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 Posted: Fri Dec 14, 2012 9:34 am
Bix was torn between the uncontrollable need for the crowns ahead of him and the urge to run, pull away and flee from the massive vortex that was swallowing people whole. And then suddenly there was nothing but him and the figure. The figure with his face. It’s red eyes glinted, mouth quirking in a familiar joking expression. The crown was extended to him and Bix closed his eyes to receive it. There was almost no transition in his reaching out to take it. One minute he was facing himself and the next it was just him feeling it in his hands and his thoughts were out of his control. His feelings were guided by the crown and all he could do was think of his loved ones. This was all for the people he had to take care of, the only few worthy of his protection. There was a crisp definition to every single emotion as soon as he felt that crown in his palms. “King, huh?” Bix smirked now, almost sighing the words and then he was gone. It was like warp speed, hurtling through space in a fast forward reenactment of his life. At first it was unfamiliar but as each memory unfolded Bix was no longer the awkward archer from Deus. That Bix was nothing more than another story, another place, another time.
There was his father, the Admiral-King, and the pressures he’d lived under as his son.
There was the academy, officers training, and his only hope for an ounce of freedom. But achieving his dream would also be his bane.
There was his father’s face as he finally was commissioned as captain of his own ship. He could take to the stars, his crisp white and golds were a tangible symbol of his achievement, a limited escape from the militaristic monarchy of their homeworld.
But in taking his post he silently accepted his future. To be a captain meant that he would accept his future as the Admiral-King when inevitably his war-hardened father finally died.
He relished the precious few years he could enjoy it all. Bix had been his call sign as a fighter pilot in school and the name stuck amongst his crew. Captain Bix. Never Prince. Never Ferdinand. His crew was his family.
They’d never expected the invasion, the slaughter. He knew the day would come when he’d be forced into his unwanted mantle but he had no idea it would happen like this.
Gale, his grim faced executive officer, had been white as a sheet.
“So soon?” Bix had sighed, hopeless and resigned. Had it been a battle? Illness? A strategic move by a rival?
“He’s gone Bix.” Gale uncharacteristically choked on the words. It alarmed the captain. The blonde flattened his lips in restraint. “The enemy came out of nowhere. They’re... all gone. Everyone.”
He was now Admiral-King. This was what was left of humanity. It was a shoddy fleet scrapped together of those who escaped or were in space when the slaughter happened. He was now in charge of his entire race.The memories, this life, came and went in a moment. He closed his eyes as Bix of Deus Ex and opened them as Admiral-King of a doomed civilization. -------------------- Sparks exploded from the consoles around him and Bix could only toss himself from one smoking panel to another in an effort to stay upright. The ship rocked under fire and caused the man to trip over a body and crack his head against the gunmetal grey walls of the CIC. “s**t.” He hissed as stars exploded in front of his eyes and he breathed heavily as a trickle of blood slid down his temple. The pain rang sharply through his skull and every thud against the hull seemed to fall into a complimentary pounding to the pressure in his head. He struggled to his feet as the truth set in. He’d been tasked with the safety of his race and would be remembered as the one who failed them, if their conquerors bothered to remember him at all. A fallen enemy caught his eye, their grotesque armor blown through. Their blood was just as red and under the armor and judging by this soldier’s face, they were just as human. His heart sank in disappointment. Was it easier or harder to hate an enemy who merely mirrored yourself? The Admiral-King resumed his crawling stumble through the remains of his Bridge. He would go down with his ship, that was inevitable. He’d remained true to his heritage in the face of danger, with the mantle of leadership upon his shoulders, and while his ancestors would look down on him with pride, he knew he couldn’t live with himself. The decisions he’d made since their exodus, blinded by fear, wrought with grief, fleeing from a superior foe, were shameful. When he could’ve surrendered and possibly saved his people, he’d clung to grandiose visions of their own military greatness and fantasies about the strength of their determination. They’d all paid for his arrogance. The put-upon martyr act had only lasted so long. Another explosion rocked him from his reverie, larger, with a second one behind it. The succession of blasts told him that their last cannons had finally been destroyed. The Admiral-King’s final comfort was that he would go down with his ship. Only blown out view screens kept him from his chair. He could sit. He could breathe. As he rounded the viewing station he pressed on with only that final peace in mind. Someone else was sitting in his chair. Bix’s eyes were drawn to the bloody mess of blonde at their feet. “Gale! Who-“ “Loyal to the end.” Ceres’ words were soft, sad. Bix’s heart broke. Thoughts of his final peace dissolved around him as another explosion shook the ship. The groaning of the hull peeling away like an orange tore further through his psyche as a continual audible reminder of his failure. He tried to pull himself upright, face his best friend and mourn his other one with dignity. “How could you?” “My King.” Ceres rose from the captain’s chair with an air of restrained grief. “You failed us. Even Gale knew it but,” she cast her eyes to his body, chin trembling a moment before the muscles in her jaw tightened, “in the end he couldn’t follow through.” Ceres clear blue eyes brimmed with tears but were steady in their determination. “Perhaps we both loved you too much. Him too much to see you die, and me… too much to see you live as a shame to us all.” Bix hardened, his core burning in the wake of betrayal. “Then how could you? Our people are gone, slaughtered. We’ve lost. Why come here to kill me when I’m already doomed? Why not..” Bix’s words softened, “ let me have my peace.” The Admiral-King’s eyes burned in fear of death. He’d been ready to go on his own terms, not this. “You... you swore to defend your king!” Ceres silently approached him, catching her leader as he stumbled in the crumbling ship. Both clung to one another in support as the shaking increased. Both feeling pangs of days gone by when life was fresher and easier, when love could be had and then disposed of carelessly. There weren’t any pauses between the explosions now. Reality would not allow them to sit and think. This would be the end. Ceres allowed him to sit in his chair and it was only then that the Admiral-King noticed the mass blood staining her uniform. His eyes drifted to Gale, the young man’s face surprisingly peaceful. His friend must have truly defended him to the end. Bix looked down at himself, his white uniform covered in blood and soot. He felt the uncontrollable urge for it to be cleaned and pressed but Ceres spoke again. He lifted his eyes to the barrel of her pistol. “I swore to defend. Our people. Our world.” Her tears flowed freely now. She would die too. “When you turned down their offer, I contacted them myself. Under the radar. Our people will be safe so long as you die. No figurehead for them to rally behind.” Ceres then swiped her eyes with a bloody hand, her lips cracking into a slight laugh. “I don’t want to die.” Another smile, “But my life is nothing to trade for our race. A few lives for many.” The Admiral-King knew that if she was telling the truth, if their enemies were at all honorable, than she had saved their race. As a high ranking officer she had the means and the know how. How long, underhis watch, had she plotted his demise. Bix knew then, his death was necessary. He couldn’t help but reply and barely noticed his own eyes were streaming with tears. It was a pathetic and desperate move, “They could.. be lying.” Ceres straightened and took a shuddering breath. “I don’t think they are and I will die sure in my convictions. I don’t regret anything I’ve done and I’ll return to the halls of my ancestors with my chin high.” Her finger twitched and the Admiral-King flinched as he heard the metal under her hand tighten a hair. “Can you die with no regret?” As the trigger was pulled he wondered, could he?Lips brushed his cheek as their kingdom crumbled, “Goodbye My King.” THE WHITE CROWN OF CLARITY
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Posted: Fri Dec 14, 2012 12:02 pm
Wash felt the tendrils of fog seize him, ripping him into the abyss. He was promptly jerked to the ground, sliding deep into the mist, reaching so painfully slowly for something, anything to arrest his movement toward oblivion- all in vain.
