Member
Lord Zee
Double Capybara
Cyclone
ChronoBovino
VecThe soft, shadowy light of predawn seeped through his city. The brightest stars still shone overhead, though they would soon be snuffed out by the rising sun. The night sky was not as he remembered it; the stars and the constellations were misaligned. A year had passed.
With every step, his heavy walking staff struck a lonely note, echoing through the capital outskirts empty streets.
When last he had walked this path, an honor guard of 300 elite warriors had marched in his wake, and the cheers of the crowd had shaken the city. It was to have been his moment of glory – yet it had been stolen from him.
Now, it was a city of ghosts. What had become of his people, again?
With an imperious gesture, he commanded the sands beside the roadway to rise, creating living statues with a crackle of red energy. This was a vision of the past, the echoes of Xerxes given form.
The sand figures looked forward, heads tilted toward the ghostly image of the immense Eye of Cipher hanging above the great pyramid palace of Xerxes half a league ahead. It hung there, declaring the glory and power of his empire, though no one remained to see it. Vestec had reduced him to a measly shell of his former self bound to the pubescent body of angsty teenager. Nevertheless his sense of divinity never waned. He could sense those of the chaotic family as they moved about Galbar, ignorant of his profane existence. Blood bound them together. But blood cycled through the heart, and the heart was treacherous.
As he walked the broken street, the sand-echoes of his people pointed up at the sky, their joyful expressions turning to horror. Mouths opened wide in silent screams. They turned to run, stumbling and falling. He watched this all in despairing silence, bearing witness to the last moments of his people.
They were corrupted by a deluge of red rain, reducing their flesh to dust and cast to the winds, leaving behind an abomination of divine production. What had gone wrong with him to unleash this catastrophe?
His focus narrowed. His march became more resolute. The power of the red stone marking the tip of his staff recreated his city in shimmering purple sand. He reached the base of the Cipher and began to climb up makeshift stares, taking them five at a time.
Sand versions of his most favored subjects lined his path, faces upturned, grimacing and wailing in silence before they too were swept away by the winds and became demons of jaded perfection.
He ran, taking the steps faster than any man could, toes digging into the granular substance, carving furrows where they caught. Sand figures rose, and were then destroyed, to either side of him as he climbed.
He reached the top.
Here, he saw himself, rendered in perfect, heartbreaking detail.
In his divine form, he rose up into the air, arms wide and back arched. He remembered this moment. The power coursed through him, infusing his being, filling him with ecstasy. He dropped to his knees. In horror, he saw this own expression change into one of utter pleasure. Though he knew what was to come, he could not look away.
The unseen event blasted Xerxes to nothingness. Blood rained from the sky, hurricane winds of rage and desire whipped across the once gleaming city, it's citizens became demons.
It was too much, but no tears welled in his eyes. That simple act of grief was forever lost to him. He regretted nothing.
Yet.
A brutal shockwave of sand flared out, disintegrating the final moment of Xerxes. He stood alone among the dying echoes of his past.
He killed his people.
The divine made mortal turned away, just as the first rays of the new dawn struck the barren landscape.
He'd seen enough. The sand image of himself collapsed behind him.
The dawn sun reflected blindingly off the flawless red stone atop his staff. In that instant, he knew that divine power still stirred within him. He sensed the essence of his own power in the air that he breathed.
He lifted a hand, and multitude of sand citizens; hain, human, and roavick alike, rose from the sands in the barren basin that was once Xerxes.
"Hear me Xerxes,” he said, his voice tinged with renewed sense of vigor. “Your king will return. I swear it.”
With every step, his heavy walking staff struck a lonely note, echoing through the capital outskirts empty streets.
When last he had walked this path, an honor guard of 300 elite warriors had marched in his wake, and the cheers of the crowd had shaken the city. It was to have been his moment of glory – yet it had been stolen from him.
Now, it was a city of ghosts. What had become of his people, again?
With an imperious gesture, he commanded the sands beside the roadway to rise, creating living statues with a crackle of red energy. This was a vision of the past, the echoes of Xerxes given form.
The sand figures looked forward, heads tilted toward the ghostly image of the immense Eye of Cipher hanging above the great pyramid palace of Xerxes half a league ahead. It hung there, declaring the glory and power of his empire, though no one remained to see it. Vestec had reduced him to a measly shell of his former self bound to the pubescent body of angsty teenager. Nevertheless his sense of divinity never waned. He could sense those of the chaotic family as they moved about Galbar, ignorant of his profane existence. Blood bound them together. But blood cycled through the heart, and the heart was treacherous.
As he walked the broken street, the sand-echoes of his people pointed up at the sky, their joyful expressions turning to horror. Mouths opened wide in silent screams. They turned to run, stumbling and falling. He watched this all in despairing silence, bearing witness to the last moments of his people.
They were corrupted by a deluge of red rain, reducing their flesh to dust and cast to the winds, leaving behind an abomination of divine production. What had gone wrong with him to unleash this catastrophe?
His focus narrowed. His march became more resolute. The power of the red stone marking the tip of his staff recreated his city in shimmering purple sand. He reached the base of the Cipher and began to climb up makeshift stares, taking them five at a time.
Sand versions of his most favored subjects lined his path, faces upturned, grimacing and wailing in silence before they too were swept away by the winds and became demons of jaded perfection.
He ran, taking the steps faster than any man could, toes digging into the granular substance, carving furrows where they caught. Sand figures rose, and were then destroyed, to either side of him as he climbed.
He reached the top.
Here, he saw himself, rendered in perfect, heartbreaking detail.
In his divine form, he rose up into the air, arms wide and back arched. He remembered this moment. The power coursed through him, infusing his being, filling him with ecstasy. He dropped to his knees. In horror, he saw this own expression change into one of utter pleasure. Though he knew what was to come, he could not look away.
The unseen event blasted Xerxes to nothingness. Blood rained from the sky, hurricane winds of rage and desire whipped across the once gleaming city, it's citizens became demons.
It was too much, but no tears welled in his eyes. That simple act of grief was forever lost to him. He regretted nothing.
Yet.
A brutal shockwave of sand flared out, disintegrating the final moment of Xerxes. He stood alone among the dying echoes of his past.
He killed his people.
The divine made mortal turned away, just as the first rays of the new dawn struck the barren landscape.
He'd seen enough. The sand image of himself collapsed behind him.
The dawn sun reflected blindingly off the flawless red stone atop his staff. In that instant, he knew that divine power still stirred within him. He sensed the essence of his own power in the air that he breathed.
He lifted a hand, and multitude of sand citizens; hain, human, and roavick alike, rose from the sands in the barren basin that was once Xerxes.
"Hear me Xerxes,” he said, his voice tinged with renewed sense of vigor. “Your king will return. I swear it.”
