Requiem For The Wanderer
By CheshireEnigma (cheshireenigma@hotmail.com)
Premise: Unusual friends hunt Dakkon Nailo across the planes, but they must first deal with his fleeting sanity.
Rating: PG-13 (Violence)
Disclaimer: All characters mentioned within this story are property of myself except Sylk (Gunvulture), Dirark (Golden147), and Zeia (Lady Zeia). The Dungeons & Dragons system is property of Wizards of the Coast.
A Celebration For Loss --
He stood in the middle of it all, unmoving. The once proud village was left in ruins. Houses that had been built around the trunks of trees were splintered; the shattered furniture scattered among the treetops was the only sign that anyone may have once lived amongst the trees. Bodies lay all around him, smoldering, burned beyond recognition. Among them strayed a lone silver-haired half-elf female inspecting the burned faces.
"No – no – no –no, Dakkon, why couldn't you have lived in a village with more acceptable males?" Zeia asked tersely.
"Yes, hardly worth the effort," Sylk softly commented from the shadows.
Dakkon did not favour either of them with a reply nor did he try to banish them. In the past he had attacked the two companions to no effect. After all the years they spent following him, he had become accustomed to their presence. The only one he didn't mind was Dirark. The dark ranger had always stood three paces behind him, silent except during the slaughter in which he let out a keening war cry. He remembered long ago there had been more mortals near him, but could no longer recall who they were or what had happened to them.
Zeia stopped her inspection and glanced up at the brooding elf. "Give it up, Dakkon. You've removed your last link to the mortal world. The village that you grew up in, the people that knew you, all of them are gone. Let's go to the tavern to celebrate."
Dakkon continued to stare at her in silence before giving an almost imperceptible tilt of the head. Without even a gesture, they stood in a crowded tavern. The smell of alcohol, vomit, and sweaty – filthy – mortal bodies almost covered the smell of undeath exuded from the elf's body.
The patrons, the sober ones at least, quickly backed up to get away from the vampire. Silence followed the short exodus until the bartender came around the counter, unsteadily wielding a gnarled wooden club.
"G-git out of here ya damned w-wizard!" he shouted, waving the club for emphasis.
"Kill him," Dirark said quickly. "Kill him and let us leave. Now!"
Dakkon arched an eyebrow at the dark ranger behind him.
"That's the first thing you've said in a long time," Dakkon replied.
Murmurs of 'he's mad!' and 'who is he talking to?' rippled through the tavern as patrons began to scramble for the exits.
Dakkon returned his attention to the fleeing mortals and released a potent spell. As it rippled through the crowd their bodies turned to dust, layering the floor in a thick ash. A second energy ripple emanated from Dakkon and the ash arose to form vampires in the likeness of their creator. They stood where they had coalesced and looked for direction from their master. When all eyes were on him Dakkon floated to the ceiling, his black cape billowing around him silently. Giving a quick glance around the room, his normally placid face became animated.
"Barkeep!" he called out with a large grin, "your finest elven wine!"
The reanimated bartender remained still for a second before lurching into motion.
"There isn't time for this. Something is coming and we must leave immediately!" Dirark barked more insistently.
The myriad of simulacrum Dakkons turned to each other and began animated conversations. Ignoring Dirark, True-Dakkon moved to the bar and sat upon a stool allowing his sensitive ears to listen to the individual conversations.
"It's good that I removed the village, don't you think?" asked one Dakkon to another.
"Perhaps, but maybe it was the last link to my fleeting sanity," replied the other.
"Sanity isn't needed when I have power."
"But how will I use the power when I can't determine what's real and what isn't?"
Boring of one conversation he moved his attention to another.
"What if I added a link to the shadow plane?"
"Deadly, but they would expect that. How about Elysium?"
"I tried that before, remember?"
"Oh yes. I recall when I tried it. That solar didn't care for me much, did she?"
"Hardly," followed by raucous laughter.
Dakkon's attention was brought back to the bar as Dirark slammed his sword point-down into the floor next to his stool. Dakkon turned to find the half-elf's face mere centimeters from his own.
"We must leave now. It is no longer safe," Dirark growled.
Dakkon was going to respond when suddenly he sensed something coming closer – something dangerous. All the Dakkons sensed it and turned to stare at the door.
At first the sounds was distant and easily dismissed as a trick of the wind. However, as the seconds passed, it became easily distinguishable as the sound of a thousand voices calling out, arguing, singing.
"Fool!" howled Dirark, drawing his sword into an attack stance. "We will fight our way out."
Zeia placed her pilfered tankard back on the table and sighed heavily.
"Just when it was getting good."
Sylk stopped playing with the shadows of his earlier kills and disappeared without a word.
Dakkon continued to stare at the door, mesmerized by the cacophony of voices. The longer he listened, the more he was convinced that they were talking to him, telling him that he should accept what was coming for him. Though all of his instincts were telling him to flee, he sat rooted in place.
Finally, the door exploded outward and seven-foot tall humanoid strode through the door. Long silver hair cascaded past her shoulders between the expansive wings that nearly scraped the doorframe even when she ducked. Her platinum full plate was adorned with a battlescape between an army of demons and army of angels. When she spoke, her soft but firm voice sounded like wind chimes in a gentle breeze.
"Dakkon, submit to this! Relinquish your ghosts and surrender to tranquility!"
-- The Opportunity For Gain