Forefathers, One and All, Bear Witness

[madnorth 92]

  

Spoiler

 

 

 

SURVIVAL IN MOZ'STRIMOZA

18th of the GRAND HARVEST

YEAR 186, SECOND AGE

 

 

"How far you've come."

 

Hearts pound as their beings manifest into the realm. A myriad of sensations overwhelm but Three Fighters. Their noses flooded by blood and brimstone, eyes upon the fiery fortress of a blackstone fortress, their fleshes searing and the feeling of being watched all around. Throughout every corner and crevice did the shadows of the hungry monstrosities come. They were far from Celia'nor, and Gashadokuro, the Archlich, seemed comfortable as it ascends into the floaty depths, wielding blade and script while it removes previous arrows and projectiles peppering their form.

 

Perhaps they were fated to die here, one would imagine, as the hellish landscape grows asunder of the inferni populace, looking on unto the sheer depths of the fighters brought forth. One began to wonder, of their fate here, futile in drawling around, searching for a memory lost. Another stared Death in the face, the Drakaar imbued with the strength gifted from a King Who Never Was as their energies transferred unto a meagre spell they chant beneath words.

 

Amidst the scurry between the two, and the undead; the Last contemplated destiny. To die honorably in battle, he may here, and with such he enters a stance with the polehammer that once purposed itself to break the chains of the Drakaar threatened with captivity by the fell spawn. Only until now, that seemed to be the end of it, until a foul chant erupted from the fleeing lich, and thus, in a blink of an eye, they meet the lands of the High Hells.

 

"I AM the Old Dark."

 

It was here that birthed an unspoken camaraderie between Man and Dragon. Azli, the Egg Bearer gifted with the will to match the strength of any, to hone their strength and send foul blows upon the greater undead. Surtr, the Tarnished Soul harnessed with the experience, to find at once the discrepancies in the lich's strategem, distracting them from their true target and constantly batting to fell any force that came upon the dragonkin.

 

A blade manifested in Azli's grip, a black saber wrought of a dracanium. The marrow of cloudbreaker yearning to fetch at those that once doomed it, it even spoke of hate towards the undead. Purple draconic flames licked its whet edge as it yearned to test foul foe. He stood firm, ready as it prepared itself, exhausted arms that were once extended outwards as its form stretched and heat blew from its face.

 

Exerting all of the strength he has, Surtr crosses a honed focus upon his surroundings, and all of his joints firmed in that stance they took while their senses were bled dry from the essence of the world they transcended upon. His feet scatter, and his polehammer makes ready. Relatively unscathed throughout the sacking of Celia'nor, his strength were comparably preserved to that of the Drakaar, though disdain and psychosis fell upon the one Descendant so daring to match the energies.

 

"New or old, it is all the same," lurched the valiant Drakaar.

 

"And the flame grows, come what may," concluded the persitent Descendant.

 

At once, Surtr is met with a higher power. Struck with the lich's weapon of choice, they're immediately sent gliding across the flooring as the weary sellsword greets the kanabo with his hammer. Azli continued their trek away, channeling words upon his blade, and spelling over a strength boiling to burst from the wretches of Azdromoth's will. When the former realizes this, they immediately take to a stand.

 

Hellhounds are sent immediately, as if manifesting from the clutches of the Red Lich. Without hesitation, the sellsword regains his footing and in a quick motion, sends one writhing on the floor with an executioner's felling of his hammerhead. At the disposal of their tool; the Lich leaps right for Azli, only to be met with the behemoth sending the limp body of the hound unto them before they could reach, as the Drakaar retreats from the assault.

 

Meeting the recovered hound, Gashadokuro sends it right upon Azli as some means of a distraction, and then another, intending to make another leap once more - until he's met by the planted scorn of a polehammer's blade as his leg is tacked by the pest behind him. Surtr sends the Archlich into a fleeting scurry to float into the space of Moz'Drimoza, gathering away from a potential assault from the heavy-handed sellsword. His task was done, as such, he sends himself flying leftward to avoid the wroth of the flame the Lich casted upon where he once was.

 

"RAAAH!" roared the Lich as it bestows an unholy flame upon blackstone.

 

Azli picks up upon the surrounding hounds, sending a dagger forth unto one to dispatch of a hound immediately. The other lurches unto his sword arm, latching on with foul canines, but its met with a flying blade lurching right into its heart. Surtr, ever fervent, threw it in his quick bout to avoid the fiery response from the Lich, and it was felled almost as quick as it latched on.

 

Smog berths from beneath Gashadokuro as he creates further complication for the fighters. Both warriors are met with a seeping blindness, until the Lich lurches upon Azli once more, its intended kill from the beginning; only for Azli to meet the Lich with a foul blade enwreathed of dragonfire as they battle one another, while Surtr navigated the epistle to find his own victim.

