[youtube]IhP3J0j9JmY[/youtube]
The mists of madness were a place Crate knew ever so well and he now dwelt within them once more as his mind unraveled from his body.
He let himself follow the strange winds within this place. Why fight?Â
A flash and a memory as the walls of white roiled back.Â
A young, small boy with blonde hair in a garden. He was hunched over, a trowel discarded besides him as he held something in his hands. He was sobbing and shaking. Crate blinked in surprise as he realized this was a memory of himself and, he had actually done...this!
He looked around at the large garden, filling his nose with the smell of the roses.
It had been years since he'd seen the residence of his old order. So long in, fact, that he had forgotten both the smells and this moment.
He turned back to the tender-hearted young version of himself, who couldn't be older then eight winters, and blinked. He recalled now.
He had accidentally hit the small garden snake while digging and cut it's nose. It was bleeding and lying still as he tried to tend to its wound with a small rag. Tears were flowing from his eyes as he begged the little thing to be okay. To move again.
It did, and the blond began to give a teary laugh of excitement as he put the little snake down and watched it wiggle away into the brush.
"It's just a snake." Crate snorted as the fog rolled back in. He stepped back and grimaced.Â
What was this? Some amused twist of his brain?
Before he could be answered, the fog parted.
There he was again and Crate growled. Was this the moment where his life passed before him and then he died? Cause he wasn't a fan of how it was playing out.  He had a lot of good sex sessions he'd rather be reliving.
The young Crate, now fourteen, stood in a set of armor. His hand was pressed to his right breast as he recited the oath of his knightly order and he was made a full squire of the free company. Crate looked into his younger eyes and saw the hope and optimism in them as he recited words about goodness and protecting the innocent masses.
"Oh you'll see." Crate snorted as he crossed his arms. "How you the -innocent- masses repay your sacrifices."
Fog. Flashes. Another.
"We did it!" Young Crate raised a glass of ale. He was now a full knight and eighteen winters. He and his companions sat around a table, laughing. They had just managed to destroy a void spawn assaulting travelers on the desert roads. This was a victory. A day for the good in the world.Â
Then a crash. The knights turned to see a young male being punched around. Instantly, Crate crossed the room. He and his buddies, so sure of their righteousness, brought fists to the assailants and rescued the attacked man. Crate went to offer the black-haired miqo'te help and caught those deep, emerald eyes.Â
The young Crate was struck and older Crate knew that was to be the first of many nights spent with his to be love.
"Ugh this is making me want to vomit." Crate retorted as the fog came in again. "I was a good person, then I wasn't. We get-"
"I love you." young Crate said, a happy smile on his lips.
"For fucks sake." older Crate moaned and face palmed.
The young Crate held his lover in his arms as they lay between the sheets of their bed.
"Do you really have to go?" Crate's young lover whispered, tracing the blond's lips. Young Crate smiled at him.
"I do. This village we are going to needs us to end the beastmen attacks it's been enduring But I'll be back before you know it. Not even the Twelve could keep my from your arms. And that ass." The two lovers laughed and then they kissed.Â
Crate clenched his fist.Â
"Can I please stop watching my mistakes now? K? Thanks, byyyyyeeee."
Another vision.
"OH COME ON! Just let me die already."
The village. There it was. Before Crate had burned it to ashes and crucified it's mayor. The blond felt his blood begin to boil as he saw the faces of his twenty or so companions and friends. They moved about the town, speaking to the folk and promising them aid.Â
The folk of this hamlet smiled and nodded, but it was a lie. Crate knew that now. And seeing this made his eventual barbarism more justified.
"Knights!" came the call of an older hyur as he ascended his mount. "Let us find these beasts and put them to the sword!"
The knights, and the townsfolk, cheered. But for two very different reasons.
Fog. Flashes. Screams. Violence.
Crate saw himself astride his mount, hacking wildly at reptilian forms. All around him lay dead and dying allies. Only he remained against the tide. Blood covered him and his chocobo. It had been a trap, pure and simple. They had blundered into the canyon and into death. Young Crate turned and fled as more of the reptilian demons poured into the pit.
Fog. The village.
"You...are alive."
Crate slipped from his mount. The mayor was standing there in awe as rain fell down on him.  Crate was crying but the tears were lost in the rain.Â
Then the form from the door. The reptilian freak. The realization then happened. The town had sold him and his knights out to their beastmen masters for favors. Young Crate butchered the beastman and then fled, his mind numb as his idealistic view of the world fell to ruin.
Then the hall of his order.
"We need to seek vengeance on that town!" Young Crate roared in anger to his superiors.Â
"We will -not- butcher innocent townsfolk." one of the leaders said flatly.
