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 Posted: Sat Feb 20, 2010 6:00 pm
}The first parte of this tale, being the beginning of Wynd's pain{
Wynd was the son of a blacksmith, learning the trade, becoming an accompished swordsman along the way. at the age of nineteen, his father and mother were killed by a bandit raid. the bandits were put to death, of course, by hired mercinarys. Wynd was rich Because of his father. And then came Marie.
The time of love... would he ever find anything better than gazing into her eyes? he hoped not. Courting her, rowing on the lake, showing off to her... nothing better to do, and his fortune made almost any wish of hers reality. would she love him if his money ran out? he hoped so.
Wynd sparred every day, getting stronger and faster. he could kill any ruffian who tried to take his fortune. and he did. he almost never used his power, why would he need to? he became more and more proud of his skill. no one could stand against him, and those who did... they faced the wrath of the insects, the wolves, the dogs, the bears. Wynd could speak any language imaginable. Many thought he was just smart, but Wynd knew better...
Tears. Saddness. Why... She was dead... She had told him that She would always be there, and she wasn't... "I DIDN'T MEAN IT!!!" screamed Wynd. she had come back late... with someone else. a man who claimed to be able to defeat him. and they fought, and Wynd won, he was going to slice the man's throught, present his head to marie... she told him not to kill him... he asked why, and her reply was that Wynd had changed... gotten crueller, tougher, unlistening. He replied that in his ruggedness and power, why would she leave? why? "Because i no longer love you, Wynd. and i don't belive you love me either." Hatred. disgust. "Then die with him. Kill them both." These last words were directed to the scorpions and waps living under his house. and now...she was. and regret could not undo this. no... he saw the village coming this way, they must have heard... no... he would not be taken... he took her body, leaped over their heads... melted into the night... if there was a way out there, somewhere in the world for death... Wynd would find it. he could not express his shame, fear, pain... pain... "But does it need to be so, Wynd..." Wynd stood up. She was there. standing up. but she was dead, too... "Wynd, you are needed. follow me..." And the spirit walked off. Wynd followed, with Marie's body over his shoulder. After two days of walking in silence, he stopped to make a coffin. he strapped it to his back, and continued walking. he would change. he hated himself, and the world, and living. and he kept following... his feeling. he couldn't see it, not anymore. but he felt it leading him on. and he would follow. as his own, everyone's and no one's.
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Posted: Fri Feb 26, 2010 8:56 pm
}The second parte of this tale, being the battle with the necromancer{ Wynd walked onwards with Marie's coffin on his back. he saw a village in the distance and within a hour he was at it's gates. he had not slept for a week, so he want to the inn to book a room. The innkeeper balked, saying that Wynd would have to leave the coffin outside. Wynd stared the man in the eye. "You will let me take her in." He spoke in french without meaning to. This man seemed french. And he was. The man apparantly had not heard his native language in years, and was so overjoyed that he let Wynd bring in the coffin. not by what he normaly would have done, of course. but when spoken to in the language of command, which sounds like your homeland's language to all ears, it is hard to resist. in his room, Wynd opened the coffin. Her body had not seemed to age a bit, nor decompose. He wondered at this, and then bathed her wounds inflicted by the scorpions and hornets. She looked heavenly, beautiful... He would see her alive again. he put her back into the coffin. He felt that infuriating mental itch, pushing him in some direction... infuriating. He went downstairs to the bar, hoping to find some respite to the sadness he was feeling. Several men who were there were a bit edgy about Wynd. Prehaps it was his complection, getting paler each day. But the edgyness wore off after the first round of drinks Wynd bought for everyone. Then he saw him. This man had an aura of power about him, no mistaking that, even though Wynd couldn't see his face. Then Wynd remembered... "Don't go to Tellborn, Wynd, They say a necromancer lives there!" His old friends had warned him, but he had to try. this was his first chance. He walked up to the man. "Can you help me?" The man pulled his hood lower. "Prehaps. You think you require my-" The man cleared his throught, "-Talents?" Wynd cleared his own throught. "I belive so. and you are Drellin, correct?" Drellin looked up. His hood slipped. The scar on his eye was only matched by the scar that apparently came to him at the same time he had lost his left ear. "You do need my help, kid. Be discreet, or dead." It was two thirty five, and Wynd was getting impatient. how long would gathering nightshade take? And then Drellin walked out of the shadows, litteraly. "I have the supplies. And you brought... her?" "Yes. And keep good mind, necromancer, i want her bound to no one but herself. and her mind must be kept, or no deal. A revival is nothing compared to the hoard of gold i'm giving you." "It had better be. This is the last of my shadow's wort." "Please! hurry!" Drellin scattered herbs, threw dust, and cast spells. "Mystcaltha granythic destrosto pellinoco TRANYSTIC!!!!" He screamed, sounding almost afraid. and her body stood. and Wynd got his by a blast from Drellin. He felt paralized. "I was upset," Hissed Drellin, "When i heard my faithful servant