A
AzRek MNar
Guest
The Outcast Part One
As Told By Az'Rek M'Nar of Sonoma
Written by John O'Hara
I am what many would say is, by definition, an outcast. I am bereft of friends and family, roaming the wilderness of the godforsaken reality that many call Sonoma. Some still cling to the belief that we are on Sosaria, but I am one of the few that know the truth. The truth which states that, in the defeat of my beloved dark father Mondain, the universe was shattered into many separate pieces. Ones that are almost exact copies of the true universe, but differ in subtle or grandiose ways in a manner imperceptible by all that exist within and without it. Before I ramble on in my insanity, let me get to the tale of how I became outcast, as I now call myself.
I was barely 16 years of age and eager to learn about my surroundings. As any man my age, I should have been eying the fairer sex and helping my father hunt, but I had other 'preoccupations'. I was what many called a brooding young lad, never eager to cavort in the sun as many thought I should. My days were spent with the blinds drawn and my nights were spent under the moon in dark recesses of wooded areas or in long forgotten grave sites near my parents home in Moonglow. This had caused some concern amongst the local populace, but I had thought nothing of it. I had other, more pressing concerns to attend to. I had long sought archaic tomes of the mystic practices of those who had long passed from the memories of all Sosarians. I had heard tales where, in times forgotten, great men and woman of power had nearly sundered the heavens and brought about the destruction of the true world. I had believed, with an aching heart, the tales of those selfsame people creating mighty weapons and crafting great magics to do all they desired. These peoples had surely committed their arts to vellum and carefully ensconced such tomes in hidden places. But their memories had long been purged from the minds of the living, and I needed that knowledge.
There was an old man, whose skin was dry as parchment, and somewhat translucent, who came through or city regularly to purchase the components that allow our spellcaster to tap into the magical fabric of realm. He long talked about the secretes he had uncovered from those long past, but had never given the details of his methods. He always had fresh dirt under his nails, and was rarely seen, except at night. I decided to track this individual down and learn what he has learnt, and to bend such knowledge to my desires. It would not be easy, to be sure, but I had a great deal of motivation. I would think diligently on my tasks involved in finding him, and I had sworn that none would stand in my way, or I would strike them down without regard for who they were. I had to prepare for my journey in the secrecy afforded me by the lightless night of the new moons. I had carefully packed tinder, kindling, my bedroll, and a host of other amenities I thought would be of use. The only weapon I possessed was a sword having a shaped sickle blade - called a bone harvester for some unfathomable reason. It was said to have been pried from the hands of a foul man my father slew in honorable combat. It tingled when I held it in my hands, and I knew it would serve me well in my journeys ahead. I also packed a suit of leather armor that my father bought me for my 16th birthday, and a bone helmet said to have come from the same man my father slew. The bone helmet was definitely odd, for it glowed not in the dark, but when the moons were BOTH new in the sky. I had asked my father about this property several times, but he always seemed intimidated by such a question. I was often angered with him when he would interrupt my plans, and I had held my tongue because I feared him somewhat, and wished quietly for vengeance. My father is not a slight man by any stretch of the imagination. He towers over me at a commanding 6ft 7 inches, and I have seen him carry 420 stones as if it were nothing. His broad shoulders and defined musculature under his armor given to him by his guild liege allowed him the strength to fight for the light as a member of the Royal Guard. The ladies all fawned over him and his bright golden hair, carefully brushed out and braided in a ponytail. He commanded the respect and awe of his peers and the townsfolk and knew it. Such an arrogant man, hiding a cowards heart I thought. I despised him, but I could not do anything about it, as I knew I was weaker than he.
As I was saying, though, I had much to do. I still had to manage to secrete these items for my journey outside of his prying gaze. I chose the old, gnarled, yew tree just a brief walk from our home. It was long since hollowed out and filled with debris from the passing seasons and would make a perfect place to hide my belongings. I had made sure some of the debris was piled high enough on my pack to hide it from passers by and those a bit more nosy, also. I then went on about the business my father seemed to enjoy so much. I threw myself into the household chores with renewed vim and vigor and made sure to do my best at all my assigned tasks. My lovely mother and hated father made sure to notice such an effort on my part. My mother, the fair maid that she is, lavished compliments without number upon my for my efforts. Whereas my father had other words for me. He insisted that I simply wanted to curry his favor for some grand expense I was plotting. He implied, nay he stated, that I was simply a gold digging [censored] who only thought of himself. He never once appreciated any of the effort that I put into anything, and simply drove me to a rage many times where I would storm off. He would be calling after me, telling me not to forget my dress and handbag for the harvest festival. Laughing at me was another taunt thrown to me, as well.
I had finally decided that I had enough of his inane banter and turned to him. I yelled back to that miserable icon of hatred and idiocy that I had come to despise in my 16 years of life and finally did the unthinkable. I called him a brutish oaf who had neither the good sense, nor the good looks that the creator had deemed necessary to give to a ******** troll, that all his work for the Royal Guard was a sham and that he was also just currying favor. I said that the only reason my mother had consented to be his life mate and bride was that she had pitied him, and was only loving him as one would an injured animal. I saw, even from the distance that I was away from him, that his face and neck had turned crimson in rage. I was already near the old tree and had started to pull my belongings from it. I had barely any time to remove my pack, let alone to try and run with it, so I hatched quite the evil plot in my mind. I quickly grabbed the helmet and bone harvester from the pack and placed the weapon in my hand. It immediately made my hand and arm SING in Ecstasy and I relished it. I then threw on the bone helmet as fast as I could, for my father would be upon me in an instant! My father yelled to me, “You imbecile! Do not bear such arms against me, and for the love of the light remove that accursed helmet! That helmet was worn by the great necromancer Elias Shadow born and that weapon was his and his alone. He used those items in every act against the light that he hath committed in his lifetime! REMOVE THEM! PLEASE!”
I was overjoyed at my fathers apparent pain in seeing these items again, and I chose my words in an instant! “You pitiful, insignificant tool of the light!”, I spat. “I will never remove these items from my presence, as they are those that give me the power and courage to defy you!”, I cired. My father was truly incensed beyond all hope of reason. I saw him draw his silver sword, crafted by the great smith Tumeh Shazaa of Britain himself, and drop into a defensive crouch. Clearly this man wanted to harm me, but not to kill me. It was a mistake to draw his weapon against me, and I was going to be sure he learned that valuable lesson as I was certain it would be his last. My father suddenly lunged at me, and I instinctively parried his blow with the bone harvester of Elias. He almost seemed shocked at the fact that I did not even glance in his direction as I did so. Another swing came from the imbecile and I simply rolled out of the way as a cat long bored with play would. He repeated swings became more frenzied as the fight went on, and his attempts to injure my became more precise. Clearly I had angered him to the point that he no longer desired to simply wound me, but to destroy me utterly. He struck at me over and over, as if his very existence now seemed to depend upon it, and I continued to parry his blows as if he was naught but a freshly petitioned squire and I were an experienced blade master of the realms.
With each swing he took, each passing moment that our fight continued, each blow that I parried, I felt an odd joy. I felt as if I was finally going to get my revenge against him for all that he had done, I thought. Other thoughts whirled about my head as this went on, also. What would become of my standing with my mother, and my beautiful 9 yr old sister, Kashya? Would I be allowed to see them? Would they still care for me as a loving son and brother, respectively? I knew not, but it pained me to think that would not accept me, again. These thoughts of rejection from my family, besides my father, instilled a rage on me that I had never felt before and I could no longer contain my anger at this oaf who sought to control and defeat me. I rapidly, unthinkingly, and unerringly, changed my stance in relation to him. No longer would I simply be defensive against him! No longer would I allow him to control the lives and joys of all those around him. He was an affront to my very existence and I could no longer tolerate his existence within this mortal coil! I struck at him with a grim, almost fanatical, determination that inspires some degree of fear in me to this day. I now not how I had managed it, but the blow I struck bit into his neck like some maniacle savage beast grasping for its last meal. Sinew and bone were as butter would be to a hot knife under my guided hand. I pulled the bone harvester through him as if I was simply plucking a reed from the edge of a pond and sprayed a beautiful mosaic of blood and saliva on the side of the great tree in front of which we fought. My fathers head fell to the ground with an unceremonious thud and rolled. I saw it in achingly slow motion as it bounced as a child's toy down the small hill the tree was upon. It had arced gracefully at first, then lost its beautiful dynamics as I saw it stain the fine lace hosing on a small child's feet.
