The Last Chapter, The First Chapter

[CharacterInWhite]

Note: this is a closed RP.

I stalked him. Karthus: the legendary sinner, the betrayer, the tyrant, the misunderstood. I could only imagine what voices plagued his thoughts as I stood several feet off the ground, balancing easily on a tree branch. To pass the time I frequently fondled the ceremonial katar I had with me. In its golden hilt was carved the symbol of Shar, the blade itself was black as night, although the punching dagger itself bore no special properties. No, its purpose was symbolic.

I warmly recall a scene from my past. I stand at the Crossroads, curiously watching a Druid as he struggles with some internal battle. He yells at me “Stay away! She’s coming!” to which I playfully retort “Who? Who could cause such a strapping young man to cower in fear?” Of course, I had no idea. It was a shade, a piece of Shar, a messenger. I was overly delighted to see it, to watch it as it took Karthus away and punished him for his weakness. I realized then that he was torn apart, manipulated through fear. At the time he could not be trusted. But that was fine, as I knew something of him that could have – and eventually did – destroy him. While, at the time, I was the #1 public enemy, Karthus simply laid in the shadows of those divine Paladins. The damned fools never saw it coming.

Finally I see him. He walks through the forest, his eyes placed at an awkward angle – he is looking neither ahead of him nor at the ground. He is hitting things with a stick as he moves through the forest, and I conclude that he is blind. Despite this, he walks with ease through the dense underbrush, approaching the fresh water river below me. I observe that as he bends over to wash his face he has lost a considerable amount of weight. The scrawny, poorly dressed man below me only vaguely resembled the slime that I remember.

I slip off from the tree branch and fall – or more accurately float – to the bottom and land a small distance away from him. I simply stare, taking in this pitiful image of a broken man. After a short time he straightens up and speaks aloud, his voice a dry, harsh croak.

“Strange that I didn’t hear any foot steps,”

“That’s because there were none,”

[Kangleton]

He nodded once in response, reaching his hands behind his head so as to remove the fabric he kept wrapped around his scarred eyes. Sighing once, Karthus folded the cloth and clenched his fist around it, his body remaining otherwise still, and his visage; calm. He recognized the voice as one that had once hidden behind so many faces – one that had so rarely been heard released in the tones that it belonged to; the voice of the girl, once so mundane and innocent. Cringing slightly at the memories flooding back, Karthus recalled a woman who had become such a perversion of what those who knew her considered her to be. The blind, silent, and still Druid could not help but to feel empathy towards she who he saw in his memories. Though fate had pitted Karthus and Oshala at odds with one another so long ago, he wondered if she felt the same trace of familiarity between them that he did; a like-mindedness.

"I understand now, you know. There was necessity in your actions."

[CharacterInWhite]

A part of me really did pity what he had become. He was always a symbol of physical strength to me, seeing him broken and ravaged like this almost brought about a sense of fear. Uncertainty. But he knew me well enough to realize that this day would come.

"It's not just a matter of necessity, Karthus. You know things that could compromise Her mission... you know things that could compromise me," I said this, a part of me remembering my own feelings. He was one of few I could trust before. It's all changed.

I reached out to stroke his stubble. I imagine my gloves sent an icey chill down his neck, the nature of their enchantment. I give him this opportunity to savior the simplicity of his last moment - the serenity of the river, even the ironic timing of the pleasant bird songs.

"All you wanted was balance. I promise you, it will be restored." I said to him. I meant it. The injustices we suffered will be corrected.

[Kangleton]

Had his nerves not suffered the extensive torment rendered by his countless months in prison, beaten and tortured for that which they called treason, Karthus would have cringed at Oshala’s icy touch. Instead, however, the only motion resulting from the Druid was the shedding of a tear – the passing of a memory. As the glove stroked his face, his surroundings cascaded down around him, and his mind flickered with the images burnt into its very recesses, returning his focus to times long passed.

She was once so talented, yet so misguided. A pretty face marred by a twisted paradigm, plaguing her very core. At least, that is what he once believed – but hindsight provided a different perspective. All that Karthus had hated her for, and all the things that brought his retribution down upon her were simply matters of perspective. Though her perspectives once conflicted with those of the formerly proud Druid, he understood now; it is in the conflicting of ideologies that men find challenges to overcome; and it is by overcoming these challenges that evolution occurs. Karthus could no longer fault the woman for playing what he came to realize was a necessary role – a role that he himself had been forced to play, in the preservation of the highest balance. The role of being that which conflicted with an otherwise stagnant civilization.

"I would forgive you, though I realize now I could never blame you to begin with."

[CharacterInWhite]

I hate to admit it, but this notion had touched me. It had occurred to me that such tears were not a sign of weakness, but a sign of pure strength; strength that Karthus had to feel - to live through, a sign that his soul had experienced more purpose and conviction than many others. I admired his courage.

I reached into my robe and produced the ceremonial katar. I pressed it into his hand, giving him a chance to feel it. He likely didn't need any explanation.

“It will be a painless ordeal. Lay your body to rest so that your spirit might be free. You deserve that much.”

[Kangleton]

"Perhaps it will upset you to know that you will have taken nothing from me."

Karthus passed his eyes towards his hand, now pressured against the point of the katar; the action was one of reflex, however, as any attempt at sight was futile stemming from the Druids scarred eyes. He bit his lip lightly for a brief moment before angling his sightless gaze back to the ground before him, still unmoving.

