| He who was once known as Filipo
Brasi followed his betters into the shimmering portal. The portals were only
active for short periods of time, just long enough to send a small force
across the water. The mages were only able to poke small holes in the
barrier; they were unable to shatter it completely. These holes sealed
themselves after but moments. When the holes disappeared, so did the
portals. He stepped into the portal and was thrust
into portal space. He had not known this place for many years. Many...
years? Was that true? Could he trust this feeling? He was dimly aware of
some memory of this nauseating weightless place. Some memory of following
his king - prince - general to an uncertain future. He struggled to recall
the meat of the memory, but all that would come was some fleeting shadow.
The ground solidified and he smelled the salt of the
ocean. It was like home, but the frost was gone from the air. There were
trees he had not seen before, sounds he had not heard before. And people...
there were people.
Bloodless.
His betters charged forward, and he followed. The
bloodlust filled his being. The thirst for carnage and savagery. He let
forth a fierce cry of war, eager for the cleaving of flesh. One warrior
strode forward to meet him, and he who was once known as Filipo Brasi let
fly with his blade.
His spada cut through the air, and crashed into his
attacker's head. The force of the blow should have been enough to decapitate
the man. It should have been enough to send the wretch to his grave. But his
attacker stood strong. All that remained of the passing of the blade was the
merest sliver of blood on the fiend's pale cheek.
The soldier had but a moment to wonder at this turn of
events when his attacker raised a wand. The wand glowed and hummed, and a
shower of sparks engulfed he who was once known as Filipo Brasi.
Pain like that he had not known since his birth - turning
- ascension - destruction filled his being. His bones rattled and his flesh
blistered. He staggered to his knees. His eyes watered. He looked up at his
attacker, prepared to launch one final assault. The wand glowed yet again.
He tightened his grip on his blade and tried to stagger to his feet. But the
mage cut him down before he could move.
*****
Darkness. Cold darkness. That embrace which he had long
feared. It wrapped its oily arms around him and pulled him slowly under. He
was dimly aware of some light, some warmth, further up ahead, but was
powerless to do aught but wish for it. He was frightened. He was shamed. He
was cold and terrified. But most of all, he was aware. He knew his name now.
He remembered what had happened to him. He remembered the bargain he had
struck with his King. Boundless power at the price of one's identity. The
strength with which to crush his foes and defend his kingdom.
But his King was wrong. This strength was nothing compared
to the unnatural might of the Bloodless. He had forsaken his name for
nothing. And now his life was at an end because of it.
He closed his eyes and waited for oblivion.
*****
Light. Warm light. Death's cold embrace retreated and
Filipo Brasi was thrust into portal space once again. His mind reeled. Form
return to his being. Flesh wrapped itself around newly reformed bones. "I'm
alive," he gasped. And aware.
Hysterical joy filled his mind, but was quickly pushed
aside by that familiar cloud. That cloud which pushed aside all thought of
past, all identity. He struggled to hold onto the consciousness he had
glimpsed only briefly, but it fled from him into the darkness of his mind.
The ground returned. The salt of the ocean breeze, the
chill air of the north. He recognized his city. Sanamar. He recognized his
people. People who turned to him, mouth agape, shocked at his appearance. He
looked down at himself and saw that he wore nothing but smallclothes. He
inspected his body for the wounds of the mage's blistering attack, but saw
nothing.
He was whole again. Somehow, he was whole again.
From Turbine's
Throne of Destiny site
(April 5, 2005) |