 

Yet, it were He to meet the challenge as the Lich was quick on their feet to address the disturbance of a sellsword. Meeting him from behind, a kanabo is sent forth right upon him.

 

"You shall go back, BROKEN," intended the Lich as his weapon crashes towards the Descendant's chest.

 

"And you shall never, to expire," meant the one Warrior, whose hands swirled their own right around.

 

In a crash of weaponry, Surtr is sent flying with a tremendous force upon their body, their chestplate denting inward of the strike. Yet, not without reaction as depicted, as the sellsword's hammerhead strikes right into the side of Gashadokuro's maw and the brunt of their head, crackling their form as fire bleeds out from the discrepancies along the undead's being.

 

Azli immediately responds with a sword strike of his own, as though sensing the foulness that lingered over the felled man's flown body. He comes to a bend and lifts a blade upon Gashadokuro, whom retreats with a quaint backing as they reassess the battlefield with one less fighter on the floor.

 

Surtr writhes, nearing unconsciousness of the assault as he plucks at the collard of his chestplate to push away the denting inward of his upper body, blasted right toward his heart where it faintly beats, until falling short of any energy, and thus, his body turns limp.

 

His eyes shut.

 

 

 

 

 

 

...

 

 

 

...

"Oh?"

 

...

"Ah, you again."

 

...

"You are here."

 

An endless ringing, and unsensed pain.

 

The lick of Death springing upon one's form.

 

Defeat, this was, perhaps? Or something far more articulate.

 

"Do you truly wish for it?"

 

"Death, I speak of,"

 

Death's door, at the hands of a black horseman, speaking the tongue of the forefathers.

 

The door, opening faintly, while he was stilled before the very sight.

 

An escape. From everything.

 

"Albeit, tempting, I wonder of your destiny."

 

"Was it Death, here?"

 

"Or suffering, again? Oh, such a delicate thing, it is."

 

"Or your... frjálsi."

 

Freedom. At an arm's length, a step away.

 

"You poor soul. It was not meant for you, here."

 

"Do not let me see you again."

 

"Get up."

 

...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Spoiler

 

 

 

"GET UP." 

 

Chiding from the maws of the Egg Bearer, the Drakaar spouts a thrumming cry toward the state of the fallen Man, for He was forced to meet the Lich's strike once more with his own blade, struck a few distances back from the force of the undead's remaining strength. Surtr is embodied by a feverish sensation: his hand lurches unto a polehammer just a touch away, gripping upon it a new-found strength.

 

Kill.     Survive.    K̷̝͝i̸͉͛l̵̥̕l̶̤͒.̶̳̿     S̷͙͚̱̎͌̓ȕ̶̢̗̙͊̌͜r̵̙͒̔̕v̸̜̙̓i̶̼̾͜v̵̛̝̺̥͍͑͘͠ę̴̹͔͎̐̈́͘.̵̢͐̓͠͝

 

The adrenaline rush. The throes of a lingering demise. Adversity greater than any challenge that had come forth, even those who had once cursed him. Surtr found himself surging with an aura not unlike one of bloodlust; while tasting the iron of his own at the lip. A wrathful steel drags along the floor when it becomes enwreathed in a mundane fire as it had once been before their transcendence into the hellscape, only this time, an aura of black berthed, ethereal to all but He, as a sweet poison loiters beneath the helmet of the hunter and the intent behind their body.

 

The ravenous allures of a close death rings its bells once more, but it no longer merely called for Surtr and Azli. As Azli lay upon stone, incapacitated, Surtr comes forth as a harbinger. A radiance unfounded that would shatter the Canonist perceptions of a benevolent savior, for He was not one here, but One of an intent akin to those whose souls delve deep within the influence of Iblees. 

 

K̶̢͉̻̬̳̈́̑́͠Į̸̞̺̱̦͛̀̚L̵̙̹̉̔͘L̸̠̖̭̄͋̽.̴̳̟̼͙̐́̆̊

 

Never could the Lich taste Death better than now.

 

The polehammer swings in a downward arc, an executioner felling a nail into fate, as the hammerhead barrages right into the back of Gashadokuro's head.

 

With this, the Lich enters a dazed frenzy, phasing from toying with mere victims to now recognizing the threat before Him while he holds his neck together, misplaced from the blunt trauma. Death tolled close, and for that shortest second, a sword of dragonfire plunges right as he means to act upon the deathly sellsword right upon its core; damaging him to a graveness unmatched. Not only the human, but the dragonkin who bore a treasure he means to possess was a threat to his unlife, now.

