emperordeathsatan
emperor death satan
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Conquest. Walhart wanted to see the world kneeling to him, to be subjugated under the foot of the most powerful man alive, and not any god. Unfortunately his power had proven insufficient, Chrom was the one that walked away from their duel, Walhart had fallen in battle. Though wounded, he had managed to escape with his life, a most humiliating way to continue living, but throwing his life away in battle would exemplify the exact kind of dogma he was trying to eliminate. He ran away with his tail between his legs and lived to fight another day, his dreams of conquest nothing more than a delusion.
He outran the forces of Ylisse, they did not give chase. As soon as he was in the clear he collapsed against the ground. His wounds still open, a trail of blood followed him. Walhart was something more than human, but he wasn't immortal. He had never felt agony like this in his life before, the pain of his wounds, the feeling of his blood draining out of his body, the emotions of crushing defeat sweeping over him, something that had yet to fully sink in, he wouldn't admit failure. Walhart knew that one day death would come for him, but that day would not be today, his wounds would not claim him, he would not let them. Valm has stood for 1000 years, and it will not fall today. Victory is inevitable, for he is eternal.
Walhart's armor was stained with blood, barely visible on the crimson plate, the dirt that sullied it was more clear. He placed one hand onto the ground, lifting himself up slightly. Walhart had tasted the blood of many of his enemies, today he tasted his own, the bitterness was unfamiliar. The torrent of rain pelted his armor as he attempted to recover, to live again. He took one step upward to lift himself off the ground. Lightning struck the sky behind him as Walhart rose again. His wounds were severe, but he would survive. He looked behind him to see what he had fled from, an empire, a dream of world domination, Valm. He left it behind as he stumbled into the forrest. For the second time in his life, Walhart shed a single tear.
He walked aimlessly through the woods. Even if his eyes hadn't been slashed at he wouldn't have been able to make out anything in the dead of night. Just mud, trees, and the occasional weed. Even if he could see, he didn't know what he was looking for, his armies were most likely surrendering right about now, and everybody that wasn't subjugated by him would likely try and finish him off. He simply walked, because that's all he could do. His throat was dry, and his wounds here only being held shut by the rags he had torn from his clothes tied onto them. He knew not where life would take him, only that he would continue to live.
Walhart saw a light in front of him, one that glowed like only the sun could, it felt like having a weight lifted off his shoulders. His steps grew lighter and lighter, suddenly he could not just shamble, but walk, even run towards the incandescence. It's brightness drawing him like a moth to a flame. The rain started to stop. He ran up the hill until he found the source of this light.
When he got there, all he found was a woman. Lightly armored, she was picking flowers, bent over and smiling. It was odd to find someone completely alone this far into the woods, especially a girl that couldn't be older than 20, She had orange hair, it flowed down her back. She noticed the heavy clang of Walhart's steps as he approached her, if he had a weapon, he would have drawn it.
The girl rose as she looked at him. "Well met, stranger." She said as she waved to him. He scowled, unused to this casual demeanor. "Well met," He responded. "What might be the reason for your expedition this deep into the forrest, am i to assume you have bodyguards lying in wait somewhere?"
"Oh no." she looked a bit concerned at his caution. "I'm alone, i'm just out here picking flowers to give to my friends later. I know it's a bit dangerous to go this far out by myself, but i think i can handle any threats at this point."
She noticed the blood running down his armor, her eyes widened in horror. "You're hurt!" She pressed her hand against it, it wasn't just a splash, he was drenched in a river of his own blood. "By Mila's light, you're dying!" She hyperventilated when she saw how injured he was, she had no idea how he was even standing. "Why didn't you tell me!? You need immediate care! I-, I don't.." She was at a loss for words, unsue of where she should begin and how long she had. She struggled to calm herself down. The woman stretched her palm out, attempting to cast the most potent recovery spell she knew, starting by targeting the grievous wounds that decorated his chest. She could do nothing but pray to Mila that all this man's vital functions were still intact.
