes, no arcane power. To all intents and purposes it was just another decorative blade that would never be carried into battle again; it's design so delicate was.

 
Chapter 3
 
His mind was scrambled now, his sweat had loosened his grasp on the cold marble as he clung on desperately during his descent of the tower. His right hand was searing with pain now, having taken him by surprise in his moment of relief. It felt like a thousand burning whips, lashing at his scarred flesh. The pain was so immense his eyes could barely open to register he was falling. He hit the bottom of the stairs with a crack, as his armour splintered inwards into the tender flesh of his right bicep.
He had to strip his ornate second skin with one hand, casting it aside like an old cocoon. He tried to peel open his eyes, but only saw the swirl of the clouds above him, dropping water into the opening. He placed his left hand to his chest, feeling the roar from within him trying to burst free. His heart was beating faster than it had ever done before.

The soil beneath his hands felt soft, almost runny. A cool contrast to the fire within him. It dawned on him how long he had been sealed from the world in his armour. Whatever it was that was causing this pain had set him free.

One of the more loyal slaves had slowly approached, seeing his master sprawling on the floor like he had taken several lashings to the back. His footsteps were slow and gentle upon the earth as he approached, resisting the urge to fell the vulnerable elf now he lacked his armour. He noticed the right hand, that was forever concealed, now glowed with an indigo crackle, like a light from underneath was illuminating it.

He took one step closer, to find a hand clasped around his ankle. It clenched tightly, with force no elf could ever exert. He cold of the soil and sweat numbed the crack of bone that quickly followed, flooring the slave in a howl of agony.
Pulsing blue eyes were now above the slave as his eyes began to water from the pain. The choke of two hands around his neck, slowly tightening. His single moveable leg was writhing, kicking frantically. It stopped moments later, as his eyes rolled back inside his head.

The elf rolled away into the puddle of mud that had been created from the movement. His right hand was still stinging, but the pain in his chest had seemed to ebb away. He rose on shaky legs, still hunched in the back. He had regained some of his sight, but the image was too murky to make out anything in any great detail. His head surged with energy again, throwing him down like a puppet without a master. With the sound of the rain and the clanging of the metal against the rocks in the distance, he sprawled away, unsure as to exactly where he would find himself.   

 
Chapter 4
 
His hands were cold, numb and blistered as the snow surrounded them to support his weight. The tundra seemed to stretch on forever in front of him, as the snow gently fell upon his footsteps that had erratically led him to this point. His hairs stood tall against his skin as the cold slowly seeped in and froze him from the inside to the flesh.

The snow fell against his hair, a long black mane which trailed down his neck like tree branches, stiff from the snow. As it melted, the snow seeped into his clothing, the cool droplets running down the back. He convulsed into the snow, where his face met with a crunch as it solidified under him.

He wondered how it happened like this. He remembered the time of where the slaves backs seeped blood and their sweat created a comforting aura of security and invincibility around him like the warmth of a fire. Several days ago he stood with a shell of impenetrable amour in which he seemingly lost himself. The thoughts of every lash and tear of skin tossed his mind around inside his skull, igniting him into and inferno of insanity. He wanted to snatch the memory from the air before it drifted away from him, just to savour it for a moment more. It flew away with a stiff blow of the frigid wind against his face, distracting him while icicle tears flooded his eyes.

He looked up through the haze of his eyes and the wind onto the horizon. The distant glow of untold promise and freedom pulled against his heart with an invisible thread, almost so that it could burst free from him and soar in the clouds on the wings of magnificence and adventure. Behind him lay the rocky face of the ascent back to Gash'Takar, with ice covered rocks and jutting platforms to hinder his way back up. He pulled the threads of hair from his face to try and get a better view of what he was gazing upon, but it didn't seem to change the fact that he might never go back there.

The elves, with lives of a thousand years or longer, never seemed to appreciate the world as much as the humans, whose lives could end with the fragile crush of death at a young age. Asarikox wondered what it could be like to be human, with more of a drive and pull to experience it all. He wondered what the fear of death could be like, as the inevitable day drew closer with every passing day. He knew one day he would die, but his elf body meant that he could live several thousand years before the end came around to seize his soul and send him somewhere else.

The wind slashed at his face again, causing him to recoil from the thought and imagery of himself ever being a human. It could never happen, the soul was just trapped in the wrong body. The glow on the horizon seemingly brightened with a warming orange as the sunset behind the snow covered hill.

He rose onto his knees, which stung with pain from the multitude of gashes and cuts. The wounds dripped colour into the canvas of the snow beneath him, slowly spreading the red monster that would surely eat him. The lands of Gash'Takar had dulled his brain with lordship and torture to the fact he truly wished that somewhere, over the distant horizon, he could truly appreciate what it meant to be alive.

[FeelTheAnguish]

