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Ethalla, Viscera

The realms of the living and the dead

Each governed by the power of will

Belal, lord of fate, spear of the living

Aria, goddess of destiny, lance of the sprits

Their combined will is the fabric of all things

Their strength gathers into a force that resides within every living thing

A mysterious force of great power

It is known as the Essence

Part One: The Shadows of Destiny

Part One: The Shadows of Destiny

"He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you."-Frederich Nietzsche

Prelude

Prelude

                It began again as it always did.

            It came most nights now, like clockwork, a memory that would never cease, never stop. It would never die because he could not let it.

            The memory of that night, so long ago, he might've forgotten it by now or blocked it out were it not the turning point in his life, were it not the deciding factor for the man he'd been since. The man he'd become. This cold creature, living alone now, sleeps alone for the pain of the years and years of his endless life.

            He was at times barely aware of himself anymore, he often simply existed.

            Alone now, for his secrets and his sins, for himself. Always alone, for fear the pain from his unnatural existence could spread like a plague and infect those around him, consuming them in darkness as it nearly had done him.

            But this is not the story of his past no that is a story for perhaps another time.

            This is the story of his reawakening, the opening of his eyes to see the man from the past, the man whom he himself had once been; his true reflection.

            This is the story of a journey and like many before it, it begins with a memory.

            It begins with a dream.

Chapter I: Visitors at Dusk

Chapter I: Visitors at Dusk

          A sound awoke him in the night, he opened his eyes and sat up quickly, sweat glistening on his pale skin. There were tears on his cheeks. He wiped them away absently and threw the blankets off.

            Someone was in his home, he knew it, could sense it, an unwelcome guest. He listened for a moment to be certain there was no one in his chamber before reaching behind his headboard to retrieve the dagger, always within arm’s reach when he slept for just such occasions as these. It had been there for as long as he could remember though it had been quite some time since it had tasted blood.

            Just then a voice recurred to him from his dream. Channel your spirit. The voice was a familiar one. He took a moment trying to figure it out before he shook his head and cleared his mind. Now was not the time for riddles.

            Old habits die hard, his father used to tell him that long ago and instinct; that never died. It only strengthened with time or rested when it wasn't needed waiting for its moment to be of use again. Waiting; like a blade in the darkness.

            His cabin was off a ways from the town Canterburrow by no accident. He was just far enough from town that nobody bothered him and that's just the way he liked it. It was a quaint home with perhaps a few too many rooms for one man to fill, he rarely kept company but over the years he'd found one use or another for each room.

            He sprang to his feet dressed only in his under linen and crept toward his chamber door. He placed his hand on the knob when he reached it.

            The man who was once Alexander Cross proceeded in this manner because it was hammered into him over the course of years of training from the moment of his birth. Centuries since of being put to use time and time again have made these skills and senses sharper than any weapon he wielded. He goes by the name of Duske now, few live in the entire world who know his true name and even less who would use it.

            He wielded death like a sword and set it upon any he deemed deserving of it. Tonight, he somehow knew, he would have to deal it again. Not a feeling precisely but a sense. He closed his eyes as his hands tightened their grips, and then drew in a breath of air before simultaneously opening his eyes and the door as one.

            His feet moved across the cold wood never making a sound, he went first to the left, edging along the wall toward his study. His eyes moved into the room ahead of him scanning every shadow for the intruder who had awoken him. It was empty. He moved on to his home's second bedroom, a room that was occupied by naught but crates and various dust covered relics, valuable and useless alike, he'd collected over the years from one place or another.

            He scoured the room finding nothing and made for the stairs that would lead him to the main floor. Abruptly he heard a sound from behind and turned just in time to see someone leap at him from the shadows. The figure was in mid-air, arms outstretched, hands grasping when Duske thrust the dagger forward and up catching the intruder in the stomach and holding him impaled as such.

            The man reached his hands toward Duske's face clawing furiously before he withdrew the blade and hurled him to the floor. The man grunted at the impact and lay still. He was slender with pale white skin and long dark hair; he was dressed far too well to be a common criminal. Duske exhaled and willed his heart to slow its beating; he took a step toward the corpse then stopped when he noticed it stir. A vampyr.

            Well this is interesting he thought to himself as he sheathed his dagger. He placed his heel on the stranger's right hand, pressing down. He applied pressure until he heard bones crack. The being below him grunted in exertion. "Who are you?" he asked.

            "I am the messenger" Answered the vampyr. Then after a moment he elaborated. "Or...perhaps the bait depending on your point of view. My name is Joachim, my master sent me to find you." 

            "Your master?"

            "Sennaris Kisatka, master of the darkness, great sorcerer and the most powerful being in all of Ethalla." grunted Joachim.

            "Is that what he calls himself?" inquired Duske with a smile. "I have met many a powerful being in my lifetimes; many that still live to this day.”

            "He possesses great strength, the likes of which most can only dream: the power of darkness. In the east he forged the tower Ansolite using only his own dark magic and the strength of his will. There he has assembled a force so formidable that only a fool would think to challenge it."

            Duske's eyes widened at the stranger's words. For years now he had been hearing rumors of the growing evil, festering like a plague to the east. Horrible stories of vampyrs, da'wren, werewolves and all manner of terrible creatures attacking in large numbers. Organized like armies. Villages sacked, settlements destroyed, and the mounting deaths. Each successive trip to the small hamlet of Canterburrow has brought him another rumor, another story. Things had been going this way for quite some time while a mounting nameless evil had slowly spread like a plague across the lands. Duske wasn't proud of ignoring this fact but he also felt that he had no obligation to anyone for just such a reason. He was done fighting other people's battles. For some time now he had been finished with people in general. Nature was his only company and he had been content to ignore the struggles of the world. It appeared however that he could ignore them no longer.

            "Why did you come here?" he asked Joachim. "What does any of this have to do with me?"

            "I am one of Sennaris' most trusted assassins, the first of many you will meet." Joachim grinned wryly. "More will come, stronger each time until you are defeated or until you challenge him face to face. He's waiting for you."

             He pressed his heel down forcefully. "Why?"

            Joachim clenched his teeth and grunted hard, his face went an even paler shade of white. "His reasons he tells to no one, at least that I'm aware of. Men like Sennaris have no need to explain themselves to anyone. All he said to me was that I was to try and catch you off guard. That proved to be more difficult then I had originally thought."

            "For a warrior overconfidence can be the greatest opponent of all."

            "I'm not a warrior, I'm a killer" answered Joachim. "In any case I believe you have been chosen because there's something about you that my master fears. However I think there is something he admires about you as well. I've seen either emotion emitted from him so rarely that I was immediately compelled to see you for myself. I watched you for days while I planned my assault and I couldn't see at all what could make you so important. Yet it only took seconds in your company to see you as my master does."

            "And how is that?" asked Duske.

            Joachim replied with perfect candor: “As the only man capable of defeating him…”

            Duske had never been one to be arrogant, but he was realistic and he understood that there could be some truth to the stranger's words. In the end though, his skepticism won out. "Are you flattering me?"

            "You know the answer to that question already. What other reason would such a powerful man have to single you out?"

            "I do see some truth in your eyes.” Perhaps I saw it from the beginning, only I had deceived myself to see otherwise. “Where is this man? Where does he reside?”      

            "I've already told you: his tower, he awaits you at Ansolite." said Joachim.

            Duske was silent for a moment, contemplating the stranger's words. So long I've spent waiting for the day that someone would challenge this nameless darkness. This terrible force is nameless no longer; it has marked me for death as surely as Belal himself. The journey would be a dangerous one, one that could likely cost me my life. But what other choice do I have? Stay here? Waiting every hour for the next attempt on my life? I could flee but would I be able to live with the knowledge that this man fears me alone? And even if I could would I ever truly find peace? Surely he would never stop searching for me. No, there are no other paths. I must go. It has been so long...I only pray my skills are still as they were forty years ago. So be it, if it's death this man Sennaris wants I can be the one to bring it to him.

            "Well? What say you?" asked Joachim, interrupting his thoughts.

            He stared down intently at Joachim, fixing his dark brown eyes with the stranger's. "I have reached a decision; your master had best hope he hasn't underestimated me."

            The being on the floor grinned, showing pointed fangs. "He hasn't."

            "So be it. Now the question becomes: What do I do about you?"

