Canen Darkflight
06-10-08, 07:21 AM
((OOC: Closed to Yggdrasil. First of a three part saga.))
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Khaia Saga: Genocide
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Khaia, Domine Province, 157 Years ago...
All around him, explosions rang out across the concrete parapet within the confines of one of the last border outposts, while the pulsing hum of the Haicheyanne dimensional warp portals echoed and vibrated out all around the Khaian warrior, churning the air from a cold, sharp winter's atmosphere into a stomach turning humidity.
A small cohort of the elite Khain Reavers stood strategically at points around the perimeter, dressed, as if being the sole bearers of their people's legacy; in the relics of their people, swathed in age old tunics and clothes salvaged from the forests before they had been burned to ash. Above the sound of the portals, and the shreaking, a voice cried out from above, and carried itself across the wind to Canen, stood defiantly atop a bloodsoaked rock formation that bore the smears of Khaian corpses and demon alike.
He looked up, his painted white face full of malice as he gripped tightly on his sword hilt. The being the voice belonged to was Icarus Pentagathon, Khaian turned traitor, smothered in a black hooded robe that covered his entire body and was levitating at least ten feet in the air. Icarus's emotionless gaze bore down on him, tearing into his already waning soul.
"Don't you see, Khaian, that there's no one left to fight. Nothing left to die for. We have taken all of it away, dragged everything out from under your feet as you struggle to hold on to everything you hold dear." His voice was deep throated, bellowing, a mixture of hatred and sadist delight. The words themselves were empowering the Khaian's tormentor, and all the while their meaning whittling away what was left of the Khaian's morale. "You will soon be left with nothing. Even if you survive, we will disappear, and you will have no one to hate, no one to exact your revenge upon. You will be fighting shadows, hating phantoms, wrestling with memories."
Icarus was in the process of collapsing all of the captured surviving colonies and settlements of the Khaian people, in an attempt to wipe its civilisation's history from existence. The whole of the Old Khaian realm had become obsolete now that General Khagendra had failed to secure the Khaian throne from the terminally ill King Nisha, and such a people becoming synonymous with anyone other than Khagendra, his master, was an outcome that Icarus could not let be. The trecherous Khaian had warped in and ordered the extermination of any life forms and the destruction of all three provinces of Khaia, Riisa, Domine and Artinia, on behalf of his master.
When Icarus was finished, the great continent of Nocturnis, and the trinity of Riisa, Domine and Artinia that made up Khaia, would never have existed, and only the nation of New Khaia he and Khagendra had planned would take form in the wake of the genocide. Nothing else would be allowed to survive.
The entire truth was being destroyed and rewritten in Khagendra and Icarus's favour, and the only people left to fight, to attempt to survive, were a rogue band of Khaian Reavers, dragged together, and living as fugitives from their own people. How could the truth be saved if its fabrication was accepted without question by other people? To Canen's left, his old friend Gideon wrapped his cloak around himself majestically, and ran out to tackle another band of weaker Haicheyanne with his mythical no-dachi style Vampire Blade, bearing his pearl white teeth in rage.
The black-robed warrior danced upon the murky concrete with great fluidity, drawing his thin sword as he turned, disemboweling one of the Haicheyanne on the backswing. He made no sound, but simply swooped left to right, seemingly anticipating the clumsy, slow motions of the servants of Asmodeus, who had great trouble fighting at close combat with any degree of fluency. With two strokes he severed the head of one of the demons, and then drove his blade point into the heart of the other, who fell, choking to the ground, blood spattering upon Gideon's face with what could only be seen as satisfaction in the swordsman’s countenance.
As the last of the weaker wave of Haicheyanne scrambled as fast as their fat, rubber layered bodies could take them back towards their white noise portals, Canen saw his own future drifting away before his eyes as the evil Icarus held the crystal controlling his own portal and was soon warped away in a blinding flash. The stronger cohorts moved in, securing the area and scrabbling for any sign of life they could brutally murder or mutilate on their master's behalf, and Canen knew it was already too late. None of this had ever happened. There had never been Old Khaia, as far as anyone was concerned. A shattered colony outpost, identical to hundreds of others across the continent, marked the hollow shell of this, and, suddenly, there was no one left to save.
