Arcaea/Dining Hall Late 08-09/A Hand for an Eye
Rocks clattered down the slope of the mountain as Richter knocked a few stones on the edge of the trail he was on. Richter walked in a single file line with the rest of his men, the narrowness of the mountain trail allowing no other means of procession. As the procession of men picked their way along the treacherous path, Richter reflected on the series of events that had lead him to this rocky crag just north of Nocaneb.
Udo had found Richter by the gates of the city, seemingly waiting for his own death. Udo’s news soon snapped him out of it easily enough. Their search had yielded fruit, they had found him.
Wasting no time Richter had marshaled his men, and rode north, to an abandoned village on the boarder between Sasat and Nocaneb. A search of the village had yielded nothing, save for tracks heading intohe mountainous region of Sasat. At the base of a sharp incline the tracks had ended abruptly indicating Siegfried’s ascent up the mountains, which lead to the present...
Richter was snatched from his reprieve by the ground collapsing under a step taken too close to the edge. He caught himself on the side of the mountain as the ground faded away, inhaling a sigh of relief at the close call. Sparing a glance over the side of the path Richter knew that such a fall from this height would have been fatal.
Pushing that knowledge to the side he pressed on, anxiety and determination putting any feelings of vertigo to rest. He lead his men further along the upward slope of the path, going faster then probably was safe, but determined to close the distance between him and his father.
Then he saw him, just as Richter was rounding a bend, he saw him, standing on the other side of an impromptu rope bridge his sword posed over the rope in a dramatic chopping gesture. As the two caught sight each other, they froze starring each other down. Richter face was a mask of dark brooding rage, and Siegfried’s was twisted into his usual mocking coldness. Suddenly Richter took off in a futile attempt to get to the bridge before his father cut the rope. He wasn’t even half way there when Siegfried’s sword fell.
His work down, Siegfried took the time to add insult to injury, bowing at his pursuers, his mocking smile only growing as he did so, before turning about and disappearing at another bend in the path.
Richter, however, was not giving up so easily. In his mind he carefully measured the distance of the bridge. Several moments passed as Richter did the numbers in his head, three times just to be sure. That done he backed his men up until he was about 10 yards from the gap the bridge used to cover. He removed his armor, his plate mail, his chain mail under that, his arm guards, and his leg guards. Down now to just his clothes and his sword, he took blade and strapped it across his back, making sure it would not get in the path of his legs.
He inhaled deeply, shutting himself off to everything around him, everything except the gap before him. Suddenly he took off, sprinting for all he was worth towards the gap, leaping with all his might. Richter fell just short of the gap, colliding hard with the rock wall below the ledge, just barely catching himself on his fingertips. He climbed to the path above him after a moment of orientation, lying on the ledge and catching his breath.
“Udo,” he called back down the path, “Take the men back down, see if you can find another way up, I’ll keep on him.
He heard something that sounded like Udo acknowledging him and turned to follow after his father.
Richter fallowed the winding slope of the trail, keeping a slow but steady pace, knowing that he would need all the energy he had for when he caught up too his father. Plans flowed through Richter’s mind half formed, one after the other, each one more desperate then the last, but all ultimately useless.
His thoughts ended abruptly when he noticed his father’s tracks had cut off abruptly, and several rocks on the wall next to the path had been displaced. Casting his glance upward, Richter threw himself up against the wall, found a grip and pulled himself up.
Several minutes of climbing later, Richter pulled himself up onto a wide ledge on the side of the mountain, a dull burn in his muscles telling him it was time to rest. He barely poked his head over the edge, when the sword suddenly swooped down for his neck. Richter acted fast, ducking back at the last second, the dull burn in his muscles now a raging inferno from catching his fall.
Knowing that he could not make all the way back down in his current state, Richter heaved with all his might, and threw himself onto the ledge, barely avoiding the return stroke. Richter rolled to his feet, casting a glance as his assailant, though at the same time knowing that it was his father. He swiftly cast his eyes about the ledge, absorbing the details of his surroundings, needing whatever advantage he could get.
The ‘ledge’ now seemed to be more of a plateau, craved out by miners years ago, it was flat in some places, yet rocky and rough in others. Richter mind worked itself into overdrive, desperate to find some kind of angle to turn the situation to his favor, a way that didn’t involve fighting fire with fire.
