The Isle of the Fell

VIII - Ultimum Cygnus Canticum

2297-2300: The Second Regrouping of Gnaeus

Coriolus Gnaeus, Magur Gurthag, and two hundred orc-goblins and a small number of Fellic legionnaires escaped the fall of Aelum. The rest of the civilians were slaughtered by the Nephilim, or died by the ensuing hordes of Nepos.

Gnaeus's small host traveled northward, attempting to find safety. One day, when night was falling and the evening sun was setting, Gnaeus contemplated on a large rock, looking over the rest of those he commanded.

The leader of the superhumans had died that day, fighting a balor who had protected him, and not once but twice. The superhuman was rage incarnate, and the rage consumed him, until nothing was left, and he fell, stabbed in the chest by Cathulk-Kas, who shared the same fate.

He remembered how the superhuman fought. It was as if each blow was chanting something, and it was I want you to know my pain, and with each blow I strike on you, I inflict true justice on the world that has wronged me.

It was Tharizdun's view and vision of the world, for madmen were seen only as heroes in martyrdom, and seen as madmen over time, and so heroism in tragedy seemed suddenly so unappealing, yet eminent. Tharizdun was the judge, for he was not the madman.

Yet what gave the rightful authority to watch over the heavens, when carnage unfolded in nonoptimality failed to cease? And now, as the dark god plotted faraway, there was another dark throne, sat on by a man, southward..., though this failed to manifest in his mind, for truth scarcely agreed with faith.

Who betrayed him was still unknown. Who had revealed to Nepos the importance of the city, he would most likely never know. Yet in the a hollow realm of uncontrolled chaos, not even commanded by its original creator, a figure stood, waiting, manifesting into avatars that were shadows of shadows of itself, who had seen the inevitable defeat of the republic of the Fell, and so, in time and ineffectual duchies, a new, third champion would come. And so cities were sacrificed, and cultures destroyed only to be rekindled, for the end outweighed the means, and in time, a body would fall in a river, as one already had.

He wanted to turn to his tents, but something yearned him closer. In the swampy, dark forests of the Fell, where an uneasy path led to a stone stump, was a sword of pure black, which glowed with a slightly earthly blue. It was sinister, and one could feel it speak that its blade was its mouth that desired to cut flesh. It was in a shallow pool of water on the stump, which consisted of several inches in radius and a few in depth. Gnaeus walked towards it, and could feel life rise and fall, with both creation and destruction, as death was the absence of life, as cold was the absence of heat. No nymph created him, nor a lady of the lakes; there was only a tree that looked slightly like an ogre if one squinted, and the shadow of a silent god that watched and schemed, as mortal men did, from above.

Gnaeus walked closer. He began to contemplate his actions so far, which seemed to flow through him. He had been arrogant and self-confident when he led the Insurgency, only to be humbled by what seemed to be a few plebeians, thus showing the power of equality. Yet those plebeians were turned by the poisoned and contradictory words of Quintus, who was slain by demons, because the instinct of the follower was selfish, only following because of possible gain, whilst the true insurgent was abiding to a concept, yet they were few. And so, with Quintus's shadows of guilt raining over men, they departed, for they became uncertain. Yet he too was uncertain of the commoners that attacked him.

He then ran, and ran away in his memory. He met a man who was jaded in the mountains, who had committed a past sin and could never forgive himself. But rather than abide by his moral nihilism, he believed him to be a failure, and so, with confidence, strode past him. Thus he became ordained by Cathulk-Kas, the greatest of all Balors, and Tharizdun, who had manifested directly to him, and had led a siege to Rome, which had failed because of the return of Nepos. Nepos Caesar, who now sat in the center of a web of lies that kept order, had turned to the depths of the Second Roman world, had used his wits and dark resources against the ordination of a great god.

He took the hilt and pointed it upwards. It was a claymore, of some length, and pointed it upwards. In the runes, in a tongue he did not know, read a message to him also unknown, that had long been forgotten.

