The air was quiet and calm. At the entrance to the tactician tent, the flaps occasionally gave a flicker of movement from the gentle breeze that floated through the camp. Karsten took all the time he could to gaze around the tent, for details like that. Being alone with his father meant he could do away with the infernal helmet with its blinding visor, which did wonders in blocking his ability to see properly. Though the Silven couldn't deny its importance, if word got out Maximilian allowed someone like him, despite being his bastard, into his personal guard, he'd be finished. Standing behind the man actually at that moment, the dark-haired bastard looked down to his sitting father, a pleased smile on his bearded face. It was very serene, really. Perfect, despite its apparent lack of excitement. Even in silence, Karsten enjoyed alone time with his father. It was normal, peaceful, without issue. He admired the tactician, for his mercy, his affection, despite everything.
It was then when the world around seemingly was engulfed in fog, pulling the perfection and peace away as his father was torn away. Nazari's damned bird suddenly appeared, bright as the sun and engulfed in flame, swirling around the nothingness as the fog grew and grew, suffocating the area. Karsten's armour clanked as he blindly walked forward through the dense grayness, looking for his beloved father, only to come across a grave in the fog, Maximilian's grave. The Silven dropped to his knees in front of it, barely able to make out the stonework through the fog before the headstone slipped away into the gray with everything else, leaving him alone and surrounded by nothing, even the Malik, gone.
The sound of insects buzzing slowly worked itself into Karsten's ears, filling the void as the fog seemed to lift. Dazed, the Silven looked around at the reappearing world, filled with trees, vines, bushes. Jungle, like the vision with Khalid. Karsten worked himself to his feet, still in the Typhonus armour as he whirled around this way and that, trying to get his bearings in the thick shrubbery. Raindrops began pelting off the steel shoulder-pads and his head, a gentle rain falling in the jungle as Karsten could hear a distant sound. It was familiar, and Karsten quickly deduced it was the bloody fire bird once more, but he couldn't see flaming wings anywhere. Confused and heart racing, the Silven trudged through bush and bramble, working his way through the dense jungle in the sound's direction as the storm picked up.
After some minutes of walking and stomping, Karsten came across a very small clearing, enough for him to circle around in, but still surrounded on all sides by jungle. Pushing water from his face, the Silven shouted, "Where are you! What do you want?!". Out of the silence, Karsten's only answer was a low, reptilian growl, spine-chilling and impossible to pinpoint the source. These sounds repeated themselves again and again, Karsten finding himself reaching for his sword belt, only to find an empty sheath. At that moment, a blood-curdling, shrieking roar could be heard, and the hideous raptor pounced from the brushes as the terrified Silven shot his eyes up to meet the creatures, only making out his own golden orbs glaring him down before everything dropped away into black.
Karsten shot up in his bed, slick with sweat and panting incessantly. He looked around at the in-shambles loft, a free hand wiping the perspiration from his face hastily. It couldn't be past dawn, and the sound of Ovid the Dwelfling's snores gently filled the otherwise-silent house. The Silven pushed himself out of bed, pulling on a pair of ragged trousers only, and swiftly getting out of the house, grabbing a half-drank bottle of ale on the way out. A light snow was flurrying down as the door shut behind him, and Karsten could feel the brisk, early-morning cold embrace his unclothed upper body. His bare feet curled in the cold snow, and the Silven leaned over the railing of the porch, looking over the empty street as he shakily lifted the bottle to his mouth to drink. It was only then he realized his entire body was shivering, not from the cold, but from fear, a virtually unknown concept to the otherwise bullheaded bastard. The monster's image kept repeating itself in Karsten's head. Over, and over again, its golden eyes and slitted pupils stared back at him in his head.
"You won't kill me. You're mine. You're me." The Silven whispered to himself, his hands still shaking as he held tight onto his drink.
The air was quiet and calm. At the entrance to the tactician tent, the flaps occasionally gave a flicker of movement from the gentle breeze that floated through the camp. Karsten took all the time he could to gaze around the tent, for details like that. Being alone with his father meant he could do away with the infernal helmet with its blinding visor, which did wonders in blocking his ability to see properly. Though the Silven couldn't deny its importance, if word got out Maximilian allowed someone like him, despite being his bastard, into his personal guard, he'd be finished. Standing behind the man actually at that moment, the dark-haired bastard looked down to his sitting father, a pleased smile on his bearded face. It was very serene, really. Perfect, despite its apparent lack of excitement. Even in silence, Karsten enjoyed alone time with his father. It was normal, peaceful, without issue. He admired the tactician, for his mercy, his affection, despite everything.
It was then when the world around seemingly was engulfed in fog, pulling the perfection and peace away as his father was torn away. Nazari's damned bird suddenly appeared, bright as the sun and engulfed in flame, swirling around the nothingness as the fog grew and grew, suffocating the area. Karsten's armour clanked as he blindly walked forward through the dense grayness, looking for his beloved father, only to come across a grave in the fog, Maximilian's grave. The Silven dropped to his knees in front of it, barely able to make out the stonework through the fog before the headstone slipped away into the gray with everything else, leaving him alone and surrounded by nothing, even the Malik, gone.
The sound of insects buzzing slowly worked itself into Karsten's ears, filling the void as the fog seemed to lift. Dazed, the Silven looked around at the reappearing world, filled with trees, vines, bushes. Jungle, like the vision with Khalid. Karsten worked himself to his feet, still in the Typhonus armour as he whirled around this way and that, trying to get his bearings in the thick shrubbery. Raindrops began pelting off the steel shoulder-pads and his head, a gentle rain falling in the jungle as Karsten could hear a distant sound. It was familiar, and Karsten quickly deduced it was the bloody fire bird once more, but he couldn't see flaming wings anywhere. Confused and heart racing, the Silven trudged through bush and bramble, working his way through the dense jungle in the sound's direction as the storm picked up.
After some minutes of walking and stomping, Karsten came across a very small clearing, enough for him to circle around in, but still surrounded on all sides by jungle. Pushing water from his face, the Silven shouted, "Where are you! What do you want?!". Out of the silence, Karsten's only answer was a low, reptilian growl, spine-chilling and impossible to pinpoint the source. These sounds repeated themselves again and again, Karsten finding himself reaching for his sword belt, only to find an empty sheath. At that moment, a blood-curdling, shrieking roar could be heard, and the hideous raptor pounced from the brushes as the terrified Silven shot his eyes up to meet the creatures, only making out his own golden orbs glaring him down before everything dropped away into black.
Karsten shot up in his bed, slick with sweat and panting incessantly. He looked around at the in-shambles loft, a free hand wiping the perspiration from his face hastily. It couldn't be past dawn, and the sound of Ovid the Dwelfling's snores gently filled the otherwise-silent house. The Silven pushed himself out of bed, pulling on a pair of ragged trousers only, and swiftly getting out of the house, grabbing a half-drank bottle of ale on the way out. A light snow was flurrying down as the door shut behind him, and Karsten could feel the brisk, early-morning cold embrace his unclothed upper body. His bare feet curled in the cold snow, and the Silven leaned over the railing of the porch, looking over the empty street as he shakily lifted the bottle to his mouth to drink. It was only then he realized his entire body was shivering, not from the cold, but from fear, a virtually unknown concept to the otherwise bullheaded bastard. The monster's image kept repeating itself in Karsten's head. Over, and over again, its golden eyes and slitted pupils stared back at him in his head.
"You won't kill me. You're mine. You're me." The Silven whispered to himself, his hands still shaking as he held tight onto his drink.
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