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Ancyous · Adventurer Joined: 24 Apr 2010 Posts: 66

Kaylor knelt before the ankh, his head lowered. Reaching to his belt, he extracted an ebon handled dagger from its sheath and, whispering a chant in his native Gaelic, drew the finely honed blade across his palm. He watched steel slicing skin without the slightest flinch, as though it were another's blood rather than his own flowing in a crimson stream marring the perfection of the chapel's marble floor.

"¡Basta!" (Enough!) A ghostly figured stepped from the shadows, his cinereal robe swirling about him as he approached the kneeling templar in confounded haste. "¿Qué es esto que estás haciendo? ¡No más!" (What is this you are doing? No more!)

"Can't you just stay dead, Ancyous?"

"I am dead, mijo," the gypsy smirked. "¿Estás tratando de unirse a mí?" (Are you trying to join me?) Tearing away a portion of Kaylor's sleeve, he used the pristine fabric as a make-shift bandage, wrapping it tightly over the wound and tying it securely before taking a step back to await his answer.

Kaylor frowned. "My tailor thanks you."

"Cállate y dime de qué se trata." (Shut up and tell me what this is about.)

A deep sigh escaping him, Kaylor came to his feet and turned his midnight gaze upon his brother's query. "The Black Knight is ever present, Ancy. Nothing I do accomplishes his riddance. My soul is completely consumed by the darkness he procures. I had thought mayhaps . . . . . "

"Mayhaps, what? If you think to seek release in death créeme cuando te digo que no hay tal libertad se pueden encontrar allí. (trust me when I tell you no such freedom can be found there.) Take it from one who knows."

"I wasn't trying to kill myself. Just making a blood sacrifice."

Ancyous nodded slightly. "Where did that get you before, Kay? Think about the last time you thought that the answer to your prayers. You became evil's puppet, murdered your father and set Faerwhynne aflame. No, mijo, this kind of sacrifice gains nothing but loss. Permítame ayudarle." (Let me assist you.)

Without waiting for reply the gypsy placed a firm hand upon his brother's shoulder. Words ancient and magical transcended the natural realm as they crossed his lips. "Preta agretori sullaratt rainator dien." (Sleep exile darkness to dream.)

Ancyous caught Kaylor as he collapsed into slumber, holding him close and taking leave of the abbey.

Kaylor · Journeyman Joined: 14 Apr 2010 Posts: 219

I awoke to an eerie silence, a musty smell such as envelopes a room that has long been locked, unoccupied for many months. Sunlight filtered in through slatted shutters drawn against just such intrusion. These rays of unwelcome warmth were shrouded in clouds of dust, lending to the air an unseemly oppression which, when I finally dared draw breath, pervaded my entire being and caused me to feel stifled. The persisting silence threatened to engulf, extinguish my existence. A cold breeze drifted past, causing me to chill. The pale, torn curtains lifted for a moment as the icy whisper came to its final rest . . . . .

Sweet blossoming heather smiled to the heavens beneath soft streams of sunlight. Gentle breezes caressed the clouds serenely sailing above the highlands. Church bells beckoned across the realm as peasant and noble alike gathered within the castle walls to bear witness to the joyous union.

Kaylor shifted nervously as he awaited his bride's entrance.

"Be still, brother," Kellon teased his twin. "Lest the entire kindom realize the coward who is their king."

"Not half the coward you will be, Sir, when next it is you standing here." Kaylor laughed, enjoying the comaradarie that only brothers share.

"Hush and greet your queen," Kellon whispered in reply, winking as Eclyse appeared at the far end of the Greathall.

Her gown, as if spun from the wings of angels, fell light and soft about her. A golden crown set with diamonds sparkled atop her ebon tresses. A gossamar veil concealed her beauty, but her carriage bespoke it to all.

As she approached, a man clad in purple and gold brocade, his waist-length dark hair bound in a queue at the nape of his neck, stood and took her hand gently into his.

Kaylor smiled over his shoulder, watching his father, Faerwhynne's favored sovereign, beaming with pride as he escorted Eclyse the remainder of the way.

