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Updated last: 3/4/2010 - 11:48am PST
The winds carry the sounds the ghostly screams of banshees, they howl into the frozen and blank night. Far above me stood in this mortal realm the glory of moon which shines only once for a lifetime and thrown down the sight of light. Its beams casted of solid gold and its trails forged of sliver. Its rays, striking thy earth, tore open in front of me a rift. Thousands of meters wide and born of only the old souls of nigh. Seas of salty sands laid a path for me across this baron ocean of mine. Her cliffs old and rugged with fallen soldiers of man and demon a like, her beaches flooded with weapons and bodies of the cursed ones, her lands dead from countless wars that never end. Yet here I am, my soul, my form, forged into the body of the greatest leader that ever walked across the lands of the fallen earth, his name, my name, stood without tell, stood without words, stood far beyond all that was mortal. My name, or so far I have been told his name, it’s image bared into my mind, is that of 'Sevris' and with that name I was for told to become him. Walking onto the dead fields of ash and sand I stroll into the spot of light hiding in the forests beyond and I take my leave their, sitting. Waiting. Watching the rolls and tips of the sea before me as they cast their nightly song, I am haunted, tortured by the memories of my crew, All of them slain right before my eyes, ten a night, twenty a day, they died on the rocks, the beaches, the sands.. The blood soaked sands. My eyes are cursed with seeing such and I glance away, but every where I look reminds me of my men and their brave souls and how my mistake, my curse, my dreaded lust for the power drove us all to this forsaken island, this barren rock of sand and blood!
Twit was the middle of the sixth night alone when I took noticed of the fires in the distance once more. I have not set a fire on this island so the puzzling fact is to whom is lighting these orange flares of heat. As I take a closer inspection of the blaze my eyes fool me and I see the bones and flesh of one of my crew come back alive, only to slaughter itself at its own hand. Cursed. I scream into the night "Why do the gods forsake me with such burdens! Why shall I only bare them alone! Shall I carry these thirty souls with me to my grave?" each time I scream I only revive the answer of the waves hitting the worn rock surfaces of the cliffs in the distant lands. On the tenth day I learn there was never any fire, and that my mind had also forsaken me. I learned this only by trying to end my life in the fires that seem to spring from nothing,
I only managed to break my only good pen and now I resort to writing with the bones of the dammed in blood of the flesh and tears of the men whom fallen. On the tenth night however I lean another point of fact, it seems the tenth cycle is the best here, I learn of that the fish here at still alive and I have claimed to the rocks trying to capture one using a old rod I found among the rubble of my ship. The rod had to be preyed from the dead hands of my crew's chef; His name is cursed to say now for to rob a dead man is to rob thy self. But the fish where so good and alive, it pained me to kill them and cook them in the fake fires. I would pretend they were cooked as I devoured them. By the sixteenth day I have lost all sense of up, why just up I do not know, but up none the less means nothing to be now as I walk along the shores, bare footed, skin torn and flesh wounded. MY hair has grown ever so unkempt and long and I fear I might just have to figure out how to shave if it gets any worse. "Cursed by the land that we walk, through the valley of death I must go" I say this to myself, though I know it is wrong. I also have come to fear that this log will never be found, or once it is that I am no longer here to be the reader of such adventures in mis-happening wonder. I found another book on the shore today while exploring, it seemed to be a log of another crew-member, and I add it to the collection of eight others. Eight journals of a dead man fill my bag of woven leaf, Why I keep them I do not know, Maybe it brings me sanity, though by far I know I have lost that with my will to figure this all out.
The sun seems not to shine on the island anymore and I fear death is at hand. It has been night for roughly seven cycles now, how I know this is hard to tell, It could just be one night. I think I might be able to sleep now.
I awoke to another fake fire cursed upon me by the gods, it seems night was not fake after all; I wished only to live in darkness. I tore my own left eye out today. Hoping this would bring the darkness back. The sweet dull darkness that hinders me on its sweet sorrow. The eye I ate, this only brought pain and I then wished for the darkness to either come or forgive me and let me die here. The cursed land from which I was not only littered with bones and teeth marks upon them. The fishing pole broke some time ago and I had to consume the last of the flesh of my dead men. So now only I truly survive cursed to walk for all of the ages upon this broken land, a deeply forged and depressed soul of mine now weeping in its dark state as I am forced to continue onto the darkness. The moon casts down its sliver rays once more onto me, it seems I have lost count of the time.
What I assume to be day is not. What I assume to be night is not. I am stuck in the mildest of twilight and Dawn. I am stuck for I have not been without sin, so forgive me gods. "Cursed by the land from which I am forced to walk. To such sweet-agony do you force me to do so!!" I scream at the ocean and only get back the common reply of the ocean, which is none. Tears of blood still stream from my eyes though I have not a one anymore. Too cursed is my sight for all the hallowed graves which where not dug for my crew. Nulled maybe my life but tonight the cursed fires taunt me no more.
~~Sevris stops writing in his log. It's worn and old leather cover is cracked and peeled and his is using one’s own blood to write in. Dropping it too the group with a thud into the cursed sand below he weeps tears of the fallen and takes forth his dagger, screaming to deaf ears and he plunges into his hear.
"Forgive me father, for I have sinned, I have taken my own life at the hands of thirty." He whispers as he falls to the ground with a blank dead stare and so closes the final chapter of his life as the dictator, the leader, the warrior. Now begins the cursed following of the saints and their twisted forms, their beloved and crestfallenly hated rituals.
---Ends Chapter 1.
Chapter 2 -- The demon's trade.
I fight but I loose. The wars were never won, We never got home, We all died. Blood and savaged as we hurdled upon the shore. Why me? Why did I survive? At first I thought of myself as the survivor simply because I was great, but I was wrong. He brought me here, His name is known by the English as Conquest, but for us we call him Pestilence. He is the forsaken rider of the white horse, the false prophet who shall one day send the world into hate. But today, oh today! he delivers onto me the codes that I have broken, the laws I have tarnished, the dreams I have killed! "Oh halt you treat me so! Pestilence why does thou give me these scrolls! Why is it not death or my gods that give me such?" I yell in my hurt voice towards the dark figure of Pestilence, but I only get back a hellish loud scream from the darkest depths of hell "SILENCE MORTAL! YOU, COUNT SEVRIS, SHALL FACE JUDGMENT BY MY HANDS!" and out he folded he gray hand, in which was three scrolls "Write upon this scrolls three views you have learned to be wise!" and with that he drops the scrolls. Onto the first I write 'The wisest of men share not one gold. But keep all to themselves to further their own gain.' He wrote the first as he learned this from his role as the leader. Onto the second scroll I write, my pen turning to bone once more my writings in blood and hand aching with pain from the strain 'A soldier has not feeling for anything but his country, and this should always hold true.' and he learned this from his role as a General. As I wrote my wiring arm broke and split into two and from this the third scroll fell, unwritten upon.
"Why do you taunt my count!" Pestilence demands, he stares me in the eye, his face screwed and only barely visible, but his eyes are clear as day, their lights burning and tearing into my dammed soul. "But but!" I try to mutter, for before I can utter anymore for Pestilence shot his bow, and the arrow tore my flesh, cutting my mouth from face. As I state he comes closer, his hand pointing to my breast. "You are the scum of man. The scourge of the land. THE DEVIL IN THE SKIN! You eat flesh from bone, Flesh of man and drink blood of the fallen. You are cursed and shall burn in the pits of the 12th circle! NOW HUMAN I offered you a chance at redemption but you rejected it, Writing slander upon my scrolls!" Pestilence screams once more, his howl tearing holes into my ears, blood pouring from my ears.
Nothing. Blank. Darkness. No sounds. No voices. Where am I? Who am I? What am I? Nulled, unanswered questions bounce about my head as I rise from my slumber. Staring out into nothing I weep. I know not how long, or where am I. How I got here is also lost to me. Then I remember. It all comes spilling back into my head, like a mountain upon me my head almost explodes. I now weep not for me but my men. I remember pestilence and his warning of how I shall spend forever in the 12th circle with the devil himself. Coldness. A Iced feeling spreads about my body as I fall over in tears, A iced gust spreads though the area, and I hope it is not what I fear the most. I wish and pray to the gods who have forsaken me, "Why! I do not understand!" I scream. Then Darkness. Once more I am back into nothing, no body, no mind, no soul.
The darkness nulls my mind, but soon it fads again, this time I am not in the dark void as I was before, but now I am back onto the island. The cursed place at which all life seemed void, where I had to slaughter my men for food, Where I had to made choices for myself to serve myself. I choose not to feel this but then I see him again. The one who gave me this name. The one who forged me into this body and mind, The one who gave me all the kingdoms of this earth. The moon shining behind him. It is War. His horse stands next to him, its mane of fire and eyes of darkened souls. War takes a step forward, his gleaming gold armor shining in the night with a blank but red glow. He speaks to me as if we have only met once, though he signed all my deals in blood of the virgin to secure me my kingdom, "You waste what I have give you. I know not you, and you know not yourself. So whom shall you be?" He demands this, yet I have no answer for him. My jaw is locked shut and I almost weep once more. "No answer?" He yells with the might of a thousand war cries, the earth shakes with his voice, "You DARE not answer me!? Fine if you not side with Pestilence, and you side not with me War. Then who do you side! Your gods? Have they not failed you already!" I stumble backwards, falling over into the sand and onto a skeleton of once my crew. "Fine, If you choose this path, Sevris, there is no way back. If you choose none of the horsemen deals, then you must pick either Gehenna or the Demons Trade. Which do you choose human!?" War demands as he is suddenly in front of Sevris, his body of fire. My body still laid upon the dead I look up at him with fear in my eye, my other still gorged out and fresh with new blood. "I..I" I stutter, barely able to keep my voice "I choose the demons trade!" I finally yell out. And with that. Darkness once more.
---Chapter 2 end.
Chapter 3: No Home, No More.
The emotions are short lived, the pain however is forever. I am no longer in the darkness, but I am in some form of other-world. White walls surround me and I seem to have reacquired my journal, for now I write upon it. I still seem to be writing upon it with bone and blood of my fallen crew. My cherished comrades to whom I sacrificed to the gods to keep myself alive. Thinking back onto it I wish I had done differ, Thirty of us sailed from France one day. My country owned the global, all the lands, all the people where owned by me! The great leader de Sevris of France! but sweet sorrow was I when I picked thirty of my best men only to have been back-stabbed and betrayed into exile. Sailed from port we traveled west to new lands, only to find a island laid ahead of us only after ten days at sea. We tried to make land fall, but crashed we did onto the beaches. Many of my men died right then, as swimming a good warrior did not make. The rest, Fifteen or so hulled to shore only to find it baron of anything but trees. We feared the worst, and on the first night my men turned on each other. Brothers took swords to throats, and comrades took spears to breast. One after another fell until I, The great swordsmen I am, stool alone among a pile of bodies laid across the blood sands. and as soon as the last was dead I fell to my knees, my sword never to be touched again, as I cried for my men. I wept and swore to the gods asking them 'why why! would they does this!" and I got my answer the next morning. The horsemen War, for whom I owe all of my empire, Stood at the shore, his great sword in hand. "Cursed upon man you are, and for what you have done you shall repent on the island till you die" and he was gone, until we met again once I did die of pure insanity at the hands of myself.
Taken from me was my men, and to this I wish not. For I have done a deal with a horsemen and the cost I forgot. Thus I pay the earth to them as tax and fee. I close my journal for now, wanting to not recap anymore of what happed on that cursed island. I have given up praying to the gods after four days, or what I think once again is four days, of no results. It seems I am in some sort of cell, though no windows, bars, or doors seem to be present. So I, feeling no need for sleep or hunger, pick up my journal once more to write down the passages if what happened, for this is also the only thing for that I may do here in this room of nothing.
The first day was the massacre, onto that the Horsemen War deliver me the message that he is here to collect the pay I owe. He in turns collects the earth from the heavens and keeps it himself. On the third day I ponder what to do; I think about many things, I wonder if the gods saved man on earth. I ponder if I am even on earth or did I die with them. Nothing seems real anymore and ghosts of the past seem to fill my mind. On the island I wrote a journal, and this seems to be it, though all my entries from the island seem to be gone and no matter how hard I look or how many pages I tear out I can not find them. So I rewrite that best I can the events, hopefully wishing to keep myself sane in this crazed world. On the fourth day the bodies began to talk and I try hard to hide from them, but the voices. The screams of pain and death fill the air and I take to a corner to hide and weep. What madness is this I ponder? Am I in hell or is this earth! The firth day is the worst as I start to consume the first of the dead, though I quickly stop and throw up the contents. I wish to never have to do that again, though later I was forced too. --
The journal drops to the ground once more, its covers soaked in blood from writing. Sevris is gone. The cell is empty once more.--
"You wish to make a deal?" The creature snarls, its teeth shaped like razors and just as sharp, its flesh decaying and rotting like putrid beasts. Its body is torn between human and creature and I do not know which to talk too...Is this the demon I must deal with? For what sake is a sane man stands against this creature!
----Chapter 3 NOT end. I’m not done with chapter 3....
