The Scholar [Widow]

[Conand]

Corruption Stage: 0
HP: 100% MP: 100%

805

we must be K I L L E R S

CHILDREN OF THE WILD ONES

The Isle of Grain wasn’t a pleasant place to be for Conand. He disliked large bodies of water, hated the feeling of being submerged in something. It reminded him of the complete immersion of the higher Corruption states. That was a hell he wished on nobody. Not even the truly sick Heretics he had fought against so many times deserved to be consumed by that mad beast. While the ocean was a much less sinister concept, it was equally off-putting when you compared death by either cause. Still, there Conand was, his spear hanging loosely on his shoulder as he trudged along the sandy coast of the isle. His purpose in coming here had been made clear to him. Retrieve the artifact hidden on this isle and amass a force capable of fighting the chaos. Yet still he doubted… perhaps he would come to understand in time. He would have to, lest oblivion take him and all he knew.

In the depths of the island was an ancient cave, often spoken about in local folklore. The Alven kingdoms once made pilgrimage to this place to pray to a lost god. It was one of the reasons that the province of Londinium had become so powerful before the fall of the old kings. Tolls and inns to accommodate pilgrims provided ample flow of economy for the isle which in turn granted Londinium a healthy tithe. What a funny concept. The lords taxes hadn’t touched places like Stratford in ages. The town enjoyed that extra money, putting it to good use before the arrival of the Miasma. Now the money was spent to provide materials for the militia… Conand’s fists tightened at that thought. How much was wasted when his men died? What money could have gone to feed a child instead of paying for the armor which Conand had forsaken. And yet the Adventurer’s of the world were marching around, throwing money about like it was nothing, some even terrorizing other People of the Land. Some dared to help the people, but often caused more chaos, warring with their counterparts. The world was… far too twisted to be acceptable. The Heretic was starting to realize that. Perhaps “One” was not too far off about the state of this land.

The path to the cave was marked by old Alven cairn stones. Conand had always wondered about them, curious of his own heritage. The Alven bloodline of his family was certainly not noble, but it did make him feel a sense of pride in his heart. The kingdoms of old were an amazing civilization, one that the younger Conand had engrossed himself in while his family still lived. If things had turned out differently, perhaps the Half-Alv would have grown to be a scholar or a historian… or maybe a farmer. There were mixed feelings in that line of thought. Had he not been set on the path of the Warden, would he still have a choice in his destiny? A simple farm boy didn’t get the choice of becoming what he wanted to be without a great deal of struggle. Unfortunately he would never know. Choice had been stolen from him.

Conand’s thoughts ceased when he spotted the dark entrance. The cave certainly looked like it had seen some use. An old wooden gate hung open, akin to that of a shrine. The warrior found that curious. Nobody had used this place in ages, yet there were signs of something recently inhabiting it. How troublesome. Potential trouble was not something he was in need of right now. It could have been an animal, or perhaps a group of bandits who thought to make it their camp. He couldn’t be sure until he saw it for himself. All the same, he was prepared to fight if need be. Before stepping in, he took time to find proper timber and make a torch. With light in one hand and his spear drawn in the other, The Wolf of Stratford stepped into the dark abyss, eyes searching for what could be any threat.

Inside the cave, there was little to speak of in regards to the living. The dead however, one could see much of. The cave was lavished with old carvings of the ancient days, when there were more Alvs than humans. The signs of pilgrims from long ago could be seen in the light of Conand’s torch. It was an archeological dream. Perhaps in more peaceful times, Conand could come back here and study the old pieces. He was no scholar, for certain, but there was nothing wrong in having a hobby. At least he had yet to spot any hostile forces yet. Though the idea that someone had beat him to the artifact he was searching for did cross his mind. Time was of the essence.

Widow

WHERE WE GOT LEFT TO R U N ?

❖ NOX ❖

[Widow]

HP 100% | MP 3%

Heretic - Apprentice - Alchemist

____________________________________________________

The prison has finally fallen. Armed young men come charging into the darkness and open the shells' barred doors.


Embraced by his "boys", the old revolutionary goes out.


"Wait," Widow cries, trying to hold him back.


But she is too late. Anxious to see the new world following the destruction of the old system, the old revolutionary steps outside and opens his eyes.


It is evening.


Though the sun is nearly down, its light is still strong enough to burn eyes accustomed to total darkness.


The old revolutionary presses his hands to his eyes. And with a groan, crumples to his knees.


Widow has saved herself by shielding her eyes with her arm.


Not even she knows what caused her to do this.


Could distant memories have taught her that the truly frightening thing about punishment by darkness is what happens after the release from prison?


When could I have been imprisoned, and where? More important, how long have I been on this endless journey?


With bleeding eyes, surrounded on the ground by his boys, the old revolutionary searches for Widow.


"I came all this way, Widow, only to make one terrible mistake at the bitter end. My eyes are probably useless now."


This is precisely why he asks Widow for one last favor.


"Tell me Widow, what is the outside world like? Has the revolution succeeded? Are the people happy? Are they smiling joyfully?"


Widow opens her eyes slowly, and just barely, beneath the shade of her hand.


As far as she can see, the ground is covered in bodies.


The corpses of Stratford Wardens and revolutionary troops are heaped on one another, slowly dissolving into shards of anima, and countless civilians are dead and have already begun their departure toward the lifestream.


A mother lies dead with her small child in her arms, the bloody corpse of the child's father next to them, arms outstretched in a vain attempt to shield them.


"Tell me what you see, Widow."


Widow fights back a sigh and says, "You must work from now on to build a happy society."


The old revolutionary senses the truth.


"I won't abandon hope, Widow, no matter what."


As if to say, "I know that," Widow nods and begins to walk away.


"Where are you going?"


"I don't know...someplace."


"Why don't you stay here and build a new world with us? You of all people can do that, I know."


"Thank you, sir, but I'll be moving on just the same."


The old revolutionary does not try anymore to hold Widow back.


Instead, as a parting gift, he repeats for Widow the words he spoke so often in his shell.


"There will always be hope, wherever you are, until you yourself abandon it. Never forget that!"


Widow walks on.


Her eyes chance to light on the body of a young boy lying at his feet.


The boy breathed his last with eyes wide open in fear.


Widow kneels and gently closes the boy's eyelids.


She knows deep down, in a memory too far away for even her to reach, that while darkness can be a great source of terror, it can also bring deep and lasting peace.



Several weeks haves passed, and Widow finds herself in the back of a caravan, as her body rumbles and her icy emerald glaze stares out of the window.



She rides with a small Elven family of villagers from Grain Village, generous enough to allow her to hitch a ride due to their common heritage.


The village is a agricultural land heavily immersed in fishing, sharecropping, and providing small importing and exporting services from the docks.



She glances at the smiling woman that gazes at her from the opposite caravan from behind her raven locks of hair.


She knows she has to do it.


To make her silent departure before the [Form Shift] spell wears off, revealing her true identity.



“I’m afraid this is as far as I go..” She mutters.



“Are you sure? It’ll only be a few more hours until we reach Grain Village.” The woman replies as she tilts her head in curiosity.


“It’ll take nearly half a day on foot, you know? The monsters are terrible this time of year. It really isn’t safe, but if you insist.” The husband says with a stern expression on his face.


The carriage stops.



Widow begins to count the moments of moisture as sweat begins to drip from her brow as she feels the essence of mana in her body begin to decay to the point of depravity.



“Aa' i'sul nora lanne'lle (May the wind fill your sails.) “ The man bids farewell as he watches her grabs her satchel and prepare to depart.



“Aa' menle nauva calen ar' ta hwesta e' ale'quenle (May your paths be green and the breeze on thy back)”



Widow kindly excuses herself as she pulls on the latch and steps down into the sandy terrain.



As she crosses through the woods, her jet black hair corrodes away it’s dark pigment and reverts to it’s unkempt ash white state.



A few hours pass by, and she soon finds herself in a cave after seeking shelter from the bitter cold. She finds comfort and serenity within it’s walls.



Several days now pass, and she now has been living in that cave for almost a week now.



She is still adorned in the tattered robes of her prisoner garb and wearing the chains of sin that manifested in the form of her miasma inhibitors.



It was ironic how, even after brought out into the freedom of light, she still returned to the shackles of darkness.


She had grown accustomed to it for so long, the darkness was all she knew.


She had already studied some of the Alvish hieroglyphics, though she hesitated to delve deep into the mystical ruins.



