RuneScape Forum Archive | Fall From Grace

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2020

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Her heart skipping a beat the second those two words came out into the atmosphere, two simple words which bore so much complexity. They prompted her to rise, bypassing even the sting of her wounded leg. Even through her usual calm, collected composition, Libitina was beyond furious. Her indignation possessed her, ripping her blade out of its leather scabbard.

Yet even despite the sound of the scarping of steel, even the sounds of hostility, Neeson was left undeterred, unfazed, unmoved. He sat there without resistance, still void of eye contact. "Go on, woman," Neeson then impelled, seemingly submitting himself to her.

"Have you a death wish?" Libitina then questioned. "You appear quite acceptant of your own demise, first to Raphael, now to me. Will you not even defend yourself?"

"My time will come, like everyone else," he replied coldly. "If you're to be my reaper, so be it."

It was quite apparent that Neeson had come to grips with death, having chosen to embrace the concept of dying. An understandable choice, given the life he led. Living out on the edge, casting aside the pleasantries of society, calling that forsaken hamlet home. To be entrenched in death everyday, perhaps that was the reason for his clear lack of concern over his own life.

Without regard or further hesitation, Libitina took a step forward, then another, feeling this deep desire to seek vengeance for her precursors. Yet a roadblock would cross her path, Daevarro having quickly sprung to his feet. He got in her way, even despite this strange yet unsurprising fury of his own emerging. Rage seeped in, these maniacal, violent thoughts pouring into his brain. But Daevarro did his best to hold himself together, even if for a very brief moment.

"...Wait a moment," he strongly urged with a voice stressed, attempting to disarm the violence. "This isn't the time for this!"
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23-Aug-2016 17:43:14

Jul

2020

Serene End

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The assassin's eyes then turned to Daevarro, ceasing her advance. "This man participated in the Neheztelian Genocide, Dimri ," Libitina then stated to her brother in black. "He is directly responsible for hundreds, if not thousands, of deaths."

"But we can't go around killing one another," Daevarro continued to plead. "If we lose even one, we're not going to get through this alive."

"We will be fine," she then answered back.

"...Are you sure of that?" he then proceeded to question, still in conflict with his own internal rage. "He abandoned his old life, abandoned Governanti, abandoned everything. He's not the same person that he was back then... Surely his choice to live out here proves that!"

"The blood still sullies his hands, I'm afraid," Libitina responded to the young man, shaking her head. "Forgive me, but as a follower of Lamiaquil'a, I cannot allow him to live."

"I've read that the Neheztelians were pacifists, they believed all life was sacred, even in their greatest enemies," Daevarro then began to tell her, attracting her eyes. "You say that you live on in their memory, that you and your brothers and sisters carry on their beliefs. Well, how can you claim to carry on their beliefs if you choose to act against them?"

Such a statement from the young man like striking a match and lighting a forest ablaze, Libitina's mind became troubled. She stared at Daevarro like she had seen a ghost, frozen stiff. She was an assassin, seeking retribution for the sake of her goddess. But would the Neheztelians, a non-violent race, truly desire the deaths of so many?

Quite a paradox she had found, a contradictory in her beliefs. Taught to believe in peace and non-violence, yet born and bred to murder. Perhaps this was the very same thought that her other brothers and sisters had when taking issue with the ways of the Desert Assassins, whom fly in the face of those principles.
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23-Aug-2016 17:44:42

Jul

2020

Serene End

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Daevarro quickly took note of the reaction he got, disheartened by the thought that he may have offended her. He became greatly worried, needing to put out this fire urgently. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that," said Daevarro in an apologetic tone.

The hooded assassin closed her eyes, ushering out a deep, remorseful sigh from her lungs. Her arm-bearing hand yielded, recoiling her sword back up into its leathery home. She then reopened her eyes, averting her crimson stare onto Daevarro. "...No, no, it's quite all right," kindly dismissed Libitina, smiling. "You speak the truth, Dimri ... About many things."

After finishing that business, Libitina directed her eyes upon Neeson, his hood concealing a good portion of his face from her vantage point. "I shall stay my blade from you," she then informed him, sitting back down. "But speak ill of paladrágessa again and I will not be so easily swayed by word."

