The Masque of Red Death

[Duraza]

Prologue

It seemed sudden, but it wasn't.

Duskwood was covered in its usual pitch-black blanket. The night was quiet, disregarding the occasional howls of feral worgen and the clanking of metal boots against the pavement as nervous Night Watchmen travelled the road. But those were the normal sounds of a night like this one, when the dark was so thick it seemed like a black fog rested just outside Darkshire's lantern-lit gates.

So thick that most wouldn't have noticed the first sparks. They were bright points of an almost golden orange, rising upwards. They gleamed like miniature suns, and floated on the light, evening breeze.

Moments later the darkness truly seemed to become fog. It whirled about and obscured the light when it approached. Left the taste of soot on the tongue and a cough in the mouth of those who took a breath. Smoke billowed up into the air, wrapping itself around the sparks, hiding them from view.

For a while it seemed that smoke was winning, but then the black sky took on an orange hue, as if dusk were reoccurring. And just above the trees stood an orange mountain, unsteady and flickering. The mountain wanted to grow, to reach a height unclimbable and bask all of Duskwood in its majesty, ignorant of the sacrifice that would require.

And that ash is incapable of being awed.

But the mountain was simply a flame and this was not the cataclysm to end Duskwood. No, true cataclysm is a deluge, washing away the old world and upheaving its systems. This was a sacrifice. The fire greedily consumed cattle, family, and home. Wood, flesh, grass, blood, and bone. All served whet the flame's appetite.

There was a girl, a young farmer's daughter. She tried to drench the fire by herself, to save her family trapped inside. She ran back and forth from her family's barn, carrying buckets of water to douse the flames. But each time she returned with more water the fire had already caused more damage. She shouted out into the night, calling for help.

Surely there were those who sprang into action, signaled by the orange sky and that poor little girl's cries. But the flames had already become too strong to be controlled. All that could be managed was now containment. For the good of the forest they had to let the fire run its course. So the flames were allowed to keep their offering, in hopes that the fire would take no more.

As if the gluttonous ever sate their hunger.

She begged them to go in, screamed for her family. Even said that she would go in herself, give her own life if only to save one of them. But her despair could not overcome their protests. They would want you to stay strong and alive, she heard. We're sorry but you must live on for them. Worst of all was, One day the Light will make sense of this.

The Light would only try and use its philosophy to distort what was true and sensible, her emotions. First it would be sorrow and despair. Next was hopelessness. Last would be her fall into hatred. She would detest herself for not rushing to her family's aid or being quick enough to help them. Her 'saviors' would not be spared from her abhorrence because they did nothing. But most of all she would hate the brigand who started the fire. The man dressed in purple that killed her family.

[Duraza]

Clangs of the Clock

The ebony clock's pendulum swung back and forth. In unison the hour hand moved to the five while the second and minute hands landed on the twelve. Despite its small stature the clock rang quite grandly, its rich clang penetrating through wall, air, and finally reaching Peros' ears.

After the second clang Peros turned to look at the clock. Its silver pendulum was so pristine that he could see his own reflection, teetering back and forth on it.

The clock's sound again reverberated through the room. Dust flew from the walls and nails shook loose in their places. The floorboards creaked as though under some great pressure. Peros could feel the vibrations in his chest. Suddenly he was aware of his own heartbeat, as if the clock had kick-started it.

The next rang forcefully through the air, like a cold wind. It rushed over his skin, till he could feel himself shivering, soon shaking. Peros could see his breaths as he exhaled. There was even frost on the pendulum, obscuring its shine.

Yet, Peros could still make something out in its reflection. He was still there, a lanky, black haired youth in his dark purple armor. He could even make out his dark brown eyes on that pendulum's little surface. And strange as that was to him, there was something even stranger reflected there. A little girl stood beside him, a girl Peros could not see when turned to look to his left.

For it's final note the clock let loose the girl's shriek.

Peros woke up facedown on a hardwood floor. He raised his head to look around but instantly regretted it. A dull throb surged through the front of his head, pounding against his skull at a steady beat. Peros squeezed his forehead with one hand while he winced at the pain.

He took the time to slowly rise to his feet, though his careful movements didn't help. By the time he was standing it felt like something was thrashing about in his entire head. Not to mention that the rest of his body heavy and drowsy. He clenched his teeth together before leaning against a section of the wall where the paint was particularly chipped.

Just a little ways to the left of him was a empty bottle. Though it was distorted, he could see himself reflected on the green glass. Peros glared at it for a moment, before kicking the bottle at the bare wall opposite of him. His headache welled up again but he gave himself a satisfied nod as the bottle broke into a few large chunks on the floor.

After a moment of quiet Peros decided to ignore his hangover and get ready to leave. He slung his sword over his back before looking around the house. It was mostly empty, a few pieces of trash here and there and now a few shards of glass in one corner. "Reva didn't really say much about keeping this place clean," he mumbled. He glanced at the fireplace where a few piles of ash remained from the scraps of paper that burned the previous day. Yes, it was just yesterday he had met Reva, Peros thought. And it was from her bottle that he drank too much.

