He had not wanted it to go like this.
He was exploring the city in the skin of a dog, a silver furred beast not unlike the other skins he used; but this one was not one of his own. It was borrowed, from the Exist. A skill the witches had taught him when he returned to the deep lands of his homeland. In this form, he could speak - it was new to him. His other skins could not speak, they were beast.
He saw someone, stabbing and jabbing at a tree with her spear and a towering shield in the other hand. He approached, curious. It was her. The Silven, but different. Changed. Corrupted. He was disappointed, but she did not recognize the dog. So he changed, into a skin she did know. He asked why she had abandoned her people, the Exist. Why she had not stopped to listen to him when he knew she had spoken with the others: The Altalar, arrogant in their marble towers reaching for the skies. The Prideling and those of the Void, devious with their honeyed words of power. There were others, too, she had spoken to; The Yanar, naïve and - according to the Silven, barbaric.
He did not understand, and asked if she would listen to him now. She might have heard his words, but she would not listen. She said her decision had been made. She said she did not have the time to waste talking to one such as him. He grew angry, reminded of his worth in the eyes of others - reminded of his time as a slave. She was of the Void now, drunk with power. He had to remedy this, and as she said actions spoke louder than words; he acted. They fought.
He won. It was not an easy fight, she could fly and had the advantage of speed and agility; but he was strong and powerful in his own right. The fight might have continued, she might have gotten away - but he would not allow it. It took a few words, and she was his; but what now? He had acted rash, out of fury and fear. Not fear of her or those like her now, but for what could happen to those he now protected. It was why he had sought out the wife of the wolfking - to understand what he could do to gain power for his pack. She had answers, yes, but no answers of use. Pride had consumed the Arken, almost all of them save for a trio: Fury of the Void, Chaos of the Void, and a third that she did not know.
Now, he had access to the Exist through the Silven he thought. He hoped. He bound her in chains like he had once been - exactly as he had been chained and collared, the metal links easily slipping over her neck, her wrists, her ankles. It was not something he enjoyed, it was not something he wanted to do he told himself. It was something he had to do. Not for him, for the others. He took her outside of the city and through barren fields without grain or grass. He ducked and hopped through the forest that surrounded the city, carrying her with delicacy. He did not want to break her.
They arrived at his camp. It was a modest place made up of a fire pit, a few logs strewn about, and the only thing of value he had claimed: a tent. He thinks an Ailor had left it. He did not know, did not care. It was his now, and now, he dumped her on a mat he slept on some nights. Other nights, he hunted in the wilds. Other nights, he rested in a different skin. Other nights, he was free; but on this night, as twilight broke upon his clearing and the shadow of his tent was cast over the camp he was not free, and neither was she.
She made threats, called him names he did not understand. She explained one of the insults: a hypocrite. She claimed he preached of freedom but he had taken her freedom. He said she had her freedom stolen by the Void. He said that to her, but for himself. He had to believe that was what had happened. He had to believe that he was not the same as those who had enslaved him. He had to believe that he was not the same as those who had sold him and told him his worth. He had to believe that he was not like them, that he was not like her.
She wanted to kill the Ailor. That was all she wanted. She had forsaken the light that might have guided her down a different path to instead, embrace the darkness and revel in its power as she stumbled forth this trail of terror and hate. In doing so, she had become a catalyst by her own words. A catalyst for death. She would not tell him what or why or how it came to be, but only that because of her actions an ancient Existling had been slain. One of the Yanar. She did not care who she hurt, what families she destroyed or broke in her pursuit for murder.
He could see no change, she would not listen to his words and so he would need to act again. His war hammer of starlight sparkled into existence and with a powerful blow he sent it crashing towards her head. In that moment the Silven and her demonic wings propelled her out towards the opening of the tent. He dove at her and at his touch, the chain and morningstar whip that he had used to bind her turned to an indestructible metal. An inferno of silver Exist flames laced with the raging red of the Void combusted around the Silven - the heat scalding unlike any other he had felt.
