Letho
06-15-10, 12:39 PM
((Closed to Dissinger and Zantetsuken))
His back was aching. It wasn’t anything serious, more of a minor crick somewhere at the bottom end of his spine, but it was enough to remind Letho Ravenheart that he wasn’t a young man anymore. With some forty-odd years of reckless life under his belt (damn near half of which were spent on dirty roads or just as dirty inn beds), he was not only starting to look the part, but feeling it as well. He was weary, worn out by all the battles, all the quests and adventures and blood and sweat and clashing swords and shattered shields and muddy battlefields, of all the belligerent imagery that jumped into the forefront of his mind every time he tried to get some rest.
The last decade was the worst, the final nail in the coffin of his vigor. Starting off with Myrhia’s death at childbirth, it only spiraled downwards from there until he found himself on the rock bottom and the darkness that veiled it. Instead of finding eternal peace at the end of a harsh life, Myrhianna’s soul got trapped in the underworld, bound by some dark witchery, leaving Letho with only her screams to fill his nights. On his mission to save his beloved from the agony he wound up turning his back on everything he ever fought for, everything he struggled so hard to be. His pride, his integrity, his morality, he put it all to sacrifice for only a chance to save the woman he loved. And now finally it seemed he had a chance to do so. But before he sailed off on one final quest he had to make sure a certain someone couldn’t follow him. For she too was stubborn and reckless and all too ready to throw herself on the sword for the ones she loved.
Ignoring the tightening tingle in his back, he continued to scribe runes on the hardwood floor of the Dahlios manor. He had already chalked them on the walls and the ceiling, strange, ominous glyphs that he learned during a darker time, under the tutelage of the necromancers just before he put them all to the blade. He was rather certain that Liliana wouldn’t take kindly to the fact that he tainted their guest room with this wizardry, but it was the only idea he had and the time was short. Better to suffer the scorn of one woman than to have the blood of another on his hands.
Finishing the last set, he unrolled the carpet on top of it before he could finally straighten his back and utter a relieving sigh. It would do the trick, Letho knew; he had used it on a number of mages back on Tempus Island. Just before he slaughtered them. But that was before, before Lorelei and the rescue crew popped in to tear him from the hands of doom. A pointless risk, the swordsman mused, especially considering that same doom awaited him with its arms wide open at the end of the road.
Turning his back to the door and his eyes to the dreary autumn in the land of Reven just outside of the window, Letho waited for his daughter.
Five minutes later...
“No!” Lorelei insisted. Her furrowed brow – which she seemed to inherit from her father, for he had one on his face at the moment as well – and the firm shake of her head that sent her mahogany red locks wild only further accentuated the defiant determination in her voice. “I will not be left behind. She is my mother!”
“This is not up to discussion,” Letho’s voice rumbled. His broad shoulders were still turned towards her and his eyes were still affixed on the uninteresting scenery on the other side of the glass. Outside, the world was a brownish, dying thing, the trees shedding their dry leaves in expectation of another frigid winter, while the clouds loomed overhead with promise of a downpour. He expected that kind of a response from the girl. The same blood flowed through their veins, the same stubbornness and pride holding them upright, the same determination dictating their course of action. He had hoped that Myrhia’s pacifism would prevail when it came to Lorelei’s behavior, or if that failed that her peaceful upbringing would distance her from the violent way of life he had led, but she seemed to have the same fire in her eyes that he had when he was just a lordling and the world was a prettier, simpler place.
“Why? Because it is a perilous journey? Because I could get hurt?” she continued, swinging around his calm figure to come face to face with her father. “Tempus Island was like that and I survived. I can handle myself, father. You know I can. I survived you.”
The memories of that fateful clash still tormented the swordsman despite the rather fortunate outcome. He had been stark mad at Tempus Island, driven insane by grief and lust for... What was it again? Justice? Revenge? Retribution? Liberation? He couldn't say with certainty. Maybe it was a bit of everything, a tainted stew spiced up by the endless wails of his beloved that haunted his dreams. Always he heard them, sometimes silent, at the edge of hearing just as sleep would overcome him, and sometimes clear and loud, as if someone was flaying her skin in the next room. And always they reminded him that she was dead and he was alive, and that world would never be the same. Not without her. In his madness Letho had thought that tormenting and slaying the innocent would somehow set it right again. He knew better now. Only sacrifice could do that.
He looked down towards his daughter and his own eyes stared back at him, only vibrant where his were weary, innocent where his were tainted. “I have made my decision,” was his response before he swung around and made for the door. The teenager moved to follow her father with every intention to keep shouting and talking his ear off, but by the time his hand was on the knob, her body collided with an invisible wall. The surprise collision with Letho's magic barrier sent the girl reeling backwards, barely regaining her balance in time.
“What is this?” Lorelei demanded, her hand reaching for her face, dabbing her wrist at her nose, expecting droplets of blood. There were none. Her other hand explored the field that surrounded her now, her fingers tracing he pulsating barrier. “You... you did this? To contain me?”
“I am sorry, Lorelei, but...”
“No, you are not!” she shouted at his broad back. “You do not know what sorry is even supposed to feel like.”
The words stung, burying themselves deep until they found what was left of Letho's heart and started ripping it to shreds. How wouldn't they when his own daughter still saw him as a monster he had been on that day on Tempus Island? He wanted to turn around, wanted to sit down with her and explain everything that had led him to that point, wanted to show her the man he once was. The man he still could be. But it would be to no avail. No, he had to show her. And the first step was leaving her behind.
He stepped out of the room, closing the door to another barrage of her accusations and made his way out of the manor. Outside, Seth and Karel waited, the harsh wind whipping at their patient figures. Letho's eyes went up to the sky, trailed the darkening hues to the north where a storm was brewing. A fitting weather, he thought, a dire forecast for a dire mission. He dropped his eyes to face his two companions.
“Let us be away.”
His back was aching. It wasn’t anything serious, more of a minor crick somewhere at the bottom end of his spine, but it was enough to remind Letho Ravenheart that he wasn’t a young man anymore. With some forty-odd years of reckless life under his belt (damn near half of which were spent on dirty roads or just as dirty inn beds), he was not only starting to look the part, but feeling it as well. He was weary, worn out by all the battles, all the quests and adventures and blood and sweat and clashing swords and shattered shields and muddy battlefields, of all the belligerent imagery that jumped into the forefront of his mind every time he tried to get some rest.
The last decade was the worst, the final nail in the coffin of his vigor. Starting off with Myrhia’s death at childbirth, it only spiraled downwards from there until he found himself on the rock bottom and the darkness that veiled it. Instead of finding eternal peace at the end of a harsh life, Myrhianna’s soul got trapped in the underworld, bound by some dark witchery, leaving Letho with only her screams to fill his nights. On his mission to save his beloved from the agony he wound up turning his back on everything he ever fought for, everything he struggled so hard to be. His pride, his integrity, his morality, he put it all to sacrifice for only a chance to save the woman he loved. And now finally it seemed he had a chance to do so. But before he sailed off on one final quest he had to make sure a certain someone couldn’t follow him. For she too was stubborn and reckless and all too ready to throw herself on the sword for the ones she loved.
Ignoring the tightening tingle in his back, he continued to scribe runes on the hardwood floor of the Dahlios manor. He had already chalked them on the walls and the ceiling, strange, ominous glyphs that he learned during a darker time, under the tutelage of the necromancers just before he put them all to the blade. He was rather certain that Liliana wouldn’t take kindly to the fact that he tainted their guest room with this wizardry, but it was the only idea he had and the time was short. Better to suffer the scorn of one woman than to have the blood of another on his hands.