Reva and he had discussed beautification, becoming one's best self. With the end approaching it was easy to see things her way, Peros thought as he exited the house, right into the painfully bright afternoon. If there was ever a time to abandon duty and morality and focus only on oneself it was at the end of times.

Peros put his hand over his eyebrows to provide himself some relief. "What will it be then?"

[Duraza]

Lucid Dreamer

"You can't keep going on like this."

Peros lifted his head up. He sat at a table in a small dining room, with his hands around a warm cup of tea. There was a fire making pleasant cracking sounds as it burned a few logs of wood. The smells of freshly baked bread and roasted meat wafted through the air. But the voice he heard seemed foreign to all this, somehow misplaced. He considered it for a moment before thinking it a figment of his imagination.

"You're not gonna make it. I mean, how can you," said the voice. It was a girl's voice, a child's. Her voice quivered, filled with sobs barely choked back.

This time he knew he heard her for sure. He looked around the room, but he saw nothing but the pleasantries of home. A few empty chairs around the table, the fireplace puffing out light airy plumes, and the portrait directly over it. Peros exhaled a held breath before turning his attention back to his tea. He picked up his cup to take a sip before gently setting it back down on its porcelain saucer.

"Please, don't die."

Peros' eyes widened. Her voice was familiar. There was a thought on the tip of his tongue, something he knew he had to remember about her voice. But seconds later the thought vanished without a trace, leaving only the question of what that thought was. He cursed grinding his teeth together as he tried to recollect, but to no avail. Whatever it was, the thought was far away from him now.

Instead a different thought occurred. Peros glanced about, rubbing his head. "Wait a second, where am I," he said to himself. He rubbed his temples a bit forcefully, "What was I doing last? I can't seem to recall."

Then, one by one, memories started to flood him. The homes in Duskwood he had tried to burn and the several he had killed. It felt as though he could feel his blade as it again cut through the flesh of innocents. He could again hear their crying, their voices echoing through the small dining room. And Peros could feel the heat of the flames that scorched their homes and bodies. He started to sweat from its intensity. All the while the once pleasantly burning fire in the corner started to lick against the brick cage that surrounded it.

Peros recalled those who had tried to stop him, and relived the pain of conflict. Deep claw wounds tore into his chest and shoulder repeatedly before disappearing as quickly as they came. Those were Roux's and Saul's attacks, a few even leaving disgusting scars. The air fouled with the taint of rot and blood, so thick that Peros could not breathe without tasting it. There was Clyde's sword slicing the flesh from his body, followed by a painful surge of energy from Cassius' light.

Last he felt the cruel spikes of Fangral's mace upon him again, smashing through the flesh and bone on his knee, leaving tendons torn as Peros's red life gushed onto the ground. The blow seemed to shatter his false reality, the wooden walls falling down. The brick fireplace tumbled down to rubble, destroying the portrait in their fall. And the flames grew out of control, consuming everything they touched. Unable to move, Peros too was taken by the fire, his flesh disintegrating away in its embrace.

For a moment he was back again, back in the dark corridors of that strange dark world. He saw the ebony clock and it's silver pendulum swinging with each second. Curled up next to the clock's stand was the girl he once saw in a reflection, her head buried in her knees as she wept. She had Peros' black hair and tanned skin. When she peered up he saw one more similarity. Past her tears was a pair of dark brown eyes.

"Don't die before y–"

The clock rang and Peros woke up beside a tree in Duskwood. His armor was battered and burnt. Worst was his knee, covered in blood-soaked bandages. Seeing it shocked Peros back into pain. He bit his lip and cried as he groped in the darkness for more bandages. At first he tried to recall his dream as he searched, but only bits and pieces came back. There was something he thought he heard before awaking, but the ache in his leg was too intense to concentrate.

Peros was right though. Just before he left his dream world to reality the girl spoke again. But her gentle voice was overshadowed by the clock's loud call.

[Duraza]

Wisdom of Elves

"Why hide in your bed, waiting to die? With the world in it's current state I prefer to live life to the fullest. What point is there to waiting for death to come to you? I rather see my goals accomplished and desires fulfilled before the end."

Ceredor nodded at Peros's words, responding almost immediately. "So long as you don't hurt others in the process of achieving those goals, then yes. That's a good way to lead your life."

There was silence. A soft wind blew through the open elven tavern, gently shaking the leaves of many trees. It brushed Peros's skin, and against the bandages around his knee. He straightened his leg out and readjusted the bandages.

"That is the rule, right?" Ceredor looked over at Peros with a brow raised.

"Do you really think so? I mean, it seems that everyone says those things to each other, but so few abide by the rules themselves. Is it really fair to call it a rule when we disregard it whenever it is convent for us?"