"Not her," was all he managed, a harsh, desperate whisper; and then the darkness swallowed him up.
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Posted: Fri Dec 14, 2012 12:06 pm
The mist grabbed his knife first, jerking it from his hand.
"HEY!" Torgus hollered in response, his confusing introspection interrupted. He ran at the thing, jumping and grasping; knife always just out of reach. He didn't notice how it got darker; and yet more white at the same time - didn't realize he was treading into the heart of the fog -
With a snap more tendrils of mist appeared, grabbing at his wrists and ankles, jerking him into the ground with a wet, sucking sound.
All he managed was a half-hearted grunt.
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Posted: Fri Dec 14, 2012 12:12 pm
The Wolf King's knife flashed, and blood was spilt, and inside, Jerry's soul was screaming. This was not the way. This was not how he wanted it. He knew, he knew this could be avoided somehow. The Kingdom would fall eventually and this one small sacrifice couldn't hold the enemy forces at bay for long. Pointless, it was all pointless- - the blood on his hands faded, and the King blinked. The crowds were still staring at their King, waiting for his decision. Marcus stood, unscratched. Had it been a dream? A passing thought. Coward. A voice in the back of his head whispered. You know what must be done. He had no one. He had everyone. The entire Kingdom was his responsibility, and he loved every one of them. How could he consider sacrificing a Wife, a Brother, a Husband, a Father... cowardess. Cowardly. His breathing quickening with the sacrificial knife still in his hand. It had just been a day dream- a vision. A possibility. If he had been a lesser man. His eyes closed. Wishful thinking. He knew what must be done. He trusted his household. He trusted them to keep the kingdom protected without him. "It's time, sire." His advisor grumbled, sadness in his vivid green eyes. "Yes..." Jerry whispered back. But there was no fear anymore. No sadness. This was what needed to be done. They would miss him, yes, but... the songs that would be sung about the martyr would be about him, not anyone else. This was what must be done. It all was clear now, and it was like a weight had been lifted. He would be free. The Kingdom would live on without him, and that thought was comforting. No one else but him would have to be harmed. He would protect them. All of them. His eyes rested on Sir Washington and Lady Sasha, a soft smile on his lips. "Live on, my friends." He addressed everyone, all eyes on him as he lifted the knife, eyes closed, the smile not trembling. His Kingdom howled as the knife was plunged and the Kingdom of the Wolf would live on. Knowing that all he cared for would now be saved, Jerry was at peace. There was no place for him, except here. Now. Doing what was right. It was Rory who delivered the final blow, and Jerry gasped, collapsing into his throne. The world dimmed, but the Wolf King still smiled. They would all be saved. The White Crown of Clarityooc: Kind of a continuation of Blue Crown prompt! Read both for full impact <3
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Posted: Fri Dec 14, 2012 12:26 pm
Thy kingdom shall be great...
As his fingers curled 'round the cold spires of the crown, his vision of the world changed. The amber and gold, brilliant autumn hues, faded , the color seeping from them until the very soul of the world had snaked away. Sharra can feel a crawling at the back of his eyes, as white encroaches upon acidic green. It has chosen one...the one who shall be the Pale King.
I has chosen him.
--------
He can feel their fingers on him, friendly, coaxing, as they usher him forward on this joyous day. A day that he has seen coming, bearing its knowledge like a burning ember in his chest. Today he will fulfill the chiefest and most important of promises that he has made. Today, he will save them all.
Sharra can feel the soft thrum of the white marble 'neath his feet, the world about them a snowy winterland of monochrome. The color left this place long ago, showing him the true nature of the world. In the nergal's vision now, and and henceforth from his crowning, only two colors have ever existed. The purest white, and the soul-sucking blackness that in ages past, ate away at the land and its people. They had all been blind, before, lost in the grey clutches of Insanity. The Pale King had been granted sight, and he had taken on the responsibility to wield that power.
The crumbling colums to right or left were pristine in their ruin, a glimmering whiteness, echoes of the power that had created this place, a bastion of untouched achromatic sanctity. A fortress to stave off the darkness, as the Pale King cleansed the world. There were no shades of black now, no creeping grey fog to be seen, for it had no tarry pit to slink from. All that was wrong in this kingdom of his had fallen 'neath the alabaster sword.
The armor of the knight flashes, white steel, as he approaches, and Sharra raises his head, smiling as he meets the other on the stairs that prelude the throne, white-gloved hand reaching out to clasp the forearm of the one who has been beside him this entire time. Ah. So it is you...
There is a twinge within his chest, touching the cold heart that has ruled by reason for so long, not emotionless but instead gripped by icy truth. Though the king knew this day would come, it is still a cut, the knowledge laying open his soul.
Sharra's actions have not been kind.
But the Pale King was not crowned to be a benevolent monarch. His sight will not allow him the luxury. To cut down one by one those in willing thrall of the Blackness...that has been his mission from the beginning, purging them from his sight, from those lands which he has called his own. Step by step he has erased the tragedies, the blood seeping from the battlefield and leaving only a frosty landscape in its wake.
But he will not be here forever. The Pale King's clarity shining like a beacon, to protect that which he holds dear. And when he has fallen, the other Kingdoms will remember his cruelty. So moment by moment, he has shut them out from his heart and mind, taking council with no one, a seemingly heartless dictator.
Those most beloved of his heart would think him merciless. A sadistic monster to their gaze, as though loyal, not a one of them could truly grasp his vision. He does not know if all of his people are happy, but every last one of those who remain is safe. Safe from the darkness, and the grey that creeps between to latch onto a being's very soul, and consume him from the inside out. It was these things...that the Pale King had abolished.
And so he must be usurped.
Not a king who could reign in time of peace, no...there is too much of that ink-like wetness on his hands, the lifeblood of countless foes. Ruthless to his enemies, his people must have a strong, compassionate leader now, one upon whom the vengeful eye of the other kingdoms will not fall. There is a traitor in his ranks.
A traitor that Sharra's actions have formed with terrible deliberation.
The Pale King had long been cold, the warmth seeping from him as his frigid gaze dealt Justice.There were those, of course, who cried out against the slaughter. Who raised voices in opposition to the cleansing, the forcible ending of conflict by conflict itself. But he hushed them, lifting a finger to his lips in solemn warning. Disregarding those nearest. His Knight and his Lady.
The King's hand retracts, a smile that speaks of the inevitable on his face as the dragon's wings unfold behind him. They have promised that today will be the dawn of a new age. And each knows what must be done here, though Sharra allows them no knowledge that he has done this. Orchestrating the fall...moving his chess pieces one by one until there were no more.
He had drawn the Darkness into himself, a Pale King tainted.
The White Knight's fingers curl 'round the hilt of his sword, "It is time...." He leans close, dark hair falling to touch his King's alabaster raiment as he confides his betrayal. "...This is the end you are seeking." There is a sadness to his voice, a grief born of understanding, a shared sorrow.
Sharra draws in a deep breath, pleasure coursing through him at his knight's actions. Of course...of course Aksaja would see his purpose. The White Knight had never understood, just why the King had chosen him, viewing his own mantle in a much darker night, afraid of the blackness within him. But always and ever the ivory knight had seen with a clarity of his own, and had known his ruler's heart...the trusting soul of a dearest friend.
So if not the dragon, then who-
The thought is cut short, agony like a white-hot inferno lancing through his body, the nergal's lithe form going rigid, a terrible, gutteral cry escaping somewhere from deep within him.
His hands clasp 'round the blade, and he turns... But of course...
"Beloved..." He reaches for her, and she is there, her delicate fingers curled about the hilt of the opalescent dagger. It is her, after all, that he has wounded most deeply, and in protecting her, done the most wrong. Her justice...it is the most fitting of all.
