The GhostStalker Saga

To feel home again...

2006-10-09T03:02:00.000-07:00

I watch the flames fill up the sky, the shimmering amber lighting off the edges of the clouds. My eyes burned with anointment of pure light again. The birds cast upon the evening sky as though they were placed to beautify and to remind of the life around.

Eons had seem to pass just moments ago and now I stood there in those very lands from where I had once left into that oblivion. Time, I did not know what it was. But the smell of fresh air and the newborn roses around tingled my spirits. My knees fell weak and touched the ground. My hands reached for the moist soft sands, kneading them. I had almost forgotten how it felt.

No more pyres of mountain looming above my head. No more shrieks of pain and horror. None of that foul stench of death.

This was bliss. This was my heaven. This was my saviour’s palm. I would have let the roots of this ground grow into me. I wanted to be a part of this forever. Eternity.

But fortune never seems to greet me. Like snails that were meant to crawl on their belly, my life seems to only drag in pain and misfortune. But my beliefs will always remain strong no matter what. I am completing whatever I came here for.

The birds suddenly seem to vanish. The songs were now not more than a coo, more of a warning than a call. In seconds the 4^th moon covered the sun. An eclipse blemished the peaceful terrain with its hideous darkness. Smooth and stalking like a creeping claw it spread through the meadows I stood. Time was running short.

"Pain drags me down several times… Every time I felt like letting go, just a moment. Let go and feel a moment of no pain… a moment of peace and feel the blood rush back into my life. Unfortunately, it never seems to happen. My urge to fight only gets stronger. The stronger I get the harder it gets. Tell me father, will this ever stop. Sometime I am either bound to attain my destiny or bound to break. The longer it takes, the lesser are the chances of me to overcome. And when I fall then. I see myself shattering. Is that what you want to see? Is that what you want me to do for you?
You have taught me not to cry. You have taught me not to break. You have taught me to bleed instead. You have taught me to pray. And that father, is all I do."

~Spitfire

His swiftness greater than before, he left the meadows in a blink. Hooded in rags like a petty thief he was already among the masses. Slender blades still fresh from the lust of demon’s blood. But the mind, far too un-peaceful…

Hell’s Freeze Over

2006-07-31T02:11:00.000-07:00

The days of Scorching Pits, Howling Nether Winds, Squealing Victims in the Distant, Pain and Chaos have come to its end. A silence settled down with the ground holding not even the faintest of warmth, no Raging Fires. The river of blood now, parched dry. A soft congestion filled the air almost to comfort. The stalking corners no more held Fear… there was Peace. Hell stood there like a distant dying star.

As destined, the period of Hell has come to an end. Deep within these once fearful realms in a library the Stone Tablet forged in fury’s chisel held these words:

“Hell shall come to pass with the day of the birth of the Twins, who shall vanquish and remove all the stains of our Pristine Glory. We shall fall, for our acts have been answered, fruitful. The twin born to the Star of Sirius will carry the Flame, the Pain, the Rage and Fear of Hell; he shall remain unnamed for he shall betray us. He will be the Black Widow that eats it’s own mother on birth. The twin born to the star Suiris will carry the Vile, the Sorrow, the Fury and Poison of Hell; he will be The Revenant. Praise him all Hell for he shall be our Eternal Durance.” words of Lord Hier Vandelwort Lucifer to his Fiend Generals before the first Holy Wars of Balance.

As per the immoderate seer eyes of Lucifer, the prophecy of Hell’s death was sustained. The Twins were born and have left Hell, dissecting and inheriting its spirit with them, in two equal parts.

SpitFire destined with the stars of Sirius to his birth

Eirune destined with the stars of Suiris to his birth

When all the Colours fade to Grey

2006-07-31T01:44:00.000-07:00

My mind was racing insanely. Blazing through my nerves was a long hidden thought that surged itself from one point of my body to another, whispering as it passed. When the slowed time flinched for a fleeting moment into normality, I saw with it’s speed, it had set my whole body gleaming as it passed and then time slowed again. The thought trickled slowly to the veins near my heart, a surge of its whisper gleamed the veins nearby with life. My mind froze-in, still endorsed with its actions… as it crossed to another part in the body.

