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Part 1-
The warmth faded further into the cold abyss with each passing moment and the slender frame that awaited in the tall warrior's arms made not a movement to fight against it. Her will had been bested and consciousness long departed. Her skin was pale and her soft brown eyes closed shut. No longer had her features tensed in pain, but rather she carried with her a gentle and serene look as if merely dreaming. No doubt she was remembering peaceful times, when their parents still lived and all seemed the way it was meant to be, the way it SHOULD have been.
Their homeland had betrayed them, it brought to them in their youth peace and prosperity, only to snatch it away. Not a moment passed that he regretted leaving behind a country with taint reaching every one of its citizens in due time run by a group of old gray practioners of wicked arts and more concerned about dusty old tomes and the collection of notes than the people that made the acquisition of such things a possibility.
But, what was the point?
What was the point if she, whom he was doing all of this for, did not live to see the next sunrise? If this world could no longer be gifted with the warmth of her smile, then what was the point of even going on?
She was dying, perhaps dead already.
No one was in sight amongst the rocks and dirt trail. There was no hint of civilization or anyone that could be of aid. There was simply no one. The caves behind them seemed like a mouth of the earth, bellowing forth winds that twisted themselves into the sounds of mocking laughter. If he were but a god, he would bring his wrath upon these rock walls and all who lived within. Hatred burned in this dark brown eyes as visions of what would be the end result of his terrible wrath in the would-be fantasy of godhood. No doubt, such things would bring him to corruption and make a great deal of enemies for him among holy warrior and knights who stood against justice and chaos. He did not care. He did not care what would become of him now that the last shred of all that was still decent in this world was slowly fading away.
Nona.. sweet, innocent Nona.
He was always willing to shoulder the misery; the burden of pain, sacrifice, and bloodshed. His weapon.. his scythe was supposed to keep the taint of everything away from you, even if it had to bathe in such filth itself. Even now it was stained red with drying blood from beings of twisted evil, though he cared little for whether or not those he struck down deserved it as long as it was in her name and as long as it kept the taint away from her innocence.
Veles Azrail, mercenary of Unther, kept the burning image of the young lass in his mind even as he turned away, afraid to look upon gentle features, blonde curls and eyes of a light brown like the color of wheat in fall. He rose again with her in his arms, which burned with fatigue much in a manner that his legs did. He willed his gaze and his steps forward despite the pain. He hoped that if he did not look upon her, somehow she would live. Somehow his gaze was what kept her before the throne of the god of death. Bitter rationalizations and illogical notions did not matter.
All that mattered was Nona, the last remnant of all that was good in this world and the last piece of his humanity.
The warmth faded further into the cold abyss with each passing moment and the slender frame that awaited in the tall warrior's arms made not a movement to fight against it. Her will had been bested and consciousness long departed. Her skin was pale and her soft brown eyes closed shut. No longer had her features tensed in pain, but rather she carried with her a gentle and serene look as if merely dreaming. No doubt she was remembering peaceful times, when their parents still lived and all seemed the way it was meant to be, the way it SHOULD have been.
Their homeland had betrayed them, it brought to them in their youth peace and prosperity, only to snatch it away. Not a moment passed that he regretted leaving behind a country with taint reaching every one of its citizens in due time run by a group of old gray practioners of wicked arts and more concerned about dusty old tomes and the collection of notes than the people that made the acquisition of such things a possibility.
But, what was the point?
What was the point if she, whom he was doing all of this for, did not live to see the next sunrise? If this world could no longer be gifted with the warmth of her smile, then what was the point of even going on?
She was dying, perhaps dead already.
No one was in sight amongst the rocks and dirt trail. There was no hint of civilization or anyone that could be of aid. There was simply no one. The caves behind them seemed like a mouth of the earth, bellowing forth winds that twisted themselves into the sounds of mocking laughter. If he were but a god, he would bring his wrath upon these rock walls and all who lived within. Hatred burned in this dark brown eyes as visions of what would be the end result of his terrible wrath in the would-be fantasy of godhood. No doubt, such things would bring him to corruption and make a great deal of enemies for him among holy warrior and knights who stood against justice and chaos. He did not care. He did not care what would become of him now that the last shred of all that was still decent in this world was slowly fading away.
Nona.. sweet, innocent Nona.
He was always willing to shoulder the misery; the burden of pain, sacrifice, and bloodshed. His weapon.. his scythe was supposed to keep the taint of everything away from you, even if it had to bathe in such filth itself. Even now it was stained red with drying blood from beings of twisted evil, though he cared little for whether or not those he struck down deserved it as long as it was in her name and as long as it kept the taint away from her innocence.
Veles Azrail, mercenary of Unther, kept the burning image of the young lass in his mind even as he turned away, afraid to look upon gentle features, blonde curls and eyes of a light brown like the color of wheat in fall. He rose again with her in his arms, which burned with fatigue much in a manner that his legs did. He willed his gaze and his steps forward despite the pain. He hoped that if he did not look upon her, somehow she would live. Somehow his gaze was what kept her before the throne of the god of death. Bitter rationalizations and illogical notions did not matter.
All that mattered was Nona, the last remnant of all that was good in this world and the last piece of his humanity.