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The End Complete; [p] swordhunter
Topic Started: Fri Jan 6, 2012 9:27 am (418 Views)
Sebastian
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The sky was painted with harsh streaks of gray that day, almost an ashen portrait of Sebastian's skin, pale and sickly. His eyes had faded to dying embers, two tiny blue coals, barely living in their sockets. His face was gaunt, and great dark circles sat under his eyes. His hair was greasy and thin, and it hung loose around his shoulders, the first time he'd worn it down in months. There was something inside him that clawed at his stomach, a feeling of horror, dragging his spirits into the pit of his stomach. This was the day, the day of his Ascension. This was the day Sebastian Rimeheart died.

The frosteborne warrior was dressed in nothing but a pair of white cotton trousers, rolled halfway up his shins. He wore nothing on his torso, though his once-muscular frame had become almost skeletal, gray-blue skin hanging off of his bones, no muscle or fat between them. All that remained were the toned muscles in his upper arms and shoulders, and the rough, bleeding callouses on his hands and feet, evidence that the genasi had been climbing the mountains for days.

A black leather sash was thrown around his torso, really just a strip of rugged leather, tattered and torn. From the leather strap hung a twisted scabbard, home to the nightmare blade Horrstem. The monstrous weapon dangled from his shoulders the entire journey, sometimes weighing the swordsman down to the point that he considered casting the blade down the mountainside, but he couldn't. The genasi would never admit it, but there were times he felt he was almost as afraid of the weapon as he was impressed by its might.

The figure of Sebastian Rimeheart, often the figure of a hero, of a warrior, or of a devil, was a pathetic silhouette of the man it once was. Withered, sickly, dying, the man dragged himself up the slopes of the Dragonspine, searching for something.

The truth was, Sebastian had been wandering the mountains for nearly a week. He had brought no food. He had brought very little water. He had brought no armor, and only one weapon. Dangling from his belt was the only object that mattered to him now, a diamond-hard skull, forged of ice. The dark fetish was the focus of Sebastian's entire life now. Everything the frostborne warrior had done in life led up to this blackened, frozen skull.

The mouth of an enormous cave opened before the weary sorcerer, a gaping rift into the heart of the Dragonspine. The stench of death poured from the fissure, but it was not the smell of rot or decay. This was a smell undetectable to those untrained to smell it, the scent of necrotic energy, the raw arcana of necromancy spilling out of the cave. This was the destination. Sebastian had hiked for days, climbed for hours, to reach this cave.

The warrior heaved the blade from his shoulders, dropping it onto the ground and sighing, hunching over and allowing himself to rest. His breath rattled in and out in shallow, choppy volleys. His eyes, bloodshot, fell shut, his lead eyelids too heavy now to stay open any longer. His face contorted in something like agony, hot tears welled up in Sebastian's eyelids.

As he wept, he allowed himself to fall to his knees, sobbing as he bent over, his torn, blistered hands stinging against the stony earth. Hot tears fell to the ground between his hands, forming puddles as he heaved, his empty stomach tearing itself apart, spitting bile into the back of his throat.

This was it. This was really, truly it. His body was preparing to die. The necrotic energy within him was strangling the life out of him, making way for eternity. This was the final solution. This was the end, complete.
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swordhunter
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It was literally the oddest note the elf had ever received...and yet it proved a strong enough impetus to drive Aiden to the Dragonspine Mountains. In all his long years, Aiden had never seen the transformation of a person into a necromancer. It wasn't that the elf was actually looking to do so, but the transformation itself could produce information about how to better stop someone who had already made that dark choice. And this note, signed by a man named Sebastian, was the perfect opportunity.

Aiden honestly had no idea how Sebastian's note had been delivered so precisely to him in the middle of the mountains. Having just left the realm of the dwarves, the elf wasn't exactly the easiest person in Chaon to find...and yet this note--delivered by a bird, of all things--had found its way to him. And thus, the elf had spent the last few days trudging through the mountains, feeling his way along the craggy peaks using his own senses and looking for any aura that resembled that off death or evil. The aura itself wasn't that hard to pinpoint...though it was faint, as if the aura itself were gradually fading away.

"Can't be too late," the elf reminded himself, lending strength to his sore limbs as he climbed ever upward. By late afternoon, Aiden had reached what seemed to be his destination. His breath came in light heaves as he pulled himself over the edge of the outcropping and took stock of his surroundings. Before him stood a large cave, darkened inside, but emitting a foul stench of evil power which wafted through the air. Aiden had no idea what this place was, but he instantly felt that regardless, this place was something that had to be destroyed, if he could manage it.

In front of the cave sat a man--or what looked like a man--who seemed to be either vomiting or crying his eyes out on the ground. Either way, Aiden didn't feel like disturbing the man he assumed to be Sebastian. Taking the crumpled piece of parchment from the folds of his cloak, Aiden moved forward quietly, waiting to be noticed rather than making his presence known. This man wanted to die, after all. Might as well let it be on his own terms. . . .
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Sebastian
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A surge of adrenaline and nothing more--as there was no willpower left in the husk of Sebastian--brought the swordsman to his feet once more. His vision swimming, doubling, quadrupling, he stumbled barefoot into cave. The blisters on his fingers had reopened, spilling cold blood down his hands, but he felt nothing any longer. Abandoning Horrstem at the cave's mouth, he trudged in to meet his destiny, leaning his torso far ahead of his legs, staring at the ground.

