Trakis2008-05-04 18:41:06
The sound of the noisy crowd woke him as it usually did – causing him to stir groggily in what has become a mid-afternoon ritual. The citizenry of the outer wall filed past him, occasionally calling out obscenities at the drunk figure sleeping on the side of the road, a hung over obstruction to pedestrian traffic.
Eridin, former Celestine Shield of the Light, opened one eye halfway, bracing himself for the light of the day, flooding down into the plaza from the clear sky above. The glare of the sunlight against the glittering pieces of the road shot lances of pain through his eyes, exacerbating his already excruciating headache.
Eridin pulled the hood of his threadbare robes further over his head, in a half-hearted attempt to shield his eyes from the sun. He took note of the multitude of faded stains on his once-white ceremonial robes stoically - the result of weeks of 'hard' living: crawling from bar to bar, sleeping in beds when they were available, and on the street, like last night, when they weren't.
Taking a moment to rest against the wall, he closed his eyes again, and took a breath, preparing himself to face the day.
He staggered to his feet. Still drunk, he felt along the inside of his robe, fumbling around for the secret compartment where he keeps his purse. As he suspected, he had drank away the last of his gold. Or perhaps it had been stolen. Such details were irrelevant.
Eridin waited for a break in the traffic, and joined the flow of people moving towards the harbor. He would see if any of the fishermen would be willing to hire a drunk for the day. Clumsily shuffling along, he tried his best to will his headache to subside; his thoughts drifting back to the bottle.
--
He had lived like this for weeks – expelled from the holy Celestine order when the Merciful Judge caught him sneaking sovereigns from the treasury vault as “personal†expenses – that is to say, for boozing and whoring. The trace of rum on his breath as he explained his predicament did little to further his cause.
There could be no existence more meaningless than this. He has developed a routine by now. Each morning, he would walk along the outskirts of the city, avoiding the plaza of the Pool of Stars, and circling around towards the harbor.
During the day, he spent the day doing menial labor - whatever odd jobs he could find among the peddlers and fishermen who sold their wares by the dirtiest part of New Celest's harbor. Shining jewel of Celestia the city might be, but there were parts that could smell incredibly foul – a stink that Eridin carried with him as of late.
He begged for what little he ate - stale bread crusts and week-old stew, or whatever else passing citizens felt inclined to give him. He slept in the open, on the rooftops, his threadbare, wine-stained robes his only protection from the elements.
Occasionally, some particularly charitable passerby would give him a coin. These, he always saved, wrapping them in a cloth, and burying them behind the loose cobblestone in the alley behind The Empty Cup, his drinking establishment of choice. He ate as much or as little as he was given, but he made sure he went to sleep every night drunk as a fish, or a merian, he supposed, given the geographical context. One particularly sensual summer night, he tried to buy a woman, only to be turned away after the madam's nose wrinkled in distaste at the putrid smell he had brought in to her brothel. She didn't seem to have a problem with his gold, though. She kept that.
He ate what he could, drank whenever possible, and tried to forgot about his past.
At night, the dreams would come. Twisted visions of Tainted Nil flooded his subconscious as demons and snarling Viscanti he had slain as a protector of the city jeered at him, taunting the fallen priest to strike them down the the Light that had forsaken him. Shapely temptresses beckoned to him, urging him to join them in the revels of the Taint, before changing into the discordant sounds of cackling laughter.
Each day, he wished for death, but the coward within him would not meet it.
--
Well into the dead of night found Eridin stumbling along a road overlooking the Inner Sea. Suddenly, he ran towards the water, grabbing hold of the railing as he retched violently into the water, wasting the fruits of an afternoon's worth of begging.
He sensed movement behind him. His ears, once sharp, had not lost all of their sensitivity, and through the soft crashing of waves, he made out the unmistakable harsh syllables of Viscanti speech. Slowly, Erisdin began to turn around. What he saw was not a face, but the incoming swing of a wicked-looking morning star. Too late to duck, the weapon smashed into his face. He slumped to the ground, blood oozing slowly out of the side of his head. Strong arms grabbed him from either end, followed by a strange weightless sensation. Phasing in and out of consciousness, he was only faintly aware of the cold, icy water as he splashed into it, swallowed at once by the depths of the sea...