“DADDY!!!!!”
I could not believe that I had not notice Kashya at the foot of the hill! Her sweet smile and unerring grace had always warmed my heart as a smith warms his forge and I would never have spoken in such an ill tone even had I noticed her. She had apparently been screaming for some time as I stood there, for the rest of the townsfolk had come running. They had seen, even at their distance, the atrocities I had committed against my kith and kin. Holding a gleaming, blood soaked bone harvester and wearing a bone helmet of a necromancer would not help my position with them, either. I had to think quickly, and my hatred of my father in making me commit such an act, and the thoughts of my mother and sister having to live with such a painful memory left me only one choice. I do not know how I cam e to such a conclusion at the time, but I could not let my beloved sister live the rest of her life hating me. It tore me apart inside to know that one i held dear and believed to be pure had been sullied by my own actions! I quickly stepped to her, with tears in my eyes, and did the only thing that I thought was appropriate at the time. I quickly spun her around so her back was to me and in a deft combination of skill and desperation, cut her right up the spine, twisted my wrist, and removed her head in the same swing. I knew I would be forever damned for destroying her innocence and purity, and that she would never recover from such a gruesome sight as that of her fathers head, so I knew I could not inflict the suffering of life upon her any further.
I should have simply run from the crowd, but like a true imbecile I stood there and cried. I dropped to my knees, the harvester clattering to the ground in a fall that seemed to take an eternity. I could see each and every drop of blood splatter on the ground in what seemed like a slow motion replay of the way grease splatters and pops on a hot skillet. Every last drop of that beautiful life giving fluid seeming to land as if in a finely choreographed debacle for mine eyes alone. My own mother was the first to arrive at the base of the hill, and I could not raise my eyes to even look above the hem of her lovely silk gown that father had bought for her when he and my sister went to Brittains finest shop the day before her birthday several weeks before. She stood there, resplendent in her beauty, and in a tearful voice did the one thing I would never have expected of one who had just seen here husband and daughter brutally cut down before her. She, being a true believer in the virtues, stood by her beliefs. She did what many would place her o a pedestal for, and pleaded to the townspeople to spare the life of her only begotten son, Trevor Highsun. She pleaded that they not take my life, as I had taken the life of Kashya and Alexandre Highsun, for I was her only remaining child and also the last of her living family.
The rest of the townspeople were shocked beyond belief! How could one who had just lost all that she held dear at the hands of a foul would be necromancer, plead for his life?! How could she even deign to believe that one as fouled and despised would be spared? No matter. They believed her compassion for me to be genuine and simply told her what would be done. “Milady!”, Mathrew Lour said. “How can you even ask that we spare this foul beast in light of the atrocities he has committed against thy loves? For all we know, he may have already claimed the life of your beloved son, Trevor, also!” “You dullard!”, spat my mother. “That is my only begotten son beneath that mask and I will not have him lost to me, also!” In the same breath as saying that, she tore the mask from my skull, and showed the world my shame. “Trevor Highsun is a murderer!”, screamed Mathrew. “No he is not!”, countered my mother. “He has been pushed for years by my husband, his very father, as if he were some common farm animal! Were it not for my late husbands pitiful degree of compassion for his own son, this never would have happened!”
They townsfolk stood there in abject horror over what had happened, and in the fact that my mother still defended me. There were several animated discussions going on in the crowd at this time. A time I shall not soon forget. My mother came up to my, and had lain my head against her bosom, and told me that she forgave me. She said that she knew my father was incredibly harsh to me, and wondered when I would striking out at him. She simply wished that I had not chosen such a manner to do so. She then asked me why I had slain my sister and that she could not see what she had done to me. I told her that it was because of what I had done to her that I had slain her. I had slain the one man in all the world that she knew could protect her from all harm at this point in her life. I had taken the one icon of stability in her life, and destroyed it in my folly, and I could not let her live with her innocence wrenched from her before her very eyes. My mother looked at me tenderly and said that she understood and bore no ill will towards me and never would. With such a statement from her, I embraced her tightly and wept into her warm embrace.
