Demonreach
Serf
- Local time
- Today 3:51 AM
- Messages
- 9
- Age
- 29
Vaeymere had awoken in the middle of the night, a light chill touching his body. He was taller than most elves despite being a half-blood, which made him taller than all men. He went about putting a cotton shirt over his bare torso, pulling breeches over stockings before pulling boots on over those. Impressions of a nightmare-filled sleep clung to his thoughts as he dressed himself.
Vaeymere was just past his nineteenth winter, tall and athletic like most elves. Thick, dark hair had been bound with a leather cord to keep it from his face. He was an attractive man, the finer angles of the elves blunted by the blood of humans.
A few servants walked the walls and guards stood on watch, patrolling the inside or standing idly by playing cards or dicing. Vaeymere didn't care, and doubted they'd even listen to him if he did say something. They bowed or saluted him, as was his due, and went about their business. The fortress was massive, but Vaeymere made his way through the halls and corridors easily enough from a lifetime of exploring. In truth, he enjoyed walking through the fortress. Even the guards did not know it as well as the young elf did. He suspected only his father rivaled his knowledge of the keep.
His father was the elf king, Siagnia; an elf stalwart and true. Vaeymere knew none more noble than his father.
Something in the air had pulled at him, had dragged him from bed to the dark, cool lower levels of the keep. In these dark corridors, lit up by scant few torches that lined the walls. They were called the lower levels, but they overlooked the ocean. The air was oppressive and hummed with… something. The servants had whispered of the First Sword, A'Lryn, returning from his many months out on patrol with urgent news for the king.
A chill that had nothing to do with the weather came over Vaeymere's body and he allowed himself to be pulled onward. He felt a little foolish for being afraid, wishing he had a weapon. His magic was there, ready to be used.
When he prepared to summon some light, he heard a voice, faint, at the end of the corridor. It was his fathers laboratory, the heavy wooden door slightly ajar.
'... was I supposed to know the fool would go himself? Neither of us knew that the starsteel could slay them. We were lucky that the others of his patrol died.'
His father's voice, on edge and tight with anger barely restrained. There was another sound, faint and muffled. He was dressed in his bed-robe, having been summoned from his room.
'You grow insolent, elf.' A second voice, the sound freezing Vaeymere as he tried to open the door to look inside. 'You would do well to watch your tone when speaking to your betters.'
A huff of bitter laughter came next from his father, 'My betters? Ha! Do I need to remind you that you were the one to seek me out? To ask for my help?'
Vaeymere managed to open the door enough to slip through. He dared not summon his magic lest he be discovered. Instead, he relied on his natural abilities as a half-elf and the training received. The room was cast in a cold light that seeped into his bones, his soul. He felt despair creeping up his spine. His breathing grew more difficult as he entered the room, making it hard to keep from panting. The cold light of the room cast long shadows along the floor and walls, against the desks and benches; vats and jars full of various liquids, some of the containers carrying parts of rare and exotic animals. Laying on the floor at the feet of the shadow was A'Lryn, dead or unconscious.
Vaeymere knew this space, knew the things within. What he did not know, what captured his eyes with its horrendous presence, was a shadow. A depthless shadow that carried a hateful aura. The terrifying presence petrified the young half-breed.
That demonic voice that would haunt his waking and sleeping world spoke again. There was something dangerous in the voice this time.
'You know what we are, little elf. You know what I am. Time is nothing to us, for even as long as your kind can live, we are infinite. Your life is a mere blink to the likes of me and our master. You would do well to remember your place in this role of yours.
'We are close now. You have done well this night, in silencing this one. His screams will make her happy.'
He heard a shuffle, moved around a bookcase and saw his father kneeling, 'Please send Her Eminence my humblest apologies for the loss of her people. I hope that this sacrifice is sufficient.'
The anger Siagnia had was gone, in place of it was a reverence; his words said with a slight whimper, as if the elf king was afraid of retribution from this unknown 'she'.
His father rose, speaking again to the shadow, 'Dragnipur, Endarkened Father, I pray to you fo-'
Vaeymere cursed to himself as a hand pressed against a stack of books and sent them tumbling. He felt the shadow and his father staring at him. The presence, the attention of the shadow, was enough to drive Vaeymere to his knees. It was thick and oppressive, forcing the air from his lungs.
When Vaeymere spoke, it was with a gasp, 'What's going on, father?'
'Siagnia…', came the voice of the shadow.
'Do not worry, Dragnipur. Vaeymere is the one we are counting on. He is what will open the way for us.'
'W-what?' Vaeymere asked. 'You work with evil, father. Surely you see that!'
His father made a disapproving noise, saying in a conversational tone, 'Wrong answer, boy.'
