What if the roles were reversed....
No Foip to speak of, other than perhaps character relationships and Dirge's old name. Otherwise entirely speculative. :D
Switch challenged us on #maelfroth to write a specfic where what would fallen eidolons be like if they did not fall, which then became simply a mirror universe challenge.
Imagine, if you will that Mardocai is the Dark lord of the Fallen, and Flail and Justice the Champions of Light. That Lady Lies is a murdering harpy without care for innocence, and Aestar is a softspoken angelic voice of reason.
Imagine if the gods chose mortals who had served well in life and brought them back, to serve in the never ending battle against the darkness.
Imagine what follows is true.
****************************************************
"Thanor Brakenshield is dying."
The whispers run through the festival like wildfire. The Merisusisi captain who had defied his king to bring a unit of Sea Wolves to the fledgling state of Havocstan, to help hold the line against the darkness. He who had won the heart of the Governess of Flambard with his oratory and reputation.
He who had stood weaponless but defiant against Samahazi, Legion, and Veritas when they had attacked the Tritoni, with nothing but tooth and claw to buy them time.
Now, he lies dying, poisoned by the hand of Lies Angelique.
"Let me pass."
Switch, resplendent in white leather and robes of silver, picks his way through the Havocstani perimeter. Flanking to his right is the tall and willowy form of the High Exarch Aestar, keeper of the New World faith. To his left is Maslow, Seraph of the Weaver. Rheinfelden and Olrich nod in respect as they pass, then return to the battleplans, spread out over the table in the shrine of Basilisk.
It is not them the angels have come to see.
Switch gestures to those who follow and they peel off to stand at the door of the large green tent that serves as a shrine to the Soldier. The Contessa looks up, her eyes red rimmed from crying.
"Honoured Messenger." she greets him. "Blessings of the battle day."
"My lady." Ever polite, the seraph moves to the cot laid out by the altar. Thanor looks pale, the fur around his nose and mouth almost translucent, his eyes weeping blood.
"Thanor Brakenshield, we have often spoken."
"We have, honoured messenger." Thanor coughs, a hacking spasm that wracks his frame. "I am dying before my time, it seems. Have you come to take me to the Hall of the Allfathers?"
"If that is your wish." His tone is carefully measured, implying there is more."
"Have you..." Another spasm. "...a better suggestion?"
Switch smiles.
"Thanor Brakenshield, of Merisusi and of Havocstan, I dub thee worthy of the Soldiers grace and grant you eternal life in his service."
And as Thanor looks on, his eyes conveying wordless thanks, and before the Contessa can react, Switch has drawn his sword and severed the mokosh's head. She looks on in horror as the body begins to pulse with an ethereal light, rising to a blinding crescendo, and then the body immolates in motes of colour and flame.
"What did you do? WHAT DID YOU DO?" Elaia is almost hysterical. Switch is contrastingly and supernaturally calm.
"I made him my lord's champion. Come. I will show you."
****************************************************
As the Loyals watch, the ritual circle begins to hum with power. With a sound that is almost a sliver of a scream, the dusty floor of the circle begins to spin in a vortex. Uscopic lightning sparks between the stones as the sound intensifies, then with a sound like a thunderclap the mokosh appears in the center of the circle, crouched on one knee.
As he rises, red cloak billowing behind him, those observing can see his battered chain has been replaced with gleaming full plate, the glorious hammer of the soldier engraved on the chest piece. His eyes shine with light, the glowing etching of his soul symbol pulsing in the centre of his forehead.
Switch steps forward.
"Child of the Soldier, what is your life?"
"My honour is my life." Thanor's voice is full, resonant. Full of confidence.
"What is is your fate?"
"My duty is my fate."
"What is your fear?"
"My fear is to fail.
"What is your reward?"
"My salvation is my reward."
"What is your pledge?"
"My pledge is eternal service."
Switch nods, gratfied.
"You have been granted eternal life as the Soldier's Hammer. You will serve him well. You will smite evil wherever it is found, without need to sleep. Without need to eat. Without ever tiring or requiring succor. Do you understand?"
"I do."
"Then fall in. We have work to do."
****************************************************
"WATCH OUT!" Thanor slams into the grinning imp that is Riddle, knocking his blow wide, as Leviticus of the Huntress spins around, drawing her rapier. She barely gets the sword out of the scabbard before Veritas is on her, broadsword swinging. She parries the blows, grinning all the time, as Thanor claws off Riddle's face, then snaps his neck for good measure.
He pulls himself to his feet, grabbing the warhammer from the scabbard on his back and hefts it as Mardocai strides toward him, white hair blowing in the breeze, a stalking angel of death out of the morning mist.
Legion and Lies flank his left and right, and Thanor knows he is outmatched.
"CHOSEN! RALLY TO ME!"
Uttering a silent prayer to the Soldier, he senses rather than sees Justice and Vengeance moving up behind him, their own swords drawn, as they charge the dark ones over the uneven ground.
Mardocai braces for the charge, his greatsword held out and high like a spear. Blessing reflexes so recently granted, Thanor ducks beneath the thrust, swinging the hammer round in an uppercut that lfits the corrupted angel from his feet. He follows up with a flurry of rapid blows to the torso with the haft, buckling the dark lords already twisted armour, motes of essence floating away on the rays of the dawn.
He spares a glance to either side as the Huntress born twins dispatch their own opponents.
No respite.
No end.