There was no known message for him, no ancient wizard greeting him, no powerful king, but someone, from the shadows, watched him. And so Gnaeus lifted the sword, and did not name it, as it was not a custom he knew. The weight of a thousand dead cultures pummeled him, and he stood against their emptiness. The black sword held sigils on the blade and on its helm, and however powerful it was, Gnaeus failed to notice it and took it with him. He returned to his tent to sleep.

The group of Gnaeus and Gurthag were constantly running from their pursuers, who would have gladly had their heads for the glory of Second Rome, as they had been for more than three years since the fall of Aelum. Once Aelum, the political capital of the Republic fell, hosts of Nepos led conquests to the south of the Iberian Peninsula and the land north of the Alps.

It was at this time that the hunter became the hunted, and Gnaeus was chased constantly by the dogs of Nepos, the legionnaires and Veterans of Rome. In Rome, mania and hatred, incited by banners and repetition were the tools of Nepos, who sat first amongst equals in the Senate. Yet he desired more, and though his eyes masked and gave a look of popularity and support, beneath them was the heat of ambition sharpened by the anvil of logic, until the philosopher fused with the salesman, and the perfect autocrat was there, as the Redemption Campaign continued to surge.

And there, in a darkness where the atmosphere had been removed, in the steel which was soul, did Nepos think from on a marble chair. A senator of some rank, Francis Peeters, who wore a suit, but also alternated some days with a toga, was near him. Although Nepos had immediately established dominion over the Senate, and had used the combined effects of desperation, a cult of personality, and the creation of common enemies, through his oratory and the Formatae Iustita, which he remained Don, enemies still existed, private and political, and they had to be purged.

Perhaps he was only paranoid of the loss of power. But paranoia, at least for now, as greed and pride had been overturned by Man who had only been strengthened by it, so too did he take the power of paranoia, and through this, with speech and image, he guaranteed dominance.

And so, when Peeters asked him what they should do now with Gnaeus, Nepos answered, "Leave him, he has nothing to give now."

Yet, in a corner of the room, a Senator unconvinced fully, who went to bed uncertain, feeling as if the world was pained by his allowance of Nepos's actions, began to become troubled. Yet he did not act, and from the surface, he agreed fully. His inner thoughts might as well have been irrelevant, yet he remained different, hesitating.

Hundreds of miles away, Gnaeus and Gurthag fought as by William Wallace of Scotland, both commanding their desperate host, always being chased, yet they fought side by side, and between them a friendship came. It had been forced by desperation, for desperation was the strongest motive for all things. And even then, when they struggled to continue to hide, when they could have been overpowered by a single cohort, they continued to fight, and fought for what they believed in. There was an goblin tribe out there, and in it a family, who did not want there to be constant war, so that one day, they could go to the river and come back to boil the water they had collected, unafraid of the stray arrow or the sudden skirmish of swords and spears. So that one day, the children of that family could live safe lives in their tribe.

Yet, once again, empathy was filled with hypocrisy. The lives of that family existed, as all families did, for the benefit of the tribe, for the tribe was a union that benefited those who lived in it overall. And this tribe fought, and agreed to fight. Their very existence was a threat to the state of Second Rome, and therefore, in this great war of ideology, of the beliefs in glory and honor and all other ideals accepted as universally good, as opposed to safety, empathy, and kindness, also ideals accepted as universally good, the only way they could thrive were to be if they dissolved their state, which they could not, as they were refusing to dissolve their culture, and so, having bound themselves to death, the little goblin girl with the big teeth who enjoyed chasing butterflies down a meadow, when she was taking water from the river, was killed by a sword and slain.

Gnaeus and Gurthag's host finally lost their pursuers in the woods south of the Fellic city of Iost, and there they settled, in an underground stronghold complex, such as the many that had been built and abandoned in the Isle of the Fell. Formerly a Second Roman host had advanced northwards to as far as there, and so the complex lay abandoned.

