From Atlantic Roleplay Wiki

Love and Shadows

Dealthagar lay in the bed, staring at the darkened ceiling. He had slept, but it had not been for long, the troubled thoughts that hung in his mind were like a spark waiting to explode.

He turned and gazed at the sleeping form of Ceinwyn, nestled in the crook of his arm. The scent of blood, fresh soil, ground grass and their passions still clung to the two of them in a perfume that made his heart race. She stirred as he slipped free of her, but returned to sleep with a few contented sounds after he kissed her shoulder. Grabbing one of his wraps from the floor, he tied it around his waist and strolled out onto the terrace.

The sun had not quite risen, but he could feel the unforgiving heat near the horizon, hungering to bathe him in its cleansing light. It would be a clear day, one best suited for staying indoors. A Lightbringer's joy.

The evening before had been a lark. He had always enjoyed going to Regency meetings with Lilyth after her abdication. The two of them had always found the stiff procedures, endless posturing and pointless displays of "virtue" amusing. The Protectorate was a fitting heir.

Elections. The lightbringers were always having elections to decide who would be the next ruler to oversee the council's voting on subjects of the utmost importance, such as who would be the next ruler.

The lightbringers were always quick to forget who had done "wrong" if a change in allegiance or a swear of fealty would mean furthering their own agenda. If they only could see how similar they were to the people the declared as "enemies of the light". In the need for their own agenda, Dealthagar had served as Grand Marshal, Sherriff, Magistrate and High Justice of Britannia under various Regents. The same man who had put the entirety of the militia of Yew to the sword after their defiance of his rule. The same man who had brainwashed the mayor of Trinsic and the Duchess of Luna to conspire for his own nomination as Regent.

The meeting last night combined with meeting and speaking with old foes, such as Talon and SunWolf had made him wax nostalgic. It was a true statement he made to Talon as they spoke, "I know my old enemies better than I do some of my new friends. There's an odd comfort there."

Talon all but offered him a place in Sanctus, the respect between the ancient enemies quelling any pretense of insincerity or malice, but it infuriated the Herald all the same. How could any of them think he would willingly serve anything other than The Skull? Umbra was not Caina. Darrien was not Azalin. The Ebon Skull was as it always was.

Mother. Father. Lover. Jailor.

Master.

Oblivion was uncaring. The Ebon Skull was eternal. Entropy was limitless. His "gift" from Oblivion, the Eyes of the Abyss, the Vision of the Damned, always reminded him of his place in the world, and the world's place in him. The rot of time, the decay of life, the fading of creation stood before him. Before the Duchess had come to this part of Malas, it had been empty, and one day it would be again, victim of the one enemy the Lightbringers could never hope to overcome.

And they would never understand it.

Dealthagar returned to the dark interior of Ceinwyn's chambers, discarding the wrap as he curled back up with her. She murmured, still half asleep. "You alright?"

He caressed her hair as she laid her head back down on his chest, to listen to his heartbeat. "I will endure, 'Chev. Go back to sleep, I did not mean to disturb you."

She kissed his chest then quickly drifted back to her dreams. Sleep still did not come for him. Studying her features, savoring her scent, basking in her touch, he could only worry.

Among the ancients, he was an unknown, a relic of the Second Age of the Skull. Darrien had welcomed him back to the fold with open arms, but there were others he was sure were not as forgiving of the sins against the Order in Dealthagar's past. Most did not even know who he was, a name in a book, an etching on a scrap from the ruins of Caina. His relationship with Ceinwyn would only strain his relations with the other Ancients further.

His service to the Order and Oblivion could not be questioned. Few had sacrificed as he did. Few had given up so much, given in so much as he has in service of Oblivion. His soul bore the scars of his slavery.

He had never asked for anything in return.

She was still seen as a threat to the Order and to Umbra, and he was in no place to disagree. Anything he could say would be seen as compromised. If he was to love her, he had to turn her view from Umbra. He would not give her up. Oblivion would need to take her from him. But if she was not careful, it would.

And that would destroy him.

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Original Post Date: Mon Dec 14, 2009