Carlyle's Manor

Those golden orbs of the killer of men were fixed on the old man as he struggled to lend voice to his tongue. Carlyle had known Athos for several years but knew virtually nothing about him. His personal life was as much a mystery to him as the coming and goings of a spirit. His motivations were shrouded in mystery only seldom touched by the light. His convictions were the only thing the old man could feel comfortable saying that he knew at least to some degree. The man was cold, cold as ice, could slit a man's throat and not bat an eye. He was a hard man, one not to suffer piety and mocked those who took stock in religious fervor. He had often mocked Carlyle for his faith. It was obvious to the old man that Athos thought him weak or perhaps even foolish for his belief in The Triumvirate Faith. That lack of belief in anything divine made what Caryle was about to propose an unknowable factor for he had no way of gauging how the assassin would respond.

Carlyle swallowed hard, any moisture in his mouth had long since gone leaving but a warm, dry pallet to attempt to form words from.

"Tell me Athos... what do you know about these rumors of Gods seeking to wipe Drevair clean of life?"

The question hung in the air for a tense moment as Carlyle awaited the reaction he would receive. Those damned eyes of Athos, gold gems that pierced flesh and bone cut deep. The old man squirmed beneath their scrutinizing gaze. Finally the answer came in the form of annoyance and frustration.

"Tell me this is not why you summoned me, old man."

Athos groaned as he shook his head with a sigh, putting his thumb and fore finger to the bridge of his nose.

"Now, now just humor me, please."

Caryle persisted. Athos rose his gaze to look deep into the old man's eyes and groaned as the pleading he saw in them loosened his tongue.

"They're being called Gods, immortal protectors of Drevair, summoned fourth from the very earth to cleanse this world of the plague that is mortal life. Whatever these things are they're powerful, unimaginably powerful. I've heard that just one of them can raise an entire city to the ground with ease."

Carlyle nodded slowly, allowing Athos' own words to sink in.

"These false gods will kill all of us Athos, all of us unless someone stops them."

"Someone?"

Athos replied back sardonically. It was obvious the assassin was ill convinced of what the old man wanted him to do.

"Who better? I know of none better at taking life than you Athos. Who else can save us?"

Athos got to his feet and turned away, he was quickly losing his patience with the old man.

"Why not pray on it old man, I hear you religious lot do that when you want to waste your time on lost causes."

Athos' words were stinging, the venom dripping from them was meant to burn and burn they did. Carlyle's hand reflexively went to the pendant hanging from his neck, a small medallion with the visage of The Triumvirate etched into the medal. The old orphan closed his eyes as he bit back the pain from the harsh words.

"I do not see my faith as a waste of time, I'd like to think it offers me salvation."

"Pity it could not do the same for your parents."

Athos replied coldly. Carlyle gritted his teeth as the sharp words cut deep, reopening old wounds. The flashes of his parents murder played in his mind. The sound of the dagger leaving the sheath. The man striking from the darkness. His fathers blood hitting the floor followed by the pearls that had once adorned his mothers neck. Carlyle breathed deep, forcing the ghosts back into their graves as he refocused onto the wicked killer before him.

"Waste of time or not I do pray for them, every night. Every single night. I pray they are at peace in the embrace of the Triumvirate."

Athos scoffed at the old man's words, shaking his head at what he saw as the foolishness of a weak mind. Carlyle took a moment to collect himself before speaking again.

"I will give you everything Athos, every ounce of wealth I have. Even in ruins my house has coin beyond count. A better pay out I think you will not find."

The assassin turned around slowly, his calculating gaze eyeing up the old man in disbelief. Carlyle smiled faintly and shrugged his old bony shoulders.

"I am nearing the end of my journey Athos, I can't take it with me. Why not give it to you? A paltry reward for the salvation of all life on Drevair."

"You're serious?"

Athos asked taking a step toward him, still unsure. Carlyle nodded earnestly before speaking again.

"Have you known me to be brave enough to toy with you?"

Athos half chuckled and returned to his seat across the old man.

"I suppose not..."

Athos took a moment to consider the proposal. The slaying of these beings, powerful though they may be, was possible and the reward would be more wealth than he had ever before been offered. He wouldn't know what to do with such riches and all he had to do was kill a couple gods. The thought almost made him laugh. Athos had spent his life looking down on those idiots who threw themselves at the whims of imaginary men in the clouds and now he was being tasked to kill a few. These new so called gods however were much more palpable. They may not be gods but their power was not to be questioned. He'd heard the stories, seen the faces of the few survivors. These people were not to be trifled with. Yet, powerful or not, all men could be killed.

"Very well old man, I will kill your gods for you."

Athos said as he rose from his seat and headed for the window to leave. A smile beamed on Carlyle face at the assassin's words. Despite his life of questionable choices and deeds in this single act he had finally done something worth while. The lives this man would save by slaying these false gods was immeasurable. Perhaps this was Abilmel's will? To have this killer of men slay the false Gods. Ironic though that they would choose a man such as Athos to do their bidding but Carlyle had stopped questioning the will of the Triumvirate years ago.