Why they had settled, and not desired the reach of a city, was in truth of a dark pact with the situation; that the host pursuing them had not lost them, but had changed objective and had begun attacking the city of Iost. It seemed to be at once an insult and a relief, for he was Coriolus Gnaeus, Chief Commander of the Men of the Fell and successor to Felix Lucius, and he was less of a priority than the northern city of Iost of the pillagers. At once there were two rising tides slamming into each other, one of collapsing pride and glory, and the spite that came with it, and one of relief and the removal of a burden. Oh, how they contradicted one another! To see a man so vented with rage, when he still commanded a loyal core lead by Gurthag the bugbear, yet so relieved to not be hunted anymore. He felt both shame and gratitude, as a thunderstorm happened in the peaceful sun.

Gnaeus and Gurthag rested their men there, hoping to annex and expand once more. On some days they hunted and scouted, but they dared to venture too far, for they seemed to be shadows of their former selves in capability. Exiled, yet physically well, they seemed helpless, and now but brushstrokes against the canvas.

One day, Gnaeus, on the foot of the complex he had built, took the black sword he had found and rested it on the earth. Many of those who followed the Fell received dark gifts which could manifest into curses, and Gnaeus thought of his responsibility, and it seemed he had failed it. Now, he still was not the man in the mountains, but he thought of him, and felt a cursed connection between himself and him, which his mind began to loathe. His hands spread over the hilt of his blade, across the varying sigils whom he did not know, who were probably known only by those higher than him. Those higher than him. It occurred to him he did not know the Dark Tongue, the language of Demons, and only had learnt Orcish, and as the barriers began to fade from his mind, he realized how little he truly did know, and how much he relied on faith, and that he did not even know why the world that was had come to ruin. And so then he stood and knocked down his sword, which he could not understand yet, and the Nameless Blade fell on grass.

Moments later, after Gnaeus began to get up from his kneeling, blue and purple light surrounded and enveloped him, and suddenly all was black and pure black, except for his skin, clothing, and possessions. He felt no heat, and did not notice the various eyes on the pillars that stared at him, and the mouths on the floor beneath his feet, or the terrifying visages of horror, whose bodies were too bloated and nightmarish to exist in the material realm, but their time would come.

Nonetheless, these diluted horrors were only inaccurate depictions of the true nature of Tharizdun that came from a world with far more chaos, yet Gnaeus saw nothing. It could only be argued in zero ways: whatever was unknown was what one was blind to, yet insanity and knowledge seemed to be different from one another. What separated them then, if one was unsure, yet aware of the possibility of something? There was then only fear, and the most powerful fear was fear of the unknown.

In an inky blackness he could not see but felt, in a coldness, dampness, yet even now to him there was still hope, was the remaining essence of Tharizdun.

His eyes gave him a vision, or a hallucination of a horrid form, of fire, decay, and raw flesh, yet it was nothing to what the primordial in front of him truly was. This phased and reappeared in front of his eyes, flickering. Tharizdun noted how Man easily made decisions on appearances, but wondered if haste was truly negative, for after all, he had been forced to commit sacrifices beyond any mortal game in his eternal struggle.

Gnaeus thought repeatedly. If Man fell because of jealousy, then at least Man would not have been willing to destroy centuries of his history. There seemed to be only one other being out there, Tharizdun, who would be willing to commit such an act, save if there were any man suicidal enough to purge the history of his divided kind.

And so there was only one being out there, Tharizdun himself.

"You killed them," said Gnaeus.

"I did." The dark dialogue was spoken.

There was a pause. Gnaeus then said, "What I believed in ... the blood and efforts of the many ... heroes and cultures vanquished ... it was all caused by you. You are the true evil."

But even as he said those words with the defiance of his heart, they were caught easily.

"You define me as absolute evil, yet it is Man who drove the world to its ashes. Once there was another earth, a first earth, where there was nothing but eternal war and the unity of Man and nature, and I ended it thus, as the world was falling and would have been destroyed, and so the alternate Napoleon slew me as I let him, and there my power waned significantly. In a new realm unaffected by the past space and time, I waited, and in this timeline, without a common enemy, Man bickered and warred against itself, yet the fruits of greed which I thought would stricken it only gave it strength at the cost of billions of lives who suffered and toiled, ignored and impoverished, yet it only increased the power of Man, for after all, the sickly care not for politics but for food that is on the table."

