#and I cried all over again once I figured out where Haurchefant’s grave was and found it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

voidsentprinces · 4 years

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Blood in the Snow

The ground was painted. Painted with that most glorious and virtuous of ichor. Painted with the finest. The finest Ishgard had to give. The Knights of Ishgard and their innards. Turned the frigid Coerthas Highlands, a crimson flair. How appetizing, how beautiful, how delightful it was to them.

“Yes...” One side of the swirling torrent within them hissed, “...Yes. This is why we sung.” The Dravanian souls raged, “This is why we took flight, this is why we answered the call. The call of our wyrm brother Nidhogg!” They sung in unison, “To avenge Ratatoskr! To swarm with our brothers and sisters!” It cried out, “Turn the white canvas of mortal man, red. We demand their homes burned, their children expunged, their families crushed! Bite! Gnash! Crunch! Smash! BREAK ISHGARD!” The torrent raged.

His armor burned, it seethed. How long had he had a moment’s rest? How long had been since he awoken from his sacred grave? How many times had he watched Francel make the tip from hearth to stone. Visiting that now empty grave. The blizzard that same night made excellent cover to conceal, that grave was fresh again.

Oh, Francel...what would he ever think now? He was once the pinnacle of knighthood. Giving himself in ultimate sacrifice to save his friend. Oh, that dearest friend who came to Ishgard’s aid. That humble and reckless adventurer, who walked into his halls and requested information on a lost airship. How long ago that seemed now. Much had happened. Much had transpired. How he longed to see that face again. How deeply he desired it. Oh...Oh how his chest ached.

The armor by Nidhogg’s Brood. Blackened with the blood of Dravanian and Ishgardian Knight alike. How it seared his flesh, how it scarred his very body. Constantly driving him forward. Driving him to such acts unknightly and blackened. Yet despite the pain, the armor maddeningly inflicted upon him. The pain in his chest from Ser Zephirin’s spear still hurt the most.

How long had he hunted his fellow knights in the snow? Drowning some in the frozen rivers, leading others to be eaten alive by wolves, tearing them limb from limb himself. Beheading Heretic and Knight alike when one voice cried. Then to balance the scales...

“Ishgard will never fall!” Cried the other part of the raging torrent, “To arms for the Archbishop! For the Knight-Commander! FOR HALONE THE FURY!” A warcry erupted inside of him. The voices of his kin, slain in combat through the years. Tempered and corrupted by the void. The war had long since settled but their spirits burned. For every Ishgardian Knight he slew for the raging souls of Nidhogg’s Brood kept focused by the void. The Knights were demand equal retribution in turn. No sleep...never resting.

Driven forth and before he knew it. He stood upon the corpse of an arrogant Dravanian who was naive enough plot against Falcon’s Nest. The rage of Nidhogg still within its bossom. Which was hollowed out and made home for the pendulum shaped axe. Lodged deep in the cavity of the majestic being. The axe drank deep within its blood and another soul was added to the pile. Its voice joining the chorus in the Legion that fueled his rage. Culiminating together in unison as he couldn’t help but keep tearing at the long dead dragon. The chorus egging him on.

“Rip!” They sang, “Tear! Bite! Gnash! Slash! Crush! Crunch!” They chanted over and over as the blackened armored turned red with dragon ichor. Scales, flesh, muscle, tissue, organ, bone. Nothing was sacred in this ceremony. How the armor burned as it drank its fill of such grisly display.

When would the madness end? When would he be allowed to rest? How long could he continue this? Let it end...let it all end.

The chorus silenced.

His gauntlets stopped desecrating, the Dravanian carcass. There was a scent, a familiar presence. Someone was there, someone was witnessing, this act. Slowly the fallen knight turned his gaze across the snow. There they were. Just as he had remember them. Blinding, bright, and bold. Their eyes weathered with the trials seen by ten-thousand life times of knighthood. To of experienced it all so young. A tragic figure, a figure of hope, a figure of resistance. He had heard of their deeds in Doma and Ala Mhigo. Saving Eorzea from the Black Wolf wasn’t enough. Brokering peace between Dravania and Ishgard? Simplicity. Here they stood in all their glory in the torrent of the snow storm. At long last, he was at peace. He was in the presence of his retribution. The Warrior of Light had come.

