Completed Days most Dark

[Osuin]

The motions of the world ceased, and all Osuin perceived stilled when the power of the sword overtook him once more. Sounds hung in distortion that warped his vision. For a moment, all was an unrecognizable cacophony of sight and sound, until it reformed once more to reveal the unmistakable scene which the vision had last brought him to.

Osuin looked down at the sword in his hand, its blade jagged and ominous. The darkness that resulted from the blades drinking of light clearly told of weapon’s maleficent nature, and the decapitated heron before him was further evidence of this quality. White burning eyes stared into his soul from the severed head on the ground while its body still heaved, clinging to life despite its sorry state.

Merely inhabiting the body that had done this, the discrepancy was all but impossible to make in the moment. Osuin, within the vision, had become the killer – a fact that the heron made clear through its laboured warning.

A curse...

A curse upon ye and your greed, foul creature.

Osuin stood still with his gaze roaming the scene of carnage. It took another moment before he made a motion with his arm, and to his surprise found himself under his own control.

He shifted his stance to test this further, before his mind raced to ponder what he might do, if anything, to aid the heron. He could not heal it, he'd no power to undo its fatal wounds. Thoughts next turned to breaking the sword, though he'd no idea if that would do anything constructive, nor if he even could. Ominous as it was, it was currently a tool that might enable him to help.

Then he looked again, and noted that in its dying moments, the heron had made sure to cover its eggs with its dying corpse. It spoke of greed with its last breaths, and Osiun soon drew conclusion to the motives of he whose body he inhabited.

It was after the eggs.

And with the heron about to die, would have no obstacle preventing them from being obtained. He could not take them, such an act would only deliver them into the very hands he wished to keep them from. The next best solution, he figured, was to hide the eggs. There was wild growth everywhere, and plenty of places to obscure the eggs from view.

His mouth opened as if to speak, but only the most muted and silent noise did escape. Surely, he appeared awkward as the heron bore into him with its baleful glare. He knew not why this was so, but Osuin further knew he only had a limited time to act. Reaching beneath the heron, he laid his hands on an egg. The hateful stare continued, and Osuin did his best to ignore it.

He'd explain if he could. But he simply couldn't.

He looked to the trunk of the tallest tree, and finding some overgrowth around its base, tucked one of the eggs there. He then departed in search of another potential landmark. He spotted three trees at equal distance from one another, appearing to be the same species. Not strange, but mildly remarkable - enough so that he grasped the tall grass between them. Earth caught between a carpet of woven roots, and he tucked another egg beneath it.

By the time he rose to his feet and turned again, the light in the heron's eyes appeared faded. Did it know? Osuin could only hope so.

He had one egg to hide, but where? Eyes frantically scanned for a suitable hiding spot, but he could not determine any other nearby landmark he might remember. So, he simply continued away from both landmark, counting his steps as he did. At nineteen paces, he reached an unremarkable bush, but it was thick and overgrown enough that the final egg could be concealed within it.

And so he did.

Helena

 

[Helena]

A deep and horrid laugh echoed through the air. A laugh full of loathing. Rumbles and booms of hate.

Does though think, that with such wickedness done, such an act, small and pitiful, shall spare thee?

Even as the brave knight moved the eggs, he would feel the air about him whip into a howling gale. The voice only growing louder in his head as he tucked away each precious shell so full of life. The power raw and pulsing behind the protection of calcified shell.

For not but wealth did ye hunt us, so deep into these woods.

It pounded into the head which Osuin did inhabit.

To take, and tear, and burn!

Pain would strike him. Hard.

Now,

Again the head of the crane did sound, shrill and void of mirth.

Now ye shall bear all the weight of what ye sought to claim, to conquer.

As the body which Osuin inhabited did hide the last egg, and make back to that empty nest and that dying spirit, he would see that most baleful gaze, burning before him.

The head of the heron, like a snake, slithered across the floor, viper quick, and struck out with its lance-like beak. Were he to look down, he would see the great spirit's head, stuck against his chest. Eyes of golden fire still bright as they looked up. It had ran its whole beak through the knights chest.

And though shall nevermore know of rest's embrace.

The sword. It stood watch. Stabbed into the despoiled earth as it was. The ornaments of its guard looking every bit like eyes and teeth as the light fades.

Osuin ​

 

[Osuin]

Does though think, that with such wickedness done, such an act, small and pitiful, shall spare thee? ​

Undeterred, Osuin continued on. What whomever owned this body he inhabited had done was labelled wicked. What he was doing now, the heron called an act. Despite the menacing words uttered, the distinction was some reassurance that hiding the eggs carried some benefit. The heron would clearly not see things that way. Between the choices of giving explanation or aid, Osuin chose the latter and remained devoted to the task of hiding the eggs.

Hurried in his motion, he nonetheless fought the wind as he moved about. The heron did not trust him. How could it, and who could blame it?

For not but wealth did ye hunt us, so deep into these woods. ​

Within the seething words the heron spoke were hints towards the answer he'd sought. Whomever had done this had done so out of monetary greed; perhaps a poacher.

To take, and tear, and burn! ​

That the poacher had been cruel was far from surprising, and the pain was shared with Osuin. He stumbled to a knee as agony wracked his body, nearly stumbling with the final egg cradled carefully beneath an arm. It was with a half-crawl that he made it to the hiding spot of the final egg, and he laid the egg down with the gentlest touch he could.