"And when the moment came, I struck in the darkness of the souls of Man, who had ravaged the Earth completely, and burned its forests and greenery down, but even then, in the polluted mess of steel and metal which slew hundreds of millions in disease and famine, there came only a new Man, a Man determined to avenge his fallen kin by completing the vision that had brought them down. And there I struck, without a form, incredibly weak and only a particle of myself as I was, as I wanted to vanquish my eternal enemy."

Gnaeus felt conflict rising from him, and falling downwards. "And so, because of a long feud, you slew billions, and destroyed the world the men who support the Fell fought for. You ... there may have been poverty, oppression, and disease perpetually penetrating, yet men fought for it, because they dream of freedom, and they turn to you as their only hope."

"It is true. That is what I am. Do you still remember what you said, when you saw the corpse of a loyal legionnaire, a hero to his own side, forgotten, do you remember? I am the eater of worlds and species, the ripper of souls and dreams. Yet here I rest, weakened, without strength, having already been defeated once by a foul race I created, my divinity destroyed. You see, I did what I had to do, and Felix Lucius and the rest followed."

"Yet you lied to him, as you lied to all of us. And so you are the root of all evil, who spurred the flames of rebellion by beginning the suffering!" He didn't pause to recollect himself, and outstretched the black sword given to him, and his cloak spread. Yet he trembled slightly, from the unearthly cold and from his memory of the corpse in the river.

"What is evil? You believe evil is either absolute, or relative, do you not?"

"Evil is not relative but absolute, he who argues otherwise is the worst of tyrants, for he finds excuse in his sadism."

The spirit refused to flinch or pause. "And tyrants are absolute evil, or at least more evil than everyone else, are they not? And what do tyrants, who live lives of luxury from the toil of millions, deserve?"

"They deserve to-" He paused. One less tyrant in the world would be a good thing, yet a tyrant's excuse for purging his enemies was the same.

"It only matters whether he was right or wrong, but what is unclear in the present is only unraveled in the far future. And so, what remains of evil? Is evil the addict stealing and threatening, or the soldier who burns and kills for revenge? Is evil the crime lord who causes all to suffer? What is left of evil is not the man or his actions, his murder, or the ashes that he leaves from his burnings, but rather .."

"It is the root then, the motivation."

But this seemed to contradict, for after all, he was the giver of the seeds of greed. Yet he continued to speak.

"You find it ironic to fight with the one who tore the world which you fight for away, and yet there is no other way to victory. A feud was driven by long-lasting anger, and that feud, once ended, has ceased, and with that the evil of it has ceased. Yet, even after the death of billions, which follow after millennia, war has never changed. Life, in wars claiming to be peaceful or unpeaceful, are claimed, the cost of peace."

"But you caused it all, when you gave the seeds of greed to Man."

There was a pause that grew into silence, and that silence was torn away.

He began to speak more harshly. "Do you know what greed is? What ambition is? And how it has claimed so many lives? All things deserve to end, and that is the cycle of history. But Man never ended, and it continued, and continued beyond the time I gave it. I gave it a command, and that command was for it to die. Yet it spread like a rotting fruit until it crippled me, and now I gave him an offer of peace, of unity, so that the follies of the past could be forgotten. It was America dropping the bombs on Japan, then feeding the wounded thereafter. But this new state, styling itself as Second Rome, despite giving little thought to Constantinople ... Do you really believe my gifts to Man, which were to be my seeds of destruction, were the first taints, or had they not been there already, born in its nature?

"You see me as hypocritical and unclear still. But it becomes too clear now. The only good is in the absence of evil, the destruction of inequality, and the retaining of emotion against the Elven. Long ago, you pardoned me before you learned of the fall of Man. Now, the transparency is there again."

"Wait! Take heed of me once more! Do not depart! I am still unclear, lost in the midst-" But the darkness had faded, and he was on the top of the hill containing the underground complex once more.