There is so little left to him now.
There are her tears, warm upon his skin, though her cool fingertips are cupped 'round his cheek as the djinn's luminous eyes drown in their sorrow. "I am sorry, my king..."
She loves him still...
The last breath is slow, lingering...rattling in his chest like a death-knell, but with it he has made his peace. That it would be her, to be his undoing, is the most fitting end of all.
The ebon on the floor, warm, sticky...flowing traitorous from his vains, between his fingers the black metamorphoses into blossoming crimson.
It is flawless in its pristine beauty...The kingdom of the new Queen. The dragon will take care of her, in this new era.
White lifts back like a curtain...green eyes closing one final time 'neath blond lashes.
The crown falls...clattering down the stairs to the dais. A funeral bell that tolls for the end of an age. The soul of the world given back once more.
Lay rest to the tyrant. The Pale King.
Great...has been thy kingdom...THE WHITE CROWN OF CLARITY
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Posted: Fri Dec 14, 2012 1:00 pm
Lizzy was almost waiting for the crown to present itself; its allure was as strong as the red crown's, but instead of anger, close proximity to the white crown filled her with another emotion - concern. For a moment, she wasn't sure what or who she was concerned about, just that she was worried about something or for someone... Maybe everything and everyone she had ever loved and might love one day.
Her hands reached out, and gripped the sides of the crown; it compelled her to put it on, crown herself King-
"-Lizzy? King Lizzy?"
She awoke from her dream - a dream where she was just a helpless high school student, incapable of making good decisions, incapable of defending the places and people she loved... Perhaps it was less of a dream, and more of a nightmare. Then again, even in this reality, she was incapable of such an enormous task... She had failed, and it was time for her to redeem herself in the only way that was possible.
"How could you keep your King waiting this long?" She replied, lifting her head in order to face the person addressing her; although she was smiling like she usually was, there was no joy behind the smile, and the lifeless look in her eyes showed that she was clear about her final task as King. How long had she sat in the ruins of her castle, waiting for someone to come? It couldn't have been more than a few hours, but yet, she had fallen asleep... Such carelessness.
"It's been a long time, Mac," She mused, pushing herself off her crumbling throne; to say that she wasn't surprised to see him would be a lie... They hadn't seen each other in a long while, since they broke up. Their personalities didn't mesh well, and although she tried to protect their relationship, it just wasn't meant to be; it fell apart the same way her beautiful kingdom was falling apart.
And it would continue to fall apart if she continued to try protecting it.
"I'm sorry..."
"You said sorry a lot too, when we were together," She answered, walking over to the balcony; plants used to grow and flower along the ledge, but there was nothing there now... Nothing but memories, and empty flowerpots. She looked at the horizon, and for the first time in a long time, smiled genuinely; this had always been her favorite spot in the castle. It was why she moved her throne room to this specific tower - it was the highest spot, and she could see her entire kingdom from this balcony, "I'm still your King right now, yes?"
She sat on the balcony ledge, facing the man she once said she loved. Opening her arms, she beckoned him forward, her smile widening when he wrapped his arms around her, and hers around him. He smelt different - a little saltier from spending so much time on the water.
"This is for the good of everyone. It's to save everyone," He whispered, gently patting her hair; the gesture was so familiar that it was starting to cause her to regret her decision to let it all go; she didn't realize just how much she needed this... Just one last time.
"A sacrifice has to be made... I'm sorry it had to be you. I really am," He continued, and she could feel herself gradually being tipped backwards, although she didn't fight it. Slowly, his hold on her loosened, prompting her to do the same; it was time, and there was no use trying to prolong something that was heading towards ruin, "Goodbye... My King Lizzy."
She slipped off the ledge, and into oblivion; her very last shot at protecting everything and everyone was her most successful.
THE WHITE CROWN OF CLARITY
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Posted: Fri Dec 14, 2012 1:01 pm
((This runs concurrently to this solo.)) Kouki's desperate, hissing cry went unheard, drowned out by the glory of the Crown. One moment, Madison was there, reaching out to touch - the next, she was gone, her body crumpling bonelessly to the ground as Kouki shrieked uselessly inside her mind, battering scales against the Crown-born barrier between them. The fog-Madison loomed over him. "I see you." The words, in her voice, chilled the serpent-sword to the core. He trembled and turned upwards, peering through his Hunter's glassy eyes. She was smiling. There was a Crown in her hands. Go away, he hissed, snapping coils, but his blade-form lay useless beside Madison's crumpled body, her mind somewhere far away, somewhere he could not reach. He was helpless. Go away!She smiled. "I have what you desire." You don't, he insisted, but the new Crown rang like a bell, the sound of it overwhelming. I have everything I want!"Do you?" The fog swirled around her, in stark contrast to the utter blackness of the Crown. "You are fallen. You want to protect, yet you are so helpless without her... and you couldn't save her, could you?" Stop it!! he moaned, guilt coiling cold and accusing in his mind. She was right, he was helpless, he couldn't even move- She crouched, holding the Crown out like a gift, smirking. "Poor little thing. But you could have what you desire. Take it. Take it, and everything you wish will be yours." A terrible longing descended, and Kouki writhed in indecision - yet, how could he possibly take such a thing? It was Madison who was meant to wear a crown - he had no body any more, no way to bear a Crown even if one was given to him. As if reading his mind, she chuckled. "An insignificant barrier. Take it. You want your sacrifice to be worth something, don't you?" He had no idea what she meant, but something about her words resonated. With a moan, Kouki reached out - not physically, but with his very essence, straining for the Crown he could never physically touch. She smiled, and tilted it down towards him. "Here. No one will question you because you-" The world went white. -------------- Where there once was chaos, there was now stillness; where there once was noise, there was now silence. Crowds and colors had given way to emptiness and blank space. There was a terrible clarity in aftermath, a certain and sure accounting of what had been lost, and precisely whose fault that loss had been. But Kouki had always known the potential scope of his ability to fail. The wind bit cruelly at him as he stood alone upon the highest peak, a needlepoint of stone that was the last thing standing within the borders of his Kingdom. The Crown ached on his head, uncomfortable to wear yet terrifying to remove. From here, he had a perfect panorama of everything that had fallen; having eight eyes permitted him to take in the whole of it at once, drinking in every crumbled building, every shattered forest. He alone among all his broken Kingdom had that right. Once, his palace had perched here. Their spires had fallen, littering the crags below, nothing but cracked marble and stone. This pinnacle had held his throne; now only a few flagstones remained, precarious and teetering. The throne itself was gone, smashed to pieces somewhere far below. He saw her coming, of course; she was the only living thing for miles, alone among dead trees blasted clean of leaves, bleached bones protruding up from where they had fallen. The price of failure was absolute, as he had always known it would be. There was a calmness, a perfect stillness to the enormity of his grief, as if he stood on the edge of a precipice, precisely balanced. He knew the fall would come, but not yet, oh, not yet. This was the moment just before the end. She reached the pinnacle, crouching on the last remnants of the throne room floor, the sigil of snakes broken under her feet. "I am sorry, my king." "As am I," he said, four voices in perfect harmony, all hollow and empty. Truly, he should have fallen first, not been forced to stand here alone and watch it all die around him... and yet that was his duty, as King, to perceive the consequences of his failure. And, in the end, to receive the last judgement. "It is time," she said, quietly. "This is the end you are seeking." He looked down at her, with the last remaining shreds of imperiousness he could muster. Madison, his most trusted - the one he had sacrificed everything for. How dare she come to him now, to look at this ruin and know him to be responsible for it? That, more than anything else, was a fresh stab of pain in an already gaping wound. She should never have known. She should have stayed far away and fled, as so many of his people had. He closed eight eyes for a moment against the tang of betrayal. "For the greater good," she said, and he opened his eyes at the sound of her movement. As she moved from floor to a rock crag, the floor tilted and slid, succumbing to gravity at last. The sound of its fall echoed. "In order to save everyone, a sacrifice has to be made." "I know," he said, slowly kneeling, the rocks painful against his legs, his torn robes. She towered over him now as the robes puddled around him, a vastness of shattered fabric. The robes of office nearly drowning him should have been his first clue, long ago - but the Crown had dictated all. How could he resist? It had been everything he had ever wanted. She crouched next to him, holding out her hands - her beautiful hands, the ones that had held him so many times. Together, they were going to change the world... but they had, hadn't they? The realization was sharp, and he laughed bitterly. They had. Just not the way he'd intended. Those hands settled around his ebony throat, warm against cool scales. "Goodbye, my king." The words were barely a whisper. The squeezing was gentle at first, then stronger, a growing pressure that put lines of effort and blotches of red into her face. He watched her impassively for as long as he could, until vision blurred and darkened and the pain in his chest became crushing. His hands scrabbled uselessly at her wrists, leaving scratches in her flesh. But this was what he deserved. He had earned this. And, really, if anyone was going to take his life, he was glad it was her. The Crown would be hers, as it had always been meant to be. She would pluck it from his corpse and arise from the ashes. A phoenix. Of course. The world went white. White Crown of Clarity
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Posted: Fri Dec 14, 2012 2:14 pm
white crown
Further loss. The whole place is trashed.