"The blood of our fellows is on their hands!"Â Young Crate snapped.
"The political ramifications for such an action against a town so important to trade and the Monetarists would be damning at best. Better to claim it a terrible tragedy and save face and earn sympathy from others than to-"
"This is not right!" Young Crate shrieked.
"Right has nothing to do with it! This is politics!"
"This is hypocrisy to please some limp gut, small dick politician!" Young Crate snarled.
"ENOUGH!"
"Go fuck yourselves!"Â Young Crate spun and stormed off.
Another flashed. Crate braced himself as he had a feeling of what was next.
He was right.
A room. Their room. His lover in the sheets. But not with him.
Young Crate kicked the door down to see his lover and another male mid-act.
Crate watched as the madness took his young self for the first time. He watched as the goodness and wonder for life broke behind those blue eyes. The scales fell away to reveal the twisted nature of the realm of mortals.Â
Crate drew his sword and, despite the screaming, stabbed both naked men to death.
Young Crate fled then, fire burning hot inside his soul as he planned vengeance on the town.
Three years he delved into the books and knowledge he had accumulated in secret. Dark knowledge was made known to him. And he would unleash it all.
Fog, a flash. Three years later.
The town was burning and the screams of the dead and those who wished they were filled the air. Crate's hired thugs were plundering home and resident alike and the mayor was gasping for air from his cross as he filled his dying lungs with burning flesh.
Crate stood in the middle of it all. He was giggling and swaying as if the sounds of ruin were a sweet music. This was the moment of his death and resurrection.
He had entered this town as Zhinci Mordhelm. He was leaving it as Crate the Great.Â
Blood dripped from his hands and ran down his face as he looked over the madness.
Young Crate and Crate locked eyes and the young Crate giggled.
"Remember the snake from our childhood?" Tears began to flow out of young Crate's eyes. "I want to be that boy again. Damn you for doing this to us."
Young Crate sighed and then yelled.
"DAMN YOU!"
Fog rolled in and Crate tapped his nose as he cocked his head to the side. A sneer wormed its way over his lips.
"Don't recall that last part. How fun, a twist.
He turned and saw the small snake, resting on the ground, still. He blinked at it and lifted his boot to crush it, but he paused. He gazed down at the small, helpless animal and then stepped over it as he walked into the fog.
The mists of madness were a place Crate knew ever so well and he now dwelt within them once more as his mind unraveled from his body.
He let himself follow the strange winds within this place. Why fight?Â
A flash and a memory as the walls of white roiled back.Â
A young, small boy with blonde hair in a garden. He was hunched over, a trowel discarded besides him as he held something in his hands. He was sobbing and shaking. Crate blinked in surprise as he realized this was a memory of himself and, he had actually done...this!
He looked around at the large garden, filling his nose with the smell of the roses.
It had been years since he'd seen the residence of his old order. So long in, fact, that he had forgotten both the smells and this moment.
He turned back to the tender-hearted young version of himself, who couldn't be older then eight winters, and blinked. He recalled now.
He had accidentally hit the small garden snake while digging and cut it's nose. It was bleeding and lying still as he tried to tend to its wound with a small rag. Tears were flowing from his eyes as he begged the little thing to be okay. To move again.
It did, and the blond began to give a teary laugh of excitement as he put the little snake down and watched it wiggle away into the brush.
"It's just a snake." Crate snorted as the fog rolled back in. He stepped back and grimaced.Â
What was this? Some amused twist of his brain?
Before he could be answered, the fog parted.
There he was again and Crate growled. Was this the moment where his life passed before him and then he died? Cause he wasn't a fan of how it was playing out.  He had a lot of good sex sessions he'd rather be reliving.
The young Crate, now fourteen, stood in a set of armor. His hand was pressed to his right breast as he recited the oath of his knightly order and he was made a full squire of the free company. Crate looked into his younger eyes and saw the hope and optimism in them as he recited words about goodness and protecting the innocent masses.
"Oh you'll see." Crate snorted as he crossed his arms. "How you the -innocent- masses repay your sacrifices."
Fog. Flashes. Another.
"We did it!" Young Crate raised a glass of ale. He was now a full knight and eighteen winters. He and his companions sat around a table, laughing. They had just managed to destroy a void spawn assaulting travelers on the desert roads. This was a victory. A day for the good in the world.Â
Then a crash. The knights turned to see a young male being punched around. Instantly, Crate crossed the room. He and his buddies, so sure of their righteousness, brought fists to the assailants and rescued the attacked man. Crate went to offer the black-haired miqo'te help and caught those deep, emerald eyes.Â
The young Crate was struck and older Crate knew that was to be the first of many nights spent with his to be love.