Perhaps, if she had not be constricted by her Miasma Inhibitors, she would have thought to explorer the further regions beyond.



For now she would simply be found lying in the despair of darkness, surrounded in a high multitude of mana shards scattered about the floor.


The mana shards would be empty vessels, void of light, like a small lantern that had been extinguished.


At her side would be ancient tomes she had been reading with the help of these small glowing gems she summoned from her own skin, discarding each as they lost their spark of light from the transfusion of mana.


She look lie there, sitting with her back against the wall in the hallway, until the inevitable luminescence of light and the radiation of heat would kiss her skin with it’s warmth highlighting her petrified existence to the “One”.


Deep in the darkness, peering long, I stood there...

Wondering...

Fearing...

Doubting...

INVENTORY

EQUIPMENT: Starter Cloth Armor, Starter Longsword, Starter Longsword
ABILITIES USED: [None]
Words: 1, 127
Post Theme Song: Rain



TAGS: Conand

template by caesar

[Conand]

Corruption Stage: 0
HP: 100% MP: 100%

909

we must be K I L L E R S

CHILDREN OF THE WILD ONES

The cave was thick with an age old darkness, undisturbed by the light of day for an unquantified period of time. It was almost antiquated, this simple umbra. No grand city hidden underneath the ancient ground, no ancient beast’s wrath to incur. Just a simple cave with a long history. That’s what Conand thought, his torchlight briefly passing over the ancient scrawlings on the walls. They depicted the old rituals, the prayers to the lost gods and the culture of the Alvs who once lingered in this place. Such a place was a treasure in its own right. Recollections of a past far more glorious than the present. The half-alv felt a somber expression drape itself across his face as he mourned for his heritage. What would it have been like if the Alvs remained? Would Conand have been in the same place, doing what he is doing now? Or would the Miasma have never strangled his fate? Such thoughts often creeped in his mind. What could have been? They did not belong in the battlefield. He killed those thoughts without prejudice.



Time passed as the Heretic stepped further into that long dark. His eyes slowly adjusted to the din of the flame, and he could see further out into the black chasm. The path was long. It was a mark of the pilgrimage that all believers took to get to this place. The final stretch to the shrine of the old god. In that long winding road, sound ceased to be a constant. When water dripped from the long spires of the caves roof, they echoed whispers of ancient ones. When rock crumbled, it was the movement of spirits who made this place their residence long ago. The warrior could hear those whispers and shifting nothings. They became frequent, until one could hear a message within the mind. “So thou hast come, Two.”



The ancient voice echoed in his brain like it was Conand’s own thoughts, and yet not his at all. One, the voice behind Conand’s journey. The reason for being here in the first place. The warrior stopped in his tracks, opening his ears to the ancient whispers that flittered on the edge of perception. “I have arrived as you requested, One. Tell me what it is I seek.” The once lost Heretic asked, failing to match the neutral tone that dominated One’s speech. Conand could never hide his suspicions. Even now, after the strange voice had saved him from madness, he could not trust his benefactor. For good reason as well, seeing as the creature refused to tell him anything beyond his objective. A good soldier did not question orders, but a vague cause did not make a good soldier.



“Doth thou still doubt thine purpose?” One asked, managing to sound inquisitive without actually having an inquisitive tone. The Wolf of Stratford grimaced. Of course he doubted. Was it not human to feel as such, when left completely in the dark? Conand contained the growl of one without patience and tried to summon as much restraint as he could muster. “I simply wonder why you would have me cross all this land. What is there to be found here?” He asked the empty air, his eyes narrowing at what he thought was a figure in the shadows. For a moment, One did not speak, and briefly did Conand think that the voice had left him, only for it to speak again in something of a soft tone. “Thou hast borne witness to the history of this place, yes? The ancients once focused belief into power here. That is something thou shalt need in thine coming struggles. I shall guide thee to a world far grander than that of yore. Thou must believe in mine words.”



For once, One sounded genuine in their ancient and emotionless tone. Conand, while still unsatisfied, could not argue with the sincerity of One’s wishes. So without a word, Conand hung his head in reluctant acceptance. All there was left to do was press on. Their goal was still the same, wasn’t it? To protect this old and glorious world from those that would destroy it. The soldier had to believe that he was on the right path, else there was no other to follow.