He's trying to take what cash/valuables he can and leave. Even the hidden stashes are gone. The bank accounts are cleaned out. They've got nothing left.
B0nez cheated them, took everything.
Rep is waiting on him.
"We can still make it. We can get out of here," Harrison says.
There are three suitcases on the bed.
Jordan is sitting in the corner in a chair, pale and empty. The gash on his head is still healing. He stares emptily at the wall. His body is still there, but nothing else is.
Ferros is dead.
Tracey is dead.
The cartel is either dead or turned.
There's a wail of sirens outside.
Rep mixes some pills in two glasses of wine.
Together.
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Posted: Fri Dec 14, 2012 2:18 pm
A crown, the crown, a chance to be king. A chance to have everything and anything, a chance to claim it all. To have a crown meant she could do something, change something, have everything. It called to her the way anything called for another - a message so deep into her heart and mind it echoed into her blood and bones.
It was meant for her, everything was, and all she needed to do was reach out and take it. There was nothing left in the room, not with all those she could see vanishing. There was nothing but the crown and it called to her with arms wide open.
Ofelia reached for it to touch it and claim it as her own. It would suit her well to have a crown and the power it help, but only if. . . only if. . ..
- - -----
Her face was sunburned from the flames that licked towards the heavens. There was no darkness of night to allow the blaze a beacon's call, no warmth of summer to make the heat that raced off it seem mild in comparison; all there was to be had amounted to nothing more than the crackle and pop of wooden failures against nonburnable stone in the all-encompassing reach of daylight. Windows that once held fine stained glass had been shattered by scavengers in need of money, or perhaps they had been broken by the stones thrown in hatred and sorrow at the resident inside. It didn't matter their reason for being gone, leaving behind jagged pieces tucked snugly into the stone frame that once held them as a mother would a child. Banners, tapestries, anything that could fetch a price had been taken by those in need and those who'd come to conquer; perhaps they would use them as trophies of war to brag or perhaps they'd use them as cruel mockeries like a tablecloth or towel.
To have the image of her kingdom being used to dry someone off or wipe their feet brought the heavy taste of bile into her mouth. That was why she was burning it all, to save it from the hands of everyone who'd wish it ill. If she could have burned all the subjects of her kingdom as well to spare them from what she felt would come she would have done that too - but then what would she have left? A kingdom without subjects was not a kingdom and therefore she would not be a King. It seemed fitting since the title wasn't really hers to have anymore anyway. Something on the flames crackled and popped loudly, the echo of its demise rolling through the empty stone room. The King looked down to find the source and frowned to see it was nothing more than a piece of her throne. Figures that would burn the loudest seeing as it was the largest and only powerful object remaining.
"So I see old habits die hard then." The King turned sharply on her bare feet, looking for the one who dared speak to her in such a manner. Everyone had fled the Kingdom after the Great Loss, a time when the King had proved herself unfit for anything and everything. "I had always assumed you were overly emotional, but to start burning things in your own palace? Here I had thought you would only go after objects that didn't belong to you." The voice was snide. It was also getting closer with words that were easier to understand yet still the figure was draped in shadows. She knew the voice though, knew it all too well, so even in the darkness and shadows cast by the growing flames the identity of the speaker was not hidden.
"Get out Melvin, you're the last thing I need right now." The King could only respond to words with anger. There was no chance she'd attempt to defend her actions here, defend herself. She knew what she was doing the moment she pulled the destroyed throne down from its perch and piled it in among the rest of the possessions that had survived the raid. Most would consider such objects too precious to destroy. They'd survived a battle and a raid, surely they held much more promise? To the King embittered by defeat and loss they amounted to nothing more than fancy kindling.
"While it's also good to see that you're more than willing to speak your mind about how it made you feel I think it's a little too much a little too late. This is all your fault you know, because you didn't listen." The figure kept coming closer from the shadows and eventually stepped into the light. He wasn't her royal adviser, he wasn't even a member of the court or nobility. The King had met him on her travels, shared meals with him prepared by her own hand, and allowed him passage into her kingdom. Fitting then that he would be the last one there to watch everything collapse. He'd always seemed the type to the King that enjoyed watching others and their suffering, never raising a hand unless it was absolutely necessary for his own survival. He wasn't a fighter in the terms of a physical sense - his words were his weapons and now he had them turned on her. They stung a lot more than she'd thought they would.
"So what happens now? Are you here to continue to school me on how much of a failure I was for everything? You always had a way of cutting to the core and telling me about myself. It was disgusting." Bright red hair seemed to glow in the flames as they rose ever higher, egged on by the pages from a book she was throwing in. Just because someone had arrived didn't mean she would stop her destruction of everything to protect it, to save it. The court librarian, wherever she was, was likely having a heart attack knowing the tomes she couldn't carry out were now being used to fuel the fires of a King's pyre. The thought should have solicited a chuckle, even a bitter one would have sufficed, yet nothing came from lips chapped by heat.
"I believe I told you once before you weren't fit to be a leader when you proved it on a small battlefield with myself and another. While it's not exactly a source of pride for me to know it's true and to be proven correct, I mostly came here to remind you of my words." Melvin looked down at his gloved hands as a piece of ash rained back down. He frowned and shook it off swiftly as though the simple act of a touch was a vile motion. The action was not lost on the King who stood observing, her hands idle from the tossing in of memories and written word. In a way she pitied him, always clinging to his need for cleanliness. It hadn't allowed him a chance to live, not in her opinion, but it was his careful ways that now had him here before her.
"You don't need to remind me, I'm more than well aware. I mean, just look around. This is all my fault and I can't deny it anymore."
"Good to know you still have sense as well." There was another flick of his wrist, a brushing of ash off his shoulders. It was sprinkling down on the pair of them as paltry breezes rushed in through the empty window panes. Ofelia felt it on her shoulders as both hot and cold, a rain and snow all at once. Somewhere she'd heard that rain and snow together were a bad omen, but what if neither was made by nature but instead was the gray remains of a world gone?
