MQ: Blood Red Blossoms

[Slayer of the Rot]

Disaster hung in brutal finality over Raiaera, but amidst the crowd of panicked travelers and citizens, there was one calm face. It had a look of tranquility upon it; somehow unaffected by the dread that encroached on the horizon. The placid man stood as others rushed by, hurried to find a way to escape the doomed nation, but he only stood, hands lying calmly in his pockets.

"They never panicked this much for me," he said with a hint of amusement, lifting a hand to his face to slowly stroke his chin. The thumb settled on the base of a long, pale scar cutting his face on his left cheek, running over his eye and through the brow. It was bisected by another scar that ran across his left ear, over his nose, and stopped suddenly beneath his right eye. The smell of unsettled dust from beyond the city stirred in his nose as crisp autumn wind ruffled his short cut auburn hair. In Raiaera, this man was known as Gaius, but in other places, he was known as Dan Lagh'ratham. That is, if anything could be said to be known about the warrior with hair the color of fall leaves aside from his name, and the unsettling way the tree branches seemed to bow in his majesty as he passed. People would either become too comfortable around him, claiming he smelled like the homes they'd played in as children, or become deeply unsettled with his presence, claiming to smell the stifling scent of a dirt grave.

"I can remember a time coming to Raiaera that the elves here were haughty and settled firmly and confidently in their ways. Arrogant, even. Technology malfunctioned on this soil with a rich magical heritage. And they sat in a cradle of power and tradition with Istien University. This only goes to show one the power that he possesses. Look at them now. Like rats from a sinking ship...." The man known as Gaius sighed and moved forward, pressing through the terrified crowd, cutting through them like a well honed blade, budging not even a centimeter as they pushed violently and desperately against him to get to what might be safety. His eyes became hooded, lucid as he walked, as though disconnecting from reality...
_____
The sensation of touch had been lost.

No, it was more than that. His surroundings were a kingdom of nothing. Though it was black, the substance that threaded this world's reality could not be called shadow; a shadow was the product of an absent of light, and not even a pin point of it could not be seen. when he moved, it felt like nothing; no effort, no feeling of a bunching of muscle to lift his hand up and pull it before his face, as though his movements were the wishes of another.

Death.

No, but it was something like it. A realm near its flow. As a warrior, he had experienced his own share of deaths in his life, and while this was the same, it was ultimately different. A thread remained, holding him aloft, afloat in this world of questions with no answers.

Dream.

The answer came to it, and with it, as though summoned by his will to defy the natural laws of the realm he found himself existing in, something in his close proximity stirred, shifted, moved, and breathed. It huffed, then sighed, as though in effort, and then laid a long, spindly fingered hand on his chest, above his heart. Looking down upon it, he could see infection growing in him, spreading its long black chords like black veins under and through his skin.

'I wish to...possess you. I can feel it in you...a heart stained with hate, and it is strong...'

The little black chords shuddered, pulled back, and halted their quest as a fire burned them.

'My body and soul have been used in the past. I have my own agenda....I will be a pawn to none.' The chords began to seek against, burrowing deeper into his heart.

'Pawn? You misunderstand. There could never be a pawn as powerful as you. I wish to possess you to make you a god among these ants...they are weak, and do not deserve your strength. I will give her back to you, and open new gates of power to you.'

The chords bound his heart, mummified it, and took it. In dream, he gave a muffled groan, and turned his face away. 'For her...I want proof of the reality of the devil to who I am selling my flesh to. Prove yourself to me.' The thin fingered black hand rose from his chest, away from the coal colored wound it had made, the skin cracked and blistered around it. From his heart, the hand pulled a pulsing, green stone spear, and folded it in its talons.

'So be it...'
_____
The leathers he had garbed himself in creaked quietly as he finally stopped, finding himself standing upon the grounds of the very university he had scoffed moments before. The students milled about, some seized in evident paranoia, others trying their best to hide it, trying to keep their faces calm and composed for the sake of their friends. But the man known as Dan could smell it in the sweat that glistened and beaded upon their foreheads and necks. He could smell it on every person rushing past, and even in the land itself.

The imminent death of the grand nation Raiaera.

Folding his arms over his chest, his jacket pulling tight against his shoulder blades, Dan slowly wandered into the clusterings of the students. Just by drawing up his Saraelian spear when he'd woken from the dream told him who he served now, if he was going to find his daughter again. But the problem was his uncertainty. By joining him, he would finally have Meredith back, and soon, the power to protect her from any harm that the world would seek to visit upon her. But it also meant hundreds...thousands of deaths. His eyes moved across the faces, either in sickly silence or frantic chatter. He saw them...

And didn't care.

'What do you want me to do, though?' Dan' face hardened in frustration, and when he felt a tap on his shoulder, it took nearly all of his titanic strength to stay his hand from crushing the one that had interrupted his thoughts. When he turned, he found himself looking down upon a girl of extraordinary beauty with black hair and blue eyes, a longsword at her side. His flint gray eyes turned towards the sword briefly, started to pull away, and then lingered for another moment before looking at her.

"Warrior, come with me. Your strength and steel are needed to protect the innocent." She spoke quietly, gently, though with a quality of command in it few possessed, especially women. The words were spoken with incredible confidence, as though she was sure that such a noble looking man would come to their aid. For some strange reason, he was reminded of Claire; but when he blinked, he decided that her beauty which transcended her seemingly human appearance had played hob on his nerves and opened an old wound. Dan was silent for a few moments, turning his face to the sky. Black clouds of ominous intent were gathering above, making the grim day seem that much more hopeless. Past the great, readying army of Zem'Xund, he could smell the scent of this great nation; fruit blossoms born on a brisk wind, entwined with the fresh, clean, and cool smell of this morning's mist that had hung so peacefully, oblivious of the coming disaster.

"No."

For a moment, she lingered, disappointment in her face, but she didn't seem to be one to let one surly, scarred warrior ruin her day, and moved on. He watched her move on, as a few others moved through the crowd, walking closer and closer to her; others she had chosen.

"Oh, I didn't think you'd be turning her down. Don't you know her?" Dan glanced down to his left where small, hunched student stood; a young girl with dark brown hair and light, oval rimmed glasses, a number of books and scrolls clutched tightly to her chest. He shook his head.

"Ah. She's known famously for two facts. Along with a team dubbed Wicked Things, she, with the help of others, finally rid Eluriand and the entire continent of the undead scourge. Additionally, she is the daughter of the great hero, Devon dan Sabriel."

'Sabriel?' The man's eyebrows arched. 'I've heard that name before. In stories. It belongs to the Starslayer, the great hero from the war before. The one that vanquished Xem'Zund and Lord Aesphestos. I think I've found my purpose...' The student shrank at the dark smile that had spread across the warrior's lips. Above the University, the sky seemed to darken.

"I apologize for my brashness," Dan said when he had caught up to Skie again in the crowd, giving her a pleasant smile. "I'm afraid my temper is running a little rampant lately...I just lost my daughter. But I will help you as much as I can. You can call me...Kross."