Further into the black did Conand go. His torch shined brightly, fire burning away the darkness and kissing the walls with an orange tint. Everything seemed as gold in that light, except one thing. The explorer paused, his feet coming to a complete stop as his eyes fell on the ivory skin of a fellow human being. The light of the fire shined brightly, making them stand out amongst the sea of black rock and stagnant puddles. This must have been the human presence he had detected at the start of the cave. Unsure of what to do, he kept his spear at the ready. His eyes traced the lost looking figure and what sat around them. Ancient tomes that would be impossible to read in this light. How would they have managed? He noted what looked to be remains of mana constructs at her feet. Dulled shards that would have given off light. What truly caught his attention were the shackles that bound her. Miasma inhibitors. A lost Heretic?



“You’re a long way from Avon, lass.” Conand spoke, spear still at the ready. They would yet see if darkness and miasma had taken this stranger.

Widow

WHERE WE GOT LEFT TO R U N ?

❖ NOX ❖

[Widow]

HP 100% | MP 0%

Heretic - Apprentice - Alchemist

____________________________________________________

Numb, unemotional, unaware..





Several coughs escaped the woman’s mouth as she sat there, noticing a figure in the distance.



The silhouette of a man brandishing a spear with a lit torch.





Though he was standing there before her in clear vision. She wasn’t consciously aware of him being there - or at least she didn’t want to be.


She didn’t want to acknowledge his presence.



She simply wanted to be an invisible wall that blended in with the furniture and decor that was planted within the room, dedicated to the worship of fallen gods - gods torn from the pages of history.



There was a swirling mass of introversion that swirled into her heart.


This sprouted seeds of doubt and mistrust as the emerald glaciers of he eyes quivered slightly away from the shrine in front of her that she made a thousand yard stare at.



Perhaps she could whisper a quick prayer for herself before the thread of her life was snapped by this man who would stand before her carrying his spear at his side.



Why would a warrior come all the way out here to the middle of an old Alvish cave that had expired of any life ages ago.



Her blank stare looked up at him, standing there with his spear. Her gaze lifelessly drifts to her right, where twin swords lie.



By the style and emblem of the dull blades, it could be quite easily discernible by the trained eye that they were swords customarily issued to the junior members of the Stratford wardens.



Widow had managed to pilfer them during the raid when she looted a few corpses on her way out of her cell.



There she was, a woman expired of grace, who had been imprisoned for the charges of murder and conspiracy lying there, holding a sword for the first time in her life.



She knew it. She was a civilian moreso than a trained fighter with a blade.



It was just a display. It was a posture. Like a lion's roar or a gorilla thumping at it’s chest .



It was simply weapon’s she held as a deterrent. Sometimes all it ever took was the flash of a blade and a stigma of murder to make other villagers turn a blind eye to her existence.



She contemplates reaching for her blade, yet her body doesn’t move. She is petrified by fear.



She resolves to attempt to deceive him by casting her form shift spell.



“Nurta I' fea”(Incognito) The soft words flutter from her lips as he ash white hair flickers into a hue as black as ravens and her eyes as dark as the starry night.



She needs to alter the corona of her eyes so that she may adjust to the lighting more easily without incurring damage.



This is a weakness that hinders her ability to travel out in the sunlight for long periods of time while using her natural eyes that were only accustomed to darkness.



Several more weary coughs escape her lips as her remaining mana dissolves, reverting her back to her former state.



She lies there in a defeated posture as the man draws near and she illumination of light highlights her true facial features.



As she hears the words of of the mention of Avon, her heart sinks.



Her thoughts hold ideations of terrible memories traced back to the Stratford Wardens and the bounty hunters that were employed to capture escaped convicts. Was he one of their trackers, too?



She raises a hand over her face to block the radiant light that emerges from the torch.



Her sensitive eyes can not handle the flood of light that poor from it. The shadows of the chains from the shackles that adorn her dance in the flicker of light.



“Nngh...please the light...it burns...”



I liked the Darkness.



There was something to the feeling of not knowing your surroundings,



Not seeing the full color of things as they appear, but as they truly are.



There was something about the unknown, the quiet, the cold.



There was something unspoken about the dark, something I can never quite put words to.