Dearly beloved . . . . .
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*Even if you be otherwise perfect, you fail without humility. ~ The Talmud*

Kaylor · Journeyman Joined: 14 Apr 2010 Posts: 219

The sound of the cell door opening penetrated Kaylor's perceptions, sharp as a thousand daggers piercing his soul. It was his final hour.

"Hello Kaylor," the bailiff whispered. "I'm sorry but it's time to go."

He nodded somberly. Taking the woman's hand into his for a moment he forced a reassuring smile. "Don't be sorry."

Their trip to Jhelom was quick and quiet. His spirit grieving, his heart heavy with loss, he allowed the silence to envelope and consume him. Words held no more substance now than the shift of a breeze in the eye of a storm.

As they approached the execution site his senses alerted him of the presence of many. Perhaps he should have been surprised, but he was not. They had come to watch a murderer get what he deserved. He held no blame. Were he not that perpetrator it was likely he would be among them. Still he hoped all was not in vain and harmony would be restored should the truth ever be discovered.

"Lord Kaylor."

The judge's voice raised him from the edge of his despair. He was here to bring his quest to its completion, to fight his once friend and commanding officer - to set love free, to return to faith, to find peace.

"Yes, Your . . . "

Strange elven chanting interrupted him as Lady Celebrian approached. At first he was at a loss to interpret her purpose, however her intent slowly became clear. She was attempting to remove the curse. It hardly seemed to matter now.

"May Mother Earth and Father Sky bless you on your journey," she whispered as she completed the ritual and stepped back into the crowd.

"We are here to witness the Execution of Sentence of Lord Kaylor McKairin. Ordeal by combat. The convicted has chosen his opponent, Lord Singlarad Arlista, Duke of Ilithien. Lord Singlarad has accepted. The Court expects this contest to be held to the highest standards of honour. Do you both so swear?"

"I do, Your Honour."

Kaylor couldn't help but smile at the sound of Sing's voice. It was good to be in his presence again despite the morbid circumstance. "As do I," he whispered.

"Very well, then let us proceed."

He followed the judge to the center of the penninsula. Positioning himself across from his opponent, Kaylor drew a deep breath. Death was nigh, standing but paces behind him, substantial and impatient. "I ask only that you take me quickly . . . whether to heaven or to hell, the choice, my God, is yours."

"LAY ON!"

Kaylor advanced, his hand steady and certain as he landed his weapon upon its mark with ease. Standing fast, he prepared to strike yet another blow when suddenly he realized Sing had somehow managed to disarm him. It was the perfect counter-attack, for despite the acuteness of his senses his blindness prevented him the ability to find and retrieve his weapon in time to save himself. Indeed, he had made the right choice in requesting that he be allowed to face this honourable warrior as his executioner. He'd asked Sing to let his hand be guided by his heart, his blade be swift and sure . . .
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*Even if you be otherwise perfect, you fail without humility. ~ The Talmud*

Kaylor · Journeyman Joined: 14 Apr 2010 Posts: 219

*Warning - slightly graphic*

********************

He lay unconscious on the stone floor, his hair tangled about his face that had now two days' growth of beard upon it. There were dark circles under his eyes, his lips caked with dried blood where he'd bitten them to keep from crying out. Dried blood also covered his right hand - the one in which he'd held the blade given him by the priest and used to slice his skin for peeling. He was pale, cold to the touch, easily mistaken for dead but for the slow rise and fall of his chest in shallow breath.

It would be a miracle if he didn't lose his left foot, much less ever walk again. In the midst of a pool of blood all the skin had been ripped away leaving muscle and nerves exposed. There were areas where blood had congealed and others that still oozed small red rivers. Some sinews had dried, resembling meat hung under the sun. Tendons were turning white in raw precursor to their death.

He sat on a bone couch against the far left wall. The priest stood close verbalizing instructions on how the cutting was to be done, emphasizing that were he to cry out or show tears it would signify failure and his foot would be severed from his body rather than merely cut and denuded.

He began to slice his flesh, a soft moan escaping his lips as he did so. He immediately found himself berated, the priest reminding him of the consequences and the Emperor laughing at his weakness. He moaned only once more and then reverted to silence, lost between fear and anguish.