Siagnia muttered a word, or what Vaeymere assumed was a word. The language was unknown to him and it was harsh to his ears, but that was all he could consider as a wave of power struck him, sending him into the wall behind him; walled with shelves, he crashed into the items his father had collected over the many centuries of his life.
Blood trickled down Vaeymere's nose, and he lifted a hand up to feel the blood trickling down. Surely this was a nightmare still. Surely… but no, that had been real. His father had struck him, intending to kill him. Vaeymere lifted himself to his knees, taking in a sharp breath of air as he stared at the man he had once called father.
'Still alive? Just like your mother, you can't just die, can you? I wonder if that's a human thing.' Vaeymere watched his father shrug, rolled a wrist with another muttered word but Vaeymere gathered his will and uttered his own defense.
His… mother…?
A half dome shimmered into being around him, the force of his fathers spell struck it in a shower of sparks, cracking the dome in a spider-web of tiny fractures. Vaeymere struggled to his feet, bracing himself with one hand against the wall and holding out the other as his father spoke a third time, sending another blast of force.
The dome shattered like glass, but Vaeymere groaned out a few words of power that took control of the shattered pieces and sent them flying towards his father; using this to push himself up on the wall to hide behind the desks.
Siagnia summoned forth a defense of his own, the pieces of shattered magic turning to dust as they struck the shield. His father began to chant, sending blasts of power at Vaeymere, who moved between bookcase, desk, vats of liquid; anything that would break line of sight, but his father was rarely indulgent and soon snarled a different word that twisted the air, striking the half-elf and knocking Vaeymere into a wall that held some forgotten artifacts.
His father stood a bit away, staring at Vaeymere with disgust and hate. 'To think my son could be so weak… I have come too far to be stopped now, by you or anyone. Soon, this world will be mine and the races of Hayvn shall bow before me, not just the Elves. I have been promised such, and power beyond. Your mother was weak and short-sighted as well. She didn't understand either.'
'So you killed her?!' Vaeymere couldn't get a full breath into his lungs without pain, and knew a few ribs had been broken. He coughed after his burst of outrage, blood coming up, trickling down his chin to mix with the blood from his nose.
Siagnia smiled, 'Her, and many others. Sacrifficed to bring about a world of perfect order. Sacrificed to fulfill a higher purpose. Just as you will be. The Darkborn, a vessel for the Endarkened Angel, Phirion.'
Vaeymere felt his father gathering the foul magic that suffused the air, muttering in that cursed tongue. Energy, a deep blue as to be black, gathered into an orb at the elf king's outstretched finger, pointing at his son. Vaeymere closed his eyes and felt his fingers close around something warm, and heard a gentle sigh as he brought out a sword, ancient and powerful.
The hilt was a helix of spiraled horn, obsidian black and ended in dual points. The guard, elegant in its simplicity, curved gently up and to the side; the whorls etched into the guard naturally guided the eyes up the smooth blade of the hand-and-a-half sword. The dark blade gleamed dully in the cold, dark light.
Power called to him, intermingling with his own innate ability, a voice whispering into his mind, caressing him with a gentle calm that eased the oppressive presence of the shadow.
As his father released the spell, he heard the king grunt as something hit him, knocking him off balance, throwing the spell wide. A hole was blown into the side of the laboratory, and a breeze came rushing through the open hole. Vaeymere opened his eyes and saw that A'Lryn hadn't been dead and had thrown himself into Siagnia. The elf general looked at Vaeymere, the bloodied face of the elf was grim and pained.
'Run.' Vaeymere saw the word mouthed, a small smile touching the lips of A'Lryn as his father raged.
It was the last thing that A'Lryn would say, as the shadow called Dragnipur picked up the First Sword with a shadowed hand that ended in claws from his pale blond hair, the other arm of the shadow creature thrust through the chest of A'Lryn, pulling free the elf's heart. It beat once, twice, three times, stopped. The shadow dropped it.
Vaeymere felt the shadows gaze upon him then, felt the presence trying to worm its way into his mind.
'What an interesting trinket…' the voice of the shadow murmured, taking a step forward while Siagnia stared at Vaeymere in outrage, eyes bulging in anger. Fear?
'You are not worthy of that, boy. Drop it and you'll be allowed to live.'
Something in the sword whispered to him, urged him to strike forward and purge the darkness from this world; to end the two monsters before him, impure and tainted.
Something in his mind... broke. Magical power, pure and beautiful, shot through his body; reinforcing his spirit, his will. It warmed his soul. The sword seemed to be so... real. More real than the world around him.
Anger, pure in its form, ignited the magic within him; within the sword. His mother, A'Lryn, countless others... He would not allow this. He could not. The power in him demanded release. He understood in a way he hadn't a moment ago.
'No!' Vaeymere yelled, the sword burst into purple flame; the smell of brimstone and sulfur singeing his nose hairs as he swept the blade in an arc, warding away the evil that threatened him. A wall of purple fire formed from the passage of the blade, blocking him from his father.