Now ye shall bear all the weight of what ye sought to claim, to conquer.​

Standing up once he was done was an arduous task amid the pain inflicted upon him. Despite the warning, the anguish would distract him from the heron’s strike – the strike knocked him over and sent stabbing sensation through his chest. Anguish was heightened only further when he looked down.

And though shall nevermore know of rest's embrace. ​

Light faded as he contemplated the final hint. That whomever had done this, had not paid a price through mere death. The vengeful heron demanded more in vengeance – but sensations would face, and only the eerie darkness that had first taken him would remain after the heron spoke its closing remarks.

And the vision came to an end.

Helena

 

[Helena]

The sword. Before all else, you could see it. Jagged and pale its blade did run. A phantom of absence, void, the color of pitch and deep ink, didn't quite bleed around its edges, nor diffuse. It was almost as if it was part of the blade itself. That space of nothing. The light of all colors there absorbed.

Blight Drinker. Came the voice of Master Hawthorne, rippling through the matter of your mind. A blade most ancient. Thought lost in the whirls of time.

It's weight would lay in your palm. And you could feel it drink at your energies. Those reserves of magick most living had. Slowly, as if sipping gently from your vessel.

Should you look for Helena, you would see her gone, a bubbling mass of tarry growth, eyes and teeth and bones so snapped from fingers and limbs and skulls, folding over the spot your eyes last saw her.

"Osuin!" Syr Eironmar called out, face tight, his hands up, palms out and fingers curled as sweat ran down his face. He strained to hold back the mass of corruption that did bear down on the veil of shimmering light. Its many eyes and many mouths opening and gnashing and blinking against the shield of magic. "The sword, I think, I think it is" and maybe then you would see it. How the light, silver and shimmering from Eironmar's magic shield, wisped way, as if so many delicate threads pulled to spool about the blade of the Blight Drinker. "It drinks magick!"

Tendrils struck out from the dark. Struck out at Osuin. Some sought to pierce, some sought to grab. All sought to undo the Knight of Anathaeum.

Osuin

 

[Osuin]

The darkness his vision had faded into slowly gave way to the dim forest once more. The first thing he saw when reality returned was the sword he now held within it.

Blight Drinker.

The telepathic message from Master Hawthorne was no doubt it's name, and it was a pale and vicious looking blade. Within it coursed an odd darkness that permeated throughout. Almost akin to the opposite of a metallic shine, this surface absorbed the light in strange ways. With nothing else in his perception, Osuin could not help but marvel for a brief moment, both at the blade, and that he could wield it without harm.

A blade most ancient. Thought lost in the whirls of time.

Further vision returned, and the dim forest returned to view. With awareness now returned in full, worry over the fate of Helena overtook all else.

“Helena?!” He called out, turning his head about in search for her with the sword held loose by the handle. But there was no sign of her, only a macabre mass in place where she ought be. With worry heightened, Osuin began to resume his search frantically, and then he saw Syr Eironmar.

"Osuin!" He called out, locked in a struggle with the corruption that was threatening to break past his arcane defences with snapping teeth against it.

"The sword, I think, I think it is" Syr Eironmar continued, and as Osuin looked to it he saw a foreboding connection to the magic that struck the magical shield. The light ebbed towards and was drawn within it, revealing the nature hinted at by the odd shadowy sheen.

"It drinks magick!" He added, and his uttered words were Osuin's fret spoken aloud. Further fret would come from numerous tendrils that shot out from the darkness, assailing him all at once. There was no time for magic, nor did it seem likely that Blight Drinker would allow for it. He kept his round shield held loosely by the handle, thrusting it into several of the tendrils while he made a frantic swing of his sword at others flanking him. But there were many, and he could not defend against all of them.

Tendrils grasped his shield and pried it from his loose grasp without effort, as Osuin opted to let go rather than be dragged along with it. Others wrapped around his feet, and with both hands now holding the blade, he gave another swing to sever the mass that had entwined him. Those tendrils that had swiped his shield returned, and now Osuin held little defence.

There was no option but to fight. All he could do was trust the blade. With Blight Drinker held ready in his hands, the knight stepped forth and swung the sword in a curved swing towards the densest portion of the assaulting mass, aiming to cleave all he could.

Helena

 

[Helena]

How the blade did swing. Like white hot sheers through spider's silk. The corruption, inkform and mangled, did not so much cut, but burn away to the consuming lick of an invisible flame. There was no snag. No slow of weight or resistance of mass as there had been when steel blade passed through the timeless sludge.

And where Blight Drinker did cut, the cursed mass bid retreat, shrieking as it shrank away in the wake of the sword.

In the near distance, on the writhing and ebbing floor, a mass of the tainted ichor turned purple, red, yellow as it expanded and bubbled and boiled and popped! A red-white beam, no wider than a green tangle vine, pierced out of the oily mass, seemed to slice to the left, toward Osuin. Its intensity waned, the focused beam of flame seemed to bend, flicker to dark and angry golds and reds, and turned to stray cinders that scattered out.

Eironmar's shield collapsed beneath the weight of the ichor-made monster, and the sludge of teeth and eyes enveloped him and master Hawthorne in a swell of putrid muck.