Neeson was without motion or change upon Libitina's utterance, pleading silence to her obvious threats. His eyes examined the meat cooking in the flames, believing them now available for consumption. He pulled those small slabs out from the fire, handing one to she who had just threatened him.

Their eyes did cross paths, a rather tense staredown. Libitina noted Neeson's eyes were those of a man who had seen far too much death than any living creature should ever have to face. He lived with this burden like a boulder had been permanently strapped to his back, their souls eternally haunting him in the night.

With caution, Libitina accepted his gift, her fingers gripping it very carefully. Neeson then took another slab by the hand, the searing heat of the flames still very present. Yet the old man was unfazed, holding it out to Daevarro. The dark-robed young man took it from him, but found it far too hot to carry, so he hectically shuffled it between his hands like he were an amateur juggler on their first lesson.
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23-Aug-2016 17:45:54

Jul

2020

Serene End

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Once manageable, the young man put the meat up to his mouth, emitting air from his lungs to cool it down. He then sunk his teeth into it, finding it neither easy nor difficult to chew through. The frigid air grew occupied only by the fierce sound of chewing, no voice left to lay claim to it. Void of any and all words to speak, the atmosphere remained in this perpetual quiet, only their voices in a long sought-after sleep an ensured filling.

From the tense silence to the ferocious soundscape which roared like the battlecry of an army, those amongst this merged body of assassins and rebels huddled together. Surrounded by a furious flurry of snow and death, they formed a circle to protect one another. With haste, they were enclosed by large, frenzied beasts, yet now suddenly had things grown with calm.

Upon his knees, his daggers planted firmly inside of the skull of a vicious wolf, Kereske of the Desert Assassins examined his surroundings. He honed in, tuning his well-trained ears out into the atmosphere beyond the madly-dancing snow. He blocked out the hectic noise of his allies -- although they did mostly grant him silence -- and peered outside his circle, finding only the sounds of footsteps growing further and further away.

Confirming this with himself, the merchant-turned-assassin faced his comrades, pulling his dagger out from the wolf. "They're retreating," he stated to his allies.

These two words like a blast of warm air, melting away all that tension, their battle stances loosening. Hearing his fellow Lamian's voice usher into the whirling silence, Shakir turned to him. "You're certain of this, Kereske?" questioned the Lamian Shakir, still among the few in stance, wielding a sword more befitting to be called a dagger.

"Pretty sure he is," reaffirmed Shinon, backing the old merchant as he withdrew his sister's blade back into its scabbard. "It's been, what, a couple of minutes now? Wolves as aggressive as these ones don't just take their time."
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23-Aug-2016 17:46:59

Jul

2020

Serene End

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"At any rate, since we've been allotted this time, we mustn't waste it," advised then the old master Malik, putting away his weapon. "We'd best find shelter but remain cautious of potential ambushes."

"Agreed," Kereske responded, removing himself from the deep, devouring white.

Standing up and even-headed, Kereske could get a full scope of the environment... and the losses. The old merchant's light brown eyes find the lazy assassin being quite not so, but rather quite active. The losses the assassins endured was quite tragic, almost devastating, and Calvin tended to these fallen numbers.

With great respect and care, Calvin compassionately laid each and every single one in set rows of five. He stared deeply at the lifeless, breath-stolen visage of each person he laid, making certain to never forget them. And gently did his lungs usher in this gorgeous, harmonious tone, a voice you'd never believe would come from someone like him.

He began to softly sing to the dead as though they had the hearing of the living, a grievous song in Neheztelian tongue. He closed shut their eyes, readying his already bloodied dagger. "Cazu ma soom zo Oza..." Calvin's song began, ripping his blade straight down the center of the torso of a man he tended to. This was the same for all the others he had past, the few out of the many that he's gotten to. "Phois eef Léevont, phota felro Sömora... Áljin phois eef Oza, Ist ilta Palakéz ent tudr ostadeen... ent Ihe, Palatomin..."

These beautiful, heart-rending lyrics carried on and on without end, a sorrowful, repeating tone like a ocean of tears crashing upon the shore. He sung this song to each life that had been taken, giving each his undivided, absolute attention and care. Most of his living brothers and sisters joined in, offering a sweet, meaningful warmheartedness just nigh of his own.
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23-Aug-2016 17:47:47 - Last edited on 26-Aug-2016 15:59:36 by Serene End

Jul

2020

Serene End

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With others adjoined to this task of seeing these brothers and sisters in black off to the next life, the air became filled with the unfortunate, painful melody. But from a near distance, those not familiar with Neheztelian custom were left perplexed, baffled by this strange funeral rite. During this ceremony, Malik stared off into the distance, keeping an eye out for any signs of danger.

Yet another remained, Shinon watched with arms crossed and a bunched-up expression on his face. Cutting people open, singing songs to the dead? So full of confusion that question marks began appearing from his head, rapid and short-lived like bubbles in a boiling-hot cauldron. Standing abreast this bemused archer, Kereske swiftly noted his very apparent state.

"You look as though you've entered a foreign country, Palatomin, " Kereske commented, gazing upon his family at work.

" Pah-lah... what?" Shinon muttered, disturbed and irked. "It's "Shinon", don't address me by your stupid gibberish."

"Forgive me, I wasn't aware that you were so sensitive about it," the merchant-turned-assassin pleaded.

A moment or two would fly by, the funerals still carried on. Although, for some, it dragged on like time had a ball-and-chain tied to its ankle. "This is such a waste of time..." the archer then furiously growled to himself, shaking his head subtly in disapproval. "What the hell are they even doing?"

"They have become circles now," Kereske vaguely explained, seemingly only furthering Shinon's bewilderment. "The dead have reached the end of The Cycle and have achieved completeness. The living must cut them from their bodies, so that their now-complete souls may be free to circle around the world."
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23-Aug-2016 17:49:08

Jul

2020

Serene End

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The air now starved of words, Shinon just looked at Kereske like he truly were some kind of a madman, unable to understand how anyone could believe such nonsense. Kereske closed his eyes, a heavy, lamentable push of air forced out of his nostrils. "You're free to judge and carry your own opinion of us, as is your birthright," Kereske informed him, knowing well that the archer felt him insanely silly. "It's clear you've already developed one, thinking us crazed zealots. Perhaps you're right, perhaps we are crazed zealots. But that doesn't make us terrible people, and the more you think that, the worse this will be for the both of us."

"Hmph," Shinon just brushed off, steering his eyes away from those fanatics.

Having spoken on the behalf of the small remaining numbers of his brothers and sisters, Kereske returned to them. Through the thick pack of snow, crunching beneath his heel, he stood before them, joining them in the tending of their lost brothers and sisters. He knelt down aside the body of one of his fallen sisters, his warm hand caressing her cold, lifeless cheek.

" ...Ostadeen, Palazérquillazol, " he said to her in the midst of singing all around him, emotion getting the best of his voice. He took a long pause, his light brown eyes gazing deeply upon this woman's face. He smiled with mournful tears in his eyes, his voice then becoming another drop in this lake of song. Although his voice wasn't much to be desired, it was still a beautiful, haunting melody nevertheless.

Upon his knees did Calvin stand, finding the end of his song, his hands sullied with the red of his comrades. He appeared distracted from his duties, the blinding white the target of his pale blue eyes. As the snow whipped across him and the cold blasted his skin, his heart grew heavy, his sense of concern grew even heavier. The white unknown had consumed several people he had grown to care for, such uncertainty ate away at this assassin like a school of piranha.
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23-Aug-2016 17:50:42

Jul

2020

Serene End

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He realized, despite overwhelming angst, that he had to continue on with his duty, agreeing well with Malik's advisement. Seeking protection from this restless, unbearable frost was required, so Calvin did one thing he had grown far too accustomed to doing: closing up. He threw any thought or care he had into that bottle of his heart, returning to his duty.

Close yet far beyond this sorrowful group laid two others from their pack, both of which were among the several names on Calvin's mind. Raphael and his seemingly captured prisoner Telvern traveled through the torrential downpour of snow together, looking for a place to stay for the night. Traversing through this blinding white felt almost like going through an entirely different planet, both never having experienced such tragic conditions before.

