The Fall of Virgil Aseph
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//well, I've been wanting to get some of my material posted on the site for your reading pleasure. this tale is the story of the events that caused virgil to go insane and what not, and is the part of his history tied in from when i played him on the server nesme before it died. the final entry is right around when the server went all to pieces, and the time he would have left for narfell. Hope you enjoy. Also, please feel free to post any comments you might have.
-Freaky//Day 1 Voices
Dawn's first rays crawled their way over the branches of the trees, bringing the Ashin forest to life around Virgil's ears, the sound of the wakening forest was garish, intruding on the peace of the small glenn Virgil had made his home outside Nesme. Grumbling, he forced himself to sit up from the bed beneath his lean-to, turning his gaze to the horizon of the town. Smoke billowed from the chimney's there, as the inhabitants rose to greet the day in their typically cheery attitude.
Fools, Virgil thought irrately. Wallowing in their blissful ignorance, such a blindfolded view of the world. He sighed inwardly, and reached for the water skin next to him, taking a swallow.
As he sat there, the memory of the night before slowly began to intrude upon his thoughts. His hand began to shake. Violet eyes widened, Virgil regarding the shaking hand with surprise.
Again, the memories assualted him.
_Blackness.
Lumbering giants at the edges of torch light.
Cries of battle, the echoes of a steel song.
Cries for aid.
The female scream tearing the night air.
Virgil turned, hair flying wildly, looking for the source of the scream.
Little Bird thrown backwards, blood staining the perfection of her face, black hair covered by the taint of blood.
Running, the slow passage of time as he rushed to her side.
She cannot die, she can't leave me!
The feverent chanting, healing energy flowing from his hands. The horrified look creasing her face as she looked behind him.
Virgil! The scream of terror, of warning as death descended upon her lover.
Blackness.
Oppressing weight, blinding pain unlike any he had felt before._
Virgil shook himself, running a hand through his silver hair, trying to rid his mind of the memories. Still, they came, unbiden, they assualted him.
_Floating in darkness.
A flash of blue.
Images of a life spent killing.
Screaming people.
A small girl looking up at him, screaming for mercy.
The flash of a knife in torch light, the red spray of blood.
A woman dressed in the red robes of her order.
A stolen kiss at night._
Virgil placed his head in his hands, they shook violently, violet eyes tightly closed against the intrusion, the images he did not wish to see.
_Holding her hand.
The first true smile he had ever shared in his life.
Her eyes gazing into his.
The magnificent splendor of the Monument of Heroes that night.
Their kiss as they sank to the ground, passion coursing unbidden.
That first blissful night they lay together.
A startling feeling.
Love._
Virgil cringed, throwing the waterskinn as far across the glenn as he could.
"No!" the cry was plaintive, asking for an end to what he knew could be no longer.
_Her excited giggles as they slipped past the crowd at the gate.
A tree, the shade blocking them from the sun.
A fiercely passionate kiss.
Frenzied fingers grasping and pulling stubborn tunic laces._
Virgil's breath came in ragged gasps, eyes wide open, glossed over, the mind absent from the body
_Her soft voice calling him back from the darkness of the Fugue, sweet and melodic.
She fell into his arms, crying, holding the love she thought lost.
He too, felt a tear.
He knew then, as she looked at his many scars, he had to tell her.
The look of horror on her face as he told her.
Told her of the tortures he had endured.
The tortures he had done to his parents and many others, of the children he killed.
Holding her as she was violently sick from the revelations he imparted to her.
Her shaky vow of love, she left him to travel to Celador._
The look of fear and confusion in her eyes. Most of all, he remembered that.
"No!" he screamed all the louder, standing to his feet, the yell a challenge to the gods.
"No..please…not me...please...." the pained whisper, the revaltion descending to him that she would leave, he sank slowly to the ground, his body shaking.
"Please..."
_A stolen kiss.
Flash of silver.
Dark red blood staining his hands.
Warm red spray soaking his skin.
Holding her hand.
Their shared, passioned, cries and moans as they lay that night at the Monument, stars witness to a love Virgil never thought could be his.