His reprieve ended suddenly, when Siegfried’s patient’s ended, and he charged his son with his sword drawn, and a confident smirk etched into his face. Richter had run out of time, and he knew it, so resignation in his eyes, he pulled his flask from his cloak and down the entirety of its contents in a single glup, before dropping it away.
Richter blinked, once, twice, then starred his father in the face for the first time with eyes just as cold as Siegfried’s own. His sword was out a second later, as the distance between the two disappeared.
Swords clashed and sparks flew, as the two fought each other with ruthless from one side of the plateau to the other. The sound of metal striking metal resounded throughout the mountain side for an unknown amount of time, faster and faster, blurring together in a symphony of steel.
An eternity of unending combat had seemingly passed before the two had finally showed signs of slowing. Their swords slipped from numbed fingers, as the two charged each other with nothing but their fists to bare.
Richter landed a fierce right hook across his father’s face. Siegfried rolled with the blow, landing a savage roundhouse in Richter’s gut. Richter tumbled backwards, before regaining his balance and charging back into the melee. A furry of punches and kicks passed between the two, nothing more then a blur to the human eye.
They had stopped blocking attacks, so focused were they on killing each other, it was no longer a simple fight, it was a death match, the winner would be the one who could take the biggest beating. Slowly, evitable, exhaustion made itself known in Richter and Siegfried, blows came slower with less force as time passed. Richter felt his limbs go numb as his father reared back for another punch, he didn’t think he acted, launching himself forward, colliding his head into his fathers, stunning them both sending them spiraling backward
Blood and sweat flowed from their bodies as their battered forms collapsed against the cold unforgiving earth but a few feet away from each other.
Richter’s body felt like it was weighted down with lead, and lifting his sword was as beyond him as lifting a mountain at this point, cuts and bruises covered his body, only adding to his exhaustion. Wearily, his pushed himself into an up right position, locking eyes with Siegfried as he struggled to use a boulder to pull himself to his feet.
A chilling laugh spewed from Siegfried’s mouth as he collapsed against the boulder he been struggling vainly with. As the laughed died away, Richter noticed something noticed, something was different, he couldn’t quite place his finger on it.
Siegfried sighed, a nostalgic weary sigh, a sound old men were supposed to make, not Richter’s father, not the cold blooded monster that had raised him.
It wasn’t until Siegfried spoke that Richter finally nailed what was different...
“I’ve done terrible things,” said Siegfried, his eyes no longer quite so cold, or inhuman, glistening with tears, “Haven’t I...?”
And suddenly, in the literal blink of an eye, it was gone, and Siegfried the monster was back, laughing his insane laugh.
Richter laid where he was, utterly, and completely shocked. Words were beyond him, at this point, and he struggled against gravity to regain his feet. The sound of feet clattering against the earth interrupted his struggles. Siegfried was on his feet, and was looming over Richter like an executioner, his face raised, read to beat his son to death with his bare hands.
An almost animal fear consumed Richter at this point, and in a frantic burst of energy, he seized his sword from wear it lay next to him, and wildly sliced outwards with it.
The blade caught his father at the wrist, slicing through the muscle and bone, and severing the left hand in a single stroke. Siegfried stumbled back in shock, his right hand clasping the stub of his left arm, confused rage gripping him. Rage blinded him, as his face contorted into the stuff of children’s nightmares, and he seized his sword from the ground and slowly advanced on Richter’s struggling form.
Frantically Richter pulled himself to his feet, sword barely held in half dead fingers, as he stumbled backwards away from his father. With the aid of a nearby boulder Richter pulled himself to his feet, but it was already too late. Siegfried’s lanced outwards towards his son’s throat, intending to cut him and leave him to choke on his own blood. At the last second Richter brought his sword up, deflecting the blow away from his neck, and straight into his left eye. He closed that eye for the last time at the blade connected, sealing it shut forever, and sending Richter tumbling back from the force of the blow.
Richter’s sword clattered to the ground next to him, as his fell face first into the ground, pain flaring all over his body, as he knew he had reached his limit.
The sound of marching feet was the first indication Richter had of his men arriving. The second was the sound of Siegfried as he took off to the opposite side of the mountain and disappeared down the trail.
Udo was there shortly there after, examining Richter’s battered form before calling for the healer to do his work. A few harsh words from Richter later, and Udo and the men were back on the hunt, however reluctantly that might have been. The healer stayed behind to finish patching Richter wounds, and catering to him as he recovered his strength.