Suddenly, I was grabbed from behind by Mathrew Lour and two other townsmen and quickly bound before I had a chance to even react to their presence. My mother screamed for them not to harm me, and that should would stand in my place for their judgment. “Foul trollop! How dare you lower yourself to his defense!? Very well! Have it as you wish!!”, said Matthew. With that last word, he drew his axe from his back, a blade and tool of such craftsmanship that many wondered where it had even come from. Perhaps the gods, some say. He quickly raised it over his head and I screamed “NO!!!!!!!!” as he brought it down upon my mothers skull and clove her in half as one would a log he was splitting. “There, necromancer, is the justice we mete out to those who would defend you!”, spat the incensed paladin. “Now, as for you, I have something better. You are to be placed upon a small boat, and be bound to its mast IMMEDIATELY. You will then be set adrift, to suffer your fate at sea. I hope that the carrion birds of our skies, and the demons hidden beneath the waves, feast upon thy bones for untold millenia, scum!”
The other townsfolk quickly dragged me to the docks, and the local harbor master willingly gave his best ship, the H.M.S. Redemption, to be my water bound prison. I was quickly bound to its mast, and the moorings were cut. As I was set adrift, I summoned all my rage in one last speech to the masses I have come to despise. “I am Trevor Highsun! I call out with my pain and misery to the dark fathers of the underworld. May they cast their hatred, in my name, upon the peoples of Moonglow. They have forsaken the compassion of my mother, and the sorrow of myself, in the name of justice and the light! I hereby renounce the light and virtues of the good, for they serve not what should and must be! I proclaim my heart to be dead, my mind to be diseased, and my soul to be cast into the darkness of those who must not be named! May the dark fathers embrace me, and show me the path that should be but was not in my ignorance! May the dark fathers gift me with a new purpose, and new vigor, and a new anger! May they strip the flesh from Moonglow and recast it in the beauty of the darkness! MAY YOU ALL SUFFER AS YOU WISH ME!” With those words, the skies darkened, the birds of the air went limp, and the seas start to churn. The trees along the shore started to weep a black ichor that poisoned the ground and made plants wither. The very air seemed to die and take on the stench of freshly dug graves, and the dead lamented their awakening. Lightning struck at the waters, and fish surfaced as rotting bones and naught else in the wake of my boat. The sky rent itself, and dark bolts of energy struck the fore and aft sections of my craft and seemed to not harm it, but infuse it with a new purpose. My ship rose in the air, and slowly glided off towards the horizon. When Moonglows shores were distant on the horizon, a whirlpool opened beneath the ship, and the ship started to sink towards it. I wept in fear, but I had accepted my fate. That whirlpool was now towering over the ship itself, and I welcomed the prospects of my existence ending. I welcomed the end of my life as Trevor Highsun, and I called out once again...
“Dark Fathers!”, I sang, “Please embrace me, as one would their only begotten offspring on the day of their birth, and remake me! Infuse mine body with the power to smite those who would oppose me! Grant me power of the great cycle of life and death! Show me all that I may need or want, so that I may truly be thy disciple and harbinger upon the lands the light holds dear! I renounce my mortality, my heart, and my soul! May I be as but thine tool, to strike as a hammer against the crystalline purity of the light! May I be the gift of the darkness to ALL OF SONOMA!”
With those words, I heard a cackling like that of a diseased mad mans musing in the dreams of the damned, and I saw the dark fathers themselves, towering before me. “Trevor Highsun”, they intoned, “You will be the gift of the darkness to all of Sonoma! You will be our instrument, as well as our favored, in the war against the light. May you enjoy your 'gifts'.” With those words, they raised their demonic appendages to the sky, and quickly brought them down level with my eyes. As if a thousand steel spikes penetrated my skull, their energy poured into my eyes, mouth, and ears. They then pointed down and I sank beneath the waves. Mayhap I would never be seen again...
