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Willkommen, bienvenue, welcome... |
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... im Cabaret, au Cabaret, to Cabaret! heart >:3
Anyways, I haven't truly been on Gaia in a long while, and this year looks like it's going to be a doozy. I probably won't be online too often; Sophomore year has gotten off to a rough start. This week we're going to be auditioning for our school's production of the Caterbury Tales, and if I get a part, I shall have to be dealing with my once dislocated knee for the next month at the very least. Then, after that, we are going to have the Spring Musical, and things are only going to get all the more rough from there.
If anyone is reading this, I'm really sorry that I haven't been online very often.. I'm hoping to have next summer completely free, though I will probably be worrying about my next Summer Reading Project the entire time...
Well, while I'm here, I'm going to put something rather special in this Journal. I play a game called Dragonfable, and one of the DF Staff's interns, Eric Greydawn, held a contest. Whoever could devise the greatest backstory for their characters would win their characters a spot in one of the game's cutscenes. I placed my heart and soul into this story, and I shall be posting it here to ensure that it is not lost in the depths of Dragonfable's General Discussion Forum. This story is for the precious ray of sunlight that always believed in me; my most snuggly little hunny-bear.. I love you, Aurauris... *Makes a little heart with his hands* heart heart heart heart heart heart heart heart
Prologue: Uprising of Doom The piercing cry of disgruntled ravens echoed throughout the darkness of Doomwood's forest, the sound enough to evoke shivers from even the most seasoned of warriors. Excluding the unpleasant cry of Death, whose black, velvet cloak shrouded the starless sky, all was silent. Occasional clangs of metal, followed by quiet shushes from others, filled the air. The defenders of Moonridge had grown tense, remaining as vigilant and irritable as wounded wolves. A man murmured to his allies as they gazed warily past the withered, lifeless trees that littered their home like testaments to a long-forgotten disaster.
"Perhaps they will not come this night-"
"Silence, you fool! That Paladin- was Artix his name- may be crazy, but he always knows."
"But-"
The iron-clad warriors fell silent at the muted thud of leather boots. As is expected of people who lived all of their lives defending their homeland from waves of unholy abominations, each man in the militia whirled around. With a jolt of surprise, all of the present fighters fell down to one knee with a synchronized clang of steel upon earth, apologizing without words for the drawing of their swords upon a fellow man. But not just any man; a born leader.
Strikingly golden hair gleamed even in the scarce light of the Moon, illuminating the features of Moonridge's Captain. Though he was young in years, this man strolled across the crumbling grass with a charismatic and confident air. Determination and wisdom gleamed in his sapphire eyes, his silvery plates shining like a single beacon of hope even in the face of Doom's shadow. In benevolence, the man raised his hand.
"Please, my friends, you need not kneel before me. After all, I am no better than you."
Moonridge's warriors nodded as they rose to their feet in unison. Clearing his throat, one soldier inquired, "Captain, can the Paladin's rumors be trusted? I-"
"Yes. The horde of undead that has been detected in Doomwood is certainly growing. Sentries spotted them marching even as we speak."
Disconcerted murmurs filled the air, the men of the village clutching nervously at their swords. Another man spoke. "But where did they come from, Faerdin?"
"The undead don't just spontaneously erupt from the ground!"
"They're coming here? What of our children?"
The low rumble of uneasy mumbles grew exponentially in volume as panic began to spread through the ranks of Moonridge's fighters. Taking a deep breath, Faerdin closed his eyes. He dared not show it, but his own heart pounded quickly within the hollow of his chest. For the first time in the whole of his life, Faerdin was truly afraid. He feared what would happen if the waves of undead did not cease. He feared what could happen if the monsters broke past their defenses and reached their families. A violent torrent of memories rushed through him; the anguished faces of his mother and father, torn limb from limb by the horrible creatures that infested Doomwood Forest like a debilitating plague.
Aurauris.
The very name evoked a strange yet pleasurable warmth to flow throughout Faerdin. It coaxed away the thoughts that haunted his dreams, clearing his battle-weary mind with an indescribable tenderness. Unable to resist his urge to smile, Faerdin imagined the sweet scent that arose from his love's flowing, golden hair; he imagined the unfathomable beauty within her eyes, the radiance that washed away his worries and fears in times of misfortune. They had yet to bear children. They had yet to live.
My parents' fate shall not be our own. Nothing will take this from me. From us, Faerdin thought with renewed faith.
"Hear me well, sons and daughters of Celeritas!"
All evidence of hysteria vanished from the features of his fellow villagers, replaced with indecipherable masks that surely hid the fear clinging to them like cold sweat.
"We may not know where these hordes are coming from. We may not know if we shall have to fortify the city and wait for reinforcements from the good King Alteon. We do not even know if he will be able to spare the warriors necessary to repel an attack such as this. But I will tell you this. No matter the darkness that surrounds us, no matter how bleak the situation appears to be, these monstrosities will not claim our homes as their own! Not a single man here shall be claimed by this unholy blight upon humanity!"
Tension appeared to ease. Many warriors readjusted the grip upon their weapons, an unfamiliar emotion glimmering within their eyes. Faerdin waited before lowering his head, grasping the hilt of the pristine blade that still rested within its sheath. Slowly he drew his weapon, the hand-and-a-half sword beautifully catching the breathtaking rays of light that now illuminated the forest. Stars had broken through the veil of darkness upon their land. The clatter of bone and pained moans of the forsaken drifted toward them from the very edge of the clearing.
"Let them taste the steel of our swords."
