Sword of Sacrifice

Dathdr had woken up to Kellen walking in with tea. Accepting a cup, Dathdr set it aside, bowed in his usual manner, and said, "I am Dathdr True Arrow, of Fioldafralis, former commander of the Queens guard, best shot in the elven lands, and bearer of the ashes of my homeland. I was exiled from my homeland three years ago, on charges of not following corrupt orders, and have just recently entered your realm. For the past fortnights, I have traveled with Braavos, as we have fought the king, saved damsels, and angered donkeys. If you have any need for an archer, seek no farther then me."

With that, Dathdr sat down, adding whiskey to his tea, and drinking deeply.

"i am Zakarias Arcturus" Zak said taking his own offered cup

"And i am traveling with my friends here because, well it was a change of pace, oh and taking down the emperor is all good too."

==Zyllus==

Zyllus looked down at the purple gem in the middle of his chest plate and watched the ripples inside of it swirl about and it pleased him. Looking back up at Barthathos smiling like a young child he sheathed his blade and slowly walked around taking balsa from the fallen.

After he had collected as much as he could muster he looked back at the king still grinning.

"Elves you say," said Zyllus, "How many and where at? I was informed the Elven forest was burned down already."

- -Barthathos- -

Barthathos grinned back, taking an odd liking to his new cohort. "Yes, but the capital Elveskommre still stands, and I mean to rectify that problem." He said, matter of factly.

The king was silent for a minute, gauging the trustworthiness of the man before him. "Utterly untrustworthy." He thought to himself, pleased. "I'd like to give you a gift." Barthathos said, pushing his right blade out of it's scabbard with his right thumb. Gripping the pommel with his left hand, he pulled the blade free and spun around, slicing Zyllus across the face.

A purple light briefly illuminated the area around them, followed by a low buzzing noise. After both died down, Zyllus was revealed to have suffered no injuries. "I have transferred to you the gift of teleportation." He said, as if it were something he gave out like candy. "Use it as you will."

Snapping his fingers, Barthathos disappeared, reappearing just a few miles away from the elven capital. Amongst the smoldering remains of what was once a mighty forest, he waited patiently for Zyllus to figure out how to use his newfound ability.

Zyllus looked around alone and confused.

"Teleportation," he said fingering the gem on his chest plate and contemplating how to do so.

Barthathos had done it with ease but something such as teleportation seemed complex and impossible.

"Evleskommre!" he shouted leaping into the air but doing nothing. He looked down at the ground feeling foolish at his attempt then sighed.

He closed his eyes thinking about Evleskommre and detailed it into his mind. He thought of the trees rustling and he could hear it clear as day. Then he thought of the birds chirping and he could hear it also. Then he detailed his thoughts so fine that he could feel the wind in his face. Opening his eyes he looked around him to see he was no longer were he once was but was now in Evleskommre.

"Magnificent," he said looking around at the giant city.

As he admired what would soon turn into a heap of flames and rotting corpses he noticed Barthathos standing beside him.

"Shall we?" said Zyllus reaching up for his blade.

"You'll never find a shelter, a mountain to hide.....
Save your soul, you've gotta fight....
The evil and the dragon with your weapon..
save your soul or the darkstone will shine..
step by step, you'll find the way, save your soul..
or the darkstone will shine....", Marcus sang, twiddling the strings on his lute.

"...there's a wicked power deep inside...
save your soul, you've got the light...
The crystal is the answer to be stronger...
if we die, the darkstone will fight...
day by day, you'll find the way...
If you die...
then the darkstone will shine..."

Mild cheers came from the drunken crowd, and Marcus took a bow.

"That's it for the night, find your entertainment elsewhere.", Marcus announced to the crowd. He took his cup full of coins and bought a beer. He even had a few left over.

Marcus stood dizzily on a table for an encore for his amazing lute playing earlier. He was also missing his pants.

"Quickly! Everyone knows this one!", Marcus began:

"Just a small town girl.....
living in a lonely world.....
she took the midnight trail, going anywhere....
Just a city boy...
born in raised in South Det..der..Dem.."

Marcus got down off the table, but the bar continued on with the song. Marcus stumbled around until the barmaid helped him to his room he bought earlier.

Kellen's eyes grew wide, not expecting to hear such a tale from the worn-out elf before her. "Well I'm certainly glad the father of my children has such an experienced ally by his side." She said as she watched the the elf ruin her perfectly good tea with an unknown liquid that looked surprisingly like whiskey. Braavos grunted in agreement, halfway through downing his cup.

The rest of the night continued thus, with the whole room enjoying a great deal of merriment. The jovial atmosphere in the room would have seemed astoundingly peculiar to anyone ELSE who had just been in a grueling bloodbath...

At long last, everyone retired off to sleep. Kellen and the children, who had given up their beds, went to sleep in her room, while Dathdr and Nick took the kid's beds for the night. They had insisted upon the floor, but the children were more courteous than they at first seemed. Zak had already passed out on the couch by that time, so he was just left where he fell, and Braavos had made a small pile of pillows on the carpet for himself.

Hours passed.

"I'm such a cunt..." Braavos said to himself as he rose to his feet, certain that everyone was asleep. Gently turning the doorknob, he slowly crept outside into the cool, moist air of what would soon be the morning. Taking one last look back at everything in life that gave him comfort, he left. He was awarded a token amount of happiness in knowing that they would be safe, even if he wasn't.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" Came a voice from behind. Braavos spun around, suddenly. From a few yards behind him, he could just barely make out the form of Cecil in the moonlight. "Cecil..." Braavos said, his mind racing for something to say. "You're leaving us again, aren't you?" The boy demanded, his voice cracking with displeasure. "I... I'm sorry. It's better this way." Braavos said, all of his previous determination leaving him. "Better for who? You?" Cecil asked, his anger seeming to give way to sadness.

Braavos said nothing. Here he was, trying to reason with a four year old. "Some day..." Braavos started, "I'll come back for you. I'll come back for all of you. I swear."

This time, it was the boy's turn to say nothing. Abruptly, Braavos turned and left, not wanting his son to see his tears.

It would be several hours later before anyone noticed he had gone.

- - Barthathos - -

Barthathos was silent for a moment, deep in his own thoughts. He barely noticed as Zyllus appeared next to him, apparently having already mastered teleportation.

Painful memories ran through his head.

“So, what do we do now?” Zyllus asked, out of the blue. Barth merely shook his head, and looked at his companion. “You may do as you please, but there is something that I can no longer put off.” He said, resting a hand on Zyllus’ shoulder. “Comeuppance is due.” He whispered, a few seconds before his teleportation sent shockwaves along the ground.

And the night was still, save for the screaming of the elves.



- - Braavos - -

He knew not what to make of it. He had his mission. He knew he had to carry it out.

But…? How could he? Some things just weren’t possible… Despair filling his heart, Braavos stopped moving.

“COME GET ME, YOU BASTARD!!” He shouted, with everything his lungs could muster. And his request was answered. The telltale cracking sound followed by blue light alerted him to his foe’s presence.

“…Hello Cecil.” Braavos said, not turning to look his foe in the face. From behind him, Braavos knew Barthathos was smiling.

“Took you long enough…” came the sound of the evil king’s velvet voice, accompanied by the scraping sound of his swords clearing their scabbards.

And the fight was on.

Marcus, in an inebriated state, tried to shoot an apple off another drunk person's head. The bard had never used a bow in his life, but those soldiers made it look sooooo easy. The bar was closed, and they had nothing to do but stand outside and have fun.

"Hold still Killen!", Marcus shouted, readying the bow and arrow. The whole bow shook from Marcus straining, and an arrow was let loose. It missed Killen and the apple, and was lost.

"You missed!", Killen shouted. "How could you miss?"

"I'll show you a miss!", Marcus shouted drunkenly back. Raising his right fist he tried to punch Killen but wasn't very successful. Killen tried to defend himself against the failed attack, but couldn't even do that.

They both collapsed in the middle of the street. After awhile of exchanging harsh words, a guard found them.

"Drunken in public?", the guard asked smiling. "This is a serious fine. Come on you two, get up. Don't make me beat you!"

Marcus dizzily stood himself up. "You know what you can beat....yourself!", Marcus replied, thinking he had said something clever or something making relative sense.

The guard was drawing a club when an explosion knocked Marcus and the guard off their feet. The bar had been pierced by the arrow. A bottle was shattered, and it's contents were quite flammable. The bar owner, coming down for a match for his candle, didn't stand a chance when he dropped his lit candle.

Fire spread quickly from the bar to the house next door. The straw and brick alike were caught in the alcoholic blaze. Bantelford was burning to the ground.

Zyllus sighed. Something in his gut told him that he wouldn't see his King for a long time..

Alone

He shivered and looked back at the burning village then looked back down at the ground were the blood had been dripping down from his hair.

Completely.. Utterly.. Alone.
---
A boy standing in the woods smiling after killing a small doe came to his mind. The boy was smiling and laughing filled with pride of his first kill. He turned to look at an older man smiling and laughing... a man he knew so very well. Then tragedy struck the happy seen and the man disappeared and the boy was by himself standing next to the dead doe.. all alone.
---

Zyllus' eye twitched and he looked around. His body began to convulse and he shook violently clutching his fists and digging his nails into the palms of his skin until blood seeped down his hands. His grin widened and his pupils dilated.

Zyllus stood up screaming at nothing and teleported to the closest village he could think of..
---

The town was shocked at his sudden appearance in the middle of the town and he looked at a woman near him grinning widely.

"Hello...." he said gritting his teeth.

Zyllus pulled out his sword ready to kill everyone in site.. and after this town he would go to the next.. then the next.. and on down the line until nothing was left but him..

Completely... Alone.

Please excuse the poor quality. My motivation for this RP is already dead. I'm glad, at least, that the ending I had always planned for it will still get to see the light of day, at least.




____>>> FINAL BATTLE <<<_____>>>Cecil James Golvaga<<<____

Together we stand on the edge of infinity


___COMMENCE___

“So how did you find out my name?” Cecil asked, clashing swords with his father. He could have blown Braavos away at any moment, but he was going to take his dear sweet time. “You share the same eyes as my son.” Braavos replied darkly, as he swung around to deliver another strike. “Don’t sound so glum, pops. They’re your eyes too, after all. I don’t think I look a bit like mum.” Cecil rebuked, parrying the strike, and responding in kind with a stab. “That may be…” started Braavos as he dodged to the side, “In any case, I can’t pretend to have raised you to NOT be the murderous bastard you are.” Cecil adopted a false face of sadness and replied, “My, how your words wound me. But you are correct, you’ve been quite a lousy father. By my recollection, you only ever visited us once in my entire life.”

“Hmm, yes that brings me to my real question.” Braavos said, halting his assault. “How is it you are here, yet you are my age? You shouldn’t be so for another dozen years.” Cecil‘s face changed to one of spite upon hearing that. “Actually, not for another fourteen years. You could at least know how old I’m supposed to be.”

Braavos was silent.

Cecil sighed before continuing, “Time travel. Seriously, are you stupid or something?” Braavos only responded with a simple, “How?” At this, Cecil smiled. “Vicar!” He shouted, without warning. The ominous magician materialized out of nowhere to stand next to his king. Turning to his father, who looked even less certain of his victory, he asked, “Tell me, are you aware of the seventy nine poems of Osiferous?”

Braavos’ continued silence affirmed the negative.

“Osiferous was a great poet back in his day, nearly thirty two millenia ago.” Cecil began, carefully considering his next words, “His greatest work depicts… Well it’d be best for you to hear it yourself.”

Clearing his voice, Cecil began to recite…


“The beast of the heart is beckoning

Once in the land of Nobenos there existed a band of six
Bringing destruction, death, and chaos, along with their evil tricks
Unfortunate was the fate of whomever opposed

Six men of unimaginable power and might
Existed only to instill misery and fright
Unlikely it seemed that they would be deposed

But their day came as it was hoped that it would
They were destroyed one night on the ground that they stood
By a demon of insurmountable might

As the morning arrived and the people all neared
They discovered something much worse than they feared
The demon’s black soul was as night

Ninety years of despair much worse than the last
Followed the deaths of the tyrants that passed
And the demon of night disappeared

A joyous hymn soon rang out from the crowd
Celebration ensued from the uncertain shroud
As the beginning of happiness neared

But still to this day
Many souls will say

The beast of the heart still beckons.”


Cecil’s recital ended at last, and silence reigned once more. This only filled Braavos with more questions. Suddenly a wet slicing sound told Braavos that something of import was happening. He found his son still standing where he had been, however Vicar had fallen to the ground, a sword in his back. The slain magician as well as the blade in his spine both dissolved into nothingness. “He is of no further use to me, now that I’ve got you where I want you.” Cecil explained, now only brandishing a single blade. A bead of sweat ran down Braavos’ neck.

“Anyway, Osiferous wasn’t just some mummer, no his poem was of an actual event.” Cecil continued.

Braavos interjected, “But what does this have to do anything?!”

Cecil sighed, hating to be interrupted. He rose his sword up, so the handle-guard faced towards Braavos. “You’re looking at the Beast of the Heart.” He stated, in a voice that warned of death, but reveled in it at the same time.

Braavos opened his mouth to speak, but found no words.

Upon receiving no response, Cecil began to tell his tale :

“Fourteen years from now, there will exist a powerful magician named Vicar Esselscaft.” he said, ignoring the pile of goo on the ground that once composed the man he spoke of. “And he still exists in this time too, just… Younger, and less dead.”

Cecil laughed at his own little joke, even though it wasn’t really a joke at all, and continued :

“Anyway, Vicar specializes in two particularly difficult fields of magic ; Necromancy and Enchanting. Both of these skills, especially necromancy are extremely exclusive, only certain people with extremely rare genetic make-ups and mana links can even attempt to raise the dead. Anyway, by this time Osiferous’ little poem is pretty much forgotten, and the contents of it are dismissed as a mere fairy tales…”

“But not Vicar, no he decides to resurrect the being, this dreaded ‘Beast of the Heart,’ and he succeeds. Now, Vicar regularly enchants weapons for nobles and anyone else who can afford him. On this particular day, he receives an order to craft a sword of unparalleled might for the king, Valtre Freid. Ever the patriotic man, Vicar takes the job, and seals the Beast of the Heart within a newly forged Orihalcon blade, effectively crafting the finest weapon to ever exist.”

“Of course, Vicar immediately took it to the royal castle. However, the Beast proves to be too much for even the king. The instant he touches the blade, he erupts into flames and melts right in the middle of the throne room. Needless to say, this doesn’t go over well for Vicar, who barely manages to escape with his life.”

“Now this is where I come in!” Cecil said, somewhat loudly, pointing his index finger in the air. “By this time, I’ve recently celebrated my eighteenth birthday, and am walking along my usual path in the woods to collect water for mum. On the ground, I find an unconscious man holding a sword, with a nasty gash in his side. Now, keep in mind that this is before I become the ‘murderous bastard’ you say I am. Scooping the poor man up in my arms, I quickly run home and put him up in my bed. Here he stays for about a week until he starts feeling a bit better. “

Cecil stops for a second to cast an annoyed look at Braavos, who seemed rather impatient to get back to the fighting.

“Anyway… They guy hands me the sword he’d been clutching the hole time, and tells me it’s magic. Now, as you can plainly see, I’m not dead, so I guess the Beast must have approved of me.” Cecil said, laughing softly at the end. However, his laughing was cut off as a blade whizzed by his face.

“This is interesting and all…” Braavos muttered, preparing for another strike, “But I’d be much obliged if you’d just get to the goddamn point.

Cecil growled, and continued. “It’ll make your dreams come true. The man says, still in a mild case of delirium. He had been running quite a fever you see… Anyway, there’d always been something I’d wished, ever since I was a little boy. I doubted the insane man’s credibility, but I took the sword in my hand and thought of that which I desired most…”

His voice had begun to trail away at the end. “And?” Braavos asked, curious despite his better judgment.

“Sometime, during this year, here in the past… You die. I never even get to know you, despite how you had promised me you‘d return.” Cecil said, sounding sad for the first time.

If nothing else, Braavos was surprised. “The sword… “ Cecil said, getting back on track. “A bright light sort of illuminated the room. Out of the corner of my eye, I remember mom exploding into a thousand little bits… The sword of sacrifice took her soul as payment for my wish...”

If that particular recollection saddened Cecil, he didn’t show it.

“The next thing I knew, Vicar and I were outside Vahelon, fourteen years in the past. I remember something dark and sinister intermingling with my very being as we were hurled through time. Vicar was fully healed, but he resembled a monster, whereas I lost most if not all of my empathy. I even received a new name” Cecil said, with a proud smile. “But if one thing remained of my humanity, it was the thought of making sure that you survive long enough to see the future… My future...”

Hearing this angered Braavos, “The why did you try so hard to kill me? Why did you slay my brothers, as well as your countrymen? Why did you even take the throne to begin with?!”

“Because!!” retorted Cecil, growing angry. “I took the throne because I figured it would be easier to find you if I had a whole army at my disposal. I also deduced that if there were less people alive in the world, then there would be a much smaller chance of your murder. The reason that I killed those ‘brothers’ of yours should be blaringly simple. They stood in my way.” He took a step forward, growing even angrier, “And if I was really trying to kill you, do you really think that you’d be alive right now?”

Braavos was at a loss for words for quite awhile. “But… Why didn’t you just… I don’t know, capture me and throw me in the dungeon? Why didn’t you just put me somewhere so that I couldn’t be killed, or why didn’t you use that sword of yours to wish me longevity?

Cecil responded immediately, anticipating the question, “Keeping you in a safe location was my first choice of action. However, since you were already dead in the future, that means that my first choice of action had apparently failed. No, I was going to let you go about your business, keeping you safe from the shadows… Rarely have you been without my eyes on your back.”

A chill ran through Braavos’ spine.

“As for ‘wishing’ you longevity, I tried many times. But the sword cannot bring souls back from the dead, or add on to one’s lifespan. However, it grants me the power to seize my ambitions, as long as it is fed.” Cecil answered, coldly.

“Fed… Souls?” Braavos asked, not liking the sound of the sword his son wielded. Cecil’s awkward smile confirmed the positive.

“You’re no son of mine.” Braavos declared, raising his left blade towards what claimed to be his child. Cecil’s smile vanished instantly. “How could you take a thousand, nay a single life just to preserve a single one? Much less one such as mine...” Anger flashed across his son’s face as he opened his mouth to respond, but was cut short, “Do you really think that your actions are justified? What make yo---” this time Braavos was the one who was cut off “ENOUGH!!” Cecil shouted, lunging at his father in rage. Their swords rang together for a moment, but Braavos stumbled as he was pushed backwards, causing Cecil’s sword to slide into his father’s heart.

For the last time, silence reigned. It felt like eternity before Braavos even recognized what had happened to him. “This is the culmination of your… ambitions…” Braavos whispered, as blood slowly flowed from the corner of his mouth. Suddenly, realization struck Cecil like an arrow to the soul.

“It.. Was always my fault… That you …” He stammered, looking down at where his sword was still lodged inside Braavos. Heartbroken, he jerked his head upwards, hoping to see forgiveness in his fathers eyes.

It was too late. Braavos was already gone.

Neither he, nor the mad king Barthathos were ever heard from again. Three weeks later, Valtre Freid, along with the Rest of the Red Patriots secured the capital.

For fourteen years, Nobenos knew peace…

Peace…

- -finis- -

*applaudes?*

*Awkward bow*

- - Barthathos - -

And then I found that stupid Orc. I forgot what his name was, but I'd seen him traveling with Braavos and the others near Wessenridge.

So I killed him.

- -finis- -

You...heartless bastard...

)=<

Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday dear SoS, happy birthday to you!

You may continue being dead.

Tinie awoke with a start, and with a sharp pain in his eye.

"He's alive!", The Banana Lord shouted, dropping the stick he used to poke Tinie with over the last twenty eight hours. “Sorry wolves, you can’t eat him. The bet was thirty hours, and it’s been twenty eight.”

The alpha wolf straightened himself up on his hind legs. “You sir, are a liar and a cheat.”, he said. “Good day sir.”

With that, the pack of wolves filed out of the room, leaving Tinie and The Banana Lord in the kitchen.

“Why am I in a frying pan?”, Tinie asked, realizing that he was naked in a frying pan covered with a liquid that smelled strangely of jelly. A pie crust was laying nearby.

“You were two hours away from death. I’m surprised that you didn’t wake up sooner. You had to be washed a dozen times before I would allow you in the bathtub.”, The Banana Lord said. “I tell you, being eaten and expelled by something may be fun, but it is really messy.”

“I could have sworn there was a pig with dynamite…..”

“Horker? That pig is still alive?”, The Banana Lord asked. “I remember when he and I shared pens. Ah…being a pig. Rolling around in the mud, getting all dirty…..it makes me so….”

Tinie cringed as a weird smile formed across The Banana Lord’s face.

“How am I still alive?”, Tinie asked.

“Well, you were eaten….then digested and expelled….then the octopus was blown up, with you with it, and Kram found you being fought over by a couple of mermaids.”, The Banana Lord replied. “They were fighting over which one of them got your liver. They make great hats. Want me to go get mine?”

“Ugmph!”, Tinie gagged, while Braag waved his hand. Tinie became dry and clothed in a traditional wizards gown and a liver hat.

“So, what are your plans now that your people have been massacred and all your friends have died?”, Braag asked.

“All my friends are dead?”, Tinie whimpered.

“Yep. All dead. At least one of them wondered why you weren’t there. I think it was the orc. It might have been the half elf. Telepathy isn’t that reliable.”

“So what should I do now?”, Tinie asked after a long silence.

“Stay here, as a teacher. You fit the bill quite well, and I recently accidently maimed several of our teachers in a bizarre mothball accident. Completely not my fault.”

“I….accept.”, Tinie said, and from that day forward he was one of the top teachers on the Island of Sof for magical learning. Some of his students even turned out normal.