Funky project I wanted to do considering that Ailred is currently on his "vacation" to give people who wish to know, an idea of what he's up to and why! Hope you enjoy.
CONTENT WARNING: This piece contains John Wick levels of violence as well as themes of kidnapping and PTSD! If these disturb you, I am sorry, this piece is not suited for your taste.
Despite loathing his humanity, he was still human. The need for rest thrummed through his body like a pestilence in his eyes. In the darkness of the northern woodlands, in the forests of Drixagh, the Extinguisher finally fell to the ground. He needed to rest.
He had been trailing a coven in the area for a few days now. Away from the city, unhindered by others, rage could flow like a river, eroding at what was left of him. With such a rage boiling within him, he felt the need to keep going, nearly rising to a stand before falling back to sitting in the darkness. He knew they couldn't have been that far away now, trailing them both day and night, the sanguine had to feed. The Avantl sought to rid himself of such weakness. Sitting there, cold and alone the Avantl's ears twitched, it reminded him.
In his mind's eye, he saw a younger man, sitting at a campfire in a tiny thicket amongst what was mostly plains: The Ularen Plains. The young man despite seeming weary had a small smile on his features, some form of meat crackling over the fire, so enraptured in his comfort there at that moment that he couldn't see the two crimson dots staring over his shoulder as an arrow flung forward for him, sinking into his shoulder.
The Avantl would not make the same mistake, the same mistakes he saw over and over again in his mind's eye. The Avantl already noticed not one pair, but many pairs of crimson eyes staring at him from the darkness of the wood. He opened his mouth to speak as the arrow flew, piercing into his jaw. The Sanguine knew it would be a shot to ensure victory, though the Avantl stood and ripped the ammunition from his jaw without care, seemingly even without pain as he bellowed out. "FOR THE FIRELORD."
The young man slowly stood as a swarm of sanguine descended upon him, as he was their prey. Even though he was outnumbered, the man was no weakling, a fighter since birth he stood on his own two feet, entirely weary as he charged forward towards his enemies. Despite the courage, in all reality it was foolishness a golden sickle moved to cut across his abdomen.
The Avantl was enraged by such, as he and the young Maquixtl were descended upon by a coven of the Void's first taint. The Avantl did not run forward, he stepped, arrows launching from the darkness into him, yet all he did was whisper in the tongue of creation and each of the bolts were incinerated just before they could touch him. One foolish Sanguine ran out at him going to slash an axe across his body, except right as the Dreygur moved to strike, the Avantl snatched the Voidling by the throat. Immediately the first Dreygur's throat began to burn and scald as the Avantl yanked the weapon from the sanguines hand. More arrows were released, some finding their way into the Avantl, yet it seemed not to deter him, only pushed forward out of sheer hatred. He did not chop the axe into his foe, instead he began to beat the sanguine relentlessly with the hand-axe before discarding something unrecognizable to the ground.
The young Maquixtl began to immediately weep, as the strike landed, cutting just under his scales but not enough to maim him as void-magic vines held the man's feet in place just as he went to run. The tall Sanguine with the sickle went to backhand the huntsman, sending him to the ground out of sheer strength. He raised his axe to cut away at the vines, rolling away to force himself to a bloodied stand.
From the woods, a name was called out in crying desperation though it seemed to fall on ears deafened by fear, as another hail of arrows was sent towards the Avantl. Surrounded by a cloud of ash, the Avantl spoke a simple word and the entire area around him was cast in fire. A sobbing sanguine charged wrathfully towards the Avantl, summoning a wave of magical force to knock him back into a nearby tree, yet the Avantl began to step forward. The wave began to tear up grass and dirt as it ripped forward with such strength, though the Avantl kept walking through it, tilting his head slightly to protect his eyes from the dirt.
The Maquixtl shook in his stance, calming himself under his breath as the few sanguine around him began to approach. He steeled himself, muttering "I've got to make it back," envisioning an apple tree just on the edge of the colony with a brightly smiling Furyling sitting next to a well composed Huactl acolyte. He had to make it back. An all too familiar feminine voice called out "I think we can save him!"
The words rang in the Avantl's head, crossing the barrier between reality and the irrealis. He charged forward towards the sobbing sanguine, and with one swift movement, he sent a clawed fist through the mage before pulling it free and allowing the mage to fall to the ground, their ash being added to the growing cloud. Some sanguine began to turn and flee.
