Fantasy Prophecies (SadistPoet&Complexity)

[Complexity]

The chase was rough. Thunder, his horse, carried him with speed as it galloped through the mud, splashing water and dirt to the sides. Behind him, three men were riding their own steeds. One of them waved a flail through the air, and another held his reins with just one hand, while the other held a sword. They had been chasing him for a good while, and they seemed to be decided to end him. Thunder's hooves struck into the dirt with desperation at the behest of its rider, but the flail was flying dangerously close to the man's plated armor. He felt a sudden shock as the thick head of the flail finally struck him, making him almost lose balance. He lowered himself just one second shy of taking a direct hit to the head, and watched as the other two of his pursuers enclosed him by coming to gallop at his sides. A swing of the sword from the right was deflected with the plated armor on his forearm, but an unavoidable hit of the flail in the back caused him to gasp sharply with a lack of air. They wanted him.

He has never been a particularly good man, and really, all these people wanted was justice. He had ended up killing two city guards in Freygard, when they recognized him as the wanted man with a reward on his head. But he wasn't keen on dying, and so, he fought back as much as he could, while trying not to lose his balance and fall off Thunder. A free hand pulled out the dagger from his waist, and in a moment, he planted it in the throat of the man with the sword, the latter coughing and falling back off his steed into the dirt. Perhaps. Perhaps he could dodge justice just once more.

Hours later, in the middle of the night, the man rode through a thicket of trees. His armor was crushed, his face bloodied, and he was on the line between unconsciousness and... this. He had fought off and evaded his pursuers, but it took a price. There was a gaping wound in his leg now, constantly pouring blood... the precious river of life. He felt tired, exhausted, and the more time he passed, as Thunder took him through the small patch of forest, the heavier he felt. The tower of a temple nearby was visible, and even through his state, the man could remember. A smile cracked, ever so bitter, on his lips, barely visible through his beard caked with dried blood. Should I pray to the gods, now? He thought, sarcastically, before he let his weight back and fell off his horse, which continued its slow travel unhindered. He felt his head hit against the ground, and his breath becoming shallow, and he turned his gaze to what he could see of the temple.

It seemed, after all, that divine justice existed, and it had finally come for him. He was done for. That was as far as him tricking death went. But his soul was slightly at peace. Perhaps such a death was deserved. A man without a god, dying near a temple... how fucking ironic... His thought rumbled.

 

[SadistPoet]

Neephree enjoyed her quiet existence within the confines of her temple. She had been here for years, her beginnings as a lowly sister were a mystery to her. She'd ponder sometimes on what or how she had gotten here, but she hadn't reached the rank of Priestess by asking questions.

The temple Neephree and her fellow sisters inhabited was dedicated to the Goddess Freya, it was fittingly positioned near the town of Freygard. When Nephree was younger, her and fellow sisters would venture to Freygard to offer various services to the populace ande spread the message of Freya. Those days were held dearly in her heart, her life now has amounted to quiet devotion and teaching lowly sisters the ins and outs of the gospel, whilst still listening to those who's ranks exceeded hers.

Neephree currently found herself at a nearby stream just a few hundred feet away from the temple. She'd try to make an outing here every night to wash up in the stream and have some quiet time for devotion. The water was always a calming cool, not cool enough to be uncomfortable but not warm enough to be exhausting. It made Neephree feel like new.

Taking a moment to fully experience the relaxing calm of the situation Nephree closed her eyes as she took off her beautifully adorned priestess dress. As Nephree closed her eyes, she heard a loud noise of thunderous hooves. Startled, she opened her eyes immediately, but to her surprise it was calm and quiet still. Under her breath she said a small prayer to her Goddess Freya, she felt the sudden noise was just nerves.

Neephree continued with her ritual of quiet devotion and begin to step in the water, yet the water was hot and she retreated back. What was this? Neephree felt as if dark machinations were afoot and immediately retreated back quickly putting her dress on. She spun around to head to the temple but nothing was there, it was all dark. Her heart began to race, she immediately tried to pull energy to hand to cast a purification spell but it fizzled out.

"Do not fear this dark Neephree," a soft feminine voice called out. It was reassuring, akin to a candle light in this darkness.

Was this Freya's voice? Neephree had felt the Goddesses presence but had never heard her voice. If she went back to the temple as a priestess claiming to hear the Goddess she'd be branded mad. Her racing thoughts were soon interrupted by the soft voice picking up again among the darkness.

