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Snippet #2016926

located in Hyrule, a part of The Legend of Zelda: This Ephemeral Light, one of the many universes on RPG.

Hyrule

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Character Portrait: Aldrion vin Carsis
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'I'm always dying in myself'.

Aldrion, a name which means "Sacrificial" in his land, trudged through the peculiarly darkened forest, his feet hefty weights below his knees. His armor felt like it weighed him down, a feeling he hadn't felt since squirehood. His nerves were plagued and his breathing was hefty, as he sauntered onward, ever deeper into the wood. He dared not look behind him for fear of longing, fear that his compassion would simmer to boil and a heartsick feeling would cascade over him. He couldn't bear the thoughts that came over him, his memories running rampant, playing over and over again in his head the horrid things he'd done in the name of survival. His sword had bathed in the blood of enemies that used to be friends, and his blood continued to allow him to live. It was a sick comedy of the Ancients, staged all for him to participate in. He couldn't allow himself to be slain by his friends; they didn't understand.

His footsteps imprinted the soil, ever ceaselessly they moved forward. His eyes were filled with the surrounding Dark Woods, and he felt delirius in the humid, dead air. He removed his helm, breathed and let the sweat trickle down his face, soaking into his tunic and rolling down his armor, glimmering in what little pale sunlight shown through the treetops. The ground was heavy-ladden with shrubbery, fallen leaves and other grasses. Taking his closed eyes to the leaf-clouded sky, Aldrion inhaled a stagnant air that was still sweet to his lungs. 'Still alive,' he thought. He was certain this forest was the pathway to his afterlife, his meeting with the Ancients coming sooner than expected. But he recalled that skirmish now, the realization of life washing his conscience to easiness.

He smelled the sweat, on both of them. His helm was still on, and it restricted his vision. Good. He couldn't bear to see his friend clearly, to look him, unhindered, in the eyes as his sword destroyed him. Their steel had sang songs of hatred, clashing back and forth, back and forth with no recoil. Firis had a longsword, so he was advantageous in range, but Aldrion was always the better swordsman. Firis was ringing his death bell as he stood, sweat and anger seeping from his being. He had sworn vengeance on Aldrion, one too many times. Vengeance? Aldrion had said. What is it that Firis Rinschild knows of vengeance? Thou dost not even comprehend what he fights for! At this, Firis had fumed, raising his sword and clashing it with Aldrion's. I know it well enough, foul being of the realm! Defiler of maidens and warbringer to his homeland!
More swordplay, more savagery. If thou wouldst only understand Firis! It is not I who has been the demon! Clashes of steel and more rining of sweat. A split lip from the graze of teeth, his black hair pressed against his face, burrowed brow above hateful eyes, aimed at the former friend and captain of his companions. You were trusted! We were betrayed! Thou hast sullen the title of knighthood and deserves none better than the abyss of the Otherworld! Dost thou not know the blight thou art upon our realm? Thou hast transformed me, made me sick in displeasure and hate. Ancients! Just who art thou anymore? There was a pause in their bloodlust, if only for a moment. Swords by their sides, the two men could explain one another, if however vainly.
Firis you know nothing, your cause is allfor naught. I shall be branded with a traitor's mark and have a target painted upon my spine, for that is where the dagger should fall. Your king wishes me buried and gone and forgotten because he cares not of love but only the interest of his coffers! Firis would hear no more, and lunged, embedding himself upon Aldrion's blade. Blood traced down the broadsword's hilt, painted Aldrion's hands like a sin stains the soul. Aldrion's mouth, beneath his helm, was agape in shock. Firis, however, held true, his visage stone. This is what I've come to expect. He faded with a blade run through him. Aldrion let him go, could not stop to bury him. He ran, panting and weeping. Firis was no longer his friend before his passing, and the pain only seared more becaue of this.


He placed his helm atop his head once more, walking, begrudgingly through the underbrush. His right hand rested on his sinner's blade that rested at his hip. He was tired, andhis heart was heavy. But he had to press on. A kingdom of trees surrounded him, and the pale sunlight that bled through the trees did not console him from the deathly atmosphere that emenated from this forest. A trickling breeze seeped through the wood, kissing at his tunic just slightly enough to make it liven the slightest amount. The whispers of the trees filled hs ears. He wasn't content, and he feared he never would be. His heart sank lower in his chest the more he recalled his sins.

He heard laughter, sick malicious laughter that ached in his spine as the ice crawled through it. Aldrion glanced around and saw nothing, nothing but dead air and black trees. It was then that he found himself staring at the treetops, his head throbbing, black fog in his vision, his back against the earth. He blinked, staring at the malicious, black face that hovered over him, a hollow gaping visage that was illustrated with evil design.

And it lunged, intent to kill.

cron