The Maquixtl's eyes drifted to the familiar voice, and something inside of him broke. Standing there, summoning a new spell for his torment was a Huactl, much more unkempt than he had remembered, but it couldn't be mistaken. "Sister?" He let out in a sob as a spear of plant matter was sent for his hip, sending him to fall into the ground in a pained cry. "Just let it happen, Ailred." Alethia's voice now resounding through the twos' minds. The Taller Sanguine, the Desprince lowered down to bite into the half-dead Maquixtl as he let out a desperate cry "WHY ALETHIA?!" The Maquixtl's vision slowly fading to darkness.
The Avantl's vision though only began to grow more hateful, more red, he charged forward in a flurry of ash and fire after each of the fleeing Sanguine. He closed in on the first, only for them to attempt to pull a small firearm on him. It fired, blowing a chunk of molten rock out from the Avantl's face. The Avantl's mind raced, not on the pain, not on the wound, not even the dying sanguine in his grasp, but visions of when he was in their place. He dashed towards another, his claws burning with the fury of a memory: a memory of being kept in a cage like an animal, fed only rotten blood when it needed to be. Claws searing through flesh of two more sanguine, arrows slamming into his form but all he could feel was that first burning of the Wutienda Sigil carving itself into his chest. He bellowed out in hatred charging into a crowd before a plume of flame leapt from his throat to tear at the infection; though when his jaw closed, the flames and cries weren't what they should have been. It was a district in flames, a tree being torn into by pyromantic wind, screams of panic echoing all the way to a crimson spire. Only one stood left, raising a dark metal contraption shooting out a beam of energy, disrupting the Avantl's Draconic Magic, drawn back to the moment the ritual had finished, the crystals shattered, the veil oh so nearly torn. A storm from the Gods sent to prevent it, stealing his ability to breathe, think, almost even feed, a magestorm. Such a reminiscent feeling, sickening feeling pulsed through his veins, as he ran down the sanguine, cut off from his magic he tackled the infected. He pinned them to the ground, beating and pummeling until he could feel the magic return to him.
He stood surrounded by bodies, charred and ashen. The latent fury still sending him forth, he forgot entirely that he stopped to rest, after all he didn't believe he needed it. He pulled out a small book, crossing out a name. It was another Coven down, but nothing changed for the Avantl. There was no sense of relief, accomplishment, hope, all that remained was hate. He exhaled, barely breathing as he went into the woods, vision still red, fury not subsiding. More Sanguine needed to be stopped, more people needed to be saved, at any cost, by any means necessary, for it is the Path of the Extinguisher just another night in the woods.
CONTENT WARNING: This piece contains John Wick levels of violence as well as themes of kidnapping and PTSD! If these disturb you, I am sorry, this piece is not suited for your taste.
Despite loathing his humanity, he was still human. The need for rest thrummed through his body like a pestilence in his eyes. In the darkness of the northern woodlands, in the forests of Drixagh, the Extinguisher finally fell to the ground. He needed to rest.
He had been trailing a coven in the area for a few days now. Away from the city, unhindered by others, rage could flow like a river, eroding at what was left of him. With such a rage boiling within him, he felt the need to keep going, nearly rising to a stand before falling back to sitting in the darkness. He knew they couldn't have been that far away now, trailing them both day and night, the sanguine had to feed. The Avantl sought to rid himself of such weakness. Sitting there, cold and alone the Avantl's ears twitched, it reminded him.
In his mind's eye, he saw a younger man, sitting at a campfire in a tiny thicket amongst what was mostly plains: The Ularen Plains. The young man despite seeming weary had a small smile on his features, some form of meat crackling over the fire, so enraptured in his comfort there at that moment that he couldn't see the two crimson dots staring over his shoulder as an arrow flung forward for him, sinking into his shoulder.
The Avantl would not make the same mistake, the same mistakes he saw over and over again in his mind's eye. The Avantl already noticed not one pair, but many pairs of crimson eyes staring at him from the darkness of the wood. He opened his mouth to speak as the arrow flew, piercing into his jaw. The Sanguine knew it would be a shot to ensure victory, though the Avantl stood and ripped the ammunition from his jaw without care, seemingly even without pain as he bellowed out. "FOR THE FIRELORD."
The young man slowly stood as a swarm of sanguine descended upon him, as he was their prey. Even though he was outnumbered, the man was no weakling, a fighter since birth he stood on his own two feet, entirely weary as he charged forward towards his enemies. Despite the courage, in all reality it was foolishness a golden sickle moved to cut across his abdomen.