Chapter 5
 
Asarikox stepped out of the inn, letting the snow grind under his heel. The white powder was slowly starting to melt away, leaving trickles of damp patches all around, exposing the bare of the jagged and cold stone beneath to rupture through. The sun was just dawning on the new day, casting its beams into the eyes of the Elf who stood, solitary and stationary against the freeze and chill.
"Would you mind closing that door? You're letting all the heat out." came a calm voice from within the inn. Asarikox took no notice. He was too busy thumbing through his memories, trying to establish which of those were just glimmers of imagination or those that were real. As much as he wanted to believe everything his mind told him, he couldn't seem to bring himself to do it.
A set of long fingers wrapped themselves around the door, slowly pulling the female elf from within the building, before slowly shutting the door behind her. Her face, her cheeks, they were almost of the snow white, the mountain tops themselves. But like a coal amongst a flock of doves, her eyes contrasted greatly, almost piercing the tranquility of the scene with their stare.
"What are you doing out in the cold?" she said warmly
"I'm thinking"
"About what?"
Asarikox turned and took a step, letting his hair wave in the breeze, like a writhing bed of snakes in the air. He shook he head with dismay.
"I'm thinking about that blade"
"What blade?"
"I can't even remember what it looked like. It was a big part of me though, like a mask. I used it to hide myself, inspire fear in those around. It was me for some time. It's gone now though."
The female cocked her head to the side. Her eyes drifted away several times into the crisp morning sky, but they remained focussed on the back of Asarikox's head, as if it were his face.
"Do you know where it is now then?"
"No, I think it's been a long time since I lost it, I doubt it will still remain. I don't even remember losing it all that clearly. I remember falling down the stairs, my shoulder hurting, but not much else"
There was a moment of silence between the two, as the wind whistled between them. The cry of an overhead bird, flying free against the rising sun broke the peaceful moment.
"I've got to go and find it" said Asarikox into the horizon, as if ignoring the presence of the female behind him.
"On your own?"
"If I have to, I will...I've got to find it again"
The female thought deeply. She couldn't let him walk off, having seen the state he entered her life in. She could vividly remember the frostbite against his legs, his eyes almost frozen from the cold as his lifeless form flopped into the snow. She remembered having to drag him back into the inn with every strength of her being and warm his frozen muscles with the aura of the flame. She remembered nursing him to health, feeding him the warm soup, him gently sipping against the spoon with his numb jaw. She remembered gazing upon him, lying softly amongst the folds of the bed. It had been several months now, yet every morning he awoke as if she were a stranger to him, like she didn't even exist.
"You don't have to go alone"
Asarikox turned around to look her in the face this time, speaking to her truly for the first time.
"This is my journey, I will not bring along others to suffer it too"
"I will not see you walk off, the land is not forgiving to people who travel alone"
Asarikox turned again, and wanted to run, run faster than she could ever catch him. Yet, like a sudden frozen stiffness had overcome his joints, he found himself unable to move, and only able grit his teeth against the watering of his eyes.
The women took him by the hand and lead him back into the inn, gently sitting him down by the fire that crackled in the fireplace. He shook, but not through the cold, but out of fear as to how his journe may end. He was willing to run, to distance himself, on a rope with fraying ends and withering strength. Yet, it was the rope that pulled at him to travel onwards. He found a blanket placed around his shoulders, and slowly the cold ebbed out of him once more.

"Tell me more about this blade" came the gently whisp in his ear several minutes later.
"I've told you, I can't remember what it looked like, I just remember its power. It was just so, painful to watch."
"What did it do?"
"It boiled the blood of whoever touched the bladed edge. It was just painful, painful"
"You want to find it for this power then?"
"I want to find it, because I need to find it. I can't not find it, I'll die trying. I should stay away from it, I know what it can do" he said, flexing the joints in his hand to reveal the burnt and scarred flesh. "Yet I can't shift it from my brain. I have fleeting images at best, no clear memory, yet it pulls me. It's painful"
"If it's truly what you wish to do, I will join you. Like I've said before, the land is not forigving for the lone traveller. It swallows people up who brave it alone."

The female elf rose from her kneeling position and walked over to the door, placinng her fingertips on its plain wooden surface. She gazed back at the figure staring into the fire, almost unaware of anything around him now she had left.
"I'll return, I just need to get some things" she said, smiling at while she left, taking great care to close the door as quickly as her mind would let her, to stop the cold reaching in and grabbing Asarikox for one more time. The snow was receding into the icy reaches below it, leaving the walk to the back, behind the inn, a difficult one for the women who wore no shoes.

Inside the inn, Asarikox had risen onto his legs, albeit shakily, and had started to stagger around the area, absorbing the feel for the place. The rest of the room, even with the pictures of the autumn sunsets of faraway lands, was rather cold without the fire's embrace. Almost as if he could reach out and touch them, like he could be absorbed into their folds with just a feeling.
The door suddenly swung open, with the lash of the cold wind extinguishing the fire.
"The weather is too fierce now to go to the next town, it's started to blizzard. Once it clears up, I can take you to there, where you'll find many other adventurers who might be more brave than I and actually find this blade with you. I'll just help you get more aid."
It had almost been like a veil had been lifted.

As the blizzard pounded at the walls of the inn, Asarikox sat back down to gaze into the reborn flames. Every thud of the monster outside against the walls outside sent sparks over his soul like flint, threatening to ignite him into an inferno of insanity.

 
Chapter 6
 
If the starts twinkle against the blackened sky, do they siginify my hidden destiny?
If I fall and I bleed, was it always to happen?
How come even when I look, I cannot see?
Was my life planned out this way?
Who is the great architect of my fate?
Am I just on a journey to that hidden fateful day?
If I sit and concentrate hard enough, will I wake from this dream?

Asarikox awoke, his brow cold and covered in icy crystals. His hair, like tangled tendrils in his face obscured his vision with gashes of black. The room was black too, almost closing in, with a flickering candle next to his bed.
He rose slowly, sitting up and rubbing his face with his tender hands, feeling the gnarled texture of one of them gently tickle his cheeks. The air was sharp, like daggers against his face, almost wanting to shun him back into the bed again.

Why is my memory so fragmented?
Is the snow real?
Where are the pieces to the puzzle?

Dawn, the sun slowly rising into the purple sky. It was the true Naggaroth, unlike the snowy splendour that his mind could, or could not had conjured up to fill a gap. His face met the crisp air, after stepping out of the door onto the streets. Perfect precision, like Gash'Takar. The Black Marble, towering into the sky, it felt familiar. Slow paces took him through the streets, absorbing the feel of the city. He had never been here before, or at least he was pretty certain he hadn't, but it felt, warm. It was strangely chilling to feel warm in such a cold place, in a literal sense, with the stone underfoot, but with the screams of the slaves as their backs split from the crack of the whip.

What I would give to be enclosed, sealed away again
To not feel this burning in my veins
In the tower, why couldn’t I remain?
To have the whip, so I needn‘t fear their cries

Then she stepped out of one of the alleys, the narrow arteries of the city, from which she bled onto the streets at his feet. It was almost confirmation, but not quite enough.
Yes, certainty as to who she was, she was definitely the person he thought she was, but whether she had lead him through the snow, nursed him to health. That was definitely uncertain.
“Asarikox, can you hear me?” her voice rang, like bells around his ears.

Then he opened his eyes again, and he was back in the bed, still the candle flickering, still the mountain air, but this time with the women sat next to him
“Where am I?” he groaned, rubbing the sand out of his eyes from his sleep
“You’re here, you’ve been here several days now.”
He did not care to ask further questions, he would only get answers to cripple more of his memory. If it were a memory, how can it be of the future? Was it therefore a memory? Or was he here nonetheless and unable to see it?

The women rose on his delicate feet, and with a soft smile, left the room, letting the door slowly shut Asarikox away for one more time. Then alone.

Imagine a bird, picture it in your head, imagine the feathers, the wings, the beak, the eyes
Now, it’s free. It can glide, soar and fly free, into wherever it desires. 
If something troubles it, it simply unfolds its wings and distances from it.
A bird, the symbol of freedom.
Inferior beasts your race would call them, lack of intellect or drive
But if freedom were granted to one so aware, it’s required that it can never be put to use
For it is the breaking of the life you lead, and wings you shall never have
You shall be close, forever close, but chains shall keep you,
Stop you truly ever reaching it, your wanted prize
And if you do, then you’ll bring about everyone’s demise.

 

[FeelTheAnguish]

Chapter 7
 
It was morning, the sun's tendrils were stretching across the damp, moist sky, with a flicker of droplets of salted water glimmering within its orange heart. It seemed to always be morning, the sun was always rising in Asarikox's world, never setting. He couldn't remember a time, when once the sun had passed the tower in the sky, positioned, bearing down onto his flesh. He could remember the dawn, and the night, with the crystal cold icicles on his armour, sealing him away. Never though had it been midday, where there wasn't reminder of a shadow as to how insignificant his figure was, cast onto the floor like discarded bodies.

He was cloaked now, in the darkest of leathers around his, almost squeezing him. It cast memories of the drowning hand of the sea, trying to pull him under, hopelessly, while he gasped for air. Leather never truly appealed to him. The other elves, in their sick, twisted fantasies, with leather tight on their skin. It was armour, it would save his life if a stray, dancing blade would slide itself between his ribs.

Frantically pulling his face from the water, gasping into the air, howling to the air to enter him. His eyes were aflush with the hundreds of fingers of red, creeping from the sides of the white into the pupil, almost wanting to claw at the pupil and tear it away, so that he could never see the world again, and to look down upon the reflection he was now looking at in the water.

Black hair, draped across his face. Eyes, painful to gaze into through fear of what could be found within. Pale flesh, through which the blood seemed to freeze and restrain its travel, braking into the upper regions of his body.

He looked like a ghost, much like the rest of his kin.
"Do I like looking like this?" he wondered. "Do I enjoy looking like I shouldn't be alive?"
The soft hand placed on his shoulder one more.
"What are you doing Asarikox?"
She had broken his moment, she had shattered the little glass vial, bubbling in the fire, and now the contents had spilled, all over the floor to hiss and spit at those nearby.
"Nothing, I was just, thinking again"

He slammed a firm fist down onto the edge of the bank, spitting into the water, sending ripples, fracturing the image of himself into hundreds of writhing eyes and lips, scrambling in front of him to try and reform. Like a volcano, with water, hissing away, it had sealed the dome with the cooled magma, but boiling underneath lay the true heart and soul. His hands started to convulse, hoping the movement would contain it, to make sure he did not lash out at the one who stood, undeserving behind him.

"Please, I just want to think"
The print in the mud slowly started to reform, the fist impression sinking back into the depths of the sludge. 
"Fine, if you wish to talk, I shall be waiting back."
She rose onto her feet, and began to walk back into the depths of the trees, letting the autumn colours burn around her. It was much more appealing than the person sitting, kneeling beside the river, plunging his hands into the water, to sieze a moment and cast it onto his face for some refreshment of the world. It all just dripped out of his hands, or dampened his face. He was rather, embarassing, to be around. So why, she asked herself, do I find myself around him?

"Wait," he said, rising onto his feet and turning, dripping from the cold and wet that rushed off of the leather like glass.
The sound of a horn, long and low, moaned throughout the area, as if experiencing great pain and suffering with its scream. The birds took off from the nests high in the trees, crying out as they did so the the gentle echo and drift of the breeze, as they gently soared off into the horizon.
"We have to go" she said



*

She had gone, hours ago to leave him to his thoughts. He remembered her asking questions, and him brushing them off like he didn't care. Reality had dawned that he did, and very much so. He rose onto his feet, pacing around the room frantically, as if walking several miles without actually going anywhere could solve his problems. His face was still taunted by the droplets of water clinging on, like beads of sweat, but cold and crisp instead of salty and irritating. 
"I don't even know her name" he whispered.

Several night ago, under the blackest of nights, the shores had lost their rythm of washing, to be disturbed by the arrival of several Dark Elf boats, from which the heels of metal crunched the sand as they stepped onto the shore. The whole operation, despite many individuals knowing vague glimpses or rumours, had been very quiet by the leaders of the city. Those who knew, told at the expense of the tongues, and those who listened heard at the expense of their ears. Their shields had been much of talk through the city, but in hushed voices and quietened tones had the design been mentioned. Something was most definitely not right.

It was for this reason Asarikox had broken from the city and fled to the water's edge, nestled in the grove of woodland and safe from harms way. He had not lost any parts of his body that night, he simply needed the time to think, how the water could bring so much terror to the hearts of his kin. So he had plunged his face down deep, opening his eyes wide to try and find the reasoning, until his mind snapped like a bone, and he rose with the thousand tiny daggers stabbing his eyelids again.

Now he sat, contained again like a beast in a cage. Then inside, the beast within the cage, inside another cage. Every set of bars Asarikox could smash through, bend or slide past, another quickly appeared.

His eyes glimpsed a book, that was frantically being licked by the candle light, and seemed to beg to be touched. As he picked it up, and turned the pages, it almost seemed to bleed onto him the words it wanted him to see.

Everyone has tangled emotions, dwelling inside like boiling potions of anger and fury. Yet, we are pulled on strings like puppets towards uncertain end, with little control over our internal passions and desires. Everyone has a deep governing monster, we just have to find it. 

A tear crept into his eye as they slid across the page - it was him.
The rest of the tome was left blank; only the first page showed any writing of the jet black ink.
He placed it back into the flickering flame. He had no pockets in which to keep it, nor the desire to. If it belonged to her, he would have to ask, and possibly be the topic of conversation that he could stir up, for the first time in his time knowing her.



*

It had been a long night, after emerging at sunset to try and find her. The rain was slight, only spitting onto the ground below, but after several hours of of wandering the streets with the book clutched in hand, his spirits and hair both became brutally damp. He had eventually found her drifitng the blackened streets too, with her hair thin and wet against her back as she walked.
"What's this?" said Asarikox, pacing over. Her expression changed to a mixture of bittersweet happiness and shock, mixed together like a hastily made potion.
"It's a book" she replied
"I'm not in the mood for jokes"
"When are you ever in the mood for jokes? When have you even ever smiled?"
He simply ignored her statement, thumbing open the page onto the writing, and thrusting the book, with blotches of wet appearing over its surface into her arms.
"What is it all about?" he asked again. He knew she had written it, he needn't ask if the writing was hers.
She closed the book tightly, holding it firmly to her side as the rain picked up the force and pounded harder against them.
"No answer?" Asarikox said
"Yes, no answer"
He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. The rain was mind-numbingly cold; he wasn't going to stand in it forever and hope she gave an answer. Seconds later he was gone, splashing his way through the wet streets back towards his cage. She clawed at the air as to where he had been, wishing he had asked further.

His eyes were full of fury as he returned, slamming the door with a crack that splintered the hinges outwards and rupturing the frame with daggers of wood. He sat down on the bed, his hands shaking violently, trying desperately to contain the urge to punch something.
"Why couldn't she give an answer to something so simple?" he shouted at the inside of himself. Then the shaking stopped, his hands froze in the air.
"Why can't I give an answer to something so simple?" he rested his head down onto the bed, but as he tried to sleep his eyes remained open, glazed over with crystals and ice to keep him thinking. Perhaps it could keep him into thinking the right meaning, and getting his satisfaction, but then surely his brain would tear itself in two like a hungry bear with a fresh kill.

She entered the room later, to find him deep in sleep. The temptation to pounce on him while he lay weakened was almost controlling, but it was not a natural temptation, which defied her very feeling towards the silent and calm figure that lay on the bed.



*

The morning came about, as Asarikox rubbed the sand out of his eyes. His vision was blurred, but he could make out the damp tome lying on the end of the bed, and the door slightly ajar. He wanted to sort out the incident from the night before, through need to have the only person who stood there for him, remain in that position.

The sunrise was always very early in the morning, nobody was on the streets. The damp was just starting to float away, but the air was still very musky and thick in the area. Then he remembered where he had gone, for the very same reasons. It was all too trapping and thick around him when he had fled to the water. He hoped she had done the same.

He peeled back the branches, as the dew slid off onto the floor, to be greeted with what he had expected. She was huddled in a small pile, knees clenched firm against her chest. Her reflection in the water seemed to behave differently, looking up towards Asarikox with tears in her eyes. She was soaking, much like he had been before, but this time there was no anger, or fist impressions in the mud to signify an inner rage.

For several minutes, the two were perfectly silent.
"Did it help?" he finally said
"Yes I guess, just being alone"
"Then you must know why I never smile"
"I'm sorry I said that, I wasn't thinking"
"Indeed"
"I wish you had stayed though, I didn't want you to go"
"I wasn't going to stay, when I was too angry to be of any use"
"Use? You make it sound like you're a servant or a slave"

He rose, sharply. She nodded, realising what she had said. They needn't say anymore. They had put their points across without so much as a direct expression of it. Enough had been done.

Chapter 8
 
“So what exactly did that mean?” said Asarikox to her, still sitting in the glade with the water lapping against her feet. The clouds were just starting to come into view over the treetops, the birds were beginning their songs once more.
“It meant what it said, we all have things that govern us, but nobody can really find it” she replied, pushing her hand through the water to distort the image of herself that gazed up at her.
“When did you write it?”
“Years ago, I’ve carried it with me, just in case I feel the need to write more, but I can’t bring myself to spoil the imperfections of the clean pages”
“So it’s like a diary?”
“Yes, like cold flesh, I need it, but have no need for it”
She paused, cocked her head to an angle and widened her eyes. In the centre of the water, a small blue glow had flickered into existence like a struggling candle, like a tiny star beneath the water.
“Asarikox, what’s that?” she said, pointed at the small glow, which steadily grew in size.
“What, in the water?”
“Yes, look!” she said again, grabbing his shoulder and pointing frantically towards the centre of the water.
“I don’t see anything”
She was already wet enough from trying to freeze her mind into thinking correctly and properly before, but as the liquid washed around her ankles, then her shins, and slowly eating away at her body, all of what remained of her clothing stuck to her from the damp and cold as she reached neck deep. She needn’t care though, right at her ankles was the small orb of glowing blue light.
She plunged underwater, letting the bubbles of air gently stroke across her face as in one hand she clasped the small glowing ball, and prized it from the water.
“Now do you see it?” she cried as she waded back to the shore, clutching firm the little ball of energy.
“Yes, I see it now, what is it?”
“I’m not entirely sure”
Placed it down on the shore, to allow to water to run of it. It looked very much like a small ball of glass, inside several shades of blue liquid swirled and mingled, but never mixed, with layers and washes of the hundreds of blues of the sky, water and sea, flowing together in the sphere, no bigger than one could manage to clasp within their hands, but no smaller than one could forget its beauty. It seemed so delicate, like any foreign invasion of the peace and tranquillity could shatter the shell, and send the plasma inside to lick at the world around it.
“I think we should take it back, ask somebody what it is, they might know” she whispered, not to prevent anybody else hearing, but to conceal and prolong the gentle mood it seemed to emanate.

"You're going to catch your death walking like this in the early reaches of the morning" said Asarikox as they walked down the trail, looking at the women who stood next to him, barely clothed, and that which she did wear was damp and grasping. He had nothing to offer her though, his leather armour was tightly fit and would have been painful for a women to wear.
"Maybe," she replied "but we're not far from the city now, I can get changed there"
As they exited the wood, the tall black walls of the city, adorned with spikes and erupting with towers at regular intervals, struck straight out. The land around, bleak and dead as it was, could never compare to the desolate blackness of the city walls, where they leered out at the grey rocks and withering trees to keep them in place.

Their priority was to get her changed, to make sure the clutch of the wet would last as minimal a time as possible. After she had adorned new robes, the two descended the stairs of the room, and down into the larger room, then out onto the streets.



*

"Well it's most certainly not of magical nature, it disgusts me to think you couldn't recognise a pretty trinket when you see one" came the cold, dry tone of the Sorcerer whom now held the orb with the tips of his fingers, turning it to view it in the many lights. He flicked it with one of his larger fingernails, for no noise to resound. "It's not even liquid contained in glass, as I first thought. Glass, as you may know, makes a noise when struck, but this, is rather more unique."
"What is it then?" she said, wishing the orb to be returned to her quickly, through fear of what the Sorcerer might do to it.
"I'm pained to say I'm not entirely sure. Where again did you say you found this?"
"In the water, near the freezing water just outside the city" replied Asarikox
"Interesting. I can't see it, to find any use for it, as it doesn't seem to posess magical qualities, more like qualities of a material undiscovered. I will need to keep this for further study young ones, If you truly seek the answers you came to me for."
Asarikox looked at her, she looked at Asarikox. They had hoped a more immediate response, rather than handing whatever it was over to someone they known very little time at all.
“No need to fear, I can see the suspicion in your eyes, I do intend to do what I said I will with this”
They two left, feeling still uneasy about the situation. Whether he was genuine in his words and tongue, or if he needed to lie so much that he had become good at it.

“So what do you think it is?” she said as they walked through the street
“I’m not entirely sure, It never felt like it was magical, it just looked like a pretty trinket”
“I understand, I picked it up, it just felt like a ball, with no presence” she replied
“With the blade, I remember holding it and knowing it had something extra, something magical and powerful. It just ran through me, the magic. If it didn’t do that for you, perhaps it wasn’t magic.”
Asarikox was cut off, as plastered across the street came the spray of blood from one of the alleyways, like an explosion of gore had gone off just on the edge. Following the trail inward revealed a husk of a man, wheezing frantically as the wound on his side bled onto the floor below. His head lolled over to the side, to witness the two black figures who blocked out the cold sunlight from reaching his flesh.
The female hurriedly knelt down beside him, but Asarikox looked upon him with much disgust. Like a large knot inside him, he did not know why he could not kneel to help the soul, but his knees locked and he head swayed from side to side. He almost felt happy to see that someone else, beyond himself, could see and feel the suffering.
“Leave it, don’t try and help me” he groaned through a sulphur mouth and dry, salted lips.
The stain on the floor was slowly growing larger, as his wound seemed to show no remorse in bleeding onto the floor, casting the red monster similarly to how Asarikox remembered it.
“Asarikox, help me here!” she cried
He could only stand, move his eyes, break contact with her for a moment to lull the sense he wasn’t there.
“Asarikox!”
He had endured it, much like thousands of others, so why could this poor wretched heap, lying, dying, crying on the floor not? What wound could be so great that the desire could not overcome it? It showed weakness.
“Asarikox!”
Weakness could not be in this world. The deep governing monster, like mentioned in her book. It could eat some people, or perhaps all people, but the point being it could eat quicker or slower than others. Those who were eaten slowly could show strength, and for Asarikox, who might never die of age, who could sit in solitude and never feel the world’s cruel thrust, he could prove to be resilient and powerful too.

“The shields” came the last spit of word from the mouth of the dying man, as his insides fell to the great beast within him. 

“Fear the Black Fire Fist”

 

[FeelTheAnguish]

Chapter 9
 
Cold, wearing and feeling at one with the damp soil that clenched his fingers - so delicately, but with vicious and horrific undertones - his mind seemed to roll around inside his skull, pounded at the bone and bubbling away with the concoction of his thoughts and memories. It was all too vague. He wished he could only see her once again, just to see. No more. Now the blood was...the blood was stinging, but refreshing. He had wanted it drawn, yes, he had by all means, every stretch of the imagination, every glimmer, every trace. He had wanted results. No senseless suffering anymore, he had raised the blade, brought it down, watched as his sadistic dreams appeared before him like fading mist.

So why did he seem to show more pain and sorrow than she? Oh, the fool he was, the little remnant of himself, thinking himself stronger for lashing out and being the one to end it. Oh, but to help was his intention, oh, the possibility, the regret. It could not longer be there within his mind. How the fool he was! He would most certainly never make that mistake again!

Yes, he could shroud himself in cloaks, so black they seemed to suck the life dry from the world, like a powerful vortex into which all the emotion seemed to tumble and swirl. He could cloak himself, hide himself away, detatch and remove. It served only to contrast though, like a red smear across the canvas on which a finely and precisely drawn picture was worked on, slowly and carefully, by artist with keen eye, squinting in to just perfect every detail. Now he had come along and taken a wall brush, coated in cruel crimson and carved it onto the canvas.

"Brillaint, they deserved that" he could say to himself, laugh with the thrash of the metal ringing round his ears as the warriors of afar battled to their deaths. He could sit, away from all that, far above himself, up himself, atop a throne built slowly a surely from his own flesh. He'd never literally taken knife and thrust, on anyone, he was too proud. He couldn't. Yet he might as well have, for perhaps a wound from blade could heal, over time, with the stitches of memory fogging the wound and forcing it to heal.

There was, or for himself, is, not possibility of simply letting it drift away on the wind, gently. He would always be fearful of letting it go, grabbing it from the air and eating it once more, knowing it could cause him the internal bleeding, the neat slice into his lungs, coughing up blood into the weeks of lies, deceit and regret. No, for once he did know what he could do was wrong. He knew that he could not live like this, stabbing and puncturing those whom he could not die without.

She did not deserve any of it, or perhaps she did. In that split second, seconds, minutes, hours, days, she had. She deserved every wound as his eyes burned, trying to break from his skull and stop himself doing it. The anger controlled, like his insides had been ripped with meathooks, and now they had been used to tug, and tear at him, controlling him to avoid them. It was powerful, a certainty at the time.

"No, you shall not see me today, I do not wish to see you" he could find himself saying, or words to some extent. Far, it did not matter to him. It did not matter to anyone else? His mind was like an uncompleted spell, unable to be cast but not quite premature enough to just dissapate into nothing, leaving no fragment of memory left for people to drop like unwanted droplets.

They could, by certain, or impossibly chance, wish to speak to him, not wish to strangle him, but reassure and offer words of comfort and happiness to lift the weight of a thousand moons and suns from his shoulders. It had been a very long time, so long he had lost track of how it had all began, when the day had finally drawn about and he had snapped from the anger.

"What caused this? What suddenly made it happen?" he could find himself thinking. It was most certainly nothing, or anything, important, or he would remember it. Wouldn't he?

Something about a conversation, neglect. Yes, it was starting to seep back now, he could feel it, grasp it, lick it with his acid tongue, yes!

But it would always vanish. It could draw so close, its breath with trickled down his neck, and the hairs could gently stroke his cheek with the whisper to soothe him and make his own stand on end on his neck, but in a good way, most certainly a good way. Then snap. It would vanish. Powerless, almost wishing a monster could burst from his chest and snatch it for him, because he was most clearly powerless to the whole situation.

He still thumbed through the old writings, as she lay, cold on the floor. It had been hours, not years. His tears were still fresh upon her forehead, like tiny crystals that sparkled in the moonlight to constantly remind him of the beauty of death. She had been very beautiful, sitting on the side of the glade, damp, cold, shivering only but days ago, talking to him, him longing, but never reaching. Then his ferocious hands, powerful with the strength of all his memories, all his thoughts, his emotion, and the meathooks, had taken their frenzy and expelled it through his palms, choking her neck. She gazed into his eyes, trying to fight the phlegm in her throat, swallow it, tell him he was doing wrong, battle back the blood rising from her lungs.

She was lucky he considered it. In that moment she died, it had been slow, but quick. His was slow, and slow. He had never died, but bordering on that line, hovering forever and a day towards the uncertain fate of having to actually live up to the consequences and take note of what he'd done. He was too content, or dismayed, to simply cry onto the floor, letting the tears splash onto the wooden floor like wardrums. He could put on a mask, happy to be sad. He didn't care in those moments how his life could end up. He could lose his limbs, live on the cold and frozen floor of a cave with the wild animals await the moment to tear him apart. It really did not bother him. In that moment, he lost the drive to do anything, except the drive to never drive again.

"How do you apologize to that which cannot hear you?" he thought, kneeling down next to the corpse, dribbles of blood trailing from her lips and onto the mess of her hair, which had become a knot of snakes and vines in the struggle. He touched her cheek, it felt like his hand had touched the gold again, but not again, for he was reliving a moment that had never existed. Only in death, could he truly appreciate what had happened.

"I'm sorry" he muttered, but it was sadly too late. He could pass messages, flicker his candles into a distant reality of upheld promises, but he would never be there. He had failed to do his promise, to be a friend, a companion, but taking his emotions through his brain, rather than his heart.

He remembered the page, the book, onto which the words had been written:

"Everyone has tangled emotions, dwelling inside like boiling potions of anger and fury. Yet, we are pulled on strings like puppets towards uncertain end, with little control over our internal passions and desires. Everyone has a deep governing monster, we just have to find it."

He didn't know what the monster was, it was hiding, perhaps in the cave he would have no trouble sleeping in.

Then perhaps to find the monster, he would have to reduce himself to that level, tear the clothes, skin, muscle from his body, just leave his dripping bones to find the way.

Or would he really have no troubles reducing himself?

Much like the cold, lifeless love he now knelt against, regret could easily fall into place, ground under the pestle and mortar and then added to the potion he would have to drink to remain alive. His fleet footed thoughts, at the time could seem to clever, intelligent, like he was king of the world. He remembered the adrenaline surged, coursing through his veins when his hands clasped firmly round her neck and began to squeeze. His lips had curled into a smile; how a horrible sight it must have been, to gaze into the eyes of one who enjoyed the thrill enough to continue, one second, two seconds, three second, onwards, into the spiral and jaws of the wood, cold and hungry.

She wasn't dead, her life had left her, but she wasn't dead. He was dead. For how to define the death, the easy way out, the quick release of spirit mind and soul? It was but a short space of time, a few seconds or minutes in the grand space of infinite. Yet, while infinitely tiny in comparison, it could be infinitely longer in retrospect, for one to look in thousands year time, could gaze upon a hollow soul, wretched and distraught from a crime commited so very long ago, when the world around could seem to forget and move on, but his mind, constantly tumbling and falling to regret, the day it had been done.

The day he thought had killed her, and yes, he hadn't not, but his own death was on that day too.

A fickle reminder of just how powerful the brain, heart and the monster could be, when united by emotion.
 

[FeelTheAnguish]

((Author's note: Thanks to every single person who has read this continuing saga, but it must draw to a close for the essence of change to come about. This has been a very emotionally charged time for me, in the writing of these, and as such I can feel myself as a part of these stories. I can't thank you all enough.

So without further ado, I give you the ending to Asarikox's and my own journey!))

He hadn’t wanted to love her, in fact he had wished for quite the opposite during the final days. Perhaps she had seen it coming, but she had stayed, and had paid dearly for it. He wanted to hate her, drift away and leave her, for as a ship has its builders and constructors, placing the wood together to form a vessel onto which could float on the sea, Asarikox’s mind wished for him to sail away. She had helped build him, but he had wanted to break away, and she hadn’t let him do that, she’d been to close, she’d said too much.
Only now had he realised, that even thought he had set sail, he had nobody to steer his course, to keep him repaired along the way. The water of his tears and salt could splash onto decks, and surely sink him. Like a hole had been cast into his hull, that he hadn’t noticed as the wood splashed against the white chariots of the waves, he now sailed to a doomed fate. When he would sink, and where, racked his thoughts for weeks.

A boat, built from the strongest wood, but
It’s cursed to sink
Do you what you think you should, but
You killed her, take time to think

Six months since he had met her and she was laying cold and dead on the floor, with red marks of his hands around her neck. She had tried to make him stay for a bit longer, to make him take his time. She thought it as easy to take him by the hand and lead him back into the warm and dry. He had showed her what those hands could do. Her clothes were torn off, laying in tatters on the floor around the room as he closed the door with a tear in his eye. The next person to see her, if anybody ever did, would gaze upon a bruised and naked body, left to the mercy of the world. He had closed the door gently, trying to stop himself overflowing with emotion, but he had the will, he had left that night under the cover of dark, dragging his belongings with him. It didn’t rain that night, it was eerily still and quiet.

Still, frigid cold clings in the air
You seem to not want to take it in
This is not pathetic, it’s not a fantasy
There’s no metaphor there for you Asarikox
Take it for what it is, I advise you to run

Six months had taught him much about himself, that he did need her dearly. She had kept him calm, rubbed her fingers through his hair when he clenched his fists, and the fingers seemed to relax. All the little diversions, intricate little items and curiosities, had made him forget how much she meant to him, and then like a brittle wood, unable to be used in the boat, he had snapped. He had learnt so much, that he needn’t journey alone, although this sadly would be the case. He would never find a replacement for her.

The months spent in her company, with so many masks and hollows in the trees, where he could hide and she would smile when he did ridiculous things. Where he was very conscious of how to work his brain to gain effect from her, but she didn’t care. He could be the clumsiest person alive, by proud and stern, and she would have still rejoiced in his company.
The autumn leaves, a memory he had forgotten, where he had been foraging for acorns beneath the trees, and she had been watching him, like he was a small child. He had swept through piles of leaves, to find the most green ones, with small little hats and perfect form. When his eyes smiled, her mouth smiled. They had sat on autumn sunsets, which he had forgotten entirely, and gazed at the orange clouds, telling each other the shapes and what they showed. She would feel warm inside over his weird views, and obscurities into their fluffy form.

It was just now, the dripping rain, running off his skin, like it had never done before. The cold, like he had never felt before, the wet, like he had never experienced before. Those were his key memories. That was why she wanted him to stay, they had spent many a fun time together, but he had forgotten all of it, and only picked up the fragments of discarded pain onto the soil. All the things he had never felt, or touched, or loved, were the things that impaled him, driving deep into his brain. One day he might pull the sword free, or prize his head open and take out his brain, so that he would never remember again. His tears would join the singing rivers for eternity to come, where their tunes would add to the song in their own beautiful and unique way, lapping at the harps and flutes. Someday, the world itself would sing his song, but it was not this day, it was not the next day. He would die, and become one with the earth, where the trees would eat him and he could bloom into a blossom on their branches, quickly to fall and recycle again, before the world would sing.