Then there it was slowly surging over the periphery of my pupil, the grey haze slowly cleared like mist bringing back the red hues of the monstrosity, Elamour, the very Gates of Hell. The undead beast that placed its almost fatal bite on my shoulder grimaced looking at my revival. I had gained an audience of thin slit eyes, once fearful, now with fear. I grew back into stance with a speed greater and fiercer than any Demon around, with my blade gripped so hard, my gnashing teeth and calm cold eyes. The undead beast slowly advanced towards me again seething through its thin rotten lips, as though it missed the last bite of its dinner. Took a pause and suddenly leapt over my head like last time to take another piece of my shoulder, with mouth wider, jump stronger, jaws locked-in harder, but hesitant. Though it didn’t matter, in the flashing second, the beast gracefully fell to the ground with a sickening thud… in two halves.

Death is no more a quadrant of my future; I have passed it at the Gates of Hell. Spat on it and sent it back to it’s granter. The wound on my shoulder healed completely. Mocking the laws of Nature in Hell where all wounds shall remain to beckon you of your failures – Remorse.

When I walked out of Elamour, I left there a silence, no wailing beasts, no moaning undeads and no frantic chase. My sword dripped itself clean leaving no trace of demonic blood on it, as clean as garlic. The demented land seemed to weaken under my feet, it’s fire’s fading, and it’s deep howling now almost a soft painful moan. I had sucked out Fear from Hell itself and contained it within myself.

Hell shook from deep under with the Re-birth. Far beyond these canyons in the deepest corner of the Pits was yet another birth.

Eirune… Eirune… Eirune… The Revenant is born.

~fEelix
Return of SpitFire from the Portal.

The Druid has spoken

2006-06-03T00:09:00.000-07:00

I am your fear.
I am your pain.
I am all you see and do not get.
I am the horizon you can only see.
I am the rage you cannot imagine.

You do not exist in my presence.
You breathe with my pity.
Your dreams can never imagine me.
You see light from my reflection.
You will always fade beneath my shadows.

No mortal eyes can ever measure my stature.
No mortal tongue can ever speak my name.
No mortal can ever taste the dust from my footsteps.
No mortal is worthy to touch my shadow.
But you, mortal will hear these words of mine.
For, I am your God’s Envy.

~fEelix

When the Wolves howl

2006-06-02T23:34:00.000-07:00

The howls of the night wolves filled the night sky, leaving the whimpering leaves to shiver in the cold breeze. Aravaon was somewhere in the woods scouring for any of the raiders who survived the defensive. The Raiders, they walked right into our camps just to get massacred. The 300 or so raiders were no match for 40 night wolves. And which ever fool led them would have surely known their timing was a mad choice. With the crescent moon grimly smirking the dark night, the wolves’ powers are at a three fold more rage.

In the distance I heard the clear call of Aravaon, a howl of a pure blood Sire of the GreyFang clan. I rushed to the source of the call. Aravaon was standing in the center surrounding them were the other 38 wolves. Sebil was closer to Aravaon, as his fore-commander. In the middle of the well-formed circle were 4 Raiders. Frozen still, only in body. But their minds were scampering somewhere off and far away from their peril. For their eyes were dead looking directly at Aravaon’s. A mistake even his friends wouldn’t make.

Sebil whispered to me, without taking his eyes off the group, “FeralRage GreyFang… please step forward”. I looked at Aravaon as I stepped forward. His eyes were still locked in place of his victims, just like dad. Only once have I seen dad and Aravaon together. Aravaon was dad’s favorite as far as the rough world was considered. I was more of his pet than a decendant. He never preferred I step into the harsh world. And since the day dad has left, Aravaon has been my protector, a stern and commanding brother. At that moment, he just seemed to me like dad, once and always a Sire of Horal GreyFang.

