Lamentation

By: Dethea Posted on: February 13, 2005

She began to walk faster, gripping the remnants of her tattered cloak tightly around her. The gazed up at the ominous rise of the Vashnars to the west, and caught the first glimpse of the crimson fog that enveloped the dark path leading into them. It sent chills up her spine as she stopped dead in her tracks, staring into the misty red dispersement.

You are not home.

Well, she knew that much was certain. It was a three day hike from her home on the outskirts of Hashan, and this was certainly not familiar to her. She continued to slowly study the narrow mountain trail, the dead vegetation that surrounded the road making her frown slightly. She began to feel as if her heart were being constricted by sadness, something that she could not place words on. The red fog blurred her vision as she stared into its depths, and she could swear that there were shapes moving in the mist, wisps of unnamable evils waiting to snatch her very breath from her.

Now or never.

The curt words beat like a drum in her head, a mantra to prepare her for the journey that lay ahead. Placing one tentative foot after another she began the second phase of her travels, her mood darkening even further as she placed her first step into the cold, dense fog. The wind whipped harshly through her ears, stinging her face and making her cringe, yet the slow-moving fog seemed unaffected, as it continued to grow thicker as the trail rose higher into the blackness of the mountain. She slowed her pace as her eyes frantically darted from side to side, hoping to catch a glimpse of the horror she felt seeping into her being. Her mind was slowly progressing towards crazed just as her eyes were, frantic half-thoughts forming behind her pupils, listing every terrible unnamed horror that lie ahead.

It was the fog, she began to realize. With every breath she took she inhaled another dose of the palpable evil that surrounded her. It was twisting her mind and senses, enhancing the state of paranoia her mind was settling into. They were closing in such as a knife being drawn to the chest, the moment when the blade sinks into the flesh but fails to pierce the skin, but for that split second the mind knows what pain is to follow. Then there comes the slice, the agony, the sharp burning and the delicious drain of hot blood. Then the mind grows dimmer by the second as the life force spills onto the ground beneath.

The ground beneath her.

She lifted her drawn face from the cool ground, a horrible sharp ache instantly flooding her brain. Her jaw hurt and her eyes burned, attempting to adjust to the dim lighting, her dulled mind blurring the barren landscape of the island. What was she doing? It felt as if there was a vacuity in her head, the last tendrils of something forgotten slipping out even now as she woke and her mind formed some coherence. As she attempted to place her hands on the ground and lift her weary body she slipped clumsily, her fingers sliding across the slick surface, the wet floor prohibiting her from obtaining a firm grip. She turned her head downward, her eyes catching a glimpse of the deterrent. A pool of red lay underneath her, unbroken and reflecting the shadowed light. It was blood. She widened her eyes. She knew it was her blood, even as her mind failed to question why or how, or even formulate a concern.

But she couldn't be bothered about such things, her mind kept telling her. She felt tired, so very tired. If only she could lie down but for a moment, this bleeding, this fog within her, it would disperse. The crimson overtook her vision once again as she let her eyes fall shut under heavy lids, her body growing unnaturally still. She could feel her breath leaving her, her lungs striving to grasp the tainted air around her against her own will, and yet her mind filled with a peace, a sense of willed apathy. The only thing left in her was a cognizance of diablerie, the small piece of her mind that was still functioning properly telling her this was wrong, that she should not so willingly give up her life. Then, even as that failed, she knew that she was allowing herself to die, and she could feel the red smoke filling her brain as she drew in the air, her body strong enough to exhale for the last time, her soul flying to Thoth in the breeze that was her last breath.

...

He slowly sank to his knees beside the pale, gaunt figure of his lover, her face grey and lifeless. His mouth opened wide in a silent cry of anguish as his eyes traveled over her body, so still and cold as it was. The blade was still buried deep inside of her, her grip still firm on the hilt as it was when she drove it deep within. Anger and hatred filled his mind, burning him down to the bones. His vision blurred into a crimson fire as the first hot tear slid down his cheek, his resolve slipping deeper into the abyss. He took in a deep breath, sucking down the toxic red haze that surrounded the figure of his dead wife, resolving to gain Vengeance. His eyes slowly turned to the west, and he knew what halls he had to traverse.

They would pay.