Vistas of jagged grey stone and rocky peaks loomed before him as he gazed from a smooth stone cliff . Where the sound of bats high above him, or the rustle of the wind might have been, a shattering silence stood in its place, foreboding. Between the rocks and rubble, shifting silver waters that seemed almost illusory in nature bobbed lazily in the absent wind, lit from an unknown source. And yet still, it made no sound.
It was unlike any natural place to be so quiet, he knew, yet a queer confidence arose in him as he descended from his vantage point, loose stones clattering aside and breaking the silence. Like a commander's voice on the fields of a pitched battle, the stones soon faded into the silence as he reached the water's surface, gravel crunching under booted foot as he knelt down to inspect the silver light.
Starlight.
The word came to mind as he glanced up at the black ceiling of the cavern, yet it was fruitless as no wordly source for the light revealed itself. As his gaze traced back down to the water, it seemed to taunt him in his confusion, swirling and dancing idly in the unexplainable light- every inch as sentient as he. His left hand reached for the water as if instinctively, drawing it beneath the liquid to the wrist as the shimmering responded in turn, silver particles like dust in sunlight wrapping their way between his fingers and around his palm. It was almost calming - until, of course, it wasn't.
His submerged hand clenched into a fist, and in an instant the silver dust faded, an invisible force that almost wrenched his arm from its socket pulling him into the idle waves. He screamed, but could not be heard- struggled, but could not be freed, as he was pulled further beneath the murk. A wrenching stop that brought his descent to a halt knocked the final remnants of air out of him, leaving him surrounded on all sides by the dark aqua hues.
Some notion of defence came to him as he floated in the gloom, reaching for his sword and finding no solace as his lungs began to burn from the lack of air. Water to drown me, and water to bury me. The thought was almost amusing. He peered around the gloom, eyes stinging as he desperately searched for a way out- a pocket of air perhaps, or a rope. The pressure from these depths seemed to constrict him on all sides, whispers floating around his head increasingly fast as if part of the water itself. Some were audible to him, ringing in his ears like a helm struck by a mace as his eyes began to close.
What the fuck are you?
Infected.
A great gift.
Demon.
Arken-spawn.
Flesh and bone, no less.
What will they say, when they discover yours?
The whispers continued, a thousand voices from a thousand faces, merging into one continuous cacophony until one remained.
Your greatest shield.
His eyes opened at that, and the silver dust began its dance once more. The dark aqua ripped away from him, a great darkness clouding his vision, before he awoke. The floating weightlessness had been replaced by an aching back and the feeling of rough oak for it to lean against, the whispers of deep water and drowning replaced by the rasp of wind through autumn leaves and the chatter of bird and beast. He breathed a deep breath- and then another, relishing the feeling of solid ground and full lungs. Upon his lap, a forlorn book forgotten in his sleep lay page-down, the green weave of the cover staring up at him accusingly. Within arm's reach, his sword leaned in its scabbard against the tree, blue leather grip and greyed steel pommel seeming far more comfortable than he.
He must have fallen asleep in his reading, an easy enough thing to do in the relative quiet of the city outskirts. Sleep was a rare commodity for him in the city itself, the streets far too narrow and the walls of his home narrower still. Like the cavern, he thought. A late afternoon sun beat down on the tree, heating his back from behind and illuminating the dying grass in front of his feet. A farmer or two passed by his tree every once in a while, calloused hands raised to shield their eyes from the sun as they glanced at the man beneath the tree. The sword leaned idly beside him brought flares of alarm in each of them, and the crimson cape draped over a branch calmed it, almost in equal measure. At the least, it seemed their knightly efforts had not been for naught. Some semblance of reassurance was given to him in that thought- that whatever else he was, he was still a Bloodcast.
He stood after a time, stretching his back with a sigh before closing the book, stowing it away for later. He reached for his sword, refastening it around his waist before doing the same for the cape in front of him, shining a deep red in the orange glow of the fading sun as he pinned it to a shoulder. It was probably illegal, he knew, to carry a sword in the outskirts of the city- though, it seemed no one cared much to say anything in opposition. In truth, he'd never really understood the necessity of the weapon laws in the first place. It seemed odd to deny a bar of steel in a city of mages and sanguine. Or even worse, Arken and this mysterious Baldur. Aye, a sword was not enough. But, perhaps he was more than just a sword, as the cavern had shown him. Perhaps he'd always been more than a sword.
The thought filled him with renewed confidence, taking a final deep breath as he strode towards the city, and towards a new purpose.
Last edited:
