Random fiction

[Lord Commander Erus]

Wrote this in an effort to clear my mind so I could sleep... Here it goes...

Sweat slicked his palm, trickling down his wrists, the cuff of his shirt stained a grimy and dingy grey. A heart two sizes too big for his chest thundered in his throat, ears roaring with the sound of an ocean from within.

Yet, despite it all, there was an unerring sense of calm, as if all the world persisted in a separate state from his own.. As if everything moved through a thick golden syrup of suffused light, every detail picked out in agonizing clarity and color.

Thoughts whirled in his head, rejected and back, a maelstrom of intellect. Some were his own... And others... Well, he would rather not think of where they came from. Shuddering, his young, angular face contorting in grief, the young man cried out in pain, dropping to his knees, eyes rolling back in his head as the curve of his spine went nearly parallel to the ground.

Constricting muscles twitched and sprawled his body like some macabre puppet, and slowly he rose, a fleck of foaming spittle at the corner of his mouth, eyes bloodshot and rolling. Something within him burned, almost itched, scratched at his very soul to be released, some monstrous thing of it's own will battered at his mind with a screaming need to be OUT.

Slowly, the man stood on his tiptoes, and with a sudden violent movement raised his palms to the sky and begin muttering, his mouth slack and drooling, half the words lost to all but him. What could be heard floating on the dead wind was pure chaos. The speech of a hundred peoples were being spoken over one another. A word started in one, and ended in another.

Step.

His foot thundered down, the sound unnaturally loud and exaggerated to his sense. He could her dust sifting through the air, smell the fresh powder of his feet as they ground minuscule rock to dust and wore the ancient flagstones further. A desperate desire to scream welled in him, but was battered down.

Step.

The thing in him howled now. It gibbered and clawed, a seething goblin of raw madness and potential nestled between his eyes and within his heart. His chest would explode. Already he was panting, usually fluid and well groomed hair in stringy, soaked disarray. He would go mad, he could feel it.

Step.

Whatever was in him was growing, pressing the contours of the invisible line of definition that constituted and separated his self from un-being and nothingness. White oblivion reached for him, it's siren call seductively peaceful and soothing.

The cool caress of the infinite was slowly enveloping his soul, and he found himself slipping away even though in his mind he screamed at clawed to hand to that one corner of the universe that was him.

Suddenly, a stinging and quiet shock greeted his hand. Hurtling forward, the universe screaming past his lost soul, he was slammed back into reality with all the scorn and force of a spurned lover. Sensations drifted to him, though with each one he craved the bliss of that white peace. The smell of blood, sweat, and acrid sting of ***** he was almost certain was his. Soft caress of worn leather, and the cold and distant kiss of steel.

Looking down at the blade before him, he saw a dangerous were-light burning in it's ruins. From sickly pale green, glowering red, entrancing blue and a seductive pink to the blank white of nothing, he saw it all. And from within him, the first feeling of his own volition in days came. A near roaring chuckle as he turned away, limply dragging the blade across black marble floors with grooves cut into them to resemble things he'd rather not think of.

As the blade clicked across the grooves, slicing new channels with every step, into the careworn floor, the crimson fluid within shifted and slithered, filling the new canals with a crimson trickle until at last the channels were full.

With every inch the blade was drug, and every ounce of blood it dipped to, the light in the runes dimmed, the steel dulled, until it seemed no more than a ratty antique some rather absurd man might hang on his den wall. Yet onward he stepped, over bones and bloated corpses and still grasping hands, onward to the light that beckoned him ever upwards.

[TheKiller333]

Very nice Erus =], Hope to see more!

[Mart007]

lol, no wonder you couldnt sleep!! very good I enjoyed this outburst!! +rep

[iNsOmNiAc'S dReAm]

Amazing stuff dude, I cant wait to see more. Will there be more? PLEASE TELL ME there will be more lol. +rep indeed, great job

[Lord Commander Erus]

The figure that strode from the ruined shrine startled Alder... Hell, if she hadn't seen his eyes for a brief instant, she would have let loose with the half-knocked arrow she cradled in her bow. But no one else she had ever seen carried eyes of such a golden hue, the very mirror of a wolfs. Seeing it was Rusael, she lowered the bow to point off at the side towards the path they had came down on, but didn't let up the tense on the string.

He was dragging some sort of sword, some ugly taper bladed thing far too short for the typical sweeping cuts and slashes of the Jai'den that Rusael descended from. And.. Her eyes just didn't want to see the thing, so crude and evil, and the most horrendous scraping noise it made, even as it troughed through bare earth. As if something inside it desperately wanted to be free, and was none too pleased it's freedom had been denied to it.

Strange things flicked across the blade. Runes in colors she had never seen before, in languages she had never heard of, dance their way across the weapon and yet somehow their purpose and meaning was clear. Nothingness dwelt in that blade. An utter lack of structure and form to such a degree that her stomach wanted to run out her navel at the mere thought of it.

What had happened in that forsaken ruin? Where was the man she had journeyed with across countless oceans, braved deserts and even a lake of fire with? What in the Circle could this mean? Was he possessed?

The blank white of his eyes, the random pull and relax of odd muscles made her think so, that he had been lost.. Then, as she pulled her arm up, the thing stopped. The mithril tip of the shaft gleaned with a faint wink as she sped a blessing to the Nine for her friend and loosed the shaft into his breast.

What happened next was known to anyone with their head not under a rock, and several who probably were. Up whirled the cursed blade, the form of it flowing like molten steel, thin tendrils of smoke swirling about the flame kissed circle as the scintillating runes slammed to a single point, a brilliant beacon of gold in a shimmering sea of brilliant silver.

From battered taboo, the sword had been born to something else entirely. Gold wire wrapped white leather, and ivory chased with silver formed a guard of flared wings, a diamond of twisted metals of the same clasping some sort of stone that wasn't quite... there, but definitely here... Forth sped the arrow, though so slow now one could see the wind ruffle the fletchings and spin the blessed bolt.

Alder cursed.. Thinking the blade had somehow slowed down time. Her hands acted of their own accord, knocking and loosing the last two shafts in her blackened quiver. Each one slow as soon as it left the bow, it's wood smoking and popping as a green sapling over a fire.

Each tiny shaft began to quiver, starting with the first not a hairs breadth from Rusael's eye. Feathers flew free from shaft and glue, and a horrendous screech rent the air, followed by an immense and roaring blast of heat that made Alder shut tight her eyes. And suddenly. numerous piles of metal, wood, fletching and other littered the arc of ground in front of the swordsman, the ground beneath burnt in a fire so hot the loose sand of the soil was a murky glass.

A smile touched his lips then, as the howling lessened. Maybe the thing would sleep, rather than stampeding around in his consciousness, perverting his very soul with it foul humor and presence. It seemed, and how he knew it was indeed it's own entity was beyond him at the present, to suddenly be very intent on examining his early child hood.

The sudden return of control shocked Rusael, and for a moment he saw Alder staring at him as if at a vile thing. Promptly, the world spun about and he saw deadened trees and a sky so clear and bright he squinted from the intensity, only managing a single word before the shock of true existence pummeled him to an un-concious state.

'Chaos..'

[Mart007]

More quality dribblings from the great Erus!! I enjoyed that!