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Khaia Saga: Genocide
-
Khaia, Domine Province, 157 Years ago...
All around him, explosions rang out across the concrete parapet within the confines of one of the last border outposts, while the pulsing hum of the Haicheyanne dimensional warp portals echoed and vibrated out all around the Khaian warrior, churning the air from a cold, sharp winter's atmosphere into a stomach turning humidity.
A small cohort of the elite Khain Reavers stood strategically at points around the perimeter, dressed, as if being the sole bearers of their people's legacy; in the relics of their people, swathed in age old tunics and clothes salvaged from the forests before they had been burned to ash. Above the sound of the portals, and the shreaking, a voice cried out from above, and carried itself across the wind to Canen, stood defiantly atop a bloodsoaked rock formation that bore the smears of Khaian corpses and demon alike.
He looked up, his painted white face full of malice as he gripped tightly on his sword hilt. The being the voice belonged to was Icarus Pentagathon, Khaian turned traitor, smothered in a black hooded robe that covered his entire body and was levitating at least ten feet in the air. Icarus's emotionless gaze bore down on him, tearing into his already waning soul.
"Don't you see, Khaian, that there's no one left to fight. Nothing left to die for. We have taken all of it away, dragged everything out from under your feet as you struggle to hold on to everything you hold dear." His voice was deep throated, bellowing, a mixture of hatred and sadist delight. The words themselves were empowering the Khaian's tormentor, and all the while their meaning whittling away what was left of the Khaian's morale. "You will soon be left with nothing. Even if you survive, we will disappear, and you will have no one to hate, no one to exact your revenge upon. You will be fighting shadows, hating phantoms, wrestling with memories."
Icarus was in the process of collapsing all of the captured surviving colonies and settlements of the Khaian people, in an attempt to wipe its civilisation's history from existence. The whole of the Old Khaian realm had become obsolete now that General Khagendra had failed to secure the Khaian throne from the terminally ill King Nisha, and such a people becoming synonymous with anyone other than Khagendra, his master, was an outcome that Icarus could not let be. The trecherous Khaian had warped in and ordered the extermination of any life forms and the destruction of all three provinces of Khaia, Riisa, Domine and Artinia, on behalf of his master.
When Icarus was finished, the great continent of Nocturnis, and the trinity of Riisa, Domine and Artinia that made up Khaia, would never have existed, and only the nation of New Khaia he and Khagendra had planned would take form in the wake of the genocide. Nothing else would be allowed to survive.
The entire truth was being destroyed and rewritten in Khagendra and Icarus's favour, and the only people left to fight, to attempt to survive, were a rogue band of Khaian Reavers, dragged together, and living as fugitives from their own people. How could the truth be saved if its fabrication was accepted without question by other people? To Canen's left, his old friend Gideon wrapped his cloak around himself majestically, and ran out to tackle another band of weaker Haicheyanne with his mythical no-dachi style Vampire Blade, bearing his pearl white teeth in rage.
The black-robed warrior danced upon the murky concrete with great fluidity, drawing his thin sword as he turned, disemboweling one of the Haicheyanne on the backswing. He made no sound, but simply swooped left to right, seemingly anticipating the clumsy, slow motions of the servants of Asmodeus, who had great trouble fighting at close combat with any degree of fluency. With two strokes he severed the head of one of the demons, and then drove his blade point into the heart of the other, who fell, choking to the ground, blood spattering upon Gideon's face with what could only be seen as satisfaction in the swordsman’s countenance.
As the last of the weaker wave of Haicheyanne scrambled as fast as their fat, rubber layered bodies could take them back towards their white noise portals, Canen saw his own future drifting away before his eyes as the evil Icarus held the crystal controlling his own portal and was soon warped away in a blinding flash. The stronger cohorts moved in, securing the area and scrabbling for any sign of life they could brutally murder or mutilate on their master's behalf, and Canen knew it was already too late. None of this had ever happened. There had never been Old Khaia, as far as anyone was concerned. A shattered colony outpost, identical to hundreds of others across the continent, marked the hollow shell of this, and, suddenly, there was no one left to save.