Seed of Hope (15/9) - Leonida
Sept 24, 2024 13:50:55 GMT
Ian, Velania Kalugina, and 1 more like this
Post by Leonida on Sept 24, 2024 13:50:55 GMT
Leonida knows what’s coming for her.
Like the coward that she is — like the ancestor who damned her over a century ago — she tries to stall it. So she walks. She walks west, hoping that the stench of the Frog Bog would repel sleep away from her. She walks as dusk passes into dawn, and she walks even as her legs begin to burn up.
She walks for as long as fear can sustain her.
But despair weighs heavier than exhaustion, hunger, or thirst. It is treacherous in the way it saps her strength like invisible chains dragging against the earth; for while determination can defend one against the worst physical ailments, no such answer exists for despair.
The seed of hope had been planted within her. It took root in her stomach with its tight, writhing grip, and then bloomed and crawled up into her gullet and her mouth and pushed against her teeth until they cracked.
And thus, despite her efforts, Leonida finds herself collapsed on a bed of moss softer than any mattress she’s ever slept on, the first light of day gentle and warm on her cheek.
I’m in Avernus. I’m on the Other Shore.
But I’m…me?
The ashen-skinned tiefling is standing alone on the bank of the River Styx. Red skies, blasted earth, arid air that smells faintly of blood — all this is familiar to her. She’s been in this circle of the Nine Hells every night in her dreams since she came of age, mowing through the infinite hordes of demons. But never as herself.
This ain’t right. Where is As—
She gasps when she feels thick, metallic fingers wrapping around her throat.
The armoured devil known as Astaroth the Dormant looks down at her. The orbs of fire behind the visor of his helm shines with fury.
YOU. The harsh bass of his voice rings so loud in Leonida’s head she could feel her skull vibrating.
“Astaroth,” Leonida croaks out. “I can expla—”
She feels her stomach jump as the devil lifts her up by the neck, her feet dangling in the air.
I SEE BEFORE ME A WEAKLING, Astaroth snarls, SEDUCED BY THE PROMISE OF HOPE. YOU THOUGHT YOU COULD SPURN YOUR DESTINY? YOU THOUGHT A GENIE’S WISH COULD BREAK THE CHAINS OF AVERNUS?
PATHETIC.
YOU TRIED TO BETRAY THE FALLEN ONE. YOU TRIED TO BETRAY ME. AND YOU FAILED.
Red-faced and choking, Leonida grips the fingers around her neck, trying in vain to wrench them off her. “Pl…Please— I’m…sorry…”
The devil growls out a low laugh that sounds like steel scraping against steel. He leans in closer to her face.
YOU MAY GROVEL ALL YOU WANT, WEAKLING, BUT YOU HAVE REVEALED YOUR TREACHEROUS THOUGHTS TO THE WORLD. THAT CANNOT BE UNDONE. AT LEAST YOUR COWARD FOREFATHER HAD THE SHAME TO HIDE HIS BETRAYAL.
I’m nothing like him, she wants to shout. I can still make Zariel proud, please forgive—
ENOUGH IS ENOUGH, Astaroth declares, as though reading her mind. WE SHOULD HAVE KNOWN BETTER THAN TO EXPECT GREATNESS OF MORTALS.
Even in her desperate state, Leonida notices a crack in his breastplate, the fissure emitting a fiery orange light.
BUT YOU NEED NOT WORRY, WEAKLING, FOR I HAVE LITTLE NEED FOR YOU NOW.
The crack expands, metallic chips falling from his armour as it does, reaching across his helmet.
I WILL TAKE IT FROM HERE.
The helm fractures and falls away, and Leonida finally lays her eyes upon Astaroth’s true, awakened form. Her mouth falls open in a silent and breathless scream.
Like the coward that she is — like the ancestor who damned her over a century ago — she tries to stall it. So she walks. She walks west, hoping that the stench of the Frog Bog would repel sleep away from her. She walks as dusk passes into dawn, and she walks even as her legs begin to burn up.
She walks for as long as fear can sustain her.
But despair weighs heavier than exhaustion, hunger, or thirst. It is treacherous in the way it saps her strength like invisible chains dragging against the earth; for while determination can defend one against the worst physical ailments, no such answer exists for despair.
The seed of hope had been planted within her. It took root in her stomach with its tight, writhing grip, and then bloomed and crawled up into her gullet and her mouth and pushed against her teeth until they cracked.
And thus, despite her efforts, Leonida finds herself collapsed on a bed of moss softer than any mattress she’s ever slept on, the first light of day gentle and warm on her cheek.
………………………
…………………
……………
………
…
.
I’m in Avernus. I’m on the Other Shore.
But I’m…me?
The ashen-skinned tiefling is standing alone on the bank of the River Styx. Red skies, blasted earth, arid air that smells faintly of blood — all this is familiar to her. She’s been in this circle of the Nine Hells every night in her dreams since she came of age, mowing through the infinite hordes of demons. But never as herself.
This ain’t right. Where is As—
She gasps when she feels thick, metallic fingers wrapping around her throat.
The armoured devil known as Astaroth the Dormant looks down at her. The orbs of fire behind the visor of his helm shines with fury.
YOU. The harsh bass of his voice rings so loud in Leonida’s head she could feel her skull vibrating.
“Astaroth,” Leonida croaks out. “I can expla—”
She feels her stomach jump as the devil lifts her up by the neck, her feet dangling in the air.
I SEE BEFORE ME A WEAKLING, Astaroth snarls, SEDUCED BY THE PROMISE OF HOPE. YOU THOUGHT YOU COULD SPURN YOUR DESTINY? YOU THOUGHT A GENIE’S WISH COULD BREAK THE CHAINS OF AVERNUS?
PATHETIC.
YOU TRIED TO BETRAY THE FALLEN ONE. YOU TRIED TO BETRAY ME. AND YOU FAILED.
Red-faced and choking, Leonida grips the fingers around her neck, trying in vain to wrench them off her. “Pl…Please— I’m…sorry…”
The devil growls out a low laugh that sounds like steel scraping against steel. He leans in closer to her face.
YOU MAY GROVEL ALL YOU WANT, WEAKLING, BUT YOU HAVE REVEALED YOUR TREACHEROUS THOUGHTS TO THE WORLD. THAT CANNOT BE UNDONE. AT LEAST YOUR COWARD FOREFATHER HAD THE SHAME TO HIDE HIS BETRAYAL.
I’m nothing like him, she wants to shout. I can still make Zariel proud, please forgive—
ENOUGH IS ENOUGH, Astaroth declares, as though reading her mind. WE SHOULD HAVE KNOWN BETTER THAN TO EXPECT GREATNESS OF MORTALS.
Even in her desperate state, Leonida notices a crack in his breastplate, the fissure emitting a fiery orange light.
BUT YOU NEED NOT WORRY, WEAKLING, FOR I HAVE LITTLE NEED FOR YOU NOW.
The crack expands, metallic chips falling from his armour as it does, reaching across his helmet.
I WILL TAKE IT FROM HERE.
The helm fractures and falls away, and Leonida finally lays her eyes upon Astaroth’s true, awakened form. Her mouth falls open in a silent and breathless scream.