Seeking Answers

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[161] Salainn: Seeking Answers (1)

Tue Dec 13 13:44:17 2011

To: Shadow All Necrucifer ( Immortal Religion Lanival )

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Tangled jungle brush parted before the lone figure as he trekked through

the untamed wilderness of Tropica's rainforest, a black armored man who

hacked his way through the dense foliage as he worked inexorably toward his

objective. The entrance was well- concealed- he knew it must be so- and it

did, indeed, take the better part of an hour searching an isolated part of

the jungle before he discovered the moss-covered entrance he sought.

Another forceful swing and the curtain was swept away, allowing the scent of

decay and sounds, sounds that did not belong, to reach the ears of Salainn

Illithi.

The young knight frowned, pausing inside the carved stone archway. Beneath

the thick leather of his gloves, he noticed a trail of carvings, an

intricate series of figures and runes that, he knew, told a history of

sorts. He took a single step down the stairway that led into darkness,

focused intently upon the sounds that emanated from the shadows. Nobody

should have been here, in this sanctuary. It was ever a safe place, a

sacred place watched over by the man who had sworn to guard it. But with

its passing.... Salainn shook his head, dispelling the thoughts. There

were intruders at the entrance to the Abyss, and his father was no longer

there to repel them. He would take it upon himself, now, and then seek to

learn more of what he came to discover.

At the base of the stairs, the hallway widened dramatically into a great

room that extended back farther than the pitiful light could illuminate.

Salainn slipped about the corner of the stairwell, more silent than his

heavy midnight platemail would have otherwise indicated. Careful steps took

him to one of the many thick supportive columns that dotted the great hall,

and the dark knight pressed his back to one, the carvings pressing against

the back of his head as he closed his eyes to focus once more. A dull

crackling, as though wood on a fire, reached him, as well as another sound,

a familiar one. It was the sound of stone across metal, a whetstone drawn

across a blade. A gloved hand going to the sword at his belt, Salainn slid

around the column and advanced, stalking through the shadows as a dull

source of illumination finally met his gaze, a flickering light that lived

only within an isolated corner at the far end of the room.

A grim nod was the young man's only response as he strode forward, the sound

audible now as his movements shifted his armor. Drawing his sword, he

rounded the column in a fluid motion, 'Intruders of this place, you have

cast your lot. Burn in He-' his voice caught in his throat as the armored

figure silhouetted in the fire turned, his grizzled face barely illuminated

as cold, grey eyes fixed upon the younger man. Lanival Illithi gazed back

at his son with contempt, his words dripping with equal ire 'To the

contrary, son. It is you who is the invader. '

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[162] Salainn: Seeking Answers (2)

Tue Dec 13 13:46:30 2011

To: Shadow All Necrucifer ( Immortal Religion Lanival )

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Salainn looked at his father with equal parts shock and dread, his

analytical mind reeling from his father's presence, alive, in the flesh. A

sound diverted his eye for a moment, a shuffling that came from the gait of

a thickly-muscled orc dressed in tattered black robes. A skull's likeness

was painted on his ugly visage, and he leered at Salainn, revealing nasty,

uneven teeth and fangs, 'Das right, Shadow whelp! I here wit da guard! '

laughing gutturally, he turned to the grizzled, elder knight, 'Kill 'im. '

Lanival turned to regard the orc for a moment and, to Salainn's deep- seated

horror, moved to oblige, unslinging the kite shield from his back and

drawing the broadsword of marked regality that had so identified the former

Dark Lord of Storm Keep.

Lanival's first swing seemed clumsy, hesitant, and years of combat training

did what Salainn's mind was too hazy to accomplish on its own. His sword

arm seemed to move of its own accord, rose-embossed longsword batting aside

the broadsword's swing with a powerful parry, his free arm unslinging his

own kite shield. The two combatants paused for a moment, seeming as though

two reflections, one distorted by time's ravages. Then the moment passed,

the elder coming down with another powerful overhanded swing that Salainn

turned aside, lifting his shield to catch the blow as he lashed out with his

own blade, catching the elder knight on the underside of the arm.

