The Chronicles - Printable Version

+- alonimi (https://alonimi.net)
+-- Forum: Fantasy (https://alonimi.net/forumdisplay.php?fid=70)
+--- Forum: Misc Fantasy (https://alonimi.net/forumdisplay.php?fid=82)
+--- Thread: The Chronicles (/showthread.php?tid=673)

---

RE: The Chronicles - deific - 10-08-2016

There was blackness. Bits of light passed by at an unimaginable speed. Arcinax had a weightless sensation about him, vision hazy and clouded over. He could make out the figure's silhouette briefly. It looked like the one he had encountered just beforehand, yet.. there was more. Horns adorned its skull, long, vertical and black. Like a bleak mirage it blended in with the background. What was it? Was it even the same creature? It looked as if its skin was made out of a dark crystal, a deep luster to it. Though Arcinax's body felt light as a feather, a sense of fatigue wracked through him. It was hard to hold his head up. More horns came into view on various spots of the creature's body just as the space marine's head hung forward like an infant's.

"What is it?", repeated in Arcinax's head, faint as a whisper. The question encompassed, hard to ignore. Everything felt heavy. His short term memory was left in bits and pieces. Only a fraction of his and Serono's conflict could be recalled. It all happened so fast, too fast for him to register most of it. Never before had he been so hopelessly overwhelmed, as if powerless. Such a feeling left a pit of bitterness and anger in his stomach. The question repeated again, "What is it?", but more loudly this time. The hassle encouraged Arcinax to raise his head once more to get a good look at this creature.

What Arcinax saw struck a cord of stillness in the space marine's heart. The entirety of the creature was black, with horns and claws a many. A long tail trailed behind it, scaled like a Tyranid's. In actuality it was much larger than previously seen, at least fifteen feet tall. Suddenly there was no semblance of humanity about it. Even as the creature slowly turned its head to meet Arcinax's gaze there was nothing natural to see. Its eyes were white. Pure white. Not milky, but like snow. How it petrified him with simply a glance. Fatigue overwhelmed the space marine once more as his head hung forward and his mind hazed over. Arcinax's eyes closed in a slow manner.

"It must be.." His lips barely moved as unconsciousness overtook him.

"A demon."

---

Hellfire scorched the land everywhere. Roared it did, spread like a plague among the battlefield. The taint of Chaos could be felt. It lingered in the back of every space marine's mind where it constantly attempted to pull the weak of faith from their virtues. Horus was a traitor. Blood ran thick along the edge of Arcinax's blade, collected into a small pool on the ground beneath. Entire chapters were at war with one another. Brothers turned on brothers. Sworn loyalties to their own gods, the factions fought with a sense of duty. An ocean of bloodshed had collected quickly. All Arcinax could do was fight and lead his brothers in arms.

They stood along the Great Wolf, poised and ready to be commanded. At the upper fringe of the hill the demon army surfaced, great in number and strength. Black smoke and hellfire was left in the wake of the tormented. Their cries were bloodcurdling, the demons among them. Swords of fire and skin red- they were not of this plane. Though fewer in number, Arcinax stood proud and vigilant among his attachment of loyal Space Wolves. There would be no retreat. Each and every one of them would fight until their dying breath in service to the chapter, in service to Him. Closer the demon hoard marched as remains of their army trickled over the crest of the hill.

The time was now.

With his great sword raised high in the air Arcinax roared, "Brothers! I stand before you as a proud bearer of the name Grimnar! Faith shall not falter- as it is your shield to steel you against our many enemy!" A large pelt hung from Arcinax's shoulders, a trademark icon of the bloodline's lineage. "Today we fight! Even if it means death! For glory! For The Pack! For the Emperor!" Lines shifted as Arcinax led the charge toward the traitorous hoard. Into the heart of it they ran, the storm of war. No man quivered while Arcinax stood among them. Battle was always hungered for. Those on the frontline possessed the strongest of honor. Just before the lines clashed Arcinax brought his great sword crashing down with a thunderous shout.

"I am the Emperor's will!"

'Victory is nothing more than survival.
It carries no weight of honour or worth beyond what we ascribe to it.
If you wish to grow wise, learn why brothers betray brothers.'

---

Arcinax's eyes slowly opened up to see cobbled stone. No longer was he in space, or between space as it had seemed. Voices chimed around him in varied pitches. Hands braced against the ground as the space marine forced himself up to a seated position. Eyes lifted to see a statue which stood in front of him. Two angelic beings were poised, almost golden in appearance. Halos adorned them with wings alike. The voices in the background grew louder, more likely due to Arcinax's return to his senses rather than the raise of decibels. Before him was an armored woman, yet slightly scantily dressed with a helmet akin to a Valkyrie on her head.

"Where am I?", Arcinax asked in a fatigued manner. "What am I doing here?" The space marine's gaze met the woman's, whom was a guard in the capital settlement he had arrived. She looked at him puzzled, as if she was just as confused. A look of vigilance also accompanied the woman who then addressed the space marine.

"Who are you?", she asked in a demanding tone. A tinge of uneasiness was in the air due to Arcinax's sudden appearance. With the state of the realm's being it could be expected. "Where do your allegiances lie?"

Strength found the space marine's legs as he picked up his power sword and forced himself to a fully upright position. "My name is Arcinax Grimnar", the space marine declared, "and I serve the Imperium, and the Emperor." While on his feet Arcinax towered over the woman, blood slightly trickled from a corner of his lips. "I ask again. Where am I, and how did I get here?"

Though confused by Arcinax's response, the woman answered in kind, "I do not know how you got here, but you are in the Guardian capital." Beyond her stood a great castle with many floors, tall and strong like a fortress. As more people gathered around the space marine he was given his first true answer. The female gestured toward the structure and then to everything around them.

