Asmodean had little time to wonder as followed the tracks. Signs of fighting wore clear from the bloody snow along with more bodies. However the signs started to add up in a odd way for the hyur.Â
The two sides had not attacked the other but more attacked by something else. As he walked the Gates of Judgement came into view, a battle still going on. Asmodean swung his ax from his back and rushed to get a better view of what was happening.
He saw three Ishgardian fighting a single opponent armed with a ax. Whoever it was also wearing a similar armor as Asmodean was.
The midlander tried to close the distance quickly but due to the snow he stumbled and lost time. He watched as the soldiers ware quickly cut down, the killer's ax cleaving through their armor as if it was nothing more then paper. The armored form looked out at Asmodean, ironclad head tipping to the side, almost in a questioning manner. As Amsodean neared he slowed himself, watching the killer. He wasn't sure who or what he was facing, so it was best to be careful.Â
"So the boy thinks himself a man... funny." The armor form spoke as he watch the midlander. "Still lost and forgotten. He hunts for something, yet he knows not."
"I have no idea who you are, or why you think you know me..." Asmodean tried to speak before being cut off.
"You wore not told to speak. After all, how can one so lost know what he speaks." A smirk crossed the killer's face. Asmodean scowled, the man's words doing nothing but to annoy him. He readied his ax for an attack before the person spoke again.
"Now the boy thinks himself a soldier. Lost and no one to help. How funny to watch as you struggle." Asmodean attacked in anger to quite the man as well as try to catch him off guard. The armored warrior simply step back, a laugh escaping him.
"Blind to the dream, blind to the enemy and blind to himself. A fool if there was everyone." The warrior didn't move to attack, but to step back further away. Asmodean would finally notice something odd about the man. His eyes wore black, obsidian orbs. The midlander stepped back watching him again trying to understand what he was fighting.Â
"Now the boy questions... too late for answers. The question aimed in the wrong direction." The warrior reached one handed for his visor, and slid it up. Asmodean was on shocked. It was like looking at a mirror, just with few slight different. His scars, the brown and gray hair even his shape of his face was the same. All that was different was the blacken orbs he had for eyes and a odd blacken mist that started to emanate. Asmodean stepped back, not sure what to do.
"Fear.... the oldest and purest feeling boy. You are not the first to fear me. I doubt you will be the last." He took at step towards Asmodean but he didn't rise his ax. He loosened the chain on his left arm and flung it at the midlander. Asmodean reacted simply lifting his he arm and blocked the chain thinking he was trying to wrap him up. He didn't notice the spiked tip until it ripped thought his gauntlet and hand entirely. Asmodean fell backwards pulling himself away from the killer.
"A pact... One she became infatuated with for a time. What will your fate be, I wonder? Become a killer like her... or let those friends try to keep you....you?" The blacken eye man asked before pulling the chain back painfully.
The shock woke Asmodean up. He looked about himself, expecting to see the snow and blood covered highlands but sighed as he saw the forest of the shroud. He looked to the sky and saw it was night with the moon high in the sky. He must of been asleep close to half a sun, the man assumed. He looked at the lighter leather armor he was wearing before reaching for the lance off to his side. As he closed his hand, he winched in pain.
I was asleep.... there is no way. He thought as he removed the glove from his right hand. A bleeding wound sat in the middle of his palm with a matching wound on the back of his hand. He pulled a cotton cloth from his travel pack and wrapped the wound in disbelief. Asmodean got to his feet still starring at his hand. He grabbed the lance with his good hand before noticing a few letters. He scooped them up and started on his way back to Gridania. He looked at his hand confused by it and the dream. He shook his head.
Lack of sleep was what caused that... must of grabbed the lance head in my sleep He thought trying to reassure himself. he didn't then think about how the glove wasn;t damaged or bloody. He couldn't.
As he walked the looked at the letters, one was about the gathering he had spoke at, the others a massage from House Fortemps. The notes help him forget the nightmare and the taunting voice for a time.
The two sides had not attacked the other but more attacked by something else. As he walked the Gates of Judgement came into view, a battle still going on. Asmodean swung his ax from his back and rushed to get a better view of what was happening.
He saw three Ishgardian fighting a single opponent armed with a ax. Whoever it was also wearing a similar armor as Asmodean was.
The midlander tried to close the distance quickly but due to the snow he stumbled and lost time. He watched as the soldiers ware quickly cut down, the killer's ax cleaving through their armor as if it was nothing more then paper. The armored form looked out at Asmodean, ironclad head tipping to the side, almost in a questioning manner. As Amsodean neared he slowed himself, watching the killer. He wasn't sure who or what he was facing, so it was best to be careful.Â
"So the boy thinks himself a man... funny." The armor form spoke as he watch the midlander. "Still lost and forgotten. He hunts for something, yet he knows not."
"I have no idea who you are, or why you think you know me..." Asmodean tried to speak before being cut off.
"You wore not told to speak. After all, how can one so lost know what he speaks." A smirk crossed the killer's face. Asmodean scowled, the man's words doing nothing but to annoy him. He readied his ax for an attack before the person spoke again.
"Now the boy thinks himself a soldier. Lost and no one to help. How funny to watch as you struggle." Asmodean attacked in anger to quite the man as well as try to catch him off guard. The armored warrior simply step back, a laugh escaping him.
"Blind to the dream, blind to the enemy and blind to himself. A fool if there was everyone." The warrior didn't move to attack, but to step back further away. Asmodean would finally notice something odd about the man. His eyes wore black, obsidian orbs. The midlander stepped back watching him again trying to understand what he was fighting.Â
"Now the boy questions... too late for answers. The question aimed in the wrong direction." The warrior reached one handed for his visor, and slid it up. Asmodean was on shocked. It was like looking at a mirror, just with few slight different. His scars, the brown and gray hair even his shape of his face was the same. All that was different was the blacken orbs he had for eyes and a odd blacken mist that started to emanate. Asmodean stepped back, not sure what to do.
"Fear.... the oldest and purest feeling boy. You are not the first to fear me. I doubt you will be the last." He took at step towards Asmodean but he didn't rise his ax. He loosened the chain on his left arm and flung it at the midlander. Asmodean reacted simply lifting his he arm and blocked the chain thinking he was trying to wrap him up. He didn't notice the spiked tip until it ripped thought his gauntlet and hand entirely. Asmodean fell backwards pulling himself away from the killer.
"A pact... One she became infatuated with for a time. What will your fate be, I wonder? Become a killer like her... or let those friends try to keep you....you?" The blacken eye man asked before pulling the chain back painfully.
The shock woke Asmodean up. He looked about himself, expecting to see the snow and blood covered highlands but sighed as he saw the forest of the shroud. He looked to the sky and saw it was night with the moon high in the sky. He must of been asleep close to half a sun, the man assumed. He looked at the lighter leather armor he was wearing before reaching for the lance off to his side. As he closed his hand, he winched in pain.
I was asleep.... there is no way. He thought as he removed the glove from his right hand. A bleeding wound sat in the middle of his palm with a matching wound on the back of his hand. He pulled a cotton cloth from his travel pack and wrapped the wound in disbelief. Asmodean got to his feet still starring at his hand. He grabbed the lance with his good hand before noticing a few letters. He scooped them up and started on his way back to Gridania. He looked at his hand confused by it and the dream. He shook his head.
Lack of sleep was what caused that... must of grabbed the lance head in my sleep He thought trying to reassure himself. he didn't then think about how the glove wasn;t damaged or bloody. He couldn't.
As he walked the looked at the letters, one was about the gathering he had spoke at, the others a massage from House Fortemps. The notes help him forget the nightmare and the taunting voice for a time.
Blind. Once a fool always a fool. A voice echoed in the back of his head. Asmodean needed help... but who could he trust?