"Perhaps it will upset you to know that, after this, I will have lost nothing."

He closed his eyes now, clenching even tighter upon the fold of cloth he was still clutching – the one that would normally be around his eyes. After his single tear had cascaded from his cheek and unto the earth below, with it fell the cloth as he released it from his grasp. Karthus’ muscles grew limp, and with a single exhale, the tenseness in his body evaporated.

"Perhaps, though, you will allow me to part with a single request..."

Rising from his knees to his feet with a slow and unwavering pace, his arms resting limp at his sides, Karthus begins turning in place to face the woman at his back. Moment by moment the Druid continued to turn, his slowness resulting in part from physical weakness, though perhaps more so from the intent to not appear hostile. As his head, hung low, finally came about to face Oshala, Karthus jerked his neck upwards so as to bring his exposed eyes to meet those of his would-be assassin. As his marred eyes and ravaged, perpetually weakened complexion stared blankly unto the face of a woman he could not see, Karthus parted his lips again, this time in not but a whisper.

"Never change."

Karthus closed his eyes.

[CharacterInWhite]

Upon these words I wrapped my arms around his neck, the katar still clutched loosely in hand. I moved as if to embrace him, the punching dagger tracing a line along the side of his neck as my arms pressed further around the Druid; his eyes still closed. It was a test, a way to gauge how to strike properly, quickly. I had to end his misery, for his sake, for mine, for Shar’s. Although the embrace was indeed in part a test, it became something more as I began to feel happy –authentically happy– that even inches from death, Karthus understood.

At that point I brought both of my hands behind his head, my grip upon the knife tightening to reveal the whites of my knuckles. The sharp of the weapon pointed directly towards myself on a linear path straight through the very base of Karthus’ neck. I whispered to him the last words he would ever hear; maybe even the last words he would want to hear.

"Dear Karthus, it is the world, and not I, that I intend to change," At this I plunged the dagger into his neck, deftly twisting it to the sound of finely sliced flesh, and blood cascading out from the smooth, unobstructed wound. His neck was broken, nerves severed, though his pain; brief. He let out a small gasp of surprise and agony, but it was quickly extinguished along with what control the Druid had retained over his muscles and nervous system. Karthus’ life drained away rapidly, his warm blood washing down my hands and front, flowing in a way so gentle and smooth, offering a fitting contrast to the brutality of what had just transpired. I held him in this position until the blood stopped pouring out upon my red-stained clothes, leaving behind only the eery dripping of the thick red liquid unto the ground below. I embraced the blissful noise for merely a moment before forcing the dagger back out of the dying Druids neck, slowly enough to savior the grinding echo of the katar against fractured bone. Slowly I placed the limp and dying Druids body onto the earth he had just risen from, though I wasn’t finished yet.

The world is ignorant of its own current state; unknowing that there is something inherently wrong with the way in which it exists from one monotonous day to the next. I had to send a message, like the body forcing one to sneeze - indicating that there is an obstruction; or an illness. With that in mind, I still remember what I did with vivid detail, unlike my other murders. With the others, everything is blurry and vague as my adrenaline took over and plunged my memory into the recesses of my mind. This was no act of violence, however... not like the others. For Karthus, it was one of compassion. It marked Karthus’ Last Chapter, and I was to play a part in the way in which it would be written.

I walked over to the river, rinsing the ceremonial tool. I did not bother to clean myself or my clothing of his blood – indeed; it would serve as a reminder. After the blade was pristine, I hovered over Karthus’ body, his eyes never having opened from the beginning to the end of his death. Staring at him in utter stillness for but a moment, I proceeded to use the knife of his demise to shave the rough stubble upon his face, and took the time to pluck his bushy eyebrows and trim a little of his hair. He was perfect, save for the cut through his neck – though even that possessed its own element of flawlessness. From here I recall raising the body on my shoulders. walking through the forest, making my way to the trail (as I know not where the Druid’s glade lies).

As I finished my brief journey, standing in the middle of the road with his body mounted on my shoulders, I looked up at the sky. There was not a cloud in sight, and the moon was in full shine. Its silver light illuminated the clearing, and though I could not tell why, it seemed to complete the atmosphere in which I was to act. Slowly, I lowered Karthus’ body. Like a funeral director I adjusted his limp figure and fixed his posture so that it mimicked a knight’s tomb; his legs were straightened out, his arms across his chest. I took the dagger and placed it in his cold palm, as if it were a mockery of where a sword should lay. From my robe I brought forward the final piece of the picture, placing a blackest rose atop the chest of the Druid, allowing it to hover over where his heart might have once poured life throughout his body. I paused in my kneeling position for what felt like minutes, though it was most certainly only a passing of moments; though the distortion of time was as fitting to the ambiance as the moonlight that washed over the scene.

After the moments passed, I stood back, observing the scene one final time. It would only be a matter of hours before he was discovered. I noted that the look on Karthus’ face was one of acceptance, and of serenity. I noted that he was one of the first to take this intrepid step into insecurity. I noted that his memory will not be honoured unless I follow through with my promise to restore a rightful balance. This would be the first of what would become many steps in this journey: this journey that I, Oshala Jr’ein, had sworn to complete. It marked the first of many chapters – the epilogue, to Karthus’ last.