"This.. is Sanctum."

---

RE: The Chronicles - deific - 10-08-2016

Weeks had passed since Leon's assault on the city of Meridian. Storm clouds still lingered in the air, the crackles of sky-bound lightning spread far and wide. Gloamwood had begun to expand unexpectedly in every direction. Great beasts stalked the deadened forests. Though not truly dead, large Gulfs and Gheists took refuge in the expanded borders. Beasts of terror. Where they came from exactly was unknown, be it through a rift or other means. An eerie, supernatural aura encompassed the land of Gloamwood, ghastly and treacherous to its core. Leon did not worry about whether or not the creatures would go out of control. Their interest lay in the living. If his apostles ventured into the woods obliviously it would be their own fault when they were eaten. The strong would survive. No more would the weak be coddled. A clear, cold truth continued to be imposed among the realm. Telara was changing.

There was much to be done.

Contrary to what Leon expected, everything became more complicated as and when he rose to power. Tasks stacked up quickly. Though Leon did not want to accept it, the truth remained that he could not complete his conquest on his own. Armies high in number were required. Reanimated generals and commanders stood at the necromancer's side, some were even his advisers. While the dead were infinitely easier to control than the living, it was inevitable that smaller forms of semi-government be established within Leon's expanding borders. He couldn't be bothered with the management of every single province. Forces had to be allocated in a strategic manner to ensure the highest probability of success. Treasuries had to be stocked. Structures had to be built both large and small. Not only did the military have to be maintained, but the labor force as well. The Mannus estate constantly grew as workers both living and dead toiled tirelessly on it. Walls and ramparts were constructed, borders within borders. A thorough hierarchy slowly came into view. It was necessary to have smaller lords to divide attention. All that mattered was that they understand who their true ruler was. To defy rule meant death. No being underneath Leon was safe from that, a point he made scarily clear. Responsibility wasn't what tired Leon. His source was otherworldly.

Sleep was difficult to come by in the recent days. In the seldom times when Leon did embrace slumber he was greeted by hauntings of his past. The very thing he tried so desperately to break away from never left him completely. Closely it clung, like a woven tapestry across the entirety of his subconsciousness. Rumors began to spread among the cohorts and beings under Leon, exaggerated stories that even he wasn't among the living anymore. More than likely it was due to how rarely Leon ate and even more rarely when others witnessed him in the act. He didn't seem living anymore. Unrest didn't grow due to the false allegations, but the complete opposite. Many saw fit for the dead to lead the dead. Twisted as Leon was, the imaginative could at least categorize him as something else. Other fanatics and cultists perceived Leon as a being who had transcended such sentient limitations. They prayed to him. They made sacrifices for him. They killed for him. The idea of their ruler as a transient was all-too intoxicating. What better to invest ones faith in than a godlike figure that existed in the flesh? Leon neither confirmed nor denied the inspirations his followers concocted among themselves.

The master necromancer longed to feel well again. Constantly he was torn between a sensation of complete power and utter exhaustion. Tired he was, though sleep seemed to make him no better. With every day passed the blackened scar pulled at Leon's life force hungrily, unable to be sated even temporarily. Deep in his chambers, Leon's fingers touched at the calamity that continued to slowly spread along his face. While the scar made Leon a conduit for the chaotic energies of the warp, the blemish was a double-edged sword. The most alarming fact was that Leon possessed no knowledge on how to remove the chaos link. It had been part of his being ever since he obliviously opened a gateway to the warp in Ironpine Peaks. A slow, downward spiral wrenched Leon from the righteous life he had lived and threw him into darkness. By now Leon had no choice but to accept its presence upon him. There was a vain hope that he would be able to establish harmony with the parasite. The smarter side of Leon knew such a notion was inconceivable. Leon was a vessel, nothing more, nothing less.

The presence of undead within Leon's estate had increased exponentially. Royal skeleton guards stood at every doorway, armored, with fiery eyes akin to the braziers in their sullen sockets. Specters shambled about, some with purpose, some without. Powerful liches pooled together to amass their magic. Scholars even in their undead state, they never ceased their thirst for knowledge. It was because of the liches that a massive library was under construction within the confines of Moonshade, close to the Mannus fortress. They were skillful users both in magic and melee, some were even Kings before the end of their living days. Ancient texts were brought in far and wide, already compiled in the half-built library. Leon did not want to abstain his followers from knowledge and power. To be strong was a necessity. It was inevitable that the weak perish. Pfifer had been much more of a reader than he, at least after his fall from grace. A tunnel-visioned need for revenge had led the necromancer astray and it would behoove him to delve deep back into the rewarding knowledge of magic. When the library's structure was complete he would put aside time to visit it. A chance to rekindle that cloudy mind of his.

The present was but a brief taste of what the future had in store. It would get easier and harder at the same time. Leon did not expect Pfifer to return to him. Even if she did it wouldn't be a good way that she perceived him while in his maddened state. In time she might possess more of Leon's actual form than even he himself. Even in the off chance that Pfifer did make her way back to him there was no guarantee the ritual could be enacted a second time. Leon sometimes pondered if he folded the wrong cards.

For now he had to steel himself, lest he be fully taken by the corruption of Chaos.

---

RE: The Chronicles - deific - 10-11-2016

What an absurd question. How could Valerius be expected to trust this stranger who wanted to accompany him? The fact she wanted to follow him made him all the more nervous. Suspicion welled in the man's stomach, paired with a keen need to accomplish the task he had given himself. Personal factors weighed against Valerius' ability to make decisions. He was a scientist, not a soldier. All of his choices were decided under controlled environments. This experience was new. Never before had Valerius been the confrontational type, yet.. a person was killed today because of him. But it was self defense, right? At the end of the day it didn't really matter how legal or illegal his actions were in the face of the R'tuuk. The militarized organization had puppets in every office of government to pull strings where needed. Corruption was a given, proven by how the R'tuuk could do whatever they wanted. Valerius didn't know how to stave people away from him, his job was based on compliance. Why was this Stella character so determined to follow him?

Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

With every nerve inside of Valerius' body geared against it, he figuratively buckled before the woman, "Fine. But you have to be quiet. The R'tuuk are leveling the facility to the ground- who knows when they'll begin spreading out around it." There was a momentary pause as he pondered if he said too much. Uneasy eyes looked back at Stella.

A puzzled expression marked Stella's countenance, lips pursed as she spoke, "Do you work for the R'tuuk? Judging by your torn up lab uniform I'm inclined to say no.."

"No, quite the opposite. I work for WDGR." Muscles along Valerius' body tensed, miniature spasms spread throughout his limbs. The agent was still at work inside of him, potent in his bloodstream. Every step Valerius made toward the destination in mind was a painful one, but he had to make them. There was no other choice.

"Oh?" Stella's expression lightened up from underneath the obscurity of her hood, "I didn't think I would run into another resistance fighter on the open streets. We've been try-"

"I'm not a resistance fighter. I'm a scientist, a tester if you will." Valerius wiped his free hand across his soaked face while they continued walking, wary eyes alert at all times. "Don't lump me in with the underground militia.. we had a contractual agreement with the R'tuuk to keep to ourselves."

Stella frowned and shook her head before she piped up, "But with the path the R'tuuk are taking.. we'll all be branded as resistance fighters if we don't submit to them." A few quickened paces and Stella was directly next to Valerius to continue her explanation, "Even you. You're already an enemy of theirs especially if they murdered all of your colleagues indiscriminately. Do you really have a choice?"

Irritation had begun to bubble in the pit of Valerius' stomach, when he spoke it was through his teeth, "I am a scientist. I got away. I have to keep it that way. Once I deliver this sample I intend to hide in my home and not come out for quite some time." Valerius eased open a metal gate in an alleyway so the two of them could slide through quietly.

"You don't get it, do you?" Stella said as she walked in front of him and looked over her shoulder. A gust of wind blew her hood off of her head to reveal her dark brown hair. "They're going to find out who you are when they tap into your database. When they find out you've escaped they'll branch out. First they'll probably go to your home and raid it on the off chance that maybe you'll have gone there. They'll take every shred of information on you they need and then will more than likely burn the place down. They'll find out who you know- who you care about. They'll find them and kill them." Her words sounded emotional, as if she were distraught. "That's what they did to my parents. That's why I'm a resistance fighter now."

A streak of lightning jutted through the clouds overhead to illuminate everything below.

"That's why you have to stop living in this fairytale without consequences," Stella continued, "The world doesn't work like that. Do you even know where you're trying to go right now?"

When Valerius started to answer he was struck by another violent series of convulsions throughout his body. A groan of pain escaped him as he collapsed down onto his knees and began to hyperventilate. The sentences came out choppy, in fractions. "I'm on my way to-," He involuntarily winced as his shoulders locked up, "The Cepea facility." Valerius couldn't help but pant as his body went into overdrive. "It's more-," A flinch, "Secure." Was there even a way to lessen the effects? No was pain was involved but Valerius knew better than to assume he was 'okay'. A series of shivers began to overtake him. Perhaps he really was cold. Hands gripped at the torn fabric of his lap coat and helped him up to a stand.

"Look. I understand that you have this self-imposed mission that you feel you have to accomplish, but you need to give up on going to that place." Once Stella helped Valerius up to a stand she hooked his free arm around her shoulders to help support him.

"I have to make sure the sample stays out of the R'tuuk's-"

"Then don't go there! Your facility wasn't the only one that was hit." Stella argued.

How quickly the bad had gone to worse.

"If you go there they will capture you and take that sample thing that you keep babbling on about. Come with me instead. I can take you to a place that is safe. I promise." Desperation marked Stella's tone as she stared at Valerius.

"Why should I trust you?" Valerius ceased to grit his teeth as the tremors stopped.

A pause ensued before Stella answered.

"Because we didn't meet by chance. We know who you are through one of your colleagues. Please, you just have to trust me. I'll explain more once we get to the hideout."

What other choice did he have at this point?

---

RE: The Chronicles - deific - 10-17-2016

It wasn't always with open arms that Serono accepted his duty. Even a transcendent being like the Vaalen felt the tinge of regret from time to time, the gnawing, burning sensation that it left in the center-most of his being. While his race wasn't created innately with the capability to register emotion it was only the home-bound ones who truly stuck to such a sentiment. The feelings were minimal and fleeting, but they existed, even if none of his kind wanted to admit such. Serono did most of his thinking in between dimensions, where time and space were completely at his will. If he wanted to he could spend an eternity in the precipice dimension while time remained at a standstill on the outside. For Arcinax, the shift through time and space seemed extremely rapid, just fragments of memorable travel. A standard human's body and soul couldn't grasp time in the way an experienced Vaalen could, they simply didn't possess the ability. It was like a walk in the park for Serono who had lived for eons on end, ever since the birth of the star in which he was crafted from. In terms of age, Serono was still young in comparison to some of the Elders who stayed on Ouros, long past their days of spacial venturing. Rumor had it that a handful of the existing Vaalen had been around since the very beginning when this universe in particular came to be. Such a notion seemed extremely outlandish, but for his kind it was plausible.

Vaalen were immortal, but at the same time they weren't.