~fEelix

The Blog is dead

2006-03-08T10:00:00.000-08:00

Hi,

This blog has now become a Graveyard. And so it shall remain. If life ever wakes up here... It'll pretty well be a scarey thought. So long and thanks for all the fish.

Bon soir.

~fEelix

::The Cassie Intervention::

2005-11-22T23:04:00.000-08:00

Cassie: An elemental blade dancer from the same school of arts as GhostStalker and SpitFire. She separates from SpitFire to go on a preemptive strike on a group of druids who were working under orders of Scylla- Druid head of the North end. She approaches the ancient temple, where a sacrificial summoning ritual is taking place.

“I stood back still watching the purple skies settle down my confused blood rage. I wished I were as hard hearted as these brutes. The tears than ran down my cheek was as silent as my whisper... sad and regretting. Why had I to become to this? Why did I have to rise up to all the evil I witness? Why did I have to loose all those I loved to the ever-winning eternal peace? Why?

I knew the answer, though I wasn't in any state to get firm by reminding myself with it. I knew it was the only thing I was bred with - Honour. But after every bloodshed, I realize it is of no use when a life has already passed its time. Why am I trapped in this total inconsistence under the pretext of Honour. Don’t' these ugly souls who devour me to do them their death have any of it?

Why? Why? Why? Aaaaaargh!

I was screaming inside my head, looking at what could have possibly been a lovely face. Now battered with blood and cold icicles. My elemental blade strike had not only put those brutes to the temple floor but also the dying victim. Foul druids, I wish I had all of them right now, in this very room. The amount of rage I could have surmounted on them would send shivers down all those who ever dare. Filthy necromancers... Filthy. Filthy. Filthy. Their bloody sacrifices, cost more life than any natural death.

The darkness set through the skylight above just as the one in my heart. I smelt a whiff of strong sulphur. It was wreaking all over the place. Something from their sacrificial summon had taken heed. This means the summoner was somewhere else. With rage filling my mind, gripping blade and a swift fierce move I plunged into the centre of the altar.

From the darkest corner of the hall, I saw the damn thing move. A shadow was enough for me to expect what was going to be out any minute now. And there, in a glimpse the foul thing bounded into visibility.

For a huge beast, it had the most surprising speed. Smelling the air of its own foulness, it flailed its extremely long tongue. I knew what it was called, "Sherava" - Sulphur Toad. Unfortunately, very far from being a toad. I could feel his footsteps on the pillar I next to me. He moved towards as though I had offered myself as a tasty treat. I wished every ounce of my pride off me or I'd have SpitFire with me right now. He'll know how to handle these things, for he had been with them. There was no time for regret. So I was planning my next move.

Poison was the very element of this sickening beast with fumes of sulphur vapour spewing out of every bursting boil on it slimy slick skin. It was fully standing on all its fours and it’s under raised high above the ground. Not to mention its poisonous tail and webbed feet. If there was anything these druids were doing atrocious, this was the worst of them all. I twisted my blade's handle making full contact with the Ruby Rails that adorned it. The blade scintillated red as it shifted from the Sapphire rails. The fire was spreading through it. Hope this works.

I had no inclination in going close to this thing or its blurting skin. I summoned all my energy concentrating on my blade's edge. A shadow of flame spread like an aura around me. Then I released the very source of energy from my blade into a dancing trajectory towards the sulking beast. With one swift blow I released all the pent up energy onto the target. Heavy balls of fire seared through the air between my approaching and me. The fire and the sulphur had created quite an explosion and all I could see was white misty foul fumes all over the place. I could hardly see the shadow of the huge beast. I relaxed my sword, partially hoping it was dead and partially because I was tired. Maybe it worked.

The mist cleared the beast was still there, unscathed except for its skin which was spurting more sulphur fumes. The blast had eroded the primal layer of thick sludge and that didn’t help any bit. I noticed the expression of the beast - irritated and terribly angry. All of a sudden a blurred grey and green vision appeared somewhere above me. The next thing I could see was the tile patterns of the temple floor. The sickening smell of sulphur right above me… Very strong fumes forcibly entering my nostrils and down my throat. I was going to loose my consciousness very soon. I just wished I did sooner.”