Half a day later Richter was forcibly strapped to a horse pointed towards Nocaneb. The field healer, didn’t have the supplies necessary to fully treat his wounds, and Richter needed to report.
He did not know how long he was on that horse, as he passed in and out of consciousness during the ride. He opened his single eye, half way, noticing the white walls and towering spire of Nocaneb for the first time. Instinctively, he reached down and unfastened the rope harness designed to keep him attached to the horse, inadvertently sending himself tumbling to the ground.
He laid on the ground for an unknown amount of time before the sentries finally came upon him. They spoke to him, but Richter could not hear them over the ringing in his ears.
“I got...,” he said, wearily as he reached within his cloak for something, “I got...”
Slowly he lifted his hand from his cloak, reveling the severed left hand of his father, “I got...the bastard’s...hand.”
His strength spent Richter collapsed against the ground and passed out.
Richter Massey
Marshal of the Tribute Collecting Army
You never did realize how big a region was until you had to walk across it. Which was the exact situation had found himself in not but two days ago. His, and several others, had been ambushed by a large contingent of Cathy, and had been wiped out to the last man, all save for Richter.
He stumbled forward, on the last leg of his journey and the last leg of his strength, his right hand griped tightly to his chest in a futile attempt to staunch the blood flow from a weeping festering wound. He had blacked out several times due to the blood loss, but always awoke to find himself upright and still walking ever forward.
It wasn't until he saw one of the sign's Marking Arcaea's borders that Richter had even the vaguest idea of where he was, or where he was going. A sense of grim finality gripped him, as he redoubled his steady pace.
He was half way down the road before his legs gave out from underneath him, a wave of nausea forcing him to his knees as...the memories...came back.
Flashes of pain, brief glimpses of slaughter and mayhem, voices calling out to him, screaming in pain, so loud it was maddening...
Instinctively he reached for his tonic, usually kept hidden within the flask his brother had given him, only to remember he had run dry no less then a day ago. As the waves of pain and flashes of his past flowed over him unimpeded Richter felt a wordless scream die in his throat, as he bit his tongue, drawing blood in an attempt to make it all go away...
And suddenly it all snapped back into focus again, disappearing as suddenly as it came, unpredictable as always.
Breathless from the pain, and exhaustion, Richter wearily forced himself to his feet and soldiered on. His single eye half closed from blood that oozed its way down from a small cut at the top of his skull to partially cover his only eye.
An unknown amount of land traveled beneath his feet before he looked up again, noticing he had wondered to the foot of an encampment. He scanned it quickly, noticing he hadn't been spotted yet, finding the Arcaean colors brought a small measure of relief. He took two steps forward into view of the camp, before the ground rose up around him and crashed into his chest.
He was vaguely able to recall the name of the unit before passing out...
'...The Silver Shields...who commands them I wonder...,' he thought as he felt warm bodies gather around him, and the darkness looming on the edge of his vision rush froth to consume him.
Richter Massey (Knight of Remton)
He was dreaming, he knew he was because he knew the dream had stumbled into.
Oh yes he knew this one well indeed, it had haunted him for nearly 8 years now, a lingering remnant of his childhood, clinging to him by the roots of his sub consciousness. It always started the same way...it always ended the same way...and before he was through he would be forced to make an ultimately irrelevant choice that became harder and harder to make each time...
It begins...Richter...at the least a younger version of Richter...dashes through the hallways of Massey Manor. Taking a left down a adjacent and then a right down another, no rhyme or reason to the running, just a burning desire to get away from...him...
And like the devil he appeared from seemingly the air itself, blocking the path before Richter and drowning him in a wave of awe inspiring terror, always more potent then the last. Siegfried loomed over his son, a sadistic smile spread across his face, and eyes that bore into a person's very soul glowing softly in the darkness of the halls.
Richter freezes with fear, amplified by the oppressive atmosphere of the dream world itself. His mind screamed at his feet to move, and his feet stubbornly refused to comply. Barely a yard separated him from certain death, when an instinctive animalistic fear override his fears and forced him to move.
He turned and ran faster then he had ever ran before, but it might as well of been a crawl to Richter. He risked a glance over his shoulder, to see Siegfried walking just as slowly and steadily as ever, yet impossibly closing the small distance between them. Desperation seized him as he cast half crazed looks about for an escape.
