Fic: Destruction's Confidant (Ch. 1)
Title: Destruction's Confidant: Chapter 1.
Author: Locust
Rating this Chapter: PG-13
Pairings: None. None whatsoever.
Word Count:: ~1200-ish.
Warnings: Weirdness. Vagueness. Implied mild hypnosis. This entire thing intends to be pretty grim and sorta convoluted.
Summary: Takes place pre-series. Speculation on the history between Salacia and Vater Orlaag. This will be multi-chapter; I'm expecting at least five. (augh why can't I stop writing about these guys how did I even end up this attached and what am I getting myself into)
It had always been stated in the prophecy of the Metalocalypse, however vaguely, that the entity referred to as the Half Man would claim one of the Church of the Black Klok’s own as his accomplice and connection to the earthly realm some time shortly before the birth of the prophecy’s heroes. It was something that could not be helped, no matter what measures anyone took to try and prevent it. Such was the nature of fate - it would be fulfilled in spite of human intervention. Only divine intervention could truly stand in its way.
Naturally, the man currently known to the world as Vater Orlaag was aware of this element of the prophecy. After all, he had been raised under the Church’s teachings. When he was young, his parents died under mysterious circumstances, and he was taken in by a family of devoted followers. He was quite spiritually sensitive from an early age, and given his environment, this sensitivity thrived and eventually led to the pursuit of the life of a mystic. He also grew to have a reputation as something of a scholar when it came to the eschatological prophecies within the Church’s scriptures. He never imagined that he would be claimed by the demonic Half Man - he felt his faith was too strong for such a thing to happen to him. However, as deeply spiritual and attuned to the other world as he was, he was often plagued by unstable emotions. These imbalances would sometimes lead to dreams and visions of a disturbingly violent and sacrilegious nature. In addition, he was a restless and somewhat prideful individual who enthusiastically sought after understanding and enlightenment in part for the sense of power it gave him (as hard as it was for him to admit this to himself). To correct himself of these impurities, he decided to live temporarily as a solitary anchorite in a monastic cell in the forests of subarctic Europe. He spent most of his time in a state of profound meditation, and denied himself all but the very minimum for survival. The most difficult part of this for him was the lack of social contact, but he managed to adjust. With time, his moods became more even, and his mind was clearer.
One night, after going to sleep following a particularly deep trance state, he woke up delirious, hearing a voice droning on in an incomprehensible language. It seemed as if the voice were echoed by the screeching of insects; the sound of it terrified him. He attempted to rationalize it away by asserting to himself that he must have been falling ill, but his distinct lack of physical symptoms quickly did away with that line of thinking. He managed to collect himself long enough to say a brief prayer for tranquility, and the voice faded soon after, allowing him to go back to sleep. Nothing of the sort happened again for about a week; he returned to a relaxed state of mind and nearly forgot that it had happened at all. Then, once more, he was stricken by nightmares. This time, it was far more vivid than any of the dreams he had been disturbed by before he had withdrawn. He felt an intense and brilliant heat burrowing into his skin from something unseen that seemed to be wrapped tightly around him, but more notably, he heard the very same voice he had woken up to about a week before. He still did not understand the words that were spoken, but the voice itself was clearer than ever. He woke abruptly, in body only - his mind was most certainly someplace else. He was aware enough of himself to realize he was no longer in control of his body, but not enough to do anything about it. He felt himself rising from his bed and walking outside. Eventually, he lowered himself to the ground and began speaking, detached from his own will. He was speaking in the very same incomprehensible tongue he had heard in his dreams and hallucinations; it was not a language he himself knew, and yet he was speaking in it all but fluently. This seemed to go on for hours. He finally came to some likeness of his senses with relief, but he was dizzy and weak. Getting himself off of the ground cost him enough energy that he simply collapsed where he was and remained there until morning.
