Double post, sorry...
*Sees Apiks' story. Realises this is his cue.*
Memories of Apiks, the first
The Discovery
Pound. Pound. Pound. I stir, wake and then drift off again. Pound. Pound pound pound. I gasp and jerk upwards, my blankets sliding as I move. Pound. Pound. Pound. Growling, I roll out of bed and dress hastily, numb fingers slipping on the buttons of my clothes. The winters in Necrothreat are cold. I stuff my feet into my prized pair of woolly socks, put on a coat and stalk out of my room and into the empty halls of the fortress. Empty, that is, except for the constant pounding which seems to fill everything with noise. I grit my teeth and try to restrain the irrational anger boiling through my veins. After I learned the secrets of Travelling, I learned constraint against the influence of Armok. To an extent. Light, but sometimes it feels like I learned nothing at all. But I fight back the anger, calm myself, and get on with what has to be done. I follow the noise to its source, winding through corridors. When I find whoever is doing this, I’ll…Well, I don’t know what I’ll do. One way or another, I’m going to get at least one night of dreamless sleep.
I make my way to the source, some distance from my bedroom. The noise reaches a fever pitch, then stops suddenly. In the eerie silence which descends, I can hear my own heart thumping in my chest. My hands feel damp and my neck tingles. I’m scared. The silence stretches on as I walk, the noise of my footfalls the only sound as night fills the halls. The walls around me slowly grow rougher, they look freshly mined. I stroke one groove as I pass, feel the rough edges. It was recently mined. I follow this new branch until I meet with a chamber, a hollowing in the rock. As I enter, a panting figure shrouded in shadow which had been sitting down, stands up, a blade glinting in its hand. It rises, rises….and falls, hitting the rock with a resounding pounding sound. A pick. The noise picks up again, a flurry of strokes, the like of which only a master-miner could achieve. Apiks.
I stride forward, determined to stop this. The mining operation was only to be undertaken during the day! Grabbing his shoulder, I twirl him around with angry words on my lips. They die there. Twin pools look at me, an abyss which sinks into eternity. I stumble backwards, pressing against the rough-hewn wall. If the stories speak of the knowledge of Apiks, the only one to remember even part of his previous life, these eyes speak of a legend, one who knows not just of his own life, but more. The eyes of one I should not command. My breathing picks up, rasping in the silence. Those eyes look at me, then turn back to the wall “come. Watch.” His voice echoes with authority, and I obey. His shoulders bunch and then release, his pick sinking deep into the living rock.
Those eyes…they recall the myths told around a roaring fire, the tales whispered as he walks past. Those stories which recount his noble blood line, a direct line from Apiks himself, the Trickster of old. They put a different light on him than just another miner, another lackey churning through the depths. He digs because he wants to, because it has been the Family creed. To dig, to find, to treasure. They say that the medallion around his neck, a drop of pure red as like a crystalline drop of blood hanging from a cord, was blessed by many powerful forces which have long fled from this plane. He is Apiks, nothing more needs to be said. Except, maybe, that he is not the Apiks of old. Not now, not yet. His story is a long one, his memories fractured into many fragments. But at times he shows great wisdom, more even than from those who are called leaders and kings. None can explain him, he just is. He exists like a mountain which towers into the sky, ever present. Powerful forces like wind, rain…gods…may beat against him, try to topple him. And yes, he is worn, just like that mountain. But he is strong, he stands. He stands, though man and forces beyond the ken of beasts and nature beat against him. His will is as of iron, no, steel! The metal which stiffens the backbone of every Forumite, that flows like molten lead in their veins. He is the embodiment of a people, and he is their hero.
I stand and watch, awed by his sheer physical power as he hews and tears at the rock. Alas for the Apiks which we once knew, for if this is his shadow then the man himself must have been a being indeed. The pick pounds and punches at the rock and stone. Ore glitters like gold on the walls. We move faster, further….Pound, pound, pound, RING. The pick glances from the wall, unable to penetrate any deeper into the stone. With a sound of rending metal, the pick shatters into many pieces, shards shooting off into the darkness. There, in front of Apiks’ awe-struck face glows a ruby-red gem, standing from the face of the wall in small pillars of crimson crystals. The face of Apiks is bathed in an otherworldly red light which seems almost to seep into his skin. “Bloodstone” He sighs, breathe wheezing out of his lungs. In the grip of the crystalline pillars is what seems to be a scroll, a roll of aged paper held, but not trapped, by the gem. My heart beat quickens. What have I gotten myself into?