Osuin

 

[Osuin]

He swung his blade again and again, cleaving through the tendrils assailing him. The blade did not tear, but sliced clean through. Were it not for the fact that he could see the severed tendrils with his own eyes, he might not have been able to tell. It was a fierce weapon, and proved an effective bane against the corruption he fought against. Yet the peril it brought was not lost on him, Eironmar's warning remained fresh in mind. The sword was a danger to his foe, and to the protection Eironmar was weaving alike. But retreat was no option, not without Helena, and not while he was fending off the thing.

Osuin fought on as fiercely as he could, desperate to bring the battle to a close before the blade's drinking of magic could. He'd thus far managed to force the corruption back, and he tore through what tendrils obstructed him in his continued effort to close the distance and defend his two comrade in arms. Yet from well beyond reach, part of the corruption shifted in colour and swelled. A moment later it burst, emitting a beam of energy that pierced the air.

By initial appearances it missed him entirely. But he would not truly be so fortunate, and the beam that shot wide arced towards him. He'd no shield, having forfeit it to the corruption's numerous assailing limbs. He could only rely on the sword. Holding it between himself and the threatening beam, Osuin saw it wane in intensity well before reaching him. It didn't seem to even reach him at all, scattering instead as it drew nearer to the blade.

He'd not need the shield. Now was time for aggression. Swing after determined swing slashed at the malformed amalgamation in his continued rush to reach Eironmar and Hawthorne before the protective magic failed.

But he could not.

They had both been enveloped by the same sickly mass that must have taken Helena. Osuin watched with horror as the corruption engulfed the two.

Osuin was now alone with the corruption.

Absent of ally to aid him.

Absent any guidance to heed.

Absent of any desire but to see this foul thing destroyed.

Osuin charged forth towards the mass that had fired upon him, with Blight Drinker brandished and his misshapen armour clanking with each stride. Sickly tendrils sought to hinder him, yet as before the blade cut through them with ease. They grew denser the closer he approached, more concentrated in number. Osuin was not inclined to break his charge to contend with them.

A twist of his torso and a swing of his arms sent the blade slicing clean through the mass before him, with Osuin spinning around from the inertia of the strike. His back was temporarily turned and his sword still in motion. Inertia maintained his approach as his stride broke to execute his attack. He could not see what he was striking at, but he did so with every ounce of rage in his soul. Osuin continued his until the sword was overhead, where he brought it down in a most baleful strike against whatever lay behind the tendrils he did cleave.

Lost to despair induced wrath, held only the singular desire to see this foe slain, his existence pledged to that goal alone.

Helena

 

[Helena]

Like so much water, giving way, the roil of blight parted from the Pursuant's charge. As if it were afraid of the thing he carried in his hands. As if it had learned that it could do little and less against such a weapon. Nay, the living mass, with its countless eyes and swirling maws, dared not meet the Knight's charge.

Swing after swing saw swath after swath of the wretched tendrils part. Motion smooth, save for the cumber of flesh and bone that all mortals felt. Yet, there in the back of the mind, what was but the dread thrum of so much formless sound seemed to come clearer through your ears with each cut of Blight Drinker. It reverberated across the bones in your skull.

Wails. Moans. The sounds of agony and horror and screams. Twisted. Muffled. They gurgled out and seemed to burst as the ebon edge of the enchanted blade snakt through mass. A cacophony of twisted and torn and dragged things that eked out what tones its formless chords could shake.

A hundred eyes. A thousand stares. All came open at once as the Knight Sworn raised the new found blade up high. So deep into the mass of the quivering shape there in that dome of malformed existence. Down Blight Drinker plunged. Yet it struck something hard.

Trained muscles would feel the push back of a familiar pressure.

Look down and you would see the the young Pursuant, Helena, Teeth grit, one hand braced behind the length of her blade as she pressed back the downward strike, and all the eyes around them did watch.

"Osuin!" she cried out. "Osuin it is I, man, open your eyes!" she called out, desperate as she resisted his overwhelming strength.

Osuin

 

[Osuin]

Osuin continued to fight with sole dedication to the battle and the death of the corruption before him. Again and again, he swung the sword against his foe. It was the only answer he held, and the only action found acceptable for the moment he'd found himself in. Perorin had fallen, and Osuin had witnessed his presumed fate with his own eyes. Helena's end had been assumed. She'd been nowhere to be seen since his return to reality.

Absent the support of his comrades, he was further absent any to protect. With each mighty swing brought down upon it, there was only malice in mind. While he fought with burning intensity, his foe recoiled away from him as best as it could. Far too determined to waste any opportunity to cause the corruption harm, Osuin contained to hack at the retreating limbs. Blight drinker cleaved through them with ease, slicing right through all he caught beneath the bite of its blade.

Into his mind poured a sense of dread, turned into clearer sensation the more he cut. Be it taunt or warning, the Knight Osuin could not be deterred. Determined to see an end to his enemy and with no others known to be present with him, he simply fought on. His mind remained focused on his efforts to kill this thing.

Situational awareness could be gained after battle, for he was without anything further to lose within it. Only when this thing had met its end could Osuin contend with such matters. If that meant he was to die doing so, so be it. Its destruction had become his sole purpose.