"There are my Gods Athos, right there."

The assassin's boot stopped cold on the window sill just before he leapt out. He turned around with a stare of pure hell fire seething from it.

"You think this is your gods will old man?"

Athos growled dangerously. If there was one thing he hated it was that way those religious fools could always tie up every little thing that happened as Gods will, it was infuriating. Athos made his own choices, no imaginary man in the sky made them for him. Carlyle turned to see Athos stepping toward him threateningly, his fists clenched tightly. The old man swallowed hard as his blood chilled at the sight. Athos loomed over Carlyle like death itself, full of furious indignation.

"Let me tell you something about your gods. Gods are selfish beings that fly around and lord over mortality as if they were our betters. They are stories we tell children to keep them from misbehaving. They are lies old dogs tell themselves to still their racing hearts as they fear death's unstoppable approach. If your gods existed at all where are they really? Hrmm? Do you have any idea how many holy men I've butchered Carlyle? How many pious men and women of the cloth have felt the sting of my knife? They all prayed like you pray and the heavens never opened nor did golden trumpets sound as their divine lords and masters stepped fourth to save them. It was ever and always just tired old fools alone in a room with a killer babbling to beings that either weren't there or didn't care. There are no gods... there are no gods."

Athos' words were full of hate and anger. The utter stupidity of men like Carlyle putting their stock into cloud men and winged angels was sickening. The worst thing about religion was the utter hypocrisy of it. Damn the heretics and damn the wicked as they march across the world butchering and murdering and burning all in the name of the imaginary. Athos glared at Carlyle who looked ready to have a heart attack right in front of him. The assassin snarled one last time before he shook his head.

"Know that when these creatures die it is no gods that slew them, no divine magic that brought about their destruction, only man."

With that he was gone. The assassin on the task of killing gods vanished from the room leaving Carlyle to ponder his words and deal with the fresh terror he was trying to cope with. Athos Lorio would begin his hunt in Bergstadt, the last reported city to have fallen to these beings. Athos had heard that the fires from the city and it's inhabitants could be seen for leagues, a ghastly warning to all of what was to come. As Athos teleported here and there so fast he was barely visibility to the ruined city of Bergstadt, Carlyle reached his shaking hand up to the pendant around his neck and pondered the assassin's words for a moment before uttering a small prayer.

The darkness of the manor was befitting of his tastes. His body left the black mist of his power and he stood silently in the center of the room that was at the bottom of the large house. Slowly his head turned from one side to the other as he regarded the manor from behind the cloth covering his eyes.

Moving forward he stepped onto the old staircase and started upwards. He was silent as he went, nothing more than a shadow in an empty house. His destination was towards the study. He knew there was someone there. Kharun had been on his way to another destination but had stumbled upon the lonely manor. Everything had to be purged of Drevair's soil and this was no exception.

He approached the door, but did not reach to open it. Instead he disappeared into his dark magic again and simply shifted into the other room. Kharun stopped there, watching the other in for a long moment, not making his presence apparent, though he was fairly sure the old man could probably 'feel' that he was there. He waited.

It had been several days since his meeting with the golden eyed assassin and Carlyle was still unsettled. He always needed time to collect himself after meeting with Athos, it was just the feeling one got when being alone in a room with him. It was like having a meeting with death itself in all the absurdity that entailed. Every time they met Carlyle would do most of the talking, he would describe the mark or the specifics of the contract and Athos would listen. He would usually say something after a time, something dark and cold that only furthered the old mans nervousness. A part of Carlyle thought the bastard did it on purpose just to toy with him.

This last meeting was different however, this business of gods and god slaying seemed to pull at the assassin's already lacking good nature. The anger in his eyes, no, the rage when Carlyle had dared make the suggestion that the decision by Athos to accept the contract could possibly be the work of The Triumvirate's will seeking a way to deal with these false gods. Carlyle always assumed that Athos was no man of faith, the way he mocked and ridiculed him in the past for his prayers was a clear sign of that yet this was something else entirely. He half expected the killer to slay him right there.

Whether that act was mercy or not was yet to be seen as the old man moved about his home, unaware of the shadow that lurked, watching his every move like a great beast in the darkness. It's hungry eyes tracking the old man as he moved gingerly, the old man's movements were slow and weak, a sign of his age. Carlyle was moving through his library searching the shelves upon shelves of books in his possession when he paused to turn.

He stared into the shadow with wide, fear filled eyes. The darkness seemed alive this night, like it was looking back at him. It chilled his very soul. Reflexively he took a step back from the crushing blackness at the end of the room as his heart beat quickened.

"Athos?..."

"So, his name is Athos," Kharun whispered softly as he shifted to step into the light. The darkness around him seemed to slither off his shoulders, cascading almost like water. Even so, around his frame, along the very edges, the dark matter seemed to cling to him.

"You believe in... Gods, old man?" Kharun asked as he slowly approached the other. He titled his head slightly as he waited for the answer. His finger tips brushed the edge of the desk as he started to go around it.