Just another rising sun , and the endless war in the Soldiers name.
It was Glorious.
Switch challenged us on #maelfroth to write a specfic where what would fallen eidolons be like if they did not fall, which then became simply a mirror universe challenge.
Imagine, if you will that Mardocai is the Dark lord of the Fallen, and Flail and Justice the Champions of Light. That Lady Lies is a murdering harpy without care for innocence, and Aestar is a softspoken angelic voice of reason.
Imagine if the gods chose mortals who had served well in life and brought them back, to serve in the never ending battle against the darkness.
Imagine what follows is true.
****************************************************
"Thanor Brakenshield is dying."
The whispers run through the festival like wildfire. The Merisusisi captain who had defied his king to bring a unit of Sea Wolves to the fledgling state of Havocstan, to help hold the line against the darkness. He who had won the heart of the Governess of Flambard with his oratory and reputation.
He who had stood weaponless but defiant against Samahazi, Legion, and Veritas when they had attacked the Tritoni, with nothing but tooth and claw to buy them time.
Now, he lies dying, poisoned by the hand of Lies Angelique.
"Let me pass."
Switch, resplendent in white leather and robes of silver, picks his way through the Havocstani perimeter. Flanking to his right is the tall and willowy form of the High Exarch Aestar, keeper of the New World faith. To his left is Maslow, Seraph of the Weaver. Rheinfelden and Olrich nod in respect as they pass, then return to the battleplans, spread out over the table in the shrine of Basilisk.
It is not them the angels have come to see.
Switch gestures to those who follow and they peel off to stand at the door of the large green tent that serves as a shrine to the Soldier. The Contessa looks up, her eyes red rimmed from crying.
"Honoured Messenger." she greets him. "Blessings of the battle day."
"My lady." Ever polite, the seraph moves to the cot laid out by the altar. Thanor looks pale, the fur around his nose and mouth almost translucent, his eyes weeping blood.
"Thanor Brakenshield, we have often spoken."
"We have, honoured messenger." Thanor coughs, a hacking spasm that wracks his frame. "I am dying before my time, it seems. Have you come to take me to the Hall of the Allfathers?"
"If that is your wish." His tone is carefully measured, implying there is more."
"Have you..." Another spasm. "...a better suggestion?"
Switch smiles.
"Thanor Brakenshield, of Merisusi and of Havocstan, I dub thee worthy of the Soldiers grace and grant you eternal life in his service."
And as Thanor looks on, his eyes conveying wordless thanks, and before the Contessa can react, Switch has drawn his sword and severed the mokosh's head. She looks on in horror as the body begins to pulse with an ethereal light, rising to a blinding crescendo, and then the body immolates in motes of colour and flame.
"What did you do? WHAT DID YOU DO?" Elaia is almost hysterical. Switch is contrastingly and supernaturally calm.
"I made him my lord's champion. Come. I will show you."
****************************************************
As the Loyals watch, the ritual circle begins to hum with power. With a sound that is almost a sliver of a scream, the dusty floor of the circle begins to spin in a vortex. Uscopic lightning sparks between the stones as the sound intensifies, then with a sound like a thunderclap the mokosh appears in the center of the circle, crouched on one knee.
As he rises, red cloak billowing behind him, those observing can see his battered chain has been replaced with gleaming full plate, the glorious hammer of the soldier engraved on the chest piece. His eyes shine with light, the glowing etching of his soul symbol pulsing in the centre of his forehead.
Switch steps forward.
"Child of the Soldier, what is your life?"
"My honour is my life." Thanor's voice is full, resonant. Full of confidence.
"What is is your fate?"
"My duty is my fate."
"What is your fear?"
"My fear is to fail.
"What is your reward?"
"My salvation is my reward."
"What is your pledge?"
"My pledge is eternal service."
Switch nods, gratfied.
"You have been granted eternal life as the Soldier's Hammer. You will serve him well. You will smite evil wherever it is found, without need to sleep. Without need to eat. Without ever tiring or requiring succor. Do you understand?"
"I do."
"Then fall in. We have work to do."
****************************************************
"WATCH OUT!" Thanor slams into the grinning imp that is Riddle, knocking his blow wide, as Leviticus of the Huntress spins around, drawing her rapier. She barely gets the sword out of the scabbard before Veritas is on her, broadsword swinging. She parries the blows, grinning all the time, as Thanor claws off Riddle's face, then snaps his neck for good measure.
He pulls himself to his feet, grabbing the warhammer from the scabbard on his back and hefts it as Mardocai strides toward him, white hair blowing in the breeze, a stalking angel of death out of the morning mist.
Legion and Lies flank his left and right, and Thanor knows he is outmatched.
"CHOSEN! RALLY TO ME!"
Uttering a silent prayer to the Soldier, he senses rather than sees Justice and Vengeance moving up behind him, their own swords drawn, as they charge the dark ones over the uneven ground.
Mardocai braces for the charge, his greatsword held out and high like a spear. Blessing reflexes so recently granted, Thanor ducks beneath the thrust, swinging the hammer round in an uppercut that lfits the corrupted angel from his feet. He follows up with a flurry of rapid blows to the torso with the haft, buckling the dark lords already twisted armour, motes of essence floating away on the rays of the dawn.
He spares a glance to either side as the Huntress born twins dispatch their own opponents.
No respite.
No end.
Just another rising sun , and the endless war in the Soldiers name.
It was Glorious.