His blade bit into something new. something tougher that it could not cut through. It was different to the rest of the monstrosity, and only now did he look down under hopes he'd found its heart.

It was Helena.

For the first time since he'd begun his berserker assault, Osuin was stilled. Stunned only for a moment; it was not lost on him that he was in the middle of battle. Yet his eyes were unbelieving, but the parry he felt could only be hers. It was too well practised, and far too familiar to be part of any illusion. It was true.

She lived!

“Helena! I thought you- I mean-

What are you doing there!?” Osuin stammered out, still shaken by the adrenaline coursing through his body.

Helena

 

[Helena]

Helena shoved Blight Drinker away with her own weapon, enchanted metal scraped against the timeless relic in a strange song. She huffed a breath from her lungs as she stood before the ebbing mass of pitch around them, and a wolfish smile cracked across her face. "Together, man, we can talk of the details later," her voice was hot with fight. "That blade you wield, it..." she did not want to think about what would have happened if she had not caught the blow, or if her steel were made of anything less.

Still, tere had been an image that flashed before her. Blight Drinker cleaved down clear across her chest. Pulled through by Osuin's might. She burned it away. That tangle through the walls of her sanity.

"It seems to hate it," Helena jut her chin down at the muck which ebbed and rippled and writhed just around their slight perimeter. "Whatever it is we face, it has learned to avoid the weapon," her eyes scanned about the terrain, featureless, obscured and overtaken by all the mass of this...thing. "We must trust that Syr Eironmar and Master Hawthorne yet live, Osuin," she assured. But her magick waned. Her flow of mana seemed to ebb slowly from her fingers and toes, to be pulled from her and into the very blade that Osuin carried.

If they did not hurry to find victory, the blade itself would do them in. She felt it, just as much as Osuin surely did.

The Pursuant of Life adjusted her grip upon her sword, "Let us take every one of these bloody eyes, if it is the last thing we do!" she snarled and snapped forward with roil of rage, sword's point punching through one of the great eyes that opened wide across the mass.

Tendrils rose up around her, some with gnashing teeth at their ends, ready to rip and tear at the young knight who dove so recklessly forward.

Osuin

 

[Osuin]

"Together, man, we can talk of the details later," Replied Helena. Still in a state of shock at the discovery, he did not hesitate to continue the fight. She too carried the fervour of battle within her, which Osuin was relieved to have beside him once more. As much as her absence had fuelled his fervour for battle, her regained presence was motivation far greater.

"That blade you wield, it..." Helena began, but trailed off before her statement’s completion. Osuin well remembered the warning Perorin had given him before he and his barrier had fallen. The sword consumed magic – it carried dual edges, both metaphorical and real. This property of the enchanted blade had been the cause of failure for the arcane defences Perorin had woven, and no doubt remained a danger as Helena pointed out.

"It seems to hate it," She said. "Whatever it is we face, it seems to have learned to avoid the weapon." Helena added.

“It need not learn anything. It needs to die.” Was Osuin’s response, his grip tightened on Blight Drinker.

"We must trust that Syr Eironmar and Master Hawthorne yet live, Osuin," Helena said, and her return bid his hopes that they too had survived. If they both fought onward, he might see them both again yet. Even the smallest chance of doing so was an opportunity that could not go unseized. Determination to see the corruption struck dead had not waned; desire to see his comrades live simply overtook it.

“The blade drinks magick. It is a bane to the beast, but it does not discriminate in who’s magic it siphons. We must fight with haste.” Osuin remarked. That it struck such terror and aversion against his foe made it far too valuable to give up.

“Let us take every one of these bloody eyes if it is the last thing we do!” Helena bellowed out, and Osuin raised his sword in agreement. With a turn of his body, he swung the sword against one of the numerous stalks, cleaving through another of the eyes. Helena pushed forward, and on her heels were toothed tendrils threatening to undo her.

“Helena!” He called out, leaping forth with a downward swing of his sword to hack at them with its blade. What tendrils weren't cut down recoiled away from Blight Drinker's menacing presence. No longer fighting alone, Osuin would have to cover her, much as she had him numerous times.

Together, the two Knights fought on with ferocity against each eye and stalk that dared obstruct them.

Helena

 

[Helena]

Blades swung and sliced and tore at the ever fiend, it's billowing form atremble at their approach, more true when Blight Drinker snikt and snakt in violent arcs that did vanquish parts and pieces of that thing they faced so readily and with such dawnlit fury.

Those things that would gnash and pull and disjoint turned to vapor. The eye which Helena did stab through swelled as she shout and pulsed her magick of flame through the enchanted metal of Zenith. It ballooned, like the bladder of some buzzard left out to cook in the sun, and popped into flames. She ripped her weapon back with a beastly push of breath, turned on a nearby swell of souped flesh and cracked crust ichor that tried to gather and surge towards her like a ram twist to spear point. Her eyes widened, whites large, and she let out a guttural shout.

Zenith pierced through the rot, its still hot point split the malignant spear as its steel sizzled and smoked as the corruption broiled and burned against it.

Walls of fetid flesh rose at each of her sides. Jagged with splintered bone and claw, they threatened to crush her. She turned with an open step and a twist of the hips and pull of the arms in a two hand grip. A gash sliced against one tall and rigid shape. Her sword, super heated, turned red, yellow white. She thrust the weapon forward, quick. A shard of flame and slag spit forward from the weapon. Seared into the body of the wall.