Lanival's rent arm dropped to his side, broadsword clattering on the stone

floor as a dark fluid dripped from the torn links of chainmail. Its acrid

stench filled Salainn's nostrils with sickly sweet smell of decay. With

revulsion, he realized that the man before him did not bleed, but instead

oozed a necrotic fluid. His fury crystallized into an icy stare at the orc,

who laughed again as he strode into the darkness, his escape covered by the

undead knight, who seemed to quickly recover as his wound closed of his own

accord. 'Yes, Salainn. I have died, and have been returned to guard this

place from all who would disturb my animator. ' The young knight set his

jaw, gaze stony to hide the remaining conflict in his mind as he focused

once more on the thing that had been his father, 'Step aside, Father. Allow

me to do what you should have, would have done in life. This is a most holy

place, by your own admission. I would not have come, myself, if the need

were not dire. '

The undead shadowknight chuckled, a rare, sarcastic laugh as his gruff

visage studied his son, 'And what would that be, my son? ' The grizzled

veteran took careful steps around, never presenting a weakness around his

shield as his steps carried him to the hilt of his broadsword. 'I have come

to discover.. The Black Winds. ' the young knight's statement seemed

almost a confession, the admission of ignorance nettling him as the words

fell like iron bars. Lanival snatched up his weapon, his focus dangerously

intent upon Salainn as his expression turned to one of displeasure,

distaste, 'I see. You have disappointed me, my son. I was mistaken about

you. You have failed to cut down an obstacle in your work toward the

Prophecy when you had the chance, and have failed to understand a basic

truth of your position. You have failed. '

The words struck something deep within Salainn, precision wounds that

simultaneously enraged and demoralized the shadowknight. His thoughts

turned inward for a brief moment, a twinge of sadness gracing his

consciousness that was quickly blotted out by the savage blow that came

toward him, a lightning-fast slash that he could barely deflect in time.

Lanival's fury became a torrent of cunning stabs and slashes, each timed

perfectly to nearly slip under Salainn's guard. Salainn was hard pressed,

even with shield and sword, to keep up, turmoil slowing his thoughts and

reactions as he was forced onto the defensive, losing ground step by

reluctant step to the unholy juggernaut his father was known to fight as.

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[163] Salainn: Seeking Answers (3)

Tue Dec 13 13:49:05 2011

To: Shadow All Necrucifer ( Immortal Religion Lanival )

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Another quick thrust slipped under the young knight's guard and tore the

midnight chainmail on the outside of his leg, searing pain lancing through

his body as blood spilled from the wound. Lunging forward, he hacked at the

hand clutching the weapon that cut him and succeeded in batting it away from

Lanival's grip once more. The elder knight did not pause, however, and

instead drew back his arm, mailed fingers balled into a fist, and drove a

vicious right cross into Salainn's face, staggering him as blood spilled

from a split lip and cut cheeks, metal studs tearing skin as the young man

fell backwards, weapon slipping from nerveless fingers. Stars danced in

front of his vision as he scrambled backward, each movement of his right leg

sending another spear of agony through him. Kneeling, he murmured a soft

prayer, an unholy aura suffusing him as his most serious injuries began to

close of their own accord, muscles repairing and skin reknitting itself over

his cut lip and slashed leg.

'Even now, son, you hesitate. You have failed to cast aside that which tied

you to the world. You refuse to give yourself wholly to the Prophecy, and

it is for that reason that you have failed God. ' Lanival picked up his

weapon once more, kicking Salainn's longsword into the deep shadows away

from the flames. Salainn slowly rose again, testing the weight on his

injured leg before deeming it satisfactory, despite the small twinge still.

He reached up to his right shoulder, drawing his own broadsword, the design

closely matching his father's as he set himself in a combative stance once

more, watching his father's movements closely. He had no words to deflect

his father's accusations now, the softest part of him buried beneath layers

of faith and ire directed toward the creature that had animated this horror.

'You do not know, cannot know, my son, because you have failed Him. The

Black Winds do not grace the faithless, the worthless. Your life is

forfeit, coming here. ' The construct spoke again, lunging forward with a

powerful strike that Salainn turned aside, the young man lashing out with

his shield to batter his father into submission. Lanival responded in kind,

both kite shields colliding with a scape of metal as both men strained

against each others' strength, slate grey eyes meeting over the edges of

their shields. The struggle continued for a long moment, both mens'

utterances mere grunts of effort as they fought and failed to overcome one

another. Suddenly, the younger knight drew back, all resistance fading as

he slid back a step. Lanival, his balance thrown so forward, followed

clumsily and was rewarded with an armored knee impacting his midsection,

blunt force carrying through the heavy iron plate that sheathed his upper

body. The undead knight did not falter, however, instead rising as both

shield and sword fell to the ground, fists entwined to bring a punishing

hammerblow to the underside of Salainn's jaw. There was a crack as mail met

flesh, and another gout of blood gushed between Salainn's teeth as they bit

deeply into his tongue.