The process of age did not effect Vaalen in the same way it did most other races. For a Vaalen the idea of complete immortality was possible so long as they had the will to sustain it. It was not a sense of conflict on a physical scale that afflicted them but instead a mental one, built from resolve. So long as the potency of a Vaalen's soul remained willful and strong they could stand the test of time. As a Vaalen's soul weakens in its desire to exist, in turn the vessel begins to age. While will can be found and regained again, the aged process up to that point is irreparable. For a Vaalen the signs of aging were not the same. Similar to the way a mountain eroded over time, so did they. When strength stemmed from the soul it was a cold truth that no Vaalen could lie to themselves. The weak of will eventually were reduced to stardust and returned to the cosmos in which they were created. Most Vaalen had ceased to exist not because of others, but because of themselves.

Serono did not hate what he was, nor did he possess the capacity to harbor such a powerful emotion. Emotions created susceptibility in an inevitable manner because there could never be pure content. To lengthen their lifespan Vaalen were created as blank slates to their very core, like animated bodies of crystal. There were no gods in the eyes of the Vaalen, only beings that existed because of presence or those who were believed to exist in the transparency of faith. No Vaalen in the right mind exalted themselves as a god. Even if they could control the fate of the cosmos they were still slaves to its compass. In the end it all boiled down to the greater good, the equilibrium in which had to be maintained. With power came responsibility. With responsibility came sacrifice. Serono knew better than to question the work fate had in store for him. When emotions began to exist on the fringes of his consciousness he did not shun them away, or perhaps he couldn't. If there was one thing that Serono had learned from the many young, sentient races he observed in his lifespan, it was that there was a key component to a harmonic existence with emotions. That key component was acceptance.

A spacial door opened.

Light welcomed the Vaalen as he slipped into another realm brimming with familiarity. It was an enchanting place with massive monoliths of soil stagnant in mid air. Beneath him was a lake with water calm and still. To grasp how much time had passed since the Abaasy and he were in this dimension in particular was difficult, even more so for the Vaalen who didn't register time like most beings. Every detail looked exactly the same as how he left it. Nothing moved, not even in the slightest. There were no sounds, no wind, no semblance of life to be seen. Realization came slow to the Vaalen who blinked before he spoke softly to himself.

"I must have put it in a time-lock by accident."

Serono snapped his finger and thumb in a nonchalant manner, an overly casual motion in comparison to what it caused. Life flourished as time began to move again. Winds billowed over and around the monoliths and dashed waves across the surface of the lake. Grass wavered and danced to the soundless melody. The astral presence of Bress and himself still lingered in the air like a dimming light, captured in place when time ceased to move in the realm. A breeze blew by Serono who then pulled his cloak's hood up and over his head. In spite of his past failure the Vaalen could himself without ambition momentarily as he settled down to a seated position on the grassy ground of the monolith he was positioned on. It wasn't like him to be lazy or complacent, always in pursuit of the task he was assigned. For now that changed, for now Serono seized the rare opportunity to be languid. By habit he had become accustomed to wearing an appearance as human as possible, even when he was by himself. No horns or claws were shown and his height was more than cut in half, white eyes filled in with red irises. A human guise couldn't be perfected, but Serono could get damn close to it.

At the very least he could savor some time off from the endless maintenance of fate. "At least you're behaving, for now," whispered the Vaalen. Was his relief sincere?

Deep down Serono had always enjoyed the chase.

---

RE: The Chronicles - deific - 10-31-2016

Whatever this planet was, it had been untouched by humanity and the like. After a day of flying all over the place it became painfully clear that the forests were vast, only stopped by the mountain chains of which he hadn't explored yet. Demagol slowly began to accept that no hint of civilization existed, but with that he could truly appreciate the beauty of the planet he had been stranded upon. Lush vegetation spread for miles with ponds and lakes dotted here and there. The water was drinkable and although the atmosphere felt heavy and thick- he could breathe it without any noticeable harm. As time passed his body would acclimatize to the new 'home' in question until everything felt natural. Only when the sun began to set did Demagol command Erotos to descend to the ground for good, not exactly motivated to experiment with night-flight just yet. Upon landing the Mandalorian slid off of Erotos' back and onto the soil where he stood wobbly-legged, ever forgetful of their lack of usage throughout their day together.

"I dunno your sleep patterns or whatever, but it's time for this guy to clock out for the night." Said Demagol in an earnest tone, a smile on his face as he patted his new friend on the back. He was still trying to wrap his head around how exactly he was able to connect with the beast so smoothly and fluently. At the very least Demagol could be content with the finding of another companion even if they weren't a replacement for Rhailo. She held a special place dear to him, that would never change. A presence welled in the man's heart, an unyielding link which grew stronger the closer the two of them were to one another. The effect she had on him never changed, even after the complicated conflict on the planet Grezik which drove the two of them apart. Somehow she pierced through that figurative barrier Demagol had sustained to keep himself shut out and safe, the steeled resolve he held against the worlds around him. Over the course of time a series of tragedies had wrenched everything that Demagol held dear to himself, his home, his family, his ship and the woman he loved. Loneliness lingered closely, a vast emptiness which took over the Mandalorian's overactive mind. Would she be able to find him?

A sigh of fatigue escaped Demagol as he slunk down to the grassy ground and took his helmet off. The sun was beginning to disappear underneath the horizon, before long it would be completely dark. The waning light was used so that he could look at his reflection in his cracked visor to inspect the laceration which had opened up again after his initial confrontation with Erotos. Demagol harbored no negative feelings toward the creature, it probably was defending its territory. Less than gentle, Erotos wrapped itself around the Mandalorian until it had created a ring. By no means was the beast small and the heat it radiated would likely be more than enough help to keep Demagol warm. Such things were good, as Demagol needed to save as much power in his suit as possibly manageable. Reptilian clicks and whirs resounded from the beast as it closed its eyes and created another ring around the duo with its tail. "Looks like it's time for bed," spoken tiredly as Demagol rubbed a palm along the back of Erotos' neck before he made himself comfortable in what space he had.