The Avantl was enraged by such, as he and the young Maquixtl were descended upon by a coven of the Void's first taint. The Avantl did not run forward, he stepped, arrows launching from the darkness into him, yet all he did was whisper in the tongue of creation and each of the bolts were incinerated just before they could touch him. One foolish Sanguine ran out at him going to slash an axe across his body, except right as the Dreygur moved to strike, the Avantl snatched the Voidling by the throat. Immediately the first Dreygur's throat began to burn and scald as the Avantl yanked the weapon from the sanguines hand. More arrows were released, some finding their way into the Avantl, yet it seemed not to deter him, only pushed forward out of sheer hatred. He did not chop the axe into his foe, instead he began to beat the sanguine relentlessly with the hand-axe before discarding something unrecognizable to the ground.
The young Maquixtl began to immediately weep, as the strike landed, cutting just under his scales but not enough to maim him as void-magic vines held the man's feet in place just as he went to run. The tall Sanguine with the sickle went to backhand the huntsman, sending him to the ground out of sheer strength. He raised his axe to cut away at the vines, rolling away to force himself to a bloodied stand.
From the woods, a name was called out in crying desperation though it seemed to fall on ears deafened by fear, as another hail of arrows was sent towards the Avantl. Surrounded by a cloud of ash, the Avantl spoke a simple word and the entire area around him was cast in fire. A sobbing sanguine charged wrathfully towards the Avantl, summoning a wave of magical force to knock him back into a nearby tree, yet the Avantl began to step forward. The wave began to tear up grass and dirt as it ripped forward with such strength, though the Avantl kept walking through it, tilting his head slightly to protect his eyes from the dirt.
The Maquixtl shook in his stance, calming himself under his breath as the few sanguine around him began to approach. He steeled himself, muttering "I've got to make it back," envisioning an apple tree just on the edge of the colony with a brightly smiling Furyling sitting next to a well composed Huactl acolyte. He had to make it back. An all too familiar feminine voice called out "I think we can save him!"
The words rang in the Avantl's head, crossing the barrier between reality and the irrealis. He charged forward towards the sobbing sanguine, and with one swift movement, he sent a clawed fist through the mage before pulling it free and allowing the mage to fall to the ground, their ash being added to the growing cloud. Some sanguine began to turn and flee.
The Maquixtl's eyes drifted to the familiar voice, and something inside of him broke. Standing there, summoning a new spell for his torment was a Huactl, much more unkempt than he had remembered, but it couldn't be mistaken. "Sister?" He let out in a sob as a spear of plant matter was sent for his hip, sending him to fall into the ground in a pained cry. "Just let it happen, Ailred." Alethia's voice now resounding through the twos' minds. The Taller Sanguine, the Desprince lowered down to bite into the half-dead Maquixtl as he let out a desperate cry "WHY ALETHIA?!" The Maquixtl's vision slowly fading to darkness.
The Avantl's vision though only began to grow more hateful, more red, he charged forward in a flurry of ash and fire after each of the fleeing Sanguine. He closed in on the first, only for them to attempt to pull a small firearm on him. It fired, blowing a chunk of molten rock out from the Avantl's face. The Avantl's mind raced, not on the pain, not on the wound, not even the dying sanguine in his grasp, but visions of when he was in their place. He dashed towards another, his claws burning with the fury of a memory: a memory of being kept in a cage like an animal, fed only rotten blood when it needed to be. Claws searing through flesh of two more sanguine, arrows slamming into his form but all he could feel was that first burning of the Wutienda Sigil carving itself into his chest. He bellowed out in hatred charging into a crowd before a plume of flame leapt from his throat to tear at the infection; though when his jaw closed, the flames and cries weren't what they should have been. It was a district in flames, a tree being torn into by pyromantic wind, screams of panic echoing all the way to a crimson spire. Only one stood left, raising a dark metal contraption shooting out a beam of energy, disrupting the Avantl's Draconic Magic, drawn back to the moment the ritual had finished, the crystals shattered, the veil oh so nearly torn. A storm from the Gods sent to prevent it, stealing his ability to breathe, think, almost even feed, a magestorm. Such a reminiscent feeling, sickening feeling pulsed through his veins, as he ran down the sanguine, cut off from his magic he tackled the infected. He pinned them to the ground, beating and pummeling until he could feel the magic return to him.
He stood surrounded by bodies, charred and ashen. The latent fury still sending him forth, he forgot entirely that he stopped to rest, after all he didn't believe he needed it. He pulled out a small book, crossing out a name. It was another Coven down, but nothing changed for the Avantl. There was no sense of relief, accomplishment, hope, all that remained was hate. He exhaled, barely breathing as he went into the woods, vision still red, fury not subsiding. More Sanguine needed to be stopped, more people needed to be saved, at any cost, by any means necessary, for it is the Path of the Extinguisher just another night in the woods.
Last edited:
