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O, Death (Concluded) - Printable Version

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O, Death (Concluded) - Askier - 09-13-2015

[youtube]Z7ZV7fNX5FE[/youtube]


Through the graveyard he moved, a silent specter among the silent graves that stretched out in row upon row.  Tombstones, the only legacy of lives long since forgotten, sat weather stained and faded to near ruin.  Below coffins held their deteriorating contents like the arms of the twin gods of death themselves.

The sky was dark, and the morning fog was thick to the point of being suffocating. 

No wind blew the black coat the figure wore as he marched onward. 

At last, the fog parted and the figure stopped.  Before him stood an open grave with something bound and laid at the bottom.  Two, hooded figures knelt on each side of the freshly opened earth, shovels in their hands.

The figure removed his hood with one hand as he pulled out a book. 

Thin, pale fingers leafed through yellowed pages as black eyes gazed down at the hymnal's worn ink.  White hair hung before the soulless optics as the thin lips opened and voice, remarkably beautiful, began floating out:


O, Death
O, Death
Won't you spare me over till another year
Well what is this that I can't see
With ice cold hands takin' hold of me
Well I am Death, none can excel
I'll open the door to Heaven or Hell
Whoa, Death someone would pray
Could you wait to call me another day
The children prayed, the preacher preached
Time and mercy is out of your reach
I'll fix your feet til you can't walk
I'll lock your jaw til you can't talk
I'll close your eyes so you can't see
This very hour, come and go with me
I'm Death I come to take the soul
Leave the body and leave it cold
To draw up the flesh off of the frame
Dirt and worm both have a claim
O, Death
O, Death
Won't you spare me over til another year
My mother came to my bed
Placed a cold towel upon my head
My head is warm my feet are cold
Death is a-movin' upon my soul
Oh, Death how you're treatin' me
You've close my eyes so I can't see
Well you're hurtin' my body
You make me cold
You run my life right outta my soul
Oh Death please consider my age
Please don't take me at this stage
My wealth is all at your command
If you will move your icy hand
The old, the young, the rich or poor
All alike to me you know
No wealth, no land, no silver no gold
Nothing satisfies me but your soul
O, Death
O, Death
Won't you spare me over til another year
Won't you spare me over til another year
Won't you spare me over til another year

The albino miqo'te then looked up at the the tombstone and read the name that had been carved there before looking at the full sack at the bottom. 

"This one will be singing that song when this one buries you forever."  The hymnal closed slowly as the figure spun.  The miqo'te's tail swished back and forth as he pulled the hood back over his head.

"And on that day you'll know, I am kind, for this one won't bury you alone."


RE: O, Death - Askier - 09-15-2015

[youtube]O1M8ddkiplg[/youtube]


The paladin ran up the stairs, his panicked breaths harsh and rasping as he sobbed out frantic exhales.  His armor was heavy but the desperate quest for life spurned the elezen to new feats of endurance, even though his muscles ached and sweat rolled off his brow.

Up and up the tower's circular stairs rose. Up and up the elezen ran, an empty scabbard clacking at his side.

Eventually the mighty flight of stairs met a door and, with a shoulder slam, the elezen threw himself against it.  The paladin spilled out onto the snow covered roof, wrapped by an iron parapet.  The wind roared and snow threw itself against his face as he peered into the winds, trying to find a way of egress from this point.  But the paladin realized he was trapped as he went over and gazed down at the buildings below and the glimmering fires that were rising up the tower with hungry flames to consume the male as if he was tied to a witch's pyre.

There was a noise from the open doorway and the paladin spun, drawing all the power of the twelve he could muster in that moment as his eyes widened in fear.

There it was.  The thing they had come to slay. The abomination of nature.  The sick defiance of the Twelve made incarnate in the form of a miqo'te. 

The shadowed form stepped out and, with soulless eyes, gazed at the elezen as a coat made of the shadows themselves hung around the body.

"Thing of darkness!" the elezen shouted, his voice quivering as he trembled.  His bravery came from necessity sprung from his trapped state, not from his will.  "Before the Twelve, I will banish you, Voidling."

The thing paused as its pale face cocked itself to one side and clicked before a black tongue slid over its thin lips.

Pointed fangs of a Keeper miqo'te could be seen and the tail of snow white that danced about as if it was a wild serpent stood in dramatic contrast the the black coat.

"What an amusing declaration."  came the thing's voice.  The words were slow, and flat but a half-smile was toying with the edges of the lips, as if the lips were not accustomed to forming smiles.  "If this one recalls accurately, that is what your brethren were decreeing down below before you ignited this structure.  Before they were rent to ribbons and giblets most...artistically."

The thing's thin lips pulled aside to reveal yellowed teeth as the elezen took a step back.

"You...I banish you!  You will not taint our world anymore!"

The miqo'te took a step forward, a massive yawn opening its maw.

"This one finds your religious drivel so, utterly wearisome.  Yes, call upon your omnipresent and omnipotent gods.  Let them come and deliver you.  This one is willing to wait an eternity for that never to occur.  If it weren't for the beautiful hymns your churches craft, this one would question if -any- useful benefit came in praising Twelve, inept beings."

"I will end you!" the elezen bristled, finding some inner part of him that had not fallen entirely to cowardice.  "You are a blight.  A boil. and I will cut you out in their name! I-"

"Oh, do spare this one your slave's drivel.  You desire to serve a successive chain of masters held by a set of gods? Then by all means, enjoy your last moments.  Unless your gods come and whisk you away by air, or silence the writhing flames of your mighty inferno below, your time is short.  This one will not be unkind, however, and will offer this advice: one does not die from the fall, it is the sudden stop at the bottom."

