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memshare; the final days
You stand in a fantastic place--a terrifying place. The sky above you is black and busy with stars, but flaming comets streaking from the heavens take the serenity from their softly glowing light. The ground beneath your feet is stable--perhaps--but there's only so much of it; to all four sides there is nothing but an endless abyss, the emptiness of space between this small land you stand on and the planet's surfce malms below. Its curve glows blue in the blackness of space, a breathtaking sight if the world were not in the midst of its own destruction, fires burning so tall and so bright that you can see how they ravage the land even from space.
These are the Final Days. This is the death of Amaurot.
A man steps out of a portal, seemingly displeased that you're still here--that you're still alive. He sweeps his arm across his body, an almost idle motion, and a gust of darkness bursts forth from him, so potent it seems to suck the light out of the very air around it. You bring your arms up to protect yourself, brace and lower your center of gravity--it makes no difference. You withstand it for a moment, but it's too much; you're sent tumbling backward and for an instant, your entire world goes dark, body shutting down after being flooded with pure aether.
Your eyes blink open a moment later. You're lying on the ground, Alphinaud's unconscious body almost close enough to touch. But Emet-Selch is still speaking, his voice as calm as if he'd done nothing more than swat a bug from the air. It sends a rage coursing through your veins, especially as he continues; he thinks that if he were to bring his full strength to bear, you would all be as leaves in the wind!
And perhaps he's right. Emet-Selch is far more powerful than he has any right to be, able to do things no man should be able to do. He's an Ascian, an ancient being, and he's had thousands of years to watch over mankind. Perhaps you are as gnats to him.
But even so, who is he to decide your world and all its peoples are so meaningless?!
You've dragged yourself to your knees, and now you press up from the ground, putting every single ounce of your fury into your legs as you explode out of your kneel and sprint toward him, rapier at the ready and crystal floating above your free hand. With a shout you lunge, and the tip of your blade sinks into a sudden field that shines around him--good, that he's afraid to feel the force of your blade! His barrier threatens to force you back, but you only grunt and lean into your lunge a little further, determined to pierce through.
Mayhap you are as a leaf to him. Mayhap you are weak.
"Our worlds may not live up to your lofty standards..."
But you'll be damned if you give up and fall before him! You'll fight, fight until your dying breath, because these worlds are beautiful even as they are wretched and you, like your grandsire before you, would give all that you are to see them endure. Your arm shakes with the power of his magic, and you push even harder to counter its charge.
"But they are our worlds! Our homes! Full of life and love and hope!"
The barrier finally repels you, but you're prepared for that inevitability. You leap back as your rapier falters, landing in a crouch and continuing without breaking stride.
"And we won't stand by and let you destroy them!"
You lunge again, this time attacking his barrier with a barrage of slashing cuts. Even if you can't get through, you'll do as much as you can--you'll force him to use his power to counter, to protect, so that those who come after you won't face an Emet-Selch at full strength. You've thrown yourself at him knowing you wouldn't win, knowing your life would be the forfeit, but what else is there to do when so much is at stake? You've found your place within the Scions here, the first offensive, your rapier's blade swift and precise and forcing your enemies to quickly shift to defense while your friends draw on the magicks that each of them wield. And even they may fall, their powers exhausted in the face of the Ascian's millennia, but even so--
Even so, you have faith in the Warrior of Light. For what you've begun, the others will continue--and the Warrior will finish it. They'll wipe Emet-Selch's stinking, smirking face from the fabric of this reality and you pray you'll be alive to see it.
Emet-Selch's face twists into irritation. He raises his hand in the same motion as he initially had.
But this time when the magic strikes, its entire might is focused on you.
You're knocked from your feet and feel the air rushing by you; you've no sense left of your body in space and so you don't know how far you've been thrown before you land, hard and limp as your rapier strikes the ground behind you--
But you don't know that part. As your body strikes the ground, the wind knocked out of you, your entire world goes black.
-x-
These are the Final Days. This is the death of Amaurot.
A man steps out of a portal, seemingly displeased that you're still here--that you're still alive. He sweeps his arm across his body, an almost idle motion, and a gust of darkness bursts forth from him, so potent it seems to suck the light out of the very air around it. You bring your arms up to protect yourself, brace and lower your center of gravity--it makes no difference. You withstand it for a moment, but it's too much; you're sent tumbling backward and for an instant, your entire world goes dark, body shutting down after being flooded with pure aether.
Your eyes blink open a moment later. You're lying on the ground, Alphinaud's unconscious body almost close enough to touch. But Emet-Selch is still speaking, his voice as calm as if he'd done nothing more than swat a bug from the air. It sends a rage coursing through your veins, especially as he continues; he thinks that if he were to bring his full strength to bear, you would all be as leaves in the wind!
And perhaps he's right. Emet-Selch is far more powerful than he has any right to be, able to do things no man should be able to do. He's an Ascian, an ancient being, and he's had thousands of years to watch over mankind. Perhaps you are as gnats to him.
But even so, who is he to decide your world and all its peoples are so meaningless?!
You've dragged yourself to your knees, and now you press up from the ground, putting every single ounce of your fury into your legs as you explode out of your kneel and sprint toward him, rapier at the ready and crystal floating above your free hand. With a shout you lunge, and the tip of your blade sinks into a sudden field that shines around him--good, that he's afraid to feel the force of your blade! His barrier threatens to force you back, but you only grunt and lean into your lunge a little further, determined to pierce through.
Mayhap you are as a leaf to him. Mayhap you are weak.
"Our worlds may not live up to your lofty standards..."
But you'll be damned if you give up and fall before him! You'll fight, fight until your dying breath, because these worlds are beautiful even as they are wretched and you, like your grandsire before you, would give all that you are to see them endure. Your arm shakes with the power of his magic, and you push even harder to counter its charge.
"But they are our worlds! Our homes! Full of life and love and hope!"
The barrier finally repels you, but you're prepared for that inevitability. You leap back as your rapier falters, landing in a crouch and continuing without breaking stride.
"And we won't stand by and let you destroy them!"
You lunge again, this time attacking his barrier with a barrage of slashing cuts. Even if you can't get through, you'll do as much as you can--you'll force him to use his power to counter, to protect, so that those who come after you won't face an Emet-Selch at full strength. You've thrown yourself at him knowing you wouldn't win, knowing your life would be the forfeit, but what else is there to do when so much is at stake? You've found your place within the Scions here, the first offensive, your rapier's blade swift and precise and forcing your enemies to quickly shift to defense while your friends draw on the magicks that each of them wield. And even they may fall, their powers exhausted in the face of the Ascian's millennia, but even so--
Even so, you have faith in the Warrior of Light. For what you've begun, the others will continue--and the Warrior will finish it. They'll wipe Emet-Selch's stinking, smirking face from the fabric of this reality and you pray you'll be alive to see it.
Emet-Selch's face twists into irritation. He raises his hand in the same motion as he initially had.
But this time when the magic strikes, its entire might is focused on you.
You're knocked from your feet and feel the air rushing by you; you've no sense left of your body in space and so you don't know how far you've been thrown before you land, hard and limp as your rapier strikes the ground behind you--
But you don't know that part. As your body strikes the ground, the wind knocked out of you, your entire world goes black.