Stomped Pride; A New Beginning
How many hours had passed? How long had he been lying, crippled, in the pungent marshes? There was no sun with which to tell time, or light, or shadows. The world seemed to be rotting before him; the darkness that rolled in was so intense that he couldn’t distinguish up from down. His only constant was a sweltering, blinding, green that sloshed around venomously, blurring the boundary between earth and sky in a deathly haze. Had night fallen, or had the arid collection of toxic vapors blotting the sky simply neutralized the sun’s rays? He did not know, just as he was uncertain whether it was his injuries that kept him in place, or perhaps the fear, enveloping his heart as the putrid film did his body.
He could feel the slimy substance between his fingers; dense and clotted as blooded fur, yet elastic and stringy as spittle. It singed at flesh, burning at his pours as if thousands of fiery worms were burrowing into his skin. Its presence was everywhere; the sludge topping the water’s surface and the slime settling on the dirt, even the mist in air. Dragon corruption had claimed everything in sight; and soon -he feared- it would take his life.
But was he really ready to die yet? If he could only stand up, if he could only run, walk even, do anything to get out of the decimated killing field. Surely there were other survivors, and they could get him help. Yet to move was to realize, to solidify the truth, the full horror of what had transpired. It wasn’t something he was ready to accept yet, maybe he never would be. For now, it was much easier, to simply watch the sky, as he slowly slipped into its eternal embrace.
The water burst with a clashing roar, its surface parting as jaws to accept its master’s vigorous return. Satisfied, the sea smacked its lips shut, the water collapsing violently, before rippling off as if to swallow. Yet he didn’t know whether it was an act of grace or one last cruel joke from a spiteful god, as the waves brushed roughly over the land, rolling over his body so that his eyes fell level with the earth.
The toxins had been washed away, and the imminent threat to his life extinguished. But something far more sinister than death had imprinted itself in his soul. His eyes shot open in terror, his body quivering as even his flesh seemed to be vividly recalling the nightmare. Yet he could not look away, now that the evidence was before him, he could no longer deny it. His spasms continued for a minute as everything flashed through his mind, and he found himself flowing through various stages of acceptance. Then finally, gritting his teeth, he pressed his palms firmly into the slug as he made an effort to stand.
Perhaps what had shook him the most, was how readily his body responded to his commands, fluidly moving as if he had never entered combat in the first place. Well, the truth came as no surprise to him, for he in fact, had not been injured. Examining the earth, his eyes traced over the mudded ground where his head had once laid, positioned, between the toes of Tequatl’s footprint.
Over the desolate field, dozens of vigil corpses littered the ground; as far as he could tell, he was the only survivor. Yet this was due to no skill of his own, not even luck could have saved him; the one truth that he refused to acknowledge, the only reason he was still alive; was because he did not stand back up. Knocked to the ground, and nearly crushed ’neath the monsters violent advance, his terror had been his salvation, and this was not something he could not accept.
Ahlou balled his fist so tightly that his nails split flesh, spilling blood between his white knuckles as he roared at the endless night. Then, collecting himself, swore silently, never to falter again.
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Disclaimer: We have taken creative liberties to create a fun and interesting back story for our guild, but we do not intend to sell, buy or otherwise market said content. This project is purely meant to enrich the player experience.
(edited by Mia Lunarfang.5826)