Canterlot Avenue requires Javascript to run properly. Make sure to enable it in your browser settings.
Zerathur A. Naszberuk
by on December 22, 2022
Eadil is a Necromancer. It is common in his kind's folklore for healers and medics to arrive too late to save the heroes who've fallen in the great battles of old, those born with the natural affinity of healing often mocked as 'healers of the dead': A pejorative term turned official with the consolidation of the Velgraviran Empire. As he stares at the skulls piled upon his desk, he curses the irony. He wasn't here to help those who needed it when they were hurt, much like the 'Necromancers' of the past.
The difference is that these were not heroes. Carefully examining the skull he held in hand, passing his fingers softly around the cracks and structure, he'd focus every strand of loose thought within his mind to remember who this used to be. This one... She was called Violet Case. She had worked with him before. An Equestrian who washed up on the shores of Old Antioch, recovered by a group of teenage surfers. Re-educated into the ways of their isolationist Empire, she made for a fine archivist while alive. Nothing but an empty white smile in death.
Ever since he returned to the ruins of his homeland, he took it upon himself to remember, catalog, and bury every lost soul. That was his job. The other survivors said nothing against it, for they were too busy with their own projects to pay attention to the others. It's a miracle that they even came together to vote for an Executor. Even more surprising that the one with the highest votes was a Grey-coat...
His mind is wandering. He's been sitting there for at least an hour, whistling wind from the Frozen South waking him up from torpor. He quickly writes Violet C. on the skull he still held, then finally sets it aside. If only he had been there to save them. The last rays of sunlight shine through the broken window just a few meters away from his desk. Carefully, he gets up and sneaks his way around the rubble of the broken spire to better see the sun making its final descent. He's always felt great joy in watching the sunset on the bay here in his office. Even now, with all around him reduced to ruins, it was still a peaceful view.
"You would have died. You should have died."
A heavy gust of wind made the floors creak and the structure whine. Quickly turning on the spot, Eadil flings his hand into the air in the direction of the voice; From his fingertips, lights pulverized the shadowy silhouette. There was no one there, only Doubt's Shadow. That's the name he gave it, at least. Do the others have to deal with something similar? Doubt has been naught but a pain ever since his return to the ruined office, ever bothering him with taunts and mischievous actions. An anomaly caused by the enormous quantities of psionic energy left in the air, the worst he has ever had to meet in his life so far.
"You should have died."
Doubt's whisper freezes the man in position, his hand still held high. The skulls of his colleagues, which had been previously gathered and piled upon his desk, were now set in a semi-circle around him, floating at eye level.
- = - = - = - = - = - = - = - = - = - = - = - = - = - = - = -
Orbs of light flicker into existence over the golden streets of Nova Antioch, and the horrible sound of metal bending and tearing breaks the silence on an otherwise calm dusk. The ground trembles as one of the smaller spires of the Eastern Sector folds into itself, debris and rubble scattering over the road and the pavement. Due to the way Velgravirans engineer their buildings, the structure collapsed into itself, not damaging any of the other nearby spires. Yet it caused so much of a ruckus that the entire city was alerted.
So happened to be that Spore was near the tower as it fell. The lunch's leftovers, which she was bringing to Eadil, fell to the ground as she stood in shock and watched her best friend's workplace tumbling to the ground. The two Praetor Hive Guards quickly took position in front of her to protect the shorter and more delicate figure of their Queen, but were unable to stop her from bolting forward. She ran as fast as her feet could take her, the under-developed insectoid wings flapping on her back as though they were trying to boost her forth even further. At the top of her lungs, she repeated her friend's name as she climbed onto the collapsed building. She tore into broken glass and ruined metal with her bare chitinous hands, digging away desperately.
Post in: Lore
Topics: #loregang
Be the first person to like this.