Ceredor simply shook his head. "I've always considered those who cannot hold to that truth weaker than those who can. Certainly it takes more work and there are others who cut corners and avoid this work, but that doesn't change the fact that we should be striving to not hurt one another."

Peros turned his face. "Well, I suppose I understand." He changed the topic right afterwards, already thinking that after a few more pleasantries he would be off. Ceredor had been an interesting elf to discuss things with, but this was one subject Peros did not want to delve into with a stranger.

Hours later he strolled the town alone, a slight limp in his step. He mumbled to himself as he walked, passersby maybe hearing a word or two at most.

"How can I possibly do both? It's not that I disagree but…" Peros gritted his teeth together. "There is still so much I must do. Even resting now is taking too much time. Should the end approach before I finish…"

The tavern he was staying at was now close enough that with Peros's next step he was covered in its shadow. Then he heard voices and laughter behind him. Peros turned, regarding three men as they walked by. Each one of them was dressed comfortably, but by their build he could tell they were warriors. Their smiles gleamed, enhanced by the moonlight.

"Uh, sir?" The lead man raised a brow as all three paused on their walk. "Is everything alright?"

Peros blinked. He hadn't noticed how obvious his stare was. "Oh, of course. Sorry, I was just… never mind."

"If you'd like to join us for some company, we were just heading to a place a few minutes away." The lead man offered his hand. "Come on, grab a drink. It's always interesting to meet other adventurers in these parts."

Peros considered the man's offer, and the three men as a whole. Their white shirts made the light about them seem even brighter. But then he turned away, walking into the quiet, dark tavern. "Thanks, but no thanks."

The lead man shrugged at the other two before they continued their walk together. From his window Peros watched them until they were out of sight.

[Duraza]

Attack On Thelwind

The minute hand seemed to tick away like it counted the seconds, yet the hour hand would not move. It was just short of the seven, impatiently waiting for its turn to inch forward.

"Where are we going," Peros asked. He kept one hand on the narrow corridor's walls, feeling his way forward through the darkness. Just ahead of him was the girl with black hair. The corridor was straight, yet at times she would disappear as if just turning a corner. But then, moments later the fabric of her black dress would shimmer back to reality and give Peros the confidence to take another step.

And with ever step the clock's ticking got louder. At first Peros mistook it for his beating heart and wondered why he was suddenly so afraid. But the echoes started to bounce about the corridor's walls, an incessant cacophony of tick-tocking and tock-ticking.

The girl stopped and pointed just ahead. There was a door that Peros could just make out. Bits of golden light trickled out from the crack beneath the door onto the stone floor. Peros reached out for it, his fingers gently touching the light brown wood. The girl stood by his side, smiling as he moved to push the door open. But, her smile was short-lived.

Like a guard dog barking at an intruder the clock rang. It bared its teeth and growled with a force that violently shook the entire corridor. Each thunderous toll took away the ground they stood two stood on, and by the seventh the dream had given way to reality. Peros woke up, unable to remember what it was he felt was so important about that door. But he pushed aside those fantasies after remembering the job he had to start. The Thelwind estate loomed in the distance.

"Perhaps it was weak of me to attack just innocents for vengeance. But this... I doubt there's anything wrong with this."

--

Edwin Thelwind and some of his men had all been inside the manor when they heard a scream from outside. Without a moment of hesitation Edwin pointed to Enfield, Todd, and Benjen. "Go check it out." The three men nodded and grabbed their weapons before hurriedly rushing from their warm places inside into the dark and cold of Duskwood.

Once through the doorway they saw quite clear what had happened. A man dressed in purple standing over a Thelwind guard whose body was leaking red life.

Enfield came down first, his weapons already drawn. "What is the meaning of this?" But before he could get another word out flame rose from the ground in front of him, dislodging stone in a burst of orange and brown. He was just out of the explosive's immediate radius, but was forced back as the smell of singed fur spread in the air.

Todd and Benjen didn't hesitate to attack afterwards, noticing the stranger holding an additional explosive in each hand. Benjen morphed into a bird and flew down, tearing one of them from Peros's hand with his talons before tossing it away. Todd tried to do the same but instead Peros set off his final explosive and knocked Todd out out with some of the dislodged earth that erupted along with the fire.

Benjen made a quick shift from his bird form back to his massive worgen body and slammed it onto Peros, knocking him right towards the edge of the road. Behind Peros was a steep drop into some sharp rocks. "It's either falling or surrendering, vandal. Your choice."

"I tend to hear the ultimatum thing quite often. So far, I'm never presented with options I favor that much." Peros raised his sword up, the edge of the blade darkening. "So, I tend to just provide myself with another choice." When he swung black flame erupted from the blade.

To protect himself Benjen brought up a wall of of roots, surrounding him on all sides. But when the attack had fizzled out and Benjen stepped away from the burnt wood Peros was already gone.