He heard his father yelling, 'No! The Darkborn!', a scream of pain and then ice cold water engulfed him and all went black.
Vaeymere was just past his nineteenth winter, tall and athletic like most elves. Thick, dark hair had been bound with a leather cord to keep it from his face. He was an attractive man, the finer angles of the elves blunted by the blood of humans.
A few servants walked the walls and guards stood on watch, patrolling the inside or standing idly by playing cards or dicing. Vaeymere didn't care, and doubted they'd even listen to him if he did say something. They bowed or saluted him, as was his due, and went about their business. The fortress was massive, but Vaeymere made his way through the halls and corridors easily enough from a lifetime of exploring. In truth, he enjoyed walking through the fortress. Even the guards did not know it as well as the young elf did. He suspected only his father rivaled his knowledge of the keep.
His father was the elf king, Siagnia; an elf stalwart and true. Vaeymere knew none more noble than his father.
Something in the air had pulled at him, had dragged him from bed to the dark, cool lower levels of the keep. In these dark corridors, lit up by scant few torches that lined the walls. They were called the lower levels, but they overlooked the ocean. The air was oppressive and hummed with… something. The servants had whispered of the First Sword, A'Lryn, returning from his many months out on patrol with urgent news for the king.
A chill that had nothing to do with the weather came over Vaeymere's body and he allowed himself to be pulled onward. He felt a little foolish for being afraid, wishing he had a weapon. His magic was there, ready to be used.
When he prepared to summon some light, he heard a voice, faint, at the end of the corridor. It was his fathers laboratory, the heavy wooden door slightly ajar.
'... was I supposed to know the fool would go himself? Neither of us knew that the starsteel could slay them. We were lucky that the others of his patrol died.'
His father's voice, on edge and tight with anger barely restrained. There was another sound, faint and muffled. He was dressed in his bed-robe, having been summoned from his room.
'You grow insolent, elf.' A second voice, the sound freezing Vaeymere as he tried to open the door to look inside. 'You would do well to watch your tone when speaking to your betters.'
A huff of bitter laughter came next from his father, 'My betters? Ha! Do I need to remind you that you were the one to seek me out? To ask for my help?'
Vaeymere managed to open the door enough to slip through. He dared not summon his magic lest he be discovered. Instead, he relied on his natural abilities as a half-elf and the training received. The room was cast in a cold light that seeped into his bones, his soul. He felt despair creeping up his spine. His breathing grew more difficult as he entered the room, making it hard to keep from panting. The cold light of the room cast long shadows along the floor and walls, against the desks and benches; vats and jars full of various liquids, some of the containers carrying parts of rare and exotic animals. Laying on the floor at the feet of the shadow was A'Lryn, dead or unconscious.
Vaeymere knew this space, knew the things within. What he did not know, what captured his eyes with its horrendous presence, was a shadow. A depthless shadow that carried a hateful aura. The terrifying presence petrified the young half-breed.
That demonic voice that would haunt his waking and sleeping world spoke again. There was something dangerous in the voice this time.
'You know what we are, little elf. You know what I am. Time is nothing to us, for even as long as your kind can live, we are infinite. Your life is a mere blink to the likes of me and our master. You would do well to remember your place in this role of yours.
'We are close now. You have done well this night, in silencing this one. His screams will make her happy.'
He heard a shuffle, moved around a bookcase and saw his father kneeling, 'Please send Her Eminence my humblest apologies for the loss of her people. I hope that this sacrifice is sufficient.'
The anger Siagnia had was gone, in place of it was a reverence; his words said with a slight whimper, as if the elf king was afraid of retribution from this unknown 'she'.
His father rose, speaking again to the shadow, 'Dragnipur, Endarkened Father, I pray to you fo-'
Vaeymere cursed to himself as a hand pressed against a stack of books and sent them tumbling. He felt the shadow and his father staring at him. The presence, the attention of the shadow, was enough to drive Vaeymere to his knees. It was thick and oppressive, forcing the air from his lungs.
When Vaeymere spoke, it was with a gasp, 'What's going on, father?'
'Siagnia…', came the voice of the shadow.
'Do not worry, Dragnipur. Vaeymere is the one we are counting on. He is what will open the way for us.'
'W-what?' Vaeymere asked. 'You work with evil, father. Surely you see that!'
His father made a disapproving noise, saying in a conversational tone, 'Wrong answer, boy.'
Siagnia muttered a word, or what Vaeymere assumed was a word. The language was unknown to him and it was harsh to his ears, but that was all he could consider as a wave of power struck him, sending him into the wall behind him; walled with shelves, he crashed into the items his father had collected over the many centuries of his life.