If you could be a flower, what in names, what would you do?
You’d kill your freedom I can say
Would you sacrifice and eternity of never seeing the new?
Just appreciate the dawn of every day

He would sit besides the rivers, wondering if he jumped in, where it would take him. He wished not to do it for twisted reasons, to feel the air suck dry from his lungs like desert sands, but to feel the water trail across him, where it wanted him to go. Oh, the water was cool, it always had been, but the snow could make it even colder. The wind would often blow upon his back, in the crouched and huddled forms of himself gazing into the water at his reflection, which seemed to shift and ripple in front of him.

Autumn eventually trailed into winter, where he would find her warmth of lacking comfort. He simply wished to hold her, which he had never done, but to keep her warm, and himself. The snow could embrace him, but the feeling could never compare. The leaves had dropped off the trees, and his eyes froze over to it all. He would never forget this now, he had clenched firmly in his hands the book, where the words he needn’t repeat to himself where scribed. His duty almost called out to him to write in it, to detail how his guilt was almost controlling, but not at the same time. Yet, such words would never truly swallow his emotions, they would always remain with him, no matter how many words he placed on page and paper.

He had once been a lord! He could strike fear with but the scrape of metal from its case, with the lash of whip signalling a surge of pain and anguish across their system! He wanted that back, he wanted to be secure again. He wanted armour, like a shell, to keep him safe, he wanted his power back. Now he lay, like a dying wolf amongst the field of flowers, vulnerable, but wishing to absorb the beauty as he made his final song. The pinks and blues of the petals almost called out to him, as he closed his eyes on the beauty of the world. He would be reborn as somebody new. He could feel the blood trickle off his hands, so delicately and finely.

Horror, beyond that which he could understand would rack his brain, torrents of fears and emotions. He had left the city gates, frantically trying to convince himself that taking her body with him was wrong, or if she should go back and get it. Even if the flesh was bruised, like blueberries and blackberries, it would still glow like the autumn sunrise. He had touched her, it had felt tender, like a skin of a berry that had bruised and gone slightly soft, but he never went back. He dared not, for bad memories lurked there, misting out the good ones.

Six months after her death, he would gaze back on that day, as one of the worst in his life. That thought would remain with him for life, as surely to lose what meant most to you, whether blade or beloved, he would always remember.

He rose onto his two legs, they were strong beneath him, his arms could move, he could still see. His hair felt fresh, his flesh felt fair, he was fine on the outside. He paced around, he was lucky enough to have not torn himself apart in his moment of silence and constraint against the world. No blood did he shed against his own skin. He could count himself lucky, as he had the ability to get up and move on in the world, while the winter frost was just beginning to grip the land, Asarikox wasn’t going to let his grip stay. He loosened his fingers on it.

The small leather bag contained few things, stained with the blood of the one he once…the blood was very powerful to him, but inside was where he only looked. He knew at some point he might face the consequences for what he had done, his own blood might be spilt one day. Forever he would hold that thought, maybe, because forever would blood be drawn with little fear.

He could see it now, the burnt flesh of his entire body, the sudden sigh of relief, the draw of a thousand angels and their music ringing in his hearts and eyes. It felt good, refreshing. He could see himself, from now, an eye of the great blue orb, a hand of pain and anguish.

I can see you now, from blood red eyes you leer
From moonlight crack, slash to draw the fear
Clang of metal, uncage the fearsome blade
Of daemon consequence and malevolent fury
The personality in you it has made

I can see you now, stumble into the snow
Fearful of your memories, but scared to let them go
Let your eyes cast behind you, the blizzard cut your face
I can see it in your eyes, the dangerous anger
Trying to find on red crystals, on birdsong’s grace

Your vision becomes blurred, the world goes black
As the sword inside your head, only trained you to attack
And as you think, of the blackened marble towering spire
You flick thought your thoughts, those that you depend on
And you think of them, considering them a fickle liar

I can see her now, she finds you bleeding and numb
Treats you gently, softly, like baby milky blood against the thumb
Pulling you back, deep seated internal desire
I can see your thoughts, turn and run liked freed wolf
Yet you freeze, gentle hand, pull you back, gaze into the fire

The snow can melt, drain down to soil
Sweat beads of torment to show for your toil
I can feel your desire for your power, you emotions un-contest
Yet no wound upon your hand, no blood been spilt, you fool
I bestow on you, count for that which you’ve been blessed.

I can see you now, tears threaten to cascade into flood
Your future lies with one of blood
Abnormality, different from the others
See into the deepest souls, strengthen magnifying glass of darkened ecstasy
For you see no differently than those you shun as brothers

I can see you now, distracted pull of course
To flame your brain, numb to no remorse
Flattened stumps, warming acorns with hats to wreck
Yet, she stands so proud, the audacity to make you stay through love
So you take your blood sodden hands, and place them round her neck

Regret? It serves you right my dear
For words so true, onto metal ears not hear
Your saturated nightmares, reality your mind was rape
Join me dearest child, or be broken in, it’s not a choice you can make I’m afraid
I’m the one who will offer you escape

For you’re all just pawns in my lifelong game
You didn’t even know her name.


If that were a consequence, then let it arrive! Let the day come when he faced his judgement! Bring on his own death! He needn’t care anymore!



Written by: Alistair Martin - Known as Asarikox Requis within the Anti Sanctus Chaotica.

[MiztrezzLyn]

Well that was a LONG read

I liked it very much, you have obviously put a lot of work into this.

Great job!

[FeelTheAnguish]

For those of you who have read this story, of Asarikox's life before he was absorbed by the powers of chaos, then you will know it was rather loose in plot and detail. Since it didn't make much sense, I shall be rewriting, remastering and adding to parts of it (quite the task considering the length of it).

This shall be done in a new thread, under the same name, but I am posting in this one as a heads up. Rest assured, Asarikox's backstory will make much more sense. There will still be ten parts, but each will be longer and tied together much more strongly than they were before. 

February 2012

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