--
Eridin, former Celestine Shield of the Light, opened one eye halfway, bracing himself for the light of the day, flooding down into the plaza from the clear sky above. The glare of the sunlight against the glittering pieces of the road shot lances of pain through his eyes, exacerbating his already excruciating headache. A watery veil covered his eyes, causing everything in the plaza to shift, like objects lying on the sand in the shallows.
A beautiful, angelic woman stopped in the street in front of Eridin, extending a radiant, perfectly-shaped hand towards him. Dressed in a simple white robe, she radiated a bright white light, reducing everything around her to pale shadows – cheap facsimiles of imitations.
“Get up, my child.â€
The mist obscuring his vision cleared slightly, and as he looked at the face, he found the Light framing the figure impossible to withhold. He tore his gaze away, looking at the wall behind him. It was not a wall at all, but a growing pinpoint of darkness, roaring with the fierce voice of the angry sea. The darkness rushed towards him at an alarming speed, growing larger and larger. Eridin knew that he would die within its depths. He felt himself being pulled backwards – his arms flailing in the struggles of a drowning man.
“Look at me, child.†A command, this time.
His body obeyed, once again turning to that terrible, white light, yet it was not so bad this time. He fought back tears.
“Celest is in danger, and you must save it.â€
“Mother, I'm drowning.†And suddenly he felt like a boy again, naked and chastised. He reached an arm out, and the woman took it. Surge after surge of holy power flooded his body, burning away his grogginess and awakening the man who hid behind the drunk.
“Fly,†she said, and he did.
--
Beneath the waves, Eridin's eyes shot open, and bright, Celestial Light illuminated his body. A radiant halo formed above his head, and angelic wings sprouted from his shoulders, which he used to push himself powerfully towards the surface above. He shot out of the water, and kept flying, the night's darkness pulled back wherever he seemed to look.
Gazing towards the city's harbor, he met a darkness he could not pierce – the unmistakable oily corrosiveness of the Taint. Wings carried him towards the center of the city; a swath of white on a moonless sky.
--
A circle of Geomancers formed a massive circle around gate, performing some sort of ritual. Thick clouds of Taint billowed from their staffs, stifling the gatehouse with darkness. A handful of Undead Ur'guard and Nihilists stood behind the ritual circle, their lifeless eyes looking on greedily. Looking beyond the gate, Eridin saw a massive Magnagoran army marching towards his city, by way of the southern road.
Around them were strewn the bodies of dead Celestians – archons of the Light, Paladins fleeing from their posts, Aquamancers with staffs still in hand; even the Ecclesiarch herself, lying face up in her bedclothes, unadorned with the ornaments that ceremonially accompanied her office. One of her legs lay scandalously exposed, a macabre perversion of her once-breathing beauty. The Magnagorans had achieved complete surprise. A watchful Ur'guard spotted Eridin now, pointing at the figure high above, and nudging his comrades.
Wasting no time, Eridin bellowed in anger, flying towards the group at the ground, muttering a prayer to Elohora.
Drawing on reserves he didn't know he had, he called on the energies of Celestia, sanctifying the ground beneath him. Closing his eyes, he pushed out, straining with every ounce of mental will he could muster to call the holy fires of the inquisition down on his enemies. Below him, he could hear the screaming of burning Viscanti.
He felt his will draining rapidly, as he began to falter in his efforts. He had gone too long without training, and his will was weak. His physical body, even blessed as it was, could not bear the strain of the magical energies he was attempting to channel through him. Push harder, and his body would literally begin to unravel.
He forged on anyway, snarling angrily at the limitations of his physical form. Forcefully feeding stored magical energy through his overloaded mind, he pushed beyond the safe limits of power consumption, and felt the air around him begin to sear the outside of his skin, as he channeled wave after wave of holy cosmic energy outwards, consuming the foe beneath him.
He gave one final push, and the Light exploded, illuminating the city in one brilliant white flash before swallowed once more by the darkness of night.
Burned beyond repair, Eridin plummeted towards the ground, welcoming his final rest, among dozens of dead Magnagorans.
“Did I do well, Mother?†His last conscious thought.
Eridin, former Celestine Shield of the Light, opened one eye halfway, bracing himself for the light of the day, flooding down into the plaza from the clear sky above. The glare of the sunlight against the glittering pieces of the road shot lances of pain through his eyes, exacerbating his already excruciating headache.
Eridin pulled the hood of his threadbare robes further over his head, in a half-hearted attempt to shield his eyes from the sun. He took note of the multitude of faded stains on his once-white ceremonial robes stoically - the result of weeks of 'hard' living: crawling from bar to bar, sleeping in beds when they were available, and on the street, like last night, when they weren't.
Taking a moment to rest against the wall, he closed his eyes again, and took a breath, preparing himself to face the day.
He staggered to his feet. Still drunk, he felt along the inside of his robe, fumbling around for the secret compartment where he keeps his purse. As he suspected, he had drank away the last of his gold. Or perhaps it had been stolen. Such details were irrelevant.
Eridin waited for a break in the traffic, and joined the flow of people moving towards the harbor. He would see if any of the fishermen would be willing to hire a drunk for the day. Clumsily shuffling along, he tried his best to will his headache to subside; his thoughts drifting back to the bottle.
--
He had lived like this for weeks – expelled from the holy Celestine order when the Merciful Judge caught him sneaking sovereigns from the treasury vault as “personal†expenses – that is to say, for boozing and whoring. The trace of rum on his breath as he explained his predicament did little to further his cause.
There could be no existence more meaningless than this. He has developed a routine by now. Each morning, he would walk along the outskirts of the city, avoiding the plaza of the Pool of Stars, and circling around towards the harbor.
During the day, he spent the day doing menial labor - whatever odd jobs he could find among the peddlers and fishermen who sold their wares by the dirtiest part of New Celest's harbor. Shining jewel of Celestia the city might be, but there were parts that could smell incredibly foul – a stink that Eridin carried with him as of late.
He begged for what little he ate - stale bread crusts and week-old stew, or whatever else passing citizens felt inclined to give him. He slept in the open, on the rooftops, his threadbare, wine-stained robes his only protection from the elements.
Occasionally, some particularly charitable passerby would give him a coin. These, he always saved, wrapping them in a cloth, and burying them behind the loose cobblestone in the alley behind The Empty Cup, his drinking establishment of choice. He ate as much or as little as he was given, but he made sure he went to sleep every night drunk as a fish, or a merian, he supposed, given the geographical context. One particularly sensual summer night, he tried to buy a woman, only to be turned away after the madam's nose wrinkled in distaste at the putrid smell he had brought in to her brothel. She didn't seem to have a problem with his gold, though. She kept that.
He ate what he could, drank whenever possible, and tried to forgot about his past.
At night, the dreams would come. Twisted visions of Tainted Nil flooded his subconscious as demons and snarling Viscanti he had slain as a protector of the city jeered at him, taunting the fallen priest to strike them down the the Light that had forsaken him. Shapely temptresses beckoned to him, urging him to join them in the revels of the Taint, before changing into the discordant sounds of cackling laughter.
Each day, he wished for death, but the coward within him would not meet it.
--
Well into the dead of night found Eridin stumbling along a road overlooking the Inner Sea. Suddenly, he ran towards the water, grabbing hold of the railing as he retched violently into the water, wasting the fruits of an afternoon's worth of begging.
He sensed movement behind him. His ears, once sharp, had not lost all of their sensitivity, and through the soft crashing of waves, he made out the unmistakable harsh syllables of Viscanti speech. Slowly, Erisdin began to turn around. What he saw was not a face, but the incoming swing of a wicked-looking morning star. Too late to duck, the weapon smashed into his face. He slumped to the ground, blood oozing slowly out of the side of his head. Strong arms grabbed him from either end, followed by a strange weightless sensation. Phasing in and out of consciousness, he was only faintly aware of the cold, icy water as he splashed into it, swallowed at once by the depths of the sea...