Finishing the last set, he unrolled the carpet on top of it before he could finally straighten his back and utter a relieving sigh. It would do the trick, Letho knew; he had used it on a number of mages back on Tempus Island. Just before he slaughtered them. But that was before, before Lorelei and the rescue crew popped in to tear him from the hands of doom. A pointless risk, the swordsman mused, especially considering that same doom awaited him with its arms wide open at the end of the road.
Turning his back to the door and his eyes to the dreary autumn in the land of Reven just outside of the window, Letho waited for his daughter.
Five minutes later...
“No!” Lorelei insisted. Her furrowed brow – which she seemed to inherit from her father, for he had one on his face at the moment as well – and the firm shake of her head that sent her mahogany red locks wild only further accentuated the defiant determination in her voice. “I will not be left behind. She is my mother!”
“This is not up to discussion,” Letho’s voice rumbled. His broad shoulders were still turned towards her and his eyes were still affixed on the uninteresting scenery on the other side of the glass. Outside, the world was a brownish, dying thing, the trees shedding their dry leaves in expectation of another frigid winter, while the clouds loomed overhead with promise of a downpour. He expected that kind of a response from the girl. The same blood flowed through their veins, the same stubbornness and pride holding them upright, the same determination dictating their course of action. He had hoped that Myrhia’s pacifism would prevail when it came to Lorelei’s behavior, or if that failed that her peaceful upbringing would distance her from the violent way of life he had led, but she seemed to have the same fire in her eyes that he had when he was just a lordling and the world was a prettier, simpler place.
“Why? Because it is a perilous journey? Because I could get hurt?” she continued, swinging around his calm figure to come face to face with her father. “Tempus Island was like that and I survived. I can handle myself, father. You know I can. I survived you.”
The memories of that fateful clash still tormented the swordsman despite the rather fortunate outcome. He had been stark mad at Tempus Island, driven insane by grief and lust for... What was it again? Justice? Revenge? Retribution? Liberation? He couldn't say with certainty. Maybe it was a bit of everything, a tainted stew spiced up by the endless wails of his beloved that haunted his dreams. Always he heard them, sometimes silent, at the edge of hearing just as sleep would overcome him, and sometimes clear and loud, as if someone was flaying her skin in the next room. And always they reminded him that she was dead and he was alive, and that world would never be the same. Not without her. In his madness Letho had thought that tormenting and slaying the innocent would somehow set it right again. He knew better now. Only sacrifice could do that.
He looked down towards his daughter and his own eyes stared back at him, only vibrant where his were weary, innocent where his were tainted. “I have made my decision,” was his response before he swung around and made for the door. The teenager moved to follow her father with every intention to keep shouting and talking his ear off, but by the time his hand was on the knob, her body collided with an invisible wall. The surprise collision with Letho's magic barrier sent the girl reeling backwards, barely regaining her balance in time.
“What is this?” Lorelei demanded, her hand reaching for her face, dabbing her wrist at her nose, expecting droplets of blood. There were none. Her other hand explored the field that surrounded her now, her fingers tracing he pulsating barrier. “You... you did this? To contain me?”
“I am sorry, Lorelei, but...”
“No, you are not!” she shouted at his broad back. “You do not know what sorry is even supposed to feel like.”
The words stung, burying themselves deep until they found what was left of Letho's heart and started ripping it to shreds. How wouldn't they when his own daughter still saw him as a monster he had been on that day on Tempus Island? He wanted to turn around, wanted to sit down with her and explain everything that had led him to that point, wanted to show her the man he once was. The man he still could be. But it would be to no avail. No, he had to show her. And the first step was leaving her behind.
He stepped out of the room, closing the door to another barrage of her accusations and made his way out of the manor. Outside, Seth and Karel waited, the harsh wind whipping at their patient figures. Letho's eyes went up to the sky, trailed the darkening hues to the north where a storm was brewing. A fitting weather, he thought, a dire forecast for a dire mission. He dropped his eyes to face his two companions.
“Let us be away.”