Twix Family/Dyan/Faith
The Daimon Invasion in the north of Beluaterra is coming to crisis. Melhed is overrun repeatedly with several strains of the creatures, who do immense damage and then retreat to nearby regions to breed. Dyan is in the midst of it all with his Vengeance, proving his strength and courage to the Old Gods in the face of impossible odds. He is injured defending Agyr...
Dyan rolls over uncomfortably in the dark, bandages still cumbersome after 2 days of healing. "There has to be a better system for this..." he mutters, picking at some of the heavy linen wrapped around his bow arm. His face is bandaged again as well, though this time his foes didn't manage to damage anything essential.
He tosses again to lay on his back, staring at the ceiling as he listens to the sounds of industrious civil work outside, repairing roofs and windows and even armour in the dark while there are a few moments' peace from attack.
What must the Old Gods think of us now? We have been working with each other, so strong, but the Daimons are always so much stronger, their dragonbreath razing us with hellish damage... How can we look strong before the Gods in the face of such an unmatched field? We have certainly been fighting as never we did before... How do they measure courage? Bah, this introspection is useless. He arises abruptly, wincing as his bandages rearrange themselves on his nearly-healed injuries.
"I must go ask my Gods, I must know where their favour rests of late." He dresses for the travel gingerly, wearing the lightest and roomiest clothes he has. When it comes to a cloak, he debates a moment leaving the monsterclaw-adnorned one behind in favour of one easier to bear. A long moment he stands, before shaking his head. "Taking the easier one is weakness," he admonishes himself, swinging the heavy cloak over his shoulders proudly, if with difficulty. Down the stairs and out into the night, he begins his walk toward the Temple, drizzle beading on his heavy cloak.
He passes a smaller shrine of the Old Gods on the way to the Eternal Flame Temple, paying respect but not stopping. Through the chill of the misty rain falling, the temple is a beacon of warmth and light in the distance.
As he nears, Dyan notes the Temple is busy this evening with other Melhedians looking both for guidance and warmth on this chilly night in the wake of the Daimon attacks.
He enters the prehistoric structure slowly, navigating the black risers built for some being much larger than humans, and likely with more limbs. The darkness is enveloping and echoing around him, making him feel small. Many of the worshipers have stayed by the edges of the enormous contorted hall, at smaller torch shrines lit by the temple attendants. Dyan holds his head high, bandages on his face mottling with flickering shadow, as he progresses confidently to the center of the temple, and the Eternal Flame itself.
The fire burns black, casting the center of the hall into a gloomy glow that is more darkness than light. Dyan rubs his eye as he draws nearer to the warmth of the flame, blinking and trying to clear his vision. His cloak, thoroughly damp while he was outside, is already dry from the insistent heat. Placing his feet carefully, he approaches then leans against the plinth holding the flame.
He unravels the thread holding a new monster's claw from his cloak and holds it up before the flame. The claw is from a monster Champion, the one that had been leading the small group in Rengo. He places it reverently on the edge of the stone platform and watches as it slides slowly down, down, to be engulfed by the flames. The black unlight flares a moment then settles. Dyan nods and fishes in his belt pouch, retrieving a scrap of shriveled, thick skin in an odd greenish-orange colour. "From a Daimon I myself slew on the field of battle last eve," he announces to the flame. He places the scrap on the plinth and it slides slowly, but this time the flames lick out to consume it before it reaches them.
The heat from the nearing flames is intense against Dyan's bandaged face, even heating him through his heavy cloak. Sweat beads on his brow, making the bandages begin to slip. He holds steady, staring into the dim unlight of the Eternal Flame, his gaze travelling up and up to where the black of the flames meets the starry black of the sky above. He awaits a response for hours, unmoving by the flames. He awakens later to find he has fallen asleep at his vigil, still no signs from the Dark Mistress or her fellow Gods. He sighs and stands, stretching cramped muscles. A bandage is falling off now, and he turns to go see it attended to. There is no more time for dallying.
A few days later, after fighting and driving back a brutal TO attempt by the Daimon forces in Lastfell
Dyan's eyes blazed as he surveyed the damage before him. Lastfell had been "saved", but for how long? Valentia's lands were being plundered by the Daimons and turned into unholy Breeding Grounds, right along Melhed's border. Desperate times, indeed.
A messenger was running across the camp, stopping to address each noble as encountered. Dyan turned to meet him. "Young man, what is your news?"
The boy stopped, redfaced, and called to the scarred cavalier, "Rafferty has been taken, Lord. Reports say all the civil servants have been killed or eaten alive. Our passageway to Lin Helon is severed." The gruesome message, obviously oft repeated, seemed to have lost its life coming from the boy, who recited it with empty and emotionless tone. Dyan threw up his hands in frustration.
"Blast it all! We hold one fortress to be taken down in another. How are we to overcome this..."
Turning from the messenger, Dyan heads out through the scrubland to a small shrine nearby. He lights a flame to the Dark Mistress and watches its black-purple glow eat the darkness surrounding it. His last temple visit had heralded no answers, no clues. What was he to think of his Old Gods? Were their eyes elsewhere? Shaking his head, he reaches into his pouch for Daimon remains from the last battle - claws, teeth, bones. He turns each over thoughtfully in his hands before placing them on the stone plinth to be eaten by the all-consuming flame.
Now he crouches, rocking back on his heels to wait. His muscles sore and complaining from the last battle, he ignores their plight to remain strong, motionless, in the face of the Gods.
Long minutes tick by... some of the claws are as yet unconsumed. Dyan fingers his old monster scar, tracing its path across his face without thinking. He is reminded again of the strange beauty of the claws, how intricate and unique they are in their killing power. The flames lick slowly across one of the vicious claws in front of his eyes, tame, almost idle, no purposeful consumption at all.
"Well?" he questions to the Darkness. "Am I to sit in blind faith awaiting your whim? I know well I have proven my strength, time and time again, and yet still I bring you the proofs and am ignored. Where is your Reward for the Brave? Where is your Wolf Lord's respect for the maintenance of Order? Where is your Ice Queen's Knowledge?" His frustrated breath forms clouds of steam in the frigid air. "Perhaps it is weakness to believe in such power that has granted me nothing. Proven nothing. It is weakness to show tireless respect to an unworthy host, strength is to do that which shall benefit my people and I directly."
He rolls forward again, onto his toes in the crouch, feeling the heat of the black-purple flames on his scarred face. "And thus I decide. A Hero shall I be to my people, and you may watch in admiration at my strength, but I shall never be one of Yours. I am Human, and I will fight with my people, and you on your throne may sit and do as you please. I have no care for you, silent unmoving Mistress."
He casts a handful of sand across the flame, extinguishing it all too easily. It goes out with a soft "puff" and a twirl of delicate purple smoke. Dyan grimaces and stands, dusting his hands.
"There. Let it be done with you. I no longer believe in your all-powerful omnipotence. You have not smitten us thus far, and you shall not now. Perhaps you cannot." To himself, Dyan adds, "I must not let those of the sect know of my divergence as yet. I have nothing to replace their Faith with, all I know is their Old Gods are no help, and since I will still be a symbol of strength, well..."
He spins on his heel to head back to camp, monsterclaw cloak tinkling. "...none shall know the difference. Our 'Gods' have been ignoring us anyway. Perhaps the Daimons are too powerful for them. But they are not too powerful for Humankind, and that is whom I lead."
Back to Dyan