            "Whatever you wish" answered Joachim "I don't expect any mercy"

            Duske removed his heel from the stranger's hand. "Yet I would feel ill were I to kill you, especially like this. You have given me valuable knowledge, much of which was voluntary and you pose no threat to me...at least not anymore. Would you haunt my trail if I were to let you live?"

            Joachim stood rubbing his hand as it healed itself under the flesh "I could tell you 'no' but why would you trust me?"

            "That would be my choice; I do see some honor in your eyes. I could accept your word I only require something to bind you to it. Would you swear on your allegiance to this Sennaris?"

             Joachim seemed to contemplate Duske's offer for a moment before speaking. "You have my word. I will swear. But in doing so, I have betrayed him. So now exile appears to be my only path, a bleak one but better then death."

            Duske noticed the wound he had inflicted had shrunk to half of its original size. "I see your wound is beginning to heal itself, you would do best to leave before I change my mind."

            "Oh believe me I intend to" Joachim retorted. "Allow me to leave some information for you as a parting gift. Another of his assassins comes this very night, her name is Elsa. She is called the Talon of the East and is widely known for her skill and speed. If my estimation is correct she will be here very soon."

            "I see. I will not take your warning for granted."

            Joachim grinned, bearing his fangs once more. "You'd best not, she can be quite fierce."

            Duske smiled back. "So can I."

            The vampyr touched the bloody stain on his tunic then licked his fingers. "So I see. Perhaps our paths will cross again in the future."

            "What is meant to be shall come to pass."

            Joachim nodded. "You speak true." Then added "Alexander"

            Duske's eyes widened with shock. “What did you call me?"

            "Sennaris told me that was your true name. He knows much, you would also do best to not underestimate him."

            "I won't make that mistake."

            "Well in all the ways I'd thought this night might play out since I first began to watch you I never imagined that this would be the turn of things." Joachim stalked toward the window at the end of the hallway, opening it as he reached it. "It is good to know life can still hold surprises after all these years. Farewell, hunter of the night." Then he was gone.

            Surprises indeed. Thought Duske.

            Joachim had spoken true. As Duske stood in the dew-covered grass, concealed amongst the trees that surrounded his home he saw a lone figure begin to emerge from the gray fog. Good evening Elsa.

            Now dressed and properly armed, he readied himself for the right moment to strike. He was garbed all in black. His boots were leather with hard rubber bottoms. He wore thin cotton breeches that were slim and loose enough not to hinder his movement in any way, but made from a material which withheld body heat. His dagger was hidden beneath them on a sheath attached to his right boot. They were held up by a strong leather belt with the sigil of the order he once served, a sword silhouetted by a rising sun, as a buckle. He wore a thin chain male made of a rare ore called sterling, the same material his belt buckle was made from, over his well toned upper body, this was overlapped with a thin tunic made the same way as his breeches. On his hands he wore skin tight leather gloves that ended at the halfway point on each finger. On his back was a sheath that held his trusted broadsword Penance, it had seen nearly as many battles as he himself and had never failed him yet. Something between a cape and a cloak completed the outfit. It was tailored so it's hood and sleeves would fold behind him for freedom of movement when unneeded. His pack for the journey ahead sat leaning against a nearby oak.  

            The creature called Elsa moved steadily closer, cutting through the mist as she padded lightly over the damp grass.  She had short blonde hair and was outfitted with long metal claws that seemed to be attached to her hands; the nasty weapon matched the steel in her eyes, she knew what she was here to do. She was slender of build with long graceful legs. I might've found her attractive were she not here with the sole intent of killing me he thought with a small, cynical smile.

            He wrapped his hand around the hilt of his sword and waited until she was three steps closer before he made his move. He jumped, and then kicked off of the elm behind him with his left foot, launching himself toward her. She registered him just in time to raise one of her claws, the force of the attack knocked her a sprawl but she quickly recovered with a backward somersault and stood to face him.

            She spoke suddenly. "You were awaiting my arrival, who told you of my coming?"

            Duske smiled. "A raven flew into my home and whispered into my ear."

            She wasn't amused. "Keep your secrets then; I can guess who warned you. I knew that coward Joachim didn't have what it took"

            "Then why did you ask?"