"Are you just here to continue to insult me or is there a reason for your presence? You're not a member of my kingdom nor did I think you ever wanted to be." Her words had bite and they gave Melvin pause, or so the King thought they did. Instead the man merely looked annoyed at her. It was an expression she'd seen him wear while looking at her entirely too many times to count. Part of her wanted to slap the smug look off his face and another part of her willed her to do it then and there. The only thing that stopped her was the empty book in her hand, the pages long since crumbling to soot in the fire that seemed to lick the ceiling's stones.
"I'm here because you know what needs to be done. The rules of the Land, of the Tourney." The King winced. While she knew of the laws - what King did not - she had not thought it would be something enforced. Certainly it would go on in other kingdoms, places were people were lined up to be sacrificed because it allowed them some mediocre amount of honor and fame. Places were songs were sung about the fallen because it was such a sad yet wonderful thing they did. No one would sing songs here; there was no one left to sing songs, only Ofelia. If she was - "Oh, I see you understand now."
Things like that surely couldn't happen in a Kingdom with no subjects. Not in a kingdom where the King was all that remained aside from a fire that grew larger and larger with each passing moment. She couldn't be the sacrifice to protect nothing, to ensure the survival of nothing. Being killed like this would not be a sacrifice, it would be a pointless murder that no one would be around to witness or ever know about. In a manner of speaking it was...perfect. He knew it. She knew it.
"It's pointless to kill me." Her voice cracked as she spoke, was it a plea for her own life? It wasn't like the King felt betrayed by his arrival here and announcement that she needed to be a Sacrifice. It would have been silly to think she didn't know the rules about the land, know that she'd lost as evident by the state of things around her. "What good will a sacrifice do in a Kingdom that has nothing left?" It was like she was arguing a point in an effort to save her life, an act of desperation that went against much of her own personal feelings and codes. Normally she would have been more than willing to lay her life down for others, to take their place at the gallows or in front of the firing squad. There was never a problem if it was her own choice. Here in this room with only her and Melvin around and the sounds of fire? Where was her choice?
"Ah, but Kingdoms can be rebuilt. New monarchs can rise form the ashes of the old, figuratively speaking." Gloved hands motioned out towards her and to the rest of the empty grand hall. The one-eyed King could only follow his gestures as she looked at everything. Bare broken rock. Stone aged with use for generations, currently bathed in firelight. Could someone really rebuild everything she lost or was she simply being selfish in thinking she was irreplaceable? "I suppose I should say sorry, but that would be a waste of time and breath. I'm not sorry for doing what I have to do to, but it is a bit new to see you begging for your life. Aren't you the type who jumps in both feet first, facing everything head on? I thought you'd be willing to - "
"Melvin, just." The King turned away from the blonde headed man, from the face of her death. It was a foolish thing to do offering him her back so open. The scars on her chest meant she'd never once turned her back to an enemy, never once showed herself as vulnerable, yet for a faint moment she turned away from him. Red and orange and yellow cast a flickering dance on her face, shimmering against something wet that rolled down her cheek. Was it tears from sadness and acceptance, or tears from anger and regret? Perhaps it was neither, merely just tears that fell from the exhaustion of a broken King, but the answer was not to be had. Her back was turned to an enemy who had come for one purpose alone. "Just shut up, and go away." She'd made her choice, or was it ever really in her hands to start with?
"No."
Crackling, burning, the last thing she saw was the frame of her throne engulfed in red and orange and white. The shove had been sudden, strong, and her arms folded themselves inward as if to embrace her body as the smoke and embers accepted her. With this her people would be safe, those who remained in the land as blighted as it was. With this no one else need worry or mourn the chance of a loss of another. Not that she expected anyone to mourn her death; even the one person she'd thought would stay at her side had abandoned her the moment the Kingdom fell. Only Melvin had returned for her but it wasn't because he needed to see her or wanted to be at her side.
He'd only returned to do what needed to be done, or what he felt like needed to be done, and when his hands finally left her back and she toppled into the fire the King understood once and for all her place among her people. She had just been a figurehead, a King in title only. Her place now was in the pyre she had made for her memories, now a pyre that would burn away any traces of herself.
She didn't scream as her flesh burnt away, she didn't curse the fate that been handed to her. Perhaps her turning of her back had been how she accepted it, how she'd thought in her final moments of the people she would be leaving behind. What expression did Melvin wear as he watched his King burn? A sneer? Perhaps his usual lofty and arrogant smirk? She would never know, her eye closed long to the acceptance of the fires. The dark gray smoke that carried her life away rose to the ceiling and snaked itself like fingers towards the open windows.
Outside and across the country, ash fell like snow on her people, scattered and carried onward by the winds. The fields would be covered in soot and bone, forever protected and nurtured by a Failed King.WHITE CROWN OF CLARITY
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Posted: Fri Dec 14, 2012 2:23 pm
Far closer to the vortex than was comfortable, the witch began to take a step backward, to put further distance between her and that disastrous black hole, when the elves were swept inside. After that a number of others followed suit, regardless of their alliances they all disappeared into that swirling mass. It felt suddenly vastly more important to get away, but the figure in the middle spoke up, loud and bright and once more, too close to home for comfort. It was no longer the voice of the girl from the Haunted House, it was now the voice of Belladonna. That struck the witch as odd, mostly because she was standing right there, she hadn't moved at all. So this had to be some sort of trick… But worse than all that was the sudden realization that the witch was not only alone with some odd copy of herself, but that the false Belladonna had the crown. In a few strides the ghoul was right in front of herself, eyebrows drawn down angrily. It was certainly an strange thing to stand and look at oneself, to see oneself exactly how everyone else saw you. A brief flicker of concern flashed through Belladonna, for where had everyone vanished? Why was it just her and her? Where was Mort, the others? But the other witch only giggled, broke her own reverie of worry. "I have what you desire… Take it." There was little time else for the opposing figure to speak as the witch reached forward and did just that. A huge wave of noise washed over them, wiped away the other witch with her sweet smile and dissolved her into white. The noise became tangible, its cries of "Our King! Long live the White Witch! Our King, Our King!" formed people, a crowd, a whole kingdom gathered beneath a pale balcony that Belladonna found herself standing on. Nothing was substantial, all the colors blurry and unfinished, as she brought the crown up and set it upon her head. The people all blurred together, all combined and swirled until they changed into a large, opulent room with a golden throne set far back past a long white rug. The witch sighed, for the curtains had been ripped down off the windows, where the sky had taken on a purpley, dusk hue. The rug, once pristine and spotless, is now covered in dirt and mud and little bits of red that are congealed, making the ghoul think of something far worse than potentially spilled wine. As Belladonna moves forward closer to her throne, she can see where there are holes in its gilded frame where opals and moonstones once resided, now pilfered and in the hands of her people. Though she remains untouched, her white gown huge and clean, white roses and calla lilies braided into her curls, her face is stained with tears. Revolts are an ugly thing, even ones incited by another kingdom. With the remains of her throne room destroyed, it is enough to make her cry all over again were it not for the noise of someone exiting a hidden door behind a partially torn down curtain. Both hands grasp at her skirts and Belladonna rushes forward, eyes wide and worried for her dearest knight. But he too is safe, unharmed by the events that transpired not just a few hours hence. His eyes are kind as he admits her into his arms, holds her close and presses a kiss to her hair. "Safe." He whispers and she nods against his chest, glad for that at least. "Your carriage is behind the castle. We shall take shelter with another King until you can find who is behind these attacks.""Yes, thank you. Let me take a few papers from my office…" She tells him with a small smile and a quick, chaste kiss. The room behind her throne had remained hidden the entirety of her rule until today, when it had been discovered. It was not