It was unimaginable pain to feel your flesh rended as he so did, only to have it be recreated with the magical ability of a divine servant like this woman, Walhart's face remained static as he was healed. He started to wonder about this woman, she was clearly religious, referencing some kind of deity earlier, the name "Mila" meant nothing in Valm. Walhart had spent his first life fighting religious dogma, now he owes his second life to it's power.
The sight of the lacerations over Walhart had brought the young girl to tears, she was reminded of all the horrible things she has seen as a healer, few of them as bad as this, it looked like this man had somehow dueled an entire army. She had expended every ounce of energy she could putting his body into a workable state, and now she felt as exhausted as he did. The woman fell forward, unable to stand, she leaned against Walhart, staining her face with the blood that cascaded down his chest. Walhart had never been touched like this.
He noticed that the woman was out of breath, she had exhausted herself saving him, a noble task. Self-sacrifice like this was unheard of in his army. He lifted her into his arms, carrying her like a bride as she rested. Walhart wanted to carry her back to her home, but she was unconscious, unable to point her in the correct direction. He simply walked, and walked, and walked, not stopping until she awoke.
The woman awoke to the sight of her being carried in the arms of this stranger, fully healed, he seemed to atleast try and return the favor for the treatment she ha given him. She spoke. "I... Passed out while healing you, didn't i?" Walhart nodded. "It happens so rarely, but i can't bring myself to stop when i should, not when someone needs it." She still couldn't stand. "Do you feel better?"
"Yes." Walhart replied with a stone face. "I will not die."
"That's, good news... You can put me down, i think." She was still dizzy, but she could stand for now. Walhart placed her onto the ground, getting uncomfortably close to her and looking into her eyes. Her eyes shined auburn, just like her hair, he almost felt bad about letting such a pretty face be coated with his blood. She noticed that he was staring, and she blushed, looking away.
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From the depths of The Underdark to the center of githyanki civilization, Abigail travelled the lands in search of evil to punish. She wore the armor or her paladin circle like it was flesh and bone, clinging to it as it protected her from the forces of evil. She disliked and distrusted the githyanki, but she understood that they were the lesser evil compared to the mind flayers they opposed, and was thus willing to work with them until she was granted an audience with their queen.
Said audience didn't take as long as she would have assumed. The githyanki trusted her even less than she did they, but her heroic exploits had made her into something of a legend amongst a handful of perceptive individuals, and Vlaakith was nothing if not well informed. She was summoned to the chambers of the lich queen, alone, none of her party were worthy to lay eyes on the preserver of the gith race.
Abigail stepped foot into the queen's chamber, the Kith'Rak of the creche led her to where Vlaakith dwelled. The Lich Queen in all her glory was a sight to behold, only an individual like Abigail could find such beauty in the preserved body of an immortal lich like Vlaakith, death having long given up on her. The mere sight of her made Abigail's codpiece feel tighter.
Vlaakith beckoned the oathbreaker forward with her finger, and she followed. She knelt down, laying down her warhammer and shield while Vlaakith smiled on her. Vlaakith commanded her to rise, Abigail looked her in the eyes.
"You've done well, istik, very few can claim the accomplishments you have, none of them istik." Vlaakith was charmed by the outlander, though she had never truly understood why an Underdark dwarf would decide to serve the Githyanki, but she had long accepted her loyalty by now. She pet Abigail on the head.
"Thank you, my queen." Abigail felt alive when she felt Vlaakith's cold touch. "Serving you is the greatest honor any mortal could have."
Vlaakith enjoyed hearing those words. "You speak only truth, you have wisdom to match your strength." Vlaakith snapped her fingers. "Kith'Rak, leave us." Her servant obeyed her orders, departing without a word.
"Istik, disrobe." Words that felt magnificent to Abigail, she had waited what felt like centuries for this, and Vlaakith simply acknowledged it with a single word. Her armor made loud clanging noises as she ripped it off, from her grieves to helmet, she was now fully nude. It felt wonderful to have finally freed her cock from her bloodstained armor.
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