Harbringer — Roleplayer Guild

In the vast expanse of the void, a single figure sat silently, drifting aimlessly through the emptiness. His legs were crossed and his hands formed a gentle cup, as if holding something delicate within the palms. If one was not thorough in examining him, the figure could have passed off as a statue, his body unmoving, but upon closer inspection, they would find some minor details. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest and the gentle flowing motion of his beard betrayed his humanity. Occassionally, his face would twitch, the scar tissue puckering with the movement. This was the final resting place of Ellarian, and there was no place he would rather be. Tranquil, quiet and devoid of worries, the hero was content with this turn of events. A soft, insistent whispering awoke him from his meditative trance. Snapping his eyes open he glanced around, looking for its source. Nothing. He narrowed his eyes. It was odd that he thought this, but he believed that it seemed...darker in here than when he had last closed his eyes, however long that was ago. Ellarian looked below him, searching for that particularly bright star that had shines upon him when he first entered oblivion.

It was missing...While he was not the most observant of lost souls, Ellarian had noticed several of such disappearances of late. No sooner had he thought this that the star he had sought suddenly burst back to life in a grand nova, temporarily blinding him. His vocal chords had not been used in nigh on centuries, but yet they retained his characteristic gruff grunt as he shielded his eyes. For the first time in what seemed to be forever, he felt another force acting on him. And it was pulling him. Cracking open a single eye, he saw that the nova had started to recede, and left in its place a gaping maelstrom of blackness. And it was pulling him in. Although he made a paltry effort to escape, the whirlpool of darkness continued to pull him in. Ellarion scoffed. He was already dead. What could possibly be worse than this? He had already existed, or perhaps not existed, within this blank space for what seemed to be millenia. Perhaps a change of pace would be nice. As he drew nearer to the turbulent vortex, he could feel a sudden grip of something on his leg. The whispering grew clearer. 

"Return..."

He strained his ears to hear the quieter whispers that accompanied it.
"Champion of the Empire..."

"Selfless Hero..."

"Rampart of Hope..."

"Bastion of pride..."

Ellarian wrinkled his nose. Who was calling him? Who was giving him such glorified titles which he did not deserve? And yet, as he got closer, the whispering grew even louder, eventually becoming a grandiose voice,

"Ellarian, Shieldbearer of the Empire, return to the land of the living, for it has need of you once more," it declared. Ellarion's eyes widened. "No..." he whispered quietly. He did not want to go back. He did not want to return to that age of turmoil and misery, where ever step he took was in the wake of destruction and homicide. Before he could contemplate this any further, the tugging grew stronger and he was suddenly pulled into complete darkness. An agonising burning sensation seared through his muscles, accompanied by the feeling of hooks ripping into his flesh and being pulled about. It was all he could do to not release a scream of pain as he was tugged along the current. Eventually, the pain grew so intense that he passed out.

As he awoke again, Ellarian reached up, attempting to stretch until his calloused fingertips met cold, solid stone. Flicking his eyes open, he could see nothing but darkness...but he could smell something...the must of age, accompanied by the stench of decay and corpses, smells he was all to familiar with. Applying some pressure to the ceiling, he felt it give under his strength. It seemed to be a lid of some sort. Gritting his teeth, the man shoved upwards with more strength than he had intended to, sending the stone tablet flying off into a marble pillar, where it shattered in a shower of debris and dust. With that sudden movement, light flooded in; but it was not natural light, no, it was the harsh yellow glare of burning braziers. With a grunt of effort, Ellarian pushed himself upwards, his head clearing the walls as he sat up to look around. This...this was a coffin...a grave...Moss and lichen had accumulated all over the dressed stone and ornate writings were scrawled over it. Brushing a hand over it to clear the foliage away, Ellarian squinted to read the message. "Here lies Ellarian Ironheart, The Rampart of the North, who sacrificed himself to save the remains of the 12th Imperial Army..." he read quietly to himself.  He...didn't know what to say? Was this some odd dream he was having? Or had he truly returned to the world of the living? What cruel joke of fate was this? That he should be deprived of his eternal rest? His grip tightened on the sides of his coffin, causing the stone to crack under the pressure.

"Wh-who goes there?" shouted a timid voice, drawing Ellarian's attention. Casting his sharp gaze in the direction of the voice, he saw a young soldier timidly enter the room, a spear clutched nervously in his hands. The firelight played over his face, revealing pox scars and wispy thin blonde hair. He did not look a day over his manhood ritual. Groaning as he hoisted himself to his feet, Ellarian rolled his shoulder. No matter if he had been brought back to life...He thought pragmatically. The gods had done this for a purpose...perhaps they needed every available soldier they had to hold the line or some nonsense like that. Either way...if the Empire was in peril, then he was not one to shy away from his duty. 

Stepping out of his stone grave, he caught the eye of the young soldier, who froze in place. "You..." Ellarian said, his voice akin to two granite bounders grinding together, "what is the year?" The young man's knees buckled in on each other and his lower lip quivered. "E-E-E-Ellarian!" he screamed as he dropped his spear, scuttling backwards like some odd hybrid of man and crab, "he walks Ansus again!" he scrambled to his feet, pelting away at full speed, screaming obscenities and doomsday warnings. Ellarian looked down. Perhaps...he should have put on some sort of coverings before addressing him, though as a soldier, that lad had probably seen worse than a millenia old man's staff of life. Ellarian sighed. Well...what was he to do now?
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Death to Asgard!

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