Upon entering the black hole of the cave, the warrior coughed out several pathetic, rasping arcane syllables, causing a brilliant blue flame to erupt from the right hand that he held, trembling before him. He held the flame in his hand, using it to illuminate the cavern.

The flame wasn't nearly bright enough to light up the whole cave, the high ceiling was invisible from the ground, but Sebastian managed to get his bearings as he lifted the faded blue irises, no longer glowing with the frost element that lived within him. The cave walls were lined with paintings, horrific illustrations of catastrophic events. In each picture, a great black dragon was present. In some, the monstrous creature was devouring tiny stick-people. In others, the dragon was burning cities to the ground.

Enormous monuments decorated the cavern, carved from some enormous black stone. Each monstrous statue was a depiction of some unspeakable faceless devil, wielding vorpal arms, or brandishing their wicked claws.

Impressive as the artwork was, however, nothing compared to the black shrine that stood only yards before the necromancer, carved from the blackened skull of an enormous dragon. Long burnt-out candles lay atop the dusty-faded white cloth set over the dragon-snout that had been carved to resemble a church altar, and melted, yellowed wax pooled over the the cloth. In the center of the altar, a tiny dish full of filthy, stagnant water lay. This, as Sebastian had read, was where the skull belonged.

Someone left this shrine here, not necessarily for Sebastian, but for those brave, strong-willed, or foolish enough to forsake their own bodies for ultimate power. The frostborne sorcer sought this power for years. Only now, was it in his grasp. At once, he extinguished the blue flame from his hand.

His hands trembling, his heart lead in his chest, the genasi slowly lowered the artifact in his hands, the frozen skull, into the profane water that lay on the altar. Immediately, he felt a rush enter his body, a radiation of dark magic filling his body, granting him the strength to perform his next task: reaching into his belt, the necromancer slipped a slender knife, forged of solid ice, into his right hand, its frigid surface stinging the torn skin. Slowly, but with purpose, he brought the tip of the blade to his left wrist, blinking hot tears away as he slipped it under the skin, drawing a slit across it.

Fresh red blood oozed from the would as he drew the blade away from his skin, feeling the edges begin to prickle as they frosted over, numbing the pain. Bringing his arm over the bowl, the sorcerer allowed several drops of his own blood pour into the unholy water, and though invisible to Sebastian, the water turned jet black as the first drop touched its surface.

"H'valnit, sel'thiss maav'el pniin ltysis..." he began, speaking an incantation in the ancient tongue of the cursed monsters who had constructed the shrine. The frozen skull, sitting in the pool of black water, began to glow softly, a white light emanating from its surface, dimly illuminating the altar. Within the skull, like a crystal ball, a vision stirred: a vision of the spirits of those damned to undeath.

Like an immense gravity, the skull pulled at him, his very soul being drawn towards the skull, drawn from his body, drawn to the skull. His eyes, two dying embers, began to flicker. His wrist, while entirely numb to the sorcerer, had become encased in ice. His skin had become gray, and his heart no longer beat in his chest. His body was dying as the frozen skull absorbed his soul, defying mortality, transforming him.
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swordhunter
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Aiden watched the lone figure before him toss his sword into the brush surrounding the cave entrance, leaving behind what seemed to be his only weapon as he staggered in. As yet, the elf was still a bit uncertain as to what exactly he was supposed to do...or rather, why he was really here. Sure, he had gotten the message, and his curiosity had admittedly gotten the better of him. But why him? Was it random luck? Or something more? The craggy mountain peaks offered far more efficient ways of ending one's life. So why was the elf summoned?

Perhaps that question more than anything else moved the elf forward, albeit haltingly. He kept his hand on the hilt of the sword on his hip, knowing full well that the situtation could easily turn against him at any moment. Though it wasn't his tendency to move into caves he hadn't explored before--much less a cave with this much of an evil aura around it--the elf felt himself being drawn in by the spectacle which was to take place inside.

Aiden entered haltingly, his eyes quickly absorbing the weird sights which abounded within. Sebastian could be seen deeper within, barely seen in a soft blue light. "Thasti," Aiden muttered, blinking a bit as a small ball of fire formed in the elf's hand. Basically holding the fireball spell without firing it off, Aiden made himself a makeshift torch. Holding his arm aloft a bit, Aiden headed deeper into the cave, the artwork and ancient monuments lining the walls catching his attention.

However, as Sebastian stopped, Aiden caught sight of the black, dragon shaped shrine ahead. The elf kept himself from whistling, not wanting to draw attention to himself. Though even he could feel that this shrine was the reason Sebastian had come...and whatever powers it seemed to be connected with.

Aiden peered ahead, focusing his attention as a stream of words began to drift throughout the cave. "An incantation," Aiden said aloud, more to keep his mind focused than anything else. He was prepared for anything, half expecting Sebastian to hurl a spell at him from across the rocky chamber. At first, Aiden couldn't tell that anything was actually happening. But as the seconds dragged into a minute, a soft light began to radiate from the black shrine, slowly spreading out across the chamber.

Even from here, the elf could feel a dreadful chill which slowly spread across his body. He reflexively shuddered as the feeling swept across him...and he finally realized what was happening. Sebastian was slumped as the shrine seemed to be taking away his very essence. His transformation to necromancer was finally beginning.

"Well, I suppose that's all I need to know," the elf muttered, lowering his arm and pointing it at both Sebastian and the shrine. He gathered magic around himself, concentrating and pushing it all into the fireball in his right hand. The air began to shift as the heat within the cave rose rapidly as a result of the elf's spell. "Big shrine, cold feeling, dead guy," he said, "And boom, you have a necromancer. Got it. Time to go. Incendie!!"

Thinking a dead Sebastian rather than a "live" necromancer was better than nothing, Aiden let loose his powerful magical attack, watching as the flame surged towards its helpless target and the mysterious shrine. . . .


OOC: Sorry if the premise here is a bit faulty. I didn't quite know how you wanted to proceed, so I left my end rather open...
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Sebastian
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"Incendie!!" a voice boomed from behind the crumbling necromancer, and suddenly, a surge of heat washed over the cave, a that, even in his lifeless, unfeeling state, his senses recorded. There was an intruder, a threat to Sebastian's demise and revival. Something was interfering, and he was interfering with powerful fire magic.

The frostborne sorcerer whipped his body around, conjuring what fragments of skeletal strength he had left in his muscles, and his spine creaked and groaned in protest as it rotated, each individual vertibra cracking loudly as it shifted. His eyes were wild, yet lifeless and glossy. His face was twisted in horror and fury: horror for the very real threat of incineration, fury for the cursed interloper who had come to the right place at the wrong time.

How had he known to come here? Could it possibly be a coincidence? Had this man been sent to destroy him? Was he employed by a traitor? A member of the Shadow Society? Was he Emily's assassin? Those were the split-second thought-fragments that rattled the frame of the cracking necromancer's mind as the bath of flame washed over him.

There was no pain.

There are many things left to be desired in death, but an absense of pain, a natural anesthesia provided by a dying brain filled Sebastian with comforting warmth as the flesh was seared from his crumbling skeleton. The tears in his eyes were tears of rage, of exhaustion, and of terror, but not of agony, never of agony. After only seconds of this embrace, the embrace of obliteration, Sebastian Rimeheart no longer knew existence.

As the magical flame subsided, only a charred corpse was left where Sebastian had stood. Its flesh, blackened, smouldering, gave off a miserable stench. His eyes had been burned clean from their sockets, and the eyelids stood no chance against Aiden's inferno, leaving gaping holes in the body's face. His hair was mostly gone, and what remained was patchy and colorless. His clothes, namely the armors he had once cherished, the leathers which had saved his life in his confrontation with Seele, had been burned away, but the corpse left behind was too ravaged by flame not to be modest in respect to his anatomy. His flesh, his features, his extremities, were horribly disfigured, unrecognizable.

On the altar, however charred by Aiden's magic, the frozen skull still sat, ambivolent, unjudging. Its cold, dead eyes stared into the darkness, peering into the elf who had so abruptly ended Sebastian. As if spoken into the Aiden's own ears, a voice would be heard, a maddening whisper within the elf's own mind.

Come. Claim your prize; retrieve your bounty from the altar, young one.

Come nearer, nearer to me.
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swordhunter
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Aiden watched as his spell swept across his target, leaving only a smoldering pile of charred flesh and bone in its wake. The result, though satisfying in itself, was a bit anticlimactic, to say the least. There was nothing more--no fight, no shielding spell, hardly any resistance at all to the fate which the elf had consigned the now dead Sebastian. That in itself was disquieting, if not downright disturbing.

"Strange enough," Aiden muttered, keeping his eye on the smoldering mass for a few long moments before daring to move again. The entire situation--not just Sebastian's sudden death--was a bit strange. From whom had the note come in the first place? The gaunt man didn't seem to be expecting the elf at all, from the looks of things. Learning the process of becoming an undead was something Aiden had wanted to learn, but from what he saw, there wasn't anything particularly complicated about the way things had occurred. So what was the real purpose here? Why had he of all people been brought to so secluded and remote a place?

Come. Claim your prize; retrieve your bounty from the altar, young one.

Aiden frowned at the voice which suddenly invaded his mind. Aiden didn't move, knowing full well that, as the only thing left in the room, the alter had to be the thing communicating with him. "New trick, I suppose," he muttered softly, stepping forward gingerly, but wisely staying away from the alter itself. The frozen skull shone temptingly atop the bland, dark rock of the surrounding alter. The elf felt a pull towards the object, fighting an inner desire to...hold it? Steal it? Succumb to it? A series of competing emotions bombarded the elf, making any further decision far harder to make.

For the meantime, however, he would do nothing. "No thank you," he said aloud, pointedly talking to the alter--although he felt quite silly doing so. Nonetheless, he waited for a 'response'...with clear apprehension. . .
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