#asch2inspire

I loved your blog for a long time, so the first 3 things that come to mind are: "Cool, Gore, Dedicated"

gio’s brand

;; aaaa ty;

Anger is like a storm.

It steels the nerves in the face of overwhelming odds and pours strength into each and every swing. Fury helps steel carve through armor and wrath keeps the blood pumping when things turn grim. A font of infinite power for those brave enough to tap into it.

The attacks had become more frequent as we got older. The raiders were bolder, the treasure hunters cockier, and the would-be warlords never stopped getting stupider. Fighting wasn't just something we had to do to protect our things, but a daily routine. Sometimes to repel them, sometimes to deter them.

And often because we just felt like it.

Elysia was shouting something, but I didn't hear her over the sounds of weapons clashing, and because I just wasn't paying attention. She was an expert at handling herself, but sometimes talked too much, instead of getting right in the middle of the action. I could score three Livingstones by the time she'd finish just one sentence.

But she also had the terrible habit of being right and the longer this fight went on, the more it looked like whatever she had in mind would have been worth listening to. I sharpened the axe every morning without fail and yet for once, it would all but bounce off some of their armor. A strike that would have pulverized shields, merely skid off the edge, barely putting a dent into the material. Something was off, that much was clear.

It amused them to no end. They gloated, downright asked to be struck down, only to erupt in laughing as our weapons just barely grazed them. Our only luck was that they still could barely tell their hands from their feet, but if anything, the clumsiness was just all the more aggravating. I heard Elysia's voice again, but only once I was soaring through the air, striking down at any attacker in my path. Without her by my side, these pesky poachers had to content with only one tornado of steel.

Eventually, even their new armor couldn't hold on forever. Or maybe they just couldn't carry them any longer. It mattered little, all I wanted was to see them fall for ever thinking they could stand against us. The world was red with or without the disheveled locks, and even as my muscles were growing harder to move, I pressed on.

It was just a matter of time, before one of them got lucky.

The kick was enough to send me sprawling on the ground, and left stars twirling before my eyes. As it cleared, I watch the jagged battle axe descend through the air. Time slowed to crawl. I couldn't hear the clashing of swords or the roaring cries. Her voice I could faintly make out, but even that was muffled. I pushed my axe upwards as a desperate motion to defend myself. The two weapons met right above me. Raider's weapon could not shatter my own, but it slid off the side, smacking hard against the fine handle.

A sickly metallic crack was followed by the world bathing in crimson.

The disinfectant stung. The stitches hurt. My arm was wobbly and my pride in tatters. But none ached quite as much as Elysia angry voice in my ears. The whole kingdom must have heard her fury. I was irresponsible, dumb, out of control, very dumb and every other insult she could think of. Unfortunately for me, my sister is very well-read, so the list was exhaustive. I couldn't hear some of it by the end, as she very nearly lost her voice, but the uncharacteristic redness in her cheeks ensured the point would get across.

She was good to me though. Brought some water, carefully cleaned the wound, made a few more remarks about me charging in like a headless chicken, but in very caring, angry sort of way. She even saved my helmet. When I washed up it had been the first time I've seen my reflection all day. The medics did a good job, I could have looked much worse for wear. Elysia remarked how this finally made her the prettiest princess in the family. I was more annoyed by how much it hurt to laugh, than her words.

I kept the helmet. Every time I head into battle, it helps me remember. The power, the triumph, the fall, and the defeat. I could have hidden my shame with a new one, but I rather wear this one proudly. It helps me stay firm on my feet.

(not at all, it’s a very interesting prompt idea!)

"You lied to me!"

His voice boomed off the walls of the study. Mr. Dark raised his gaze from the old parchment he had been reading, more annoyed than surprised by the interruption. He carefully rolled up the borderline crumbling page, setting it aside for later. These obscure symbols of power had been forgotten for centuries, till he had uncovered them recently. They could wait a while longer, until he resolved this little incident.

"I lie to a lot of people." he turned around a familiar face walking towards him, the usual neutral expression replaced with absolute fury. "You will have to be a little more specific than that."

Raymesis stopped just a few feet from him, missing the usual ceremonies of bowing before his master. That alone was already somewhat peculiar.

"You said my purpose was to kill him." he said, his fists still shaking. He looked no more scuffled that after any other skirmish with his Glade-born counterpart.

"That is the idea, yes." the mage replied, his voice both measured and somewhat alarming in its calmness. "One which you have obviously failed to fulfill, once again."

"Because I can't!" the limbless raised his voice, the yellow glow in his eyes flaring up in time with his frustration. "Because if I try, this happens!"

He pulled off one of his gloves, showing his hand to him. There was fresh burn along the back of his hand. Nothing too threatening, but certainly enough to sting.

"We fought, but he got away." Raymesis continued when his master gave no response, lightly brushing his injured hand. The wound wasn't what bothered him, that was certain. He could have healed that at any time, as a creature of darkness. "I got a hit in, but the wound appeared on me, too. And you knew this, you always knew this would happen!"

The yellow glow in Mr. Dark's eyes danced bright as ever. Whether he felt anything over the matter, his minion could not tell. In a sense, his passivity was worse than any other reaction.

"That means if I kill him... if I fulfill the purpose you gave me, I'll die too!" the limbless shouted.

"Yes." he spoke up again. "That would be part of the plan."

Raymesis took a half-step back, taking in his master's words. He didn't exactly demand compassion, but certainly did not expect complete disregard.

"Then why should I hunt him?" he asked, glaring at him. "Why should I bother to kill him, when that would mean that I'll die too?"

The darkness in any corner in the room seemed to pool around the two, the faint light of the candle by the desk all but snuffed out completely. He looked up, watching as Mr. Dark's form was blurring together with the lack of light, as if his presence was slowly growing to encompass every inch of the room.

"Because that is what I ordered you to do." Dark's voice was low, missing that slight mocking tone Raymesis had grown to know whenever he talked to most people. "Because that is what I created you to do."

"I will not die for your plans."

"You will do as you are told." he said, his gaze now an endless void of yellow and black, threatening to swallow and consume anything that dared to be in the way. "I created you for a purpose. It is a purpose you shall follow to the letter, for that is your use to me."

He took a step forward, the shadows in the room moving alongside him. Raymesis tried to stand his ground, but the rush of magic in the air was pushing him back towards the entrance, despite his best efforts.

"If you do not wish to follow orders, then your usefulness to me has already ended." he continued. "I have disposed of associates for much less than this, so for your sake, I advise you to purge this discussion from your memory and carry on with your task. I made you and I can unmake you, if I become so inclined."

For one fleeting second, Raymesis could see it all play out. A cry of anger, a lunge with all the magic he could muster, his hand reaching into the heart of darkness to extinguish his shadowy master and thereby gain freedom. But he was not so naive as to not see the thousands of other outcomes, each ending with him meeting his demise here, his death unknown to everyone. Such a thought was unacceptable to him.

He set his teeth and bowed without another word, leaving the room. Mr. Dark returned to his study soon after, as if this whole matter was merely a momentary distraction. The fury would not dissipate from the limbless so easily, but for once, he chose to bear with it, cultivate it for later. With newfound clarity of the situation and an unwavering will to live, rather than merely serve, he began to formulate plans of his own.

if he/they're new, would the Rayman crew host a party for them?

ABSOLUTELY YES

wait, is that blood?

im already regretting this [CLOSED]