TO BE CONTINUED
As Told By Az'Rek M'Nar of Sonoma
Written by John O'Hara
I am what many would say is, by definition, an outcast. I am bereft of friends and family, roaming the wilderness of the godforsaken reality that many call Sonoma. Some still cling to the belief that we are on Sosaria, but I am one of the few that know the truth. The truth which states that, in the defeat of my beloved dark father Mondain, the universe was shattered into many separate pieces. Ones that are almost exact copies of the true universe, but differ in subtle or grandiose ways in a manner imperceptible by all that exist within and without it. Before I ramble on in my insanity, let me get to the tale of how I became outcast, as I now call myself.
I was barely 16 years of age and eager to learn about my surroundings. As any man my age, I should have been eying the fairer sex and helping my father hunt, but I had other 'preoccupations'. I was what many called a brooding young lad, never eager to cavort in the sun as many thought I should. My days were spent with the blinds drawn and my nights were spent under the moon in dark recesses of wooded areas or in long forgotten grave sites near my parents home in Moonglow. This had caused some concern amongst the local populace, but I had thought nothing of it. I had other, more pressing concerns to attend to. I had long sought archaic tomes of the mystic practices of those who had long passed from the memories of all Sosarians. I had heard tales where, in times forgotten, great men and woman of power had nearly sundered the heavens and brought about the destruction of the true world. I had believed, with an aching heart, the tales of those selfsame people creating mighty weapons and crafting great magics to do all they desired. These peoples had surely committed their arts to vellum and carefully ensconced such tomes in hidden places. But their memories had long been purged from the minds of the living, and I needed that knowledge.
There was an old man, whose skin was dry as parchment, and somewhat translucent, who came through or city regularly to purchase the components that allow our spellcaster to tap into the magical fabric of realm. He long talked about the secretes he had uncovered from those long past, but had never given the details of his methods. He always had fresh dirt under his nails, and was rarely seen, except at night. I decided to track this individual down and learn what he has learnt, and to bend such knowledge to my desires. It would not be easy, to be sure, but I had a great deal of motivation. I would think diligently on my tasks involved in finding him, and I had sworn that none would stand in my way, or I would strike them down without regard for who they were. I had to prepare for my journey in the secrecy afforded me by the lightless night of the new moons. I had carefully packed tinder, kindling, my bedroll, and a host of other amenities I thought would be of use. The only weapon I possessed was a sword having a shaped sickle blade - called a bone harvester for some unfathomable reason. It was said to have been pried from the hands of a foul man my father slew in honorable combat. It tingled when I held it in my hands, and I knew it would serve me well in my journeys ahead. I also packed a suit of leather armor that my father bought me for my 16th birthday, and a bone helmet said to have come from the same man my father slew. The bone helmet was definitely odd, for it glowed not in the dark, but when the moons were BOTH new in the sky. I had asked my father about this property several times, but he always seemed intimidated by such a question. I was often angered with him when he would interrupt my plans, and I had held my tongue because I feared him somewhat, and wished quietly for vengeance. My father is not a slight man by any stretch of the imagination. He towers over me at a commanding 6ft 7 inches, and I have seen him carry 420 stones as if it were nothing. His broad shoulders and defined musculature under his armor given to him by his guild liege allowed him the strength to fight for the light as a member of the Royal Guard. The ladies all fawned over him and his bright golden hair, carefully brushed out and braided in a ponytail. He commanded the respect and awe of his peers and the townsfolk and knew it. Such an arrogant man, hiding a cowards heart I thought. I despised him, but I could not do anything about it, as I knew I was weaker than he.
As I was saying, though, I had much to do. I still had to manage to secrete these items for my journey outside of his prying gaze. I chose the old, gnarled, yew tree just a brief walk from our home. It was long since hollowed out and filled with debris from the passing seasons and would make a perfect place to hide my belongings. I had made sure some of the debris was piled high enough on my pack to hide it from passers by and those a bit more nosy, also. I then went on about the business my father seemed to enjoy so much. I threw myself into the household chores with renewed vim and vigor and made sure to do my best at all my assigned tasks. My lovely mother and hated father made sure to notice such an effort on my part. My mother, the fair maid that she is, lavished compliments without number upon my for my efforts. Whereas my father had other words for me. He insisted that I simply wanted to curry his favor for some grand expense I was plotting. He implied, nay he stated, that I was simply a gold digging [censored] who only thought of himself. He never once appreciated any of the effort that I put into anything, and simply drove me to a rage many times where I would storm off. He would be calling after me, telling me not to forget my dress and handbag for the harvest festival. Laughing at me was another taunt thrown to me, as well.
I had finally decided that I had enough of his inane banter and turned to him. I yelled back to that miserable icon of hatred and idiocy that I had come to despise in my 16 years of life and finally did the unthinkable. I called him a brutish oaf who had neither the good sense, nor the good looks that the creator had deemed necessary to give to a ******** troll, that all his work for the Royal Guard was a sham and that he was also just currying favor. I said that the only reason my mother had consented to be his life mate and bride was that she had pitied him, and was only loving him as one would an injured animal. I saw, even from the distance that I was away from him, that his face and neck had turned crimson in rage. I was already near the old tree and had started to pull my belongings from it. I had barely any time to remove my pack, let alone to try and run with it, so I hatched quite the evil plot in my mind. I quickly grabbed the helmet and bone harvester from the pack and placed the weapon in my hand. It immediately made my hand and arm SING in Ecstasy and I relished it. I then threw on the bone helmet as fast as I could, for my father would be upon me in an instant! My father yelled to me, “You imbecile! Do not bear such arms against me, and for the love of the light remove that accursed helmet! That helmet was worn by the great necromancer Elias Shadow born and that weapon was his and his alone. He used those items in every act against the light that he hath committed in his lifetime! REMOVE THEM! PLEASE!”
I was overjoyed at my fathers apparent pain in seeing these items again, and I chose my words in an instant! “You pitiful, insignificant tool of the light!”, I spat. “I will never remove these items from my presence, as they are those that give me the power and courage to defy you!”, I cired. My father was truly incensed beyond all hope of reason. I saw him draw his silver sword, crafted by the great smith Tumeh Shazaa of Britain himself, and drop into a defensive crouch. Clearly this man wanted to harm me, but not to kill me. It was a mistake to draw his weapon against me, and I was going to be sure he learned that valuable lesson as I was certain it would be his last. My father suddenly lunged at me, and I instinctively parried his blow with the bone harvester of Elias. He almost seemed shocked at the fact that I did not even glance in his direction as I did so. Another swing came from the imbecile and I simply rolled out of the way as a cat long bored with play would. He repeated swings became more frenzied as the fight went on, and his attempts to injure my became more precise. Clearly I had angered him to the point that he no longer desired to simply wound me, but to destroy me utterly. He struck at me over and over, as if his very existence now seemed to depend upon it, and I continued to parry his blows as if he was naught but a freshly petitioned squire and I were an experienced blade master of the realms.
With each swing he took, each passing moment that our fight continued, each blow that I parried, I felt an odd joy. I felt as if I was finally going to get my revenge against him for all that he had done, I thought. Other thoughts whirled about my head as this went on, also. What would become of my standing with my mother, and my beautiful 9 yr old sister, Kashya? Would I be allowed to see them? Would they still care for me as a loving son and brother, respectively? I knew not, but it pained me to think that would not accept me, again. These thoughts of rejection from my family, besides my father, instilled a rage on me that I had never felt before and I could no longer contain my anger at this oaf who sought to control and defeat me. I rapidly, unthinkingly, and unerringly, changed my stance in relation to him. No longer would I simply be defensive against him! No longer would I allow him to control the lives and joys of all those around him. He was an affront to my very existence and I could no longer tolerate his existence within this mortal coil! I struck at him with a grim, almost fanatical, determination that inspires some degree of fear in me to this day. I now not how I had managed it, but the blow I struck bit into his neck like some maniacle savage beast grasping for its last meal. Sinew and bone were as butter would be to a hot knife under my guided hand. I pulled the bone harvester through him as if I was simply plucking a reed from the edge of a pond and sprayed a beautiful mosaic of blood and saliva on the side of the great tree in front of which we fought. My fathers head fell to the ground with an unceremonious thud and rolled. I saw it in achingly slow motion as it bounced as a child's toy down the small hill the tree was upon. It had arced gracefully at first, then lost its beautiful dynamics as I saw it stain the fine lace hosing on a small child's feet.