He would not be consumed there and then, vaulting over the bound burning Silven and summoning a ward of moonlight crystal where his palms had been - and it began to rapidly expand to surround and contain the raging flames. The fire broke free and began to ravage the tent as the Silven hovered within and he stared at her from just outside the reach of the planar flames. She told him to move, he said no and his war hammer of light met the support beam as he tried to contain her. The Silven jetted forward on her to escape the forming pyre but met his enlarged arm, covered in a coat of thick ursine fur to keep her in the prison of burning flames.
She sprung high, trying to fly over him but he was used to her tricks as much she was his. She was still bound and he gave a roar to slam the Silven back into the chaos that was once his tent. The fur around his paws was burnt to a crisp and the bleached white skin of his Exist Touch'd paws could be seen as he heaved. Yet again, she attempted to escape and dove under his out stretched arms - only to meet a flash of moonlight as his war hammer was summoned. She rebounded off the Exist weapon and launched herself up through a hole in the tent meant to release smoke; not Silven.
He let out a mighty bellow and with a burst of starlight, he appeared on the top of the tent; though the already damaged tent could not support the weight of his new skin and he and his hammer came toppling down atop the Silven.
She retreated into a corner scarcely touched by their battle and searched the ruins for a weapon, anything; while he landed on top of what had been his hearth. He was tired, in pain, and asked her to stop. She asked to leave. He said she could leave... when he allowed and swung forth with his war hammer. She was ready and lurched outwards with her wings out of his reach. He was infuriated and his momentum kept him spinning in a circle as his hammer was sent flying off and he desperately leaped for the handle of the whip that bound her.
He barely managed to grab hold before she escaped, and hurled her at the remaining support beam. Still, she resisted and fluttered towards the gaping hole in the tent but he would not relent; throwing the chained bound Silven to the floor. Exhausted, he finally pinned her to the ground with his war hammer and declared an end. She yelled, he sighed, she spun around in a circle in the dirt, and he let her. Until her face met the handle of his weapon. He told her she would not to be aware for what happened next.
He thought her lost to the dreamscape and readied himself for what must be done. Lumbering out towards what remained of his camp, he found a few precious stones and carried them to where the Silven laid. As the witches had taught, he arranged them in a circle around her - each engraved with a rune in Olt'vven and pulsed with moonlight.
He brought two of these enchanted rocks towards her face and - she awoke and sent fiery tendrils of the Void to ensnare him. She asked what he was doing, he told her. She was shocked, scared, or even concerned. He was exhausted, scared, and desperate. She tried to escape, but to no avail. She asked if he was committed to his path of power, and he asked her if she was committed to her path of hate. The answer?
They both said yes.
He left her at the Yanar Gardens, to an Altalar mage of apparent authority. He was tired and still, had found no answers to bring the Exist to his hand.
He saw someone, stabbing and jabbing at a tree with her spear and a towering shield in the other hand. He approached, curious. It was her. The Silven, but different. Changed. Corrupted. He was disappointed, but she did not recognize the dog. So he changed, into a skin she did know. He asked why she had abandoned her people, the Exist. Why she had not stopped to listen to him when he knew she had spoken with the others: The Altalar, arrogant in their marble towers reaching for the skies. The Prideling and those of the Void, devious with their honeyed words of power. There were others, too, she had spoken to; The Yanar, naïve and - according to the Silven, barbaric.
He did not understand, and asked if she would listen to him now. She might have heard his words, but she would not listen. She said her decision had been made. She said she did not have the time to waste talking to one such as him. He grew angry, reminded of his worth in the eyes of others - reminded of his time as a slave. She was of the Void now, drunk with power. He had to remedy this, and as she said actions spoke louder than words; he acted. They fought.