--
Eridin, former Celestine Shield of the Light, opened one eye halfway, bracing himself for the light of the day, flooding down into the plaza from the clear sky above. The glare of the sunlight against the glittering pieces of the road shot lances of pain through his eyes, exacerbating his already excruciating headache. A watery veil covered his eyes, causing everything in the plaza to shift, like objects lying on the sand in the shallows.
A beautiful, angelic woman stopped in the street in front of Eridin, extending a radiant, perfectly-shaped hand towards him. Dressed in a simple white robe, she radiated a bright white light, reducing everything around her to pale shadows – cheap facsimiles of imitations.
“Get up, my child.â€
The mist obscuring his vision cleared slightly, and as he looked at the face, he found the Light framing the figure impossible to withhold. He tore his gaze away, looking at the wall behind him. It was not a wall at all, but a growing pinpoint of darkness, roaring with the fierce voice of the angry sea. The darkness rushed towards him at an alarming speed, growing larger and larger. Eridin knew that he would die within its depths. He felt himself being pulled backwards – his arms flailing in the struggles of a drowning man.
“Look at me, child.†A command, this time.
His body obeyed, once again turning to that terrible, white light, yet it was not so bad this time. He fought back tears.
“Celest is in danger, and you must save it.â€
“Mother, I'm drowning.†And suddenly he felt like a boy again, naked and chastised. He reached an arm out, and the woman took it. Surge after surge of holy power flooded his body, burning away his grogginess and awakening the man who hid behind the drunk.
“Fly,†she said, and he did.
--
Beneath the waves, Eridin's eyes shot open, and bright, Celestial Light illuminated his body. A radiant halo formed above his head, and angelic wings sprouted from his shoulders, which he used to push himself powerfully towards the surface above. He shot out of the water, and kept flying, the night's darkness pulled back wherever he seemed to look.
Gazing towards the city's harbor, he met a darkness he could not pierce – the unmistakable oily corrosiveness of the Taint. Wings carried him towards the center of the city; a swath of white on a moonless sky.
--
A circle of Geomancers formed a massive circle around gate, performing some sort of ritual. Thick clouds of Taint billowed from their staffs, stifling the gatehouse with darkness. A handful of Undead Ur'guard and Nihilists stood behind the ritual circle, their lifeless eyes looking on greedily. Looking beyond the gate, Eridin saw a massive Magnagoran army marching towards his city, by way of the southern road.
Around them were strewn the bodies of dead Celestians – archons of the Light, Paladins fleeing from their posts, Aquamancers with staffs still in hand; even the Ecclesiarch herself, lying face up in her bedclothes, unadorned with the ornaments that ceremonially accompanied her office. One of her legs lay scandalously exposed, a macabre perversion of her once-breathing beauty. The Magnagorans had achieved complete surprise. A watchful Ur'guard spotted Eridin now, pointing at the figure high above, and nudging his comrades.
Wasting no time, Eridin bellowed in anger, flying towards the group at the ground, muttering a prayer to Elohora.
Drawing on reserves he didn't know he had, he called on the energies of Celestia, sanctifying the ground beneath him. Closing his eyes, he pushed out, straining with every ounce of mental will he could muster to call the holy fires of the inquisition down on his enemies. Below him, he could hear the screaming of burning Viscanti.
He felt his will draining rapidly, as he began to falter in his efforts. He had gone too long without training, and his will was weak. His physical body, even blessed as it was, could not bear the strain of the magical energies he was attempting to channel through him. Push harder, and his body would literally begin to unravel.
He forged on anyway, snarling angrily at the limitations of his physical form. Forcefully feeding stored magical energy through his overloaded mind, he pushed beyond the safe limits of power consumption, and felt the air around him begin to sear the outside of his skin, as he channeled wave after wave of holy cosmic energy outwards, consuming the foe beneath him.
He gave one final push, and the Light exploded, illuminating the city in one brilliant white flash before swallowed once more by the darkness of night.
Burned beyond repair, Eridin plummeted towards the ground, welcoming his final rest, among dozens of dead Magnagorans.
“Did I do well, Mother?†His last conscious thought.
Trakis2008-05-04 18:41:52
I didn't realize until after how similar it was to the Marilynth story. I actually want to rewrite, but I don't know if it's possible to re-submit a bardic. Ah well.
