Hollow Oath
By Dedshell, (C) 2023WRITER'S NOTE
Thanks to everyone in the AA Discord for directing me to sources of in-game lore!
My apologies to anyone who wanted to read something with recognizable elements from the gameplay. While I do intend to use the list of spells and skills for this short series (and various attack effects, many thanks to Johnny Tai), the story is set in an original and non-canon setting within the Alter Aeon Universe.
With some more research, I hope to learn more about the setting's canon so as to write better setting-relevant fiction.
Thanks for your time!
PROLOGUE
- 1:1 ...and the Dodecagram saw fit to create as it pleased;
- 1:2 Knowing not what name to bestow upon these disparate lands,
- 1:3 Through wilting time that fell from grace,
- 1:4 Through wand’ring Chaos ever in flux,
- 1:5 Aimless and adrift thus it spake the name
- 1:6
___ ___ - -_, ,, , - -_, ( ~/|| || || ( ~/|| ( / || || =||= _-_ ,._-_ ( / || _-_ /'\\ \\/\\ \/==|| || || || \\ || \/==|| || \\ || || || || /_ _|| || || ||/ || /_ _|| ||/ || || || || ( - \\, \\ \\, \\,/ \\, ( - \\, \\,/ \\,/ \\ \\He twisted the sword twice, once left and once right; forcibly withdrawing it from the center of the withered head.
Gibbering, as if it had forgotten that these were its final moments alive, the lipless crisp of an opening on the cleric’s horribly charred face separated.
[THERE ARE MORE. AND WE WILL CONTINUE TO BESEECH HUNDREDS, EVEN THOUSANDS MORE.]
Its voice resounded with a sound that was guttural and hollow, as if it came from the inside of a pot of clay.
The wretch rattled with soundless laughter, grinning as its dull eyes were reduced to husks; a fetid, carmine stream pooled down from the steps of the chancel to the floor of glistening marble.
No longer was its abhorrent visage concealed by a mask of gilded porcelain and a mitre of pristine cloth; yet still, its demonic bravado tilted between the maddened cries of a lunatic and the veritable words of a prophet –
– It did not fear death.
It did not fear death because it knew something terrible that he did not.
[MUNA EGO RAVA, EN FARURAE FARU. MUNA ME ILNAK, ET MUNA ME PLATA.]
He, a helmed figure, bearing a simple blade in one hand and a rusted shield in the other, stood before the burnt and battered shell of the unholy priest.
His visor hid the horrified, shaking eyes that stared on in utter abhorrence.
He stepped forward once, shouldering through an overwhelming wave of dread.
What began as a quest of noble ends became an exorcism that spanned fleeting moons that he could no longer count, a sacrifice whose cost was incalculable.
He could recall the court of the monarch that bestowed upon him the quest to execute the heretical Vesper who wrought terrible destruction upon a faraway province –
– He could not remember their name.
He could recall the Profane Celestial that he sundered with the very humble edge and tarnished buckler that he cravenly grasped in this dismal hour –
– He could not remember its name.
He could recall the edge of the sword that knighted him, how the steel reflected the side of his face like glass from the corner of his eye –
– He could not remember his name.
[How many of you are there?]
His steadfast command still faltered as his gaze fixated beyond the bloody frame that was laid at his feet.
//There are more.
The man in armor felt his knee clash against the floor of stone, the sound of clanging metal echoed throughout the silent cathedral as both blade and aegis fell to the ground in abyssal melancholy;
The Paladin collapsed in blinding agony.
//There are thousands of them.
The blasphemer had died hours ago.