He tried to speak, his vocal chords torn and shredded from weeks of raging. Not a sip of water or the slightest bit of wine to lubricate his throat. Yet he still required to speak to his friend.

“I had hope...” His ragged voice cracked, “I had hoped, beyond all hope. You would come.” The chest wound, Zephirin’s spear. It ached greatly at the sight of his friend, “That would come to stop me...” His lips were broken and dry, “That you would permit me, some semblance of peace.” He was doubled over, on the ground. The heat of his armor causing the snow to hiss and evaporate. “That you would come for me and see me...I have no right to ask this of you.” Tears of joy and sorrow might of been appropriate. But, this walking corpse had long since lost all ability to do so.

His searing gauntlets took hold of the helm. It was a full suit of armor. Sealed from all openings. To be the prison for him. Knight turned Voidsent Prince. Yet his fingers make dents. As the whining of the armor screeched. Puncturing and tearing off the helm. Throwing it to the ground as the cold Coerthas air filled his asphyxiated lungs. The brisk chill of it burning inside his chest.

What had become of this Knight of Fortempts? The pale blue hue that use to color his locks. Lost all pigmentation, a stark white remained. Tipped in dried blood from the Knight, he was forced to kill upon his first awakening. The helmet has mutilated his face with burn scars. He had long since lost the charm of a youthful elezen. Only a single one of his shimmering eyes were his own anymore. The right one over taken and turned crimson from the torrent’s influence. Eyes of a corpse, sunken. He must of looked utterly mad to his friend. Though they hadn’t flinched at the sight of the fallen Greystone.

“Oh...” He shook his head slowly, he couldn’t help but feel his lips mold into a smile. The shame of being seen in this state by the one, he held dearest in his hearts of hearts. “Don’t look at me so...a smile better suits a hero.” A half-hearted chuckle, “My dear friend,” His licked his lips, “I am sorry, you had to see me be so. I am sure, the last memory of me isn’t as fond.” How his chest ached. “But, perhaps you can be here to give me a proper burial this time. Your Goddess’s blessing could purge me of this maddening horde.”

The Warrior didn’t move. Stoic and steadfast as always.

The fallen knight got to his feet, “Please...put me down. Slay me as you would an Ascian or enemy in your path. I cannot stand this existence any longer.” He rose his arms up, “My friend...please...just...w..wait!”

The Warrior had turned and began to walk.

“Where...don’t...where are you?” He began to run, run as fast as his legs could take him. Yet the Warrior got farther. “Don’t go!” His hand outstretch, “Stop me!” He cried out starting to close the distance, “Help me!” Nearly there. “Save me!” His hand reached to touch the Warrior’s shoulder but pass through air. An illusion? No...he was acutely aware of something.

He looked up towards the sky. He could sense it. Sense his friend soaring through the air. What was in that direction? Mor Dhona? No...further. The Crystal Tower. His friend was being drawn away. Soaring through the rift like a firework through the night sky. How brilliant their soul was. For once he was thankful to becoming this aberration and witness his friend’s soul ascend so brightly. But as soon as it was. It wasn’t any longer. The soul had gone from this realm. His salvation gone.

He crumbled and collapsed. No one was coming to stop him. No one was coming to save him. His friend had disappeared from the realm...no...this friend had disappeared from the realm. His Warrior had already been long gone.

“Ser Haurchefant?” A voice came from close by, it was familiar to him. He looked up from his stupor to witness a band of knights. Young men come to patrol the area no doubt. He had trained a few of them. “By the Fury...you’re alive!” The leader of the patrol cried in happiness. Short lived it would be.

The Voidsent Prince of Wrath found himself suddenly pulling his pendulum axe out of the Dravanian’s butchered corpse. Before walking towards the patrol. The chorus of Nidhogg’s Brood echoed in his head. As the knights looked on in horror.

“Bite! Gnash! Crush! Crunch! Kill!”

He would paint Coerthas with them. Over and over again. Like blood in the snow.

#{ wrath }

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