Sure in her Sworn kin, she acted.

Expansion. Rapid and violent. The wall of rot held together, only just as it blew out from the inside. Its point of expansion where the shard had ripped through near tore the thing through. Weakened, flames ate away at it still and its writhed in agony, only to be cut down through that charred wake left behind by her spell.

She would sweat, as she felt her body ablaze. But her magicks, so strained, drank what water it could as she burned their enemy. Blight Drinker's thirst only made it that much harder.

Osuin

 

[Osuin]

It was time for battle, and Osuin threw himself into it with fervour. The blade of Blight Drinker swung through the air to cleave through the eyes of the beast with ferocity. The dark, tar-like ichor within oozed from each gaping wound he inflicted, the eyes deflating once their contents had been let loose.

Instinctively, he prepared another spell as he raised Blight Drinker above his head to strike yet another of the corrupted entity's many eyes. The action had been automatic, but the result should have been expected – the magic intended for his attack was swallowed by the sword, and the blade carried none of it when it sliced into the next eye. The attack cleaved through it all the same, though the sword had robbed Osuin of the additional destruction he'd hoped to bring with it.

Helena was fighting by his side, continuing with attacks just as baleful as Osuin's. Walls formed from masses of corrupt tendrils rose to each side of her. Helena prepared a mighty strike against one, but she could not defend against the wall opposite it. Osuin could, and immediately wound Blight-Drinker back in both hands to deliver a mighty blow upon it. With his stance spread and his aim lowered, he hacked the wall at a low point and cleaved straight through. Writhing tentacles topped over, their severed ends burning from the effect the blade carried.

Helena was less successful in her attempt, and through she struck with power the wall of rot appeared barely damaged. It took but a moment for the full extent of her attack to be revealed, evident by the subsequent explosion that tore the mass apart. All around them, the ground was laden with the corruption's severed extremities, ichor, and carnage they had wrought upon it. Some still moved, but others were still. Osuin knew not if they were done, but if any more remained to threaten them he would cut them down just as spitefully.

Helena

 

[Helena]

Out. Out. All she could feel was her magick come out of her being. Steaming. She could feel her own skin steaming. Vapor trails wisped before her eyes as Osuin rent the walls of fluid flesh that came for her, pieces of their enemy rained down. Fell upon the tainted earth with wet slap and squelch. Wriggled. Writhed.

She shout. Hot as a furnace. She roared and stamped her foot down upon the ground as she swept her blade down to her side in brilliant crescent.

Each little piece burst into flame. Crackled and popped until smoke came running out of their mass and fire, bright white burning red and resplendent gold engulfed each little chunk of so much foe ripped to shreds.

Putrid was the stench of it. Horrid was the sound. And bright did Helena's soul burn. Her eyes like diamonds that refracted the fury of the flame's pursuit.

Her own skin too, smoked, and crackled, and split. The skin about her hands splintered. Cracked. Fire leapt from her fingers. From her palms as Zenith glowed as hot as the life giving sun.

A pulse. Cold tranquility. Serene as the surface of a lake. Like the waters of the sea set to swell by distant force. A reaction far and unseen. A pulse. It rippled out from beneath the mass of ebbing black tar that had swallowed up Master Hawthorne and Syr Eironmar. From that black pool spread a sphere of rippling blue light. A field of protection that surged and swelled like water come fall about a spherical field.

It pushed the dark creature out and out and out. Fire was extinguished, souls calmed, and there within the bent dome of twisted tree and branch, that most misshapen place that had held and seen so much hate, was a field of loch.

A place of communion, whose locus was that Master himself. Hawthorne rose about the ground, cape and robes billowing as if he were beneath the surface of unfathomable depths, and though much force could be felt swirling there in that field of blue, he seemed a figure at peace. Eyes aglow with the light that bounced across countless mirrors and waves and pools. Gates to so much more.

Behind him rose a Great Heron, there beside that place where Osuin had seen the other stand before himself, with Blight Drinker in his hand. With hate in its eyes. Where it had fallen first. Where it had cursed him. It stood again, and that second Heron, who had fallen in sorrow beside Helena and Osuin, rose too.

Both spirits, with eyes that burned pure and unclouded by hate.

Osuin

 

[Osuin]

He knew well of what effect Blight Drinker had upon Helena's magic. It had been the reason Hawthorne had been struck down, and Osuin dared not tarry in his hostility lest Helena fall to the beast too. Sweating beneath his armour, he was prepared to tire himself to the point of collapsing before he dared take a moment of respite. Blight Drinker would take no such moment upon her magic.

But he knew not what to swing at. The carnage he had caused and surveyed gave way to tranquility, with assurance that the battle had been won. Grateful for victory as Osuin was, that alone was not the sole cause of the peace felt at the fight's conclusion. Another force was at play, and it was nothing like the malevolent corruption that had nearly claimed their lives. What was slain remained so, and what still moved gradually ceased to stir.

Helena's magic still worked, but by her reaction it was not of her own doing. It seemed to be an effect working upon the lands Osuin dearly hoped he'd cleansed. Awaiting further evidence that he had, the form of Master Hawthorne gracing them once more. Levitating and graceful was he, and there was no chastisement, merely peace within his eyes. He knew not what to make of it, so overwhelmed as he was by the ongoing events.