            "Enough of this small talk. I am Elsa, Talon of the East and my lord Sennaris has marked you for death."

            “Then make your move.” He met her cold stare with his own then added. "If you can"

            A snarl escaped her throat as she dashed toward him swiping with both claws. He blocked one furious barrage of strikes after another as he searched for an opening in her offense that would allow him the opportunity to dispatch her. Each time he was about to thrust he had to stop and block another of her swipes. It was useless he realized, she was simply too quick. Her claws were the perfect weapon for someone with her speed; she could swing them as quickly as she could maneuver her arms. She can keep this up all night; as long as she's standing she'll just keep swinging. That's when he was struck by an inspiration: If I'm to land a blow I'll have to throw her off balance.

            In the seconds following Duske quickly planned out his maneuvers before putting them into play. He waited for just the quick break between her swipes he needed before leaping a few feet back. As her next swipe struck dead air he seized his moment and slid under her kicking her legs out. Her gasp of surprise pierced the night for only a split second before she landed on him and his blade slid through her windpipe, exiting out the back of her neck.

            Her jaw opened and closed soundlessly as blood streamed down his blade in torrents. He stood; lifting her with him then withdrew Penance and brought it around in wide arc, separating her head from her body.

            It landed a few feet away as the rest of her crumpled before him, blood pooling from the fresh wound where her head had been. There was only the silver moon in the night sky to bear witness as he stepped forward, shutting his eyes. He then raised his left hand, palm forward; to show the mark as he was first trained to do over five centuries ago. Small bluish flecks of light rose from her, shimmering in the night as they collected before him.

            "Arcanus!" he commanded. His body strained with exertion as the particles streamed into his palm, flowing into his body to join with his life force. He exhaled, breathing heavily, as his essence altered inside of him, reforming itself around the power he'd drawn from her. She was strong. Duske thought to himself as he sheathed his sword. He turned and closed the distance to that same old elm where he'd stashed his pack before picking it up. Drawing his arms through the loops he felt its weight against his back with a sigh. I've carried heavier he reminded himself.

            He gave his home one last look before proceeding down through the woods towards town. Once there he'd wait for morning to obtain the supplies he needed before beginning his long journey.

            It was a short hike but he was forced to a stop as his eyes wandered to The Lonely Peak. Not in any way its official name, if it even had one, but what he'd taken to calling it regardless over the years he'd spent here. It was a small hill that rose out of the forest, above the trees, ending in a cliff that overlooked the surrounding area. It was a place he came often. It occurred to him that there were once others like it around the forest he resided in but now only it remained. The last of its kind just as he himself was. Whether to read, write, and watch the stars or simply to think, this was a special place to him. It was with a heavy heart that he prepared himself to say goodbye to it. His feet carried him off his path and before he realized it he was standing at her peak as he'd done a thousand times before. He sat then, his eyes wandering to the stars shining down on him from their unchanging posts in the blue infinity above.

            Soon night faded away and the first remnants of light pitched their way across the sky. As the sun rose in front of him he stood to go. He bent to pick up his pack, refastened it, and then turned to proceed down The Lonely Peak, leaving his life, as he knew it, behind.

Chapter II: An Unmarked Path

Chapter II: An Unmarked Path

           

Over the course of the following day a shadowy silhouette, garbed all in black, moved out of the Genera Forest and over the bleak plains. Strong winds hit him vainly in their ceaseless attempts to discourage his will. They seemed especially strong due to the plains having scarcely a tree or shrub for miles on end. It had been a long day; he would be very relieved when he reached the next woodland ahead where he could set up his camp for the night

            He had begun his journey after obtaining some last minute items from Gleason, the proprietor of a shop in the town of Canterburrow, which sold a vast amount of goods in a variety of forms. A map he already had but there were many other things he needed. Gleason was a quiet old fellow who walked with a limp and had a large scar on the side of his head. The man, like Duske, kept mostly to himself. Oddly enough that made him one of the only people Duske ever really conversed with and the only person he'd felt compelled to bid a farewell to. He'd purchased some snare, hunting and cooking equipment, rope, a few useful tools and lastly a side pack which would attach to his belt for keeping necessary items at an easy reach. After he had everything he needed he shook hands with the fellow and took his leave.

