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Lord of Chaos

Once more 'round the room we waltz.
Joined
Nov 29, 2004
Messages
5,623
Location
Within the Masquerade
There exists a location, far and remote, and oft times forgotten. Its exact coordinates are unknown, but for those who are aware of it, they know it as a graveyard--a long forgotten relic--for memories, people, places of the past. The graveyard is an interwoven tapestry of fields, marshes, and trees, but it is not a beautiful tapestry; this work is one of crudeness, forced breaches upon nature itself. The land is green, but not a vibrant green of life, but one of hesitant shades of muted colors, signaling regret and loss in ways that only nature can demonstrate. The trees are sparsely coated in leaves, existing in a state of constant wither that dances the line between the twilight of life and certain death.

This land is littered with remnants of the past: gravestones, weapons, machines, homes--the list goes on as far as the land does--that serve no current purpose other than to exist as material possessions for those entities that have passed. No visitors knowingly come here, at least not more than once: the air itself whispers pain into the ears of those who do show up. The whispers speak only of the fallen leaves, and of the fallen themselves. Indeed it is a place of reflection, but not the kind of reflection you would get when you look into a mirror on the wall. This is a reflection broken, one that comes after the pain and the shattered mirror, where each shard has a crooked sharp edge that wedges itself into the soul.

Amid the land of death and regret, there stands a tomb, long forgotten with no discernible name, just a random jumble of letters: a Z here, an L there, a half-remaining C, among others. There is nothing special about this tomb, or at least no longer. It, too, was forgotten some ages ago. It stands as only one reminder out of a broken ring of other tombs. While there are very few left who might recognize any of the circle, none of them have tread here in some time. Therefore, the identities of these beings are lost, and probably best so.

However, the tomb with half-destroyed letters belonged to a particular fellow, one whose deeds good and bad still have traces left on the weave of time itself. Ten years ago he came, and he worked to paint the universe a better portrait, only to leave it half-empty. Why he did so has never been known, best left only to contemplation. The echoes of memories from this tomb still radiate outward, if only softer now, woven into the whispering pains of the air around it. On this night though, it seems that something is a little strange about this tomb. Instead of slowly ebbing away into oblivion, the pained whispers around it only grown stronger, and increasingly so.

A soft light illuminates the tomb from above, the source unknown for there is no one to see it. This light slowly shifts through the color spectrum using muted tones as a stepping stone from one shade to another. From the unseen sky above, flakes of snow start to twirl lazily through the air, falling at a rate befitting this land of remorse and death. As the snow falls into the circle of light upon the tomb though, something odd takes place. The flakes never touch the ground, but instead seem to catch in a pattern in the air. At first the pattern seems unclear, but begins to realize itself through the haze. Slowly a silhouette is formed, taking the shape of what appears to be a masculine figure, cloaked in a soft, green-tinted darkness. The silhouette becomes more literal, taking on form, depth, and realization. Eventually, a figure stands there, cloaked in the green darkness as if it were his clothing, a hood pulled over his face.

For a while, the figure doesn't move. He stands there in the stillness of the land as the snow continues to fall. Eventually, he slowly turns to look around him, seeing all the relics and remnants of the past.No words, no sign of emotion escapes from him as he turns slowly, before coming to a complete circle, standing still once again. The tomb behind him--his tomb-- is still illuminated, and upon the top arch of it, letters start to carve themselves into the unknown stone. A single word is formed, glowing slightly in the stone:

Anniversārium

The figure raises his right hand from the cloak of darkness and draws a small circle with his index finger. Roughly twenty yards away from him, a circle ten feet in diameter cuts itself into existence, containing a soft gray light that pulses noiselessly. It was a portal, leading from only who-knows-where to this land of the dead. It was meant for someone, or something, or perhaps more than one someone, but it was meant to bring them here. The figure let his hand drop back into the darkness as he stood there, waiting, speaking only one thing:


"Who would face me, my past, and my memories?"
 

Orion

Prepared To Die
Joined
Sep 17, 2007
Messages
20,384
  • Retired Staff
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The Vanguard flew to the Red Moon in the heart of a giant, the three Titans clashed and fell, and he and his closest battle-brother brought an end to the man who had begun their world so long ago. They were both resigned to the finality of their mission, and it let them fight all the more fiercely.

They'd said their goodbyes, left successors in their wake, restored the world to a better state than when they came into it. The two were ready for death, even an eternal end if it came to that. But for the prince of the burning throne, it seemed the latter was not in store for him yet.

A figure of six and a half feet stumbled out into this new thing - place, realm, plane - but could himself after his first step. Before even that, before his mind could put meaning to anything else he felt or heard or saw, he sensed power.

It felt something like blood magic after a casting, but it had so much more finality to it - it was power old, power dying. While still bent down on one knee and looking to the mottled ground, he spoke softly in a mixture of matter-of-factness and surprise, "This is new."

Drake lifted his head and through eyes that sat beneath a circlet of bronze scales, saw not just the cloaked figure in front of him, nor the tomb beyond, but all the detritus too. Buildings, vehicles and monuments to the dead he passed over with little interest.

Bbut after decades of battle he instinctively zeroed in on the weapons - blades mundane and mighty, ranged affairs that promised skewered or explosive ends to their victims, or both, and many more sorts.

A picture formed in his mind, linking these arms and the sense of dying power all around him, and he wandered at his fate in this world beyond.

"Pardon a stranger's curiosity, but is it my fate to leave some souvenir of my own before shuffling off any pretenses of existence," he said as he stood, at the same time making a general gesture to their surroundings.

"Or does that come after a test or some such? I've fared pretty well so far, another little jaunt shouldn't spoil my luck."
 

Lord of Chaos

Once more 'round the room we waltz.
Joined
Nov 29, 2004
Messages
5,623
Location
Within the Masquerade
From under the darkness of his hood, a faint smile could be seen. The being recognized Drake, if only barely. Where had he met him before? When had they met before, if it all? Perhaps it was just the ghosts in his mind creating stories of their own. He moved to open his mouth but stopped, as if he had forgotten something very important. After a moment he moved, turning away from Drake and spreading his arms out wide in front of him.

Runes faded into existence, each shifting and morphing until taking the form of legible letters. One was cracked and barely there, but the letters VL were present. One was a simple D that shone brightly. Another had the letters M e D, and yet another had the letters CA. The last two had also been cracked slightly, but did not look as aged as the VL. The figure turned, looking at Drake again and smiled, this time actually speaking.

"This field is not yet for you, I think. This field is for those who have come before. Choose a rune and we shall see how this goes."
 
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