The helmet was placed on the ground as Demagol concluded, "Day One, survived or whatever. Signing off for the night- will be back in the morning."

When Demagol slipped into unconsciousness he was welcomed by memories of his past.

---

Lights among the hull were dimmed due to the hour, though Demagol was restless. At the front of the ship he stood to observe the space they passed through, how quiet the galaxy was when you were in the remote parts of it. Arms crossed over Demagol's chest as tired eyes looked into space and beyond, the vastness with no walls or windows. Truth be told the Mandalorian had more than likely spent a higher percentage of his time without being bound to a planet anymore. Between contracts he could either be found drifting idly in space or purchasing attachments and upgrades to his beloved ship, Starfire. The future in front of Demagol seemed blurry after recent events, not one that left him stricken with worry, but instead curiosity.

Change. For years on end he lived the same style of life with a generic path paved by him. The life of a bounty hunter was predictable to an extent. Receive a contract, complete the contract, spend the money and wait for the next. A name renowned for the feats he accomplished, Demagol's fame wasn't something that he clung close to. It didn't get him anything he desired other than money up until very recently. More than likely he would not have another bounty from the S'zari for a long time ever since his liberation of Rhailo. Loneliness didn't plague the Mandalorian anymore, who had no companions before such an event. Everything had been by his own rules and choice and with Rhailo, that was different. Despite the terms of the contract concerning the Auroun, he had no intentions of treating her like such. In Demagol's eyes she had earned a spot among him. Already she was a caretaker of sorts.

Arms slipped around Demagol's waist from behind as his new companion came into view. Tired as she was, a smile still marked the female's countenance as she huddled against the Mandalorian's larger frame. Her words were soft, even a little groggy as she swept around him and rested the side of her face to his chest. "It's late- or something like that. Are you okay?"

"Oh, I'm fine, just stargazing at the moment," Demagol ushered while he wrapped Rhailo up close with one of his arms. "I do it often after missions."

"Is there something out there that you're looking for?" Rhailo's face turned to look out of the cockpit just as Demagol was. It was within their best interests to understand one another, especially with how recently they had come together. "I feel like your job has had you exploring all over the reaches of the galaxy."

Demagol inhaled deeply and slowly exhaled. "I'm not sure what I'm looking for anymore. Perhaps a shred of a semblance of permanence." Such an idea was hard to accept in the back of the Mandalorian's mind. Life as a vagabond had kept him safe, unable to pin down by vengeful acquaintances of whom he killed. If he stayed in one place for too long he was sure that someone with a vendetta against him would track him down and attempt to take his life. Most everything in this galaxy revolved around money- Demagol's head was worth a healthy sum.

Soft hands grasped upon the fabric of Demagol's clothing and Rhailo looked up at him with eyes still sleepy. "What will you do when you find something like that?" Curiosity was genuinely embedded in the Auroun's tone as she likely cared more for the Mandalorian's well being than he did.

For a moment he met Rhailo's gaze and then looked back out of the cockpit into the vastness of space. There was a gentleness to his words, "I'll enjoy it while it lasts."

"In that case, I hope we find it."

---

RE: The Chronicles - deific - 02-15-2017

The atmosphere to this new plane of existence had an ominous tinge to it and Arcinax was not a fan of it. How the skies were gloomy and discolored with streaks of lightning crawling across. This new place, even this supposed center of "The Vigil" was victim to the taint spread throughout the realm. Sharp teeth grit together as Arcinax holstered his power sword on his back. Dozens of stares made him uneasy as he realized he was a Xeno to this place, an outsider. Most didn't know what to think of the heavily armored soldier or the variety of ribbons and decorations he possessed. Amidst a number of strangers, the space marine was unsure on whether to be wary or comfortable. More guards stockpiled up around him, more so to give Arcinax a once-over rather than attempt to corner him. At the moment they didn't regard him as a threat. Questions likely compiled on both sides, but most of Arcinax's were related to how he got to this place in particular. Where was that creature? Where did it go? How far away was he from his men? Could the Inquisition track him to this location? Where was Kitja? Was he alone?

Everything in Arcinax's mind faded behind a realization of something, a presence, a familiar presence. Though he was new to this land the sensation was unmistakable as he averted his gaze straight in the direction of Moonshade Highlands. Sanctum's guards must have noticed, for they too looked in the same direction. Arcinax's eyes squinted as he spoke, "This realm is plagued by Chaos.." muttered lowly. He raised a large hand and pointed directly at the fortress which could be seen from the last bastion of holiness he arrived in. "And that is its source. Who is responsible for this?" When Arcinax turned after his question he observed the grim expressions of the people around him. A sense of hopelessness marked their countenances, assuredly well aware of who or what he was asking of. What exactly had Arcinax been forcefully inserted into?

While the presence of Chaos was familiar, the effect it had on the land was not the same. The whispers from it were quiet and distant which meant that more than likely the conduit was closed for the time being. Arcinax looked at one of the guard's expectantly with a fierce gaze that demanded answers. Silence was what he received at first, as if the mentioning of such a thing was taboo. Rough in nature with little regard for personal boundaries, Arcinax wrenched one of the guards up by their collar and pointed in the direction of Moonshade once again. This time he bared his teeth while he spoke, sharp canines in view and still spattered with blood from the soldier's run-in with the Vaalen.

"Speak!" He commanded.