some enormous secret, but merely a place the witch could retreat to before her subjects approached her on her throne, where she was their King. It was merely a room of safety, of peace, of equality. There are no real secrets in this room, though maps and ledgers, books of history and various instruction manuals on keeping peace are kept within. But it was a place where she could think, free of others, free of judgement. And as the witch opens the door and enters, closes it behind her with a soft click, she is glad to not be alone in the room. Another knight is here, this one with his flowing red cloak and white locks. "I am sorry my king." He begins with a hand that sweeps toward her, but it is the other hand that distracts her. In that one is a long, slender dagger with a white blade and a ruby red hilt. "So this is where your loyalties lie, Alexander? This is what you have chosen?" She asks, drawing herself up to a full height that still nets her over a foot below her knight. "Does he know?" The other knight, beloved in a different manner than this one, would surely be aware of this plan. There is no way he would stand for the death of his lover. But Alexander only gives a soft shake of his head, a soft shrug of his shoulders. "It is time. You should have always known. This is the end you are seeking." "I was your friend! I trusted you!"Another shrug. Nonchalance for the thing he is about to do. Surely it was he who invited the red soldiers into the kingdom, showed them that their defenses were not completed, that the white soldiers still had yet to fully arm themselves. It was an easy attack, made all the easier by the betrayal of the King's closest knight. Mortimer may not be able to destroy her, but Alexander was close enough to do the job nicely. His allegiance had always been to the Red King, would continue to do so after he destroyed this one little light first. "For the greater good, in order to save everyone… Your people need more than what you offer. They need someone who can rule them with more kindness than you. For them to survive, to thrive, a sacrifice has to be made."For a long moment Belladonna stands there, staring at her knight in his armor and crimson cloak, her back pressed against the door. All it would take was a shout and Mortimer would be there, ready to defend her against even his own friend. But the ghoul knows better. This triangle was built on trust and should therefore be totally and wholly demolished. If she is to go out, she will do it with as much grace as she can muster. With a deep breath she strode forward so that she stood right beneath Alexander, her face angled up to his. "Then you shall be the one to make these judgements, it seems. So be it." Once more she drew her spine straight, left her hands down against the sides of her dress. Carefully the dagger is brought up, pressed down into the skin above her heart. There is a moment of hesitation and the witch heaves a sigh. "If you're going to kill me, at least do it proper." She takes his hand and pulls the dagger back, only to set it under her left breast, where one good upward motion will be all it takes. "Goodbye, my king.""Goodbye traitor. I do so hope your new King rewards you handsomely for this." What hurts more than the thin sliver of metal that moves up past skin and tissue and muscle and creates a hole from which blood pours, are the tears on her face, the ache in her heart that is from his knife of betrayal and not the physical one. They had been friends for ages, companions in this since before the witch was made King and appointed him as her knight, meant to protect and support her. That he has actually gone through with this, and it was not some test for either of them. The dagger is ripped back out, thrown to the ground and abandoned. It was easy to feign bravery when death had not yet come, but now that the ghoul is bleeding, can already see things begin to go fuzzy, fear grips her. It tugs her down to the floor where she collapses as a heap of white, quietly being stained with red. Alexander casts her one last look before he opens the door and leaves, back to his true King, away from the betrayal he leaves Belladonna with. The room begins to swim with black, though the witch presses her hands to her wound in attempt to heal it. But it is not to be, for she is weak and alone and even though a worried blue face shouts at her from above, she cannot hold on. The darkness blots out her white, crystallizes her world for one second before it takes it all away. All that is left is the deep pit of sadness and betrayal that Belladonna knows all to well, friends with it enough that it welcomes her home. WHITE CROWN OF CLARITY
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Posted: Fri Dec 14, 2012 4:31 pm
When the chaos began he was far too close to it, yet somehow, as the silent wind kicked up out of nowhere and tore the world around him to bits, Mmur remained on his feet. Fog rolled in, a numbing blanket of white that lacked color, smell—he darted his tongue out between his lips—and taste as well. The horseman squinted, trying to make out something, anything in the distance. Was he standing in an endless space or locked in a box? Where was his crown?
"Hello?" he ventured, raising a forearm to shield his eyes. His voice was muffled and dull. Sounded like a box to him.
"Nice day for it." The words were so clear and so close that Mmur jumped, gooseflesh springing up on his arms and legs. He turned. There was no one there.
"For what?" Loitering in the mist? Talking to himself? Getting goosebumps?
There was movement on his right, and Mmur instinctively slid swiftly to the left as a very familiar figure strolled out of infinity. In his tattooed hands he cradled the crown, the ease with which he held it horribly deceptive. The doppelganger kept it in plain sight as he completed his circle, finally disappearing behind Mmur's back. It took every scrap of his will not to take the prize for himself. From himself. In the end there was really no need. He was already holding it, and if there was one thing Mmur understood, it was how to share.
"It's a nice day for choosing a queen."
The crown slid down over his messy hair from behind, coming to rest snugly against his distortion crystal. The world changed. He remembered... and forgot. gaia_crown His stark surroundings darkened a shade, golden sand rushing away from his feet in rolling waves. The air grew warmer, its temperature creeping higher and higher until it was entirely too hot to wear anything more than the scraps of cloth Mmur usually did. In spite of this, he had a great deal more clothing on today, but the King didn't notice the heat. He felt wonderful. Everything was perfect. As always.
The mist began to force itself into shapes, quickly forming people of all sizes and types. They cheered, and their love swelled his heart. He smiled and waved, touching the shoulder of some young colt as he passed. She fainted. Mmur was certain it wasn't the heat.
He had been the one to call everyone here today, though Ancients knew why. His advisers were in charge of arranging all of this royal morale boosting business, and they did their jobs well. The clothes he wore were ceremonial: loose trousers, a scarf, soft boots glittering with gems set by Death clan jewelcrafters, all in the rich yellows and browns of his palace. The masses led him to the dip in the tall rocks he'd named his throne, and Mmur climbed up to his seat as his people fanned out below him. From here he could see everything that mattered.
Far across the sands he could just make out the faint row of War clansmen that guarded the courtyard wall. He might have chosen them for their gorgeous plumage, but he would never tell them that. Anyway, he firmly believed that their beauty was the reason they were so successful at keeping out intruders. Everyone from those Red kingdom brutes to the bleeding hearts of the White took one look at his guard and couldn't bring themselves to harm them.
"Anything to drink, my King?"
He shook his head at the sage standing at the base of his platform, smiling faintly to soothe the sting of his refusal. "No thank you, Othra." Just before she turned to leave, he waved her back, leaning over his crossed legs to whisper, "I hate to ask, but do you have any idea what I'm doing here today?" Not that he minded, but it seemed terribly... unkingly not to know.
She smiled in response. "A Queen, your highness. War is coming. You need to choose one of your strongest. She will carry out your orders, which in turn will carry us to victory." She read the question in his eyes. "Or he. It's a ceremonial title." It was also a ceremonial position, but Othra didn't need to know that.
"Ah!" Mmur nodded. "Thank you." He sat up tall, pressing his crown more firmly onto his head before resting his wrists on his knees. "It is time to begin!"
As his steward started the proceedings, Mmur was left alone with his thoughts. He was little more than a figurehead for the public side of the Yellow these days, but that didn't concern him. He knew his worth. His true power was hidden away where none but a few could see, not until he was ready. It was a testament to how glorious his kingdom had become that it sparkled like a jewel long before he showed the world what it was truly capable of.
Had he been urged to choose a Queen before the fall of the Isles, Mmur knew exactly who he would have picked. Truthfully, these days any one of his subjects would suit. They were all as strong as they were biddable, the best of combinations. His glowing eyes lingered on each candidate as they were presented to him, nodding his approval and coaxing them into a line in front of his throne.