 

Without a moment's notice, as panicked flames plunge out from the cracks, he grips upon the bearer of the polehammer that so scorned the very shell his essence lurks beneath, coming aloft of the blackstone to send him right unto the flooring with enough strength to bury a meteor and leave a large crater. Azli watches as their temporary compatriot is reduced to mere stone beneath the lands of malediction, while the inferni crowding the arena eventually grew to a deadly silence as they fell from the towers to meet the fighters.

 

 

 

 

 

 

...

 

 

"Again," called Death for him to rise, as he too had a bone to pick should he falter within the graven crater.

 

 

Surtr works cobbled gauntlets upon stone to work himself out of the rubble, with a hiss turned vapor as his breath becomes melting hot. The wrathful metal he bears upon body and limbs become a searing hot touch unmatched by no fire but the hellscape they were cursed to do battle on. Azli equally has become a strength grown of the tribulations in battle, as He too felt the same bloodshed within him that Surtr thus embodied in himself as he rises once again.

 

The will of Azdromoth and the indomitable human spirit begin their descent upon Gashadokuro, whose wounds have become too grave to leave his fate to battle alone. With a quick shunt, he dissuades a blade from Azli with ease to meet nothing but the floor, while Surtr dispatches an undead soldier's arm clutching the straws to prevent him from reaching the Archlich, before felling a hammerhead of pure, killing intent upon where the Lich once stood.

 

Alas, he was no longer present. Disappearing, he flees from the flurry of bloodlusted warriors, and something goes awfully awry.

 

Demonic legions marched with blood craze behind their eyes as they push them into a kill-circle. Any leaping weapons met flesh, perhaps killing something of Hell only for another to easily replace it. Surrounded, they felt a warmth curdle through the atmosphere, as if they were in close-proximity to the magmas of a volcano.

 

Coated in flame, a cocoon manifests above them as they fight fell spawn after another to meet their destined foe once more, though efforts start to become futile.

"GR- GRAAAGH!"

 

As if it were second nature, Azli and Surtr both send sword and hammer upon the flaming presence; where the cocoon breaks apart, and now reveals a representation of Gashadokuro in a leg, and its gorget caving, revealing its neckbone. Without another word, an explosion of malflame strikes all within and outside the ring. Scorching fire washes over the crowd of devils and fighters both, bringing forth aggravating wounds upon those souls that floored them and sent them to the ground.

 

Surtr and Azli were overwhelmed by the sheer volume of fire that spelled over them; as the former took shelter beneath the armor that held his soul so dear, if only to faintly touch the heart and corrupt the tarnished soul as the flame had once before. Azli writhes as he's engulfed in a moment's notice, enough to turn the both of them into mere shells of what little surge of energy they became in that time of becoming the few that dragged the Red Lich closer to the throes of Death.

 

In the ashes of this attack, the wounded Gashadokuro hovers above the fallen crowd, who were now deprived of the fight.

 

"This realm,"

 

"Means death."

 

"To all, but the Worthy."

 

 

Azli meets the gaze of an approaching Gashadokuro, who now crouches before him, a complete being, plundered by wounds all across, and yet toppling over them all the same in their vein effort to fell the demon that turned Celia'nor into a representation of his ever-lasting wrath.

 

Yet, the Tarnished Soul would not accept this. And with a slow rise, Surtr allows the malflame to touch and sear upon the metals of his legs as he sluggishly lifts the weight of the polehammer in the air, as the Lich vulnerably shows his back to him, and what felled before the Red Lich...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

.. was He. Strength unpresent, as Surtr and His weapon alike fell unto the blackstone of Moz'Strimoza.

 

 

If only. Destiny would have different plans for the both of them.

 

Azli enters a weary communion with the Red Lich, no longer of strength to resist.

 

And their eyes shut, for them both return to the world they inhabited once more.

 

Not as fighters.

 

Survivors.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Spoiler

 

BIG BIG BIG shoutout to @femurlord and @kindEmperor for that beautiful fight sequence between my character, Azli and Gashadokuro at the end of the Celia'nor assault. I recreated everything to my best ability given I was not able to save every emote possible, while weaving an introspective look as to my character's perspective of that long battle. Victory was almost certain for us, alas, the world has other plans, and Gashadokuro is needed to bring more wrath upon Aevos.

 

 

Edited Monday at 01:39 PM by madnorth

[ItemVendor 710]

"GASH," Aevar peered up at the black hole manifestation, one the swallowed up those beside him. Feeling of dread dissipating, which was quickly overtaken by anger when the same hole vanished alongside those present within. For he tried saving the so called Azli, who was there alone with Aevar atop the rooves to take on the army of the Archlich head-on first. "IS THIS HOW YOU FACE ME," The elf shrieked into the skies where the hovering Archlich was last seen, blaming himself for the inability to save the two who saved him first. "COWARD!" He yelled one last time before collapsing on the roof from exhaustion.