Carlyle's voice was frozen in his throat with fear. Such indescribable dread gripped the old man's heart he may have just let his frail body fail him there and then. This being was unlike anything he had ever witnessed. Raw power, godly for certain in it's scope poured fourth from him. This being spoke, his voice calm was without anger yet bore a malice the likes of which shook the old man's very soul. He seemed to born of darkness, molded by it and master to it. It emanated from him like a dark aura of shadow made tangible by his mere presence. Carlyle had never had a face to face discussion with a god before but if ever he had he'd imagine it would feel something like this.

The old man stumbled back, nearly falling in his terror as he reached out to steady himself on his desk.

"Yyou... y-you're one of them aren't you?"

He asked, his voice quivering with fear. The figure before him was blindfolded but it seemed obvious that only a fool would think the man without sight. He moved so effortlessly through his surroundings Carlyle expected that this being could no doubt see far better than he could. The old man's hand slowly rose to clutch the pendant of the Triumvirate in the hopes to find some form of solace in the holy sigil.

"Y-you ask if I believe in Gods? I tell you now that I do, I-I believe in the True Gods. The Holy Triumvirate. In Garganth whose strength consumes all. In Kain whose loyalty is a beacon to all mankind. In Abilmel on high, the purest of all."

Carlyle's voice found some measure of strength as he spoke about his devotion to the Gods to whom he worshiped. He set his jaw in fear induced determination and even a bit of anger as he steadied himself to meet death soon. It was a reality he'd been coming to terms with for a long time now, at the hand of this usurper god was merely the means of his destruction nothing more. Carlyle wanted to curse him, damn him and his ilk for his deeds. His tongue would give life to the words in his heart but when he spoke his voice shook like the old man he was...weak, feeble and terrified.

"Why are you doing this?"

He stopped his approach suddenly. His eyes that had been looking around, stared at the bookshelf before him, his fingers twitched ever so slightly as they were brushing against the bindings of the books. Kharun turned slightly, just enough to tilt his head to look over at the old man who held a pendant in his hands.

"True Gods?" his voice was darker than before. He stood there for a moment longer before he vanished from sight. Disappearing withing a wave of inky darkness, he resumed his appearance right before the old man. Stretching out his fingers, he touched the old man's neck.

"The land you live upon, lives and breathes. She is your Goddess, not... this," his fingers curled along the necklace as he yanked it free and threw it to the side.

"We do this because we're trying to save her, whilst you fools try to kill her," his voice shook and the room grew steadily darker as his power began to immerse the small study. Kharun's fingers curled under the old man's throat, tightening ever so slightly.

He stayed like that for a while before suddenly releasing the man and letting the candle light illuminate the room once more. Kharun took a step back away from him and ran a finger across his lips in thought. His head turned to look down at the pendant that lay glittering in the fire light.

"Tell him that I patiently await meeting him. Perhaps you will not be fool enough to believe in such things like this anymore, and start believing in something that is truth rather than lies," Kharun said softly, resuming his cool demeanor once more. Taking a single step back his body was wrapped in darkness and he left the mansion.

Carlyle coughed, his breathes ragged and full of pain racked his body as he struggled to fill his screaming lungs with life saving air. He lay in a heap on the floor of his library, his hands clutching his already bruised throat, gasping for air that could not come quick enough. His mind was full of the beings, the Gods, words.

The land you live upon, lives and breathes. She is your Goddess...

The voice reverberated within the confines of his mind echoing out until all he knew was the Gods words. Slowly but surely breath returned to him yet still he was unable to rise from the floor, his old broken body ached and moaned in protest of the attack.

We do this because we're trying to save her...

Carlyle's eyes began to well up with the tears of emotion, loss, fear and confusion. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to sit up despite the pain in his body. Still unable to breathe easily every movement brought renewed pain to his ailing body. His eyes flicked up to the pendant that lay broken where the Shadow God had cast it down.

start believing in something that is truth rather than lies.

A single tear fell from the old man's eye. The crushing realization that he had been wrong, so wrong. He put his faith, his life, his soul in the service of gods that cared little for him or anyone else. Even when their faithful faced death at the hands of the one who would seek to end all life on their realm they rose not a hand to stop it. Their idols, could be cast down without a word from them. Perhaps they were not the gods worthy of praise after all. Perhaps it is Drevair's children that warrant the worship. Perhaps...

There are no gods

The rage filled words of Athos roared fourth in Carlyle's mind, chasing out the voice of the shadow deity. That single memory of those words spoken by the man with such ire for any being believing themselves above mortality sparked a fire within Carlyle. His eyes lit up with a soul of a species on the brink, of mankinds fight for survival that this war truly was. Not some death brawl between deities but mortalities battle for their right to endure, to live on. The old man, the orphan, slowly rose to his feet with his bony fists clenched. The tear had dripped to the ground and faded, fear being replaced by anger and this time when he spoke the weakness of age was all but gone, there now was but a man whose faith in the gods was gone but instead put his faith in man.

"You wait to meet him shadow god but when you do know that your death comes at the hands of no god but by man... the hands of Athos Lorio."