The Emperor goaded and taunted him, ordering him to cry and scream like the woman he was. The priest spoke of his lost soul and corrupted virtue, his need to suffer and pay pennance. In the midst of his torture, the Emperor asked for sanding cloth. None being available, the priest placed into his hand a bit of rough dried flesh from the hide of his skeletal steed. This was then grated across his foot, abrading away all remaining flesh. The two men continued their castigation - the Emperor entreating him to cry and the priest denouncing his weakness. He began to lose focus, moving in and out of reality, struggling to mask his pain.

Upon completion of his task he tossed the knife to the floor and leaned back, closing his eyes. The Emperor spoke of placing ants to feed upon the skinless foot. The priest mentioned maggots and rot. A tortured "no" escaped him.

It was much too unlike the priest to bring upon me such punishment without deeper reason than mere reparation. I began to draw upon the words he'd said as I'd been forced to cut and tear away my own flesh. Over and over he'd referred to the sole of my foot as my soul, telling me of the need to remove body from spirit, to separate mind from pain, to show no weakness. And the Emperor had stood there taunting me, threatening and proceeding to administer ever more torment.

So, what the lesson? True as the priest made clear, I've thrown away every virtue I'd once strived so hard to gain. But, what matters virtue when a dark path is followed? A man must learn never to show weakness lest his enemy discover it and use it against him. Separation of one's soul and spirit from one's body and pain is the only way to keep the enemy from making that discovery.
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*Even if you be otherwise perfect, you fail without humility. ~ The Talmud*

Kaylor · Journeyman Joined: 14 Apr 2010 Posts: 219

*Warning - graphic violence*

Night rested heavily upon his broad shoulders baptizing him into dread's sacred sacrament. Encouraging his mount by gentle spur, Ancyous riding at his side, he glanced behind at the ten Praetorians following close. It had been a long time since he'd led warriors into battle and never Dread Guards. Only days ago the Emperor had locked him in a cell and threatened him with death. Now here he was in command of a group of his lord's elite . . . an enigma too implicit to believe unrelated.

Calling a halt just outside the settlement's periphery, he ordered the Guards to rein. "Everyone, everything dead before fifteen minutes pass. Then we lay torch and ride."

Lowering their helms, weapons ready and shields in place, they began to move as one, slowly at first, gathering momentum almost imperceptibly. Taking the village's inhabitants completely by surprise, three chariots suddenly shot forward scything across the grass with tremendous speed, archers firing their arrows from the back of them. One victim clutched at an arrow in his throat, another stared down for a moment at the feathers sticking out from his gut before he fell, twitched once and then was gone. A third took an arrow in his eye, screaming and trying to tug the thing free. As he did so, a black armoured Dread Lord swooped down upon him, grabbing him by his waist and tossing him into a passing chariot. "PRISONER!" he yelled racing by.

The mounted Praetorians sped over the grounds targeting their prey, leaving a trail of blood in their wake. A group of women swarmed them, swords in dainty hands, pushing, swaying, hacking. Within seconds their dying screams joined the sound of metal clashing on metal, the thunder of charging hooves, the clamor of spears and blades engaged in mortal melee. Children's fearful tears were quelled by the crushing of their skulls.

Out of the corner of his eyes he caught sight of a woman running north, her long hair flying as she rushed to be away. Kicking his steed he gave chase and was quickly upon her, leaping from his saddle and throwing her to the ground, pinning her beaneath him. "You just ran yourself straight into sacrifice, angel," he whispered hotly against her cheek. Pulling his dagger from his belt he drove it deeply between her ribs, piercing her liver. "Die slowly until I have time to be merciful and end the pain." He stood, lifting her with him and remounting, her weak struggle giving him no pause. The acrid stench of burning flesh wafting on the wind, he spit on a dead paladin's corpse as he led the Emperor's soldiers back to Umbra.

He stood in the center of a circle of skulls, the sleeves of his robe saturated sanguine. Closing his eyes he began to pray, his words hovering above him like a piceous cloud emanating from the apocalyptic realm of the dark god to whom he prayed.