There. Near the end... twins. A matched set. So perfect. He had always thought so. A memory flickered, then died. Everything in his golden kingdom was perfect. He wanted to reach out and poke each of their heat-flushed noses in turn, but he refrained.
"Othra, my dear? Might I choose two Queens?" His people laughed as if they'd been prompted, and Mmur hid his answering smile in his scarf, rising to his feet as smoothly as if he had just sprang from the rock itself. "As you all might have guessed, it comes down to Ying and Jing," he announced. "Tradition dictates that there may only be one. But when has my kingdom ever rested on tradition?" The crowd cheered, their voices rising higher as he continued. "From this day, until I declare otherwise, we shall have two Queens! I give you... Jing and Ying, the Queens of the Yellow Kingdom!"
The resulting roar was deafening. Mmur raised his arms and it grew louder still. They were his, and his was the greatest kingdom that would ever be. They would fight and they would win—their only incentive, their only payment a fierce, unending pride.
If he squinted his eyes and tilted his head just so, his subjects glittered like the sun above.YELLOW CROWN OF PRIDE
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Posted: Fri Dec 14, 2012 4:48 pm
((OOC Note: Not actually trying for crown, just wanted to do the solo for fun!))
He didn't know how he had managed to hang on. The vortex had pulled at him, drawing him in closer and closer until it was only a few mere feet away from his feet, which scrabbled in the snow for purchase, his hands grasping for something, anything to stop that pull. He knew all too well the risks of dying in a world outside of Halloween, and he did not wish to test those boundaries again by allowing it to happen here. Finally his hand managed to grab a hold of something, the root of a tree perhaps, but it was enough. Others were pulled in, but he somehow managed to remain free. Horsemen, hunters, and students.
And somebody screaming his name in the distance, approaching ever nearer to his position.
"SOPHIE! NO!" He yelled at her, trying to get her to stay back. But it was too late, he could see her in the fog, could see her pulled ever closer, could see her trying to fight it but to no avail. And she was too far away to the side, he could not reach her. It had happened so fast. He could only watch in dumbstruck horror as his sister was thrown into that vortex, disappearing into it as though she had never existed. Everything inside of him clenched up tight, painful, his eyelids squeezing shut. His fault. She had been here because of him and now she had probably dissipated as well. He had promised her that they would all leave together.
He let go of what held him, ready to go with her, to at least fulfill a part of the word that he had given.
And the pull stopped. He opened his eyes. The figure began to change. A voice, calling to him, a gruff sound, low with the edge of a growl. A glimmer of something shining in all of that grey as a shape took form. The zomboil pushed himself to his feet, his pale eye searching the area around him. He was alone. A shiver wracked his body, his arms wrapped around his chest. Alone here with himself, alone with his emotional turmoil. The figure was still speaking to him, but the words were hardly understood, repeating in his mind again and again until they became clear.
His eye went back to the figure, to the crown offered out towards him, and all he could feel was anguish. "Will it bring back my sister? Will it cure my friend of insanity? Will it fix what the hunters have done to my friends? To the one I love?" His voice was a hallow whisper as he shuffled closer, his eye gazing at the grayed out version of himself, the poor excuse for a duplicate that held a crown, glimmering and bright, enticing despite the fact that Alex fought against it's draw.
And it seemed to scream at him. Yes. Yes, if he took the crown, that would be all that he needed. It would give him everything he desired. It was as though his actions were not even his own, as though he could not control the pale, cold hands that lifted, trembling, to take that crown within it's grasp.
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For a moment all he could hear was cheering, but it was just a dim echo of what had once been. No more crowds filled these bare halls, simple, almost dull in appearance. The walls were unadorned, grey. The ceilings low. His seat, his throne, nothing more then a chair, simple yet sturdy, now the most precious thing left that remained besides the crown that rested, nestled in slight curls of white and black. He stood alone, staring at what was once a place full of life and happiness. Now nothing more then an empty shell, a pale ghost of it's former grandeur. Pale and dried leaves tumbled and blew across the white marble floors, scraping against it's surface, the only sounds until a voice rose up behind him.
"I am sorry, my king."
His back stiffened slightly, and he turned, the look he directed at the figure behind him full of pain. "I could have saved them, you know. Things could have gone differently..." His voice trailed off and his eyelids closed briefly as a shuddering intake of breath sent his body trembling. He understood what was needed now. A sacrifice. The king who had ended a people to be executed for his actions, or perhaps his lack there of.
The figure simply nodded, understanding and pain evident in his own gaze for just a moment, just enough time for Alex to remember that this probably hurt him just as much as it did for the king.
"Let us go then." He sighed, holding his hand out to the other, letting long fingers intertwine with his own, letting the warmth from that touch travel through him, soothing him, attempting to quell his grief.
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In a courtyard they stood, gathered with the few that remained. There eyes bore into him, their judgement crashing against him in waves. An area had been cleared, but surrounding them the ground was nothing more then a pile of ash, the trees blackened and burnt. The sight of it alone caused an instinctive shudder to make it's way down his spine, but he stood at attention in front of his people... No, no longer his people. He had given up the right to call them that anymore.
"It is time," the figure at his side spoke. "This is the end you are seeking."
Alexander could only nod, as a single red tinted tear began to trace it's way down his cheek. "Yes. I understand." He whispered, voice low and hoarse. Still, as he turned towards the owner of that voice, seeking out reassurances, it was nothing that blankness that met his eye. For a moment, something inside of him wrenched painfully. Now that the end had come, would he who was closest to him betray him as well?
The figure stepped closer to him, moved up behind him, pushed against his shoulder's, gentle yet firm, and Alexander collapsed to his knees, his head bent forward. "For the greater good," the voice a whisper now, "In order to save everyone, a sacrifice has to be made." Alexander could only nod, to show that he was ready. The one behind him leaned forward, his warm breath tickling against Alexander's ear
"Goodbye, my king." That voice finally broke, the sorrow finally too much to hide, and Alexander realized that he had been wrong. Not a betrayal, no. Not from him at least. He had only done anything that his king had ever asked, and this was to be his final act of duty towards Alexander.
He heard the scrape of a blade as it was pulled free from it's scabbard, felt the cold press of steel against the back of his neck. He was afraid, but he told himself that it would all be over soon.
"I'm glad that it's you. I love you." He whispered, and the blade hesitated, then lifted. Then swung down, as the last tear fell from his face and hit the pale ground.
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Posted: Fri Dec 14, 2012 5:54 pm
(( NOT TRYING FOR THE CROWN, just responding to the prompt ))
Mahir watched as everything vanished in an instant, leaving him alone with himself and the whispering voices that never left him.
“I have what you desire,” he assured himself. Mahir heard so many voices, it did not come as a surprise that one of them would eventually be his own.
“I ssseek an end to madness,” he quipped. “Ssstrange voicesss rarely have that to offer.”
A perfect double of him in everything but color stepped forth, bearing a beautiful crown. Mahir had never seen a crown so close before. It was wrought with the precision of a metalworker of Death, great and terrible. Mahir knew what crowns represented.
“Take it.” The grey arms twined around the crown and slid it toward him. Tempting him. He could not look away from it even if he’d wanted. It was more than a crown. It was something else, something powerful. Was it enough to save himself from this infection. Was it enough to cure them all?
Could it even be powerful enough to bring back the family and friends he had lost, and never forgotten?
“Take it, and everything you wish will be yours. No one will question you, because-”
The sage plucked the crown from his own grasp, and--
The white hive was empty.