When Orlaag awoke, the first thing he saw was a human-like figure standing over him, just a few short feet away. The figure looked like a man, but he was unusually tall, and he wore some sort of loose, pale cloak that covered all of his body and obscured much of his face. Altogether, he looked very out of place; he did not look like someone who had any business anywhere on Earth, let alone where he stood at this moment. He looked more like a classical depiction of some sort of deity. Orlaag was positive he was hallucinating - at least, he hoped he was. As he became more fully awake, he realized the shrouded figure had not faded as he had expected, and he grew nervous. He pulled himself from the ground abruptly with his hands clenched tightly and his eyes wide, not even noticing that he was backing away from the other man.
“Be still,” the figure spoke quietly, almost gently, albeit with a chilling timbre and an unfamiliar accent. Orlaag finally became aware of his own movement and stopped in his tracks. He attempted to make eye contact with the other man, but could not manage due to his unusual height, as well as the hood that hid most of his face.
“What are you doing out here? Is something wrong, do you need anything?” Orlaag tried to ask as calmly as he could, despite the fact that his mind was racing. He had woken up outside after a vivid nightmare, and here was this strange, unearthly-looking man standing in front of him. It was hard for him to imagine that nothing out of the ordinary was going on. He thought perhaps the man was just some sort of eccentric cultist, but something about that idea seemed off; the very presence of this man seemed surrounded by an energy that was far beyond the sorts of vibrations a human could achieve through any brand of religious fervor. Orlaag was snapped from his panicked speculation by the sensation of the shrouded man’s hands on his shoulders. He shifted his eyes to one side, and noticed the man’s hands looked weathered, yet powerful, and his fingernails were a bit long. His touch was chilly, causing the ascetic to tense up.
“Be calm. I mean you no harm,” the man spoke, gripping Orlaag’s shoulders firmly, but not forcefully. Orlaag felt his nerves dissipating at once, too spontaneously for comfort, but his instinctual suspicion was falling so deeply into his own consciousness that he could not push it to the surface if he tried. “You are not in your right mind now. I watched you wander out here last night,” the man said calmly and deliberately before letting go of the smaller man in front of him. Orlaag stared wordlessly, his eyes somewhat glazed and blank aside from the tiniest glimmer of confusion. He had many questions for this strange individual, yet all he could manage to ask was "Will you please at least tell me who you are?"
"You may call me Salacia."
Author: Locust
Rating this Chapter: PG-13
Pairings: None. None whatsoever.
Word Count:: ~1200-ish.
Warnings: Weirdness. Vagueness. Implied mild hypnosis. This entire thing intends to be pretty grim and sorta convoluted.
Summary: Takes place pre-series. Speculation on the history between Salacia and Vater Orlaag. This will be multi-chapter; I'm expecting at least five. (augh why can't I stop writing about these guys how did I even end up this attached and what am I getting myself into)
It had always been stated in the prophecy of the Metalocalypse, however vaguely, that the entity referred to as the Half Man would claim one of the Church of the Black Klok’s own as his accomplice and connection to the earthly realm some time shortly before the birth of the prophecy’s heroes. It was something that could not be helped, no matter what measures anyone took to try and prevent it. Such was the nature of fate - it would be fulfilled in spite of human intervention. Only divine intervention could truly stand in its way.
Naturally, the man currently known to the world as Vater Orlaag was aware of this element of the prophecy. After all, he had been raised under the Church’s teachings. When he was young, his parents died under mysterious circumstances, and he was taken in by a family of devoted followers. He was quite spiritually sensitive from an early age, and given his environment, this sensitivity thrived and eventually led to the pursuit of the life of a mystic. He also grew to have a reputation as something of a scholar when it came to the eschatological prophecies within the Church’s scriptures. He never imagined that he would be claimed by the demonic Half Man - he felt his faith was too strong for such a thing to happen to him. However, as deeply spiritual and attuned to the other world as he was, he was often plagued by unstable emotions. These imbalances would sometimes lead to dreams and visions of a disturbingly violent and sacrilegious nature. In addition, he was a restless and somewhat prideful individual who enthusiastically sought after understanding and enlightenment in part for the sense of power it gave him (as hard as it was for him to admit this to himself). To correct himself of these impurities, he decided to live temporarily as a solitary anchorite in a monastic cell in the forests of subarctic Europe. He spent most of his time in a state of profound meditation, and denied himself all but the very minimum for survival. The most difficult part of this for him was the lack of social contact, but he managed to adjust. With time, his moods became more even, and his mind was clearer.
One night, after going to sleep following a particularly deep trance state, he woke up delirious, hearing a voice droning on in an incomprehensible language. It seemed as if the voice were echoed by the screeching of insects; the sound of it terrified him. He attempted to rationalize it away by asserting to himself that he must have been falling ill, but his distinct lack of physical symptoms quickly did away with that line of thinking. He managed to collect himself long enough to say a brief prayer for tranquility, and the voice faded soon after, allowing him to go back to sleep. Nothing of the sort happened again for about a week; he returned to a relaxed state of mind and nearly forgot that it had happened at all. Then, once more, he was stricken by nightmares. This time, it was far more vivid than any of the dreams he had been disturbed by before he had withdrawn. He felt an intense and brilliant heat burrowing into his skin from something unseen that seemed to be wrapped tightly around him, but more notably, he heard the very same voice he had woken up to about a week before. He still did not understand the words that were spoken, but the voice itself was clearer than ever. He woke abruptly, in body only - his mind was most certainly someplace else. He was aware enough of himself to realize he was no longer in control of his body, but not enough to do anything about it. He felt himself rising from his bed and walking outside. Eventually, he lowered himself to the ground and began speaking, detached from his own will. He was speaking in the very same incomprehensible tongue he had heard in his dreams and hallucinations; it was not a language he himself knew, and yet he was speaking in it all but fluently. This seemed to go on for hours. He finally came to some likeness of his senses with relief, but he was dizzy and weak. Getting himself off of the ground cost him enough energy that he simply collapsed where he was and remained there until morning.
When Orlaag awoke, the first thing he saw was a human-like figure standing over him, just a few short feet away. The figure looked like a man, but he was unusually tall, and he wore some sort of loose, pale cloak that covered all of his body and obscured much of his face. Altogether, he looked very out of place; he did not look like someone who had any business anywhere on Earth, let alone where he stood at this moment. He looked more like a classical depiction of some sort of deity. Orlaag was positive he was hallucinating - at least, he hoped he was. As he became more fully awake, he realized the shrouded figure had not faded as he had expected, and he grew nervous. He pulled himself from the ground abruptly with his hands clenched tightly and his eyes wide, not even noticing that he was backing away from the other man.
“Be still,” the figure spoke quietly, almost gently, albeit with a chilling timbre and an unfamiliar accent. Orlaag finally became aware of his own movement and stopped in his tracks. He attempted to make eye contact with the other man, but could not manage due to his unusual height, as well as the hood that hid most of his face.
“What are you doing out here? Is something wrong, do you need anything?” Orlaag tried to ask as calmly as he could, despite the fact that his mind was racing. He had woken up outside after a vivid nightmare, and here was this strange, unearthly-looking man standing in front of him. It was hard for him to imagine that nothing out of the ordinary was going on. He thought perhaps the man was just some sort of eccentric cultist, but something about that idea seemed off; the very presence of this man seemed surrounded by an energy that was far beyond the sorts of vibrations a human could achieve through any brand of religious fervor. Orlaag was snapped from his panicked speculation by the sensation of the shrouded man’s hands on his shoulders. He shifted his eyes to one side, and noticed the man’s hands looked weathered, yet powerful, and his fingernails were a bit long. His touch was chilly, causing the ascetic to tense up.
“Be calm. I mean you no harm,” the man spoke, gripping Orlaag’s shoulders firmly, but not forcefully. Orlaag felt his nerves dissipating at once, too spontaneously for comfort, but his instinctual suspicion was falling so deeply into his own consciousness that he could not push it to the surface if he tried. “You are not in your right mind now. I watched you wander out here last night,” the man said calmly and deliberately before letting go of the smaller man in front of him. Orlaag stared wordlessly, his eyes somewhat glazed and blank aside from the tiniest glimmer of confusion. He had many questions for this strange individual, yet all he could manage to ask was "Will you please at least tell me who you are?"
"You may call me Salacia."