Something terrifying, yet beautiful.

INVENTORY

EQUIPMENT: Starter Cloth Armor, Starter Longsword, Starter Longsword
ABILITIES USED: [None]
Words: 690
Post Theme Song:  Jane's Lament



TAGS: Conand

template by caesar

[Conand]

Corruption Stage: 0
HP: 100% MP: 95%

806

we must be K I L L E R S

CHILDREN OF THE WILD ONES

 The preceding actions were a form of pitiful that Conand did not expect to see from any Heretic. Even those that despaired at their sudden turn to darkness held onto some semblance of pride as they were locked away or drafted into the Blackwatch. This girl however simply scrambled with what was left of her mana to escape Conand. Him and his flame. His expression was conflicted. His aversion to Heretics was wrestling with the undeniable fact that he himself was one, and that this woman no matter how you looked at it, was no threat. Past pride and prejudice fell to his own human decency and he let his spear lower to the ground, planting it at his side and leaning down to look at the woman.



Hair so white it was as if the pigment was consumed by the darkness and left with nothing but a husk of what would have once been something vibrant. Her eyes flickered from black to a faded green as if light dared not touch them in fear they might shatter. Even Conand feared to reach out to her, for fear of breaking what seemed so fragile a creature. Her lips quivered and moved in a way that might have been words. Her motions told him enough to determine them though. He looked to his torch and set it on the ground, rubbing it into the dirt to extinguish the flame. Then came the blackness. The deep umbra of this place was thick, and the warrior could feel the darkness clawing at his eyes, looking to claim them before they saw the sun again. Then came light again.



Conand held his hands together, and in those hands came a devil’s light. A source of blue flame as he burned the anima focused in his hands. It illuminated both their faces softly, not nearly as harsh as the burning flames of a torch. The warrior slowly closed his hands over the energy and pressed it together like clay, condensing it into something more manageable. When he released it, the mana burned in a palm sized crystal. It was an inexpensive way to make a temporary light source, but would only last for a few minutes at best. In essence it was the same as creating mana shards from one’s body, just more focused. “Is that better?” Conand asked the woman, his gaze meeting hers with neutrality. There was nothing to fear of this woman, but a stranger was a stranger all the same, and that was excluding the fact that the Miasma had likely twisted her mind as it had tried to do with him.



“You need not worry. I know what you are, but I have no interest in returning you to Stratford.” Conand spoke firmly, making his point and expecting no answer. He put the glowing mana crystal by her and stood up, picking his spear off the ground and turning to the rest of the room. This must have been the room of prayer, a place which housed a sacred artifact of ages long past. Pilgrims prayed to the spirits that watched over these artifacts and beseeched them for blessings of wealth and prosperity. It was often a rite of passage for kings to come here and pray for their kingdom. To not do so was often a declaration against the old ways, or an insult to the people. In the ending years of the old age, the former was more common.



Opening his fist again, Conand formed smaller mana crystals to act as light and walked forward into the inner circle of the room. The light reflected softly onto the stone surface of the cairn stones. The shrine was simple, but ornate enough to be a significant cultural piece. The Heretic slowly began to inspect the structure, wondering if this was where he would find whatever it was that One had sent him for. It was times like this he wished the strange voice would speak rather than right before. Not that he enjoyed having a voice in his head constantly at all. It might as well make itself useful though. For a moment he found himself cursing his own luck at this whole situation. His head turned to look back at the girl in the dark. She’d probably think him crazy for talking to himself anyway.



Soon enough, Conand’s crawling in the dark came to fruition as he found a compartment in the stone cairns. He reached in and felt his hand brush up against a piece of wood. A lockbox perhaps? He grasped it and pried the artifact out, curious as to what it could be. The lock was broken, it looked like, but the lid itself was jammed and wouldn’t open. Perhaps if he had some time, he could fangle around with it.

Widow

WHERE WE GOT LEFT TO R U N ?