"I am sorry, my king," Mengyao sighed again, setting down his longbow. The silence was uncomfortable, because even with no one else left the air still buzzed with life.
Mahir was not looking at his Queen. His shadows of arms ran along the statues that populated the so-called throne room, a huge central hub for the interconnecting tunnels. They were perfect replicas of his advisors and friends. This one looked just like dear Salbei. And these two, Shikoba and Shaheen, together forever. There were more all over the hive. Hundreds and hundreds of stone soldiers in a crude replica of everyday life in the white hive. Some smiled down peacefully at him. But most were frozen mid-scream, or shattered across the floor.
Together they had killed them all.
Mahir could still hear their voices, muffled behind the veil. Just whispers now. Mahir knew Mengyao could hear them too, but the taller horseman tried not to show it. They pulled their white robes tighter around them, hiding from the grey that they didn’t want to see creeping through their skin. They could still live down here for some time before it took hold. But they were only delaying the inevitable. How much time did they have? Weeks? Days? They would become grey ghosts buried in a white tomb, forever lost.
“Mengyao, your eye is...” Mahir could not bring himself to say it. One of Mengyao’s regal purple eyes had turned yellow. The look he received in turn did not reassure him any more. The King cursed in a language soon to be forgotten. If it would do them any good, he would have taken his crown and smashed it underfoot right there and then.
The crown was a curse now. Eternal life, it had promised. Great knowledge and power, gifts he could bestow upon his people. They were not many in numbers, certainly not compared to the ones that towered above his subterranean paradise, but with his power he would not lose even one. They always returned to life at his healing hand, renewed, stolen right from the hands of Death. Mahir would never let anyone go again.
The disease was a fitting punishment for his hubris.
It began months ago. A dying woman he had attended to had come back... different. She claimed to be healed, but the King could see the skin of her hands was peeling and crumbling to dust. She was quarantined. Several more followed, revived strangely. No one could make sense of the disease. No treatment worked; the afflicted gradually devolved, paranoid, violent, possessed of supernatural strength. But they did not die again.
The infected were hidden, barricaded into the deepest recesses of the hive until a solution could be found. A miasma had begun to spread through the tunnels, a grey fog that seemed to move with hints of sentience. Exposure caused the number of infections multiplied over a matter of days. The once-proud horsemen had devolved in a matter of time, as the grey curse spread across their skin and into their minds. All that they had built and salvaged from their exodus centuries ago was destroyed at their own hands and madness. They were monsters wearing the skin of his people, crying out for a home they were no longer welcome in.
Mahir and Mengyao had no choice but to destroy the surface exit from within.
"It is time." The arrow quivered in Mengyao’s grasp. He had notched a hundred in the last hour with deadly precision, and only now did his hands shake. "This is the end you are seeking."
Those who changed were too far gone for the conventional death to take hold any more. They became like stone, still statues of the people that had once populated his kingdom. Dead, but not dead. Not permanently. Never permanently any more. But the infection could not spread if no one was left to escape to the surface, and no fog was left to escape between the cracks in the rubble that buried them alive.
Which meant...
"For the greater good," Mengyao continued to whisper, steeling himself for the task ahead. His fingertips were grey as stone, and when he breathed, it hung white in the air. "In order to save everyone, a sacrifice has to be made."
Mahir forced himself to look down at his own hands. The skin, the muscle, it had rotted away and left only blackened bones behind. He felt nothing but a faint call, a pull, that he could not give in to. “Of courssse.”
The bow was raised for the second to last time.
“Do this for those who ssstill live,” Mahir reassured him, even as the black shadows at his back shifted grey. “And know that I would not want to die by any other hand.”
The arrow embedded itself in his heart with precision. It beat once, twice, and froze, the feeling spreading through him like ice.
The last thing the King saw was the bow turned against its wielder. "Goodbye, my king."
Stone clouded his eyes, and everything went white.
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Posted: Fri Dec 14, 2012 6:02 pm
She was smiling at herself. It was an eerie, foggy smile. The crown sparkled. --- When had it started to crumble? It was a silly question. She knew when. Sherry laughed, flinging her head back. She was sprawled across her once glorious throne, her pale dress dirty and tattered, the glaive that had helped her conquer rested across her lap. She’d fallen so far, and taken a kingdom with her. Her laughter echoed off the walls. The room was so large and empty. It had always been that large, but it had never felt that empty. No more knights, no more maids, no more parties. Just cold, pale marble, tattered tapestries and broken dreams. She could see it clearly now. That one decision had been the beginning of the end. Every decision afterwards had only hastened her downfall. The laughter died. It was so easy to look back on it all. To see where they’d gone wrong. No, not they. She. Where she’d gone wrong. They had only followed. They’d followed her promises of glory and power, and she’d given them pain and death. Yes, they’d had some good times, but that was all behind them now. Far, far behind them. Yet there was still hope. Hope for those that remained. “One life to save the rest.” It was a sacrifice she could make. It was all her fault, anyway. Bad decisions, weakness in battle… “It’s any wonder I even made it as far as I did. I couldn’t have done it without you.” The face that looked back at her held little emotion. There was a hint of sadness, but the resolve that was there dominated the eyes of her beloved friend. She’d lost so many. Of the few that remained, she’d chosen but one for this task. One who she knew would have the nerve to do what was needed. “I’m sorry, you know. You can tell them that again for me. If I had known, I would have done it differently.” She waved a hand, gesturing to empty room. It had been glorious once, but no longer. Bit by bit, her kingdom had crumbled. They lost here, barely won there. Battles and political moves, in the end she was not strong enough at either. Not strong enough for her people. But this she could do. She’d already sworn to die to for them. If she did that here and now, they had a chance. Her hand fell to the weapon in her lap. If she’d been stronger, this might not have to happen. It had seemed so easy in the early days. They’d risen, they’d conquered. She’d once been told something…what was it? Something about rising higher meant falling farther? That sounded right. She laughed again. If she couldn’t remember some simple saying that had been handed to her as advice, it was little wonder that her kingdom hand collapsed around her. “I honestly thought we stood a chance, you know. I know we did.” And I messed it up. The day of that decision rang clearly in her mind. It had been a decision she didn’t want to make, so she’d made it with rash abandon. Everything after that…Sherry sighed. The crown was heavy on her head. Picking up the weapon she’d been cradling, she gently set it on the ground next to her broken throne. “See that she ends up in the hands of someone worthy. Weapons of that caliber deserve to be used.” It had been so easy in the beginning. So straightforward. “I can see it all now. Where we were right, were I was wrong.” It was her fault. Hers alone. “I am sorry.” She could never say it enough. Her kingdom would fall. When the sun set, it would be no more. The remnants of it would scatter and find new lives. She wished them the best. She glanced out the window. “Come now. The sun is lowering.” It had to be done by nightfall. Her eyes closed. She heard the movement, felt the presence. “I’m sorry, again, for asking this of you. But it had to be someone I could trust to do it.” She opened her eyes again, the dark eyes of her friend only inches from her own. In the fading light they looked a deeper purple than they ever had before. “Thank you.” She didn’t have much else to say. Everything had been discussed already, countless times. Some agreed, some didn’t. In the end, it was her choice. She’d failed and she would pay the price. It was a tiny price for her people. Her eyes held his as she felt a hand on her shoulder. She was not afraid, and she went willingly. Just like the countless that had died for her. She felt the blade enter her ribs, but she did not look down. There was no need. She’d seen enough blood in her day. The woman that was once a King forced a smile of gratitude. One life for the sake of them all. WHITE CROWN OF CLARITY
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iStoleYurVamps
iStoleYurVamps
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Posted: Fri Dec 14, 2012 7:09 pm
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