06-11-2009, 03:41 PM
I had several ideas in this post. Let me know if you want me to change any of them. If you want to keep it in the thread, I can reveal Obsidon's history in the next post.
The old black wolf said nothing for a long time after she spoke, only staring at the torrent of blood. He hadn't shed that much, he knew. Not that many had died, but he understood the symbolism. This ocean of blood, of evil, or violated innocence...it pressed in on him from all sides. He had spent his life seeking escapes from that pressure, like this one, mental avenues of evasion to flee a day when VoidFane's deeds, his own deeds, would devour him, and he would die, leaving VoidFane alive, a hollow shell protecting a vulnerable heart, long since dead.
"My physical death was exhausting. I was fifteen years old, and my heart began to labor. A few days later, I dragged myself up to the highest point in the human ruin, and died. The compulsion was to feel strong anxiety when I felt it coming on, but my relief at the final death of the monster very nearly overshadowed that anxious fear completely. I don't think that is usual, though." He offered a very thin, very hesitant smile. "I think most death comes in a sudden wash of fear, enough to override the pain. Most do not feel ready when it is forced on them. That fear persists until their body fails. This I have seen in many cases. Almost all of them were my fault." His features fell again, and he studied the bloody wash.
"You must understand my fear for you. The monster you came to face has killed hundreds in personal battle. Hundreds. That number increases a great deal if you include the mischief it has caused within societies. It successfully started at least two wars. It had my body, and my mind as well. Only my feelings, my scruples...it lacked only inhibition. My greatest sin, perhaps the greatest sin of any wolf, to the world." He wanted to cry, but the tears, most of the true upset, was long since spent.
"Before I suffered my final, true death, he murdered other spirits as a wraith, before trying to possess a new body and continue his legacy of terror. To answer your question...death of the spirit is final. You can feel your self dissolving from the world, the memories and grudges and passions that tie you to the world fraying, the core of your being weakening, dying in a way more profound than anything a mortal can experience. My second death came when my great great grandson and two allies fought my creation, and revealed to it that its existence was a farce." His words slowed down, and stopped then.
"Yes, I remember now. VoidFane had possessed the boy, he had forced the mortal lycanthrope to assume his old form, and prepared to murder my descendant. It was then that it realized its objectives conflicted...his role as an avenger of my slaughtered family insisted that he destroy all lycanthropes, but at the same time he fought to defend families like mine...families like the one I had destroyed when I lost control in my new body. When he...we, discovered that my family survived, and had in fact become lycanthropic after my departure, it was clear that our continued pursuit for vengeance would force us to complete the crime we had thought already committed..." his words were coming faster, more fervent. "My vengeance was slain in an instant, as soon as VoidFane considered the implications of killing my great-great-grandson. The monster I had given birth to ceased to be, and without his power, the allies of my descendant slew me. Because I could not reach heaven, and could not reach hell, my spirit was obliterated, and died entirely." And that was it. That was what had happened. He had forgotten, but his misery was over. It had been for some time. So what was he doing here, now? What was he doing existing?
"This isn't right." The old wolf's words were clipped, abrupt. "The essence of VoidFane and his creator, HawkWind, died that day, their existence stopped. There is no way that I can exist." A shudder shook the piled trash they stood on, and rippled the red sea below them. He turned and locked his pallid eyes with hers. "We are both trapped. I don't know enough to say where, but it might be a coalesced memory...someone else's, or the memories of many others, by the size and vividness of this place. One way or the other, you need to escape." He looked off to the side and furrowed his brow, as if thinking. "I don't know how this came to be...or what fate awaits me outside of this place. The knowledge is here, but that very knowledge insists that I should not possess it." He looked her up and down for a moment.
"You say you must face him. He is much larger than you, and much more experienced. You clearly have a great deal of skill, more than the monster, but I don't want to send you out after it with only that. Can you wield a weapon?" Quickly, he ran to the center of the mound, and began pawing at the garbage there. After a few moments, an incredibly long, beautifully crafted sword came into focus. Its steel was black, and its handle ornate but functional...an aesthetic marvel. It was broad at its base, and the blade itself stretched over six feet, clearly a weapon designed to be wielded only by the largest humans, or perhaps to be a perfect fit for a werewolf. Near the hilt, the metal was engraved with the name: Obsidon.