"Enough heresy!"  the elezen snarled, enraged.  Aether flowed through his veins and he sent out liquid flames of gold.  There was a hiss. And then a cloud of black, oily smoke was dispersed on the wind.

So bright was the conflagration the paladin had just made, he had to shield his eyes from it and step back as the intense heat rose up.

The winds howled and the great tower shifted as the massive fire below began weakening the mortar and wooden supports of the structure.

The elezen gasped and fell to his hands and feet as he looked up.  The voidspawn was gone. But now golden flames burned hot and sealed him off from the doorway that now had black smoke from the blaze below pouring out of it like a chimney.  The male gazed around, but again there was nothing but smoke and the storm.

He was trapped. Trapped and going to be burned alive if he didn't find a way out.  He rose and looked around wildly for something, anything.  But he truly was without any mode of escape from that spire's zenith save a stairwell of consuming flame or a long fall to the ground below.

The elezen began shivering from cold and fear.  The paladin turned his eyes towards the heavens once again.

"Please, almighty Twelve, send me a way."


***

From below, the miqo'te watched from within the crowd of horrified onlookers as the construct burned.  So intense was the inferno, that a wide berth had to be given by the onlookers.  Any hope of containing the blaze had long since perished as the tongues of fire crawled up and up.  Sparks danced as beams shook and wood popped.  Stone on stone grinding rose louder and louder, like a giant gnashing its teeth in a thunderous fury as the winter's tempest howled.

The miqo'te knew the elezen was up there.

The miqo'te knew when the paladin died as the tower crumbled in on itself.

And the miqo'te knew the Twelve had never lifted a finger to even try and help.

The miqo'te's lips curled into the broken smile as it turned and walked away into the storm.

"No wealth, no land, no silver, no gold,
Nothing satisfies me but your soul"


RE: O, Death - Askier - 09-19-2015

[youtube]HswhDujrLlk[/youtube]

"All dead?!" the elezen, whose face was lined with wrinkles, with a grey beard having been grown to cover them, exclaimed in disbelief.  He was hunched over his desk, palms on the top. Behind him was a great window overlooking a snowy landscape.  His sword hung at his side and his armor was covered in nicks and cuts from years of combat.

The younger paladin that stood at attention before the elder nodded gravely.  The older male gave a somber sigh.

"All of them...what manner of abomination can claim so many paladins and remain unscathed?"

"We have no verification that the voidspawn survived the encounter."  the younger male replied timidly.  "Though there is no confirmation it was destroyed either."

"If it had been destroyed, at least one of our paladins would have returned to declare it so.  This, thing, needs to be eliminated.  Send what knights and paladin's available to me immediately. And hire anyone willing to investigate this matter as well."

"Sir, with the many other matters currently presenting problems, the number we can spare will be a token effort at best and-"

"A token effort is better than nothing." the old elezen interrupted sternly.  "Whatever this abomination is, it's not content to lurk in the shadows.  If what small snips of information we have are correct, this voidspawn is responsible for a small but -growing- number of incidents and I intend to stop it before that number grows larger.  Gather who is available and send them to my office as soon as you can.   I will direct them from there."

"Yes sir." the young elezen and turned.  As the younger knight left, the old paladin turned and gazed out into the snows, his face set in a hard gaze.

"Where are you and what are you planning, you anathema?"

RE: O, Death - Askier - 09-20-2015

[youtube]TZAaGPW6SLs[/youtube]

Lucien Chevalier was a tall, proud elezen, clad in white, scale mail.  Long, dark hair hung around his young face, which was pointed and hawkish, with stern, peridot eyes peering out over high cheekbones.  The warrior was resting near a fire pit he had dug a few hours before. The bright flames danced and shadows flickered within the vicinity, embers sparking and popping in the air.  A small tent was set nearby with his pack and bedroll inside.  The snows around him were still and the air was cold and thick with night fog. The Elezen looked a bit tired, but otherwise alright thanks to the burning blaze that he now gazed into.

He had started on this back trail through the mountains two days back.  It was normally a single day trip to the village halfway along the route, but the trail was heavily snowed over and the going had been painfully slow.  He had hoped to make the village this evening but the cold had sunk in and he feared he would face exposure, so he had settled in for the night. 

As lost as he was in thought, the elezen ignored the thick mists that obstructed the moon. But, as time passed, the crunching of snow could be heard through the veil of white.  Surprised to hear footfalls, the elezen peered up as, from the mists, a figured emerged. 

It was a miqo'te, with flesh as pale as the snow and eyes as black as the void.  A black coat was wrapped around his body. With emotionless eyes, the miqo'te studied the flames and the elezen beside them. 

"Good night to you." the miqo'te said in a flat voice as it gave a small bow.  "Perhaps you might permit this one to share your fire for a few moments?"

Lucien Chevalier gave the smallest furrow of his brows as he looked upon the peculiar man. He was silent for a moment as a brief expression of curiosity flashed across his face.

"Aye, you may enjoy the respite of the flames." Lucien gestured a gloved hand before him. "Though one must needs ask, out of intrigue, why you venture this far so late in the cold?"
 
The miqo'te strode over to the flames, his boots sinking several inches into the fresh snow.  The new comer knelt beside the crackling fire and his pointed, feline ears flicked as sparks danced out onto the air. 

"This one could ask you a question similar in purpose.  This road is not well traveled and the village it leads one's footfalls is remote.  But that is this one's end goal, the village.  This one assumes you head there as well.  Or perhaps the larger settlements beyond once this path reaches the main roads again?"
 
Lucien Chevalier regarded his guest with a wary gaze. Though part of Lucien wished to remain friendly, years of training taught him to always hold your guard. Those eyes that gazed at him, devoid of any color, were unsettling.

"These lands are native to me, sir." Lucien said conversationally in his thick Ishgardian accent. "And as for mine purpose? I make it a point to traverse the snows in attempts to hone the edges of mine spear." He lofted a brow then. "Mm. You assume incorrectly.  I wish only to pass through the village, not make it mine end goal.  To what purpose do you have with the village, if I may ask of you?"
 
"So this one is to gather you are a knight, perhaps of the church?"  the miqo'te cocked his head to one side as he looked up and peered at the elezen as the flames danced between them.
 
Lucien Chevalier narrowed his eyes a bit and his lips pursed into a tight, thin line. The muscles of one of his gloved hands gave the slightest of twitches. "Nay. A Knight I am not, but a defender of Halone and of Ishgard, most certainly."
 
"Then you serve the church."  The miqo'te nodded as if this confirmed what he had already known.  The soulless eyes looked back at the fire.  "Do you believe the Twelve answer the prayers of those that beg the most earnestly?  That they care for the matters of mortals?"

Lucien Chevalier didn't exactly know what to think of the strange miqo'te in black at the moment. He inhaled sharply through his nose, letting it out a moment later, and kept his attention focused as he answered:

"One does not need to /beg/ for the Twelve to answer their children. Peace and comfort is bestowed upon those even during calm snows. Should the Gods not care, then why wouldst we continue to mutter their names in confidence?"

The black eyes of the miqo'te watched the wood emit a cloud of sparks while he spoke.
 
"This one wonders, for many say that it is in peace the Twelve are found. Yet, if they are all powerful, why is it they never answer the pleas of those thrown before the blade and flame?  When a believer is murdered for the gil they carry, why do the Twelve not save them? Are these merely tests of faith that some die in?  Why is the starving child left hungry?  The diseased mother left to rot?  Do they not deserve the gift of life?  Are the Almighty Twelve toying with us, or are they not omnipotent?"

Lucien Chevalier shifted his weight around so both legs were tucked beneath him now, reclining onto his thighs. His hands were kept in his lap and, with much effort, he retained an overall relaxed body posture as he answered:

"The Gods do not throw at us that which we cannot handle, for it is up to us to decide the lesson we derive, and if we choose to put forth the effort of reacting upon it." His tone lowered a bit, stern. "We are as strong as we make ourselves to be. The Gods will not hold our hands, nor should they be forced to. Events happen for a reason."
 
"So," the black eyes of the miqo'te slowly rose up to peer once more into the gaze of the elezen. "this one gathers from your words that the god's try to break all and only one's strength of will and body enable them to endure.  And those whom are too weak, the Twins reap.  This is what your seek to claim?  Then why bother protecting anyone at all?  Do you not do them a disservice stopping the monsters from -testing- the weak?"
 
Lucien Chevalier scowled. He was none too pleased.

"To proclaim the Gods as monsters with mere objectives to destroy their devoted is blasphemous." Any sense of warmth immediately left Lucien's face. "I would politely request you choose a better string of words. But to continue on with your queries, no. I believe you to be misguided. It is not a disservice to protect one's kin and homeland, or to protect and fight for causes you believe in. For we are given free will. If we were true puppets, alas, we would be unable to think for ourselves."
 
"Blasphemy. That word has been heard often by this one as of late.  You speak of freedom and mercy.  Yet, for this one to speak blasphemy, it means you must have a set of rules and absolutes to follow that determine what is heresy, and what is faith.  So, in essence, you are a slave to your own system of morality."  The miqo'te rose and gave a bow.  "This one asks only that you consider those words.  This one has clearly worn out the welcome you offered at first and will be on his way." 

The stranger began slowly walking past the elezen, his tent and his fire.  As the miqo'te came to the edge of the fog wall, he looked over his shoulder.

"You asked what this one's purpose was in the village earlier.  The answer is simple:  to test and see who's faith is strong enough to be spared.  This one wonders..."  as the male spoke,three wolves covered in mangy, mattered fur and eyes that glowed blood red, as if they were fiery coals, stepped from the swirling mists and slowly walked towards Lucien, their heads low and their fangs exposed in silent growls. "How strong your faith is." 

With that, the mysterious miqo'te stepped into the fog and was gone.
 
Lucien Chevalier chewed his bottom lip. As he saw the wolves, he rapidly rose to his full height, all six fulm and five ilms of it. As he stared down the canine beasts and heard the miqo'te's parting words, the wheels turning in his head seemed to click.

Was this man the monstrosity he had heard in rumors?

Lucien was left with little time to ponder, as he quickly removed his lance and fell into a defensive stance as the beasts closed in, their eyes fixed on his throat.

A look of steely defiance came over him as he stared down the wolves.

"My faith and fury shalt not waver."

RE: O, Death - Askier - 09-24-2015

[youtube]19NdWasgpDo[/youtube]


The small church's walls of stone and mortar could hide the burning village from the eyes, but it could not drown out the screams.  It could not stop the smell of charring matter. And it could not stop the sense of fear that filled the air as thick and chocking as the acrid smoke.

The priestess stood there, at the head of the chapel, her white robes covered in soot and blood.  She stood rigid as a small child clutched to the hem of her robe with his little, grubby fingers.  His face was buried into the fabric of her attire to hid his crying eyes from the horrors that he had seen. 

The blonde, hyur priestess shivered as she clutched her holy book to her chest.  Her blue eyes never left the door of her small chapel as the door shook.  Something had thrown itself against the barred door with a reckless abandon.

The child whimpered and clutched at her tighter. 

The priestess swallowed in fear.  She had nothing to save her from the thing at the doorstep now but her prayers and faith; and she felt fear in her mind knowing that it might not be enough to spare her the fate that had claimed her village.

She gasped as the door rocked again and then flew inwards, splinters spraying out over the short distance between the double doors and her.

Smoke rolled in and only a nightmarish shape could be seen through the haze.

The boy began sobbing louder.  The priestess shook again as the wind caught the haze and sent the smoke adrift, revealing the form of the miqo'te in black lurking in the doorway.

The feline figure slowly entered the building, it's tail swishing to-and-fro as he gazed around.

The woman looked on in silence as the miqo'te took a seat on the front pew and crossed his legs.  The thin fingers interlaced themselves as he looked with black eyes at the two survivors while his left leg crossed over his right.

"What do you want?" the priestess exclaimed, her voice louder than she had intended.  She held her composure despite the fear eating at her base instincts.

The miqo'te studied her quietly before he turned his attention behind her to a stain glass window depicting the Twelve.  The sun was catching the glass perfectly and the entire scene was wonderfully illuminated with rich, vibrant colors of all hues.

"This one desires only to create art as wonderful as the marvelous collection of colored glass behind you." the miqo'te in black explained calmly while nodding his head at the window. His black-and-white hair fell about his face for a moment. 

The priestess looked behind her and then back at the miqo'te.

"By butchering innocent villagers?!"  The priestess exclaimed in dismay.  The pale miqo'te met her gaze and gave a shrug.

"Not just villagers, my Lady.  This one kills warriors, knights, thieves, rapists, murders, lovers, children, priests, and every other sort of being not previously mentioned.  This on is far from discriminatory."

The priestess could only blink at the calloused response and the miqo'te continued in his monotone voice.

"You see, this one is an artist.  This one is in possession of the tools.  This one has the vision. But, you see, this one needs the perfect canvas.  No matter how perfect the tools in one's possession, without a wonderful base material to start with, the final product shall never live up too the artist's goal.  This one assumes you love your gods.  But, they clearly have no love for you, else they would stop me where I stand."

The miqo'te smirked.

"You see, the truth is, the Twelve are identical to all power hungry fools: they desire to control you and nothing more.  Control the way you think.  Control the way you talk.  Control the way you perceive reality.  It's all about controlling you and keeping you weak.  This one isn't about that life.  This one is about something far more.  The Twelve, just like all those in power, fear the day we, mortals, might become strong enough to cast them off.  That is why they promise to keep us safe and away from any threat.  Because it is only in the face of adversity that mortals can be made strong.  So better to hide you away from danger or to let the danger kill you, than let one face the danger, survive, and possibly become stronger.  In the tales of old, no one ever became great by simply having greatness from birth.  They struggled. They rose up. They fought something, and overcame it to become far more than they once were." 

The miqo'te shrugged his shoulders as he continued.

"Certainly not all can overcome their challenges.  But those that do, become strong.  A blacksmith can make a mineral  a million times harder and far more valuable by beating it over and over with hammer and flame into something wondrous.  But the blacksmith needs quality ore or else the beating will break the weak ore and the work of art would crumble.  So this one wanders the land, like a blacksmith seeking the perfect ore to beat into a thing of beauty."

The priestess stared at the monstrous little miqo'te, dumbfounded.

"Why would you want his, why would think this was-"

"Because, My Lady," the miqo'te interrupted. "this one desires something.  This one seeks to cast down all the laws of mortals, nations, and gods.  To let all face the anarchy that will make them strong.  This one might as well be an invading army, or a force of nature.  For, in the end, adversity is adversity no matter its form.  But it is through adversity that mortals are raised up from the status of mere sheep and into the things of power that they can be.  Into masterpieces of beings that take their fates into their own hands and became far more than what they were told they could be.  This one aims to leave a legacy of art behind it.  A string of perfect artwork.  Of souls beaten into greatness." 

The miqo'te gave a toothy smile as several shapes slowly entered the chapel through the smoke bank.  The priestess gave a horrified gasp as her eyes widened.  The sound of flames crackling outside mixed with the boy's sobs.

The miqo'te's ears flicked in pleasure as he calmly leaned back and recited a line of poetry while fixing his eyes upon the priestess:

"That first brush with death
shook loose her confident grasp
of all she held dear."


RE: O, Death - Askier - 01-19-2016

[youtube]iSUzeR7JAlo[/youtube]


There was fire, and snow. 

And bitter cold wrapped in darkness.

And pain.

So much pain.

The miqo'te opened his eyes; one black, one gold.

Brown hair fell around his face as the wind howled around him; spraying him with snow. 

The miqo'te shivered despite his thick, red coat as he tried to move.  He flexed the gyros of his magitek arm.  They squeaked but functioned as intended.  His right arm, however, did not move. 

Askier rolled over onto his back and howled as the the pain agony ran through his ruin of a right arm.  His shattered bones had ruptured the flesh and blood and muscle tissue spilled out as he gasped at frozen air.  The sleeve of his coat has been melted around the flesh and bone and stuck to his scorched muscle like a lover to her returned partner.

His teeth gnashed as he began to sob tears of pain as he tried to make sense of the world.


All around him burned the wrecked of a crashed airship.

The airship!

That's right, he had been flying north to Ishgard.  To look for...something. 

The Garlean's mind was wrapped in fear and he could not think.  Not comprehend. Not rationalize as he screamed again.

The winds. The blizzard had engulfed the airship. And then that damnable drake had attacked the airship! Out of no where it had rent their airship apart with its wretched talons and sharp teeth.  The ruined airship had fallen down...down...down...him...and the crew and...

"Drumstick!"  Askier shrieked in horror, suddenly fearing for the fate of his chocobo that had accompanied him this trip.

His head danced around and...

Blood dripped down his head and he suddenly realized he could not feel his left ear.  The one from which his bomb earing had hung.

His ticket home.

His ear had been severed and must now be...

"Squawk."  came a small, caw and Askier turned his head and strained his neck. 

There, pinned beneath debris, was his mount. The same yellow bird that had been with him almost ten years. 

"Drumstick!" Askier croaked as he staggered to his feet, and limped over to the bird's side.  Blood was staining the snow around the bird and it's eyes were half open as they watched Askier close the gap between them.  Drumstick cooed weakly, but happily as Askier fell to his knees and leaned against the bird.

Askier didn't say anything.  He simply began to cry.  Tears ran down his face as he realized Drumstick would be dead soon and there was nothing Askier could do to stop it.  He used his metal hand to gently caress the bird.

"I'm so sorry, buddy." Askier wept.  "I-"

"This one did inform you, once, that he would be reuniting you and the Lady Adonis one day." came a voice.

Askier's head jerked up.  There, not ten feet away, his black coat dancing around his tiny body, was the abomination of a miqo'te that dared to be his brother. The little monster named Jin'li, hough his hair was black now. Askier went to speak but was cut off as Jin'li's thin lips moved:

"Course it seems you'd rather continue fornicating with inexpensive whores than have constructed a romantic, fairy tale ending to your story." Jin'li was leaning on a cane and  was smiling, clearly pleased with himself.  Which was wrong. Jin'li having emotions was wrong. What in the hell?

"What the hell are you talking about?" Askier gasped, his ribs protesting and he realized several were broken.  The Garlean coughed, blood flying from his lips.

"Tell this one, did you bed a whore the next day after Lady Adonis passed, or did you at least wait a week out of respect for the dead?" Jin'li shifted his weight as his hair danced around his face.  "That woman was a saint for ever even considering you, but you never deserved her.  You've never deserved anything that you've obtained."

"Oh shut up.  You don't know shit!  Besides, since when did you care about anything?" Askier wheezed, blood dribbling down his chin as he coughed.

"Ironically, when -I- was set free from myself."  Jin'li smiled.  "I'm still debating if I need to thank Jin'to or Adin for -that-.  But either way, I've come to send you to hell. And this time-" Jin'li lifted up something in his right hand. 

It was Askier's ear. And his bomb earing with the aetherstone inside was still dangling from it as blood dripped onto the snow

"You won't be escaping." Jin'li finished his statement with a smile.  "You see, normally the things this one does aren't personal.  I kill, I murder, I destroy beautiful things because I must to bring down the chains that bind the masses. This one is natural selection made flesh and takes pride in that. But you. Oh you, you've disgusted me for years. Even when I was a slave.  I just never let myself realize emotions till recently.  But, more so than our mother, more so than the slavers that owned me, more so than even the people who raped and molested me, I hate you.  Because you embody everything I hate."

"You talk to damn much." Askier chuckled. 

"Perhaps.  But this one is setting the record straight.  You die. And, while the original story was you greet your first bride in Nald'thal's ream, you can rot in the hells and watch as chaos envelops everything you now care for."


"So I'm guessing that drake that attacked our airship was a friend of yours." Askier wheezed.

"This one prefers to assume it was simple charisma that gained the drake's assistance."

"I think I liked you when you didn't have a personality." Askier spat as he glared up at his little brother.

"You won't be the last whom remarks the same by the time this one is done." Jin'li stated flatly.

Askier saw them then.  Three mangy wolves slinking out of the darkness.  Glowing red eyes blazing in their skulls.  Yellow, blood stained teeth shined through rotted gums and torn lips.  They gazed at him as they slowly strolled forward, paws soft in the snow as they walked past Jin'li.

Drumstick cawed in fear but it was a weak, gargling noise.  Askier moved his metal arm into his coat and pulled out a grenade.  Jin'li raised an eyebrow.

"I'd have figured by now you'd know such trivial weapons cannot, permanatly, kill me."

"I tend to be very stubborn." Askier snorted as he pulled the pin out with his teeth and let hit drop from is lips into the snow. 

The wolves growled.

"Is this the part where you tell this one to meet you in hell?" Jin'li blinked.


"Doubt it.  Even hell is too good for you, you fuck."  Askier looked at his chocobo.  "Keep her company for me, Drumstick." Askier dropped the grenade and the primer handle.

There was a gun shot and Askier jerked back as the bullet slammed into his chest.  With wide, agonized eyes, Askier looked at Jin'li and the smoking gun he held.

Askier had just enough time to give Jin'li the middle finger before the grenade detonated with a tremendous explosion that sent debris and smoke into the air.

The fire and snows danced on the winds. Jin'li's black eyes took in the carnage as he lowered his firearm. 


"No wealth, no land, no silver, no gold,
Nothing satisfies me but your soul."


RE: O, Death - Askier - 01-27-2016

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The slave hunched down as the bitter winds ripped through the cage's iron bars that trapped himself and his ten, fellow slaves.  

Each slave was a unique mortal.  Born and raised. Each had a story to tell. Each had dreams and fears.  Each was born as equals to the slavers that held them.  Each equal to kings and queens.  All that held them were the cages, both literal, and the ones made by society.

The slave opened his eyes.  A hyur of thirty years, he was not an unattractive man.   He was tan, and bearded; with steely grey eyes and a hawkish nose.

He was once called Benten Westmoore.  Now he was slave number forty-three.  They had taken his name. His freedom.  His rights.  All taken that night he had been abducted from Limsa after too much drinking by the docks.  For months now, he had sailed the oceans in chains.  Being dragged about to be sold to someone. 

And now, here he was. Hundreds of miles from the sea.  Into the mountains cold he was taken, to slave in the mines of someone whom felt it better to work replaceable labor to death that pay an honest days wage to some miner.

Benten had made his peace with his gods that he would die.  Some slaves he had arrived with had already passed.

Benten looked outside the cage.  There were ten other cages loaded with slaves.  The poor mortals all hunched as they stared with dull eyes.  The nearby tunnels stood open and dark, and deep inside would be the place these slaves would be worked to death so that someone at the top could grow richer. This was the way of the world.

Least it had been before the angel had come. 

In the darkness it had moved, wrapped in a black coat with eyes that were darker than the night. 

A way to freedom it had promised.  A chance to take back their lives if they would but fight for it.  It had given them weapons to hide.  Daggers, swords, axes.  All given and then advised someone sleep upon them to hide them from the guards who returned after the angel's departure.

But the cage's were still locked.

But Benten knew that the angel would free them.  They must simply be ready to die for their freedom.

Benten was.

There was a shout and Benten looked over.  The twenty or so guards were laughing as they stood around a fire, finishing their breakfast.  Soon the guards would finish and they would drag the slaves into the mines to work.

But today was their undoing.

Benten watched with hatred as the guards laughed.  Sure, they loved their life.  They benefited from the social order.  They got to crush others under their boots.  \

Benten would smash all their faces.

A boy beside Benten sneezed and the older man looked at the boy.

"Just a little longer." Benten whispered. 

"Are we sure this is the only way?" the boy mumbled. He was no older than fourteen and shaking from cold and fear.

"Boy, after ten weeks in the mine, you'll be wishing you had died here, today."  wheezed a pale faced slave with a long, black beard.  He had been here longer than the rest and knew the horrors of this place.

"Aye.  We just wait the angel's sign.  He promised..."

Benten saw it then.  Ten ravens flew down from the mountain side, cawing wildly.  They shot for the cages.  As the birds slammed into the locks, the birds exploded into void fire that melted the metal.  In seconds the locks were gone and the guards and slaves both stared at the spectacle.

Benten was the first to move.  With a mighty shout he rolled over the slave who had died last night due to exposure and seized an axe from beneath.  Like a beast, he threw himself at the gate and it slammed opened.  He looked at his fellow slaves.

"Fight! Fight for your lives or die in holes!"  Bentsen bellowed and charged the guards; who were scrambling for their weapons.  All around Benten, other slaves stirred, seizing weapons and flinging open the doors to their cages. A madness overtook the beaten mortals and the fire of freedom burned in their eyes.

It was this fire that the guard saw before Benten lodged his axe into the guard's screaming face.  Blood coated Benten as he roared in rage and desperation.

* * *

It was over in less than five minutes.  The last guard was bleeding out as the winds howled.  The twenty guards lay strewn about, blood oozing from their hacked bodies.  Meanwhile, nineteen of the slaves had been slain and at least another seven would succumb to their wounds by the day's end.  The guards had been the better fighters.  But the surprise and confusion had given the slaves enough time to take their revenge.

Benten clutched a hole in his side as blood trickled from it.  He wasn't sure if it was fatal but he didn't care.  He sat, leaning against a barrel, drinking beer for the first time in months as the snow fell about his face.  He might die, but he was getting to drink and die as a free man.

A tear rolled down his eye and he held his side tighter. He had a family to return too. He could not die here. Would not die here. 

"Thank you, angle in black."  Benten whispered softly to the heavens.  "Thank you for you kindness."

Nearby, a white raven cawed and took to the sky.

RE: O, Death - Askier - 02-05-2016

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From behind the mask, Jin'li's onyx eyes gazed over the thirteen bodies laid out around his feet.

Fresh were they dead.  So much so, that some even still had the color in their cheeks.  There were elezens, hyurs, miqo'te and roes.  All laid before him in this small room. Two grave robbers stood nearby, watching at Jin'li moved slowly among the dead.

Jin'li wore a different outfit.  He was dressed in a dark blue robe.  A hideous, nightmarish mask covered his visage and the surface of the mask seemed to shift slowly if one stared at it too long. 

The Mask of the Seven Horrors Hidden in Nald'thal's Mist.

Jin'li had taken the mask, and with it, the mantle, from its previous owner several months ago and had been using them for his own agendas ever since.  His tail twitched as he came to stop by one corpse.

His black eyes blinked and the head cocked as he knelt down, studying the dead face intently.

"Ya likes thats ones?"  hissed one of the grave robbers.  A pale, skeletal elezen who had long ago stopped seeing the sun or bathing.  "Good price that one. Fresh too. Fresh as ya can get. Great for whatever a master necromancer likes yerself be plannin'"

Jin'li reached out and touched the face with a gloved hand.