An insatiable thirst for victory spread throughout the militia like wildfire as the warriors raised their weapons with furious howls. Allowing himself a small smile, Faerdin turned toward the darkened forest with the desire for peace and prosperity in his heart and mind, granting him strength beyond that of normal men. The venomous glow of green eyes illuminated the shadows amidst the decaying trees before them.
"Charge!"
The bloodthirsty bellows of the Moonridge militia shook the very soil they stood upon as their forces advanced, driven by the undeniable pride in their Captain's words of encouragement. With a sickening crunch, the front lines of Moonridge's fighters and the undead horde collided, the once tranquil night instantly erupting with the clamor and cries of war. Though the hardened warriors were outnumbered by their unnatural opponents, many of the skeletal soldiers were already beginning to fall.
Cackling with a savage delight as each foe fell before his feet, Faerdin began to dash ahead of his fellow soldiers, unsheathing smaller knives and hurling them with all of his strength to cripple the opposition. Preparing himself for another surge forward, Faerdin stifled a bestial cry to take a swift glance across the battlefield. Sweat stung his eyes as he took notice of a lone figure that stood far behind the monsters that marched toward them.
Crimson, bloodied armor clung to the intimidating man who loomed beyond the ranks of the undead scourge. Resting in his gauntlet-clad fist was a rather strange sword; darkness itself seemed to tremble beneath the unspeakable might of this knight's blade. Instantly, the Captain realized that the newcomer must have summoned the foul creatures that they now crossed swords with. Remaining still, the mysterious man barely seemed to notice that his minions were being slaughtered by the defenders of Moonridge. His expression was completely unreadable from beneath his heavy, scarlet helm.
Just another Necromancer, Faerdin thought. You can do this.
Beyond thankful for the sluggish reflexes of the monsters that they faced, Faerdin deftly bashed a skeleton with the pommel of his weapon before pushing his way past the swarm that threatened to engulf him. Despite the bloodlust that burned Faerdin's veins like primal fire, the Captain was unable to resist clutching tighter to his weapon. A sense of impending doom subtly began to worm its way throughout the whole of his body.
Something isn't right.
Faerdin raised his arm in preparation for a devastating blow; the stranger drew closer with each passing heartbeat.
Something is wrong.
He could almost make out the cold, mirthless smirk that lit the unfeeling eyes of the corrupted warrior's helm.
Turn back.
Doom Lord Sepulchure haughtily lifted his necrotic blade with all of the authority of the Fates themselves.
Turn back, now-!
There was a sharp pain from within the very depths of Faerdin's mind. A sickening flash of red clouded Faerdin's vision, tearing a broken yelp from the warrior's throat as he crumpled helplessly to the ground. Just as quickly as the injury had occurred, the knight felt consciousness slipping away from him, his disoriented thoughts cloaked by the cruel essence of night.
You are weak.
Faerdin whimpered like a frightened child as he ached so badly to hide away in the dark sanctuary of unconsciousness. Something truly evil and twisted wrapped around every fiber of his being like a depraved snake, constricting without reserve and aiming to erase him from existence.
You are nothing. Nothing to the darkness.
Crying out his anguish, the Captain writhed in sheer agony as the terrible presence tore through his mind with a reserved yet unparalleled fury. Faerdin clung desperately to his scattered thoughts and memories as the darkness of the Doom Knight seemed to obliterate who he was, what he had fought to become. This person, this thing was crushing him the way a dragon would a fly.
I am darkness itself-!
Faerdin gasped. The pressure upon his mind seemed to lift, the untamed might of Sepulchure's influence fading like thick, pungent smoke as something wonderous and beautiful began to flow through his tortured conscience. So relieved was Faerdin at the feel of light's soothing warmth that he hardly noticed as the ground momentarily slipped away from his fingers, lowering him down to some unfamiliar species of blessedly soft grass. An odd yet pleasantly delicious smell filled the air, not unlike that of hot tea.
Still trembling, Faerdin rose to his feet as the Sun's rays flowed through the emerald trees, painting his world a lovely and vibrant green. The silky strands of the broken warrior's hair, once a gorgeous yellow, had become blue like the perilous depths of the ocean's floor. His haunting, golden eyes weakly glanced about, thirsting for knowledge like a lame animal would for water. Faerdin's fragile mind was clouded by a sinister haze, all obscured by taunting and unceasing shadows. With a hint of panic, he struggled to produce a coherent thought.
My name is Faerdin.
Dragonflies whizzed blindly past the woeful crusader as he walked idly through the mysterious land alongside Destiny itself, who followed with intense interest. Vainly, Faerdin attempted to reach out for another thought, any other thought.
I am Faerdin.
The lost soul stumbled out onto a worn path that wove through the grassy forest floor like threads of auburn silk. Wearily shifting his gaze to his left, Faerdin spotted a rocky cliff, something aching in the back of his mind. Something was crumbling, deteriorating, breaking.
I'm Faerdin.
The man who was once Faerdin clung to his steel sword as he clumsily took a step forward. Then another. He smiled absentmindedly as though the hardship that he had faced was merely the dream of a long forgotten stranger. The ache within his mind began to grow stronger, forming fumbled words that did not seem to be his own.
I'm.. bored...
"It's the perfect day for adventure. Great things are coming my way.. I can feel it."
A titantic, winged terror let loose a savage roar that shook the very foundations of Faerdin's peace as Destiny allowed itself a satisfied smile. The Red Dragon landed before the befuddled warrior with a thunderous crash, the formerly pleasant, green world becoming an overpowering shade of red beneath the hungered, firey gaze of the beast.
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Update: Good news! Eric Greydawn, a Dragonfable Staff intern and the man in charge of the Backstory Contest, announced my story to be one of the winning five!
If you'd like to read more of Faerdin's story, you may do so here.
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