"Leon Mannus. He is a necromancer- and responsible for everything deathly and chaotic that is currently consuming Telara as we know it. He used to be an Archemage for the Inquisition here but went turncoat shortly after he met a worshipper of ancient gods." Panic stricken, the guard's face had lost all of its color as they haplessly stared into Arcinax's eyes. Shortly afterward the guard was dropped onto the ground in a heap, a scrutinizing gaze cast back at Moonshade.

"Your realm and another are becoming tethered dangerously close. I can sense the link, the conduit, the bridge that is developing between them little by little." Step by step Arcinax made his way to the outskirts of the city which was tucked away on a mountainous island of its own, a bridge the only means of entry from the mainland. Was his vision impaired? No. It was real. Within close proximity of this capital nature was lively, grass lush and trees blooming. The line where that stopped was distinct, dead and rotten. Carcasses of animals laid dotted everywhere, nothing but bloody bone and hovered over by fogs of flies. Trees had lost their green, white and cracked in appearance as if hollowed out. Ponds of water were dark and contaminated, toxic with their new contents. As Arcinax stepped out from the confines of the city a resident shouted in worry and dismay from behind him.

"Don't go out there! It's not safe! The land is riddled with dead that walk again! There's no telling how long you'll last, if even an hour!" The care seemed sincere but Arcinax did not heed their words. Fear did not waver him, treated as if not even present. To Silverwood he approached, the nearest section of land to Sanctum.

In the midst of it Silverwood truly looked like a land fighting desperately for prosperity, to live. Patches of clean were here and there, surrounded by the taint of death which loomed closer and closer. The patter of hooves and paws could be heard as what still lived did its best to survive. A metal sabaton made its first step from cobbled stone to deadened grass just as a living deer ran by, spattered with crimson on its side that ran all the way down to its legs. In pursuit was a pack of undead wolves, mostly bone with scraps of flesh and fur still attached to the dying vessel. The wolves' sockets were empty, save for deathly orbs of green that resided in place of eyes. What Arcinax was witnessing was the circle of life coming to a grinding halt and consuming itself, feverishly held on the brink of collapse. Ignored by the predatory canines, Arcinax strode deeper into the heart of Silverwood.

Trees creaked and groaned as Arcinax walked by them. A land enchanted had gone in the opposite direction, now sullied by evil and malignancy. Though dead, it had not succumbed to wasteland. Instead trees remained everywhere, brush drooped but still present. In the face of a large tree the soldier paused to look up at the spectacle. Everything appeared to be withered and dead, but alive in a different fashion. More creaks and groans ensued, louder in tone and more defined as the forest moved before him. Earth shifted as a trunk and roots forcibly sifted upward through the desolate soil. Branches twitched and cracked as the massive tree in front of Arcinax uprooted itself and turned to face him while standing on two legs. Deadened leaves fell to the ground around it, bleached bark occasionally shattering into splinters before dusting the proximity. At least sixty feet in height the dread Ent stood, a marred wooden face locked onto the soldier, no words spoken.

"I see.." an armored gauntlet lifted Arcinax's power sword off of his back and brought it in a ring around him. "Chaos has afflicted you." Both hands clasped around the hilt and he assumed an aggressive posture.

"I will free you from the chains that bind you. I will grant you salvation."

---

RE: The Chronicles - deific - 05-13-2017

Whispers beckoned closely. Indistinguishable in nature, they clutched at the fringes of Leon's conscience. The sensation they brought with them was akin to rats within the walls of a house's infrastructure. Lately they were becoming louder, words recognizable on sparse occasions. If Leon slept they increased in decibels inside of his head, straight past a normal tone to that of a banshee's wail. Something was approaching. Where it was, Leon had an idea. More than likely it resided on the other side of the channel he had opened up between realms. It begged and pleaded for release, but also more than that. Were Leon to be deemed evil, this presence trumped him ten fold. Misdeeds were repeated again and again in the necromancer's conscience, all of his wrongdoings whispered without chronological order. The presence knew who and what he was. It read his thoughts, will and desire. Nowhere was he safe, not even with himself. Layers and layers of memories were peeled back until Leon found himself in a third person view of his adolescence. To let himself fall asleep had been a mistake, for now he felt helpless as he watched his past unfold once again.

--

A dream, no. This was a nightmare.

He saw himself, a young stripling, an Elf thirsty for knowledge in the wake of his youth. Texts were strewn across a small wooden table outside of his humble home in Silverwood. He lived there with his mother and younger sister where he lived a simple life. Silverwood as it was, vast and rich in its health. Verdant growth was everywhere, butterflies in the air and birds chirping among the branches. It seemed.. peaceful. To view himself in third person was strange, but Leon had no physical semblance in this remembrance of the past. All he could do was watch. Bright blue eyes looked closer at the books his younger self had been studying, symbols and emblems of the darker magics. Occultism and witchcraft, words relating to nefarious beings, demons. At the time he had been but a budding scholar, a dissatisfied one. He yearned to know more, to make a difference in the world while ignorant to the consequences that came in tandem.

"That's it!" A young Leon suddenly piped out with excitement and enthusiasm. "The confinement sigil!" As an index dragged underneath the words, Leon recited them. "Yu spete wah letro eje dakruta.. Yu cainch ve, yu feuvot ve ec mah fewim.." The language was old and hard to decipher, but Leon picked up and memorized passages as he went. His studies were kept away from his family, who would have likely scolded him for looking into such branches of the arcane. One had to know evil to defeat evil, right? In his mind Leon was doing the right thing.

Leon's young self closed up the book and a cloud of dust sifted up from between the pages. Face brightened and full of eagerness, he got up from his seat and ran off while Leon's current self stood in place, unable to move. Static closed in from his peripherals until it clouded his vision, only to clear up with the revealing of a completely different scene.