"Ugh this is making me want to vomit." Crate retorted as the fog came in again. "I was a good person, then I wasn't. We get-"
"I love you." young Crate said, a happy smile on his lips.
"For fucks sake." older Crate moaned and face palmed.
The young Crate held his lover in his arms as they lay between the sheets of their bed.
"Do you really have to go?" Crate's young lover whispered, tracing the blond's lips. Young Crate smiled at him.
"I do. This village we are going to needs us to end the beastmen attacks it's been enduring But I'll be back before you know it. Not even the Twelve could keep my from your arms. And that ass." The two lovers laughed and then they kissed.Â
Crate clenched his fist.Â
"Can I please stop watching my mistakes now? K? Thanks, byyyyyeeee."
Another vision.
"OH COME ON! Just let me die already."
The village. There it was. Before Crate had burned it to ashes and crucified it's mayor. The blond felt his blood begin to boil as he saw the faces of his twenty or so companions and friends. They moved about the town, speaking to the folk and promising them aid.Â
The folk of this hamlet smiled and nodded, but it was a lie. Crate knew that now. And seeing this made his eventual barbarism more justified.
"Knights!" came the call of an older hyur as he ascended his mount. "Let us find these beasts and put them to the sword!"
The knights, and the townsfolk, cheered. But for two very different reasons.
Fog. Flashes. Screams. Violence.
Crate saw himself astride his mount, hacking wildly at reptilian forms. All around him lay dead and dying allies. Only he remained against the tide. Blood covered him and his chocobo. It had been a trap, pure and simple. They had blundered into the canyon and into death. Young Crate turned and fled as more of the reptilian demons poured into the pit.
Fog. The village.
"You...are alive."
Crate slipped from his mount. The mayor was standing there in awe as rain fell down on him.  Crate was crying but the tears were lost in the rain.Â
Then the form from the door. The reptilian freak. The realization then happened. The town had sold him and his knights out to their beastmen masters for favors. Young Crate butchered the beastman and then fled, his mind numb as his idealistic view of the world fell to ruin.
Then the hall of his order.
"We need to seek vengeance on that town!" Young Crate roared in anger to his superiors.Â
"We will -not- butcher innocent townsfolk." one of the leaders said flatly.
"The blood of our fellows is on their hands!"Â Young Crate snapped.
"The political ramifications for such an action against a town so important to trade and the Monetarists would be damning at best. Better to claim it a terrible tragedy and save face and earn sympathy from others than to-"
"This is not right!" Young Crate shrieked.
"Right has nothing to do with it! This is politics!"
"This is hypocrisy to please some limp gut, small dick politician!" Young Crate snarled.
"ENOUGH!"
"Go fuck yourselves!"Â Young Crate spun and stormed off.
Another flashed. Crate braced himself as he had a feeling of what was next.
He was right.
A room. Their room. His lover in the sheets. But not with him.
Young Crate kicked the door down to see his lover and another male mid-act.
Crate watched as the madness took his young self for the first time. He watched as the goodness and wonder for life broke behind those blue eyes. The scales fell away to reveal the twisted nature of the realm of mortals.Â
Crate drew his sword and, despite the screaming, stabbed both naked men to death.
Young Crate fled then, fire burning hot inside his soul as he planned vengeance on the town.
Three years he delved into the books and knowledge he had accumulated in secret. Dark knowledge was made known to him. And he would unleash it all.
Fog, a flash. Three years later.
The town was burning and the screams of the dead and those who wished they were filled the air. Crate's hired thugs were plundering home and resident alike and the mayor was gasping for air from his cross as he filled his dying lungs with burning flesh.
Crate stood in the middle of it all. He was giggling and swaying as if the sounds of ruin were a sweet music. This was the moment of his death and resurrection.
He had entered this town as Zhinci Mordhelm. He was leaving it as Crate the Great.Â
Blood dripped from his hands and ran down his face as he looked over the madness.
Young Crate and Crate locked eyes and the young Crate giggled.
"Remember the snake from our childhood?" Tears began to flow out of young Crate's eyes. "I want to be that boy again. Damn you for doing this to us."
Young Crate sighed and then yelled.
"DAMN YOU!"
Fog rolled in and Crate tapped his nose as he cocked his head to the side. A sneer wormed its way over his lips.
"Don't recall that last part. How fun, a twist.
He turned and saw the small snake, resting on the ground, still. He blinked at it and lifted his boot to crush it, but he paused. He gazed down at the small, helpless animal and then stepped over it as he walked into the fog.
