Armanon had not exited the Scrying chambers yet. Months had passed and the Tactician hadn't been seen. Scarce times he had shown his face, scarce moments that Sammael could not account for. He was busy.
Aramon had been busy, in those chambers. The assult had ended for the time being on the Tacticians part. Now was a different time, a time of focus. A time where he needed guidance. He sought out Ahriman.
"Watch the Castle Sammael.." He had told him. Watch he did.
Though in the field Sammael had proven to be worthy of his title. It was in his home, on the field of battles that had strung the course of the cobblestone path that led to his castle walls. It was there he was the shield, it was there that the armor of his will stood strong. A man was not nothing without his will, he was shapeless and without form. But will forged strength that surpassed steel. It was set in the foundations of the very castle.
Ninth Circle. Fallen. Defeated. One by one he had picked them off. Sitting quietly at the gates waiting for the alarms to toll. Kacus had been there, many a times. The two had become a powerful combination of magic and sword.
Eyes closed, mediation. Feel the essance burning inside? Feel the fire ignited by war? Feel the cause of serving someone other than yourself? He was Samurai. He had learned alot in the ages he slept petrified beneath the earthen ground. Where the Hellfire still spit and churned for release. He had learned an important lesson. What it meant to be still. To wait.
If you wait by a river long enough, your enemies will surely float by.
Sammael had waited. Rauve, fallen. The head of the Assassin leader of the Circle was placed ontop the battlements, shriveled from decay that set into the bone and chipped away where the Murasame had hacked at it. Torment, fallen. The Draconian's head sat beside Rauves, also decayed from age. Shlap, fallen. Azuv, fallen. The Ninth Circle. Now Azuv was gone. Banished by a final sweep from his blade. The old quest shop, taken. The Shade overcame. Unconcious. Azuv slept while his boy was drug through the streets by the Samurais iron grip. Tirus followed murmuring silently ancient spells to curse his form. Through the sewers. Decay. Rats. Nothingness. It was there, in mid-air the combat ensued. Tirus struck. The Samurai waited, patiently, in the trapped exsistence hanging ready. Azuv screamed in pain. Finish him. Finish it. The sword fell. So did Azuv. Final Death.
Dominion had fallen. Blinded. The rush. Zedar and Technique. Brothers in arms. Assassins. Kindred in spirit, in purpose. Fury fell. Blood smeared the gory tale of the fight along the walls along the castle grounds. Rauve had fallen as well.
The Samurai waited. He sat at the front gates, still open. Indrrecor. The guardian waited, poised ready for the alarms to sound. Exmagre. The warrior waited, poised to give his life for the front lines. None shall pass.
He learned a lesson while he was petrified. He meditated quietly, sitting at the open gates. Let them come. The Samurai waited.
Posted by Armanon at August 13, 2005 01:13 PM