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| When the Sun Cries |
| (2012-12-07 - 2012-12-07) |
| No description. |
| Narrator | It begins in darkness. Quiet and still, the world seems to sleep, drawing in steady breaths. But all is not peaceful. A smell hangs in the air - the metallic tinge of blood that carries on the wind. It's rank enough to make a stomach turn. Then, there is a scream. The world appears before Skoll's eyes, as if he were waking from a dream. This is no dream, though. It is a nightmare. He stands in the middle of an open field of battle, with bodies strewn at his feet, stretching out as far as the eye can see. There is no memory of how he got here, but some of the corpses closest to him bear the marks of his own weapon upon them. There is blood on his hands, on his tongue. For a time, that is all there is. These nameless faces that have been mown down by his hands. A sea of death and destruction in an unfamiliar world. Then, a voice calls. It is the familiar voice of one of the Gaudium Lords - his masters. Where they had not been a minute before, now a pair of them stand, looking impassive - as if they were not in a field of bodies. They becon him over, and should he approach them, he would soon find that the scene around him shifts. The battlefield is gone - he now stands in a grand hall, with black marbled floors distinctly fearsome looking architecture. The two sit on thrones, the others left empty for the other Lords who have not attended the event. The switch from one to another - as much as it might startle someone - shifts seemlessly. There is the understanding that he had come in from the battle - come to report what had happened. |
| Skoll Ulfang | A nightmare indeed. He'd fallen asleep in the Shard Seekers HQ - having just entered and left Manhattan in a search for Zia. Things were bad there, very bad. He'd not seen her at the time, and he'd not thought of calling her in that short search. Instead, he'd spent his time fending off heartless and making lives a bit easier on the people. He knew what was going to follow... but he was expressly forbidden from speaking those words to anybody. A mental block if you may... Yet this nightmare. As he finds himself within that field of battle, dread settles deep within his chest and belly. Blood on his tongue, blood on his hands, blood on his chains. He moves a hand to wipe off his face, only to find it further red. His golden eyes tremble, looking around. This had been his deed, in this world... ordered by the Gaudium lords. Doing what they commanded him to do as always... only this time, it'd ended up bloody. So many. He'd gone all-out. He never went all out. Then, the voice. His masters call for him. He shifts his head and moves indeed, following them into the Gaudium Castle. There they are, Pist and Helba - the starfish like creep and the woman with full control of flowers. He stands there, before them... "Their resistance has been quelled, my Lords." He says, kneeling before them and laying a hand to his chest. A mental pressure against his mind. He doesn't want to kneel before them. He didn't want to kill those people! But here he is, kneeling like always... doing their bidding. The bidding of these people who saved his life. But was this worth it? |
| Narrator | There is a rumbling laugh, but it is hard to tell if it comes from one of these two Lords before him, or from something far darker who lurks over even them. Someone is pleased. Such a useful toy to have at their disposal. "Not quite." One of them murmurs, moving a hand towards the side of the chamber. From their, armored guards appear, leading a line of survivors. One by one, they are lead out before the two Lords, and every face that appears here is familiar. These are friends, allies, comrades, family. There is Hati as he would have remembered her, with green eyes and dark hair left to grow long and wild - young, just as she was the day she disappeared. His mother is there, her head bowed. Then, others join them. Avira, with her hands bound before her. Reize, with even his ahoge tied down. Zia, with her wings bound. One by one, everyone who matters to him is brought there before him and forced to their knees. Some fight, some struggle, some - like his mother - go quietly. None are allowed to meet his eyes, as the guards walk between the lines of prisoners. "These last few trouble makers need to be taken care of." All of them are injured, cut, bleeding, bruised. How many of these wounds were made by his own hands? Yet now, all of them are helpless before him, every tie that connects him to the world, to the light. "But we have a special gift for you. You only have to kill half of them. The others we'll send to the work camps." It's hard to tell which would be the worser of the two options. "Choose." And yet, this is a mockery of a choice. "Cut the bonds of those you wish to live, and slit the throats of those who must die." It's a sick sort of challenge, but even in the dream, their power compells. |
| Skoll Ulfang | 'Not Quite'? Those dangerous words hang in Skoll's head and repeat a few times, as if chanted by some kind of acapella group... weighing heavily on his shoulders. Dread. Such great dread hangs in his chest, letting him know what was coming before the dream brought it to him. Like a deja-vu feeling, the 'survivors' walk out in front of him. He recognizes them. Each and everyone one. Immediate defeat enters his heart. Hati, his sister, who is alive. His mother, whom he knows to be dead, yet... here she is alive. Hope being the thread that ties memories and the heart, he immediately accepts this reality as her being alive. But then, more. There's Avira with her hands bound -- a girl afraid of being alone and restrained. Reize, the captain of the Shard Seekers. Zia - her wings bound; he can only recall her words in that moment, the tale of the priest who had those wings staked over his altar to ward off demons. And there are more... "Trouble makers?" Skoll asks, wincing. They're hurt. Some of them carry the burnt imprint of chains upon them. He'd connected with these people... and endangered them. Now, they are here, /because of him/. Immense guilt too creeps into his heart, stabbing deep. "They're... not trouble makers. They don't resist you..." He whispers for nobody to hear. And then, to make matters worse, the gift. The gift of not having to kill them. To Choose this fake choice. Yet their power indeed compells. Orcha is probably somewhere in that room, laughing. Why can't he resist! He's not aware that his mind is controlled normally, but in this moment, as he sees himself take a step forwards to these people... he knows. He knows what has been done to him, that he can't trust himself anymore... because of them. His hands shake, he tries to scream at himself to stop. But he reaches out, his fingers finding his mother's neck first... he tries to resist, he tries to stop himself. Skoll's body trembles, he screams out in agony and tears... "Don't look at me..." He whispers. But he can't resist in that moment. Too weak... he can't do this on his own. |
| Narrator | Even as he begs them not to turn their eyes towards him, the dream does the opposite. Every head lifts, every set of familiar eyes turns towards him, but in that moment he can already see what they would look like if they were dead. The haunted, hollow that he's seen before in the eyes of those who stood in the way of his Lords. In that moment, the knowledge would be all too real - this is just another game. This is no choice, because all who stand in their way will die. The scene shifts abruptly, enough to knock the wind out of him. Yet, even as his eyes adjust, taking in new surroundings, he'd see blood strewn across the snow. He's at the edge of a forest now - a familiar one from near his home as a child. It looks out onto a ridge, where the sun is just starting to rise. The first hints of light cast him into shadow, stretching his form out like some monster over the bloody places on the ground where those prisoners had been a moment before. He might not remember, but there is that lingering feeling of dread. Then, there is a second shadow beside him. It is stretched longer than his, but the form is unmistakeable. There, against the rising sun, a wolf with golden fur stands. After so long of flickering in his dreams - always at the periphery, there it is. All it would take is stepping forward and he might just be able to reach it. To reach... her. A wind blows through the Golden Wolf's fur, blowing with it the feathers that dangle from her ears. It seems so real - like something he might be able to just reach out and touch. Yet, the moment he makes any move forward, something pulls him back. Great chains - not the sort that he wields in battle, but something only visible here, in this place - show on his wrists. They connect back to a waiting darkness. They hold him from reaching her. Yet the wolf sits there on her haunches, watching him, waiting. |
| Skoll Ulfang | When they turn their eyes towards him in those hollow ways, Skoll literally feels nauscious, yet his fingers squeeze down on that neck... and just before he might finish the act on his first victim - while perfectly under the realization of what this is - there is that stumble. He stumbles back, closing his eyes for a moment, then opening them again in the snow. He's on his world, and somehow it is in the 'now'. He doesn't even think of the fact that this world is no more. He looks over the ridge for a moment, before noting the shadow of his own... and the blood. It's like his shadow is the blood - like he is the monster that only brings just that to the world. Even his 'honorcode' could not stand up against this monster he carries with him. He can't stop the monster... it has him in its fiercest grip and strangles his will... snuffing it out like fingers would a candle-wick. Then, the second shadow. His heart skips, and hope enters his heart. A beautiful golden wolf! He draws a deep breath, blinking a few times. It is real. Golden. Beautiful. Waiting for him. He reaches out towards her, and just when he's about to touc her... the rattling of chains. Metal against metal as the links hold strong, stopping him from touching the Golden wolf. "No!" He shouts, pulling hard on the chains. His feet dig into the ground. "You can't take this from me too!" He calls out, pulling hard... but no matter how hard he pulls, his feet can't find the footing. Inevitably, he is pulled back, drawn back into the darkness no matter his struggle. He snarls, he cries out. "Please! Not this too!" And then... when he realizes that no matter how much he struggles, he can't reach it; he just howls. He howls the saddest howl he can manage... |
| Narrator | For a time, the wolf just sits there, her fur achingingly close to his fingertips, but the wind seems to blow so even at his furthest reach, it just escapes them. She sits there as he is drawn back, not quite pulled into the darkness, but away from her. They don't want him to reach her, to find her. Whomever she is, out there in the myriad of worlds, those who hold his chains are afraid that her pull might be stronger than theirs. Yet, that howl does reach her ears, and her head tips back, joining her song to his. It has that same, deep sadness - a kindred spirit calling out the same sorrow. Then, as her voice dies away, he might just feel the passing of her fur across his face. It seems like a ghost - something not quite real. Even here, she isn't able to reach him. Yet, there is that pressure of something warm against his chest - the shift of hair beneath his neck. When he opens his eyes, though, the Golden Wolf has not moved. Her head tilts, watching him with those sad eyes. There is a whimper in her throat, beconing him, calling to him. Yet, the sun is rising. Slowly, she gets to her feet, looking at the light that comes over the ridge. It frames her for a moment in a halo of gold and white, and then it becomes too bright to see. She's gone. She has become the sun again. She had been there, just close enough to touch, and he had not been able to break free. So, it is a sad feeling for him to wake with. The sun shining across his eyes just as the light in the dream had blinded him in that moment. Yet here, there is no glint of fur, and no howl to join with his. In this waking world, she is still out there, waiting for him to be strong enough to find her. |