He soon began to turn around to survey the serenity that overtook the landscape, and it was then that he saw the Great Heron that had risen behind him. Osuin paused, remembering the battle that took place within visions that overtook him. But the Heron was not baleful, and looked upon him with a sense of warmth. As did the second, who took place beside him.

All of it had rendered him completely awestruck. Both at witnessing the sight, and in the hopes that he had bid the corruption away and served these spirits well. Everything told him that it had, but everything felt so surreal. It was all he could do to grasp at the tether of reality that remained, and Osuin called out to Helena so.

“Helena? Do you sense it? Have we done it? Have we cleansed it?”

Helena

 

[Helena]

Helena fell to one knee before the Herons and the Master before them. So wild was her magick, and so strained was her body, it was all she could do to keep from utter collapse. Her hands seemed to smoke in that that blue field of power. That swell of Loch turned light and made matter in the realm before them.

"I... I sense it, Osuin," Helena managed through sealed eyes and long panted breaths. "We've won this contest," he whole body felt ablaze. The skin upon her hands bore blisters and raw red flesh oozed across knuckles and palms and the run of her wrist where the blaze had licked so hungry and hot to help burn away the butchered foe.

Pursuant Eironmar still lay prostrate on the ground behind the figure or Master Hawthorne. Lay motionless between the two Herons who gazed on at the two knights that remained before them.

You've done well. Came the master's voice. Though his mouth did not move to speak, his lips did spread and turned up to smile. Osuin, Helena, to have survived. The master, ethereal in form, came down to rest his feet upon the restored ground.

Where there was but blight, tarred and ever clinging to the weave of root and vine, now there was the green of young new life. Moss and grass and flower stalks with buds poked through cracks and braids of old growth, mostly dead, but some, some still lived.

One of the two Herons approached Helena, its long stalky legs strode forward with sure steps. Taloned feet spread across the ground and with its weight came cool water's light. The sound of rain. Its eyes looked to Helena, and as they burned their blue sun's gaze, the wicked burns across her flesh seemed to sooth. The skin restored in turn. Ruined by fiire, the tissue eased back to life. Dark and beautiful. Though a ghost of a scar would always remain.

The other stepped toward Osuin. That Great Heron who he had seen, hedless in the long past.

You stowed away our clutch, brave knight, came the voice of a being as old as the wind itself. For this, I will grant you a wisdom. It rose its head up and stretched upwards its long serpentine neck as its eyes looked down on the mortal man. Beware the blade you carry now. Came the tone which rippled across time. Tis a thing born from malice and manipulation. Its peerless gaze seemed to see into the very essence of the man. Into his core. As if it could see the very stream of fate upon which his soul would sail. A desperate gambit, played by a desperate man.

Osuin

 

[Osuin]

Helena had sensed it, she agreed. This was no vision or illusion, what he witnessed was true. Victory was theirs, and yet in place of exuberance that often followed there only was calm serenity.

"You've done well. Osuin, Helena, to have survived." Spoke a voice he knew as Master Hawthorne's, though Hawthorne himself did not speak. Only now, as his ghostly visage settled to the ground did Osuin realize the outcome the aftermath had brought. The two Herons both shared the same glow that Hawthorne did, their fate now understood. Peace had been returned, and the corruption had been quelled, but victory was had at cost. The Heron had perished protecting them, and Hawthorne had given his life to the same effort. Osuin remained in disbelief that they would be returning without him. He knew not if Eironmar's spirit passed too, and the thought was cause for fret.

He could not mourn now. Not before Hawthorne, who had earned his peaceful rest, one Osuin would not deny. His efforts had seen the corruption gone. He deserved a warrior's farewell. Osuin, though distraught, would carry on, as Hawthorne would surely want. In his memory, he would endeavour to make him proud and live up to the example he had set. It seemed the most fitting way to honour him, and Master Hawthorne greatly deserved that, too. Osuin remained solemn for but a moment more, before one of the Herons spoke to him.

You stowed away our clutch, brave knight

Osuin remembered his efforts in his vision, but only now did he dwell on it. The Herons may have perished, but their brood had been saved. He had hoped such efforts yielded such results, and that his act had mitigated their loss. To see their young survive would surely make such a sacrifice worthwhile, for they had lost their lives in protection of it.

For this, I will grant you a wisdom.

The Heron continued, standing tall as it spoke.

Beware the blade you carry now. Tis a thing born from malice and manipulation. A desperate gambit, played by a desperate man.

Osuin took another look at the sword in his hand. The Heron was not the first to warn him, but it was the first to reveal the swords nature. The words implied he did not hold a tool meant for protection, but one meant for destruction. One born from desperation, and likely without regard to consequence. Still, it had served him well, but The Heron had made it clear it was not a tool he should rely upon.

May he never be so unfortunate, as to have a moment so desperate as to forego such caution.

Helena

 

[Helena]

Eironmar still lives, you Knights of Tomorrow, came the Master's Voice. A ripple across time that ebbed through the waters of their minds. Hurry back now, to the Monastery, and those Sworn that are your Kin. The spectral Master reached out with his staff, and planted the tool upon the cleansed ground beneath him.