failed to kill you and take her to me... But it matters no longer. You stand a graveyard, fool, and you told me where your gold is in your house, and now you have given me my desire, and now you become my faithful servant..." Wynd felt the dark energy casting through the dirt, and knew he was going to die. But he would die with a fight. He drew faithful tarryl, his blade his father forged, and strung tirryl, the bow his mother had fashioned for him. the first corpse charged him, and he sliced off all body parts required for combat. Drellin seemed to not be able to revive those who Wynd destroyed, and Wynd took heart. Onwards, through the night, and he saw Marie held by the corpse of the man who's life she once protected from him. His blood burned, as did the foes he sliced, or at least they would come morning, when the villagers came and saw the carnage of the undead battle. The hour struck eight A.M., and the undead became slower in the sun. Drellin still stood, but he looked as weary as Wynd felt. This had to end... With The death of Drellen... But Wynd could never... Get to him... Thought was harder... His body and mind were both tired... "DRELLIN!!! ENOUGH!!!" Wynd's shout must have caught Drellen by suprise, because then the undead stopped moving for a moment. "Just you and me. no more of this. You don't need them... or are you simply a coward, like all Necromancers?" Drellen growled. " Coward? no, a mastermind am I, Wynd. I will fight you, and you will die." All the undead suddenly fell limp. Drellen drew his blade, casting his staff aside. Wynd threw aside his dagger to the ground, where it landed point sticking straight up. "You." Drellin charged him, and it started all over again. After about an hour of fighting, Wynd began to gain the upper hand. Drellin stumbled backwards, seeking to retreat, Wynd charging him, never letting him. Now Wynd was playing with him, and finaly he disarmed him. "You lost Wynd." "You are about to die. i win." Drellin looked up, grinning triumphantly. "And where might dear Marie be? as long as i live, she does too... do you want to chance her being... not?" Their eyes met, and Wynd knew Drellin spoke the truth. "I have no word strong enough to describe you, Vermin. Get on your feet." Drellin stood. And dived for his staff. And then he cast a spell of deepest death at Wynd. Wynd colapsed, but not in death. The pressure in his skull was amazing, and his memory was shortening... who was he? Why did he have a sword? Why was this man taking it? "Why are you not dead, Wynd? no matter... fine sword, incedently." Drellin swung up. Wynd saw the corpse of Marie, and it all came to him. "DIE." The language of necromancy. Drellin's eyes rolled up. Wynd stood tall.
"you cannot make me forget."
"I will never forget the love of the departed."
"I will never forget the pain."
"I won't forget... her."
This last word was whipered, never heard by Drellin.
And thus Drellen died. Wynd took Marie's body, snuck into the inn, and put her into the coffin before nine. He stayed one more night in that town, but left soon. He was no one's. He was his own. I am hers, he realized.
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Posted: Thu Mar 11, 2010 7:31 pm
}The third parte of this tale, being the beginning of the sin's wrath{ Wynd followed the mental itch for sevral days, until he felt so tired he could no longer walk; this was easily explained, for he hadn't eaten since the night before the necromancer. He felt as though he must die, but he stretched on... three days more... one more day, and he must surely die... then he was collapsing... a lush forest... nice place... and he would see Marie again... Wynd woke up in a bed. something was deadly wrong. he felt it. he cried in bed for a minute, then looked out the window... and there she was. burning. creamated. Fury. fire. something awoke within. Drellin had said, hadn't he? You need a body... to bring it back to life. then he saw something worse. the minion. the one who had stolen Marie's heart. alive. impossible. Wynd had killed him once with wasps and scorpions, and again with his sword when Drellin brought him back. it seemed he would get the chance again. Wynd lept from the window. the leap was over a hundred feet. but Wynd made it with only a single bound from the window, and landed unharmed. "DIE!!!" The cry lept to his lips, and the man's head left his shoulders. the body flew back on a gust of wind. that was new. it was too late though, Marie's body was dust now. Wynd gathered up the ashes in an urn he found in a nearby shed. He finished just as the first warriors came around. Wynd glared at them. They shouted about blasphemy, about demons, about wizards. Wynd didn't care. he only cared about one thing. Marie must have a desent burial. and if a demon cared for her ashes, they would be destroied. and Wynd would voluntarily go to hell before that happened. So these men must die before they could kill him. The blood of hundreds was on Wynd's hands. all the town felt it their duty to avenge the guards. of course it was a small town. the guards must have been related. how annoying. but now the town was dead. no one alive. the children. he relized in a flash of horror he had killed the crying girl who had pleaded with him, the baby in its crib, the child who was being taught how to eat in it's "high chair." all dead. on his concience. and all for revenge, and an urn with his beloved's ashes. And that man... He had been burning her. Why would and could wait. but he was definitely dead. He was dead. definitely. Wynd reassured himself with the fact the anyone, even Drellin could be killed with a blade through the throught. and the man's head had not been severed while he burned Marie's corpse. Wynd would find out what... yes... For he was His own...