Blood trickled down Vaeymere's nose, and he lifted a hand up to feel the blood trickling down. Surely this was a nightmare still. Surely… but no, that had been real. His father had struck him, intending to kill him. Vaeymere lifted himself to his knees, taking in a sharp breath of air as he stared at the man he had once called father.
'Still alive? Just like your mother, you can't just die, can you? I wonder if that's a human thing.' Vaeymere watched his father shrug, rolled a wrist with another muttered word but Vaeymere gathered his will and uttered his own defense.
His… mother…?
A half dome shimmered into being around him, the force of his fathers spell struck it in a shower of sparks, cracking the dome in a spider-web of tiny fractures. Vaeymere struggled to his feet, bracing himself with one hand against the wall and holding out the other as his father spoke a third time, sending another blast of force.
The dome shattered like glass, but Vaeymere groaned out a few words of power that took control of the shattered pieces and sent them flying towards his father; using this to push himself up on the wall to hide behind the desks.
Siagnia summoned forth a defense of his own, the pieces of shattered magic turning to dust as they struck the shield. His father began to chant, sending blasts of power at Vaeymere, who moved between bookcase, desk, vats of liquid; anything that would break line of sight, but his father was rarely indulgent and soon snarled a different word that twisted the air, striking the half-elf and knocking Vaeymere into a wall that held some forgotten artifacts.
His father stood a bit away, staring at Vaeymere with disgust and hate. 'To think my son could be so weak… I have come too far to be stopped now, by you or anyone. Soon, this world will be mine and the races of Hayvn shall bow before me, not just the Elves. I have been promised such, and power beyond. Your mother was weak and short-sighted as well. She didn't understand either.'
'So you killed her?!' Vaeymere couldn't get a full breath into his lungs without pain, and knew a few ribs had been broken. He coughed after his burst of outrage, blood coming up, trickling down his chin to mix with the blood from his nose.
Siagnia smiled, 'Her, and many others. Sacrifficed to bring about a world of perfect order. Sacrificed to fulfill a higher purpose. Just as you will be. The Darkborn, a vessel for the Endarkened Angel, Phirion.'
Vaeymere felt his father gathering the foul magic that suffused the air, muttering in that cursed tongue. Energy, a deep blue as to be black, gathered into an orb at the elf king's outstretched finger, pointing at his son. Vaeymere closed his eyes and felt his fingers close around something warm, and heard a gentle sigh as he brought out a sword, ancient and powerful.
The hilt was a helix of spiraled horn, obsidian black and ended in dual points. The guard, elegant in its simplicity, curved gently up and to the side; the whorls etched into the guard naturally guided the eyes up the smooth blade of the hand-and-a-half sword. The dark blade gleamed dully in the cold, dark light.
Power called to him, intermingling with his own innate ability, a voice whispering into his mind, caressing him with a gentle calm that eased the oppressive presence of the shadow.
As his father released the spell, he heard the king grunt as something hit him, knocking him off balance, throwing the spell wide. A hole was blown into the side of the laboratory, and a breeze came rushing through the open hole. Vaeymere opened his eyes and saw that A'Lryn hadn't been dead and had thrown himself into Siagnia. The elf general looked at Vaeymere, the bloodied face of the elf was grim and pained.
'Run.' Vaeymere saw the word mouthed, a small smile touching the lips of A'Lryn as his father raged.
It was the last thing that A'Lryn would say, as the shadow called Dragnipur picked up the First Sword with a shadowed hand that ended in claws from his pale blond hair, the other arm of the shadow creature thrust through the chest of A'Lryn, pulling free the elf's heart. It beat once, twice, three times, stopped. The shadow dropped it.
Vaeymere felt the shadows gaze upon him then, felt the presence trying to worm its way into his mind.
'What an interesting trinket…' the voice of the shadow murmured, taking a step forward while Siagnia stared at Vaeymere in outrage, eyes bulging in anger. Fear?
'You are not worthy of that, boy. Drop it and you'll be allowed to live.'
Something in the sword whispered to him, urged him to strike forward and purge the darkness from this world; to end the two monsters before him, impure and tainted.
Something in his mind... broke. Magical power, pure and beautiful, shot through his body; reinforcing his spirit, his will. It warmed his soul. The sword seemed to be so... real. More real than the world around him.
Anger, pure in its form, ignited the magic within him; within the sword. His mother, A'Lryn, countless others... He would not allow this. He could not. The power in him demanded release. He understood in a way he hadn't a moment ago.
'No!' Vaeymere yelled, the sword burst into purple flame; the smell of brimstone and sulfur singeing his nose hairs as he swept the blade in an arc, warding away the evil that threatened him. A wall of purple fire formed from the passage of the blade, blocking him from his father.
He heard his father yelling, 'No! The Darkborn!', a scream of pain and then ice cold water engulfed him and all went black.