The Madness
Mar 20, 2015 12:46:31 GMT -6
Post by The Madness on Mar 20, 2015 12:46:31 GMT -6
The sickly fragrance of death and desolation hung in the air in the aftermath of Hargus's siege. Like the moisture of a humid day it clung to the skin of every man woman and child. Yes, victory had been achieved, but even in victory the horrors of the Bandit King, the Demon King, were not so easily forgotten. Death was everywhere, and while great evil had died here, another had just been born.
And amidst the thick spiritual miasma, a faint wisp of darkness lingered over the plains. It was not a spell, or a trick of the light, but a being, the fragment of a creature long since forgotten by Elibe. It resembled the Arum souls that now possessed Burt, but far weaker, and far more frail. Where it had come from, even it did not know. All it knew was the malice and desire for power that consumed it. It was dark thoughts made manifest, and in its incomplete state it desired flesh, not to consume, but to possess. So it found a headless corpse of a dark armored man and made it its own.
And that man was Oleg.
He was dead. He was with his wife and all his lovers, he was with his son... He was happy. His life had finally managed to calm down in undeath. The irony hit him hard at points, but he was dead. He couldn't care. Now that one thought about it, he couldn't be happy either. Because he was dead. Wasn't that just the most insane thing, being happy or ironic in death? It could be even said that... It was utter madness.
The body bounced into life soon enough. Bounce was the right word for it? Maybe. Or maybe the best word would be spaz. The body spazzed out into life, twitching and letting out guttural moans from the place where it's head would be as something slowly happened. The stump of where his right arm had been was growing back, but not in flesh. It grew out in the form of a solid shadow, like his arms was there, but... Not. Almost see trough, yet still clearly there. And his head. The head was growing back as well, although it was forming into a shadowy glob with red eyes and not much else in the way of features.
Soon, it was over. It did not take more than a few seconds, but to the corpse now full of bouncing thoughts and ideas, it felt like hours. In this short time one thought had taken over the system. It had slavered the others, it had taken control of the main personality, and it had shaped itself. The half shadow, half dead corpse looked around for a moment. No noise was made. No breath was heard. Nothing. The battlefield was empty, everyone had either left or was asleep. Or they had just abandoned this particular camp.
It just made things easier for him. Just as he liked it.
His eyes then turned to the ground. He had been dumped into a tent, but by now the tent had been torn apart. Around him were corpses, stamped out campfires... And his main goal. The spear upon the hill of skulls. He could not find any memories of why the spear was there. Perhaps it had been one of the dark mage's hilarious ideas? Maybe the hill had been formed there over time by something or the other? In the end, it made no matter for the being of darkness. It was not what he was after. What he was after was the spear.
And the head that was on top. Skin had been claimed by rot, one socked had lost the eye, but for the most part the head of the body was still intact. Very much usable, at the very least. He proceeded to rip the spear off from the hill, holding it in the air in total silence, staring to it and eyeing it up and down. His silver sword had been claimed. He would require a new weapon. And that weapon was... He had no name for it. He had no damn name for the weapon.
That epic moment had gone to waste, and the demon simply plucked the spear and turned around to leave the battlefield. He had no time to waste. He had a thirst that he needed to quench. And he had the perfect place for that.
He had to go to Lycia.
And amidst the thick spiritual miasma, a faint wisp of darkness lingered over the plains. It was not a spell, or a trick of the light, but a being, the fragment of a creature long since forgotten by Elibe. It resembled the Arum souls that now possessed Burt, but far weaker, and far more frail. Where it had come from, even it did not know. All it knew was the malice and desire for power that consumed it. It was dark thoughts made manifest, and in its incomplete state it desired flesh, not to consume, but to possess. So it found a headless corpse of a dark armored man and made it its own.
And that man was Oleg.
He was dead. He was with his wife and all his lovers, he was with his son... He was happy. His life had finally managed to calm down in undeath. The irony hit him hard at points, but he was dead. He couldn't care. Now that one thought about it, he couldn't be happy either. Because he was dead. Wasn't that just the most insane thing, being happy or ironic in death? It could be even said that... It was utter madness.
The body bounced into life soon enough. Bounce was the right word for it? Maybe. Or maybe the best word would be spaz. The body spazzed out into life, twitching and letting out guttural moans from the place where it's head would be as something slowly happened. The stump of where his right arm had been was growing back, but not in flesh. It grew out in the form of a solid shadow, like his arms was there, but... Not. Almost see trough, yet still clearly there. And his head. The head was growing back as well, although it was forming into a shadowy glob with red eyes and not much else in the way of features.
Soon, it was over. It did not take more than a few seconds, but to the corpse now full of bouncing thoughts and ideas, it felt like hours. In this short time one thought had taken over the system. It had slavered the others, it had taken control of the main personality, and it had shaped itself. The half shadow, half dead corpse looked around for a moment. No noise was made. No breath was heard. Nothing. The battlefield was empty, everyone had either left or was asleep. Or they had just abandoned this particular camp.
It just made things easier for him. Just as he liked it.
His eyes then turned to the ground. He had been dumped into a tent, but by now the tent had been torn apart. Around him were corpses, stamped out campfires... And his main goal. The spear upon the hill of skulls. He could not find any memories of why the spear was there. Perhaps it had been one of the dark mage's hilarious ideas? Maybe the hill had been formed there over time by something or the other? In the end, it made no matter for the being of darkness. It was not what he was after. What he was after was the spear.
And the head that was on top. Skin had been claimed by rot, one socked had lost the eye, but for the most part the head of the body was still intact. Very much usable, at the very least. He proceeded to rip the spear off from the hill, holding it in the air in total silence, staring to it and eyeing it up and down. His silver sword had been claimed. He would require a new weapon. And that weapon was... He had no name for it. He had no damn name for the weapon.
That epic moment had gone to waste, and the demon simply plucked the spear and turned around to leave the battlefield. He had no time to waste. He had a thirst that he needed to quench. And he had the perfect place for that.
He had to go to Lycia.