The concept of time became virtually non-existent, the snow slowly became the only thing they knew. Their life, their world, their lord, their king, their tyrant, forcing them to work like slaves, this furious stinging of their legs the result of their labors. It was until then that they stumbled upon a potential salvation, a place of respite. A part of the base of the mountain which bent inward, surrounded by a handful of boulders, varying in size and shape.

Seeing this location, Telvern turned off to his left, treading through thick snow to get to it. Raphael followed behind him very closely, not daring to lose track of him in this blinding white. The genius's steely brown eyes examined it rather thoroughly, being absolutely certain that this was an efficient place to camp for the night.

Very little snow was getting through to here, in fact, grass and stone could be seen. A near perfect place to seek shelter, allowing the genius to quickly close his investigation. "This should suffice," Telvern concluded, settling down a gathering of branches he had collected along the way.
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23-Aug-2016 17:51:03

Jul

2020

Serene End

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He then began stacking some of the branches, meticulously piling them together. He raised his right hand, a spark suddenly ignited from his palm. A small, but precious ball of flames emerged then, offering something these two and those of their group will never take for granted again: warmth.

Telvern then put the flame to work, casting it into the very scrupulous pile of branches he had assembled. The wood and the flame danced and became as one, the most dangerous, yet most perfect marriage known to man. The refreshing smell of the open fire rushed into their nostrils, feeling all of that chill begin to slowly dissipate.

Yet Raphael appeared unsettled, standing there the entire time as Telvern stacked the wood, then bore and tended the fire. He stood there with a notably tense body language, his purple irises staring dead at the genius. Even as minutes passed since the fire's birth, Raphael refused to take a seat.

"You know, I've heard sleeping whilst standing is actually a challenge among some Alverrian savages to test fortitude," Telvern jokingly commented on Raphael's status. "Personally, I never could successfully comprehend such an evaluation. Just imagine the back pain in the morning! Sounds quite unpleasant, if I may say."

"Talk," Raphael then uttered a single word, bewildering Telvern.

"...Is that not what I'm doing currently?"

"It's time to take off the mask, Telvern," the silver-haired prince then angrily stated, his voice near demanding.

Those words made Telvern's skin flee like a frightened animal, enshrouding himself in a long, somber pause. He was pulled out from under his shield, exposed like a turtle without its shell. Telvern felt the need to coil up and hide, to break his jaw so he'd not have to speak. But just as a frightened animal, he ran into a dead end, a cornered beast. That dead end was himself, his own words.
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23-Aug-2016 17:56:36

Jul

2020

Serene End

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"If I can manage the courage to take off this twisted mask, I wish to tell you everything," Telvern could recall himself saying, asking Lamia to deliver this message to Raphael upon his awakening. His steely brown eyes became worn out, consumed by this vast sea of emotion. Angst was on the rise like storm surge, devouring everything in its path. No, Telvern didn't want to observe this destruction again, his heart simply couldn't take it.

"...Is this really the appropriate time for such a conversation?" Telvern asked wearily, trying desperately to get out of it.

Raphael shook his head. "This isn't a negotiation," he thoroughly, soundly rejected, giving no time to second thought.

Telvern cast his eyes into the fire upon this conversation's finality, upon the realization that he had no other sanctuary to turn to, no asylum to seek. His body language speaking every known word for 'tension' imaginable, his face grew heavy and cold as the snow upon the ground. A long pause overcame everything, but this only intensified Raphael's harsh gaze upon him.

Despite any and all attempts to tell himself otherwise, Telvern knew that this was the only way to earn Raphael's trust. Of course, Raphael's trust wasn't guaranteed, but Telvern had already acknowledged and accepted that. The genius braced himself for this upcoming conversation, a troubling, painful thing as it would be.

"Revenge," Telvern then suddenly uttered in a grim tone, his motive for all the betrayal, all the death. "I sought vengeance upon the Resistance entirety."

"For what?" Raphael questioned.
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23-Aug-2016 17:57:15

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