Screams of pain.
The song of steel on steel.
The voices that begged forgiveness.
The sound of burning flesh.
The snapping of bone.
The smell of blood.
The copper taste of it on his tongue._
Virgil muttered, fervently begging, begging for it to stop. She was leaving him, he knew. She was not there any longer to guide him, to help him grasp desperately for his last vestiges of sanity. The screams assaulted him, the voices begging, begging for forgiveness. He tried, he begged the gods to let him hold to her image, but for every second he spent thinking of her, the voices and screams came, renewed in their fury, crushing him in their grasp.
He tried to sleep, for days he tried to sleep. The voices would not let him. Their accusing screams. Always haunting him. They would not let him go.
A smile creased his face.
_Screams.
Flash of torch-lit silver.
Spray of blood._
The smile of one who is resigned. The smile of one devoid of sanity. A smile resigned to the knowlege that Fate is fickle. That Fate had teased him, giving to him the final shred of his soul, only to rob him of it in mockery. The smile widened, he was the gods play thing, a source of amusement. A look of peace crossed his eyes briefly, the look that can only be harbored by those who know they are mad.
_Spray of blood.
The warmth of it on his hands.
The screams of a dying child.
Accusing voices.
Always, the voices._
Virgil stood, unable to cry out against the injustice wrought upon him.
He stood, and did the only thing he could, he began to smile, a chuckle finding it's way to his harsh voice. The sweet irony of it all working upon him with its blackened grasp.
He laughed.
//Soon to come, day 6 of Virgil's fall. Hope you've enjoyed it so far!//
Day 6 Grace Lost
Virgil sat beneath his lean-to, staring into the small fire he had lit this night. His knees were drawn to his chest, cloak wrapped about him in a vain effort to shelter him from the cold. Shivering, his wearied eyes cast about, looking for wood to add to his megar fire.
After a few moments, he simply gave up. The effort not worth the product. Despite any sort of warmth, he would not be able to sleep, not this night, nor any other. The voices and screams haunted him constantly, an unremitting reminder of all that he had wrought in this life. He could not sleep, for when he closed his eyes he dreamed of them, of the pain and the blood. Their screams snapping him from any sleep, leaving him gasping raggedly for breath.
Not even sleep it seemed, would stay with him any longer.
He stood, needing something to occupy his mind, to rid him of the screams, for a small while at least.
Shrugging into his hauberk, he walked out of his sheltered glenn. After a short walk, he found himself heading out the town gates, not really thinking about what he was to do. Just walking. The vain hope of a goal, a means to recover grace lost, even one falsified, bred within the depths of his ailing mind, kept him walking, one foot in front of the next.
Dawn grew to his left, arching ever upward in the sky. He paused for a moment, drinking from the skin at his side. Glancing about the plain, he knew where his feet had carried him. Suddenly, it came to him, a way to rid himself of the voices. Turning about, he spotted the wayhouse in the distance along the road and broke for it in a full run, willing his wearied body to carry him to the source of his relief.
Virgil stood before the house, and pounded lightly on the door.
Quickly, a short man dressed in simple black and green clothing opened the door, ushering Virgil within. Virgil entered, making his way to a seat at a small table in the center of the room. The man cast a quick glance outside, then securely closed the door. He turned and bowed to Virgil.
"Lord Aseph, His Hand," he said, walking towards Virgil "it has been long since last you were here. The Church has need of you. Your skills are required in the questioning of a certain individual that may be of hindrance to us. What message do you send to the Church of your arrival?"
Virgil turned his head down, acting as though deep in thought. He reached his hand inside his worn leather satchel, closing about the hilt of one of his many knives.
"This."
Virgil jumped upward in an explosive flurry of motion, tearing the knife through the arteries and tendons in the man's neck, blood spraying from the wound, covering Virgil's face and hands, spraying his hauberk and the table.
Virgil smiled as the man fell gurgling to the ground.
They would come for him, and then all would be right.
Their assassin would come, and he would die fighting.
He laughed, dissolving into a fit of spastic laughter, doubled over and unable to control himself.
It was all too amusing.