            Having entered the Palladian Woods, he had decided he'd made enough distance for one day. He lay on the grass now under the stars preparing to sleep. He had encountered an unusually low amount of animals on his way through the forest, this troubled him since the only thing he could attribute it to was unnatural predators prowling the woods, more than likely devouring their hapless prey with gluttonous ferocity. He had seen more than one creature's shredded remains while forging his path, torn to pieces in a way no natural creature would even attempt. He had no companions so he knew he would have to sleep lightly to avoid being attacked while he rested defenselessly.

            His hearing was acute. This wasn't his first time in such a position, nor, he thought, would it likely be his last. His eyes glazed over with fresh moisture as he yawned, he'd made good distance today. If I can hold this pace perhaps the journey shouldn't take more than a few months. He mused silently. If...

            On that thought he slipped into a relaxed slumber, dreaming of the past as he often did.

            "Alex!" a voice cried from down the hallway, it was filled with pain. He tore Penance out of the vampyr's skull then turned and drove it through the creature's chest before breaking for the door that would lead him to the hallway which the cry had come from.

            The door's hinges heaved as he kicked it open; knocking a da'wren sprawling onto it's back. The creature was about the height of an average man but with a hunched back and freakishly long arms. At the end of them were grotesque hands, with long slender fingers and sharp claws. Its skin was black in color but there were dark shades of green, blue or red that sometimes overlaid it in spots or stripes depending on the breed. None but the vampyrs or various other fiends of the darkness knew entirely what the colors meant but the da'wrens acted differently depending on which of the three marked them and how.  Its eyes were the yellow of vomit; they held no pupils just an empty pit where the only emotions were hatred, fear and rage.

            It recovered quickly, springing up on its well toned legs. As it bounded fiercely toward him he shuffled out the doorway quickly, concealing himself right beside it. There he counted six of the creatures padding steps before thrusting his sword out and catching it in the throat. He tore up quickly, separating it's skull on an awkward angle. Da'wrens bled very slowly, just because you had one in a kill thrust that did not mean it was out of commission yet. It was best to finish them quick.

            He wiped its fowl blood from his sword before stepping over the creature's corpse to reenter the hallway, treading quickly but carefully through it. As he rounded the bend at its opposite side he increased his speed to bash the door in front of him open with his shoulder before he entered a small room connecting this hallway to another.

            Here he found the source of the cry he'd heard: it was his one of his most skilled colleagues: Garet Felerae. He was also one of the most arrogant which could at times make him difficult to get along with. He was a true warrior though, one of only a few who could match Alexander in strength, speed and ability. He sat against the wall, blood pooling from his chest in heaving crimson gouts. Around him lay the bodies of three vampyrs. The closest of which had Garet's spear, Heart's Fury, planted in its chest, two more he'd dispatched lay further off. Lastly in front of him was the limp body of a large black wolf, its crimson eyes staring blankly at the face of the man who had strangled it with his bare hands. Its rear leg was marked with a symbol that resembled a lightning bolt.

            He turned, fixing Alex with a hard stare that quickly softened into recognition. “Alex I knew-" A coughing spasm interrupted him, blood spraying from his mouth as his chest heaved up and down. "Somehow I knew you'd still be alive, you were always the best of us. I only wish you could've made it sooner."

            "I was attacked by a da'wren, blue striped. Thick as an oak, but with the patience and cunning of a mosquito." Even as he joked about the da'wren's breed though, Alex could already feel the hot tears surrounding his eyes, threatening to fall. He blinked them away hoping they would not return. Sorrow was useless now, it was anger he needed. After a battle was the time for mourning, not during. "How did this happen Garet?"

            "I battled my way from the library, where I was when the attacks began, killing what I could, I took no essences for fear I would be struck down while I concentrated. I lost count of how many of the fowl creatures I destroyed as I made my way out of the east wing. I was barely afflicted with a scratch or a bruise until I reached this accursed room. Five armed vampyrs. One slammed the door behind me as I entered; I barely dodged his thrust as the others came at me."

            "A trap" Alex interrupted. He had hoped, against his better judgment, that the suspicions which had been steadily growing since this all-to-organized attack began would be disproved. Instead they had now been confirmed: a traitor in their very midst.