~Cassie DeLuc

::Hunting a Stalker::

2005-11-01T21:39:00.000-08:00

The night is so still, ever so still, reflecting the tense among us. Even the ground seemed to silence the clatter of our greaves. The silence was screaming in my ear draining every single piece of sanity away from me. Our eyes were rendered useless by the darkness and mist, I could hardly see the dull glint of my Gladius.

I hated to be behind the men. The mist when the men walked past seemed to take the most unholy shapes when disturbed from it stalking serenity. We were armed to the teeth, like that was going to make any difference. After all we were just mercenaries who sourly regretted falling for the greed of gold. I picked up pace for I knew we weren't covering much of the land - we were going in circles.

Our adversary wasn't to be taken lightly, not one bit. GhostStalker was one of the most fear and adept Assassins this age has ever known. 6 armed men with even Thor's Hammer couldn't scratch his back, let alone in this eerie place or anywhere else. I swear all of us have controlled our bodies from shivering out of fear more than the cold.

I still remember the tales of this uncanny soul and worse his ruthless blade. Crafted with utmost hate was the Chaos Blade. On the other hand as light as a unicorns hair and ever so fair was the Echaleon. Even in the most drunken stupor one would differentiate the horror of being struck by the Chaos blade - a punishers' strike and the grace of the Echaleon. For those who are unfamiliar, they are the two blades carried by this assassin. All I knew was the Chaos Blade was a soul captor and those who have felt its fatal slash would have their souls imprisoned to the sword itself, from hence it derives it unholy powers.

Unfortunately all I could do was wish I was out of harms way or in other terms far away from GhostStalker. In no sanity would a person who has seen his skill would have agreed on this mission. I didn’t have a choice to lead a bunch of greed-eyed pack rats, who would sell their honour in gold - if they had any that is.

The chill fog creeped down the back of my spine and all my senses were tingling just then I heard a muffled moan. I turned around hoping to see if there was any terror in the men's faces. Unfortunately, there wasn't any... any faces around. They had all been dispersed or already put to their last breath. Like a confirmation, I heard one more somewhere nearby, and then another and another... until I knew there won't be any more. Now I was alone, totally left to the one blade.

I regretted being here. But I had a mission and as a Pledged Legion my word is of honour and I shall fight till my very breath - if there was going to be any fight at all. I regretted every sin in my life, because I might never have a chance again. Whoever sent us here was sure of this. We stood no chance. I closed my eyes and concentrated. My days of being a mercenary were over and this was going to be the last time I held my sword.

Deep breath, firmly gripped sword, focused senses. I was following everything I was ever taught against an adversary.

And then I saw the vision, the glorious features formed before my very eyes. Time had stopped as I saw him hung in mid air like a crucifix. Arms spread out. And in one swift movement he had landed his blade was out. Before I could raise a thought to strike he was out of sight. I turned around parrying aimlessly.

The blade had already passed through me. Painlessly I fell to the ground. I din't even moan, I was being carried into a trance a dream. White clouds and the fragrance of a thousand Orchids... someone looked over me. An Angel? An Angel with a Scintillating Blade? It din't matter now. I have to go. And so I passed my last easing breath thinking I might have heard, "Peace my friend, Peace".

GhostStalker: He was one mercenary who surely din't deserve to die in pain and chaos. I've seen this man before, his Valour and Honour have always been exemplary. And just as I had expected, unlike the rest of the fetish he arrived with, he stood ground. For a man of such character, the Echaleon will give him Eternal Peace. And as for the rest, whose fleeing backs I had to smear their soul will unrest in my Chaos Blade.

~"I wonder who sent this wolf pack to hunt me down". With that withering thought he disappeared into the dark mist.

