Snippet #2136613

Emil took his bow from the ruddy pirate and examined it for nicks of abrasions. There was no telling where the pirate had been or how he might have contaminated his weapon. Satisfied that the pirate didn’t infect it or lick it, or whatever pirates do these days, he quickened his step and walked beside Solvej towards the Chantry. She shouldn’t be the first to step into such a holy place, she gave up the Maker the day she chose to abandon the order. She had no right to even be near the place, though considering present circumstances, one rogue Templar was favorable over a damned darkspawn. During the journey, Emil said not one word to the Templar at his side, and likewise, the graced him with the same politeness. Kerin herself traveled slightly behind the two parading Templars, closer to Rhapscallion and Ethne themselves. As they walked, Kerin wore the same bored expression as she had when the first arrived to the barrier. What was there to be excited about? The fight was behind and in front of them, what use was worry? They either died or survived. Despair did not register as it normally had. She was solid, placcid, just like the stones under her feet.

Before long, the group entered the Chantry—not so much by choice, but by some foul beckoning. Kerin hated the feeling with a passion, it made her feel like her body was not her own, when it damn well was. Emil suddenly felt cold, and another drop of blood fell from his nose. Neither dwarf nor Templar enjoyed this feeling. As they entered, they were greeted by Morpheus on top of his throne. Emil’s eyes widened in anger as he saw the divine laying limply on the floor. He wanted to shout at the beast who cast her aside, yet the words were caught in his throat, unforthcoming. Kerin, as always, took all this in as impassively as she always had. Then a man walked out from the shadows, one Emil knew. Finally, his words found footing and he yelled, “Lord-Seeker!” before falling silent and asleep. The last of his thoughts was anger at the man for allowing the Divine to be treated as so and for allowing the holy place to come to such. He fell forward, on his face, asleep before he hit the ground.

Kerin however, was more of a fighter than that. She forced her eyes open with defiance, she would not bow to this monster wills. Though she fell to her knees, she would not heed a foolish command such as sleep. She would fight him with all she had. But it was so hard. The embrace of sleep was so promising. So relieving. The last thing she saw before she fell to the ground was Ethne in her crystal prison. She looked at the elf girl in the eyes, her steel, unmoving eyes singing defiance all the way… All the way to the floor beneath.

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Emil clutched helplessly to the railing of the Black Raven to help keep him from falling over from both the force of the storm and from the massive withdrawal symptons he was experiencing. The boat tumbled up and down, around and around while lightning danced in the air above him, thunder drummed in his ears, and rain pelted them like an angry God. The worse sound however, was not the thunder, nor the constant rythym of rain. No the worse sound was the cries of men and women he had known for his entire life fall overboard into the deadly currents below. It was all Emil could do to just keep a grip upon the railing and not joining his crewmates overboard.

It haunted him. He felt weak, he felt useless, and he felt angry. Anger at himself and anger at the Maker. He reared his head back and howled a wordless shout into the black abyss above before sinking down low against the railing again as the mere act of yelling sapped his strength. He had to do something, but even if the storm wasn't beating his ship, the withdrawal symptons would still send it spinning. What else could he do but sit there. Sit there and watch as his crewmates died in front of him and the storm tore at the ship. A vague sense of deja vu came over him... It was almost like his life was flashing before his eyes, but no. This storm would not take him, nor would it take the ship while he still breathed. The Black Raven had been his home for far too long for him to see it dashed in front of his eyes. He began to crawl, hands still wrapped around the railing, as he tried to make his way to the lines keeping the mast upright.

It proved to be a futile attempt, as just as he arrived, the lines snapped, sending a dangerous whip of rope into the throat of one of his friends. He.. Or she, Emil couldn't tell, dropped and the lifeless body slid across the deck and into the ocean below. Emil couldn't help but look away and curse himself and the Maker. What had possessed them to sail into the storm anyway? What were they doing out in this hell? What was the captain thinking!?

At a true physical proximity of no more than a hundred feet, Morpheus on his throne shifted his gaze to the silver-armored Templar on the floor, his lips twisting into a sadistic smile. The faithful were always the most fun to toy with, for the similarity between himself and the being they called their Maker was much more impressive than most of them would ever realize. In fact, if he twisted things around just so, there might be no discernible difference whatsoever. For now, though, it would be interesting enough to see what the once-pirate made of a little more interference.

Inside Emil's dream, the boat lurched, plunging into a wave with little grace. The captain of the boat held on at the tiller, barely keeping his feet as the ocean-water washed over him. There was little that could be done, of course; the sails had already been lowered, the lines already cut free or snapped from the force of the wind. There was little to do but ride it out. Looking back, the man saw what few of his crew remained working tirelessly to keep the boat from taking on more water. As lightning split the sky, illuminating the upper deck for only a moment, he caught sight of one who could barely hold on. "Emilio!" the man shouted, booming voice audible even over the din. In this reality, this man knew of his crewman's addiction, knew what it was costing him to remain here, abovedecks. They had been like family for the longest time, and perhaps because of this, the man did not hesitate, roping in his second mate with one whipcord-strong arm and pushing the man to the tiller.

He himself was going to see that boy below the deck and safe, no matter what it cost him. Gripping the starboard-side rail, the captain sloshed his waterlogged way down the stairs from the helm to the main deck, walking steadily, pulling himself arm-over-arm by the rail when the slick planks of wood gave his feet no purchase. Water dripped from everything, intermingling with that which lashed their faces and their arms with whip-force, the storm's rage not abating but swelling until it seemed that the sea was determined to swallow them whole and never relinquish them. There had been little sign of the oncoming typhoon earlier in the day, and such was not the time of year for it. Rather, it had seemed a cruel act of the Maker, almost as though he'd singled out the men and women aboard here for a punishment none of them could understand.

Reaching his youthful crewman at last, that captain grasped one of the lookout's arms and kept right on moving. "We have to get you below deck; you're useless in this state!"

"Who's useless! Emil cried, though it was an answer he already knew. He tried to find his feet once more, and again it proved to be a futile attempt. Still the fact that he could not at least stand on his own feet hurt his pride, and the fact that he could do nothing to save the rest of the crew weighed heavily on his soul. Each life lost to the sea added it's weight to his shoulders. He felt like he should do something for them instead of kneeling uselessly on deck. He growled as the Captain herded him towards the door leading below deck. No matter how much he willed it, he could not beat his afflictions, not now, not in the middle of a storm. Where did this sudden onset of his symptoms come from though? He did not think he had addictions on the seas... What happened to him?

There was no time to ponder that quandry as he allowed himself to be dragged along behind the Captain. He was right, he was no use on deck. Even being led by the arm, things did not stabalize for Emil. If the storm tossed the boat around like a toy, then the effects of his symptoms made it ten times worse. He couldn't tell which way was up, down, left, or right. Rain felt like it was pelting him everywhere, and the gnashing winds buffeted from all directions. This was truly Emil's hell. If there had been a demon wondering about, his sanity might had snapped in twain. Demons? Why was he worried about demons at a time like this? The only demon he had to worry about was the one spitting rain and wind at them.

The going was slow for Emil and his Captain. The man had to fight for every inch they gained. But they were moving steadily towards the door and Emil's salvation. His thoughts had shifted from helping his crew to just getting below deck and getting out of everyone's way. Maybe escaping the rain would allow him to better fight his own personal demons. However, Fate decided to intervene as it always does. A combination of a hard gale and the ship's bow crashing against the wave jarred all those on deck. A crack of thunder accompanyed what happened next. As the shipped rocked hard enough to cause the mast to crack, the man grabbing Emil found himself overboard, still clutching onto Emil's arm for his dear life.

A roar of pain escaped Emil's throat as he found his arm holding the entire weight of his captain. He quickly reached over with her other hand and grabbed the man by the collar. He would not give the sea this man. This man was as close to a father as Emil had ever known, he wasn't going to lose him without a fight. All evidence of his withdrawals vanished in that instant as addreline surged throughout his body and the only thought on his mind was that of saving this man's life and reeling him back on deck. He felt himself begin to slide forward on the railing as the weight of the Captain's was more than that of Emil's. Something that the Captain apparently knew. If something didn't give, they both would be in the sea before long. So, with one last smile, the Captain let of of Emil and fell into the water.

The relief was instant, but the pain was immense. Emil sunk back on deck, mind thoroughly destroyed. He had yet to give into despair up until that point, but that single action, that single loss pushed him pass the event horizon. Now, he felt truly lost. Dizziness, nausea, pain, despair, they all assaulted Emil as the rain hammered and the wind's bit. With one last ounce of strength, he reared his head back and yelled his pleas into the black heaven's above.

"Maker! Andraste! Please! Save us!" and for once in a long, long while, pain was clear in his voice.

As if in answer, a great boom of thunder rumbled deafeningly through the air, followed by streaking fingers of forked lightining. Any sailor worth his salt could tell you that those two things usually happened in reverse order, but perhaps none of them were paying enough attention, with the storm directly overhead as it was. Several more spilled over the side, leaving only abot five men remaining, including Emil. Like him, those others were by this point simply holding on for dear life, trying not to get pitched to their deaths in the dark water below. "Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls. From these emerald waters doth life begin anew. Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you, for in my arms lies eternity." This proclamation need not have competed with the thunder, for it was somehow much louder, resounding in the minds of those still present loudly enough to drown out perception of just about anything else. Two of the remeaining sailors lost their grip on the railings, distracted or simply willing to believe it and let go. The other two held on all the tighter, one mumbling words in Rivaini under his breath.

"Have I earned so little of your trust?" the Voice demanded, and it might have been their imaginations, but the rain grew only colder. "You ask me not to claim that which is mine? You beseech but you do not understand, you beg but you do not serve, you believe, but not in Me!" One of those pirates left clutched at his head, his nose bleeding profusely from the force of whatever was being done to him. The mumbling one was faring only a little better, but he and Emil were soon the only ones left, as a wash of brackish water took their suffering companion to his grave.

The last man looked up, meeting eyes with Emil over the expanse of the deck. The look on his face was one of mute shock, and though his lips still formed the words of his litany, it was obvious that he could no longer lend them the force of his voice. "Suffer, and know me!" The man's eyes went wide with shock, aware just a moment before the lightning struck him of what was going to happen. The sizzling sound was audible even over the din, the smell of burnt flesh carried to Emil's olfactory passages with uncanny precision.

He was alone.

Emil watched in silent horror as his last friend, crewmate, and family was just wiped out of existence by the Maker almighty himself. He couldn’t wrap his head around it. This.. This Maker was ruthless, extreme. Was this the deity he had worshipped so vehemently, that cared little for his people? The thought was unbearable. He clutched closer to the railing, his mind in rolling in turmoil, much like the sea around him. The Maker wished him to suffer? Hadn’t he suffered enough? He watched the man he would have gladly called his father fall into the ocean, watched his family fight futilely against nature and lose their lives in the process. What else was there to suffer? What else could he possibly suffer? What was his sin?

Nothing answered him. He was alone. Frighteningly alone. Even over the roar of the storm and the drumming of waves, the silence of the deck was deafening. No screaming, no orders, no one shouting encouragement. Just eerie silence. Everyone had left him. Even the Maker. As he clung helpless to the railing, his eyes, opened wide and unblinking, grew large and dull. His mind couldn't take the despair, the loneliness, the death. He was drained, emotionally, physically. He was lost. As the waves battered the ship, his body just rolled absently with it. Dead, alive, it didn't matter anymore to him. He had been all but abandoned. As the deep pit of despair ate away at his soul, he began a song. It was a song from his childhood, sang by all the sailors while they worked. While normally a cheery song, Emil’s emotionless delivery gave it a haunting melody.



The song continued without end as the rain unendingly battered the broken Templar. However, the rain wasn't the heaviest burden on his shoulders.