The old black wolf said nothing for a long time after she spoke, only staring at the torrent of blood. He hadn't shed that much, he knew. Not that many had died, but he understood the symbolism. This ocean of blood, of evil, or violated innocence...it pressed in on him from all sides. He had spent his life seeking escapes from that pressure, like this one, mental avenues of evasion to flee a day when VoidFane's deeds, his own deeds, would devour him, and he would die, leaving VoidFane alive, a hollow shell protecting a vulnerable heart, long since dead.
"My physical death was exhausting. I was fifteen years old, and my heart began to labor. A few days later, I dragged myself up to the highest point in the human ruin, and died. The compulsion was to feel strong anxiety when I felt it coming on, but my relief at the final death of the monster very nearly overshadowed that anxious fear completely. I don't think that is usual, though." He offered a very thin, very hesitant smile. "I think most death comes in a sudden wash of fear, enough to override the pain. Most do not feel ready when it is forced on them. That fear persists until their body fails. This I have seen in many cases. Almost all of them were my fault." His features fell again, and he studied the bloody wash.
"You must understand my fear for you. The monster you came to face has killed hundreds in personal battle. Hundreds. That number increases a great deal if you include the mischief it has caused within societies. It successfully started at least two wars. It had my body, and my mind as well. Only my feelings, my scruples...it lacked only inhibition. My greatest sin, perhaps the greatest sin of any wolf, to the world." He wanted to cry, but the tears, most of the true upset, was long since spent.
"Before I suffered my final, true death, he murdered other spirits as a wraith, before trying to possess a new body and continue his legacy of terror. To answer your question...death of the spirit is final. You can feel your self dissolving from the world, the memories and grudges and passions that tie you to the world fraying, the core of your being weakening, dying in a way more profound than anything a mortal can experience. My second death came when my great great grandson and two allies fought my creation, and revealed to it that its existence was a farce." His words slowed down, and stopped then.
"Yes, I remember now. VoidFane had possessed the boy, he had forced the mortal lycanthrope to assume his old form, and prepared to murder my descendant. It was then that it realized its objectives conflicted...his role as an avenger of my slaughtered family insisted that he destroy all lycanthropes, but at the same time he fought to defend families like mine...families like the one I had destroyed when I lost control in my new body. When he...we, discovered that my family survived, and had in fact become lycanthropic after my departure, it was clear that our continued pursuit for vengeance would force us to complete the crime we had thought already committed..." his words were coming faster, more fervent. "My vengeance was slain in an instant, as soon as VoidFane considered the implications of killing my great-great-grandson. The monster I had given birth to ceased to be, and without his power, the allies of my descendant slew me. Because I could not reach heaven, and could not reach hell, my spirit was obliterated, and died entirely." And that was it. That was what had happened. He had forgotten, but his misery was over. It had been for some time. So what was he doing here, now? What was he doing existing?
"This isn't right." The old wolf's words were clipped, abrupt. "The essence of VoidFane and his creator, HawkWind, died that day, their existence stopped. There is no way that I can exist." A shudder shook the piled trash they stood on, and rippled the red sea below them. He turned and locked his pallid eyes with hers. "We are both trapped. I don't know enough to say where, but it might be a coalesced memory...someone else's, or the memories of many others, by the size and vividness of this place. One way or the other, you need to escape." He looked off to the side and furrowed his brow, as if thinking. "I don't know how this came to be...or what fate awaits me outside of this place. The knowledge is here, but that very knowledge insists that I should not possess it." He looked her up and down for a moment.
"You say you must face him. He is much larger than you, and much more experienced. You clearly have a great deal of skill, more than the monster, but I don't want to send you out after it with only that. Can you wield a weapon?" Quickly, he ran to the center of the mound, and began pawing at the garbage there. After a few moments, an incredibly long, beautifully crafted sword came into focus. Its steel was black, and its handle ornate but functional...an aesthetic marvel. It was broad at its base, and the blade itself stretched over six feet, clearly a weapon designed to be wielded only by the largest humans, or perhaps to be a perfect fit for a werewolf. Near the hilt, the metal was engraved with the name: Obsidon.