"Where did you get this one?" Jin'li's voice was harsh and arrogant as he changed it to sound like the original owner of the mask.

"Well, I donts recalls...some slave dump grave me thinks."

Jin'li blinked as he tenderly caressed the dead face.  His black eyes peered down as his other hand reached down and pulled open the closed, dead eyelids.

Bloodshot, jade green eyes gazed back at him.

"So then, here, in this hell hole, this one finds you.  Suspicions are true it seems."

Jin'li rose to his feet and turned over to look at the two grave robbers.

"Load the other twelve on the wagon.  This one, wrap for transport.  I'll go to collect your coin."

"As ya wants." the skinny elezen said as he picked a wad of snot from his nose and wiped it on his shirt.

Jin'li permitted a look of disgust to form on his masked face as he he turned and exited into the next room. 

The next room was nothing more than a single room cabin with a fire burning hot in the center, surrounded by beds and tables.  One would never have surmised this hut housed so many corpses in the room attached. 

The miqo'te went to its bag and pulled out a leather pouch of gil.  The masked miqo'te began counting out coins as his mind slowly pondered.

Nahare Mergrey and the paladin, Julius Bennet, were free from his control now.  Both suddenly and completely free.  The void miqo'te had known such an event was inevitable, but this had been executed with skill.  Skill in the aether arts neither Bennett nor Lady Mergrey possessed.

The number of potential helpers was small, but troublesome and Jin'li wondered if he ought to delay events.  After all, was he not planning other operations all over the nations.  Did he need to focus on Eorzea, or could he slip away and return at a later point?

The miqo'te rose with the required coins.

For now, he needed the corpses attended too.  He would dwell upon the other matters later.

RE: O, Death - Askier - 03-02-2016

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From his room in Limsa, the miqo'te could see far.  He could see the people moving below, the ocean stretching to the horizon, and the setting sun setting towards the west; its golden rays dancing upon the rolling sea of blue.  It was a vision of beauty that could take the breath away.

Jin'li wasn't looking at it. 

He was standing before a table, his shoulders hunched as he placed his palms on the surface.  Before him were stretched and scattered papers and charts from all over Eorzea.  Letters, reports, articles, all things that told a tale. 

A tale of anarchy.

His freed slaves where multiplying on their own now.  The men and women the miqo'te had freed were disrupting everything from trade to the safety of the roads themselves.  Some slaves had become bandits. Others, freedom fighters, and yet others had gone home. But chaos was seeping across the lands, violently.  It was still small, but it was growing, like the build of an orchestra into a tremendous crescendo.

And through the wold, Jin'li conducted the madness.  All for a sinister plan.

Anarchy was just the first step.  The true plan had not been forgotten.  His special weapons, forged by his own methods, had been spread and spread and spread.  And more and more had they  killed, and the souls of those slain by them, became part of Jin'li's final plan.  One so near completion he could taste it.

His tongue slid over his lips.

The only thing that satisfied the miqo'te was souls.  Because souls is what he needed for his plan so long in the making.  Soon he would have all he needed.  And with the final life claimed, his spell would complete, and the fabric that divided the words from the void would fall.  And the freedom of madness would consume the world inch by inch, life by life. Until chaos was the norm and the chains of slavery, the binding obstructions of laws and morality, were gone.  Soon, everyone would be equal.  Soon madness would run free. And all would survive because they did so on their own.  Freedom was not easy.  But it was freedom.  And better to die a free man, than live as a dog.

The white raven fluttered its wings as it looked at Jin'li.  And Jin'li looked back at it as he smiled.

He could hear music in his head and he turned towards the window and he began waving his arms, increase the tempo of the orchestra in his mind as his eyes shimmered and a broken smile wormed its way over his lips as he stepped to the window and repeated his mantra in a smug cackle.  The cackle of a man who thinks he has won.  And after all, had he not?  What could stop him now?

"No wealth, no land, no silver, no gold,
Nothing satisfies me but your soul"


RE: O, Death - Askier - 03-07-2016

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The white raven looked down at the Dauntless house with its red eyes that glowed like super heated rubies.  They were unblinking eyes, with a purpose and burning intelligence in them.

The bird thought back to earlier that day.  To what it had seen.

It had seen an ending.

It had seen Jin'li Epinoch defeated at long last, the trap made by the son of Askier Mergrey executed to perfection in a brief moment of time. 

The bomb. The never ending assault by the snipers. The aether flow. The corrupting power of the stone that had been lodged into Jin'li's body by Melkire and caused the abomination to disintegrate into nothing as it had torn Jin'li apart at the most basic of levels. 

It had been executed to perfection.  Executed by those who desired the end to Jin'li and his efforts to change the world.

Jin'li as gone.  But his shadow still hung over the world.  Still his arms company pumped out weapons to fuel conflicts.

Still, his victims licked their wounds and suffered.

Still the white raven remained.

It cawed from atop the highest windmill of the Goblet as the strong gusts spun the great sails that drove the shafts below to draw up the water the city needed. 

Water once poisoned.

The Epinoch legacy.

A legacy that wasn't over yet.

The crow cawed and blue smoke rose up from the animal's mouth as it shook.  The smoke grew in density and mass until it was nearly six feet tall.  The weaving gases expanded further before the column of cloud blew away to reveal a haggard miqo'te in ragged attire, peering down at the same house.

Blond hair fell about the golden eyes as a black ash smear covered the space between his eyes.  Across his back was strapped some sort of board and black bandages were wrapped around his palms and fingers.

