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 Posted: Mon Jan 12, 2009 5:55 pm
113 Years ago [?] Krogoth Branch, Lighthalzen.
Siriyana Altirae of house Aventhel was dying. She lay in the shattered glass door of Lighthalzen's opulent department store. Seven broadhead arrows were lodged in her.
And all she could think about was her unborn child. Not even a month, and she was heart broken. Wolfe, her student, her close confidant, her fiancee did not know. Not yet.
And all she could think about was her unborn child through that haze of pain and shock.
"I don't understand why you would want one of those." Siriyana's voice called out -- No. Something that was not her possessed her voice. Siriyana blinked slowly.
A black knight stepped into her distorted vision. "Or Lord Sukhder, for that matter." the Knight was Siriyana Altirae Aventhel, except two draconic horns snaked out of her raven black hair. The-woman-who-was-not-her-but-her sneered, her face twisted into a mad grin, her eyes full of blood lust.
Siriyana moaned quietly, her voice hoarse and wet. "Who... who are you?" she choked out. One lung was torn asunder, an arrow had punched straight through her armor.
"Me? I am Altirae." she leaned forward over Siriyana and grinned. Altirae in Siriyana's native tongue meant "Berserker."
Siriyana shuddered, broken and choking. When a child was born in House Aventhel, a Fortune Teller gave them their last name, depending on their fate. The Soothsayer had given the newborn Siriyana "Altirae." A grim fate. All of Aventhel pitied the young girl as she mastered the sword, the spear, and the Siege Armor that house Aventhel was most famous for.
Every Altirae would eventually go mad, an inner demon consuming them. Siriyana, for all her strengths and merits, could not dodge Fate.
"Is... this, the end?" she wheezed out. Altirae shrugged.
"Perhaps. Certainly not for Siriyana Altirae Aventhel. Oh no. That'll live on in corporeal form. The Siriyana that loved Wolfe, prepared to bear him children from his loins? The Siriyana that loved Halbyr, accepted him regardless of his grim occupation and fate, also willing to bear his children? No. You won't survive. Definitely not." The Doppleganger gave a chesire grin. "You've been dying since you learned how to Frenzy. That glorious rush of power solely for bloodshed. That is, the Altirae curse. Your... curious rebirth gave me Thought. Desire. Focus. Before you would've been consumed by madness. Marching off to your death. Lord Sukhder gave me Purpose."
Altirae left Siriyana's sight. "I've pledged myself to Lord Sukhder. His ends I will support. For they are everything that I am. Now sleep, lonely maiden. Sleep the sleep of death."
Siriyana slumped back into the shattered glass. Alone. She closed her eyes slowly, desperate for one of her two loves to set her free. Wolfe... would be capable. Halbyr she didn't think he could.
Siriyana Altirae Aventhel was dying. But she would not let Altirae use her. No one used her. Not Valhalla, not that b*****d Sukhder, no one.
She gave a wheezing cough-chuckle and spat out bitterly. "Of course, what does that matter if you are dying?"
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Posted: Fri Jan 16, 2009 8:25 pm
Death of a Dream
Siriyana Altirae Aventhel marched with mesared tread through Altirae's Palace, resplendant in gold and white armor, her ivory wings candle lit with a warm glow. She was an angel in this blasted hellhole. This monument to slaughter and death. Soon, she knew, she would join the ranks of the dead entombed here.
Up the stairs, take a left, and march forward... To her. Altirae's throne room. Thrusting open the bloodstained doors with ease, she stepped into the hall confidenently. Altirae jumped out of the throne, eyes aflame with fury at Siriyana's entrance. “What is the meaning of this, Siriyana?” she demanded, reaching for her twin swords.
Siriyana held up her hands in a gesture of peace. “Altirae. We need to decide who lives and who dies this day.” she said quietly while walking into the middle of the hall.
Altirae watched her warily, realizing that Siriyana's weapons were in no shape to be drawn without any sort of speed. Altirae gave the mercenary the benefit of the doubt and met her on even ground. The middle of the throne room.
“What brought this?”
“We cannot continue this struggle. We will both die.”
“We also cannot coexist peacefully.”
“So we must choose who dies.”
Altirae nodded. “You obviously want to live, so you would-”
“No, I want you to survive. You can do what needs to be done.”
“But I am not you. I am not the person that everyone knows and loves. I am a killing machine, an instrument of slaugh-”
“A creature of passion and decisiveness. You can make the choice on the spot that I would hesitate.”
Altirae nodded slowly, with a growing realization of horror. Siriyana Altirae Aventhel was wanting to die... to let Altirae live on.
“Then what I am supposed to do if say, I encounter Wolfe, or Halbyr? They love you, not me.”
Siriyana had started taking off her armor ritually. First the gauntlets and pauldrons, leaving her arms bare. Altirae was drawn to this, helping her remove her armor. This was the way of House Aventhel. Ritual suicide.
“Then they must accept what happened. They must accept that Siriyana Altirae Aventhel could no longer go on.” Siriyana said while taking off her greaves, setting them aside. Altirae shook her head as he helped take off the war belt and armor protecting the thighs.
“How can they accept and love what is essentially a killing machine at its core?” Altirae demanded as she began helping take off the curiass, leaving Siriyana bare to the world, except for a simple white dress worn under the armor. A maiden's mourning dress.
“They must, because that's what I always was. A directed weapon. You cannot deny that and neither can they.” Siriyana said while looking up at Altirae. “Besides,” she said with a shaky grin. “The sex would be better.”
Altirae shook her head again. “Not funny. Though true. Are you absolutely sure that you want this to happen? You can simply retreat back here, live on. Let me be the one who makes the descisions.” Altirae was panicky. Altirae was not a real person. A fictional construct... albeit with all of Siriyana's memories.
“And do what? Live in my memories. The bloodsoaked memories? Memories of Lighthalzen... What I did in Rachel? No. I cannot. I'm tired. Tired of life. I want sweet oblivion that was denied to me.” Siriyana said quietly.
Altirae shook her head. “I am a construct of your own mind, and even I see the foolishness in this.”
“Altirae. You can do what I cannot. You can and will survive.” Siriyana said, before starting to chant funeral rights.
Altirae shook her head, drawing a knife that was heavily ornamented, a veritable work of art in itself. Handing it to Siriyana, she drew one of her swords, before joining her in the chant. When it was finished, Siriyana examined the knife, before plunging it into her chest. At that very action, Altirae slit her throat with a lightning fast stroke, the force snapping Siriyana's neck.
The angel dropped back silently, bleeding her life out on the floor
Altirae was Alone... and it frightened her.
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