...A window...
...A table...
His mind was barely able to process what was happening before Richter acted. He barely caught sight of a small window with a table next to it, before he was barreling towards it with all the speed his young legs could give him. A casual swipe of his hand sent the table spiraling into his wake, smashing into his father with a satisfying crunch, before Richter leapt into the air, and through the window...
He rolled to his feet on the opposite side of the glass, only a few minor cuts to add to his collection...it took him a second to realize where the window had led him...it took another for a fresh wave of horror to grip him.
The Courtyard...the dogs...
The thought barely crossed his mind, before the hellish barking reached his ears. Renewed fear drove his feet to fly beneath him, towards the only source of salvation such a place held, the only way into, or out of, the courtyard besides the small window Richter had just left his father behind. A rope ladder that came down from the roof on the far side of the courtyard...
Richter caught sight of it just as the first of the dogs was upon him...leaping up on him, and scratching him with his claws, and going for the neck with his fangs. Richter was faster though, elbowing the dog in the stomach first, then throwing the stunned animal to the ground, before hurrying off...
The second hound caught him five yards from Richter's goal, but he was ready his time, turning to catch the dog at the moment of his lunge and hurled him into the wall with his own momentum. The rest of the pack loomed just outside of his vision, cutting all escape except for the ladder, as they slowly tightened the proverbial noose.
With a final burst of adrenaline, Richter reached the ladder, the fangs of the dogs nipping at his feet, angry howls cursed him as he pulled himself to the roof. He found his father waiting for him there, calmly leaned against the slant of the roof, with a seemingly bored expression on his face, not but 5 yards between them.
Now was the moment...the only moment that mattered...the moment of the choice...with death before him, and behind him what would he do...would he press his back to the wall and prepare to fight to his last breath...or would he dissolve into darkness without so much as a whimper...ethier way it did not matter, the end was death and had always been death...the decision did not matter...only the choice...
It took him longer to decide with each dream...but his decision was ultimately the same...
Feet spread, arms out in a defensive posed, he ushered his father to finish what he had started barely 14 years ago.
The two charged each other, closing the distance between faster then the space between breathes. Richter lanced out with his feet, launching a flurry of kicks alternating between the two in an attempt to keep his father off balance.
He might as well as been moving in slow motion for all the good it did him, as each one of his kicks was blocked or dodged in rapid secession...all save for the last one...which Siegfried caught...
With a quick jerk Richter was flung off his feet and slammed into the opposite side of the roof with jarring force. He was still struggling to regain his feet when Siegfried griped him and pulled him to his feet. Fist after fist made seemingly of pure iron slammed into Richter, as he stumbled about, too stunned to dodge, sliding one way with the force of one blow, and sliding the other way with the force of the other.
It always ended like this, Richter battered to the breaking point, always drawn out just a bit longer each time...On and on it went like that...until finally the blows stopped coming, and Richter collapsed against his father...the ability or will to move his limbs gone from him...
The knowledge that the end was near being the only comfort for Richter, as his father grabbed him by collar of his torn and blood stained shirt. One handed Siegfried lifted his son off his feet and held him aloft over the edge of the roof, as the hound bayed in anticipation for the meal to come...
"Tell me Richter," Siegfried said, as he always did, voice as cold and mocking as always,"...why do we fall."
"To learn...," Richter said, words coming out in between bloodstained coughs, his voice a resigned flat sound that reflected his emanate demise,"...the arrogance...of climbing...so high..."
Siegfried chuckled at his son's programed response, reveling in his role of puppet master to Richter's puppet, "You say that so confidently...but I don't think you've learned yet...I believe a larger fall is in order...hm?"
With that, Siegfried released his grip, and Richter slid from limp fingers. As he fell he did not cry out...he did not flap his arms in a desperate bid for purchase...he simply closed his eyes and accepted it...
Richter's eyes snapped open as they always did when the dream ended, casting his weary eyes about, he noticed several healers standing off to the side, gathering about a lady, possibly one of the new nobles Richter had been getting letters from recently...He pushed such musings to the side, and slowly pulled his aching body to an upright position mindful of the fresh bandages warped around his bare chest.
Sitting back, waiting to be addressed, Richter's thoughts fell back to the dream, as they usually did, and a look of deep thought settled upon him...so deep that he hardly noticed when the noble women approached him...
Richter Massey (Knight of Remton)