“DADDY!!!!!”
I could not believe that I had not notice Kashya at the foot of the hill! Her sweet smile and unerring grace had always warmed my heart as a smith warms his forge and I would never have spoken in such an ill tone even had I noticed her. She had apparently been screaming for some time as I stood there, for the rest of the townsfolk had come running. They had seen, even at their distance, the atrocities I had committed against my kith and kin. Holding a gleaming, blood soaked bone harvester and wearing a bone helmet of a necromancer would not help my position with them, either. I had to think quickly, and my hatred of my father in making me commit such an act, and the thoughts of my mother and sister having to live with such a painful memory left me only one choice. I do not know how I cam e to such a conclusion at the time, but I could not let my beloved sister live the rest of her life hating me. It tore me apart inside to know that one i held dear and believed to be pure had been sullied by my own actions! I quickly stepped to her, with tears in my eyes, and did the only thing that I thought was appropriate at the time. I quickly spun her around so her back was to me and in a deft combination of skill and desperation, cut her right up the spine, twisted my wrist, and removed her head in the same swing. I knew I would be forever damned for destroying her innocence and purity, and that she would never recover from such a gruesome sight as that of her fathers head, so I knew I could not inflict the suffering of life upon her any further.
I should have simply run from the crowd, but like a true imbecile I stood there and cried. I dropped to my knees, the harvester clattering to the ground in a fall that seemed to take an eternity. I could see each and every drop of blood splatter on the ground in what seemed like a slow motion replay of the way grease splatters and pops on a hot skillet. Every last drop of that beautiful life giving fluid seeming to land as if in a finely choreographed debacle for mine eyes alone. My own mother was the first to arrive at the base of the hill, and I could not raise my eyes to even look above the hem of her lovely silk gown that father had bought for her when he and my sister went to Brittains finest shop the day before her birthday several weeks before. She stood there, resplendent in her beauty, and in a tearful voice did the one thing I would never have expected of one who had just seen here husband and daughter brutally cut down before her. She, being a true believer in the virtues, stood by her beliefs. She did what many would place her o a pedestal for, and pleaded to the townspeople to spare the life of her only begotten son, Trevor Highsun. She pleaded that they not take my life, as I had taken the life of Kashya and Alexandre Highsun, for I was her only remaining child and also the last of her living family.
The rest of the townspeople were shocked beyond belief! How could one who had just lost all that she held dear at the hands of a foul would be necromancer, plead for his life?! How could she even deign to believe that one as fouled and despised would be spared? No matter. They believed her compassion for me to be genuine and simply told her what would be done. “Milady!”, Mathrew Lour said. “How can you even ask that we spare this foul beast in light of the atrocities he has committed against thy loves? For all we know, he may have already claimed the life of your beloved son, Trevor, also!” “You dullard!”, spat my mother. “That is my only begotten son beneath that mask and I will not have him lost to me, also!” In the same breath as saying that, she tore the mask from my skull, and showed the world my shame. “Trevor Highsun is a murderer!”, screamed Mathrew. “No he is not!”, countered my mother. “He has been pushed for years by my husband, his very father, as if he were some common farm animal! Were it not for my late husbands pitiful degree of compassion for his own son, this never would have happened!”
They townsfolk stood there in abject horror over what had happened, and in the fact that my mother still defended me. There were several animated discussions going on in the crowd at this time. A time I shall not soon forget. My mother came up to my, and had lain my head against her bosom, and told me that she forgave me. She said that she knew my father was incredibly harsh to me, and wondered when I would striking out at him. She simply wished that I had not chosen such a manner to do so. She then asked me why I had slain my sister and that she could not see what she had done to me. I told her that it was because of what I had done to her that I had slain her. I had slain the one man in all the world that she knew could protect her from all harm at this point in her life. I had taken the one icon of stability in her life, and destroyed it in my folly, and I could not let her live with her innocence wrenched from her before her very eyes. My mother looked at me tenderly and said that she understood and bore no ill will towards me and never would. With such a statement from her, I embraced her tightly and wept into her warm embrace.