It strikes. The cloud that had shrouded my thoughts seeps through my flimsy barriers and overtakes my mind. I am Th4DwArfY1! I will not…not…I will not what? I am Armok, all shall fear me! Like a pestilence I shall sweep across the land, killing, always killing. I will bring death, destruction, and you shall be glad, for it came from me. I am Armok!
I look up at my Adversary, He Who Holds Knowledge. I look into eyes of ivory with eyes of ebony. A greatness, as of the shadow of wings, fills the space behind me, consuming all. A brilliance, as of the light which bounces from clear-cut diamonds, spreads from him in rivalry to my power. I sneer at his presumption.
“Come, dog. You will not defeat me. I am no longer a puppet; I am simply me, LORD OF BLOOD” The darkness behind me grows, gains another dimension, and pushes against the white. “Feel my power and tremble, dog! Bah, you are but a shadow of my ally of old!”
A darkness falls on Apiks. “My forefather never served you, Father of Lies. None of the memories speak of it.” Nevertheless, the shadow gains an inch, pushing back the Light. I look into Apiks’ eyes and smile, baring more teeth than is Forumly possible. But I am no longer a Forumite, I am above that now. A part of me fights this statement, rebels. I squash it back down, and its noise ceases. I am no longer a Forumite, I am the MASTER!
“Mewling mutt, I will strike your pitiful figure from the face of the earth, and scour your bloodline from the histories. I will bathe your name in blood, let it sink and drown in it, and you shall be forgotten. Forumites will once more come under my command!” I feel the spittle flying from my mouth, spraying the air in front of me. Apiks watches on, a look of disgust clouding his face. The Light pulses, strains, and regains the inches lost.
“Mutt, you call me,” he growls between clenched teeth. “Mutt! And yet my line stretches back, my family has whispered tales of betrayal and fame, of wealth and despair. And weaving through them all, the bringer of blood, the serpent in the grass. You. And you know what those stories say? They do not call you fearsome, brave, terrible or powerful. They call you coward, a backstabber. The knife in the dark. Well, you are not in the dark now, Shade. I see you, and you will not escape the fury of my Fire!” The light grows brighter, brighter, and it becomes hard to see through it
I step forward, tides of darkness foaming and moving about my arms and feet. The Light it touches turns to dark, gets caught in the flow and helps power it. I can feel it. None can beat Armok, especially not a shadow of a shadow!
Four things happen at once. Apiks, who had been backing into a corner, stops. His back has hit the wall. The cord around his neck seems to grow as heavy as a chunk of lead, and the leather snaps, bringing the bloodstone shard across the skin of Apiks, piercing it in a long, thin line. Beads drip from the wound, fall to the recently mined bloodstone in the wall. An explosion of colour radiates from the gems, enfolding the Light and washing away the black, a light of many rays dancing in front of my eyes, piercing my mind…I scream, falling to the ground. The shadow of feet appear in my vision, and I look up to see Apiks standing over me, hand out-stretched, as if trying to help.
“Feel my wrath, snake,” he mutters. His eyes blaze down at me, liquid gold burning through to the very centre of my existence
From the broken cord the medallion slips down, touching my skin. I scream, a fire of red flares pulsing next to my heart, coursing through my veins. But I am not a thing of blood or veins, I control them, and do not need them. He will not beat me in this way! I AM ARMOK, GOD OF BLOOD. A stirring in my mind alerts me, a beaten dog that creeps towards a merry blaze. The me before I was reborn goes to the red, becomes part of it, helping it. The pressure builds, builds…I scream, the pure power forcing the air out of my body….The force of the blast strikes me from this body, from this dimension. A cloud of roiling black boils from my mouth, and then silence. Apiks stands with medallion in hand, looking down at me. His figure seems to be in two pieces yet, but more powerful, more potent. I slip away to the sounds of Apiks calling for Sprin.
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Topic: Necrothreat II - A Fort Cursed by the Gods! (Read 446531 times)