He was smiling to himself as his golden eyes kept watching the building. 

Inside that building might be the last being with the true, unaltered Epinoch blood in their veins.  And the Epinoch madness might be trying to take root.

The golden smug cat flicked his tail and shook his head as he reflected.  How much had he changed since death?  Was he not more crafty now?  Had he not played the game for both sides?  Had he not only manipulated Jin'li, but also all those who had stood united against the youngest Epinoch?  Had he, at long last, dug deep into his mind, and realized he was the union of his brothers and able to surpass both?  Was he not making things as he felt they should be?

The Twelve he served knew his heart. And he knew it too.

So much to do. No sense in waiting.

He stretched, his bones popping as they settled into their original form.  Once he felt sufficiently stretched, he calmly turned to a ladder and proceeded to go about his business.

RE: O, Death - Askier - 03-09-2016

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It was over.

Finally over.

The last piece of Jin'li was gone forever.  The minds of Mihk'a and A'ahdra, the last of the Epinoch bloodline, were secure and surrounded by those who loved him.  And, while the scars would remain, the wounds were healing.  Slowly; but time heals all things in the end.

Jin'to Epinoch gave a small smile as he looked down from his perch above the Goblet, his golden hair falling about his dazzling, golden eyes.  Ul'dah endured.  All the city states endured.  They had weathered the storm of madness.  There would be more, trouble in time.  Of that Jin'to was assured.  The nature of the universe never allowed true peace to last for very long.  But that's what kept heroes coming around.  So many heroes.

The bright eyes of the male looked down at the Dauntless house.  Ai, Seitsuda, Amra, Siha.  They had played their parts in all this madness, had they not?  Suffered more than most would ever know.  But they endured.  And continued on.  Heroes, all.

Jin'to shifted his snowboard on his back and a breeze blew, dancing in his hair and tugging at his tattered attire..

How long had it been since the madness had begun?  How had it begun.  With a song.  Jin'li's song of mantra and madness.  But the world was not all cruel.  The Twelve made good and evil both.  And it was not fair that only evil might sing.  The good in this world deserved a chance to sing too.  And Jin'to had fought, died, and plotted to make things and people whole once more.  He would not let the last song of the Epinoch name be a cry of evil.  So the blonde turned and began to sing an old song he had once heard.

I saw the light fade from the sky
On the wind I heard a sigh
As the snowflakes cover
My fallen brothers
I will say this last goodbye.


Jin'to was now in the city streets of Ul'dah.  He saw them there. The bearded man known as Osric Melkire and his exotic love, Kanaria.  They were laughing deeply with an old face. Khan'a Ol'hilkas was smoking a pipe and enjoying the mirth his joke had upon his old friends.  Jin'to kept singing to himself as he smiled and faded away, the next lines of the lyrics flowed from his lips.

Night is now falling
So ends this day
The road is now calling
And I must away

Over hill and under tree
Through lands where never light has shone
By silver streams that run down to the sea

Under cloud, beneath the stars
Over snow and winter's morn
I turn at last to paths that lead home
 
 
Roen Denerith, surrounded by snow and her head held high as her steely eyes looked at this world, the desire to change it and make it better so clear in her eyes.  And not far off, that mysterious figure of the woman called Delial Grimson.  Come what may, they had played their parts and would play more parts to come

Jin'to was gone again, his voice soft on the wind.

And though where the road then takes me,
I cannot tell
We came all this way
But now comes the day
To bid you farewell

Many places I have been
Many sorrows I have seen
But I don't regret
Nor will I forget
All who took that road with me

A flash of faces.  Warren.  Alexie.  Franz.  Khit.  Arin.  Julius.  Liadan.  Erik.  Mcbeef.  Kage. Sazi. Tiergan. C'kayah. So many faces linked to all this madness.

Jin'to saw them. They had, in their way, hand a hand in ending the madness of Jin'li Epinoch. 

Jin'to faded away.


Night is now falling
So ends this day
The road is now calling
And I must away

Over hill, and under tree
Through lands where never light has shone
By silver streams that run down to the sea

To these memories I will hold
With your blessing I will go
To turn at last to paths that lead home

Jin'to came to a cliff.  Below was a beach.  A family of four walked along it, leading trails in the sand.  A wife, a husband, a daughter and a son all walked. Laughing.  Together,  as a family at long last.  Jin'to gave a smile as the waves lapped upon the shore slowly.

There, the four whom had suffered the most.  All, at last, healing.  They had one another.  What more could Jin'to do for them?

He had done his part.  It was all he could.  Their destiny was now their own.

Jin'to turned, faded, and stopped.  He stood in the middle of a vineyard that had been abandoned.  In the center rose a fountain that had been converted to a memorial for a dead woman.  One who had, in secret, been very dear to Jin'to.  He walked up and knelt before it.  He planted a single rose at the base and hung his head in reverance.


And though where the road then takes me,
I cannot tell
We came all this way
But now comes the day
To bid you farewell
 
Jin'to reached out and touched the base and caressed it tenderly as he looked up at the name cared into the stone.

"Ashwynn Adonis.  I've seen to it.  Be at peace."

Jin'to rose and turned, his footsteps falling as the setting sun blazed before him.

Jin'to smiled as he thought back on everything.

I bid you all a very fond farewell

The End

((Here, after two years, concludes the Jin'li Epinoch "Saga".  To all who have shared this journey with me, thank you.  You are all awesome!  It has been a long, surprising, extremely fun ride.  See you all around. Smile ))