Between chasms amidst a series of valleys, craggy rocks and molten earth, Leon took in the new area. Words could be heard, but they were distant like an echo in the back of his head. He remembered them vaguely, remembered saying them. It was a mistake. As understanding sunk into him and he recalled this event, panic set in. Leon's eyes wrenched their vision all over the place until they locked onto where the words were coming from.

There he was.

A young Leon, face bruised with blood running along the side of his skull was holding a book and directed at a figure within a sigil. The ritual had already began. It was too late. Ethereal chains bound the spawn within the circle to the ground, ancient glyphs luminescent against the soil they were embossed upon. "No!" the words came from Leon's throat as he tried to intervene with the ritual of his past, but no sound came out. When Leon attempted to do fell short, his hand going clear through his younger self's body. Like a phantasm, Leon had no grasp on this reality. Try as he may, the only choice left was to watch his past go to ruin once again.

"Ec taka tepano yu fewim zemi wah dakruta teke sta ve. Yu fewim towt lumeya." From the script was read, more passages read thereafter as youthful Leon tried to eliminate the abominable evil trapped in a humanoid vessel. Everything was being recited correctly, but the effect of the words was landing short. Something was off. Though internally stirred, Leon continued until the demon spoke up.

"Ni'uh dona meh luhro, Flet.." The voice was guttural as the demon spoke, dark and malignant. "Ve nau uh gorcep ehnvo. Vey cohv sta defku." A grinding, straining noise reverberated off of the chains that held the demon, which began to rise to its feet with force. "Ve fewim falbestota.." One by one the glyphs flashed and then dissipated in the circle that encompassed the creature until one was left. As the anchoring mechanism shattered a bright light flashed in every direction and a heap of smog whirled into the air and away from the scene. Overwhelmed by the dark magic, young Leon laid upon the ground, unconscious.

"Wake up.. wake up.. WAKE UP!" Leon shouted at himself again and again but to no avail. Just like before, static enclosed upon his vision until he was helplessly overtaken again. The next stage of the nightmare was about to begin.

This was not the end, no, just the beginning of the end.

---

RE: The Chronicles - deific - 05-26-2017

---

RE: The Chronicles - deific - 05-26-2017

"I have wandered for so long that I am tired.." One footstep trudged in front of the other in a tiresome manner.

"I am a soldier who travels endlessly, wherever the wind takes me.." The sun beat down on Draek without mercy, beads of sweat running along his body.

"I keep life in which I am involved.. I just want to rest a moment.." Days had passed. Weeks. Maybe even months. To be alone in the desert was something that Draek was not unfamiliar with, but now it seemed more difficult. Something about having company, and then not made all of the thoughts more centralized. To be alone with ones thoughts. How dangerous that could be.

"I want you to give me what I ask.. never forget me.." Kade had been good company. She was a little strange, but that didn't bother him when it came down to the nitty-gritty. He was glad that she hadn't tried to kill him in his sleep or steal his belongings, but that didn't make anything easier in the isolated mind of his. Where was she?

"I want to finish, come to my home.." Where was his home? Over the past month or so he had lost his direction. The glass in his compass had shattered and the magnesium leaked to leave it dry. All Draek could do now was read the sun, which was difficult as it seemed to always loom directly above his head like a vulture waiting for its next meal. He couldn't give up, not yet.

"Nothing left to intimidate me.. I want to love again.." Sand billowed and dusted Draek as he put one foot in front of the other. His clothing was tattered but intact, lacerations along his face and forearms healed into scar tissue, save for those that still remained as dried scabs. Where was he going? He didn't know. The simple answer to life these days was to simply survive. Luxuries were different now, like water. There were no roads nearby, no towns or even ruins of buildings. Just desert, endless, deadly desert. Onward Draek stepped, a hand keeping his torn up scarf over his mouth so that he didn't breathe in any of the sand in the air. A sandy berm came into view and Draek took shelter on the lower side to momentarily be free from the wind. Callused hands removed the tie-downs that had kept his ruck closed as years of use in the desert had worn down the original buckles. Once opened he peeked inside and made a mental note of his belongings.

"I want to see the sea again, the forest.. I've noticed the blows of fatigue.." Draek had enough rations to last him about four days if he were smart. But was he really going to be that lucky? He doubted it- there was nothing in sight. Back when Draek started his wandering he only made movement during the night to conserve water and to avoid the mutated animals which prowled the dunes and now empty towns and cities. He still hadn't stomached the courage to try and cook one of them up in the event he managed to kill them. The risk of viruses and pathogens seemed to high to bring ones life to an end over a single meal. Dysentery definitely didn't seem like a good time. Once finished examining, Draek re-did the tie-downs to his ruck and took shelter at the base of the dune for just a couple more minutes. He could idle, but not rest. Not yet. Fatigued arms heaved Draek's ruck onto his back by the straps and the man clamored up the side of the dune until he met the summit.

"I want to find my purpose.. " Such a thing was lost now. What could he put in its place for now? To survive? A purpose like that was hard-fought to acquire on a day to day basis. All Draek could do for now was prolong his life and strive toward his endgame goal; to find his home. Lost and without direction, it was foolhardy. Was hope lost at last? Was he going to die from dehydration or starve to death in the middle of this barren wasteland? He didn't want to, but was there a choice anymore? No, he had to stop thinking so dismally. He had a chance to live, he always did. It was proven with every day he endured in this new-age apocalypse and this wasn't the first time he had landed himself in a dilemma. Footsteps continued as Draek did his best to walk with the sun at his back, his skin was less exposed there.