❖ NOX ❖

[Widow]

HP 100% | MP 4%

Heretic - Apprentice - Alchemist

____________________________________________________

The crackling flames danced around liked the devil as the Azure demon’s eyes held an ambivalent glare that could scorch the soul. This demon who sent this flame ignited a burning desire that blazed within Widow out of all control. It was the flickering flames, the burning embers that cast a soothing sensation to the skin that reminded Widow why she held such an aversion to warmth, especially the warmth of others. At a distance it was always so enticing, so alluring. She could bask in it’s warmth from a distance, but the more she became drawn to it, dancing about the light like a delicate butterfly, the more she realized the inevitable truth that she would soon burn like a moth to a flame.



This withered state of mind made her even more reclusive around others and while she enjoyed them in small doses, she never bothered to stick around for too long. She clenched her eyes shut and looked away tucking her chin into her right shoulder. Her left cheek idly trembling from the warmth. She steadied her breath, half expecting the man to impale her with his spear for being a Heretic. However, was the dreaded silence she feared even more. She could feel it’s foul stench in the air as she sensed his presence lower down in front of her. She could still see the orange hue from her closed eyelids, so she still dared not to open her eyes.



When he snuffed out the flames, a blossoming eyeball slowly seeped out of the corner of her eye and gazed weakly at him. Though there was nothing to be seen in the pitch blackness, she despised the look she pictured on his face. The seething sensation of how pathetic she must have appeared ignited a silent resentment within her. She no no idea why he was hear or what he wanted. All she knew was that she was trapped hear alone with a man who was potentially three times stronger than her with the lights out.



That is when the sins of the darkness crept out of the shadows, whispering preludes to wanton thoughts of lust and desire. It sent a cringe down her spine. She knew all too well of the foul desires of men and what they might do to a fragile woman that could easily be used, abused, and discarded without so much as a trail to leave behind. She refused that fate of being some wretch’s harlot and in the darkness the fingers of her right han inched across the dirt to draw closer to the pair of swords she had left. However, her eyes twitched when she heard the sound of something moving and she quickly retracted her hands back, too afraid of her malicious intentions being discovered by the armed man.



However, contrary to what she had expected, the man was far more than the common, vulgar, weak, licentious crowd. He had voiced genuine concern for her well-being and had even went as far as to manipulate a more suitable light source that was easy on the eyes. She decided to look him in the eye as she gazed at him with a penetrating with her icy jade glaciers. Her eyes unwavering, she sensed no immediate hostility from him. It seemed that if she were lucky enough, she would be allowed to live yet another day.



His words were slightly comforting, as she knew she wasn’t going to end up back in prison either. So what did he want from her? She had expected ulterior motives. Why was it that she was being spared. Her eyes followed him as he stood up with his spear and simply walked away. From what she could study about him, he walked slow, but with purpose.



She could sense there was something here of importance.



This piqued her curious nature as she glanced out at the mana shards leftover and gripped them with her hands. She pushed her weary body up and walked over to her swords and tied them at her sides, casting the occasional glare at the man that explored the cavern. She couldn’t help but fight the urge to pursue him and figure out what it was he was searching for. In truth, she had wanted to explore the realm as well, but she needed someone to be her sword. In her current state, there wasn’t much use from her and she would be hardly effective. Perhaps their could be a mutual benefit to be had in his appearance.



As she slowly stepped towards him, she could see that he was holding a medium sized wooden box. She decided to come closer and offer a small greeting before inspecting the box herself.



“Mae Govannen...” She whispered in the familiar elven greeting of her people. Though she was short with her words, she drew her attention on the box and squinted at the edges on the outer surface that were illuminated by the light.



“Hmph...” Widow grunted as she looked at the grooves on the side, then the broken lock. “Whoever tried to get in this might have not been so bright.”



She muttered in a dry tone as her eyes scoured over the sides of the box. “It’s a puzzle lockbox. You can tell by the grooves on the side. It cleverly employs a combination trickery and deception to deter thieves who lack the intellect to discern the illusion.”



She tilted her eyes to look even more carefully.



“Judging by the scratches on the side, it might even have been solved already, but that remains to be seen. However, whatever is or was inside might possibly be fragile, seeing as who ever broke the lock simply didn’t smash the box to get what they wanted.” Widow mentioned as her perceptive eyes loomed over the box.

INVENTORY

EQUIPMENT: Starter Cloth Armor, Starter Longsword, Starter Longsword
ABILITIES USED: [None]
Words: 974
Post Theme Song:  Shi-Ki



TAGS: Conand

template by caesar