It stayed, physical as it was. I entrust this to the Captain of Dusk. He bowed his head to them. Just as I entrust you both with the future of our order.

Helena kept her head bowed as she knelt. Her eyes shut tight as tears welled about their corners and rolled down her face. Her hands. Healed as they were. They shook against the pommel of her blade's hilt. Still. She stilled herself and rose to her feet once more as her lungs filled with breath.

With a flick and a turn, Zenith's point found the mouth of its scabbard. Her blade was sheathed with a click, and she reached out to take the staff from the ephemeral hands that offered it. "We will not fail you, Master Hawthorne," the young pursuant said with a bow of her head, and took the staff from him, its cold run held firmly in her steadied hand.

No. No I can see that you will not. Hawthorne said with a smile.

The two herons turned from the Master, and began to stride toward the mouth of the dome of root and vine.

Well, my time has come, he said to them both. Osuin, he said with a bit of that sharp tone returning to his ghostly voice. See to it that blade is properly studied. Master Hawthorne followed after the Great Herons. There is no telling what secrets such a thing will hold. He stopped before the mouth of the cave and turned around to face them once more. He met each of their eyes. Do tell Captain Serseimzi that I died valiantly, wont you? he smiled again, then bowed his head. And that I go where the blue sun sleeps.

Great wings spread wide, and gale winds gust across the ground with a stream of leaves and flowers and grass and all those smells of green life that came with them. Long legs strode forward as spear beaks pierced with wind. In a push and a jump and a lift. The Great Herons were gone. So too was Master Hawthorne.

Helena stood wide eyed and jaw dropped.

It was a raven's call that snapped her out of her stupor.

She cleared her throat and looked to Osuin, as she wiped the tears away with the back of her wrist. "We've no time to rest," she said, and turned toward the downed Eironmar. Even now, with some of her magick energies restored by the Heron's blessing, she could feel Blight Drinker sip away at her.

Drop by drop.

The Pursuant stabbed Master Hawthorne's staff into the earth, and some tangle-vines roped about its base to help it stand freely as she kept on walking, though her first step shook, and she nearly stumbled. "Ready to move, Osuin," she forced out of her throat as she steadied herself. She tried to keep her mind focused as she bent low to Eironmar, though everything inside her still seemed to hum. As if a scream sealed behind pressed lips. She closed her eyes, and felt her breath leave her lungs as she felt the flow of Eironmar's energies.

He was stable, but weak. She couldn't help but wonder how long he would last against the relic's ceaseless thirst. She turned her head and looked to the big knight. "I..." she shook her head. "That blade is still at work, I can feel it," she said harshly. She took a moment to center herself. "I can carry him ," she said as she started to work the downed knight's weight up and onto her shoulders. Small awkward movements helped her jostle him into place as she best distributed his mass across her upper back, like a hunter might their kill. "I'd say you do it," she said with a smirk before she huffed a breath and pressed her burdened weight up to stand.

Muscles burned. Her whole body ached. But her trained frame held. She huffed out a breath and adjusted her arm around Eironmar's leg before she took a moment to gather herself. "But I don't know how well I'd do holding that sword of yours," she started her way toward the exit. "Maybe we can make a litter?" she suggested as she marched forward.



Osuin

 

[Osuin]

Eironmar still lives, you Knights of Tomorrow​

Eyes remained averted to Blight Drinker held in hand for only a moment, returning their gaze to Master Hawthorne and the further parting words his spirit held for them. A relief that Eironmar had survived, it could not banish the sorrow that Hawthorne had not. Even in death, he had guidance to give them and for that Osuin was thankful. He would now have to go without it henceforth. To Helena, he entrusted his staff and Osuin watched on. He didn't dare move from his position, knowing the effect Blight Drinker might have upon these events. Standing silently with his sword held and one hand clasped atop the other, he did shed a tear as Hawthorne's staff was bequeathed to its new keeper.

Osuin, see to it that blade is properly studied. There is no telling what secrets such a thing will hold. ​

“I swear that I shall, Master Hawthorne. We shall study and safeguard it. I will see it so.” Osuin affirmed, his words and expression stoic before him. To utter the words so calmly took great effort, but he uttered them true. Hawthorne's final request would be fulfilled. Osuin could do nothing less.

“We shall. Peaceful be your rest.” He replied to Hawthorne's final words of departure, and the sight of his smiling spirit ascending provided some solace to his grief. He wished he was still with them, but to see him in such serenity brought comfort. He had earned his peaceful rest.

Time for solace would be brief, and Helena would break it out of need.

"We've no time to rest," She spoke, and her words were true. Mourning would have to wait, they had to return, to fulfill their instruction. Helena moved to Eironmar, and began to hoist him up onto her shoulders. Osuin was about ready to help, and set Blight Drinker upon the ground to aid her before she spoke with further cautious words.

"I'd say you do it, but I don't know how well I'd do holding that sword of yours," Helena's point was fair, the sword had helped, but it clearly caused trouble.

“A fair point. I'll recover the Heron's eggs, and catch up with you after.” Osuin had yet one further task, which he undertook as Helena got her head start. First, the tallest tree, and it was the easiest to spot. Osuin hurried to the tree's hollow trunk and reached in with an arm to carefully scoop the egg out. From there he looked about, finding the formation of three trees he had seen in his vision. Osuin moved directly there, and pulling on the tall grass exposed the second egg hidden beneath. There was one remaining egg, and another issue to contend with. Osuin had two arms, and three eggs existed.