Stepping forward he lay the woman upon the altar, her long sienna locks spilling over his arms, her perishing gaze locking briefly with his. He paused to stroke her cheek, calming her, deceiving her with the warmth of his gentle touch. Lowering his head, lips brushing lips, he smiled with smug satisfaction as the woman fell into a state of stuporous relaxation.

His hand left her cheek, passing lower, lower still, until away from her body completely it came to rest at the hilt of his dagger, the blade of which already bore the stain of her blood. Lifting his weapon, keeping it from her view, he placed it beneath the laces of her bodice and swiftly cleaved it asunder. The fire of memories raged through his mind with pained contrition for all past behavior and its consequences. He looked into her eyes laughing at her fear, then, covering the pale blue orbs with his free hand, he thrust his dagger between her breasts with vehement brutality. Her dying scream anathema to the flames of his hatred, he wrested the blade deeper, releasing his hold to reach for the target of his malevolence. Holding the still weakly beating heart in both hands, he raised it heavenward.
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*Even if you be otherwise perfect, you fail without humility. ~ The Talmud*

Kaylor · Journeyman Joined: 14 Apr 2010 Posts: 219

*this piece authored by another at time of the original rp 2006*

He lay in his bed sound asleep after a trying day. All seems normal, all seems well, but on this night he is not alone.

I... See... You...

... and follows the dream...

Deep in his mind dance delusions of grandeur - dreams of wine, women and power. The former prince sees himself back in Faerwhynne in his father's castle, seated on his father's throne while the realm is burning to the ground.

"What is this treachery?"

SLEEP...

He sits at his dinner table enjoying a fine meal when his closest friend, his adopted brother walks in.

"Ancyous! What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to say good-bye to you before I depart home to Spain."

"I do not understand your running away, nor do I accept it."

"There is nothing for me here. You have been taken by darkness, lust after power."

"Silence gypsy scum! You are but jealous that I was chosen above you!"

"Kay..."

"Shut your mouth! You are right. You have no place here! You have no place with me!"

"But..."

"Go! Leave now! Never return!"

Ancyous, with a heavy heart and a tear in his eyes, turns and leaves.

... thirty minutes later -

Outside his home gather six soldiers. Two approach his door pounding with heavy fists upon the wooden portal. Angry, he opens the door, drawing his sword and slaughtering the nearest man.

"What is the meaning of this?"

"Lord McKairin, Ancyous has been ambushed."

"Ha!! Serves the cowardly dog right for leaving."

"We may still be able to intercept them before they make it out of Malas."

"May whoever has him pluck out his eyes! Now get off my porch or join your friend here."

He stomps to his sitting room where he plunges himself into a chair. After a few moments and rage from his argument with Ancyous begins to fade, he comes to a realization...

"Oh My God! ANCYOUS!"

He thunders out of the chair, all but bashing his house doors while make way to his stables to fetch his mount. He grabs the reins of the closest steed and takes off for the city gate.

"Hold on, brother, I'm coming for you!"

Arriving at the gate in near record time he sees a party of soldiers dragging someone. Racing up to them, he jumps off his mount and runs to the limp body behind them.

"Godsteeth! Ancy!"

Wounded badly, Ancyous gathers the strength to speak. "My friend, my brother, do not shed a tear for me, I am going home..." His last words, his last breath.

One of the soldiers speaks reluctantly. "Lord... we found him mortally wounded, he was caught off guard and did not even have the chance to draw his weapon. Something or someone must have been on his mind to cause him such distraction. If only you had come when you were summoned. Surely you could have saved him."

He looks at the sky and screams...

He awakens in a cold sweat filled with anger, hatred and a bitter need for revenge. Fear and sadness overcome him. Fear because he could not protect his brother. Sadness because of his loss. Anger because he was too weak to prevent it. Hatred for all beneath him. Motivation to achieve more power. Dedication to the Emperor, as only through him could such power be attained. He feels a disquieting veil casting itself over him. He'd too often been told that he yet posessed a certain weakness, that caring bound him to danger and death. He'd stepped away from that truth, let it go, but now he knew better. Now he would embrace it.
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*Even if you be otherwise perfect, you fail without humility. ~ The Talmud*

Kaylor · Journeyman Joined: 14 Apr 2010 Posts: 219

failte a chur roimh dhuine bhaile duchais seanleas an duinteaobh amuigh de Albain
(Welcome home son of Scotland (Faerwhynne))

Faerwhynne. How long has it been? The great stone walls loom above him, waves crash violently against the rocks below. The drawbridge ahead lowers upon his approach. He smiles. The fools! Directing his steed across and into the bailey he watches the royal knights as they kneel in homage, whispering his name . . . Prince McKairin. Ah yes! That's what he is to them - the promise of their future. Laughter dances over his lips. The promise of their deaths!

Dismounting he glares at the groveling imbeciles. Pathetic to see a yard full of men kneeling in naivety when instead they should be standing, trusting noone, prepared to defend their king. Without a sound of warning, he draws his sword and severs the head from the shoulders of the knight nearest him.

"What sport is this, lad?" The king's Man at Arms steps forward with weapon at the ready. "Shall I call your father in witness?"

Momentarily distracted by what appears to be the dead knight's soul hovering above its corpse, he hears only the last portion of the words spoken to him. "Yes, call my father hence. I have something I wish to give him." His eyes constant on the man as he turns toward the keep, he takes a quick step forward burying his blade in the warrior's back. "I had something for you as well."

The royal guards surround him, their weapons drawn. He hisses at them, his eyes blazing with defiance. "Are you waiting for your liege's order to attack his son? Afraid of the consequences of such unauthorized action?" he taunts. "COWARDS! THE LOT OF YOU!"

Suddenly they are upon him. He slashes out with his sword, having little trouble dispatching them at first, but with each following death he feels himself growing weak and weaker still. Movement taxing, blades taking their toll, his ability to fight waning, he falls in weakened exhaustion. Drained of stamina, the ring consumes his essence.

I... See... You...

Instantly the ring upon his finger glows. The souls of the slain are reaved by its power and converted into energy. Flames swallow the Dread Lord, internalizing, revitalizing, granting. His strength, speed, endurance and will are returned, increased. Flames dance from his being and scatter, becoming elemental and destructive, awaiting his command.

"ALL are to die! And this castle, this realm . . . BURN THEM!"

"HALT! Kaylor?!"

The knights lower their weapons upon the approach of their king.

The familiar voice stops him as well. He turns to find Faerwhynne's sovereign standing but paces away. "Well, hello Father," he sneers.

Surveying the scene - corpses and blood, strange towers of flame, his son a dark shadow of himself, Craig glowers and places his hand on the hilt of his own sword. "What is the meaning of this. What do you think to be doing?"

"Hardly a proper greeting for your heir, my king." Dropping his blade, he extends his arms toward his father. "Would you not embrace your long absent son upon his glorious return?"

"Do you believe me a fool, Kay?"

"I believe you worse, Craig McKairin, for you let your sons grow up believing you hated them in fear of their learning you loved only one. You cowered before your own truths and destroyed our love for you before it could ever be given chance." Nodding to the fire elementals, he sends a silent command . . . NOW!

All around them chaos reigns as the elementals begin their annihilation. Screams ring out as flames consume all things living and dead, all things animate and inanimate.

His eyes locking with those of his father, he smiles. "I yet await your embrace, King McKairin."

Craig draws his sword, advancing. "Here is your embrace!" he yells, lunging at his son.

Sidestepping the attack, he laughs wickedly as he grabs his father's weapon, pulling it from his grasp. "And here is yours!" he whispers as he brings the blade sharply, severing Craig's head from his body.

Visualizing the dark tower in his mind he awaits the ring's transport home.

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*Even if you be otherwise perfect, you fail without humility. ~ The Talmud*

Eclyse Christian · Posted: Sun May 08, 2011 10:52 am Post subject:

“Eclyse.”

She stirred in her sleep and opened her eyes as Kaylor brushed back her dark hair gently. She was in her own bed, in their cottage. His bed sat empty, untouched, as it had for nearly a week while he slept in his own home far from Ashencrosse. But how did she get here? She had sat by his bedside for days, and left only to pray. The last thing she remembered was kneeling on the stones of the Compassion Shrine.