Blackness danced at the corner of the young knight's vision as he kneeled,

dazed, as Lanival loomed above him. His eyes closed, and when they reopened

the elder knight bore now his broadsword, the gunmetal blade refusing to

reflect the dying light of the fire. His lips moved, but Salainn could not

hear them. He was dimly aware of the shape of the words, the familiar

command given unto all enemies unworthy of salvation. 'Burn in Hell. ' The

dark blade came up, and Salainn's eyes followed, training screaming to move,

but his body refusing to cooperate, rooted to the spot by some force,

disbelief, or perhaps the ironclad will of the Dark Lord's presence. The

swing began to fall, and time stretched as though elastic.

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[164] Salainn: Seeking Answers (4)

Tue Dec 13 13:51:42 2011

To: Shadow All Necrucifer ( Immortal Religion Lanival )

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The young knight's mind seemed to race, acknowledging in its final

moments the most minute of details, the hardened features of his father's

visage, the arc of the blade that seemed destined to claim his life. He

closed his eyes and inclined his head, thoughts turning to a final prayer to

Necrucifer.

Then... A breath of air. A caress of cool wind that slid across his cheek

as a whisper danced at the edge of hearing. The word almost did not

gave life to his numb body. 'Fight. ' His shield came up, the blade

glancing off of the plate's leading edge, and deflected the worst of the

blow. Lanival's blade continued its diverted arc, slicing through chainmail

and biting into the flesh of Salainn's upper arm. Blood spattered on the

stone, but the pain only served to rouse the young knight further. His

shield fell as his gauntletted hand pressed to the wound, bloodied lips

forming the words to another orison of healing. Dark power washed over him

once more, relieving the agony that his ruined tongue provided and repairing

the worst damage to his arm. Blood still seeped from the cut, but the

damage was merely superficial now. Salainn could once again obey the voice.

He could once again fight.

Lanival appeared taken aback at Salainn's recovery, retreating a step as the

battered, armored figure of the Master of the Rose regained his footing,

casting a baleful gaze upon the undead monstrosity. A building current

seemed to surround the young knight, a growing current of air as a choir of

voices seemed to murmur words unintelligible. Salainn said nothing,

reaching for the small sheathe on the inside of his left arm and drawing a

long knife, jaw set once more as he advanced on his father. The voices

continued to speak their message unintelligible from their overlapping

commands, though the intent echoed deep within him, 'Your father is dead.

This is but a shell housing a fragment. Cut it down. '

Dark fury coursed through his limbs, granting clarity of focus as he

sidestepped another attack by Lanival, the blade slicing through air as the

young shadowknight stepped into the undead's guard, a punishing fist

cracking hard against Lanival's chin, shattering bone and splashing necrotic

ichor on the leather-bound hand. The undead staggered back at the blow,

growing less intimidating in Salainn's eyes as his knife lashed out,

piercing Lanival's arm at the elbow and slicing through chainmail on the

other side as the blade erupted through the tanned flesh. Viscous black

fluid dripped from the blade as Lanival's sword fell from nerveless fingers,

clattering as he wrenched his wounded arm from Salainn's grasp. He reached

as though to remove it, but another devastating blow to the head rocked him

backwards. Salainn instead wrenched the dagger free, the blade trailing

ichor as it whipped about, carving a groove across Lanival's brow as the

young knight pressed an unrelenting offensive. Ichor slid into the elder

knight's eyes, obscuring his vision and reducing his defense to an almost

childlike level of skill as the younger man rained precise blows, delivered

and withdrawn faster than the unholy regeneration could keep up with. A

final strike from the dagger slid into the elder man's thigh as Salainn

slipped about him, a rough kick taking out his knees as the last of the

ichor obscuring his eyes cleared. Lanival Illithi fell to an upright

kneeling position to see his son standing over him with his own broadsword,

an ironic echo of their position just minutes previous.

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[165] Salainn: Seeking Answers (5)

Tue Dec 13 13:54:14 2011

To: Shadow All Necrucifer ( Immortal Religion Lanival )

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From the shadows, the orc peered into the fading ring of light cast by

his dying fire and watched with horror as the dark-limned shadowknight drew

back his blade, the whispering winds all but a gale that encircled his

being. Salainn Illithi met his father's gaze as the Black Winds uttered

into his soul an order that brooked no dissent, one of the voices of the

choir a deeply familiar voice, one that the young man had heard not minutes

before, denouncing his very existence, 'Kill him. '

The voice of his father was the final sign, the last tie binding Salainn to

the walking, talking mound of flesh that kneeled before him. With a grim

nod, he thrust forward and pierced armor, flesh, and bone, striking the

corpse of Lanival Illithi's black, putrid heart. A single dribble of ichor

fell from the lips of the corpse as it smiled grimly, echoing the features

of his son. 'Thank you, Salainn... For freeing me of this wretched..