Osuin took only a moment in his search. The only thing he had on hand that was suitable was his own bedroll. The sleeping bag could carry the three eggs easily, and so he pulled it out from his pack. With a hand he grasped at the grass around him, pulling it out by the bunch to stuff into the bottom of the bag for the first egg to sit on. More grass was stuffed onto it until the bag was suitable for the second egg, which was carefully added along with more grass to top it

From there, Osuin continued onward in the same direction, counting nineteen steps with a careful gaze at his feet. He arrived at the bush, and after a brief foray beneath its branches he procured the final egg, which he added to the bag. Once prepared, he carefully slung the bag over his shoulder and returned to where he had left blight drinker, kneeling down ever so carefully to pick the sword up.

Helena was a fair distance ahead of him by the time he was done, and Osuin continued after her for a minute. He arrived close enough to converse, but still he kept his distance such that the sword might not addle her further.

"Maybe we can make a litter?" Helena suggested as they both marched on.

“That's not a bad idea.” Osuin remarked, surveying the trees and strewn branches they might use to construct one. It would take some time to make, but it would save them time on travel and provide relief to Helena who would otherwise be alone in carrying Eironmar.

“It shouldn't take too long. I think those two sticks would make a good start.” Osuin pointed out the two felled branches, long and straight enough to be useful. First, he set Blight Drinker down some steps away before returning to the identified materials. A shorter stick was lashed to the two with a pair of twine. With a few more moments effort, Eironmar would have a makeshift yet viable litter to be carried in.

Helena

 

[Helena]

She smiled as her swornkin went to work quick. Sure to distance the relic blade he carried by some paces before they worked to construct the litter.

Helena set Eironmar down, and used the short moment as a respite, despite the small labor required. Her hands busy beside Osuin's as they tied vine to long branch. How the scars seemed to glitter, there across the umber skin of her hand. Lines that seemed to swatch and spread, where magick fire's tongues ate away at her flesh.

Her eyes widened. Her breath stuck in her throat as her hands trembled with the memory, so fresh in her mind, not but hours and minutes past. All she could hear were the teeth, gnashing and mashing as the ooze sloughed and spread and bent and enveloped. All she could feel was the fire she had called forth, blaze through her veins. Felt her blood near boil as all her air went out to greet her end.

Then came the cool. The blue light of a man who had watched her grow in their order. Who had stood vigil alongside his fellow Masters before the Twice Lit Flame. First when she had sworn her oaths, then when she had been granted the rank of Pursuant. Lungs empty of air, she drew in new breath as those memories flowed through her mind. Tears rolled down her face freely, and while she wanted to carry on with the litter, she could not. She cried. Sobbing and wet, she bowed her head and let it out. A hand reached for Osuin's shoulder, and should he allow it, she would cry as she held on to his form, hungry for the comfort of proximity and embrace.

Still here. Still alive. With her.

Sorrow rained. Helena's reprieve a moment before she nod and said to Osuin, "Thank you," as she wiped away her tears and stood back up, flexing her hands tight to feel the strength still in them. She dragged Eironmar onto the litter and carried on with her march through the wilds.

It would be days, from that place so near to the balewoods, back to the Monestary grounds. Hungry. Dusted and tired. They marched, and only when the gates came into view, and the sound of a watcher on the walls called out amidst the bleeding hues of twilight, did Helena smile again.

 

[Osuin]

It was all he could do to focus on the task of constructing the litter for Syr Eironmar. He badly need the help, and Osuin needed the distraction from the tragedy that had befallen them. The vision of Hawthorne, and knowledge that theirs would be a journey without him weighed heavily on him. Surely, it weighed on Helena too. There seemed little time to mourn, though plenty of that was bound to happen on their return to Astenvale. Hawthorne would be missed dearly, and Osuin did not look forward to the moment when he'd have to break the sad news. Hawthone was gone. He'd sacrificed himself to see the forest safe once again, and gave both guidance and warning to the strange blade Blight Drinker carried with him. One to be wary of, for he'd already seen a hint of its power and capability to bring downfall. He hoped they'd not need it, and would rather not imagine a terror comparable to what had just been experienced.

Aid remained to be rendered, and there was duty to be upheld. Despite the grief, Osuin had thus far steeled himself, distracted by determination to see Eironmar's safe return. It was all he could do, to keep moving forward in such a devastating situation. He and Helena would have to depend upon each other, with Eironmar incapacitated and Hawthrone slain. But when Helena wept, formerly steadfast attitude dissolved. His head hung low in mourning with his hand braced against the grassy ground, tears escaping his eyes as he came to delayed terms with the loss. They'd rely upon each other to make it back home as they'd rely on each other to deal with their mourning grief. Helena turned to him with a hand on his shoulder, and Osuin did likewise to her as both took a moment to process the tragedy, sharing embrace to provide comfort from pain that struck the heart.

"Thank you," She spoke after their silent moment concluded. With tears shed and comfort provided, Osuin returned to the duty of tending to Eironmar, helping Helena load him onto the litter with care. All that mattered was their return, and the sight of Astenvale again a minor relief after the day's long return.