[Quiet Man Cometh]

This is an older story of mine I was asked to post. It's all here right now since I finished it some time ago. It was largely inspired by FFVII: Advent Children and I'm sure that will show. If you haven't seen it, not a problem since it's not related to FF at all. I was at one point going for an epic level DnD adventure with this, and to be honest I'm not sure which idea I had first, the fiction or the adventure, but it's a story now. Cor is the current cosplay I'm trying to build.

~~~


One-Winged-Angel

The moonlight cast a luminous glow over the trees, bare white towers against a night sky infused with deep navy blue. Cradled in the pearly, leafless branches, Cor looked up at the sky. The moon was especially large. Mother is watching. Rising from his repose he crossed to another tree and leapt from the boughs. They whispered and shook behind him as he landed in a crouch, water arcing and spraying droplets on his face as the waves broke against the trees. Looking up at the moon, he smiled. “I’ve found him, Mother. Just like I said I would.”

The water ebbed around his boots as he strode through the water, a low valley once, now flooded into a wide, shallow lake. He walked slowly, the treetops gradually curling into a corridor lit by the moon’s reflective glow and the green cast of fireflies. The only sound was the rolling of the water and the ripples lapping at the tree trunks.

Deeper into the corridor the wood began to take on life. Small blue buds appeared sparsely on the branches, growing more numerous and mixed with draping emerald mosses. Blue petals floated on the surface, clustering around the bases of the trees where the water grew murky. The flora grew to an apex at the mineralized carcass of a venerable dragon, lying like a fallen mountain. Cor pushed aside the long strings of ivy reaching out on the water and approached the dragon’s gaping, frozen maw.

A splash in the water behind him sent a misty spray up his back and neck. There was a quick gust as a pair of downy wings fluttered into a shimmering cloak. The water swelled against Cor’s boots as the individual strode over to meet him.

“You truly intend to go through with it, Cor.”

“There is nothing to be gained by waiting.”

“What will you do?”

“I will make them remember what it is to die.”

The newcomer stared at Cor’s back. “Why?”

Cor laughed. “There are no heroes anymore, Razael. You of all people should know that. To the common mortal you’re and angel; to the gods you’re a thief.” He watched a petal bob lightly on the water. “The gods are complacent and their followers are blind to their own abilities.”

“You know they will try and stop you.”

“And it will doom them.”

For several seconds the two beings were as silent as the stone dragon.

Razael spoke first. “I can’t help you in this Cor.”

Cor turned his face to Razael. “Will you try to stop me?”

They exchanged looks, then Razael turned and walked away. Cor heard a quick kick-splash as his friend pushed into the air on his stolen white wings. He focused again on the carcass of the dragon.

Black teeth hung like rows of stalactites over Cor’s head. He walked up the curving, petrified tongue and down back of the throat, pulling himself through the cramped passage of the esophagus. Emerging into the rough cavern of the stomach, his gaze settled on the thick hilt of a weapon plunging deep into its stony wall. A thin smile spread across his face, lingering in his green, mismatched eyes; “just like I said I would.” He wrapped both hands around the hilt and pulled.

[Quiet Man Cometh]

“What is he?”

“He is a remnant of the ancient times…a fragment mixed with some divine essence to make him whole and give him form.” Mallin fluttered around the library, grabbing books and pieces of paper from the cramped shelves. Sir Roderick put a hand over his nose and mouth as another cloud of dust erupted under the pile of books Mallin heaved onto the table. Gathered dust and grime from years of storage billowed through the air and agitated his nostrils. His eyes itched and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.

“Don’t come in here much do you?” he coughed in a dry voice.

Mallin yanked open the cover of another book, running his fingers down the page. “You shouldn’t speak lightly,” he chided the knight. He pushed the book aside and grabbed another, its worn cover splitting in half with a crack like dry wood. “Could hardly read it anyway…” he muttered, tossing the old tome onto the floor in another puff of dust. He cleared his throat. “A being like that does not appear without a purpose.”

“So why is he here?” Roderick asked, tugging at the wall drapes in search of a window and take his eyes off the dizzying wizard.

“He has acquired Aldur.”

“Aldur?”

“The Prison Blade: a horrid weapon that absorbs the spirit of anyone slain by it.”

“What would he need that for?”

“The divine world is never static. The ancient gods still exist on another plane. Aldur is the key. If he confines enough spirits their essence will break the seal.” Mallin looked up from his book, “And there will be a godswar the likes of which have not been seen since the overthrow.”

