Falling Slowly (closed)

[Painkiller]

Closed to: MetalDrago, Azlen, and Falling With Style.

Many thoughts are birthed in the course of a minute, an hour, a day. Some are dreams, and some are visions. Often, we are unable to distinguish between them.

In my case, they are one and the same.

I do not know who I am, where I come from, or how I came to be in Radasanth. I struggle to remember things that occured only yesterday; my memory fails me completely when I attempt to recall the events of last week. I feel disoriented and isolated, like a ship cast hopelessly off course by a violent storm. My mind is a house filled with locked rooms that I may not enter, and I have thousands of questions without answers. Who am I? Where am I from? What is my purpose? Only my dreams provide answers for me, and they are vague and unsatisfying.

Last night, I had such a dream. I remembered little after waking from my vision, but a feeling of urgency had gripped me to my very core, and a single word stood out clearly in my mind: Citadel. Also, there was this falling sensation...

---

A nameless psychic gazed towards the stone portal that served as the entrance to the Citadel, her soft face scrunched up with confusion. While such a marvelous sight would fill most first-time combatants with awe and wonder, the blonde mentalist only felt a vague, unwelcome sense of deja vu. She could not remember having seen this building before, yet it felt as if she had been here a thousand times. Uneasily, she made her way up a flight of steps and into the Citadel, her cloud-colored eyes darting warily from side to side.

"Name?"

The woman's suspicious gaze locked upon an elderly man draped in orange cloth standing just to the right of the entrance, a clipboard clasped tightly between his bony fingers.

"For record-keeping purposes. You understand."

"Kurze," she responded in clear, euphonius voice, a forced, amicable smile spreading across her pallid countenance.

"Right," the secretary muttered with a hint of sarcasm, believing her to be using some sort of phony alias like 'Anita Lay' or 'Dr. Surgeon'. In a way, he was right - while Kurze was almost certainly not the psychic's given name, it was the moniker she had adopted for the time being. "Follow me," he instructed, beckoning for the young psychic to follow him as he slipped into a darkened hallway and vanished in the blackness. After only a moment of hesitation, Kurze followed him into the blackness, her fingers grazing the stone wall lightly to ensure that she did not slam into said wall and injure herself before her match even began. The only audible sound in the vicinity was the rhythmic clop of Kurze's sandals against the stone floor - the monk's movements were absolutely silent.

"Don't you have a torch? I can't see a -"

And suddenly, there was not a floor to stand upon.

"- thing."

Bright light burst into existence around the psychic, momentarily blinding her, and there was this uncomfortably familiar falling sensation...

[Azlen]

“I’m not going!”
“Why not, you scared?”
“To hit you in the face? No I’m not!”
“Hit me, eh? How about you chew on my fist while you think that sentence over!”

Azlen roared with laughter at the antics of the two ten year olds. He had just reached the top step, when he noticed the two young ones debating whether or not they should go in to the Citadel to fight. The twins were both scrubbed bright as if they had cleaned themselves just for this occasion, their pale bodies contrasting their blazing cheeks, wide eyes and gaping mouths as they stood their insulting each other. Azlen still laughed. He hadn’t felt happy in a long time, it was good to laugh, even if he was over doing it. There was a slight smile on the monks face also, his orange dyed robes swaying in the slight summer wind, the sun not as harsh as usual.

The monk was smiling because he saw through it all, Azlen might have been smiling on the outside but Azlen’s dark red eyes told the monk what he needed. What he needed was a change, a change of emotion. It seemed lately, the only emotion Azlen had been feeling and seeing, was pain. It had only been a few weeks since he had defeated Malakados*, and everywhere in the city area of Raieria he went, he still saw the damage that was left behind in the battle. People were not happy, people still looked at him with hate or fear in their eyes. Azlen didn’t like that, he was a sensitive person in temperament, and it pained him to see the murmured conversations whispered hurriedly amongst the town’s people when he walked by, he couldn’t help but notice the look of despair the people would have in their eyes when he walked past, he was a reminder of the devastation. He couldn’t help anyone either, they wouldn’t allow it. They acted like it was his fault! He wasn’t the one who called the demon; they should be criticizing the want to be ‘witches’ girls who started the whole scene! All he did was defeat the DÅMON . Well…not defeat, but banished back to the place from where it came.

Azlen calmed laughing, by this time the two boys had stopped arguing and was just staring at the strange man, who couldn’t seem to stop laughing. The fact was he wasn’t really laughing at the boys anymore; they were just a source for his laughter. The laughter so overwhelmed him though that he couldn’t stop himself, until someone who stood behind him waiting to get in shouted for him to control himself. He straightened up, standing at about six feet tall. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly to the monk, “I don’t know what came over me.”

“It is fine, you just follow me and I’ll get the spark back in you.” The monk said kindly smiling at the tall man before he turned to an escort giving him instructions and sending Azlen and the guide off into the hall. As they walked, the escort asked Azlen his name, “Azlen Johannes.” He said proudly, they could definitely keep a record of him, because he would be back for more.

The hall had gotten darker, and he was starting to slow down walking, he couldn’t see where he was going. He reached for his sword that was strapped to his back, the hilt pressing into the small of his back. He also had a dagger that was strapped to his hip that was more for skinning and hunting then fighting, but he would use it when he was in a tight situation. He took one more step as his sword came loose from its strap, and that was the only step he took before he had an insane feeling of vertigo. Air rushed into his face, his hair flying in all direction, daylight flooded his entire vision, it felt like he had been flung from a catapult as he went flying through the air, eyes closed.

* this means it hasn't been done yet. I'm referring to another quest that I'm writing right now.