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Posted: Sun Aug 01, 2010 11:22 am
}The fourth parte of this tale, being the loss and releasing of deadly talents{ Wynd awoke without knowing where he was yet again. Death surrounded him. Mangled corpses. And all seemed to have been ravaged and burnt. He noted the torch in his hand. He noted the burn marks on his clothes. He noted that he felt not terror or revulson, but interest and exitement. He looked around, and noticed he was in a village, and carnage was as far as the eye could see. Then he felt shock. Terror. The urn that held Marie's ashes. Gone. He searched the village. Nothing. He searched for miles around. Nothing. He walked up to the top of nearby hill. As he sat down and began to cry, unbeknownst to him, a tornado silently made it so there was no trace of the destroyed village.
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Posted: Mon Aug 16, 2010 9:21 pm
}The last parte of this tale, Being the realization of darke talents{ Wynd woke the next morning to the sight of the now-destroyed village. He marveled at the fact that a tornado had not killed him and wiped out any remaints of something he had obviously done in one fell swoop. A stroke of impossible luck. He was untouchable. He must have some divine influence. But he was not the only one who had survived the tornado. A lone survivor, a man in the clothes of a warrior who travels light, tottered towards Wynd. He must have been on the edge of the village, mused Wynd. The man came up to Wynd and sat down next to him. He then told a tale of dead family members and starvation and sadness. He was not accusing Wynd, nor asking for help. Simply complaining his lot in life. Wynd sat for a while, totaly absorbed with the village. He did not notice the man picking his supplies, and drinking copious amounts of ale Wynd had mistakenly picked up thinking it was water. The man grew drunk, and eventualy hit Wynd in the side of the head. Wynd wa prepared to ignore the man, but this was too much. Unknowing the man was drunk, Wynd drew his sword. The man did likewise. Wynd lunged, and the man somehow dodged. Then lady luck turned on Wynd. The tornado the night previous must have loosened the tree that Wynd was under's branches, and now gravity demanded the inevitable. Wynd fell to the ground, stunned, under the weight of a branch that must have weighed hundreds of pounds. The man took no mercy, darting forwards and stabbing viciously with his sword, the effects of alchahol paling in comparison to the bloodlust that now consumed the man. Wynd was stuck, and the blade went home. Wynd's shoulder immediately screamed in protest to this bar of sharpened metal that now pierced it. Pain registered in Wynd's brain, and then without concious thought, without any means of realizing what he was doing, Wynd plunged into a more primal part of his mind, and it demanded that he kill this man. Immediately, the world was changed to a pattern more pleasing to Wynd. The man was suddenly locked in combat with a large number of humanoids that did not fear blades. Wynd was on his feet, and something was making it possible for him to hold the branch that so recently familiarized itself with his skull. He swung it, and the man flew several miles by Wynd's estimate, before alighting on the sharp edge of a tree laced with blackberry bushes. Wynd smiled grimly, then realized exactly whathad just happened. The humanoids disintigrated into piles of dirt, dust, and other refuse that was light enough to be held aloft by air. He knew immediately the cause of the tornado the night preceeding. He sat down hard and fast. He had power. He could destroy everything if he wanted to. His ego immediately sprang into action, painting a picture so vivid, he gasped in shock. The master of the world. Everything under his command. Let his enemies beware! He was mighty, powerful- And then a sudden shock to his very soul stopped that line of thought. And Marie seemed to be speaking in his mind, "But why, when you have a greater destiny laid upon you? Follow the urge, you feel it, I know it..." He stood. He felt a compulsion, a twinge, a urge... and followed it. He would find this greater destiny. He would become mighty, and revive Marie, and then... he would be hers for all of time. }This ends this section of the story of Wynd{
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