"All that glitters is not gold, but all that is pure most certainly is."
The Dark Ages are over. Camelot has been lost. Killahead is scattered. Those that remember recall bright days filled with the laughter of young boys, one with a crown on his he...
"The fallen ones stand tallest in a crowd when they crawl back on their feet."
He hadn't actually expected to fall through. He was very prepared to smash into the wall. And yet, the barrier opened for him.
A short scream of agony rips from his lips as he collapses to the stone ground. His bones crack and his vision goes white, blinding him for brief seconds.
Oh, how he wishes everything felt numb. Very few instances have ever caused this much pain on his behalf. The drawn runes on his bruised hand glow a dim gold.
"M-Muninn," he gasps, clawing at the ground with bloodied, broken nails. "Ge reccenddôm êower mandryhten."
Esmerion screams in silent torture as a small stream of foreign magic flows from his tongue, ripping up his throat. It is not his own. It obeys his wishes only by force of power but it refuses to make it pleasant.
He dry heaves onto the stone, his stomach wanting to reject everything in his system. But there's nothing to reject.
Tears stain his eyes, sending streams of dim amber light to splatter the walls. They slide down his cheeks, rivulets rolling between his largest wounds. A salty trail follows in their wake, a trail that stings all of which it touches.
He bites his tongue, holding back a cry of agony as he rolls onto his side. Blistering pain rushes up his arm and infects his chest, burning like smoldering coals pressed against his flesh. It sends a wave of bursting white hot sensations up his spine that blasts into the back of his head.
It's impossible, he can't help it. A hollow scream comes forth from his battered lungs, going unheard in the commotion outside the passageway. Echoing with desperation and suffering, it tears him apart, ringing in his ears like bells.
The youth grits his teeth, breathing heavily as spittle flies from his lips. He can hear his own heartbeat, a sound akin to a thousand war drums as it thunders within his chest. Everything fades in slow pulses of black, coming in and out of focus as he gets on his knees.
He cries silently, resisting the overwhelming urge to sob. But he finds his feet, unsteadily gripping on to the cavern wall as he stumbles, broken arm hanging limp by his side. Esmerion takes a weary step, crying out when his legs cannot hold his weight.
Pale blue alights in his bleary vision, spiraling downwards in a slow and smooth motion. It belongs to a staircase of crystal, tainted only by small cracks in the surface. Briefly he wonders what it will look like when slickened by his own crimson blood.
His steps echo softly, multiplied by the cavern walls that surround him. He knows not where he is, only that it is safe from the malevolent slave. So he keeps going, wincing with every step and subtle movement.
Blood oozes from his wounds, dribbling down his face and arms in rivers of red. It stains his dirtied shirt an ugly colour that delivers memories that lie where they were left to be forgotten. They remind him of events that he had forcibly trampled into his past.
A pained groan flies from his lips and his moment of distraction leaves him vulnerable to mistake. His foot catches on a more obscure shard of crystal and he falls forward, hitting the ground with more force than he had hoped
He cries out in agony, curling in on himself at the bottom of the stairway. His shoulders tremble as he tries to keep the display of weakness at bay, barely aware that he's nearly bitten away a chunk of his lip. Nothing can be better than an end to this suffering.
Someone grunts irritably, and a snuffling sound fills his ringing ears. Although he's well aware of their presence, he doesn't move, finding no motivation nor purpose to do so.
A large hand of stone plucks him unceremoniously from the floor, roughly gripping the back of his shirt. Esmerion whimpers in pain but makes no attempt to protest.
"There's another!"
He cringes inward as the intense pounding of his head worsens from the presumable Troll's volume. But he hangs limply like a doll in their hold.
"Crush the Changelings!" Multiple voices chant in anger and the youth can feel his Troll walking somewhere. "Kill the Impures!"
"Esmerion!" A voice calls frantically below him. "Release the boy! He's not a Changeling!"
"You would say that," someone grunts and he gets the impression that they're threatening the speaker. "It could be part of your plan!"
"St-Stricklander?" Esmerion whimpers, struggling to raise his head. "P-please. Help."
This provokes shouts of vicious end and cruel taste. The crowd snarls with cries for fresh blood, oblivious to the amount already trickling down the youth's body.
He yelps as his holder jostles him, a sound that bubbles swiftly into a scream. His insides are tearing him apart, his power is conflicting against itself. Sensations of blistering burns and chilling bites toil within his soul as he fights for calm and control.
He knows the violet smoke is swirling around him like a hurricane, that the blinding light is terrifying those in the crowd. He knows that the biting wind caused by his own ochre force is knocking away the supposed assailants, the turmoil created between the two shades drawing tortured screams from his throat.
Then a hand grips his ankle, a human one—someone he can trust—and he bursts. Wind blows over everything and everyone in the vicinity, carts and trolleys and signs and weapons all topple. A ring of charred stone encircles the now standing youth, blackened in to patterned shadows of spoils. The carnage is unimaginable.
Esmerion wavers, teetering on his two feet as the glow in his eyes flickers out. A soft groan of exhaustion flutters out from his lips while he struggles again the lull of unconsciousness pressing against the inside of his brain.
"For the record," he manages weakly, unfocused eyes locked on the blurred figure of Stricklander, "I'm not a druid."
And then his eyes roll into the back of his head and he collapses to the stone.
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I like this... Another!
There will be a few more updates before I go quiet for a bit. I'm headed off to see relatives for Spring Break and likely won't have a ton of time to write. I'll get as much out as possible before then.