The dust settled lightly between the wizard’s gaze and the knight’s.
Finally, Mallin slammed the book closed and threw up his hands, “I can find nothing that will help you. You will have to find your own clues in this. Pray that Valorus guides you well.”

Mallin continued to voice his warnings as Sir Roderick left the tower. He reached a hand to his chest and examined the pendant that hung there, laying it flat on his palm. Why would anyone want to do such a thing? Bringing the world into chaos again? The notion was overwhelming. ‘How do I find him?’ he had asked. The wizard’s reply rang through his head: Just follow the bodies.

[Quiet Man Cometh]

“Murderer!”

The cry was accented by the quick scrape of a sword yanked out of its sheath as Yaric charged the lone swordsman standing in the riverbed, looking down over the split body of a holy warrior. The warrior’s blood boiled and hissed on the metal of the man’s weapon, evaporating like water on hot iron. Yaric stared at it in disbelief. At its hilt it resembled a large double-bladed axe but each blade extended into a broad, precise edge just shy of his own height; the two massive blades mirroring each other on a single hilt. The man held it solidly in one hand.

Yaric’s eyes narrowed, leaves and twigs rolling under his boots as he slid into the ravine. The man turned as the Yaric’s feet hit the stream in quick splashes. He dodged Yaric’s swing and scaled the other side of the ravine in a single swift leap. Overbalanced, Yaric tried to grab the man with his free arm but only tore a black feather from his right shoulder. The man disappeared into the trees.

“Damn you!” Yaric scrambled back out of the ravine, digging his knees into the soil. Fledgling sprouts were stripped from a tree branch as he ripped away the reins of his chestnut cob, throwing himself onto the saddle. The animal was at a quick trot and into a canter before he settled into the stirrups, beating a path through the trees.

* * *

When the sun stretched its long, shadowy fingers the holy warrior’s body lay on the funeral pyre. A new tunic covered the rift that split man’s torso from his sternum through his back. Melania knelt there, her robes brushing the sand, reciting a low dirge in the tongue of the ancients. Within a cupped hand she produced a small flame and lit a clutch of tinder. The flame spread to the corners of the wooden tower. Through the curling smoke of the kindling a tall man in a white cloak stood at a respectful distance while she completed the rite and the warrior’s body dwindled into ash.

When only the skeleton of the pyre remained Melania concluded the rite. The man in the white cloak was gone.

Inside her modest shrine, Melania placed a small bowl of the warrior’s ashes onto a pedestal for kin to pay respects. This was for the benefit of the living; these dead burned as wheat husks. Three other bowls lined the pedestal. Melania looked to an effigy of Death but the god remained silent and compelled no prayer. She absently ran her hand over the curve of her abdomen, hoping the day would end without bringing her more dead.

A loud knock rattled the small wooden door. “Priestess, are you there?” Outside, Melania was greeted by a road weary man clutching the reins of a chestnut cob. He held out a tattered black feather. “Can you find him?”

[Quiet Man Cometh]

Rumours and death were laid like a trail of bleached bones. At early dawn, the sun and moon contesting for the sky, the knight, horseman, and priestess chance converged on a high plateau; a rocky hillock rising from a mountain wood. Standing at the edge was Cor, gazing over the cliff.

Sir Roderick approached cautiously, foot by foot, trying to get a measure of this so-called fragment. Gripping the pendant he searched for the clarity of purpose and announced his intent, but his voice was drowned by the sudden, swift beat of horse hooves. A sure voice called out behind him, “You are found, assassin! And you shall not escape me again!” Yaric galloped his horse up to prance next to Roderick. “You are a warrior of a god that claims justice. Help me kill him.” He pointed at Cor with his unsheathed longsword.

Sir Roderick looked up at the horseman and nodded. “It seems you have something to answer for. Identify yourself!” he called to the man by the cliff.

A thin breeze lifted out of the grass and rustled the feathers on Cor’s shoulder, and both warriors watched in surprise as what looked to be a duellist’s mantle shifted and stretched into a sooty black wing jutting from his right shoulder-blade. “What are you?” Roderick breathed as Cor turned and walked away from the cliff edge. In front of him he held the largest and most bizarre weapon that Roderick had ever seen.

Cor tilted his head to one side. “I am a child, like you.”

“What?”

“A son. Mother gave me a gift; a human life to live. I will be her devoted since the rest of you have forgotten her.”

Hesitating, Roderick recalled Mallin’s words. “I know what you are up to. If you stay your present course I will stop you.”

Cor shook his head. “You could not stand against me, not you or all the others. You have forgotten the value of your own life.”

“What do you mean?”

Beside him, Yaric grew more agitated.

“What is this?!” Yaric glared from Roderick to Cor, frustration etched on his face. He urged his cob in front of Roderick and raised his sword. “Defend yourself if you feel you have the right!” He kicked his horse into a charge. Cor beat his wing, hovering across the ground and further from the cliff. He flashed the broad side of his weapon and levelled it at the steed. The cob tried to halt its charge on the slick grass but its hooves began to slip and it instead thrust its head straight out, small tufts of its forelock flitting in the air as Aldur skimmed over its forehead and into the horseman’s shield. Yaric arched back, his shield crumpling and the blow throwing him from his saddle. He hit the ground hard. He forced himself to his feet as a loud shriek ripped through his ears as Cor kicked the warped piece of metal from Aldur’s twin blades.

“You do not fear me. Do you think your gods will bring you back?” Cor asked with disdain.

“Valorus be merciful!” Roderick drew his own sword and raced to aid the staggering horseman. He swung his blade overhead and connected with Aldur in a clarion ring that sent shock-waves through his gauntlets. Cor’s wing slammed into Roderick’s chest, forcing the knight back as Cor spun around to engage him face to face.

Yaric hurled himself back on the cob and renewed his charge. He leaned out from the saddle and swung hard over Cor’s head, black feathers buffeting at the horse’s face and nose. The animal shied away and Yaric abandoned his attack, leaping from its back to rejoin Sir Roderick on foot.

The shape of the horse had loomed above the two combatants and was gone just as quickly. Roderick now found himself facing Cor alone. He diverted Aldur’s heavy sweeps with guiding blows from his blade, each one jarring his strength a little more.

With each pass of the blade, Roderick could see Cor’s serene face between the razor edges. Roderick back peddled as Cor swung low, instinctively curling as Aldur cut across his armour with a quick scrape, shaving a line in the shining metal. Cor’s knee came up and slammed the knight in the side of his jaw. Fighting the miss-matched eyes, Roderick thrust his sword through the gap between Aldur’s blades. The calm on Cor’s face broke as the Roderick’s sword pierced his shoulder. He grunted and twisted his weapon hard, wrenching Roderick’s blade from his hands and curving Aldur in a downward arc. Thrown down from the force of the blow, Roderick raised his arm to block, connecting with the blade vertically behind his wrist. Roderick swooned in pain as he felt the gauntlet crumble, the metal splitting and curving into the flesh of his forearm. He heard the hiss of his own blood spattering Aldur’s blades, his nose clouding with the smell. Reaching up with his other hand, Sir Roderick gripped Aldur just above Cor’s grasp and heaved on the weapon. As soon as he gripped it his arm buckled and he had to force the hold. His muscles went into spasm as a tangible force thundered down his arm, thudding internally like an electric jolt. He kicked out one of Cor’s legs and pulled hard on the weapon, finally driving it into the dirt just above his head. Cor backed away as Roderick rolled quickly to the side and regained his footing, the world throbbing before his eyes.

“You see?” Cor announced, with a face looking for understanding.

Yaric pounced from behind, swinging at Cor’s pierced shoulder. Cor latched onto Yaric’s longsword, lines of blood running from his fingers as he forced the weapon wide and yanked Aldur from the earth.

[Quiet Man Cometh]

Among the strewn rocks of the plateau Melania watched the three men engage, her eyes on the solitary black wing that fluttered among the flashing blades. There was a quiet rustle behind her.

“The Lord of Death stands neutral in this matter?”

Melania turned to see Razael approach from the rocks. She considered him for a moment, then turned back to the fight.

“Such a weapon should not be allowed to exist.”

“It’s not the weapon. It’s the god inside.” He stepped lightly over the rocks to stand next to her. “Why did you come, if you did not intend to fight?”

“I wanted to see for myself.” She glanced sideling at him. “I saw you at the funeral. You don’t like what he’s doing.”

“No.”

“Then why don’t you stop him?”

Razael paused for a long moment. “I can’t say he’s wrong.”

[Quiet Man Cometh]

Cor pumped his wing once, disengaging from the battle and sailing into the trees. Yaric and Sir Roderick pursued. Cor steadied his grip on Aldur. “Forgive me.” He planted his boots into the ground and twisted sharply, powering the blade through a massive trunk in an explosion of splinters as the tree jumped free of its roots and toppled towards the two warriors. Roderick darted to the left, Yaric to the right, but the tree bounced erratically off standing trunks and the horseman was buried under a net of torn and broken branches. Roderick lost sight of him past the fallen monolith.

“Why do you do this?!” He shouted at Cor. “Bringing back the old gods!”

Cor looked curiously at Roderick.

“They will tear this world to pieces if you set them free!”

“The old ones? They’re as worthless as their children. They have nothing to do with this.” Cor stood next to the sheared tree stump and held Aldur upright. He ran an admiring hand up the flat of one of the blades. “I intend to bring back their grandfather, Mother’s first son.”

“What?”

“You knew him once; born from the thoughts of the first sentient creature to realize the inevitability of its own death, but you have forgotten.” Cor’s face became fierce. “You heap your woes on lazy gods, content in servitude for their bleak promise of eternal life! Mother hasn’t forgotten you but you ignore her to pander her ungrateful heirs!”

“And you would kill us all instead?”

“I would give you life back: the potential you used to have.” Cor took two steps away from the splintered trunk, to an opening in the trees. “The gods know this and are afraid of me, afraid of dying.” Scorn flooded his face. “It wasn’t for your sake that they sent you.”

Roderick jerked at the words. “Blasphemy,” he whispered, but his grip loosened on his blade. Instinctively his hand reached for the pendant, blood squeezing from his arm as he clenched it. ‘Hope that Valorus guides you well.’

Behind him, branches groaned and snapped as Yaric freed himself from the heavy tangle of boughs, growling curses at the one-winged man. “Enough holy gibberish, you will die now!” Standing upright he pushed himself from a standing tree and propelled towards Cor.

Yaric fought like a wolverine; swinging his longsword maddeningly in savage cuts; ears ringing with the din of vicious blows; indifferent to the notion that the blood hissing on Aldur’s metal was his own.

Through Aldur’s twin blades Cor smiled at the horseman. “Remembrance to you, friend.” He swung the immense blade in a low arc, its tip carving a furrow in the ground and casting up dirt as it lifted towards the horseman. Yaric’s face was locked in determination even as he fell.

Roderick clutched tightly at the pendent at his breast, feeling only a light breeze on his cheek when Yaric ran past. He only watched as the horseman engaged the misshapen angel, barely comprehending when thin metal shards spread like a fire-blossom and Yaric’s severed body hit the ground. He was numb except for the sticky blood and cold piercing metal. ‘It wasn’t for your sake that they sent you’. His vision tunnelled on Cor and his single black wing. He released his pendant, now marked with his blood, and charged.

Cor was a black shadow before his eyes, a cloud of doubt. He raised his sword and chopped at the taunting black feathers encircling him. “Blasphemy!” he howled. The wing cut across his vision and he slashed through it in a rain of black quills. Cor’s face was there, framed by his black feathers. Aldur was leveled between them. Roderick’s armour was curved in where the blade punched through, and Cor gently eased his body to the ground.

[Quiet Man Cometh]

Cor stood again at the cliff face, his eyes closed in meditation. A small, cooling bloodstain spotted his tunic over his left shoulder and part of his wing was marred, the feathers in disarray. Slow, gentle thumps behind him made him turn. Melania stood behind him, leading the chestnut cob. Cor stood patiently as she regarded him. After a few moments she spoke, “When you are finished…”

“They will be free.”

Melania nodded.

Cor gazed back to the stretch of valley beyond the plateau. “He made that valley. He wanted the world to know he was here. And he will come again.”

“How many more?”

“You don’t want to know.” Cor stepped into the open air and disappeared over the side of the cliff.

Melania stood, gazing at the scarred plateau, as Razael approached and patted the cob on the side of the neck. She turned to him. “Help me,” she said, and led the cob into the trees.

~~ Fin ~~

*phew* that took a while. As I said before this is an older story of mine. Comments are welcome. I don't mind criticism either if there are things you don't like about it. Ask what you like and I'll try to answer everything that I can.

Cheers. :)

[Suzerain of Sheol]

I just read through this (and yes, I still like it as much as the first time ;)) and I have some comments, but I need to go eat something and recharge my batteries before I get to that.

[Quiet Man Cometh]

No problem. It would be nice to see the comments for once. ;). I've had a few people come on other sites and say that have stuff to say about the piece but never actually get around to saying it.I haven't looked at it in some time so I'm not totally sure if there's anything up there that would make me cringe now. I editted it last in 2008 I think.

EDIT: yup, September 2008, written in spring 2006.

[Suzerain of Sheol]

Well, I would hope you know I'm good for it. :p I do know the feeling, though (you've had that chapter of mine for how long? Joking, joking!)

Anyway, for one thing, this feels really fast. I honestly feel like this could be almost novel-length. At the moment, it gives a sort of tip-of-the-iceberg feel, which, on one hand, is good, because it's a pretty cool setting you're hinting at here. But on the other hand, it's frustrating knowing that there's nothing else forthcoming.

Other than that, I'll just note that you have a tendency to repeat words in here in pretty close proximity to each other, which I personally find kind of grating when reading, though I know some people don't mind that so much. Especially near the beginning, I recall "sky" and "blue" getting thrown around a lot in the opening section.

Something else. I assume this is written in 3rd person omniscient? I found it kind of jarring the way you would describe characters coming onto the scene like they were strangers, when they aren't strangers to the characters in the scene. This is probably the most problematic in the first part, seeing as there's not much to give the indication that we're not seeing thing's from Cor's perspective.

That's mostly all that stood out to me besides a few lines here and there. One thing I did wonder was why you decided to use the name Razael, just out of my interest in angelology.

Oh, also, I will say that I found the fight scenes really easy to visualize, which is a mark in your favor. I have a hard time picturing what's going on a lot of the time in fantasy fights.

[Quiet Man Cometh]

I have to agree with you on the pacing. This was originally written for a writing challenge at the old boards and had a limit of 5000 words. I tried to expand it later but I'm having a hard time doing it. I crunched it up so much to make it fit that I'm having a hard time stretching it back out again. The guy who started the challenge said pretty much the same think about stuffing and epic into the confines of a short story.

The challenge itself was actually to write a fantasy battle that involved more than two people that worked in the story. I'm glad to know it came off well, especially given some of the conflict I had when it came to wording some of the events, like chopping down the tree, even if it was something so seemingly simple as using one sentence or two.

As for Razael, I don't actually know much about angels and what the names mean or refer to as far as the real world goes, I picked it because I liked it but I did want something that would bring the image of an angel to the reader for the purposes of the story. I have a partially written narrative from Razael's perspective that details some of his backstory as well as his relationship with Cor.

[Suzerain of Sheol]

Yes, I remember you showing me that piece with Razael a while ago. And I was just curious, since DnD uses Raziel as one of the Archons of the Seven Heavens, didn't know if you'd been inspired from that.

I understand what you mean about it being so condensed, I just think it's a shame. It reminds me of a book I read once, that was supposed to be the first in a series and set up a fantasy world that just felt... awesome, but the book was short, only 250 pages or so, and he never ended up publishing any of the sequels. I hate seeing cool worlds go to waste like that.

[Quiet Man Cometh]

Yeah. I'm not sure how to expand it though, seeing as it's not really in my area of expertise as far as writing goes. I think of the process and it seems overwhelming from the beginning.

I'm not actually sure where I got the name, and it might have been DnD. I have the Book of Exaulted Deeds but I'm not sure if I had it at that point. I think I just like the name and it did sound angelic. The character himself of course is not an angel but he is percieved as such. That comes up in the narrative and is part of what Cor is getting at with his current purpose.

[Suzerain of Sheol]

Yes, I did grasp that nuance in the text. ;)

And, covering your back with "Exaulted"? (seeing as both Exalted and Exulted are actual words. :p) Anyway, Raziel was the flame-winged paladin chap in the Book of Exalted Deeds, CR 28, iirc.

[Quiet Man Cometh]

I Canadian darnit! I'm used to sticking u's in things. :p. Right. Exalted?

Don't recall him. Personally I liked Bacchiel (I think. Purple herald boy) and the guy who's name started with an E, Lord of the Pearl Heaven I think. Floaty seer boy.

I think I intended three parts with the narrative. I'll have to go back and see how far I got with it. I know it's not finished.

[Serra Britt]

Well, I can see the Advent Children influence just like you said Quiet. It was a very fast read. I can see the condensing you mentioned too, there are a few spots where it feels rushed and disorganized.

And I have to say I giggled a bit when I saw the name Melania. This was written before I ever used the name Melonia in some online games but the similarity just made me giggle :3