::SpitFire::

2005-07-18T23:32:00.000-07:00

There he stood, so motionless as to almost be one among the many stone gargoyles that adorned the balustrade … his vestments naught but tattered rags flapping in the sweeping gusts of wind. His features wreathed in the shadows of his hooded cloak.
The vision of his stature high above ground would have been quite chilling to any other being. But I knew him … knew him just too well, to be intimidated.
I stood back in my invisibility watching him. I knew he could sense my presence … He is one who sees through the air's density.
The druids below were taunting him … sneering at him … they are ever so arrogant of their measly powers.
And then .. it was as though one of the gargoyles had broken its taut position; He lashed out his blade almost ripping his cloak revealing his sleek personage.
The menacing move had already sent chills though the spines of the druids, whose destiny, as had already been determined the moment they had SpitFire crossing their paths … I sure could smell their fear. Pathetic arrogant fools, why even stand there.
One swift move and his self-projectile moved downward with his twin blade spread backwards, seething and waiting to lash out.
He landed right in the middle of the Druids' Circle.
He swung forward raising his blades above in an elegant trance-like move... like a swan.
His blade then uttered a low hum.
It seemed like silence … but it was a tearing silence … very uncanny.
With both his wrists stuck together, he rotated his blades in a circular pattern.
Keeping the rotation in procedure, he raised his hands and danced gracefully … smooth … extremely smooth.
His blade's hum, due to the movement seemed like a howl... No, I then felt it. It was a deep song ... You could feel the winds sing the song of eternity. And it seemed to emanate from deep within … as though the song vibrated right from your gut … as though your body was singing it … Grrr! I knew later what it was … his blade was inciting the fears within, into a song … no a trance.
He had more class than I could have imagined him to have.
Rotating Blades and impatient druids, just the perfect concoction for a blood bath. Somewhere someone flinched in the circle. Suddenly the music turned into one monotonous vibrating tone and he pranced like a drunk in his trance with the blades' still in smooth and perfect rotation. The rotation circle suddenly became wider than it initially was. The sudden surprise was not only to the Druids on the outer circle but also to those on the inside, whom the blade had already passed.
He spread his hands; no more stuck at the wrists, hence the wide circle of rotation.
The first set of druids fell to the floor not even feeling the pain. Impressive, I thought to myself.
The rotation circle was still wide. His dance became more coordinated ... Like some old tribal dance ... Body and Blade rotating at an inclined angle … With those menacing moves ... he lunged forward to every victim, before the first three fell down one more Druid had already tasted his blade. The druids started to pull out their staves and stilettos. But before they could even position themselves, they were already on the floor uttering silent cries.
The way he put fear was an ecstasy to watch … really relishing the way he instilled fear. His victims had such deep fear but his dance and the song of his sword seemed to put them into a trance that they were almost enjoying, but with fear still tearing them apart. This was exactly like an Arachnid that stings its prey putting them into a drunken stupor.
Though the prey knows it is helpless and knows it is going to be devoured anytime, it still enjoys the trance of the drunkenness… sort of a Sweet death.
By the time the song was over, there was none left standing in the Amphitheater. Even still his dance continued, as though to sneer at the no completion offered to him and prompting over the fact that his enemies had fallen much before his song was over.
He danced a bit more now as though to enjoy his minor victory, facing the ground.
He really had some class. I am beginning to relish him more… him and his impeccable style.
When the song ended, he was already above the balustrade again in less than a split second, as though he hadn’t budged from his initial position from before … even too fast for me to have noticed... well almost. His robe was back on him. This time he wasn’t looking at the druids or their dead bodies.
He was looking at me… directly into my eyes, just for a split second, which seemed like an hour. Weird he got my eyes even though I was invisible.
I dare say he smiled at me, as though I had said "Good Show boy". One more of his swift stylish back flip move and he was lost from my vicinity. There was something about him I couldn’t comprehend. I could not sense him anymore. He was much more powerful than I had imagined.
He had mastered his style and art more than, one could imagine.
SpitFire, I will be seeing you soon, no doubted in battle next. But where will you be, beside me or before me?
One way or the other...
The battle is going to be one hell of a display of Gargantuan Rage. I am looking forward to it.

May the fog clear and so will the future!

~ GhostStalker