Torment.... Now... All of my soul may serve... God... Listen for the

voices... Upon the Winds... They are portents... Signs of.. ' his voice

seemed to waver as the corpse lost more and more power, the echoing

facsimile speaking upon the Black Winds growing stronger and more clear,

'The present.. The future... Signs sent by Him to guide the faithful...

Take them to moments... Of import to the cause.... Heed our words... And

serve... '

The last trembling words fell as the light finally faded from Lanival's

eyes, the corpse sagging back as Salainn brought his foot up and planted it

upon his father's armored chest, pushing down as he tugged the elder

knight's blade free. Ichor dripped in thick ribbons from the blade, and the

old knight's crown fell from his head as he collapsed fully, points breaking

against the stone as it rolled away into darkness. 'It is done, Father...

Thank you. '

'NO! You fool! ' the guttural voice echoed as the orc sprung into the

light, running for the shadowknight as he brandished the knight's own

longsword clumsily, a torn sleeve smoldering as the creature used it to

protect his hands from the fury of the unholy blade's refusal to be wielded.

Salainn turned his head, eyes flashing with cold hatred as he sidestepped

the poorly-timed swing and drove his left fist into the orc's ugly snout,

shattering bone and sending the monstrous humanoid sprawling.

Salainn gazed down at the orc, who was overcome with a primal sense of

terror. There was something far more sinister than a single man's ire in

the slate grey eyes, a presence that sought a single desire. Formless

shadows flitted about his armored presence, bolstering his strength and

granting him a stony nobility that was undiminished by the caked blood on

his armor and chin. Like an obelisk carved from the stones of old, the Heir

to the Purists leveled a leather-clad finger to point squarely at the

wretched creature that dared defile one of the last Purists. A single word

that echoed with the raw fury that transcended generations, a deep-seated

loathing that dripped in the single syllable echoed as the orc's terror

reached fever pitch, trying to escape the irresistible command. 'Die. '

A burning star of pain erupted behind the orc's eyes, but he was no longer

aware of such things, not fully. Blood streamed from his ears, eyes, nose,

and mouth as his organs ruptured, obeying the unholy word against their

will. Blood hemorrhaged into his brain, shutting down his faculties save

one, a dull awareness that his life was over and that a strange heat seemed

to be overtaking him, not a physical pain but something that quickly began

to sear his being to the core. He wanted to scream, tried, but could not.

Blood flooded his lungs and choked his breath, though his ruined brain could

not command him to inhale anyway. Blackness swallowed him, and the orc knew

only torment.

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[166] Salainn: Seeking Answers (6)

Tue Dec 13 13:58:43 2011

To: Shadow All Necrucifer ( Immortal Religion Lanival )

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Salainn looked down at the ruined orc dispassionately, the power and fury

that had overtaken him fading to mere wisps as the voices receded to dull

murmurs at the edge of his consciousness, 'Burn in Hell. ' He nodded to

nobody, satisfied that he had found what he had come for. He kneeled beside

his father's body, laid his sword upon his chest and folded his hands over

the weapon's hilt like the kings of old. Rising, he ventured into the

darkness' cool embrace and kneeled to gather the glinting crown and the

broken flanges that had fallen away from it. This, he kept close to his

chest. This last item would be his, a memento of his father and a promise

to his spirit. The crown would see use once more. Returning to the body,

he knelt and closed the elder knight's eyes before pulling him into his

arms, rising with his father's body draped across his forearms. Turning for

the entrance, he began to walk slowly, the final journey of Lanival Illithi.

He would be returned home, interred alongside his brothers in arms. Salainn

gritted his teeth as the stairwell approached, ascending slowly toward the

dull light of the rainforest above. He would be taking his father home at

last.

The young knight whispered to himself a small scrap of dogma, a mantra that

he had thought written into his very soul years hence. With each

repetition, the burden he carried seemed to lighten as guilt fell away,

reaffirming his faith.

'Death is patient.

It flows both from without and from within.

Be vigilant in all and skeptical of all.

One who follows the heart finds it will bleed.'

Salainn entered the light of the jungle, blinking away the glaring

brightness. His father's tale had ended, and his was to continue. He, like

the body in his arms, was a man, flesh and blood. Grimly orienting himself

northward, he began to retrace his old path, accompanied only by the

whispers on the Black Winds. His body would die, he accepted this, but in

faith, he would join the midnight choir that whispered to him now. All

things wither and fade, he mused, but staunchest faith that speaks

eternally.