It was easier to walk with his mind shut off but Draek snapped back to reality, a dry throat murmuring, "Oi.. where am I? I dun' see nothin'." Squinted eyes scrutinized the landscape in front of him, unable to make out any distinguishable landmarks. "I guess I'll jus' keep walkin'. Ain' like there's anythin' else I can do fer now." He couldn't just sit idle and slowly wither away in the desert. If Draek perished in this land he would do so clinging to life until his very last breath. He swore to it, he swore to her that he would persevere somehow. This was no time to give up; he would live life even if he had to fight for it.

He could do it. Perhaps he could even find Kade again along the way. Draek was hopeful, even amidst a broken home.

---

RE: The Chronicles - deific - 06-10-2017

It was always somewhat difficult to get used to the various wildlife noises on varying planets. Demagol had been to many, each one harboring all sorts of different creatures. This one was lively at night, perhaps more so than it was during the day. Were it not for his new reptilian friend being wrapped around him, Demagol possibly would have been pressed to fight for his life instead of get some shuteye.

Sometimes he saw them, the eyes of the creatures poised and waiting just at the skirting of the wood line. Cautious predators waited patiently for Demagol's protection to leave him. They clung to trees, hid among shrubs and bushes. Some even flew in circles above the duo, shadows apparent underneath the three moons which glowed in the sky. Growls, clicking and grunts came from all directions. This planet was surely alive. It was only when the sun crested over the horizon that the onslaught of hungering creatures finally began to wane away. A nocturnal planet this one was, even though Demagol had encountered Erotos in the middle of the day. Tensions eased up as the sun lifted higher and higher toward its summit in the sky, rays breaching through the wooded areas to evaporate the morning dew. A tired Mandalorian pushed himself up to a standing position and stretched in place, groans of relief leaving him in the process. Thereafter, Demagol picked up his helmet and fastened it back onto his head, linking the systems together and re-calibrating again. The 'record' button was pressed once more as his adventure continued.

"Day 1; night.. Survived." Demagol looked around while booting up everything in his suit. "Day 2; morning.. Beginning."

He couldn't feel her presence any closer. Was she coming for him? Was it even necessarily possible for her to find him in the first place? Demagol was not up to speed on the abilities of the Auroun. If she had managed to make some sort of telepathic link with him, even just for a split second, was it enough for her to determine his general direction and distance? Such a pipe-dreamer, Demagol was. The fact that this planet was so infested with nocturnal wildlife made the Mandalorian wonder if there were any other people like him who had managed to survive in the first place. The environment was not friendly from the sounds of it, but with day-time being almost barren for the most part.. was it doable? Vast forests stretched for seemingly endless miles. The southern area of the planet seemed to be composed of mostly swamps and bogs, a massive lagoon smack dab in the middle of it. There was no snow on this planet, not even on the mountains that Demagol had found while flying around.

No outposts were spotted. No bases or settlements or anything of the like. No sense of permanent foreign habitation seemed present. Demagol wasn't very surprised by this. He had only been on the planet for one day and night and already nature had proven to be very aggressive. A few nocturnal predators were worrisome, but an entire planet littered with hundreds of different species? That was an entirely different caliber. With every realization that ticked in Demagol's head a dismal question spread across in bold print.

How the fuck was he going to get off of this planet?

Say there was some sort of fuel source on this planet, whether it be underground or in the mountains or other similar examples; how would he be able to extract it and refine it into an actual usable material? No, no, that was skipping too far ahead. Demagol couldn't even begin to think about a fuel source until he wrapped his head around how he was going to obtain a power source. The Mandalorian had no tools. No equipment. Most of his other equipment was still inside of the now locked-up ship with no means to get to it for the time being. Demagol needed tools to obtain a power source, but needed a power source to get to the tools. "This is some sorta' tragic irony, isn't it?" Grumbled the Mandalorian as he picked up his assault rifle and attached it to the back of his suit. At no point did Demagol think of simply giving up, especially when he absentmindedly ran his fingertips over the engraved hash marks on the chest of his suit. They all meant something, were someone. Demagol could not abandon the hopes and aspirations of those fallen.

He would die in pursuit of their light.

"Oi!" Demagol snapped his thumb and middle finger while simultaneously shouting for Erotos' attention. "Get ova' here. We need to get back to the damned ship." With a bounce and bound the winged reptile swept back around Demagol and lowered its back so he could climb aboard. Before the Mandalorian could give a command the beast lurched forward in a series of leaps before it flapped its wings and took to the sky. Flattened against the creature's back during the ascent, Demagol went over humorous, but bad scenarios in his head. 'One of these days I'm going to forget that he does this and he's gonna fling me off like a rag-doll.' He chuckled in thought of it, but then figured that the act of him hitting the ground at terminal velocity like an armored pancake probably wasn't a good time. Surprisingly enough they were going in the right direction of the ship. Small avian creatures stirred from treebranches as the duo flew overhead, most of them possessing more than two wings each. It was peculiar, but interesting.

Eventually the ship came into view and Demagol added more narrative to his recording, "Day 2; returning to ship to see if there's some sort of way I can bust into the blasted heap without ruining the integrity of the entire ship or its vital components. Standby." A few circles were flown around the ship before the duo landed in a gentle fashion. Demagol slid off of Erotos' back and landed on his heels on the ground, feeling the shock travel straight up to his knees. "Gah, I'm getting too old for this shit." The Mandalorian groaned and massaged his knees and quads for a second before he straightened up and made his way to the back of the ship's hull.

"Alright, logically the beginning of my survival and departure ventures depends on what I still have in 'ol Starfire here." An armored gauntlet banged on the locked steel door and Demagol looked along the hinges and hydraulics for some sort of way to remove the door without breaking anything in the process.

"I won't get anywhere if I sit here pretending to be a victim. If Rhailo is coming, she will find me. If not, well, I will have to get off of this planet and find her instead. It can't be that hard, can it?"

---