Foreword: Much as I love Raziel, Kain, and the rest of the characters you find in Legacy of Kain: Soul Reaver, I own neither them nor any rights to them. This means they aren't copyright under my name and they aren't my sex slaves either. Much sadness on both counts.
*coughcough* Anyway! Enjoy the story.
Scattered Ashes
So many ashes are scattered
So many rivers run dry
Sometimes your Heaven is Hell
and you don't know why
Where do fallen angels go
I just don't know
Where do fallen angels go
They just keep falling, falling, falling...
-Aerosmith: Fallen Angels
Outside the walls of his courtroom, Turel heard clashing metal and the screams of the dying. He was clan leader, the second son of Lord Kain, and he would not fall to the chaos that ravaged his children. But that thought held little comfort. The bolted doors to the chamber crashed and shuddered as bodies slammed against it. The doors would hold, though. The invaders were too fargone in their madness to tear them down.
At the side of Turel's throne, a muscular and weasel-eyed vampire stood and waited. Faithful Lenath. Turel's son and second-in-command had not faltered since the first days of the crumbling. But the clan leader knew that Lenath's calm was little more than a patient acceptance of death. Turel smiled to himself proudly. Had fortune been kinder, Lenath could have ruled Nosgoth at his side. It was a duty that Kain no longer honored.
Kain. Turel remembered the day the smokestack had been taken and the plea he raised to his father. The master had come, but not to help.
The secondbornn shifted his weight on the throne and immediately winced. He had forgotten that his body was all but broken. Only for the moment, of course; to forget it would be to forget the madness that consumed his territory like plague, the literal rivers of blood that stained his once-glorious city. It had happened so quickly...
The doors boomed in their frames. "Lord Turel!" cried a voice from the outside.
Lenath's red eyes widened but he did not stir otherwise. That was the voice of Behuela, Turel noted wearily. A mere messenger.
"Lord Turel!" she called again. "They have gone, but we cannot hold. You must let us in!"
Silence. Turel heard a faint warning cry from behind the door.
"My lord! They return! We cannot hold them back!" By now her voice was hoarse with panic. Metal clashed on metal, someone bellowed a war cry, and above that a half-feral voice laughed in mockery. Within seconds a chorus of shouts and dying screams rose behind the door.
"I am sorry..." Turel whispered.
The door thudded dully but barely shook. Above the cacophony, he heard Beheula in a scream high and pained.
"FAAATHEEEEERRR!"
"...child..."
Something cracked, ragged and wet, and the half-feral voice laughed as if he would never stop. Turel's huge, bat-like ears caught every note.
He sighed and slumped back into his throne. To end like this... only Dumah's first demise could be more shameful. His younger brother, powerful warrior as he was, had been overtaken by a mob of desperate humans. It was even worse than what had happened to Raziel's clan.
Turel started from his thoughts. "Lenath."
The vampire immediately knelt. "My lord."
"Is the sun rising?"
Lenath walked to the stained glass window behind the throne and nonchalantly shattered it. "Not for another hour or so, my lord," he said after a moment.
Turel tapped his brittle talons on the throne's side. How many dawns?... six, perhaps five. But no more than six had passed. That would leave two more, three if he had miscounted. If he had counted correctly, the second dawn would be his last. That day, the Angel of Death would deliver him in the guise of his elder brother.
Kain had said so. And the master had never been wrong.
*coughcough* Anyway! Enjoy the story.
Scattered Ashes
So many ashes are scattered
So many rivers run dry
Sometimes your Heaven is Hell
and you don't know why
Where do fallen angels go
I just don't know
Where do fallen angels go
They just keep falling, falling, falling...
-Aerosmith: Fallen Angels
Outside the walls of his courtroom, Turel heard clashing metal and the screams of the dying. He was clan leader, the second son of Lord Kain, and he would not fall to the chaos that ravaged his children. But that thought held little comfort. The bolted doors to the chamber crashed and shuddered as bodies slammed against it. The doors would hold, though. The invaders were too fargone in their madness to tear them down.
At the side of Turel's throne, a muscular and weasel-eyed vampire stood and waited. Faithful Lenath. Turel's son and second-in-command had not faltered since the first days of the crumbling. But the clan leader knew that Lenath's calm was little more than a patient acceptance of death. Turel smiled to himself proudly. Had fortune been kinder, Lenath could have ruled Nosgoth at his side. It was a duty that Kain no longer honored.
Kain. Turel remembered the day the smokestack had been taken and the plea he raised to his father. The master had come, but not to help.
The secondbornn shifted his weight on the throne and immediately winced. He had forgotten that his body was all but broken. Only for the moment, of course; to forget it would be to forget the madness that consumed his territory like plague, the literal rivers of blood that stained his once-glorious city. It had happened so quickly...
The doors boomed in their frames. "Lord Turel!" cried a voice from the outside.
Lenath's red eyes widened but he did not stir otherwise. That was the voice of Behuela, Turel noted wearily. A mere messenger.
"Lord Turel!" she called again. "They have gone, but we cannot hold. You must let us in!"
Silence. Turel heard a faint warning cry from behind the door.
"My lord! They return! We cannot hold them back!" By now her voice was hoarse with panic. Metal clashed on metal, someone bellowed a war cry, and above that a half-feral voice laughed in mockery. Within seconds a chorus of shouts and dying screams rose behind the door.
"I am sorry..." Turel whispered.
The door thudded dully but barely shook. Above the cacophony, he heard Beheula in a scream high and pained.
"FAAATHEEEEERRR!"
"...child..."
Something cracked, ragged and wet, and the half-feral voice laughed as if he would never stop. Turel's huge, bat-like ears caught every note.
He sighed and slumped back into his throne. To end like this... only Dumah's first demise could be more shameful. His younger brother, powerful warrior as he was, had been overtaken by a mob of desperate humans. It was even worse than what had happened to Raziel's clan.
Turel started from his thoughts. "Lenath."
The vampire immediately knelt. "My lord."
"Is the sun rising?"
Lenath walked to the stained glass window behind the throne and nonchalantly shattered it. "Not for another hour or so, my lord," he said after a moment.
Turel tapped his brittle talons on the throne's side. How many dawns?... six, perhaps five. But no more than six had passed. That would leave two more, three if he had miscounted. If he had counted correctly, the second dawn would be his last. That day, the Angel of Death would deliver him in the guise of his elder brother.
Kain had said so. And the master had never been wrong.