"Neephree, a man, who's fate is tethered to yours has fallen nearby. You are to approach him and preform the rites of resurrection."

"The rites of resurrection?" Neephree questioned, that particular spell was only a theory and she had never seen it performed. Even if Neephree could do it she wouldn't know how to begin to do it, "But how?" Neephree's voice was soft and meek, whatever this entity was had her enamored in a state of awe.

"Worry not my child..." the voice faded out for a moment and Neephree felt a calm fall down her throat into her breast, "Follow this feeling I bestow unto you, his fates failing will be your failing. Go and do not fail."

Neephree had no moment to reply for the darkness around her had faded, she had a simple feeling of purpose within her and a burning desire to venture out. She waded through the stream and ran into the thick of the forest, something guided her until she came upon a horse standing about. She came upon the man seeing his condition and his torn armor, he looked nigh lifeless, perhaps he was already dead.

If he had any life within him he'd look upon her and he'd see the most beautiful grey eyes that contrasted against the nights surrounding. Neephree was unusual in that her energy channeling illuminated her already unusually colored eyes. She brought her hands down to his chest as she felt the transfer of energy pass into her hands, he would feel a warm sensation come over him, almost comforting and motherly.

Neephree then would begin to speak quietly words in a foreign language.

"Tabula Rasa Per Capita Non Sequitur Cetera!" The words came from her mouth in a haunting voice that pierced both mind and body, the voice was not hers and was quite frankly... terrifying. The man would feel a sharp pain in his chest as he was jolted back to life.

 

[Complexity]

The more time passed, the storm of his beating heart was becoming serene. It slowed down, and he closed his eyes, sparing a last thought to everything, every single moment, every action that led to him getting in that position. A man wanted all throughout the kingdom, dying all alone near a temple. His father had wanted him to have a bright future. To become a knight, an honorable warrior, or even more. Yet every bad choice he made led him to be a disowned, dishonored brigand. He didn't hear the woman approach, he only saw a figure, briefly, standing over him, before the last drop of life left him and he sighed his soul out.

It felt like drowning. The weight pulled him down under the water, and all he could do was reach with his arms up as he watched the brief light disperse through the stirred waters. He let himself taken, led to the bottom. His body was now lifeless, his heart had stopped beating and peace had installed itself eternally on his features. No more thoughts of his father, sitting in front of the hearth, with a goblet of wine in his hand, thinking about what sort of a failure his eldest son was. No more thoughts of his mother, who cried every night after royal guards came at her door, informing her that her son had committed atrocious crimes. No more thoughts.

But there was something quite not right as he sunk to the bottom. The light at the surface, it became stronger. It shone, brighter and brighter, and the words of the prayer reached him. It felt as if something was dragging him back, and he watched as the surface came closer, and the light became brighter and brighter. The words were louder, compelling him to come back. The peace he's had was brief. And pain struck. It was sharp, it was a pain in the chest the likes of which only a heart attack could bring. A finger twitched, heralding the effect of the woman's prayer. And then suddenly, his whole body jolted, and he inhaled sharply, opening his eyes wide.

Fear struck deep into his heart, which started racing as he breathed sharply, trying to gain a normal respiratory rhytm. What was he doing there? He was supposed to be dead. He had died. All the pain in his body was gone, especially the sharpest one, in his leg. His scared gaze drew to the person at his side. A woman. He briefly remembered the tall tower of the temple, and he immediately figured who she might be. His hand touched upon his body in disbelief, and no matter how much he tried, he found it hard to get words to speak. It was almost as if he had forgotten how to speak. And there was an odd... emptiness in him. As if something had been chipped away from him in the process.

"Who... who are you?" He finally managed to utter, shakily. "What are you doing here? Why am I not dead?!?" He hurled questions at the woman one after another, the initial shock still not gone.

 

[SadistPoet]

It was shocking... it truly was, to see a once dead man spur back to life by her own hands. Previously Neephree had known of dark magics resurrecting the dead; however, it appeared this man was still with his soul and wasn't undead. She recoiled back away from the man. Neephree in her all female temple hadn't been this closely in contact with a man for years and her nervousness was very apparent.