            Garet continued: “As I deflected their attacks, I managed to strike two down. A pity that in my fierce concentration I chose to ignore the disgusting crunching and horrible slurping noises coming from this room's adjacent end. As I defeated two of the remaining three, the beast left his meal to take note of me. I know this only because I heard its growl grow steadily before its snarl shook the air; that was when I called out to you. It closed the distance as I drove my Heart's Fury into the last of the five; its fangs were in my chest before I could even withdraw my weapon. I knew it already had me but I resolved to crush it's windpipe with the last of my strength. I succeeded in that much but it does not make up for the shame I will feel in confessing to my father when I reach Viscera that I met my end in a wolf's jaws."

            "Feel no shame my friend" Alex consoled. "The wolf is marked on its hind leg; I'd think you of all people would recognize a pack leader. It took five blood suckers waiting in ambush and a sneak attack by one of the fiercest wolf lords the enemy had in service to bring you to your knees."

            Garet managed a grin. "If you tell it that way after I'm gone, I'll forgive you for not making it here in time."

            Alex smiled back as the tears threatened once more. "It's a promise." He knelt, taking Garet's hand firmly. "It was an honor training with you Garet; it was an even greater one to have known you. You have my deepest love and respect."

            Now it was Garet whose eyes brimmed with tears.  "Better parting gifts I couldn't have hoped for. Find the traitor Alex, make him pay." His hand shook as he uttered his final words. "I'll look forward to seeing you again, but hopefully not too soon. Goodbye Alex." Then he was still, as dead as the mist and fog of the dark night outside.

            Alex lifted him on to the table in the room's centre, crossing his arms as he lay Garet down. He kissed him on the cheek, normally this was a custom reserved for family but only Alex was here so he carried out the tradition without hesitation. He went briefly into the hallway, returning with a torch.

            You deserve better, but at the very least you shall not be desecrated by these creatures. He laid the torch on Garet, watching as the flames spread, consuming his fallen comrade in an orange blaze. Farewell my friend, my...brother.

            He left the room, his sorrow mixing with his anger to create an unstoppable emotional force; one he would use as his tool for judgment. The verdict was a massacre he intended to inflict on this cruel darkness festering in his home like a parasite. A shuffling step made him stop his pace and turn. There was nothing behind him. Then he heard it again, realization struck him like a sledge hammer as the world faded to black around him. Voices carried him away as he was swallowed by darkness.

                        Time is running out...your true power...the moment will come...

            The voice was still fading when his eyes snapped open just in time to see the da'wren's clawed hand raised in the air. Duske rolled out of the way mere seconds before its claws dug into the spot his head had occupied. Straight from his nightmare the creature had seemed to come, seeking revenge for its fallen companions. That was far too close.

             The creature stood before him and let out a terrible screech that tore through the night, nearly knocking him off balance. His ears wanted to bleed at that horrible sound but he stood his ground regardless. If he remembered correctly, when it came to red spotted da'wrens that shriek was the most potent extent of their individual abilities.

            It had been some time since he'd had to face down one of these monstrosities, he welcomed the practice. I'll give you cause to scream.

            He tore forward, ripping Penance from its sheath then made two lighting quick slices through the air below the creature before it could make a move. The da'wren's feet kicked and its legs writhed as it fell into a pool of its own blood. The creature shrieked once more, this time even more gut wrenching then the first, as it reared up. Digging its claws into the soil, it began to pull itself toward him with its hands.

            It was a sight both pathetic and horrible, he would see no more of it then he must. He could scarcely hear the battle cry that escaped his throat over the creature's final scream before he plunged his blade into its skull. Breathing heavily he withdrew his sword wiping the fowl, black blood from the blade before sheathing it again. He knew he would not sleep again this night so he packed his things up, quenched the fire, and then set about trying to estimate the time until morning. One should not be traveling these woods by night. Two hours was his guess from the moon's place in the western sky. He surveyed the darkness around him before he shouldered his pack and began once again to weave his way through the eerily quiet forest.

            That voice again, so familiar yet...he could not put a face or name to it. He truly hadn't the faintest idea what the meaning of the dreams could be. At least I'll have plenty of time to think it over.