Suddenly, I was grabbed from behind by Mathrew Lour and two other townsmen and quickly bound before I had a chance to even react to their presence. My mother screamed for them not to harm me, and that should would stand in my place for their judgment. “Foul trollop! How dare you lower yourself to his defense!? Very well! Have it as you wish!!”, said Matthew. With that last word, he drew his axe from his back, a blade and tool of such craftsmanship that many wondered where it had even come from. Perhaps the gods, some say. He quickly raised it over his head and I screamed “NO!!!!!!!!” as he brought it down upon my mothers skull and clove her in half as one would a log he was splitting. “There, necromancer, is the justice we mete out to those who would defend you!”, spat the incensed paladin. “Now, as for you, I have something better. You are to be placed upon a small boat, and be bound to its mast IMMEDIATELY. You will then be set adrift, to suffer your fate at sea. I hope that the carrion birds of our skies, and the demons hidden beneath the waves, feast upon thy bones for untold millenia, scum!”
The other townsfolk quickly dragged me to the docks, and the local harbor master willingly gave his best ship, the H.M.S. Redemption, to be my water bound prison. I was quickly bound to its mast, and the moorings were cut. As I was set adrift, I summoned all my rage in one last speech to the masses I have come to despise. “I am Trevor Highsun! I call out with my pain and misery to the dark fathers of the underworld. May they cast their hatred, in my name, upon the peoples of Moonglow. They have forsaken the compassion of my mother, and the sorrow of myself, in the name of justice and the light! I hereby renounce the light and virtues of the good, for they serve not what should and must be! I proclaim my heart to be dead, my mind to be diseased, and my soul to be cast into the darkness of those who must not be named! May the dark fathers embrace me, and show me the path that should be but was not in my ignorance! May the dark fathers gift me with a new purpose, and new vigor, and a new anger! May they strip the flesh from Moonglow and recast it in the beauty of the darkness! MAY YOU ALL SUFFER AS YOU WISH ME!” With those words, the skies darkened, the birds of the air went limp, and the seas start to churn. The trees along the shore started to weep a black ichor that poisoned the ground and made plants wither. The very air seemed to die and take on the stench of freshly dug graves, and the dead lamented their awakening. Lightning struck at the waters, and fish surfaced as rotting bones and naught else in the wake of my boat. The sky rent itself, and dark bolts of energy struck the fore and aft sections of my craft and seemed to not harm it, but infuse it with a new purpose. My ship rose in the air, and slowly glided off towards the horizon. When Moonglows shores were distant on the horizon, a whirlpool opened beneath the ship, and the ship started to sink towards it. I wept in fear, but I had accepted my fate. That whirlpool was now towering over the ship itself, and I welcomed the prospects of my existence ending. I welcomed the end of my life as Trevor Highsun, and I called out once again...
“Dark Fathers!”, I sang, “Please embrace me, as one would their only begotten offspring on the day of their birth, and remake me! Infuse mine body with the power to smite those who would oppose me! Grant me power of the great cycle of life and death! Show me all that I may need or want, so that I may truly be thy disciple and harbinger upon the lands the light holds dear! I renounce my mortality, my heart, and my soul! May I be as but thine tool, to strike as a hammer against the crystalline purity of the light! May I be the gift of the darkness to ALL OF SONOMA!”
With those words, I heard a cackling like that of a diseased mad mans musing in the dreams of the damned, and I saw the dark fathers themselves, towering before me. “Trevor Highsun”, they intoned, “You will be the gift of the darkness to all of Sonoma! You will be our instrument, as well as our favored, in the war against the light. May you enjoy your 'gifts'.” With those words, they raised their demonic appendages to the sky, and quickly brought them down level with my eyes. As if a thousand steel spikes penetrated my skull, their energy poured into my eyes, mouth, and ears. They then pointed down and I sank beneath the waves. Mayhap I would never be seen again...
TO BE CONTINUED