Normally Neephree would have probably hit him with a dazzle spell and flee not wanting to deal with this awkward situation anymore but these circumstances were different. She had been willed to this by-- some force? Now that she thought of it she still didn't have any idea of what willed her to do this. If it truly was her Goddess, Freya, then that must mean this was her god-given purpose. To stand by this man at all cost.

Neephree felt her lingering nervousness turn to a slight tinge of disdain. It wasn't like she wanted to give up her life to follow this man, and he surely wouldn't be welcome at the temple for more than a single night. Does this mean she would have to break her vows and run away? The High-Matriarch of the temple always told her that was heresy and wouldn't be forgiven in the eyes of the Goddess, but what if it was the Goddess who sent her to do this.

A quiet sigh would sound from her thick rosey lips, it was getting dark, Neephree's grey eyes became illuminated as the energy coursed down to her hand creating a torch-like blue light.

Now that she could see better, the man truly looked like he was battered and beaten, perhaps an outlaw of some sorts? The only people who got beaten around here were any ruffians who tried to disturb Freygard and Freya's temple. Neephree needed the high matriarch intuition on this. Neephree took a deep breath and begin to speak, her normally pale porcelain complexion was now turning a bright red, "N- Neephree. Uhm" She trailed off for a moment, "That's my name!"

Oh my... she was being awkward. She had to regain her composure.

"I'm a priestess of Freya and your going to come with me!" Her voice picked up displaying a very false sense of bravado to the man. Neephree was careful to not allude to their situation at hand, perhaps there was still a way out of it.

 

[Complexity]

"I should be dead..." He muttered, looking at one of his hands with utter disbelief. The priestess' words barely registered in his mind, her name getting slightly lost on him as he continued to stare at himself, remembering how peaceful it felt as he sunk to the bottom of the ocean, ready to meet... whatever was beyond. But it seemed as though this woman wanted to keep him there. For some reason she did, and that confused him. The first thought that came to mind was the pursuers that he managed to get away from. Perhaps it was their behest, so that he could be properly executed later? It tied in with her later words through which she announced him he would come with her.

"I hope you're fucking joking." He finally muttered, his panic subsiding slightly and being replaced by caution. "I'm not coming anywhere with you." He grunted, finally scrambling to his feet, feeling almost as if nothing had happened to him. It was strange, stranger than anything that had happened to him. He looked at the woman, and immediately thought of clarifying what he meant. "You're probably with them. You're taking me back to them so they can give me a proper hanging, aren't you?" He grumbled.

Yet there was a big blank in his mind, and he couldn't for his life understand how the woman did it. He thought of it so much that it began to feel as if he wasn't in his own body any longer. As if he was a stranger inhabiting some poor man's shell. Yet the torn, beaten armor on him proved him that he was... he.

A few steps took him to Thunder, the horse merely looking back, almost with the same disbelief that still lingered in the man. After all, it did feel its master's flame of life being snuffed out. The man was shaking, if even slightly, he noticed as he reached with his hand to one of the bags strapped to the horse. He pulled out a skin of ale, and, uncorking it, he took a large gulp, feeling he would need to probably drink way more than this to snuff out the avalanche of feelings this situation left him with. He recalled his family, once more, and now, he began to feel like this was purely... wrong.

"You should have left me dead." He said, a strange gloom in his tone as he spared another gaze to the woman. His intentions were clear. To leave. He placed his skin back in the pouch strapped to the horse, slightly sad that he now had to get back into the same old things he did up to that point. The woman had been no help.

 

[SadistPoet]

"You should have left me dead."

Those words hit Neephree with an odd impact. It felt as if his words directly contradicted against her purpose. Something, no... that voice willed her to revive this man. Now he was going to leave, what if he fell again? Would she be going against the purpose the voice willed? Her anxiety and fear became very apparent and she stepped forward grabbing the man with desperation.

"Something... Something willed me to b- bring you back!" Neephree sounded almost manic, crazed by this purpose jutted onto her, "I wouldn't have been able to revive you otherwise."

Neephree took a step back, feeling embarrassed because she lost her composure. She was a priestess of Freya, she was supposed to active composed and content. Neephree took a deep breath and put her palms together, "Please understand. I feel something greater is at work her-" Suddenly she was caught in a trance collapsing to her knees.

Her vision was encompassed with an acute darkness once more, "You must...." the voice faded as if the connection was having trouble coming through. Something had interfered with this being.

Neephree came to again, she still felt fear in her heart, she knew for certain what she had to do. She had to stay by this mans side.