The gates of Necrothreat grind closed behind me with an ominous thunk. I asked for this...for this chance to redeem myself. Why does it feel so painful to hear those gates close then? I asked for it, and I must go on, but still I feel as if this is the end of a chapter, of an era. I feel the breeze upon my face and I hope that it will not be the last time I feel its loving caress; I hope that, above all, the Forumites hiding below in their squalor will be able to rise from the bowels of the earth and reclaim this, their homeland. And I am their hope, the last thread hanging in the balance between utter destruction and each Forumite inhaling this scent. A scent of smoke, of death, but carried deep within...life. A fresh breath of spring, a scent of flowers, of hope. I inhale deeply, taking the good with the bad, the bad with the good, and step forward. I am ready. I will do this. No more shall I be a puppet, no more! Let it be known that I am now the author of my own fate...
I walk through the land of Necrothreat for the first time since the sun was obscured by the great Firewall in the reign of Perrin. Still I see its signs...Piles of ashes, blackened trees. But through it all life endures, green poking through the grey, buds in the black. The land calls me forward, the path clear. I fear it is a path to my death, but I walk it gladly. I have reconciled myself to my fate and because of this I have shaken off the snare Armok set upon me on my death and rebirth. He rules through terror, and loses that hold as terror leaves his victim. I no longer feel fear at the name of Armok. He is a cur to me, a destroyer of worlds and also a creator of worlds...Bringer of life, but only for the blood they will bring him. No, I no longer fear Armok. I hate him with a rage which threatens to consume me. But I do not let it...that is the path to Fain, who highmax names Ur. I will give neither god the satisfaction of having me dancing on their puppet strings.
But Armok is cunning...he shall try to claim me, if he can, for I have spat in his eye by being free from him. As I welcomed the blanket of death he dragged me back, and forced on me my....I cannot think of it, even now. All I think of when I recall it is blood. He wanted me afraid, and so sent his minion to keep me loyal...his blood sucking minion. I grin, a wicked grin, a free grin. The grin of a man who has met his maker, despises him, and is not afraid to say it to him. He has yet to see the fury of a Forumite who has lost all, who has been tormented and tortured to within an inch of his life. That fury...that fury will make even the gods tremble and rue the day they stirred up its embers, for the fire they sent to me has forged me a-new. They made me what I am. I suppose I should thank them...after I settle my score with them.
I see it. The yak, drenched in blood, gore spattering its blade-like hoofs. It seems to blot out the sun and despite myself I begin to feel fear...but no. I will not be afraid. I walk towards it, smile never leaving my face, barely hesitating at all. It rises in front of me, a hill in its own right. I disobeyed highmax to come out here. Funny, how that occurs to me as I look upon my rival. But it does. I wonder why? Perhaps it is that I have denied the overseer? But no, I don't think it is that; I think it is because I want to live, and obeying would mean life. But I couldn't do it anymore. I must break the puppet strings and face the puppeteer. I must, or ruin will fall on us all. I hope the other Forumites will see it that way...
But I digress, my mind fleeing from that which it does not wish to think of. The yak. I am close now. Close enough to see the trampled bodies of my brethren beneath its hoofs. My rage stirs at the sight, but I hold it in, leash it. I am close now to my goal. The yak notices me, insignificant fly that I must seem to be to it. It paws the ground, eager for my blood to stain the horns it tosses back and forth red...Long and sharp are those horns, ebony and curled. They bring to mind images of death, demons, and Armok. I laugh, and the beasts face seems to twist into a rough look of confusion. Then rage takes it again and it seems to grow wilder, the dirt spraying up in the air behind its rotting bulk. Bits of skin like tanned leather flap on its bleached bones in the breeze as it bucks and balks, comes closer and then prances backwards. Taunting me. I dare to come closer to you it seems to say. Your puny spear does not hold any fear for me
I look at my spear. It hangs in my limp hand. The Yak, infuriated by my lack of care, stamps the ground and churns the turf beneath its feet, bodies of the fallen swept around in its anger. The spear...a weapon of death, of blood. Of Armok. I level it at the Yak and it perks up, the remains of its nostrils flaring in eagerness,twin streams of smoke rising past the blood red pools of eyes which glare balefully down at me. A weapon of Armok. Armok's tool....Yelling, I throw the spear down, throw down my connection to the bloody tools that Armok would ensnare me with. I serve no-one, not Armok, Not Fain. I answer only to myself. The spear hits the ground and rebounds once. Twice. My world seems to shake with each bounce. When it settles I look the yak in its magma-coloured eyes, staring deep into their cherry depths. It flinches, unsettled for the first time. Grinning with wild savagery, I let go of the reins on my angry, wild side. It is a part of me, not Armok, and it so desperately wants out.
Screaming I charge head down at the Yak, arms pumping and lungs burning. I reach the six feet mark. Five feet. Four. Three. Still screaming as loud as possible, I leap at the shell-shocked yak foot first, landing a blow which resounds through my whole body. Bones grate under my foot as I bounce off the thick skull and land heavily in the blood, mud and stones of Necrothreat. I look above me and see that I may have miscalculated. The yak gazes down at me with fire in its eyes which no water would be able to quench. It snorts, a plume of mist rising in the, twining around the Yaks horns and then disappearing into the cold light of day. It also seems completely unfazed by a kick right between the eyes. Tensing, I prepare to dodge away from the inevitable attac....Quicker than thought, The Yak lunges downwards with its head.
Alright, I lied a wee bit. Said I was too tired, but head kept swimming with ideas so I couldn't get to sleep...so I just kept writing. If there are mistakes in grammar or spelling, it's only because I'm so tired. More up either tomorrow or tonight, depending on whether I drop off or not.
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Topic: Necrothreat II - A Fort Cursed by the Gods! (Read 472664 times)