“Eclyse…please come with me. I need you.” Kaylor’s azure gaze sought her understanding as she pushed away the fog of sleep to rise and join him. He watched her solemnly as she slipped the bodice over her chemise and belted it, then brushed her hair and fitted the simple crown in the dressing table mirror, and turned to him.

Kaylor reached out a sure and steady hand to her, and she took it just as surely. A shimmering moongate appeared outside the open door of the cottage, and the two entered the gate together.

Eclyse blinked in the brilliant sun as they emerged on the other side. They were in the desert. The sands shone brightly in the torrential rays of the evening sun, and scattered sandstone ruins lay strewn across the dunes. Battlements, cracked and crumbling, rose stately from the sands before them.

Kaylor released her hand and climbed a dune, his steps sending showers of sand sliding down the slope as he lowered a hand to the sand to steady himself. He stood atop the mound and looked back down at Eclyse. “This is where my brother died.”

“Ancyous?” Eclyse climbed up the slippery slope of the dune to join him, as he continued.

“My twin brother, Kellon. He had raised an army of undead here – intent on destroying me after I was named heir. Not just me. My father. The kingdom. All of it.” Kaylor looked down at the sand, nearly blinded by the sun’s rays. “Here he lay dying as I asked forgiveness for his death. And here he gasped one last time as the light left his eyes. I had to leave, afterward, to compose myself, then returned to give him a proper burial. But they burned his body to keep his soul from entering heaven. We are standing on his ashes.” A pained expression left his eyes hollow, blank. Almost as if he saw nothing at all.

“Then th’ winds and sand ‘ave done for ‘im what ye could not. The world ‘as its way of givin’ men what they deserve.” Eclyse took her husband’s hand again. At his touch, she shuddered. Fleeting images of battle. The clash of steel on steel. Of Kaylor lying on the sand at her feet. Eclyse gasped to stifle a sob. Blood flowed from a wound on his head and soaked into the sand around him. Not Kaylor. Kellon. She blinked the images away.

“What do you see, Eclyse?” Kaylor’s eyes were focused again, and watched her intently.

“You. And the ruins.”

Kaylor watched her closely, unconvinced, and she continued.

“The death of a man who bears your face.” Eclyse stared down at the sand, charred and bloodsoaked, as it faded slowly back to pale blonde and erased the horrific images.

“I saw none of it. I was blind.”

Eclyse watched as the pained expression returned to him and he watched the sand pushed along by the wind at his feet.

“You cannot think tha’ what ye or anyone else can do affects a man’s soul after ‘is death, Love. Tha’s between a man and ‘is God.” She gave his hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

Kaylor looked up at her, his eyes full of emotion. “Eclyse, my wife. You are the light that illuminates my path. Without you, there would be only darkness.”

Darkness...

Darkness. Cold, and damp. Eclyse awoke. She opened her eyes and blinked, looking around her. She lay crumpled at the foot of the ankh of the Compassion Shrine. How long had she been here? How long had she left Kay alone in his unnatural slumber?

Quickly, she rose and flipped through her runebook, touching the one that would take her to him. She dashed inside, taking the stairs two at a time until she reached his door, then quietly slipped inside his darkened room. Only the lantern she kept burning by his bedside lit the night as he slept on.

Eclyse brushed back his hair gently and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. With a start, Kaylor opened his eyes and grabbed her wrist. His eyes wild in the darkness, his gaze fell upon her and softened. He pulled her to him and kissed her tenderly, breaking the kiss only to speak.

“My Love. My wife. The light that illuminates my path.” His eyes cleared of turmoil and sorrow for the first time that Eclyse could remember, Kaylor smiled and kissed her again.

Kaylor · Journeyman Joined: 14 Apr 2010 Posts: 219

There exists no force more destructive than the shadows that linger from our past. Attempt to deny this truth accomplishes little more than allowance for proof as they partake opportunity to glissade into our midsts with the power to overtake and control our existence. The only sure course is acceptance and the steadfast belief that every shadow may be manipulated to benefit.

"My love. My wife. The light that illuminates my path." He smiled, giving sacrosanct affirmation to the blessed purity of Eclyse's unwavering devotion and the epiphany that would henceforth serve as consort.
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*Even if you be otherwise perfect, you fail without humility. ~ The Talmud*