Now, he had access to the Exist through the Silven he thought. He hoped. He bound her in chains like he had once been - exactly as he had been chained and collared, the metal links easily slipping over her neck, her wrists, her ankles. It was not something he enjoyed, it was not something he wanted to do he told himself. It was something he had to do. Not for him, for the others. He took her outside of the city and through barren fields without grain or grass. He ducked and hopped through the forest that surrounded the city, carrying her with delicacy. He did not want to break her.
They arrived at his camp. It was a modest place made up of a fire pit, a few logs strewn about, and the only thing of value he had claimed: a tent. He thinks an Ailor had left it. He did not know, did not care. It was his now, and now, he dumped her on a mat he slept on some nights. Other nights, he hunted in the wilds. Other nights, he rested in a different skin. Other nights, he was free; but on this night, as twilight broke upon his clearing and the shadow of his tent was cast over the camp he was not free, and neither was she.
She wanted to kill the Ailor. That was all she wanted. She had forsaken the light that might have guided her down a different path to instead, embrace the darkness and revel in its power as she stumbled forth this trail of terror and hate. In doing so, she had become a catalyst by her own words. A catalyst for death. She would not tell him what or why or how it came to be, but only that because of her actions an ancient Existling had been slain. One of the Yanar. She did not care who she hurt, what families she destroyed or broke in her pursuit for murder.
He could see no change, she would not listen to his words and so he would need to act again. His war hammer of starlight sparkled into existence and with a powerful blow he sent it crashing towards her head. In that moment the Silven and her demonic wings propelled her out towards the opening of the tent. He dove at her and at his touch, the chain and morningstar whip that he had used to bind her turned to an indestructible metal. An inferno of silver Exist flames laced with the raging red of the Void combusted around the Silven - the heat scalding unlike any other he had felt.
He would not be consumed there and then, vaulting over the bound burning Silven and summoning a ward of moonlight crystal where his palms had been - and it began to rapidly expand to surround and contain the raging flames. The fire broke free and began to ravage the tent as the Silven hovered within and he stared at her from just outside the reach of the planar flames. She told him to move, he said no and his war hammer of light met the support beam as he tried to contain her. The Silven jetted forward on her to escape the forming pyre but met his enlarged arm, covered in a coat of thick ursine fur to keep her in the prison of burning flames.
She sprung high, trying to fly over him but he was used to her tricks as much she was his. She was still bound and he gave a roar to slam the Silven back into the chaos that was once his tent. The fur around his paws was burnt to a crisp and the bleached white skin of his Exist Touch'd paws could be seen as he heaved. Yet again, she attempted to escape and dove under his out stretched arms - only to meet a flash of moonlight as his war hammer was summoned. She rebounded off the Exist weapon and launched herself up through a hole in the tent meant to release smoke; not Silven.
He let out a mighty bellow and with a burst of starlight, he appeared on the top of the tent; though the already damaged tent could not support the weight of his new skin and he and his hammer came toppling down atop the Silven.
He barely managed to grab hold before she escaped, and hurled her at the remaining support beam. Still, she resisted and fluttered towards the gaping hole in the tent but he would not relent; throwing the chained bound Silven to the floor. Exhausted, he finally pinned her to the ground with his war hammer and declared an end. She yelled, he sighed, she spun around in a circle in the dirt, and he let her. Until her face met the handle of his weapon. He told her she would not to be aware for what happened next.
He thought her lost to the dreamscape and readied himself for what must be done. Lumbering out towards what remained of his camp, he found a few precious stones and carried them to where the Silven laid. As the witches had taught, he arranged them in a circle around her - each engraved with a rune in Olt'vven and pulsed with moonlight.
He brought two of these enchanted rocks towards her face and - she awoke and sent fiery tendrils of the Void to ensnare him. She asked what he was doing, he told her. She was shocked, scared, or even concerned. He was exhausted, scared, and desperate. She tried to escape, but to no avail. She asked if he was committed to his path of power, and he asked her if she was committed to her path of hate. The answer?
They both said yes.
characters in-scene
{ @Yurs - Cal }
{ @Yurs - Cal }
Last edited:
